She was constantly torn between needing to forget and yearning to remember.
She didn't want to remember— to experience this pain any longer. She wanted to be free of the hurt, the sadness, the crippling feeling of loss. She wanted to feel whole again.
And yet she was absolutely terrified of forgetting him. To lose every moment, every touch, every kiss? She couldn't bear the thought.
Unfortunately, she was beginning to realize she didn't have much of a choice where her memory was concerned. It had been 5 years since he was taken away from her— from them.
5 long years since she heard his voice. 5 long, painful years since she felt his comforting presence and the feeling of safety that accompanied it.
Time was not her friend. As much as the stubborn part of her fought against it, she knew she was beginning to forget him with each passing day. Even his unique smell had long since abandoned their home and the clothing of his that still hung in their closet.
But, if there was one thing about him she knew she would never forget, it was his smile.
She saw it every single day on their daughter's face.
"Mommy, come look at my drawing!"
She glanced down at her daughter's drawing, smiling at the 7-year-old's depiction of Naga playing in the snow.
"That's beautiful, Tirza," Korra said, ruffling her daughter's hair affectionately.
"Can I go play with the REAL Naga outside now, pleeeeease?" Tirza asked, staring up at her mother pleadingly with her bright amber eyes.
"Okay, but—"
She jumped up from her seat, and bolted towards the back door before Korra could finish talking. Her art supplies and drawings fell to the floor, instantly forgotten.
"Hey! Excuse me, missy! Go put on something warm first!"
Tirza pouted before turning around and begrudgingly heading up to her room.
Korra sighed and sipped her tea, turning her attention back to the kitchen window.
It was beautiful outside. The snow thickly blanketed everything in sight. It reminded her of the South Pole. It also reminded her of happier times.
She took in a shuddering breath as she shut her eyes, trying to recall the last time it had snowed like this.
"Korra, we should probably get inside soon. You're going to catch a cold out here."
"I grew up in the Southern Water Tribe, Mako," she said, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. "I can handle a little bit of snow."
"But you're not even wearing a proper coat, Korra, and it's—"
"It's fine," she said, cutting him off as she snuggled closer to him on the bench. "I've got a sexy Firebender to keep me warm."
His face flushed bright red at her words. She laughed and kissed him on the cheek. No matter how many times she'd flirted with him throughout the course of their relationship, her words never failed to make him blush like a tomato. She loved that about him.
"You should really start being more careful, though," he said, fidgeting with his scarf. "I might not always be here to keep you warm."
A sense of foreboding washed over her at his words.
"Mako, don't say that," she said shakily.
"I'm just saying I—"
"—No," she cut him off, "I don't want to hear you talking like that."
"Korra…"
"You vowed you'd always be around, Mako. You promised—"
"—that I'd always stay by your side," he continued softly, reciting more of his wedding vows. "I remember."
"It's just… after everything we've seen in our lives, Mako… I… I couldn't handle losing you, too."
She fought to keep the tears at bay. She hated crying. She hated appearing weak; however, sometimes it was unavoidable. Mako was both her strength and her weakness.
They were a team. He'd become so ingrained in her life that, much like he'd once said to her, she couldn't imagine her life without him in it. It was simply unfathomable.
He tightened his grip around her and lightly planted a kiss her on the forehead.
"Okay, okay… I take back what I said. It was dumb. I'm here to keep you warm whenever and wherever you need me, alright? … And I always keep my promises, Korra," he said reassuringly. "You know that."
She shivered as the hazy memory ended. She could no longer remember the feel of his arms around her, what he had been wearing that day, or even what he'd smelled like; however, his words would forever be imprinted in her brain. His ironic, painful words.
The sound of hurried footsteps broke her out of her memory and she turned to see her daughter once again darting towards the back door.
Her breath caught in her throat.
Hearing her mother's gasp, Tirza paused, turning to look up at her.
"Mommy? What's wrong? Do I need to change again?"
She couldn't stop staring at it. Even after years of neglect, gathering dust in the back of the hallway closet, it was still the most vivid shade of crimson she'd ever laid eyes on.
She had long since forgotten about it. After Mako's death, she hadn't been able to look at it. Seeing the scarf anywhere but around his neck had felt weird. Wrong.
But something about seeing it around their daughter's neck felt… right. Like it was meant to be there.
"Why'd you pick this scarf, baby?" she asked quietly. "We have other scarves you can wear…"
"I dunno. I like this one. It smells good and makes me feel warm," she said, shrugging. "Can I go play now?"
Korra nodded, swallowing past the lump in her throat.
Maybe her fear of forgetting him was irrational.
She had been terrified of losing her memories— the last part of him she thought had left.
She'd never stopped to think that maybe he'd never left. Not really.
Korra turned to watch her daughter laugh and play in the snow. Every once in a while, she would bury her face in her father's scarf to keep her nose warm.
"You're still here to keep us warm after all, Mako," she whispered quietly.
He always kept his promises.
Written for Day 1 of Makorra Month (which is one of the only days in which I've participated evEN THOUGH I'M SUPPOSED TO BE A CO-HOST *facepalm*) ... I'm so bad at this. Ugh.
hOPE YOU ENJOYED