So how about that finale, huh guys? Crazy stuff. Spoilers below for Tarrlok's character, and wishful thinking as well as a request fill on my part. Read this interaction in whatever light you choose to.
Korra looks down at her reflection where it trembles in the washing basin. The silence draws no words from either of them, but he's better at this game than she is and can probably wait much longer. At least looking down at her reflection means she doesn't have to look up at him, or at the bandages cut loose to drape around his shoulders, or –
Oh now really,she thinks, show a little more backbone, then pulls the water over her hand in one long sliding gesture. It glows like moonlight as she leans forward.
"You never learned this part, did you?" Korra asks. "Healing, I mean."
She brings her hand up against the right side of his face, where it has been twisted and burned smooth by the heat; they'd taken the shrapnel from his arm and side, though nobody has bothered to cut his hair properly yet. Korra considers what (who) he'll look like with it cropped short, and is glad for the water that swirls between her skin and his own.
(fugitives caught, stop, the telegram had read, found in wreckage of boat, stop, one alive one deceased, stop.)
"No," Tarrlok answers, sharply. "I suppose our father never quite found the time."
One corner of his mouth has been marred into a slight but permanent frown –backbone, backbone, backbone – and it is odd to watch him speak.
("Something happened with the gas tank, I figure," one officer said in his report,"You could see the cloud a mile away. From what was left, I'd swear it looked like someone shot lightning down into it.")
She pushes water out to cover the whole raw, ugly expanse of the wound. He clenches his teeth. Beneath the burned skin of his throat, she watches muscles and tendons go tense before relaxing again.
"…Well, then. Maybe you can learn now."
Tarrlok frowns deeper.
("…an end to this sad story.")
When he doesn't say anything, Korra shrugs. "It's pretty useful for getting fishhooks out of people's thumbs, anyway."
"Yep. Now turn your head this way a little more so that I don't have to lean, I hear having someone fall on top of you is bad for broken ribs."
He frowns a while longer, turns his head for her to reach, and Korra wonders if it is the silver-blue light from the water that makes him close his eyes that way.
A/N: I know how unlikely it is that he would have survived the boat explosion, but whatever man. There are literally flying pigs on this show. Man deserves a happy ending, and one that challenges the notions of fate sealed at birth and that you will inevitably become what you fear the most. I dunno.
Thank you very much for reading. Any thoughts, critiques, ideas or suggestions you have would be very welcome! I may turn this into a drabble series if the mood strikes me.