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“Ah, Kuvira. Picking at old wounds will not help them heal faster.”
The voice is humble and calm, if not gently amused with you. You open your eyes, blinking into the weak, grim sky and a grassy open plain. A body of crystalline water stretches out in front of you; ripples in the surface reflecting light like shattered glass.
You’re sitting in meditation position - legs crossed and hands folded in your lap; thumbs touching as you’ve been told. There is a tink of ceramic crockery to your right. You turn to the noise and give the old man sitting beside of you an enquiring glance. He offers you tea which you accept graciously. It’s warm in your hands which have gone numb from lack of movement.
Your head feels woolly, you try not to feel pried on. You’ve stopped questioning how this strange old man knows what you are thinking. “You told me to reflect.”
“I did. Reflection help us come to terms with what has happened to us in the past,” he blows on his own tea before taking a cautious sip from it.
It’s a pointless action. No tea could scald you here if you stayed mindful of the fact none of it was real. “Tending to old wounds is good, picking at them is not.”
“Meaning?” You’ve spent the last few visits here trying to decipher what it is your supposed to be doing. You’ve had limited success.
Korra wants you to keep coming here now you’re able to enter the Spirit World unaided with relative ease. This is the only avenue for seeing her on a steady basis; frequenting the prison any more than she already does would raise suspicion.
You remember her first telling you to meet her at the teashop at the base a mountain. It took some convincing on her part to make you believe her: ‘Yes, there really is a teashop in the Spirit World—honest! Don’t look at me like that!’
When asking her how exactly one locates a teashop in the Spirit World, she grinned and told you that the inhabitants had a habit of leading you where you needed to go.
You absent-mindedly take a swig of your tea, then grimace as a burning sensation sears the back of your throat.
“Careful, Kuvira. The tea is still very hot.”
You glare into the steamy tea, as if it has caused you some personal affront. “No, it’s not.”
“Mm, but look on your face says otherwise,” he replies.
Iroh. He failed to so much as utter a single designation in introduction upon your first meeting; you may have never realised the prestige of this kindly old spirit had you been a person of lesser learning.
His company was pleasant and undemanding in the beginning. You would wait for Korra to arrive, drink tea and converse if you felt amenable to it; not that you had anything particularly interesting or noteworthy to say.
Yet amusing anecdotal conversation was increasingly shifting into more pensive tones as waiting times for Korra became longer and longer each trip.
It began when you wandered down to a nearby lake to meditate; something to pass the time. You found the effort of being here for an extended time exhausting; falling asleep only bringing you back to your cell upon awakening.
It wasn’t long before the hospitable rattle of a tea set and the offer of good company followed you shortly thereafter.
You welcomed the guidance at the start, finding it easier to navigate your chakras with someone at hand to guide you; only lately it were your meditative sessions touching too closely to things you would rather leave untouched.
To be asked about your past and how you saw yourself connected to it felt like an invalid, invasive questions to you. Your past before leaving Zaofu was irrelevant; you weren’t connected it. It was unfortunate. You’ve moved on. Your past before even Zaofu was… inconsequential in the grand scheme of things.
Besides, you’re a prisoner of the state. What did it matter.
“I know you find this difficult to believe Kuvira, but the world isn’t conspiring against you.”
You’ve been staring wordlessly out at the horizon for a while. The sky is even more grey and foreboding than before. You know from frequent trips here there’s no methodical climate system to account for the change.
The tea’s cold between your hands. Korra’s still not here.
“I do find that difficult to believe,” scathing irritation escapes your voice at being pried on again. You tip your cold tea in away into the water, staining it with a dark blemish. “I’m done with this.”
“You seem upset,” Iroh says in a manner to that demands nothing from you. Out the corner of your eye you can see he’s musing over his Pai Sho; the wooden pieces laid out in perfect unison on either side of the board.
He’s completely unperturbed by your aggravation. In the face of such genteel your impetuousness feels childish.
You look away and up at the greenish light distorted through giant veined leaf above your head; one of the giant land-bound water lilies that adorn these plains. Yet another thing here that doesn’t make sense.
“I don't understand what I’m supposed to be doing,” you admit, addressing the leaf. It seems easier to admit you don’t know something to a plant than a person. You look back when after a long, drawn-out pause there’s nothing forthcoming. The plant didn’t answer either, which is oddly disappointing given your location.
“I’ve been doing this for nearly a month with little success. I know Korra’s asked me to meet her here for this purpose. It’s obvious, I’m not a fool,” this may not be true, but it’s entirely too convenient; to be asked to wait at the teashop whose owner was once an illustrious spiritualist in a previous life.
“But what for? What’s the objective? What am I expected to be achieving?” the questions spill from you, rapid fire. You’re done waiting, you want answers.
He hums; from contemplating his response or next move you’re not sure. “Perhaps you’re looking at this in the wrong way,” he says, sliding a Pai Sho piece in place. “Only you can know if there’s anything to achieve here or not. Do you have any unfinished business. Anything that needs resolving?”
“No—I,” too hasty a reply, you curb the insistence in your voice. Try again. “I’m fine. There’s nothing wrong with me any more.”
He hums again but says nothing.
“What?” Again your reply is too quick, but you hate not knowing things other people claim to know; especially when these things concern yourself.
“You carry a lot of negative energy around with you for a person that has no conflict within themselves.”
You hesitate, unsure of how to reply. Catching yourself too late you scoff; try cover up the ambivalence. “That’s ridiculous. I don’t understand what you mean.”
“No, I don’t think you do,” he turns to you for the first time since you came down here, eyes full of a soft compassion. “And I think that’s a terrible shame. You’ve gone on so long being hard on yourself for things that have happened in the past that were your fault, they’ve become mixed up with the ones that weren’t and you’re stuck.”
You avert your gaze, the need to appear composed at odds with your internal discomfort. “I don’t need your pity,” you bite out, expression drawn as blank as possible; you’re not sure how you’re meant to be reacting.
“I think you accepted you have made many mistakes in the past a long, long time ago. Now I think is the time to make peace with it,” he continues, as if not hearing you.
“You must be kinder to yourself, Kuvira. Many of our most unfortunate experiences teach us the most valuable lessons in life. But the greatest gift we can bestow to both ourselves and others is forgiveness.
“There are many lies we tell ourselves to stop being hurt by the truth. But it takes a person of great, great courage to see through those fabrications we create to protect ourselves and find strength in it.”
“I’m done with this,” you echo again but the words are less certain to your ears, deafened by the alarm sounding in your head: Refute, refute, refute.
There is a rising need to escape, but you don’t know what from. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but whatever it is it doesn’t apply to me and I want no part of it.”
He nods as if coming to an understanding. “I understand this is not something you are ready to face today,” he picks up a Pai Sho piece, this time placing it down with an audible ‘click’ against the board.
You steady your breathing and notice your pulse is throbbing; everything else is eerily quiet in comparison. He speaks again. “But before I leave, may I ask you one more question?”
You want to know what he has to say; as uncomfortably omniscient he appears, this is the most he has ever spoken. You’re curious; cautiously so. Your scan over him, scrutinising for any signs of dishonest intention in his enquiry. Find none. Respond curtly. “Go on. One question.”
“You are aware of the date today?”
You laugh; hollow and abrupt. Not from delight but gut-wrenching shock.
Your reply is strangled, caught in the breath of a sharp exhale. “That? That is what this is all about? This is why you want me to ‘reflect on how I am connected to my past’?” You give a huff and turn away. Shift your position to bend a leg in front of you; shielding yourself like a wounded animal from oncoming prey.
You refuse to look at him directly; fixating on the clear, choppy water instead. “Well, I can safely inform you that doesn’t connect me to anything. How do you know that and what gave you the… audacity to bring it up?”
“I did not bring it up. You showed me when you brought it with you,” there’s a clink and the distinct sound of pouring tea. “Such terrible weather we’re having.”
You don’t reply. There is movement behind you as Iroh collects his things, readying to leave - or so you hope. He comes to stand in front of you, blocking your view of the restless water; you refuse to acknowledge his presence.
“Forgive me, Kuvira. It wasn’t my intention to startle you. In the Spirit World, your emotions become your reality. I can see something is troubling you and wanted to give you the opportunity to reflect and speak without judgement. Spirits are great confidants.
“I see this is perhaps not the best time. But if you ever find yourself in need of finding some closure, I am happy to help. If not,” his hands clasps together under his large sleeved-robe and bows lowly. “My apologies.”
You’re agitated at having someone know things about you, things never said out-loud. It’s nerve-racking having your rigorous guard bypassed by a relative stranger.
Still, the offer is an interesting one even if you have no desire pursuing it. “I’m just here to wait for Korra.”
There’s a warm twinkle in his eye at this, he bows again. “You are always welcome at my shop.”
The corners of your mouth curve, unbidden. “Thank you,” you’re not sure what you’re thanking him for, only that it feels appropriate to say.
“You are most welcome, Kuvira.”
He leaves and you feel like you can breathe easy again. You notice there’s a cup of tea left in his place. You drink from it carefully this time and miraculously feel less tense. You briefly entertain the thought of it being laced with something illicit, which would account for the old man’s joviality. Regardless, you probably need it.
You try not to dwell too heavily on what has been said to you. You know you aren’t always honest with yourself on how you feel on certain subjects - but what of it? You’re not a sentimental person.
You’re attention’s diverted when you are - both literally and figuratively - floored by an overzealous kiss.
“Sorry I’m late,” Korra manages, then breaks into a fit of giggles. She’s pinned you on your back, spilling tea all down your front - you’re not burnt, just damp.
“I’m all wet now,” you scold but you can’t keep it up - your heart feels swollen with elation. Your smile is as ridiculous as hers, you’re sure.
She grins gleefully at this. “Wow, I am good.”
You’re completely scandalised. “Korra.”
There’s more laugher and a kiss so deep that you decide to let it slide, despite your better judgement.
She grabs both your hands so you’re both sitting upright. You see your cup bobbing about on the water. It’s lost to you now; you’ll have to come back and find it later.
Stripping off your soiled top earns you another playfully evocative comment. In retaliation you pull the offending top over her head, setting you both off laughing until you chest aches with the effort. You watch with amusement as she curses and struggles to back out of it.
Then she slips behind you and her arms snake around your waist - something about not wanting you to get cold. A ridiculous reason - the temperature never changed here - but the contact was more than welcome.
You’re skittish so she’s soft with you; still hypersensitive to touch after years of solitude.
You always manage to forget how effortlessly good it all felt - to be held and adored and cherished; even if you did feel abashed about the whole thing.
“Happy birthday,” she murmurs close to your ear, pleased with herself. You raise a questioning eyebrow, watching the reflection of her behind you in the water’s surface.
“You shouldn’t know that,” you leave the ‘It’s not my real birthday,’ for another day and bury away the insecurities about what that date actually means to you down somewhere even you can’t see them.
You won’t let that ruin this; you’re on too much of a high.
“Of course I should. I’m the Avatar,” she pecks your cheek, just under your eye where your mole is. It tickles. “I have something for you.”
“I don’t like surprises,” you say impulsively, then regret it, immediately adding: “What is it?”
“Don’t worry, it’s nothing crazy, I promise. Well, nothing shocking. Well—actually thinking about it, it might be pretty shocking - and it’s pretty crazy - but in a good way—”
“What is it,” this time you tone is deliberately dour.
She unwinds her arms, sitting aside of you and pulling out a wad of papers from a scruffy rucksack she carries around. She hands them to you. It’s a document. You flick through the pages rapidly.
It’s information about you - not all that surprising. The word ‘specimen’ is printed over the front. But it’s the last few pages which catch your attention.
It’s release papers. Your release papers.
“How—” but words fail you. You’re in shock.
“These are only provisional—drafts you could say. What we’re proposing is that you are given parole on the grounds of good behaviour and continued participation in treatment programs. It’s still a work in progress but it’s coming together pretty nicely, I think.”
“‘What we’re proposing?’ Unless this some very-well planned out prepping, I assume you’re not referring to me,” you hold up the document, it has quite a bit of weight to it. “Someone else is involved in this?”
“Uh, I’ve got friends who are well informed on the process,” you wait patiently for her to elaborate. She does. “The Chief of Police. Anyway, we’re going to submit this to the parole board as soon as we’re eligible to.”
You don’t quite believe it. “At minimum term?”
“In twelve months, hopefully.”
You’re quiet, placing the papers back in your lap and staring at them, trying to process what’s being said. Then a thought occurs to you. “But how? Is this even legal, Korra?”
“What? Yes! Kuvira, seriously I can’t just swing a whole conditional release because ‘Ye Be Avatar of Olde’ - it doesn’t work like that, as much as popular opinion would have you believe otherwise.
“We’re going to appeal against the length of your sentence. The International Affiliation of Nations committee were never really happy with the discrepancy between your sentence and Baatar’s. Considering he got parole after only seven years for a fifteen year sentence… well as far as they’re concerned, legally, you can appeal.”
You already know this, and you know the reason why. “His terms of sentencing come under Zaofu’s laws. Mine don’t.”
“Yeah but because the conflict crossed borders it becomes an international issue and International Affiliation get the last say on the matter. Besides, if you factor in the fact that Varrick, Bolin and Zhu Li weren’t brought to trial—not that I want them to be imprisoned,” she added hastily. “It works in your favour.”
“I—” several thoughts whizz through your head at once. It’s a lot to take in. “You know this is extremely unlikely to work even though it’s… technically possible, don’t you?”
“It’s a long-shot. But who knows,” she shrugs and flashes a smile at you. “It just might work. We have to try.”
You allow yourself to smile back, just a little. You reluctant to let yourself hope just yet, but that doesn’t mean you can’t be grateful. “I’m impressed.”
She’s practically glowing with enthusiasm. It's infectious. She reaches out to squeeze your hand. “The only thing we’re missing now is psychotherapy reports.”
Your good mood drops dramatically. “That’s why you want me here,” the sudden revelation throws you both; she laughs nervously at your words and loosens her grasp.
“Ah, you worked that out did you?” you don’t respond because the statement doesn’t require it. You can see she’s apologetic; it doesn’t make you feel any better.
“You should have told me that.”
“I didn’t know how to bring it up so I just thought I’d bring you here and, well. See what happened.”
Not good enough. “It’s deceptive.”
“I know, but you’re always so,” she struggles to find a word, puckering her lips together. “prickly about it.”
Your lip twitches upwards. “Bad word choice.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“Difficult? Sensitive? Stubborn?”
“Worse.”
She grumbles in annoyance and shuffles forwards to rest her head on your shoulder. “You know what I’m talking about though,” is your muffled response.
You reply with a soft ‘hm’ hoping it requires no further comment. She’s hinting for a hug with her actions but you’re not abiding. She’s still holding onto your hand but your grips limp.
“Kuvira,” she says in a whiny voice that you don’t particularly care for.
“Hm?”
“I love you.”
“Thanks,” your reply is indifferent. She’s said it before; a number of times in fact. It doesn’t come as easy for you. Nevertheless, it’s not what you want to hear right now; although you can’t deny your heart flutters at the sound.
After a moment, she sighs and sits up facing you. Her eyes are limpid and sincere. “All right, I’m sorry. It wasn’t the most mature way to go about things. I just didn’t know what else to do. If you knew, would you have come?”
“No,” and it’s the truth. “But that doesn’t make it right.”
“I know it doesn’t. I also know you hate—like ‘sit in stony silence for hours’ hate—talking to the psychologists in prison. This just seemed like the perfect fix.
“And yeah, I went about it the wrong way, but give Iroh a chance. He’s an amazing guy, and he won’t tell a soul anything you don’t want him to - he can’t, he’s a spirit.”
“I’ll do it,” you clutch her hand tightly back; in affirmation or forewarning it is hard to tell. “But don’t try to deceive me again.”
“You have my—” she sits up straight and puts her hands together as if to bow, “sworn allegiance and undying loyalty, Great Uniter.”
No one else would ever get away with these antics. “Not funny.”
“Little bit funny,” she moves closer to you and nuzzles her head in the crook of your neck, “tiny, incy wincy biddle baby bit funny.”
“Korra!” But you’re laughing and it tickles too much to protest further; you’re on your back again and breathlessly giddy by the time she’s finished with you. Then she quietens, laying her head on your chest; you wrap an arm around her and hold her close. You stay like that for a long time.
“I really want this,” you hear her say, breaking the hushed silence.
“I know,” you gaze skyward, hold her a little fiercer. “So do I.”
The sky seems exceptionally bright now.
Perhaps now is time for you to move forward with your life. You have lost time to make up. Places to go. Repent.
No time like the present.