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master-sass-blast · 2 years

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Happier to Be Wrong.

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five: Chapter One, Part Five: Chapter Two, Part Five: Chapter Three, Part Six: Chapter One, Part Six: Chapter Two, Part Seven, Part Eight, Part Nine, Part Ten, Part Eleven, Part Twelve, Part Thirteen

Summary: "She knows the signs. Inconsistent affection in public or private, not initiating dates or outings, seeming lack of interest in progressing the relationship as a whole…

She’s learned. She’s wiser now. And she’s not going to get caught off guard –not going to get hurt–the same way again."

AKA talking about feelings and trauma is hard, part one.

Pairing(s): Lin Beifong x Reader.

Rating: T for arguing and some intense emotional stuff.

Word count: 6.8k.

She’s not too big to admit her faults. She can be uptight. She likes order and routine to the point of erring on the side of rigidity. She can be icy, which gets worse if she’s pissed. She’s got a short temper in certain areas; a poor tolerance for stupidity and bullshit, if you will.

Toph had called her a “grumpy little badgermole,” back when she was seven and cranky over other kids constantly cutting lines at school.

Tenzin had called her pessimistic. So had Kya and Bumi. So had Su, and Toph, and Aunt Katara, Uncle Sokka, Uncle Aang, Saikhan, Riyu–

“Pessimistic” was the one she refused to concede. It was hardly pessimistic to prepare for the worst –especially since it happened so often! Especially considering her line of work! It was hardly pessimistic to be cautious and prudent.

And it was hardly fucking pessimistic when she was usually right.

She knows the signs. Inconsistent affection in public or private, not initiating dates or outings, seeming lack of interest in progressing the relationship as a whole…

The first one had been easy to spot with Tenzin, back in the day. She hadn’t argued about it at the time, though. She’d put her blinders on, chalked it up to stress with Air Nomad stuff, and kept plowing through life and work alike. However, she’d missed the other two with him. She’d been so busy with work and trying to make her career that she’d just… let things go. They’d always pick things up back later –or so she thought. She thought they’d have the time.

She’s learned. She’s wiser now. And she’s not going to get caught off guard –not going to get hurt–the same way again.

...

She’d called you earlier and asked to talk; no sense in avoiding –delaying–the obvious. You’d said yes, she’d ended the call because she still had work to do, and… that’d been it.

It’s been a few months since the two of you started officially seeing each other. Summer is waning into autumn; it’s cold enough in the evening now that she needs a coat if she goes out.

She turns the collar of her peacoat up when a particularly icy breeze snakes around her. The wind’s been coming from the North lately, cooling the city as winter draws closer. Part of Lin –a part of her that she doesn’t acknowledge often–wonders if the cooling temperatures are a sign. Cooling seasons, cooling romance, bullshit like that. She scowls and walks faster. It doesn’t mean anything. Facts decide outcomes, not coincidental circumstances.

She regrets not driving over. She’d taken a tram part of the way, then opted to walk the rest of the way. She’d thought –hoped–that the walk would help take some of the edge off her mood. Instead, all it’s done is given her more time to overthink things. Maybe it’s better just to end things right now. Avoid something more drawn out and painful. She rounds the corner to the street your apartment complex is on and sighs. No, no. Talk to her first, then decide. The most facts make for the best decisions.

You’re waiting for her in the lobby –both unexpected and somewhat unwelcome; she was hoping to have the elevator ride to focus and try –probably fail–to calm her remaining nerves.

Lin stops short, surprised. “Oh, hi.”

“Hey.” You offer her a soft, if concerned smile. “What’s up? You sounded pretty serious on the phone.”

Can’t imagine why. Lin purses her lips, then nods towards the elevator; one thing she never wants to repeat again is a public break up. “Let’s head up.”

You hook your arm around hers once the elevator doors close. You lean against her, cushioning your head against her shoulder. “Did you have a good day at work?”

“Passable,” Lin grunts. She doesn’t want to be rude –she really, truly doesn’t–but the thought of making fucking small talk right now, with how things are, makes her want to puke. Don’t fucking act like you don’t know what’s going on. You’re smarter than that.

Patience. If there’s one thing nearly forty years on the force has taught her, it’s patience. She’s witnessed countless interrogations and stakeouts fizzle down the drain from getting too emotional or jumping in too soon; fights in relationships aren’t all that different, really.

“Well, you said you wanted to talk,” you declare once you close your apartment door behind both of you. You flip the lock, then shrug when she turns to look at you. Your expression’s tighter now, and you’re not moving into her personal space again; you’ve picked up that something’s wrong. “What’s up?”

Lin stares at you for a moment, both to collect her thoughts and study you. You’re shifting from foot to foot, and you’ve got your lower lip tucked between your teeth, but you’re not avoiding her gaze. You’re more on alert, but not guilty, per se.

She can’t decide whether to be angry or curious. She jams her hands into the pockets of her coat and ambles further into your apartment. “Have you been happy while we’ve been together?”

You sputter. Your eyes go wide. “What –what kind of question is that?”

“It’s the one I’m asking,” Lin replies, careful to keep her voice neutral and steady.

“I –yes. Of course I have!” You smile, but it quickly fades as you assess her with a look of dawning fear. “Have… have you not been happy?”

She has to bite the tip of her tongue to keep from automatically reassuring you. Focus. Eye on the target. “You’re happy with how things are? Between us?”

“...Yes,” you answer after a moment of bewildered silence. “I am.” Your brows draw together, and you angle away from her slightly. “Why –why are you asking me any of this? What’s going on?”

She shrugs. “Just piecing things together.”

Your eyes narrow. You go quiet, still, as you watch her. Then, you sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose. You lean back against the lip of your kitchen counter. “Fuck’s sake, Lin.”

It’s her turn to narrow her eyes. “What?”

“Okay.” You purse your lips in an angry approximation of a smile, then lower your hand and level her with a hard stare. “What we’re not doing… what you’re not going to do to me is treat this like a damn interrogation.”

“I am not–”

“You’re asking leading questions out of nowhere, you aren’t answering my questions when I ask you anything, and you’re not telling me what’s actually going on, what you’re feeling, or what the hell even started all of this in your mind,” you interject, ticking off each item on your fingers. “That’s not a conversation, that’s a damn interrogation. And what I am not okay with is you treating me like you’re a cop!”

Lin scowls. “I am a cop.”

“Not in our relationship you’re not!” you snap, eyes flashing with frustration. “Not with me, you’re not!” You close your eyes, force yourself to take a deep breath, and when you speak again, it’s apparent you’re trying to force yourself to stay calm. “You’re not a cop here.” You open your eyes and fix her with a pleading, hurt look. “You’re just Lin.”

Her heart catches against her ribs at the way your voice breaks on her name. She has to look away to keep her resolve from crumbling. “If you’re not okay with how I am–”

“If this is ‘how you are,’ then you can walk out that door until you have your head back on straight and decide to treat me like a damn person!” you snap, pointing stiffly at the door to your apartment. “I don’t care that you’re the Chief of Police, I don’t care how long you’ve been on the force, and I don’t care that you’re my girlfriend in this context. None of that gives you the right to browbeat me, especially not in my own fucking apartment!”

“Water is the element of change. The people of the Water Tribe are capable of adapting to many things.”

Right, Lin thinks, bitterly amused. Waterbenders flow with change –until they transform into a tidal wave and flatten you against the ground.

This isn’t how she wanted things to go (believe it or not). She really, truly didn’t want to hurt you or make you angry. All she wanted was some fucking clarity on just what was going on between the two of you –or, failing that, opening things up so you could take the out and let her try to move on. But you’re not taking the out –not even when you’re clearly angry with her. You’d told her that she could leave, but caveated it with “until you have your head back on straight.” Meaning, as far as Lin can tell, that you’re not interested in ending things.

Yet. Lin sighs and closes her eyes. I’m so fucking tired.

The instinct to run is there. She feels like a wild animal faced with a forest fire. The world is burning around her, there’s a clear path to safety, and every instinct she has is screaming to get the fuck out. However, she’s a Beifong. No, more than that, she’s Lin. And she has never approached anything in her life with the attitude of a coward.

Lin opens her eyes and looks over at you.

You’re watching her, arms crossed over your chest. Your expression’s stormy, lips pursed into a frown and eyebrows drawn together. But you’re not tapping your foot. Not checking the clock. And while she was processing, you weren’t huffing, or trying to get her attention. You’re waiting. Watching. Seeing what she’ll do next before you make a choice.

Probably more than I deserve. Lin grimaces, then does her best to gather her thoughts again. Okay, new plan. Just… try to figure this shit out.

She needs clarity. She needs to know why the fuck you act all distant around her in public but not in private. She needs to know if you’re aware of it, if there’s an explanation, or if you’re just fucking with her. She needs to know if you’re in or you’re out. Spirits, Lin’s never been good at gentle, or graceful –but all you seem to be asking for is straightforwardness, and she can do that.

She swallows hard, then undoes the buttons on her coat and takes it off. She drapes it over her arm, then walks stiffly over to your couch and sits. She leans forward, braces her forearms against her knees, then says it. “You act like you don’t want to be together.”

Your eyes widen. “I–”

“From where I’m standing –from what I can see–you do.” She stares at you, watches as the meaning of her words sink in and you go quiet, then continues. “You…” She sighs, then rubs the back of her neck. “You’re hot and cold. You’re all over the place. You never initiate dates –and when we do go out, you act like you’re scared to be seen with me. Like you don’t want me to touch you. But it’s not an affection thing, because when we’re in private, you’re all over me.” She pauses for a moment, waits to see if you’ll say anything.

You stay silent. Still. Your frown has dropped, and your expression looks braced. It looks like you have tears in your eyes.

Lin purses her lips, but continues. No sense in stopping now. “Maybe… maybe I should’ve been clearer from the start. I’m sorry that I wasn’t. I know I’m not… not the most open person, but…” She stops, mind stalling with resistance to the mere concept of opening up, of explaining any of this. Just fucking say it, Beifong. “I –I prefer actually… I want a certain level of public affection in a relationship.” She’s sweating. She doesn’t need a mirror to know her face is red. “If… if you were under the impression that I didn’t want you to be affectionate in public…”

You swallow hard, then shake your head. “No. That… no.”

Fuck. Lin does her best to keep her face neutral even as her heart shatters into billions of pieces in her chest. She nods slowly, realization numbing away the grief she knows she’ll feel later. She inhales slowly through her nose, then lets it out while counting to ten. “I’m sorry. I should’ve been clearer from the start.” Her heart clenches tight –ruined as it is–when a fat tear rolls down your cheek. “Maybe–” she clears her throat “–it would be best if–”

You clap one hand to your mouth and let out a choked sob.

She stops. Angi, this blows. She doesn’t want to hurt you –Spirits help her–but there’s no sense in letting things linger if the two of you aren’t compatible. Get it over with. Rip the bandaid off–

“Tui and La, this stupid fucking cycle.”

Lin blinks, startled. Then, she frowns when your words sink in. “What?”

“I mean, you’re not the first girlfriend I’ve had who’s told me this.” You let out a self-deprecating laugh, then snarl in frustration. “You think I’d fucking learn after how many times–”

She recoils, caught off guard by the intensity of your self-directed vitriol.

You’re ranting now, words rushing together so fast and mixed with sobs to the point that she can barely keep up. “–and maybe I should’ve been the one to be up front, and never let this happen so I didn’t hurt you–”

She says your name, then repeats it louder when you don’t stop. “Slow down, I can’t understand you–”

“–be so fucking naive, I should’ve been realistic about being defective–”

“Stop it!”

Her bark has you cutting yourself off with a gasp. You freeze for a minute. Then, your face and your knees crumple.

Lin’s off the couch and over to you in three long strides. She catches you before you hit the floor and holds you tight as you weep against her shoulder. “Easy. Just slow down and breathe, okay?”

“I’m sorry,” you gasp; you’re breathing so fast and hard that you’re bordering on hyperventilating. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry–”

“It’s okay,” Lin replies automatically. “Just breathe–”

“It’s not.” You let out a body wracking, shaking against her, then force out, “I –I hurt you, and I’m so sorry–”

“You didn’t–”

“I made you think that I didn’t want to be with you! That I wasn’t h-happy–”

“Stop interrupting me.” Lin winces at her tone, then tries to gentle her next sentence. “Just –calm down. Please. I don’t want you passing out, okay?” She strokes one hand over your hair, trying her best to soothe you. “Just breathe, sweetheart. Please.”

You listen for a few minutes; your body stabilizes and you shift your feet to hold more of your own weight. Your breathing slows and evens out. Then, you're shaking your head and pulling back so you can see her. “I’m so sorry, Lin–”

“You don’t–”

“But I do.” You look up at her, eyes red and watery and mournful. “I made you think that I didn’t want to be with you. That I didn’t care about you. And I am so sorry.”

“You–” Lin shakes her head. “I… I jumped to conclusions. And for that, I’m sorry.”

You grimace. “I still had to lay the pieces out.”

“We both played part in it, consciously or not.” Because she can’t fucking take you blaming yourself for everything that led up tonight. Granted, she still doesn’t have the clarity she came here to find, but she’s gathered enough to know that her initial conclusions were wrong. She lets out a shaky breath, then wracks her mind for what to say or do next. Fuck, how do I even begin to salvage this–

“I’ve got shit in my past, Lin.”

Her mind stalls, caught off guard by the sudden confession. Her hands flex against your shoulders as uncertainty rolls through her. Don’t we all?

You sniff, then offer her a pained, watery smile. “I mean –Tui and La, this is…” Your voice trails off, and then your expression shifts to something more pained, more tired. “Fuck.” You scrub your face with your hands, then sniff again. “I… I don’t know if I can explain this tonight.”

“It’s okay. You don’t have to–”

“I want to,” you cut her off, voice firm. “I just…” You sigh. “I need some time to think.”

Lin purses her lips. Her stomach’s churning, and her chest feels like it’s on fire. “If –if you’d rather end things, just say so.”

“I won’t, because I don’t want to.” You shake your head –then freeze. You look up at her slowly, expression pinched. “But… but if you want to…”

She takes a deep breath, then shakes her head as well. “I don’t.” Because she doesn’t. Even with logic, years of experience, and all her instincts screaming to get away before she gets hurt, she doesn’t want to let go. Not if you’re just as determined to hold on as she is.

You let out a sigh, tension unwinding from your body. Your expression slackens, and your shoulders drop a bit. You lean against her, laying your head against her shoulder. “Okay.”

Lin winds her arms around your shoulders. She closes her eyes when you wrap your arms around her waist, and lets herself indulge in simply holding you for a few moments.

She’s exhausted, though. She feels like she’s been gutted, like everything inside her has been ripped out and that she’s barely keeping herself upright –almost like a hangover, but without the benefit of booze. She needs space, needs some precious quiet to put her mind back together… but she doesn’t want to leave you. Not when you’re so obviously wrecked like this. (Not after she came in, basically ready to rip your throat out, and caused this whole mess in the first place.) Lin kisses the top of your head. “Do you want me to stay?”

You let out a shaky exhale, then slowly shake your head. “No.” You pull back and offer her a small, weak smile. “Not that I want to kick you out, but… I just need some time and space to think. To find the right words.”

“Of course.” Lin nods, then starts putting on her coat. She gets her arms in the sleeves, gets the coat situated on her shoulders –then stops. You need to apologize, Beifong. She grimaces, but sets aside her pride all the same. “And –I’m sorry. For coming in so hot.”

“It’s okay.” You quirk your mouth to the side, then duck your head. “And I’m sorry, too. For scaring you. For making you think I don’t care.”

She stiffens. It’s instinctive, mostly; she hadn’t said anything about being scared, and she’s not fond of feeling like she’s been seen through like a pane of glass. Relax. She’s supposed to know you. Lin forces herself to untense, then leans forward and kisses the top of your head again. “Apology accepted.”

“Thank you.” You hug her, then tip your head up and kiss her non-scarred cheek. “I’ll try to have something tangible for you in a couple days so you don’t overthink things to death.”

“I do not–”

“Yes, you do.” You smile softly at her, then laugh a little when she huffs. “You’re like me. We both like having clarity.”

She really can’t argue with that.

She nods –then, she lifts one hand and cups your cheek. “Is it alright if I kiss you?”

You smile and nod. “Yes.”

She kisses you, short and sweet, then pulls back. “I’ll let you rest.”

“Thank you. And you get some rest, too,” you say as you escort her over to your apartment door. “Don’t stay up half the night burying yourself in paperwork.”

“What makes you think I’d do that?” Lin asks drily, feigning innocence. She smirks, then chuckles at the flat look you give her. “I’ll do my best.”

“I suppose that’s all I can ask.”

Lin smirks and arches one eyebrow, then turns to leave–

You catch her arm and draw her back in for one last kiss.

She doesn’t melt into the kiss; she’s too tired, too emotionally overwrought for that. But it’s still comforting, and she can feel some of the tension ebb from her body.

You’re the one to end the kiss this time. It lingers longer than before, but you eventually pull away. “Good night, Lin.” You offer her a tired smile. “We’ll talk soon. I’ll let you know when I’m ready.”

She nods, then manages a “Good night,” back. She waits until your door closes and she hears the deadbolt slide into place, then strides down the hall towards the elevator.

She’ll have to walk home; she didn’t even think to call for a cab before leaving. Lin scowls and jams her hands in her coat pockets. Should’ve fucking drove here.

…

She’s borderline boneless by the time she makes it back to her apartment. Emotional confrontation never did suit her well. She locks her apartment door behind her, then lets out a ragged sigh. She slumps against the wooden portal, allowing herself to rest for a moment before shoving herself upright once more.

She keeps a supply of liquor in her living room, tucked safely away in a dark stained wooden cabinet. She pulls a bottle of bourbon out, pours herself a couple of fingers, then sets the bottle on the coffee table before she lets herself drop down on the couch. She knocks back half the portion, wincing slightly when she swallows and the alcohol burns down her throat. She’s not looking to get drunk (not like she did after Tenzin, or Amon). But she’s numb, and raw, and right now the scrape of alcohol in her throat is both grounding and soothing.

She stays quiet while she finishes the glass. She doesn’t bother turning on the radio, or even turning on a light. The sun’s pretty well down by now, but there’s still enough ambient light filtering in from the city. The rumble of Satomobiles and chatter from people on the sidewalks is sufficient background noise. So she sits in the dark, drinks her bourbon, and tries to nurse what feels like a gaping wound in the center of her chest.

It’s not over, she tries to reason with herself. Everything is fine. All couples have rough spots. You’re just phasing out of the honeymoon period.

Not that it does much good. Not in any important sense at least.

Don’t be stupid. You know something’s wrong –that’s the whole reason you went over there tonight. You should’ve cut and run, called your losses before everything went to shit. Besides, if something wasn’t wrong before, it certainly is now, since you went and fucking stepped in it. Maybe, if you’d just kept your mouth shut in the first place and let it ride out– Lin squeezes her eyes shut and wills that line of thinking to stop. Enough.

Not doing anything wasn’t an option. She’d learned that the hard way with Tenzin. And while detaching might be objectively safer, might’ve hurt less in the long run…

She growls under her breath. She sets her empty glass on the coffee table, then rubs her temples with her fingertips. Why do this have to be so fucking complicated?

She doesn’t want to end things. Despite her worries and old, buried hurts, she knows it. She wants to stay with you, wants things to work, wants to be happy with you.

Lin scowls. If that’s even possible. She swallows hard, then closes her eyes and lowers her head into her hands. Okay. Facts, not feelings. What’s the actual situation at hand?

Fact: There is some sort of delineation between how you act around her in public and how you act around her in private.

Possible outcome: The two of you have diverting preferences for PDA, which may yield to incompatibility as long term partners.

Fact: There is some sort of unaddressed trauma you’re dealing with as it relates to romantic relationships, displays of affection, or both. This trauma has, apparently, created a cycle of dysfunction in your romantic life –so much so that she’s not the first partner to bring the difference in private versus public attention to your notice.

Possible outcome:...

Lin frowns into her hands. I don’t know. She could tell, back at your apartment, that this is a deeply seated issue for you. But beyond what you’ve told her, she has nothing to go on. She has to trust you and take you at your word.

What’s worse –or better, she honestly can’t tell at this point–is that she does trust you. You’ve been nothing but painfully, earnestly honest with her since the two of you met. You’re not one for calculating guile, manipulation, or cunning schemes. It’s part of what she likes so much about you. She trusts you to be honest with her. To be direct. You certainly were earlier tonight when you called her out on her bullshit.

She can’t help but smirk, just a little, at the memory. That’s my girl. Lin lets out a long, exhausted breath, then lifts her head from her hands. Nothing else to do for now.

She decides against a second glass of alcohol. She has work tomorrow; more than that, she needs to sleep. She puts the bottle of bourbon back in the cupboard, rinses the glass, sets it on the countertop to dry, then heads to her bedroom.

She coasts through her bedtime routine with mechanical detachment. The overthinking part of her mind is blissfully absent, silenced by bourbon and the comfort of facts. She washes up as much as she needs to, changes, then turns out the light in her bedroom and climbs into bed.

Mercifully, she doesn’t dream.

…

Work is good. Paperwork and meetings with city officials are a pain in the neck, as always, but it’s routine. It keeps her mind busy, keeps her grounded. After yesterday, she needs to keep busy.

She stays late, too. It’s a bad habit, born out of being a workaholic and using said work to avoid anything that made her uneasy. But it’s not like there’s a shortage of reports to review, policy changes to amend, or case details to go over.

It’s late when she leaves her office –past eight. The sun’s low in the sky as she strides out of the department headquarters and over to her Satomobile.

The drive back to her apartment is routine. Uneventful. She makes a couple mental plans to put away some laundry she left out earlier and make dinner, but otherwise her goal is to spend the evening working on the paperwork tucked in her briefcase.

That is, until she opens her mailbox and realizes she has a letter from you.

She’s halfway to the elevator when she sees the nonstandard envelope; it’d been wedged between a few pieces of junk mail and this month’s utility invoice. A quick inspection reveals your name and address on the front –and then it’s all she can do to keep from ripping it open in the elevator. Patience, Beifong. She certainly doesn’t want to open a personal letter from her girlfriend in public. Especially if it contains bad news. She’s never been fond of getting emotional –especially the emotions that lean towards crying–in public spaces.

The letter burns in her hand the entire ride up to her floor. She can’t take her eyes off the envelope, tracing the smooth lines of your name and address over and over. She has nice penmanship.

She holds out until she locks the deadbolt of her apartment door behind her. Then, she uses her metalbending to summon her keys and uses the toothed edge of one to cut the envelope open. She tosses the rest of her mail on the counter, drops her briefcase next to the small stack of letters, and finally –finally–withdraws your letter from the envelope and unfolds it.

Lin,

Before I get into this, I want to apologize again–

She has to close her eyes and physically stop herself from groaning in pained frustration. This –this isn’t what she wanted. She’s realizing, unfortunately, that her approach last night was deeply flawed. All she wanted was some fucking clarity, but now you’re apologizing for trivial bullshit, practically dragging yourself across the coals in genuine penance; she’d rather have teeth pulled than go through this. Breathe. If she took the time to send you a letter, then it’s important. Lin inhales through her nose, holds the breath briefly, then exhales through her mouth before opening her eyes and resuming reading.

–to apologize again for last night. That things got to this state. I know that you’ll probably say that I don’t need to apologize, but I can tell that I’ve hurt you, and I don’t think you minimizing your own feelings will do anything good, so please just let me have this.

She bites down on the inside of her lower lip. Discomfort curls through her body; she feels exposed –even with still wearing head to toe metal armor. She takes another deep breath, forces herself to relax her grip on the paper when she realizes she’s leaving indents, then continues.

I wish I could say that I have this all figured out and that I can give you a complete explanation, and that we can get this completely behind us and move forward… but I can’t. I’m starting to wonder if this “quirk” of mine is ingrained deeper than I realized. Everytime I try to explain it or think about it, I feel like my thoughts get lost in a sea of mud. But, I do have some semblance of an explanation, so I’ll put it to you now.

The paper’s warped in a few spots. There’s some smeared bits of ink, some areas more translucent than the others.

Tear marks, Lin realizes with sadness. They’re tear marks.

I guess the easiest way to put it is that I don’t think growing up in the Water Tribe was healthy for me, at least as it relates to my sexuality. Their attitudes, while better than other regions, certainly aren’t the most progressive. I always thought that, since coming to Republic City, I’d put all those ideologies behind me. However, now I’m starting to wonder if it lingered more than I thought.

I’m so scared of being seen as queer in public. Not because I think someone would hurt me, but it’s… just not what I’m supposed to do. I know this probably sounds insane, but I feel like I’m going to get caught with my hand in the proverbial cookie jar. It’s why I lean away from being affectionate in public or arranging dates. I’m so afraid of “getting caught” and… something happening. I’m sorry I can’t explain it better; like I said, it’s like my mind turns to mud whenever I try to think about this.

She has to brace against her kitchen counter to keep from sinking to the floor. She’s not entirely sure what she’s feeling; shock, to be certain. A deep, overwhelming sense of realization and clarity as all the moments of your aversion and seeming apathy come into context. But deeper, underneath all of it, there’s a growing sense of horror, one that makes her stomach clench and churn.

She was fortunate to grow up in Republic City, in the circle of family and friends that she had. Even back then, Republic City had a vibrant queer community and laws protecting queer rights. Toph, certainly, hadn’t been fussed when she came out as bisexual as a teenager. Uncle Aang had made a point to carry forward the Air Nomad’s open acceptance of all sexualities and gender identities, and Aunt Katara had followed his lead. Uncle Zuko had quashed Fire Lord Sozin’s laws against gay marriage in the Fire Nation–

Spirits, she could probably list the advantages she’d had –advantages she’d had over you–as a queer woman for hours, now that she thinks about it. No wonder. She purses her lips. No wonder she wasn’t comfortable being affectionate in public.

Again, I am so, so sorry this splashed all over you, Lin. I know that it doesn’t change the inconsistencies in how I act, but I hope you’ll believe me when I say that I never intended to hurt you, or to make you feel like I didn’t want to be seen with you. Believe me when I say that I am so utterly happy to be your girlfriend –even when it’s scary.

She’s crying. Or damn close to it. Her eyes are watering, stinging.

I know we need to talk about this more. I still need some time to think, but I think I can have more of an explanation ready for you by the end of this week. If you want to talk, I’d appreciate you calling me once you get this letter and feel ready to discuss things. However, if you don’t want to talk –if this isn’t something you feel comfortable working through–then I understand–

Lin can’t remember a time she’s walked to her phone and dialed your number faster.

You pick up after a couple rings. There’s a shaky inhale once the call connects, and then your voice –soft, painfully hesitant–filters through the speaker. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Lin swallows, then looks down at your letter. “I –uh–I got your letter.”

“Oh.” There’s a beat of silence, and the muffled sounds of you shuffling. “Okay.”

“You–” Get your shit together, Beifong. “You said you wanted me to call. To set a time to talk.”

“Yeah. I did.” There’s another pause, and then you let out a small laugh. “I guess I didn’t think you’d read it right away. Or that you’d want to talk so soon.”

“Of course, I did,” Lin says, indignant; like she’d let something like this go unaddressed for so long. “And of course, I do.”

“Okay.” Another shaky exhale. “I guess –I guess I wasn’t sure if you’d be mad.”

Oh, sweetheart. “I’m not mad,” she reassures you. “I think–” She has to swallow again and blink a few times; her throat’s gone unexpectedly tight with emotion. “I think your letter helped, actually. It puts a lot into context for me.”

“O-oh.” There’s a sniff, and when you speak again your voice sounds strained. “I –I’m glad. I’m glad it helped. But there’s… there’s still more I’d like to say. I just need time to… find the words and stuff.”

“Okay. It’s okay.” She braces against one hand on the wall next to the phone mount. “You said you wanted to talk later this week?”

“Yeah.” Your voice sounds clearer now. More certain. “I was thinking maybe Saturday? You could come to my place for dinner.” You let out a soft laugh. “I could make you some proper Sea Prune stew.”

“You don’t need to cook for me,” Lin argues, shaking her head. “Not for something like this. I can get us take out.”

“I want to,” you insist. “It’ll give me something to do with all my nervous energy.”

That, she can understand. “If you’re sure.” She purses her lips, loathing this feeling of awkward uncertainty running through her. “I… could bring something for dessert?”

“If you want to.”

“I do.” I need even things out somehow.

“Okay.”

Lin’s suddenly remembering why she went through a spell of not dating whatsoever; these awkward, nebulous post-fight conversations always make her feel like she has ants crawling underneath her skin. Easy. One thing at a time. She takes a deep breath, then lets it out. “Okay.” Agni’s sake, say something better than that!

“I’m really sorry, Lin,” you pipe up –and, Spirits, your voice is cracking like you’re going to cry, and that’s the last thing she can bear right now. “I really didn’t mean for you to get caught up in my bullshit.”

“I wouldn’t characterize having trauma around expressing your sexuality as ‘bullshit,’” Lin fires back.

“I’m –it’s not–”

“You wrote that you’re scared of being recognized as queer in public, to the point that it’s had a negative impact on every relationship you’ve had,” she interjects. “How is that not trauma?”

Your end of the line is quiet for a long time. Then, you sigh. “Well, I’m still sorry.”

“You don’t need to be–”

“Tui and La, Lin, just accept the apology,” you insist tiredly. “My actions, though caused by arguable trauma, hurt you. Just because there’s underlying reasons doesn’t change that you got hurt, and it doesn’t change that I’m still accountable for my choices.”

“But I’m not upset with you,” Lin argues. “Not with this. Not with it being a trauma issue.”

“Then just say you accept my apology! Quit telling me to not apologize to begin with!” You let out a tired laugh, then add, “Besides, when you could tell me what to do, anyway?”

She feels a smirk spread across her face at the clear impish challenge in your voice. She shifts to leaning against her shoulder, so that she’s sidled up next to the wall mount for the phone. “Oh, I seem to recall countless times where–”

“Focus, Lin.” Your smile is audible in your voice now. “You were going to accept my apology.”

She’s grinning, now. “Says who?”

“Says me, the girlfriend you adore and care about.”

Any other day, she’d argue with you to get a rise out of you, but she doesn’t want to push you too far right now. She lets out a soft chuckle, then concedes. “I appreciate and accept your apology. Thank you.”

“Yue above, it’s like pulling fucking teeth from you, isn’t it?” you mutter.

“The fuck else do you want from me, woman?” She smiles when you laugh –actually laugh, and it’s a relief to hear it–then sobers when she remembers that she owes you an apology, too. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry, too. You were right. I was handling things like an interrogation. That wasn’t fair to you.”

“Apology accepted,” you answer, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “I really appreciate that. Thank you.”

“Of course.”

There’s a pause, but the silence is more comfortable than before. Then, you ask, “Are we good?”

And that –that is a question she fucking hates. It’s so open-ended. What does “good” mean? Is it relative to the situation, or is there some definition of “good” that applies to the relationship overall that she should use instead? And, moreover, how is she supposed to know? Just because things are being worked through doesn’t inherently mean everything is “good.” Sometimes, working things out just drags more issues into the open, and then everything goes to shit as a result–

You’re overthinking this. Think smaller.

Okay. She’s not upset with you. You’re not upset with her –as far as she can tell, anyway. You’ve both apologized, you’ve both accepted each other’s apologies, there’s plans to talk things out more so there’s better understanding of the situation and what you both need. That… that seems good.

“We’re good,” Lin decides. “Are –are things good on your end?”

“We’re good on my end,” you assure her, voice warm.

“Good. I’ll see you on Saturday for dinner?”

“Yeah.” The two of you take a moment to hash out exactly when she’ll stop by your apartment, and then you sigh. “Not to just hop off, but I’m gonna go. I’m scheduled for rehab at Yue General tomorrow, so I need to rest.”

“By all means. I hope everything goes well.”

“Thanks. I hope things go well tomorrow for you, too.”

“Thank you.” She smiles softly. “Good night.”

“Good night, Lin.”

She hangs up when she hears the line click on your end, then sighs. Lin rubs the back of her neck with her hand. She straightens up, then looks down at the letter in her hand. She finishes reading it; there’s not much left, just you giving her an option out of the relationship if she didn’t want to hash things out and you apologizing again before signing the letter–then lets her eyes trace back over the sheet of paper. She’s noticing more tear spots on the paper, especially as she gets towards the bottom of the page, and she feels like her heart’s breaking all over again. She traces the outline of one of the more pronounced stains, then closes her eyes. Okay. Enough. You need to move forward with your evening. She opens her eyes, forces herself to fold the letter shut, then strides into her bedroom to grab a change of clothes before she showers.

Before opening her wardrobe, though, she detours to her nightstand. She opens the top drawer, then tucks your letter inside –between the left side of the drawer and a couple of books, where no one’s likely to notice it if they go snooping. She closes the drawer, then plants one hand against the top of her nightstand and braces against it. I was wrong.

She stays there for a moment, simply processing. Then, she smiles to herself –small, but there–and resumes getting ready for the rest of her evening.

#sass writes #lin beifong x reader #emotional hurt/comfort #hey girlies we're processing our feelings about expressing our sexuality in public #and by we i mean me #i have feelings and everyone else gets to deal with it you're welcome #legend of korra #lin beifong #hands that heal

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