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There was a time when Korra believed she'd have to be placed in a void before she lost touch with the elements, but here she is, wrapped up in her own life, the only reality she'll know in this incarnation, numb in all the ways that matter.
She can airbend. Amon had never taken airbending from anyone before, and so he couldn't reach in and twist parts of her that made her arteries ache and knock the wind out of her. And that might sting more than anything else. She's supposed to be an Avatar, not an airbender. She fights with fire, twists the seas to erode away at any force she faces, makes the ground tremble when she stomps, walls built up around her. Even when Korra was at her best, she wasn't an airbender; it didn't come naturally. Didn't flow as the other elements do, or did.
Amon's techniques weren't infallible. There must've been something she could've done to stop this, some strength she should've found within herself to ward off his bloodbending. Tarrlok had already seized control of her once before, and though she might've been fooled then, shame on her now.
Katara can't help her. She's the greatest healer the world's ever known, and she's all but given up trying. Her bending isn't locked away, isn't tied up in a clotted mess of veins and sinew; it's gone. It's gone in her dreams, too, and in the few seconds before she fully awakens, Korra believes that there's nothing more to it than that. It was all a dream, and she still has the only thing that makes her her.
She isn't Aang. Maybe she never was, and this is all a misunderstanding. Maybe the true Avatar will surface in a far away city, and the world will leave her alone in the South Pole, to gather dust and snow and the ice that'll creep across her skin if she forces herself to remain still.
There's no getting in touch with her spiritual side. There isn't even that. She has no guidance to offer from the sidelines, and no right to lead any charge. She's an airbender who gets angry when she ought to reflect, an unworthy addition to even a numbered kind.
She spends her days alone, far from the others, standing on the edge of a cliff. She tells them that she's meditating, and they'd never believe her, even if she didn't come home with bloodshot eyes. But they say nothing, because they realise as well as she does that there's no convincing her that things are going to be alright. Korra stands there, overlooking the ocean, watching the sun catch on the edges of icebergs, and feels the wind on her face.
She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath of the cold, crisp air, and pushes it between her lips. Is this what her bending is going to be from now on? Movements that have no more bearing on the world than her shuddered exhalations, the wind picking up when it shouldn't. She could never bend as Tenzin does, because she isn't the leaf. She's a paper bag caught in a tree, ripped open by the branches.
With a big enough gust of wind, she could push the waves below her away. She could extinguish candles, and guide flames where she saw fit. She could sculpt the landscape, and wear the earth into the shapes inside her mind. But it wouldn't be waterbending, wouldn't be firebending, wouldn't be earthbending. It'd be a joke, an illusion, something worthy of street magicians. Not the Avatar.
She curls her toes inside her boots, and stretches one foot out over the edge of the cliff. If she took another step forward, the sea would swallow her whole, and that'd be the end of her. Ever since she can remember, Korra's taken running dives into icy water tens of feet below, and never once had anything to fear from the deep blue depths. The water would wrap around her, and her bubbles would flow where she wanted them to, against the current or along with it, before she'd tire of all that, and create fountains to shoot herself skyward.
Korra can't even conceptualise what it'd be like to feel the icy water wrapping around her throat, filling her lungs. With everything she's gone through, with all the training she's had, it doesn't make any sense to her. It shouldn't be able to scare her, because the sea shouldn't be able to turn against her. She's done this hundreds of times before, and so stepping into the water below should come to her as naturally as blinking does, but her body doesn't listen to the way her mind screams at it.
She ends up on her knees in the snow, hands clutching her face as she sobs into them. It's the sort of crying that leaves her breathless, and the only thing she can taste is her own tears. Her shoulders shake harder, the whole of her trembling in a way that will forever be beyond her control, and her nose runs as she sniffs and chokes, as if she wasn't in enough of a state already.
Better to get the worst of it out of her system before she heads back, though. She doesn't have much time before the sun sets, not enough to let the red fade from her eyes, but she can at least not be a blubbering mess when she first steps through the door. And despite everything she thinks and feels about herself, she doesn't want to freeze to death in an effort to become more presentable.
She wipes her face on the back of her gloves, tries spitting the bad taste out of her mouth and into the snow, but it only catches on her chin. She wipes her face again, slowly marching back to the compound.
Tenzin and his family are no longer there. Something about it not being the best environment to bring up a newborn in, though Korra's parents managed just fine, and a few mumbled excuses about needing to help rebuild Republic City. Mako, Bolin and Asami left too, though it did take longer. As it turned out, there were only so many times she could snap at them before they gave up on her.
So there she is in the South Pole, surrounded by White Lotus sentries who have no business protecting her anymore, Katara, her parents, and Lin Beifong.
Lin Beifong whose blurred outline she sees as she draws closer to what passes for civilisation in these parts. Korra blinks away the tears that have welled up in her eyes without her realising it, and tries to work out whether this conversation will result in unbreachable silence on her part, or scathing words that she knows she doesn't mean, but in the heat of the moment, feels as if those are all she has left inside of her.
Lin's been spared the brunt of her anger thus far, if only because Korra can't face her. She gets wrapped up in her own problems, absorbed by the sound of waves she can't control crashing against rocks, but every time she sees Lin, her stomach twists in knots, because it's painfully clear that she isn't the only bender who's had something stolen from them.
She looks down as Lin approaches, shoulders hunched up. Korra's only lost three quarters of her bending, and though Lin's lost everything, she's yet to shed a single tear. And there Korra is, hands clenched into fists so tightly that she can feel her nails pressing through the thick fabric of her gloves, crying over the thought of how much she needs not to cry right now.
Lin stops in front of her, and Korra cringes, as if she really expected her to just walk by. As if there's anywhere else for her to go. Lin says nothing, at first, because everyone's run out of things to say to her, and then reaches out, one hand on her shoulder. For a brief moment, Korra's reminded of the time Lin wrapped her arm around her on Air Temple Island, and she almost manages to find some relief in that.
But it doesn't last long. Her tears splatter against the snow, and she shakes more for having Lin to ground her.
“Korra,” Lin says cautiously. No point in asking her if she's alright, and so Lin pauses, and murmurs, “If there's anything I can do...”
There isn't, because she can't bring her bending back. There isn't anything she can do, and yet Korra wants her to do everything and nothing all at once. She wants to push Lin away, into the cold snow below, but she wants Lin to pull her closer, and wrap her arms back around her. She wants to run past Lin, into the refuge of the Southern Watertribe Compound, and she wants to turn from Lin and sprint off to the cliff's edge and never look back.
Lin squeezes her shoulder, and Korra looks up, as if, in that gesture, Lin's promising her things she could never give. Korra's so desperate by this point that she's willing to look for salvation in any dark corner; every morning she wakes up, and wonders what lesson there's possibly left to learn that she hasn't taken in already.
She scrunches up her nose, sniffing loudly. Lin just looks at her. She doesn't tilt her head to the side sympathetically, doesn't try smiling weakly for her behalf, just as everyone else does. Because she understands, Korra realises, feeling a stab of guilt in the pit of her stomach. She hasn't once asked Lin how she is, after everything, after Tenzin told her how Lin sacrificed all that she had to protect her. In other words, all that she threw away.
Lin's just another person she failed. But more than that, Lin knows what she's been through, what she's going through. Bolin has nightmares of Amon looming over him, about to take his bending, but only Lin wakes in a cold sweat, knowing that it's already gone before she even tries to reach out and feel the pulse of the ground beneath her. She's been cut off from the world, as good as blind, and Korra doesn't feel as if she's expected to pretend to be some facsimile of okay around her.
Lin's hand is still on her shoulder, so Korra does the only thing she can. She reaches out, hands resting on Lin's shoulders in turn, and kisses her.
Her lips are cold from the chill in the air, but her face is warm from frustration, and Lin's mouth against her own does something to thaw that. Lin's grip tightens at her shoulder, Korra realises she's crying again, and though Lin eases Korra back as gently as she can, she is pushing her away.
“I didn't mean that,” Korra blurts out. She didn't think it was possible to feel stupid on top of being so wholly devastated, but there it is, red hot embarrassment creeping up her spine. She tugs at her gloves, drops them into the snow, and wants to kneel down to sink her hands in, too. “I just, I'm—”
“You're just confused, that's all,” Lin says, eventually, both hands on Korra's shoulders. Korra nods her head furiously, genuinely surprised when Lin doesn't push her back and leave her out to freeze. “You're dealing with something no Avatar has had to face before. Come on, let's get you inside.”
Korra's still nodding, and Lin guides her inside before she can change her mind about complying. She places a hand against Korra's back as they walk, palm pressed between her shoulder blades, and Korra wishes she knew why Lin is still willing to touch her.
*
Dinner passes in the uncomfortable silence that it always does, though Lin doesn't join them, and Korra wakes up the next morning before she has the chance to acknowledge how tired she is. At least grieving is exhausting.
Mornings bring with them some level of clarity. Once the dreams are shaken and there's food in her stomach, Korra usually has a solid four or five hours throughout which she truly believes that today will be the day she doesn't try running from herself; she won't end up on a cliff edge, sobbing towards the sea.
For weeks, she's woken feeling empty, but today there's something else: embarrassment. It's like a peach pit lodged behind her ribs, and every time she reflects on what happened, she cringes. No matter how worked up and worn down she was, no matter how much comfort she might've needed in that moment, she should've been level-headed enough to realise that kindness was just that. It was empathy Lin was offering her, not affection.
Korra sits on the edge of her bed, stares down at her feet, and wonders how long she should avoid Lin for. Long enough to send her packing back to Republic City, perhaps. Long enough to push her out of her life, too.
Or she could set aside her childish urges to run from the problems she actually can fix, and head out to find Lin, perfectly capable of apologising as she is. Thinking about facing Lin so soon after the incident makes every inch of her skin itch beneath the surface, and her head pounds in a way that has nothing to do with the exhaustion crying brings, but it's almost a relief to focus on something beyond her bending.
Lin isn't in her room. Isn't in the kitchen, either. Korra pulls her heavy jacket on over her pyjamas, steps into her boots, and heads outside. There's fresh powder on the ground, and she sinks into it, snow passing her ankles.
Finding Lin doesn't take long. She's stood out in front of the main gate, stretching in the early morning light, wrapped up in a coat of her own. Lin isn't used to dealing with the cold, that much Korra can tell by the way she keeps scrunching up her face, as if the bitter chill in the air is going to retreat any time soon, and the way the excess clothing seems to bunch up and restrain her, but she doesn't complain. She powers through it, because there's nothing else for it.
“Good morning,” Lin says, when she notices Korra approach. Just good morning; she doesn't comment on what happened yesterday, doesn't try cutting things short and turn her back to Korra as she continues stretching. Because, quite simply, Lin doesn't think anything of it. Whatever Korra was going through at the time, her actions as a result of that were all a mistake. It didn't mean anything, and she doesn't have to waste any time reflecting on it.
And Korra, she doesn't know how she feels. Doesn't want to have to think about it, either.
“Hey,” Korra says, apologising pushed to the back of her mind. “What are you doing out here so early?”
“Practising stances,” Lin says, pushing her weight forward on one knee, as if she's about to bring a mounting crumbling down before her. Korra doesn't say But you can't bend anymore, so what's the point?, but she says nothing loudly enough for Lin to clue in. “We may have had things taken away from us, but that doesn't mean we have to stop completely.”
“I guess,” Korra says, not sounding convinced. She can appreciate wanting to stay in shape, but going through the motions of bending without yielding any results just seems masochistic. Lin invites her to join in, but Korra only shakes her head a little, sitting in the snow.
She watches as Lin moves in a way that seems gentle, now that no avalanches are left in her wake, actions seeming to have slowed down, when threads of metal don't snap out of her sleeves. It doesn't make any sense. Lin isn't doing anything different, and so the bending should still be hers, and yet nothing happens, no matter how she tries.
Korra hugs her knees to her chest, and when she's focusing on someone other than herself, this all seems so fixable. She feels as if she can find a way to mend this, a way to bring back Lin's bending, and for a moment, she isn't as powerless as she's made herself out to be. But then Lin looks at her, and Korra, in turn, reflects upon herself, deciding that it was foolish to ever believe there could be some sort of happy ending in all of this.
She defeated Amon, saved Republic City from the brink of destruction, bombs falling from the sky. Maybe this is just the price they pay for all of that, and maybe she should be more humble in the face of what ought be taken as a victory.
“How do you do it?” Korra asks, looking up at Lin. Lin, no longer able to bend, but towering over her, while Korra's like a weed, trying to push up and out of the snow. “Why aren't you breaking down and crying?”
Lin stops, stance falling slack, and shifts through waves of tensing and relaxing.
She looks down at her hands, and then to Korra, and with genuine uncertainty says, “I honestly don't know.”
Korra leaves with more questions than she arrived with, leaves without apologising, but perhaps tomorrow she'll join Lin out in the snow.
*
“Was there something you wanted to talk about?” Lin asks, perching on the arm of the sofa. Korra looks up from the book that she hasn't really been absorbed in, but is usually enough to stop people from hovering around her, and lets out a hmm? “When you came out to see me the other morning. Did you want something?”
“Oh.”
Korra closes the book in her hand, realises that she's going to lose her place as the pages thud together, and immediately begins flicking through it, eyes skimming across random paragraphs to check if she's heading in the right direction. “Umm,” she says, finding a scattering of dialogue that looks familiar enough, “No, not really.”
The time for apologising for the kiss has come and gone, because it's been days. If Korra brings it up now, then it'll only suggest that she's been lingering over it, making it out to be more than it was. And it wasn't even a kiss! It was a sloppy, blubbering mess of misplaced emotions, best left in the past, just like every outburst she's had lately.
“Alright,” Lin says, not sounding as convinced as she could be. She moves from the arm of the sofa onto one of the cushions themselves, places her tea and a bundle of letters onto the table, and pulls the furs she's been lent tighter around herself.
“You really aren't cut out for this weather, huh?”
“Republic City has had a few harsh winters,” Lin says, reaching back out for her tea, if only to hold it between her palms, “But nothing like this.”
The cold here gets into people's bones before they even have the chance to shiver, and this isn't even the worst of the weather. The temperature will steadily drop as the real winter approaches, and Korra's mouth twitches at one corner as she wonders how Lin will deal with that, how many layers she'll be wrapped up in. And then she wonders what she'll still be doing here, after so much time. She'll head back to Republic City soon enough, just as the others have, and Korra can't imagine herself ever moving from this place again.
“Those are for you.”
Lin gestures towards the letters on the low table before them, and Korra still isn't feeling like herself, because she didn't succumb to curiosity when she saw Lin holding them. Didn't ask who they were for, who they were from, and had just accepted them as being none of her business. She reaches over for them, as if to make up for her initial lack of interest by not hesitating, and pulls the small pile into her lap.
She takes them from their envelopes, crosses her legs and spreads the letters across her lap, skimming down to see who they're from, before she glosses over the content. Tenzin, Pema, the children. Mako, Bolin, Asami. Korra grits her teeth together, takes in a deep breath, and is glad that Lin is there, otherwise she'd sweep the letters from her lap, having finally found a use for her airbending. Because how dare they write to her now, having already abandoned her so thoroughly?
She trembles harder with one of Lin's hands against her shoulder. As if she doesn't want Lin to know what's going through her mind, Korra tries to read the first of the letters, but finds it hard to focus, vision blurring. There's no way that she's going to allow herself to cry again, not over them, and she shrugs her shoulder back sharply, knocking Lin's hand away.
“Your friends miss you, Korra,” Lin says, apparently undeterred by Korra's attempt to shake her off.
“Did you read my letters?” Korra snaps, suddenly, voice rising as she turns to face Lin. Better to throw out accusations and get into petty arguments than sit and take in the words for herself.
Lin scowls, and Korra immediately regrets saying as much. But before she can fumble an apology, Lin says, “I know you feel abandoned, and I know you're hurting, but nobody's left you behind. You pushed and you pushed, and your friends decided to give you space. That's all.”
Korra opens her mouth to reply, finds that nothing comes out, and leans to the slide, slumped between the backrest and the arm of the sofa.
“I'll get you something to drink,” Lin says, rising to her feet, and Korra decides that it's now or never. Lin's giving her a moment alone, and she needs to get through the letters as quickly as is possible.
They're all much the same: they begin by saying how busy things are over in Republic City, with all the repairs that have to be done and questions that need to be answered. Amon might be gone, but the Equalists haven't disappeared overnight; they're trying to open a forum where these issues can be talked out, where concerns can be addressed, and Tenzin thinks it's all for the best. It might take a few months, but pro-bending matches are going to start up again—no rush, though! Korra should take all the time she needs, they can always put training off for a while. They all miss her. They'll come visit soon, if she wants them to, and there's always a place for her on Air Temple Island, should she ever want it.
By the time that Lin returns, Korra's doubled over, the heels of her palms digging into her eyes. She hears Lin place what's presumably her drink down on the table, feels the sofa sink under her weight, and then there's a hand splayed out across her back, but Lin isn't asking her what's wrong. Because she knows that it's too much for Korra to articulate, and prompting her for an answer is only going to cause a surge of something that Korra can't hold back.
“I keep thinking,” Korra says eventually, voice strained like she's been screaming, eyes still covered. If she can't see anyone, then she can pretend she's talking into an empty room. “That Amon should've finished the job. If he'd just— he shouldn't have stopped at taking my bending away. Because then, then there'd be a new Avatar, right? And then I wouldn't have this problem, the world wouldn't have this problem, and...”
She thinks Lin is doing everything she can to stay silent, in order to let her get all of this out, if the way her fingers tense against her back is anything to go by, though must she desperately want to speak up, to interrupt her, to tell her she's wrong. Korra doesn't blame her. It sounds wrong, now that she's verbalised it. She's rambling, losing the sentiment she's trying to convey, making herself out to be more pathetic than all the crying in the world could've.
“Listen to me,” Lin says quietly. Too quietly. Korra tenses, as if the walls are about to close in around her, but Lin only wraps her fingers around Korra's wrist, pulling them away from her face. Korra mumbles out a no, tries to hide herself away, but when Lin doesn't loosen her grip, she turns her head to the side, looking down, hoping her untied hair will mask enough of her face. “Look at me.”
And Korra does, though she doesn't want anyone to set eyes on her ever again, after what she's just revealed. When her eyes meet Lin's, for some reason, she's surprised that Lin isn't laughing at her. Surprised that her eyes aren't glinting with amusement at the expense of what Korra's forcing herself to feel. She swallows a lump in her throat, momentarily glancing away from Lin, ashamed that she's resentful enough of herself to twist her image of Lin into something she could never be.
“If that had happened,” Lin begins, and then carefully adds, “Or if it were to happen, the world would be no better off. We'd have to go through another eighteen years without our Avatar, but that's beside the point. It's Avatar Korra the people need, not uncertainty. You've been through things no other Avatar ever has. There are benders who have been stripped of their abilities that need you, and there are non-benders feeling oppressed who are willing to listen to you.”
Korra only shakes her head, because it doesn't matter how much sense anything makes, and hears herself mumble out no, no, no—, though it's as if someone else is speaking.
“This won't last forever. You won't always feel so shut off from the spirits, and even if you can only airbend from now on— Korra, you'll be able to help people in these eighteen years, as long as you're here. Kid, it doesn't even matter if it takes another eighty years. You're going to get to where you need to be.”
Korra's biting down on her lower lip when Lin stops talking, wanting to speak up, but not needing to say anything. Lin lets go of her wrists, slowly, as if Korra might try hiding behind her hands again, and then reaches up to brush her hair out of her face, tucking it behind her ears.
Korra gives a weary nod, slumps forward, and Lin wraps her arms around her, a little awkwardly, at first, but lets Korra fall slack against her. She tells Korra about the time Jinora and Ikki fought by her side on Air Temple Island, how they used their bending to take down Amon's men, and how Korra will be able to fly, if she wants to.
*
She dreams of Aang, that night. There's darkness all around her, stretching on for what could be forever, but Aang is a figure cut out of the black, orange light spilling through. He's too difficult to make out clearly, at first, and so Korra moves towards him, only to discover that the ground is alternatively too steep to properly scale, and too thick to wade through, with every step she takes. She moves forward, but not quickly enough, and finds that tendrils have slipped out of the darkness to wrap around her arms, doing all they can to hold her back. She doesn't know how far back they go, but she tugs at them with all her might, and feels them strain against their anchors.
She gets closer, and then it's not just Aang, but Roku, too. Roku, Kyoshi, Kuruk, Yangchen, and the others, a thousand split reflections of herself, waiting for her. She takes another step forward, barely gets anywhere at all, but nobody backs away from her.
*
“I'm coming back to Republic City with you,” Korra tells Lin as she stands in her room, packing the last of her belongings. Lin looks over to her, brow raised as if Korra's made a rash decision, though it isn't like that at all. She's spoken to her parents about it, and has even gone to Katara to thank her in every way she can think of, because she knows that she hasn't truly given up on her; Katara would never do that, and Korra's having a difficult time forgiving herself for thinking poorly of her in the first place.
“Are you?” Lin asks, folding a shirt between her hands, placing it neatly in her bag.
“Yeah,” Korra says, almost hesitating, because she expected something other than uncertainty from Lin. But she can't let herself be swayed that easily. “Yeah, I totally am.”
“People are going to be angry with you,” Lin warns her, “They're going to expect an instant remedy to their troubles, and it's not going to be easy on you.”
Korra bites on the inside of her mouth in an effort to not snap back well, screw them, because these are the people she's supposed to be helping, the people who need her the most. She's under no illusions of it being easier in Republic City than it is here, and she's sure that as soon as she's there, she's going to want to run back to her parents, but if she doesn’t take the first step now, she never will. If she doesn't leave with Lin, then she'll be of as much use to the world as an Avatar trapped in an iceberg.
“I know! I know that more than anyone, because I've been so angry these last few weeks. And I've taken everything out on anyone who tried to help me, and...” Korra pauses, because there's only so much honesty she can exhume in one breath. “I think I need to apologise to my friends. Maybe take them out for ice cream, or something.”
It's hard, trying to be so upbeat. She isn't really feeling it yet, but she has to believe that it'll come naturally, if she works towards being the best Avatar that she can. She has to believe that she can pull through, now that she's really having to work for something, and she has to believe that she's worth giving a chance. She has to let herself try at airbending, at communing with the spirits, and she has to allow herself to stumble and fall along the way.
“I can see you're determined,” Lin tells her, “It's good to have you back, Avatar Korra.”
Lin actually smiles at her. Lin, without her bending, without the one thing that's helped define her all her life, manages to smile. She's strong in ways that Korra can't imagine, and though Korra's no longer a sobbing mess, pulled in all directions by feelings she can't even begin to comprehend, she feels a pang of tenderness that probably isn't appropriate in any way. Certainly not for the former Chief of Police, a woman who can't be bent or broken as metal and earth are.
Korra leans forward. She doesn't necessarily mean to, but she doesn't stop herself, either, safe in the knowledge that she didn't apologise for that initial kiss. She hasn't said or done anything to imply that it wouldn’t happen again, but before she can push herself up onto tiptoes, Lin's reached out, fingers pressed to her lips.
“Korra,” Lin says, and she feels as if she's being scolded. Her heart is pounding in her ears and her skin is feverish, and all she wants to do is sink away, even if it's the exact opposite thing that she's been working towards throughout meditation these last few days. “You have a lot going on right now. You need to take things one step at a time.”
“Yeah,” Korra grumbles, lips grazing against Lin's fingers before she thinks to pull them back. “I'm sorry, I just—”
But then Lin's fingers are wrapped around her jaw, tilting her head back up, and Korra's never seen anyone look so stern in all her life. She's wholly terrified up until the point that Lin presses her lips to her own, lightly, for no more than half a second, and perhaps throughout the contact, too.
“Pack your things,” Lin says, turning from her so quickly that Korra would be convinced it was all her imagination, if not for the way that her lips were tingling still, “We've a long journey ahead of us.”