Chapter Text
The iron taste of blood fills her mouth. Lin scoffs. At least she can still taste metal.
Besides the throb of her split lip, Lin feels numb all over. She gnaws at the chapped flesh and shifts from foot to foot, uncertain if the numbness piercing through her is due to the frigid cold of the South Pole or the anxiety attack prickling under her skin, threatening to claw its way out any moment now.
What if this doesn’t work ? Left with only a surname too big for you. Then what will you be? croons a voice that sounds remarkably like Amon. Lin shakes the voice from her mind as Katara reemerges, hunched with age and an obvious grief.
“I’ve done everything in my power, but I cannot restore Korra’s bending.”
The crash of words bears down on Lin’s brain, and before she can catch herself, her fears tumble out of her mouth.
“But you’re the best healer in the world. You have to keep trying.” She can practically taste the desperation on her tongue. The look Katara gives her shatters Lin’s heart further.
“I’m sorry. There’s nothing else I can do. Korra can still airbend, but her connection to the other elements has been severed.”
A dizzying buzz consumes the remainder of Katara’s words. Blurred seconds pass before a voice shatters her haze.
"It'll be okay, Korra."
"No. It won't."
The world around Lin crumples as the weight of those words linger in the air. She watches Korra escape the healing hut and immediately follows, eager to be free of the dashed hope of onlookers, the space too small to hold all of their collective grief. She does not know – or care – where her feet are taking her, but she breathes in fresh, crisp air. Already a relief from the stale stench of disappointment. It has been ages since her last trip to the South Pole, but she did not forget the bitter cold that welcomed her.
Without noticing, Lin finds herself on the edge of an icy cliffside, frost-capped ocean waves crashing upon rocks below her. There is something compelling in the recklessness of water. Its power and destructive nature paired with its healing and seductive flow. Water refuses to remain still, to settle. Water constantly shifts, changes, adapts. Always charging forward, forging a new path in the stoic, unmovable rock face. Nothing has ever been able to change rock the way water can; her tides dance atop stone, bit by bit wearing down the facade. Until she cannot tell where one begins and one ends, and suddenly things don’t feel so stuck anymore, and the water flows beneath her, with her, and–
“You’ll freeze out here in only that uniform” a familiar voice calls, breaking Lin from her thoughts.
She does not turn to the voice
cannot turn to the voice
not like this, not now.
The world around her is spinning.
Or maybe that is merely the snow?
Footsteps against freshly fallen snow. The crunch of ice against boot sole. The crash of ocean waves below her. It’s all too much. Without the thrum of the earth beneath her feet, the whole of the world is too big, too loud, too much. Her uniform presses against her, heavy with cold and lifelessness, no longer waiting for action. Where Lin’s power once lived is simply noise. A resounding nothingness, an empty doldrum, a cacophony of loneliness, a deafening shadow self she cannot name. Her breathing comes in ragged waves, and she heaves a breath that doesn't quite take hold in her lungs.
“Hey, you in there?”
the voice asks as a hand grasps Lin’s arm, shocking her from her thoughts, the darkness washing away to reveal the face of the woman Lin has been avoiding for the last thirty years.
There are more lines etched into her skin than Lin remembers, but Kya has otherwise changed very little. Her once dark mane of brunette hair has been tamed back into a silver ponytail, strands of loose gray hair frame her still-striking face. Piercing blue eyes shine against olive skin; laugh lines crease into worried brows as Kya takes in Lin’s face too.
When was the last time someone truly looked at me , Lin wonders.
“Kya.” The name spills from Lin’s mouth before she has time to think, her relief tumbling out alongside. It has been ages since Lin said that name without venom laced through every letter.
“Come on. I’m not letting you freeze to death out of sheer stubbornness.” Slender fingers wrap around Lin's forearm, stronger than she remembers, and guide her from the icy ledge.
Kya nudges the door open with her hip, leading Lin into the warm space. As they enter, a wave of cedar and tobacco washes over Lin. The forgotten swoop of home fills her stomach at the scent, her chest unclenching immediately. She heaves another breath as a blush creeps to her cheeks, embarrassed by the relief she finds in this place. In Kya.
“Make yourself comfortable,” Kya says, dropping Lin’s arm and busying herself in the kitchen. “I’ll make us some tea.”
The open space reads like a traditional Southern Water Tribe abode, save for the collection of mismatched furniture pieces and decorations. As bold and auspicious as Kya is in personality, her home is easily as subtle and soft, full of a variety of textures and neutral colors. Lin steps down into the living area, sunken from its surroundings, and examines the plush velvet of the couch, the color and feel of ash two days old, and the hand-crafted wood table, intricately carved with symbols Lin does not recognize. Atop the table sits a porcelain tea set, one Lin recollects finding on a trip to the Fire Nation she and Kya took what feels like lifetimes ago.
“Got anything stronger?” Lin quips, trying to keep the waver out of her voice.
Kya chuckles and goes about grabbing glassware as Lin continues to take in the place. Lin sinks onto the couch, running her fingers through the fabric, threading them through the woven throw blanket beside her. She traces the lines of sage through the pattern of otherwise blue and gray threads. The space and its furnishings are eclectic: an Earth Kingdom dining table; Water Tribe tapestries hung throughout the living space; Fire Nation vases and dishware scattered about; Air Nomad rugs covering nearly every inch of wooden floor; various other scatterings of artwork and artistry, untied to a nation, fill the walls and shelves. Everything Republic City and Aang represented wrapped up in a simple hut, collected by a woman trying to find a home.
In one fluid movement, Kya settles onto the floor, breaking Lin from her thoughts for the second time today. Kya places a bottle of dark liquid and two glasses on the table between them. She pours two hefty doses of the honeyed liquor, hands Lin a glass, and downs her drink in its entirety before pouring herself another. They sit in a silence that lasts millennia.
“How have you been?” Kya asks, hesitation and – what is that? nervousness? regret? something else Lin cannot quite put her finger on – palpable in the air.
“We don’t have to do this,” Lin responds before drowning her face in her drink, her palms sweaty against the chill of the glass. Her heart clamors against her rib cage.
“Do what?” Kya responds with a chuckle.
“Pretend like we’re friends or something.” It comes out like a bark, a bite held behind barred teeth. The anxiety from earlier has morphed into anger broiling beneath her skin, eager to be set free and released from its decades long prison.
“Does the Great Lin Beifong not have time to catch up with old friends?” Kya cocks her head to the side, a smirk emerging as she takes in Lin’s obvious discomfort. It takes everything in her power for Lin not to collapse into a puddle on the floor, but she resists, steeling her scowled expression. Which only encourages Kya to push further.
“What’s the matter, Linny? Where’d your sense of humor go?”
“It left when you did,” Lin hisses before she has time to second guess herself. The smile on Kya’s face drops as quickly as it appeared, the faint echo of it etched into her skin.
“I see you’re tactful as ever,” Kya replies, cold creeping into her voice like ice particles freezing over a pond. “You knew I wanted to travel, Lin. And you were dating Tenzin, so–”
“What does Tenzin have to do with this?” Lin interrupts, the frustration boiling over like a pot left too long.
“Nothing. He’s got nothing to do with it.” Kya snaps back. Only then does Lin notice how flustered Kya is; her eyes refusing to meet Lin’s, and her hands fidgeting the way they used to when Kya was young. Lin’s shoulders sink, the anger sliding off of her in an instant.
“Are you alright?” Lin asks, her voice softer now. Kya looks up and catches Lin’s eyes for a moment, something threatening to spill, before her familiar smile reappears.
“Of course. I’m fine. Thinking about Tenzin just makes me–” Kya mimes nausea and forces a laugh. A heavy silence descends on the room, Kya sipping her drink and avoiding Lin’s gaze once more.
“Kya, I–” Lin begins, a hand reaching out towards Kya’s, before a knock at the door startles them both out of this haze. Kya jumps to her feet and hurries across the room, throwing open the door in one fell swoop. The smile plastered on her face falters before she forces it back into place.
“Speak of the devil!”
Standing before Kya is her younger brother, Tenzin, the golden child of the late Avatar Aang. Despite being a head taller than Kya, he defers to her briefly, a bow of his head, a sink of the shoulders, until his excitement gets the better of him.
“Kya, have you seen Lin?” he exclaims, his crimson and gold robes billowing in the wind.
“Tenzin, what’s going on?” Kya asks, unused to seeing her brother this animated and eager.
“Korra got her powers back, Kya. Dad was there. She saw him. Talked to him. He helped her, taught her how to tap into them. She got her powers back!” he catches sight of Lin, now poised and ready to flee, and beams at her. “She can give you back your powers, Lin.”
Lin is by Tenzin’s side in barely a breath. They race towards the center of town, leaving Kya in their wake. Midstride, Lin spins back to Kya, who smiles and nods her head towards town. With a grin, Lin turns and bolts after Tenzin.
“I’ll catch up,” Kya whispers, her voice caught in her throat.
Lin exhales, the breath she has been holding for days finally releasing her clenched chest. A wave of nostalgia and safety washes over her as an old friend, a piece of her, is returned. She pushes herself up from her knees and raises a circle of boulders surrounding the small collection of onlookers. Electricity seems to run through her limbs as her bending returns, settling back into her body. She feels strong again. She feels like herself again. She feels –
Her thoughts are interrupted when she connects with a familiar face in the crowd, the playful smirk Lin has spent many nights dreaming of beaming up at her.
“Kya,” Lin mutters to herself, gingerly lowering the boulders back to their previous places.
With the display of strength concluded, most of the onlookers disperse, chatting amongst themselves. Korra bows to Lin and smiles her lopsided grin, which Lin returns with a nod of her head and a soft thank you. Korra hustles off, back into the crowd of people and loved ones, leaving Lin alone on the platform. Well, not quite alone.
“That was impressive earth bending back there. But I remember you being better than that.” Kya says with a chuckle, a mischievous look in her eyes.
“You do know I had my bending taken from me, right?” Lin lobs back, eager to return to the playfulness of their youth. Eager to jump right back into things and pretend none of this messy middle bit happened.
“Still. I’ve seen better.” Kya shrugs, turning away from Lin to head back into the throng of folks below.
“Kya–” Before she knows what she’s doing, Lin reaches out for Kya’s hand, stopping her in her tracks. A thousand different thoughts flood Lin’s brain, screaming to be released, to tell this woman all of the fears and worries and amusements and joys of her life, to fill the decades between them with stories and laughter, to find their foundation again. Instead, Lin merely says, “thank you” and lets go of Kya’s hand.
“Any time, Linny,” Kya says with a wink and the weight of everything unsaid between them.
Then, just like before, Kya is gone.