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Mornings have never been Korra’s favorite. She’s used to being dragged out of bed before the sun has even risen, eyes aching and body slow, muffling yawns with the back of her hand. First it was White Lotus training sessions — fire comes from the sun, she can hear her Master saying all these years later, but also the breath — then Tenzin for meditating, then Asami kissing her cheek on her way out the door with a murmured breakfast is in the icebox, love.
Somewhere in there, mornings became more bearable. Somewhere between early morning Fire Ferrets training and before-sunrise matches in an illegal underground ring in some corner of the Earth Kingdom, Korra begins to rise with the sun. It’s more hours in the day to distract herself but also to avoid the nightmares. The longer she’s awake, the less time she’s stuck in her own head reliving the feeling of chains around her ankles, heavy poison weighing her down even as an anger older than time itself courses through her body. It’s easier to avoid the blurry memories of crying out in her Dad’s arms, writhing in Kya’s quarters in a shallow pool with someone whispering her name tearily above her, the first time she was conscious enough to hear the whispers behind paper panels and realizing she couldn’t feel her legs.
So Korra trudges through days before the sun’s even kissed the horizon and aligns her breath with the first rays that warm the damp, cold nights.
But it’s not the end. She places her hand on a twisted vine thicker than her torso deep in the swamp and focuses, feeling herself reach for a place deep within her she hasn’t in years. She feels the tug in her mind, the pull in her stomach, feels a familiar presence jolt and respond. Feels the excitement. It wraps around her like a fur-lined blanket.
She smiles, opens her eyes.
She’s going home.
Toph helps her pull the last remnants of poison from her system and locks it away. Korra feels light in a way she hasn’t since she first rode Naga away from the tall White Lotus walls, spurred by Master Katara’s encouragement. That feeling raises in her again when voices echo in her mind, not hers and not the kids’ when they tackle her in a hug so tight Korra can’t help but squeeze them back to distract how her eyes water.
She trips and falls along the way but then she’s back in a free Republic City, she’s safe, she’s home .
The nightmares don’t stop magically even with the Avatar State returned to her but more often than not she wakes to Ikki and Jinora tucked in with her under each arm, Meelo snoring by her feet, a toddler Rohan sprawled on her chest, drooling from the sides of her mouth as he sucks on his thumb. She doesn’t know Rohan yet but she’s excited to learn. Her name is awkward in his mouth but they have time.
Tenzin engulfs her in a long, tight hug every morning before they sit together in silence to meditate. Korra follows, counts her breaths, allows herself to feel the cresting sun in her chest rather than on her skin, feels it cloud against her lips when she exhales. Tenzin smiles at her across the low table, proud and Korra resists the urge to burn it into her mind, lock it away, only to be taken out and rationed in times of need. She doesn’t need to.
She falls into a routine even before Kuvira’s defeat, doesn’t run from it after, instead finding comfort in the consistency. Tenzin laughs when she tells him, Pema smiling. It’s early, she’s first to the table before even Jinora and is setting the places.
She places Asami next to her without blinking, without thinking, and doesn’t catch Pema and Tenzin’s knowing looks.
They step through the Spirit Portal together with hands clasped, step out together days later with fingers interlocked, and are met with wider smiles than Korra thought possible. Asami whispers she thinks Bolin’s going to cry.
(He does.)
Asami’s got her own place but squeezes onto the hard mattress in Korra’s room at Air Temple Island. Korra presses her face into her neck and feels her heart slow to match the beat of Asami’s under her ear. Home, home, home. Their shoulders brush at breakfast, grins matching when they spar, knees knocking under the table when Korra follows her back to her condo. The building doesn’t allow Naga and Asami’s shrugging and moving before Korra can protest.
Home.
Korra doesn’t move in with her, not officially, not yet. Her meager belongings are split between Asami’s home and her quarters. Asami’s clothes end up in Korra’s drawers, Korra’s slippers meant to ward off the cold floorboards of Air Temple Island are joined by Asami’s. Asami builds Naga toys and a bed and her own shelter outside in the backyard and Korra’s own soaps end up next to Asami’s in the large shower. She doesn’t need a towel, always bending the water from her body before stepping out, but Asami gets her her own set.
Asami’s lips on her cheek, her forehead, where her shoulder meets her back when she’s sleeping on her stomach. Breakfast is in the icebox and see you tonight and sleep well.
She blinks in surprise the first morning she steps out of the bathroom and Korra’s sluggishly rising from the snoring lump of blankets. “What’re you doing?”
“Having breakfast with you,” Korra replies simply. She falls asleep at the table, food half-eaten, but Asami’s smile is blinding when the sun rose through the large windows, so it’s worth the stiffness of her neck later.
It slots into her routine seamlessly. She wakes to the sound of Asami turning on the shower, listening to the water in the pipes before rising and dressing. She’s hopeless in the kitchen but can pull what Asami needs from the refrigerator — a new model Asami’s been tinkering with in her free time, between spoiling Naga rotten — and open the windows to take a seat on the living room floor and press her fisted hands together at the knuckles. Sometimes she moves to the porch. But she’ll listen to the sounds of Asami moving around, windchimes outside tinkering merrily, Republic City beyond their four walls as the city itself wakes, Naga’s wagging tail enough to raise leaves in the yard. She’ll clear her mind and breathe, track the leaf, breathe and breathe. Home.
The sun will rise, as it does every day. Korra will rise with it and kiss Asami good morning, join her at the table, raise egg-rich rice to her lips and fight off Naga’s nose and pleading eyes. She’ll pretend not to see Asami acquising her empty bowl for her to lick clean before handing off to Korra to clean with an innocent smile.
She could bend the dishes clean but lets the soapy water run over her hands without interference instead (she bends them dry, though. Patience is settling into her bones but not like that). Naga nudges Asami’s stomach goodbye and Korra can’t help but kiss her again, light enough not to smear her lipstick.
She’ll clean up, play with Naga, make their bed, ride into the city. She’ll meet with President Moon, visit Mako at the station (mostly to annoy Lin), join Bolin to help the rebuilding effort, make her way to Air Temple Island. Jinora will wave at her from one of the many gazebos leading students through various stances. Meelo will crash into her in a whirlwind and she’ll set a giggling Rohan on Naga’s back to bounce around as Naga trots. She’ll have lunch with the Airbenders and watch who wins the fight of who gets to sit next to her. She’ll stay to practice, and train, and find.
Breathe.
Tenzin is the last one she finds. He’s where he always is when the sun starts to set. Korra will join him and sometimes they’ll talk, but not always. She’s getting older. Growing into herself. Tenzin is accepting his lesser role as Jinora steps into his place as the Avatar’s spiritual mentor and she’ll study his profile when his eyes are closed and think. She knows what Aang looked like, seen portraits — there’s his chin, Master Katara’s nose, the gray hairs and laughter lines all Tenzin's own. Aang didn't get to grow this old. Korra hopes she will, wants to see as many sunrises and sunsets she can.
“Are you ready, Korra?”
She settles into her position, elbows on her knees, closes her eyes, breathes. The sun sets and she exhales as the last dying rays shrink behind the mountains beyond Republic City.
"Yes."
"Are you at peace?"
She’ll eat dinner with Asami in half an hour. They’ll read on the couch, backs propped against opposite ends but feet tangled together. Korra will turn back the sheets and let Naga out for the night when she whines from the door as Asami wipes off her makeup and tells her about her day. When Asami joins her in bed, Korra will kiss her deep and hard and Asami will kiss her back and she’ll breathe.
Asami’s soft breaths against her neck and the moon rising high out the window, Korra will close her eyes. There’s Raava, there’s Asami, there’s Naga, there’s Bolin and Mako and the statue of Aang, there’s Air Temple Island beyond. She traces the map in her mind out to the harbor and back, making circles, home, home, home.
Against her collarbone, Asami murmurs. There’s a low beep as the sensor on Naga’s collar lets her in and she settles at the foot of their bed. In Korra’s quarters out on Air Temple Island, a box in the dresser containing a ribbon and a promise whispers.
Home.
Korra will rise with the sun, tomorrow, the day after, every day. She’ll rise with the sun and stay there.
Mornings, Korra finds, are her favorite.
"I am."