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I.
No.
But, Mako -
Absolutely not. Not in a thousand years. En - oh. I’m going to tattoo the word ‘no’ onto my forehead, so every time you even look at me, all you see is the word ‘no’ in big, fat letters.
….
Honestly, where do you come up with these stupid ideas? What kind of lunatic are you? I can’t believe you sometimes. What did Korra say?
She said she’d do it.
…
…
… really?
II.
The ferry slides out of the docks and, with a groaning churn of the engines, starts lumbering through the waves to Air Temple Island. Bolin folds his arms onto the boat railing and rests his chin on his hands, watching the hull and the waves squelch together with wet slaps. He is so nervous, in a quiet, apprehensive way; not the way before a big pro-bending match when your palms sweat and your heart thuds against your ribs and your whole body feels light and shaky, but the way you feel when you have to confess, or ask a favor, and your thoughts tumble around at the very bottom of your stomach, and your mouth dries out on tasteless words of reassurance.
But he trusts Korra. He does. And she said she’d do it, she’d try, for them; and he knows the way a river knows its course, blind and devoted, that she can do it.
“I can’t believe you dragged me into this.”
Next to him, Mako is stiff and accusatory, his hands in a death grip around the ends of the scarf. He looks peaky, almost sick – face drained of color, glassy eyes; the way he reaches out to put a hand on Bolin’s shoulder is stripped of its usual assertion and strength. Bolin would’ve been worried about Mako hurling over the side of the railing if they both hadn’t skipped breakfast that morning, as usual.
“C’mon, don’t you have any faith in Korra?” Bolin asks, and it’s too late for regrets anyway because they’re on the boat and can’t run back.
“Yeah, of course I do. But… you know I hate today, and you know that all I wanted to do was stay home and you know that I don’t like this hare-brained idea at all – “
“Easy, cool it, big bro. If everything goes wrong, the worst that happens is we have to spend several nice hours with Korra and the airkids, instead of sulking around at home all day. And if everything goes right…”
“I’d rather be fighting Equalists,” Mako says dully, as the island inches closer, and Bolin thinks he kind of feels the same way.
“If everything goes right – “ he says again, and Mako’s grip on his shoulder compresses, hard, and then slackens off.
III.
Pema is standing on the Air Temple veranda with Rohan in her arms, watching the ferry pull into the dock far below her, Korra an angular blue blot moving down the wooden planks towards the gangway. She can see Mako and Bolin walking down the gangway, the bright accents of Pabu and the scarf marking them vividly. Bolin is walking like he has no bones and Mako is walking like he has too many.
“Pema,” says Tenzin, coming to stand next to her, “do you know why Korra asked for the meditation gazebo to be sealed off for her use for the entire morning, and a box of incense?”
“No, dear, she didn’t tell me. But I’m sure she has a good reason,” Pema says, shifting Rohan as he starts to fuss, making tiny squealing mews and burbling. Korra and the boys are making their way up the staircase, her face uncharacteristically dark. Tenzin and Pema follow their progress up the cliff for a few minutes, enjoying the fresh scent of sea air and the crisp, cloudless spring morning.
“Of course, I let her. But if she’s planning on using the Avatar state for more frivolous nonsense – “ Tenzin starts, in a huff, but Pema shushes him with a light palm touch to the cheek.
“Have some faith, dear. Whatever she’s doing, it’s not frivolous,” she says confidently, as the trio makes the top of the staircase. The boys nod their heads quietly at Tenzin and Pema when they walk by, heading towards the gazebo. Korra barely glances at her mentor, her mouth set in a hard line, a rough chisel strike in stone.
“How can you be so sure?” Tenzin asks, taking Rohan and resting him against his shoulder; Rohan’s babbles calm down. Pema licks her fingers and brushes the baby’s hair down. It sticks up more than any of her other children, fluffing up in all directions; she figures it comes from Tenzin’s side of the family (judging by Bumi’s appearance, anyway.)
“Did you see the look on the boys’ faces?”
At a discreet shake of the head from Tenzin, Pema sighs.
“They look absolutely terrified,” she says.
Tenzin hums skeptically in response and frowns at his baby, bouncing him slightly. The ferry leaves the dock, the water behind it smoothening and glassing over between thick messy streaks of wake foam. Pema thinks of Mako, always politely and impassionedly frosty, and of Bolin, his sincerity woven into lightheartedness that strikes her with an odd sadness – and she wonders.
IV.
Korra stops, strips off her shoes, and pads barefoot across the floorboards to stand just off-center in the gazebo. A stout, three-legged censer, its ornamented bronze curves dark in the deep morning shadows, occupies the center, slim sticks of incense poking out of the mound of ashes. The smoke from the incense rises lazily in thin ribbons, winding smoothly through the air on its own whims.
“Coats off, shoes off,” she orders, and Mako and Bolin shed them, folding their coats on the gravel path next to the gazebo steps. Korra gives Mako a pointed glance and he whips the scarf off, along with his gloves, muttering under his breath; but he folds it carefully into thirds and leaves it on top of the coat. He lingers over it, scowling, his expression turned inwards; and Bolin resists the urge to grab him and give him a good shake everything - will - be - fine. Instead, he drops Pabu onto his coat and gives him a scratch on the nose and a warning finger to stay there, and then steps into the gazebo.
“Bro, are you ready?” says Bolin over his shoulder, kneeling in front of Korra, palms flat atop his thighs.
“No,” Mako says bluntly, ducking his head under the gazebo roof, and dropping to his knees with a lackluster thump.
“What are you worried about?” Korra asks, taking a step forward and cupping her hands affectionately around his face, looking down into his narrowed eyes. Bolin focuses on the incense and inhales deeply. Mako swallows, a muscle jumping in his neck, and turns his head out of Korra’s grasp, his eyes quivering as they trace the cracks in the floorboards.
“I’m nervous, too,” Bolin adds to the silence, and Korra moves a hand to his hair and ruffles it.
“Both of you,” she says, in a firm, light voice, tinged with a smile, “need to relax. I’m the Avatar. The bridge to the spirit world. Just… trust me.”
Bolin can’t help it. He relaxes, muscles loosening and shoulders sagging, his mind foggy and warm as the incense continues to waft around them. He trusts her, because he’s never had any reason not to, and he wishes he could put more heart into his smile right now to prove that. And she takes a step back again, over the censer, and puts her fists together, folding into an elegant lotus form. She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes.
The gazebo is full of cool, calm, shade, jutting out over the cliff and into the sunlight. The horizon sprawls wide around them, cut with the deep blue of the ocean, dappled with sunlight and white caps. The earlier breeze is still now, and the island is resting dry in silence, save for the bell’s single peal of thunder from the top of the pagoda. Bolin feels a colorless peace settle over him, like water seeping into sand; Korra seems to have turned to stone, neither tensed nor un-tensed – she just is, and they just are – waiting, breathlessly.
Bolin tries to feel for it, for something, a sign or clue – like a sound, maybe, or a shimmer in the air, that’s probably – Mako’s clenched fists are pale on his black pants.
The ribbons of incense smoke drop suddenly to the floor and weave a tight, seamless circle around them, never going higher than a few inches off the wooden planks. Bolin feels his chest hitch as sharp, glowing white lines appear on the bow of Korra’s eyelids, shining through her eyelashes - seams of bluish light, like the full moon is hidden behind her eyes – the smoke disappears and the air spirals around them, pulling up on their clothes and hair. It falls and evens out with a forceful whuff as she opens her eyes, the glow of the Avatar state flaring out in fiery white petals, her hair noiselessly whipping around her. Bolin’s heart caves in and he opens his mouth, hoping the words will guide themselves –
Boys, Korra says, in a deep, resonant voice, it can’t possibly be coming from her, it vibrates from her like something he can feel more than hear, a lightless voice drawn from the deepest, coldest currents of the ocean –
Have you two been staying out of trouble?
Bolin finds his voice first, barely; he offers the words on trembling notes.
“…Mom? Dad?”
We’re here, Korra says – no, not Korra, Mom. And Dad.
“I don’t… “ he starts, and looks at his hands, feeling an anxious heat steal into his jaw and neck.
Bo. My baby Bo. You don’t have to say anything, my beautiful baby Bo, says the voice through Korra, and Bolin can hear the tones of his mother’s voice, rising and falling, like ripples on a still pond.
“Mom, I miss you,” he blurts, and suddenly his voice is unstopped and spills out, rushing – “I miss you teaching me how to earth-bend and I miss when you would comb my hair and make jokes and I miss the way you smell like loam and wood smoke and maples and when you and Dad would come home at night with dumplings and spring rolls – “
Oh, Rolly Bolly. We miss you too, Bo. You’re more than we ever could’ve hoped for.
The nickname buries him. He lets out a gasp he didn’t know he was holding and takes it back in, trying to swallow the sound, keep it forever - he has only heard that nickname in half-forgotten, formless dreams, dreams that draw water from wells ten years deep. Bolin can’t take his eyes off Korra. Next to him, Mako sucks in air through his teeth, his eyes suddenly wide, bright and moist on his stoic face.
And you, you’re so strong. We’re sorry you had to see us go, that we had to leave you alone. We’re so sorry. Please forgive us. We miss you so much.
Mako is rigid, back straight, eyes fixed on Korra. What little color was left in his face is completely gone. He looks stricken, the rim of his teeth visible in his slack open mouth, and he shuts it, briefly –
“Why did you have to g – did I – Dad, did I do the right th – “
He stops and inhales, exhales, his breath shuddering.
“Did I do okay?” he asks, and his voice cracks between two pitches and vanishes into a whisper.
You did perfectly. We always had faith in you, Korra says, and you make us proud. You’re everything we could have asked from our boys, you and your brother –
“I wish you could’ve seen one of our matches. Or meet Korra. I think you’d like her,” Bolin says, he just wants to talk, to show them things, to hear Dad laugh with Mom again and cheer for the Fire Ferrets –
We’re with her right now. She has to come back soon, this takes a toll – just know that we love you so much, Rolly Bolly, Mako, our boys.
“No, stay, please don’t go,” breathes Bolin, and Mako nods, tensing like a cat, like he is going to surge forward to catch them – their voices – and hold them here, so they can stay and talk as long as they want.
You’ll see us again, says Korra, and a circling thread of wind on the floor starts to rise, slowly.
“I miss you too,” says Mako, the words tumbling from his lips with as much weight as a sigh, and the wind swirls around them again and the whole world is rising, rushing upwards, first the light and then the colors, and their souls are lifting from the earth through their bodies in a cold, clenching pull, and Korra’s eyes are glowing hotter and brighter, did her mouth even open at all? And Bolin can feel something, a heavy wind maybe, the press of emptiness, drifting around him and dissolving into space like ink in water. His senses settle and everything around them is again still and quiet. Korra’s eyes go out and she blinks, once, twice, and looks at them, her face serene and smooth.
There is an infinite stretch of silence, a great yawning hollowness. She looks at Bolin, then Mako, and then back at Bolin, and finally she looks at her fists still pressed together and lets them drop into her lap.
V.
Mako cracks first. He chokes on a sob, chest heaving; and then he fumbles for Bolin and presses his face into the hollow of his brother’s neck, muffling his low, keening cries. Korra can see the tears streaming down his face and then Bolin collapses around his brother, eyes moist and screwed shut. They are holding onto each other, embracing desperately, Bolin’s hands on the back of Mako’s head and around his waist and Mako just hugging, clutching Bolin like he has never seen him before in his life.
Korra feels light-headed, a little dizzy, maybe even a little ill; she stands up, reels, and steps around them – they should be alone for a bit.
But someone touches at her hand as she passes by; she looks down and Mako squeezes her fingers together, eyes red and wet, barely visible over Bolin’s shoulder.
“Thank you,” he whispers, and she leans down to kiss him on the forehead.
She leaves them in the gazebo and walks down to the kitchen, staring at her feet the whole time, arms crossed tight. What to do next, she wonders, how do you live - ? Her footsteps on the veranda are not part of her. They belong to someone else, someone she hates and wants to punt off a cliff.
And then Tenzin is blocking her in the kitchen doorway, glaring at her down his nose, and she stops.
“Korra,” says Tenzin; “what were you doing – “
She breaks on the strain, everything tunneling inwards. What was she doing? No - what has she done?
“Tenzin, I lied to them,” she splutters, grabbing fistfuls of his robes, seized by a mad panic; “Tenzin. I lied.”
Tenzin grabs her by the shoulders, puts himself at eye level with her, his voice low and sharp.
“Korra, what do you mean? What’s going on?”
“Mako and Bolin wanted me to talk – to talk to their parents,” she says, her breath coming in shallow, she can’t breathe – she can’t deal with this –
“But aren’t their parents dead, the Avatar doesn’t have that p – ”
Tenzin gapes with realization as Korra blinks back tears; she’s lost them completely, she can never have them back – and Tenzin hugs her, trapping her arms between them.
“Tenzin, I’m so bad at this, Mako talks in his sleep and that’s how I knew, I don’t – know how to be a good – Avatar – ”
For the second time in her life, Tenzin holds Korra while she cries. She feels vile, traitorous; she can never look Mako or Bolin in the eyes again.
“Have some faith, Korra,” Tenzin says heavily, as she gulps on sobs, tears searing down her face, her throat squeezing painfully; “you did something for them no one else could. You gave them some peace of mind.”
Korra looks up at Tenzin, buried in his robes, and feels powerless to stop the wave of self-loathing wracking her. She had to do it, she had to lie, to give them something – she hiccups, tasting tears running onto her lips. She will try, maybe, to forgive herself, and face them again. But for now, all she wants to do is hide somewhere far away, to a time and place where she never met them, where she never loved them, where she never cared enough to lie. It is an odd thing to long for.