Title: Wrap Me Up
Rating: T
Pairings/Characters: Bolin. Korra. Some Borra, but it's just a lot of angst mostly.
Notes: Just listen to Breathe Me by Sia while you read.

He carries her back to the apartment in silence, away from the chaos and destruction and ruin. Away from the bombed-out buildings and streets that lasted for at least a block all the way around, away from the screams and crying and other noises he could hardly bear to listen to. It takes a lot of his own strength to carry her, strength that shouldn't be there considering all that's happened, but he does it willingly and with purpose, pushing his way through crowds of spectators and shouting at anyone who dares get in his way because all his focus is on her, and she does not need to be here right now.

He carries her until his arms ache, but he's hurting all over really, and a little muscle strain is nothing he's not used to. Further out, the streets are dark and deserted; surely everyone's heard of what happened by now. Further out he can hear the wail of the sirens from the police air ships, but they're faint and only the usual sounds of midnight can be found in these back streets. He sees no one, for which he's grateful. All the gangs are probably lying low because of police activity, and no one else would dare venture out now.

As his heavy footfalls echo on the pavement, he allows himself to gather himself, to steady his breathing and his mind. He tries not to think about the last few hours— about the Equalists, about Mako, about the blinding white glow and the insanity that had followed. He forces himself to only think of getting home, and making sure the girl in his arms is okay.

Korra looks as bad as he's sure he does, and probably even worse because she's unconscious and limp in his arms. Her hair swings with his movements, and it's the first time he's seen it fully loose. It would be pretty if she didn't look so beat up. She has bruises cropping up on her arms and neck and a shallow cut on her cheek. Her breathing is deep but her body is trembling, despite the fact that it isn't cold. She seems so much smaller than she normally does to him, sleep and injuries softening her.

Bolin has to force himself not to think of how different she'd looked not much earlier.

Finally, finally, he makes it to the arena. No one's there. Not that that's surprising. He makes his way through the back door of the place, immediately heading up the stairs to his and Mako's apartment. The thought of his brother sends an ache through his chest. He'd been so stupid. He hadn't watched out for him like he should have. He'd just worried about getting himself out of the way.

And now his big brother was in the hands of a man who could take people's bending away with virtually the flick of a wrist.

At the thought, Bolin has to gulp down tears. But he refuses to let them fall. He's always been the crier of the two brothers, the one more prone to being hurt emotionally. But not now. He will not give into it, will not give the Equalists that small victory. And he will get his brother back. Even if that kills him.

Besides, he has someone else to watch out for at the moment.

He immediately crosses over to the couch and lies Korra down on it when he enters the apartment. Thick brows crease over bright green eyes, and his hand reaches out to brush her hair out of her face. He doesn't know if he should wake her… She needs rest after everything that had occurred tonight. Spirits knewhe could sleep for a week, and she'd probably had it worse than he had.

Before he can decide what to do though, she opens her eyes.

Immediately, at the sight of her looking at him, he can't help but think about it— her furious, distraught shout, the rumble that seemed to shake the earth. And her eyes: blank, glowing eyes that seemed like they could flay someone alive with just a look. Power radiating around her, one thrust of her arm and the entire street went up in flame, and her voice, a voice that seemed hers but with underlying tones of thousands of others, those who lived within her, just waiting for the moment to show themselves and reveal their true power.

It had been terrifying and awful and all Bolin thought during it was that's not Korra.

But this was Korra, here, now, with him.

"Bolin…?"

Now her voice is timid and weak and something in him both relaxes and breaks, a breath he didn't know he was holding in released past his lips. "Hey," he says, almost breathlessly, then clears his throat and tries again. "Hey. Korra. It's me. You're okay."

"Bo—" she tries to say his name again before she coughs, blinking hard as if she's not quite sure he's real. She tries to sit up, but he puts his hands on her shoulders and keeps her lying on the cushions.

"Don't, you need to rest. You're okay. We're—" his voice cracks, "I'm okay." He can't say "we". It would feel like a lie. Because "we" would include Mako too. And Mako certainly wasn't. His chest feels like it's constricting again when he thinks about it.

"Wha— what happened?" She sits up slowly, her eyes darting around the apartment as if she's wary of it. Suddenly, he realizes she looks absolutely terrified. And he hates it. Korra isn't scared. Korra is fearless and brave and strong, stronger than anyone else Bolin knew. She was an extremely powerful bender. She was the Avatar.

She was also a seventeen year old girl who had seen far too much in such a short time.

"I— I got you out of there. The whole city's gone crazy. I figured you didn't need to be in that mess after… after all this." He doesn't have the heart to tell her what really happened, how the Equalists had threatened them to the point where she wasn't herself, where she would have ripped up half the city in her grief and pain and anger if she'd had to.

"Is… Is everyone else okay?" she asks, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand.

Bolin's face falls, and in a moment hers mirrors it. He hears her sharp intake of breath, and waits as she composes herself. He hates that he sees her forcing tears from falling. He's never seen Korra cry, and there's something so indescribably wrong about it that he wants to scream.

"Who?"

Oh no.

The question feels like a punch to the stomach, and Bolin has to clamp down on his own tidal wave of emotion before he answers. He tries not to think too much of the word, the name, but it still feels like someone's twisting a knife in his stomach when he tells her. "Mako."

He watches her shudder a moment before she begins to sob.

Her cries are deep and they shake her whole body, and Bolin feels his own tears force themselves out of his throat and eyes and trail down his cheeks. A moment later his arms are around her, and she feels as sturdy as ever, but the noises that are muffled against Bolin's shoulder are almost like a small child's. Bolin himself feels like he's six years old again, his tears falling onto Mako when he's told of his parents' deaths. But this isn't Mako. Mako's out there somewhere, kidnapped, and who knows what's happening to him now?

"I'm sorry, Bolin," Korra manages, her words broken and staggered, her face pressed into his shoulder. "This is my fault— my fault… I lost control.. I'm so sorry."

Bolin shakes his head, one of his hands coming up to rest on the back of her head, pressing her close. "None of this… None of this was your fault, Korra." He believes it. She couldn't have helped anything. If she hadn't gone into the Avatar State, it probably would have been all three of them who were kidnapped… or worse.

Korra shakes her head into his shoulder, but doesn't protest. For the first time in really his life, Bolin is the one who's forced the be strong. He's always depended on Mako for that. But Mako isn't here, and Korra needs Bolin's support. "We'll get him back, Korra," he whispers into her hair. "We'll get him back and Amon will pay for taking him. I promise." And he knows that if he had the chance right now, he would battle Amon and all of his Equalists by himself just to get Mako back.

She doesn't say anything, but he senses she's not going to argue. Slowly, her cries subside into whimpers, and he finds that after about a half hour, she's passed out on his shoulder. He allows himself to stand, slowly, gently, almost toppling from the pain in his knees that appears because of the fact that he's spent the last thirty minutes in a crouch. He lets his other injuries call forth too, bruises and scrapes and cracks, and inwardly tries to blame his new tears on them.

Gently, he maneuvers Korra onto her side on the couch. How many times had he thought about this— of curling up with her, just the two of them, and spending all night in each other's arms? Too much for just a friend, but he can't feel any joy in the act under the circumstances. He curls up behind her, finding her hand and twining his fingers through her own, and it's reassuring, if only mildly, that she's here, that he didn't lose her too.

He presses his face into her shoulder, where he can hear the steady drum of her pulse in her neck, and doesn't let himself think of what's to come.

He just sleeps.

So I may or may not have cried while writing this...