i. past
When she first hears the word 'love,' she is four years old and still curious, still yearning for happiness. So she immediately puts down her wooden doll and goes to ask some kids playing nearby, what it is, this love thing you were talking about. They laugh at her, and she growls at them impatiently; as a punishment, the patron locks her in the cupboard. So she asks him, what is love, sir.
He smiles at her and says, so pleasantly, "Why, little Tigress? Considering your bad behavior, there's no use for you to know".
She never found his statement weird, though. Tried to understand it (and managed to, after a few years, and that is when she gives up), but never found odd. Just another fact, another small brick to build her cramped, stuffy world of unspoken words and stifled breaths. The sky is blue; the grass is green; this girl doesn't ever need to know what it means to love someone, or to be loved.
But she's not deaf, she has sharp ears and a flicker of curiosity burning in her chest. She's still alive, and there are opportunities to learn more about this strange concept.
One day, she hears some older kids talk amongst themselves while she's eating her plain rice with bland vegetables and trying not to wince too much.
"Y'see, I'm gonna find a prince or some emperor or some stuff like that— don't laugh, you stupid butt." A lanky goat sticks out her tongue at her snickering friend and taps the rim of her teacup. "Imma find him, and he'll fall in love with me or something."
"Yeah, Shi-shi," the goose snorts loudly and shakes her head. "To—tally. Love or something. Nice one."
"Shut up. Love, without something. Like in those tales Miss Bao told us! He'll kiss my hand, and we will marry and have a heckload of kids! Hundreds and hundreds! And then I'm gonna banish you for laughing at me!"
Tigress makes a face as she puts down her chopsticks and watches the girls go to their room. No, this isn't love, she thinks. It's just Shi Yung being stupid and misunderstanding a story she heard somewhere. So, the next time she's allowed to listen with other kids to Miss Bao's fables, she tries very hard to focus, to catch on every word and process them, so she'll finally know what love does mean.
(She thinks she understands it, then, but no, that's not true).
At the time Jade Palace replaces the orphanage as her home, she kind of slightly gets what this love mumbo-jumbo is all about, thanks to all the sagas of brave warriors and withering maidens whose history is of three-days long courtship, a life of regret, and tongue-numbing sweetness of death. It's something very precious, very fragile. More precious than all the ancient scrolls in whole Palace, more fragile than peach tree petals. She touches a small, pink flower before she frowns. She's supposed to be unbreakable, isn't she. Someone unbreakable shouldn't love. It will crush her— or she will, won't she.
(Crush, break, destroy it, like everything you dare to touch, something whispers somberly in her mind, and Tigress closes her eyes, squeezes her small fists. Surrenders).
She's seven, now, seven and no longer curious, and a little bit swooning after Shifu. She doesn't allow herself to think about it too much, to ponder on it. But, yes, she does know this isn't love, ever since she saw a goose kiss her ox husband after he gave her a bouquet of field flowers, and she couldn't bring herself to even think about... doing something like that with Master.
Maybe Tigress isn't good at emotions, and maybe she's absolutely awful at love, but she knows what she dreams about, all right. She knows she'd like to be appreciated, smiled at, praised. To hear Shifu say gingerly, my daughter. And she's so stupid, isn't she.
"You're not stupid, little girl," she hears and whips her head up from the dominoes she's been placing in a dragon-shaped pattern. Oogway stands at the doorway of her room, looks at her with his old, kind eyes. She's not even surprised, having given up long ago on understanding his apparent ability to read minds. "You just need more time. All of you need. Now, why don't you go to sleep, Tigress?". She complies.
As she curls up on the mat, he blows off the candle in her room, and on the next day she doesn't remember it, her thoughts, his promise, but—
It's all right. Really. Tigress is tough. Her palms are already harder than the peach wood. Maybe, someday, when she'll finally be the Dragon Warrior, they will be as hard as the ironwood, and so will her heart. Maybe. Probably.
(It won't).

ii. present
After Po appears, all the rules, all the discipline, and rusty lifestyles go to hell. At first, he's a weak panda who took her rightful place, and she despises him. Then, he's stronger and the golden light reflected from the Dragon Scroll falls on his face, and she despises him a little bit less. And then — then Tai Lung disappears in a puff of smoke, Po stands in the wreckage with a sheepish grin, and she bows to him, allowing herself to smile, distant feeling of how everything's changing buzzing under her skin.
"Thought you hated him," Viper whispers, a few hours later. Tigress shakes her head. She never did that, never hated anyone, not even Tai Lung, because hatred is too close to love, and if she can't love, she can't hate. It's simple, quite.
(And she doesn't want to make her friend frown, feel bad. She still remembers those first months after forming the Furious Five, remembers her small, fleeting shadow of a crush on Viper, on the girl who was everything she wasn't, but that's long gone. Now there's only respect and small flickers of a could-be friendship).
"But you envy him, don't you?" Crane lowers his voice and raises his brow, and she curses his intelligence, his keen eyes. "Shifu's attention, and the title, and—"
"Get off my back," she snaps at him. "And stop imagining things." Crane huffs and leaves, but she knows he's not angry.
And what if they're right? What if she envies him? Even so... That is going to pass, Tigress decides as she closes the door to her room and sits down in a lotus position. She's still the strongest of the Five, the most educated, the—
coldest.
She shakes her head and lets out a quiet growl, her tail swishing angrily.
But Po isn't. He's strong but kind. Powerful, but goofy. Capable, but oh so warm. There's no ice in him.
Maybe she can try, though. Being pleasant. Smiling. Maybe even laughing. Maybe.
And so, she tries. Speaks to him, nicer and nicer each day. Slowly befriends him. (Slowly thaws). It's easier than she thought it would be — does it mean she's not that tough? Does it mean hardening her body wasn't equal to hardening her core? Does it mean she should be angry about this? Does she know that?
One night, when Shifu's gone, they all gather in the mess room, not legendary masters but only ordinary people, and talk about — essentially everything. Monkey tells stupid puns, Viper gossips with Crane about new tofu shops, Mantis pours cups after cups of plum wine until they have to escort his knocked-out butt to his room, and Po laughs the loudest of them all.
At midnight, when everyone's left, and there are only two of them left, he points at her, exclaiming,
"Now it's your time to tell me everything. Come on, share your story of awesomeness."
She surprises herself by complying. (She blames the wine, even though she didn't drink any). Okay, not everything, but about her life in orphanage, adoption, training... She leaves out a lot, like the crushes or the ironwood, but still, it's enough for Po to get misty-eyed. Bits and pieces only, but it's enough. She knows she can trust him with it, because— he's like a mountain stream, vigorous and clear, not wearing any mask, even his inner demons unhidden and being just another part of him.

Yeah, maybe she should have drunk some too.
"'m sorry," he whispers finally. "Geez, no, Tigress, you— no, you just didn't have to—"
"It's all right, Po," she says gentler than ever, feeling... empty. But good empty. It's like a first breath after almost drowning. "It's me who should be s—"
"No, no, don't be," Po babbles, "I just need to know if— if you wanted to tell me that. 'Cause, if you didn't, there's a plank somewhere, you can hit me, maybe I'll forget—"
"I... think I wanted it," Tigress admits slowly. Carefully. Each word a struggle against her rules. "To... someone to listen to me. Even if the one listening was a stupid panda." She says the last words with a small but sincere smile.
"Oh, you're back to being cocky," Po huffs, then winks, his smile coming back. "Everything's cool, then. I guess?"
(And, from now on, she confides in Po. Only a little bits, but— but that's enough to build the world. One that is different. A different Tigress that is almost as sincere as Po).
A year later, Gongmen happens and—
She's had nightmares before. Those about Gongmen won't be the worst ones, but she'd rather have her heart ripped out than watch Po get shot again (and she knows she will, and it's absolute hell). She feels like dying the first time when he's close closer— too far, and he's hit, and she screams in vain. She never did anything in vain before, and now it feels like there's no sense in any kind of any action.
The next few days, when they're imprisoned and taunted by Shen... Gods. She never cries, and she doesn't cry then, but it's a battle, a never-ending war with herself not to let out a tear, a sob, a weep — or, rather, a howl of pure anguish. So she says nothing. Absolutely nothing. But beneath the facade, it's an absolute inferno, and she curses Po for making her feel, Shen for killing him, Soothsayer for seeing the prophecy — and herself, for not saving him.
(And the pain of her strained arms, of her chest squeezed tight by heavy chains, it is nothing).
"Po would want us to remain strong, hardcore. Right... Tigress?"
Monkey looks at her with hope, and she just closes her eyes and tries not to— She doesn't even know.

She will never know.
Suddenly, Po is by her side, and they fight together. Time's measured in quick inhales, drumming pulses, and she hopes that maybe, maybe it's the end of this terrible, terrible fight.
But hope doesn't last, Tigress thinks distantly as she falls into freezing water. (How dare she feel anything). Wet coldness, burns bright and sharp like starlight; fire and water, metal and air, yin and yang, an odd harmony of some sorts, and why's Po swimming away, why she feels alone, her hand even colder than before. Why is she feeling something. Why does she reach for him.
And harmony is blooming inside Po as he destroys the ships, as he hugs her, as he looks at fireworks. She's twenty-nine, and she's alive.
She breathes in. Out. Slowly. A harmony.
Tigress didn't feel for so long. Was unable to find calm for so long. As she looks at Po, she thinks, oh, so this is harmony,
This is peace.
(This may be love).

iii. future
Turns out, getting hit point-blank with a cannonball can break bones. She didn't feel it, just fire fire fire engulfing her body, but now Tigress fights her limbs, wills them to move, to not collapse. She thinks she's winning— but then Po gently touches her back and, well, she faints from the sheer pain.

And she doesn't even have the energy to feel ashamed of that.
"You are absolutely the stupidest wise warrior I've ever met," is what she hears after waking up.
She barely has the time to think before muttering out an unamused, "I'm all right." It's dark, so dark, and for a moment there's a flash of irrational fear she'd gone blind.
"Tigress, um. I think you forgot about opening your eyes," Po says meekly. She forces her eyelids open and blinks at him until his round form comes into focus. "Hi."
"How bad is it?" she asks, already calculating. If she broke only two to three bones, she'd be able to train in about—
"Four ribs and left shoulder blade." Po crosses his arms on his chest as he sits down on the box beside her mat. She looks around, recognizing the boat they took to Gongmen, but it isn't moving. Did her stupid act of incompetence interrupt their journey? "And lotta other wounds, from — you know. By the way, you're probably wondering why we're alone — we stopped by some small town, so everyone went to buy some food."
"And you didn't go with them?" Tigress widens her eyes in a fake bewilderment, an attempt to loosen the mood. "I'm impressed, Po."
"Well, I'm not!" he bellows. She frowns, feeling an oncoming headache. "Y-You almost died!"
"So did you," she notices, her voice flat as she forces her body to stay still, to not betray any emotion.
"Okay, but I'm bouncy, right? And there's this inner peace skill now..." Po smiles fleetingly. "Awesome, ain't it?" He clears his throat before adding, much quieter, "That bullet was supposed to hit me. I'd survive, and, okay, so did you, you lethal fighting machine, but... it was possible... that you wouldn't." He exhales slowly. "Losing you... I don't want to even think about that."
Letting those words sink in, Tigress looks down, trying to untangle all those emotions — those she heard, and those she feels. And it's hard, truth be told. Terribly hard. At least her arms don't burn that much... She fiddles with the sleeve of the robe she has on, cloth way looser than her favorite (and only) vest.
"When you, um, fell down, Crane fetched Soothsayer, and she patched you up," Po explains softly. "She had to go back to the Gongmen, but she left some herbs that'll help with, um..." He trails off.
"Scarring," Tigress finishes without raising her eyes. "Don't be such a wimp, Po." He'll have his fair share of scars in few years, as she does — only that they're hidden by her fur, but there's nothing to cover up those memories of getting them, of being imperfect.
And, yes, she remembers it so clearly: the cannonball split before hitting her, one fire-hot piece sliding between her side and arm, but the impact was enough to throw her back and through the bridge, and it hurt so— She clenches her fist, lets her claws sink into flesh of palms, feels nothing, just numb, faraway sensation of pressure, but it's enough of a crutch to go back. Then she winces, feeling distant pain as straining muscles push on the wounds, the fabric of wrappings itchy and tight.
Long sleeves, that'd be enough. It's been a long time since she had to wear them, but she's better than then, much better, she is now able to work with them. She straightens and sighs quietly.
(She's tired, so terribly tired).
"I almost lost you," Po whispers, eyes downcast. "Thinking about it and knowing that..."
"Excuse me?" Tigress blinks at him, surprised. Where did that come from? She does feel legitimately confused. "Po... what are you even talking about?"
"It's stupid, but..." he stands up. Exhales. Mutters, "I think I like you, um, more than the rest of the Five— No, that's not— Yes, this is it. Kinda. But, um, maybe, in a different way? And I kind of realized that when, uh, I was at Soothsayer's, but it's probably waaay older, maybe even since we first met, or something like that, but I only realized that then, and when I saw you on that plank, all limp and... It was... Knowing that you may never hear what I'm saying right now, how much I like you, and how close it is to lo— Well, and..."
He breathes in before continuing, visibly stressed out, still avoiding her baffled gaze, "And I really don't want to keep any secrets before you, so I'm telling you that, and now you'll probably hit me or something, even though you're super wounded, and then tell me I'm stupid, what I know, and now it'll probably be extra awkward between the two of us, but I, like, hoped you'd say you, uh, like-like me too, or at least that we can stay friends, so—"
"Po," Tigress manages, "shut up."
Just... What? He — he likes her. Likes-likes her. What does it mean? Is it... love? Is it?

It is.
She understands she's loved, and it's sudden, it's an epiphany, it makes her hold her breath.
So this is love. It's not fragile, but so very simple. It's hope in Po's green eyes; it's the staccato of her heart, it's the lightness in her veins and warmth in her heart. She's not only loved. She loves, too. (It'd take a long time to say it out loud, but, for now, it's enough, the realization).
It's absolutely breathtaking. She feels like crying.
"Tigress...? Shall we... like, proceed to you punching me?" It feels like Po's words come from a great distance. "Are... you there? Hello? Please say Shen didn't possess you, that'd be super gross."
"Um," Tigress says eloquently. "I'm... still here?"
"Oh. Okay." Po closes his eyes and breathes out, "Come on, hit. Punch. Or kick. Yes, kick so that you won't hurt your arms. But don't kick in the oolalas."
"Wait," she says steadily as she rises and walks towards him, slowly, step by step.
He looks so young and vulnerable, Tigress thinks. Like a yin to my yang. But he's also funny and brash. Yang to my yin. With that, she places her hands on his chest, stands on her toes and kisses him.
At first, it feels — weird. There's no fire, no buzzing, just the warmth of his breath and soft touch of his lips. It's rather like... this calm, sunny sort of happiness, closure, peace, like when he hugged her. There's no fight in it, no victory or failure, just— being together. Quite weird, but, Tigress thinks, not bad-weird. Then there are soft but strong hands around her midsection, and she tenses as it hurts a little, but Po quickly lets them slip down to her hips, and he bobs his head to kiss her with more ease, slightly harder, and this is also not bad, hot and loving and full of hope, and as she opens her eyes, he does too, and this—
This is love. It's gentle, not in the full bloom yet, but it's right there, right in front of her. She's sure. Even more, when she feels his smile. Even more, when he whispers something unintelligible but sweet-sounding.
When they part, Po chuckles, his eyes sparkling, and Tigress joins in, feeling quite giddy.
"This... was unexpected, lemme say," Po wheezes, bringing her even closer. "But, wow! You're a cat."
"Observant of you," she notices. "What gave you that idea?"
"Dunno," he shrugs and kisses her, swiftly, but sweetly. "I'm a genius. And you need to go back to your rest."
"Hey," she protests mockingly. "It was your idea."
"Well, I thought you'd kick me. Never would expect I'd get snogged by the strongest, most beautiful and intelligent warrior in the whole China."
Tigress just shrugs, still smiling. Then, allows herself to get lost in his warm arms.
It took her so long to find solace in dispassion, in a never-ending road to perfection of stone-like existence. Now, thanks to Po, she starts to throw it away. It will be a long road, and she'll always be not very emotional, but she starts to leave suffering in quiet behind and embrace love.
And it feels amazingly okay.