"Come in." He called, voice muffled by the heavy wooden door separating them. The lieutenant nodded absently and turned the brass knob. He slipped booted feet silently into the large, dark room and immediately gave a low bow of his head, though the superior he bowed it to currently stood faced away from him. After the formal procedure, the lieutenant approached the table Amon was leaning over. He spared only a moment to glance over the scatter blueprints, open folders, and half-finished notes littered over the table's worn surface.

"The detail is in place for tomorrow." He began immediately, pale, goggle-obscured eyes wandering as he spoke. They trailed over the outline of the hoodless Amon, half of a silhouette in the dim gaslight, and fixed where they always did. That small corner of jaw, just below the ear, that the mask did not quite cover. He skimmed the reddened tips of scars, just visible from this angle. No matter how many times he had come to see Amon hoodless, it remained a sight he was consistently flattered by. Amon's willingness to reveal even this much to the lieutenant was a simple gesture, yet one so complex and trusting that no other being could claim to have been given. Even if the mask still remained, which it always did, there was always pride to be found in it.

And the lieutenant was a very prideful man. So, even though he'd seen it a dozen, or two dozen times, his eyes still felt the itch to wander. Constant as the mask, though, came the same lecturing sigh, "Staring is impolite, lieutenant."

He swallowed and nodded, words completing the cycle of every time passed, "My apologies, sir." He took his last few steps to the tableside, where his covered eyes finally took to gazing over the plans and prints over the surface of the table. He picked up swiftly where he had left off, noting the number of personnel, the expected attendance rate, and dozens of other little details not much different or less bland than those of the last event, or the one before that.

So used to Amon's aloofness and contemplative silence, the lieutenant did not recognize the silent listening of his superior for what it was. Inattentive, distracted, and pensive in a different manner than actually listening would merit. It wouldn't be for months that the lieutenant would understand why Amon had absently scraped his fingernails against the wooden surface of the tabletop, why he did not even glance his lieutenant's way as he spoke.

It hadn't been until the next day that the lieutenant had understood Amon to be a traitor.

That evening, he only grew aware of the peculiar behavior when Amon interrupted him, uncharacteristically mumbling a question the lieutenant almost did not hear, "Remind me, lieutenant. How deep does your loyalty to me run?"

The officer blinked, his words fell apart and his whole demeanor skittered off its track of pride and vocal confidence. He mentally stumbled over the question and began to grow increasingly bothered by it, his growing befuddlement clashing hard against his desperation to give a quick answer. A quick answer, as with an attack, showed ability to adjust, one of the many traits he always desired to exhibit to Amon, to be for Amon. Yet here he stood, silent and floundering to even understand the question.

Amon has asked it before, several times. Or, rather, he had asked a deceptively similar question. 'How far would you go for the cause?', 'To what ends would you go for equality?' This phrasing differed, because it used a personal word. To Amon, 'you' was not a personal word. There was nothing personal in Amon's world, except one word as elusive as his maskless face. This statement contained that rare, human word, and that turned an easy response into a trap box.

Amon has never made him a stranger to sadistic little games made of hard questions and the exposures of true mentalities. And the lieutenant was subsequently very well versed in the etiquette of such games. Which is why he was so shaken by the question, by the use of that word. It was blunt and invasive, and against the rules Amon had always been fair enough to play by. The phrasing, the word, the tone. It was all too obvious. And all loaded with the unspoken certainty of what the answer must be loaded with.

He swallowed hard against the knot that his throat had tied itself into. It had already been an awful, quiet moment, and Amon's head had turned a degree his way, which the lieutenant knew to signify a silent growth in impatience. For the life of him, he didn't want to answer. He would rather stand in this unbearable silence than bare himself that greatly to an unfair man forcing him to play on uneven ground, but his pride began to swell ahead of him.

The chance had been places there, open for him. Ready to be taken and used, and who was he to deny the opportunity so kindly handed to him? His throat relaxes and he snaked in a careful steadying breath.

He ducked his covered head and replied as clearly as he could, "Straight through my marrow, sir." His chest hurt from saying it, as if some great weight had been liberated through it. But where ease of breath had been expected, where his arrogant mind had been sure to receive some sort of retribution, a chuckle, a tilt of the head, even a blunt action, there came only suffocating void.

His bravery, his excitement, and his pride were replaced with emptiness, for Amon's reaction followed nothing he had prepared himself for. He sighed through his nose, the noise caught in a quiet hiss against his mask, and his shoulders barely-just barely-sagged. While just a few moments ago the lieutenant had been all but cocky about his knowledge of his superior's body language, he now damned it like the worst curse a man could have.

Amon did not like the answer. He had wanted another, and the lieutenant had made a mad fool of himself for baring himself. The silence was even worse than before. It parted them more distant than here to Ba Sing Se, and stood denser than that city's historical wall had ever. He considered leaving, respectfully bowing out for his own sake. However, as it had always been, Amon's voice cut in where no other voice would have-or should have. And, also like the man, it was enigmatic, and only marginally better to listen to than the silence that had prefaced it.

"Then, lieutenant, tomorrow should pass just fine."

-x

His ice grey eyes shot open to the bellow of the morning alarm. Though his heart had awoken with painful seizes, he did not jump or start. These kinds of dreams were the only ones he had anymore, so, unsettling as they were, he had grown used to the near-nightmares.

He sat up slowly, but finally did jump as a dark figure dropped down from the bunk above. His heart having launched itself halfway up his windpipe, it actually took Liu a strained, disjointed moment to recognize what the movement had been. He had, honestly, managed to nearly forget Anisok altogether over the night, which was actually a bit of a shock, as he'd fallen asleep trying his damnedest to decide his opinion on the man.

Liu slid off the bed and stood to flip the light on. Though tired, he made an effort to keep his eyes off his new living mate. What had he settled on? He'd spent a good portion of the night that he ought to have spent sleeping attempting to come to any certain conclusion, yet he did not have one to offer.

What Liu could, at least, be certain of was that he did not dislike Anisok. Anisok had not done anything to deserve dislike, after all, and Liu struggled to see the point in wasting energy on something as stupid as unnecessary hatred. What he could no concede to was particularly liking the man, either.

It was not Anisok's fault. Liu knew that, and he knew that was unfair. He hadn't even known him a full day, not even a full conglomerate hour, and his basis for judgment was biased on something he'd come to decide to be completely due to forces Anisok could not control. The simple problem being that he was so... Existent. So present. He'd barely spoken to Liu, which he'd taken, initially as a good sign. But silence did not suppress his being, which had been emboldened as loudly as it seemingly could, but merely made it echo. It was a mix of Liu's own uneasiness with the similarities between ghost and memory, and in a smaller part from Anisok's personality.

Yes, Anisok had been relatively antisocial in their short time together. But when he had spoken, he had been confident. Nearly cocky in how he had toned some of his words, and he appeared to have a pretty nasty habit of smiling no matter what words escaped him. There was a charisma to him, though a different one to twin memory. Amon's charisma had always had a religious draw to it. He had been a godly and omnipotent pied piper, whose enigmatic nature and faceless existence were too curious to not follow, and too addictive to not trust.

Anisok was different, but Liu could not truly place how so. He ducked around Anisok to rifle in the small alcove of a closet for a change of shirt and trousers. His lips remained pursed and silent, his mind settling on the word roguish. Anisok was a rogue. He was independent, not the figurehead leader Amon had been. That was what separated them. Liu did not allow himself to think that this, perhaps, would be a reason to like the man. That, maybe, he could not like Anisok because he was not Amon.

But Amon was something he hated more, so the thought was brushed aside easy as it came. He fit his shirt over his head and then the thick leather vest. Oh. The vest. Had Anisok been given one? His brow knit tight as he debated. He hadn't wanted to be the first to speak; in fact, he hadn't wanted to speak at all. But the vest was necessary, on the most basic safety reasons, and if Anisok went on the line without one, he would not be given one. His nostrils flared with a sigh hard enough to rustle his moustache, and he turned to address the other man.

Liu was certain that he could not have made a worse noise. Anisok had stripped down to dim coal-colored trousers and a dingy undershirt, and those scars-. He'd seen plenty of scars; it was nearly a passage right to be an Equalist, to observe some of the worst abuse victims of overpowered benders. But, these...

Though Anisok's chest and back were greatly covered by the sleeveless undershirt, and he had turned on the spot at the noise, Liu could gauge a good prospect of how extensive the scarring was. The majority of his shoulders and exposed upper back were painted deep bole with strips of raw, pinkish mauve. They were etched into his skin, and raised there, leaving hills and valleys of scars over his tan skin. They stretched down the backside of his left arm, curling their marks over his ring and little fingers-both of which he now noticed to be lacking fingernails.

It was awful. It was awful, and Liu knew it was too late to correct his face, which had contorted in sympathetic horror, and Anisok's thick eyebrows rose as Liu's eyes wandered over his less-scarred front. Burns. They were burn scars, and they were the most awful ones he had ever seen. Liu's eyes pulled from the worst visible tendril of the scarring on Anisok's front, which lay across his collarbone, and met wide grey eyes to Anisok's featureless blue.

"I'm sorry." it was barely above a whisper, and almost totally obscured by the grit of a startled, breathless throat. The apology was halved, partly a plea for forgiveness for looking, and partly from horrified sympathy that Anisok had suffered through... Whatever could have left those kinds of scars.

Anisok was not smiling, this time. His jaw was tense, his pupils small, and his fists balled. While Liu was still startled and far off his tracks, his sight for body language still remained unparalleled, even if his teachings had been taken from a man now dead. Anisok's tightened arms, his perched shoulders, and most especially his clenched jaw. Confidence had been shadowed by discomfort, by displeasure that he had been so acutely observed. Which, Liu conceded, was completely understandable.

He swallowed and Anisok did not respond. He did not like Anisok. He did not like the man, even with the pity for him that grew in his heart. But, more than that, he did not dislike the disfigured man. If he did not hate Anisok, then Anisok did not deserve for his pride to be compromised. He did not break the lock their eyes had. He stood tall and straight, and with respect as if Anisok were some veteran of a grand war.

"For staring. I'm sorry for staring." He no longer whispered, instead merely speaking low. The words eased Anisok on a level small enough to be cellular, but it was ease nonetheless.

"There's no problem in it. And no need to apologize. I've had worse reactions."

"Still."

"It's fine." Anisok was the first to break their line of sight, turning to delve a shirt from his bag. Liu took a step back, eyes wandering past Anisok and to the dusty amber glass covering the gaslight. His mind reeled over the scars, as much as he tried to stop himself. It took a hard second, one that nearly gave him a headache, but he finally released a breath, and what he could of his fixation. Anisok was not his business.

Liu busied himself in adorning his boots before reaching into the closet for his work gloves and the spare vest. He turned and held it to Anisok, who had just managed his own boots on.

"You'll need this." Liu murmured. He hesitated, and held out the gloves, as well, "And these."

The other man hesitated, marred cheek scrunching as he calculated taking the worn leather clothing. In the end, it seemed as if the hard exchange of a moment before had been too much to worry over, and he accepted the gloves and vest with a gruff, "Thank you. You won't need them?"

"I'm a line supervisor. I don't really use the gloves, anymore. And I can get another vest." He shrugged with a twitch in the corners of his lips. His eyes broke contact with Anisok once more and he finally turned on his heel towards the door, "Come on, we'll want to get there ahead of the rush."


an: not much to make for notes this time! caitlincryingalonewithlasagna on tumblr did a beta for me, and she helped last chapter. the rest of last chapter's beta was by another tumblr, user tipsybutt, and i owe them both a million.

but, well. sorry for the jump in length, here. sorta got ahead of myself. but forward we press!