Chapter 6: Noodles and Negotiations
The council meeting was an exercise in agony. Korra fidgeted on the hard wooden bench, her knee bouncing, as Representative Zhu Li droned on about harbor dredging costs. The air in the chamber was still and thick with the smell of old paper and perfumed oil.
Across the semicircular dais, Jess was a statue of perfect attention. She sat with her spine straight, hands folded in her lap, nodding at appropriate intervals as Tenzin explained the procedural expectations for a new council member. The morning’s soot had been washed away; she wore a formal red robe with black piping, her hair neatly gathered. She looked every inch the Fire Nation princess, her expression one of polite, focused interest.
Korra saw the crack only once. When Councilman Shiro began recounting a long, meandering anecdote about his grandfather’s time under Fire Lord Azulon, Jess’s eyes, for just a second, slid sideways and met Korra’s. A flash of green, a microscopic tilt of her lips—a shared, silent scream of boredom. Then she was back, her gaze refocused on Shiro with feigned reverence.
It was enough to fuel Korra through the final hour.
When Tenzin finally adjourned the session with a sharp rap of his gavel, the chamber erupted into the rustle of paperwork and the low murmur of departing officials. Korra was on her feet before the echo died.
She cut through the crowd, ignoring a bureaucrat who tried to ask about spirit-vine energy allocations. She reached Jess just as Tenzin was finishing some final logistical point about her temporary office.
“—and the documents will be delivered by courier this afternoon,” Tenzin concluded. He noticed Korra. “Ah. Korra. I trust you found the session informative.”
“A real thrill ride, Tenzin.” Korra slapped a jovial hand on his shoulder. “I’m just going to steal the Princess for a late lunch. You know, to… debrief. On Fire Nation perspectives.”
Tenzin’s weary eyes moved between them. He saw Korra’s barely-contained energy, the way Jess’s posture had subtly loosened. He sighed. “See that she is returned to her quarters before nightfall. There are security protocols.”
“Scout’s honor,” Korra said, already pulling Jess by the elbow toward the door.
They didn’t speak until they were outside, descending the broad stone steps of City Hall, the cacophony of Republic City swallowing them whole. Satomobiles honked, newsboys shouted, the air smelled of exhaust and street food.
“Protocols,” Korra mimicked, rolling her eyes. “He acts like you’re a precious artifact.”
“I am, to some,” Jess said, blinking in the bright afternoon sun. She shed her formal posture like a heavy coat, rolling her shoulders. “Spirits, that chair was designed for torture. I think my spine fused into a question mark.”
“I know a cure.” Korra grinned. “Grease. Noodles. No diplomats.”
She led them not to Kwong’s or any place a council member might be expected to go, but down into the bowels of Dragon Flats, where the streets narrowed and the signage was all vibrant, peeling paint. She finally stopped at a stall tucked under a rusted fire escape, the air thick with the delicious, savory scent of boiling broth and fried dough. A grizzled old man with a magnificent white mustache nodded at Korra from behind a steaming cauldron.
“Ming! Two specials, extra chili oil,” Korra called, sliding onto one of two wobbly stools at a tiny, rickety table. The tablecloth was a faded red silk, stained with a hundred previous meals.
Jess hesitated, eyeing the stool.
“What, too rustic for royal blood?” Korra teased.
“No. It’s just that this robe costs more than this entire stall.” Jess carefully gathered the fabric and sat, her movements still graceful even here. “If I get broth on it, my mother’s secretary will have a silent heart attack from six thousand miles away.”
“Live dangerously,” Korra said, leaning her elbows on the table. The lantern hanging above them cast a warm, shifting light over Jess’s face, softening the sharpness of her cheekbones.
Ming brought two enormous bowls, broth shimmering with oil, noodles piled high with roasted seaweed, shredded pork, and a perfectly soft-boiled egg. The aroma was incredible.
They ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the simple, glorious food a stark contrast to the dainty, pointless canapés from the reception. Korra watched Jess delicately attempt to wrangle a slippery noodle, finally succeeding, a look of pure, unguarded satisfaction on her face.
“So,” Korra said, swirling her chopsticks in her bowl. “Fire Nation bending theory.”
Jess glanced up, a wary amusement in her eyes. “Is that what we’re calling it?”
“It’s a subject of great personal and professional interest to the Avatar.” Korra kept her voice low, conversational. The chatter of the street provided a perfect veil. “The unique physiological generation of increased thermal energy. The focus required for chromatic deviation. You know, the blue stuff.”
“The blue stuff,” Jess repeated, a smile playing on her lips. “Yes. A complex field of study.”
“Mmhmm.” Korra slid her foot forward, brushing it against Jess’s under the small table. Jess didn’t pull away. “I’ve been theorizing about its practical applications. Beyond sparring.”
“Oh?” Jess took a sip of tea, her gaze locked on Korra’s over the rim of the chipped cup.
“Hypothetically,” Korra said, her voice dropping to a murmur that blended with the city’s hum. She leaned forward slightly. “That level of heat… it’s not just destructive. It’s precise. It could be… tactile.”
She let the word hang. Jess’s breathing hitched, just barely.
Korra reached under the table. The faded silk cloth draped over it brushed her wrist. She rested her hand on Jess’s knee, feeling the fine, expensive fabric of her robe. Then she slowly slid her palm up the inside of Jess’s thigh, the heat of her body already bleeding through the silk.
Jess froze, her chopsticks poised above her bowl. A faint, telltale flush began to creep up her neck.
“Imagine,” Korra whispered, her thumb making a small, slow circle, “that control. Directed not outwards, but in. A focused point of heat. Exactly where it’s needed.” She leaned closer, her lips almost touching Jess’s ear. “I want to know what that feels like. On my skin. Everywhere.”
Jess choked on her tea. A small, undignified cough escaped her as she set the cup down with a clatter. The blush was full-blown now, staining her cheeks and chest a magnificent crimson. She looked simultaneously flustered and furious, her green eyes wide.
“Korra,” she hissed, her voice strangled. She glanced around, but no one was paying them any mind.
“Just discussing theory, Princess,” Korra said innocently, though she didn’t remove her hand. The muscle under her palm was taut.
Jess took a slow, deliberate breath, regaining a shred of her composure. She turned her head, her lips a breath away from Korra’s. Her voice, when it came, was low and smoky, a promise and a warning woven together. “You are playing with fire. Literally. The kind that doesn’t leave burns you can see.”
The implication sent a lightning bolt straight down Korra’s spine. The air between them crackled, the smells of the street fading into a blur. The world narrowed to this tiny table, the warmth under her hand, the fierce, wanting look in Jess’s eyes.
“Maybe I want the kind I can feel,” Korra whispered back, her own breath coming short.
For a long moment, they stayed there, caught in the equilibrium of the threat and the invitation. The city moved around them, oblivious.
Finally, Jess moved. Not away, but forward. She pressed a quick, searing kiss to the corner of Korra’s mouth, a taste of tea and chili. Then she leaned back, picking up her chopsticks with a hand that only trembled slightly.
“Finish your noodles, Avatar,” she said, her tone shifting back toward light, though her eyes still burned. “Theoretical applications require practical energy.”
Korra laughed, a rough, happy sound, and retrieved her hand. She picked up her own bowl, the broth still wonderfully hot. They ate the rest of their meal talking about nothing—the terrible city traffic, Bolin’s latest mover idea, the strange taste of Republic City’s water. The conversation was easy, punctuated by smiles that were about more than the words.
But the undercurrent never left. It was in every glance, every accidental brush of fingers reaching for the same chili oil jar. It was a live wire strung between them, humming with the memory of blue flame and the promise of a heat that could be more than destruction.
When the bowls were empty and the twilight began to dye the sky purple, Korra paid Ming, waving off Jess’s attempt to reach for her purse.
“Council salary,” Jess insisted.
“Avatar privilege,” Korra countered. “Come on. I’ll walk you back. Before Tenzin sends out a search party.”
They walked slowly through the gathering dusk, the lanterns of the city beginning to wink on. They didn’t hold hands, but their arms brushed with every other step, a constant, warm point of contact.
At the gates of the Air Temple Island ferry dock, Jess stopped. The formal robe seemed to settle back onto her shoulders, the mantle of duty returning. “I have budgetary reviews tomorrow. Eight a.m.”
“Sounds awful,” Korra said, making a face.
“It is.” Jess smiled, a little sadly. “So tonight… theory is all we get.”
Korra stepped into her space, ignoring the few other people milling near the dock. She cupped Jess’s face, her thumbs stroking the high points of her cheeks. “Tonight is a promise,” she said, her voice firm. “The theory is really, really good.”
She kissed her then, not quick or searing, but deep and lingering, a slow taste of what was to come. Jess melted into it, her hands coming up to grip Korra’s wrists, her mouth warm and yielding.
When they parted, Jess’s eyes were dark, her composure thoroughly, beautifully shattered. “Goodnight, Korra.”
“See you tomorrow, Jess.”
Korra watched her walk up the gangplank, a flash of red in the twilight. She stood there until the ferry pulled away, a solitary figure on the dock, her skin still buzzing from a touch that had only just begun, her mind already racing ahead to the next chapter of their dangerous, wonderful experiment.