(A/N: There is a reference to one of my favorite books as a child hidden somewhere in this story. Double brownie points for anyone who can locate it.)

Life is a funny thing. Two men may live through the same thing, and afterwards one will tell one story, and another will tell it's opposite.

War is a funny thing. Two men may do battle, and afterwards one will sleep as soundly as a babe, and the other will crouch in fear, his hands still clutching for the hilt of his weapon.

Death is a funny thing. Two men may die for the same cause, and one shall be a hero for all time, and the other shall be forgotten forever.

The breath hitched in Mako's throat, already dry and parched from the dust. He ran as fast as his feet could carry him. Something huge and terrible pursued him, and he only had time to glance occasionally over his shoulder at it. It looked like one of Hiroshi's mecha tanks, but it actually walked on its two stubby legs like some horrifying metal man. Airships swooped overhead, dropping bombs that impacted and blossomed into flowers of fire and debris.

He woke with a start, throwing the covers off of him entirely and sitting up straight as a board, his fists clutched in a classic fire bending stance. Slowly, the adrenaline dissipated. He was safe. Still the visions bothered him. It had been almost a month, why couldn't he get the images out of his head? Death, chaos, destruction, it was all he could recall from the final days of the failed revolution. He wanted so badly to remember the good parts, the parts people were already labeling them as heroes for, but it was always overwhelmed by a tide of the more disturbing memories: Korra helpless at the hands of Amon's blood bending, contorting in agony. Korra slumped over Naga's saddle, bruised and battered. The whole city coming down around their ears as Equalist bombs rained from the skies like locusts.

It was rather like a waking nightmare; he remembered the things he wanted to forget, and forgot the ones that were worth remembering.

Korra shifted next to him, mumbling something in her sleep. Mako considered waking her, talking to her about this, but decided against it. She had been so calm these past few days; it wasn't worth unloading his burdens onto her. She of all people deserved to be happy.

He retrieved the blanket from the floor and draped it over her gently, before pulling a tunic and his red scarf on and exiting the room silently. Everyone else had taken the opportunity to sleep in, so he held his vigil on the deck alone. In the distance, through the early morning fog, he could see Republic City's skyscrapers emerging out of the murk like a tangled stand of rushes sprouting from a bog.

He felt something warm shift in his stomach. It was the most familiar feeling in the world: home.


A cheerful tune was wafting down the street. A single street musician had set up shop on the corner of the plaza, and was deftly plucking out a song on his guitar that did not at all match the scene around him.

Mako was distracted. That much was obvious to Bolin. He had known him for long enough that his body language was practically screaming it. This was a rare thing for Mr. Cool Under Fire. Mako was normally focused, clipped, to the point. Now he was downright nervous.

"The pay isn't great, but that's not the point. I bring Pabu with me every day, and the press just eats him up. He's a rock star, aren't you Pabu?" Bolin said.

Pabu lifted his head from his paws to be scratched, as though saying "Yes, yes, I know I'm excellent."

"When the arena opens up again the Fire Ferrets will be the favorite, I guarantee it."

"Yeah…" Mako said absentmindedly.

Bolin followed his gaze to the buildings around them. It was hard to get used to, seeing the city in this condition. It had never exactly been a shining beacon of uprightness, at least, not the parts they frequented, but at least it had been intact, bustling. Now the buildings jutted out of the broken pavement like decaying teeth, their colorful facades shattered. Almost every single square inch had received damage of some kind, and there were still piles upon piles of debris that nobody had found the time to shift. The dust had been so bad that the council had recommended that older people stay indoors as much as possible, and wear cloths over their faces when they went out.

A whistle sounded somewhere close by, and Bolin tipped the remnants of his meal back into his lunchbox.

"That's the foreman, I gotta go." He said, standing up. "Hey, is there something bothering you Mako?"

The question seemed to jerk him out of his reverie.

"What?"

"Something wrong. You seem preoccupied, that's all, and not in a good way."

Mako's mouth twitched into a reflexive smile that did not reach his eyes, giving him an odd, almost mask-like appearance for a split second. He stood up as well and patted his brother on the shoulder.

"I'm fine Bolin. Thanks for asking."

Still, as he traipsed back to the construction site, Bolin couldn't help but look back over his shoulder. He saw Mako drop a coin into a beggar's dusty bowler hat. The scraggly, bearded man thanked him, and switched to a new tune on his guitar. This one was more somber.


The night was calm and peaceful. They were out in the patio, enjoying a moment of quiet in the normally bustling household. Tenzin and Pema had taken a much deserved night off for dinner on the town, leaving the children in the care of the air temple adepts. Mako and Korra sat cross-legged before a table, upon which lay a checkered board with pieces in various positions.

It had taken a lot to get Korra to sit down for something like this. She was more of a Pai Sho or checkers person, and when Mako had introduced the ancient Fire Nation game of chess to her, she had initially vetoed it, but he had managed to… persuade her. He watched, lips pressed together, as she gestured at one of her rooks. It sped across the board and right into the path of Mako's queen. Mako knocked the piece off the board a little more forcefully than he had meant to, and it went skittering off the garden path and into the dirt. Slowly, it levitated back under Korra's direction.

"So you want to play that game, do you?" Korra asked, a wicked grin on her face.

Before his eyes the pieces deformed, their miniature arms came unstuck from their sides. The knights pranced around the board, knocking their foes to the ground as the pawns bashed their little heads against each other, not having the reach enough to use their stubby hands.

Mako was reminded of the time Korra had told him she felt safe with him. The feeling was mutual. Sometimes he was a little intimidated, knowing that such a powerful being was just across the table from him. It was almost like sitting next to a bomb. A very pretty bomb…

"Hey, you can't do that…" Mako said, laughing.

"Oh yeah?" Korra replied, scooting around to his side. "Try and stop me."

The pieces fell to the board with a clatter as they shared a brief kiss. It was brief, because Ikki chose that very moment to rush up and interrupt them.

"Guys, guys! Meelo fell and scraped his- omigosh, are you guys kissing?"

Both of them broke apart like the other had suddenly become red hot, their faces blushing. Korra jumped to her feet and herded the young air bender away hurriedly.

"Mako, see if you can find some banana leaves in the garden."

Mako gathered up the scattered pieces and replaced them on the board before yanking out a handful of green shoots from a bush that was sprouting nearby. His feet made scratching noises as they deposited the little pebbles that had been embedded in them on the hardwood floor. He opened the door to the dining area, but it was empty. The plates had been set out for dinner, but the adepts were still out working.

Looking back, he couldn't pinpoint exactly what set him on edge. Something was wrong, but he just couldn't quite put his finger on it. It was like flipping through a book and getting the feeling of two pages instead of one between his fingers.

The sounds of Meelo's complaining from the next room temporarily reassured him, and he had just passed the head of the table where Tenzin usually sat when he heard a crash.

He whirled around to see not one, not two, but five Equalists in full regalia clambering over the windowsills.

"Korra!" Mako barked.

The shout seemed to stun the assailants temporarily. They had obviously been expecting the element of surprise. Mako used this time to turn and dash towards the other room. He could see Korra gathering the children behind her, Meelo clutching his knee, just as a pair of canisters rolled into the room and began expelling a noxious green gas. The doors to the parlor slammed shut, and the fighting began.

Mako turned once more to face the enemy, knowing that he would not be able to get through in time to avoid them. Fight or flight mode had kicked in, but this time, it wasn't a championship on the line, and he wasn't Mr. Cool Under Fire. He made a swooping circle with his arm, letting the static charge of the room acclimate to his body, and then he jabbed a pair of fingers straight ahead of him.

A tremendous burst of energy left his fingertips, dancing down the dining room table and shattering every plate as it went. The unfortunate soul on the receiving end was propelled forcefully through the double doors at the far end of the dining hall, where he lay motionless. At that moment a poorly aimed bolas smacked him on the temple, causing him to howl at the smarting pain and double over, dropping to his knees.

A stun stick made a solid contact with his side and he writhed, rolling over and over until he was underneath the table. After that, Mako lost track of time. He was not a honed instrument; he was an engine of devastation, pouring fire down upon the black suited figures with reckless abandon. When all before him had fallen, he turned and marched right through the thin paper divider that separated the parlor from the rest of the temple.

Two Equalists looked up from where they had been tying up Korra. The children lay slumped in the corner, motionless. He snapped. There were flashes of light and screams, but Mako was gone.


General Iroh stepped off the speedboat and onto solid ground.

"Form a perimeter, interrogate everyone. Nobody comes after us, and nobody leaves, clear?"

The United Forces soldiers fanned out, taking up their positions. A group of them accompanied him as he met the police commissioner on the steps up to the temple proper.

"Give me a report."

"Equalists. They came out of the surf on motorboats, scaled the tower and made entry. We have the survivors in custody, and I have a decontamination team suiting up to scrub the last residue of the knockout gas."

"Belay that. We need clues, this is a crime scene."

"With respect General, I know how to do my jo-"

"Wait a minute, did you say 'survivors'?" General Iroh said.

"Yes, survivors. The avatar was unharmed, as were the children. The Equalists however…"

"How bad?"

"Two dead, one in critical condition, not expected to survive. The others simply had the tar beaten out of them. Nothing a long stint in prison won't fix."

"Who did all this? The guards?" Iroh asked in wonderment.

They ascended the steps up to the patio, and the party caught sight of the answer to his question. He was being restrained by two earth benders.

"I want to see them. I have a right."

"Cool your jets kid, you're not going anywhere."

Iroh stepped calmly onto the top step, making a sidelong glance at the boy. His feet were encased in stone to keep him in place, but his eyes were staring straight ahead, trancelike. The General sighed. He had seen that stare before, in the eyes of some of his best men, and some of his worst. It was never a good tiding to see such a stare in a child. He held up his hand in the air, signaling those present to leave, which they did immediately, and without question.

A chess board was all set to play in front of them when he sat down, but Iroh didn't bother to make a joke about it. He didn't have time.

"Mako. Tell me what happened."

Mako looked at him as though seeing him for the first time.

"It was the Equalists. They almost killed her."

"Thankfully we have determined that was not their intent."

"Oh you have, have you? We'll that's good to know. Really puts my mind at ease!"

A little gout of flame left his mouth as he spat out the last word. Iroh frowned, and leaned closer.

"You remind me of my grandfather. You share much in attitude, if not in demeanor."

Mako opened his mouth as if he was about to retort, but apparently thought better of it. He seemed to fall slack against his restraints, as though the nervous energy had suddenly been drained from him.

"They won't let me talk to them."

"I'll have the rocks removed in a moment, when you're calmer, and you can go see Korra and the children for yourself."

"No. Not them." Mako said. "The Equalists."

"The Equalists? What do you want with them?"

"To finish what I started." Mako said emotionlessly.

"Obviously. That's why you're being kept-"

"That's not what I meant. I want to interrogate them, find out why they're still around even though Amon is history."

Iroh paused, considering the boy in a new light. He seemed much calmer now, if a bit… grim. He could feel the beginnings of a deft political maneuver forming in his mind. The mastery and coldness of it surprised even him. Without a word or change of expression, he put it into action. It was as simple as shifting gears in a Satomobile.

"What if I told I was inclined to let you have your wish?"

Mako looked directly into his eyes this time. He could feel those brown-stained obsidian orbs searching him for deception as only a teenager could.

"How rough can I be?"

"As long as they can still walk up the courthouse steps, you're fine. Anything more than that I can't pretend to ignore. You killed three of them Mako."

"What?"

His demeanor change suddenly. Iroh watched the nervous energy seep back, watched his hands ball into fists.

Good, Iroh thought. That was the appropriate response. It shows you still feel something.

"Yes, that's right. Two of the Equalists were carried out of here in a body bag, the third is awaiting his as we speak. Even if it is some terrorist nobody, it doesn't look good. It doesn't help ease the tension that exists just underneath the surface. This recent spate of good feelings could vaporize in an instant if something happened to drive a wedge between benders and non-benders."

"Then why are you letting me do this?"

"Because I know you'll go after them." Iroh said. "More than that, I know you'll find them. My soldiers can only do so many raids without police permission. The bureaucracy and the citizenry are getting pretty tired of us. They're tired of the lines, they're tired of the rationing, and they're tired of the curfews. Sooner or later the council will reject martial law and kick us out. The more I can accomplish with free agents like you, the better."

"I'm glad you have confidence in me, General, but aren't the police and the army supposed to be working together?"

Iroh laughed bitterly.

"It's called inter-service rivalry Mako. It's not supposed to exist, but it does. How would you feel if an entire battalion of soldiers started doing your job for you?"

"Threatened, I guess…" Mako said, doubtless imagining a battalion of United Forces troops crammed onto one end of the bending arena.

"Exactly. I give it three days, a week at most, before the combat troops are ordered out by the civilian government. This is our shining opportunity to get rid of the Equalist remnants, once and for all. They're on the run with their necks exposed, just waiting for someone to strike the killing blow. That someone is you."


The sentries stood stock still as General Iroh and his men waltzed in as though they owned the place. Trailing behind them were the shackled Equalist prisoners and… Mako.

Iroh flipped a Pai Sho piece through his fingers. It had the emblem of a white lotus flower inscribed upon it.

"Gentlemen, if you'll excuse us for a moment, we need the room."

The White Lotus sentries exchanged dubious glances, and then left the ruined dining room without a word. Afterward, they told no one of the noises they overheard coming from the room. Sometimes silence was betrayal. In this case it was loyalty.


There they were again, in the garden. The chess board had not been moved and it was evening once more. It was almost as though nothing had happened. Almost, save for the absence of children's laughter. Mako was tugging on his overcoat, tucking his signature scarf over the collar.

"So you're not even going to eat dinner with us?" Korra was saying.

"No, I'm sorry. I have business in the city tonight; I won't be back until very late, maybe not even until tomorrow."

"And you can't tell me what you're going to do?" She said in an exasperated tone.

"No. I'm sorry Korra, it's just better if you didn't know. I'm doing a favor for General Iroh."

"Oh really? Remind me of the great favors General Iroh has done for you."

"He did help us take back Republic City in the first place." Mako said. "Nearly spent two whole fleets doing it as I recall."

Korra sighed deeply and got to her feet, walking to stand next to him. The city glittered upon its distant shore, like a bio-luminescent insect.

"I know. I'm sorry. Just… be careful out there, alright?"

They embraced; Mako placed his chin on her shoulder and inhaled deeply. He loved the smell of her hair after she had washed it with Tenzin's fragrant soaps. It reminded him of clean laundry and freshly cut grass. It reminded him what he was fighting for.

"I will. Goodnight Korra."

The streets were literally empty when Mako's feet hit the pavement after a long, silent boat ride. The electricity grid was turned off at night to save power, making it rather pointless for civilians to break curfew. There was nowhere to go and nothing to see. He tied his boat up at the docks and stepped down one of the side streets. It was harder to find his way around now that everything was so beat to hell. He got lost twice, but eventually made it to the neighborhood that the Equalist captive had specified. The memory of a smell wafted into his mind at this thought. Burning human hair. Was he no better than them? No, they had just pushed him beyond his breaking point. No reasonable person could be expected to maintain a code of ethics in this dirty, underhanded struggle.

He met an old face along the way. A drifter rat named Tang.

"What do you want? I told you I aint got yer money you- …Mako?"

Mako dropped a few copper coins into the old man's palm. Some people took him for a fool, but he knew how tough living on the streets was.

"It's me alright. In the flesh."

The man scrunched the coins into a tower of pennies and stared at them.

"So whadda ya want for this, bigshot? Powder or herb, 'cause this aint enough for both."

"I'm not looking to score. I'm looking for information. You see that apartment block over there? Who lives on the second floor?"

The old timer scratched his chin pensively. Mako's eye twitched, like a fly caught in a spiderweb.

"Don't pull that foggy memory crap on me, that's all I've got and that's all you're getting."

"I'm not!" Tang protested. "I'm genuinely tryin' to recollect! Now lemme see… second floor… Lot of strange folks coming through here these days, but I think you picked the strangest. They're in and out at odd hours, four guys and a gal if I remember right. Doesn't take a crystal ball to see what's going on there, he he he…"

"Spirits bless your journey, Tang. I gotta go now."

"Wait!"

Mako stopped.

"You… got a smoke?"

"Different times, different people, Tang. I don't play the old games anymore."

Tang waved his hand dismissively

"Yeah, I get it. Big damn hero. Go on and do your white knight thing you cheeky little beggar."

There was genuine hurt in Tang's voice, and Mako wanted to say that he hadn't forgotten his old friends, that he hadn't forgotten where he came from, but he didn't. He had the arena now, and he had Korra. His old life held no allure for him anymore.

He circled around to the side and checked the entrance. A wrought iron gate was shut across the entrance. The courtyard beyond was strewn with trash thrown from the inner windows of the apartments above. Mako placed his palm about half an inch above the keyhole and brought to life an intensely hot but very small jet of flame. He had found that cheap locks such as this could be easily circumvented with the proper application of fire. It was a technique he had read about in one of the great epics written by exiled air nomads. An air bender could, with just the right amount of force, cause the pins inside a tumbler to depress just enough to turn it with a thin strip of metal, or a fingernail. Since fire caused it's own weather, Mako had adapted a trick of his own that would send a superhot jet of air rushing through the keyhole, to much the same effect. The difference was that the lock was ruined. Cheap pot metal deformed, grasping the tumblers and permanently opening it.

The gate swung back. Thankfully it had been kept well oiled, and did not cause a commotion. A figure was sleeping on a cardboard mat in a corner. Mako pulled up the collar of his greatcoat against the wind and quietly stepped into the front office.

It smelled of bleach, and old paper. There were a few beaten chairs leaning against the walls, but other than that, decoration was sparse. He ascended the stairs in the corner slowly, taking care not to creak on each step. The corridor above was oddly silent, save for the faint crackle of a wireless set without a connection. Some doors had their lights on, including the one he was after.

Room 837 was the Republic City seedy motel equivalent of a president's suite. There were only two doors on this wall, as opposed to the others which had four. Mr. 837 had his light on, and the murmur of voices could be heard coming from within. The neighbor had apparently turned in for the night. It was firmly locked. Mako took a deep breath.

This would have to be quick.


Violet sat alone on the couch, arms crossed, watching them finish the bomb.

It was their most sophisticated device yet. She had heard the reports of what the other groups had been up to, and all of them were still fiddling around with fertilizer and carts. The bomb in front of them was concealed inside a leather briefcase. Ten metal pipes, each filled with a jellied explosive mixture, which they had brokered through a corrupt Fire Nation supply colonel. The detonation system was a single wire running into and out of each, synced to a single egg timer. All one had to do was reach into the bag nonchalantly, flip a switch and set the egg timer to the desired setting. Simple. Not even these two lunkheads could screw it up.

The Equalists had fallen more than a few pegs since the revolution failed. These were the dregs of the diehards. The bottom of the barrel. She had lost all her good soldiers in the botched raid on the air temple, and now she was down to these two. Her handler had long since stopped answering his phone, the metalbenders were tapping the lines, or so the rumor went. Their army, once everywhere, was now whittled down to scraps, each one alone and isolated.

That's what they were, she had realized, too late. They were soldiers, fighting for a world free from bending and injustice. A world where the sweat of one's brow and the strength of their back determined their destiny, not what sorcery they could conjure up or kings they could hoodwink.

At that moment, however, destiny caught up with them.

The door flew open with a bang, the doorknob embedding itself in the plaster and the deadbolt flying across the room attached to a large splinter of wood. A tall, dark haired young man with a red scarf stepped across the threshold.

"Oh, I'm sorry, have I come at a bad time?"

The lackeys looked up from the bomb in utter shock, but Violet leapt up from her seat on the couch, a shock device fitted on her palm.


Mako had to dig deep for this one. Simple rage would not be enough. The woman was almost the same age as him, perhaps a little older, and much more skilled. As they fended off a flurry of each others blows, Mako weaving to keep her palm from touching him, he could clearly see the lines underneath her eyes, and the pure hatred burning within.

He dared not use fire bending, lest he set off the bomb in the middle of the floor. The beauty of bending was that it could be applied to hand-to-hand combat. Almost all of the moves that normally produced fire could also produce a nasty bruise or broken bone when used properly. The two men took a few steps back and picked up their stun batons. They stood nervously to one side, not seeing how to help their leader without hurting her in the confined space.

One particularly forceful overhand strike whistled toward his temple, and Mako saw his chance. He leaned down, as if to tie up his shoes, ducking under the vicious blow and bobbing back up once he had felt the wind from it gently tousle his hair. He answered with an open-handed strike of his own, which knocked the Equalist squarely off her feet and sent her crashing into a corner.

Mako spun to meet the other two, perhaps a quarter of a second too late. One baton simply glanced off his clothing, but the other found a space between his shirt sleeve and the cold-weather gloves he was wearing. The pain of the shock was intense, but he internalized it, using it to fuel his next moves. They kept circling, trying to surround him, but he was having none of it. When one of them stumbled over an upturned edge of carpet, Mako was on him in a flash, dealing out a wicked spinning kick that landed right on the side of the man's head, knocking him out instantly.

The other, seeing his comrade fall and knowing it was now or never, charged him with the baton held overhand, as though he was about to drive home a railroad spike. Mako watched him come. His muscles ached with the memory of his movements, and the expectation of more. The words of his first sensei came to him, as though from a great distance. Slow time. Moving circles. Shadow walking. He felt them going through the motions even before he actually sprang forward and knocked the man out with two well aimed blows to the jaw.

He stepped aside to avoid being crushed underneath his former foe, just in time to see a wicked blade rend the air where he had just stood. The woman was on her feet again, and this time she had a cutting knife in her hand.

The following movement was much more careful, almost like a dance. Mako kept just outside of an imaginary bubble he had drawn in his head. Thankfully her arms were not the longest, and he had plenty of room to maneuver as she came after him swinging the vorpal instrument. Mako snatched a dish towel from the rack by the sink.

Time to end this.

There was no opportunity now, but if he could he would have said a silent prayer to Tang for teaching him how to fight someone with a knife when you had none. He stood perfectly still, waiting until the very last moment to spring his arms forward like a trapdoor spider, encircling her delicate wrist and twisting the knife from her grasp. It clattered to the floor and he kicked it away.

The next thing he knew he was seeing stars. His vision blacked out temporarily, and he backed into the rack of dishes, sending them smashing to the floor and nearly tripping them both. The girl could punch. That much was certain. He kicked out hard with his right foot and caught her in the midsection, sending her toppling to the linoleum where she smacked her head. She tried to get up and punch him again, but he caught her fist in his hand and twisted it until she was kneeling on the floor in a half-nelson. They both sat still for a few seconds, panting heavily.

"Are you done?" Mako said through clenched teeth. "Because we can keep going all night until you are."

In response the woman broke free of his grasp and lunged for the bomb. Mako flipped her over onto her back with his heel, grasped her firmly by the neck and hauled her upright, slamming her into the wall. She dangled there, a few inches off the ground, legs flailing uselessly. A new look had entered her face. This one was not nearly so defiant.

Mako pointed a stern finger in her face. A single flame, almost white hot, emanated from it.

"I want to do one thing right now. I want to do it more than anything I've ever done, and that is to remove you from the face of this earth. You don't deserve this. You don't deserve to live, to go off and spread your hate like a virus, infecting normal people. I was a normal person, until you infected me. Now I can't stop. It's like I'm in the middle of a fight, all the time. I can't hit the off switch now, thanks to you guys. So as much as I want to burn you and your little friends to ashes, I'm not going to. On one condition. Ask me."

"Ask… you what?" She choked.

"Ask me what the condition is."

"W-what's the condition?"

"The condition is, if I ever see any of you ever again, in this life or the next, I will kill you where you stand. Is that clear?"

She looked deep into his eyes for a moment and then nodded.

"Good. When your friends come to visit you in jail, tell them what I said goes for them as well."

With that, he let her feet return to the floor. Before she could do anything, he spun her around and placed two fingers firmly against her jugular.

"Word to the wise: the more you relax, the less of a headache you will have when you wake up."

After less than a minute, she slumped to the floor, out cold. Mako checked his watch, and the doorway. If possible, there was even less sound now than there had been two and a half minutes ago when he had first entered. Nobody seemed to want to come and be the Good Samaritan, which worked out just fine for him. He picked the phone up off its receiver and dialed the Republic City help code.

"Hello, emergency services, how may I help you?"

"I need police and fire on the 800 block of Gae Lao Avenue. In the Sing Wei hotel on the second floor, there is a room numbered 837. Inside you will find three known terrorists and a cache of weapons."

He could hear frantic writing coming from the other end.

"Can I get your name sir?"

"You should hurry, before someone else comes along and decides to make off with a free bomb."

He left the room without another word, letting the telephone swing freely on its cord.


They stood facing each other in the center of the empty gym, a dozen paces apart. Korra's lean form was encased in a thick cotton robe and white helmet, identical to the pair Mako was wearing.

"I'm not going to go easy on you just because you're the Avatar, you know." Mako said, smiling an invisible smile behind the mesh eyeholes.

Korra responded by lunging forward with a terrific water tribe war whoop and a massive over-handed slice. She had been coming to the upper floor of the arena every afternoon for several weeks now to spar with short swords. It was more of a dance then a fight. Each allowed the other plenty of leeway to make their attacks, but reserving just enough time to parry them and return in kind. They whirled back and forth, a perfect unending circle of attack and defense.

Suddenly, Mako found himself on his back with a wooden sword underneath his chin. Korra removed his helmet with a flick of her wrist. The grin on her face should have been illegal.

"Sorry, I got tired of waiting."

Mako dropped his own sword and grasped hers, yanking it so that she had no choice but to topple forward onto him. They wrestled playfully for a while before falling back against the cool rubber mats, panting.

They lay there a while, side by side, not talking. Korra scooted herself closer, and rested on one elbow, watching him. He peeked at her from behind his closed eyelids. She had a strange look on her face. Mako opened his eyes and pretended to notice this for the first time.

"Something wrong?"

"I've been meaning to ask you the same question all week."

"You have?" Mako said, his eyebrows bunching up ever so slightly.

"I have. Something's bugging you, Mako, I can tell."

Mako put on his fake smile.

"Oh, is that what-"

Korra suddenly became several degrees more serious.

"Don't do that. Don't shut me out Mako. I want to know."

Mako could feel the mask drop. He knew the game was up. His fingers clenched, almost reflexively. He turned and stared into her eyes.

"You want to know what's been bugging me?"

"More than anything else." Korra said, and he could tell she meant it.

Mako took a deep breath. She was waiting for a really good explanation, and frankly, he didn't know if he had one.

"You know that feeling you get, right before you go into a really tough fight? That swoop in your stomach?"

Korra nodded.

"I can't turn that off anymore. It'll happen anywhere, anytime, for something that isn't even dangerous. I can forget about it for… hours sometimes, mostly when I'm with you. It always comes back though. Mostly when I'm sleeping."

"Why didn't you tell me about this earlier?"

Mako shrugged, his face getting red for some unfathomable reason.

"I don't know, I didn't think it was a big deal. It's all in my head. Something I have to deal with myself."

"That's not true. You could go to a healer."

"And say what? I'm afraid of a battle that's already happened? I jump whenever a car backfires?"

"Yes. You should have told Katara about this. She helped many of our tribe's returning warriors when the hundred-year-war ended."

"I wasn't thinking about it then." Mako said, tucking a loose lock of hair behind her ear. "I was thinking about you."

He was happy to see her eyes soften, and some of the concern leave them.

"I know you're worried about me, but don't. It only makes it worse. I'll be fine, Korra. Trust me."

Both of them leaned closer, closing their eyes and savoring the feeling of each other's presence. Korra's hot breath blew over him as she spoke once more before kissing him.

"I do trust you Mako, more than anybody else in the whole world."

For just a moment, Mako was transported out of this earthly realm, tasting paradise. Then the kiss ended. Slowly, he opened his eyes again. The corners of her olive lips were turned up in a smile.

The sound of footsteps made them both jump. Before they had time to stand up, General Iroh strode through the door and right up to them in his usual confident manner.

"Good afternoon Avatar."

Korra dipped her head politely.

"Same to you, General."

"I hope you would not take offence if I spoke to Mako alone for a moment would you?"

Korra shot Mako a sidelong glance.

"Of… course not…"

She got up and exited the gym quietly. When she had gone, Mako stood up.

"You did well. The task was handled with discretion." Iroh said.

"Thank you."

"I have more work for you, if you're interested. The woman was not of much use to us. The other two, however, sang like pigeon-doves. We have the locations of at least three more safe houses."

"Count me in."

"Good. I knew I could rely on you." The General said. "I'm putting you on the payroll. You'll report to my intelligence XO. He'll give you the info, you go out and pound the pavement."

"Do you think I could get some backup next time? It was hectic in there. Things almost didn't go my way."

"Yeah, I heard. Look, right now you're little better than hired muscle as far as my superiors are concerned. What I'm doing is just as illegal as the bomb those Equalists were making. If you want backup, you're going to have to sign up."

"Then I'll go it alone. Once this arena opens up again I won't have the time to be a soldier." Mako said.

Iroh shook his head.

"Not a soldier, an officer. You'd be working with the intelligence wing, like I said. You'd report once daily by phone to get updates and orders. It would be a limited contract; six months max, you'd never leave Republic City. Nobody else would know, that's how the intel wing is run."

Mako hesitated. Korra watched his hands fidget behind his back through the crack in the door where she was listening.

"It's a lot to think about. Sleep on it, give me your answer in the morning." Iroh said, turning and leaving the way he had come.

Everything was silent once again. Mako stood stock still, staring at the place the general had left through. Korra pushed open the door.

"What did he want?"

"Iroh? He wanted…" Mako said, trailing off.

Korra put a finger to his lips.

"Nevermind. I don't want to hear you lie to me," she said, smiling that olive smile once more. "I just want to feel you kiss me."

And they did.

(A/N: This review for review thing is working out better than I thought it would. It's getting me out of my shell and actually reading other people's work, whereas before I mostly just authored. Some of you guys are really talented!

In case you were wondering what the second tune that the beggar played was, this is it: /watch?v=UNftrsCMiQs)