Pema had said that he would not lose himself once she left, but Tenzin had never felt more lost. She would never know the pain of watching her slowly fade away. His optimism had failed him. As he looked back on the final days leading up to Pema losing the battle against this affliction, Tenzin could not believe how foolish he must have looked. Believing that this would go away on its own and expecting things to look up. It was a lie he had to tell himself just so he could get out of bed and do something with the time they still had left. Thinking about it now, as the last of the guests began to leave, as Asami had given him beautiful words with a stoic Mako by her side, as Bolin and Korra made their intentions clear and headed elsewhere, as Lin stood by his side watching the very last boat leave, Tenzin wondered… was it enough?
Like vermin attacking his mind as though it were a morsel, all of his regrets were coming forward at once. The air bender had begun to recall all the times he did not kiss Pema’s lips goodbye, mentally counting down the number of scenes that played out in his head. There was not enough time for the two of them in this world. The hours and minutes he spent not comforting her in favor of chasing a case that not even one of the finest officers Republic City had to offer had felt wasted. This was of course not on Lin, but on whomever unleashed this disease upon the people of his city. His anger was not enough to overtake his sadness.
Tenzin had just barely felt the hand rest atop his shoulder. Turning his head to face Lin with a blank expression, he followed her in silence back to the home to discuss whatever it was she had uncovered. Once inside, he had taken his seat just beside her and listened to every single word that left her lips. More sickness. More death. More cases than one woman could handle—even if she was a Bei Fong—did not comfort Tenzin any more than remaining silent during the funeral service. Even so, his lack of comfort was no excuse not to pay close attention to what Lin was telling him. With a firm face and a tense jaw, Tenzin struggled to put his mind into the latest details given.
All lives considered ordinary, yet developing bending at ages far beyond the normal revealing stages. A janitor cleaned up the messes of others, an often thankless job. A teacher devoted themselves to instructing others on jobs, history, and so on. Donating homegrown food speaks wonders for the generosity of the man doing so. An elderly woman with a foster home. A librarian. Lastly, a student getting through college.
Tenzin took the files Lin offered him and began to look through them. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but it did not hurt to give them an examination. These people all appeared unremarkable, with family histories not taking precedence over their current ways of living. Something connected them no matter how loosely. It was up to them to complete this before the world lost another like Pema.
Leave it to Lin to take notice of his lack of interest in the food and beverages during the funeral. It wasn’t as if she could blame him. The pain in the pit of his stomach could not be compared to losing his wife—there was no comparison to be made, really. But Lin wasn’t one to have it. She would only give him so much leeway before she put her foot down, something he had loved about her since they were just children. There was then mention of some sort of surprise, which would remain that way until he had eaten. At some point one of the acolytes must have dropped off the tea and food on the table, going completely unnoticed by him. She’d make him eat before it would be revealed.
“Typical.” Tenzin spoke for the first time in a long period, his voice dry and low. He took what food he believed he could stomach—cheese and crackers would go down easier, as well as a little ham—and grimaced while he ate. The files put away and the whiskey pouring into the tea, Tenzin had welcomed her initiative in that regard. Dulling the taxed, overburdened senses sounded like welcome relief, doubled when he took his cup and drank. It burned a little as it washed down the remnants of food left behind in his mouth and moistened his dry mouth. He only set the cup back down when it was completely empty, then turned to face Lin after she suggested grabbing dinner.
“No, no,” Tenzin waved his hand, head shaking from side to side. “I can’t do anything public right now. I didn’t have the strength to deal with it at the service either, but I bore with it—for the children, especially.” His children were as wounded as he was, but he could not let them see his tears any more than they already had. Their departure was for his own sake, so that he might be able to find some kind of strength, a means to bounce back from a loss so heavy. He appeared much weaker than he ever did before, a perfect reflection of his attitude now. For now, Tenzin was allowing himself to be meek.
He missed her touch far too much.
“Lin, this… isn’t easy for me to ask of you,” He paused. His eyes settled on hers and fought hard to remain there. “I don’t think I could handle complete isolation, but I’m far too… too unhappy to deal with much more than you or Korra. If my blubbering does not bother you too badly, could you stay the night with me?” He could use the drinks, but what he really needed was someone like Lin to recover with. It was selfish of him to ask his ex-girlfriend to help him deal with the loss of his wife, he knew that. But he also knew that Lin would not let this come between them, not when his pain couldn’t be described in words.
“If for some reason you cannot, I’ll understand.”
Taka
Dane
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