She dies a short stretch after noon. Mako holds her hand and feels her warmth fading away as her spark is extinguished. He has been brave and strong so far, all for her, but as he feels her pulse finally halt, he cannot hold it back anymore. His face wrinkles in anguish, and he wails.
The tears do not stop until he reaches home and buries his face into her pillow. When he wakes up, sprawled across the side of the bed that had been hers, the tears begin again.
He doesn't change clothes that day. He can't bear to look in the closet. Bolin comes to call, then Asami. He turns them both away. He feels ten years old again, refusing to let his brother see him cry. He must be strong. He must be brave. He can't let her down.
Only when Jinora visits to offer condolences and a pastry basket does he allow himself to break down. It wouldn't have been any use trying to hide his emotions from her anyway. She would have sensed them.
The next day, the children all call him in turn. I'm fine, he lies to them. Your dad is tougher than he looks.
Kaito knows better. So do the others.
Their father is weaker than he looks.
He receives a letter from the force the next day. They pass along their sympathies, along with a reminder that his old post is open to him whenever he wishes to return. He will get back to work before long. He only took his leave to be with her.
Not today, though.
He searches the bookshelves of their - his - apartment. He still has not changed. The closet still holds only pain.
He finds what he is looking for. He wipes the dust off the volume. He bound it himself. A book of poems, written just for her, for their twentieth anniversary. She had read it every day for a month.
He reads through the verses, bursting at the seams with love, affection, inspiration, and adoration.
The tears start to well up, and he slams the book shut.
The funeral is two days later. He still has not changed. He forces himself not to look away as she is lowered into the ground. It is the last time he will see her, he knows. He can't miss a minute of it.
When he reaches home, tears streaming down his cheeks, he collapses onto his hands and knees, crawls into the bathroom, and empties his stomach.
Two days later, he opens the closet. His outfits on one side, hers on the other. He will never remove hers, even if looking at them makes everything ache. He couldn't bear it.
He remembers the outfit well. Maroon suit, scarlet ascot, Fire Nation lapel pin. For a moment, he feels like he has returned to that night, Korra by his side, completely unaware of what he is planning to ask her. And then, just as suddenly, he is back in the present day, the question of engagement a distant memory.
He retrieves what he needs and leaves the apartment, not bothering to lock behind him.
Will the pain in his heart ever fade? He does not know.
For now, at least, he knows what he needs to do to soothe the pain.
He goes to her grave. He sits cross-legged. He opens his book of poems.
And he reads to her.