Spoilers for The Aftermath. Vaguely related to Family Resemblance, but not required reading.
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The sun shines too brightly the morning after they learn the truth about Hiroshi Sato.
Korra glares at the impudent light from the moment it comes up over the bay. Tenzin's morning meditations have gotten her into the habit of waking at dawn, and even though he's canceled all her lessons for today she finds herself unable to sleep in. (It's not like she got any sleep last night anyway.)
She sits at her windowsill and scowls at the sunrise like she's trying to make it blink first. She hates the sun, irrationally, she knows; she hates that it can still rise so ordinarily when people's worlds are being turned upside down. Her mind wanders to Asami, a few rooms over, and the she wonders if her friend got any more sleep than she did.
It's without a plan that Korra starts towards Asami's room, but then, it's always like that with her.
She has the decorum to knock softly first - she wouldn't blame the girl for wanting to sleep for the next month - and quickly lets herself in when she gets no answer. She just wants to check on her friend, honest, and then she'll leave right away, but finding the room empty is not exactly a good sign. Korra has let herself become used to panic since arriving in Republic City, but the few seconds before she spots the open balcony door are scarier than the entire night she spent battling Sato's machine's.
Asami sits on the small balcony, her knees drawn up to her chest like a child, her face bare and her eyes red. She doesn't look at Korra as the Avatar steps out of her room, doesn't ask when Korra sits down next to her. For a moment, Korra fears that Asami blames her for what happened with Sato, until the pale girl lets out a sigh.
"Good morning, Korra," she manages to rasp, her mouth full of sand, and she doesn't sound angry, just tired, so tired, like she fell into an iceberg and aged a hundred years since last night.
Suddenly Korra is acutely aware of how little tragedy she has suffered in her short, sheltered life . She thinks of her home at the South Pole, of both of her parents who are alive and well and proud of their daughter, and she's ashamed of it all, sitting next to someone she envied until this week who now has nothing.
"I - uh - good morning," Korra mumbles back, because she can't say anything else. "Did you, uh, sleep well? No, oh, I mean, uh - how long have you been up?"
Asami shrugs heavily. "A few hours, I suppose."
Their silence is palpable and Korra is this close to apologizing and making a run for it when she notices what Asami is holding. Her pale, delicate hands (deceptively delicate; hands that Korra knows can drive and fix a race car; hands that can disarm an Equalist and a father) toy distractedly with a thick cigar.
"I didn't know you smoke," Korra says without thinking.
Asami looks surprised, like she'd forgotten she was holding it. She blinks her weary eyes - bare of any paint, making her look so impossibly young and so threadbare. "I don't," she says after a long moment, "but my father does. Did. Does." Her mouth screws up like she might let out a scream or a sob and Korra doesn't know what to do, but the look fades quickly.
"I was helping him quit," Asami continues, talking more to herself than to Korra, it feels. "I mean, it's a filthy habit, you know? Reminds me of shady politicians and the Triads. The smell is awful. So I bugged my father until he said he'd quit, and I was helping him, and I thought he was doing rather well…"
She stops and stares at the cigar between her fingers, her immaculate eyebrows furrowed just slightly, and then she speaks again. "I found this in one of his cars yesterday morning. I thought maybe he was smoking behind my back, so I put it in my pocket. I was going to confront him about it later, but… well, obviously other things came up.
"I suppose that wasn't the only thing he was hiding from me," Asami scoffs, her voice bitter and brittle and followed by a short, barking laugh that surprises Korra with its vitriol - it must be the ugliest sound she's ever heard from the girl.
Korra wishes she had the words, any words, to make things better for Asami. She wishes she'd had friends her own age growing up so she'd have even the smallest idea how to do this. She wishes she could speak to past Avatars just once, just to ask their advice on how to make her friend happy again.
What kind of Avatar is she if she can't help just one person?
"I hate how bright it is," Asami says suddenly.
Korra flinches in surprise but quickly agrees, thankful for the common ground and such an ordinary topic like the weather. "Oh, yeah, me too -"
"It's like - the sun is just rising like normal," Asami continues, this time in a bigger, angrier voice, staring at her hands and the cigar with obvious agitation. Something about her manner makes Korra think this really isn't for anyone's benefit but Asami's, as if she needs to get these words out before they disappear from her. "Like nothing has changed since the last time it was up. And I just - I know it's stupid, okay, of course the sun wouldn't - but I just…"
Her brows furrow again her mouth starts to quiver. Korra watches, helpless and useless, as the beginnings of tears form; a long moment passes before the pale girl waves a dainty hand under her wet eyes.
"It's like, there are so many people in Republic City," Asami says (voice deep and foreign and damp, holding back floodgates), "and they're waking up normally today, because that's all it is for them. Just a day. Just a Tuesday. And I don't - I don't understand how anything can function anymore. I mean…everything's going to change now."
"Everything's been changing," Korra tells her, quietly but clearly. She says it because it's true, because silvery half-truths and pretty white lies like Everything will be okay and Nothing can hurt you and I'm not afraid of anything won't help Asami right now. Because Asami needs the truth after being denied it for so long.
And Asami's cheeks are ruddy and her mouth is trembling again and her eyes are big and green and wet, but there's a flicker of gratitude drifting here and there across her face and she turns to look at Korra, really look at her, when she says, "I didn't know that until last night," and Korra figures that's a start.
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(be BFFs and/or girlfriends now please.)
Reviews are good for the soul.
Ja