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1.
Emotions were high that night, and the Lieutenant was no exception. He had always prided himself on being the stalwart rock of their decreasingly ragtag group, the one who held firm against hopelessness and overoptimism alike, the steel right hand at Amon’s side.
But that night, the abandoned warehouse they had chosen for the rally was packed and then some with a crowd gathering where they could not fit inside but could still hear that voice, magnetic and compelling, giving form to the thousand helpless resentments that had plagued them all their lives. And he could not help but be swept up in the magic of that moment, his cheeks flushed more from emotion than from the hot press of bodies unified in spirit all around him, could not stem the fierce swell of pride in his chest as the crowd cheered and made all those nights on the run worth it. He could scarcely believe the turn of fate that let him, a dirt-poor nonbender from the streets, stand at the side of this man, this more-than-a-man.
Though the crowd eventually dissipated into the night, leaving in its wake crumpled fliers and the dull buzzing aftermath of hopeful energy, the feeling didn’t pass. That indescribable molten blend of belief and admiration and even a bit of fear burned almost unbearably heavy in his chest as Amon turned to him and said, “Well, that went rather well, didn’t it?”
He gripped Amon’s forearm. How was it that such a force, such a personality could be bound to a mortal form that he could touch? He wanted to give voice to the tumult of emotion that swirled in him, that bound him to this man and the destiny he held. But Amon was the one who held the words. He was just the man who followed his commands.
He could only look into those eyes, bright even behind the mask. “Yes. Yes, it did.”
The moment passed, but the feeling never did.
2.
Victories were few and far between for the Equalists. Amon knew it was inevitable, given how necessarily fragmented and underground the movement had to be. Still, the weeks between rallies and raids dragged on, leaving him plenty of time to let his secret hound him and eat at his edges.
Sometimes it was only the steady presence of his Lieutenant that kept him sane, and sometimes his Lieutenant’s quiet, solid belief in him made him want to tear himself out of his own skin. Sometimes he despised the Lieutenant for being so loyal and honest and everything he wished he could be. He clung to him like a lifeline, looked into the mirror of his eyes to try to live up to the reflection he saw within them.
He longed to cast aside the mask and the lie, to prostrate himself before him and beg his forgiveness. But the lie was everything that held them together, was larger than the two of them and, as he had told himself a thousand times before, a necessary evil for the greater good.
He wanted to rub out the red circles left by the pressure of the goggles around his Lieutenant’s tired eyes, to feel that ridiculous mustache against his lips. But he knew that Noatak did not deserve the selfish happiness of running his hands through the Lieutenant’s rumpled black hair or kneading shoulders always attentively tensed.
All he could allow himself to say was, “Get some sleep, Lieutenant. You look terrible.”
3.
They had done it. They had won. The Avatar had fled into hiding and the city was theirs. Amon drank deep of the heady taste of victory, so sweet he could forget the bitterness of his eternal fear and guilt and self-loathing.
They were in one of Hiroshi’s airships, surveying the city they had conquered from above. Republic City had never looked so beautiful.
His Lieutenant cleared his throat. “Sir, if I may, I just want to say that it has been an honor to serve at your side.” His face was always surprisingly open without the goggles and hood, pale eyes burning with almost fanatical belief, firm line of his mouth surprisingly tender with barely suppressed emotion.
If ever there was a time to reveal himself to his Lieutenant it was now, now that the Equalists were finally in a secure position. No one else would have to know, just this man whom Amon had come to trust far more than himself.
But he couldn’t bring himself to shatter the beautiful reflection in his eyes. Perhaps their bond was built on lies, but these feelings were real and he needed them to keep on going. And truth be told, Amon was a far better man than Noatak could ever have been, and it was just as well that the former lived on and the latter remained buried.
He clasped the Lieutenant’s shoulder, a rare moment of physical contact that he usually forbade himself. “The honor has been mine, Lieutenant.”