A/N: Happy New Year, dear readers! And yay for less drama this week!
Thank you to Goku275, Rober, Sharpe, Black Dragon Master, Guest, MasterKriebel, Xerox Doctor Mau, IrishDreamer4, AsahixMe, devilfiredog18, Jinoora22, Raider, CrazyPhenom, and Aquamirra for reviewing. Also thanks to devilfiredog18 for the extra clarification on why Iroh does not actually have a canonical age.
This chapter takes place right after the last one.
43. I long to break the lock and live among the life we lost
Korra finds him in his room.
"Mako?" She knocks lightly on the door to announce her presence, frowning as she notes the forlorn way he's holding himself. "Hey — what's wrong?"
He rubs a hand over his face and scoots over to make space for her on his bed. She sits next to him and examines his face with concern.
"Talk to me," she says, in what has become their mutual slogan — at once both a genuine request and supporting pillar. In the seven months since they got back together, there's been more than one occasion where one of them— more frequently him, but also sometimes her — has needed the nonjudgmental patience they both agreed to give each other.
He exhales slowly, staring at the light of the late morning sun through the window. "I miss Mom."
Korra's eyes soften with sympathy. She leans her head on his shoulder and presses into his body; he automatically wraps his arms around her, holding her like a comfort pillow.
"Izumi?" she guesses.
"Yeah." He sighs. "Being here, in her country…observing how Izumi looks out for Iroh…it reminds me of her so much. And how I never…" He stops, swallows, and starts again. "I don't care about being related to royalty or even growing up on the streets. But if there's anything about Iroh I'm insanely jealous of — the one thing I wish I could've had even a fraction of — it's the bond he has with his mother. They don't always agree, and Izumi has a lot of expectations Iroh wishes she didn't — but she's there for him." He blinks back tears. "Iroh is thirty-four years old — prince, general, leader; fully functioning, capable adult — but his mom still looks after him." He finally breaks, letting the tears fall into Korra's hair.
She doesn't care. She soothes him, patting his back gently, holding him until he works the emotion out of his system.
When he calms down, she speaks.
"Mako, I know you didn't have a long time with your mom. That's heartbreaking, and totally unfair — but I don't think it's worth any less than the relationship between Iroh and Izumi," she says firmly. "Just because you had fewer years, it doesn't mean that you didn't have the full experience of having a mom — or that you weren't close to her."
"I have trouble remembering her face sometimes," he admits sadly. "Before Grandma showed us that photo, I'd actually forgotten what she looked like."
"But you remember her," Korra says with certainty. "Even if you don't always remember what she looked like, you remember the way she held you, the way she spoke to you, how she made you feel safe and warm. Don't you?"
He pauses as he considers that. It's true — he may not remember the sound of her voice, but he recalls the words she spoke and the lullabies she sang; he doesn't know what clothes she wore, but he can imagine feel of the fabric on his skin. He can't remember what she looked like when she firebent, but he still uses the techniques she taught him to this day.
Most of all, he can remember the sense of love and security he always had when he was around her.
"I do," he concedes, and Korra smiles gently.
"See? Your mom might not be around the way Izumi is, but she is still here for you." She places a hand over his heart. "Her spirit lives on in you. And I know that's cliché, but it's true. I can say that, because dealing with spirits is kind of my thing." She exhales. "I may not be connected to my past lives anymore, but I know Aang and the others are still out there somewhere. I still feel them, even if I can't talk to them."
That does give him solace, and he presses a grateful kiss to her forehead. "Thank you."
Of course, that's the moment when Bolin barges in (all right, to be fair, it's his room too), sees them snuggled together, and jumps to the wrong conclusion.
"Ahhhh! I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" The earthender is already hastily backing out. "Geez, bro, put a sock on the door or something!"
Rolling his eyes (and refraining from pointing out that if they were to do anything of the sort, Korra has a perfectly good room all to herself), he chucks a pillow at his brother's head. "Relax, Bo. You're not interrupting anything."
"I'm not?" Bolin scoops the pillow off the floor and squints at them. Clearly realising that they're both fully clothed and not the least bit embarrassed, he turns sheepish. "Oh. Well, uh, good. That I didn't interrupt, I mean." He comes over to pop the pillow back on the bed, and notices the fading tear tracks on his brother's face. "Mako, you okay?"
He wipes the tell-tale traces off. "I am now. I was just…remembering Mom."
Bolin blinks. "Oh."
Korra takes that as her cue to leave. "I'll let you two talk." She makes her way out, leaving the two brothers to reminisce about the mother they lost too young.
He breaks the silence first. "Do you remember much about her?"
Bolin sighs regretfully. "Not really. I don't remember much about Dad, either — but I remember Mom even less."
He isn't really surprised; Bolin was not even six when they'd died, and then for well over a decade, he was the only parent his brother knew.
"I don't remember much, either," he confesses. "I was just telling Korra I didn't even remember what she looked like before Grandma showed us the photo." He shakes his head. "How is it we don't have a single photo of Mom and Dad, Bolin?"
Bolin shrugs. "We had to leave home pretty quick."
He remembers that — the blind rush of panic, stumbling into their kitchen to grab his little brother and crying that they had to leave now, he'd explain later…
He decides he doesn't want to go there today and steers the conversation accordingly. "Yeah. I'm just glad Dad sent Grandma that photo. At least we can look at that."
"It's not the same." Bolin is melancholy now, caught in nostalgia.
He smiles sadly. "I know." And because he is the big brother and he remembers more, he starts talking.
"Mom had long hair. She tied it back during the day and left it loose at night, and when she hugged us, we used to complain about how it tickled, and she would laugh. She liked the sun. Her favourite thing in the house was the big window in the kitchen, because it let so much light in — and she loved that ugly glass glob we made her."
"Oh, I remember that!" Bolin brightens. "She kept it on her bedside table, right?"
"Right. And she showed it off to any of her friends who came over and didn't care if it embarrassed us."
Bolin smirks. "Embarrassed you, you mean. I just helped you collect the sand — I didn't actually make the glass."
He lets that pass, and continues, "She used to sing us to sleep with what she said was a traditional Fire Nation lullaby."
Bolin wrinkles his nose with the effort of remembering. "Was that the one you used to sing to me?"
"Yes."
"Remind me how it goes?"
He hasn't sung it in years, but he did sing it many, many times — that first night when he finally got Bolin to fall asleep and it was all he could do to mourn his parents; when times were hard and he needed to remind himself he wasn't alone; when Bolin was hungry and they had no food; when he was overwhelmed and desperately needed to feel like someone was still around to care for him.
He hums the tune under his breath while he recalls the words, and haltingly begins to sing.
"I gave my love a sunrise of flame and flowers;
It burned bright and brilliant for thirteen hours.
And when that sunrise faded, sank with a yawn,
I gave my love a baby that slept till dawn.
I gave my love a dragon with scales of diamond;
Its teeth sharp and wicked, its fire burned.
But when that dragon smiled and its fire glowed,
The baby slept in warmth and without woe.
All these gifts I gave my love, to prove my affection
And in turn I got the blessing of Agni's direction
But the greatest gift I was given was none of these
'Twas the pure and gentle spirit of the babe I breathed."
Bolin sighs in appreciation as he finishes. "Man, it's been a while."
"Yes, it has."
He continues talking, telling Bolin everything he can remember about their mother. Her gentle words, her soft-spoken manner (that turned into fiery reproach when they misbehaved), her hobby of painting; firebending lessons at dawn, tales of Fire Nation mythology at dinner, advice rooted in the culture of her country; how she hummed when she cooked and how she would run her fingers through their hair when she told them she loved them. As he talks, he finds that her face becomes clearer in his memory, and echoes of what her voice used to sound like gradually resonate from deep within his mind. He remembers more, and talks more, and Bolin takes it all in with enraptured silence.
When he reaches the end of what he remembers, he realises that — contrary to what he told Bolin earlier — he actually remembers quite a bit of Naoki. He even sees her face in his mind's eye now, without having to refer to Grandma's picture.
I guess I just needed a reason to remember.
"Mako." He looks up to see Bolin smiling. "She'd be proud of you, you know."
And that's when he realises that although Bolin looks like San, he has Naoki's cheerful, gentle spirit. In a way, he's had his mother with him all along.
"You think?" he asks.
"I know."
He pulls his brother into a hug and thinks, Thanks, Mom.
And he swears he can almost hear her respond.
A/N: Song today is 'Unopened Windows' by Set It Off - a band with a great sound that I recently discovered thanks to this fic. Don't be surprised if more of their songs turn up in later chapters.
Bonus song is the lullaby Mako sings. The tune is based off Carly Simon's cover of traditional English folk song 'I Gave My Love a Cherry' - but I rewrote the lyrics to make it Fire Nation style.