Love the reviews, y'all. Please, don't stop. : )

… … … … … … …

Amon paced his office, his hands folded behind his back out of habit. His quarters were a Spartan affair; simple gray carpet, blank white walls, a desk in the corner, and a small leather couch for visitors. A large window stretched across the far wall, a couple meters in diameter, presenting a stunning vista of the city below. Tonight, the city lights glowed with soft brilliance, thousands of tiny pricks of lights moving in slow patterns as satomobiles carried civilians home from work. A few horns blasted out in the darkness, distant cries and peals of laughter echoing out from the various bars and restaurants lining the main street.

To a casual observer, Amon's headquarters would look like any other Republic City office building. Paneled with dark, gleaming metal walls and rising several stories from the ground, it nestled against the rows of other buildings at the edge of the great city, near the bay. Amon glanced out over the dark water, painted blue in the light of the full moon. A few ships blinked their flashing lights just off shore. Amon breathed in deeply through his nose, closing his eyes. The sound of someone singing, somewhere far below, carried up through the open screen. It was probably just some homeless woman, down in the alley, entertaining herself, but the tone quality was full, the melody sweet. He closed his eyes, letting the memories take him.

He remembered the sound of his mother singing him to sleep. Her voice was soft and smooth, gently caressing every note in perfect pitch, never missing a beat. She'd kiss his little brother on the forehead, then touch her nose to his in a traditional Water Tribe kiss. Then she'd rise, blowing out the candle on the little bedside table. He remembered how he would lie awake, listening to the sound of her moving to the other side of the house, gently saying goodnight to his father, who'd reply with his customary dispassionate grunt.

His mother's sweet voice. He closed his eyes against the burn, cursing himself under his breath for his weakness. Sometimes he wasn't sure if he could still remember it. The sweet, husky cadence, so central to his boyhood. His throat clenched. The pain shocked him. He'd thought he'd beaten it down long ago. Recent events must have unearthed something deep inside him. Speaking about his past…

"You think I don't know what it's like to hurt?" The Avatar's voice slipped back into his consciousness. "To feel like your heart's getting squeezed out of your chest in a merciless fist?"

A knock at the door roused him from his reminiscence. Shaking himself free of the melancholy, he turned away from the window, clearing his throat.

"Enter."

The doorknob twisted, and his lieutenant stepped into the room, tipping his fist against his brow in a customary salute.

"Evening, Gioshi," Amon greeted. "What do you have to report?"

"Evening, sir. Our inner city sources have returned with a full report. The police have spread themselves in full force looking for the Avatar. They still think she's in the hands of Councilman Tarrlok."

Amon dipped his head in acknowledgement of the information. "How is the councilman?"

Gioshi hesitated. "He's not eating, sir. Won't talk to anybody, either. Unlike the Avatar. She's all spilling threats and yelling at whoever will come near. I don't envy anyone on guard duty outside her door. But Tarrlok hasn't said a word since we brought him in. Just sits there staring at the wall, all still and quiet like."

"Not eating?" Amon frowned, though Gioshi couldn't see it behind his mask. "Hm. That's a bit disconcerting. I'd like to have a word with him before we lock up for the night."

The lieutenant dipped his head. "Certainly, sir. I'll gather a unit for you."

"No. I'd prefer to speak with him alone."

If Gioshi had been surprised by the answer, the goggles masked any expression. "If you wish, sir."

Amon nodded and moved around to his desk. He trailed a finger down the surface of the desk, the thoughts surfacing once more. Honor, Gioshi had said. Korra's voice returned, stronger than before.

"Honor won't last," she'd said. "You can't go on living your life behind a mask, afraid to let anyone see your real face. Do you even have any real friends? You can't let the pain from your past keep you from hope in your future.. You'll be alone."

Amon glanced back at the man before him. It occurred to him how little he really knew about his lieutenant, his strongest follower. The man stood before him, at attention, obviously waiting for his next direction. Amon frowned. So devoted. To what?

"You can't go on living your life behind a mask." Amon closed his eyes." You'll be alone."

"Have you any family, Gioshi?"

The question came out before he had time to think about it. This time, Gioshi showed visible surprise. His mustache twitched, and he shifted his weight a little toward the door.

"Sir?"

Amon settled back against the desk, steepling his fingers against his knee. "Have you a family, lieutenant?"

Gioshi cleared his throat. "Yes, sir. A wife and two daughters."

"How old are they?"

"Er… four and six years, sir."

Amon couldn't help but smile. He cleared his throat, moving off the desk to look back out the window. His hands moved to fold behind his back, his default stance. "You should go home to them tonight, Gioshi. I'll take care of the rest up here. Go home to your family."

Gioshi stared at him, blank for a moment. "You're… sure, sir?"

Amon nodded, his back to him. Gioshi hesitated. "Thank you, sir."

Amon grunted. "Consider it a thank you for your service at the cabin. You are dismissed."

Gioshi turned and ducked out of the room. Amon heard the door's soft click as it swung shut, and let out the breath he'd been holding. Then, slowly, he reached up and undid the straps of his mask, exhaling in relief as the cool air washed over his face. He set the mask face down on the desk, bracing his hands against the wood on either side of it. Gioshi had been the last one to see him today. He didn't have to worry about anyone walking in on him unmasked. With a sigh, he ran a hand through his black hair, listening to the sound of his lieutenant's footsteps fading away.

What had come over him lately? These unsettling bouts of nostalgia and misgivings. He shook himself. With a sigh, he refastened the mask and straightened his hood, before moving to the door. Glancing both ways down the hallway to make sure he was alone, he made his way down the stairs to the holding cells. He passed the Avatar's cell—chuckling quietly to himself when he heard her yelling out death threats to the poor guards posted outside her door—and made his way down the blocks to the last room. Shifting his robes aside to remove his key ring, he unlocked the door.

His brother sat, his back to the door, at the edge of his cot facing the single window. His long dark hair hung loose over his back, ratted and tangled. He looked thinner than Amon remembered, no doubt due the fact he kept refusing his meals. He gave no sign of acknowledgement to Amon's presence. But when Amon moved to close the door, his voice rumbled across the cell, cold and flat.

"It's been a long time, Noatak."

Amon removed his mask, tucking it away into his robes. There would be no need for it now. "How did you know it was me?"

"One doesn't forget the feel of a bloodbending grip easily."

Amon paused. He let the silence fall between them, simmering for a moment. "I'm sorry for what I had to do to you," he murmured. "I had no other choice."

"Oh, of course you didn't. The spirits were forcing your hand to destroy the core of your brother's being."

"Tarrlok…"

His brother didn't turn around. Just sighed, his shoulders slumping just slightly. "Why did you come?"

Amon moved to stand beside the wall, a few feet away from the broken form of the ex-councilman. "I was informed you weren't eating. I was concerned."

Tarrlok snorted. "Concerned. How touching."

"Starving yourself will get you nowhere."

"Neither will eating and sitting here in this cell."

Amon sighed, running a hand through his hair. His brother knew how to exasperate him in ways no one else could. "If you cooperate, I might be able to ensure your release."

At this, Tarrlok finally turned. Amon had to force himself to keep his expression neutral, though shock coursed through his body at the sight of his brother's face. Tarrlok's eyes were sunken, dark circles shadowing the ridges above his cheekbones. He looked older, more haggard, his features thrown into relief by the single oil lamp on the rickety wooden table in the corner. A thin smile twisted his lips.

"See what I've become? Look at what you've done. Look deeply. I'm a broken man, brother. My career was ruined by the Avatar's foolishness. I was going to have to live my life on the run, start over again. But then you came. You destroyed any remnants of chance I had at beginning again. You ruined me."

"I did what I had to, brother," Amon retorted, hardening his voice.

"That you did." Tarrlok sighed, clasping his hands behind his head and laying himself back on the cot, staring at the ceiling. A low sigh escaped him. "We're both turning out just like our father, aren't we, Noatak? Cold. Merciless. Obsessed."

"I am not obsessed."

Tarrlok gave a cold, humorless laugh. "Aren't you? Admit it. You've been obsessed with the Avatar since we were boys. Father drove it into you. Equality is your smokescreen. You blame it for Father's actions and cruelty. You blame it for all the pain in the world. But what do you really want, Noatak? What has it always been? The Avatar. You want her power, you want her glory. You want to destroy her, to be seen doing it. You're lucky your little Equalist marionettes can't see through you the way I can. You can dance with the microphone and tell the press all you want about bringing this city back to its former glory, but don't lie to yourself anymore. Bending's not your problem. It's the Avatar. It's always been."

Amon glared at him for a stiff moment. Then, slowly, he sank down against the wall opposite, resting his head in his hands. What was the point? His brother had always been able to see right through him.

"Why are you really here, Noatak?"

The two of them let the silence settle. The distant wail of a sato's horn filtered in through the open window, lonely and shrill. The wind whispered in between the bars, stirring the hair on top of his head. Amon finally sighed, thumping his head back against the wall. "I don't know what to do," he whispered.

"With her?"

Amon shut his eyes. He didn't say anything.

"You didn't seem to have any qualms about taking my bending." A hard edge crept into Tarrlok's voice. "Not getting sentimental about those pretty blue eyes, are we, brother?"

"No." His reply was too quick, too harsh. Tarrlok chuckled.

"I felt the same way at first. It's another one of her weapons. If she hadn't driven me up the wall with her infuriating behavior, I may have even tried to follow it up."

"You're a decade older than her."

"And what does that make you?"

Amon growled under his breath. "I haven't even considered it. Not only is she my enemy, she is everything I stand against. Her very existence is a threat to my cause."

"And yet you haven't brought yourself to destroy her."

"Look…" He shut his eyes in frustration. "Tarrlok, as much as you make my life difficult, I care about you. I didn't want to take your bending, and maybe I'll unblock your chi again someday. It pains me to learn that you're neglecting your health. I brought you here to protect you. I could've left you unconscious in that shack. You would've been picked up by the police, and stood trial for kidnapping and assault. They could've put you away for years."

"Don't pretend you care."

"Don't pretend you don't. I know you, Tarrlok. Your drive for self preservation is stronger than anyone I know. You won't starve yourself. It's a ploy for attention. So tell me, what is it you want?"

Tarrlok chuckled. "An audience with you."

"Well, you have it."

Tarrlok sighed. "Is it enough to say just to talk to you again? I haven't seen you in seventeen years, Noatak. Now here you are, and where are we? Sitting in a cold dank cell underneath the secret headquarters of Republic City's public enemy number one."

Amon sighed. "Tarrlok, I didn't want it to turn out this way, either. But one way or another, fate caused us to collide. If only you'd have come with me that day in the North Pole…"

"Enough of that, Noatak. I would never have abandoned mother the way you did. After Father died, your disappearance was all she could think about. It nearly tore her apart. I had to remain in the North another ten years to take care of her."

Amon fought to keep his voice even. "And where is she now?"

Tarrlok looked up at him with narrowed eyes. "With the Spirits."

Amon let out a soft moan. He laid his forehead against his knees, fighting the weariness that threatened to overtake him. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I never would have left if I'd known."

"Yes, you would've."

Amon closed his eyes. They both knew the truth. Tarrlok let the silence hang for a moment. Then, slowly, he sighed, the sound whistling out in the darkness. "I'll eat. I hope you're happy."

"I won't be happy until I get you out of this place." Amon got to his feet, looking down at his brother with a pained expression. "I could provide you with more comfortable accommodations in the meantime. A relief from this tiny cell."

"No. I prefer to live the way your other prisoners do. I wouldn't want to pretend I'm anything better than a simple cleansed bender. You don't want your identity leaking out if word gets around I'm your brother."

Amon hesitated. "I'm sorry," he murmured again. Inwardly, he winced. He seemed to be apologizing a lot lately, he realized.

"Don't." Tarrlok sighed, thumping his head back against his folded elbows. "Our father set us on this path. Your actions would have been no different from mine had I been in your place."

Amon turned to the door, pausing before he opened it. "I will have my people bring you a meal."

Tarrlok grinned, his teeth white in the darkness. "Make it Water Tribe grub. It's been far too long since I had me some good Water Tribe grub."

Amon sighed, but couldn't resist a smile. Pulling his mask from his robes, he slipped it over his face. "I'll see what I can do."

He pulled the door open and stepped out into the hallway, shutting it softly behind him. He made his way down the rows of barred doors, pausing once he reached the Avatar's cell. The two guards sat slumped against the wall. One definitely sounded like he was snoring. As soon as they laid eyes on their Equalist leader, the standing Equalist gave a start, elbowing his fellow so that he leaped to his feet, shouting something unintelligible but undoubtedly offensive. They slammed their feet together, snapping to attention as Amon stopped before them, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Sir," the first Equalist stammered, her voice squeaking. "We—didn't know you were—"

"No need to worry," Amon replied, waving a hand. "The two of you are relieved. I will provide your replacements within the hour."

"Sir," came the replied stutter. "Thank you."

Amon flicked his fingers in obvious dismissal. The two guards stumbled away, their boots scuffing against the metal floor as they tripped back up the stairs toward the main floor. Amon watched them go, chuckling to himself under his breath. Once they'd gone out of sight, he turned to the Avatar's barred metal door. Stepping forward, he peered through the narrow window.

Korra lay, curled on her side on the thin straw cot, the moonlight spilling over her peaceful form. Her hand rested just beside her ear, the fingers curled inward on each other. The moonlight glowed blue against her mocha skin. Her gleaming black hair spilled across the cot, glistening in gentle waves over the threadbare mattress. Her lips were parted, sending soft sighs fluttering the dark bangs. She looked so small there, so vulnerable. So unlike the fierce, spitfire young warrior he knew her to be, the woman who would blast fire into a man's face first and ask questions later.

Amon watched as her brow puckered, a low moan sliding from between her lips. Her fist clenched, and she rolled over, her back to him. He let out a slow breath, turning away. Why did she haunt him so? Why did it take all of his willpower to turn away from this door, to not unlock this cell and take her in his arms, smoothing back that silken black hair and tell her everything was going to be okay.

But no. Instead, he forced himself to turn and walk away, continuing down the shadowed hallway, back up the stairs and toward his cold, empty office. On his way up, he signaled a passing Equalist, ordering him to take over guarding the Avatar for the two Equalists he'd released.

It must have been somewhere after midnight by the time he finally closed his eyes to sleep. But instead of blissful oblivion, all he could see behind his closed eyelids was Korra's curled form, still and peaceful, glowing in the moonlight like some angel from the spirit world.