Ming Hua was getting better every day, slowly returning to her old self – eating tiny portions, replying sarcastically to anything he says and perching on rocks. She still spent most of her time sleeping, as it "speeds up the healing process", but he knew she was just exhausted. To him, it was boring in a near prison-cell level, but at least she was there. The worst part of his incarceration was his solitude, and luckily for him, he'll never have to deal with it again.
He already got the food, travel clothes and money they needed for their long, long journey. He hated compromising, but Ming Hua had a point. Starting over elsewhere was their only choice. Even when he tried to think about breaking Zaheer out, he got stuck at step 1: where the hell is he?
If he wanted to keep her by his side – and he did – he had to give up his heroic intentions. But at least he got to decide their destination, the place where they could watch their only achievement come to life. Knocking down that wall was his childhood dream. He finally got to destroy the barrier that made rich people think they're so much better than everyone else. No one could even get past the walls without a passport. They were so strict for their own safety, while criminals ruled the streets of the lower ring undisturbed. He couldn't wait to see what his old hometown would be like after its transformation.
He watched her sleep for a while since he had nothing better to do. She seemed bitter even then, with a deep crease between her brows. He wondered why she bothers sleeping so much if all she gets is nightmares and frowning.
She opened her eyes, and he quickly looked away.
"Would you like a signed portrait? It'll last longer," she smirked.
"Good morning to you, too. I didn't want to wake you, but I got everything ready for tomorrow. Are you sure you're up for this ride?" What a brilliant distraction.
"If you managed to stay on a ship for thirteen years, it's probably not that hard," she shrugged.
"I also manage to do fifty push-ups. Good luck with that," he smiled in amusement.
He used to lay aimlessly in his cage and wonder why he never said anything to her. It didn't take a strategic genius to know there were huge consequences for a drastic move like that. He chickened out right before they tried to capture the Avatar thirteen years ago, thinking it's too distracting. Then he couldn't tell her at all, with them being in two different parts of the world with no chance to escape. He got another chance thanks to Zaheer, which went to waste in the midst of their new operation. This time he nearly lost her forever. What the hell was he doing? How long could he possibly drag this out? Why did he always regret keeping his mouth shut, but never spoke when he had the chance?
He was never one to talk about his feelings. It seemed pointless, stupid and childish. Ming Hua concealed hers so well, he doubted she hardly had any feelings at all, until that fateful day in the truck. Who would have thought that some dorky earthbender knew her better than he did?
The two of them must have exchanged hundreds of stares over the years. It always helped to make everything clearer, like they suddenly read each other's minds. Sometimes she'd squint, frown, or gesture, but never, not once, has she looked away. She avoided his eyes for the rest of the trip, and that's how he knew. But he still did nothing.
It was their last night before they go out into the world, surrounded by people they didn't intend to fight. Soon they won't be alone anymore, and he'd lose yet another shot.
"I know," he murmured.
"Know what? How to lace your own shoes?" She raised an eyebrow.
"I know. And I am, too," he avoided her eyes. Why must it be so damn difficult?
She looked at him for a moment, perplexed, and then he felt her water on the back of his neck, pulling him forward. Before he knew it, she was already there, closer than ever, with her lips on his.
The water was nearly ice-cold, soaking through his shirt, but her skin was warm. He missed human contact. Even after his escape, an occasional handshake just wasn't enough. His hand glided down her hip, the other digging into her hair. He could get used to that quite easily. It was a lot better than just staring at her from a safe distance, and he knew he was the world's greatest idiot for wasting all this time until now. All he could do was to make up for it, he thought as she climbed into his lap.
"Don't expect me to get all mushy from now on," she clarified as they lied there, breathless.
"Too bad. I was looking forward to hear your love poems."
But she still spent what's left of that night nestled against him.