Mako and the Terrible, Awful, No-Good, Very Bad Road Trip - DeerstalkerDeathFrisbee (2024)

Chapter 1: The Prince and the Badgermoles

Chapter Text

Republic City, after Korra’s Departure

“You want me to do what?” Mako glares at Lin across Pema’s dining room table. Around them, the rest of the late-rising air-bender family slumps over their breakfasts, even high-spirited Meelo practically snoring into his rice porridge.

Lin takes a swig of tea and meets his gaze without blinking. “Go to the Earth Kingdom. Find the Earth Queen’s heir. Keep whoever it is alive. Bring the heir back here. Simple.”

Mako can feel his face twitch. “Simple.”

“Simple,” Beifong practically growls.

Mako takes a passive-aggressive gulp of tea and keeps glaring, one eyebrow spasming with irritation.

“Wow, what a feast, thanks air acolyte kitchen! This looks fantastic!” Bolin enthuses as he drops into the seat next to Mako, completely missing the tension in the air.

Mako shoves his brother out of his personal space and keeps staring down his boss. “This is Raiko’s idea, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Lin says, setting down her mug, “He suggested you specifically.”

“Instead of, you know, the air benders. Who fly?”

“You. Specifically. The air benders are busy dealing with bigger problems.”

“Bigger than the Earth Kingdom’s lack of a ruler???”

“Bigger. Finding the heir and bringing them back is a one-man job. And right now, that man is you, according to Raiko.”

“I knew it, he hates me.”

“Well, you did kind of put your put in your mouth when you first met him, bro,” Bolin points out, half a roll shoved in his mouth.

…

The week after Raiko’s election…

“Good news, boss, the president-elect’s background check is clean, but he has some foreign investments I’d like to dig into more…”

“Mako.”

“Yes?”

“Meet President-Elect Raiko.”

“…oh.”

…

Present

“I had my arms full of files, I had no idea he was right there!” Mako protests.

Bolin pats his shoulder consolingly.

“Do we at least know who survived? Who I should look for?” Mako asks, pulling out a little notebook.

“Nope,” Lin takes another swig of tea.

“Do we have a current family tree?”

“How current?”

“Within the last five years?” Mako grinds out.

“Sure.” She sounds certain, but Lin tends to sound certain about everything she says, no matter how shaky her information.

Mako narrows his eyes. “That is not reassuring.”

“You’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, you’ll be fine, bro!” Bolin says encouragingly, “Wait. What are you doing, again?”

Mako gives up and rests his forehead against the table.

…

The Earth Kingdom

Mako officially hates his life.

He’s reached a new low.

He’d thought he’d reached rock bottom back when he was eight years old and living off of dumpster scraps and pickpocketing. Or maybe when he was twelve and he was running errands for Lightning Bolt Zolt. Or maybe when he was fourteen and Zolt started taking him on jobs with the crew. Or maybe when he was sixteen, nursing a stab wound and broken ribs he’d gotten in a back-alley brawl he’d hidden from Bolin, lying through his teeth about his and Bolin’s ages to get them into the pro-bending arena and away from the Triads.

Nope.

None of that quite matched up with the sheer misery of trying to sneak into Ba Sing Se via the sewer system with an irritated fire ferret squeaking protests in his ear. For the third time.

Mako slips down a slope of sludge, swearing all the way and regrets.

“You know, Pabu,” he tells his brother’s pet, “Someone once said that doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results is the definition of insanity.”

Pabu chirrups judgmentally like he might agree with that assessment.

Great.

And now he’s talking to the ferret.

He’s gone from being objectively pretty cool, to covered in sludge and talking to his brother’s pet in a foreign country.

f*ck everything.

He picks himself up and tries to navigate the sewers one more time.

Pabu chirps despondently.

“It’s this or climbing the wall,” Mako reminds him, “And last time we tried that we almost got crushed to death.”

Turns out, the Dai Li were still not fans of his. Or anyone’s. They seemed to be attempting to regain control of the city by…dropping rocks on anyone who tried to get in or out.

Which.

Not a great plan.

So Mako and Pabu turned to the sewers for a way into the city.

Well. Mako turned. Pabu, being a fire ferret, is mostly along for the ride.

Mako had been against taking Pabu, but Bolin had given him the big, sad eyes and said “But I can’t go with you, so you have to take Pabu in my place! He’ll watch your back! Won’t you, little buddy?” And then he’d made kissy faces at the fire ferret until Mako separated them for his own sanity’s sake.

The first route they’d tried turned into and unpassable dead end, the stone passages melted into an impenetrable mass by the Red Lotus. The second attempt had ended in failure when a gang of feral lizard creatures tried to eat them. This, the third attempt is going less than spectacularly, but so far has not ended in any near-death experiences.

Yay. Progress.

Mako is already composing a letter in his head.

Dear Korra,

Raiko sent me on a stupid suicide mission to resurrect a cultural institution (the monarchy) that I don’t even believe in. Here’s hoping I don’t die horribly due to Dai Li.

No, he’d never send that. Korra is recovering from actual f*cking torture. She doesn’t need his bitching about Dai Li, sewer beasts and the stupidity of hereditary monarchy. Maybe he’d write to Bolin.

Dear Bolin,

If you’re reading this, Pabu and I have been squashed by a Dai Li earth bender.

No, no, nope, can’t worry Bolin.

Dear Asami,

What’s green and slimy and found in Ba Sing Se sewers? Me and Pabu.

Life’s a horrible joke!

Sincerely,

The sewer creature formerly known as Mako

At least Asami would think it was funny. You know. Probably.

Mako is about ready to give up and find a less slippery sewer to skulk through, when he hears something. An echo. A voice?

“Am I losing my mind, Pabu, or is someone singing down here?”

Pabu chitters as if to say ‘Sure, pal, if you call that singing’.

Which is fair. Mako wasn’t in school very long, just long enough to learn to read and write and do sums, but he remembers a lesson on ocean animals from a few weeks before his parents died. The teacher had said that whales communicate through making huge, echoing sounds underwater. Researchers call them ‘songs’ but they’re more like rhythmic bellowing.

That’s what this sounded like. Rhythmic bellowing.

“If this is some kind of underground whale-beast, I’m asking Lin for a raise.”

Pabu chirrs in agreement.

They turn a corner to find…and enormous tunnel bored into the side of the sewer passageway. The scent of freshly turned soil wafts out to mingle with the rank, sludgy smell of the sewer all around them.

“What on earth?” Mako mutters. Pabu shrinks back into the collar of his coat, chirring uneasily.

The whale-song sounds are coming from inside the fresh tunnel.

“What do you think?” Mako asks the fire ferret. “In or out?”

Pabu squeaks and wriggles completely under his shirt.

“In it is.”

Pabu makes a noise of protest, which Mako soundly ignores as he steps into the tunnel.

…

Several minutes into exploring the fresh tunnel and more sounds have trickled out to join the weird, eerie underground whale song. A thudding and shuffling noise like large feet against the earth. Mako remembers when they were very small, how obsessed Bolin was with Toph Beifong and her badgermoles.

“Where would you go if you could go anywhere, Bolin?”

“The zoo!”

“The zoo?”

“Yeah! To see the badgermoles and learn earth bending, just like Toph!”

“Well. Maybe someday we can go. When I have a little money.”

“Where would you go, Mako?”

“I dunno. Somewhere warm. And dry. With lots of food and nobody wanting to stab me.”

“Yeah. That’d be nice.”

The tunnels twist and wind and if Mako peers closely at the walls he can see what might be marks from paws full of blunt, shovel-like claws. The singing is getting louder, “I wonder if badgermoles sing like whales?” he muses to Pabu.

Pabu is shivering in his coat and does not respond.

Mako, still following the tunnel’s almost whimsical curves, turns a corner. The singing is clearer here, much clearer, and he can almost… yes, he can make out words. Actual words. There’s another human down here.

And they’re…pretty horrendously off-key, honestly.

“We're all alone, no chaperone
Can get our number
The world's in slumber
Let's misbehave”

Mako recognizes that song. It was all over the radio a few years ago. Ginger’s ill-advised attempt at a record career, Bolin told him. He’d always thought her voice too nasally for good music.

The tunnels feed into a massive underground chamber where one of the oddest sights Mako’s seen since Korra turned into a giant glowing blue version of herself and punched primordial chaos in the face. In this chamber a pair of badgermoles shuffle and stamp in a quadruped’s version of a two-step and a skinny man in rather worse for wear green and gold brocade belts out the next verse of the song.

“There's something wild about you child

That's so contagious

Let's be outrageous

Let's misbehave”

Mako can be excused for blurting out the first thing to come to mind. Although, in hindsight, saying “What the actual f*ck?” at top volume to a stranger with apparent badgermole mind control powers, was not his brightest idea.

Mako has just enough time to think, succinctly, sh*t, before an enormous dark brown paw is descending and consciousness leaves his body.

…

Mako comes to an immediately takes personal inventory.

• He now has a massive, massive, went-drinking-with-Tu-oh-god-never-again splitting headache
• Pabu is giving the source of the headache a piece of his tiny, furry mind and it is not helping
• He is on the ground, in a cave, and there is a stranger’s face hovering over his and two badgermoles and oh spirits, what is happening right now?

Mako tries to sit up, nearly head-butts the looming stranger, sinks back to the ground groaning when that makes the room spin and his stomach lurch, brings both hands (unbound, so he’s not taken prisoner, good to know) up to cover his face to shield it from the electric torches the stranger has stuck into the dirt walls, realizes both hands are filthy and should not be anywhere near his eyes, and promptly drops them back down again.

“What the f*ck just happened?”

“Mei got a little spooked. You shouldn’t just start yelling around badgermoles, you know. Their ears are very sensitive.”

“Then why were you yodeling at them?”

“Excuse you, I was singing. Melodiously, I might add. The badgermoles like it. Mei and Yang got me out of the city when it burned. It’s the least I can do to bring a little life and love to their lives now that we’re down here most of the time.”

“Huh?”

“Well, I do go up to the house above us periodically, you know, to use the facilities. I hardly feel human without regular baths.”

“There’s a house above us?”

“Mn. Mei hit you pretty hard, didn’t she?” The man smiles cheerfully at him and Mako wonders if this is what waking up in the spirit world feels like – surreal and kind of painful. The man in front of him at least looks like a human and not a spirit. He’s slender, with a boyish face and a pronounced nose. His hair curls where it’s escaped from a queue that has definitely seen better days. His eyes are cool, forest green, his skin a warm brown, his mouth wide and expressive.

Mako has no clue who he is.

“Who are you?”

“It’s a secret,” the man winks at him, holding a theatrical finger up to his lips.

Mako stares flatly back at him. “If you say ‘The Avatar’ I’m calling rhino-sh*t. I know the Avatar personally.”

The man blinks at him. “Do people really do that? Claim to be the Avatar?”

Mako shrugs. Sure. People also claim to be the Earth Queen and King Bumi of Omashu. People claim all kinds of things. They’re typically delusional, but hey, no judgment.

“Well I am not the Avatar, but if you know her, that’s great! I hear she’s a really swell dame!”

“A what?”

“A dame. A girl. You know, a lady.”

“Yeah, no, just…nobody talks like that.”

The guy frowns at him, “Are you sure? Because that’s what they sound like in movers, and if you can’t trust the mover industry…”

“Never trust the mover industry. Ever. That’s how you end up in jail staring at a poster of your brother wearing furry shorts while someone tries to kidnap the president who hates you.”

“Um. Speaking from experience there, big guy?”

Yes, yes he is.

The stranger sighs explosively and stretches his arms above his head, “Well that is a disappointment, buddy. A real kick in the head. I love me a good mover.”

“Good for you?” Mako isn’t sure what he’s supposed to say or do in this situation. There’s nothing in the police training handbook for ‘I’m in a cave under a foreign city with a stranger and his two massive, furry friends.’

“So, what brings you to my humble burrow?” the stranger says merrily.

“I’m looking for someone.”

“Well, you found a someone! Me! What do ya know?”

“Uh, I’m looking for someone specific.”

The stranger nods, looking contemplative. “Yes, people typically are.”

They stare at each other for a long moment.

“So…is that still a ‘no’ on telling me your name?” Mako asks.

“Maybe!” the guy says cheerily, “What’s your name?”

“Why should I tell you my name? You keep refusing to tell me yours!”

The guy blinks as if turnabout as fair play had never occurred to him as a concept. “Huh. Well clearly neither of us has thought this through.”

Mako can feel his eyebrow start twitching again.

“Fine. Okay. You want my name? Fine. I’m Mako of the Republic City Police Department, friend of Avatar Korra. Happy?”

The stranger tilts his head to the side, “Republic City Police? Aren’t you a little…ah…lost?”

“No, I’m supposed to be here.”

“No, I’m pretty sure you’re not.”

Mako point blank refuses to get into another nuh-uh, yeah-huh argument. Once with Ikki and Meelo had been enough.

“I told you, I’m looking for somebody!”

“Someone specific, right? Well, do you have a picture? Maybe I can help! I don’t know very many people and I mostly live in a cave now except for trips to the villa above us for their bathroom – don’t worry, it’s empty, the people living there fled the city when, ah, you know, it caught fire. But I can try! We can be like detectives from those buddy-cop movers!”

Mako stares at the stranger. He can feel a tension headache building between his eyes. He resists the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “I have no reason to trust you with that information. You live in a cave!”

“Hey, way to judge the cave lifestyle, there, buddy.”

“I’m not judging the ‘cave lifestyle’, I’m saying there’s no way you know who I’m looking for, and last time I checked, just because you run into someone in an underground tunnel, that does not make them trustworthy!”

“But you don’t knoooow I don’t know who you’re looking for. And excuse you, I am imminently trustable.”

“Says who?!”
“Well, the badgermoles are excellent character references. I should know. They hated my great-aunt, and let me tell you she was not a pleasant person. No wonder those violent fellows bumped her off, really. Now, badgermoles, as I mentioned, adore me, and everyone knows animals know things humans don’t – ”

“Um. My condolences?”

“About what?”

“Your murdered great aunt?”

The stranger looks at him blankly. “Oh. Yes, well,” he looks uncomfortable, “She didn’t like me much, see. After my parents died, she took custody and, well, she wasn’t exactly the type to like children.”

“Um. Sorry about that too.” Mako fidgets with his jacket, “My parents died when I was young too.”

The stranger looks genuinely heartbroken for him. “Were you forced to live with your horrible great-aunt too?”

“Um. No.”

“Lucky.”

“Not really.” Mako is not really in the mood to confide the sleeping-in-trash-heaps portion of his backstory just yet.

More silence. This time awkward.

“So…” the stranger begins, “Who are you looking for? I promise I won’t tell. No one to tell, really. Just me and Yang and Mei.” The badgermoles in question snuffle at their names, but leave Mako’s head alone, which is an improvement.

Mako sighs. “Fine. I’ve been sent to find the last of the Hou-Tings.”

The stranger must be an awful Pai Sho player. Mako can see him lose the battle to keep his facial expression controlled instantly. His green eyes go wide, his mouth opens a little in surprise, and he blinks several times in quick succession, automatically leaning away from Mako. “Ah, what, why? Um. Where? I mean, wow, what a tall order you’ve got there, big guy! That’ll be real tough, yes it will. To. Um. Find those Hou-Tings.”

Mako is a good detective. He may be bad at reading people but he can read evidence when it’s shoved into his face. “You’re one of them.”

“What? Noooo, no way! Me? A Hou-Ting? You sure are silly, Mako-of-the-Republic-City-Police-Department!”

Mako glares at him. That at least shuts the stranger up. “You. Are. A Hou-Ting. Which one are you? I have the family tree.” He pats down his pockets, searching for the thing, finally locating it and unfolding the (slightly damp) paper.

For a royal family the ‘tree’ is pretty skimpy. Pretty much any relative who could have challenged the Earth Queen’s hold on the throne met a suspicious end long before Zaheer got to the city. All that were left were elderly cousins, a legitimate great-nephew, and a small army of bastards from various princes, kings, queens, and princesses over the years.

Based on what the stranger said about being raised by his great-aunt after his parents’ deaths, and his age, Mako is 99% sure this is Wu Hou-Ting, the last of the Hou-Ting dynasty.

“You’re Prince Wu,” Mako says, stabbing a finger onto the prince’s entry on the family tree.

“Ah, haha…guilty as charged, officer.”

“I’m a detective.”

“Congrats, ya solved me, officer.”

“No, it’s a rank. Like, I was an officer, but now I’m a detective.”

The stranger – Wu – deflates a little, “Well, I’m comforted that, if you are an assassin here to kill me, you’ve put a lot of effort into the act so at least you’re a good assassin. I would hate to be assassinated by a bad assassin. No class, bad assassins.”

“I’m not an assassin,” Mako huffs. “Look, you said animals are good judges of character?”

The prince nods dejectedly.

Mako reaches into the collar of his shirt, “Come on, Pabu, get out here.”

Pabu chitters irritably as Mako fishes him out, but he does perch on his shoulder nicely when Mako finally manages to extract him. The fire ferret even stretches out his little furry neck to sniff at Wu.

“Aww, aren’t you adorable, little guy?” Wu coos at the fire ferret, practically melting in place. “That’s so cute! Little guy and big guy! Do you have a name?”

“His name’s Pabu.”

Wu huffs, “I was asking him, but sure, interrupt,” he looks back at Pabu, “That’s okay, nice to meet you, Pabu!”

Mako doesn’t think speaking to animals is an actual ability people can have. He’ll double check with Jinora. She speaks to spirits. She might have some insight.

“I don’t suppose you have a badge to support this whole ‘I’m here on official business’ story of yours?”

Of course! Mako should have reached his limit for feeling ridiculous, but turns out that limit just keeps expanding, like an infinite horizon of absurdity. He fishes his badge out of an inside pocket, “Yeah, of course, I definitely have a badge, here.” He holds it out.

Wu squints at it. “Hm. Well. I have no idea what the Republic City Police Force’s badge is supposed to look like.”

“Seriously?”

Wu shrugs, “You could have shown me a coupon for free mochi and I wouldn’t know the difference. Well. I’d know it was a mochi coupon. I assume those have writing on them identifying them as mochi coupons.”

Mako puts his badge away and resists the urge to lie face down in the dirt and let the earth reclaim him.

“But you seem really dedicated to the act if you are lying, so I’m going to believe you!”

What.

Some of his consternation must have shown on his face, because Wu laughs, voice a little brittle, “I don’t have any other options, see. Mei and Yang can live down here, they’re meant to live underground. But I can’t. And I’m pretty sure if I showed my face up there, the Dai Li would arrest me as a pretender to the throne – I heard there’s been quite a bit of that since the Queen died – or someone would mug me and there I’d be, stabbed and left for dead.”

Well. That was. Grim.

Wu continues, “So I think I’ll trust you to take me somewhere safe. After all? What do I have to lose?” he shoots Mako a pained smile, “There’s not much left for me here after all.”

Mako deflates, “Alright. We’ll head for Republic City tomorrow.”

“Oh!” Wu chirps, as if the thought has just occurred to him, “Do they have hair salons in Republic City?”

“Hair – yes, yes they do.”
“Excellent! I’ve always wanted to cut my hair short! Short and stylish, that’s the kind of hair a modern Earth King should have!”

“You know…I could cut your hair. I have a knife.”

Wu gives him a Look. “Mako. Buddy. Have you seen your hair? No.”

Mako tries not to feel offended as he self-consciously reaches a hand up toward his hair. “What’s wrong with my hair?”

“Don’t touch it, you have sludge on your hands.”

Mako sighs. This is going to be a long road trip. He can tell.

...

Chapter 2: Serpent's Pass

Chapter Text

Serpent’s Pass

Dear Asami,

I did not get eaten, maimed, or poisoned by a platypus-gator in the Ba Sing Se sewers. I did get knocked unconscious by a badgermole. Found the prince. Headed back to Republic City. Nearly died again in Serpent’s Pass because His Highness is a sucker for baby animals.

Hope you’re well and the reconstruction is going okay.

Tell everyone I’m thinking of them if you see them,

Mako

…

“I don’t know why you’re still crying.”

“I’m not crying,” Wu sniffles pointedly.

Mako does not know what to say in the face of this blatant falsehood.

“Fine. I’m a little weepy.”

“I noticed.”

“I’d like to see you not shed a manly tear or two when you bid the animal companions who saved your bacon farewell as you depart on a life-changing journey with a strange man and his adorable fire-ferret.”

Pabu preens at the praise. Mako, who has not cried in front of another human being since he was eight years old, blinks. “Your experiences are not universal.”

“I know, it was hypothetical,” the prince huffs.

“Um.” Mako has never, ever known what to do when people cry. He has a foggy memory of his dad laughing about his reaction to baby Bolin’s tantrums. Apparently, four-year-old Mako had once walked right up to a wailing two-year old Bolin and said, “You stop that,” in the most authoritative tone he could manage. Bolin had not stopped that and four-year-old Mako had looked up at his dad, shrugged, said “I tried,” and walked away with his hands over his ears.

He’d like to say he’s gotten better over the years. Whenever Bolin got weepy after their parents died, he’d just defaulted to opening his arms and letting his little brother cling to him and cry himself out, snot stains be damned. He’d tell Bolin he was there and let him cry, then go fix whatever problem made the crying happen in the first place.

If he could.

Dead parents were not a problem he could fix.

Mako is a fixer. He’s had to be. If Bolin had a problem? He’d fix it. If Zolt had a problem? Mako had better fix it right away or his ass was deep-fried. If the gym had a problem? He’d better go ahead and fix that or he and Bolin might wind up homeless again.

Well. Considering he’s covered with now-dried sewer sludge, a hug is probably out. Not to mention, hugging strangers is one of those things that makes Mako want to peel off his skin and run away, never to be seen again.

He settles for awkwardly patting the prince’s shoulder. “There, there.”

Wu smiles at him like he just singlehandedly made the sun come out on a cloudy day. “Thanks, big guy.”

Geez. How starved for affection is this guy? Mako gives him one last shoulder-pat for good measure.

There. That should tide him over for what? Two weeks?

“So, where are we going on this…creepy twisty, rocky path?” Wu asks.

The badgermoles had tunneled them out from under the city proper but stopped once they got past the outer wall, unable or unwilling to dig father. Mako isn’t really sure.

“This is Serpent’s Pass,” Mako says. “It’s one of the oldest ways in or out of the city. No one uses it. This is how we’re going to get out of here.”

“We couldn’t take a train? With a nice dining car and no falling rocks?”

“No,” Mako scowls, “All the rail lines are either destroyed or under the Dai Li’s thumb.”

“So. Uh. Hiking it is.” Wu swallows. “Hiking outside of Ba Sing Se. Yep. Uh-huh.” He starts bouncing in place, punching the air in front of him.

“What the f*ck are you doing?”

“Getting psyched up. Your body controls your mind, big guy. Gotta convince it we’re a lean, mean, ready-to-see-the-outside-world-for-the-first-time fighting machine!”

“Yeah. No. Fire benders believe the mind controls the body. If your mind is calm, your inner flame doesn’t burn down buildings.”

“Jeez, grim much?”

“I’m not having this conversation with you. If you don’t stop hopping around, I’m picking you up and carrying you.”

“Really?” Wu looks annoyingly intrigued by this.

“Like a sack of potato-radishes. It will not be fun.”

Wu pouts. “Come on, buddy, I’ve never been out of the city before. I’m…it’s a new experience, okay?”

“Will carrying Pabu make you feel better?”

Pabu chirrs encouragingly.

“Yes!” Wu brightens up instantly.

Mako surrenders Pabu. The fire ferret immediately rubs noses with the prince and curls around his neck like a fluffy orange and white scarf.

“Alright!” Wu says, enthusiastic again, “Let’s go!”

Mako sighs.

…

Decades ago, the city had tried to remake The Serpent’s Pass into a tourist destination. Apparently, Avatar Aang and his crew once escorted a family of refugees through the pass and into Ba Sing Se before Princess Azula conquered it. The family of refugees in question were surprisingly against this idea, telling interviewers that the Pass was too dangerous for the public, and the only reason they survived was due to the Avatar and his water bending and earth bending master’s intervention. The project went through despite their very valid concerns, and Serpent’s Pass was re-opened as an “adventure tourism” site. Whatever that meant.

It did not last long as an “adventure tourism” site.

Turns out putting a tourist trap in the middle of an enormous sea serpent’s natural habitat is a good way to get people killed.

It was re-designated as a wildlife refuge and largely abandoned.

Mako knows all this because Wu told him.

At length.

Turns out, the prince knows quite a bit of Earth Kingdom history, and chatters when he’s nervous.

“How do you know all this stuff?” Mako asks, climbing over a heap of rubble leftover from a long-ago rock slide.

“Tutors,” Wu pants as he clambers after him, “Lots of tutors. My great-aunt kept me around so she could make me into the perfect little Hou-Ting heir. And that requires a whole lot of boring Earth Kingdom history lessons, let me tell you.”

“Boring?” Mako furrows his brow and reaches down to haul the prince up by the back of his robes. “How? I mean. It seems pretty interesting. Sea serpents and Avatars and all.”

Wu blows a loose curl out of his face. His hair is getting even puffier in the humidity from the water, tight curls popping up like flowers in springtime. It makes him look even younger, somehow. Soft.

“My tutors could make anything boring,” he rolls his eyes, “All the interesting bits are from books and newspapers. We had such a beautiful library in the palace. My great-aunt never went in there so I could read anything I wanted, no one was going to stop me. Kiyoshi Warrior Suki’s memoirs are wild! I’d love to meet her someday! Her and Master Katara, and Toph Beifong, and everybody. I met Lord Zuko and Chief Sokka once, when I was very small. They came to visit my parents and my great-aunt made a huge stink about Lord Zuko’s dragon landing on her topiaries.” Wu looks Mako dead in the eye, “That woman was. Obsessed. With topiaries.”

Mako isn’t 100% sure what a topiary is but he sure as sh*t not going to ask and risk looking like a moron.

Wu is chattering about some other obscure bit of gossipy historical trivia when they turn a corner and are confronted with…a creature. Scaled, blue, shaped like a cross between a fish, a lizard, and a serpent and about the size of a baby air bison...oh sh*t.

“Wu…back away slowly.”

Wu does not back away slowly. Wu approaches the creature, who is making a strange, distressed trilling/cooing noise.

“Hey, you don’t look too hot, little buddy,” Wu says, “You’re supposed to be in the water, aren’t you? How’d you get up here?”

Pabu makes a trilling sound of protest and jumps ship, landing on Mako’s shoulders with an annoyed squeak.

Wu has crouched down beside the probably-a-baby-sea-serpent-oh-spirits-why. “Do you need help getting back down to the bay? Here – Mako, gimme your jacket.”

“What? No!” Mako objects reflexively. Yes, his coat will definitely need to be laundered after the sewers. Repeatedly. But it’s his jacket! It’s the first expensive piece of clothing he ever bought for himself! He’s attached to it, dammit!

Wu just gives him a look Mako normally only sees from Pema when her children are literally climbing the walls. Mako has no idea how a prince has the mom-look down like that, and doesn’t really want to find out. He shucks off his jacket and hands it over.

Wu lays it out on the path and coaxes the baby serpent onto the cloth. The serpent, who is looking a little gray for a naturally blue creature, wriggles its way onto the coat. Wu draws the sides up into a makeshift sling. “Can you take a side, big guy?”

“Do I have to?”

Again with the shame-on-you look. Geez. Mako takes a side.

They totter down the rocky slope towards the water. The serpent wiggles weakly in the sling and makes more of the sad keening noises.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Mako asks.

“Nope! But it’s the responsible thing to do! Returning creatures to their natural habitat is important, don’t you think?”

Mako would pinch the bridge of his nose if his hands weren’t occupied. He really would.

They awkwardly slide the sea serpent back into the water. It perks up immediately, splashing happily and trilling happily as it swims away.

“See? We did a good thing! Isn’t that just the puma’s pajamas?” Wu claps Mako on the back surprisingly forcefully considering his skinny frame.

“Sure, okay, we did a good thing.”

“Alright, back up the…rocky incline…huh. Maybe I didn’t think this through…” Wu says, peering up the slope.

“That’s just occurring to you now?”

“Well, I did say I didn’t think it through, didn’t I?”

Mako does pinch the bridge of his nose. He’s so distracted warding off the migraine hurricane his highness has induced that he almost misses their next near-death experience. He feels the shift in the air before he hears the predator’s scream, and his body acts before his brain connects the dots. He tackles the prince to the ground just in time for a pair of razor-sharp tusks to miss their heads.

“Vaatu’s arse,” Mako swears, jumping back to his feet, fire crackling in his fingers, “What was that?”

“Oooh. That would be a flying boar,” Wu says from the ground. “I’ve never seen one up close.”

“A what?”

“That must have been how that little fellow ended up so far ashore!” Wu exclaims, “Flying boars are omnivores and scavengers. They’ll eat anything! Including the young of other predators! This fellow must have scooped up that little one and tried to carry it off!”

The flying boar is huge. About half the size of Oogi, with the body of a feral hog and a predator’s wingspan, it squeals in rage, spittle flying from its mouthful of tusks. Beady eyes glower down at them, full of hate. Rough bristles cover its stocky body and hooves churn the air as it reaches the apex of its climb and descends again.

Mako firms his stance. “STAY DOWN,” he orders, praying Wu actually listens this time. Lightning is a bad idea this close to a massive body of water and a vulnerable non-bender. But one of the advantages of being a largely self-taught bender is he’s not married to formal fire bending forms. He moves his hands the way he’s seen Korra do when she’s water bending. A circle of flame roars up around him and Wu in a bright, golden swirl. Mako casts out his hands, pulling tentacles of fire out of his wreath of flames. He sends them snapping up in blazing tendrils, slapping at the boar’s snout and wings.

The flying boar shrieks and pulls out of its dive, landing on the path above them instead. It stamps its hooves and squeals again.

Mako swirls his hands again, pulling his fire whips in and turning their circle into a fiery vortex. Wu or Pabu squeaks somewhere but Mako’s attention is all on the boar. Sparks still cling to its wings and it shakes the feathery limbs out irritably before ducking its head and charging.

Mako pulls the fire back in, smothering the circle of flames and bringing the fire back to his hands. “WU GET OUT OF IT’S PATH!” Mako shouts, and then does something very, very stupid.

He charges the charging boar right back.

“MAKO!” he hears Wu shout behind him.

“GET OUT OF IT’S PATH, DAMMIT!” Mako shouts back. The boar is charging, wings pulled in tight, head down, tusks out. Mako puts on speed, running up a large rock and jumping up, kicking out a band of flame straight into the boar’s eyes. He adds another flip to try and orient his descent, landing on the boar’s skull. He dissipates the fire in his hands, instead grabbing the boar’s ears and yanking.

It shrieks and tries to come to a stop, still trying to shake off the flames. Off to the side, safely out of the way, Mako sees Wu clutching Pabu and staring at him with wide eyes.

Mako gives into an absurd impulse and throws the guy a jaunty wave straight out of his pro-bender days.

The boar isn’t stopping.

The boar isn’t stopping.

It tried to put on the brakes, but they’re on a slope, and the boar is skidding out like a car with Korra behind the wheel.

Mako crouches, and, watching as the water gets closer and closer, carefully times it so when the boar hits the waves, he kicks off its back, using fire-jets to get more height and distance between himself and the boar currently toppling into the water.

He lands. Not gracefully, but he’s all in one piece and that’s what matters.

The boar is screaming and thrashing in the water, trying to get upright again and hindered by its wings.

Mako is trying to catch his breath when he hears Wu shouting over the sounds of the boar’s struggles.

“MAKO GET OUT OF THERE NOW!”

Mako looks up and sees the shape of a scaly, sliver-blue, familiar head rising out of the water.

The baby sea serpent went and got its mama.

Mako’s jaw drops.

That thing…he thought the flying boar was big. He thought the sky bison were big. They’ve got nothing on this.

“MAKO!” Wu is still shouting.

The adult sea serpent opens its mouth and lets out a screaming roar the likes of which Mako has never heard in his life and would very much like to never, ever hear again.

He starts running. Not looking back, not waiting to see how this battle will end. He is running the way he’s never run in his life.

Wu is there, reaching out to help him scramble up the rocks. And then they’re scrambling together, Mako easily outpacing the shorter, slighter prince. They hit the path, Mako hauling Wu up behind him.

Wu is panting, eyes wild. “Keep running?”

Mako risks a look behind them to where the boar is putting up a losing fight against the sea serpent. Wow. That is. A lot of blood in the water.

He nods, “Keep running!”

They bolt down the path as if Vaatu himself were on their heels. They don’t stop until they’ve crossed the Avatar Aang Memorial Bridge and are safely on solid ground again.

Wu collapses once they’re off the bridge, wheezing, looking even more disheveled. Pabu is drooping around his neck like and wheezing right along with him. Mako braces his hands on his knees and tries to get air back into his lungs.

“We…should…get…further…away…” Mako gasps.

“You…up…to…carrying…me…now…?” Wu asks from where he’s sprawled on the ground in a heap of tattered silk brocade.

“Not…really…”

“Come on…buddy…” Wu holds a hand up, “Help me…up…we’ll shuffle the…rest…of…the way…together.”

Mako’s pride would object, but frankly his pride can take the bruising. The rest of his body already has.

He takes Wu’s hand and hoists the prince up.

“When you get…your breath…back…can you carry me?” Wu asks.

“Don’t…make me…regret…not leaving…you to the boar.”

…

Halfway to the end of the path, Mako gives in and just picks up the prince.

“Shut up, don’t get used to this.”

“My big, strong bodyguard.”

“Not your bodyguard.”

“Agree to disagree.”

“How many f*cking layers of this sh*t are you wearing? You’re heavier than you look.”

“Seventeen.”

“What the sh*t?”

“I wanted layers. In case it got cold. So, I just put on as many layers of robes I could still move in.”

“Well get rid of some of them or walk on your own!”

…

Dear Mako,

All is well here. The reconstruction contracts have really given Future Industries the boost it needed after everything. Not to mention Varrick is finally paying me back for everything he stole. He’s still hiding out in Zaofu, the weasel. Bolin apparently “bullied him into it” when he got to Zaofu. I’m taking that to mean he just gave him the big, sad Bolin eyes and Varrick folded like a napkin.

Meelo says you’re “out of harmony with nature, therefore it rejects you.” So. Do with that what you will.

Senna says Korra is healing but it will take time.

I miss all of you.

Asami

Chapter 3: The Biker Gang

Chapter Text

The Biker Gang

Dear Asami,

Wu used my jacket to save a baby sea serpent right before we almost got killed by a flying boar (don’t ask). Turns out my map was in there. We’re lost.

Also, the biker gang from that one town you and Korra went to? They’re still pissed, fyi.

Tell Korra and her family I said hello,

Mako

P.S. All my money was safely in my boot, so suck it, Bolin, it’s not “weird and paranoid” to hide cash in secret pockets.

…

“For the record…that is disturbing.”

“Socks?”

“No, keeping your money in your socks.”

“It’s not in my socks, it’s in my shoes, and I had to take the shoes off to get to the money, hence why I’m wearing socks! I always wear socks; they’re just hidden by the shoes!”

“You’re very vehement on the subject of socks, big guy.”

“YOU STARTED IT!”

Mako has to admit, his temper is fraying a bit. They managed to find a train station that was actually open and functional, and bought tickets (the rates were so steep Mako was actually offended on his budget’s behalf. He could have bought a month’s worth of groceries for what it cost to cram himself and Wu in a freight car with a bunch of cabbages) only to wind up stranded in a town in the middle of nowhere due to a rockslide rendering the tracks impassable.

Mako had tried to negotiate for a partial refund on their tickets, since they hadn’t actually gotten where they needed to go, and was met with disturbingly chipper refusal.

“There are no refunds on the Emerald Express!” the girl at the counter had chirped, smiling an unsettling, too-wide smile at him that had Wu cowering behind his back and Pabu ducking back under his collar.

Mako had tried to argue the point. Wu had even mustered up the courage to intervene and try charming the ticket counter operator. That did not go well at all.

That, had, in fact, ended with both of them bodily heaved from the train platform by a hulking mass of muscle named Po who informed them they were not welcome back.

“Well, that was rude,” Wu had huffed, standing up, “What an absolutely disgraceful way to treat my royal person! I’m going to give that troglodyte a piece of my mind!”

Mako had then picked Wu up like a thrashing, whining bag of potato-radishes and walked away with him slung over his shoulder because “Revealing your identity is just asking for you to be kidnapped. Try not to be an idiot about this, okay?”

Wu had sulked all the way to the motel.

And now he’s ridiculing Mako’s money storage system, which is really just too much.

“Fine, fine,” Wu huffs primly, “I’ll leave your very special, very important socks alone.”

Mako pinches the bridge of his nose and tries to remember the breathing exercises his mother taught him.

Wu seems to have a special talent for cracking whatever veneer of calm Mako has managed to paste together for the day.

The prince, unbothered by Mako’s rapidly unraveling sanity, is unpacking his bag and hanging up his dozen or so robes in the tiny closet. Mako had insisted on buying a satchel for the nine hundred f*cking layers of clothing the prince saw fit to carry with him from Ba Sing Se. One, because wearing that many layers would slow anyone down when they’re fleeing for their lives, two, the robes are obnoxiously eye-catching considering they’re trying to be discreet, and three, he really doesn’t want to be responsible for the prince getting heatstroke and dying from continuing to carry around his own body weight in silk and linen.

So. A satchel it was.

Wu is now tutting over how crinkled and stained everything has gotten.

Mako is mourning the loss of his trusty coat. He liked that coat. Also, he feels a little stupid in just his shirt and trousers when Wu is dressed like…well…Wu.

“So, what’s the plan?” Wu asks.

“The plan?”

“Yes. I figured you’d have one. You seem like the plan type of fellow.”

Mako would like to stop being the plan type of fellow since it just seems to get him into these situations. “Buy a vehicle of some sort. Get to the next town with a train station. Take a train to Republic City. Or, get to an airfield and buy tickets on an airship, although that seems less likely than a functioning train.”

“Ooh, I’ve never been on an airship. Do I get to vote on train or airship? Because, for the record, I vote airship.”

“No. You don’t. We take what we can get.”

Wu sighs, “You sound like my governess telling me to eat my vegetables.”

“Same basic concept.”

“I don’t like grumpy Mako,” Wu declares, “Bring back fun Mako.”

Mako just glares at him. Wu pokes him in the cheek because Wu is insufferable.

“Come on…smile.”

“No.”

“Try it. Some people say smiling makes you happier.”

“I think you have that backwards.”

Wu pokes him in the other cheek.

“I will bite your finger if you keep doing that. I have a little brother, I’m not afraid of you.”

Wu positively beams at this, for no discernable reason. “You have a little brother! See, I’m learning about you!”

“You are a profoundly strange person and knowing you is detrimental to my health and well-being.”

Wu just smiles at him. “Come on, I know what will cheer you up and help us find a way out of here.”

“What?”

“Let’s go to the local dive bar!”

Mako gapes at him. “What?”

“Come on,” Wu encourages, “We go to the local pub, we chat up some people, get the low-down on the city, scope out where to get a vehicle cheap, you know, get the dirt on everything going down here! That’s what they do in movers! The tough guy and the charming guy (I’m the charming guy, you’re the tough guy) go down the pub and get friendly with the locals and shake up some info!”

Mako blinks at him slowly. “I’m sorry, what?” he asks, trying to figure out if he should be offended or not.

Wu makes some kind of gesture, presumably indicating Mako’s Mako-ness, or something. “It’s your character type. You’re the no-nonsense, tough-guy detective who’s always breaking the rules juuuust a little to save the day and get the bad guy!”

“Wu, you can’t just break real people down into…character archetypes!” Mako protests, “We’re real people! We’re…complicated! Life isn’t a f*cking mover!”

Wu’s face falls a little and his shoulders slump, “I know, I’m sorry. I don’t really know anything about the real world. I was never allowed outside before. Just. What’s in movers.”

Mako bites his tongue in order to avoid saying something thoughtless like ‘That’s pretty pathetic, man,’ or ‘Raava in a teapot, what were they thinking raising you like that?’. There’s sheltered and then there’s a cruel degree of isolation. It’s like the queen was setting him up to fail.

What did she think would happen when she died and he ascended the throne, huh? Or maybe she was just too self-centered to think beyond her topiaries (whatever those are, Mako still doesn’t know).

He scrubs his hands over his face. Ugh. “Fine. Your idea wasn’t terrible. It’s always good to get the lay of the land. Just don’t expect it to be like a mover set, okay?”

Wu gives him a tentative, shaky smile. “Really? Not a terrible idea?”

“Don’t fish for compliments.”

…

They leave Pabu at the motel. He’s made a next for himself out of pillows and squeaks reproachfully when Mako tries to move him. Wu says that’s alright, because he’s pretty sure bars don’t allow pets.

Mako isn’t so sure about that considering the number of places Bolin has snuck Pabu into and out of over the years, but he’s not going to argue the point.

…

In hindsight, Mako only has himself to blame for what happens. He should have known not to let Wu out of his sight, even for the half-second it takes to grab their drinks from the bar.

He left Wu sitting alone at a high-top table and when he turns around, Wu has not only left his seat, he’s chatting up a storm with some rough-looking strangers dressed in a hodgepodge of army surplus and motorcycle leathers.

Piercings…tattoos…oh, and they’re all wearing the same insignia on their jackets. Wu had found himself a biker gang.

Mako resists the urge to just chug both the drinks in his hands.

He’s about to walk over and extricate Wu before he accidentally insults someone and gets his teeth knocked in or, worse, the future Earth King accidentally joins a biker gang when Mako’s day gets exponentially worse. A second biker gang walks in. This one larger, and better equipped than Wu’s new pals.

sh*t.

Mako turns to hightail it over to Wu and get the two of them out of here, when one of the newcomers spots him.

“Hey, you!”

Mako keeps walking because responding to a ‘hey, you’ spoken in that tone of voice is like saying “yes, please beat me to a pulp.” Admittedly, so does ignoring the ‘hey, you,’ but at least the walk-and-ignore gets you further away from the person who might hypothetically beat you to a pulp.

The hey-you-er grabs him by the back of his shirt which is a dick move because, unlike his companion, Mako only has the one shirt. “Hey, hey, hands off,” he says, holding up his own hands in the universal gesture for ‘jeez, pal, I’m obviously not about to hit you, so maybe you shouldn’t hit me?’.

The mountain of a man – and do all Earth Kingdom men come in two sizes: tiny and a Problem, or MASSIVE and a PROBLEM? – glares down at him, green and black hair falling in his face. “You’re one of the Avatar’s little gang, aren’t ya?”

“Um.” Mako does not know how to answer that. Because technically, yes, he is one of Korra’s friends and has traveled with her in the past, but he’s not currently traveling with her for the foreseeable future? “We’re friends? Do you…need something?”

“I knew it,” the guy grins, revealing at least one gold tooth. He holds up an old newspaper. There, on the front page, is an old photo of the Fire Ferrets. It’s their first big win after that mess with Amon. The team have their helmets off, their hair sweaty and disheveled from a hard-fought game. Korra and Bolin are beaming at the camera, Asami, their team sponsor, sandwiched between them and laughing. The Mako in the newspaper has an arm slung over Korra’s shoulders so his hand can reach out and muss Bolin’s hair. He isn’t looking at the camera. He’s laughing. They’re all laughing.

It makes something ache in the center of his chest. What happened to those kids? In less than a year he feels like the last traces of the happy, hard-knock teenagers they’d been have been sandblasted away.

“Is this you?” the guy asks, stabbing a thick finger at newspaper Mako’s face.

“Yeah,” Mako shrugs, “What do you want with Avatar?”

“We want our gold back, punk,” a new voice says and the last thing Mako thinks before a heavy something comes down on his skull is ‘really? ‘Punk’ was the best they could come up with? My grandma cusses people out better than that’.

…

Mako wakes up tied to a chair.

Considering his life experiences to date, this is a relatively unusual one. Most of the Triple Threats hadn’t really gone in for tying people to chairs. They took the extortion to the victims, up front and personal. None of this outdated cloak and dagger sh*t. Even the cops just threw him in a cell. They didn’t handcuff him to furniture first.

He’s in a warehouse.

Of all the clichés.

“I’m gonna have to apologize,” he slurs as his vision clears.

“For what?” barks one of the bikers.

He doesn’t shake his head, knowing that will just hurt. “To my…traveling companion. Life really is a mover.”

“To his what?” one of the bikers asks.

“Travel eat comp mush on,” one of the others guesses.

Okay, so Mako isn’t conscious enough for compound words.

“What?” biker A asks.

“Search me,” biker B verbally shrugs.

“Whaddya want with me?” Mako manages to get his eyes focused long enough to take stock of his location. He’s in a warehouse, or what was probably a warehouse and is now a makeshift garage for a veritable fleet of junker motorcycles, jeeps, and metal-plated trucks.

“The Avatar took in some tax money for the queen a few weeks back,” the Lead Biker announces.

“Yeah, our tax money,” one his followers gripes.

“Shut up,” the leader barks, “Now, we have one of her friends and the queen is dead. We figure, she did a pretty good job collecting gold for that Hou-Ting bitch, she can collect the gold back for us.”

Mako squints at him. Geez, the lights are bright in here. How illuminated does this place really have to be? It’s just got vehicles and him. “Why do you want this gold so bad?”

“That gold belongs to the people.”

“The people here are f*cking terrified of you, man, try another line.”

“I said the gold belongs to the people. We’re people. Get it?”

Mako snorts and instantly regrets it when the sound sends a sharp spike of pain through his head, “Yeah, I get it. You’re not pissed the queen was extorting her own people. You’re pissed that there’s less for you to extort for yourselves. You don’t give two sh*ts for the people in this town. You just want to play warlord and bleed them dry. That’s why there’s a rockslide in front of the train. I’m betting one of you’s an earth bender and you’re stopping the train and fleecing the passengers who get stranded here. It’s pretty basic sh*t. Not even baby-level scamming. It’s just robbery.”

“That’s enough outta you, you little –” one of the bikers snarls, backhanding him across the face.

Vaatu’s arse, that hurts.

Mako blinks stars out of his eyes and focuses on breathing.

He’s tied to the chair with leather straps, probably someone’s old belt, his arms pulled behind him with his wrists strapped together. He curls his hands towards each other and focuses on building a tiny ball of highly concentrated heat between his palms.

Breathe.

Breathe.

Breathe.

“You’re pathetic,” Mako spits, drawing up all the old bravo he’d carried when he’d been fifteen. Some people had scoffed at Zolt taking him and Bolin on, but Mako was vicious and Bolin’s baby face and big green eyes could charm the gold right out of the city treasury. “Lording over a little town in the middle of nowhere. I bet you do that sh*t where you ride up behind little old grannies on your bikes and rev the engines just to spook em’. I bet a big payday for you is knocking over some poor bastard’s fruit stand.” He’s slipping into street talk now, his diction softening and sharpening into the patterns he’d picked up from Shady Shin and the crew. Spirits, he’d drilled Bolin relentlessly on how to talk nice, how to talk proper, practiced every night so they’d be able to talk like their mama used to, like gentlemen. Like people who’d be taken seriously one day.

“No wonder Korra and Asami took you down in minutes. You’ve got nothing but style and no substance to back it up.”

The gang is angry now, they’re all muttering something along the lines of “shut him up” and “put him down”.

Good. He needs them angry. He needs them distracted.

“You got something else you’d like to add,” drawls the leader, reaching over and clamping a hand around Mako’s throat, leaning down to get in his face. “Punk?”

Before Lord Zuko left for the Fire Nation, Mako asked him how to perfect the Breath of Fire.

The old man’s good eye had twinkled at him and he’d said, “What can I say? All fire bending comes from the breath.”

Now, with this thug’s face inches from his own, Mako closes his eyes and breathes.

…

Things happen very quickly after that.

The gang leader reels back as a plume of golden fire flies from Mako’s lips. The bikers are all shouting now, trying to pat out the little flames smoldering in his hair and clothes.

Mako uses their distraction to split the ball of white-hot flame between his palms in two and twist his hands around in their bindings (rubbing the skin right off his wrists as he does so – ouch), opening his fingers and releasing the flame onto the leather straps.

The leather dries, cracks, and falls away in seconds.

Mako is up and moving immediately, drawing up a curtain of fire the way a water bender might a wave, spinning it around his body to condense it and build momentum, then hurling the ball of fire at the mass of bikers in front of him.

They hit the ground shrieking and diving for weapons.

Mako keeps moving forward, firing off precise blasts of flame to keep any attackers down. It’s just like pro-bending again. Advance, advance, swerve, dodge, keep light on your feet, slide under an obstacle, get up, get up, get up, fire off more fireballs to keep them busy, keep your senses open, be aware of everything around you.

He drops to the ground when a much larger man rushes him. He keeps all his weight on his bent leg, sending the other out in a spinning kick, trailing a curtain of fire that sends the other man stumbling back, trying to put out his trousers.

While on the ground Mako spies the newspaper that the leader shoved in his face earlier. Some strange lurch of nostalgia has him grabbing the thing and stuffing it in his shirt. Maybe he’ll cut out the picture and put in his wallet. Keep his family close and all that.

He can practically hear Wu in his head going “Close to what? Your socks?”

What is it with that guy and clothes?

Mako shifts his weight to his free leg, drawing the other up and kicking another man in the chest.

Something’s shifting though. Over the sounds of the general chaos and disorder he hears…revving engines?

His first thought is sh*t, reinforcements. But that makes no sense. He’s still puzzling over it as he throws himself to the ground, sliding on his side, channeling heat through his palms powerful enough to crack the earth and make at least two men with thin-soled shoes dance the ‘oh spirits, the ground is hot and my feet are vulnerable’ dance.

He twists himself up, fire flying from his hands, when the massive cargo doors burst open as a huge armored van slams through them, coming to a skidding stop in front of the fight.

“GET IN, IT’S JAIL BREAK TIME!” hollers an unfamiliar voice.

“Huh?” Mako spares the new development a single glance before he’s back to shooting fireballs at people who want him dead. Or at least less mobile.

“MAKO, WE’RE HERE TO RESCUE YOU!” shouts an unfortunately familiar voice from the back of one of the two motorcycles accompanying the van.

“WU?”

Great, just great. He got temporarily kidnapped and the future Earth King actually joined a biker gang.

Beifong is going to skin him alive.

Or she’ll think this is the funniest thing she’s ever heard.

She can be a bit hard to read sometimes.

Mako, not seeing any other way this is going to end well for him, bolts for the van full of strangers. At least if he and Wu are kidnapped together, he can keep an eye on the prince.

The person not driving the van grabs him by the hand and hoists him into the cab, yelling “MOVE OUT!” and the group turns and exits the warehouse, leaving chaos in their wake.

…

They’re back in the dive bar.

Somehow, they’re back in this stupid bar. Mako gives up and rests his aching head on the table.

“Here ya go,” the holler-er from the warehouse says, setting a glass of iced honey mint tea next to Mako’s head. “Perk you right up.”

Mako squints up to see a woman about his height, dressed in green and black leather with short, spiky green hair and more metal in her face than Wu’s entire jewelry hoard (“I thought I could sell some of the pieces for money!” “Some of these are priceless antiquities! You’re never going to find a buyer!” “Never say never, big guy!”).

“Thanks,” he rasps, throat sore after breathing fire and being choked.

“No problem,” she shrugs. “Those guys shoulda known better than to nose in on our territory. This bar is ours. They’re not welcome here.”

Well. Good to know that for once, intergang rivalry came down on his side.

“Yeah, they treat the people in this neighborhood like crap,” one of her crew says disdainfully. “They can go f*ck themselves.”

“Mako, are you alright?” Wu looks concerned and very ruffled from his motorcycle adventure. Apparently, his new friends saw fit to give him a haircut before riding to Mako’s rescue, although they stopped at dying his cloud of curls green. The look is actually a little similar to Kai’s, with the sides and back clipped close and the top a little longer. The main difference the long-ish cascade of curls artfully tousled over one green eye.

“Huh. You got your hair cut.”

“I did, but you got kidnapped! Is hair really worth a friend’s life and safety? No, no it is not. So, I said to myself, ‘Wu, you’d better ask these nice people to help you rescue poor Mako, it’s what he would do for you’. And then we did and now you’re here and your eye is looking a little…um…raw-meat-like, but Big Lee has assured me you won’t lose it, so there’s that.”

“Big Lee?”

“That’s me,” a person who is also dressed in green and black, with slightly less metal in their face, smiles next to Mako’s shoulder, offering a towel full of ice, which he gratefully presses to his eye.

“Um. No offence. But…you’re not that big.”

Big Lee laughs, tossing long black hair over one shoulder. “I’m the oldest of the Lees. So, I’m Big Lee. It’s just our luck that the youngest turned out the tallest, isn’t that right, Little Lee?”

A man easily twice Mako’s width and a solid head taller than him and composed almost entirely of muscle, nods in agreement.

“We’re all named Lee here,” the fourth member of their little band says. She’s tall and slender, narrower and willowier than the Lee(?) who brought him the mint tea. “I’m Other Lee.”

“And I’m Boss Lee,” the tea-bringing says, sitting down. She reminds Mako a little of Chief Beifong, but he isn’t sure how complimentary she’d find the comparison.

“We’ve lived above this bar for years,” Other Lee explains, “When the Queen started driving up the taxes everyone was struggling. Then those guys who took you started stealing the tax money back. We thought they were some kind of modern-day Blue Spirits, who would return the money to the town.”

“Instead the bastards just kept it all for themselves, and started squeezing the rest of us for more,” scoffs Big Lee.

“So, we started our own outfit,” concludes Boss Lee, “We steal from the thieves and give it back to our neighborhood. Try to make it safe for people to live here, so they don’t have to run inside and hide every time they hear an engine.”

“That’s noble of you,” Mako says. “I wish my family had people looking out for them in Ba Sing Se.”

“Lower Ringers?” rumbles Little Lee.

“Yeah,” Mako admits, not making eye contact with Wu.

“That’s rough, kid,” Boss Lee says, “Now drink your tea and stop talking. You trashed your throat with all those pyrotechnics.”

…

They walk back to the inn after bidding goodbye to the Lees, who promised they’d hook them up with a cheap vehicle in the morning.

Wu is subdued on the walk, hunched in his robes and staring at the ground.

“New hair’s nice,” Mako says, feeling as if he should break the silence but not sure how to do so.

“Thanks,” Wu gives him a sliver of a smile, “Lot less heavy now.” He keeps staring at the ground, kicking at pebbles with his battered palace shoes.

“We should get you some boots,” Mako says, “Those shoes won’t last much longer.”

“Hmm,” Wu hums, bumping his shoulder against Mako’s.

“What’s wrong with you? You sick or something? Normally you’d be jumping for joy at the thought of going shopping.”

“Well maybe I’m not just so shallow, spoiled brat, Mako? Maybe I have other things to think about!” Wu snaps, then immediately flushes, flinches, and looks away. He even puts distance between them, slipping off to the side where they can’t bump elbows.

“I didn’t say that,” Mako huffs, rolling his eyes. “Sorry for being concerned when you’re acting weird. I’ll try to resist the urge to mother hen you!” This is just like when he broke up with Korra. Apparently, he’s just that sh*tty at talking to people. He doesn’t even have to date them, and he alienates them. What did he expect?

“I never said you were,” Wu begins to snap but immediately deflates. He actually stops walking, still staring at the ground, arms limp at his sides, shoulders slumped. He looks…small and sad.

Mako gets a few steps ahead before he realizes and stops too. He stares at the prince, all forlorn on the sidewalk and knows a shoulder pat is probably not going to cut it here.

“Mako?” Wu’s voice is even small. It’s strange. His voice normally takes up all the space in any given room.

“Yeah?”

“My people…they’re going to hate me.”
Huh?

Wu’s not done talking, “They’ve been out here, suffering, scared, and hurt and I didn’t even know. My great-aunt ruined this town. And probably a bunch of other towns! And I’m supposed to what? Fix it? How? I’ve never left Ba Sing Se! I was barely ever let out of the palace! And apparently people were suffering there too! Like your family! They were there, and I didn’t know. What kind of a prince does that make me? What kind of terrible, awful, no good, waste of space, person does that make me? What if I’m going to turn into her? What if, in fifty years, I’ll just be another Hou-Ting who makes everyone miserable? So miserable that when some terrorist comes in and sucks all the air out of my lungs, my people will be happy?” He opens his mouth to say more but all that comes out is a huge, jagged, gulping sob. He cries like a toddler cries, without restraint or reservation. He cries like Bolin cried when he was cold, and scared, and hungry, and all he had in the world was Mako.

So Mako does what he used to do for Bolin, he holds out his arms.

Wu stares at him like he’s insane, fat tears dribbling down his face. “What are you doing?”

“Offering you a hug. One-time offer. Take it or leave it.”

Wu sniffles, “But no one hugs me. I’m the prince.”

“f*ck, fine, no hugs, I get it,” Mako huffs, moving to drop his arms and feeling like an idiot, when Wu surges forward and throws both arms around his middle and clutches him like a child with a plush platypus-bear. Like Korra with Naga. Like Tenzin’s family whenever they’ve been apart for a long time.

“Listen, Wu,” Mako sighs, resting his hands on those skinny, shaking shoulders, “You aren’t going to turn into your great-aunt.”

“But how do you know?”

“Because you care. And you listen to people. A leader should know their people or they aren’t really a leader at all. Your great-aunt? Wasn’t a leader. But the minute you realized your ignorance, you started trying to fix it. And that matters.

“You want to know how I know you won’t turn into your great-aunt? You listen. You really listen. When the Lees were telling you their problems, you didn’t shout them down or tell them they weren’t important or plug your ears and refuse to acknowledge the truth. You opened your mind and you received what they had to say. You’re trying to learn. You’re trying to listen and do better.

“The past is the past. It’s over. All you can do is learn from it and do better.”

Wu snuffles against Mako’s shirt. Which is probably ruined. It’s like he’s playing a horrible game of strip-rescue mission. At this rate he’ll be down to his underpants by the time they reach Republic City.

“Thank you, Mako,” Wu whispers.

“Thank you for befriending bikers and coming to pick me up.”

“Rescue you. We rescued you. It’s okay. Even big, tough guys like you can take being rescued by little old me once in a while.”

“I had it under control.”

“Everything was on fire.”

“Fire is a solution to every problem if you think creatively enough.”

…

Dear Mako,

City planning? Not my thing. Never my thing. Guess what I’m doing all day every day now just to get these rail lines in place? City planning! I’ve been basically living off sugary tea. I might have to take a page out of your book and set up camp in my office. You are a terrible influence and I’m stealing your sleeping bag from the Police Precinct.

If you get yourself killed by a biker gang, I’m sending Jinora to the Spirit World to drag your ass back to the land of the living so I slap you upside the head myself. See if I don’t.

Best wishes,

Asami

P.S. Bolin is settling into Zaofu, but things are tense there what with Su refusing to take control of the Earth Kingdom as some kind of interim ruler? A regent? Whatever, she said no and now she and Kuvira and Bataar Jr. are fighting all the time about their patriotic duty. Bolin says it’s very stressful.

P.P.S. Senna and Tonraq send their love, Korra is working hard with Katara but progress is slow.

...

Chapter 4: Tahno and the Earth Rumble

Chapter Text

Tahno and the Earth Rumble

Dear Asami,

Remember that pro-bending match Amon crashed where we almost died? The captain of the other team (the cheating bastards, I mean…the Wolf Bats) is here. In the Earth Kingdom. His name is Tahno and he’s a musician now (Korra gave him his bending back but apparently, he has hobbies or something. Weird.) and he’s touring the Earth Kingdom. How do I know? I’m stuck on his tour bus and contemplating throwing myself out a window. I’d only break…maybe three bones? Is that worth it?

Mako

P.S. Update, did not jump out of the tour bus and now I have regrets.

…

Wu wakes him up by dropping Pabu on his chest and waving a steaming cup of tea under his nose. “Rise and shine, sleepyhead.”

“Shut up,” Mako grumbles into his pillow, as Pabu stabs tiny, pointy feet between his ribs, “Not a sleepyhead. Fire benders rise with the sun.”

“Mmmhmmm,” Wu hums, “Sure they do.”

Mako pries his eyes open to see…the sun barely staining the horizon pink. “Yes. They do. The sun’s not up yet,” he turns the kind of morning death glare only a man with truly intimidating eyebrows can manage. “Why are you bothering me?”

Wu rests a hand on Mako’s shoulder. He immediately removes it when Mako turns his glare on the hand and claps both hands together instead. “Good news!”

“Good news?” Mako growls.

“Boss Lee found us a ride out of here!”

“Uh-huh.”

“It’s on this band’s tour bus, so it’s a little cramped.”

“Uh-huh.”

“But they seem like very cool cats, if you know what I mean. Very jazzy.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You and the lead trombone player can talk about pro-bending! He was on a team too!”

Wu had demanded to hear all about the Fire Ferrets as soon as he’d seen the newspaper Mako brought back from the gang’s kidnap warehouse. He’d been weirdly enthusiastic about it. Of course, he’d directed half his questions to Pabu, so it could be he was just overcompensating for his momentary lapse in good cheer earlier.

“Uh-huh,” Mako gives up and just lets Pabu climb up onto his shoulder.

“Yeah, his name’s Tahno!”

Mako stares at him for a long moment. “And this bus. Is our only option for getting out of town.”

“On your budget?” Wu raises a judgmental I’m-royal-and-don’t-understand-money eyebrow.

Mako snatches the cup of tea out of his hands and downs it like a shot. A scalding, bitter, horrible shot.

“Raava in a teapot, that hurt.”

“Are you okay?”

“No, I just chugged hot tea and I’m about to spend several days crammed into a metal box with my old sports rival.”

“…do you want some water?”

“I want this to be a terrible dream.”

“No, no, no don’t go back to sleep, we leave in an hour!”

“I yearn for death.”

…

“Weren’t you one of the…what were they…fire monkeys?” Tahno drawls.

It’s hour two of this torture and it’s the first time Tahno has spoken to Mako, he’s been too busy having some kind of weird extrovert battle for conversational dominance with Wu. Tahno has abandoned trying to out-Wu Wu (thank the spirits, they were giving Mako a headache to go with all the assorted body aches he’s picked up in the last few days) only to come over and bother Mako.

Mako stares at the other man. Tahno hasn’t changed at all. Same stupid hair. Same flashy fashion sense. Same limp-wristed hand gestures. It’s not a water bender thing, Mako knows. Master Katara doesn’t flop her hands around like dead fish. It’s just Tahno being Tahno.

“No.”

Tahno huffs like Mako is being difficult. Mako is being difficult, but for the record, Tahno started it. “Fire…lizards? No, that’s not right.”

Pabu pops his head out from Mako’s shirt collar and squeaks indignantly at the water bender.

Tahno flops a hand in some kind of flourish, “Oh, that’s right. The fire rats.”

“Fire Ferrets,” Mako growls.

“Fire Ferrets, that’s right. After your little furry mascot.”

“Yes.”

“And you’re Bolin.”

“Mako. And you’re Tahno. We’ve had nine games together since the junior leagues. Ten, if you count the charity match we beat you in recently.”

“Oh, that’s right, Bolin.”

“Mako.”

“You keep making that sound. Are you well? You’d better not have brought some kind of throat disease on my bus. I need these lungs for trombone.”

“No, it’s my name, dumbass,” Mako snaps, “My name is Mako. Bolin’s my brother.”

“No, that can’t be right, why would I know your brother’s name?”

“Because he was also on the team?”

“Are you asking me or telling me?”

“I’m telling you that if you don’t get out of my face and start calling me by the correct name, I’m going to tie you into a knot and throw you out of a moving vehicle!”

“Ooookay,” Wu interjects, trying to defuse the situation, “Someone’s grumpy. That’s on me, I didn’t want to miss your departure time, so I may have woken him up a little early.”

“Yes, well, no skin off my nose if toddlers need their nappy times,” Tahno tosses his hair.

Wu steers Mako away to the other side of the bus, where Tahno’s less insufferable band members sit, before he can give in to the urge to light the other man on fire.

“I hate that guy.”

“I know,” Wu sighs, and then has the gall to pat Mako on the shoulder. “There, there.”

Mako pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs.

…

They manage not to murder each other for two days, before they’re stopping in another town.

“Are we done; can we leave now?” Mako asks Wu when the other man returns from the tiny visitor information center.

“Well, big guy, the good news is I have a full list of all the restaurants and cultural sights in this lovely town!” Wu says with brittle cheer.

“And the bad news?”

“There’s no railway or bus system. Looks like we’re saying with Tahno and the band!”

Mako buries his face in his hands.

…

Dear Bolin,

Guess what? Tahno plays trombone in a band now. How do I know this? Wu and are stranded in the Earth Kingdom and the only mode of transportation we’ve got is Tahno’s tour bus!

If he calls me by your name one more time, I’m melting his stupid trombone down to slag.

Your brother,

Mako

P.S. Pabu sends his love

…

Mako is trying his best to enjoy a bowl of noodles in one of the many restaurants on Wu’s list when Than comes tearing through the door, looking like there are actual wolf bats on his heels.

“Bolin!”

“For the last time, it’s Mako!”

“You have to help me!”

“What? Why?”

Tahno skids to a stop in front of their table, nearly upendeding Wu’s glass of water. “I may have lost all my money betting on the mini Rumble a few blocks away.”

“Oh, the visitor center lady told me about that!” Wu says, “Apparently Toph Beifong used to compete in the main Earth Rumble down in Gaoling!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tahno waves off this information, “the thing is, I may have bet a liiiiittle more than I have on hand, currently.”

“And how is this my problem?” Mako asks, taking a pointed bite of noodles.

“Because I bet the bus.”

Mako chokes on his bite of noodles, “What?”

“And I lost it.”

“Seriously?” Even Wu looks irate at this revelation.

“And the only way to win it back is to fight in the mini Rumble and win back the money I lost so I can pay off the bookie…”

“So?”

“So, I can’t fight in the mini Rumble! I’m a water bender! So, I signed you up. All you have to do is win enough for us to get the bus back and get out of here!”

Mako is speechless.

Wu is not, “How could you do that? Of all the irresponsible, idiotic-!” which is pretty rich, coming from High Royal Highness Prince ‘I packed seventeen robes and no toothbrush so now Mako has to buy me one’, but Mako will let it slide. He has bigger problems.

“Hey, Bolin’s an earth bender!” Tahno exclaims, “It’s an earth bending fight club thing! It makes perfect sense!”

“Yeah, Bolin is.” Mako says, “I’m a fire bender.”

“Really? I thought it was the other way around.”

“No, you had the names and abilities right, just not the – you know what, fine. I have to fight a few earth benders to get out of this town and away from you, fine. I’ll do it.”

“Mako!” Wu protests.

“Perfect, you’re already signed up,” Tahno gives him one of those grins that make all his fangirls melt and everybody else want to punch him in the face.

…

“Are you sure about this?” Wu asks when Mako hands over his battered shirt.

“It’s the only shirt I have. I’d rather ruin the undershirt and still be able to wear this one.”

“Not about the shirt! About letting huge earth benders beat you up for entertainment!”

“It’s this or walking.”

Wu chews his lower lip, curls falling in his eyes. “Be careful?”

“Don’t worry,” Mako claps him on the shoulder. A little too hard, apparently, because Wu’s entire body sways with the gesture. “I’ll be fine.”

…

Fun fact: the Republic City Police Academy Entrance Exam has not been updated much since Toph Beifong’s tenure as Chief of Police. This means a significant portion of the physical test involves dodging rocks. Small rocks. Big rocks. Medium rocks. On-fire rocks. Rocks in water. Lots of rocks.

All while someone yells questions at you about the law. And ethics. And occasionally random subjects just to keep you on your toes.

And occasionally actors in costume pop up and you have to save them from danger.

It’s extremely stressful.

Lin once explained it was an attempt to weed out people who were likely to perform badly in high stress situations.

Apparently Mako did very well.

The last ten years of Mako’s life have been an ongoing high stress situation, so maybe he’s just really used to it.

Between pro-bending and Beifong, he’s actually pretty well-prepared for violent confrontations with earth benders.

He’s still not thrilled about it.

The first match is over pretty quickly. He’s up against a guy whose main method of attack is – you guessed it – hurling giant boulders at his opponents. But the problem with hurling giant boulders is there’s always a gap between releasing the boulder, and having a new boulder in hand, ready for hurling.

Mako slides underneath the first boulder, popping up in the boulder-hurler’s space, and takes him down with a swift kick to the groin and punch to the head.

Boulder guy goes down like a bag of bricks.

The second contender is more challenging, mainly because he’s more creative. His main gimmick is shifting the ground around under his opponents’ feet so they can never stabilize themselves enough to make a concentrated attack. Mako spends some very unpleasant minutes slip-sliding around, falling on his face, and generally making a fool out of himself before he manages to get close enough to just straight up jump-tackle the guy. Luckily, sitting on your opponents and waiting for the timer to buzz is apparently a valid take down tactic.

Mako doesn’t beat the third person he faces. Mostly because the third person’s tactic is drawing up a rock, smashing it into tiny daggers of stone and sending them after Mako like a wave of deadly missiles. It’s actually a pretty clever trick – probably based on water benders and their ability to throw dozens of ice fragments at once. The only reason Mako isn’t full of rock shards is that the earth bender got a little too enthusiastic and accidentally injured an audience member and was disqualified.

The fourth challenger is a sand bender who blinds and smothers him with a tight cloud of stinging sand, and then, when he’s gasping for breath and stumbling, kicks his feet out from under him.

Getting knocked unconscious is something of a relief at that point. The last thing he sees before he blacks out is the sand bender woman frowning down at him, looking disappointed.

…

Mako comes to on a cot outside the arena. The first thing he does is sit up. The second thing he does is nearly pass out when Wu practically hurls himself into Mako’s chest.

“Mako, Mako, are you okay? Answer me! How many fingers am I holding up? Do you have all your limbs? You’re breathing, right? You feel like you’re breathing. Any broken limbs? Cuts? Bruises? They’ve got to have a healer on staff here… Mako, answer me!”

“I will…when you aren’t squeezing me…like a cobra-python.”

Wu immediately drops his hands and bounces back a step. “You’re alive, oh thank Raava. You scared ten years off my life! I should have that woman charged with…almost murder!”

“Attempted murder?”

“Yes! That!”

“She wasn’t trying to kill me. She stopped as soon as I was down. It was clean.” By the rules of the Earth Rumble system, that is. In pro-bending that would definitely be a foul.

“You’re okay, though, right?” Wu’s hands flutter restlessly, like he wants to pat Mako down and make sure he’s actually still in one piece.

“Yes, I’m fine. Sore, but fine.”

“That’s it. No more getting knocked unconscious for you, buddy! That could do lasting damage to your brain, you know!”

“Last time I checked; you were the one who told a badgermole to knock me out.”

“That’s in the past! From before I really knew you!”

Mako lies back down with a groan.

“Mako! Are you dying?” Wu’s worried face peers down at him. Backlit by the lights of the arena, curls askew, he looks all…soft again. But sweet. Kind of spiritual. Ethereal. That’s the word.

Wow. Mako has definitely taken one too many hits to the head.

“I’m fine,” he waves Wu’s concern off, suddenly wanting very much for the prince to not be quite so close, and soft and concerned.

“If you’re sure,” Wu puts a hand on Mako’s chest, casually, almost as if he just needs to feel Mako breathe. “I would hate to be stranded here all alone.”

“You wouldn’t be alone,” Mako quips. “You’d have Tahno.”

“Ugh,” Wu groans, “That had better have gotten him his bus back, because I am not getting in that arena for him. Those people look like they can snap me in half! I’m delicate, Mako.”

The exaggerated pout Wu sends his way breaks something deep in Mako’s chest and suddenly he’s laughing like he hasn’t laughed in weeks. Months, even. Maybe years. He’s laughing until there are tears welling at the corners of his eyes. Hysterical. Wu is looking at him, all bemused and still a little worried.

“It wasn’t that funny, big guy.”

It wasn’t, it really wasn’t. Mako has no idea why he’s laughing, but spirits, he can’t stop.

Of course, that’s when Tahno walks in. The other man stares at them for a long moment before tossing his hair dismissively, “Whatever you’re doing. Stop. It’s disturbing.”

That just makes Mako laugh harder. He’s clutching his aching ribs and howling and even though it, hurts, it’s so worth it just for the borderline horrified look on Tahno’s face.

“Um. We got the bus back. And some Earth Kingdom gold for…Mako here’s performance. So, um. Thank you. Mako. Thank you for helping me. I couldn’t have done what you did.”

Mako smothers his laughter long enough to make eye contact with Tahno. “You’re welcome, Tahno.”

Tahno scowls as if the effort of being nice to Mako has left a bad taste in his mouth. “The gold is yours. Use it to buy a new shirt. Or new clothes. Just. Change…all that,” he waves a hand indicating pretty much everything about Mako. “And maybe get some other clothes for his Majesty. He sticks out like an otter penguin on a tropical island like that.”

Niceness apparently exhausted, Tahno sweeps out of the room.

Mako wipes the mirthful tears out of his eyes. “I think that’s the nicest thing he’s ever said to me.”

“What’s wrong with my clothes?” Wu asks, picking invisible lint off his robes, “I look classy. And it’s Your Highness! Not Your Majesty!”

That’s enough to have Mako in fits again, Wu worriedly poking at him saying, “Mako, it’s not funny. Mako. I haven’t been crowned yet, so I’m still a prince. Princes aren’t majesties. Mako, you’re going to strain something if you keep cackling like that. Mako.”

…

Dear Mako,

I don’t suppose you have something to do with these headlines about a “non-bender” competing in a mini Rumble in some Earth Kingdom town, sponsored by Tahno? Seriously? I can’t leave you boys alone for five minutes. Bolin’s thinking of helping Kuvira with this whole “unite the Earth Kingdom” nonsense and you’re getting the snot beaten out of you to prove a point! I give up!

Opal caught me sleeping under my desk and dragged me back to Air Temple Island so Pema could feed and fuss over me. She’s worried about Su and Zaofu and all the arguments with Kuvira. We all are, but Opal most of all.

I miss Korra. It’s so easy to feel pessimistic without her here, smiling, ready to take on the world. You know what I mean. Korra inspires people like us. Or at least, she inspires me. Senna says progress is good. Whatever that means.

Stay safe,

Asami

...

Chapter 5: The Fortune Teller

Chapter Text

The Fortune Teller

Dear Asami,

Never trust a fortune teller.

Also, volcano spirits are stubborn brats.

Mako

P.S. Wu wants me to tell you I’m fine because apparently my notes are ‘vague and misleading’ and ‘too brief’. Well I’d like to see him fit more than a few lines on postcard.

…

Mako has a sneaking suspicion they’re getting farther and farther away from their destination the more they travel. He has nothing to back this up as he no longer has his map or the jacket it was tucked into, but it feels accurate considering they are now somewhere in the mountains, but not any mountains he recognizes.

“Mako! Mako!” Wu practically shouts from the dressing rooms. This is the third store they’ve been to (all boutiques, all with ludicrous prices for clothes, of all things. Admittedly, their expulsion from the first boutique might have less to do with them and more to do with Mako yelling “You’ve got to be f*cking kidding me!” the minute he caught sight of a price tag.).

“You’d better be dying this time,” Mako grumbles from the bench he’s been sitting at for the last half hour.

Wu sticks his head out from behind the curtained dressing area, “I patiently waited while you tried on boots for an hour, you can give me your opinion on jade vs. forest green outerwear.”

“I keep telling you, they both look green to me.”

“It’s about shade and base color, Mako.”

Wu flicks back the curtain and emerges, giving a little twirl to show off his new ensemble.

“Looks great. Can we go now?”

“Boots. Hour. I deserve some feedback,” Wu huffs.

In Mako’s defense, good quality boots can make or break a quick getaway, boots are an investment, cheap shoes are a good way to lose your footing at the worst possible moment and die horribly, arch support is important…who is he kidding, Wu stopped listening the minute he started talking.

Wu twirls again, this time slower. He’s updated his wardrobe considerably. Gone are the heavy, trailing robes, replaced with narrow trousers in dark (forest, apparently) green, a pale green-blue shirt (seafoam green…or something), a vest of some sort in slightly-less dark (jade? Maybe?) green with bronze (ish? Mako is running out of colors, here) fittings, and a still-less-dark-than-dark green jacket over it all (Mako once made the mistake of asking why ‘leaf green’ was even a shade when all leaves are green and got a lecture of color theory and gardening for his troubles).

The jacket is embroidered with stylized clouds in pale green thread because of course it is.

All in all, it’s a flattering outfit in colors that suit Wu nicely. Mako has no idea how to say that without sounding sarcastic, so he just nods. “Looks good.”

“Hmm,” Wu hums, “I’m not sold on the embroidery.”

Upon consideration, the combination of all those greens and Wu’s apparent inability to sit still for more than half a minute remind Mako of light filtering through the leaves on the trees in the park on summer days when it was warm enough for him and Bolin to sleep there. It’s…nice.

Well. Mako is definitely not going to say that.

Telling someone they look like light trickling through the trees in one of the few happy memories you have from your incredibly traumatic childhood is not really normal behavior. Mako has a very limited sample size on ‘normal behavior’ but comparing someone to comforting foliage is definitely not it.

“Oh, clouds are very important to us here,” a salesgirl says, popping out of nowhere suddenly enough Mako actually startles a little.

Wu doesn’t even twitch, which is just typical.

“Really?” he asks, tilting his head curiously.

The girl nods eagerly, “The local fortuneteller can determine the future just based on the clouds. She’s very famous. I’m surprised you haven’t heard of her!”

“We’re from Republic City,” Mako interjects before Wu can blurt out he’s a prince.

“Oh, that explains it,” the girl rolls her eyes, “Everyone knows you’re raised to be skeptics.”

Well. That was a bit insulting.

“But Aunt Meng is the real deal!” she continues, “She learned everything she knows from the legendary Aunt Wu!”

“Aunt who?” Wu asks, looking a little offended that someone would dare have the same name as him.

“No, Aunt Wu,” the girl stresses. “The famous fortuneteller who saved the village from a volcano with her prognostic powers when Avatar Aang visited 70 years ago!”

“Well I’ve never heard of her,” Mako says, unimpressed.

The girl huffs at him, “Well, you should. It’s common knowledge.”

“Can’t be that common,” Mako grumbles.

“You should visit Aunt Meng while you’re here,” the girl says, turning her full attention on Wu. “And see Aunt Wu’s memorial! Maybe she’ll see something interesting in your future!”

Wu blinks, “I didn’t know there were real fortunetellers.”

“There aren’t,” Mako says bluntly, just as the salesgirl simultaneously says “There’s Aunt Meng!”

They glare at each other unrepentantly.

“Fortunetellers are just people who look at clients, make a couple informed guesses, say some vague things and take your money. ‘Fortunetelling’ is a scam. Trust me,” Mako glares.

“Maybe you’ll see a happy future, where you finally ditch the bity-city skeptic,” the girl mutters to Wu under her breath.

“Ok,” Wu claps his hands together, “Well, if it’s a piece of local lore, I’ll take the cloud coat. And all the rest of it! Always like clothes with a good story to go with them!”

Mako pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Oh, wonderful!” the girl enthuses, “And here, with your purchase you get a coupon for two free readings with Aunt Meng!”

“Of course, we do,” Mako sighs.

…

“You didn’t have to be so rude to her, you know,” Wu huffs as they head back to their hotel. “This fortuneteller story is obviously very important to these people.”

Mako sighs, “I hate fortunetellers. Half the time they’re crooks.”

“You know,” Wu observes, “You could stand to work on your smile and nod skills.”

“I’m sorry, my what?”

Wu smiles, “See, smile…” his smile brightens, “and nod,” he nods thoughtfully like he’s really appreciating and considering something. “See? It makes people feel listened to and valued and means you don’t have to actually say anything if you think they’re stupid or annoying. Now, you try. Smile…”

Mako attempts a smile.

“Okay. Less ‘dragon about to eat a helpless koala-sheep’.”

“I have no idea what you mean.”

“Just…minimize the death-glare.”

Mako’s entire face reverts back to neutral-scowl.

“Alright, we’ve gone too far in the opposite direction. Come on, I know you can smile! I’ve seen it! Come on…where’s cute, happy, smiley Mako?”

“Nonexistent. I’m not cute.”

“Agree to disagree, my cantankerous friend.”

Mako wishes they hadn’t left Pabu at the hotel. Pabu is loyal. He’d take Mako’s side.

On further consideration, no, Pabu is a traitor and will definitely side with Prince I-steal-people’s-pets-with-my-mushy-compliments-and-secret-stashes-of-treats Wu.

Ugh.

…

They’re eating lunch when the ground rumbles and the light turns a sickly, jaundiced yellow. Wu’s dumpling drops from his chopsticks in surprise, his chopsticks soon following as he lets them go in order to clutch at Mako’s arm. Mako, already halfway out of his seat, looks down to see the prince’s green eyes gone wide as he stares up at him.

“I’ll be right back,” Mako finds himself reassuring the other man.

“Okay,” Wu peels his fingers away from Mako’s sleeve a little sheepishly.

Mako makes his way across the restaurant, where the other patrons seem…disturbingly unconcerned with the sounds coming from outside.

“What’s happening?” he asks the seating hostess when he reaches the front of the restaurant.

“Oh, it’s just the volcano being temperamental,” the woman, who looks about Lin’s age but is built along softer, less reassuringly severe lines, assures him, “Nothing to worry about, sweetie.”

Mako hates being called ‘sweetie,’ but he’ll table that annoyance for when there isn’t ash falling from the sky. “Shouldn’t you evacuate or something?” His experience with volcanoes is limited, but he knows lava is not something to take lightly. Ever.

“Oh, no,” the woman waves away his concern. She looks seconds away from pinching his cheeks. Mako takes a half-step back just in case she gets ideas. “This sort of thing’s been happening every few days since that Harmonic Convergence nonsense a little bit ago. Aunt Meng says it’s nothing to worry about, and Aunt Meng is never wrong!”

Well that’s. Terrifying.

“Oh. Well. If the fortuneteller says we won’t all die a fiery death,” Mako says dryly.

“That’s the spirit, sweetie,” the woman says, completely missing the point.

Mako goes back to the table.

“Apparently they’ve been experiencing consistent, random volcanic activity since Harmonic Convergence,” Mako says flatly.

Wu’s eyebrows pull together fretfully, “Why haven’t they all fled? Or gone underground? You know what the badgermoles say: ‘when the surface gets dangerous, go underground!’.”

There are a lot of things wrong with that statement, starting with the fact that Wu apparently thinks badgermole sounds translate into really weird life advice, and ending with the fact that going underground while chased by hot lava is a terrible idea. Mako decides to address the most important thing and go from there. “Don’t go underground when lava is chasing you. That just makes it easier for the lava to pin you down and kill you.”

“Lava isn’t sentient, Mako.”

“Which one of us has been chased by lava?”

Wu gives him a long look, head slowly tilting to the side like a quizzical polar bear dog. “Is that a metaphor…?”

“No.”

“…Then I’m going to assume it’s you.”

“Yes.”

“Wowza. You’re like a mover hero!”

“That is not the take away here.”

The rumbling outside tapers off and the light begins to brighten back to normal levels.

Everyone in the café erupts into spontaneous applause, as if the volcano had been putting on a children’s music recital, and not threatening to burn the flesh from their bones in a river of magma. Applause given; they return to their meals.

Mako levels Wu with a look. “Volcanoes don’t just stop like that.”

“Maybe it was just cranky.”

“Maybe we should tell this fortuneteller to evacuate her town before their stupidity gets them cooked alive.”

“Ooh, we can use our coupons!”

…

Aunt Meng’s home is large and beautiful, complete with a guard in uniform stationed outside her door. It’s even more gorgeous inside, with high ceilings and lovely antiques everywhere. The street kid in the back of Mako’s mind is mentally calculating how much some of the knickknacks alone would go for and how likely this Aunt Meng character is to notice they’re gone.

No.

He’s a grown-up who doesn’t steal from people.

He’s a responsible, law-abiding citizen with a good job.

He has a place to live and food to eat and the residual tangle of hunger-anger-fear that never shuts up in the back of his mind can take a f*cking hike.

He doesn’t think about the fact that he’s going back to a sleeping bag under his desk and friends and family that love his charming, sweet, big-hearted lug of a baby brother more than him. (he knows what he’s good for and its nothing they want or need, not really).

Wu sneezes and sniffles next to him, “Oh, do you think I’m allergic to ash, Mako?” And the prince is dabbing at his nose delicately with a handkerchief of all things, and Mako is abruptly dumped out of his dark mood at utter absurdity that is the man beside him.

“No, Wu, you aren’t allergic to ash. It makes everyone cough and sneeze.”

“Hmm, so everyone is a little allergic to ash if you think about it,” Wu says, folding the handkerchief up tidily and tucking it away in some hidden pocket.

“Sure, Wu.”

“I have more handkerchiefs if you need one, Mako. I noticed you didn’t get any for yourself.”

It’s supercilious and high-handed and utterly ridiculous. Mako doesn’t know why it makes him smile. “I’m good.”

“If you change your mind, I have ones with little flowers on them.”

“Not really a selling point, Wu.”

“If your status as a scary tough-guy is that threatened by a floral hankie, you aren’t as tough as I thought.”

“I don’t need a hankie. Floral or otherwise.”

“I’m just saying~”

…

They’re left waiting in Aunt Meng’s entry hall by the guard, who informs them that “she’s with a client right now, but she’ll be with you as soon as she can,” all the while looking very perturbed at their lack of proper appointments. Wu soothes what ruffled feathers he can (or ruffles more, it’s something of a toss-up with Wu) while Mako wanders around the space.

The walls are tastefully decorated with elegant, understated art for the most part, with the exception of one corner that is absolutely stuffed with framed pictures of people, ranging from faded sketches to delicate ink paintings to recent photographs. To Mako’s surprise, Avatar Aang even makes an appearance in a few, although he doesn’t know why he’s so startled to see Korra’s past life grinning at the camera. The older images mostly focus on drawings of an older woman with an elaborate hairdo dramatically declaiming something while holding her hands skyward. This must be the former fortuneteller, Aunt Wu. Mako isn’t sure how his Wu will feel about his namesake. The later pictures show first a girl, then a woman, then an elderly grandmother who must be this so-called ‘Aunt Meng’, Aunt Wu’s successor. There’s even a row of wedding images featuring a steadily aging Meng and a succession of men with unusually large ears.

“Those are my husbands,” a creaky voice says beside him and Mako looks down to see an old woman smiling up at him, showing off a gap between her front teeth. “Aunt Wu did say I’d marry a man with large ears. Pity they kept on dying on me.”

“You must be Aunt Meng,” Mako says.

“And you must be here to do something about that volcano we’ve been having trouble with.”

“How did you know?” Mako asks.

She shrugs, “Well, someone was going to come deal with it eventually. And I remember my granddaughter reading an article in the paper about how the new Avatar and her friends saved Republic City awhile back. You look just like the young man in the picture.”

“What does that have to do with the volcano?”

“Well, Aang helped us out last time. Seems fitting we’d have a little Avatar-assistance again.” She winks at him. “And I do see the future, you know.”

“Uh-huh.”

She sighs, “Of course the Avatar would send her skeptic. I don’t know why I bother.”

“Are you Aunt Meng?” Wu asks, zipping over to bow elegantly over her hand and kiss her knuckles, “A pleasure to make the acquaintance of such a fine and talented lady.”

Aunt Meng pats him on the head, “Oh, dear. You aren’t meant for me. I only marry men with big ears, I’m afraid. Save your charm for your future someone.” She winks at Mako again and he can only conclude she has some kind of tic in that eye.

Wu laughs, “Charm? Whatever do you mean? I simply recognize radiance when I see it.”

“How are you this charming with old ladies but regularly get drinks dumped on you by women your own age?” Mako asks the ceiling.

“I have no idea what you mean, big guy.”

“Of course, you don’t.”

“Now, Lady Aunt Meng, I have some coupons and am dying to know what my future holds.”

…

“I can’t believe you got your fortune read before we climbed the mountain to deal with the volcano.”

“You’re just mad because I know something you don’t know.”

“I know lots of things you don’t know, so we’re even.”

“Ah, but do you know the future, Mako?”

“I know our future is going to involve a lot more lava if you don’t hurry up.”

“So bossy and demanding. I’m a prince. I’m not made for physical exertion.”

“Lord Zuko was fighting anarchists two months ago and he’s in his eighties. Stop whining.”

…

Mako has to admit, the rim of the volcano is actually pretty beautiful. There are panda lilies in full bloom at their feet and the whole valley spread out like a lush green carpet below them. Of course, the view is spoiled a bit by the bickering coming from inside the crater.

“Stop touching me!”

“I’m not touching you!”

“Stay on your side of the crater!”

“I AM on my side of the crater! You’re just being greedy!”

“STOP TOUCHING ME!”

“I’M NOT TOUCHING YOU!”

A cloud of smoke and sparks puffs up from the crater as the argument escalates. Mako and Wu creep up to peer over the lip to look down and see…two bipedal orange spirits, both about the size and shape of Meelo, with curls of reddish flame instead of hair throwing molten rock at each other and stomping their feet like children.

Mako blinks and looks at Wu. Wu looks right back at him. The volcano spirits continue to argue. They’re shoving each other now. The angrier they get, the paler their flame-colored bodies go until their hair…fire? Fire hair? Glows blue at the roots.

“Wow,” Wu says, “I’ve never met spirits like these before.”

The lava beneath their feet rolls restlessly and Mako is reminded of a game he, Korra, Asami, and Bolin used to play in Asami’s pool. They’d pair off into teams where one person sat on another’s shoulders. The partner acting as the base had to hold still while the person on their shoulders tried to push the other shoulder-sitter into the pool. Korra always won because she knew where Asami was ticklish and would go in for the kill when she was losing. This…looks a lot like that except with only two players who are both trying to shove each other into roiling, steaming magma.

And the magma seems to be getting more and more antsy the longer and louder the spirits argue.

“THIS IS MY VOLCANO; I CAN DO WHAT I WANT IN IT!” yells one spirit.

“IT WAS MY VOLCANO FIRST!” protests the other.

A spout of lava spits up restlessly before settling down with a gurgle.

“We should split them up, right?” Wu says quietly. “Before they literally tear the mountain apart? Right?”

“Any ideas how to do that?” Mako mutters back.

“I could sing to them?”

“Cool, awesome, draw their anger towards you, the squishy human very vulnerable to lava. That’s a great idea.”

“I could do without the sarcasm, mister.”

Mako sighs. “Let me try something.”

“What?” Wu asks, but Mako is already standing up and holding out his arms.

Their first winter on the streets, Mako and Bolin nearly died. It was just so cold and there was nothing they could do to stay warm. They stuffed their shoes and jackets with newspapers, but Mako’s clothes were already getting too small for him and there was only so much they could steal. Bolin was shivering all the time and they were hungry, so hungry.

And Mako discovered something about fire bending.

Fire comes from the breath. Fire carries heat. If he can bend fire…why couldn’t he bend heat as well?

So, he spent every night that winter wrapping Bolin up in arms and breathing deep and slow to kindle the heat in both their bodies. If they were lucky enough to be near a fire, he could sometimes pull heat from that and infuse it into Bolin’s tiny body directly.

When the shack they were sleeping in one year nearly burned down because of some careless hobos, Mako drained the heat from the fire enough to smother it before immediately passing out. He hadn’t figured out how to pass the heat through his body instead of just pulling it into him yet. But he learned.

It was never flashy or impressive. It’s not redirecting lightning, or lava-bending. But it kept them alive when nothing else could and for that Mako is proud.

He’s never done it on this scale before, but as soon as one of the spirits scoops up a lump of lava and hurls it at the other spirit, Mako reaches out and yanks all the heat out of it until it’s just a piece of shiny, black rock that bounces off the second spirit with a hollow clunking noise.

“CUT IT OUT,” Mako yells at them, sweat pouring down his face as he redirects the heat from the lava out into the air and away from his internal organs. No thanks, he would not like to be cooked alive today.

“A human?” the second lava spirit, still rubbing its head, looks up at him.

“What are you doing here, human?” snaps the first spirit. “Get lost.”

“NOT UNTIL YOU LEARN TO SHARE AND STOP SPITTING SMOKE AND ASH EVERYWHERE,” Mako snaps.

“No one asked for your opinion, human!” huffs the first spirit. “This is a spirit matter! Butt out!”

“AND NO ONE ASKED FOR BUCKETS OF ASH AND CHOKING SMOKE ALL OVER THEIR TOWN, SO I GUESS WE’RE EVEN!” Mako yells back.

“They’re shouldn’t have put a town next to my volcano!” the second spirit complains.

“YOUR volcano?” objects the first spirit.

Mako has to move very quickly to drag the heat out of the next fistful of lava.

“Stop! Doing! That!” yowls the first spirit.

Mako sways on his feet, feeling flushed and a little dizzy. Channeling this much heat while standing next to a crater full of magma is making him woozy.

“Whoa, there,” Wu ducks under his arm, helping him stay on his feet. “So, spirits, what seems to be the problem? Why are you throwing lava at each other?”

“I used to live in this volcano before the Avatar closed the spirit portals,” explains the second spirit.

“No, I used to live in this volcano. You lived in the one over there. The dead one.”

“No, this is my volcano! You’re the interloper from the dead one!”

Mako reaches out, ready to drag the heat out of yet another clump of lava.

“No, stop that, you’ll give yourself a stroke,” Wu chides, “Let me talk to them.”

“No singing,” Mako huffs.

“Shush, you.” Wu turns his attention back to the spirits. “So you’re trying to share and it’s not going well?”
“You don’t know the half of it, buddy,” the first spirit drawls.

“Well, why don’t you tell me about it. Maybe I can help you work things out.”

“Just keep your fire bender away from our lava. I don’ t like him turning it into rocks like that,” complains the second.

“In my day, fire benders stuck to fire. None of this messing with lava nonsense,” agrees the first spirit.

“I’m not doing anything to the lava,” Mako tries to explain, but Wu pats him on the head and shushes him again.

“Stop trying to give yourself heat stroke and let me talk to the spirits.”

…

Wu brokers a peace deal between the spirits.

Mako has no idea how that happened.

One minute they’re chatting (‘building a rapport,’ as Wu put it) the next Wu is telling some embarrassing story about their (Mako and Wu’s) first few days of cohabitation and the spirits are nodding along and looking more than a little shame-faced for how they’ve behaved.

“We don’t have to live in volcanos,” one of them explained, “But we like them. They’re warm and cozy and keep the humans away. Humans are very loud. But we like this world. So we thought we’d visit.”

“But it turns out,” the other continued, “That a lot has changed in the last 10,000 years. Our two volcanos are gone, and only this one remains.”

Wu had suggested a new arrangement. “If you don’t have to live in a volcano, what if you had a time share dealy-o? One of you gets it half the year and the other travels, sees the world and what’s changed. And when the seasons turn you switch places. And, if you decide you’ve missed each other, you can stay here together whenever you want and catch up on all the new things you’ve seen in the world.”

The spirits somehow agree to this.

They also agree not to harass the town, which is nice.

They send Wu and Mako off with heaps of praise for Wu. Mako they each throw a rock at to make up for his trick with the lava earlier. They miss each time, which they say was on purpose because they didn’t want to ‘bruise his squishy human body and disappoint the Human Negotiator.’

Mako really just wants to get back to the hotel, drink a dozen glasses of water, and take a long nap. In the shade.

…

Aunt Meng catches Mako before they leave. Wu is distracted trying to put a tiny coat decorated with tiny embroidered clouds onto Pabu while Mako purchases train tickets (here’s hoping they get them even a little bit closer to where they need to go).

“Hello, Mako,” the old lady says with a big smile.

“If you want to talk to Wu again, he’s over there making a fire ferret’s life difficult,” Mako says.

“No, I wanted to speak to you.”

Never a good sign, but Mako will bite. “About what?”

“I know you don’t believe in what I do, so I won’t give you a fortune, but I will hand out some free advice.”

Mako is keeping half an eye on the ferret vs. jacket proceedings. So far Pabu has evaded Wu’s attempts, but he can’t run forever, and he’s weak to bribery. “Mmhmm.”

“I see great love in your future if you aren’t too stubborn to let it reach for you.”

Pabu has escaped to the top of Wu’s head and the prince is shouting about his hair.

“What do you mean?” Mako asks.

“I can tell you’re the kind of person who thinks love only means sacrifice. That to love someone is to give them the parts of yourself you think they need or want and stay silent about the rest. Everything else you keep under lock and key, somewhere deep down where they won’t find it. You have to allow the people who love you to know you, all of you, or they’ll always feel a million miles away. You have to trust they’ll treat you with care too.”

“They don’t want to know all of me,” Mako says without thinking.

“How do you know that?” Aunt Meng asks.

“Trust me. I know.”

“Oh, Mako,” Aunt Meng says. “The problem is, you don’t trust yourself to be worth loving. And that makes me sad. I hope he proves you wrong.”

“What?” Mako turnst to argue with the old woman, but she just squeezes his arm and turns away.

“Your journey will be longer than you expect it to be, dear. Pack extra clothes!” she calls as she walks off.

“AH-HA!” Wu exclaims behind him. Mako turns around to see Pabu wearing a tiny green coat. “Doesn’t he look fashionable? Oh, hey, was that Aunt Meng?”

“Yeah,” Mako says, “She said to have a safe trip.”

Wu squints suspiciously, then shrugs, “Got those train tickets, buddy? I’m hoping this one has a nice dining car.”

Mako crooks a smile, “I’d settle for no cabbages.”

…

Dear Mako,

You can’t just make vague comments about volcanoes and give no further information! Your snarky P.S is longer than your actual message! You’re going to raise my blood pressure!

Speaking of rising blood pressure, the air benders asked me to help them develop some kind of flight suit so they can have glider wings attached to their bodies somehow for easy access. It’s been a blast designing it, but I swear I have a heart attack every time Jinora jumps off of some tall thing with no parachute just to test a prototype.

Senna says Korra misses us, but I don’t know how much of that is Senna trying to make me feel better. Maybe I’m writing her too frequently.

Miss all of you,

Asami

Chapter 6: Spirits and Swamps

Chapter Text

Spirits and Swamps

Dear Asami,

I fell in a swamp. Bad things happened. I met a legend.

I need a nap.

Mako

P.S. Prince Wu here, Mako fell asleep writing this postcard, hence the smudges. When I tried to wake him, he threw the pen at me and told me to go away. So, I’m going ahead and mailing this before some other misfortune befalls it.

…

Dear Asami,

Ignore whatever Wu put in the postscript on the last postcard. Royals are clearly completely untrustworthy.

Mako

…

“Oh, you don’t want a room on the east side of the hotel,” the receptionist assures him and Mako is about ready to just say screw it and find a nice doorway to nap in. It’ll be a bit of an adjustment for Prince I-know-my-preferred-sheet-thread-count, but he’ll cope.

“Why not?” Mako asks, straining for patience.

“Because that side faces the swamp,” the receptionist stresses.

“And what’s wrong with the swamp?”

“It’s haunted,” the receptionist says bluntly.

Mako stares at her. The receptionist stares back. She’s wearing huge gold earrings that keep moving with every gesture. Pabu’s head is moving in time with the earrings, his little black eyes tracking them with unnerving intensity. Mako scoops Pabu off the desk as a preventative measure. He really doesn’t want to be thrown out of the only hotel in town due to a fire ferret related incident.

“You mean spirits live there…?” Mako asks, “Because we’re fine with spirits.”

“Well,” the woman hedges, “Spirits do live there, but so do ghosts.”

“Ghosts?” Wu says at Mako’s shoulder, where he’s wandered back from perusing the racks of travel brochures on the opposite wall.

The receptionist nods solemnly, “And ghouls.”

“Ghouls?” Wu is clutching Mako’s arm now and Mako bites the inside of his cheek in order not to give in to the overwhelming urge to roll his eyes.

“There’s no such thing as ghosts,” Mako sighs, “Or ghouls.”

“Whether or not you believe is your business,” the receptionist says, holding up her hands in the universal signal for ‘some people just can’t be helped,’ “But people disappear into the swamps and they don’t come back in one piece. Or at all.”

“Mako, I don’t want to disappear,” Wu says.

“You won’t disappear.”

“How can you know that?”

“You’re too annoying to disappear. I’d hear you shrieking and come find you.”

“You know, your words are hurtful, but your tone is very comforting.”

Mako sighs. He seems to do that a lot these days.

“Are there rooms anywhere else in this building?” Mako asks.

“No.”

“Just rooms on the eastern side?”

“The side facing the haunted swamp? Yes,” the receptionist nods.

“So, give us one of those rooms.”

“And have you two disappear and come back as ghosts to haunt us? No thank you,” the receptionist objects.

“If I come back as a malicious ghost, your hotel is so far down the list of places I’d haunt, it’s not even funny,” Mako deadpans.

“You’ve thought about this before?” Wu squints at him.

Mako shrugs. “I think I’d be a very effective poltergeist.”

Wu does not seem to know what to do with that information.

The receptionist is staring at him helplessly.

“Eastern rooms or I’m sleeping in your lobby and letting the fire ferret chew on the upholstery,” Mako says.

The receptionist gives them keys to eastern rooms.

…

They end up in a suite because Wu insists. Mako really could not care less. He just wants a reasonably soft flat surface to sleep on.

“Mako, sit up, your nice new clothes are going to wrinkle if you don’t unpack.”

“No,” Mako grumbles into the pillow he has unceremoniously smushed his face into. “They’re two weeks old, they’re not new anymore.”

“They still shouldn’t be allowed to get wrinkly.”

“Go away.”

It’s a sign of how tired they all are that Pabu actually takes his side on this, chirruping sleepily and curling up on the other pillow. Across the room, Wu huffs and sets about unpacking his own bags.

“Just go to sleep,” Mako grumbles.

“Mako, dear, some of us have to work to look good. It is a matter of professional princely pride that I am attired excellently in all circ*mstances. Excellent attire is un-wrinkled attire.”

He probably says more, but Mako’s already asleep.

…

He wakes up several hours later to an open window and a very distressed fire ferret chattering in his face. For a strange second it’s like the last few months never even happened. He’s back in Zaofu, running from the Red Lotus, and Zaheer is trying to steal Korra away. But when he opens his eyes, he doesn’t see Bolin, he sees Pabu and a strange hotel room that definitely isn’t in Zaofu, and an open closet full of tidily hung green clothing. He blinks and looks over at the other bed. It’s empty.

No sound from the bathroom.

No light in the living room.

An empty bed and an open window.

“Vaatu’s slimy arse, the haunted swamp actually stole the prince,” Mako swears.

…

The one advantage to staying in a hotel on the outskirts of town, on the eastern side which faces nothing but a stretch of soft grassland which eventually fades into first forest, then swamp, is that it’s fairly easy to see where your wayward companion has wandered off to. Between the open window and the line of footprints in the marshy field, the trail is not exactly a head-scratcher.

Mako is, for once, glad he fell asleep in his clothes, although he’s in for a surprise when his feet touch ground and he realizes that Wu must have taken his shoes off for him when he fell asleep.

“Is that sweet or creepy?” he asks Pabu.

The fire ferret squeaks ambiguously at him.

“We’ll go with ‘weird but considerate’ for now.”

Bolin must never know he talks to Pabu now.

He pulls on his older pair of boots, glad he kept them even after buying a new pair. (Take that Wu, he’s not a hoarder, he’s saving things to use later.) He doesn’t want to risk ruining a pair of quality shoes by dunking them in the swamp.

Appropriately attired again, he slips out the window and after the footprints.

Pabu chirrs uneasily and digs sharp little nails into his shoulder.

“Come on, let’s go get our prince back.”

…

Mako knows that supposedly haunted swamps are unnerving. Creepy ambiance is part of being supposedly haunted, after all. But still, this is a bit much.

Mako had refused to stay with Pema and Tenzin after his apartment was destroyed partially due to lingering awkwardness with Korra and Asami (who were apparently completely over it, because normal people don’t obsess over everything they’ve ever done wrong in every social situation ever, which was news to him, but whatever). But also because he’s secretly never liked sleeping on Air Temple Island.

It’s too quiet. It’s quiet in the way all those little towns they visited when they were traveling the Earth Kingdom looking for air benders are quiet. It’s quiet in an unsettling, anticipatory way. Mako can’t calm down in that kind of quiet. It makes him jumpy, like someone’s going to show up and attack him at any second. Like something or someone is about to explode.

Mako likes city noise. He likes shouts and laughter and music trickling out of windows and doorways. He likes the rumble of Sato-mobiles and the buzz of streetlights overhead. He likes being a single thread in a tapestry of sound.

The swamp has its own blanket of noise, but it’s not like the city. It’s heavier, meatier, like a sweaty fist wrapping around him and squeezing. It’s slithering creatures just out of sight and strange, croaking noises and shrieking birdcalls and something wet and slimy just…breathing somewhere.

It’s like walking down a cat-gator’s throat and hoping it won’t bite down.

It makes him want a damn shower.

There are flickers of light in his peripheral vision, like spirits ducking in and out of sight like children playing hide and seek. And no matter where he points the handful of fire he’s using to light his way, he never catches sight of anything.

“Wu?” he calls, hating the way his voice sounds as it cuts through the waterlogged air. “Wu?”

Some creature deep in the swamp imitates the sound of Wu’s name, croaking “Woooo, wooo, woooah,” at him.

“Okay. That’s…really creepy.”

Pabu chitters agreement on his shoulder.

The tracks have changed as the ground has gotten wetter – some are deep where the ground is soft, but not too muddy for an impression, while others are barely there where the ground is harder or totally submerged.

“HEY!” Mako yells at the swamp, “HAUNTED SWAMP!”

The imitation creature croaks back “ha-ha-ha-ha-swa-swa-swa.”

Mako elects to ignore this, “YOU HAVE MY –” what is Wu to him? A job? A friend? A social barnacle who’s apparently attached himself to Mako’s life on a semi-permanent basis? “COMPANION,” well, that sounds sketchy, but it’s better than the barnacle thing, “AND I WANT HIM BACK!”

The swamp continues to seethe around him and give exactly zero help.

Typical.

Pabu growls at something off to the side and Mako whirls around to be confronted with…nothing. Not even a twitching bush.

“It’s fine, Pabu,” he’s assuring the ferret, “nothing –”

And that’s when a wave of fire slams into his back.

Mako whirls, gathering his own flames in his hands, Pabu shrieking on his shoulders, feet planted, hands up, ready to face a new threat when he sees…nothing again.

“What in Raava’s name?” he blinks. He dims his own fire back down to what it was and pats himself down with his other hand, checking for scorch marks and or burns, or, really anything to indicate what just happened was real.

Nothing.

“I don’t like this, Pabu,” he says.

But they have to find Wu, and he’s obviously somewhere in this swamp, so Mako keeps moving forward.

…

The whispering starts at he keeps going.

It’s faint at first, but the more steps he takes, the more clearly he can make out voices, words, things long forgotten.

“We’ve already paid the protection money.”

“That was when your little shop was in Triple Threat Territory. You’re under the Agni Kais now. Things have changed.”

“We don’t have anything to give you.”

“Well, that sounds like a personal problem to me.”

Mako shakes his head. “No.” He doesn’t want to hear this. “f*ck off, swamp. You can’t get to me.”

The whispers build. No wonder everyone says this place is haunted. In a way, it is.

“If you don’t have the money, I’m sure we can find some other way for you to pay us.”

“What? No, you –”

“Aww, look at the family picture. Your wife sure is pretty…”

“You leave my wife out of this.”

“Two children…cute kids…be a shame if something were to happen to them. What school are they at? Maybe we could say hello.”

“STAY AWAY FROM MY FAMILY.”

Mako’s eyes are burning. The fire flares in his hands, flickering white-hot. He’d been at his parents’ shop that afternoon. He’d been sent home early from school for fighting. One of the boys in his class called him a nasty name. Said everyone knew fire benders were violent psychos and no-good criminals. Mako had gotten angry. He’d punched the other boy. The other boy was bigger than him and when he’d punched back it hurt.

His mother had brought him to the shop and taken him upstairs to the office to get cleaned up. She’d told him she loved him and that fire wasn’t just for hurting, fire was life. She told him stories about Fire Lord Zuko and the Sun Warriors and told him to be proud of his element.

She’d run downstairs when the crashing started.

“Back away from my husband.”

“She’s even prettier in person.”

“Back. Away. Now.”

When the Republic City Fire Department arrived, the shop was in flames. The second story’s floor had fallen in. Ash was all around and Mako was curled into a ball, using his bending to keep the flames away, screaming for his parents. He’d bit and clawed and tried to burn the rescue workers. He’d bolted the second he was outside, away from their grasping hands and worried faces and questions, questions, questions.

He’d run all the way to Bolin’s school, where he’d collapsed.

The swamp’s whispers have faded into a blur again, and he wants to scream because for years his parents’ voices, the rhythm they spoke with, have faded, faded, faded until there’s nothing left, and now he’s hearing them again but in all the worst ways.

He scrubs at his face with his free hand and looks up to see Amon.

Full of grief and rage, old wounds bleeding sluggishly inside him where he’d hastily taped them up and left them to fester long ago, he roars at the specter and flings a wave of fire at him.

Amon flickers and disappears, replaced with a crowd of sneering gangsters, the kind who used to try to rough them up to show off how tough they were. Mako hurls fire at that mirage too.

Next is Bolin, a tiny child again, shivering, his lips turning blue. Mako runs to him, forgetting this is all in the past, this is all some sick, swamp-induced fever dream. He reaches from his brother, tries to warm him, to wake him up, but all he sees is a ball of all-consuming flame.

He blinks and he’s back in the cavern where he electrocuted Ming Hua. He’s in prison in Republic City. He’s in prison in the Earth Kingdom. He sees Korra, lying still and unresponsive on the ground. He sees Bolin again, every time his brother has ever suffered and Mako hadn’t been able to make it better. He sees Asami looking lost and hurt. He sees Korra screaming in agony, and the Chief’s face, stone cold and contemptuous as a voice like an amalgamation of everyone he’s ever cared about says “What’s the point of you? You ruin everything you touch..”

It’s too much. It’s all too much.

His knees hit the ground and he gestures sharply, swirling a vortex of white-gold flame around him like a chrysalis, like a shield. He’s always envied the way that Bolin can build walls from nothing. But that’s Bolin all over. He’s the builder. He repairs things. Relationships, families, people. Mako is a creature built for attacking. Bolin is a defender.

Pabu chirrs mournfully, rubbing his little furry face against Mako’s cheek. Around them, fire swirls and finally the visions and the whispering stop.

Mako’s eyes are somehow still dry. Maybe he really did forget how to cry all those years ago. Maybe there’s a lifetime allotment of tears and he used all his up early and gave the rest to Bolin.

He rests his forehead on his knees and tries to get his breathing under control. He tries to remember what he used to tell Bolin all the time. “We’re survivors. We always fight.”

He can imagine Bolin pouting and saying “But couldn’t we just hug it out?” and laughing when Mako rolls his eyes at him. He can imagine Wu waving his hands around and saying “Well, big guy, I’m a lover, not a fighter, so that’s right out…”

Wu. He’s here to find Wu.

Mako can have his breakdown later. He has a prince to find.

He jerks his hands and tears the fire cyclone open, flames blasting outward and dissipating. He stands.

“Okay, swamp,” he says, voice hoarse from choking back whatever the f*ck that was, “You’ve had your fun torturing me. Now get me where I need to go or I’m burning you down, one tree at a time.”

…

He walks awhile, the swamp strangely quiescent around him, like a pet that’s realized it maybe shouldn’t have knocked over that heirloom vase on the mantle. He reaches some kind of clearing, only it isn’t a clearing, the brightness from the flame he’s holding has dazzled his eyes enough that he mistakes a body of water for solid ground.

He’s very glad the pond is shallow when he falls into it.

He surfaces, gasping, Pabu squeaking his protests, and claws his way onto a mossy rock in the middle of the pond. Moonlight trickles down from above, the clouds clearing enough for him to see the full moon reflected on the murky water.

Mako runs his hands up and down his face and sighs. He’s so tired. He feels like he’s been tired since the day he was born.

The moon in the water ripples as the pond settles. He looks up, trying to catch a glimpse of the moon itself and is confronted by a girl about Bolin’s age, glowing silver and hovering like…well…a ghost.

“Raava in a teapot. Are ghosts actually real?” he blurts, a little offended at the notion that, on top of everything else, the undead turn out to be a real and pressing issue.

“I am no ghost, Mako.”

“Who are you?” he asks.

“I am…a friend of a friend.” She smiles, silver hair and robes flowing around her like water. “I once knew Avatar Aang. In another life.”

“Yue?” Mako has heard the story. He’s always liked learning; he’s just never had the chance to do it. He’d been reading Jinora and Tenzin’s books when they were traveling, looking for air benders. He’d been learning about the Hundred Year War and the Earth Kingdom and Avatar Aang and his friends.

The spirit laughs, a delicate little sound. Mako would have called it a polite, royal sort of laugh, but Wu laughs with his whole body, throws back his head and just guffaws like he hasn’t a care in the world. So maybe it isn’t so much a royal thing as a Yue thing. “It’s been a long time since someone has called me that,” she smiles, “it is good to hear my old name again.”

“Why are you here?” Mako asks bluntly, “Wait, sorry. That was. Not good. Um. Why are you appearing to me? I’m just…the fire guy. I’m not the Avatar or anything. I’m just her friend.”

“I appear to many people who are lost in spirit,” Yue says with a smile, “It is much easier now since Harmonic Convergence. It helps that this is a very spiritual place.”

“Yeah, I could do with a little less spiritual swamp right now,” Mako grumbles.

“This swamp resembles the spirit world in many ways,” Yue explains, “In the spirit world, your mental state reflects what you see and feel around you. To an extent, you shape your reality. The swamp is not so direct. It instead reflects part of you that would otherwise remain hidden. Things you did not know you still carried with you. Old wounds, lost loves, things you must confront before you can begin to heal.”

“I don’t want to confront any of that sh*t,” Mako complains, knowing he sounds like a petulant child. “I just want to find my friend and go home.”

Oh. Friend. That’s new.

He’ll have to examine that later.

“The swamp is not always kind,” Yue says sadly, “especially to outsiders. Come with me, I will help you find your…friend.” She winks at him, as if she knows he’s just now reluctantly embraced the ‘friend’ label.

Spirits. Can’t beat them, can’t join them. Mako does the next best thing and follows Yue deeper into the swamp.

…

The sky has lightened slightly by the time they arrive at the roots of an enormous tree. “You’ll find your way from here,” Yue tells him, her outline starting to blur as the moon creeps towards the horizon.

“Yue,” Mako says, suddenly struck by an idea.

“Yes?”

“Can you visit Korra? When you can? I think…I think meeting you would make her happy. She’s had a hard time recently. She sacrificed herself to save the new air benders and…it’s complicated. But she’s hurting and I think you could help her.”

“Of course,” Yue says, “It would only be fitting. I’ve watched over her for all these years, after all.”

“Thank you. For everything.” He bows to her.

“Life is never as hopeless as you think,” Yue says softly, “Strength can be found in many forms, including the soft and the beautiful. It takes a great deal of strength, don’t you think, to smile, laugh, and sing in the face of losing everything?”

He opens his mouth to respond, unsure what he could possibly say to that, but between one blink and the next, she’s gone.

He turns around and sees, tucked into the curve of a tree root, legs curled up against his chest, covered in mud, arms wrapped around himself, sound asleep, is Prince Wu.

“There you are,” Mako mutters, climbing up to sit next to the prince. “Hey, hey. Wu. Wake up,” he shakes the prince’s shoulder gently.

Wu’s eyes snap open, wide and frightened for a second as he slowly realizes where he is and who’s sitting next to him.

“Mako? Is that you?”

“Who else would run into a swamp after you?” Mako grumps, “Bosco the bear?”

Wu’s eyes unexpectedly fill with big, Bolin-level tears. He sniffles briefly, and then he’s flinging himself at Mako, sobbing his heart out, clutching at the fire bender’s shoulders and clinging like Pabu after a scare.

“It’s really you. You came and found me. Mako, you came and found me. It’s really you.”

Mako is not a hugger, but he figures he’ll try for the sake of both their mental stability. He wraps his arms around Wu and pats his head awkwardly. “There, there.”

“I used to sleep-walk as a child. After my parents died. I’d wander around the palace at night. Gun said I was looking for them in my dreams. He’d try to catch me and get me back to my rooms before my great-aunt could see me and punish me. She was really awful, my great-aunt; she could come up with punishments like nobody’s business. I stopped sleep-walking when I got older but I guess…” he sniffles and stops speaking.

“I heard my parents,” Mako admits, “Memories. From before they died.”

“Oh, Mako,” Wu says, voice watery, “What a pair we make.”

“I hate to agree with the hotel receptionist. But they really shouldn’t rent out those rooms.”

That actually pries a phlegmy laugh out of Wu. “Haunted swamp?”

“Haunted swamp,” Mako agrees gravely.

…

Dear Mako,

A swamp? Was it THE Swamp? Did you meet Toph? Bolin is desperate to know. He seems to be torn between disowning you as his brother if you managed to meet his hero before him, and re-owning you as his brother because you’re “cool enough to hang with TOPH.”

You know, half the time I can’t even send these replies because you almost never give me a forwarding address. I’m making extra copies of these letters in case you come back and you haven’t heard from me at all and I need to shove all our one-sided correspondence in your face. In the meantime, I’m gossiping about your adventures with your brother. Also via letter.

Opal bought Bolin a Thesaurus just so he can make his letters to Korra extra ‘pen-pal official’, whatever that means.

Tell Prince Wu I said hi and that his postscript seemed pretty accurate. Remember that time you fell asleep in the middle of typing something and you had typewriter key shapes stamped on your face all day? Writing always sends you right to sleep.

Ha. ‘Write’ and ‘Right’.

…I need to get out more.

I miss you all,

Asami

Chapter 7: The Original Beifong

Chapter Text

The Original Beifong

Dear Asami,

I met Toph.

Bolin is going to kill me.

I’ve included a weirdly shaped rock from her swamp with this letter for him as a ‘I’m sorry I met your hero without you because you were too busy not being stranded in a swamp’…thing.

Yeah.

Mako

…

The hug-fest (which was getting uncomfortable considering their multiple layers of mud-encrusted clothing and how weird and vaguely sticky hugging someone in high humidity can be) is abruptly cut off when they’re sunk neck-deep in mud. Pabu shrieks and flees to higher ground – in this case, the top of Mako’s head.

“Who let you two into my swamp?” demands a voice somewhere above them.

“Let go of me,” Mako hisses under his breath at Wu.

“Why?” Wu hisses back.

“So I can dry out this mud with fire bending.”

“You can’t do that like this?”

“Not if you don’t want to catch on fire.”

“…So, the fact that we’re stuck together is a problem here?”

Mako groans, “Yes. You can’t move your arms a little?”

“Not even a wiggle, buddy.”

Mako officially hates the Earth Kingdom.

“But hey,” Wu says in his annoying, perky, ‘I’m trying to look on the bright side while Mako resists the urge to murder things’ voice, “Free mud baths! Those are great for the skin!”

“You two dumbasses know I can hear you, right?” the voice from before grumps, and Mako looks up to see…a tiny old lady glaring at them. Well, more glaring vaguely over Wu’s shoulder.

“If you’re another swamp hallucination, can you just get it over with?” Mako sighs. “It’s been a long night.”

“Ha!” the woman scoffs as Wu hisses “Mako, be nice,” while trying to pinch him in their mud-prison. “As if you could ever hallucinate something as awesome as me!”

“Well, in that case,” Mako says awkwardly, “Can you please let us go?”

“Not a chance!” she says cheerfully. “I want to know what you’re up to that’s got the swamp all excited.”

“Aw, the swamp likes us,” Wu coos.

“No, I said the swamp was excited about you,” snaps the old lady, “Like a cat-gator gets excited about rotting meat.”

“Oh, well, that’s less nice,” Wu admits.

“We aren’t up to anything,” Mako protests, “This moron sleep-walked in here and I came after him! Nothing nefarious going on here! Just two people who really want to not be here anymore.”

“Hey, I’m not a moron!” Wu pouts.

“You are when you’re getting me dragged through a swamp at four in the morning.”

“Well that was a set of very specific circ*mstances outside of my control,” Wu huffs, “You can’t hold my intelligence accountable for all of that.”

“You two are giving me a headache,” the old lady declares, “Shut up before I gag you.”

“With mud?” Wu asks.

“No, with rocks,” the old lady snaps.

Wu shuts up.

“Ma’am,” Mako tries in his nicest, ‘I’m just here to do my job, please don’t air bend a door at me’ voice, “We really didn’t mean to invade your…place. Your swamp. Your swamp-place.”

The old lady sighs. “I’m just messing with you kids,” she says, flicking her wrist and freeing them, “I know who you are.”

“Well, of course you do, I’m royalty,” Wu says without an ounce of shame.

“Nope, no clue who you are,” the old lady says nonchalantly, “I know that one,” she gestures vaguely towards Mako’s head, “because he follows my Lin around like a lost turtleduckling.”

Mako can feel his face burn at that comparison. He does not follow Lin around like a turtleduckling. He obeys her orders. And listens to her advice. And worries about her well-being. Because she’s his boss…friend? Friend-boss? Not because she’s some surrogate mother/mentor figure he’s imprinted on like a dumb bird. He’s eighteen (or nineteen? He has a hard time keeping track of his own birthday sometimes. Bolin would know.) damn years old. He doesn’t need a parent in his life. That ship has sailed.

“I do not follow the Chief around like a turtleduck!” Mako sputters.

“I think she said ‘turtleduckling’,” Wu supplies helpfully.

“I don’t do that either!” Mako snaps.

The old lady, who must be Toph – f*ck, he’s just met Bolin’s hero, Lin’s mom, the greatest earth bender in the world, the inventor of metal-bending, and actual person with like a million statues of herself scattered all over the world what the f*ck is his LIFE – cackles unrepentantly.

“You’re the most entertainment I’ve had in months. Come on, we’re having breakfast.” She turns away and stomps off.

When Mako and Wu don’t immediately follow, the earth helpfully grabs them by the ankles and thrusts them after Toph, leaving them staggering and scrambling to catch up.

The weirdness just does never ends, does it?

…

“So, what are you doing in my swamp?” Toph asks bluntly as she ladles scoops of some kind of stew? Mako is going to assume it’s stew and not wonder how a blind woman chops vegetables into stone bowls for them. “Lin finally get tired of you?”

“She’s never met me, so –” Wu begins.

“She was obviously asking me,” Mako grumps.

“I’ve known you five minutes and I’m already tired of you,” Toph offers.

“Beifongs say that about everyone,” Mako says with complete confidence. Then he pauses. “Except for Su. She was weirdly welcoming and friendly.”

“Creepy, isn’t? I don’t know where she gets it from,” Toph says.

Wu chokes on his soup, “What’s in this?”

“Food,” Toph says.

“It’s…” both Toph and Mako glare at him. “Utterly lovely. Thank you.”

“You bet it is,” Toph says smugly.

Mako has eaten food out of literal dumpsters. He’s not going to insult a blind woman’s cooking.

Wu, on the other hand, looks a little green. He offers his bowl to Pabu, who seems intrigued until Toph pours the fire ferret his own bowl of soup. He promptly abandons Wu’s leftovers for his own serving.

“To answer your question, I was sent to get this guy out of Ba Sing Se after everything went down with the Earth Queen.” Mako pauses. “You did hear about that, right?”

“I sure did, and I’m disappointed I missed it! I always wanted to tear down those stupid walls! But somebody always stopped me before I could!”

Mako can agree with that sentiment. The walls pissed him off too.

“Oh, that’s why…” Wu trails off as if he’s had some sort of revelation.

“What?” Toph snaps.

“There are at least twenty different laws about what you can and can’t do to the Ba Sing Se walls and I always thought ‘wow, that’s crazy, who would even do that?’ but I’m starting to think maybe you did.”

Toph grins, “Yeah, probably. Never liked that city. Got banned the second Iroh wasn’t around to make them let me visit.”

“So, you know about the Earth Queen?” Mako says, trying to haul this conversation back on track.

“Yeah,” Toph’s face goes serious, “That was a bad piece of business. I never liked her, but what Zaheer did was cruel. Air bending like that would have broken Aang’s heart.”

“How do you know everything?” Wu asks, poking suspiciously at his soup.

“The swamp tells me,” Toph says, good cheer returning, “These vines stretch for miles! I can be anywhere in the world if I just listen! I can follow Lin and Su and my grandkids and this turtleduck,” she pokes Mako in the face. “I may be blind, but I see everything.”

“So why didn’t you help?” Mako demands. “The world needed…I don’t know, something! Guidance, a hero? Whatever! And you’re the greatest earth bender in the world and you’re what, just sitting in a swamp?”

Toph tilts her head thoughtfully. “You still want to save the world, don’t you?”

“What do you mean?” Mako huffs.

“Listen, kid. You can’t save the world. You can’t fix crime. You can’t end suffering for all time. You can’t stop people being the selfish, ugly, power-hungry little bastards we all know they are.”

“Geez, you must be a riot at parties,” Wu winces.

“Shut up and listen, beansprout, I’m imparting wisdom here,” Toph huffs, “And eat your soup. It’s good for you.”

Wu grimaces at the soup as if he really doubts it’s good for him. Mako rolls his eyes and grabs for his bowl, “I’ll eat it if you’re going to be a picky toddler about it.”

“No, no, give it back,” Wu snatches the bowl back and frowns mightily at him.

“If you two are done,” Toph says flatly. “Kids. I swear. Anyway. You can’t save the world. All you can do is help.”

“Help what? Help who? You just said everything was pointless!”

“I didn’t say everything was pointless,” Toph glares, “You’re lucky I’m in an explaining mood today. A rock would be less dense than you! I said you can’t save the world. There’s no miracle cure for everything awful. But you can do good things. Things that matter. You can make people’s lives suck less. You can’t save the whole Vaatu-blasted world, but you can save people’s worlds. You can stop f*ckers like Ozai and Unalaaq from making everything miserable for everyone. You can bring an old lady her purse back when it gets snatched by a mugger. You can go after an idiot when he sleep-walks into a dangerous swamp! The world’s going to continue to suck as long as people keep doing sh*tty things to each other. So, try to make it suck less for as many people as you can. Sometimes there isn’t some big, final battle. There’s all the stuff that comes in between, too.”

A long moment of silence follows.

And then, “Wu, are you sniffling?”

“Sorry, that was just really inspiring.”

“I can’t take you anywhere.”

“And speaking of making the world suck less,” Toph says, propping her feet up on a fresh pillar of earth, “I need a favor.”

“That I can cash in at any time in the future, or a favor where you gave me soup and now, I owe you my life’s savings?” Mako asks suspiciously. “Because I don’t have any life savings. I’m technically homeless and my brother’s probably receiving my paychecks.”

“Vaatu’s arse, your life is pathetic,” Toph observes.

“Tell me about it.”

“No, this is a ‘I guide you out of the swamp and you help me out, we’re even’ kind of favor.”

Well, it could be worse.

“What is it?”

“I need you to go check on Su.”

“Ma’am,” Wu says, “I don’t know how to tell you this, but we’re completely lost. We wouldn’t know how to get to this ‘Su’ person.”

Toph looks extremely unimpressed. “And I thought traveling with Sokka was bad. At least he had a map. And a schedule.”

“Hey, I had a map,” Mako protests, “But someone lost it trying to rescue a baby sea serpent!”

“That was an act of charity and goodness. I was being a not-terrible person, Mako,” Wu says primly.

“If I get you a guide to Su, will you go check on her?” Toph demands. “I have a bad feeling.”

Mako waits for more of a message to emerge. It does not.

“Is…that it?” Wu asks.

“What, you need a color-coded chart too?” Toph demands, “Well, tough sh*t, I can’t see colors and I don’t write charts.”

“By ‘guide’, who do you mean?” Mako asks.

“I know a badgermole or two that’ll help you,” Toph says.

Wu perks up immediately, “Badgermoles?”

Mako immediately knows there is no way he’s getting out of a detour to Zaofu.

…

Toph makes sure they get back to the hotel in time to gather their belongings, shower, and check out. Mako is a little annoyed at how surprised the receptionist looks at seeing them still in one piece.

Then they’re going through some tunnels and then there’s two huge badgermoles that Wu immediately starts cooing endearments at.

“Badgermoles live in mated pairs,” Wu babbles excitedly as he pets one huge snout, “They mate for life. The handful of times they’ve been separated in captivity, one will always escape to find the other. They’re just like that. Always together.” He starts singing at the creatures before Mako can figure out a way to respond to that.

He settles for stepping away to speak to Toph.

“Hey, Toph.”

“Yeah, Turtleduck?”

Mako winces. He’s heard stories. He knows about Toph and nicknames. He just hopes Bolin never hears about this one. “Uh. I know it’s not my place. But you should talk to Lin. Really talk.”

“She doesn’t want to see me,” Toph says bluntly. “She made that very clear all these years.”

“Listen,” Mako sighs, “I was alone most of my life. My parents died, and I had to raise my brother, and it…messed me up a little. A lot. I don’t know. What I’m getting at is that being alone isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. And maybe if you both weren’t so damn stubborn and actually listened to each other it wouldn’t be like this!” he draws in a breath and tries to center himself. “Lin is one of the best people I know. She’s tougher than anything. But she’s lonely and some of that is your fault for not teaching her that the whole world isn’t her responsibility and that acting like you give a sh*t about people isn’t the worst thing in the universe.”

Toph is smiling at him. She reaches over and slugs him in the shoulder hard enough to numb his arm down to the fingertips.

“You’re a good kid,” she says.

“I can’t feel my hand.”

“That means I like you.”

“Oh. Good. Thanks.”

…

Dear Mako,

Bolin is going to lose his mind. I can’t believe you met Toph! Why are you in the Foggy Swamp? How did you get all the way over there?!?

Raiko keeps inviting me to these fundraising dinners and they’re no fun without you guys. Turns out you can’t go back to nibbling politely on tiny sandwiches after you’ve seen Bolin try to fit ten of them in his mouth at once or Korra challenge the Fire Nation ambassador to an arm-wrestling match. It’s just not the same.

On a more serious note, be careful if you wind up in the Zaofu region. Tensions are very high. Raiko has been putting pressure on Su to step in as temporary leader of the Earth Kingdom and she’s putting her foot down, saying she won’t be Raiko’s puppet. Kuvira, meanwhile, is disturbingly gung-ho about uniting the Earth Kingdom… Things could get ugly. Be careful.

Also, Lin is furious you haven’t sent her any postcards and is hiding it very badly.

Best,

Asami

Chapter 8: The Train

Chapter Text

The Train

Dear Asami,

Rumors that I fought a train have been greatly exaggerated. I just fought all the guys on the train. In my defense, they took Wu and I was mad at him because I told him it was a bad idea to be there in the first place, but DID HE LISTEN??? NO, HE DID NOT.

Anyway, I didn’t fight a train.

Mako

P.S. Prince Wu here, in my defense –

The rest is scribbled out because there is no defense for not listening to me when I’m right. Which is always.

…

Bursting out of the ground on the back of a badgermole right in front of two hapless Metal Clan guards is probably the most satisfying thing Mako has done in a long time, even if he’s in the somewhat undignified position of having to cling to Wu for dear life as he sings directions at massive earth bending animal.

“Um.” The first guard shoots a desperate, huge-eyed look at the other guard, who shrugs helplessly.

“We need to see Su,” Mako says firmly, letting go of Wu and sliding off the badgermole.

“Um.” The first guard says again.

“Now,” Mako growls.

“That’s a badgermole,” the second guard says helplessly.

“Yes, yes, it is!” Wu says. Mako glares at him. “What? They’re majestic creatures who should be admired.”

Pabu chitters on Mako’s shoulder, not appreciating these enormous rivals for Wu’s attention.

“Don’t worry, Pabu, you’re majestic too,” Wu blows him a kiss. Mako immediately looks away, face burning.

“Don’t do that,” he grumps.

“What? Shower our animal companions with love and adoration? No, I will not,” Wu says smugly.

“Yeah, well I’m in the love and adoration splash zone and it’s weird.”

“Mako, buddy,” Wu puts the hand not stroking a badgermole’s snout on his shoulder, “You really need to get more comfortable with affection.”

“No, I don’t,” Mako snaps, turning back toward the guards in time to catch one of them trying to covertly radio someone. “Are you radioing Su? Did you tell her we’re here?” Mako asks.

“Um.” The first guard shifts from foot to foot, “Well…not exactly.”

“What do you mean, ‘not exactly’? We’re here to see Su.”

“Well…you see…you kind of showed up…out of nowhere…and started making demands…and didn’t identify yourself…and frankly, your eyebrows are very angry…”

“What was that about my eyebrows?” Mako glares.

“If it makes you feel better, I think they’re cute,” Wu offers.

“You’re stalling,” Mako says suspiciously, “Who did you radio?”

“Mako, look out!” Wu shouts.

Mako turns too late, hands coming up on reflex, only to find his wrists and ankles abruptly cuffed together with bands of steel, which drag him down to earth. Behind him, Wu yelps, presumably receiving the same treatment. Mako feels the prince’s body slam into his back as their wrist cuffs stick together as if magnetized.

“What do we have here?” a vaguely familiar female voice drawls.

Mako looks up to see the leader of Su’s guard standing over them. At Mako’s back Wu is trying to soothe the agitated badgermole and in Mako’s ear Pabu is venting his irritation at the rough treatment.

Mako searches his memory for the woman’s name. “Kuvira?” he tries.

“That’s my name, not a proper answer.”

“Kuvira, you know who I am, we met when we went after Zaheer,” Mako says. “I’m Korra’s fire bender friend. Mako.”

Kuvira’s eyebrow tilts up, “So you are. What are you doing breaking into Zaofu?”

“We weren’t breaking in!” Mako protests, “Badgermoles just don’t do property lines!”

“And who are you?” Kuvira squints down at Wu, “I don’t remember you from when we fought the Red Lotus.”

“Ah, no, no you would not remember me,” Wu says, “Because I was not there. Prince Wu, nice to meet you. I’d do the bow and kiss the hand bit but I’m…well…handcuffed. Could we maybe do something about that?”

Kuvira’s eyes widen microscopically. “Prince Wu.”

“Yep, heir to the Earth Kingdom. Devilishly handsome charmer.” Mako snorts at that. “World-renowned singer.”

“To badgermoles, maybe,” Mako huffs.

“They have very discerning taste, thank you.”

“You found the Earth Prince,” Kuvira says. She sounds contemplative. The hair stands up on the back of Mako’s neck. He doesn’t like this. He doesn’t like whatever is going on behind Kuvira’s eyes. The same instinct for danger that kept him and Bolin alive for ten years is screaming at him that something is very off here.

Kuvira’s face clears and smooths over and that unnerving instinct-feeling only intensifies, “Congratulations, Mako.” Mako really wishes she didn’t use his name. Something about the way she says it makes him feel like she’s assessing him for some unknown purpose. “That must have been very difficult considering the wretched state the Earth Kingdom is in right now.”

“We’ve had a…complicated few weeks trying to get out.”

“Out?” Kuvira raises an eyebrow.

“Out of the Earth Kingdom.”

“We’re headed to Republic City,” Wu contributes, “Where I’m assured there are much fewer people who want us dead.”

“Don’t lump me in with you,” Mako grumbles. Pabu is tense by his cheek, which only drives down that nagging feeling of not-right-ness.

“Well, it’s your lucky day,” Kuvira says. Her eyes are still unnervingly unreadable. “President Raiko is supposed to call with a proposition for Su. You can talk to him.” She waves a hand and the metal bands release Mako and Wu as abruptly as they’d grabbed them. Wu sags against Mako’s back, but Mako is jumping to his feet immediately, dragging Wu behind him.

“Take us to see Su first,” Mako says firmly. “We have a message for her.”

Kuvira’s blank eyes flicker to the badgermole who hasn’t stopped its low, grumbly growl since she’d trussed up Wu. “Will your…friend be accompanying you?”

“No,” Wu says, sidling up to the badgermole and resting a soothing hand on its snout. He presses a kiss to the creature’s forehead, “Thank you, sweetheart,” he whispers.

The badgermole delicately head-butts Wu and, with a last grumble at Kuvira, shuffles back into the tunnel they’d emerged from. The tunnel seals itself behind the creature.

“Alright!” Wu says brightly, “Let’s go meet Su!”

Mako scoops up their bags, still full of trepidation.

…

Su is hanging up the phone when they arrive at her study. “That man is impossible!” she snaps, flinging the receiver back into the cradle. “I won’t be some puppet leader for him to manipulate!”

“Some guests to see you, Su,” Kuvira says from the doorway.

Su looks up, brow furrowed, but she still smiles when she sees them. “Mako, hello, it’s been too long,” she says, sweeping him into a hug before he can hide behind Wu.

He has no idea what to do with his hands. She’s pinned them to his sides as she squeezes the air out of his lungs. Why does every earth bender hug like they’re trying to juice his bones?

“Hi…Su…” he wheezes.

“Oh, did I squash you?” she asks, pulling away.

“Only my spine,” Mako tries for humor, “nothing important.”

Su smiles at him and Mako resists the urge to look over his shoulder and see who the expression is really directed at. He’s never met a person like Su who just…sees random people as beautiful things to be nurtured. It’s a little too touchy-feely for his tastes. Makes him feel too seen.

Bolin probably soaks it up like sunshine.

“And who is this?” Su asks lightly.

“Prince Wu, at your service, my lady,” Wu sweeps into some sort of complicated court bow, takes her hand and kisses her knuckles. “And you can only be the devastating Suyin Beifong, leader of the Zaofu Metal Clan.”

“Yeah, of course she is,” Mako sighs, “We’re in Zaofu and I called her ‘Su’.”

“Hush, you,” Wu elbows him.

Su laughs delightedly, “You two are the best things I’ve seen all day. Come on, sit down. Kuvira, why don’t you join us. We can catch up.”

“I shouldn’t leave my post, ma’am,” Kuvira says tightly. He posture seems somehow more rigid and she’s not meeting Su’s eyes.

Mako may be bad at reading people, but even he can tell something has changed since the last time he saw these women interact.

“Oh, alright,” Su says uncertainly, “I just know how concerned you are with the state of the Earth Kingdom right now –”

“Don’t call it ‘The Earth Kingdom’ as if you don’t live here too, Suyin.” Kuvira snaps.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“You may be content to sit here, but –”

“This is not the time or place to discuss this,” Su cautions, “We have guests.”

“One of whom is supposedly the leader of this country.” Kuvira argues, “I think we have some conversational leeway.”

“That’s enough,” Su says tightly. “As you mentioned before. You should return to your post.”

Kuvira shoots her a look full of contempt and strides out.

Su sags back into the couch and presses a hand to her forehead. “Things have been…tense here recently. As the situation in the Earth Kingdom deteriorates Raiko’s been putting more and more pressure on me to take charge of the Earth Kingdom for him. What he really wants is a puppet government, but he’ll never come out and say it. But I won’t be his tool and I won’t impose my will on an entire nation. It wouldn’t be right. I barely count as a citizen, what do I know about their lives? Their struggles?” she sighs.

Mako doesn’t know what to say to that so he just barrels ahead, “Your mom says hi.”

Su blinks at him. “You met Toph.”

Mako nods, a little awkwardly. “Uh. Yeah.”

“She made us the most atrocious soup,” Wu begins before Mako steps on his foot. “What? It was.”

“Don’t say that to her daughter,” Mako hisses. Pabu chitters, presumably in agreement.

Su laughs. “Oh, you don’t have to tell me. I’m well aware of the quality of my mother’s cooking. ‘Mystery stew’ and takeout were about the limits of her skillset.”

Wu gestures as if to say ‘see, Mako? Even her own daughter agrees’.

Mako just rolls his eyes. “She told us to come see you. She has a message.”

“Oh?” Su looks surprised, “She never has messages. What was it?”

“Uh. That she ‘had a bad feeling’.” He pauses. “That’s it. I’m not sure what exactly you’re supposed to get from that…”

But Su is frowning like this means something. “No, she’s right. I can’t ignore it. Things have been more than tense here. We’re building up to some kind of standoff between me and Kuvira at this rate and I don’t like the way she’s thinking.”

“The way she’s thinking?” Wu asks.

“I think she’s considering taking on the Earth Kingdom herself. Becoming Raiko’s puppet ruler in my stead.”

“But…I’m here,” Wu says, “I mean, if anyone should be a puppet ruler, it should be me.”

“That’s not something to be proud of, Wu,” Mako says.

Wu tosses his hair, “I’d make a splendid puppet ruler, Mako. Look at me, I’m all good hair and impeccable taste in fashion. What else could a puppet ruler need?”

Mako frowns at him, “You’re not serious, right?”

Wu’s playfrul expression softens, “No, I’m not serious. Things…Kuvira’s right. The things we’ve seen out there. They’re bad, Mako. Someone needs to help them. But I don’t know how we’re supposed to do that. As things stand, no one’s going to just do what I say. Ba Sing Se is in shambles, the central administration is shattered, I don’t even know where to begin.”

“Kuvira thinks she does,” Su says grimly, “But I’m not sure I like her thinking.”

“What does she want to do?” Mako asks.

“Since Ba Sing Se fell to mob rule, she’s been saying someone should go in and establish order. By force. I’m afraid she’s going to want to do the same to the rest of the Earth Kingdom.”

…

Dinner is a…tense affair. Mako had hoped Bolin would still be in the area, visiting Opal, but apparently, she’d been called away on air bender business and he’d gone with her. Mako bites back his disappointment and focuses on being as invisible as possible.

The last time he’d attended a big family meal in Zaofu he’d wanted nothing more than to be included in the conversation. Or at least to be able to hear it in the first place. Now he finds himself desperately grateful to be sandwiched between Huan and the twins. His only complaint is that Wu is all the way at the other end of the table and he can’t hear whatever insane ideas Kuvira is pouring in his ear in that damnably reasonable voice of hers. That is, when she isn’t sniping at Su. Mako would almost feel bad for her poor, neglected boyfriend, but Bataar jr. is occupying himself by attempting to start a fight with his father. Bataar might be the single most unflappable man Mako knows, but even his patience has to be wearing thin.

Mako tries not to stress.

Mako fails to not stress.

He spends the meal (delicious as always) listening to Wing and Wei talk about sports with half an ear while tracking Wu and Kuvira’s body language from across the room.

“She’s like a bird of prey, and he’s the rabbit-vole who doesn’t realize she’s a threat,” observes Huan in his even voice.

Mako’s eyes cut over to him. “Yeah. That’s the vibe I’m getting, too.”

Huan nods as if to say ‘nice talk’ and returns to his dinner.

Mako decides Huan might be his favorite of the youngest Beifong generation. Maybe tied with Opal if she keeps treating Bolin right.

This dinner cannot end soon enough.

…

After dinner Mako tries to grab Wu, but he’s off with Kuvira and Su, trying to play friendly referee. Before Mako can reach them, Bataar jr. steps in front of him, effectively blocking him from catching up to the contentious trio before they leave the room.

“What do you want?” Mako asks, trying to smother his irritation.

“Is that how you talk to people in Republic City?” Bataar jr. drawls.

Mako reminds himself that he likes Su and he will not punch her most annoying offspring in the face.

“I’m sorry. Did you want a note in calligraphy?” Mako snipes because he’s grumpy and he wants to know what Kuvira is up to because she’s clearly up to something and this is Unalaaq and Varrick all over again, he’s sure of it.

Speaking of Varrick, someone was notably absent from dinner…him and Zhu Li…

Mako does not like what this is adding up to.

“You would do well to stay out of Earth Kingdom business,” Bataar jr. says high-handedly, “It’s none of the Republic City Police Department’s concern.”

“Right now, my concern is what I say it is. And right now, I’m saying it’s Wu. Raiko sent me to find him and bring him to safety in one piece. And that is what I’m going to do.”

“You don’t know anything about the Earth Kingdom. What it needs. Who it needs,” Bataar jr. says, “Do you really think a Republic City street rat and a spoiled, airheaded prince know what’s best for our nation?”

“Do you really think you have the right to call me names?” Mako growls, “How much time have you spent out in the real Earth Kingdom? Because from where I’m standing, you’re just as much a spoiled prince as Wu, you just never bothered to leave your palace. At least he’s out there, meeting his people. You’re whining about what? Being in your father’s shadow? That’s what happens when you never bother to grow up.”

“How dare you?” Bataar jr. hisses.

“That’s enough,” his father cuts in. “Mako is our guest.”

Bataar jr. shoots his predecessor a dark look and storms out.

Definitely his least favorite Beifong, Mako decides.

The original Bataar sighs.

“We never wanted our children to want for anything. We wanted to give them space and love and support so they could go wherever their dreams took them. All parents want is a better life for their children than the life they themselves had. And Su and I have always done our best to give that to our family. Junior blames me for limiting him. But it is really he who is limiting himself with his bitterness and resentment.”

Bataar’s face is tired and sad in a way Mako hasn’t seen before. He finds himself wondering what his own father would think if they met today. Would he be proud of Mako? Or would he wear that same haggard, sorrowful look he sees on Bataar right now?

“Listen to me,” Bataar says wryly, “Going on and on. It’s not like me. I guess you’re just easy to talk to, son.”

Mako blinks. He has never, ever, in his life been classified as ‘easy to talk to’. Chatty people like Wu seem to think he’s easy to talk at, but that’s a very different kind of interaction.

He’s not sure how to respond to this.

He opts to just clear his throat and kind of vaguely nod, “Whatever helps, sir.”

At least that makes Bataar smile a little bit.

…

Wu is late getting back to their guest room and Mako is pacing, Pabu clinging sleepily to his shoulder. When Wu finally returns it’s to a harried-looking fire bender and a half-asleep fire ferret.

“Where have you been?” Mako demands.

“Oh, you’re still up,” Wu says breezily, “I got to chatting with Kuvira. She has a plan you’re gonna love.”

“I doubt that,” Mako says acidly.

Wu blithely ignores him, “So, as we had ample opportunity to notice, the Earth Kingdom is kind of completely in shambles right now. Ba Sing Se is just one big old lump of mob violence and everywhere else is pretty much bandit central! So Kuvira’s been talking to Varrick and he’s outfitted this extra special train and she’s thinking she’ll just take a contingent of Metal Clan guards and get Ba Sing Se under control! She was hoping Su would come along, as a leader and an inspiration for the people, but now that I’m here she’s thinking maybe Su doesn’t even need to come, not if she doesn’t want to! I’m the future king, after all! Who better to distribute humanitarian aid and peace in the Earth Kingdom than the soon-to-be Earth King?! So, we’ll be heading out in the morning, once Kuvira’s chatted with Su one more time. Bright and early, big guy, we’ll be on our way back to Ba Sing Se to fix everything,” Wu laughs, “Isn’t life funny sometimes?”

“What do you mean ‘we’?” Mako demands, “And since when have you agreed to be Kuvira’s royal mascot?”

“Since ten minutes ago,” Wu says, “Weren’t you listening? And I’m not going to be some mascot or figure head, I’ll be a real leader! In the thick of things! Doing good!”

“On an armored train with a woman who wants to take Ba Sing Se by force?” Mako demands.

“Well how else are we going to do it? No one’s going to just…stop stealing everything and murdering people all over the place on their own!”

“Doesn’t this all seem a little fishy to you?”

Wu throws up his hands, “I can’t believe this! Coming from you! You! Mr. Do-something-for-yourself-for-a-change-you-might-like-it! You’ve been on my case about responsibility the entire time we’ve known each other and now you’re just going to what? Jump ship and sulk because Kuvira’s type of responsibility isn’t your idea of responsibility?”

“No,” Mako snaps, “I’m saying there’s something off about her plans and the last time I thought there was something ‘off’ about a person’s plans, they threw me in jail under false pretenses and tried to kidnap the president! Sorry if I’m a little picky about people I let close to my friends!”

It’s a testament to how worked up Wu is that he doesn’t even pounce on the admission of friendship. “What would you know about geopolitics or good strategy or, I don’t know, being king? You’re just a random foreigner butting into Earth Kingdom business! Go home, if you’re not going to help. We don’t need you. I certainly don’t need you if you’re going to be like this!”

That cuts deeper than Mako expects. It always does. He never expects people to be able to hurt him and he’s always surprised when they do. He never learns.

“Well it’s not like I needed any of the Vaatu-damned bullsh*t you’ve dragged me through the last few weeks! Going home will be a f*cking vacation after being your glorified butler!”

“That I’ve dragged you, into?” Wu gapes at him, “Friendly reminder, you were the one who got yourself kidnapped by that biker gang. You were the one who decided to shout at volcano spirits. You, my good man, were the problem child of our little duo.”

“Problem child?” Mako growls. “You want to talk about problem children?”

The argument devolves from there.

In hindsight, Mako should not have been surprised when he woke up to find Wu already gone.

…

No matter how stupid their fight was, or how annoyed he is at the prince for being all high-handed and…prince-y, Mako isn’t going to let him waltz into a dangerous situation completely blind. He grabs Pabu and goes to find a Beifong.

Wing and Wei are hurling metal discs at each other again, and Mako, not liking the odds of his bones vs. a sharp, spinning, metal frisbee, decides to seek out Huan. At least he won’t decapitate him on accident.

Huan is in his studio, frowning at an abstract…something. Mako never understood art.

“Huan, I need a favor.”

Huan doesn’t look away from his work, “Hmm?”

“I need to know where the train Varrick’s building for Kuvira is. I need to get on board before they finish breakfast and leave.”

Yes, he’s hungry, and yes, he’s grumpy that he’s skipping breakfast for a paranoid hunch, but if he’s right it will be worth it.

Huan shrugs. “Sure. I can feel it under my feet. It’s very disruptive.” He turns away from his work. “Follow me.” He says, striding away without looking behind him, just like Toph in the swamp.

Mako follows.

…

Huan metal bends the door to the train’s cargo cabin open and lets Mako inside. “Don’t die,” he instructs before he closes to the hatch, “You dying would make Bolin sad. And that would make Opal sad. So, don’t die.”

“Thanks,” Mako says.

Huan nods as if that settles it, and closes the hatch.

Mako spends the next ten to fifteen minutes doing a quick recon of the train before finding a closet full of cables and circuit breakers to squash himself into.

He’s gotten as comfortable as possible with a mass of electrical cables digging into his back and sending his inner flame haywire as it tries to reach out to the electricity he can feel flowing just out of reach, when he hears voices.

“Will the prince be joining us in the command cabin?” Zhu Li’s smooth voice inquires.

Bataar jr. snorts, “Of course not. His highness,” the title sounds wrong the way he says it. It’s not like when Mako is teasing Wu, poking fun at his occasional bouts of pomposity. There’s something ugly in Bataar jr.’s tone he can’t place. “is here purely to give our project legitimacy. I doubt Kuvira plans on keeping him around. He’ll be much better off contained until the Earth Kingdom is secured under Kuvira’s much more capable leadership. Then it won’t matter what happens to him.”

There’s a pause, as if even the unflappable Zhu Li is a little taken aback. “Of course, sir,” she finally replies.

“Glad that’s settled. For now, spruce up the brig a little. We’ll get his highness settled there as soon as we depart. He’s leaving his pet fire bender in Zaofu. He’s been pouting about some fight they had all morning. I doubt his noodle-armed majesty is much of a threat.”

“Of course, sir,” Zhu Li says again.

Mako bristles. Only he’s allowed to make fun of Wu’s general…noodliness.

The pair walk off and Mako seethes.

He was right. He was right. He was RIGHT. And yet again NO ONE LISTENED TO HIM.

It’s enough to give a man a complex. For now, he’ll just focus on waiting for the train to leave. If Bataar jr. is right, they’ll throw Wu in the brig the minute they’re away from Zaofu and any potential friends or allies for the prince. Mako slips out of his electrical closet. Time to find a hiding place closer to the brig. He’ll have a prince to bust out in a few hours.

…

The train starts moving.

No signs of Wu.

The train continues to move.

Mako continues to wait. Pabu chirrs restlessly in his ear and Mako absently scratches him on the head as he listens.

Finally, finally he hears the sound of footsteps and a familiar voice.

“Wow, that tea of yours sure packs a punch, don’t it, Zhu Li?” Wu’s voice is slurred, his words all running together in a mushy mass, and it sounds like he’s staggering. Maybe Zhu Li is supporting him.

“Yes, sir,” she says blandly. “You seem out of sorts, sir. Let’s get you someplace you can lie down.”

“That sounds,” a yawn, “wonderful…”

Definitely drugged, then. Mako can feel his hands heating up as he forces down his rage at this whole damn situation. At Wu for being so naïve, at Kuvira for taking advantage of it, at Bataar jr. and Zhu Li for their parts in whatever this is. Spirits, he’s mad at Kuvira for not keeping her word. He wishes he was wrong and that Kuvira really was doing all of this in good faith. That she was allowing Wu a hand in helping aid his nation. A nation he somehow still loves despite it doing it’s damnedest to kill them the last few weeks.

He hears the sound of a door opening and a skinny, princely body hitting a thin, under-stuffed mattress.

“Sleep well, your highness,” Zhu Li says with perfect politeness, as if she were seeing Wu off after a pleasant brunch instead of dumping his unconscious body in a mobile prison cell.

Mako grinds his teeth. Pabu, on his shoulder, presses closer, sensing his frustration.

He hears the door close and the clip-clip of Zhu Li’s retreating footsteps. He waits a moment and then slips out from his hiding place. He goes to the only occupied cell and crouches, ready to pick the lock, only to find it…unlocked.

He looks up, startled, to see Zhu Li still standing at the end of the car, poised to exit. She meets his eyes and inclines her head.

Baffled, Mako nods back.

Zhu Li retreats, leaving him alone with his charge.

Wu is dead weight when he scoops the prince off the cot, but he’s not exactly hefty, and Mako gets him over one shoulder easily. It’s not the most comfortable of positions, but it leaves at least one hand free for fire bending, if necessary.

Wu startles a little when Mako first picks him up.

“Heeey, Mako, buddy,” he slurs, “Are we in jail?”

“You are; I’m busting you out.”

“Oh…I think they drugged my tea.”

“No sh*t.”

“No sh*t, my man. Big guy. Man. Big man-guy-man.”

“You are seriously drugged.”

“You know it.”

“Now shut up and let me think.”

Wu shuts up briefly, curling his fingers in the back of Mako’s jacket. “I think you were right, Mako.”

“It’s okay,” Mako says because Wu’s voice is small and scared and he’s not completely heartless, “Now, stop talking, I have to figure out where to go from here.”

Now, an escape route.

The prison car is close to the middle of the train, meaning uncoupling the car would just strand them with half a train full of Kuvira’s people. There’s no windows or emergency exits (which seems like a hazard, now that Mako’s thinking about it). Zhu Li left through the door headed toward the forward cabins, where Kuvira’s inner circle presumably lurks. So Mako’s best bet is the door to the other end of the train. He wishes he had the time to cut a rooftop hatch and just bust out that way, but he doesn’t know how long it will be before Bataar jr. comes back here to be smug in Wu’s general direction (he seems like the type. Kuvira undoubtedly has better things to do. She seems like the ruthlessly focused type. Frankly, Mako would admire her if she wasn’t trying to conquer a country and steal his traveling companion behind everyone’s backs.). The other door it is, then. Mako can only hope that one has an emergency exit.

And no immediate threats.

Mako figures his best bet is just to brazen it out. He adjusts Wu on one shoulder, Pabu clinging tightly on the other, and opens the door.

…

Mako will learn later that the doors in and out of the prison car have alarms alerting the command car when they open and close. Zhu Li will learn this too and regret not anticipating this.

…

Mako manages to get them between cars and into the next car over – some kind of dry goods supply car – and is feeling pretty okay about this rescue mission. The supply car is sort of useless, due to also not having any windows or an escape hatch, so he moves on to the next car.

The next car comes with some pros and cons.

Pro: windows.

Cons: it’s a dining car of some sort, there are several metal benders in it, an alarm undoubtedly related to the prince slung over his shoulder is blaring, and those metal benders are not looking friendly.

Mako takes a pre-emptive measure and kicks a table over to give them some sort of shield. He drops Wu, who is half awake at best, and tells him to stay down as a barrage of forks lodge themselves in their makeshift shield.

“Wu, get on my back!” Mako yells, returning fire blindly as he too crouches behind the table.

“Wha-?” the prince mumbles.

“Ugh,” Mako hurls a wave of flame at their attackers and uses the microscopic window provided to manhandle Wu into an awkward back-pack-like position over Mako’s back. “Hold on to my shoulders!” Mako orders.

Wu fumbles to do that, catching and tangling his fingers in Mako’s collar as he does so, but managing it in the end.

“Hang on tight!” Mako orders, then rocks back on his heels and aims a pair of powerful fire-jets at the table in front of them. The overturned tables shoots forward like a greased hippo-cow, slamming into the metal benders and bowling them over. Mako charges around it and bolts for the door, unlocking it and climbing out. He blasts the locking mechanism with a burst of fire hot enough to melt it just enough to stick. He swings across the gap between cars and climbs up the service ladder to the top of the train.

Wu slithers off his shoulder to stand on his own, looking green and still clinging to Mako’s arm.

Some of Kuvira’s people have skipped dodging between cars and are just running down the roof of the train. A wave of cables fly towards them and Mako closes his eyes and summons up an arc of electricity. He doesn’t guide the bolt towards the attacking metal benders, instead painting it in a wide arc in front of himself, catching their metal cables and sending literal shockwaves back through them. He sends a few blasts of fire that way to make sure they stay down.

“Go!” he shouts at Wu, grabbing him by the arm and hauling him down the train. He’s sure more of Kuvira’s minions will figure out where they are soon. They’re sitting targets out here in the open. He’s not a metal bender, he can’t just pull up a barrier if they start flinging steel after them. He swings down to the deck of the next car in the line and helps Wu down after him.

He breaks into the next car. This one is some kind of sleeper car. Blessedly empty, but with the lights still running.

Lights.

Electricity.

Mako remembers the first closet he’d hidden in. The hum of all those wires.

He searches for a wooden table. “Climb on that,” he orders Wu, “And don’t touch the walls.”

Wu, pupils huge from what must have been a staggering amount of drugs, nods mutely and does as he’s told. Mako shoves Pabu into Wu’s arms and turns away.

Mako opens up the control panel and draws just a flicker of electricity up to his hands. He tries to remember Asami’s gauntlets, how they looked, how they worked. Power crackles around his wrist and he hopes this works as he slams it into the cables.

He has a long way to go before he can imitate Asami’s gauntlets.

The blow-back from the electrical surge is enough to singe his clothes, and make his hair stand on end. His nerves are singing with it, if that singing were horribly high and shrieky and off-pitch and painful.

But everything electrical suddenly flickers and goes dark. The train itself actually shudders.

Wu is looking wide-eyed and terrified, but unhurt, as he lets Mako help him down from the table and haul him down to the last car and practically hurl him across to the caboose. Mako jumps after him, nerves still frazzled from the lightning.

“Watch my back!” he yells to Wu, “I’m uncoupling the car!”

Wu nods and turns towards the caboose’s door, presumably ready for action. Mako flicks his fingers and summons a band of super-heated flame. He had tried to use a thin blade of fire to saw through their prison bars when he and Bolin had been jailed at Ba Sing Se, and it had worked, albeit slowly. He’s hoping for less of a ‘precision cutting tool’ and more of a ‘great saw of fire capable of melting through metal hopefully faster than these guys can catch up to us’.

He’s pouring sweat and about halfway through the car coupling when the door to the caboose is ripped open and someone yells “What on earth is all that racket?”

Vaatu’s slimy arse, Mako cannot catch a break. Of course it’s Varrick.

“Sorry to interrupt.” Mako’s not sorry at all. “But we’re escaping a kidnapping and you’re in the way.”

“A kidnapping attempt?” Varrick sounds honestly puzzled. “Who’s getting kidnapped? Other than me, because it very much looks like you’re trying to kidnap me.”

“It was me,” Wu giggles. The drugs have not worked their way out of his system, no matter how hard the adrenaline must be fighting them.

Varrick must have reached for Wu or something, because Paub shrieks his fury and suddenly Mako hears a string of curses and Varrick wailing for Zhu Li to come save him.

“Zhu Li’s not here right now,” Mako snaps, “She’s up front with Kuvira. Why are you in the caboose?”

“This is where my lab is! I think a better question is why are you trying to detach my caboose?! Wait, that came out wrong…”

A crash further up the train and the sound of screaming steel.

“That’s why!” Mako shouts.

“Pabu, stop biting the funny man’s mustaches,” Wu laughs.

The who train jolts.

“You know what, no, this is insane, move over,” Varrick declares, “I’m not getting stranded in the wilderness because you two are having what sounds like a very bad day. I’m going over to that other car over there, and I will manually un-link the cars so you can stop burning holes in my train!”

“Sure, fine, whatever,” Mako snaps. The whole train jolts again. “But make it snappy!”

“I will!” Varrick shouts, jumping across. He does something involving a lever and a wrench he’d kept in some hidden pocket and the caboose pops free of the train. “See?!” Varrick yells after them, “This way maybe my lab car will stay intact…”

His voice fades rapidly as the caboose slows and the rest of the train charges on without it.

Mako, exhausted, extinguishes any lingering flames and sags back against the caboose’s door. Wu sinks down to slump beside him, Pabu pooled on their laps.

“I’m still…very drugged…” Wu observes.

Mako huffs a laugh, “Yeah you are.”

“That was…wild.” Wu says.

“Yep.”

“I’m sorry, Mako. I was a royal brat.”

“You’re always a royal brat.”

“Well how do you like that for graciousness,” Wu huffs.

“But,” Mako says, “I’m sorry too. And I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Okay?” Wu snorts, “I am so dizzy right now. Whole world’s one big smear. Your face is like a big ol’ blob with pointy hair and angry eyebrows.”

“My eyebrows aren’t angry!”

…

Dear Mako,

You have a wanted poster now. Congratulations. Kuvira wants you ‘for questioning regarding acts of violence against Earth Kingdom citizens and property’. There’s another wanted poster, this one for ‘The alleged Wu Hou-Ting, pretender to the throne’.

Do you need me to go out there? Do you need Lin?

Mako, I wish I could send this to you, but I don’t know where you are.

Your very worried friend,

Asami

Chapter 9: The Singing Nomads

Chapter Text

The Singing Nomads

Dear Asami,

So, you may have heard that I’m a wanted criminal again. I stand by what I did but the wanted posters are a little much.

You may have also heard something about me crashing a wedding and getting chased by a very angry park ranger. This is…unfortunately true.

All I want is a nap,

Mako

…

Mako has only himself to blame for this. He was the one who said “sure, just don’t get killed” when Wu saw the band of nomads and approached them. He could have put a stop to this before it even started.

He did not and now they’re here.

‘Here’ being wandering with a bunch of flower-bedecked musical weirdos who seem to always be just this side of intoxicated.

Mako tries to think on the bright side. He’s fond of lists, so he makes a mental list.

Reasons Traveling with Drunken Troubadours is Not That Bad – a List

Reason 1: They have food. Yes, it’s weird…possibly laced with hallucinogens food. But food. Questionably intoxicating food is better than no food.

Reason 2: Wu likes them, ergo Wu has been complaining less. This is good.

Reason 3: Kuvira will never, ever, in a million years think to look for them here.

Reason 4: …there is no reason 4.

Of course, Mako can’t resist the urge to make a mental list of all the reasons traveling with drunken troubadours is Horrible, Awful, and not to be attempted if you value your sanity. It is mostly song titles, as the troubadours NEVER STOP SINGING. And all their songs are AWFUL and DON’T EVEN RHYME.

They’re currently singing their fourth rendition of ‘Secret Tunnel’ of the morning and Mako wants to die. If Kuvira herself turned up in the next five seconds he would walk up to her with open arms and beg to be taken prisoner. Anything to get this Vaatu-blasted tune out of his head.

They’d been walking for a day and a half (and Wu was not happy when he realized fleeing for their lives meant no food or supplies or changes of clothes) when they ran into the troubadours, who welcomed them with open arms. It’s been three days since then. Wu’s hair is full of flowers. He’s learning how to play all their instruments. Their leader, a scruffy-looking character who never seems to button his damn shirt and who’s constantly bragging about how his great-grandfather met the Avatar one time, has been flirting with Wu outrageously since day two.

Mako, on the other hand, has had a headache since day one, keeps having to dodge flower wreaths as various musicians try to drape them over him, and has given up on these damn people ever remembering his name.

“Mako, you have to embrace the journey,” Wu says cheerily. The troubadours have not improved Wu’s concept of personal space. He’s practically draped his entire skinny body over Mako. “That’s what Ling keeps saying.”

“Well if Ling says it,” Mako resists the urge to roll his eyes at the mention of the troubadours’ handsy leader.

“Exactly. Ling says it!” Wu chirps.

Mako squints at his pupils. “Have you been drinking?”

“Only a little. Chao bought some homebrew wine in the last town they stopped by and wowza is it good.”

“You’re swaying,” Mako says flatly, reaching an arm around to steady his floppy companion.

“Huh, and here I thought the world was just a little more crooked than usual,” Wu beams up at him like this is a fantastic revelation.

“You exhaust me.”

“Hey, Sweet Stuff –” creepy, flirty, annoying troubadour’s current nickname for Wu, and the source of one of Mako’s rapidly multiplying headaches, “and…uh, guy,” see? They can’t seem to remember his name. It’s an easy name! “We’re getting kinda close to the Cave of Two Lovers.”

“Ooh, there’s a song about that place!” says one of the troubadours, probably Chao of the homebrew.

“Yeah, how’s it go again?” another asks.

“Go?” Mako blinks, “You mean ‘Secret Tunnel’? The song you’ve been singing ALL DAY?”

“Oh, yeah, definitely!”

Mako’s eyebrow twitches.

“The spot’s really romantic,” Ling continues.

Mako gives up and rolls his eyes. “Of course, it is. It’s called ‘Cave of Two Lovers’. Romance is in the name.”

“You think they thought of that when they named it?”

Mako exhales through his nose, “I genuinely can’t tell if you’re the dumbest person I’ve ever met or just completely wasted.”

“It’s all good, Guy,” Ling says, like that makes sense.

Mako genuinely wonders if these people all think his name is literally just ‘Guy’.

He opens his mouth, unsure what on earth he could possibly say in the face of this nonsense conversation, when Wu interrupts.

“Oh! Look! A waterfall!”

That successfully diverts everyone’s attention and at least puts a halt to the singing.

“You seem grumpy,” Wu observes, still leaning on Mako, watching with half an eye as the rest of the party wades into the pool at the bottom of the small waterfall, exclaiming at the water.

“And here I thought I was hiding it so well,” Mako deadpans.

Wu pouts and pokes Mako’s nose. “I’m having fun.”

“Yes, you are,” Mako agrees.

“So, you should too!” Wu pokes Mako in the nose again.

“What if this isn’t fun for me?”

Wu’s face falls. “But…I want to have fun with you!”

“We don’t really have fun together,” Mako tries to be gentle, crooking a smile, “We spend most of our time running for our lives together.”

Wu’s face folds into some complex emotion Mako can’t track. “We should fix that.”

“If you say so.”

Wu suddenly brightens. “We can fix that at the waterfall! Water is fun! Swimming! Fun! Come on, Mako!” He bolts away, still clinging to Mako’s wrist and hauling him along in his wake.

Mako just lets himself be dragged. With Wu this out of it, he’ll probably just upset him if he fights this.

He does manage to convince the prince to, at the very least, take off his jacket and shoes before jumping into the water.

Wu pops up like a cork, bobbing in the water and shoving sodden curls out of his eyes. “See, Mako! Fun!”

Despite himself, Mako smiles a little at Wu’s big, goofy smile.

Mako takes the time to take off his jacket, overshirt, shoes, and socks, and fold them neatly. He keeps his money stashed in a series of small pockets he sewed into the waist band of his trousers. He knows better than to leave valuables sitting around where someone or something can take them.

Wu is treading water and looking around him like a swimming hole is the most exciting thing to ever happen to him. “They never used to let me swim like this,” he says out of nowhere.

“What do you mean?” Mako asks, dunking his head in the water and scrubbing at his hair. Might as well try to get something clean if they’re going to be here awhile.

Wu flops back to float, “I was taught how to swim because swimming is a dignified sort of exercise a royal might contemplate partaking in,” his tone shifts slightly and Mako can hear the echoes of Grand Secretariat Gun in his words, “But it was always in the pool in the royal complex. My great-aunt would have a conniption if she knew her heir was swimming in a hole in the ground like an animal.” He laughs, bright and loud and unrestrained.

Mako snorts, “I learned how to swim in the ocean,” he admits.

“Really?” Wu rolls over and paddles his way, green eyes big, “I’ve never seen the ocean. What’s it like?”

Mako shrugs, “Big. Salty. Loud.”

Wu pouts and pokes him in the chest. “You’re bad at describing things,” he pauses, “and what is with this torn undershirt,” he hooks a finger in the crookedly repaired rip in the collar of Mako’s tank top.

“Hey, hands off, I don’t want to have to re-stitch that,” Mako swats his hand away, feeling unaccountably flushed. Must be the scrutiny. Mako never did like people judging him and Bolin for their scruffy wardrobes. He’d done his best, okay?

Wu rolls his eyes and throws up his hands, “Very well, Mr. Huffy.”

“I’m not huffy.”

Wu tweaks his nose.

“What is with you and my nose?!”

“I’m drunk and it’s cute! You scrunch it all up when you’re angry. Yeah! Like that! And your eyebrows go all ‘grrrr’. My eyebrows can’t do that.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Mako shoves Wu’s face away, “Go bother your new friends.”

“Nooo, you haven’t told me about the ocean yet!”

Mako huffs, “It’s big, it’s salty. It’s really cold. My mom taught me and Bolin how to swim in it. My dad would sit on the beach and cheer us on. Mom would try to get him to get in with us and he’d joke that he was an earth bender so he’d sink like a rock. My mom scrunched her nose up when she laughed.”

“Like you,” Wu offers.

“No,” Mako says, “She was always laughing around my dad. She didn’t get angry like me.”

Wu stares at him and Mako holds his gaze until it gets too heavy and he has to look away. After a long moment, where he’s sure Wu will take the hint and change the damn subject Wu reaches out and gently pokes his nose again whispering “boop,” under his breath.

Mako looks back at him just to glare him into submission, but Wu is smiling. “Thank you for sharing that, Mako.”

Mako looks away, uncomfortable again, “Yeah. Um. Just. Go play with your annoying friends.”

“Okay, buddy,” Wu’s eyes are soft.

Mako listens to him paddle away and stands in the water, letting it lap against his chin and thinks about the ocean.

…

It is apparently a law of the universe that whenever Mako relaxes his guard some new absurdity must hit.

They’ve settled by the waterfall, the troubadours putting out a picnic lunch and breaking out their instruments for yet another musical interlude. Wu has sobered up a bit, and abstained from more of the homebrew in favor of water. Mako is letting his clothes dry out and his mind drift as Ling continues to flirt outrageously with Wu while the prince completely fails to recognize it. It’s annoying, but Mako has decided he won’t pick Ling up and throw him under the waterfall unless Wu sounds uncomfortable or abothered by the attention.

This is, of course, when the park ranger shows up riding an ostrich horse and looking peeved.

“HEY! YOU LOT! THIS IS PROTECTED LAND! GET OUT!”

Wu stands up and waves, “Hey, don’t worry about it, buddy! I’m the Earth King and I say it’s okay!”

The park ranger squints at him, looking unimpressed. “Aren’t you that pretender to the throne I keep hearing about?” The ranger’s beady eyes cut over to Mako. “And you’re the violent criminal helping him!”

“I’m the what?” Mako demands.

The park ranger brandishes a pair of wanted posters. Mako finds himself staring down at a rough sketch of himself. Somehow his eyebrows are even pointier, though, which feels a bit unnecessary.

The park ranger compares their faces to the faces on the posters.

“How did Kuvira get those out so quickly?” Mako mutters.

“She is one determined lady,” Wu agrees, “And she really doesn’t like you.”

“I think she dislikes you more, Mr. Earth King.”

“I don’t know, I didn’t break her train.”

“Shut up.”

“You are these guys!” the park ranger decides.

“Well, f*ck,” Mako says.

“We’ll protect you!” Chao declares, gathering up all the flowers they’d collected so far and flinging them at the park ranger, who reels back.

“Hey! Flower party!” another troubadour cheers, scooping up flowers and tossing them at the ostrich horse, who sneezes and sidesteps nervously.

“We’ll cover for you, Sweet Stuff,” Ling says dramatically, “You and Guy get out of here!” He bradishes a tiny flute and lets out a piercing high note that has the ostrich horse shrieking in response. “I’d kiss you dramatically, but, you know, gotta flute!”

“What? Why would you – ?” Wu blurts.

“Running away now, sexuality crisis later,” Mako decides, glaring at Ling and dragging Wu away from the shrieking, sneezing, flower-be-decked ostrich horse, its unfortunate rider, and some truly terrible flute music.

…

They run until they hit a cave.

“Rest – rest now?” Wu wheezes.

Mako is tempted to the let the prince stop to catch his breath, but then he hears a growl deep in the cavern.

“No, no, nope,” he shouts, yanking Wu back as a wolf bat comes charging out, snapping and howling at being disturbed during its daytime rest. Behind it, other wolf bats hear and take up the howl, surging towards them in a wave of wings, teeth, and fur.

“RUNNING, RUNNING NOW, RUNNING AWAY VERY FAST!” Wu shrieks.

“Run away faster!” Mako yells.

…

They’re tired by the time they reach the path. That’s the only excuse Mako can come up with for why they don’t see the places where the path is badly crumbled and in need of repair. As it stands, they’ve made decent progress, haven’t heard from either of their pursuers in long enough that they feel comfortable finally dropping back down to a walking pace, and have made the mistake of assuming they’re safe.

This is, of course, the exact moment Wu steps on a rock wrong. The prince wavers, nearly toppling, when Mako jumps forward to catch him. On most other paths, this would have been fine. As it is, this means the bulk of their combined weight lands on a particularly fragile chunk of trail, which proceeds to crumble like a stale biscuit underneath them.

One minute they’re standing mostly upright. The next they’re falling.

Wu shrieks, Mako swears and hugs the panicked prince closer while firing off a blast of flame from one hand and both feet in an attempt to slow/stabilize their fall.

“QUIT WRIGGLING!” Mako yells, “JUST HOLD ON!”

“WHAT’S HAPPENING, WHAT’S HAPPENING, ARE WE DEAD, WHAT’S HAPPENING?” Wu babble-screams.

They wobble mid-air, crashing into and through a series of small, cliffside shrubs and saplings until they finally hit ground. It’s not flat ground, though. They’re somehow still sliding. Wu is wrapped around Mako’s torso like a terrified limpet. Mako wraps his arms around Wu and blasts fire from his feet to try to at least counter the inexorable drag of gravity. As it is, they plummet-skid their way down a steep hillside, through some very unpleasant bushes and are finally, finally spat out onto some kind of plateau or shelf.

Mako twists around, trying to make sure they don’t shoot across the shelf and out into the void again. Unfortunately, tangled as they are, twisting around is a risky proposition, especially when several limbs are blasting fire-jets. One of the jets ends up pointed the wrong way and shoots them off to the side, where they crash into and tangle with not just each other, but some kind of marquee, which sways, creaks, and collapses on top of them in a heap of silky fabric and lightweight wood.

Mako, whose entire body is starting to feel like one big bruise, groans, and tries to sit up, pulling a whimpering Prince Wu along with him. When he finally wrestles them free of the clinging fabric, they look around, blinking, dazed, and confused, at the wreckage of what had probably been a pretty nice archway, and several rows of furious, frightened, and just plain outraged wedding guests. The couple in the front, standing before the officiant are unabashedly gaping at them.

“Huh.” Wu says weakly. “Well. Um. Hello everyone. Nice wedding you have here.”

Mako groans again.

…

Somehow, they’re allowed to stay. They’re even given seats. The brides, a lovely pair of women named Yan and Song, are extremely gracious considering they literally crashed into the happiest day of their lives.

The ceremony is short and to the point. The brides are radiant and only have eyes for each other. Mako’s just glad they skipped the flowery speechifying, because as nice as it was for the brides to find them seats on short notice, this folding chair is digging into all of his bruises. He cuts his gaze over to Wu, who has to be at least a little bit as battered as he is, but the other man is staring, transfixed, at the two women up front as the officiant binds them in matrimony.

Finally, ceremony complete, everyone gets up to mingle and talk about how beautiful it was. Mako attempts to do the same, but finds all his muscles have locked up in interim and the least agonizingly painful option is actually staying in the uncomfortable chair. At least Wu is here to keep him company.

“I didn’t know it could be like that,” the prince murmurs in a small voice.

“What?” Mako asks. He’s staring at the mouth of the cave behind the platform where the ceremony took place. There’s a sign carved into the rock above it designating it ‘The Cave of Two Lovers – may love always shine brightest in the dark’. Funny, they managed to land at the cave in the song.

“I didn’t know,” Wu shrugs a little helplessly. “You have to understand, in the Upper Ring marriages are arranged. They’re very formal and they’re always about property and heirs. No one really marries for love and we’re taught from a young age that marrying for love is…well…silly. Stupid. Common. Crude.”

Mako is staring at him. Wu hunches his shoulders up and looks away.

“My parents married for love and they were shunned for it. My mother was a civil engineer. My father met her at university. She had all these plans for making the Earth Kingdom better and he fell in love with her, even though she had a big nose and no title. And everyone said he was a fool and that they got what they deserved when they were killed in a train accident.”

“That’s horrible.”

Wu shrugs. “It’s Upper Ring stuff. My great-aunt made it very clear she didn’t expect me to succeed her when she refused to arrange a betrothal for me. She said she didn’t want my mother’s blood to taint her throne. She told me that, right to my face. I was seven, I think. And I was told on no uncertain terms that if I ever did marry it would be for the good of the family.”

“Was that why you were surprised when Ling said he’d kiss you?” Mako asks, the pieces starting to come together.

Wu flushes, “I never knew it was okay. To like someone like that.”

“To what? Just…like someone? Or to like another man?”

“Both, sort of. It’s just not talked about where I’m from. You get married, have heirs, secure your position at court. It’s very…transactional. I didn’t realize it was an option, not really, not for me.” He chuckles a little bitterly, “I feel silly sometimes, Mako.”

“You are silly,” Mako says instantly, bumping the prince’s shoulder with his own.

Wu chuckles, “There’s just so much about the world I don’t know. About people.”

“Well,” Mako doesn’t know what he’s doing. He’s not the comforting type. He’s not the type people pour their hearts out to. He tried to be that with Korra and got a desk thrown at him for his troubles. They were always too similar for comfort. “There’s a lot I don’t know about the world too. We’re learning. Together.”

Wu leans against him. “Thanks, Mako. I wouldn’t want to be stranded in the middle of nowhere with anyone else.”

“Thanks, I think.”

“You’re welcome.”

…

Dear Mako,

YOU ARE GOING TO GIVE ME GRAY HAIRS, I SWEAR.

Whatever you said to Toph in the swamp made a big impression. Like. Show up to Republic City and try to hash everything out with Lin once and for all big impression. Lin refuses to fight her eighty-two-year-old mother the way she fought Su, so she’s hiding in my office to avoid talking to her, but pretending she’s here on Very Important Business.

Also, Raiko was being a pain so I stole his favorite pen off his desk. In my defense, he left the room, and it was just there, looking all gold and shiny and he KEEPS TWIRLING IT LIKE A POMPOUS JERK EVERY TIME I MEET WITH HIM – so I took it. But now I don’t know what to do with it, so I’m hiding it in my desk. I need the rest of Team Avatar back; I’m clearly losing my mind.

Lin is reading this over my shoulder and now she wants Raiko’s pen just so she can take notes in front of him with it. I swear, you two are two peas in a contrary bastard pod sometimes.

Try to stay in one piece, I’m begging you.

Best,

Asami

Chapter 10: Frozen Frogs

Chapter Text

Frozen Frogs

Dear Asami

You may have noticed this is not Mako’s handwriting. That’s because it’s Prince Wu! Mako is ill and has demanded I write you a postcard because “that’s what we do.” But all his dictation is feverish gibberish, so I’m just pretending to write what he’s saying because it really, really doesn’t make any sense.

Anyway, I’m sure Mako is thinking of you. Don’t worry about us too much! We’re still lost but we have Jinora now!

Cheers,

Wu

…

“Just admit you have a cold!” Wu demands, flinging his hands up in the air like that will somehow convince Mako to show weakness. Ha. Nice try Mr. Prince. Mako knows better than to admit he’s sick.

“I’m fine,” Mako rasps. It’s just dusty. Yeah, dusty. That’s why his throat is scratchy. He’s not sick.

“The road is not dusty, you used that excuse yesterday, don’t even try it!” Wu has both hands on his hips and looks five seconds away from shaking a prissy finger at Mako.

“Maybe it’s still dusty. You don’t know the road,” Mako counters. Brilliant. Genius. He’s a savant of comebacks.

“You’re flushed and sweating and aren’t making any sense!”

“I’m a fire bender. We’re warm-blooded.”

“All mammals are warm-blooded, fire benders aren’t special!”

Wow. Insulting much. “Don’t call me a mammal.” Mako has no idea what a mammal is, but it sounds like an insult.

“…all humans are mammals!”

“All humans are stupid sh*theads, but you don’t hear me throwing it around all casual.”

Wu is gaping openly at him. “You’re deranged. You’re feverish and deranged.”

“See, I know words. And deranged is an insulting word. You can’t trick me.”

Wu buries his face in his hands. “We’re going to die. We’re going to die because I got Mako sick and he’s the only thing keeping things from killing, maiming, and eating me.”

“Cannibalism is against at least three Republic City legal codes.”

“Good for Republic City. Why does that matter?!”
Mako blinks at him. “You seemed worried about people eating you.”

“No, I actually wasn’t worried about that, I was worried about ferocious beasts killing and eating me, but I’M WORRIED ABOUT CANNIBALS NOW!”

Mako blinks again, slower. “I would stop the cannibals.”

Wu makes a squeaking noise of pure frustration. Pabu echoes the noise from the prince’s shoulder because ever since they fell down a mountain Pabu seems to think Wu is the safer bet for shoulder-sitting. Which is ridiculous because they both fell down that mountain, and Mako was the one who kept them from going splat at the bottom of it.

No, he’s not jealous of Wu’s rapport with animals. That would be insane.

“Mako, Mako, Mako,” Wu grabs him by both shoulders and tries to shake him. He fails to shake him because after all the insulting comments Mako isn’t going to let him have the satisfaction. “YOU. ARE. SICK.”

“Nope.”

“YOU CAN’T JUST OPT OUT OF THE TRUTH!”

Mako shrugs and keeps walking.

Wu and Pabu both make the squeaking noise again.

…

Mako is willing to admit, deep in the depths of his mind, that he’s probably sick. He’s a realistic kind of person. He’s had to be to keep up with Bolin’s sheer, rock-headed optimism. But Mako has never had the luxury of nursing his ills or licking his wounds. Weakness was what got you stabbed and robbed in some anonymous alley, leaving your vulnerable baby brother to fend for himself in a world that couldn’t care less about his existence. So Mako has carefully honed his abilities to work through anything. To bare his teeth and snarl twice at loudly, hit twice as hard, burn twice as hot, when his body is betraying him.

He can’t tell Wu he’s sick. The prince will probably try to coddle him. Try to get them to slow down, take a break, whatever it is princes do when they’ve caught the sniffles.

So, yet again it’s on Mako to keep marching forward even as his temperature climbs and his vision swims. He has to keep them moving. He has to keep them safe.

He has to never show weakness.

…

Mako wakes slowly the next morning. The air is syrupy around him and his head weighs as much as Varrick’s stupid train. He blinks. Wonders where Bolin is.

“Bo?” he asks, and his voice doesn’t sound right, either.

He hears chittering to one side and suddenly there’s a red and white furred creature mere finger-widths away from his face. He’d jerk away from it, but his head is the weight of a train and it’s just not worth it once he recognizes Pabu.

“Pabu? Where’s Bo?” he slurs.

Pabu chirps and skitters off again. Typical. Always did like Bolin better than him. Like everyone else on the f*cking planet. Wu would probably like Bolin better than Mako, if they ever met.

Wait.

Wu.

sh*t.

“Wu? Pabu, where’s Wu?”

Pabu comes scampering back with a blur of green. “Hey, there buddy. You’re pretty sick, huh?”

“Wu? Where’s Bo? We okay?”

“I don’t know who Bo is, buddy.” Wu’s eyebrows bunch up fretfully. Mako wants to press his thumb over the creases between his brows, smooth them back down. He doesn’t. Mostly because his limbs feel like someone filled them with lead and moving just isn’t worth it.

“Bolin,” Mako’s voice is strained to his own ears, “Bro – Bolin. Where’s my brother, Bolin?”

Wu’s face doesn’t clear but his expression shifts, “He’s not here.”

A bolt of panic burns its way through Mako’s nervous system. “Where is he? Is he safe?”
“Yeah, yes, big guy, he’s safe, but you’ve got to calm down. He’s off doing air bender things with his girlfriend. But buddy, if you try charging off all feverish I’m not going to be able to stop you. And I really don’t want you to go charging off all feverish and maybe die in the wilderness. That would be very bad.”

Mako blinks. That does sound very bad. “Yes. Bad.” He agrees.

“Good, glad we’re on the same page.”

“Hmm,” Mako doesn’t want to agree to any of this page-sharing nonsense right away, so he sticks with a noncommittal kind of response.

“Oh, boy,” Wu sighs. “We never can do anything the easy way around here, can we?”

Pabu chitters in agreement.

…

The next day? Few hours? Mako isn’t sure – are a blur of Wu trying to get him to drink water, and trying to get his fever to go down, mostly but putting wet rags on his face, which Mako does not appreciate.

Mako can tell time passes, mostly because the rags dry out periodically, but he has no idea how much. He fades in an out of consciousness, dreams of fire, and spirits, and strangers with the same faces as his friends, chasing each other round and round in his head. He blinks awake once to Wu peering fretfully down at him.

“You’re not getting better. Mako, you have to get better.”

Which. Excuse you, Prince Wu, Mako doesn’t have to do anything he doesn’t want to do. He’s a free person.

Mako doesn’t say any of that because he’s dreaming again.

The next time he opens his eyes, he’s fairly certain he’s dreaming again because Avatar Aang, but, like, the young Avatar Aang who defeated Fire Lord Ozai, not Tenzin’s dad Avatar Aang, is peering down at him with worried brown eyes.

“I’m glad I was in the area. It was smart to flag me down, Your Highness.”

“Oh, uh, you don’t have to call me ‘highness’, Master Air Bender.”

“Jinora,” Maybe-not-Avatar-Aang says.

“Master Jinora, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Huh. Not young Avatar Aang, then. That explains why Wu can see the child with the blue tattoo.

“I just wish the circ*mstances were better,” the air bender frowns down at Mako.

Wait. Mako knows an air bender named Jinora. But she had hair. And no arrows. The dream is trying to trick him! “Stupid dream,” he slurs, “Trying to trick me. Jinora’s not Aang.”

Jinora(?) and Wu share concerned looks.

“He’s feverish,” Wu explains.

“I remember Gran-Gran telling us a story about something like this. When she was traveling with my grandfather, she and Uncle Sokka got sick with some kind of fever. The cure was sucking on frozen frogs from this one swamp.”

“Spirits, not the haunted swamp again,” Wu sags in place.

“Haunted -?” Jinora shakes her head, “No, a different swamp.”

“Hate swamps,” Mako opines because he doesn’t want to be left out of the conversation, even if it is confusing.

“I know,” Wu says soothingly.

Mako sticks his tongue out at the prince, feeling sure he’s being made fun of, but not sure how exactly. Better safe than sorry.

Jinora looks nonplussed at the gesture. “I have never seen Mako do anything like that before.”

“Yeah, normally he’s all buttoned up and stiff and boring. It’s been a weird day.”

Mako frowns. He knows he’s not the fun brother. Everyone knows he’s not the fun brother. But he’s not boring. He’s very exciting. He can set things on fire. That’s the most exciting thing you could possibly do to things! He makes sure to tell Wu all of this.

Wu and Jinora look extra perturbed, like they aren’t sold on his ‘fire is awesome’ argument. Which is fair. Fire also kills people. Fire killed his parents.

“Fire might be the worst type of bending,” he says confidently, “But it’s not boring. Being the worst of something is interesting. And I’m the worst. Ergo, interesting.”

Wu looks like he might cry, which is definitely not what Mako was going for, and Jinora looks like she wants to hug him, which is creepy, so maybe he’s not so good at this talking thing.

“We need to go get some frozen frogs,” Jinora declares. “Load him onto Oogi and we’ll get going.”

“I…might need some help with that,” Wu admits, “Upper body strength is not my forte.”

Mako decides going back to sleep will spare him some discomfort, so he closes his eyes again.

…

He wakes up in the air. He really should be more concerned about that, but he’s sort of beyond caring at this point. Pabu is curled up on his chest, and his head and shoulders are propped up against Wu’s lap.

“You’re awake,” Wu says, voice uncharacteristically soft. He’s running his hands through Mako’s permanently messy hair, which is probably super gross because Mako keeps sweating for some reason, but Wu isn’t complaining, so Mako is going to take the win.

“Ugh,” Mako grunts.

“Mm, you’re having a rough day, aren’t you, big guy?”

“Bleh,” Mako agrees. He doesn’t feel like words right now.

“That’s okay,” Wu says, “Because Jinora and I are going to get you some nice frogs and you’ll start to feel better.”

Frogs don’t sound like they would make anyone, anywhere, feel better, but Mako is willing to give them a shot. “Mm,” he agrees.

Wu keeps combing gentle fingers through his hair. It’s nice, like how his mom used to sooth him back to sleep when his brain wouldn’t stop running through all the ways everything ever could go wrong.

And then, of course, everything ever went wrong in the one way he’d never planned for and he’d had to adapt.

“Who told you fire bending was the worst kind of bending?” Wu asks, quietly.

Mako snorts, “Life.”

“But your fire bending is so beautiful, and you use it so magnificently. How is that the worst?”

“Fire benders kill people. Killed my parents. Killed Asami’s mom. Killed the fire Air Nation. Fire kills.”

“Hmm,” Wu hums, “I don’t know. I think all the types of bending can do that. Air bending killed my great-aunt. And metal bending is tearing the Earth Kingdom apart. And you said Unalaaq was a water bender. And that Amon fellow from the news a year or so ago, he was a blood bender. And my great-aunt was a horrible tyrant and she never bent an element in her life. Don’t blame the fire because it burns. Blame the people who use it to burn other people.”

“He’s right,” Jinora agrees, kneeling next to him. “Zaheer was the scariest man I’ve ever met. He was an air bender, like me, but he didn’t care about any of the things Dad made sure to teach me and my siblings about being air benders. To him, respecting and cherishing life, the most important tenet of our culture, our philosophy…was just another restriction on his so-called ‘freedom’. He took a beautiful, powerful gift and used it to hurt people. To destroy lives. I was afraid, because that meant that I could do those things too. And when I saw what he did to Korra…part of me wanted to. But I didn’t.”

Mako blinks hazily at her. She’s so young. He thinks about when he was her age. If someone had done a fraction of what Zaheer done to Korra to Bolin, he would have burned them alive.

“You use your bending to protect people,” Wu says, “you protected me all this time. Even when I told you not to.”

Mako doesn’t know what to say to any of that, and his brain feels like lukewarm soup, so he just turns his face away and buries it in Wu’s jacket.

“Maybe we should have waited until he was less feverish to have the big philosophy talk, huh?” Wu says lightly.

“I don’t know,” Jinora says, “This way he’s a captive audience.”

Ha. Mako knew deep down she had a little deviousness of her own.

…

Mako wakes up fully coherent for the first time in days to a wriggling, slimy, something in his mouth.

He immediately spits the thing out, gagging. “WHAT THE f*ck WAS THAT?” he shouts, scrubbing at his face as a frog ribbits and hops away from him. “That had better not have been in my mouth,” he growls at Wu when the other man approaches.

Wu props one hand on his hip, and frowns down at him, “Wow, no ‘thank you, Wu’? I went into a swamp for that frog! I ruined a perfectly good pair of socks for you!”

“Why was I eating a frog?” Mako demands.

“You got sick; it was the only cure! Jinora said so!”

“Jinora?” Mako frowns, “Since when do you talk to Jinora?”

“Since he flagged me down when I was passing by on Oogi,” the girl explains, approaching. She looks good, her eyes bright, her arrow shining on her bristly head. “You were really out of it. Wu was right to be worried.”

Mako scowls on principle but he can’t really argue with people so genuinely concerned with his health and well-being.

“Pabu was worried about you,” Wu huffs, the fire ferret in question chasing after the frog as it frantically tries to hop away.

“Yeah. Real torn up about me, I see,” Mako says dryly. “Thank you, Master Jinora,” he emphasizes the ‘master’ just to make her grin like the kid he hopes she still gets the chance to be these days.

“What? No thanks for Wu? Your faithful companion and nurse?!” the prince protests.

“You’re welcome, Mako,” Jinora says with mock-seriousness.

Wu throws his hands in the air and huffs dramatically.

Mako raises his eyebrows. Jinora rolls her eyes. For a moment it’s like they never left air temple island.

…

“So, still hanging out with that punk?” Mako asks as Jinora loads Oogi back up. She’d regretfull told them she was on a time-sensitive supply run to Omashu and wouldn’t be able to return them to Republic City. Wu had assured her they had things well in hand and weren’t lost at all, just taking the scenic route. Jinora’s blank stare had told them exactly how much of that she believed.

“You mean Kai?” Jinora asks sweetly. “And yes. He’s nice.”

Mako snorts. “You’re too good for him.”

Jinora laughs, “I thought you and Kai settled your differences.”

“We’ll settle our differences when he settles my wallet back in my hand,” Mako grumps playfully.

Jinora snickers, “Good luck with that.”

Mako chuckles, “Told you, he’s a punk.”

“Mako,” Jinora pauses, suddenly serious, “I don’t know how much you remember, but when you were feverish, you said some things. And I don’t think you meant for us to hear them, but…I’m worried about you.”

Mako stiffens, “You don’t need to worry about me. You’re a kid. It’s not your job to worry about me. I’m fine.” He mentally kicks himself at how similar he sounds to Lin. He really is like a turtleduckling with her. Toph was right.

Jinora looks sad, “But Mako, you’re a kid too.”

Mako snorts, “I haven’t been a kid in a long time.”

Jinora reaches out and rests a hand on his arm. “Kai’s a lot like you. He keeps all this stuff inside. All his problems, and, when he cares about someone, all their problems too. You said fire bending was the worst kind of bending. That you were the worst. That’s not true. You care, Mako. You care so much. You protect people, just like Kai. Your fire bending is good because you’re good and you use it for good reasons. And when you make mistakes, you try to do better.”

Mako blinks, eyes suddenly burning. He looks away, not wanting to meet Jinora’s big, deep eyes. He swallows, blinking hard to beat back whatever emotion is trying to choke him.

“Thanks, kid,” he finally rasps. “You’re turning out more and more like your mom every day. And, if what Korra’s told me is right…you’re a lot like Aang, too.”

Jinora’s face lights up in a big, sweet grin. “Thanks, Mako.”

Mako frowns, “You want a hug or something?”

“Yeah, kinda,” the girl admits.

Mako sighs and opens his arms, playing at grudging. “Fine, come on, then.”

“Group hug!” Wu calls, crashing into Mako’s other side, all wild limbs and hair, while Jinora laughs.

…

Dear Mako/Wu,

You two, I swear. How do these things always happen to you? How did you get so off-track you’re on Jinora’s route???? Did you try the frog thing, I read somewhere that worked for Avatar Aang when Sokka and Katara were sick?

Oh, and if Lin and Toph’s melodrama wasn’t enough, Bolin and Opal are here now! I’m not telling Bolin you’re sick, he’s already worried to death about your dumb ass. Kuvira tried to recruit him, but Opal had told him about the wanted posters for you and he said, and I quote “Hard pass, people who try to kill my brother are not trustworthy…byeeeeee” and melted a hole in her train running away. I guess her plan B was capturing him and using him as bait for you and Wu????

So now he and Opal are here, and Opal is trying to mediate between Lin and Toph, which is going about as well as you’d expect, and Bolin is trying to convince Tenzin to let him borrow a sky bison to go looking for you (Tenzin said no), and I STILL HAVE RAIKO’S PEN AND HE’S BEEN BY TO LOOK FOR IT TWICE.

Senna says Korra’s improving slowly, but that’s all I’ve heard.

Hiding under my desk in case Toph and Lin start fighting for real,

Asami

Chapter 11: The Great Divide

Chapter Text

The Great Divide

Dear Asami,

Ever heard of ‘The Great Divide’? Yeah, I hadn’t either until I almost go eaten by weird bug things there. Good times.

Wu says hi and wants to know if you’ll be his best friend. Apparently, I’m being replaced here.

Tired and covered in dirt AGAIN,

Mako

P.S. Wu here, and I can so have multiple best friends, if I want, Mako.

…

“Well, you don’t look like you’re dying.”

“Hello to you too, Kai.”

The air bender rolls his eyes as he slides down his bison. Lefty has grown since Mako last saw him, but is still tiny compared to Oogi. “You couldn’t even pretend to be surprised, could you?”

“Nope,” Mako grins, reaching out to ruffle Kai’s hair. He doesn’t let go once the boy’s hair is thoroughly mussed and Kai glares at him.

“What are you doing, weirdo?”

“Keeping you at arm’s length,” Mako says, smirking, “I don’t want my wallet to go missing. Again.”

Kai grins back, folding his arms and trying strike a pose despite Mako’s grip on his head, “Hey, I’m a changed man. Turned over a new leaf. I’m all respectable and everything now,” he says, dragging out the syllables on ‘respectable’.

“Yeah? Because you still look like the punk who stole my wallet,” Mako teases.

Kai presses both hands to his chest and widens his eyes, “Who, me? Noble air bender? Hero of the people? Me?”

Mako sighs and shakes his head, dropping his hand with one last hair-ruffle, “It’s good to see you, punk.”

“Hug?” Kai holds out his arms.

“Nope,” Mako grins.

“Bully,” Kai puts his arms down and sticks out his tongue, “Where’s the prince? Maybe he’ll treat me with a little dignity.”

“I wouldn’t put money on it. He doesn’t have enough dignity for himself, much less freeloaders,” Mako drawls. “And he’s over there,” he points towards the rough camp the refugees they’ve been traveling with managed to set up. “I’m guessing Tenzin sent you to check on them?”

Kai grimaces, “As much as I’d like to say I had the free time to come check on you,”

“Make fun of me,” Mako corrects. He knows pre-teens. He raised a preteen. While a teenager himself.

“-gently mock you,” Kai admits, “I’m really here for them.”

Mako grimaces, “How bad is it, really?”

Kai raises both eyebrows, “However bad you think it is – but worse.”

Mako presses his lips together. He’d thought as much.

“There were riots all over as soon as everyone found out the Queen was really dead. And we already knew the bandits were out of control.”

“They’re worse now,” Mako adds.

Kai nods, “Yeah. And Kuvira’s ‘reconstruction’ seems to involve a lot of tearing down villages and rebuilding them to serve her war machine.”

Mako runs a hand down his face. He doesn’t want to have to deal with this. He’s an eighteen-maybe-nineteen-year-old street rat. He isn’t the Avatar. He isn’t a Sato. He’s just…a person. But then he looks at Wu, who’s just a person. At Kai, who’s in the same leaky boat Mako is, just with the added bonus of representing a recently and tenuously resurrected culture, and he realizes all over again that’s what the kind of people who deal with big, world changing problems are. Just people. And right now, he’s one of those people.

“f*ck,” Mako summarizes.

“Yep,” Kai agrees.

Mako side-eyes him. “Don’t tell Tenzin I swear around you.”

Kai places a dramatic hand over his heart, “I solemnly promise not to tell Master Tenzin you’re a terrible influence corrupting my pure and innocent mind.”

“You’re the worst child I ever met.”

“Meelo will be crushed to hear I beat him.”

…

Wu is immediately charmed by Kai because of course he is.

“You’re like a mini-Mako,” the prince laughs the minute he sees them. Mako looks down and to the side to see that he and Kai have accidentally been mirroring each other, standing the exact same neutral pose with one hand on one hip and the other hanging loose, ready for action.

Mako immediately drops the hand from his hip and folds his arms. “Wu, meet Kai, one of the new air benders.”

Wu’s smiles, spine straightening as something almost courtly takes over his posture. “On behalf of the Earth Kingdom, I, Crown Prince Wu of the Hou-Ting dynasty, apologize for the actions my great-aunt took against our air bender citizens. We hope this will not negatively impact our relationship with the New Air Nation during the course of our reign.”

“Uh,” Kai shuffles his feet, and scrubs at the back of his head, “it’s all good.”

Wu bows in acknowledgement and smiles, royal stiffeness dropping from his limbs as if it was never there. “Well, that sure is a relief. A real load off my mind. Now, is this your bison? What’s his name? Can I pet him? Does he understand human speech? Does he like music?”

“Uh, that’s Lefty.” Kai still looks a little nonplussed by Wu’s…everything. It’s actually pretty funny. Mako doesn’t think he’s ever seen Kai this thrown.

Pabu, who had been curled up, napping, on the back of Lefty’s neck, raises his head and chirrs happily at Wu. Lefty, seeing the prince receive the fire ferret’s seal of approval, lumbers over to nudge at Wu with his shaggy head.

Wu laughs delightedly, “Oh, hello, you!” He immediately reaches up to scratch at the bison’s forehead, “You’re a handsome fellow, aren’t you? You know, when I was little, I wanted desperately to be an air bender? I always wanted to have a pet and I figured if I was an air bender, I would have to have an air bison and my aunt couldn’t take it away from me because we’d just fly off when she was being mean.”

Kai shoots Mako a look. “He’s really into sharing, isn’t he?”

Mako, who would rather pry out a tooth with his bare hands than admit to a feeling most days, nods, “It’s really weird.”

Kai shakes his head, “He’d fit right in on Air Temple Island. They’re all about sharing and feelings and stuff.”

“Creepy, isn’t it?”

“Creepy,” Kai agrees.

“So where are we headed, Mr. Air Bender?” Wu asks cheerily, still petting the bison, who looks about ready to switch loyalties over to the prince, air bender or not.

Kai sighs, “Well, I can’t carry anyone else long distances on Lefty without exhausting him. So, we’re going to have to walk. And the most direct route is through The Great Divide.”

Mako doesn’t know what ‘The Great Divide’ is, but he doesn’t like the sound of it. From the way Wu lights up, it might be somewhere fun. But seeing as he lit up like that at the thought of crossing Serpent’s Pass just because Avatar Aang had been there once, Mako doesn’t think Wu is a reliable gauge for danger.

“Oh, I’ve heard of that place! Avatar Aang-” see, unreliable, “and his companions escorted some refugees through there during the 100-year war!”

“So, it’s the home of some kind of creature there that will probably try to eat us,” Mako summarizes.

“How did you know about the canyon crawlers?” Wu asks.

“Everywhere we’ve been that Avatar Aang visited has featured creatures that want to eat us.”

“Name one.”

“Serpent’s Pass.”

“Well, that’s obvious, it’s in the name. What kind of ‘Serpent’s Pass’ would it be without a serpent?”

“The swamp.”

“Technically nothing actually tried to eat us.”

“I heard creatures moving. Hunting creatures. Hungry, hunting creatures.”

“That did not technically attempt to eat us.”

“Fine, Cave of Two Lovers. The wolfbats.”

Wu frowns. “Alright. I’ll give you that one.”

“Thank you.”

Kai is staring at them like they’re some kind of fascinating new sport. “Are things…always like this with you two?”

“What?” Mako frowns at him, “Why are you making that face?”

Kai shrugs, “No reason. Just some stuff Jinora said makes a lot of sense now.”

Mako decides he doesn’t want to know.

…

The refugees are perfectly pleasant people. The refugees are perfectly pleasant people. The refugees are perfectly pleasant, extremely chatty, personal-space-invading, over-sharing, people.

“You’ve set a terrible precedent,” he mutters under his breath at Wu, feeling extremely jealous of Kai as the air bender boy soars above them on his bison.

“Whatever do you mean, dear Mako?” Wu says, smiling sunnily.

“They all think it’s ok to touch me. And talk to me. And smile at me.”

“I hadn’t realized you had an issue with smiling. Other than your aversion to doing it yourself.”

Mako knows Wu is teasing him. He has the teasing glint flashing in his green eyes and a smile playing around his lips. This close Mako can see the dark freckles the sun has picked out against the prince’s brown skin. With his curls and smiles they just make Wu look younger. Sweeter. It’s unaccountably irritating.

“They’re so social.”

“You’re cute when you’re grumpy.”

“What?” Mako frowns at him. Wu’s been doing that more lately. It’s as if a combination of the troubadours’ (horrible) influence, and seeing Mako sick and vulnerable has flicked a compliment-Mako switch in Wu’s brain. It’s very uncomfortable.

Wu bumps his shoulder with Mako’s. “Maybe that’s why they keep talking to you. There’s something about a cute grump. Makes you want to cheer them up.”

“Being left alone would cheer me up,” Mako mutters, knowing he sounds like a toddler and not particularly caring. It’s just Wu. He doesn’t have to be a grown-up all the time around Wu.

“There, there,” Wu pats his shoulder condescendingly.

Mako glares at him.

Wu beams right back. Somewhere behind him there’s a crash and a chorus of voices calling for help from ‘the fire bender guy’.

“Your adoring public awaits.”

Mako frowns and flicks him between the eyebrows before stomping off to deal with the most recent packing disaster.

…

They reach the Great Divide and Mako confirms his suspicion that it is, indeed, an inhospitable and unpleasant-looking place. Probably full of creatures that want to kill and eat them.

Behind him, Wu is regaling the refugee children with a story about Avatar Kyoshi. The children, for some reason, utterly adore Wu. They like Mako in the same way Pabu likes Mako: they seem to have unanimously judged him good for climbing and chattering at by otherwise unremarkable. Wu, meanwhile, was almost immediately accepted as a full-fledged member of their little band of miscreants.

Kai swoops down on Lefty. “Alright, everybody, listen up!”

No one listens up.

Mako sighs and puts two fingers in his mouth and lets off an ear-piercing whistle the likes of which Lin Beifong would be proud of, barking “OI, LISTEN UP!” when everyone stops talking to stare at him.

Everyone clams up immediately and turns towards Kai.

Mako is a little smug about that. There’s something very satisfying about getting the attention of a group of people all at once. Maybe he’ll teach Wu how to do it. His Majesty the Earth King can start all his royal speeches and things off with a good old-fashioned Republic City cab-hailing whistle.

“Ok, everybody,” Kai says, “This is the Great Divide. It’s technically a nature preserve now, but it’s the most direct route. It only takes a day to cross on foot, maybe a day and a half since we don’t have an earth bender with us. BUT this is the natural habitat for canyon crawlers. And canyon crawlers will eat anything. Including people. The only surefire way to keep them from coming after you is to bring NO FOOD AT ALL into the canyon with you.”

A wave of discontented murmuring rises up at that.

“Luckily, we have Lefty!” Kai says. “He can carry all our food over for us. We’ll meet up on the other side and still have plenty of supplies for the rest of the journey.”

No one seems very happy about this compromise.

“But what are we supposed to eat in the canyon,” shouts someone, “Dirt?”

“Leaves?” another smart-ass suggests.

“Twigs?”

“Rocks?”

Mako rolls his eyes. “DO YOU WANT TO BE WELL FED OR DO YOU WANT TO BE DEAD? YOU PICK!” he roars over the grumbling.

Wu grimaces at him. Mako just shrugs. Sure, it’s not the most delicate phrasing he could have come up with, but it got the point across.

“Alright,” Kai claps his hands together, smiling a rictus-grin sort of smile, “load your food up on Lefty, and let’s get this show on the road!”

As soon as the kid slides off the bison, Mako leans over to mutter, “How much you want to bet one of these people is going to smuggle food in?”

Kai snorts, shooting him a look, “Bad bet. Better to bet on how many people try to smuggle food in.”

Mako might be warming up to the punk. It’s kind of nice to have a tiny cynic on your side.

…

It takes so long loading Lefty and dealing with the subsequent bickering between families over ration distribution they wind up using the leftover food for dinner and making camp on the rim of the canyon. Wu keeps the children entertained while Mako helps light fires and cook dinner. He’s gathering up dishes for cleanup when he overhears Kai chatting with the prince and pauses, arms full of dirty dishes, to listen.

“You’re lucky you got Mako,” Kai is saying, “he might actually manage to get you out of this place alive. He’s got like a sixth sense for shady people.”

“What if I’m shady?” Wu jokes, clearly not getting it.

“Nah, I’m serious,” Kai counters, “He tagged me as shady the minute he met me. All his friends believed my sob story. Not him. He sizes me up and tells me he’s got his eye on me. He took me aside later and told me not to pull any sh*t with these people. That they’re good people who want to do the right thing and don’t deserve whatever bullsh*t I’ve got going.” Kai chuckles. “A couple days later I stole his wallet and stranded him and Bolin in the Lower Ring. No reason. I just thought it was funny. Joke’s on me, I got captured.

“And he was right again, you know? The others? Master Tenzin, and Jinora, and Korra, and everyone? They all came to get me. They rescued me even though I was a brat. Because they’re good people.

“So, listen to him if he tells you something’s up. He’s probably right.”

Wu sighs. “He was right about Kuvira. I believed her even when he told me not to. He had to rescue me. We blew up part of a train. I was drugged. It was very exciting.”

“Your life is bonkers.”

“A little bit, yeah.”

Mako leaves them to it, smiling a little bit to himself and shaking his head. He’s not sure if any of that was a compliment, but he’ll take it.

…

They have beautiful weather the next day. Full sun. Not a cloud in the sky.

“Today is off to a terrible start,” Mako tells Wu.

“Shush, you, it’s beautiful outside,” says Wu, who has clearly never tried to move a large group of people anywhere under full sun before.

The complaining begins about halfway down the path carved into the canyon wall. Most of it is, unfortunately, directed at Mako. He supposes that’s what he gets for being taller than Wu and Kai. He’s easier to spot and corner.

“It’s too hot.”

“Drink some water.”

“Where’s the water?”

“You should have a flask on you. Everyone was told to fill up before we left.”

“Well I didn’t hear anything about that.”

“You should have. I shouted it. Three times.”

And.

“It’s too hot.”

“Stick to the shade as much as possible.”

“What shade? It’s full sun!”

“See the overhang from the path above us? Shade.”

“Well it’s not very good shade.”

And.

“It’s too hot.”

“Yes, it is.”

“If you people hadn’t started us so late, it wouldn’t be this hot.”

“Take it up with the people who refused to rise at dawn like they were supposed to.”

When Wu slouches next to Mako and sighs, the fire bender has resolved to only answering questions, and only those questions which could be answered with ‘yes’ or ‘no’. Responding to complaints is just pointless.

“It’s too hot,” Wu whines.

Mako glares at him, “Yes, and for my next fire bending trick, I’ll REDUCE THE SIZE OF THE SUN.”

Wu frowns at him. “Are you being this cranky with the refugees?”

“Don’t you get on my case, too.”

“Maybe if you take your shirt off, they’ll be so stunned by your manly beauty they’ll stop complaining,” Wu suggests, fanning himself with one hand.

Mako huffs. “No.”

Wu shrugs, “Well, I’m out of ideas, then.”

Mako huffs again and doesn’t respond.

…

It’s almost a relief when the canyon crawlers attack. Yes, people are screaming and running everywhere and there are giant bug-creatures trying to rip them limb from limb, but no one is complaining to Mako about it.

“Someone brought food!” one of the adults accuses the group. Mako isn’t sure how exactly that’s relevant right now, but Mako has always been an actions-over-words kind of guy. Maybe they get some sort of existential satisfaction from blaming someone else for the problem at hand. Mako, for one, would rather just solve the problem.

There are three canyon crawlers. They’re huge insectoid things with spiny, dark carapaces and viciously sharp pinchers.

Pabu took one look at them, shrieked, and ducked under Mako’s collar. Mako doesn’t blame him. He’d hide in a larger, more powerful creature’s shirt and let them deal with the danger too if he could.

Since that isn’t an option, he’s focused on keeping the monsters in sight and away from the unarmed, non-bender civilians. Wu is working on crowd control, but there’s only so much he can do in the face of enormous, man-eating insects.

Mako grimaces and sends a bolt of electricity at a canyon crawler right before it sinks its pinchers into a child. “GET OUT OF HERE,” he yells at the kid as the insect creature reels away, joints still sparking. The child doesn’t need to be told twice, it picks up a rock and hurls it at the thing while it’s still weakened before running to the clump of adults gathered around Wu.

The prince has rallied the refugees a little, getting them gathered together, with the children in the middle of the huddle. The more capable adults have followed the child’s example and scooped up chunks of stone and are hurling them at the canyon crawlers with limited success.

Mako snarls and hurls a fireball at a canyon crawler’s eye as it creeps too close to the refugees and Wu. Somewhere behind him he can hear the roar of Kai’s air bending as the boy whips up a whirlwind to drive back the third crawler.

“KAI, WE NEED A PLAN!” Mako shouts to the boy.

“LET ME KNOW WHEN YOU HAVE ONE, SMART GUY,” Kai snarks back.

Never mind. Mako doesn’t like having a tiny cynic around anymore.

He punches fire at the crawler he electrocuted. Somehow, it’s still up and moving. Its friend is obviously dazed from the fireball, but doesn’t seem to be incapacitated. The refugees are doing their best to stick together and watch each other’s backs, but they’re uncoordinated and not used to combat.

Mako swears and ducks, a pincher narrowly missing his shoulder as he swerves out of the way of a fourth crawler. Kai shouts “MORE INCOMING,” behind him a few seconds too late and Mako slams a fist into the ground, sending a wave of heat into the stone, cracks splintering out through the packed earth around him. The crawlers shriek and skitter away from the super-heated ground, snapping their pinchers with displeasure.

Mako shoves himself upright again, fire flaring around his hands, when a very different shriek catches his ear. He turns to see a clump of children – the same children Wu had been telling stories to and leading sing-alongs with yesterday – standing on a rocky outcropping.

“HEY BUG-THINGS,” one the children, who can’t be older than nine or ten, yells, holding up a bag, “HERE’S THE FOOD YOU WANTED!”

Somewhere over with the main group, one of the adults shout, “That’s my bag!” only to be shouted down by the others.

“YOU WANT IT? COME GET IT!” the child yells to the crawlers, who have all reoriented themselves toward the children.

The children don’t seem to recognize the danger they’re in. They caterwaul a war cry, raising sticks and chunks of stone.

There’s a moment where everything hangs suspended. Mako’s mind is racing. Between him and Kai, he’s the closest, and he’s still too far away. The clump of refugees around Wu are closer, but none of them are benders, and neither are the children. And they’ve all seen how fast the canyon crawlers can move.

Mako’s running, trying to find the cold, calm center he needs to call up more lighting. It’s his best, most precise distance weapon, and it’s better than nothing, even if it doesn’t seem to keep these things down for long. He knows he won’t reach the children in time, but he’ll try. Raava in a teapot, he’ll try. Kai calls up another whirlwind, trying to use air bending to make up the distance, but he’s no master and he’s had his bending less than a year.

And then Mako sees it. Sees him. And his heart nearly stops.

Wu is a green blur as he flies from the clump of frightened adults and younger children. He shoots Mako a look, clearly already breathing hard. Princes aren’t meant to rigorous exercise, isn’t that what he always said every time he whined and begged Mako to carry him places? Princes aren’t meant for vigorous exercise.

Wu’s closest to the children. The crawlers are bearing down on him and he’s so small, so very small compared to those things and he isn’t a bender, isn’t like Asami, with her gauntlets and years of martial arts training. He doesn’t even carry a pocketknife. He’s quite possibly the most useless person in a fight Mako’s ever met and yet, and yet here he is being an utter, complete moron and Mako isn’t close enough.

Wu snatches the bag of food from the children and turns to Mako and Kai, yelling over the racket of the screaming children, shrieking crawlers, and lingering brushfires from Mako’s fight with the first two crawlers. “CATCH!”

What? Mako doesn’t even have time to mentally finish the sentence before the bag of food is soaring over and around him and Kai and crashing into the leading crawler. It bursts at the seams, scattering trail rations all over the crawler. Its companions make a sound like a landslide, like a train derailing, at the sight of all that food.

The crawlers don’t stare each other down, this isn’t a frozen moment like last time. They shift instantly from chasing the children to attacking each other in a flurry of pinchers and sharp mandibles.

Mako skids to a halt, spinning around and bolting for Kai.

“KAI, KAI! REMEMBER WHAT JINORA DID TO ZAHEER? THE WHIRLWIND!”

Kai skids to a halt, nearly crashing into Mako, and, to his credit, doesn’t even question it, just falls into the air bending form, wind already curling up around him. Mako echoes his movements, letting tendrils of fire coil around and through Kai’s air currents. The air, already hot, becomes furnace-like around them. Sweat burns in Mako’s eyes but he doesn’t close them, he can’t. He sees Wu gather the children together. His hair is mussed, his green jacket covered in dust. Mako’s sure his eyes are wide and scared the way they get every time something nearly kills them, but he’s still standing, looking like a green giant among the children.

And the whirlwind is working. They’ve angled it. It isn’t quite like the one Jinora used against Zaheer. This one is tilted, sucking in the crawlers horizontally. What began as ribbons of fire have become sheets of flame and every time a crawler hits the outer wall of the vortex everything smells like burning carapace.

They’ve gathered up all the crawlers. They’re both shaking and soaked through with sweat. They can’t let the crawlers reach them, they’re in no condition to fight them.

“KAI, REVERSE THE VORTEX,” Mako shouts.

Kai, smart kid that he is, doesn’t argue, he just does. Mako follows suit, keeping pace with the air bender’s work as slowly the funnel they’ve made bends, warps, and changes. They speed up almost unconsciously. The funnel switches directions like a tightly wound spring that’s tension has suddenly been released. The crawlers are roughly and abruptly ejected from the cone of fire they’d been dragged into, hurled away like the payload from a catapult.

The winds die down around them as Mako and Kai watch the knot of smoking, thrashing, struggling canyon crawlers flies off into the distance.

Kai slumps to the dirt. Sheer stubbornness is the only thing keeping Mako from following suit. Stubbornness, and the persistent worry like ice-water in his veins when he doesn’t immediately see Wu through the cloud of dust his and Kai’s little show kicked up.

“Wu?” Mako yells, “Wu? WU, ANSWER ME!”

Kai groans and gestures sharply behind him, tamping down the dust all at once, revealing the refugees, physically unscathed but bug-eyed, and rattled after everything, and a familiar green-coated figure.

“Mako!” Wu flings himself into a hug, and it’s a sure sign of Mako’s exhaustion that the prince’s slight weight nearly sends him down to the ground with Kai.

Mako isn’t a hugger. Even when he was a child and had parents and a house and a future, he wasn’t a hugger outside of family members. But he doesn’t even think before wrapping both arms around Wu’s back when the prince’s arms go around his neck.

“Raava in a teapot, what the flying f*ck were you thinking?” Mako growls.

“Oh, so you can make a fire tornado, but I’m the reckless one?” Wu hisses back, but his voice is wobbly and wet like he’s nearing the weepy side of shock.

“You could have died.”

“You could have died.”
“I’m a lot more durable than you,” Mako’s voice is rough. Probably from all the shouting. And the dust. His eyes are burning from the dust too.

“Those kids…” Wu mumbles into his chest, “What kind of king would I be…if I let kids…”

“Spirits, Wu, you can’t, you didn’t,” Mako runs out of words.

“Can you two do this weird thing later?” Kai groans from the ground, “I need a hand up, and we need to get out of here.”

“You left the air bender on the ground?” Wu pulls back to frown at him.

“He’s fine!” Mako objects.

“He’s twelve!”

“So?”
“So you should be more concerned about the twelve year old on the ground.”

Mako looks over at Kai. “You alright?”

Kai gives him a thumbs up. “Not even scratched. Just tired.”

“See, he’s just tired,” Mako tells Wu.

Wu does not look impressed.

…

“You know, this is why Pema doesn’t want you to babysit,” Kai informs him as Mako carries him like a backpack.

“In what universe is ‘bug creatures trying to kill us’ a reason for Pema to not let me babysit? Not that I want to babysit. Meelo is the worst child I know.”

“No, I mean, buddy, your standards for what acceptable levels of danger and combat are child-appropriate are just super f*cked up.”

“Well…so are yours.” Mako can’t come up with a better comeback. He would be ashamed of this if he wasn’t so tired.

“Yep,” Kai agrees. “Look, we’re bonding! Bolin will be so happy!”

Mako sighs.

“Wait, you said I was the worst child you knew,” Kai says suspiciously.

“Yeah, well, you helped save all our lives again, so congrats. You’re second worst now.”

“…will I be worst again if I tell you I stole your wallet like, as soon as you picked me up?”

“Yes, yes you will.”

“Cool. I totally stole your wallet.”

“I hate that you take pride in this.”

“Mako, you’d better not be bullying that child!” Wu calls over to them.

“Shut up,” Mako grumbles at Kai before the kid can make some smartass comment.

…

Mako,

…How do these things keep happening to you????

Raiko came over to talk to me about city planning because my office wasn’t loud and crowded enough! Toph had grabbed his f*cking pen and was using it to poke Bolin and demand to know why he thought he was good enough to date her granddaughter. This was 100% an evasive maneuver to avoid engaging with Lin, who was listing her grievances with Toph at top volume (once you crack that woman’s armor it’s like a dam breaking – all her bottled-up emotions are just so…intense).

And Raiko walks in and see THE Toph Beifong holding his pen and he just…freezes. And he goes “Ms. Beifong…why do you have that pen?”
And Toph just glares vaguely at his chest and says “I’m a metal bender. It’s metal, isn’t it?” and goes back to hassling Bolin.

Raiko was completely speechless. I’ve never seen his face go that color. He just left after that. I think he saw the brewing tropical storm Beifong and chose to retreat.

Why do all our friends have insane families?

Hoping you haven’t gotten eaten by bugs,

Asami

Chapter 12: Prison Part 1

Chapter Text

Prison Part 1

Dear Asami,

We’re running low on money so we’ve stopped at a port town and are trying to lay low and make some cash. Wu got his first blisters/callouses and legitimately thought he was dying of a ‘weird skin disease, Mako, no, really, if I’m dead tomorrow please spare no expense to give me a funeral worthy of my name’.

He didn’t think it was funny when I told him I’d cremate him for free.

Sunburnt and impoverished,

Mako

*this postcard was found unaddressed, left behind in an empty room at The Happy Fish Inn and Tavern, and was never sent*

…

Wu is laughing about something one of the other kitchen helpers said to him during breakfast service, Pabu chittering on his shoulder, when Mako spots the green uniforms.

“And then he – Mako?” Wu stops, mid-story, head tilting to the side as he tries to see what Mako’s staring at.

“Don’t look at them,” Mako hisses, grabbing the prince’s elbow and pulling him closer, as if mere proximity can keep them safe.

“Those are Kuvira’s people.” Wu’s voice is small. He chuckles weakly, “Well, they’ve gotten some spiffy new uniforms in the last few months, haven’t they?”

He’s right. Before, Kuvira’s people wore the same uniforms as Su’s security teams, just with the rank and insignia stripped off. Their outfits now are similar, but with harsher lines, bolder design, and more metal. Mako wonders cynically what the metal shoulder pads are for – protection, or insurance in case an underling defies their metal-bending commanding officer.

“We have to go,” Mako says tightly. His heart and thrumming in his ears and he swallows back the emotion that rises to the surface at the thought of being caught, of being trapped, of being powerless in a way he hasn’t been since he was a child. Of what Kuvira will do to Wu, who is bright, and happy, and only wants to help but doesn’t always know how.

Wu nods, curls obscuring one eye. His hair has grown a lot. It’s been almost a year since all this began, after all. Mako helps him trim it when the sides start to look scruffy, but Wu always lets the top get too long and fall in his eyes, because he thinks it makes him look ‘rakish and dashing’.

They keep walking, Mako forcibly keeping the pace even and relaxed. Natural. If they can avoid drawing attention to themselves…

Mako keeps an eye on the green uniforms as they walk away, making sure they stay in sight. It’s a relief when they turn a corner.

“Are they looking for us?” Wu whispers.

“No,” Mako says, “And don’t whisper, it’s suspicious and whispers carry. Just talk quietly.”

“What do you mean whispers carry? They’re whispers, the silent-ist of sounds!” Somehow Wu manages to tack and exclamation point onto anything, even whisper.

“It’s the hissing sound,” Mako tries to explain. “Whispers sound like air being let out of a tire. They’re suspicious. Talking quietly just sounds…quiet.”

“How do you not whisper?”

“You talk like normal, just quietly,” Mako huffs, “it’s not that hard.”

“That’s whispering!” Wu objects.

“No, they’re completely – just talk like normal, then, I don’t care.”

“Well, why didn’t you say that!”

“Don’t yell.”

“This is my normal speaking voice!”

“Why is your normal speaking voice so loud?”

“It’s my royal nature. We attract admirers wherever we go.”

“You attract attention, that’s what you do.”

Wu rolls his eyes and swats at his shoulder. “You’re such a drama queen.”

Mako pinches the bridge of his nose. “If we die, it’s your fault.”

They turn another corner just in time to catch sight of another set of green uniforms. Wu steps backwards, colliding with Mako’s chest, “Oh, that’s not good,” he mutters.

Mako braces on hand on Wu’s shoulder, ready to throw the prince behind him if it comes to a fight. They’re in a one-way alley. Their only options are to turn back the way they came or keep going forward. Ahead of them, a shopkeeper is talking to the soldiers in green.

“We don’t have any foreigners here,” the shopkeeper says, sounding confused, “I’ve known everyone in this village my whole life.”

“Well, there’s those two up at the Happy Fish,” his assistant offers, “But they’re just passing through.”

“What’s the Happy Fish?” asks one of the soldiers.

“The inn up the road,” the annoyingly helpful assistant says, “there’s two guys working up there to save up some money before they start traveling again.”

“They’re from Ba Sing Se,” the much cannier shopkeeper cuts in, “They’re local too.”

“Can’t be that local,” the assistant, who either has it out for them or is just stupendously dense, points out, “One’s a fire bender.”

“It’s on his mother’s side,” the shopkeeper tries to object, “His father was an earth bender from Ba Sing Se, he said so – ”

One of the soldiers folds his arms, “Foreign benders are a threat to Earth Kingdom stability.”

The other nods, “If we’re going to unite the country, we have to be united as a people.”

“Pure Earth Kingdom,” agrees his partner, “No…foreign influences.”

Mako has been backing them away, back around the corner as the men talk. His heartbeat a riot in his ears. Wu’s hands have come up to grip Mako’s wrists as if to assure himself the fire bender is still here and not deported who-knows-where. If this were any other situation, Mako is sure Wu would be cracking jokes about Mako being a foreign influence.

Of course, this is when Mako backs straight into the soliders’ backup.

“Watch it, pal,” snarls the soldier in green they’d spotted earlier. Do all these guys have the same haircut as Bataar Jr.? Why? Is it part of the uniform requirement? Mako thinks to himself as his brain goes from cautious to alarmed.

“Hey,” the assistant says as if remarking on the weather, “It’s that fire bender guy from the inn. Hey, fire bender guy!”

Mako decides this person is just astronomically stupid. And going to get them killed or captured or worse.

(He’s not sure what ‘worse’ might entail, but he isn’t eager to find out.)

“Mako,” Wu says, voice strained.

“sh*t,” Mako curses.

“GET THEM,” bellows one of the soldiers interviewing the shopkeeper.

Mako frees his hands from Wu’s grip, reaching over the prince to send an arc of flame towards the soldiers down the street.
“Look! That foreigner attacked me!” shouts one of the two, “DETAIN HIM!”

“You were already planning to do that,” Mako snaps, “I’m just resisting arrest at this point.”

He slams an elbow into the man behind him’s solar plexus, grinning viciously when he hears the sound of all the air rushing out of the big man’s lungs.

He shoves Wu forward, spinning around to punch flame at the men’s faces. They reel back, shouting and batting at their clothes. Mako doesn’t pause, kicking off the ground with a jet of flame and running along the wall the way he did with Korra when they infiltrated Amon’s gathering, using fire to counterbalance him as he runs down the alley. The men who had been looming behind them, wheezing and blinking sparks out of their eyes, swear and swerve away from the burst of fire keeping Mako roughly vertical. Wu takes advantage of their swerve, sliding under Mako’s fire and out behind them.

“Go, go, go!” Mako yells, kicking off the wall and slinging another band of fire at the hapless duo with his feet. They manage to stagger and collapse this time, tripping up pair who’d been interviewing the shopkeeper when they come running in to assist.

Wu doesn’t hesitate, already running away, Pabu in his arms, Mako hot on his heels. The four downed men in the alley are already screaming for backup and Mako knows they can’t risk going back to the inn for their things.

Oh well, with the way things are going he should really just give up on owning multiple sets of clothes.

The town is sandwiched between the river and the railroad track. Unlike Republic City, it isn’t a planned city and doesn’t have a convenient grid system. The streets are tangled up and squished all higgledy-piggledy between the river and the railroad like noodles between chopsticks. Sort of. Metaphor has never been Mako’s strong suit.

“Get to the river!” Mako yells. They’ve given up on subtlety and are just bolting like cheap thieves. “Kuvira’s men will be at the train track.!”

“Got it!” Wu gasps. He’s still not much of a runner.

Mako reaches out and grabs the back of his shirt to yank the prince out of the way of an oncoming cart. “Stay with me!” he orders.

“I’m trying!”

They’re in the thick of traffic and Mako can hear the soldiers screaming about foreign spies behind them. Pack animals are panicking. Ostrich horses hear the soldiers and start screaming too, children are crying, everyone not trying to keep their animals or their offspring under control are yelling questions.

They have to get out of the main street.

Mako tries to keep a hold on Wu, the prince clinging to his fingers with a white-knuckled determination. Pabu has dug all four feet into the fabric of Wu’s shirt and his highness isn’t even flinching. They’re all too busy running for their lives.

There’s a moment, a blessed, single moment, when the reach the docks, that Mako thinks they’re going to make it.

“When we reach the end, jump,” Mako orders, “and swim with the current. I’ll cover you.”

“And then…you jump…too?” Wu wheezes, shrewd as ever.

“Then I jump too,” Mako agrees, not caring if it’s true. They’re after him, after all. If he has to, he can let these idiots capture him and escape to rejoin Wu later. It’s not ideal, but when has anything ever been ideal in this year-long nightmare? The most important thing is keeping Wu safe.

They’ve reached the end of the dock, Mako has planted his feet to allow himself to pivot, slinging Wu into the river and freeing up the hand not crushed in the prince’s death-grip to defend them. Wu is jumping, Pabu shrieking his objections in their ears, when cables just like Lin’s shoot straight toward them. Mako gathers seed lightning in his free hand, ready to send and electrical current up the cables the same way he did on the train.

But the cables don’t target him, and he can’t safely throw lightning with only one free hand, not without injuring Wu accidentally. One cable misses them entirely, the other wraps around Wu and yanks him back like a fish on a line. His hand, clenched in Mako’s drags Mako along behind him.

Mako tries to run, to build momentum, to counterattack once they’re close enough to whoever those cables belong to, when he realizes the second cable didn’t miss them at all.

It comes back around; he can hear it whistle through the air behind him…and then everything goes very bright and then very dark.

…

Mako wakes up alone in a metal box.

He thrashes, kicking and punching out puffs of fire and slamming his elbows, knees, knuckles, and toes against steel walls. He woke up lying on his side, body curled in a vaguely question mark shape and as he struggles, jets of flame briefly illuminating the dimensions of his prison, he realizes just how small his new home is. He’s trapped in a box just big enough for him to sit on his knees, but not stand and just small enough he can’t quite lie flat. There’s slits cut along the upper walls to let in air, like you would see in a zoo transport container. There’s nothing else in here with him. No food, no water, no items that could be conveniently repurposed into weapons.

Nothing but slick steel walls and darkness.

The air heats up around him as Mako wrestles his bruised and aching body upright so he can kneel on the floor. He punches fire at the corners and seams of his prison, trying to find a weak spot.

Nothing.

He channels heat into the steel, hoping to find some flaw or imperfection to exploit.

Nothing.

He presses his palms against the air slits and blasts out as much fire as he can muster.

Nothing.

Sweat crawls down his back and pours down his face, the salt of it stinging his cracked, dry lips and making his eyes burn. His shirt, stained and tattered after their flight, sticks painfully to the various scraps he picked up between everything going dark and waking up here. Clearly, whoever transported him was not concerned about being gentle. The steel floor is growing uncomfortably hot through the thin fabric over his knees and Mako tries to breathe through He knows that moving now will only make it hurt more when he inevitably has to go back to kneeling again. If there were a light source in here with him, Mako is almost certain he’d see a heat haze.

“Struggling is pointless, you know,” someone drawls outside his box. Mako recognizes Bataar Jr.’s studied indifference and growls under his breath.

“Where’s Wu?” he demands.

“This box was made for prisoners like you, Fire Bender 407,” Bataar Jr. continues, and Mako realizes suddenly, that Bataar Jr. has no idea who he is. That meant he must have been brought on Bataar Jr.’s train already in the box, like an animal. The though makes his stomach twist, but Bataar Jr. is still talking, “The more fire you use, the hotter it gets in there. You’ll cook yourself alive before you melt Zaofu steel. And if you’re a lightning bender…I wouldn’t suggest trying anything. It’s all metal in there. Highly conductive material, metal. So, I’d just sit back and contemplate how soon you’ll be helping make the Earth Kingdom great. Consider it penance for showing up where you aren’t wanted.”

“Where’s Wu?” Mako demands again.

“Who?” Bataar Jr. asks.

“I was taken with someone,” Mako growls, “where is he?”

“I wouldn’t know. It’s not like I was there when they took you two in. I’m sure he’s on his own little journey of self-discovery right now. Maybe, if you’re lucky you’ll be in the same re-education camp.”

“Re-education camp?” Mako blurts, “What the f*ck does that even mean?”

“It’s where problem children like you go to learn how to be better, more productive contributors to Earth Kingdom greatness.”

“That’s illegal,” Mako snaps.

“Nothing is illegal,” Bataar Jr. snarls, “Not since the Avatar brought her personal problems down on Earth Kingdom heads. We’re a nation without a government, collapsing under our own weight just in time for her to disappear again. You do what you have to do for your country to survive and thrive in times like these, and right now sacrifices have to be made.”

“But why am I the one being sacrificed?” Mako demands, “I wasn’t doing anything wrong!”

Bataar Jr. doesn’t bother answering him. “Watch those flames, Fire Bender 407. I would hate to see you dead of heatstroke before we arrived.”

Mako curses and slumps against one side of his box, pulling his legs out from under him and wincing as he feels blisters from the super-heated floor pull and pop as he moves his knees. “f*ck, f*ck, f*ck,” he mutters, dropping his head into his hands, fisting his fingers in his hair and trying not to panic at the thought of Wu alone, Wu scared, Wu being sent to do hard labor in some kind of nightmarish prison camp.

“Hey, cheer up, guy,” a voice says. This one echoes slightly, like the sound is warped by another box like Mako’s. Must be another prisoner. “Maybe you’ll find your friend when we arrive. I hear they split the benders up for transport so we can’t overpower the guards. But we’re all going to the same place, right?”

Right. Maybe. f*ck. Mako doesn’t know what to do. The last time he was kidnapped by bad guys, he’d had Bolin with him and he’d known they weren’t going to kill them, they were too valuable for manipulating Korra. Now, he’s alone, and Wu is out there, defenseless, if he’s alive at all – no, he can’t think that, clearly the people who took them down had no idea who they were, or they’d have told Bataar Jr. But that just means they don’t have any reason to think they’re valuable. Wu could be – no, he can’t think that. Wu isn’t dead. Mako can’t imagine a universe where Wu suddenly just… doesn’t exist. He’s gotten too damn used to him.

But what if Wu tried to pull the stupid, idiotic, ‘but I’m a prince’ card in a last-ditch attempt to save them and they killed him outright – no, f*ck, Mako’s going in circles now. He needs more information. Any information.

“Who are you?” he asks his neighbor(?).

“Baraz,” the voice answers, “Or, to these guys, Fire Bender 408.”

“Nice to meet you, Baraz,” Mako says mechanically. His voice is sounds strange, strange and raspy to his ears, like he’s fighting back tears or coming off a sore throat. “I’m Mako. Fire Bender 407.”

“Sorry about your friend,” Baraz offers.

“Me too,” Mako mutters, hands tightening in his hair. How could he have let this happen? He’s only ever done one thing completely and utterly right in his entire life, and that’s protect Bolin and, up until now, protect Wu. And he’s failed. And now Wu is somewhere where Mako can’t follow and he’s trying very hard not to explode.

“Uh, so how’d they get you?” Baraz asks. “Me, I guess you could say I was a bandit. They did, anyway, when they took me. I was working security for this governor guy, protecting shipments of food and supplies, but I guess the governor was a warlord, not a governor, because when he got overthrown, and the town called in Kuvira, they were in a pretty big hurry to hand me over to those thugs with the metal shoulder-pads.”

“I was just passing through,” Mako says dully. “Me and my friend,” Friend. Wu trusted him to get them out of this and he’d failed. He clears his throat and starts again, “My friend got trapped in Ba Sing Se during the riots after the Queen was murdered. I came to help him get out, but because everything such a mess we’ve been just kind of traveling around, trying to stay out of trouble. We wanted to head for Republic City.” There, that was close enough to the truth without including all the details, right?
“Spirits, man, you’ve got some of the worst luck ever, huh?” Baraz says, “Went from the Ba Sing Se sh*t show to this pleasure trip.”

“Yeah,” Mako agrees tiredly. Baraz doesn’t know the half of it, really.

They sit in silence for a moment, Mako trying to even out his breathing, the train clattering over the tracks beneath them.

“It’ll work out,” Baraz offers, “It’s got to, right?”

“No,” Mako disagrees.

“Huh.”

“It won’t just ‘work out’. Waiting for things to get better on their own is how you die young. You want things to improve? You fight. And you keep f*cking fighting as long as you have to.”

“…I’m going to stick with you from here on out, if that’s okay, man,” Baraz says, “Because no offense, but you sound like a scary motherf*cker and it’s always good to have scary motherf*ckers on your side.”

Mako clenches his fists. He might not be able to get out of this box on his own, but if they want any work out of him, they’ll have to let him loose eventually. And then he’ll be ready.

…

Mako,

I haven’t heard from you this week and I’m a little concerned. You didn’t fall into another swamp, did you?

Things have calmed down around here. I think Toph and Lin are actually working things out. It’s…unsettling to watch. It seems to involve a lot of hurling rocks and steel around. But hey, it’s doing wonders speeding up the reconstruction effort.

Bolin is carrying Raiko’s pen around. He has it tucked behind his ear at all times. He’s channeling you. He’s carrying around a little notebook and whenever anything noteworthy happens he jots it down like he’s some kind of ace reporter.

I think he just misses you. We all do.

I heard from Korra!!! I’m so relieved. I was getting so worried. It’s not like her to shut us out like this. She sounded so tired. I wish I could go to her. I just want to wrap her up in my arms and tell her everything will be okay. She’s working so hard; I want her to have the space she needs but I don’t want her to think she has to do everything alone…I’ve been there. I’ve thought that I had to do everything myself. But you and Bolin and Korra, you never let me get too isolated.

I realize I never actually apologized for kissing you that night on the docks. I had just lost everything and you were there, telling me you’d back me up 100% and I just…didn’t know how to handle that kind of friendship, that kind of loyalty, so I tried to make our relationship back into one I was familiar with, one that had a structure.

It was the wrong choice for us, I see that now. I’m glad we’re friends.

Seriously, please write back, this is weird,

Asami

Chapter 13: Prison Part 2 (Wu Interlude)

Chapter Text

Prison Part 2 (Wu Interlude)

Dear Mako,

I’m not actually writing this, I’m just thinking it because I don’t know where you are and they haven’t given me a pen or paper and writing things in blood is never a habit a royal should get into… Mako, I’m scared. I don’t know where you are, and I don’t know what’s happened to you, not really, and I’m scared.

Your friend,

Wu

P.S. That Zhu Li lady is a good person to have around in a pinch, isn’t she?

…

Wu has a lot of experience being scared. As a child he’d been scared of his great aunt. Of her sharp, gold finger-sheathes, and sharper tongue. She couldn’t beat him or imprison him like she did the servants, but she could certainly confine him to his room without food or company for days on end if his existence got too irritating.

Gun had helped him hide non-perishable food around his room when the Queen was in one of her tempers. They’d never talked about it. Just quietly smuggled provisions up from the kitchen. Wu had been half-afraid to mention the little kindnesses Gun had done for him throughout that miserable period of his life after his parents died. Afraid that if he did, Gun would have to stop, because the Grand Secretariat could only commit these tiny treasons as long as they went unremarked on.

As a teenager he’d feared other people. What they would think of him. Whether they would like him. Whether he’d be good enough to be their king (his aunt had always made it a point to tell he how he wouldn’t be, but having seen the results of her reign, he must say, the bar is astronomically low). Whether he would ever have friends.

And then Ba Sing Se fell and his aunt died and he went from being a lonely boy worried about the future in an abstract way, to the heir to a kingdom and a dynasty on the brink of total collapse.

Being afraid with Mako was easier. The world was huge and frightening and absurd, but there was something wonderful and almost intoxicating about running through it at high speed, with someone strong and steady and familiar at his side.

But then he wakes up in an unfamiliar train car, hands and feet bound together with metal strips, Mako nowhere to be seen.

And he is afraid.

Gun took Wu to see an opera once in the Upper Ring. He was probably ten years old or so. His great-aunt had been out of the city on one of the rare occasions she deigned to leave the palace grounds, and Gun and the servants had tried to make the most of it for him.

The play had been very beautiful, with magnificent costumes and elegant set pieces, but what Wu had really loved was the music. Sweeping, orchestral numbers, accompanied by bright, transcendent vocals from the performers. And when the lead female character was captured by the villain, she had the most breathtaking solo where she sang of her fear and loneliness with all the grace and dignity of a queen.

“I want to do that,” Wu had whispered to Gun.

“What do you mean, Your Highness?” Gun had asked, clearly biting back the urge to shush him.

“I want to be like that even when I’m afraid.”

“Singing, You Highness?”

Wu had sighed, “Never mind, Gun.”

But Wu never could manage to be elegant and dignified in the face of fear and isolation. He’s just not made for it, he thinks. He feels too much too immediately. So instead he smiles and jokes or plays up his fright just to make Mako rolls his eyes, because if Mako is rolling his eyes at Wu’s overblown dramatics, then all hope isn’t lost yet.

But in here there’s no Mako. There’s just him and seats upholstered in plush green velvet, and a closed compartment door and drawn green silk curtains and a little sliver of light that leaks through from the window. It’s like being in a rich, green cave.

The bindings pinch at his wrists uncomfortably, and Wu tries to shift around a bit to ease the tension, but it doesn’t seem to help much. Underneath him, the train clatters away with a steady, rhythmic, cla-clunk and Wu can’t help but think of the last time he was trapped on a train.

He’s starting to really hate trains. Once they’re finally in Republic City and he has access to his bank accounts again, he’ll be commissioning a fleet of air ships to take him wherever he needs to go whenever he wants to go there, without any more of this horrible train nonsense. Trains can be for people who haven’t been imprisoned on them, thank you.

Maybe he’ll get Mako his own airship to thank him for all he’s done for him this last year.

Never mind, he’ll give Mako his own suite of rooms on Wu’s airship. Because every time they’ve been separated everything has gone utterly and completely horrible very quickly, and Wu would like to avoid that going forward. Clearly, the only solution is to just go everywhere together all the time, like they have been.

There, that’s perfectly sensible.

But that doesn’t solve the problem that is Wu being tied up and alone on a train. His fingers tremble a little bit and he bites the inside of his cheek until he tastes blood to still them.

What was his aunt used to say? “Stop shaking, you aren’t a spirits-forsaken poodle-monkey. Spoiled, that’s what you are. Completely spoiled. It’s your mother’s blood making you turn all shivery like that. Weak blood, that’s it.”

Wu doesn’t know what his bloodline has to do with being spoiled. He’d thought that children got to be spoiled because of how they were raised, not who their parents were, but his great-aunt was never good about clarifying her tirades.

His hands never used to shake when his parents were alive. They only did that when his aunt was being terrible and the anxiety got to be too much.

He’d never told her that, of course. He wasn’t that foolish.

He tries to focus on what he knows. That’s what Mako would do in this situation. Mako. Mako who isn’t here. Mako who could be dead. Wu doesn’t want Mako to be dead. Mako is his first ever real friend, and Wu can’t lose him now. But if life has taught him anything, it’s that you can never get too comfortable with what you have. And he’d gotten comfortable with Mako, and now look what’s happened.

What he knows. A list, because Mako is always making lists.

1. He has been taken by Kuvira’s metal bending goons
2. He is presumably still being help by said metal bending goons as his shackles are solid pieces of steel without hinges or a locking mechanism, which is very, very unsettling.
3. They have no put him into a jail cell this time, although he’s still tied up. He doesn’t know what that means.
4. The blinds are drawn in this compartment, and the door is closed. Does someone not want anyone else to know he’s here? He doesn’t know what that means either. He’d hope it indicates some kind of dissent in the ranks for Kuvira, but he doesn’t think he’s lucky enough to have fallen in with some monarch loyalists. Monarch loyalists don’t seem like they would shackle his hands and feet together. There are probably laws against shackling your crown prince.
5. He is on a train. The train is moving. They’re going somewhere.
6. There is no Mako in this compartment. He’s fairly certain that if Mako is on this train, they aren’t supposed to see each other.

The door to the compartment slides open as he’s wracking his brains for a number 7 thing to put on his list.

A figure walks in, strides quick and purposeful. From his awkward position lying across a bench seat, Wu isn’t able to see the person’s face right away. Whoever they are, they’re wearing green much like the thugs who captured them, but with a gray-green skirt and leggings under the tunic instead of trousers. Wu doesn’t hear the clank of any metal and as he cranes his neck trying to see the person’s face, he notices his visitor isn’t wearing any of the metal armor or shoulder-plates the soldiers had been.

The door closes behind his visitor.

“Hello again, Prince Wu,” a familiar voice says.

“Zhu Li, fancy running into you here. A real funny coincidence, this!” Wu says with false cheer. “I don’t suppose you’ve mastered the art of metal-bending and also removing restraints since we last chatted?”

Zhu Li kneels down so her face is level with his. She looks tired behind her thin-framed glasses. “Listen to me very carefully. You are not Prince Wu. You’ve never been Prince Wu. Your name is Li. You were a student at the Ba Sing Se Technical Institute. You were traveling with a fire bender, but now you’re willing to pledge yourself to Kuvira’s cause as Varrick and I’s lab assistant, using your engineering expertise to help our research. Do you understand me?”

Wu opens his mouth.

Zhu Li, perhaps anticipating him saying something other than ‘yes, I understand you’, cuts him off. “Do you understand?”

“Where’s Mako?” Wu asks because Wu does not know when to quit.

Zhu Li looks even more tired. But now the tiredness is the sort of exasperated why-are-you-like-this tiredness he sees on Mako’s face when Wu’s being particularly social, or chatty, or bouncy and Mako just wants to go back to wherever they’re staying and nap.

“I don’t know.”

“Can you find out for me? They took us at the same time and –”

“If Kuvira finds out you’re here, you’re done, do you understand? Done,” Zhu Li snaps, voice quiet but tight with frustration, “I’m helping you because someday soon this house of cards Kuvira’s building is going to come crashing down and at leaving at least one Hou-Ting alive is a safety net Varrick and I can’t afford to lose. But you had better realize the kind of situation you’re in here. You grew up at court, you’ve trained for this your whole life. You have to lie, and lie well if you’re going to avoid being sent straight to Kuvira on a silver platter. Mako protected you last time, but he’s only one man and right now, he’s not here.”
Wu blinks rapidly, eyes stinging. “I know. I understand.”

Zhu Li’s face softens incrementally. “I’ll try to find out what I can about Mako, okay?”

Wu nods.

“But for right now,” Zhu Li’s face hardens, “You’re going to have to focus on keeping yourself safe. You’re the priority.”

Wu doesn’t want to be the priority. He wants to be part of a team. He wants Mako. But Zhu Li is right, so he nods along and says, “Okay,” no matter how much he hates it.

…

Dear Wu,

I don’t know where you are right now, and I don’t have any way to write this down and send it to you, even if I could. But I’m alive for now. You focus on keeping yourself in one piece. I’m going to find you, I swear. I found you once, didn’t I?

We’re stuck together, and Kuvira can’t change that.

Mako

Chapter 14: Prison Part 3

Chapter Text

Prison Part 3

Dear Asami,

I can’t actually write this down, because I’m currently illegally detained in the Earth Kingdom, being forced to do manual labor.

So that’s what’s up with me. How are you?

Sweaty, hungry, and covered in dirt,

Mako

…

All things considered, Mako’s been in worse situations. Not many. But some. The main difference, he thinks, as he clears his mind and generates lightning for the umpteenth time (it’s really not so different from that time he worked in the power plant…except with longer shifts, no paycheck to speak of, and more human rights violations) is that when he was starving on the streets he had hope. There was always the possibility of improvement. Here, there’s pretty much only the possibility of things getting worse or him getting dead.

He flings himself down onto his creaking bunk after a scanty dinner of wilted vegetables and thin jook, determined to make the most of his scant six hours of allotted sleep, when Baraz nudges him. Mako growls. He does not appreciate being nudged, not when he’ll have to haul his aching body up before dawn to scarf down watery gruel and continue to power up Kuvira’s war machine, all while agonizing over Wu’s fate, how they’re going to get out of this, and whether or not he’ll live to see Bolin and his friends again.

“Hey, scary motherf*cker.”

“Baraz. There’d better be a good reason you’re disturbing me.”

“You want to hear something good?”

“We’ve been liberated by United Republic Forces. We’re being shipped off to stay at the Four Elements Hotel in Republic City and fed bon-bons free of charge right this instant.”

“Uh…no. Not even close.”

“Unless it’s that specific scenario, I don’t want to hear it.”

“Well…it’s not bon-bons, but you could get more camp privileges and meal vouchers out of it.”

Mako cracks open an eye. He’s not going to get any sleep. He knows that. His brain, no matter how exhausted his body is, is too busy whirling with possibilities, all the ways Wu could be hurt or dead by now, what Kuvira could be planning, whether or not Bolin and Opal are safe, whether or not Asami and Lin even know he’s in trouble. Whether or not anyone would be notified if he died here.

“I’m listening.”

“Come with me.”

Mako groans and hauls himself up. Why does he always listen to crazy people who want him to do things?

…

Mako follows Baraz out of the bunkhouse, their feet clattering against the metal slats of the hastily constructed structure. Trust Kuvira’s metal benders to slap together a bunker of corrugated steel and call it good. Fire benders or not, without insulation, Mako’s sure at least half of them will die of hypothermia and pneumonia when the nights start getting cold. Even in the Earth Kingdom, winter is still a threat.

They walk through the night-dark camp, not even bothering with stealth. They’re all just more anonymous fire benders here, all dressed in the same shabby prison clothes, all with their hair cut short from intake, when they were all shaved and scrubbed within an inch of their lives.

“Vermin, you understand,” the guard had said, “Can’t have anyone bringing in ticks and lice, you understand.”

It was the ‘you understand’ that made Mako’s blood boil. No. He doesn’t f*cking understand. He doesn’t f*cking want to.

In the weeks since, Mako’s hair has begun to grow back, just as unruly as ever, but each millimeter of dark strands only reminds him he’s been here too long, he’s been negligent, he’s failed.

He’d tried to escape in the beginning.

Over and over and over.

He’d been thrown into the metal box every time. Solitary confinement. Told to cool his heels.

There’s a reason he’s fed half as much as the other inmates. Why he works longer hours. Gets less sleep.

Baraz turns a corner, bringing them to the enclosed yard where they take their meals. The tables have been cleared away, leaving nothing but packed dirt and a ring of screaming, stamping spectators.

“What is this, some kind of fight club?” Mako asks.

“Yeah,” Baraz says with a shrug, “That’s exactly what it is.”

“AND AHNAH CONTINUES TO BE UNSTOPPABLE,” screams another inmate, apparently the commentator, a skinny kid with spiky hair standing on a stack of crates, “SPECTATORS, SHE’S GOT HIM ON THE ROPES, ON THE GROUND, IN THE AIR, AND ON THE GROUND AGAIN!”

The crowd begins to scream again, stamping and jumping in place.

“Come on,” Baraz grabs Mako’s arm and hauls him closer to the action, shouldering other spectators aside as they push their way to the front. They break through, emerging at the perimeter of the circle, just in time to see a woman standing over her fallen foe, fists in the air.

“She’s a water bender,” Mako says, surprised. The water benders and fire benders are kept in the same camp but segregated into different work areas and bunkhouses. The water benders mostly work by the river, focusing on amplifying Kuvira’s manufacturing with hydropower while Mako and his ilk are confined to the elctro-power plants. Baraz and the other non-lightning benders are kept to the factories themselves, being used as human welders.

“How could you tell?” Baraz asks.

Mako indicates her hair. She’s combed out small hair loops, despite her prison-cropped hair (she must have been here longer than the two of them combined, her hair is long enough for a stubby ponytail). “She’s Southern Water Tribe. That’s a traditional hairstyle. Master Katara wears her hair like that.” He doesn’t say the first thing that sprang to mind – she moves like Korra.

“You’ve met Master Katara?” Baraz’s voice goes a little high and squeaky at the idea.

“Yeah,” Mako says, “Her daughter saved my life.” That’s a wild understatement considering everything else that had gone down the night of Harmonic Convergence, but Mako doesn’t really want to get into it right now.

“Who even are you?” Baraz squeaks.

“Mako, I told you,” Mako says with a frown, before turning his attention back to the spectacle.

Ahnah is accepting congratulations from the crowd, a mixture of fellow prisoners and junior guards alike. A sour-faced assistant from the quartermaster’s office approaches to offer her a stack of meal vouchers.

Bonuses indeed.

“If she keeps this up, she’ll have the run of the place,” groans one of the prisoners next to Mako.

“What d’you mean?” Baraz asks.

“Well, the winners always get more roaming privileges, right? She’ll have nearly free run of the camp at this rate.”

Free run of the camp.

That sounds pretty good to Mako.

“Get me into the fights,” he says to Baraz.

“Huh? How?” the other fire bender blurts. “Me?”

Mako sighs. No dice there. “Hey, you,” he calls to the prisoner who’d been talking about roaming privileges.

“Yeah?”

“How do I get in the ring?”

…

“You’re new,” a woman’s voice remarks from behind Mako as he strips off his shirt and tears off strips of material to wrap his hands. It’s been awhile since he’s fought without any fire bending at all. It reminds him painfully of Tahno and the tour bus and Wu’s face above his after he’d been dragged out of the mini-rumble arena.

“And you’re Ahnah,” Mako says, holding out one of his wrapped hands, “Mako.”

She shakes it.

“It’s harder than it looks,” she says, dropping his hand, “Especially when you’re used to bending.”

“I figured,” Mako agrees, “is it worth it?”

She grimaces, “Is anything worth it in here?” She stretches, cracking her back, “If you’re thinking of using your winnings to try and escape, don’t bother.”

“I see my reputation precedes me,” Mako says dryly.

She snorts, “I have no f*cking clue who you are. I just know everybody thinks it. Not exactly a leap there. More freedom leading to eventual escape. But it never works. Ask me how I know,” she gives him a grim smile.

Mako shrugs. “Maybe I’m just really f*cking angry and want something to punch.”

Ahnah snorts, “That’s the spirit.”

There’s a noise from the crowd. The announcer is shouting about a new challenger to the ring.

“That’s my cue,” Mako deadpans.

“For what it’s worth,” Ahnah says to the back of his head as he walks away, “Good luck.”

…

If Mako was playing it smart, he would have thrown the first fight. A wise fighter would have dragged it out a bit, gotten a feel for the ring, for the competition, then taken a fall before he could get too injured.

There’s something even Bolin doesn’t fully realize about Mako, though. When he has no one to protect and nothing to lose, he doesn’t play it smart.

The first fight is fast and brutal. When Mako was pro-bending with Bolin he was all about offense while Bolin worked defense. When Mako was on the run with Wu he was defensive offense, attacking relentlessly but always with the goal to protect and escape, protect and escape.

Here, now, nothing matters. Not him, not the ring, not his opponents. It’s been weeks. Wu could be anywhere. Anything could have happened to him. Any number of calamities could have befallen Bolin, and Korra, and Asami, and Republic City and he wouldn’t know.

Nothing matters except winning. Nothing matters except destroying whatever stands in his way and getting the f*ck out of here.

He has blood in his eyes and he’s breathing hard, his ribs straining against his skin. He’s gotten thin again. He tastes blood on his teeth and spits before sweeping his opponent’s legs out from under him and lunging forward to slam the other man’s head into the dirt.

It’s not fair. He doesn’t want to be hurting these skinny, half-feral people, but Mako learned long ago how to do distasteful things.

He probably looks more than half-feral himself, baring his teeth at the crowd, biting back the flames that flicker in the back of his throat as his inner fire roars up to meet his anger, to burst out of him in a vengeful, burning tide.

He doesn’t know how many he fights, but he knows he isn’t beaten at the end, when someone shoves a packet of papers at him and yells at someone else to “Just get that monster out of here, alright?”

The world smears and blurs and suddenly he’s sitting down again and Baraz is on one side – where did he come from? – shouting “What the f*ck, what the f*ck, what the f*ck, I knew it, I knew you were a scary motherf*cker!”.

“What’d I win?” Mako slurs around a swelling lip.

“I dunno,” a rustle as Baraz thumbs through the papers, “looks like extra rations for a week and a later curfew.”

Not good enough. He must have said it instead of just thought it, though, because suddenly Baraz is shoving him back down onto the crate he was seated on, “Vaatu’s arse, sit down, you crazy man. You’re beat to the spirit world and back, just sit!”

Mako continues to feebly resist until another pair of hands joins Baraz’s and a second pair of eyes is glaring down at him.

“He’s right, you know,” Ahnah growls, “They’re not going to let you back in the ring, not yet.”

Mako growls at her, and though Baraz takes a step back, Ahnah just crosses her arms. “I know what I’m talking about, spitfire, I’ve been doing this a long time.”

Mako subsides, but glares just to show he’s not scared of her.

Ahnah rolls her eyes, “This isn’t above-board, you know. Kuvira, Bataar, all the higher-ups have no idea this is going on. And that’s fine, as long as no one prisoner gets too good. Too many wins all at once, too many privileges thrown around willy-nilly and some pencil-pusher gets suspicious. Those permits for later curfews? For more rations? They’re all pre-signed ‘good behavior’ documents. No one prisoner can use too many all at once or the whole operation will get uncovered. It’s why no one’s ever won enough privileges to actually make a break for it. No one person ever has enough at one time. And the people who do manage an unexpected windfall are typically walking bruises like you. Half your face is swollen like a puffer-fish and I bet you can barely move your arms. And that’s just from one night. And what did you get? More rations? An adjusted curfew?”
She’s right and Mako hates it.

“Yeah, yeah, I hate it too.”
She’s right and she’s apparently a mind-reader and Mako still hates it.

Ahnah sighs, “Give it up, Spitfire, it’s a lost cause. There’s no getting out of here.” She looks at Baraz, “You, give me your canteen.”

“What?” Baraz startles.

“They don’t let water benders carry canteens, too afraid we’ll use them as weapons, but you walking furnaces have to stay hydrated or you’ll give yourselves heatstroke. Canteen, or your friend continues to look like a poorly mashed yam-radish.”

Baraz hands over the canteen.

Ahnah draws out a trickle of water and frowns at it until it glows before running it gently over Mako’s visible injuries.

“Neat trick,” he rasps as the cooling effect of water-healing sinks into his skin and bones.

“I’m not very good at it,” Ahnah grumbles, “My gran was much better. I should have apprenticed at the Southern Tribal Hospital when I had the chance,” she gives a flat, humorless laugh, “I thought I was being so responsible, staying here, with Dad, helping him run the business. And then these jack-booted thugs show up, ransack the place and cart me off. Turns out my girlfriend turned me in. I thought we had something special. Ha. Real special.”

“I’m sorry,” Mako whispers.

“It’s in the past,” Ahnah says, but the tense lines on her face say otherwise. She puts away the water and hands the canteen back to Baraz. “There, you’ll be presentable for work shift tomorrow, at the very least.”

“Thanks,” Mako says, “Really. Thank you.”

She sighs, rolling her shoulders restlessly. “Just, try not to get yourself killed.” She turns to leave, looking resigned. Looking like Korra did when she agreed to let Amon take her. Looking like Asami did when she realized her father wasn’t the man she thought he was.

“Ahnah,” Mako says, the beginnings of an idea trickling into place in the back of his mind. “You said no one prisoner could ever get enough ration cards and movement privileges to make an escape attempt.”

“Yeah,” she frowns at him, “No. Don’t. Whatever you’re thinking, dumbass –”

“They keep us separated on purpose,” Mako says, “Our shifts are staggered, to take advantage of fire benders rising with the sun and water benders pulling power from the moon. They don’t want us mixing too much.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s going to be their undoing,” Mako says with absolute certainty.

“Oh no,” Baraz mutters behind him.

“Oh yes,” Mako grins. No wonder Korra always looks like she’s having the time of her life when she runs into danger. This kind of thing is weirdly fun.

…

Phase 1 of the plan involves pooling their resources, then splitting them up again. “We need to do recon,” Mako says, feeling strangely like Lin at a morning briefing, “Baraz, you’ll have to take lead on the fire benders side of the camp.”

“Why Baraz?” Ahnah asks.

“Because my work hours are longer than his and I’m stuck indoors for all of them.”

“Who’d you piss off?”

“Literally everyone,” Mako deadpans.

“His escape attempts were legendary.” Baraz says.

“I’m shocked you’re still hanging around if the guards hate this guy that much.”

“When you’re boxed up and put on a prison train with a guy you kind of bond,” Baraz shrugs.

“Focus, team,” Mako snaps, “We need to use our movement privileges judiciously. We need a reliable map. Guard stations, patrol routes, camp layout, all of it.”

The other two look at each other, then back at him and nod.

“What’s your part in this?” Ahnah asks.

“Hoarding food,” Mako says bluntly. “I’ve been stashing nonperishables since my last failed prison break.”

Baraz looks offended, “And you didn’t tell me?”

“I didn’t want you to eat them,” Mako growls, “I grew up with a younger brother, I know how sticky fingers work.”

Part 2 is easier, if more unpleasant, “Ahnah and I keep getting the sh*t beat out of us to maintain our supply of camp privileges and ration tickets.”

“I’m very glad I’m not part of that part of the plan,” Baraz says sagely.

“Me too,” Ahnah says, “I could snap you like a toothpick.”

“Hey!”

Mako cuts in before they can squabble, “Part 3 is harder. Waiting for a decent opportunity. It has to be when something routine, but unusual happens. Like a visit to the camp from Kuvira or Bataar, or –”

“Or Varrick’s weird laboratory train coming in for winter outfitting?” Ahnah offers.

“Is that an option?” Mako asks.

“It came in for summer outfitting last spring,” she shrugs, “I don’t see why it wouldn’t come back.”

“When do you think it’ll be back?” Mako demands.

“Probably in a week or two, maybe a month. It’s been getting colder.”

Mako doesn’t grin. Even with Ahnah’s help, his face feels too tender for that. But he does smirk, just a little bit, “Perfect.”

And after they get out of this miserable place, Mako promises, he’s going to find his damn prince, and drag him back to the safety of Republic City, if they have to walk the entire Raava-forsaken way.

…

Mako,

It’s been two months since I’ve heard from you, where are you? Bolin is panicking, Opal, Kai and Jinora are searching for you whenever they can, no one’s seen or heard from you and Wu since you parted ways with Kai and the refugees.

Mako, if you’re dead I’m marching into the spirit world and dragging your sorry ass back into the land of the living, don’t test me.

Please, please be alright.

Your very worried friend,

Asami

Chapter 15: The Prison Break

Chapter Text

The Prison Break

Dear Mako,

Want to know a secret? I have NO IDEA what Varrick means when he says “Do the thing”. None. BUT I have a great deal of experience following incoherent and absurd commands from a petty despot, and while I never expected that to go on my resume, it clearly indicates some kind of job proficiency because I am an AWESOME assistant. Yes, I don’t always do the RIGHT thing when I “do the thing” but I do A THING which seems to help the process or something because Varrick just kind of stares at me and doesn’t yell at me the way my aunt used to, so obviously I’m doing great.

Alright, “great” is a stretch. I actually miss you terribly and want to be anywhere but here. But hey, we’re stopping somewhere for repairs or something soon and maybe you’ll be there and there’ll be some kind of master escape plan already in place and we can get out of here once and for all!

…A guy can dream…

Missing you terribly,

Wu

…

“For the last time, Varrick, I am doing a thing.”

“Yes, but it’s not the thing.”

“Well then you should have specified,” Wu says primly and continues to reorganize the tool cabinet.

“Li, now I don’t know where anything is!”

“That sounds like a personal problem to me,” Wu sniffs.

“But…but…Li.”

“Yes, Varrick?”

Varrick sputters a bit, waving his hands vaguely, “Do the thing!”

Wu glances over at the wrenches he just arranged by size and shape. He delicately reaches over and begins sorting the nuts and bolts into separate trays. Varrick makes a sound like a rubber turtleduck being stepped on slowly.

Beneath them, the train squeaks to a stop.

“I don’t have time for this shenaniganry,” Varrick huffs, “We’re winterizing the train today.”

“Shall I continue doing the thing in your absence?” Wu asks innocently, widening his eyes as he starts on the pliers. Behind Varrick, Zhu Li’s face twitches in a smile-type direction.

Varrick makes a hissing steam-kettle noise and stalks off muttering to himself.

Zhu Li shoots Wu a very deliberate look. “Sir doesn’t like these stops. He hates the work camps. He’s protested to Kuvira but been shut down. He thinks using prisoner labor is wrong. If you don’t want to get into trouble, don’t leave the train and explore.”

This is a new, weird verbal tic for Zhu Li. She’s not really prone to audible italics. Wu opens his mouth to ask her why she’s telling him these things. She raises her eyebrows and shoots a glance towards the doors where the guards are moving away. “The guards will be assisting with the train elsewhere today and tonight. There are unruly fire bending prisoners out there, so it’s not safe to leave the train. You could run into one.”

Wu blinks. Blinks again. Finally gets it. Feels a little dense. “OH! You mean…”

Zhu Li clenches her teeth and clearly resists the urge to cut a finger over her throat in the universal signal for shut the f*ck up.

Wu closes his mouth and instead gives her an extremely exaggerated nod. “I completely understand the things you are telling me. Right now. Out loud. Emphatically.” He says with a wink.

Zhu Li looks extremely unimpressed. “Good,” she says and then she’s stalking off too.

Wu resists the urge to do a giddy little dance behind her back. Mako is – might be? – no, is, almost definitely is, Zhu Li doesn’t make mistakes – here! Here! Here! Where Wu is! Possibly right now!

They’re getting out of here. Wu knows it in his gut or his heart, or some other organ that’s supposed to feel these things. He’s getting out of here and so is Mako and they’re going to be together again.

He’s sure of it.

Trying not to grin to himself too obviously, Wu returns to sorting pliers.

…

Wu decides to bide his time. That seems like something tactical. Mako was always telling him to be more tactical. Or strategic. Or something. Wu kind of tuned him out sometimes.

He promises to himself that if he gets Mako back he will never, ever tune out his stuffy lectures on tactics and strategy. He also promises himself that he will learn the difference between tactics and strategy.

There are noises coming from…somewhere…on the train and Wu doesn’t really like that. He’s been wary of trains ever since the aborted kidnapping attempt back in Zaofu. The last few weeks (months? Time tends to blur when you’re dragged into Varrick’s orbit.) he’s adjusted to it somewhat but he’s still not much of a fan. Whoever thought ‘hey, let’s put a metal tube on metal tracks and send it hurtling around with a bunch of squishy human passengers inside’ deserves a smack upside the head in Wu’s book. Trains, in his experience, are loud and rattle-y and cold and don’t have Mako on them, and therefore are The Worst.

There’s another loud noise and Wu sighs and resigns himself to fretting all day long.

…

The noises mercifully stop after the sun goes down and Zhu Li comes back to not-smile at the ways Wu and his anxiety have completely re-arranged the workshop in her absence. “I see you’ve decided to be strategic,” she says, and at first Wu thinks she’s referring to his color-coded storage system, but then he remembers they’re speaking Subtext right now and nods. She’s complimenting him on not being foolish and not bolting the instant he’s left unsupervised. She complimenting him on making a plan.

He hasn’t really made a plan beyond ‘leave after the sun goes down and everyone is lulled into a false sense of security’ but Zhu Li doesn’t need to know that.

She nods back.

“Varrick and I will be staying in the guard barracks tonight. With the guards. You will stay put here.”

Wu nods.

Zhu Li nods.

He really hopes he’s as fluent in Subtext as he thinks he is.

…

Wu is packing a satchel full of any supplies he thinks might come in handy later (difficult, so difficult when he wants to avoid carrying around metal things since…he’s kind of about to be on the run from a metal bending dictator and her metal bending goons…but so far he’s gotten his hands on some very nice rope, two leather water skins, some jerky and dried fruit, and several books of matches) when he hears footsteps outside the workshop door. Flinching, he kicks his satchel into the shadows under the nearest workbench and searches for a non-metal weapon. Nothing…nothing…WHY WAS EVERYTHING MADE OUT OF METAL ON THIS THING? Finally, he catches sight of a (thank Raava) wooden broom, grabs it and slides over to hide behind a cabinet, makeshift bat clutched between his sweating palms.

A door creaks open. Wu tenses, trying to corral his breathing into something other than panicked wheezing.

A stranger’s voice, “Looks like some kind of workshop.”

“Shh,” hisses another voice, “then leave it alone, we’re looking for food and money, not weird tech sh*t.”

“Maybe there’s something we can sell,” the first voice says, feet clunking softly as he steps into the dimly lit room.

“No, Baraz, get out of there, there’s probably alarms.”

More footsteps, the stranger approaches Wu’s cabinet, “Lemme just –” he grabs for the cabinet door. Wu doesn’t know who this guy is, but he’s guessing he probably isn’t friendly, at least not to scrappy prisoner/assistants.

Wu swings the broom, resisting the urge to shriek as he does so. Mako always said screaming when attacking was stupid and just gave away your position, blah, blah, Mako strategy talk.

But it’s dark and the broom isn’t very sturdy and Wu’s aim isn’t the best, so he must only graze the guy’s head instead of landing a significant hit, because the other man reels back with a muffled curse, “What the f*ck?”

“Baraz, quit messing around,” hisses his companion.

“There’s someone in here,” Baraz says, “Or these things are booby trapped or something.”

“Then move it, sh*t, sh*t, get out of there,” the stranger snaps.

But Baraz, who is apparently an idiot, reaches forward and snags Wu around the collar before Wu can squirm away, “No, no, I got ‘im, it’s fine.”

Wu, scrabbling at the hands clenched around his collar snarls, in his best Mako-impersonation, “f*ck off.”

It’s probably not very intimidating. He has been reliably informed he’s not very intimidating. And his swearing always made Mako laugh. “You look so disgusted, like your body is rejecting the word,” he’s say. Wu would scrunch his face up and roll his eyes every time.

He’s hauled out of the workshop and into the adjoining hallway none too gently and deposited in from of a tough-looking woman with a southern water tribe hairstyle. “Um, hello?” he offers.

“Baraz, what were you thinking? We can’t take a hostage!” she whisper-shouts at him.

“I dunno, he tried to hit me with a broom so I grabbed him!”

Wu tries to bite the hand holding him and Baraz shakes him a little, more on reflex than anything else.

“He tried to bite me!”

“He scruffed me!”

The woman is clearly grinding her teeth, “Baraz what the f*ck, you’ve just endangered us all!”

“For the record, I would be a terrible hostage,” Wu offers, cringing when both turn their glares on him, “But, but, I have no reason to stop whatever…shady…thing…is happening here.”

“Why?” the woman asks bluntly. “You’re one of them.”

“Not really,” Wu says, “I’m technically a prisoner doing unpaid labor. Like an internship, but less voluntary.”

“Prove it, metal boy,” the woman spits.

“How?!” Wu asks, “I mean, not to offer unsolicited criticism here, but you clearly haven’t thought your plans here through.”

“We did have a good plan, until someone grabbed a random person,” the woman growls.

“Excuse you,” Wu huffs. “Listen, you don’t believe me, I get that. But I also find you extremely suspicious and know for a fact that if you two get caught I will be implicated so it’s in my best interest that your little bid for freedom goes off without a hitch. Here’s my proposal. You take me with you. Keep an eye on me, use me as a hostage, whatever. I use my extra special train prisoner knowledge to help you not get caught. Best case scenario we all escape together into the sunset. Worst case scenario, we’re all caught and end up back where we started.”

“In ‘involuntary internships’.” The woman says skeptically.

“Exactly!”

The woman glowers at him. “Fine. But you’re not going anywhere.” She flicks a wrist and a thing stream of water flows out of her waterskin and wraps around his wrists, freezing into a pair of handcuffs.

Wu frowns, “You’re going to take those off before I get frostbite, right?”

She glares at him. “Show us what you got, train boy.”

“Okay, first off, I’m literally an adult. I’m not a train boy; I’m a train man.”

“If you have to tell people you’re a grown up, you aren’t one,” the woman says.

“Rude,” Wu huffs.

The woman shrugs and keeps glaring at him.

“Any chance you’ve met another prisoner here, fire bender, very angry eyebrows, likes to huff and glare and fold his arms a lot…?”

“You have two seconds to prove you’ll be useful before I lock you in a closet and leave you to be found by the morning shift.”

Well then. Wu licks his lips and clears his throat, “Well, have you ever considered hijacking a train?”

Baraz and the woman exchange looks.

“You need to meet the scary motherf*cker,” Baraz declares.

Well that sounds just delightful.

…

Wu has no idea what to expect from a person with the nickname ‘scary motherf*cker’. Probably someone built along the same lines as the biker brute who kidnapped Mako that one time. Someone designed around the loose concept of ‘what if a tank was also a person’ perhaps. He does not expect the person waiting for them in the shadows beside the train depot.

“What took so long? What were you two doing in there?” a raspy, achingly familiar voice hisses in the darkness and Wu’s heart is doing something weird in his chest. Shuddering. Once, when he was little, his father took him to a quarry. He’d stood and watched earth benders breaking stones apart, separating the precious minerals out then pulling the unwanted stone back together again and setting it aside, rows upon rows of reassembled boulders.

The last weeks had been like being those boulders. Like he’d been blown apart and something precious had been taken from his insides. Like he’d been jammed back together and set aside afterwards, poorer for the experience, but expected to look and act and be the same as always. Like he had to look and act and be the same or he’d be in danger of being reduced to dust all over again.

But here was a familiar voice. Here were the parts of himself he’d been missing.

“Mako,” the name is punched out of him.

“How’d you know that name?” growls Baraz, grabbing for the back of his collar again, but Wu is slim and slippery. He’s had a lifetime of demanding hands grabbing at him, shaking him. He wasn’t a good child, after all, at least not according to his aunt. Too good at slipping away. Too much like both his parents.

He slides away from Baraz’s grasping hands and jolts forward, crashing into a tense, unyielding body. His hands are still in the ice-cuffs so he can’t throw both arms around Mako the way he normally would.

“Mako, you’re here. You’re okay.” sh*t, his eyes are watering. He always was a crybaby, his aunt always said. She hated children, and she especially hated children who cried, even at their parents’ funerals.

He presses his forehead into Mako’s collarbone, and it’s far sharper than he remembers and something twists painfully at the thought of Mako suffering. Mako being hungry. Mako being alone and in pain.

“Wu?” the familiar voice is quiet. “Wu?”

There’s a hand in his hair now. Patting gently, then more firmly, fingers twisting in unruly grown-out curls.

“You know this guy?” Baraz asks in the background, but Wu’s having a hard time caring about that when his heartbeat is thunder in his ears and Mako is here.

“We were taken at the same time,” Mako says, sounding a little shell-shocked even as his voice sharpens, “Why are you here? How are you here? Where’d they take you?”

Wu sniffles, tries not to get weepy. “Zhu Li got to me first. She hid me from Kuvira. Told everyone I was one of Varrick’s assistants. Said my name was Li. I didn’t know what happened to you. I’ve been on that awful train. Didn’t know where you were. Didn’t know what happened to you. Mako, I’ve been so worried.”

“Shh,” Mako’s hand is back to gently petting his hair. “I’ll tell you everything later.”

“This is touching,” the woman interjects, “But we’re on a tight timetable here, boys.”

“Ahnah is right,” Mako admits, “We’ll catch up later.”

“Oh, right, we’re hijacking the train,” Wu interjects before Mako can go all ‘planning Mako’ and completely tune out any suggestions.

“What.”

“Yeah, how soon do you think we could get all the prisoners in this place on board?”

“All-?”

Wu glares at Mako’s shadowy face. He looks thin. Too thin. And bruised, although that could just be the darkness. Wu hopes it’s just the darkness. His eyebrows are just as sharp as ever, which is weirdly comforting.

“These are my people, Mako. Earth Kingdom citizens. I will not leave them here.”

Something twists in Mako’s face, something complex and layered and probably beyond words, because he brings both hands up to squish Wu’s face between them and presses a rough, dry-lipped kiss to Wu’s forehead. “You.” He says, then stops, unable to continue.

“Me?” Wu asks, utterly confused, forehead tingling a little from the contact.

“We’ll do our best.”

“Okay?” Wu still has no idea what’s going on, but the kiss on the forehead was…neat? It was neat. Nice. Um. He has no idea what to do with that. Time to file it away to the ‘deal with later’ folder. “Can Ahnah uncuff me first?”

…

Contrary to public opinion, Wu is not an idiot. He is also not a train…driver? No…conductor? Whatever. He doesn’t drive trains. But he knows the theory and Varrick is very good about diagramming things. He knows how driving the train should work. Which is really all you need to know, right? Right. He’s got this train hijacking thing in the bag.

Mako and Ahnah went to gather as many of the prisoners as possible while he and Baraz get the train ready to depart and having Mako out of eyesight so soon after getting him back in eyesight and definitely, absolutely not making Wu anxious at all. That would be…that would be…completely logical, f*ck. Wu’s heartrate is through the roof and he hasn’t even begun trying to conduct…drive…whatever the train.

“So…is scary motherf*cker your boyfriend or something?” Baraz, who is supposed to be getting the engines going, asks.

“No,” Wu huffs, “He’s my Mako. Next question.”

“So…” drat, there is another question, Wu had really been hoping Baraz would take that as a figure of speech. “Why’d they take you? You don’t really seem like a bender, no offense.”

Wu rolls his eyes. “No, I am not a bender. I’m the crown prince of the earth kingdom.”

“Well no need to get huffy.”

“I’m not getting huffy!”

“Little huffy there, buddy.”

“Fine, I’m huffy, but I’m also Earth Kingdom royalty, so it’s allowed.”

“…so like…you’re the pretender to the throne everyone was talking about?”

“I’M NOT A PRETENDER TO THE THRONE! I AM THE THRONE!”

“You know, you’re really not selling me on you not being crazy, buddy.”

“We aren’t buddies. I am not your buddy. Shovel coal.”

“Sure thing, your princeliness.”

“How are you and Mako friends?”

“I kind of annoyed him into submission.”

Wu blinks. “Yeah, that’s how Mako makes friends.”

Baraz grins at him. Wu wonders if shoving him in the coal bin is a viable option.

…

“We got as many as we could,” Ahnah says an indeterminate amount of time later.

Wu opens his mouth to ask who they couldn’t get and if they could go back for them. Ahnah gives him a look. Her eyes are shadowed, her face thin and bruised. “Some wouldn’t go. Some we couldn’t get to. We got as many as we did ‘cause the guards were throwing a party over in the barracks. Most of them are drunk off their asses. But that doesn’t mean they’re not dangerous.”

It’s Wu’s turn to grind his teeth. Kuvira did this. Kuvira did this to their citizens. His people. This is his aunt and the air benders all over again and Wu hates it. He hates how helpless he feels. He hates that he can’t save them all.

“Focus on the ones you can save now.” Oh, there’s Mako. And now that they’re in the train cabin and Wu can see Mako in full light he bites back a soft little shocked sound at the state of him.

Mako is thin. Thinner than Wu’s ever seen him. His cheek and jaw bones knives under his bronze skin. His hair is scruffy, the ends cut jaggedly. There’s faded bruises on his face, his arms, his throat. He looks like he’s been fighting. His eyes are hard and his stance is closed off the way he gets sometimes, like he’s seconds away from fighting or bolting. He’s ragged. Feral. Wu wants to hold him close and smooth his horrible hair and kiss his forehead and keep him safe. It’s a strange feeling. Wu isn’t used to feeling protective like this. When he first met Mako, the other man had seemed sort of semi-invincible, even after he’d gotten clobbered by a badgermole. There was fire in Mako. He scared Wu a little even as he fascinated him.

This Mako is different. And if Wu keeps looking at him, he’s going to start crying and jibbering about it all being his fault and apologizing until he throws up, and Mako would hate that, would never allow that, because despite appearances Mako is the most forgiving person Wu has ever met, and it’s really not fair. None of it is fair and Wu hates it. Hates that any of this happened to any of them.

“Okay?” Mako says. “Focus on saving as many as you can.”

Wu nods. He can do that.

“Okay. Let’s get out of here.”

…

The sun has crept over the horizon before the pursuit begins.

“Guys, we’re being followed,” Baraz yells from a window.

“f*ck,” Ahnah swears.

There’s a clutch of trucks painted in unmistakable green and silver trailing them and Mako, who hasn’t left Wu’s side as the hours ticked down.

“What’s the plan?” Wu asks him. Mako and the others had told him they were headed for the nearest port to hop a ship headed for Kyoishi Island when they hijacked the train. They’re making good time in the train, going faster than they possibly could on foot, but they aren’t exactly stealthy.

“Keep the train going, we’ll get rid of them,” Mako says.

“How?!?” Wu blurts. He’s just glad they’re just being chased by trucks; he has no idea what they’d do if Varrick’s prototype mecha-suits were in working order.

“Trust me.”

Wu makes a strained noise and glares at him.

“Fine.” He grinds out between his teeth.

“That’s the spirit.”

Wu hates him. He hates him so much. He especially hates him when Mako swings out of the MOVING f*ckING TRAIN to the ROOF to do SOMETHING INSANE.

“I hate him,” he tells Baraz conversationally.

Baraz blinks at him. “Suuuuure, buddy.”

Wu huffs.

…

The train is jolting. The train is jolting a lot and Baraz has left to join Mako and go fight on the roof because apparently all fire benders are insane and that’s not just a Mako thing, and Wu is white-knuckling the controls and wishing Varrick had installed some kind of offensive weapon on this thing.

Their saving grace is the bridge ahead. The rail bridge. Over a ravine. Where the trucks can’t follow them. Wu is trying to get as much power from the train engines as possible, both trying to outrun the trucks and to get them to that ravine as quickly as possible. He might not be able to steer a train but he can get it to go very, very fast, so that’s what he’s going to do. Outside the windows, he can see the trucks drawing even with the train, metal benders sending out lines to rappel onto the train, only to be rebuffed by waves of water studded with icy shrapnel (ouch!) from Ahnah (is Wu ever glad she removed those handcuffs after they reunited with Mako) and bolts of fire from Mako and Baraz. One of the trucks is peeling away, engine smoking faintly as it lunges forward, trying to draw even with the conductor’s cabin. One of the metal benders throws out a line and it must latch onto something because the trucks jolts and the train jolts and Wu grabs the coal shovel, ready to defend his post. But then there’s a dark blur sliding down the metal cable, slamming both feet into the metal bender’s chest before he can lift off. The cable detaches and spirals back and the figure in the truck is still fighting, hurling metal benders out of the truck but the end of that cable is descending. The metal bender who extended it hasn’t retracted it, too busy wrestling with the man hurling his comrades out of the truck. And then the fire bender tosses the metal bender out of the truck too, turning to grab at the steering wheel and it looks like the metal bender and his extended cable will no longer be a threat, but as the body flies to flop uselessly at the side of the road, the end of the cable snaps around and slaps the fire bender across the face like a scorned lover in a melodrama.

Wu is moving already, grabbing a coil of rope off the floor and hurling open the nearest exterior door, because that’s Mako. That’s Mako who jumped off a Vaatu-blasted train and got clobbered by a spirits-cursed metal cable and Wu has had it with this day, this week, this year. He’s had it with Kuvira’s power grab and the ways it’s crushed everyone its’ path. He will not lose Mako. Not again.

Mako is reeling in the driver’s seat, face bloodied, but eyes still open and body still moving and Wu is not thinking about what could have happened if that cable caught on him and pulled him out of that seat.

“MAKO!” Wu screams out of the door, praying his voice is loud enough to be heard over the roar of the wind, and that canyon and that bridge of coming up quick.

Mako looks up, thank Raava, sees him in the doorway, and floors the gas pedal. He jolts forward, drawing even with the train, blood flowing freely from one purpling cheekbone, dark brows drawn down over burning eyes. He seems to come to some sort of decision, releasing the steering wheel, jumping up on the seat, twisting around pushing hands behind himself, clapping his palms together and sending out a single, powerful, concussive blast. The truck flies forward and Mako twists around and Wu throws the rope and Mako catches it, he catches it and he jumps with another blast of firebending and Wu is reeling him in and he’s flying forward and then he’s hurtling through the doorway and flattening Wu in the process and they’re lying on the floor of the train clutching at each other and trying to scramble away from the open doorway at the same time.

They tumble into the conductor’s cabin, the doorway slamming shut behind them and they’re a tangle of limbs and Mako’s face is bleeding and Wu might be crying. The train rattles as it hits the bridge and there might be an explosion when the unmanned truck skids out. Baraz and Ahnah’s voices sound from the hallway outside, laughing and crying in relief.

The metal floor is cold through Wu’s undershirt (he’d shucked the Earth Empire uniform as soon as possible) and Mako is warm, too warm, burning warm, on top of him, all angles and bones and Wu’s hands twist in Mako’s uneven hair and he hangs on, pulling Mako close, closer, as close as possible, because he didn’t lose him, he’s here, bloody and scowling and dressed in horrible prison clothes. Their eyes meet and Mako opens his mouth and Wu is about to quip something about how Mako didn’t even lose any clothes this time, but he can’t get the words to assemble themselves into the right configuration, all he ends up saying is two words, punched out of his chest in a wounded gasp, “You’re here.”

“We’re okay,” Mako’s eyes are bright.

“Don’t cry, you’ll make your face hurt,” Wu’s hands slide down, out of his hair, to frame his face.

“Already hurts.” Mako keeps looking at him, and Wu can’t stand it, can’t stand being seen like that.

“I –” there’s too many things to say, too many words that aren’t right and Wu’s written letter after letter in his head but now that Mako’s here none of those words work right. “I was so scared for you.”

Mako makes a strange little noise in the back of his throat. His hands, where they grip Wu’s sides, tighten, like he can force them to stay reunited, like he can leave some intangible connection that distance and dictators can’t sever.

And Wu’s crying and Mako’s bleeding, and now is not the time, but the train’s on the bridge, and Ahnah and Baraz are celebrating with the other escapees just outside the conductor’s car, and everything feels too bright, too much, too intensely good to stand.

Their first kiss tastes like blood and salt and smells like steel.

…

Dear Mako,

Bataar jr. showed up at one of Raiko’s council meetings claiming ‘Republic City spies’ stole a very valuable train full of experimental prototypes.

I really hope that was you, you lunatic.

Your worried friend,

Asami

Chapter 16: Kyoshi Island

Chapter Text

Kyoshi Island

Dear Asami,

Wu here, again. There’s good news and bad news. Good news first? I always like good news first. Good news it is, then. Good news: we’re alive! Our great prison break was a success – we stole a train, Mako jumped off the train, I reeled Mako back onto the train, at least one truck exploded, then we stole a boat, Mako did NOT jump off the boat, we arrived at Kyoshi Island, Mako NEARLY GAVE ME A HEART ATTACK by COLLAPSING on the dock from exhaustion, malnutrition, and some injuries he “didn’t think were important at the time”. That man. I swear. Luckily, some very lovely ladies with very sharp fans were there to catch him or his poor face would have ended up EVEN MORE MANGLED.

He’s currently in the hospital wing, being treated by Kya, who is lovely, and wonderful, and absolutely terrifying.

Bad news next. My kingdom is being slowly overtaken by a rampaging, power-mad lunatic who genuinely seems to think she’s doing the right thing (yeesh), we all just barely escaped from PRISON, I’m a wanted criminal, I think I’ve developed some kind of trauma-related train phobia, I have no idea where my relationship with Mako is at BECAUSE HE’S BEEN UNCONSCIOUS, Mako has been unconscious, and I’m functionally homeless and country-less.

It’s been A TRYING TIME, Asami. A TRYING TIME. I’m sure in a century or two this will all be a footnote in greater Earth Kingdom history, but right now, it’s my life and it’s AWFUL. Except for having Mako back. And being out of prison. Yay, freedom.

Meanwhile, the scary fan ladies seem to have collectively decided that the only way to keep me from hovering over Mako as he recovers is to functionally KIDNAP me and force me to learn how to defend myself. It’s very, very difficult and the only upside to it is the costume, which is very comfy and the perfect color for me, and the makeup, which is not, but we can’t win them all, I suppose.

Kya says hello, and that she’s thinking of you. Mako woke up for a bit and grumbled some nonsense at me that I won’t bother attempting to transcribe.

Best wishes and warmest regards,

Prince Wu, heir-apparent-in exile

…

The first thing Mako sees when he wakes up is an old man sitting beside his bed, whittling. He – the old man that is – seems completely absorbed in his project so Mako leaves him be for a moment and just watches him work. The man looks vaguely familiar – like maybe Mako’s met him before but Mako’s brain is too foggy to put a name to the face. Whoever he is, he’s obviously Southern Water Tribe, his snowy white hair tied up in the traditional Southern warrior’s wolf tail and threaded through with beaded braids. Mako wishes he could remember where he’d seen his face before, it’s nagging just at the back of his mind.

Whoever he is, the man is clearly not a master craftsman. His calloused hands are covered in wood shavings, but whatever he’s whittling is looking less recognizable by the second.

“What do you think, kid?” the old man asks, “Dragon or fish?” he holds up the object which looks…like a blob. A blob with weird stubby, uneven nubbins sticking out of it.

“Maybe if it were a starfish,” Mako rasps, throat dry and aching.

The old man jumps, “Whoa, didn’t think you were awake there, kiddo.”

“Then why did you ask?” Mako grumbles. Now that his body is waking up along with most of his brain, he’s realizing that head to toe, he’s basically one giant ache, like every muscle in his body is saying ‘ow’ all at once.

“Just trying to fill the silence. It gets kind of creepy in here all by myself,” the old man grins good-naturedly.

Mako would raise an eyebrow if his entire face didn’t feel half numb, half inflamed. What little he can see of the room, it’s large, bright, and airy, the wood-paneled walls glowing golden in the afternoon (or morning? Mako has no idea what time it is) sunlight. “Nicer than where I was last,” he says.

The old man shrugs, “We aim to please here on Kyoshi Island. Well, no, actually. We don’t. We mostly aim to kick ass and take names. But we’ll hold off on the ass-kicking since you’re in the hospital and all.”

“Thanks,” Mako says dryly.

“You’re welcome,” the old man grins again, “So, do you really think I could run with the ‘it’s a starfish’ explanation for this thing?” He holds up the hideous carving again.

“You don’t need to explain art, that’s why it’s art,” a new voice interrupts, Kya sweeping in behind the old man. She smiles at Mako, “Morning sunshine, how are you feeling?”

“Like I just broke out of prison, jumped off a train, and passed out on a boat.”

“Oh, you got all the way to the dock before you passed out,” the old man offers, “Nearly took out Suki when you fell.”

“At her age, she shouldn’t be jumping in to catch people when they pass out in front of her,” Kya says chidingly.

“What was she supposed to do? Let him faceplant into the hardwood?”

“You’re all as bad as each other,” Kya huffs, “At least Mom doesn’t run around doing anything insane anymore.”

“Your mother still lives at the South Pole in her eighties. She’s crazier than I am!” protests the old man, “Iretired to a beautiful island full of very scary young people like a sensible world-saving hero!”

“Lord Zuko fights terrorists,” Mako offers, not really sure he’s following the conversation but sort of wanting to be included. “I met him.”

“Zuko would fight Vaatu himself if the floaty bastard antagonized him. Zuko is an outlier and should not have been counted!” The old man huffs. “And he’s not cooler than me.”

“He has a dragon. You have a misshapen block of wood.” There was a time when Mako was smarter than this. There was a time when Mako would hold his tongue, observe his surroundings, wait to see what threat level he could be dealing with before provoking anyone. Maybe. Mako is having a hard time remembering any times in the last two or three years when he was that calculating, smart guy.

“Hey! Don’t insult Starfish!” the old man protests with no venom.

“He’s got you there, Uncle Sokka,” Kya says.

All at once the pieces all fit. Mako knows exactly where he’s seen that wolf tail and those sharp cheekbones. The statue in front of the Southern Water Tribe Cultural Center. Councilman Sokka, hero of the hundred years war, ambassador, strategist, statesman…whittler of unidentifiable fish-like objects? But wait, Korra said…

“Aren’t you supposed to be dead?” Mako asks because tact is for people whose entire bodies don’t hurt.

Kya chokes on unexpected laughter. Sokka looks mortally offended. Kya stops trying to hold back and cackles outright.

“I’m supposed to be what?” Sokka squawks, “What is Katara telling you kids?!?”

Kya wheezes, “Mom told the Avatar you were ‘gone’ and she told all her friends…oh my spirits, that’s precious…”

“Gone as in retired, not gone as in not-alive-anymore!” Sokka protests, “Not to brag, but I have broken pretty much every bone in my body pursuing peace, here, and let me tell you, that sh*t hurts when you’re my age! Especially in the cold! There’s practically a whole Southern Water Tribe retirement community set up here! Has been since the war! We have a beach volleyball tournament every summer!”

“How is breaking every bone in your body a brag?” Mako, for whom breaking a bone would have been a death sentence on the streets, asks, not unreasonably.

“Pursuing peace!”

“Still. Every bone?”

Sokka huffs, and pulls a tragically-misunderstood face. “Kids these days!”

Kya is still snickering, “I can’t believe mom accidentally told the whole Team Avatar you were dead!”

“No wonder Korra doesn’t write,” Sokka huffs, “I knew no incarnation of Aang would be that distant!”

“What’s all the shouting?” a new, welcome voice interrupts and Mako nearly flings himself off the bed with how quickly he sits up, over Kya’s protests.

“Wu, you’re okay?” he calls.

“Mako? Mako!” a green figure bounces over and Mako is momentarily taken aback because that’s not Wu – except it is, it is Wu, just Wu wearing full Kyoshi warrior getup, complete with face paint, for no apparent reason. Kyoshi-warrior-Wu grabs Mako’s face, making him yelp in pain, immediately releases Mako’s face, blurting out a dozen apologies and settles for gripping his shoulders. “You’re awake, Mako, you’re awake!”

“And you’re wearing a lot of makeup,” Mako says stupidly. His head is spinning. He definitely sat up too quickly, but the high of seeing his…whatever Wu was, alive and unharmed hasn’t had enough time to settle back down to normal levels of ‘oh, so nice to see you’ from ‘oh thank Raava we aren’t dead’.

“I’ve been training with the warriors!”

“They let guys do that?”

“Only if you wear the dress,” Sokka interjects, “Speaking from personal experience.”

“It’s actually very comfortable, and the color brings out my eyes, all the ladies agree,” Wu says primly. He refocuses on Mako, “But Mako, you’re awake! You’ve mostly been sleeping between water healing sessions the last few days.”

“What about the others?” Mako asks, his mind sharpening the longer he’s awake.

“Ahnah was the worst off after you,” Wu says, “She drained her energy pretty badly keeping everyone in one piece for so long with her healing. Not to mention, the two of you had the worst untreated injuries out of everyone.” Wu’s gaze sharpens, “And don’t think we aren’t talking about what you two did to yourselves to escape. You two basically broke or half-way broke everything in your bodies brawling in the camps!”

“It wasn’t…we didn’t…” Mako hedges.

“Those other prisoners we liberated? They told me everything.” Wu is looking seriously unimpressed with his prevarication, so Mako just gives up on lying and falls back on bluntness.

“It was necessary.”

“We can debate necessity all you want, it still doesn’t change the fact that you’re not invincible and you were very, very hurt.”

Mako doesn’t know what to do with the look Wu is giving him. He’s not used to this level of…whatever this is. He’s used to being the one giving the lecture. The one telling Bolin not to be so reckless, Korra to stay safe, Asami to drive carefully. He’s the one who’s supposed to take the hits and keep on moving, the one who suffers so someone else doesn’t have to. That’s his job, and part of being that person is everyone around you tacitly agreeing not to look to closely, not to think too hard about what might have happened, what might be happening to him.

But somehow Wu didn’t get that memo. Ignored the ‘don’t think too hard or worry too much about Mako’ message. Because no matter how vapid and selfish he seems, Wu is always looking for him, looking at him, paying attention to what happens to him and getting angry on his behalf when he’s wronged.

It’s f*cking weird. And uncomfortable. A little jarring. Unsettling in the extreme.

And weirdly wonderful, too. Comfortable in a way Mako thought he’d given up when he’d found himself on the street with nothing but an inconsolable little brother and his father’s scarf at age eight.

All this doesn’t change the fact that he has no clue how to respond to Wu here. “Sorry?” he tries.

Wu stares at him. Mako can’t really read his facial expression through the face paint. “You.” He finally declares, poking him between the eyebrows, “are impossible.”

“Thank you?”

Wu throws up his hands in a ‘why do I even try?’ gesture.

“If you’re done chastising the patient, I do need to check on that facial wound,” Kya says dryly somewhere behind Wu.

The prince, instead of standing, up sits down on the bed and scootches over until he’s sitting on Mako’s left side, leaving the other side open for Kya to remove the bandage on his right cheek.

Mako doesn’t flinch when Kya delicately peels the gauze away, but Wu threads their fingers together and gives Mako’s hand a squeeze anyway.

“Well, the good news is, the gashes are healing as cleanly as they can,” Kya says, “the bad news is, you and Lin are going to match.”

“What do you mean?” Mako demands. He hasn’t had a chance to look in a mirror since long before their prison break, and he’s not 100% sure he wants to know what he’ll see when Kya holds one up. But he looks despite himself, choosing to ignore the sorry state his hair’s in (it’s been greasier, he tells himself, it’s even been cut way worse, he tells himself…it’s…it’s hideous and he can’t stand it, is what decidedly does not tell himself) to focus on the marks on his face. Two bright red slashes curve across his right cheek, starting close to his nose and carving up his cheekbone to taper off just past the far corner of his right eye. The skin around them is an ugly greenish purple from the bruising, and the whole area is badly swollen. It could be worse. He could have lost the eye. Or broken his nose. But it’s…not great.

Mako doesn’t like to think he’s vain, but he’s always taken pride in his appearance. In looking as neat and put together and capable as possible. His mother told him that if he dressed like he took himself seriously, other people would take him seriously too, and he’s always followed that rule, even as it got harder and he got hungrier. He wouldn’t give anyone any reason to look down on him if he could help it.

It didn’t hurt that having a handsome, marketable face had kept audiences interested in him as a pro-bender, even when he was so new to the sport, he didn’t know half the rules.

So, the sick sense of weird, misplaced fear at seeing a massive, disfiguring scar on his face is…unexpected but not inexplicable. He forces it down, reminds himself no one gives a sh*t what he looks like now. His face isn’t the only thing keeping food on the table anymore. He can afford to look as rough and ragged as he wants. It’s fine. He’s fine.

Wu squeezes his hand again and Mako remembers to let out the breath he’d been unintentionally holding.

“The Chief won’t like that,” he says on the exhale. “She says I’m enough of a copy-cat already.”

“The Chief,” Kya rolls her eyes at the nickname, “Had better just be happy you’re mostly in one piece.” She draws up a blob of gently glowing water, “Now, let’s try to get some of that swelling down. I won’t be able to prevent scarring, but at least I can speed up the process a little.”

“I’ll be on my way, then,” Sokka says cheerfully. “I’ve seen the water magic mumbo jumbo plenty of times.”

“For the last time, Uncle Sokka, it’s not magic!” Kya protests.

Her uncle keeps talking as if she hadn’t even spoken, “Maybe I’ll give Suki the starfish I made. She’ll like it.”

“She’ll tolerate it just like all the other weird stuff you give her,” Kya calls after him.

“After this many decades in each other’s lives, it’s basically its own love language,” Sokka laughs, ambling away.

Kya rolls her eyes even harder, “Alright, now let’s see what we can do about that face of yours.”

…

The next morning Mako follows the sounds of voices and the clack of practice weapons to the training hall. Kya had warned him away from strenuous activity, but lying around in a hospital bed aching was driving him slowly mad, and he can’t imagine a world in which ‘walking slowly’ is anything approaching ‘strenuous’. He turns a corner to see a group of children, a few of his fellow prisoners (looking much healthier in fresh, non-prison-issue clothes) and Wu enthusiastically flailing their way through basic martial arts forms.

All of Mako’s non-bending combat training isn’t so much training as it is bloody-knuckled experience, and there’s something weirdly soothing about watching the kids (and their adult counterparts) moving through each set of proscribed motions. Before he realizes it, Mako has slid down to sit on the floor, mind drifting as he watches them practice, the old woman at the front of the room guiding them through every stance and step with an even tone and patient words.

“Weirdly calming, isn’t it?” a voice interrupts the slow, cloud-like drift of Mako’s thoughts. His attention sharpens as he turns to see an old woman sitting next to him. She’s small and wiry, with a long silver braid and sparkling brown eyes.

“Where did you come from?” he blurts and instantly regrets it. “I mean, hello.”

“Hello to you too,” the woman gives him a crooked smile, “And I live here. I’m Ty Lee.”

“Are you one of the Kyoshi Warriors?”

“I was, a long time ago. Now I leave it to the young ones. I have more time for my hobbies! Flower crown?” she holds out a wreath of pastel pink flowers she got from…somewhere. Mako has no idea. She doesn’t seem to have any pockets or a bag. It defies all logic and explanation.

Mako takes the flower crown. She gestures expectantly. Mako stares at her. She stares back.

Mako puts on the flower crown.

Ty Lee beams at him and claps. “You look fabulous.”

“Is that Suki?” he asks after a moment, gesturing to the woman leading the class.

“Yes, how did you know?”

“I vaguely remember nearly collapsing on top of her.”

Ty Lee laughs lightly, “It wouldn’t be the first time someone collapsed on top of her.”

Mako frowns at her, “What?”

Ty Lee shrugs, “Life is funny sometimes.”

“That answers none of my questions.”

“It wasn’t supposed to,” Ty Lee smiles serenely.

“So…” Mako hedges. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to say to this woman. He’s never been the type to just…coexist…comfortably with strangers. That was always more Bolin’s thing.

“So,” Ty Lee stretches her arms over her head, “I hear things got exciting over in the Earth Kingdom.”

“That’s…one way to put it.”

“How are you feeling about everything?”

“Nothing. I’m fine.”

Ty Lee looks at him. Mako stubbornly refuses to look back. He keeps his eyes fixed on the training room, glued to the back of Wu’s head.

“You don’t have to be, you know,” she finally says. “I think that’s one of the biggest lies we tell ourselves. That we have to be fine to be good. That if we’re sad or hurt or not able to do everything we normally do and more, we’ve failed as people.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Mako scoffs.

“Why?” Ty Lee asks.

“Because it doesn’t work like that.”

“What do you mean?”

“Because I don’t get to not be fine.”

“Why not?”

“Because if I’m not fine it all falls apart,” Mako snaps in an undertone. “Because if I’m not fine, then Korra’s distracted, if I’m not fine, Bolin has to fend for himself, if I’m not fine Wu could die.”

“So, what I’m hearing is you’re pretty important to these people,” Ty Lee says.

“I serve a purpose to them. And I can’t serve that purpose if I’m too,” he gestures vaguely, “distraught to function.”

“So, they only keep you around so you can do things for them? That sounds horribly unfair.”

“No, they’re the best people I know.”

“So, either they’re using you, or they genuinely care about you. And if they care about you, they would want to help you if you ever need it.”

“But I don’t need it. I can’t need it. I have to be better than it.”

“Why? From the sound of things, you’d drop everything in an instant if any of your friends needed you. Why shouldn’t you get the same treatment?”

“Because I don’t deserve it and they do,” Mako hisses.

Ty Lee looks at him with big, sad eyes. Mako hates it. Hates her. Hates the feeling crawling over his skin. Hates his weak, aching body for trapping him here, in this conversation.

“I’m not a good person, Ty Lee,” Mako snarls, “I’m rude and harsh and cold. I don’t understand emotions, I don’t understand people, and frankly, I don’t even like most people. And after ten years on my own, I can safely say my priorities are pretty narrow. I’m not the type to save the world. I’m the type who takes what I can get and protects what I can and survives until the end. I’m not good. The best I can hope for is to give the actual good guys, the ones with big hearts and high aspirations, whatever I can so they can do their thing, save the world, whatever. Bolin? Korra? Asami? Wu? They all love something bigger than themselves. All I can do is love them for it, without expecting anything in return.”

Ty Lee’s eyes are full of tears. Mako abruptly feels like sh*t. He already felt like sh*t, but this somehow makes it worse.

“You should.”

“What?” Mako growls.

“You should expect something in return. Because I’m sure your friends, if they’re anything like what you think they are, would give it to you in a heartbeat.”

Mako looks away.

“He’s here because Suki was worried about him,” Ty Lee says softly into the silence.

“What?” Mako seems to be saying that a lot.

“Your Prince Wu. He wouldn’t sleep, wouldn’t eat. He was fretting himself to exhaustion over you. He kept saying this was all his fault. So, Suki had him join the junior warrior class.” Ty Lee offers him a gentle smile, “I think maybe the two of you are so in your heads about responsibility and duty and whatnot, you’re forgetting just to reach out to each other. To meet in the middle. You’re not each other’s responsibility. You’re each other’s partners. And part of that is accepting that bad things will happen. And that you have to trust that your partner is a capable adult who will make their own choices and carry their own burdens. Instead of fighting over whose burden it is to carry, or worse, trying to take it away from your partner without their consent, maybe offer to carry it together, instead? Just a thought from a little old lady.”

Mako pulls his knees up to his chest and hugs his shins the way he hasn’t since he was a child.

“You care about each other so much,” Ty Lee says, “but you have to learn to reach out instead of smother.”

“I – ” Mako pauses, unsure what to say next. “Thank you, Ty Lee. I’ll think about what you’ve said.”

“Alright, then.” She smiles. “If you ever want to talk. About anything, really. I’ll be around. Oh, look, I think the class is letting out early. Go get your prince, hot stuff.” She winks, rolling to her feet with far more grace than any woman in her eighties should have.

Mako sits and reflects, time slipping away from him just a bit until, between one blink and the next, the class has dispersed, the instructor has gone and Wu is standing in front of him in casual clothes, makeup hastily removed.

“Hey there,” Wu says, “Nice to see you up and about, big guy.”

“I’m sitting on the floor,” Mako says dryly.

“Figure of speech,” Wu chuckles. His face flushes briefly, and Mako almost wonders why, but then a hand is being shoved in his face, Wu awkwardly rubbing at the back of his neck with the other hand. “Uh? Walk with me? Unless you can’t. Unless you’re tired. Oh, Raava in a teapot, I just asked a guy in a hospital to join me for mildly strenuous activity.”

He looks like he’s working himself up to a full-blown ramble, and he’s just so…Wu. So perfectly, utterly Wu Hou-Ting, that Mako has to chuckle and take his hand. He means to say ‘sure, I’ll join you’, but what comes out is “I missed you.”

Wu pauses mid-babble, and smiles, all soft. “I missed you too. So stupid much.”

“Join me for mildly strenuous activity?” Mako asks, shoving himself to his feet.

Wu tucks his arm through Mako’s “Sure thing, hot stuff.”

“That had better not be catching on. An old lady just called me that. After she psychoanalyzed me. And gave me a flower crown.”

“Well, we can’t have old ladies stealing my cute nicknames! That’s treason, that is!”

“I don’t think it counts as treason.”

“High crimes, I say!”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously cute, you mean.”

“Sure, whatever you say, Your Majesty.”

“Can I have your flower crown?”

“No.”

…

Dear Wu/Mako,

You two are going to give me heart failure one of these days.

Your exhausted friend,

Asami

Chapter 17: Pabu

Chapter Text

Pabu

Dear Asami,

Please tell me Pabu somehow magically got to Republic City without us and is currently getting the stuffing hugged out of him by Bolin? Otherwise, I am very dead.

Oh, and I’m currently not dead. In case you were wondering. Wu and I are on Kyoshi Island currently. It’s really nice here. I’ve made some friends (shocking, I know). They’re all retired warriors who joke about beating me up, though, so that could explain it. According to Bolin, I have a warped sense of humor and trust issues. Whatever. I like the violent old people. They get me.

Seriously. Please tell me you have Pabu. Otherwise I am, and I repeat. Very dead.

Mako

…

“Bolin is going to kill me,” Mako says apropos of nothing while Kya is re-bandaging his face and Wu is chattering at him for moral support.

Wu stops his ramble and blinks at him. “Um. Why?”

Mako sighs in resigned despair. “I lost Pabu when we got arrested.”

Kya pauses in bandaging his face. “That little fire ferret he’s so attached to?”

“Yep.”

“He can’t possibly hold that against you,” Wu blusters. “You were illegally detained and tormented for weeks! You couldn’t have done anything! I’m an animal lover as much as anyone else, but priorities!”

Mako gives Wu a dead-eyed stare. It is even more effective now that he has an enormous facial wound to really underscore it. “You know how we got Pabu? Bolin broke into a pet store to rescue him from becoming snake food. After I explicitly told him not to. He is completely irrational when it comes to Pabu.”

Kya is nodding, which does not fill Mako with confidence. “He is a little…extremely attached.”

Wu pauses, face falling a little. Wu loves Pabu too, Mako knows. Raava in a teapot, Mako loves the furry little creature. Pabu came into their lives just as things were starting to get better for them. Pabu was, for a while, the one thing that was always warm and welcoming. Even when he and Bolin fought, even when he was hungry, or lonely, or exhausted, Pabu was always there, full of the simple affection an animal has for its people.

“Pabu is smart,” Wu ventures, “And he’s obviously tough since he’s kept up with you for so long, big guy,” the prince offers a little smile, “I bet he got away. He’s probably booking it back to Bolin and Republic City as we speak.”

“Yeah,” Mako agrees, accepting the false hope for what it is, “Probably.”

…

The metal men took away Sparky Man and Green Man and Pabu doesn’t know what to do. His legs are too short to keep up with the rolling machines. His teeth aren’t sharp enough to bit through the hands that grab for him. The same hands that grabbed for his people. So, he runs. And runs. He finds the room they’d been staying at. He hides. The outside is loud. The metal men are stomping through the town, searching, searching. Searching for what, Pabu doesn’t know. But it reminds him of the trappers who took him from his home when he was small, and he is afraid.

He doesn’t want to be in a cage.

That was what Laughing Boy promised when he and Sparky Man (Sparky Boy then) when he freed him from the Bad Place. (They’ve lived in a lot of bad places, places with mildew and rot and loud noises, and not-safe people, but that place, the place with the cages is and always will be Pabu’s personal Bad Place.)

Laughing Boy promised no more cages.

And Laughing Boy kept his word.

But Laughing Boy (Laughing Man, maybe, now. It’s been a long time since he’s seen Laughing Boy.) isn’t here.

Pabu sleeps under the bed in Green Man and Sparky Man’s room. He wants to sleep on Green Man’s pillow, the way he normally does (even when Sparky Man grumbles about it). But he can’t risk one of the metal men coming here and seeing him. He can’t risk another cage.

Sparky Man is a fighter, Pabu tells himself. Sparky Man will get free. Sparky Man and Green Man will come back for him, just like Sparky Man and Green Man always do.

The sun sets and rises again and Sparky Man does not return.

Pabu chitters softly to himself, rubbing his paws together. He doesn’t know what to do. Sparky Man always comes back.

He waits another day. The bad-noises outside from the metal men’s searching fade away. There is silence. Then good-noises of the town and the people pick up again and Pabu knows the way every animal that’s ever been hunted knows that the danger has passed. But if the danger is gone and Sparky Man isn’t back…

Pabu thinks for the first time, that maybe this is the time Sparky Man doesn’t return. Pabu doesn’t like that thought, but it comes back again and again no matter how tightly he curls into himself or how much he tries to run around the room to get away from it.

The sun sinks down. It goes cold and dark and quiet outside.

There is no sign of Sparky Man.

Pabu is hungry. He’s eaten all the snacks Green Man stashed in his bag. He’s begun to nibble through Sparky Man’s dried meat and other emergency supplies.

Pabu is scared.

Pabu has never been alone before. In the forest that used to be his home he’d had his mother and his siblings. In the Bad Place with the cages he had the Bad Man and the other animals (most who wanted to eat him, because, as he’s said, it was a Bad Place). And then there was Laughing Boy and Sparky Man, and later Flowers-and-Steel Girl and Raava-and-Girl and so many others.

Pabu does not know how to be alone.

So, he decides, he must stop being alone as soon as possible. This means finding home or finding Sparky Man, who is much better at finding home than Pabu is, although he’s been struggling with it lately.

But the next morning, when Pabu goes sniffing for Sparky Man and Green Man, he finds only metal men smells. His humans were separated from each other and taken away by different groups of metal men in different types of metal things on wheels. Pabu follows the smell of oil-water-steel as far as he can until the sun goes down and his paws ache and he cannot follow it any longer.

He curls up under a bush and chitters despondently to himself.

How is he supposed to fight the metal men and their metal things? That’s always been Sparky Man’s job. Sparky Man fights the Bad Things and Laughing Boy makes them feel happy and safe. That’s always been the way of things. Pabu does not like this new way of doing things. Not at all.

The fire ferret finally falls into a light, exhausted doze under his bush, hungry and sad, and cold. He doesn’t like cold. That was another thing Sparky Man is supposed to fight.

He’s woken by the sound of something much bigger than he growling deep in its throat.

Pabu shrieks in surprise, jumping up and away from the bush just in time to avoid the saber-moose’s antlers as they crash through his erstwhile shelter. The fire ferret skitters back as the saber-moose stomps forward, antlers out like a pair of extremely menacing tree branches.

Tree branches.

Climbing.

Pabu, chittering a battle cry, launches himself forward, using his nimble paws to climb up the antlers and other the saber-moose’s head, where he bends down and bites one of its soft, fuzzy ears.

Pabu’s teeth may not be sharp enough to use on the metal men, but they’re more than enough to send the saber-moose bolting forward. Pabu clings to his new vehicle and hopes for the best. He knows he can’t follow the metal men who have Sparky Man and Green Man, but maybe if he gets away from the metal men’s hunting grounds, he’ll find some friendly humans. Maybe the windy people and their bisons will appear. They always seem to appear when Sparky Man and Green Man need them.

Satisfied with his plan and unwilling or unable to assess its faults, Pabu curls up on the saber-moose’s head, digging his toes into its fur and hanging on for dear life. Hopefully, it will take him someplace good.

…

It takes him someplace. ‘Good’ is debatable. The saber-moose runs until it hits a road, narrowly missing getting side-swiped by a speeding metal-thing. The saber-moose coming to a sudden and unforeseen stop may save it from an untimely encounter with the racing metal-thing, but does not spare Pabu. The fire ferret, being far lighter than the saber-moose, is flung off the creature’s head and directly into the lap of one of the metal-thing’s human occupants.

“RAAVA AND VAATU, YOU ALMOST HIT THAT SABER-MOOSE!” a human voice yells.

“ALMOST, BUT DIDN’T,” objects the human controlling the metal-thing.

“Oh, hey, Pabu,” says the human Pabu has landed on.

Pabu, head spinning, tries to flip himself over from where he’s landed belly-up. Once he’s righted himself, he looks up and into a familiar face. Paint-and-Steel Man nods down at him cordially.

“Where’d you get a fire ferret, Huan?” asks the man controlling the metal-thing.

“He fell off the saber-moose you almost hit, Wing.”

“Told you, you suck at driving, let me have a turn.”

“No way, Wei. I’m a way better driver than you.”

“You are equally terrible,” Paint-and-Steel Man says.

Pabu knows these people. These are Wind-and-Earth Girl’s littermates. He chitters happily. Humans are very stupid, and he knows he won’t be able to tell them anything of substance, but maybe he can let them know to be wary of the hunters.

“Wasn’t he with Mako and Wu?”

“How do you even know that’s Pabu. He’s a fire ferret. They kind of…tend to look alike?”

Paint-and-Steel Man sighs. Pabu can relate.

“I have an artist’s eye. I can tell this is Pabu.”

Pabu chitters emphatically to let him know he’s correct.

“See? It’s Pabu.”

“Or it’s just noisy.”

The metal thing jerks under them and Pabu squalls, clinging to the human under him’s shirt.

“Seriously, Wing?”

“Shut up, Wei.”

“Let me drive.”

“No!”

Paint-and-Steel Man sighs, one hand coming up to hold Pabu more securely. “Pabu was traveling with Mako and Wu. Now he is not. Does that not strike you as troubling?”

“Well…it’s weird? But those guys are kinda weird.”

More sighing. “Use your brains. I beg of you.”

“Yeah,” the twin behind them says, “I kind of agree with Huan. If Pabu is out riding saber-moose…where are Mako and Wu? We’d know if they made it to Republic City. So, if Pabu got separated from them…something’s up.”

Paint-and-Steel Man opens a bag and offers Pabu some jerky. The fire ferret eagerly snatches it and gobbles it up. “Kuvira is looking for them,” he says as he offers Pabu more snacks, “She didn’t take kindly to what Mako did to her train.”

“I mean… he kind of trashed it,” the driving twin admits. “Which was probably totally justified, not gonna argue with a little train trashing. But we also don’t know what exactly the circ*mstances were and we can’t actually prove whatever Mako may or may have done to the train was justified.”

“It was justified,” Paint-and-Steel Man may need to be renamed ‘Snack Man’ in Pabu’s increasingly well-fed and sleepy opinion.

“How do you know?” asks the second twin.

“I know things.”

“Veeeery helpful.”

The brothers continue to bicker as Pabu, full and warm for the first time in days, dozes off.

…

Pabu wakes up to a dragon sniffing him.

This should be terrifying on a number of levels, but Pabu knows this dragon. He chirps a happy greeting and scrambles out of the metal-thing’s seat (his human pillow has left him to rest while he, presumably goes off to do human-things) up the creature’s snout to nestle between his horns, where his mane begins. The dragon raises his head, carrying Pabu with him. Pabu chirrs happily, letting the wind comb through his fur. The dragon is very warm, pulsing with living fire and Pabu basks in it.

Below them, the twins and their brother speak with Dragon Man, the dragon’s human. They all seem very concerned about something. Pabu hopes it’s the fates of Green Man and Sparky Man. Snatches of their conversation drift up to Pabu’s perch and the dragon kindly lowers his head so Pabu can hear better.

“So, we’re driving along, everything is going fine.”

“It was not fine, Wing, you’re a terrible driver!”

“Shut up, Wei, you’re just jealous you lost the coin toss.”

“Ugh!”

“Anyway, we’re cruising along and out of nowhere, I mean NOWHERE there comes this huge saber-moose just CHARGING right AT us! And just as I think we’re gonna collide, PABU comes FLYING off the saber-moose and crash-lands RIGHT into Huan’s lap! And we’re like ‘whaaaaat, where did this little guy come from?’”

“No,” huffs Pabu’s former pillow, “I said ‘hello, Pabu’ and you two fought about who was the better driver.”

“Shh, Huan, I’m telling the story with pizzazz.”

“Could we table the pizzazz for later,” interrupts Dragon Man. “And just focus on the facts?”

“Fine, whatever. Pabu shows up. And we’re like ‘where are Mako and Wu? Wasn’t Pabu with them?’ And, I dunno if you know this, but Mako kiiiiind of liberated Wu from Kuvira when she tried to soft-core kidnap him.”

“Soft core kidnapping?” the Dragon Man sounds skeptical.

“It was voluntary until they drugged him and locked him in a cell. I think. Details are unclear.”

“They would be clearer if you let me tell the story,” Pabu’s pillow says dryly.

“Aaaaanyway,” the twin continues, “Mako really f*cked up the train escaping. So Kuvira is pissed. And she’s put a bounty out on him and Wu.”

“That would explain all the poster I’ve been seeing everywhere,” Dragon man comments, “Mako should be very proud. Wanted posters in the earth kingdom is a real personal achievement.”

The twins stare at him blankly. Pabu’s pillow nods, “Agreed.”

“I’m currently doing humanitarian work on behalf of the White Lotus and Fire Lord Izumi, I can take Pabu with me and see if we hear anything about Mako or Prince Wu. We’re scheduled to resupply in Republic City in a few weeks. I’ll leave him with Asami there if we don’t find Mako and the prince.”

“Thank you, Lord Zuko!” the twins chorus.

“This is a troubling development,” the Dragon Man reflects, “I don’t like what I’m seeing from Kuvira. Order is all well and good, and something the Earth Kingdom badly needs if it’s going to recover from the recent chaos. But order as a justification for violence and cruelty…I saw much of that in my youth. I do not want to see the Earth Kingdom become the Fire Nation I grew up in.”

Pabu doesn’t know what that means, but he’s afraid of the hunters and the metal men, very afraid. And it sounds like the Dragon Man is too.

…

Dear Mako,

The first I hear from you for WEEKS and you’re asking about your PET FIRE FERRET? I could KILL YOU. You had better be in one piece because the second I’m not drowning in work I am COMING FOR YOUR ASS.

Also, you had better not break Wu’s heart. He cares about you so much and I know how you get. When people care about you, you either run away (figuratively and literally), or you go into obsessive caretaker mode. Don’t argue with me, I’m your best friend. I know you. Don’t you dare break that sweet idiot’s heart just because you’re afraid of feeling more than two emotions in a calendar year.

You care so much, so deeply, Mako. But you’re defensive as a platypus bear and afraid of letting people see your soft spots. You’re not made of stone, whatever you want the world to think. And this guy, at the very least, seems to think the world of you. Be kind. No matter what. It’s okay not to feel the same way, just as much as it’s okay to like him back. But be kind, my friend.

All my worry, and all my best wishes,

Asami

P.S. Lord Zuko arrive after I wrote this, so this P.S. is a little cramped – he had Pabu with him and was VERY RELIEVED YOU WEREN’T DEAD. Pabu is a little clingy and freaked out, but he’s with Bolin now, who has not stopped crying relieved tears since. He’s decompressing in a very…watery way now that we have confirmation you’re ok.

P.P.S. You’ve very lucky I have an actual address to send this to or you would be stuck living in suspense re: Pabu’s fate for an indeterminate period of time. Wonder what that’s like.

…

Dear Asami,

I think I love Wu and it scares me stupid.

Mako

Dear Asami,

I’m very glad Pabu is alright and Bolin isn’t plotting my murder. In other news, Kuvira has demanded Kyoshi Island return to the Earth Kingdom and agree to her terms for “protection” and we’re preparing in case we have to defend the island. So that’s neat.

Mako

Chapter 18: Seige

Chapter Text

Seige

Kyoshi Island

“How soon can the Southern Water Tribe send naval aid?” Suki asks, standing at the head of the table in the war room, which only a few days ago had been just another common area in the Warriors’ training facility. Mako sits at the end of the table, Wu at his side. He’s not sure what exactly he’s supposed to contribute, other than moral support, but Wu looked at him with big, spooked eyes at the thought of going into an honest to Raava war meeting alone, so here Mako is.

“Not soon enough,” Sokka says grimly, “Even with iron hulls, winter pack ice will slow down shipping, and I don’t know about you, but I don’t like the odds of metal ships vs. metal benders.”

Suki curses and cracks her knuckles. “I thought so.”

“We can get some of the wooden skiffs battle-ready, but I don’t like the odds of vintage ships against modern tech,” Kyoka, one of the Warriors’ commanding officers, says. She’s about Lin’s age, with silver threading through her dark hair and creases around her eyes from squinting into the wind.

“We have the terrain on our side,” Suki says, “The cliffs face the mainland. The lagoon is the only usable harbor for a landing.”

“And I have an idea for how to protect the harbor,” Sokka says with a wicked grin, “The Fire Nation capitol city had this thing they called the Great Gates of Azulon during the war, big old nets over the entrance to the harbor. Lots of fire, giant ugly statue, very Imperial. We got around it on the Day of Black Sun by going under it. If we make a similar thing that extends down to the ocean floor, no one’s getting anywhere near the harbor, even if they get around the Unagi.”

Everyone around the table nods. Wu, fingers twisted in the fabric of Mako’s sleeve, makes a small sound. Mako looks at him. The king-in-exile’s lips are pressed together in a tight, bloodless line and he’s shaking his head slightly. Mako taps the back of his hand with two fingers and raises an eyebrow when Wu meets his eyes.

Mako raises an eyebrow in a silent ‘all right?’

“It won’t work,” Wu says quietly.

“What?” Mako asks.

Wu blinks and looks away.

“Wu,” Mako nudges him with an elbow.

“It won’t work,” Wu blurts.

Everyone stops and looks at them. Wu shrinks in on himself. Mako squares his shoulders and glares on reflex. What a pair they make, he ponders wryly as he forces his stiff spine to relax.

“Won’t work, like it needs a few adjustments, or won’t work like Kuvira has something crazy up her sleeve?” Suki asks.

Wu chews his lip, shrinking in on himself under their scrutiny, but catching himself and rallying halfway into his slouch, pulling up a veneer of royal poise over his obvious nerves. “Kuvira makes everything out of metal. Everything. Fire won’t affect whatever ship she sends to invade.” The leaders are nodding seriously, Ty Lee shoots them an encouraging smile, Wu swallows, voice steadying, “And she has Varrick. He’s working on these mecha-suits. All metal, sealed, insulated. So, if she makes landfall, you’ll not just be fighting benders, you’ll be fighting tanks on legs.”

“So, we stop her before she makes land,” Sokka says, “We modify the Gate design.”

“Metal is conductive,” Mako says, “And I know a lot of lightning benders who’ll do anything to stay free of Kuvira.”

Sokka grins, “Now we’re thinking!”

“Does Kuvira have any airships?” Kyoka asks, tapping one of her closed fans against the table thoughtfully. “Aerial bombardment could be a problem.”

“No,” Wu says, “I didn’t see any plans for airships.”

“Nice,” Sokka cracks a crooked smile.

“To be fair, we don’t have any airships either,” Suki points out.

“But we might have a dragon if Zuko gets our message soon enough,” Sokka says.

“Don’t count your pig-chickens,” Suki chides him.

“So Sokka and I get a team on a new Azulon’s Gate,” Ty Lee says brightly, “What’s next?”

“Coming up with a better name than ‘Azulon’s Gate’,” Sokka jokes, “I vote we name it after me. Not enough things are named after me, in my opinion.”

“Tenzin didn’t name any of his kids after him,” Ty Lee whispers very loudly, “he’s still disappointed.”

“I mean come on, Meelo could have been Sokka II!” Sokka I declares.

“See?”

“Can we please get back on topic?” Kyoka cries, “We have an invasion to repel!”

…

Republic City

“Asami! Asami!” Bolin comes skidding into her office, doors swinging wildly behind him, Pabu clinging to his collar like a red, furry scarf. Asami is reminded wryly of that red scarf Mako used to wear constantly, the way he used to duck his chin into its folds when he couldn’t keep up his usual Resting Serious Face. Yin, or ‘Grandma’ as she insists Asami call her now that she and the rest of the family are living at the Sato Estate, is the one to wear it everywhere now. Sometimes she’ll pause whatever she’s doing, close her eyes and press one end against her cheek as if she could absorb all those lost years through her skin. It breaks Asami’s heart a little every time.

“Letter from Mako!” Bolin still has Raiko’s pen stuck behind one ear, the clip on its lid tangled in his curls. He’s waving the letter, the paper already crumpled and stained.

“Well, give it here!” Asami holds out her hands and Bolin crowds behind the desk to read over her shoulder the way he has every time they’ve gotten a message from Mako or Wu the last few weeks. (Asami remembers when they lost contact with Mako, those terrible weeks of watching the life and color slowly drain out of Bolin, remembers finding him in the kitchen at the Sato Estate in the middle of the night, fat tears rolling down his face and a mug of bitter, scalded tea in his hands, blubbering “I don’t know what I’m gonna do without Mako, I can’t even make tea right!”. She’d taken the mug out of his hands and wrapped him in a hug and rubbed his back the way her mother used to rub hers after a nightmare when she was a child because it wasn’t about the tea at all, it was about two brothers who’d had no one but each other for too long and didn’t know how to exist apart.)

“It’s short,” Bolin complains, “Why are they always short?”

“He’s a man of few works,” Asami says, wrestling two letters, one long and rambly and written in antiquated calligraphy (Wu’s, obviously Wu’s) and the other terse, to the point, and written in familiar cramped, slanting scrawl. She sets aside Wu’s letter for the moment; Bolin is obviously impatient to see what his brother has to say.

“What’s that bit that’s all crossed out?” Bolin squints at the page, crowding her chair even more. Asami wrinkles her nose.

“Did you bathe in cologne?”

“No, why? Is it too much? I’m trying something new.”

“It’s too much.” Asami says bluntly, “Way too much.”

Bolin deflates. “Chief Beifong called me ‘kiddo’ the other day. I don’t know how to get people to take me seriously. It’s so easy for Mako. He just folds his arms and glares and says stuff. Serious stuff! People have been treating Mako like a grown-up since he was fourteen! I actually am a grownup and I get ‘kiddo-ed’!”

Asami personally thinks that adults treating a fourteen-year-old child like a fellow adult is more of problem, but doesn’t feel like opening that particular can of worms today. “Well, cologne isn’t the answer, you smell like stale incense.”

Bolin sighs dramatically, resting his forehead on the back of her chair. “Fine. What does Mako say?”

Not much, is the answer.

Dear Asami,

I think I love Wu and it scares me stupid.

Mako

Dear Asami,

I’m very glad Pabu is alright and Bolin isn’t plotting my murder. In other news, Kuvira has demanded Kyoshi Island return to the Earth Kingdom and agree to her terms for “protection” and we’re preparing in case we have to defend the island. So that’s neat.

Mako

“Raava in a teapot,” Asami breathes. “She’s really going to try to conquer Kyoshi.”

Pabu chitters lowly. Bolin absently pets his head, “Yeah, I hear you buddy.”

“We have to tell Lord Zuko,” Asami says, setting Mako’s letter aside and diving into Wu’s. Bolin never learned the alphabet used in High Earth Kingdom calligraphy (it’s archaic, Asami was forced to learn it at boarding school and even she sometimes has to break out the dictionary to decipher Wu’s letters. Between Wu’s stylized script and Mako’s pig-chicken scratch handwriting, it’s like their communications are in code. Which, considering the dictator on Wu and Mako’s trail, is kind of a plus.) Wu’s letter has more details, but even those are sparse and they all boil down to the same thing. Kuvira is demanding Kyoshi Island’s surrender. She’s given them a deadline. Kyoshi Island has no intention of surrendering.

“Anything else?” Bolin asks, practically vibrating out of his skin at her side.

“Not really,” Asami says, tucking the letters away. She doesn’t think Bolin wants to hear the king-in-exile of the earth kingdom wax poetic about his brother’s eyes. “Let’s go find Lord Zuko.”

…

Kyoshi Island

The sun hasn’t fully risen yet, the horizon blushing pink and orange with the coming day, and Mako can’t sleep. He’s sitting on the porch, overlooking the harbor, watching as the sun creeps sluggishly into the sky. He’s been released from the infirmary, most of his bandages are gone. Even the gouges on his face are uncovered now. The swelling has mostly disappeared, but the ragged lines are no less vibrant, now healed over into angry pink ridges. He wonders what Bolin will say about the scars when he sees him again.

If he sees him again.

Mako doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He’s been doing what he can to help with prototypes for Sokka’s Gate, working with the lightning benders they liberated from the work camps, perfecting the steps to run streak lightning along the chains, but it still doesn’t feel like enough. It never feels like enough. Mako hates this feeling, like he’s just a leaf dragging along in the current of Momentous Events. Mako’s never wanted to make history. All he’s ever wanted is food to eat and a roof over his head and nobody that wants to kill him.

Well, he has food and a roof and a whole nation out for his blood.

So, really, he’s two for three, which is pretty good, all things considered.

It’s strange working with Sokka. He’s the kind of person whose very presence should have weight to it, but instead it feels almost like what Mako would imagine having a grandfather or a mentor feels like. (Not that Mako would know, the closest thing he ever had to a mentor was Lightning Bolt Zolt and he was never the paternal type). But Sokka is present and insightful, and more than anything, patient, as the liberated lightning benders try to work out how to make his designs work.

“It doesn’t have to enough to fry an Unagi,” Sokka would caution them as younger benders got frustrated or discouraged, “Just enough to shut down whatever machines Varrick’s cooked up. Don’t burn yourselves out.”

Later, Sokka had told Mako wryly, “I remember when it’d never even occurred to me that a person could bend lightning. Back in the day it seemed like the scariest thing in the world when Azula whipped that out. And now here I am, with my own little herd of electric turtleducklings. Life is funny.”

Mako had scowled, “If life is funny, I’m still waiting for the punchline.”

That had made Sokka laugh, which made no sense to Mako, but the old man’s humor was infectious and Mako had somehow still left the conversation feeling lighter.

Now the weight is back on his shoulders, though and he doesn’t know what to do with it. This isn’t like taking care of Bolin on the streets. Then there was always something he could do, or try to do. He could steal food, if he had a few coins he could buy a cup of cheap tea at a street cart and fill it to the brim with the complimentary milk and sugar so he and Bo would at least feel full even if they hadn’t had anything to eat all day. (Bolin thinks he likes tea – he doesn’t, he likes hot milk and sugar and Mako never got around to telling him. He should do that when he gets back. If he gets back. f*ck, he has to stop thinking in terms of ifs.) There was always something in front of him that could be fixed, or at least patched until the next crisis. This isn’t like this. This is too big for his two hands. This is out of his control and there’s not Korra and her awesome Avatar powers, or Asami and her inventions, or Tenzin with his air bender wisdom to catch him if he fails this time.

“Hey, I thought I’d find you here,” Wu’s voice breaks into his thoughts and Mako looks up to see the prince (King? Is Wu king? Or does he need a coronation for that? Does it matter?) looking sleep-rumpled and drowsy, dressed haphazardly and trailing a blanket like a cloak.

“Hey,” Mako rasps, voice rusty with disuse.

Wu slouches over to sit at his side, grimacing as his bare feet touch the chilly wood. “How are you just sitting out here without a jacket?” he huffs, shrugging the blanket up and around their shoulders, “Aren’t you cold?” Wu slides over to rest against his side and laughs, “Oh, you’re warm.”

“Fire bender,” Mako reminds him.

“Hm,” Wu hums sleepily, scrunching up closer, leeching heat. He tucks his long legs up against his chest and wraps an arm around his shins. “Whatcha brooding about?”

“I’m not brooding,” Mako denies automatically.

“Are too~”

“Fine. I’m thinking about how we could all die and it’s completely out of my control,” Mako huffs. “Is that better?”

“Obviously not,” Wu scoffs, “But it’s important to talk about what we’re afraid of. Makes us less afraid of it.”

“Really?” Mako says skeptically.

“I dunno, Ty Lee said it and she seems like a smart lady.”

“Figures,” Mako sighs. “Wu…I’m sorry.”

Wu stiffens, shifts so they’re less pressed together, so he can turn and regard Mako with narrowed eyes. “What?”

“I’m sorry I didn’t get you straight to Republic City like I was supposed to. If I’d done my job properly, the way I was supposed to, none of this would be happening. You would be safe, Kuvira wouldn’t have a reason to come after Kyoshi Island – ”

“Hey, none of that,” Wu snaps, “what makes you think this is your fault?”

“If you were in Republic City, where you were supposed to be right now –”

“I’d probably be partying it up, having the time of my life not dying every other week?” Wu says archly.

“Well…yeah!” Mako blusters. He doesn’t like the way Wu is raising both eyebrows at him like that.

Wu drops the eyebrows, but only to choke on a snickering sort of laugh, “Mako, that’s ridiculous.”

Mako glares.

Wu continues to laugh, “If you hadn’t come to get me, I’d still be living underground with the badgermoles! Or dead in the riots! As great as it’d be to be living it up Republic City style, but I just don’t see how that’d be happening without you. And,” Wu sobers, face going soft in that way that makes Mako’s insides squirm. “My life would be a lot worse without you in it. Across the board. This year has been terrifying, and huge, and smelly, and loud, and occasionally horrible – ”

“Making me feel great, really super, here,” Mako grumbles, mostly teasing.

Wu pinches him, “- but, it’s been amazing. Really. Really amazing. I’ve seen more of the Earth Kingdom, more of the world than I’ve ever dreamed. And I’ve loved it. And I’ve loved seeing it with you.”

“I – ” Mako begins, but stops, not knowing what to say next.

“Kuvira wants the Earth Kingdom. All of it. And no matter what the Islanders think, that includes Kyoshi Island. She was always going to come after it. And she was always going to come after me. I wish…” Wu sighs, shoulders slumping, “I wish things could be different. I wish I knew how to fix my country. And I’m learning more every day that it was already broken before Zaheer killed my great aunt. But I know, I know that violent subjugation under a military dictator isn’t what’s best for my people either.” Wu shakes his head sharply, his sleep-rumpled curls brushing feather-light against Mako’s cheek where they’re pressed together. “What I’m trying to say is, every bad thing in the world isn’t your fault, love. Even every bad thing that happens to me isn’t your fault. In fact, my life is a hundred times better with you in it, and I will be very put out if you decide to skulk off and brood alone like a brooding, tortured hero in an opera.”

That startles a laugh out of Mako, who shakes his head, “I’ve never even seen an opera,” he blurts when he doesn’t know how to respond to this level of heartfelt and serious from Wu of all people.

“Well that’s just a travesty,” Wu huffs, “We have to survive the siege now just so you can see real theatre! The drama! The costumes! The music! It’s indulgent and extravagant and fabulous.”

Mako has the distinct feeling he is not going to enjoy opera. And that thought, the certainty that he will be dragged to the opera (and probably stuffed into an uncomfortable suit in the process) and he will sit through the whole thing, no matter how torturous, because Wu won’t have it any other way, and he’ll even enjoy it just a little because of the sheer, ridiculous delight Wu takes in it, just like the ridiculous delight he takes in everything, is enough to make Mako a little bit hopeful for the future.

“My life is better with you in it, too,” He says softly.

Wu blinks, stopping halfway through an opera-related tirade. “What?”

Mako raises an eyebrow, “You heard me.”

“Oh no I did not, you don’t get to say something dare I say sweet, even if it’s a copycat of my nice thing, and then wimp out when you’re asked to repeat yourself so I can properly savor the sentiment.”

“Nope,” Mako says, a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. “This is one use only sentiment. You missed your chance. So sad.”

Wu pouts, “You’re the worst, why do I like you?”

“My angry eyebrows?” Mako offers.

“It’s the astonishing good looks, I’m sure. And the saving my life constantly. All annoyingly swoon-worthy, even if you are a brute.”

Mako takes a chance and wraps his arms around Wu, squashing him into a hug, making the prince laugh in delighted surprise. “My life is better with you in it,” he repeats, soft, against the side of Wu’s neck, when his majesty stops laughing and flailing.

Wu falls still, and Mako can hear the smile in his voice. “See, was that so hard?”

“I want to keep you in it. In my life. If you’ll stay,” Mako mumbles, second-guessing himself even as he says it.

“Of course, I’ll stay,” Wu hums, “You’re stuck with me, buddy.”

Mako squeezes him, “Don’t call people ‘buddy’ when you’ve kissed them on a train floor.”

“Oh, there’s rules now? No one ever told me. I grew up very sheltered, you know.”

Mako kisses him, once, on the lips, a sharp, decisive sort of kiss. “Quit calling me buddy.”

“Cool, cool, can do,” Wu breathes.

Mako kisses his forehead to make a point, “Now watch the sunrise with me and try to feel hopeful about our chances.”

“Sorry, I’m too busy trying to figure out what nicknames are appropriate now that ‘buddy’ is off the table.”

Mako sighs and squeeze the prince a little tighter and reminds himself that for now, they are alive. “Try ‘boyfriend.’”

A dismissive noise, “Too many syllables. And royals don’t do boyfriends, we do paramours and mistresses and consorts, that sort of thing.”

“I’m not your mistress.”

“That’s not a ‘no’ on paramour…”

“It’s a no.”

“Fine, ‘buddy’ it is.”

Mako buries his face in Wu’s hair and bites back a laugh. Maybe they’ll survive after all, if only so he can steal Bolin’s thesaurus and win this argument.

…

Republic City

“Oogi and I can help evacuate the island’s civilians,” Tenzin is saying, standing, holding open a topographical map of Kyoshi Island. “Asami, I hate to ask it of you – ”

“There’s already a Future Industries airship ready and waiting,” Asami says briskly, tugging Raiko’s former pen from behind Bolin’s ear and using it to weigh down one of the map’s curling corners. Pabu jumps up to hold down the other side.

“Thanks, buddy,” Bolin whispers to the fire ferret, “Mako taught you some good tricks, didn’t he?”

The ferret chirrs and rubs his little face against Bolin’s hand.

“Druk and I can provide some cover from the air if it comes down to it,” Lord Zuko interjects.

“Bolin and I can help with the evacuation,” Opal offers.

“Yeah,” Bolin agrees, “Drop me on in the town, I can help organize and provide ground cover.”

“We don’t know what kind of weaponry Kuvira will bring to bear on the island,” Lin squints down at the map, arms crossed, a thoughtful scowl tugging her eyebrows together. “Or what the defenders will have rigged up.”

“My uncle will have thought of something,” Tenzin says wryly, just as Lord Zuko snorts “Sokka will come up with something.” They share a dry, familial chuckle and Bolin misses Mako. Their Ba Sing Se family is great, incredible, the best, but Bolin feels off-balance without Mako, like he’s missed a step and about to fall down a flight of stairs. He wonders if Mako misses him too.

There’s one thing Bolin never doubted, growing up, and that was Mako’s love for him. Even when things were bad, even when Mako was worn down into a thin, sharp razorblade of a person, Bolin knew they’d always have each other because his brother loved him with the all-consuming, feverish love of a person who had nothing else left. Sometimes he’d wonder if Mako liked him, especially when things were bad and Mako was angry all the time, but he never doubted Mako loved him. And Bolin loved him with the devotion of a small child whose whole world begins and ends with his big brother, the only person who’s always there, the only person who can always make everything alright again.

(This is a secret Bolin has never told anyone, but there were times where he didn’t like Mako very much, when they were young and he didn’t understand why Mako wouldn’t let him talk to strangers, why Mako was always so cautious, always so paranoid, so protective, why they couldn’t just have fun instead of always running, always fighting, always working. And here’s another secret – Bolin can’t remember their mom and dad, not really. And he used to get angry with Mako because he was so stingy with the memories he had, that Bolin didn’t. But that wasn’t fair, and even as a child, Bolin knew it.)

Mako is his brother and he loves him and likes him, but it’s been a strange year for Bolin, realizing that he’s always, at least a little bit, even when he’s been living as opposite to Mako in all his Mako-ness as possible, thought of himself as one half of a matched set. It’s strange figuring out all over again who Bolin-without-Mako is.

“Any word from President Raiko?” Tenzin asks.

“He won’t commit forces,” Zuko says, “Technically, Kyoshi Island was never officially recognized as separate from the Earth Kingdom. That makes this an internal Earth Kingdom matter, and interfering would violate a treaty.”

“Uh, does some old treaty matter when the government that made it is kaput and there’s a dictator running around dictator-ing?” Bolin objects.

Tenzin holds up his hands helplessly.

“United Republic forces interfering in the business of another country would set a dangerous precedent,” Lord Zuko sighs, “I can understand Raiko’s position, even if it is personally inconvenient for me.”

Bolin huffs. Well, now he feels a little bit childish, but that’s his brother out there! And a whole island of people! Including, apparently, Sokka, who is not dead and Bolin totally wants to meet someday!

“The Air Nation has no such restrictions,” Tenzin says. “While I will not commit any of my people or air bison to combat, it is within our purview to offer humanitarian aid and help with the evacuation efforts.”

“I hate politics,” Bolin groans.

“Which is really too bad, because you’d be great at them,” Opal says consolingly.

“You think so, babe?”

“Yeah,” her cheeks dimple, “You’ve got great hair and you love lying!”

Bolin huffs, “I act, I perform, I art, I don’t lie!”

“I have great hair, but I’ve been reliably informed I’m terrible at lying,” Zuko opines.

“Maybe that’s why they made you stop being Fire Lord,” Opal jokes.

Zuko shrugs, “Maybe. Mostly I think Druk just got too big for the palace.”

“Can we get back to planning the Kyoshi Operation?” Lin snaps, “I’m going grey over here!”

Bolin, Asami, and Opal all look at her distinctly entirely grey hair and collectively decide not to comment.

…

Kyoshi

The first wave of the attack is ships. They bring down the gate and teams of liberated lightning benders send sheets of lighting cascading down the chain nets. They’ve been running drills ever since they got the nets in place, and Ty Lee let the local spirits know what they were planning before the first drill, so the animals know to steer clear of that patch of ocean.

All except for the Unagi.

The Unagi, Mako suspects, is no naturally occurring creature at all, but is a leftover from the days when spirits and humans freely passed between the worlds. Like sky bison and dragons and badgermoles. The Unagi likes the lightning net. It seems to derive greater power from it. It frolics in the sparking, electric seas when they run drills. And now, with metal ships to play with and an ocean full of lightning, the Unagi is having the time of its salty, potentially-quasi-immortal life.

“She’ll come up with something else,” Wu warns, “She’s wicked smart and she doesn’t like to give up.”

“Oh, yeah, there’s no way this is this easy,” Sokka agrees, “But look how happy Fishy is!”

“You named the Unagi ‘Fishy’?” Mako says flatly.

“He needed a name,” the old man grins.

Mako wonders, yet again, how Sokka has gone down in history as one of the most brilliant strategists in modern history and yet, if left to his own devices, he names the deadliest predator in the Southern Seas ‘Fishy’.

…

Republic City

Toph kicks in the door because she’s Toph and she can’t not make an entrance. “SPARKY!” she booms.

“Yes, old friend?” Zuko says serenely, channeling his uncle with all the power in his soul.

“WHY AM I NOT PART OF YOUR KYOSHI ISLAND FIELD TRIP?”

“We didn’t know if you’d want to come,” he says. He is calm, he is serene, he is the undisturbed surface of a decorative pond in a peaceful garden. He is pissing Toph off because that’s what you do when one of your best friends decides to become a recluse and not visit for an annoying number of years.

“WHO SAYS I DON’T WANT TO FIGHT SOME METAL BENDERS? I INVENTED METAL BENDING! YOU NEED ME TO TEACH THESE PUNKS A LESSON!”

“You said you were retired,” Zuko says. He is the calmest, most collected individual in the universe. The world has not seen calm until it has seen him. “We were trying to respect your wishes.”

“YOU CAN TAKE YOUR RESPECT AND SHOVE IT. LIFE CHANGING FIELD TRIP OR NOTHING, SPARKY!”

“Are you sure? You were just complaining about your back…” Zuko has never been prouder of himself. Forget telling off his war criminal father and helping the Avatar save the world from his family, this is his greatest achievement.

Toph actually shrieks. “YOU WANT TO GO, SPARKY BOY, LET’S f*ckING GO!”

“To Kyohsi Island, correct? You want to be part of this? To be involved in world events?”

“QUIT DAWDLING, WE’VE GOT BUTTS TO KICK!”

Zuko grins to himself. This is the most vibrant he’s seen Toph in years. Screw peaceful retirement, she always needed a challenge.

…

Kyoshi Island

“Mako, wake up, they’re coming up the mountains.”

Mako comes awake violently, a fistful of fire in hand. Wu, expecting it, swerves out of the way. Grey pre-dawn light drains the room of color and the orange flames in his hand cast their faces in strange, monstrous shadows.

“What do you mean?” Mako demands, extinguishing his hand and pulling on his overshirt and boots.

Wu’s eyes are wild and his hair isn’t much better, little curls escaping the tie he’s used to pull it back into a short, fluffy tail. “They brought cargo ships around, they must have hired them out of a major port city, they made anchor on the mountain side of the island and the mecha suits Varrick was working on for Kuvira? They’re climbing the cliffs.”

“sh*t,” Mako swears. He’s seen the rough sketches Wu made of Varrick’s various projects. Of all his prototypes, Wu had said, Varrick’s mecha suits were the closest to completion. There were just a few issues to iron out with the flame throwers.

Because mechanical armor wasn’t bad enough. They had to throw flames too.

Sure, Mako can throw flames, but he isn’t twice the height of an adult and made of steel.

“Does Suki know?” Mako asks, charging out of his room, shirt half tied and one boot not fully fastened.

“She knows. They’re trying to manage the evacuation, but…”

But there’s nowhere for the civilians to go. They’ve got the fleet on the harbor side, and the mecha coming up the mountains.

“We’d better hope Asami got our letters,” Mako says, “Our only hope is air evacuation.”

Wu nods, pensive. He’s got the fans Suki gave him shoved through his belt, although he’s not dressed like a warrior today. He doesn’t even really look like a king. He looks young and scared and angry and heartbreakingly beautiful.

“Hey,” Mako stops, catching Wu’s shoulders in his hands. He can hear the garrison waking up around them, the sounds of feet running for the armory, voices calling to each other as the Warriors ready for war. Wu’s hands, fluttering restlessly in front of him, settle on Mako’s shirt. He starts undoing and redoing all the ties Mako got wrong as if on reflex.

Mako doesn’t really do inspiring speeches, but he’s going to try, “We’ve made it this far. We’re not giving up now.”

Wu laughs tightly. “Yeah.” His hands tighten in the fabric of Mako’s shirt. “At least this time we aren’t on a train.”

“I say this from the bottom of my heart, but f*ck trains.” Mako says.

That’s enough to startle a laugh out of Wu, and he’s still smiling a little, even if his eyes are strained and sad when he leans in to press a kiss to Mako’s lips. “See you on the other side…buddy.”

“No. This is not a thing. You kissing me and calling me ‘buddy’ cannot be our thing.”

Wu kisses him again. “Too late. Now we have to survive this just so you can lose this argument.” And with that he whirls away to join Ty Lee in organizing the civilian evacuation.

“Raava in a teapot.” Mako swears and runs off to join the fire benders.

…

Sokka and the Warriors built catapults and the non-bending warriors are using them to keep back the advancing mecha. The forest is a blazing wall of heat where even the winter-damp trees have caught, branches going up like torches in the face of the fire spewing from the suits’ hands. The civilians have retreated to the sea-caves that dot the shoreline. Sokka had been hesitant to send them underground, where an earth bender could trap them, but in the face of the advancing flames, the caves became their best and only option.

Mako is on the front line when the mecha first begin to emerge from the smoldering forest, huge, hulking things lumbering forward on two legs, armed to the teeth and he remembers with a shiver the secret workshop under Asami’s house, and the weapons her father was building for the Equalists. Behind him, Kyoka calls out a command, and he hears the creak and crash of the catapults releasing. The mecha stagger under the assault, one or two collapsing under direct hits, but the majority continue to advance.

Mako calls up lightning, feeling it crackle beneath his skin as it builds and he sends it arching towards the nearest suit. The bolt takes it in the chest plate and it wobbles but rights itself, sending a wave of fire towards him. Mako, echoing a half-remembered water bending move he’d seen from Korra parts the wave, claiming the fire for himself, spinning it around his body and sending it back at the mecha in a concentrated blast. It slows, the heat briefly overwhelming it, but continues. Mako swears and skitters out of its sightline, hoping the helmet configuration limits the rider’s vision.

The forest fire is escalating into an inferno and a wave of heat batters Mako as he scrambles away from the advancing machine. He calls up lightning again, but this time he concentrates on the ground in front of the mecha’s feet, remembering that wobble. He races around until he’s almost behind the machine, at an angle, and blasts lightning into the back of the mecha’s knees. Sparks erupt from the joint and the mecha seizes, toppling forward into the ground.

Mako jumps onto its back while it’s down, grabs a fistful of wires in each hand and melts them to slag. The mecha shudders and goes still.

Mako can’t catch his breath, though, a wave of heat crashes over his shoulders and he yelps, rolling off the mecha to crouch behind it as flames crash over the downed machine. He crawls forward, trying to get a visual on the mecha that has him pinned down, calling up more lightning and firing blind, his heart in his throat. He must hit something, because the flamethrower stops just long enough for him to lunge out of hiding, just in time to dodge the steel fists of a new mecha. He calls up seed lightning in his palms and grabs the elbow joint, sending electricity arching up into the machine, which seizes, but he can’t pause, because the first mecha fires a grappling hook at his head, one of the sharp hooks grazing in his mostly-healed face.

“f*ck!” Mako curses as the sharp edge catches on his still-tender scars, tearing one of them open and sending a trickle of blood down his cheekbone.

Remembering what he’d done when he’d been kidnapped by the biker gang (that feels eons away now, almost like it happened to another person, in another life, back when his biggest concern was not getting ripped off by the transport authority and Wu was teasing him about keeping his money in his socks) Mako slams his hands into the ground and sends a wave of heat through the earth.

The mechas, top-heavy and ungainly as they are, wobble, and the nearest one crashes into its neighbor, taking it down with it. Mako shoves himself to his feet and keeps going. The heat is unbearable, a heavy, hungry thing baking the sweat from his skin as he runs. The payloads from the catapults thunder around him, and he wonders if this is what it would be like to be absorbed by Vaatu in all his chaotic glory.

Mako spots another mecha advancing on a catapult crew and calls up more lightning. He’s not done yet.

…

A persistent, lone mecha has broken from the herd and chased the group of refugees Wu was guiding, cutting them off from the rest of the civilians in the sea caves. Ahnah is beating it back with the ocean, swamping with ice-studded wave after ice-studded wave, yelling at them to go while she has it pinned down. The mecha bulls through the ice restraints she throws at it and Wu is practically carrying an old grandmother as they scramble for the caves and shelter. He’s reminded viscerally of the Great Divide and the canyon crawlers.

Ahnah is screaming in helpless rage as she ices the sand beneath the mecha, trying to topple it, but whoever is at the controls is crafty, or at least quick, because it rights itself at the last second every time. It shoots fire at Ahnah and she calls up a wave to shield herself, the water disappearing in a great gout of steam where the water touches it. She yelps, scalded.

The grandmother Wu is supporting stumbles on the uneven ground and he catches her. Somewhere a child is crying.

The mecha swings a fist at Ahnah, catching a glancing blow across the water bender’s shoulder, and she stumbles.

Wu hands the grandmother off to waiting hands at the cave mouth and turns, instincts screaming at him to run, but run where, he doesn’t know.

And then, like a blessing from Raava herself, a deep, throaty, inhuman bellow from above, echoed by a screaming, vicious, reptilian roar.

A red dragon crashes into the mecha, scooping the machine up like a doll, tearing the hatch off and extracting the shocked, gibbering pilot and tossing him, chair and all, down the beach. His seatbelt, of all things, is still buckled.

The drago hurls the mecha contemptuously into harbor, then turns to the terrified refugees.

“I heard there was a problem,” says a raspy, cultured voice, “We thought we’d bring some help.”

An air bison crashes to the beach beside the dragon and bellows in agreement.

“Everyone!” calls a man in air bender robes seated on the bison’s head, “We can take one group on Oogi at a time, try to move in an orderly fashion!”

The villagers stand, stunned, for a breathless moment.

“You heard the man with bison!” someone yells – wait, no, that’s Wu, that is him, Wu Hou-Ting, the boy who was never allowed to speak above a soft murmur in her majesty’s presence yelling like some common street urchin. He hopes his aunt is spinning in her grave. “Elders and children first, no shoving, we don’t have all day!”

“Will you come back for the rest of us?” asks someone in the crowd.

“Yes,” the air bender – this must be Master Tenzin, Wu will have to be starstruck later – says, “Oogi and I will take each group to the air ship above us,” he points above his head, and Wu cranes his neck to see, wow, a Future Industries airship floating above them. “We’ll do our best to come back for all of you.”

“What about the Warriors and the benders?” someone asks, “they’re back at the village where the fighting is worse!”

“We’re already sending help,” the man on the dragon – Lord Zuko, that’s LORD ZUKO, If, they weren’t in such dire straits Wu might faint – says, “And speaking of, I should be on my way.”

“Take me with you – ” Wu lunges forward to stand at the dragon’s shoulder, “I need to go back for someone.”

“Young man,” Master Tenzin begins quellingly.

“Not a negotiation, Master Tenzin,” Wu snaps without thinking, well, there goes all those lessons on diplomacy down the drain, “Please, Lord Zuko,” he says, bowing in the Fire Nation style. Mako will be furious to know he had the chance to get out of here and ‘sqaundered’ it on going back for him, but what Mako doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

“Well, come on, if you’re coming,” Zuko huffs, extending a hand to him and hauling him up, “Your Majesty.”

“That’s – ?” Tenzin pauses in hauling a child up onto the air bison’s back.

“Bye, Tenzin, I’ll tell Sokka you say hi,” Zuko says, dragging Wu up behind him, the dragon already lunging skyward.

Master Tenzin is sputtering behind them, “My eighty-some-odd-year-old uncle is AT THE FRONT?!”

Wu can feel the former Fire Lord chuckle beside him. “Ah, his face. The only thing better than making a good entrance is making an emphatic exit.”

Wu clings to the back of his jacket and wonders if all old people are this whimsical.

…

Toph, despite the teasing she’d directed at Zuko, chooses to ride with her granddaughter and Opal’s squirrely boyfriend. Toph has never met an earth bender as Vaatu-blasted squirrely as this Bolin character. Downright jittery, this one. His brother is more rooted than he is. Maybe it’s the lava bender in him. They’re restless types, lava benders.

“So, um, Toph, it is extremely wonderful and terrifying to meet you, I’m a big fan of your work,” babbles the squirrely kid.

“You talking about Opal or changing the course of bender history?” Toph drawls just to make him squirm.

“Um…both? Both is good…”

Lin harumphs on the other side of the saddle. Honest to Raava harrumphs. Like Appa used to. That girl is more and more like Toph every day. She’s not sure if she’s proud or not.

“Stop bickering,” Opal calls, “And Grandma, stop tormenting my boyfriend!”

“I’m making conversation!” Toph protests.

“Well stop conversing, we’re here,” Opal’s voice sobers.

Toph hears the creak of the saddle and Lin’s faint “sh*t.”

“What’s going on?” she asks, hating how blind she becomes up here in the air.

“The forest’s on fire,” Lin says, “somehow they got up the cliff. Opal, bring us down behind the front line.”

“On it,” Opal confirms, “Be ready, everyone.”

They land in a nightmare. This does not seem to bother Toph, who jumps out of the saddle cracking her knuckles and yelling bloody murder, Lin screaming a frustrated “MOTHER!” after her. Somewhere in the distance there’s a muffled boom followed by a crackling corona of lightning.

“That can’t be good,” Lin says, swinging herself out of the saddle and after her mother.

“Toph!” yells an old woman in full Kyoshi warrior getup, “What are you doing here?”

“SAVING YOUR BUTTS, AS USUAL!”

Bolin sees a fresh wave of mechas charging out of the burning woods. He braces himself, twists his wrists in a now-familiar way, cracking open the earth and sending lava lapping at the things’ ankles.

“NEAT TRICK KID, DO IT AGAIN!” Toph shouts.

“Toph complimented me?” Bolin blurts, “Hey, hey, babe, Toph complimented me!”

“I know!” Opal yells, “I was there!” She turns to the defending warriors, “EVERYONE ABOARD, WE’RE GETTING YOU OUT OF HERE!”

Toph, who can move crazy fast for an old lady, is already pulling a stone wall out of the ground and using it to body-slam mechas back from the defending line.

There’s another explosion somewhere, the explosions are getting closer. Lin and the elderly Kyoshi Warrior have jumped on crowd control, herding defenders into an organized retreat to Opal and her air bison. Bolin punches pools of lava under individual mechas, sinking them up to their knees.

“What’s exploding?” Opal asks as she hauls an injured Warrior up onto the bison.

“The fire benders are over that way,” the Warrior tells her, “Most of the lightning benders are on the Gate, but Kya didn’t clear Mako for Gate duty so he’s there with the rest of them.”

“That’s probably him,” another Warrior says, “He’s the only lightning bender left on the front.”

Mako. “That’s my brother!” Bolin yells, “I have to go get my brother!”

“Go!” Opal yells, “Go get the rest of them!”

“I’m going, I’m going!” Bolin leans over, pecking her on the lips and bolting away. He hears the rush of wind as she scoops up Warriors too injured to make the climb up the bison.

…

Druk touches down in an inferno. Lightning arcs and crackles around Mako where he stands in the middle of a blasted, wasted landscape. “Mako!” Wu yells to him.

The fire bender turns, his face is streaked with blood, ash, and sweat. “Wu? Where’d you get a dragon?”

“Where are the other fire benders, young man?” Zuko asks.

“Lord Zuko!” Mako makes a vaguely bow-shaped gesture. He’s shaking with exhaustion. “They’re that way,” Mako gestures, “We got separated.”

“Get on,” Zuko instructs, “You’ve done enough.”

Mako pauses, looks around, like he’s still searching for something to fight.

“Come on,” Wu says, “Let’s get the rest of our people.”

Mako gets on the dragon.

…

Bolin is carving moats of lava between fleeing fire benders and advancing mechas. There seem to be fewer than before, maybe they’re finally running out of prototypes to hurl at them. The fire benders flee through a corridor of lava and stone built by Toph and Bolin, to where Opal waits with her bison and the warriors.

A straggling mecha lurches towards an injured fire bender at the back of the line. Bolin whirls, ready to hurl a boulder at the thing when lightning arcs out of the sky to blast the mecha, making it stagger and a dragon’s talon jumps forward to seize the mecha and hurl it away.

“Thanks, scary motherf*cker!” yells the fire bender.

“I told you to stop calling me that!” roars a familiar voice and Bolin, bizarrely, might start crying in the middle of this very intense battle.

An old man, incongruously dressed in full, traditional Southern Water Tribe warrior garb pauses in front of Bolin to say, “Good job, kiddo,” and wink.

“Sokka, what are you doing here, you lunatic?” Lord Zuko snaps, jumping down from Druk to herd the other man towards Opal.

“What are you doing here?” Sokka pokes him in the chest, “I live here!”

“Just get on the bison,” Zuko huffs, taking him by the elbows, sighing when Sokka sags tiredly in place, and steering him towards Lin and Opal.

Bolin is running towards the dragon, bolting for his brother, when the ground shakes and cracks beneath his feet. Several people cry out and Bolin turns to see more mecha creeping towards them.

“MOVE, MOVE, MOVE!” Lin roars.

Bolin cranes his neck to see Zuko, Sokka, and the last of the evacuees scrambling onto the air bison. There’s a ringing in his ears. The world is a blazing smear around him, too hot, too bright, too close.

“BOLIN, GET ON THE VAATU BLASTED DRAGON OR SO HELP ME!” Mako roars.

Bolin lurches and runs for him. His brother’s hands come down and catch his, hauling him up onto Druk’s neck.

“LORD ZUKO,” yells a new voice, and Bolin squints against the ash stinging his eyes and sees a new person he hadn’t noticed before behind Mako, clinging to his brother’s waist, half holding him up as he sways in place.

‘TAKE DRUK, GO!” Lord Zuko commands.

“LORD ZUKO!” the second man pleads.

“DRUK, GO HOME!” Lord Zuko orders and beneath them the dragon tenses, ready to launch.

“WHAT?” shouts the stranger.

The chaos around them smothers most of what Zuko says next. Bolin only catches a few words. Something like “Korra” and “Balance” but they don’t have a chance to ask Zuko follow-up questions because Druk is taking off, whether or not they’re ready. Bolin clutches his brother, who wraps a protective arm around him almost on reflex, the stranger clinging to Mako’s back and keeping all three of them upright in the saddle.

Druk slices through the air, Kyoshi Island shrinking beneath them. Bolin sees Opal and company taking off and heading for Asami’s airship.

“WHERE DO YOU THINK WE’RE GOING?” Bolin yells.

“HOPEFULLY SOMEWHERE LESS ON FIRE,” the stranger yells back.

Well. Bolin can’t really argue with that.

Druk flies on, leaving Kyoshi Island burning behind them.

…

Dear Mako,

We made it out of Kyoshi Island with everyone in one piece, except for Bolin, Wu and YOU, because apparently Lord Zuko accidentally-on-purpose told his dragon to kidnap the three of you.

I’m…so tired. So very tired.

Asami

Chapter 19: The Dragon Sanctuary

Chapter Text

The Dragon Sanctuary

Dear Asami,

Why are all old people terrifying? Also, please tell Bolin he can’t have a baby dragon. Even before Vaatu destroyed our apartment, there wasn’t any room for it, I don’t care how often he says he’ll walk it.

Wu says hi and he’s sorry he missed you at the siege. I told him that’s a weird thing to say considering it was a battle and not a garden party but he sniffed and said “manners are manners, Mako, we can’t all send terse postcards and call it good!”.

Mako

…

The ocean unfurls beneath them like a banner of blue-black silk. Kyoshi island is a blazing beacon fading into the horizon behind them. On the opposite end of the sky, the sun is beginning to trickle over the edge of the horizon in shades of pink and purple. It’s unfairly beautiful.

“Do you think they’re okay?” Bolin frets, hands clenching and unclenching against Druk’s spine.

“They’re fine,” Mako says in his steady, sure big-brother-knows-everything voice. That voice always convinced Bolin when they were kids, no matter how bad things were. It doesn’t work so well now.

“But – ”

“We can’t do anything about it, even if they aren’t fine,” Mako makes a sighing sound which, on second thought, is closer to a groan.

“Take it easy,” the stranger seated behind Mako says, concern crackling through his voice.

“I’m literally just sitting here,” Mako huffs.

“Yeah, and I think you’re running a fever, so take it easy. Nothing is going to get us in the sky. Take a nap or something.”

“You’re not the boss of me.”

“Literally a king, but whatever, peasant.”

“Yeah, well, you’re not my king. I don’t believe in the monarchy.”

Bolin is starting to wonder if he’s fallen through a tear in reality and landed in an alternate universe. An alternate universe where Mako banters instead of immediately shutting down or snapping at whoever he’s talking to. Sometimes, sometimes he’d trade quips with Bolin, if he was in a good mood and nothing was going horribly wrong in their lives.

It’s…weird. Nice. But weird. And kind of, weirdly, sad? Bolin rubs at his chest, frowning at the pang that runs through him at the thought of Mako being different. It’s been over a year since they’d seen each other, of course things would change, but somehow Bolin didn’t expect them to. Didn’t really want them to, honestly. Because no matter how annoying Mako can be with his frowns and his eyebrows and his curmudgeonly attitude, he’s…steady. Consistent. Bolin always used to know exactly how Mako would react to any given situation. Always. And now, apparently, he doesn’t anymore.

It’s…lonely.

It’s sort of lonely.

It’s not fair of him, he knows. But somehow Bolin kind of expected to be the only one to change with time and distance? As if, in his head, Mako is this static figure, while Bolin is the one who needs to go off and learn and grown and come home riding high on victory and heroism and having Grown Up for once and for all.

And here Mako is, bantering.

“But you believe me little old me? How sweet.”

“Shut up,” Mako grumps, voice twisting weirdly around what might be the beginnings of a laugh.

“I will if you take a nap,” the king? This must be Prince Wu – says, sobering, “You’re burning up, buddy, and don’t think I missed the dried blood splattered all over your face. You ripped open your scabs, didn’t you?”

Bolin missed the dried blood splattered all over Mako’s face. He immediately feels like the worst brother in the world.

(In his defense, the fire kind of stained everything orange-red and Bolin was really focused on not dying and now he’s sitting on a dragon with Mako at his back, and can’t really see his face.)

“Technically,” Mako yawns, “the mecha ripped open my scabs. I need to clean them.” Another yawn.

“I’ll search Lord Zuko’s bags for a first aid kit,” Prince Wu’s voice has gone sort of soft and gooey. It’s incredibly weird. “Just rest, bud.”

“Told you not to call me ‘buddy’,” Mako grumps.

“Lean on me,” Bolin interjects, because he knows his brother, even if this is New Mako who banters with a prince, and he knows the harder you try to get Mako to do something, the less likely he is to comply. “Like when we were kids and you’d carry me.”

When they were very little, Bolin had a hard time keeping up with Mako’s longer legs as they tramped all over the city looking for work or food or both, and about halfway through the afternoon Bolin would start lagging behind. Mako would always, no matter how tired he was, lean down and let Bolin scramble up onto his back. Bolin would cling like a lemur bat and rest his head on Mako’s shoulder and nap like that as Mako kept trudging forward.

Mako sighs behind him, but they aren’t children anymore and it’s not just Mako’s job to look after them anymore.

“No arguing, bro,” Bolin says, trying to sound stern, “You’ve had enough being awesome for one day. Lean on me for once.”

Mako grumbles, but a moment later there’s a warm – too warm, jeez, Mako – weight draped across Bolin’s back and hair tickling the side of his neck where his brother has rested his head against his shoulder.

“That’s better,” the prince declares, and then, “sweet dreams…buddy.”

Mako growls, half-asleep already. “Don’t make me throw you off this dragon.”

“Druk would catch me,” the prince says with utter and complete confidence.

They fly on.

…

“Soooo,” Bolin says after a long moment of flying in silence, Mako dead asleep and warm as a furnace against his back. “Hi there, I’m Bolin, you may have heard of me. I’m Mako’s totally awesome pro-bender/hero/mover-star brother. And, um, you’re Prince Wu, heir to the Earth Kingdom throne. Or are you King Wu? Does the title just kind of transfer automatically or does someone have to ‘king’ you like in checkers? You know what, that’s probably rude to ask. Is that rude to ask? Oh, wait, asking if it’s rude to ask is also probably rude. Whoops. Um. This is awkward and it’s nice to meet you…I guess?”

Prince/King Wu laughs, though, so Bolin might actually be okay at this. “Hiya, I’m the illustrious Prince Wu, not yet crowned King of the Earth Kingdom, I assume you’ve heard of me?”

“A little bit, uh, Mako’s postcards don’t exactly go in-depth. Soooo, what have you and my brother been up to?”

Wu makes a startled little choking noise. Probably had a bug fly in his face or something. That’s happened to Bolin a lot now that he spends most of his time on Juicy, Opal’s…unfortunately aptly named air bison.

“Like, adventures and stuff,” Bolin asks, “Mako’s postcards are super vague.” Bolin will make conversation if it kills him. He cannot handle riding in silence over blank, empty ocean for hours with a stranger. He will crawl out of his skin.

“Oh!” Wu sounds relieved. “Well, you’ve come to the right place. I am an excellent story-teller.” He pauses, expectant, then laughs awkwardly, “Wow, okay, normally Mako interrupts to contradict me there, I am not used to my grandiose, and extremely accurate claims going uncontested. Ahem. Well. So, our adventures. Well, it all starts when I’m living it up in a tunnel underground with some very hospitable badgermoles. Badgermoles, are, of course, known for their hospitality. They’re very welcoming creatures as long as you mind your manners, you know.”

Bolin does not know, but he’s willing to learn. Anything to not sit here and sweat through his shirt with worry over Opal, and Asami, and Mako (who is still too-warm), and everyone else he left behind on Kyoshi.

…

Mako wakes up about halfway through Wu’s version of their side trip to the fortune teller. There’s a moment of total disorientation as he tries and fails to figure out where he is and what he’s doing and why he’s in the middle of the sky, on a dragon, face-planted into his younger brother, who is yawning through ‘oohing’ and ‘ahhing’ at all the appropriate intervals. Wu, whose arms have been wrapped tightly around Mako’s waist since he fell asleep, must sense Mako’s return to the land of the living, because he pauses his story to squeeze Mako’s middle and say, “Good morning, sleepyhead.”

“f*ck off,” Mako says on reflex, squeezing Wu’s hands where they rest over his stomach.

“Rude,” the prince sniffs, “And here I was making you sound all noble and heroic to your brother, who, might I add, is a much more receptive audience than you.”

“That’s because he’s gullible enough to believe your nonsense,” Mako huffs. He’s feeling better, his head is clearer, although his face is throbbing in time to his heartbeat under the sloppy bandage Wu managed to adhere to his cheek. Well, he’s already mourned the loss of any good looks he might have had. What’s one more scar at this point?

Bolin yawns loudly, “S’not nonsense, Mako’s always been annoyingly noble.”

“Shut up,” Mako scoffs, “You sound delirious, when’s the last time you slept?”

“Stayed up all night to get to Kyoshi in time,” another jaw-cracking yawn. “M’tired.”

Mako sighs, “And then you let me sleep on you all morning.”

“And some of the afternoon too. You nearly gave yourself heat stroke,” Wu huffs, “Which is exactly what Kya told you not to do.” He pinches Mako’s wrist scoldingly. Mako pinches back because Wu is a hypocrite who doesn’t listen to healers either, so he can get right off his high ostrich-horse right the f*ck now.

“Your turn for naptime,” Mako declares, “Big brother’s orders.”

“What was that you told me earlier when I told you to take care of yourself?” Wu muses teasingly, “Was it, perchance, ‘you’re not the boss of me?’.”

“No, he kinda is the boss of me,” Bolin says easily. He must be exhausted, he’s never this accommodating to Mako’s nurturing. “M’big brother and all. Kinda my dad too. It’s weird. We’re weird.”

“Go to sleep, dumbass,” Mako huffs, “You’re embarrassing yourself.”

“Nah, I only embarrass myself in front of pretty girls. You don’t count.” Bolin says around a yawn.

“I would hope not,” Mako deadpans, “Now got the f*ck to sleep.”

“Jerk. Missed you.” Bolin leans back, though, and in a few minutes, he’s slumped in place, most of his weight on Mako’s chest, dead asleep and snoring like a little kid.

“Oof, how’d you get so heavy?” Mako grumbles to himself, chuckling a little, “Eating Pema out of house and home while I’m gone? Jeez.” He arranges Bolin’s floppy, dead-weight limbs into a more secure position and sighs. “Wu, do you want to nap too?”

“Nah,” Wu squeezes him a little, “I’m good. Just gonna sit here and be quiet for a bit.”

“You? Quiet? Never.”

“Hey, I can enjoy the silence.”

“When have you ever enjoyed silence?” Mako laughs, “You sang every second of every day when we were with those flower-flinging nomad lunatics. I almost threw you off a cliff three times. I used to dream about shoving a sock in your mouth.”

“Kinky.”

“Shut up. It was horrible.”

“Rude.”

“Honest.”

Wu presses his forehead in between Mako’s shoulder blades and hums. “I’m just a little tired.”

Mako takes one of Wu’s wrists and presses an absent kiss to his hand, drinking in the feeling of having both Wu and his brother safe and whole and with him. The only way it could be better would be if they were home, in Republic City, with Korra and Asami and Grandma Yin and Tenzin’s family. Everyone together and safe. All Mako’s ever wanted. “Then we can just sit in silence for a bit.”

Druk flies on, into the golden afternoon light.

…

Bolin wakes up and, despite his claims of not being sleepy, Wu takes a semi-involuntary nap against Mako’s shoulder. They’re coasting along, Druk flying steadily towards…something, even if they’re not entirely sure what or where.

“Do you think we’re going to the Fire Nation? Like, to the capitol?” Bolin asks. He’s hungry, Mako can literally hear his stomach grumbling, but Zuko didn’t pack a ton of snacks in his bags, probably because Asami’s airship had a full kitchen on board, and Mako is rationing what they have on hand. “Or are we going to the Sun Warriors? That’s the homeland of the dragons, right? Are we going to meet the dragons?”

“We’ve already met a dragon,” Mako says dryly. “We’re sitting on him.”

Bolin shakes his head, “I mean the dragon sages, the ones Lord Zuko and Aang met! Lord Zuko just told Druk to ‘go home’? Are we going to Lord Zuko’s house? Where does he even live?”

“I don’t know, Bo,” Mako says patiently.

“I hope there’s food wherever it is. That was not enough jerky. I’m a growing boy!”

“You’re eighteen.”

“Still. Growing. Need. Meat.”

Mako sighs around a laugh and tries not to think about how that means he’s over twenty, coming up on twenty-one now how strange that is to think about. He didn’t even notice his birthday, not that that’s too different from any other year. The last time he had a real, actual birthday party was his nineteenth, back when he and Korra were still together, and that was over a week late because of Avatar business and work getting in the way. (And the fact that he didn’t tell her it was his birthday. He’d fallen out of the habit of recognizing it a long time ago, and saying something felt needy in a way he never wanted to be. Ultimately, Bolin spilled the beans when he’d bear-hugged Mako in public with a top-volume, bellowed rendition of ‘Happy Birthday’ on the day-of. Korra and Asami both looked embarrassed and it hadn’t been until later, when Korra told him they were ashamed of not knowing it was his birthday or doing anything for him, that he realized it wasn’t awkwardness over Bolin’s ridiculous behavior.)

Mako thinks Wu’s probably the type to revel in birthday parties. He’s the type to remember things like anniversaries and birth dates and go all out celebrating every little thing. If they hadn’t been captured, he probably would have insisted on a weeks-long detour to celebrate Mako’s birthday. Ridiculous.

(Mako tires to ignore the gooey, warm feeling in his chest at the thought of it. At the thought of being special to someone. Special enough that they drop everything to celebrate you.)

The light is fading around them, staining everything gold and drawing long blue shadows ahead of them, when Mako spots land.

“Oh, thank Raava,” he breathes, relieved, as Bolin begins to bounce excitedly in front of him.

“Land! Oh, sweet spirits, thank you! Land, Mako! Land and food!”

“We don’t know there’s food,” Mako huffs, “And stop jumping around, you’ll fall off.” At his back, Wu shifts and yawns.

“What’s that about land?” the prince asks groggily.

“Land and food!” Bolin cheers.

“Maybe. Potentially food. Definitely land,” Mako hedges.

“Oh, that’s nice,” Wu mumbles, “Do I have to be awake for it?”

“If you can sleep through Bolin’s cheering, be my guest,” Mako drawls.

“Mmm,” Wu slumps forward again, “Night, then.”

Mako is glad Bolin is facing forward and can’t see the smile on his face. It’s embarrassingly soft.

…

Druk touches down on what looks like a cross between a dock and the landing platforms designed for sky bison at the Air Temples. It projects out into the ocean like a dock, but is huge and flat and solid and clearly designed for dragons or other large, flying creatures based on dimensions, and the fact that Druk, a large, flying creature, is comfortably settled on it. Ahead, down the pier, nestled in the jungle sits a large, tiered building in the classical fire nation style, with a dragon-sized boulevard leading up to it from where they sit. It’s lit up like there’s people home and more lights come on one by one as presumably someone spots Druk in all his massive, bright-red glory.

“Wu, wake up,” Mako elbows him, and the prince jolts.

“I’m awake!” the prince blatantly lies, to Mako’s amusem*nt.

“Hope these people are friendly,” Bolin belatedly frets as dark figures appear on the boulevard and begin approaching.

“Now’s not really the time to worry about that,” Mako says. “Druk, can you let us down?”

The dragon chuffs but obliges, allowing Mako to stiffly creak his way down to earth, Bolin at his heels.

“Raava in a teapot, I’m sore in place I didn’t know were places,” Bolin groans, half-falling down the dragon’s shoulder.

Wu takes one look at Bolin and Mako’s stiff frames and just slides down Druk’s foreleg.

“Why didn’t I think of that?” Bolin whines.

“If it’s any consolation,” the prince chirps, “I’m not sure I can stand up under my own power. Wu down.”

They’re all groaning in sympathy when a bolt of blue flame interrupts their achy misery. They all try to snap to attention – except for Wu, who just groans and says “If they really want me, they’ll have to come and get me. The ground is my new best friend and I will not be moved.” – but the flame snaps back like one of Korra’s water whips to curl coquettishly in the palm of an elderly lady seated on the back of another dragon, coasting above them. This one is deep, cobalt blue with touches of silver in its mane and whiskers, smaller than Druk, and less than impressed with them. Druk chuffs a greeting to the smaller dragon, who trills back.

“Well, then, none of you are Zuzu, yet Druk hasn’t barbecued you yet. Interesting. I suppose there’s a very good explanation for why you’re bumbling into my sanctuary without my brother in tow?” drawls the elderly lady with the fistful of blue fire. “Choose your explanation wisely, or it might be me who incinerates you.”

“Why are old people always so scary?” Bolin groans. “First Toph, now this?!”

Mako, honestly, has to agree.

…

Azula, not Princess Azula, since she was stripped of her titles after, you know, trying to murder her brother and also committing some crimes against the peace what with the whole ‘conquering multiple sovereign Earth Kingdom cities and rampaging through the countryside’, is a surprisingly accommodating host, Wu thinks. Admittedly, Wu’s standards are low seeing as he’s been on the receiving end of both his great-aunt and Kuvira’s extremely questionable hospitality, but Azula, once she understands they didn’t murder her brother and steal his dragon (ironic, considering seventy years ago she would have reveled in doing just that, if the history books are to be believed), ushers them inside, sits them down at a low, Fire Nation style dining table, and calls for drinks.

“Tea or sake?” she asks when a servant appears and Wu has the distinct feeling that there is a right answer here, he just doesn’t know what it is.

“How about water?” Mako asks. They’ve been drinking stale, lukewarm water out of the bottles Lord Zuko left in Druk’s packs (which, way to be prepared. Wu has never met royal who packs so thoroughly) and they’re all a little parched. “We’ve been flying in direct sunlight all day. We’re too dehydrated for tea or booze.”

“But royal sake, Mako,” Bolin tugs at his arm like a little kid. “Fancy booze.”

Azula sniffs, “I see your point. Chilled mango juice for the infants,” she drawls to the servant, “And perhaps some aloe for the,” she gestures at Bolin’s face, which, now that Wu can see it, is very pink and flakey with sunburn. Mako is marginally better off, his skin having tanned to a deep bronze on Kyoshi Island, but both he and Wu are still a little worse for wear after spending all day in the sun. Wu’s own face stings a bit in that flushed, almost-but-not-quite burnt way of a fresh sunburn. “Peeling situation,” Azula finishes.

Bolin’s hand flies up self-consciously, and he winces, “Oh, yeah, that’s gonna be bad. Mako, remind me to pack a sunhat next time we flee for our lives.”

“Sake for yourself, madame?” asks the servant.

“Of course,” Azula gestures imperiously.

The servant bows, “Right away.”

“Thank you,” Azula says, “And please, tell Mai we have guests.”

“Of course,” another bow and the servant hurries away. Wu notes she doesn’t scuttle or flinch the way his great-aunt’s attendants used to and thinks maybe this place isn’t so bad. Even if all the causal opulence on display is making him twitchy with memories of the Palace and long fingers tipped in golden claws.

“So,” Azula steeples her fingers. She must be in her mid-eighties but her golden eyes are sharp as a dragon’s. She’s aged as gracefully as her brother, her frame willowy and spare, with aggressively perfect posture. Her clothes, despite the richness of the furnishings and décor around them, are understated and practical, designed for movement and wear in traditional Fire Nation cut and colors. She does not wear the golden flame, and her pure white hair is cut in a surprisingly modern angled bob, with the nape of her neck shaved down to a fine white down. Her lipstick is blood red and perfect, her nails scrupulously maintained. “Why are you here, really?”

“Question, madame princess, ma’am?” Bolin asks, actually raising his hand as if they’re in a classroom.

Azula raises an eyebrow, “I haven’t been a princess for seventy years,” she says acidly.

“The correct form of address is ‘Lady Azula,’ or ‘Madame’,” Wu hisses. He turns to Azula and bows respectfully, “My apologies, Madame, my companions are from Republic City and are…unused to courtly decorum.”

Azula smirks him, “Is that so? And who are you supposed to be, Mr. Courtly Decorum?”

“I am Prince Wu Hou-Ting, king-in-waiting of the Earth Kingdom.”

“King in Exile is more like it. Or King of Nothing,” Azula scoffs, “You think we don’t get news out here? I know all about your shenanigans, you won’t impress me with your titles.”

Wu grimaces. Azula grew up in the Imperial Fire Nation court. There’s no way he can out play her in the courtly manners game, she’ll cut right through him. But there’s also no way Bolin’s overeager puppy charm will work on her either. She’s definitely enjoying this; he can sense it. She knows she has the upper hand.

“But since I’m in an accommodating mood, go ahead, ask your question,” she folds her hands, smirk still in place.

“Where exactly are we?” Bolin asks, sounding even more uncertain now that Azula’s full attention is on him. “Um. Ma’am. Lord Zuko told Druk to take us ‘home’ but, uh, given the circ*mstances he didn’t exactly. Uh. Elaborate.”

“This is the headquarters of the Fire Nation National Dragon Sanctuary, of which I am the head,” Azula says, lips curling up in the corners with unconcealed pride. “Druk was brought here as a hatchling after poachers,” she says the word with unrestrained vitriol and Wu finds himself inexplicably warming to her, despite the murderous gleam in her eyes, “killed his mother, the Sun Warriors sent him to me. He was raised here.”

Bolin’s eyes get huge.

“Bo,” Mako cuts in, “We aren’t here to play with flying death lizards.”

“Baby dragons, Mako.” Bolin says, eyes big and liquid with pleading.

“No.”

Wu looks at Azula, worried she’ll be offended by the ‘flying death lizards’ comment, but she’s smirking into her sake – and wow, those servants are silent! – and looking amused.

“We’re a nature preserve, not a zoo,” a cold voice interjects and everyone’s heads (except for Azula, who sips her sake and looks elegant and unbothered) swivel to take in the tall, slender, elderly woman who just entered.

“Mai, meet what Druk dragged in,” Azula says, extending a hand to her companion, who takes it, settling into the cushion beside her.

Mai is easily as old as Azula, but the years have been equally kind of her. Her silver hair is piled on top of her head in a tidy coil, her clothes are well made, of rich, dark fabrics, but understated and as practical as the former princess’s. Her eyes regard them with calculating detachment.

Wu thinks he knows who she is.

“Lady Mai,” he bows in the Fire Nation style, “A pleasure. I am Prince Wu Hou-Ting.”

Mai sighs, “Figures. Zuko never could resist a stray. Or a lost cause. I suppose you two are also exiled Earth Kingdom nobility?”

“Nope, I’m a wanted criminal and he’s a mover star,” Mako says in that blunt, dry, mildly combative, eminently Mako tone that indicates he’s rapidly running out of f*cks to give.

“I’m other things too!” Bolin objects.

“Delightful,” Azula’s smirk broadens and Wu gets the distinct impression she’s more intrigued by Mako’s wanted criminal status than she is by Bolin’s supposed fame.

“Oh, well, if you’re a fan –” Bolin starts.

“Not that, movers are almost as stupid as the excrement The Ember Island Players puts onstage,” Azula says dismissively. Bolin makes a wounded sound. “I meant the wanted criminal thing.”

Mai nods soberly, “Circus arts are really the only worthwhile entertainment.”

Wu…has so many questions about that. But he’s not going to ask any of them. More’s a pity.

“I’m assuming based on the fact that Zuko sent Druk home with you three in tow instead of himself, that things have slid further off the rails in the Earth Kingdom?” Azula says.

“Off the rails? It’s flown off the rails into a chemical explosion while the bridge burns behind it,” Mako says flatly, “The Earth Kingdom is well and truly f*cked.”

Wu thinks Mako maybe needs a long trip to a spa. A heavily fortified, completely safe spa where he doesn’t have to do anything but relax.

“Also,” Bolin jumps in, “Kyoshi Island got conquered by Kuvira. I was there. We all were. Lord Zuko was evacuating civilians with us. That’s why we have Druk.”

“Is Zuko alright?” Mai asks, her piercing gaze swiveling over to Bolin, making him cringe.

“Yes,” Wu cuts in before Mai can eviscerate Bolin too badly with her eyes, “Lord Zuko should be in Republic City either tonight or tomorrow morning, with the rest of the refugees. In the chaos of the evacuation, he ended up on a sky bison and we ended up with Druk.”

“In our defense, for the accidental dragon-napping,” Bolin says, “the island was really on fire at the time and we were overrun with mecha.”

Azula raises her eyebrows in a ‘tell me more’ gesture, obviously mentally shelving questions about Kuvira’s mecha for later.

“I believe he sent us here because he knows if Kuvira gets Wu, it’s game over,” Mako explains, “There won’t be anyone to claim leadership of the Earth Kingdom and Kuvira will be free to establish whatever military dictatorship she pleases.”

Mai raises her eyebrows, cutting her gaze over to Azula, “Sounds familiar.”

“I was classy about it,” the former princess sniffs, “I conquered Ba Sing Se completely bloodlessly. None of this setting islands on fire bullsh*t. It’s gauche and stupid. Terrorizing your underlings into compliance is all well and good, but rendering your conquered territories uninhabitable and filled with violently resentful locals is plain idiotic.”

“Also, morally reprehensible,” Mai says patiently.

Azula waves a hand, “That too.”

“The Earth Kingdom isn’t safe anymore,” Mako states the obvious.

“So, you want to crash here? Indefinitely?” Azula says archly, “Seems like a bad deal for me.”

“We’ll earn our keep,” Mako offers. “And we won’t be here forever. We’ll leave as soon as we can. We need to get to Republic City and start planning our next steps.”

Azula regards them through heavily lidded eyes, sipping her sake. She does this for several agonizing seconds and Wu wonders at what point it’s socially acceptable to break her gaze. Probably never. This is not a staring contest you want to lose.

“Very well,” she sets her cup down, apparently satisfied with whatever she sees in them. “A Southern Water Tribe trading ship en route to Republic City will come through here in a month’s time. You’ll get on it, get out of here, and not be my problem anymore when it arrives. Until then, you’re my interns. You do what I tell you. You follow all orders while on the preserve. You earn your keep, and you’ll have food, clothes, and a roof over your head until Tonraq comes to collect you. Deal?”

“Uh, will this be a paid internship?” Bolin asks.

“Not the time for negotiating,” Mako growls under his breath. He looks at Wu. Wu looks at him. Wu could swear they have a whole conversation just with their facial expressions, a whole back and forth of ‘are you okay with this?’ and ‘this is as good as it gets’ and ‘do you trust her?’ and ‘dragons!!!’. Mako tilts his head and Wu nods and they turn back to Azula.

“Deal,” Wu says.

Azula grins like a dragon. “Welcome to your unpaid internship, infants. For the next month, I am your god.”

Bolin groans.

…

They’re shown first to a medic, who brusquely checks them all over for heatstroke, dehydration, and injury. Mako appreciates her professional detachment when it comes time to change the bandage on his face, although her assistant actually winces at the ragged mess the grappling hook made of the mostly-healed wound which…doesn’t make Mako feel great. It doesn’t help that Bolin goes pale and then a little green at the sight.

“Mako…what happened to your face?”

“Metal cable,” Mako says tersely as the medic sanitizes the area, “Then grappling hook.”

Wu, standing behind him, squeezes the back of his neck with one hand, and Mako leans into the touch briefly, grateful.

“Bro…” Bolin looks a little ill.

“It’s fine,” Mako bristles. “It’s. Fine.”

There’s a tense, awkward moment where they all sip the juice the medic forced on them, except for Mako, who is getting his face literally put back together for the second time in as many months.

“Well, I still think you’re pretty,” Wu says, full of overblown cheer, pressing a smacking kiss to the top of Mako’s head.

“Leave the patient alone,” the medic scolds and Wu laughs, brittle and over-bright. Mako reaches up to wrap a loose hand around Wu’s wrist, keeping the other man’s hand on his shoulder while the medic works.

“Yeah, yeah,” Bolin blusters, shame-faced, “It’s not like you look ugly or anything.”

“Exactly what I want to hear,” Mako rolls his eyes fondly.

“Stop moving,” the medic chides.

“Just…dude, that’s an intense injury.” Bolin is chewing his lip, looking awkward and squirrely.

Mako knows what he’s thinking. It’s the kind of thing that could have killed him on the streets. A festering wound is a death sentence where they’re from. Not to mention what it would have done to their careers when they were fresh faces on the pro-bending circuit.

“It looks worse than it is,” Mako offers, conciliatory, comforting. Bolin nods jerkily.

“Yeah, totally, sure,” Bolin agrees too quickly and goes back to guzzling his juice.

“Scars are sexy,” Wu says with aggressive cheer when the silence drags a second or two too long.

Mako chokes on air and the medic huffs.

“You, stop moving. You, wait to hit on the patient until after I’ve sealed his wound!”

…

Another servant comes to collect them from the medic, showing them to a Kyoshi-Island-style dormitory room, complete with three soft, inviting futons.

“No private rooms ready for guests, sorry,” the servant says, sounding completely unrepentant, “Baths down the hall on the right, spare clothes in the linen closet on the left. Should be some that fit you.”

Wu sticks his tongue out at her retreating back as she walks away. Mako elbows him and the prince rolls his eyes.

“Spoiled,” Mako chides.

“I have standards, darling.”

“I’m vetoing ‘darling’. ‘Darling’ is not better than ‘buddy’.”

“How? It’s a term of endearment! I’m endearing you!”

“They’re both things people call their pets. I’m not your poodle monkey.”

“Okay, hot stuff.”

“No, not better. 1,000 times not better.”

Bolin’s head is swiveling back and forth between them like he’s watching some kind of intense spectator sport. “I have no idea who’s winning.”

“I am,” Mako and Wu both say.

“I am,” Wu says with the utter confidence of nobility, “Darling.”

Mako sighs deeply. “Excuse me, I think it’s time to go drown myself in the bath. Give my best to Korra and Asami.”

Wu howls with laughter and Bolin looks both astonished and confused.

“Since when does Mako joke?” he whispers to himself as the other two continue to bicker.

…

Mako sleeps in the middle because Bolin and Wu can’t agree on the rules to Fire-Water-Rock long enough for anyone to win a round of the hand-gesture game. Bolin insists on using the Air Temple kids’ version, which involves Air and Spirit, and which Wu insists is made up. Bolin argues that actually, it pre-dates the 100-year war because Tenzin learned it from his dad, Avatar Aang. Wu says this is a blatant falsehood and fabrication and Mako knows when he starts to break out the multi-syllable thesaurus words the prince is getting to the end of his tired and cranky rope and about to start a fight about nothing or burst into tears.

“BOTH OF YOU SHUT UP,” Mako snaps. “You’re sleeping on either side of me. I’m a fire bender, I’ll radiate enough warmth for all of us. Bolin, you get up a million times in the middle of the night, you’re facing the door. Wu, you sleepwalk, so you’re away from the door. That way I can catch you if you escape.”

“You make me sound like a poorly behaved house pet,” Wu pouts, “And I’ve only sleepwalked once the entire time we’ve known each other!”

“Yeah, and it scared the sh*t out of me,” Mako says, “I’m not taking any chances. Now both of you, lie down, and go the f*ck to sleep.” With that, Mako flops down on the middle futon drags the blanket over his shoulders and the pillow over his head.

Wu and Bolin go to sleep after that.

…

One of Azula’s seemingly never-ending supply of lackies wakes them up at dawn. Well. Wakes Bolin and Wu up. Mako is already awake and meditating. The lackey looks Mako up and down where he sits, a flame cradled in his palms, the tongue of flame bending in time with his breathing.

“A fire bender. Madame will be pleased. It’s been too long since she’s had a new student to torment.” The lackey looks down to where Bolin is still groggily scrubbing at his face and Wu is patting vaguely at his unruly curls. “Breakfast is in ten minutes. Down the hall, in the dining room where you met with Madame and Lady Mai last night. Be there or don’t eat. Here are fresh uniforms for you. We guessed at the sizes. Your clothes are being laundered.”

The lacky slides their door closed again with an authoritative click.

“Do you think they have special training on how to be that…” Bolin gestures vaguely, “Brisk? Or do you think they come like that?”

“New clothes!” Wu chirps, “Look, Mako, we match!”

“We all match, they’re uniforms,” Mako says blandly.

Bolin examines the Fire Nation style tunic and trousers. They’re black and red and embroidered with a small motif of a rampant dragon on the right shoulder, presumably the sanctuary’s symbol. “I feel so…official.”

“Ooh, Mako, your favorite things, practical boots!” Wu chirps.

Mako sighs, “I keep telling you, color schemes and trends don’t matter – ”

“- if your footwear falls apart at the last minute,” Wu and Bolin mimic him, nearly in sync. Bolin blinks in surprise, turning to grin at Wu, who rolls his eyes, grinning back at him.

Mako huffs in that classically, ‘annoyed but amused about it’ Mako way and Bolin feels like maybe things haven’t changed as much as he worried.

…

Apparently, dragons like lava baths. As in. Like to bathe. In lava. And making deep pools fully of burning, sludgy rock for them to frolic in will make you every dragon in your immediate vicinity your new best friend. This is, in Bolin’s humble opinion, amazing.

He’d been a little worried when he mentioned being a lava-bender and seeing Azula’s eyes light up in a slightly maniacal way, but this is awesome.

What’s not-awesome? Nearly getting covered in flying lava every time one of his new best friends comes charging at him, all lava-drenched and eager for forehead scratches. That is probably one of the most terrifying things Bolin has experienced and he’s experienced a lot of objectively terrifying things.

He spends most of day one torn between euphoria and despair, really.

At least he’ll have a lot to write down when he finally gets a second to write Opal.

…

Lady Mai grabs Wu’s sleeve after breakfast, when he’s milling around, trying to figure out where to go next. “You. You’re a prince, correct?”

“Yes?” Wu says, and instantly regrets the question mark his traitor voice tacked on to the end of that.

“You spend what felt like nine hundred hours practicing your penmanship, right?”

“Speaking from personal experience?” he hazards.

Mai raises an eyebrow.

Wu smiles his most winning smile.

“Calligraphy?” she asks.

“All of it,” Wu nods.

“Good,” she smiles. It’s small and not reassuring, “You’re helping me write long-winded, flowery letters soliciting donations from people rich enough to buy their own countries.”

Wu’s face does something. Probably something tragic, considering the amount of despair he’s feeling at the moment. “Oh. Really?”

Mai’s smile grows, “I’m an old lady, my hands aren’t are nimble as they were.”

Wu shoots a look at the throwing knives clearly displayed on her belt.

“Decorative,” she smirks, victorious.

Wu sighs and gives up. At least he can feel successful at something for once. He really does have very beautiful handwriting.

“If we get through enough letters this morning, we can practice with those fans I saw in your belt yesterday,” Mai says lightly.

Wu can’t help it; he brightens and bounces a little beside her.

What can he say, he’s easily bribed.

…

“Alright,” Azula folds her arms. “Show me what you’ve got.”

Mako stares at her. “What do you want to see?”

“Basic forms. Go.”

Halfway through the first form, Azula snaps out a tendril of deep red fire and cracks it in the air with a sizzling pop. “No. Your footwork is off. Again.”

Mako goes again.

Another snap-pop of flame. It never touches him. It never really leaves Azula’s personal space halfway across the training room, but it’s impossible to ignore the sound.

“No. Don’t hold your elbows out like that. You’re not a pig-chicken. Again.”

Mako gets the feel like he’ll be hearing that a lot.

He’s not wrong.

…

Bolin has found inner peace. Inner peace is lying under a pile of dragon hatchlings, warming the stones under them every few minutes so they purr in contentment and snuggle closer. No, he has no idea how he’s going to get up. But for now, he doesn’t really want to so it’s not a big issue.

…

“My tutors would have killed for a student with your handwriting,” Mai observes, looking over Wu’s shoulder as she dictates yet another ‘please give us money’ letter.

Wu glows with pride, shoulders curling inward as his chest warms. “Thank you. It was never good enough for my great-aunt, the queen.”

“f*ck her,” Mai says bluntly. “She was always a beastly child.”

Wu blinks up at her.

“My little brother came with us to an international summit once. He was supposed to be looking after her and your grandfather. Your great-aunt shoved him in the koi pond and threw all his books in after him. Never forgave the brat.” At Wu’s inquiring look she shrugs. “It would have been funny if it was Zuko. But no one messes with my baby brother.”

Wu nods mutely. “I…honestly I can’t imagine her as a child. She was always so…huge and terrifying. All my life.”

“The people who hurt and control us tend to be. I used to think Fire Lord Ozai was a giant. In the end, he was just another bad man who used his power to do bad things. Now, let’s get back to writing. I want a big donation from these people, they’re too rich for their own good.”

“Strong words from a titled noblewoman.”

“I donated my ancestral land to a charity dedicated to preserving and protecting endangered animals. The moral high ground is mine.”

Wu laughs, surprised and delighted, and keeps writing.

…

Mako is exhausted, overheated, and will be ten kinds of sore tomorrow morning but he’s not giving up. He’s not letting Azula and her nit-picking win.

But he’s also not giving her the satisfaction of losing his temper. He can see it, the way she smirks at him, the anticipation in her glittering eyes. She’s waiting for his patience to snap, for him to yell at her, throw a fireball at her head, stomp off and refuse to come back. Fire benders are hotheaded, everyone knows that. The fire benders with the Triple Threats reveled in it, enjoyed cultivating the air of danger, projecting the aura of people always seconds away from snapping.

Mako kind of hates that. Hates his temper. Hates that people think they know sh*t about him just because he’s a fire bender. Hates it being just another thing he’s judged on, like his clothes and the way he talks and where he comes from.

So, he’s not going to give Azula the satisfaction.

The sun has crept halfway across the sky when Azula finally calls for a rest. Well. More like she throws a waterskin at his head and says “Sit down, you look pathetic.”

“I can keep working.”

“It was cute how desperate you are to prove something to me, but it’s getting annoying now,” she drawls. “Sit. Drink. Don’t die or my brother will come back just to lecture me about ethics. You try to kill the Avatar once and you cede the moral high ground forever, apparently,” she rolls her eyes.

“Didn’t you try to kill Aang multiple times?”

“And I haven’t tried to kill this one at all, so really it evens out.”

“That’s not how murder works.”

Azula waves a dismissive hand and doesn’t respond. Mako sits down and drinks his water.

“You’re not bad, you know,” she says after a long moment.

Mako blinks at her.

“You’re actually quite talented,” Azula muses, “Clearly mostly self-taught, but your instincts are good. You have more of a sense for your inner flame than most benders twice your age.”

Mako looks down at his hands. “I had to.”

“I can see that.” Azula settles on the ground in perfect lotus pose. “Zuzu will tell you ‘fire is life’ and blabber about the interconnectedness of everything and your place in the universe, blah, blah, blah.” She rests her cheek on one hand. “And he’s right, but he’s a twit about it, so I’m not giving him the satisfaction of agreeing with him.”

Mako nods, a little confused, but not willing to interrupt whatever this train of thought is.

“Wherever you come from, it’s someplace where survival was a yes or no question and when your back was to the wall, you picked ‘yes’,” Azula pins him with her golden eyes, fierce and implacable, “Fire is capricious. It gives as it consumes and if you’re going to be part of it, really be part of it, you have to understand that. You have to feel the push and the pull, the hunger and the heat.

“My uncle used to tell this story, about two philosophers arguing about whether or not fire was a living being. The first philosopher said it couldn’t be, and the other one said ‘why not? It eats, it takes in air, it grows, it reproduces, it dies, what else would it have to do to be alive?”

“How does the story end?” Mako asks.

“No idea. Probably with a moral or a joke,” Azula shrugs, takes another sip of water, looks thoughtful. “I’m disappointed with this modern era.”

“So am I,” Mako says bluntly, “It keeps trying to kill me.”

She barks a laugh, “Ha! No, I’m disappointed with fire bending. Everything extraordinary about it has become mundane. No innovation. Beifong and her metal benders have given us a blasted earth bending renaissance. What are fire benders doing? If fire is life, why isn’t it living?”

“Well, what are you doing with it?” Mako asks.

“I’ve dedicated my life and my abilities to bringing dragons back from the brink of extinction because frankly I think they’re better than people, and they agree. I can’t be expected to do everything. I could, but it’s unfair to expect me to.” She climbs back to her feet with an uncanny amount of grace for an octogenarian. “Come along, I’m showing you something.”

Mako, realizing how sore he is now that he’s stopped moving, resists the urge to groan and gamely shoves himself to his feet.

…

Azula shows him to a crater or a small canyon. Below them sits a collection of workshops, all bustling with people and all giving off an extraordinary amount of heat.

“What is this place?”

“My workshop. Although baby benders keep showing up and demanding to learn things, so it’s not really mine anymore. After I had my little break from sanity when I was fourteen, my healers tried to get me to participate in what they called ‘art therapy’. I thought it was asinine. Painting watercolors and practicing calligraphy wouldn’t fix my brain. But then I traveled. Met some dragons. Fought some poachers. Met a couple, a fire bender and a sand bender, who made the most incredible glass. Through carefully controlled heat and sand.

“I lived with them for a while. Learned some things. We sell the glassware in shops on the mainland. Proceeds go to the dragons. Now I used my fire bending to make…” she grimaces, “Art.” She pins Mako with a vicious stare. “As well as torch poachers. I’m not some cuddly glass-blowing granny.”

Mako nods mutely because he would never in a million years describe Azula as ‘cuddly’.

“If you don’t horribly disappoint me, I’ll teach you some things,” she says. “You’ve already figured out more about bending heat than I knew at your age.”

Mako blinks. “Other people do that? It’s an actual technique.”

Azula looks at him like he’s stupid. “What did you think it was?”

“A way to keep my brother and I from freezing to death?”

Azula shakes her head, “Clever boy, reinventing the wheel all on his lonesome. You just might manage to make blue flame if you stick with me the next couple of weeks.”

“I thought I didn’t have a choice.”

“You don’t, but usually my students throw a hissy fit and storm off at least once.” Azula sounds far too proud of this. Mako resolves not to throw a fit and stomp off, no matter what she pulls, if only to avoid giving her the satisfaction.

“Well, that’s it,” Azula says, “Back to basics, for now.”

“Why’d you show this to me?”

“To show you fire can grow. It’s alive, after all.” She tilts her head, smirking a little, “But I think you already know that.”

…

The month passes like this. Awake at dawn every day so Bolin can wrangle baby dragons (and try not to lose a hand in the process), Wu can do calligraphy all morning and practice fans with Mai all afternoon, and Mako can have his ass handed to him bending with Azula all morning, only to spend all afternoon flailing around her workshop, trying to avoid burning off his eyebrows under her critical eye. (The first time he manages to produce a flickering, blue-white flame he nearly cries Vaatu-blasted tears of joy, especially when a nearby dragon responds with her own burst of white-blue flame, but that’s between him and the dragons.)

By the time Tonraq’s ship arrives Bolin has made a dozen new dragon and, surprisingly, human friends (the reserve is mostly staffed by Mai’s grand-nieces and nephews and despite being related to Lady Dark and Dour, they’re surprisingly friendly when you get to know them), Wu is in the best shape of his life both in terms of penmanship and physical fitness (“Mako! Mako! Look how much faster I’ll be next time we have to run for our lives!”), and Mako can reliably produce blue flames on command (Azula’s approval is grudging and Mako’s first hideous glass project is currently sitting in a place of designated shame in the dining room, where, per Azula “all may mock its miserable lack of form, function, or elegance.” Bolin and Wu both thinks this means she’s proud of him. Mako knows better.).

Mako is, also, unrelated to all of that, kind of missing having free time. And seeing his boyfriend (is Wu his boyfriend? Are they dating? Mako isn't sure and he hasn't gotten a chance to ask and now it's been too long and asking would be weird, wouldn't it? He doesn't want to assume, he doesn't want to take more than he's being offered. He know what he is and he knows what Wu is and the two can't really compare, can they?) when they aren’t both too exhausted to function. That was. Nice.

(Mako isn’t sure if Bolin is aware that Mako and Wu are a couple. He thought it was obvious, but then, several days into their stay, he overheard Bolin refer to Wu as ‘my brother’s buddy,’ unironically, so now he thinks perhaps it isn’t as obvious as he thought it was, but it’s been too long and announcing it would be weird, and would kind of imply they’d been keeping it secret, when they haven’t, and Mako doesn’t know what to do with any of that so he just…does nothing. This is a great plan and not at all destined for failure.)

Tonraq’s ship, when it arrives, is greeted with great excitement (Bolin), and relief (Mako). There’s something incredibly reassuring about seeing it there in the harbor, full of familiar faces. Like it’s evidence that Korra and her family and everything that happened to them when they knew her was real. Not to mention, it’s their ticket home, which…Mako isn’t sure how he feels about that.

“We’re going home,” Bolin cheers, “I’m gonna see Opal, and Asami, and Grandma, and Tu, and Chow, and Chow jr…” Bolin continues listing possibly everyone he’s ever met (Mako is disturbed to realize he doesn’t actually know which names are people he’s related to and which are just…people Bolin knows somehow).

“Off to Republic City, huh?” Wu says, eyes a little big and wild around the edges, “I…I don’t know what I’m supposed to do there.”

“Be king, I guess,” Mako says uncertainly.

“I guess.” Wu, not looking away from the ship in the harbor, reaches over and threads their fingers together, squeezing Mako’s hand until his joints creak. Mako squeezes back.

So, really, it’s almost a relief when Tonraq appears on the veranda, Senna at his side, both looking harried, and says “Oh, good, you’re here. I need you to help me find Korra.”

“Uh, last I heard, she was with you?” Bolins tries.

“She left!” Senna blurts, “She left a note saying she’d been speaking with the Moon Spirit and she had to go reconnect with her bending!”

“How do you do that?” Bolin asks.

Mako remembers speaking to Yue in the swamp. He remembers asking her to visit Korra, saying the Avatar could benefit from her wisdom and support. He’s pretty sure this soul-searching quest or whatever it is that Korra’s taken herself on is at least partially, indirectly his fault.

It’s probably for the best, if it’s Yue’s idea. She seems pretty wise and put-together in an ethereal, flowy, spiritual way. She wouldn’t steer Korra wrong. But he also knows that if Bolin disappeared after leaving a vague note about moon spirits, he would hunt his ass down to the ends of the earth after having the biggest heart attack of his life.

“She said she needed to do what Aang did when he struggled with fire bending, she needed to meet the original benders!” Senna says despairingly. “We were hoping she was here.”

“Well, she’s not,” Wu says cheerily, “But when we find her, I can introduce her to some truly lovely badgermoles.”

Senna starts crying and Mako wonders if he could just…disappear out of this conversation. Jinora figured out how to leave her body behind and spirit walk, it can’t be that hard, can it?

“Please, you’re her friends,” Tonraq pleads, “Well, you two are, I have no idea who this is,” it’s a sign of Wu’s personal growth that he doesn’t immediately take offense to that, “But please, find our daughter. Make sure she’s safe.”

…

Dear Mako (and Bolin, and Wu, I know you’re reading this too),

Don’t worry about everyone, we made it off of Kyoshi with minimal casualties. We’re home now, a little scorched but mostly in one piece.

(Yes, Bolin, Pabu is fine, he’s with me)

Raiko is turning an extremely passive-aggressive blind eye to the fact that most of Kyoshi Island’s citizens are split between Air Temple Island and the Sato Estate. Sokka and Ty Lee have utterly charmed Grandma Yin. (Also, apparently Lord Zuko went on one date with her sister when he was on the run in the Earth Kingdom???? She married a Northern Water Tribe merchant decades ago and moved out of Ba Sing Se, so we didn’t see the world’s most awkward reunion, more’s the pity. He said they had a very nice time on their date SEVENTY YEARS AGO and he hopes she’s had a wonderful life. So. Lord Zuko could have been your great-uncle. Chew on that.)

Mako, Lin says you’re a copycat who ‘needs to get his own distinguishing feature, facial scars are thoroughly taken’ which I think means she’s worried about you.

Love from all of us here,

Asami

(And Opal, and Grandma, and…literally everyone. Everyone wants to sign this…you know what, signatures are on the back).

…

Chapter 20: The Spirit World

Chapter Text

The Spirit World

Dear Asami,

I hate the spirit world almost as much as I hate trains. And I hate trains VERY MUCH.

Your tired friend,

Mako

…

“I could send Druk to fetch my brother if you want an expert opinion on Avatar hunting,” Azula smirks, “Although, it did take him three years, so perhaps he isn’t the best resource…”

Mako ignores her because he knows Azula well enough by now that he’s fully aware of how helpful she isn’t. “The question is, where would Korra go next? Would she go to the Oasis to talk to the ocean spirit, or would she move on to the next element in the cycle? How much does she know about what’s happening in the Earth Kingdom?” He looks to Senna and Tonraq, who look at each other a little guiltily.

“We…haven’t been discussing current events much…around Korra,” Tonraq admits slowly.

Mako glowers at him, which seems to put a little more starch in Tonraq’s spine, because he glares back.

“You weren’t there,” Senna cuts through the tension softly, “she was so fragile when she came home. We didn’t want to upset her, or make her feel guilty. Ever since she left the South Pole the first time, she’s tried to take the whole world on her shoulders. We just wanted to give her space to heal.”

“By keeping her ignorant?” Mako snaps, “Wasn’t locking her up in a military compound her entire childhood enough?”

“Hey, hey,” Bolin waves his hands awkwardly, “Let’s not fight.”

“All we’ve ever tried to do is keep Korra safe,” Tonraq growls.

Mako jerks back like he’s been slapped. His jaw locks and his stomach twists. He knows Tonraq was never his biggest fan, that despite his best efforts, the older man always regarded him with a little suspicion. Mako always figured he deserved it. After all, bad things did happen to Korra when she was around him, whether or not it was necessarily Mako’s fault. First Amon, then all the ways he’d let Korra down during the Vaatu incident, and then the Red Lotus…correlation isn’t causation, but when you only see a person when your child is in life-threatening danger you tend to make negative associations.

It doesn’t mean it doesn’t sting.

Azula is swirling her drink in its cup and arches an eyebrow at him from across the table. She’d told him once, after a brutal sparring session that left him black and blue and a little heat-struck, “You need to stop caring what people think of you; this self-conscious try-hard thing you do isn’t doing you any favors.” He gets the feeling this a least a little what she was talking about.

He takes a deep breath and lets the past go.

Or tries to. It’s a process.

“So worst case scenario, she’s vulnerable in the Earth Kingdom, where a military dictator is imprisoning every non-earth-bender,” Mako breathes out through his teeth, “That’s…not great.”

“It sounds like Yue is giving her guidance,” Wu says with forced cheer, “The Moon spirit won’t steer her wrong.” The prince tilts his head thoughtfully, “They’ll probably head for the swamp. It’s a place of power for spirits, and Toph’s there.”

Mako is suddenly seized with the strong urge to just…lay his head on the table and give up. He doesn’t, but it’s a close call.

“So, we’re going to the swamp. Again. The swamp that nearly ate you last time,” he gives Wu a Look, which the prince blithely ignores.

“Take a dragon,” Azula offers, “They’re excellent trackers. If I’d had a dragon, Aang wouldn’t have stood a chance.”

“Weird thing to bring up in casual conversation, but alright,” Bolin says.

“I’m showing conversational dominance by reminding you I have many dragons and a history of kicking the last Avatar’s ass. There. Now you’re intimidated. I win,” Azula asserts blithely.

Mako isn’t sure if he hates her or wants her to adopt him.

“So, we’re going to a spiritual swamp,” Bolin summarizes, “And Mako’s being a grump, and we’re getting a dragon companion. Honestly, at this point we’re doing better than we normally are on these adventures.”

Mako glares at his brother, “You haven’t been to this swamp yet.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” Wu says blithely.

“Because I rescued you,” Mako reminds him.

“Technically, Toph rescued us both.”

Mako sighs.

…

The dragon Azula lends them is white with a silver-blue shimmer to the edges of her scales, and her name is Bai.

“You named her ‘white’?” Wu says skeptically.

“She’s white, isn’t she?” Mai says with a shrug.

Wu turns to the dragon, “You, beautiful lady, are far too majestic for such a prosaic name.”

The dragon chuffs as if to say, ‘yes, I know, but such is life’.

Wu coos back at her, eyes brightening in that way that tells Mako the prince is about to concoct a horrible off-the-cuff serenade and needs to be distracted immediately.

“Let’s hold off on singing to the giant, fanged, fire bending master,” he says, throwing an arm around Wu’s shoulders and steering him away.

“Don’t be silly, Mako, animals love my music,” Wu chirps.

Mako suspects badgermoles love Wu’s singing because he hits some horrible pitch humans can’t auditorily process, it’s the only explanation.

“Why don’t we focus on packing for now?” Mako tries for a compromise.

Wu shoots him an ‘I know what you’re doing and I don’t approve’ look.

“Unless you want me to pack you nothing but practical, stain-resistant clothes in monochrome colors, which I absolutely will do…”

“No!” Wu yelps, throwing up his hands dramatically, “you are allowed nowhere near my wardrobe, you aesthetically impaired disaster.”

Bai the dragon chuffs again and shakes her maned head as if to say ‘I could have handled it, but very well, you may assist me this once, peasant.’

Mako is a little uncomfortable with how easy it’s become to read messages into animals lately. Any more of this and he’ll be just like Bolin making kissy faces at Pabu. Gross.

…

Azula sends them off with minimal fanfare and maximum cryptic, mildly threatening advice. It’s very on-brand for her.

“You’re an adequate fire bender as you stand now,” she tells Mako, straightening his lapels a little too aggressively, “You could be a great one if you don’t f*ck it up and get yourself killed.”

Mako nods and says “Thank you, ma’am,” because he knows better than to argue, protest, or comment on the unusual display of sentiment. He needs to go rescue Bolin, anyway, he’s been mobbed by Mai’s younger nieces and nephews, who seem intent on keeping him.

From the corner of his eyes, Mako sees Mai, in an unexpected bout of tenderness, wrap her arms delicately around Wu’s shoulders and give him a restrained, well-bred sort of hug. Wu is visibly sniffling when she pulls back. Mako looks away, not wanting to intrude.

“Come on, Bo,” he says, grabbing his brother by the shoulder and pulling him away from his young fans. “Time to go.”

It’s weirdly reminiscent of their pro-bending days, when Bolin would spend every second after a game hamming it up for his adoring fans, flirting with girls and bragging about how cool/awesome/unstoppable the two of them were. He called it ‘networking’ and Mako knows that Bo’s charm is what got them most of their positive attention their debut year. It certainly wasn’t their second-hand gear (meticulously repaired by Mako’s hands), their sketchy origin story, or their barely-legal-to-compete ages. So, while Mako stood in a corner, running the numbers in his head and figuring out just how little of the pot they’d actually walk home with at the end of the day, Bolin had dazzled the world.

At the time Mako had resented him and his carefree ways, his sunny nature, his belief that they’d eventually get their big break and make it, they just had to. And sometimes, when Mako’s mood is particularly grim, he still does. But he also knows that there were times when Bolin’s unflagging faith was the only thing keeping him tethered to his own aching, miserable body in their aching, miserable corner of the world. Mako fought to survive, Bolin to thrive.

“Aww, Mako, have a heart!” Bolin pouts theatrically, “let me say one more goodbye!”

And Mako lets him, because Bolin’s face carries none of the past in it. Bo isn’t thinking about their history, he’s thinking of right now, of the people in front of him, and what a good time he’s having with them.

It’s shocking enough Mako drops his hand. “Yeah, sure. Go for it.”

Bolin looks a little surprised, but beams and turns back to his adoring fans.

…

Wu is weirdly excited about flying, even if it’s to a place neither of them have fond memories of. He’s practically bouncing in the saddle as they ascend and Mako wraps an extra arm around the prince’s waist just in case his antics make him fall off.

“Do you suppose this is what it was like to be part of the original Team Avatar?” Wu asks, “Well, I suppose not the original-original Team Avatar. There’ve been loads of Avatars, and we lost a lot of the records of them, actually – the Fire Nation torched them all during the war, and then Roku’s temple sank into a volcano after Avatar Aang visited it, taking all the knowledge inside with it,” Wu sighs, wistful, “so many stories just, poof! Gone like they never existed. It’s sad, isn’t it?”

“The original Team Avatar?” Mako prompts, jostling Wu a little to drag him out of whatever morose path his mind has taken.

“Oh, yes,” Wu shoots him a smile over his shoulder, “I mean Avatar Aang and his friends. Above the clouds like this, it’s easy to imagine what it was like to be there.”

“At least our angry autocrat isn’t actively hunting us down,” Mako says, trying for levity.

Wu huffs, and vaguely pats at Mako’s wrist where it rests over his stomach, “Always so optimistic.”

“How come you know so much about Avatar Aang?” Bolin asks, over Mako’s shoulder. They have to sit in a slightly awkward row on Bai’s neck and while it’s less uncomfortable than their frantic flight on Druk (mostly because this saddle is actually meant for three people) dragons are built more for speed and power than ease of travel.

“Oh,” Wu laughs, “it gets really boring when you’re all alone in the palace and none of the servants are willing to speak to you because your aunt is angry and they’re afraid of upsetting her. You learn to make your own fun.”

“Uh, that’s kind of…horrible…” Bolin says in that gentle, horrified tone people tend to adopt around Mako when he offhandedly mentioned dumpster-diving for food or sleeping in train depots.

“Well, I’m very knowledgeable about lots of obscure subjects, so you win some, you lose some,” Wu says with the type of studied nonchalance that means he doesn’t really want to talk about this at all and is about to say something outrageous in order to change the subject. Mako braces himself for impact. “Do you think Yue might be trying to help Korra access her past lives again?”

Well. That wasn’t at all what Mako was expecting.

“How?” he asks, curious despite himself, “She lost them when Vaatu tried to kill Raava.”

“Yeah,” Bolin agrees, “Even Katara didn’t think she’d ever get them back, and Katara’s like, the most hopeful person I’ve ever met.”

“Well, hmm, how do I put this?” Wu hums, “I don’t know much about Vaatu and Raava outside of spirit tales, but from what I know about the Avatar cycle, the Avatar is the Avatar. And part of being the Avatar is that connection to the past Avatars.”

“But Vaatu nearly obliterated Raava,” Mako argues, “I mean, I’m no expert on spirit stuff, but Raava basically disappeared and Korra had to kick Vaatu’s ass on her own power and re-manifest her.”

“And Raava was the link to her past lives,” Bolin jumps in, “And by basically destroying Raava, Vaatu broke the cycle-link-ghosts-of-Avatars-of-yore,” Bolin’s voice drifts into a spooky, fake-ghost intonation on that, before sobering again, “ahem. Thing. So, no more past lives.”

Wu huffs, “But that doesn’t make any sense,” he says, frustrated, “Korra is the current Avatar. She is the current custodian of Raava. Order in chaos. Therefore, she also carries an echo of every Avatar that came before her. So as long as Korra is alive that echo should remain! Therefore,” Wu stabs at the air in front of him dramatically, “the connection isn’t gone, it’s just blocked.”

“Isn’t that kind of a leap, dude?” Bolin says skeptically, “I mean, she’s the Avatar. I think she’d know if her link to her past lives was gone or blocked.”

“She’s a person,” Mako argues, “Not an all-knowing spirit. She doesn’t know everything.” That was a misconception he’d constantly run headfirst into when he and Korra were together – from both Korra herself and the people around her. Everyone would assume the Avatar knew everything about everything, all the time, and then they got angry when she didn’t. And Korra, instead of fighting them, just beat herself up for ‘failing’ to be some fake idea of a perfect Avatar, and got angry with Mako when he tried to tell her to just take it easy and let herself be a person for once.

(Admittedly, he didn’t do a great job of telling her to go easy on herself…Mako wasn’t exactly the silent, supportive type. He was the poke and prod you into taking care of yourself and follow you around fussing at you until you did…type. Hey, it worked on Bolin, how was he supposed to know it didn’t work on everyone?)

“And if you’ve convinced yourself something is impossible, you’re never going to manage to do it,” Wu says, gaining confidence in his theory.

“Maybe it’s like a head wound,” Mako says, “the type that f*cks up your immediate memories.”

“You guys think that Vaatu…conked Raava on the head and made her forget all the past Avatars and that’s why Korra can’t access her past lives?” Bolin asks skeptically.

“No,” Mako scoffs.

“Kind of,” Wu shrugs.

“Or,” Bolin continues, “Korra’s past lives are behind some, what, mental door that Raava was head-trauma-ed into forgetting the password to?”

“More that one than the other one,” Wu concedes.

Bolin slumps behind Mako, “Don’t tell Korra. She’ll get all hopeful and then we’ll be the ones who crush her dreams when it doesn’t work.”

Mako starts a little, “Bo, when did you get cynical?”

“When did you start believing crazy theories?” Bolin shoots back. He must be speaking hypothetically, because he doesn’t pause for an answer, “Probably around the time my big brother disappeared into the Earth Kingdom with a prince and my fire ferret!”

Guilt suddenly slams into Mako, all the more powerful for how unexpected it is. He’d left Bolin behind, hadn’t he? Never mind that it had been an assignment from Beifong and Bolin had other things on his plate at the time, he’d still left. Not only that, but he’d stayed away.

Funny. Mako realizes all at once. He’d been waiting for Bolin to leave him behind for the last few years. With the movers, with the air benders, with Zaofu and Opal. He’d been waiting for Bolin to run off and chase those big, unrealistic dreams of his. He’d been prepared to be the one left behind. The one outgrown. Instead, he’d charged off into the unknown and allowed it to swallow him whole.

His scars feel tight and foreign on his face. A physical manifestation of an imagined distance.

“I’m…I’m sorry, Bo,” Mako says around a suddenly tight throat.

Bolin makes a weird noise, “No, I didn’t mean – sorry.”

“No, man, I’m sorry – ” Mako begins, but Bolin cuts him off.

“Nothing to be sorry about. Let’s not talk about it.”

Let’s not talk about it? Bolin is Mr. Talkative. Bolin is a hugger and a talker and a feelings-feeling-er. This is wrong. Mako’s f*cked something up, but for the life of him, he can’t figure out what it is.

So, he just says “Yeah,” and lets the conversation drop. Wu squeezes his hand comfortingly, but allows the silence to hang heavy on their shoulders as they slice through the air, towards the swamp.

…

“We should land,” Mako says, cutting through the quiet that’s fallen around them in the last couple hours. Bolin is dozing at Mako’s back, but he startles awake at his brother’s voice.

“What? What’s happenin’?” Bolin slurs, the saddle creaking as he glances around.

“We should land,” Mako says again, “We had to cut north and go around a big portion of the ocean in order to avoid Kyoshi Island and the surrounding area. It’s getting late and we won’t be able to land rest once we’re in the Earth Kingdom, at least not until we’re close to the swamp. We should stop for the night, rest, and be up early tomorrow.”

“We’re in the middle of the ocean, Mako,” Bolin yawns, “Where are we supposed to land?”

“There’s an island down there,” Wu says, “see that crescent shape?” He bounces a little, “Ooh, I wonder if it’s Crescent Island.”

“Well, it is crescent-shaped so I guess it’s an okay name,” Bolin offers.

“No,” Wu huffs, “Crescent Island. It’s a volcanic island. Been dormant for seventy years or so, but back in the day it was the last temple to Avatar Roku, maintained by the fire sages for a hundred years. Until Avatar Aang showed up, the Fire Nation army tried to arrest him, and, according to legend, Roku’s spirit appeared and sank the whole temple complex beneath the lava.”

“Whoa,” Bolin breathes.

“Yeah, whoa,” Mako deadpans, “that sounds fantastically unsafe.”

“No, I mean, whoa, Roku was the first lava-bender, that’s so cool!” Bolin practically squeals in Mako’s ear.

Mako leans away from his brother, wincing, “Bo, volume.”

“We have to land there!” Bolin shouts.

“Wu just said there’s at least a fifty percent chance a spirit sank half the island into a volcano,” Mako says flatly.

“Yeah, but it’s been mostly dormant for seventy years, and, more importantly, IT’S SUPER COOL AND AWESOME! Come on, Mako, this is our culture, our history!”

“It’s a volcano in the middle of the ocean.”

“Yeah, a historical, dormant ocean-volcano.”

“It’s also probably our best bet for Kuvira-free land, buddy,” Wu says, peering at a map.

Mako, sensing he’s about to lose this argument (which started with something he was in favor of and has somehow flipped around on him in a truly baffling manner), jabs Wu in the side and says “What did I say about calling me buddy?”

“Yay!” Wu claps his hands (no easy feat while still holding a map) “field trip!”

“The past year and a half have been a never-ending field trip designed by Vaatu himself,” Mako grumps as his companions celebrate.

…

Crescent Island is, as its name suggests, shaped like a crescent, with a quiescent volcano basin sitting at its center, glowing a baleful orange like a great, shining eye in the dark. The volcano’s sides slope down in either direction, staggering into sharp cliffs and curling around a natural harbor. Sparse, deep green vegetation clings to the ocean-damp rocks, and a handful of lizards scuttle away from their descent while birds cry from somewhere Mako can’t see.

They land beside a pool of groundwater too small to really count as a lake, but too big to be a pond. Silvery fish dart in its depths and slick moss clings to the rocks in the shallows. Bai lowers her head to drink, snapping at the fish that try to nibble her whiskers.

“Looks like without a pissed-off Avatar haunting the volcano, this place has actually flourished,” Mako observes.

“Can human spirits haunt places?” Bolin asks, “Serious question, because Grandma is convinced there’s a ghost in Asami’s garage. She won’t go anywhere near it. Tu’s about to call an exorcist.”

“I believe in ghosts,” Wu says, just as Mako sighs, “I was kidding. There’s no such thing as ghosts.” They stop, look at each other. Wu raises an eyebrow. Mako raises one back. Wu narrows his eyes. Mako’s lips twitch.

“Call an exorcist,” Wu says, finally.

“It’s probably just a racoon-cat,” Mako counters. “Either way, invite Beifong over for dinner and she’ll scare it off.”

“Now that’s a solution I can get behind,” Bolin says gravely, “Beifong’s free. Exorcists seem spendy.”

“How can you not believe in ghosts?” Wu says, “You’ve been to the swamp. You’re friends with the Avatar. You’ve been to the spirit world.”

“One,” Mako counters, “the swamp made us see visions, not ghosts. They just happened to feature dead people. Two, Korra is a person, not a ghost. Three, spirits are spirits, and therefore their own entities, not ghosts. I’ve never seen a ghost and I have no reason to believe they’d haunt a volcano, if only because, as we’ve seen, volcano spirits are terrible at sharing.”

“You have a point, there.”

“About ghosts not being real?” Bolin asks.

“No, about volcano spirits being brats.”

…

Even if the island isn’t haunted, it’s still creepy, especially as the sun goes down. Mako can hear the distant cries of creatures large and small as the wind moans its way through the sheer cliffs like the unquiet dead.

“Do you think there’s anything on this island large enough to eat people?” Bolin asks, looking nervous as the light fades.

“No,” Mako says.

“Bai would eat anything that came to snack on us first,” Wu says cheerfully, “Wouldn’t you? Wouldn’t you?” he croons as the dragon, scratching under her chin. Bai chuffs, pleased and presses her snout against the crown of his head.

“I’ll watch your back, don’t worry,” Mako says from where he’s gathering dry brush to start a fire.

Bolin twitches, opens his mouth, seems to think better of whatever he was about to say, and closes it again. “You sure that’s okay?” he finally settles on.

Mako frowns at him, setting his pile of sticks down and moving to gather more, “Yeah. I’ve always watched your back. We’re brothers.”

‘We’re brothers’ was their mantra when they were younger. It’s what Mako said when things got hard, when Bolin was clingy and weepy and missing their parents. “I’ve always got you, Bo,” he’d lisp through cold-chapped lips and a missing tooth, “we’re brothers.” It was what they said when they fought and made up. “Of course, I forgive you, we’re brothers,” said over and over and over again. It was kind of a…check in. A signpost that they’d be okay.

Bolin looks away, a shadow falling across his face, there and gone in a second. “Sure, yeah. Brothers. Of course,” he musters up a smile but Mako still feels uneasy, like there’s something they haven’t talked about that maybe they need to. It’s like when they were fighting during the pro-bending finals, after Korra kissed Mako and Bolin got his heart stomped on accidentally and Mako had to pry him out of a noodle shop at four in the morning. “My big bro would never let anything make me into a late-night snack!”

“No,” Mako drops another pile of sticks, feeling irrationally irritated. With the sticks, with this creepy island, with Bo’s weird attitude. “I wouldn’t.”

…

“Why do you think Roku made this place?” Bolin asks later, after the sun’s gone down completely and they’ve eaten a small, tasteless meal of field rations. Without the sun, the cold has started to seep in from the pond and the wet rocks around them. Mako lays out the tinder he’d scavenged from around the pond and starts a fire with a snap of his fingers while Bolin unfolds their bed rolls and Wu gets Bai settled.

“I think the island was already here,” the fire bender says. He wriggles his fingers, watching as the fire flickers from orange to red to blue in response, before settling back into a placid gold.

“That just makes it weirder, though,” Bolin muses, “Why go to an island and just…make a temple? Was he just showing off? All ‘look at me, I’m a great and powerful Avatar lava-bender, time to make a fancy house and never live in it, oh ho ho, how powerful and great am I?’” Bolin drops the phony ‘Roku’ voice and shrugs, “just seems weird, is all.”

“The fire sages used to live here,” Wu says, settling beside Mako and curling into a little ball, slender limbs all tucked up snug against his chest. He shivers and Mako wraps an arm around him obligingly, pulling him closer. “I think the temple was supposed to be a repository of knowledge, like a library. A place for pilgrims to come and learn in peace.”

“Can’t imagine Sozin liked that,” Bolin says.

“He didn’t.” Wu yawns. “He was like my aunt in that way. She always wanted to control everything too.”

Mako absently presses a kiss to the top of Wu’s head and the prince snuggles closer. Bolin squints at them, but visibly decides not to ask.

Mako kind of wishes he would ask. This whole does-my-brother-know-I’m-kind-of-dating-royalty thing is getting old. Also, are he and Wu dating? What exactly is their relationship status? He was too concussed when he first woke up on Kyoshi Island to ask, and then they were constantly surrounded by people, which made conversations more emotional than ‘glad we didn’t die’ and ‘pass the oyster sauce’ awkward. And then they were bantering back and forth about ‘buddy’ and Wu said that ‘boyfriend’ wasn’t right and then he made a joke, so are they dating or are they just…weirdly handsy friends who make out sometimes? It’s not like they’re sleeping together, every room they’ve had since escaping Kuvira was shared with other people, including but not limited to, Mako’s brother, so that’s not happening any time soon, which means they can’t even be called f*ckbuddies, or whatever royalty calls their lovers. Probably something absurd like ‘paramour’. …Which, now that Mako thinks about it, Wu has also joked about in terms of relationship statuses, which just confuses things more.

Mako should probably ask Wu.

But then the prince does something cute or ridiculous or distractingly hot or annoying-but-somehow-endearing and he remembers all over again that he can’t lose Wu, that Wu has been single handedly keeping him sane while driving him insane for a year and a half, going on two, now, and losing whatever pale shadow of a relationship they have now would hurt worse than when Korra broke up with him via desk-to-the-head.

So.

In summary, Mako has no idea what’s happening at all, ever, and it’s kind of f*cking with his head, so maybe it’s good Bolin hasn’t asked.

The wind shrieks as it cuts through the cliffs and Bolin and Wu both flinch. Bai raises her head just enough to quietly shriek back at the offending sound, before resettling.

“We should get some rest,” Mako says, “We need an early start tomorrow.”

The others agree and they bank the fire and settle down for an uneasy sleep.

…

Mako wakes up airborne and on fire. He has a second or two to think ‘why is this my life?’ before he’s crashing into the ground and rolling. He scrambles to his feet, dust puffing up around him as he scrabbles against the hard, gritty earth. Smoke swirls around him, the strange scent of burning dust stinging his nose and eyes as he tries to clear his vision. He scrubs at his face one-handed, trying to make sense of his surroundings, wondering how he could have gone from the dark gray stone of Crescent Island to what looks like the desert near where they met the biker gang and the Lees, not to mention how he’s gone from the middle of the night to bright, full daylight.

A blast of flame cuts his thoughts short and Mako lunges to safety, scanning his sand and smoke-muddled surroundings for a threat.

“Are you not going to fight back, little fire bender?” a strange, echoing voice asks. It’s deep and make with the slight rasp on the end that most fire-breathers pick up in their old age. “I’ll admit, I’m disappointed.”

Another burst of flame. This time, Mako tries to stand his ground, bringing up his hands and cutting through the wash of crimson and gold like he’s parting a sea, letting it thunder past his body.

“Give me something to shoot at, and you’re on,” Mako snaps, lashing out with twin whips of flame, carving a circle around himself, trying to clear the air.

The strange voice laughs. “You’re not even going to ask where you are? Or haven’t you noticed, little fire bender?”

Another wave of fire, hotter and stronger than before. Mako turns, thinking of Kyoshi Island and the way the locals would run to the beach to ‘surf’ the incoming waves on planks of wood. How Sokka said the trick was to move with the water, rather than against is. Mako guides the flame into an arc around his body, not letting it make impact, turning in a circle to twist it around the spindle of his body and then send it flying back to its maker.

The strange voice roars with laughter “Clever, clever.”

There’s a whoosh of displaced air and a crash as something large lands behind Mako. He whirls around, only to be met with an onslaught of flame. He falls into stance automatically, bending the fire into a kind of orb around him. It’s hot, unbearably hot, but he keeps it away from his skin, pushing it out and back, expanding the orb until it finally blasts apart, fire flying in all directions.

“Who are you?” Mako demands, hand already flying through the motions to summon lightning. He sends it blasting off in the direction of the last inferno, “What do you want?”

“Lightning,” the strange voice creaks. Mako can hear the sound of something lifting off the ground, lumbering around him, “isn’t that a fancy parlor trick.”

Mako snaps off another bolt, aiming not for where he thinks whatever this thing is, but where he thinks it will be.

“Ouch,” the strange voice hisses in response, and, to Mako’s surprise, another wave of flame doesn’t arrive. Instead, a massive, scaly tail bats him clear of the dust and the smoke, sending him tumbling forward into the dirt.

Mako scrambles to his feet for the second time in as many minutes, and looks up into the face of a very old, very red dragon.

Typical. He leaves Azula’s dragon sanctuary and he gets kidnapped and pummeled by yet another giant fire-lizard.

That doesn’t explain the voice, though. Dragons are intelligent creatures, but they don’t have human or human-adjacent voice boxes.

“Who are you?” Mako asks, fists coming up, despite the fact that his whole body feels like a giant, over-heated, tender bruise.

“I am Fang,” the voice – the dragon’s voice? How is that possible? – says, “Companion to Avatar Roku.”

“How are you here?”

“There are places where the boundaries between the human and spirit worlds are thin. This is one of them.”

Of course, it is. “And why are you here?”

“I am here to teach you a lesson.”

Mako really shouldn’t be surprised when this pronouncement comes with yet another onslaught of fire.

…

Bolin wakes up standing upright (weird), in a fog bank (weirder), and completely alone (weirdest).

He tries yelling for help first, because when you’ve been traveling with two other people (three if you count the dragon) and those people are suddenly missing, shouting for them seems reasonable.

His shouts echo and twist strangely in the fog, a reverberating thrum of “Hello? Hello? Hellooooo?”

But no one calls back.

The fog curls and twists around him like a living thing, like a pet begging for treats, or a predator cradling its prey. Bolin shivers, even though he isn’t cold. He isn’t…anything. Other than alone.

Or not.

Whispers trickle through the fog, slithering in one ear an out the other.

“Hello, hello, helloooo.”

Creepy.

Bolin looks around, straining to see anything other than fog, but it doesn’t give way. Just a shifting mass of greenish-yellowish-gray.

The whispers are getting louder.

“Helloooo?”

“Hello?” Bolin tries calling back.

The whispers build, like a staticky radio signal, louder and harsher the more he strains his ears.

“Is anyone there?” Bolin asks, uncertain.

“We’re brothers.”

“What?”

The voice is familiar but…not. It’s Mako, but…younger. Much younger.

“Mako? Buddy? Are you there?”

This is a dream; it has to be a dream. Wandering around in a fog, thinking you hear your brother’s voice from eleven years ago? That’s dream stuff, right there.

“Makoooo?” Bolin calls. Even if it’s a dream, he doesn’t want to leave kid-Mako alone out there.

“If you hear my signal, hide.”

Mako’s voice again, young and too-serious.

“Mako? Mako!”

“I’ll come back for you, Bo, I’ll always come back.”

It’s not dialogue from any specific moment, more a composite of a million moments. A million times Mako had told him to hide, to be quiet, that he had to do something, but he’d be back for him, he’d always be back.

“But what if you don’t come back?” Bolin mouths the words he used to say when he was as small as the voice-Mako sounds.

“I’ll always come back. I’ll always come back. Come back. Back. Back. Back.”

The whispers echo and fray like paper in water, pulling apart in wisps.

That’s not what Mako would say, or did say, in life, in the past. He’d said that if he didn’t come back in a certain amount of time, he was probably dead. They’d had plans, for if they ever got separated, if Mako was ever unable to protect them.

“Bobo,” the whispers change tone, twisting into the shadowy half-memory he has of his father’s voice saying that old nickname of his, “Bobo. Bobo. BoboboboboboBO.”

Bolin squeezes his arms around his middle, shuddering. “I don’t want to be alone,” he admits to the fog. “I don’t want to be left behind.”

Opal’s voice slips out of the whispers, an echo from right before they left Kyoshi Island, “Go! Go get the rest of them!”

He hadn’t said goodbye to her.

He doesn’t remember the last thing his parents said to him, or the last thing he’d said to them. All he really remembers of that day was Mako, singed and scared, wild-eyed and clutching their father’s scarf. Mako saying “They’re gone,” when Bolin didn’t understand what was happening, Mako saying “I’m here,” when it finally sank in what ‘gone’ meant in this situation.

The whispers are getting louder and louder and Bolin doesn’t know when he starts running, but suddenly he is. He’s running and yelling for Mako, for his mom and dad, for anyone, really. He doesn’t know how long he runs, but one moment he’s running for where he last heard kid-Mako’s voice, and the next he’s stopped short, hooked on something, and when he turns, he sees, of all things, a fishing hook snagged on the back of his shirt, a fishing line trailing away into the rolling fogbank.

“Well, that’s odd,” Bolin manages to say before the fishhook yanks and he’s flying up-up-up through the fog, even as it tries to cling to him with sticky, sneaky fingers, until abruptly he’s out of the fog, careening through the air like a fish on a line. Those first few, precious seconds in the clear, bright sky, when the whispers fall away and it’s finally quiet in his head are nothing short of pure bliss.

Pure bliss rudely ended by his literal crashing to earth. Bolin hits the ground with a bang and tumbles forward a little as he tries to arrest his momentum and orient himself. Rocks, grass, and loose dirt grind under his hands as he scrabbles his way into a somewhat upright position, spitting out whatever bits of earth have snuck into his mouth as he slid.

He scans the area frantically, searching for whoever hooked him like a fish and hauled him out of…whatever that nightmare fog was.

“Wha – huh – what’s going on?” he babbles, scrabbling at the fishhook stuck through his jacket, tugging it free and staring at it. It’s just an ordinary fishhook. A little old-fashioned maybe. Larger than normal, maybe (he thinks) but they use pretty large fishhooks when they’re fishing…big fish? (Bolin is guessing here, he doesn’t know anything about fish other than that one guy who lives in the park is really good at catching them with his bare hands.)

“What are you doing in my jacket?” Bolin asks the fishhook; half-afraid it will reply.

“I think, more importantly, what are you doing in the Fog of Lost Souls, young one?”

Bolin drop the fishhook and jumps away with a yelp, “Raava in a teapot, fishhooks talk now!”

The voice chuckles, “Oh no,” an old man, round-bodied, bright-eyed, with a creased, smiling face and a long beard appears in Bolin’s line of sight, picking up the fishhook and carefully coiling the fishing line, “Although, I wouldn’t put it past this place.” He winks conspiratorially, “I’ve had quite a few nice chats with mushrooms and statues here. Who knows, maybe one day my humble fishhook will grace me with its thoughts. But,” the old man smiles, tucking away the line and hook, “that day is not today.”

The old man seems extraordinarily tall. Bolin isn’t used to men this old being this tall. Ever since he got his growth spurt, Bolin’s gotten used to being a respectable height. And even when standing next to tall men like Tenzin or Lord Zuko or (ugh) Mako (the worst part is, Mako rarely bothers to hold it over Bolin’s head. Like he’s just accepted he’ll always be the tall one. Stupid brothers.) he doesn’t feel quite as short as he is in front of this man. He barely even reaches the end of the old man’s beard, for Raava’s sake.

“Are you a giant?” Bolin asks, because, really, between waking up in a creepy fog, hallucinating his brother’s voice, and the fishhook rescue, Bolin wouldn’t put it past this guy to just…be a giant. Casually.

“No,” the man chuckles. He’s the kind of person who laughs with his whole face. It’s nice, Bolin thinks. “I am actually quite short, in the usual way of things. By the time he was fourteen, my nephew was head and shoulders above me in height. You, my friend, are just very small at the moment.”

“Huh?” Bolin looks down at himself, and, sure enough, he’s…small. He’s child-sized and his clothes have shrunk to suit his newly reduced stature. He’s not just a miniature version of his adult self, either. This is his six-year-old body, with its knobby knees and too-thin fingers. He reaches up and he feels his unruly too-long curls from before Mako figured out how to cut his hair for him so it didn’t get in his eyes.

“I’m…I’m little?” Bolin blurts, looking back up at the not-so-giant man in a panick, “I’m six again! Why am I six?” he stomps his foot, an impulse he cannot for the life of him understand, but it feels natural in this strange body. He realizes, belatedly, that everything is bright and big and confusing and he hates it. “Why am I here? Who are you? Where’s my big brother?” his eyes fill with stupid tears and his chest fills with hiccupping sobs and he hates that too, but he wants Mako and he wants to go home.

“There now, I understand the impulse,” the old man says, kneeling down to get on his level. He has an air of settled ancient-ness about him, like an old tree or a particularly dignified rock, and it could be soothing, if Bolin was in the mood to be soothed, which he is not because the world is huge and scary and he doesn’t know where Mako is. “But try to take some deep breaths.”

“I don’t want deep breaths, I want Mako! I want my brother!” Bolin whimpers. He has a foggy recollection that maybe he’s an adult and this is embarrassing, and not embarrassing in a quirky got-sniffly-at-a-sad-mover way, but properly embarrassing in a I-feel-like-I-should-have-outgrown-this kind of way. But that seems very strange, because Bolin is six and he’s all alone and Mako promised he wouldn’t be.

“I understand,” the old man says gently, “It is hard when we are separated from those we love.”

“Yeah,” Bolin sniffle-snorts. He never was a pretty crier. “And he promised he wouldn’t leave me.”

The old man looks very kind and very sad, “Sometimes life intervenes in strange and terrible ways and we cannot always keep very promise we want to. But I am sure your brother is finding his way back to you as we speak.”

“You’re sure.”

“Very. Now, while we wait for your brother, why don’t we have some tea and a chat? I’ve always found everything feels more manageable after a hot drink and a little reflection.”

…

Wu wakes up next to something large, brown, furry, and growling. Wu jumps away from the creature with a strangled yelp, trips over a rock, and goes sprawling on his back, giving him a perfect vantage point from which to peer up at the massive, furry beast standing over him. Up on its hind legs, it’s twice Wu’s height, with a mouth full of fangs (probably ready to tear him to pieces), heavy paws tipped with blunt, dark claws, outstretched (probably ready to bat him around before mercy-killing him), head topped with…a little green hat?

Wu pauses in his cowering to squint at the creature’s head. It’s long, furred muzzle gives way to a flat, round face topped with small, rounded ears and…yes, that is a little green hat, edged in fraying gold embroidery.

“Bosco?” Wu whispers, wondering if he’s hit his head, or if perhaps there were some recreational aspects to the mushrooms in Azula’s trail ration kits, “Bosco the bear?”

“Hello, young prince,” a voice intones, “it is I, the guardian spirit of Ba Sing Se. I have watched over my city and its rulers for generations, walking beside them…”

Wu sits up, folds his arms across his chest and frowns, “Wasn’t the city besieged while you were living in it – ”

“Sometimes circ*mstances transpire…”

“- twice?” Wu arches an eyebrow.

“Events outside of our control…”

“Wasn’t Long Feng slowly and insidiously seizing power for about a decade and change? Right under Kuwei’s nose? Which was right next to your nose? In the throne room? Where you could have controlled things.”

“Time is different when you are a bear.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Wu huffs, folding his arms and pinching the bridge of his nose. He realizes he’s unintentionally copied one of Mako’s signature body language tics and is simultaneously filled with soft, mushy feelings and annoyed ‘I’m turning into my favorite stick in the mud, what has become of me?’ feelings. He stops pinching his nose, but keeps the folded arms. “You watched the Earth Kingdom crumble and you’re just going to stand there all…bear-spirit-like and full of misplaced gravitas?”

“Gravitas is never misplaced,” Bosco says, still utterly serene. It makes Wu feel a little like he’s throwing a tantrum at a bear…which, in some definitions of the term, he might be, but he’s in the right here, by Raava. He decides he will probably feel less like a quarrelsome child if he stands up, so he does that, dusting himself off with as much royal dignity as he can muster in the process.

“Seriously?” Wu huffs, back on his feet, royal dignity restored, or at least less dusty.

“Come along, young prince, there is much to see.” The bear drops down onto his front feet. Even four-legged he’s still as tall as Wu. Bosco the bear was not this big in the royal illustrations. Either someone decided to bring back hieratic scale and make the king giant, or spirits in their spirit form are huge.

Wu is willing to bet it’s the second. This all has a distinct spirit-world flavor about it. That, or he’s having a particularly bizarre dream.

“Get on my back, and let me show you your kingdom.”

Wu bites back a snarky ‘been there, done that, nearly died on a train twice’ comment (he really is becoming more like Mako every day. Mako must never know. He would be unbearably smug.). He debates arguing with the spirit about culpability and dignity and what went wrong 172 years ago. But he doesn’t. Instead, he sighs and climbs on the bear’s back.

He can practically hear Mako scolding him about stranger danger already.

…

Mako is getting his ass kicked by a dragon. Fang is everywhere, and where his fire isn’t, his wings and tail are. Mako’s heart is rattling loud in his ears, a stuttering jack-rabbit beat in time with the rhythm of his feet. He jumps, twists, gets off a classic pro-bending fire ball, then has to flip out of the way of Fang’s lashing tail. He lands on his hands, springs away kicking fire through the air. Fang’s wings come up, throwing him off-balance with a gust of concentrated wind. He lands hard on one shoulder, but doesn’t stop moving, twisting and spinning on one shoulder, kicking a small cyclone of fire around him to cover him as he springs back to his feet, ready.

Pro-bending stances are different from classical fire bending. Azula hated his stance, how bouncy he was on his feet. She practically shrieked with disdain when she saw the way Zolt taught him to throw lightning.

“What is this sh*t?” she’d spat, “it’s lightning bending, not a country dance!”

Zolt always threw a little flourishy hop-skip into his lightning bending, and young Mako had copied it, not realizing it wasn’t technically correct. And then he was pro-bending, which relied on being light on your feet and hard to pin down.

“Why do you not stand your ground, little fire bender?”

“Because you’d flatten me, old man!” Mako shouts back. His blood is up, energy singing through his limbs. He wants to run, to jump, to fight and win.

“You’re enjoying this,” Fang chuckles, the sound rumbling through the over-heated air.

Mako slaps a wave of fire at the dragon’s face and he rears back, laughing a raspy, dragon laugh. Mako surprises himself by laughing back. He’s, dare he say it…having fun. Having fun like he had in stolen moments in the ring when he and Bolin were pro-bending, before real life came crashing back in.

Fang swerves around, blowing a perfect fireball right back at Mako, who ducks and swerves around it, firing off two in quick succession, right in Fang’s face. The dragon snorts and rears back, wings flaring and slashing down twin arcs of heavy wind. Mako staggers, braces his legs, reaching behind him and bringing up a wave of flame behind him and diverting it around his body to blast Fang from two sides.

The dragon twists, barrel-rolls, spins in the air above Mako and comes charging back down, grabbing the back of Mako’s shirt in his teeth and flinging him bodily away. Mako bounces a few times, before rolling back to his feet and bracing for impact once more.

It doesn’t come. Fang instead lands, curling his massive, scaly body in a loose circle around Mako, not touching him, but penning him in. Mako tenses, ready to spring into the air to avoid whatever crushing maneuver Fang attempts, but nothing happens. The dragon instead regards him with his steady, unblinking, reptilian gaze and doesn’t move.

Mako, not sure what’s happening, but hating the trapped feeling the walls of Fang’s body are giving him, bends his knees and lunges upwards, punching out twin jets of flame to give him extra height. The dragon’s wings come up and, almost casually, knock him back to the ground with another gust of displaced air.

“Why do you not hold your ground?” Fang asks, voice detached and vaguely curious as he watches Mako stagger back onto his feet, “All that stubbornness, all that resolution, and yet you do not plant your feet.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Mako demands.

“You are a fighter by nature and nurture,” the dragon observes, “you and your brother are alive today because you simply will not die.” He reaches out a claw and pokes Mako in the chest lightly, “And yet you do not hold your ground,” Fang drops his claw and returns to regarding Mako with the kind of frank assessment children directed at insects.

“I stand my ground fine,” Mako snaps, “Like you said, I don’t just roll over and die when it counts. And I don’t run away.”

Fang sighs gustily. “That is not what I meant, you stubborn boy. Your powers of self-delusion rival your brother’s.”

“Don’t bring Bolin into this,” Mako spits, “He didn’t do anything to you.”

“So defensive,” Fang sighs, “I suppose Azula was right and I will have to spoon feed you this lesson.”

“You talk to Azula? How?” Mako is momentarily derailed from his incandescent rage by the idea that the terrifying former princess is communing with spirit world dragons.

“Yes. This is not the only time or place where the boundaries between your world and the spirit world are thin,”Fang says. “She warned me you were stubborn.”

“Yeah, you mentioned that,” Mako glares, “After you said I didn’t stand my ground, which doesn’t make any sense.”

“Your greatest strength is your stubborn, stupid will to live. But your greatest weakness is people.”

“Never been a people person, so what?”

“YOU ARE NOT LISTENING!” Fang roars, subsiding when Mako doesn’t cower in response, clearing his throat (if dragons do that?) and collecting himself. “You are so hungry for safety, for security, for love, that you would do anything not to, as the humans say ‘rock the boat’.” Fang curls his lip in a faint pseudo-snarl that doesn’t read so much as threatening as irritated, “You try to please everyone, to pacify the threat of abandonment and isolation, to the detriment of yourself and those who try to love you.”

“Hey, I don’t do that,” Mako objects, “I’ve never given a sh*t about being liked. Bolin’s always been the glory hound. I’m…I’m a jerk and a grump and…and a bastard. Everyone says it.”

“You are a little bit of a fool is what you are, but that isn’t fatal or incurable,” Fang huffs, smoke curling out of his nostrils, “When Korra first kissed you while you were dating Asami, did you push her away, or did you attempt to pretend it didn’t happen for fear of rupturing a friendship?”

“I…I had…latent feelings for her…I was confused and…and…”

“And establishing a simple boundary between friends was too much to ask for? You apologized to Bolin, too, for something which was done to you, not by you.”

“Bo’s feelings were hurt! I had to do something!”

“He is your brother, not your child.”

“I raised him, didn’t I? I’m supposed to be the grown-up, not him!”

“You are two years his elder, not twenty.”

“Korra made a mistake and I let it go, that’s what friends do!”

“I am not blaming the Avatar. She was young, as were you. You both made errors, for which you have long forgiven each other. I am teaching you an object lesson. Try to keep up. You did the same thing with Asami when she kissed you, despite knowing your breakup with Korra was still fresh. And when Korra mistakenly believed you hadn’t broken up, you didn’t correct her until it blew up in your faces. You have never made Bolin work for a single apology he has given you, no matter the cost to yourself. The point, young fire bender, is not the mistakes any of you children made, it is that you, at the very least, have made them because you believe affection is contingent on being low-maintenance to a self-sabotaging degree. Even now you are too afraid of displeasing the object of your affections to ask for something as simple as a definition of terms.”

“I…” there’s no defense, really. Fang is right.

“What was it Azula said to you?” Fang says. His tone arch, but gentle.

“‘You need to stop caring what people think of you; this self-conscious try-hard thing you do isn’t doing you any favors.’,” Mako quotes tiredly.

“You attempt to please everybody and instead please nobody. Least of all yourself. And then you take it as confirmation that you are a, what was it, ah yes, a ‘jerk, grump and bastard’ who ruins whatever you touch. You, young fire bender, must learn to stand your ground, or you will always find yourself in the dirt.” The dragon uncoils, raising his magnificent maned head. “Now. That is enough food for thought for you. I think we should spar some more. I like the way you flip around uselessly. It’s very entertaining.”

Mako ignites his fists and grins at the dragon, even as his insides squirm uncomfortably around Fang’s advice, like he’s swallowed something heavy and strange. “Bring it on.”

…

The stranger says his name is Iroh, and he doesn’t put milk or sugar in his tea. He looks surprised when Bolin asks for it, as if this were something unusual.

“Mako puts lotsa milk ‘n sugar in the tea when we get it from the street carts,” Bolin explains, “He says it makes us less hungry later.”

“Ah, I see,” Iroh says, “Sadly, I do not have any milk or sugar, but I would happily share my tea with you if you’d like to try it anyway.”

Bolin shrugs, “Okay.” Tea is tea, after all, and he’s not going to turn down a hot drink.

He decides, after a few sips, that Iroh’s tea isn’t so bad, although he still thinks it needs sugar. “What was that scary place?” he asks around the lips of his cup, breathing in the soothing steam. The cup seems huge in his six-year-old hands. “The place I was in with the fog. I heard voices and they made me sad and scared and I didn’t like it at all.”

“That,” Iroh says sadly, cradling his own cup, “Is the Fog of Lost Souls. It confuses its victims, presenting them with the sorts of dreams or nightmares they cannot resist until they run into it and are forever lost in the mist.”

“Oh,” Bolin stares into his cup. This tea is paler than the bitter, over steeped stuff the street vendors’ sell. It’s pretty. “I think I got nightmares. I was real scared.”

“Fear is part of life, unfortunately. Sometimes, it teaches us things, like what to avoid in order to be safe. And sometimes it blinds us, makes us hurt ourselves and others. It is important to acknowledge our fears, but not to let them control us.”

“It controlled me good in the fog. I was ready to run into it.”

“It is good that you realize this. Maybe, this means you will be less likely to follow your fear blindly in life. What is it you are afraid of, young master Bolin? Perhaps I can help.”

Bolin slurps at his tea thoughtfully, “Bein’ alone. Gettin’ left behind. Mako’s always runnin’ off in doing things and, and, I wonder sometimes, if he’s gonna be like Mama and Papa and one day just…not come back ever again. And, and, and then I’ll be alone. Forever. Mako promised he’d always come back for me, but he goes away and doesn’t come back and I’m scared. I don’t want to be scared. And I’m mad too. I’m mad that I’m the one being left behind. I’m supposed to grow up and be a hero and it’ll be my turn to save Mako instead of Mako saving me.”

Iroh pours him more tea and makes a soft ‘Mn’ sound like he’s really listening. Bolin likes that. Most people don’t really listen.

“It’s not supposed to be like this,” Bolin finally admits after a few fortifying sips of tea. “I know that. I’m not stupid. Most kids have a family. Grown-ups. Most kids don’t just have a Mako. But…but he’s what I’ve got. He’s all I’ve got. And I’m mad and scared and…and mad-scared-sad, that, even when we’re grownups, he’s still finding ways to leave me behind.” Because Bolin knows, in a strange, hazy way, like the way you know a dream is a dream, that while he’s six now he isn’t six normally. He’s normally bigger and stronger and less prone to sudden bouts of weeping.

Bolin sniffles, “He’s supposed to be my home. That’s what we promised when Mama and Papa died. We’re each other’s home. And home means you don’t disappear for, for forever and come back different.”

“It sounds like you were worried about your brother.”

Bolin nods.

“It sounds like you love him very much and were frightened by his disappearance from your life.”

Bolin nods again.

“And now that he’s back and you’ve had time to be relieved and happy and all the positive emotions, you’re angry that he made you feel the bad ones in the first place,” Iroh says thoughtfully.

Bolin nods a third time, whispering, “Yeah,” in a soft voice, “and it sucks because I don’t want to be mad at Mako. He’s my brother.”

“I understand,” Iroh says gently, “and it’s alright to feel this way. Just don’t take it out on Mako. Talk to him, instead. Or let it go. But don’t cling to it. These feelings have thorns, you see. If you hold them too long and too tightly, they will start to sting.”

Bolin sets his cup down and lunges forward to wrap Iroh in a hug. “Thank you, mister Iroh, sir,” he mumbles into the old man’s beard, “Thank you.”

…

Riding on Bosco’s back is…strange. For every step the bear spirit takes, the world twists and warps around them, melting a little at the edges and reforming into somewhere new.

“I traveled the width and breadth of the Kingdom at your great-grandfather’s side,” Bosco intones, “We saw much that was great, and much that was terrible. Such is the way of places and people.”

“I think you’re taking this ‘wise and mighty spirit’ thing a smidge too seriously, pal,” Wu says, “Just a little smidge-eroo too heavy on the omniscience for a guy who let Long Feng ruin his city.”

“History turns on its own tides and we must turn with it.”

“Yeah, but we make choices. We can make history better or worse, even just for the people around us,” Wu says, “My aunt made everybody and their poodle-monkey miserable for no Raava-touched reason! Even if it’s just singing a song or putting a flower in someone’s hair – ” Wu thinks of the singing nomads and the cute way Mako’s face would tighten up with poorly concealed displeasure every time they started another round of ‘Secret Tunnel’ and smiles. Around them, the world contracts and expands and suddenly they’re somewhere in the wilds of the Earth Kingdom, where the nomads are camped, singing to a group of tired, too-thin refugees, huddled around an air bison. “See! That! Those, frankly majestic song-weavers are doing more for the Earth Kingdom by singing to my citizens and making them less weary for just a few minutes than you ever did by following Kuwei around pretending to be a pet and letting your city get conquered!”

The scenery twists and they’re in the desert town where they met the Lees. Jinora and Kai are unpacking supplies while the Lees, resplendent in their green and black leather and dyed hair, distribute food and clothing to eager townspeople.

“People aren’t all good or all bad,” Wu says, “And sometimes,” he watches one of the bikers who kidnapped Mako try to harass a man and his children carrying a crate of canned good, only for Jinora to blow the offending thug off his feet with a well-timed gust of wind, “they really, really suck,” Boss Lee grabs the thug by the back of his jacket and drags him off to a different line, where Big Lee, scowling, hands him his share of the supplies and urges him on his way, “but we have to try to be better. Or at least do our best. Or nothing will improve.”

Everything bends again and suddenly they’re in Tahno’s tour bus. “How?” Wu blurts when he realizes where they are.

“I am a bear of great importance,” Bosco explains without explaining anything.

Tahno’s tour bus is…packed with people. Non-musician people. Tahno and his bandmates are squinting at a map and making markings and asking people where they need to stop. Bosco steps to the side and Wu realizes that where the band’s logo used to live, there’s now a hastily-applied sign reading ‘Tahno and co. transpo – we get you where you need to go’. And scribbled small underneath it is a secondary slogan reading ‘no bandits, no empire, no bullsh*t, just music and wheels’.

Wu laughs out loud, “Mako isn’t going to believe it.”

The world shifts a little to the left and they’re in Aunt Meng’s house, where she’s sipping tea with two little tempestuous lava spirits. When Wu laughs, she looks straight at him and winks.

They blur through the swamp. Wu kicks lightly at Bosco’s sides “Coward~” he sing-songs.

Bosco hums with great dignitiy, “Bears do not concern themselves with such places as swamps.”

“Yoooou’re afraaaaid of TOOOOOPH!” Wu sings gleefully.

They land a little roughly in a familiar cavern under Ba Sing Se, where Mei and Yang, his dear badgermole friends, snuffle softly in their sleep.

Wu coos at them, opens his mouth to sing the first few lines of ‘Let’s Misbehave’ when everything slides and reasserts itself again.

They blaze through a train, pausing briefly beside a pensive Zhu Li, who frowns down at a sheaf of schematics, glances over her shoulder, crumples a sheet up, and shoves it in her pocket. She stares out the window, a line between her brows, knuckles tight on her clenched fists, lips thin and pale.

“She helped me,” Wu tells Bosco, “At great risk to herself.”

The bear makes a noncommittal bear-sound and they’re moving again.

And then they’re in a cavernous, but unfamiliar kitchen, the lights turned down low. An elderly woman stands at a gleaming wood table, scrubbing futilely at its spotless surface with a dishrag. She has a red scarf around her neck and she pauses her aggressive cleaning to lift it to her cheek and press her lips against the soft weave.

A door opens behind her, another woman, with long, black hair and flawless lipstick even in the middle of the night (she’s wearing a business suit, suggesting she isn’t so much a late-night cosmetics savant, as a woman stretched thin by responsibility who hasn’t come home until after the rest of the world is asleep) appears, stepping up beside the elderly woman. She reaches out, gently takes the dishrag from the old woman’s hands and sets it aside, holding the older woman’s hands in her own.

“They’ll be okay,” the dark-haired woman says, “I have faith in them.”

“I just got them back,” the old woman says, voice soft and worn, “I don’t want to lose them again.”

“I know,” the young woman wraps her arms around the older lady, holding her close, “Bolin and Mako will be alright.”

Ah, this must be their grandmother. Wu blinks, eyes unexpectedly damp. He wonders, if he had known any of his grandparents, if they would have worried for him like this.

The world bends again and they’re back in the spirit world and Wu is sliding off Bosco’s back to stand before him.

“The world is vaster than you can comprehend, young one,” Bosco intones, “and the line of history is an ever-shifting forward charge.”

“That’s not the point,” Wu says, “The point isn’t…futility. The point isn’t ‘aw shucks, history keeps on history-ing’! The point is…making the best of it. Making the best of, of, us! I may be a pretty shoddy king but the last year or two I think I’ve been learning quite a bit about being a person and the kind of high-handed view you seem to be suggesting just…just…isn’t doable at this time!” Wu stamps his foot and immediately feels childish. Silly. Small. He’s never stood up to anyone, not really. He negotiated with the fire spirits and he’s picked plenty of small, bickering arguments with Mako, especially in the early days, but up until now he’s never really been certain he has it in him to give someone a piece of his mind and mean it. “I have faith in my people, even if they don’t have faith in me, and I will do my level best to…to do better than my predecessors, which, at the very least is A VERY LOW BAR!” Wu folds his arms, lifts his chin and glares.

Bears do not smile. They do not have the facial configuration for it. But Bosco’s eyes soften in a kind of smile-like way, and he seems pleased as he bows his head and presses his nose against Wu’s forehead in a kind of benediction. “You will do well, young one.”

And then the bear of Ba Sing Se is gone, as if he’d never been there in the first place and Wu is left rubbing his forehead and gaping at his absence.

“Raava in a teapot, that was all an elaborate ploy? A test?!” Wu shrieks, “BOSCO I NEED ANSWERS!!!”

…

They’re all a little spiritually hungover the next morning at breakfast. Finally, as they’re scraping their plates into the Fire and glumly contemplating saddling up Bai for even more travel, Bolin asks “So…uh…any weird dreams last night?”

There’s a long moment where they all stare at each other as if wondering whether or not to confess. Finally, Mako breaks the stalemate.

“I got beat up by a dragon.”

“I was kidnapped by a famous bear,” Wu offers.

Bolin, feeling a little silly, confesses, “I drank tea and talked about my feelings.”

They all stare at each other again.

“I talked about my feelings,” Wu offers, “with the bear, I mean.”

“Yeah,” Mako gives a gruff, very Lin-like cough, “I. Um. The dragon made me talk about feelings. Uh. Too.”

“Cool, cool,” Bolin nods. “So, uh, we wait a little bit before unpacking that?”

Everyone nods at once and a chorus of “yeah, yep, yes” sort of erupts as they all suddenly find a million little campsite tasks utterly fascinating.

They’ll confront all the skeletons their trip to the spirit world dragged out of the closet…later. Later is good.

…

Dear Mako, Wu, and Bolin,

First you get kidnapped by a dragon, now you get kidnapped by spirits…what’s next, getting kidnapped by Vaatu himself?

Don’t take that as a suggestion.

Or a guideline.

The refugees from Kyoshi Island have all been settled at the Four Elements hotel. Sokka, of course, has claimed the presidential suite, and all his younger grand-niece and nephews’ time. I don’t know if Pema is concerned or relieved.

Your friend,

Asami

Chapter 21: Omashu

Chapter Text

Omashu

Dear Asami,

Have you ever been to Omashu? It’s the most technologically regressive town in the Earth Kingdom. That’s not an insult, it’s on their ‘Welcome to Omashu’ sign. Because the city is so ancient and surrounded by canyons, the rail lines can’t even reach it. You have to get off at the station and take a trolley into the city. A whole city. With no trains. Amazing.

(Bolin says my grudge against trains is irrational and “kind of disturbing” I think it makes perfect sense considering BAD THINGS KEEP HAPPENING ON TRAINS. Wu agrees with me. Trains = evil.)

Your technologically limited friend,

Mako

P.S. Omashu even has a nice jail. Bolin wants to know if we get arrested in enough cities, do we qualify for some kind of prize? For the record, we should.

P.P.S. Wu’s cousin is an asshole.

…

“Well, we were bound to have to stop for supplies some time,” Bolin says with forced cheer.

“A warship shot at us,” Wu says a little numbly.

“A warship lost us all our luggage,” Mako grumps.

“A warship shot at us,” the prince-maybe-king reiterates, “What part of that doesn’t alarm you?”

“The part that wants my supplies back is very alarmed,” Mako says.

They had been so close to land, too. That was almost the most galling part. They’d been nearly ashore when an honest-to-Raava warship with very clumsily removed Earth Kingdom insignia had started taking potshots at them. Between Bai’s hasty evasive maneuvers and the actual missiles headed straight for them, it’s a miracle the only things they lost were their dignity and the majority of their supplies, and not one of them.

No one had thought it very funny when Mako said, “It makes sense. If I were a naval officer and my government was overthrown, I’d turn pirate.”

“Seriously?” Wu had protested.

Mako had shrugged, “I’d bring you with me. If I turned pirate. Someone has to watch out for you.”

“Oh, very generous, I’m sure.”

“I thought so.”

“Well,” Bolin says in the present, still trying to look on the bright side, “At least in the mountains, there aren’t any enemy boats! And hey, with those pirates out there, Kuvira can’t conquer the high seas! And, and,” he adds, when his companions both look skeptical, “Bai is huge. She’s probably getting hungry! She can hunt in the mountains, while we head down to the city to get supplies. It’s the perfect plan!”

They’re currently in the mountains, somewhere near Omashu, and, if Mako remembers his geography right, somewhere near the Cave of Two Lovers, where they crashed a wedding and a park ranger tried to apprehend them for, well, being them. Bai seems quite happy here amongst the cliffs, chuffing and trilling little contented sounds as the wind combs through her mane. Mako is just glad the dragon got through the unexpected bombardment unscathed. He’d give her a treat if they hadn’t lost everything.

“Except for the fact that two out of the three of us have bounties on our heads,” Mako points out.

“We can go in disguise!” Bolin says.

“I’m not wearing another poncho,” Mako tries to pre-empt whatever Bolin has up his metaphorical sleeve, or, more accurately, stashed in his very real backpack.

“No, no, I have something better,” Bolin digs around in the one bag of his he’d managed to save, finally whipping out…what in the f*ck was that thing? Things? Mako doesn’t know. Mako doesn’t want to know. “SUN HATS!”

Oh, it’s three things and they’re all hideous.

“I brought them along in case we needed a disguise,” Bolin says, brandishing the hats. They’re large, floppy, and eye-searing shades of magenta, yellow, and teal. “They’re cheap, easy to find, and just the kind of thing that screams ‘tourist on a budget’. They basically make you invisible,” he whispers the last word dramatically, and Mako feels obscurely comforted that Bolin, despite giving what might have approached a rational explanation at first, is really just making nonsense up as he goes like always. In Mako’s experience there are few inevitabilities in life, but one of his is that Bolin will always have a plan, and it will always be pure chaotic lunacy.

“That’s worse than a poncho!” Mako objects.

“Why? Because it’s pink?” Bolin asks, “You don’t have to wear the pink one if you don’t want to.”

Mako pinches the bridge of his nose and tries to think happy thoughts. Ones that don’t involve setting his only brother on fire.

“Alternatively, we could avoid…that,” Wu says, his entire body an elaborate pantomime of polite disgust at the hats and their bioluminescent color scheme. “- and just go as ourselves.”

“I thought the objective was not to get arrested,” Bolin says.

“Yes, but we don’t need phosphorescent hats to do it,” Wu says, grinning his smug I-know-something-you-don’t-know grin, “Omashu is ruled by its own king. Due to an old treaty from ages ago, it’s technically, sort of, arbitrarily part of the Earth Kingdom, but, according to the terms of the treaty, should Ba Sing Se and the ruling family fall and the standing government be overthrown – that’s me, I’m overthrown – I’m trying to get more comfortable with expressing it –”

“Wu, refocus,” Mako says.

The prince waves him off, “Oh, yes, should the Earth Throne be, ah, de-throned, Omashu reverts to internal rule. It’s technically its own kingdom now, completely detached from the Earth Kingdom. Fun fact, there was actually a movement after the Hundred Years War to declare Omashu an independent principality, but King Bumi ultimately decided that severing ties with an already unstable state would throw the Earth Kingdom into more chaos than it could safely stand,” he pauses, “More fool him, really, it’s been downhill ever since.”

“So, we’re not wanted criminals?” Mako asks cautiously.

“Not in Omashu, we’re not,” Wu says cheerfully, “although, I would argue trying arrest us for resisting our own kidnapping and imprisonment is an illegal law, and therefore, illegal. There’s a statute and everything. ‘No illegal laws’, signed into effect by Kuei himself after he spent three days wading through all the paperwork to undo all the laws Azula shoved through while she was in charge. The woman was efficient,” he pauses, apparently aware Mako is still wavering, uncertain he wants to commit to a city full of potentially-bounty-hunting strangers, even knowing they’re out of supplies, “And,” Wu is smirking his most infuriating smirk, “No trains.”

“What?” Bolin looks confused. This is a reasonable reaction because it’s not every day a lack of modern public transportation is used as a selling point.

“All the trains stop at a station outside Omashu,” Wu explains smugly, “because the city is very ancient and very settled and there’s simply no room for a train station amongst all the historically relevant buildings and things. Plus, they’re more than a little paranoid about building a second bridge over the canyon. Invaders being a problem in the past and all. So. No trains. You get off at the little station and they shuttle you in.”

“No trains,” Mako’s mouth is twitching in the direction of a smile.

“No trains,” Wu repeats, and it might be the most romantic thing he’s ever said.

“Why do we hate trains now?” Bolin asks uncertainly.

“Because f*ck trains,” Mako says with feeling.

“Because once you’ve been drugged, imprisoned, knocked unconscious – ” Wu begins.

“-kept in a metal box so you can’t fire bend while they ship you off to a ‘re-education’ camp –” Mako continues.

“-imprisoned, forced into indentured servitude – ”

“-jumped off one at speed, jumped on one at speed – ”

“-hauled your bleeding companion back onboard–”

“-collapsed on the floor on top of the person who hauled you back onboard –”

“No, that part was fun,” Wu objects, then continues, “And generally fled for your life, while knowing death or imprisonment await you should you not free yourself post-haste…” he shrugs, “once you’ve done all that on a train, the shine is well and truly off the apple when it comes to railway technology.”

Mako raises an eyebrow.

Wu sighs, “And also, f*ck trains.”

Mako nods in agreement.

Bolin is looking between them like maybe he’d dozed off a little during their description of what their lives have been like for the last year and a half.

“Also, I fought a bunch of guys on one while carrying Wu’s half-conscious body, and it was not fun,” Mako adds.

“That too,” Wu agrees, “I was very drugged and a smidge kidnapped.”

“Your grudge against trains is, uh, intense,” Bolin says, “and a little disturbing. It’s not like it’s the train’s fault. Trains are cool! Kuvira’s the one using them for evil!”

Mako and Wu trade glances, Mako shrugging when he gets an ‘are you sure this is your brother?’ eyebrow tilt from the prince.

“Let’s go see the train-free city,” Mako says. Bolin holds up the sunhats hopefully. “You can wear one if you want to, Bo, but I’m going to pretend I don’t know you.”

“You’re no fun,” Bolin complains, “Wu, tell him he’s no fun.”

Wu slips his hand into Mako’s and squeezes, “You’re no fun,” he says, eyes twinkling up at Mako like…twinkling things. Mako isn’t good at poetry. He didn’t even realize eyes could do that.

Bolin gives an aggrieved sigh. “You two. Are weird.”

Mako doesn’t care in the least.

(Although he really should have that ‘I might be dating royalty because I’m an idiot who enjoys getting my heart stomped on’ chat with his brother soon.)

…

With Bai happily terrorizing wolfbats in the mountains (Mako heartily approves, he hopes Tahno feels a cold chill every time their dragon munches on one of his rotten, cheating team’s namesakes) the three of them head into the city. This involves a shuttle ride over what might be the longest bridge in the world (according to Wu, it’s not, it’s the third-largest bridge in the Earth Kingdom alone, which really says to Mako that the Earth Kingdom needs to calm down with the bridges) to a gate, where they disembark and join a line of people waiting to enter the city. Luckily, the line moves along briskly and Mako can focus on staring straight ahead, keeping Wu and Bolin both moving in roughly the right direction, and not talking to or making eye contact with any strangers. Between Wu and Bolin striking up conversations with two different random, unknown travelers, Mako is full of the kind of abject terror that is knowing your traveling companions are bound to make you talk to their new friends if you’re stuck standing or sitting around for longer than some arbitrary time limit only known to extroverts.

Mako is just beginning to wonder how exactly they’re going to get through the gate without travel papers, when one of the guards spots Bolin (not wearing a sun hat, thank Raava), reaches over to punch his fellow guard at the ‘exiting Omashu’ side of the gate, and, when his companion looks up blearily, points enthusiastically at Bolin, who startles and instinctively tries to hide behind Mako with limited success.

“Really, Bo?”

“He’s pointing at me very vigorously.”

“You’re not even wanted for any crimes!”

“I could be!”

“Oh bugger, we’ve held up the line, he’s coming over here,” Wu mutters.

“Oma and Shu alive, it is you!” gasps the guard when he reaches them, “Nuktuk! In the flesh! I’m such a big fan of your movers! Padma and me – that’s Padma over there – ” he gestures towards the other guard, who lifts a hand in an awkward wave, a bemused smile on her face, “had to go to the next town over to see them, since, you know, Omashu,” he makes a jerky little ‘what are you going to do with this place, isn’t it fun and quirky?’ shrug, “everything’s a historical landmark, so we can’t make enough space for a mover screen theatre. But! The King-in-waiting (just waiting for the coronation ceremony to end) is making noise about putting in a state-of-the-art theatre open to the public in the palace. I mean, the theatre’s already open to the public, but it’s deeeefinitely not state-of-the-art. It’s barely art in there most days, am I right?”

Mako can only conclude that this babbling comes from rampant fanboy nerves. He sympathizes, but he also would like to get through this line as quickly as possible and people are starting to stare. And to give them dirty looks.

“But, but, we’re huge fans,” the guard continues. His friend, Padma, is craning her neck to see the conversation and ignoring the customer trying to leave through her gate. “We have all the special edition posters, even the super-rare premiere one from when you actually fought terrorists. In the theatre! So cool!”

Mako remembers that poster. Mako left his copy of that poster in his cell, because he was both distracted by imminent danger and pissed at his brother for swanning in, depositing the hideous thing, and leaving him to rot in jail. Water under the bridge and all that, but the mention of that night is giving him the beginnings of a headache.

“If Bolin – I mean, Nuktuk,” Mako says – he’s unclear on the lines between fantasy and reality here. While he’s pretty sure this guy knows Bolin isn’t actually named Nuktuk and, obviously, doesn’t actually wear furry vests and unfortunate shorts in real life, you can never be too careful. Especially after those two weirdos at the Misty Palms. “gives you some autographs, can we keep the line moving?”

“Oh!” the guard startles, “uh, sure, yep, I’ve got to get back to my post – but, it was super cool meeting you, Nuktuk, and if you could autograph my time card when you get up to the gate, that would be super awesome! I want to remember exactly what day and shift this was forever. My name’s Cheng, by the way, so if you could address to ‘To Cheng’ that would be great!”

The guard practically skips back to his gate, high-fiving Padma on his way.

“Doesn’t he need that time card to get paid?” Mako says into the ensuing silence.

“Some things are worth the sacrifice,” Bolin says gravely.

“I always wanted to see the Nuktuk movers,” Wu opines.

“You’ve never seen a Nuktuk mover?” Bolin blurts in consternation. The line creeps up around them and Mako gives up on subtlety and just grabs his brother by the back of the neck and his maybe-boyfriend by the hand and propels them forward.

“I was very rarely allowed theatrical entertainment of any sort, much less something so modern as a mover. I had to sneak out of the compound to see any at all and that was not easy, let me tell you. It was a little easier to sneak mover magazines with interviews with the stars and articles about life behind the scenes and things. So, I missed the Nuktuk craze. Gun was terrified of mover technology, but he was a gem when it came to helping me sneak out if we were going to see something high-minded and culturally enriching like the opera. My aunt thought movers were ‘horrible, gauche, low-brow entertainment for the unwashed masses’ – direct quote – and the screens ‘blights on a good landscape’ or ‘impediments to our full enjoyment of a room’s dimensions’. That ‘our’ was the royal ‘our’, not a reference to her and me as a group or unit. I was not factored into most of her opinions or decisions.”

“Yeah, she was, uh…a character,” Bolin, unable to speak ill of the dead, says weakly.

“She was an evil bitch,” Mako, who is perfectly comfortable with speaking ill of the woman who terrorized Wu his entire childhood, dead or not, says.

That actually startles a laugh out of Wu, who squeezes his hand gratefully, “You know? She was. She was utterly foul and it’s quite liberating to say so, I must say. Thank you, darling.”

“For what?” Mako frowns down at him.

“For saying it. No one ever has before, and lived to say it a second time. It’s refreshing.”

“Your aunt was an evil bitch.”

“Yes, we covered that,” Wu’s eyebrows fold together, “Are you suffering from sunstroke?”

“No, I’m saying it a second time to prove I can,” Mako says, his mouth twitching towards a smile.

Wu blinks at him, looking utterly startled and tentatively delighted. “Well. Isn’t that the puma’s pajamas?” he breathes, “I’m in a world where handsome men badmouth my aunt and I could see a Nuktuk mover without having to sneak around.”

“I highly recommend the Nuktuk franchise,” Bolin adds.

“I don’t,” Mako grumbles.

“Well, it seems popular,” Wu shrugs.

“My brother wears furry shorts and Pabu is a speaking character,” Mako says, pained.

“Well now I certainly have to see it. I’m sure Pabu is full of wisdom.”

Mako sighs.

…

They do not get through the gate quickly – Bolin, ever the people pleaser, gives out an upsetting amount of autographs, and they nearly bring the whole entry-exit system to a grinding halt again when Padma and Cheng-the-enthusiastic-guard get their Nuktuk signatures.

And Mako thought being a pro-bender was bad.

“Hey, why isn’t this a problem for you?” Mako asks Wu as they watch Bolin charm his adoring public. They’re finally through the gate and away from the flow of traffic, but now that the wolfbat is out of the bag, more civilians want a minute with the famous Nuktuk the mover star. Mako really thought the hype would have died down by now. He and Wu are standing in the shade of a sign reading “Welcome to Omashu: the most historically relevant and technologically regressive city in the Earth Kingdom!” and waiting for Bolin to disentangle himself.

“What? Being fawned over by fans?” Wu asks, “Well, despite my stunning good looks and buckets of charm” – this earns him a gentle eye roll from Mako “ – I am just not as appealing in a pair of furry shorts as your brother is.” When Mako squints suspiciously at him, Wu shrugs, flushing a little, “I said I’d never seen the franchise, not that I didn’t see the advertising material. I campaigned hard with Gun to sneak into the Middle Ring to see the public showings. But alas, it was not to be.”

“I’m trying very hard not to feel uncomfortable with that.”

“What? That I have eyes and can very easily identify a hot man? I can assure you, I do, and I can.”

“No, that for some Raava-forsaken reason you think Bolin is attractive.”

“Well, I don’t anymore.”

“Oh?”

“While Bolin is very nice-looking,” Wu shoots him one of his fey, whimsical smiles. The closed-mouth, ‘I have a secret and I might let you in on it if you ask nicely’ smile, “I find I vastly prefer grumpy fire benders over smiley mover stars.”

Mako doesn’t know what to do with the crushing tide of feeling swelling in his chest, so he just sort of squashes it down and covers it up with an awkward. “Huh.”

Wu carries on talking, seemingly aware Mako is having an Emotion and is allowing him time to process it rather than trying to pry it out of him immediately. “And, even if I was hotter than dragon fire, no one would know about it. I’m a public figure, but an invisible one.”

“What?” that startles Mako out of having to untangle his Feelings, “What do you mean?”

Wu tilts his head up at Mako, curls drifting across his forehead whimsically, “the personal appearances of royal heirs are, well not secret but not exactly public knowledge, either. Being in line for the throne is very strange that way. You’re a celebrity, but there’s a ban on your image being publicized outside of official portraiture in the palace and personal pictures. I could go to a library anywhere in the Earth Kingdom and probably find articles on my parents’ public works projects, but their pictures would never, ever be featured.”

“But why?” Mako asks.

“Because of assassins, mostly. You’re much easier to bump off if you’ve got a famous face. And princely look-alikes pretending to be lost heirs to the throne. Although that only happened twice.”

“Kind of weird it happened twice.”

“Well, the second time it was a man pretending to be the not-actually-dead-dead-King-Hou-Ting-Changze-the-third. He’d died in battle but his body was never recovered and so some con man with a similar face decided to take a crack at being the Earth King, ‘miraculously returned’, safe and mostly sound. That’s where the law against legally dead heirs inheriting the throne comes from.”

“What?”

“Yes, if you’re legally declared dead, regardless of alive status, you’re out of the running for the throne.”

Mako just sort of stares at Wu, digesting this. Finally, unsure what the proper response is to all the Earth Kingdom succession legislation is, he focuses on the thing in Wu’s story that really affected him. “I’m sorry there aren’t any pictures of your parents out there.”

Wu blinks, looking startled for the second time today. “Oh. Yes. Well. I had one or two, but they were ruined during the,” he gestures vaguely to encompass the sacking of the palace and destruction of life as he knew it, “looting. And everything. When I was a child, after my parents died, I wrote to my mother’s sister, my aunt, asking for any school pictures she had of Mum, but she made it very clear I could expect none of that from her.”

Mako squeezes Wu’s hand and the prince leans against his shoulder a bit. Wu’s eyes are shadowed, lost in a past he can’t reach. Mako feels like he owes Wu something for that admission, so he offers what he can – a truth for a truth, “We didn’t have anything when our parents died. Most of their stuff burned up with the shop. We just had Dad’s scarf. I’d grabbed it for some stupid reason when I was running away. We didn’t see their faces again until we found our grandma. I think Bolin had kind of forgotten what they looked like by then. But looking at them, seeing their faces, made them real. Like, they were real people, who loved us. It was important. And I’m sorry you don’t have that.”

Mako doesn’t know if that’s the right thing to say. But it felt real. Like this way it wouldn’t be an unequal exchange.

Wu presses his cheek against Mako’s shoulder and squeezes his hand. “You are surprisingly lovely sometimes, you know.”

Mako gives a scoffing chuckle, “Alright, I’ll take what I can get.”

They watch Bolin charm the general public.

“What are the chances we could slip away and get everything on our list really efficiently before Bo disentangles himself?” Mako asks.

“No,” Wu says quellingly, a hint of a laugh in the catch of his voice, “We are not abandoning your brother to a pack of over-invested strangers in a foreign city.”

“Well, when you put it that way it sounds bad.”

“Because it is.”

A pause.

“We could get through the whole list so quickly.”

“Mako.”

“Bolin would be fine.”

In front of them, Bolin gestures too broadly, overbalances and falls into a fountain with a yelp and a laugh.

Mako deflates, sighing heavily and striding forward to disentangle his brother from his adoring fans, Wu laughing behind him.

Mako loves his brother, would do anything for him, but sometimes he really wonders where all the common sense he tried to teach him went.

…

“We don’t need that.”

“But – ”

“Bolin, no.”

“What about?”

“No.”

“But – ”

“No.”

“Bu – ”

“Bolin, I swear to Raava – ”

Mako had forgotten what shopping with his brother was like. Which is ridiculous, because it isn’t much different from shopping with Wu, except Bolin gorges himself on free samples until the food stall vendors look about ready to put him on a spit, and Wu spends three hours trying on clothes they can’t afford, only to decide to pick none of them after all. Both of them have some incurable need to look at everything, touch everything, and talk to everyone they meet.

Mako has a list, and the wallet, and he’s sticking to that list no matter how many pleading faces Bolin makes, or all the twinkling smiles Wu shoots him over his shoulder. Mako is the stone you can’t squeeze blood from. He will not be moved.

“Mako.” Oh no, not that voice. Wu is grinning at him, bouncing a little on his toes.

“Whatever it is, if it costs money, the answer is no.”

“Okay, I hear you, I do, but – ”

“Is it non-perishable food or survival gear?”

“Technically…”

“So no, no it’s not.”

“How exactly do you define ‘survival gear’?” The air quotes are audible.

“Will it help us not die in the wilderness.”

“Now, personally, I believe a good mentality, good clothes, and a good skincare routine, do wonders for my ability to survive in trying situations.” Wu beams emphatically at him. Mako hates how cute that is.

“I genuinely resent how cute you are sometimes,” Mako blurts because he believes in honesty, and also because his personal filter has about a million holes in it, and after the last year and a half he’s given up on trying to patch them.

“Aw, my big, tough fire bending buddy thinks I’m cute,” Wu bats his eyes.

“You’re missing the point.”

“Yes, on purpose,” Wu swings their hands where they’re still tangled together, “So was that a yes on buying new outfits for all of us or no?”

“Definitely a no!” Mako blurts, catching sight of Bolin hovering over yet another food stall, “BOLIN, NOT ALL SAMPLES ARE FREE, WE’RE ON A BUDGET HERE!”

“You really need to work on your control issues,” Wu says blithely, “Also, we all do need at least a second set of clothes each, considering the number of times we’ve managed to get covered in dirt, grime, and assorted fluids over the course of our adventures.”

Mako makes a face, both at the phrasing, and at the idea of spending money outside of what he’d carefully budgeted.

“What?” Wu asks innocently, “You’re making your grossed out face. Was it the mention of ‘fluids’ or the ‘Wu had an excellent idea I didn’t think of and I, a confirmed bossy-pants, am struggling with the full scope of his brilliance’ face?”

Mako has no idea what face he’s making in the wake of that pronouncement, but it makes Wu laugh delightedly, green eyes crinkling at the corners, and hop up on his toes to press a kiss to Mako’s cheek.

“Now who’s being cute?” the prince says, sounding weirdly smug, like he thinks he’s won already.

“You haven’t won – ” Mako blurts, his need to be contrary apparently, once again, overriding his common sense.

“Oh, but I have,” Wu says confidently.

“Have not,” Mako mutters sullenly.

“Have so.” Wu kisses his other cheek, either out of some obscure need for symmetry or just because he wants to. It’s…nice.

Mako always said he wasn’t a hugger, or a touchy-feely person in general and that’s not untrue, but definitely extremely situational. He doesn’t like physical contact from most people, and strangers touching him without permission makes his skin crawl and fire hiss at the back of his throat. But he’s always had a steady stream of hugs and back-slaps, and friendly jostling from Bolin, who is a grade-A certified Hugger. Physical affection comes easy to people like Bolin and Mako has always felt a little, tiny, infinitesimally bit jealous of that.

Because there’s a tiny sliver of Mako that craves that simple connection, that concrete way of showing care.

And here Wu is, somehow totally at ease with touching Mako, grabbing him, clinging to him, leaning on him from day one. And Mako should hate that. Did hate that, at first. But now, it’s familiar, it’s grounding, it’s something adjacent to home in this topsy-turvy tether-less reality they’ve been living in the past year and a half.

He’d rather set himself on fire than say any of that, but there it is.

“I like you,” Mako says with a scowl, “It’s very inconvenient.”

When Wu is well and truly amused, he laughs with his whole body and it’s utterly captivating and completely absurd. That’s what he does now, giggling and chortling and clinging to Mako for support. He wipes away tears of mirth when he finally collects himself long enough to wheeze out, “Your…face…your little scowl…” Wu clears his throat, wipes his eyes again, and straightens up, “You know, when we first met, I had the biggest crush on you.”

Mako frowns, unsure where this is going. Presumably Wu still has a crush on him? Because they’re…whatever they are? Unless you don’t call it a crush anymore when you start…whatever-they-are-ing with someone? Mako doesn’t know. Considering his two failed relationships, Mako really should know more about this. Although, maybe his general ignorance in this area is indicative of something in the whole failed relationship sector of his life.

Wu chuckles a little, “And I used to fantasize about what it would be like to date you. Silly daydreams, really. I barely knew you back then. You just seemed so heroic and fascinating and different from anything I’d ever seen before. But I have to say,” Wu smiles, he’s been smiling a lot today. Mako realizes, distantly, that, in another set of circ*mstances, wandering through a market in a foreign city, bickering about budgets might have been a fun date. Although, perhaps minus the bickering. “I have to say,” Wu repeats, “The reality is so much nicer than what I imagined.”

Wait.

What.

Mako has a million follow-up questions now. Are they officially dating? Is Wu his boyfriend? (Fang will be so disappointed he still hasn’t had this chat with Wu, although, in his defense, it’s a hard conversation to have with your brother around constantly) And, more importantly, in what possible way could the reality of him be better than the fantasy? Mako has no illusions about what he’s like – grumpy, stoic, a bit of a nerd, stingy to the point of aggravation, bad at communication, the list goes on. He genuinely has no idea how that could possibly stack up positively against Wu, who, despite being utterly ridiculous, is somehow caring, brave, passionate, perceptive, and capable of finding joy in anything. Even getting lost in the Earth Kingdom. For over a year. While being chased by a dictator.

Mako doesn’t get the chance to ask any of these follow-up questions, because Bolin interrupts.

“Hey, guys, I snagged us some seats at this restaurant, and they’re offering to feed us on the house! Guess they’re big Nuktuk fans or something. Cool, right? I had no idea the movers were so big in the Earth Kingdom! Come on! First rule of the streets –” he points at Mako like they’re about to do a cutesy call and response thing.

Mako parrots back what he knows Bolin will say, because, well, they came up with that line together.

“Never turn down a free lunch.”

Wu squeezes his hand in a ‘we’ll talk later’ sort of way. Bolin hasn’t commented on the hand-holding yet, nor the cheek-kissing, if he saw that. Mako is seriously wondering who’s going to break first – him, asking Wu if they are, in fact, a couple, and, as a follow up question, what Wu could possibly see in him; or Bolin, in asking Mako if he’s seriously dating the future Earth King.

“I’m buying us more clothes after lunch,” Wu murmurs to Mako as they follow Bolin and his new friends, “Maybe your mover-star brother can get us a discount. You like discounts.”

“Don’t try to placate me,” Mako mutters back.

“Aw, just think, you can spend an hour looking at shoes and talking about the merits of various boot-soles.”

“And you can try on every piece of clothing they have and try to explain to me why different types of green matter.”

“See, we’re so good at this.”

…

Lunch should be great – the food is good, the staff, despite being slightly star-struck initially (Mako seriously doesn’t get how the Nuktuk movers could possibly have this big of an Earth Kingdom following. He has to assume it’s like their uncle and cousins thought – everyone assumes the things are supposed to be comedies.) are professional and leave them mostly to their own devices. So, lunch should be great. Mako has his brother tearing through courses like he hasn’t been fed in weeks on one side, and his maybe-boyfriend talking with his hands and nearly splatting sauce on Mako as Mako sneaks more fritters onto his plate on the other. Two of his favorite people in the world, within easy reach, safe, and surrounded by food and warmth. Everything Mako could possibly want.

Except.

Halfway through the meal, like a portent of doom, someone interrupts.

“Oma and Shu alive, is that you?”

Bolin’s head pops up like Naga after an interrupted nap, probably thinking whoever it is means him, or, rather, Nuktuk. Wu’s head comes up too, and he looks around, curious. Whatever or whoever he sees, though, has him going tense, which has alarms blaring in Mako’s head.

A short, slightly built man, older than them by several years, well-dressed in a subdued, almost snobbish manner, cuts through the crowd, an incredulous smile on his vaguely familiar face.

“Cousin Wu, never in my wildest dreams could I even envision seeing you in a place like this!” Now that he’s reached their table, Mako can get a better look at him. He doesn’t look much like Wu, really. Similar hair, maybe. They’re about the same height, with a similar narrow build, though where Wu is slender and angular, this man has gone soft around the edges in the way of an entrenched bureaucrat or office worker. His skin is a shade or two lighter than Wu’s and his dark brown hair curls in a painstakingly curated way. His eyes are a muddier color than Wu’s clear olive green, and the smile sitting on his thick lips feels insincere.

Mako immediately and irrationally hates him.

Although, some of that could come from the way Wu has gone absolutely still and tense at Mako’s side. He’s set his chopsticks down very properly at the side of his plate and sort of folded his hands in front of him like a child told to behave at the dinner table. Mako wants to touch him, to rub the tension out of his shoulders, but doesn’t know if it would be appropriate.

“Cousin Wen,” Wu says tightly, “It’s been ages.”

“It has indeed. And look at you, slumming it with us commoners. Never thought I’d see the day.”

Wu pauses, seeming, to Mako’s surprise and discomfort, at a loss for words.

“Hi, hello, I’m Bolin, and you are?” Bolin, hero of all awkward situations, says, all wide-eyed innocence and easy smiles.

“Ah, it seems like my little cousin has picked up some friends –” ‘Cousin Wen’ says indulgently – hate, Mako hates him so much – smiling over at Bolin, “I don’t suppose he’s mentioned me, we haven’t communicated in so long.”

Wu makes a soft, smothered noise beside Mako that pushes him ever further on edge.

“I am Shu Wen, but my little cousin here has always called me ‘Cousin Wen’. There’s just so many Shus in Omashu. For obvious reasons,” he barrels on, not bothering to explain why those reasons would be obvious, “And it’s just easier to go by your family name if you’ve got one, isn’t it?” Never having had a family name other than ‘Bolin’s brother’, Mako couldn’t comment on that, “Are you two also royalty? Dignitaries? We all know the kinds of circles my little cousin moves in.” He says this like it’s a bit of light-hearted ribbing. Based on Wu’s rigid posture beside Mako, it doesn’t land that way.

“Well, I’m sure you’ve heard of me,” Bolin’s bonhomie, saving the day, as usual, “I’m Bolin, star of the Nuktuk movers.” There’s a weird, stiff moment, where Bolin is grinning, doing that ‘aw shucks’ pose he does in preparation for an outpouring of fan adoration.

Shu Wen just sort of tilts his head in that rich-person way Hiroshi Sato used to whenever Bolin or Mako said something inscrutably low-class. “I’m afraid I don’t keep up with movers. Bit of a high-maintenance interest in Omashu, and with my work I just can’t find the time to run off to another city to see some moving pictures.”

“We’re also pro-benders,” Bolin carries on, unfazed, “or, we were. Now I’m a hero, and Mako was a detective, but I think he’s sort of…left that job to be a full time…how would you define your job at present, bro?”

Mako just sort of stares at him. “Exhausting,” he says, deadpan.

“He’s professionally exhausted,” Bolin continues, “We’re also on-call members of Team Avatar. So, we’re actually pretty much the coolest people you’ll ever meet.”

There are times when Mako has wondered if Bolin specifically and intentionally leverages his ability to be blithely cheerful for the express purpose of defusing, or simply conversationally trampling potentially disastrous social situations.

Shu Wen doesn’t seem to know what to do with Bolin. At all. He sort of blinks and re-focuses on something not Bolin in the face of all of Bolin’s…Bolin-ness. “It must be refreshing for you, Your Highness. Traveling with…tradespeople. Eating at commoner restaurants.”

“I was quite enjoying my meal,” Wu says. His voice is a pale imitation of his normal tone. “Won’t you join us?”

He does not sound like he wants Shu Wen to join them. Mako certainly doesn’t want Shu Wen to join them. He isn’t sure how to communicate ‘hey, if you want this guy to leave, I’ll totally throw him out on his ass for you’ non-verbally, but he nudges Wu anyway and raises a questioning eyebrow. Wu’s expression is shuttered and blank and he just sort of shakes his head minutely.

“No, I’ve already eaten, working lunch, you know. Or you might not. Far be it from me to assume my silly bureaucratic schedule to be the norm. Especially considering your…eccentric livelihoods. But,” he claps crisply, “if you’re done here, let me offer my services as your unofficial, official tour guide to our lovely, historic city of Omashu.”

“We wouldn’t want to keep you away from your work,” Wu demurs.

“Nonsense! I’m a civil servant. Escorting my royal cousin around our beautiful city is nothing short of my honor and duty.”

“We have our own errands to run,” Mako says stiffly, feeling compelled to try to keep Wu and his cousin apart. Then he realizes how that must sound and tries to pull it back, “wouldn’t want to put you off when we’ll have to leave halfway through.”

“Are you staying in town?” Shu Wen has apparently decided Mako is the human equivalent of talking furniture, without the shock factor actual talking furniture might have had. He continues to address himself exclusively to other people. In this case, Wu. “No, don’t tell me you’ve popped in to Omashu for the first time just to pop back out again after your errands have been run. How terribly prosaic. No, no, you must stay up at the palace. Us upper-level officials have our own quarters there; we’ll just stash you there for the night. We’ll do all the tourist stuff today, and then you can...run your errands,” he seems to find the very idea of Wu running errands unaccountably hysterical, “in the morning.”

Bolin looks uncertain, glancing back at Mako as if to check in. Mako looks at Wu, desperately trying to convey ‘please tell me to kick this guy out, I’ll do it in a heartbeat, but not if it will make you sad’ by intense stare alone. Wu doesn’t look at him. His eyes are locked on his plate.

“Please,” Shu Wen’s voice gentles and it makes Mako want to stab him with the nearest sharp implement, “little cousin. Let’s make up for lost time. Let me show you your mother’s hometown.”

Wu doesn’t visibly flinch, but Mako can feel the tremor run through him. He looks up at Shu Wen, his hands dropping away from the table to rest in his lap, broad, fake smile blossoming across his face. “Of course, Cousin Wen. That sounds lovely. I have so longed to reconnect with my family and my roots. What better way to do it than a guided tour with my dear cousin?”

Under the table his hands find Mako’s and squeeze painfully tight.

…

The worst part is, if it weren’t for Shu Wen and his many shades of awful, the tour might be kind of fun. Mako likes history, he likes learning. When he and Bolin were kids, he used to daydream about being able to go back to school someday, before he learned how impossible that would be. So, really, a free tour of the most historic city in the Earth Kingdom with two of his favorite people by his side should actually be pretty great.

Except for Shu Wen. Who is, as previously stated, awful.

Wu hasn’t relaxed since they left the restaurant, though he’s playing gamely along with Shu’s forced bonhomie. Bolin is shooting confused, unsettled looks back and forth between the cousins and Mako, like he can tell something is weird but can’t put his finger on what. Mako keeps trying to get Wu’s attention silently, trying to get an opening to ask if he really wants to be spending time with his cousin, or if he’s as miserable as he seemed in the restaurant. But Wu won’t look at him, he just keeps playing along with Shu’s never-ending tide of inane chatter. It’s enough to make Mako question his instincts. He’d been so sure Wu didn’t want this guy around, but maybe…maybe he was wrong? Maybe Wu was just…surprised? Maybe he’s been wanting to re-connect with his mother’s family, but hasn’t been able to? Maybe, no matter how obnoxious this Shu Wen guy seems, he’s…important? To Wu? Mako can’t tell, and his brain keeps spinning in useless circles trying to figure it out, and Wu still won’t look at him, and Shu won’t. Shut. Up.

It doesn’t help that everything Shu says pisses Mako off, even when the words themselves seem innocuous. Everything from his tone, to his posture, to the stupid way he holds his head to keep from messing up his hair. Obnoxious. Everything about Shu’s demeanor reminds Mako of when he and Bolin were little, dumpster-diving outside fancy restaurants and the rich people eating inside would catch sight of them and make scrunched-up, pitying faces, like they’d seen something so revolting they almost felt sorry for it.

And then there’s the way tiny similarities between the cousins stand out in a stark relief and make Mako’s stomach churn, make him think, all over again, that maybe Wu really is happy to reconnect with this man, this last piece of his family. The little vanities, the practiced, perfect posture, the slightly high-handed accent Wu breaks out occasionally and Shu never seems to f*cking turn off, even the dimple that’s deeper on one side of their mouths than the other. f*ck, Mako and Bolin have the exact same parents and they don’t look this similar.

Really, Mako realizes in a sudden burst of understanding, Shu Wen is every aggravating thing he thought Wu was or would be when they first met personified. And Mako is abruptly and disproportionately ashamed of how he acted when this nightmarish road trip began. He doesn’t know what to do with the feeling, especially now, when Wu won’t even look at him, and Shu won’t f*cking shut up.

“Omashu’s mail system is the most efficient in the world, reliant on the art of earth bending rather than unreliable modern mechanics. Although,” Shu pauses, “sorry, cousin, I know you were never a bender. I’m sure my ramblings on the subject are terribly dull for you.”

Bolin opens his mouth, ready to say that he’s an earth bender and he’d love to hear all about the postal system, because even after only knowing each other a month or two, Bolin knows Wu finds everything about earth bending fascinating. But something in Mako, some instinct that warned him about Tarrlok, about Varrick, about all the people who tried to hurt them on the streets, tells him not to let his brother show their hand. He steps back and to the side and stomps on Bolin’s foot. When Bolin looks up at him, eyes wide and betrayed, mouth open to protest, Mako sharply shakes his head ‘no’.

Bolin course-corrects with the grace of Bosco the bear, but he manages it, “Our dad was an earth bender,” he blurts, “fascinating craft. Never understood it much myself.” He grins at Mako in a ‘see, fixed it!’ sort of way and Mako resists the urge to bury his face in his hands.

Shu’s mouth sort of twitches condescendingly and they carry on.

It takes the entire afternoon. They stop at every landmark. Every statue. They hear all about King Bumi of Omashu’s pet goat gorilla (“Not as exotic as your illustrious great-grandfather’s bear, but we work with what we have here, in our little corner of the kingdom,” Shu says in a tone both deferential and smug). They’re lectured at length about how the city was raised from the mountain by earth benders centuries ago (“How does this guy make earth bending boring?” Bolin mutters to Mako). They even pause in front of the legislative buildings for a quick recitation on Omashu’s byzantine penal codes (“Remind me not to get arrested here,” Mako mutters to Bolin, with a sinking feeling like he’s definitely going to get arrested here). Wu’s body is stiff and his posture rigid, but his voice has settled firmly into his most officious ‘lord of the manor’ tone, nothing like the person Mako knows, and Mako is actively biting back the urge to grab his brother and his prince and bolt for the gates. Those guards seemed friendly; they’d probably hide them from Shu if Bolin asked.

He wishes they could have five minutes alone. He finds himself mentally pleading with the spirits of Oma and Shu, if they ever existed, to intervene and make this creep step away, leave to use the bathroom, anything, just so he can check in with Wu and Bolin. But Shu never leaves them alone. He’s always there, hovering like an oncoming migraine.

Mako is perfectly willing to throw this guy off a building if Wu tells him to, but he can’t get Shu to f*ck off long enough to ask Wu where his head is at.

They finally stop for dinner after the sun goes down. After a month of living by Azula’s rigid rise-with-the-sun schedule at the dragon sanctuary, they’re all footsore and drooping by the time Shu ushers them into a finely-appointed dining room in the lower palace, where the upper-level city officials apparently live.

“I would invite you home to the family estate,” Shu says, refilling wine glasses solicitously. Mako, who hasn’t drunk a drop, watches the cup nearly overflow, staring down Shu as the smiley bastard tries to play gracious host despite having spent the whole afternoon making his guests uncomfortable and his cousin act like a snobbish automaton of himself. Shu has to break the staring contest first because otherwise he’d drench the tablecloth. The victory is both petty and hollow. “But darling Mama’s nerves have been so delicate since that nastiness over in Ba Sing Se – ”

“Oh, you mean the little to-do where my aunt was murdered and my home ransacked?” Wu says, voice brittle and overbright.

“Quite,” Shu says, “Terrible business. Mama’s nerves have been delicate ever since, I would feel simply beastly springing unexpected guests, no matter how dear,” a genteel glass tipped Wu’s way in mock-toast, “on her hospitality last-minute. Not to mention,” a shallow sip of wine, “Father’s been run off his feet dealing with artisans for the coronation festivities. Father’s a great patron of the arts, and a new king of Omashu is a once in a lifetime experience.”

Bolin, whose drinking Mako really should have been monitoring more closely – he’s never had the head for alcohol he thinks he does – leans forward, “A new king?” he asks, a little too loudly.

“Yes,” Shu smiles, “You two must be foreigners – ”

“Yep!” Bolin says cheerfully, “Republic City born and bred!”

“I should have guessed,” Shu hums, “I don’t suppose the ancient, sacred traditions of Omashu make the cut in your school curriculum.”

Wu, bless him, cuts in before Bolin, who is careening towards tipsy at an alarming rate (and he’s across the table, where Mako can’t reach his glass, blast it) can reveal how little schooling they’ve had. “Omashu’s kings are chosen by the badgermoles. It’s a real humdinger of a thing, there’s a sacred, secret ceremony and everything! Even I don’t know all the component parts,” a too-chipper chuckle, “but the new king returns from the wild mountains escorted by badgermole honor guard at the end of it. Sounds like they’re expecting their king-in-waiting to return with the badgermoles any day now!”

“Whoa,” Bolin breathes. “So, you’d totally be King of Omashu if you did it, Wu!”

Shu goes rigid in his seat and Wu titters uncomfortably. Mako tries to burn the message ‘shut up, shut up, shut up you drunk fool’ into his brother’s head long-distance with his eyes alone.

Bolin looks back and forth between them. “Because badgermoles love Wu? Mako says they’ve saved their bacon like a billion times,” he gestures with his cup and splashes wine on the tablecloth, an arcing red stain. How strong is this booze? Bolin is a lightweight, but he isn’t usually this bad. Mako glares down at his cup and back up at Shu, who is still ignoring him. “I bet if you went out to those caves you’d come back with, just, pfft, all the badgermoles, man!”

“Ah, such a pity His Highness will have to content himself with the rest of the country instead,” Shu says tightly, “If he can pry it out of Kuvira’s hands.”

“I suppose you’ve been run off your feet here, providing aid to the neighboring towns, dear cousin,” Wu chirps, “Keeping Commander Kuvira at bay?”

Shu barks a laugh, “If those little places are so mis-managed they’re falling to a thrown-together metal bending outfit run by a girl dictator and her train, they deserve to be subsumed.” He smirks over his glass. “Law of the jungle, cousin. The weak are consumed by the strong.”

“Your people – ”

“Hardly my people. Omashu is its own entity. This spot of trouble is simply the natural order reasserting itself. We were never meant to be a feather in your ancestors’ cap. It’s taken a few hundred years, but things are as they should be now. Omashu alone. Free of the Earth Kingdom and the Hou-Tings and their greedy little fingers. Isn’t that right, dear cousin?”

Wu is very pale and tense beside Mako.

“That’s enough politics for dinner, don’t you think?” Shu’s muddy-colored eyes are hard and sharp as he stares them down.

“Yes, of course,” Wu laughs, a barking, fake sound that does nothing to break the tension, “do tell me, what is this I hear about Tahno and his band taking a break from touring?”

Mako resigns himself to a long, miserable dinner.

Wu still won’t look at him.

…

After dinner there’s a weird moment where Bolin and Mako are ushered into the hall but Shu hangs back, grabbing Wu’s elbow when the prince tries to walk past him. Mako pauses in the doorway, ready to go back and rescue Wu if necessary. He overhears Shu hissing to his cousin in a vicious undertone, “I saw what you tried in there, little cousin and I hope you are aware of how it will not work. It will never work.”

“What are you talking about?” Wu asks, brittle smile still in place.

“Those comments. Aiding the outlying villages, really? You just want to drag Omashu into your squalid little spat with Kuvira. You want us entangled in this thing, so that when – really, it’s if – you come out on top we’ll be right where we started. All part of one happy Earth Kingdom family and all under the Hou-Ting boot. Well, it’s not happening, kiddo. Your kingdom is nothing. Your name? Meaningless. Remember that next time you think it’s time for amateur politicking.”

Mako is broiling with rage by the time Shu releases Wu’s elbow and gives the prince a little shove forward. He meets the city official’s eyes over Wu’s shoulder and glares. Shu just gives him a smug little smirk and gestures to the guards in the hall behind Mako as if to say ‘try me’.

“Come along, Mako, I think Cousin Wen is tiring of us,” Wu says, vapid bonhomie back in place, nudging Mako away from the door and the Shu’s hateful stare.

…

They’re escorted to a suite of rooms after dinner. Bolin is weaving his way through the hallways, and even Wu is less than steady on his feet, despite having taken all of a few sips of his wine. Mako would feel more vindicated in his decision to abstain, if he weren’t so busy keeping his brother from walking into walls.

The rooms they’re given are nice, but something feels off about the layout. Something nags at the back of Mako’s mind as they’re shown the suite, the connecting bathroom and three guest rooms which fan out from the central common area like spokes of a wheel. The walls are smooth stone, the hangings all green and gold in classic high earth kingdom style.

“Just like home,” Wu chirps when he sees it. Bolin just flings himself at one of the couches, exclaiming over the profusion of cushions.

“Rest well, little cousin,” Shu says with a placid smile Mako doesn’t trust at all.

“Thank you for such a lovely welcome, cousin. It’s been utterly fascinating seeing the ol’ hometown through your eyes.”

Something in Shu’s eyes goes flat and sharp, “Not quite your hometown, cousin.”

“No,” Wu’s lips quirk faintly, “Not exactly. Goodnight, cousin Wen. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

“Yes. Indeed.” Shu says, closing the door behind him.

Mako realizes, as the door closes, exactly what about the suite bothered him so much. There are no windows.

…

With the door closed and Bolin flopping around on the couch, Wu scans the room, fiddling with the hems of his sleeves, and finally, finally looks at Mako.

His eyes are big, and bright, and full of bitter recrimination. “You must think I’m a f*cking idiot.”

Mako opens his mouth, can’t think of anything to say, and closes it again.

Wu’s still talking, “Stupid Wu, stupid, stupid Wu,” he snaps, sniffling a little. He’s always been and angry-crier. “I saw him and I know what they’re like. They’ve never liked me, never even wanted to know me. Even when Mum and Dad died and I wrote them, begged them,” a furious, hiccupping laugh. Bolin’s head has popped out of the pillows, he’s looking at Wu with concern and sympathetic tears in his eyes. “It doesn’t matter,” Wu waves away whatever he was talking about, and Mako’s heart aches. “But I thought, I thought ‘hey, maybe if I let him get his hits in, get whatever petty revenge he needs on me, maybe he’ll help us’. And then, in the way back of my mind I thought ‘maybe he really, finally wants to be my family’.” Wu cries when he’s angry and he isn’t a pretty crier; his face has gone blotchy and he’s sniffling like crazy, even with his eyes burning with rage. “Which is stupid. Shu’s never wanted to be my cousin and his mother –” Wu shakes his head, “I’ve never had a good track record with aunts. But I thought, I thought, maybe if I let him talk down to me, and show off his city, and show how much of a big deal he is, and let him see how pathetic I am, he’d…he’d help us. And we need all the help we can get.”

Wu laughs, a wet, jagged sound. He looks rumpled and sad and young. Mako’s felt old all his life, ancient before his time, but he knows they’re all too young for all this heartbreak. Wu’s a little younger than he is, twenty to Mako’s twenty-one, and he looks it now. Red-nosed, red-eyed, and hurt.

“But he’s thrown us in a room with no windows, so I suppose I was just a fool all along.”

Bolin makes a sad noise, and flails around trying to disentangle himself from the cushions in order to, most likely, wrap Wu in a bone-crushing Bolin hug. Mako, not being inhibited by inebriation or upholstery, beats him to it, coming in to stand directly in front of the sniffling prince.

“Wu. Look at me.”

“And I let him be a, a…” Wu might be a little tipsy too. Mako wonders if Shu spiked the wine at dinner, “a sh*t to both of you all day. Just for us to get locked up somewhere again for some stupid reason.”

“Wu.”

Wu stops talking. Blinks, looks up at Mako. He’s breathing hard, eyes a little wild and desperately sad.

Mako isn’t any good at comforting people, but Raava in a teapot he’s going to try. “When people do bad things to you, it isn’t your fault. When people treat you badly, it isn’t your fault. Shu f*cking Wen being a sh*theel isn’t your f*cking fault. Wanting your family to love you and support you is normal. And frankly, Shu f*cking Wen doesn’t f*cking deserve to be your family,” Mako swallows, “He’s the worst. And you’re incredible. So.”

Wu makes a watery noise in the back of his throat and drops his head forward to rest his face against Mako’s shoulder. Mako wraps his arms around Wu’s shoulders and combs his fingers through the hair curling at the nape of his neck. He’d gotten it cut short again at the dragon sanctuary, so it’s nowhere near how overgrown it became during their time in captivity, the ends short and soft against Mako’s hands.

“I’m sorry,” Wu mumbles into Mako’s collar.

“Don’t be sorry!” Bolin, finally managing to wrangle himself free from the pillows, staggers over to Mako and Wu and flings his arms around both of them in a rib-crushing group hug, “We’ve done lots of stupid stuff, way stupider than wanting your dumb, snobby cousin to like you! I wanted all my cousins to like me so much when I first met them, you have no idea! And I trusted shady people all the time when we were on the streets! I trusted a guy called ‘Shady Shin’! Shady is in his name! And I got Mako and me lost in the Lower Ring because I trusted Kai even when Mako said not to, although that turned out okay because Kai is pretty great, even if he won’t agree to be my little brother.”

“Bolin, you’re so drunk,” Mako mutters as his ribs creak.

“Bolin, you’re sweet,” Wu sniffles, “And also squashing us. And drunk.”

“Yeah, in hindsight, ‘drink because you feel awkward and there’s a drink in your hand’ wasn’t a great idea.”

“You think?” Mako mutters.

Wu snuffles and buries his face in Mako’s neck. “What are we going to do?”

“See what your cousin’s play is? Wait for Bolin to sober up?” Mako suggests.

“Hug it out?” Bolin offers.

“Definitely wait for Bolin to sober up,” Mako decides.

“And stop crushing us,” Wu adds.

“That too.”

“You guys just don’t appreciate the power of the group hug.”

…

Bolin downs three glasses of water under Mako’s irate supervision and curls up in a ball on the couch to sleep it off and, per him, “rest up for whatever nefarious schemes that schemer is scheming!”. On unspoken group agreement, none of them venture into the bedrooms, staying in the common area, waiting for whatever happens next. With Bolin sprawled out and snoring on one of the couches, Mako settles on the other, where he can keep the door and his brother in his sightlines. Wu curls up next to him, calmer, but still looking wrung out and miserable.

“It wasn’t just us,” Wu says quietly. He’s playing with Mako’s fingers, not looking at him, but warm and solid at his side.

“Huh?” Mako asks, less than eloquently, distracted by the feather-light feeling of Wu’s fingers skating over the cracks and callouses of his own.

“I wasn’t just hoping cousin Wen – I mean, Shu,”

“That bastard.”

Wu chuckles, “Shu that bastard,” he echoes, “I wasn’t just hoping he’d help us. I know we’ll make do, no matter what. We always have.” It’s not really a compliment, it’s not (much as he’s loath to admit it sometimes) just Mako’s efforts keeping them alive all this time, but it feels a tiny bit like a compliment, and makes Mako’s heart go all mushy and warm anyway. Wu is still talking, though, so he doesn’t dwell on it. “Shu and his family have always hated me. I know that. But I thought if I let Shu feel superior, show off a bit, he’d help us and maybe I could talk him into using some of Omashu’s resources to aid the countryside. Bosco showed me a lot in the spirit world. My country is shattered. And there’s nothing I can do for it right now. And here’s Omashu, where men like Shu condescendingly refer to the coup as ‘nastiness’ over dinner and drinks.”

“You wanted to help,” Mako says.

“I was naïve. Stupid and naïve.”

“If you keep calling yourself stupid, I’m going to kick you off my couch,” Mako says.

“Nooo,” Wu whines, wrapping his arms around Mako’s middle and throwing his legs over his lap, “Can’t you tell I’m emotionally vulnerable?”

“Be as emotionally vulnerable as you want, just don’t insult yourself,” Mako says bluntly, “You don’t deserve it.”

“I feel like I do.”

“Feelings lie sometimes. It’s why they’re feelings, not facts.”

Wu gives a surprising bark of laughter at that, “Your version of comfort,” he snorts, “is uniquely illuminating.”

“Is that a compliment?”

“Barely,” Wu buries his face in Mako’s shoulder and clings a little tighter. Mako runs a hand up and down his back and wishes there was something he could do to fix this.

After a long moment, punctuated by Bolin’s snores and sleep-muttering, Mako risks asking the question all this hinges on. “Why does Shu hate you so much?”

Wu sighs, shoulders deflating a bit, “Blunt as always, darling.”

“Sorry,” Mako apologizes, “just, it seemed important.”

“It is, I suppose,” Wu’s voice is soft, half-muffled by Mako’s neck and shoulder, “I’m sure you noticed Shu has a family name?”

“Yeah, he made a point of mentioning it. Over and over.” Mako mutters, “Snob.” Surnames are status symbols in and of themselves in the Earth Kingdom and, to a lesser extent, Republic City. Mako and Bolin’s family doesn’t have one.

Wu sighs, “Our maternal grandparents didn’t – or don’t, I don’t know if they’re still alive – have one. They were middle class, scholars, with some wealth and social capitol, but hardly,” a vague gesture with one hand, as if to say ‘you know’, “Aunt Lakshmi, my mother’s sister, was the elder daughter. She married up, married into the Wens, an old Omashu family with wealth and status in spades. It was a social coup d’état. The greatest accomplishment she could dream of. She was the darling of the family, a great beauty, toast of the town. My mother was the plain, bookish one who got into Ba Sing Se University on scholarship and fought tooth and nail to keep up with the private school kids. You would have liked her, I think.” Wu pauses, breathes, squeezes Mako tighter, “My father was there, incognito. Ever since the war, the palace requires a great deal of compulsory education for anyone in line to inherit. And, to hear people talk of it, he fell head over heels for Mum in less than a semester. A spirit story romance. An Omashu girl with no last name and a prince. The papers ate it up.”

Mako imagines a young Wu, freshly orphaned, trawling the library archives for articles on his parents, their wedding, their lives, any scrap of them he can hold onto. It makes his heart ache.

“And Lakshmi was furious. She was convinced Mum had planned it all, somehow. Snaring a prince, completely and utterly showing her up. Making her accomplishments paltry in comparison. It was unforgivable in her eyes,” Wu laughs bitterly, “I didn’t know all this when I was a child. Mum shielded me from it. But after they died and the Queen took over as my guardian…I wrote to Lakshmi. I begged her to let me stay with her. I thought…I don’t know what I thought.”

Mako can guess, but he isn’t going to interrupt.

“I showed the letter she wrote in reply to Gun. I was crying. I didn’t understand that she thought I was taunting her. She thought I was being cruel, spoiled, rubbing my mother’s ‘victory’ in her face. Gun had to explain why this woman I couldn’t even remember hated me so much. Poor man. He was so awkward. He really tried to do his best by me.”

“I’m sorry,” Mako says, and the words feel weak and useless in the face of all that history.

“And I guess Shu gets it from her. He resents me but also thinks he’s better than me.”

“What a piece of work,” Mako grumbles.

“It’s how things are,” Wu sighs, like that makes it all make sense.

“What was her name?” Mako asks. He must have read it on the family tree when he was searching for Wu over a year ago, but he can’t for the life of him remember what it was now. “Your mother. What was her name?”

“Priya,” the name sounds like a smile in Wu’s voice, “And my father was Kuei after my great-grandfather. We’re not exactly original with our naming conventions in the royal family.”

“Do you remember them?”

“Some. They were happy. Mum was a civic engineer. She had all these ideas for improving Earth Kingdom infrastructure. Dad did a lot of charity work. They were popular. I’m sure my great-aunt hated them, when she bothered to remember they existed. She had all kinds of colorful things to say about my ‘commoner roots’ when I was in her care. She’d hate you, I’m not too sorry to say, love.”

Mako snorts, “Pretty sure she thought Bolin and I were Korra’s butlers and/or henchmen when she met us. Then she put a bounty on our heads and threw us in the dungeon. Safe to say she would not be happy about…this.” This being Wu’s entire body wrapped around Mako like a particularly aggressive purple pentapus.

Wu scoffs. It’s a little watery from the emotional conversation, but a comforting sign they’re inching back towards Wu’s normal attitude. “Well, as the current Earth-monarch-ish-in-exile, I declare you not a wanted criminal and I say I can date a common foreigner if I bloody well please.”

“Are we?” Mako blurts.

“Are we what?”

“Dating.” This is definitely not the time for this conversation, but Mako is pretty sure this is the only opening he’s going to get where he won’t take the coward’s way out. “Because on Kyoshi Island you said I wasn’t your boyfriend. And you keep calling me ‘buddy’. But you also…seem to like me?”

Wu stares at him incredulously.

Mako huffs, “You said you liked me.”

Wu blinks slowly. “Mako. Darling. I was joking about the ‘buddy’ thing. I was…I’ve never had a relationship before! I was very nervous! And your face when I call you ‘buddy’ is hilarious! And adorable!”

Bolin makes a dramatic snoring, snort-snuffle on the other couch and Wu lowers his volume, reaching up to squish Mako’s cheeks between his hands, “Have you been worried about this?”

“No,” Mako growls.

“You have!” Wu exclaims.

“Do you listen to anything I say?” Mako grumbles without any heat.

“You have – and I – f*cking sh*t, I’m so sorry,” Wu looks utterly tragic. His eyes, still wrecked from his earlier crying fit, and their emotional conversation, are all big and red-rimmed and sad-looking and his lip is wobbling dangerously.

Mako doesn’t know what to do with that, so he huffs, and hauls Wu back in for another hug. “If I was unhappy, you’d know it. I like you. You’re important to me. Remember what I said on Kyoshi, before the battle?”

“’Don’t die?’” Wu guesses, voice muffled against Mako’s shirt.

“I care about you. My life is better with you in it. And I want you to stay, if that’s what you want,” Mako smiles a little against Wu’s hair, “and your face when you swear is really funny.”

“Slander,” Wu scoffs, and then, “You didn’t say that on Kyoshi.”

“I’m saying it now. Your whole face looks like it can’t believe how rude your mouth is being.”

“I’ll show you a rude mouth.”

“Don’t start something you can’t finish. My brother is still in the room.”

Wu laughs, and even if it’s a little soggy and emotionally wrung-out, it’s good to hear.

“sh*t,” Mako says after a long moment, “I’m going to have to figure out how to tell Bolin I’m dating royalty. He’s going to be insufferable.”

Wu hums, “See, this is why I alienated all my family. Much lower maintenance.”

“I’m glad you can joke about this,” Mako says, more earnestly than he intended, but nonetheless true.

“Me too.”

They wait for Shu Wen to make his move.

…

They must have dozed off at some point, because Mako jolts awake to the sound of stone grating against stone as the door seals shut, turning into just another smooth, blemish-less piece of wall. Around them, the doors to the bedrooms also seal. Whoever set this trap must have assumed they’d all be in bed by this hour. He waits, tension humming through his muscles, fire flickering beneath his skin, but nothing more happens. Minutes tick by slowly, and still, nothing happens. Bolin mumbles something about cabbages in his sleep, and Wu snuffles against his shoulder. Mako blinks, eyes heavy and sticky with exhaustion, and he’s asleep again.

…

They wake up to a knock on the door. Bolin jumps at the noise, flailing his way through the pillows and launching himself off the couch and face-first onto the floor. Wu isn’t much better, jolting upright, elbowing Mako in the stomach as he goes. “What’s that?” the prince yelps over Mako’s wheeze of protest.

“I’m on the floor,” Bolin groans, “Why am I on the floor?” He blinks, head popping up to squint at the wall. “What happened to the door?”

There’s another knock where their door used to be. A small window just big enough to see another person’s eyes through slides open.

“Hello there, I’m Shu, not Councilman Shu Wen, just Shu. It’s a really common name. I’m, uh, your guardsman. Welcome to the nice cell! King Bumi himself designed these chambers seventy years ago during the restoration of Omashu! Uh, but that’s probably not super relevant here…anyway, Councilman Wen wanted me to give you this letter. And he didn’t say anything about breakfast, but I figured that was just an oversight on his part, busy man, Councilman Wen. Anyway, here’s some rice porridge and that letter.”

Another slot-like window opens in the wall, and the guard slides a tray through. Mako jumps up to catch it, while Wu snatches the letter.

“A letter?!” the prince squawks as he scans the missive, “he didn’t even bother to come himself?! I’ve been betrayed BY POST?!?”

“Yeah,” Bolin says philosophically, reaching around Mako to grab for a bowl of porridge, “but do you really want to listen to that guy talk again?”

“IT’S THE LEAST HE COULD DO!” Wu shrieks, “IT’S COMMON f*ckING COURTESY!”

“Uh, I don’t have any further orders to do with you guys, so I’m gonna be on my way,” Shu-not-Shu-Wen says awkwardly on the other side of the not-door.

“Mako, you should tip him,” Bolin says around a mouthful of porridge.

“I should tip the guard outside our cell?” Mako says archly.

“Oh, that’s not necessary, folks,” Guardsman Shu says.

Mako raises an eyebrow at his brother, who shrugs. “He brought us breakfast when he didn’t have to. Pretty tip-worthy behavior.”

“Raava in a teapot,” Mako sighs and fishes out a coin to tip the guard.

“Much obliged to you!” the guard says when Mako holds the tip up to the eye-slot, “Hope you have a nice day!” The eye-slot closes.

Mako glowers at Bolin. “You made me tip the guard keeping us captive.”

“Wu wouldn’t made you do it if he wasn’t so busy being mad about the mail,” Bolin points out.

Behind him, Wu is pacing furiously, “HE THINKS HE CAN TURN US OVER TO KUVIRA AND NOT EVEN MONOLOGUE ABOUT IT IN PERSON?! THE NERVE! THE AUDACITY! THAT IMPUDENT, PUSILLANIMOUS TWIT!”

Mako sighs. He reaches over to grab the tea Bolin is grimacing into and add enough milk and sugar to make it palatable. Bolin stares at him like he’s some kind of tea-making sorcerer. Next, Mako takes a bowl of porridge for himself and sets it aside, out of range of Wu’s increasingly stomp-y pacing. He grabs a sweet roll off the tray and approaches his boyfriend (partner? He’ll ask Wu for a clarification on terminology later, when he’s not at risk of knocking over a lamp). He plants himself in the prince’s path and waits. Wu spins around, ready to continuing his offended stomping, and nearly crashes into Mako.

“AND ANOTHER…what are you doing? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You got everything you need from that?” Mako indicates the letter, which is unfolded and crumpled in Wu’s fist.

“Oh, yes. It’s just a list of grievances after the sell-us-to-Kuvira bit and then there’s some pompous jackassery, and then – ”

“Awesome.” Mako snatches it out of his unresisting hand and trades it for a breakfast roll. “Breakfast.”

Wu stares at the roll bemusedly. “Breakfast.”

“Do you want to save this?” Mako holds up the letter. He feels this is a great sign of his own growth and maturity, personally. A few years ago, he would have just torched the thing the way he did those parking tickets when Amon was attacking the Republic City. (He should really contact the traffic division and see about paying those…then again, he did help save the city. Maybe they can count that as community service. He really doesn’t want to pay those fines.).

“Huh?” Wu pauses in staring at the roll like it holds the secrets of the universe to blink at him. “Oh, no, consign it to the fires of whatever.” He flicks a hand dramatically to emphasize the point.

“Neat.” Mako sets the letter on fire and lets it fall, stomping out the ashes when they hit the floor. “Eat your breakfast.”

“Then are we breaking out?” Bolin asks around a spoonful of porridge.

“You need to stay for anything?” Mako asks Wu.

“No,” Wu sighs, “I was hoping for an audience with the new King to plead my case, but according to that,” he glowers disdainfully at the smoldering ashes, “Shu is doing this behind the new king’s back, probably to undermine them and set up a separate peace with Kuvira, which won’t stop her conquering this place, but will make the city stupid enough to think they’re safe from her…” Wu waves a hand, “We should get out while we can.”

Bolin glances at his half-full bowl, then back at Mako and Wu, “After breakfast? Free food is free food.”

Mako and Wu trade looks. Free food is free food.

“Obviously Shu isn’t on that much of a time crunch,” Wu huffs, “Sending his evil monologue by post. Stage villains are more entertaining.”

“Eat your breakfast, then we’re breaking out,” Mako decides.

Bolin grins and goes for seconds.

…

Breaking out after all that feels a little anticlimactic. No one even chases them. Bolin just bends the door back into place and they just…leave.

“Shu must have kept our capture completely hush-hush,” Wu says as they walk undisturbed through the halls. “Greedy little upstart probably wanted to keep all the rewards to himself.”

Wu seems to have cycled through outrage and settled on amused condescension.

They’re painfully close to escaping unscathed when they run into good old Guardsman Shu, who sees them, squeaks, and claps a hand over his eyes. “You! Uh, I have to chase you now. Being as you’re escapees. But you tip really well, and technically Councilman Wen didn’t specify that I have to specifically keep you in the cell…”

Mako really doesn’t want to be here for this guy’s ethics crisis.

“So, here’s what I’ll do,” Guardsman Shu says reasonably, “I’ll see you in a couple minutes and chase you then.” He takes his hand away from his eyes to wink, then puts the hand back in place, “Ahem. So, if you get enough of a head start…and turn right at the end of the hall and go straight to the mail room, you might just escape through the mail chutes.”

They all look at each other, look at Guardsman Shu, who still has his hand over his eyes, turn and run towards the mail room.

…

The Omashu delivery system is an architectural marvel, an unrivaled feat of ingenuity, the perfect marriage of bending and engineering.

Mako hates it with a burning passion.

The three of them skid into the mail room, unsure how soon Guardsman Shu will be on their tails (“See, this is why you tip, Mako!” Bolin yells in Mako’s ear as they tumble through the door), cram themselves into a single cart, brace themselves and then Bolin is earth bending them out of the frying pan and into the fire. They fly out of the window and down the chute with a jolt and a shriek of stone-against-stone (and also Bolin-right-in-Mako’s-ear).

The city blurs around them, a smear of golden stone and green tiled roofs. They blur past fountains and market squares and statues of Flopsie (“King Bumi commissioned 26 of those statues and was unsatisfied with all of them – ack!” Wu yells into Mako’s ear as they blur past, nearly swallowing a bug in the process, “- the twenty-seventh was made by Avatar Aang and it’s on display to this day!”). They nearly fly off the track twice and Mako’s heart nearly stops both times. Bolin is screaming, Wu is alternating between shrieking, laughing, and shouting commentary about the landmarks (still a better tour than stupid Shu’s). Mako is digging his fingers into the sides of the cart and begging the spirits for it all to stop.

They almost come to a safe, normal halt at the postal checkpoint closest to the gates. Almost.

Instead, they blast through a wooden barricade – the shattered remnants of the boundary falling into Mako’s lap, where he reads ‘Caution – construction ahead’ just in time for Bolin to emergency earth-bend a f*cking ramp into the track, launching them straight into the air.

Mako gives up on composure and yells every curse word he can think of, and then a few repeats for good measure.

They’re airborne for some of the worst few seconds of Mako’s life. Jumping off of planes? Fine. Throwing lightning out of a moving car with Asami at the wheel? Okay. Jumping on a dragon and fleeing a war zone? Great. FLYING THROUGH THE AIR IN A STONE CART WITH NO ONE IN CONTROL AND GRAVITY NOWHERE NEAR ‘ON THEIR SIDE’? NO f*ckING THANK YOU.

Bolin bends them a corresponding ramp on the other side of the track, and they crash down onto it just in time to hear the construction workers shout and swear at them, and then they’re skidding off the track, because Bolin has taken them OFF ROAD FOR SOME REASON and they’re careening through a market square, upsetting merchants and shoppers left and right.

“Sorry, sorry, pardon us, coming through!” Bolin shouts as cabbages and fruit fly.

“f*ck-sh*t-BOLIN-PEDESTRIANS!” Mako shouts in his brother’s ear as their cart shrieks across the very historical paving stones.

Between Bolin’s earth bending and sheer, horrifying momentum, they manage to crash past a city block, hit a curb at just the wrong angle, and tumble out of the cart and straight into gate guard Padma’s - returning from her break and wondering what all the commotion is about – feet. She jumps, tea sloshing over her sleeve as she stares down at them. The woman next to her, a different guard than the one from yesterday, frowns down at the groaning pile of humanity in front of them.

“Pads, is that the guy from the Nuktuk movers?”

“Hi there,” Bolin tries, “We, uh, took a wrong turn.”

Padma swallows her remaining tea in one long gulp. “Hold my cup?” she asks her friend.

“Uh, sure.”

“Thanks. Okay, boys,” Padma folds her arms, “I feel like you’re running away from something.”

“Familial obligations, mostly, my lady,” Wu offers her a wobbly smile.

Padma thinks about this, purses her lips, and holds up her hands, “I’ve decided I don’t want to know. Just…get up, I’ll escort you to the gate. I hate to say this, Mr. Bolin, but…”

“Yeah, we won’t be coming back. Or destroying more of your city,” Mako says, helping Wu and Bolin back up to their feet.

“That’s all I ask,” Padma says, “Now, please leave before I get arrested for helping you.”

They leave.

…

Mako,

Tell Wu I’m so sorry his cousin threw you in jail (yes, I can read between the lines, subtle you are not) and that he should feel free to write me if he wants to talk. I know all about relatives letting you down.

The Kyoshi refugees are settling in well; a little too well in some cases! I showed Sokka (Sokka! The man who invented the submarine! A legend!) my workshop and now he barely leaves! He’s put Ikki and Meelo to work as his assistants. It’s equal parts adorable and terrifying. It’s honestly incredible to have someone like-minded to invent with again. I haven’t had someone to bounce ideas off of like this since Dad and…well, we all know how that turned out. See above re: relatives.

The Four Elements almost made a big stink about the refugees living there, but then Toph turned up with LITERAL BAGS FULL OF GOLD and paid for all their rooms for the next year and then some. When Opal asked her where all that gold came from, she just frowned and said “What? Your mother doesn’t bury gold in her backyard? I thought I raised her smarter than that.” So…there’s that. Toph’s financial advice. Bury gold in your yard.

Suki is a spirits-sent miracle worker, I swear. She sat in one meeting with some officials who’d been giving me the runaround on urban infrastructure for weeks and we walked out with a deal and contracts and all the funding we needed. Hands-down the most organized woman I’ve ever met.

If things keep going at this rate, I might actually be able to take a day off someday soon, wouldn’t that be something!

Opal has a letter to Bolin that she’s attaching. I’ve promised not to read it, and to tell you that it goes directly to Bolin, so read at your own risk.

Hello to Wu; maybe someday we’ll meet in person.

Love to all three of you idiots,

Asami

Chapter 22: Return to the Swamp

Chapter Text

Return to the Swamp

Dear Asami,

Did you know that catgators grow continuously, throughout their lives, which can be over 100 years long? I didn’t! And then one tried to eat me.

Weirdly, I miss Toph.

She must never know.

Mako

P.S. Wu sends his love. Also, Bolin has enclosed an extensive reply to Opal. I have not read it because I value my sanity.

P.P.S. Korra sends HER love and also asked me to enclose a letter.

P.P.P.S. Wu offered to pay for the postage, but then he remembered that we’ve managed to lose pretty much all our worldly possessions over the last year and a half so really Azula is paying for postage and we’re probably going to be paying her back over the course of three lifetimes.

1. – something – S. Bolin wants Pabu to know he loves him and thinks of him every day.

…

“So, how exactly are we supposed to find one Avatar in a giant swamp?” Bolin asks as Bai coasts over the dense, green foliage, “Just, uh. That’s one massive swamp.”

“We could divide it into grid sections and comb through systematically?” Mako suggests, but his heart isn’t in it. Rational search patterns fly out the window when the area in question is a haunted swamp.

“No, no, no,” Wu huffs, “You’re assuming Korra is lost in the swamp.”

“Doesn’t everybody get lost in the swamp?” Bolin asks, “Except for swamp benders. And Toph. And Avatar Aang, probably. I guess. But everyone else seems to be lost in the swamp when they visit it.”

Wu sniffs, “I wasn’t lost, I was sleep walking.”

Mako pinches him, “Not everything is about you.”

“In my defense, as royalty, most of the time, it is about me,” Wu says blithely, “Anywho, there’s a giant tree in the middle, I vote we head for that.”

“Why?” Bolin asks.

“Because, if Korra is here on purpose, with the express intent of connecting spiritually to the swamp, why not go straight to the most spiritually powerful location in the swamp?”

“That’s assuming she got there,” Mako points out, “Bo’s right, she could have gotten lost.”

“She’s the Avatar, guided by the moon spirit, Yue! How lost could she be?”

…

Korra is lost.

The last thing Yue said before she faded away with the sunrise was: “Follow where the path takes you, and keep an open mind.” Which, in terms of literal directions was a little lacking, in Korra’s opinion. As far as she can tell, there isn’t even a path to follow!

“I’m trying to keep an open mind here, Yue, but so far I’m coming up a little path-less!” Korra yells into the trees.

The only response is a tiny bird alighting on a branch by her head and producing the most uncannily human-like scream she’s ever heard.

“Gah!” Korra jumps away, sludgy water sloshing around her feet, “Alright, that, that right there is freaky.”

The bird screams again, as if to prove a point.

Korra looks right, looks left, shrugs, and shouts back at it. “Ahhhhhh!”

The bird ruffles its feathers, tips its head to the side, and hops along down the branch until it’s nearly nose to nose with her. It opens its cute little beak and screams back. Korra jumps, even though she was half expecting it, trips over a hidden log and plops to the ground. The bird ruffles its feathers again, this time smugly.

“Jerk,” Korra mutters under her breath.

“You shouldn’t be gettin’ into to screaming matches with the birds, miss,” a stranger’s voice interrupts her squelchy struggle to her feet. It’s surprising enough she almost topples right back over into the mud, but saves herself at the last minute by grabbing onto a low-hanging branch. She whips her hands up, falling into a water bending stance on reflex, and scans the underbrush.

“Who’s there?”

“Shh, you’re gonna scare off Slim with all your hollering and bird-screaming,” another voice hisses.

“Show yourselves,” Korra demands tightly, clenching a fist and letting flame lick around it. “You don’t want to mess with me.”

“A fire bender,” a third, higher-pitched voice says, “Not another one.”

“Aw, we might as well come on out before we give the poor girl a heart attack,” the first voice says. And, to Korra’s astonishment, three figures emerge from the surrounding foliage like walking, talking pieces of greenery. All three are painted head to toe in swirling, organic swamp colors, and wearing hats and cloaks studded with grasses and branches, perfect swamp and forest camouflage.

But then one of them takes off his hat, revealing a round face framed by a hearty gray beard, and thick hair half-falling out of a loose braid. “Hello, there, miss,” he says, revealing himself to be the first voice, “What seems to have brought you here to the foggy swamp?”

“We know why she’s here, Mo,” the higher-pitched voice interjects, whipping off another stick-studded hat to reveal a scowling teenage girl. “She’s another one of them fire benders runnin’ away from Kuvira.”

“This here swamp welcomes everybody, Lu,” Mo says serenely, “Just in different ways. And it seems like we’ve been appointed this lady’s welcomin’ committee.”

Korra, still stiff in her defensive stance, glances back and forth between the trio. “You’re swamp benders.”

“That’s right,” Mo says with a smile, “Mo, Po, and Lu at your service. And who might you be?”

“We’re makin’ too much noise,” Po, who hasn’t taken off the stick-studded hat, complains, “We’re never gonna catch Slim if we’re shouting down the swamp.”

“Slim will get caught when he wants to get caught, same as always,” Mo says.

“Who’s Slim?” Korra asks.

“Catgator,” Lu says, “Big one.”

“And you’re trying to catch him to…” Korra searches her memories for stories about swamp benders that might be relevant to this situation, “eat him?” she guesses.

Lu gives her a look of slack-jawed horror, and Po finally whips off the camouflaged hat, just to point at her and say “You better take that back right now.”

“Slim is an old friend of the swamp benders,” Mo explains.

“He’s our pet,” Lu says, scrunching up her face in revulsion, “Not our dinner. Who raised you?”

“Yeah, who raised you?” Po echoes her. Po doesn’t look much older than Lu, and there’s enough similarities in their facial structure and build that Korra thinks they might be siblings.

“As catgators age, they get big. And housing such a big, ornery friend as Slim is mighty difficult,” Mo explains, “And sometimes Slim gets out.”

“He’s lived with people for goin’ on eighty years,” Lu says, “He don’t know how to be in the outside world,” her face falls. “He’s probably scared.”

Well, Korra feels like a monster now.

“What do you normally do when Slim gets out?” she asks.

“We do what our grandparents always did,” Po says, “We lay traps and we wait to snag him.”

“It’s gotten a sight harder than it was in my day,” Mo says, a smile creasing his face, “And it was a mean feat gettin’ him home all right back then.”

The beginnings of an idea, or maybe a realization, are tickling at the back of Korra’s mind. With a silent ‘I hope this is what you meant, Yue,’ and an itchy, unsettled desire to get away from these strangers, no matter how nice they seem (Korra hasn’t been comfortable with strangers since…since the Red Lotus. Since Zaheer. She doesn’t like strangers; she doesn’t like crowds. Her first visit to a town when she started traveling with Yue was an unmitigated disaster. The minute anyone she doesn’t know talks to her, these days, she wants to light them on fire or disappear. Yue says they’re working on it.). “Well…what if I went looking for Slim? And brought him home?” Yes, this has to be what Yue meant, keeping an open mind, following a path when it opens in front of her.

All three of the swamp benders frown at her. “Uh,” Mo says, uncertainly, “On your lonesome?”

“Yeah,” Korra bristles, and has to force the reaction down. She understands Mako so much better now, these days. She clears her throat, squaring her shoulders, “I’m, uh,” she holds out a hand, calls up a drop of water, a stone, a tiny flame, and a marble-sized ball of wind, and spins them around her palm. “kind of the Avatar.”

“Well, I’ll be buttered, battered, and fried in a skillet,” Mo breathes, “Spirits bless, it’s the Avatar. You know, I met Avatar Aang when I was just a little guy. My daddy, Du, he fought in the war. Spirits, he had so many stories. And then I met Aang and, turns out they were all true! Well, mostly true. Close enough.”

Korra smiles awkwardly, unsure, as ever, what to say when people talk about knowing her past life. It’s even harder now, when she can’t talk to Aang. She feels like she barely got to know him, and he’s part of her. She feels like an imposter talking to his friends, his family, knowing they’ll know him so much better than she ever will. Knowing she isn’t him in the ways that matter.

“So,” Mo carries on, unnoticing her awkwardness, “If the Avatar says she’ll find Slim and bring him home, I believe her.”

“Will you deal with that Kuvira lady next?” Lu asks. She shrugs when Po and Mo look at her, “I mean, if you’re taking requests.”

“Uh, I think I’ll just start with the giant catgator,” Korra says.

“Good idea,” Mo agrees, “And remember, don’t get into any scream-offs with the birds. That’s how you get a whole mess of ‘em following you around screaming their little fluffy heads off.”

“I’ll…try to remember that,” Korra says, wondering what she’s gotten herself into.

…

“Do you hear something?” Bolin asks when they’re directly over the swamp.

“Don’t listen,” Mako says immediately, a knee-jerk reaction, remembering his last foray into the swamp, the voices, the memories. “Whatever you hear. Don’t listen.”

“You didn’t even ask what I heard,” Bolin objects.

“The swamp makes you hear things,” Wu says, unexpectedly, “Awake. Asleep. It makes you hear stuff. Probably better off not giving it a willing ear.” He laughs weakly and Mako wraps an arm around his waist and squeezes. Wu leans back against his chest briefly, accepting the comfort.

“What did you hear?” Bolin asks, a wobble in his voice.

Mako doesn’t want to tell him. Bolin wasn’t there when their parents died. He doesn’t carry their ghosts on his back the way Mako does.

“I heard my great aunt,” Wu says, voice sharp, chipper and blithe the way it is when he’s trying very hard to be alright with something. “She did not have anything constructive or pleasant to say, let me tell you. This is a comments and compliments house only! I only suffer critique from qualified persons and she does not count!”

Mako squeezes Wu’s middle again, a silent ‘are you okay?’. Wu squeezes his hands back in a quiet, ‘I’m all right, don’t fuss, but also keep fussing, I like being fussed over’. Wu’s nonverbal communication’s layers have layers.

“What did you hear, Mako?” Bolin asks because sometimes Bo doesn’t know when to leave well enough alone.

“Bad things.” Mako says, hoping that will be the end of it.

Bolin hesitates, then forges on, “What kind of bad things?”

“Did you know the swamp’s birds sometimes scream like people?” Wu asks, “Because I didn’t, and good golly was I surprised when I learned they do and it is extremely unsettling.”

Bolin thankfully drops it after that.

…

About five minutes into her quest to recapture Slim Korra realizes she really doesn’t have a plan at all and that might be something of a problem. “Great job, Korra, jumping in headfirst with no plan like usual,” she mutters to herself as she trudges, ignoring the voice in the back of her mind sounding suspiciously like Master Katara saying ‘be kind to yourself’. The swamp is damp and huge all around her, pulsing with a squelchy kind of life. Korra pauses in her trudging, leaning against a tree to catch her breath. She’s just so tired these days. Like even her blood is heavy. She tips her head back, letting her skull scrape against the scratchy bark of an ancient tree. The swamp simmers with ambient noise, the air wet and clinging in her lungs, the tiny sounds of millions of little lives thrumming just out of sight, itching on her stunted spiritual awareness.

Yue has been helping her reconnect with the spiritual realm but progress is slow, stilted and painful. There are times when Korra aches to immerse herself in the flow of spiritual energy, sink into it like a warm bath easing all her pains. And there are times when all her insides feel like scabs and scar tissue, hurting and itching and full of repulsion at the thought of anything touching her.

Korra wonders what would happen if she rested a hand on one of these vines and…reached. If she’d see the world in all its layers unfurl like one of the night blooming flowers from Asami’s garden. If she would feel whole again.

The memory of poison seeping into her skin, of the agony of Raava straining to heal her, to help her, the tearing inside her body, her mind, her soul as she fought Raava back, as she tried to sacrifice her body to spare Raava from Zaheer. The agony of failure, the terrifying rush of Raava roaring to the surface, of becoming something Else, something Beyond herself, of shattering to a million pieces inside her own body as her flesh fought on. Of coming back to herself empty, hollow, missing pieces. A leaking vessel that once was whole and full.

She’s putting herself back together. She’s had help. Her parents. Master Katara. Asami. Yue. Mako and Bolin, wherever they are. Tenzin, Pema and their family. Lin. Even Opal, who barely knows her, has reached out. She’s finding her pieces and sealing the cracks. But it’s slow and she hates it sometimes and it’s all too easy to feel disgusted with herself, revolted by the splintered mass of herself stuffed into what looks like her body but doesn’t feel like her. She wants to scream at people sometimes, “You think I’m fine? You think I’m okay? I’m coming apart in pieces, can’t you tell? How are you so blind?” But she doesn’t. Because Master Katara says to be kind to yourself, even when you don’t think you deserve it.

But all this self-pity won’t help her find Slim and she promised the swamp benders she would, so by Raava she’s going to do her best. An Avatar is only as good as her word.

Korra pushes herself fully to her feet and looks around, taking in the swamp and considering. Where would a catgator go? Would he go looking for other catgators? She doesn’t think so, catgators aren’t particularly social creatures and he has plenty of companionship from the swamp bender community. Would he go looking for food? No, why would he do that, the swamp benders feed him plenty. So why would he leave at all?

Korra thinks back to when Naga was a puppy. There were times when she would go running off for no reason, weren’t there? She’d see something or smell something and go chasing after it – not unlike Korra herself in her early days in Republic City, she realizes with some chagrin.

That must be it, Slim must be bored.

So, what would draw an elderly catgator’s attention? Korra listens to the hum of the swamp all around her, thinks about the stories Master Katara told about her and Aang’s adventures in the Foggy Swamp.

The Tree. The one in the center of everything. Surely an animal as old as Slim would be sensitive to the spiritual resonance of The Tree. Korra, even with her spiritual senses still healing, can feel the call of The Tree. Like a heartbeat thrumming through everything around her, making ever color brighter, every sound fuller.

And if she can hear it, why couldn’t Slim hear her through it? Could she call him? She reaches for a vine, resting a hand on its strangely papery bark, and stretches out with her spirit. She’s hesitant at first, unsure of her metaphorical footing, but Yue has been helping her coax her spiritual senses back open a little at a time and maybe, just maybe this will work. Slowly, almost shyly, she dips into the pool of energy at her center, brings it up to the surface, pushes it into the vine, and…

KA-BOOM.

The explosion isn’t so much a sound as it is a bone-jellifying, brain-soupifying, soul-squelchifying feeling. It throws Korra off her feet and across the clearing to splat into the mud, the air around her vibrating with the aftershocks like a struck gong. Birds take flight, the water ripples with a surge of fish and other aquatic creatures thrashing their way to anywhere but here, the trees themselves seem to waver like a heat mirage. Korra blinks stars out of her eyes to see…nothing is scorched. Nothing is burned. The swamp is untouched. The explosion was…just a sound? Just a feeling? Just a… a what, exactly? Her jaw has dropped open, ready to say something in response to whatever that was when a flailing, screaming human form comes crashing down from the canopy above her head. Whoever it is, is caught briefly by a particularly gnarled tree limb, pausing in their descent for a breathless moment as their shirt slowly, with the high drama of a stage special effect, tears with a theatrical, creaking rip and they’re back to hurtling to the ground in a tangle of thrashing limbs.

Korra, coming back to herself slowly and then all at once, throws herself to her feet, arms out to catch whoever it is because, no matter how strange a human falling out of a swampy jungle canopy is, no one deserves to fall face first into the mud, most likely breaking several bones in the process. She scrambles for where she estimates the figure most likely to hit ground and braces herself for impact.

Even rooted like an earth bender, Korra is abruptly reminded that she is absolutely not back to fighting form yet as the falling person takes them both to the ground in a heap of limbs and groaning. All the air is abruptly punched out of Korra’s lungs and she and the stranger hit the mud and lay there wheezing and whimpering.

“Hey,” Korra gasps around the bad-decisions-shaped bruise on her sternum, “You alive over there?”

“My hair and dignity may never recover,” a strange voice whines, “but I am still breathing. Mako will be so proud.”

Korra has a weird moment where she wonders if they know the same Mako before she dismisses it as astronomically unlikely.

“So, uh,” Korra groans her way towards contemplating sitting upright, but ultimately stays in the mud. She’s staring at the tiny sliver of sky she can catch between the tree branches. It’s nice. “You normally fall out of the sky into strangers’ arms?”

“This is a first,” the stranger wheezes, a squelching noise indicating he might be doing more than contemplating sitting upright. “Although I fell off a mountain in someone’s arms once. That wasn’t nearly as glamourous as it sounds, by the way. And was also very hard on my hair.” Muddy footsteps indicate the stranger’s approach and a narrow, brown-skinned face appears above Korra’s, cutting off her view of that patch of sky.

“Well, I’ll be tucked in a teapot and carried through eternity, I’ve found the Avatar!” chirps the stranger, “Hello, Korra, nice to meet you! I’ve heard so much about you, we’re going to be very great friends.”

Korra’s stomach started sinking at the first mention of finding the Avatar and it just keeps going at the way this stranger is using her first name like they know each other or something. She finds it in herself to shove her way to a seated position, forcing the stranger to back up. He bounces back on his heels and grins widely at her. Korra’s irritation only grows.

“And who are you?” she snaps.

“I,” a flourish-heavy hand-gesture sweeping into a flourish-heavy bow made slightly ridiculous by the sheer quantity of mud crusting his clothes, “Am Prince Wu Hou-Ting of the Hou-Ting Dynasty, first of my name, King-in-Waiting of the Venerable and Glorious Earth Empire – ”

“Cool, hi,” Korra cuts him off before he can get too deep into titles. She knows from listening to Eska and Desna that those can go for hours, “What are you doing in a swamp?”

Wu’s smile, if anything, grows wider, “Why, looking for you, of course!”

Korra stares at him, her mind a complete blank. “Um.”

Wu nods cheerily as if this is a completely normal thing for someone, much less a prince to say.

“Is this…is this like a Zuko thing?” Korra blurts. “Is there like a…a requirement somewhere that every Avatar has to have a prince chasing them?”

Wu blinks “Not as far as I know, but as soon as I’m king I’ll look it up.”

Korra just nods, too bewildered and possibly concussed to argue.

…

Mako is falling. Mako is falling and Bolin is screaming and Mako’s lost sight of Wu. The air is roaring in his ears, or maybe that’s Bai trying to catch them after that blast of spirit energy (it has to be spirit energy, right? Mako has limited experience with the spirit world, but just enough to tell him that whatever that was wasn’t a naturally-occurring phenomenon) knocked all three of them out of the saddle. Mako struggles to get his bearings, twisting around in the air, blasting out fire jets in a vain attempt to level himself out and sees Bolin dropping like a stone. (But no Wu, where is Wu, WHERE IS WU? Mako can’t lose him again, he CAN’T. Not after last time.)

But Mako has less than a second to think and he can’t see Wu, but he can see Bolin. He pours power into the fire jets at his feet and launches himself at his brother, grabbing him around his twisting, thrashing middle and using all the fire in him to slow them down, level them off.

“BOLIN, STOP STRUGGLING!” Mako barks.

“MAKO, WE’RE GOING DOWN!” Bolin shrieks.

“I NOTICED!” Mako roars back.

They continue to fall. The swamp rushes forward to greet them, a semi-hostile mass of green. Mako can already feel the whispers creeping in along the edges of his mind, or maybe that’s just the screaming in his head, the little voice demanding to know how could he, how could he let Wu fall? The air heats around them as Mako tries to slow their descent through fire and will power alone.

It’s not going very well.

“MAKO, LEMME USE MY ARMS!” Bolin yells in his ear, squirming two hands loose to gesture at the ground. The green ripples as Bolin pulls a ramp into existence and Mako has less than a second to brace for impact before they’re skidding down the most painful water slide Mako has ever encountered. Their clothes and limbs snag on every single tree root Bolin’s hasty earth-bending brough along for the ride. Mako can feel the collage of bruises forming on his back as his spine finds every single rock between him and the grown. Muddy water flares up in a curtain of brownish green around them, and multiple displaced fish slam into Mako’s face, no matter how he tries to shield his eyes. There’s algae in Mako’s hair and moss in his ears. He has the strange thought of “I’m never going to feel clean again” before they’re abruptly skidding out, off the ramp, and into an unexpectedly shallow pool of reedy, muddy water.

They come to a limp, soggy, miserably bruises halt in a tangle of limbs. Whatever they landed on bobs precariously, and Bolin reflexively clings to Mako, who’s forced to cling to what he sincerely hopes is a particularly slimy log and not…a corpse of something. Mako doesn’t know much about catgators but he knows they live in swamps and they often like their meals putrid.

“Well, that could’ve been a lot worse,” Bolin exhales.

Mako is temporarily speechless.

“I mean,” Bolin continues, possibly, when he sees the look on Mako’s face, “At least we have our health!” He laughs awkwardly, “Because…uh…we could be dead?”

Mako is pretty sure one of his eyes is twitching, but he keeps his voice level, “Wu is missing. All of our supplies are up there, with the dragon. We are lost in an abysmal nightmare swamp.” Mako didn’t audibly emphasize words this much before he started spending time with Wu. He’s not sure if this is character development or decline on his part.

“Buuuut, at least we have each other?” Bolin offers weakly.

Mako is teetering on the brink of exploding or deflating into the most aching, angry, anxious, monosyllabic version of himself, when the ramp Bolin hastily bent out of the swamp floor (leaving a huge tract of mud and silt exposed to the elements like some great creature scraped it out with its claw, underneath it) begins to creak ominously.

“That’s not a good sound,” Mako says.

“That’s really not a good sound,” Bolin agrees.

They scramble to their feet and run for it along the log – Mako hopes it’s a log, it seems to be a log, after all, what dead thing could possibly be this long other than a tree? – kicking up splashes of muddy water in their wake as Bolin’s ramp creaks, teeters, and crumbles with a massive, echoing crash.

The world shivers around them, Mako grabs for Bolin and holds him steady when his brother nearly goes flying, and then – nothing. For a strange, still second, there is absolutely nothing. The swamp falls into pure, stunned silence around them as the remains of Bolin’s ramp (slightly singed, Mako realizes, by Mako’s hasty attempts to slow their descent with fire bending) sink slowly into the mud. The only sound for that frozen second is the rasp of Mako and Bolin’s panicked breathing in the stillness.

And then the world slides out from under them all over again. The log, or the thing Mako was hoping was a log, begins to shift, to pull forward. Bolin, who had been in the middle of standing up, topples over again, Mako barely catching him by the back of his tattered shirt before he faceplants into the water.

Mako looks towards where the log is moving and sees… “GO, GO, GO,” he surges to his feet, grabbing Bolin and yanking him along after him.

“Wha- huh?” Bolin asks, head swiveling back and forth until his gaze lands on what Mako saw. “OH NO, OH NO, OH NO, MAKO THAT’S – ”

“LESS TALKING, MORE RUNNING,” Mako yells back. He’s half-hauling Bolin behind him as slowly, inexorably, a catgator the size of Bai raises its head from the muddy depths. A catgator they’ve been sitting, standing and now running on. A catgator that is yawning enormously and eyeing them suspiciously. Mako can feel its muscles pulling and bunching under his feet and has no interest in finding out how sharp the teeth glittering beneath its whiskers are.

“On three, we jump for that clump of trees,” Mako says.

“WHAT?” Bolin asks.

“One, two, THREE!” Mako yells, jumping and thanking every spirit he can think of that Bolin jumps with him. They land awkwardly on the exposed tree roots. Behind them, Mako can hear the roaring splash of a catgator missing its’ lunge for them. “Keep going,” he tells Bolin unnecessarily. They scramble over tree roots the way they used to scramble over rooftops in Republic City. Mako can hear the catgator’s rumbling growl behind them like the roar of Zolt’s tricked-out Satomobile’s engine. He always had to have the loudest auto on the block. Said he wanted his enemies to hear him coming. Which sounded cool to eleven-year-old Mako. Twenty-one-year-old Mako is less than impressed.

Mako’s not sure how long they race across the roots as they arc and twist in complex bridges and structures, the catgator splashing and growling behind him. All that matters is Bolin in his peripheral vision and running.

…

“So…” Prince Wu says into the silence as they walk onward, towards the tree. Korra’s failed attempt at calling Slim through the spirit vines notwithstanding, she still thinks the tree at the heart of the swamp is a good bet for finding the catgator. Or, at the very least, getting a better vantage point, or perspective, or spiritual aid, or something for looking for the catgator.

“So?” Korra asks when it sounds like the prince isn’t going to finish the sentence.

“Oh, I’m just not sure what to say here. Imagine that, me, lost for words. Mako will die of shock.”

“We don’t…have to talk?” Korra offers.

“But what a waste of potential conversation that would be,” the prince says, “I’ve been wanting to meet you so badly for so long, after all. Earth Kings historically have wonderful relationships with Avatars and I do want to do the old bloodline proud.”

“Uh…” Korra stares at him. Does he…does he not know? “Your aunt kind of tried to have me arrested. A lot.”

“Pish,” the prince flaps a hand at her, “She does that to everyone. She locked me in my rooms near-constantly as a child.”

“That’s – ”

“Besides the point, I agree,” Wu cuts in with the inexorability of a forced subject change.

“I was going to say ‘horrible’.”

Wu carries on as if they’re having a completely different conversation than the one Korra thought they were, “It’s just the way she was. Horrible. Oh. Perhaps we were going to say the same thing. Never mind. My great-aunt is not emblematic of all Earth Kingdom rulers. She is, in fact, an outlier and should not have been counted.”

Korra isn’t sure how to respond to that so she just lets the prince keep talking.

“Now, Mako and Bolin and, of course, the lovely Asami Sato, have told me all about you, but they’re biased. So, I’m all ears. Tell me about yourself, Avatar Korra.”

“You know Asami Sato? And Mako? And Bolin? My Asami Sato?”

The prince blinks at her, “Is there another Asami Sato?”

Korra blusters, “Well, no, not that I know of? But. There could be?”

“Having only ever met the lady via letter, I can assuredly say there is no one quite like Asami Sato,” the prince says definitively and Korra feels a strange, sharp bite of jealousy that she does her level best to repress. “But I digress. I was asking about you! Tell me all about Avatar Korra.”

“Uh, I’m really nothing special.” Korra says, itching and uncomfortable under his scrutiny, “I’m just…” a washed up, has-been Avatar at barely twenty?

“You are yourself and that’s something special, wouldn’t you say?” the prince says with a little smile, “Mako speaks very highly of you, you know.”

“I have no idea why,” Korra mumbles, “I broke him and Asami up, then I broke up with him, and then I broke them up again.” She jerks back, startled, when a glob of mud splats against her cheek. She looks over, offended, to see the prince frowning at her. “What was that for?”

“Self-deprecation does not suit you, Avatar Korra,” the prince says firmly, wiping the mud off his hands with a handkerchief. “It seems like you’ve been wallowing in your own thoughts and self-recriminations alone for far too long,” he snaps the handkerchief for emphasis before tucking it away. “Now, I don’t know about you, but I’m having something of a trying day. I’ve fallen from a great height, I’m separated from my traveling companions, I’m lost in a hallucination-inducing swamp, there is almost certainly mud seeping in my shoes and Mako is almost certainly going to tell me ‘I told you so’ the minute I complain about it. So. I’m going to stay positive!” he claps his hands together, “And do you know what turns my frown upside down?”

Korra stares at him, completely bewildered, and still wanting to know if and how he knows the same Mako she does. “No?”

“Song,” Wu declares, “so we are going to sing a happy song and march through swamp cheerfully if it’s the last thing we do.”

And without further introduction or explanation, Prince Wu Hou-Ting launches into an ear-splitting rendition of ‘Secret Tunnel’.

“How did he know this was my favorite song?” Korra mutters to herself.

Wu looks at her, “Well come on, now, join in.”

And, without any other idea for how to pass the time, Korra joins in.

…

“Do you think…” Bolin wheezes, “…we outran…it?”

Mako groans and slumps against a tree, “Spirits, I hope so.”

“So…” Bolin pants, “what now?’

Mako doesn’t know. Mako doesn’t know and that terrifies him. He doesn’t know where they are, he doesn’t know where Wu is, he doesn’t know how they’re going to get back to the dragon, and he certainly doesn’t know how to find Korra.

“We have to find Wu. Then we get back to Bai and we find Korra,” Mako says.

“Uh, how are we supposed to do…any of that?” Bolin asks.

Mako grits his teeth. “I don’t know,” he admits quietly, through clenched teeth, and it feels like the failure it is.

“Hey,” Bolin seems to catch on to the tension simmering in the air around them for the first time, “It’s okay, we’ll come up with a plan.”

“I lost him, Bo,” Mako says. There’s something coming to a rolling boil inside him. There’s something screaming at him that he can’t let Wu out of his sight because who knows what will happen to him if he looks away for one second. It was alright in the Dragon Sanctuary, Mako had it under control there, they were moderately safe there, but here it’s getting harder and harder to breathe when he can’t look at Wu and see that he’s in one piece. It was like this with Bolin when they were kids. It was like this with Korra after she was kidnapped the first time. The persistent thought that if he so much as blinks, terrible things will happen to the people he loves.

“We’ll figure it out,” Bolin says bracingly, “We always figure it out.”

And suddenly Mako is exhausted and angry and a million things he can’t define but mostly he’s just empty, “No, Bolin. I always figure it out,” he says, “I always have.”

The words sit heavy in between them and Bolin’s face is a crumpled, conflicted thing. “What are you saying?”

“Nothing,” Mako sighs. “Nothing at all.”

“No, you’re saying something. What do you mean, Mako? Are you saying I don’t pull my own weight? Because I was right there beside you every day in the arena, and on the streets! We were a team!”

Mako doesn’t want to fight about this. Mako’s spent his whole life fighting to exist and he just doesn’t have it in him to fight a preventable battle. “Come on, Bo. Let’s head for the tree in the middle of the swamp. Maybe Bai can land there.”

“No, I think we need to talk about this,” Bolin insists.

“Well, I don’t,” Mako says bluntly, “I really don’t. We never have before and that’s been fine by me.” Bolin opens his mouth to protest and Mako cuts him off, “I have a lot on my plate at the moment. My boyfriend is missing, possibly hurt, definitely vulnerable, and every time we’ve been separated thus far has gone really f*cking badly for one or both of us. We’re standing in a swamp that’s just tried to kill us, and we don’t know when it’s going to try again. We have no food, supplies, or transportation. I am this close to losing my sh*t, so, forgive me if I don’t want to rehash the ways our childhood f*cked me up.”

Bolin’s brows pull together even further, “Boyfriend? You’re dating Wu?”

“That’s what you got from that?!” Mako blurts.

“Well, yeah, I’m a little shocked my brother didn’t inform me of A MAJOR DEVELOPMENT in his love life!” Bolin snaps back.

Distantly, they hear another rumbling growl. The water at their feet begins to tremble.

“We can fight about this later,” Mako says.

“Yep, yep,” Bolin agrees, “running for our lives now.”

…

Elsewhere in the swamp, Korra is feeling the best she’s felt in days, hollering “SECRET TUNNEL! SECRET TUNNELLLLLL!” into the wilderness with a slightly tone-deaf prince.

“You know, this song is really better with instruments,” the prince muses, “We met these traveling musicians once and their version of ‘Secret Tunnel’ was deliriously good. Or perhaps I was just delirious. I’m not convinced there wasn’t cactus juice involved in that escapade.”

“It’s okay,” Korra giggles, “we can just sing louder to compensate.”

The prince beams at her, “What a delightful idea, Avatar Korra.”
“SECRET TUNNEL! SECRET TUNNELLLLLL!”

…

“You’re dating royalty and you didn’t tell me?” Bolin yells as they once again flee for their lives.

“I was waiting for the right time!” Mako yells back.

“What about ‘running for our lives’ screams ‘right time’ to you?!” Bolin shrieks as he nearly topples off a log and into a pool of indeterminate depths. Mako catches him just in time and steadies him.

“I was stressed! This was not how I planned for this conversation to go!” Behind them, the catgator roars.

“So when I’m dating royalty I’m ‘ruining my life’ but when you do it, it’s fine?!” Bolin complains.

“You got engaged after less than a week! To Eska! Who treated you like garbage! That is not the same thing!”

The catgator is gaining on them. It lunges forward, snapping its jaws, both brothers barely jumping free of its teeth.

“How long has this been going on?” Bolin asks, throwing up a wall of mud and rocks between them and the catgator.

“Since the prison break,” Mako hurls a fistful of fire towards the catgator’s eyes, dazzling its vision and making it rear back.

Bolin shoots Mako a tragic look, “You’ve been sneaking around behind my back all this time?”

“What, no, I mean, not really? We didn’t really define terms until really recently…” Mako hedges.

“Did you think I wouldn’t be accepting?” Bolin says, pulling mud up from the depths to coat the catgator and slow its charge, eyes big and full of concern, “Because I like Wu, and I just want you to be happy, even if he is a prince and our historic track record vis-à-vis royalty is, uh, less than great."

They put some distance between themselves and the enraged catgator, scrambling up and over a massive tangle of roots to stand at the top together and cat their breaths.

“I know,” Mako pants. He and Bolin stand sort of slumped together like they’re holding each other upright. “I know, Bolin. I just…it took us a little bit to figure it out and I didn’t know how to tell you…I know you know some of what happened to us because Wu is, uh, a dedicated storyteller. But.” Mako grimaces, swallows, forces himself to meet his brother’s eyes, “A lot of sh*t happened to us the last year or so. Just. There’s so much I can’t even begin to explain and I didn’t know…I didn’t know how to make any of it make sense.”

“It doesn’t all have to make sense, Mako,” Bolin says, “It doesn’t all have to be perfect. I just… I just want to know about your life. No explanations needed.”

Mako gives him a tiny smile and Bolin gives him one back, twice as big and twice as bright.

“I’m sorry for what I said, earlier,” Mako says, “about always being the one to solve our problems.” He was right, and there really is a lot that needs to be unpacked and dealt with there, but not by Bolin. Bolin doesn’t need to carry that. It’s Mako’s baggage to shoulder and Mako’s responsibility to sort through it before it crushes him.

“Well, if you solve the catgator one for me, we’re even. Because I have no idea what to do about that guy,” Bolin points to where the catgator lurks on the edge of the tangle of roots they’re standing on, staring them down.

“Funny,” Mako says, “Me neither.”

…

Three more rounds of ‘Secret Tunnel’ later and Korra is feeling a little bit better about life in general. She makes sure to tell the prince this because she’s willing to admit when she’s wrong.

“Music is good for the soul,” the prince opines, “Ask anyone.”

“I absolutely agree,” a nearby clump of vines concurs and they both shriek embarrassingly childlike shrieks and whirl around to stare as what Korra thought was a pillar of vines coalesces into…a pillar of vines?

“Are you a spirit?” the prince asks.

Korra can’t sense any spirit energy from the vines. She wracks her brains, trying to remember everything Katara ever told her about the Foggy Swamp. No, it can’t be… “Master Huu?” she asks incredulously.

The prince’s eyes light up, “The enlightened master?” he bounces on his toes, “I’ve always wanted to meet you!”

“Are you…” Korra pauses, unsure how to phrase her question, “Uh, are we still in the human world?”

The pillar of vines peels open to reveal a scruffy older man with kind eyes, “Yes, yes, we are. As I told young Avatar Aang, I reached enlightenment many, many years ago. And now that the doors to the spirit world are open again, I come and go between the mortal and spirit realms pretty much whenever I please.”

“Wow,” Korra says, “It’s, uh, an honor to meet you, sir.” The prince is practically vibrating out of his skin with excitement beside her.

“Hello, yes, I’m Prince Wu Hou-Ting, king in waiting of the Earth Kingdom, it’s such an honor to meet you, I’ve read all the stories about you and I have so many questions and Master Toph wouldn’t answer any of them.”

Huu laughs, “I’d be happy to chat with you two youngsters. But first, the swamp tells me that Slim’s been up to his usual tricks. Would you two be up for mounting a rescue mission with me? I hear Slim’s got two newcomers cornered and if he’s feeling feisty, he’ll have them treed all night.”

“How -?” Korra begins to ask only for Huu to extend two thick limbs of vines for them to perch on as the pillar seals itself up again. Korra and Wu scramble into position and they begin to move.

…

“So, are we good?” Bolin asks.

Mako stares at him, “Yeah, Bo, we’re always good.” He pauses, “Unless…”

“No, we’re good,” Bolin says, “We’re good in my book, too.”

Mako throws an arm around his shoulders and ruffles his hair. Bolin doesn’t even protest.

“At least we’re being held hostage by a giant catgator together,” Bolin says, “Can you imagine how boring it’d be being held hostage by a giant catgator without anyone to talk to?”

…

Korra looks over at the prince, “You’re taking all of this surprisingly well.”

“Would it surprise you if I said this wasn’t the strangest thing to happen to me in this swamp?” the prince says.

Korra shakes her head, “Not in the slightest.”

…

Mako is already mentally mapping out how to make the snacks Bolin almost certainly has stashed in his pockets last the longest when with, a rumble and an ominous ripple across the stagnant swamp water, a pillar of vines bursts into view, rapidly ensconcing the giant catgator in tendrils of green.

“Raava in a f*cking teapot!” Mako blurts, jerking back, fire flaring to life at his fist. He moves to stand in front of Bolin, feet planted, blue licking at the edges of his flames.

The vines don’t seem to be hurting the catgator, though, curling around the beast in almost a friendly manner, gently pulling it away from the tangle of roots Mako and Bolin stand on almost like a Pema handling an unruly flying lemur.

“Hey,” Bolin says, “There’s people on the vine monster. HEY! HEY YOU!” He jumps out from behind Mako, dropping his ready stance to jump up and down and wave his arms like a lunatic. “HEEEEELLOOOO FRIENDLY VINE CREATURE AND FRIENDS! WE’RE OVER HERE!”

“Bolin,” Mako hisses, “What if it’s not friendly?”

Bolin shrugs, “Then we fight it.”

“Because we’ve been so successful at fighting things in this swamp?”

Bolin blinks, “You know, you have a point there.”
“You’re just now realizing that?!”

The vine creature is eeling towards them while still maintaining a gentle grip on the catgator, sliding over the tangled roots with uncanny ease. Mako wonders if they’re about to meet some new spirit they haven’t encountered yet. He’s braced for yet another round of fight or flight when the figures perched on the ‘shoulders’ of the vine-creature come into view.

“Is that - ?” breathes Bolin.

“Wu,” Mako sighs with relief.

“Wow, you really have a single-minded kind of focus when you like someone, huh?” Bolin mutters.
“Shut up, I noticed Korra too,” Mako mutters back, still drinking in the sight of Wu, slightly scratched and tattered, but whole and alive and beaming. Korra beside him looks good, leagues better than she did when he last laid eyes on her. Her eyes are bright, even with their dark circles and she’s gazing at the world with the same sharp interest she always used to.

Wu’s spotted them and is waving his arms and calling out to them. Mako, sensing an oncoming bout of recklessness, rushes forward just in time to catch Wu when the prince launches himself off his perch, shouting, “Mako! Mako I was so worried! And Bolin! Bolin’s here too!”

Wu lands in Mako’s arms, warm and sharp-boned and squirming as he tries to keep babbling and gesticulating. Mako staggers back slightly as Wu thuds into his chest, but holds his ground and holds his prince.

“Mako, Mako you aren’t saying anything,” Wu wriggles around until he can crane his neck back to stare into Mako’s face. A little crease appears between Wu’s eyebrows as he stares up at him. “What’s that expression, I’m not sure I like it.”

“You’re okay,” Mako says.

“Of course I am!” Wu huffs, “You think a fall from a great height is enough to kill a Hou-Ting? We’re made of sterner stuff!” Wu frowns at him, “now’s your turn to make a joke about how spoiled I am. Go on, it’s your line.”

“No,” Mako says, almost surprising himself. “I don’t think I will.”

“Now you’re just being contrary.”

“No,” Mako says, enjoying the huffy little frown creasing Wu’s face despite himself, “I’m just very, very happy you’re alive.”

“Oh,” Wu blinks, “Well, yes. That’s. Yes.” He reaches up with one hand, a gesture made slightly difficult by the fact that Mako hasn’t let him go, and brushes his fingers across Mako’s scarred cheek. “I’m very happy you’re alive too.” The prince cuts his gaze over to where Korra is climbing down from the vine-creature, then over to Bolin. “I realize it’s hardly appropriate given the audience, but I’ve had a very trying day and do you think, maybe – ”

“If I kiss you after every near-death experience it’s going to become a habit.” Mako doesn’t know why he suddenly feels so calm, so sure, so comfortable. For once there’s not a voice in the back of his head questioning everything he does, says, or thinks. He is standing in a blissful bubble of serene nonchalance, his boyfriend safe in his arms and his brother and one of his best friends standing nearby. He wants it to last forever.

“Kissing? I should hope so!”
“Near-death experiences.”

“Well, I certainly deserve a little affection after almost dying, that’s just common sense – ”

Mako cuts off the lecture with a kiss. Wu has very few complaints. Behind them, he hears Bolin give a wolf-whistle and Korra whoop, “Get it, Mako!”

…

“So, wait,” Korra says later, around the fire at the swamp benders’ village, a bottle of swamp bender liquor in her hand, “Mako finds you under Ba Sing Se, and then you get lost in the Earth Kingdom for almost two years? Mr. Prepared here didn’t have a map?” she shakes her head at Mako, “What happened to you, man?”

“First of all,” Mako says, chest warm and head buzzing with liquor, stomach full of the first fresh, hot meal they’ve had since Omashu, fingers tangled in Wu’s, “Shut up, Korra. Second of all, I had a map, but someone lost it.”

“Don’t blame me!” Wu whines, cheeks flushed as he slumps against Mako’s shoulder. “It’s my fault, but still. Don’t blame me.”

Korra snorts and Bolin cackles.

“So,” she begins again, once they’ve all stopped giggling long enough to breathe, “What’ve I missed? Really, tell me the story.”

“Oh no,” Mako groans.

“Oh yes,” Bolin and Wu say almost in sync, trading twin looks of utter glee.

“Please, bear in mind, everything you’re about to hear is completely wrong, totally exaggerated – ” Mako begins.

“Shh, darling,” Wu shushes him drunkenly, “It’s story time with Wu and Bolin now.”

Korra grins wickedly at him across the fire and once that look made Mako’s pulse trip but now it just settles something warm in his bones, a friend coming home after a long time away, nothing else.

Wu squeezes his hand and Mako presses a kiss to his fingers and breathes deep and listens as his brother and boyfriend fill the Avatar in on everything she’s missed.

Somewhere, deep in the swamp, Slim the catgator gives a rumbling purr.

…

Dear Mako,

I’m glad the catgator didn’t eat you. I’ve enclosed a letter for Korra from all of us (and me, the postscript is from me, tell her – never mind, she’ll read the letter, what am I saying?). I’ve also enclosed a letter from Opal to Bolin (don’t read it if you value your sanity).

It’s business as usual in Republic City, which is to say, utter chaos. Toph says not to wreck her swamp or she’ll wreck you.

Love from all of us to all of you,

Your friend,

Asami

Chapter 23: Miyuki

Chapter Text

Miyuki

Dear Asami,

Have you ever seen a cat? Not a cat-gator, not a pygmy puma, a cat. Like a pygmy puma but…not a puma. I’m not making sense. We met a cat. Also, we fell down a mountain and Wu and I fell in a pit.

Korra, Bolin, and Wu all send their love.

Eternally confused,

Mako

…

The first hint Mako gets that Korra’s earth bending training with Bolin isn’t going well is the chunk of rock flying towards his head. He drops to the ground on reflex, fire flaring in his fingers as he scans the area for threats, and, finding none, turns his scowl on Bolin and Korra. “Watch it!” he snaps, flames flickering out around his hands, “I’d like my face to stay mostly intact!”

Korra gives an inarticulate groan of rage and the earth shudders around her. Bolin smiles apologetically in Mako’s general direction, “Sorry, bro!”

“I don’t get it!” Korra says, “This used to be easy!”

They’re standing on a mostly-stable island of rock and dirt in the swamp. Bolin had offered to help Korra run through her earth bending forms as, in his words: “A warm-up for their epic avatar adventure! Just like old times!” So far, Korra’s forms have been shaky, her bending sloppy, veering wildly between over and under-powered and only getting messier as she gets more tired and annoyed with herself. The humidity and the mosquito-flies aren’t helping. She and Bolin are both drenched in sweat, Korra’s new, shortened hair sticking to her flushed face as she huffs with effort and frustration. She’s braced her hands on her knees and is panting like she’s just run across the Earth Kingdom and back again.

“I brought water?” Mako says into the tense silence. Wu had offered to do it, but now that Mako can see what’s become of their attempted training session, he’s glad he talked the prince out of it. Wu’s face would not have survived the deadly combination of earth bending shrapnel and his own lack of coordination. And seeing as Mako quite likes Wu’s face, he has a vested interest in keeping it intact.

Korra sighs, her whole body drooping with the exhale.

“Thanks, Mako!” Bolin says with the forced brightness of someone who is pretending Everything Is Fine.

Mako hands over the canteens he’d slung over his shoulder and pointedly Doesn’t Ask. This is him, staying out of Korra’s business, staying in his lane, not pushing.

Korra chugs the water, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand and sitting down heavily on a jut of rock. Her shoulders are slumped, but her brows are pulled together in a scowl. “Nothing’s working right!” she says, “It’s like my body isn’t mine anymore! I hurt all the time and when I don’t hurt, I’m tired and heavy, and I can’t even do basic earth bending right!”

“You’ll get there,” Bolin says, endlessly cheerful as ever, “You just need some practice!”

“What if there’s something wrong with me?” Korra demands, “What if Yue is wrong and Zaheer f*cked me up inside? What if I’m not the Avatar anymore?”

“You’re still the Avatar,” Mako says before he can stop himself, “you don’t just stop being the Avatar.”

Korra laughs bitterly, “I’m the first Avatar to lose their connection to their past lives. I’m the Avatar that ripped open the doors to the spirit world. I was almost the last Avatar. There’s no end to how I can screw this up!” she throws her hands in the air and two chunks of stone dislodge from the ground and shatter into fragments. Bolin, with the reflexes of a pro-bender, whirls the shards away from the three of them to spatter harmlessly against the surface of the swamp.

Korra gestures emphatically and Mako tries not to flinch. Nothing happens, so Mako feels slightly vindicated for not flinching. Then he feels a little silly for feeling vindicated.

“So was Aang,” Mako blurts without thinking it through.

Korra snorts and it sounds a little soggy like she’s trying not to cry. “Avatar Aang was not a screw-up.”

“No, I mean, Aang was almost the last Avatar too,” Mako says. “Azula shot him with lightning while he was in the Avatar state under Ba Sing Se.”

Bolin and Korra are both staring at him.

Mako shrugs uncomfortably. “Wu told me.” That was only part of the story. Wu had told him that tidbit and then pestered him incessantly until Mako caved and asked Azula for her version of the story. Azula responded by kicking his ass at training, then, the following day, telling him the story between lobbing fireballs at his head.

“So,” Mako clears his throat, “You’re not the first Avatar to almost be the last Avatar.”

“And everything worked out great for Aang!” Bolin says cheerfully, “he just had to heal up first! Maybe we should take things slow – ”

Korra stands abruptly, “I don’t want to take things slow! I don’t need to take things slow! I’m good, I’m great, I just need to push through!”

“Korra,” Mako says warningly.

“No, Mako, I’ve got this,” there’s a spark in Korra’s eyes that says that if Mako pushes this, it’ll explode into an inferno that’ll leave them both scorched.

“Ok! Round two!” Bolin cheers, enthusiasm unflagging even as he cuts a glance at Mako, worry in his eyes. “Let’s try some old pro-bending warmups.”

Mako takes that as his cue to leave.

…

“She’s pushing too hard,” Mako says later as he and Wu help with chores in the swamp bender village. They’re in one of the swamp benders’ canoes, setting traps for craw-shrimp. There’s a stack of metal craw-shrimp traps at one end of the canoe and a bucket of bait sitting between them. Mako sets the bait (Wu refuses to touch the raw meat) inside the cage-like traps and passes them to Wu, who, grimacing at the bait, hooks the trap to the trapline and lets it sink into the water. “She’s just going to hurt herself.”

“Hmm,” Wu hums in response.

“It’s reckless! And dangerous!”

“Mmhmm.”

“She’s just going to make it worse!”

“Mmmmhmmm.”

“And she’s what, ‘just going to push through it’? Is she insane?” Mako jams the bait into the trap a bit too hard and the cage nearly snaps shut on his hand. He pulls his fingers free at the last second, swearing under his breath.

“Mako, darling, can I say something?” Wu asks.

“You typically never stop,” Mako shoots him a little fond smile so Wu knows he’s joking.

Wu takes a deep breath, folding his hands delicately in his lap and raising his chin to look Mako straight in the eyes, an uncommonly serious expression on his face. “Mako. My dear, dear, sweet Mako.”

Mako raises an eyebrow at the ‘sweet’ but Wu’s stare keeps him from saying anything out loud.

“Stay out of it, you giant hypocrite,” Wu says, then smiles, “Said with love,” he tacks on at the end, presumably in case Mako takes it personally.

Mako gapes at him. “I – ” he’s not sure what he’s about to say, which is good, because Wu cuts him off quickly.

“Mako, you once tried to keep walking across the Earth Kingdom with a raging fever. You literally collapsed on the dock at Kyoshi Island because you didn’t stop moving long enough to treat your own injuries. You are many things, darling, but the poster child for rest and relaxation and ‘going with the flow’ is not it.” He holds up a hand when Mako goes to cut in, “You’re not wrong. I’m not saying you’re wrong, because you’re probably right. But you can’t be the person to tell Korra these things. Not if you want her to listen instead of picking a fight.” Wu smiles kindly at him. “Sorry, that was harsh.”

Mako actually surprises himself by snorting a laugh, “No, you’re not wrong.”

“No, I’m really not,” Wu beams at him, perking up all over again. “Sometimes the truth hurts, sunshine and all that! I’ve always wanted to be the kind of serious sort of fellow who gives out tough love and real-talk life advice and now I’ve done it!”

“So, is this a new thing for you?” Mako asks dryly.

“Oh, spirits, no. I don’t know how you keep your serious face up all the time. You may look sexy and brooding, but I just look scrunched up and sour and my winsome, boyish charm simply can’t sustain it.”

Mako, despite the worry brewing in the back of his mind, has to laugh at that. Wu, laughing with him, catches his eye and throws him an exaggerated wink, sending them both into new hysterics.

Maybe it will all be okay.

…

“There’s something wrong with me,” Korra declares, slumping on the log across from Mako at the fire that night. Bolin spots the pot of craw-shrimp stew simmering over the fire and immediately ladles out two bowls for himself and one for Korra.

“What makes you say that?” Wu asks neutrally.

Korra shakes her head, “It’s my body, it just feels wrong. I’m so tired all the time, like I’m hauling around an enormous weight. Nothing feels right. And my bending is f*cked.”

Mako opens his mouth, big-brother instincts needling him to say something, do something, fix it, despite the sharp elbow Wu throws into his side, when Huu pops up between Korra and Bolin, straw hat tilted jauntily on his head, a platter of fry bread in one hand. He offers it to them like he didn’t just scare the spirits out of all four of them.

“Fry bread? Anyone? Huh?”

Bolin, always hungry, takes three pieces, balancing them on top of the rim of his second bowl of soup.

“So,” Huu squishes in between Korra and Bolin, settling on the log with the platter in his lap, “I hear you need healing?”

“Uh, yeah,” Korra says, uncharacteristically uncertain in the face of Huu’s frank, open expression.

Huu nods, “We all need a little healing sometimes, in our minds, in our hearts, in our bodies, that’s just part of being alive. And I know just the lady who can help you. Go to the mountains near the old Pohuai Stronghold from the war years. Ask for the Herbalist. Miyuki can help you.”

Korra nods, blinking the rapid blinks of someone who is experiencing many emotions all at once.

“Do you have a map?” Mako asks, wary of any side trips to vague, mostly-unknown locations.

“Nope,” Huu smiles. “You’ll find it, though. If Miyuki wants to be found.”

Mako is tempted to make a sarcastic comment, but Wu’s elbow is very sharp, and Korra’s face is hopeful and Bolin is cheerfully stuffing his face with stew and fry bread, so he just takes a deep breath and swallows whatever remark he might have made.

It’ll be fine. It will be fine. It. Will. Be. Fine.

…

The swamp benders helped them build a new saddle for Bai, one more like the platform saddle the air benders use for the air bison, but with the addition of a roofed shelter at the back to shield them in case of inclement weather. It’s ten times more comfortable than the saddles they had been using, and Bai, although initially skeptical of her new equipment, seems pleased.

Mako is focusing on being grateful for the comforts of the new saddle rather than exasperated as he remembers all over again how aggravating it is to travel with more than one other person.

“COME ON, PEOPLE, WE’RE LOSING DAYLIGHT!” he bellows as Bolin scrambles around, trying to pack every knickknack, trinket, and snack food he’s managed to pick up during their short stay with the swamp benders. Korra groans into her breakfast and glares daggers at Mako when he tries to get her to hurry up. Wu simply emerges from the swamp benders’ guest house, hands Mako his (already packed) bag of new possessions (“What am I, your porter?” “No, you’re my big, strong, *yawn*, luggage-carrying boyfriend”), greets Bai, crawls into the saddle and promptly falls asleep all over again.

“I’m coming, I’m coming, keep your shirt on!” Bolin yells as he runs clear across the camp, searching for something.

“It’s too early,” Korra groans, “Anything scheduled at dawn can afford to wait a few hours.”

Wu lets out a theatrical snore that Mako is 99% sure is faked for dramatic emphasis from Bai’s saddle. Bai chuffs in a way that might be agreeing with Mako’s assessment of his team of lollygaggers, or might be dragon for “why did I come back for you losers? I could have gone home to Azula and been free of this.”.

“Just go wait on the dragon, Mr. Morning Tyrant,” Korra grumbles.

“If I wait on the dragon, Bolin is NEVER GOING TO FINISH PACKING.” Mako replies.

“ALMOST DONE!” Bolin yells back.

Korra yawns into her breakfast and eats, if anything, even slower than she was before. Mako’s head might explode.

…

They set out. Eventually. An hour after Mako planned, but still, they’re in the air and moving and that’s not nothing.

“Do we actually know where we’re going?” Bolin asks for the third time, “Like, is there a map?”

“It’s the mountain beyond the old Pohuai stronghold,” Korra recites, also for the third time. “We land at the fortress and walk up the mountain.”

Mako sighs. This is all a little too vague for his liking. Well. It’s a lot too vague for his liking but he’s trying to be positive, here, and positivity doesn’t have room for his usual skepticism.

“You know, with our new dragon friend and all, somehow I thought we’d be doing less walking,” Wu mutters to Mako, who chokes on a laugh. “Don’t laugh, Mako,” Wu says in an aggrieved undertone, hamming it up for Mako’s benefit, “My delicate, princely constitution isn’t made for this much exertion.”

Mako loses his battle to keep his laughter inside and actually barks a laugh at that. Bolin and Korra both stare at him like he just started reciting poetry or grew a second head. Or grew a second head that started reciting poetry.

“What?” Mako says, feeling scrutinized.

“Nothing,” Bolin says quickly, holding up both hands, “nothing at all.”

“We’re adorable, we know,” Wu says, hooking his chin on Mako’s shoulder and batting his eyelashes.

“Adorably annoying, more like,” Mako grumbles.
“That doesn’t make any sense, buddy.”

“What have I said about calling me ‘buddy’?”

“Mmm, can’t recall.”

“Aaaanyway,” Bolin says, “so we just start walking up the mountain and hope we eventually get where we want to go?”

“Huu sort of implied that we’d find her if she wants to be found?” Korra says.

That does not fill Mako with confidence.

“What if she doesn’t want to be found?” Mako asks.

Korra shrugs, “Huu seemed to think she would.”

“But what if she doesn’t?”

“Okay, I can tell this isn’t going anywhere constructive, so I’m jumping in now and I’m just gonna keep talking until the tension dissipates, okay? Okay. This is me, talking,” Bolin says brightly. “Uh, I’m not really sure what to say here. Um. Anyone know what happened to Pohuai Stronghold after the war? Since we’re going there and all.”

“Oh! It’s a political doozy, let me tell you,” Wu jumps in, “So the stronghold is this old Earth Kingdom fortress, very historic and all that. But it was captured early in the war and the Fire Nation held it for decades. The land’s sort of on the border between the old colonies that became the Republic and traditional Earth Kingdom lands. And the Earth Kingdom did not want to let it go, believe me. But they also didn’t know what to do with it either. And the people living there had all kinds of mixed feelings about everything because the Earth Kingdom citizens sort of felt like the Kingdom abandoned them to occupation early in the war, not to mention the Yuyan archers were technically still in residence and they didn’t know who their boss was anymore. It was a mess. So, the citizens voted on where the border would go. And they voted Republic! And let me tell you, my great aunt was not happy about that. But she wasn’t queen yet so she couldn’t do a thing about it.”

Mako chokes on a laugh, “We actually managed to get to the Republic after all.”

Wu chuckles, “Sort of! The Republic hasn’t done much to build up the area, and the fort isn’t a working military base anymore. It’s a historical landmark.”

“Well, if it’s Republic territory, at least we don’t have to worry about Kuvira,” Bolin sasy.

Mako presses his lips together and hums doubtfully, quietly enough that only Wu, sitting next to him, can hear.

Wu raises a questioning eyebrow and Mako shakes his head. Better not to scare Bolin or spook Korra. Wu raises his other eyebrow pointedly. Mako raises his eyebrows right back. Wu’s lips press together and he nods grimly, understanding what Mako isn’t saying.

Disputed territory? A stronghold that hasn’t held a garrison in decades?

It’s Kuvira catnip.

…

Landing at the stronghold doesn’t exactly go off without a hitch. There are, in fact, several hitches and all of them are tourists.

“You weren’t kidding about this being a historic landmark, huh?” Bolin says in a spectacular understatement. They’ve disentangled themselves from several irate curators and reached a tentative truce wherein Bai stays in the woods outside of the stronghold and they solemnly promise she won’t eat any local livestock, pets, or government-protected wildlife. Bai is none too happy about this arrangement, but Mako is just happy they’ve avoided a repeat of the park ranger incident.

Korra frowns, “The Earth Kingdom is in chaos, refugees are flooding into Republic City and they’re yelling at us for disrupting five minutes of their vacations? That’s not right, they should be doing something?”
“Doing what exactly?” Mako asks.

“I don’t know…something!”

“Korra, most people don’t spend their whole lives feeling responsible for the whole world. Most people are just trying to get by and have as pleasant a life as possible for them and their loved ones.”

“That’s so, so narrow!”

Mako shrugs, “Yeah.” Mako doesn’t want to get into a philosophical argument with Korra right now. He definitely doesn’t want to get into all the ways in which having the fate of the entire world on her shoulders since early childhood has warped her perceptions.

Wu comes to the rescue again, “Well, I’m not going to judge them on five minutes of their life stories. Raava knows I hope they don’t judge me for crashing their vacations with a giant dragon! Who knows what they’re up to when there isn’t a dragon dropped on their heads. They’re probably their own sorts of heroic.” Wu smiles winsomely and Mako’s heart squeezes tight with fondness for the prince.

“Now,” Wu claps his hands, “Where to next?”

“Up the mountain,” Mako says.

Wu sighs, “More walking. Yay.”

…

After experiencing the Foggy Swamp, Mako thought was prepared for anything. He was not, in fact, prepared for a pleasant hike through the woods, complete with sunshine and birdsong. He tilts his head up to bask in the patches of sunlight that trickle through the tree branches. Wu reaches out and laces their fingers together, squeezing his hand and pressing their shoulders together and he can almost trick himself into thinking this is a nice, normal date; that they’re taking a walk in one Republic City’s parks, not hiking through the forest with his brother and his ex-girlfriend.

“Wow, this is actually kinda nice. We haven’t even had to run for our lives yet!” Bolin says cheerfully.

Mako opens his mouth to tell Bolin not to jinx them, when Korra yells “GET DOWN!” Mako, reflexes honed from years of dodging danger, hurls himself to the ground. He doesn’t even have to drag Wu with him, the prince is lunging for the dirt right alongside him. Cold air rushes across the back of Mako’s neck as Korra air bends. Something heavy crashes into the brush to their right and Mako tenses. After a few long seconds, Korra says, sounding slightly out of breath, “All clear.”

“What was that?!” Wu yelps as Mako helps him to his feet.

“Some kind of booby trap?” Bolin suggests.

“Definitely a trap,” Korra agrees, “Look at that,” she points into the brush, where a log sits in a tangle of crushed undergrowth. Korra’s air bending sliced clean through the ropes that had swung it like a pendulum at their heads.

“So, if the path is booby-trapped…does that make it safer off the path? Or is it just extra dangerous?” Bolin asks quasi-rhetorically.

“Maybe it’s leftover from the war?” Korra suggests.

“This doesn’t look that old,” Mako says, crouching down to look at the log. He runs his thumb over the end of the log, feeling the fresh, dry sawdust. “This log is fresh-cut. Whatever they’re trying to keep out, it’s a new development.”

“Kuvira,” Wu says grimly.

“Maybe,” Mako admits.

“We would’ve heard if Kuvira was sticking her nose in Republic territory, though,” Bolin protests, “Raiko would have done something about it.”

“Would he, though?” Mako asks dryly.

“Whatever’s going on here, we’re better of sticking to the path,” Korra says, “we’ve never been here before and my spirit senses are shot, so if we get lost, we aren’t finding our way back out any time soon. I vote we stick to the path.”

“I second,” Wu offers. When Mako and Bolin look at him questioningly, he shrugs, “I like my odds against booby traps better than my odds against wild beasts.”

Mako looks at Bolin, who looks back. Mako hopes they’re having a moment of silent brother-communication and not just an awkward ‘what next?’ staring contest. Bolin is clearly not on board with silent brother-communication because he’s pulling increasingly ludicrous faces trying to say…something that Mako can’t interpret.

Finally, Mako gives up and sighs. “Path it is. Be on your guard.”

Korra nods tightly and Wu, who’s taken Mako’s hand again, squeezes his fingers.

They walk on.

…

Three traps later, running back the way they came down the path as a cartoonishly enormous boulder chases them, Mako is regretting his decision to stick to the path. Bolin is frantically earth-bending behind them, shaving off bits of the boulder as he runs, trying to shrink it to non-squishing-team-Avatar size, but without being able to stop and plant his feet, he isn’t able to bend it off the path completely, so they’re contending with both stone shrapnel and fast-approaching doom.

Then Wu trips over a root, which is actually a trip wire, and even more projectiles come flying out of the woods to their left, so Mako grabs the prince and his brother, while Korra grabs Bolin and him and the four of them awkwardly hurl themselves off the path and into the brush in a whirl of Korra’s air bending. They crash into the shrubbery just in time for a series of sharpened stakes to zoom over their heads, and the boulder to lurch its way past them and down the hill.

Mako wheezes a breath, moves to detangle himself from the knot of limbs they’ve twisted themselves into, when, with a creak and a crack, the underbrush that cushioned their fall snaps beneath their combined weight and all four of them go flying down the mountainside.

The woods blur past in a green-brown smear as Mako’s ears ring from all three of his companions yelling at once. The further they go, the more speed they pick up and the harder it gets to hold on to each other. Mako doesn’t dare try to slow their descent with fire bending – with his luck he’d cause a forest fire and burn down the mountain. Bolin is struggling to earth bend, but they blow through every shelf of dirt he drags out of the mountainside like it isn’t even there. Mako’s face burns and stings from branches and twigs slapping him in the face and his fingers ache from the strain on hanging on to Bolin. Wu is pressed against his chest, arms wrapped around his neck, Korra’s fingers are digging into his back through the fistful of his shirt she has clenched in her hand. They gracelessly tumble through the undergrowth, bumping and skidding into trees and tumbling over rocks and fallen branches.

“I’M GONNA TRY SOMETHING!” Korra yells into his ear.

“DON’T YOU DARE!” Mako yells back. Too late, Korra has already let go of him, arm raised to bend. Now they’re just a chain of humanity – Korra hanging on to Bolin, who’s hanging on to Mako, who’s holding on to Wu. Mako and Wu, tangled together as they are, slide further and faster than their friends, and Mako cranes his neck up and back to see what Korra and Bolin are doing. Each working one-handed, both earth-bender try to raise a scoop of earth to catch them and stop their graceless slide. But they’re out of sync, Mako spots it, draws breath to caution them, only to have all the air driven out of his lungs as a ragged edge of earth heaves itself out of the mountainside, smacking Mako in the back and ripping away his grip on Bolin.

“MAKO!” Bolin and Korra shout as Mako and Wu are suddenly airborne. Wu seems to have lost all power of speech, making a terrified squeaking noise in Mako’s ear as they lurch even further off the path, bouncing off a tree (ow), into a tangle of stinging nettles (ouch), and finally come sliding to a halt in a clearing (ugh).

They lie on the ground, gasping for air, Wu’s face pressed into Mako’s neck, Mako’s face squished into Wu’s curls.

“If I…” Wu pants, “…had a yuan…for every time…we’ve fallen down a mountain...I wouldn’t owe Azula nearly so much for postage.”

Mako’s entire body hurts. Every bit of exposed skin stings or burns from a million tiny scratches. He’s probably more bruise than skin at this point. And his beautiful, wonderful, ridiculous boyfriend is here, in his arms, cracking jokes about falling off mountains and owing ex-Fire-Princesses money for postage. The laugh, when it comes, bubbles up from the center of his chest to explode out of his mouth like a summer storm. And suddenly Mako is cackling on the forest floor on a strange mountain, far from home, with a prince snickering beside him.

Still giggling a little bit, like the children after pulling off a spectacular prank, they stagger to their feet. Mako take a step back as he pulls Wu to his feet. Wu is saying “Well, I suppose we’ll just follow our handy ol’ trail of destruction back up the mountain to Korra and Bolin!” and Mako is just about to answer him when he feels the ground give beneath his back foot. He teeters on an edge he can feel but not see. Wu’s expression switches to one of concern. “Mako - ?” he starts to ask when Mako loses the fight with gravity and topples backwards. He tries to let go of Wu’s hand as he drops but Wu tightens his grip and braces himself, unexpectedly strong after all their months of hard living. They wobble on the edge of the drop – “Wu, let go.” “Not a chance, big guy.” – before gravity wins and Mako is falling, pulling Wu with him.

…

Bolin and Korra come to a crumpled, painful halt against the ragged dirt berm they managed to pull up and finally, finally stop. They sit, gasping, covered in dirt and scratches, and look at each other.

“f*ck,” Korra says emphatically.

“We lost Mako,” Bolin says, “We lost Mako and Wu. We lost Wu and Mako.”

“f*ck,” Korra says hollowly.

“What are we gonna do?” Bolin asks, “We launched Mako and Wu into the wilderness!”

“Follow them?” Korra suggests. Her body is aching and so, so heavy, but he hauls herself to her feet anyway. “Look, there’s a bunch of broken branches over there. We’ll just…go that way,” she gestures at the path Mako and Wu’s headlong slide carved through the undergrowth.

“Cool, cool, good idea,” Bolin agrees, staggering upright and trying in vain to dust himself off. “They’re probably climbing up to meet us right now. We’ll meet in the middle!”

…

Luckily, there’s no spikes in the bottom of the pit trap, although, if there were, the blast of fire Mako used to slow their fall would have scorched them to ashes before Mako and Wu hit the bottom of the pit. They sit on the fire-warmed ground, now even dirtier than before, and blink in the dim light.

“Sooo,” Wu drawls, “I don’t suppose we’re going to be able to climb our way any time soon?”

“You could stand on my shoulders,” Mako suggests, standing, hands on hips, peering up at the patch of sky above them. The sunshine seems taunting now. “I bet you could claw your way up and out from there.”

“Okay, and you would get out how?”

“Couple blasts of fire could probably get me even with the top, you grab my hands and haul me out,” Mako says pragmatically.

“That’s a lot of confidence in my upper body strength that I just don’t share, big guy,” Wu says.

Mako frowns at Wu, “Well, what do you suggest?”

Wu shrugs, “We hang out here and wait for Korra and Bolin to rescue us?”

Mako raises an eyebrow, trying to communicate through incredulous stare alone how uninterested he is in twiddling his thumbs and waiting to be rescued.

Wu sighs like Mako is being extremely, painfully dense. He pushes himself to his feet and steps over to where Mako is standing, placing one hand on Mako’s chest and lightly pushing until Mako is backed up against the packed-earth wall. “Mako, darling, what’s one thing we don’t have these days?”

“A map?” Mako offers.

Wu smiles at him like he’s being very silly, “Sure, yes. What’s something else?”

“An idea of where we’re going?”

Wu sighs and presses even closer, “Darling, what am I going to do with you?”

“You asked a very open-ended question –”

Wu silences him with a kiss. “Privacy, sweetheart,” Wu whispers when they break apart.

“Oh,” Mako’s brain has stopped working. His thoughts are just white noise with a running catalogue of every place his and Wu’s bodies are touching on loop in the back of his mind.

“Wanna make out?” Wu grins his silly, boyish grin, completely unbefitting of a king. Mako loves it.

“We’re still trapped in a hole in the ground.”

“Korra is coming to get us, and if she doesn’t find us, there’s always the I-stand-on-your-shoulders back-up plan.” Wu follows this reassuring line up with another kiss.

“Don’t talk about my ex-girlfriend while we’re making out,” Mako suggests between kisses.

“Noted.”

…

Korra and Bolin get a little ways down Mako and Wu’s path of destruction, when Bolin strays just a hair too far off the path, steps on something, and suddenly they’re tangled up in a net, hanging several meters off the ground, gently swaying in the breeze.

“So…this isn’t ideal.” Bolin says.

“No sh*t,” Korra agrees.

“Ideas?” Bolin asks.

“I can cut us loose with fire bending but it’ll take a while,” Korra offers.

“I hope Mako and Wu are okay,” Bolin frets.

“I’m sure they’re fine.”

…

Mako and Wu are having a great time.

…

Korra pauses sawing through the ropes with her tiny fire blade and breathes deeply. Sweat is beading on her forehead and she needs to take a break. She grinds her teeth with frustration but listens to her body. Yue is a big fan of listening to your body.

“I hate this,” she admits quietly to Bolin, “I hate feeling weak like this.”

“I know,” Bolin says kindly, “You’re Korra, you like to feel invincible.”

Korra snorts, “I’ve never felt invincible.” She pauses, thinks, “Well, okay, yeah, maybe before I left for Republic City, before I knew what the real world was like. How hard this ‘being the Avatar’ thing really is.” She swallows, but her mouth still feels dry. “How many people would want to hurt me and the people I love because of who I am.”

Bolin squeezes her arm, a comforting, brotherly sort of gesture. “I get it. Well, no, I don’t really get it. I’ve never been the Avatar. But I get how hard it can be. You know, I used to think Mako was invincible. That no matter what, we’d get through anything because we always had. I really was a dumb little kid, huh? I didn’t really get how hard things were because Mako made all these sacrifices so I wouldn’t have to know how bad off we were. It’s not the same, but, yeah, I get feeling like the world’s this safe place and then suddenly it isn’t and it’s all on you to make it safe again. Mako gets it too.” Bolin clears his throat, “You can talk to us, you know. We’re your friends. We care about you.”

“Oh, Bo,” Korra sighs, feeling tears stinging at the corners of her eyes. She’s felt so alone, like her recovery is a punishment for some kind of failure, like she can’t burden anyone with it because it was her fault that it happened in the first place. She’s laid awake night after night running through everything she’s been through, everything her enemies have done to her and thinking about how if she was only a better person, a better Avatar, a better Korra, it wouldn’t have happened like that.

And now here’s Bolin, offering her an ear and a kind of understanding and it’s the first of many cracks in that idea of Korra, Avatar alone. Asami put the first fissure there, made the first chip in the skin of ice Korra had let form over herself as she sank into her pain and misery and helplessness, but then there was Katara, and her parents, and Yue, and Bolin and Mako, and even Wu, although she hasn’t known him long. And now there’s a web of cracks running through Korra’s ice wall and maybe she’s ready to let it thaw.

“You’ve got to forgive yourself, Korra,” Bolin says quietly, “You’ve got to forgive yourself when bad things happen to you. Because sometimes bad things just happen or bad people do bad things to you and it’s not your fault and it sucks.”

“Aren’t I supposed to find meaning in my suffering?” Korra asks.

“Sounds like a big thing to ask from suffering,” Bolin says, “Maybe try to find meaning in healing and living instead?”

Bolin’s words bounce around Korra’s head like the clapper in a bell. She’s spent all this time asking why her? Why did all these things happen to her? She’s been bludgeoning her heart and mind trying to find a reason, an inherent meaning to her pain. When maybe that wasn’t it at all. Maybe it wasn’t her pain that had a point. Maybe the point was what she did now that she’s survived. Maybe the point was healing and living and doing the best she could.

Her emotional epiphany was interrupted by a noise. A long, low, “Mrrrrrow.”

Korra cranes her neck up to see a cat sitting on the branch their rope net hangs from. Fluffy, gray-ish white and like nothing she’s ever seen in person, the cat stares back down at them, whiskers twitching, thick tail swishing back and forth.

“What…is that?” Bolin whispers.

“I think it’s a cat,” Korra whispers back.

“A what?”

“A cat. Avatar Aang mentions it in his journals.” Korra says. Bolin gapes at her, “He wrote down a whole account of the end of the Hundred Years war. I read it while I was at the South Pole.”

“Avatar Aang wrote a memoir?” Bolin squeaks.

“It was never published or anything,” Korra shrugs, “And it’s more a collection of stories and sketches of stuff. Lots of portraits of Master Katara.”

“MRROW,” the cat meows pointedly, as if offended they’re paying more attention to Avatar Aang’s memories than her. Their heads both snap back up to the cat. The cat peers smugly down at them, then, casually, if an animal can be said to do anything casually, slashes its claws through the rope holding the net up, dumping them out on the ground.

“How did it do that?” Korra demands. No animal’s claws should be able to slice through a rope like that. Not even Naga (and oh how Korra misses her faithful friend) could have done that. But when she can Bolin look back up at the tree, both the cat and the net are gone.

…

“MRROW.”

Wu and Mako disentangle themselves from each other and look up. A fluffy, grayish-white creature stares down at them, a piece of rope in its mouth and a disappointed expression on its face.

“Well. This is embarrassing.” Wu says with an awkward little laugh.

“What is that thing?” Mako asks.

“That, if I remember my reading correctly, is a cat.”

“A what?”

“A cat. Avatar Aang met one once.”

“MRROW.”

“And I think it’s going to help us get out of here.”

“I’m being judged by a cat.”

Wu presses a brisk, businesslike kiss to Mako’s lips, “We’re being judged by a cat.”

The cat drops the rope down and meows imperiously.

…

An hour later, Mako, Wu, Korra, and Bolin stagger their way up the last few steps to the herbalist’s courtyard. Exhausted, the four slump to the flagstones, breathing heavily.

A creaking, wizened voice interrupts their struggle for breath, “Well, you aren’t Kuvira’s goons or Miyuki never would have let you up the mountain.”

Mako looks up to see an old lady shuffling towards them, leaning on a staff for support, her green robes trailing on the ground behind her. Her white-gray hair, the same shade as the cat’s fur, is piled on her head in a single, weighty bun and skewered with what looks to be a tree branch. Her sleeves are rolled up to reveal wiry, wrinkled forearms, but her eyes, when they land on the four travelers, sparkle with intelligence. Or insanity. Mako isn’t sure which.

“Who’s Miyuki?” Bolin asks.

The cat appears at the lady’s side, offering an imperious “Mrrow” in response to Bolin’s question.

“That’s Miyuki,” the old lady huffs, “You should really remember her name, after all, you’ve already met.”

Wu manages to stagger to his feet and sweep a bow, “Lovely lady Miyuki, I, King Wu Hou-Ting, personally thank you the assistance you have rendered me and my associates.”

Miyuki licks a paw and meows in acknowledgement.

“Kids these days,” the old lady grumps, “Out of breath after climbing some stairs. I remember Avatar Aang flying up those old things. Now, this young lady has an excuse, she’s full up of metal, it’s a miracle you can move with all that weight, missy,” she says, pointing at Korra with her staff, “But you three,” she swings her staff to gesture to the boys, “You need some regular exercise.”

Mako opens his mouth to protest this assessment, but Korra interrupts, “Metal? What do you mean there’s metal in my body?”

“You can’t feel it?” the old lady, who must be the herbalist, who must have achieved enlightenment and just decided to stick around rather than heading for the spirit world, because nothing else would explain what she’s still doing here after all this time, shakes her head. “Kids. Always thinking that ‘toughing it out’ is the right thing to do. That,” she gestures with her staff again, “is how you get hurt. Now come inside and have some tea. Very good for you, my tea, it’s how Miyuki and I have lived so long. Miyuki will join us later. After all, she needs to reset all those traps you sprang. How else are we supposed to keep Kuvira’s scouts off our mountain, hmm? Now come along, come along. My old bones aren’t made for this much standing around.”

Bemused, bruised, and a little shellshocked, Mako, Wu, Korra and Bolin follow the herbalist inside.

…

Mako,

A cat? An actual cat? And what do you mean you fell off a mountain and into a pit? Mako, details!

Grandma Yin sends her love. She’s organized the cousins into shifts volunteering at the Earth Kingdom Refugee Aid Society. She’s been knitting scarves and cooking soup like mad. She says you and Bolin had better be treating His Highness with the care and respect due to his station. I’ll let you be the one to tell her you’re dating him.

There’s a letter enclosed for Korra.

Everyone sends their love.

Your friend,

Asami

Chapter 24: The Pretender to the Throne

Chapter Text

The Pretender to the Throne

Dear Asami,

I feel like Wu and I should have stamp cards where we get a stamp every time we get captured by someone or something, redeemable for rewards if we get enough stamps. I know this seems a little whimsical of me, but really, at this point, if I were to get outraged every time someone randomly imprisoned me, I would spend all my time furious, and who has the energy?
Your tired friend,
Mako

P.S. That’s all a lie, I’m pissed as f*ck, it wasn’t even Kuvira this time, it was some jerk who thinks he’s nobility. I only have room in my life for one royal, and that job is thoroughly taken.

P.P.S I won’t send this until after everything is resolved, so if you’re reading this, don’t worry. Another postcard with better news is also on its way to you.

…

“So can you get the metal out of me?” Korra asks as the herbalist slathers their multitude of scratches, scrapes, and blisters in ointment.

The herbalist (no, she hasn’t given them a name and no matter how many times Wu tries to subtly ask-without-asking she hasn’t seemed to catch the hint) snorts and slaps a glob of healing goo on Mako’s cheek.

“It doesn’t work like that,” she scoffs. “You have to be the one to let that burden go, not me. Drink your tea.”

Korra obediently sips at the cup the herbalist shoved in her hands, grimaces and sets it back down again. “But you’re a healer, can’t you, I don’t know, heal it out of me?”

The herbalist gives her a ‘you’re smarter than this, try harder’ expression. “Avatars. Always in a hurry.” She rubs the healing goo into Mako’s cheek aggressively, then turns to stare down Korra. “I’m a doctor, not a metal bender. I can treat your body and your mind but the work of getting better is up to you!” With that, she scoffs and begins pouring more tea into each of their cups, tsking when Bolin’s nearly overflows. “You should’ve been drinking that,” she scowls at him.

Bolin, who had taken one sip of the tea out of politeness, grimaced, and not taken another, gives her a sickly smile. Mako reaches over and surreptitiously drinks half of Bolin’s painfully full cup for him.

“But that doesn’t make any sense!” Korra protests, “My bending is messed up because there’s still poison in my body but now, I’m the only one who can get it out of me? With bending I can’t use properly because of the poison I can’t remove?”
“Listen to yourself,” the herbalist huffs, “In the state you’re in do you think you could trust someone else to remove that poison?”

Korra opens her mouth to argue, then closes it again, glaring at the floor.

“Is there anything you can do to help?” Mako asks, sensing a circular argument on the horizon and trying to cut it off at the pass.

The herbalist frowns at him, her dark eyes piercing and inscrutable. Mako can’t decide if it feels like she’s staring straight into the heart of him, or like she’s staring straight past him at something else only she can see. “Do you know what doctors do, young man?”

Mako, feeling wrong-footed, unexpectedly greasy from the healing ointment, and increasingly uncomfortable, shrugs.

“We don’t heal people. We give people’s bodies the tools they need to heal themselves.”

Based on Korra’s grimace, Mako doesn’t think she likes that answer.

…

That evening, after what the herbalist assures them is a very healthy dinner of vegetable soup and ginger salad, they set up sleeping bags on the floor of her greenhouse and try to look on the bright side.

“Well, we know more now than we did before?” Bolin offers.

Korra flops onto her sleeping bag and groans. “I’m so sick of all of this.”

Wu pats restlessly at his pillow, fluffing and resettling it at various angles, a little crease between his brows like if he frowns at it enough it will stop being a sad, flat, camp pillow. Mako, sensing Wu’s fidgeting is less to do with the pillow and more to do with the mood in the room, reaches over and squeezes the prince’s fingers.

“Let’s get some rest tonight and reassess in the morning,” Mako suggests.

Wu’s smile is bright, if a little tense, “A good night’s sleep will make everything better! And if it doesn’t, at least we’ll be well-rested!”

Bolin flashes a grin back, but it feels a little rehearsed. Korra musters up half a smile, but it doesn’t reach her tired eyes. Mako squeezes Wu’s fingers again.

With a few more platitudes, the mood lower and grimmer than it has been since the swamp, they crawl into their sleeping bags and Mako dims the lights. In the dark, Mako feels Wu’s fingers find his and tangle their hands together between their sleeping bags.

…

Mako isn’t sure what wakes him up in the middle of the night, but he goes from an uneasy doze to high alert in seconds. His eyes snap open and for a long moment he lies in the dark, barely breathing, straining his ears for any sign of danger. Unbidden, his gaze slides to Wu, the prince still tucked in his sleeping bag beside him, silverly moonlight sketching the barest hints of the planes of his face. Wu is curled on his side, facing Mako, breathing deep and soft. His hand has slipped out of Mako’s in the night but it still lies between them, still reaching for Mako, even in sleep.

Reassured that Wu is safe, Mako scans the room, spotting Bolin, flopped on his back, limbs splayed around him in a messy sprawl, mouth open, breath wheezing in and out an almost-snore. Korra had set up her sleeping bag a little way away from theirs, near a cluster of potted plants. Stomach twisting, Mako pulls his eyes away from his not-quite-snoring brother, over to where he’s almost certain he’ll see nothing but an empty sleeping bag.

He’s not wrong.

Sometimes Mako hates not being wrong.

Sighing, he slithers out of his sleeping bag, catching Wu’s hand in his and pressing a kiss to the back of it when the prince grumbles in his sleep and reaches for him. Mako tucks Wu’s hand back inside the prince’s sleeping bag and leans down to kiss Wu’s hair and murmur, “I’ll be back.” Wu grumbles again and subsides. Mako strokes Wu’s curls and stands.

Time to go find the Avatar again.

…

Luckily, Korra hasn’t gone far. She sits on a tumble of stones that were once building blocks in a garden retaining wall, legs folded in perfect lotus form, hands resting on her knees. Her eyes are closed, she could be meditating, but her face is folded into the kind of grimace rarely seen on someone reaching for enlightenment.

Above them, the moon is a spare sliver. Shadows pool in the hollows of Korra’s face. Silver sweat gleams on her brow.

Mako isn’t sure what to do. He used to be the person Korra turned to for a friendly shoulder to lean on, an ear to listen. Then they dated. And then they were fighting all the time. And then they weren’t each other’s shoulder anymore.

He approaches quietly, footsteps soft across the grass, and settles, cross-legged on a stone slightly below Korra’s perch. He rests his hands in front of him and calls up a tiny flame. A flickering tongue of blue fire flickers to life in his cupped palms and an answering curl of pride flutters to life in his chest. He focuses on his breathing, watching his little flame rise and fall with the air pulling in and out of his lungs. Time falls away and the world narrows to Mako, his breath, and the little flame cupped in his hands.

A gusty sigh pulls him out of his trance. Mako looks up to see Korra sag, bracing her hands on her knees, shoulders bowing. He flicks the blue flame out and leans forward, not quite rising to his feet, but ready, just in case Korra needs him.

She wipes her brow, and possibly her eyes, and what Mako thought was sweat pearls off her face to hover above her hand, a few shining drops of silver.

“This is it,” she rasps and her voice is so tired, “All that focus, all that meditation and this is the best I can do.” She scowls and flings the beads of poison away from her to splatter on the gravel path.

“It’s better than nothing,” Mako says softly.

“It’s not enough,” Korra says, and cutting through her voice is a ragged edge of despair.

Mako doesn’t say anything. There’s nothing to say.

“Bolin said,” Korra starts, then falters, “Bolin said that I had to forgive myself. For what happened to me.”

Mako feels the breath leave his body momentarily. A little punched-out gasp creeps past his lips.

“He said that,” Mako hears Korra’s throat click as she swallows, “He said that sometimes bad things happen to us and we blame ourselves for letting it happen.”

“Yeah,” Mako says quietly, “I get that.”

“He’s right,” Korra whispers, “I can’t – I don’t know how to let myself,” a ragged breath, “If it wasn’t my fault – if it wasn’t my failure –”

The words ‘then I was a victim’ hang unsaid between them.

Mako doesn’t know what to say to her. He doesn’t know what she needs to hear. He thinks of his time in Kuvira’s prison camps and how even now he and Wu cling to each other like they might be separated any moment. He thinks of the nightmares he still has of his parents’ deaths. He thinks of all the terrible things he saw far too young. He thinks of the ways people gained and lost power on the streets. The way Zolt kept him and Bolin in line.

“You can spend your whole life afraid of them,” Mako says, unsure who he’s talking about – Korra and Zaheer, Korra and Unalaaq, Korra and Amon, or maybe even him and Zolt, or him and Kuvira, or him and starvation, “but that means carrying them around with you. And they’re not worth it.”

“It’s not that easy,” Korra says.

“It’s not,” Mako agrees.

They sit in silence for a long moment.

“When my parents died,” Mako begins. He isn’t 100% sure where he’s going with this, but Korra is one of the first people he trusted with his childhood, one of the first friends who heard his story, even if it wasn’t all of it, “I was so angry, and so scared. All the time. Some days the only reason I kept going was Bolin. I kept thinking about the future because of him. I was able to keep moving because even if I couldn’t imagine a future for me, I could imagine a future for him. And it was better than the present.” Mako swallows dryly. He never talks about this stuff. It’s too raw, it’s too real. And Korra is too good at jabbing his sore spots on accident. He shouldn’t be telling her this. “I borrowed his hope. For a long time. And I kept walking forward. Until I was less scared. And less angry. At least some of the time. So. If you need to borrow our hope for a little while, you’ve got it.”

He looks up. He hadn’t realized he’d been staring so intently at the ground until he blinks and realizes he hasn’t been looking at Korra’s face the entire time he’s been spilling his guts. He looks up and meets her eyes and sees they’re damp with unshed tears.

“Thank you,” she says.

Mako clears his throat. “Any time. We have your back.” He goes to stand, dusting himself off from sitting on the ground for so long, “And Korra? Bolin is right.”

“I know,” she whispers.

“I know you do,” he smiles, just a tiny bit. He goes to walk back into the greenhouse and his waiting sleeping bag. He’s halfway there when he hears Korra’s voice behind him.

“You’re a good friend, Mako.”

“Yeah, just don’t kiss me again,” he throws over his shoulder, risking a joke, “I have a boyfriend now.”

Korra’s bright, surprised laugh, feels like a new beginning.

…

The next morning, Mako is bleary-eyed and exhausted, but Bolin, Wu, and shockingly, Korra, are all in good spirits. Mako glares at her over steaming cups of tea and yet more piles of leaves and questions how the f*ck she manages to be so perky despite getting even less sleep than he did.

“I had…a Thought,” Wu says dramatically, flourishing over his salad. He’s been picking at it, mostly eating all the dried bits of fruit out of it and Mako is tempted to ask him if his definitely-capitalized-for-emphasis-I-can-hear-it-in-your-voice Thought can wait until he finishes his greens. But Wu is a grown adult and sort of a king and Mako is not his mother. He can skip breakfast all he wants.

Mako pushes a bowl of congee at him in an unsubtle reminder to please, for the love of Raava, eat something.

“Do share?” Bolin, with years of Mako-hounding and street-starving under his belt, is wolfing down his salad and is on his second bowl of congee. He’s still refusing to drink the tea, though.

Wu sets down his utensils all together. Mako resigns himself to Wu draping himself all over Mako and begging for snacks in an hour or two. Which, now that he thinks about it, isn’t exactly a hardship.

“Well,” the prince begins, “What about the Great Library of Wan Shi Tong?”

“Wan Shi what-now?” Bolin asks.

Korra grimaces, “Wan Shi Tong kind of hates the Avatar.”

Wu waves this objection away, “I’m sure he’s over that by now.”

“He’s definitely not,” Korra says, “he kinda sided with Unalaaq before Harmonic Convergence.”

“Well, then he’s definitely feeling a bit chagrined right about now, isn’t he?” Wu says, undeterred, “There have always been rumors that there’s a secret second entrance to the library still lingering in the Si Wong Desert. Maybe there’s a book there that could help you! Or some kind of spirit-world wisdom? It could be worth a try!”

Bolin hums thoughtfully, “Wan Shi Tong wanted the doors between the spirit world and our world left open, right? Well, then you gave him exactly what he wanted, right? So, he’s got to be pro-team Avatar now.”

Mako thinks Bolin might be overestimating a giant, immortal, super-knowledgeable owl’s ability to forgive and forget. But Wu’s idea is currently the best they’ve got.

“We’d have to be extremely careful,” Mako says grudgingly.

Wu cheers, “Mako’s in, that means it’s a good idea!”

“That,” Mako sputters, “that is not what that means.”

Wu raises both eyebrows, “Is this you admitting you’re sometimes wrong about things? Perish the thought!”

He’s definitely teasing him. Mako falls for it because he always falls for it. “No, that’s not what I’m saying – ”

“That sounds like it’s what you’re saying, bro,” Bolin teases.

Mako gives up. They’re going to the library.

…

The herbalist sends them off with some herbal remedies (nice), flasks of tea (nice for everyone but Bolin), and a map of all the traps on the mountainside and strict instructions to notify Miyuki if they come across any of Kuvira’s scouts. There are no details on how to contact Miyuki if this happens, just the vague assurance that “she’ll be around,” that no one finds reassuring.

Luckily, they managed to make it down the mountain without running into any of Kuvira’s soldiers, and only one misadventure with a trap (Bolin falls into a hole. Which might have been some creature’s burrow rather than an actual trap. He earth-bends himself out of it but gets bitten by something in the process. It doesn’t break the skin, but Bolin still makes a big show of disinfecting it ‘just in case’.).

The curators of the Pohuai Stronghold Historic Landmark glower suspiciously at them from the moment they arrive and do not let up until they are back in Bai’s saddle-platform and lifting off of the ground, when, presumably, everyone breathed a collective sigh of relief and went back to selling commemorative knick-knacks to tourists.

They fly all day. Bolin ropes Wu into a game of I-spy that eventually peters out when they run out of unique things to spy. Korra mostly meditates (occasionally Mako catches a glint of silver on her skin out of the corner of his eye). Mako tries to read a history book he snagged from the Pohuai Stronghold gift shop when he was sending his latest postcard to Asami.

But the sun is bright, and even at this altitude, the air is heavy and it’s hard not to feel drowsy and indolent and slightly bored. Wu comes over to lean against Mako’s shoulder and Mako wraps an arm around him.

“Have a good talk with Korra last night?” Wu asks quietly.

“Yeah, actually,” Mako replies, sticking a finger in his spot in his book. “I think we cleared the air a bit.”

“That’s good,” Wu drops his head on Mako’s chest and just rests there.

“I thought you were asleep when I left,” Mako toys with Wu’s curls with the hand not holding his place in his book, twisting a curl round and round his finger.

“I woke up a little when you came back in,” Wu explains, “you seemed more settled. I figured you were checking on everybody.” Wu smirks a little against Mako’s shoulder, “You’re like a fussy mama badgermole, trying to get all your cubs back in the den.”

Mako chokes on a laugh, “I’m a what?”

“You heard me,” Wu says primly and snuggles closer. “Now read to me.”

“Can I get a please?”

“Please read to me.”

“No.”

“Please, Mako, my very favorite person, please read to me?”

“You aren’t going to like this book. You’re going to say it’s boring.”

“No, I’m going to make up wild stories about all the salacious things the boring historical people were probably doing with each other when they weren’t being boring and historic.”

“And that’s supposed to convince me to read to you?”
“Yes?” Wu blinks innocently up at Mako.

Mako sighs and begins reading aloud from the book. Eventually Bolin drifts over and it soon devolves into Mako reading maybe a paragraph for every 20-minute-long discussion Bolin and Wu have about the wild, operatic plotline they’ve completely made up about the people in the book.

It’s somehow not the worst thing in the world.

Bai flies on.

…

They stop and make camp by a small pool in a densely forested valley. A small creek bubbles away from the pond, the wind combs through the trees, rattling branches and rustling the brush. Mako would almost call it picturesque if it wasn’t so uncannily quiet. No birds chatter, no animals grumble, no small creatures dart through the underbrush. Mako may be a city boy, but he’s spent enough time sleeping outside recently that he can tell when a forest is too quiet.

He frowns into the woods, hands on his hips, unease prickling down his spine. “I don’t like it here.”

“Uh, bro, the camp is already half set up, you couldn’t have mentioned this when we landed?” Bolin asks.

Mako raises an eyebrow at what Bolin defines as ‘half set up’ which mostly consists of dumping his grossly overpacked luggage on the ground next to Bai.

Wu, who has already begun unpacking supplies for dinner, frowns at the tree line too. “It’s quiet.”

“Too quiet,” Mako agrees.

“This is the best campsite nearby,” Korra says, “fresh water, flat surfaces, wood for a campfire…” she trails off.

“So why are the woods so quiet?” Mako says.

They sit and digest this for a moment. Bolin sighs. “We’re sleeping on the dragon, aren’t we?”

“Yeah.”

“Yep.”

“As long as the lovely lady doesn’t mind,” Wu adds, scratching the scales between Bai’s brow ridges. The dragon makes a deep, rumbling sound her throat and blows steam gently in Wu’s face.

Bolin deflates and begins wrestling his personal items into his overstuffed bag and hauling his luggage back up Bai’s foreleg. The dragon chuffs irritably at him but allows this indignity.

“We should minimize the time we spend on the ground,” Mako says, pivoting back to look at their campsite.

“We’re not eating jerky for dinner, bro,” Bolin pokes his head over the saddle’s lip.

“It would be safer – ” Mako starts.

“For Bai to get a break from our weight for a few hours while we cook a healthy, hot dinner, and she hunts for food, I agree,” Wu interjects.

Mako shoots him a ‘that’s definitely not what I meant and you know it’ look. Wu shoots him a ‘I know it’s not what you meant, but it’s what company moral needed to hear’ look. Mako raises an eyebrow at that. Wu smiles a smug smile. Mako deflates a little. He’s not winning this one.

“Fine. But everyone stick together. I don’t trust – ”

“The quiet?”

“The woods?”

“All of the above?”

Mako glares at all of them without any heat. “You’re hilarious,” he deadpans, “Just. Buddy system, guys.”

“I thought you veto-ed ‘buddy’,” Wu bats his lashes theatrically at Mako.

Mako gives in to the urge to slap a hand over his face and sigh.

…

Korra and Bolin leave to go gather firewood, and, knowing Korra and Bolin, look for trouble. Bai has taken off to go find some large animal to snack on. Mako tries to keep his fretful pacing to a minimum. He sets up a ring of river stones for the campfire-to-be. He sorts all the ingredients for their dinner. He unnecessarily scrubs all their dishes and utensils in the stream. He’s about to start inventorying their supplies, when Wu finally says, “Mako, they’re fine.”

“I should have gone with them,” Mako says.

“No, you shouldn’t have, because two people to collect one load of firewood is already overkill,” Wu points out, annoyingly logical.

“You agree, there’s something wrong with the woods,” Mako points out.

“Oh, definitely,” Wu says, “but Korra is the Avatar, and even at half-capacity she’s more than a match for anything out there. And Bolin is Bolin.” Wu has refilled their water canteens from the stream and settled against a boulder to wait for Korra and Bolin to come back and Mako to stop wearing a groove in the forest floor with his pacing.

Mako exhales sharply through his nose. Wu is making sense. It’s annoying, but it’s not Wu he’s annoyed with.

He turns to Wu to express this only to abandon his half-formed sentence with an inarticulate shout of warning. Behind Wu, the ground ripples in a way Mako recognizes from a lifetime of watching Bolin learn to bend the earth to his will. Mako lunges forward, fire flaring to life in his hands, white-hot and tinged blue, only to sink up to his shoulders in the earth. In front of him, Wu has jumped to his feet, yanking the war fans the Kyoshi Warriors gave him free from where he’d tucked them into his belt. But he’s too late – the boulder he’d been leaning on seconds before unfolds like a fist and grabs him around the middle, pinning his arms and squeezing until he drops his weapons.

Figures approach from the woods and Mako’s heart is hammering in his throat, his breath is ragged in his ears, this is it, Kuvira’s finally caught up with them, and it’s his fault because he didn’t press harder for them to stay on the f*cking dragon where it’s safe.

But it’s not the familiar green uniforms and steel shoulder pads that emerge from the trees, it’s something far stranger. Instead, it’s two people dressed as…butlers? Waiters? Hotel staff? Mako’s repertoire of ‘jobs that involve identical weirdly formal uniforms cut from obviously expensive cloth’ is limited. They’re clearly earth benders, based on the predicament Mako and Wu are quite literally in, but they don’t look like soldiers. They don’t even look like they should be out in the wilderness. Their jackets are light, spring-leaf green with cream silk shirts and gold embellishments. They look like they should be presenting drink menus at Kwong’s Cuisine, not shoving their way through underbrush. They both look young, maybe only a few years older than Mako. They look similar enough to be brothers or maybe cousins – the only major difference is one has his dark hair pulled back in a braid like Grand Secretariat Gun’s, and the other has short hair slicked back from his face in a weak imitation of General Iroh’s signature style.

“Two silver says it’s another lost camper,” Braid is saying as they come into view.

“Three silver says it’s another platypus-bear,” short hair counters.

“If it’s another platypus-bear, I quit.”

“You said that you’d quit if we spent more than a week out here chasing badgermoles. It’s been a month and guess who’s still here…oh right, it’s you.”

“Hey, the pay is worth it up to a point. And my current point is two platypus bears.”

“Well, good news, my friends,” Wu says, and his accent, if it’s possible, becomes even more over-articulated and Upper Ring than it was before, “For we are travelers like yourselves, not platypus-bears.”

“Guess you’re stuck out here in the woods another day,” Short hair says to Braid.

“Why are you out here, if I might ask?” Wu says, wealth practically dripping from every syllable. It seems to be literally loosening the two probably-not-waiters up, because the rock fist around Wu’s middle eases a bit and the dirt around Mako’s shoulders creeps down his biceps just a little.

“Our boss, the illustrious Lord Shen, may he live forever –”

“Does he really make you say all of that?” Wu interrupts in his most affected bored drawl.

“He sure does,” Braid, clearly the chattier and most dissatisfied of the two, confirms, then continues, “He’s trying to catch a badgermole.”

Wu blinks, apparently dumbfounded by the notion of anyone trying to catch a badgermole.

“So far the badgermoles don’t seem to want to be caught,” Short hair elaborates.

“So, we’ve been stuck out here ‘patrolling’ for ‘threats’ for a month,” Braid shrugs, “it’s better than climbing in burrows.”

“Yeah,” Short hair agrees, “Those can collapse on you.”

“Have you…caught a badgermole?” Wu asks, voice shaking only a little to betray how utterly floored an offended he is by the mere notion of someone hunting the most sacred animal in the Earth Kingdom. Mako is proud of him. His acting skills are really coming along.

“If we had, we wouldn’t be here anymore, would we?” Braid huffs. “So, what are you two doing?”

“Well…” Mako can see the thoughts churning in Wu’s head, turning over and over like an engine. Mako can also see the moment Wu commits to the most brazen, ridiculous idea to present itself and mentally braces himself. “I am actually an expert in Earth Kingdom wildlife. I wrote the book on it, you see. I don’t suppose you’ve read it? Flora and Fauna of the Terrestrial Sphere? No? No? Well, I wrote it. And I’m here doing field research with my lovely assistant…” all those lies, stacked one on top of each other like flat cakes and this is where Wu stumbles? Coming up with a fake name for Mako? Luckily, he recovers quickly “Li. My lovely assistant, Li.”

Somewhere, the Lis are very proud of him, Mako is sure.

Braid and Short hair blink at them. Mako isn’t sure if their incredulous blinking is surprise at having such a huge advantage dropped in their laps or if it’s more along the lines of ‘wow, this guy just told us a super, mega, enormous lie, what are we gonna do about it?’.

Mako decides to double down on Wu’s story. It’s the only way forward until he gets his arms free and can start setting things on fire. “Hi,” he says, “I’m Li.”

Wu takes this as either inspiration or permission to continue to embroider on his tapestry of lies, “And I am Lord Fu, author of Fu’s Guide to Familiar Creatures, and, of course, Flora and Fauna.”

Mako wonders if these are real books that Wu has read and if he’s impersonating a real-life academic who might someday hear about this misadventure. He hopes not. There’s way too many chances of them getting caught out if Wu is pretending to be a real person.

“Oh! I’ve read Fu’s Familiar Creatures!” Short hair says.

f*ck.

“Ah, a fan I see,” Wu says graciously while Mako wonders if it’s too late for his dad’s earth-bender genes to take charge and give Mako the ability to bust out of this mess, grab Wu and run for the hills.

“You’re younger than I thought you’d be,” Short hair frowns.

“I age very gracefully,” Wu preens.

Braid is looking at them suspiciously. Mako is about to say something, anything, to shore up Wu’s impossible lies and deflect suspicion when Braid declares, “This is just what we need to wring a raise out of that lunatic.”

What.

Braid is grinning, “This is prefect; we’ll bring you back to camp – ”

“Where you can sign my book,” Short hair interjects.

“- and you can help the illustrious Lord Shen, may he live forever, find his badgermoles,” Braid finishes.

Dead silence. Then: “That’s a great idea! We’ll definitely get a raise for this!” from Short hair and “Ah, well, I can’t do my best work without my lovely assistant, Li, so you’ll have to take both of us…” from Wu.

Mako hopes, wherever Korra and Bolin are, that they’re having a much better time they he and Wu are.

…

Korra and Bolin are having a great time. They collected the firewood as requested and then took a detour or two and have now discovered the reason why the forest is preternaturally quiet: there’s a massive encampment of humans settled in for the long haul once you get deeper into the valley, where the stream widens into something closer to a river and the ground levels out.

“What do you think they’re doing here?” Korra asks, staring at the neat, orderly rows of tents with little light green flags with a golden design stitched on them fluttering from the tentpoles.

“Hiding from Kuvira?” Bolin suggests.

“Not exactly subtle,” Korra points out.

Bolin hums thoughtfully. “Wanna check it out?”

“But Bolin,” Korra fake-gasps, “Mako said we mustn’t stray from the campsite!”

“Mako will be fine,” Bolin says nonchalantly, “We left him alone with his boyfriend, I bet he isn’t worried about us at all!”

…

Mako is extremely worried about Korra and Bolin. He’s also worried about himself and Wu, but he’s letting Wu take point on worrying about that, because it’s Wu’s crazy idea to lie about who they are to a pair of earth benders working for an unknown boss who at the very least isn’t Kuvira (who definitely knows who they are) so Wu gets to take point on stressing about it too. There’s only so much space in Mako’s head for blind terror at any given time.

They’re freed from the earth and Mako shoots a look at Wu that clearly says ‘is it time to set stuff on fire and run away?’ and Wu’s answering look says something along the lines of ‘I want to see how this all plays out’ and possibly ‘just go with it’ so Mako decides to trust Wu’s judgement (if the Mako of two years ago could only see him now) and just go with it.

Setting things on fire and running away can be plan B.

They’ve been half-marched, half-escorted through the woods, down deeper into the valley, and into a neat, orderly camp of very expensive-looking pale green tents that more than prove Mako’s theory on clothing is correct: dress in dark colors, they don’t show stains. They make their way up what Mako assumes is ‘main street’ in this odd little encampment to the biggest, fanciest pale green tent of them all.

They’re greeted by two guards in uniforms similar to Braid and Short Hair’s (Braid and Short hair are, incidentally, named Han and Zhen, not ‘braid’ and ‘short hair’). The guards, after confirming Han and Zhen’s identities and listening to their story, nod and pull open the tent flaps with great ceremony. Mako half-wonders what exactly they were going to do if they’d decided not to let them in. Tie the tent flaps closed?

They step into what Mako can only describe as a tent trying to be a throne room and mostly failing, but still managing something approaching opulence. Listen, Mako has seen the Earth Monarch’s throne room. It’s big, it’s cavernous, it’s a lot of wasted space and intimidating architecture and there’s no way a tent is going to measure up to that. But this tent has been lavishly decked out in more rugs than Mako’s ever seen in one place in his life, at least a dozen golden lanterns lit with flickering flames that cast strange, uncanny shadows over everything, and panels of green and gold silk that are either meant to be internal walls or more decoration. At the end of the pseudo-hallway formed by the silk panels sits a wooden camp chair draped in more silk. There are a disproportionate number of tassels and gold on everything. Between the light coming from a dozen strange directions, the dizzying array of clashing patterns on the rugs heaped all over the floor, and all the gold décor, Mako is feeling a little dizzy.

“I SEE YOU HAVE BROUGHT ME VISITORS!” booms a voice from behind one of the silk panels. Mako jumps and nearly sets it on fire, only the self-control Azula ruthlessly baked into him keeping him from torching the gaudy tent. “APPROACH, STRANGERS!”

Han and Zhen prod them towards the chair. Wu’s face is doing the thing where he’s clearly biting his tongue to keep from loudly judging someone else’s taste. It makes Mako feel a little bit better about the whole situation. If Wu can still be a snob, their lives can’t be that in danger.

When they get within spitting distance of the chair one of the silk panels behind it is dramatically flung aside and out steps a man dressed in what Mako can only describe as ‘what eccentric rich people who have never spent any time in the wilderness think is Wilderness Adventure Gear’.

It’s a an elaborately detailed, richly embroidered pale green suit with nearly a dozen pockets between the shirt and the pants, less than half of which seem to be able to actually open and store things, with matching, shiny, knee-high boots that have clearly never been worn on any terrain more difficult than a manicured lawn, a hat that looks more like a helmet with gold embellishments inexplicably flashing at its seams. The outfit is tied together by a golden sash that doesn’t seem to fulfill any function beyond being gold and a sash.

There is a tiny, tiny portion of Mako’s brain that is passively calculating what each individual costume element would fetch on the Republic City black market. The numbers are staggering.

“Hello, and welcome to my throne room,” the man announces. He’s at least a head shorter than Mako with dramatic mustaches curling away from his lips in a formation that can only be the byproduct of an hour of work and several tins of Varrick’s patented mustache wax. “I am Lord Shen, the future ruler of the Earth Kingdom.”

Wu chokes on air, barely disguising it as a cough. “We are, ahem, honored,” Wu’s voice squeaks in protest on the last syllable as if his body is rejecting the sentiment, “to be in your presence, your highness.”

Mako just bows. He doesn’t feel like lying more than he already is.

“Ah, ah,” Shen waves a lazy hand, “None of that. I’m not ‘your highness’. I’m not a prince, after all.”

“Oh,” Wu, despite his years of court training, momentarily fumbles for words, “we are honored, your lordship, to hear of how you plan to come into the most illustrious title of,” a barely perceptible pause, “Earth. Monarch.” Wu manages to squeeze the words out and Lord Shen, Han, and Zhen don’t seem to notice the strain. Mako resists the urge to reach out and grab his hand.

“Why, the traditional way, of course,” Lord Shen beams at them condescendingly, Mako decides he hates him and his stupid mustaches, “I’m going to capture a badgermole and ride it into the city of Ba Sing Se. All will bow to me, and the throne will be mine. The Hou-Ting dynasty will end, as it, frankly should have long ago when King Kuwei proved so useless during the Hundred Years War, and all shall bow to me.”

…

Dear Mako,

One of these days you’re going to give me a heart attack. I’m not sharing this postcard with Grandma Yin until I get the one saying you’re safe.

Love to Korra, and Bolin, and Wu,

Asami

Chapter 25: The Badgermoles

Chapter Text

The Badgermoles

Dear Asami,

I think Wu has some kind of psychic influence over badgermoles. Is this a secret Earth Monarch power? Have you heard of this before? Asami, he sings and they understand him.

Probably losing my mind,

Mako

P.S. This is Wu, there are no special Earth Monarch badgermole powers. I just know how to talk so they listen. It’s called diplomacy.

P.P.S. He sings. And. They. Understand. Him.

Also, don’t worry, we survived our most recent bout of imprisonment.

Thanks to the badgermoles.

Thanks to the badgermoles.

…

Mako naively assumes their audience with Lord Shen will end after that pronouncement. That Lord Shen will take the opportunity to sweep out of the room dramatically, leaving a lackey to explain what exactly he wants from Wu and (eventually) escort them to their cell (Mako hopes they get to share a cell. The thought of letting Wu out of his sight in this place makes his skin crawl).

Mako is wrong.

Lord Shen pauses, seemingly waiting for applause or awe or maybe even condemnation. He gets none of that. Wu is struck temporarily silent, staring at him in mute horror.

Mako realizes quickly that he needs to take the reins of this interaction before Wu’s indignation catches up with him and he blurts out something that gets them all in trouble.

“So, what exactly is the plan here?” Mako asks, blunt as a blow to the head. “Lord Fu uses his animal expertise to what? Find and tame a badgermole for you?”

Wu makes a squeaking noise in the back of his throat at the word ‘tame’. Mako steps on his foot. Wu takes a hint and says nothing.

Lord Shen smiles cryptically, “Not exactly.”

Well, that’s about as reassuring as a con man’s promise.

Mako raises an eyebrow as if to say ‘Yeah? Get on with it.’ Lord Shen’s smile only broadens. Mako decides he really hates this guy.

“Lord Fu, my servants tell me you are something of an expert in the Kingdom Animalia?” Lord Shen smirks.

Wu clears his throat, “Ahem, why yes, I am widely considered the foremost authority on the creatures of our fair Kingdom! If it crawls, canters, or creeps, I know all about it!”

Mako thinks Wu is laying it on a bit thick, but Shen is nodding seriously, still smirking, as if this all falls in line with his Grand Plan.

“Then you will be familiar with the parenting habits of badgermoles?”

Mako really hopes that Wu’s seemingly endless knowledge of Earth Kingdom and Avatar trivia encompasses badgermole reproduction.

“Of course,” Wu says smoothly, still in that aggressively cultured accent he’d used on Han and Zhen. “Newborn cubs remain with their mother in her hibernation den deep underground for several months after birth. Once the mother returns to the upper tunnels to hunt with her mate, her young travel with her. Cubs stay in their parents’ den for two years or so before moving on to build their own dens and find their own mates.”

“And?” Lord Shen prompts.

“Parents are extremely protective of their young, but they leave them behind at the den when they’re hunting,” Wu’s face is unreadable, but Mako can sense tension radiating off of him.

“Now, milord Fu,” Shen says, still smirking that horrible smirk, “What do you think would happen if, say, one stumbled across a den and happened to find a little baby badgermole?”

Wu’s face has gone ashen, “The parents would tear that person apart.”

“Wrong!” Shen chirps, “That lucky person would have their ticket to the Earth Kingdom throne!” His grin is a twisted thing, “That person would clearly have been chosen by destiny itself. That person would be the next Earth King. It is truly very fortunate Han and Zhen found you when they did because their counterparts have found me my fortune.”

And with that, Lord Shen whisks the curtain away and Mako’s heart freezes in his chest.

It’s a box. A metal f*cking box.

Mako can smell his skin burning. He can feel his insides cooking. He’s back in a box on a train, headed towards a labor camp.

He blinks. Breathes.

No, no, he’s not. He’s not in that box. But a baby badgermole is. He can hear it crying. He didn’t know badgermoles could make that noise. He hates it.

Wu’s face has gone utterly flat, as if he’s locked away all his many expressions behind a porcelain mask. It’s eerie.

“I was of two minds when it was first brought to me,” Lord Shen muses, seemingly completely unaware of Mako’s flashback and Wu’s building fury. He’s totally unaffected by the soft, mewling cries drifting out of the metal box. It’s uncanny. “Obviously, if I were to accept this badgermole as my steed, I would have to wait for it to reach maturity. Obviously, this is less than ideal. The time is nigh for a new king on the Earth Kingdom’s throne. My people are crying out for leadership! And I, Lord Shen, will be the savior they are searching for! Therefore, this infant will not be my badgermole. No! Its’ parent, which will surely come to collect its’ young, shall be my mighty steed!”

Is this man entirely insane?

“The parents will be enraged,” Wu says stiffly, “How exactly do you anticipate taming furious, full-grown badgermoles whose young you just kidnapped?”

Shen beams at them. “Why, that is for you to figure out, milord expert!”

Well, they’re screwed.

…

Lord Shen leaves them after that and Han and Zhen take charge of them again, escorting Mako and Wu across the camp to a canvas tent at the edge of the forest. It’s much less formal than the other tents and smells faintly of cabbages. Mako suspects it was originally meant for food storage and has been hastily cleared out to house them.

“Now, this is awkward,” Han begins when they reach their faintly cabbage-scented abode.

“How so?” Wu drawls. His face is still unnervingly blank. If Mako’s skin wasn’t crawling already it would be from that empty look in Wu’s eyes.

“You can’t leave the camp,” Zhen says bluntly.

“Now why would that be?” Wu asks with the dangerous edge of someone who is daring someone else to tell them ‘no’.

“Listen,” Zhen says, “Do you really want us to talk around the fact that you’re kind of our prisoner, or can we all just sort of agree to not mention it and be civil?”

Wu doesn’t look like he wants to be civil. His face is still frozen and expressionless but the kind of expressionless that suggests he’s daring them to push him. He wants them to push this. He wants them to admit the ugly truth: that they’re prisoners and they’re here against their will. He wants the fight.

Mako is familiar with the feeling. He’s been craving the fight since he was eight years old and full of helpless rage and fear. But he can’t let Wu court this particular battle. Not with so much at stake.

“Good night, gentlemen,” Mako says firmly, inserting himself between Wu and their captors. “We’ll see you in the morning.”

Han and Zhen relax slightly. “Thanks for understanding,” Han says, and he even sounds sincere. Mako almost feels bad for these two. Not bad enough to stop wanting to set the camp on fire. But a little bit bad.

Mako steers Wu into the canvas tent – the prince is stiff as a board, radiating tension and outraged dignitiy. The tent flap has barely fallen shut behind them before Wu is whirling on him, eyes blazing.

“That man – he dares – not even my great-aunt would – how – badgermoles are sacred – one does not forcibly domesticate a badgermole – of all the ignorant, boorish, uneducated, sacrilegious, base, common – ”

“I’m going to ignore the fact that technically half those adjectives could be applied to me,” Mako says dryly. He’s feeling a little empty inside, a little completely hollowed out. It’s probably not a good thing, but he’s willing to use it to his advantage. After all, they can only afford for one of them to be losing his sh*t right now.

Wu makes an outraged, multi-syllabic nonsense sound of frustration, followed by some of the most florid, high-brow cursing Mako has ever heard, followed by a string of guttersnipe profanity that Wu must have picked up from him, and concluded with a hitching, furious gasp for breath that teeters on the edge of a sob.

Wu is standing in the middle of their canvas not-quite-a-cell tent, fists clenched at his sides, shoulders hitched up around his ears, looking furious and royal and slightly wretched. Mako doesn’t know what to do. Does he approach? If he reaches for Wu now will the prince fall into his arms and accept his comfort for what it’s meant to be or will he push him away?

Wu breathes deeply, in through the nose, out through the mouth. On the third breath in he tilts his head back, breathing deeply at the ceiling, shoulders creeping back down, fists loosening at his sides. He closes his eyes and breathes in and out, in and out, then rolls his head over to look at Mako. His eyes are bright with unshed tears, the green of his irises sharper than usual in the shadows of the tent.

Mako holds up his arms in a tentative offer. Wu tilts forward, almost reluctantly, before letting himself drop, forehead against Mako’s chest. Mako wraps his arms around Wu and squeezes gently. Wu reaches up to grab fistfuls of Mako’s shirt, tugging himself snug against Mako until his face is crushed into Mako’s chest.

“I’m so angry,” Wu hisses out between clenched teeth. Then, voice small and muffled, “I don’t like it.”

Mako tucks his face against Wu’s curls, breathing in the scent of the woods and that expensive pomade Wu stole from Azula’s place. “I know,” he says.

“This is wrong; what he’s doing is wrong, this is all so wrong,” Wu spits the words out, a staccato rhythm against Mako’s chest.

“I know,” Mako agrees. Wu feels fragile and explosive in his arms, like an overheated furnace, an engine turning over too quickly.

“Badgermoles are sacred,” Wu says helplessly. “If I was a proper king…” he trails off, then, “It shouldn’t be like this.”

“I know.” There’s nothing else Mako can say.

They stand, tangled together, for another long moment. Then Wu, voice small and chastened, mumbles, “I didn’t mean you. When I said those things.”

Mako squeezes him impossibly tighter, “I know.”

“You’re not common. Or uneducated. Or…any of those things I called Shen.”

“I am,” Mako says, “I am uneducated. I left school when I was eight. I’m common as dirt. But even without a ‘lord’ in front of my name, I wouldn’t be anything like that asshole. I know that. You know that. We’re good.”

“You’re too good,” Wu mumbles, “it’s annoying, honestly. Manly beauty and honor? Leave some virtues for the rest of us, darling.”

“I’ll let you have the virtue of ‘bullsh*tting us out of a bad situation into a slightly less bad situation’, sound fair?”

Wu pinches his side. “Rude. Can’t you see I’m in a fragile state?”

I love you, Mako thinks and it hits him in the head like a truck. It’s such an absurd thing to think in this context, yet there it is, bubbling to the surface of his mind, not as a question, but as a truth. A constant. A simple statement of fact.

He doesn’t say it. He lets it sit in the back of his mind, a gently glowing kernel of truth slotting home in his understanding of the universe. Fire burns, stone is steady, Mako loves Wu.

“What are we going to do?” Wu asks miserably, and Mako is back in the moment.

“I assume you’re going to want to liberate the baby badgermole?”

“Yes.”

“And mom and dad badgermole are probably hunting down the guy who stole their baby? The guy who’s only a few tents away from us?”

“Yes.”

“And there’s a good chance that if mom and dad badgermole catch us with their baby they might kill us?”

“Uh. Yes.”

“Well. I think our best bet is to hope that Bolin and Korra turn up so we have some earth benders on our side.”

Wu sighs, “I thought so.”

…

They comb through the tent for anything Shen’s lackies might have missed when they cleaned out the cabbages but other than a few sticks, a few bent safety pins, and a few forlorn cabbage leaves, there isn’t anything to find. Mako pockets the pins anyway, because “You never know when you’ll need to pick a lock.”

“Like when you’re freeing an unjustly imprisoned baby badgermole?” Wu suggests, a bit of forced hope in his voice, a brave front that’s only wobbling slightly.

“Sure,” Mako says, playing along. He then pulls up his overshirt and, without further explanation, tears two large strips off of his undershirt.

Wu yelps in surprise and flails his hands somewhat uselessly. “What? I mean, uh, Mako, you know I’m always a fan of you abruptly undressing, but this is neither the time nor the place, nor does tearing up clothing you have repeatedly lectured me on treating with the utmost respect make the most sense at this juncture.”

Mako gives him a dry, halfway amused look that says something along the lines of ‘are you done?’ and Wu’s jaw snaps shut, babbling abruptly ceasing. The prince folds his arms and huffs through his nose as if to say ‘well, that’s some attitude’.

“It’s an old signal of Bolin and mine’s,” Mako explains, tying a piece of cloth around each stick. He slides the back of the tent up and jams each stick and its rough-and-ready flag into the earth, facing the treeline. “From our gang days.”

Wu opens his mouth.

“Whatever you’re going to say, rethink it,” Mako says dryly.

Wu closes his mouth. But he can’t resist saying something, so he sniffs and says, “I was going to call you resourceful.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Also, you would be a very sexy mob boss.”

“Uh-huh.”

Wu flicks an embarrassed hand, “Continue explaining your clothing vandalism.”

Mako snorts a laugh, “Okay. Fine. So, we’d tie rags on street corners as different signals. One for ‘all clear’, two for ‘caution’, three for ‘good eats in this dumpster,’ that kind of thing. We thought we were really clever. But then the other street kids figured it out and started changing our flags behind our backs and we had to stop.”

“What was the signal for ‘help, I’ve been kidnapped by a wannabe despot’?” Wu asks.

“Weirdly, that never came up,” Mako deadpans, “although ‘help’ was mostly just, uh, screaming for help. Not a lot of time to put up flags when you need immediate help.”

Wu tilts his head to the side, “So this is?”

“Two flags for ‘caution’ and I’m hoping Bolin can parse the ‘help, please’ subtext.”

“I have complete faith in him,” Wu says and his smile is only a little strained.

Mako sighs, “I just hope he remembers the code.”

…

“Look, look, Korra!” Bolin hisses. They’ve been creeping around the edges of the camp, trying to figure out what exactly a lord and his entire noble entourage and then some are doing camping in the middle of the woods. So far, they haven’t figured much out other than how to avoid guard patrols (they’re all on the exact same schedule and follow the exact same search pattern. For Korra, who spent her entire childhood dodging White Lotus patrols it’s almost laughable easy to avoid them).

Korra turns her head to see what Bolin is pointing at. Behind a nondescript canvas supply tent, someone has stuck two sticks with scraps of white fabric tied to the ends like little ragged flags into the dirt.

“It’s Mako, I’m sure of it!” Bolin says.

“Why would Mako be here?” Korra asks, “We left him and Wu back at the campsite.”

“Maybe they got captured again? They get captured a lot,” Bolin points out, “And that’s our old flag code, I know it! See, when we were kids Mako came up with this whole flag signal system so he could tell me what places were safe when he had to go out on his own. We stopped using it after awhile, though…” Bolin frowns at the two rags fluttering in the breeze, “Two flags…that either means ‘good trash in this dumpster’ or ‘caution’. I think.”

“Why would he say ‘good trash in this dumpster’?” Korra asks.

“Maybe there’s food in there?” Bolin suggests.

“Yeah, but why put up flags to tell you, why not just…tell you?”

“Good point. It’s probably ‘caution’.”

Korra and Bolin stare at the flags. The scraps of fabric continue to flutter in the breeze.

Bolin sighs deeply, his shoulders slumping, “Mako and Wu got captured again, didn’t they?”

Korra nods, “Yep.”

“That’s what the ‘caution’ flags mean,” Bolin says.

“Yep,” Korra agrees. “So, do we want to destroy the camp now or wait until we can talk to them tonight once everyone’s gone to sleep.”

Bolin sighs, “Mako would say to wait.”

“Yep.”
“Mako is probably right.”

Korra rolls her head, cracking her neck and shoulders. “So, we wait?”

“We wait,” Bolin agrees glumly.

…

Han and Zhen turn up again around dinnertime with bowls of soup and a book for Wu to sign as Lord Fu. Mako wonders if the book is now worth more or less money because it has the signature of a prince-pretending-to-be-a-famous-zoologist on it. Mako suspects it’s technically more valuable, but to fewer specialized collectors. Smaller market, less chance of a profit. Mako wonders if there will ever be a time the little voice in the back of his head doesn’t sound like a back-alley pawnbroker.

Wu-as-Lord-Fu signs with a flourish and it must please their captors because they both get an extra serving of the mystery soup, which Mako drinks with the dogged determination of someone who doesn’t know when he’ll be fed next, and Wu sips at with the delicate sensibilities of someone who is actively questioning what’s actually in the bowl.

Han and Zhen leave them alone after their bowls are emptied. The sun sinks below the horizon and the sounds of the camp grow soft and muffled around them. But even as the camp slows down for the night, Wu only gets jumpier, like some internal mechanism is slowly winding him up. He can’t sit still, but he can’t pace for more than a few minutes before flinging himself to the ground and trying to sit again. When Mako asks him what his problem is, Wu just snaps, “It feels wrong! I can feel it in the earth!” and when Mako points out that Wu isn’t an earth bender, the prince just shakes his head like Mako doesn’t understand.

Mako wonders if Wu can somehow feel the tiny, tiny vibrations in the earth of a mother and father badgermole combing the caverns for their lost young. Honestly, it would barely surprise him if Wu could. The last two years have more than taught him to expected the unexpected.

It’s almost a relief when he hears the thump-scratch of pebbles on the back of the tent and a whispered “Mako?” from the other side of the canvas, quickly followed by “Mako? I really hope you’re in there or I’m gonna seem kinda stupid right now.”

“I’m here, Bo,” Mako whispers back.

“Oh thank Raava,” Bolin exhales, “Well, not ‘thank Raave, my brother’s been captured again’ more ‘thank Raava, I’m not talking to an empty tent because that would be dumb’.”

“Your support means the world to us,” Mako says dryly.

“Oh, is Wu there too?”

“Present and accounted for,” Wu says, “And I would hardly call this ‘captured’. We could get out of this tent very easily.”

“So, uh, why haven’t you?” Bolin asks, to which Wu replies with the beginnings of a long-winded explanation that Mako shortens to “Lord Shen has a baby badgermole hostage and wants us to help him tame its parents.”

“Oh sh*t.”

Mako shouldn’t find it funny whenever Bolin swears, it’s just, his brother grew up just as rough as Mako did yet he curses like the words are foreign shapes that don’t sit right in his mouth. Like he’s talking around candy that’s too sour or too sweet. It’s hilarious.

“‘Oh sh*t’ is right,” Wu says and he’s another one who Mako would have said sounded ridiculous swearing (and he does, most of the time, like his body is rejecting the through of profanity, but after today’s display of princely profane fury Mako will have to reassess his understanding of Wu’s ability to curse).

“So, what’s the plan?” Bolin asks, “Oh, and Korra’s here too. She wants to know what the plan is.”

“Hi,” Korra’s slightly muffled voice says.

“Not to worry,” Wu says, a wicked gleam in his eye, “I have a plan.”

…

It starts in the early hours of the morning. Little tremors at first, just enough to stir up the dust in the alleyways between the tents. Barley an earthquake at all. Most of the camp sleeps through the disturbance.

Then another shudder, like the ground is shivering with cold. Animals wake; ostrich horses tug fretfully on their leads, pig chickens squawk in protest, lizards skitter for cover. A few pots tip over and crack against the ground. Guards glance at each other uneasily.

The earth stills and everyone exhales.

Too soon, the ground is already shaking. Cracks slither across stones. Stacked boxes of supplies sway, the most precarious articles toppling from the heights to crash to the ground. The camp’s chef bolts out of his tent, still in his pajamas, brandishing a meat cleaver as if he can fight the earth itself. Off-duty guards and scribes find themselves falling out of bed, hitting the rolling, roiling ground face-first.

Cries of alarm begin to filter up from the tent city, and below their feet the rumbling earth continues to shake. More than shivers now the ground rolls. There’s a rhythm now, a steady thump-thump-thump like an enormous heartbeat.

Or the tread of enormous paws.

Lord Shen comes staggering out of his ornate tent, hastily tying a heavy brocade bathrobe around his middle, a tasseled sleeping cap sitting askew on his head.

“I DEMAND TO KNOW WHAT HAS DISTURBED MY NOBLE SLUMBER!” Lord Shen wails. “I MUST BE INFORMED!” He staggers as the earth rolls beneath his slippered feet and nearly faceplants, his hat’s golden tassel flopping over his eyes, obscuring his vision. One of the guards catches him, but, unable to see his would-be rescuer, Shen shouts, “UNHAND ME AT ONCE! RUFFIANS! VANDALS! THIEVES! GUARDS!”

The guard, hopelessly confused and slightly deafened, releases Lord Shen at once, allowing the nobleman to complete his descent and smack into the heaving ground. Shen takes this rather badly, his feet tangling in his trailing robes as he struggles to heave himself back to his feet, still shouting for his guards.

The guard who had tried to help him hesitates, then backs slowly away when he realizes Shen still can’t see him.

“I DEMAND TO KNOW WHAT IS GOING ON!” Lord Shen screams from the dirt, “SOMEONE! TELL ME! I DEMAND IT!”

“My lord! My lord!” Guards Han and Zhen tear into the courtyard in front of Lord Shen’s tent, panting, dirt-smeared, and wide-eyed.

“You! And you!” Lord Shen points at them aggressively, “Assist me to my feet!”

Han and Zhen jump to help him up, Han getting elbowed in the gut for his troubles.

“Now,” Shen sniffs, attempting to look lordly and poised as the earth rolls beneath his feet. He’s lost his tasseled cap and his robe has slid off one shoulder, revealing pajamas stitched with tiny golden koala sheep. “What is the meaning of this?” he gestures angrily at the wreckage around them.

“My lord,” Han says, sketching a hasty bow, “Lord Fu sent us to tell you that the earthquakes can only mean one thing.”

“What, what, what?” Shen demands, grabbing Han by the shoulders and shaking him.

Han gulps, eyes skittering away nervously, “that the baby badgermoles’ parents…”

“DO MY STEEDS APPROACH?” Shen demands.

“Oh, they’re approaching,” Zhen says, “and they’re angry.”

…

Mako marvels as Wu executes what Mako can only describe as ‘a truly magnificent con job’ on Han and Zhen and what Wu and Bolin would probably call ‘performance art.’ Wu starts when Han and Zhen turn up early in the morning to deliver their breakfast. Wu is all smiles and charm, thanking their guards for how conscientious they’ve been, how kind they are to bring them their breakfast. Wu even insists on tipping them for their “truly, truly excellent service.” Han flushes, flattered and pleased, Zhen raises an eyebrow but pockets the coins readily enough.

Just as the guards turn to leave the tremors start.

Wu’s entire affect changes. His brows draw together pensively, his shoulders pull in, his face even pales slightly. It’s masterful, and Mako should not find his partner’s ability to con random civilians this attractive.

“What was that?” Han asks, frowning at Zhen. He doesn’t sound terribly concerned. That’s going to change soon.

“Dunno, I haven’t felt an earthquake coming on, have you?” Zhen asks.

“No, I haven’t felt anything…”

Wu makes a soft sound, barely a noise at all but just enough to pull Han and Zhen’s attention.

Beneath their feet the ground rumbles.

“It’s going to get worse; it’s going to get much worse,” Wu mutters, “I tried to warn Lord Shen but he wouldn’t listen and now we’re all going to suffer for it.” Wu turns to Mako, “I’m sorry for getting you into this, Li. You deserve a better internship experience.”

“I thought I was your assistant?” Mako mutters back at Wu.

“Just go with it,” Wu hisses back, their exchange thankfully muffled by the escalating quake.

“What, what do you think is happening?” Han is looking much more concerned. Zhen is frowning skeptically behind him, but his focus is still laser-sharp on the two of them.

“Lord Shen has broken one of the cardinal rules of the Kingdom Animalia, I’m afraid,” Wu says. Something about the unbearably fancy accent he puts on as ‘Lord Fu’ makes everything he says sound simultaneously Very Serious and slightly absurd, like a dramatic moment in a play rather than real life.

“What do you mean?” Han asks urgently.

“Lord Shen…” Wu closes his eyes and breathes deep before looking up at the gaurds, expression grave, “has captured a baby badgermole. And I’m afraid its’ parents will stop at nothing to get it back. They’re coming for us and they will tear this camp and everyone in it apart. I had hoped I could convince Lord Shen to release his captive before they caught our scent but alas, they’re on their way.”

Han pales, “We must inform Lord Shen at once! Maybe he can still be convinced!”

“You really think we can convince Lord Shen of anything?” Zhen says skeptically.

“We have to try!” Han says urgently, “Come on, Zhen! I don’t want to die by badgermole!” Han races off, headed for the ornate tent at the center of the camp.

“I should’ve left after the first platypus-bear,” Zhen grumbles before turning and racing after his friend.

Wu holds character until they disappear around a corner before dropping back into his normal Wu posture. “Come on, let’s go bust out that baby before its parents sense all the seismic activity Korra and Bolin have whipped up and come for us for real!”

…

In the woods, Korra and Bolin work to sync up their earth bending to imitate the tread of enormous paws deep underground. The earth trembles all around them, pebbles clattering and skittering against each other as they’re knocked loose. Birds shriek alarm calls and fall silent, rodents and lizards hustle for cover. Tree leaves snap and rustle against each other alarmingly.

Korra is sweaty, there’s dirt in her clothes from sleeping on the ground, and her hair is a mass of tangles. Her heart is pounding in her chest in time with the fake footsteps she and Bolin are conjuring up and she hasn’t felt this good in weeks, months, maybe even years. She doesn’t feel lost. She doesn’t feel afraid. She has a purpose. She and Bolin are going to help free a baby badgermole. With her two hands, she’s going to help a helpless creature. She’s going to protect something. She’s going to win.

She grins at Bolin, who’s pushing and pulling the earth like a weaver working a loom. It rolls beneath his hands, ocean waves of rock and dirt. He grins back at her, a smudge of dirt smeared over his eyebrows where he wiped the sweat off his forehead. He looks years younger and for just a moment Korra feels like the kid who stepped off the boat onto the docks of Republic City, full of hope. Korra feels like the girl who stepped into the pro-bending arena and knew instantly that she wanted to be up there, with them, playing that game. Korra feels young and light and like maybe, someday, she could come close to being that young, hopeful person again.

Fear has sat on Korra’s back, right between her shoulder blades, pressing her into the ground for so, so long. And just right now it feels, for the first time in a long time, very far away.

…

Mako and Wu sneak around behind Lord Shen’s enormous, gilded tent, slipping and sliding over the ground as it shakes. They can hear him shouting on the other side of the structure, a sharp crack of sound against the cacophony of the camp waking up in utter and complete disarray. And through it all, rising high and thready over the clatter and crash of everything else, is the plaintive cry of the baby badgermole.

They reach the metal box. Mako pulls out a collection of metal shapes that used to be bent safety pins left behind in their cabbage-scented tent. Korra has metal-bent them into lockpicks based on pictures Mako scratched into the dirt with a stick, half-remembered from his Triad days. He hopes they work.

“Wu,” Mako turns to the prince before he gets to work on the lock, “You have to sing to it.”

“Stealth, Mako, does not generally involve musical interludes!” Wu hisses.

“Yeah, but I don’t want to get my face mauled off when we let it out. So,” Mako gestures vaguely, “Work your badgermole whispering magic.”

Wu sniffs, “I do believe this is the first time you’ve ever complimented my singing skills.”

“Just do it,” Mako huffs, then, reconsidering, “Please?”

“Thank you for the please,” Wu says primly, and begins to croon. “My story is much too sad to be told/But practically everything leaves me totally cold”

“Depressing choice,” Mako mutters, leaning over the lock.

Wu scowls at him and vaguely kicks at his shins, continuing “The only exception I know is the case/When I'm out on a quiet spree/Fighting vainly the old ennui.” Wu shoots Mako a look as if inviting him to comment. Mako wisely opts to focus on cracking the lock and says nothing about Wu’s song choice. Apparently mollified, Wu carries on: “And I suddenly turn and see your fabulous face.”

Mako crooks a smile at that, even as he fumbles a pin, banging his knuckles against the box and nearly dropping his picks.

Wu carries on singing, “I get no kick from champagne/Mere alcohol doesn't thrill me at all/So tell me why should it be true”

And like a stage magic trick, like a dramatic reveal in a radio drama, the lock snaps open just as Wu sings, “That I get a kick out of yooou!”

The door creaks wide and there, squinting, snuffling, no longer crying but instead making soft, cooing, curious noises, is a baby badgermole, its eyes squinted shut against the bright sunlight. It’s about half the size of the baby air bison Kai rescued before everything went to sh*t with the Red Lotus, and its skin shows warm and pink through its thin, sandy fur. It noses at the air, making little huffs and coos as it sniffs at them, snout swaying in time with Wu’s song.

“I get a kick every time I see you/Standing there before me/I get a kick though it's clear to see/You obviously do not adore me.”

The baby badgermole sways towards Mako and Wu, but gives a painful squeak when its paws hit the dirt. Mako looks down to see its claws are broken and its toes are blistered and raw where it must have tried to dig itself out of its prison.

“Wu,” he whispers, “Wu, I need to carry it.”

Wu pauses singing but keeps humming soothingly, glancing first at Mako, then at the baby’s ravaged paws, and then back up at Mako, eyes wide and helpless.

“Can you keep it calm?” Mako says, keeping his tone deliberately even. Animals can sense fear and tension in human voices, after all. Pabu used to hate hearing him and Bolin argue. “So I can pick it up?”

Wu nods and keeps humming, starting in on the next verse as Mako creeps close to the baby badgermole, “I get no kick in a plane/Flying too high/With some gal in the sky/Is my idea of nothing to do.”

Mako crouches, arms outstretched, Wu leaning over his shoulder and crooning some radio hit from Ba Sing Se. “Come on, kiddo,” Mako whispers to the baby badgermole, “Let’s get you home.”

And wonder of wonders, some spirit must have been smiling down on them, because the badgermole limps towards him and presses its soft, damp snout against the side of Mako’s neck and breathes deep. Mako doesn’t move, doesn’t twitch, his lungs are frozen in his chest, his heart is speeding like a bullet train, as the little badgermole lifts up its’ battered paws to rest on his shoulders and tilts its’ face up to press its snout to Wu’s cheek. It scoots forward, leaning into the music and Mako’s body, letting Mako take its weight. Mako lets his arms drop slowly, gently, to cradle the creature.

“Yet I get a kick,” Wu whisper-sings, “You give me a boot/Oh yeah, I get a kick out of you~”

And Mako slowly stands, badgermole cradled in his arms, Wu humming behind him, and slowly, painfully, begins to walk towards the trees, the earth still shaking beneath their feet.

…

They make a strange procession through the forest: Mako cradling a baby badgermole (who is a girl, apparently, and who Bolin has given the name ‘Daisy’ for mysterious Bolin reasons), Wu at his side, singing the greatest hits from the ‘Ba Ba BEST in Ba Sing Se!’ Radio Show, Bolin and Korra trailing behind them, having thrown a stone wall around the camp, trapping Lord Shen and his entourage inside a bowl of rock where they’ll hopefully be so paralyzed with fear of what the badgermole parents will do next that they won’t think to earth bend it away for at least an hour or two.

“What if Daisy’s parents don’t come and get her?” Bolin is asking, “What if they can’t smell her even though she’s out of the metal box?”

“They’ll come find her,” Mako says doggedly, “They’ll find her.”

Wu, who would actually know how badgermole-locating works can’t answer as he’s currently trilling, “I wanna be loved by you, just you/And nobody else but you/I wanna be loved by you alone/Boop-boop-de-boop!”

“Are these songs getting sillier, or is it just me?” Korra asks.

Wu glares in a ‘you try singing every song you know on command’ sort of way. Korra smiles sheepishly and says, “Sorry, carry on, you sound great.” Wu nods in a smug little ‘yes, I know,’ sort of way.

They settle in a clearing between a rocky overhang and a thin, shallow mountain creek three songs later. Daisy the badgermole is snuffling wet, sleepy snuffles right in Mako’s ear and her body is heavy with the dead weight of a young creature deeply and profoundly asleep. It makes something warm and nostalgic and nonsensical curl in Mako’s stomach. He remembers carrying Bolin like this, when it was Bolin’s sticky fingers clinging to his collar rather than badgermole drool.

Mako sets Daisy down on the ground, where she curls into herself, a little ridge of dirt forming around her body in a tiny nest.

“That is So. Cute.” Bolin whispers.

“So, do we just wait and hope they turn up?” Korra asks. She sits down, experimentally twists and turns, trying to mimic Daisy’s movement. A crooked, uneven ridge of dirt sprouts up around her and Bolin immediately sits down to try it himself. His ridge is spikey and overenthusiastic in places and basically flat in others. He and Korra twitch back and forth at each other, trying to create their own little badgermole dirt-nests with the ease with which Daisy made hers.

Wu, busy taking advantage of Daisy’s slumber to slurp water directly from the creek, doesn’t answer. Mako shrugs.

They don’t have long to wait. And when Daisy’s parents arrive, it isn’t with any of the fanfare that Korra and Bolin cooked up to fool Lord Shen. One moment, Daisy is a asleep in her dirt-nest, Wu singing under his breath, the next her head is up and she’s producing a sound Mako can only describe as a chirp. Mako trades glances with his companions – Bolin looking bewildered, Korra alert and Wu somewhere in the realm of ‘intrigued’ and between one blink and the next the rock face beside them simply…opens up, revealing a massive pair of fully-grown badgermoles.

“Everyone, stay calm,” Wu says in a gentle sing-song, following the rhythm of the song he was signing, “slow movements, soft voices, and no one touch Daisy.”

The larger of the two badgermole approaches, chuffing hot badgermole breath as it sniffs each of their faces. Mako holds his breath and tries not to think about how badgermoles eat roots, tubers, and, most importantly, meat.

Wu isn’t out and out singing, but he is humming softly. Bolin and Korra are perfectly still, their eyes huge as the badgermole examines them. It pauses, sniffs Korra deeply, sneezes, and stomps. More of the silver Mako saw on her skin yesterday beads on her forehead and she slowly reaches up to brush it away, staring at it where it spatters on the ground, gilding the leaves with poison.

The smaller badgermole leans down to nuzzle at Daisy while her mate sniffs Bolin. Apparently finding Bolin satisfactory, the male badgermole licks him, leaving his hair standing up in wild, curling spikes, before moving on to Mako.

Mako has met badgermoles before. Many times, in fact. But there’s something inexplicably heavy about this one’s regard in this moment. There’s a start part of Mako that wants to make a good impression. Like the feeling he had when he first met Asami’s father magnified tenfold and mixed, strangely, with how he felt the first time his grandma hugged him. Like he wanted to be found worthy and like he was coming home all at once.

He wants to be worthy of these creatures. He was always his mother’s boy, but he is also his father’s son. Even after these last two terrifying, incredible, exhausting years, there is a part of him that wants the Earth Kingdom to love him back in all its messy, destructive, constructive, contradictory glory.

And then the badgermole presses his snout to Mako’s forehead.

Like a benediction.

Like San, his father, pressing one last kiss to his head before leaving for work.

And Mako doesn’t know why but his eyes burn with unexpected tears and he’s still blinking them away when the badgermole turns to Wu. Daisy’s mother has scooped her up and is cradling her between her paws and licking Daisy’s wounded feet tenderly while Daisy coos.

Daisy’s father regards Wu for a long, long moment. Wu has stopped singing, has stopped even humming. The sun is beginning to crest through the trees, light trickling through the leaves and lining the scene in gold.

Wu inclines his head deferentially. But badgermoles do not bow and this one does not so much return the gesture as mimic it just to nudge Wu back upright and out of his obsequious posture. The badgermole instead presses his forehead to Wu’s chest. The prince makes a soft ‘oh’ sound and reaches out, wrapping both arms around the creature’s snout and pressing his own face into its soft fur.

The embrace lasts only a second and ends with the papa badgermole tapping his nose against Wu’s, making the king-in-waiting giggle.

Behind this tableaux, the mother badgermole has helped Daisy climb onto her back, and the little badgermole is already fast asleep between her shoulder blades. Then, she too steps forward to greet and sniff each of them in turn, ending with Wu just as her mate had. Her pink tongue darts out and she delicately licks his cheek and taps his forehead with her nose.

Then, moving as one, the badgermole family turns and disappears into the mountain, the stone face closing behind them, like they were never there.

“They won’t come back here again,” Wu says, voice threaded with a kind of quiet, melancholy joy, “They’ll go deeper into the mountains where Shen and his ilk can’t find them. They’ll be free.”

“I think you were just blessed by the badgermoles,” Mako says, “Your Highness.”

“Oh, pish,” Wu says, and Mako catches a glint of tears in the corners of his eyes, “They were just saying thank you. Majestic creatures, aren’t they?”

“Yeah,” Mako agrees, “Yeah, they are.”

“I wonder if we’ll see them again,” Wu leans into Mako’s side and Mako drapes an arm around his shoulder.

“Maybe,” is all Mako can offer him.

“Maybe,” Wu agrees.

And they sit in that long, strange, golden moment for a long time.

…

Dear Mako,

So glad to hear you aren’t captured or fighting for your life and have somehow managed to find more badgermoles. You know, legends say that the ancient Earth Kings were chosen by the badgermoles. Omashu still follows that tradition, I think. Maybe it’s a sign from the spirits that badgermoles like Wu so much.

Oh, what am I saying? I’m a scientist, not a philosopher!

Everyone here says hello and Grandma Yin is just enchanted with Prince Wu, let me tell you. She thinks he’s a good influence on you. Ha!

Tell Korra hello from me, and Bolin too. I’ve included letters for them from everyone and a letter to Korra from me.

Your friend,

Asami