A/N: Post-Out of the Past. Asami and Bolin take a drive through Republic City.
Hidden meanings. To drive a satomobile. To drive someone away. To drive a suggestion home. To drive someone towards something.
And the drive to survive, to live, to love.
If nothing else, the satomobile is smooth.
He runs his hand over the side of the door and feels the low hum of the powerful engine vibrate through his palm; from the corner of his vision he glances at her, her silhouette barely visible in the darkness, the light snowfall making it even more difficult to make her. Her gloved hands never leave the wheel or stick for an instant, and she doesn't make a sound, but he can tell that she wants to speak.
"It's dangerous to be alone outside this late at night," he offers, thinking of the ever-present Equalist threat.
She chuckles quietly. "When did you start being protective?"
He frowns and looks away, uncertain of what to do or say, waiting for her to announce the reason for the midnight meeting, but minutes melt away with no secret in sight as she leads them down deserted streets, abandoned avenues, vacant roads, the normally vibrant city replaced with a ghost town. Then, at last, she turns into a small and modest neighbourhood and pulls up in front of a specific house, one that appears unlived-in for several years and bears traces of age and sag.
When he sees it, his blood turns to ice: He is suddenly transformed into a tiny six-year-old, excited for his birthday, stumbling onto his brother curled up around the welcome mat, Daddy's scarf around his neck. And the years that followed—the hunger, the cold, the pain, the brotherhood, the love—
"It's your old home, isn't it?" Her voice is soft, yet veined with an undercurrent of icy grief, grief that snaps him from his memories and returns him to a present filled with as much cold and as much pain . . . but as much brotherhood?
Slowly, he dips his head. "How did you find out?"
"I did some research." He watches her pull one of her gloves off and hold up her hand, catching snowflakes in her palm. "I wanted to buy it, fix it up for him. It could have been our anniversary present." She turns to gaze at him, her emerald eyes sharper than any he has ever seen, and he realises with a start that she is no longer wearing any make-up. Without it she doesn't look quite as beautiful, but she does seem somehow stronger, like Korra, and yet somehow more vulnerable. It's the first time she's trusted him enough to be in his presence without her usual wall of protection. "Now it doesn't seem like we'll have that after all."
"I thought this place was taken down years ago." Faintly, he remembers his parents tucking him that last night. No good-byes or words to never forget. No one knew that would be the final moment their family would ever truly together. Hesitantly, he reaches out to touch her shoulder, and she closes the snowflake hand, a droplet of water quivering and trickling down her arm. "Um, thanks, Asami. Really." He exhales, the breath frosting, and rivets his sight to the house. If he listens, he can almost hear his parents whispering. "I kind of want to go inside. Take a look around."
"But you're afraid of ghosts?"
A snowflake lands on his eyelash; he wipes his faces with his sleeve. "I guess."
"When I was still living with my father, I always wanted to go into my mother's old room." A lone lizard crow, pitch black against the swell of the moon, soars overhead, its caw the only in its entire world. "But I couldn't bring myself to open the door. I was scared of . . . of . . ."
"Of not being able to remember?" He doesn't know where the words come from, but they empty from him before he understands what he is saying.
He remembers his parents whispering.
But not what they were whispering.
She nods and rubs her arms, her breaths like poofy clouds. He has half a mind to swirl one of the clouds about his finger, try to make her laugh, but it won't help her. "He loves her, doesn't he?"
"Who?" He blinks. "You mean my brother?" Another nod, this one deeper than the last. Rapidly he back-tracks, not wanting to enter the pitched war being fought within the team itself. "I don't know. My brother's kind of like a mother, you know? He just has a need to protect everyone. Including Korra. That's all." Coughing, he taps his index fingers together. "That's my brother for you. Crazy, huh?"
"Bolin . . ."
Seeing the agony welling in her green irises, the pupils reflecting no starlight ta all, he breaks down, everything coming out in a rush. "I think he does but I don't know for sure and I don't want to get involved in this and I just hope you three figure it out because I'm tired of not being able to talk to anyone without someone asking me about this love triangle of yours and I'm sorry I'm not making you feel better but I want to be appreciated for me and not for whatever knowledge I may or may not have of Mako or you or Korra or Tahno for all I know so please stop asking because why doesn't anyone want to talk to me for me? I'm tired of playing second pipa to my brother in everything to the point where I'm useless for anything other than fuelling your little fight." When it's all out of him, he collapses back in his seat and closes his eyes, inhaling as quickly as he can, his heart painful against his sternum. After a long moment, he lifts his head and glances at her. "Sorry."
"No, no, it's okay." She gazes into her lap, and by now he's learned enough of her body language to know she's ashamed. "I didn't realise what I was doing. I'm the one who should be sorry."
"I forgive you," he says immediately, nudging her, "though there's nothing to forgive. Come on. Look at me now."
Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, she tries a half-smile, a crescent moon that reaches her eyes, shining with tears. "I'm sorry. What do you want to talk about?"
He laughs suddenly from the absurdity of it all, sitting in a satomobile in the dead of night with his brother's maybe-ex attempting to decide on a topic of conversation, and he places his hand on the side of the door again, a snowflake alighting on his nose. "Well," he starts, tapping the metal and gazing at her, one eyebrow lifted, "I like cars . . ."