Hello all! As you may know, Korrasami Month is afoot, and I have decided to continue this story based on the prompts provided. I plan on using one prompt per three day release, for a total of ten new chapters to this story. It will be a direct continuation from where we left off in Airport, though this particular chapter occurs several months after those events. I hope you enjoy! And I'm sorry for feels and what not. Also, thank-you for taking the time to read and leave reviews/comments on my story. I greatly appreciate it. *heart*
Autumn
The leaves crunched under her feet.
They were as dead as she felt.
The wind was cold, making her nose pink.
It was as chilling as her heart had been.
The outskirts of the City were quiet.
Just as quiet as her soul.
The only thing moving that wasn't her feet was her mind. It replayed memories as it always did when she wasn't drowning herself in work. It showed clips of her current projects when she was at her desk, face inches from whatever it was that she was designing or analyzing or building. When her brain was too exhausted to think of engineering, it wandered to other things. To the war. To the broadcasts and news reports that she had a love/hate relationship with. She loved them only in the sense that it kept her up to date with what was happening.
But she hated it because it reminded her of what was happening.
That's when her thoughts would succumb to her heart, fueled by yearning and a form of desperation that she had no fondness for.
All of which was stemmed by love – a love too potent for her to find any control over.
She stopped at the corner, waiting for the morning traffic to clear. Once the light switched color, she went on her way.
When her feet weren't crunching leaves, they were clicking against the stone of the sidewalk. She kept moving, moving as she always had, as she always tried to do.
And from this, the summer had been a blur.
She had gotten a job and dove right into her work, spending long hours from almost sunrise to almost sunset in the factories. She had decided to continue her studies, finding that work wasn't enough of a distraction for her. So she split her time at the facilities into chunks so that she could pursue her advanced degree and sharpen her engineering skills. And this was great during the day, when she moved from work to class to homework and back again.
But at night, when her assignments were complete and her mind was too tired to think about her latest project – that was when things became deadly.
That's when her thoughts would wander while she laid alone in her oversized bed. That's when her thoughts wandered to her.
Asami came to a halt, reaching her destination. She hadn't been here since May, since… She clicked across the small path and sat in a nearby bench, an empty gaze at the scenery ahead. She stared at the sign that read "The Gardens", unable to enter yet from her own restraint. Her heart was trying to break out of the cold shell Asami had kept it in. It turned on occasion as it tried to escape. She forced it down but remained still on the bench. It wasn't enough. She wanted to leave.
She couldn't.
It took her weeks to work herself up to get here. And she hated it. She wanted to be numb, wanted to push all of this away and function normally.
So why in the hell was she here?
She pulled out her cell phone and brought the display to life. The image on her screen reminded her exactly of why she was here. She slid the lock open. She tapped her way to her voicemails and scrolled through the work related ones until she found the one she wanted – the only real important one, in her opinion. She clicked on it and held it up to her ear, closing her eyes in the process.
"Hey, Asami," a shaky voice started, "it's me. I – I have something I need to tell you. And I want to tell you before I don't have the chance to anymore. You're probably busy or sleeping, and that's why you didn't get this call, but they'll be taking my phone away soon, so I don't have much time."
There was a long pause.
"Asami – I'm going to war. Like, actually – actually going… The lieutenant… I – they're sending me to the frontlines, Asami."
The whimpering started.
"They're sending me to the frontlines. To the Earth Kingdom. I – I won't be in the Fire Nation."
There was another pause, though this one was not a silent one as the previous had been.
"I'm sorry, Asami. I – I don't know why they are doing this. I – I –"
Asami's hand started shaking. She took a breath and buried her feelings as she seemed to do more and more in these situations.
"I won't be able to communicate through phone or text or internet. There won't be service out there and they're taking anything with GPS chips in it out of the ground units so that Kuvira can't track us like she did with the last squadron that went out there. But –"
There was a crinkling and fiddling on the other end, mixed between sharp breaths and sobs.
"They gave me a way you can reach me. Through letters. If you send them to the military base in the Fire Nation, they'll be able to get it to me. Address it with my name and Squadron 727, Lieutenant Colonel Xinku. I'll try to write back as soon as I can, whenever I get your letter, okay?"
The sobbing intensified.
"Asami – Asami, I love you. I love you with all of my heart. And after – after this is over, I'm going to come back to you. Okay? I'm going to come back and do everything I can to stay alive."
A sharp intake of breath. A ten second pause.
"I love you, Asami. I have to go – they're coming now to collect our phones. I hope you get this message. I'll be okay; don't worry about me, alright? And please, take care of yourself."
A final pause before the final sentence.
"I love you."
The static faded out as the message ended.
This had been four months ago. Four months since this voicemail. And it was the last piece of Korra's voice that she had.
Asami held her phone close to her chest. It wasn't the first time she had listened to this voicemail, and from the looks of things, it wouldn't be the last. But she had cried less and less each time. Instead, she felt herself sink more with the repetition, more into stillness and coldness as the weather had with the change of the seasons. She didn't cry anymore. In fact, she didn't really feel anything anymore.
It had been a long time since she cried over Korra, even during those nights where she felt lost and alone in her empty bed. More often than not, she would shove those emotions down, roll over in her stubbornness, and try to sleep in her barren room. When this didn't work, she moved to her small couch, the feeling of the back of the couch against her helping, if only somewhat.
In the more shaken times when her emotions were rawer and out of her control, she slept on the floor with Naga or invited the massive dog to lay on her bed. For Naga, too, had been affected by Korra's absence – much more so than she knew how to handle.
At first, she didn't welcome Asami's company; while she loved the engineer, she wasn't Korra, she wasn't the best friend she longed for. She would sit by the door, waiting for Korra's return, only to be disappointed when Asami walked through the frame.
For she wasn't Korra.
Soon, the hope began to fade. She stopped sitting by the door. Stopped rushing to it from her bed. In fact, she hardly moved from her bed on the floor in the living room, unless it was to eat or relieve herself.
Eventually, the loneliness took over.
She had approached Asami late one night at the large, cluttered desk that the engineer was accustomed to working at in such wee hours of the morning. Naga had put her head in Asami's lap, commanding her attention.
When their eyes locked, she knew.
From then, it had become commonplace for Naga to sit somewhere near Asami when she was working, whether she was within range of being petted or not. Even when Asami caressed her, though, the motions seemed to be empty, lacking that certain inflection of touch that both of them needed.
Even when Asami had crawled onto the floor with Naga or when Naga had leapt onto Asami's covers, it wasn't enough.
Because it was lacking what they kept trying to hold down in belief that restraint was success in the situation. It lacked emotion. They weren't confiding in each other. They were simply using the physical presence of the other as a false form of comfort, a means of trying to make up for the absence of the boisterous person that they missed and denied missing so much:
Korra.
Asami looked up and took a breath. A cough erupted from her chest, brought about by the cold of September and her own exhaustion. It was the only reason she had time to be here right now; she was banned from working by her boss – her father – until she healed. Even he could see how much Asami was working herself, and he urged her in the past to rest.
But she didn't listen. She overworked herself right into sickness, and now she was forced to stay home and address the cause of her symptoms.
She wasn't referring to the virus in her body.
Asami pushed herself to her feet and held her elbows, both for warmth and to hold herself together. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes.
The wind urged her forward, urged her to enter the garden.
So she did.
She wandered through the vine-covered gate, blank in her stare. Her phone was still in her hand, still against her breast. She pushed her emotions down with every step until her steps stopped.
Everything erupted when her eyes fell upon the sight of the rose garden.
It had been the place that Korra and Asami had come to when they first became friends. It was the place that she had been avoiding for that very reason; coming here meant being reminded of Korra, of the happier times, of the times that reminded her that Korra wasn't here and that Korra could be dead and all of the things and emotions and thoughts that she was trying so desperately to get a grip on and control and push down.
But pushing emotions down was not controlling them; it was just burying them, neglecting them, covering them with a layer of dirt and a carpet to be unseen.
This didn't stop them from being known. For Asami knew they were there, knew the emotions were lingering under that rug.
And she avoided them, just as she had been avoiding the rose garden.
Asami blinked again and rubbed her eyes, part of her believing that this wasn't real. When she opened them, everything was the same as it had been moments before. At least, to her eyes.
But something had changed.
She walked up to the flowers in disbelief, the fallen leaves crunching at her feet. Most of the rose garden – what was originally there – had lost its flowers and even its leaves, which scattered along the dirt with the others. The surrounding trees were in a similar state, their leaves turning colors and detaching as was commonplace for the autumn.
It was a trademark, actually. An expectation. The colors would flourish into magnificence, into warm oranges and reds and yellows, and drop into brown, into decay, into nothingness with the onset of winter, buried by the cold ice and snow.
For autumn was the birth and death of beauty as the world knew it.
Yet, here she stood, mouth agape at what was before her.
Several bushes of roses – the roses that Korra had planted – were green and flourishing. In fact, they were even blooming, despite the cold temperatures and late season.
And this absolutely baffled Asami. It was like nothing she had ever seen before – even in her years of rose gardening with her mother.
Not only that, but this was the first time that she had seen the flowers that Korra had planted for her bloom.
There were roses of all colors, from whites to pinks to purples and reds, to greens and oranges and back again. The dark pinks and light purples of the Seven Sisters littered the background in rows of small – but thick – bushes. This was followed by several Heritage roses, spotted with their white and pink roses that bobbed from the breeze. The pale gold of the Limonas contrasted against the deep reds of the Black Magics. In the front was a row of stunning Limbo roses – her mother's favorite. Two types of roses were in the center: the vibrant orange-to-pinks of the Kormarters, the sunrise roses, the roses which were her favorite and were in the exact center of the arrangement.
What she wasn't expecting to see amidst this confusing display of life and what she had never even seen before were the roses surrounding her Kormarters. They were blue and white striped roses, to which she didn't know the name or that they even existed.
But she knew the reason.
She stepped closer to the flowers that Korra had set up, taken aback by the beauty and potency of their bloom. Her motions were shaky from shock. The sentiments that she had been burying for months were forcing themselves out.
Asami kneeled down to the Limbo roses, face in disbelief. She felt a knot in her throat but held back her tears. She put her nose to the petals and inhaled the familiar scent of the flower with closed eyes. It was just as she remembered in the garden that her and her mother had tended to years ago before her passing. It was then, for the first time, that she noticed the small metal sign almost hidden amongst the flourishing blooms. She leaned closer to it and read to herself:
In memory of Yasuko Sato.
Asami traced the lettering with her fingertips and touched her lids, struggling to keep herself together.
"I love you, mom," she whispered, paying her respects to her late mother. She held the edge of the sign for a moment longer before rising from her spot.
She slipped between the Limbos and crouched beside the mysterious blue roses, coughing as she did so. She sniffed them and shivered, an almost cold smell radiating off of them – if that was possible.
"What are these?" She leaned forward and found the small metal sign that accompanied them. "Blue striped dragons," she read aloud in wonder. She eyed the flowers again, not believing that they were even real. She even took her glove off to squeeze the stem, fully expecting some sort of synthetic material, only to be met with a real, actual stem.
There they were, right in front of her. A blue rose.
"Her rose," she half-smiled, half-frowned, knowing that was the exact reason that Korra had planted them. It was to remind Asami of her, of the Water Tribe girl that she yearned for.
She took in their arctic-like aroma once more.
"I miss you," she whispered to the flower as if it was Korra herself, tears coming to her eyes. She tightened the hold on her phone and rose. She was falling apart.
Asami moved onto the Kormarters, moved onto the flowers she was the most accustomed with, looking for some form of stability. She inhaled their familiar scent. It wasn't working, wasn't bringing her the calmness she was hoping for.
If anything, it was making things worse.
She forced herself away from them, shoved herself out of the center of the roses and onto the pavement again.
Then, she collapsed.
She fell to her knees and cried, phone abandoned on the cold ground. She held her face in her hands as her tears fell. Asami struggled for breath. She sat back and curled into herself, trying to feel more together. Her gasps turned to painful coughs. The tears wouldn't stop, though.
She had let her emotions build up too much. She had pushed everything down and overworked herself to sickness and a form of numbness that she thought was healing but was, in actuality, hiding.
Asami hadn't given herself a chance to feel. She had pulled away in self-defense, in fear of falling, in fear of dependence, in fear of weakness. She had let herself become as dead as the autumn leaves around her, as cold as the autumn breeze.
But she wasn't weak. She wasn't dependent. She wasn't dead or cold. She was just hurting.
Hurting because Korra was gone. Hurting because there was nothing she could do about it.
Hurting because she wasn't sure if she would ever see Korra again.
Asami let herself fall apart in the comforting silence of the rose garden. She let herself feel ugly amongst the beauty of what Korra had given her.
But her emotions weren't ugly. They weren't something to hide from or something to bury down, never to be felt. They weren't illogical. They weren't dangerous.
Her emotions were valid, and it had been something she was denying herself this entire time.
All this time, all of these months that had passed, she was telling herself not to be sad, not to be lonely, not to feel these things and to just carry on like the mature adult that she was.
But maturity was not burying and numbing emotions away. Maturity was dealing with them. And dealing with them meant letting them be felt.
Asami brought her knees up to her chest. She wrapped her arms around her legs and rested her forehead on her knees as she cried. Her cold heart was warming inside her heaving chest, coming to life as the roses behind her were.
The roses.
She lifted her head and turned to them, still in disbelief that they were blooming and strong and alive. She crawled over to the Limbos and caressed their thorn-ridden stems, her eyes transfixed on the color – on the beauty – of their petals.
Asami pushed herself to her feet. Her legs shook underneath her. She grabbed her phone from the ground and brought the display to life.
The image of her and Korra on the lock screen brought a smile to her face in what felt like years but was only months. She flicked up to turn the camera on.
Then, she took pictures. She captured the arrangement in its entirety. Then, she moved onto individual blooms, catching their beauty at different angles. When she reached the blue flowers, she bent over and inhaled their aroma, the scent somehow making her feel closer to Korra, making her feel more alive.
Korra's gift to her had come to fruition in the cold, wet autumn conditions, the rain bringing them much needed life after the drought of the summer, and their blooming persisting well past that of normal roses.
And although she didn't know why, she didn't care. Asami simply loved it.
Just as she loved Korra.
She smiled and filled her phone with pictures of the roses. She would have the best of them printed, the ones she took when her hands were less shaky and her grin was more concrete, when the tears weren't pouring and her breath was more stable. She would litter her walls with them at work and at her desk, where several pictures of her and Korra already sat. In that way, she would always have a piece of the garden with her, always have a reminder of their beauty and the happiness they brought her.
Once she finished, she sat beside the roses, her knees pulled up to her chest, and rested her chin on her legs once more. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. For once, she found peace in the silence. She felt a tingling in her core that she couldn't explain. It was almost like a sense of protection, as if Korra was right beside her, holding her tight.
"I miss her," she whispered to herself, separating her lids upon the statement. She stared at her phone, looked into the blue irises of the woman she had fallen in love with, the woman who hopelessly had her heart in a tight grip.
This made her stomach turn for a moment as the challenge of her independence came up yet again in the back of her mind. Was Asami dependent on Korra?
No, she decided. That certainly was not the case; Asami Sato was in no need of anyone to help her succeed and get where she wanted to go in life. She needed no one to sustain herself; all she needed was everything that she was, everything that made Asami Sato Asami Sato.
But that was the thing, the thing that she had been denying and burying down with her feelings; Korra was part of that, she was part of what made Asami who she was. She had slipped into her very being and put a part of herself there, a piece that persisted even when she was away. She noticed it in some of her behaviors, when she was stubborn and challenging, just as Korra was. And it wasn't the first time that Asami had felt this, either. It had started in the Fire Nation when she studied abroad. She found herself staring out over the water at times, gazing at the horizon as if she could see Republic City in the distance. That's when she became aware of the piece of Korra that was part of her. That was when the longing had begun.
And now, it was worse than before, and its potency is one of the reasons Asami started pushing it down in the first place.
Though Asami was sure that it was the war that was making it so profound. For this was not a matter of need; in actuality, it was a matter of want, and it was a matter muddled with worry.
As much as she didn't want to, she had followed the reports of the war when she could bear it.
And from what she heard, it wasn't going well.
Many of the territories in the Earth Empire were still under Kuvira's control. Some of the citizens even fought for her. It seemed as though the reports of lost troops on the side of the United Forces increased as the months went by.
And that was when the worry came in. And the fear.
Asami glanced at her phone, recalling the voicemail that she had just played about an hour beforehand.
"I'll try to write back as soon as I can, whenever I get your letter, okay?"
This is what frightened her. She had written Korra several times since she got this message in May.
It was now September, and she hadn't gotten a single response.
'What if she was killed?' was always her first question when she found her mailbox empty after work.
It wouldn't be implausible; Korra was on the front lines, after all. And with all of the reports…
'Maybe she's just busy,' she would justify, for fighting in a war was straining, and the constant need of being in survival mode didn't make things any easier.
'Or maybe she forgot.' She didn't necessarily dispute this in its entirety; Korra did have a habit of forgetting to do things sometimes, like taking out the trash or paying her rent.
'But something this important,' she would question, knowing that Korra would never just forget to write her back. She always remembered the important things.
'Maybe the letters got lost,' was her go-to conclusion. This was the most probable, considering her letters first had to travel to the Fire Nation, and then travel back to the Earth Kingdom and go wherever it was that Korra was located.
'And who knows where that could be,' another voice would chime in. 'Who knows if she's even here anymore?'
And so came back the thought of death. It was this tension, this helpless feeling of not knowing whether her love was alive or not, that made her emotions and her need for Korra to be in her arms so severe.
Her nostalgia for the days before Korra was sent to war kicked in. The drumming thoughts of those days being a long forgotten memory as the weeks of silence went on took over in her darkest hours. And she found the only way she could keep herself from falling into that infinite loop was to keep herself busy and bury the cycle one shovel-full at a time.
And so she did. It was what she was good at. She kept her mind turning and her hands moving until she was too tired to go on. She'd end her day with a hot shower after spending some time with Naga and catching a small meal. She'd curl up in her sheets until her thoughts erred the edge of safe and move to her small couch to feel less lonely in her large bed. The next step, of course, was sleeping on the floor by Naga, just to feel closer to Korra.
And there were times when she thought it was all ridiculous for her to be acting this way. She was an adult, not a melodramatic teenager longing for their lost love. She'd force herself to sleep in her bed, force herself to act in a way that she believed was mature when, in actuality, it was her pushing her emotions down in stubbornness until she couldn't feel them anymore.
It was always the mornings that followed those nights when she would hear a report on the news or see something in the paper about the war, as if it were purposefully reminding her of the severity of the situation.
She'd chug her tea in those mornings, take Naga out for a short walk, and head straight to work to distract herself. She kept doing this until now, until she was too run down to keep going, until she finally had the breakdown that she needed beside the roses in The Gardens.
It was now that she realized she was handling her emotions in an unhealthy way.
Asami rose to her feet and stretched her legs, too sore and too cold to stay in her folded position any more. She glanced at the roses once more and smiled, a determined sensation coming over her.
"I wanted to do this because this is the first place we came to when we first became friends."
The words floated to her ears as the memory played from this past spring before Korra was sent to war.
"I wanted it to serve as a constant reminder of our growth together, and how beautiful we've become, even if the process is slow and still happening – just like how these flowers take a long time to bloom and wait months and months for the cold to go away. Most of all, I wanted to plant them because of you, Asami."
She saw Korra turning to her, her blue eyes vibrant and full of love.
"You've brought beauty into my life. And all of these flowers aren't enough to even get close to comparing to how beautiful you are."
She could feel Korra's hands holding hers.
"I love you, Asami Sato, with all of my heart."
A tear fell down her cheek.
"I love you, too, Korra," she whispered, sincerity in her voice.
She struggled with the concept, struggled with her sentiments, struggled with what she kept thinking was dependency.
But it was that moment that she realized that she wasn't feeling this way because of insecurity or a need for affection or a crutch.
She felt this way out of love. Out of worry. Out of fear.
"Come back to me," she added, her palms now at her chest, one holding the other against her coat to bring herself comfort. "Come back to me alive."
The leaves swirled around her, reminding her of the imminent death that autumn brings.
But the roses; the roses were still alive. In fact, they were blooming, just as her hope was, blossoming out of the cold, against the odds, against the death surrounding it.
And that was what Asami, too, had to do.
She turned away from the roses and left The Gardens with a sense of renewal, for her feelings were valid, and she had no reason to hide them anymore.
(-)
Asami walked up the steps to her apartment door with rigid motions. While her spirit was renewed, her heart was raw, and her body was much too cold and sick to be doing all of this moving. She twisted the key in the lock and pushed the door open.
"Naga, I'm home," she called, putting her ring on the hook near the door as she did so.
She turned to the mailbox and flipped the lid open, already preparing herself for the binary of either nothingness or an assortment of bills and junk mail that she was accustomed to.
Sure enough, there were several envelopes wrapped in a wad of advertisements in her box.
Asami pulled them out and closed the door behind her. A shiver ran down her spine and she sneezed in her coldness. She sniffled and tossed the mail on the coffee table next to Naga's bed.
"Do you need to go out, Naga," she asked as she blew her nose.
Naga simply stayed in her bed, showing no indication of moving any time soon.
"Alright. I'm going to go make some tea to warm up," she hollered over her shoulder while she left the living room and entered the kitchen.
Asami pulled a teapot from her cupboard and filled it with water. She turned the burner on under the kettle and gathered some Echinacea for her sickness.
When she returned to the living room several minutes later – her cold fingers wrapped around her mug – Naga was on her feet.
"What's up, Naga," she questioned as she approached the coffee table.
Naga's nose was deep in the bundle of ads. Her tail was wagging almost violently.
"Naga?" Asami's brow rose. She set her tea down and wiped her nose with her sleeve at the same time. She bent over and grabbed the mail. She started flicking through it as she sat on the couch.
Naga jumped up beside her – taking up a majority of the space – and watched on with curiosity. Her tail was still flapping to and fro.
Asami tossed the flyers onto the coffee table before her. She took her tea and sipped on it while inspecting the envelopes.
"Bill." She threw it on the table without looking up.
"Credit card."
Onto the table it went.
"Bill," she mumbled.
It, too, ended up with the others.
She was in the middle of taking a sip of her tea when her eyes fell on the last letter.
The sip turned into a choking gulp.
Naga barked as she coughed, though it wasn't because she was coughing.
Asami set her mug down and stared at the letter in her shaking fingers, bringing it up to her face until it was inches away, making sure she was reading it correctly.
'Asami Sato
151 10th Street
University District, Republic City'
It wasn't her address that was making her quiver. It was the return address.
'United Forces Outpost
1500 Ember Ave
Sea Coast County, Fire Nation'
Naga sniffed the envelope out of curiosity and barked again. She tried to grab the parcel from Asami's grip.
"No, Naga!" Asami's tone was stern to hide her fear as she pushed Naga's snout away.
Naga growled but didn't try to take the letter again.
Asami's heart was racing in her chest. She turned the envelope over to open it when a red stamp caught her eye.
'Squadron 727'
She ripped the envelope open and pulled the wrinkled paper out from inside. She tossed the envelope to Naga and leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees to steady her hands.
'Dear Asami,
I'm not sure when you'll get this. I'm sorry it took so long. They don't do mail runs often here, and the warzone has been too thick lately to get anyone through without some risking their lives, so we've had to wait until we reached a safer area. Our last carrier was shot just outside of the compound. And you wouldn't believe how hard it is to come by paper and a working pen here, let alone an envelope.
I miss you. I miss you so much. And Naga, too. Make sure you let her know. I'm sure you're taking good care of her. I just hope you're taking good care of yourself, too. I wish I was there. I don't want to be here in the Earth Kingdom. I don't want to be in this war. It's
Asami, sorry. I forgot what I was saying. We just had to pack up and go; Kuvira's people are on our trail. It's quiet now, though. But it's raining. And it's cold. Luckily, we were able to stay in a small village that we liberated from Kuvira's soldiers. They were actually grateful for us being here. I can't really say the same thing for all of the villages and towns, though. Many of them are heavily united with Kuvira. I don't think they realize the means through which she's controlling them, or that she's been separating people and – well, sending them to 're-education camps'. I'm not sure what that means, exactly, but it doesn't seem like it's a good thing.
It's confusing, though, based on what I've heard from the people who support her. She's been giving the people supplies and helping them. It's ri– it's weird. Sometimes, these people speak so highly of her and talk about how she saved them from death. But other people speak so ill of her.
We've gotten mixed receptions here in the Earth Kingdom. I've tried to spend time with some of the families who have been affected by the war – particularly the ones with children. Some have welcomed me into their homes while others have slammed the door in my face. A guy tried to pull a knife on me before, and that ended up with me getting reprimanded for being out of our designated camping area. The Lieutenant Colonel is a real asshole.
Before that, I didn't spend much time in our camps and bases. I'm put on guard duty a lot during the night, and I'm pretty sure it's because I rubbed the LC the wrong way. Guard duty – it's exhausting. But tonight, I get to rest. I finally managed to get a working pen and an envelope from one of the villagers, though I had to trade my extra pair of shoelaces for it. Well worth it, though, because I've been wanting to contact you for weeks now but haven't had the means.
I miss you, Asami. I dream about you all the time. They keep me sane. It's re – it's fucking crazy, this war. All of these people shooting at each other, and these missions and all of the de – I'm going to do everything I can to make sure I get home to you in one piece. I just want this war to be over, but it doesn't seem like it will be ending any time soon.
This has been one of the hardest things I've ever had to do. There's so much th–shit, I'm running out of space and I don't have enough room to write about it all. But people are fucked up, Asami. Ugh, I probably should have thought this through better before blindly writing. I only have one sheet of paper, other than the ones from the letters you sent me. I keep those in my bag for safe keeping. I keep our picture in my jacket, for safer keeping.
I hope everything is going well for you. I'm so happy and proud of you that you got a job at your dad's business and that you're getting your advanced degree. I know that you'll succeed in whatever you do. Just please take care of yourself. Try to do some things that make you happy. And try not to worry about me too much, okay?
I put a little present in your letter. Hopefully, they're still in there. I found them while I was on tour near the base of some mountains we were travelling through, and I just had to grab them. I'm not sure what kind it is, but I think you'll like it.
Well, this is the last bit of space that I have. I love you, Asami Sato. With all of my heart.'
Tears were streaming down her cheeks. She brought the paper to her chest and sat back into the couch. She closed her eyes and sobbed.
"Korra," she whispered, her heaving blocking out the sound of the leaves hitting her window from the breeze.
Naga crawled into her lap and nudged her with her head.
Asami sniffled and wrapped an arm around the animal. "Thanks, Naga." She kept the letter in her grip and hugged Naga tight. "She's alive," she breathed in relief. "She's alive." Once she calmed down and opened her eyes again, the envelope caught her peripheral.
'I put a little present in your letter.'
She flipped the paper over and found nothing but the sheet. So she moved to the envelope. That, too, was empty.
Asami's shoulders dropped. She glanced at the floor when she noticed something small on the hardwood.
Many somethings, actually.
"Move, Naga," she spoke softly.
Naga stepped aside and watched her with curiosity.
Asami slipped onto her knees and picked up what had speckled the boards. She held them up to her eyes and narrowed them in examination.
Are these seeds?
She rotated one of them between her fingers. Then it made sense.
Korra had gotten her seeds from a plant in the Earth Kingdom. That was her present.
She gathered them and glanced down. There were about ten of them in her palm.
They must have flown out when I ripped the letter open.
Asami blushed in a bout of embarrassment from her actions. Afterwards, she poked the seeds around in her hand.
Why would she get me seeds, though?
Think about it, Asami. Why would Korra think seeds in the first place?
I don't know, unless they came from a –
A light bulb went off in her head.
A rose. She got me rose seeds.
Because you love to garden. And because gardening and roses make you happy.
A smile crawled onto her face. She closed her hand and held the seeds to her heart.
For autumn may bring about death to the leaves, but it also brings about harvest to the fruit – that of which leads to seeds. It brings beauty before the fall, and in a strange way, beauty afterwards, in the restoration and rebirth of life.
Asami opened her hand and stared at the rose seeds. Everything made sense. She felt enlightened, she felt happy, she felt emotions. She pushed herself to her feet, excited to sow what Korra had given her.
But Korra had given her more than what she was sure to be a beautiful rose, just as she had given her more than just a beautiful rose garden. The garden gave her a place to be strong and to find solace in her time of need, but these seeds gave her something else:
Hope.