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He doesn’t recall the last time people looked at him – really looked at him – in public. No one got close enough to see beyond the mask, the identity he was forging for himself to delete, banish the one a pathetic and vengeful man tried to engrave into him through abuse and fear. During everyday life, he was invisible and undistinguishable amongst a crowd, no one paid a second thought to a man not unlike many from his place of birth. He has been a ghost, since he started his movement.
Now, there’s no movement anymore. No equalists, none at least he can get in contact with while under custody on this island. And no mask. He lost it in the water and he’s not used to people seeing this old skin of his. He doesn’t know to whom it belongs anymore. Tarrlok had called him brother, and he had called him a brother as well. But he’s not that brother Tarrlok was referring to – he tried so hard to cancel that person, cursed since birth and almost molded into a monster. Perhaps, that had been why Tarrlok made his decision. He’s no longer a sibling, just a person loathed by all just like him, because of their bending and their accursed father.
Thinking about Tarrlok now, when his brother is still unconscious in bed, casts a shadow over his heart and soul. He has yet to wake up, the damage his body sustained far too great for him to recover in a short time. He is still recovering, his wounds albeit in process of closing hurt terribly at night and disturb his sleep. The fractured bones will never heal completely, and Tarrlok’s face will always bear unfading scars. Yet they’re alive, still in this world. They’ll meet each other someday, and they’ll talk. He asked for this as soon as he knew of his brother’s survival. He was promised this – and he’s trying to go on each day, just to see that moment in which they’ll ask each other: What now?. Even death rejected them, so what is left for individuals hated by the living and repudiated from the otherworld? It’s an answer he can’t find on his own.
A monk employed in the temple happens to cross paths with him. He’s a limping man, who gets tired too easily to be considered a threat. Yet this monk lowers his gaze and hurries past him and his designed guard, the Avatar. Korra.
“Seems like you have yet to lose your charm,” she comments, directing a small smile at him. She’s by his side, ready to steady him if he happens to lose his footing at any time. He’s not that prideful – not much anymore – to feel vexation for her acts of care, since he’s in need of them.
“Seems I quite lost it, I notice,” he replies, resuming his slow walk down the wooden hallway leading to one of the courtyards. He’s referring to the monk, obviously.
Korra snickers.
“People used to run away from you and still do. You still got it,” she says, making fun of him in good faith. As he came to learn, the Avatar is an outstandingly outgoing individual and a social butterfly like not many others. After all, she was able to find in her the courage – or the recklessness – to bond with him of all people.
He hums at her joke, not having the strength in him to argue back. He’s tired of spiels and his old logic that no one wants to follow anymore. He’s just tired of battling. He’s been living without an identity for a few weeks now, not Amon, but neither that young boy from a remote Northern Tribe village. He’s a mere nameless shadow, that others can refer to however they like. He won’t complain. He doesn’t care to.
They reach the courtyard the girl uses as a training ground a couple of minutes later. The spacious clay patio is basked in the morning sun, the salt-scented air blowing from the sea is warmed by its rays. Weather this mild doesn’t happen often in the winter season of Republic City.
He lowers himself down on the creaking stairs of the porch, where sunlight falls gently on his face. He inhales through his nose, taking in his surroundings with his other senses. The smell of the sea and the bare bark of the trees fill his nostrils. The heat warms his eyelids. He hears the faraway sounds of the waves and the Avatar’s confident steps down the porch and onto the training ground.
She’s stretching her muscly arms towards the sky above when he opens his eyes. She has shed her parka and left it beside him, her flesh twitching from the muscles flexing underneath it.
The girl falls then into position for her warm-up routine. She’ll bend the elements soon, and the element she usually starts with is the one most reflective of her personality: fire. She bends fire like a natural, like a native-born. Her punches are powerful, her kicks are wide, yet she’s not careless with the surrounding environment comprised of flammable wood and vegetation. Next is water, the flexibility of which allows her to get creative with the range and the type of assaults she dishes out. Earth is the third element, which aids her in both attack and a rare show of defense for such a straightforward personality. Last is air, where her inexperience and young age finally filter through; she bends air as if she’s bending fire or earth, ignorant of the similarities water and air share in terms of adaptability. He had studied for years each style of bending to gain knowledge on how to best counterattack each one. It’s instinctive for his mind to latch onto an analytical approach when his body can’t respond to the stimuli.
He can’t explain what came to him when he found out the Avatar, somehow, regained the use of her elements. The mix of shock, confusion, rage, and ultimately futileness overwhelming him had been too much to process at once. So he didn’t react at all at the start. The next days, every single one of those emotions came out in various ways – him losing sleep thinking of the way she recovered her lost bending, him demanding explanations, him closing in on himself to try and reign over the sheer fury pervading him and the suffocating, ruinous realization of his failure. It took a lot from him to deal with his distressing emotions, on top of the emotional luggage he already carried. He had let apathy win in the end, because he was tired, and couldn’t take any more blows from fate.
Watching the Avatar bend causes nothing to react, to recoil in him. He’s just a passive observer that doesn’t allow himself to act, apart from silently admiring her body at work, no matter if she’s bending or not. The only thing he remotely yearns for is to get back into training too when he’ll recover enough of his old strength. He can’t tolerate any longer staying in bed all day every day.
“Whew, nice show I put up for you, don’t you think?”
Her speaking interrupts his private mulling. Her forehead and arms are shiny from the sweat, her crooked smile cheers up her entire face. When she smiles, she does it with her mouth, eyes, cheeks, eyebrows. It’s a smile that takes over her whole being.
He hums, almost undetectably.
“Your execution is rather sloppy in some parts,” he says, honest. “You waste too much energy you could store back to amp up your stamina.”
“You’d be a pain in the ass as a teacher,” she says, huffing slightly. Then her smile turns challenging. “Why don’t you show me some moves, Mr. know-it-all?”
He merely lifts his eyebrows a bit at the teasing tone of the girl. He doesn’t know how, or why she’s this carefree with him, treating him like someone she has known far longer, far deeper. Someone she can trust to show the whole magnitude of her personality. It didn’t happen overnight and he doubts she hasn’t some reserves towards him, but it’s baffling they reached this point at all. Perhaps it’s because his mission failed and he has nothing to strive for, or someone to feel enmity for anymore. Perhaps it’s the Avatar’s lack of intention of doing the same, and her way of headbutting into people’s lives – for the better, or for the worse – just like she seems to do with everything in her path. She had to have bonded with his brother to discover his heritage. Somehow, she ended up forming some kind of relationship with him too.
The lack of an answer from him spurs Korra to approach him, hands on her hips.
“Come on. I know it can do you good. No use sitting there pouting, you need to get back into shape,” she says, her challenging tone mitigating, a gentle smirk playing on her lips. “What do you say?”
He looks up at the girl’s juvenile face, kissed by the sun. Does she really want him to get back into shape and possibly overcome her for good?
“You are… either a bold one, or a naive one, Avatar,” he says. He has been thinking this way for some time. “What part of me getting back into shape does favor you?”
“The part where you can see how sloppy I truly am. Also, training while someone is in a terrible mood puts me down,” she explains, sarcastically. She offers him a hand.
He wanders with his gaze over her palm and extended arm, maybe for a little too long because Korra flexes her fingers to urge him.
“Come on, or do you want me to call you lazybones?”
“That would be undignified,” he comments, to which Korra snorts.
“Then stop sulking and let’s busy ourselves with something else, okay? Just for a few minutes,” she further tries to convince him, her eyebrows forming a soft curve over her blue eyes. She’s a mix of encouraging and understanding that feels different, fresh. Like a spring newly formed into the earth.
He ponders over it, finding in the end no real cons aside from the fact that the respected identity he built for the sake of the equalists would end up buried a few more inches deeper into the ground. But he’s not that man anymore. He lost the right to be Amon.
He stands up on his feet by holding on to the handrail. The Avatar’s hand only helps steady him to take the first step into the yard. The rest are his own to take.
“Good, now we’re just missing one more friend,” she says, her fingers near her mouth.
Before he can form any guess about said friend, Korra produces a long, piercing whistle.
“Naga!” she calls, whistling again. “Naga! Come girl!”
She’s calling an animal. He knows which animal it is, so it’s no surprise to him when he spots an enormous polar bear dog rushing out of the bare bushes and dead trees. The animal runs a circle around Korra before snuggling her massive head against her stomach, leaving a lot of her white fur on the young Avatar’s training clothes.
“Naga, darling,” Korra coos, petting the polar bear dog under her muzzle and in between her ears. “You’re so lively today, girl. Such a good, good girl!”
The dog grunts and pushes against Korra’s waist, mindful of the reduced size of her human friend. It’s only when Korra lowers herself near her muzzle and directs the animal’s attention to him that ‘Naga’ seems to take notice of his presence. She should have taken notice before, or at least shown some kind of acknowledgment. Perhaps, she doesn’t see him as a threat as long as Korra isn’t wary of him. Animals are intelligent like that after all.
“Naga, he’ll be our training partner for today,” she explains to the dog’s black, attentive eyes. “He’s in a bit of a bad shape though, so you’ll be helping him stay on his feet. Got it?”
Naga looks at Korra for a moment, then goes straight to him.
He isn’t afraid of the big animal – he can sense she’s a docile spirit, despite the ferociousness for which her wild counterparts are feared. He hovers with his hand near the muzzle of the polar bear dog, for her to sniff his palm. She dampens it a little with her wet nose in doing so.
“I am capable to stand on my feet,” he says meanwhile. He’s weak and gets easily fatigued, yes, but not that much.
Korra caresses the head of the polar bear dog, murmuring yet more praises to her animal companion.
“It doesn’t hurt telling Naga to aid you, just in case,” she objects, with a sympathetic smile. “Shall we begin, huh?”
At his nod of confirmation, Korra pats the side of Naga’s neck. The pet scurries outside the training area with her tail wagging in – he guesses – a display of playfulness.
He tries to not get distracted by the presence of the dog and… Korra. He’s used to training alone, but he can make an exception this time. It’s been too long since he made any use of his muscles to pass up this opportunity.
He begins with his breathing exercises, coupled with slow movements of his arms, shoulders and back, all of which synched with his breaths. He resorted to these breathing exercises many times while confined in bed. They help him center himself, get in the right mindset for training and hush his fervent mind. This last effect is the most beneficial to him. There was never a time in his life when his mind had been mercifully quiet, it’s solely with training that he can silence it for a while.
He completes a few rounds, then he widens his stance to take up the first form of one of his training exercises.
A movement in his peripheral vision prompts him to turn his head. The Avatar is in a stance too, which is reminiscent enough of his form. Is she imitating him?
Korra turns her head too.
“What?” she asks. “What’s the next form?” His furrowed eyebrows cause Korra’s eyebrows to furrow in tandem. “Can’t I copy you?”
“You’re welcomed to try,” he says, conceding.
He performs the second form of the series, stepping forward while his right hand curve in the air with a fluid, water-like movement, his left hand near his torso.
Korra steps forward too, still with her head turned and a lopsided smile.
“I’d happily try,” She says. They perform the third form, him first, Korra soon after. Naga is ever vigilant in her observation of their training. It really seems like she’s looking out for him, yet he quickly brushes that thought away. “Learning fighting techniques is my raison d'être. Did you develop these forms on your own?”
“They are derivative of waterbending forms, as you can see,” he replies, rather drily. When he notices that Korra is still listening, he feels like adding something else. “There are also certain forms I integrated from chi-blocking and the Kyoshi Warriors’ fighting style. It primarily fixes on dodging and counterattacking the opponent.”
“I could learn a thing or two from familiarizing myself with chi-blocking and the Kyoshi Warriors,” Korra admits, making small conversation with him. It appears to come naturally to her.
They continue to perform together until he expends all his usual series of exercises. He’s regrettably a bit out of breath and he must rely back on some breathing techniques to regain his composure. But training did good to him and that’s what matters. His muscles feel awake, reinvigorated, like they haven’t been in weeks. The comfort of knowing he could soon rely back on his body far surpasses the annoying itching of his burns rubbing against the bandages.
“Should we spar a little?” Korra suggests, still full of energy compared to him. He pushes back the awkward sensation of feeling like an old, decrepit man compared to her. This is just temporary, he reminds himself. He’ll regain back his physical prowess, if he’ll be allowed to do so. This is not the norm for him.
“It promises to be a duel of the ages, when taking into account one of the opponents is currently incapacitated,” he says.
Korra snorts at him behind her knuckles. That’s when he realizes the excessive dose of sarcasm he had put into his answer. He wasn’t a stranger to it when used sparingly with his most trusted equalists. None of them laughed at his sarcasm anyway, because when he resorted to it he was especially displeased.
The girl, noticing his stare, waves a hand in a pacifying manner.
“If you put it like that, my very innocent proposal seems rather mean-spirited.” She circles around him with her hands resting on her belt. “I just thought, we are warmed up now, so why not use all this energy in sparring? Without going overboard, of course.”
He hums at the girl currently looking at him with her chin raised, the sun making her round blue eyes sparkle.
“Very well.”
Korra grins. She doesn’t waste time in assuming a proud, confident fighting stance at the opposite side of the courtyard.
He stands in front of her, discreetly testing the flexibility of his knee and ankle joints, the areas where the stress of sudden movements will fall on harder.
In the meantime, the polar bear dog got up on her four paws and is rounding up the courtyard, her tail swishing a little. He pays little mind to her.
“When you’re ready,” he says.
“Hey, first you complain I propose a sparring session to you, then you want me, the uninjured one, to come at you?” she rebuts, her lamenting tone every bit friendly nonetheless. “No no, you come at me.”
“As you wish.”
He doesn’t mind one bit, especially for how refreshing it is when such a strong-headed personality challenges him this much.
He takes his time to approach the Avatar. He’s in no rush to attempt an attack, since he intends to preserve energy for what is surely about to come, with him still not making any move to engage in combat and the girl being an impatient person. Her muscles are twitching in preparation, in tension. Her bottom lip is ever so gradually inching out.
Any time.
Any time soon.
His arm shoots forward to redirect Korra’s punch. Her knuckles collide against one of his bandaged burns underneath the tunic, and he steadies his jaw to suppress the pain.
“Sorry,” Korra says sheepishly, withdrawing her first. “You were taking too long.”
“That is no excuse to initiate a fight,” he says.
“Yeah, so—”
He aims for the center of her chest and hits her solar plexus with the thenar of his hand.
Korra gasps from the pain rapidly invading her lungs. She loses her footing and plummets on her rear, sputtering.
“Oh- oh spirits…” She’s grasping at her sternum, eyes wide and incredulous. “You’re… you cheated.”
“I was taking too long,” he reminds her, standing tall over her. He didn’t hit her with the intention to hurt, it must be an exaggerated bewilderment that’s keeping her on the ground.
He steps back to avoid her low swipe.
With a thrust of her back, Korra stands up again and lunges at him with a self-assured smirk.
The fight ensues, but it doesn’t take him long to notice she’s not giving her all in her blows. He’s blocking every single one of them at the best of his current abilities, although they’re not aggressive in the slightest. The fist she aims at his face is easy for him to capture in his own fist. So is the next one simple to dodge by stepping aside. The jab she deals to his briefly uncovered side gets redirected down as if it packed barely any force. And it didn’t.
“For all the honor you pride yourself on,” Korra says. A faint smile is playing on her lips. Her nose is brushing against his chin. She’s… close to him. Really close. He can feel her light exhales on his neck, the natural smell of her youthful, brown skin. “You surely have no honor, to have taken advantage of me like that for a cheap blow.”
“Every blow,” He lowers his head. “Is a crucial blow, in a fight. Avatar.”
“Really?” she grins up at him. Mischievously. “Then, by that logic—”
She goes for a kick aimed at his middle. He parries it with his forearm and he’s about to push away her leg with his remaining hand. Something – a paw – swipes at his ankles. He stumbles a bit and ends up with his back flushed against a large, furry surface.
Startled, he lifts his head up to the polar bear dog’s panting muzzle, whose black beady eyes have assumed a cheery shape.
He stares at Korra, hard.
“What? I said we could spar, and Naga is part of 'we',” she says, with a wide grin. “And you said—"
“Yes. I got your point, Avatar,” he interrupts, trying to push himself off the dog, but he does so too late. Naga plops on her stomach with a grunt and he ends up on the ground as well, propped up against the animal’s stomach. He feels ridiculous for what just happened, but Korra doesn’t laugh or make fun of him. She just proceeds to sit too, stretching her arms on the fluffy fur behind her, her joints popping.
He… he guesses they’ll rest now. Which isn’t a bad thing in hindsight. He needs the rest.
“Why don’t you just call me Korra for once?” she asks, so suddenly the question takes him aback.
“Should I?”
He hears the girl make a troubled sound with her tongue.
“Well, why not? It’s my name.”
She seems a little offended judging by her huff. She ignores how complicated are names as a topic for him at this time.
Why not, indeed? The reason is simple: it would imply too much familiarity between them. Too much of a thing he’s not used to having anymore. And it intimidates him, even more if he is to receive it from a person he sought to destroy for so long. He never had anything against Korra on a personal level, they were enemies because she’s the Avatar. If she had not been, they would have stayed out of each other’s way. That man however, enemy and adversary to her… sometimes, he feels like he drowned in the sea the moment he lost the mask. He stays silent however about these reasons.
“I will call you such if I see fit to do so,” he says, with a soothed tone. Perhaps even gentle, if one looks deep enough into it.
“Then I just have to give you a reason?” she asks, sounding pensive.
He arches an eyebrow at her. Why does this matter interest her so?
Korra cackles nervously, her index twisting Naga’s neck fur.
“How about…” she murmurs, soulful blue eyes twinkling at him. “How about this?”
She leans on him, hands in her lap. The soft contact of her lips doesn’t register on his cheek at first – he doesn’t register it.
When Korra moves away and the lingering sensation of her lips still tickles his skin, he turns his head towards her. He’s speechless, and it happens so rarely he doesn’t remember the last time it occurred.
Seconds pass and he gives up on trying to find words he doesn’t have for the expression she’s regarding him with, so open, full of life. Kind.
He reaches up to follow with his thumb the curve of her cheek, the outline of her round face.
Korra’s eyes are transfixed on him, dreamy. It’s as if she’s looking at someone that’s not him, that can’t possibly be him.
She kisses him then, she silences his mind with lips that taste like the warm sun they’re bathed by, like the murmuring sea all around them, like the soft sweetness of a peach. It’s a kiss brief like youth, but it leaves such a lasting impact on him that when Korra parts from him, gleefully giggling, her aura of life is still filling up his swollen chest. He feels… whole. Alive.
“So, what’s my name, Noatak?” she asks, beaming.
Her name rests on his tongue for a bit. Names are a complicated topic for him at this time... in some cases though, they don't have to be. He doesn't wish for her name to be a part of this issue.
So he utters it with a slow exhale.
“Korra.”
It surprises him how easily it rolls off his tongue. It shouldn't though. She's been 'Korra' in his mind for some time now.
The girl tilts her head to rest it on his shoulder.
“See, Naga?” she says to the polar bear dog, who grunts in response. “I told you this would work.”
Korra’s jowls are flushed, her eyes squinted from happiness. As if just him saying her name could make her entire day. He understands though now, why it was so important to her.
He says it one more time in his thoughts.
Korra. The person who looks at him like, someday, things could be better.