Summary: But here Tarrlok is, his mind still in the water.

Rating: T for suicide

Pairing: Tarrlok/Asami (Tarrsami? Tarsami? Tasami? Aslok? Asamlok?)

Word count: 419


Tarrlok brings out a part of her that she never knew she possessed. Yes, she's stood her ground, but never has she felt such anger the moment she thinks of someone. It's a refreshing departure from the despair when she thinks of her father.

He's not "Tarrlok" anymore. He's a reticent, nonbending man from the Northern Water Tribe who sits for an hour at his grimy window, peeking luridly through mildewed curtains, before retreating to a place inside of himself; Asami doesn't know if she wants to follow him down into that forest of black trees and snow, but she does.

He's so self-effacing, and it's hard to believe he's the vicious, smug man who imprisoned her and the brothers while kidnapping Korra. At first, even though she doesn't like revenge (that'd make her like her d—Hiroshi), she doesn't understand why he is spared imprisonment. Then she meets him after the revolt. There's scores of mottled flesh, one arm entirely missing.

He tried to kill himself and his brother. They don't know where Amon is, but here Tarrlok is, his mind still in the water.

Asami listens. He has his back to her when he speaks. She listens and he moves away at any of her consoling touches on his shoulder. But it's all she can do to make sure he's not another casualty. To ensure that there's not a day when she knocks and he doesn't answer.

Tarrlok tells her that she reminds him of an orchid. It represents decadence, and she hates it. It's such a specious flower. Not that she thinks the entirety of his opinion of her settles into this one flower, but it reminds her of what others think. That she's only a pretty girl. That she only looks good. All appearance and no bite.

No matter how gracious he's being, Asami doesn't want to be compared to a flower; she's fought alongside too many tiger-bears and cobra-panthers to be the delicate petals their paws crush and grind. She doesn't ask why he likes that flower. She doesn't know that he covers himself and goes out into the trodden streets every weekend and buys a bouquet of them to place on a patch of earth.

He mourns the anniversary of his mother's death in the winter, and she mourns the anniversary of her mother's death in the spring.