"I would like to have a second chance at my first love." - Douglas William Jerrold
A friend and I were chatting about the practicalities of Irosami in-universe given Iroh's status as a prince. I admittedly hand-wave this a lot in my writing, but it's believable he'd have some real restrictions, especially about who he could marry. Yet Iroh is a modern man. He wears his hair short, and is certainly not lazing about the Fire Nation. He's out in the world. I love the idea of second chances in life, and especially in love, and I also love the idea that you can meet the right person at the wrong time. So, while Iroh might initially feel bound by rules and tradition when it comes to love, I like to think it's perfectly reasonable that as he gets older he'd ask himself how important it really was. All he'd need then is a little encouragement.
Eventual Makorra and Irosami. If you're not looking for those relationships, kindly scroll on.
Constructive reviews always welcome!
Mako knew he should get on the next train to Zaofu. Or at the very least, find a telephone. It wasn't every day that one became an uncle. Congratulations were due. Instead he stuffed the telegram in his pocket and went to the bar.
It wasn't a cop bar; he'd made sure of that. Mako wasn't looking for company. He didn't know what he was looking for. It wasn't like he was unhappy. He liked babies, and on the whole had been looking forward to having a nephew. The news wasn't exactly unexpected, either. The newest member of the Beifong clan had been all his family could talk about for months. As he ordered a whiskey—neat—he reflected that it probably wasn't about the baby at all. It was the timing. Their entire lives, Mako had done everything first. Walked, bent, kissed a girl, got a job; first with the triads, then a real one. He'd made sure he and Bolin had shelter when they could, and that his brother at least got enough to eat as often as possible. He'd had the first girlfriend—two, actually. The first sex. It was Mako's job to show Bolin the ropes. To go into uncharted territory, then turn around and teach him what he'd learned. Except this time, he wasn't first. And he probably wouldn't ever be again. At 27, Mako had finally been left in the dust.
In truth though he'd been left behind a long time ago.
Mako grimaced as the whiskey burned down his throat. He'd call Bolin later. He and Opal would be busy now, and probably exhausted. There were about a million Beifongs there to offer congratulations as well, not to mention Grandma Yin and the host of other family who had taken up residence in Zaofu since the end of the war. A regular little community. One Mako hadn't quite realized he'd been avoiding until now. Yet it was true. When was the last time he'd visited? Six months ago at least, and it was only a few hours by train. He'd told everyone he was too busy—most of all himself. But if that was true, what was he doing in a downtown bar at 4pm on a weekday?
And what about you, dear? You work too much. When are you gonna bring home a nice girl for us to meet and settle down?
That was some of it, of course. The polite questions he'd gotten when he was younger had grown steadily more insistent with every passing year. Yet Mako hadn't seen someone seriously in ages. He'd certainly not dated anyone he felt like bringing under Grandma Yin's careful scrutiny. Instead he'd stood by while Bolin found Opal, and Korra found Asami. The latter hadn't lasted, but still. The world moved on. And Mako hadn't.
His hand drifted into his pocket and curled around the telegram. Once upon a time he'd known for sure he wanted kids himself. It was a second chance, he'd thought. A chance to give someone, or multiple someones, the kind of life he and Bolin had only briefly had. A stable home. Birthday presents. And, of course, two loving parents. Parents who loved one another, too, and could set that example. But by now the damage had been done. Mako simply wasn't good at relationships. Korra had told him that once, in the heat of one argument or another. She'd apologized after, but he'd seen the truth in what she'd said, even then. That sometimes loving someone, and knowing you'd always love them, wasn't enough.
What would you name it? Korra's face swam to the front of his mind at the thought. She'd been lying in the narrow bed in the apartment he'd shared with Bolin, the late afternoon sun glowing across her bare skin. Spirits, they'd both been so young.
Why?
Don't bite my head off, I'm just curious, she'd said, giving him her signature pout. Maybe because I wanna make sure you're not dead-set on something horrible. Are you?
I'm not set on anything, he'd answered, but that had been a lie even then. He'd just been too scared to tell her. Scared that Korra would laugh at the idea of a dark-skinned, golden-eyed baby with an Earth Kingdom name. But that had been their downfall, hadn't it? It wasn't all him. Neither of them could ever say what they needed.
And of course Bolin had named his son San. Not that it mattered. It had taken the telegram to make Mako realize how thoroughly he'd given up on having a family.
He finished his whiskey and ordered another. At least Mako wasn't the only one drinking this early. He spared a glance at his companions, who mostly seemed to be men in suits. They were clustered in little knots of twos and threes, muttering in hushed tones about clients or pro-bending scores and clearly knocking off early while calling it work. There was a smaller number of women, most of them contained in one large group in the far corner that looked like an office outing. And interspersed here and there were other people like Mako. Alone, self-contained, and clearly doing their best not to be noticed. These were the people who'd come here not to socialize, but to get drunk. For the most part they were taking their task seriously.
It was a moment before Mako realized he knew one of them. He'd tucked himself into the farthest corner of the bar, a single, solitary tumbler in front of him. He seemed to be staring into it with profound concentration. Short dark hair, broad shoulders, perfect posture. Even without the uniform Mako would have recognized General Iroh. They'd spent too much time in the healing center together in the weeks following Kuvira's invasion. They weren't friends, exactly, but they weren't not friends, either. Yet as far as Mako knew it had been years since Iroh had been in Republic City. What was he doing drinking here by himself?
He almost left it alone—almost. The general seemed intent on his scotch and his solitude. But as Mako turned back to his own drink he saw a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye. He looked back just in time to see Iroh draining his tumbler in one long swallow. For a split second his expression twisted into something Mako could only describe as abject misery. Then Iroh set down the glass and promptly buried his face in his hands.
Mako glanced down at the pink twisting scars on his left arm. Then he picked up his drink and slid off the barstool. Whatever his own dark thoughts today, it was clear that General Iroh was the worse off. Maybe he'd want to talk about it and maybe he wouldn't, but the man had always gone out of his way to be kind and Mako figured he owed it to at least offer to hear him out. Iroh's stories of how Firelord Zuko had turned his own burn scars into a kind of badge of honor had been one of the few things that had pulled him from the brink in those dark days following his injury.
It's a mark of what he overcame, Iroh had said. His family, the war; all of it. In a lot of ways, himself. He says he wouldn't be who he is without it. It took some time, but I honestly don't think my grandfather would change his scar now even if he could.
Mako wasn't quite there yet, but he'd appreciated the gesture. Maybe this was his time to return the favor.
"General?" he said as he approached. It wouldn't be smart to startle a firebender with Iroh's reflexes.
The general looked up sharply. Up close Mako could see his eyes were tinged with red, as if he hadn't slept well, or perhaps had even been crying. Yet he smiled anyway, albeit rather thinly.
"Mako," he said with a slight tilt of his head. "And it's Iroh, please. We've been through this. Good to see you."
"Iroh, then. I didn't know you were going to be in town."
"I didn't either until three days ago. Something came up. This time I couldn't get out of it."
"Anything I should be worried about?" Mako asked. Visions of thirty-story robots flashed across his memory.
Iroh's smile became a little more genuine at that. He must have guessed at least some of his thoughts. "Not at all," he replied. "Just United Forces business. It seems some things still require my presence in person, no matter how archaic it seems these days. But how have you been?"
"Fine," Mako lied.
"Glad to hear it." Iroh glanced around the bar. "I admit, I didn't expect to run into anyone I knew here. What brings you by?"
"Nothing, really," Mako shrugged. "I wanted to try somewhere new."
Iroh paused, then leaned back and tipped his chin towards an empty chair. "No obligation, but you're welcome to join me. In truth I wouldn't mind the distraction." His sad eyes fell on the empty tumbler.
"Everything okay?" Mako asked as he slid into the seat opposite him.
Iroh shook his head. "Nothing that can be helped." He waved to a passing server and tapped the rim of his empty glass, then cocked an eyebrow. Mako shrugged, then nodded. Guess they were getting drunk then.
"How's the arm?" Iroh asked when she'd left.
"As good as can be expected." Mako flexed his fingers a little. "I still haven't got all the feeling back. I might never. But I can use it."
"And your firebending?"
"Reliable enough. Those exercises you gave me helped a lot."
Iroh smiled at that. "Good, I'm glad. And how's Korra? And your brother?"
Mako frowned. If he was asking after Korra, that meant he hadn't seen her. He really must be here on administrative business then. But Tenzin and Pema were like family to him. If Iroh hadn't been out to Air Temple Island either it must be deliberate, especially considering he was currently spending the evening alone.
"Korra's fine, as far as I know," Mako said carefully. "She's still living on Air Temple Island. I think she's working a lot with the new airbenders. They keep finding more all the time."
Iroh raised an eyebrow. "As far as you know? I thought you were close."
"We are," Mako said, abruptly realizing he hadn't seen Korra in nearly as long as he'd seen his family. But he hadn't been avoiding her. Had he?
The general looked thoughtful, but let it drop. "And Bolin?" he asked instead. "I'm sorry I didn't make the wedding. It wasn't good timing." Abruptly there was something of a guilty look on his face.
"Actually, Bolin had a baby." Mako shook his head. That was wrong. "No, I mean, Opal had a baby. Today. I just got the news."
"Good for him," Iroh smiled. Then a faint crease appeared between his eyes. "Yet you don't sound excited."
"I am." And he was. That other future, the one with the golden-eyed San with smooth dusky skin, was irrelevant.
The general's expression dimmed. "Why do I get the feeling that there's something you're not telling me, Mako?"
"I could say the same," Mako heard himself say. The whiskey was starting to do at least some of the talking.
Iroh tensed, then pressed his lips into a thin line. "Yes," he said eventually. "Actually, I'm getting married myself."
Mako blinked. "Really? To who?" There hadn't been anything in the news about Prince Iroh seeing anyone.
"I'm not sure yet." Iroh rubbed at his face, then took a long pull from his fresh drink. "But that's why I'm in Republic City. I'm here to resign my commission in the United Forces. I'm to return to Caldera after and sometime this year something will be arranged for me. I've been busy signing requisitions and making other arrangements first. I have until the end of the week."
For a long moment Mako was silent. What could anyone say to that? He'd known Iroh had certain responsibilities as a prince, but he'd always assumed it was money and palaces and dinners that cost more than his whole paycheck. And truthfully an arranged marriage to some beautiful princess sounded wonderfully easy. Yet he'd never heard it sound so much like a prison. Suddenly Mako's own relationship problems seemed small in comparison.
"And you really get no say?" he finally asked.
Iroh paled and looked away. "It's complicated."
"Complicated how?" Mako pressed. "You're obviously not happy with it. How old are you, thirty? Thirty five? Can't you wait to find someone you love?"
"It's not a question of love."
"Why not? Spirits, it's 179, not the age of Kyoshi. And you're not that old."
Iroh scowled at him. "Just because you love someone doesn't mean you're right for each other."
"Wait, so there's someone else?" Mako had never heard of Iroh having a lover. Which, come to think of it, was somewhat odd. He was a good-looking man, and wealthy. Powerful. The kind of guy there should have been a line for. Why would he need an arrangement at all?
"No," Iroh said. "There's no one else. That's not what I meant."
"But why can't you say no? It's not like your family can really make you. Or just, I don't know, run away."
"And do what?" Iroh snarled suddenly. "To what end? I can't have what I want. I may as well have what someone else does. And I'm out of time. That has been made perfectly clear."
Mako said nothing. The obvious answer was to ask the general what he wanted, but one look at the thunder on Iroh's face and he quickly decided against it. Instead he drank his drink. He was starting to feel a little lightheaded.
"I'm sorry," Iroh said quietly after a while. "I didn't mean to get angry. It's been a long day."
"I get that." Mako picked up his glass and met the other man's eyes. "To long days and complicated families."
The corner of Iroh's mouth ticked up as they clinked. "Indeed."
"So what kinds of things are you working on this week?" Mako asked, trying to change the subject.
"As I said, mostly requisitions," Iroh replied. "I'm on my way out, and I'm in a spending mood. I want to make sure the United Forces has everything it needs before I go. Our mecha is still woefully out of date. I figured if I threw my weight around a little before I left I could make some headway."
Mecha. Mako frowned, suddenly puzzled. He'd only just realized Iroh had only inquired about Korra and Bolin.
"So have you seen Asami?" he asked.
Iroh took a long, steady pull from his scotch. "Yes."
That was all. Yes.
"And how is she? I haven't seen her in a while." Mako hadn't seen her in nearly a year. He'd tried not to take sides in the breakup, but despite their history Korra had needed him in a way that Asami hadn't. And of course he'd come. He always did.
"She looks well," Iroh said. His lips turned up into a rather sad smile. "Ready to fleece me as always. Future Industries will do well this week." He cocked his head slightly. "You don't see her often?"
"Not as often as I'd like," Mako replied, and realized it was true. He should give Asami a call. It was well past time.
Something dark flickered across Iroh's face.
"Are you okay?"
The general shook his head. "I'm sorry, Mako," he said. "I'm afraid I'm poor company this afternoon."
Abruptly he had an idea. "You should have dinner with us," Mako said. "I'm going to be heading to Zaofu to see Bolin and the baby, but I'll be back before the end of the week. I haven't seen Asami in ages. And she always loved you. It sounded like you two were thick as thieves when she went to open that factory in the Fire Nation. What if the three of us have dinner, as a kind of send-off?"
The color drained from Iroh's face. "My regrets," he said stiffly. Then he shoved back his chair. "And I'm afraid I should be going. Duty calls, and all that."
Mako looked across the bar to the darkening sky. "At night?"
Iroh gave him an uncertain, slightly panicked look. "Yes?"
Slowly something clicked into place. The pained expression. How Iroh hadn't asked about Asami. And it made a certain amount of sense. They were both bright and hardworking, and had gotten along famously in the months after Amon's revolution. What if it had been more than friendship? Just because you love someone doesn't mean you're right for each other.
"You don't want to see Asami," Mako said. It wasn't a question. "You don't want to see Asami because you're still in love with her."
General Iroh slumped back into his seat. His dark hair flopped down across his eyes, almost as if it, too, had given up.
"It's complicated," he whispered.
"How? I know she was with Korra, but that ended a while ago. Is she seeing someone else?"
"Not to my knowledge."
"And neither are you."
"No."
"So why not?"
"Because there are rules about these things in the Fire Nation." Iroh sighed and propped his chin on his hands. "I may as well say it. Asami and I were together for two years while Avatar Korra was away in the south. We kept it quiet, first when she came to open that factory, and then after. I was gone a lot as well, but we saw one another whenever we could. It's a credit to her that even you never knew. But it couldn't last. Asami understood that, we both did. It ended amicably enough."
Two YEARS? Spirits, how had he missed that? Though if Korra had been recovering, Mako may have been thinking only of her. What a shitty friend he'd turned out to be. Well, time to change that.
"Doesn't sound like it," Mako said.
Iroh looked up. "Huh?"
"I mean, here you are seven years later drinking yourself under the table because you ran into her in a meeting. That doesn't sound like it ended well to me. Actually, it sounds like you're about to make the worst mistake of your life. Asami is single. You're single. Sure, she's dated other people, but she obviously kept your secret, so she at least thinks that much of you. Maybe it's more than that? Maybe she's at home right now, wishing it were all different?"
"You don't know that," Iroh said, but his face was ashen.
Mako took a quiet sip. "And neither do you."
"What does it matter?" Iroh grumbled. "Nothing has changed. Even if she did somehow... nothing has changed."
"Maybe not," Mako said. "But you're one of the most powerful men in the world, Iroh. Maybe you should try acting like it."
Iroh blinked. "What?"
"What about all that stuff you said to me about your grandfather," he pressed, "and how he had to find himself in spite of his family and make his own destiny? People grow up, and people change. Even the Fire Nation can change. Look at what Wu did. If Asami is the one that got away, why not at least try to make it work? You said you're throwing your weight around. Maybe do it with something that matters. If you don't think you owe her that, at least believe you owe yourself."
Iroh froze. A series of emotions flickered across his handsome face. Shame. Fear. Hope. Then looked down at Mako's scarred hand. "Why aren't you excited about the baby?" he asked softly.
Something stabbed at Mako's heart. "We're not talking about me."
"Yes," Iroh said, his voice suddenly hard. "We are. Don't give advice you can't take yourself, Mako. Or is it easier to tell others to forge their own destiny?"
Mako scowled and dropped his eyes. "Fine," he huffed, "we're doing this? Okay. Because I'm not you. I don't have a family. I don't have money, or power, or a whole damned army. Because it's never gonna happen for me, alright? No one can put up with me, and I wouldn't ask them to. Not anymore."
Iroh frowned at him. "Bolin doesn't have those things," he said. "He has the same background as you. And from what I've heard, he seems very happy. What's more, Mako, it's not even true. From what Lin tells me you're very accomplished as a detective. You have income and influence, and are respected. Your injury is healed. You nearly gave your life to save this whole city. Anyone who requires more than that doesn't deserve you."
Mako didn't know quite what to make of that. He'd never felt like he deserved much of anything. But when Iroh said it, it all sounded so logical.
"And as for no one putting up with you," the general continued, "if you've already decided to be alone, are you sure you're giving them a chance?"
Korra sobbing into his shoulder as he held her tight. When her heart had broken again she'd come to him for comfort. She'd come back to him. And he'd… what? Sent her off to Air Temple Island and disappeared into his job. Of course he had. Because that way he wouldn't get hurt. Or so he'd thought.
"Are you?" Mako shot back.
Iroh said nothing. His golden eyes seemed to bore into him. Then abruptly he wobbled to his feet. "Does Asami still live in the townhouse?" he asked.
Mako shoved back his own chair. "I'll walk you."
Twenty minutes later they stood together on her doorstep. General Iroh ran a quick hand through his disheveled hair, took a deep breath, then knocked.
A few moments later he heard footsteps. Mako retreated a bit down the stairs, giving Iroh center field. A split second later the door swung wide.
Asami stood there in a ponytail and an oversized purple sweater, one hand wrapped around a large glass of wine. Her face was puffy and red—it was obvious she'd been crying.
"Iroh?" she gasped. "What are you—?"
"Please," Iroh said, cutting her off. "Please, Asami, I need to know. Do you still have feelings for me?"
Her green eyes grew wide. "You said that we couldn't. That I couldn't. Iroh, that was years ago."
He shook his head sharply. "Forget what I said. Forget the Fire Nation. I'm asking you, Asami Sato, and only you. Do you still want me? Not the title or trappings or any of it. Just... me. If I could."
Asami hesitated, then lunged forwards and flung her arms around him. Mako had to jump back as red wine splattered across the stone walkway.
"Oh, Iroh," she murmured into his shoulder. "Oh Iroh, oh spirits. Today was so hard. I almost couldn't do it. What happened? What changed?"
"Nothing," Mako heard him mutter into her hair. "And everything. Asami, everything changed."
Mako watched them for a few moments, a small, satisfied smile on his face. It faded a little when they started to kiss though. He could be happy for them without front row seats. Instead he sidestepped the couple and ducked into the hallway of Asami's house. Like many wealthy people she had her own telephone these days. He didn't know where her address book was, but Mako had never forgotten the switch number for Air Temple Island.
It turned out he had two phone calls to make.