Aaaaah…. I swore I'd only write one fanfiction, and be done with it. After all, I've got three finished novels to edit and publish by August. But… but…

Amorra keeps tugging at my heartstrings, whispering in my ear. Oh, Spirits, I'll never get sleep again until I write another.

I hope you all enjoyed my last story, "The Code." I truly appreciated all the kind reviews. This story may be a little different, as I probably won't have 24-hour updates. But I'll try to make it go fast, I promise. : )

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Legend of Korra, nor any of its glorious, adorable characters. (I'm weeping over here).

And, without further ado, "Finally I See You."

"An enemy is someone who's story you haven't heard… or whose face you've never seen."

—Irene Butter

"I want to see him."

"Korra, I'm not sure that's such a good ide—"

"Take your hands off me, Mako, or I'll singe your pants off."

"Korra, listen to me, it's not safe for you to go in there right now."

Korra couldn't help but release a sharp bark of a laugh. It rasped through her throat, sounding strange even to her own ears. "What do you think he's going to do, attack me? They just pulled him out of the water hours ago, half-burned to death, and you think he'll just pop right up and take my bending again?"

Mako's grip tightened on her arm, his golden eyes pained. "Korra, it's not him I'm worried about. It's you."

It took a moment for that to sink in. "You think I'm going to lose it?"

"That's not what I'm—"

Too angry for words, Korra wrenched her arm out of his grip and banged open the door to the healing room. Her eyes swept over the scene. Tenzin stood near the door, arms folded and his back to her. Katara knelt with her silver head bent over a horrific mass of linen bandages. Korra stopped cold in her tracks.

The human form beneath the bloodied bandages was hardly recognizable. At first, all Korra could make out was a mass of linen and scarlet stains. Then she saw the arms splayed out on either side of the bed, one leg propped upright in a cast. The bandages wrapped over the left half of his face, but to her surprise the rest of his head had remained untouched by the explosion. His eyes writhed beneath the clenched lids, the tips of his fingers twitching against the sheets as he fought unconsciousness. Korra felt her lip curl. Figures. Here lay the mighty Amon, at her mercy after all those threats he'd tossed her way. After all those nights he'd plagued her dreams, his voice haunting every nonwaking moment…

A low snarl rumbled from her throat, and before she knew what she was doing, she had her hands curled into fists, fire simmering around them, striding across the room toward the unconscious figure on the bed…

"Korra!" Tenzin jumped to catch her before she could incinerate Katara's patient. "Restrain yourself!"

"Why did you save him!" Korra exploded, fighting against the airbender's hold. "You should have left him to die! After everything he did to us—"

"Korra." Katara's soft voice cut her off. The old woman rose to her feet, one hand tightened around her patient's bandaged bicep. "This man is a helpless burn victim. It is not in a healer's nature to let a soul in need of her help slip away beneath her fingers." The deep blue pools of her eyes held Korra's, and as much as she tried to fight it, the Avatar felt her anger seeping away. "Surely you, of all people, understand the need for compassion. Mercy."

Korra let out a breath through her teeth, balling her fists at her sides. She felt Tenzin relax his grip on her, letting his arms fall back to his sides. Her eyes fell once more on the still form on the hospital bed. Anger thudded in her chest.

"He doesn't deserve it," she growled.

"Nor does anyone who receives a second chance," Katara countered. She turned back to her patient, resting one hand against his forehead to check his temperature. "All this tension is making the fever worse. If you' d be so kind, Korra, I'd much appreciate it if you remove yourself from this environment."

Korra glared at the healer, but felt Tenzin's firm grip on the base of her elbow.

"Do as she says," her former teacher warned, steering her out the door. Korra turned her scowl on him, but didn't resist as he pushed her back out the door and into the hallway. The door closed with a resounding click behind her.

"Satisfied?"

She turned to see Mako standing leaning against the wall, arms crossed, tapping his foot. Korra just looked away, her scowl deepening.

"I won't be satisfied till the world is rid of that monster once and for all."

Mako gave her a grim nod, his dark eyes understanding. He held out an arm, resting it over her shoulders.

"Come on, I don't think it's healthy for anyone for you to stick around here right now. How about some bending sparring, down in the courtyard? Bo's been itching to get back into practice routine."

Korra didn't stop scowling, but she didn't pull away from his touch. "That might help me work off some steam," she conceded.

Mako gave her a playful elbow in the ribs. "Last one down has to be first match referee."

At that, she flashed him a cheeky grin. "Oh, now we're talking."

Faster than he could react, she curled her fists at her sides and launched down the hallway with a blast of airbending, almost knocking him off his feet. He caught himself the wall, shaking his head clear. Blast if all, he'd never get used to her abusing her new talent. Balling up his own fists, he charged after her in a rocket of firebending.

He couldn't open his eyes. He couldn't move.

For a moment, he thought he was dead. By all accounts, he should be dead. He remembered the cool breeze of the seascape over his face, the hum of the boat beneath him as they skimmed over the water. He remembered his brother's last words to him, the tightening in his throat and the near-forgotten sensation of tears burning in his eyes.

"It'll be just like the gold old days."

He'd known what was coming. He'd even placed the weapons near his brother, knowing full well what would happen. He knew they had no chance at another life, a new beginning, to start over. Of course, he could have turned the both of them in to the authorities, gotten a swift and efficient trial and execution. But… for some reason, he felt his brother ought to be the one to be the one to finish this, once and for all. It seemed only fitting, after everything he'd put him through.

Yet he couldn't help but feel that slight sting in the base of his throat, that unfamiliar sheen blurring his vision when he heard the telltale whisper of the Equalist glove slipping onto his would-be murderer's hands behind him. He'd closed his eyes and accepted his fate. He'd expected it to be the end.

He hadn't expected to awaken to a world of pain.

With a low groan, he opened his eyes, the gentle evening light streaming through the window stabbing into his retinas. He tried to raise his arm to shield his face from the brilliance, but found he could not. Struggling to lift his head even half an inch, he looked down to see his whole body wrapped in bandages, pinning his arms to his sides on an unfamiliar bed. He stiffened, racking his brain for any memory as to how he'd gotten here. Where was he?

The door opened and he turned his head—wincing at the pain that lanced up his spine as he did so. An old woman shuffled into the room, carrying a folded bundle of linen. She looked up, and a faint flicker of surprise spread over her lined face. Then she smiled, her bright blue eyes crinkling up at the corners, and Amon—against his will—felt the smallest edge of his panic slip away at the warmth behind her gaze.

"Ah, you're awake." Her voice was soft, gentle as she stooped beside him, laying the bundle of fabrics on the bedside table.

"Wh…" he coughed, struggling to reclaim the use of his vocal chords, grown slack out of misuse. His voice came out far deeper than normal, gravelly and frightening, even to his own ears. "Where… am I?"

The woman reached out and unfolded the topmost layer of fabric from the pile, tearing it into thin strips.

"Well, you're in the White Lotus Compound, in the Healing Wing."

His head spun. Perfect. In the heart of the enemy. "H…how did I get here?"

"They found you washed up on the beach, a few miles out from the city. Burned so bad we were all amazed you could have survived. An explosion, it looks like, from the burns. You took most of the blast in the back, which is the only reason your face was saved."

Amon felt his throat clench, and the sudden weakness that coursed through him had nothing to do with his injuries. "And… " he rasped. "There… was no other…body discovered?"

The woman frowned, those blue eyes ticking between his as she searched his face. "I'm afraid not. Should… there have been?"

Amon did not reply, only closed his eyes against the burning, swallowing back the pain in his throat. Curse the Spirits. The gods. Whoever was responsible for this madness that was his life. Why had Tarrlok been the one to die? It should have been him. Spirits, he should be the one floating at the bottom of the ocean right now, his blood slowly draining away into the great cold of the sea…

The woman surprised him by setting one of her warm, leathery hands over his bandaged one. He opened his eyes, his gaze finding hers in confusion.

"My name is Katara," she said. "The head healer around here. I'm to be your caretaker during your recovery."

Katara.

"That coward Katara…" His father's words rang through his mind. He frowned at the old woman in front of him. She seemed so frail, so unlike the waterbending tyrant his father had described her as all throughout his childhood.

"I see my names strikes some meaning within you."

Amon swallowed. "I have heard of you," came the safe reply.

"No doubt from your father." At his look of shock, the old woman smiled. "Korra told me about your and Councilman Tarrlok's shared past." Katara tilted her head, her smile fading slightly. "I take it… he was the body you expected us to find on the beach?"

Amon slid his gaze away from her, fixing his eyes on the ceiling. He swallowed again, harder this time. Katara decided not to press him, instead reaching across and gathering up the torn linen in one wrinkled palm, drawing it forward and placing it beside him on the bed.

"It's time for me to change your bandages," she said, moving deft fingers beneath the bindings on his arm. "I'm going to give you another healing session." Her mouth twisted in a wry smile. "I have heard of your objections to bending, but I assure you, your healing process will be far longer and painful without the addition of my powers."

"Do with me what you will, woman," he growled at the ceiling, refusing to look her in the eye. "I care not."

Katara set to work, ignoring his occasional hiss of pain when she delved deeply into his wounds with her healing water, seeking out the ruptured muscle and signed tissue. Her brow creased in concentration as she ministered to him, the cool blue glow of the water reflecting off her dark face and throwing her age lines into relief. Amon clenched his eyes shut, wishing to be in any predicament but this, lying helpless before the enemy, allowing bending to be used to save his miserable life.

He'd rather they'd have left him to die.

Katara finished the painful process after what seemed like hours. Finally, she finished tying off the last fresh bandage, standing with a weary sigh. For a moment, she simply stood there, looking down at him, a look of pity in her blue eyes that made his blood boil. He was Amon, by the Spirits, leader of the feared Equalists, Republic City's public enemy number one—he was not one to be pitied.

"I'll have Korra bring you some food," she said, turning to leave. His mind went blank, before he registered what she'd just said.

"No," he rasped, jerking in the tightly-wound bandages, but his rasped exclamation fell upon a closed door.

Korra folded her arms across her chest, glaring at the short elderly woman before her.

"No," she growled, unaware that she was repeating the exact same plea Amon had growled only a moment before, and in the same pitch of voice, no less.

"Really, Korra," Katara sighed, with a rather unnecessary roll of those electric blue eyes—the same color as the young Avatar's. "You could act like less of a child about this. After all, you're technically older than me."

"If you think that for one minute I'm going to just… just forget about everything he's done—"

"I'm not asking you to forget. I'm asking you to pipe down that hothead of yours just for a moment and open your eyes a little wider. That's a human being there in that room."

"I still can't believe you didn't leave him on that beach to rot."

"Tut, tut, hardly an outburst befitting for an Avatar, Korra." Korra sighed. "Have you never heard of mercy? Second chances?"

"Amon does not deserve mercy. Nor a second chance. Did he give those poor benders a second chance when he stole away the most precious part of them? Did he show me mercy when he tried to destroy me just three days ago? By the Spirits, Katara, if I didn't know better I'd say you'd gone soft."

Katara stepped forward and placed a firm hand on the younger woman's shoulder. Korra glared at her, trying to pull away, but despite Katara's seemingly frail frame, the old woman still retained the surprising strength of her youth.

"You are the Avatar," she said, slowly and evenly. "It's your job to maintain the balance in the world. And keep the peace. And, unfortunately for you, that doesn't mean doling out death sentences whenever someone rubs you the wrong way." Korra opened her mouth to object, but Katara objected with a raise of her finger. "You know I once said to Aang the very same thing about Firelord Zuko."

Korra hesitated. "That… that's different."

"Not as much as you'd like to think. Zuko hunted for almost a year. Amon terrorized you for less than a month. Zuko nearly killed the love of my life—what has Amon done other than threaten Mako with equalization?"

Korra floundered, struggling for a higher tack. "But… Katara, you know what he is. You know what he's done. YOu can't expect me to just… just…"

"I know Amon has hurt you. He's hurt all of us. But the time has come for you to push those feelings of vengeance aside and look at what the Spirits have laid before you. As much as you don't want to see it, that's a human being lying there in that room. He's a broken man, Korra. He's got nothing left." Katara sighed, and gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. "It took me quite a long time to forgive him, Korra. Longer than any of the others. But I'm not asking you to forgive Amon. All I'm asking is that you give him what the Spirits gave you three days ago… a second chance.

Korra looked at her for a long moment, gnawing her lower lip. Then, finally, she heaved a sigh, relaxing her shoulders in temporary defeat. Katara smiled, then turned and scooped up a tray of food from the kitchen counter, placing it in Korra's arms.

"Good, then. You will take this to him. He'll need his strength. He's got a long road to recovery."

Still scowling, Korra took the tray and left the kitchen, heading with short, jerky steps down the hallway toward the healing wing. She stopped just outside the door, steeling herself with one deep breath. Then she pushed open the door.

He was lying where they'd left him, looking disarmingly small amidst the tangle of sheets and bandages. Korra tiptoed into the room, noting that his eyes were closed. Careful to make as little noise as possible, she crept to the bedside and set the tray of food down on the table. She made to turn around and leave without a second glance, when a steel hand shot out and grasped her wrist. Korra shrieked, jerking back and almost knocking the tray off the table in her fright.

Brilliant blue eyes stared up at her from the mass of bandages, wide and demanding. Korra swallowed. For a moment, neither of them moved, only stood frozen, holding one another's gaze.

Then he spoke, his voice a rasping, hollow echo of the terrifying baritone it had once been. "Why?"

Korra stared at him. She knew he wasn't talking about the food. Swallowing back her fear at that ice-blue gaze, she pulled back, grateful when he released his viselike grip. She looked down at her once fearsome enemy, amazed at in how short a time he could be reduced to such a pitiful state. He was at her mercy. She could end him, once and for all, right now. It would only take one flash of firebending, one splintering accumulation of the air in his lungs to expand his ribs, crushing his organs…

But a strange feeling filled her, looking down at his helpless—once so powerful and intimidating—frame. His blue eyes… they'd looked dull and gray through the mask, were now a clear and stunning blue, startling near the shade of her own eyes. That blue gaze didn't bore through her like it had before, knifing its way into the depths of her soul, deepening and magnifying her darkest fears. They didn't leer or mock, or try to stare her down, chilling her to the bone. Now… now they held a strange sort of vulnerability. A mix of fear and desperation simmered behind the sapphire depths. Korra felt a foreign stirring within her. Compassion? No… not quite. Pity, perhaps. Nothing more than pity.

"I don't know," she whispered, sliding her eyes away from his penetrating blue ones. "I guess… some people get a second chance, whether they deserve it or not."

His wide blue eyes searched her face, a small frown creasing his brow. Swallowing back her uncertainty, Korra turned away, slipping back through the door and shutting it behind her.

Little did she know that the eyes remained on the door long after she'd gone.