All recognizable characters and allusions belong to Nickelodeon and the creators of The Legend of Korra.
One-Eyed Sangok's is a dingy eyesore in the middle of nowhere. The dark sky does nothing to mask its appearance, the dark shadows unforgiving and sinister on the dirty outside walls and the sign flickering, several letters missing, out for good. There's no formal parking lot, just a makeshift line of cars and motorcycles in front and on the sides of the building. The inside is dimly lit, admitting no view from curious eyes outside, but is loud with music and noise. No one with a good bone in their body would go into One-Eyed Sangok's, not unless they were looking for trouble.
A figure in black zooms a long stretch of empty road on a quiet, purring motorcycle, head obscured by a black helmet that glints with the light of the low, yellow moon at their back. The motorcycle purrs as its rider twists the throttle, shooting forward faster and leaving a cloud of dust in its wake.
Inside Sangok's, a bartender with an oily black coif of hair spreads his lips into a thin smile as he luxuriously appraises his newest customer.
"What can I get for you, sweetheart?"
The motorcycle rider spots the flickering sign of One-Eyed Sangok's in the distance and crouches low on their motorcycle, black-gloved hands tight on the bars.
The newest patron at One-Eyed Sangok's watches the sleazy bartender with blank, bored eyes. "A shot of liquor. Your choice, pretty boy."
The bartender scratches his chin and looks over his shoulder at the shelves of liquor, all reflecting different shades of the blue light that spotlights them. He turns and picks a golden liquor off the shelf. Behind the shelves is a large and grimy mirror. The bartender eyes the patron with sharp eyes, following the curve of her arms and her waist. He's not alone. Curious, hungry eyes are sweeping over the patron's figure.
"What's a gal like you doing in a place like this?" he asks, his voice low and clear despite the noise of the music blaring from the speakers.
The patron plays with a coaster, a silver bracelet twinkling on her wrist, her eyes focused on the mirror. "I'm waiting for someone."
The bartender turns with the bottle of liquor and a clear glass and sets it in front of her. "Someone special?"
"Something like that."
The noise inside Sangok's is loud, so the sound of a motorcycle coming to a stop on the side of the building is easily drowned out. The rider steps over their bike and dusts off some dust off their black jacket. A stray patron leaving Sangok's walks right past them, mistaking them as part of the shadows. The rider walks with a sure step towards the entrance, moving with fluid, almost predatory grace.
When the rider walks in, no one takes notice. The rider is still wearing their helmet, their head moving left and right. They're looking for someone.
The rider takes off their helmet. Their hair is flattened by helmet wear, but the rider is still handsome. His face has sharp, chiseled lines and honey-colored eyes that smolder in the dim light. A woman serving drinks at a table notices him and appraises him with a slow elevator gaze that travels up from his boot-clad feet to the hard line of his mouth. A man that handsome hasn't come into Sangok's in a long time.
The rider walks to the bar, orders a neat whiskey, and sits at the end of the bar. The other patrons in Sangok's leave him alone. His kind are the type who cause trouble when talked to.
An increasing ruckus is going on at another corner of Sangok's. The rider sips his drink, scanning the bar through the grimy mirror behind the liquor shelves.
The brightest corner in One-Eyed Sangok's reveals a pool table, the green felt worn in some areas and the balls dirty with use. Several of the patrons are crowded there, seemingly transfixed on the current game. A young woman is bent over the table, expertly holding the pool stick in her arms, a silver bracelet glinting in the overhead light on her wrist.
The thoughts that go through the men around her range in degrees of appraisal.
The rider notices the crowd in the mirror, but thinks nothing of it. There's someone he's looking for.
The young woman at the pool table wins the game. Her blank eyes don't exactly display amusement. She looks bored.
"Well, babe, you play well," says her opponent.
The woman smirks. "Yes, I guess I do."
The rider finishes his drink. A hard frown dominates his expression. The bartenders avoid coming near him. He looks angry.
Another game of pool starts. The woman sweeps her wavy brown hair over one shoulder and makes her move.
The rider notices the crowd in the corner again. He gets out of his stool and wanders over, wedging between two burly men covered in tattoos and leather. His eyes go wide at the sight of the young woman and he mutters something under his breath, something like a name or a curse.
The young woman notices the rider out of the corner of her eye and a genuine grin fights its way on her expression. She plays the game with more fervor and wins in another three turns.
When she wins the game, she hands the pool stick to one of the burly men standing on the side of the rider and she brushes past him towards the entrance of Sangok's. The rider follows after her.
The night is dark. The line of cars around Sangok's is almost indiscernible in the darkness. The rider follows the young woman to a sleek silver car, newer than all the others.
"Korra," he says, voice strained.
She stops at the trunk of the silver car. "You're late, city boy."
"You shouldn't be here."
Korra opens the trunk of the car. The rider peers into the trunk, arms crossed.
"You doing alright in there, sweetheart?" she asks the man who is tied up in her trunk. The light in the trunk shines in the man's oily black hair.
The bartender grumbles incoherently through the gag fashioned around his head.
"You have a habit of interfering in my work," the rider says.
Korra raises her hand and flattens it against his chest. "It's the only way I see you anymore, Mako."
Mako, the rider, softens his expression. Korra's eyes are bright despite the darkness. "I'm only around for the night."
Korra slams the trunk against the protests of the tied up bartender, a sad smile on her face. "Well, let's not spend any more time wasting it."
"Where are you staying?" he asks, voice low.
She looks for his eyes in the darkness and feels them on her. "Not far."
He follows her car to the motel she's checked in at. They waste no time in talking, flesh against flesh on the faded printed quilt of the bed. They push and pull slowly, touch tenderly, savor each other. They only have nights like this, when she goes where's he's needed. She gets his targets for him, and doesn't claim any of the bounty. She never asks where he goes, only follows, beats him to it when she can. He can't stay in one place too long—he can't make her promises. He's afraid to.
"Where have you been?" she asks.
"Everywhere," he answers, the same answer he always gives her. They lay in bed together, both with their thoughts on different things—he, wondering how soon he can leave; and she, wondering how long he'll stay this time. "Where have you been?"
She shakes her head. "It doesn't matter."
This answer surprises him. She looks away. "What does that mean?"
Korra is unable to meet his eyes as she speaks next. "I—Mako…there's someone else."
Mako's chest tightens, a new feeling to him. "Someone else?"
She answers quietly, trying to mask the pain in her voice. "I met him a few months ago. I only went looking for that bartender to come and say goodbye to you."
"Goodbye," Mako echoes, his eyes tightening and his mouth curling into a frown.
Korra sits up on the bed and hangs her feet off the edge.
"Where have you been, Korra?" he asks in a strained voice, sitting up with her.
She looks over her shoulder. "I've been in one place."
"Do you love him?"
The question sounds accusing. She looks away and bends down to pick up her blouse. "I think I could love him, if I tried."
Mako stares at his hands, fisted over the bed covers. Her back is to him. He thinks about the long scar across her ribcage, the story he was never interested in hearing, and wishes he had asked.
They both dress in silence. The orange glow from the streetlamps filters in from the windows, casting slivers of light on their figures. They dress with precarious finality. Mako finishes first. He waits for her—another first. Korra takes her time, her back to him.
The silence becomes heavy when they move to stand before each other at the door. The sound of a car passing by fills the emptiness of sound between them. The room is too dark for them to see each other's face—but neither of them wants to see what lies on their expressions.
"I'm going to miss beating you to the crooks," she says, the familiar cocky edge to her voice weak.
He tries to smile. "I beat you a few times."
Silence engulfs them. Mako wants to ignore the strange, tight feeling in his chest and leave, but he stands rooted on the spot. He strains to make out the outline of her cheeks, her lips, her eyelashes.
"I wish you the best," she murmurs, reaching out to place her hand over his chest. She nearly spots a frown on his face, his jaw tight. "Mako."
His name is like a sigh. He takes her face in his hands and bends down to wedge their lips together one last time. Their foreheads rest against each other and they breathe the same air for a moment before she pulls away.
She presses something into his hand—a set of keys. "The car's a rental. It's due at ten in the morning."
He wants to say something, but the words catch at his throat, and only nods in response. He moves toward the door and twists the doorknob, vaguely registering the creaking of the hinges and the dry air outside. She watches him with tear-glazed eyes, resolve weakening.
"I'll always love you, Korra," he says, looking over his shoulder.
She smiles, hugging her arms to her chest. "And I'll always love you, Mako."
The door shuts behind him. The walk to the silver car is a long one. He grips the keys in his hand and does not look back.
She sits down on the bed, on his side, and plays with the bracelet on her wrist, the only gift he ever gave her. A sliver of orange light glints on the two charms that hang from the silver chain—a sun and a moon.
A/N: I really liked the idea of Mako and a broody bounty hunter and Korra as just a badass who beats him to it and this is what came out of it. The ending could have gone better, but eh, c'est la vie and I'm too lazy to write a new ending.
For the readers of my drabble ficlet, The Day It Began: I haven't forgotten about it, I swear! I've had the next part finished and sitting on my computer but I'm waiting to have more of the drabbles finished before I post anymore. I'll be done soon, I promise!