[ Mako's tone is dull this time. How can it not be? He can't imagine. He'd killed Ming-Hua, an enemy who was absolutely going to kill Korra if given the chance, and he still has nightmares about it: her screams, the thud of her body, the light fading from her eyes. Mako would do it again, if he had to—of course he would—but death isn't some small thing, even in a place like Trench where it doesn't count. It apparently didn't count here, either, and it would still wear on him.
To a softer person? To Bolin, happening over and over with nothing he could do to stop it?
It would break him.
As her brother pushes her younger self away, Mako reaches up to press a hand onto his Ange's shoulder. He isn't sure what it will do—maybe nothing, probably nothing—but he can't do anything else, is trapped like some kind of ghost watching this kid lose and Ange try anyway, and at the very least he can be here, and witness this, so that Ange isn't alone. ]
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[ Mako's tone is dull this time. How can it not be? He can't imagine. He'd killed Ming-Hua, an enemy who was absolutely going to kill Korra if given the chance, and he still has nightmares about it: her screams, the thud of her body, the light fading from her eyes. Mako would do it again, if he had to—of course he would—but death isn't some small thing, even in a place like Trench where it doesn't count. It apparently didn't count here, either, and it would still wear on him.
To a softer person? To Bolin, happening over and over with nothing he could do to stop it?
It would break him.
As her brother pushes her younger self away, Mako reaches up to press a hand onto his Ange's shoulder. He isn't sure what it will do—maybe nothing, probably nothing—but he can't do anything else, is trapped like some kind of ghost watching this kid lose and Ange try anyway, and at the very least he can be here, and witness this, so that Ange isn't alone. ]