She remembers when life was as simple as running away from home, when the only threat to her humanity was the unforgiving boredom and loneliness that surrounded her compound, and why the hell would she sacrifice all that because now she looks at the mirror and sees the bags under her eyes, sees the way her legs have never been so useless, and the world doesn't even need her, not really, not when they have a nation of airbenders to look after them.
And maybe Amon and Unalaq and Zaheer were right, maybe the time of the avatar is long gone, and she, as a whole, is useless to the world she's created because she is no longer the bridge between two dimensions, and if only she had realized this before.
What's next?
Because how much more can the world break her before she shatters completely?
She isn't even safe in her own mind because the memories are just so vivid, and sometimes, she dreams of Zaheer breathing down her neck and staling her air, and it all happens so fast as she jolts up in bed a scream stuck in the depths of her throat, and even though she knows it's just a dream, the world is turning too fast, and the bile in her stomach is rising because she's sure he's lurking somewhere ready to end her life.
Tenzin says it's normal to be scared, but is it normal to avoid sleep, to sit up at night and stare at the ceiling for hours at a time just to avoid the nightmares that inevitably come crashing down around her?
This is habit for her now, to memorize the lines in the ceiling until eventually she succumbs to the weight around her. More often than not it's Zaheer, other nights, Amon, and sometimes, sometimes it's her.
One night, it's worse; it's too much. She's looking into a mirror, forced to face herself, to face her broken and useless body, disgusted by the way her legs, although supporting her weight, can't move, can't even bend. But then Amon appears behind her, hand winding tightly into her hair, forcing her head back and meeting her eyes in the mirror, saying something about equality as his other hand toys with the exposed skin on her neck: silly Avatar, silly, silly girl.
But he doesn't take her bending, usually that's how his dreams end, and really, it's almost a relief when it's gone because then at least she can wake up, but this time he just stands there and whispers twisted words into the world around them until she's smothered by the sound of his threats. His voice grows louder and louder and eventually, she can't even understand what he's saying, and everything is so distorted that she thinks maybe this is what hell feels like, but then she blinks, and Unalaq is behind them, leaning over her and Amon like a proud captor, blotting out the edges of the mirror, smiling like he knows the world was never hers to save anyway, face contorting beautifully, until his head throws back and Vatu rises from him laughing, laughing, laughing.
It's almost over, she thinks, this is where I die, this is where I wake up in cold sweats and try to remember who I was to begin with.
But not yet. Not until her reflection morphs into Zaheer's calculating form, his body stepping through the glass, positioning himself mere inches from her body. Everything in her says to run, to bend, to do something, but she's frozen, and he smiles like he knows as his hands twitch and her breathing fumbles, and she can practically feel her lungs collapsing in on themselves as their words beat her to the ground.
..
.
I am the solution.
.
..
.
You are not the bridge, not anymore.
.
..
.
Because the time of the Avatar is over.
.
..
.
And really, the world no longer needs you, Korra.
.
So die, bitch.
Her back spasms and her body jerks upright as the scream rips from the recesses of her throat, and nothing makes sense because if it was just a nightmare then why does everything seem so real, and she swears she can hear Zaheer's laugh from the depths of her bedroom, waiting, watching, ready to strike, to finish the job while her bending is at its weakest. Her palm raises shakily, a weak flame cupped in her finger, and even though there's nothing hiding in the corners, she can still hear him cackling, and it just gets louder and louder until she can't take it anymore and her hands fly to her ears and her body rolls in on herself and anything to get rid of his fucking voice because she's sure he's right behind her hands ready to strike, to kill, but all she can really do is rock and wait and take in shaking breaths that turn into cries of terror, tears trailing down her scarred cheeks.
Because who will even miss me, now?
She doesn't hear the door open, doesn't see the way a messy-haired, wide-eyed Mako's breath hitches as he runs across the room and grabs her tear-stained face between his hands and begs her to see him, but she isn't seeing anything anymore, blinded by the fear bubbling in the back of her throat.
"Kor," he tries to reason, fingers brushing against her cheeks, but his hands are burning her, and in a moment or terror she spits weak flames towards his face. He ducks and makes up his mind; before she can hurt herself, he slaps her, palm hitting her skin hard, and in a moment of clarity, her eyes focus, and she sees him, face stern, eyes sad, staring at her like she's crazy as her body slumps forward and the tears continue to fall.
Because, he was here, Mako; I could hear him laughing and waiting, and he's going to come back for me I know it!
And he's not really sure what to say because this is Korra; this is the girl who proclaimed she wasn't afraid of anything, and foolishly, he began to believe that she was invincible, but here she is, body broken, soul shattered, utterly consumed by her inadequacies, and he hurts for her, hurts for the way her hands are shaking and her world is collapsing, and three months ago, he would have kissed the fears away, and told her that he would protect her, but that was before. Before her body betrayed her and silence became her new best friend, so instead he wipes away the tears quietly.
"It's okay, Kor," he whispers, "Zaheer is in jail, and he's not going anywhere, and we're all going to make sure of that; you're going to be okay."
It's a lie because how can she ever be okay again.
Her breathing evens as the world slows down, and everything centers around the way Mako is grasping her hands, tethering her to the world, until she can almost forget Zaheer's voice, almost.
"Let's get you cleaned up," he says, and it's then she notices the sheen of sweat coating her skin, and the way everything about her feels dirty, violated, so she nods, and he pulls the blanket off of her, picking her up bridal style, surprised at how light she seems in his arms; she stares straight ahead, reluctant to make eye contact as her hands wrap around his neck because she wants to do things herself again, she wants to walk and soothe her nightmares away on her own, she wants to go back to the way things were, god damn it.
Silly how all she ever wanted was to be a good Avatar, and now she's just useless.
He walks slowly, careful not to bump into any walls as they make their way silently to the bathroom, her clothes cling like a second skin to her body, and it's humiliating to picture herself like this. He sets her down too carefully on the counter, afraid to break her anymore and grabs a wash cloth from the closet, wiping down her face gently and pulling her hair to the side to clean off her neck. His hand lingers for a second because this is familiar, and maybe he still cares so much more than he admits.
He sets down the cloth and fingers at the hem of her shirt, hesitating for a second, before she nods and raises her arms, the fabric unsticking from her skin, and a blush crawling up her cheeks because she's never felt as inadequate as she does now.
He takes her in, eyes trailing the bruises that he didn't notice the first time around, the way her ribs have turned black and the scars are starting to pucker, and no part of her has been untouched; he wonders what horrors her wrappings are hiding.
"I'm sorry," she whispers, eyes fixed on a point somewhere above his shoulder.
I'm sorry for waking you up and for breathing fire in your face and for making you worry.
I'm sorry I dragged you into this.
Because we both know life would be easier without me around.
"No," he says, " Don't be sorry; you saved the air nation, and you risked your life, and you have absolutely nothing to be sorry for."
She doesn't really believe him, but she nods anyway.
He wets the cloth again, and focuses on cleaning her torso, being particularly careful not to put too much pressure on the places that are turning yellow. She still flinches and he shoots her apologetic looks before turning her body slightly and wiping down her back and shoulders, her body shudders under his touch, afraid of what he'll do when she can't see him, and it's sad, really, because they used to touch each other like lovers, and how can so much change in such a short time.
He helps lift her a little so she can slip her bottoms over her hips, exposing her wrapped legs, and scars, so many scars because even the avatar state doesn't come without repercussions, and what has this world done to you, Kor. He avoids the bandages and wipes her down as gently as possible before fetching her a new set of clothes and helping her redress.
Do you remember when things were okay? Back when my body was whole and my head was straight, and I let the world convince me I was strong enough?
Do you remember how I loved you, Mako?
Do you remember?
.
..
.
Me neither.
He carries her back to her room and lays her down on the bed, afraid she'll shatter courtesy of Zaheer, and even though she doesn't ask him to, he sits in the chair by the bed, and out of habit he pulls her forward and kisses her cheek lightly, a gentle reminder that she is loved.
She doesn't look at him as she grabs his shirt and pulls him under the covers with her because honestly she's just desperate to feel something, anything, and Mako's body pushed up against hers is as good an option as anything as she faces him and finally, finally, looks into his eyes and sees the sadness buried beneath ocher because this isn't her, this poor excuse for a girl isn't the Korra he remembers, and how dare the world rob her of everything she thought she was.
She guides his hand to her waist and curls into his chest, and he understands better than anyone what she needs as his fingers grasp her waist and his other hand strokes her hair because you've been so brave, Korra.
And he whispers in her ear how proud he is, how proud the world is, and that they still need her, he still needs her more than she could ever imagine.
.
..
.
He whispers until sleep overtakes him, and his body curls instinctively around hers.
.
..
.
And she watches the ceiling and counts the stars and listens to his breathing, anything to avoid another nightmare.
.
..
.
Because medicine can heal the wounds, but it can't kill the demons.
…..
A/N: So I couldn't not write Makorra angst after that finale, like come on, that was heartbreaking! This will potentially be a two or three shot depending so stay tuned and stay fabulous!
