Her Earthly Tether
She's 17 the first time it shows up.
It's an odd feeling; a slight twinge in the stomach, like she missed a step walking down the stairs and caught herself before falling entirely. A gasp squeezes from her throat, a flutter taking its place. What started as annoyance, revulsion even, with his arrogant amber eyes and sullen expression, has turned into something else, something that's seeped into her skin like healing water on a wound, and taken hold.
Her lack of exposure to boys in the South Pole had left her ill-equipped to handle such emotions; she's still so young, and so inexperienced, and she didn't entirely know what it was that was happening to her, for no other reason than she simply didn't have anything to compare it to or draw from. He's so tall, so handsome, so strong. He needs no one, or so it seems. There's a seemingly impenetrable wall, but every so often one of the bricks falls out loose, and she can see through it to someone wounded, tender, and caring.
She tries to ignore it. It's not a good idea, anyway. She's the avatar. She's got a world to save and Equalists to fight. He'd probably just be a distraction, and spirits, the last thing she needs is yet something else taking her attention away from training, and her inexplicable inability to master that fourth element.
The first time she sees her, her stomach plummets like lead. She's everything that she herself is not; the absolute epitome of perfect beauty, tall with raven hair and flawless makeup, commanding the attention of every male (and some females) in the room. The red of her dress and the piercing green of her eyes taunt her, a rainbow-hued reminder that she could never compete. It's not even worth trying. She looks perfect with him; she decides, right then and there, to hate her forever.
Unfortunately for said decision, it turns out her outward beauty is simply a physical manifestation of the inside, as well. Or maybe it's the other way around. She's not entirely sure.
She's smart. Smarter than anyone she's never known, actually. And kind. And funny. And despite all appearances, incredibly fierce, and adventurous, and brave. She's impossible to hate, and that makes it a thousand times harder than it would have been otherwise. She actually feels guilt over her feelings for him, because she knows that if she ever found out, it would hurt her, and she's not someone who deserves that, especially after having already lost everyone that mattered to her to death or betrayal.
But she can't help it. He'll smile at her, a rare gift, and she'll feel warm and fuzzy on the inside. She'll watch them from across the room, see her in his arms, and lower her eyes to her moccasins, imagining herself in her place. And every so often, something will happen – a glance, an accidental touch – and she'll think, for one wild, hopeless moment, that maybe, just maybe, he feels the same way. The feelings are volatile, fluttering, tumultuous.
But he belongs to her, and she knows this.
The words slip out without any control, and immediately afterwards she wants to earthbend a hole a thousand feet deep into the ground and jump in, disappear forever. His rejection is like a kick to the stomach, leaving a bruise that her water can't heal.
She tries to put it past her, tries to move on, but his glances become more furtive, his agitation in her presence more pronounced. Resentment flares in her chest whenever he's around, and in a wild spurt of thoughtless, reckless abandon, her lips are on his, and she nearly gasps when he returns her embrace.
She feels groundless; like she would fly away if the wrong situation hit her just right. And there were plenty of wrong situations. Amon. Chi Blockers. Tarrlok. Even as he cares for her after her capture, carries her in his arms away from Naga, as she feels that first gust of air burst forward from her body, she realizes she has no tether, nothing keeping her stable, no matter how unbalanced she or the world around her becomes. She is a victim to her own unbridled emotions, always had been, probably always would be. A ship adrift at sea without an anchor, not even when she runs to him in the snow, crying and throwing her arms around him, losing herself in their mutual confession of young love.
She wonders how she – her rival-turned-friend – has always managed to remain so graceful and intact.
She is 18 when she realizes that it's not going to work.
She loves him, as much as one can when one is 18 years old. The emotions she feels in his presence are the most powerful she's ever had; unspoiled joy, tenderness, anger, resentment, frustration, happiness, hopelessness. Polarizing and intense, they try desperately to tighten their grip on what they both know is slipping away, like grains of sand in between fingers – bit by bit, moment by moment.
She hadn't understood how something that she fought so hard for would likely be equally difficult to keep.
A sort of desperate, frantic quality begins to sneak into their arguments and their kisses alike. Almost panicked, like they're trying to stop the waves in Yue Bay from crashing onto shore. They try to stamp it down, snuff it out, try to keep alive something that isn't dead, just another version of what was already there. Sometimes, it feels as though the universe has her in one hand, him in another, and she's pulling them away from one another with her iron-death grip, one that not even her metalbending can undo.
She loves him, and he loves her. But it's not enough. Accepting that truth is the hardest thing she's had to do to date – the realization that the first is more often than not, not forever. That their paths were too divergent, that they could no longer walk side by side. At least, not in the same way.
She doesn't ever tell anyone that she's relieved when it ends, not even her. It seems cruel, and needless. She acknowledges it to herself, quietly, then puts it aside and dedicates her energy to rebuilding the new world she's created.
She's 19 when she makes the decision to be alone.
Broken from Zaheer's poison, she leaves to heal at home with her parents and her now-adopted Aunt. There are times where she feels like she'll never stop crying; tears constantly pooling at the corner of her eyes, running down her cheeks, staining her dark skin with mercury and regret.
Before that, however, is Jinora's mastery ceremony. For two weeks, the acolytes work hard to prepare, the overwhelming excitement about the first master in a generation being anointed and celebrated absolutely impossible to quell. She can't walk on her own or take care of herself, and when Pema asks if there's anything she can do for her, she asks for Asami.
At first, she has no idea why she does. Truthfully, she had no idea, could never have imagined that one day she would come to feel so close to and trusting of her one-time competition. Especially over this past year, where they'd become very nearly inseparable, where the words "Asami" and "best friend" easily and effortlessly became interchangeable. But when she pauses to think about it, it makes sense. Asami is the one person in the whole world who actually is as alone as Korra feels. Yet, unlike herself, she handles it with such poise, such grace. The way she's handled everything in her young, challenging life, and that awareness leaves her both inspired and awestruck.
She is so patient and understanding – no task or burden is too much for her. She helps her walk to her wheelchair, combs her hair every morning, helps her wash up and get dressed, brings her to dinner. Holds her while she cries. There is one small, almost fleeting moment while preparing for Jinora's ceremony where the older girl is washing her hair, kneeling beside the tub, and the water is cascading down her nude body, hidden by suds. She feels the slightest twinge of heat dusting her cheeks, but she doesn't know why.
If Asami notices, she doesn't say anything.
There's an odd sense of emptiness as the ship pulls away from the harbor. She gazes down at the faces of her three closest friends, one her former love, and wishes that she could take them all with her. For a fleeting moment, she regrets not accepting Asami's offer to accompany her to the south.
Once they're far enough away from port, alone on the deck, she glances back towards Air Temple Island. Although she can't make out the exact visage of the little black dot still standing alone on the dock, she knows that it's her.
She spends the next three years recovering, Katara's gentle hands steering her healing process, and then one day she sails away from the south, the remnants of her parents' kisses still warm on her rapidly-chilling cheeks. She seeks Raava across continents far and wide; from the docks of fishing villages in the Earth Kingdom to the deserts of the Fire Nation. She is nowhere to be found, and a pervading loneliness begins to well up within her, but she knows that it's likely for the best. She is not able to help or be anything to anyone right now; she is better off solo. Her only companion, the haunted visage of her chained up self, eyes forever aglow in perpetual vulnerability, following her every move.
She sheds her identity, the blue bands and weathered suede carrying her public persona downstream. As the sword slices through her dark locks, it feels like a part of her dies inside. She watches the strands fall, like gossamer, onto the water and float away into nothing.
She's 20 when it starts to feel different.
She knows that it's not right to only write to her. It isn't fair. Mako and Bolin sent just as many letters, only to be met with silence and confusion. She knows she should answer, knows they're probably sick with worry, and feels even worse knowing that she's asked her to keep their correspondence a secret. Putting that burden on her, and knowing that she'll keep that trust intact.
She doesn't know why it's so easy to write her but not them. She knows she should be able to tell Mako and Bolin about the deep, dark fears that live in her heart, how scared she is she'll never fully get better, how lonely she is, how much she misses them. All that is true, but for some reason, when the pen pauses, stuck and stagnant, above the paper when it's their names at the top of the page, it cannot write fast enough to keep up with all of her thoughts when it's hers.
For some reason, it's just easier to talk to you about this stuff.
She tells her where she'll be next, and Asami's letters always seem to find her, wherever she is on the road. She begs her not to tell her parents she's not actually in Republic City. She promises to keep that secret, too.
She sits under a lotus tree on the edge of a farmer's yard in the Earth Kingdom – the Earth Empire, now? – and reads her latest letter. The rebuilding of Republic City is nearly complete, and she's just been so busy with work she hasn't had any time to pursue much else. She can feel the loneliness in the letters, the way her work is distracting her from it. She wonders who is taking care of her, the way she had taken care of Korra.
She is oddly relieved that no potential suitors ever make their way into the updates.
I miss you. I wish you were here. All the time.
She pulls out a pen and paper, and begins her response the way that most would end:
Of all the things I miss from back home, I think I miss you the most.
She pauses for a moment, staring at the sentence, and it's suddenly very, very clear that this isn't what it once was.
She pushes the thought from her mind almost as fast as it came on, and continues to write.
She is 21 when it shows up again, and she realizes that it actually is different.
She walks into the restaurant, and her heart is racing. She takes deep, even, smooth breaths to try to calm down. She tells herself it doesn't make sense to be nervous; why should she be? She's just having dinner with her two close friends, that's all.
She steps into the waiting area, and immediately sees her among the sea of people, seated across the room, absorbed in a magazine about women in the engineering sciences. She doesn't feel her stare, and suddenly, it's there again – that swoop in the stomach, like she missed that step again, but this time, she doesn't catch herself in time. The very sight of her fills her with comfort, so much comfort and safety and the feeling that yes, spirits, I am finally home that it takes everything in her power to not melt into tears.
Suddenly she's on her feet, and in three strides she's across the room and her arms are around her, and it wrenches another gasp from her throat. She's taller now, looking every bit the CEO and President that she was always meant to be. She can't help closing her eyes and burying her face into her shoulder, into the dark hair that she once glared at with envy and disdain for all things "prissy," and notices that she changed her shampoo. Asami touches her new hairstyle in admiration and she feels her face flush as her delicate hand accidentally grazes her cheek. Suddenly, she is torn between the desire to look away from that intense jade stare and never stop meeting it.
It is not tumultuous. It is not volatile, or fractious, or intemperate. It's something else entirely; something that she's never known before. It's peaceful. It's grounding. It's safety, and comfort, and stability. This time, no matter how many wrong situations hit her just right, Asami is there, holding her steady, tethering her to the Earth. This time, the ship that was adrift for so long is suddenly safe at port, and she is the anchor keeping her still.
The depth of the feelings are nothing short of terrifying. Beyond anything her 17-year-old self had been even halfway capable of feeling. She longs to put into words just what this woman has come to mean to her, but she doesn't know how to articulate it. She doesn't have her grace, or her poise.
There are so many moments where she wonders if she just saw that longing mirrored in her eyes, too, or if it had been wishful thinking. The ache in her chest when she's near intensifies to almost unbearable levels. She swallows back her emotions when their hands touch, closed together around a warm cup of tea, or when their eyes meet and something intimate seems to be exchanged without a single word. They rarely, if ever, leave each other's sides. Sometimes it feels like something is physically hanging in the air between them, a camelephant in the room that is never commented on, never acknowledged.
She often asks herself if the others notice it, too. She wonders if Mako can tell, and cringes at the thought of it. More than once, she catches Jinora watching their interactions, a curious, almost knowing expression on her young face. She never says anything.
In the midst of it all, she asks herself how this happened. How this brilliant, beautiful young woman who she once looked at with such scorn and jealousy, snuck up on her the way she did. How something could've turned on its head so violently. More than once she tells herself that it might just be fleeting madness, an intense boundless friendship, a falsehood born of high-stress situations and being reunited after so long. She repeats each conviction with the deep-seeded, incontrovertible certainty that she is lying to herself.
The feelings do not abate. They grow. They begin to take hold like spirit vines around the crumbling debris of downtown, and she comes to the startling realization that the only time she ever feels safe, truly safe – from others and from herself – is with her. No matter how dangerous of a peril they face, she is the sole person she's ever known in her entire life with whom the world makes any sense whatsoever. Where she has hope. Where she is grounded. Where she can find peace.
She remembers seeing her fly through the air just as the giant metal hand comes crashing down, snuffing out Hiroshi's life, the scarlet red parachute deploying, her dark hair flying as she drifts to the ground, unharmed, unscathed, whole. Her knees buckle; she has to press a fist to her mouth to stifle a sob of relief. She doesn't have time to run to her, to comfort her, to tell her how she feels – instead, she takes all that emotion to Kuvira, and later, when they stumble out of the portal together, the dictator's dead weight hanging off her side, hers are the first eyes she sees through the disheveled fringe of her bangs. She immediately sees that she's been crying, panicked. She resists the urge to drop her enemy and run to her, holds herself back as the Great Uniter is placed under arrest. Their eyes remain locked together over the questions, the hugs, the confusion, the newly arrived spirits, and this time she is not torn.
There is no desire to look away.
They stand together in front of the portal, the glowing golden light more inherently breathtaking than the icy blue beams of the north and south. She smiles, still amazed at the location of this new pathway to the Spirit World, and takes a few steps closer, mesmerized by the beauty.
She turns to face her. She is staring up at the light as well, her beauty amplified a thousand fold by its rays, her dark hair spilling over her shoulders, her green eyes wide with awe. Korra has to swallow the lump that rises up in her throat. She wants to speak, to say something to her, but words don't really seem adequate. She thinks back on that first time she saw her, all those years ago, and how it felt like someone had kicked her in the chest. She feels the same way now, only for an entirely different reason.
She steps towards her and reaches for her hand. Asami's gaze drifts from the portal to her face as she leads her forward into the golden light. She sees her swallow roughly, her pale hand shaking in her darker one.
There's no conscious choice to do so; neither one makes the first move. It's entirely mutual, first joined hands, then joined foreheads, then joined lips. Soft and brief at first, before they pull back to look at each other in wonder. Then, again – this time much less soft and much less brief.
They fall in to each other, deeply, arms and hands searching, grasping as they cross over into the other realm. And she now knows that, whether in this world or back in the physical one, she is never in danger of ever drifting away ever again.
The End.