A/N: Rushed, so I apologize for errors.
I don't own Avatar: The Legend of Korra
It had been a while since she had last been to the Northern Air Temple.
Katara trembled as she alighted from Zuko's dragon, trying not to let the dread she had felt the entire trip consume her. The former Fire Lord guided her to a small house, and she held on to the bag containing her healer equipment tightly, trying to focus on how every step was going to bring Tenzin closer to her.
When they called her from the other side of the world to tell her that her youngest son was severely injured, Katara was somehow sure that the situation was even worse than they had described. Maybe it was because of the shakiness in Korra's usually confident voice as she delivered the news, but another part of her was certain that that wasn't it. She just simply knew—mother's intuition, as they called it. Whatever it was, she wanted nothing more in the world than for her suspicions to be wrong.
"Katara," Korra said as she entered the foyer, standing up immediately and walking over to her. She had dark circles under her eyes, but what really stood out were the dirty tear streaks that ran across her tan cheeks. "Mako, Bolin, Asami and I came as soon as we could, and Kya and I tried everything you taught us. But…" She gulped, trying to swallow back the sobs that were gathering in her throat.
"It's all right, Korra," she assured her former pupil, trying to plaster a smile on her face. Beside her, Zuko excused himself and took a seat next to Bolin, talking to the present Team Avatar in a low voice. "I'm sure you did your best."
"B–But you're here now, and you're the greatest healer in the world. I'm sure you can do something." Her cerulean eyes were pleading for her confirmation, but it was the intensity of the pain she was trying to hide that struck Katara. Korra wasn't only hurting for a mentor, she realized. Not even for a close friend—even though she had lost her connection with her past lives, the master waterbender was sure that she saw Aang's own grief being reflected in the present Avatar, too.
Korra looked like she was about to fall apart, so Katara opened her arms, and the young Avatar fell right into them, giving her waterbending master a brief hug.
"I hope so," Katara whispered before turning towards Tenzin's room, leaving Korra with the former Fire Lord and her friends.
…
"Mom." Pema's puffy face, red from crying, greeted her as soon as she entered. "We're so glad you're here."
"Daddy's—" Jinora choked. It was easy to see that she was trying to hold herself together, and Meelo went over to give his sister a hug.
"Can you make Daddy better?" Ikki asked, her innocent eyes looking up at her as little Rohan clung to her leg.
The sight of her grandchildren being exposed to the horrors of the world at such an early age was absolutely heartbreaking. It was the very thing she and Aang had vowed to prevent when they became parents, but she could hardly blame Tenzin any more than she could blame her own mother. "I'll try, sweetie. I'll try," she promised.
"Mom." This time, she turned to see Kya and Bumi approaching her, grief already written over their faces. They wrapped her both in a tight hug.
"Are you two all right?" Katara asked them worriedly.
Bumi let out a humorless laugh. "We're not in perfect health, but we're hardly worth worrying about, Mom. Korra healed us a bit after she came."
"We tried, Mom, but Tenzin—" Kya started.
"I know, sweetie. It's okay," she murmured comfortingly, wiping away a tear that had fallen onto her daughter's cheek. "You and Bumi need to rest, too."
"M—Mother?" a voice croaked weakly from the bed.
She gasped, the sound sending her rushing over to the source in an instant. "Shush, Tenzin," she said shakily, stroking his sweat-beaded bald head. The familiarity of the phrase made her eyes tear up—she had used it to comfort him so many times over the years. It was the same thing she had whispered to him when he kept her up during the night as a baby, when he had scraped his knee after attempting to do the air scooter for the first time, when he and Lin had just broken up and he didn't know what to do. She would never have thought, though, that she would say those same two words on his deathbed.
Her clinical eye had grown nothing but sharper over the years, and one look at him was enough. The purple marks all over his body, his black eye, the burns and gashes on his now discolored skin—no amount of healing was going to save her Tenzin.
Katara clenched her jaw, fighting the emotions piling up inside of her—rage at the people who had done this, grief at what was inevitable, pain from another part of her that had broken. No, she wasn't going to cry. Everyone needed her to be strong, and that's what she was going to do. That's what she had always done.
She set down her bag on a nearby table. Everything in there was useless, but maybe, just maybe, some old-fashioned healing could make a difference. Skillfully drawing two whips of water from some nearby jars, the master healer bent them so they hovered over the burns across the airbender's chest. A familiar blue glow filled the room, but the faint heartbeat she detected felt like a punch in the gut.
"Mother… you don't have to."
"Shush, Tenzin," she repeated, moving on to his arm. It wasn't any better—his chi was hardly flowing. She drew in a shuddering breath, wishing that she had some spirit water at the moment.
"Korra and Kya did a fine job keeping me alive after my fight with the Red Lotus. You taught them well." She bit her lip at how every word he said seemed to be an effort. "But … I'm not going to make it, am I?"
"Shush, Tenzin," she said once more, angling her face so he couldn't see how it had crumpled.
"Mother… are you proud of me?
She couldn't hide it anymore. The water fell limply on the floor as she turned to fully face the pair of silver eyes, so much like that of her husband's. "Of course I am, Tenzin." Her voice cracked and tears streamed down her face, but she didn't care anymore.
"Do you think Dad is?" he whispered.
She started to cry in earnest now. "Without a doubt, sweetie," she said in between sobs. "Your father and I have always been proud of you."
He closed his eyes, leaning back into the pillow. "I'm glad," he said softly, but Katara heard him loud and clear. "I love you, Mom."
She clung miserably onto part of his robe. Her father, her mother, her brother, her husband, and now her son—how much more of her family was going to be ripped from her while she stood by helplessly, unable to fight death? How many more scars did she have to have etched on her heart? "I love you, too, sweetie," she whispered. "Don't ever forget that."
A small smile played on Tenzin's lips, and she knew he was remembering all those nights Katara had tucked him in as a child, kissing his forehead as she whispered that nightly reminder. "I never do," he breathed his usual response, same as it had been all those years ago.
Katara watched as her son struggled through a few more breaths, and when his last finally escaped him, her knees buckled underneath her. She was vaguely aware of some people rushing in to help her up, but it was hard to focus on anything but the overwhelming pain of a new wound.
How many deaths need she see before she herself was taken away? How much grief was it possible for one person to endure in one lifetime?
"Shush, Katara," she heard someone whisper, and it sounded so much like Aang. Maybe Tenzin was the last straw—maybe she had finally lost it.
Not that she cared, anyway.
"Aang," she sobbed. "Take care of Tenzin. Take care of Tenzin," she begged. "I couldn't do anything."
"Shush, Katara," the voice whispered again, and it was the last thing she heard before everything went black.