I.
Unneeded
Maybe it was her fault all along, she perched him so high. She was so sure, so steady of his worth. His pedestal, nigh untouchable, it floated leisurely and securely above the others in her care. She thought her reasons were sound, legitimate; he so obviously deserved her recognition. It was in his image, his honor, his prowess, that she all deemed worthy. He was always so solid, so in control of his emotions, his surroundings. What woman wouldn't fall infatuated under his simmering flames of restrained power? She did not know it at the time, but her Hero Complex for the Pro-bender had already manifested itself subconsciously; its flames forever licking the back of her psyche.
At first, she was smitten by his looks, he certainly looked the part—His smiles, a rarity, melted her insides with its sincerity. His build, he was all sinewy and corded muscle suppressed under layers of cloth. His eyes, it happened the moment her wonderstruck orbs met his detached cool fire gaze. It was his eyes, his molten glare, which swallowed her cerulean ones and created the eternal hero. They were dark, intense, and unyielding. And as her polar-pup crush bloomed, his Hero Complex grew.
He played the part flawlessly too. He was frigid lava, taciturn and mysterious. Cold and calculating, he singularly devised a plan that compromised an entire equalist rally. All for the sake of his brother. She was humbled by his ferocity and his love. And she fell. Hard. Those acts of valor were never directed towards her, yet she was certain, she was sure that if she ever needed him, he would be there. Hell, he was larger than life. There was nothing that could taint his image. Nothing conjured in her wildest of fantasies would make him fall from her pedestal she so reverently place him upon. Nothing except, say, himself.
"If you don't stop this, consider our friendship over."
And he fell. Hard.
"Are you that jealous of me and Asami?"
It hurts when your hero falls from grace.
Hidden in the foliage, hidden from the monsters of reality, she crouched low. No one would find her, yet her demons caught up to her all the same. Emanating defeat with her back bowed and her slumped shoulders, she reminisced masochistically. He fell short that night, painfully so. But she couldn't help but hope and drown at the promise of his image, his honor. He was larger than life. She growled, irritated, she couldn't think straight around him! He burned any vestige of coherency she had by just one gaze. With his silent strength permeating the air around her constantly, she couldn't help but trust blissfully and ever naively so.
"I think you're pretty amazing," he whispered. His voice sounded muddled and watered down. So many hours of that one utterance mocking her mind thinned out its authenticity. It was no longer his voice, but hers.
Her eyes blurred and unfocused as memories bombarded and clawed at her peace of mind. She breathed out hoarsely, shivering spasmodically as the cool breeze wafted through her frame. Her eyes drooped lower, she no longer had the strength. Finally, she granted herself reprieve and fluttered them close. She was so tired. I thought you were pretty amazing. A silent sob threatened to wrench itself out of her gut but she willfully quashed the urge. I'm stronger than this, she thought, frustrated. She clenched her arms harder around herself, creating a barrier between her daydreams and the truth. Maybe her hero wasn't everything she needed him to be. Maybe it was her fault all along, she perched him too high.
It hurt. The man she prided him to be, noble and loyal, the image that manifested itself in her dreams, was that all conjured by her rosy cheeked polar-pup of a crush? Did she create his legend? She hoped not. He was just so good. Yet her disillusionment, this truth, did not lessen her ache. He brought her down, fueling and scorching her aching bones, her aching heart.
She was so tired of hoping.
A broken idol, the halo that lined his features dimmed and evaporated and she was forced to face the truth. He didn't care for her. Well, not nearly as much as she cared for him. And he was not her hero. Hell, he never was in the first place. That was misguided faith created by a naïve daydreamer. No, no, he belonged to another, he was another's. Asami's. Yes, the beautiful Asami, a hero in her own right. Selflessly and valiantly, she turned away from her father's power. She saved them, and he loved her ever more so. To him, she was larger than life.
She chuckled mirthlessly; it was hollow and painful to articulate. They make something beautiful alright; she had to note that grudgingly. Asami's pale, curvaceous body and her milk white visage embodied soft and maternal dispositions. It contrasted impressively against his hard lines and raw power. They were beautiful together. She looked down at her mud colored skin and dirt caked hands. Sighing resolutely, the feeling of inadequacy pervaded her senses. And her, well, she didn't need anyone. Not anymore. Memories flittered around the edges of her consciousness.
"Consider our friendship over."
Yes, she learned that the hard way didn't she? She gritted her teeth and cracked her knuckles. Steely resolve and terrifying conviction reflected through her haunted pools of thinly contained rage. Her orbs were mere glints, broken shards with edges jagged and raw.
Dangerous, lethal, beautiful.
She gave all that she could give to him. She gave until her feet bled and her eyes stung from exhaustion. Over Amon, airbending training, and Tarlock's equalist task force, she was fizzling out fast. Yet she still came every day to train vigorously as a Fire Ferret. She knew how much it meant to them. She couldn't let them down. She couldn't let him down. She gave and gave, yearning, praying, that maybe she would see a glimpse of what he showed to Asami and his brother. One glimpse, to remember why she perched his pedestal so high. She gave and gave until, finally, she fizzled out.
She was so tired.
Her brightest flame had dulled and ebbed, extinguished by its own strength. Disillusioned, she was left with clear colored eyes and the resounding echo of his ungreatness leering at everything she created of him. It hurt to acknowledge, that on that night, he shattered her. He shattered everything she longed for, everything she dreamed of. Abandoning her idol, she lethargically picked up the remnants of what he selfishly broke in stubborn resolution, using those shards of glass in order to create an impenetrable shell around herself. No one, not anymore, could ever get in ever again.
She was the Avatar after all. And Avatars don't need anyone. She didn't need a hero, she could save herself. Her eyes were hard, forged by betrayal and bitterness. She puffed out a growl of finality. Hell, when he fell from grace, she fell along with him. Breathing out wearily, she prepared herself to let go. Oh she needed the rest. Finally, closing her blood red eyes, she felt so sure, so serene despite the terror of its ease. Slowly, her knuckles unclenched. Oh, the rest was blissful.
She was done with him.
"Korra?" she inhaled sharply. Her eyes flew open, her muscles tensed. There, she came face to face with the fallen hero, the embodiment of cool fire itself.
"Mako."