wow an update
thanks for all the rewiews, favorites, and follows i've gotten lately! this chapter kicked my ass, so i hope y'all like it.
Korra looks at her fist, the skin on her knuckles split and bleeding, and throws another punch at the wall. The first punch cracked the plaster. The second one dented it. Every one after that leaves a dark red splatter. She keeps going long after her hand loses feeling, sheathed in numbness.
She shouldn't have listened to the radio. She was hoping for the music hour, something wordless she could sink into after a full day of interrogation with Chief Bei Fong, but the music hour didn't happen. Instead, Korra got the newscast: After the Avatar revealed herself at the probending championship game, as none other than the daughter of anti-bending Equalist Amon, benders and nonbenders alike took to the streets in riots that lasted until early yesterday morning.
Korra can't bring herself to turn it off so the newcast keeps going and she keeps hitting the wall, punctuating each blow with a hoarse shout. Between the newscaster's clipped voice and the memory of Bei Fong's brusque questions, jerking answers out of Korra like bad teeth, she doesn't know if she can stop.
Equalist supporters told our reporters they feel vindicated…
"How did you assess your recruits?"
"We tested their skills on benders."
Bei Fong pacing wide circles around her in Tenzin's study. Korra's one hand cuffed to the chair, a smug formality. A police file on the desk, half an inch thick, with TENCHU typed across the top and "Korra (Avatar)" written in small characters underneath.
…Benders told us they feel betrayed, the newscaster says.
"Which means what?" Bei Fong said, raising an eyebrow, and Korra swallowed. She surrendered. She would see this through.
"I took teams and we found benders on the street. We just ambushed them - "
The newscaster, with a dramatic flair, says: but no one can tell us what we all want to know. Where is the Avatar now?
When the interrogation hit its fifth hour, it kept going - straight into the sixth, the seventh, and the eighth until Katara threw the door open, took one look at Korra, and ordered Bei Fong to stop. So Bei Fong released her, but not before reading off the list of charges, dutifully recorded by Officer Altan: Seventeen charges of assault, eleven charges of conspiracy to commit violence on a mass scale, nine charges of inciting others to commit violence, two charges of kidnapping, two charges of unlawful imprisonment, and one charge of acting accomplice to a sworn enemy of the United Republic, the terrorist known as Amon.
"You forgot something," Korra said, as Katara tried to usher her out of the room. Bei Fong fixed her with an unimpressed look.
"What?"
"An unpaid speeding ticket for four hundred yuans. Amon didn't give money to corrupt police forces," she said, smirking. Katara dragged her out before Bei Fong, face flaming red, could ask anything about that.
Now she's back in her room. The newscast hasn't stopped. She hasn't stopped either. The force of each hit vibrates through her arm into her chest, a hot ache that slams into her like a wave. CRACK. Her body shudders with impact and Korra relishes the feeling. This is what Noatak wanted, isn't it? This is what he always wanted - for her to hate being the Avatar, and feel every moment of that hatred crawling up her skin like a plague of insects.
The city turns on itself in a wrathful, drunken fever dream and it's only right for her to feel that pain too, that uncontrollable self-destruction; it's all her fault and she cocks her fist to hit the wall again -
Someone grabs her by the wrist and yanks her away from the wall, making her stumble in shock.
"What are you doing?! Stop that at once!"
Tenzin is staring at her in horror, eyes darting from her face to the wall, and a sudden terror overpowers all of her senses. She wrecked the wall, his home - she fucked up again and he's furious with her - Korra's thoughts go blank. She wrenches her arm from Tenzin's grasp and backs into the wall with a thud, hitting it hard with her shoulder, shutting her eyes -
The radio stops with the faint click of a dial turning into place. In the rush of silence Tenzin tries to pull her hand away from her face.
"You have every right to be upset," he says, "but there's no reason to hurt yourself."
Korra grimaces. It feels like she's been living someone else's life for the past fourteen years, trapped in someone else's body. She spent the whole day slipping in and out of herself at random, losing three minutes here, five minutes there - like she was never there at all. The hole in the wall gapes open next to her head, a crude imitation of a mouth with blood-stained teeth.
"Korra, do you remember me? Tenzin. You came to ask me about airbending. You've hurt your hand. Will you let me see it?"
The measured tones of his voice guide her out of a fog. With an enormous effort she meets Tenzin's eyes.
I'm sorry, I won't do it again - she wants to say, but she takes a deep breath and chokes it down. There's no anger in his soft, cautious gaze. She allows him to reach for her hand and pry open her fingers, testing for breaks and fractures.
"You'll be alright, Korra," he says.
"It hurts," she whispers. At that, Tenzin lets go of her hand and pulls her towards him, gathering her in a careful hug, her face pressed into his robes. He holds her a long time before she relaxes, her short, gasping breaths fading into the quiet. His words feel beyond her, marking a place too far distant from her body and her mind, some peaceful, quiet place she will never go. How is she ever going to believe him?
Korra can't help but feel like Tenzin is performing some kind of ritual, or a ceremony, something imbued with an ancient and esoteric meaning only he knows. He washes her hand in the bathroom sink, watching for a reaction when the cold, clear water spills over her raw skin. The blood slides away in pale streams and Tenzin performs the next part of his ceremony, toweling her hand dry with gentle dabs of the cloth, still watching. He wraps it, using a roll of bandages Katara left on the nightstand, unraveling white strips and binding them tightly from Korra's wrist to her fingers.
Tenzin finishes tucking the ends, giving her a warm smile, and Korra can tell he's waiting for her to close his little ceremony. She's not sure what he wants her to say - Tenzin must've wondered what kind of Avatar he would find; now the Avatar is here, standing before him in a stupor, a stolen child with an arrest report a dozen pages long. Again the word sorry comes to mind.
"Thanks," Korra says, flexing her thumb and her fingers, testing the bandages. Tenzin seems to accept it.
"I came to ask - well, if there's anything I can do for you, anything at all, please don't hesitate to ask," he says. "I'm at your service, Avatar Korra."
Korra's eyes fall on her armor, still piled in the basket, and she gives it a stony glare.
"What are Tarrlok and Bei Fong doing? I want to know. I want to help," she says rapidly. Tenzin looks like he was hoping she'd ask for something else.
"They're... working with the information you gave them. For now, just rest."
"Just rest?!" Korra says, "what does that even mean?! I don't want to sit on my hands and wait while everything gets worse. Find something for me to do!"
With a surge of relish her usual sense of indiscriminate fury comes back to her, as crisp and crackling as lightning. She's had enough of that soporific daze. This is still her fight… Noatak made it about her when he stole her from her parents, made her believe that her own existence was something filthy and impure. A stain to be cleansed. Bending is suffering. Vengeance is justice.
"Tell them I'm ready, whenever they're ready for me," Korra growls, brushing past him to the window, where she throws the shutters open and leans onto the sill, gazing out over the harbor. The nighttime fog scatters the lights like faint, glittering dust, covering the city with an ethereal calm. She barely notices when he leaves.
Korra's attention snaps to the courtyard below the window. A sound. People hidden by the dark blue light of late evening, talking between themselves. She steps away from the window to stand against the wall, listening.
" - just saw someone in the window. Maybe it's that one," says a voice. Asami's voice.
"I dunno. If we check and it's not her, whoever it is they're gonna be reeeal mad," Bolin says. Their footsteps stop underneath Korra's window. Her heart catches, torn between calling out to them and being alone, just for a little longer.
"Why don't you just lift me on your shoulders and I'll check," Asami says, with her familiar tone of long-suffering patience. Bolin grunts as he strains to lift Asami up to the window and Korra smiles. Alright, let them find her. Asami's slender, pale fingers fold over the sill, then her jacketed forearm; she pulls herself up and comes into view, her serene face reddened with effort.
"You know you can just use the door, dollface," Korra says, reaching out to grab her by the upper arms, and Asami beams.
"Korra! I knew it! Are you okay? We heard your speech at the match on the radio, but Chief Bei Fong told us you surrendered," she says, teetering slightly as Korra steadies her. Bolin is holding her up by the legs. He huffs cheerfully and waves to Korra as best he can. Both of them look unhurt and at ease, confident in the safety of the island. Bolin especially looks better than when she last saw him, with a haircut several days old and a hearty glow in his wide grin.
"Yeah, I'm fine," Korra says automatically. "They told me you all were here but I haven't had time to come find you... How's Mako?"
"He's with Katara," Asami says. "She sent us to come get you. Tenzin said you wrecked your hand."
Something about her tone of voice strikes Korra as strange. She squints in the dim light, searching for a hint but Asami is as smooth and unreadable as always. Korra lifts her bandaged hand off Asami's jacket and curls her fingers experimentally. She winces as pain shoots up her hand, hot and sharp.
"I guess I did wreck my hand," she mutters. She retrieves her scarf from under the pillow and vaults neatly out of the window, landing with a catlike thump in the courtyard below.
Bolin takes a step back and lets go, getting a loud whoop from Asami as she drops.
"So, where are they? I can't wait to see him," Korra says, draping the scarf around her neck.
"In the kitchen," Bolin says eagerly, "Mako's making food. Katara says he has to do normal things, so - "
"Bolin, wait." Asami lifts her hand, stopping him with his mouth open. Her eyes have a stony, serious cast to them, her mouth working over the things she wants to say. She gives Korra a look riddled with concern and a shiver of worry crawls up Korra's spine.
"I don't know what Katara told you about Mako," Asami says, "but… what your dad did to him was way worse than we thought. He passed out on our way here. Katara woke him up just to put him in a healing coma for three days... So this might not be like you want it to be."
"I know what Noatak did to him," Korra says smoothly, even as her stomach lurches with unease, trapped between guilt and anger. "Don't worry. I can handle it."
Asami shakes her head, her expression still stern.
"You're not the one we're worried about."
Korra can hear Mako and Katara on the other side of the kitchen door. They're talking to each other in low tones, murmured words braiding with the rich savory scent of cooking food. He sounds fine; his dry, summery voice is level and calm… But Asami stops her before she can open the door. The nervous feeling in Korra's throat tightens.
Asami knocks on the door, two sharp taps of her knuckles.
"Katara? It's me and Bolin. Korra's with us."
The conversation on the other side falls silent.
"Come in."
Asami slides the door open, pulls the curtain aside, and motions Korra through. The warmth of the kitchen flows around her as she walks in. Mako stands by the stove, wearing a tank top with a wooden spoon in hand; and he looks different. His muscles are tight on his shoulders, leaner than she remembered, and there's a hollowness around his eyes. They also gave him a haircut.
Bolin, too, who sidles up to Mako and leans over to smell whatever's in the pan, putting on a dreamy look and lifting his nose with the gently rising steam. She didn't see it in the dark courtyard but he has the same hungry, compacted look; only fainter because he's Bolin and bad things don't really seem to stick as much.
"I've missed your cooking, bro," Bolin says, clapping Mako on the shoulder. But Mako looks at Korra without expression, like a mask slid over his features, blank and passive. The pressure in her chest starts to build but she steels herself, Asami's warning ringing in her head.
"Korra, what did you do to your hand?" Katara says, placing a white bowl of water on the kitchen table.
Korra tears her eyes away from Mako.
"Nothing! I was just listening to the radio a-and I - it's fine," she mumbles. With a suspicious glance Katara pulls out a kitchen chair for her. Mako's already turned back to the noodles in the pan, his grip on the wooden spoon white and bloodless, and Katara touches him on the wrist.
"Mako, we're going to fix that arm of yours," she says. Mako scowls, bristling with a sudden, almost feral energy.
"I already told you, I don't care," he snarls.
Korra throws a glance at Asami and Bolin. Both of them look uncomfortable: Asami leans stiffly against the wall with her arms crossed, Bolin's expression pained. Katara, with an indomitable patience, tries again.
"Those scars are only a few months old. It won't take more than a few minutes to heal them."
Mako jerks his arm away.
"Don't touch me," he snaps. "It doesn't matter. I don't even remember how I got them."
"Are you sure? Think," Katara says. Mako lifts his arm, frowning thoughtfully as oil drips from the spoon onto the stovetop.
Now Korra sees them: two fine brown lines running from his elbow to his wrist, deliberate and precise in their cruelty. Memories flash into her mind, little images glinting and disappearing like fish in a river. A hunting knife on a kitchen table. Mako's forearm, wrapped in bandages. Noatak, impassive, saying I had a few words with your friends. A sick feeling turns over in her stomach and she clenches her jaw, torn between speaking up and feigning ignorance.
"It - it was - when we woke up down in the prisons, after they found us at Narook's," Mako says, brows knitting together, his voice carrying a soft tone of confusion. "He asked me about her, if we knew her, if we knew anything about her, and when I didn't answer, he - he sliced my arm with a hunting knife - "
He stops, his mouth moving without sound. Mako swivels around, breath coming out in sharp gasps, staring in blind terror around the kitchen and cornered by the savagery of his own memory. Korra feels ill, almost nauseous - is this what happens to the people who care about her?
Bolin grabs Mako by the shoulders and Mako looks at him with a flattened, wide-eyed gaze, lost to a feverish panic. Everything about him is wound tight, threatening to snap like a tripwire at the slightest touch.
"Mako - look at me. We're going to breathe, okay? Look at me. Breathe in..." Bolin says, scooping the air up his front. Mako nods dumbly and does the same, his chest rising as he audibly inhales.
"... and breathe out," Bolin says, three seconds later. "Again…"
For several minutes Bolin guides Mako through his breathing, steady and rhythmic. Korra's every nerve is on edge and she finds herself doing it along with them, breathe in breathe out, holding each breath for a count of three. Asami squeezes her shoulder, her own hand stiff with tension.
"Remind him where he is," Katara says quietly. Bolin shoots her a nervous glance.
"Look, big bro. We're on Air Temple Island. You're just making dinner," he says. "Keep breathing. You're doing great."
Bolin's words come with practiced ease. Mako blinks as things start to click into place in his head, a fresh new light flickering in his eyes, and he slumps into the chair next to Korra, laying his forearm across the wood. He opens his mouth, as though waiting for words to come, and stares at the scars for a long time.
His voice is flat when he finally speaks. "Get rid of them. I don't want to look at them anymore. They make me sick."
A chill runs through Korra, an icy dread sinking into her bones.
Maybe the sight of her makes him sick, too. Maybe that's what Asami meant in the courtyard. And maybe Korra shouldn't be here, if it's that hard and that painful for him to look her in the eye; if all she brings with her are memories of captivity and the perpetual threat of Amon's brutality. How unfair, she thinks, to sleep for three days and wake up with the bad dream still lingering like smoke in the air. She knows better than anyone what it's like to love a threat.
"Mako," she says, "I… "
On hearing his name in her mouth, he stiffens, a muscle twitching in his jaw; and Korra's heart sinks.
And maybe that's all she ever was to him.
"I get it," Korra says, standing up, her hands on the table. "It must be a relief, right? Not having to pretend you're my friend anymore? You know, you didn't have to work that hard to stay on my good side."
Asami gives her an anxious look. "Korra, that's not - "
"Shut up!" Korra shouts. "People do what they have to do! So you know what? I understand, Mako. Go ahead and hate me! It's probably the most honest thing anyone's ever done for me!"
She whips the scarf off her neck, throws it onto the table, and marches from the kitchen into the hallway, every nerve in her body vibrating with rage. She doesn't bother to look back as she slams the door closed, plunging the hallway into darkness. Her heart thuds against her ribs, echoing in her aching head, and when she lifts her hand to rub her eyes, she realizes she's shaking.
With a disgusted grunt Korra storms down the hallway, grinding her teeth together and fueled by a restless desire to get out. She's tired of people lying to her, like the truth simply slipped through the holes in their pockets. And she's tired of being nothing more than a tool to wield, and most of all, she's tired of... fear. Again the memory comes to her: the fisherman, with his short knife in hand, slicing through the necks of eels.
Korra shoulders through a door onto the veranda and makes her way to the nearest cliffside, dropping onto a ledge and folding her arms over her knees. Several dozen yards below her the waves crash against the rocks, the pitch-black harbor waters breaking apart into loud white clouds. The air is cold and Korra shivers, hugging herself harder, swallowing back a bitter taste.
"Korra? Where'd you go?"
She glances over her shoulder and doesn't move as Asami picks her way to the cliff, arms outstretched as she fumbles around the rocks.
"Leave me alone," Korra growls, and Asami stops short several feet away.
"I just want to talk," she says.
"That's exactly what I don't want," Korra mutters, casting her gaze over the city across the harbor, the trains sliding on the bridges, throwing flecks of light onto the water. It looks so peaceful from here, with the smoke from the riots mingling seamlessly into the usual haze of smog.
"Korra, I... I have to tell you something," Asami says, sitting on the ledge next to Korra, tucking her legs underneath herself. She pulls her hair over her shoulder and combs through the curls with her fingers, dark-red mouth twisting as she thinks. Korra narrows her eyes and she sighs.
"Remember when we went for that drive, and you told me all that stuff about Equalism and being the Avatar? After that, I went to the police, that same day," Asami says, "and I told them everything."
Korra straightens up with a start.
"You what?!"
"I'm not done," Asami says. "I started working with them. With Chief Bei Fong and Tarrlok. I spied for them - I gave them everything I could, all the blueprints and maps, the training techniques and insane rhetoric about equality. Every scrap of information I could get my hands on, and - that - that man, that spy Amon tortured… that could've... been me…"
Her voice trails off. Asami closes her eyes and shudders, emotion draining out of her face.
"But I stayed for you. Because you're my friend, and you needed me more than I needed to leave," she says, opening her eyes again. Korra is speechless.
She drops her face into her hands, her voice choked in her throat, a wave of guilt rolling through her. Then it's followed by gratitude, expanding in her chest, almost weightless. Whatever Mako might've done, he did try to tell her this, to believe something like this could happen - that Asami would stay, for her.
Asami goes back to fiddling with her hair, stroking out nonexistent knots. A harbor bell clangs in the distance, the brassy staccato breaking through the rhythm of the waves on the cliffs below. Her face and her hands are pale under the slate-black winter night and she grabs her lapels, slouching into her coat against the breeze. Waiting. Patient.
"Thanks," Korra says, quietly.
But the word itself is not enough, so she twists and catches Asami in a hug, squeezing her. "You brought Mako and Bolin here, didn't you?"
"Yeah," Asami says. "That was my deal with Chief Bei Fong. If anything happened, I had to go straight to her, and the police would protect me."
Korra hums in understanding. The wind picks up, hushed and sharp on her cheeks, and she calls fire to her uninjured palm. The shadows on Asami's face flicker as the yellow flame blossoms with warmth.
"So, what happened to Mako?" Korra starts, unable to keep a plaintive note out of her voice. "Why's he being like that? I mean - I get it. I know what it's like to - to try and keep someone happy, to keep yourself safe. But I'm sick of it. I can't stand people being afraid of me. I hate being used! And now it feels like he did both!"
Korra clenching her fist over the flame. It disappears with a puff of smoke, leaving her with a searing heat that has nothing to do with firebending. How naive. Stupid girl, Noatak says, I told you not to trust them.
"Maybe he did, and maybe he didn't. But if you really think he did, then do you regret rescuing him?" Asami says. Korra opens her hand again, creating another flame, brighter and stronger than the first. She can't help but think Noatak would've done the same thing in her place (she knows he did, with Tarrlok; she's sure of it now) but she's not him. Her anger doesn't make her stronger. She doesn't loathe her own sympathy.
"No," she says. "It was the right thing to do."
"Yeah. You know, when Mako woke up from his healing coma, the first thing he did was ask about you," Asami says. "So don't write him off just because he's having a rough day. The past few months were rough for him... for all of us."
"Really? I had a blast," says Korra, "Learned how to bend, made new friends, kissed a boy, went to my first probending match…"
Asami snorts. Then she shivers again, tucking her hands under her arms, so Korra lets the flame go out. She stands up and dusts her trousers as Asami scrambles to her feet.
"Let's go back," Korra says. "I should apologize to him. And to you, too. Sorr - "
"The only thing I want you to say sorry for is storming off to this freezing cold cliff, instead of somewhere warm and toasty," Asami says, huffing out small steamy clouds of breath. "Hurry up."
The scarf is still lying on the table where Korra left it, the red folds curling in loops and soft knitted grooves. And Mako is still where she left him, sitting in the chair with his head resting on his folded arms, face hidden. Bolin drapes his arm over Mako's shoulders, leaning in, whispering to him; and he cuts himself off as Korra hovers in the kitchen doorway.
Mako lifts his head and sits up. Korra chews her tongue. He doesn't look ready to hear an apology: his face is drawn and grey, his eyes fixing on a point in the center of the table. At the stove, Katara tosses the stir-fry with the wooden spoon and looks from Asami to Korra.
"Are you alright?" she says, with a gentle look of concern, and Korra shakes her head.
"No. I got mad listening to the radio… so I punched a hole in the wall. Can you help me fix it?" she says, lifting her bandaged hand. Katara claps a lid onto the pan and turns around, her blue eyes crinkling as she beams at Korra.
"I can do more than that. Would you like to learn how to heal?"
Korra can't help it - she gasps, smiling with pure delight. Healing! Something she never dared to try. Noatak would've disapproved.
"I'll take that as a 'yes,'" Katara says. She looks at Mako for a brief second and motions towards the table. "Sit."
She drags the white bowl forward, water sloshing against the rim, as Korra takes a seat and scoots in. Katara swiftly undoes the bandages on Korra's hand, revealing the sticky, sweating skin underneath. She turns her hands in elegant motions, encasing Korra's hand in a bubble of water.
"Healing is about using the flow of water to redirect chi across the body. You know a lot about chi, don't you?" Katara says. The water begins to glow with brilliant blue light.
That's generous of her. But Korra nods, a gentle heat spreading through her hand as the broken skin stretches and mends with tiny tugs. Mako stares transfixed into the shining water, his face cast in blue light. Bolin, standing behind Mako to watch, ruffles his hair and then hugs him around the neck, arm draped across Mako's collarbone. The frying pan releases a cloud of savory steam into the kitchen as Asami lifts the lid, and Korra starts to relax.
"Chi is like a river of spiritual energy, flowing through the body. Create a dam and block it," she intones.
"...well, yes," Katara says, "but rivers can wear down anything, even the strongest dam..."
She bends the water back, with Korra still holding her hand aloft over the table.
"...see?" Katara says. Korra flexes her hand, makes a fist; the stiffness is gone.
"I see," she breathes.
She glances at Mako, tracing his strong, fine profile. He hasn't made a single sound, just watched while light washed over her hand, his expression shifting into something distant and a little dreamy. His eyes widen and she sees his hand curl into his bicep, nails digging lightly into his skin, as though trying to test the truth of his senses.
"You healed it," he says, turning his head a fraction, and Korra nods.
"Yeah."
He offers his arm.
Korra contains her excitement to a small smile. She still wants to apologize - but maybe she doesn't have to say anything.
With a careful twist of her hands, she bends the water out of the bowl, bringing it to hover over the scars. She bites her lip and concentrates on the water, sweeping it up and down the length of his forearm, a rhythmic, fluid motion. Wear down the dam. Break it up. The bubble wobbles and nothing happens. She's thinking too hard about the water… the flow of water won't heal him. She repositions her hands around the bubble and tries again. It has to be the flow of chi...
It takes her a moment to figure it out but the water shifts, like a veil being lifted, revealing a soft, starry light. An inch of scar tissue disappears into Mako's skin.
"Wonderful," Katara murmurs. Korra smiles, breathless with pride. It feels so strange to be using water like this, with a pleasant illuminated warmth radiating into Korra's palms, the bubble rippling into itself. She can almost feel energy breaking through the water, like sunlight playing on the surface of the sea. The scars slowly unravel and fade away.
"Hey! Check it out, she can heal," Bolin says, leaning over Mako to look.
"Wow, that's amazing," Asami says, coming back from the stove, her eyes bright with the healing glow. Korra grins at her.
The last bit of scar tissue vanishes and the light fades as Korra returns the water to the bowl. Katara gives her shoulders a small squeeze, smiling proudly: every trace of scarring is gone. It's as smooth and clean as if Mako had never been so much as pricked by a needle, like nothing ever happened in the first place… something in Mako relaxes. The hard thin line of his mouth slackens.
"Right on time," Asami announces. "Mako, your noodles are ready."
Bolin shoos her away from the table. "Let's get some bowls."
Katara clears away the healing water, leaving Korra and Mako sitting next to each other in anxious silence. Korra fidgets under the table as Mako rubs his arm with muted curiosity. She resigns herself to patience, unable to fault him for his silence.
Then Mako looks at her, his eyes traveling from her face to her hands and back. It feels like he's trying to fit different pieces of her together, searching through the scattered things he remembers about the girl who wore the mask and not the mask itself.
He stands up with a muttered excuse me and brushes past Bolin and Asami, who hastily step out of his way.
With almost mechanical focus he clunks empty bowls onto the countertop, forking noodles from the pan with a pair of chopsticks. Korra twists to stare at Mako's back, swallowing the knot in her throat - she can't be angry with him, she won't, she refuses.
"I didn't know you could heal," Asami says, sliding into the chair across from her, daintily plucking at her bowl of noodles.
"Neither did I," Korra says, picking morosely at the scarf on the table. "But I mean, I didn't know I was the Avatar, either, so..."
Asami raises her eyebrows. Then she nods once, motioning Korra to turn as a light shadow falls across the table. Korra looks around to find herself face-to-face with two steaming bowls of yellow noodles, glistening and tangled with slices of onion and cabbage.
Mako moves one of the bowls forward a fraction, his face softened by uncertainty, and Korra smiles. She's not unfamiliar with this kind of gesture, how to talk when words are overwhelmed by feeling - it's an apology and a peace offering and a sign of good faith all at once. He turns pink as she takes the bowl from his hand, their fingers brushing together.
"They're - they're just noodles, nothing fancy," Mako says, gaze falling to his own bowl.
"Don't worry, Hotshot, I'm sure they put Kwang's Cuisine to shame," Korra says lightly, her smile growing wider - for a second Mako stares at her, unable to look away as his eyes fill with light; her breath catches between her lips -
She's not quite sure what just happened, and Mako drops into his chair with flustered confusion, like he also doesn't know what just happened. Wordlessly he reaches for the scarf and, with an offhand gesture, loops it around her neck.
"I don't hate you," he says, and lapses back into silence.
They start to eat but Korra doesn't miss his sideways glances, shy and discreet, nor the twinkle in Katara's eyes. Some time later, somewhere between Bolin begging Katara for another story about Toph (my hero, he exclaims) and Asami bemoaning the lack of roads on Air Temple Islands (I can't drive anywhere, she says, it's driving me nuts), Korra remembers something Mako once said. Something about the look on her face, the way she smiles… and she scrapes the last noodle from her bowl, hunger satisfied and heart content. This is good.
Korra spends the next morning with Bei Fong, throwing secrets onto the table like coins into a fountain, wishing for something more. In the afternoon, with the winter sky rising clear and cold above them, Tenzin gives Korra her first lesson in airbending. Or rather, Tenzin watches from the side of the family courtyard, hands tucked into his orange robes, while Jinora and Ikki dance around Korra with feather-light steps.
"This is the circle walk," Jinora explains, her small face serious. Korra follows her through a series of forms that flow together, graceful and precise, ribbons threading through the air. "It's the most basic form. The ancient Air Nomads learned it by watching air bison ride the currents of the wind - "
"Hey, maybe now you can have an air bison friend! They make great best friends. Grandpa Aang had Appa and Appa was the best friend ever," Ikki says. Her circle walk isn't so much walking as it is skipping, jumping nimbly from one form to the next. Jinora raises an eyebrow in disapproval.
"No, I want something fiercer," Korra says, grinning, "like a big, tough polar bear dog, so she can eat up people I don't like."
She turns lightly on her heel, lifting her hands as though offering something to the sky. This might be the most relaxing bending lesson she's ever had. Firebending and earthbending both needed more sweat and power, and waterbending was… unpleasant. But it only takes Korra a single wave of her hand to airbend, a slender breath of wind that curls easily around her as she matches Jinora's circle walk step for step.
But Korra's answer makes Ikki stop, her lower lip pushing out in a concerned moue.
"Like benders? Daddy said Amon's your dad. Sort of. He's scary. He says all benders are bad and should have their bending taken away, but… you don't think I'm bad, right?" she says, looking hurt, and Korra trips over her own foot. She stops, swerving sharply to face Ikki as her hands ball into fists, her face coloring with an angry flush.
"Ikki!" Tenzin says, rushing forward and looking stricken - is he embarrassed or scared - ? But Korra takes a short, deep breath, leaning over to put herself level with Ikki. Her grey eyes are watery with worry and Korra can see herself in them, seven years old, being told by Noatak that bending is a stain on the soul.
She fits Ikki with a cheerful smile.
"Don't worry, kiddo. The only people I don't like are the ones who hurt other people," she says, "whether they're benders or not. I'm not going to let Amon do anything else to hurtanyone. I'm going to stop him."
She claps Ikki affectionately on the head. To her left, Jinora and Tenzin both relax.
"Besides, I don't think you'd make a very good snack for a polar bear dog. You're too sweet," Korra says. Ikki blushes and giggles.
"I think they want to talk to you," Jinora says, pointing behind them. Korra turns around to see Tarrlok striding into the courtyard, followed by several officers carrying large wooden crates. Tarrlok sets the first one down and claps dirt from his hands.
"Might I have a few moments of Korra's time?" he says.
"We were going over some airbending forms," Tenzin says, motioning for Ikki and Jinora, evidently intent on keeping them away from police business.
"Splendid," says Tarrlok. "Korra, the task force has no need of your personal effects. I'm releasing them from evidence back into your care."
He gestures towards the crates, half a dozen in total, each one stamped with a police insignia and the word EVIDENCE in black characters. She likes the detached finality of the word: all of her clothes, her books, her things, each gift Noatak ever gave her, catalogued by the police as part of a crime. Having them here is proof that she won't ever go back to the apartment on Plum Street.
"Thanks," Korra says, and then fits him with a scowl. "But what are you and Chief Bei Fong planning? I want to join the task force. You know I can help. I know Amon better than anyone else."
"Your offer is appreciated, but… ah… we think it's best you keep a low profile," Tarrlok says, his brows knitting together. Korra clenches her fists, indignation rising hotly in her throat.
"What? Why?! I have every right to be on that task force! You know what Noatak did to my parents! To my friends, to me!"
Tarrlok blanches at the name and hastily closes the distance between them, clutching her by the shoulders and letting go just as quick. Tenzin's curious gaze falls keenly on both of them. She forces herself to stay in place, staring up at Tarrlok without blinking. There's always just enough Noatak in his demeanor to unnerve her; a cool intelligence lurking behind the eyes.
"Allow me to remind you, Korra, that revenge is a poor master," he says. "It will never set you free. You left him and surrendered. You gave up all his secrets. Let that be enough."
"But I have to fix it!" she says, desperation flaring up. "Tarrlok, I have to make things better!"
Tarrlok is unmoved, his face frozen in impassive disapproval.
"You are not listening to me. Do not burden yourself with his mistakes. Do not let your hatred control you. You have only one responsibility right now, and I'm interrupting it. This isn't your concern anymore."
"WHAT?!" Korra roars, the full force of her disbelief thundering out of her - how dare he - her vision blinding with white heat as Tarrlok takes a hasty step back. "WHAT DO YOU MEAN, NOT MY CONCERN?! DO YOU KNOW WHAT HE'S DONE?! HE TOOK A KNIFE AND TORTURED MY FRIENDS, HE ALMOST MURDERED BOTH OF THEM, HE STOLE ME FROM MY FAMILY!"
With a disgusted shout Korra swivels on her heel and blasts fire at the nearest crate, blowing a hole in the side and throwing splinters into the air. Clothing tumbles out of the charred, jagged hole and she kicks the crate, sending it skidding several feet across the stones, the air thick with the smell of smoke.
"Put me on that task force," Korra says, rounding on him, seething. "This is my fight."
"I will not," Tarrlok says coolly. But he's ashen-faced. Korra clenches her fists, a wild suspicion cutting through her mind - is he trying to protect Noatak from her - ?
"If there's anyone who shouldn't be on that task force, it's you," she snarls, advancing on him -
She jumps as Tenzin puts his hand on her shoulder and turns her around, pulling her into a tight, one-armed huddle against his robes and blocking her view of Tarrlok. She freezes as shock floods through her, the side of her face pressed into the fabric, unsure whether to trust his intent. He puts his other hand on Korra's shoulder and she almost shrugs away, with half a mind to free herself - but it's not a restraint. It's a shelter. He inclines his head, speaking in a low voice only she can hear.
"Korra, I know Councilman Tarrlok is upsetting you. But - hearing what Amon did is scaring the girls. How about I ask him to go?
Korra steals a glance at the girls and a deep weight turns over in her chest: Jinora stands a few yards away, face white with fear; Ikki is half hidden behind her, clutching Jinora's robes and fixing Korra with one wide eye.
Maybe Tarrlok is right.
"Yeah," she says. "Please. I don't want to talk to him anymore."
Tenzin, without letting her go, speaks over his shoulder. "Councilman, thank you for delivering her things. I think it's best you take your leave."
"I… quite agree. Good day," Tarrlok says. With a short bow he leaves, officers in tow. Several moments pass as their footsteps recede into the distance, tramping on the stones underfoot. When Tenzin finally lets go of Korra, Tarrlok and the officers are gone. She closes her eyes and grinds her teeth, feeling all the heat leave her blood. She walks over to Ikki and Jinora. They tuck their chins and look up at her, slightly unsure.
"I'm sorry for scaring you," she says. "Tarrlok made me angry, but maybe I was, um, a littletoo angry with him. I shouldn't have blown up the crate."
Jinora's thoughtful gaze darts towards the blackened splinters lying on the ground and the still-smoking crate. She gives Korra a knowing, bashful look.
"It's okay. We know you're having a hard time. It was just… intense, that's all."
Korra sighs with relief. Sympathy still feels like a matter of coin toss.
"Well then. Shall we continue airbending?" says Tenzin.
"Tenzin, I want to join the task force. I want to fight back," Korra blurts, hugging her arm. "And I have to help! How come you and Tarrlok won't let me?"
Tenzin exhales, pulling on his beard, a deep ridge in his forehead.
"Korra, we want to give you time to come to terms with what you're feeling, to help you… regain a sense of balance," he says. "But it is ultimately your choice - you're the only person who can tell yourself how to feel."
"Oh," she says, scuffing the ground with her heel. "Um."
As Tenzin looks at Korra, Jinora wraps her arms around his waist. His hand curls along the side of Jinora's face as she happily leans her head into his side, a soft and fleeting touch that makes Korra wonder if Jinora has ever felt unsafe.
"Can we keep airbending tomorrow? I really want to learn, but I have to think about some stuff. And take care of this, too," Korra says, waving towards the crates.
Tenzin beams at her. "Of course, Avatar Korra. Whenever you like. Again, I beg you: whatever you need, ask me. Come on, girls. It's almost time for meditation anyway."
Both Ikki and Jinora groan, hanging their heads in childish despair. Korra manages a smile. She knows the feeling.
"Just call me Korra. Thanks for the lesson, Sifu Jinora, Sifu Ikki," she says, bowing with her fist to her palm. In return they give her a pair of bright smiles, which Korra tucks away in her mind, another token of good faith. Then they trail after Tenzin, flitting around him like birds.
Korra looks around and realizes she's been left alone in the courtyard, free to wander off to other parts of the island… either they trust her, or someone's keeping an eye on her. She casts a furtive eye towards the living quarters, catching a glimpse of burnished metal in a far, high window - and waves, grinning. It's easy to imagine Bei Fong's disgruntled snort, and being watched by the police chief is more reassuring than insulting.
And now for the business of the boxes. Korra circles them twice, thinking, and then decides: all of this has to be destroyed. It came from a life she doesn't have anymore, and good riddance.
Korra stretches, relishing the pops in her joints, and tackles the opened crate. She tears the clothing out and starts breaking the crate apart, splitting boards in half across her knee, flinching at the sound of nails screeching out of the wood. When the crate is completely dismantled she throws all the wood and clothing into a pile and starts on the next crate, lifting the lid to find her books.
The pile starts to grow and the mindlessness of her task relaxes her, even with the air rent apart by the sound of splintering wood. Everything Noatak ever gave her is laid at her feet: the books on Water Tribe history, a set of three. The jewelry box with its glossy lacquer finish. The stuffed polar bear dog, well-loved and threadbare, its black eyes dulled by age.
Mako and Asami find her by early evening, sitting on a low stone wall she bent out of the ground, her polar bear dog under one arm and a dusty pro-bending magazine on her knees (hidden under her mattress two years ago, and then forgotten. Tarrlok had been thorough.)
"Hey," Asami says, "what are you doing? What's all this stuff?"
"It's all mine. Tarrlok brought it from my apartment," Korra says, flipping to the next page. The photograph gives her an unwelcome jolt: the Wolfbats lifting a trophy, celebrating their second championship win. With a flick of her wrist she tosses it onto the pile. "I'm going to burn all of this junk."
Mako bends over and plucks a coat off the pile, revealing the jewelry box. He still has that starved look, but the traces of last night's abject hostility seem to be fading. His smile is slight and earnest.
"Pretty nice junk," he says, picking up the box and turning it over in his hands, "but fair enough."
He drops the box with a loud hollow clunk. Korra scoots over as he sits on the wall next to her, sharing the few feet of space with their legs pressed together, their elbows knocking into each other. She tucks her elbows in and smiles, a blush sweeping across her face; his presence brims with warmth.
"How are you?" she says. Mako works the question over for a few seconds, his brow furrowed.
"Better," he says. "Katara's trying to - she wants me to talk about - about what happened, and I didn't think it would help but it does. So Bolin's with her now. Today is good. Last night was… bad. "
There's a touch of apology in his tone and she accepts it. After what just happened, she won't challenge that.
"I should tell Tarrlok to get your stuff from the probending arena. You can't really go home for a while, I guess," she muses. Mako shrugs.
"Not a big loss. For me… if Bolin's happy, I'm happy. You go home to people, not things," he says, his face coloring. He tugs curiously on the stuffed polar bear dog under her arm. She lets him take it and he holds it out, peering into its black eyes.
"I think your fearsome predator is losing some of it's stuffing," he says, giving it back, and Korra grins.
"What about you, Asami? You have everything you need from the mansion? Except your garage full of Satomobiles and motorbikes?" she says. Asami tosses her hair as she sits down on Korra's other side, nose crinkling pensively.
She also shrugs, her dark red lips curving downwards. There's something lost about her, wandering a fog only she can see; but when she blinks it's gone, her expression locking with determination.
"I'll get all of that back later. Chief Bei Fong told me they're making a case against my father, so if - when he goes to jail, I'm taking over Future Industries. I want to make it into something better," says Asami. "You can't really do that with Equalism, can you?"
Korra, her chin propped on the polar bear dog, makes a derisive sound in her throat.
"The sooner I get rid of my old life, the better," she murmurs, and straightens up in surprise as Mako holds out his hand.
"I'm Mako. I used to be a probender, but now I teach firebending," he says. Korra laughs as they shake hands.
"Korra. Um, Avatar Korra," she says, "but my old life isn't over. Not yet."
She gets to her feet, still holding the polar bear dog, and stands over the pile, frowning. Mako joins her, kneeling on one leg and showing her his two pointed fingers.
"You have a lot of stuff in here that won't burn easily, so you need a higher temperature," he says, as flames blossom from his fingertips and sharpen into a short dagger of yellow-white fire. Korra points her fingers and breathes out, feeling a thrill run up her spine as fire courses through her body, honing into a fine point and then bursting from her fingers with a hot snap of air. Mako gives her a swift smile.
They tuck their hands into the pile, into the spaces between the broken boards, and quickly pull out as fire starts to catch. Before long they have a robust fire, flames hissing as sparks pop out into the clear evening air. The wind is down so the smoke rises straight up, a dusty grey pillar carrying flakes of ash and paper into the darkening sky. The three of them sit on the wall in silence, the heat washing over their faces.
Then Bolin shows up, a dark silhouette trotting gaily across the veranda, Pabu perched on one shoulder. He leans heavily onto Mako, resting his arms on Mako's shoulders and his chin on Mako's head. Mako grumbles half-heartedly as he bows forward under Bolin's weight. Pabu jumps off Bolin to curl up next to the fire, vibrating with contented purring.
"Hi, ladies. Is this guy bothering you? Is he being a total downer? You ever wonder how a firebender could be such a wet blanket?" Bolin says. Mako rolls his eyes and swiftly jerks his elbow backwards into Bolin's side.
"Ow! You know, Mako, that's really rude. If I didn't know for sure that I'm your number-one super favorite brother, I'd be upset," says Bolin, dropping onto the stone bench next to Mako and squishing him against Korra. She giggles and pushes back, buffeting Mako onto Bolin, and laughs louder as he swears at them under his breath.
"We're burning all my old stuff," she says. Bolin nods. Then he reaches furtively into his jacket and pulls out a small glass bottle, clapping it into Mako's palm.
"This one's yours. Katara says drink some before you go to bed and you'll sleep better," he says, and Mako pockets it without a word. Korra doesn't ask. There's no need.
It feels good to watch everything burn. Everything she knows is coming undone, every single one of the last fourteen years, every late night of speeches and chi-blocking demonstrations in basement hide-outs. Noatak never wanted to love her in the first place - just use her, and her desperate devotion, absolute in its faith that things could get better… Korra's eyes mist and she wipes them with the back of her hand.
"I wish I could burn the flowers," she says in an undertone. "Every year, on my birthday, he would wake me up with a big bouquet of flowers, and I'd keep them for as long as I could…"
Korra can almost see them before her: soft cups of petals wavering atop slender green stems, nestled in the crook of Noatak's arm as he roused her from sleep with a gentle touch. Always more sincere in what he did than what he said - more than anything Korra wishes she could burn the flowers, because of all his gestures those meant the most…
"Yeah," Asami sighs, with no emotion on her firelit face, save for a trace of wistful heartbreak in the curve of her mouth. "It's all the good things that make it harder."
Korra squeezes her around the shoulders. At least neither of them are alone.
The polar bear dog is losing its stuffing, poking out in coarse clouds from some torn stitching, and even just a month ago Korra would've tried to stitch it back together. But it's fourteen years old, and she's had it as long as she can remember. It might even be the first thing Noatak gave to her - something to placate a frightened child, or just something to cling to at night. With careful aim Korra tosses the stuffed polar bear dog onto the fire, kicking up a spray of sparks as it lands in the flames. It burns easily, disappearing into the fire within minutes, and she watches it go without regret.
"I have to tell you something," she says, and they all look at her. Maybe telling her friends will make it real, make it feel like less of a dream… "Noatak lied to me."
"About what?" Mako says, his eyes shining with firelight, and Korra swallows. The truth still has a sharp edge to it.
"Everything," she says, and the story comes tumbling out.
By the time the fire dies, the evening sky is so low Korra wants to reach up and grab a handful of stars, just push past the clouds like they're made of smoke. She'd drifted off against Mako's shoulder, then slumped into his lap half-asleep with all their voices floating in her head.
Why didn't she think about it before? Bolin stands up to kick ashes over the embers, more shadow than solid through her lashes, heavy with sleep; and Mako's hand rests on the side of her chest. Why wasn't that her first thought - after all those years of imagining, begging the ghost out of her memory, always dreaming that it could've been better… and maybe that's why, because what Katara told her had felt like something conjured from the last scraps of her hopeless dreams, so intangible it would vanish once Korra tried to touch it.
"You're the only one out of the four of us," Asami had said. "Go home."
She made it sound so easy. Hating Noatak is so comfortable by comparison, a feeling Korra wears like a second skin, her hands full of restless thunder. This is what she knows - that's who she was… but she knows nothing about her mother.
"Don't waste any more time on him. Don't give him what he wants," Mako said, and now everything she's been told starts to fall before her like stones marking a path. She doesn't have to be his daughter any more, she knows that much; but she won't be Noatak, either. She won't be chained to her rage.
"I have an idea," Bolin said, and it's the best idea she's heard since she arrived on the island -
" - back inside?" Mako says, and Korra murmurs in response. He slides a hand under her knees and lifts her, his heart beating through his chest and into hers as he carries her back into the living quarters.
"Where did Asami go?" she mumbles, as Mako shoulders through her bedroom door. He gently rests her on her bed.
"She went to go get something from Tenzin for you," he says, sitting on the edge of the bed and looking down at her. Korra slides her hand around the back of his neck. His short hair is velvety in one direction and bristly in the other and she tilts him downwards.
"Is it what I think it is?" she says, still in disbelief at the thought, and he nods, his mouth inches from hers. Then he takes her other hand and laces his fingers through hers, his eyes burning brighter than the last few embers of the bonfire, and gravity gives up on her. Something in her swoops with dizzying speed through her body.
"Korra, I want you to know that whatever happens next, I'm here for you. All of us are. And things are a little messed up in my head, but you have to know… my feelings for you are real," he says, "and they always were. You're selfless and brave and compassionate - I knew from the start you didn't want to be there with Amon. And everything you did for us - for me and Bolin, you saved us - Korra, you're one of the most amazing people I've ever met."
He lowers his head and, after a weightless pause, kisses the side of her mouth, his lips falling on her skin with a damp, warm touch. Korra traces his face, her fingertips trailing down his jaw, and then kisses him again, because why use words? Why, when there are stars caught between their mouths, filling them both with a burning white fire, and his presence alone, with his hand in hers, free and willing and unafraid, is enough to make her believe - at last?
Her breath hitches when he pulls away but there's a knock on the door. Asami comes in, clutching a slip of paper with a look of triumph. Bolin follows her, toting a telephone in his arms, a cable dangling in loops from his elbow.
"Katara had it," Asami says, as Korra sits up. "Here."
Asami thrusts the paper into her hands. Korra stares at it, her lips silently forming the numbers, the name - her mother has a name and it's Senna - the paper in her hand hasn't disappeared and she hasn't woken up - this is not a dream…
"Tenzin said we could use the telephone," Bolin says, dropping it onto the nightstand with a metallic thunk. "We just have to connect it."
He kneels by the wall and plugs it in, grabbing the receiver from the cradle to listen for a tone; then he grins. "Ready to go."
Korra looks at the telephone, glinting in the dim yellow light, and she looks at the paper in her hand, the numbers written in a fluid, graceful hand, and she looks at her friends, who wait. She takes a deep breath, forcing back the bitter taste of fear - there was safety in ignorance - but she closes her eyes and exhales, a deep calm settling into her. In this there's hope for something different, something better.
"We can leave if you want. Give you some space," Mako says, but she shakes her head.
"No, stay. Please."
Bolin lifts the entire phone off the nightstand, offering it to her; she rests it on her lap and picks up the receiver. One at a time she dials the numbers, her finger jumping from each polished circular groove to the next, the hidden spring pushing the dial back into the place every time. This is real, she reminds herself, as she reaches the operator in the Southern Water Tribe. This is happening. Her mother is alive. Maybe, just maybe, she can go home.
The operator connects the line and it starts to ring, a dull, rhythmic pulse. Korra grips Mako's hand with a bloodless strength.
On the fifth ring someone picks up.
"Hello, this is Senna."
Korra can barely breathe, her eyes watering as her lip trembles - her mother has a voice and it's husky and musical - she can almost remember it - Korra, where are you? Show me your waterbending, that's my girl…
"Hello…?"
She doesn't know what to say, she should've thought of something, written it out, had something ready - what on earth can she say -
"Korra… is that you? Katara told me they found you. I've waited so long for this, Korra. I always knew you'd fight him."
Korra smiles with a hoarse, breathless laugh, tears welling up in the corners of her eyes, her heart soaring.
"Hi, Mom."
welp, that's all for now. next chapter is the last chapter. review if you want to, it's all good