Avatar The Last Airbender Fan Fiction ❯ Merits ❯ Part Five ( Chapter 5 )

“Merits” - Part Five

( In class)

“Professor Kuruk?... Professor Kuruk?”

The inquisitive voice jarred Katara out of her reverie and she regarded the student who'd called her attention. He stood in front of her raised lab bench with the handout she'd distributed at the beginning of the class, wearing the most sympathetic, charming smile possible for a brown-noser.

“Yes? Sorry Ken, I was a bit distracted,” she smiled, a bit embarrassed she'd been caught. It would be Ken who'd notice, too, of course.

“Oh, no worries - I just wanted to make sure everything was ok,” he said, and smiled back.

“Do you have any questions?”

“Nope! Just glad you're ok.”

“Well… thank you, that's very nice. You can turn in the exercises when you're done.”

“Ok.”

The over-eager student sauntered back to his lab partner and they returned to the biology experiment she'd outlined for them.

Katara's smile took a critical dive towards a grimace, but she forced herself to maintain a professional façade. She was more than used to undergrads hitting on her to try and get better marks. While at times flattering, it got on her nerves and she found it insulting more often than not at this point in the game. Now that she had a boyfriend, she also found it a bit awkward.
Well, sort-of boyfriend… Her shoulders sagged minutely as the recurring war-within-herself renewed its efforts. Call him or don't call him? Was he guilty or innocent? Was she justified, or completely insane at this point?

In her psyche, both sides battled to drive her to the brink of frustration, or madness, whichever succumbed first. She'd been giving Jet the cold shoulder for the past several days due to her own cowardice in confronting him. Every time she checked her phone she found another few voice or text messages - he was getting agitated, by the tone of the last few.

Well, good for him, he deserved it for whatever the heck he tried to pull with that tea. Her head still smarted at times, and she hadn't had a decent night's sleep since the crazy `dream' incident. (Whether from stress or pain, she wasn't sure anymore.) Her sleep deprivation was making her edgy, and distracted, however; even her professors had remarked on her decrease in aptitude. Not good for a graduate student who depended on every penny of her scholarship…

Katara surveyed her group of lab students before starting on her usual `walk about' to see if anyone had any questions or needed help, her mind straying back to the argument she'd had with Jet the week before.

“So, what are we doing for you to `make it up to me' tonight?” Jet had teased when he'd called her the day after their date.

“How about you never making me that disgusting tea again? What did you put in it? Do you know what kind of crazy hallucinations it gave me?” She'd ripped into him. “Jet, if I get caught with anything like that, my career, my entire life, is ruined! What were you thinking!?”
“Whoa, Katara, what are you talking about?” he'd asked, taken completely by surprise.

“Don't try to play me, Jet - I know what you used to do, and I believed you when you said you'd changed for the better. But whatever you put in that drink that night, I could have been seriously hurt. I really don't know what the Hell you were thinking, but I swear, it better never happen again. And I really don't want to talk to you right now.”

“Katara, wait, I don't know what you're talking about, really—.”

“Screw you, Jet--I'll call you when I've calmed down.”

“Katara--!”

She'd slammed her phone shut and been tempted to throw it at the wall, but had just clenched her fist around it instead. Her angry tears had left her eyes red and sore, and she'd felt like a fool. Everything he'd told her, all his promises, and she'd fallen for them hook, line, and sinker. The only reason she hadn't dumped the louse was because she'd believed in him when he'd said he was trying; and she couldn't turn her back on someone who was doing their best. Her heart hurt that night and she'd turned her phone off to stop his constant call-backs.

She'd been a mess the next morning. Her lab students had all behaved very well, though, in retrospect - they'd likely picked up on her downcast demeanour. Then again, she'd also threatened them with a pop-quiz if they didn't follow her directions to the letter… And asking for volunteers for the surgical-demo when they ran out of bottled frogs probably tipped the students off to her bad-mood, too…

Her students were a good group. There were the usual types: the `smart' ones who understood everything straight away, the `followers' who were intelligent, but happy to have someone take the lead as long as they could help, and the `loners' who didn't want to have someone mooch off their work, so ignored their partners and eventually did everything on their own. They were good kids, and for undergrads they actually paid attention and asked a lot of good questions. She enjoyed being their lab TA; their humour and enthusiasm were wonderful for keeping her on her toes - and distracting her from the occasions when her own problems bothered her.

It was the same group who were with her now, and they were a bit chattier again this morning now that she must be returning to normal in their eyes. She heard one table laugh a bit louder than the others and investigated, glad to let go of her feelings of guilt for a bit.

At least this class is a nice constant in my life right now, she thought to herself as she sidled up to the students to ask them how they were doing.

 

(Thursday night, the week after the date with Jet.)

 
Deserted. A condemned wreck, the factory had been abandoned until about three years prior; the brick exterior had crumbled away in parts, the windows had been boarded up, and the docking bays had been locked down for decades. It was surrounded by empty rail yards and lots, on the waterfront by the shipping port. It was rumoured to have been used by criminals as a hide-out, and the bullet holes in the wall leant plenty of support to the claim that there'd been at least one shoot-out within its dingy walls.

Tonight, it was the hottest club in the northern hemisphere, and even celebrities lined up to get in.

The city bylaw officers themselves ignored the violations the building presented, following a silent order from the city's council to `overlook' the blights… The revenues the crowds brought it were more than that of most of the biggest-name rock bands.

Lights whirled and glowsticks made neon streaks through the air as the city's best DJ mixed tracks and noise together expertly into a layered blend of music the biggest-label record companies would pay dearly to control. They had tried to pay her, of course - and she'd laughed in their faces. The Blind Bandit worked for herself, and herself only.

Hands outstretched over the multitude of dials and switches, her multiple laptops and other computer-related paraphernalia were arranged around her carelessly—or so it seemed. In reality, everything was arranged to her specifications, her wants, her needs, all at her fingertips. In order to better gauge the energy level and crowds' reactions, she went barefoot to feel the rhythms of their vibrations. When their cries rose to a fever pitch, she cranked the dials louder and drove them harder, before taking them back down again to a trance state to recharge or flow on autopilot.

It was here, in Toph's natural habitat of the darkened depths of the Bomb Shelter club, that Katara visited her friend and paid her a “Dear Abby” call... Just what Toph liked best—not the girltalk, but the opportunity to rip into Katara, responsible, mature Katara, for being a total ass.

“So have you forgiven him yet?” yelled the younger woman, preparing for the next set.

“No,” Katara yelled back, frustrated.

“Did you talk to him?”

“No.”

“Wow, Katara. You're really working hard on keeping this guy.”

Katara's shoulders jerked and she jutted out her chin, her arms crossed in front of her. She hated it when Toph had a point, especially at her expense.

“You just don't understand…”
”What don't I understand? You think he did something bad to you, you have no proof, and you won't talk to him to find out what might have really happened anyway.” Toph enumerated each point on a slender, skilled finger with one hand, and continued segueing the jungle-beat music with the other, instinctively. “I'm not saying you're wrong. I'm saying you're not giving him a chance to be right. Or even a chance to defend himself.”

“So what, are you saying I should go over and apologise? He's a jerk - he could be dangerous!”
“Argh! Katara, look, it's up to you,” conceded Toph, fed up with the circular argument. “You were happy with him; you think the world of this guy otherwise, and yet you're so stubborn and afraid to be wrong-- and hurt-- that you're stalling having any kind of discussion with him.” The music rose to a crescendo, and Toph moved to the next computer, the one that controlled the room's effects. Bubbles and more mystic lights ambulated throughout the room, calming the crowds down again as the electronic wove into trance.
“Why don't you go talk to him? At least have the decency to end it cleanly. You're acting like a coward.”

“I'm trying to be safe and protect myself. After what happened--.”
Toph whirled on her, gesturing wildly and clearly exasperated. “That's just it, you don't know what happened! You're making assumptions,” she threw her hands in the air for emphasis.

“No I'm not, I'm… I'm…”

Looking at her friend for a moment, Katara stopped speaking and took in what Toph had just said. Her eyes narrowed in speculation.
Damnit, she hated it when Toph was right.

Picking up her bag and putting her coat around her shoulders again, Katara rose to her feet and brushed herself off. She mentally braced herself as her list of chores, work, and school-related assignments loomed in front of her, and she realized she couldn't dawdle any further avoiding things. “I've got work to do,” she said and shrugged her jacket on comfortably again.

“Yes, you do,” assured her friend. Her voice was gruff, but confident and the vote of support made Katara smile.
Doing up her zip, Katara leaned over and gave Toph a quick hug, in spite of the younger woman's protests. “Thanks, Toph.” She planted a perfunctory kiss on her round cheek out of spite.
“Yeah, whatever. I'll put it on your tab.” Extricating herself from her friend's grasp, Toph shoved Katara lightly away. “Just don't forget your stuff. I have a business to run up here. If I trip and break something, you're paying for it.”

“I'll see you later,” called Katara, heading down the steps to make her way through the throngs of ravers to the door. Once past the security guards at the bottom of the flight of steps, she disappeared amidst the pulsing life of the mob. Toph felt the vibrations of her friend's feet fade into the pounding of the rest of the guests, like a raindrop falling into the ocean's currents.

“Later!” waved Toph - until her arm stiffened and stopped in mid-wave in the air. “Katara?” she called. “Katara!” Her voice was anxious - but the other woman had already moved out of hearing. She was soon through the door, completely out of sight.

Toph swept her feet over the floor again to be sure, but the unusual vibration she'd felt was gone. It had been so strange, alien - but… it had almost felt like a ghost had tread on the concrete floor of the old factory for a moment, and followed Katara out the door.

Frowning and shaking her head slightly, Toph turned back to her stations and starting building the energy back up again. “Must've been something else…”