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Lost in Translation

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Damage:

(n) physical harm caused to something in such a way as to impair its value, usefulness or normal function; (v) to cause physical harm to something in such a way to impair its value, usefulness or normal function.


He must be dreaming: this is just far too bizarre to be reality.

Korra is cooking for him!

Mako never thought the day would come. He would even laugh at the scenario if he wasn’t so sure it’d make him cough up his insides. So he holds in it in as best he can but ends up coughing anyway from the strain.

“Stop dying over there!” Korra calls from their tiny kitchen. “I’m doing this for your health, not mine.”

She sounds so disgruntled and looks so out of place that this time Mako has to laugh. He simply can’t help himself, sick or not. Korra was just not designed to be the caring housewife type.

“I never pegged you for the domestic type, Korra,” Mako croaks. His chuckles turn into phlegmy coughs. “This is new and exciting information to me."

He offers her a weak smile. Korra doesn’t even need to turn around for Mako to know that she’s rolling her eyes at him and gnashing her teeth in frustration.

There’s a deafening clanging sound and a crash, and Mako thinks Korra must have broken something from the colourful expletives she rhymes off under her breath. Of course he’ll be made to clean the mess when he gets well, but he doesn’t mind; waking up to extra blankets and Korra cooking for him is more than worth the eventual clean-up.

“You act like it’s a wonder I know how to use a stove,” Korra mutters, sucking in her finger with a hiss as she places the steaming bowl of soup down on the table.

She sits beside him and his badger den of blankets on the couch, tucking the ends around his bare feet. The soup smells fantastic, but the thought of food right now just makes him want to retch.

“I don’t know.” He coughs again and forces a spoonful of soup down into his protesting stomach. “It’s just that you’ve always lived with people taking care of you. Whereas I’m used to being the mother and housekeeper.”

It’s true that when he first met Korra he thought she was somewhat spoilt and sheltered, in the fact that she had family and he didn’t. It was more envy than anything. But seeing her cook for him and take care of him put him at a loss for words. It’s a side of Korra he’s never seen before and it makes him swell with pride that she’s allowed herself to try new things to help him.

He sets down his bowl and leans over, lightly kissing her on the forehead. It’s an intimate gesture, far too intimate for a sick man to be doing, and Korra draws back in shock.

“What was that for?” she asks, touching her blushing cheeks.

“For being you,” he answers simply with a smile.

She laughs, a twinkling sound, and pulls him down onto her lap. Resting his head on top her thighs, he closes his eyes and hums in contentment as she brushes his hair with her fingertips. It’s a soothing gesture. It faintly reminds him of his mother.

“I’m supposed to be taking care of you, remember?” she whispers, lovingly stroking his hair.

He sighs, a soft shiver travelling up his spine as her fingers begin to caress his neck. Yes, he could get used to Korra taking care of him. He might actually even enjoy getting sick.