I told myself I wouldn't write fanfics for this fandom, but Tahnorra wins out over all other faculties in my life apparently and plot-bunnies are brutal. This is going to be a drabble-ish series, set post-Episode 7. I have the plot written out, so all I have to do is write it. It's the first time I've written outside the Naruto fandom in a while, so please let me know how I've done. Thank you!

Disclaimer: Don't own Legend of Korra, otherwise I'd make it longer so the pacing wasn't so fast.

Secrets
by moodiful819

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It's a cold winter's day when Korra runs into Tahno.

They're in the heart of downtown. Cars honk and vendors shout prices for seafood, veggies, dishware—everything to the people milling the streets. It's been six months since Amon's attack on the Probending Arena, but you wouldn't know it if you looked around. Other than an increase in police presence, it's as if nothing's changed. But they know it has. Especially them.

Dragging a critical eye over him, Korra inspects what half a year has done to the Wolfbat's waterbender. She hasn't seen him since she ran into him at the police station, but she's heard about him in the city's rumor mill. He's back on the city scene, apparently, and the women are back in droves, all smitten with their tragic martyr of a man. The reports say he's back to normal and dragging her eye over him, she can't help but agree. He looks nothing like the broken man who ordered her to go after Amon. His back is straight; the bags under his eyes are replaced with eyeliner once more. Even the stupid wave in his hair is back. Tahno is back to being Tahno, and if Korra hadn't been there to see for her own eyes his shadowed self, she would have thought it was a dream.

"Like what you see there, Uh-vatar?" he purrs, a brow haughtily arched.

Korra crosses her arms and snorts. "Why would I like trash? Frankly, I liked your old self. The eye-bags were an improvement."

She had meant to bite her tongue after her first comment, but there's something about this Tahno that gets under her skin and rubs—irks—twists her the wrong way. As bad as it may seem, she misses the old Tahno. She misses the sincerity she saw. All she has now is a spider-snake of a man, and honestly she feels it's a damn shame.

If he's hurt by her comment, he doesn't show it and switches topics quickly. "I hear the other fire-rats are staying with you at the Air Temple. Asami too."

"Yeah, what of it?" she asks testily as she tries to recall what brought her off the island in the first place: bottle of buffalo-yak milk, a bundle of cinnamon bark, and a sack of flour.

"I heard the Mako and the heiress are still an item. You know, if it ever gets too much for you, you're welcome to stay with me if you want."

He says it like an afterthought, but Korra's become a fox antelope in the headlights of a barreling Satomobile as her mind tries to comprehend what Tahno has just said. He's given her an invitation to his home—a haven from the presence of the gorgeous Sato heiress and her indecisive teammate—and she doesn't know whether to be grateful at his generosity or wary. Her guilt at her immediate sense of relief is the only thing she's sure of.

On the street, a vendor cart honks as it passes. Pedestrians moving to make way, he steers her away and protects her from the crush, hand on her arm as he leans over her. They're pressed close together and at this proximity, she can feel his breath skating over the shell of her ear and smell the spice of his cologne. It does funny things to her insides and she doesn't know whether the animals twisting in her guts are butterflies or snakes. All she knows is that for a man so cold, he shouldn't be so warm.

'It's winter. Winter makes everyone seem warm,' she thinks bitterly as her eyes rake over his face, looking for a crack in his façade. His bending was taken away; six months ago, he was a wreck. He shouldn't be like this—so calm, so normal when just meeting Amon had given her nightmares for a month without reprieve—and it's putting her on edge. She doesn't know what game he's playing at, and she doesn't like it. She doesn't trust it at all.

The cart passing, the crush lessens and they separate. A piece of paper is pressed into her gloved hand and looking down, she realizes it's an address. His address to be precise. When had he written this?

"Come any time. My home is always open to you," he says before lowering his head to be level with her ear.

"And my offer for those private lessons still stand, little Uh-vatar. If you ever want to know how a real pro bends, use that address too," he whispers, a low rumble in her ear and he pulls back with a laugh, dodging her punch because that damn bastard. He's played her for a fool.

Tahno. The name is a curse on her lips. She wants to punch him, slap him—anything to wipe that smirk off his face. How dare he? How dare he!

To make things worse, he's laughing at her in public. People on the street are now staring openly and the icy wind only makes her more aware of her shame. Her throat is tight and tears prick at her eyes. She has to get out of here.

Hot with embarrassment, she turns on her heel and runs towards the docks. She'll apologize about the groceries later to Pema. Right now, she can't deal with it—can't bother with it while her pride is in death-throes and she's been had for a cheap date.

Avoiding people as she runs, Korra looks down at the piece of paper in her hands. Tahno's neat flowing script jumps out at her in black ink, two crease marks showing the lines of a neat-fold. Enraged, she crumples the paper in her hand as she heads towards the docks, but try as she might, she cannot bear to throw it away and slips it into her pocket instead before summoning an ice floe and heading back to the island.