When Korra Grey wakes up, she does not remember who she is.
A single candle sputters its last light against the plain concrete walls as Korra counts her breath and stares, a hand curled over her left eye. The candlelight struggles to climb the ceiling, and Korra watches through her fingers as she pays attention to the swelling of her chest with each breath, the beat of her heart against her ribs and the long, slow stream of air she lets out through her nose. There's no other sound but the quiet ticking of her clock beside her bed. Korra breathes in, holds for seven seconds, and breathes out.
The images running through her head are stark against the dim light in her room, and she blinks slowly, trying to discern dream, memory, and reality. She thinks she's looking at a ceiling on which she's plastered dozens of PPDC posters and news cut-outs from over the years, but she could be lying awake in the dead of night in either Hong Kong or in Anchorage. Maybe that ceiling is a blue-painted bedroom in Seattle, a bad paint job that her parents just can't afford to redo. Or maybe the coarse brown and grey is that of the launch room in Panama, where she'll step inside the sweeping helm of her ride, lock into the black and steel workings of a too-warm cockpit and stare out the eyes of one monster into another. Korra is torn between who and where, between the still, silent nights in the shatterdome and a twitch that makes her whole body jerk so hard she trips. She throws out her arms to catch herself—but what meets her, instead, is the horrible, tearing sharpness along her side, a scream that sounds like the screech of metal, and helplessness to move to stop it.
She gasps.
Again, Korra thinks, and closes her eyes. Was that one of her own memories, this time, or someone else's? It's getting harder and harder to tell.
She needs a full sixty seconds to slow her heart rate, breathing deeply and loudly at the ceiling before she swings her legs over the edge of the bed and stands. She's still only half-awake, blinking at the heavy door across from her bunk. The LED lights on the clock tell her it's only 4:03 in the morning. There are too many unsettled images in her head, memories she cannot place, and the only way to shake them will be to dosomething.
Korra eyes her unlaced boots, thrown unceremoniously on the cold floor of her room. Well—a walk it is, then.
She leaves the boots on the floor, even after she pulls on the same pair of black cargo pants from last night and yanks a too-large white t-shirt over her unbrushed hair. Instead she curls bare toes against the cold floor, concrete just like the walls and puddled with water trickling from cracks along the edges. She does not mind the wet.
Waking up like this is tiring, but an old habit that's helped her to memorize every edge and thrown pile of clothing in her bunker even in the barely-penetrable darkness of pre-sunrise Hong Kong. A single light is visible on this floor of the shatterdome, shining out of room with a half-cracked door about halfway down the hall off the west side wing. Korra navigates her way without a trip through the ghostly concrete halls. She guesses, even before she arrives, that she will find Asami Sato, half bent over a pile of tech and her long hair clipped to fall flawlessly away from her face as she works.
She is mostly right: Korra does see Asami in the brightly-lit room (too bright, after the darkness of the rest of the hallways—Korra blinks hard, squinting and raising a hand to cover her eyes as she enters). But Asami's hair is pulled back, tied away from her face but for a few strands of hair that hang, perilously, over her face and eyes. She looks up at the sound of Korra's footsteps.
"Can't sleep again, huh?"
"Nah. Just—" Korra stifles a yawn with her hand. "—some bad dreams."
Asami raises an eyebrow before dropping her head again, bending over the up-ended piece of equipment. "Maybe you should get that looked at," she suggests, a twitch of her lips indicating the joke, but Korra doesn't say anything. She flops instead over the table next to which Asami is working, folding her arms in front of her and resting her head against them.
"Whatever," Korra mumbles, staring half-lidded at the wall instead of the other girl. "It's not like I'll be sent off to fight a kaiju any time soon, thanks to Tenzin."
Asami places a screw between her teeth and waits to finish adjusting something before she spits it out and responds. "I wouldn't be certain…" she murmurs. Korra narrows her eyes at her friend, but she's interrupted by another jaw-cracking yawn before she can question the statement.
"Well, then wha' about you?" she asks, not bothering to cover her mouth as the yawn goes through her. "What are you doing awake?"
Asami sighs, running the heel of her hands across her cheeks. One leaves a streak of grease under her eye, like an odd choice of rouge along her cheekbones. "I have to get these repairs done on Agni Furo and the jaeger flown in with the Japan shutdown, but I'm supposed to be setting up compatibility tests at 0700 this morning, and there's no telling how long I'll be needed. My dad was supposed to be back by now—I've just been doing all the legwork ever since he started talking to those brothers from Vancouver about tech upgrades. I wish they'd get back to actually do them, but here I am."
Korra lifts her head a little. "Compatibility tests?"
"Yeah, for the Iwamoto pair from Japan," Asami says, fumbling at the pile of tools behind her back. "I don't know exactly what the deal is or why they don't have test results from Tokyo, but now that we have a new jaeger, we need to assign pilots as soon as possible."
"They're not being tested with each other? Wouldn't they already be assigned to the one that came in with them?"
"Well, we have them and a jaeger but they're not the pilots, are they?"
Korra hums in acknowledgement but doesn't respond, dropping her face back into the curve of her arms on the table in front of her.
Tenzin had told her very little about the rangers arriving from Tokyo except that they were brothers. One would have hardly been able to tell, she thinks. One brother has the build of a ranger born to carry the weight of a jaeger, but his eyes too wide and bright. He had kept up a steady stream of conversation throughout their tour of their new home, commenting with enthusiasm on everything from the bustle of the last shatterdome active in the Eastern hemisphere to Korra's collection of dog tags. The other had been all but silent. He's the opposite of his brother in many ways, taller and leaner and sharper, and he had spoken only once: to comment at Bolin's questions about her track record as a ranger, that he didn't remember hearing anything about her being responsible for taking down a kaiju any time recently. Korra grinds her teeth (she could have been, had Tenzin allowed it, and that didn't mean she didn't still have the most experience of any ranger in PPDC history) and absentmindedly brings an arm over her shoulder to rub her fingers over the rough, raised skin across her shoulder blade.
Maybe that was why they were the only blood-related rangers Korra had met never to drift together. She wouldn't want to have him in her head, either.
"So what jaeger did we get from Japan?" she finally asks.
Asami smiles, leaning back a few inches and running her cloth rag over the surface again. "An old Mark 3," she says, and Korra looks up in surprise. She hasn't seen a Mark 3 since the introduction of the next two generations of jaegers, even on the Western side of the Pacific. "They haven't been able to deploy it in years, of course," Asami adds, "but you might know this one: first rolled out in Anchorage a decade ago, a relatively little one named Naga Siren. They didn't tell you? You're the only one with experience in a jaeger this size and speed. Whoever gets to pilot this one has to fit with you."
"They didn't tell me," Korra murmurs, standing up straight from her hunched-over position over the table. "You're kidding."
"Not at all," Asami assures her. "I think even Tenzin's starting to get desperate." Anticipating an offended reaction from Korra at her implication that Tenzin would only allow her the jaeger with no other choice, she raises her hands and sits back on her heels. "I… didn't mean it how that sounded. I just think he's stressed enough even to have us scrap together jaegers we once had retired. There's only one other shatterdome besides us still running, and there's no way people are going to make it far inland and be able to build a wall before the kaiju do something big. We're barely holding on as it is already."
"I can hold on," Korra says immediately. "Tenzin knows I'm the best hope to hold the kaiju back."
"You know, even if Marshal Gyaltsen didn't exactly tell you, I'm pretty sure he and my dad have been talking about it since we got news of the transfer. And weren't you complaining that Beifong was pushing you harder than usual in combat training this week?"
"How was I supposed to know that meant anything?" Korra complains, and Asami laughs and tosses her oil-blackened rag into a bin.
"Come on," Asami says. "I'm going to wash up, and then let's get something to eat. The mess hall should be opening soon, and I can tell you what I know over breakfast."
Breakfast is a short affair, despite Asami's promise of information, as both girls nearly exhaust themselves of talk before the mess hall opens and they have access to food and drink. Korra nearly falls back asleep in her scrambled eggs, her chin slipping from the hand on which she's propped it on the table, until Asami nudges her back into alertness. Korra only grumbles her thanks for the save as she blinks herself back awake (the early morning walks, building in number, are doing nothing for her) and stares at her tray until her stomach grumbles for her attention.
Korra picks the last half of a bagel off her tray and reaches for a knife with her free hand. She stops in mid-reach, her eyes trained on the entrance to the mess hall, which grows more and more crowded as the clock ticks toward the time the shatterdome wakes and begins its day. Asami, sitting next to her, turns to see what's caught Korra's attention, too.
The Japanese ranger brothers approach the food line, one predictably wide awake and smiling and the other with his hair unbrushed and his eyes trained in a scowl at the floor. When Korra looks at him, he lifts his head, as though he can feel her eyes on his back. The look he gives her across the heads and the chatter of the room is steady and direct—until his mouth tugs down in a frown, and he puts a hand on his brother's shoulder and says something to him, turning both their backs on the girls across the hall.
Korra's mouth hangs open only for a few seconds before she crams the whole bagel, unbuttered, into her mouth and stands.
"Hey, Korra—"
Asami reaches across the table for Korra's arm, but Korra draws it back. She takes the bagel out of her mouth instead and responds through her mouthful. "I'm going to Kwoon. Coming?"
Asami shakes her head. "I'm still eating, and I have those tests at seven. You go ahead."
She needs no further urging. Suddenly brimming with an irritation she can't explain, Korra turns on her heel, angrily chewing her breakfast as she stalks from the mess. She's had about two words total with the older Iwamoto brother and seen him just as many, too, but neither time had she gotten the impression he's a particularly friendly person. At least the day before, fresh off the helicopter and likely tired and overwhelmed from the trip, Korra didn't have to mind his reticence; this morning he'd looked at her as though seeing something he didn't like, and Korra doesn't like that,either. With her record and his lack of one, it isn't as though he has any right to decide anything on her reputation alone.
With one Iwamoto on her mind, it's the younger who interrupts Korra's thoughts halfway down the hall. At the sound of her name she turns to see Bolin Iwamoto waving and running to catch up with her.
"Wow!" Bolin exclaims as he jogs the final steps to catch up with Korra. "Ranger Korra Grey! I know I met you yesterday, but I didn't really get to meet meet you. You know, with the tour, and that Gyaltsen guy looming over us looking like we're all going to be flattened at any moment. I just really wanted to say—you know, good morning."
His English is fluent but accented from lack of constant use or practice. Korra presses her knuckles against her mouth as she swallows another mouthful of bagel and laughs. "Well, good morning, Bolin." She gestures down the hall, opposite the direction of the mess hall. "I'm headed to the Kwoon Combat Room for some early morning warm up. You want to come?"
"Ooh! Yes!" His eyes are bright as he bounces on his toes. "Good thing I brought some food with me." He holds up what looks like a few pieces of toast wrapped in a napkin is his hands. "I'd try to get Mako to come, too, but he said he just wanted to—" Bolin drops his voice to what Korra assumes is meant to be a rough, husky imitation of his brother. "—be left alone to eat his breakfast in peace."
Korra laughs again, shoving her hands in her pockets as she starts walking again. Bolin's imitation fits perfectly in her snapshot impressions of his brother from the past twelve hours.
"He sounds real pleased to be here."
Bolin stays at her side, following as she walks toward the elevator at the end of the hallway, weaving through a steady trickle of people coming late to breakfast. "Nah, that's just Mako. He just doesn't like sudden changes that he wasn't anticipating." He steps to let someone hurry between them, still talking over the heads of passing people. "But he can't complain too much, right? We're here, we still have a roof over our heads, and we got to meet you. I'd say things would almost be looking up, if we weren't still waiting for giant monstrous sea creatures to try to eat us every minute of the day."
He's a morning jolt of energy—better than the coffee Tenzin made a fourteen-year-old Korra swear off for good years ago, when she'd tried to join the adults in debriefing, carrying steaming mugs of black coffee that had led her to caffeine crashes in the middle of simulation battles. Korra feels herself smiling, her mood lifting higher than it should be at 6:30 in the morning with only four hours of sleep. "Oh, I don't know. I think this place could use a shakeup. I could use the excitement, at least, though I don't think the Marshal would be quite as pleased."
The elevator doors slide open the moment Korra hits the call button on the wall. The lift rattles, and she looks over at him as they begin to rise. Bolin is finishing off his last few pieces of toast, licking butter and cinnamon from his fingertips. He's both older and younger than she would have expected him to be: younger in his easygoing temperament, so cheerful early in the morning in a location where he could be attacked by giant monsters any moment; and older in hs build. Bolin clearly has the muscle required to step into a pilot suit. He's nearly bursting with it, a nineteen-year-old who's only just discovered he can pack it on to impressive sizes, and she assumes he knows how to fight to have gotten this far. Not to mention—and more importantly—he's friendly. Much better on first impression than his brother.
"Hey," Bolin says, and Korra blinks back to attention. "You know, why haven't I heard any reports of your jockey missions lately? You used to be all over the news, 'Youngest, most experienced ranger defeats another kaiju!' and all that stuff, but since you left your station in Panama, nothing. What's it been—top secret underwater missions directly taking on the kaiju before they even come on surface? Spying missions with the deputy marshal?"
He's gesturing widely with his hands, glancing at Korra and clearly anticipating some sort of confirmation at his guesses, or at least a non-answer that would confirm them anyway. Korra feels hot. She looks at her feet instead of him. She hadn't expected him to ask—but maybe she should have, when she thinks about it.
Even Bolin's excitement doesn't prevent him from noticing the sudden drop in energy in the tiny room of the elevator that clangs its way up toward the combat practice room. But her silence lasts only a moment, and Korra leans against a wall and crosses her arms. "Ever since the UN announced the Move, willing recruits aren't exactly in abundance, and drift compatible partners aren't just signing up right into our hands any more."
Her gaze flicks over to him. He almost looks upset with Korra's answer, that it wasn't something more intriguing, and she feels one corner of her mouth pull back up.Excitement—that's what she's been missing. And Bolin certainly has plenty of the energy.
"Well, yeah, but—"
The floor jerks into stillness, and the doors slide open. Bolin backs out into the hall, still eyeing Korra with confusion. She eyes back. "What about you? I heard you and your brother aren't making the connection that Toza expected."
Bolin sighs, his shoulders drooping as he scratches the back of his head. "Nah. Mako won't even try. He just says something about how he 'doesn't think that would be a good idea' any time someone brings it up. I don't get it."
Korra twists her lips. Had Mako jockeyed before, Korra might have been able to guess at any number of things that would keep him from wanting to strap himself back into a jaeger with his mind open to a partner, but from what she knows, he'd never successfully drifted with anyone, despite passing numerous compatibility tests with his brother. His gaze across the mess hall flashes through her mind again—his even stare before he'd turned him and Bolin away.
Korra takes Bolin's arm and pulls him forward, down a half step and into the combat room. "I know a thing or two about piloting. Why don't you give me a shot?"
For all his size, Bolin looks as though he feels dwarfed as he raises his head to stare around Kwoon, a place that seems to Korra just a worn-out room where she's spent too many hours and days memorizing the stains on the concrete walls and the holes in the faded red mats beneath their feet. She can tell he's not sure where to point his open jaw as awe hits him all at once: at the number of trainees active in the room, at Kwoon Fighmaster Lin Beifong watching with her arms crossed from a corner, or at Korra herself, with the offer extended for Bolin to test how they might be compatible as partners within a jaeger. He makes a number of high-pitched, strangled sounds before he finally exclaims, "Would I ever! This is nothing like Tokyo—man! I love Hong Kong!"
Two barefoot trainees pause in their wrestling match to look up from the floor as Bolin and Korra pass them by. Korra tucks her dog tags under her shirt before stripping out of it. Already barefoot, she points first to Bolin's shoes, then to the trainees untangling themselves at the interruption. "No shoes on the mats," she says—smiling as though she knows she should have mentioned that to him six feet sooner.
Bolin drops to untie his boots, and Korra leaves him in the middle of the combat area for the wall, where she picks up two wooden staffs from the pile leaning against the wall. As she runs her thumb along the wood (newly painted, she notices—barely any scuffs in the color, a change from even the week before), she feels a hand curl around her elbow. Korra turns, meeting Lin Beifong's steely gaze.
"Take this seriously," Beifong tells her.
Korra's good mood vanishes in an instant. Her jaw clenches, lips twitching as she tries to decide on the best way to respond in the least amount of time. "Oh, I'm sorry. I just thought I'd blow off any responsibility to the world by not seriously wanting the first guy who's walked into this room in years that you haven't yet told me can't be my partner."
She tries to tug her elbow back into her possession. Beifong holds on more tightly.
"Ranger." Beifong doesn't blink when she talks, and she cuts off any protests that start to fall from Korra's open mouth. "Feel him out. If you need to dial it back, thendial it back."
Korra knows as well as Lin that her friendly meet-and-greet fight with Bolin is not just that. It's an evaluation, and it's not just for Korra to see, after a few friendly rounds, how Bolin fights so she can later adapt to his style. They don't have time to spare: Korra has to perform well with Bolin under the Fightmaster's eye the first time she lands a blow with him.
She jerks her arm out of Beifong's grip and doesn't say a word.
"All right, let's get to it!" Bolin finishes with his shoes and hops to his feet. "…Whatever 'it' is, exactly."
Korra turns away from Beifong, tossing one of the wooden staffs to Bolin over the heads of the others training in the room. Bolin nearly fumbles it in surprise, but he catches it; Korra jogs back over to stand in front of him, the other staff still in her own hand. She points to the thin white lines on their mat below, still barely visible after years of being worn by use.
"We start in the middle. I can't cross that other line behind you unless I push you past it, first—same goes for you and this one behind me. The goal is to take up as much space of the mat as possible. First to be pushed off the back of their side loses."
Bolin shrugs, dropping down into a squat in order to stretch his legs. "That sounds easy enough."
Korra rolls her shoulders and tips her head back, grinning halfway up the wall behind Bolin's shoulder without looking directly at him. "I wouldn't be so certain, new guy."
Bolin cracks his neck and motions that he's ready the moment he's straight back on his feet. Korra lets him make the first move.
Bolin is a mountain of muscle, but Korra notes with some surprise after only a few blows that he defies his own build with his movements. He doesn't rely on his bulk: he's surprisingly light on his feet, and though he's awkward with his staff (Korra ducks under an attempted blow and notes, while she strikes out at his shins, that he drops one hand from his grip when he retaliates), he's quick, and he adjusts. So he's used to hand-to-hand combat, she guesses, but by the way he holds his arms not a formal martial art like the kind Tenzin and Beifong had her training in since she was thirteen.
But despite Bolin's strength and size, despite the unexpected quickness on his toes, Korra notices one thing: that he always anticipates the same kind of quick, careful assault that he delivers. And she can do more than simply hold him back.
She lets Bolin step over the center line in the mat, taking two full steps back without looking to judge the distance to the second line behind her. Thinking he's gaining traction, Bolin hurries forward, his next blow overeager. Korra raises her arms and blocks. Bolin bears down, and she lets him push her into a squat until he pulls back to hit again.
In the brief opening, Korra surges up. She catches Bolin on the wrist with her staff, and he winces, giving her enough of a hesitation to ram her shoulder into his chest. She feels the breath whoosh from his lungs as he stumbles back across the center line, and Korra is there in one jump, pulling back for three quick strikes—and Bolin is sitting on the second line on his side of the mat, her staff hovering inches above his head.
"Point," Beifong calls. Korra looks over in her direction, briefly—she's standing closer than she was to the center of the room, arms still crossed over her chest and eyes still narrowed, but without the support of the wall. A few of the other pairs have stopped to take a break from their warm ups, standing or sitting next to Lin and watching with her. Korra Grey and the new kid: she's sure it's a show of interest.
Korra lowers her staff and holds out a hand to Bolin, who takes it with a look of gratitude and shakes out his other hand—the one that she'd hit—as soon as he's standing. "You are as good as I thought," he informs her, "and you hit hard."
She blows a stray strand of hair from eyes. "You have a few tricks you could show me, yourself," she replies, and she means it: she wants to see how Bolin fights without the staff, without the strict katas and drills and routines she practices every day.
"Back on the line, you two," Beifong orders, and Korra turns, pacing a small circle to shake herself out before she faces Bolin at the line again. As she walks, she can see the crowd in the wide archway entrance has grown a little; another Iwamoto brother slouches against it now, staring at the floor.
"Ready?" she asks Bolin. Bolin nods.
This time he's more ready for her when they meet. His stance is stronger, more solid, and he blocks this time more than he dodges. It's a good adjustment, and Korra finds herself missing a few of his blows only at the last minute. He doesn't signal his attacks before he makes them, she notices. She appreciates that.
But Bolin still doesn't land any points, even if he nearly lands one or two. Korra keeps her eyes narrow and her breathing steady, using her staff to keep a distance between them while she backs up and circles him instead of coming in close to attack. She sizes him up while Bolin finds his breath—and then she makes a split second decision.
Korra rolls, easily hitting the mat and coming in close to Bolin from below. She has his staff between her legs and wrenched out of his grasp before he knows what's happened, and then she throws both his and hers away from them, not paying any attention to where they've been sent. Still close to the ground, Korra grabs his ankles and pulls.
She almost succeeds in knocking him to the ground, but he recovers just in time. She rolls out of his way and dodges a quick bare-fisted punch. Now she can see Bolin's more natural style, but she's already thrown him off, and it's easy to turn her momentum against him and break through his close-armed defense. It takes only a few blows. Korra backs him to the edge and with one well-placed kick sends him off his side.
She smiles.
Bolin is gasping dramatically, a hand pressed over his chest as a few fellow trainees approach to pat him on the back for "holding up well while going through the ringer his first time," but his face looks anything but put-out—if a little out of breath.
"That—was—awesome!" he finally gets out, still not straightened back to his full height. Both he and Korra are grinning, but it's Bolin who lifts his shirt to wipe the sweat from his face. "You're a natural at this," he says, enthusiastic.
"Thanks," Korra responds, but the satisfied upward curve of her lips tells anyone watching that she already knows that's the case without Bolin's telling her.
"I've fought a few tough battles, myself, but you might even be more of a natural than Mako. Hey, Mako!" Bolin spots his brother and waves off the other people around him, hurrying over to the other side of the room to report on his spar with Korra Grey.
And for once, Korra feels excited after a fight, too. She's more skilled than Bolin—that much is clear—but he had kept up with her better than any last few partners she can remember. And it was fun.
Her mistake is in turning to Beifong.
Lin's face is sharp, pulled down and together into a scowl that pierces, once more, through Korra's rare good morning mood. Behind her, Korra can see the two staffs that must have been the ones she and Bolin were using: one slid against a half-knocked over pile of other staffs, the other almost against the side wall. Korra steps toward her.
"That was good," she says, already balling her fists at her side. "Lin, you know that was good."
"For him, maybe," Beifong says shortly.
Ignoring company, Korra raises her voice. "What's the problem with my winning?"
"That's not the problem, Ranger, and you know it. He's good, but it's the same problem you've had with every other partner, and his personality isn't going to match it. He's not the one for you."
Beifong turns her back on Korra, and Korra stomps her foot in frustration that Lin has learned throughout the years how to delay or ignore Korra's retorts to her unfair declarations. She hunches her back, storming through the milling PPDC staff in the room until she's close enough to take a deep breath and tap Bolin on the shoulder, calming the expression on her face before he turns back around.
"Well?" Bolin asks, eager, and Korra does her best to ignore the amber-eyed glare of his brother behind him.
"Lin's not fully sold on us just yet, but if we do this again tomorrow, I bet we can change her mind." Korra's lie is told cheerfully, but desperately. She wants to fight—she wants to stand in a jaeger cockpit where she's stood her entire life and do what she was raised to do, but without a partner who can even somewhat hold his own, she can't even consider putting on a drift suit without the cost of her own life. "Asami will have a break after lunch and she can help me show you some moves. And I'd like to learn some from you, too, so we're more prepared tomorrow morning."
"I can't believe you're even considering this!" Bolin says, laughing, and Korra curls one palm over one fist and salutes him. Bolin returns the gesture.
"I'll see you in a few hours, then. I'm going to find a more private space to practice for a bit."
It's another lie: she's determined to find Tenzin before Lin gets to him and convince him that Bolin is an option, that he should watch them. But Korra waves and dashes before Bolin can respond, leaving him to turn back to Mako and throw an arm around his brother's shoulder.
"You sure missed something great," Bolin tells Mako in Japanese, shaking his head in mock disappointment.
Mako doesn't try to remove Bolin's hold, but he doesn't return it, either, staring at the scattered staffs across the room instead. "I saw enough. Bro, she's dangerous. You don't want this."
"Are you kidding?" Bolin puts his spare hand on Mako's other shoulder, turning Mako to face him. "Of course she's dangerous! She's Korra Grey, most jaegers piloted and most kaiju dropped in PPDC history! This is what we've been training for!"
Mako meets Bolin's gaze evenly. "Not the right kind of dangerous that we're looking for, Bolin," he says, and he pushes Bolin's arms and turns away.