A/N: I am completely overwhelmed by the amount of support this series is getting. Thank you a thousand times over all for the wonderful reviews that keep me going!
Jinora hears a grunt of frustration as yet another book claps shut and gets deposited on the floor. "What's wrong with that one?" she asks, looking down at Mako and the untidy pile of books deemed unacceptable for his particular purposes.
"I'm pretty sure she'll think it's boring," he says. Jinora scans his messy stacks and notes that there are two main categories of books Mako seems to reject: those having to do with romance and those written by or about any and all airbending gurus. Everything else falls under the heading of "probably too boring."
"But you liked that one when you borrowed it," she responds, referring to the tome of Earth Kingdom history that he has just rejected.
"Yeah. I just don't think she will."
Jinora watches him run his fingers through his hair and self-consciously raises a hand to touch her own. "Maybe this was a bad idea," she says.
"No," he says, selecting another volume off the shelf. "It's a good idea." And Jinora feels a little taller. She likes Korra's friends because they treat her like she's their age, especially Mako. But then again, Mako doesn't treat anyone like a kid, even the really little kids. He just expects everyone to be on his level, and he tends to reward those who rise to it.
As he turns his head back to the books, she tries to straighten up the mess. If it's a good idea, she thinks, why is it this hard for him? Whenever she thinks of Korra and Mako, it's hard not to also think of herself and Kai. If Kai were sick and couldn't talk much, she knows exactly what she'd read to him, and the thought makes her slightly wistful. What happened to Korra still makes her sad, but there is something undeniably romantic about caring for someone you love like that, and she is certain Mako still loves Korra that way.
She imagines what she would do if Kai got sick – not seriously sick, just sick enough that she could sit by his bed and bring him soup and read him stories and hold his hand while he falls asleep. She imagines that she would do everything for him, and a picture forms in her mind of the way she would want him to look back at her, full of gratitude and adoration. Her books are full of plenty of people who fall in love or whose love is cemented forever in precisely this way.
"Grrrrrmph." The grunts coming from Mako get more and more despairing. He stares up at her from his spot on the floor and raises a book. "I don't know. What about this?"
She leans down over him, her hand still absently tucking and retucking her hair behind one ear. "Oh, Kyoshi? I'm sure that would be fine. It's interesting and exciting and…"
"Yeah, but like the past lives stuff. You don't think that might be too … you know … painful?"
She smiles at him indulgently. "I think you're overthinking this. The whole point is just to keep her company, just let her hear the sound of your voice."
"Yeah … I don't think that's going to be enough in this case."
Jinora laughs because she doesn't know quite what she should say. The dance that Korra and Mako do perplexes her to no end. It doesn't make sense not to be with someone if you love them. She isn't sure if what she feels for Kai is love exactly, but she knows that what she feels for him is important and that she wouldn't let anything silly get in the way of it.
It's only when Mako starts staring at her again that she realizes she's still touching her hair while she thinks.
"Maybe I should shave my head too," he says, cutting to the crux of the matter.
She folds her hands behind her back, forcing them to be still. "You wouldn't."
"It'd be more comfortable in the summer. I wouldn't have to worry about setting it on fire…"
"You love your hair." She thinks of the time Korra told her that he gels it to make it stand up in that particular way.
"I do not."
"You do too." She's grinning broadly as she stares down at him, and she knows precisely which moves lead to checkmate in this scenario. "And besides, Korra would hate it."
His face gets a little red. "Why would I care what Korra thinks?"
"You care," she says, hands on her hips, looking down on him imperiously. "You can't help it. You just do."
"Well, are you worried about what Kai is going to think?"
"Maybe a little," she confesses, heat rising up the back of her neck. He's more perceptive than he thinks. If he can sense she's nervous about the head shaving, she wonders why he doesn't trust himself when it comes to picking out a book for Korra.
"Well, don't. He's not worth it."
"I thought you liked Kai now. He saved you and your brother…"
"I tolerate Kai now. There's a difference."
"Ok. Why don't you like him?"
Mako shrugs. "Well, he's got some good qualities, but he's still a thief. And a liar. And he reminds me…"
"…of yourself?" Jinora says, one side of her mouth curving up into a sly grin.
She thinks maybe she's finally overstepped a line, but Mako laughs. "Yeah," he says, staring deeply at the book he's holding but clearly not absorbing.
"You need to learn to like yourself more," she replies, satisfied that she has won this round, because after ten whole seconds, Mako still doesn't have anything to say back.
…
In the end, he goes with Kyoshi, the choice a result of such prolonged and painful deliberation that Jinora feels exhausted as she carries the book for him while they go to see what's available as far as tea and snacks go. She thinks it's interesting, the practiced way he moves around a kitchen, lighting the fire for the kettle with the tip of his finger and arranging cups on a tray very carefully and precisely. He is like a grown-up except not quite, at least not like the other grown-ups she knows. There is effort in it, like he's been successfully faking it for years and is afraid of being found out.
"What's it like living with just your brother?" she asks. She feels overwhelmed sometimes helping take care of Ikki and Meelo and Rohan, but she knows she has never had to feel the full weight of that terrible responsibility.
"It's been a long time since it was any other way," he responds, and she is ashamed when she remembers that he had parents once too.
"Sorry … I forget sometimes."
He shrugs and idly moves the cups around the tray again, as if there is a right way for them to go and he just can't figure it out. "I've made peace with it."
"I can't imagine having to take care of my little sister and brothers like that."
"Well, I just had one of them."
She smiles. "That's true. Still, that sounds … hard." Hard, of course, can't cover it. The hardness of it is beyond her imagination.
"I dunno. I just went by instinct … just tried to figure out what he would need."
"Well, your instinct did a good job. I mean, Bolin is really great."
"I doubt I had much to do with that," he says, but there is pure gratitude in his eyes when he looks back at her. She tucks that piece of information away for the next time she wants to give him a compliment.
…
When they enter the room, Korra sits framed in the window against a halo of light from the overcast sky. She's in a blue robe, and Jinora can see that her hair has been freshly washed and brushed. There's still an unwelcome darkness that creeps over her skin in splotches, a slackness to her posture, and a furrowing of her brow that by now Jinora knows comes from almost constant pain.
"I'm gonna go check in at the office, you guys," says Asami, brushing past them on her way out the door. "Have a nice time." She turns in the doorway and waves to Korra, who says a faint goodbye of her own.
Mako walks forward and sets the tea service on the table. "You staying?" he asks, and Jinora notices for the first time that there are three cups on the tray.
"Sure," she says, flattered to be asked, to once again be granted a token of her equality. But, if she is completely honest, she is a little disappointed that he doesn't want to be alone with Korra.
"What's that?" Korra asks, nodding at the book. Jinora registers the weakness in her voice and the slight quality of her gestures. Her energy is different, more compact – like something bottled under pressure. The Korra she used to know filled up an entire room.
"Jinora suggested I read to you. So, you know, we don't have to talk if you don't want to and you don't have to just sit with me in silence."
Mako looks all tense. He keeps nudging the tea cups and fussing with the rolled sleeves on his jacket.
"I don't mind the quiet," Korra says. "It's enough."
And just like that, Jinora can feel Mako relax. He settles into his chair right next to Korra, a little more natural, a little more himself.
And then Jinora observes a curious thing. Before either of them think to do so, Korra reaches for the teapot, her hands trembling as they lift from her lap. Jinora expects that Mako will grab it himself and pour the tea for her as Asami and Korra's parents do. And when he doesn't, she nearly leaps forward to do it herself. But a precise quality in his stillness makes Jinora think twice.
Korra sets her face like Jinora has seen her do when practicing a new airbending form. She puts both shaking hands on the teapot and breaths two deep breaths. Mako still does not move, but his eyes follow her hands closely as he waits. He does not ask if she wants help. He doesn't even reassure her that she can do it. They both simply watch as she slowly lifts it up and with fierce determination steadies her shaking hands. She brings the teapot toward her, and when the spout meets the lip of her cup, not a drop is spilt.
When Korra finishes, a small breath escapes her lips, like she has just finished walking a tight rope. There is a shift in the energy of the room, like the shadow around her wheelchair has dispersed somewhat. And Jinora sees Mako beaming at her, a smile spreading across his face as he takes the pot from her and pours his own. And Jinora realizes that maybe this is how he raised a brother by himself.
When Mako moves to serve her tea, Jinora refuses. "I just remembered I told my Dad I would help him with something," she says, excusing herself from the table.
"Thanks for coming," Korra says. And Jinora thinks that her voice sounds stronger than before.
In the doorway, she lingers, looking back as the two of them gaze out the window together, quiet, the book still unopened. Their arms lie next to one another on the table, and Jinora thinks that this would be the perfect time for him to hold her hand or to make some kind of declaration. But he doesn't. And Jinora feels like she understands something just a little bit better: sometimes, love means simply waiting.