No matter their shortcomings, they take this night like it's the last one they'll ever know.
Korra and Tarrlok have slept in the same bed for awhile. There were nights when he didn't return, so immersed in paperwork. Same with her. Korra would stay over at the air temple, where she was always welcomed. Her excuse was training. In truth, she couldn't stand him then.
"I wish we'd been able to do this under normal circumstances," Tarrlok says, his hand on her cheek, running back along her skin to sift through her tangled hair.
As if they're a normal couple on a normal night. As if he's not two decades older than her, established. As if they aren't the Avatar and the Councilman, ready to be thrown at the very center of the war in the city. As if they are home in their comfy bed and not miles away, tucked back in a shoddy place to ensure that they aren't taken in the night.
As if they both aren't frightened to death.
Korra says, "I don't even know what a 'normal circumstance' is."
Given his past instructions in the art of bloodbending, it will be horrifically unsightly (coincidental? ironic?) if Council Tarrlok perishes of a heart attack. Never had he thought he'd lose his composure as quickly as he did when Korra took it upon herself to learn how to drive in his vast driveway. Worse, she expected him to sit in the passenger's seat and risk his life to teach her.
He will surely regret this.
"Wait, that's the—"
"Okay," Korra says loudly, not bothering to keep her eyes on where she's going, "so this is the br—" The vehicle lurches forward.
"—gas!"
"—whoa, monkey feathers!" Tarrlok believes that Tenzin and Pema already have a handful of children, and he certainly will never ask the former for any favors, but they dropped by and Korra gave them Arja for the day. She says that Arja likes to play with Rohan. It's for the better that she isn't present here. Her scruffy little rat of a dog is undoubtedly inside eating something Tarrlok's going to need later. Admittedly, it hasn't yet chewed up something he misses terribly. Yet.
"I believe there's a reason why they have that unfair stereotype of women being shoddy drivers, and I'm looking at her."
Korra sticks her tongue out. "Oh man, you didn't like that bush, did you?"
"Now you're just trying to spite me." Tarrlok slumps down and sighs. "You need to—"
"Hey, bossy passenger! I got this!"
"No, you most certainly do n—"
The satomobile halts abruptly, and he would've flown out of his seat if he hadn't had the belt to hinder his ascent. Korra's mouth splits into a wide grin.
"See? My masters always said I was a quick learner! And you know what? I'm hungry!" Korra perks up in satisfaction as she takes in his physical state. "Hey, there's actually some hairs out of place!"
"Perhaps you should let me take the wheel."
Sliding down in her seat, Korra wraps her arms around herself and laughs. "You look ruffled, old man."
"I am not old, though this experience has tacked some years onto my age."
"Nah. Probably only like, what, five seconds?" She scoffs. "Pf, baby. No wait, you're old. C'mon, you're such a priss, 'Councilman'!"
"Those were the longest five seconds of my existence." Of course, the longest moments of his life were those with futile hope or dread. As he waited for Noatak to return, when he expected to trip over his big brother's half-buried corpse as his mukluks crunched in the snow.
Korra nods in approval, unaware of his dwindling temperament. "Thanks!"
The next week is daunting.
After Tarrlok's arm is harmed in an Equalist attack on city hall and he falls off the second story of the building, Korra rushes to heal him.
He's seen better days.
It's nothing, he insists, and she says the same thing for a different reason. His injuries are nothing, and her healing him is just something anyone would do if they were in her situation.
Tarrlok says that he can heal himself, but he took quite a tumble. He opens his eyes to see her above him, an open scratch leaving blood to run down her cheek. Tarrlok hoarsely repeats that he can heal himself. Korra's eyes gleam worriedly, and she takes the measly water supply seeping into the soil of nearby potted plants and helps him.
"You almost died," she says, one hand supporting his back as he sits up.
Steeling himself against the pain in his ribs, Tarrlok says, "And I suppose I should thank you."
Korra laughs. "Yup, that's me, going around and saving the helpless, pretty little princesses."
"At least you acknowledge that I'm well-groomed."
The thoughts rush over them at the same time: is their daughter okay? Has the air temple been attacked?
They are moved elsewhere, somewhere more enclosed and guarded, closer to the police headquarters. An evacuated hotel "condemned" because of a particularly rampant spider-rat infestation. An infestation bad enough for heavily-armed cops to be secreted inside.
(And, hmph, if Equalists are the exterminators and benders are the spider-rats . . .)
After the city hall attack, there wasn't an invasion of the air temple, but there is no room to take chances.
Neither of them want to leave their daughter, to even roam into a separate room. Then, Korra and Tarrlok make the hardest (or perhaps the easiest) decision in both of their lives: she should go with Tenzin and his family in their escape. They both tried to prevent any tears on the first night without Arja. There's no need to ask for assurance that she'll be cared for. Tenzin has never proven himself to be unreliable, no matter the political differences he has with Tarrlok.
If they get caught—Tarrlok has sworn never to bloodbend again. But he will crush every single part of Amon with slow, calculated precision if that monster even dares to glimpse at Arja.
And that bloodlust makes him deteriorate inside. He always considered Yakone to be the brute, and Tarrlok has dedicated his life to sophistication.
It's the first night Korra and Tarrlok sleep close together, facing each other and foreheads touching. As if they're scared of being pulled apart. They both stay in their day clothes, but Korra won't admit that she's frightened. No way. Water leaks from the roof, but neither of them make any moves to do anything about it. They try to make small talk, and eventually get to the subject of Tian, Arja's dog.
"She's a girl dog, Tarrlok," Korra corrects.
Tarrlok sighs, pulling his body away from hers, his hand brushing against her knuckes. "Does it really matter in the end?"
"I should be out fighting," she blurts, "I'm the Avatar."
His eyebrows crease. "If Amon takes away your bending, it's all over."
Earlier in the day, Tarrlok took three flowers out of a chipped vase in the lobby. They were wilted, though his intent was sincere. And what's a little theft in the midst of near-mayhem? After what he's put Korra through, after all of his failings, it's the least he can do before they're swept up by the hurricane.
"What are these for?" Korra asked, petting the brown-tinged, white petals before setting them on the nightdresser.
"Saving my life. Tolerating me. What was it you said—'everything'?"
Korra realizes now that she can tolerate Tarrlok. The deserts of the central Earth Kingdom must be freezing over.
"Um, Tarrlok." They sit together on the bed, afraid to move just in case it'll cause the world to implode, the temporary, stable peace to fall away from under their feet.
"Yes?"
Might as well ask now. "Who's Noatak?"
His eyes are piercing. "What did you say?"
Korra raises her voice, "No-a-tak."
Ignoring her boldness, Tarrlok inquires, "Where did you hear that name?" She doesn't like his tone. It isn't dangerous because then he'd be sprawled out on the floor with a dislocated jaw if he ever insinuated that he'd cause her or their daughter harm. But he did—and he never will.
"I—your nightmares. I mean, you did have that one dream about a giant lion-turtle sitting on your face and smothering you to death, so it might be nothing."
Nobody else knows the fate of Yakone. What will she do if he expresses his deepest secrets, if he divulges in her that he could bloodbend? Could? No, can. It's not just something one forgets, to crawl into another person and have their heartbeat stuck in the base of your neck.
If Tenzin were here, would she run to him? Would she have him arrested? Would she be ultimately disgusted with him? Does he even deserve to continue this charade?
His voice hollow, he tells her who Noatak is. His dead brother. The brother he should've died with.
Tarrlok tells her everything, and Korra's expression shifts between confusion and horror. Horror toward him? No, Tarrlok is no mere innocent, but he's not his father. He's not.
Her eyes get progressively shinier, yet she remains calm, quiet, allowing him to continue, squirming from having to sit still. What did he have to go through so that such events pass from his mouth without him utterly breaking down?
She hugs him, and it knocks the breath out of Tarrlok. The sudden closeness seems so right. Korra's always been told that there's a special time when you're ready, when everything feels just right.
"If they capture Arja, it's all my fault," she murmurs.
"Korra—"
"How could I have been so reckless? It's like I've given Amon someone else to hurt." Korra leans her head on his shoulders, clutching his shirt tightly.
"She's not fodder. Amon is a radical, but I don't think he'd inflict harm upon a small child." Not that he knows what that monster is capable of. Tarrlok doesn't believe any of those words, but he won't tell Korra that. They need hope. Empty reassurances. They made the best choice.
She wonders why Amon hadn't defreated her while she was incapacitated for the four months she announced that she was pregnant. Outbreaks of violence were more common, but—
(I'm saving you for last.)
Korra pales. No, she's protected until he rips away everyone else around her.
No, no. They're safe. Amon's a step behind this time, and that pleases her, though she'll never kill the lingering doubts in her mind.
They might die; they might lose their bending, though she can't see much of a difference in those two scenarios.
When she finally decides to sleep with Tarrlok, she reasons that it's part of being a normal couple. As the Avatar, she cannot avoid things anymore, but she can do them on her terms. They're married, and she's young and nubile.
(Yet isn't this why she wants to do this, to forget the world for a moment? No, she can't do that anymore. Not like last time.)
If it's an equal deal, she has nothing to be afraid of. She has friends, family. Bolin, Mako, and Asami are close by. She's not in a safe environment anymore with the newest onslaughts of violence, but this may be her only chance to connect with him in this way.
Face it, she doesn't love him. After Bolin and Mako, Korra doesn't like the thought of infatuation. Or so she keeps saying over and over in enough circles to make her head spin.
She's the Avatar. Yeah, Aang got to have a happy family, but these are different times, and she's not Aang. And she never will be.
"None of—that is your fault," she consoles him. "You were just a kid."
He smiles grimly. "I appreciate the sentiment."
After a moment, she asks, "Are you scared?"
"I'm terrified," he confesses, his voice reedy. She picks herself off of his shoulder and strikes. Korra reaches to press her hands on his cheek; she kisses him, curling her other hand into a fist in her lap to keep it from trembling. He doesn't reciprrocate immediately, and she wonders if she's made a mistake.
Then Tarrlok clasps her chin in his hands and returns it. She's never kissed anyone like this. Despite their rampant lust, her first lover hardly did this at all.
Korra breaks the kiss, moves his hands away from her face. "I want to . . ." She wants to believe that this situation can end well, that there can be a day where they can just be. That better days are ahead, days of leisure.
Korra doesn't know if he catches her drift as she pats the bed. He does. Tarrlok rests a hand on her knee. "Are you certain?" He leans forward as if concerned. "I don't know if I'm allowed purchase some contraceptive herbs."
"You can ask for them," Korra says. "You're not gonna crush 'em into your 'famous' tea, are you?"
"Why?" Their voices are both smaller than usual.
"Nothing, nothing." Korra sighs. "Can't we worry about that later?"
"Forgive me for being intrusive," he says, smiling with one side of his lips, "but is that what you said last time?"
They both laugh. She says, "It shouldn't last too long."
"Excuse me?"
"Well," she teases, "you might not be able to keep up."
"I thought you preferred the older types."
"That's why."
Korra hopes this brief ease can diminish their worries, the worries that leave them both nauseous and shaking. She debates on whether or not she'll have to pretend that someone else is underneath her this time. No. Here she can pretend, but not about identities. Korra needs to pretend they're at home and it's been a busy day of laughter and punches as she trains at the air temple.
"I'm sorry for everything you've gone through," she says, holding one of his ponytails in her hand.
He meets her eyes sadly. "Well, what doesn't kill us only makes us stronger, correct?"
Korra's visage scrunches. "Who said that?"
"Precisely." Tarrlok ponders, then adds, "A very lucky person."
Without another word, they begin undoing each other's ponytails. He runs a hand through Korra's hair, and it makes everything worse for her emotionally. It's such a loving gesture compared to what she's used to, the complete juxtaposition between tenderness and candidness. What's she supposed to do?
Her pulse drumming in her ears, she spends at least five minutes attempting to undress him. Stupid, stupid Tarrlok and his complicated clothes with their layers. Korra accidentally whips her top in his face before she completes unbuttoning his elaborate shirt. At first, Tarrlok's hesitant about her seeing him in such completion, noticing how soft his belly's grown; of course, Korra, despite her healthy form, has her own share of stretch marks and imperfections. His brief lapse in confidence is endearing to her.
Soon, they're both exposed to each other, and Korra's throat tightens and goosebumps prickle her skin. She's done this before, back when it would hurt, when Korra bled a little the second time and angrily pushed her lover away from her until she was ready again.
Boy, had she been agitated. Not even her body could be normal. Katara told her in one of those grown-up talks that a girl who exercises as extensively as she does won't suffer from much pain when the time comes.
Korra almost cried then, but she stopped herself. It was supposed to feel good like in those pages she tore out of books in the compound's library and wadded under her mattress for recreational purposes. How is it that she couldn't even do this right?Mako and Asami could probably see fireworks, enjoy normal couple things.
It seems so trivial, but in her mind, if she couldn't even do such an ordinary thing without something going awry, how can she help the oppressed while simultaneously defeating Amon? A slippery slope, sure, but she couldn't even have a crush without being stupid and causing some big drama, couldn't even seek physical comfort without bruising in the aftermath.
Korra lays back. Tarrlok's large hands tease the undersides of her breasts, and she wonders what it is about dudes and boobs. Sure, it doesn't feel awful, but there are more suitable places for his attention.
She's really doing this. She's really, really doing this. Korra, propped up by the pillows, guides his hands to just where she wants him to sate her like she did with the first guy. The first guy—it sounds so hollow and meaningless. Nothing.
She hopes he's okay. Not captured by Amon.
Unlike Tarrlok's careful ministrations, the man before was greedy, mechanical. It all seems so silly, but those nights had been a way to cope. For both of them. Instead of the lingering sadness Tarrlok suppresses with stark clothes and material wealth, her first lover just receded. To stop from hurting, he didn't feel at all—or hid it so well, the agony like rotten meat piling together in a rubbish pile.
She couldn't look at him like she can meet Tarrlok's eyes in arguments and confessions. She can't even remember if his eyes were blue or gray or a combination of both. They were diluted, as if he watered down his true eye color to hide himself even more. Arja has his eyes, but they're so clear and gentle.
When her husband bows between her legs, his thumbs brushing against her thighs, it's something so strangely altruistic. He isn't expecting any compensation; Korra's gratification is all that matters. It's a far cry from the man who let the press bait her into joining him on his task force, from the man who let her be the one who was in the newspapers as failing to apprehend Amon.
With that thought, she pulls at his hair, her heart tugging, tearing out of whatever socket it's sequestered in. It aches, burns under her skin, beating quickly and driving her blood faster through her veins.
Korra hates the smell of this, something so embarrassing and personal.
Listening to the radio, sparring, playing with Arja together. Reluctantly, she noticed long ago that Tarrlok's a great dad. Capable of being someone other than that persistent creep who sent Korra unwanted gifts, denigrated and questioned her.
His palm touches her stomach, his fingers roving around her side without much pressure, tracing loose circles on her hip. There's no urgency as he pries and gives to her with a building of some emotion she'll never be willing to admit, even though this is something that they'll never do again. The storm is coming, she knows it.
The build up inside of her becomes too much. Her hair plastered on her forehead, sticky with sweat, Korra sits up and grabs his shoulders. Tarrlok meets her eyes and registers her intent. They position themselves with her above him, his head near the end of the bed.
Korra never thought she'd willingly bed Tarrlok, never thought she'd be a mother, never thought any of this would happen in her life of training in an infuriating loop.
It's still nothing like those pages. She's sleepy, yet she won't be able to sleep tonight. Korra has a headache from the dank scent of the mildewed room with its cobwebs and water stains, a queasiness rising in her stomach as the world crashes around them. It's only them there together. It's their night. She's in complete control. No exhausting fight for power.
Korra leans down to kiss him, and his fingers caress her cheeks, her chin, her neck. It's far from a cold gesture, but she can't help but think that she has her entire life ahead of her. A life of duty. How can she make any of this work when she's stumbled so far?
A wet need settles in her again, though with less intensity than before. The dull pounding behind her eyes increases, and it occurs to her that she no longer has any pretenses with this man. She trusts Tarrlok.
That sneaky creep, Korra thinks wryly. He really did win her over in his own weird way.
She wants to wash away all of the pain, all of the fear and loss he's endured. They both have had their fair share of nights where they've helped each other during particularly awful nightmares.
Korra's head is positioned in the crook between his neck and shoulder, her forehead on his plentiful mane of hair. Lightning flares in the distance, but neither of them pay it any heed.
When it's all done and they're beneath the covers, Tarrlok snores rather noisily for someone who's all about appearing proper. Korra's lightheaded and melting, and she can't discern how to move her arms and legs in the intricate knot they are in.
This isn't even a big leap, though she never thought herself capable of going through this again. Given the emotional complications, the consequences she so blatantly ignored.
Things aren't hopeless, she repeats in her head as she evades sleep for another hour. At least Arja is safe.