DISCLAIMER: I do not own Avatar: The Legend of Korra. Or Tahno. :(

AUTHOR'S NOTE: 5/24/12.

- Still a little overwhelmed by all the love break the ice has received! :) THANK YOU SO MUCH to all of you who have liked and reblogged it and a huge thank you to all those who left a review on FFNET.
- I have way too many WIP fics to start a full-fledged Tahno/Korra fic, but break the ice was just one of those one-shots that gets you carried away. THIS IS A TWO-SHOT, but if any other little continuing/follow-up scenes and snippets from this universe (outside of this sequel TWO-SHOT) come to mind, I will be posting any and all of them in my LoK drabble collection a river running raw under the same namesake.
- Let it just be said that I AM A MULTI-SHIPPER. I ship Makorra, Borra, Amorra (what the fuck, I know), but my strongest obsession is currently Tahnorra. (Or whatever the heck we're calling it.)
- Most of this was written in between episodes five and six, with the last final touches thrown in after the airing of episode seven.

ABOUT THE RATING: If this show weren't Y-7, I bet you these guys would have a pretty vulgar vocabulary (especially Korra, Tahno, and a pissed-off Mako). You can expect some dirty language in certain scenes..

CREDITS:

- I read the wonderful piece called "Tahno" in chromeknickers' ficlet collection called Lost in Translation, and now the idea of him living in the loft above Narook's Noodlery is 100% headcanon.
- senbo-sencho (formerly known as senbo-sama) drew a comic strip called "A Conversation Among Men." This fanart actually (1) was a bit spoilery (in the best way) because it was the first time I'd ever even heard of this character called Tahno, (2) the inspiration that convinced me that water tribe owns every other nation in the sensuality department, and (3) the inspiration for one of the scenes you will see in PART I.

FANART: A huge thanks to all of the talented artists who have drawn fanart to accompany break the ice! Thank you, happyzuko, charmful, Parrot4a, & NGC346!

MUSICAL INSPIRATION:

"Bloodstream" by Stateless takes the cake with this one, but please feel free to listen to "Spectrum" by Florence + The Machine and "You Again" by Kate Havnevik.

Beta'd by the ever-lovely ebonyquill. :)

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Since coming to Republic City, Korra has had plenty of time to learn more about the kind of person she is and the kind of Avatar she hopes to be.

She decides that she isn't the type to run away from her problems.

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But that doesn't mean

she doesn't run.

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Compared to raucous sauna inside, the wind of the empty beach feels like a thousand chilling needles scraping over her flesh, but it still isn't enough to cool the heat winding through her core. The air is thick with the tide and as Korra stares into the moon, she swears she can still feel him; her skin tingles with memory, and no matter how she tries to distract her mind, nothing seems to be able to make it go away. As she races along the sandy beach, sandals clutched tightly in one hand and the other left swinging empty through the air, Korra can feel the trails of sweat freeze where they drip along her spine, and she is sure that at least one or two of the intricate curls that Pema spent so much time on have finally slipped free.

It is only when she feels she is finally far enough away that she remembers how the boys might be looking for her and she stops, curling over to rest her hands on her knees and to catch her breath. The fine white sand nearly glows under the luminescence of the moon, but the rest of the world around her is dark with the shadows of tall, thick trees and the open expanse of rolling black waves, and it is here that she finally gets her moment of respite. In this moment alone, in this place apart, Korra doesn't have to pretend. She knows she should return immediately, lest someone worry, but she's breathing in the fresh air of the ocean and feeling the mist of stray sea foam kissing her eyelids for the first time in what feels like ages, and she realizes something critical.

She's not ready to give it up.

I'll go back in a minute, she tells herself, chest heaving as she tries to absorb the moment. All I need is just a little bit more... and then I'll go back to the festival and forget everything that just happened and get back to business. That's all I need. One minute.

But as much as Korra has learned about herself over the course of the last few weeks, she is still only just starting to realize that just one is never quite enough.

She takes her time on the return journey, her toes slipping into the wet sand with each easy step. It might not be as familiar as the solid crunch of snow beneath her fur-lined boot, but it is comforting all the same, and she is so absorbed in her thoughts and the feeling of being immersed in outer tranquility—even when her inner-self is anything but—that she doesn't notice the presence of another on the beach until his silhouette has already begun to break through the shadows of the festival's lights just a bit farther off. Her immediate gut-reaction is to do something drastic, but she's been told that impetuous is her middle name, and she's trying to break that habit. Thus, she continues her steady pace, not changing her gait even when they meet, and they say nothing as he turns on his heel and begins to walk alongside her in the sand.

He is at least two feet away from her and yet she is so aware of his closeness that she's convinced she is more in tune of his steps than her own. She's not sure what angle he's working or what counterattack she should prepare, but she feels the sedation of the beach give way to a barely extinguished ire, and by the time they are able to just see the moon's reflection in the festival's towers of ice, she is essentially back where she started. When he finally speaks a few long paces later, her frustration has all but mounted.

"Didn't make it very far, did you?" Tahno remarks, seemingly innocuous, but she knows better and she can hear the suggestion in his voice. Korra's not sure what he's implying—is he criticizing my abilities again, or is he calling me a coward?—but she's already pissed off enough as it is, and he's not going to make it very far himself if that's the game he's come out to play.

"I thought it was far enough," she comments icily, glancing his way for the first time. "But apparently not."

The look he gives her, like he's masking irritation with amusement and she's about to pay, makes her fists clench instinctually. But she keeps trudging forward, content to act as if he weren't there beside her, and hopes the he'll take the hint... but the stars and spirits have other plans in mind for her tonight, and he keeps along at her side in the silence. The sound of her heart beating in her ears begins to overwhelm the soothing sounds of the nearby waves and Korra thinks—well, isn't this just terrific?—that there is probably very little else he could do to ruin her evening at this point, so she turns to him and demands, "Is there something you need, pretty boy, or can we just skip the act and focus on tearing each other apart in the stadium?"

"Impatient, are we?" Tahno turns toward her, looking down his long nose into her eyes, and Korra wants to break his teeth.

"What the hell kind of game are you playing, Tahno?" she hisses suddenly, creeping in closer to show him how unafraid of him she is.

"You tell me," he says quietly, severely, and the charade is dropped. His eyes are stern and questioning, and Korra is all the more angry because she's the one who's asking the questions here. "If you're going to try to play me, little girl, you better be prepared to get played yourself."

"Like you didn't try to play me first," she spits, roughly shoving him back and he stumbles, still not expecting such strong force from so small a frame and it never fails because she is always, always underestimated, isn't she—even by him. "Using me to get to my teammates? To put in a few cracks, is that it? If you want a cheap win, why not just pay off the refs?"

She advances, pushing him back another step as she shoves the heel of her palm into his shoulder, grinding out the words as if they are suddenly too much, and she is hit with the sudden realization that she could be disqualified. As she works to hold herself back, Korra wonders whether or not the kind of person who would use petty jealousy to get ahead in a game would be the kind of person who'd report an illegal assault to win by default. Tahno is brushing his shoulder off with slow, intentional fingers and Korra thinks that even though it might usually be his style—though it might actually be worth the shot—she has the feeling that she doesn't need to worry.

This is one match they will both savor.

But even still, her glare continues to burn. "I'm sure it'd be much more effective, and you then you could keep the washed-up pick-up lines for your fangirls instead of trying to cheat through me."

"Like you didn't have your own motives," he bites out vehemently. "And if you think those were our only reasons for what happened tonight, then you're even more stupid than I thought," he seethes, and Korra is confused but furious, and it clouds her mind. She thinks that maybe he's trying to tell her something but she is too far done with his shit, and she doesn't want to care, doesn't want to know, doesn't want to have to think about this anymore. She's already invested too much in this game, and all she wants is for things to go back to the way they were, when she could focus on the fight and the win and not the heat in his eyes.

"The only thing I care about where you're concerned is finding the most satisfying way for you to take a sucker-punch to the face," she whispers, eyes blazing.

"Little girl, I'd like to see you try."

"I'd like to see you try to stop me."

"Oh, with great... pleasure," he says smoothly, and Korra tries to focus on the anger and the indignation instead of his voice and his proximity and when did he get so close again?

"Pleasure's all mine, pretty boy."

He laughs, deep and low and rich. "All right, then. As soon as that bell rings, Avatar, I'm coming straight for you," he whispers as he pushes forward, and it sounds like a threat, but Korra hopes it's a promise. "You gonna be ready for that?"

"Counting on it."

And suddenly they are back in the dimly-lit alcove of the restaurant, toe-to-toe all over again, but Korra thinks that can't be true because there is the smell of salt and brine in the air and the voice inside her head that is calling out for her to just lean in is so much louder. She resists the urge, enraged by its very existence, but she is wavering and she can feel it. Like the angles of his face, his eyes are sharp and clear against the surrounding darkness, and there is no thought, no chance, no hope—no desire—for escape. As the sounds of the crashing waves continue to blur her senses, she feels something shift within her and, to her utmost annoyance, she sees the recognition pass through his eyes.

He adjusts his stance only marginally, but he has gone from opponent to predator in a matter of seconds, and Korra is automatically on the alert. Eyes narrowing, fists clenching, spring coiling, Korra reminds herself that Tahno is not someone to be trusted, and that this is what matters most of all.

"My offer still stands, Avatar," he tells her, and Korra would be tempted to laugh in his face if not for the fact that, through the haughty arrogance, she can hear a genuine flicker of something—hope?—seep into his voice. "Perhaps after I win the championship pot, you and I can celebrate. I'll teach you what I know and then we can get down to the real prize."

"In your dreams, Wolfbat."

"Probably," he smirks, and Korra scoffs, shaking her head incredulously at his shamelessness. She is so frustrated by this game of cat and mouse that he always seems to want to play—especially because is it ever like I know who is who?—and she wants to wipe that smirk off of his face, but she's struck by the wandering thought that perhaps this, whatever it is that they are doing, might be different. That instead of playing the same set of tricks, Tahno might have something special rolled up his sleeve for her, and she doesn't know if this idea is presumptuous or off-base or just plain stupid; all she knows is that he speaks with open derision about her teammates being drawn to her differences, but it's hypocrisy, isn't it, because even if he's still trying to play her just like everybody else, she's just as much of a novelty to him.

As he is to her.

"You might just change your mind, Avatar."

"Don't hold your breath."

He smirks, and Korra stills as he leans in just a little too close. "You shouldn't hold yours."

She maintains her ground for as long as she can, but it's not long enough, because he is still watching her with knowing eyes when she finally releases a breath of air that she hadn't realized she'd been holding. Anger floods through her as his eyes fill with laughter at her expense, and she decides that she hates him because now there's really no denying it to herself, the effect he has on her, and worse, there might be no denying it to him.

"Let's get together again, shall we?" he suggests before she can redeem herself with another scathing comment. "As soon as I win that championship pot. I'm sure to be a very busy guy, but I could make some room in my schedule for you."

"The only reason I'd ever want to see your face again after we beat the Wolfbats would be to beat you into the ground," she flares, and they both know that, while mostly accurate, it is undoubtedly not the whole truth.

"Such appealing options," he observes huskily. "But I'm willing to accept those conditions. It's a date then."

For a moment she is unable to respond, and all she can do is stare at him in open-mouthed, unabashed wonder. "Are you even listening to yourself?" she asks with utter disbelief. But then she thinks that this might not really be the real issue at hand; the bigger problem could very well be that she is actually listening to him. Korra tries to tell herself that it has nothing to do with what he's saying, and that it's just his damning, irritating voice, which is marginally better—though really no better at all—but it doesn't change the fact that she still is still here, listening, and that she hasn't walked away. Or demolished him. Or —

"Don't tell me you're going to chicken out after all."

"I never agreed to this in the first place."

"You're the one who suggested it."

"You took a lot of liberties with what you think I said."

"So does this mean you're admitting that you're scared?"

"You are not going to corner me into anything and especially not with such a stupid tactic."

"Avatar," he says evenly, and he is suddenly serious. For some reason this only throws her even more off-balance. "Do you want to fight me again or not?"

She hasn't even fought him the firsttime, but there is just something too good about this deal to pass up, something too sweet about the image of throwing Tahno to the the floor or to the wall without any of the world's rules to play by... so she cocks her chin up and tells him the truth.

"I want to wipe the floor with your face."

He smirks, a brow quirking at her wording, but he is pleased and, in a way that terrifies her just as much as it thrills her, so is she.

"That settles it then."

"Fine," Korra says crisply. She feels better knowing that this is just a fight—even though it's not—but she'll be damned if she isn't going to be the one calling the shots from here on out. "The evening after the match, just you and me."

He looks at her then, and even through the abrasive persona she is still trying so hard to wear, she is halted by way his lips have formed because Tahno doesn't smile, he smirks, and yet there it is—a devious but genuine smile staring her straight in the face. "See you around, Uh-vatar," he says smugly as he saunters off. "I suppose we'll just have to wait and decide exactly how to spend our evening when we get to it."

"Whatever," she huffs, rolling her eyes, but there is hardly any venom. Still a little stunned, she watches him leave with something like anticipation curling through her, and when she almost smiles back, she catches it, hiding it away with the promise of saving it for later.

But as she bends to retrieve her sandals and sees his form recede farther into the distance, she realizes that she is unsatisfied. There are a thousand and one things more to say, but there is only one that she currently has the voice or mind to understand.

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"Tahno!" she calls out to him.

The wind begins to swirl in soft currents along the open shore, but it curls her hair into her eyes, and she tangles the fingers of her free hand into the wild, billowing strands to keep them from masking her face.

She watches him halt his steps in the sand, and when he turns his smirk of a could-be smile gleams in the moonlight, matching the mischievous gleam of a could-be warmth in her eyes, and they share a knowing look.

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"One fight," she calls.

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One dance.

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"One fight," he answers.

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Only they never got the chance.

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but we're still so cold

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PART I

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"You gotta get him for me."

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That night she finds him in an alley.

It takes her a moment to recognize him because even though she has just seen him that afternoon—ragged and tired and already jaded in the face of his fading shock—he is hidden in the shadows on the ground, slouched against the side of a dumpster at the back of some obscure noodle bar.

"Tahno?" she calls tentatively, afraid of catching him by surprise. She has the strangest sensation that he might be skittish, like a feral cat, and it is not a theory that she would like to test. There is no movement, no acknowledgment, and Korra's mind immediately snaps to he better not be ignoring me, but she shakes her head and tries for more compassionate thoughts. Tact has never been a strength of hers and although she wouldn't bet that it's ever been one of his, she doubts that's an adequate excuse for insensitivity.

She advances, and when she peers around the curtain of his long bangs, she gasps: his eyes are open and staring, but they look like the glassy, unseeing eyes of catatonia, and the sheen of sweat at his brow is sickly. Disregarding her earlier caution, Korra immediately drops to her knees in front of him, reaching out a hand to peel back the mass of damp hair that has sealed itself to his face. "Tahno?" she calls again, trying to assess signs and symptoms while keeping her voice calm and disarming, but she's honestly a little alarmed. I just saw him a few hours ago!

"Tahno," she says a little more loudly, and she wishes that he would just say somethingalready. She knows that her thoughts aren't exactly the selfless thoughts that an Avatar should be having, but it had already been hard enough for her as it was to see the drastic changes that had overtaken him just that afternoon, and she doesn't think she can take anymore of them. "Hey, chump," she says sternly, using a gentle hand to pat the side of his face. She thinks she might eventually feel relieved when his unfocused eyes finally shift to her, but she doesn't, because instead his eyes are blank and empty and hollow and they remind her of death.

"Hey," she whispers softly when he seems to realize that someone is there with him. The words pretty boy rest at the tip of her tongue out of pure habit, but she reels them in. Now is not the time.

"Oh," he rasps, licking his dry lips. "It's you." And then he laughs a brittle, broken laugh, and it clashes so painfully with the natural smoothness of his voice that Korra flinches. It is at this moment that she notices what she didn't notice before—that there is a half-empty bottle of something in his limp hand and a puddle of vomit splattered against the curb. Her nose curls as the smell suddenly hits her, but Tahno calls back her attention. "But I guess it's always you, isn't it?"

Korra doesn't know what to say to that.

So she keeps checking off her mental list of healers' notes and hoping to find just what kind of condition he's driven himself into, and she isn't sure if she's more annoyed or relieved when she confirms that he is, indeed, drunk. But still, his forehead feels clammy against her palm and when she presses two fingers to the base of his neck, his pulse is a rhythmic mess.

"Tahno," she says softly, and when she sees that he has retreated back within himself, she gently takes his chin in her hand and lifts his eyes to meet hers. "I need to get you back home. Where do you live?" She thinks she might have to repeat the question and she grows all the more worried because this is beyond drunk, but then he raises a heavy hand to point to a window on the upper level of the building above them. "You live here?" she asks with blatant skepticism and immediately begins to sort through her mind as to who she might be able to call and ask, and how she is going to lead him to a safe place for the night. She doesn't think she's going to have to trick him, considering how out of it he is, but—

"I'm intoxicated, Avatar. I'm not stupid."

There is condescension in his tone, which Korra thinks is absurd. She doesn't take crap from anyone, let alone someone who is still covered in his own bile. "Want to explain why you're sitting alone in a dark street by a dumpster?" she asks curtly.

"Well, I'm not alone anymore, am I?"

She pauses for only a second, caught on the brink of indecision, then asks, "You live in the apartment above this bar?"

He attempts a nod, but another wave of intoxication passes over him, and his head only ends up lolling to the side and falling forward, his body slumping toward the ground until Korra puts out her hands to steady him. Heaving a sigh, she glances one quick prayer to the Great Moon Princess Yue, and then gently rests him back against the metal. He lays eerily still and silent, and Korra forces herself to stand, quickly making her way to the door.

Once inside, she barges her way to the bar, easily managing to irritate a number of patrons who are drowning themselves in the drink, all of whom are still reeling from the fear and the uncertainty that only terrorism can bring, and who can't be bothered to wish for things like hope or courage or the Avatar. Though it feels like forever, she gets a hold of the owner in no time at all, and within minutes Korra is back behind the bar with Tahno, his apartment key in hand, ten less yuan in her pocket, and a furious tinge covering her cheeks from having to let one too many inappropriate comments slide. He is so far gone that hoisting up his dead weight becomes the worst kind of challenge, but it's leading him up the back stairs that inevitably proves to be the trickiest. The closer and closer they come to getting him inside, the more he begins to sag against her, and she fumbles with the lock so much while trying to hold it all together that she nearly drops it three times, and seriously considers just dropping him into a heap on the floor instead.

But at last they stumble inside and Korra doesn't even bother trying to figure out where the light might be because Tahno has finally collapsed, and he nearly takes her down with him. She is able to grab onto his waist at the last second, grunting with the effort of keeping his head from cracking against the hardwood, and the frustration of why the hell am I the one doing this? and how did I get myself into this mess? inevitably rolls in. But as she slowly lowers him to the ground, carefully turning him on his side and gingerly placing his temple against the cool floor, she knows that it's actually just too little, too late.

Once he is settled, she scouts the room for a lamp, but can find none. She orients herself to the room in the dark—the basic set-up of a simple studio apartment—and she is half-surprised that it's not as flamboyant and flashy and superficial as his personality. Though she is surprised by the starkness of the walls and the emptiness of the room and doesn't know how to feel about the blatant lack of memorabilia, she is totally unsurprised by the lingering smell of sex and the trail of clothes leading to the unmade bed. She huffs a breath of exasperation as she drags a palm over her face and down her neck, trying to figure out what the hell she's going to do next, and then her eyes land on the bathroom.

Hooking her hands underneath his arms and lifting his shoulders off the floor, she breathes heavily as she drags him like a sack of flour until his feet touch the tile. Her frustration mounts when she slips on something wet behind her and she falls to the floor, her knee colliding sharply with the ceramic, and when she picks herself back up, she is far less gentle during the rest of their journey... She's pleased to know that when he wakes up with a monstrous lump on his head in the morning, it will be chalked up to poor judgment and memory loss instead of her ruthlessness, though she's certain that it will do nothing to help his unavoidable hangover. She slides him into the tub unceremoniously, letting his legs tangle and his arms fall every which way, and she drops to the floor, resting her back against the cold edge by his side as she takes a moment to breathe.

She glances up to see that there are candles scattered all around the small enclosed area and Korra's curiosity cannot help but be sparked; either he has a strange sensitivity to light... or he has very interesting tastes, she concludes. Either way, it's probably only for show. Regardless, she needs a little illumination so she chooses a rather hefty candlestick on the sink and pulls it down. But when it comes time to light it she hesitates, seriously considering for the first time why she didn't use firebending as soon as she got into the apartment and wondering why she is still so reluctant to use it now.

Korra glances to Tahno in the tub, his brows drawn together, a frown tugging at his lips, his pallor gray and washed out in the moonlight shadows, and she thinks of the devastating fear she had felt as she had been torn into consciousness in the middle of the night, screaming, only to find that her soul had not been shredded apart as she'd dreamed. She waits a moment more, and then in a quick breath—so quick that perhaps no one might ever know—she lights the candle with a kiss of fire and sets it down on a stool beside them.

And then, because she is Korra, she fills the sink with water, freezes it ice-cold, and dumps it over him.

He awakes with a loudly-sputtered curse and flailing, uncontrolled limbs, which bang into the ceramic tub in a horrible split-second cacophony of collisions that are sure to leave a mural of bruises over his skin. Although that bellow of his can hardly be considered dignified, Korra generously credits him with the fact that at least he doesn't sound like a girl, and though she knows she should feel worse than she does, she can't help the devious smirk that graces her lips.

"Hello, Tahno."

His eyes are seeing clearly now, but that doesn't necessarily make his vision any easier, considering how the girl kneeling beside him is the first thing he sees. He takes a good, hard look at her, and just as Korra is beginning to wonder how she could feel so uncomfortable in such an advantageous position, he begins to glance about the room and take in his surroundings. Releasing a soft noise of discomfort as he shifts himself into a marginally less painful position, he eventually returns his expectant gaze to her face and raises a questioning brow.

After a beat of silence, in which Korra feels uncommonly awkward, she observes with the tiniest hint of judgment: "You look oddly unperturbed for someone who has just woken up wet in a tub with a stranger."

"I can still put two and two together, Avatar," he mutters groggily, and Korra can already see the headache creeping into his brow. "And it's not as if I haven't found myself in these situations before."

"Being woken up in a tub by a stranger?"

"You'd be surprised," he tries to snark, but his wince undermines the effect. "Besides, you're not exactly a stranger."

Korra swallows at this comment, disliking more than ever how he is always able to somehow turn the tables. It is at this moment that she realizes that she hadn't really planned—any of this—what was supposed to happen once they got to this point, but she's already here and planning was never really her style, anyway. She has to admit that she is mildly impressed by his drunken command of language, but then she sees the mess that is still ruining his front, and she sighs in disgust. "You know, I thought we tribe members have always prided ourselves on being able to hold our liquor."

"Quite a testament to how much liquor it was then, isn't it?" He sounds tired and annoyed, and Korra tries to reign in her judgment and resentment because yeah, she bets a decent human would be grateful for being taken in off the street in the midst of his drunken stupor, but she also bets he would have appreciated it a lot more if she had actually done her job as the Avatar well for once and saved him from this horrific mess in the first place.

"Where did you find me?"

"In the alley just outside," she shakes her head. She doesn't have it in her to swallow the sarcasm when she says, "Nice pick for a hiding place, by the way. Definitely the first place I'd go for if I ever found myself in need of a resting spot."

"So what were you doing out there?" he croaks suspiciously, and Korra is affronted because it sounds an awful lot like an accusation.

When she'd come across him, she had actually just left the barren rooftop where she'd met with Tenzin and Lin to talk of how everything is about to go horribly wrong, strolling aimlessly through the streets, convinced that it wasn't time to go home yet, and determined to find a way to quell the growing unease that was worming its way into her gut over the Sato family... She knows what she'd heard and she knows what she has to do in the morning. It's not going to be easy, but she still can't be sure if it is the thought of Mako and Bolin and Asami living in such close quarters—to the Equalists—that makes it especially sickening, or if it is the tiny voice of intuition that keeps screaming danger, danger, betrayal, lies, or if it is both, or which is worse, but she's not about to tell him any of that.

"Trying to find some late-night grub," she huffs defensively as she crosses her arms. "I still haven't eaten by the way, so thank you for that." She isn't sure why she's snapping at someone who obviously doesn't need it—although she kind of maybe thinks that he might still deserve it—but it's too late to take it back now. Her guilt dies anyway though, as soon as he gives her a speculative look that reeks of mistrust and she is back to hating how he, the one who is sloppy and wet and staring down his sharp nose at her with all the should-be-non-existent ascendancy of one who is still in a bathtub, is the one who gets to play prosecutor.

"You should have just minded your own business."

Korra starts, flabbergasted, and all hope of handling the situation delicately promptly flies out the proverbial window. "Oh, I'm sorry, did you want to spend the night with the rats?" Korra has no false notions of having had any sort of expectations for how all of this was supposed to go, but if she'd had any, this would not have been what she'd had in mind.

"How did you get in here, anyway?" he demands, and it is then that he finally notices the stains across his front. He makes a noise of irritation as he awkwardly slips his arms out of his jacket one by one and tosses the rolled-up garment to the other side of the room, and Korra tries not to stare at the worn, grey tunic that clings to the planes of his chest with sweat. Without her permission, her mind screeches to a grinding halt as paradoxical flashes of firelight and warmth and ice ricochet through her mind and she remembers what it felt like to press herself against that chest, and against all reason she is struck by the urge to reach out and make sure that her memories are real, that nothing has changed, but absolutely everything has changed and so she dispels her thoughts with a gentle clearing of her throat and turns to the candle instead.

"I convinced the barman to give me the key," she tells him quietly, wondering why she leaves out the part where she bribed him. "I also asked him to make sure you aren't dead in the morning, but he didn't seem too concerned... Apparently this is not too out of the ordinary?" She tries for a half-smile, but her distress leaks through despite her best efforts, and the expression she gives him is sad and concerned and wistful and Tahno can't take it because even though he can't really think straight at the moment he knows that this isn't who we are.

This isn't who I am.

"So what are you still doing here?" he whispers, and the sounds are filled with a bitterness that Korra cannot describe.

Again, she is at a loss of what to say. "I wanted to make sure you made it back okay."

"And then what?"

"I don't know, I didn't really think that far ahead, okay?" she shrugs defensively, feeling her skin begin to itch with discomfort under his critical gaze.

"Oh, I get it," he laughs caustically, and his words are more acrid than the smell of the alcohol lingering in the air. "Just thought you'd work in a few little do-gooder Avatar points before bedtime, did you?"

"What? That doesn't have anything to do with—"

"Well, are you happy now?" he challenges. His expression is blank but his eyes burn with hostility and Korra is so unsettled by the suddenness of this change that she does not react as well as she hoped she would.

"What is your issue?" she demands, then pounds the ceramic edge with her fist as she bites her tongue. "Look, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have been rude to you—I just... I just wanted to help."

"You think this is helping?" he asks quietly, and the silence of his pause makes her mouth run dry.

"Tahno," she begins, unsure of exactly where she's even going with this this, but she knows that she has to say something to make this right. "I'm sorry, okay?" she tells him sincerely, and she isn't sure if it's for messing with him when he really doesn't need it or if it's for any of the million things she could have done better that night in the stadium, but one look at his face tells her that he doesn't seem to care about her apology either way.

Because Tahno has had too much—too much alcohol, too much of life's short-end sticks, too much lost—and his thoughts are quickly becoming too scattered. His mind is meandering through memories containing all of the ways his life has not gone according to plan, and even through his growing daze his unfocused mind is not so far gone as to lose the irony of a drunken martyr dwelling on his own idiosyncrasies and the nauseating certainty that she shouldn't be seeing me like this.

"The last thing I want from you is pity," he quietly seethes, and Korra is so confused that she doesn't know where to begin.

"What do you want from me?" she asks softly.

"I want you to get off your pedestal and get out," he tells her evenly, without hesitation. "I want you to just leave me alone."

Her mind, still trying to fill in the many blanks that she has come across this evening, has not fully caught up to this moment, and Korra is left slightly stunned once more. Her instincts tell her to stay, that she can't leave things as they are now, but there is no ambiguity in his tone and his dismissal rings perfectly clear. Without any better ideas of how to fix things, and without full conviction that she could properly execute any if she tried, a weary Korra slowly nods once in resignation and yields. "Fine," she whispers.

This time, she does not feel his eyes follow her as she leaves.

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And so, for a while, she does as he asks.

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"So does your offer to live at the Air Temple still stand?"

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"Who, the moon princess?" Bolin perks, his head snapping up from the comfortable lounging position he has used to claim a ledge of the Air Temple's viewpoint gazebo. "Yeah, I saw her statues at the party—she is quite the looker! I bet she drives all the spirits crazy!" He nudges his ferret-companion's ribs with a wink and says, "Am I right, Pabu? I'm right, right?"

Asami's light laughter trickles through the air and Mako rolls his eyes from where they both sit on the nearby stone steps, but even after so many years, it's not easy for him to resist his little brother's antics, so he allows himself a small smile.

But Korra, having heard the stories of the Siege of the North from Katara since she was a little girl, knows the truth, and she works hard to keep her expression from showing how badly his playful comments have actually affected her. "I don't know," she shrugs. "Tui and La had been together since the beginning of time... and Princess Yue was actually in love with a human boy before she became one with the moon spirit again." She gazes up at the swirling hues of a fading summer's dusk and watches as a flock of birds take flight into the dying sunlight. "He was from the Southern Water Tribe."

Bolin wasn't expecting another side to the story and the way Korra has left the statement hanging open, like there is more to say, leaves him feeling a little awkward and flustered. He is afraid of saying anything else lest he might accidentally offend her, so he mumbles a chagrined, "Huh," trying to keep his tone light but failing, and rubs the back his neck sheepishly. Asami is more perceptive than the boys, and her small sad smile is not ill-received by Korra when their eyes eventually pass over each other's, but her shoulders are covered by Mako's supportive arm, and this only intensifies Korra's illness.

But even worse is that Mako watches her with a speculative eye. "You... you make it sound like this happened recently," he says curiously, but like his brother, there is caution in his aura, and Korra wonders what she's done to make them think that they need to walk on egg shells. Her eyes turn downcast and she drops her head to rest on her forearms, which lay atop her knees.

Did this world really care so little for the world of the spirits?

For history? For honor or remembrance? People talk so often of tradition nowadays, but what good is tradition if you can't remember the source? she wonders sadly, before a troubling thought occurs to her, taking real root for the first time. Maybe... maybe Amon is right in some respects. Never about impurities or unnatural deformities in our souls, but in that non-benders have gotten the shaft over the centuries, over and over again. After all, Princess Yue was a great soul of peace and kindness and sacrifice, but she wasn't a bender, and just look at what has become of her story...

And maybe Tahno is right, too. Maybe this generation's benders are losing touch, or maybe we've already been lost for a while. But not just with bending... There is a barrier separating this era with spirituality, with the real, honest connection to the elements, with everything about the spirit world... And I'm the worst example of them all. Through all of this industrialism and evolution and supposed progress, we've lost sight of the source, haven't we?

We've lost sight of ourselves.

She wants to tell her boys this, to make them see somehow, but she is hardly the spiritual guru that Avatar Aang was and, afraid of feeling like the worst kind of hypocrite, she settles for, "I considered him a great uncle of sorts."

Another uneasy pause unfolds as the air fills with all of the things Korra has left unsaid, but she knows that she will not say them today. Although Asami might have a clue, she and Korra are not yet particularly close for reasons that are beyond their control, and though Korra is able to see the tragedy in this, and though she has the hope that it will soon begin to change, she knows that this is not the moment to push. And although Korra won't admit it to herself, she thinks that the real tragedy might actually be that Mako and Bolin wouldn't even know where to start.

She wants to tell them the stories of her mentors, of love and loss and rebirth, but this is not the right time and she feels that perhaps she is not the right person to share them.

Another day, she says to herself. When the time is right, I'll tell them all about Katara's stories of Aang and Sokka and Toph and Fire Lord Zuko. I'll tell them what the history books never bothered to share... like how Avatar Aang wanted to teach his grandchildren how to ride otter-penguins down the ice caps before he died or how Fire Lord Zuko still refuses to have anyone but Katara stitch up the tears in his clothes, for old times' sake. I'll tell them I've been taught from day one of this life that expertly-brewed tea is the cure-all for any ailment, emotional or physical, and it's all thanks to a wise, old Dragon that I've never even met. Another day, I'll tell them how Sokka couldn't eat meat for a month after losing a bet to Toph. I'll tell them about why it's important to never drink cactus juice in the desert but critical to follow the mystical signs of a swamp, and someday I'll tell them how Suki and Sokka were married under the stars and a full moon, and were blessed by the very Princess Yue herself.

But time has carried on, and that day still hasn't arrived.

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The next afternoon, she goes against Tahno's wishes and sees him again.

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By accident.

Mostly.

As he stares down at her with a look of pure exasperation, Korra loudly swallows a mouthful of sea prunes and messily says, "What? It's not my fault you live above the best water tribe joint in town."

Because as it turns out, the dumpster where Korra had found Tahno was none other than that of Narook's Seaweed Noodlery. Although blessed with a natural sense of direction, Korra is still unused to navigating by tall, identical buildings made of brick and stone and metal instead of glaciers and animal dens and the endless expanse of wintry stars. Take this and the vastly different crowd of nightly and daily customers, and it is no surprise that the small-village-girl in the big city got a little turned around. In fact, Korra still did not fully realize that Tahno's drunken refuge of choice and Bolin's most terrific urban find were one in the same until Narook, himself, recognized her from a few nights before and approached her table.

The owner is tough in the way that most Southern Tribe men tend to be, but he is also kind and concerned, and it warms Korra's heart to have even just one more reminder of home. He is a bit more professional in the light of day, but there is still a shade of understanding that passes between them, and though he doesn't offer to return the money she fronted to get Tahno's key, she doesn't ask for it either. He brings over an extra helping of stewed sea prunes and blubbered seal jerky on the house, and Korra thinks that it's the start of a very beautiful friendship.

It is when Narook and Korra are laughing about his father's stories of old ice-fishing trips gone horribly awry that Tahno appears in a doorway off to the side, looking much like the last time she'd seen him. His eyes immediately fall to her and the trail of unslurped noodles hanging about her chin, and the unspoken what the hell? is suspended so clearly in those narrowed blue eyes that Korra can't help but feel a little like she's been caught red-handed. Narook chuckles at the exchange and excuses himself from the table, gesturing for Tahno to take his place with a meaningful expression that Korra cannot see, and too exhausted to fight back, Tahno offers his landlord a not-so-sharp glare that is further weakened by the pain of a throbbing headache, and slides into the seat across from the Avatar.

"Narook," he rasps. "Please." He makes a vague gesture to the bar and Narook immediately settles back into work. Tahno merely rests his elbows on the table and presses the heels of his palms into his eyes, and as Korra tries to sneakily watch him around bites of noodles, neither of them speak. The silence isn't exactly comfortable, but Korra is hungry and Tahno is presumably hungover, and she supposes this is the best she's going to get for now. She smiles back at the friendly Narook as he sets a tall glass in front of his tenant but, having expected a morning-after cure of some sort, Korra is surprised when she finds that Narook has only brought Tahno more alcohol.

"But it's five in the afternoon," she says with obvious surprise and a drop of judgment. When he looks up at her in annoyance, he looks just as worn and bone-tired as ever, and Korra half-regrets calling him out on what's beginning to look like a dangerous habit.

"Cheers," he says in a low voice, nodding to the feast carelessly laid out in front of her before taking a large sip from his drink. His face pinches with the strong taste, which clashes horribly with the taste of another brand that is only just starting to fade from his mouth, and when he sets the glass back down on the wooden surface, he lets his temple fall onto his open palm and lets his lids drift shut against the light.

"So what, are you following me now?"

"As if," she scoffs, mouth full with noodles. "Can't a girl eat some good home-cooking without ulterior motives?"

"You are made of ulterior motives," he says seriously, and Korra's chopsticks still mid-air. Her brows dip and furrow because this sounds like the kind of comment Tahno might make to instigate an argument... but there is nothing provocative in his tone.

"I consider myself to be a pretty honest person, thanks," she says stiffly, shoveling another round of noodles into her mouth.

"Yeah? And how would other people consider you?"

"Why does it always feel like I'm on trial with you?" she asks curtly, slapping her chopsticks to the edge of her plate.

"Perhaps you are."

When he opens his eyes to gauge her reaction, there is such clear anger in her blue eyes that he wonders if he should make a run for it, and then he notices the layer of hurt and guilt beneath; apparently he'd touched on a rather sensitive subject. So she feels at least partly responsible for what's happened to me then? He almost laughs aloud.

Typical.

He stares her down with cold, unfeeling eyes and waits. Then, in a bout of uncharacteristic silence, Korra takes a moment to straighten her mess and chugs down the last few gulps of her drink. She returns the glare with angry, unblinking eyes as she wipes away the trail of liquid at her lips on her wrist guard, and as she rises Korra leaves him only with a bitter, "I hope you enjoy your drink."

He hears her yuan being tossed to Narook on the counter and a few subdued words between the two of them that he can't make out, and when he feels the owner's presence at his side only a few moments later, he heaves a burdened sigh.

"You shouldn't have done that," the old man tells him. Tahno takes another sip and this time it's a full-out grimace.

"It's better this way."

"Better... or just easier?"

Tahno looks up to the man who should mind his own damn business and considers bringing him down a notch or two, but then he remembers a never-ending list of favors and late-morning check-ins to make sure he isn't dead, and he sees an unopened bottle of hard liquor waiting for him in his wrinkled grasp. He sends the old man a nasty glare that merely withers as his head spins, and he snatches the bottle out of his hand. "I'll be upstairs," he mutters darkly, and takes his leave.

He stumbles up the steps with the sloppy pseudo-coordination of someone who has had too much practice in pretending to be more sober than he really is, and pushes open the door with the full weight of his body bearing down against the wood. When he enters his apartment, his eyes automatically scan the bedroom to see if the latest girl has already left, but then he remembers that he hadn't actually taken one home the night before in the first place. He tilts his head back with the burn of another drink, and trudges into the bathroom, where he unknowingly collapses against the side of the tub and rests his head against the rim in much the same way Korra had done a few nights before, trying not to think.

Because the truth is, the old man is right.

He shifts ever so slightly and reaches for the tub's faucet, and though the angle is awkward and the edge of the ceramic cuts into his side, he grunts and swears until the water is running in a steady cascade into the drain. His hand rests at the knob, fingers curling around the handle as he stops to listen to the sound, and then he releases his hold and assumes a more comfortable position, leaning his head back over the edge to have the noise fill his ears and drown his thoughts. There are many, and most of them follow a very particular pattern, sing the tune of a very similar song, but there is a unique line of thinking that he has been trying very hard to avoid these last few days, and despite what the old geezer may think, there is no longer any hiding from it.

He hates that she has seen him this way.

Tahno lifts the bottle, presses the glass to his lips, and drinks.

That day at the station was too full of shock and denial and this can't be real to even begin to comprehend the full scope of what had happened to him. He'd been floating aimlessly on a wave, lost in the torrent without La to guide him, and it was only after he'd left the Avatar on that bench that he began to sink. When the initial shock began to wear away and the harsh weight of reality began to creep in as he tried to consider fleeting thoughts of a new daily existence, the anger, the pain, the realization of it all—this is permanent, this is permanent—it all became too much, and he began to drown.

Tahno remembers the fires along a crowded floor of ice, and the fire within the eyes of a girl of water, and soon his mind is flooded with images of the wind tousling dark curls over full lips and dark skin glowing in the moonlight and—

He knows there is nothing that can be done about that now.

He stares at the ceiling until his vision is filled with nothing but the cracks, and wonders what the hell is supposed to happen next. Tahno would prefer not to label anything that is happening to him, but for once he considers one of the many emotions raging within him, and he calls it boredom. It is not safe to say that he is depressed, or devastated, or lost, or hopeless, because that could mean so many other things that he is simply not willing to deal with—not now, and perhaps not ever—so Tahno lies against the empty tub with the echo of trickling water in his ears and decides that he is bored. After all, a man with neither hobby nor lover makes a very miserable invitation for disaster and, having thrown his vapid devotees to the curb after growing tired with the endless stream of meaningless pity fucks, tonight he had neither.

Bending was all he'd had. It was all he'd known. Despite anyone's qualms or skepticisms, if there was one thing Tahno knew how to do, it was how to bend. It was how to fight.

It was how to win.

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And when it came to a fight, he might have been a cheater, but he sure as hell wasn't a quitter.

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"Just don't look at him," Mako hisses at Bolin from under his breath. "We don't owe him anything."

It was a day or two later and they'd just been passing through, making their way home from the downtown surplus market after deciding to chance a sort-of-familiar alley to avoid the main street with rush hour traffic, when they saw him.

"Bolin," Mako chastises, slapping his little brother upside the head, his tone weighted down with all the exasperation and embarrassment brought onto a parent by a misbehaving child. "Cut it out!"

"I can't help it!" Bolin cries through a whisper, rubbing absently at the soreness Mako's unforgiving hand has left behind. "It's just—I mean—I was there! It... It almost happened to me too."

"I'm not deaf, you know."

Mako and Bolin still, pausing their hushed tirades and slowly turning to face the man in question, who is leaning against the dumpster behind a noodle bar, disheveled and sipping from a dusty bottle like it's his job. "I've lost my bending... not my mind," he says a little too smoothly, but his eyes burn with resentment. Bolin can't help but think that this guy is just a waiting time bomb, and the youngest shifts uncomfortably from where he stands, half ready to fight and half hidden behind his brother because old habits die hard. "Funny how as soon as you find yourself disabled, everyone seems to think you suddenly can't hear them anymore."

There is a tense moment in which Bolin isn't sure whether they're going to keep walking as if nothing has happened or if they're going to fight it out, and Bolin mentally prepares himself for both, but then Mako gets himself straightened out and makes the decision for them. He crosses his arms as he offers a nod of recognition and Bolin steps into line with him.

"Tahno," Mako acknowledges tightly.

The man takes another drink, eyes clear even through the alcoholic haze and, even after all that's happened, he manages a mocking, "Ferrets." The once-bender's lips curl into a twisted smirk that looks so out of place with his unkempt hair and liner-less eyes that Mako's brows actually soften as they pull together with disconcerting thoughts.

"So, where's everybody's favorite girl?" He asks it casually, but his eyes search the space between them with a hunger, and Mako is immediately set on edge.

"Working with Tarrlok," he says stiffly, giving a not-so-subtle hint. Your days with her are over, he silently warns. "Trying to make sure that what happened to you doesn't happens to anyone else." Now do us all a favor and make yourself scarce.

Tahno shakes the bottle in his hand slightly, swirling the remaining liquid around inside like it might be comforting, but it only makes Mako feel more restless. "Indeed," Tahno says quietly, unable to reign in the forming of a sneer. "How very like our Avatar."

Mako's fist tightens and he can feel Bolin tensing from behind. Mako wants to end this conversation now and leave before things get out of hand, but Bolin is calling out before he can give him a signal. "Hey, you leave her alone! She's not the one who did this to you, so don't take it out on her!"

Tahno's responding smile makes Bolin feel much younger than he is, and although Bolin is confident in who he is and where he's come from, Bolin wishes that—just for once—he might be able to say something of value at a vital moment without sounding childish.

"I hope you enjoyed the show we put on at the festival, by the way," he suddenly taunts, and Bolin and Mako are totally unprepared for it. Their eyes widen in surprise and Tahno smiles almost gleefully as he takes another sip. "I know you were watching us."

"You creep," Bolin spits furiously, and Mako has to hold him back.

"Knock it off, Bolin—it's what he wants!" he grunts out as he pushes his brother back, abusing his exhausted muscles to keep him at bay—Bolin is not especially light, after all. "You're just playing into his pity party and we can't afford any other stuff to deal with right now," Mako turns his back on Tahno, reasoning with his brother in a hushed voice, and although he has stopped resisting, the rage has not yet dissipated from Bolin's eyes.

"Oh, for crying out loud," Tahno sighs dramatically, leaning his head farther back against the dumpster. Even as Bolin focuses on Tahno, Mako's growing tension is undoubtedly visible, and he wonders if there will be a little bloodshed after all. "Even our little do-gooder Avatar would be more fun than this... At least she has some spirit."

There is a flicker of nausea that passes through Mako as the words replay in his mind—our little do-gooder Avatar—and it's less than a second before they are both facing Tahno again and Bolin is confused by the role change because it's Mako that spits out, "Hey. We're not going to tell you again. You leaveher out of this!"

"What is it with firebenders, hm?" Tahno raises an idle hand in a dismissive wave, but Bolin is growing all the more certain that man, this dude is unstable, and that this is not going to end prettily. "Intimidation tactics including fists and pointed fingers tend to lose their desired effect after one too many hollow threats. Just ask Korra for some tips. I'll bet she knows—"

"What did I just tell you?" Mako raises his voice, and now it's Bolin who is holding him back and he eyes his older brother warily. Come on, man, think about what you just told me! He tightens his fingers around Mako's shoulders and tries to remind him that this guy just lost his bending! Yeah, he's a jerk and we normally wouldn't think twice, but these are quite the extenuating circumstances that we're talking about! We were already toeing the line of disaster just by acknowledging him, and now what we really need to do is to get the—

"You're obviously picking for a fight," Mako snaps abrasively, and Bolin wants to drag him away before he says anything particularly insensitive that he might feel ashamed about later, but Mako won't budge. His worry does lessen though, when Mako says, "And I guarantee that you won't be getting any from us today, so you should just... just go on about your business, whatever it is, and we'll be getting out of here."

But before Bolin can release his sigh of relief or before Mako can even resettle his pack across his shoulders, Tahno calls out, "And if I have business with your ex-teammate?"

"Look, fly guy, do you want to get pummeled?" Mako almost shouts, and Bolin's attempts at caution are futile because those two are nearly nose-to-nose and now Mako's voice is quiet and dangerous. "Because you're asking for it."

"Then why hold back?" Tahno says in a low voice, his eyes screaming with the need of the challenge. "You gonna cop out on account of my... condition?"

There is a look on Tahno's face so smug that Mako thinks it must be painful and for a moment he is almost convinced that he's going to punch the bastard, that he's just going to do it, but then he drops his fist and lets out a frustrated growl and stares the asshole right in the face.

"You have no right to see Korra anymore," Mako glares. "You got an issue? Take it up with the police force like everybody else. Your Pro-Bending days are over, and the last person Korra's going to want to see after dealing with everything is you. Especially after that crap you pulled at the festival, and after your little showdown at the match, and oh—in case you haven't heard: before the finals, she was using your face as target practice." He enunciates this slowly, like he can see the ruined photos perfectly in his mind, and scoffs when Tahno offers no visible reaction. "You want to take out your anger and whatever, fine, go ahead, but go do it on somebody else. She doesn't deserve it. Besides, the last person you want to piss off right now is her... and you do it easily enough as it is, anyway."

"It's no secret that the Avatar is... a handful," Tahno nods his head slightly, as if acknowledging a well-argued point in a debate. "I mean, it's no wonder that someone like you hasn't had the guts to go after someone like her."

The brothers stumble back, once again totally caught off guard by the twists being thrown at them, and then Mako's mind catches up with the insinuation that Tahno has left hanging in the air, and oh, no fucking way does this guy think he's going to try anything on—

"Someone like us?" Bolin crosses his arms, and something like menace has seeped into those green eyes. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Mako is momentarily distracted because he has actually forgotten that Bolin is here, with him. And then he feels guilty because he realizes a moment later how he got just the least bit possessive when Bolin just assumed that the bastard was talking about both of them instead of him alone, and besides, they've already agreed that Korra is strictly off-limits for the time-being so why the hell is he still being so ridiculous?

"You wouldn't know the first thing about handling a woman like Korra."

Mako releases something in his throat, and though it sounds like a rather cocky scoff, he is absolutely sure that it is bile. His mind has just gone into overdrive and he is already one step ahead, thinking of the implications behind the syrupy sickness of this guy's voice and he cannot stop the horrible image that flashes before his eyes, an inescapable picture of Tahno and Korra and he is touching her and an even stronger wave of nausea hits, but before he loses it enough to stagger back, he digs his heels into the ground and assumes an offensive stance.

"I show her a little respect, that's for damn sure," Mako bites out acidly, not wanting to play the game, but not willing to back down now.

"Is what you're doing now what you call respect?" Tahno spits loudly, suddenly ferocious, and again, Mako can't keep track of where this guy is coming from or where he is going, and he's sure that he's going to blow at any second and what the hell, is he trying to defend her? From me? "Oh, come on, anyone who reads the papers can figure out the way you were playing your little scheme. Tell me, do you think the Avatar enjoys being dragged around, trailing after you in wait while you have your playtime with the Sato heiress?"

Mako's brain is one giant mash of what the fuck, but at least he manages something, however unconvincing, in that he demands, "Where the hell do you get off thinking that I have anything—"

"I'm not blind either," Tahno nearly growls. "At least not in the way Korra is, and not in the way you are. Does the Sato Princess even knowthe full extent of what you were up to before her father's exposure? Or is she like you in that she cared little for the frivolous sentimentalities... as long as she got the trophy and you got the check?"

"You motherfu—"

"Well, isn't this interesting, Mako," Tahno spits out the name like it is his most prized insult and the boy sees red. Bolin has resorted to earthbending to keep his brother back, but it doesn't look like it will hold for long. "Willing to go out on a line for your little cash ticket, but not for your teammate. Such priorities."

Mako is breathing heavily and flustered and pissed because Tahno is twisting the words in his mouth and it's not like that at all, because he cares about Korra but he likes Asami too—I do—but instead all he can get out is, "Hey, I'm not the jerk here!"

"Aren't you though?" Tahno asks critically, and whether or not he was even buzzed before, he has certainly sobered up now. He tosses the emptied bottle into the dumpster behind him and it shatters with a resounding crash as it collides with the metal panels. "At least your old teammate and I are handling our budding closeness with all the reckless abandon of two mature, conscientious adults. Which reminds me, I've been meaning to ask you: where exactly doyou fit into all of this?" Mako swallows hard, knowing that he's sick and twisted for thinking at this moment for even a second about the relief he feels in being addressed directly about this matter, but he channels that energy into the heat of the flames he feels rising beneath his skin, ready to burst free. "I mean, you're not really her teammate anymore, for one. You're not her chaperone, you aren't particularly close friends from what I've seen, and you sure as hell ain't her boyfriend... Want to explain where that makes you fit in?"

"I don't have to explain anything to you!" Mako swipes at the air, glaring with everything he has and speaking with all the conviction that he hasn't. Because, truthfully, even he has no idea anymore.

"At least Korra and I are clear about how fucked up we are."

"There is no Korra and you!" Mako shouts, finally losing whatever cool he'd been able to manage thus far, and the window shutters along the alleyway are beginning to rustle as the residents grow curious about the commotion and try to peek through the cracks. "Get it through your head!"

Tahno smiles and Bolin is more than a little creeped out because it is positively feral. "Wanna bet?"

Bolin grimaces. "Why, you—"

"And you never answered my question," Tahno loudly slips out, eyes gleaming. Bolin can hear raised voices from inside the restaurant, but Mako is about ready to flip his lid, and he's about ready to knock this crazy guy's block off himself. He glances to Mako in question, trying to grab his eye, but Mako's focus is solely on the man who is quickly going mad by the dumpster.

"And what question is that?" Bolin grinds out impatiently, straining to keep his brother in check while not rushing over to box around the guy himself.

Tahno shrugs casually, but his eyes are laughing. "Whether or no you enjoyed the our opening dance." And this time, he actually does laugh aloud. "I know she certainly did."

A single beat.

"That's it! You good for nothing—"

"You motherfucking—"

"What in the hell is going on out here?"

Mako and Bolin barely register the familiar noodle shop's uniform as a new manager exits the backdoor, but the sudden interruption of his deep, scratchy voice from too many years of smoking provides Tahno the perfect distraction to unhurriedly stroll his way into the shop.

"See you later, losers," he calls with a dismissive wave, sending them a crooked grin from the shadows of the frame, and is gone.

"Damn it," Mako whispers and then makes a move as if to follow.

"You two," the new guy calls, gesturing to the two young men still entangled in earth and sweating profusely. "Buy something or get the hell out of here. You're messing with business."

Bolin looks like he's about to argue or to call out for Narook, but Mako stills him with a hand, suddenly looking for all the world like he's just realized what he's done, and exactly how he's just let himself get played. He releases a short breath, still adjusting, still a little disoriented, and nods in acceptance to the gruff employee who only watches them sternly as they pick up their bags and leave.

It is silent for the first three blocks, thick with tension and pent-up energy as the boys regain their bearings, and then Bolin voices Mako's very thought: "What the hell happened back there?"

"I don't know, Bolin," Mako sighs as he runs a hand through his ruffled hair. "I'm sorry, man. I don't know what came over me."

"Not you. Him! That guy is going off the deep end. I mean, it totally makes sense, you know, considering how much of an ass he was to begin with and how his whole being has just kind of been ripped apart, but damn... what is with his fixation on Korra?"

Mako glances to Bolin, concerned partly from the perspective of a brother and partly—he can't just ignore it anymore, can he?—from that of a rival. He faces forward again, trying not think about how much Tahno's words about him and Korra and Asami actually got to him, but not with much success.

"What do you think Korra's going to do when we tell her?"

Mako immediately stops, and his hand is on Bolin's shoulder so fast that neither of them even know how it got there. "No," is all he says.

"No?"

"No," he repeats. "Bolin, think about it. We cannot tell her this."

"But a lot of this, if not all of it, has to do with her!" he protests, already disliking any plan that includes the exclusion of Korra. "She deserves to know about freakish stuff like this! Like how a psychotic dumpster-diver on the warpath is obsessed with using his delusional relationship with her as part of his insult-slinging arsenal!"

"She already has too much to worry about," Mako reasons gently, in the tone he reserves specifically for Bolin, and he has no idea what he's doing because neither Bolin nor Korra should be sheltered, and he can't figure out what he hopes to gain from trying. "If it comes up later, maybe we'll share some of it. But she doesn't need to know everything," he says firmly.

"She'd never go for a guy like that," Bolin nearly mutters, and it's clear that this is what's bothering his brother the most. There is a silent, hesitant Right? tacked onto the end of that statement, and Mako swallows, wanting to put his little brother's mind at ease, but he doesn't know what to say when his own is such a jumbled mess.

And so Mako says the only other thing that could ever get Bolin to agree to something like this, and Bolin's shoulders slump in defeat before anything even makes it out of his brother's mouth; he can already hear the words.

"This is between you and me," Mako commands. "Do you understand? As brothers."

There is a moment of hesitation, but both know that it does not matter. Bolin nods slowly, his eyes already downcast. "As brothers," he whispers. "Got it."

"It's better this way," Mako promises.

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When the three teammates lounge about the Air Temple's veranda that night after a round of what she considers half-hearted sparring, Korra can't help but wonder why it seems like Mako won't look at her unless he thinks she's not looking... and why Bolin can't seem to look at her at all.

That night she dreams of spirits, a world she has never seen, and a power she has never felt; when she awakens in the middle of the night, she knows that she has seen through eyes that are not hers. Still unable to decipher the messages hidden within her soul, she closes her eyes with a sigh and begs for sleep. And then she dreams of flames and of waves and of what ifs.

And of Tahno.

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But Bolin isn't exactly the best at keeping secrets and Korra is a master of unearthing them, so it is only a matter of days before Korra finds herself back at Narook's with a stomp in her step and her mind made up.

She gives the door another hearty knock, trying to calm the irritating buzz in her blood and to block the pitter-pattering of the rain outside. She was a little damp before, but she'd been lucky that it was so warm out and that it was nothing that a little firebending couldn't fix, so now she's left to sit with her thoughts as she stands outside his apartment door. She's already become painfully aware of how stupid it'd be to deny how much she'd been thinking about him... for a few days she'd tried to make it easier by telling herself that it wasn't actually Tahno who she was thinking about, but rather what had happened to him.

But then inevitably the agonizing guilt would set in because she was being selfish and she knew it; he is a person—or was that moment on the bench in the station not proof enough?—and all of the passion and confusion she'd felt over their dance before the attack on the stadium was now leading her to try to distance herself from—him—his situation in a way that really wasn't fair. She doesn't want to think like this cruel, unsympathetic person, but at the same time, her normally compassionate thoughts are now just as dangerous... because admitting that Tahno has a heart and a soul and a purpose could be like admitting that there might be more to him than meets the eye.

And that might be a little like admitting that she might actually have feelings for him.

"Shit," she mutters under her breath and gives the door another couple of quick pounds. "Tahno?" she calls, grateful that there were no other residents around to disturb since the owner was still working the bar downstairs. "I know you're in there! Narook told me he saw you come in less than ten minutes ago! He gave me the spare key, and I swear I'll use it if you don't—"

The door opens and Korra's fist freezes mid-pound.

"Holy hell, Avatar, enough," Tahno's voice scratches, and he looks every bit as rankled as he sounds—and then some, Korra thinks blankly. "You better give me that damn key."

"Tahno... what the hell happened to you?"

The first thing she notices is that he's wearing something similar to what she's seen him wear the last few times they'd had their unfortunate encounters, and while they look wrinkled and worn they also look like the rest of him—cut and torn and a little bloody. He stares at her with that same disparaging look as always, but she is way too focused on the red-tinged cloth he is pressing to his split lip to give his condemnation a second thought. The second thing she notices is that he's sober.

Her jaw tightens as she pushes past him into the apartment—"Oh, yes, Avatar, of course, why don't you just let yourself in?"—and heads toward the first sink she sees, which sits in the small kitchen unit in the back. "What the hell are you doing?" he demands interrogatively as she whips open drawers and cabinets, and he comes up behind her to watch this petite monster begin to tear apart his kitchen.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" she says with serious displeasure. "I can't find your damn sink plug, so I'm looking for a bowl or a basin or something. You, on the other hand..." She pauses, one hand resting at the counter's edge and the other still linked through the hook of an open drawer, and looks at the bruises marring his cheek. "So you finally found the fight you were looking for?"

It is not the wisest choice of words.

Their eyes connect and they are lost in a deluge of memories. He sees the moon's rays in her hair where there is only artificial light and she sees blood where his once-maybe smile should be, but then she slams the drawer shut in the loss of her temper, and the moment is broken.

He blinks. The abrupt sound has brought Tahno back to the present, but it still takes him a moment to realize that she is still searching through his cupboards and to realize what she needs these items for. "Oh, no. You're not going anywhere near these."

She looks at him in unconcealed astonishment. "Excuse me? You're just going to let yourself keep dripping blood all over the place? Don't be such a child."

Tahno actually almost sputters. "I'm the child here? Who the hell raised you to burst into people's apartments uninvited and start tearing through their kitchenware? Is this a tribal custom that I am unfamiliar with? A mock-salutation specifically intended for those you wish to annoy?"

"I forgot how melodramatic you could be."

His face contorts with barely-contained aggravation, and he is speechless in his bewilderment, but Korra simply crosses her arms, squares her shoulders, and turns her hips to face him. They stare each other down for a full minute, eyes narrowing viciously and knuckles stretching white, and right before Tahno thinks he's about to blow, Korra suddenly breaks, and her question is a whisper.

"Do you still think so little of my abilities?"

Tahno tries to maintain the glare, to keep up his guard, but her face is falling with each passing moment, and it is beyond his control when he draws a deep sigh in and out of his lungs and glides a scratched-up hand through his unkept hair. But before he can get a word in, she continues to pester him with questions. "Do you not trust me to do a good enough job? Why are you so against anyone helping you?"

Her frown deepens.

"Or is it just me that you refuse?" she asks, and her eyes tell him that she does not think it very far out of the question. He watches her watch him with penetrating eyes and, after a moment's consideration, he slowly makes his way to the tiny table on the other side of the wall, where he collapses into the seat. Korra is confused and isn't quite sure what he expects her to do, but she follows him to the table and takes the seat across from him anyway. Tahno wants to tell her something, to make her figure out what's going on inside his head when even he can't, but he doesn't have it in him to tell her that she is the only one he's refused, but it's not quite how she thinks; the truth is simply that no one else has tried.

"It's just not worth it," is what he says instead, and in way he supposes that it's true. What am I really even worth anymore?

Korra stares at the cuts and bruises over his fingers for a long minute and Tahno lets her look, trying not to feel awkward in the silence of so much lost, and he hopes that she leaves it at that. Korra begins to nod slowly, closing her eyes for a moment as she collects her thoughts, and Tahno is annoyed by how difficult it is for him to look away from the dark lines of lashes dusting her cheeks. She does not press for information about the fight or who it was with or how it started—she already knows how it ended—and he is relieved when she lets the healing matters drop as well. He begins to let himself believe that he'll finally find some semblance of peace.

But then she abruptly stands, making him start from the force of the movement, and says with a smirk that is all too Korra, "I'm going to make tea."

He is thrown by how jarringly inappropriate this sudden burst of domesticity seems given of the blight of his circumstances, and he wants to look at her like she's crazy, but she's said it with such promise and purpose that he half-expects this tea to shoot out fireworks or be made of liquid gold. As she forages his kitchen—again—for supplies, he opts not to tell her that he has none of the materials to make tea, wanting to see what other ridiculous plans she has as alternatives, and then in barely any time at all, she miraculously comes out with two cups of a delicious-smelling concoction of jasmine and ginger and—whatever, his nose was never very good at this, anyway.

He considers refusing the drink on a matter of principle, but then she is slowly pushing her teacup across the table to softly clink with his, gauging his reaction all the way, and with a small smile that he has developed a distasteful weakness for, she mutters a soft and bright, "Cheers." When he eventually concedes, he finds that the combination is one of the sweetest, lightest flavors he's ever experienced in a drink he normally abhors, but there has already been far too many changes in his world today for him to seriously entertain the idea of offering the Avatar a genuine, direct compliment, so he sips his tea quietly and enjoys the taste only in his private thoughts.

But Korra sees his second sip, as well as his third and twelfth, and she pretends not to notice as she curves her lips around the brim of her cup in a well-hidden smile.

This is how they sit, in something akin to civil-but-not-quite-companiable silence, and when Korra is certain that the immediate tension has dissipated enough so that he is not in any serious danger of snapping and reopening any of his minor wounds, she allows herself to relax in the drowsy afterglow of her tea. She shifts in her chair, propping her feet atop a seat across from her and leans back into the backrest, carelessly throwing an elbow behind her and hooking her wrist to curve over the top of her seat. Whether Tahno has noticed or not, he has also visibly relaxed as well... But while Korra has spread out, Tahno has essentially curled in; she watches him rest his chin in his palm as he stares down at the bottom of his cup, his eyes transfixed on the movement of the remaining liquid that he is swirling in small circles, and it is not long before Korra is soon drawn in as well.

"I was lying about the key, by the way," she tells him sheepishly, expecting his wrath all over again, but he's apparently already moved on. He gives her a shrug and they sit in silence.

"It's funny, isn't it? The shit you take for granted." Korra looks up, wondering not where this has come from, but why it is coming up now. With her. "It makes you think."

She slowly takes her teacup in hand, careful not to make any sudden movements lest she break the moment and remind him of who she is and how he apparently does not appreciate her presence, and asks, "Is there anything you'd have done differently? Knowing what you know now?"

He shrugs marginally, eyes still on the bottom of his mug. "Who can say?"

She pauses, feeling the warmth under her fingertips, and decides to venture again. "Well... is there anything that you will do differently now?"

And then she is regretting the words as soon as they leave her lips because what a stupid question and she's certain that if there were an award for least sensitive Avatar in history she would win it unanimously, and she's sure that he is going to snap and god, Korra, let's just write about his bending loss all over the skyline, shall we? But he surprises her. He drags his eyes away from his cup and looks her over carefully, and his gaze rests on hers.

"I've got a few ideas, yeah."

She quirks a brow at him, feeling another layer of tension dissipate from the room, and she smiles a small, knowing smile. She can almost feel it, the return of the old Tahno, and the notion makes her head whirl, but it's still too soon to tell and she's not about to call him out on it because that would be like calling herself out as well. She decides to venture one step farther and says, "I really wish you would just let me take a look at those bruises."

"They'll be fine," he says tersely, and Korra is too caught up in the crusting edges of his wounds to hear the I deserve them underneath.

"Yeah, but I won't be if you don't let me take care of them."

"What, can't stand the sight of a little blood?"

Korra's bravado wanes for just a moment at the mention of blood—because blood leads to thoughts of bloodbending which lead to waterbending which ends with Tahno can't and he never will, not unless I do something, and—

"Do you think I enjoy seeing you like this?" she asks bluntly.

Tahno pauses, hands tight around the warmth in his cup, biting the inside of his cheek. He is affected by this comment, but showing weakness has never really been his area of expertise, so does what he does best and turns his own problems back on the world. "You never know. You could be into that sort of thing, Avatar... I try not to make assumptions. Besides, I heard you used my face as target practice."

"You heard that from Mako, I presume?" Korra raises an aggravated brow. She's starting to learn his tricks, and she knows what he's up to, but she's willing to let it slide just this once.

Tahno is immediately wary; he'd been under the distinct impression that the rest of the Fire Ferrets wouldn't have had the gall to mention their little incident to her, and he's not sure how he feels now about her having vicariously seen that exposed part of him either. "Mako?" he shakes his head. "Hm. Doesn't ring a bell."

"You know, Bolin told me about the little run-in you had the other day," she whispers conspiratorially as she leans toward him across the table. "That was a pretty stupid move on your part."

Tahno is surprised, but then again, he's not. "I didn't think they'd have the balls to mention it to you."

Korra rolls her eyes at the redundancy of his insults, but smirks with some private memory. "Bolin let something slip, and... let's just say I forced the rest out of him. Or most of it, anyway."

He doesn't know why this is bothering him now; hadn't he hoped that they would eventually send a message to her for him? That he'd hoped with some desperate, half-coherent drunken theory that she would take it as a signal and that she would come seeking him out? But it's different now. The alcohol has all but faded from his system and he is left with nothing but sluggish, sobering blood sliding through his veins and a mind that is gradually catching up to all of the harsh realities that he has tried so hard to forget.

"Well... you are in a fightin' mood, aren't you?" she quips with sass, but her eyes soften with worry, and before he can stop himself the words come tumbling out of his mouth—

"I'm slipping."

She freezes, fingers caught upon a cooling teacup's rim, and she doesn't dare breathe. When she looks up and sees the ice in his eyes, she knows that they're both thinking of that dance and that never-fight, but neither one will voice it. They are thinking about the paths they were walking down before Tahno became this person, before Korra had a chance to distance herself from the feeling of his hands on her, before he realized that—overnight, in a single fucking night—everything that had ever mattered to him was no longer there, or no longer his to take, or sitting right there in front of him just out of his reach.

"I could use a drink," he says suddenly, standing and turning to the kitchen.

"Another?" she asks, openly perplexed and still a little bewildered by what has just happened between them.

He turns to her at the doorframe with a smirk. "One drink."

Korra blinks. "One drink, my ass," she mutters under breath, scuffing the chair along the floor as she follows him to the ice box. He looks like a right mess, standing in his haphazardly-cleaned kitchen unit, blood dried along his cheek and bottom lip split, with scratched-up hand rifling through a cabinet's endless abyss of bottles with labels that mean nothing to her.

"It won't be so much if it's shared," he observes suggestively, and at his quirked brow, Korra is so shocked to see something of his old self again that she almost doesn't hear him. "Here," he thrusts a bottle into her palm. "Go for it."

"I'm not the drinking type."

"You're from the South," he says with a bite of challenge. "And I thought the water tribe always prided itself on being able to hold its liquor."

"You are so irritating," she tells him half-heartedly, moving closer to take a look. She sighs a heavy sigh, lifting the bottle in her hand examine the contents within the tinted glass and she ignores Tahno's look of open amusement at discovering an area of his superior expertise.

"Just one," he whispers as he leans down, and his smile is so serpentine that Korra wonders what he would do if she kissed him right then and there.

And it is at this moment that Korra realizes the full extent of the danger she is in.

Since that night in the stadium, her purpose has consistently been to clean or patch up or heal, and now that she's confronted with the very real possibility of—forgetting herself—getting carried away, she's not sure what to do. The trickling of the raindrops on the roof are directly above them and, inundated by the simplicity of the sounds, she panics.

"You know what," she begins, her tone vacillating and apologetic. "I should probably go."

Apparently these words have come as a surprise to both of them; Korra is biting her tongue, part of her knowing that this is the logical choice—for once—and part of her wishing that she could snatch them back out of the empty air, and Tahno is blinking, clearing away his stupefied thoughts with a meager, oh-so-dissatisfying, "Yeah?"

"Yeah," she echoes, feeling more and more foolish each second. "They'll be expecting me back at the Temple early tonight, what with the rain," she informs him, lying through her teeth. "But... I'll be back for some noodles, of course, so I'll see you around, I guess."

"For... some noodles?"

"Right," she says quietly, but it all sounds so unconvincing to even her ears that it's not more than a few more words before she takes her leave.

And Tahno is left standing alone in the too-small kitchen of a too-empty apartment with an unopened bottle of something like poison in his hand and he's still trying to wrap his head around it all, but now... now every loss is so much greater, every hole is so much deeper, every corner is so much darker, and every memory is so much sharper. The raindrops dance and flash across the grimy windowpane, and he is struck—compelled—by an inescapable idea.

He is left with a million questions, a thousand questions containing what ifs and if onlys... but only one question makes it to the surface, and it is made of neither.

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Has it really come to this?

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She makes it about as far as the second step back down the rickety staircase to the restaurant before Korra stops, and hesitation creeps into every fiber of her being. There is no practical reason for why she should try to go back, no real evidence that indicates that he might want her there, no rational explanation for why she shouldn't be satisfied with all that has happened today... and yet for reasons Korra can't put her finger on—reasons that she doesn't try to label or justify just yet—she knows with bone-deep certainty that she isn't ready to leave his apartment. There are still a few hours before the daylight fades entirely, another hour or two after that before she is expected back at the island, and maybe she has even one more on top of that before anyone would start to worry. She takes a step back onto the uppermost tread, breathing deep breaths as she tries to weigh the decision in her mind. Everything about her experience with Tahno has been matter of impulse and instinct and for once she wants to think with her head, but her head is a mess of what she should do and what she is expected to do and dammit, Korra what do you want to do?

She knows exactly what she wants, though perhaps she isn't entirely clear on the why, and she is on the cusp of fulfilling a decision already made when her head snaps behind her at the piercing sound of shattering glass. In an instant her ears are alert, eyes are narrowed, fists are on guard, and she is running down the creaky wooden floorboard and kicking open a door that was never locked behind her and she expects there to be chi-blockers or guards or something amiss in the open rooms, but instead she can hear cursing and sounds of pain from behind the closed door of what she knows is the bathroom. Frantic with a speed and a purpose that is barely comprehensible to even herself, she throws herself against the wood, but it doesn't budge, and she is certain the he is directly on the other side.

"Tahno!" she bangs on the door with a furious fist, and her breath is short and spastic and all she can think is open the door, you idiot, just hurry and open the door, please—but even when she stops banging on the door to listen in, she can only hear the heavy sounds of running water and the haggard breathing of someone obviously injured—open up open up open up—and she calls out to him again. "Tahno! Open up!" She pounds the door, gritting her teeth when she feels the resistance and weight of his large frame against the wooden panels and dammit, she isn't kidding around anymore. "I'll break it down whether you're in the way or not, so help me, Tahno, I will! Tahno—"

And then she is falling. In her haste, she has thrown her entire weight against the barrier, and when it is removed, she is left helpless against the pieces of glass littering the tiles as she throws herself down to the floor with the full force of what was meant for the door. A sharp cry of pain escapes her as her wrists and forearms break her fall against the hundreds of shards, all biting into her skin and tearing into her clothes, and it takes her a moment to lose the shock of the fall before she can open her eyes. She is immediately alarmed by the trails of blood screaming across the white ceramic, all reflected in the irregular diamonds of what she now understands to be the broken mirror, and she is confused because both the faucet and shower are running on full-blast and where the hell is he?

When she looks up she sees that he is crumpled against the space behind the door, and her mind replaces the wall with a dumpster in the moonlight, but instead of a bottle in his hand that is blood and she is scrambling across the sharp pebbles and pieces to straddle his lower body and to reach for the swelling hand in his lap.

"Don't touch me," he tries to spit, but the words come out terribly because he cuts himself off, hissing in pain as he tries to remove a particularly jagged shard from his palm.

"Tahno, stop," she commands him, trying to pry his hand away from his shaking fingers in the gentlest way she can, but she knows that softness might be a lost cause. She feels loose flesh slide beneath her fingertips as he tears his hand away from her almost-hold, and she gasps as he gasps. "Tahno, let me heal it," she demands with a calm that she does not feel and she tries to capture his gaze, to make him focus on her eyes instead of her hands, but he is using his unwounded hand to roughly push her off and it is only when she takes his face in both of her palms that he desists. His breathing is harsh and his eyes are clouded with pain and suffering and anger, and Korra knows that it only upsets him further when she lets him see how his loss affects her, so for his sake she lets her eyes slant with a fury that she feels buried deep below the surface and glares with a burn that she is afraid will not last. "Listen to me," she says lowly, tightening her hold when he tries to look away. He's soaking wet with water and blood and she can feel the moisture creeping into the fabric at her waist, but the sounds of the cascade, the smells of copper and rust, the feel of a hundred needs tearing into her limbs all dissipate to a dull thrumming in the corners of her mind and she sees nothing but the melting ice in the eyes before her.

"I'm going to heal you," she whispers, and she hopes he can hear her over the sounds of the water pouring out of the shower head and faucet, but she sees that he is watching her lips move as she speaks, so she thinks that he must have, and she swallows as he begins to relax beneath her. She loosens her grip at his temples and slowly, carefully, she floats her hands down to take hold of his and to inspect the damage. He hisses as her palms cradle his throbbing fingers and Korra can't help but release a sigh of relief when she sees the extent of the damage and knows that he will be fine in a matter of minutes, as soon as she sets to work. She glances back at him, startled to find that his eyes have never left her face. It is more difficult to swallow this time, but Korra has a job to do, so she carefully leans back, wincing slightly as her knees dig deeper into the blanket of broken glass covering the tiles, and nods in the direction of the running shower.

Tahno's head rolls to the side and when his eyes fall on the many streams of water crushing themselves against the opposite wall, she isn't entirely sure what he sees, but when she reaches a coaxing hand to his shoulder, she imagines that he thinks of loss and something like love and life and she isn't too far off the mark. She's seen the way he stares into water, the longing in his eyes as his entire focus fills on the remnants of an emptying cup, and at the last moment, Korra alters her plans and opts for impulse once again. They never quite make it to standing positions, but rather crawl and tumble their way fully-clothed into the shocking cold of the empty tub, and Korra uses scratched and torn fingers to adjust the temperature of the streams until it is a steady, flowing current of heat. As Korra removes her boots and socks and furs, which only take up precious space, Tahno adjusts himself against the wall as best he can with one good hand and the Avatar filling whatever area his long bent legs don't already claim, and then she is settling herself over his lap in the only way that seems practical, trying not to brush against anything, but especially not his injured hand. Tahno throws his good arm over the edge to the floor but they inevitably bump shoulders and fingers and limbs, and the lack of traction against the slick ceramic only results in accidental slips and mingling breaths, but Korra will not lose focus.

With a deep inhale she rights herself as best she can and, ignoring the way he watches her every move, she takes his hand in her palms and calls forth the beads of water aimed for her back, redirecting them into the glove that feels so familiar that it's beyond second nature. Tahno watches the movements of her healing with an intensity that is almost hypnotic, noting the dexterity and grace of her fingers as the coolness glides over his aching skin, soothing even as it cleans and stitches and mends. His eyes narrow to a wince as her glowing fingers pick out the remaining pieces embedded in his flesh and he tries to keep his eyes open even through the pain and the droplets of water that fall against his face and the beads from the flowing stream behind her that try to fill his vision as she shifts around and above him. He is lost in the feeling, this warmth and this coolness, relaxing into a blankness of thought that is nowhere near sleep but nowhere near consciousness, when her soft and tired voice cuts through the haze.

"Why do you do this to yourself?" she whispers, and if Tahno hadn't been watching her lips, he might never have heard her.

"You don't want to know how it happened?" he responds after a pause. His voice is no louder, no stronger, but it has cut through this dream-like world and to him the sound of his own voice rakes across his mind like the screeching of tires against crying asphalt.

"I can still put two and two together, Tahno," she tries to mock, but it merely sounds worn. He continues to watch as she continues to work, but while her touch soothes and relaxes, her voice stirs and awakens, and soon it takes twice as much effort to concentrate on the words instead of just the lips that form them. "Let me guess." The bluish glow disappears and the glove is lost in a river beneath them, but Korra is still handling the fresh skin of his fingers with care and Tahno wonders at the never-ending paradoxes she presents him, this time with the well-earned calluses of a fighter and the softened pads of a healer. He leans his head back farther into the wall as she slips and slides her fingers of over his, massaging the joints and testing the muscles.

"I'll bet you tried to do something that you used to be able to do with ease," she says softly, and he can see in the way her throat is working that it is difficult for her to say this. He watches the way her collar sticks to the skin at her clavicle, notes the hair that has molded itself to the contours of her neck, and tries to memorize the way the water droplets—the tears?—have clumped and twisted the fine eyelashes as they shutter opened and closed. "And when it didn't work like you'd hoped..." She swallows a lump in her throat, and does not try to finish. Instead, she draws deep circles into his palm with her thumb, takes the time to gently tug each digit, smoothes her whole hand over the circumference of his wrist, and it is when she aligns her fingers with his and closes them tightly over the back of his hand, twisting her own wrist to measure the rotation of his, that his loose fingers press down and clasp themselves against her knuckles, completing the hold. She stills, water dripping from her nose and the long strands of her hair, and he stares at her eyes, waiting for her to tear her gaze from their intertwined hands and meet his.

"You didn't answer me," she whispers, eyes locked onto their hands beneath the water. The blood has been rinsed away from the flesh, but it still stains and mars the fabric at their wrists and she tries to focus on those marks and what they mean. Tahno feels the water drip into his mouth, but he can still taste the copper and pain and anger on his tongue. There is nothing left to hide, he thinks, feeling the weight of her bear down against him, the pressure of her fingers as she tightens her hold while she waits for him to speak. Tahno can't tell for sure if it's the blood loss or the feel of the water slipping through his fingertips again or the scent of her warm skin so close, but he decides that he can figure out the consequences in the morning and, for now, he can tell her the truth.

"It's like I've been ripped apart from the inside out."

Korra's eyes find his and there is fear in them as clear as day. "So you try to make the outsides match?" she whispers through a bitter, mirthless laugh, and he is seized by the thought that maybe she is somehow just as damaged as he is. "Are you trying to get yourself killed?" she asks through a broken whisper.

"The injuries aren't what's going to kill me," he says with a detachment that startles even himself, and as his smooth, hollow voice slides over the air, she fears that he might already be dead.

Why won't you just let me help you? she wants to scream, but really, what can she do? She's just the Avatar and she's not a very good one at that.

"You know that saying?" he asks her, and she has to move against him in order to hear the words. She lays her—their—hands against the rim for support and leans forward, trying listen without getting too close, but it's impossible, and she is forced to lean her other arm on the edge by his shoulders to keep from slipping.

"What saying?" she wonders, feeling the water try to seep into all the creases and folds at her eyes, but she refuses to look away from him.

"Bend until you break?" He says it smoothly, and the twist of his lips makes her heart ache. "I guess I just thought I'd give it a try."

It is hard to breathe because there is a lump in Korra's throat that can't be swallowed and she knows that this is the worst moment to start crying, but it's becoming difficult not to, and since it'd be cowardly to look away, she merely shuts her eyes and tries to take back a modicum of control. She inhales once, twice, takes three deep breaths against the water, and then meets his gaze again. They both look as disoriented as they feel, but while Korra is still trying to find a way to fix him, Tahno has already surrendered to a different notion. Korra's lips are tingling with the knowledge of his undivided attention and as his eyes drink in the lines of her face, she feels a wave of heat wash over her. She swallows again, absently wetting her lips even with the water trickling her down her face, and whispers, "What can I do?"

And then with a slowness that nearly kills her, Tahno drops his gaze to her lips, which part under the intense scrutiny. She senses rather than sees when he raises the fingers of his good hand to dust along the line of her neck, coming to rest at her jaw, and Korra knows that this is where they left off, and though it's not where they might finish what they started, at least they were moving. She feels his touch glide over her cheek and his thumb comes to a rest at the corner of her mouth, and then in one smooth, careful motion, he brushes it over the fullness of her lower lip. She feels the pressure change as she exhales a deep, shuddering breath, and he looks ups at her, eyes searing, and Korra thinks it might all be too much. She wants to drop her gaze, not to flee but to see his mouth as well, but she can't tear it from his eyes, watching him watch her, and experimentally, she moves the tiniest fraction forward. She feels the breath he takes as his chest rises and falls and Korra is overcome once more by a well-remembered urge to place her fingers there.

With slow, measured movements that leave her fingers shaking slightly, Korra drags her fingers back from the ceramic ledge behind his shoulders and up the line of his arm, feeling the ridge of his collarbone with something like nostalgia, and then presses her palm flat against the space above his heart. She can hear the beat pounding against her fingers like the pulsing rhythm of roaring drums, and she spreads her fingers wide. And then she takes the hand that is still connected with his and draws it to her own chest, where she holds it against her, still leaning into him, still too close but not yet close enough, and she watches him.

Neither one is certain who moves first—or perhaps they move as they have always moved, in tandem, connected, pushing and pulling and—minds run blank as the jolting contact of lips against lips pulses through them, and before she can even register what is supposed to happen next, Korra gasps into his mouth and he breathes it in. His tongue finds hers immediately, because Tahno has already lost too much time and he's not willing to waste anymore, and Korra releases a soft sound of pleasure as the water fills their mouths. She tilts her face further to the side, granting him deeper access while keeping their rhythm, and Tahno gently releases his hold on her hand to explore the mass of her hair, to tangle his fingers in at the nape and draw her in nearer. His other hand comes to rest on the small of her back and they are lost to the bliss of slick, wet, sliding mouths slipping over one another as they are enveloped by their element. Her hands have begun to explore, but he has pulled her hair free from its elastic and his fingers are still curling into the strands. She touches a hand to his temple and his bangs fall back and away, revealing the smooth lines of a face that she so rarely sees in full and Korra has to stop, just for a moment, just to look and take in the clear eyes and pale skin and parted lips. She is so fascinated by the last—which are soft and pliant without their signature twistedness—that Korra nearly lunges back into him, slanting her mouth back over his with a hunger, and the force of her charge slams him into the tile behind.

Suddenly the tightness of his tunic is suffocating, too tight and too heavy with moisture against his broken skin, but she seems to know this because she is already pulling open the ties at the collar of his shirt. But this isn't enough, there is still too much separating them and he pushes forward, forcing her weight back and onto the support of his thighs, and it is like they have both felt the force of a punch to the gut when she rolls against him in one fluid downward movement. He catches his breath as he watches her from under his lashes, and she drops her foreheads against his while she takes another moment to collect herself as well. She sits against him with her fingers curled into the fabric at his neck, her world a spinning mess with him as the only support, and Tahno wants to savor this moment, but he has never been a patient man and there has already been too much lost. He dips his face down, nudging her nose with his, and his signal is clear.

The movement has made them lightheaded, but it has given them a renewed sense of urgency. Korra drags her fingers downward, nails gently snagging across the wet fabric until she reaches the very bottom. In unhurried, intentional movements, she slips her fingers beneath the hem and glances to him, waiting for the permission that she doesn't need, and he groans into her mouth in response. Raising the shirt up and over his head with a slowness that makes them both dizzy, Korra gently tugs his arms from the sleeves, taking special care to avoid the worst of his bruises and Tahno's head falls back against the tile, eyes closing against the gasp she makes when she sees the extent of his beating bared before her.

Berating himself for his own stupidity—for having forgotten himself so thoroughly—he is half-certain that this is the moment that she will leave for good. There is a sinking feeling in his stomach when he actually feels her rise above him, when he physically feels the space she leaves behind, and the sensation only intensifies when he feels her stretch her long legs and set foot outside of the tub. He's prepared to lie here like this for the rest of his life, alone with the endless stream of warm water cleansing his face, when he feels her reach for him and pull him carefully upright so that he can follow her.

He's not sure where she's leading him while she heals the rest of the bruises marring his skin, especially since he keeps getting lost in her kisses along the way, and he is only further distracted, further engrossed in the way they move against one another when she forgets his injuries for another brief moment and begins to lose herself to him all over again. Between the sounds of the running streams in the shower and the steady drops above and around them from the rain, they are surrounded, and to Tahno it feels something like being lost in the eye of a storm.

He pulls her to him more tightly as she backs his calves into the side of the mattress, and he is captivated by the exquisite smoothness of her shoulders. With the hands of an expert and the mind of one who wishes to learn everything, he trails his fingers downward, and then suddenly his fingers catch along a deep tear in her forearm and a breath escapes as pain jars her. He pauses immediately, and when he holds up the arm he is alarmed to find that she is covered with washed-away scrapes and cuts and gashes as well. Korra stills, unsure of his reaction, and then watches with heavy eyes as he gently hovers his fingers over the places where the glass has cut into her. He stares at them for a long moment, looking at the angry red slashes against her dark skin in a way that makes Korra think that it's not what he's really seeing at all. She waits nervously until he glances back up at her, and when he eventually does she is left breathless because he is beautiful when he smiles.

"You should worry about yourself first," he whispers to her meaningfully, and she has the distinct impression that he is laughing at her. She eyes him inquisitively, feeling a warmth spread through her as she is swallowed by memories, and she shakes her head at him slightly as a small, incredulous smile curves her lips. After a moment of consideration, Korra follows his advice, summoning the healing glove with ease and breathing deep as she focuses on her work. Her concentration is impenetrable, and it is only after she has finished that she realizes how he has removed the hairpieces that usually frame her face and that he is still playing with the strands. She releases a short breath of laughter, suddenly caught by the irony and the absurdity of where they are and who they are, and the mischievousness filters into her gaze. Tahno sees this, and the smirk that curls his lips is so sublime that Korra nearly loses it, and before he can react, she is on him, flooding his senses with everything that she is, and his smirk falls as his lips invite her in.

When Korra has him right where she wants him, she places her hands at his shoulders and pushes, watching with no small hint of satisfaction as he falls back onto the sheets in open surprise. Her hips swing to the side as she looks down at him with something like triumph, and as a smirk of her own begins to take form, she sees Tahno start to rise back up onto the support of his forearms, ready to invade her mouth all over again, and with a light laugh that she can't physically contain, she pounces.

She pins him into the pillows with a force that he has grown—yet another weakness for—all too familiar with, and as he looks up at the fire within the eyes of a girl of water, he is torn between the urge to take and the desire to see. But she removes the responsibility of the decision from him, because she flings herself to the space beside him, letting her temple sink into the pillow next to his cheek and he can't help but watch with morbid fascination as this creature somehow manages to toss herself about his room with all the decorum of a child, all the dignity of the Avatar, and all the grace of a fighter, and this, he thinks, is Korra.

They lie this way for some minutes, entangled in the sheets, their hair clinging against their chilled skin, wet clothes seeping into the fabric around them, unnoticed, as they memorize the lines on the other's face in silence. So much of what has happened since Korra first arrived in his apartment has been driven by memories and what ifs and waiting too long for something that they thought might never happen, but in the peace of the moment, they are able to breathe. Tahno suddenly shifts, slipping his bare feet below and under the twisted sheets, bringing them up to his chest, and he holds the covers up high, inviting Korra underneath. She shoots him a questioning brow, saturated with suggestion, but when Tahno leans down to steal another kiss, he is stilled by the feeling of her curling up against him. His arms hangs suspended in the air for just a moment longer as he takes the time needed to understand this, to recognize the unfamiliar pleasure spreading through his limbs, and then they are laying side by side, her dozing softly as he combs long fingers through the damp tresses. Their feet touch in the warmth of the cocoon—toe-to-toe, his mind supplies irrationally—and it becomes a quiet game of slipping against soles and dragging along calves and knees brushing knees. They drift closer and Korra places a hand to his bare chest, drawing warm patterns along the canvas of his cooling skin, and he drapes an arm over her side, tugging her to him. They lie there, listening to the sounds of the running water and the sounds of each other breathing, and Tahno wonders when he will wake up.

Because, of course, eventually he'll have to.

The more Korra relaxes into him, the more and more pervasive his creeping doubts become; he's not sure if he's more bothered by the inevitability of the end or his unanswerable question of the end of what? He tries to ignore it, to enjoy and appreciate this rare moment of calm because when had he last—ever—felt this at ease? He struggles to find a moment in his threadbare collection of memories, and it is only after many minutes of watching Korra breathe that he decides to give in to sleep and to leave such thoughts for tomorrow.

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But Korra wasn't kidding when she claimed that she only had a few hours after nightfall before someone would start to worry, and the world outside his windows is already dark.

She leaves a few hours later, when she is mostly dry and sees that he has fallen asleep. She considers writing him a note, but his apartment is a mess and she doesn't have any light and besides, the thought of writing one—of pouring out even a shred of her heart onto a page, in-between even so few lines—terrifies her, so she whispers across the pillow that she will try to come back later in the week, as soon as she can.

She wants to tell him not to do anything stupid in the meantime, but she knows that it would make little difference whether he were sleeping or awake to hear her, and so she slips out into the night—telling herself that this is not running away—in silence.

But Tahno is awake.

Tahno is awake and the first thought that crosses his mind as he hears the door shut behind her is to wonder whether or not he might regret this in the morning—because for someone who claims to have a serious distaste for showing weakness, it's literally all he's been doing, hasn't it been?—but then he wonders if she'll regret it in the morning and that is so much worse. He feels his empty stomach churn as he envisions her return, only instead of an invitation there is another apology forming on her lips...

He pounds his fist the mattress beside him, taking little satisfaction in the way that it easily yields to his demands, and is consumed with the notion that maybe her regret is already sinking in.

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As he lay there, dripping with cooling sweat in between the still-drying sheets, pondering the differences between what he wants and what he needs or what he thinks he wants, with the space beside him already shedding its warmth, Tahno thinks that he's never felt more alone.

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End Note: Next up-Part II! (Let's dig a little deeper, shall we?)

Seriously. How "a few drabbles" turned into a 20,000+ half of a two-shot is beyond me. Part II will have much more Tahno introspection, a little more angst (note: jealousy), a little more fluff, and finally some smut, naturally.

Again, I hope this provided a clear enough perspective of how I imagine Tahno's aftermath to turn out while he's off-screen... and without being too redundant with all of the other awesome Tahnorra fics and fanarts that are inevitably out there!

I'm going to need to take a break from this monster for a while, so if you have any drabble requests, head over to the tumblr post for this weekend's Tahnorra party and leave me some, please! :)

And, as always, please review!

EDIT: 6/3/12. The on-going, multi-chapter continuation, gray skies ahead, has been posted. You can find it on my FFNET profile, so go check it out!