When Tarrlok's mother gave birth to him, she almost bled to death. They hadn't had time to go into the urban part of the Northern Water Tribe to find less primitive assistance.
Korra gave birth in the hospital. They'd been listening to a radio play when her water broke. He grew flustered, and she only commented wryly about how she'd never find out who the father of the protagonist's estranged son was. How she could act so clearly when she was in tremendous pain, he didn't know, but that's something he's always admired about her.
Tarrlok never thought he'd see her so worn, so encumbered by lassitude. After the birth, which occurred a swift four hours after she went into labor (though she certainly didn't find the time to be that quick), she slept. Slept so peacefully, so at ease. Just like at home when he's still up three hours after he's laid down.
She hadn't been showing when the wedding arrived. Her parents had no clue about her condition, hadn't the slightest idea when Tonraq beamed and lifted her up in a crushing bear hug, and she had laughed and reciprocated the gesture with an exertion of at least twice her father's strength. They only cared about her happiness, though Korra's content disposition faltered behind closed doors.
He held her clammy hand, bought her flowers that she let Naga chew on, gave her extravagant, silken clothes she kept in lumps in the polished hallways and atop the bedroom floor. Flinging them as if they were nothing. Tarrlok never bothered to ask her uncle if she was either too accustomed to riches or simply unaware of their value.
It had been the fifth month when they could no longer hide it. He would smirk and say that he expected that she would bear a son. However, Korra knew better. She just did.
In the waiting room, her friends pace and wait. Tenzin and his family chatter and laugh, containing their worry. It's fresh on their minds, the anticipation of waiting for a new addition to their family. And Korra is family too.
Despite the distrustful glances, Korra has told Tenzin that Tarrlok is okay to her. She confided in her mentor the short weeks before she couldn't hide her pregnanct any longer, when her state became increasingly fatigued. Tarrlok: weird, uptight, smells funny, but not that bad. She expected him to be overly haughty, but he's cold, uncomfortable with being close.
Yes, there are the hand touches and the gifts, but most of his interactions with her are superficial. A glass smile, expensive stuff she'll never wear or use. She's just not like that, easily dazzled by shiny junk. She loved the stuff Bolin gave her, but that was heartfelt—not an obligation.
Mako broods, leaning against the wall, and Asami sits with her legs crossed. Bolin talks to his odd, red rat thing.
"Is Korra okay?" Tenzin asks Tarrlok. Everyone pauses.
"Yes." Tarrlok's voice is uncharacteristically gruff. He's perfectly accustomed to attention and feigning aplomb, yet he wishes that they'd stop staring at him.
A nurse darts through the area, huffing and saying in an exasperated tone, "No animals allowed!"
Pabu squeaks worriedly.
The baby's early, they said. He had his best doctors predict that the child would be born at the end of winter, but it is weeks before that time.
As she lays on her side, hot and sweaty and miserable, Korra rubs her stomach. She's almost due, she thinks. It's been so long since she's trained. The look on Tenzin's face when she told him, when she planned to announce to the city that she and Councilman Tarrlok would be having a child—well.
Tarrlok worries for her life. How will she protect herself from Amon and the Equalists? Korra just waves him off. Geez, and she thought Mako was a mama goose-hen.
Now, she isn't stupid. Reckless, but not dimwitted. Sure, she's been cocooned with security and importance. But as if she was gullible enough to still believe in the pelican-stork theory. Korra can't say that she never expected that those bleary nights of insistent caresses would lead to this.
When she dozed beside her lover, her breath on his skin, her nose against the scratchiness of his stubbled chin, there was little thought about consequences. Not that the effects of her actions ever caught up with her until now, and even this isn't as bad as it could be.
Korra realizes that what she did caused this, but it never stopped her. Perhaps she thought it wouldn't happen to her. Maybe, even if she doesn't believe in the stupid pelican-stork, she considered herself not like normal people. The spirits would keep it from happening.
It all sounds so ridiculous, so completely self-centered. And it is, no doubt about that. Because of her title, she's never really been in trouble. How many girls would be thrown out, homeless and destitute in her position?
Yet there's still her child's safety. Korra can't really think about why Amon would need her kid, but then again, what better way to "destroy" her?
Her relationship with her husband is distant. They're just conveniencing each other. The personal questions, the tearful confessions, they haven't arrived. Korra has been more emotional as of late, but she feels no strong attachment to her husband. Not that she hates the slimeball. It's not like he's become more of a creep.
"My mother enjoyed making blankets. She made one for me a—" He stops himself abruptly, then clears his throat. "She would make them as gifts."
"Does she still do that?"
He smiles.
"Oh. Um, I mean, is she . . ."
"She's still alive." He promised that he'd become anybody but Yakone's son; he never said anything about forgetting his mother.
"She needs a name," he says softly, though he doesn't expect her to hear him. The room is so sterile, and one of the harsh lights flickers. She turns her head groggily and smiles. The baby has been carried away so the nurses can tend to her.
"Told you she'd be a girl." Tarrlok just barely holds down how disturbed he is at how disoriented the medicines have made her. Korra looks away then and asks, "What was your mom's name?"