When Korra left, Bolin had already planned on writing to her. Mako watched as he spent an hour or two every other day crafting a letter to send to her, inky characters flowing down page after page. It didn't matter to Bolin what he wrote, and it didn't matter if she responded, just so long as he was writing, writing, writing. To her.

"I want Korra to feel good again," Bolin had said, scrawling out the post-post-post script. "That's all."

Asami had radioed her a few times to check up. She had expressed to Mako how anxious she was that none of them had gone with her. "She has her parents, and Kya's there too, but still... I just want to help in whatever way I can."

Mako wished he had done something. He wished he had said something. But he hadn't.

He hadn't done a single thing.

Her departure had left him speechless, had left him with an indescribable aching, had left him craving her presence. So he spent his time at the station, letting the hours roll to days roll to weeks without her. Bolin wrote, Asami worried, and Mako waited, fervently pretending that time had not expanded the hole in his chest. Nobody said a thing to him, and he spoke not a word either.

He did not even know what he would say to her.

But when Tenzin had gotten the message that Korra was traveling back to Republic City, those long hours spent at the station were cut as short as possible, and he spent the dwindling nights and early mornings waiting, watching for her ship, thinking of time and thinking of her and thinking of all the love they had shared, that had been left behind, that had remained unspoken, lingering in awkward moments and lingering embraces.

And he still did not know what he would say.

It scared him. It scared him to think about what had happened to her, to the girl he had fallen in love what felt like so long ago, to the girl who drove him crazy at every opportunity, to the girl, to the girl, to the woman who had saved the world, changed the world, changed him.

Mako stood alone on the dock. The ship approached. And he was scared.

Mako had seen her face that day. He had watched her. While others were tending to her wounds, while others were talking to her and reassuring her, he watched carefully and cautiously. He had seen her beaten down before. He had seen her cry before.

But he hadn't seen her like this.

And he knew she put on a brave face and he knew she smiled for Jinora and he knew she nodded at all the suggestions, graciously accepting the help of the new Air Nomads, but he had never seen brokenness quite like that, escaping through a solitary tear, manifesting in averted eyes and downcast half-smiles. He also knew that Tenzin's words were blocked so she could pretend like they did not exist.

He had heard her in the night. "No, no... I'm the Avatar. I'm still the Avatar. I'm still... I'm still..."

He waited for the tires of her wheelchair to roll steadily down, fingers tingling.

Everyone had wanted her to get better. They all loved her and they wanted her to improve. But everyone had talked about how awful she looked. They saw her limpness and they saw her weakness, but they didn't watch her. They saw her but they did not watch like Mako. They did not know like Mako knew. They did not see her on that snowy cliffside months ago, when she first entered the Avatar state. And they did not see her before, when she ran away, ashamed to lose her identity.

All they saw was the brave face.

And that's all he saw now. And it scared him. He was scared because they had tried before. They had come apart before.

Korra stared at him from the side of the ship, eyes unmoving from his as the ship docked. She was surprised. And he stared up at her, watching and wanting, realizing what he wanted to say.

It was almost like none of the pain they'd caused each other had happened. It was like none of the mistakes were there. It was almost like they were back at the beginning. But at the same time, they were there. The mistakes were there, the pain was there, the heartache was there but this time, finally, it could mend.

Because when he saw her walk down the ramp with her head held high, when he saw her surprise melt into joy, when her legs picked up and ran, ran to him and only him, he felt that hole that had been left begin to stitch itself back together. He could mend because she could mend.

She had finally found herself, and it sent his heart soaring.

And so Korra leapt toward him, strong and free, because they both knew that he would catch her. And he twirled her around, and her hair whipped and she laughed and laughed, and it was like past and present and future all came into one, like fate had woven this little moment out of a little red string.

I don't care if you're the Avatar or not. You are amazing. You are irreplaceable. The world will always need you. I will always need you.

The words were right there on his lips.

"I love you, Korra."