Chapter Text
Iroh pushed open the door to 31 Glass with a sigh. He’d thrown himself into work as long as he could, but when old Rayki had started trying to vacuum underneath his feet he’d finally taken the hint, packed up a briefcase full of anything that wasn’t classified, and headed back to his flat. Only instead of going home his legs had somehow carried him here. It made sense though. There was nothing waiting for him back at the apartment but silence.
The noise hit him like a soft slap in the face as he entered the bar. Iroh didn’t drink much as a general rule, but if there was ever a day to do so it was certainly today. He could make an exception. Tomorrow was Saturday, and if he got a late start on work it wasn’t the end of the world. Not nearly as bad as… well, Iroh wasn’t going to think about it. That’s why he was here, wasn’t it?
He was two drinks in when he spotted her. He hadn’t thought to look around for anyone he knew here, not in the kind of place that served cocktails with gold flakes at the bottom. Iroh didn’t give a fuck about gold flakes, but it was one of his strategies for avoiding company when he didn’t want it without having to say so. Just price out all your friends.
Well, not all your friends.
Asami Sato sat at the far end of the long glass bar. The very last person he’d wanted to see today. Her hair hung limp around her face as she stared into the bottom of a half-empty martini. She looked shrunken somehow, curled in on herself in a way that was so un-Asami-like as to render her nearly unrecognizable. Except Iroh knew he would recognize her anywhere. He only hadn’t been looking at the other patrons. Apparently, neither had she.
He almost snuck out then. Asami had made her choice, made it years ago before Iroh had even asked. He was happy for her. Who wouldn’t be happy for their best friend of seven years? And if he’d faked a global emergency last night because he couldn’t trust himself to sit through the wedding without screaming, well, no one was perfect. That phone call hadn’t been one of his prouder moments, but the relief he’d felt when he’d hung up on her disappointment more than covered his shame. It’s done, he’d told himself. It’s over. Except now, somehow, it wasn’t.
By all accounts, Asami should be halfway to the southern Fire Nation for her honeymoon—the irony hadn’t been lost on him when she’d asked him for tips on the best islands. Yet instead of Bliss Isla, here she was. Alone. As Iroh watched Asami drained her martini, then twirled her finger at the bartender for another. That settled it. Asami wasn’t Iroh, but she wasn’t exactly a heavy drinker, either. He was seated near the door, which meant she’d already been at 31 Glass when he’d come in. Iroh didn’t know what number martini this was for her, but he doubted it was two.
He picked up his briefcase and scotch and made his way over.
“Asami?”
Asami slowly turned her head to look up at him. Her eyes were red, her face puffed and blotchy from crying. She gave Iroh a thin smile.
“Hey.” Her voice was slightly slurred. “How’s the pirates?”
“Are you okay?” he asked. Iroh glanced around for anyone else, then took the vacant seat next to her at the bar. “Where’s Korra? I thought you would be—”
“Integrity,” Asami said, cutting him off. She picked up her fresh drink and took a long sip. “That’s what I always admired about you. You do the right thing, Iroh, even when it’s hard. I like that. It’s good. Thought I could be good, too. But everything’s so awful.”
Iroh winced, thinking of the lie he’d told to avoid the wedding. He wasn’t feeling full of integrity at the moment.
“Did something happen to your flight?” he asked. He went over the internal protocols in his head and decided he could ask forgiveness later. “I can probably get the both of you on a UF cargo. It won’t be comfortable, but at least you’ll get to your honeymoon.”
Asami shook her head in a wide arc. “No honeymoon. No nothing. I left.”
Iroh blinked at her. “You… you left what?”
“W-hic-edding,” slurred Asami. She went to pick up her drink again but Iroh slid it just out of reach. She’d had enough. He hesitated, then put his hand on her arm.
“What happened?” he asked softly. “Can I help?”
Asami laughed. “You,” she said, and Iroh felt something twist in his gut. He’d tried so hard to keep his feelings private. If he’d somehow ruined Asami's happiness anyway he’d never forgive himself. Then she added, “Your call. Yesterday. Made me think. What would Iroh do? You always know what to do. Do the right thing. Big hero and all that. I’d had doubts for a while, but the wedding was so huge! All those costs, it was probably just cold feet, just push through it, Asami, it’s fine. But it wasn’t fine. It hasn’t been fine. So I did it. I left. Walked out of the hairdresser and into my car and just kept going. Wound up in the park. Tossed my phone in the bay. Then I decided to get fucking shitfaced. Not sure what comes next, that’s as far as the plan went.”
Iroh stared at her, stunned. Of all the ways to end this day, consoling a runaway Asami at a high-end cocktail bar had been the very last one he’d imagined. Yet now that he was here, that they were here, there was only one choice. Whatever had happened and why, his best friend needed him now. Iroh would never shirk a duty.
He took the hand he’d placed on Asami’s arm and wrapped it around her back. “Come on,” he said, pulling her up off the barstool. “I think you should stay at my place tonight. I’ll take the pull-out. We can talk tomorrow about what comes next.”
Asami met his gaze, her wide green eyes suddenly full of tears. “Iroh, what have I done?” she whispered. Before he could reply she hurled herself against him, pulling him into a crushing hug. Iroh rubbed her back as she sobbed against his chest.
“We’ll worry about that tomorrow, too,” he murmured into her hair. “For now, I’ve got you. You’re going to be okay.”