A/N: I'll be away for a bit, so I'm not sure how long it will be until the next update. No more than 2 weeks, but I'll try to get it up much sooner. Thanks for reading, and big hugs to the folks who are reviewing! :D

Previous chapter: Korra gets home from a pro-bending match to discover the pendant that Noatak sent her.

XXXV

Speech

Noatak opens the door to his hotel room and steps inside.

"This will do?" asks the captain with a grin, leaning against the doorway.

"Indeed. Thank you." In truth, it's one of the nicest rooms Noatak has ever set foot inside. The bed is wide enough that he could probably stretch out in any direction and still be perfectly comfortable, and there's a sunken tub in the corner of the room. If only he and Korra had been trapped in a room like this for their mission. It's a room that begs to have more than one occupant.

The captain tosses a key, which Noatak gracefully catches with his good hand.

"Go ahead and get settled, Saomik. Don't forget to come down to the bar at seven. The Avatar's giving a speech, so the first round of drinks is gonna be on the house. Second round is on me."

"I wouldn't miss it."

The door closes behind him, and Noatak stares absently at the wall. Even though the room is a good five times as large as his sleeping quarters on the ship, he feels the walls closing in on him.

He's familiar enough with speeches to know what Korra is likely doing right at this moment: pacing and flipping through cue cards, testing out different intonations, doing breathing exercises to keep anxiety and anticipation at bay. He wonders if she has a Kwan figure in her life, barking out orders to the behind-the-scenes participants, shielding her so that she can make any last-minute polish to her speech. Is she dressed in fancy garb and makeup, or in her usual ponytails and Water Tribe casual style? Does she have his pendant in her pocket, or did she toss it out the instant it arrived?

He tries to stop his thoughts there, but they wander ahead of him anyway: I wonder, even with everything on her mind, if she is thinking of me?

.*.*.*.

Korra sits in a chair, one hand holding cue cards, the other anxiously fiddling with the pendant around her neck.

"People of the world," she mutters. "People of the- Ow! Mom, be careful."
Her mother has hair pins pinched between her lips, so her voice is muffled: "Sorry, hon. Just need to make sure it holds."

Tarrlok is standing at the front of the stage, peering through the crack between the curtains. On the other side, Korra can hear the murmur of a crowd, and it sounds enormous.

"Are there are a lot of people, Tarrlok?" she asks.

He turns and nods. "Thousands."

"Thousands?" She closes her eyes. Stage fright is not natural for her - adrenaline usually fuels her confidence rather than saps it - so she has no idea how to cope. Spots dance in front of her eyelids, and she realizes she has forgotten to breathe. That seems like a good place to start. She breathes in through her nose, out through her mouth.

Tenzin returns from speaking with one of the photographers. "There, they'll hold off the flash bulbs until the question and answer portion of the speech." He stops short when his eyes lock onto her, and his voice softens. "How are you doing, Korra?"

"I feel like I'm going to throw up."

"You'll be fine. People will be very forgiving of you." He clears his throat. "Though I do still strongly recommend that you take out that section about your loss of bending."

"I can't just pretend I'm at full strength," she says. "I can't lie."

"No, but if you admit to weakness, you're opening yourself up to criticism or, worse, to an attack while you're still vulnerable. Don't forget that there are still Equalist sympathizers out there."

"He's right, Korra," says her mother quietly. "Part of the reason for giving this speech is to gain the political confidence of the people of the world. A good leader knows the difference between honesty and full disclosure."

She sighs and glances at Tarrlok for support.

"Listen," he says. "Strategy."

"Of course you wouldn't have any problems hiding information from the public," she mutters, folding her arms over her chest. "Fine. But if this comes back to bite me in the ass, I'm blaming all of you."

"I know you're nervous, but don't get snippy with the people who are trying to help you," Senna scolds gently. She does a final adjustment to Korra's hair, then says, "There. Done."

Korra hops down from the chair and hurries to the mirror, and her mouth hangs open. Her forehead is exposed; her bangs thread into a braid that encircles the crown of her head, which is held in place with tiny, silver, flower-shaped pins. Four thin braids branch off of it in loops, hanging almost to her shoulders. Her throat tightens. "I look like a princess."

"That's because you're my princess," says Senna, bending forward to give her a peck on the cheek, and Korra flushes.

"Mom, come on," she complains, trying not to show how touched she is, but her mother must read right through her, because she beams.

Standing tall, Korra examines herself. Her dress is a deep mahogany, with a stylish straight collar and a slightly flared cut that ends just below her knees. A swooping pattern of flowers and vines has been painstakingly embroidered along her left side in silver thread. Her sandals are flat, thankfully - there is no way she would have been able to balance in heels and focus on the speech at the same time. They reveal toes that have been painted with mahogany varnish. She feels unusually feminine and mature. Womanly.

Her fingers rise to the pendant at her throat, straightening it into place. It matches her outfit so perfectly that it's hard to believe Noatak wasn't secretly watching her preparations. Maybe he was, she thinks, even though she knows it's impossible. Maybe he'll be at the speech tonight, watching from the crowd.

"Two minutes until show time," says one of the City Hall assistants.

"Thanks." She turns to her mother and gives her a big hug. "Thanks for everything, Mom. Even if I flub my speech, at least you made sure I'll look beautiful doing it."

"You're always beautiful." Her mom squeezes her tightly, then steps back, beaming proudly. "I'm going to go find your father. We'll be cheering for you." She glances behind her. "Tarrlok, would you care to join us?"

He nods his thanks, then holds out a hand to Korra. "Good luck."

She clasps it. "Thanks."

Then it's just Korra and Tenzin.

"Want me to stay backstage with the cue cards?" asks Tenzin. "I'm sure you won't need it, but sometimes it's nice to know there's someone there to prompt you if you get stuck."

Her instinct is to refuse; her pride tells her that she should be able to handle this alone. If she's honest with herself, however, it really will be helpful to have him there for security. She's supposed to be learning to open herself up to the help of others, after all. "If you don't mind, I would really appreciate it. You can stand on stage beside me, if you like."

"I don't want to steal your spotlight."

"You won't. It's a radio broadcast, and I don't mind having you there in the newspaper photos. Your father was the founder of the legacy that I'm trying to uphold tonight, anyway."

He smiles, and she smiles back.

"One minute, Avatar Korra," says the assistant. "We'll bring you onstage thirty seconds before the broadcast goes live. Give the crowd time to cheer and then settle down."

"Thank you," says Korra, her stomach flipping.

Tenzin's hands clamp onto her shoulders. "You'll be fine, Korra. Just think of all the people who are cheering for you to succeed. Focus on the good energy they're sending you."

She feels it, and she feels that same energy radiating from the pendant around her neck.

I can do this. Everyone believes in me.

"Thirty seconds," says the assistant. "Come on out." He holds open the curtain for her.

With a deep breath in, then out, she steps onto the stage.

.*.*.*.

Noatak finds his shipmates already drinking at the bar, ten of them occupying two tables. He settles into an empty chair and holds up his ale to greet them, then takes a sip. It's been a long time since he had any alcohol, and he lets the foam trail along his tongue, savouring the bitter taste.

The bartender has set the radio on the bar, and it's cranked up. A lively, modern melody plays, filling the airtime until the speech begins. Noatak closes his eyes and envisions himself backstage with Korra, encouraging her before her speech the way Kwan used to encourage him: little jokes, fussing over her hair, encouraging words. Maybe he would even grab her hands in an impromptu dance to break her tension. He sees her spinning away from him, her laughter so boisterous that it drowns out the music, then spinning back in. He playfully taps her nose, but gets distracted, his fingertip trailing down to her soft lips. Her face is suddenly solemn, and she pulls him in for a kiss...

He feels a hand trails across his upper back, from one shoulder to the other.

"Saomik," greets Hassun, just arriving. With a final shoulder squeeze, he takes an empty seat beside him.

Noatak's teeth clench. The man's advances have been getting more blatant, and he still hasn't decided how to defuse the situation, or if he even wants to. He's certain the combination of privacy and alcohol provided by this little hotel getaway is only going to encourage Hassun to escalate.

Sure enough, he feels a hand drop onto his knee, under the table, where none of their shipmates will be able to see it. Noatak tenses, but doesn't pull away. It does feel nice to have some actual human contact. He didn't realize how dependent on contact he was until he was suddenly deprived of it. Mostly recently, of course, there was Korra, but before that, there was Tarrlok, the two of them huddling together against the chilly air in the prison. Spirits, how he misses both of them.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Hassun watching him, no doubt trying to gauge his reaction. He gives no response, keeping his face neutral.

The song on the radio ends, and a female announcer's voice cuts in, "I am down at City Hall, where, minutes from now, the Avatar will be making her first speech in more than a year..."

"Wonder what she has to say?" asks the captain.

"Probably some boring shit about a spiritual journey," says Bariq, a burly man who is one of Noatak's bunkmates.

"Come now," says Hassun. "I'm sure our esteemed Avatar is breaking her silence for something much more important than that. Wouldn't you say, Saomik?" His hand inches from knee to thigh. Noatak flounders for a composed response that will defend Korra without making him seem too familiar with her, but that hand has shattered his concentration.

He's saved by Solis, a woman whose fiery personality reminds him of Qing. "Who cares? I'm more interested in the fact that we're getting the signal this far away. Technology has come so far in the days since-"

"Technology! There you go again," interrupts Bariq. "You and your technology."

"It's more interesting than whatever spiritual crap she's been chasing down, isn't it?"

While other shipmates begin to chime in, Hassun's hand slips further to the inside, tracing along the inseam. The conversation fades from Noatak's attention as the warmth of arousal floods his veins, and he isn't sure he's comfortable with it. He glances sharply at Hassun, but the man only grins and leans closer.

"Do you like that, Saomik?"

Keeping his voice too low to be overheard, Noatak says, "There is a time and a place, and this is neither."

"It could be both. I could get you off right here." His breath is hot in Noatak's ear. "I can be very subtle. No one else would notice." His hand drifts higher to cup him.

Power struggles and risks are normally two major turn-ons for Noatak, but only in the context of respect, and it's clear by his pushiness that Hassun has none. His good hand darts out to grip Hassun's wrist, then tosses it aside. For good measure, he follows up with his most dangerous glare. The man wilts in his seat.

"Lovers' spat?" asks Solis, and that's when he notices that all eyes are on them. So much for subtlety.

"Lovers? Ha!" says Hassun bitterly. He wraps his arms around his chest and slumps. "This one's too in love with the Avatar to even give me a second glance."

"In love with the Avatar?" she repeats.

The entire table falls into a puzzled silence. Noatak wonders, with a hint of amusement, what aspect of the statement is puzzling them the most: the idea that an old, unremarkable man like him could be in love with such a vivacious young celebrity, or the fact that he might not be gay. He has been intentionally evasive about his personal life, allowing them to draw their own conclusions, and it's clear that whatever conclusions each individual has drawn, the idea of him being in love with the Avatar doesn't make sense.

Well, they aren't wrong about that.

He takes a sip of his ale, then calmly says, "You've had too much to drink, Hassun."

"Don't deny it." The man's eyes narrow, and his voice is getting too loud. "I saw you eyeballing that picture of the Avatar in the paper. Stroking her cheek. And you're sending her trinkets and letters. What sort of creep are you, obsessing over a celebrity half your age? You're practically stalking her."

"Shut your whine hole, Hassun," snaps the captain. "Go back to your room and rub one out if you're that sore about not feeling up my first mate. The speech is about to start." He rolls his eyes, clearly exasperated, and Noatak wonders if Hassun is going to find himself kicked off the ship. Maybe this little problem is going to sort itself out after all.

Wild applause sounds on the radio, and everyone in the room falls silent.

"The Avatar has arrived," the announcer says. "She looks majestic in a long burgundy gown, her hair done in intricate braids."

The urge to hold his breath is so strong that Noatak focuses on his breathing, keeping it slow, in and out. He watches out of the corner of his eye as Hassun stands and then staggers over to the bar. Let him sulk. He needs to learn his place.

The applause on the radio dies, and Noatak strains his ears until they ring, anticipating the sound of her voice for the first time in two months.

"People of the world, this is Avatar Korra."

Even though he thought he was prepared for it, the sound of her voice roots him to the chair. He stares at the radio, feeling past and present collide. This was his first introduction to her, six years ago. Back then, too, her voice made butterflies dance in his stomach, but only because she was both his end goal and his excuse to launch his attack. Her voice marked the execution of a plan years in the making.

This time, he's affected not because she's the Avatar, but because she's Korra. He feels like a child with a first crush, his emotions running away on him in ways that he can't comprehend. A full two months after their separation, he's even more in love with her than before. It makes no sense.

A cold sweat breaks out on his forehead. He lifts his glass to his lips and drains it.

.*.*.*.

"People of the world, this is Avatar Korra."

The audience goes wild with cheers, and Korra's eyes travel across the sea of people. The entire arena is packed; it's as full as one of Amon's Equalist rallies. Maybe even more so. The spotlights make it impossible to distinguish any faces in the crowd, but she knows her parents and her friends are out in the crowd cheering for her.

She clears her throat and begins to speak.

"I want to thank you for your patience during my long absence from the public eye. I feel I owe you an explanation. As you know, my dear friend Miss Asami Sato passed away last year. While I am your Avatar, I am also human, and the loss of a friend isn't easy for anyone to overcome. It has taken me some time to recover from the shock, the guilt and the grief over her passing.

"I am here today to tell you that I have taken the time I needed. I'm back, and I'm committed to bringing the world the peace and balance it desperately needs."

The crowd roars, and her confidence swells.

.*.*.*.

As Korra speaks, Noatak hangs on to every word, but more than understanding their meaning, he's analysing the lilt of her voice. She sounds poised and confident. There is the occasional inopportune intake of breath that suggests she's nervous, but overall, her oratory skills are riveting. Every single mouth in the tavern is closed, every pair of eyes focused on the radio.

Well, every pair of eyes but one. Hassun returns with two drinks in hand, and sets one in front of Noatak. "I never did buy you that drink," he mutters, not looking up. "And I figure I owe you. I got carried away."

Though Noatak is still annoyed, the gesture is kind enough that he nods and holds up the glass in thanks. He doesn't speak; he doesn't want to interrupt the steady stream of Korra's voice.

"Over the past several weeks, much of the Equalist machine has been dismantled," says Korra. "Credit for that goes to Chief Beifong and the Republic City Police. They have been working tirelessly to follow up on intel offered to them by...by a former member of the Equalists."Her voice cracks, and her pause after the sentence is too long, as if she's composing herself. Noatak's hand tightens around the glass until his knuckles turn white.

"I am here to tell you that while the brutal approach of the Equalists had to be stopped, non-bender inequality is still very real," she says, confidence returning to her voice, and his heart skips a beat. Is she following the advice he suggested in the letter, becoming a voice for non-benders? A part of him figured she might just cast his letters and the pendant aside, already moving on with her life. That she might have taken his words to heart...

He takes a long swallow of the drink from Hassun. There's an odd floral tang to the ale that is vaguely familiar, but he can't quite place it.

"When Avatar Aang built this city," continues Korra, "he intended it to be a place where benders and non-benders alike could live in harmony. This ideal has fallen out of balance. Bending gangs harass non-benders day after day, and there is still no non-bender representation on the Council. Many of our jobs and our celebrated forms of entertainment revolve around bending. Non-benders face prejudices and insurmountable obstacles at every turn.

"This imbalance cannot continue. Non-bender empowerment must take a new form. That's why I will be personally leading an inquest into the status of non-benders in Republic City, to identify both problems and solutions. It's a small start to what will become a worldwide movement to promote harmony and peace.

"As your Avatar, I represent all people, bender and non-bender alike. While benders will continue to have a voice in our society, non-benders, too, must be given voices. Our coexistence must be a balanced dialogue, where all voices are loud enough to be heard."

Noatak's head buzzes with pride. As a former public speaker himself, he admires her charisma. He feels a pull toward her words, thanks to her energy and enthusiasm. What's more, she has avoided using the words he appropriated for his propaganda - a clever way to distance herself from the Equalist movement while still pushing a similar agenda. He drains the rest of the drink, and feels a smile spread across his face.

Hassun is watching him intently.

Noatak glances at the man, but as his head moves, his world shifts. He's far too aware of the parallax of the objects in the room, and a white haze is forming in the fringes of his vision. I probably shouldn't have tossed back those drinks so quickly.

With the main body of the speech complete, Korra begins answering press questions. Most are inquiries about the specifics of her inquest, although a few are about her reaction to Miss Sato's death. Noatak's fingers curl into his palms as he hears her voice quiver.

"That's it?" says Bariq.

"It isn't over yet," says Noatak, still trying to listen.

"It isn't going to be any important information," says another of his shipmates, a broad man by the name of Lei. "She's just answering questions."

"It's interesting anyway." His mouth feels as if he's trying to speak around cotton balls. How strong were those drinks?

Solis gives a teasing grin. "Spirits, Hassun was right: Saomik really is in love with her. Look at him, hanging on to every word she says."

"Can't say I blame him." Bariq leers. "Any red-blooded male would want to get her into bed."

Noatak's gaze locks onto the man. "She is your Avatar. I suggest you watch your tone."

Instead of being intimidated, Bariq begins to laugh, and several of their shipmates join in.

"Knock it off," says the captain. "Like none of you assholes has ever had a little crush on a celebrity." Though the words are meant to help, their pedantic tone makes Noatak's blood boil even more.

"Oh, no sir, I was agreeing with him," says Bariq. He narrows his eyes at Noatak, as if challenging him. "Have you seen the tits on that woman?"

The words send Noatak spiralling into his memories. He remembers the weight of her breasts in his hands, the left just slightly heavier than the right. The way the areolas contract into ovals in the cold, the faint smattering of hair around them standing on end. He remembers the two freckles on the top of the right breast, the fading scratch near the bottom of her left, the indents left on her skin by her bra. In his mind, he is still tracing those indents, feeling them slide across the pads of his fingers. And her cleavage, that perfect amalgamation of bone, flesh and muscle, that mind-numbing scent...

They are beautiful breasts, and they are hers, and this boorish man has no right to reduce their complexity to tits.

He stands. The floor tilts beneath him, but he adjusts his balance and throws his shoulders back. "Bariq-" he begins, but then he hears a snippet of a reporter's question from the radio:

"-necklace. Are you engaged?"

His head snaps toward the radio, his heart beating in his throat. Is that referring to the pendant I sent her, or did Officer Mako propose to her?

"Well? Bariq, what?" says Bariq, his voice drowning out Korra's response. "I dare you to finish that sentence. You going to order me around again, First Mate Saomik?" He cracks his knuckles. "You know, I've been on this ship a lot longer than you, so I really resent you acting so big and mighty."

"I said, knock it off," says the captain, but he doesn't appear to be interested in standing up to intervene, returning to his beer instead.

Ignoring him, Bariq stands and circles the table, planting himself a foot away from Noatak. "You may be the first mate, but I'm the better man. I can drop you in seconds, old-timer."

"You don't want to fight me," growls Noatak.

Bariq grins, then throws a punch.

Easily dodging in spite of his body's growing sluggishness, Noatak spins to his back and drives his fist at the man's shoulder blade, one knuckle subtly extended to trigger a chi point. As the fist connects, Bariq howls in pain.

"You don't want to fight me," repeats Noatak through clenched teeth, but he's struggling to compose himself. Coloured patterns are appearing in the corners of his vision, and a high-pitched whine sounds in his ears.

"Both of you will cease this immediately," barks the captain, standing.

Ignoring him, Bariq yells and charges, arm extended in a clothesline. Noatak ducks beneath it and drives his fingertips into a chi point on the lower back as the man stumbles past.

A table of wide eyes stare at Noatak, and he breaks into a cold sweat. Showing too much skill. Can't draw attention. The thoughts are confused, crashing to the forefront of his mind and then receding like waves.

Turning to face Bariq, he braces himself, preparing to take a punch. He purposefully makes his next dodge sloppy. A fist connects with his abdomen with more force than he expected, and he doubles over, stars sparking in front of his eyes. An elbow between his shoulder blades drops him.

"Shit, Bariq, go easier on him," says Solis' voice in the background.

Too dizzy to stand, and still winded, Noatak lays on the ground, blinking furiously to try to clear his fogging vision. Leather boots step into his line of sight, and in his confusion, he wonders, Korra?

"Lay off him, Bariq," barks Hassun. There's some shouting and scuffling, then a hand extends into Noatak's view.

"Thanks." Noatak accepts it and stands, wobbling.

"You okay?" says Hassun, his brows pinched with concern. "You don't look so good."

"I think...I..." His knee gives out on him, and he almost falls, but Hassun catches his arm. Blinking, Noatak looks around for Korra. He saw her boots, he's sure of it, and her voice, he heard her voice...

"Maybe you should go lie down," says Hassun. "Need me to help you?"

Noatak's lips feel too numb to respond; he clumsily shoves Hassun away and begins to stagger toward his room.

There are yells behind him, and echoes, but he can't tell which are real and which are only in his mind. His good hand trails the wall to help him stay upright. His vision is doubled, and his pulse feels too quick; blood is pooling in his groin.

He's vaguely aware that this isn't right, that this isn't typical drunkenness, but the thought keeps skirting just shy of his consciousness. Whenever he manages to focus on the thought, it slips free before he can parse it into words.

He staggers into the room and slams the door behind him, then falls face-first onto the bed. Korra's voice echoes through his mind, and he can't stop picturing her on stage, so competently addressing her people.

Oh spirits, he wishes he were there. He wishes he could hold out a hand to her to help her down the stairs and catch her in a kiss at the bottom of them. They could celebrate with a bottle of wine. He imagines drizzling the wine down her naked abdomen, lapping it with his tongue, and a low groan sounds in his throat.

He rolls onto his back and forces his hand beneath his waistband. Another groan escapes his lips, and he slams his bad hand into a pillow, clumsily gripping it and shoving it into his face. The pillowcase is so soft against his nose and his cheeks, so soft, and suddenly it's not a pillow at all, it's Korra, she's sitting on top of him, he kisses her, running his tongue along the softness...

He yells into the pillow, writhing, as a surge of hormones pulls him under.

Lifting the pillow off his face, he gasps for air, his body relaxing into the bed. When he opens his eyes, the room is spinning.

Again, he thinks, and he rolls onto his front, centring himself on top of the pillow. His mind is an array of flashing images of Korra, saturated and colourful. He goes under again, and this time his entire body shudders. The bed still seems to be vibrating when he's done.

This isn't right...something is wrong...clean up and go for help.

He tries to walk to the bathroom, repeating the phrase over and over in his mind: clean up and go for help, clean up and go for help, help up and clean for Korra... He sinks to his knees. The floor is shuddering violently, as if there's a giant motor underneath it. Come on, Noatak, pull it together, Noatak, Noatak. Is that his name? It doesn't feel right. Noatak, Kanno, Amon, Saomik...none of them are right, none of them are him.

Somehow, he makes it to the sink. He shakily pulls himself to his feet and washes his hands. His reflection is doubled and hazy, and at first he thinks the mirror is dirty, but then he looks down at his hands and sees the same effect. And spirits, his body is still so aroused. It hurts.

He doesn't realize he has fallen until he feels the cold tile floor on his side. Running water is beginning to overflow the sink, but he can't control himself well enough to stand and reach the tap. Instead, he lies flat on his back, his hand drifting between his legs, instinct driving him to release the building pressure.

"Didn't your mother ever tell you that would make you go blind?" says a voice, echoing through the tiny room. Noatak lifts his head and sees Hassun standing at his feet, arms folded over his chest. The lines of his body are jittering, and a bright palette of colours slides across his skin.

Noatak tries to ask for help, but it comes out as a pained gasp.

"I do apologize, Saomik." Hassun squats, looking down at him with pity. "I was expecting such a high dose to take you down more cleanly, but it seems you've got some sort of lingering tolerance. This isn't your first time on spiritbrush, is it?"

"Spiritbrush?" It's difficult to follow the words, and that one is familiar, but Noatak is too stupefied to place it. He struggles to sit up; the man catches his arm and helps him to a seat.

"I knew you were an alcoholic, Saomik, but a druggie as well? And a pretty heavy user, I would guess, if you're still tolerant after so many years. Tsk."

None of this is making sense. Noatak pinches the bridge of his nose and tries to force his brain into sobriety. "No, that's not... You drugged me?"

"Make no mistake, Saomik. I won't do anything unsavoury. You're hot as hell, sure, and it's a shame I never got the chance to fuck you before it came to this, but I'm not an animal." Hassun hauls him to his feet with one hand and turns off the water tap with his other. "I just needed to make you easier to transport."

"Transport?"

Hassun smirks. "You poor idiot. Thinking you were so clever, that no one would catch on." His lips tickle Noatak's ear as he rumbles, "Amon."

Every muscle in Noatak's body tenses. He's in no condition to bluff, so he slurs, "What do you want?" Darkness is closing in on him, and he fights to stay in control.

"We're going to take a little drive."

"Where?"

"I don't want to spoil the surprise."

"Won't...leave..."

"Of course you will. I'll be patient." Hassun steers him toward the bed and forces him to a seat. "Once the drug kicks in, you'll be perfectly compliant."

Noatak closes his eyes, trying to centre himself, even as fractals dance on his eyelids. Focus. Fight this. Fight this...

It's his last thought before the drug takes hold.