Prompt: Nothing. I just haven’t written anything in a while. Makorra of a sorts.
Rating: T for themes. K+ish, though.
Word Count: 1,011
A/N: I hate how this turned out. I hate it. It’s a piece of crap. I probably will delete this in a few minutes. I just haven’t posted fan fiction in the longest time. Enjoy. Well, you won’t.
The song is “How” by Ingrid Michaelson. This isn’t a songfic, I was just listening to that as I wrote.
I guess you know by now
That we will meet again somehow
Time can come and take away the pain
But I just want my memories to remain
To hear your voice
To see your face
There’s not one moment I’d erase
You are a guest here now
Korra’s eyes flick up, glancing up at the Fire Lord. She has a straight nose, piercing gold eyes. She’s tall, attractive, but with an iron will. She doesn’t suffer fools gladly. Korra can admire that about her. She knows she has a country to run, and she’s damn well going to do just that.
The Fire Nation council is as boring as usual, and Korra’s mediating is nothing more than glaring at anyone who gets out of hand, maybe stirring a breeze to scare them into shutting up.
It’s a joke.
The days are hot here, and she misses snow. Oh, the glory of soft snow – and when it’s viciously coming down, too. It has its own charm, its own ferocity. Everything here is just sandy and warm.
She has only been gone a month from Republic City.
The feeling returns, the feeling in the pit of her stomach. An ache.
She imagines them sitting around a Pai Sho table, Bolin with his feet propped up, and Ma-
She has to be strong now. She bows her head, fingers tangling in her hair. She made a mistake leaving, but she won’t say so. The Fire Lord wanted her in the Fire Nation.
She goes where the world calls.
Tenzin sends her a letter, mentions Mako, and Korra can’t take it.
She always tells herself she’ll be strong enough, that she doesn’t need a man. And she doesn’t. It’s been 46 days (not that she’s counting), and she’s been coping.
Still. She knows that he makes her strength crumble, and she hates it. More than anything else, she hates feeling vulnerable.
The letter burns in her palm, and she throws up over the bannister.
Korra shakes herself, pinching her cheeks to bring color back to them. She’ll continue on. She doesn’t need him.
The pang in her chest says otherwise, but she ignores it. She has always depended on herself, and this is no different.
A stomach bug. A stomach bug. Out of all the things to render Korra incapable of bouncing around everywhere, it’s a stomach bug.
She still insists on doing what needs to be done, save for a few well-aimed retchings into nearby bushes, toilets, and trash bins. Food looks disgusting to her, and she’s so tired.
It’s stupid. She used to get stomach bugs as a kid, but Mom and Dad always gave her syrup and she got better.
She considers sending a letter for a vial of it, but decides against it. They’ll worry about her.
Bolin comes to visit in the spring time. It’s been two months since she saw him, and the sight of him brings tears to her eyes.
He asks how she likes the hot weather, and she lies.
Mako’s dating Asami again, he tells Korra. Rebound, she automatically thinks, and she shakes the thought. No. Mako wouldn’t use Asami like that. He dated her before. A while ago, even. Then Korra.
How long had it been? 2 years. Korra and Mako’d been going out for 2 years before Korra left, and everything fell apart, when everything went wrong.
She still isn’t sure why some people stay, why some people go.
Korra breaks down and writes him a letter.
I’ve been thinking about you, she writes, and it’s the understatement of the world. How is Asami? she asks cordially.
It has only been a bit over two months, yet it feels like all of the past Avatars’ lifetimes combined since she saw his face last.
She wonders what it would be like to hear his voice again, to see one of his rare smiles, innocence flashing in his eyes before steel can replace it. She misses him, plain and simple, and it unnerves her too.
Korra can’t muster the courage to send the letter, and it sits on her bed stand until she burns that too. The Fire Nation air lends to firebending – hot and dry, and that, at least, is good.
Her forms are clumsy.
If Mako were here, he’d laugh at her, tell her she’s losing it, and hold her, because he’d be right, and they’d laugh together.
But Mako’s not here; he’s with Asami back home.
She can’t believe she didn’t realize it sooner, and it scares her more than anything else she could imagine.
She’s 22. She shouldn’t have to deal with this. By her tribe’s standards, maybe, but she’d be looked down upon if they found out.
Korra’s doing her routine yearly self-checkup, since doctors get things wrong anyway.
It’s like a guppy. A little guppy in a big sea, inside of her. A little guppy, a baby, a baby. She doesn’t know how to parent; she doesn’t know how to be nice to children; she doesn’t know what to do or where to go or how to-
Breathe, she tells herself.
She’s alone here. Well, not completely. She has the guppy. The baby.
She can’t be pregnant. Surely not. She hadn’t… not since Mako and her had-
And her head is in her hands, and she’s crying, because she has no idea what to do, because this child in her is a miracle, because even though they’re hundreds of miles apart, she still has a piece of Mako, because she hopes Guppy’ll have his eyes, his smile, the way his cheeks dimple when he looks embarrassed.
She briefly considers sending Mako a letter.
He didn’t bother to send her one, not in the entire three months she has been gone.
She’s used to doing things by herself, and as far as she is concerned, it will continue that way.
She’s strong enough; she knows that now.
Her hand lowers to her stomach, and she likes to think Guppy is smiling, because Korra is.