The Lieutenant is loyal to a fault. Or so the cliche goes. It's not that he never asks questions; he merely never says them aloud. Helping nonbenders-it's worth any of his leader's shortcomings or idiosyncrasies.
He finds no joy in death; he tried to prevent his wife's death, and he knows the helplessness involved in watching your loved ones slowly fall out of your grasp. One by one, heart by heart. Until it chips away at him and he wonders why he needs a beating heart to begin with. He found companionship in Hiroshi Sato long ago, and he truly lamented the disappearance of Hiroshi's daughter.
When you commit yourself to an ideal, the tangible things in life slip away.
Why, after the Avatar and Councilman Tarrlok died in a house bombing, did Amon demand that they scour the remains of the building? Not that the Lieutenant condones leaving children to die, but why was fishing a crying baby out of the rubble a priority for Amon? Why that specific child? Why such an interest in her? Why did Amon have this intuition that she would be alive or why did he have this hope that the girl survived? How, how did he know?
Perhaps the spirits spoke to him, though the Lieutenant has long stopped believing in them. These are his unspoken questions.
Whatever saves his people. He will follow. He can't afford these reservations, these doubts.
She's a bender. He's seen her carelessly play with the water in her glasses and cups, seen Amon harshly grab her arm and speak in such a way that she blanches and tears fall down her cheeks.
Her hair cascades down her shoulder. Amon doesn't allow her to acknowledge her heritage. He takes away her old name, and he doesn't want to hear her questions. Who was Arja? she asks. Amon almosts considers ending her life then.
There's something between them the Lieutenant cannot breach. Yes, his leader has many secrets. His enigmatic persona is what makes him invincible, more than human. He doesn't ask why Amon hasn't removed her bending. She's almost grown, and they've taken over Republic City, removed the bending of every citizen that hasn't gone into hiding or escaped.
Except her. She's always the exception. Nestled under Amon's thumb. He keeps his distance, but it's inevitable that their paths cross. She always bows her head; her smiles are forced. She's an abomination, the oppressor. The quiet, cowed oppressor. He teaches her to fight without bending, and she learns of injustice. She tells him that she'd like to heal the sickness from her fellow benders' hearts, but only Amon can do that. There's something in her eyes when she says that, as if she's conveying something to him that he's missing.
In the evening, she sits on the bridge, now deserted. The future is in their grasps, she knows her purpose, yet she must hide who she is.
Amon is not kind when she argues back. How dare she refuse her savior? He almost hits her, yet he stops once he raises his hand. There's an invisible rope tying him back, a perturbing memory she'll know of soon enough.
"Who am I?" she asks the man with the mustache and green goggles. The rosy dusk plays across her face, turning her into a child again. He's too old for grief.
The Lieutenant doesn't answer. It's not his place.