Chapter Text
As always, Izumi wins this argument.
Every year, Lin tries to get out of going to the annual Republic City Academy back to school teacher’s bash, and every year, Izumi whines and cajoles her into attending just one last time, please, for my sake. Lin hates parties like these, finds them uncomfortable and superficial and just plain boring.
On the bright side, at least there’s an open bar.
She nearly misses Su calling her name as she walks into the ballroom, beckoning her towards the section cordoned off for special events.
Luxury hotel by day, charming ballroom and bar by night, The Spirit World was home to former seamen’s quarters that had since been converted into significantly more posh accommodations. Four chandeliers ensconce the space in a warm orange-yellow glow, small groups mingling amidst the scattered chaise longues and coffee tables. Potted bamboo palms dot the floor, stretching halfway to the ornately trimmed ceiling above. It’s unsurprisingly crowded for a Saturday, and Lin is glad for the breathing room in their more private space.
“You came,” Su says warmly, reaching forward to draw Lin into a reluctant hug. “I didn’t think you would.”
“I didn’t have much of a choice,” Lin grumbles, glancing at the woman leaning on the table next to her sister. “A certain principal made me do it.”
Izumi shrugs. “Yeah, you didn’t,” she replies. “You know this is our tradition — no exceptions. Compensation for subjecting ourselves to eight hours a day with broody teenagers and broodier teachers. It’s the least the school can do since we trade our sanity for a paycheck every month. Besides,” she continues, “I’ve never known you to turn away free booze —”
“You’re right,” Lin deadpans. “So what does that say about the company?”
“Oh, don’t lie, Lin, you like them,” Su laughs. “You like the other teachers. You pretend you don’t, but I refuse to believe you’d have stuck around for eight years if you hated them as much as you claim you do.”
Su’s right, but Lin will take that particular fact to her grave. If Tarrlok’s pompous blathering and even Tenzin’s long-winded rambling had grown on her over the years… well, that was for her to know and absolutely no one else to find out.
“Yeah, and we’re getting a few new ones,” Izumi says. “Including that biology teacher I mentioned, Lin.”
Lin twists sharply to face Izumi. “What new biology teacher?” she demands.
“Don’t you read your emails?”
“Over the summer?”
“Of course you don’t,” Izumi sighs, squeezing her eyes shut and pinching the bridge of her nose. Lin knows her well enough to recognize the signs of her friend quickly losing her patience.
“Well, if you’d read them, you’d know. Zhu Li has been promoted to Vice Principal, which left the high school biology position vacant. It was short notice, but I was able to pull some strings, get someone to fill in at the last minute —”
“Zhu Li’s leaving?” Lin interrupts. All that work, planning a curriculum, making sure that students had a seamless transition from their first high school science class to their next… everything, down the drain. To be replaced by the fifth biology teacher in as many years.
“Not leaving, becoming Vice Principal. Are you listening to me?”
“I am,” Lin says, voice rising. “And if you were listening to me, you’d know that having some stability in the role would help me plan my year better. It doesn’t help if we have some bumbling newbie in every year, barely learning where the little knives for dissections are stored before being replaced. At least Zhu Li was mildly competent,” she complained.
“I know ,” Izumi says sharply. “But she applied for the promotion and was more than qualified. It’s frustrating for me, too. You think I enjoy hiring a new teacher this often? Good ones are so hard to find.”
“I know it’s a lot of work,” Izumi relents, “but I trust you to make it work. I think you’ll get along with the new hire, maybe you could show her around, take her under your wing? I asked her to come today, maybe the two of you could meet —”
“I’m not interested in being a babysitter,” Lin cuts in. She knows she’s being difficult, can’t seem to help it.
Izumi is reaching her breaking point. “Lin, no one is asking you to do that. Be reasonable. And just… play nice?”
Lin doesn’t want to play nice, doesn’t want to get a brand new teacher up to speed. She wants Zhu Li back.
“I’m going to get a drink,” she announces. If she stays, she’s going to say something she regrets. “Anyone for a refill?”
Izumi shakes her head and raises her glass, still three quarters full.
Lin looks at Su, following her gaze down to her cup. It’s filled with... water?
“You’re not drinking tonight?” And Lin knows, puts the pieces together as soon her sister beams up at her.
“Well, Baatar and I did want to wait a little bit longer before telling people, but…” Su says, lowering her voice even though nobody could possibly overhear in this din. “Since it’s just you two, I suppose we could make an exception. I’m pregnant!” she finishes, her smile stretching from ear to ear. “I think this one’s a girl,” she whispers conspiratorially.
Su, who already has Baatar Jr. and Huan at home, seems bent on assembling the postcard-perfect family she never had growing up. Just another example of how she’s outpacing Lin on all of life’s milestones, with her steady job, gorgeous house, surprisingly handsome husband, and ever-expanding brood. Another reminder that Su will always be Toph’s golden child, shining bright once again.
Lin really needs that drink.
Kya is late.
Not that that’s surprising, as anyone who knows her would attest. In fact, it’s more likely than her running early. Or on time.
It’s not like she hasn’t tried before — showing up on schedule, that is — but she somehow always finds herself behind, little tasks taking longer than she’d planned, minute distractions adding up and tipping the scales firmly towards tardy.
This time is a little more unforgivable — she thought she’d been clever, booking a room in the same hotel as the evening’s event when informed her apartment wasn’t move-in ready yet. The party is quite literally downstairs, and it started half an hour ago.
Better late than never. She’s promised Izumi that she’d show up, though, and Kya is nothing if not a woman of her word.
She checks her dress in the mirror one final time: a pretty blue number conveniently at the intersection of makes me feel good and work-appropriate. Satisfied, Kya quickly texts her friend to expect her before making her way down.
Izumi looks almost identical to her younger self, the only obvious difference the now-graying strands of her formerly jet-black hair. The look combined with her traditional top knot makes her seem older, more distinguished, a far cry from the carefree exchange student Kya remembered from college.
“‘zumi!” Kya says delightedly. “It’s been too long.”
“I could say the same,” Izumi says, smiling and setting down her drink to embrace her. “Do you know how hard it was to get a hold of you? Every time I thought I’d saved down the right phone number, you’d moved again! I had to resort to asking Tenzin for your details.”
“You couldn’t email me?”
“I figured asking you to move halfway across the world on two weeks’ notice was a conversation best suited for a phone call, forgive me.”
Kya laughs. “Fair enough. After Agna Q’ela, I wanted to see more of the world. Thank the gods for international schools, is all I can say.” She turns to the woman standing next to Izumi. “I’m sorry, I didn’t introduce myself. Kya Gyatso, new recruit and biology teacher extraordinaire.”
The shorter woman shakes her hand. “Suyin Beifong, Drama. Is what I teach, but well, also what I’ve been known to cause. You can call me Su.”
Kya grins widely. “I like you. ‘zumi, you have good taste in friends.”
“Speaking of, there is one more person I’d like you to meet, but I’m not sure where she’s sulked off to —”
“Oh, forget her,” Su says. “I want to hear more from you, Kya. You mentioned you knew our dear principal here in college? What was she like? Stories, I need stories! With details!”
“Absolutely not. Kya, I forbid it.”
“Well, there was that time on Ember Island...” Kya begins wickedly, and if looks could kill, she’s sure Izumi’s eyes would have struck her down with lightning already.
Before she knows it, it’s an hour later and Kya is emptying the dregs from the carafe into her cup. “Anyone up for more?”
“I really shouldn’t,” Izumi says. “Not if I want to wake up without a raging headache tomorrow.”
“Still victim to those killer wine hangovers, I see,” Kya observes.
“Unfortunately,” Izumi groans. “You should get yourself some, though. The open bar closes soon.”
Kya considers it. “I think I might. I definitely deserve it after staying up writing those lesson plans all of last week.” She turns, scanning the room. “Where’s the bar?”
“The closest one is just around the corner, behind that wall. Careful of the step.”
“Thanks,” Kya says, making her way through the people thronging to get one last drink in. Sure enough, the bar is recessed into the ground, a single step separating the seating area from floor level. A great design if you have a contract with your local orthopedist.
She glances at the liquor license: Buildings by Baatar. Some architect he was.
She manages to get a refill at the bar, feeling proud of navigating the crowds when she realizes she’s forgotten to tip the bartender. Pitcher in one hand, she reaches into her purse when —
That damned step.
She sees it happen in slow motion, both she and the drink flying, red liquid sloshing comically through the air and landing squarely on an unfortunate soul seated at the bar. Her hands have steadied themselves in someone’s lap, she realizes, and she feels, rather than sees, a sticky hand helping her stand back up.
It’s a woman. A gorgeous woman. Who’s very wet. And… smiling?
“What do you think you’re doing?” she demands.
No, that isn’t a smile, that’s a snarl. She’s mad. Really mad. She’s hot when she’s angry, Kya’s lizard brain supplies.
“What did you just say?”
Which the rest of Kya’s brain has apparently then spoken out loud. Kya claps her hand to her mouth, dropping the pitcher.
“Shit, I’m — I didn’t mean to say that,” she backtracks, mortified.
“Listen, if this is some kind of bizarre come on —”
“It’s not, it was an accident —”
“You can’t see where you’re going?!”
“Okay lady, I already apologized, I’m not going to do it again —”
“My outfit is completely ruined —” and she’s not wrong. Kya’s eyes scan upwards. Pieces of assorted damp fruit stain her trousers, courtesy of the sangria. More crucially, the tailored white shirt she’s wearing now sports an unmissable deep red stain, the wine slowly seeping through the delicate fabric.
Shit.
“Shit,” she echoes out loud. “I think I have a jacket you can use, it’s…” she trails off. She’d left her jacket in her room, since she didn’t need it for the short stint in the elevator. “It’s in my room,” she finishes lamley.
“And what use is that for me?” she growls, crossing her arms in front of her chest. Kya soon realizes why — the stains are rapidly rendering entire swathes of material see-through. And while this woman clearly has nothing to be ashamed of, the chiseled curl of her arms drawing attention to the defined lines of her ab— this was not the time.
She clears her throat. “Um. My room is upstairs. I think you’re about my size; we could grab you a change of clothes?”
“And what makes you think I’d go anywhere with you after this?”
“It’s either come with me or get a cab looking like that, so I’ll take my chances.” She doesn’t mean to be petty about it, but something about this lady is getting under her skin. It was an accident, she’d apologized. What crawled up her pants and died?
For her part, the woman seems to be genuinely considering her options, eyebrows furrowed deep in thought. She seems to come to the more rational conclusion.
“Fine. But you’re paying for dry cleaning.”
“Are you really in a position to be negotiating right now?” Kya retorts, and the woman looks like she would like nothing better than to bury Kya alive this very moment.
Kya leads the way. She feels a prickle at the back of her neck, knows she’s being stared at, but forces herself not to glance backwards. She doesn’t speak until the elevator arrives.
“Like I said, I’m really sorry. Can you at least tell me your name?” the words tumble out, quick and embarrassed. “I actually will pay for that dry cleaning.”
The woman is standing on the far edge of the elevator, as far as humanly possible in a tiny enclosed box. She eyes Kya disdainfully.
“Lin,” she says, after a beat. Kya is so surprised to hear her volunteer the information, she nearly doesn’t catch it the first time.
“Lin, then. I’m Kya. I’d also say I’m usually not that clumsy but I don’t think you’d believe me.”
“You’re right, I wouldn’t.” Is that a hint of a smile? It couldn’t be.
The elevator dings to a stop.
“My floor,” Kya declares, gesturing towards the hallway. “Room 421.” They trudge forwards in silence, Kya swiping the magnetic key and propping open the door.
“Hold on just a second,” she says, flipping on the lights before ducking into the separate bedroom to hunt for suitable replacement outfits for her guest.
Lin takes advantage of Kya’s momentary disappearance to examine her surroundings. There’s a disconcerting amount of baggage — way more than necessary for a trip of a few days, or even a few weeks — but the room itself is fairly tidy.
She leans against the divider separating the small kitchen from the rest of the living room. Her shirt is well and truly ruined; she’s not sure if any amount of laundering will be able to save it. Even more awkwardly, the outline of her tan no-nonsense bra is clearly visible underneath. She should have known better than to tempt fate by wearing white tonight.
Lin loosens the top of her shirt, opening it enough to peel the sticky fabric away from her chest. She instantly feels a slight breeze on her skin, warm and comfortable, and pops open a third button.
She’s reveling in the newfound sensation when Kya emerges from the bedroom with a set of clothes in tow. She’d changed out of her own outfit, Lin notes absently, from the slinky blue dress into a graphic tee and tight dark wash jeans. She’s let her hair down, dark and long against her back. The softer look lets her striking features — long, rich eyelashes; smooth, brown skin; full, maroon lips — take center stage. It suits her, Lin thinks, perhaps even more than the eveningwear.
She squints to read the text on the t-shirt: I take cell-fies. What?
“Enjoying the view?” Kya smirks. Lin shifts uneasily at the implications of her staring.
“No,” she says quickly. “I mean, no, I wasn’t star— just give me that,” leaning to catch the bundle Kya throws her way. For a second, she thinks she catches Kya’s eyes on her exposed collarbone, remembering too late that she’s at least two open buttons away from propriety.
“I, uh, didn’t know if you’d be comfortable with borrowing a bra, so I tossed a fresh one in, but you can also just, um. Not wear one.” There’s something oddly charming about Kya’s discomfort, about the way this obviously confident woman is stammering her way through half-finished sentences.
“I’ll keep mine on, thanks.” She peeks at Kya’s options for her: a warm, forest green long sleeved turtleneck, a white oversize cable-knit sweater, another graphic tee, a pair of plain jeans, and a cozy pair of black sweatpants. Everything warm and practical, in a variety of sizes.
“Thanks,” she repeats, more genuinely. “One of these should work.” Lin glances around the room. “Where can I change?”
“The bathroom is in the bedroom; light switch is outside. I’ll, uh, be right here if you need anything.”
“I think I’ll be fine,” Lin says, amused. The bedroom has no lock — typical hotel suite — but the bathroom is too cramped to change comfortably. She shucks her damp clothes and wets a towel to dab the stickiness away. The hair dryer works in a pinch to spot dry her bra before she returns to the bedroom, leaning against the bed to try to wrangle herself into the jeans.
It’s in a similar state to the living room, she observes — beyond a coffee mug that proclaims “STAPH” and a day old newspaper, there isn’t much to indicate that someone lives here. She finds herself idly wondering what Kya is in town for; how long she’s staying before returning home.
Fastening the denim — tighter than her usual fit — she settles on the turtleneck as her top. The buttery soft wool looks tantalizingly inviting, and, well, Lin’s always considered green her color. If she has to go, she might as well go in style.
Except. While she and Kya appear the same size on the surface, she hadn’t factored in the lack of give in the sleeves. They slide smoothly down her forearms only to get caught at her biceps, while her head is already wrapped in the overlapping layers of the turtleneck. She couldn’t extricate her head without pulling down the sleeves all the way, and she couldn’t pull down the sleeves without risk of them ripping.
This had to be her darkest moment. Lin Beifong, laid low by a sweater.
She sighs.
And accepts defeat.
“Kya?”
The response is immediate. “Yes?”
“I may. Um. Need your help.”
She thinks she hears a brief chuckle before a gentle knocking on the door. “May I come in?”
“Yes,” Lin grumbles.
The door squeaks open, and Kya is definitely laughing now, an all out guffaw.
“Are you stuck?” she gasps out, in between gales of amusement.
“What do you think?” Lin asks, exasperated.
“I’m wondering how you managed to get yourself trapped in a turtleneck.”
“Shush.”
“I mean, really, for all the talk about my clumsiness —”
“Stop it.”
“...seems like you forgot to mention yours —”
“Are you going to help me out of here or not?”
“Patience,” Kya says, as she shuffles towards the bed. Lin feels her futilely attempt to rescue her from the side, then from the back by climbing on the bed. The angle’s all wrong; it doesn’t work.
“I’m just going to —” Kya straddles Lin, placing both hands on Lin’s forearms in an attempt to loosen the fabric on the sleeves. For just a moment, Lin feels Kya’s right hand slip to her stomach to steady herself, palm soft and warm before it’s replaced at her arm.
“And the final piece,” Kya says, tugging the turtleneck over Lin’s head.
“I can — I think I got this part,” Lin says, a little out of breath from the exertion. Except now, she has an unobstructed view of Kya, who is — wow, if Kya is pretty at a distance, she’s stunning up close. And she is. Very, very close. Close enough to count those eyelashes she’d noticed earlier, the ones that are driving her to distraction now.
Lin’s sure she’s not breathing by now. Does she even remember how? Does she really need air? It feels immaterial at the moment.
“I — I think you do,” Kya affirms. Her hands are still on Lin’s, legs still straddling her own, and Lin wonders if she can feel her escalating pulse under her fingertips. Feel the warmth pooling in her stomach.
“I — what?”
“I think you got it now,” Kya reiterates. Lin can feel Kya’s breath ghost her lips. She smells like mint and wine. If Kya doesn’t step away this moment, Lin might do something she’ll regret.
Kya doesn’t move. Is she as hypnotized as Lin?
It doesn’t matter. Lin kisses her anyway.
For one briefly horrifying moment, Kya loosens her grips on Lin’s hands, nearly pulls away, and Lin is convinced she’s about to be kicked out of this very nice hotel room half-dressed and devoid of any reasonable explanations for her friend and sister.
But the Kya redoubles her grasp, sinks in, warm and molten and sinful and Lin is putty under her ministrations. Lin tastes the tartness of the wine, the sweetness of the fruit, the heady combination intensified by Kya’s tongue gently cajoling her mouth open. Kya’s thighs wrap around Lin’s, coaxing their bodies closer, and a frisson of desire sparks up her legs, taking root in the heat building there. A moan escapes Lin’s unwitting lips. Kya pulls her closer.
At this point, Lin doesn’t remember what she’s forgotten. The things that made the night so unbearable — Su’s pregnancy, Zhu Li’s promotion, Izumi’s new hire — lay forgotten at the threshold of this bedroom, a slate wiped clean by Kya’s awfully talented fingers.
Lin stirs, squeezing her eyes shut then blinking herself to wakefulness. It’s not quite morning, early rays of the dawning sun peeking through the half-shut blinds. This isn’t her bed, this isn’t her room, where is—
Oh. Right.
She hadn’t intended to fall asleep here. But one thing had led to another, and by the end of the night, all of Lin’s stamina had evaporated, alongside any desire to do anything but sleep for the next fourteen hours.
She gingerly extracts herself from underneath the blanket in which Kya is still nestled, looking for all the world like a cherubim having a really bad hair day. Brown locks are everywhere, carpeting her own pillow and even portions of Lin’s. Her face is obscured, bare arms outstretched to her side. If Lin doesn’t move, she might do something stupid, like kiss her awake.
Sober, daytime Lin is evidently more rational than Lin from last night, so she sets on a course to gather her belongings and finally leave this blasted hotel.
Hunting for her clothes in the dark proves challenging, but she rounds up what she can find and changes in the living room. She’d learned her lesson last night, swapping the turtleneck for the graphic tee. AT/GC , this one said, a double helix where the slash should be. Was Kya some kind of indie band fan?
Her bra is nowhere to be found, but Lin grabs the remainder of her outfit from last night and stuffs it into a plastic carry bag by the door. On the coffee table by her purse lies a hotel notepad and pen, to-do list scribbled on the first page.
Lin hesitates, then rips a blank sheet from the pad.
Thanks for the clothes , she writes. I can return them tonight at the front desk.
She pauses. How honest does she want to be? Does she ever want to see this woman again?
Last night had been… many things. Kya had seen through the charade, deigned to help her even where Lin’s brusque manner would have put most off. Lin can still feel the phantom twist in her gut as she remembers what it felt like to have her close, at her mouth, between her legs. Things she hasn’t felt since… since her last relationship.
Yes, it would be nice to see Kya again.
She scrawls a postscript: I had a good time last night. See you again? and appends her phone number before she loses her nerve. She sticks the note right on the front door, where she’s certain it can’t be missed.
Taking one last look at the empty room, she steps into the hallway and calls a cab.