Korra's fever did not break for two full days. Amon kept her near the fire, with the folds of his outer robes bunched beneath her head to cushion it from the hard ground. Once or twice, he risked leaving her to catch some game to roast over the fire. Korra remained motionless beside the flames, occasionally tossing and turning, moaning in her fitful sleep. Sweat glistened on her brow and across her upper lip. Her hands clenched and unclenched at her sides. Occasionally Amon caught the whispered name of "Tenzin" or "Mako". Her airbending teacher and that young firebender she played with in the pro-bending arena.

The problem was, in her weakened and near-comatose state, the Avatar wouldn't accept any food. He'd considered force-feeding her, but he figured she might choke herself to death before she got any nutrients. He'd have to wait until she recovered. He hoped that would be soon; he didn't want her wasting away in this pathetic state before their ultimate face-off. That wouldn't be good for the image of his revolution.

Korra cried out in her sleep again, the cry strangled and panicked. Amon glanced over at her. She'd curled herself into a ball again, and her breath came in straining pants. A bead of sweat trickled down her temple.

"Mom," she whimpered. "I got—I've got to…"

She trailed off, fisting her hands in the dirt of the cave floor. An agonized, wordless whimper rocked her body.

"I can't," she cried. "He's going—going to take my—bending…"

Amon froze. The girl's whole body was trembling, and teeth were gritted. Her ragged pants filled the cave, filled with a raw terror he'd never seen before. Just a few days before, her fear would have enthralled him. But now, as he came to the realization that he was the center of her nightmares, he couldn't feel anything aside from guilt.

Moving to kneel by her side, and not knowing what else to do, Amon rested the back of his hand against her cheek, hoping that a human touch would calm her. His instinct proved true. Korra took a slow, shuddering breath, and her rigid shoulders relaxed into the ground. Her contorted face became peaceful, and her whimpers died away into exhausted sighs. He gently smoothed his hand across her cheek, momentarily distracted by how soft it was. His fingertips trailed down her neck, across her chin, to the edge of her mouth. A frown formed on his own brow. He'd grasped this very same jaw while threatening her on Avatar Aang Memorial Island. He'd taken her chin in one rough hand and deliberately scared the daylight out of her, then left her abandoned, alone with her fear, on the cold stone floor of the temple. For the second time that day, a twinge of guilt rose in his chest. What kind of monster was he, that would take it upon himself to make this girl's days—and nights—a living hell?

He had to shake himself. He jerked his hand back from her. This was the Avatar, not some ordinary girl. Korra was his greatest enemy, the bane of his existence, the very opposite of everything he stood for. Her greatest power lay in her ability to pervert the elements, to bend nature's forces to her will. Her very existence was an abomination. He couldn't allow himself to think of her as a human being, with feelings. She was a title, not a face. An image, not a warm, very human, girl.

But as he gazed down at her still, helpless form, he could not bring himself to separate the oppressive title from this simple…beautiful…creature. He let his eyes trace her features. The subtle upturn of her nose, the thick dark lashes rimming her eyes. The way her dark locks of hair curled at the ends, framing her face. Her soft, full mouth. She was beautiful, there was no doubt about that. How many years had she? Eighteen, nineteen? Far too young to shoulder the heavy burden of the spirits. Her arms were dark and toned, strong from years of training. The work of the White Lotus. He remembered what she'd said to him, the night before, about her days with the elite Avatar-training group. She'd only been able to see her sister once in a span of years. How the title of the Avatar had taken over her life. Most young Avatars were chosen at age sixteen, then fitted and readied for their lifetime of training and enhancing their powers. But Amon had heard that Korra had been taken from her home at a far earlier age, before she'd even left the tender years of childhood. Against his will, he felt a soft pang of sympathy for her. He could relate. Yakone had destroyed both he and his brother's childhood, whipping them into shape to be the greatest benders in the world. Amon shook his head, a soft chuckle rumbling from his chest.

If only his father could see him now.

Korra stirred, just slightly. But it was not the thrashing or whimpering of her nightmares. A low moan slid from her lips, and her eyelids scrunched together, then slowly opened. Her blue eyes, misty and still filled with fever, roved the cave. They came to rest on him. With a raspy squeak, she jerked back.

"It's all right," he assured, resting a hand on her shoulder. "I'm not here to hurt you."

"A… Amon…"

"Shhh. You've been sick. Here." He turned, reached out to snag the roasting mink-cat he'd spitted over the fire. Slowly peeling a small, tender strip off the bone, he lifted the meat to her lips. Her tongue shot out, gliding over her teeth. Her eyes met him, uncertainty filling them.

"It's all right," he repeated. Reaching forward, he slid a forearm beneath her head, propping her up so she could take the food. "You haven't eaten in two days. Take it slow."

Korra reached up a trembling hand and took the food, chewing it with a quaking jaw. She looked up at him again, the question evident in her eyes, but he already had another piece for her, pressing it into her hand.

"Th—thank you…" she rasped. She ate the meat, a bit at a time. Then, even though it was clear she wanted more, Amon laid her head back down.

"Not too much at once. Let your stomach settle."

Korra nodded. A flicker of pain danced across her brow. "What happened?" she whispered.

"I don't know. I think you had too much exposure." Amon touched his palm against her cheek, feeling her temperature. It was considerably cooler. "Your fever's dropped a little. But you're still dehydrated. Here, try to drink."

He raised his own water canteen to her lips, accidently slopping a little over her jaw. Korra sputtered for a moment, then guzzled the water with a greedy intensity. After she'd drained nearly half the canteen, Amon pulled back, re-stopping the lid. Korra's eyes fluttered closed once more. She took a slow, shuddering breath. When she opened her eyes again, the blue depths were full of confusion and suspicion.

"Why are you doing this?" she whispered. "Why help me?"

Without thinking, Amon brushed a sweaty lock of hair away from her face. The tender gesture brought even more confusion to the Avatar's gaze.

"Why would you save me?" he returned, looking down at her. He'd been wanting to ask her this since they'd first arrived in the cave.

"I don't know," she whispered, her eyelids sliding closed once more. "I think… Aang told me to."

Amon felt his whole body stiffen. The former Avatar, influencing his successor in order that his life might be saved? What devilry was this? Did Aang have some trick up his sleeve, some awful plan for him? After all, he'd sworn since boyhood to destroy the Avatar. Why, of all people, would the Avatar elect to save him?

His head buzzing with conflicting thoughts, Amon moved to rise. Before he could get to his feet, Korra's fingers rose to curl around his wrist. Her voice, groggy and thick with sleep, whispered,

"Don't go."

Amon stopped cold. He looked down at her, searching for some ulterior motive in her grasp on his wrist, but Korra's face had relaxed into the depths of sleep. Her fingers slid, one by one, off of his arm.

She seemed to small, here before him. So fragile. Two words he'd never thought he'd use to describe the fearsome Avatar. Her labored breathing fluttered the hair beside her face, and he found his gaze trailing down the dark locks as they spilled across the cave floor. Her ponytail had come undone sometime during her feverish sleep, and her hair lay in gentle waves over the floor, gleaming in the light of the fire. Unable to stop himself, Amon found his gaze trailing over the rest of her. She was strong, and in top physical condition. Her lithe curves probably brought many of the males in Republic City swooning at her feet. Combined with her mocha complexion, her fierce blue eyes, and her unrivaled spirit… Amon was surprised to find himself admiring his young enemy.

Shaking the thoughts aside, he pulled his eyes away and slid beside her. It seemed pointless to curl up on opposite sides of the cave when shared body heat was available for them both. Not knowing what to do with his hand, he rested it lightly on her hip. At the touch, Korra stretched and rolled over, nestling against him, her head tucking up just under his chin. He stiffened. A small sigh slid from her parted lips, triggering a strange quiver somewhere deep in his abdomen. For a moment, he wondered if he ought to move away. But her hands had curled in the fabric of his tunic, unconsciously twisting her fingers against his collarbone. His breath caught in his throat. He tried to inhale a calming breath through the mask, but all he succeeded in doing was inhaling her scent. It was sweet, earthy; she smelled like the wind across the sea, the sun on the land after a summer rain. Her warm breath tickled the skin on his neck, awakening a sensation in his chest he hadn't felt in years. His heartbeat quickened.

No. This was no time for that kind of thinking. This was the Avatar. The enemy he had to defeat in order to win Republic City. His father had trained him to withstand her attacks… but he'd never prepared his son for her charms. An angry shudder ran through him. This was all her game, wasn't it? Every action was a cool, calculated, designed to knock down his defenses and open him up for her to destroy him. Even now, she was playing him. Forcing him to let her go out hunting alone, knowing he'd come after her when she didn't return. But reason chided him for that conclusion.

Who would go out willingly, knowing she'd catch a fever and become helpless, at the mercy of her enemy? No. From what he knew of Korra, she was rash, bold, and impulsive. Every interaction with her had proved that she never took the time to think of a plan, to organize her actions in an efficient, brutal manner. It was why he'd defeated her so easily on Memorial Island. It was, perhaps, her only flaw. With her skills and knowledge of the bending arts, she could prove a formidable opponent. But with that reckless streak, he would always overcome her. She was just too young, too brash.

Korra sighed, nestling against him, and murmured something into his chest. He couldn't make out the words, but her tone was soft, tender. Nowhere near the usual rough, angry voice she used when she spoke with him. He could feel her heartbeat, warm and regular, against his ribs. Part of him hissed that he should move back, get away from this situation. But another part of him, the part of him he'd thought was long buried, compelled him to lift his arm up, over her, curling it around her shoulder blades.

He allowed himself to close his eyes. He tried to force his heart rate to return to normal. He felt himself finally slipping into the fatigue that had plagued him all afternoon. For now, as he soaked up the heat of her body, both of their hearts beating as one, he could simply forget that they were Avatar and Equalist. He could forget that he had to end her within a fortnight, forget their eventual showdown. For this one moment in time, they were simply that: a man and a woman, coming together for warmth.

He let that simple—and oddly comforting thought—lull him into the darkness of exhaustion.