Sing Me Down Your Lullaby

by Luna Maria Boulevardes

Chapter 1: Recover, Relapse, Repeat.

There is snow falling outside when she wakes up covered in cold sweat, the last vestiges of a nightmare reluctantly loosening their grip from her mind. She takes a deep breath, telling herself that she's safe now and it's all over. She can bend. Amon is dead. Mako is sleeping next to her, his breath warm against her hand. Her knuckles are sharp and bony, the skin stretched painfully taut. Red cracks mar the flesh where South Pole winter winds have chapped her hands. She plays with the edge of a blanket, trying figure out what she's going to do now. Standing on the edge of cliff wondering how cold the water might be is not an acceptable answer.

Eat, hisses a voice. She growls.

No. We're done with that now, she snaps back. It doesn't matter; the monster is still there, insistently clawing at her feet to get her to move. She presses her hands over her ears, curls her knees up to her chin. If she can just hold out until she falls asleep –

Crack-BOOM. She jumps when thunder roars and lightening shatters the sky. She hates storms; always has. She's pretty sure it's Aang's fault (everything bad in her life is Aang's fault, she thinks darkly), leftover trauma from one-hundred years in an iceberg (is that why she was going to kill herself by drowning in icy water?).

Against her will her feet are burying themselves in slippers now and she's wrapping a sweater over her body, then padding to the kitchen without really thinking about any of it (because why would she want to do something like that that would make it all real?). Her body and her mind are divorced and she can only please one parent at any given time.

Her hands shake as she begins eating but she can't (won't?) stop. This is the frenzy, this is her mind slipping away so she can be in her body, so she can find where she ends and all Else begins, because she's really not too sure of that lately. She eats and eats and eats and thinks, sorry everyone. And then well, I'm sure that they expected me to fail anyway.

The worst part is she can't even explain herself. It's like she's possessed, like this is the instinctual response now. As though it's seeped into her deepest marrows, tainting her blood stream and air supply. When this happen? When did she become this defeated creature, who would rather haunt shadows than lift a finger to save herself?

"At a certain point, an eating disorder ceases to be "about" any one thing. It stops being about your family, or your culture. Very simply, it becomes an addiction not only emotionally but also chemically. And it becomes a crusade. If you are honest with yourself, you stop believing that anyone could "make" you do such a thing – who, your parents? They want you to starve to death? Not likely.

Your environment? It couldn't care less. You are also doing it for yourself. It is a shortcut to something many women without an eating disorder have gotten: respect and power. It is a visual temper tantrum. You are making an ineffective statement about this and that, a grotesque, self-defeating mockery of cultural standards of beauty, societal misogyny. It is a blow to your parents, at whom you are pissed.

And it is so very seductive. It is so reassuring, so all-consuming, so entertaining.

At first.

"Hey, can I sleep with you?"

Bolin forces his eyes open, suppressing the instinct to start complaining. Mako always wants him up at the ass-crack of dawn, something to do with getting things done and saving money on electricity costs. Stupid firebenders with their stupid sun rises.

It takes him a moment to realize that the person talking to him is not, in fact, Mako.

Eyes open now. Asami is standing over him. Her yellow eyes are red and puffy, and tears hang on her dark eyelashes. She blinks and one falls, hitting the floor. It makes him wince; all he can hear is the echo of Korra hissing I bet Asami looks pretty even when she's crying. It was kind of his fault. He had ruffled her hair only to have it fall out in dry, brittle clumps. At first, neither moved, too shocked. Korra made a strangled sound and before she could move her grabbed around the waist, forcing her to stay put because Spirits knew he would never forgive himself if she went off puking or starving or whatever it was she did because he did something idiotic.

She fought of course, and she fought badly. Her body was weak as a butterfly wing. Maybe she would have gotten away if she used her bending – he knows she thought about it. He sat on her to stop her from moving and she snorted fire so her tears dissipated into steam. I bet Asami looks pretty even when she's crying. It wasn't really her words that shook him, but rather the crazed look in her eyes and metallic scent on her breath. Her knuckles were bloody and so were her teeth, like she was going to eat herself just to get to those bones she wanted so badly. It was like she had locked herself in a glass box and slashed her wrists. She dangled between life and death, dancing and spinning on a tightrope like it's no big deal. She's the Avatar and you have to deal with it.

She's the Avatar and she has to deal with it.

And she chooses to deal with it by screaming it's my body/mine/oh yes mine to destroy/stop me if you can.

He has to take a deep breath to remind himself that that's not was going on right now. Right now he has pretty-when-crying Asami waiting for him to say something, her body quivering with some too-much emotion. It reminds him of trying to swallow when you've taken a too-big bite of food.

"Hey. What's up?" He sits up and moves over so she can crawl in with him. She does so but stays on the other side of the bed, making sure they won't touch. Even so he can smell her jasmine body lotion and he wants to press his nose to her skin so he can smell the her underneath it. Bolin feels kind of guilty thinking this (But I am a teenage boy, he tells himself).

There is purple light streaming through the windows, not-quite-night-but-not-quite-dawn. This is the first time he's seen her so undone, as though she had come to him with palms upraised and said here are my inner arms, that most sensitive part where the skin and the flesh are separated by translucent gossamer veil. This I offer to you, this I show you so that you might hold me, so that you might trace the blood of my veins and arteries until the path is well-charted. Then, perhaps, we might learn my heart. She is vulnerable right now, vulnerable like she never was with Mako. He doesn't know if it's because she trusts him or if she's just grown too weary to protect herself anymore.

Asami's face is bare, no trace of her usual mask-perfect makeup. Her hair is woven in a messy braid flopped over one shoulder, and she is wearing a simple pink nightgown and white robe. He likes her like this. Not the crying part; he doesn't want to see Asami upset. But he likes her in this natural state, all her outside-selves tucked away for the night.

"You saved my life back there, you know," Asami says, not looking at him but staring at the wall on the other side of the room. Unsurprisingly, snow is falling outside. That's what you get when you're in the South Pole in December. He sees her eyes and flicker and wishes he knew what she was thinking about.

"Well, I guess, although I don't know that your life was really in danger. You would have done the same for me, I'm sure." He has absolutely no idea where she's going with this. Maybe he should wake Pema or Katara, they're the ones who know how to do this emotional stuff. Actually, that's not true, Mako can when the situation calls for it. He's Mr. Serious. Bolin knows his brother seems like a cold-hearted jerk, but that's only when he's around people he doesn't know or care about. He rises to the occasion for his loved ones every time.

Bolin doesn't do any of these things; he doesn't even ask Asami where she's going with this.

Bolin has this secret theory about Mako, himself, and girls. Most people would say that Mako's lack of relationships is due to his stick-up-his-ass-ness. This is not entirely inaccurate. But the other thing is that Mako likes to know things. He likes to plan, to calculate and think. It's why he and Korra work so well; Korra is not exactly known for her emotional suppression. Or, well, she does suppress her emotions, but she's so bad at it that it really doesn't count. Korra's laughably readable to most people; against Mako, it's not even worth the effort.

Bolin, on the other hand, is more patient, or at least more willing to sit with ambiguity. Maybe it's the way they grew up. Maybe it's their family roles that made Mako worry about everything and Bolin believe it would always be okay. However it happened, he knows that Mako wouldn't be able to standAsami's silence. Bolin can. It's the same as with animals; if you want to catch a fire ferret, you must wait for the ferret to come to you. You won't get anywhere chasing.

"Of course I would have saved you if you were in danger." Asami smiles at him, though her lips quiver. "But you shouldn't have had to rescue me. He's my father, you know? I just can't believe – he was my daddy. When I was little, there were a bunch of kids at school who made fun of me for being the Sato heiress. They told me I was spoiled and prissy and no one would want to be friends with me expect for my money. One kid – I remember . . ." she falters. Asami stares at the ceiling to stop her tears then swallows hard and continues. "I remember one boy said "Your own mother didn't want to be around you. She didn't need your money and she left. That's proof there, Asami." I shoved him and he gave me a black eye."

"Damn," Bolin breathes. She flushes with embarrassment and starts playing with her robe tie. He reaches out and gives her upper arm a gentle squeeze. She looks up, surprised, but smiles gratefully. She puts her hand over his, squeezing back. He lets go as she begins to speak again and his hand feels strangely empty without her warmth.

"Obviously, my dad didn't miss that. He was furious when he found out. I don't know what he said to the school and the kid's parents, but I remember the terror on their faces when I came to class the next day. My father immediately enrolled me in self-defense classes, vowing that he would do everything in his power to make sure I was never, ever hurt. How could he attack me, Bolin? I just – I don't understand." Here are the real tears. The "Korra-tears". All he can think is aw Korra, you wouldn't being thinking about whether she was pretty if you could see her now. She's crying hard and burying her face in her arms, clearly humiliated to be seen like this. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't be bothering you like this."

"It's no trouble. We're Team Avatar, we stick together. A team is only as strong as it's weakest link, so we've got to give each other strength. That's why Korra has to use her Avatar-ness to get us free food. Mako and I are growing lads requiring sustenance to complete in pro-bending. If Korra wants to win feeding us is in her best interest, see?" he teases. Asami chokes a laugh and finally looks at him.

"So comforting me is really all about you, huh?" she teases back. He nods playfully.

"Exactly. All about your money." Maybe that was too soon. Her face crumbles and he can see insecurity blossom in her eyes. "Asami, I'm kidding. If I was only interested in your money I wouldn't bother talking you right now, I'd just roll over and let you sleep and, I don't know, try to get you have sex with me."

He winces a bit at the sex part but it's worth the embarrassment because she looks like she might actually believe that he's really her friend. At the very least she's entertaining the idea. "Also would have mentioned something when we were eating street gruel. Could have used something a little tastier then," he muses. Yes, she's definitely coming around now, the tension is leaving her shoulders. "Though I'll admit "Master Bolin" had a nice ring to it."

Asami swats him but he doesn't mind because he's just so glad she's not crying anymore. Given her situation, the strength she's displayed is almost inconceivable. He tries to imagine himself in her place, maybe if it was Mako instead of his father who he doesn't remember very well. Something heavy lands in his stomach at the thought and it feels the same as when someone hits him in the ring. Knocks the breath right out of you. "Look though, you want to sleep a little? You can stay, I'm just tired," he says sheepishly. He rubs the back of his neck.

"That would be okay." She lies down next to him, attentive to her movement so they will continue to Not Touch. After a few minutes they're both settled, staring at each other as the early morning sun casts patterns over Asami's hair.

"Good night. Or good morning," Bolin says. Asami closes her eyes, falling asleep quickly (he wonders how long she cried alone before coming to find him). He takes longer, watching her for a while before exhaustion wins out.

Later, Tenzin will glimpse their figures through the half-open door. Upon returning to his own room, he'll to turn Pema and ask her what's going on with these people and beds. Nothing is ever up to standard! They're always in each others' beds, like there's only a couple of decent mattresses in any given institution. Pema will roll her eyes, inform him that teenagers have many motivations for sharing beds and the dislike of a certain mattress is not high on that list. It will takes a moment, but her words will make sense and he'll bluster gruffly while his wife laughs.

Mako knows something isn't right when he wakes up alone. He swears under his breath, grabbing a jacket and his boots so he can go figure out what's going on. Bolin would tease him if he were here, chanting Mama Hen Mako over and over until Mako threatened to burn his mouth shut. Even so he almost wishes Bolin was with him right now; maybe he would feel less anxious about what kind of trouble Korra's getting up to. And he knows it's trouble, because Korra "mornings-are-evil" of the Water Tribe would never get up at this hour without due cause.

Mako likes the Water Tribe buildings. They're very solid, made of hard-packed mud and stone. They keep out the frosty winds and he feels very safe here, like they're completely isolated from the world and therefore bad things can't get to them. There is no Amon, no rent due, no pressures. He briefly entertains the idea of staying, but dismisses it just as quickly. He loves Korra, but he just can't get on board with Water Tribe food. She tried to kiss him after dinner last night and laughed when he demanded she brush her teeth because he couldn't stand the lingering taste of sea prunes and fried squid.

Memory's glow fades when he gets to the kitchen. Someone has been here and they have been eating. It's not too messy, but Mako has learned to pick up on the subtleties. The sink is empty but still shiny with water. There is fresh soap lingering around the top of the bottle. There are crumbs on the floor and plates stacked on a counter, as though whoever was here was in a great hurry to get in and get out. Immediately, he starts running to the nearest bathroom.

Not again.

"This is Mako – I'm coming in," he announces as he enters the women's baths and toilets. Korra has a private bathroom attached to her (their?) room, but of course she wouldn't go back there with Mako still in their (her?) bed. He remembers from the moment they went in last night that it felt eerie and haunted, like it was hers-but-not-hers. It's filled with all her childhood belongings; stuffed animals account for the overwhelming majority. When he saw them he couldn't help but think of how lonely it must have been to be trapped in the White Lotus compound -

- "I would have thought you would've decorated every wall," Mako comments the night before upon entering the room. The grey walls are bare, the bed neatly dressed with blue sheets and blankets. There's a pile of furs at the foot for nights when it's really cold. Opposite the bed is a fireplace, contained by a screen made of curling iron and glass. There's a wardrobe, a trunk, and a bench piled with her stuffed animals. He smiles and goes to the bench, picking up an orange cat. Korra squirms.

"Yeah, well, it was what it was."

The floors are made of bamboo but covered with woven rugs. There are blackout curtains over the windows, a small desk with a neat collection of scrolls and pens. There's a door opposite the one to the hallway, probably her bathroom. He sits on the bed and notes the goose-feather pillows, the soft cotton material. Korra looks ready to tears off her skin.

"Um, are you okay?"

"Fine!" she snaps. He rolls his eyes. "I just don't like it here, that's all," she mutters.

Flashback – they're in Republic City, she tells him Naga is my best friend. And he says your best friend is a polar bear-dog. Somehow that makes perfect sense. It strikes him how sad that conversation is. Sad for Korra that yes, Naga was her only friend while she lived here (in this prison).

Sad that he didn't think about that, didn't think about how lonely things must have been for her that things would come to that. He thought Korra was loud and obnoxious and impulsive when he first met her. Actually he still thinks those things, but now it's tempered by the knowledge that she spent most of her life locked up. Korra has no social skills because when had she ever needed them?

Flashback: Korra says I've always been taken care of. They're in the gym at the pro-bending arena, he's scowling because her fighting is no where near what it needs to be. He doesn't think about what it must feel like to be told you're a Master Waterbender and then have your ass handed to you by a bunch of jocks. He doesn't think about the fact that when people are taking care of you, you end up owing them something. Free things are nice if they're truly free; Korra's free things came with price tags written in foreign languages.

Flashback: Korra missing practices to join Tarrlok's task fore. Korra's sad, frightened face when the reporters ambush her at the party. Her hands shake.

Flashback: Waiting outside the pro-bending arena, so angry he's afraid he'll accidently blow something up (man, firebending can be a bitch sometimes). He accuses her of using Bolin. Something red flashes over her face; at the time, he thinks it's anger, or maybe embarrassment that she's been caught. Later, after Bolin tells him Korra described herself as not very date-worthy, he realizes the red color was pain.

He remembers telling Korra consider our friendship over when she (correctly) suspects Hiroshi. He now wonders if any words could have been crueler. He remembers the look on her face, the one hissing I don't need you. I don't need anyone. The disease has its claws into her by then, he'll know because he'll see the glossy black fur growing on her arms. He'll learn that that only happens to the starving, those whose bodies are shutting down – they need fur because there's no more fat to keep them warm.

The next day there's Korra sitting on a cliff, pretending she hasn't been crying and then whispering I just feel so – alone. The wind whips and she shivers, her collarbones thrusting forward like they want to escape her skin. He'll think of it again when they finally find her and he picks up off Naga's back. She feels like she might crumble in his arms.

He thinks he can see, then, why Korra doesn't like the White Lotus Compound.

"Can we just go to bed now? I'm really tired," she sighs. He knows that's not what's really going on, but he doesn't say anything, just crosses the room to playfully tug her hair out of its ponytails.

"Yeah, you need the rest – I shouldn't be keeping you up," he murmurs. She scoffs but she's smiling. He wishes he could tear open her chest and put his hand on her beating heart so he could read her and feel her in all the ways she won't let him; he wants to know all her unthinkable thoughts.

FlashNOW, it is hours later and Mako squints against the light flowing in through the baths' frosted glass windows. He finds the door to the toilet area and goes through, heart pounding so sharply he thinks he's going to break a rib. It doesn't take any time to find Korra; he recognizes the retching sound.

"Ugh."

He takes this as a good sign. If she can still moan, she's not dead. Mako bangs his fist on the door and Korra yelps. For a moment he's in Republic City and Amon is leaning over her (he is the Nightmare King). It's over just as quickly and he breathes hard, reminding himself that he isn't there anymore, that he is safe and Korra is safe and everyone else is safe. They opened the closet door, they moved the bed and killed the monsters who were living in those places.

"Let me in." There is a pause but he knows she doesn't really consider keeping him out if for no other reason than he'll just burn the door down if she tries. The door swings out at him and she is there on her knees. It's such a debauched position, so submissive. It makes him think of the prostitutes he's seen in the city. He remembers pimps who growl bitch on your knees. They yank the girls' heads back by their hair, shove their cocks so far down their throats they cry and gag.

Their eyes say no but with plugged mouths the words never get to the surface, so later the men will say she loves it, tossing the girl back like she's garbage (her head will hit the floor with a twisted thud). Like she's not even human. Mako will never forget the ones he saw who had thick white seed dripping like blood down their faces, their mouths open in silent screams.

To see Korra like this – it is to see her completely undone, it is to see her degraded and abused. She is so small, so fragile. She is her bones, hard outsides to protect what is inside, what is soft and squishy and so ready to give under the slightest feather-touch. He sits down next to her, resting a hand on her back.

It strikes Mako again that however many times this happens, he'll never get used to it, he'll be just as shocked and sickened every time. He's again marveled by her ability to get vomit everywhere. It's on her clothes and her face and her fingers and even in her hair. They look at each other for a minute then her face goes ashen and she throws up again.

Bright green seaweed graces the bowl and a look of relief passes over her face. Yeah, that definitely means something to her. He traces circles over her shirt's thin material while she rests her head against the toilet's cool porcelain, looking exhausted.

"Hi, Mako," she says in a little-girl voice. He takes her clean hand in his, kissing her fingertips. Tears well up in her bloodshot eyes.

"What does the seaweed mean?" he asks.

Panic. She doesn't want to tell him and that makes it all the more important for him to know. "Korra," he coaxes. It's hard not to scream at her when he's so mad and worried.

"It's, um, how I know it's all gone," she mutters awkwardly. She tries to jerk her hand away and he doesn't let her.

"You will lift the toilet seat, carefully slide your fingers inside your mouth and down your throat, and puke until you see orange. The Doritos. You ate them first because you, like most bulimics, have developed a system of "markers," eating brightly colored foods first so you can tell when it's all out".

"Okay." He exhales slowly. Standing up, he flushes the toilet several times until everything disappears. Korra can't look at him from shame. Her head stays down as she follows him to the sinks and her footsteps are unsteady, like there's no blood in her legs. "Sit," he orders. She hops up on the vanity. Mako fills a bowl with water and firebends it warm. He offers Korra a glass and she rinses her mouth out, grimacing as she does.

"Throat hurts," she mutters to his look. Did she scrape it? Is it bad? Is she bleeding? His mind seethes with questions.

"Maybe Katara can – "

"We are not, under any circumstances, discussing any of this with Katara," Korra hisses. His jaw tenses. Doesn't she realize he just wants to help her – oh, she does apparently, her face is softening right in front of his eyes. "We can talk about it later," she concedes. Good enough. He lathers a washcloth with mild soap but when he looks her over he thinks that it really isn't going to make the cut.

"Give me your clothes and go take a shower. You have, um, stuff in your hair." They avoid saying what it really is (vomit) because it's better that way. If they were to speak the words aloud – well, that would mean that this was real and they can't have that, not at all.

"Okay." She doesn't move.

"What?"

"Um, I just – you're here. And I don't really have anything, exactly – I mean, I was just wearing this, you understand?" She's biting her lip. Mako is busy having a flashback to when he broke the news about him and Korra to Bolin.

"Have fun with celibacy, bro," Bolin laughed, throwing his head back as his whole body shook. Mako failed to see the humor or even the logic in this statement.

"What are you talking about?"

"Neither you or Korra can say the word sex, let alone have it. This is rich. Really, have fun," he snickered. Mako sputtered some kind of response but now he's thinking damn you Bolin because yeah, he's kind of right. Maybe he should go practice saying sex and other such terms in front of a skunk-toad. In a volcano. On Ember Island. Where Bolin will never, ever find him. Ever.

Unfortunately in the mean time, he still has a distressed Korra to attend to. Fantastic.

"Ah – what do you want me to do? I don't want to make you uncomfortable because I don't want you to do anything you don't want, really," he babbles. She contemplates this for a minute then begins unbuttoning her pajama shirt. He pointedly looks away.

"Mako . . ." She can't find the words to make sense of the thoughts in her head. She wants to say I'm so ugly don't look you'll hate me and at the same time she thinks please look at me and think I'm beautiful because it will just kill me if you don't. "Would you . . . I mean, can you . . ." She frowns, wanting to clutch her head and shake it until everything falls out so Mako will be able to see what she's thinking and spare her the troubling of talking. This is something she ought to bring up with Asami; if Future Industries could work on developing a superior alternative to the current hopelessly inadequate mind-to-mouth expression system.

"What?" Mako asks, still looking away. There are pink streaks dusting his cheekbones and she wants to touch them.

"Look at me - if you want, that is," she whispers. He almost doesn't hear her she's speaking so softly and in some ways that's kind of the point. She's afraid to be seen and afraid to be ignored. She trembles waiting for his reaction.

"Oh. Uh, yeah, sorry. I thought you didn't want me to do that. Look at you." When Mako is nervous, he usually stares at his feet. This coping mechanism is not serving him well right now. So he bites the inside of his cheek and forces his head up because he knows important to her (and he also knows she'll never say so much). If Korra asked him to find a way to put the sun in the night sky, he would do it. That's what Mako does for the people he loves.

The buttons are all undone now and the shirt hangs loosely on her bony shoulders. Her breasts are still covered but he can see the skin between them so there is a path from her neck down to her sternum, flowing right over her belly button. Below there is a trail of fine dark hair and he can hardly think about what follows after that. He blinks and hesitantly reaches for the material.

"You want help?" He feels awkward and wonders if she does too. He's not suave like Bolin. He's nervous and twitchy and he wants so badly to give her the world. He's cautious because he just really doesn't want to mess anything up, get screwed over by his own idiocy.

"Okay." She swallows and he carefully pulls off the sleeves, avoiding the messy parts. She crosses her arms over her breasts so he can't see the nipples but he can still see the top halves, the cleft between. The skin is the color of creamy toffee and he has an urge to lick it. He distracts himself by putting her shirt in the sink. Not the time to be fantasizing.

"Your pants – um, those need to be washed to?" His voice squeaks at the end. That's embarrassing. He had been rather happy to leave puberty and voice-cracking behind.

"Oh. I guess." She slides the pants off and he's grateful to discover that she's wearing navy underwear, a pair of shorts trimmed with light blue lace. She steps out of the pants and he takes them gracelessly. She trains her gaze to the floor, not moving. "I'm sure this is very anti-climatic for you," she laughs. He stares at her.

"I think you're beautiful. I always do," he replies. She dares to look at him. "Really. Can I – is it okay for me to touch you?" He's really going to have to revisit this idea that he was done with puberty. He doesn't know how to talk to her and he's so terrified of messing this up and he had really thought that that wouldn't be such a thing by this time in his life.

"Um, okay," she mutters, trying to hide her anxiety. He takes a step closer. She wants to ask him if she's good enough, if she deserves good things in her life. She wants to say I failed against Amon and ask him how he can want her considering that. She keeps these words to herself though because to ask would be to show weakness, and being weak is (perhaps ironically at this point) her biggest fear.

"Tell me to stop or firebend me or something if I start to do anything you don't like," he says. She smiles and he feels more accomplished that he did winning his first pro-bending match. He would do anything to make her look at him like that again.

"I think I can manage that," she says. He puts a hand on the back of her neck, rubbing the tense muscles until she shuts her eyes and lets her head fall into his hold. He puts the other hand on her shoulder and tries very hard not to react to how sharp her bones are against his flesh. She'll take that as a rejection and think she has to lose more weight when really it's this body (this too-skinny body) that scares him. She really shouldn't be this thin; clearly he should have been watching her more carefully.

Mako leans in and kisses her lips, pulling away even as she kisses back. He kisses her face all over, blessing her temples and her eyes and her jaw. He kisses her neck, her collarbones then her lips again because he sees no reason to go far-ther right now. She moans softly, her face twisting with desire as she arches into his touches. She can tell that he's using his firebending to give her an extra kick of warmth. She opens her eyes sleepily when he finally pulls away.

"Better?" he asks. She can hear his attempts to hide his anxiety then watches it dissipate at her nod. "Good. Go take a shower, I'll take care of your clothes." She turns to do so then stops.

"Mako?"

He looks up at the sound of his name. "Thanks for that. It was really – it was nice. I'm sorry I'm putting you through this, but I'm really glad you're here. With me." She ducks behind the curtain and a few minutes later he hears water begin to run.

His mind wanders as he scrubs her clothes. He has a few flashbacks to when he and Bolin were kids and they were first living on their own. His brother had nightmares about their parents' deaths and starting wetting the bed again. He was humiliated, hiding it for weeks. It probably would have gone on longer had he not woken up one night to get something to eat only to find Bolin in the kitchen scrubbing furiously.

After that Mako made it his responsibility to take care of that. He remembers moonlight streaming through the window as he washed his brother's clothes and sheets, singing lullabies or telling stories to distract him, help him sleep. He remembers firebending the sheets and clothes dry, and he remembers the way Bolin's whole face lit up watching the trick. Made him feel like maybe he wasn't a complete failure at the whole care-taking thing, like maybe he could give Bolin a good-enough life.

The memory fades and he's then forced to think about what he's going to do about his and Korra's current predicament. She was doing so well before; this might just be a small slip up. These things happen. The problem is that it could also be a full-blown relapse and he doesn't want to give that a chance to play itself out.

Pema and Tenzin will be furious either way. If says nothing, they'll be mad at both him for keeping the secret and Korra for indulging in self-destructive behavior. If he says something – they'll be mad at Korra for indulging in self-destructive behavior and Korra will be at him for ratting her out. Yay.

He imagines Tenzin would probably tell her to meditate to address her anxiety problems. Mako doesn't really think that's what's going on here. It's part of it, but Korra has low self-esteem and meditating isn't going to fix that.

Are the people at the Fire Nation Center for Mental Health currently accepting new patients? They treat Princess Azula, so they can treat anyone, right?

The door opens and he swears. He hopes it's one of the airbabies (Korra got him calling them that, no one else would be able to make him use such a silly term). It's not, however, because that would be too convenient. Instead it's Lin Beifong and Mako finds himself really, really wishing he were an earthbender so he could ask the ground to swallow him up. She's wearing a black robe and staring at him, first in shock and then in anger. She crosses her arms and narrows her eyes, going into full police chief mode. Everything about her says Explain. Now. Or I will kill you.

He does not doubt that.

"Good morning Chief Bei – I mean Lin – I mean, hi." Smooth.

"Perhaps you can explain to me what it is exactly that you're doing in here." Lin presses her lips together so tightly they turn white.

"Helping Korra with something." This is not the right thing to say. Lin only looks angrier.

"I see. Shall I fetch her some silphium?"

Okay, even Mako's not so sexually naïve he doesn't know what silphium is. He makes a wet choking sound, stunned that Lin thinks they're having sex. Is there something wrong with him and Korra that they're not? Or maybe everyone thought they'd Do It because Korra got her bending back, that they would too excited to wait like normal people? Spirits, they don't know either of them at all if they're thinking that. As he tries to process all this Lin's eyes flash with amusement and he thinks that only for Korra would he endure Lin Beifong.

"I don't really think that's strictly necessary – "

"Don't be stupid, boy. Coitus interuptus is not considered effective," she counters. At this point Korra finally peeks her head out to see what's going on.

"Mako? Lin?" she asks, her hair dripping onto the tile floor. "Is everything all right?"

"I was just asking Mako if you needed anything," Lin replies. Korra turns grey. The curtain ripples and Mako knows she must be trembling. He hates Lin for doing that to her. Damn it, why can't she see that Korra's in no place to be screwed around with? Korra shakes her head woodenly, eyes wide with fear as she processes Lin's question.

"I'm fine, just little sick, I'm done throwing up now, nothing is wrong!" she yelps. Mako groans. That was probably the least helpful thing she could have said. Korra ducks back into the shower, shutting them out.

Lin starts to say something but Mako slaps a hand over her mouth. He contemplates that he must have a hidden desire to be castrated; why else would he do something so insane? He uses he free hand to pull Lin into the hall, moving fast so he won't lose his nerve. She's still too stunned to react and he's hoping that maybe she'll let him keep his man-bits after all.

"Would you care to enlighten me as to what, exactly, it is you're doing?" Lin hisses, yanking away from him. His shoulders slump and even though he's not a religious guy, he says a quick prayer that Lin will understand and Korra will forgive him for what he's about to do.

"Korra has a problem, of sorts," Mako says. Lin waits. This must be how she got people to confess; that stare is terrifying. Mako starts to look at his feet then stops himself. He is not going to act like this where Korra's involved. "Her relationship with food is, well – "

"Zealous?" Lin sneers. He's too insulted to speak and she continues over his silence. "I've seen her eat. Spirits only know where she puts it all. I don't understand what this has to do with anything, however." Her lofty attitude is really starting to bother him.

"She puts it in the toilet," he growls. Ah, finally; Lin now loses her Queen Bitch face. He feels a jolt of petty victory. "She makes herself throw up," he clarifies nastily. Lin seems unable to conceptualize this. Her eyebrows are pinched together and she looks lost and frightened, like she was standing on glass and now it's broken beneath her.

He's rendered Lin Beifong speechless. Does he get an award? Bolin would make a joke about that if he was here, but it wouldn't be funny. Nothing about this is funny. "She sticks her fingers down her throat and pukes it all up. When she's eating at all, that is. Sometimes she just doesn't. Eat." He hunches his shoulders, looking back at the baths.

"So this morning . . . ?"

"I woke up and she wasn't in our – her – ugh, the room, so I knew something was wrong. She would have woken me otherwise. I went to the kitchens and I knew immediately that she had been through. Predictably, I found her in the baths throwing up. I was too late to stop her. As usual, she was a mess. So I volunteered to help her clean up. I wanted to keep an eye on her anyway, to be honest. She says her throat hurts but she doesn't want to see Katara," he confesses.

Lin sits down, blinking like a busted Satomobile. He feels the impulse to apologize, but there really isn't anything to say. "I need to go back and see to her. Could you just stay outside for a few minutes? It would make things a lot easier for us." He doesn't wait for a reply. He's done talking to Lin, he has other things to be doing right now.

Lin is in shock. She's still like someone froze her blood, her thoughts racing in a yes/no/it is/it can't be loop. She's so caught up in this news she doesn't even notice Tenzin's approach until he's waving a hand in front of her face. Scowling she knocks it away, eyes narrowing into a glare. He sighs in that long-suffering way of his.

"Good morning, Lin. You look a little – unsettled. Is there something wrong?" he asks. "I thought I heard you talking with someone."

She's a little surprised he doesn't recognize Mako's voice, but keeps this thought to herself.

"Did you know that Korra makes herself throw up?" she snarls. Tenzin gaps and he face shatters like a smashed mirror.

"No," he whispers. He's not answering her question, he's talking to himself, trying to deny that this is happening again, that Lin could know, that his little girl is in trouble (because Korra is his third daughter, she's more than a pupil).

The words are tainting the air. Lin's shoulders drop and she's no longer an officer or vigilante, she's just a woman who's worried about someone she cares for. "How long has this been going on? Who knows about it? Is she getting any help?" she asks. Lin isn't the type to sit and wait when there's a crisis; she's like Korra, she'll rush in with raised arms and clenched teeth, mind burning. Punch first, ask questions later.

"It started I guess in the fall, when she had that face off with Amon – that really messed her up. She looked so young when I found her, so vulnerable," Tenzin says, his grey eyes clouded as he goes to some distant place. "She was struggling with her airbending, though I guess I didn't know how badly it was affecting her. I should have, though. I should have been worried when she started calling herself a failure." Cold sweat leaks down his neck at the memory. Guilt chews and claws his viscera, hissing you are the failure, youfailedher.

"That still doesn't explain why she would do something like this in response." Lin is distressed. She's confused and he thinks he can even hear fear in her voice. It makes him want to hold her like he did so many times years ago. She is again the girl of their childhoods, the girl he first loved.

"Korra wanted – she wanted to be light, she said. Because airbending is about being light on your feet, so she turned that into a physical reduction of the self. Like it was her flesh that weighed her down, and if she could be lighter she'd be able to airbend. I don't fully understand it myself, I just know what she told me. It went on three months, maybe? Four? I don't know. At first she just starved herself, but Pema and I put a stop to that as soon as we figured it out. That's when she started throwing up, apparently. It seemed like she'd been better these past couple weeks, though." He is desperate to believe his own words.

"Where are her parents in all this?" Lin throws her arms in the air. "This isn't like with Zuko – "

"Wait – what about Zuko?"

She looks embarrassed.

"I know from my mother that Zuko had – unique coping skills, shall we say," she mumbled, fidgeting. He waits and she continues, unable to tolerate the silence. "He cut himself. Started when he was young, he was all on his own. He didn't have anyone looking out for him. But Korra – we care about her." Lin blushes at this admission.

"I don't think her parents know. I think she's too ashamed to tell them, and moreover she doesn't want them to worry. I suppose maybe someone else could say something – but that's not really our place. Besides, she lives with Pema and I most of the time, and you can be sure we make her eat." His expression is cool for a minute, confident; then she looks at him and it falls.

"Damn it, Lin, I don't know how you fix this, I don't even understand it!" Heat floods his body and he's suddenly aware that he's frustrated and evenangry that Korra's doing this. It just doesn't make any sense. It's nothing but a draw-out, painful suicide. Her throat could tear open so she bled to death in some bathroom like a common alcoholic.

"Mako is taking care of her right now," Lin reassures him. "We'll figure it out. This isn't your fault, Tenzin," she says. He shakes his head sadly.

"It's entirely my fault. She said I have to be light, I have to be the leaf, I have to be light as the leaf. I'm the one who told her that. I'm the one who said that about airbending. I put the idea in her head." There is such misery in his eyes, such pain wracking his body. Her arms move of their own accord and she hugs him.

"I'm so sorry, my old friend. I disagree with you about this – I don't think it's your fault, and you know I would tell you if I did," she laughs (it is a small sound but it reverberates in him and gives the world new light). "I do believe this can be solved. We'll talk to your mother. She might have some ideas."

Mom. Yes, why didn't he think of that?

"Thank you, old friend." They smile at each other, silently saying if I must be here I'm glad at least you're here with me.

Korra's getting out of the shower when Mako goes back in, wrapped herself in a big fluffy white towel. He comes up behind her, enfolding her waist in his arms and burying his nose in her hair. She laughs, tentatively leaning back against him.

"Hi," she whispers. He sends a burst of heat through the towel and she sighs happily. "That's nice. I knew there was a reason I liked you."

"I live to serve." Those bones are her vertebrae, aren't they? Is it natural for them to thrust like that? She could take someone's eye with one. Very possibly his.

"What did you say to Lin anyway?"

Damn, he had been hoping to have this conversation until – well, forever really, but at least longer than two minutes after it happened. "You told her everything, didn't you?"

"Huh?"

"You're not a very good liar, Mako. I seem to remember a certain confrontation right before the Tournament which proved so much." She giggles and he huffs against her neck. "We worked it out," she says sweetly. "Everything was fine once you realized I was right about you, just like I'm always right about everything." She turns around and taps his nose with a finger. He snorts and pulls her back into place, her back against his chest.

"Are you mad at me? Because she thought you were pregnant."

"What?" Korra whirls around to face him and he only narrowly avoids getting whipped by her hair. "I cannot believe – oh, I will show her just how not-pregnant I am!" Korra starts marching towards the door and Mako sprints ahead to block her path.

"How about you just go get dressed and we don't get in a battle before noon?" he pleads. He sees her deliberate, but then she bows her head. "I don't think a towel is going to be very conducive to fighting anyway," he points out. She looks up and they both laugh imaging her trying to fight Lin and retain her modesty. Mako's right, it wouldn't work out very well.

"Fine, you're right. I'm being impulsive again." She shyly rises onto her tip-toes, lightly pressing her body against his. "Thanks for everything. I mean it." She kisses him then leaves, softly padding back to their (her?) bedroom. Mako grabs her clothes, quickly dries them and then leaves the baths. He probably should see how Lin's taking the news, or at the very least strive to avoid another situation like that. It would be just his luck for Korra's mother to come in next.

"Mako."

He jumps and releases a breath when he sees that it's only Lin (Spirits, only after facing Amon would he be able to say "only" Lin). Well, speak of Koh, isn't that convenient? Her face is still somber, but it's softer now than it was in the baths when she was so angry. Lin glides towards him, her silk robe making no sound even when she rustles the fabric. He clutches Korra's clothes more tightly. "I believe I owe you – and Korra – an apology. I should not have jumped to conclusions like that. It was none of my business," she says stiffly.

He nods.

"I see." Lin goes into the baths and he's finally allowed to return to her (their?) room.

Korra dresses slowly. When she's dried herself off, she smears milk-and-honey lotion all over her body, reveling in the sweet but mild scent. It makes her skin soft and she likes that. She feels grounded, more in her body now that she's touched each part and reassured herself that yes, everything is still there and it is all hers.

She puts on the frilly underwear Asami gave her, feeling a little silly for caring about that stuff. Asami also gave her some brassieres, but Korra ignores those in favor of traditional bindings. They aren't very comfortable. Asami says it's probably the size difference between them but Korra's not sure she cares enough to explore that hypothesis.

She outfits herself in grey stockings and thick grey pants stuffed with goose feathers to keep her warm. She adds a soft brown shirt and then layers a long blue sweater over it. The hood is lined with white rabbit fur, and the same pelt was used to trim the hem and too-long sleeves.

She likes the way the fabric falls over her hands; it's a good way to keep her fingers warm. At that thought she tosses a few more logs in the fireplace. Oh, so much better! Korra finishes by brushing out her hair with vanilla-scented oil. Floral scents have always been too pungent for her tastes; nothing smells that strong up here in the land of ice and snow.

She tells herself this morning was a mistake. She's going to do better now. She'll have to now that Lin has found her out; Spirits know what could stop that woman if she was really determined to do something. Korra feels a twinge of anger at Mako but quickly bites it down. There wasn't anything he could have done, it's her own damn fault for setting up the situation in the first place.

She wishes Mako would get back already. She hates this room, she hates everything about it. it makes her think of lonely nights, of nightmares and no one to comfort her. She remembers getting burnt in her firebending training, frostbite when waterbending. She remembers bruises all over her body learning earthbending, and she remembers telling herself that she likes pain so that it won't all be so insufferable.

Without a doubt, though, the worst (and yet somehow also the best?) day is the day her cycles start. She wakes up screaming because she's dying oh Spirits how did this happen? Guards pour into her room where she's sobbing hysterically, only thirteen years old. Some realize what's happened, some don't, but it doesn't matter because either way the solution is to go fetch Katara. The old woman comes in, and when Korra explains in hushed tones that there is blood there, her teacher smiles gently.

"Come with me. No training today." She takes her pupil's hand and pulls her into the baths. Korra strips her clothes off, her heart jumping about in her chest. Katara squeezes her shoulder. "It's okay. This just means you're becoming a woman."

"Oh, great, is that all?" Korra spits. Katara laughs.

"It means you're fertile. Now hold still so I can perform the ritual," Katara orders. Korra wants to ask her what she's talking about, but suddenly water is swirling all around her body. It mixes with her blood, so the water turns red as it flows over her skin. She even weaves it through her hair, making Korra gasp.

After a few minutes Katara bends the water drown a drain, leaving Korra dry. She wraps her in new furs then weaves her hair into some kind of elaborate braided style. Going to the kitchen, all the guards and teachers watch them. She can tell from their expressions that everyone knows what's happened; her face burns with humiliation. They pay her so much attention but somehow she feels all the more isolated for it. She runs away, hiding herself in her room so she can cry in so-called privacy (oh please, like everyone doesn't know exactly what she's going all the damn time).

When the full moon rises she nearly kills herself bending the blood out. Katara finds her, and she has no explanation to offer. Something changes around that time, though. Korra's skin begins to feel too tight on her body and she devotes less time to studying and more to undercutting her superiors. She knows how to walk through the hallways without making a sound, how to keep her breath soft enough that no one will hear her eavesdropping.

This is how she grows her exoskeleton. This is house she learns that she is discussed as "the Avatar" more often than not. Katara is in one of these conversations one day. She says her name is Korra. Then the man grumbles (she never does figure out who is) and replies was Avatar Aang this difficult? Korra can hear the disgust in his voice.

"Korra is her own person. I would urge you to remember so much." There's the snap of a water whip, and when Katara emerges from the room she smiles at her young student. "You only have to be yourself, daughter." She kisses her forehead, her dry weathered lips soft like flower petals and containing such multitudes and love. Katara's heart is large, large enough to hold two Avatars. Funny how she could hate her cycles so much and yet they're the only good memories she still holds from this room. Katara said you are Korra, and she thinks maybe if she tells herself that often enough, she might even start to believe it.

"Your clothes are clean. Maybe Bolin and I should have started a laundry instead of going into pro-bending. I hear the injury rate is significantly lower," Mako says, coming into the room. She jumps up, pulling him into a hug. Then she purposely stumbles backward, falling onto the bed so he's on top of her. Mako be my memory. "You seem to be in a better mood."

"I have a highly attractive young man delivering clean laundry right to my room. Why wouldn't I be?" She pulls the pajamas from his hand, shoving them under a pillow with a wicked grin. She then grabs his shoulders, rolling over so their positions reverse and she's on top of him. "I think such good delivery service merits a tip."

"Tip, hmm?"

She leans over, her stomach lighting up as she kisses him. She likes this side of Mako, the one that hasn't had a chance to get dressed yet and as such is so completely hers. She likes the feeling of his stubble on her face, how his body is languid under hers. He's always warmer in the mornings too, and she can't deny that that's a pleasant bonus.

"You smell nice," he whispers against her. He breaks the kiss and pulls her down next to him so they're lying face-to-face. She presses her face into his chest. She likes this place. This is her safe place, where nothing will hurt her. "Your hair is pretty like this."

"Yeah?" She twists her head, hopelessly trying to see what he does.

"I like – I like that I can do this more easily." He runs his fingers through her hair then cups the back of her head. He tugs her hair gently so she dips her head back, lips reaching for his. He presses his lips to hers and wait, did he just put his tongue in her mouth? She's so confused she forgets to kiss back and he pulls away.

Seriously, how did Lin ever think they were having sex?

"What did I do wrong?" He's watching her and she squirms under his scrutiny. Mako likes rules, he likes guidelines and manuals and not ambiguity. Korra's better at it, but she's woefully inexperienced and this time she's not dealing much better. She wants to please him but she doesn't know how to do that; she doesn't even know where she would start.

Katara taught her the mechanics, of course, and she's heard some stories from the White Lotus sentries, but this is different. Someone is now laying his hands on her skin and every interaction sets off a thousand sparks. These new feelings are overwhelming, though not unpleasant. Like jumping into deep water, sinking down and down knowing that you'll be fine, but still feeling that adrenaline hit of what-if-something-happens.

She feels present in a way she usually doesn't, like she's tethered into herself and won't drift off like a basket in the sea. Mako once bit her and left a bruise on her neck. He apologized over and over and she didn't tell him that she liked the pain. It anchored her. She felt alive. She wants that hard touch, she wants to ache and burn so that she won't be a soul, be the Avatar Spirit but she'll be all body, she'll be Korra. It's not like she's good at being the Avatar anyway, however much she wishes it were different.

. . . She and Tenzin are riding Oogi, and she says "I don't understand what's wrong with me. I've memorized nearly all of the practice forms but I still can't produce a single measly puff of air! I'm a failure."

"No, you're not. You just need to work through this airbending block."

"Amazing advice. I'll get right on that."

"I wasn't finished yet. You see, Aang no only had his bending teachers, but also his pasts lives to call upon for guidance. Have you ever made contact with your past lives?"

"No, of course I haven't. Didn't you get the memo from the White Lotus? I'm a spiritual failure too."

(Someone save her. Someone needs to save her right now –)

Oh. Oh, her throat hurts.

Why? You want to know why?

Step into a tanning booth and fry yourself for two or three days. After your skin bubbles and peels off, roll in coarse salt, then pull on long underwear woven from spun glass and razor wire. Over that goes your regular clothes as long as they are tight.

Smoke gunpowder and go to school to jump through hoops, sit up and beg, roll over on command. Listen to whispers that curl into your head at night, calling you ugly and fat and stupid and bitch and whore and worst of all, "a disappointment". Puke and starve and cut and drink because you don't want to feel any of this. For a while. But then the anesthetic turns into poison and by then it's too late because you are mainlining it now, straight into your soul. It is rotting you and you can't stop.

Look in a mirror and find a ghost. Hear every heartbeat scream that everysinglething is wrong with you.

"Why?" is the wrong question.

Ask "Why not?"

Quote 1, 2 - Marya Hornbacher, Wasted
Quote 3 - Legend of Korra, S1E8
Quote 4 - Laurie Halse Anderson, Wintergirls

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Oh my goodness, thanks so much to everyone who responded and asked for this! I am deeply humbled by your praise and honored that so many people who take such an interest in my writing.

Sing Me Down Your Lullaby picks up after Oh the City Lights and the Season One Finale. The fic will chronicle Korra's struggles with her eating disorder now that her secret's out and she's supposedly, at least, attempting to recover. There will also be flashbacks to events taking place during the Oh the City Lights era, i.e. before she gets any help. You can still read Lullaby without having read Oh the City Lights, but I strongly recommend you read Cityfirst. It's a one-shot, so it doesn't take even that much time.

I'm excited to start this project. Please let me know your thoughts; it's cliché, but it really does mean a lot to me, and I try to respond to each reviewer and let them know so much. Thank you. – LMB.