It's okay to be scared.

Korra says, her legs cramping, "Great, a path to nowhere."

After spending most of the trip sick, Korra's steps are sluggish. Her thoughts obscured by hopelessness, she wants to curl up into a ball and cry. Not die, not really, though darkness hovers over her like a fat cloud. Instead, with a grin to herself, she decides to redirect her frustration into something more entertaining. It's quite better than giving into the futility of it all.

She wonders who she is. She's just Korra, but Just Korra has been an identified Avatar for thirteen years. Walking into the forest, their journey seeming to go to the butt-end of nowhere, they eventually find a dirt path. They must look so weird, two men and a girl with suitcases and drab attire.

I've messed up the line of the Avatars. I've messed up everything.

"There wouldn't be a well-worn path if it led to nowhere," Noatak replies matter-of-factly. Her travel companions prove to be horrible entertainment.

Tarrlok's eyes are downcast, and Korra can't meet his eyes. This was the man who peered down his nose at her and boasted about how inadequate she was. Maybe his losses are a way of nipping at his past deeds, but she never asked for him to have such troubles. Dismemberment, drowning in a shallow puddle, sure, but never finding out that he's Amon's brother.

(And she's alone with them both.)

Slowly, it dawns on her that this plan of hoping she will be recognized might not be so effective after all. Her appearance only became well-known after she stepped out of the compound. They know she's from the Southern Water Tribe, but, with the blurring lines between nations, they might not discern where she's from. Oh, surely they can see her Water Tribe descent, but both tribes expanded after the war. The Southern Water Tribe flourished after connecting with their brothers and sisters of the northern tribe.

Beyond that, several young adults traveled the world for a fresh start. Who knows where they went, who they married, why people like Tahno are waterbenders and don't appear to have a lick of Water Tribe in them? If she hadn't learned that Noatak and Tarrlok were brothers, she wouldn't have ever speculated such. There's hardly any physical similarities; Noatak looks every bit like a less jaded version of Yakone.

She huffs, thinking about being stuck in that metal box. Yeah, Tarrlok was desperate at the time, but if Tarrlok thought he could manipulate her with his powers so easily, what about this circumstance? It's a hostage situation, just like up at that cabin. The Avatar and an adept bloodbender. There's only one extra person, a spare.

With an extra, wobbly leap in her step, Korra says, "Hey, Noa!"

He ignores her. He's already discussed to her what he could do to the civilians she tries to confide to about her situation. She's supposed to address Ex-Councilman Weasel-Snake and Sifu Jerkbender by their pseudonyms. (Unfortunately, when she suggested that latter pseudonym, Noatak didn't seem to find it particularly appealing.)

"I'm hungry," Korra complains, bouncing once, "and I have to pee."

"You just spent several hours vomiting off the side of a boat," Noatak says, his nod curt and his gaze remaining forward, "and I couldn't care less about your bodily functions."

"Yeah, I puked all of my food up, which was mostly this soupy, gruel thingy a hobo gave me, so now my stomach's empty. I need food, and apparently you're the big, capable man."

No answer.

Korra pouts, surveying the dense brush lining the crude road. "Brother-in-law, your brother sucks and won't give me food. Isn't that what you're good at, Noatak—'hunting trips'? Where's the closest bathroom?"

Noatak says, pointing to various sights of foliage, "Let's see, over there, there, and there—"

She kicks him in the back of the knee. "You are officially the worst husband ever."

He regards her acidly, and she suspects that he's tempted to pin her against one of the trees and threaten her again with his icy words, but he merely glares. She knows he won't do such a thing with Tarrlok around. She still can't really believe this human guy is Amon, who was so elusive and intangible.

("I hope you enjoy your success, brother.")


They take a detour and set up a temporary camp site. Korra considers running as soon as Noatak falls asleep, but where will she go? Should she just hope she finds people, and what then? She won't have any clue what Noatak and Tarrlok are doing, what plans they've made, what the bloodbender will do in retaliation to innocent bystanders.

She wakes up, eyes heavy, head throbbing. With one eye closed, she can see part of her nose in the firelight; she can see the oiliness of her skin. A dull ache signals her need to temporarily relocate to a rather high bush and relieve herself.

As she stumbles bleary-eyed into the forest, treading lightly (or lightly by Korra standards), she notices that Tarrlok isn't there. Weird. As the fire smolders, Korra doesn't hear anything in the depths of the forest, but she sees movement. For some reason, she thinks about a picture of a bird, a painting in the air temple.


She lets the moonlight guide her. All Korra wants to do is rest. He says nothing, moves almost like his bones are stiff. She wonders what would've happened if Tarrlok had never been found out. Chills race down her spine. Would he have just let her die? Or if he'd gotten his way, where would he have taken her—some obscure village in the Earth Kingdom, the Fire Nation? The former certainly is more convenient, given the size of the nation and the crossing of different bloodlines.

But what then? Would he pretend to be her father, her uncle, her husband? What would he do to her? Would she always hate him—or would he eventually break her? Would they settle down and get a dog, matching tattoos, a new life?

I want to fix this.

But can she? Korra swats at bugs, trips. Never a master of stealth. Rustling brush, briars snagging on her clothes. If Tarrlok hears her make any noise, he doesn't turn, doesn't even slow down. She considers calling out, but she's exceedingly curious about his destination. He pointedly glances at certain defining points, as if to ascertain his return, yet she isn't entirely sure he knows where he's going. How could he? It's started to drizzle, which masks her whereabouts somewhat.

She waits as the forest gives way to grass, doesn't step out as he sits on a ledge. Waits, even when it's the most agonizing thing for someone like her to do. He keeps looking into the water. He's too close to the edge, and her heart quickens, and the sudden fear hits her that he can detect it. No, she reminds herself, they're both lost in that regard.

"Tarrlok?"

His shoulders retract, his body straightening to look at her, regarding her blankly. "Avatar Korra."

She walks forward, the soft crunch of crisp grass becoming the loudest noise. Korra sits, trying to still her body. Her legs hang off of the land. She's witnessed him school his true emotions countless times, but it was often with a smirk or bloated words. Here, he's like his brother, masking his emotions by concealing everything.

There's a twitch in her mind, an unease in her limbs, as if there's a secret floating between them she can't fathom. It's weird, being so close to someone she's had such horrible experiences with. So, to properly encapsulate her preparation for this talk, she says, "Nice night."

Suddenly, he asks, "Did you come here to end your life?" Why would that be his first assumption? She hasn't—no. Korra exhales and thinks about her parents' faces if they heard that their only child took her own life in a fit of despair.

Since saying "no, I was following you" sounds like it opens up too many questions she's too tired to handle at the moment, Korra says, "N-No, I needed to pee."

Almost with humor in his voice, he replies, "You're a horrible liar. Is that really all you can come up with?"

Figures, the one time she isn't lying about the bathroom thing. "Yeah, because it's the truth. I wouldn't do that. Even if I never see my friends or family again, if Mom and Dad found out that I—they must be so worried." Her hands settle onto her knees.

"That's good," he says, no emotion in his voice, so much so that it sounds like he's straining himself to speak. What, good that she's worried? "You're too young to contemplate death."

"Even if it would renew the Avatar cycle? Well, I'm not the Avatar anymore. Or maybe I am, I don't know. You were right. I was too busy focused on trivial things. I still wouldn't have joined your stupid task force, but I should've worked harder. I could've done okay, and now I never will. That whole 'half-baked Avatar-in-training' thing."

His hands twitch on the ground. "Nothing I did should be excused."

"Oh no, you're definitely right there. Arresting innocent people? Jerk move. Intimidating me? Jerk move. Locking me in a box for a whole day without access to a bathroom? Yeah, pretty bad." After a moment, Korra says, "Do you hate him, your brother?"

"How can I?" Tarrlok asks, and his tone crushes her heart.

"I can't believe you're the nicer brother." Amon/Noawhatever carried the brunt of everything, so he probably shut down to prevent further damage.

"You do remind me of him, you know?" And Korra thinks back to that comment he made at the air temple to Noatak about her hair, and it's unsettling that she's even a shade like someone so cold, especially when she's not aloof in the least.

Korra laughs to herself, remembering to the point that it physically pains her. She rubs her arm, her head held down, and he remains quiet. "I was an only child. When I was a kid, my dad would wear pelts and lug them around and pretend he was this great hunter from the old stories, just to make me and my mom laugh. Yeah, my parents were pretty out there."

"I see nothing wrong with that," he says thickly, "as long as they were kind."

"What would you have done to me if you really did leave Republic City with me as your prisoner?"

They don't look at each other during their exchange. Abruptly, he says, "I was trying to break down your defenses."

"Oh, it worked. I spent that evening crying my eyes out." Shaking her head, Korra continues, "It's weird. I seem like a feisty person, but I've never seen crying as a weakness. It makes me feel better."

All business, Tarrlok says, "Avatar Korra, if I fell off of here at this very moment, what would be your reaction?"

"Whoa, Tarrlok. Hold on a minute." Korra leans in for a closer view. His eyes are shining like a fancy doll's glass eyes. "Why—I—I—"

"Nobody will miss a tyrant." He speaks after if reading off of a list. "Things would've been better if my brother and I hadn't been born."

She traces patterns in the dirt, imagining what he must be thinking. (He was supposed to die when his brother opened his cell door. Lifting his head up, the grime encrusted in his hair making his scalp itch, he knew.)

"Someone might miss non-tyrant Tarrlok. The Tarrlok you were before—everything." The words stumble and splat uselessly in the water. Korra wants to wince at how hollow they sound. She believes every word, but she isn't a speaker; she's a fighter. She's tired of fighting, and maybe there are other ways to fight, but her mind is foggy and why, why can't she sleep? "Hey." And she's struck by how unnatural of a sight it is, something so human.

Tarrlok, crying. Making sobbing noises in his palms. Gulping down tears, visage crumpled. Her movements wooden, Korra awkwardly settles her hands on his shoulder, his back. He doesn't lean into her touch or pull away.

What is she supposed to do? Find a way to send a letter, jail them both and move on? They're grown men, not her charges. Bad lives or not, they made their choices, but is it really fated that they die disgraced like their father? Is it her place to decide? They've attacked her personally, but she's not alone in that regard, but it's easy to pity herself when she's always thought good things were mandated to happen to her

The rain grows heavier. She's soaked while encased in internal indecision.

You need me, but I don't need you. I'm the Avatar.

"I'm sorry for everything you've gone through, Korra." His head is cradled in his hands. "Everything my brother and I have done to you. Everything we've done." Part of her wonders what Amon/Noatak would think about his brother wanting to jump off of a cliff partly because of him.

"You've already apologized."

He rubs his face and stares into the water again. "No. I've never truly apologized for my actions. I should've—we've doomed everything."

Shakily, one hand on her stomach, Korra replies with a half-hearted shrug, "Hey, I'm still here, right? You know, my uncle is the chieftain of the Northern Water Tribe."

His voice small, Tarrlok says, "Yes, I know."

"He's really spiritual. If we can get away one day, maybe he'd let us stay there." By us, she means me and you separate from each other. Or no, the "us" thing shouldn't exist. Just the "you."

His tears and—and she doesn't seek his destruction like she once did, but dwelling near someone so heartbroken—it inflicts conflicting emotions in her heart. What he told her in the air temple attic, when she was torn about leaving an emotionally crippled man, yet had no idea what to do. He's alone, he ruins everything. He's the second one, the one who shouldn't have been.

"What about your mom?" she says. "Is she still around? Do you keep in contact? If she's still there, you can find her."

"Yes, we did, but she's better off without me."

"That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard." It's giving up, she thinks, this nonviolent approach. Passivity. To let them do what they want.

Put an end to this sad story.

But what is a fitting end—Amon paying for his crimes? Even if that brings hollow satisfaction, what does it change? Will she get her bending back if they're miserable?

Tarrlok holds his arms just above the elbows, pulling the fabric of his sleeves up despite the wetness and cold. She's sees what looks like—no, it's definitely a burn scar. Not too old, either.

"What's this from?" She places her finger just below it.

Tarrlok inhales through his nose and pulls his sleeve down. "After I captured you, I staged a crime scene. Equalist attack. To make it especially convincing, I electrocuted myself with one of those gloves. When the police and healers arrived, I was having one of the medics mend it when Councilman Tenzin interrupted to question me. I never consulted the medic so it could be fully erased."

"Oh, well, that's no problem, I learned from Katara how t—" She chokes on her words, face contorting. "I'm sorry." It's like the passing thought, as the rain pelts down on her, when she considers firebending to prolong her own comfort, but then realizes that it's gone, and now it's all different. She wants to do something for him, not for her, and she can't. And part of her still resents him.

"No," he says with uncommon gentleness, "you have nothing to be sorry for"—but she does—"and you've already lost so much." But haven't they all? Tenzin and his family lost their home; Asami lost her father. Actually, most of them lost their homes. If only she can be confident about this, about anything. Doubtfully, Tarrlok continues, "It's a scar. Even if we"—we, not you, we—"could, it can't be healed."As if losing his voice, he hoarsely adds, "I was the one who initiated the fight. I should have let you." He doesn't elaborate (Let me what?), but Korra catches his meaning.

It's okay to be scared.

"Trust me. If you hadn't, I would've." She doesn't say anything further, whether she meant she would've started the fight anyway or would have hurt him with her firebending, but she thinks he'll fill in whatever he wishes. Maybe she means both.

Sighing, wrapping her arms around herself and gazing into the blue-black horizon, Korra says, "I acted out of anger and vengeance. I didn't mean to harm you, but I could've. I acted rashly. I'm always rushing in without thinking." It sounds weird spinning off of her tongue. "I'm sorry I almost blew your face off."

"I'm sorry I locked you in a metal box."

Smiling, deciding to incorporate a rather dull attempt at humor (or maybe it was only funny to her), Korra says, "It actually wasn't so bad. Being locked up is kind of a habit with me. When I was a kid and the old dudes from the White Lotus discovered that I was the Avatar, I had a lot of supervision; I was confined and had to escape whenever I could. A compound. They took me there when I was four."

He narrows his eyes. "That's cruel to do to a child."

"Yeah, I thought so, but I was really wild."

Sliding his fingers down his face, distracted, Tarrlok says dryly, "No, not you."

"Yup, me. They weren't that harsh." She swings her dangling feet. "So I probably needed the extra attention, but it was a problem on all counts." Korra says, "Are you really sorry?" Their conversation is jarring and haphazard, no cohesion involved. There's a racket in her mind that won't quit; so many thoughts clash ceaselessly.

"Yes," he replies reedily, "and I admire your tenacity."

To herself, she says numbly, "I can't bend the water out of my clothes." Her hand hurts, and she squeezes it into a tight fist, then relaxes. "You wouldn't have given me any attention if I wasn't the Avatar." She thinks about how everyone in the city has had their sense of security forever shattered. Benders, nonbenders, and she's here on a cliff with a former politician who locked her in a box. It's so obscenely absurd that she wants to laugh.

Changing her line of thought, she says, "But if you and your brother die or get locked up forever, it doesn't solve anything." This talking-it-out thing? She grimaces. Ugh, man. She'll stop hurting others, she decides, but this approach is still a bit half-formed "I don't know, but I'm still the Avatar, with or without my bending. I never won't hate him, I think, I don't know. Zuko did some pretty bad things, but he turned out to be one of Avatar Aang's biggest friends."

Wistfully, Tarrlok says, "If that logic was nonexistent, my brother and I wouldn't be alive, and none of this would've happened."

"Yeah, I got that." Part of her is irritated, mostly with herself for having no good response. He's driven that point into the ground, and she should be sensitive. Even if they aren't exactly friends, she doesn't want him to fling himself off of the ledge. He seems keen on conceding, while Korra fears that anything other than shoving and kicking will break her and turn her complacent.

"I can't leave. He's my brother."

She rolls her shoulders, runs around the corners of her mind until her feet split and crack. She can't relate to the sibling thing much—typically isolated despite the constant attention.

"You know, maybe he does care about you."

In response, Tarrlok says nothing.

"You can't change things if you're dead," Korra says. "You can't."

"And what about atoning for my crimes?"

"No. Those people you've hurt? Their lives don't just magically get better because you suffer. Nobody's going to get their bending or freedom back if Amon and you get locked up."

The world needs her to be strong. Her parents, the rest of her family, Katara, Tenzin, her friends. Everyone else. It is just surreal—after being cooped up for long, her actions actually affect others. The punches echo now.

If she lets Noatak and Tarrlok rot and languish in prison or die, what does that say about fate? It's final, predetermined. Nobody can change a thing when they're dead. No matter how long their spirits wander, a person is better off alive if they want to make a difference or correct a wrong. She can't be here forever; it's not her place, but maybe there's something that can come out of this. Something good—or at least not a sad ending.

Maybe it's easy for her to say, Korra doesn't know. She knows so little.

(You're too young to contemplate death.)

I need to die?

No, I need to live.

We need to live.

The rain stops, but they're still drenched by it. Korra has no idea how they will find their way back, but Tarrlok points out some nifty landmarks. Neither Tarrlok nor Korra explicitly direct the trek back, yet they walk close to each other, and there's a tacit shift more stunning than if he'd made a love declaration or a marriage proposal or anything as outlandish as those.

Tarrlok thanks her. For what, Korra isn't sure.

Dawn comes. Just how long had they sat there and talked; how long had she listened to him weep without interruption? They walk back to the crude campsite, and, to Korra's dismay, Noatak is very much awake. He's sitting on the ground, knees up, hands draped across them.

The fire has long been snuffed out, and she doesn't catch Noatak's expression before he sees his brother and her. No predatory glint. As they return, he stands, and his countenance reveals nothing. As usual.

She imagines him having Equalists drag benders into alleys and gloomy tunnels, imprisoning them, and then they died of mysterious circumstances. Practice for the main event. Korra shivers.


There's nothing quite so unpleasant as having Amon walk in on her as she's bathing in a creek. Luckily, he can't see a thing, but he does it so nonchalantly, and she wishes she had her earthbending to propel him into the air. The thought is pretty satisfactory.

Even when she's neck-deep in water, she covers her breasts. "Go away!" She wants to sink completely under, and he regards her emotionlessly.

"When you're finished, I need to speak with you." Nothing he says has too demanding of an edge, yet she still detests his words. Why should she have to abide by what he needs or wants? She wants him to fall head-first in pig-chicken poop and die, yet she doesn't see any dung falling from the sky to accomodate her. "It's rather cold out."

"How did you not get cold when the fire went out?" she asks, not comprehending why he's made that observation.

"Certain … ah, skills of mine have their less destructive benefits."

Her face twisting, Korra says, "Why can't you just waterbend normally?"

Her clothes, which she's cleaned and left to dry without thinking much about how wet they'd be when she got out, are hanging messily on a fallen branch propped against a tree trunk. "Allow me," Noatak says, and, without even a tilt of his head, he wrings the water out, guides it into the creek.

It doesn't exactly cross her mind that he'd do something brazenly sleazy, but he's a waterbender and she's steeped into his element; plus, he just freaks her out. He's too unreadable, unpredictable. She can't bend, no matter her physical strength, so who's to say he won't tire of her insubordinance and drown her, make her heart pop? Korra doesn't know if she should play nice, pretend they aren't enemies, but she's frankly too dejected to care. Does he even get the fallout of his actions?

Stupid bloodbender.

Instead of thanking him, she says, "Leave."

He's a man, she always has to remind herself. He has emotions, and he has a limit. Why else would he resort to doing what he did after his cover was blown? He gets desperate; he has a breaking point.

He shares a past with her in one of the tribes. He knows what it's like to be cocooned in furs on a bitter tundra night, to be in awe at the spirit lights. Or perhaps he was less in awe and pleaded for the spirits to listen.

But he knows the cooking, the old myths, some of the songs—at least, he probably does, even if the memories are faded. He's not "fresh off the boat" like that gang member called her. The implication was clear then; Korra hadn't erased her culture, assimilated, and she hadn't exactly planned to at all. Her home, as stifling as it had been, was a source of love and history. Something organic.

When his back is to her and he departs, she whispers, "Creep." Korra rolls her eyes and simmers. Just like Amon to spoil everything.

When she's finished, she dresses quickly, keeping behind the tree. She doesn't know what she did with the ribbons for her hair, and she doesn't particularly care. She parts the foliage and goes into the clearing, hair as dry as she can make it, and she will bite or maim anyone who attempts to touch it.

Tarrlok sleeps on his side, his limbs curled close to him, looking small and frail, and Noatak is leaning against a tree, arms crossed. It's quite casual, and she almost forgets that this is the man who stood above her and threatened to ruin her.

(Then again, mission accomplished.)

He doesn't smile as he treads softly, certainly toward her. "If I am so inclined," he starts, "I can be generous." Here we go. "However, I have the inkling that you will make it exceedingly difficult. A troubling development—though I suppose it's nothing new at all, actually—since you've seen what I am capable of." His tone suddenly appeasing, he continues, "I abhor the thought of resorting to unsavory tactics. I consider this to be a fresh start, a life where none of us must be unhappy to fulfill the whims of a demanding world."

Korra laughs ruefully. "The 'inkling'? The 'inkling'? You're guessing that I'm not okay with this? You stole from me!" She holds her hand over her heart.

I've tried to reason with you, Korra, but you've made it impossible.

"Nothing I haven't done to hundreds of men and women. Should you be exempt from my influence?"

She snarls, straightening in an attempt to match his height. "You had no right."

"Perhaps I didn't," he says offhandedly, "but I took the step nobody else could. Even when all I wanted to do was crawl away and have a family again, an intact one, I sacrificed that for my duty."

Eyes hard, Korra says, "I think you're trying too hard with this whole noble act. What happened to you—for you to be like this?" His brow furrows, and she reminisces on what little she knows. He's Amon, not Noatak, and yet he's both. It gives her a headache—or maybe she's getting ill. Great.

Ignoring her question, he says, "I asked my brother where you two went last night." As she opens her mouth, Noatak holds a hand up to stop her. "And no, please do not tell me that excuse about some joint venture to use the bathroom. It's a bit much. I'd like to remind you, as I'm certain I will have to in the future, that any escape attempts will be fruitless. Since you had such a busy night—" She hates the biting tone he has with the last two words. Really, what's that supposed to imply? "—I suggest that you get some rest. We'll be leaving shortly."

"What did Tarrlok say?" she blurts out, and he only raises his eyebrows, his entire demeanor reeking of disdain.


She develops a cough, swallows them down, but they itch and everything contracts and her nose starts running and her eyes burn and water. Korra wraps her arms around herself, refusing to accept defeat just yet.