Hello everyone! I have been just blown away by all the attention this is getting, and I am gleeful and hope that you enjoy your chapter, because I find this is where it starts getting plottier, and I really enjoyed writing it. (Generally, this fic has been one of the most rewarding things I've ever done just in the writing, it's so gritty and unstable!Amon is one of the most fun things to write.)

FIVE

He had taken his time in what was a parody of romance; usually quick and brutal, this time he moved slowly, languorously, savouring.

Korra thought of other things. She detached herself from reality. She almost preferred it when he was angry and rough. At least that was over quickly.

His hands bruised her, pulling her in directions that made her feel as if her bones would break. His hands pulled her hair until it came out. His hands held her still.

A knock came at the door and he jerked angrily, his face twisted into fury. "What is it?" he said, his tone eerily calm compared to his expression. Korra shuddered at the thought that all the while his voice had been so cool and removed from emotion he'd been looking like that behind the mask. If she just had her bending, she'd destroy him. She'd burn him up properly.

"It's important," the Lieutenant said, muffled through the door. "Riots in the slums. There are benders involved. I could go myself, but it's the third in the past two days—"

"No business here," Amon interrupted, with a quick glance at Korra. He rolled off the bed and yanked open drawers, pulling out clothes. He dressed quickly and simply, slipping on the mask and pulling up his hood. With one last, dark look at Korra, who had just pulled up the sheets and curled up underneath them in her usual place, he opened the door and strode out of it.

Her jailor gone, Korra lay on the bed for the longest time. All her energy had disappeared, eaten up by fear and disappointment and loneliness and consistently crushed hope. Gently, slowly, she persuaded herself to sit up. That was one step. Holding herself, she swung her legs off the edge of the bed. Her feet dangled. Thoughtlessly, she kicked her legs back and forth, watching them move. She'd made contact with Asami. She'd begun to implement her meagre plan. It was okay to be afraid. There was hope.

Unsteadily, she got to her feet and retrieved her own clothes, now disgusting after several days of not having been changed. She laid across the middle of the floor, her habitual residence, and let herself think of plans rather than hands holding her down mercilessly. Riots in the slums. Benders involved. She'd assumed that she'd be working from the inside out with some allies inside the Equalist machine itself… She hadn't even thought about the possibilities of those outside. Ruefully, she rubbed at the back of her neck and twisted a piece of her hair. Even now, she was still self-absorbed, still set in the mind-set of doing it all by herself head on. Perhaps there were much bigger cracks appearing outside of the Equalist machine that could be used to greater advantage…

And if she had her link to the outside world through Asami, she could harness those people and create an underground rebellion. Aang hadn't really gone it alone when he had fought the Fire Lord. He'd had friends, allies, and people willing to fight.

She couldn't take down the Equalists alone. Maybe she didn't need to.

Her gaze flickered around the room, and alighted on the desk. She hadn't looked at the papers once so far, too afraid to. She knew that some of the drawers were locked; she couldn't get into those. She'd also been suspicious that Amon had just left them there. If they were important, surely he wouldn't just leave them lying around where she could read them, unless he considered her that pathetic. Glancing over them, they looked fairly dry… financial reports, letters from people that she'd never heard of—several from Tarrlok which she resisted the urge to rip up, betraying scum—there were even some from Hiroshi Sato towards the bottom of the pile. The mention of the mecha caught her interest and she looked closer. It would be really handy if one of them could say "FATAL WEAKNESSES HERE", but it didn't look like she was going to be that lucky. They were just about the glorious new weapons, still some problems to be worked out, bla, bla, bla… old news.

There were more letters in the other pile that she sorted through, skim reading, aware that he could return at any moment. One of them was from Ba Sing Se… it mentioned the problem of the Dai Li. Korra scratched her chin. Hadn't the Dai Li been some sort of secret police? Weren't they evil? In the letter, they were just described as elite earthbenders. For a moment, she imagined having a whole team of elite earthbenders behind her to take down the Equalists. She sighed. It was a wonderful dream, but a dream nonetheless.

Or… did it have to be? The elite waterbenders of the Poles were too far away to come to her aid any time soon. The Fire Nation was experiencing some rebellions in more multicultural areas, she knew, and the Fire Lady was focused on putting them down to keep her reign stable. The Fire Nation probably couldn't afford to come to their aid right now. But Ba Sing Se wasn't so far away from Republic City. With Azula's patronage, the Dai Li had once taken a city. Maybe with the Avatar's backing, they could take a city back.

Replacing the papers carefully, pile on pile of financial reports, she filed that thought away as useful, and tried to meditate for a while to collect her thoughts. It wasn't permanent… She could have her bending back. Hope, so stifled, bubbled up in her chest uncontainably. She accepted it, and buried it down where it wouldn't show.

When he returned, he was angry again. The brief respite she'd got while he was away was over; every time he was around she felt as if she was walking on egg shells. It didn't matter that he wasn't even paying attention to her. For the first few minutes it had been worse that he was working at his desk; she was petrified that he'd notice that she'd gone through the papers.

He didn't, but she was still afraid of him finding her out. She sat on the floor by the chest of drawers, largely just twiddling her thumbs and waiting painfully for time to pass until he left again. It didn't help that she was so sleepy. Right now, she couldn't afford to fall asleep, and the mixture of tension and exhaustion in her body was not a helpful combination. He was writing letters. From where she was sitting, she couldn't see who to, but each letter was messier than the last. The frenetic touch to his movements made her only more nervous. Sooner or later that energy would be turned on her.

There was another knock at the door. This time, Amon simply put down the pen. He was eerily silent, but Korra could feel the anger breathing from him. He opened it coolly. "What?" he asked. The man outside the door bowed so low Korra wondered idly for a second if he would topple over.

"The lady's clothes, sir," he said, remaining bent over.

"Ah, yes," Amon said, his temper receding as if it had never been. Korra's skin prickled. It was so fast, how he could switch between the two extremes. It was… frightening. "In these drawers." He gestured to the bottom four on the chest of drawers.

"Beg your pardon, sir, is there anywhere I could hang some of them? You requested dresses, which should really be hung. If that's all right," he added quickly, bobbing up and down nervously.

"I'm afraid not, but I shall get it seen to. For the time being, those drawers will do." When the man was gone, bowing and scraping again on his way out, Amon motioned to the drawers. "Get changed," he said. "I'm tired of seeing you in those dirty clothes." He waited while she changed in the bathroom, not speaking a word until she emerged in a knee length black skirt, grey leggings and the cunningly layered together combination of one piece to look like a vest, blouse and jacket.

Indolently, he looked her over in a flicker, and nodded. "Sit," he ordered, and she sat uncomfortably on the bed, twisting her hands together in her lap. What did he want this time? "You overheard talk of rebellion today. That rebellion has been crushed." The ruthless certainty in his voice made her shudder. "If you had any foolish thoughts about your own rebellion, know this; every new order faces rebellion in the adaptation period. Today, the insurgent benders failed. The insurgents will continue to fail. If you ally yourself with such you're doomed to failure. You will dwindle, and your friends will die.

"One by one, they will fall because you could not accept your new duties; the firebender, the earthbender, the airbender, the policewoman, each will die as you watch, knowing it was your fault. Or you could wear your pretty clothes, smile a pretty smile and step out beside me. You could talk to the masses, tell the tale of going from being the Avatar to a productive, useful member of society; host dinners, receive dignitaries. I would allow you the agency to undertake your own projects—children, the homeless, medical care, the arts. And each night, rather than fighting and scratching and biting, you could be satisfied. Rather than fighting, you could embrace your future, your life with me." One look into that intense, twistedly desperate gaze and her head was spinning. "I can be good to you, Korra. You are the only barrier to your own success. Are you willing to try? Are you willing to create a new order with me?"

She knew what he wanted to hear, and lifted her head decisively, her heart beating so loud that she was sure that he must be able to make it out. "Yes," she said, her voice certain. He removed his mask and gave her a small, satisfied smile.

"Good."

Then he moved forward to drown her once more.

A clock was installed in the room at her tentative request so that she could finally figure out how much time was passing. It was surprisingly comforting. She'd been worried that it would make the time run slowly; instead it made it easier to structure how long she practiced for each day, and made her aware of time was ticking on.

Amon was largely absent, and when he did return it was often simply to sleep. She would watch him on the bed, so close, so… invulnerable even when asleep, and dream of inflicting hideous torture on him. In the back of her mind, she always was nearly worried that he would wake up, that he could tell what her thoughts were. After a while she became irrationally worried that he would be able to know her thoughts by her expression or something, and stopped thinking up inventive punishments. When he was awake, he would work at the desk, and utterly disregard her. She couldn't tell if this was worse than when he was paying attention to her; it stretched her nerves beyond what she had considered possible to just have him walking around the room ignoring her—sometimes he would pace—and she barely dared make a sound.

At least he wasn't touching her at all. He barely went near her, and she meditated in his absences. She became much better at clearing her mind and though her meandering thoughts persisted, it remained an improvement on how she had been on Air Temple Island. The Avatar State was an impossibility. She had no idea how to get into it, and Aang remained in the Spirit World, untouchable. It was frustrating. A cycle established of lengthy meditation, resulting impatience and resulting hours of frustrated combat practice—missing her bending intensely, sometimes she would move through the forms just to keep them fresh in her mind, but that never failed to make her morose—and the tiredness that would follow, keeping her resting for hours more.

The tedium was what was getting to her overall. Her food came at random times—she checked the clock each time—no doubt on purpose. Sometimes nothing would come for twelve hours. Once, food came twice in two hours, both time overloaded platters that she couldn't possibly eat all of. She tried anyway, and was fiercely sick afterwards. Those hours, spent miserably throwing up, remained uncomfortably present every time a new meal came.

This tedium was finally broken when someone came to the rooms to take her somewhere unspecified; having lacked the energy most days to get dressed for no purpose, she felt revolting under the eyes of another human being, suddenly ashamed at how horrible she looked. Amon's words about pretty clothes and a pretty smile were still sorely close, and they were making her feel strange about her appearance. She didn't want to be reduced to how she looked, something that she had never been that bothered by, but she felt slovenly and filthy when other people looked at her now. As if their gazes proved that she was filthy, showed it. After painful indecision, she took a quick shower, washing off the sweat and grime from exercise and rolling around the floor. She didn't feel any cleaner. Just too hot and damp. She rolled up her sleeves to her elbows, breathed in too quickly, and choked, and walked out of the bathroom.

Feeling small and upset and twisted, she followed the Equalist out into the corridor. As last time, her chest tightened painfully at being out in the open.

Whatever she'd been expecting, it hadn't been this. Hiroshi Sato must have some serious influence with Amon, because she'd been so sure that he'd never let her have friends, that he'd keep her alone and locked up for his own amusement.

Asami sat elegantly in an armchair, legs crossed, in the middle of what looked like… a parlour or something. It was small and intimate, tastefully decorated in the dull Equalist colours except for one poster occupying an entire wall. Korra turned away from it, swallowing painfully, and smiled weakly at Asami. "Hi," she said. The Equalist bowed to Asami and left, shutting the door behind them with a quiet click. Asami rose to her feet, holding out her arms, and Korra walked into them gladly.

"They'll be watching us," Asami whispered, "be careful." The pressing tone in her voice was utterly distant from the expression on her face, a kind, smiling, girlish façade. "How have you been? I know it was only the other day that I saw you, but it already feels like it's been ages, Korra. I haven't been that busy, I guess. You?"

"I'm… not very busy," Korra said awkwardly, fiddling with her clothes, picking apart seams.

"No, I expect not," Asami said, leading the conversation gently. "I've been asking for weeks to see the others, and even my dad can't make any headway. Isn't that odd?"

"Odd," she echoed, hearing her voice come from far away. She wanted to ask about the riots. The riots were what she needed to know about—but if the Equalists were listening in, she couldn't afford to have Amon have an inkling of what she was doing, and he probably already suspected her because of her contact with Asami, but she couldn't keep going on like this—

Asami glanced towards the poster on the wall carefully for just a second, she noticed, and then dragged her chair in closer until there remained only a tiny amount of space in between the two of them. She reached out and took Korra's hand, and looked into her eyes, with the tiniest frown. "The spy hole in this room is awful," she whispered. "That's why I persuaded them to put us in here. They shouldn't be able to hear now, if we're quiet." Her expression changed slowly, from light and casual to concern.

"Korra," she said almost inaudibly, holding her hand firmly. "I don't mean to pry… but there are bruises on your arms." Korra pulled her hand back jerkily, and pulled down her rolled-up sleeves to cover her forearms. The sick feeling in her stomach came through with such force that she lurched, and covered her mouth as if to hold in everything. "Has Amon… has he been hurting you? There are laws, Korra. There are laws in place to stop this sort of thing—"

"There were laws," Korra said, trying to keep her voice down, remembering that watching Equalist guard—where were they watching from, how much could they hear? Her expression must be giving her away painfully obviously. "Now that he's in charge… who's really going to care? All the Equalists hate me, they actually hate me. They'd join in." She couldn't look at Asami, hovering so protectively, so righteously angrily for her. It made her want to shrink even further. She didn't deserve that level of care.

"There are plenty of people out there who care about you," Asami said, low and urgent. "There have been riots, riots, Korra, started because people have asked where you've been since the marriage and they haven't been getting answers. You've sparked riots. People do care. They care so, so much. If you'll let me…?" Korra nodded shortly, awkwardly as Asami took her hand again and squeezed it tight. "I know I don't know you that well, and I'm sorry that we didn't have much time, but you're so obviously in pain and I wish I could do something. I haven't lost hope. You're still the Avatar, and I still believe that somehow, you can save this city. But you're a person too. Tell me what you need, Korra, and I'll do it. My father… I didn't know that he was a part of this… I went along with him because I was confused, and it was already happening. It's not right, what's happening. If it was just happening to you, it wouldn't be right, and it's happening to the whole city." She leaned in closer, and Korra was caught in her gaze, hypnotised by her charismatic fervour. "Let's start a rebellion," she whispered wickedly.

"Let's start a rebellion," Korra said, as quietly as she could, taking Asami's hand with her other and holding on tight on to her only source of faith. For the first time, it felt stable. It wasn't the slipping in her head from manic highs where she was determined to blow everything to pieces and break things, which quickly turned to dust as soon as Amon laid his hands on her. She had an ally. The city was already rioting. Hope felt serious, not something to cling to in the darker hours of the night when she couldn't sleep for his skin on hers. They were going to start a rebellion.