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“I’m a grown woman, Tenzin. I don’t need a babysitter.” Lin was perched on the edge of the kitchen table, arms crossed, and Kya had never wished to leave a room more.
“Please, Lin, at least until you’re through your first trimester. Your job—”
“Means I’ll be covered head to toe in armour. I don’t see how having your sister hang around me every hour of the day is going to help. If anything, she’ll be a liability.”
“I’m right here, Lin,” Kya said, irritated, “and I can handle myself.”
This was hardly a conversation she had wanted to be dragged into, and Kya was already losing patience. When Tenzin had called her back to Republic City to “help out” with Lin’s pregnancy, she hadn’t expected to be instated as Lin’s—clearly unwanted—bodyguard. Kya understood Tenzin’s protective instinct, she really did, but Lin was hardly the sort of woman who would allow her partner to lay her back on a mountain of pillows and not move a muscle until she’d popped out a healthy airbender, and they could all finally take a breath.
“I’m sure you can, but you’re hardly combat trained, Kya,” said Lin, her voice softening ever so slightly. “If I’m worrying about your safety in the field, I’m more likely to get hurt myself.”
Kya had to admit she had a point, but before she could say so, Tenzin decided to make everything worse:
“You’ll hardly be going out into the field, Lin.”
Lin’s voice was low and dangerous when she replied,
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Now that you’re pregnant, you’ll stop going into the field,” Tenzin said, as if this was already agreed between them. “I know how important your job is to you, but you can be Captain from behind your desk for a year or so.”
Lin looked as though she was about to start throwing punches, and Kya couldn’t say she blamed her. Tenzin had a way of speaking as though every word out of his mouth was an indisputable truth, and it had irked Kya since they were teenagers.
“Kya,” Lin said, her voice strained, “would you mind leaving me to talk to your brother alone?”
Kya couldn’t agree fast enough.
“Wow, I’ve never known you to cave to anything, Tenzin must have given you one hell of a guilt trip.” Kya leaned against the doorframe of Lin’s office, where she was writing up a report with considerably more force than was required. She looked tired, though, as if every angry motion was costing her more energy than it should.
“I’m not in the mood, Kya,” Lin snapped, signing her name to the bottom of the document. She sighed before she looked up from the paperwork. “I know you’re only here because Tenzin asked, but I don’t need a babysitter.”
“I prefer to think of myself as a bodyguard,” Kya said, “It’s so much sexier.” She closed the door behind her and dropped casually onto the most comfortable looking chair in the room. Lin only rolled her eyes, shuffling the paper in front of her and pulling out a new form. “You know, You might consider being nicer to me,” Kya continued. “If we got to talking you might discover that I am only here because Tenzin asked me to be. I promise there are a hundred things I would rather be doing that sitting around the station all day watching you do paperwork. If you deigned to ask, you might also discover that I think you’re a capable, sensible woman, who can look after herself in the field.” Lin looked up from her desk, something like hope glittering in her eyes. Kya grinned. “Furthermore, I would say I’m pretty good at keeping secrets, especially from my brother.”
“Really?” Lin breathed. Her hand was frozen above the paper, and her eyes were wide as she stared at Kya, the faintest beginnings of the smile curling at the edges of her lips. It was the most open Kya had seen her look since they were children, the expression causing both warmth and sadness to bloom in Kya’s chest.
“Really,” she said, softly. “I wouldn’t recommend chasing after any known murderers, but you’ll go insane cooped up in here, and stress is bad for babies. So if you want to do some real investigating, I’m not gonna stop you.” Lin continued to stare at her, opening her mouth slightly, then closing it, and Kya struggled not to laugh. She decided to put Lin out of her misery by continuing,
“However, there are parts of this job that I take very seriously. You look like death this morning, Lin. How many times have you thrown up?”
Lin grimaced.
“A few.”
“How about I make you some plain rice and some tea?” Kya suggested, rising from her chair to perch on the edge of Lin’s desk. “It’s my own blend, and it does wonders for nausea.” Up close, Lin looked even worse, her face pale and drawn, and Kya reached out absently to tuck an errant strand of hair behind Lin’s ear. Touching Lin was usually like playing with fire, but to Kya’s surprise, she leaned slightly into the touch and said quietly,
“That… I’d like that, thank you Kya.”
Following Lin around all day proved to be more interesting than Kya had anticipated. Lin was straightforward to the point of bluntness in everything she did, but she was a good leader, and Kya found endless amusement in watching her division vye for her praise. The officers tried (and failed) to hide smiles as they stood tall for every approving nod or gruff “good job”. Kya had not given much thought to what the team would think of her until a very tired looking officer approached her in the break room while she was making Lin’s morning tea and asked whether there was an official line on how much coffee he could drink in a day. Confused, she stammered out a response about the negative effects of coffee and certain teas on brain and heart function, advising him to keep it below five cups if he possibly could.
Bumping the door of Lin’s office open with her hip, two steaming bowls of tea in her hands, Kya said conversationally,
“Hey, did you tell your officers why I’m here?”
“Of course,” Lin replied, not looking up from her paperwork. She held up her hand for her tea, and Kya rolled her eyes indulgently as she passed it over.
“Did you tell them the truth about why I’m here?”
Lin looked almost sheepish for a moment, before the expression disappeared back behind her usual stoic mask.
“I told them you were hired by the RCPD to check in with every department, making sure we weren’t encouraging any practices that might endanger the health of our officers or the public,” she admitted, and Kya couldn’t help but laugh.
“And they believed you?” she asked, incredulous. Lin crossed her arms, frowning.
“I thought it was a pretty good cover.” She pouted slightly, and Kya stifled another giggle behind her hand.
“You really think I look like a by-the-book kind of girl?”
She’d meant it as a rhetorical question, but Lin looked her up and down as if seriously considering her answer. Kya felt her cheeks darken as Lin’s sharp gaze took in the way her skirt draped over her hips, raking up her body to where her blouse left the skin of her shoulders bare.
“No,” Lin said finally. “I suppose you don’t. Still, that’s the story and we’re sticking to it.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Kya grinned and gave an ironic little salute. Lin rolled her eyes, but she was smiling ever so slightly, and something fluttered pleasantly in Kya’s ribcage.
Kya bundled Lin into her office before she could protest, her fingers working stupidly at the metal clasps on Lin’s armour.
“What the fuck were you thinking, Lin?” she hissed as she worked. Her hands were damp with sweat, and she cursed again as she fingers slipped on the smooth metal. “I’m supposed to be looking after you, remember? That was so beyond stupid, I can’t believe you would put yourself at risk like that. Reckless, it was reckless Lin.” She tugged harder at a particularly stubborn clasp. “I thought we said no going after known murderers. That counts for triads and you know it. I told you I could handle myself, you didn’t need to—you didn’t need to—”
Kya felt her voice begin to wobble as she saw it all again in slow motion: the gleam in the mobster’s eye, the fireball hurtling towards her, Lin shoving her out of the way, bracing herself to take the impact. She shook her head, forcing the image away, and let out a frustrated shout as the clasp beneath her fingers refused to budge.
“I can do that myself, you know,” Lin said, her voice low and soft.
Kya watched dumbly as Lin bent the armour away from her body, eyes scanning across every inch of freshly exposed skin, checking for marks. For once, her gaze didn’t linger on the strong curve of Lin’s bicep, or the surprising delicacy of her clavicle. She didn’t know when she had opened her waterskin, but her hands were glowing, and she held them against Lin’s chest, just to hear the steady, reassuring pound of her heart.
“I’m sorry I scared you,” Lin said in that same low, gentle tone. Kya tutted, and Lin reached up to place her hand over Kya’s on her chest. Their hands looked ethereal encased in shimmering water. “I couldn’t let you get hurt, though. You might be able to look after yourself, but you’re—you’re a member of the public, and it’s my duty to protect you. I’ll do it again if I have to.”
“You absolutely will not,” Kya grumbled, and Lin smiled. She dropped Kya’s hand, allowing it to travel down to Lin’s still-flat stomach. To her relief, she could feel the delicate beating of a tiny heart.
“Are you satisfied, Master Kya?” Lin asked, and Kya huffed.
“You’re fine,” she admitted. “But no more triads.”
“No more triads,” Lin agreed. “We don’t want you getting hurt.”
Kya began to protest, before she saw the teasing smile that painted Lin’s lips. Battle-rumpled and flushed from exertion, Lin was beautiful, and Kya felt a sudden, unexpected pang of sympathy for Tenzin; if she had to choose between this woman, and the future of her nation, Kya didn’t know what she would have done. But it wasn’t a choice he had to make anymore, she reminded herself. The proof was fluttering against her palm. She drew her hand back suddenly.
“Right,” she said, letting out an unconvincing huff of laughter. “We certainly wouldn’t want that.”
Lin slammed the door of her office.
“What are you doing here?” Lin snapped, and Kya bristled.
“The same thing I’ve been doing every day for almost two months, Lin,” Kya replied evenly. “I can make myself scarce if you want to have this little tantrum in peace, though.”
Lin glared at her.
“I am not having—” she began, her fists clenched hard at her sides. Kya raised an eyebrow, and Lin took a few long, deep breaths. “There’s an opening for Deputy Chief,” she said eventually. Kya frowned.
“Okay. Are you going to apply?”
“No, Kya, of course I’m not going to apply,” Lin said, enunciating every word as if Kya were a particularly stupid toddler. “I’ll be showing by the time they review applications. They won’t even consider me.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do,” Lin replied, with a dark certainty. “This is as far as I’m ever gonna get now, I might as well get used to it.”
Anger flashed through Kya, hot and unexpected.
“No, Lin,” she insisted. “You’re a good leader, and you’re smart, and you deserve this. If they won’t give it to you now, you can come back next time and show them they were stupid to overlook you.” Lin’s eyes were wide with shock, though Kya didn’t think she’d said anything revelatory; anyone who had seen Lin work would have to agree with her. “I didn’t think you were so easy to defeat, Lin,” she finished. Kya’s tone was slightly teasing, a challenge she was certain Lin would rise to, but when Lin replied, her voice was heavy with resignation.
“Neither did I.”
“Stop whining, Lin. Take it off.”
Lin grumbled as she bent the armour from her body, leaving her in the plain white tank beneath. If Lin’s stomach wasn’t usually so impeccably toned, Kya would never have noticed the very slight rounding of her abdomen. It was completely invisible beneath her armour, and Lin looked down at it as though she’d forgotten it was there.
“Come on, bring that bump over here,” Kya ordered, and Lin sat reluctantly beside her, frowning as Kya emptied her waterskin to set her hands a-glow. It wasn’t her usual displeased frown—that one Kya was used to—but a frown of genuine, deep concern.
“What’s wrong?” Kya asked, as she moved her hand to hover over the slight protrusion.
“I just—I hate the idea of not being able to move. This thing’s gonna get so big and I—” she hesitated, just for a moment, and Kya noticed that her hands were clutching the edge of the sofa too tightly. “I keep having these nightmares. There’s always someone attacking, something falling, and I can’t help because I can’t move properly, everything about me is too heavy and I’m never quick enough. I’ve got this huge stomach and I can’t reach you—” Lin looked up at Kya, and Kya felt her heart leap. How had she not noticed that they were sitting so close together? She could see where Lin’s pulse beat against the delicate skin of her neck, see the shadows of her lashes on her cheek. She felt her own breath hitch, and she could have sworn Lin’s gaze flicked—just for a moment—to her lips. “—or Tenzin, or whoever,” Lin finished lamely.
Suddenly, Kya was horribly, painfully aware of why they were sitting like this, why she could feel the warmth of Lin’s body against her skin. She could feel Lin’s elevated heart rate beneath her hand, and alongside it, the fluttering of another. There was nothing she could say now, no comforting words she could offer as the truth dawned on Kya with a horrible certainty. Instead, she plastered on a smirk and said,
“Wow, Lin. I never knew you cared.”
The spell was broken, and Lin muttered,
“Shut up.”
Kya listened to the heartbeat of Lin and Tenzin’s child and wondered why, out of all the women in the world, she had to fall for this one.
Kya knew it was a stupid thing to do. She knew it was stupid as she paid for the tea and the warm steamed buns. She knew it was stupid as she walked the few blocks to Lin’s apartment. She knew it was incredibly, astronomically stupid when she knocked on the door. What had she been thinking? To have a cute little breakfast date before work? A cute little breakfast date with her brother’s pregnant girlfriend? Kya adjusted her blouse, and hated herself.
She’d been so caught up in the whirlwind of her thoughts, that it took Kya a few moments to notice that Lin ought to have answered the door already. She raised her fist, and knocked again. Perhaps Lin had gone in to work early—that certainly seemed like something she would do. She knocked once more.
“Lin? Lin it’s me. I brought breakfast,” she called. She was about to give it up for a lost cause—and it would serve her right—when the door opened.
Lin looked pale, and so tired that Kya would have trouble believing she’d slept at all. It was arresting to see her out of her uniform, simply dressed in a white tank and dark, loose trousers. She looked oddly fragile, and Kya reached out to her instinctively, only for Lin to flinch violently away from her touch.
“It’s gone,” she said. Her voice was rough and hollow, and Kya felt her heart drop into her stomach.
“What do you mean?” she asked, though she knew.
“I mean it’s gone,” Lin repeated. “No more baby.” She turned and staggered back into the apartment, and Kya scrambled to close the door behind her.
“When?”
“Last night. The pain woke me up and there was—blood.”
“Are you sure? A little bit of bleeding is norm—”
“It’s gone, Kya. I felt it pulled out of me and I cleaned it up afterwards.” Her gaze went momentarily to a rumpled pile of sheets, abandoned in the doorway of the bathroom. Through the open door, Kya could see that patches of the tile were wet, and a bloodstained cloth was hanging from the lip of the sink, still dripping pink water onto the floor beneath.
“I’ve seen less blood at crime scenes,” Lin said. Her voice was empty, matter-of-fact, and Kya couldn’t argue with her. “I’m still bleeding. I feel like someone twisted my gut in a knot and is wringing this fucking kid out of me every step I take.” Her voice cracked as she dropped down onto the sofa like a puppet whose strings had been cut. If Kya hadn’t already known, she would have guessed something was wrong simply from the way Lin moved; her usual controlled grace was gone, and it seemed an effort to even hold her head up.
“Then will you please let me look at you?” Kya said, sitting down gently beside Lin. “If you’re still bleeding I need to check you’re not in any danger.”
Lin only stared at her for a long moment. Her green eyes shimmered with tears, and something that might have been fear. She’d never seen Lin afraid before, not even when she was a child; it was always Tenzin who was afraid, and Lin who would tell him fear was stupid. The expression looked so wrong on Lin’s face and Kya felt her heart crack.
But it was not her feelings that mattered. She held her hand, as gently as possible, against Lin’s abdomen, letting the water flow across their skin. Kya remembered the last time they’d sat like this, how the air between them had crackled with energy, and how she had wished so fervently that things were different, that Lin was not carrying Tenzin’s child. She hadn’t wanted this.
“There’s no infection, which is good,” she said when she took her hand away. “But you’re right, the baby’s gone.”
Lin nodded mutely.
“It’s okay, Lin. I know you must feel—” she scrambled to find the right word, but every one seemed tepid and insincere, “—awful, but this happens to women all the time. It doesn’t mean you can’t get pregnant again, and it doesn’t mean that a second pregnancy won’t be perfectly healthy.”
“I don’t want another pregnancy, Kya,” Lin snapped. “I barely wanted this one. I just didn’t want Tenzin to leave me.”
“He wouldn’t—” Kya started to say, though it felt like a lie even before Lin interrupted, her voice shaking and thick with tears.
“He would. He would have left me if I’d said no again. That jumped up acolyte has him half wrapped around her little finger already. I’m so fucking angry, Kya, that this is the woman I’ve become. My mother would disown me, if she were here to see it, but she’s not. She left, just like everyone else.” Lin frantically wiped away tears with the back of her hand, as if they burned her. “Even this baby, even this little thing that didn’t even have a heartbeat, or limbs, or thoughts, wanted out. And you know what? I can’t blame it.”
“Don’t say—”
“No, it knew. It knew what it was getting into, so it got out while it still could. And I’m relieved, Kya. I’m so relieved but…” Lin’s hand fluttered to her abdomen. “Why does it hurt like this? To lose something you didn’t even want?”
There were a hundred medical answers Kya could give, but none of them would be enough. Nothing biological could define the bitter twist of feelings that Kya could see in every line of Lin’s face. She longed to pull Lin into her arms, to promise that things would get better, but Lin had never wanted comfort and empty platitudes, from Kya or from anyone.
“Have you told him yet?” Kya asked softly, and Lin flinched as if Kya had struck her.
“No.”
Kya realised it had been a stupid question; of course Lin hadn’t told Tenzin. If she had, he would be here. He would be comforting her. This was Tenzin’s job, not Kya’s.
“I’ll come with you, back to Air Temple Island. He’d want to be with you.” She couldn’t quite bring herself to say Tenzin’s name, as if doing so would invoke some kind of terrible reckoning. Lin barely seemed to notice she’d spoken.
“I have to go to work.” Lin moved to stand, and Kya put a firm but gentle hand against her chest.
“You are miscarrying in your fourteenth week, Lin. You are not going to work.” Lin shrugged off Kya’s hand, but didn’t attempt to get up again.
“I’d rather be there than on the island,” she said.
“You don’t mean that.”
Lin’s eyes were hard when she turned to face Kya again. Kya recognised that look; it was Lin preparing for battle, and when she spoke, her every word was barbed.
“Don’t I? You really think I want to wander into Tenzin’s meditation and tell him I lost the baby he’s been begging me for for the last ten years? He’s going to say it’s my fault; I wasn’t careful enough, I didn’t rest enough, if I’d only taken the year off work like he’d wanted me to, then none of this would have happened!”
Kya didn’t think Tenzin was a cruel man, certainly not capable of the kind of cruelty Lin was imagining. He had his flaws, like anyone else, but her brother had always tried to do right by his family, in his own way. She almost wished he wasn’t a good man, because that would make all of this so much easier.
“Lin, I—” she began, but Lin continued as if she hadn’t heard her.
“Or maybe not, maybe he’ll hold me and I’ll cry and he’ll say it’s all okay. He’ll say we can try again. But I don’t want to try again. How am I supposed to tell him that?” Lin’s shoulders dropped, and as quickly as it had arrived, the fight in her dissolved. “Tell me what to do Kya because I don’t… just tell me what to do.”
There were a hundred good things that Kya could say, pieces of advice she could give. Kya didn’t say any of them.
“Run away with me.”
It was stupid, hopeless, cruel, but Kya also knew she needed to ask. She needed to know how impossible it was.
“We’ll go wherever you want,” she continued, letting the words pour out of her, regardless of the consequence. This was not the time for Kya’s undeserving confessions, but Lin had asked her what to do, and Kya wanted to answer her. “Have you ever been to Ember Island, Lin? The beaches go on for miles. We could go to Kyoshi and learn to fight like Aunt Suki; we could go to the Northern Water Tribe and see the midnight sun. Whatever you want, Lin, wherever you want.” She took Lin’s cheek in the palm of her hand, stroking the smooth skin with her thumb.
“Kya, don’t.” Lin said quietly. Her voice trembled as she covered Kya’s hand with her own. “You know I can’t leave Republic City, I can’t leave the force.”
“Why?”
“You know why, Kya! Because if I leave now, what have I been making myself miserable for? If I jack it all in now, what was the point of all those fights with Tenzin, what was the point of all those years of pushing and pulling and compromises neither of us wanted to make?” She stared at the blank wall in front of her, as if she could see the years stretching back and back and back. A whole life she’d spent breaking her bones into new shapes just to make herself fit. “What does it say about me that I’d give up everything I’ve spent my life working on to travel the world with you, but not to save the fucking Air Nation?”
She turned to Kya, her gaze begging for condemnation, but Kya would not give it to her. Instead she asked gently,
“What do you want, Lin?”
Lin laughed, short and hollow.
“It doesn’t matter what I want. It never has.” She drew her knees up beneath her chin, holding them tightly like a child.
This time, the urge to take Lin in her arms was too strong, and Kya reached out tentatively for Lin’s shoulder. When she met no resistance, she pulled Lin towards her, laying Lin’s head against her chest. Kya wrapped one arm around Lin’s waist, letting the other drift up to stroke Lin’s black hair.
“Will you let me take you back to Air Temple Island?” Kya said, in barely more than a whisper. “You don’t have to say anything, but I can look after you better there.” Perhaps while they were gone, Kya could have the apartment cleaned, could get rid of the bloodied sheets and replace them with fresh. Lin didn’t deserve to come back to an empty home filled with nothing but reminders.
“I’d rather just—I can’t face it, right now.” Lin’s voice was muffled against the fabric of Kya’s dress, and Kya nodded. She pressed her lips to the top of Lin’s head.
“Okay, okay. We’ll stay here. Just you and me. As long as you need.”