360 Chapter One: And then you were here.

Inspired by Lady Momo's fanfiction 'A Full Circle', 360 follows Avatar Korra and Mako on their journey on making it 360 degrees through heart ache, hardships and home sickness.

Shit, shit, shit!

The word echoed through her head repeatedly as Avatar Korra huddled underneath a large tree, wrapping her arms tightly around herself to stave off the cold from the rain. It was a futile effort. Despite being quite capable of water bending herself dry, she was currently too weak to conjure up the energy required to do so. The water from the rain drenched through her clothes, seeping into her mocha skin. Her shoulders trembled uncontrollably and she wondered how long it would be before her body gave into the cold.

She gingerly touched the recently healed wound at her side, which was throbbing painfully. Spirits, she had been so stupid! Bending was her specialty—how had she not been aware of the danger associated with it? She had healed the damage inflicted by a soldier of Kuvira's united forces, but had been so arrogantly foolish to not give herself a thorough check-up, believing it had been nothing more than a flesh wound. Hadn't Katara scolded her so many times for being so laxed?

She feebly tried to conjure the energy required for further healing, but it was useless. Whatever the United Force bender had done to her body, poisoning of some kind she figured, it reacted slowly, no doubt designed to catch one's opponent off-guard. It shut off a person's connection to their bending one cell at a time, so silently that it didn't bring any attention to itself—until it was too late. If she hadn't been the victim, Korra would have applauded the enemy forces for their ingenuity.

So this is how I end, she thought miserably, allowing the tears to leek from the corners of her turquoise eyes, mixing with the rainwater slicking her cheeks.

Huh. She had always thought she'd go out with a bang, not quietly and alone in the middle of a damp forest.

She had known, from the very first day she'd been declared the Avatar, that she would always be toying with death. Despite this, she wasn't ready to die. There were so many things she had yet to do, so many dreams unfulfilled. She wanted just one more day to laugh with her friends, to embrace her parents, to live.

She dimly wondered if anyone would find her. Would there even be anything left to find? She was stranded in the middle of an off-beaten track, unable to move. Would her body have rot by the time someone found her? Or would the wild animals have already torn into her body by then?

Faces of those she loved swirled in front of her, and if she had more energy, she would have screamed from the unfairness of it all. She had never been a particularly spiritual person, but right now she found herself praying to every Spirit she had ever heard of. She asked for one more chance, she begged for forgiveness for every sin she had committed in her short life, for every person she had killed, for every child she had taken from a mother. She prayed for her friends' happiness, for the strength they would need to move on. For the strength they would need to face her passing.

Briefly, the image of a beautiful teenage boy, lost to her so many years ago, flashed through her mind. She wasn't surprised. Physically, she had left him a long time ago, but he'd always occupied a corner of her soul; The corner that was filled with a young girl's innocent hopes and dreams of love and family. She had not owned him, but he certainly owned a part of her. Leaving him was her greatest regret—and being with him, her greatest fantasy.

She could feel the energy leaving her body. She was already beyond the point of pain, numbness having taken over. The only thing she could feel was the poison swimming within her system, destroying everything in its path.

If only . . .

Darkness was overwhelming her. There was a roaring in her ears and she wasn't sure if it were from the storm. Her lids grew heavier and heavier, defeating her weak attempts to remain conscious.

The arms that had been wrapped around her torso tightly, finally loosened.

The tall, darkly clad figure was a blur as he slipped between the trees, unimpeded by the heavy rain pouring down on him. A small frown crossed his handsome features as his amber eyes scanned the forestation one more time, searching for any signs of disturbance to the area.

He should have been unaffected. The mission he was on, a routine check of an area he knew was used as a thoroughfare for travellers, meaning numerous people came passing through the area daily; bringing a sense of presence with them, but none had been so close to his post—or stayed so long. Aside from his station, the area was not ideal for encampment and he had set enough traps in the vicinity to warn both him and any unsuspecting visitors to stay away.

But the loud sounds he'd heard earlier tonight had bothered him. The United Forces and their MechaTanks had undoubtedly caused the noise; of that much he was certain. Through some sort of sixth sense, or a hunch, he could feel the lingering presence of someone or something within the vicinity of where he was currently stationed. While it was weak—and getting weaker by the second— life experiences had taught him to never underestimate an opponent. He had long ago decided on a quiet life, away from the hustle and bustle of Republic City but things from the past had a way of upsetting the balance he'd made for himself.

The unknown presence and its energy levels dropped again considerably. Whoever the person was, they were too close for comfort. And there was something about this particular presence that felt familiar enough to set off the warning bells inside his head.

He knew he was drawing nearer by the way his senses tingled. His pace never slowing as he searched for the owner of the weakening presence, blinking the water away from his eyes.

There!

He finally saw the figure slumped against the trunk of a large tree, pressed so deeply against it that it was barely discernible. From the smaller stature, he guessed it was a female. And she was unconscious.

Her comatose state didn't make him drop his guard. Crouched into a defensive stance, he approached her cautiously. His gaze studied her carefully. The rain soaked her huddled form, but his eyes allowed him to see her clearly.

Wary liquid amber-tinted orbs widened slightly as they fell on the figure.

It had been nearly five years since he'd last laid eyes on her, but he didn't doubt what he was seeing. Unexpectedly, his heart started to pound.

For the first time in a long while, Mako stood in front of Korra; and uncharacteristically, he didn't know what in the flameo he should do.

Mako began to feel a sense of panic. A quick observation of her outward figure told him that her energy reserves were all but empty, and the dark circles underneath her eyes were that of exhaustion. With his limited medical knowledge, there wouldn't be much he could do for her.

She was dying.

The realisation bothered Mako beyond words. Bonds had long been broken, shattered by her own departure from his life and his own decision not to return to Republic City; but he had never forgotten her—or any of the other members of the former 'Team Avatar'. There hadn't been a day when thoughts of them hadn't crossed his mind, no matter how briefly or insignificantly. And no matter how much he desperately wanted to remain unattached, he knew he couldn't leave Korra here. He wouldn't leave Korra alone.

With a sigh, he bent to pick her up. Her skin was cold to the touch, her lifeless weight heavy in his arms. There was only a faint hint of a pulse and it was thready at best. He didn't lie to himself; there wouldn't be much he could do for her, but he would be damned if he allowed her body to be ravaged by wild animals or taken by Kuvria's United Forces. What little he knew of the current her, he knew she didn't deserve such a fate.

Jaw clenched determinedly, he started towards his post, her smaller body tucked tightly in his arms.

In the light of his bedroom, Mako could see the changes in Korra. No longer was she the teenage girl whom he'd grown so very fond of in the time that they'd known one another. Even through his detached gaze, he could see she had grown into an uncommonly pretty woman. Not beautiful in an obvious way, but undoubtedly striking, with her mocha skin and dark chocolate coloured hair. He wondered if her eyes were still the bright turquoise orbs he remembered or if they had dimmed and become world-weary. With being the Avatar, nothing stayed innocent for long.

He undressed her methodically, ignoring his baser urges to study the changes time had brought to her now more feminine, though undoubtedly fit, figure. Once she was fully naked, he started to dry her off before wrapping her body with thick blankets. Her lips were almost blue against her clammy moch skin and she was going into hypothermic shock. He knew enough about hyperthermia that he shouldn't plunge her into hot water straight away and risk greater shock to the body.

He worked slowly, but effectively, lighting candles with a flick of his finger and stoking the fire in the hearth to warm the room and quicken the process. It became so hot, sweat trickled down his face, but he disregarded his comfort in lieu of hers. He cupped her small feet in his hands, rubbing the soles to get her blood pumping.

The cold wasn't the issue.

Even as her body grew warmer, she remained sallow and unconscious. He scanned his eyes over her body, searching for any obvious external wounds that could be the cause of her distress. There was a fresh wound at her side, where black spots were visible against her mocha skin. He had seen enough in his life to know that the black spots were most likely caused by some kind of poison and that, if she had been poisoned, the poison would move consistently upwards, drawing near to her heart. He began to feel a sense of panic.

Her breathing suddenly became rattled and his amber eyes flew to her face. Pain twisting her features. Good, he thought. If she could feel pain, it meant that she still had a fighting chance.

Making a decision, he pulled out his pocketknife that he kept in his coat pocket. With a flick of his wrist, he reopened the cut at her side. Blood trickled out and with his fingers he pressed the sides so that more blood poured out from the wound. She started to struggle, instinctively trying to push away the pain. He subdued her easily, his grip holding fast. He squeezed until blood turned to puss. The yellow substance was thick and putrid, but he blinked his disgust away, increasing the pressure until it began to thin.

He once again glanced at her face. Her lips were less blue and there were twin spots of red on her cheekbones. The fluid coming out of her wound was now watery and he knew that the poison was coming out. But they weren't done yet. He didn't know if she would survive this, but if she didn't . . .

If she didn't, then he could take comfort in the fact that he had done everything in his power to save her life.

By the next day, Korra was feverish. Mako ran damp cloths over her and kept the windows open, allowing fresh air to blow in. There was an angry flesh around her wound, so he applied ointment he used for his own wounds, hoping it would help aid the healing process. In her feverish stupor, she thrashed about wildly and Mako quickly learned that she had a mean right hook, not that that surprised him.

Nighttime was the worst. Her struggles became so violent, he had to physically restrain her. Words of rage filled the room as she shouted about everything that made her angry, from her destiny as the Avatar to her personal life. She ranted about the ins and outs of her duties and of the people she had been forced to kill, all in the name of 'Peace'. There were moments that amused him, when she muttered about noodles and boys that talked too loudly.

"I don't want to talk about him," she spat, her head shaking back and forth. He paused as he washed his hands, turning to look at her curiously.

"He's stupid," she declared furiously. "He's in-decisive and snarky. His hair's funny. And he abandoned me."

Mako clenched his fists. He wasn't stupid. It didn't take a genius to figure out who she was talking about. He remained silent as she continued to disparage his character, insulting him about everything from his lack of decisive action to his ignorant choice of profession.

" . . . And who wants to date someone who's more beautiful than her?"

"I'm not beautiful," he muttered, slightly amused.

Between bouts of rage, Korra cried a lot. He wondered how long it had been since she'd cried, because her tears were seemingly endless. Annoyingly, everything seemed to be able to prompt her tears, even a pair of earrings that Asami borrowed and had never given back.

While he took care of her, he tended to his own needs. He went fishing at the stream behind his post and washed his clothes, as well as the soiled sheets from the bed Korra used. He couldn't stay away for long, however, because it seemed that she was as clumsy as a newborn. She'd knock over everything, including the washbowl on the bed stand and the bed stand itself.

By the middle of the week, Mako knew she would pull through. Her skin was cooler and the angry swell around her wound had gone down. He wrapped a bandage around the ragged flesh and hoped for the best.

On the morning of the fifth day since having discovered Korra, Mako came out of the bathroom, freshly bathed and as usual, went to check on her. He was re-bandaging her wound when her hand moved. Warily, he drew back, unwilling to be punched again. As his gaze drifted upwards towards her face, he grew still.

Her eyes were open and the deep turquoise orbs had widened in surprise as they met his.