a/n: *stumbles out of my cave, four years later* a korra fic? in 2017? go figure. i miss my babes. for my mako lovin' friends, enjoy :) ps: to ye-who-calls-me-scrungie, if u ever find out i wrote this...pretend u didn't lmfao
-/-
He's with Jinora, buying those silly dumplings from Bolin's favorite street vendor, when he sees his mother.
It's happened before; Mako will think he sees her out of the corner of his eye, think he can hear her laugh, but as soon as he turns his head it's just a woman with a similar hairstyle or a stranger's laughter that doesn't have the same warmth. The mirage is something that's happened before, something that can't be too out of the ordinary for someone to experience, but this…this is different.
He grips the handle of the umbrella that he's holding for the two of them so tightly, he's surprised it doesn't catch fire. Jinora is chatting away to the vendor, engrossed in a conversation about some book she's just finished as Mako's posture becomes limp and the umbrella starts to wilt. His police uniform gets wet and his hair begins to dampen as the heavy mild spring rains down on him. The wind blows, a small and insignificant breeze, but Mako lets it rip the umbrella out of his hand as gripping shock melts into slack disbelief.
The umbrella smacks Jinora in the face and she struggles to grab the handle before the wind sends it spiraling down the road. "Mako, what are you—"
She's standing on the corner of the street, right in front of one of Republic City's calmer crosswalks. Amongst a small crowd of people huddled under makeshift umbrellas made of coats and newspapers, Mako finds it strange how he is able to spot her from the crowd. It's not like he's exactly looking for her these days.
His mother has her head down, paired with an almost invisible smile and a copy of the newspaper in her hand. Mako doesn't remember her ever wearing her hair like that, but he remembers the flower that she's put in her hair, the tiger lily his father would buy for her every Sunday. It matches her favorite orange dress with the ugly brown patch by the hem.
"Mako," Jinora calls again. "Mako?"
He clenches his jaw as he takes a tentative step towards the other side of the street; as soon as his heel touches the pavement, his mother lifts her head and looks left and right, as if someone has called her name.
Her name is on the tip of his tongue but he's got just enough sense in him to let his teeth simply chatter in the chilled rain. He keeps walking.
The light for the crosswalk turns green and the heard of folks with newspapers, hats, umbrellas and bags scurry across the street as if they could run between the droplets. Mako finds himself crossing the street but stops in the middle when he meets his mother's eyes.
She smiles slowly, like she's seen a friend for the first time in weeks. As if she's seen a son for the first time in years.
"Mako?"
Suddenly, his chest hurts. It's like he can't quite catch his breath, but he knows he's breathing. He can hear his ragged breath harmonizing with the pitter-patter of the rain. His bangs starts to fall in his eyes and with a shaky hand, his fingers push through his hair as his mother steps into street to meet him.
It's his mother, he knows it's his mother as she stands before him, but at the same time, he still doesn't trust what he sees. He wants nothing more than to reach out and touch her, but he isn't willing to prove his own eyes, his own mind, are betraying him. Because, yeah, it's raining and yeah, she's dry, but he can see her. She's right in front of him.
So he just looks at her. He's content to just look at her.
"Mako," she says, this time with certainty. He waits with baited breath to see if she'll smooth her hand along his collar like she used to, but she doesn't. She can't. "What are you doing, love?" she asks him, as if she's just caught him playing a stupid game with Bolin or stealing her good stationary to fold her a paper toad.
"Nothing, Mama," he answers on reflex. Like it's something he's been saying for years. Like it's something he said to her yesterday.
"Mako," she repeats. Again, he watches her hand as she raises it, her fingers dangerously close to brushing his clean shaven face. "Mako…"
"Mama," he repeats, closes his eyes and waits.
"Mako!"
His eyes snap open just as he's ripped off his feet in a gust of wind, only to be slammed into the sidewalk a few feet away. He stares up at the grey sky, blinking rapidly as rain falls into his eyes before he sees Jinora hovering over him.
"What are you doing?" she yells over the rain. Mako hasn't noticed that the rain has picked up in a matter of seconds. "Why were you standing in the middle of the street like that? You almost got hit by a car!"
Mako cranes his neck just enough to see a delivery truck driving down the road before Jinora adjusts his head and makes him lie flat.
"Stay still," she instructs, sounding more frustrated than he's heard from her in a while. "I want to make sure I didn't hurt you."
He pieces it together and realizes she used her bending to push him out of the way. And while he definitely feels hurt, it's nothing an ice pack won't fix. "I'm fine."
Jinora doesn't look assured. She keeps staring at his bad arm, like it's somehow caused this whole thing. "I think a healer should take a look at you."
"I'm fine," he repeats, and makes a show of it by standing as quickly as he can. The back of his head hurts, as well as his back, but otherwise he feels just as he said—fine. With a quick look around, he notices their umbrella is long gone, crumpled by a car in the middle of the street. "Shit—" he swears, leading Jinora by the shoulder to stand underneath an awning nearby. "Here," he says as he makes do to unbutton his uniform jacket and toss it around her shoulders, leaving him in a white undershirt. "I'm fine," he repeats. "But I have to leave."
Jinora looks bewildered. "What am I going to do with your wet uniform jacket?" She tries to hand it back. "Mako, I really think—"
"I have to leave," he tells her, swallowing thickly. If he thought he was kind of cold before, now he's chilled, his teeth chattering incessantly. "I have to."
Her eyes search his. "…What's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost."
She has no idea how right she is.
Mako takes off jogging down the street without another word.
.
-/-
.
A few days later he's in his apartment, cooking dinner and listening to the radio, when he starts to hear a humming that's not his own.
Startled, Mako drops the ladle in the pot and spins around, a fire blade in one hand.
Somehow, even when a part of him expected to see her again, it takes him by surprise. He feels as if he did the day Jinora knocked the breath out of him trying to get him out of the street.
Slowly, he lets the flame die and he watches as his mother closes her eyes and sways to the melody. She acts like she doesn't know that she's there. So he calls her name. "Naoki."
Eyes still closed, she doesn't respond. Instead, she lifts her arms and pretends she has a partner, and dances delicately across the room, ignoring the world around her.
"…Mama?"
His mother was always a good dancer.
"Mama," he whispers before he gives up entirely. Elbows to the counter, Mako rests his chin in the palms of his hands and watches as she dances to the slow jazz. It makes him smile.
The stew on the stove burns.
.
-/-
.
His mother comes and goes, and Mako doesn't tell a soul.
Most of the time he just sees her; like a mirage in the desert, she won't respond to him calling her name. Mako has forgotten what a quiet woman his mother was.
He spends his nights off in the city library looking up the history of spirits and the spirit world. With the portal open, he wonders if the answers may be more easily discovered on the other side, but he can't quite bring himself to personally go in there and try and find out.
However, the city library offers dead end after dead end and before he knows it, he's asking Jinora to let him in the Air Temple Island library after dark.
"What are you looking for?" Jinora asks. "I know every book."
Mako knows that Jinora is very smart, but she always impresses him with just how strong her mind is. Momentarily, it makes him wonder how weak his is. "I'm just browsing."
"Liar," she says quietly. "You're on a mission for something. Let me help."
"I'm fine, Nora," he tells her, and he feels like the same broken record that he was back on that rainy street corner where this all started. "I'll find what I'm looking for."
Jinora scoffs. "You'd let Korra help."
"I don't know about that," Mako murmurs as he scans the bindings for titles and keywords that might give him a clue to finding out just what's going on. "There's stuff even Korra can't fix." It might be a lie, but it's easy to say when she's a thousand miles away.
With a sigh, it seems Jinora accepts her defeat. "Fine. If you decide you want my help, I'll be in my room." and she slips out of the library with her fairy-like footsteps.
He breathes a sigh of relief the moment he's alone.
"What are you doing, love?"
Mako turns his head slightly, lending an ear to the voice. It doesn't frighten him anymore, even if the fact that it doesn't does. He ignores the contradicting feeling. "I'm just looking for a book, Mama."
His mother looks regretful as she stands beside him in the stacks. "I always felt bad I didn't know how to read. I couldn't teach you boys, either."
Mako looks down at his mother—only slightly, she's much taller than he remembers—and gives her a reassuring smile. "That's okay. Someone taught me to read and write. I can read it to the both of us."
"My smart boy," she says softly, still looking blankly ahead at the spines of the books on the shelf. "I always knew you'd do the things I couldn't." She sighs and shakes her shoulders out, straightening her posture. "I hope it wasn't those troublemakers down the street who taught you. You know I don't like you hanging out with them."
"No, ma'am," he chuckles under his breath. "It wasn't them."
"Good. Now, what is it you're looking for?"
He figures now is as good a time as any to ask her. "A reason for why you're here."
His mother drags a finger along a worn spine of a book, never meeting his piercing gaze. "I don't know. I'm so sorry."
Mako can't accept that. "Are you—are you a spirit? Are you from the portal? Is that why you're here?" he hears himself getting frustrated and takes a few calming breath before he continues. "Or at least how you're here?" His eyes roam the stacks once more as he regrets not letting Jinora help, if at least to narrow down some choices. "I don't know this stuff. I know the most spiritual people in the whole world, and I don't know any of how this stuff works. Are you—" he looks at her, eyes prickling with angry tears. "Are you real?"
With a pitying look, his mother shakes her head. "I think we both know that's not the case."
His head falls, the aching feeling he's been feeling for days suddenly unbearably heavy. "Mama…"
She wraps her arms around him and he feels her touch.
It's when she tells him everything's okay that he knows it isn't.
.
-/-
.
He's at the gym when she notices what time has done to him.
"What happened to your arm?" his mother asks as she leans against a nearby weight machine.
Mako grunts out a labored breath and finishes the number of reps Korra had instructed him months ago to do so his arm can completely heal. He's only ever been able to do about 85% of it, but he never let anyone know that. Today, his arm aches and his head hurts and it's more like 50%.
"Lightning accident," he breathes out, exchanging the dumbbells for a clean rag to wipe his face.
"Was it painful?"
"Yeah. Arm's not quite the same, but it works well enough. Don't worry about it."
She doesn't comment further, which is strange to him, considering his mother usually hounded him whenever he got hurt. Or maybe that was more his father's thing. He doesn't really remember, his head hurts.
"I'm more concerned about that head of yours," his mother points to where he's massaging at his scalp. "Did you take anything for it?"
"No, it's fine," he says, the same thing he's been saying like a broken record for weeks. He makes to stand up, but the pain in his head is a heavy weight and he stumbles.
He leans over, takes a moment, and when he lifts his head the world is blurry and his mother is gone.
Mako feels relieved, until his eyes roll into the back of his head and he collapses.
.
-/-
.
Next time he wakes up, he sees his brother.
It momentarily scares him—he hasn't spoken to someone who wasn't already dead in weeks. Bolin's large frame is contorted in the small hospital chair as he sleeps the early morning away. Mako takes notice of his dusty boots and Zaofu robes and realizes his brother has dropped everything and taken a train all the way to Republic City, all because he went and fainted.
"Bolin," he whispers, looking around for something to throw at him. He sees nothing and notices his range of movement is limited by the IV drip connected to his arm. "Bolin."
His brother yawns loudly before he opens his eyes, blinking slowly. "Hey, big brother. How are you feeling?"
"Fine, I guess." It isn't normal for Bolin to be so quiet. "What'd they admit me for?"
"Uhhhh," Bolin searches for words as Mako sits up and reaches for the chart at the end of his bed. "Dehydration, mostly. Also, you need to eat more." The chart echoes the same sentiments. "I don't think I've ever known you to faint. Not even when we barely had enough to eat. What's wrong?"
Mako sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose. "Work. I'm supposed to be at work."
"They saw your badge in your things and called Beifong. You're excused. What's wrong?"
"I should have called her myself. I need a phone—"
"Mako."
He groans. "I've been distracted lately. I guess I haven't been taking care of myself. I'll be better."
"Yeah, you better," Bolin nods in affirmation. "Mom's been really worried about you."
Dread fills his heart, and the weight of it makes it feel like it plummets into his stomach. His eyes go wide as he stares at Bolin, really stares, trying to find the pieces that don't make sense, the cracks of the mirage that would make this all clear that it's a lie. "What?" he asks, voice shaky.
"Mom's been worried," Bolin repeats, snuggling back into the chair and closing his eyes. "That's why you've been distracted, right? You realize you haven't eaten a real meal in like, four days?"
Mako brings the heels of his hands to press against his eyes—it makes him see spots. "You don't know that. You haven't been here."
"Yeah, but Mom has. She told me."
"You aren't real." He clutches at his hair and tugs, feeling mad. "Both of you aren't. Go away."
"What's wrong?"
"I don't know!"
He rips his hands away from his head, intent on giving Bolin his best scowl, but he blinks and finds his brother isn't there anymore. He's alone, just as he truly has been for the past few weeks.
There's a knock on his door.
A nurse lets herself in with Jinora on her heel. Her normal fairy-like footsteps sound heavier as she walks to his side and plops down in the seat that he once thought belonged to Bolin. Jinora takes a deep breath before she reaches over and lightly flicks him on the forehead. With his pounding headache, it feels like a slug to the skull. "What's your problem, huh? I got a call from Beifong to come and check up on you. The doctors said you fainted?"
He's already tired of this conversation. "Didn't eat or drink enough. It won't happen again."
Jinora hums thoughtfully before she begins raking her fingers through his hair. "I haven't been doing well to keep my promise, it would seem."
Mako snorts. "I can take care of myself, despite what Korra might think."
She smiles prettily, like she's thinking back on a memory. She probably is. "Of course. That's why you're in the hospital, is it?"
He can't really argue with that.
"I always wanted a big brother," she hums, "And now that I have one, I'm not going to just let you keel over and die. Kai and I will be over at your place to make you dinner once they let you go home."
"I'm fine," he reiterates, and these days it's more of a sad reassurance for himself than anyone for anyone else.
"You're not." Jinora leans away. "Is this about the library quests? I told you I could help."
Mako turns away, eyes drifting to the corner of the room and spots his mother curled up in a chair by the window, mending a hole for one of his old shirts.
"You should let her help, my love," she says.
He sighs to himself, falling back against the multitude of pillows propped behind his head. With a quick look, he notices his drip is only half empty. He wonders how long he's been here, how long he was at the gym before someone found him all crumpled on the ground.
Mako wonders how much longer this will all last.
In the end, he decides to let them come over and make dinner.
He pretends the recipe he gives them isn't his mother's old favorite.
.
-/-
.
Ever since the Bolin incident, Mako treasures his mother's appearances.
It still shakes him to the core, still reminds him that something is wrong, but at least he doesn't question reality when she's the only one he talks to. At least he knows it's a lie, as opposed to having a conversation with Opal for ten minutes only to realize she can't be there, she's miles away.
"What are you even looking at?" He asks one day while he's making dinner. There are two plate settings on the table, but he hasn't reached enough crazy to actually put food on the plate.
His mother flips another page and he realizes she's always been right in the middle of a book, never the beginning or end. "A romance novel."
Mako blinks. "A novel? Mama, you don't know how to read," he reminds her gently, as if she's the one losing her mind.
"I don't need to be able to read to know what a love story is."
He rolls his eyes. "What a cheesy line. It sounds like something out of one of those plays you used to like so much."
His mother beams, throwing him one of her slow smiles and turning the page for him to see. "Page 87," she admits, before turning the book back around. Mako looks at the spine and catches the name: The Dragon Flats Lovers.
"Dragon Flats Lovers…" Mako says aloud. "They adapted that into a play, didn't they? You and Dad went to see it."
His mother nods. "Even took you boys, too. Don't you remember?"
And then, all at once, he does.
The food on the stove goes forgotten, doomed to be burned once more. "That's the play we saw the night you both died," he says resolutely. Mako's eyes drift to the window of his third story flat. The sun is setting, making the corners of the city's skyscrapers catch fire in orange light. The air looks sticky, it's that humid, but he can hear the pair of sisters he often does playing in the street, taking advantage of the light that is left.
He pinches the bridge of his nose, his head pounding at the sides, pain curling behind his eyes.
"He had a hooked nose," Mako sniffs, burying his face into his hands. He shakes. "He called you beautiful, but you looked at him like he'd just called you ugly. I remember not knowing why. Dad asked him to leave, and then the next thing I knew, you were both dead."
He feels his mother's hands on his.
Mako picks his head up and looks at her, really looks at her, and he can't believe how real she appears to be. How real it's been for weeks. It makes him feel sick.
"I'm sorry I couldn't do anything," he tells her.
"It's not your fault, love. You know that."
He does, but he doesn't like feeling helpless. He never has. "I'm sorry I still can't do anything." Once more, he buries his face into the palms of his hands. "I'm sorry he got away with it. I wish I could do something, but I can't-"
He lifts his head and his mother is gone.
Suddenly exhausted, Mako slides down on the floor, leans his head against the kitchen island and falls asleep.
.
-/-
.
He wakes up to hear someone, quite literally, screaming at him.
"Hey! Hey! Mako!"
He takes a deep breath, coughs, but doesn't open his eyes yet. Something isn't right. His chest hurts and the air doesn't taste right.
"Kai, put the fire out. Mako!" He feels someone's hands, small and sturdy, shake his shoulders. "Mako! Wake up!"
Someone balls the fabric of his shirt in their fists and yanks him forward, making him snap his eyes open. Through the smoke he sees Jinora wide and teary-eyed, staring at him like she's just seen a corpse. "Huh? What's—"
He doesn't get to finish. Jinora uses her airbending to help haul him to his feet. "You almost burned your place down! Your kitchen is torched." Mako looks over and sees Kai putting the last of the flames out. "What happened? Did you faint again?"
"No, I just feel asleep." It's not a lie.
"On the floor?"
"Yes?"
Jinora closes her eyes, expression pinched. "Okay, that's it. You're sleeping at Air Temple Island for the next few days. You can have Korra's room."
That sounds like a terrible idea. "If the kitchen is the only thing burned, my bed should be just fine."
"Nope," Jinora decides resolutely as she holds him upright to let him hack up a lung. How long was he breathing smoke? "Kya's in town, she'll take a look at your lungs."
Fear cripples him and his muscles go rigid. "I don't need to be looked at. I'll stay at your place tonight but I don't need a healer."
Jinora wraps an arm around his waist and pinches him, right near his hip. "What's with the recent anti-healer stance? You're clearly not well, why won't you let someone look at you?"
Her eyes narrow, trying to find a giveaway in his expression, no doubt. "Is this a Korra thing? Kya's just as good as her, you know."
"No, it's not a Korra thing, I just…" he starts to sag, and Kai comes over to help prop him up. "I'm tired. Can we talk about the healer thing in the morning?"
"So you'll let Kya look at you?"
"Morning, Nora."
She sighs. "I'll take what I can get. Kai, let's get him in a cab before he drops dead."
Her phrasing makes him think of his parents, their pained cries before they crumpled to the ground, and before he knows it he's throwing up on the pavement outside his apartment. Jinora whispers his name worriedly as Kai waves the cab away, not willing to risk him throwing up in the car.
"Docks aren't so far," Kai says as Jinora presses the back of his hand to Mako's forehead. "We can walk him there."
"What's wrong?" she asks him, holding him close. "Please tell us."
Mako shakes his head, assures her nothing's wrong, and manages to walk on his own two feet to the docks to catch the last ferry of the night. Jinora and Kai have hold on both his arms, but he pretends it's only a comfort, not a necessity to keep his balance upright.
Once they get to the island, Tenzin doesn't say anything. He takes one look at his daughter's worried expression and lets Mako into Korra's room without a single word.
He doesn't sleep. Korra's things are still in her room, at least some of them, and he finds himself going through the desk with her stationary and airbending books she's since abandoned once she mastered the element. He's on chapter two, spirituality, when a voice startles him.
"Thinking of becoming an airbender, huh, city boy?"
He turns around to find her just as he met her—three ponytails and a bright naïve smile to match. Her smile is brighter than he remembers in recent years, her eyes less weathered, and that's how he instantly knows she isn't real.
Mako smiles anyhow.
"Hey, Korra," he whispers. "Long time no see."
She crosses her arms and sits on his bed; he takes notice of how it doesn't creak with her weight. And then, with a long, content sigh, she spreads her arms and falls back onto his bed, curling around one of his pillows. "Come, come," she beckons, smacking her hand against the thin sheets.
He abandons her sparse bookshelf and joins her, sitting rigid at the very end of her bed. "Why are you here?" he asks quietly.
She scoffs. "What? Your mother and your brother can visit you, but I can't?"
"None of you should be visiting me." Mako knows that's the truth, but it hurts when he says it out loud. He hasn't tried to dwell on it much in the months he's been alone but now that he thinks about it, it really, truly, hurts. "Bolin lives in Zaofu now, you travel the world on your Avatar duties, Asami does international business. You guys are busy. None of you should be visiting me."
Korra sits up and stares at him, her expression not quite befitting of her. "That's not true. We love you."
"Something's wrong. I know that much."
She quirks her head, gives him a teasing smile. "Loving you isn't wrong. When will you get that through your dumb, thick skull, huh?"
"No," he corrects himself, ripping his eyes from her gaze. Her image is entrancing, an old photograph of the happiest days of his lives, long past. "Something's wrong with me."
"I know." Her voice is pitying. "I know, my love."
He whips his head back her way, expecting his mother's face, but it's still there. He gasps, his chest tight and his eyes wet because for a moment, he feels like Korra's love all over again.
Breathless, he watches as she scoots closer to him on the bed, her calloused hands reaching to touch his face—he hasn't shaved in a few days and her expression sours slightly as she runs her hands over his stubble. "You should really shave. It's not a good look for you."
"So you've told me."
Korra leans away and squishes his cheeks together. "Eat more. Drink more. Rest more. More, more, more. Got it?"
There's kindness in her words, but they're empty, and they make him feel…less. "My head hurts. I'm going to bed."
"Alright," Korra whispers and then she's pressing a kiss to his cheek, feather-like and missing the sting of a chapping wind. Her arms wind around his neck and hug him close, but it's too gentle, too soft, and when his bones are left unrattled, he thinks he might die.
"Goodnight."
He lays his head down and closes his eyes, deciding there's nothing good about this night.
.
-/-
.
He wakes at the crack of dawn.
Jinora will likely be by in about twenty minutes, so he uses the chance to slip out of his room and head towards the docks of the island. But as he predicts, there's no ferry, not this early, and Mako is left to stare at the city from across the bay.
He sighs deeply, slowly, it almost makes him dizzy. Kneeling at the dock, he sticks his hand in the waters, still black from dawn's light, and waves his fingers around. He half expects to feel the scales of a fish, to have something jump out of the waters and scare him, but all he feels is the cool water's embrace. The water is empty.
Mako doesn't bother shedding the wrinkled uniform jacket and trousers he slept in; he merely takes of his shoes, dips his bare toes in the water, and then slinks in.
The water is cold, too cold, untouched by the sun or summer's heat. His teeth chatter so he clenches his jaw and lets go of the dock, lying back to float on in the bay.
The chill consumes him quickly, and then he's numb. He imagines his lips blue, thinks of the corpse he and his partner were called on to the scene to investigate months ago. He doesn't want to die, but the thought is with him these days. Death follows him everywhere he goes with the tease of his mother's smile.
Mako doesn't want to die, but he thinks he just might.
The sun springs over the horizon and Mako feels strange not being able to hear the birds or cicadas outside his apartment window. He hears nothing but the gentle lapping of the water against the nearby rocks, against his own skin as he floats.
He closes his eyes and hears Tenzin's voice.
Mako can barely see him from where he is. Tenzin is talking to himself as he sits down on the rocks in his meditation garden, something about old rickety joints and lost energy. Mako expects the silence to return but then Tenzin takes a deep breath and speaks once more.
"Hi, Dad."
It startles him, at first. Because at first, Mako thinks Tenzin sees him, too. At first, Mako thinks he's not alone, not crazy, not the only one who sees those who aren't there—
But it's not true.
Tenzin's eyes are closed, his words a simple prayer. His father isn't haunting him. His father isn't here.
Mako takes a deep breath and slinks underneath the water. He revels in the weightlessness, even if it's almost overpowered by the bone-chilling cold.
He doesn't want to stay in here forever, but he thinks he just might.
And then Jinora pulls him out.
She's furious, but Mako knows a mask when he sees one—she's frightened more than anything else. Her eyes are lit with a fierceness that he hasn't seen since a certain waterbender threw him back into a pro-bending arena years ago.
"What are you doing?" She demands, immediately air drying him and wrapping a blanket around him. They're back on the edge of the dock. He doesn't know how she found him. "Are you crazy!? Five more minutes and you'd have hypothermia."
"I was about to get out." He tells her. He hopes there's enough color in his cheeks to make his story plausible.
"Mako," she whispers, wrapping the blanket more tightly around him. He notices she won't look him in the eye. "I thought I could handle this...Korra...do I need to call Korra?"
"No," he answers, broken, cold. It tastes like a lie.
"What's wrong?"
He waits for her to stop fiddling, to look him in the eye. She's nearly crying, but not quite. "I can't tell you."
"Why not?"
"Because I don't know," he admits. His head is heavy, thoughts clouded, and he leans forward to rest his cheek on Jinora's shoulder. "I'm sorry."
She sighs, and when she exhales, her breath fans over his face. "This is a spirit thing, isn't it?"
His mother waves at him from the other side of the dock.
"Yeah, it is," he admits, hoping his own spirit counts.
.
-/-
.
Beifong gives him some time off.
Mako doesn't question it. With Korra's voice echoing in his mind and Jinora's entire being hovering over his shoulder, he decides he should definitely eat more, drink more, and rest more.
But then he's at a coffee stand when he sees a man with a hooked nose.
Like the day he saw his mother across that street, Mako can't believe he picks out such an ugly, unremarkable person from such a large crowd. He's wearing a large raincoat, unfitting for the slightly sticky day the afternoon has turned into. Mako throws two yuans too many at the vendor and walks his way, abandoning the coffee altogether.
He follows the man down the street, around every corner until the streets get smaller and smaller. Parts of the city, many of them, have been destroyed from Kuvira's mayhem, but these streets survived, the moss covered bricks and cracked tarmac roads more are more familiar the longer he walks.
There's one final corner, one last alleyway. Mako turns sharply and then-
Nothing.
Disappointment chills his skin like water from the bay. He swears under his breath, balls his fingers in a fist, and hits the adjacent wall of the alleyway. His hand scrapes and knuckles bleed in time with the collapse of a trashcan lid a few feet away. A cat leaps away, tail swishing, and gives Mako a dirty look.
He scoffs, stuffing one hand in his pocket and leaning the other against the wall. "What are you looking at?"
The cat gives him an disinterested meow and starts licking his paw.
With a sigh, his fingers curl against the dusty bricks, fingernails scratching along the stubbly grout. The feeling is familiar; when he and Bolin lived on the streets he often leaned heavily on these walls, hiding from vendors they stole fruit from or gangs whose territory they accidentally stepped on. He'd feel his pulse through his fingers and the wall was cool, steady, always there.
But the feeling is very familiar.
Mako tilts his head back out of the shadows, momentarily blinded by the sun. His eyes scan up and down the street for a name and sees Lotus Boulevard.
"Do you think it's still here?" Mako asks out loud, looking at the cat. He'd gotten into a habit of speaking to things that don't always answer him. The cat flicks his tail and turns away, walking out of the alleyway and down the sidewalk.
Mako thinks, tries to pull the memories of that day from his mind and begins to retrace his steps as he and the cat part ways. Nothing strikes him as particularly familiar. The street is a mix of old and new styles, as many parts of the city had to be rebuilt after Kuvira's invasion. The barbecue restaurant is new, so is the post office, but there's a flower shop that makes his heart beat a little faster.
"Which one is your favorite, Mama?"
His mother tugs his hand gently and brings them closer to the shop window so as to get out of the way. "Let's see... What about that orange tulip there, hmm?" She taps on the glass. "That's pretty, yeah?"
Mako sticks his hand in his pocket, counts the change he's collected in the past weeks out of fountains and sidewalk corners. He's almost got just enough, and in time for her birthday tomorrow. "I like that one, too."
His heart constricts in his chest as he sees his reflection in the shop window, faint and grimy among the roses, lilies, and tulips.
He keeps walking.
If it's here, it has to be close. Mako lets his nose lead the way towards a kabob stand on the corner of the street. The air is slightly sticky, reminding him of the hotter, humid summer days to come. The lady at the kabob stand nods and greets him good morning with a smile as he passes it to stand directly at the edge of the sidewalk.
He sees it.
The building has a lot of new additions, but the sign is the same one from twelve years ago: The Lotus Theater written in big bold letters that light up at night. Small and still relatively unknown to other neighborhoods, Mako recalls that the plays and vaudevilles that were put on every week. His parents would take them every few months when they could afford it. His mother would put on her favorite dress, her father his best suit, and they'd all go to see a show. If Bolin didn't talk through the whole thing, their father would let them all split a piece of cake from the diner down the street.
The walkway by the entrance is abandoned, the day too young to open it's doors for evening shows. Mako scans the list of acts going on for the month and notices with irony that the theater is, in fact, doing a revival of the the Dragon Flats Lovers.
He smiles at the memory. The plot is elusive, but he remembers his parents laughing a lot. There was one character, a young boy, who looked a lot like Bolin. Mako remembers tugging his father's sleeve and whispering so in his ear. To this day, he doesn't know why it made his dad laugh so hard, but Mako enjoyed the sound.
"It's cause she was a girl."
Mako whips his head around and can't quite believe what he sees.
A six year old Bolin stares up at him with a pout that's carried him through adulthood. "The boy in the play you thought looked like me was actually a girl. That's why Dad laughed." Bolin scuffs his feet on the ground and casts his gaze downward, flustered. "I'm not a girl…."
Mako is at a lost. "I know that," he blurts out, cheeks burning red when a woman passing by gives him a strange look. He waits for the coast to be clear before he speaks again. "What are you doing?"
"Mako you promised," Bolin whines, stamping his foot on the ground.
"Promised what-?" He catches himself, lowers his voice. "Why are you guys doing this to me?" He begs.
Bolin looks at him, and God, does his eyes look the same. "You promised we'd play before the sun goes down! At out secret hideout, remember?"
"No, I don't remember." He fists his hair in his hands and wonders if he'll go bald at the rate he's going. "Bolin I can't….This isn't real." He wants to yell at him, screw his eyes shut and never open them until he knows his mind is done torturing him and yet...he doesn't. A six-year-old Bolin is standing with him in front of the run-down theater they used to go on, right on the street his parents were….were….
So he takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and tries to remember.
"The railcars?" He asks slowly, eyes still shut. "Is that what you're talking about? I don't even know of those survived-"
He opens his eyes and his little brother is gone.
Looking left and right, people pass him without a glance, oblivious. They're oblivious to his ragged form, huffing and puffing in front of an eye-sore of a theater. They're oblivious to the old woman, the same old woman, who's been trying to sell kabobs on that same street corner for over a decade. They're oblivious because it's not their jobs to know. It's not their job to remember-it's his.
"Railcars," he mumbles under his breath as he shrugs his jacket off, rolling up the sleeves of his green dress shirt underneath. "Got it."
.
-/-
.
It only takes him three hours.
There's this place, between a small park and shallow port to Yue Bay, that the city dumps old railcars. There are tracks down, but they haven't been used since years before Mako was even born, replaced with newer, sturdier ones a block inland. He remembers picking the wildflowers out of the overgrown foliage between the two tracks.
There's still only four tiny railcars left there-they haven't been moved by anything, not even the giant robot that tore through the city. There's a few graffiti notes on them, mostly those of couples who have stumbled upon them and wanted to mark their love with their names donned with hearts, but mostly the carts are just rusted over. Realistically, he knows that the railcars should be moved, the tracks torn up, the space revamped for something more useful.
Mako won't tell anyone. Afterall, it's their secret hiding spot.
Early spring means dandelions everywhere. They litter the tiny field like little suns and Mako recalls when Bolin thought they were baby sunflowers and got confused when they didn't grow to be as tall as their parents.
"It's even cooler," Mako says, propping a sniffling Bolin up on his lap. "Look, if you blow all the seeds in one breath, you get to make a wish."
"Like a birthday cake?"
"Yeah, just like that. Only you don't have to wait once a year, you can make a wish whenever you find one. But you gotta do it in one breath or doesn't count so big breath!"
Bolin puffs his cheeks and blows, unaware that Mako lends his own breath to help make sure the seeds float away. The wind comes and helps carry them along, several of them vanishing into the nearby bay.
"What did you wish for?"
His younger brother's tears cease, and he wipes tiredly at his cheeks. "Cake for dinner."
Mako smiles, all his teeth splayed out, and giggles into his brother's shoulder.
"Mako!"
Dandelion twirling between two fingers, Mako stands up, agonizingly slow, as he spots his younger brother giggling a few feet away. He's got dirt up to his knees and there's a hole in his favorite pair of shoes-he's wearing his favorite shirt and a pair of shorts, both of which were Mako's when he was six, too.
"Come on!" six-year-old Bolin cries, smile as bright as the sun. He gestures inland, towards the tracks. "Me and Dad are gonna beat you!" and then he's off, using all his energy to hop and skip as he runs, running up spare timber and abandoned tires that litter the pathway towards the neighborhood.
"You're tooooo sloooooow!" Bolin teases and Mako huffs out a laugh as he picks up the flowered dandelions along the way, not quite ready to make another wish.
"I'm coming, I'm coming," he laughs. His pace is slow, but his stride is large: one step is four little pitter-patters of Bolin's feet.
"The show's about to start! Mom and Dad are waiting!"
They walk towards the tracks, and while not too far away from a station, the rails are quiet. All Mako can hear is the sound of birds chirping and crickets humming-it's the sound of the Earth's heartbeat. Korra taught him that.
Eventually, his foot hits the track and Mako taps the arch of his foot against the metal before he hops up and stands on a wooden plank between the tracks. To the right, the track winds towards a mediocre view of the harbor, where he can see large barges stacked tall with shipping containers. It's not all bad-there's a sailboat in the distance, one of his favorites with the bright yellow sail.
He turns to the right and sees Republic City, the setting sun sparkling against tall metal skyscrapers and old brick buildings alike. The rail snakes along the bay before it disappears completely into the heart of the city.
"What are you doing, love?"
Naoki stands before him, and he's as shell-shocked as they rainy day he first saw her. Ever since then, Mako has only seen his mother in the shadows of a gloomy day, in the candlelight of a room in the dead of night, in the mystery of a morning where the sun has not yet broken the horizon. He has never seen her with the sun shining on her face and the wind tousling her hair. Her mouth is a thin line as she balances on the balls of her feet, and Mako can almost hear the pebbles of the ground beneath them roll with her weight. She feels that real.
"Nothing, Mama…" he says, the same thing he said the day he first saw her again. "Nothing at all."
She smiles, slow and steady, and his heart skips a beat. "Come on, then. It's getting late."
He waits for her to turn, to follow a little Bolin running down the tracks, but she stands there and waits. She waits for him. "Mama?"
"Yes, my love?"
The sun falls behind a cloud and suddenly his world is tinted. The glow of the late afternoon turns more golden, and the breeze instantly feels cooler. His mother's hair lays in loose curls to frame her face, lit with a glow that makes her look so angelic, so beautiful, it's the first time in ages he doesn't feel haunted.
"I miss you," he whispers, so quietly the wind has to carry his prayer.
She hesitates, still rocking back and forth on the tracks before she lifts the hem of her skirt and starts to hum, balancing along the tracks and giggling every time she falls down. Mako waits as she comes to him, standing almost nose to nose to him. She grabs his face in her hands and smooths her thumb along his cheek. It feels like sunshine.
His mother wipes his tears and says nothing more. She doesn't have to.
Maybe she can't.
"Come," she finally says, taking a few steps back and skipping along the wooden planks of the railroad. As Bolin weaves between her legs, he sees their father down the path, waving and laughing. "Come on, let's go."
"We're going to a show!" Bolin chants, their parents joining in. Mako can feel his heart pulse in his ears as he trudges along with a lost purpose, losing ground quickly as his family starts to become a speck on the horizon.
And then, she appears.
He hears her before he sees her. Footsteps heavy as they stomp against the rails, nothing light and airy like his mother's. There's a crunch from the pebbles on the tracks, and yes, he can hear it, he can actually hear it-
"Hey, city boy."
It's been months since he's seen her and she looks new, yet entirely the same. Her hair is still choppy and her posture is still strong, yet it's draped in clothes he's never seen her in before: orange and yellow, with wisps of blue at her waist. Her hands are stuffed in the baggy pockets of her pants as she throws him a smile so radiant, it's like the sun hasn't just dipped below the horizon.
"Korra?" he asks, choking on her name because he wants to believe, needs to believe that she's real, that's she's really here. But it's not possible because Mako is Mako and Mako is alone and he's the only one left in the city. He's the only one here to remember-
"Hey," she whispers, reaching for his face. His eyes search hers and he sees, sees the years they spent together twinkling in the blues of her irises. There's a scar she got from her battle with Zaheer on her cheek, another one from probending by her mouth, but most of all her skin is calloused and rough and alive and she's here, she's really here.
He collides with her, hugging her with every bit of strength that he has. Like muscle memory, she wraps her arms around his middle and squeezes him like he can't break, hugs him like he'll bruise, like she's trying to rearrange every bone in his body. She touches him like she's Korra, and that's how he knows she's real.
"Hey, shh, it's okay," she whispers. Mako doesn't know why she's soothing him until he realizes that wailing sound is him. He's crying. "I'm here, I'm here."
"You're real."
"Of course I'm real."
"I missed you," he says into her hair, swaying them back and forth. He doesn't relent in his hug, and neither does she.
"I missed you too," she says, and she can hear the smile in her voice. "Jinora said you were having a rough time?"
He's not about to deny it. He can't lie, not to her. "I tried not to need you," he admits quietly, finally pulling away to look at her. Before he can even try to wipe his face, her calloused thumbs are brushing away his tears. "But I don't know what else to do."
Korra stands on the tips of her toes and continues to wipe his face before she makes lieu of smoothing down his hair. "Yeah? What's going on?"
Gently, he takes her fussing hands and clasps them firmly in his. Unable to hold still, she settles on having them sway softly in the space between them. "Something's wrong with me. I don't know what it is."
Mako finds himself staring back down the tracks, hoping to catch a glance of her one last time, but it's useless. His mother doesn't belong to this world, to his world, any longer. She's on no one's time but her own. "Korra?" he asks, "Have you ever seen a spirit that no one else can see?"
She follows his gaze, looking back and forth between the tracks and his face. "Yeah," she finally says. "Yeah, I have."
He realizes his mistake as soon as she makes her admission. She's the avatar, of course she has seen spirits others couldn't, she's the bridge between the worlds-
"It was my own spirit," she confesses.
He waits.
"All those years I spent wandering the world, I was trying to find healing for something I didn't even know could break." Korra nods. Her eyes sort of glaze over and Mako stares, waiting. "She'd follow me everywhere I went. She slunk in the corners of my eyes, in the shadows where the light couldn't touch. It was me. I could see myself, staring back at me, wounded, angry, dying. I was sick. My spirit was poisoned. It...haunted me for years."
Mako says nothing, only holds her hands more tightly.
"Is that what you're seeing?" Korra asks after some time, after the daylight is almost gone. "Yourself?" She looks up at him.
His mother was beautiful, serene, joyful. She wasn't rough around the edges like he is. But her eyes and his are one in the same. "Not exactly," he admits, not able to meet her eyes. Her Avatar intuition is as powerful as she always teases that it is. "I don't think my spirit is poisoned…"
He keeps staring at the horizon, hoping, praying, she'll return.
She doesn't.
"Sometimes your spirit isn't your own," Korra tells him, wrapping an arm around his and resting her head on his shoulder. He looks down and finds her staring down the tracks, a tranquil look about her. "Katara used to say hers was her mother."
Mako blinks, astounded. "What? What do you mean?"
She sighs, rubbing her cheek against him. "Sometimes our spirit manifests itself into someone else. Someone important. Someone who made us who were are. Someone who changed our lives. Someone we miss."
Mako thinks of his father, his brother, Korra. Even the man with the hooked nose. But above all, he thinks of his mother. Beneath them the tracks quake, the metal reverberating, a feeling that shakes his bones. There's a hum of a faraway train in the distance. It's the heartbeat of the city; his mother taught him that. "Something's wrong," he repeats. "With me, my spirit, I don't know…" Because in the end, even if Korra can explain to him what he's seeing, he still doesn't know why. "She's never given me an answer."
"I'm not sure, but I don't think there has to be a real important reason for them to appear. Even though they're a part of us, sometimes our spirits find ways to come just to say hello when we're lonely," Korra whispers, her voice almost lost in the sound of the oncoming train. "Is that what's wrong? You see your mother?"
"I almost forgot how beautiful she was," Mako mumbles. The train toots its horn, and that's when Korra pulls away and drags them both off the tracks.
"No you didn't," Korra assures him. "She wouldn't have come to you if you did."
He whimpers, body slumping and head falling to rest against one of Korra's collarbones. She wraps her arms around him once more as the train whips by, the wind warm and grimy as it chaps their faces.
She only lets go when the train passes. "It'll be alright," she promises, dusting off his shirt and evening the sleeves of his dress shirt. "If it's your spirit, she's here to help."
"But what if she's not?" Mako asks, panicked. His throat feels tight. "What if I'm….what if there's…" He stops, feeling like he's talking into circles. "I've been seeing people, everyone. I'm still afraid you're not real," he admits, though he finds it hard to believe how anyone but Korra could hold him so tight. "How did you even find me all the way out here?"
Korra scoffs, gently flicking him on the nose. "Stupid," she says fondly, stroking his cheek, like she's trying to reassure him that she's real. "I'll always find you."
His heart swells with warmth and he grins. "I love you."
"I love you, too," she says, her declaration laced with laughter as Mako picks her up and spins her around, not letting her feet touch the ground. Only when she finally kicks his shins enough does he put her down, feeling drunk off her laughter, blinded by the sparkle of her eyes. "We're gonna figure this out, okay? You and me. The old team, back together again."
Mako feels excited and calm at the same time, a safe feeling he's only ever known when he's with family. He offers her his arm and gestures inland with a nod of his head. "Come on, let's go."
Korra takes his arm, gripping it with such strength that by morning, he'll be tracing shapes out of the yellow-colored bruises she's left behind. "Lead the way, city boy."
They walk in comfortable silence to the beat of the cricket's song, weaving through the city streets aimlessly. He thinks about stopping to get food, to sit on a park bench, but he doesn't-he doesn't want her to let go of him. It's only when they find themselves back on Lotus Boulevard does he notice that everything is closing up. "One second," he tells her and slips out of her hold, sliding through the front shop door just before the woman flips the sign from open to closed.
He returns a few seconds later to find Korra almost exactly as he left her. She's standing in the middle of the sidewalk, arms crossed, a dazed and dreamy look on her face. "I've missed the city," she tells him when she hears his footsteps. Mako notices she's staring at the theater sign. "They don't have light like these anywhere else. You can't-"
She stops short as Mako thrusts a single orange tulip underneath her nose.
"What's this for?" He asks, as she plucks the flower from his grasp, giving it a strong whiff and twirling the stem in her hands. Her smile is pretty, blooming on her face slowly like the very petals she delicately strokes with her thumb.
Mako shrugs, not quite able to shake the smile off his face. "Because I wanted to."
Then her own smile becomes more radiant, more dazzling, than any of the other lights in the city she may hold in such high regard. It's not his mother's smile and yet it is, because both of them mean the world to him. It's the most beautiful things he's ever seen.
"Thank you," she says, and he's thankful that she never rejects her love, that she accepts it with all the boldness of a firework, even when it's whispered, passed along to her like a delicate sparkler about to flame out. "I love it."
She stands on the tips of her toes, presses a kiss to his forehead and laughs, grabbing his hand and leading them through the streets once more. As the night dwindles into morning, he'll look for his mother under streetlamps, in alleyways, in the shadows where light never touches. But she won't be there.
With Korra's touch, her hand in his, he realizes she won't come back anytime soon.
.
fin
.
a/n: did u kno that in the series mako and korra said they would always love each other so every time I write that they say i love you to each other that its actually canon did you know this fic is canon because it is bye.