A/N: Needed to publish this quick before Book 4 gets premièred and all this gets jossed, so I apologise for any mistakes!
Korra never thought she'd forget something about Republic City. In her three years' absence, the place was enshrined in her head as a golden metropolis, bright lights shimmering in the oily black waters of Yue Bay. She remembers the masses of people rushing to and fro, the lottery that was the street food stalls, the sunset as seen from her room on Air Temple Island.
She forgot, though. She forgot the vines, omnipresent, crawling through windows and spiralling around bridges. She forgot the smell of traffic, sharp rubber and pungent petrol and the sticky scent of tarmac boiling in the heat. Most of all, she forgot about the pace; hustle and bustle doesn't even begin to describe it. From the moment she arrived, she was swept off her feet; Asami took her on a slapdash tour of the newer parts of the city, she officially met with Prince Wu that went so far south it ended up going north, she had a blazing row with Raiko that was only ended by the timely intervention of Lin Beifong and even when she got back to Air Temple Island, always her oasis of peace, the kids dragged her in four different directions to see the new air bison, the dormitories full to bursting with novice Airbenders, the peace-keeping force headquarters, the spirit garden full of vines bearing fruit.
Finally, though, she escaped; the first moment she could, she slipped away down a steep cliff-face to a sheltered cove at the rear of the island, facing out on the open sea. It was her private place; she went there to roar at the waves if she had a bad day, or to hide beneath them in a bubble of air if she needed to think. She never told anyone about it, not even her best friends.
In her absence, however, someone has discovered it; a suit jacket lies neatly folded in the sand, and a paired set of slightly scuffed leather shoes sit beside it. That fact alone confirms who the intruder is before she even looks out at the sea.
He's standing in the placid water, trousers rolled up to his knees, green silk shirt pushed up to his elbows. His hair is slowly falling out of its slicked-back style; he always spared the brilliantine, using only trace amounts of it to make the tube last as long as possible.
She pads out to the edge of the water, and watches the waves reach for her toes. He must hear her, because his shoulders stiffen slightly, but then they relax. That's new; Mako always held himself ram-rod straight, and would only slacken in intimate company or while asleep. Now his posture is easier, shoulders sloping gently down.
"It's been a while, hasn't it?" His tone is neutral, words careful and even.
He's right; it's been an age since she heard him in anything that wasn't a scratchy phone-call or a hopeless dream. "It has," she agrees, voice suddenly thick. What's wrong with her? Three hard years of toil have vanished, and she's back to being seventeen with her infatuation with the tall, dreamy firebender boy.
"Your hair is nice," he says suddenly, sentence clipped at the end, as if he hadn't meant to say it at all. She pulls her fingers through the choppy ends and murmurs a thanks.
His arms arch up as he stretches (another old habit), shoulders straining against the thin shirt. He is no longer the gangly, lanky boy she knew; he has grown into his long legs and broad chest and completed the transition into adulthood. She wonders how much else has changed about him. She used to know every single scar that marked him, from the burns marring his palms to the little nicks on his chin, leftovers from misadventures in shaving. How many of those have faded away to leave nothing more than painful memories behind? How many more has he gained without her?
Sometimes the three years seem like a gulf that she cannot possibly cross, like the vast ocean in front of her; so much has changed in her absence that Republic City is now stranger to her than the Spirit World ever was. She didn't even recognise Asami's voice, at first, when she flew towards her, ponytail streaming behind her. Korra used to fit in; not very well, true, but at least she knew her role. Now it has morphed into something entirely foreign to her. How will she ever adapt?
But at other times, the interval seems like nothing more than the channel between Air Temple Island and the city; just a hop,a skip and a jump and she can cross it as easy as you please. Like right now, for instance; a breeze gusts briefly across the beach, catching grains of sand and whipping them into the air and blowing a scent to her, of charred cinnamon and ozone. Its owner turns to her, that old crooked smile on his lips. Back when she first met Mako, she thought it was a smirk, and took it for guile; now she knows it as his nervous smile, for when he's not quite at ease but he needs to be pleasant anyway. Her heart squeezes, and she smiles back. She rises and strides into the water to stand beside him.
"How'd you find this place? I thought I kept it pretty secret."
"You did," he nods. "I just..." He stops to inhale. "I found it shortly after you left. I couldn't sleep, so I went for a walk, and I wasn't really thinking, and... my feet took me here." He shifts anxiously from foot to foot, water lapping at the hem of his trousers. "I used to go here, every time I missed you, and I'd stare out at the ocean and hope you were doing well." He glances at her, eyes as warm as ever; she feels blood rush briefly to her cheeks. She covers it up with a cheery response.
"Well, I did do well. I'm stronger than ever and sometimes I even look before I leap!" She elbows him in the side, and he snorts.
"I honestly can't imagine that." She pushes him, and he staggers slightly, but when he straightens up he shoves her right back.
"Mako! The twenty-two-year-old royal bodyguard to the sole heir of an ancient dynasty playing in the water with the Avatar? I'm shocked!" Her tone drips with mock-disapproval.
"You started it," he grumbles, and she lets out a laugh.
"How's that going, by the way?" she adds. His face screws up in distaste, and she claps him on the back in sympathy. "He's a bit of a handful, it seems."
"Did he try to chat you up?" She nods, and Mako groans. "I expressly warned him not to! What did you do to him?"
"He'll have to schedule a visit to a tailor's, at least." She delivers this in as dead-pan a fashion as she can, a skill she developed in her years away. A good poker face is necessary for dealing with rogues and scoundrels and even politicians.
She used to be terrible at it; her face was an open book with her emotions written in large script across her features. At first she tried to copy Asami's faint smile and platitudes, but she was no good; Asami could hide her irritation away and let it out in a gush after, doing unflattering impressions of whichever poor fool that had had the bad fortune to meet her that would make Korra laugh so hard her sides would ache. Korra couldn't do that; she had no-one to vent to but strangers, and that would never do.
Instead, she imitated Mako; how he absorbed everything without even a flicker and quelled his anger for use later. One incident comes to mind, back when they first met, around the time of that disastrous final against the Wolf-Bats; Tahno slunk up behind them in a line for registration and started whispering vile things to Mako, pouring such poison in his ear that the only thing stopping her from decking him was Bolin's arm on her shoulder as he repeated 'The championship, Korra, the championship!' Mako did nothing but clench his fists as he listened and when Tahno was done, that odious smirk on his thin lips, he calmly asked him if he was done wasting his time. The image of Tahno's eyes bugging is a fond one, as is Mako's faint smile of satisfaction. He was a demon in training after, flames burning so hot they burnt you without even brushing off you.
"What are you smiling at?" Mako raises an eyebrow. They're still in that weird shape; she imagines by now they are as intrinsic a part of his identity as Raava is to hers.
"Your hair." She reaches for his head. "You look dumb, you know that?"
"No." He shields his hair from her."Do you know how much time this took? I bet you I'm the only poor sap in Republic City who has to look like such a goof for work... Do you know what happened when I first met Prince Wu?" She shakes her head, and he continues, huffing; "He took one look at my hair and laughed! And then he gave me a twenty to go to a barber's!"
"Aww, I liked your hair." She tips her head to the side.
"Me too," he grouses, and she lets out a chuckle.
The conversation stutters as she gazes up at him. So much has changed; she's sure of nothing in this unknown place, not even her own body. The last time she was here, she couldn't even walk unaided; it is no surprise to her that her legs feel weak. Mako, though, is her unchanging constant. She never quite realised how lucky she was to have someone who would accept her so unconditionally, so wholly.
"I'm glad you're back," he tells her. His hands flutter up to her waist and then drop suddenly, as if he were about to take her hand.
"Me too." Seeing as he doesn't have the guts to do it himself, she grabs his hand and squeezes it, briefly; his cheeks colour for a second, a flash of bright red.
Sometime during her trials and travails in the Earth Kingdom, Korra convinced herself that the whole hing with Mako was just a childish crush. He was one of her first friends in Republic City, and was probably the most attractive person she'd ever met up to that stage; it would be logical for her to fixate on him. Perhaps, though, she's wrong; she's been in his company for less than five minutes and already she's getting tongue-tied.
The tolling of a bell breaks her concentration; she looks up at the sky to judge the time and realises that she's late. Pema might actually skin her. "Sorry, Mako - I've gotta be at dinner! Do you want to come with me?"
"N-no, I'm fine." He waves his hand vaguely towards the main pavilion. "Go. I'm sure Pema has a lecture prepared for you on proper nutrition and the benefits of vegetables."
She shudders in reflex; she likes vegetables as much as the next person, but sometimes you just need some meat. Mako chuckles and turns back out to gaze at the sea as she scales the cliff-face; when she looks back, he is nothing more than a small black figure standing in the tide.
She smiles silently to herself and bows to his back, before rushing on. Spirits help any poor airbenders that get in her way; she needs to get into the dining room before the food does.