He is tinkering with some of his father's tools in the living room when the front door clicks open. He blinks—this is late, especially for his mother. Which reminds him, he needs to show her his latest invention. Excited, he picks up the little metal construction in his hands and scurries to the entrance hall, a grin plastered across his face.
"Mom! Mom, look at what I made for Opal! Do you think she'll—?" The words stop in his mouth. His mother is not alone. Two small hands are fisted on the side of his mother's robes, pale and trembling. A pair of guarded, jade-green eyes stare at him from behind his mother's leg, evaluating him.
He doesn't like it.
Wrinkling his nose, he looks away from the strange child and redirects his attention to his mother. "Mom, look, I finished it!" he announces proudly, holding up his invention for her approval. "Do you think Opal will like it?" he asks anxiously, bringing it back to his chest and inspecting it for the umpeenth time. "It's really easy to use, all you have to do is wind up the twisty thing on the back—like this—and then it drives around like a regular car—just like that. See? Isn't that cool, Mom? Mom, isn't that—Mom—Mom, you aren't even looking!"
His mother's attention is on the small body attached to her leg. She lays her hand on its shoulder and nudges it forward. A young girl, no older than eight, steps into view, fidgeting in place and covered in filthy rags. She is looking at the ground.
She has really big eyebrows, he notices.
"Kuvira," his mother says gently, kneeling to meet her eyes, "this is my oldest son, Baatar Jr." She places a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Why don't you go say hello?"
The girl shuffles forward, resolutely eyeing the ground. He sighs; looks like he'll have to be the initiator. As usual.
"Hello," he says formally, sticking his hand out. "I'm Baatar Jr., but you can just call me Junior." He waits. She doesn't react. "Everyone does." Nothing. He waves his arm out in front of her. Still nothing. Frustrated, he pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. Doesn't she know how to shake hands? Huffing angrily, he reaches for her hand, determined to show her what a handshake is.
That gets a reaction out of her.
She flinches so hard he's sure she must have injured something. Her arms fly up to cover her face, and she backpedals so fast she stumbles on her own feet and falls into his mother, who catches her and frowns at him.
"What?" he shrugs, defensive. His mother simply shakes her head at him, disapproval clouding her features. All he had tried to do was touch her hand. Unimpressed, he watches idly as his mother helps the girl back to her feet. She is hugging her, now, rubbing soothing circles into her back as the girl continues to tremble in her arms. He sniffs. What an attention goat-hog.
Realizing he will have none of his mother's attention tonight—yet again, he thinks bitterly—he returns to the living room to put away Opal's present and his father's tools. Stowing the box away, he turns around, only to find his mother and that girl blocking his exit. He huffs. That girl is getting in the way of everything today.
Nervously, the girl steps forward. This time, she is the one who holds her hand out, waiting for Junior to take it. Junior merely raises an eyebrow, arms folded across his chest. He'd give her a taste of her own medicine.
Color rises to the girl's cheeks, and she drops her gaze, focusing instead on her feet. "Junior!" his mother hisses at him. She jerks her head to the girl's hand, which is still outstretched. Sighing, he unfolds his arms and takes her hand in his, giving it one quick shake before quickly releasing it. Her hands are cold. He wipes his hand on pants. And grimy. He doesn't like them.
"Kuvira?" His mother is looking at her again, speaking slowly and gently as though any sudden noises will scare her off. They probably will. "It's getting late, so I'm going to get you some nice clothes to sleep in. Junior will show you where you're sleeping."
He turns around, beckoning to her over his shoulder. "Come on, we've got loads of extra rooms down this hall," he says, walking past his mother and down the hall to his left.
"Oh, no, not those rooms, Junior." His mother's voice stops him in his tracks.
Puzzled, he turns around, a fist on his hip. "Well, where is she supposed to sleep, then, if not in the guest rooms?"
"She'll be sharing your room for tonight."
"What?" he cries indignantly, scowling. "Why? Why not Opal's room? Or Huan's?"
"You know it's still risky to have Opal share a bed with anyone. And Huan's bed is too small." She sighs, rubbing a tired hand across her face. "Junior, please don't make this difficult. It's just for one night, just until I get one of the guest rooms set up for her."
"Okay," he acquiesces, heaving an enormous sigh. He glares at the girl, making no effort to hide the resentment in his eyes. She skitters back to hide behind his mother. He rolls his eyes, then shoots a quick look at his mother. She didn't notice. He breathes a sigh of relief.
"Well, come on then, my room's this way." He turns around, heading down the opposite hall without bothering to see if she will follow. A large part of him hopes she won't. The other part feels guilty for not denying it.
When he arrives at his door, a tall, wooden thing with a single paper attached to it ("DO NOT ENTER - inventing in progress"), he looks over his shoulder to find the girl mere inches from his face, wide, unblinking eyes staring straight through him. Startled, he turns around and opens the door.
His room is a mess. Papers spill across the floor and over his desk, nearly all of them covered in sketches and notes. Metal screws and tools lay scattered throughout his room, covering his floor like a minefield. Funny, he thinks to himself, hot embarrassment crawling up his neck. He swears he just cleaned this earlier today.
Behind him, his mother brings a hand to her forehead. "Junior…" she sighs. Leaving the thought unfinished, she turns and walks back the way they came. Probably to get some clothes for the new girl.
Said girl remains rooted in the doorway as he clears a path from the door to the bed. Straightening up, he takes off his glasses and puts them on the nightstand next to his bed. Already in his pajamas—he'd changed right after dinner so he wouldn't have to later—he climbs onto the blankets and throws them back, settling into the bed. Then he notices her standing in the doorway, toying with the messy braid that's slung over her shoulder. He pats the spot next to him. "Well, come on. It's way past bedtime now." The girl begins to walk toward him when footsteps echo down the hall. Both of them turn to the doorway to find Suyin blocking their view, faded green robes in her arms.
"These were my friend's daughter's, but she's outgrown them now." Kneeling, she beckons the girl toward her. Handing her the garments, she says, "She gave them to me for when my daughter Opal gets older, but they're yours now." She stands up and walks over to Junior, who has been watching the exchange with little interest. "Goodnight, sweetie," she smiles, kissing his forehead.
"Goodnight, Mom."
She heads back to the door, stopping before the girl, who is still clutching the robes to her chest. Something akin to hope lights the little girl's eyes as she looks at Suyin, but it flickers out and is replaced with disappointment when his mother's hand pats the top of her head. "Goodnight Kuvira," says his mother before walking into the hall and shutting the door behind her. The girl stares at the door dejectedly, shoulders drooping. Something about the sight makes his heart soften, just a little. He doesn't like her much, but he doesn't like people being sad more.
He gets off the bed and walks toward her. "Hey," he begins, scratching at the back of his head. The girl turns to look at him, piercing him with her sharp, jade-colored eyes.
He shivers, leaning back slightly. "Um, I can wait outside while you change," he offers. The girl says nothing. He sighs; this again. Decidedly not rolling his eyes, he reaches for the door handle. "Tell me when you're done." He shuts the door behind him.
Minutes pass. He spends them tapping his foot and scratching his ear. He even resorts to counting the lines in the wood of the door, but he only makes it to thirty-seven before he gets bored and stops. What's taking her so long? "Hey, are you done yet?" he asks, knocking on the wood. Something rustles on the other side of the wood, but he hears no response. Come to think of it, he hasn't heard her talk in all the time she's been here. How strange.
He knocks again. "Hey, uh, it's been a while. Do you need help or something? I could go get my mo—" The door swings open and he is face-to-face with the green-eyed girl, who gazes back wordlessly at him. Her hair is down now. He clears his throat. "Oh, uh, okay. You're all done then." She steps to the side and allows him to walk back into the room. She closes the door behind him.
The two children walk to the bed, the girl still keeping her distance. As he clambers onto the soft mattress, he gestures for the girl join him. She does.
"Okay," he says when they are both sitting on the bed. He draws a line on the blanket with his finger. "This is my side of the bed," he states, patting the side he is sitting on, "and that's your side. You stay on your side of the bed, and I stay on my side of the bed. And no touching, okay? I don't like people touching me when I sleep." She nods, getting under the blankets.
Satisfied, he peels back the blankets on his side and switches off the night lamp. "Well, goodnight, then." Closing his eyes, he turns his back to her, ear muffled by his pillow. He almost doesn't catch the next words.
"Goodnight, Baatar."
His eyes fly open, wide as saucers. Did she just…? She just spoke. A tiny smile tugs at his lips.
She didn't speak for his mother.
"You can call me Junior," he reminds her, a small flicker of pride warming his chest as he nuzzles into his pillow.
"Oh," comes the reply. "Okay. You...you can call me Kuvira." A pause. "Goodnight, Junior."
"Goodnight, Kuvira."
When he wakes up in the morning, the first thing he is aware of is a soft weight strewn across his chest and another resting on his shoulder. At first he isn't sure what it is, but when the black hairs tickle his nose and his feet register the smaller ones entwined in his, he remembers.
His first instinct is to throw her off—he had explicitly said no touching—but when he turns to face her, her face looks so relaxed and content, so unlike the guarded, tight expression she had worn all night last night, that he can't find it in him to move her. Besides, that little smile on her face when she clings to his shoulder is kind of cute, if he's being perfectly honest. In the way that Opal's smiles are cute, of course.
And it actually feels quite...nice, this warm body touching his. Her hot little breaths tickling his ear, her chest rising and falling in time with his. It reminds him of when he used to share a bed with Huan. He'd forgotten how lonely those first few nights were after Huan moved into his own room. Until now, he hadn't realize how much he'd missed the companionship.
Relaxing, he closes his eyes, letting his head fall against hers. He can't move as long as she's stuck to his arm like this, so he might as well go back to sleep.
Applause fills the air, bouncing off the theatre walls and echoing throughout the chamber. People climb onto their seats to rise above the din, shouting and whistling their praise. On stage, the dancers take their bows, waving and smiling widely as sweat pours rivers down their necks.
In the seventh row, Baatar Jr. nervously tugs at the collar of his suit. His heart pounds furiously in his chest, and for once in his life, he thanks the spirits he isn't a metalbender, else the metal orb in his fist would have become as mushy as his insides had an hour ago.
She is standing there, next to his mother, a proud smile lighting up her flushed face as the audience screams its praise at her. She gives them a little wave before his mother taps her shoulder and leads her and the rest of the dancers backstage.
Around him, people begin to rise from their seats, bodies of all sizes swarming around him as they make their way to the exits.
He doesn't notice them.
His eyes fix on the door through which she disappeared. He has to get backstage. Now.
Resolve hardening, he pushes his way through the sea of bodies, weaving his way between arms and handbags in his quest to the stage door. After a brief explanation to the security guard at the door ("What am I...? Oh, um, I need to—that is, my father needs to—he needs me to get this-this thing to my mother. ...What? Of course it's for my mother! Who else would it be for? ...What?! N-no, don't be ridiculous! ...It's just a delivery, that's it."), he all but bolts down the hallway, clutching the metal orb in his sweaty fist.
When he arrives backstage, stagehands are running to and fro, some straining under the weight of the props, others struggling to see around heaps of costumes. Several of the dancers mill about, congratulating each other on a job well done or complaining about a misstep they made. Though there is a noticeable lack of one dancer in particular.
His head hangs. Sighing, he turns around to leave, resigning himself to the fact that she probably already left, when—
"Oh, hey, Junior! What are you doing here?"
His head snaps up, eyes lighting up. "Min!" He grabs her hand, perhaps a little too enthusiastically, because she raises an eyebrow and looks down amusedly at the fist holding her hand. Cheeks heating up, he releases it immediately, weakly coughing to cover his embarrassment. It doesn't work. He rubs the back of his neck as she stares at him, a small smirk playing at her lips. "Hey, Min, do you happen to know where Kuvira and my mom are?" Yes, best to ask for both at the same time. Less suspicion.
"Hm? Oh, yeah, I think saw your mom in the back somewhere. And Kuvira's still in the changing rooms."
"Okay, thanks!" He is about to leave when a thought occurs to him. "Wait, where exactly in the back is my mom? Is she near the changing rooms too?"
Min rolls her dark brown eyes, the smirk on her face growing larger with each passing second. "Don't worry, Junior," she teases loftily. "We'll keep her far away from your secret girlfriend."
He huffs indignantly, cheeks red. "She's not my girlfriend! Why does everyone keep saying that?"
"Oh, I don't know," Min drawls sarcastically, flicking a hand in the air. "Maybe because you've shown up to all of our rehearsals ever since she joined two months ago? Or because you always hang back afterwards to tell her how pretty she looks or how graceful her dancing is? Or because—"
"All right, that's enough!" His face is redder than his mother's when she goes wine tasting. "It's not like that!" he insists heatedly. "Kuvira is just a good friend."
"Right," says Min, raising a smug eyebrow. "And I'm a six-foot tall purple platypus bear with pink horns and silver wings."
He growls, glaring at her from behind his thick lenses. "I didn't come here just for you to mock me."
"I know." She taps him on the nose, seriousness sweeping across her face. "You came here to go talk to Kuvira, and if you keep stalling, you're going to miss your chance."
"Wh—I'm not stalling!"
"Oh, sure you are!" nods Min. "Textbook, really. Nerdy guy like you falls for someone like her, and he says he wants nothing more than to talk to her, but when given the opportunity, he's a spineless wimp and chicken-mouses out."
"I came this far, didn't I? I'm not a chicken-mouse. And I'm not stalling!"
"You're stalling, Junior."
"No, I'm not!"
"We wouldn't still be having this conversation if you weren't."
He groans, dragging a hand down his face. "Look, can you just tell me where my mom is? I need to give her something."
"Sure you do."
"I do!"
"Whatever, Junior," chuckles Min, raising her hands in surrender. "If you really wanna know, Kuvira's back in the third room on the left down the hall when you turn right, and your mom's helping out some of the stagehands over here somewhere."
He flashes her a grateful smile, irritation fading away. "Thanks, Min."
"No problem, dork. Now go get her before your mom shows up."
Needing no further prompting, he speeds off in the direction of the changing rooms, unsure whether the pounding of his heart is from jittery nerves or anticipation. Turning the corner, he fixes his eyes on the third door on the left and is about to reach for the door handle when it suddenly yanks back, revealing a tank-topped, trousered Kuvira running her agile fingers through strands of mussed up black hair. Her jade eyes barely have time to widen before—
Smack!
"Ow," grumbles Kuvira from her spot on the floor. She props herself up with one elbow and gingerly touches her forehead, wincing as her fingers come into contact with the newly bruised skin. "Good to see you too, Baatar. I see your head has gotten no less thick over the years."
Baatar lies limply on the ground, groaning as he squeezes his eyes shut to fight off the pain. "You're one to talk," he mutters, bringing a hand to his forehead. "I think your head's only gotten thicker."
A light laugh graces the air. "Oh, come on, Baatar, it wasn't that bad." Cracking his eyes open, he sees a calloused hand outstretched before him, waiting patiently for him to get up. Gratefully, he takes her hand in his and lets her pull him to his feet.
She tenderly touches the lump growing slowly on his forehead. "So, what was so important you had to give us both concussions?" she asks, one eyebrow raised.
He shivers under her touch. "Oh, right." Fidgeting in place, Baatar adjusts his collar again before bringing his hand forward, unfurling it to reveal a round, shiny metal sphere no bigger than his palm. "I, uh, I made this for you," he says lamely, holding out his upturned palm. She cocks her head, staring puzzledly at the metal object.
"Um, thanks?" she offers, taking the metal orb in her hand as a confused smile plays at her lips. "You didn't have to get me anything."
"I wanted to," he insists. "Great first performance, by the way."
She smiles at him, green eyes glittering. "Thanks." She turns her attention back to the object in her hand, spinning it in midair. "So, what is this thing? It's not solid, I can tell that much, but—"
"Nngh!" His hands jerk toward his invention protectively. "You-you don't bend it," he cringes, taking it gently back in his own hands. "See, what you do is twist this top part, right here, and then it opens—just like that—and—"
"Oh, wow." Her entranced eyes fix on the beautiful metal lotus slowly unfurling itself in his palm, effectively stopping the words in his mouth. "That's...incredible, Baatar." She looks up at him, impressed. "You did this all by yourself?"
He nods sheepishly. "Yeah, I-I guess." He hands it back to her, one hand adjusting his collar. "So do you like it?" he asks tentatively.
"Do I like it?" she repeats, eyes lighting up. "Of course I like it! This is so cool!" A soft smile overtakes her face, fondness glazing her eyes. "But more than that, you made it for me, Baatar." She pats him on the cheek. "I'm keeping this forever."
He brings his hand to his cheek, fingers lingering on the ghost of her touch. He hopes his face isn't as red as it feels. "Um, thanks," he manages, ecstasy and calm battling for dominance across his heated face. A part of him is surprised his glasses haven't fogged up.
She flashes him another smile and moves to the door, but when her hand meets the door handle, he captures her wrist in a vice grip. Her eyes flash and she shoots him a sharp look, all softness gone from her. Gulping, he immediately retracts his hand. "S-sorry," he stammers, hand falling limply to his side. He had forgotten how much she hates being touched by surprise.
She waves her hand dismissively. "It's fine." She turns around to face him fully, leaning back against the door. "What is it?"
Staring into her earnest, forest-green eyes, he can feel the speech he rehearsed slipping down his throat to be lost forever in the acid pits of his stomach. Adolescence has been kind to her. The scrawny, trembling girl who cowered behind his mother's legs eight years ago is no more. In her place stands a muscular, confident young lady with iron in her spine and determination in her jawline. Her emerald eyes, no longer quite so guarded, shine brightly under thick brows, and her face radiates sincerity. She couldn't look more beautiful.
And he couldn't feel less competent.
"Uh, listen, Kuvira," he begins, eyes scanning the wall around her. "I was wondering if…" Faltering, he takes a deep breath and begins again. "I've been thinking about this for quite some time, and-and if you're not too busy tonight, there's this really nice tea shop that opened up next to that bookstore we used to visit as kids, and I was wondering if maybe you'd like to try some tea with me because I would really like that and I hope...IhopeyouwouldtoobecauseIreallylikeyouand—"
"Baatar."
He swallows. "Yes?" he squeaks.
Her hand comes to his shoulder. "I would love to have some tea with you," she says, gazing at him fondly.
He eyes her skeptically. Would? "But…?"
She raises an eyebrow, turning around. "But nothing. I'd love to have tea with you, so let's go." She is about to turn the door handle when she pauses, turning back around. Without warning, she leans forward and presses her lips to his cheek, unhinging his jaw. He can feel her smile again his skin. "Took you long enough," she whispers, pulling back. He can barely register her hand enveloping his, pulling him out the door, his mind too focused on analyzing what had just happened. Did she just…? She did.
He can't keep the grin off his face after that. He doesn't even notice when they return backstage or that Min is exchanging a handful of yuans with one of the stagehands. He misses the wink she sends their way and the grateful smile Kuvira gives her. All he is aware of is the warmth of her hand against his, his pulse matching hers.
And he couldn't be happier.
He wakes to the sound of her agitated breathing and the bed shifting under her writhing form. Blinking blearily, he sees her twisting in the sheets, limbs askew and face twitching in distress. Her eyes are closed.
"Kuvira," he whispers, shaking her shoulder gently. "Kuvira, wake up. You're just dreaming."
In her sleep, she recoils from his touch, eyelids fluttering. She mumbles something under her breath before giving him a surprisingly powerful kick to the shin. He grimaces, clenching his jaw. His fiancé is rather high-maintenance in her sleep.
But the pain did rid him of his grogginess. Fully alert now, he sits up and catches her flailing arm in his hand, holding it tightly by the wrist. "Kuvira, it's okay, you're safe now. It's only a dream." He repeats this to her softly, thumbing her palm as she thrashes wildly in her sleep. Eventually, her eyes snap open, and she stares at him unseeingly, almost as though a dark spirit is possessing her. Then she blinks, recognition flooding her gaze.
"It was just a dream," he says softly, taking her clammy hand in both of his. "Do you want to talk about it?"
In the moonlight, her eyes glisten with some raw emotion. Residual fear drips down her forehead, coating her face in a light sheen of sweat as she struggles to get her breathing under control. Face contorted in barely repressed emotion, her lips tremble, and for a moment, he almost thinks she will succumb to tears, but as quickly as it comes, the moment passes, and the Great Uniter is back, her face an impeccable mask of calm. "It was nothing, Baatar. Go back to sleep." To emphasize her point, she yawns widely and pretends to rub fatigue from her eyes, but he knows better. It's a trick he always used to pull to hide his tears from his mother.
The thought of her sends ice down his spine.
Next to him, she rolls onto her side, back facing him. He lies back down and faces her, slinging an arm across her waist and pulling her closer. "It was hardly nothing," he murmurs into her ear. "You know I'm always willing to listen."
She hums in acknowledgement but refuses to elaborate. "There's nothing to talk about, Baatar," she says dismissively, snuggling closer. "It's enough that you're here tonight."
Her choice of words makes him pause in thought, and suddenly, a light goes off in his head. This is their first night together since…"Was it about Mother?" he asks quietly.
Though she doesn't answer, the sudden rigidity of her frame under his arm speaks volumes. "It doesn't matter what it was about, Baatar. It was just a simple nightmare." But her voice is tighter, now, more controlled. He's struck a chord.
"I never thought she would actually do it," he admits. "I mean, I know we anticipated it, but I never thought…" He trails off. It pains him to think of his mother, that the woman who raised him, who kissed his bloody knees and read him bedtime stories, would be so willing to kill the love of his life on the first night of a truce. He swallows. "I just can't believe it."
Kuvira snorts. "I can." The bitter edge in her voice is sharp enough to cut platinum. He winces. Sensing his distress, she pulls him closer, tugging his arm even farther and wrapping her arms around it in apology. "I'm sorry; that was a bit tactless of me."
He just sighs, breathing in the scent of her hair. "It's okay. It's just...hard to see her that way." He buries his head in the crook of her neck, breathing in her scent. "And she brought Wing and Wei too…" His voice wavers at the end, and he has to stop. His own brothers…
She nuzzles closer and hugs his arm tighter. "I know," she murmurs. "I didn't want to believe it, either, believe me." She shudders in his arms. "I've never wanted to be more wrong than I did that night."
They rest like that for a while, in content silence. He can't remember when they got so comfortable with each other's touch. Even a year ago, she never would have let him hold her like this, so close to his chest. He wonders when it changed.
Eventually, they both drift off into sleep again, resting peacefully in each other's arms, but barely an hour passes before an elbow to the ribs shocks him awake.
She's writhing again, even worse than the last time, straining to throw off his arms. Instinctively, he holds her tighter, unsure as to whether it will help or hurt her in dreamland but too worried about any potential bending to care. He combs his fingers through her hair, whispering words of comfort in hopes that she will pull herself out of her nightmare soon. When he feels her struggles cease, he wastes no time in turning her over to face him.
Dark, disheveled hair conceals her face from view, and each breath out is punctuated with a sharp inhale. He says nothing, simply brushes her hair aside so he can see her face. What he finds freezes his breath in his throat.
Tears cling to her lashes, clumping them together, and even in the dark, the redness around her emerald eyes is apparent. Though she isn't quite looking at him, the distraught crease in her eyebrows and the wobble of her lips is enough to tell him that she is fighting a losing battle. It doesn't take long for her resolve to break completely, and before he knows it, she's curled up against him, crying her heart out into the crook of his neck.
"I didn't want to fight them, Baatar!" she sobs brokenly. "Why couldn't they just surrender? Why couldn't they just join us?"
He has no answer for her, instead just squeezing her tighter. The first question has plagued him for a week, the last for three years. Maybe, if he had an answer, he would've been able to sleep easier this last week. Maybe he wouldn't be fighting his own tears as hers soak the fabric of his shirt. Watching her break down doesn't help his own resolve, and in a few minutes, his tears are dripping into her hair, and she is holding him together as much as he is her.
They are truly alone now.
"Are you sure about this, Junior? You don't owe her anything."
He takes a deep breath, steeling himself. "I need to do this, Mother." Tomorrow, they leave for Zaofu, for home, and he knows he'll never find peace if he doesn't at least say goodbye first.
"Okay," his mother concedes, bringing a hand to his shoulder. "I'll be right outside when you're done." She brings her other arm around the back of his head and embraces him. "I love you, sweetheart."
"I love you too, Mother." Extracting himself from his mother's arms, he turns and follows the guards to the elevator at the back of the narrow hallway.
The ride up is rather long. He passes the time tapping his foot and scratching his ear. He still has no idea what he'll say to her.
When they reach the top, the doors slide open and the guards lead him to a thick platinum door at the end of short hall. They pause just before the door. "We'll be right outside if you need anything, sir," they say, bowing to him. He merely nods in acknowledgement, too transfixed on the metal doors cranking open and the heart pounding in his chest.
She is sitting in a meditative pose on the floor of her cell, which is little more than a small wooden cage, hanging from the top of the spire in which they stand. Platinum chains still shackle her arms and feet, but aside from her disheveled, grimy hair, she looks much better than the first time he visited. Her cheeks aren't quite so hollow, and her skin looks a little less pallid. The shadows under her eyes are less pronounced, and though her face is still taught, it isn't on the verge of breaking like it was the last time.
Slowly, he makes his way across the platinum walkway that stops at the edge of her cage. He doesn't notice his hands come up to grip the wooden bars, but he feels the dryness in his mouth when he calls her name. "Kuvira?"
Her eyes crack open, and for a moment, she doesn't register him. Then they fly open in recognition. She comes to life, jumping to her feet and hurrying to the front of her cell. "Baatar—!"
The clink of her chains stop her two feet away from where he's standing. She looks behind her.
The chains have stretched as far as they can.
They bow their heads in sorrow. This is as close as they can be now.
After a moment, she clears her throat. "What are you doing here?" she asks, raising her head. "I didn't expect to see you until after the sentencing."
"Yeah, about that…" He grimaces, clenching his fist. "Mother's pulled some strings. I'm going back to Zaofu tomorrow to start five years of house arrest."
"Oh." If the news bothers her, she doesn't show it. "That's...good."
"No, it's not," he hisses, lifting his eyes to meet hers. "Each of us as guilty as the other, but only one of us is still sitting in a prison cell."
She chuckles, shaking her head. "I fired a weapon of mass destruction at your entire family. And the Avatar. And I leveled half of the United Republic's capital city. Somehow, I don't think I should get off with house arrest."
His brow furrows. "Have you not gotten your sentence yet?"
She looks away. "No. I, ah, I think they're still on the fence about a life sentence or death by hanging, but Korra's trying to push for a ten-year sentence. Five, if she can get it." She gives him a hollow smile that doesn't reach her eyes. "It's unlikely, though."
"Ah." He doesn't really know what to say to that. "Well, I, uh, I hope it works out."
She snorts, eyes lighting up briefly in amusement. "Yes, thank you."
They stand like that for a while, the silence between them both easy and uncomfortable at the same time. He wonders when conversation between them got so stiff. Then he remembers a blinding purple light and a confession of love crackled over a radio.
He swallows.
"So, what will you be doing in Zaofu?" she asks, changing to subject.
"Well, Father's asked me to help with the reconstruction efforts. He thinks it'll be good for me, and I think…" He falters. "I think he's going to let me work on some projects of my own."
She smiles at him, eyes warm. "Well, that's good. Congratulations."
"Thank you."
Another pause in conversation. It's definitely uncomfortable.
A guard knocks at the door. "One minute, sir."
The words send a thrill of fear down his spine. They have one minute left together. After fifteen years of friendship and love, they are down to their final minute.
But what does one say to their fian—former fiancé? How does one say goodbye to their best friend, their closest ally, their most trusted advisor?
He sighs.
"Baatar, before you go...if you wanted to know, Korra has the wedding planner."
He blinks in surprise. "Wait, what?" This was not the direction he expected their last—possibly last—conversation to take. "Why does Korra have it?"
"She found it in the wreckage of the mech. She asked if I wanted it, but, ah...too many memories."
"Wait, you brought it with you on the mech?"
"Well, I couldn't just leave it on the train! What if someone saw?"
"You had a million other things to worry about!"
"There were incriminating things in that planner, Baatar. You know very well I couldn't leave it lying around just anywhere. Besides, there was plenty of space in the mech."
He shakes his head, heart lightening at their familiar bickering. "I don't believe you," he says, a smile tugging at his lips.
She returns the smile, leaning forward to put a hand on his shoulder—
Her chains clink.
She closes her eyes.
The guard knocks on the door again. "Time's up, sir. It's time to leave."
She looks at him again, jade eyes subdued. "You'd better go. You don't want to keep your family waiting."
"I—yeah." He clears his throat. "So, this is goodbye?"
She looks away, biting her lip. "Yeah, I guess...I guess this is goodbye." The corners of her mouth twitch up briefly. "Unless Korra pulls another miracle."
"I hope so."
"Yeah, I...I do too." A pause. "You should get going, Baatar."
His hands come up to grip the thick bars of her cell. "No matter what happens, Kuvira, I'll always remember you."
"And I you, Baatar." She hesitates a moment before adding, "I love you, Baatar. In every sense of the word."
He dips his head, closing his eyes briefly. "I love you too, Kuvira." Their eyes meet one last time before he breaks the stare and releases her cage, turning and walking back the way he came. He can feel her eyes on him, watching as he passes through the platinum doorway. As the heavy doors crank shut, he turns around to catch one last glimpse of her. Jade eyes meet green, and an understanding passes between them.
This is not goodbye.
A/N Thanks for reading! I apologize in advance for any typos or grammar errors. I didn't exactly take the time to proofread…heh heh. Anyway, please do tell me how I did! I really can't get any better if no one tells me anything. And do let me know if/where I made any typos/grammar errors—I'll go back and fix them. Thanks again, and see you next time!
AS OF SUN. 5/31/15: So since I finally realized that I could just respond to guest reviews by editing the original document, I'm going around responding to all of those today. Sorry for the lateness!
To General Ripper: Thank you! I agree; Kuvira can take a lot, but no one can just walk away from an assassination attempt by their own mother figure like that. And yeah, that was probably the catalyst for when she started taking things further and really began to believe that the ends justify the means. I mean, who better to learn from than your mother figure? Alas, I have no sequels planned for this, but should inspiration hit, I would not be opposed to adding it on as another chapter. As of now, though, it's just a one-shot. Thanks though!