Title: Three - The Coronation
Word Count:
Rating: K
Notes: One Drabble per Episode. Makocentric (but Makorra, of course). After the Coronation fiasco, Mako finds Korra in unexpected places.
Mako feels that his tolerance of pain is relatively high. He's had a rough childhood, he's a veteran of the pro-bending circuit, he's helped the Avatar save the world a few times…but this. THIS is just too much.
Ever since the fiasco at the Coronation and at Little Ba Sing Se , Wu has confined himself to the hotel—which means endless hours in the hotel spa…for Mako, as well. After all that heart to heart in the fake Palace, Mako's got a bit more sympathy for the practically disposed ruler, but it's reached the point (again) where he feels like he's going to go crazy. He's got to get out.
"Wu, there's something I've got to take care of back at the station," he says. He tries to keep his voice level and smooth. "Officers Cho and Wang are here, they'll be right outside."
Wu bolts straight up, but doesn't take the seaweed wrapping off of his eyes. "Maaaako, you can't leave!" whines the Prince, "What if some…bad guy sneaks in and tries to drown me in my own seaweed infusion bath?"
It takes all of Mako's strength and willpower to answer cordially—he takes a deep breath as he feels the irritation building in his temples. "Cho and Wang are extremely capable, and I'll only be gone a few hours."
Wu grumbles but settles back into the tub. "Ohhhhkay fine. A few hours. Chop chop." A seaweed covered hand arises from the murky depths and shoos him away—the universal sign of Royalty that the commoners are now excused.
Mako bows, slightly, and leaves the room. He trades sarcastic eye rolls with Cho and Wang, then tries to walk confidently out of the hotel lobby…but when he gets there, he can't help but sprint. Freedom is so sweet.
….
Thanks to that amazing seaweed wrap—Mako LOVES the seaweed wrap—he gets 4 hours of freedom per day. FOUR HOURS to do whatever he wants.
Sometimes, he crashes at Asami's office. She's got plans and books on all the chairs except for one—it's long and short, with soft pillows on one end. He thinks she does it on purpose—it looks like a chair you'd find in a psychologist's office—but he doesn't care. Venting is venting (even if he does sit in the chair).
He talks, she just nods and says 'Mmm,' 'Oh really?' and 'Uh-huh' whenever she's prompted. Half of the time, he's holding blueprints for her like a human easel.
"Seriously, are you even listening to me?" he exclaims, sprawled out on said chair. He has the pillows bunched up behind his head but he pulls them both out and chucks them at her before raking both hands through his hair in frustration.
Asami doesn't even bat an eye as she dodges the fluffy projectiles—she looks up from her stack of papers, pushing her chic black frames up her nose. "Of course, Mako. I'm multi-tasking! Keep talking, and hand me that set of plans on your right."
….
Sometimes, he goes back to the office. His desk is clean—all of his cases have been reassigned to someone else (he begrudgingly accepts this because being the Earth King's bodyguard is technically a higher level job).
Every now and then, there's a note on his desk. Sometimes they're from the other detectives on his team, sometimes its mail from Bolin, who is still angry and writes all his notes in third person. He still writes, nonetheless. And sometimes, it's orders from Beifong. These are always on stark, crisp white paper with thin, skinny block print in capital letters.
He finds one of these under his stapler; it's folded in half, very precisely. He's afraid that when he opens it, it'll tear in two but the paper holds up in his hands.
Mako, you're on holiday party duty. Go into the archives and bring back copies of the front page with Tsai making that stupid face. I don't remember what month it was—we're going to pin stuff to his nose.
Mako sighs. This was top grade, extremely rewarding police work, right here.
….
The head archivist is a little mousy woman with round glasses who wears a baggy striped sweater over her uniform. She blinks at him over her thick lenses before she directs him to the dusty viewing stations in the corner.
Microfilm. Great. This was going to take FOREVER.
He slumps into the chair and hangs his coat off of the back as the Archivist quietly hands him several trays to examine. She's got a pretty sharp memory—she thinks the newspaper clipping in question was about three years ago.
He peers into the viewer as he inserts the frames, one by one. He sees Raiko in the first couple, making long speeches in front of buildings covered in vines. He also sees Asami, dainty cutting ribbon after ribbon, but no sign of Tsai. After an hour, he pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration. Three hours left of precious freedom and he's stuck here, looking at old newspaper clippings! Maybe he'd be better off getting some mooncakes and heading back to the hotel.
Right before he shoves his chair backwards, the Archivist hurries back—she's been looking too. She's narrowed it down to a month and they dig into the black and white frames together.
On the second frame, he finds Tsai. It was probably revenge on the Department after issuing all those parking tickets outside of the Publishing HQ—they published a horrible picture of Tsai the next day. His eyes were practically cock-eyed as he sat hunched on a stool, his head tilted back as he inhaled a large bowl of spicy fried noodles. The tagline, "Police Getting Lazy?" was spelled out in big, capital letters above his head.
"Thank you, you've made my day" he says to the Archivist, profusely shaking her hand. Now he's got time for moon cakes, after all! The woman is rather shy and not used to compliments—she blushes madly and retreats back to her desk.
He quickly shrugs his coat on, glancing at the soft glow of the microfilm screen as he straightens the buttons. Just for kicks, he decides to try one last frame before leaving.
Peering into the viewer, he adjusts the knob until the image is clear—and what he sees makes his stomach flip.
It's Korra. She's got one hand up, waving to the crowd, leather racing goggles pushed up in her hair. Mako remembers this day—it was a charity event for Future Industries. Korra and Asami were racing around the tarmac against a pro-racer team from the Fire Nation; the Heiress won by a nose.
Korea and Asami are hooked by the arm wearing matching gleeful smiles; they look like sisters who have gotten away with something mischievous but the camera only has eyes for the Avatar. The shot is focused in on her face, framed by the confetti of rose petals that was scattered throughout the air.
Mako can't tear his eyes off of her—she looks so…happy. So stunningly, effortlessly beautiful. He's promised himself that he won't think about how much he misses her (the way her lips curve up when she smiles, the tapering of her waist, how her hair smells after a shower)…so he's not surprised that all of the feelings that he's worked so hard to repress bubble to the surface.
He stays at the viewer until the silver watch tucked into his breast pocket starts to tick—his four hours are up. Back to Guard Duty.
….
Mako is a fairly organized person-He's decided on a schedule. On Mondays and Wednesdays, he visits Asami. He sits in her stupid chair, holds her plans up straight, but he's unusually quiet. She jokingly teases that she'll send an assistant to cheer him up ("UGH no more blind dates," he complains, "It's cruel and unusual punishment.") but otherwise, she leaves him alone. By now, she knows that he prefers to deal with things silently, at first.
Tuesdays, Fridays, and Saturdays, he spends wandering. He walks his old patrol route, eats lunch on the balconies of the pro-bending arena. Sometimes, he goes to the park. There's a little raised area that gives an excellent view of the statue and the grounds—this is where he likes to lean against the railing with a can of milk tea…and think.
Usually, he thinks about trivial things. He thinks about Tsai's stupid face, about the books he checks out from Jinora…he thinks about the seaweed wrap which he is so thankful for.
And sometimes, when he looks upon the Avatar's stone, impassive face, he thinks about serious things. Like how she's doing, wherever she is… He wonders, if she's happy. And if she's happy with someone else.
….
To cheer him up (or to twist the knife of insecurity deeper, depending on how he looks at it), he spends Thursdays and Sundays in the Archive. Sometimes, he blends in Wednesdays and Fridays, also.
He gets to know the Archivist a little better—her name is Kei. She knits all of the sweaters that she wears and she has four cats. She is addicted to salty black bean tarts and has been with the department for almost the same time as he has. She's also seen every Nuk Tuk mover ever released….twice.
They've settled into a routine—he says hello and sits at the Microfilm viewer at the far right and she smiles, handing him a tray with a three month's worth of frames. They sit in a comfortable silence as he switches cards to the rhythm of her clicking knitting needles.
It's almost like a game. He's found Angry Korra, Pleased Korra, Extremely Angry Korra, Awkward Korra, Apologetic Korra, Gleeful Korra. Sometimes, it's just a piece of her the shot but he can always tell it's her—her form is always confident, always so sure. He wishes the images were in color—the blue of her top never fails to catch his eye in a crowd.
Somedays, the silver watch ticks and he stays for a few minutes more—it almost feels like the only thing that he's got left of her are these black and white pieces of film.
….
Eventually, all good things must come to an end. Wu is moving tomorrow, which means the end of the amazing, most beloved seaweed wrap…and his freedom. Mako wishes he could take back every horrible thing he said about the service—it truly was something to appreciate. (Perhaps for the wrong reasons, but still.)
This also marks the last day he spends in the Archive and his four hours are done before he knows it. It's his most disappointing find yet; none of the front pages of the paper featured the Avatar.
Switching off the viewer for the last time, he bids a fond farewell to Kei, but she stops him before he walks out the door.
"The archive doesn't keep hard copies of anything, really, it'd take up too much space," Kei explains, shrugging just one shoulder. "Sometimes though, I get lucky and I'm able to find something."
She thrusts a brown envelope into his hands, instructs him not to open it until he's left the building, and thanks him for the company—the Archive doesn't really get too many visitors, you know.
Out of respect for his new friendship, Mako obeys. He waits until he's strapped on his helmet and straddled his bike before he undoes the ties of the envelope.
He purses his lips in surprise—there's a picture wrapped in a note. In Kei's smooth, loopy handwriting, he reads, 'Figured you might like this one. It was on the sports page, which is probably why you never found it. If you ever feel like reading the paper some more, the Archive is always open~'
It's a proof of the shot that made the final edition—a portrait sized, black and white image. It's Korra, again, but to his surprise, he sees himself standing next to her. His arm is thrown around her shoulder as they flash thumbs up to the camera—they are drenched in sweat but their expressions are triumphant; they had just defeated the Red Sands Rabaroos in the first round of the tournament.
Mako laughs to himself, one hand framing his chin as he examines the picture. Just ever so slightly, Korra is leaning in towards him—he's too high off the win to notice—and she's smiling her typical, 'I can take on the world' smile. He has to look hard until he sees Bolin's foot in the corner—there's a few 'I 3 Nuk Tuk' signs in the background, his brother must be appeasing his fans.
His chest tightens as he carefully replaces the picture into the envelope, tucking it into the briefcase that's strapped to the side of the bike. He starts to feel his heartbeat beat a little stronger—this is a signal to turn the ignition on his bike. The sudden rumble distracts him from the feelings that start to surface—Spirits. He misses that girl.
As Mako zooms off to the hotel, savoring every last second of freedom, he makes a note to drop off some bean tarts for the Archivist.
…..
A/N:
AHH these episodes are amazing but heavier—I wrote something deeper for Korra Alone so I wanted this one to be different. Yes, it really has nothing to do with the Coronation itself.
Alternate Picture Ending: Korra sitting outside on the steps of the library, Naga stretched out behind her. There's a gaggle of small children at her feet—she's reading to them and they LOVE it. Mako's in the frame too, leaning on Naga as he makes notes in his logbook.
Idea for the Picture—Mako tucks it into the mirror of his dresser; secretly tells her good morning and goodnight before he leaves his apartment.