It's getting late into the afternoon when I put my daughter down for a nap. She's been smiles and laughter all day, and has more than tired herself out. She yawns wide and lifts her hands to rub at her eyes as I take her upstairs. When I set her down in her cot and draw the blanket up past her stomach, I stand by and watch her drift to sleep without a moment wasted. I watch the rise and fall of her chest and listen to the rhythm of her breathing, gently stroking her cheek with a finger. I've never been able to get over how soft her skin feels, and how I can so completely lose track of time by simply watching her sleep. This time, however, I am somewhat distracted.

After ensuring she is comfortable, I make my way back down the stairs and begin waiting for my husband. In the absence of information and despite my telling myself not to, my concerns deepen as I think of the telephone call over and again. It does not take long for me to convince myself there's something wrong, and I sit in the living room with the radio on, listening both to it and for the sound of keys in the front door. The latter occurs just over an hour after my putting our daughter to bed, as I'm passing through the hallway into the kitchen to get a glass of fruit juice. I pause with one foot over the threshold and my hand trailing along the doorframe, taking a step backwards as I hear a metallic jangle.

Mako pushes the door open, his set of keys in one hand and briefcase in the other. He pockets the first as he turns to shut the door behind him. As I step out of the kitchen proper and he turns to face me, I can see that he is unsmiling, even when I greet him. His lips are pressed thin as he remains silent, eyes hard upon me, and for a moment I wonder what I've done, that he should stare at me like that.

"Honey?" I say as he begins to approach me. "What's wrong?"

Mako says nothing, nothing at all. He pauses on his way over to me merely to crouch and place his briefcase on the floor at the foot of the stairs. My gaze turns upwards to meet his as he draws closer, for Mako is almost a head taller than I am. At this short distance, before he erases it entirely, I get the chance to read his eyes properly. It has been so long since I last saw such intensity in them. It's a different man who is walking towards me now, and my throat tightens at the sight of him. My lips part as his crashes into them.

When hunger snares him like this, Mako is overtaken by something primal. He is greedy, selfish and powerful, pulling and pushing as he growls the depths of his want against my flesh. I answer to it, though I know not quite where this mood in him stems from. I trust him not to hurt me, even as my back meets the wall hard and he looms over me like a predator. Mako knows my strength. He knows that I can take it when he decides to play rough and take charge.

I submit, and let myself become his prey. I offer myself up to him, and Mako holds me in place with his eyes alone. His hands are to either side of my head, his golden gaze piercing so deeply into me. His presence dominates my space, and I can't move. I can't breathe and I can't look away. I read that simple intention in the look he gives me. He is going to take me, here and now. And then his mouth descends to claim mine.

Everything becomes a blur, of sight and sound and smell and touch, and the taste of him is all I know. Mako bears down on me, and I gasp as tongue and teeth bruise the flesh of my throat. I enter the kitchen backwards, almost stumbling, but he holds me upright. His jacket is tossed to the ground. My top is worked up over my head as I feel the edge of a table pushing against the back of my legs. My hands are tugging at his belt as he blindly sweeps an old newspaper and a basket of fruit to the ground. Luckily, there is no crockery present.

The beat of my heart is a war drum as he snarls impatience, finally exposing me to cool air of the room. His skin is soon hot and beaded with sweat, pressed flush against mine. His body is locked between my legs, my arms clinging to his neck as single-mindedness takes him utterly and completely. There is a moment spared for one clumsy kiss, but it's what neither of us want or need right now.

I can hardly breathe, and my body, splayed out across the table, is burning up beneath Mako's ravenous gaze. Somewhere at the back of my mind, I'm hoping dearly that the table won't break beneath me. Another voice decides it's a good moment to remind me that this is the place where we eat. I ignore them both as Mako's hands and eyes rove, too far caught up in the thrill of this moment to care. And then the kitchen is filled with the sound of choked grunts, and his fingers dig into my hips.

I quietly run my fingers through his hair when he rests his brow against my chest, breathing heavily. He kisses me there and then lifts himself up, and I along with him. After we each retrieve enough items of clothing to somewhat paint a picture of decency, Mako draws up a tossed aside chair and I sit across his lap. Cooler heads make for a better coordinated kiss, and we share several before one of us speaks.

"What's gotten you?" I say, arms around his neck.

Mako kisses my collarbone before looking up at me. "I was thinking about you all day," he replies.

"Aren't you always?" I tease.

"This was different."

I raise an eyebrow. "How so?"

"You were a distraction I couldn't ignore," he answers.

I smirk. "So you just abandoned your post to come and deal with said distraction."

"At the earliest convenience," Mako says, smiling. "There are some perks to being head of your own department."

I take a hand from around his neck and flick him on the forehead. "I thought something was wrong. You had me worried, City Boy."

It's Mako's turn to raise an eyebrow. "How have I not outgrown that nickname yet?"

I shrug, smile, and then lean down to kiss him. He returns it, but afterwards when I draw away, I see that his expression has changed. There is a hint of plea in his eyes even before he speaks, and the way they begin to search mine pushes on me the sudden urge to look away.

"I love you, Korra."

"I know," I return. I mean for it to sound teasing, but the tone of my voice speaks differently. I find myself giving a small nod, swallowing before I speak again. "I know."

"I need you," he says quietly. "I'm not sure what to do without you."

"You'll do fine," I say after a long moment. "You're a good father, Mako."

"She needs her mother more."

This is not just about our daughter, I know, though he presents her as the crux of the issue. In one aspect, it's much simpler than that. Here we are now, just the two of us as it was in the beginning, existing for the briefest moment in our own little bubble. I remember our earliest days, where we were separated by our dormitories and I lay awake at night aching with this thing they called 'love'. I remember how his mere seeing me after the long, hard days of being a rookie police officer seemed to invigorate him and, no matter how dark his mood, bring a smile to his lips.

And now here we are, husband and wife, tied by vows and love and a bond so complex that I long ago gave up trying to fully understand it. It simply is, and we simply are. So I understand Mako's reasoning for opposing my leaving so persistently; he does not want to be apart from me. It is as simple and as complex as that. Mako has always craved companionship, and I am his friend, his lover, his confidant. When he tells me he needs me, I alone know the truth of his honesty. But…

"I'm the Avatar," I say softly, watching the fires rise in his eyes. "The world –"

"The world should sort out its own problems," he cuts across me, and his arms tighten around my waist as he speaks. "Korra, your family needs you. I need you."

He is being selfish and unreasonable, a part of me thinks. How many times have I expressed my dislike of his leaving our bed at unholy times in the morning to go into work, or asked him not to stay back too late because I just needed to have him home and in my arms, only to be told that he was sorry and there was nothing he could do about it? Is this not the same? Why should he complain now, and so stubbornly?

But I say none of these things aloud. In fact, I say nothing at all. Instead, I lean forward and embrace him, resting my cheek against his. Instead, as I close my eyes, I prepare myself, because I realise that I've already made the choice. And Spirits, I know what making this choice has earned me.

Mako holds me close and does not speak. Only when I murmur that I should check on our daughter does he eventually let me go.

We collect the rest of our clothes, returning scattered fruit to the basket and arranging wayward sheets of the newspaper before putting it back on the table. Mako follows me up the stairs, and our footsteps are the only sounds made between us. Our daughter remains blissfully unaware that her mother and father stand beside her cot looking down at her. She does not sense the tension in the silence that dwells between us.

"I think she's going to be a waterbender," I say then, breaking it.

"Mother's intuition?"

I shake my head. "I was playing with her earlier, showing her waterbending," I explain quietly, my arms resting along the edge of the cot. "She was copying my movements," I say, smiling at the memory, "and I think I saw her waterbend too, just for a moment."

"You think," Mako says.

I pause, and then shake my head once more. "No, I'm sure."

He relents and laughs softly. "Five months old, and already bending. I suppose that's what happens when your mother is the Avatar."

I close my eyes and release a long sigh when Mako turns and leaves the room. When I open them again, I bring my hand down to touch hers, smiling when her loosely curled fingers tighten around my thumb.

"That's right," I whisper, my smile fading as I regard her. "Your mother is the Avatar."

Forgive me, sweet child of mine.