#anyways i love overthinking 2015 pohatu and kopaka. the magnificent dynamic that they simply Do Not Have bc the series Barely Exists

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What did Kopaka remember?

Quiet in the mountains. Chaos. Endless seas. Clanging of metal. Chills of adrenaline in battle.

Warmth in his chest.

The last one was puzzling.

The first three he could see; the second two he could imagine from a glorious past as a proud Toa, a warrior, a hero - the clear shape of it forgotten, but its meaning still there.

The last one, though.

The last one was puzzling.

He was a Toa of Ice. A being forged in endless blizzards, as unrelenting as the avalanche, the snowstorm, the glaciers - as impenetrable as the permafrost that freezes the roots on their path.

He was not supposed to feel warm in his chest.

He was not supposed to be clumsy or get lost easily, either.

Who had ever heard of that? A hero who could not find his path? Did that mean he would not have recognized his own destiny if the elder had not assigned a Protector to guide him? That he would have wandered aimlessly, confused, if not rescued and merely left to his own devices? That he could have been swayed by the minions of Makuta and turned into a foe of his own siblings with ease? That it could have taken as little as a step in the wrong direction to turn him to evil?

He tried not to dwell on that.

He tried desperately not to dwell on that.

He turned his thoughts to Pohatu.

It always helped, to turn his thoughts to Pohatu.

Pohatu was... Well.

Pohatu was perfect.

He was powerful, stalwart, dutiful. He did not speak unless needed, sometimes not even then. He remained serious, stoic, focused in the face of danger. Nothing could have made him crumble, nothing could have made him doubt or flinch. He was smart, and steady, and strong: he was above them all.

He was a proper hero.

The only one out of all the Toa who Kopaka could truly look up to, aspire to be like.

Tahu was too loud, obnoxious, bossy, Gali too neurotic and self-certain; Onua was kind, but slow to wits and hardly capable of dosing his power; Lewa refused to listen to anyone but himself.

And Kopaka, though try as he might to seem so, was far from perfect.

Pohatu was perfect.

He envied him. He adored him.

So what if he was aloof, what if he seemed to hate them? What if a Scorpio or two got him once? What if he got nervous in the dark, and needed a shoulder to lean on to steady his breathing again? Happens to the best of us.

Of course Kopaka would protect him.

Of course he would jump to his defense.

It was an honor.

A way to show him.

See? I am like you. I am a true warrior like you. I am a proper ally to you. I am worth your time.

What self-centered things to think.

But he could not help it.

Pohatu was perfect.

He truly was.

Kopaka watched him as he slept, warmed by a fire Tahu had set up, instead of focusing on the surroundings of the camp. He watched him safe from judgement, as all the others too were asleep - he could hear their breaths and snores, could tell them apart from those alone. He watched him: he slept sitting up, curled in on himself, hands clamped around his arms, knees pulled to his chest, head dangerously leaning forward always about to fall. The glow barely escaping the sliver between his eyelids was dim. Something in the way they were shut gave the impression he was frowning fiercely beneath his mask.

He looked so strangely small.

He never looked happy.

Why did that hurt?

That was just how he was. Never happy. Never overtly, maybe never at all. Always more concerned with something else.

Why did that hurt?

It was a phantom pain, behind his nape.

He could not place it, could not figure it out.

It must have been something, one of the many things he could not remember, not fully, not completely. Something shapeless, but still there.

What did Kopaka remember?

Quiet in the mountains. Chaos. Endless seas. Clanging of metal. Chills of adrenaline in battle.

Warmth in his chest.

Dark.

Mlexqr?

Mlexqr!

Mlexqr!

Pohatu was looking at him.

It scared him briefly.

His hand had somehow gone, all on its own, to find and hold the Toa of Stone's.

He hadn't even noticed he'd moved closer to him.

He hadn't even noticed he'd woken him up.

He hadn't even noticed he'd held his hand.

Pohatu was looking at him.

Kopaka looked back, silently, stupidly, because he could not have explained himself if he had wanted - and he wanted, stars above knew he wanted.

This was no heroic behaviour. This was no behaviour at all, period.

What would the other think of someone like that? Someone who moves closer to a sleeping person and holds their hand like that, for no reason, waking them up out of nowhere and not offering a single explanation for the trouble?

He was annoyed, certainly. He had to be. He had to hate him by now, for such an incomprehensible inane action.

What was he doing?

What was he doing?

He couldn't even answer himself.

He kept holding his hand.

He should have stopped.

He kept holding his hand.

Pohatu was looking at him.

He did not let go of Kopaka's hand.

The shape of his eyes seemed less furrowed. Slightly, only slightly. But it really did seem a little less furrowed.

Tenderly, comfortingly, uselessly, Kopaka caressed the other's knuckles with his thumb.

Pohatu let him.

They remained like that for a while.

A long while.

Kopaka watched intently as the other Toa's face, what little he could see of it, mellowed out until it was calm. He watched as his breathing turned deeper, more tranquil. As his body unclenched.

It reminded him of that moment as they walked underground, looking for a way back to the surface, before they'd emerged from the empty tomb into the city's cemetery - when Pohatu had suddenly leaned on him, silently, and had seemed to be soothed immensely by his mere presence.

Maybe Lewa had been right. Maybe he was afraid of the dark.

No wonder he had looked so terribly unhappy as he slept. There was nary a light in the sky. Even stars would have barely done anything to help.

He had nothing to worry about now, Kopaka's hand said with a gentle dead seriousness through the gentle chill that it emitted as he kept caressing Pohatu's knuckles with his thumb. He was there with him. He was not letting go of him.

The phantom pain behind his nape cried.

They did not say anything.

But Pohatu's dim eyes took a strange shape, a softer shape. A shape Kopaka recognized.

Beneath his mask, he was smiling.

Smiling.

Warmth in his chest.

So sweet and sudden that it burnt and singed and scarred him beneath his armor, potent enough to make his heart stutter and shake with a violence he wasn't sure anything else could replicate.

Kopaka tightened his hold a tad more.

Pohatu smiled.

Just a little, but he smiled.

Warmth in his chest.

The phantom pain behind his nape wailed.

Pohatu's head laid on his knees, maybe not too comfortable, but no longer at risk of slamming onto them. His hand was slack in Kopaka's, though it held on: it felt like a stone left under the sun, radiating pleasant heat upon a chilly palm.

He had fallen asleep again.

Kopaka continued caressing his knuckles for a moment more, just to make sure he wouldn't wake up immediately.

He looked into the fire, into the night. He should have let go, at some point: certainly the Toa of Stone wouldn't have enjoyed being made fun of by Lewa for needing his hand held throughout the night. Certainly he would have glared at him viciously, yanking himself away from his fingers with a hissed warning of never doing that ever again.

Or maybe he would have said nothing, and only hated him in silence.

Or maybe he would have said nothing, and held onto him still.

He thought back to the shape of his eyes when smiling.

Such a familiar shape.

A familiar look.

A warm look.

Warmth in his chest.

When Gali took over guard duty and allowed him to rest, Kopaka forgot to let go.