(A/N: Sorry about the delay in posting the ending. Life intervenes at the most inopportune moments. Better late than never, I always say.)

The seats were bad, and the décor wasn't much to look at, but the food made up for it. It was a fancy place downtown, just off the main drag, or at least it had been before the bombs had ripped half of it apart. Boischelle, or Boischel, something like that. Asami couldn't remember exactly what the spelling had been, and it was impossible to check now, as the afflicted half had also been the front half, the part with the sign. The menus were gone too, along with half of the tables and chairs. The waiter had written their orders on his palm in charcoal and hurried away to the kitchen. There weren't many items left available anyway, what with rationing.

There were dozens of soldiers mixed in with the regular patrons, but none of them were throwing her glances as was the usual. When she was out with Iroh, it seemed that there was an invisible bubble around her. Cat-calls and wolf-whistles dried up, and even the typical covetous looks seemed to decrease in frequency.

He was sitting across from her, swirling the remnants of the second course around his plate with one of the strange, five-tined forks they had been provided. She had just finished asking him if he had heard from his family at all, and he had got that same look on his face, the one she saw late at night when she turned the light on to go to the bathroom. It looked like he was trying to bore a hole through the plate with his eyes.

"I got a letter two days ago. Everyone at home is fine, nothing has changed at the palace. They didn't ask me about the revolution that was just put down, they didn't even ask me how I was. My nephews are learning to firebend, apparently, and they want to join the army just like their old uncle."

Iroh speared a meatball bitterly but didn't seem to have any intention of transferring it to his mouth.

"Well, that's good news... right?" Asami asked, somewhat confused.

Iroh took a look around before replying.

"The Fire Nation needs more than soldiers. It needs tradesmen, and cooks and carpenters. The great war has been over for a century, and yet the army is larger than ever. The fire lord and her sages are taking us down a path we have walked before."

"But there were Fire Nation soldiers in the army that took back Republic City, who says they can't be a force for good?"

"A soldier has one purpose: to destroy the enemy. Any good that comes out of that is coincidental. I never wanted that for my nephews, even if it was tradition once. They deserve to grow up first, and find out whether the life of a soldier is what they really want."

The conversation was interrupted by a second waiter. Asami was a bit taken aback by his appearance. His head was entirely bald, except for a very ugly scar running across his crown. Faded tattoos peeked out of his shirt sleeves. He placed a brown paper package on the table between them.

"Excuse me sir, this just arrived for you at the front door."

Iroh glanced over at it, but Asami only had eyes for the waiter that was now walking the other direction at a brisk clip. Something was sticking in her brain. It was rather like the feeling of turning a page of a page, and pinching two by accident. Her mind could tell something was wrong, but her brain was still sorting it out. Above the ambient hum of conversation, she could hear a very faint tapping. Iroh ignored the package and seemed to regain some of his appetite. Curious, Asami picked up the package in her hands, examining it. The tapping was louder now, and it seemed to grow the tiniest bit slower with every tap. At that moment, for reasons that were never clear to her, Iroh seemed to hear it too. He looked up from his food, an expression of surprise and horror on his face.

The next few seconds were chaotic in the extreme. Iroh plucked the package from the tablecloth and hurled it away onto the floor. He leaped clear over the low table and pulled Asami down onto the ground, smothering her.

Then there was fire.

Mako awoke feeling refreshed, for once. He lay sprawled out on the couch, which was where he did his best sleeping these days, for some reason beyond his fathoming. It felt like there were too many memories attached to his old four-poster, and instead of going to sleep he would lie awake remembering the days when his stomach was empty more often than not and their surroundings were much less grand. He had considered just putting the old mattress and frame out by the curb for the garbage men to pick up, but he couldn't bring himself to do it, and the city's waste management was almost nonexistent now anyway.

His legs swung grudgingly out from under the down comforter and he wandered over to the pantry to get something to eat. He started at the sparse interior of each set of cabinets, before parking himself on the counter and sulking. How was it that they had at last come into the money, and there was still nothing to eat around the house?

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a note pasted to the tea kettle that explained why this was so.

Hey bro, we're kinda out of everything. Me and Pabu are going to pick up

something from the market. Be back in a few hours.

-Bolin

Mako's grim expression softened a little bit, imagining Pabu hefting a grocery bag. Not what Bolin had meant, he knew, but he also knew that Bolin put Pabu to work in other ways, like breaking the ice with any pretty girl that caught his eye, which happened to be all of them. He could almost imagine his little brother nonchalantly trying to start a conversation over groceries.

Oh yes, Pabu loves the greener ones. They keep his coat nice and shiney.

His imaginings were punctured by a scrape of paper on wood as someone slipped an envelope underneath his door. He quickly went over and picked it up, peeking at the keyhole as he did so.

There was no one there.

It had to be them. Nobody else moved that fast or that quietly.

His boots clacked smartly on the polished linoleum. Bright lights crowded his eyes, and the smell of bleach and disinfectant filled his nostrils. Two United Forces soldiers were at his back, and two more saluted and waved him them into Iroh's hospital room. He was sitting upright, a great swath of bandages visible underneath his shirt. His face was pale, and still flecked with bits of dried blood. He was talking in a low voice with several officers when he entered.

Iroh looked up and smiled, but it was mirthless and cold.

"I'm sorry gentlemen, you'll have to excuse us a moment. I'll let you know when it's safe to come back in."

The officers and escorts filed out of the room, shutting the door behind them with a gentle click.

"Lock it, would you Mako?" Iroh said. "Thank you. Wouldn't want some curious nurse wandering in here."

"I think the two burly men in front of the door would stop them."

Iroh laughed, and this did seem to have some measure of actual mirth in it, faint though it was.

"You'd be surprised. They're very insistent on cleaning and making sure that all my tubes are pumping just the right amount of crap into my veins." He said, gesturing at the numerous intravenous needles lodged in his forearm.

"When I heard what happened. I... I didn't know what to say. I didn't think that kind of thing was possible."

Suddenly, the lines on Iroh's face seemed to deepen and multiply, as though his frown was digging into his very essence. He gestured to a stool sitting next to the hospital bed, and Mako sat. When he looked up, he realized Iroh was giving him an intense stare, which Mako dutifully returned.

"There is literally no limit to the depths they will sink to. We have cornered some truly vicious people, and they are desperate." He said, every word as clear and hard as crystal. "The politicians? The counsel-members? They just don't get it, I can't bring it home to them. I've tried explaining. I've talked until I was blue in the face, and it didn't do a damn bit of good. I cant divert resources to this, I need too many people to haul sacks of rice, to lay bricks, to direct traffic and to keep the peace. So when something truly evil shows its head, my army is sitting on their hands."

Iroh leaned in very close at this, and took a fistful of Mako's coat in his left hand, pulling him in closer as well.

"I saw him. He looked me in the eye before he put the bomb on the table. I would have killed him then and there had I knew, with my bare hands. But I failed. I got complacent, and my men paid the price."

Something about it hardly being his fault meandered out of his brain but died long before it got to his mouth. Iroh released him, and sat back onto his upright headboard. He had been very gentle, but Mako could clearly feel the strength behind that grasp.

"There is going to be a big meeting tomorrow night in the industrial district. The Equalists have found new business partners, and the relationship goes both ways. They were the ones who did this." He said, gesturing at his side. "They think they've been successful in removing me from the picture, and as a result they've let their guard down, just like I did."

Iroh leaned forward with some effort, and tried to stretch his arm around behind him, but the bandages were too thick.

"Reach behind my pillow. Take what you find."

Mako did as he was told and retrieved a tan leather briefcase with a brass clasp.

"You will need to get inside the target building and snatch some documents before my teams can go mop up. It's a large compound, lightly guarded for it's size, but if we send the cavalry in right away they will likely destroy the evidence before we can overwhelm them. The details are all in there. Timing. Location. Signaling. The password is 737. Memorize the steps and then burn the instruction papers thoroughly. Also keep in mind that you will want to get clear of the structure once you give the signal. My boys have two modes: stand down and get wet, and none of them know what you look like or that you're working for me."

Mako turned the small engraved dials until they read 737 and the lock clicked open. He peeked inside the case. There was a flare gun and several rounds, a very slim version of the Equalist's signature shock glove, and an envelope which must have been the instructions. He closed the case with a snap.

"Anything else?"

Iroh shook his head.

"This has gone too far, Mako. It has to end, here and now. If we don't crush these people we will never have peace, not even for a moment. We will spend every living hour in fear."

"I understand."

Korra was bored out of her skull. The speeches had been devoid of substance, mostly patting the council on the back as well as other politicians and industrialist types, and now the after party was turning out to be truly mind-numbing in a manner which no amount of wine could solve.

She had partaken of two glasses, and the third only after careful consideration. It had been too many. She was now out of the realm of comfortably buzzed and well on her way towards the pitching and rolling that characterized most of her previous interactions with alcohol. Mako was over at the refreshments table, talking to a young man in uniform. Or at least, the man was talking to him. A long stream of sentences, uninterrupted, to which Mako was nodding occasionally. She had dragged him here on the condition that he could leave any time he wanted to after the main event was over. She wished she could know what they were saying. The day that she had listened to him and Iroh at the keyhole she had not heard hardly anything, but what she did was enough to make her suspicious and angry. What was Mako doing that he could not share with her?

Something about the young man was awfully familiar too. His hair was the same shade of red as the steamed lobster tails bedecking the tables. The other day she had rounded the corner to his old loft above the arena and found what she know almost certainly knew to be that same man in plain clothes, slipping an envelope underneath the door. He had regarded her with surprise, as though caught red-handed, and walked away without a word. She had resisted the temptation to open the letter.

Her somewhat sluggish mind drifted back to what her eyes were actually looking at: an elderly statesman who looked equally drunk if not more so and was prattling on about his personal life, oblivious to the fact that she had stopped nodding and smiling politely around the time he divorced his third wife. The pattern was already becoming obvious.

Again she was distracted. Mako had taken something small from the young man and they had both walked in opposite directions, as if on queue. Mako glanced around once, and turned down one of the halls which lead away from the ornate common room.

"Please excuse me," she said to the old bureaucrat. "I believe my friend wants to introduce me to someone."

Mako's boots made almost no noise as they stepped over the cobblestones. Outwardly, his demeanor was relaxed, his gate an amiable lope, but as soon as the two policemen had passed him he hunched over a bit and walked faster, keeping it heel to toe. His hand dipped into his right pocket and put the shock glove back on. The sky was cloudy, threatening rain at any moment. Now and again he could feel a solitary droplet smack into his head.

Some part of him had missed these streets, had missed stalking them late at night with ill intent. It was an echo of another life, one he had felt more comfortable in. Not that he would go back if he could, things were better now, but they were also different. Sometimes it felt like they put more security on his girlfriend than they did on the council. He didn't mind, though, he had been consumed with worry for Korra's safety after the revolution was put down, and the extra inconveniences and hassles were worth the peace of mind.

Peace of mind, he thought, wistfully. It's getting harder and harder to come by these days.

He had been struck by how General Iroh had addressed him in the hospital. It was almost as though he had come alive and risen forward out of his shell to talk to Mako as himself, not a superior officer.

Mako had his woolen greatcoat on and a small bag was slung over his shoulder. The unfastened end of his red scarf fluttered in the chilly breeze that was blowing off the ocean. One by one, the streetlights started to flicker on. As he walked down the avenue, his surroundings grew more and more industrialized. Waste incinerators, factory fronts, and long warehouses with rusted sliding doors stretching back into the unyielding blackness. It was raining now, a cold, insistent drizzle that dampened his collar. A fog was coming in from the ocean. It was unusual for this weather and temperature, in fact he could say with confidence that he had never seen it like this before in all his years of living in Republic City.

The hairs on the back of his neck prickled, and he turned around.

He could have sworn he had heard something. The night stared back at him tauntingly. The seconds ticked past as he waited for the source of the noise to reveal itself, but none did. His feet continued walking, but now he was listening more intently. His instincts were good; they had never lied to him. Those same instincts had kept him and Bolin alive during the lean years, and he would never again make the mistake of ignoring them.

Still, he couldn't afford to keep jumping at shadows all night, so he continued, checking his watch as he went. The industrial district had been built up over a century, building upon building like layers of sediment collecting on the ocean floor. Here and there fossils could be seen, sticking up out of the earth like jagged shards of bone. An aluminum foundry that overlooked his target, long since reduced to rubble by the hammers and wrecking balls, remained untouched by cleanup crews. Perhaps the project had run out of funds. Perhaps the revolution had interfered. Perhaps they had simply forgotten about it. A gleam of flickering light was coming from one of the portions of it still standing.

There was a lookout posted inside the shattered remains. Mako could tell this by his appearance, and by the way he didn't seem to be waiting for anything, just… waiting. It also meant they were amateurs: no lookout worth his salt would be dumb enough to light a fire, but that is exactly what he saw. As Mako drew closer he could see that the man was seated on a metal folding chair on a patch of floor that was still standing. In the center of the building the levels above had collapsed into the basement, creating a pit full of concrete and rebar. He vaulted over the wall and approached slowly.

He could feel the rainwater against his bare skin as his hands snaked around the man's face and covered his mouth while the other pressed the shock glove hard into his sternum. There was a jolt, and the lookout collapsed sideways, nearly dragging Mako with him. Mako eased the limp body down and dragged him into the corner, propping him up to look like he had gone to sleep. When he turned around, his adrenaline spiked and he nearly lost his composure.

A man was walking up the ramp created by the rubble towards where his friend should have been pulling watch. He could hear him call out, but it was raining harder now, well on its way to pouring, and the words attached to the man's steaming breath were snatched away. It was just as well. Mako lept forward and applied the same treatment to the other lookout, catching him before his unconscious body tumbled over the edge and was dashed on the jagged piles below. He laid the man over by his partner, and after a moment's thought, decided to leave the fire burning. Putting it out would arouse more attention.

"You owe me one, buddy." He muttered.

As he approached the outer wall of the industrial complex, he felt his heartbeat increase. He tried not to let the excitement make him giddy. Just as the letter had instructed, there was a tear in the bottom third of the chain link fence. At a casual glance it looked connected, but it curled back slightly, and he squeezed under it. Similarly, a small hole had been dug underneath the solid concrete wall that surrounded the compound. His feet splashed through the muddy puddle at the bottom of it, and he nearly bruised his head ducking underneath the masonry.

He emerged behind a cluster of wooden crates. They had sat there a long time. The rust from the nails had leeched dark red streaks into the sides of the boxes. Somewhere nearby he could hear a transformer humming. There were at least five guards patrolling the outer wall that he could see. Heavy equipment was strewn throughout the yard, some of it under tarps. He moved silently down the row of crates until he reached the end. He waited for the guard closest to turn away, and then dashed along to the next row, taking care to walk heel to toe.

The last bit of open ground was the trickiest. Up on the catwalk the guard turned and paced, turned and paced. When the man was at the apex of his patrol, Mako made for the warehouse door, only to find that it was locked. He whipped around, putting his back flat against it. He had five, maybe six seconds before the man turned around and saw him clearly silhouetted in the floodlights. Casting around for some alternate entry point, his eyes fixed upon a balcony one floor above. Using a box next to the door as a stepping point, he leapt up, caught the lower railing with his gloved hands and clambered up onto it.

The door up here was unlocked, and Mako slipped inside. The noise of the rain died away immediately, to be replaced by the regular thud of some distant machinery and… voices. Talking. He was in a supply room of some kind, and there was only one other door. Through the crack he could see a pair of boots standing there, casting a tell-tale shadow. Soon enough the talking ceased and he heard footsteps retreating down a corridor. Then Mako made his first mistake.

He opened the door.

The man that was still standing on the other side had his back to him, but at the sudden draft he turned. Before his look of surprise had a chance to translate into shouting, Mako grabbed him by the collar and hurled him bodily into his room, slamming the door shut behind him. The man fell to his knees and Mako kicked him savagely behind the joint, hobbling him. The next kick connected with his skull, knocking the man unconscious.

Just as he was catching his breath, the door swung open again and another man entered.

"Lee, what the hell was that- hey, stop!"

This one was better prepared than the last. He pulled a knife from his belt and swung at Mako. Mako retreated again and again, until at last he ducked and the man's wild swing caused the knife to slam into the wall, throwing him off balance. Mako placed his shock glove on the knife handle and triggered the charge, sending several thousand volts coursing up the man's arm. He collapsed with a groan. If he had stopped to examine the sleeping bodies he would have realized that they were not wearing the typical Equalist garb, but to his adrenaline soaked brain it hardly mattered who they were.

Orders were orders.

He fled out into the corridor, shutting the door more quietly behind him. He passed down into a main hallway which had doors on either side all the way down. The walls were plastered with fading anti-bender propaganda. Distracted by the lurid depictions of his own kind oppressing the common folk, he didn't notice a door at the far end open. The voices alerted him, though, and he just managed to duck into the door closest to him before he was spotted.

"I understand that they're not in this for the money, but we are, and if we don't get paid, they won't get their product. It's really that simple. Now if you can't convince them of this, then maybe I need to find a new spokesman, eh?"

"That won't be necessary sir, I've already relayed your concern to Amon's successor and she-"

The voices grew louder as they passed his room, and then quieter as they moved farther away and turned down the hallway he had just vacated. He was in a small office that looked like it hadn't been used in a decade. A layer of dust coated everything, including the papers on the desk, manifests which referenced ships that had been hauled off for scrap years ago. This wasn't the room he was looking for. He tried to remember the map that Iroh had given him, but it was all running together in his head.

He opened the door and tentatively looked left, then right. Seeing nobody, he proceeded further down the hall and into the office that the two men had just left. He could tell it was this one by the pattern of dirt on the floor, and by the fact that the door had been left ajar. This one was clearly in use. He rifled through the drawers. Yes, this was what he was looking for. These manifests were fresh, some even still had the typewriter smell; iron gall ink and fresh parchment. He took everything, not bothering to discriminate between vital information and idle paperwork. There was no time. If they came back and noticed that the door was now closed, the game would be up.

His job done, he exited the office, just in time to hear a shout as the bodies of his earlier escapade were discovered.

He turned and ran the other direction, towards the clanking noise. The factory floor would be his only way out now.

Unbeknownst to Mako, someone was watching him as he barreled out of the office like a freight train at full steam. She had been watching him since he left the party, trailing along dirty side streets and skirting around deep puddles, lest her quarry hear her. She was sitting on one of the massive iron girders that held up the warehouse roof, and from this vantage point she had a bird's eye view of the chaos that followed.

The mech dropped its load of girders with a deafening clang and swung around to face the threat. The mechanics who had been watching it go through its paces scattered, and through the massive hanger doors that were opening wider and wider spilled a whole group of men.

"There he is!"

"Kill him!"

Mako dove over a cluster of fuel barrels and came up with a might backhand swing, sending out a horizontal wave of flame whose fingers glanced off the mech's legs and caused the others to crouch down for cover.

The mech pilot bunched his legs and leaped over a line of crates, nicking the last one with the spur of his machine's bulky foot pad. There was a crunching noise and it split open, spilling propane tanks left and right. One of them smacked the floor hard enough to rupture its valve, and a cloud of gas rushed into the chilly air. Mako apparently did not notice this in time, as he reemerged from his hiding place, slipped between the mech's legs and threw another jet of flame directly at his enemies. The idle gas flared up immediately, the heat and intensity causing everyone momentary blindness. The canister slithered along the floor, hissing and spitting as it was carried aloft on a jet of flame. Its wild flailing knocked several of the men clear off of their feet before smashing into the fuel barrels. A sticky black goop spilled onto the floor and ignited immediately.

Mako had something in his hand, and he pointed it through the hanger doors towards the night sky and pulled the trigger. A brilliantly red starburst leaped from his hand and illuminated the entire courtyard beyond, just in time to see another group of guards move through the gap. They closed in on Mako in seconds. The mech stepped out of the way of the expanding puddle of fire, whose expansion was curbed by the rainwater flowing in from the opened doors. In all the excitement, nobody seemed to notice that some of this water was running up the walls and collecting around one particular part of the roof, seemingly in violation of the laws of physics.

Mako tried to isolate them and take them on one at a time with fire and lightning, but they came it him from all sides. Korra gasped as a rock smashed cruelly against the side of his head, and he dropped to the floor. She wanted to scream, to call out, to distract them somehow, but the smoke and heat from the fire was choking her. She had never imagined it would be like this when she had first started following him. How could she have not have known Iroh was using him like this? Wasn't it obvious? It didn't matter. If she didn't act now, Mako would die.

She didn't have time for a deep breath. Instead, she simply let go, and the water followed her.

Chinsen wiped blood away from his forehead. In the confusion he had managed to sustain a nasty cut, probably a splinter from the crate that the mech shattered. It didn't faze him one bit. His prey was in sight, and grossly outnumbered, just the way he liked it. Chinsen watched him grapple with three assailants, shocking one and dissipating the others fire with his own wall of flame, but he couldn't be everywhere, not even close. Before he knew what had hit him, a piece of the floor that an earthbender had scooped out came whistling out of the darkness and directly into his temple. He went down like a sack of bricks.

For reasons unknown to him, Chinsen glanced over his shoulder as he moved forward with the rest of the group to finish the job, and so was granted a perfect view of what happened next, unlike his unfortunate comrades, who never saw it coming.

A slender figure scrambled, monkey-like, down a beam, and dropped. Her eyes were glowing with an eerie blue light that chilled him to the very bone. As she fell, she twisted her back like a cat so that her hands and feet were oriented towards the ground. A wave of water closely followed her meteoric descent. When she made contact with the concrete a moment a moment later it deformed downwards, cracking along its entire surface. The water expanded outward in all directions, sweeping up every loose item and propelling it outwards. The fire went out almost instantly. Chinsen was dragged off his feet and slammed into the door, which itself was bent outwards and carried a short distance away before falling face-down on the concrete.

He gagged and coughed, spitting up oily, contaminated water and rolling over onto his back. The mech driver picked himself up much faster, but it was no use. She was glowing much brighter now, the color mixing with the red of the flare as it floated back down to earth. Two great scything hoops of water sprung outwards, severing the mech's arms at the elbow, and spinning it around. Another torrent engulfed the engine mounted on the back of the machine and froze solid. The motor whined and kicked, tearing itself to pieces internally and trapping the operator within it.

The factory was in ruins. It's roof had been bent rent roughly down the middle and both sides had collapsed outwards. An explosion off to his right distracted him momentarily. A large plume of dirt settled almost immediately, and United Forces MPs poured through the newly-made gap in the compound perimeter.

The last thing Chinsen saw before being thrown to the ground a second time was the Avatar scooping up a motionless body and clearing the wall in one bound.

It was very early in the morning. The temple lights were all out, save for the one in the kitchen. Mako was conscious now, but just barely. Enough to keep her from having to drag him, but apparently not enough to speak. At the moment, that was fine. There would be time for questions later.

Pema met her out on the veranda, slipping an arm around Mako's other side and helping him up the steps. Tenzin looked up from the table as they entered. He looked tired and harried.

"Korra, you have a lot of explaining to do!"

"Over here, on the table. Gently now." Pema said as they coaxed the half awake Mako onto the table.

When it was done Pema went over to the cupboard and opened it, retrieving a roll of white gauze. She mopped away the dried blood with a wet cloth and began wrapping his head with the gauze, stretching it tightly on each pass.

Tenzin was not demurred.

"You left the driver waiting at the curb, and when nobody could find you we assumed the worst. You could have been snatched by Equalists, you could be dead! Then what would I have done?!"

Pema placed a firm hand on her husband's shoulder.

"There will be plenty of time for scolding tomorrow, dear. For now they need to rest."

Tenzin looked like he wanted to protest further, but didn't.

"I suppose you are right. But you and I need to have a talk when this is over Korra."

Something warm was on his face.

Iroh opened his eyes slowly. They had him on new medication, one of the effects of which was perpetual drowsiness. The nurses told him it promoted healing. They had opened the window and through it the warm afternoon sun beamed in. His lower body was still throbbing gently, and when he sat up the pain flared. The breeze felt cold on his clammy skin, but he forced himself to look around and take stock of his surroundings.

A tray of food had been left half eaten on the table by his bed. He had lost his appetite midway through. Something else was sitting on the table. A small brown paper package, tied up with twine. His heart began to race. At that moment the door opened without a knock and a UF officer walked in. He saluted, which Iroh didn't bother to return.

"What is it?"

"Sir, someone who claims to be Mako is trying to reach you by phone."

"Give him this room's extension number then. What is that package doing there?" He said, sharply.

"It arrived this morning." the officer replied.

"Did you search it?"

"All that was inside was a pair of dog-tags and the documents you were waiting for."

"I didn't ask you what was inside, I asked you if you had searched it."

The officer paused for a second or so before replying.

"Yes sir, it was searched."

"Good. That will be all." Iroh said.

When he had gone Iroh stretched out a hand and snatched up the package, grimacing and clutching his bandages as he did so. He unwrapped the small container, and sure enough, it contained a pair of dog tags with Makos name emblazoned on them. Wrapped around them was a sheaf of paper. Upon examination these turned out to be shipping manifests for various parts. Each one of them had the names of suspected terrorists on them. A moment later the phone on the wall next to his bed rang and he picked it up.

"This is Iroh."

"I'm quitting." said the voice on the other end. It sounded hoarse, strained even.

"I can see that. I received your package."

"Good. I was starting to wonder if it had made it through. My decision is final, I've had enough."

Something in Iroh flared that was not pain. How did Mako, barely into adulthood, have the right to give up when it got hard? Had any of his other soldiers been given that choice?

"I am reluctant to let you go. Martial law is still in effect. In theory I could compel you to return to service."

"In theory." Mako replied coolly. "In reality you would simply be putting me into a jail cell, because I would refuse to work for you."

In spite of his mood, Iroh found himself smiling. He found such stubbornness endearing in a strange sort of way. It reminded him of himself.

"Fair enough. I release you. There wasn't any paperwork attached to it in the first place so I doubt anyone will notice."

"We'll keep it our little secret." Mako said.

"Agreed." Iroh replied and hung up.

The birds in the trees were singing, and Mako was coming around at last. They had laid him down in the guest room, and besides wanting a mysterious package delivered and a private phone call he hadn't spoken more than a dozen words. Korra had sat in a hard wooden chair the whole rest of the night, watching his chest rise and fall gently.

He opened his eyes and pushed himself into a sitting position before gingerly probing the bandages around his head.

"Ooh..."

"You took a little tumble." Korra said.

She didn't know whether to be furious or thankful.

"What happened? The last thing I can remember, I was running, and then... nothing."

Korra slid off the chair and came to sit beside him. He scooted over to allow her room, but when he reached for her hand she found an excuse to move it away.

"I followed you. All the way from the party. I thought about going back multiple times, but I didn't. I wanted to know what you were doing. I wanted to know what you were keeping from me." She said. "What's gotten into you Mako?"

"I told you, I was helping Iroh. He needed an outsider, someone who wouldn't attract attention."

"But why? It's not your fight Mako, if it's anyone's business its mine."

"I know, that's why I did it. They're still out there Korra, and they want you, badly. Kill or capture, it doesn't matter. I couldn't rest easy until I was sure it was over with. Living your whole life looking over your shoulder for an assassin isn't a life at all."

"Just promise me," she said, clasping his callused hand and squeezing it, "that whatever we do from now on, we do together."

"Deal." Mako said, squeezing back.

Korra tried not to look like she was about to commit a terrible crime of passion as she walked brusquely down the hallway. Since she couldn't get a straight explanation out of Mako, and couldn't bear to stay mad at him any longer, she had decided that the brunt of her unhappiness was going to come down on Iroh, as he was most responsible for this. Even now she could feel it building like an avalanche moving downhill. She noticed a pair of guards shooting the breeze, and one more standing directly in front of the door that she wanted to get through. The guard at the door gave her one look, and stood aside. She cut quite a distinctive figure in her water tribe garb, one that was not easy to mistake.

The door shut behind her with a click and she opened her mouth to let loose the avalanche, but stopped when she realized who was standing there. Asami looked at her with a mixture of confusion and suspicion. Korra was caught completely off guard. The first words of the tirade died in her throat.

There was a long and uncomfortable silence before Iroh spoke.

"Asami, can you give us a minute? I think Korra has been wanting to have a word with me."

"Sure." Asami said, the mildness of her tone belying the ferocity of her gaze as she left the room.

The look said everything, and it made Korra deeply uncomfortable. Are you going to take him too? Not satisfied with Mako?

When the door clicked shut a second time, the words she had been about to blurt out seemed silly. She walked over to stand by his bedside. There were deep bags underneath his eyes, and bandages covered his lower body. He looked like he had aged a great deal in a short span of time. An IV was dripping steadily into his arm.

One two three, drip, one two three, drip. When she finally spoke, the anger was still in her voice.

"Why him?"

Iroh sighed.

"Has he not explained it to you?"

"He didn't need to explain anything, I know what's been going on. You're using Mako to get back at the people who did this."

"And you think that's a bad thing how?"

"Mako is not a soldier, Iroh. Even if he was, the war is supposed to be over!"

"Mako can take care of himself just fine. You of all people know his past, most of his life has been spent getting out of tight scrapes." Iroh said, raising his voice. "Since when does war obey my word? Do you really think a war like this ends when its 'supposed to'?"

Korra crossed her arms.

"I did, once. When war was just stories in books. Now, though, I think that war ends when people like you decide its over, and not a moment before. I also think you don't care who you hurt along the way."

She knew instantly that this had been a step too far. Iroh's fingers clenched involuntarily against the bedspread, but his expression hardly changed at all. For a single terrifying moment she thought he would leap out of the bed and engulf her in fire, but he seemed to take a deep breath and calm himself.

"There will come a time in your life when you will be forced to make choices more difficult than you can possibly imagine," he said. "Life and death choices. You are the Avatar, and the world has still not found peace with itself. It needs someone that can set aside their personal life and shoulder a burden when necessary. Even if it means you may never see the people you love again. Mako understood that. Every man in this army understands that. If the lowliest private in my army can make that choice, how can the Avatar herself ignore it?"

Korra wanted to shout back that this was completely different, but the memory of what she had said to Saikan only a week ago drifted back to her: "The world's problems are my problems." She had spoken those words proudly, almost airily, as though through some act of will she had taken on this mantel. Shame burned in her cheeks.

She turned and left without a word. Iroh seemed to understand what was going through her head and didn't try to stop her, which made her hate him even more. She had had the whole conversation planned out in her head, and now in retrospect those expectations seemed childish. How could she have honestly expected to cow someone like Iroh with sheer bull-headedness? Out of the corner of her moist eye, she could see that Asami was again watching her, but her expression had softened considerably. That was the last straw. She could take scorn and embarrassment, but pity... the Avatar didn't need pity.

As soon as she got outside the hospital she sprinted to where Naga was lying with her head in her paws and leapt on her back.

"Come on girl, lets get out of here." she said, trying not to let her voice crack.

She didn't need to specify a destination. Naga knew the ways back to the Air Temple docks by heart now. The sun was high and bright, and a nearly full moon was already hanging in the sky like a silver medallion, outshone by its brighter sister. A single wisp of cloud hurried across the sky, as though eager to get wherever it was going. Perhaps to join its kin out at sea. Perhaps to drift farther inland and rain down on some Earth Kingdom province.

Something triggered a memory within her, a recollection of one of the few times she had asked Katara about Aang. She had asked, somewhat wistfully, if Aang had been forced to give up all his worldly possessions as well. They had gotten into a conversation about this and that, adventures past, chakras cleared and ancient history. Something Katara had said had stuck in her mind, and now it broke free, drifting across the surface of her idle mind.

"The seventh and final step to becoming a fully realized avatar is to let go of this world. You must relinquish all that you care for. Aang had to do it when he was twelve years old. Only then did he possess the courage to do what was necessary."

"Everything? Even you?" She had asked, and Katara had nodded solemnly.

"At first he refused it as impossible. But in time, he did what you must also do. And only when it was done was he able to do what the world asked of him."

She tried to imagine letting go of Mako. She tried to imagine actually loosing him. A tear that had been threatening to break free all the while finally did so, sliding down her cheek before it dropped off her face entirely and was absorbed by Naga's shaggy fur. In that moment she realized how fast Aang had been forced to grow up. He did something at the age of twelve that she was now struggling with at seventeen.

It made her realize that despite how far she had come, there was still a long way left to go.

Naga cleared the alleyway and sprinted out onto the docks, scattering gulls and longshoremen alike. At the end of the pier, a White Lotus guard jerked awake and hurriedly began untying the ropes to the boat that would take them to the other side.

"Take your time." Korra said, wiping the moisture from her eyes. "I'm in no hurry."

(A/N: From the earth we come, and to the earth we shall return. Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust. Thank you for reading. Don't forget to provide your valued opinions.)