Hello lovelies! This is my first story on Fanfic! I was fascinated and really upset by the change in Tahno after episode 6 in Legend of Korra, and by his interaction with Korra in the clip from episode 7, so I decided to write a quick oneshot about the pair. Hope you enjoy it!
Tahno had no idea what to do. He was terrified, depressed, sleep-derived, and in desperate need of a haircut.
The healers had said it was a typical experience of PTSD disorders, but he had stopped listening after the fifth one he visited offered nothing more than soothing words and a wet hand on his shoulder. He had just simply stopped going to them, mostly because visiting another would only be in vain and he couldn't bear to see them bend HIS element.
He considered calling his family back at the Swamp, but he knew he would only get the frustrated grunt of his father who still had no idea how to use a telephone. Last time Tahno had called his family, he had spent twenty minutes attempting to teach his father to not yell into the earpiece of the 'invisible Tahno talk machine.'
So Tahno was stuck. He sat in the crowded hall of the Metal-benders Police Headquarters, waiting to be called for his account of the attack on the stadium (the media was calling it a violent act of terrorism, but Tahno thought that only glorified it). He had neglected his usual elaborate assemble for something more demure, because these days he could hardly dress himself, never mind be anywhere near a shower or sink for fear of being tormented by the devices easy manipulation of his lost power.
So, there he was, slumped on a painful stone bench with his arms resting on his knees. He could only stare at his reflection, painted brutally beneath him in avid detail showcasing his exhaustion and loss. It was a painful sight, but less so than the mixed looks of pity and sadistic joy from the on lookers passing through the hall.
Tahno was no fool; he knew very well that a majority of the passer-byers found his newfound disability as a sign of justice. Tahno had never built himself up to be a man of the people, and he knew his enemies outnumbered his fans. It came with living a life of fame and privilege that only was obtained by his talent, his gift. Men hated him and women wanted him. He was a water-bender, a pro-bender, a gift from the spirits, a champion.
Now, he was worse than nothing, he was a victim
So all he could do was sit and wait to be called in by Chief Hard-ass and the Avatars personal tutor, Ten- something.
His eyes wandered across the floor, taking in the reflections of figures walking across the hall, all shuffling at a pace of significance and arrogance, all in black and grey. And blue.
His head shot up as she walked in, or rather danced on the legs of an earth with the grace of fire and consciousness of water, flowing and not moving for anything in her path, simply adapting and pushing through. He watched her tug at the edge of her ponytail as she walked closer to him, not seemingly recognizing the shadow of what he once was.
Good. He could work with that.
"Hey Korra," he called, his voice gruff from ill use. He followed it with a cough to clear his throat.
Typical. A tone full of a mix of shock and pity. He watched as she froze, staring at him and effectively forced three different people to narrowly avoid her sudden stop in stride. But she ignored their angry huffs and continued to study him, eyes and body clearly betraying her uncertainty at his newfound state. He could only look away. If anything, he wished he hadn't called out to her. He didn't want her to see him like this.
And then she sat beside him, yet at a distance that showcased her uneasiness with the confrontation and their new relationship. She was only used to the jeers to two of them shared in and out of the ring. This was something else. So she sat and waited, offering no consolidation, for that would be empty-pity, and no insult at seeing her pro-bending rival defeated, for he was a broken man. All she could offer was her silent audience to his grievances.
And like a cracked dam, Tahno's empty throat flooded with frustration. He told her about his plight with the healers and of his acceptance that what was taken from him, so violently, could never be given back. He revealed, in all, his fear, frustration, and burning rage. All to her, the dim-witted, headstrong, naïve, beautiful girl who would always be on the other side of the ring.
When he was done, he looked at her, at her azure eyes, young face, and powerful, and desperately gave in to his call for vengeance for what he lost, for the fear he gained. Because he knew only she, not as the Avatar, but as Korra, could do that for him.
And with a determined frown, she agreed.