Hello! Hello to everyone, the overwhelmingly lovely number of people who have this on alert, or have favourited it, or have reviewed, all readers, you are delightful and you make my everyday life about 40% happier. I hope this fic continues to please you.

A note on chronology; I consider this to deviate from canon after episode six. Imagine that the revolution took place some time after that!

THREE

He deposited her in the room alone before disappearing off without a word. Korra glanced towards the bed, overcome by exhaustion, and looked away almost instantly. Instead, she went to the bathroom and gathered an armful of towels, spreading them across the floor to create a make-shift bed. She curled up on it, making herself tiny, rearranging until she was at ease, and slept.

Several times, she awoke, disorientated, and went to sleep again. It felt like hours and hours passed, though she had no way of telling. She never saw Amon come back in that time, and slept... not comfortably, but well enough. When at last she awoke feeling not as if tar ran through her veins rather than blood, she stretched and sat up, rubbing at her eyes. First she put the towels back, and then she sat in the middle of the floor cross legged to plot the counter-revolution.

A sense of determination breathed through her. It was nearly impossible to hide it even in her relatively calm state. Regretfully, she thought that no matter how good it was to have hope, that hope was all very well if he found out. She was sure that he'd take particular pleasure in savagely crushing it. Korra had never been a very good actress, though. Her emotions were volatile and quick, anger and happiness and frustration chasing each other around her heart in seconds. The revolution had taught her some self-restraint, but it wasn't enough. She knew that there was a lightness to her that hadn't been there before.

It was just… so strange to feel hope. The closest that she had come to this in weeks, months, however long it had been was when she saw the people she loved, and that was marred somewhat by the fact that she was seeing them only for Amon to hurt them. The heaviness and tiredness that she carried around with her at all times had only become evident as it lifted. This feeling was… nice, and she didn't know how long it would last.

At least she was alone for now, though it was in his damned rooms. If he saw her now like this she was sure that he'd know. The counter-revolution couldn't be stopped before it began. But, well, for now, while she still had a clear head and the determination, she needed to plan. She could feel the hope coursing through her, but she had to do something with it. There were such insurmountable odds against her.

There had been insurmountable odds against Aang as well, though. He had faced waking up in a world 100 years on from his own to face an entire nation, a team of people actively looking to hunt him from the very beginning, going undercover in that hostile nation as well. He'd won. Roku had fought his own best friend's deadly ambitions—oh, well, actually, Roku had died because of his best friend's deadly ambitions. That wasn't the… most uplifting example ever. Kyoshi! Kyoshi had fought a conqueror and created her own island. That was uplifting! Kyoshi was Korra's favourite.

Katara had told her their story time and time again, showing her carvings and drawings to accompany it. The boy in the iceberg, who'd defeated the imperial Fire Nation at the age of 12… If only she could speak to Aang. She looked down at her hands, and turned them over restlessly in her lap. All those Avatars, all they'd done they'd done with their bending. They'd done it with their animal guides. Aang had his companions. And… none of them had ever had their bending taken away. Was she even an Avatar without her bending? How was she supposed to get along without Naga? She shifted restlessly, throwing herself across the floor. Aang had taken away Ozai's bending. Maybe there was a way to reverse the process.

Was the spiritual side of being the Avatar separate from the bending side? If she could get into the Avatar state, she would have all the Avatars there had ever been to help her. She'd have another Avatar who'd faced the overwhelming odds of being one person against the world. She'd have… human contact. Maybe someone who understood.

She'd never managed to get into the Avatar state, though; not even when she'd been angry or desperate, like she'd heard Aang had done. Over the years, she'd shrugged off the spiritual side of the Avatar duties; she was so good at bending, and she had been young and there had been time to learn. Rolling over, she stared up at the ceiling.

For now, she was confined to these rooms with nothing to do with her plan. He intended to reduce her to nothing, to strip her of her confidence and break the Avatar. The ex-Avatar. That wouldn't be happening, she decided with confidence. All the same, an insidious uncertainty crept underneath everything else. He was… good at playing off people's weaknesses, spreading fear. And he was dangerous, and she was trapped with him. It wasn't going to be easy, but she could do it. First of all, she needed to work on the Avatar state, and getting out of these rooms.

Despite her bravado, she shuddered. To get out she'd need him to come back to let her out, and she dreaded seeing him again—heavy breathing, pains across her body—even if it meant freedom. He tapped into her fear like nobody else she had ever known. Ever since the very first time she'd seen him at the Rally, ever since she'd challenged him, he frightened her. Fear was allowed, she told herself. Aang must have been afraid of facing the Fire Lord, but he'd done it anyway. Admittedly, Aang hadn't been forced to marry the Fire Lord.

The door opened suddenly, and Korra sat up so quickly that her vision filmed over. Trying to blink it away, she saw through the black dots that he was in the doorway. She tensed, the overriding fear flooding back in an instant, but he calmly walked across the room. He even left the door open. Curious even through the fear, she frowned. A guard in full Equalist gear minus the head covering came through, bearing a large tray and looking extremely unhappy about it. Another followed, bearing what looked like… a small table and a couple of lightweight chairs. The two set up the table and an array of food as Amon placed some paper on the strange piles and strode into the bathroom. The sound of a tap running echoed around the main room.

Korra remained on the floor, having scuttled over to put her back against the chest of drawers for support. She itched to take those bastards out. It was too early, she told herself, he was too close, she had no way of ensuring the people she cared about would be safe or where Naga even was and she hadn't eaten in… she had no idea how long it had been with how long she'd been asleep, but not since the morning of the wedding. There were so many things that could go wrong. Grumpily, some part of her wondered when she'd started really thinking plans through and stopped just blasting everything. Probably when she'd lost her bending. That… changed you.

"Your meal, Avatar," the irritable Equalist said, making a sweeping gesture towards the table. His face was full of the typical loathing Equalists seem to reserve for her. She only looked at the table, hoping against hope that her stomach didn't rumble and reveal the total lie of carelessness she was trying to put on. Although it burned like fury to sacrifice her pride, she'd take dignity over it at this point. It got less people hurt.

"Thanks," she said airily, not moving except to rise to standing. The sound of water next door had stopped, and after a moment Amon emerged, mask still in place, some droplets of water down the front of his jacket. Korra steeled herself not to flinch at the sight of him, allowing her fingers to tap nervously against her leg instead.

"Sit down," he said, dismissing the two Equalists with a wave of his hand. When they had closed the door behind them, he removed the mask and set it down on the desk carefully. Testing the waters ever so gently, Korra waited until he had taken a seat until she walked over. She was getting a headache already in his presence, but the pull of food was irresistible. She'd never realised how lucky she'd been with regards to being provided for until she was reliant on a hostile source who would withdraw food on a whim. Tension sang through her body, but that would be normal, wouldn't it? Korra couldn't figure out to act—would suddenly becoming absolutely subservient be weird (and humiliating), or would he expect her to be cowed? Should she rebel a little bit, or follow orders in the hope that it got her what she wanted with minimum pain?

Faced with the food, she tried to force herself to move slowly and carefully—but it was too much. There were multiple dishes on the table, multiple different types of food, and after the uncaring leftovers she'd been surviving on for the past… however long, it was almost enough to bring tears to her eyes to have food that wasn't just fuel but actually tasted… nice. Although she tried to ignore him, her heartbeat erratically testified to the fact that Amon was right there across the table from her. The nausea rising in her stomach was the worst; if she threw up this food there was no way of knowing how long it would be until her next meal. She couldn't afford to lose the energy this would give her.

"Your appetite is prodigious," he remarked, as she shovelled more noodles into her mouth, hunched over the bowl. Korra didn't look up, but moved more slowly. Was that a threat? Was there going to be retribution later for her bad table manners? "That wasn't a rebuke, Korra," he added, sounding vaguely amused. "I know how inconsistent the guards were with your food. I impressed upon them that mistreating you was no longer acceptable." No, she thought cynically, that's your job. Despite her sarcasm, she felt confused. Had it really been the guards themselves and not Amon's orders? She'd assumed that it was him trying to break her down, make her more reliant and desperate, but what if it he'd actually ordered something different? She made the tiniest shake of her head to try and clear her mind. What did it matter either way? He was still evil, and she'd still starved in that cell. Giving her square meals that got lost in translation didn't really change anything she thought about him—but why would he lie? It didn't serve any purpose, did it?

"How was your day, Korra?" he inquired, reaching elegantly for some sea prunes. She looked up, genuinely caught off guard, mouth open and full of food. Quickly, she looked down again. This was the second time he'd done something like this; ask such an inane question as if they were a real couple and not a captive and a captor. As if that disgusting speech last night about her haunting him had never even happened and he was just a man asking his wife a question about her day. He must be trying to mess with her head. That was the only explanation. "I'm waiting, Korra," he said, voice carrying a hint of a threat. What was she supposed to answer? He knew she'd been in the room the whole time where there was nothing to do.

Korra switched onto autopilot, already dreading whatever was going to come out of her mouth. "I thought," she managed to say. It was true, and not as awful as it could have been. I was planning your downfall would have been the wrong thing to say, she thought, and had an awful moment she nearly laughed. As soon as he opened his mouth the twitch of laughter utterly disappeared and her face became as straight and neutral as possible. That generally meant a disgruntled expression.

"What about?" She licked her lips nervously, and noticed that his eyes flickered to follow it. An irrational bolt of pain struck her chest, and she forced herself to breathe deeply and calmly. Like you're meditating, she thought. Keep calm. She'd never been very good at meditating. Perhaps it was time to learn.

"Things," she blurted out. Emboldened by the rush of actual sustenance and the fact that he was talking to her—two could play at that game—she added, "I don't have a lot to do." Then she waited, her stomach tying itself in knots, no way of knowing what he was thinking with that careful, neutral expression.

"You're bored," he said, pulling another dish towards him. "It's understandable. Make a reasonable request and I'll judge by your behaviour whether you've earned it." He took a moment to eat, and poured himself some tea.

Korra's mind raced at the potential of that. What did she need? She badly wanted to know where Naga was, she badly wanted to see the people she loved just to talk to them, she wanted to explore the house to map it out, but none of those were going to be realistically granted. They would give her too much power and if there was something Amon held onto, it was power. Something that might grant her all of those, human company and a link to other things she needed was someone willing to help her. Asami! She'd thought over this in her own cell in between being questioned and wallowing and craving. They weren't close, but Asami hadn't seemed like the truly calculating all-for-the-revolution type, and she had liked Mako. She hadn't looked happy when the Equalists had poured onto Air Temple Island, either, in their giant mecha. Her father's giant mecha. There was a crack there, and a crack in the seemingly full proof Equalist machine was what Korra needed right now.

It flitted through her mind in seconds, and she looked down at the floor, gathering her courage to say, "A friend. Not—not Mako or Bolin or anyone, just a friend. I don't know if any Equalist would even want to spend time with me," she heard herself babbling, "but maybe Asami would, because she's an Equalist, isn't she, and we already know each other." He remained silent, and she thought violent curses at him. She'd been too see-through. She was always too see-through. Amon would know that Asami had been close to Mako. "And maybe some Water Tribe clothing?" she asked, adding a request that she knew he would turn down.

"As my wife"—don't flinch, don't flinch—"you represent more than the Water Tribe, you represent Republic City." He paused, thinking. "I will consider Asami—Hiroshi's daughter, I believe? An illustrious choice. In the meantime, books, drawing materials, paints? I can be generous if you allow me to be, Korra."

"I just need a friend," she said. Without the mask, he was not quite the Amon of her deep-seated fears, but he was the one who'd—she couldn't think about it. She'd focus on this for now. Ignoring the prickling sensation rippling down her arms and the shiver threatening to break free, she looked up to meet his eyes for just a second. "A girlfriend. A friend who's a girl. Someone to talk to."

He regarded her carefully, she could see out of the corner of her eye. "I see," he said. "Nothing else?"

Feeling uncomfortably like she'd pushed it too far and the avalanche was going to come down on her head at any moment, Korra shrugged. She'd never been much of a reader, and she couldn't draw at all. She could practice martial arts forms when she was dreadfully bored. "No," she replied. She knew it would be a good move, but she couldn't force out the words "thank you".

"As you wish," he said, and they finished the near cold food in—for Korra, at least—a tense, uncomfortable silence. After the dishes had been taken away, he left again without a goodbye and Korra vowed to work out a little bit. She hadn't done any form in what felt like far too long and probably was far too long. It was time to practice some more after long weeks of having done nothing.

She was so carried away by her own success and the civil way in which he had addressed her at lunch, breakfast, whatever it had been that when he came storming into the room in a temper—a controlled, freezing rage, but rage all the same—hours later, presumably evening, she was almost surprised when he hit her. And when he continued to hit her, she was almost surprised by how easily the paralysing fear rose. When the fear rose, she was almost surprised by how pitifully quickly she cried.

He didn't hurt her anywhere that it would show, but afterwards held her closely and tightly enough to bruise. She didn't sleep well. She stared at the wall, trying not to move, the thought of enduring this every night rendering a lengthy game plan utterly impossible.