poly_chromatic | 二十七

Entry tags:

legend of korra: korra

二十七

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[Korra is done with the hospital. So very, very, VERY done.

Unfortunately, neither her body nor the hospital staff agree. Just a few more days, they promise her. You sustained major trauma from those bullet wounds. Personally, she finds the pain less traumatic than the terrible smell and the snoring of her roommates. (She's able to think this only because of really excellent pain medication.)

The biggest problem with being stuck in the hospital, though, is that it gives her too much time to think. About the injuries she sustained. About how she's going to need physical therapy. About the fact that no matter how hard she tries, she might never be able to move the way she used to again. The doctor warned her that her shoulder will be prone to popping out of its socket, and that her muscles may be stiff and harder to move than before. She's very lucky that none of the bullets shattered bone or nicked any organs. She could have died or been paralyzed. She tries to remember that and feel grateful, but mostly she feels like, bit by bit, everything that makes her her is being chipped away.

She hates hospitals.]

[ooc: open to any and all visitors or hospital staff!]

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[ If it's any consolation -- (It rarely is) -- Hei hates hospitals too. He hates the antiseptic smells, hates the weakness and fear burgeoning in the atmosphere, hates the hypocrisy of the doctors and nurses. The place doesn't represent convalescence to him. It's the embodiment of inertia, helplessness, lost time. There's no room for that in Hei's profession. He'd been admitted to a hospital only once, as a child-soldier, and he'd left with the cold resolution never to go into one again. It's not like him to make exceptions -- but he supposes, at this point, Korra qualifies as one. ]

[ In the expanse of the room, white walls, white sheets, white floors, Hei remembers what it's like to be that child again. It's not a pleasant feeling. ]

[ He sits by Korra's bedside, quietly reading the patient chart. Intrusive, yes, but he can't say he gives a fuck. It's disquieting, seeing her like this. There's no room in his imagination for Korra on a sickbed. He can only see her as her usual brash, bright-eyed self, all sound and fury signifying teenaged rebellion -- or dead. It's an effort to fight the slow burn of anger, like someone's run over his cat or broken his favorite toy. ]

[ He breathes easier only when he sees that she is too. ]

[Korra drifts in and out of a restless sleep -- too shallow to be restorative, but fortunately not deep enough for dreams. Nothing pleasant waits for her in the dark of her subconscious.

She's not sure when she becomes aware of Hei's presence. It kind of creeps up on her, like twilight or a heavy fog. Her eyes flicker, not opening, and she turns her body towards him. Unconscious affection or wariness? She wouldn't know, even if she was fully present.]

[ Hei catches it in the line of Korra's body, when she floats to the bleary surface of consciousness. He's not sure what to make of it when she stirs toward him. In his place, that gesture runs parallel with instinctive training -- to gauge the threats in the room, to silently map out exits before you're even cognizant of your surroundings. His gaze slips sideways, studying her, waiting it out, before he turns another page on the chart. (Her flickering eyelids make him think of Pai, after her Remuneration, bubbling up into wakefulness from a pool of dreamless sleep.) ]

[ Eventually, he sets the chart aside. Turns to regard Korra with a complete and pensive attention, like a dull painting. He's no sniper; sitting still without reason isn't for him. But if there's one thing his profession has taught him, its a superhuman degree of patience. He's prepared to sit here for as long as it takes for her to come to. ]

[Slowly her eyes blink open, and she stares at him dully, uncomprehending. It takes another few moments for her brain to catch up with her eyes.]

What are you doing here?

[It's neither accusatory nor resentful, but genuinely confused. Somehow, him sitting in a chair by her bed makes absolutely no sense to her.]

[ It makes no sense to Hei either. (Except it does. Just in a way he'd prefer not to examine too closely.) She sounds drugged and muzzy, but that's never meant an impediment where a Syndicate agent is concerned, not when tasked with completing an objective. Except she's no Syndicate agent. It's this moment, in fact, where she reminds him of nothing more and nothing less than a hopeless 18-year-old girl. Hei's never had the luxury of being able to act his age. Even that confusion in her tone ... In his place it would've been firmly repressed, its energy transduced into determination. ]

[ She's not you. And she's not Pai. ]

[ When he speaks, his tone isn't unkind. But it also refuses to give away whatever concern he's capable of feeling, ] I'm here to feed you something other than hospital food. [ With a peripheral gesture to the tupperware box on the table. ]

[She tries to sit up and immediately regrets it. OW OW OW OW OW!]

Thanks. [There's a thick wad of cotton where her brain should be. There's a dim panic -- why is her brain not a brain? what did they replace it with? -- but the cotton keeps her from feeling too deeply.] What is it?

Stay still. [ It's an order, but almost parental, like he's a little annoyed with her, but underneath it, indulgent and concerned. The overhead fluorescents seem to buzz everywhere that they touch him -- even the his eyes -- like he's sitting inside a bug-zapper. He's been here an hour, and he hates this place. Of course people would go crazy here. How can you stand it in a realm of inhuman scents and sterile walls, where the patients seem to lie in beds like slabs of meat in a freezer, where it never seems warm or dim or comfortable. This is a hopeless place. A Contractor must have designed it. ]

[ Turning, he extends the box at her. ] Just light snacks. Mushroom and spinach rolls. Tea cakes. Oranges. Dry fruit. [ He's smart enough to avoid any food that'd encourage the growth of pathogenic bacteria -- fish, poultry, pizzas. ]

[Normally the parental tone would get under her skin, but she's too disconnected to notice it. One thing at a time is about all her not-brain can handle.

She holds a hand out.]

Orange?

[Her jaws hurts -- why does her jaw hurt?!??!?!?!? -- and dry fruit sounds like too much work.]

[ Obliging, Hei unpops the lid from the box. The savory aroma of food clashes with the disinfectant scent in the air. The oranges are neatly peeled. He hands her a slice, shifting, crossing and uncrossing his legs, looking for a more comfortable position in his hard seat. His energy level is always high: he's not used to sitting idle for long, unless immersed in a book. Now he's like a fly caught indoors. He can only imagine how frustrating the stay will be for Korra. ]

[ After a long moment, his tone deceptively casual, ]

Do you know what happened to you? [ As in: Do you know who shot you? ]

[She almost chokes, and hurries to wipe off the juice that squirted onto her chin. It'd be comical if it didn't feel like her heart had stopped. Her mind is blank; it's impossible to answer him because there's nothing there.

Finally-]

I don't know. I'd never seen her before.

[ He waits until she's done scrubbing the juice off her chin, before he hands her a rough square of paper towels. His expression is flat, uncommunicative, but her words are filed carefully away. Her. The attacker was female -- or, at least, Korra seems to think so. Ultimately that doesn't matter to him. The weapon employed was a gun -- and it's no great effort, not with Hei's background, to rifle through the Network and see who prefers what as their Weapon Of Choice. Magic, claws, fangs, murder by proxy -- there's all sorts here. ]

[ But this City is too self-contained not to trace the evidence to its source eventually. ]

[ Finally, eyes fixed on hers, ] What were you doing when it happened? Do you remember?

[His eyes may be fixed on hers, but she refuses to meet his. She scrubs her chin, then her hands...and then keeps running the towel on her hands, a nervous gesture.]

I was just at the Fountain. I wasn't doing anything! [defensive, as though he's implying she did something to deserve this.

He won't have any trouble tracking Marie down. There were plenty of witnesses.]

Nothing at all?

[ Too neutral to be an accusation. He's simply trying to assemble these bits and pieces into something remotely coherent. Admitting to any semblance of concern isn't for Hei. But functioning on an eye-for-an-eye mentality -- that is very much him. He doesn't enjoy the idea of a stranger wrecking someone he's left a mark on. Korra ranks perhaps slightly below his Doll or his knives on that list of practicalities. (Defense -- Offense -- Playtime.) ]

[ He's not sure when that happened. But the implications are something he'll consider afterward. ]

I was just looking in the Fountain. [She doesn't remember singing -- that's a detail he'll have to piece together himself. Shoudn't be hard, considering the day she got shot.]

[ Not hard at all. ]

[ Exhaling, Hei leans forward, elbows on knees, fingers interlocked. A deliberately non-threatening posture, even if he can't quite disguise the sharpness in his gaze. He doesn't enjoy seeing her all wan and torn-up -- but he has no idea how to express that in a way that doesn't involve the ingrained instinct of Seek Out & Destroy. ]

[ Quieter, ] Did 'she' fire any warning shots? Or hit you point-blank? Do you remember that much, at least?

[She can't answer. Her body is shivering, just a little, and the muscles in her throat are locked up tight. Tears press hard against the back of her eyes, but she doesn't let them fall. It's about the only thing she can do.

She shakes her head -- no, no warning shots. Her shoulder had been hit before she even knew anything was going on. She wants to explain that, but the words won't come out, so she just shakes her head over and over and over again.]

[ Hei's been trained to read people too well to remain oblivious to the shivering, or the signs of waterworks. Even then, he wouldn't need any expertise -- everything about Korra's body telegraphs: Cloudy With A Chance Of Rain. She's not Pai, who had the ability to shut him up with just a hint of moist eyes and quivering lower-lip. But he's not completely heartless either, no matter what the rumors back home are. ]

[ His expression is still all sharp edges. But his gaze shades to something almost soft. Something that says: It's okay. Shifting forward, slowly, so she sees it coming, he settles a light hand on her shoulder. His voice is barely a murmur when he asks, ] Do you want to be alone?

[Yes. No. I don't know. Him being here is about the only thing keeping her from bursting into tears. (Never mind the fact that his questions were what brought tears on.)]

She shakes her head again, bit by bit forcing herself to be calm. Breathing slowly, carefully encouraging her muscles to relax.

Better for him to stay around, give her something to focus on than her fears.]

[ Whatever wrath is simmering under Hei's skin, he hides. ]

[ His hand stays on Korra's shoulder, thumb rubbing idle circles against the round of it. With the other hand, he presses an orange slice, almost tactfully, into her palm. Part of him is grateful she doesn't dissolve into a messy gush of tears. But the other part of him acknowledges a breakdown isn't unjustified. There's a moment of hesitation, almost a feeble jerk of inner-resistance, before he leans in, folding her against him. Not a tight hug, or a long one. Just fleeting, but there's a warmth in the curl of his arm around her, in the press of his chin against the top of her head. She's fevery and tense and smells exactly like the hospital -- drugs, antiseptics, absence. But there's still a snatch of Korra somewhere underneath. ]

[ He doesn't say, I'll find whoever did this to you. But make no mistake -- he's already planning each step with a perfect calm. It comes easy, destruction, when you've practiced it since childhood. ]

Do you play video games? Hanayama puzzles? [ She'll be cooped up here awhile. Better to take her mind off it. In her place, Hei would glower at the offer. But again: Korra's not him. ]

[She hisses a little -- it seems like every touch, no matter where or how gentle it is, sends a spike of pain to her injuries. With the pain comes a fleeting burst of panic. The combination of his smell, his touch, and the ache of wounds stirs up no good associations. It's probably a good thing he lets go as quickly as he does. (Or maybe not. Perhaps if he had held on just a little longer, she could have shoved the panic aside and drawn the intended comfort from the gesture. Impossible to say and the moment has already passed.)]

What's a hanayama puzzle?

[ The hiss doesn't go unnoticed. Nor does the way the air around her vibrates with a barely-squelched panic. It's a reminder of how far Korra still has to go to be entirely relaxed with him -- and how Hei has done so little to encourage that relaxation. You're a walking trigger for her. Funny how that works. All the power and brashness on the surface, yet something as insidious as his attack can cut her down to the same size as any other terrified girl. The smart thing would be to wash his hands of her entirely. But -- ]

[ Well. Capture-bonding is unfortunately a two-way street. ]

[ At her question, he fishes inside a shopper he's brought along -- too yellow and festive in his hands. Sets a box of puzzles and a handheld Vita 3G in her lap. (He highly suspects she's going to chuck the puzzles at the walls at some point, and break the game console without trying. Good thing there are extras in the bag.) ]

The metal bits are the puzzle.

[She frowns and picks up the box.]

What do I do with it?

[ Isn't it obvious? ]

[ Carefully, he unwraps the box and plucks a small cast-iron strip from the collection. Holds it up for her between the thumb and forefinger of both hands. ] See if you can separate the two pieces. [ Pointedly! ] Without breaking them.

[She takes the thing from his hand and tugs at it experimentally.]

How?

That's for you to figure out.

[ He shifts again in his seat. The ventilation system overhead makes a low hmmmm that he feels like only he can hear. It's not a pleasant noise. Hei dimly associates it with illness, like it's some paranoid foretelling of doom, background whispers of conspiracy against health and life. Irritably, he shakes it off. His mind never goes to cheerful places when he lets it wander. ] I know you don't like sitting still. But this should give you something to focus on in the meanwhile.

二十七

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