"Of all the words of mice and men, the saddest are, "It might have been." - Kurt Vonnegut.
He did not miss this.
He didn't miss this at all. Tenzin watched her chest rise and fall as she slept, knowing she was finally safe. For now. There could always be internal bleeding, a voice in his mind told him annoyingly. He leaned back in his chair with a sigh, dragging one large hand down his exhausted face in an effort to clear the fog that hung about his head.
No, he did not miss this. The worrying, the late nights at the hospital just watching, the distinct feeling of helplessness. He thought all this was behind him the day she moved out of their home. Yet, here he was years later, in the exact same chair he always occupied.
He had seen her worse, checked her in to this very hospital under much more dire circumstances. She was conscious when they walked in and that was a welcome departure from how she usually arrived. Lin may be one of the greatest earthbenders in the world, but she was so reckless sometimes that it outweighed her skill.
He helped to check her in. She had insisted that she was fine- he ought to go home to his family- but when the registering nurse put a stack of papers before her, Lin begrudgingly agreed to his assistance. Her arm had been rendered useless by her fight with Sato's mecha tanks and luckily, Tenzin knew all of her personal and medical information off the top of his head.
She went in to see the healers and when she was finished, she was surprised to find Tenzin waiting for her in his usual spot- the wooden chair beside her hospital bed.
"You're still here," she stated as she entered the room, followed by a young nurse.
"Of course," Tenzin replied plainly.
The nurse set a chart along the dresser by the door and smiled kindly when she met eyes with Tenzin.
"Well, we were able to heal the fractures," she began as Lin sat along the edge of the bed with a slight groan, "but I'm afraid we are going to have to keep your wife under observation for a couple days to make sure there is no internal bleeding."
Neither Lin nor Tenzin moved to correct the nurses' mistake, they simply met eyes momentarily, silently deciding it wasn't worth explaining. She turned to address Lin this time, "You are going have some soreness for at least a week, so try to get some rest while you're here, ok?"
Lin nodded once and the nurse departed with a smile.
"I don't think resigning is a good move, Lin," Tenzin said immediately as the door closed. She rolled her eyes.
"It all makes sense now," she sighed, "sticking around to talk me out of it? Well, you can save your breath- I've made up my mind."
"Lin, I've seen you like this before and it didn't end well," he told her seriously. She stood and walked toward the bathroom.
"Go home, Tenzin," she told him, quiet, but stern. She disappeared into the bathroom and emerged minutes later in nightclothes, looking perplexed at his ongoing presence. Without a word, she crossed the room and flipped on the radio that rested atop the nightstand. Lin insisted on sleeping with some kind of background noise. Tenzin, a man who relished evenings of peaceful silence, remembered not missing that much either. Lin slipped under the blankets, but didn't yet lay back.
"If you resign now you will be giving Tarrlok exactly what he wants- control," Tenzin insisted as he watched her.
"Of who? Saikhan?" she asked as she moved the dial on the wireless around from static to station.
"Of Saikhan, of the police force- you name it. This is precisely what he wanted to happen. He wanted you to fail and leave the city looking to him for guidance," Tenzin continued. Lin snorted at Tenzin's worried tone as she leaned back against the pillow having settled on a station playing music from their teenage years.
"I have bigger things to worry about than Saikhan and Tarrlok playing kings of the sandbox," she replied flatly.
Tenzin's fists clenched instinctively, Lin's feigned boredom during their arguments always managed to raise his blood pressure, but that wasn't all that bothered him. It was the air of indifference she projected that gnawed at him now. As if her job were unimportant, as if she didn't care about her career at all, as if everything she had given up in life to attain her position as Chief were trivial enough to be shrugged off with a yawn. As if everything they had given up for her job didn't matter.
As that realization dawned on him, he leaned back in his chair, suddenly unwilling to push the conversation further- afraid of what long repressed sentiments may surface if he continued.
"I'm supposed to be resting, you know," Lin said, bending her fingers around the word 'rest' making quotations in the air. He remained in his seat anyway and Lin closed her eyes.
She pulled the blankets up, exposing her feet and Tenzin let out a small chuckle at the sight of them, "Too warm?"
"Mmm-hmm," Lin hummed her affirmation as she drifted toward sleep. Tenzin's feet were always cold. This little movement of blankets was a point of contention between them in years gone by. He recalled her grumbling as his ankles would brush against hers, his feet seeking out the only heat they could find.
He watched her now, her expression softening the closer she came to unconsciousness. The radio churned out a familiar song, their song, and Lin's lips curled into a smile at the tune, "how's that for a flashback?" she mumbled hazily, never opening her eyes. Tenzin nodded, though she couldn't see him.
He studied her now, the music aiding in the return of memories long since forgotten. He suddenly recalled this look, her sleeping face, and the first time he saw it with a hammering in his chest at the age of seventeen. He'd seen her sleep before, during nap time as children, but it had never meant anything to him until that night.
Toph was out of town, he couldn't recall why. They had been scheming about this night for weeks, talking about it, about what it meant they had the freedom to do. Between his nosy family, the acolytes, and her mother's seismic sense there was very little room for the two of them to follow the will of their hormones. But, this night was different. There were no nosy family members, no wandering acolytes, and no Toph to come between them. Lin had gone all out- attempting to cook a meal and have a romantic candlelight dinner just like Kya's magazines had advised. She ended up over-salting the food and burning the vegetables. Frustrated, she tossed the entire meal into the sink and cursed at it as Tenzin stood by, gently amused.
"Well, that's fucking ruined," she grumbled, looking up at him. He noticed she was wearing make up. He covered the space between them with one step and pulled her to him.
"Lin, I'm not even hungry," he admitted. Taking his hand, she led him to her bedroom.
It was far more technical than he imagined it would be, but with conversation and a lot of guidance, the deed was done as the sun began to set. Lin turned on the radio. They went again, this time less mechanical. They took a break, drinking water and laying across one another in the darkness of her room as the radio sang. The third time was the best, for Tenzin at least. He fell asleep quickly afterward, only to wake again around three in the morning to this very song that wouldn't officially become 'their song' for months. He knew then, however, that it would always remind him of this moment. She was bathed in moonlight that filtered in through the window, casting a soft glow upon her usually sharp features. In this light, in her sleep, Lin wore no mask of toughness. She was simply herself and Tenzin was struck by the privilege he felt at seeing her at her most vulnerable. It was a sight for him only and he felt a mixture of gratefulness and love welling inside his chest as he watched her.
Today, at age fifty her expression was the same, even if there were a few more fine lines and gray hairs than were present that night. Tenzin shifted in his wooden chair, knowing he should leave, but feeling rooted here in some way. His eyes traveled over her as their old song played its final notes; taking in her collar bone (still a point of fixation) , across her rising chest, along her slim fingers that once slotted against his perfectly, progressing to her legs, and back down to her exposed feet. He noticed one ankle was bandaged and sighed disapprovingly.
He did not miss this.
He didn't miss the worrying or the late nights spent in hospital.
But sometimes, he had to admit, he did miss her.