Disclaimer: Disclaim, disclaim, disclaim.
Author's Notes:
2/3/13.As you'll see, the last installment (and this is how we fall apart) is actually the last "big" piece of this story. From here on out, things will start to... change. You'll see what I mean. (Only two more installments to go!)

MUSICAL INSPIRATION: Perhaps a bit obvious, but: "Set Fire to the Third Bar" by Snow Patrol. (Though I literally just listened to "The Rally" from the Legend of Korra soundtrack on repeat for the entire thing, as well as "Who Are You, Really?" by Mikky Ekko.)

(And I hate that I keep doing this to myself, but someone suggested the Mikky Ekko song for Personal Record and I am obsessed with it, but I cannot remember who gave it to me because tumblr is stupid and doesn't save sent messages and I can't remember where I wrote down the url name... I am so sorry! If you were the one who recc'd it to me, please send me another message!)

Beta'd by the glorious ebonyquill.


the wreckage

running away


"A drink for the road?"

Tahno pauses.

When he looks back at the bar, Narook is leaning against the doorframe, the one leading to the kitchens. He isn't supposed to be awake yet—the restaurant doesn't open for another couple of hours—but here he is, anyway, resting against the wood and holding out a glass of water. Half-full or half-empty? Tahno thinks, with a mind as blank and numb as white noise.

He almost refuses.

But then he slides into a seat at the bar and drops his pack to the floor, close enough to be within easy reach. The late-night radio show host is marveling at the final appearance of a great, big snowfall, and it's probably too early to go to the station, anyway.

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"Just one."

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It's dark.

The sounds of Tarrlok's footsteps have grown faint, have finally disappeared, and it's dark, it's dark and—

—this shouldn't bother her, it shouldn't, but she can feel the panic vibrating all the way through her lungs, and soon her breathing is in such a frenzy that even a puff of fire is too much for her to conjure. Her thoughts are—her thoughts are—her thoughts are nothing but panic panic panic panic—and her head is swimming, and the steel walls are closing in around her, suffocating, and this—this is fear—this tightness in her chest, these claws constricting, tightening, piercing into her lungs, they are making it near impossible to plan, let alone think, let alone meditate, let alone call upon her past for help, let alone—left alone—let alone alone alone alone alonealonealone

Aang! her minds spits, as she lets out a blood curdling scream, and fire erupts from her lungs. Aang! Answer me!

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Where are you?

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Aang!

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Aang!

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But there is no answer.

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Hope you got enough beauty rest... C'mon, I'm busting you out.

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The kiss should have been her first clue, Asami thinks.

(But then again, his arms always had been a little stiff when he'd held her.)

"No... No, she can't be gone," he whispered—

—and that, Asami decides later, is where everything truly started to fall apart.

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"Somebody!" Korra calls, pounding a pulsing fist into the steel, and ignoring the jolt of pain that reverberates through her rattling bones. "Help! Please!"

It's late—no, it's early—Yue help her, she can't even tell anymore, she has nothing to compare the passing minutes to, nothing but the never-ending blackness as it's absorbed into her restless eyes. In her terror, visions begin to cascade before her—blood moon, blue eyes, brown and weathered skin, and a promise me, Korra, promise me that you will not—but the steel is solid, relentless in its unwavering strength before her—she cannot—where it seems to be sucking the very air—she can't, she can't try, she promised Katara!—from her lungs and—Aang! she cries into her hopeless silence, and gasps a broken breath. Where are you! she screams.Why haven't you come? I need you. I need you!

(Why haven't you come?)

The air is thick as it crawls inside her, what little she can manage, that is, what little doesn't suffocate her, and it scrapes along the inner walls of her nose and throat as it struggles to find its way down into her lungs. I need you, she pleads, Aang, I need you. The air escapes through her panting breaths just as easily as her universe falls down around her, and it eludes her even now, all of it, just as much as it ever has.

"Please," she cries into the silence, and feels the air slip right through her fingers.

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But then—
she breathes.

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I urge you to meditate on these visions;
I believe Aang's spirit is trying to tell you something.

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She breathes in—


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Nothing... I mean...
There was this one time during the tournament when Mako and Korra kissed, but—

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Avatar Korra—where are you keeping her?

It's not a kind of fear that he's used to.

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And it's here

that Mako's world

finally—

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flips.

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I'll ask you one more time!
Where. Is. She?


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"Aang."

Korra gasps herself awake. This is it. This is what he's been trying to tell me all along, this is—

—not going to help her escape.

I've gotta get out of here, she blinks, coming to her senses. She doesn't know what she's supposed to do with the information that Aang has revealed to her, but she has it for a reason, and she sure as hell isn't going to be using it to its fullest potential in this box. She glances upward, feeling the world settle firmly around her again, feels the metal ringing beneath her, grounding her, as she looks to the window in her cage. I've gotta get this to Tenzin, she thinks, knowing that he will help her find a way to find the answers. Maybe he already knows? it occurs to her. How long have I been in here? How long was I out for? What—what time is it? Has anyone realized that I'm missing? Do they—do they know what Tarrlok is? What if no one comes for me? Or what if—what if someone does? If they don't know he's a bloodbender and they go after him—what if they have no idea? What if no one has any idea and I'm the one that has to expose him? Does anyone know that I'm gone? That I haven't come back? That—

Her head pitches forward and her eyes squeeze shut, a pair of gray eyes staring back at her—

No, she hisses. No. Don't think like that. Don't think about anyone. Just focus on getting out of this box. Escape. Escape. A floorboard creaks from above. Now, Korra. The footfalls are heavy, leaden with anger and danger and burdened with dread; her heart hammers in her chest. Assess, she thinks, calculating the time and space that she does and does not have; act, she glares, determination hardening in its shell; her name floats down from above, coarse and rough and laden with desperate despair, and she remembers—

fly.

Korra has never been the kind of girl to think; she acts.

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Tarrlok's voice rings out in the echo of her prison, drowning out all other thoughts,

but in the little space that she allows for him in her mind, she hopes

that Tahno is already far away—and safe—on a

one-way train,

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long

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gone.

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You two, keep an eye on them.

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"Oh, no," she whispers darkly, feeling the energy crackle in her palm. There might have been blood running down her left cheek; her jaw was still throbbing. "You're not going anywhere."

Asami almost turns and calls over the earthbender brother to follow her, but Bolin's busy with an Equalist of his own, and her special friend has already got too much of a head start. Not how we play in my book. Lucky for her, the tunnel is a mostly straight stretch, and is well-lit enough that she can see his every move as they delve deeper into the underground. She smirks, powering up her chi-blocker's charge, feeling her fingertips go numb as it thrums through her veins. Nowhere to run, you coward. And look at you—you're not even trying to fight back.

She gasps as he ducks into a small crevice in the wall, slipping from her line of vision completely. A part of her mind registers that this is potentially stupid, to follow this guy alone, to some unknown place where he could have reinforcements waiting, but I can handle myself hisses through her mind with a vengeance—and she is the loyalist's fucking daughter, is she not?—and hell, what are they going to do?

Take away my bending?

Her eyes narrow as she thrusts herself down the narrow side corridor where he'd taken off, her heels following the heavy sounds of his as she gains more ground, electricity spiked and ready in her palm, with its terrifying streaks of lightning blue lighting her way—

Too slow, she smirks, and lets her mind run jagged. Her arm raises as she runs, with blank, focused thoughts calculating the pathways to his weakest points; she's already preparing for a quick end. This guy must be amateur, the way he's running, but he's fast; too bad it's not fast enough.

Practically upon him, so close, Asami rears back—

She thrusts forward, fully expecting to feel the quick rush of soft flesh reacting, reverberating to her touch; to see the muscles seize up as the currents coursed through them; to feel the static in the air as she held on tight—

But the Equalist has her chi-blocker in his own electrical grasp, a storm of blue lightning exploding in their holds, effectively neutralizing the effects from either of them. Figures, she silently snarls, recognizing the irony with a bitter twist of her smiling lips. Just another safety feature she never thought she'd need. Her father is a practical man, after all; perhaps he had always known that his weapons would somehow get into the wrong hands.

He'd just never thought it'd be hers.

Asami's elbow connects with one side of the mask, but the slippery bastard is fast and she only just nicks his cheek. She quickly rectifies this with a kick to his stomach; her range of motion is limited, but there is a grunt from the side, a sharp curse of pain, and she delights in the sound. She allows herself a small smirk as she swings her weight, eyes gleaming with the soon-to-be-satisfaction of collision, knowing that he's already dazed and that her speed has been underestimated—her advantage, his undoing. One of the macho ones, is it? she pegs, sending her left hook flying.

"Fucking hell, Sato, it's me!"

He dodges it, but only because she fumbles. There is a glitch in her movements, a break where there should be flow, and her punch lands closer to his throat than his temple. She won't complain about the damage, but this is quickly becoming dangerous. This Equalist is becoming a person in her eyes, a human with a voice, and she doesn't want to think about such things, she doesn't want to see the face behind the mask because then that might make it real, this impossible truth about her father's loyalties, about who these Equalists, who these non-benders are, who she is supposed to be—

He's trying to speak again, to take off his mask, when—

I don't know you, her mind spits, as she clocks the masked crusader along his jaw. She hears the sickening crunch of skull against stone as his head snaps back, but the satisfaction is gone; she feels empty, unfamiliar, like she has just said goodbye, like she has watched her tiny world burn. You are no one, she seethes, as she aims another blow at his chin, and knows that she's split his lip this time, at least. Her free fist rains down. I don't know you. I don't know you.

I don't know you.

And in the space of a single breath, she's slammed against the wall, and that speck of air leaves nothing left in her lungs. Her bare hand is flat against the tunnel rock, her knees are trapped under his weight, and it occurs to Asami then, with her air constricted and her head light, that this could get very, very ugly.

Is this how far my father is willing to go to avenge my mother? she thinks with a dark, bitter laugh. It does not sound like her voice. Asami sees nothing but yellow—sickly and shiny and grim—the disgusting windows to a pair of eyes she has no reason to believe actually see what is before them, and for a moment, she wants nothing more than to spit in this masked man's face.

How far would my father be willing to go to avenge me?

"For fuck's sake, Sato," comes a raspy voice from within. Her eyes narrow. The mask's fabric has distorted the voice only slightly, but it is winded and short. Asami does not recognize it, does not want to, does not want to think of which engineer or secretary or trusted confidant it is behind the mask this time, always full of lies and hatred and ignorance, but there is a dark cadence there that she almost remembers, like one from a long-lost lifetime she used to know.

She looks down. His weight is upon her, pinning her in place, but it is a defensive stance she sees now, rather than a aggressive one. Their chi-blockers are still intertwined, and from another angle—perhaps in another world—it might almost have appeared as if they were holding hands.

His yellow, cavernous lenses are level with hers, and then something slips and they fold, and his bruised face is bared before her.

His eyes are gray.

"You've only attended like every fucking match I've ever fought in," he scoffs, then turns just a fraction to the side to spit out blood. "But I guess we fallen-benders are entitled to that kind of forgetfulness."

No.

No, but—

"Tahno?" Asami's hissed voice spreads into the dark, shock and fury rolling into two desperate syllables. "Of the Wolfbats?"

He eyes her for a moment, and then, after coming to some split-second conclusion that—apparently—tells him he is safe, Tahno releases his hold and steps back, letting her fall to the ground as he watches; he is still careful, however, to remove himself from her line of immediate attack. Smart, she thinks, coughing out the strands of hair that have fallen into her mouth. Smart as ever, she thinks, because she isn't entirely sure if she's as convinced about his trust in her as he is; his hands have dropped low, but her guard remains high.

The once-bender grimaces, gingerly pressing his wrist to the blood running over his lip, stemming the flow. "You got it," he glares hatefully, and his dark, slick smile shows blood seeping through his teeth. He sucks them clean. "The one and only."

Asami's heart has just—stopped—has just accelerated beyond her control, because it's clear to her now, that this is Tahno standing in front of her, Tahno, waterbending Captain of the White Falls Wolfbats, fallen bender, fallen man, standing tall in an Equalist uniform with his right hand armored with signature Equalist lightning, nursing a bleeding lip that she gave him and—

"What... what in the hell?"

His eyes are harsh and impatient, and his whole face is a mess, but that's her doing, isn't it, that was all her

"Look," he spits, but there is a new quality to his voice, something conciliatory, something urgent. "There's not enough time to explain—"

"What are you doing here?" she demands, heedless of his words, and her voice can no longer contain the confusion and desperation she feels coursing through her blood because her whole world is falling apart around her, because none of this making any sense, with this and Mako and—and her father

"What are you doing in an Equalist uniform—and with a chi-blocker—how did youhow did you—"

"The Avatar's not here," Tahno cuts in, quickly turning to spit out another batch of blood; Asami winces as he coughs some of it down.

"What?"

"She never was. You've been misled."

"What?" Asami whispers again, as his words sink in. "But—but who else would have—"

"Don't know," Tahno said quickly, quiet and low. "And no one's exactly talkin' either, but if you want any chance of finding her, your best bet is on the surface." His eyes glance from side to side, taking stock of the surrounding sounds. Asami is still processing, still losing her mind, when a jerky movement catches her attention and her eyes snap from the metal grates below to the man towering over her. He is trying to scrape the wet, hot blood off of his cheek.

"Oh, god," Asami whispers, as it all comes crashing down. "This is really happening."

"Whoa—hey," he halts, fingers freezing over his blood. When she doesn't look up, when she begins to sag against the wall, his hands snake out, holding her still. His metal glove is cold through the fabric along her skin. "Hey," he repeats, giving her a gentle shake. "Not now, okay? Now is not the time to have a moment."

His eyes grow alarmed as she laughs quietly beneath her breath, but she can't bring herself to care, because all she wants to know, all she's wanted to know for days is—

Then when is?

"Sato, look at me. Look at me."

She does.

(And she really did do a number on him, didn't she?)

"It's gonna be okay, all right? Just—just get your shit together and get back to the others so you can get the hell out of here and make it back above ground, before you get yourselves into real trouble."

Asami swallows, then nods, feeling that old familiar calm settle back in. Not now, she thinks, with that same kind of hollow autopilot back at the wheel. Not now. It's not about me, she reminds herself, staring into Tahno's wary eyes. Not me. Not my problems. Not now. Not now.

"But what about you?"

Tahno blinks, surprised. Hastily, he lets go of her arms, all but dropping her against the wall; Asami catches herself, but she stumbles. By the time she looks back up, Tahno is righting the mask in his hands, and his expression is so familiar—so much a part of that old lifetime—that it sends chills down her spine. He smirks at her.

"Don't worry about me, heiress... You just get yourself back up on top with your little rodent boyfriend, before he ends up doing anything stupid."


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When she is on the edge of escape, with eyes and limbs locked—on Amon

she is frozen,

and her mind whispers—Run.

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Run, Korra.

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It takes her a moment to realize that the voice is not her own;

it is but a memory.

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The voice, she realizes—

is Tahno's.

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Run, Korra.

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You have to know when to run.

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So she does.

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NEXT INSTALLMENT:

Arc V: the wreckagein pieces