A/N: Hello! These are a collection of oneshots for the 2015 Avatar Week prompts. The first day was "Dear . . ." For this prompt, I focused on Korra's recovery as seen in the flashbacks of "Korra Alone." Thanks for reading and please review!
"Come on, Naga!"
Korra panted as she shoved her arms forward, pushing the wheels on her wheelchair so that she zoomed forward. Naga pranced behind her, rushed forward, dashed back, stopped, wagged her tail, then scampered ahead again. Korra waved her arms and used a little airbending to help propel herself along.
For the first time in months, she laughed.
They hurried from Katara's healing hut back to her home in the Southern Water tribe. When Korra burst through the door, her mother blinked in surprise at her daughter's wide smile.
"Honey, what—?"
"I walked across the room!" Korra crowed.
Senna grinned as she embraced her daughter. "I knew you could do it! I'm so proud of you!"
Korra squeezed her mom with one arm as she changed the direction of the wheelchair with the other. "I'm going to write a letter to my friends telling them the good news!"
She spun the wheels so she coasted down the hall to her room. She levered her arms so she slid out of the wheelchair and into her desk chair. Her desk was covered with the letters from Bolin, Mako, and Asami. Korra swiped them aside, found a fresh sheet of paper, and grabbed a pen.
Dear Asami, she wrote hurriedly.
She paused. Naga came and snuffled at her arm. She reached and scratched her behind her ears. She tapped the pen against the paper. She scratched Naga again. She dug out Asami's latest letter from her pile of correspondence – a contract to redesign Republic City's infrastructure. What a wonderful opportunity for Future Industries and for Asami herself.
Korra felt her stomach drop inside her. Did managing to walk across the room measure up to that?
She let out a frustrated sigh and tossed the pen aside. She would write later, when she really had something worth telling them about. When she could really walk again, maybe. When she could fight again. When she could go into the Avatar State again.
When she was actually better.
Korra turned and cuddled Naga. "I'll just have to keep working, huh, girl?"
Her legs got stronger. Soon she didn't need the bars during Katara's physical therapy sessions, and she could get around by pushing off walls and grasping onto tables.
Dear Asami¸ Korra wrote.
But the nightmares still plagued her. Almost every night, she woke soaked in sweat, breathing heavily. She gulped down air, so grateful, so scared.
Korra put the pen down.
Korra slammed the door behind her.
"Korra!" Senna called. "Take a bath and get ready for dinner! Tenzin and Katara are going to join us!"
She flung the firebending helmet into the corner, grabbed the pillow off her bed, and screamed into it. More than anything, she didn't want to see Tenzin and Katara again. They saw her fight the firebenders. They saw her land face-first on the mat. They saw her fail.
And Tenzin just wanted her to be patient.
Korra screamed into the pillow again.
She sunk down onto her bed. Some papers crinkled underneath her – the latest letters from Bolin and Asami she was reading that morning. She looked to her desk where she had started a letter, back when she was confident she was going to win her sparing match. From the bed, she could see her handwriting at the top of the page. Dear Asami . . .
That morning, it hadn't crossed her mind she could lose.
Korra strode to her desk, crumpled the letter into a ball, and set it on fire.
Korra crossed her legs and placed her fists together, preparing to meditate. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and visualized herself entering the Avatar State.
She imagined a whirlwind of colors, smells, textures – her breath streaming like wind, her skin burning like fire, her blood coursing like water, her muscles strong like earth. Her spirit swelling inside her, pushing against the walls of her chest, pushing against the walls of the world, her whole body humming with her bond with Raava and her connection with the elements.
For a moment, she felt like she was flying.
And then suddenly she was falling from the probending arena ceiling, and Lin's cable couldn't catch her—she smashed through the arena into a warehouse. Amon wrenched her neck back, and she felt Raava yanked from her heart by Unalaq, the very breath yanked from her lungs by Zaheer.
Korra snapped her eyes open, hyperventilating, sweating. Her eyes burned with suppressed tears.
She crawled slowly onto her knees, paused, breathed, then pushed herself to her feet. She trembled and swayed in the middle of her room. After a moment, she picked up a pen from the desk and wrote out, Dear Asami, in a shaky hand. But no other words came. Korra clenched the pen in her hand and gritted her teeth. Hot tears slid down her cheeks.
Several weeks later, when she felt more centered, a little more grounded, Korra finally sat down to actually write a letter. She remembered back when she first walked across the room, how proud and how determined she was to wait to write until she was completely healed. Things were different now. She wasn't going to sacrifice her friendships for her pride any longer.
Dear Asami, she began. I'm sorry I haven't written to you sooner, but every time I've tried, I never knew what to say. The past two years have been the hardest of my life. Even though I can get around fine now, I still can't go into the Avatar State. I keep having visions of Zaheer and what happened that day. Katara thinks a lot of this is in my head, so I've been meditating a lot, but sometimes I worry I'll never fully recover. Please don't tell Mako and Bolin I wrote to you and not them. I don't want to hurt their feelings, but it's easier to tell you about this stuff. I don't think they'd understand.
She might never get well, but her loneliness was welling up. She couldn't stand her own silence anymore. Korra folded the letter, put it in an envelope, and sighed.
She felt a little better.