"Find in love's labyrinth what binds: doubled threads, knots of trials, errors, options. Secure lines back through hearts' recall"
:Ariadne's Thread
Flashback: Korra is comatose due to the poison, just days after defeating the Red Lotus. Mako's perspective.
Mako sat on the steps of Air Temple Island, finally being kicked out of Korra's healing room after endless days that rolled into weeks, in which her eyes stayed closed.
She was alive/ but not really. Caught in the middle/ her mind lost in the echo. Could she hear him in her dream-like state? Could she hear every murmmer and plead to wake up from the affects of all she went through? Every sweet peck when he pulled his lips away from her hands?
Mako sighed, wearily, and pulled his collar up higher around his neck. Of course she couldn't because, It's over. For real this time.
The muggy weather was making his hair damp, and his head heavy, as if the gray fog were getting inside his mind, slowly turning it to mush. He knew he really should eat something- as his brother and Asami were persistent to order to him to do so, but to no avail. They just didn't understand. Mako stared at his hands- his useless hands.
The rain sprinkling down like drum beats brought him back, and he took in slow, deep breaths.
His hands were shaking- his damn hands. He wanted to cut them off, he wanted-
No one understood. (Bro,eatsomething,youcan'tkeepstaringather,and itisn'thealthy,Makoyouhavetobepatient and ,it'snotyourfaultMako,areyoulisteningtome?) But he wondered, how could anyone eat, how could the world keep turning when his world had suddenly...
...stopped?
Behind him, a door opened; a wave of cold air hit him.
"Mako, come inside. You're going to get sick."
He wondered how he managed to fall apart, so much that his little brother had to tell him simple things because he had come to forget how to do them. Like eating. Or sleeping. Or breathing, because, Makocalmdownshe'sgonnabefinehavesomefaithinher.
I can't imagine my life without you in it.
It was like nothing was worth it when she wasn't here with him.
The rain cried harder, thunder boomed and cracked across the sky, lightning illuminated the Island. The sky was crying for her, too. Maybe that was a good thing, because he had forgotten how to do that, too.
"Mako..." a hand was shaking his shoulder.
What he didn't know how to say, was that that was kinda the point, because he deserved it.
He was too tired to argue. To tired to think, too tired, too tired. He wouldn't be able to wake until she did.
Wordlessly, he straitened up, and allowed Bolin to lead him inside.
"Come on. Let's get you dried off, big bro. Asami made some tea for everyone."
Minutes later, his brother is ordering him to take off his wet clothes, as he throws a fluffy white towel at his head. The towel smells like clean soap, and honey, and vaguely of a home from long ago.
Green eyes not meeting his own, Bolin takes Mako's coat, and hangs it up on the line to dry, trying to get the water out.
Suddenly, he finds his mouth saying, "I'm sorry I've been...like this."
Bolin sighs, "It's not just you, you know." he says quietly.
"Not just me what?" he asks.
A few silent seconds pass, Bolin wringing the water out from the end of his coat. Mako can feel something growing inside him.
"We're all worried about Korra, Mako-"
He doesn't know where the bite of anger comes from, but it's hot and hurtful, "Oh, really! Well, I've been visiting her everyday, staying by her bed. I've been changing her wet-cloths and water, and bandages-when Asami lets me, that is- but now I can't because you guys kicked me out! I've been busting my ass, and what have you been doing besides fooling around as usual?!"
Mako sees something flash in his brother's eyes for a moment (eyes like his father, stern when he misbehaved, but gentle in every other way) and for a moment, Mako thinks Bolin might actually yell at him. But he doesn't because Bolin never yells, because he's always been the one to quench Mako's anger. Mako sees his brother push anger and resentment down, down like he pushes and moves his earth. Bolin takes a deep breath, hurt and pain in his face, and Mako feels horrible.
Mako hears his brother mutter something under his breath: "I'm just trying to keep everyone together..." Then the scrubbing of clothes starts up again.
"Bo- Bo, I'm sorry. I-I didn't mean that. I mean, I know you've been trying to help, and I- that was just-"
Mako freezes when Bolin holds up a hand to silence him. His brother looks him straight in the eyes now. "We all love her, Mako. Just in different ways. And sometimes, showing love, is letting someone else be closer to her when they really need to be, and knowing when it's your time to comfort."
Mako opens and closes his mouth. He swallows, painful.
Bolin finishes folding his clothes, puts them on the table, and starts walking away.
"Bolin...Bo, I-"
"You should get some tea while it's still hot. We made your favorite." he whispers, and the door is shut.
Mako wipes his hand across his face, and wonders why she had to break every and all parts of him.
Mako stopped at the end of the hall, his eyes darting left, then, right, feet posed to sprint. Old habits told him to be on guard, but for what, he wasn't sure. For certainly she was safer away from him, then him being near. Against his better judgement, and dying need for some sleep, he crept along the edge of the hall, not daring to make a sound. Surely if anyone saw him, he would be reprimanded, and forced to leave. Whether she was comatose or not, being in her room at three in the morning was sure not to sound as justified as it did in his head. And by how he looked-blood shot eyes, and stubble-dusted face- he knew he probably looked just as broken as his heart.
As soon as he saw the cost was clear, he made a dash for her room. He didn't care what anyone said, nobody was keeping him away from her.
The door creaked open just a little too loudly, and he held his breath. Yue must have been looking out for him, for no Acolytes, or White Lotus Guards, nor healers, sat attending to her. Mako vaguely wondered if this odd absence of attendance was good or not; if she was becoming well enough to breath on her own, or...he wouldn't let his mind think of the opposite alternative.
How could he be doubtful still, he told himself, when she looked like this? She was beautiful, he thought, even in her frozen state. How the moonlight streaking in from the window highlighted the curve of her jaw, and the fly-aways in her hair. Her breathing was like a heartbeat from her open lips; steady and yet frail, quiet, but unyielding. He lived by the raise and fall of her chest, needing to make sure she was still in there, still fighting.
He came over with shaky legs, and plopped down on a chair, wearily. It was funny, in a painful kind of way; he had only been away from her for a few hours, but even that short separation seemed like years compared to the endless days that he had stayed by her side. Now that he was here again, it was as if he was seeing her frail state for the first time once more, and he forced the pit in his stomach down.
They said she would be fine-just fine, Pema's words rang in his ears, all we have to do is wait, dear.
But it's been almost a week, how can they-
Mako, Pema's hand on his shoulder, so hopeful, so motherly, believe in the healers' words. But more importantly, believe in Korra. She wouldn't leave without a fight, let alone leave you.
Now that he had left, and seen the world that was the outside of her room, it was if everyone and everything around him was changing, but he was the same. Frozen in time at the moment she fell, not being able to move again until he saw her eyes open once more.
He let out a shaky breath he didn't even know he was holding, and dared to clench her fingers in his. He drew back almost instantly. Cold- they didn't feel like Korra's. Korra's hands were warm, full of life. They were callused, the skin cracked from summer days in the dirt, and pruny from the too-long showers she always took at the same time every night. They were small, but held the world. More importantly his world, and fit right in his perfectly.
"They say you're going to be fine- just fine," he whispered. The air leaving his lungs caressed her face, sounding like love as it fell from his lips, "I think your impatience is rubbing off on me," he rubbed his nose and gave a weak chuckle. "Bolin used to say I was so patient that I'd wait a billion years for something if I wanted it hard enough, and I guess- no, I know that's why I'm still sitting here."
A slight wind picked up and ruffled the curtains, causing a shiver to run through his still slightly-damp clothes. He pulled the covers over her tighter, smoothing out her hair.
"Pema said-" he swallowed and whipped his face, "She told me to believe in you- and trust me, that's all I've ever done since I fell in love with you. I believed that you were the one for me, I believed that you'd save the world from Vattuu, I believed- I still believe..."
"I don't know what to believe anymore, okay, Kor?" he says to her, as if somehow, she will playfully hit his arm, smile and say, hey, cool guy, lighten up. You got us, don't you? but she still doesn't move. For a second he stops breathing because he thinks he didn't see her chest raise up,down, up, down, up, but he realizes that it's his own throat that's tight. "Without you, there's nothing...And I don't even deserve you...," He focuses on heating up her fingers, rubbing them in his palms,"I'm so used to protecting people. I mean, that's-that's who I am. Who we are."
"You're the most loyal, brave, and selfless person I've even known. I can't imagine my life without you in it," and he whispers these broken bits of love to her until daybreak, because that's all he can do for right now. He whispers and waits and believes for the both of them, but maybe, just maybe, she can whisper back.
..
.
..
The next day, he's back. The same time, same place. If anyone has realized he isn't in his own room, or that talking is coming from the dormant Avatar's room, they keep it to themselves.
They creep up on him sometimes when he's watching her motionless form- the memories. How the soft touch of her lips had the tiny tang of salt, just as the air blowing the curtains back through the window, and filling the room, stings his face. How her laugh was full of subtle shyness, and, if he stared at her long enough, the most adorable blush would creep up her cheeks.
She never smelt like roses, or any kind of flowery, girly scent. He's acquired a certain scent that goes along with each person- a habit that he picked up on the street. If you can't see the person, or hear the person, you'd know where they are, and who they are, if you memorize their smell. Like a predator sensing their prey, his nose had saved them more times than he'd like to admit.
Grizzly gangsters, with ash-coated hands and greasy hair. Some days the perfume of fish hung off he and Bolin's clothes, if they had managed to snag enough from the docks. They, however, mostly bled the bitter, nose-pitching aroma of Cactus Juice and leftover girls. Mako could bet how long a dame had last occupied a bed in the HQ, or how much of anything illegal was consumed. He learned to stay clear for a certain amount of time, but not so long as to be wondering where him and Bolin had wondered off to.
And blood. They stank of blood.
Asami was like the crisp strawberries that she ate for breakfast, right after they were washed. The sugary bled, mixed in with her soap, was an intoxicating cocktail that lingered on his tongue after their lips parted.
His brother, contrarily to what one might assume, did not smell of his earthly element. He was the subtle sweat that always stuck to his skin from a fight. He was the salty soy sauce that told Mako how long ago he had come from Narook's, and sometimes, how many bowls consumed. ( AKA how bad the day was) . The little greasy tang of the fried pork stands that littered around Prince Zuko's statue where the street kids always hung out, seemed to forever morph with his skin. He did not smell of earth, because the earth was inside him.
She, however, was the crisp veggies that the Air Acolytes consumed, mixed with an acid blend of smoky heat from her fire. Her lips were always salty from the air, and the meat of her people told a story to his nose. And sea-prunes. Those bitter, sour things made his cheeks bunch up and his eyes water. But apparently, as noted by she herself, it was an' acquired taste'.
And moon peaches. Not even right after they were ripened, but the juice, just as her teeth sunk into the tender flesh. He could tell how far away she was when moon peaches were on the wind. She'd do anything for them, and frankly, many late night runs and his yuans were made victim in the fruit's expense.
Moon peaches.
A week after their break up, yes, Bo, for real this time, it's just...better this way, his brother had come home to the apartment, a bag of groceries in tow. In Bolin's words, it had been in attempt to cheer the grumpy big brother up. He had gotten Mako favorite this, and favorite that, and in all honesty, the earthbender could make a good dish or two, when not distracted. So, Mako, ever curious, had rummaged through the bag to help put the items away, because leave it to his brother to put everything in the wrong place, and jam a drawer. ('I didn't do it!') ( 'Well, who did? Pabu? I'm not the one who eats Fire Flacks. Come on, Bolin.')
At the bottom of the bag, were moon peaches.
His nose flared up like fire. The back of his tongue tingled. With no comment, and no answer whatsoever to his brother's concerned questioning, he had reached into the bag, pulling the paper apart, and retrieved the source of his agitation.
He had stomped across the room, ignoring his brother's protests of what are you doing? Those were ten good yuans! had ripped open the window so hard the glass nearly shattered. With one swift move of his arm, the cartoon dropped the two floors and splattered on the asphalt in a vomit of yellow, earning an pissed off yell from below, and narrowly missing a old-looking guy. What the hell, kid?
When he had turned around to his brother's shocked expression, and Pabu's wines, his words had been bitter, final, laced with embers from the back of his throat.
"No moon peaches again. Ever."
Bolin had asked no questions after that, and he hadn't so much as caught a whiff of the fruit in their home from then on.
She doesn't smell like moon peaches now. She smells like rubbing alcohol, sweat, and dirty bandages. Dried-up tears and broken promises.
She's been dead to the world for six days. Actually, six days, eight hours, twelve minutes and five seconds.
Not that he was counting, or anything.
The doctors had said she'd be fine, but he knows better. He heard how their voices were just a bit too high, how their gentle eyes betrayed pity and lies for the poor, hopeless boy they thought him to be. She had two broken ribs, a black eye, a torn up side that needed thirteen stitches (he had counted them) multiple cuts and bruises that still whispered on her skin even after countless healing sessions.
It didn't matter that Suyin had bent the poison out of her. Once it got in her, there was no way to stop the damage.
And he legs. You don't fall on your legs like that, without having repercussions.
They said she would need a wheelchair, if she woke up.
If.
They didn't hear it. They didn't hear her scream, or see the blood.
They didn't see the horrible glow of her eyes, of the real power inside her.
They didn't see her fear.
He had tried to tell them that, but they hadn't listened.
She's going to be fine, just fine.
Mako had sat, staring at those stiches, her bandages, her closed eyes- her- for countless days on end. The puzzle that was Korra, all laid out in front of him. He had so many things to say her, and he didn't even know if she could hear him.
Things have gone downhill very fast, I am sorry to say. If she wakes up, I'm afraid their might be some repercussions. The doctor's sad eyes had stung his soul.
If she wakes up.
He should have told her how she smelt like moon peaches.
Behind him, the door opens. A hand rests softly on his shoulder. He doesn't register it, until the voice speaks up.
"You need to get some rest, Mako. No sense making yourself sick." The strawberries are gone, replaced by a sad smoothie of Chamomile Tea, and Tylenol.
Bile rises in his throat. "She's going to die. Isn't she, Asami?"
The hand squeezes, warmth sits beside him. Her usual shiny black curls are scraped back in a tangled, lank mop on the top of her head. The beauty queen's make up is gone.
She looks younger, Mako thinks, more innocent. Funny how masks can hide things.
She shakes her head, "Don't think like that. She'll pull through. We just have to give it some time."
"It's been six days, ten hours, and fourteen minutes."
Green eyes widen. " You've been keeping track-"
"Yes."
A weary sigh. Yes, Chamomile Tea. With honey. Her Tylenol must not have done the trick.
"Mako...You can't keep blaming yourself for this. You had no control over-"
"They're gone." his voice is raspy.
"...What?"
"The moon peaches. They're gone, Asami. I can't smell they anymore."
A silent moment lapses. Mako swears the heart monitor skips a beat. Her breathing tube is wind, pulling his soul out of his body, and closer to her.
"Well," Asami says finally, "When she wakes up, you can buy her more."
And with that, she gets up, and starts to head out. Before leaving she stands in the threshold, head turned toward him.
"I guess it's no use to try to make you some Sleeping Tea?"
He shakes his head. They both know he won't drink it, no matter how tired he feels.
Another sigh. Three taps echo on the wood of the door.
"Burning leafs."
He lifts his gaze to her. "Huh?"
"Burning leafs," she repeats. "That's what you used to smell like. And black coffee." Her nose is scrunched up in that way it gets when she's frustrated.
"What do I smell like now?" he asks. He isn't sure he wants to know.
She doesn't even hesitate. "Like how the air feels when a thunderstorm is brewing. And sadness."
"People can't smell sad, Asami." He grimaces, and looks back down at the girl in the bed.
"Sure they can," the heiress declares, "Don't you know, smelling is the strongest tie to memory."
And with that, she lets the door close softly behind her.
He muses bitterly, that all the hope he has to go on, relies on the significance of a native fruit that he doesn't even like.
He'll have to make Bolin go grocery shopping again.
"I hope you're happy now," he tells the still girl. He pushes back her sweaty bangs, and pulls her blankets tighter. "I'm getting your stupid fruit again for you."
He swears her fingers twitch in his hands.
"You better eat every last bite." The smile twitches on his lips. "Damn it, Korra. Just wake up."