Warning: character death! I don't know what possessed me to write this...barely proofread again. Sorry for any typos. This is set in The Cave AU and references a few things from Cave Fragments: From the Ashes.

Starring: Amon, Selora, Lieutenant/Lee, Midori.

A Song for the Dead

The size of the crowd should have warmed Amon, but all he felt was a chill as he stared down at the grave marker. A small, granite marker in this tiny, overgrown cemetery.

"Why here, of all places?" he whispered, just loudly enough for Korra to hear. "She was a Councillor for two decades – they could have rested somewhere pleasant, and instead they will rot among weeds and rust."

Korra stroked his arm; she held a finger to her lips for him to be silent.

But fury was swelling within him, burning too hot to be contained. The attendant's words were suffocating: hollow and empty, all about the spirit world instead of the two bodies under the ground. The man didn't know the deceased, so why were they wasting their time pretending he did?

Quietly, Amon withdrew his arm from Korra's and turned; she stepped out of the way to let him pass. His youngest grandson reached out for him and cooed as he marched past, and even that wasn't enough to cheer him.

His pace finally slowed as he left the cemetery and the grass thickened: yellow and dead from the summer heat. He followed the downward slope of the hill, and found himself on a bluff overlooking Republic City.

This is where they should rest. They should be able to gaze forever upon the City they helped shape.

A breeze washed through his robes, so heavy with the scent of the sea that he could taste salt through the slit in the mask. Or maybe that was a tear.

"Amon," said Selora's voice behind him. He turned to see her approaching, a flute in hand – her old one, not the one she played in concerts now. Her long black hair was pulled back in braids, revealing streaks of makeup down her scarred cheeks, and her eyes were so red that her blue irises seemed to glow. As she claimed her place beside him, she gave him a sad smile.

"I don't blame you for leaving," she said, her voice hitching. "There was nothing of them there."

"I'm surprised your mother didn't write their eulogies in advance," he said, and she softly chuckled.

"Me too. I expected them to be notarized and filed in triplicate." Her face crumpled, but she swallowed hard and straightened it again. He recognized that faltering bravery; he draped an arm across her shoulder and pulled her in close, both giving strength and drawing it.

"I'm glad they went together," she said. "If nothing else, that's the way it was meant to be."

"Inseparable in death, just as in life." He nodded at the flute. "Are you planning to play for them?"

"Only once everyone leaves." She swabbed her cheek, then carefully gripped the instrument again. "Back when we first met, Mom played a sonata for me." Her fingers fluttered over the keys, subconsciously, as if playing it. "She never played that one again, but sometimes, when she thought I was sleeping, I'd feel her smoothing the hair off my forehead, humming it to me. So I taught it to myself so I can play it for her." Her voice faded as she added, "Never thought to do it while she was still here."

"A beautiful farewell," he said, and she frowned.

"But I don't know what to play for Dad."

"Just picture them listening to it together," said Amon softly. "If it's significant for her, then it's significant for him as well." He released her shoulder and unbuckled his satchel, pulling free a small bouquet wrapped in paper. "And here is my farewell." He peeled back the paper to reveal four stems: a red rose, a pink rose, a poppy and a sprig of yellow snapdragons. Selora leaned close.

"I took the roses and snapdragons from their garden," he said. "It seemed suitable. I hope that's all right."

"He always was so proud of those roses," said the woman. Her fingers ran over the petals, one flower at a time. "Red roses for his dead wife, pink for his dead daughter."

Amon's brows rose behind the mask. "I didn't realize there was a significance to them."

She nodded. "They're both buried in this cemetery as well – Mom and Dad came up here every year to lay flowers at their graves." Her fingers continued tracing the blooms. "Yellow snapdragons; Mom's favourite. But why a poppy? Isn't that a little grim, given her history?"

"When I met your mother, she was in the grips of addiction – and yet she was still a leader and a mighty warrior. This flower should have broken her, but it never succeeded. It is a tribute to what she overcame. To all she became in spite of it." His voice wavered, and he cleared his throat. "I know flowers aren't much to offer, but-"

"No," she interrupted. "They loved that damned garden. It's appropriate." With a sigh, she added, "I guess it's just going to get overgrown now."

The sound of slamming car doors attracted their attention. They turned in unison to glance back up the hill; the ceremony was just wrapping up, and guests were beginning to file away. Motors started, and cars began to move down the road.

"Come on," said Amon quietly. "We will be missed."

They passed the last of the couple's professional acquaintances as they walked – Amon recognized some former Equalists, his former officers Tallin and Wong among them. He gave them brief nods, but that was all. His grief was private.

Korra still stood at the site with their adult children and the three grandchildren, along with Selora's family. All of them turned to watch Selora and Amon approach.

Amon felt Korra's hand trail his arm as he walked past, but he didn't slow. Instead, he knelt before the graves and laid the flowers between them. His fingers slid across the inscription on the stone.

Lee and Midori – Beloved Mentors, Undying Loyalty, Eternal Friendship.

He swore softly under his breath and closed his eyes, willing himself not to cry. Not here, not in front of his family, who needed him to be strong. A soft grip to his shoulder startled him into lifting his head; he saw Korra standing beside him. Her arms widened.

He stood and fell into them, clutching the back of her head, burying his mask in her hair. Her embrace was firm, and warm, and he slowly rocked her. A tear escaped, then another, but that was all he let free. He could break down later, when it was just the two of them.

At last, he felt stable enough to release her. He gave a nod to Selora, who held her flute, ready to play her private sonata.

"Take care, Selora," he said gently. He wanted to hug her, but his eyes were so precariously damp that he was afraid any further consolation would shatter his composure.

"You should stay." Her eyes travelled across the faces of his extended family. "All of you should."

"You wanted it to be private," he said.

She shook her head. "Stay. We are all family."

The flute tilted to her lips, and the sweet notes began to play, fast and melancholy, with trills and accents that reminded him of birds. He stood tall beside her, his surrogate sister, and held his chin high. Korra stood at his side, arm around his lower back to support him.

The notes drifted toward the blue sky and across the city, so strong and sweet that they were surely reaching the spirits themselves.

She pushes through the crowd of shimmering, shapeless forms. Finally, she sees him. He stands at the edge of the crowd, scanning it. His semi-translucent form holds the appearance of a man younger than she remembers, and her footsteps slow. The spirit crowd bumps her shoulder as it moves around her, but she holds fast, staring.

He has chosen this younger appearance, she realizes, because he is looking for his ex-wife and daughter. He wants them to recognize him.

She's surprised to discover that, even here, even non-corporeal, she can still feel the sensation of a tightening throat, of tears pricking at her eyes. She thinks of all the times he stared wistfully at the photograph, or how lovingly he cultivated the red roses in the garden. His eyebrows are pinched as he stares across the crowd, and she can't bear to see the delight on his face when he finds them. Instead, she turns and pushes past the mass of spirits.

The crowd thins toward the fringes, and now that she isn't surrounded by others, she begins to see faint shadows of the spirit world: shimmering outlines of plants and trees. This is not as Korra described it to her, and she wonders if this is truly the spirit world, or rather a limbo between worlds.

She is alone now. The ground suddenly drops away before her. Her bare toes curl over the edge as she looks down, far down, into a mass of swirling violet clouds. The swirl is alluring, mesmerizing, and she feels herself drawn toward it...

"Aren't you going to wait for me?"

The voice echoes, and she recognizes the mature voice from their later years, a softer voice from his youth, and the others must be the voices of his childhood; they ring together, for here, he is all ages at once.

She turns. He smiles and holds out a smooth hand; stunned that he sought her out, she accepts it, and he leads her away from the edge.

"I'm sorry it took me so long to find you," he says. "I was looking for a different you." She looks down and realizes that she has subconsciously chosen the appearance that was hers until Shou took it from her: shapely, unmarred by flame. He pulls her in for an embrace; it isn't solid, like it had been in life, but their energies melt together in a way that is satisfying on an entirely different level.

"I thought you would be looking for Rosa and Rosalee," she says quietly.

He pulls back to look at her with a brow cocked, and she's still shocked by how young he looks. "They passed away more than five decades ago, so I'm sure they've already reincarnated – and if they didn't, they've been here for so long that they've made new friends and don't need me anymore."

She points to the cliff overlooking the violet glow. "Is that what this is? Reincarnation?"

"I think so."

They move to sit at the edge of the cliff, their legs dangling over the swirling mass.

"Do we go, or stay?" he asks softly.

"If we leave, we'll be separated, won't we?"

"Amon seems to think the same spirits impact each other's lives, lifetime after lifetime," he says. "And he has had a lot of interaction with spirits, so he seems to know what he's talking about. We'd end up finding each other again."

"Do you know that for sure? Can you remember any of your past lives?"

He hesitates. "No." His hand folds over hers. In spirit form, his eyes are even more impossibly pale than they were in life, and she stares into them, fascinated. "But the way you and I met," he says. "Could that possibly have been anything but fate?"

She considers. Her impulsive, childish protest coinciding perfectly with his wedding day does seem a little too fortuitous to be pure coincidence, as do many of the factors that brought them together. She's never put much stock in fate, but then again, she's never put much stock in an afterlife, either, and here she is.

Hope bubbles through her: they can have it all again. The chance meeting, the dizzying fumbling of new love, the drama and joy of growing together, and finally, the comfort of companionship in old age. She thinks of all the pain and excitement that life has to offer, and staying in this grey limbo seems dull by comparison.

She rises to her feet and holds out a hand; he accepts it and stands beside her.

"Well?" he asks.

"I bet we're both reincarnated as benders," she mutters, and he chuckles.

"Just one more thing before we go." Her fingers slide along his jaw. "Show yourself to me the way I remember you. One last time."

"Okay. You too."

He shimmers, and she feels herself do the same, and suddenly he stands before her as he had in life a few days prior: white hair and moustache, face creased with laugh lines, broad muscled shoulders with only a slight stoop. She knows he's seeing her in much the same light, but he's still looking at her the same way he did when she showed her younger form, and she can't keep the smile from her face.

They share one last kiss, and then step up to the edge, hand in hand. Fear spikes through her, but when she looks at him, he gives her a reassuring nod. Wind is kicking up around them now, as if the mass of clouds has anticipated what they are about to do.

"It was a good life," she says.

"I think we can do even better this time around," he says with a boyish grin, but then his face is solemn: "I love you, Midori."

"I love you, Lee."

Together, they jump.

x.