A/N: This is just after Katara reveals that she can't heal Korra's loss of bending.

Why didn't Mako ever have closure with regards to Asami?

And I felt like Borra needed some on-screen closure as well.

The winter wind chills the room, the snows blowing in from outside, cold pressing on the mourners heavy as stone. Always snow. It's always snow for her, always the dead of winter, always the barren fields of tranquil death.

Suddenly as the blizzard storm appearing from nowhere, Korra leaves, the door closing behind her as though closing on this chapter of her life.

She tries to sympathise with her friend, the Avatar who lost her bending, but for some reason she can't. She's never had bending; at least Korra retains air. She has nothing. She lost everything. Mother, father, boyfriend, inheritance, life. Everything. But she hates herself for not being able to sympathise.

Mako rises, his face contorted with sorrow, fear, and love, and she can feel him breaking down with the need to rush after the Avatar, to protect her, to hold her and help her and heal her as the firebender couldn't do . . . for her.

Not that it matters anymore. She knows that Mako has feelings for Korra, knows that Mako loves Korra, knows that Mako would do anything for Korra. And somehow it's all right. She understands that Mako doesn't love her, probably never loved her; she only wants him to be happy.

Her heart is heavy enough that standing is a struggle, but she lifts herself from the bench, counting her footsteps until she is next to her former boyfriend, next to the man she loved, next to the boy who unceremoniously flirted with another woman while dating her.

She touches Mako's shoulder, senses the muscles under her fingers tense, and says quietly, "I know how you feel about her." The words do not want to come, but she forces them out, every one searing her throat with its fire, burning her heart with its heat. "And it's okay."

"Yeah, bro." His brother's voice; she can see the letting-go in his eyes, and she realises that he has loved Korra all this time, but he, too, understands that Korra has lost her fire now and must regain it through Mako. "You go get her."

Mako doesn't turn to either of them, merely acknowledges their words by dipping his head, and then he's gone, another burst of cold the last vestige of his former existence, of the man she thought could protect her. But when the time came and she needed him, Mako wasn't there. He was, already then, completely and utterly Korra's.

And somehow it's all right.

Somehow, it's all right.

Warmth in her palm, fingers interlacing with hers. She glances up at him, his green eyes drowning in grief giving way to acceptance, to hope, to faith. "Are you okay?" he asks, and she remembers that he was the one to bring her back to her feet instead of merely protecting her.

"No, I'm not okay," she says again, tightening her hold on his hand, each uplifting the other, his smile brightening hers. "But . . . I think I will be."