Disclaimer: The Legend of Korra, all characters and settings, and anything else you would recognize as pertaining to this cartoon does not belong to me. I do not intend to make any money off the writing of this fan fiction; it is merely for entertainment purposes.

Title: The Caress of Water.

Summary: The Avatar battles both the powerful Equalist activists and her own feelings for their mysterious leader—a tale of unbreakable family ties, tolerance, and self-exploration.

Pairings: Amon/Korra, unrequited Tarrlok/Korra, slight Mako/Asami, slight Mako/Korra, slight unrequited Bolin/Korra.

Author Notes: Hello, everyone!

I'm sure some of you are amazed to hear from me after such a huge absence. Has it really been two years since I last updated this story? Well, I just wanted to say that, because this is the longest story I have ever written, it greatly pains me whenever I think back to it in its unfinished state. It's probably ten chapters or less away from its conclusion, to be honest, and I intend to finish it. I'm slowly going through my 200k-word story and fixing so many things. When I'm done with that, I hope to work toward finally finishing this.

Also, while this version will remain at a T-rating, I've decided to up the maturity on the version I'm posting on Archive of Our Own, under my alias "WickedIntentions" for those who are interested. It's at chapter twenty-four right now, keeping up with the rewrites as I finish them. Same title as this one.

Thank you for your support over the years! I've even gotten some reviews recently, which amazes me; I didn't know people still read this. You're the best.

As a peace offering, I'm including an excerpt that was written a few years ago, intended to be part of chapter twenty-eight. I will be deleting this placeholder when the next chapter is ready. I just wanted to post an update for anyone who is still following this hot mess.

If you don't remember the story so well, which is understandable, I request that you wait until the full story has been rewritten to make for a more enjoyable read. Of course, if you didn't mind the old version, you're free to relive it at your leisure!

Love,

Wicked Intentions

Chapter XXVIII: Cautious Truces (Excerpt)

"I can't believe you… How could you bloodbend your own brother?!"

Amon could still hear the words ringing shrilly in his ears long after Korra had helped Tarrlok to his feet and departed from the house, slamming the door hard enough to splinter the sturdy wood. He had felt them climb atop the polar bear dog awaiting them in the garden and swiftly leave his bloodbending range. Sometime after that, he had dragged himself from the floor.

He collapsed in an armchair and buried his face in his hands. Shame crept through him, stifling and consuming. He hadn't intended to use bloodbending against Tarrlok, but something within him had reacted without his permission—a small, dark part of himself that grew murderous the more Tarrlok defied him, feeding entirely on the rage that Amon kept well buried beneath a cool exterior.

"His perfect son."

His iron-clad control over his emotions was the only thing keeping him from destroying everything in his path with his unmatched bloodbending. Him, the perfect son? When he has been desperately trying for decades not to be? But, of course, Tarrlok would be the one to see the similarities, having stood back and observed, rather than participated, through their entire childhood.

Once that anger fizzled out into nothingness, he was left emotionally drained and choking on his remorse. What could he possibly have said to explain himself? The petty excuses he could have given were hollow and weaker than reality, which was that it had always been ridiculously easy to let bloodbending take over and force those who oppose him into submission, and even his brother was no exception when his rage cleaved through the last tentative strings of his self-control.

How could he have let this happen? He hadn't lost control like that in years, but he couldn't deny that the sight of his brother turning his back on him made him desperate. Living without Tarrlok for most of his life filled him with bitter regret. At this point, with nothing but memories that would haunt him for the remainder of his life, he was frankly petrified that Tarrlok would never consent to leave with him. Or that he wouldn't ever be able to see him again because of his grave mistake.

For once, he didn't have everything meticulously planned out. He had no idea what awaited him, where he would go, what he would do when he got there. He could reside in a luxurious house on the beach with a breathtaking view of the sunset awaiting him at the end of every day; he could fill his life to the brim with expensive materialistic comforts; he could immerse himself in a variety of exotically stunning, insatiable women; or he could even drink away his sorrows until he was numb—unfeeling, insensitive as the Avatar once accused him of being—within.

His options were virtually limitless when his real face produced a blank slate in the minds of anyone who would seek his destruction, but he couldn't lie to himself, for he knew that none of that would ever truly satisfy him. Had not satisfied him. Going back to that life… Well, perhaps the Avatar should have just let him fall to his death, in that case.

He knew he should just leave Republic City behind as a half-finished chapter in his book, but there would always be the desire lingering—he would peek in at it over time, snatching tidbits of his revolution's progress in newspapers, if only to torture himself for what he failed to do.

I need to leave, his mind firmly told his body. Craft a new identity for myself and make a new home. Or perhaps my old home is still waiting for me, if I'm desperate. But he remained pathetically hunched over in Tarrlok's home, too weary to obey.

How could he possibly leave things how they were? He needed more time to convince Tarrlok. Tarrlok—perhaps he would enjoy his previous island home after the initial depression of leaving the Avatar passed. There were more beautiful women there than he would ever have time for, and his infatuation would inevitably leave him.

The Avatar… His eyelids slid open, and he stared down at his boot-clad feet. What a tricky mess he had gotten himself into with her. Truthfully, she had always been his little obsession, obviously shared by his brother. How ironic that the person that he and his brother had been set out to destroy together was tearing them apart and flinging them from their paths.

Were there ever moments where the Avatar hadn't consumed his thoughts? Even if he hadn't always had the desire to bed her, he had still loathed her, hunted her, and fantasized about becoming stronger than her. She was his purpose in life—once to surpass and to kill, now to intimately understand. She was the reason he had accomplished all that he had in his forty years of life. He had trained relentlessly in his bending art, developing new and terrifying techniques specifically designed to rip her apart and shove her down onto her knees in total submission before him, awaiting his judgment.

He had tried to detach from her, to somehow rid himself of the illness that was creeping over him like a flesh-eating disease. However, with just a light brush of her skin, his body was already shifting closer to her, desiring her more than he had ever desired a woman. His past conquests paled in comparison to what his mind torturously conjured when he contemplated continuing what he started in the alleyway with her. She—the mightiest being on the planet—was hopelessly in love with him, yearned for him, would have him in an instant, and it was almost too much for him to endure.

The Avatar, in essence, was already his, but he wouldn't allow himself to give in, for his pride was lodged firmly in his throat no matter how forcibly he swallowed against it. He could never lower himself to being a secret lover, hiding away in the shadows until he was summoned to warm her bed once again. He had wasted too much of his life hiding away already. He was a man of control, of power, of terrifying strength and skill, and he had been destined for greater things than that.

…Although, if he were to make the Avatar truly his, it would have to be on his terms. He would be in absolute control, and he would have the ability to disappear when it became too much for him to handle. But, try as he might, he wasn't a completely heartless man. The Avatar, no longer just a spiritual vessel for him to dominate, now was a mere teenager in his eyes, and he couldn't treat her like one of his petty conquests. She surely would want him to stay with her as more than just a nighttime visitor. Even if he suffered from temporary insanity and decided to play along with such a domestic role, it would never work between them.

Inevitably, the truth of his identity would come to light—someone would have to recognize his voice, for it had been his most distinguishable feature next to his mask—and he would be right back in the same problem he found himself saddled with now. But Tarrlok would already be executed, and he would have helped to slip the noose around his brother's neck.

He needed to protect Tarrlok. The loss of his position and his bending weren't allowing him to think clearly, and he needed guidance. He knew his brother was strong and even surpassed him in emotional strength, but he recognized the illness that slowly crippled him from within. Tarrlok couldn't hide the fact that he was slowly dying inside in his struggle to find something worth clinging to. Something Amon was determined to provide for him.

But… oh, how he craved the Avatar: her delicious heat, her smooth dark skin, her sighs of pleasure, her lovely scent. He had seen glimpses of the passion that resided within her, and her inexperience only added to the erotic allure, for he could craft her into anything he wanted.

Amon dug his nails into his face until the tiny wounds began to bead with his blood. A meaningful bond with the last of his flesh and blood… or intense, yet fleeting, gratification? How was it even a question?

Korra seethed. She stared straight ahead, gripping Naga's reins with a tighter grasp than what was necessary until the leather creaked in protest under her strength. She could feel Tarrlok twitching sporadically behind her from the intense bloodbending attack he had been subjected to. So far, she hadn't heard him utter anything other than a few stifled gasps of pain.

They didn't slow their pace, flying through the streets of the ever-silent Republic City, until they neared the ferry dock, and only then did Korra bring Naga to a trot.

The polar bear dog halted at the edge, her tongue lolling from her mouth as she obediently awaited a signal from her mistress that they were going to journey across the bay, but the signal wasn't forthcoming.

Korra twisted around in the saddle awkwardly so she could face Tarrlok, but she couldn't see his eyes.

He was hunched over, eyes downcast. A few bothersome strands of his hair had escaped their ties, caught in the wind that had rushed past them. They hung down his face, but he didn't bother to fix them.

The sight of his unhappiness sent a pang through her heart, but she wasn't sure what she could say to soothe him. Are you okay? nearly slipped from her lips, but she inwardly chastised herself. His own brother just cruelly bloodbent him; there was little chance of him being okay with that. "…Tarrlok?"

He flicked his eyes up to hers to show brief acknowledgement, but then they were again fixated on his hands, which toyed restlessly with the hem of his robe, wrinkling the fine fabric.

She laid a hand atop his to still his movements. "He's still here."

"I'm having trouble processing that, myself," he admitted quietly, finally speaking. "But at least I know it's truly him; that felt every bit like it did when we were children. He's completely unpredictable but, at the same time, so undeniably Noatak."

"Do…" she croaked and had to pause to lick her suddenly dry lips before continuing, "…do you think you'll ever be able to go with him?"

It took him some time to answer.

"No. I would never—" he broke off.

What Amon had done was repulsive, but she knew she hadn't imagined the horror in his eyes when he had snapped out of his rage. It was rare to see Amon lose control, and it was terrifying that even his own brother wasn't safe from his bloodbending. She couldn't deny that she, too, had been fearful of what he could have done to them.

"Because he bloodbent you?" she asked softly, her low tone carrying on the salty breeze that tugged at their hair and clothing. Naga swayed impatiently under them.

"No, not because of that. I expected nothing else from him," he muttered. "Even if I don't know him that well anymore, I perfectly understand the allure of bloodbending when things don't work out in my favor. No—that's not what troubles me. I don't know how, but, for a moment, he convinced me that he truly cared what became of our relationship. But I was wrong. He wouldn't even make an effort to acknowledge what I wanted, and that's what I'm most troubled about."

Korra watched as the proud man curled further inward, his chin falling to his chest.

"Noatak was my best friend when we were children. In fact, he was my entire world, everything I strove to be, and we were inseparable. I wanted to follow him all those years ago, and… spirits, I want to follow him now. But…" Tarrlok let out a shuddering breath. "What's wrong with me? He's dead to me. I don't need him. I don't…"

The Avatar's eyes widened as she watched his shoulders tremble with silent pain. She barely noticed when Naga finally settled down on her belly, tucking her paws under her jaw and whining softly.

"He wouldn't even make an effort for me. He won't even try. He doesn't care a thing about anyone unless it directly benefits him—the absolute mirror image of our ruthless, selfish father. So why… why, Korra? Why do I waste my time caring about what happens to him? And… why do you love such a man?"

Korra guiltily averted her eyes, but she leaned forward and wrapped her arms around him, resting her chin atop his shoulder. She didn't have a strong answer for that question, so she let the silence speak for her. The soothing scent of vanilla and laundered clothing wafted over her senses, and she relaxed against him. "How can I help you, Tarrlok? I can't stand to see you this way."

"Love me," he choked out, gathering her tightly against his chest. "Be mine, Korra. Stay with me until I'm executed, please... Show me that my life hasn't been a complete waste."

Her breath caught. The weight of his emotion crashed over her, suffocating her. She couldn't move out of his arms because he was holding onto her as if his life depended on it, so she remained there, frozen with guilt.

To promise to be his when her heart firmly belonged to another would be cruel of her, but to deny him when he begged her so brokenly would also be cruel. What was the right answer?

"I can help you forget him," he whispered desperately into her ear when she said nothing. "What makes you love him? Unlike him, I've already shown you that I love you… Is it physical intimacy you desire? I'm more than qualified. Just give me one night to convince you…"

She stiffened in his arms when the words registered. Unrequited love, always knowing he would be second-best to his brother in nearly every aspect, was no way to live. He was asking too much of her because it simply wasn't that easy; she couldn't swap Amon out for another just by wishing for it, and the thought of spending the night with Tarrlok was too great a betrayal and insincerity on her part.

Tarrlok was well aware that she didn't return the feelings, and, even if she could someday return them, did he have that long to wait? She had sworn to protect his life for his bloodbending, but Amon insisted that nothing she could say would save him from the wrath of the world. His words weren't ones to be disregarded. Perhaps there was nothing she could say in the defense of a bloodbender, even a former one—especially not if he were the son of Yakone and brother of Amon.

And how could Tarrlok bring himself to settle for her when he could find someone who was right for him? How could pretending that it was he who she yearned for make the remainder of his life meaningful? She realized, horrified, that she had done this to him. By carelessly encouraging his feelings again and again, she had tricked him into thinking there could be more between them. Even now, she was holding him closely, blurring the fine line between friendship and romance during his moment of vulnerability. It nauseated her; by allowing him to remain by her side, she was aiding in his demise. She was no better than Amon, stealing kisses and dismissing them as nothing more than impulse.

As much as her heart told her to be selfish, she knew, at that moment, she had to do everything in her power to reunite Tarrlok with his brother, to give him a reason to enjoy living and to help him escape the grim fate that awaited him in Republic City with her. He couldn't stay. He had to take Amon's hand and flee.

She couldn't hope to understand exactly what crossing the yawning chasm between the two brothers entailed, if it were even possible at this point. But, most of all, she couldn't say she really wanted them to accomplish it, if she was being completely honest with herself. Reuniting the brothers meant she would lose both, for sure, but seeing Tarrlok slowly transforming, crumbling, before her—straining under the weight of losing his brother, as well as his bending—she couldn't afford to be selfish.

But to lose Amon and Tarrlok in the process—it killed her inside. It wasn't a choice she ever wanted to make. She had come to understand Tarrlok on an emotional level and yearned for his friendship.

She pulled out of the embrace and couldn't even meet his eyes to see what her rejection had done to him. She couldn't continue bringing hope into his heart, only to cruelly rip it away when she fell into his brother's arms once again. She knew all too well what it felt like, for Amon did it again and again when he ran from her.

She heard him draw a ragged breath, and it took every ounce of her inner strength to contain her tears. She loathed herself. She couldn't give Amon a reason to love her, and she couldn't give a man with a death sentence a little bit of peace. There was no way she was ever the Avatar, for she only ever brought more problems, rather than peace and balance, to herself and everyone around her.

"T-Tarrlok," she stammered weakly, fishing for a way to put her thoughts into words. "I'm—"

"—No," he interrupted hollowly. His words were oddly strangled, like he was straining to hold back his emotion from his voice. "I'm sorry. I… I shouldn't have asked that of you; it was terribly selfish of me."

Her heart broke. If he thought he was selfish, she was the most despicable person to ever walk the planet. How could he take the blame for any of this when he was the person who suffered the most?

She felt so lost. She desperately needed to speak to Aang; he always had the answers.