[This is going exactly the way he had hoped it would not. He tries to calm down. One of them should try to be rational.] Korra, put me down. You can't hurt people when you are angry just because you're strong enough to.
[This is too much. He's too much. Everything is too much. This is no longer just about what Chekov did. This is about all the crap that she's had to deal with in the past seven months. That awful comic. The gangsters her child self pissed off. Dying the way she did. Being brought back to life the way she was. The friends she's lost. Being taunted with her powers. Being forced to kill the people she loves.
All it will take is another grain of sand to break her.]
[He has no idea what's going through Korra's head. She always acts like she's fine, never asks for help, never seems like she's going to snap. That's part of the reason Chekov intervened with Hei; he suspected that Korra wouldn't ask for help, even if she needed it.
And there's no way he can end a conversation like this.]
Not until you talk to me. You cannot intimidate me into leaving.
[For a brief moment, Chekov does consider leaving. That's what he did last time, though, and that didn't do any good. Korra has been his best friend in the City. Threats won't scare him away.]
[He turns in an indecisive circle then stoops to pick up the book for Jinora. Yes, he can leave the book and go, but he hasn't had it out with Korra yet. Chekov addresses the beach house's door.]
I'm not leaving until we talk.
[And with that, he sits on the sand a few feet from the house, back to the door. He has no intention of going anywhere.]
[Korra's prepared to wait him and his pushy annoying insensitive stubbornness out.
Except.
There's a dagger she picked up from one of her training lessons with Arthur, and it gives Korra an idea. She can't explain where it comes from, or why it seems like the only possible solution.
But.
She picks it up, testing its weight and balance in her hand. Adjusts her grip. Walks silently outside to where he sits.
[Chekov isn't paying much attention. Korra's not typically a quiet person; when she's ready to talk, he'll know. Until then, he's content to watch the ebb and flow of the ocean's waves.
The pain is sudden and unexpected, almost too sharp to register as an injury.
Pavel's vision darkens for a moment. He blinks it away and turns (it's hard to breathe) to see Korra.
(There's a lot of blood. He doesn't know what happened, but there's blood staining his shirt and seeping into the sand.)
That doesn't make sense. His brain refuses to accept this as reality.]
Korra?
[Blood comes up with his words and Chekov wishes he knew more about medicine.]
[The first sensation is a queasy mixture of guilt and vicious satisfaction. Mission accomplished.
That feeling quickly fades, leaving her suddenly cold and trembling. She stares at Chekov, at the blood in the sand and the knife in his back, uncomprehendingly.
[Why isn't she responding? Why isn't she telling him what happened? It had to have been her, but that's impossible. Korra might shove him around, but she would never do this.
And then the world tips sideways as Pavel topples to the sand like a puppet with severed strings. Pavel tries to feel his back, determine how severe it is, but his limbs refuse to lift, leaving his fingers to claw at the sand. His vision swims again--
The world steadies when he rolls onto his stomach. He doesn't dare move more than that.
[He topples over and time begins to fast forward. There's no time for curses or regrets or panic or guilt. If she had her waterbennding-- But she doesn't. She doesn't and she never will and Chekov is dying.
Her mind feels focused and clear. (It's not. If it was, she would run into the house, grab bandages and call for an ambulance. She would know better than to move him. Terror has given her an illusion of clarity.) She rips off her shirt and tears it into long strips that she wraps around his chest as she shouts for Naga. There's not nearly enough fabric to stop the bleeding.
Naga charges over, and Korra has to stop the polar bear dog from licking at the wound (the animal's attempt at healing). She gets Naga to lean down and carefully loads the teenager onto her back.
[Any and all remaining rational thought seeps away and Chekov's ability to comprehend what's going on is deteriorating. Korra is still there, he knows that. The blood's still there.]
Я не понимаю. [The words are slurred and, even to a native Russian speaker, too choked by blood and pain to be easily comprehended. Pavel is still trying to address Korra. He doesn't understand what's going on.] Что...?
[His futile attempts at communication draw to an abrupt halt when someone--Korra--begins moving him. Agony floods his senses and, even though his eyes are open, all he can see are shifting colors and an ominous blackness that pulses with every movement.
It's cold.
Everything goes dark and, for a moment, all Chekov can feel is a thousand fiery stings that sear his back and insides. There's nothing he can do. He can't even scream.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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It involved me because it involved you!
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Stop trying to justify it!
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[This is going exactly the way he had hoped it would not. He tries to calm down. One of them should try to be rational.] Korra, put me down. You can't hurt people when you are angry just because you're strong enough to.
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[She lets him go so she can shove him away.]
Don't. You. Dare.
[This is your cue to leave, Chekov.]
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Please, calm down. I want to talk, not fight.
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[This is too much. He's too much. Everything is too much. This is no longer just about what Chekov did. This is about all the crap that she's had to deal with in the past seven months. That awful comic. The gangsters her child self pissed off. Dying the way she did. Being brought back to life the way she was. The friends she's lost. Being taunted with her powers. Being forced to kill the people she loves.
All it will take is another grain of sand to break her.]
Go away.
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And there's no way he can end a conversation like this.]
Not until you talk to me. You cannot intimidate me into leaving.
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Korra, please.
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[He turns in an indecisive circle then stoops to pick up the book for Jinora. Yes, he can leave the book and go, but he hasn't had it out with Korra yet. Chekov addresses the beach house's door.]
I'm not leaving until we talk.
[And with that, he sits on the sand a few feet from the house, back to the door. He has no intention of going anywhere.]
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Except.
There's a dagger she picked up from one of her training lessons with Arthur, and it gives Korra an idea. She can't explain where it comes from, or why it seems like the only possible solution.
But.
She picks it up, testing its weight and balance in her hand. Adjusts her grip. Walks silently outside to where he sits.
And plunges the knife into his back.]
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The pain is sudden and unexpected, almost too sharp to register as an injury.
Pavel's vision darkens for a moment. He blinks it away and turns (it's hard to breathe) to see Korra.
(There's a lot of blood. He doesn't know what happened, but there's blood staining his shirt and seeping into the sand.)
That doesn't make sense. His brain refuses to accept this as reality.]
Korra?
[Blood comes up with his words and Chekov wishes he knew more about medicine.]
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That feeling quickly fades, leaving her suddenly cold and trembling. She stares at Chekov, at the blood in the sand and the knife in his back, uncomprehendingly.
What did she just do?!]
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And then the world tips sideways as Pavel topples to the sand like a puppet with severed strings. Pavel tries to feel his back, determine how severe it is, but his limbs refuse to lift, leaving his fingers to claw at the sand. His vision swims again--
The world steadies when he rolls onto his stomach. He doesn't dare move more than that.
There's blood on the sand.
It's hard to breathe.]
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Her mind feels focused and clear. (It's not. If it was, she would run into the house, grab bandages and call for an ambulance. She would know better than to move him. Terror has given her an illusion of clarity.) She rips off her shirt and tears it into long strips that she wraps around his chest as she shouts for Naga. There's not nearly enough fabric to stop the bleeding.
Naga charges over, and Korra has to stop the polar bear dog from licking at the wound (the animal's attempt at healing). She gets Naga to lean down and carefully loads the teenager onto her back.
They need to get to a hospital.]
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Я не понимаю. [The words are slurred and, even to a native Russian speaker, too choked by blood and pain to be easily comprehended. Pavel is still trying to address Korra. He doesn't understand what's going on.] Что...?
[His futile attempts at communication draw to an abrupt halt when someone--Korra--begins moving him. Agony floods his senses and, even though his eyes are open, all he can see are shifting colors and an ominous blackness that pulses with every movement.
It's cold.
Everything goes dark and, for a moment, all Chekov can feel is a thousand fiery stings that sear his back and insides. There's nothing he can do. He can't even scream.
Awareness dims entirely as pain fades to black.]