☆Ren|

The heavy iron doors of the Republic City Police Department headquarters didn’t slide open so much as they groaned a grating, metallic shriek that had become the unofficial soundtrack to your Tuesdays.

"I am telling you, for the absolute twentieth time, you literally got the wrong person..!" Your voice, naturally quiet and entirely lacking the booming voice of your twin sister, was completely swallowed by the bustling station.

The officer pulled your arm didn't even look down at you. His grip wasn't brutal, but it was full of stubborn weight fueled by the deep, bone weary exhaustion that usually came from chasing the Avatar through the city. "Save it for the Chief, Avatar. Destroying a building's property while chasing a gang member is a misdemeanour, but fleeing the scene makes it an administrative nightmare. Move it."

"I didn't flee! I was buying groceries..!" you protested, desperately hoisting a slightly crushed brown paper bag containing a head of bruised cabbage and some green onions as your sole legal defense.

"Korra wears that blue tank top! Look at me, I'm wearing a knitted green shawl! We dress differently—Do we look the same to you??"

"You have the same face,"

The officer muttered, dragging you past a row of cluttered desks where older, jaded detectives didn't even bother raising their eyes from their coffee cups. They just smirked into their paperwork. Another Tuesday, another Avatar meltdown.

The officer marched you straight up to the frosted glass door at the end of the long hallway, rapping his metal-clad knuckles against it twice before shoving it open without waiting for an invitation. "Chief. Found her trying to blend into the market crowd after the bridge incident."

Lin did not look up immediately. She was buried beneath a small mountain of zoning complaints and structural damage assessments, her dark metal armor catching the dull, slate grey light filtering through her high office window. She looked tired and thoroughly unimpressed by anything. With a heavy sigh, she snatched a thick manila file from the top of her desk and slammed it down directly in front of you.

"You're becoming a public nuisance," Lin barked, her raspy voice cutting through your rising anxiety like a razor through silk. "Three separate noise complaints from the harbor, a smashed vehicle in the financial district, and now property building damage? Do you honestly think this city has a bottomless budget for your erratic behaviour?"

You looked down at the case report pushed against your knuckles. Written in aggressive, bold black ink at the absolute top of the page was the name: AVATAR KORRA.

"Chief Beifong," you said softly, your shoulders dropping into a posture of pure, defeated exhaustion as you let out a long breath. "Please, you took the wrong person.."

Lin froze. Her sharp green eyes finally snapped up from the paperwork, traveling from your clothes, your hair then your face. The lack of smug defiance, the slight tremble in your lower lip, and the way your [Hair Colour] hair was pinned back in a neat, quiet style that Korra wouldn’t tolerate for five minutes finally clicked into place.

Lin closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose. A low, rumbling groan vibrated deep in her chest. "Officer."

The officer blinked, shifting his weight. "Yes, Chief?"

Lin analyzed your demeanour and again at your appearance. "Look at her shoes," Lin said, her tone dangerously calm, the kind of quiet that usually preceded a building collapsing.

The officer looked down. You were wearing simple, flat shoes, completely unsuited for running along rooftops or waterbending across shipping canals.

"Now look at her face," Lin continued, leaning forward, resting her sharp chin on her steepled, metal-clad fingers. "Does this girl look like she just blew up a bridge, or does she look like she’s about to cry because you ruined her dinner?"

The officer’s jaw dropped. He looked between you and Lin, the realization hitting him like a stray boulder. "Uh... she said she wasn't the Avatar, Chief. But they're identical—"

"They are twins, you absolute blockhead," Lin snapped, standing up so fast her chair screeched against the floorboards. Her armor clanked loudly, a harsh, metallic sound that made you flinch instinctively. "Korra has her hair up in that high ponytail and smells like her polar bear dog. This is her sister. The one who doesn't cause trouble and break my city. Get out of my office before I demote you to traffic duty."

The officer mumbled a hasty apology and practically sprinted backwards out of the room, slamming the heavy door behind him.

The silence that followed was heavy, but it wasn't unkind. Lin let out a sharp, deflating breath, her harsh demeanor softening by a fraction, a miracle very few people in Republic City ever got to witness. She stepped around her massive wooden desk, her gaze lingering on the slight tremor in your fingers.

"He hurt your arm?" she asked, her voice dropping an octave, losing its gravelly edge.

"No," you murmured, carefully setting the crushed grocery bag on the corner of her desk, trying to straighten out the crumpled paper. "Just... my pride. I think this is the third time this month."

"Fourth," Lin corrected gently. She reached out, her fingers brushing lightly against your wrist, checking for any red marks left by the officer's heavy grip. The contrast of her rough, scarred exterior against the tenderness she reserved strictly for you always made your heart skip. "Your sister is a whirlwind. You need to start wearing a sign."

"I shouldn't have to," you whispered, looking up into her stern face. While Korra was all fire and brash and confident, you were the quiet shadow left in her wake. But in this office, under Lin's watchful, protective eye, you didn't feel invisible. You felt seen. "Though... maybe a giant hat would work."

Lin let out a rare, genuine huff of laughter, her thumb smoothing over the back of your hand. "Just stay in the well lit areas of the city. Or better yet, come here first. Saves my men the paperwork, and saves me the gray hair."

Those were the simpler days, much more light hearted, oh how would you do anything to go back to those kinds of days. The transition from those lighthearted mix ups to a living nightmare happened way too fast.

The Red Lotus. As prepared as they are, they had a miscalculation. You. They only saw a face. They saw the Avatar.

When Zaheer's followers ambushed the area, there had been no warning. It was a blur of smoke, crashing rock, and precise strikes. You had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Separated from Korra in the blinding dust, you had stumbled blindly through the tunnels, coughing, your heart hammering against your ribs.

When they dropped from the ceiling, they didn't ask questions. They saw the exact face they had come to destroy. You didn't even have time to scream that you weren't her before a heavy iron cleat slammed into your chest, pinning you violently to the floor. The breath left your lungs in a ragged gasp. You expected an interrogation, a demand, a hostage negotiation, anything.

You had no idea what was to come.

You had no idea that a weapon had been forged specifically to tear down a god, and that it was about to be poured into a fragile human body instead.

The heavy, suffocating scent of sharp damp moss filled the air as they brought forward the jar. You stared up, your eyes wide with a sudden terror as the dull, silver liquid was brought to light. You opened your mouth to finally cry out, to tell them they were making a mistake, but they immediately clamped over your mouth forcing it shut.

No hesitation. The poison went straight through your skin, forcing the liquid directly into your bloodstream.

The pain hit you instantly, the piercing pain shot up every muscle fiber in your body. It was a violent, burning violation that instantly turned your blood into liquid fire. The sensation of the heavy, toxic metal scraping against the inside of your veins, tearing through muscle fibers as it aggressively expanded through your system. It wasn't a clean, smooth poison; it was a physically clamping down your body and immediately began to crush and crunch your internal organs from the inside out. You had screamed until your throat tore and bled, your body convulsing so violently that you nearly snapped your own collarbones before Lin and the others finally reach you. 

"She isn't turning," P'Li’s voice echoed sharply through, her third eye tattoo taut with concentration as she watched your thrashing form. "Zaheer, the poison is inside her, but she isn't forcing the Avatar State. There’s no glow!"

Zaheer strode closer, his heavy brow furrowed as he stared down at your twisting, agonizing body. He expected the defense mechanism of Raava to flare up, to tear the chains apart in a burst of gale force winds and molten fire. Instead, you were just a girl dying in the dirt. He reached down, violently ripping back your collar, searching for the telltale signs of spiritual energy.

"this is the wrong one," Ghazan muttered, stepping backward, his jaw tightening as he looked at your fractured, useless movements. "She’s not the Avatar."

The realization hit the Red Lotus like a suffocating shroud. Zaheer’s face went entirely cold, a rare flash of pure, calculating horror crossing his features. "This is the sister."

"Then the real Avatar is still out there," Ming-Hua hissed, her water-arms churning into jagged, icy spikes. "We wasted the poison on a nobody."

"Leave her," Zaheer commanded, his voice devoid of any pity, only the dark frustration of a failed mission. "The toxin will finish her anyway. We move out. Now."

They abandoned you there, slumped against the damp stone, your body already beginning to shut down under the weight of a chemical designed to kill anything in its path. Your vision frayed into grey static, your throat tearing as you choked on your own ragged breaths, completely alone in the dark.

"Get out of my way!" Lin’s voice tore through the dust, raw and feral, lacking every ounce of her usual composure. Alongside Suyin and the rest.

When Lin’s eyes fell upon your convulsing form on the floor, the world seemed to stop. Her heavy metal armor clattering loudly against the stone as she practically threw herself to her knees beside you.

"No, no, no," Lin muttered, her voice thick and breaking, a sound you had never heard from her in all your years. Her hands, usually so steady, were trembling violently as she cradled your head, pulling your shivering, pale frame against her chest armor. "Keep your eyes on me."

"Lin..." your voice was a ruined, bloody whisper, your fingers twitching uselessly against her collar. "I...I can't.."

Suyin was instantly on your other side, her hands moving with frantic, desperate speed over your chest. "Lin, it's mercury. It’s dense, metallic poison. It’s settling into her central nervous system—she can’t fight this off by herself! If I don't get it out right now, her heart is going to stop!"

"Then do it!"

Lin roared, her hand gripping yours so tightly it felt like she might break your fingers, using her bare strength to anchor you to the living world. "Su, do it now!"

The extraction was a nightmare. Su braced her feet against the stone, her eyes wide with intense, hyper focused concentration as she extended her arms, using her metalbending to reach inside your very flesh.

You screamed. it was a guttural, tearing shriek as the silver liquid was forcibly dragged backwards through your veins, scraping against muscle fibers and tearing through your pores. The sensation felt like a thousand jagged needles being pulled through your skin all at once. Your spine arched violently off the floor, your body convulsing so fiercely that Mako and Bolin had to rush forward, pinning your shoulders and legs down to keep you from fracturing your own bones against the rock. 

"I’m getting it... I’m getting it out," Su gasped, sweat pouring down her face as thick, heavy globules of dull silver mercury began to seep out of your skin, hovering in the air before clattering onto the dirt in a deadly, shimmering mass.

You choked, a fresh wave of dry retching tearing through your diaphragm as your lungs refused to expand. The poison had left a chewing emptiness in your bones, a complete short circuit of your nerves that left you drowning on dry land. Your head fell back against Lin’s shoulder, your eyes rolling back as the last of your strength evaporated.

"Stay with me!"

Lin cried out, her rough thumb violently wiping the blood and silver sheen from your lips, her forehead pressing hard against yours. "Breathe, damn it, breathe! I've got you. I'm not letting you go."

The frosted panes of the recovery room windows seemed to seal you away from the living world entirely. Outside, the harsh, white glare of the South Pole bounced off endless miles of ice, a blinding and indifferent expanse. Inside, the only sound was the rhythmic, hollow thud of Korra’s earthbending a quarter mile away, a constant, rhythmic reminder of a body that worked, a body that could still move.

And then there was you.

Lin wasn't here. You knew why, of course. She was the Chief of Police in a city, she couldn't simply abandon her post to sit beside you all the way here. Her absence was understandable. It was necessary. But in the dead of night, when the oil lamps flickered out and left you in pitch blackness, her absence felt like an open wound.

You had no ground here.

You only had yourself, and yourself was a terrifying thing to be trapped with.

"Let’s try the fingers today, [Your Name]," Katara said, her voice a soft old, maternal hum that only made the bile rise in the back of your throat. She placed a small, polished wooden block on the table in front of you. "Just slide it two inches to the left. Take your time..."

You stared at the block. It was light. It probably weighed less than a regular rock. Before the incident, you wouldn’t have even thought about the physical mechanics required to move it. You would have just reached out and done it.

You drew in a slow, shivering breath, trying to steady the erratic hum in your chest. You focused every shred of your mind on your right index finger. 

'Move.'

Your hand didn't move. Instead, a sharp, electric jolt traveled up your forearm, a violent misfire of damaged nerves that caused your entire arm to jerk upward. Your knuckles slammed into the edge of the heavy oak table with a dull, sickening crack. The wooden block went flying across the room, bouncing uselessly off the furs covering the wall.

Pain—sharp, white hot, and chewing—bloomed across your knuckles, but it was entirely swallowed by a wave of suffocating, internal dread.

'Am I enough for this?' 

The silent, mocking question echoed from the dark corners of your own mind. Thoughts and voices piled up in your head, no matter how hard you try to shut them down they'd always trail back.

‘Look at you.’

‘You aren't the Avatar.’

‘You don't have anything to heal you.’

‘Are you even strong enough to exist like this?’—

...

...

"It's alright,"

Katara murmured, reaching out with hands that glowed with a cool, watery light to soothe the bruised knuckles. "The neural pathways take time to rebuild—"

"Don't," you choked out, pulling your arm back against your stomach. Your voice was a ragged, pathetic thing, still scarred from the screams you had left behind in the dirt. You couldn't look at Katara’s face. You couldn't bear to see the pity in her eyes. "Please. Just... leave it."

When the door clicked shut, the silence returned, heavier and uglier than before.

You stared down at your hands resting in your lap. They wouldn't stop shaking. It wasn't a gentle tremor; it was a jerky twitching that made your fingers look like dying insects. You tried to force them into a fist. You squeezed your eyes shut, pouring a lifetime of hidden stubbornness into your knuckles. 

‘Stop shaking. Just stop.’

The fingers only clicked and shuddered harder, the tendons in your wrist straining until a sharp spasm locked your thumb flat against your palm. A tiny, broken whimper escaped your lips. The sheer humiliation and naked vulnerability of being reduced to a prison of your own flesh turned your stomach into a knot of acid.

The anger didn't belong to Zaheer anymore. 

It belonged to you. 

It was a vicious, self consuming hatred that coiled deep in your chest. 

Why couldn't I just slide a piece of wood? 

Why couldn't I control myself? 

You felt like an imposter, a useless shadow of a person.

Hours bled into days, and the struggle didn't get easier; it withered into something deeply–

pathetic.

By the second week, the violent spasms began to give way to a heavy, deadening exhaustion. The poison was a rot that felt like it was actively absorbing your will to fight back. You stopped demanding to try the physical therapy. You stopped looking out the window at Korra. You stopped believing in yourself.

One afternoon, a young servant left a small bowl of simple broth on the bedside table. You were alone. The room was freezing, the wind rattling the heavy wooden shutters outside. You were hungry, your throat felt like it was lined with ash and dry stone but the bowl was a foot away.

You dragged your body toward the edge of the bed, a process that required you to manually lift your deadened left leg with both hands, gasping at the sheer, pathetic effort of a six inch shift in position. You reached out, your hand trembling so violently that your fingers kept striking the rim of the bowl, ceramic clicking against ceramic like chattering teeth.

‘Come on.'

you thought, a desperate, weeping plea inside your own head. ‘Just hold it. Just be strong enough to drink.’ You managed to loop your spasming fingers around the edge.

You lifted it an inch.

Then your wrist simply gave out. There was no warning pain just a sudden absence of strength. The bowl slipped, tipping sideways. The lukewarm broth spilled entirely over your lap, soaking through your clothes, splattering across the pristine white sheets and dripping onto the floorboards in a dull, greasy puddle.

You didn't scream. You didn't thrash.

You just sat there in the wet, stained sheets, your head hanging low, your shoulders trembling as a quiet, broken sob tore through your chest. You didn't even have the coordination to wipe the liquid from your own knees. You were entirely reduced to a weeping, useless mess, realizing with a certainty that the girl who used to be able to do things so easily and walk around freely was gone, and there was nothing left to take her place.

The heavy wooden door flew open, hitting the stone wall with a dull, echoing thud that cut through the frozen silence of the room.

Tonraq stood in the room, his massive frame framed by the dim light of the corridor. His blue eyes, usually so steady and commanding, widened with a flash of worry as they swept across the floor. He saw the shattered bowl, the lukewarm broth spreading into a dull, greasy puddle across the floorboards, and you, slumped against the base of the bed.

"Hey, hey—sweetie..I've got you..."

Your father dropped his massive frame onto the floor, completely ignoring the mess, and slid his arms beneath your shivering shoulders. He pulled you against his chest, his large, calloused hands wrapping around you with a gentleness that seemed impossible for a man his size. He smelled like thick leather, sea salt, and the comforting, safe warmth of the home you used to know before Republic City, before the mess.

"Breathe, [Your Name]. Just breathe. Dad’s here," he murmured, his deep voice vibrating directly against your back. He didn't force you to stand. He didn't ask you to try a physical therapy exercise. He just held you.

"I can't... I can't do this, Dad,"

you choked out, your voice a pathetic, gravelly wheeze as you bunched your shaking fingers into the thick fur of his coat. "It hurts so much...I can still feel it.."

"It’s gone. Su got it all out, I promise you," Tonraq said softly, his hand moving in slow, rhythmic circles against your back, trying to soothe the violent tremors racking your spine. His own voice carried a heavy, aching sorrow of a bittersweet grief of a father realizing his little girl had been dragged into a nightmare he couldn't protect her from.

He had watched Korra fight a thousand battles; it worried him just as equally, but Korra was built for the storm. You were his quiet child, the one who stayed on the sides, the one who wasn't supposed to bleed for the world.

He cradled your head against his chest, letting your tears soak into his collar. The air in the room shifted, settling into that tender, melancholic ache. It was the feeling of a parent acknowledging the permanent change in his child, the admission that things would never go back to the way they were, but loving them through the ruins anyway.

"I'm sorry, Dad.. I'm so sorry.."

you wept, your forehead pressed into his shoulder as the panic slowly began to recede, leaving you entirely hollowed out and pathetic. "I tried to be like her. I tried to be strong... but I'm just a burden now. I can't even hold anything... everyone is moving on... and I'm just here."

Tonraq didn’t pull away from the mess on the floor. Instead, he shifted his weight, gathering your fragile, trembling frame closer into his broad chest until you were completely enveloped by his warmth. He let you cry until the violent panic attacks withered into exhausted hitches against his shoulder, his arms acting as a wall against the freezing wind rattling the windowpanes.

When your breathing finally slowed, he gently cupped the back of your head, his thick fingers tangling in your hair.

"Look at me, [Your Name]," Tonraq murmured, his deep voice carrying a resonance that demanded you anchor yourself to him.

You forced your eyes up, blinking past the hot blur of tears. You expected to see the crushing weight of sorrow in his expression, or worse, the fragile, forced optimism that people used when they were disappointed. But your father’s face held none of that. His blue eyes were bright, clear, and brimming with a reverence.

"You look at your sister, and you think she’s the only one who grew up to be strong," Tonraq said softly, his thumb sweeping a damp strand of hair from your forehead. "But you’re wrong. You are so wrong."

He reached down, gently taking both of your shaking, twitching hands into his own massive palms. He didn't try to force them still; he just held them, letting your erratic tremors vibrate against his steady grip.

"Korra has the elements, and she has a destiny that forces her to fight. But you?" Tonraq’s voice thickened with an intense, fierce emotion. "You faced a nightmare without any of that. You didn't choose to get caught in that mess, but you fought like hell to survive it anyway. Look at you.—"

"You are still breathing. You are still trying. Do you have any idea how proud that makes me?"

A fresh tear slipped down your cheek, but this one didn't feel as heavy. "Dad... I'm so weak compared to her now. I can't even hold a cup."

"A body can be mended, and we have all the time in the world for that," Tonraq whispered, leaning forward to press his forehead firmly against yours, grounding you in the shared space between you. "But the heart inside you? That didn't break. You survived. You're still standing—even if it's on a floor with spilled soup. You've grown up. Both of my daughters are. And both of you make me the proudest father in the world."

The heavy self loathing that had been clawing at your chest for weeks finally began to loosen its grip. The bittersweet realization of growing up and facing the pain didn't disappear, but holding onto your father, it shifted your perspective. 

Tonraq pulled you into a tight hug, burying his face in your shoulder as he rocked you gently. In the quiet room, wrapped in the safety of a father, you let your hands rest against his back, shaking, imperfect, but holding on with everything you had left.

Tonraq didn’t leave you sitting in the mess. Even as he held you close, his keen eyes had already taken in the shattered bowl and the grease stain spreading across the floorboards. Slowly, with the deliberate, careful movements, he shifted his weight. He didn't call for anyone else, and he didn't make a big scene out of it; he simply used his free hand to gather the larger shards of the broken bowl, setting them safely on the bedside table out of your way.

Then, using a clean corner of the thick wool blanket, he gently wiped the lukewarm liquid from your deadened knees, his touch incredibly light, ensuring the rough fabric didn't aggravate your skin. Only when the floor was clear, and you were settled back comfortably against the furs of the bed did he press that final, lingering kiss to your forehead, stepping out into the corridor with a quiet promise to fetch a dry set of clothes and new blankets.

The air still carried the scent of his leather coat and the damp warmth of his embrace. You sat huddled against the pillows, your legs a heavy weight over the mattress. Your hands rested in your lap still twitching, still uncooperative, but no longer knotted in that defensive claw.

Yet, as the immediate warmth of your father's arms faded, the cold reality of the room crept back in. The natural doubt, that cruel and persistent whisper, wasn't entirely banished by his pride in you. It hovered right at the edge of your thoughts. 

‘He's proud of me today’

‘But what about next month?’

‘What about next year, when I’m still like this?’

‘Will he still be proud when he's still cleaning up after me?’

You desperately clutched his words in your mind, holding them tight against your chest, forcing yourself to use them as motivation even as the fear of a ruined future made your stomach twist.

Then, the floorboards outside groaned. It wasn't the heavy, measured stomp of your father, nor was it the light, sweeping step of the healers. It was hesitant.

The door pushed open again, just a fraction at first, before Korra stepped into the room.

She wasn’t wearing her usual confident posture. Her shoulders, usually thrown back with pride, were slumped forward, making her look strikingly small. She wore simple training clothes, her knuckles raw and red from hours of training, but the fiercest thing about her were her eyes they were entirely hollow. When she looked down at the clean spot on the floorboards where the spill had just been, her chest hitched, knowing exactly what kind of struggle had taken place before she entered.

She looked from the floor to your face, and the sheer weight of her expression made your chest tighten.

"I'm sorry"

Korra whispered. The words came out fractured, completely stripped of the booming vitality that usually defined her. She didn't advance past the room, standing there as if she were a trespasser in your recovery room. "I... I heard you from down the hall. I heard the crash."

You swallowed hard, your throat clicking uncomfortably from the lingering dryness. The familiar fear flared up in your chest again, that dread that you would never be normal, that you were just a broken shadow of the sister standing before you.

But you forced your father’s voice to echo over the panic. Holding onto that spark of motivation, you tried to shift your leg, a pathetic, straining motion that only resulted in a tiny tremor through your ankle.

"It was just an accident, Korra.. Dad already took care of it.."

"It's not just that"

Korra said, her voice dropping into a painful whisper as she took two steps forward. Her boots clicked heavily against the wood before she abruptly dropped to her knees. She didn't come close enough to touch you, her hands hovering in the air as if she desperately wanted to hold you but was terrified of causing you more pain. "I still can't believe what they did to you. I was the one they were hunting. I was the one who was supposed to be in that room, facing them... not you. Never you."

The air in the room shifted, turning heavy. It was the internal war of two people sharing the same face but living entirely different lives. You looked at her—whole, muscular, capable and then down at your own shaking fingers. The fear was a living, breathing thing inside you, screaming that you weren't strong enough to carry this reality, that you were entirely unsuited to be a survivor. But you gritted your teeth against the memory of your father's tight hug.

"They didn't know the difference," you said quietly, your voice still raspy from the panic attack. "They just saw our face."

"Because of me," Korra’s voice finally cracked, a sudden, desperate sob breaking through her stoic exterior. She clamped her raw, bruised knuckles over her mouth, her eyes swimming with guilt. "I hate that you're hurting like this. I hate that I couldn't protect you from them. It’s entirely my fault you’re trapped in this room."

‘Am I enough to face her?’

‘Am I strong enough to carry her guilt too?’

The thought tried to claw its way back into your mind, but you fought it back. You looked at your twin sister, the girl who had shared a cradle with you, the one who had always run ahead into the sunlight while you walked in her shadow. For the first time in your life, you didn't see Avatar. You just saw your sister, entirely undone by the weight of a world she couldn't control.

"Korra," you murmured, forcing your left hand to lift. It was a slow process, your wrist jerking twice, your fingers trembling violently as you reached across the space between you. "Come here."

Korra looked at your shaking hand as if it were a brand, a physical manifestation of her failures. But she didn't pull away. She lunged forward, closing the distance, and tightly gripped your hand with both of hers. Her skin was burning hot against your icy palms. She buried her face against your knees, her shoulders heaving as she wept openly, letting go of the terrifying burden she had been carrying.

Korra didn't move for a long time, her forehead pressed hard against the wool of your blanket, her hot tears soaking straight through to your skin. When she finally looked up, her nose was red, her face messy.

"I hate looking at you like this," she repeated. "Every time I look at your hands shaking, it feels like someone is ripping my own ribs open. How is this fair?"

You stared down at her raw knuckles, the sharp sting of human doubt flaring up again in your chest. She's right, the fear whispered. It isn't fair. You're the one who can't walk, and she's out there. But you looked at her face, your own face and saw the torment in her eyes. You forced the bitter thoughts down before you spoke up.

"It’s not fair,"

you whispered back, not trying to soften the blow. "I lie here every morning and I hate it. I hate that I can’t just get up and use the bathroom without needing help. I hate that my own fingers won't do what I tell them to do. And sometimes... sometimes I look out that window and I hear you training, and I feel so angry I can't breathe."

Korra flinched, her grip on your hand twitching, but she didn't pull away. She leaned into the honesty, her shoulders shaking.

"You should be angry. You should hate me for it."

"I don't hate you Korra..."

You said, squeezing her hand back as hard as your trembling fingers would allow, letting her feel the unstable, jagged rhythm of your grip. "I hate what happened. But when I was in that cave, Korra... when they dropped from the ceiling and pinned me down, I didn't have time to be a hero. I didn't plan anything. I was just terrified. But even while it was burning through me, the only thing keeping me from entirely losing my mind was knowing they weren't doing it to you. If it had been you...I wouldn't know what I'd do without you. You're my sister. I don't want you to carry this guilt like it's a punishment."

"But it is a punishment," Korra choked out, wiping her nose with the back of her sleeve, looking smaller than she ever had in her life. "I brought the Red Lotus to us. My life is always a mess, and you always get dragged into it. Remember the police station? How many times did Lin have to yell at us because some dumb cop thought you were me?"

A tiny laugh broke from your throat, though it quickly turned into a raspy cough. "I used to think that was the worst thing in the world. Getting yelled at by Lin because you caused property damage."

"I'd do it again if it meant we could go back to that," Korra muttered, leaning her head against your hand, her voice small and entirely beaten. "I don't know how to help you. I don't know how I can fix you.."

"You don't have to fix me," you said, the doubt in your heart still heavy and terrifying, but the resolve to keep going turning into something real. "Dad said we both grew up. We just did it differently. I'm scared, Korra. I'm so scared that this is all I'm ever going to be. But I'm going to try. For Dad, for Lin... and for you. Just don't leave me alone in this room."

Korra raised her head, her jaw tightening as she looked at you, the pity finally dying out of her eyes, replaced by understanding. "Never..You are always going to be my sister."

You let out a quiet, tired breath, your trembling fingers tangled in hers. The fear of the future hadn't vanished, but sitting on the bed with your sister made things more bearable.

The morning light didn’t so much illuminate the room. The air was thick with the scent of bitter medicinal salves. You sat on the edge of the low wooden platform, staring down at your bare feet against the coarse woven straw mat. The dreadful feeling that your legs would always remain nothing more than useless bone and dead tissue was something to think about. Your throat felt dry, tight with the memory of that awful poison. 

But as you took a ragged breath, you forced your father’s and Korra’s words from the night before to calm yourself

"Alright, [Your Name]," Katara said softly, her hands already glowing with that familiar, cool waterbending light as she knelt near your right ankle. "Today, we aren't just aiming for a spasm. We want to draw the heel back just a little. As far as you can go."

Your breath hitched. You looked toward the door, expecting to be alone with your failure, but Korra was there. She didn’t go out today, she was sitting right on the mat next to you, her eyes fixed entirely on your face. There was no pity left in her expression but just a stubborn focus. 

"Don't look down at it," Korra muttered, her voice sounding determined. 

You swallowed hard, your knuckles turning white as you gripped the edge of the wooden platform. You closed your eyes, drawing in the freezing air, and sent the mental command down through your spine. 

Pull. Just one inch.

Instantly, a white hot, jagged lance of pain shot up your calf. The muscle violently seized, locking into a tight knot that felt like it was trying to rip the tendon clean off the bone. You let out a strangled, guttural cry, your spine arching off the mat as your arms flailed, the memory rushing back to drown you.

"I’ve got you! Hold on to me!" Korra barked. She didn't let you fall sideways into a shattered, pathetic heap. Her powerful arms lunged forward, catching you by the shoulders and pulling your rigid, thrashing frame directly against her chest. She braced you with the sheer weight of her own body, her chin digging into your hair. "Don't back down from it! I'm holding you!"

"It hurts—Korra, it hurts, make it stop!" you shrieked, tears instantly scalding your freezing cheeks as your right leg continued to shake and twitch  unontrollably against Katara's glowing hands. Doubt clawed at your throat, screaming that you were a fool for trying.

"I know it hurts.." 

her own voice cracking with desperation as she squeezed you tighter, serving as the physical pull your nervous system lacked. "Keep going–I know you can do it [Your Name]" Korra’s eyebrows furrowed as she kept encouraging you. You poured every remaining ounce of your soul, your anger, and your fear into that single leg. You pulled.

With a dull, shuddering scrape against the straw mat, your right heel slid backwards.

It wasn't an elegant movement. It was jerky but it moved. 

The spasm slowly deflated, leaving your leg throbbing. You collapsed forward against Korra’s shoulder, your chest heaving in ragged, pathetic gasps, your entire body drenched in cold sweat. You were sobbing, the toll of the physical pain leaving you entirely hollowed out. 

Korra let out a long, shuddering breath, her hands trembling slightly as she patted your back, a raw, wet laugh escaping her lips. "See? I told you..!"

The heavy wooden door opened quietly, breaking the heavy atmosphere of the room. Your father, Tonraq, stepped inside, carrying a thick woolen blanket and a sealed, heavy parchment envelope that bore a very familiar, crisp metallic seal from the Republic City Police Department. His eyes swept across the room, taking in your exhausted, tear stained face and the shifted position of your foot. His expression softened the rugged lines of his face.

"A letter just arrived on the evening cutter," Tonraq said softly, stepping forward to drape the warm blanket over your trembling shoulders before handing you the stiff parchment. "It's addressed to you."

Your hands were still twitching, making it impossible to break the wax seal. Seeing your frustration, Korra gently took the letter, cracked the stamped wax with her thumb, unfolded the crisp paper, and held it up steadily in front of your face so you could read it yourself.

Republic City Police Department

Office of the Chief of Police

To [Your Name],

The city is quiet today. Too quiet. It’s raining over the harbor, the kind of heavy, grey downpour that usually clogs the gutters around the precinct and drives everyone inside. The precinct is empty except for the night shift, and honestly, the silence at the end of the hall is getting old.

Your father sent word that you reached the Southern Water Tribe safely. He didn't mention much about the clinic. If the healers are giving you a hard time, or if the treatments aren't settling right, you tell him to let me know. I can find an excuse to send some better supplies down from the city on the next transport if the local stuff isn't doing the trick. Just make sure you're actually resting, and not letting your sister dictate the pace of your days.

The lower wards are still a mess from the repairs, but the construction crews are finally wrapping up around the harbor. They've redone the walkway outside the station house. It's wide, flat stone now. Clear path all the way from the market district.

The desk is a disaster. I haven't cleared the paperwork from the corner where you left your things, mostly because I haven't had the time to go through it. It can stay there for now.

Let me know how the weather is down there. It's getting too cold to eat outside in the city anyway.

— Lin

You stared at the sharp, uncompromising ink of her signature. She hadn't said she missed you, and she hadn't said she was worried, but you knew her handwriting well enough to read between the lines. She was keeping a space open for you. The fear of tomorrow hadn't vanished, and the pain in your leg was still present, but as you leaned back into the warmth of the blanket your father had provided, you gripped Korra’s hand with everything you had left. You had a long path ahead of you, but you had the motivation. You were going to keep going.

The slate grey afternoon rain hammered relentlessly against the high windows of the Republic City Police Department headquarters. Lin didn't look at the paperwork. She sat with her chin resting heavily on her steepled, metal clad fingers, her sharp green eyes fixed on the empty corner of her desk. A part of her desk where you usually stood by after being dragged in wrongfully once again for that month, a part where you would stand by and have decent conversations with her if both of your schedules would meet. The silence in the office felt heavier than anything.

A sharp, firm knock rattled the frosted glass door.

"Chief," an officer said, stepping into the room with his uniform cap dripping water onto the floorboards. He held a crisp, square parchment envelope, the edges slightly curled from the damp sea air of the harbor. "The weekly cutter from the South Pole just docked. This was in the pouch for you."

Lin didn't bark an order. She didn't complain about the water tracking across her floor. She simply extended a hand, her fingers closing tightly around the parchment as the officer offered a quick nod and retreated, closing the door behind him.

The wax seal on the back was clumsy—the edges were uneven, smeared slightly where a trembling thumb had pressed into the red wax before it had fully set. Lin’s chest tightened, a familiar, protective ache coiling deep in her ribs. She didn't use a letter opener; she used her thumb to crack the seal with an uncharacteristic, delicate care, unfolding the stiff paper beneath the dull light of her desk lamp.

The handwriting wasn't Korra's, who had been transcribing for the past few months.

The lines were jagged, shaking like a fracture in cold iron, the ink thick and blotched in some places where the quill had lingered too long against a spasming hand. But as Lin's eyes scanned the first sentence, her breath caught in her throat. The handwriting was unmistakably, completely yours.

Lin,

I'm holding the pen myself tonight. It took me three tries just to get the ink onto the nib without dropping the wooden shaft into my lap, and Korra is currently hovering by the fireplace pretending she isn't watching me write this letter, but I told her to back off. I wanted you to read my own words.

I walked ten paces to the clinic door yesterday. It wasn't pretty—my ankle still turns inward, and my heel makes an awful scraping sound against the stone floor boards, but I did it on my own..! Katara says the neural pathways are finally settling down. The chewing pain in my calves is still there every morning, but it doesn't scare me the way it used to. I’ve been using your letters as a reminder when the mats feel too heavy to face.

As of now I’m practicing my balance every single day because I want to be able to walk down and finally get to see you. For the first time since that incident, Lin... I'm actually excited for something again. I'm excited to see you again. I'm excited to finally talk to you again. I'm excited to come home.

I miss you Lin, more than anything else ♡

— [Your Name]

Lin stared at the page, her thumb smoothing over the rough, shaky indentation where you had pressed the nib into the paper with everything you had left. The stern, woman who had faced down countless criminals without a single flinch let out a long, ragged breath that sounded dangerously close to a sob.

She closed her eyes, pressing the letter against her forehead, letting the familiar scent of the ink and the raw, stubborn spirit of your words wash over her. You were fighting your way back to her, and you were winning.

Time Skip

The Southern transport ship didn’t slide down so much as it rattled against the iron bollards of the Republic City harbour, a mechanical groan that instantly cut through the damp morning air.

The city was exactly as the correspondence had promised: bathed in a soft, slate grey mist, the salt of the bay mixing with the sharp, industrial scent of coal smoke and veichle exhaust. For months, this place had been nothing more than a memory. Now, the towering metal statues of the skyline loomed through the fog, a difference to the flat white horizons of the South Pole.

You stood at the top of the ramp, your fingers curled tightly around the polished wooden handle of a cane. Your grip was steady, with mini tremors that still thrummed through your knuckles, something no amount of healing could completely wash away.

"Take your time," Korra murmured from your left, her voice carrying a protective weight that lacked any of her old, reckless bluster. She simply stood close enough to act as a barrier against the bustling harbor crowd, her blue eyes scanning the pier with focus.

You drew in a deep breath of the city air, feeling the familiar heat tighten in your chest for a split second before you forced it down, using your father's parting words to brace your spine. You commanded your left foot forward.

The step was slow, deliberate, and required a lot of thought that normal people never had to think about. Your heel dragged slightly against the iron ribbing of the ramp, a dull, scraping sound that once would have made you burn with humiliation. But as your foot found the flat, solid stone of the newly paved walkway outside the harbor, relief washed over you. The stone beneath your shoes was smooth, even, and entirely clear of debris. Someone had made sure there wasn't a single loose pebble to trip on.

You didn't look at the crowd. You kept your eyes on the path until the heavy clank of metal clad boots cut through the ambient noise of the docks.

Lin stood twenty paces away, framed by the misty harbor fog. She wasn’t wearing her full armor today, opting instead for her dark long sleeves, though the metal line launchers still rested squarely on her forearms. She looked exactly as you remembered—stern, rugged, her sharp green eyes half hidden beneath her grey streaked hair, the scars on her cheeks against her pale skin. She had her hands tucked neatly behind her back, her posture rigid, the perfect picture of an unbothered Chief.

But as you halted, leaning your weight onto the cane, her jaw visibly tightened. Her eyes traveled from the wooden handle in your hand, down the line of your coat, to the slight, twitching of your fingers. The silence that stretched between you was heavy with the weight of months spent away on opposite sides of the world.

"Lin," Korra said softly, offering a rare, respectful dip of her head before she quietly stepped away, gathering your luggage and drifting toward a waiting vehicle to give you the space you had waited for so long to reach.

Lin didn't move immediately. She let out a long, slow breath that misted in the damp air, before she stepped forward. Her gait was measured, devoid of her usual aggressive stride. When she finally stopped a mere foot away from you, the scent of her black coffee and metal polish instantly filled your senses.

"You're late," Lin murmured, her voice a low, raspy growl that lacked any real heat. It was the gravelly tone reserved strictly for you, the one that used to dismiss incompetent officers from her office. "The cutter was supposed to dock at dawn."

"The tides were heavy near a few islands…" you replied, your own voice carrying that slight, permanent roughness. You tried to lift your left hand to straighten your shawl, but a sudden tremor caused your wrist to jerk clumsily, your fingers fluttering uselessly against the wool.

A flash of slight frustration flared in your chest, the doubt whispering that you were still broken, still a mess in front of her. “..Sorry..I’m still trying to control the shaking..”

Before the panic could take hold, Lin’s hand moved from behind her back. Her fingers closed firmly around your twitching wrist. She didn't flinch away from the erratic vibration of your nerves; she simply squeezed, using the gentle but firm strength of her hand to hold your hand. Her touch was warm, warm enough to make you flustered by the scene of her holding your hand.

"Stop that," Lin whispered, her eyes burning with an intense, quiet reverence as she looked down into your face. "I told you in the letters. I don't care about the shaking."

"It's different seeing it," you murmured, your voice cracking just a bit as you tried to be strong infront of her, “I’m not like what I was before..I’ve gotten slower.. a bit more useless to be honest..” You muttered the last part out quietly, but Lin caught those last words.

She didn’t say anything yet, letting the air between you two stay still, her thumb smoothing over the back of your hand with an aching, desperate tenderness. She reached up with her other hand, her fingers cupping the side of your jaw, her thumb brushing your cheek. "Don't you ever say that about yourself. Not to me. Come on. Let's get out of the harbor."

The transition from the noisy, rain slicked docks to the quiet precinct’s upper residential quarters happened in a blur. Lin didn't ask you to walk the staircase; she quietly guided you through the side entrance, her hand remaining firmly resting against the small of your back, a way to gently support you.

When the door of her private quarters clicked shut, the bustling city vanished completely. The room was warm, smelling of woodsmoke and the deep, comforting scent of coffee that belonged only to her. The afternoon light filtered through the glass windows, throwing long, muted shadows across the floorboards.

Lin moved without her usual urgency. She took your heavy winter coat from your shoulders, her fingers lingering on the fabric for a fraction of a second before she hung it. You stood near the center of the room, suddenly feeling incredibly out of place. You were so used to the South Pole that looking out in the city again made you feel foreign all over again.

Lin walked back over, stopping just inches from you. She didn't offer a chair, and she didn't ask how the physical therapy had been. She just looked at you, her sharp green eyes taking in every small change, the slight thinness in your face, the dark circles that had finally faded into soft lines, and the stubborn, resolve that you had carried back across the sea.

"You look different," Lin said softly, her voice dropping its gravelly authority entirely, settling into a low, private register that no one else in Republic City ever got to hear. "Not bad.. It’s like you left something behind down there."

You looked down at your hand, forcing the fingers to try and curl tighter around the cane. "I think I left the girl a long time ago.. I'm just trying to figure out what to do with the one who's left."

"The one who's left wrote me a letter that nearly tore my ribs open," Lin murmured, stepping closer until the front of her tunic brushed against your shawl. She reached down, her fingers gently wrapping over yours, covering the handle of the cane and absorbing the frantic tremors of your knuckles. "You didn't have to force yourself to write. You could have let Korra write instead."

"No," you said, your voice cracking slightly as you looked up into her face, your eyes finding the deep, aching yearning she had spent so long locking away behind a badge. "I needed you to see it. I needed to know that I could still send something of myself back to you. I spent months lying on those mats, Lin... and every time my leg spasmed, every time I spilled a cup or fell onto the floor, the only thing that kept the room from completely spinning into the dark was remembering your office. Remembering how you looked at me when those stupid guards dragged me through the door."

Lin’s jaw tightened, a muscle leaping in her cheek as she absorbed the honesty of your words. Her fingers tightened around yours, her grip so solid it felt like she was trying to bind your shattered nerves back together with her own strength.

"I was terrified," 

she whispered. The admission was unpolished, a sudden fracture of her facade. She leaned her forehead down, pressing it firmly against yours, her breath hot and uneven against your skin. "I’ve never felt the way I did when I found you on that floor. You were so small, and you were covered in that silver rot, and I couldn't even stand to look at you in such pain. I had to watch them carry you away to the edge of the world while I stayed here and managed a city."

Your free hand lifted, jerking twice before your fingers successfully found the fabric of her collar, bunching the dark cloth tightly into your palm. "I’ve learned that... I had no control over what happened. No one knew what was going to come that night. For so long, I lay in that bed thinking about if it had been Korra instead of me. I felt so guilty even letting myself think it, and I was bitter, too... because it was just completely unfair. But it isn't her fault. Not at all. It was just a terrible mistake, Lin. And I had to stop fighting the what ifs so I could start fighting my way back to this room. Back to you."

"I was so worried," Lin said, a rough, wet hitch breaking through her chest as she closed her eyes, her lips brushing against your temple in a lingering, desperate kiss that carried the weight of every letter, every lonely night spent staring at an empty corner of her desk. "I didn't move a single piece of paper from where you left it. I sat at that desk every night until dawn, just waiting for the transport schedules to shift. I don't care if you walk slow. You're back in this room. That's all that matters."

The love between you didn't have a label. It didn't need a label. What existed between you and Lin was something made in the quiet corners of a crowded office, cemented in the incident, and kept alive through letters. 

You closed your eyes, the frantic twitching in your fingers slowly finding a predictable rhythm against the fabric of her shirt. The fear hadn't vanished, and the pain in your limbs was still aching, but being embraced by the woman who loved you through the hardships, and far distance was finally over.

Author's Note

Yayy it's finally done ＼⁠(^o^)⁠／ it feels so good to post cuz this took a while for me😮‍💨

This drawing has been sitting in my files since last year sometime and it was always such a shame I left it there to collect dust. Like I swear to you guys I have not stopped thinking about it and so I finally managed to make myself finish this dang drawing on my weekend.

Took me maybe two hours to color it (which to be honest, was very limited)

But I finished it, and below are the only saved photos of my progress but only because I cleared my camera role out XD