III
Seeking Warmth

Amon's eyelids parted. Korra was gone. Hazily, he wondered if she were bathing, and a smile tugged at his lips before he could catch it.

Stop.

He stretched his aching limbs and folded his legs beneath him, doubling over as he waited for the remnants of the dream to fade. It would not do to form an obsession; she could not hold power over him! As it was, he didn't think he would be able to look her in the eye, let alone stare her down.

Struggling to his feet, he sagged against the tunnel wall. He could see now why it was taking her so long to bore through it: it wasn't solid rock so much as a twisted mess of earth, metal, wood and other debris. Had any of the surrounding land survived this landslide? Maybe all his men were dead. His head swam, but he clenched his jaw and took a step forward, leaning heavily against the wall. Another step. Progress.

"Good morning," called Korra from the end of the tunnel. He kept his head down, pretending that his soul hadn't just brightened at the sound of her voice.

"I can help you," she added, hurrying over to him and putting her arm around his shoulder.

He deflected her arm, twisting her away from him. Standing as straight as his injuries would allow, he took another tentative step; his good hand clung to the roughly hewn wall.

Her brows dropped. "Fine. I was going to thank you for helping me last night, but if you'd rather have nothing to do with me-"

"Save your breath, Avatar. I am impervious to guilt." He took another step, his breath growing more laboured. It would be easier to crawl, but he couldn't bear to show any more weakness in front of her.

"Can I at least make sure your arm is healing okay?" Without waiting for permission, she grabbed it and examined the wounds. "It's doing all right, but there are some areas that need more attention. If I do a little more healing-"

"No."

"Just a little-"

He snapped his eyes to her, letting his fury show in his gaze. "You will not use bending on me, or touch me, or even speak to me, Avatar. My promise to save you for last is on more and more tenuous ground as my patience wears thin."

She flinched as if he had kicked her in the stomach, but then her face hardened. "I have saved your life, provided you with food and water, and am working all day, every day to try to free you from what could be your tomb, and you respond by threatening me?" She shook her head. "I was speaking the truth when I said I had never killed anyone, but if you so much as lift a finger against me after all I have done, then I won't hesitate to make you my first."

She whirled, stomped to the end of the tunnel and began to bend. Amon gritted his teeth and took another step, but what was the point of pretending to be strong when she could already see straight through him? He dropped to a crawl and dragged himself back into the main cavern, his jaw clenched so tightly that his head began to ache. There, he slumped against a boulder and tried to calm his rising anger.

.*.*.*.

That day was the most torturous yet. Amon was well enough that he couldn't sleep, but too weak to do anything except sit and think. His thoughts were restless, retreading the same uncomfortable ground until he thought he would go mad.

Korra's blasts and grunts stopped and she returned to the camp to refuel. She didn't so much as glance his way, and then she returned to her work. At first, he hoped that she wouldn't work herself to exhaustion again, but then he told himself that he didn't care. If she collapsed, he was leaving her there this time. Better he die in this tomb than end up with another night of racy dreams about his ultimate enemy. Her naked, glistening breasts drifted through his mind, and he closed his eyes against the thought, willing himself not to consider them for a moment longer.

When it came time to retire for the night, she stormed through the cavern, snatching the flask from beside him and disappearing around the corner. He was dependent on her for that, too, though at least she didn't have to bend in order to procure it. Every other aspect of his life right now was dependent on her bending – healing, food, shelter, escape. His head lolled back against the boulder and he draped an arm over the eyes of his mask. When he got out of here, everything would shift back into perspective and he would see bending for the perversion of the elements that it was. At that moment, however, that other world felt a lifetime away.

Still wearing a cross expression, Korra stomped back into the cavern and slammed the flask back into place beside him. She walked ten more paces and then dropped, curling up with her back to him.

"The water and earth temperatures have dropped," she said, "so it's going to be a cold night. Wake me if you're going to freeze to death and decide you want me to save your life with bending yet again." After a pause, she added, "But if you'd only rant about that later, then please save us both some trouble and die instead."

The light winked out.

Amon almost laughed. She was a snarky young thing, for sure. He couldn't deny that she had fight in her.

It made him want to tame her.

Stop! The word was losing its power; his control was slipping. He coiled on his side, trying to extinguish the glow rippling through his abdomen, but it was spreading, and as it rose to his mind, he found himself saying:

"I have been ungrateful."

She snorted. "I'll say."

"You must understand my position."

"What, that you're a stubborn old megalomaniac?"

The accusation was so surprising that he chuckled.

The light burst to life again; she was staring at him incredulously. "Did you just laugh?"

He cleared his throat.

"It wasn't quite the evil cackle I was expecting," she added, trying to catch his eye.

"Evil cackle? You truly do think me a monster."

"Well, I'm pretty sure that you are." Her head cocked as she peered at him. "I don't understand how you can be so adamant that bending is evil, even after all it has done for you."

"It is not without its benefits," he conceded, "but those are rarely realized. Your little trick of healing with water – how many waterbending healers do you think there are in Republic City? Compare that to the number of criminals who use their waterbending skills to terrorize and bully. Think of your Councilman Tarrlok, or the Red Monsoon."

Her gaze dropped. "But it isn't the bending itself that's evil. It's just a tool they use. Your problem is with basic human nature, not with bending itself."

Let her think that he was a villain or a fool, he thought, meeting her gaze. She was too young to understand the impact of admitting that one's life's ambitions were based on falsehood. His entire life had been geared toward revenge. His anti-bender ideals were all he had; he had sacrificed friendship, love, everything to see his rebellion come to fruition. If he admitted now that his life was built on a lie... He had to be correct, because the alternative was not an option.

"This is not an area we will ever agree on," he said. "We are both too alike, too devoted to opposite causes."

There was a long pause.

"I want to understand you," she said at last, her voice quiet. He studied her.

"Why? So that you can fix me? Heal my evil, corrupted soul the way you healed my body?"

She shrugged and her eyes dropped away. "I feel like if I could understand what caused your pain, I could understand what is going wrong with bending as an art. You aren't wrong about that: I've seen the corruption for myself, and I've seen the inequalities, and it's only getting worse. I can fix it. I know I can. I just need more time. And you won't give that to me." Her voice trailed off.

There was a long silence. He watched as she gathered her knees to her chest, shivering. She was right, to some extent: their goals were similar. She just didn't see yet that bending wasn't just a tool, but a root cause. His head swam with dozens of conflicting thoughts, and above them all was the urge to smooth her chestnut hair and gather her to his collarbone, soothing away all the pain he had brought her. It had been many years since he had allowed himself to care for anyone. Attachment only brought pain and complication. In this case, 'complication' would be an understatement.

"I meant what I said about it being a cold night tonight," said Korra.

"Is that a metaphor for our conversation?"

"No. I'm actually freezing." Goosebumps had sprouted on her bare arms. "I made the fireball bigger, but it'll just go out when I fall asleep anyway."

Yet again, logic was dictating that he should curl up beside her, and it bothered him that he was fond of the idea. Delaying, he eyed the glowing mass, seeing an opportunity to dig for information. "I've never seen a firebender sustain a flame like that."

"I'm not your average firebender." She arched an eyebrow at him. "Secret for a secret: I'll tell you how I do it if you show me what's under that mask."

"Your bartering skills could use some honing, young Avatar."

"It was worth a try." She lay down, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. Shivers chattered her teeth. He closed his eyes as tightly as he could, but the sound of her suffering through the cold made him feel even colder himself.

He gave in and slid beside her. Stretching out, he pressed against her side.

"You're no good to me frozen," he said, dismissing the intimacy. "I need you alive."

"Of course," she said, but her cheeks were dark.

The two enemies lay stiffly beside one another. He took a long, quiet breath in through his mouth, tasting her earthy scent even through the mask. A heady sensation rose in his mind, like the afterglow of one too many glasses of wine. He tried to reach for logic: it was common for two people trapped together to develop a false sense of companionship. Human nature. These feelings would dissipate the instant they set foot outside this cave.

"How old are you, Amon?" she asked softly. An odd question, he thought, and he wondered if she had voiced it in place of others she was too timid to ask.

"Older than you."

"By a lot?"

"I am not divulging any clues about my identity." He was both amused and annoyed that she kept pressing him.

"You don't seem very old. You're too agile. And your hands look young." She reached across to grip his good arm, bringing it close to her face to inspect his hand. Electricity shot up his arm; he curled his fingers into a fist.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Sleuthing." A yawn split her mouth. "I suppose I should be sleeping instead."

"That would be wise."

She smirked at him, then rolled onto her side, draping his arm over her like a blanket. The movement forced his front flush with her back, muscles and curves and swells, and he struggled to keep his breaths even. There was no room for subtlety between them, and he wondered if she could feel his heartbeat reverberating all the way through his ribcage and into hers. His hand settled onto her bicep, intending to warm her, but the texture of her skin was pleasant. Hesitantly, he smoothed his palm across it. When she gave a small, contented sigh, he repeated the movement, revelling in the impossible softness of her skin.

Where was the voice that usually told him to stop? This was dangerous, but he couldn't bring himself to break the contact.

She was nestling back against him now, her hand finding his, their fingers intertwining, and he could hear her breaths growing harsher...or were those his? How had this happened?

Their joined hands slid together along the contour of her ribs, her muscled waist, her round hips, and back up to her chest, and this was the Avatar, the Avatar, the greatest enemy known to the Equalists. Her breast was soft and warm beneath his palm, the nipple hardening against his touch. The Avatar, the enemy. Behind closed eyes he saw her future, facing him after all the other benders had been equalized, the Avatar state finally awakening as she rose to fight him to the death. One would die: there was no alternative. His body was beginning to respond to her warmth, and she gasped and arched back against him, and it took all his restraint not to grind against her. How had he let this happen? Benders had caused nothing but suffering! His mother's twisted, charred face rose in his mind's eye, her dead eyes wide with horror, still wearing the pleading scream she had launched at him as the flames had licked at her face, his feeble, childish hands scrabbling futilely against the burning wreckage...

They would all pay for what they had done.

Amon wrenched his arm from Korra's grasp and shoved her away. He staggered to his feet. "Get away from me," he growled, his voice dripping venom.

She caught herself mid-roll and sat up, her brows pinched. "Amon, what-"

"I know what you're trying to do, Avatar. It will not work. I will not be manipulated." He crouched into fighting stance. "This ends now." He tried not to sway, but his stance was still unsteady, and she noticed.

"You're in no condition to fight, and I can barely bend after working hard all day." Her eyes pleaded with him, hurt. "This is not the final showdown you want."

"This ends now," he repeated.

"I won't fight you," she said quietly. "Not like this."

It was not the answer he had expected.

Silent, quick, he darted at her, tapping just one pressure point on her shoulder and rolling around to her back.

"Ow!" She grabbed her shoulder and stood. "I thought you needed me alive."

"Not if I am to be your pawn." His illness dulled his senses for a moment and he thought he might stumble – he'd have to end this quickly, before his fatigue caught him. He shot at her again, aiming to temporarily block her bending. She stood and intercepted, deflecting his blow and countering with a blast of fire. He wove around it, spun to her back and crouched low to duck beneath her follow-up kick. Flames dissipated harmlessly above his head.

Korra landed in stance, her face at last showing anger. "I'm not using you! We were finally starting to see eye-to-eye!"

"We forgot ourselves, Avatar. This is all we are. We dance as warriors, not lovers."

Her face flushed with anger. She yelled and slung a wave of flame at him. It was a sloppy blow, and he easily dodged it, landing in a crouch. Shifting momentum, he ran at her and dove forward, springing off his good hand; his leg hooked around the back of her neck and he swung, using the movement to press her into the ground with his other knee at her back. She aimed a blast of fire back at him, blind, and he easily tilted out of the way. Six quick blows with his finger to her shoulder blade and the arm fell limp.

He wrapped his mind in the anger and the adrenaline rush so that he wouldn't consider any other emotions. Even weakened as they both were – he by illness, she by fatigue - he was going to best her. He shifted to the side and rolled her over. To his surprise, she continued the roll, using her momentum to spin to her feet before he could react. Her boots had barely touched the ground when she spun and laid a kick across his face, the force of it sending him to the cave floor with ringing ears. He recovered just in time to see her fist drilling for his face. He rolled. She yelped as her fist struck stone. Catching the bicep of her arm, he yanked down, pulling her to the ground. She hit hard, her breath escaping with a whoosh.

Panting, he lowered himself to a crouch atop her as she struggled to reclaim her breath. Sweat was beading under his mask from his exertion, and his hands were trembling. Two fingers lifted to the sky as he channelled energy into them. His other hand – the injured one - found the chi point at the back of her neck to steady her. He steeled himself, forced himself to look into her eyes as he did to all those he equalized.

A mistake.

There was no fear there, only anger. She wore the eyes of one betrayed.

He hesitated.

Korra's fist drove into his side. With impressive strength, she rolled him while he was off guard. Her body landed atop of his. With four thrusts of her hand, she locked each of his limbs to the ground. He struggled. Manacles of stone. How had her bending recovered so quickly? Perhaps she had been holding back all along. His arms jerked against his restraints.

She leaned over him, her face still furious. "I wasn't trying to manipulate you!"

"You have been all along," he growled. "Everything has been a careful game to strip me of my defenses, right from the moment you first saved my life."

"Do you really think I'm capable of tactically manipulating anything?" she asked. "I don't think I've ever thought before I acted once in my life. No, Amon. You know why I saved your life? Because I'm the Avatar. It's what I do. I was given this gift by the spirits to keep order and balance in the world, and that sometimes means protecting my enemies if they're going to die before their time. You seem to act as if you have a code of honour, however broken it might be, so maybe you can appreciate that the Avatar has one as well."

Gift. Balance. Protection. Honour. The words resonated deep within him. Amon lifted his chin and met her gaze. The fire on the ceiling glowed like a halo around her head. Her eyes, placid and blue, reflected his pinned, helpless form. The smug reflection of his mask made her face even more beautiful by contrast. He stared, transfixed, and his anger melted.

"You're right," she said. "You aren't a monster. You are just woefully misguided: your hurt is blinding you to reality. So I'm going to open your eyes." Her hands flowed in a circle, and the stone at his wrists and ankles dissipated. She stood above him as he sat up. Her posture was so regal that he suddenly felt like the younger of the two. "You blame all benders for what happened to your family. You feel most of all that Avatar Aang didn't do enough to stop the gangs, that he failed to protect your family. You want me to suffer for his mistakes.

"But I meant what I said earlier. I want to fix things. I want everyone to be equal, benders and non-benders alike. I asked you here in the first place to offer you a truce, to take down Tarrlok together. Think of what we could accomplish if we were to work toward the same goals."

She reached out a hand. An offering. "And for all you have suffered, Amon, I am sorry. An Avatar can't save everyone all the time, but even if it's too little, too late, I'm choosing to save you now."

Dozens of emotions paralyzed him: hatred, love, desire, fatigue, anger, hurt, loneliness... He lifted his good hand and clasped hers. She tugged his arm, and he rose.

They stared, faces inches apart, hands still joined, eyes still locked.

"You aren't going to be able to save me," he rasped. "Not the way you want."

"I have to try." Her thumb slid against his palm, electrifying his arm, and this time he didn't fight the sensation.

"Why?"

"I don't know." Her voice was barely a whisper.

Because we need each other, he thought, but the words would not come.

Her lips hung open, a compelling crack of flesh exposed. He raised his fingers to trace it; her eyelids fluttered, and a long breath, damp and hot, slid from her mouth.

The last of his resistance evaporated.

In one fluid movement, he slid the mask a few inches up his face as he lunged down to cover her mouth with his. She gave a small cry of surprise, but then tilted her head to deepen the kiss, her lips parting for him. Her hands slid around him and clawed into his back with strong, painful fingers as she nipped at his tongue.

So that was how it was going to be: always the same power struggle. In response, his hands curled into her hips and he dropped to the ground, yanking her body down with him to land in his lap. He broke the kiss to bite hard on her lower lip, and she gasped, fingers raking his back through his shirt with such ferocity that his skin burned in their wake. His hips began to rock unbidden, and she ground into him, spurring him to crush her torso against his. He gripped her by the throat and bent to thrust his tongue deep into her mouth, already aching to be inside her any way that he could.

She broke the kiss, panting. "Take off your mask."

His thumb traced her trachea. "Extinguish the light."

The cavern plunged into darkness, and he tore off his mask and set it aside, then bent to replace his hand at her throat with his mouth. Still grinding into him, she ripped back his hood and raked into his hair as he bit and suckled at the sensitive flesh of her neck, delighting in the groans he received in response.

Already, he was losing himself: the sensation of their rocking hips was growing too intense to bear. The world began to glow white around him and the rushing sounds of wind filled his ears, and he suddenly caught her hips and held her still, every bit of his will focussed on ignoring his body's screams to plummet off the precipice. The urgency faded and he took several slow breaths against her neck, steadying himself.

"Too much for you?" she growled into his ear, punctuating the sentence with a bite.

He slid his nose along her collarbone, breathing in her scent. "You've awakened a hunger in me that begs to be satisfied as urgently as possible."

Her breath hitched, and her nails raked through his scalp, down his neck to his collar. As she felt around, he could tell she was trying to figure out how to undo his tunic.

"Here." He brought her hand to the belt and helped her loosen it, then to the buttons at his throat. The frigid air made his bare skin tingle, and he had a brief lucid thought that shedding clothing on a cold night was unwise, but her hands scraped his chest and all coherent thoughts left him entirely. He gripped the base of her shirt and lifted; she wriggled out of it and tossed it aside. Her chest-binding was more complicated than he expected, and she intervened, unwrapping it herself, then bringing his hands to her breasts and squeezing. They were full and round in his hands, the flesh so soft and perfect that he shoved her back to the ground and bent down to kiss them. Her body arched and she cried out as his tongue found her nipple. He lowered his full weight on to her as his mouth grew rougher, and again nearly lost control when her legs wrapped around his waist. Her hands came to his pants and unfastened the buttons. He reluctantly abandoned her breasts to sit up and undress, then worked at the waist of her pants and half-skirt.

Once they were both naked, they lay side-by-side, facing one another, hands tentatively exploring one another's bodies in the darkness. He noticed that she avoided touching his groin directly, and he ached with anticipation. Beneath his touch, the muscles of her abdomen were tense, strained. Her sudden shyness was puzzling after her earlier aggression, and it was making him feel oddly shy as well.

Perhaps if he relinquished the power balance for a bit, she would feel more comfortable. He gripped her sides and rolled onto his back, positioning her to straddle him. His hand smoothed her jaw, then tugged her down for a kiss, this one far more gentle than the others, coaxing her to relax.

"At your pace," he whispered.

He felt her nod. Her fingers trailed down his jaw to his chest, then his abdomen, and finally, finally she gripped him. His hands clamped around her wrists, clinging to her for support as she began to lower herself onto him. They joined slowly, so agonizingly slowly, and her whimpers melded with his groan. Once fully joined, she paused, and his body quivered with restraint. Was she going to make him beg? Spirits help him, he was about to.

Then she began to move, and the breath he had been holding escaped as a groan. She began to move faster, settling into a rhythm, and he pulled her down to grip and tug and suckle at her breasts, getting more rough as her gasps grew louder. Her pace quickened, her cries rising in pitch, threatening to drag him with her. Then she arched and gave a loud, long moan that made his eyes roll into the back of his head and tested every bit of his self-control. The cry had barely faded when he rolled them over and drove into her again and again, at last unleashing the fervour he had been holding in check. At the last moment, he pulled out and muffled his yell in her neck as wave after wave of pleasure pulled him under.

There were several drowsy moments where he was filled with nothing but satisfaction and warmth before he remembered where he was. The Avatar. He had slept with the Avatar.

He sat up and rolled away from her, reaching for his mask and hood. His elbows ached, the skin abraded from the rock, and the sting was oddly pleasurable. He had just barely fastened his mask into place when she illuminated the cavern.

Korra wouldn't look at him. Instead, she gathered her clothing and began to pull it on one piece at a time. His eyes trailed the curves of her body, trying to convince himself that he hadn't dreamed the whole thing. He pulled on his clothing as well, dark thoughts threatening to tarnish his high.

Once dressed, Korra gathered her knees to her chest. "No one can know of this."

That went without saying. Amon tried to picture how the Equalists would react if they knew he had slept with the Avatar. The afterglow was beginning to fade, and his stomach heaved at the thought.

She finally looked at him, her eyes so sparkly that he thought she might weep. "I can't believe... We shouldn't have done that. That was stupid. So stupid." Her forehead bowed to her knees. "The Avatar just gave her virginity to Amon. To Amon! Tenzin will have my head."

Virginity. That explained a few things. It suddenly occurred to him that if word of this got out, he had a lot more to lose than she. Now, in addition to being the sworn enemy of the benders, he was also the evil man who had deflowered the young Avatar. He cursed softly to himself and lay back. He was exhausted – the illness had done a number on his stamina – but now he wasn't sure he would be able to sleep. He chewed the inside of his lip behind his mask.

"This changes nothing," he said tersely. "Once we are out of this world and back inside that one, everything will be as it was before." He gave her a hard gaze. "This didn't happen."

There was a long pause before her reply. "This didn't happen."

He flinched. Why did the words hurt him? They were his, after all. He stared at the cave ceiling. His body still glowed, his limbs tingling. It had been so long that he had single-mindedly pursued a goal that he did not know how to handle conflicting emotions.

"Amon?" asked Korra, her voice small.

He turned to look at her.

"I don't really want to mention this," she said, "but it is still freezing in here."

A shiver ran through him as he realized how cold he was. He rolled onto his side and she came over, lying down with her back to him. This time when he draped his arm around her, there was no conflict, no electricity - only regret.

He closed his eyes and tried to picture their eventual showdown, tried to imagine himself ending her, and his heart ached.