Pairings: Amorra (Noarra?), possible mentions of Makorra and Masami, very slight Korrlok (sorta, kinda, if you tilt your head and squint really hard. While drunk. And maybe a little high.)

Rating: M, mostly for language, possible triggerish situations, and just a dash of lime.

A/N: So this was prompted and written for the ficbending kink-meme a couple of months back, but this chapter has been rotting on my hard drive, holding up the entire story like nobody's business. I blame it on my god-awful case of writers block. At this point, I'm kinda just sick of looking at it, so here, you guys take it! Maybe some day I'll go back and fix it up. Or maybe not.

Original Prompt: By situations of your choosing (rape, blinding passion, etc.) Korra gets pregnant by Amon or Tarrlok (Amon preferred). Neither of them knows it at the time of the finale, and events carry out as canon, right up to the boat exploding. Months later, Korra brings her newborn baby to the North Pole to go look for Grandma.

I do not own the Legend of Korra, or any of it's characters. If I did, Amorra would be canon, and the show probably wouldn't be so family-friendly anymore.

Ilagiit

Chapter 1: Nightmares

-x-

"Do you care about who I really am?"

"Should I?" The question was asked without a hint of humor or derision - just pure, simple honesty. For some reason, it made Korra smile.

"No. Just wondering, I guess."

"Why? Would you like approbation?" The question was murmured into her ear as a large, warm hand slid between her shoulders and toyed with the knot on her bindings. "Do you wish for me to grovel before the great and all-powerful Avatar-in-training?"

"You know that's not what I meant," Korra snorted, realizing only afterwards how profoundly unsexy it must have sounded. Noa didn't seem to mind though, and he continued fiddling with the tie, taking pleasure in the way her breath hitched and shuddered. "And for your information, I could probably take you on, 'in-training' or not."

His laughter rumbled against her in a rich, deep, baritone, traveling through her stomach and curling around the base of her spine. "Let it never be said that you're lacking in any confidence. Though I must admit, I do find your self-assurance..." Korra squeaked as he pressed a trail of kisses against her skin, from sternum to hip and back again. "...Enthralling, shall we say?"

Korra flushed as she fumbled for an appropriate response. Noa always had a way of leaving here reeling, stumbling for words, while his own managed her with such ease. She found that she didn't mind so much, but at times, it difficult to reconcile the idea of the most powerful being on the planet reduced to a moaning, writhing, floozy under a lone man's touch. Well… she might be the Avatar, but she was still a woman….

Somewhere along the way, while Korra was caught in her musings, Noa had undone her bindings, exposing every inch of her bare skin to his hungry gaze. With what could only have been cautious reverence, he reached forward and cradled her face between his palms, before tilting her head back and kissing the place where jaw and neck met. Her eyelids fluttered, back arching as her breath escaped in an explosive whimper.

"Since we're posing questions to one another..." His breath was unbearably warm against her throat, one hand trailing down her cheek and tracing lazy, uniform patterns along the curve of her neck. "I don't suppose you'd mind me asking one of my own, would you?"

"I guess not…" Korra wasn't really opposed to talking, but it was difficult to form a coherent response when he was being so distracting.

"Do you care who I am?"

Korra laughed at the parroted question just long enough to realize it wasn't rhetorical. His eyes were intense, demanding, almost ravenous. It shouldn't have excited her, having him look at her like that, but the raw need in his gaze drew out something from deep within; a hunger she hadn't even known was there. She didn't want to talk anymore, she wanted to fuck. But Noa was still waiting for an answer, inscrutably patient (What was it about old people and taking their time anyway?) and frustratingly unreadable. She sighed, shifting underneath him.

"No idea what that's supposed to mean. As far as I'm concerned you're just Noa."

My Noa, she thought, with just a touch of sheepishness. A childish giggle bubbled out as she leaned forward and pressed her mouth against his.

Her lips were met with cold, unyielding porcelain.

"Wrong, Avatar." What?

Korra's blood froze in her veins. Noa was gone, and in his place, a blood-moon rose from a smile etched in ice. For a moment, her mind couldn't comprehend the scene, and she just stared with open-mouthed stupidity at the man and the mask. The face from her nightmares, his face, was inches from her own, their bodies entwined with a sickening closeness. Wrong. This was all wrong. His touch no longer roamed across her body and his tender caress turned malicious, as fingers wrapped around her throat in a vice-like hold.

"You… How did you…" Korra choked as his grip tightened, nails pressed into her skin with bruising strength. She panicked, trying to call forth the elements in in wild, clumsy strikes. Water, fire, even air - anything that would respond.

Nothing happened. Flames died in her palm, earth slumped at her touch, water spilled in useless pools, and air remained as stubbornly unreachable as ever. Again, and again, her bending failed until she just gave up and started scratching with pitiable desperation at his arms, his chest, anything she could reach. She had to stop him. She couldn't let him… he couldn't take her bending…

Blows peppered her arms and back, too fast to register, and too powerful to deflect. Her arms swung to her sides in a halfhearted arc, nails chipped and useless as his blood dried on her fingertips. The strikes were painful, but the intent hurt more than force behind them ever could. He meant only to cripple, not numb, and that terrified her more than anything else. She could almost feel it - the muscles seizing, the flow of her chi halted. In the span of two breaths, he'd left her defenseless.

The mask was unfazed by her attack, watching with gelid disinterest while she squirmed against his grasp, lightheaded and exhausted. She tried to cough, the air catching behind his grip instead, her stomach threatening to turn itself inside-out.

"Say my name Avatar." He seemed to find her impotence amusing, because she could've sworn she saw the mask smirk.

"Noa…" The word escaped before she could check herself, and it was clearly the wrong thing to say. A hand struck her upside the head, lightning quick and clinically precise, the top of her skull colliding against the headboard with a sickening crack. The blow left her reeling as the man leaned back, surveying his work with a vindictive sort of satisfaction.

She wanted to scream, but between the shock and the choke-hold, she could barely coax a whimper. In a cruel parody of affection, the remaining hand - the one not currently crushing her throat - pressed against her cheek before trailing down her ribcage and stomach, stilling as he brushed her inner thigh. The touch lingered, content with either the threat, or the perverse pleasure he seemed to take from the way she shuddered into him.

"I grow tired of waiting."

"Please… don't…" Was she begging? Korra never begged. But seeing him here, leaning over her with all the intimacy of a lover, feeling the heat of his skin against her own, brought forth a primal fear. She'd do anything, anything to get away from him. To make this stop.

"My name," he hissed, his breath washing over her face. The eyes behind the mask narrowed into slits.

How did he expect her to speak when she could barely breath? What did he want from her? And why did it even matter? He would… No, no she couldn't think like that. She wouldn't let him.

"Say it, Korra." His hand left her throat, and pad of his thumb settled between her brow. A second warning. His tone made it clear that there wouldn't be a third. She closed her eyes against that horrible gaze, and swallowed her pride in a single, painful gulp. Almost against her will, she could feel her lips twitching, forming the word.

"A...mon..."

~x~

Korra woke up drenched in a cold sweat, parched tongue glued inside an empty gape. Her limbs felt like ice, stiff and brittle, and it was all she can do but lay there for a few minutes, listening to the moan of iron against rail as she wiggled warmth back into her hands and toes.

The dream no longer terrified her, it just filled her with a hollow ache, as if someone had scraped her clean inside and left only the wind to swirl around the cavity. She supposed she should feel relieved - there were no longer any tears or screaming accompanying her nightmares - but in all honesty, she didn't think this any better. Her tantrums, at least, had been cathartic.

She could still taste his name on her tongue, and the thought made her feel dirty and ill. It was sea salt and sweat and a strange bitter twang that even now, she couldn't place. It tasted like him.

She shook her head to clear the memory. Noa was gone. Dead.

No, Noa had never existed in the first place. He was a fabrication. A mask. Another clever disguise that she'd fallen for completely, and without hesitation. Just because there were no scars or painted smiles, didn't make it any less so.

She tried not to think about Noa too much - either the man or the lie. It made her whole situation easier to bear. But ever since she'd learned the truth, she'd found him lingering around the edges of her thoughts, reaching out and brushing against memories where he was neither present, nor wanted. Nothing concrete, just little, inconsequential things. A phantom touch across her skin. Street lamps glinting in snowdrift eyes. A humorless smile, all teeth and no mirth.

Sometimes little things was all it took.

The girl curled into herself, swearing bitterly as her forehead pressed against shaking knees. The sleeper car was blessedly empty of other passengers, abandoned hours ago for earlier stops and warmer climates. Just as well. There would be no one would see her break down, no questions, or concerns or sidelong glances. She couldn't handle pity right now.

She'd promised herself she wouldn't cry anymore - she wouldn't give him the satisfaction. And she'd meant it. It felt childish, petulant almost, but she'd always been one to wear her heart on her sleeve, and trying to fix that part of her, especially now, felt impossible. It was, after all, what had gotten her into this mess in the first place, wasn't it? Almost instinctively, her hand moved across her abdomen, searching for the reminder.

Still there.

The bump was apparent now, frustratingly obtrusive while remaining just shy of obvious. (She'd lived in perpetual fear over the past month, worrying that one of the nosier tabloids might catch a glimpse and make the connection. It never happened, thanks in large part to her baggy winter clothes, but the risk was there all the same. Now that she was away from the cameras and paparazzi, she thought it might be easier to ignore, but it wasn't. If anything, the situation felt more real, more tangible than ever. More horribly, terrifyingly inescapable.)

The whole thing was unfair. She didn't want this - didn't ask for this - and now she was stuck with it. Perhaps it was some form of perverted karma, doled out by a host of sadistic spirits. For breaking up Mako and Asami's relationship, for falling blind into Noa's arms, for being a terrible Avatar. But it still wasn't fair. Why did it have to be Amon? Of all the jerks that crawled the streets, whispering their tawdry little flatteries, why did she have to fall for him? Why did it have to be his stupid kid?

She knew the answer already. She knew what kind of man Amon was; the extent of his depravity. He wanted nothing less than her complete and utter annihilation, in both body and spirit. To watch to her dance beneath the pressure of his thumb, knowing full well that he could crush her into dust with the tiniest flick of his wrist. This twisted tryst and it's belated conclusion just another calculated move to him - a sick grab for power. And he'd won, hadn't he? Because that's why she was here now, sitting on the train, running away from her friends, her family, her duty. He'd beaten her, and her shame was his final reward.

"I hate you."

The words were caustic and directionless, and the resentment buried in them made something namelessly awful build inside until it hurt to breath. Both arms wrapped protectively over her stomach (Against who? Against her?) as she willed the feeling away. It was a cruel thought, but she was full of those these days. They came and went as quick as hummingbees, a single swell in an otherwise empty sea of bitter frustration and self-loathing.

As if on cue, she felt a tiny nudge against her hand, so very gentle, almost questioning. Concern? An apology? A plea? Projection or otherwise, she felt a horrible well of guilt rise up her throat until it escaped as an ugly, choked, sob.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. It's not your fault. I don't really hate you. I'm sorry."

Even now, she wasn't certain whether the words were true. She'd spent many sleepless nights trying to decide exactly how she felt about this thing growing inside of her. Sometimes, when the mood hit her just right, and she felt it move and squirm, she believed that despite everything, she might actually love it. Other times, her imagination was less kind. It was easy to think of it as a nuisance when she spent her days alternating between nausea, feverish arousal, and mood swings to rival Kyoshi's temper. It was even easier to resent it when she remembered Amon and all his lies and half lies and omissions that get so jumbled up in her head, she can't even keep straight the ruthless revolutionary that brought a city to its knees, and the kind-hearted man who bought her sea-prunes when she was feeling down. If there was even anything genuine to sort out in the first place.

It's times like these that she thinks she might truly hate Amon. She's can't say for sure - she's never actually hated someone before, but he might just be her first. A hundred lifetimes could pass, and she knew his name would still taste like rot on her tongue, and the sound of his voice would run ice down her spine. Because he'd done this to her. He'd tricked her, made her trust him - made her want him - and then this was the result. Maybe it hadn't been his intent - she doubted the man would have risked his revolution on such a gambit - but it happened all the same. And now he was dead, and she was alone, and...

Deep breaths Korra. Don't think about the asshole. Just... don't think.

She did her best to follow her own advice, clearing her mind of all things Amon. It took time, but the shaking faded, and the sting of threatened tears receded back to a dull irritation. It was always like this right after that dream, but her waking hours gave her clarity. A sense of perspective. Not all was lost.

She stood up from the cot and stretched the misery out of her limbs, turning to the window to watch the scenery bleed by. She'd never been on a train before this, but even she had to admit how remarkable the machines were. She would have preferred traveling with Naga, but she'd made the difficult decision to leave her friend behind in favor of anonymity. Besides, it was really fast. In just three days, she'd gone from Republic City to the northern Earth Kingdom, and if they were still on schedule, she could be on a ferry to the Northern Capital in two hours. The land itself spoke of the change: temperate forest had long since given way to smears of gray and olive, the thawing taiga a far cry from the brilliant metropolis she'd left behind. It was painfully familiar in the worst possible way. She pressed a single hand over her eyes, and pushed all thoughts of family and pregnancy and duty out of her head, save one.

I need your help.

Her plan was a nebulous one, half-formed and capricious at best, but it was all she had. The closest thing to a happy ending for all parties involved. She'd shaped it, stretched it, and worn it down to it's bare essentials, but in the end, it was completely dependent upon two variables: one a place, the other a woman. Ikyak and Atka.

Ikyak was a tiny, snow-locked village of little importance, tacked onto maps as an afterthought during the 125 ASC census. So far as she could tell, nothing of any significance had come out of the area. Nothing, except two boys of rare talent and warped substance. It seemed almost unbelievable that a town of nothings could produce such monstrosities, but she supposed it wasn't the location that made the villain, but the blood. Namely that of one man, who had so much murder and anguish ground between the lines of his palms, it bled through and rotted the hearts of his sons from the inside out. Two children, who by all accounts, should never have existed in the first place.

But that wasn't where her interest lied. She'd thought enough on the bloodbending brothers for several lifetimes, and she still felt no closer to understanding their motives now than she had four months ago, kneeling before that cell, listening to Tarrlok share his own sad story. But if nothing else, she'd learned of something important from that tale: a mother, a widow, an ally.

Unlike her husband and sons, Atka was very much alive, whittling away her golden years in the very same village she was born into, just, waiting? Waiting for her runaway to return, for her youngest to visit from Republic City, for happiness to find her again? Korra had no idea. She knew so little of the woman, it was terrifying. She might very well find herself in the company of an invalid at the end of her trip, but it was a chance she was willing to take. Because if Atka was truly a daughter of the North, than there was one prevailing attitude she could expect above all else, and it might just be her salvation.

Family came first in the Water Tribe. Even the most urbanized, city-bred yuppie knew that. From triad boss to fish-gutter, this was the unspoken rule among both of the Sisters. If a kinsman came and asked something of you in their time of need, it was your obligation to provide for them. And Korra was certainly in need. In need of a place to stay, an escape from the title, and someone to care for her mistake when the time came to return to Republic City.

So maybe she didn't actually share any blood with Atka, but she liked to think that their mutual experience of being fucked over by Amon (quite literally in her case) gave them more than enough to build a bond. And if not, well, she was pregnant with the woman's only grandchild. The circumstances might not be ideal, but right now, this... thing... growing inside her was all that was left of Atka's long lost son, and if that didn't make them family, then she didn't know what did.

Atka would help her. She would help both of them. No woman of the Water Tribe would ever turn away their grandchild, and by extension, the girl carrying it. She had to believe that, because otherwise, there's no way she could function, let alone find the strength to return to Republic City. She just... she couldn't go back and face them. Her friends, her family, her mentor. Not after what Amon did to them. What her complacency allowed him to do.

Somewhere above, a whistle sounded, generic announcements of final stops and round trips ringing over the speakers. She could feel a crossroad approaching, the Rubicon calling from deep in her bones. She would have a choice: she could step over the threshold, onto the platform and leave her title behind. Or she could stay on the train for the round trip and return to admit her failings, to admit everything. Her decision.

It wasn't a question she could consider. She'd made decision, and she would see it through. She ran a hand over her stomach, a rough approximation of the tender gesture Pema had performed while pregnant with Rohan. The act was an empty one, devoid of any sentiment, but it gave her just a modicum of comfort - the illusion of connection with this tiny, horrible, helpless little thing. Her very own ill-begotten reward.

"Well," Korra smiled harshly, her mouth quirked in a sardonic tilt. "Let's go meet your grandma."

Contrary to popular belief, babies don't always make everything better. Especially if it's a hate-baby you accidentally made with your worst enemy and nightmare incarnate.