Chapter Text

(Book 3, before episode 8)



Before their youngest went off to her new life’s adventure at the Northern Air Temple, the Beifong Clan had decided to spend a quiet night in. They’d reshuffled furniture around the living room, making a close approximation of a theater. And now, cast on the massive screen, unfolded the perilous adventures of Nuktuk, Hero of the South.

Varrick had given a quick but impassioned speech introducing his ‘director’s cut’ of the film. Which evidently meant that he’d heavily edited it to lessen the more...warmongering portions of the script. Despite it still portraying a very loose telling of the conflict with Unalaq, the mover played as a breezy pulp adventure now. Asami was grateful for that. The last thing Korra needed was more reminders of the war.

But Asami had decided tonight was about Bolin. She’d encouraged Varrick’s vanity in premiering the new cut of the mover, but her motives hadn’t been entirely honest. Bolin and his perilous ‘adventures’ as Nutuk would prop him up some, pull more of his confidence to the surface. Give him the best chance to spend time with Opal before she left for her airbending training. Asami was pleased that it seemed to be working.

“Northern Water Tribe Automatons!” Nuktuk wailed from his chains. “Nooo!”

A trio of Future Industries mechs rolled into view. “Bee bo bop,” droned an actor off screen, “Nuktuk cannot stop Unalaq. Must destroy Nuktuk.”

There were some chuckles from the Beifong twins at the stilted acting, but Asami mostly paid mind to Bolin and Opal cozy on the sofa. Neither of them were very engrossed in the mover. Bolin excitedly whispered about how fun the production was, and how he’d valiantly rescued the president of Republic City during the premiere. Opal, with a kind and genuinely interested smile, listened at the right beats and asked him questions at others.

The projector had a tendency to overheat, so Asami remained at the back, the only person other than the ever-distracted Varrick who knew how to operate it. Though Bataar Sr. was trying his hardest to figure it out. He had a strip of film unrolled in his hands, studying it through the ambient light of the projector. “Some sort of celluloid...” he murmured, glancing at Asami for confirmation.

She held her expression tight, struggling to not smile. He was determined to wear her down to get technical specs of the projector and the film material.

“This really is infuriating, Asami,” Bataar muttered with a tired smile.

“I’m sorry,” Asami said. She stifled a chuckle. “It’s Varrick’s work, not mine. Why don’t you just ask him?”

“He’s kept his mouth sealed about the whole process.”

“Then I must defer to the creator’s wishes,” she said, “I can’t in good conscience help you reverse-engineer it. Professional courtesy.”

“Yes, yes, that’s very noble of you. Young lady, exclusivity is the death rattle of innovation.”

“I don’t disagree,” Asami said cheerfully, “And if it were my technology to share, you’d have it.”

Asami reclined against the cushion. The projector clicked and whirred beside her, but she settled comfortably into the noise. She’d always found the sounds of working machinery a calming distraction.

There were chuckles from the Beifong twins as they watched and mocked Bolin’s mover. It took some prodding from their mother and Opal to get them to settle down close to quiet. Asami wasn’t used to big families like this. So much noise, so many personalities living together, clashing, holding a delicate balance of family peace. Despite being raised in the city, being raised in a house full of people most days, Asami found the crowd of Beifongs exciting, but exhausting.

Squinting at the edges of the film strip, Bataar Sr. let out a long exhale. “Would you mind if I at least took the reel into a brighter area to better study it?”

Asami nodded, and he stood from his chair. “But please keep it in one piece,” she whispered after him. “We only have three movers to watch right now.” An off-handed wave later, Bataar Sr. disappeared with the film canister in tow. To run what Asami hoped were non-invasive tests.

Slipping into the room past Bataar on his way out, Korra carried a small tray with two tea cups and a spread of food. Her eyes stayed glued to the mover as she walked. It occurred to Asami that this was still a pretty new technology for her. Korra knew the truth of the story well enough, maybe too well, but there was still novelty seeing Bolin acting the indomitable hero on screen, while at the same time sitting in the room with them, snuggling on the couch with Opal.

Gently scooting past Asami, Korra sat down beside her on the couch. “I come bearing snacks,” she said in a hush. “Did I miss anything good?”

“Nuktuk is facing off against automaton abominations,” Asami whispered with a smirk.

“Still?”

“Different abominations this time.”

“Gotta give it to Varrick,” Korra muttered, “he commits to his propaganda.” Setting the tea tray on the floor, she offered a teacup to Asami. “I was gonna make you green tea, but then I remembered it keeps you up, so I found this lavender tea, I think it’s supposed to be relaxing or something, but then they were brewing something else in the kitchen-” Korra had started to fiddle with the cup in her hands as she rambled.

“Thank you,” Asami smirked, carefully taking the tea away before Korra spilled it in the dark.

“Crowds seem to tire you out,” Korra said.

“It doesn’t mean I’m not enjoying myself,” Asami reassured her. She inhaled the gentle, fragrant steam.

“I know,” said Korra, “I understand wanting to be alone sometimes. Recharge.”

The sympathy was sweet, and appreciated, but Asami had doubts. Korra seemed to thrive just as well around a crowd as she did on her own.

Leaning to the tray on the floor, Korra grabbed a warm steamed sweet bun. “I’m glad I finally get to see this,” she said quietly. “Bolin’s been raving about it since the premiere.” She shifted on her cushion with a smile. “Granted, he mostly talked about rescuing the president, but he still sounded excited.”

“It’s one of the better ones,” Asami agreed. “They were hitting their stride by the end.” A good number of Asami’s nights as a child had been spent attending plays with her parents. She’d accumulated an impressive mental library: dramas, musicals, farces. Enough to have a keen sense of what worked and what didn’t theatrically. Movers seemed more flash than substance right now, being so new, but they were already catching up with the quality of traditional theater.

“Soon,” the over-the-top Unalaq bellowed, “my doomsday device will shoot this block of ice into the Earth's core, freezing the entire planet, and I will be the ruler of Ice Earth!”

Asami winced a little. The quality was starting to catch up, anyway. “I hadn’t really planned on orchestrating a date night, but I think it's going well, right?” She nodded out at Bolin and Opal.

The cushions shifted as Korra scooted closer to spy on the pair. A surge shot up Asami’s brain when Korra’s arm pressed against hers. “He’s really gonna miss her,” Korra said. Bolin had positively lit up since sitting on that sofa with Opal.

“I don’t blame him,” Asami whispered. “She’s a sweetheart.”

“I can’t believe that Lin managed to convince her to train at the air temple.”

“Having a high profile recruit like Opal certainly helps your chances. You should lead with that the next time you find an airbender.”

“I plan to,” Korra said. “I could use all the help I can get.”

“You’re doing fine,” Asami urged. As Korra smiled at her in the dim light of the mover, Asami tried to focus on the projector’s mechanical hum. A comforting distraction from the the thrill of goosebumps that broke out down to her ankles.

Hiding behind a sip of her lavender tea, she watched Korra turn back to the mover. Asami didn’t know what else to say. Words felt caught in her throat. So she watched Korra, engrossed in the adventures of Nuktuk. She watched her grin when Bolin got to do something heroic and dashing, and groan at the bad jokes or the visible wires holding the giant bird monster in the air. Korra always bit down on a laugh at the “waterbending” effect of two buckets of water being thrown from off screen.

When Korra curled her feet up and returned to lean against her, Asami’s heart began doing laps in her chest. But a sliver of cynicism threaded its way through her. Tried to force her to relax. She’d been hurt before like this. She didn’t want to assume anything. She didn’t want to push, or expect too much.

But how could she think of anything else but that she’d called this whole thing ‘date night’?

Asami let herself lean into the solid weight of Korra against her, and they watched the rest of the mover in thrumming silence.