Katara sits, silent and still, her legs drawn up with her arms wrapped around them and her face still twisted into an expression of grief and hatred. They have found somewhere to stay, a little crevice at the base of a cliff just big enough for both to fit comfortably with a good foot of space between them. She stares at the wall, her gaze blank even as she radiated emotion just as intense as the moment she decided to spare that man's life. He watched her, quiet and reserved, intent on giving her as much time and space as he could afford to. But then he noticed her shivering. It surprised him for a moment – she was from the South Pole after all, he'd begun to think she never got cold – but they are wearing soaked clothes and the air is cool and crisp. He pauses only a moment to consider before holding his hand out between them, palm up, and igniting a small fire between them. Her head jerks suddenly in his direction, as if she's just remembered he's there, and she stares at him for a long moment, brows drawn together slightly and her mouth pressed into a firm line. Then the corners start to turn downward and her harsh gaze softens as her eyes well with tears. His eyes widen slightly and his lips part, startled and already beginning to panic because what is he supposed to do about that, but then she smacks his hand away and the flame goes out, and in the next breath she's pressed herself against him and wrapped her arms around his waist. She presses her face into his shoulder, hard, shaking with sobs she's holding inside, and the dampness against his skin warms with her tears. He sucks in a doubly startled breath and his hands find her back, smoothing soothingly over the plane of shoulders and spine, and suddenly she feels so small.

"It's okay," he murmurs, voice caught halfway in a whisper, "Go ahead."

So she lets out the first harsh, broken sob, her shoulders wracking with the force of it, and soon it's followed by more. Her hands fist in his shirt and he's not sure how long it is before she speaks, words barely intelligible past the rough gasps and the strain of speaking between sobs. "I hate him, I hate him so much, but I couldn't, I-I just couldn't, and La, it hurts!"

"I know. It's okay." He speaks softly, warmly into her hair, just above her ear. A day ago, two days ago, it would have been grounds for her to snap, to shout, to tell him he didn't know a thing about her or her mother or her pain and that he'd better shut his mouth before she froze it shut, but the bitterness and the vitriol were nowhere to be found, because some part of her felt that it was true.

She cried until her voice was raw and hoarse, until her head and throat and chest ached and burned and it was all she could do to draw in deep, shuddering breaths and expel them in shaky sighs. Even after she stilled she held onto him, and he silently continued running his hands along her back, a part of him selfishly hoping she never let go. Eventually, though, she drew back and offered him a thin, watery smile. "Thank you, Zuko. For everything."

He just nodded and watched her wipe away the rest of her tears, turning her gaze to the entrance of their shelter. She was silent for a long moment before murmuring "We should get going. They're waiting for us."

He nodded again and slid out of their little nook, waiting until she was beside him to walk to the overhang where they'd left Appa.

Even in the rain, he could still feel the lingering warmth of her hug, clinging to him along with her scent.