Disclaimer: I no own. Bryke own.
Word Count: 4,002
Author's Notes: 11/13/13. The penultimate chapter. All we have left now is 5.0, the conclusion.
Musical Inspiration: "Somewhere Only We Know" by Lily Allen (Cover, originally by Keane).
Beta'd by Chey.
4.99
Inside the house was dark. Only the small nightlight in the hallway led her way to the kitchen, where Korra flicked on the soft lights above the sink. The backyard was black through the mirror of the window, and for a moment, Korra stared at her reflection and the dark smudges along her cheeks.
She opened a drawer to the right of the sink and pulled a notepad from the abyss of junk within, then tore off a single sheet of paper and dug out a pen. There was already another note left on the kitchen table: Korra, The kids and I are off to bowl! We'll be home late... Though probably not as late as you, Foxy girl! ;) Here's hoping you have a wonderful time at the bonfire, and a note to welcome you home, just in case. Love, your bowling ball of an aunt, Pema.
Korra tilted her head as she read the note, feeling a warmth spread through the wake of emptiness that had begun to curl in her stomach. Her lips quirked, then wobbled, then straightened into a line once more. Korra placed the note from Pema back on the table; she had no idea where Tenzin was.
She scribbled a quick note herself, saying that she'd had fun at the rally, and had gone to bed. (That she was excited for her race in the morning and wanted to get a good night's rest, and that she would talk to everyone in the morning.) She drew a smiley face, as an afterthought.
Then she dragged herself up the stairs, turning on a few lights as she went. It was colder on the second floor, which didn't make any sense, so Korra went into the bathroom, closed the blinds against the darkness outside, and immediately turned on the shower to its highest setting, filling the small room with blasts of steam. Her shirt was already off by the time that it occurred her to text Bolin, so she stood there amidst the spreading heat and messaged him, letting him know that she'd made it back, and she was home, and thank you. (That she'd talk to him tomorrow, and that she'd see him in the morning.) But for now, she was going to bed.
She didn't know how long she stayed in the shower for, but it was certainly longer than what she would have normally condoned, knowing firsthand of how scarce and precious a resource water truly was; she kept telling herself that she would get out—in just a few more minutes—but minutes passed and still she stayed, until her skin was raw and her mind wiped clean, and her back aching with heat. It occurred to her, that this would soon be a rare luxury—hot water, in full supply, at all hours of the day—when she returned, and she couldn't bring herself to leave it now, right this minute, however selfish that made her. (Not yet.) She thought of heat and hot water and cell phones, and all the other things she might have been taking for granted, then decided—not now. She'd leave those thoughts for another night.
As Korra opened a set of plastic drawers beside the sink and pulled out a set of comfortable clothes, a loose t-shirt and a pair of flannel pants, she heard the unmistakable sound of frenzied activity from downstairs. The kids were home, it seemed, and very, very awake. She longed to go down and see them, but knew that she would be of little help to their bright and happy moods, and so made the decision that she would hold true to her written note, and wait. The morning often did little to subdue their energy, but at least then, Korra figured, she would be less likely to rain on their parade. With this in mind, feeling warm and a little hollow, Korra dimmed the lights of her mirror and walked back into her bedroom.
To find Asami sitting on her bed.
She was still dressed in the same clothes she'd briefly seen her in while in the woods—long legs wrapped in dark jeans, a pair of sneakers, a heavy jacket—and a backpack on the floor, by her heels. Korra blinked in shock.
"Sorry," Asami rushed out, noting Korra's expression. "I hope you don't mind. Your aunt got back a little while ago with your cousins and your uncle had already said that it'd be okay for me to spend the night here and I figured—well. I figured you might want some company."
Korra felt goosebumps raise over her shoulders, and a flimsy curl of hair brush over the nape of her neck. Her eyes pricked with tears as she resisted the sudden, overwhelming urge to cry.
Asami's eyes widened, and before either of them knew it, Korra fell forward to the mattress, landing hard on her shoulder against the cushioned springs. Her hands clenched into fists over her collarbones, and her arms were pressed tight against her front, her elbows tucked neatly into her sides. Her feet hung off the side to the floor, but she was pretending, as best she could, that she barely took up any space at all.
She felt a warm hand come to rest lightly over her shoulder, and inhaled deeply, letting her eyes fall shut.
"I'll take that as a yes," Asami whispered gently, and Korra heard her try to laugh.
Her eyes fluttered open once more, but rested only on the threaded patterns of the comforter. She could see Asami's jeans—her knee, her socks—out of the corner of her vision. It felt very quiet, and very warm.
"What a mess," Korra whispered.
A light touch floated over her hair, and Korra sank deeper into the mattress as warm fingertips brushed strands away from her forehead. It felt more wonderful than she might have imagined it would. After a few hushed moments, Korra felt the mattress shift beneath her, and Asami lifted herself to stand.
"I'll be right back," Asami told her, but Korra was only half-listening.
She distantly heard the sounds of running water from the sink, but her awareness drifted in and out for some minutes, so Korra couldn't really be sure how long Asami had actually been gone. It was the flick of the lights, unexpectedly, that brought Korra's awareness back into play. She blinked in the sudden darkness and searched for Asami's shape.
Korra felt the covers pull taut beneath her and realized that Asami was at the edge of the bed, tugging them out from under her. Reluctantly, Korra rolled to the side, allowing Asami to lift them up, and then she herself half-crawled, half-rolled to the top, where she slipped underneath. It was still warm, directly beneath the spot where she'd laid above, but she had to make room for Asami, and so when she shifted farther to the opposite edge, her side of the mattress was crisp and cool and rose goosebumps over her skin. She burrowed deeper into the pillow.
When the sounds of shifting finally subsided, and both were settled, Korra found herself face-to-face with Asami, huddled beneath the thick comforter just as she. The heavy weight of the blankets should have made her feel sleepy, and the reality of their whole night should have had her reeling, but all Korra felt was warm, and alert, and a little bit numb.
"I was worried about you," Korra said quietly, across the soft waves of fabric along her pillowcase.
Asami lifted her head, just slightly, and dropped it back onto the pillow, spilling tumbles of dark hair over her shoulder. She looked like she was still deciding what to say.
"Where were you today?" Korra asked, before Asami had a chance to respond. She hadn't meant to interrupt; she just wanted to know.
Asami looked at her, very thoughtfully, and sighed. "I tried to call you, but you were already at the rally. And I figured your phone must have been off, because not even Tenzin's calls got through."
Korra's eyes narrowed. "Tenzin?" she echoed, pressing closer. "You were with Tenzin?"
Asami nodded, slowly. "For a little bit," she said quietly. "Yeah."
Korra thought she'd been alert before, but little by little, renewed awareness was creeping back in.
"Asami," she said slowly, as realization dawned. "You were trying to tell me about the investigation. You knew."
"I'm guessing Tahno told you," Asami laughed, weary and wry. Korra frowned, wondering at her solemn expression. (She ignored the sensation in her chest, the one that left her feeling like she'd been cracked open, and hollowed out. Like she'd been sucked dry, completely.)
"He told me what he knew," Korra sighed. "Which wasn't much. Apparently they weren't even very forthcoming with him—which is bullshit," she accused, feeling her voice cut with an edge, one that she could only feel at the very surface. (It cut deeper, she was sure, but she couldn't think about it, not now.) "It's his future, as they should know. And they better work damn hard to clear his name, too, because this mess wasn't his fault and they'd sure as hell better take down Yakone once and for all—and they better track down whoever the hell it was that—"
She paused.
Asami was fiddling with the fabric of the pillowcase. Asami was not the kind to fidget.
"Tahno knew about Yakone," Korra whispered, feeling the dots begin to connect. "He didn't know much, but... He knew his name."
Her captain's fingers continued to tangle with the threads, and Korra's eyelids fluttered rapidly, as images and memories and voices passed over her mind's eye like a silver screen. "It was a set up," Korra realized, voice very, very quiet. "It was a set up, after all, wasn't it? And Yakone was in on it, somehow. The Northside Brothers framed Tahno, and someone tried to help Yakone and Amon cover it all up."
Asami looked at her with heavy, heavy eyes. They were very green, even in the dark—brightness framed by the dark of her hair and the pale of her face, and the stark white of Korra's pillow, turned gray with shadows. She looks a lot older, Korra thought, then frowned. No, she decided. She looks so much younger.
With a sigh, Asami let her shoulders shrug into the mattress. She'd changed, too—a loose sweater, maybe just one size too big. "You remember when I left Thursday night's practice to go help my dad with a dinner party?" Asami asked.
Like I could forget.
"Yes," Korra nodded quickly, her own fingers curling into the sheet, as if it contained the very threads of her patience, itself.
"It never happened."
Korra frowned. "What do you mean? Did he lie about it?"
"No," Asami replied, uneasy. "He was ready for it."
"Then what happened?" Korra asked. "Who was the dinner for?"
Asami hesitated. "You know the student teacher in Biology?"
The Lieuten—?
No, Korra's brain short-circuited. No.
"It was your dad," Korra whispered, then lost her breath, desperately wishing she could snatch it out of the air, back. Asami looked as if she'd been struck. "I'm sorry," Korra whispered, immediately. It was your dad who... who—
Asami smiled, weakly; a real one, yet sad and small. "Me too," she said quietly.
"You stopped him?" Korra asked earnestly, desperate for any piece of good news. "You talked him out of it?"
Asami shrugged into the pillows, almost reluctantly. "I didn't have the chance," she admitted.
Korra paused. She blinked, then asked, "Then where did you go?"Asami was quiet for another moment, then gently pried Korra's fingers away from the fraying edge of the pillowcase—she hadn't even known they were there—and took them in her own, absently playing with them the way Korra had played with the threads. Asami's hand was a lot colder than hers. She wondered how long Asami had been outside for, and how she'd gotten there—to her house. Had she driven herself? (Had she gotten a ride?)
"My mom was the one who figured it out," Asami explained quietly, breaking Korra from her thoughts. "I knew something was up, but I couldn't decide what... and when I called her, she... Well. She's always known him best, I guess," she sighed, small, and a little shaky. Korra listened in silence, grasping Asami's fingers tight. "Once she got wind of what he was planning to do—what he was trying to do—well. She took care of it."
Korra's brows furrowed. An even more unsettling notion occurred to her. "Asami," she began warily, trying to approach her next words with a bit more delicacy. "Who... Who knows about this?"
Asami leveled her with a look, direct, with a brow quirked high. "You mean—who found out my dad was an almost-accomplice to what has now become the most atrocious scandal in our town's history of athletics?" she huffed. "Or now what's become its biggest cover-up."
Korra stared at Asami's jaded eyes and her bitter frown, and couldn't hold back. "Asami," she whispered, feeling hurt without any real right to be.
"Think about it," Asami whispered, a little more softly. "I mean, if it weren't for my mom..." Asami swallowed. "Who would have been there to drag my dad out of it? He would have gotten his hands tied. And Amon would have gotten away with it."
Korra shifted uncomfortably on the bed beside her. "You don't know that," Korra tried, quietly. "Someone would have stopped him."
"Yeah, but when?" Asami asked pointedly, as her stress began to leak through. "When it was too late? If my dad were to have actually helped cover for Amon, it... Yakone would have gotten what he wanted, and my dad would have been roped into helping Amon... Noatok would have won, and I could have been forced to—I don't know, either watch as my went down with his own corruption, or out him publicly, and... And Tahno would have lost everything, Korra."
There wasn't a whole lot Korra could say to that. Asami's words sank in, like a heavy canon ball settling over the curve of her stomach.
"I've moved in with my mom," she whispered. "Permanently."
Korra scooted closer, and took hold of Asami's hand with her other. Asami didn't look at her, but Korra felt her fingers shift under a gentle squeeze. Korra knew how much she loved her father; she didn't know much about Asami's relationship with hers, but she couldn't imagine what Asami must be feeling. She didn't want to.
"Is it far?" Korra asked, feeling a bit selfish. "Your mom's?"
"It's not exactly close," Asami sighed. "My mom never wanted me to have to give up my school, so I won't be transferring. I just might need some extra coffee in the morning."
Korra grasped her hands tighter. She couldn't explain why, but she was suddenly terrified of letting go. Asami looked up at her, surprised, as Korra's mind filled with, Asami's not the one going anywhere.
"I'd be willing to wake up a little earlier," she offered slowly, feeling her face squint with resignation and obvious displeasure, even as her eyes warmed and her smile lifted.
Asami looked at her, for a full five seconds, before she could no longer contain her laughter. "Yeah, okay," she replied, stiff and sarcastic through a smile. "Right."
Korra tried to look offended, but she didn't think it was working. "All right," she conceded. "So, like... occasionally."
Asami merely shook her head; it didn't go very far, and in fact, looked only as if she were snuggling closer into the pillow—so warm, and suddenly so, so sleepy—and Korra found herself inching a little closer. Asami's smile was content, and soon, Korra felt it, too.
"It's the thought that counts, I guess," Asami whispered.
Korra nodded, slightly, only half-paying attention. "Hmm," she added, eyes growing heavy.
It was quiet then, and peaceful, and all of the things Korra had longed for all day and hadn't quite found. There was a dull ache, resting just beneath the surface, but—like with Bolin's brightness, and Tenzin's tranquility—the assurance of Asami's presence was a warm comfort. Just enough to dull the pain. (Just enough to keep the dark, swirling clouds at bay.)
Already half-asleep, already a little dazed, something occurred to her.
"Hey, Asami?"
"Hm?" she hummed, battling a quiet yawn. It wasn't fair, Korra thought, a little irrationally: when Asami yawned, she looked graceful and petite and polite. Korra just looked like a yodeling sea lion.
"A what?" Asami demanded, alarmed.
A burst of laughter hit Korra so hard she nearly snorted into her pill—nope, never mind. She did it.
Asami looked less than placated.
"Did you just—compare me to a sea lion?"
"Oh my god, Asami, if you only knew what I so often compare you to."
"It—it better not be a fucking sea lion."
And when the heel of Asami's palm came hurdling down onto Korra's shoulder, and Korra actually felt herself shift back, she stared back at her captain, slack-jawed and shocked.
"Did you just—did you just hit me?"
"Did you just let yourself be hit?"
"Oh," Korra sputtered, mouth contorting with mild indignation and healthy vengeance and mind-boggling surprise. "Oh, you are dead."
But when Korra tried to lift her hand—to strike back, to aim, or just to swat, even—it didn't get very far. Her hand felt heavy—her whole arm—and it plopped back down to the mattress with a satisfying thud, and Korra allowed a somber pause, and magnanimously declared, "You are dead tomorrow."
It would have been the perfect opportunity for a witty comeback, Korra knew. (She'd left an opening as wide as a house, or maybe a ravine—) But Asami's only response was to smile at her, knowingly, and maybe a little pityingly, and tuck her knees in closer, to curl herself to sleep.
Feeling torn, Korra shifted, too; she was so very, very tired, but the last thing she wanted to do was sleep. (Not now, her mind whispered, and she silenced it, cold and harsh and commanding.)
Here eyes snapped open, without her having ever realized that they were closed. She remembered what she'd wanted to ask Asami in the first place.
"Mako," she said quietly, out of the blue. Asami glanced up at her, concerned. "Is he... all right?"
Asami's frown was clear and thoughtful. "Not really," she replied honestly, as Korra's chest tightened painfully beneath the cage of her ribs. "But his pain has more to do with all of us... We were all a little deceptive, one way or another."
"Because I asked you to be," Korra said immediately, voice thick.
Asami considered this. "No," she argued quietly, with that same self-assurance that had first captivated Korra on the field, at her very first practice—when she only knew bitterness, and jealousy; before she knew what real friendship could feel like—the same strength she'd carried with her into the woods, not more than a few hours before. "You were in need, Korra," Asami explained, her whisper sure, and heartfelt. "The point is that you never had to ask."
Korra swallowed and let that sink in. It was a little overwhelming, truthfully. (She felt like she could cry, all over again, but was even less certain as to why.)
"And... there's something you should know," Asami added, which made Korra look up. Her voice sounded different—almost hesitant.
"What?" Korra breathed.
Asami bit her lip, and then exhaled, soft and low. "The other Fire Foxes showed up, not long after you left. Mako redirected them from your trail."
Korra blinked, and felt her heart stutter in her chest, over and over. "What?"
"He led the team," Asami clarified softly. "But he led them in the wrong direction. Bolin and I scouted after the path you took, and... obviously, we didn't cross paths again."
A familiar lump appeared in Korra's throat, threatening to choke her once again, but a harsh swallow set her breath free, uneven and wavering. "Do you... do you think he'll—?"
"Be mad?" Asami whispered, so quickly and so intuitively that Korra's heart plummeted into her stomach, and there it stayed. "Yeah," she nodded, without hesitation. "Probably for a long... long time."
Korra's eyelids felt heavy, though not quite for the same reasons as before. Her nose felt clogged and her throat felt tight and her eyes burned and—
That's the difference, between him and me; Korra knew she was loyal—in the sense that she was, but for only as long as she didn't hurt, for as long as she didn't get lost. (One betrayal, one misstep—and I cut you out, she thought, remembering how it felt—right now—an hour ago, when she'd done it then.) Mako's loyalty was capricious, but not intentionally so; his flickered like a flame—strong, wavering, from wick to wick—but alive, it remained.
Apparently, Korra had no qualms about snuffing hers out.
(And the funny thing was, of course—she hadn't expected his loyalty. She might have asked for it, maybe, but she couldn't really say she expected it, in the end.
She wondered if she'd had it, anyway.)
A sick feeling floated through her stomach again, churning and cold.
"I don't mean this to sound badly," Asami said suddenly, strangely thoughtful. "But it's kind of... I don't know. Funny. How you ended up playing Guinevere, after all."
Korra's brows furrowed. "I don't..."
"Remember? In that dream you told me about?" Asami smiled wryly, and Korra did remember. Ah, she thought, feeling herself flush with shame. Asami placed a sympathetic hand over her shoulder, and squeezed. "There was even a bonfire. And it looks the Dark Knight got to you, after all."
The rock in her chest expanded, all the way up to her throat. She had to swallow it back down to speak. "The kids will be psyched," she whispered, and Asami laughed, small and bright and lovely, even if it couldn't warm Korra's heart anymore—not tonight.
"That will make for a good story one day, right?" Asami whispered gently, trailing her fingertips over cotton. "You escaped the fire."
Yeah, Korra thought, blankly. But I still got burned.
(She missed him. Already.)
For a brief moment, Korra considered telling her; it would be so easy, she thought, and Asami would understand—anything—and Korra would give anything—everything—to have someone understand. But saying aloud would make it real. (And she didn't want to believe that it was—not yet.)
I'll tell her tomorrow, Korra vowed. Sometime after the meet. Tomorrow, it will be real.
Tomorrow, she had a meet. She would race, and she would run, and she would be surrounded by friends. Her family would be there, including her uncles and her cousins and her aunt, and she would hear their cheers as she crossed over the finish, as her run finally came to an end. She would wake up early, in close company of her closest friend, and start fresh and new. She was running Varsity. And she'd earned it.
"Hey, Korra?"
Her eyes fluttered, but they did not open. Her throat still felt thick, but her eyes were heavy, and sleep was so, so very close. "Yeah?" she whispered.
A few long moments passed, filled with floating silence. Korra almost forgot that Asami had spoken at all.
"Tahno," said Asami suddenly, softly. "Is he okay?"
Korra didn't answer immediately.
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"Yeah," she said, at length. "He'll be fine."
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And so will I.
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"Hey, Korra?"
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"Yeah?"
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"Does your littlest cousin always ask for locks of strangers' hair?"
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