Rain
Asami hated the rain.
It had rained the night Yasuko Sato had been torn away from her. The heavens had opened as she huddled under the umbrella of the scary, scarred policewoman who had struggled to comfort her, sobbing for her mother. It had rained so hard she hadn’t been able to tell her father was crying when he’d scooped her up in his arms and held her as tight as he could without breaking her in two. He’d begged her not to look as they carried the covered stretcher from the mansion but Asami hadn’t understood why. She hadn’t understood any of it. And the wind had howled, and the blanket had flapped, and some nights when the rain was right and her mind was full of sake and shadows Asami could still hear the sizzle of the rain on her skin.
It had rained the day they sentenced her father. She had sat there in the gallery trying to listen to the rain hitting the glass and not think about her father’s fate being decided in front of her. She hadn’t known what to hope for. She hadn’t expected Korra, newly restored, newly empowered Korra, to take to the stand and make an appeal for her father’s life to be spared, citing the example of her predecessor and Firelord Ozai, calling upon the values that founded the city itself. And Asami had hated her for it, even as her father was sentenced to life rather than death, and she’d screamed at Korra in the pouring rain on the courthouse steps because what gave her the right? And Korra had just stood there and let her scream, one fist gripping the Avatar’s shirt, until she’d collapsed against Korra weeping and incoherent because despite the trail of blood and bodies she didn’t want her father to die and she didn’t know why.
It had rained when Tonraq had arrived, full of hope and excitement that had been so quickly and cruelly dashed. The storm so had been bad that he hadn’t been able to radio Senna to let her know the awful news. Jinora had braved the storm, sitting out all night on one of the most distant meditation terraces to evade their frantic efforts to find her, trying desperately to find just a trace of Korra in either the physical or spiritual worlds. Kai had found her in the early hours of the following morning, soaked to the bone and already coming down with a cold that had taken two weeks to shift and for a moment, for a single stupid, selfish moment, Asami had hated her for failing and hated Korra for running, for throwing away such a wonderful family, and then Asami had hated herself for even thinking that. She hadn’t spoken to anyone until the storm cleared and she could return to the mainland.
Rain made the long drives to and from the office ever longer. Rain meant coming back cold and damp to a cold and damp house and trying to forget driving round the racetrack or splashing around in the pool with people that seemed to have faded into ghosts. Rain meant trying to hunch her shoulders against the wind, cold water running down the back of her neck because there’d been no one to see her off and wish her a good day and remind her to take an umbrella, to chase after her with a coat. Rain was a reminder of the solitude. Rain meant bad memories of good memories and wet feet.
And then the sun came again. Warm and bright, perhaps too bright at first, so bright it burned her and she burned it right back. But after that the rain changed.
Rain meant Tenzin and Pema insisting that she stay the night on the island rather than brave the crossing. It meant curling up in Korra’s too small bed in the temple dorms, snuggled up under the extra blankets they set aside for her, and listening to the rain ‘plink’ off the tiles until they knew everyone else was sleeping.
Rain meant messing around with the kids and Naga, splashing through puddles without a care in the world, knowing that there would be hot soup and towels waiting for them back in the kitchen when they grew too tired or cold and a comforting if all-permeating stink of wet polar bear dog.
Rain meant re-watching the Nuktuk movers in the cinema she’d put together in an unused room of the mansion, with Bolin as ever so delightfully over-eager to bask in his moment of celluloid glory, and Korra playfully grumbling about the ridiculousness of it all and Opal pretending to get jealous over Bolin and Ginger’s extremely on-screen-only romance. It meant Mako cooking popcorn for them all, heating the bag between his hands and pointedly looking away whenever Bolin and Opal started kissing, usually whenever Bolin wasn’t on screen, and having to pause the film at least twice for Meelo to go to the bathroom.
Rain meant being Korra chasing her down the driveway with an umbrella because she could feel the rainclouds coming on the wind long before they appeared. It meant being welcomed at home with blazing log fires that made the whole place so wonderfully warm and bright, and a hug at the door no matter how wet she was.
Rain meant Korra meeting her at the office, her own personal umbrella bending the water around her to keep her dry as they headed out to town to enjoy themselves just because they could.
Rain meant scaling the statue of Aang in spite of Asami’s less than half-hearted objections, standing on the great domed head and looking out at the city and the sea, Korra suspending the rain around them, the drops catching the light of the moon and of the spirit portal so it looked like they were surrounded by their own personal galaxy of stars.
Asami loved the rain.