Dreamcatcher

He still has nightmares.

The kind that pulls him under and drowns him in searing flames and the acrid scent of burning.

Mako wakes with a scream dying in his throat and fingers twisting at the sheets.

Bolin's pounding on his door in an instant.

"Bro! Are you okay? Bro? Mako!"

He takes a moment to suck the air back into his lungs before answering, voice hoarse. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just a dream. Go back to bed Bolin."

There's a long pause on the other side of the door, voicing hesitation and worry, but the routine has grown old between the brothers, and so Bolin's footsteps eventually retreat into the adjacent room.

(He sits in the dark for the longest time afterward, waiting for the staccato of his heartbeat to slow and trying to recall his mother's voice.)

It's the crippling sense of helplessness that pushes him to the edge, seizing his hand and slamming the unarmed man against the wall. It's the empty knowledge of loss that easily calls forth the flames he's kept under careful wraps for so many years.

He doesn't care that the others must assume he's gone slightly mad.

"Where is she?"

Maybe he has.

He dreams that she is falling, and when she hits the bottom, it shatters every bone in his body.

Korra is slumped over Naga's back like a boneless rag doll, and his mind goes numb with relief and fear at the same time.

Then he's moving, walking, sprinting towards her prone form. Her name might have tumbled from his lips, but he can't remember.

It isn't until his hand closes around her wrist and she doesn't crumble to ashes that Mako lets himself breathe freely again.

You're safe now, he says, and wills himself to believe it.

(Later, sitting at her bedside, he realizes just how small her hand is.)

He still has nightmares.

In them, they parade past him in silence, and he can do nothing but watch as their backs are swallowed up by the flames – Mother, Father, Bolin, Asami, and –

Mako wakes with a start, arm outstretched and hand reaching into the darkness.

It's four in the morning and he's only half-surprised to see her at the Island's training fields, moving through her Airbending stances with an intensity that both intrigues and calms him.

Korra finishes with a final rotation, falling still with eyes closed and limbs perfectly poised. He sees her draw a deep breath in the nearby glow of flickering lanterns, finally lowering her arms and turning to face him, the corners of her mouth tugging upwards.

"Hey."

He swallows. "Hey."

"Didn't expect to see you up so late. Or early, whatever."

Mako has to crack a smile at that. "Couldn't sleep." And when she starts up her movements again, he adds, "You should be in bed." His eyes trace the partially healed scratches on her face. "Does Tenzin know you're awake yet?"

She stumbles through her steps and pulls to a full stop, eyes shifting guiltily out across the bay. "Not really. I…couldn't sleep either."

The implications of her words hang thick and tangible in the night air, and Mako suddenly thinks of cold porcelain masks and deadly eyes, of blood pounding in his ears and limbs contorting against his will.

He wants to say something, wants to unleash the barrage of clumsy, half-formed notions that have taken root in his chest, to lay out his mind in its individual strings of tangled thoughts, and maybe plant another kiss on those soft, full lips of hers.

In the end he can only look on silently, and in the end, Korra keeps moving.

He estimates it to be nearly an hour later before she finally collapses onto the grass beside him, rubbing soreness from her arms.

They sit like that for a while, knees knocking and fingers hairbreadths apart, inhaling and exhaling in sync.

"I still dream about it, you know."

Mako starts, realizing that he was nodding off. "What?"

She's picking at the grass now, eyes downcast. "About Amon. About losing this war. Losing my bending." He catches a flicker of sapphire orbs. "Losing you guys."

"I –" He's caught off guard by her vulnerability – an admission of mortality from the Avatar herself.

No, Mako reminds himself, she's just a girl. And he suddenly wants nothing more than to fold her into his arms, just as he has done for Bolin so many times before.

But Korra's walls shoot back up in a heartbeat, and she's all bravado and cool indifference once again. "Of course, Tarrlok will probably join in tonight. Equalists and Bloodbenders; I'm all set."

"That makes two of us." It takes him a while to realize the voice is his own.

Korra's eyes go wide. "Oh," she manages. She tries again, "Oh this sucks."

Somehow this strikes them both to be extremely funny, and Mako can't really remember the last time he laughed so openly and for so long.

When they finally settle down, his shoulders feel a lot lighter and breathing comes a lot easier now.

"You'll be fine."

She's quiet for a moment. "You don't know that."

"But you will, because you're Korra and you always find a way."

She's a little startled at the conviction in his voice, and he wants to say so much more, to tell her about his own night terrors, to make her understand that she is not alone. He wants to apologize for a thousand things – maybe more – but he's always been rough with words and when Mako finally opens his mouth, he only hears himself saying, "And we're not going anywhere either. New Team Avatar, remember?"

Korra's smile is soft but steady, and he remembers why he fell in the first place. "Yeah."

Her knee bumps his again, just once, and Mako nudges her ankle with his toe in retaliation. It's a fragile camaraderie between them, balancing on blurred lines and young trust, but it's one he wouldn't dare break for the life of him.

"Thanks, Mako."

(Later, he thinks that maybe he never needed to say much, anway.)

There's a pink tinge on the skyline when they finally doze off, sprawled in the grass and shoulder-to-shoulder.

For the first time in weeks, his sleep is dreamless.

End.