A/N: I'M ALIVE AND STILL UPDATING L O LLLL hahahaa blame college.
enjoy my dear readers
I. ENCOUNTERS
Things Korra knows: Equalism, chi-blocking, the location of each chakra like secrets she has hidden herself; what fire and earth are (poetry in a language she is just beginning to speak), cracked, dry-skinned anger. The hopeful longing of waking up with the warmth of someone else, but only the idea of it, a whisper, lingering like a half-heard tune. And her father, she knows her father - oceanic endurance, the invulnerability of winter. His expression carved in stone as he hammers power into himself, palms braced against the floor, muscles rolling in his arms and back, weakness dripping from his skin as he counts: eighty-seven, eighty-eight, eighty-nine…And then he turns over, bends his knees, arms crossed to his shoulders, and begins a new set. Every morning. Strength requires clockwork discipline.
Things she doesn't know: the tone in Noatak's voice when, as she is definitely not using firebending to light the burners for breakfast, there is an agh! and a muffled thump and then her name -
"Korra?! Korra!"
It's colored with a pale hint of panic that she splashes over with her own worries and so she runs to Noatak's room, fingertips smoking, and throws the door open. This, also, Korra doesn't know: Noatak, lying almost face-down, twisted against the floor like he tried to throw himself into it. And, on his face, what she has never known in him - a wincing pain.
"Dad, what happened? You alright?!" she asks, her heart plummeting at the sudden thought that Dad, her daddy, iron-muscled, glacier-willed Daddy, is not limitless. His own body can betray him.
"Threw out my back," Noatak splutters into the carpet, "can't move. Help me get up."
Help: since when does he need that? Korra drops to her knees and slings his arm across her shoulders. He groans and curses under his breath.
"So are you getting old or what?" Korra asks, securing his weight and wrapping her arm around his waist, and he chuckles darkly.
"None of your lip," Noatak mutters, and groans again as Korra staggers to her feet on the count of one, two, three -
"Back to bed, you crotchety old geezer," Korra says, as she heaves him onto his bed. He tumbles in with a flump and flattens with a morose look, the very image of frustrated martyrdom, withheld from his glorious mission by something as stupidly simple as back pain.
"Oh, shut up," he says into the pillow, "and bring me ice. Wrap it in a towel."
She dutifully goes to retrieve ice from the icebox and brings it wrapped in terrycloth, resting it in the small of his back. Noatak sighs with relief as the cloth of his shirt darkens, drops of water glistening off the block of ice.
"Why don't you just heal it?" Korra asks, leaning over, drawing water from his shirt and re-freezing it to the ice; she's itching to try…
Noatak rubs his nose and gives her a thoughtful look, colorless with fatigue.
"I think," he says, "I will humor my aching muscle, and take a day off."
(Also unknown: vacations of any kind. Revolutions demand relentless early mornings, and mornings are evil.)
Korra pokes him gleefully in the side, making him twitch, and he flinches.
"So am I in charge? I'm staging a coup. First order of business: I'm top billing on all the posters - "
"Over my dead body," Noatak snorts, which isn't funny to her at all as she studies his immobilized frame, the shallow ridges of muscle and bone under his shirt, the hard bridge of his nose. All of him packed in dense and solid and trapped in the painful tangle of something torn out of place, and no matter how much she throws herself against him, a bird against a cage, she's not ready to think about…
"Well at any rate, you're here all day, but what am I supposed to do?" Korra says, "you want tea? A book? The newspaper? The radio? Uh, cigarettes? The Lieutenant? Briefings? Airship diagnostics?"
"Insufferable child," he mutters, "leave me in peace!"
Korra smirks and thumps Noatak in the head with a pillow.
"Sure thing, Dad, I think I'll go work on my coup. Take it easy, I don't want your leg to fall off or anything."
"Mmh," he says, and when he doesn't say anything else, Korra tiptoes out the door. He is a minute of silence away from sleep.
Outside the sky is a sharp crystalline blue, scoured clean of smog and urban grit by long days of snow. The street is white, the buildings a dark, wet grey; Satomobiles leave blackened braids on the slush as they roll through, trailing feathers of exhaust smoke.
Korra rests on the balcony railing and exhales into the air, watching it mix with the steam rising from the round surface of her mug of tea, and stares down the street, at the shining coal-blue chips of sea just visible beyond the flat roofs of tenement buildings. If she monkeys over the top of the fire escape, scrambles onto the roof (left foot in a hollow of carved-in brick, and haul up with a hand in the gutter) and hugs the chimney to hang way out, ten stories over the street, she can see Avatar Aang Memorial Island.
So she does, with a backwards glance towards Noatak's closed bedroom door. And with one arm firmly wrapped around the chimney, Korra leans out over mid-air, feet finding purchase in the ice-filled rain gutter, and finds the island, with the statue's serene, boyish face, stomping a lotus into the harbor.
Korra thought the view would be more breathtaking, seen through the new lens of knowing she's the Avatar, but it isn't. It's the same as always. Korra grimaces at the statue, the cold breeze lashing, licking at her hair, the bare skin on her hands and face.
"Hey, you," she shouts, "your staff looks like candy!"
No answer from the statue. It's silent, and she expected this, but she's tired of silence, of unanswered questions, of dreams that linger without ending; the things her father doesn't say in the space between his mouth and his mask. A statue, a face that never changes - she grits her teeth on a surge of ire.
"Why do you keep sending me weird dreams, huh? I know it's you! Stop sending me that stuff, I don't even want to be the Avatar!" Korra yells, her words snagging in the wind, and she clings to the chimney as her foot loses friction on the ice and snap-slips out from under her.
Underneath her, there is the sound of a window opening, and she looks down as a shaggy-haired, matronly woman pokes her head out the window and looks up.
"Shut up and quit yelling! And get down from there before you fall!" she calls out, and Korra rolls her eyes.
"Don't interrupt, there are important… spiritual things going on up here!" she calls back, and the woman scowls.
"Are you the girl from 704? With that father of yours? Always clomping around on the roof? I have half a mind to complain to Kyung!"
"You do that, my dad won't care," Korra says, "don't you know he's Amon?"
The woman makes a scathing noise and withdraws, punctuating her disgust with a loud slam of her window. Korra shrugs and turns back to the statue as the scent of the sea rises, salty-cool, laced into the wind.
Off in the distance, a steamship cuts through the harbor waves, a white and red fleck pulling a black thread of smoke, and Korra sighs.
"No, but really, I need more. I don't get any of this stuff," Korra mutters, "and I'm not going to ask him, he's going to go off about bending is violence and oh, you haftaredeem yourself again, or whatever…." she finishes, and rubs her neck, trying to feel out a unexpected dull ache, the bitterness sliding down the back of her mouth.
The breeze takes her breath, pulls her hair into whips, shifts like the rhythm of a sarabande. She flinches as something whacks her in the face.
"Ow! What the - ?"
A leaf, pressed to her by the wind, and Korra holds it out - a veiny green spade. The wind yanks it from her hand and flings it over and out, past the rooftops - it disappears as a flash of green towards a distant glint of gold and white. Korra raises her hands and lifts herself to the top of the chimney, her hips pressing into the brick edge -
"Yeah, you know what, I'll just go with that," Korra says, and the wind picks up again as a playful smack of air. She splutters hair from her mouth and drops from the chimney onto the rooftop, dusting ash off her clothes. The winter sunlight breaking on the sea hollows her out, fills her again with an unknown, rising hope. Air Temple Island it is.
Korra checks in on Noatak. He's sound asleep and she reaches out with tentative fingers, brushing hair from his face, frowning. This father of hers. She can't imagine he'd be pleased with her plan… and it was always a bad idea to anger him.
"Hey Dad, if you don't want me to go to Air Temple Island, say something," she murmurs. The silence hangs still in the warm air, with clear waves of heat spilling from the white-ribbed radiator on the wall, and the sprawl of his sleeping body seems suspended in a quiet, rhythmic breathlessness.
He shifts, hums a single, short note - mmh - and Korra makes a face, crinkles her nose; her tongue lolling out. Even unconscious, he's a pain.
"Too bad," she says under her breath, "I think I'll go anyway."
She leaves a bowl of noodles in broth on his bedside table; burrows into his jacket for his tobacco and rolling papers and leaves those too. And then she leaves a note, folded under the bowl: GONE OUT - BE BACK TONIGHT - LOVE, KORRA. He wouldn't want her to stick around all day to play nursemaid.
And then - one last thing, in the family room, twirling and un-twirling the telephone cord with her finger, the receiver cool and heavy in her hand, round edge pressed to the side of her mouth. The ringing of the phone on the other end comes through high-pitched and soft, doot doot doot, and Korra holds her breath without realizing it, hoping without knowing why, it's all such a mess -
"Hello, Sato residence."
Asami comes through clear and cheerful and Korra exhales forcefully; she didn't expect Asami herself to pick up.
"Hey, Asami, it's me," Korra says, with her heart fluttering in her throat, and on the other end of the line she can hear - no, feel - Asami's expression, lips pursed, eyes narrowed.
"Hi, Korra," Asami says, and her voice is flat. Understandable. Korra swallows and paces a half-step, tangling herself in the phone cord, and throws her head back to glare at the ceiling, trying to pull the words out of her mind sludge.
"Uh, do you wanna go somewhere with me today?" she asks, and the words tumble out breathless and rapid.
"What? Go somewhere? Go where?
Asami is accusatory, her voice falling sharply on the syllables, and it's all too easy to imagine her scowling at the phone, the hard set of her mouth
"To Air Temple Island," Korra says
There's a long silence on the other end and Korra huffs and tosses the phone cord away from her in frustration, shoving her free hand into her coat pocket.
"Who's asking?" Asami says, and Korra thinks about her mask, in its suede bag, tucked into the back of her dresser. But she shoves Tenchu out.
"Me. I'm asking. It's not Equalist stuff; it's for me. Asami, I - I just - I need you to come with me," Korra says, with a heavy sigh, dragging a cool down her face, and brushing back across her hair, "Are you busy? Do you think - ?"
"Yeah…yeah, sure. What time?" Asami says, and Korra almost laughs in relief. She won't have to go alone. It's so stupid, so simple, so unwieldy a feeling, but she can't help it; it warms her like a spring breeze after a long winter. Companionship - a novel thought.
The wind is even colder as it howls across the bay, tearing at their clothes and hair with chilled fingers, and Korra and Asami trot down the dock as quickly as possible, slouching into their coats, tugging the lapels to their cheeks, boots clunking on the wooden planks. Before them, Air Temple Island rises solid and square out of the sea, shrubberies clinging to the cliff face as the wind tugs them and the long staircase twisting and turning sharply across the rocks. The golden top of the pagoda gleams in the stark sunlight and Korra squints against the wind, blinking; if she turns her head to the left, the statue is there, off-angle to her, bearing down on the city over a white-capped sea.
"So are we just going to look around?" Asami says, her hair and scarf billowing like a banner, and Korra shrugs, nonchalant, but it's practiced - she sees Asami through a glass, fragile and paper-thin, doesn't know if she should break it down or brick it up.
"I dunno. I don't know how to airbend, so I thought I'd… just… ask," Korra says, lamely, as Asami fixes her with a skeptical look.
"Yeah, it's not exactly a thought-out plan," Korra says, shoving her hands into her pockets and scuffing the dock with her heel. Noatak would've had everything lined up, all his turtle-ducks in a row, no tears or rips in his net of schemes.
"Let's say we're thinking about joining the air acolytes," Asami says, after a moment of frowning up at the Air Temple complex, "I bet they get that all the time."
"Yeah, but I bet they don't get Avatars all the time," Korra mutters, "especially, you know, Avatars on the wanted list."
Asami laughs, openly, a sound like a bird flown from a cage, and smiles at Korra, still bracing against the wind in her black and red coat. The ferry trip had been awkward -how's your dad, he's fine, it's cold isn't it, yeah it's really cold, I can't wait for springand Korra had let all the things she wanted to say slip from her chilled fingers, sink into the harbor, disappear under the dark green waves as the prow of the boat dipped and rose: I'm sorry, I don't know what I'm doing, I want to tell you about Mako and Bolin - later. And now Korra feels a little bit less cold, feels the glass crack.
"I wouldn't worry about that," Asami says, "they don't have any idea…"
She turns up the dock towards the staircase as Korra follows; her mood is opening like a sail, broad and light. They're just about off the dock, right where the wooden planks halt on the stone walkway, when a bright orange and yellow blur barrels out of the sky and tumbles to a stop at Korra's feet, wind-blown and grinning furiously.
"Hi," the girl says, jumping up with a spry bounce, as the wind tugs loose strands out of the twin buns in her hair, "who're you?"
Korra pulls up short with Asami. The girl has a toothy smile and a face that beams; eyes that blink with the beady curiosity of a pigeon.
"Uh - My name is - " she starts, but another blur - two of them - drop to the walkway next to the first girl; another girl, taller and older, snaps her glider staff shut with a purposeful thwack and stands in front of Korra and Asami, considering them with narrow, unimpressed eyes. And the final blur, a small shaven boy with a misshapen head, with huge eyes and a snub nose, grins at Asami and tucks his hands behind his back, fidgeting and tucking his chin to his chest.
"Who are you?" says the tall girl, lifting one eyebrow, and Korra wants to laugh. She's so serious.
"I dunno," she snipes, "who are you?"
"I asked you first," the girl returns, holding the staff out and pointing it into Korra's face, and Korra bats it away with an unconcerned gesture. Pfft.
"I'm not telling unless you tell!"
Asami cuts in, with a studiously measured tone: "She's Korra, I'm Asami, and we want to learn about airbending… are you all airbenders?"
The older girl sniffs and rolls her shoulders back, slim and proud. Korra is surprised the wind hasn't carried them all away. They're small and light-footed, orange and yellow sparrows tilting their heads at Korra and Asami with quirky interest.
"Yeah, we are all airbenders, and I'm Jinora and that's Ikki and that's Meelo," Jinora says, the names hurtling out, "and if you want to learn about airbending you have to talk to my dad. He's in charge."
She says it in a dry, lofty tone - he's in charge only because she's not - and Korra grins.
"Ok, where's your dad?" Asami says, and Jinora steps aside and points her staff up the stairs to the top of the island.
"Alright, then let's go," Asami says, taking off with a brisk walk; Korra falls in line with her as the children skip around them and walk backwards on hopping steps.
"So why do you wanna learn about airbending? Do you wanna be an acolyte?" Ikki says, at a furiously high pitch, and Korra opens her mouth, only to find she has no ready lie available - it doesn't matter because Ikki pauses for half a second and then keeps going.
"We have lots of acolytes but they don't all have air bison. You can't have an air bison because you're not an air acolyte and also you can't really have air bison because animals are supposed to be free and it's wrong to own a living thing so no one can have an air bison," Ikki says, bouncing from one foot to the other, and Asami and Korra exchange looks, trying not to laugh.
"And I don't think you can get tattoos because only airbenders get tattoos and we're the only airbenders! Except I want pink tattoos but Daddy says they have to be blue because of our cululcheral hiz dory," Ikki rattles, and Jinora frowns at her as she thwacks her staff at pockets of snow along the stone steps of the cliff face.
"You mean 'cultural history,'" she corrects, and Ikki scrunches her face, her mouth bunching up under her nose.
Asami snorts into her hand as they climb the steps, smirking at Korra, and Korra grins.
"I think pink tattoos would look awesome," she says, "what about you, pal? You gonna get pink tattoos?"
She nudges Meelo on the shoulder and he startles - he hasn't stopped looking at Asami with his wide eyes, shining like fresh change.
"I want some of your hair," he says, and Asami misses a step as Korra barks with laughter. She reaches out and fluffs Asami's hair, flipping the curls around Asami's shoulder; they're cool from the wind, shining and catching the light.
"Who doesn't want Asami's hair," she says, "right?"
Jinora turns around, her staff across her shoulders, her expression bright.
"Do you have boyfriends?" she asks in a chipper voice, and Korra is suddenly in the warehouse, with Mako, during their last firebending lesson: his hand on her wrist, thumb in her palm. He didn't even say anything, just swept her hand through the air in his, with all the lightness of bamboo. Her skin was cold and his fingers were hot and the space where they met snapped with sparks as then she cut a crescent of fire through the air and he smiled. In his language, that was a speech.
"No," Korra says, "he's - no boyfriend. Just… boys. Who are, uh… friends."
Jinora nods in mock understanding.
"'Boys who are friends,'" she repeats sagely, and looks slightly crestfallen, her lower lip curling out.
"What kind of boys?" Ikki pipes in, and Asami turns to Korra.
"Yeah, what kind of boys…?" she asks, and the accusatory note returns, drawn out on the clap of her tongue at the 'k'. Korra scratches the back of her head, trails her gaze towards the sea. She needs to watch what she says. Mako and Bolin are safe in secrecy, where only she can reach them, only she can protect them. Their names are heavy with risk and so she lets them sink.
"Friendly boys," Korra says, with a touch of desperation, "hey, what are you, like nine? Boys have cooties, stay away from them."
"Actually, I'm ten," Jinora says, "and boys don't have cooties. Cooties are a myth and a lie. Boys are annoying at worst and only sometimes do they have lice."
"I'm done," Korra mutters to Asami, who can't contain her smile.
"Tell me more later, I want to hear about these boys who are friends," she says under her breath, and Korra heaves a conciliatory sigh. She might as well.
They reach the top of the staircase and Korra looks up as they pass under the tallest of the three gates, swept clean and buffed shiny by the winter sea winds; each footstep further onto the veranda feels like wading into deeper waters and suddenly she is anxious - a sluggish bubble in her gut that creeps up to her throat and sticks - what is she doing here? If he found out she came, if he found out she set out to go learn bending, and airbending of all things… She could kick herself, how stupid, how impulsive, how dangerous - if she messed up, if they found out, who would suffer for her mistakes next - ? Asami walks ahead, calm and unhurt -
Korra turns on her heel - time to leave - and sees the statue, gazing down on the city.
A second passes, and then another, and Korra narrows her eyes at Avatar Aang.
"Well, if you're gonna just stand there," she mutters, clenching her teeth, and turns around. Just ahead of her, Ikki and Meelo are peppering Asami with questions about her opinions on different colors, and Jinora is listening with a serene look of disinterest. And at the far end of the veranda, three figures, walking towards them, tall and purposeful and deep in conversation…
"There's my dad," Jinora says, "with Councilman Tarrlok and Chief Bei Fong - "
"Weird ponytail man and the metal lady," Ikki bubbles, beaming.
" - Councilman Tarrlok and Chief Bei Fong - " Jinora says again, and Asami stops short, mid-step, as Korra grabs her elbow. Shit. Tarrlok is here. And the police chief. Shit. Shit.
"What…?" Asami starts, and Korra tugs at Asami's scarf, loosening it from her neck, as the trio of figures comes closer, Tenzin towering and imposing in the middle, arguing visibly with Tarrlok, Bei Fong wearing an iron-grey expression, her arms crossed. They haven't noticed Asami and Korra yet, thank the spirits - Korra whips the scarf off Asami's neck and, in a swift, fluid motion, tosses it into the air. The wind catches it and carries it away, just like the leaf from this morning, far away from the rapidly approaching figures. Korra gasps dramatically and whirls, her hands rising like wings.
"Asami, your scarf!" she cries out, sprinting after it, as it rolls playfully across the stone, pushed along by the wind. And just as she reaches it, the wind pulls it from her fingertips, throws its several yard away, and she stumbles after it again. It snags on a shrubbery on the edge of the veranda and Korra trots over.
She looks over her shoulder as she untangles the scarf from the bush - Tarrlok and Chief Bei Fong should be just under the gates, and she'll safe - but Asami looks pale, her expression tight as Tarrlok stops to talk to her. Korra swallows as her heartbeat thuds through her breast, and she takes a deep breath, clutching the scarf in her fist - he's a bloodbender, he'll feel her heartbeat like its drumming on him… another deep breath, held for a long five seconds, and she exhales in a single slow sigh as she walks over to Asami and Tarrlok. Tenzin and Bei Fong stand just a bit away, waiting in frosty politeness.
"Here's your scarf," Korra says, and she swats at the dust and picks a twig out of the fringe, offers it to Asami. Asami takes it from her without looking, staring at Tarrlok, an odd smile on her face.
" - would love to see you and your father at my next charity dinner," Tarrlok says, in a smooth, affable voice, but Korra feels each word crawl up her skin. "You would brighten the evening just by making an appearance."
Asami laughs, a single, strained, high-pitched hah!, and evidently this is enough for Tarrlok. He turns to Korra with upturned eyebrows, beaming slightly.
"And who is this charming young lady?"
Korra bristles, biting on the inside of her lip to keep her smile from breaking apart.
"Uhhhh….gyuk," she says, seizing on the first name that comes to mind; "yeah. My name is Ugyuk."
"I thought your name was Ko - " Ikki starts, loudly, and Asami shoves Ikki behind her with a radiant smile. Tarrlok nods approvingly at a Korra, as though the name were a sip of fine wine, and his sleek expression, his finely tailored blue coat, the reek of some flowery cologne, his entire mannerism makes her insides twist and crumple on each other. She knows what he's like. So wearing masks runs in the family, then.
What happened between them - ?
"Pleasure to meet you, Ugyuk; and what brings you to Air Temple Island on this fine day?"
"Sight-seeing," Korra says in a firm voice, "Asami is taking me sight-seeing. Because, um. I'm new in town. From… South Pole."
"Oh, well, then allow me to be your host! I am always delighted to show the wonders of our beautiful city to fine new citizens such as yourself," Tarrlok says, and Korra wants to grab him by the shoulders and scream with laughter at him: if my father didn't fucking need you then I don't either you oily slugamander
"Thanks, but I think Asami's got it covered," Korra says, crossing her arms and tilting her hips, because she can't imagine a more stupid idea than traipsing around the city with Tarrlok as her guide.
"A shame!" he blusters with enthusiasm, and Korra can't help but snort.
"Deal with it," she mutters; under her breath; and Tarrlok stops, the smoothness of his face abruptly turning still. He freezes slowly as something icy and narrow comes over him -
"…but you're in good hands. Miss Sato is a lovely friend to have. Always does the right thing," Tarrlok continues in a cheerful tone, tilting his head in deference to Asami, and a few yards away Tenzin harrumphs loudly as Lin grows stonier and stonier.
"I'm sure she does. Um, I have to… use the bathroom now, but it was nice meeting you, Councilman Tarrlok," Korra says, just as Tenzin steps closer and reaches out to tap Tarrlok on the shoulder, and she almost stumbles right into Asami in her haste to get away.
"Of course, anyti - yes, Tenzin. As I was saying, despite what your esteemed mother says, we can safely dismiss this as a madwoman's tale… "
Their voices fade as Korra and Asami trot away, their boots clacking on the pavement, Asami's hair bouncing with every step. Korra throws a quick look over her shoulder to Tarrlok and Tenzin - the look on Tarrlok's face is too familiar: a glacial disdain, slow-moving and arrogant, suddenly more ice than water. But you can't politick on charm alone. And she's struck with a bizarre sense of pride… the blood in her veins is rich and strong, running stronger than currents in the sea…
"He tried to arrest me a few weeks ago," she whispers to Asami, leaning in close, and Asami nods.
They reach the far end of the veranda and decide to settle on the portico steps to wait for Tenzin to return, watching the air children - who have long since lost interest in them - spinning whirling spheres of wind out of nothing and zooming around the veranda, giggling and laughing.
"So tell me about these boys," Asami says, after a moment's silence in the chill sunshine, leaning back on a step with her elbows propping her up. Korra rubs her face with both hands and slouches over her knees, flicking a speck of gravel off the step. Where does she even start? Mako and Bolin are - Bolin is sweet, every word from him is a candied nut, crunchy and sugary, and Mako is… his back turned to her, vanishing white into the darkness of the cell after she shoves him away, while his smile still warms her.
"They're benders," she says in a low tone, "Mako and Bolin. They teach me fire- and earthbending. My dad and I took them prisoner."
Asami jerks upright, her eyes wide.
"What?!" she says, "Korra! You can't - "
Korra rounds on her, swift and angry; she doesn't want to hear any of whatever Asami's about to say. Asami hasn't seen Bolin's burn, heard him scream, hasn't had Mako broken and sobbing into her shirt, hasn't heard the dull, thick thwack of Noatak's fist cracking into Mako's face.
"I can," she snarls, "and they're mine. They're mine and if it weren't for me, they'd be dead."
Asami's mouth hangs open, full of unvoiced thoughts. Korra goes tch and lets her gaze drift to the shrubberies, to each tiny teardrop of a leaf quivering in the breeze; she wants to pluck them all and follow them. But she's more branch than leaf and so she sighs, dipping her chin into her palm and glancing back at Asami, whose lips are still parted in a slack pout.
"I'll take you to meet them later," Korra mumbles, "they're under your house."
Asami's expression twists with disbelief.
"Are you ser - " she starts, but Korra stands up, dusts off the front of her pants, rolls her shoulders back; Tenzin is walking up the veranda again, alone, a bright orange and yellow figure sharp against the sun-pale tableau of grey skyscrapers and snow-covered mountains.
Ikki barrels into him on her air scooter and he promptly sweeps her up, clean and simple; she hugs his head and Tenzin takes on a hangdog look of limitless patience.
And as he strides closer, robes flapping around him, Korra takes him in: he's… like her father, in stern posture and in the lines of his mouth, drawn for strong words and forceful talk, and already she doesn't want to disappoint him - but because she doesn't want him to be sad, instead of angry… and the corners of his eyes, the wrinkles there, from smiling instead of scowling.
"Welcome to Air Temple Island," he says, bowing forward to Korra, and she returns the gesture. "I'm Councilman Tenzin, the elder of this temple. How can I help you?"
II. SUNLIGHT/manipura
It's easy to sneak Asami into the underground, both of them matching in Equalist uniforms, and their footsteps are soft all the way down the staircase behind the wall and across the warehouse floor, past the stacks of crates and the Tenchu banner on the wall. It seems quieter than normal, the silence heavier, but maybe it's because Noatak isn't there, with the unbearable loudness of his presence. Korra readjusts the paper bag full of food in her arm as she steps over an odd ripple of concrete, smiling to herself. Bolin's handiwork, tearing the earth apart like paper.
"I still can't believe there are people down here," Asami breathes, her voice muffled in the Equalist mask, and Korra wants to shrug it off.
But she doesn't; she just slowly opens the door into the prison hallway and squints into the dim light, listening for their voices. It's only mid-afternoon, the hours crawling towards dusk, so Mako and Bolin should be awake, and she wonders what've they been doing all day, just waiting, waiting, waiting… Korra swallows, pulling off the Equalist facemask, and motions for Asami to follow her.
"This way," she says, and they take slow, casual steps towards the far end of the hallway, to the third cell.
"Hey, guys, I have someone you should me - what's wrong with him?" Korra asks, as she unlocks the cell door. Bolin sits upright from his spot on the bed, shaking his head and blinking furiously, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand, and he looks over his shoulder at his brother.
"Oh, he's fine," Bolin says cheerfully. Mako is sitting in the corner of the cell, his face ducked into the hollow between his chest and his drawn-up knees, his arms folded loosely on top. Korra goes to him, studying him for a second; his bare shoulders, slackened muscles, the scarf tucked around his neck, soft and full. She fights the urge to take his hand, to touch him, to bring him back from wherever he is, and pulls a snow plum out of the paper bag.
"Food. Eat," she says, shoving the snow plum into his mouth as he lifts his head, and he plucks it from her fingers, taking an eager bite.
"Thought you weren't coming today," he mutters, a drop of snow plum juice sliding down his lip, gleaming maroon, and Korra smirks.
"Sorry to disappoint, pal," she says, and Mako huffs indignantly.
"That's not - I didn't mean - not - " he starts, and stops when he looks up and sees her smiling, a faint blush stealing across his cheeks. Korra nudges him in the hip with her foot.
"Get up, I brought a friend," she says, and he nods and uncurls from his spot on the floor, rising to his feet, towering over Korra. Asami, who'd been clinging to the metal doorframe, watches them with an expression of something that looks like sadness, the color of a cold spring afternoon. Mako glances at her and his eyes widen, just a fraction.
"Uh, hi," Asami says, clearly ill at ease, and Korra's about to say something when Bolin hops off the bed and bows deeply, sweeping her into the cell.
"Welcome to our cell, Madam Equalist, the finest accommodations in Republic City," he says, in his best imitation of a snooty voice, and her face twists, torn between amusement and confusion.
"Oh, you can just call me Asami," she says, with a small half-smile, and Bolin grins.
"I'm Bolin," he says, jabbing his thumb into his chest, "and that's my brother, Mako - "
He nods his head back at Mako, who leans heavily against the wall, arms crossed, his expression hard, full of sharp angles and a dry wariness.
"Is it safe for her to be here?" he says, looking at Korra, and she shrugs, biting her lip - but she should have thought about that. If Noatak finds out Asami was down here… but Asami can handle herself.
"Safe enough," she says, "Dad's at home, he hurt his ba - uh, he took the day off."
"Wait, I know you guys," Asami says brightly, pointing a finger from Bolin to Mako, "you guys are the Fire Ferrets! You're the team captain! I watched all your games before you, um - before you - "
"Found new employment," Bolin offers, digging into the paper bag in Korra's arm and pulling out a snow plum of his own, "teaching Korra here how to bend."
"More like new employment found us," Mako says, under his breath, glaring at the floor, and Korra feels a twinge of bitter regret, tucking her chin to her shoulder. She doesn't even want to begin opening those wounds again, not while he is whole and clean and the scars are fading away silvery-pink, not while Noatak has been keeping his word - she startles with a small hm? as Mako reaches out, thoughtlessly, to clap her on the head, mussing her hair over her eyes
"Can we get out of here? Go stretch our legs or something?" he says abruptly, dropping his hand; "I'm going crazy sitting around all day."
Korra blinks and stares; a waterfall of thoughts, incoherent and roaring together, thunders through her - Dad's at home, Mako is smart, Bolin is brave, they've overpowered her once before, they could escape, they could go, they could leave - and the single word floating on the last small wave of the flood, loneliness…
And Tenzin's voice, the deep ring of a nostalgia-struck gong, echoes once. Just enough.
"Okay," Korra says, "okay, yeah. Let's go."
Mako smiles at her, his shoulders slouching, and maybe she should be used to it by now, when he does that, but she's not, she really isn't. It feels like the first hot day of summer on her skin, a warmth that rests on her with a light airiness.
She loses her voice a little bit and lets Asami talk, lets Asami regale the boys with each thrilling play and stunning knock-out move of the pro-bending tournament, sketching each blow of earth and dart of fire in her husky tones. She merely leads the way out of the prison hallway and onto the warehouse floor, smiling to herself; they're an odd group - she and Asami in Equalist uniforms, soft-footed and armored up, Bolin and Mako in a motley assortment of their own clothes and hand-me-downs from Noatak's closet.
"…and wham, right into the pool," Asami says, "end of the match. Didn't even last five minutes."
Bolin gives a low whistle, his eyebrows rising dramatically.
"The Wolfbats are probably gonna take it again this year. I bet we could've handled them, with a good enough waterbender - right, bro?"
He nudges Mako in the side with his elbow and Mako snaps into an upright alertness.
"What? Oh, yeah. I guess so," he says with a shrug, rubbing the back of his head, and Asami waves his words out of the air.
"You two are great players, though, you would have made it to the championships for sure," she says, and Bolin lifts his hands palms-up with an immodest smirk.
"What can I say? Some of us are just naturally talented."
"Show me," Korra says, "can you guys show me some pro-bending? I've never been to a pro-bending match."
She lifts her fist, punches Mako lightly in the shoulder. It's easy with him.
"Come on, team captain," Korra says, and Mako looks at Bolin with raised eyebrows and a jerk of his head. So Bolin lifts Pabu from his shoulder and drops the ferret in Asami's surprised arms, and then takes long exaggerated dance steps away from them, to the middle of the warehouse floor, dragging his toes along the ground with arms spread wide.
Mako side-steps away from Korra and crouches, his fists cocked up in front of his head, and Korra pulls on Asami's elbow, moving them both away. Bolin cups a hand over his mouth and yells across the warehouse floor, his face shining with a simple happiness.
"You know the drill, big bro!"
"Launch it!" Mako calls back, and Bolin stomps his foot, breaking a disc of earth from the ground, and flings his arms back in a wide, aggressive throwing motion, sending the disc sailing through the air, spinning and shedding chips of concrete. Mako follows it with two outstretched fingers and then - with a single, robust punch, shoots a bright bolt of fire through the air, blasting the disc into dust with a loud, fiery crack of sound.
"Again," he shouts, and Bolin complies, sending another disc soaring high over all their heads, and Mako traces its arc like an archer, narrow-eyed and still - he whips out and burns it from the air again, leaving only a cloud of ashes wafting slowly into empty space. Bolin launches again and Mako readies himself - she sucks a breath in through her teeth, she wants to try, they're enjoying themselves… And they move like clockwork, playing their bending like music, a song of power and skill, she can do that too -
Korra leaps forward and hip-checks Mako, knocking him aside, throwing a dart of fire at the disc and just barely clipping the edge. Mako smirks and flings his arm out in front of her as Bolin throws another disc, and she claps him on the back of the head, ducks under his arm and kicks fire at the disc, a precise, well-aimed pop of her pointed foot. The disc vanishes in a fiery blaze and Bolin hollers a cheer, throwing both hands high over his head.
"Great job, Korra!" Asami yells, and Korra whoops and pumps her fist, leaping in excitement. And she yelps in surprise, color rising in her face, as Mako swoops and wraps his arms around her legs, lifting her with bodily ease, her hips to his shoulder. She plants a hand on his other shoulder, laughing as she steadies herself, and she feels the strong press of his arms and chest against her legs.
"Those were fouls," he says coolly, but he's smiling, up in his eyes.
"Hey, Mako? Maybe you just suck at probending," she says, and he snorts, tilting his head back to look at her better.
"I do not," he says, turning towards Asami; "ask her, she'll tell you!"
"He doesn't suck!" Asami calls back, Pabu draped elegantly around her shoulders like a lively, chirruping scarf. "Also, you definitely fouled him."
Korra rolls her eyes, putting her hand on Mako's face and pushing flippantly, and he tightens his hold around her legs.
"Ok, so you're good for something," she says, "but I'm better!"
It takes a moment of concentration, half a second, but she points her toes, slips her legs from his grasp, and vaults over his shoulders - she lands easily on the ground behind him and calls the earth to her, like a word that comes swift and sure to her tongue, a simple yank on an earthbound thread of chi. The ground beneath his feet breaks and Mako unbalances, stumbling forward in surprise, and Korra grabs the back of his shirt to save him, laughing, laughing, it feels so good to laugh…
She wants to unchain him, she wants to see him loose, she wants to see the lines of his body curl and curve like the crest of a wave, rising and falling with with energy, all under the touch of her hand. And so Korra, sitting on a stack of crates, kicks her foot against his hip and whispers do you want to go up and Mako says up where and what she means is outside, outside where the sun is just about to set. How long has he been down here without the sun, how long can firebenders live without their heart?
They leave, quietly; Korra looks over her shoulder and Asami turns Korra's gaze forward again with a sweep of her palm turned downward: go.
Mako and Korra pass the factory floor and Korra watches his shoulders stiffen, the nervous clenching of a fist around his spine, but it's okay because she puts her hand over his shoulder and tells him so - "you're with me," she says, and Mako lets go of his scarf..
They stand just inside the door of Hiroshi's private workshop and Mako blinks and flinches as Korra opens the door, letting in the light of a winter sunset, and outside the sun is a white coal broken open in a sky of ashes and spilled rosewater, glowing red and bright as it slips towards the horizon.
Mako moves past Korra with a soft crunch of his footsteps on the brittle snow, and she leans against the doorframe and just lets him be for a moment. The air fresh and cold, a deep, sweet breath, the mountains of the valley cupped like outstretched hands, overflowing with dusky sunlight. He stops, stock-still, as though something has broken underfoot, and in one motion throws a whip of fire through the air, a ribbon that snaps and curls, in a color more furious with passion and intensity than she's ever seen him make - the yellow and orange of a molten ingot of pure joy, a red bled from the sun with the point of a knife.
"Wow," she breathes, and Mako turns to her, lips parted, his breath a faint wisp.
"Yeah," he says, "wow. Korra, I… "
He looks at his hand, a faint line on his brow, but there's nothing there to help him and Mako looks up.
"Sometimes, you forget - or someone tells you to forget, or - " he sighs and stares out over the valley, the sun balanced on the tip of the mountain by the sea. "Or you just don't remember what it's like to - to like what you were given. Because of someone else."
Korra closes her eyes; his voice is weightless. What did he tell her about fire, the first time they met, in that hallway at the rally? His parents were killed by a firebender, she remembers that - she opens her eyes as Mako brushes a lock of hair behind her ear, his fingertips warm and soft.
"So thanks," Mako murmurs, and she laughs once in surprise.
"What for?"
"For that look on your face," he says, "when you bend. Even with your dad being who he is. You're amazing, you know that? Korra, you're really…"
He stops, his hand on her cheek.
The kiss is a wildfire: it starts slow, with cool lips, but the spark of breath he gives her lands in her breast with a sharp burst of heat and things begin to burn inside her - the flavor of his smile, a tart pride sweet with trust, the heat between their bodies as they press together, her arm around his neck, her heart beating, beating, beating because he's gentle and firm with his mouth but his hands pull her tight even as she pulls away.
His eyes are bright and Korra feels her breath hitch.
"Mako, you shouldn't feel that way," she says, hugging her arm, "I'm not… I've messed up so many times and so many people have gotten hurt, so you shouldn't. Feel that way."
Mako shakes his head, the corner of his lip turning up, a tilted, weary smile.
"Maybe I shouldn't, but I want to," he says, and takes her hand in his. "Believe me, I want to…"
And it starts to break - the shame, the storm deep inside her, an eggshell of thunder and dark fire, flooding her with a heat that runs and spills like sunlight in her blood. Believe him. She can do that. She can try.
Pleasantries. Small talk. Ikki, patting her father's head, introducing Korra and Asami as "she thinks I should get pink tattoos and her favorite color is maroon which is nice but not as good as purple" and Asami losing the clipped tone she used with Tarrlok when Tenzin asks how she is.
And Korra, finally, trying hard to still her thudding heart, loud over her thoughts, telling him that she doesn't want to be an air acolyte. She's a waterbender, and she just has one question.
"What's it like to airbend?" Korra asks, and Tenzin frowns and strokes his beard, his eyes rolling left and up as he thinks.
"Detachment," he says, "to airbend is to detach yourself from your worries and your fears and let go, to merely be without all the weight of your self. This is what airbenders hold to be the meaning of freedom."
Korra crosses her arms and hmms from the back of her throat. It's obtuse and she doesn't really get it, but it kind of makes sense, and she scuffs her heel against the ground, her mouth in a bunched, uneven moue.
Tenzin's gaze is far-eyed, drifting across the sea, to the statue of Avatar Aang.
"I think my father would describe it as being - "
" - like a leaf on the wind," Korra murmurs, and Tenzin looks at her, eyes wide in pleasant surprise.
She smiles.
WELP THERE YOU HAVE IT KIDS
enjoy the cutesy stuff while it lasts because chapter 9 is ... going to be lots of fun and i mean that in the worst possible way
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