The Lonely Mile
i.
Loneliness is a learned art, and Korra's had plenty of time to learn.
The Southern Water Tribe is a perfect place to start, with its barren land and icy planes. But Korra loves her home Nation, and so she learns to love the emptiness too.
She's six years old when the Order of the White Lotus comes to cart her off. Korra cries and throws elemental tantrums for a majority of the first month, only stopping for Master Katara's soft words and strong embraces.
Tonraq and Senna try to visit every weekend, and those days are always the brightest, though the rest of the week quickly becomes unbearable.
One year later, a lone polar bear pup finds its way past the gates, drawn by the scent of roasted fish and sea prune stew. The gate guards are admonished for becoming distracted from their duties, and Korra mentally ups her friend count to two: Master Katara and Naga.
She tells herself that this is all she will ever need.
But on some nights, the emptiness roots in deep, and leaves her heavy-hearted for days at a time.
Korra tells herself it will pass.
ii.
She's seventeen, and the roots grow deeper still.
iii.
Republic City is nothing like the South Pole.
The streets come alive with the roar of Satomobiles and the buzz of thousands of lives crossing paths and parting again. Korra hears notes and snatches of lyrics to songs she's never known, and takes in the scent of a thousand flavours she's never tasted.
It isn't quite home, but Korra doesn't really know what home feels like anyway.
iv.
Air Temple Island feels nothing like home.
Tenzin is easily a foot taller than Korra, all sharp angles and pointed beard to match his no-nonsense attitude. Korra has a hard time pinpointing exactly what makes him the son of Master Katara and the late Avatar Aang, but she thinks she may have a concussion from those infernal Airbending panels and doesn't want to think much these days.
Pema and the little Airbender kids, however, are fantastic foils to Tenzin's strict nature. After particularly taxing training sessions, Pema slips Korra a lychee juice and a sympathetic smile, and the children would swarm her, effectively cancelling out the relaxing effects of the lychee juice.
Eventually, Korra spends the rest of the day per their request, Earthbending sandcastles across the beach.
Air Temple Island feels nothing like home, but Korra thinks it just might be close enough.
v.
When Korra gets her first letter from Master Katara and her parents, she retreats into her room for the rest of the night and traces the words with her eyes until she can't see straight.
The empty feeling is back.
It'll pass, she tells herself, same as always, even though it never really does, in the end.
vi.
She listens to her first Pro-bending match on the radio the next night.
And the rest will come in time.
vii.
This is all very strange, Korra decides.
Just a few weeks ago, the names Mako and Bolin only reached her through radio waves.
Now, she can't help but to attach new meanings and memories behind those titles: Bolin, with his booming laughter and warm bear hugs reserved for their spectacular wins; Mako with his fierce loyalty and cool levelheadedness both in and out of the ring.
She wonders if this is what making friends is like, lounging out on the brothers' couch on a lazy Friday night and screaming with Bolin at the radio's coverage of the night's match. Mako just sighs as Bolin knocks over another empty cup of Flameo Instant Noodles, but Korra can tell he's trying hard not to smile as he sketches out game-plans on the back of an old, faded newspaper.
She figures that making friends goes something like this: fighting over the last chip in the bag; feeling the lift and flip in her stomach as their seamless teamwork brings about yet another knockout; exploring the City markets, chewing on a skewer of meat while Mako haggles with shopkeepers and Bolin stocks up on his favourite dumplings.
Korra smiles to herself and mentally ups her friend count to four.
The referee makes a shoddy call and Mako drops the paper to join in on the obnoxious screaming.
Korra decides that she could get used to this strangeness.
viii.
She wonders if a friend is supposed to make her heart feel a few sizes too big, make her feel a little too hot under the collar and skip a breath the way her lungs catch when she runs for too long.
She thinks it might be the broad shoulders and high cheekbones. A healthy dose of talent for Firebending doesn't hurt, either.
Spirits Korra, get a grip, she tells herself.
Then she looks into those amber eyes and loses it all over again.
ix.
No one told her having friends would hurt like this.
You should be happy for him - for both of them, she scolds herself.
But she suddenly feels self-conscious and silly in her navy blue dress with her hair neatly layered over her shoulders.
And when Tarrlok stands her in front of the barrage of flashing lights and screaming reporters, the familiar ache of loneliness takes root in her chest once more.
That's okay. You're good at this by now, remember?
So she braves the crowd alone, and she challenges Amon the same way.
It still hurts.
.
Tenzin's arms are strong and reassuring around her as she weeps openly for the first time in eleven years, unloading deep, dark fears of failure and masked monsters with her tears.
Admitting your fears is the first and most difficult step in overcoming them, he comforts her.
And so she feels a little better, maybe a little less lonely in Tenzin's calming presence.
But the roots grow deeper still.
x.
Korra isn't one for much regret; it's the skyline she's always running toward, never looking back.
But she thinks she might regret the kiss.
Not that it wasn't a fantastic kiss – she had felt in her toes and maybe forgot to breathe for a while afterwards – but the boulder that settled itself upon her shoulders after seeing Bolin's heartbreak, after remembering with a shock of guilt – Asami –
She learns the hard way that loneliness comes hand-in-hand with selfishness too, and so she thinks she might be terrible at this whole making-friends business after all.
(Friend count: probably zero.)
Korra regrets.
xi.
Lin Beifong is exactly as her element prescribes: unyielding and steadfast against injustice. It's also the exact opposite of Waterbending, with its fluidity and ever-changing states.
But then again, Korra's never really been a testament to the character of Waterbenders.
And as Lin saves her life for the umpteenth time that night, sending cables to break her fall from the roof of the Probending Arena, depositing her safely in the stands, at last silently acknowledging her as the Avatar, Korra feels the warmth of belonging bloom inside her.
And as she's folded into Mako's arms and feels Bolin's sturdy arms fling around them both, she can only smile to herself and feel the roots of loneliness retreat, if only by a little.
It's enough, for now.
xii.
Asami Sato is nothing like what Korra expects.
For someone so invested in makeup and with gorgeous hair for what seems like all the time, the girl sure drives a racecar like a pro. And then there's that streak of toughness and ironclad justice under her porcelain skin, the words of fire behind those red, red lips.
It's all very new for Korra, who has never had female companions around her age before, but she thinks that what she feels is admiration. Camaraderie.
Friendship.
Asami Sato is nothing like what Korra expects, and for that, Korra is glad.
xiii.
The New Team Avatar.
It has a nice ring to it.
Korra looks at the faces of the other three, eagerly watching and waiting – her proof against solitude.
And just like that, somewhere within her chest, the roots of loneliness fade into the backdrop.
So Korra smiles, and adds her own hand to the other three, because suddenly Tarrlok's cutting words no longer matter, and because for the first time, she no longer feels alone in this fight.
For the first time, Korra tells herself the emptiness will pass, and knows that, in the end, it will.
(She mentally sets her friend count to five; she thinks, she knows there's more, but for the moment, five feels like a nice, full number.)
xiv.
This time, she will brave Amon with friends and allies by her side.
This time, Korra is no longer afraid.
It's time to end this.
.
(But as she feels the elements slip through her skin and fade with a single breath, Korra realizes there are things far worse than fear.
Loneliness is a learned art, and if Korra wasn't learning already, she is now.)
xv.
There's celebrations, there's rejoicing, and there's happiness all around her.
But all Korra feels are the spaces in-between.
.
She's empty.
A broken shell of a person, a shadow of a former Avatar's glory.
She waits for the tears to flow, but even as Master Katara leaves her with soft words and a strong embrace – always the same after eleven years – her eyes remain dry.
It takes her a few minutes to gather her wits, before she finally stands shakily and makes her way slowly to the outer room, lips numb and limbs leaden.
She's greeted with a roomful of eyes, watching her with worry, tinted with sadness.
Korra looks at the faces of the people that she loves and whom love her back.
Welcome home.
She's never felt so alone.
xvi.
Mako follows her, as he always does, and gives her his heart.
But how can she accept, when she no longer loves herself?
.
Korra has never thought she would ever hate the cold.
But she hates it now; hates these barren lands, the icy planes.
And most of all, she hates the emptiness.
Korra knows the roots of loneliness very well by now. But through it all, her bending had always been steadfast and constant – her last resort, her first comfort. Without it, Korra is lost.
And without her, the world, too, is lost.
The cliff looks like a long way down, and Korra wonders if it will hurt; with no water to break her fall, no earthen slide to carry her to safety, no fire to propel her from the ground.
A lonely end for a lonely girl.
The tears finally come, and Korra falls back into the snow, crying ugly, open-mouthed sobs until the salty drops freeze on her face and the world blurs around the edges. She's wept from fear and from emptiness before, but these are mourning tears – a different kind of pain for a different kind of death.
Yet, she cannot bring herself near the edge again.
After all, death is lonely, and Korra no longer wants to be alone.
xvii.
She feels the presence before she hears the footsteps, but the ache is crippling and she's too far gone to care.
Not now, she says, even though she doesn't really mean it, doesn't really want to be by herself anymore.
But you called me here.
(It's a nostalgic voice, like that of a long-lost friend. And she knows; she knows before she turns.)
Aang.
He smiles.
.
The gradual realization that follows is nothing short of spectacular: washing over her like a wave, grounding her like the Earth, blazing in her core, lifting her towards the sky, tearing the loneliness away by the roots.
And as her world fills with light, Korra sees the faces of thousands of lifetimes before hers, hears the voices of the thousands, echoing and clamoring and existing.
(Passing, passing, and finally gone.)
You are not alone, Avatar Korra.
For the first time in her life, she feels whole.
xviii.
When the wind dies down and her feet touch ground again, she turns to meet his eyes, watches as the reverent awe on his face is replaced by quiet happiness – gentle eyes to reflect her own. It makes her heart feel several sizes too big and her lips break into an uncontrollable grin.
She thinks it might be the way he protects those he cares about. She thinks it might be the way he says her name, and never her title.
Mostly, she thinks it's the way he carries her when she grows tired of running.
Korra thinks that this must be love.
Then Mako's arms open for her and she sprints to him, and she's smiling and laughing and maybe crying a bit. When he lifts her off her feet and sweeps her in a circle, Korra's never before felt so light on her feet, so light on her heart.
And when their lips meet, she tastes wood smoke in winter winds and the bittersweet of anticipation, of completion at last.
Welcome home.
xix.
Later, she mentally revisits her friend tally – an old habit – and realizes that she's lost count.
It's a good feeling.
xx.
Loneliness is a learned art, and so Korra realizes that she never needed to learn at all.
End.
A/N: Can't wait for season 2! Thanks for reading, and I welcome concrit! :)