A/N: Thank you yet again for support, lovely readers! I'm glad you're enjoying my little guilty pleasure ditty. Typical warnings for this chapter: non-canon, blah-de-blah...

.*.*.*.

X
Amon

Amon's third-in-command stepped out of the boat onto the small beach, tilting her head to look up the cliff that erupted before them. "You're really going to climb that?"

Amon stepped out of the boat as well. "I can't give you a time estimate for my return, Midori."

"I'm prepared to sleep in the boat if I have to." Her smile was kind. "Take the time you need, but make sure you get some rest before tomorrow."

"Thank you." With a respectful nod, he turned and began to ascend the cliff. It was easier this time, now that he was familiar with the path. Though this was only his second visit to Air Temple Island, every detail from the first night was burned into his memory.

As he neared the top, the sound of a sniffle from above him made him freeze. He listened. A small sob. Someone was at the edge of the cliff, weeping.

Strafing along the rock, he changed his course to give him a wide berth. He noiselessly pulled himself above the crest of the cliff and rolled onto the grassy plateau, landing in a crouch.

The figure he had overheard was hunched near the edge of the cliff. Korra. He did a quick scan of the area for anyone who might overhear them, then paced toward her.

"Korra."

She whirled. Her brows dropped when she saw him, and she swabbed the tears from her face. "These aren't for your benefit, if you're wondering."

"I wasn't," he lied, certain she was lying as well. He closed the distance to stand beside her, staring across the bay. It was still early in the night, and dozens of boats were sailing into the port, their lights reflecting on the water.

She craned her neck to glare up at him. "I'm here because I wanted to be alone."

So she was still angry with him for the staged interrogation session; he had suspected as much. "I know it is not your way, choosing ambition over intimacy, and so it seems foreign to you, backwards," he said. "I struggle to balance the two, particularly when they are in direct conflict as they are with you and me."

There was no humour in her laugh. "Is that supposed to be an apology for the way you treated me last time we met? You're going to have to do better than that."

"I am not here to apologize. I am here to warn you."

She turned to look at him. "Warn me?"

He met her gaze. "Stay away tomorrow. This battle is between the Equalists and the police force; you and your group of friends have no place there. Should you appear, I cannot guarantee your safety."

"I can't promise that. You're going to get yourself killed if you don't have all the help you can get." Her head tilted. "Unless you've figured out a way to counteract bloodbending?"

Amon turned to look across the bay again. He could see the docks from here, where he would face his fate at noon. It was the best location they could find, strategically. A wooden surface, unbendable by the earthbending police force. Enough water around that Tarrlok might default to waterbending and they wouldn't have to worry about his bloodbending at all. Plenty of ships, the perfect hiding places for Sato's machines of war. With any luck, his forces would escape with few casualties.

Still, he could not shake the feeling that tomorrow was the day that he would become a martyr, and so the urge for closure was overwhelming.

"You asked me once for my true name, Avatar," he said. "It is Amon."

She squinted at him. "Your real name is Amon?"

"You sound disappointed."

"I suppose I figured that your true name would give me a hint about who you really are."

He sat beside her, folding his legs beneath him. "It might comfort you to understand that you know more of my true self than any other living soul." A cool breeze rippled past him, wafting her scent toward him, and his eyes slid closed for a moment to savour it. "My life has been a mission. It is only when I am with you that the mission recedes to the background and I remember myself."

He heard her long, low sigh. "Stop trying, Amon. I know how this plays out. You're going to weave words that make me fall head over heels for you again, only to betray me the instant you need to use me for your cause." She plucked violently at the grass before her, agitation written on her face.

Reaching out a hand to still hers, he locked eyes with her. "I have betrayed your trust."

"Yes, you have. What little of it you had in the first place."

"I wish to regain it. We hold many secrets about one another already, but there is one that I can give you that outweighs them all." His eyes searched hers, and his fingers curled around her hand. "I have never told anyone about my past – my real past. You wish to know it."

She tensed at the contact, but did not pull away. "Yes, I do. The real Amon, not the magical creature described in the propaganda."

"It is not a pleasant story."

"I expected as much."

His hand tightened around hers, drawing strength from her warmth, as he began to speak...

.*.*.*.

The first sign that something was wrong were the shouting voices outside the farmhouse. Amon crept through the kitchen toward the door and opened it a crack, peering through. His father's back was to the door, hugging the frame so closely that Amon could not see around him.

"Please, have mercy," said his father. "The rice was wiped out by the drought, and most of the money from the vegetables went to treating my infant daughter, who is very ill. My family is starving just to try to keep her alive."

"You know that your payment is now six months overdue," said a booming voice from in front of his father. "I know you got our last warning because I can see the scars on your hand."

His father's fist clenched, its surface still marred by red scars. Amon remembered mother rubbing salve on it, weeping.

"Amon," whispered his mother from behind him. "Come away from the door."

He turned. She was desperately rocking his sister, Zilla, trying to sooth her crying. Amon did not understand what was wrong with Zilla, but she cried nonstop, especially after his parents gave her a silver-coloured medicine from the doctor's vial each day. His young mind grasped that the medicine was all that was keeping her alive.

A strangled yell sounded outside the door, then a thump.

"Father!" Amon lunged for the doorknob.

"Amon, no!" His mother lay the babe in her crib and ran toward him, but the door was already swinging open.

His father lay on the ground, a steady stream of blood trickling from his nose. A plump man in a suit stood above him, his boot at his father's throat. He gave off an aura of evil, one that made the hair on Amon's neck stand on end. Behind him stood two other men in suits, hands braced and glowing with fire, ready to shoot.

"Get back in the house, Amon!" His mother gripped him by the shoulders, shoving him behind her. "Zoran!" She crouched beside his fallen father.

"Stay back, Otzana," grunted his father.

Amon peeked out from the door frame. Behind them, Zilla began to squall.

The evil man grinned. "Well, well. What a lovely lady of the house you have here, Zoran."

"Don't you touch her," said Amon's father, and his voice ended in a yell as the evil man pressed harder with his booted foot.

Amon's heart began to pound.

"Please." His mother stepped forward. "Release him. We can't pay you money, but I'll give you anything you want." Her voice trembled. "Anything."

"Otzana, don't!" begged his father from the ground.

A burning heat began to smoulder in Amon's chest, unlike any he had ever known. It was pure energy, pulsing inside him, aching to burst free.

"Tempting. Here, hold him." The evil man lifted his boot from his father's throat, and the two behind him rushed in to continue holding him captive. Reaching out a stubby, well-manicured hand, the evil man wrapped his fingers around Amon's mother's wrist. She stepped forward, her eyes downcast.

"Let go of her," howled his father, sitting up and trying to tug free of his captors.

The heat in Amon's chest swelled, choking him, rising, and suddenly he understood what it was.

The evil man's hand trailed up his mother's arm, and he pulled her forward, covering her mouth with his.

"Leave her alone!" screamed Amon, and instinct overtook him.

His hand thrust forward.

Fire erupted from his arm.

The evil man recoiled with a shriek, clutching at the side of his face. The stench of burnt flesh met Amon's nostrils. He gagged. His mother was staring at him, too shocked to move away even though she had been freed.

Howling, the evil man lurched forward. His face was blackened, blistering red flesh in the cracks. "So you think you're a firebender, you little brat? Let me show you what a real firebender can do!"

His mother jumped between them. "Please, don't hurt him. We had no idea he could do that. We didn't know. We would have kept him away from you-"

The man shoved his mother aside. His father yelled again, still captive.

Amon stared up at the evil man and jutted his jaw, standing his ground as the other approached. "Leave our family alone."

"You need to learn your place in the world, kid." Behind them, in the house, Zilla was still wailing. "Will someone shut up that damned baby?"

"Gladly." One of his father's captors stepped forward, flame sparking to life at his fingertips.

"Don't you touch her!" screamed his mother.

Time slowed.

His mother ran at the man to intercept him.

His father jerked free of his captor.

Amon howled. Flame exploded from his fist, larger this time, and slammed into the henchman. Engulfed him. The man shrieked, staggered, writhed, collapsed. Then his corpse lay smouldering, his shrill death scream still echoing in Amon's ears.

"Oh spirits, no," he heard his father say beside him.

"Leave none alive!" roared the evil man.

Pain blunted the back of Amon's head, and everything went dark.

.*.*.*.

He came to surrounded by smoke. Flames roared in his ears. A heavy arm was on top of him; he turned to see his father's face, eyes glazed, jaw twisted in a silent scream. With a shriek, Amon scrabbled back. His father's torso was burnt so badly that it was almost unrecognizable as human. He couldn't look away, his shocked young mind unable to comprehend what he was seeing. Still scrabbling backwards, his back slammed into a wall. He moved along it, desperate to get away from the corpse.

A scream. His mother. Coughing hard against the choking black smoke, Amon hurried in her direction, calling for her.

The smoke was thinner here, the window above her head providing some ventilation. She was trapped against a wall; burning wreckage was piled all around her. Zilla was in her arms, but the infant's eyes were as glazed as his father's.

"Amon," she screamed. "Go! Run away!" Her eyes snapped to the ceiling. Flames licked at the crossbeams, eating the wood. Any minute down, the one above her was going to drop.

"Mother!" Amon tugged at the wreckage, but it would not budge. "Mother, no!" His hands scrabbled at the wood, ignoring the flames. Tears streamed down his face, evaporating in the heat. He heard sobs – hers, or his, or both. Fire roared up his hands, eating away at his fingers, and though the pain was unbearable, he kept going, kept trying to free her, crying her name over and over.

"Go, Amon!" she pleaded. "Go!"

Above them, the roof began to groan.

Her eyes locked with his.

"Amon," she said. "I love you."

Then the crossbeam fell, and she was gone.

The ceiling, unsupported, began to cave in. Amon screamed and bolted, tripping over debris and falling onto his charred hands. He crawled forward, desperately clawing his way forward to escape the falling debris. The smoke was black here, too thick too see anything, and he slammed the remains of his hands against the wall, looking for the door.

Suddenly, it yawned open before him. He scrambled forward until the earth was cool, then collapsed. His stomach heaved, again and again, coughs and sobs and vomit choking him.

Booted feet appeared in his vision. Weakly, Amon lifted his head to see the evil man standing above him, a sneer on his half-charred face. He reached down and picked up Amon by the collar.

"You took my face, brat," he said, "so now I'm taking yours."

Fire engulfed Amon's face, and then there was nothingness.

.*.*.*.

Amon heard a soft voice, spoken but not, as if ringing in his ears.

"Awaken, little one."

He struggled to open his eyes, then realized with horror that his lids were fused shut. Pain ricocheted through his body. He could not stop his body from writhing, though that made the pain even worse.

A soft touch, barely a breath of air, trailed down his body. The pain began to abate.

"You are not allowed to leave yet. There is still much to be done." The voice was more real now, more solid. Amon tried to open his mouth to reply, but it, too, was fused shut. He arched, panicking.

"Shh." The wispy hand smoothed his face. He felt now as if he were bobbing in a pool of water, though he could feel no water against his skin.

"You have a great gift, little one." The wisp trailed his scalp, and the burning ache there abated. "You have bravery. Reflexes. Justice. Not many would survive what you just went through, and still you cling to life. You are a fighter, through and through. And with my help, you will grow to be a great leader, an unmatched warrior, and a beacon of justice."

The wisp slid across his back, and there, too, the burning cooled.

"Now you have seen the corruption that bending brings. Both theirs, and your own." Now the wisps began to prod points on his back, each one triggering a cold flood of relaxation through his body. "You have suffered plenty, young one, and I know you will never abuse your bending again. But there are others – many others – who know no such restraint. You are fated to bring balance."

The words were confusing, and Amon would have panicked if panic had been an option, but all he could feel was the cool calmness of the energies flowing through his body.

"You will need tools to fulfil your purpose," said the voice. "First, I give you back your ears."

The sides of his head tingled, and then he felt his ears grow, cartilage crackling and moulding into place. Sound rushed into his mind like wind.

"Ears to listen to the needs of the people, for you cannot act in their interest if you do not listen," said the voice, clearer than before, and now he heard an ethereal tinge to it, echoes and moans. "Second, I give you your mouth."

The wisp trailed across his face, and his lips separated and parted. Air rushed in across his tongue, cool and sweet.

"A mouth to house the silver tongue that you will discover as you grow, to recount your message, to bring others to your side. Third, your nose."

More air flowed into his body, and now he could smell the sweet, mossy air, fleshing out the taste that had already been forming on his tongue.

"Your nose is more important than you may think, for it is the key to controlling your breaths. Your breath will prove to be an invaluable tool as you master your energies, and it is the core of all the physical skills that you will master. Next, I give you your hands."

A rush of sensation flooded his hands as his fingers regrew, as smooth and flawless as they had been before the attack.

"While your breath is key to mastering your own energies, your hands are what will allow you to master the energy of others. This is how you will control them, little one. This is how you will bring balance. Next is your eyes."

The wisp trailed across his eyes, and he felt the swelling recede, his eyelids forming, hair sprouting on his lids and brows. He opened them, squinting against the light that rushed in. The world around him was hazy and grey, and a shadowy black figure loomed above him, its face indistinguishable.

"You will need these to see the injustices around you. Use them well. And lastly, little one, I give you your spirit."

A black strand of energy slid against his chest, and Amon seized as it pulsed through him. His heart lurched and the thready pulse grew into a strong, regular rhythm. The wounds in his lungs healed and his breaths became easy.

"My energies are a part of you now," said the spirit. "Your will is your own, but your mission is mine. You are now ready for your greater purpose."

Amon's mind was drowsy, and he blinked his eyes, trying to clear it. "You rescued me for a mission?"

"Indeed. You have a great fate awaiting you, a great responsibility."

Still too young to question authority in any form, he said, "What do you ask of me, spirit?"

The shadowy being bent closer. "Bending is out of balance, and it is vexing the spirits greatly. Humans have taken this gift to violent extremes – even you, little one, have used it to kill in rage. The inequality between those who can bend and those who cannot is growing ever deeper. You are to do whatever it takes to restore the balance."

"Like an Avatar?" asked Amon.

"No. The Avatar's life force is fading," said the spirit. "The imbalance is spiralling out of control, and he is too frail, too weak, to stop it. He will pass from this world very soon, and it will be many years until the next Avatar is powerful enough to correct the imbalance. And even the Avatar may not be brave enough to do what needs to be done. Even the Avatar can fall sway to the temptations of bending, can create inequality.

"But you, little one, you will keep bending in check. You are my solution." The wisp caressed his face. "And now, a gift."

A porcelain mask, plain white, appeared in the air before Amon. He reached out for it and gripped it. A shiver ran through him at the contact.

"This mask is our link," said the spirit. "It binds our energies. Keep it with you. Keep it safe. It is a part of you now, like me; it will grow and change as you do, as you take steps along the path to balance."

"I don't understand," said Amon, clutching the mask to his chest.

"Indeed. Your first step is to seek out those who do." The wisp pressed against his forehead. And so, little one, I give you your first step on your path to greatness.

Light flooded Amon's mind, and he saw a group of warriors battling benders, their jabbing fingers rendering the benders useless. A single flag was behind them, its inverted U-shape etching itself in his mind, before the light overcame him entirely.

When he awoke, he was in a hospital in Republic City. Though his arms bore scars, his hands were fully healed and, feeling his face, the places the spirit had healed were intact. Had it been real? Had his family been saved, too? He looked around, frantically searching for his mother, and tears began to spill down his singed face when he realized that she was not there.

It was only later that he realized that a white mask sat on his bedside table. A single red dot was in the centre of its forehead, exactly where the spirit had last touched him.

.*.*.*.

Amon's lids parted as he finished recounting the memory, and he blinked a few times to hold back the dampness gathering in his eyes. The bay of Republic City was foggy, its lights a hazy glow, and they slowly warmed the aching chill that had taken hold of his body. He turned to Korra.

"Amon..." Tears trailed down the Avatar's cheeks. "I'm so sorry, Amon. I knew you had suffered greatly, but I had no idea..." Her hands clasped over his, squeezing it tightly.

His eyes searched hers. It was difficult to hold his own tears back when she was crying so freely, but he had not cried since he was a child, and he was not about to start now.

"Are you human?" she whispered. "Or a spirit?"

"Like you, Avatar, I am a human who serves a higher purpose, and I carry supernatural gifts to aid me. Our goals are the same, but it is the methods of obtaining those goals that have set us at odds."

"Yin and yang." She looked down at their joined hands. "Water and fire."

"I am no bender," he said firmly.

A breeze trailed past them, chilly, and he tentatively leaned closer to her. Her cheek rested on his shoulder pad, and he closed his eyes.

"Why tell me all this?" she said.

"Partly, as I said, to regain your trust. But I must confess to feeling philosophical as of late." He rolled his head to rest on top of hers. "I've realized that I have no legacy but my image, and every aspect of that has been carefully manufactured to meet my goals. Who I am has been moulded and shaped into the Amon that the Equalists revere and benders fear. When I am gone, the true Amon evaporates, overwritten by my own lies. That offends my vanity." He let out a long, slow breath. "The Avatar spirit is an eternal collection of memories and truths: these memories live so long as the cycle continues. Through your memories, Korra, my true legacy will live on long after I am gone, a secret that will continue to whisper into the ages."

She suddenly jerked away from him, staring. "What do you mean, 'after I am gone?'"

He met her gaze, unflinching.

"You're planning to die tomorrow," she realized, her eyes widening.

He did not drop her gaze.

"Amon, answer me."

"I would like to avoid it, if I can," he said.

"Let me help you."

"No; it is not your fight." He smoothed the hair from her forehead.

She jerked away. "You think I'll let you do this?"

He held her gaze, keeping his voice calm. "What do you think will happen to the balance of the world if the only two living souls who can energybend are killed in battle? What if a monster like Tarrlok surfaces again – how will he be kept in check?"

In the distance, a ship's whistle blew. His eyes darted to the dock across the bay, and a wave of panic welled in his chest. He swallowed it back. A hero faced his destiny bravely.

Korra's eyes had been drawn to it as well. As if reading his thoughts, she said, "Do you ever tire of it, Amon? Of constantly living your life for greater purpose?"

"I have never allowed myself to consider it; there has been no time to second-guess. Every moment in my life has been geared toward fixing what is wrong with the world." He turned to her and corrected himself: "Almost every moment. There have been some distractions, as of late."

She gave a small, shy smile. This time when he reached out to smooth her hair, she didn't pull away.

Then, though the action made his heart twinge, he broke the contact and stood. He did not relish the thought of returning to his cold, lonely bed for a night of poor sleep and freshly-remembered memories.

Korra's smile faded. "You're leaving?"

"Yes."

"Wait." She stood as well. "You said you wanted your memory to live on through the Avatar, but there is a part of you I still don't know." Her hand slid along the jaw of his mask and she watched, as if waiting for permission.

His heart began to pound, but he did not stop her.

She eased his hood back, and then her fingers skated along the leather strap, finding the buckle.

"Are you okay with this?" she asked.

Was he? He felt himself nod, but his hands closed into fists.

The pressure on the straps released. She pulled the mask away, setting it gently on the grass beside them.

He looked down at her, his heart thudding in his throat, more naked and vulnerable than he had ever been.

Her eyes widened as they searched his face. Though he hadn't looked at his own face in years, he knew what she was seeing. A patchwork: healed skin where the spirit had touched him, interspersed with shiny, mottled scar tissue. He watched her, waiting for signs of revulsion, but even though she looked upset, her fingers gently reached for his face. They slid up his nose, across his brow, down his jawline and then up to his lips.

"Your bone structure is beautiful."

Beautiful? He swallowed against the lump in his throat.

"You have a proud nose," she said, tracing it. "High cheekbones. Sharp jaw."

"You are the first to see this face since I was a child." And, he realized, possibly the last.

"Then I am honoured." Her hand cupped his jaw. "Stay with me tonight, Amon. No more masks or darkness between us, no more conflicting ambitions. Just man and woman, vulnerable, honest. That is the memory of you that I want, the one that deserves to be remembered until the end of time."

Her hand was soft and gentle, and he discovered that he wanted nothing more than to sink into her arms and forget about his fate. He swallowed again and, not trusting his voice, he nodded.

She turned and stomped the earth, raising her hands above her head. A perfect wall rose around them, tall enough that he couldn't see over it. "This wall will protect us from the wind and from prying eyes, from everything that the past and the future has to bring."

There was a beautiful symmetry to passing their first and last nights as lovers in the embrace of earthen walls, thought Amon. He stepped closer to her and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her tightly against him as he bent to kiss her. Her hands gripped his jaw and smoothed back into his hair. He groaned loudly into her mouth, not bothering to stifle his pleasure, and his palms slid down her body and cupped beneath her rear to lift her. As he leaned her against the stone wall, her legs folded around his waist. He broke the kiss to drag his lips across her jaw to her ear, where he suckled at her earlobe. Her moans were hot against the flesh of his neck. She began to explore his skin as well, her tongue easing up his neck to his jaw, down to his chin, which she gently bit before trailing down his throat to the divot between his collarbones. His mouth lost its focus and he closed his eyes, pressing his forehead against the wall behind her as she licked out along his collarbone and then back again, up the other side of his neck this time.

"Your tongue feels so good..." It was the first time he had ever expressed appreciation during intimacy, and the honesty felt comfortable – especially when he heard her breath catch in response. Her mouth rose to his ear, puffs of air hot and moist against it.

Her voice rasped: "That's what I want, Amon. I want to savour every minute of every sensation I'm giving you." She lapped at his ear, and a shiver ran down his back and settled in his tailbone.

"How about that?" she asked. "Does that feel good?"

"Spirits, yes." His hands kneaded into her rear as she licked again, electricity shooting up and down his spine. "It's taking all my restraint not to thrust into you right now," he whispered, strained.

She pulled back to smile at him, evidently pleased by his admission.

"Here." She dropped her legs and nudged him back so that she could stand. Kissing him again, she began to unbutton his tunic. It melted from his body like water, puddling around his feet. Together they pulled off his bracers and undershirt, and then her mouth began to explore his chest and abdomen.

"Wait." The urge to feel her bare body against his was overwhelming. He caught her waist and lifted her upright, then lifted her shirt over her head. Once her upper body was bare, he gathered her close. Her head nestled beneath his chin. His hands ran up and down her back, rediscovering the soft skin and shapely muscles there. Pulling back, he bent over to kiss her shoulder, and then his mouth trailed down to her breasts. He took her nipple into his mouth and suckled it, gently at first, but then harder as she tossed her head back and raked her hands into his hair. His free hand moved down her abdomen and beneath the waistband of her pants, then undid them and slid them off her hips. He traced her hipbones down to her groin and back up again, and she cried out:

"Please, Amon. I need you to touch me."

A ripple of longing ran through his body. He dropped her nipple, then drifted down her stomach and between her legs. Breathing in her scent, he tasted her, and he delighted in her answering cry. One hand came to her lower back to hold her steady, and the other slid between her legs. Remembering diagrams in forbidden texts that he had studied with great interest in his curious teen years, his fingers sought to trigger sensitive erotic chi points. He knew he had hit one when she gave a shuddering moan and sagged against him. Pausing his work, he gently lowered her to the ground and crouched between her legs.

"Does it feel good, Korra?" he whispered, his fingers reclaiming their place between her legs.

She whimpered, and he felt her body quake. He knelt over her.

"I'm aching to be inside you," he said. "But first, I will to attend to you so that I can watch every spasm, every quiver of pleasure on your beautiful face." The honesty she had granted him was liberating: it added a whole new layer to their connection. He loved seeing the impact his words had on her, the sharp intakes of breath and slight pinch of her eyebrows.

Then his mouth pressed into her again. She panted his name; blood rushed to his groin at the sound. Her fingers twisted into his hair and she lifted her head, watching him with half-lidded eyes. He strained to comprehend the idea that she was watching his marred face and, by all appearances, found it pleasing. His free hand found hers and their fingers intertwined.

His name left her lips in a moan and her head tossed back, breaking their eye contact. Her hand twisted harder in his hair, the other tightening around his hand. He pressed her harder, faster...

She bucked beneath him and cried out again and again. He carried her through it, only stopping once she was still. Then, as she fell back to the grass, he crawled along her body and lay beside her. She rolled onto her side and buried her face in his chest, her arms wrapping around him.

"Sorry, I just need a second," she panted, her voice muffled.

His fingers slid along her spine, his mind patient and calm even though his body ached to continue.

"Okay," she said, and she lifted her head to nuzzle the underside of his jaw. "I'm ready." She gripped either side of his face and pulled him down for a long kiss before she began to move down his chest. Her hands and mouth began to explore his skin, the sensations so scattered and varied that he closed his eyes, breathing heavily through his mouth. Her tongue flicked a nipple and then began to rove down his abdomen. He tensed with anticipation, already remembering how good it had felt the last time she had attended to him.

Her fingers worked at the button of his pants, then pulled them off. She tried to unfasten the leather around his calves.

"Next time you come, just wear a bath towel," she grunted, struggling with the buckles.

With a soft laugh, he sat up to help her. She stopped to regard him.

"So that's what your smile looks like."

"I suppose you're the first person to see it since I was a child." He tugged one of the leather bindings free and set the cuff aside.

"It's much nicer than that smug smirk on your mask."

"Also much less permanent."

She arched a brow. "Was that- Did you just try to make a joke, Amon?"

"Maybe. Probably not a very good one. I'm a bit light-headed right now." The other cuff slid off.

"Understandable. I'm sorry to inform you that I'm planning to worsen that." She pulled the remainder of his clothes off and pressed him back to the grass.

Her lips had barely touched him when he shuddered. "Your mouth is so warm."

She hummed her approval and slid her hand along his thigh to his calf, then back up, spreading the warmth around his body like currents in water. The sensations were so strong that he had to stop watching her, squeezing his eyes shut to brace himself. Her mouth worked with the slow waves of pleasure, breaking contact just as each was about to crest, over and over. After several minutes, his hands clawed into the grass. His need for her was growing urgent, almost painful.

"Korra," he finally gasped. "I can't..." He couldn't find any more words.

She pulled away, looking a little pleased with herself as she kissed back along his body and found his lips. He raked his hand into her hair and tilted his head, hungry to taste her. Then he pressed his forehead against hers.

"I want to be inside you," he said, and he heard her sharp intake of breath.

"Please," she breathed.

He gripped her shoulder and gently rolled her, spooning behind her. She reached back to guide him, and as they joined, he felt a shudder ripple through her and into him. He wrapped his arms around her and began to kiss the back of her neck as they began to rock together. Their hands clasped together over her breast, squeezing the soft flesh, and all thought faded from Amon's mind. There was just her scent, her taste, her warmth, her hand in his... She began to moan in time with their movements, and he curled into her back, squeezing her as tightly as he could, desperate to become one with her.

Suddenly, she reached back and caught his hip to steady him. "I want to watch you." She broke away to roll onto her back, pulling him on top of her in one smooth movement.

He thrust into her and his hands rose to catch either side of her face. Her cheeks were flushed, glowing with a faint sheen of sweat; her eyes watched him with purpose, almost challenging him. He moved harder, faster. She held his gaze for a few seconds longer, but then her moans began to rise in pitch.

Then her face contorted, so beautiful and raw, and his control eroded entirely. He barely pulled out in time, his cries mingling with hers.

When the last pulse faded, he fell to the grass beside her, all four limbs tingling. Warm, drowsy contentment washed over him. He had just enough energy to find her hand with his before the fatigue pulled him under.

.*.*.*.

That night, Amon found himself once again looking upon his unnamed spirit saviour, its black, wispy form embracing him.

Little one, it breathed, I will not let bloodbending be your end. There is still much work to do, and your borrowed time has not expired.

A wisp smoothed the side of his mask, and then the dream faded.

.*.*.*.

Amon sat up. Korra shifted beside him, still sleeping. He bent down to softly kiss her temple; she gave a small moan, but did not wake. Gathering his clothing, he began to dress.

The night sky was still dark. If he left now, he would still be able to get a decent sleep before his showdown with Tarrlok. Amon lifted his mask to examine it, his dream still fresh on his mind. He had been so focused on becoming a martyr that he hadn't considered the alternative, and he wasn't sure how to process the hope that rose within him. He held the mask in his hand, unable to bring himself to buckle it in place just yet.

His first instinct was to climb over the wall and leave Korra to sleep, but if this was the last time he would see her, he wanted a proper goodbye. Kneeling beside her, he gently shook her awake.

"Amon?" Sitting up, she rubbed her eyes. "It's cold. Did we fall asleep?" She grabbed her clothes and quickly pulled on her shirt and pants.

"It's time for me to leave."

Her face fell, but she nodded. He held out a hand to help her up.

"Here," she said, and she braced her stance and thrust her hands at the ground. The earthen walls around them sank. Then she stood in front of him.

"Please be careful, Amon." She cupped his jaw. "I know you said that there is no happy ending for us, but let's try for one that is not too sad."

"They say that the same souls reincarnate together, lifetime after lifetime," he said quietly. "If we do not meet again in this lifetime, Korra, then I will meet you in the next."

He kissed her hard, pulling her close, and then stepped away. Their hands trailed until he was out of reach.

Buckling on his mask, he turned and then lowered himself over the cliff edge. Their eyes locked one last time. She stood with her hands folded tightly over her chest, shivering, the cold breeze scattering her hair and her clothes. His throat tightened, but he gave her a farewell nod.

Then he began his descent.

.*.*.*.

Amon gently shook his third awake. "Midori."

She sat bolt upright and, recognizing him, relaxed. "Amon." After a brief hesitation, she added, "Are you okay?"

"Yes." He sat in the seat beside her, ramrod-straight.

Her sidelong glance said that she didn't believe him. "If you need a moment-"

"I had a moment. It is time to prepare." His fingers curled into the armrest. "It is time for Tarrlok to be equalized."

.*.*.*.

To be continued in Chapter XI...