Chapter five got a bit longer than I expected, so I split it into two parts.

I'm honestly not very satisfied with this, but I figured I owed you guys. It's been way too long.

"So. . . are you doing okay?"

The awkward question comes from none other than Avatar Korra, who asks this of Kuvira in a way that's meant to be sympathetic. From what she understands about Korra, Kuvira can discern her concern to be genuine, but knows it doesn't extend past decency; they aren't friends.

Kuvira nods a silent affirmative even though she doesn't care for the question, or feel okay at all.

Last night was the first night in a long while that she had slept for longer than two hours uninterrupted. There were no nightmares. There were no poorly executed spy-visits in the middle of the night. But Baatar was gone when she opened her eyes again, had stayed gone throughout the entire process of the team travelling the final stretch into Gaoling, and Kuvira has yet to see him again since last night.

So no, she is not okay.

Across from her, Korra furrows her eyebrows while trying not to stare too hard at the former leader. She knows confronting Guan and stopping his election will require all of their efforts, but Kuvira has been strangely out of sorts the entire ride and the Avatar isn't so sure if Kuvira can handle this as well as she'd claimed.

Although she senses the Avatar's unease, Kuvira continues to stare at the world outside the window wordlessly. Korra shifts a bit uncomfortably at the dead quiet, at the dead look in Kuvira's eye. It's disturbing given what feels like just moments ago the former Great Uniter had once had steel in her gaze, strong and brilliant and unyielding- the very image and definition of insurmountable- while pointing a giant laser at the Avatar's face, resolved to destroy the world if that was what it took to accomplish her goal.

"Avatar,"

In the quiet, Korra is surprised to hear Kuvira speak. She twitches, watching warily as Kuvira blinks back some of the detachment in her eyes to look at her. Kuvira's stare is cold and despondent- it's unlike anything Korra has ever seen from her- and her voice is flavored with an odd, sardonic tinge.

(maybe because she's wondering why she's going to torture herself this way)

"I've heard that your body is the chosen vessel of the Yang spirit Raava," she says lowly, continuing despite the voice telling her to stop, "and that all Avatars are simply reincarnates of this deity. . . Is this true?"

Korra frowns. "Yes, that's. . true. . ." Rather than show satisfaction, Kuvira merely grows silent again, looking thoughtful. Her eyes find something very far away to look at, something invisible but impossibly important. Korra only gets more anxious as a minute ticks by, then two, and Kuvira remains withdrawn. "Kuvira, where is this coming from?" she asks, almost pleading. "Where are you going with this?"

Kuvira's eyes train themselves on the Avatar with sudden severity.

"Can you bring back the dead?"

Korra is exasperated. ". . . What?"

Kuvira only shakes her head numbly, like even she can't believe what she's said. Stupid. Her eyes stare beyond the metal floor. "Nevermind,"

Korra reaches out. "Wait, Kuvira-"

"I said nevermind."

More quiet. More tense, uneasy solitude. Stretching on for ages, consuming everything. It lasts too long for Korra's liking. She twiddles her thumbs- literally- so that she has a way to expend the anxiety that eats away at her. She's worried about Kuvira, genuinely. And after minutes of inner turmoil, Korra finally decides to just ask the question; she couldn't forgive herself if she ignored an ally in their time of need.

She takes a calming breath. "What's wrong?"

The immediate response from the former commander is to slam her right fist on the armrest of her chair in frustration, shaking the entire metal bed of the airship with her rage. "Just leave it alone!" Kuvira snaps. Now look what you've done.

Korra springs from her seat then, the impact of Kuvira's fist jolting her into an alert state. "Whoa!" she exclaims, "I'm just trying to look out for you! But whatever the hell is wrong, if you don't relax, I'll be forced to sanction you."

Of course, Kuvira takes this with a bit of salt. She's feeling bitter about so many things right now, remembering so many mistakes right now, that she can't be bothered to take it any better. She was being stupid. She'd forgotten control, that there's no tolerance for her actions. There's no set number of strikes. She's a criminal, only dragged from the depths of her cage because she's useful. No one else cares- not really- not anymore- not about her. No one but Baatar.

And he's gone.

Where would she be right now if she hadn't failed? Not sitting in an airship with her enemies, supposedly reformed, off to subdue one of her most loyal soldiers with the ghost of her love haunting her. Not sitting in a glaring match with the second or third most annoying person she's ever met, making a fool of herself. Not alone.

Kuvira is able to take in even breaths with a few moments of silence, making an effort to collect her bearings all over again. She swallows the lump in her throat and quells the rage still burning in her chest, eventually, exhaling the fire from her system. She wills the tension in her body to leave her, but it works only as good as it can.

As her expression settles into a scowl, her eyes closing, she brings a hand to her face, not bothering to glower at Korra any longer. Her skin is hot. The frown on her face is tired, and, to be honest, so is everything. Kuvira is exhausted. She can hardly think straight right now or picture anything other than what she must look like- a wreck, no doubt. Some kind of drunk hungover in the middle of the day. She's lost her mind just about, coming apart at the seams despite the rest she's gotten recently and exploding in front of the Avatar all because she still can't accept that her future is ruined and Baatar is gone.

How pathetic.

Korra, thankfully, is still. She doesn't say anything else, probably out of a loss for how to deal with the sudden melancholy. Even though Kuvira's head is angled down, she doesn't miss how the Avatar's features fall into something pensive, or how she's standing with hesitation in her muscles, watching.

Kuvira begins flexing her open hand to calm herself all the way down, doing familiar manipulations: curling her fingers, opening them, curving her palm, twisting her wrist, simultaneously some of them and independently others. There's no meteorite for her to shape, and not enough chi in her to do it this long anyway, but the familiar movements bring her some focus. She lets her gaze hover on the space above her hand, where the meteorite should be, then directs her glare at her fingers. Korra watches her like a hawkmonkey all the while, unable to determine Kuvira's thoughts.

"Kuvira," the Avatar starts again once it's clear that Kuvira intends to ignore her. Korra lowers herself in front of Kuvira's seat, redirecting the prisoner's attention. She looks concerned. There is a mild caution in her eyes too, as if she's approaching an untamed animal. She settles a gentle hand atop Kuvira's tight fist, still lodged into the metal armrest from her outburst, and Kuvira subtly flinches back from the touch. "When was the last time you slept?"

The last time. . . she slept?

Kuvira can't really say. Sometimes she'll close her eyes and feel like she's asleep, but she's really just so steeped in darkness when the lights go out that there's nothing to see and nothing to feel. Other times she'll daydream and think she's sleeping, or she'll actually fall asleep but get instantly woken up by a nightmare. It's rare that Kuvira actually sleeps. The three or four hours she'd gotten last night hardly counted; compared to everything she'd lost, that gain still put her in the negative. The only reason she's alive right now in spite of this is because she's determined not to just wither away into nothing. And the only reason she's not gone insane is because she's writing the book to keep her focus.

Kuvira doesn't have the energy or the care to answer the Avatar; she just stares with furrowed eyebrows and bags under her eyes at the crown of Korra's head, cursing herself. She really must look terrible for Korra to ask such a question. Her other hand curls into a fist atop the other armrest- she hates everything.

When she realizes that Kuvira isn't going to talk, Korra sighs and backs away from the other woman. Her hand returns to her side, but the pitying concern doesn't go away.

"I don't think you should face Guan like this," she voices, "You need to get some sleep."

Kuvira's response takes a moment. "I can't."

Korra crosses her arms over her chest. "Can't or won't?"

"I can't."

"Why not?"

Kuvira's tongue falters on the reason, her mind a damning jumble of Baatar, Suyin, dead, dissenters, prison camps, red skies, bloody rivers. She wants to tell Korra about none of it, and even if she did want to, none of it would want to leave her head for any reason. Not as words, not as tears, not even as anger and shouting, as made evident already.

She's thoroughly resigned, and in no condition to speak of anything keeping her up at night.

The Avatar watches her with skeptical eyes that just make Kuvira swell with anger again. The woman bites her tongue this time, though, and focuses her energy towards fixing the dent in the armrest of her chair, her own gaze fixated on something in the other direction, far away from the Avatar. Korra raises an eyebrow at this.

"Kuvira," she says, again.

Kuvira continues to meticulously smooth out the plane of the armrest. Her eyes stray tersely from the task to glance Korra's way.

"If you don't tell me what's bothering you, I'm going to take you back to Feicuí."

"I-"

"Korra!" Suddenly, Asami comes charging into the car, her hair a bit off it's regular perfect and her limestone eyes filled with relief. "I looked everywhere for you, I was starting to get worried. What the hell happened?"

"Huh?"

"That loud bang that shook half the airship? Do you know what caused it?"

Korra tries her hardest not to give Kuvira away, she really does, but her delayed response and shifted gaze says it all for her significant other. Asami's glare as she connects the dots could melt through platinum.

"Of course," she spits.

"Asami-"

"No! I knew this was a bad idea! This woman has come too close to killing us too many times! It's not worth the risk, Korra. We need to take her back to Feicuí."

Hearing the words aloud, spat into the air like a bitter taste, makes Kuvira feel like lead. She says nothing in her own defense, only listens to the two decide her fate.

"Trust me, I understand how you feel," Korra assures, "And perhaps two minutes ago, I'd have agreed with you and turned this ship around. But I don't think simply sending Kuvira back to prison is a proper conclusion to this whole affair."

Asami lifts her hands at her sides. "What do you mean? What else is there to do with her?"

Korra glances at Kuvira from the corner of her eye. "She's. . . I need to make sure she's doing okay."

"It's not your job to take care of her, Korra-"

"I know," Korra insists, "But at the very least, it's my responsibility to make sure she doesn't become a vengeful psychopath who breaks out of prison to wreak havok on the world. You saw how that went."

At that, Kuvira almost scoffs, but then she considers; could she really become a psychopath bent on revenge?

Asami scowls in Kuvira's direction, but doesn't look at her, and Kuvira can tell she's still being ignored. "What's wrong?"

It's strange being talked about as if you're not present when you are. And for this long? Kuvira has mixed feelings about it, though she's not confused; she's certain she doesn't like it, just not how much or in what way. Not that it really matters. . . for all their talk of how she's doing, they'll continue the behavior regardless of how she feels. Not that Sato really cares. Not that I can blame her for that.

Korra looks a bit conflicted. "It's. . . not exactly my place to say. I don't even really know yet, but I'm going to try and find out."

"Is that wise?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, if you're saying what I think you're saying," this time Asami does look at Kuvira, her arms crossed over her chest with an expression that betrays ever more of her contempt, "it could be dangerous."

"Come on, Asami." Korra appeals, taking a step toward her. "Do you trust me?"

"That's the thing, Korra. I do trust you. But I don't think I can trust her."

All is silent as Asami's statement lingers heavily in the air. Korra can feel something simmering between Asami and Kuvira below it, something spiteful and angry. Korra looks into her lover's eyes and can see she's glaring at Kuvira head-on now.

Korra pivots to suddenly look Kuvira in the eyes too. All the attention is a bit much, but Kuvira is used to that sort of thing. She meets the Avatar's gaze curiously, though it doesn't show on her face. Instead, she projects stoic indifference.

Korra tilts her head forward. "I trust her," she says. Then she turns back to Asami. "I trust Kuvira, not the Great Uniter. I trust that she only wants the best for her nation."

"And how do you know they're not one and the same?" Asami challenges, her eyes narrowing, still trained on Kuvira.

"They're not. The Great Uniter wouldn't have ever surrendered."

Her voice is steel, firm, believing.

Kuvira wonders how Korra is so confident.

Later that same evening, Kuvira is sitting with Korra in an isolated office aboard the ship where they continue their conversation from earlier. The mahogany desk at the head of the room has been shoved aside, across the room, to make some space around the rather stiff leather chair Kuvira's been delegated to. The Avatar is stationed at her side on a mobile stool with her hands poised above the other woman's head, eyes closed as she summons her energy. Kuvira's seat is reclined, a luxury she had been afforded in better years but never appreciated, and only dislikes more, now. She feels vulnerable, especially with the Avatar hanging over her like this, and she hates that all she can do at this moment is hate feeling vulnerable.

"I need you to relax," Korra says to her after some time, her blue eyes partially opening without Kuvira's notice. Kuvira feels a tick in her brow at the statement and realizes all at once how strung her entire body really is. She releases a sigh through a tight jaw, and nearly growls in irritation when the action does little to alleviate her stress. She knows better than to think it'll be that simple, but these days, she finds herself more willing to wish it than to will it.

"I can't relax like this," Kuvira huffs with a small grimace, readjusting her left shoulder against the chair.

Korra levels an unimpressed look at her. "I'm sure you've been in worse places."

Kuvira doesn't bother moderating her glare.

"All I'm saying is I don't think the chair is the problem."

"What do you think the problem is?"

Korra isn't sure if she's supposed to answer that.

Both women surrender to the silence following the question. Kuvira releases another sigh, this one greater, and attempts to sink into the leather with comforting thoughts swimming around in her head. She wants to imagine she's home, but she doesn't have a home anymore. So she tells herself to imagine herself wherever Baatar might be, to imagine them alone.

Korra's voice gently breaks through the haze surrounding her thoughts. "You're making a good start. Now breathe deeply, to a count of four,"

Kuvira does as instructed. A soft, cool touch settles over her temples and leaks into her brain. Slowly, the tension in her shoulders dissipates. Korra's voice is reluctantly soothing background noise.

"Good. Try to unravel the problem. Find out what's holding you back. . . Why can't you sleep?"

With their confrontation on the horizon, Kuvira's condition has become imperative- or so Korra believes. The Avatar is determined to bring Kuvira to some kind of cathartic resolution so that she can do a good job of persuading Guan. But Kuvira herself is no longer convinced that she means anything to Guan now, not after she'd surrendered.

Guan has always respected the Great Uniter, like most everyone else. Now that she's gone. . . there isn't a good chance he'll stop his plans for anything.

But she obviously doesn't tell the others that.

"It's just you and me here, Kuvira," Korra tries to reassure her in response to her prolonged silence, "You can talk to me. I promise whatever you say stays in this room. No one will know but us."

Despite herself, Kuvira starts to budge. The truth wants to come out. "It's. . ." she sighs frustratedly, gripping her arms to fight the insecurity, sitting back up slightly out of discomfort. Then she feels the water Korra is weaving through her head brush against something sore, something deep and beyond her comprehension, and the tension fades startlingly fast. "It's. . . nightmares."

Korra's voice is gentle and soft. Her hands continue to massage Kuvira's temples with water, coaxing the tense woman to lay down again. "Nightmares?"

"That's what I said."

"Do you mind if I ask what about?'

". . . Baatar," Kuvira divulges begrudgingly, "And the reeducation camps. Both, sometimes. And sometimes Zaofu."

She doesn't mention how very real the ones of Baatar had gotten, how real all the nightmares felt. She doesn't think Korra would really understand.

(she'll never know how wrong she was about that)

"Okay," Korra says, "Go on."

". . . I've been trying to avoid thinking about them. That's why I politicked for this journey. To get them. . . off my mind."

"Avoiding the issue won't make it disappear."

"I know that."

"So what do you intend to do about it?"

Kuvira's voice is controlled, but her anger is still apparent. "Aren't you supposed to help me figure that out?"

"I want to help you, but part of that is letting you help yourself. And this sort of thing isn't resolved in a day-"

"Then why are we even doing this?"

"You need-"

"You want me to be ready for Guan. We'll be to Goaling in hours. If I can't be ready by then-"

"You can still be better. And I think that's worth it."

"No," Kuvira shakes her head, pushing herself up by her elbows. "I don't even need this."

Korra's hands slow. "You definitely do."

"No, I need to get out of here."

The words just spill out of her mouth.

"I'm not sure that's possible."

"You don't think I know that?"

Despite what the universe seems to think, she doesn't need to be reminded.

"Kuvira, you need to relax a little," Korra cautions as she takes a gentle hold of Kuvira's head, "this procedure is sensitive-"

"Please, stop acting as if you care." Kuvira snaps. She finally rises from the chair to stand, breaking away from Korra's hands completely, and causes the healing water to fall to the floor. A headache immediately develops, but Kuvira pushes through it. "I don't even need this-"

Korra's temper finally flares. "Kuvira, I do care about this-!"

Kuvira turns on Korra so fast her head starts to swim from the headache and the swirling thoughts.

"Only because I'm useful to you," she says, with no room for argument. "If I hadn't convinced you to bring me along to Gaoling, would you have ever looked at me again? If my influence was not essential in swaying Guan, would you have bothered to make sure I was fine enough to persuade?"

Korra is silent.

Kuvira is grim. "The answer is no."

Kuvira suddenly needs distance. She walks over to the other side of the office, where they left the desk. She swallows. She runs a hand down her face, then massages her temples to try and alleviate the growing pain. It doesn't work. Instead of shouting and taking it out on the airship, Kuvira sets her jaw and grumbles.

"I lost everything the moment I fired on that warehouse," her voice thickens with emotion, "I didn't even get rid of you,"

She turns around to meet Korra's eyes one final time, her own made of wameatheted stone.

"I'm done."

She walks out the door.

Immediately, she finds the others are, of course, eavesdropping, and they try to act natural when she unexpectedly storms out of the room, even though it means nothing. They've presumably heard everything. Kuvira notes that she hadn't even noticed them the entire time, dreads to think of what that means.

None of them stop her as she leaves.

Against her better judgement, Kuvira stays up late. She might as well. There's nothing that can be done for her in time, and even if there were, there's nothing to be done about Guan.

(And she won't admit it to herself, but something is wrong with her head after storming out of the office the way she did, and she can't sleep even if she wants to.)

She hears the door to her room open, sees the light from the hall spill in, and she tenses. Suddenly, she's very aware of every miniscule vibration and sound. Kuvira rubs at her eyes with her thumb as subtly as she can, brushing away dry tears.

"Kuvira?"

It's the damned Avatar again. Kuvira is tired of hearing her say her name. Though she supposes she rathers the visitor be her than Bolin or his brother; Sato isn't even an option.

Spirits pity her if she ever had to suffer Prince Wu.

"I just came to check on you," Korra says as she steps in. Kuvira sees her shadow move and grow along the wall, and then feels her cool hand settle gently on her shoulder. "You left in the middle of a very sensitive waterbending technique. You have a headache?"

Kuvira decompresses with a sigh. She kneads the space above her temples. "It keeps getting worse."

"I thought so," Korra kneels at Kuvira's bedside, poising her calloused hands at her waist, coaxing the water in her pouch forward. Kuvira glances down at the Avatar as she prepares to help her once again and wonders how she can be so. . . forgiving. "It's how I figured you'd be awake. Katara used the same technique on me while I recovered from Zaheer's attack in the South Pole. I was scared, impatient, and angry," Korra's expression turns downcast, a bit melancholy. "I left before she could finish trying to help me. Even though she warned me not to. I couldn't sleep for days after that, I was too stubborn to go back and ask for help. It got so bad, I couldn't fucking think after a while, and I was eventually forced to see Katara again before I actually lost my mind. You shouldn't go through that."

Kuvira considers admitting that she kind of already has. Korra speaks again before she gets a chance to make up her mind.

"You should lay down. Correcting this will take a moment."

Kuvira does as recommended. She feels pain when Korra brings the water into her head again. It's. . . different, indescribable, but not completely unfamiliar. For long moments, the pain is all that's there. Then, slowly, as coherence to her thoughts returns and the tension in her jaw dissipates, the pain subsides.

Kuvira opens her eyes.

"I tried to kill you."

The statement hangs in the air a moment.

Korra's hands keep moving even though Kuvira's headache is gone. Kuvira can feel the water gliding delicately over different damage, opening something, some intangible wound she can't name, and starting to weave it closed again with better craftsmanship. Inexplicably, Kuvira feels a weight on her conscience lift.

"I tried to kill Sato," she eventually continues, voice somber and quiet and even. "I threatened Bolin. I angered the Spirits. All I've done is try to ruin you, and yet you came to help me. Where do you find the strength to be beyond everything between us?"

Korra takes her time answering the question. "To be honest, I'm still plenty mad at you. You did try to kill me and my friends, and you did actually kill other people. I'm not beyond my feelings or what you did, I've just learned to control my emotions better. Be more objective."

"I see," So in the end, she is still just a tool for the Avatar's plan. Kuvira doesn't misunderstand her position. . . she gets it. She's a criminal with limited rights, a soul meant to repent for her transgressions with many years of servitude, whether it be to the Avatar or the Kingdom or the dark. She's not going to have any friends, never again.

She just. . . was never able to kill the part of herself that likes to hope.

"And it's as I told Asami," Korra adds, sensing the bitterness growing in Kuvira, "it's my job to make sure you won't harm anyone else. You don't seem like a genuinely bad person, Kuvira, just misguided. I don't mind helping you. Especially if it means helping the world."

"You think I'll turn into a vengeful maniac." Kuvira responds flatly.

"You're already vengeful," Korra corrects her. And though Kuvira knows it's not meant as an insult, the words hurt. "Trust me, I know what it looks like. And I think there's a potential in everyone to turn crazy. You just happen to be someone with all of the right keys to that door. . . if that makes sense."

Kuvira considers those words, but she doesn't know how she feels. She sighs, and decides not to say anything.

Korra settles beside Kuvira, her elbows resting on the bed by the other woman's shoulder. She's silent for a while. Kuvira only waits.

"Kuvira, can I ask you something personal?" Korra eventually inquires.

". . . Yes."

"Are you proud of your campaign?"

Kuvira contemplates.

"I am."

There isn't a single fault in her voice. If anything, it's reinforced.

"You wouldn't do anything differently?"

Baatar immediately comes to mind.

Kuvira grimaces without knowing.

Still, despite herself, she confesses, "I would."

Korra pauses, and for a moment, Kuvira is convinced the Avatar will continue to avoid prodding too deep, asking too much. But it seems the vague answers will no longer do.

Sounding genuinely interested, Korra asks, "What would you change?"

So much, she thinks. Half of it.

Maybe it's because she's lost already, she answers the question.

"The seizure of the United Republic." Feeling like she ought to, Kuvira adds, "I paid far too high a price for it."

"Baatar."

"How things turned out, it wasn't worth never seeing him again."

A feeling tells her that even if she'd won, his life would not have been worth it.

But she's got to get over that now. No amount of regret will bring him back.

"You never know," Korra says, "Baatar Jr. is half as crazy as you. Maybe with good behavior you'll see him again?"

The questionably innocuous joke to Korra is a humorless, dark jab to Kuvira.

Kuvira doesn't comment. Korra can feel the bitterness rolling off of her in waves, and tries to turn the mood back around.

"You know, I don't think he hates you. He doesn't like you very much, but he doesn't hate you."

"Is that so?" Kuvira asks. "I can't imagine it matters very much."

"Don't you want to see him?"

"If that's even possible after all I've done, not any time soon."

"But. . . Kuvira," she says, and finally, in a roundabout way, things click. The last time Kuvira saw her ex was before she'd blown the warehouse to bits with him in it. Korra can't imagine Su wanting to talk about anything family related in the immediate aftermath of Kuvira's defeat, so she would have sent her to prison without knowledge of what had become of the other Beifongs. It's safe to assume Kuvira hasn't had any real visitors since her imprisonment, and she wasn't allowed to write. . . which means no one has talked to her about it. "Kuvira," Korra starts again, and something in the tone of her voice makes Kuvira look at her. "You do know Baatar Jr. is alive. . . right?"

Remember, Kuvira's condition thus far has been determined by the fact that she thought Baatar was dead and she didn't go through the grieving process properly, on top of having her entire, already-mental dream ruined. Now let's see how she does without Baatar's death looming over her.