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Kya had a decision to make. She’d talked to Korra – though it had been less talking and more Kya asking questions and trying her best to decipher Korra’s different hums.
The fight against the Red Lotus had been three months ago now. The bigger part of that time Kya had spent healing her own injuries and those of others, but with the young avatar, it had become clear very early on, that the majority or her injuries were not of the physical kind.
It was draining for Kya – to say the least – healing a soul that didn’t yet want to get better. Even if Korra assured her that she tried her best and Kya did believe her. But Kya knew from years of experience that sometimes the soul did not agree with someone’s intentions. Korra wanted to get better, but she couldn’t – and Kya sucked up that negative energy anytime she laid a finger on the girl trying to pull the spiritual poison out of her.
A few days back she had talked to both the Avatar’s parents and her own mother. They had more or less said the same thing. Korra’s parents wanted her home, where they could be there for their daughter.
The talk with her mother had been on a more professional level. They had talked about the emotional and physical connections between Korra’s problems and while Kya was afraid to make Korra feel as though no one was really listening to her, she told her mother how she’d like to advise her to go back home to the south pole for a number of reasons.
Her mother had reminded Kya that she should trust her instincts. She’d once again emphasized how important intuition was to a healer and how she’d always admired Kya’s immense ability to sense what a patient needed. Kya used to pride herself in the ability to deduce which treatment would be best, but the more options she considered, the blurrier her intuition proved to be. She was left weighing options day and night when she couldn’t sleep for other reasons – armored, earth- and metalbending reasons.
But things were at stake here. It was not just any patient, as much as Kya tried to treat Korra’s case as any other. And it was the wrong time to make an error in judgment, which was more probable than she’d like to admit. Kya had made several errors over the past year.
She had a decision to make as a healer, but also as a person. And this time Kya was afraid, that her person would betray the healer. It simply was not possible to separate the two. Kya’s intuition influenced what Master Kya did and she wasn’t sure her inner compass was working right, having been wrong in the past year – about things where intuition was all you had.
She had meditated a lot more to cancel it out – as if she didn’t know better – and yet she felt like the last shred of balance she’d possessed might have slipped out of her last night, after leaving her own room to take a long walk until she’d fallen asleep on the hard floor of the gazebo. Not that she’d been very keen on doing so but going back to her room hadn’t been an option. Now, she was staring out of the kitchen window of her childhood home, massaging her sore neck and aggressively preparing tea, asking herself what had gotten her to this point.
Kya found the answer to where it had started before the tea had seeped. She found it looking into the courtyard, where Pema was playing with the kids. Pema looked at the house, catching sight of Kya and waved at her. Her smile lacked something that Kya wouldn’t have noticed before, but after last night even without talking a word, something connected them far deeper than Kya had ever wanted.
Lost in trance she set both pot and cup down on the kitchen table before sitting on the wooden chair. The scent of the supposedly calming tea flooded her senses. She understood, where it had started: a year ago, when the Red Lotus had only been another hero-tale about her parents and not a memory that sent cold shivers down her spine and made her side hurt in phantom pain. Ironically, it had all started at the gazebo.
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“Pema?” Kya asked as she tried to make out the dark figure approaching her. She was sitting in the middle of the wooden gazebo, seeking solace, maybe a place to hide and judging by the sniffles coming her way, carried by the evening wind, she wasn’t the only one in need of it.
“Oh,” Pema said when she noticed Kya sitting there, “I apologize. I didn’t mean to interrupt your session.“ Because Kya sitting in a lotus position, barely able to steady her breathing, not to mention her racing thoughts obviously looked like she was meditating to the eye of an unsuspecting beholder.
Kya nodded her head for Pema to join her. The woman hesitated. It was unusual, yes. Kya couldn’t say they had spoken much in the time Pema been married to Tenzin – Kya was the one to blame, really. She’d never managed to see the amazingness of Pema that her little brother had mentioned so often. To Kya, she was – in all aspects – simple and when Kya had drunk a little and wasn’t keen on being polite the word ‘boring’ had fallen as a descriptive once or twice. Besides, Kya had never been in Republic city often, so there were only a handful of weeks she’d spent with her brother’s family – her family she reminded herself – not long enough to get to know Pema on a deeper level. Those deeper connections were the only ones Kya deemed necessary nurturing at this point in life. But she was crying now and Kya, took honest pity in her.
“At least stand over there. I’m too old to crane my neck like that,” she tried to dissipate some of the tension created by Pema’s obvious distress and not-leaving.
She complied, leaning her back against the railing, facing Kya. She had two tissues in her hand, one of them she blew her nose with.
Kya looked up and waited. Maybe crying was just a form of stress relief for her. She was a new mother after all – for the fourth time now. Rohan was adorable, Kya thought, but strangely enough Pema wasn’t holding him on her arm like the past weeks that Kya had been here helping out and it looked almost like it was an essential thing missing. It looked unusual for Pema to just look like Pema, a woman, not a mother. Kya kicked herself for falling victim to the stereotypes she so often argued and fought against.
“I’m sorry,” Pema apologized for a second time. Was she really that afraid of her? “I really don’t mean to bother you, it’s just-“ she sobbed again, cutting herself off.
Kya sighed.
“Do you really not want to sit?” Kya asked, still thinking about whether she’d even have the right words to console the woman she knew barely enough about to make the offer to in the first place. She refused to believe it was just out of politeness. She wanted to help her.
Pema sat down in front of her. Knees first, sitting back on her haunches and Kya smiled, because Pema’s joints didn’t hurt, they didn’t even crack. Moments like these used to infuriate her, but by now they didn’t anymore.
“Do you want to talk about it?” She owed her this much, Kya thought.
Pema averted her gaze, looking down like a child, that had got caught and Kya felt endlessly older.
“I feel stupid,” she murmured. It felt like a confession. Kya tilted her head sympathetically.
She didn’t waste time on saying ‘you’re not’, because it never helped in situations like this, instead she asked, “Why would you?” as she raised Pema’s chin, so she could look at her. Something she’d seen Pema do with her children.
Pema’s reddened eyes shone with tears even in the dim lighting. “I’m scared he’ll leave me,” she whispered and her face grimaced under the new rush of tears. She didn’t move from Kya’s hold on her chin, merely a twitch would suffice.
Kya couldn’t suppress her confusion, leaving her mouth slightly ajar.
“Wha- Tenzin?” she asked. Of course Pema was talking about Tenzin – who else was there? – but she couldn’t for the life of her make those strange words make sense.
There was a whimper. It meant ‘yes’ and Kya instantly felt such empathy for Pema, she wouldn’t have thought possible.
“Oh, sweetheart,” she said, “What are you talking about?” It made Pema’s eyes flick to hers. Both were painfully aware that Kya had never called her anything but ‘Pema’. Kya regretted it now, because maybe she should have tried being there for the other in a more profound way than ‘Auntie Kya helping out’.
Pema always tried so hard with everything she did and she’d always been so nice and open, that Kya hadn’t really bothered to win her over, like other people did with their in-laws. And as Kya was oh so painfully aware, if you weren’t trying to win someone over, you didn’t really give them much attention.
“I know him,” Kya reassured her, “He wouldn’t hurt you like that.” He’s Tenzin, she wanted to add, because it really was a good argument in and of itself.
Pema was quick. “But he would,” she insisted, voice laced with a kind of bitter anger that Kya hadn’t thought could be stored in a single cell of this continuously calm and patient woman.
There were three little airbenders asleep in the house and one more tiny human in the bedroom with the man Pema was crying about. The man who Kya knew better than most people. She frequently made use of that knowledge by teasing and pushing his buttons. She was however, against popular belief, very capable of using this knowledge to be there for him. Tenzin’s motives and dedication to his life’s work and family never had to be defended, but now was apparently just the time to do so – and to his wife of all people.
“Pema, you’re-“ she started, quickly changing tactics, “Not a fiber in his tense body-“
“He would,” Pema hissed, “For her.”
There was a small but very potent silence and Kya wanted to slap herself, because Pema didn’t have to say her name for Kya to know.
Sharp cheekbones, steel gray hair that used to be the most elegant black. Green determined eyes and a strong body hidden away under impenetrable armor – or more simply: Lin.
She had already hesitated for too long. “No, he wouldn’t,” Kya said nonetheless and all of a sudden couldn’t quite force the necessary sincerity into the words.
Pema brought her hands to her face, ashamed and afraid. The vehement claims that were so un-like Kya, only confirming some sort of conviction.
While Kya leaned forward to pull her into an embrace, her own pulse picked up noticeably. It wasn’t making sense, because, well Bumi had just teased her a few days ago about how he’d noticed Kya talked about a certain Chief of Police quite a lot and she’d reassured him it was only because Lin had been coming to the island more often, to which he’d of course said it must have something to do with Kya being there. Kya had chuckled and blushed, because Lin and her, they had spent more time together. They had been talking so much – more than when they’d been younger – and Lin smiled when she saw Kya and Kya smiled when she saw Lin. Besides, Bumi was usually right about these things and on top of that Lin always hugged her back – Lin Beifong didn’t hug people. She most certainly didn’t hug Tenzin.
“He loves her, I can feel it,” Pema cried against Kya and Kya thought that she was mistaken, because maybe, pressed against Kya’s chest Pema could feel Kya’s feelings for the earthbender. It must be seeping out of her, for all the effort of keeping it inside, staining her skin and clothes and mixing with Pema’s tears, confusing her.
Pema was confused.
She sobbed again.
Kya hushed her almost desperately because it couldn’t be. There simply was no way. Kya looked up at the wooden roof over their heads, as though an explanation would drop down. As though her father would appear like when they’d been kids and he’d sensed that something wasn’t right with Kya.
“How are you so sure? Maybe you’re just a little-“
“No,” she sobbed against her shoulder, “I saw it in his eyes when she jumped to save him. I keep seeing it in his eyes all the time now. Even when he wakes up and looks at me.”
Kya thought it couldn’t be. She hadn’t seen it, Kya always saw these things.
“He loves her. He has what he wanted now so why wouldn’t he go back to her?”
Kya felt a sharp pain go through her body at Pema’s words, because she really hoped Pema wasn’t insinuating just what it sounded like. Pema couldn’t think that little of her baby brother.
“Pema!” she exclaimed, holding her shoulders. Tenzin didn’t love Lin. How absurd that would be. Kya had to control her anger, because Pema wasn’t being reasonable and definitely blowing things out of proportion.
“He loves you,” she said sternly, “He loves being with you. Their past doesn’t matter now.”
The words felt dishonest. Especially that last sentence. Kya didn’t like how her voice changed to one she knew far too well. The one she used to convince herself of something. Sometimes – this time – Kya hated how well she knew herself. If only she didn’t. Then she could just pretend that everything was the same and that she really was just consoling Pema about an irrational fear.
It was however not that easy. Kya had come out here to think and now she desperately wanted to stop thinking, because suddenly everything started changing. Kya’s rational mind started asking a question: What if Pema was right?
And Kya didn’t want to consider it, didn’t want to think that maybe Tenzin was feeling just like Kya. But maybe he did. Maybe his heart always beat faster, too, when that incredible woman entered the room. Maybe the days when Lin forwent her tightly scheduled routine to visit the island always made him feel light, like he might float away. Maybe her gravelly voice sent shivers down his spine. Maybe that half-smile almost a smirk made his knees buckle and give out. Maybe he, too was weirdly looking forward to when Lin would leave, because then he could steal another hug.
But Kya remembered, almost smugly now, that Lin didn’t hug him. Lin hugged Kya. He couldn’t possibly feel the same, because when Lin came to the island, he was never around for more than a greeting before attending some council business, while Kya and Lin drank tea together and talked about things that Lin Beifong didn’t talk about. They talked about the past and their parents and the arrests Lin had made. Lin asked Kya about her life, too, because she wanted to know about what Kya had been up to during her traveling days. Lin always commented how lovely all of it sounded and how sometimes she thought about places she’d like to see. Then Kya thought about showing them to her, showing her the whole world.
“Do you really think he loves me?”
What a silly question. Kya pressed Pema’s head closer to her chest. “Of course.” She knew Tenzin. He loved Pema. Maybe some of his feelings about a friend who used to be more, who used to be everything, resurfaced when Lin had re-entered his life, but he was smart enough not to confuse those past memories for anything other than that.
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Kya sipped on her tea. Steaming cup filled anew.
How unrefreshing it was to know now that she’d comforted Pema – and herself, really – with something, she’d then believed to be true and now knew to be a cruel lie.
Yes, Lin had been on the island more often. Lin had hugged her, always. But after her talk with Pema, she’d noticed how it had never been Lin who’d open her arms. She’d simply pat on Kya’s back, when the latter flung her arms around those strong shoulders. So one day she’d tried her hypothesis and hadn’t hugged Lin. The earthbender hadn’t even noticed. Lin had simply started a conversation, wondering how long it would take until the Avatar would cause yet more trouble for her, while Kya had asked herself if her affections had secretly always made Lin uncomfortable. Then, she’d hugged her goodbye, scared, cherishing it – the feeling of Lin’s hair tickling the side of her cheek, the smell of Lin’s faint coriander shampoo and iron from the hard uniform underneath Kya’s arms. She’d wished Lin would just bend it away so Kya could feel the warmth of her skin, but it had soon been over. Kya had never hugged her again and Lin never seemed to miss it.
That had been the point where Lin’s visits had turned from energizing and heartrate increasing to Kya overthinking every little action and reaction.
Lin had still come to the island to be with Kya, so maybe touch just wasn’t how Lin showed her affection, she’d told herself, maybe it was spending time with someone. But then again, in hindsight, when they’d talked about the past and their parents, Lin had always seemed so broken up about the expectations set for them by their parents’ legacies and Kya liked to think that it was Lin trying to tell her about a part of herself she didn’t live. A part Kya had lived all her life with women of all nations, a part Kya could awaken in her – she had before in some women. But it hadn’t been like that.
Yes, Lin had been there to see Kya. There to see someone Kya didn’t want to be: a friend.
She sighed, propping an elbow up on the table, to rest her head in her palm.
“Kya?” Bumi came through the kitchen door. She looked up at him and a different memory pushed itself forward.
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Kya’s body ached like it hadn’t in years. Her head was swimming in a hazy fog. Her legs stung and her torso was battered and bruised all the way. When she had enough energy to look down at herself, she saw how her clothes had been ripped apart during the fall. The branches and stone had been all but forgiving and she wondered, not for the first time in her life, how the human body was able to endure so much damage. It had been hours ago that she’d ordered Bumi to let go, regretting it the second air came rushing around them. She’d thought life might come flashing before her eyes, but there’d only been fear.
Now the setting of broken bones by semi-expert hands had left her strengthless. All she could do was lie there on her cot in the airship and wait to be transferred to the care of professionals back in Republic City. While drifting out of consciousness once more, she heard a creak – the door – and then, when she forced her heavy lids to open:
There she was.
Lin.
Her vibrant green eyes full of concern and empathy and Kya felt a weight lifted off her shoulders. Kya had never been one for dramatics and even if she’d never entertain such ideas, she would be lying if she said she hadn’t imagined being in a life-or-death situation – like him – to see what Lin would do. If Lin would drop everything for her – like she had, for him – if she’d come running, let her bending be taken for Kya. If that was what it took to finally make Lin realize. And there she was now, looking down at her and Kya couldn’t help but smile, so relieved.
Lin took her hand and Kya committed the feeling to memory, knew that from here on, everything would change for them.
“Lin,” she said, and heard the emotion in her own words, but it didn’t matter any longer. Spirits, Lin should know!
“Kya,” Lin said and her voice sounded just like it had when they’d been young, “It’s me, Opal.”
And the bliss was gone. The pain that had momentarily subsided came flooding back in. There wasn’t even a period of confusion, like her brain even in this delusional state, knew that it couldn’t be more than wishful thinking. No confusion. Only embarrassment and shame pressing against her from all sides, locking her in. Long-kept sobs erupted from her and she shook under their power, aggravating her injuries further. Opal tried her best to console and it had ultimately taken Bumi to help, but this seemed like the one time, not even Bumi could make it better.
Kya had almost died and Lin didn’t even bother to come see her. Bumi had yelled at the healers, obviously having done a bad job if his baby sister was still in pain, but it only hurt more, because it showed her how no one knew what was wrong. Everyone was fine with the fact that Lin wasn’t there. No one understood how no, it wasn’t fine. It was horrifying.
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Now Bumi had entered the kitchen fully. “Hydrating before playing with the kids,” he told her, chugging a whole glass, before refilling it and repeating the action. “Wanna come outside with us?”
She shook her head.
“You’re isolating again,” he said softly, putting his hands on her shoulders from behind, because even though they hadn’t talked about it (not explicitly at least) he always noticed, “Maybe it’ll be good for you to come outside. It’s nice and warm.”
“I need to be alone,” she sighed.
He hesitated for just a moment, pressed a kiss on top of her head and nodded.
“I’m here if you need to talk.”
She smiled because he always was. “I know. Later, perhaps.”
Though, being honest with herself, she didn’t need to talk, nor did she want to. She’d done plenty of that.
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Kya found Tenzin at the gazebo. That’s when she decided she needed a new hiding spot. The battle with Zaheer had been over a month ago and for someone whose daughter had just received a ceremony for being a master airbender like him, the spiritual energy radiating off of him was incredibly marred. She decided that she wouldn’t let the joy, the two-day old celebrations had given her, be destroyed by staying near this kind of draining energy. She turned to limp away. Her crutch however betrayed her intentions when it clacked against a stone and she felt the whirl Tenzin created when whipping around to see who had come to disturb his meditation. They really were quite similar sometimes.
“Kya?” he asked. It wasn’t even dark so she had no idea why he had to assure himself when he could very well see that it was her.
She sighed, because really, who had she been fooling. There was no way she could with good conscious return to the house. She’d want to find out what it was sooner or later. She could already guess that it probably had something to do with how his aura changed anytime a special someone – so special – came to the island. And she didn’t like her guess.
“Hey,” she said and turned around.
“Did you need something?” he asked, because why else would she be up and walking around when she was supposed to be resting in her bed. In her bed, where all the memories were written into sun-bleached old photographs, diaries overflowing with words and thoughts and feelings bouncing off the walls to hit her anew.
“Bedrest is killing me. I just needed to take a little walk.”
But she stayed where she was. Kya knew he wanted to talk when he didn’t chastise her for forgoing bedrest. People became very inconsiderate when their focus lied elsewhere and Tenzin’s obviously did.
“Will you sit with me?” he asked and Kya limped over there. She yielded and let him help her sit on the ground that was somehow harder than the last time she’d found herself out here.
They sat in silence, next to each other, facing away from the house and apparently this time was just like every other and Kya had to start. But where?
Jinora.
“She looked so much like Dad, don’t you think?”
“She did,” he smiled and looked up at the wooden roof – did they all do that? “This morning I nearly had a heart attack seeing her in the kitchen with those tattoos on her bald head.”
Kya chuckled. She was so incredibly proud of Jinora. Their father would be, too – was too, she reminded herself.
She felt the air shifting around them before he spoke. “Kya,” he breathed, and it was so quiet that she almost didn’t hear it and no this was not how good conversations started.
She stayed quiet, watched his eyes squeeze shut. There he was again, that little boy from forever ago. The boy that had somehow always sought her out for advice and emotional support no matter how much she’d pushed him away. No matter how often she’d let her anger and disappointment for their father out on him, the little boy who had done nothing wrong. It had always been so much easier to just lash out at him and see a reaction than it had been with their Dad. Even before learning about projection, she’d always felt horrible afterwards, hugging herself tightly, but still, Tenzin had always come to her, to his big sister.
“I messed up,” he spoke next, voice small.
She bumped his shoulder with hers to make him look at her. After growing apart during her travels she had not talked to him much, but in the past three years she’d had the opportunity to talk to him and somehow something hat set itself in place between them. He still came to her but now she felt her heart warm at the fact that he did, that he somehow still confided in her so easily – how forgiving he could be. She rubbed the back of her hand against the side of his arm encouraging him to talk.
“I messed up,” he said again and stood.
She tried to follow, to stand with him, but her shoulder burnt, so she didn’t.
He walked to the railing, looking over the bay, looking over to the city and she felt a sting in her chest when she realized that this was his subconscious telling Kya, what he himself couldn’t put into words. Because who was over there, across the water? Kya did it, too, when she felt alone on the island and spirits, when had they begun to have this much in common? She would look over to the skyline of a city she called home and wonder: What is she doing? Does she feel lonely, too? Does she want company? Does her body ache at night, craving to be held?
“What do you mean, you messed up?” she asked against her better judgment. Maybe hearing the words would make her own feelings go away. Maybe it would finally hurt enough to make it not worth sticking around further.
He didn’t turn to face her. He’d always been so scared to show sadness – only sadness. No matter how often their father had told him it didn’t make him any less of an airbending master if he weren’t perfectly composed all the time.
“Lin,” he said and now Kya was glad he was looking away.
She swallowed, “What about her?”
For the first time she thought she might not want to know.
“I think about her.”
Me too, Kya wanted to say. “She’s back in your life, you work with her and she’s your friend. Of course you think about her.”
“No,” he glanced over his shoulder, but turned away to speak again, “I can’t stop thinking about her.”
Chills ran down her spine and it wasn’t because the wind had just picked up. Pema was right, was all she could think.
After the silence had grown between the, he burst. “Say something!” Words eluded her.
What did he want from her? Did he want her to hold his hand, to tell him it was alright that he loved her still? Or did he want what Kya felt more like doing: beat some sense into him?
Finally he faced her. “Why is the universe so cruel?” his scared voice asked for an answer, that she really couldn’t give.
She almost let out a pained cry, had to choke it back until her throat hurt, too, because yes, the universe was cruel. She wanted to run, wanted to leave Tenzin at the gazebo to deal with this on his own. He was a grown-up like her after all – or they all pretended to be – but she couldn’t even get up without his help. She couldn’t bear to touch him either, so she stayed put.
“What about Pema?” she deflected.
“What about her?”
What about her? Fucking everything. Kya almost laughed. The effect Lin had on people…to forget everything but the way you felt when she was there with you. She didn’t have to say anything.
“Spirits, I can’t hurt her like that,” he murmured, crossing his arms.
You already have. Kya bit back the words.
He walked closer to her. Standing in front of her and somehow managed to look down but not at her. “Lin came to see me on the airship after the attack.”
No, no, no. Kya wanted to scream, didn’t want to hear any of it.
“She thought I was asleep, but I heard her talking to me.”
She hated this, hated it so much. “Tenzin,” she said in an effort to make him think, make him stop. He shouldn’t say anything else, shouldn’t put her in an impossible position. Because once something was said out loud, it became so much more real. He didn’t hear her.
“She said she–” Tenzin lowered his head even further and Kya saw his struggle. Mouth opening and closing, seemingly preventing him from uttering anything.
Kya braced for the three words.
“That it had scared her so much to see me like...” At that point everything started spilling out of him, “That she wouldn’t be able to live without me. That she needed me, that she’d never stopped,” he paused, then phrased wisely, “needing me.”
Oh, had it only been those three words instead, Kya thought and focused on repressing her tears while her little brother poured out his heart and unknowingly broke hers in the process.
“Maybe you dreamt it,” Kya offered a way out, remembering her own delirium, “We were all pretty out of it.” She noted the bitterness in her own voice but was sure her brother couldn’t. Please say you dreamt it. Just drop it. Don’t make this any harder.
Tenzin looked at her. He was exasperated. “No, I am certain. I was very much awake.”
He sighed, like it was some burden that Lin loved him. A problem he had to deal with. Kya didn’t even know what it felt like – to have Lin love her – and yet she was sure it couldn’t be a burden if she wanted it to be.
“What do I do, Kya?”
She was at a loss. How had he come to think she’d have all these answers? Maybe it was the impossible decision and how it didn’t fit. No space for such situations in a life mapped out for him by the weight on his shoulders that being born with the lightest of elements had brought.
“Tenzin…“ she struggled and already felt that no matter what she’d say, it would disappoint him. She would influence things she shouldn’t have a say in. “I can’t tell you what to do.”
“I know, I know. Oh, Kya.” He looked at her and with a sad expression she recognized from seeing it in the mirror lately. Then he shielded his face behind his hands – ashamed and fearful. “Loving her used to be so easy.”
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Before Kya could spend more time dwelling on that particular memory, the kitchen door was pushed open. Kya almost laughed, because the one person she didn’t want to see, but the person she could never tell to leave, entered. Maybe she should think about Tenzin more often, then Lin would sense him in her thoughts and come running to her, too.
Despite herself, Kya smiled. Even after last night, Kya could smile at her.
Lin didn’t smile back.
“I wanted to make some tea,” Lin informed.
Kya nodded to her kettle. “I can share if you’re fine with chamomile.”
Lin hesitated, gave Kya a onceover, then took a cup out of the cabinet – her favorite, Kya thought, because Kya had noticed it a while ago and like a lot of things about Lin, she couldn’t stop noticing them. There was a mental catalogue in her head of the ways Lin smiled, the sounds of her hums and her grumbling, the way she could express more with the raise of a brow than Kya could with all the muscles in her face. Everyone always said Lin was quiet, but Kya knew better. Kya knew just how much Lin said, because Kya noticed. She wondered if Tenzin noticed.
Lin pulled out a chair and sat.
“Zuko always says, sitting down is better,” Kya interrupted the tense silence.
Lin hummed warmly and Kya thought that maybe things would be alright between them.
Kya glanced at her – maybe it was second nature after all this time – and she knew Lin was thinking about last night…
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Kya had excused herself from dinner in order to avoid Lin. She’d gotten ready for bed early and taken an extra-long shower – showers always helped. She’d felt good. However on her way back, the evening’s effort had been marred by Lin standing in her room when she got there.
“Lin?” she said. Was she really there or was it another cruel fragment of her imagination?
Lin turned her back to the window but kept looking at the ceiling, head tilted backwards. It was Lin’s ‘I can’t cry right now’ face. “I thought you were working tonight,” Lin croaked.
“I’m not,” Kya said softly.
“Well,” Lin took a deep breath, “I just thought because you weren’t at dinner–“ She cut off, looking back up at the ceiling, blinking almost vigorously – a stark contrast to her deep breaths.
“No, I just wasn’t hungry,” Kya lied and asked herself when it had become so easy to lie.
“I didn’t mean to come in here without asking,” she reassured her, “I just need a minute.”
Kya almost frowned, because she understood why Lin was here. She was escaping. Much like Kya, but from Tenzin, seeking refuge in her friend’s room. Where no one would see her cry if it came to it and if anyone stepped in and did see…She’d be shocked, mortified and then ‘oh, it’s just Kya’.
But not in the way Kya wanted it to be, not in the ‘I trust you to see my vulnerable side’ way – Kya used to think it was like that when Lin had cried to her mere weeks ago, how else would she know the face.
It was ‘just Kya’ in the way that Lin didn’t care whatever conclusions Kya would draw because of her crying. She didn’t care if Kya thought she was weak. Kya was sure Lin would try her hardest not to cry in Tenzin’s company, because Lin wouldn’t want him to think of her as weak. But with Kya…well, Lin didn’t care all that much.
And the more she asked herself for how long she’d been ‘just Kya’, she realized she’d never not been ‘just Kya’. She wondered when she herself had thought of Lin in that way but couldn’t pinpoint it.
Lin was escaping the domesticity that was dinner with Tenzin’s family. Kya wanted to press Lin close and rock her, actually wanted to comfort her, but she was so torn. She didn’t want to make her uncomfortable in any way and she scolded herself because even if she hugged her now, it would not be with the right intentions. Lin didn’t want hugs – not hers anyway.
“Do you want to sit?” she offered instead.
The question prompted the first tears to fall and though Lin was quick to avert her face, she wasn’t fast enough to fool Kya – by any means.
Lin sat down on the bed and scooted towards the headboard to lean back against it.
Kya thought this was a bad idea, but she sat down in front of her.
“I can’t do it anymore,” Lin sniffled, voice still steady despite the tears.
Kya had imagined this to be easier. She had almost accepted people just coming to her for this. While one would expect these things to become easier, the more they happened, it only got harder every time.
“Lin,” she swallowed, “You are the strongest person I know. Whatever it is, I’m sure you’ll find a way.”
Lin locked her fearful gaze with hers, “Not with this.”
At least Lin had the decency to look at her.
“I’ve been dishonest with myself and pretending for so long. That I don’t need anyone, that I don’t need–“
Him, Kya finished in her head, when Lin couldn’t manage out loud.
How could all of them feel it but not say it?
Lin was there, crying in front of her and Kya caught herself thinking what it would be like to kiss away her worries, but Lin didn’t want that, didn’t want her kisses.
So Kya pushed that feeling down and reached her hands forward to cup Lin’s face. For once she wished to be as stupid as she felt, because she wouldn’t have to justify the action. But she knew herself and did it anyway because she’d been suffering so much, that it was okay to be selfish just for a moment and touch her. Dread already coursing through her for even thinking it.
She wiped away Lin’s tears, forced herself to smile, desperately trying to put Lin back together – broken didn’t fit with Lin. She swept her thumbs over damp cheeks. When one of the tears fell to Lin’s lip, Kya chose to brush it away, too. She couldn’t enjoy the feeling of Lin’s unexpectedly soft lip under the pad of her thumb. To Lin it was just comfort but to Kya it was everything that would never be.
“It’s okay,” Kya whispered, “It’s gonna be okay.” She did really say it for the both of them.
Lin sniffled and leaned into her touch. Kya had to fight her own tears now, because it was nowhere near fair of Lin to do that. It wasn’t fair of Lin to accept the comfort, to accept Kya’s love if she wasn’t going to give any back. Oh, but what an ugly thought that was to have.
One ugly thought was prone to be accompanied by others and soon the next one fought its way into Kya’s focus. What if Lin was imagining other hands, what if she was longing for his touch right then, with Kya’s hands on her skin? Like Kya had on the airship.
So she pulled back, ripped her hands from Lin’s face at this unspoken betrayal. Lin looked confused, looked hurt – like she had a right to be hurt by this.
She could see Lin asking ‘why’ with those telling eyes, could see it in the way they widened, but knew she’d never ask. She’d never ask Kya, why.
Kya once promised herself if only Lin ever asked, she would tell her, would spill all of her feelings out, but she never had.
“Kya,” she said – sad and confused – and it stung right where it shouldn’t.
Lin was curled up in Kya’s bed, like a child and Kya thought what a fool Tenzin was for not being here. What a fool and what a coward to have all of Lin’s heart and not cherish it.
“It could have been so different,” Lin sobbed. Kya suddenly had this confusing urge to push her off her bed, to shake her and scream at her how yes, it could all be so different.
“With Tenzin.” And it looked like the mention of his name brought as much pain to Lin as the mention of hers did to Kya.
“You don’t know that,” Kya denied, hands resting on Lin’s knees, voice soft and calm – as calm as she could manage, but who was she kidding, Lin would never notice the difference anyway.
“I do know, Kya.”
Kya just wished Lin would stop saying her name, would stop twisting the knife. Lin used to be a source of energy, a mere touch of hers making Kya float for days. When had it changed? When had Lin become one of those people that sucked all life out of her without even trying?
“If it weren’t for the airnation, if it weren’t for our parents,” Lin cried and shook and buried her face in her knees. Kya felt Lin’s warm forehead pressed against her own knuckles, holding on. Lin’s voice cracked under the pain, “If we’d just been born into another life.”
And now Kya’s tears were falling, too. How often had she used those words to comfort herself? That in another life Lin and she were together, lying in bed, smiling at each other between hushed promises, because there in that other life, Lin loved her, too. Hearing Lin use those same words showed Kya, that it didn’t matter how many universes she’d come up with.
Lin would only ever want him – in this life or another.
Kya couldn’t do it.
She couldn’t tell her what Lin wanted to hear, even if she knew all about it.
Lin looked up and saw Kya crying, too. Those vibrant eyes asking Kya to ‘just say something’ and comfort the pain away that Kya had not found a way to heal herself from. She turned her face as though Lin had slapped her, took a shaky breath and got up. Kya didn’t turn to look at her, didn’t give herself the chance to change her mind. She simply walked towards the door.
Her shoulders felt heavy and her feet could barely lift off the ground. In her trance she didn’t register Lin calling out for her mid-sob, she opened the door, felt the cold draft from the corridor and pulled the door shut behind her. In the center of the quiet hallway, when her mind had caught up with what she’d just done, she heard Lin’s muffled sobs.
She took a deep breath once more, convincing herself of already feeling lighter.
It really was cruel to leave her in there. Leave someone who had confided in her about how it hurt that everyone always left. It wasn’t about hurting Lin either, about wanting Lin to feel her pain. She knew she did. No, it was allowing herself to stop the torture, allowing herself to be selfish in the right way.
Kya didn’t have to heal them.
Kya had tried, had done her best and had enough self-preservation to know her limits. She’d of course already crossed them, several times – all for Lin and all for love – but it was time to stop and Kya let herself.
She forced her feet to walk away. Decades of travel experience, where she’d had to walk and walk even if her feet had threatened to fall off, coming in handy in ways she had never longed for.
And she walked.
As though the evening hadn’t been draining enough, those unmistakable robes appeared in front of her and there he was.
They looked at each other.
“Kya?” Tenzin asked, sounding confused to find her in her own home.
His face showed worry, but it was not for Kya. He was here to look for Lin, here to see why she’d left the dinner table. Here to look for a moment just for the two of them. Lin and him – like it had always been.
Kya wanted to shake her head at her little brother, wanted to ask him how despite having all of their father’s guidance he’d managed to maneuver his life this way. Kya didn’t.
She should have left so much sooner, but she was her father’s daughter, so she always tried to help and heal and solve conflicts until – well, until now.
“What’s wrong?” Tenzin asked. This time he really meant Kya.
She knew he saw the tears. She didn’t smile for him, didn’t care. She’d spent all her pretense on Lin.
Her voice was barely above a whisper.
“You broke her,” she said weakly. It lacked all the spite it would have had mere minutes ago, when she’d still been inside that room, her room.
“What are you talking about?” he asked, shocked.
How incredibly insulting it was of him, to think she couldn’t see through their charade. She bit her tongue and her feet carried her away. She didn’t hear his footsteps towards the private rooms until she was around the corner. She felt more tears making their way down her face as she left the house.
He was with her now, comforting her, washing all of Kya’s touches away with his own as though they’d never happened. But they had and while the memory of Lin’s painfully beautiful face was now burned into Kya’s fingertips, Lin was falling into Tenzin’s embrace (nothing more…they wouldn’t dare).
Despite her tear-blurred vision, Kya could see it clear as day.
Lin hugged him after all.
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Maybe it was good that Lin was sitting right next to her now, making Kya experience just how helpless she felt about all of it. It gave her the strength to make the decision: Kya would go with Korra. Kya was needed there, she could help the Avatar, do her duty, be busy and more importantly: be anywhere but here.
“Why did you leave?” Lin asked, ripping Kya from her thoughts.
So that’s why she sat down. Kya held her cup that much tighter. “To travel the world,” she managed to say, voice dripping with sarcasm.
Lin turned her head now, annoyed, fixing her determined eyes on Kya. “That’s not what I meant.”
“No,” Kya sighed into her tea, taking a sip, “Of course it isn’t.”
“Why did you leave yesterday?” she emphasized with that voice that made it impossible to ignore the hurt underneath the barely controlled fury.
And there it was. Lin had finally asked the question.
Why?
For a moment Kya considered her options and caught herself looking at Lin. Kya schooled her face to stay neutral but allowed her eyes to portray whatever they wanted, didn’t hold back, stared all the countless versions of the three words she could come up with, quietly told Lin about those dreamed up universes. She thought maybe Lin could see it there, but her face didn’t twitch, didn’t change. She really couldn’t see it.
“The answer won’t do you any good,” she decided at once, because just yesterday she’d promised herself to stop the torture.
Lin frowned, visibly displeased with the answer. “Don’t be dramatic,” she scolded.
Kya didn’t say anything, simply clenched her jaw, because no matter how she’d say it, it would be for nothing. She stared back at her cup, wondering why it hadn’t broken yet under the death grip.
Suddenly Lin shot up, chair almost falling from the explosive movement. “Fine,” she spat down at her. “Have it your way.”
While Lin stomped towards the door, Kya was still wrestling with herself, making herself stay quiet. It felt like all her resolve was going to burst into nothingness, but she told herself only to wait for a few more moments until Lin was gone. Only a few more final seconds of heartache. As though she would prove something to herself by letting Lin do the leaving for once.
And she did. Lin opened the door, took another step, but she halted mid-step.
Kya’s heart jumped, because: she halted !
“You know,” Lin said, voice as hard as it had never been with her.
Kya wanted to scream, because spirits, since when did Lin Beifong talk this much? She kept her eyes trained on the tea. She couldn’t look at her, because it would make her cave, make her confess.
‘You know,’ it echoed in Kya’s head. Would Lin finish that sentence if Kya told her she loved her so much that she wouldn’t mind if Lin spent the rest of her life being angry with Kya if only, she spent it with her? If she turned to look at her now, Kya feared she might get up and fall to her knees, begging Lin to stay, promising not to leave ever again, however hard it would be for Korra.
She couldn’t do it, couldn’t embarrass herself like that. So Kya waited for Lin to finish, braced herself.
Lin continued, “I really thought you cared.”
And the door slammed shut.
The room shook under Lin’s fury, sending ripples through forgotten tea.
Kya huffed a bitter laugh. How foolish Lin Beifong would feel if she knew, just how much Kya cared.