Bolin gave a sigh as he rolled his shoulders, stepping through the doors of the tall building. The crisp evening air greeted him, easing the lines of his frown as it cooled his brow. In his left hand was gripped the handle of a small briefcase. The contents was largely composed of thin sheets of paper, blueprints and designs that required his thorough review and approval. Or disapproval, as the case may be. In fact, he had needed to be more disapproving in the past two months than perhaps his whole life yet. But so it was when one strived for quality as he, and most importantly his employer, did. He lifted a hand to loosen his tie, just a little. He couldn't quite throw all decorum aside just yet, after all.
His gaze rose to the city's skyline as he walked away from the office block at his back, making for the parking lot that clung to its eastern side. Some distance away, black smoke curled lazily and perpetually into the air, evidence of the on-going labour of a workforce left with little other alternative but to help turn the city's wheels and cogs. The thick coils of smoke succumbed to the wind as they rose higher, becoming first wisps of mottled grey against the dimming orange sky and then forgotten amongst the dull, opaque clouds. Those clouds droned through the air, emblazoned with the manner of their ownership as scything propellers enabled their laborious movement.
His jacket felt tight and constricting as he joined the straggle of employees moving along with him towards the parking lot. He would wait until he reached his car before he shed it. A man with what seemed a permanently furrowed brow and a long mouth nodded in his direction when he reached his own vehicle and their eyes met. Bolin smiled politely, and then again when a young woman with her thin brown hair pulled into a short ponytail spoke as he passed by.
"Have a good night!" she bid him heartily. He was just happy she hadn't called him 'Sir'.
Several years of captaincy over the now disbanded Fire Ferrets had certainly helped teach him a thing or two about leadership, but now there was much more at stake than a few thousands yuans of prize money and the ability to boast for a few months about winning a tournament. Now he had to concern himself with the professional reputation of not only himself, but his employer and the name of the company he worked for. The eyes of the city's ardent populace had once been upon him, but back then only fleetingly. Now, a reputation preceded him in an altogether different manner. His name was known by the men and women of the city who held real power and influence in their hands. He considered himself quite lucky that one of those people happened to have been a friend of his.
His jacket, dark and tailored to the broadness of his shoulders, was shrugged off with relief as he reached the Satomobile that belonged to him. Producing the keys, he opened the driver's door and set both the briefcase and the jacket down on the passenger's seat. Getting in himself, he promptly shed his tie completely. It pooled untidily onto his other article of clothing, but it was already forgotten. Bolin leaned back into the comfortable seat, exhaling audibly. He slotted the key into the ignition, but did not yet start the engine. He gave a small smile, reflecting on the fact that he used the normal, generally accepted method of starting up a car simply to keep the minds of others at ease.
He had acquired his license not long before being approached for his present job. Eager to get his own set of wheels and enjoy the freedoms and luxury of being able to drive, he had visited a local car dealer. He distinctly remembered the wiry, enthusiastic salesman's face dropping like a stone when he had, in his excitement, manipulated the engine to start with a mere gesture. He stretched out his hand, turned his wrist through ninety degrees, and the car roared to life. To be sure, the inner workings of an engine were an intricate and complicated affair, but Bolin was uncommon, even amongst the more seasoned of his kind. The laughter that the salesman managed to put out after a few moments of utter silence was very much fraught with nervousness.
Rolling his shoulders once more, he lifted a hand to massage an ache at the back of his neck before moving to start the vehicle. It was a gift from his employer, sleek and powerful. He hadn't been driving for long, and she had warned him lightly not to get ahead of himself. He pulled out of the marked slot, white paint lining the ground, and then turned the car to join the line of others waiting one behind the other to leave the parking lot. Evening traffic was streaming past on the main road, the long stretch of asphalt already threatening to become clogged with Satomoblies and their numerous alternatives. The Satomobile was no longer the undisputed king of the road.
Eventually, Bolin was able to get moving. He joined the flow of traffic and thus began the relative crawl back to his apartment. It was not long before his fingers were tapping impatiently upon the large steering wheel. As a relatively new driver, he had not yet outgrown the excitement of having such speed and power at his beck and call. He had left home for work earlier than necessary on several occasions just so he could have the road to himself and thereafter give the car a little workout. To feel the power of the engine pulsing through the boxy body of the vehicle exhilarated him. However, rush hour traffic was very much the bane of his existence at the minute. It tripled the length of his journey home if he could not avoid it. There were alternatives to crawling along the main streets, though.
In his first few days of owning a vehicle, he took the car on several grand adventures, familiarising himself with the streets he had known only by foot, or coming upon new, untested roads altogether. So it was that he had learned a few routes that would ultimately lead him to the same destination, albeit more slowly than taking the more direct option. He turned left instead of crossing straight over the intersection, immediately able to lower his foot a little closer to the floor as the flow of traffic began to thin. A series of further turns led him onto quieter streets, the volume of cars here considerably less. The engine growled in delight as he pushed down on the pedal. His eyes lit up with the thrill of the burst of speed, though his brow was drawn in concentration.
Belatedly, as he made another left turn, he thought to glance around and check that there were no cops about to tag him. That would certainly do him no good. But as he had somewhat expected, he was in the clear. The sight of a pair of police officers walking the beat or standing at the corners of frequented streets had become uncommon in the last few years. However, something caught his eye as he made his quick, furtive checks. His gaze was drawn for a moment to his driver's side wing mirror. There he glimpsed another vehicle pulling out from behind his. From the shape of the silver grill at its nose, he recognised it as the latest incarnation of Red Sun Technologies' answer to the Satomobile. He pulled his eyes back to the road ahead.
It wasn't long before the car was easily pulling up alongside his. The Red Sun Accord boasted both greater power and maximum speed than the Satomobile, but lacked its efficiency in fuel consumption. Bolin was not surprised that the driver would seek to overtake him. The luxury of the Accord often afforded the owner a gloating sense of pride. He glanced aside as the car pulled level with him. The wide, mahogany brown vehicle did not surge past however, but rather sat on the road beside him, the oily rumble of its engine filling his ear. He turned his eyes ahead of him again before he could make out the occupants, but soon he was glancing back to it. There were three men inside, each wearing fedoras slanted forwards to shadow their brow. The window on the passenger's side was rolling down.
Consciously unbidden, a sense of wariness began to emerge from within him. Bolin kept his hands firmly on the wheel. He looked back to the Accord for the last time. The man in the passenger's seat had his arm resting casually on the rim of the window, elbow poking out into the air. He looked Bolin right in the eyes. His smile was sinister. He pointed with his hand as though to indicate something. Bolin faced forward. A block of stone jutted out of the ground directly ahead of him, tall enough to catch the edge of the Satomobile's grill. His eyes widened and his heart stopped. He heard the roar of the Accord's engine as he turned on the steering wheel with all his might.
The telephone rang just as he was straightening his tie, standing in front of the slanted mirror with something of a frown upon his face. His hands ceased to move and he leaned to the right, as though he could know the caller's identity just by looking through into the living room and seeing the trilling device. It was sitting on a small round table beside the arm of the weathered couch. He was moving towards it in the next second. Something of a hope filled him as he reached out and took hold of the russet brown candlestick. Perhaps this time, he thought. He freed the bell of the listening device from its cradle.
"Hello?"
"Hey, bro."
Mako's sigh was quiet and carefully restrained. Of course it was his brother.
"Bo."
"Listen," Bolin said as though Mako's attention had already wandered, "I've got some great news to tell you."
"So, tell me," Mako said when his brother fell silent.
"I will, but over lunch."
Mako gave a groan of annoyance. "The last time I went out to lunch with you, you made me late to get back to work."
"I promise it won't happen this time."
"Right," Mako said, clearly reassured. "Look, I don't think I can, Bo –"
"Oh, stop," his brother interrupted him. "Trust me, this is really good news. You have to come."
Of late, Mako just didn't have the will to argue with Bolin for more than a few sentences. He breathed a sigh that he knew his brother would understand as acquiescence. As predicted, Bolin began to speak, youthful excitement barely restrained in his tone.
"Good. You know the Republic Café?"
"Mm." It was roughly a ten minute walk from his building.
"12:30 then," Bolin announced. "Don't be late."
"Don't forget that all I have is a lunch hour."
His brother chuckled. "I won't. You might, though."
Mako doubted that.
"You'll see," Bolin said smoothly as though he were reading Mako's thoughts. "It's really good news."
"I'll take your word for it."
Mako set down the telephone afterwards, sparing a moment to adjust the listening device in its cradle. When he straightened his back, he gazed almost wistfully at the thing. He pulled his eyes away and headed back into the bedroom. It was better not to dwell on those thoughts. Instead, he pondered briefly what news his brother had to tell him. He sounded almost beside himself with the anticipation.
"Bolin the metalbender. I think it would work out for you…"
He remembered her saying that, as they all stood together in the Fire Ferrets' changing room for the last time. The memory was as distinct as her voice.
Things had indeed worked out for his brother. Bolin had flown through the courses designed to test and then train an earthbender's ability to manipulate metal at an uncommon pace. He possessed more than a capability to metalbend, but an affinity for it. He passed the basic segments of the course within three months, moving on to conquer the intermediate and then advanced tiers over the span of two years. By right it should have taken him twice – if not three times as long.
Mako adjusted his tie before retrieving his jacket. It was difficult to restrain the smile of pride at his brother's success, even if Bolin could sometimes be irritable with his flaunting of his prowess. Collecting his necessary belongings, Mako approached the front door, slipping his feet into his shoes. He raised a hand to retrieve both sets of his keys, leaving the series of hooks barren. Afterwards, he stepped out into another day.
The ten minute walk became a several minute jog; he was late. A narrow watch strapped around his wrist let him know just how late. It was presently 12:36, the ticking bronze hands informed him. Glancing in either direction as he reached the edge of the street, Mako slipped through the flow of traffic and crossed over to the other side of the road. Republic Café was around the corner from here, and his stride was long and hurried.
The façade was a wall of clear glass, partitioned by way of a stout door bordered with dull grey. The windows to either side were emblazoned with the establishment's logo: a tilted brown coffee cup hovering over a petite, slanted saucer, a thin, unbroken line of steam curling upwards. The logo sat above the heads of the customers who occupied the tables by the window, in this case a pair of couples passing contended smiles and soft laughter back and forth between them. Mako pushed through the heavy door.
The first thought that came to him as he stepped through into the Café, a bell chiming somewhere above his head, was that it was larger than he expected. He had never been in here before, only knowing of the place thanks to the numerous times he had walked past its door. Chill jazz tunes were pumping out of the walls. He glanced around but couldn't identify their source. But he decided that he liked it. The majority of tables were small and rounded, ringed by two, three or sometimes four plum red chairs with backrests that curved gracefully to serve as armrests also. The main bar stood to the left hand side of the room, and from there Mako could already detect the rich, wholesome smell of freshly baked bread coupled with the sweet aroma of warm, delectable pastries. He began to realise just how hungry he was, having skipped out on breakfast.
Expecting, or rather hoping, that his brother was already here, Mako turned his eyes away from the promise of sustenance and cast his gaze carefully across the room. He was beginning to gather attention, standing there in front of the door with a slight frown creasing his brow. He found Bolin eventually, sitting along the back wall towards the corner of the room. A moment later, he blinked. His brother was not sitting alone. A woman was sitting across the rectangular table from him, her back to Mako. She was the reason Bolin was not casting his eyes about for his tardy brother; they appeared to be engaged in conversation. Mako raised an eyebrow as he began making his way across the room, winding his way through the arrangement of tables and chairs. Bolin never tired of or failed to charm the ladies, it seemed.
His brother finally noticed him as he drew near. His eyes grew, lighting up as his smile widened.
"And here he is," Bolin announced jovially, "my brother, who taught me the value of punctuality."
Mako succeeded only just in preventing his eyes from rolling. "I was held up."
Bolin waved his hand dismissively. "Doesn't matter. Important thing is you're here now. Bro, I want to introduce you to my new employer."
By this point, Mako had reached the table. The back wall was lined with a continuous stretch of plush, plum red seating, and it was there that his brother was sitting. A pair of chairs occupied the opposite side of the table and the woman, who had not yet shown her face to him, had taken the right hand seat. However, as Bolin made his announcement, rising to his feet to do so and beaming at his brother, the woman stood to hers and turned. Surprise hit him dead centre in the chest, pulling his eyebrows towards his hair and stunning him into silence. It was Asami.
Her raven locks were pulled back into an elegant bun, shimmering as though they were a source of light themselves. He had never seen her with anything but her long, dark hair falling past her shoulders. The bun drew her hair away from her face, allowing one to admire the lush plum red of her lips and emphasising the soft, curving line of her cheekbones as she smiled. Her eyes, the colour of precious stones, sparkled, and he felt himself teetering on an edge that did not exist. Slowly, ungainly, he lifted his hand and extended it out towards her. He smiled politely; they had not seen each other in years. She took it, and her handshake was firm. Strong. She was a businesswoman, he remembered, as if her suit was not enough of an indicator.
She was dressed sharply, exuding authority and presence, but yet still retained her femininity. Her ensemble was charcoal grey and striped almost indiscernibly with silver, the blouse she wore underneath her slim jacket shimmering black. Both her trousers (which ended at her ankles and gave way to low, polished heels) and jacket were cut to subtly highlight her shapely figure. Mako felt the coolness of a ring against his skin as they greeted one another, and silver sparkled as a thin necklace resting upon her skin. As he recalled, though a little vaguely, she had never worn earrings.
"Mako," she said. Her voice was smooth, its tone measured, just as he remembered it, but there was an added weight to it now, a sense of confidence and surety that were the fruits of maturity and age. "You look like someone just punched you in the stomach."
"I wasn't expecting this," he admitted when he managed to find words, giving a weak chuckle as he spoke.
She smiled, her eyes unwavering as they met his. "It's been a while, hasn't it? I've been looking forward to seeing you again." She turned and looked at his brother. "Bolin insisted on keeping this a secret until the very last moment though."
Bolin smiled proudly when Mako looked at him. "Let's order some food," he said, pre-empting Mako's interrogative questions. "I don't know about anyone else, but I'm famished."
Menus were lying neatly arranged upon the beige tabletop, and as Asami turned to retake her seat, Mako belatedly realised that things were arranged for him to sit beside her. A pair of menus sat in wait on their side of the table in contrast with Bolin's one, which he was presently poring over as though it held secrets for him and him alone. A strange sense of awkwardness stole over him as he drew out his seat. Part of him wished he were on the other side of the table.
"So, you work for Asami now?" Mako addressed his brother, glancing from Bolin to the woman sitting beside him. Woman; no more was she the girl he had last seen and spoken to six years ago. (She would be twenty-five now, a little bit older than him. He would catch up in a few months' time.) She held herself with poise, her back straight and her fingers spread equidistantly at the back of the open menu, steadily supporting its spine as she perused it. If he dared to glance beneath the table, he would see her right leg crossed neatly over her left.
"Yup."
"It was an opportunity I couldn't afford to pass up," Asami said, lifting her eyes from the menu. There was something about her gaze, no doubt cultivated by the arduous years she had spent as the CEO of Future Industries. It was direct, searching, and Mako found his eyes automatically sliding away, unable to meet it. It took him a long moment and a silent scolding to pull them back onto hers. She smiled as though his inner struggle had gone unnoticed. "I've been keeping tabs on Bolin for longer than he realises. I wasn't the only one, in fact."
"Apparently, I'm hot stuff," his brother supplied helpfully.
Asami chuckled. "You're the finest metalbender to come out of the Academy in the last two decades. You've no idea how many people have been watching your progress."
"His head is bloated enough," Mako interjected, eyeing Bolin.
"I'm only stating the facts," Asami said, laying down and closing her menu. Her hands were lowered to sit neatly in her lap. "Bolin popped up out of the ether as a metalbending prodigy. Were I to name all of the applications of metalbending within the industry, we would be here all afternoon. To put it simply, the Police Force has always been one of the most profitable customers in the market, and it is always seeking ways to better equip its law enforcing elite."
"Which is where I come in," Bolin picked up smoothly. "I – just stating the facts, bro – I can work metal better than, well, nearly every other metalbender in the city at the moment."
"I don't doubt it," Mako said. "I just wish you would behave like an adult with that knowledge."
"Don't worry," Asami spoke, and she lifted a hand to rest lightly upon his arm. "I'll keep your brother honest."
Mako's returned smile was strained. He was fighting to keep his eyes from dropping away from her gaze to the fingers briefly laid upon his forearm. The slender digits were crowned with well-kept nails, and he imagined the cool of her touch. When she turned away, looking to his brother as Bolin made the suggestion of calling over a waiter, Mako scolded himself once again. The only thing was he wasn't sure what exactly he should be scolding himself for. Asami nodded to Bolin's suggestion and Mako too gave a nod and a hum of agreement, despite having not settled on what he wanted to eat.
"So what exactly will you be doing?" he asked, giving the menu another thorough look.
"If I understand it right," Bolin began, looking to Asami for confirmation, "I'm going to be heading up the research and development into new armour for the Police's metalbending unit."
Asami nodded. "Future Industries recently managed to secure a deal to exclusively handle the production of their equipment and all other related needs. We also have the backing of the United Council, which I imagine might have upset our main competitor. Are you familiar with Red Sun Technologies?"
"The name, at least," Mako replied with a small shrug.
"After I restructured the company, they emerged as the biggest threat to Future Industries' recovery," she explained. "They haven't made things easy for us."
"Apparently, or so I'm told, the industry thrives from that kind of competition," Mako said.
Asami's mouth compressed into a thin line. "I would say it depends on the rules of the competition," she replied. Her smile returned moments afterward. Mako began to think that he had imagined her soured expression.
A waiter approached the table then, and his thoughts were distracted as the small, thin man jotted down the orders of Asami and Bolin while he scoured the menu. He eventually settled on a beefburger, which would be served in a crusty white bun and accompanied by dill pickles and horseradish mayonnaise. The waiter was very thorough. The man moved away when Mako nodded his affirmation. It took a moment for him to recollect his train of thought, though when he did he turned back to his brother.
"You said you're leading the project?" When Bolin nodded, Mako glanced at Asami. "Not that I doubt him, but…this is Bolin's first real job."
"I am right here, you know," his brother said.
"Don't worry," Asami told him again. "Bolin will be supported by a team of experienced advisors from the outset, but I want him to be the deciding voice while working on the project. Besides, your brother captained the Fire Ferrets for several years; he understands leadership."
Mako frowned, opening his mouth to disagree. "That's different."
"Bro," Bolin said with a tone of exasperation, "you can't seriously be thinking of lecturing me."
"I'm not," Mako said with a slight scowl. "I just want to know that you understand –"
"I do. Stop worrying, yeah? Just be happy for me."
"You know I am, Bolin. But –"
"Mako," Asami interrupted. The sound of her voice pulled his eyes back to her. Her smile had yet to wane, and her eyes shimmered with amusement. "I hope you realise you're insinuating that I don't know what I'm doing."
Mako paused. "No. I...I wasn't saying that."
"I don't want either of you to be mistaken," she said, looking between them, "the fact that we know each other is part of the reason I hired you, Bolin. But to put things simply: you're working for me to help facilitate Future Industries' turning a profit, and to bolster our standing amongst our competitors."
"Yes, ma'am," Bolin replied.
She laughed. "Ms. Sato will do fine."
Mako watched them, for a moment feeling as though he was sitting apart from them entirely. He sighed inwardly, knowing it was high time and perhaps no longer his right to attempt to keep Bolin firmly under his watch. His brother was a man now. The days where he had huddled against his older sibling and complained softly of hunger and cold were no more, long gone and forgotten. Somewhat. Mako still and would likely always remember, but Bolin's life was in his own hands now.
"Bo. I'm happy for you, really," he said, favouring his brother with a sincere smile. "As we used to say: knock it out of the park."
"I will," Bolin promised, grinning from ear to ear. He turned to Asami. "So when do I get that company car?"
Mako groaned and shook his head. Their food arrived while Asami was giving her answer.
She had ordered a pasta risotto, and Bolin a gammon steak accompanied by a poor excuse for a salad. As Mako's plate was set down in front of him, the two began to eat. His brother possessed his typical gusto, though a little tempered considering they were in public. Mako could not resist sighing as he glanced up at him. Bolin, sensing the attention, merely looked up and gave a shrug. It was his nature.
The meal was smattered with conversation, Asami querying Mako's career. She had asked only rudimentary questions of his brother about him, preferring to hear the fullness of it from his own lips. Mako told her of his progression from the green ranks of the Police Force, making light mention of the establishment's preference towards earthbenders, and after them waterbenders. The latter largely composed specialised taskforces. Firebenders were something of an awkward case; the element was largely viewed as being little more than dangerous and destructive, and firebending was regulated more thoroughly than its companion forms. And despite the continued push by the Equalists, whose voice was becoming ever louder in recent years, the doors of the Police Force had yet to open beyond the merest crack to non-benders.
He described his eventual advancement into the department specialised for investigating and dealing with Equalist extremism. With something of a grimace, he made mention of the recent murmuring of spending cuts. Asami's expression was knowing as he spoke of the trimming and pruning the Police Force was having to consider. Financial issues had been plaguing the service most notably in the last two years, and to combat an increasing rise in crime, what were considered as non-essential departments in the immediate time frame were being forced to shrink, or being cut away entirely, in order to provide the funds to strengthen the Police presence on the streets.
While he spoke, he was very much aware of a looming eventuality. Her questions had as of yet been solely about his work, and she listened to him with interest. In contrast to Bolin's unmistakeable enthusiasm, she chewed almost thoughtfully on her food. The portions that she transferred from the plate to her lips were small, manageable and her utensils held with an unfailing poise. He was gradually becoming more at ease with meeting and holding her gaze. At one point, after she had dabbed at the corners of her mouth with a napkin, she gazed at him for a long moment, unspeaking. Her eyes appeared to take in him as though she were seeing him for the first time. He began to feel increasingly awkward when they lingered at his neck.
"Something's different about you," she mused.
"Looks older, doesn't he?" Bolin said.
"Mm. No, it's not that. Something else."
Mako waited, smiling politely but saying nothing. He saw the realisation blossoming in her eyes.
"Ah. You're not wearing your scarf."
He managed to produce a brief, easy laugh. "I've held onto that thing for longer than I can remember. It's not in much of a state to be worn in public anymore."
Mako took care not to look towards his brother as he spoke.
"I don't believe I've ever seen you without it," Asami said. "It was your father's, wasn't it?"
"Yeah."
Silence settled upon them for a moment, the tinkling of glasses and utensils throughout the room merging with the burble of conversation and washing over them. Mako anticipated the next words that Asami would speak, the topic that she would broach which he had been careful not to yet mention. His eyes turned down to his half eaten meal, he could at the edge of his vision see the look forming upon Bolin's face. It was something bordering on concern, but he at least had the sense to not leave his expression naked with Asami in the vicinity.
"How is Korra?" she asked then, her tone light and conversational.
"She's doing well, according to her letters," he replied.
"Ah. What is she up to, then? Solving someone else's problems as usual?"
Mako could hear the smile in her voice. He had to manufacture his own as he looked up.
"Probably. You know Korra."
He shook back the cuff of his jacket, revealing his watch. It was almost half past one. He gave a hiss of annoyance. "I'm late," he said, and he glared momentarily at his brother.
"Didn't realise the time had gone already," Bolin said, lifting his hands apologetically.
"Sorry, I need to run," he directed mostly at Asami, beginning to rise to his feet. "My superior isn't very lenient when it comes to punctuality."
"Oh, well it was good to see you again. I hope this won't just be a one-off occurrence."
"Me too," he said, instead of the hesitant, noncommittal thoughts running through his head.
It occurred to him as Asami rose to her feet that shaking her hand again as a farewell gesture would not be appropriate. But neither did he feel that he should embrace her as though the last six years of their non-communication had not occurred. She offered a solution to his indecision by leaning forward, a hand resting lightly on his upper arm as she touched her cheek briefly against his. It was awkward and yet comfortable in the same breath. She was warm and soft, and he could detect faintly a pleasant fragrance that reminded him inexplicably of a springtime morning's avian chorus. When she drew away, his eyes dropped to the floor and then were able to rise no higher than her lips.
"Okay. See you, both," he said.
"I'll probably call you later, bro," Bolin said. "Tell you how my first day went."
"I'm just showing him around today, making introductions," Asami supplied.
"Right. Don't get into trouble," he shot at his brother.
"It would be a shame to be fired on my first day now, wouldn't it?"
Mako had a retort ready, but he was aware that he was in a rush. He turned back to and smiled briefly at Asami, preparing to move away. The glimmer of her eyes disarmed him for a moment, and he teetered as he had done when he first met them. His foot caught the leg of the chair as he moved out from between it and the table. Quicker than thought as his balance was upset and his limbs began to flail, he felt Asami's strong grip about his upper arm, keeping him upright.
"Careful now," she said, her gaze upon his, "that would've been embarrassing for all of us."
He laughed weakly; several other customers were already glancing across in their direction.
"Thanks," he said. "Well, I'd better get going."
He was a little more careful as he made to walk away this time, but he looked back over his shoulder before he had taken more than two steps. For the first time, he met her eyes without needing to fight an inexplicable urge to look away.
"It was good to see you, Asami."
Mako's expression was mournful as he looked down at his little brother, unconscious with his right leg held stiff by a thick cast and his arm and shoulder wrapped tightly in a sling. Whereas he was seated, Asami was on her feet at the opposite side of the bed, arms folded and her lips thin. She was enfolded in a long beige overcoat, its hem reaching just below her knees, and she was still wearing her leather driving gloves. There was an intensity simmering in her eyes when she spoke.
"Bolin was a relatively new driver, but he wasn't stupid."
Mako released a heavy sigh. "Asami, what else could have happened? You and I were always telling him to be careful. Everyone who saw what happened has the same story: he was speeding, hit a rut in the road and lost control of the car. That's it."
Her jaw tightened, but she said nothing in response. Mako looked back down to his brother, almost wishing he was awake despite the pain he would have to endure so that he could shout at him.
He had lost count of the number of times he had cautioned Bolin. His brother was like a child, too excited by the prospect of speed. He had seen it for himself. Bolin would always nod and give him a perfunctory 'Yeah, I know, bro' whenever he challenged him. Mako unwillingly recalled a lesson his father had instilled into him; there were only so many times you could talk to a person, and eventually you would just have to watch them learn the hard way. His father never divulged how difficult that experience would be.
He received the call whilst he was preparing to clear up his desk for the day at work. It was Asami. He had supplied her with the number shortly after the first time he had lunch with her and his brother. She explained that Bolin had been involved in a car accident, that his condition was currently a cause for concern, and that he had been brought to Republic Central Hospital. He bolted before she had the chance to ask if he wanted her to pick him up on her way there. He had gotten there courtesy of a colleague who passed near to the hospital along their journey home, having once more opted to take public transport to work over his motorbike (which was becoming increasingly more expensive and difficult to maintain in working order, and he was considering selling off soon).
Asami arrived a few short minutes before him, and was waiting in the entrance foyer. She had already gathered the available details concerning Bolin. He was brought in roughly half an hour before she had been made aware of the incident, and was currently being kept in the A & E unit as the severity of his injuries were assessed. When he was at last transferred to a general room and Asami and Mako permitted to see him, Mako had balked at the state of his brother. Asami quietly rested her hand upon his arm, helping him overcome his initial paralysing shock. It occurred to him that he had no idea how he would have reacted were she not there with him.
"I told him, over and over, but he wouldn't listen," Mako said, bitterness in his voice. "Damn you, Bolin. Why didn't you listen to me?"
His hands were clenched as tightly as his jaw. His eyes were hard upon his brother, Bolin's face marred with bruises and stitches where the glass had torn into his skin. The edges of his vision were beginning to blur with tears he would not let fall in front of Asami. Grief was shrouded and then swallowed by anger and a sense of betrayal that his brother would ignore the advice and wisdom of those who cared for him.
"As I said," Asami spoke firmly, "Bolin wasn't stupid. Eager, yes – point me to a new driver who isn't – but not stupid."
Mako didn't know why she was persisting in defending his brother's mistake. "Asami –"
"Look, Mako," she cut across him, eyes flashing, "this isn't the first time I've stood at the bedside of one of my employees. There have been too many 'accidents' and 'unfortunate circumstances' for my liking."
Naturally, Mako found that he did not particularly care for any other injured persons besides his brother.
"Coincidence," he said shortly, turning back to Bolin's unconscious form.
"Mm. Coincidence. So I'm told when I request a police investigation time and again. These cases seem awfully easy for them to put to rest."
Mako wasn't listening, or he was but her words had failed to take root. "What?"
He looked to her when she spoke, and her eyes held his. She searched his expression and perhaps determined something, for she gave a small shake of her head and exhaled softly.
"It doesn't matter. That Bolin is alive and out of immediate danger is the important thing."
"Right," Mako managed to reply after a few moments.
They remained in silence afterwards. Asami did not take her seat, but rather stood as though acting sentinel beside the bed, her arms folded and her expression unreadable. Mako didn't know how much time passed them by, but eventually a nurse crept into the small room with its cold, indistinct walls to inform them that visiting hours were coming to an end. Asami sighed and unfolded her arms when Mako remained still in the nurse's absence.
"Come on," she said, laying a hand on his shoulder. "Do you need a ride home?"
Her touch gradually stirred him from the waking dream he had begun to fall into. He looked up to see her eyes offering understanding. He himself sighed before nodding. "If it's not too much…"
"It isn't. Come on," she said again.
Her hand fell away as he stood to his feet, sombre. He looked down at his brother, and despite his feelings, wished him well. He touched his hand briefly to Bolin's arm before turning and following Asami out of the room.
Night had fallen when Mako sat down in front of his desk and retrieved the letter from the inner pocket of his jacket. Creased and folded, he smoothed it out carefully, holding his thumb and finger at the corners as he rested his chin against the heel of his palm. He read it slowly, as though the words were a code and it was the first time he had laid eyes upon them. In truth, he knew them by heart.
I miss you, so much. I wish you could be here, just to hold me. The nights are so cold.
I forgive you, and I'm sorry. I need this. I hope you can forgive me. I promise, I'll –
I love you. Please, don't forget that.
It was the only letter she had not signed with her name, but it was the only one of the three sent to him that he undoubtedly knew Korra had written.
The first arrived two weeks after he had sent her remaining clothes along with Tenzin. He recognised Korra's penmanship the moment he spied his name on the back of the envelope. He almost tore the letter in his haste to open it. What was contained within it however was, for all intents and purposes, a report. Korra was well; her parents were well; her old waterbending teacher was well, and she was helping her teach the locals; she had received her clothes from him and was grateful, and that was all. There was no mention of his scarf. She asked after his wellbeing, but it almost seemed as though the enquiry had been tacked on for the sake of being polite.
Something had grown cold and tight within him as he read and reread the letter, trying to pierce through the indifferent tone and hear the real voice of the woman he knew. But it wasn't there. He was disheartened, but nevertheless he sat down to write his reply. The six or so lines he eventually wrote took him the better part of an evening to produce. Bright and early the next morning, he took a boat over to Air Temple Island and managed to catch Tenzin just as he was preparing to leave for a Council meeting. The Councilman promised to get the letter to Korra, but he seemed distracted when he spoke. Mako should have trusted the letter to Pema; her husband set it down and would never remember it again.
He waited for six months for Korra's next correspondence, all the while unaware that his letter remained unmoved from Tenzin's home office. He grew ever more disheartened by the delay of what he thought to be her reply, and when it had finally come he felt his stomach churn with anticipation, his heart beginning to lighten with relief. However, he opened it to find that it was similar to her first. Her parents were well; Katara was well; Naga was dead.
Rightly so, he had stared at those words, dumbfounded. The tone of the letter changed abruptly as he eventually managed to continue reading.
Korra had been attacked by another polar bear dog while roaming the arctic plains with Naga. They were seen as a threat to the mother's newborn cubs. Naga was mortally wounded while defending and managing to escape with her fallen master. In an utterly detached tone, Korra described the four-inch scar running down her left thigh. She ended the letter with the words: "Perhaps the Spirits are telling me I need to move on. I suppose I should listen."
He knew not what to write in reply. He had stared at a blank sheet of paper for long, silent hours. Korra's letter had been cold and dispassionate. She did not ask after him this time. She had not answered to any of the questions he didn't know never reached her. But he tried to be understanding; she was in grief. He wished that he could be there for her, to hold her until she cried and until she had finished. What Naga meant to him was nothing compared to what she had been for Korra. But there was a whispering voice at the back of his mind, a voice that wondered why it had taken so long for her to write back to him. It wondered whether she would have even bothered were it not for Naga's passing, for that was the matter that dominated the letter.
And then, three weeks later, came the letter he was presently looking at. Her third, and last. It made no mention of where she was, and though he burned to reply, there was no inkling of an address for him to write back to. He read it, time and again, had pored over and studied it as though his life depended on his understanding its every nuance. Perhaps it did.
"I wish you could be here, just to hold me."
(How his heart ached when he had first read that. Oh, the restlessness that plagued him for nights afterwards. It mattered not whether he slept or stared up at the dark ceiling; he dreamt of her.)
"I forgive you."
(So she had understood the gesture of his sending his scarf. He was indescribably glad.)
"I love you. Please, don't forget that."
(How could he? How could she even think he would?)
But there was something that drew his eye once and again. He had stared at those three words with an indiscernible concoction of emotions simmering within him as the days and weeks and months stretched on. It was the one incomplete sentence of the nine she had written, and he could see how much of an effort it had taken for her to restrain herself and leave it unfinished.
"I promise, I'll –"
Ink had blotted at the end of the third word. She held the pen there for some time, thinking, debating, wondering whether she should dare after the words he had spoken to her before they parted ways. It was simple enough to guess what was left unwritten.
"I promise, I'll come back."
And he knew why she had left those words unwritten, because to write them would only leave one possibility for those that would come afterwards.
"I promise, I'll come back. Wait for me."
She dared not ask such a thing of him. He had branded her selfish, and to make such a request when she had not told him her whereabouts or intentions, nor for how long she would be gone, would be the epitome of selfishness. But her leaving it unsaid only made the words all the more clearer to him. Why else would she have asked for his forgiveness?
It was bearable at first, to wait. Not easy, but bearable. He thought she would return soon. What exactly it was that had driven her from the city had never come to light, not officially, but he knew that he didn't care. He just wanted her back. She had asked him to wait, and so he would. He kept the letter upon his person day after day, folding it neatly into his inner pocket. It was her love; her promise.
The days wore on, became weeks, became months and still Korra did not return. He knew nothing of her save the letter, and slowly he began to grow cold. On the night that marked their anniversary, he took a bottle of liquor and the letter and locked himself away. She had made no further effort to correspond with him. She sent nothing to let him know that she was well, that she was thinking of him, that she even gave a damn whether or not he was still alive. The drink was strong. It wasn't really, but Mako had never had the tolerance for alcohol. He drank himself to sleep that night. When he woke up the following morning, he found the letter screwed up and lying amongst empty bottles. He smoothed it out and tucked it back into his pocket.
The months became years. Two long years. Still no word from Korra. He screwed up her letter twice more. The third time, he was sober, and in this state he brought a fierce flame within inches of the balled paper. But he couldn't do it. That night was the first since his parents' murder that he had cried. Tears fell in confusion, in pain, silently and their flow unhindered.
She asked him to wait, just for a while. Couldn't he do that for her? She had given him her promise; when had she ever broken it? She had waited her whole life to see the world, to be allowed to go forth and at last become what she was born to be. All she asked of him was a little patience, a little understanding, and there he was, sitting hunched against the wall in a darkened room, crying like an idiot. Like he had not foreseen that this would have to occur at some point in their lives.
Korra was the Avatar. She belonged not only to him.
But slowly, carefully, a thought was taking root within him: neither could she keep him selfishly to herself. What right did she have, to go gallivanting across the world and forget his existence but yet dare to try and keep him tethered to her? He had waited, faithfully, but her promise was broken.
Mako closed his eyes against her letter, silent and still as he dwelt in darkness. He was very much aware of his fingers upon the creased paper. He could hear her voice, whispering.
I love you…
After a long, deliberative moment, he opened his eyes and began to neatly fold the letter small. He tucked it back into the inner pocket of his jacket. Perhaps he could wait a little longer.
A/N: So, you might've spotted the title change, to which I have given my reasoning at the end of the Author's Note in the previous chapter. But to summarise: this story has blossomed far beyond my original vision, and I had begun to feel constrained in my writing. Its contents does not, in my mind, accurately match up with the title 'When To Run'. Thus we now have 'A World Of Grey'.
Thanks to those who have favourited/followed recently, glad to have you along for the ride. I'm quite excited about what I have in store for you all. I want this story to be something that sticks with you even after you've navigated away from the page. But that's all I'll say for now. Till next time, folks.