Published August 12, 2016, as part of the previous chapter

"Home"

Except for when I was very little and thought that being an "engineer" meant he drove a train. Then I imagined him in the seat of an engine car the color of coal, a string of shiny passenger cars trailing behind. One day my father laughed and corrected me. Everything snapped into focus. It's one of those unforgettable moments that happen as a child, when you discover that all along the world has been betraying you. ~ Nicole Krauss, The History of Love

Asami drives out of Korra's neighborhood without really thinking about the route. Navigation and maneuvering are second nature to her, particularly in areas as familiar to her as Republic City. She finds tears stinging her eyes and tries to dry them on her sleeve.

This feels like an ending. Asami has never deliberately ended a friendship, or any relationship for that matter. Some have weakened, dissolved, faded away due to lack of effort on one or both parties, but Asami has never wanted or been asked to end one. And Korra was the last person she ever expected to do so. Yet Korra does not want theirs to end, either. So why would she say it must? Maybe if there were something more important at stake … but what could that be?

While the prospect of losing Korra's friendship is saddening, the idea of her father being in on whatever is troubling Korra is disturbing. Asami is not particularly close to her father, but they have always gotten along, and he has always been there for her when she sought his help.

Asami stops at the Arena on her way home, and finds the brothers exercising in the gym. Mako looks surprised but pleased to see her. "Hey. How's it going?" Then he sees the emotion that this question brings into her face, and his cheer changes to concern. "Are you okay?"

"I just went to see Korra."

"Oh. Well, is she okay?"

"I don't know," Asami says, frustrated and helpless. She sits down on a stack of mats, and fishes the scarf and cash out of her purse. "She said she owed you money … and she asked me to return this, said she wouldn't need it." Mako looks disappointed when she hands the scarf to him. Bolin looks incredulous, watching the precious possession pass between them. "I'm kind of surprised you gave it to her," Asami says offhandedly. Mako told her how important it was to him, when she tried to give him a newer, nicer scarf to replace it.

"Yeah, me too," Bolin says, looking at him expectantly.

Mako shrugs, awkward under their scrutiny. "It was all I had on me."

"You couldn't have asked her to hang something of her own in her window?"

"It was the first thing I thought of … and it would've given her an excuse to see us, if she needed one." He puts the scarf loosely over his sweaty shoulders and asks, "Did she tell you anything?"

"Not really. We talked, but she was cryptic about everything. She seems to think she can't be friends with us anymore … or that we shouldn't be friends with her. She wouldn't explain why. She admitted that she has some secrets, but she wouldn't explain what they are or why she's keeping them." Asami pauses. "She said … one thing that might be a clue, but I don't even know if it's worth following."

"What is it?"

Asami does not want to draw suspicion to her father, especially when she does not know if there is any actual reason for suspicion. "I'll let you know when I find out more."

When she gets home, she asks the butler, "Where is my father?"

"I believe he is in his workshop," he answers primly.

Asami knows her father likes to be left alone when he is working there, but she goes anyway. He never said the place was off-limits for her. She knocks and calls out, "Dad? Are you in here?" When no one answers, she tries the door. It is locked. After a moment's consideration, she takes a bobby pin out of her hair and attempts to pick the lock, a measure she usually reserves for special occasions. Yet the door seems to be bolted or have something heavy blocking it from the inside.

Not knowing what to make of this, Asami goes back inside to look for her father. She checks his office first. The great wooden doors are locked, and no sound comes from within. Then she checks the kitchen, the various bathrooms, and his bedroom.

She comes back to the butler in despair. "I can't find him anywhere."

He looks thoughtful, as though just remembering something. "He mentioned he might need to speak to someone about new supplies."

"How can you not know? Isn't that your job?" Normally Asami never speaks to her family's employees like this, but she feels impatient with everyone. "When you see him, tell him I need to talk to him in the dining room." It is the closest place they have to a meeting room, and he will have to come there eventually to eat.

Asami passes the time reading magazines, folding the corners of pages with clothes and vehicles she likes. She finds it difficult to focus: Korra's words echo in her head, and she fiddles with the bracelet and glances frequently at the clock, wondering what is keeping her father so busy.

It is late in the afternoon when Hiroshi finally comes in. "Asami? Were you looking for me?"

She closes her magazine. "Yes. Where were you?"

His response is immediate, automatic: "In the workshop."

"But you weren't there when I looked."

"I must have been looking for something—I may have gone in and out."

"Well, I'm glad you're here anyway. Do you have time to talk?"

Hiroshi wavers, looking torn and apologetic. "Truthfully, Asami, I'm a little swamped."

"It's important," she insists gently. "I need to ask you something."

"Oh … alright." He sits down across from her. "What is it?"

Asami tries to use Korra's phrasing: "What do you … really do for work?"

He looks at her, his expression slowly shifting from one kind of blankness to another—from expectancy to confusion to something neutral. "I'm not sure I understand your question. I've shown you everything to do with the business."

"Earlier today, I went to see Korra, but her dad wouldn't let her leave their apartment. I don't know what their deal is, but she said that you and her dad have—a secret in common, and that I should ask you to tell the truth about your work."

Now Hiroshi looks angry. "She shouldn't have … but then again, you shouldn't be meddling in their affairs, either."

"Korra is my friend," Asami says, already on the defensive. "I wanted to make sure she's okay. I guess what I should be asking is, do you know what she was talking about?"

"No." She does not believe him, and her expression shows it clearly. Hiroshi sighs and runs a hand through his graying hair. "Frankly, Asami, I don't have the time it would take to explain everything."

She looks hard at him. "Are you hiding something?"

"Well … yes, but not from you. I mean, not only from you; from many people. Much of my work is done on a need-to-know basis. It's not a matter of trust or faith; in your case it's a matter of safety. Sometimes it's better—safer, less worrying—not to know certain things."

That sounds like the kind of thing an adult would say to a young child. "Dad, I won't be able to stop worrying about Korra until I know what her situation is and what she was trying to tell me. I'm not going to let it rest. So if you know something, you might as well tell me now before I find out on my own. It'll probably save us both a lot of trouble."

Hiroshi folds his hands under his chin and considers her. "You're like Korra and her father—you can't stand by when you think something is wrong. I suppose I also share that quality to some extent."

Asami does not answer, but simply waits. He sighs heavily. "I knew we'd have this conversation eventually … but I was hoping I would have time to prepare first. This might be difficult … not for me to explain, but for you to accept."

"Why is that?"

"I never spoke openly about this, at first because it seemed safer, but later because I realized … we don't quite look at things the same way. Which is natural, to an extent; we grew up during different times, developed different perspectives …"

"You're stalling," Asami accuses.

"I'm sorry. I suppose my justification won't make sense to you until after you know what it is I'm talking about."

"Dad, I won't be mad as long as it's the truth."

Hiroshi looks at her for a long moment. "May I have your word on that?"

"Yes."

"Very well." He bows his head slightly, and strokes his beard pensively before looking at her again. "Do you remember meeting Korra and her father?"

"Of course."

"After you befriended Korra, he and I had a long conversation … about your mother, and what it was like raising children in a city like this—in a world like this—where the strong prey on the weak, and the vulnerable have to be clever to survive."

"Dad? You're starting to lose me."

"The point is, Korra's father understood where I was coming from. He then invited me to meet a group of people who could offer … moral support, and other forms of support … and work toward changing this city, and the world, for the better. You've heard of this group, by now, but the media deliberate paints it in a negative light."

"What are you talking about?" Asami can think of one group that might fit that description, but does not believe Hiroshi could be referring to it, until he says:

"That group came to be known as the Equalists."

Asami stares at him, her mouth falling open as she processes the word and applies it to Korra's father—who Korra said was in the same business as her own father.

"He … Korra's father is an Equalist?"

"Yes. So is Korra." Hiroshi pauses. "And … so am I."

"What?" Asami's whisper comes out slow, hushed with incredulity. "You can't—you wouldn't—" She looks at him, as though she is no longer certain she recognizes him. "Would you?"

"I have."

"Since when?"

"Since that first meeting."

He waits patiently, giving her time to wrap her mind around it. A full decade has elapsed since the two families met. "So, you joined them before they started all this revolution stuff?"

"It's been building for years, Asami. It just didn't become public until recently."

"But—they weren't always this radical, were they?"

"If by 'radical' you mean willing to take action … they were always working toward this point. You can't imagine all the preparation necessary."

"What kind of preparation?"

Hiroshi looks at her for a moment, coming to a decision, then stands up and gestures for her to do likewise. "If you really want to know … I can show you."

Asami obeys warily, and stays at a distance as she follows him. He pauses when they reach the back door of the mansion. "I'm going to have to ask you to close your eyes."

"Seriously?"

"It's safer if you don't know where we're going."

"This is ridiculous."

"Actually, it's quite serious."

She could refuse, but if she is ever going to find out the truth, it will be easiest when he is willing to show her. So she closes her eyes and lets him spin her around and guide her by the hand, as though she is a little girl again. While they walk he says, "Soon it won't have to be a secret. The revolution began when Amon revealed what he could do. When it's over there will be no more secrecy or deception, and no more inequality and injustice."

At first Asami thinks they have entered the workshop, but there are unfamiliar smells there—earth, metal, and stale air. "We have to go down some stairs," Hiroshi tells her; she feels her way down with her feet, until she steps on a metal floor. He takes her wrist and guides it to a metal bar, some kind of railing, and says, "Hold on. We'll be going down in a moment." There are mechanical noises—she can distinguish some kind of lever being pushed, the grinding of gears and chains, the whirr of wheels—and then the floor beneath them lurches. Asami has to grip the railing to keep her balance, both from the movement of the elevator and from her own nerves.

The more she thinks about it, the more evidence comes together in her mind: Korra saying her father's work involved helping people; their conversation about Equalism (was that only the day before yesterday?), the way Korra played dark spirit's advocate, ready to defend them.

Why, Korra? WHY, Dad?

It is one thing for her well-intentioned friend to get caught up in a philosophy she was probably raised to believe; but her father—the inventor, the entrepreneur, the business magnate—is the most intelligent person she knows, and he never expressed this degree of enmity toward benders. He has sometimes complained about street violence and the work force and the roles benders play in social conflicts, but he never spoke of all benders being bad or deserving of punishment.

The ride is surprisingly short, and then Hiroshi leads her to the left. Even through her closed eyelids, she can sense the brightness increasing. She can hear movement too—other people walking, speaking, moving objects.

Someone nearby addresses her father. "Mr. Sato?"

"It's alright," he answers. "She's here at my invitation."

"Can she be trusted?"

"Of course. Go about your business." After a moment, Hiroshi addresses his daughter. "You can look now."

Asami opens her eyes slowly, shielding them with her hand and blinking against the bright light. She gasps as the room comes into focus, feeling her heart clench in her chest.

The enormous space reminds her of one of Future Industry's many warehouses: metal walls and pipes and ceilings, employees, and machinery. But the people here are dressed in the kind of uniform she has seen in newspaper photos of arrested Equalists. Hanging from the ceiling are two posters bearing the image of Amon's mask, with characters spelling out slogans like "Follow Amon" and "Amon is the answer". Lined up on either side of the room are two rows of humanoid machines, perhaps fifteen feet tall, with glass-enclosed cockpits and claw-like appendages.

Only years of practicing etiquette keep an array of expletives from sliding off Asami's tongue. Hiroshi watches her anxiously, waiting to see her reaction.

Somehow she manages to move her feet, walking unsteadily toward the line of machines on the left, feeling acutely aware that she and her father being the only ones here who are not wearing masks and jumpsuits. "What … are these things?" she asks, stopping to look up at one of the machines.

"We call them mecha tanks. They're made of platinum so they can't be damaged by metalbenders."

"What do they do?"

"They can shoot grappling hooks, send surges of electricity, and exert a strong magnetic charge."

Asami does not want to imagine what purpose those abilities could serve. She lowers her eyes and looks sideways at the boxes that the Equalists are piling up. "And what are those?"

He gestures her over to a box, and asks one of the attendants to open it with a crowbar. Inside are rows of strange gloves covered with wires, glass, and metal. Hiroshi picks one up and turns it over for Asami to see. "It's a special kind of glove that renders the same effects as a chi-blocker. It's going to make self-defense and special operations tremendously easier."

"You … let them keep this here?"

"I made most of this. I helped design inventions, and oversee their manufacture and distribution. I'm really the only one with the money and manpower to make everything they need." Hiroshi cannot keep his pride out of his voice, even as he warily watches her take it all in. She trembles, but she ran out of tears earlier in the day; she is not sad or angry, as she was then; shock and something like devastation have hold of her now.

"Why?" It is only one word, but it really stands for a plethora of questions. Why did you sign on to this? Why did you keep this from me?

Hiroshi looks as though he feels pain but is calmly bracing himself against it. "Sweetie …" He uses the same word Asami and Mako use for each other; it has been a long time since she heard her father say it. "I wanted to keep you out of this as long as I could. But now you know the truth, please, forgive me. Those people—those benders—" He is so emotional he has to stop to take a breath. "They took away your mother, the love of my life. They've ruined the world. But with Amon we can fix it and build a perfect world together. We can help people like us everywhere!" He holds the glove out to her, as an offering. "Join me, Asami."

This is not what she wanted. She did not expect to be making a choice like this. She steps backward; then all at once she pivots and runs back toward the elevator platform. She has to get out of that claustrophobic hidey-hole.

"Asami!" Hiroshi shouts and runs after her. She reaches the elevator platform first and briefly considers going up without him, but lets go of the idea as he catches up.

"Take me back."

"Of course."

They do not speak for several minutes. Asami's thoughts are a confused jumble; she tries to find some logic, a rock to hold onto in a storm. Nothing is what she thought.

Finally Hiroshi breaks the silence. "Are you angry with me?"

"I don't know what I feel."

"We can talk more about it tomorrow." He pauses, looking uncomfortable. "You understand that this has to stay secret for now. If the police or Councilman Tarrlok's task force found this—"

Asami's voice is sharper than it has ever been when addressing him. "I don't want to talk about it." She presses her hands against her forehead, feeling something like a migraine. "I need to think this over."

"Of course."

As she lets him lead her back to the house, Asami wonders: How could she have been so blind? Yet, when she thinks about it over the course of the evening, she seems to understand her own family's situation more easily than that of Korra's family. Her father told outright lies, but Korra never went so far as to say she opposed the Equalists. Asami can now understand Korra's ambivalent attitude toward the boys, and why she would want them to stay away from her.

How can her father expect her to join a force bent on taking something so valuable and personal from Mako and Bolin and other people like them?

There is still a piece missing from the puzzle Asami initially wanted to solve. How does Korra fit into all this? As jarring as this revelation is, it does not answer the original question of what has happened between Korra and her father. If Korra was already an Equalist, then whatever has come between her and her father cannot be the discovery of this secret. What more, though, can there be?

To alleviate her boredom, Korra plays solitaire, listens to jazz music on the radio, and attempts to read some books. The rest of the time, she imagines how her day-to-day life might be different if she were allowed to bend. She could use waterbending to irrigate the plants on the rooftop garden. She could use firebending to cook their food and heat water for tea. She could use earthbending to make her own parkour course, provided she could find an area big enough. She draws a blank for airbending, though. What practical uses could that have? Turning pinwheels? Flying kites? That could be fun. The airbenders on Air Temple Island also use gliders. She tries to imagine that, flying through the air, uninhibited by gravity. For some reason that thought evokes a sense of déjà vu, and she finds herself laughing and muttering, "Gravity."

Bending really changes everything: it enables people to defy the scientific laws that keep the rest of the world intact. That is why it used to be considered magic, and why Amon calls it unnatural. It gives people control over things that they should not be able to control, things that ordinary people cannot control. The fact that some can control the elements while others cannot makes it seem like there is some kind of divine ordinance granting them the right to reign over others.

For the first time in her life, Korra wonders: Is it so? It can't be the work of an intelligent or omniscient being; if it were, bending wouldn't go to immoral people. But that circles back to nature versus nurture, causality or coincidence: does having bending make people more inclined to immorality and violence?

Maybe it really is about survival of the fittest. That is, in the most basic, literal sense, the "natural order of things". But she values life and liberty too much to believe that is the way things should be.

She hears Amon's footsteps in the hallway; he pauses outside the threshold, then courteously knocks on the doorframe before looking in. "Dinner's on the table." When she does not move, he says, less gently, "I'm going to throw it away in fifteen minutes. If you want to eat, now's the time." So she gets up and joins him at the table. They do not speak to each other, and only look at each other when the other is not looking; if their eyes happen to meet, Korra immediately looks back at her food.

House arrest is not terrible, when Korra considers where she could be. She has seen the underground prison, even had guard duty there when they kept prisoners for the Revelation. As the Avatar, she would probably have maximum security to prevent her from bending. But the new truths she has learned weigh her down as heavily as any chains, and the tension between her and Amon is as thick and impenetrable as a stone wall.

Amon finishes his food first, but continues to sit until she is done. "Help me with the dishes?" It is a routine they have, washing the dishes that have accumulated throughout the day. One washes, the other dries; they switch tasks from one day to the next.

"Do I really have a choice?"

"If you don't do them with me, you have to do your own. Either way comes to about the same amount of work."

She carries her dishes over to the sink. "We could do this a lot faster if you let me bend the water."

"More likely you'd injure yourself … or find that you enjoy it, which could set you on a path to destruction. I won't let you risk that."

She scowls, seeing through his pretense of fatherly protection. If he let her bend, she might turn on him with whatever elements she has at her disposal.

As he rinses the dishes, Amon finally strikes up the conversation that they lacked during the meal, and he chooses a rather random topic. "Do you remember our last camping trip? When you were attacked by a spirit, and almost got hypothermia?"

Korra remembers, and her anger is renewed. "Man, if I'd known I could firebend, or communicate with spirits—"

"That was the only time I ever doubted my decision. But you remember that I found you?"

"Of course I—"

"I spent the entire night looking for you, combing the slopes, shouting your name. And when I found you, nearly frozen, I carried you uphill through the wind and snow." Korra understands his implicit message: he saved her life that night, and probably more times than she can remember or was ever aware of. Whether she likes it or not, she is indebted to him. "I promised myself that I would never risk losing you again … not just for all the practical reasons I had at the beginning, but for personal reasons. Because I don't know what I'd do if I lost you. Frankly, I don't know if I could handle it."

Korra snorts, almost smiling at the irony. "It would serve you right. Then you'd know how my parents felt." She can tell by his silence that this is not how he meant for the conversation to go. He wants to guilt her into staying loyal to him, but the concept of filial loyalty goes for both parental parties.

"Can you ever forgive me?"

For the love of Yue—and he thinks she is the audacious one! Korra wraps a towel around her fist and pushes it into a cup, feeling tempted to smash it against the counter. She might owe Amon her life, but not her forgiveness. "What do you think?"

"I certainly hope—"

"I don't care what you hope; what do you think are the chances that I'll ever forgive you?" Korra turns to look at his face. "This isn't like forgetting my birthday, or even leaving me stranded after a class. What you did was morally wrong, deliberate, and went on for years." She bangs the crockery slightly as she stacks it and places it in the cupboard. "Worst of all, it's not just about me—it's about people who loved me, who I loved." Who she should still love. Who she wants to love.

"I understand. It is easier to forgive someone for wronging you than for wronging someone you love."

This statement surprises her. Where did Amon get that idea? From experience? Korra stares at him, slightly bewildered, wondering if there was more truth to his alleged backstory than she thought. "I was alone." Korra can almost sympathize with that, because she knows what it is like to be lonely—but she was lonely because of him, because he wanted to limit her contact with people, to keep her dependent on only him.

She shakes her head, rubbing a bowl dry with hard, jerky movements. "Did you ever consider—even remotely—how they must have felt?"

"Of course I did."

"How could you live with yourself, knowing you caused that?"

"I told myself it was worth it. To enable the revolution … and to have you." Amon dries his hands on the towel and looks at her. "You know something we have in common?"

"What?"

"We don't have many people we care about on a personal level; but for the few we have, we care very deeply. It's in our nature."

"So?"

Amon lets a beat of silence pass before he answers. "You loved me once, Korra. I can't believe that feeling has disappeared in one night. I'd be surprised if it ever fades for good. So I ask you again: will you ever be able to forgive me?"

Korra wonders what that word really means. Doesn't forgiveness require putting bad feelings to rest, moving on? She cannot move on, because he will not let her. But if things somehow work out—if she someday sets things right, reunites with her family and establishes peace in the world—could she stop feeling this pain and anger? Can she control whether she feels it?

She rests her hands on the edge of the sink, bowing her head. "I don't know."

Amon touches her shoulder, and she tries to shrug him off, but then he squeezes tighter and says, "Come here." When she steps back, he pulls her close and folds his arms around her waist and shoulders. Korra considers fighting him, but he holds her fast. Standing against him makes her feel small, like a child again, simultaneously trapped and protected by this … this monster, this man, coaxing her to stay with him, trust him, love him … everything is so mixed up in her mind, heart, and body that she feels nauseous. She closes her eyes, trying to block everything out. She will not feel anything, physical or emotional, toward him. Neither love nor hate. She would rather have neither than both.

Amon ignores her stiffness; he strokes her hair and murmurs to her like he used to when she was frightened by a nightmare. "I love you." He pauses, and then murmurs, "I'm sorry if that's not enough."

Is that real pain, real wistfulness in his voice? At least part of her believes him. He could not have put up with her for so long if he did not love her to some extent. She does not know who she feels more sympathy for, herself or him. She wants to hug him back, but that would be giving in, and she promised not to do that. She just lets him hold her.

She is the one who tries to end the hug, moving her arms up between them, pushing him gently away. He holds on to her upper arms—she used to show off those muscles to him when they started getting big, she was never self-conscious of looking big and strong, she felt only pride because of it, and wanted him to be proud too. He touches her cheek, and kisses her forehead, before finally releasing her. "Sleep well."

Korra leaves and goes into her room, closing the door behind her. She cannot lock it, but she leans against it heavily, as though she can barricade it with her weight. She starts to cry, because there are too many emotions and too many conflicted thoughts, and she cannot understand him and she knows he will never understand her.

She must remember: it was not real. He did not adopt her, he kidnapped her. He did not want to love her, he wanted to use her. His love was just a catalyst for control. That is what it is now, too, she's sure.

The only thing that justifies her grief is the fact that her guardian is not who she thought he was. That show of affection in the kitchen may have been exactly that, a show—a strange, fatherly attempt at seduction. Looking back, Korra is disgusted by her own neediness. She hates that Amon still makes her feel safe. She has been a prisoner for thirteen years, but she liked it, because she did not know she was imprisoned. The truth shattered that illusion.

When she finally falls asleep, her dreams are hardly better than her reality. In fact, they are more tragic, more profoundly sorrowful. They are more eidetic than any dreams she can remember having, vivid in all five senses. The experiences scatter and tumble like sea glass in the ocean of her mind.

She hides in a tree and eavesdrops on a group of elderly men. They weight options for her future, comparing what is best for her to what is best for the world. Finally one of them chooses the next path she will take, a path that will separate her from everything she knows and everyone she loves.

She enters a room that seems to be underground and abandoned. Skeletons and rusted armor lie everywhere, but she is only concerned with the skeleton at the end of the room, in an upright position, still wearing robes and a necklace that she recognizes.

A girl she loves is being threatened, sinking into the ground on a crazed earthbender's whim—it is supposed to be in her power to stop it, and she is trying so hard, but she does not know how to do what has always happened involuntarily. The girl sinks up to her neck, and when Korra dives toward her, the girl disappears completely, left to suffocate somewhere underneath her.

There is a huge creature with six legs who seems to carry her from one location, one installment, to the next. But she returns from one adventure, and discovers the animal is gone. There is a young girl, who was left with the animal, and Korra asks, "Where's Appa?" The girl shakes her head miserably, and Korra is shocked to the point of grief, as though her entire past has been taken from her.

The strange thing is that, through all these dreams, she is not herself. She is the Avatar, but she is not Korra.

It is not until she wakes up that she attaches a name to person she was in these memories—that is what they were, she is sure of it. Her subconscious did not invent them; her spirit remembered them. She knows who experienced them first.

"Aang."

Maybe she is not as alone as she thought.

Author's Notes

Music: "Home" by Alan Menken from Beauty and the Beast on Broadway

Artwork: eviechan68 illustrated the kitchen scene with Noatak and Korra. Many thanks!

Acknowledgment: I am sincerely grateful to iruka-2013 for taking time out of her busy life to read and give me feedback on this chapter prior to posting. God bless you!

Disclaimer: I borrowed a bit of phrasing about the word "show" from Stephenie Meyer's Twilight. I don't mean to plagiarize, I just kind of absorb the language I read and hear, and end up using it myself.