Multitudes of Memory

@korrasami-valentine-exchange

Words: 5,032 Rating: T Summary: Asami remembers five of her favorite memories with Korra in the process of repainting their house, and then she makes a new one.

A crash from the entryway pulls Asami’s focus away from the metalwork of springs and cogs before her. Korra was a bit later than she had expected, but she has been keeping herself busy. Gently laying the half-finished work on her desk, Asami exits her home office.

Along the way to the living room, she is surprised to find herself with an armful of excitable Korra just on the other side of the threshold. Korra babbles about how sweet the cashier was as Asami pulls them both down the hall and into the living room, coming to stand side-by-side in a mirrored pose of hands-on-their-hips and looks of determination. Asami asks, “You still want to do this, right?”

Waggling her eyebrows, Korra says, “Of course. You’re not having second thoughts, are you?”

“It was my idea!”

Korra puts her hands up in surrender. “I’m just saying it’s okay if you are.”

A grin slides onto the engineer’s face and she slaps a hand onto the pile of paint cans next to her with the same look of determination she wears after she has closed a particularly lucrative business deal. “No, let’s do this!”

Whooping with all the enthusiasm of a prospective retailer in a Future Industries factory, Korra is already dragging a chair out of the room, careful to avoid the pile of paint brushes, rollers, tape, and trays that must have crashed from whatever container Korra had originally brought them inside with. “I’ll start moving the furniture out of the room!”

“I’ll get the walls!” she shouts over the scraping of chair legs against hardwood that is too far gone to chastise her wife about picking things up instead of dragging.

Grabbing a nearby box that they had spent time assembling the night before, Asami starts pulling picture frames off the walls. Newspaper gets wrapped around each one before they get laid gently into the box. It is a repetitive process and she finds herself getting into the rhythm. It is only when her fingers brush the cool metal of a certain picture frame as her heart gives a thump against her chest, warmth of nostalgia takes hold, and she remembers the evening it was taken.