Drive
She's behind the wheel of Future Industries' latest Satomobile: the Rhino-Falcon, a five-speed wonder with enough torque and ostrich horsepower to live up to its name. She drums her fingers on the steering wheel, fixated on the red light.
Green. She stomps the gas.
The engine snarls, and the force of first gear jams the tire treads to the pavement. She lets up the clutch—the car jerks, overzealous—and charges from the intersection, down the street, out of the downtown discord.
And she is wired, aware of every nerve in her body and unable to steady her jittery hands. She recalls the feeling of crossing the threshold into the electric field: her body wrenched from her control; the shocks that had raced around her ribs and across her back; the cracked, raw skin that took weeks to mend.
The convertible top is up. Rain comes down in a fine mist: just heavy enough for windshield wipers, but too slow to run them smoothly. She flicks the control to clear the drizzle. The wipers stutter across the glass.
It was pouring when they left the police academy two years ago; Mako had graduated with honors and was officially joining Republic City's Finest. For the occasion, Korra had worn a thin blouse, whitecap waves embroidered around the neckline. By the time the Avatar and she had gotten to the car, the material was sheer and clung to her figure. Korra's wet hair and flushed skin made her animal and exotic; Asami could not drive them home fast enough.
She passes onto the freeway, weaving through the comatose late-evening commute. The tachometer climbs to 3,000 RPM in fourth gear… 4,000. She pushes up to 5,000 to hear the engine roar, and takes it into fifth. Inside her gloves, her palms are slick.
Suddenly, it is the summer of last year. The windows are down and the bass from the engine hammers on the frames of their bodies. Korra's right hand is glued to the handle above the door; her left is wrapped around Asami's right. The wind whips and catches the Avatar's coffee-brown hair. The faint freckles over the bridge of her nose scrunch together as she grins.
"I feel so alive," she says, close to shouting over the noise of the highway. "I wish I could describe it—it's like forgetting to exhale."
She understands the feeling now: pressure builds in her lungs like air in a tire. Her ribs are claustrophobic.
A stop sign nears suddenly. No time for a sleek downshift—she slams on the brakes, hard. The front tires shriek to a halt five feet past the sign. Satomobiles flash before her on the intersecting road, fish in a river.
She checks the rear-view mirror, side mirror, catches her reflection. A harrowed, wild woman stares back: jaw clamped, nostrils flared, and eyes green and turbid as Yue Bay. Her skin is pale and blemished. She smooths her wavy black hair. The cross traffic has cleared. She turns onto this road, headed for the Earth Kingdom International Highway. She passes a familiar road sign.
"I hope I'm not forgetting anything," Korra mumbled into her chin, examining her luggage. Satisfied, she stowed her things in the trunk and shut the lid. "Can you believe it? A whole week on a road trip- just you and me!" She was beaming; her teeth were pearls in the midday light. Asami reached for her muscled frame, pulling her in for an embrace. She loved Korra's summer smell—body fragrance, something fresh and sporty, the subtle flowers of her shampoo, faint notes of sweat and the sun. Asami thought of postcards of tropical beaches, pictured herself on the hammock under the palms, and Korra's scent on the breeze.
The passenger seat is empty, missing her. There are streaks of dirt on the dashboard where she had propped her feet. She could picture Korra there: dozing, slumped down, legs splayed, head against the window frame.
Asami had decided to follow in her father's footsteps- and already had a hell of a start: she hammered out squeaky-clean contracts, and was "gifted for her age," her mentors said. In her teenage years, she'd learned to negotiate like a salesman. By twenty, she could wield her business wiles like a scalpel. Now, at twenty-three, she'd become one of the most powerful entrepreneurs in Republic City.
Since Hiroshi Sato's conviction, the success of his legacy depended on her- though business was seldom a chore. There was research, thinking, planning, developing, discarding, perfecting. Deals to strike. Concepts to create. She made and sold the future. She could not get enough.
With her beloved's blessing, she married herself to Future Industries.
The road is less well-kept further out, in need of earthbender tradesmen. Cracks have spread through the pavement. Aided by the changing weather, she guesses. It's not typically noticeable with the naked eye: materials expand and shrink with fluctuating heat and cold. It has a way of worsening the wear on things. A small chip in the glass, left alone, once cost her a new windshield.
"It's starting to get cool out," Korra said, peering through the tugged-down blinds of the executive office window. "And almost all the leaves are gone. Do you want to go for a walk while the days are still nice?"
"I was actually on my way to a meeting," Asami lamented. "I need to coordinate with the board. There are orders that need to be pushed through by the end of the week." She pecked her cheek. "Some other time?"
The Avatar sighed, but gave her a small, inscrutable smile, and wrapped her arms around Asami's slender middle.
"Sure, President Sato."
They were both excited for her career as CEO, she believed.
She draws an even breath. Checks the fuel—nearly a full tank. Corrugated steel warehouses, hills, and bluffs fly past; evening encroaches and begins to dim the world. The spidery shapes of naked trees claw at the sky.
"Are you coming home tonight?" Korra asked.
"I hope so," she replied, "but don't wait up. I'm speaking at the conference tomorrow, and there are still some last-minute details I need to get sorted."
The Avatar drew her in for a kiss. "Have a good day-" she murmured, and grabbed a buttock- "Miss Sato." Asami gasped, and Korra stole another kiss.
That night, when she returned, all of the lights were out; Korra had already gone to bed. Asami passed quietly down the dark halls, to the bathroom. She closed the door behind her, and groped for the light switch. She kicked off her shoes, one at a time, and turned the knob below the shower faucet. While the water was heating, she began to disrobe. The cool air raised goose-bumps on her bare skin.
She stepped into the shower, and let the warm stream of water coax the tenseness from her muscles. As she put her head under the flow to wet her hair, she heard the shower curtain being drawn slowly back. She opened her eyes to see Korra, hair down and naked as the day she was born, coming into the bath. Asami inhaled deeply, instinctively, hot air filling her lungs. Korra stepped nearer, the water steaming on her smooth brown skin. Her eyes were turquoises, and seemed lit in the dimness behind the curtain. Asami's eager hands leapt to explore her, each curve and plane of her lithe form. Korra reached out for her in turn, wrapping her arms about her waist, gripping her butt. Asami skimmed her fingers down her lover's jaw. Half a head taller, she lifted Korra's chin. Korra leaned into her, tightening her hold and pressing herself fast to Asami.
When their lips met, fire raced down her spine. They were ravenous for each other. Korra's lips, silk-soft, darted across her cheek, down her neck, grazing her collarbone, venturing far enough to linger on a nipple, then back up to rejoin her own. Asami licked and nipped at her, knotting her hands in the hair at the nape of Korra's neck. She could feel Korra's hand slide to her front, over her ribs, trail down her abdomen, down the mound of dark curls above her sex, down… Her breathing hitched when Korra's fingers began to tease their way between her lips. Everything was heat, heat coursing through her veins, heat dripping down her back, heat hanging in the air, heat radiating from Korra's hands and mouth and body.
She was weak at the knees, melting. But Korra hooked an arm behind her thigh, hoisting her up. Asami threw her arms around her shoulders, the white noise of the shower and the throbbing of her heart drowning every thought. "Korra," she breathed, until the Avatar covered her lips in a long kiss. Then she slipped a finger inside, two… Asami sighed into her lover's mouth; Korra caught her lower lip in her teeth. Her fingers pulsed inside her, devoted to their task, palm pressed firmly to her center.
"Tell me you love me," Korra demanded.
"I love you," Asami moaned, "so, so much."
Korra's fingers pumped faster. "Tell me I'm important."
"You mean everything to me," Asami replied. "You're the most important- oh..."
"Tell me you love me," she repeated. Asami was coming close- the sensations were too much.
"I love you," she insisted. "I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you."
Korra pulled her fingers out, looking her dead in the eye as she sucked each one.
Then she dropped to her knees.
In that moment, the only word on her lips, the only thought in her head, the only thing in her life, was Korra.
She checks the gauges on the dashboard- fuel, charge, oil temperature. The oil is warm; the battery is normal. She is sitting on a quarter tank of gas. It is dark. The dashboard lights flicker for a moment. They're a new feature debuting with the Rhino-Falcon, but shoddy wiring. She makes a mental note, adding the task to the long list of things that need fixing. She is on the lookout for a filling station.
She nipped at Asami's neck, leaning over her as the young industrialist sat at her desk. "This is really cool," Asami said, eyes glued to her stack of drafting papers. "You're really cool," Korra murmured, smiling, into her ear. Her hands wandered over Asami's front, sure in the way only a Water Tribe woman's hands could be.
"Right now," Asami continued, unfazed, "I'm working on improving air intake." She presented the top sheet of paper.
"This new design will increase the volume of air available to the engine, meaning better combustion. It will take some maneuvering, given the limited space in the engine bay, but I think this will make for better performance and fuel efficiency in the newer models."
"Huh," Korra grunted. Her hands dropped from Asami's shoulders.
"...I'm excited about it," Asami finished. One foot on a frozen-over pond.
"I wish you were this enthusiastic about us," Korra said, "and I wish there was time in that busy schedule for me."
She fell right through the ice.
That night, Asami stopped going to work and started leaving for it. She felt the distance between the office and their house creeping in.
She decelerates, turning off the main drag, and pulls into the filling station on the outer road. She steps into the cool night, greets the pump attendant, and pays; he begins feeding her tank. The thought of food crosses her mind- she hasn't eaten all day- but she rejects the idea. Nothing would sit well. The harsh white lights of the station bear down on her. She thanks the attendant, and returns to the road.
In the morning after breakfast, they sat in the few quiet moments before the start of the day's tasks. It had been weeks since they'd been seated with one another at the kitchen table. Asami watched the side of Korra's face, waiting for her eyes. She grinned at her when she looked up.
"I have the evening off tonight," she intimated. "Can I take you out to dinner?"
"I'm going to the bar with friends," the Avatar answered, studying the wall. "...I shouldn't be out too late," she added, an afterthought.
"Oh. Have fun, then." The way she spoke, Asami knew she would not be accompanying her.
That night, and the nights after, Asami came home, hungry for attention. The house was empty- she examined the pictured walls like a stranger. She waited for Korra on the couch, idly thumbing through a book, and waited more. She remembered their trip to the Great Divide they had taken the year prior: she had stood in the mid-summer heat, burning and belittled, on the edge of an overwhelming rift.
Asami was awake when her partner stumbled through the door, reeking of overindulgence from the bar. Korra smiled at her now, babbling about her friends, messing up a punch line, cackling at her joke. Asami wrapped an arm around her and spoke to her as the Avatar passed out beside her on the couch. Inside, Asami was hollowed out, and she ached for her. "I love you," she whispered. If Korra heard, she didn't show it; she was far from her behind the veil of alcohol.
She opens the vent, bringing in fresh air. Her eyelids are heavy, and the warmth of the cabin is putting her to sleep. She is exhausted.
Earlier in the day, Asami came home with a bottle of Makapu red, a grin on her face, and a head full of rehearsed romance. She had taken the day off, and hoped to surprise her- and she did. She unlocked the front door to bedroom noises. The familiar moans and pleas were foreign to her. Cannonballs settled in her gut as she moved warily through her home.
Rounding a corner, she found Korra, sandwiched between a stranger and the rocking bed. Asami's fist closed around the neck of the bottle. She lunged and swung viciously at the intruder, missing, her weapon glancing off the strange man's shoulder. She went after him again, but Korra seized her by the arm. The Avatar let out an irritated grunt. "Cut it out, Asami!" The stranger rolled from the bed, fumbling for his clothes on the floor, holding up a hand in supplication.
Asami had a thousand things to say- to her lover, to her lover- but her words all jumbled together, choking her throat. Her face screwed in a rage she'd never felt. She hurled the wine bottle at the floor. It shattered on impact, a murder scene: shattered glass, and blood-red stains. "A-sami!" Korra shouted, but the sound was muffled. Asami swore she was asphyxiating. Her vision was dark- she could feel every blood vessel in her eyes. Her body shook with adrenaline, a dry leaf in a gust. She had to go. She had to get out, or she was going to burst into flames. She stormed from the house. Out the door. Across the yard. Down the driveway. She leapt into her Satomobile and pealed out.
She had driven all day. Still driving.
She watches the oncoming traffic spill over the crest of a hill- an incandescent light spirit, a centipede, body segments joining and splitting as momentum closes the distance between them. When they were dating, Korra still lived on Air Temple Island. Asami would see her back; she drove her to the bay and took her by boat to the island's shore. By the time she broke from the docks, she was single again. She remembers the route.
"Another all-nighter? You've got to be kidding me! You might as well live in the office, as seldom as I see you!"
"We can go out some other time, Korra. Right now, I've got to take care-"
"'I've got to take care of some important things,' I know, I've heard it. Aren't I important?"
"This again? Don't be so self-centered!"
"Self-centered?! All I'm asking for is time with you!"
"And why would I want to spend time with you when all you do is complain?"
"Look- we've barely seen each other in a month! Don't I matter?"
"You know you do. And you know you're not the only thing I have to worry about- I've got an entire company to manage!"
"Spirits, don't start! I know you're proud of being CEO-!"
"And you're the Avatar! But you just might have to get used to not being the center of the universe, for once. I can't always drop everything I'm doing to cater to your whims!"
"It's not a whim!" Korra fumed, hands balling into fists. "I don't... Listen- I need you! I need you there; you're everything to me. I didn't think it was unreasonable to be the same to you!"
Asami opened her mouth to counter, but she couldn't find words.
Korra's eyes glistened with frustration, hurt, and, for a moment, vulnerability. "Forget this," she snarled. "If you want to be alone, fine- be alone!" The Avatar stormed out.
"Korra!" Asami called after her. "Come back-" The door slammed so hard that the whole house shook. "-Korra!"
A sick feeling settled in her gut. It wasn't the first time they had fought. Korra liked to fight. Korra was aggressive; Korra was reckless, and loud; Korra enjoyed being the center of attention. Korra was her antipode; Asami had spent the better part of her life cultivating the opposite traits. The Avatar wanted to bend her- and Asami felt it, felt Korra's personality press in, big as a thousand lifetimes. She felt Korra slip into her, work into her very disposition, and draw herself out. So when Korra pushed, she pushed back. When Korra shouted, she shouted. She wasn't herself- she was restless, volatile, chemical.
Asami wondered, not for the first time, if it was wise to be with someone so different.
She readies her turn signal for the upcoming exit, and slows to a stop on the shoulder. Kills the headlights, yanks the keys, steps outside. Motorists come and go on the freeway. The lights pass and retreat into the blackness, twinkling out like dying stars. Leaning against the door, she sucks in an exhaust-laced breath. Her thoughts trickle out, oil into a drain pan. She is lifted, and empty. In every direction, for miles, the countryside is barren.
The sun had risen by the time she had finished her work. The doorman wished her a good weekend as she left the office. She made her way home against the morning commute. Her back stiff as a board, too tired to clean up, she shook off her coat and shoes, and crawled into bed. Korra stirred beside her, turning over to drape an arm around her. Eyes still closed, she dotted Asami's shoulder with little, dry kisses. "I missed you," she muttered, huskily, into Asami's back.
"Shh, Korra," she soothed, "go back to sleep." Korra nestled closer to her, drifting into unconsciousness.
Asami was exhausted, but sleep would not find her. Her chest was tight, and the morning light coming in through the windows annoyed her. She'd brought her work home with her again; obligations and responsibilities roiled like storm clouds in her head.
And Korra's breast rose and fell gently, methodically, behind her. Each breath in brought them close. Asami reflected on the months since they had decided to live together. Korra had been there; even on the nights she had stayed in the office, Korra had been there- there to kiss the stress from her temples, there to talk to when she felt deserted, there to hold onto when the feeling of drowning started to sink in.
She'd often weighed work against her relationships- she was not a true multitasker. She only felt collected when she was wholly invested: time, mind and labor. She loved her work. She loved a lasting result and the clean product. One thing she could not understand was the transience of people. Failed returns. Irredeemable investments. Being left empty-handed. Her business skills had never saved her in a relationship.
She remembers an old homily from the house of prayer she deserted when her mother was buried.
"Love," the priest said, "is tending the fire that burnt you. Love is welcoming the rain in the drought season and the flood season. Love is tilling the earth when last year yielded no harvest. Love is being battered in a gale, and being trapped in doldrums, and raising your sail in spite of the wind."
She finds herself very deeply in love.
She begins the first draft of a plan in her head. She pictures the city of Omashu-she'd learned about its construction in an architecture class in business school. The ancient city was a triumph of human ingenuity, a megalith of perfect stones, painstakingly hewn; even today, the structures are so tightly pieced together that it is impossible to slip a piece of paper in the conjuncture of the blocks. The earthquakes of the region only shook the foundations closer together.
She fingers the keys. Back in the driver's seat, she adjusts the rear-view mirror. The key in the ignition spurs the eager engine. She starts back the way she came, picking up speed, spent and serene. In front of her, the sky lightens with the grey of early morning.