You'd never minded it- being "impure". When others had attempted to label you with that brand back in the military, and later in the academy- you had brushed it off. How could you be ashamed of your features, of your gills and webbing, when they were the very things that let you feel closer to your mother after you'd been away?
(The fact that such features were common in Shayeris, and even prized, helped. You are not without your vanities, try as you may to conceal them)
It had bothered you, some, on the surface. You had dreamed so long of coming to land, of the bright cities and tall buildings, of the people, the sounds and smells. It was difficult to hid your hands, though a tall collar usually worked for your gills. You learned to keep them in your pockets, a habit you disliked for how unwelcoming it made you appear. In the more polluted cities your gills stung. But these were minor problems, mere annoyances in comparison to the joys of discovering the surface world.
Your differences did not bother you overly much- you had never been made to feel shame for them, not like others that you have known. You suppose you are lucky that your own features are relatively small- you still look mostly human, and it is difficult but not impossible to blend in with land dwellers. You have friends, other students and squadmates, who had at times expressed morose disappointment that they would never be able to see the surface, to blend in to the thronging crowds of the great and bustling cities- they looked too different, or were even incapable of surviving land.
Your gills and webbing had never truly bothered you. Except-
Except it did not escape your notice, the way Tula and Garth had twined their hands as they saw you off to the surface. The intimacy had raised some envy in your heart- you truly were happy for your friends, but you could not help but wonder at what it must be like, to link so casually and yet so intimately with another.
Seeing the gesture repeated around you, again and again as the members of your team paired off- you would not call the feeling that pressed on your chest jealousy- but longing, perhaps.
When Raquel approached you after New Year's with an offer of dinner, you were glad to accept. She was bold, somewhat abrasive, and loyal. The kind of bright, exuberant personality you desired, sometimes, to emulate. During your time together she would often kiss you in public, wrap an arm around your waist. You were more reserved in your public affections, but you enjoyed her enthusiasm.
Then there came a day when she tried to intertwine her fingers with yours. It had been in a particularly exciting moment, the two of you standing over your recently defeated foes. Your enemy had been a fire user, and had pinned you to a wall beneath an onslaught before Raquel had managed to trap him in one of her force fields. The fool had continued to use his powers, trying to break free. You had watched, panting and weak from the heat as he burned all of his air away. The moment he fell unconscious she ran to you, pulling you into an embrace. She had tried to clutch your hand in hers, a reassurance, only to be met with a cry of pain. The webbing between your fingers was sensitive, especially after your ordeal, and the force with which she grabbed you threatened to tear it.
She has apologized profusely and you had dismissed the mistake gracefully. But she handled you more carefully after that, like you had suddenly become more breakable, more alien. You think it had been the moment when your already casual relationship had begun to falter.
When she broke things off between you she had held your hand between hers, careful not to touch the webbing. Though the end of the relationship itself did not cause you any bitterness, the reminder of your inability stung.
As the search for Speedy dragged on, and Roy began to draw further and further away from the League, from Ollie, fromyou- your hands began to bother you further. It is harder to hold someone back from destroying themselves on a fruitless cause when you can't even grab their hand properly.
The small flaps of thin skin became symbolic of the distance that began to grow between the two of you- perhaps even of the ever present distance that seemed to separate you and the rest of the world.
There was a moment- seconds after Roy had yanked his hand from yours, storming out your apartment door to proceed with a practically suicidal plan to infiltrate black market technology rings in Shanghai in pursuit of a lead on Speedy- You considered mutilating yourself, slitting the webbing so you could hold the most important person in your life back from his own destruction.
It was a passing impulse, and a foolish one at that. But it shook you, and you came to resent your mutations for the reminder they became; of the distance between you and Roy, the team, the bright surface world that shows too brightly and moves too quickly and too honestly for you to handle. It broke you in a way that the relentless bullying of the Academy had never accomplished.
And as you descended to Manta, cut your ties with the people and world you loved in a desperate attempt to save them- you thought bitterly to yourself that it was a lucky thing your hands cannot twine.
It made letting go easier.