setting: one year after the war has ended.
disclaimer: I own nothing.
author's notes: 'nobody looks like what they really are on the inside... people are much more complicated than that. it's true of everybody.' -n. gaiman
She thanks the spirits for every morning that the sun kisses the edge of the ice.
Curled into the snow like a lover, the young Master Katara greets every sunrise by meditating on the edge of the world. She feels the call of the tides, pulling and pushing against her like an embrace; she feels the dampness of the snow and the lightness of the air and the moisture all around her and she breathes.
There is a pulsing, heated anger that has never died in the cage of her chest; and the only way she can keep herself level enough to seem normal is by following the example of a friend that ran hotter than anyone else.
So she lets the palms of her hands rest face-up, towards the skies, tilts her head into the sunlight, and inhales until she cleanses herself of the nightmares from the night before. The warmth of the light on the apples of her cheeks are like the touch of an old ally.
Her brother knows to leave her to her ritualistic moments in the morning, knows that she rises earlier than anyone else to have these sparing minutes of peace to herself before she has to rise and greet the tribe.
He knows she can hear their blood singing in their veins so he does not question the dark bruises under her eyes or the hollowness of her cheeks.
But this morning, he struggles through the weight of the snow towards his sister, boots crunching, chest heaving, face red with exertion.
"Sokka." She calls his name before she sees him, her eyes lidded, jaw twitching slightly with concentration. Leaning forward to place his hands flat on his legs, he sucks in a long breath.
"You're needed down at the village, Katara. A letter came in just now that you need to see." He knows better than to touch her now so he stands inches away, brow furrowed, almost unable to recognize the wildness in her.
"It can wait, Sokka." Her voice is chafed raw; he can hear the tangle of her emotions.
"It's from Zuko," The Water Tribe boy lets his hood fall away from his face so he can stare, and when she opens her eyes, the blueness of their gazes lock.
"He's in trouble, Katara. He needs us." Sokka's voice was dark with foreboding, and she remains still for a long minute; her hands clenching into fists. He watches her suck in a long, tense breath through her teeth, carefully constructing a cool mask of resignation upon her features.
But she pushes herself to her feet anyways, reaching for her brother's hand to help her out of the snow.
"What happened?" She says, so quietly that the wind almost snatches the words away. Sokka tucks his arm around her shoulders; she lets him, curving into his furs and listening to the pounding of his heartbeat.
In this year, Sokka has aged far more than the rest of them, she thinks; he teases as he always has, but rarely, and he is more of a rock to her than ever.
"There's been an assassination attempt on his life." The older boy speaks just as softly, and as they wade through the snow together, her heart sinks into her stomach.
"Is he okay?" She almost doesn't want to know the answer.
"Iroh sent the letter. He says nobody on the staff can figure out who is orchestrating the assaults. Evidently the Fire Lord's asking for you."
"Me?" The syllable is hollowed with pain, and Sokka frowns down at his sister as they approach the village.
"Is it so hard to imagine Zuko asking for you? You're his best friend, 'Tara."
She swallows noisily against the rising bile in her throat.
"He hasn't written me in months, Sokka. Not since-"
"-not since Aang left. Well, yeah. The world's kind of been in chaos since then. He's probably kind of busy, sis."
The diamond-hard glare she gives him silences any kind of reparations he could offer; he settles for her arm looped through his and his jaw snaps shut, teeth clicking as his mouth stays decisively closed.
The Avatar was traveling the world searching for a hint that his beloved Air Nomads hadn't been completely exterminated. He had parted ways with the Southern Water Tribe soon after the end of the war, stopping to visit Toph and Zuko before vanishing off of the radar completely.
Zuko's private letters to the waterbender had come to a slow, eventual halt a few months later.
Since then, she had thrown herself into her work; training the young children that came to her seeking help with their bending, helping Sokka with his inventions, helping her father rebuild their struggling little home. It had not been easy to force herself into the chain of command; she had sparred every member of the council and won their respect after landing each of them on their asses in the snow.
But it had not gone unnoticed that she had withdrawn herself from her other friends, too. Her silence was worrisome to Suki, who was finishing training the newest batch of recruits on Kyoshi; Toph complained loudly and frequently by sending letter after letter of nearly unintelligible scribbles.
Sokka had noticed every time Katara fed another one of Toph's unopened letters to the angry fires she lit in her hearth, her lips pressed tightly together and her brow furrowed with a fury he didn't understand. He chose not to ask, at the time.
But now, her arm linked so tightly with his, he wonders.
When they return to the village, she cups the letter from Iroh in her hands so delicately, like a precious, fluttering bird; Sokka wonders at the tears that collect in her eyes and the ferocious way she orders for a ship. Her father knows better than to combat her will.
Sokka knows better than to ask.
They leave the following night, packed efficiently and lightly; they are, after all, experts on travel. The Water Tribe siblings speak very little the first night. Katara steams the sea prunes they packed and pours them over rice for her brother, he watches her; sleeves rolled up, hair tied back into a braid, her cheeks pinked from the warmth of the stove top and the determined set of her jaw.
Ah, he thinks, this is who she used to be.
The second night, they spar together. She wields a slim blade that Zuko gifted to her at the end of the war, he is armed with the sword from Master Piandao. The metal sings as the blades clash; it begins as a playful thing, and then Sokka sees the edge in her eyes and remembers that the war never left his sister's heart. When she returns the Fire Nation blade to its hilt, he watches as her fingers hover over the red leather that Zuko had embossed with her name.
She's worried about him, he tells himself, he's her best friend. And mine.
She drinks sake like a dirty sea dog, tipping the burning rice liquor down her throat with the same ease that her brother does. He stares for a moment; is she really only sixteen? He thinks, sometimes, that a much older woman is hiding in the shell of her bones.
As the week at sea passes, there is a lightness to her laugh when she bends on the deck of the ship, a glint to her smile that had been gone for some time. She will touch his hand, now. She holds on to his tanned, scarred fingers and he can feel the whispers of tears just beyond the hardness of her exterior. She will crack soon, he thinks.
She doesn't.
They day they arrive in the Fire Nation, Katara douses herself in the hottest water she can stand. She combs her hair and braids it away from her face, scrubs at her cheeks until they are raw and pink. She wears the traditional blue garb of her tribe, eyeing the heavy furs that she must leave in her pack with wistfulness; Sokka knows they bring her comfort.
She does not recognize herself in the light blue silk, her hands bare and scarred and her arms naked of armor. The girl grips anxiously at the water pouch she loops around her hips and watches as her brother tucks both of their weapons into his pack.
He must have seen her anxiousness in the way her hands shake; he smiles gently at her- there is no need for weapons here, not any more.
"You look beautiful, 'Tara. Don't worry. We'll be there soon." Sokka slings his arm around her shoulders that are too hardened with muscle and strain to be curved with pain; but too small to be strong enough to carry her through the streets of the capitol of the Fire Nation alone.
She grips his hand as they walk down the gangplank.
To their surprise, they are greeted by a battalion of troops in shining red and gold armor. Katara's chest seizes with fear; she freezes, and it takes all of Sokka's energy to keep her tucked into his side. Her right hand has flicked open her water pouch, fingers curled and readied for an attack; the leader of the Fire Nation warriors removes their helmet and she nearly slumps to the ground in relief.
It is Zuko; alive, breathing, his very presence a mass of warmth that she welcomes like a frostbitten traveler. She flings herself towards him, her throat thick with apologies and eyes red with tears and Zuko does not know what to do at first besides pat her and eye her brother with quiet, surprised caution.
They both note that the tides are sloshing particularly violently against the docks.
Sokka shrugs and approaches the Fire Lord, bowing once, neatly at the waist. He has not seen her emote like this since the end of the war; he imagines it is relief that Zuko is still in one piece.
"You don't have to bow, Sokka. Don't be ridiculous." Zuko's rasping voice is familiar and warm as he manages a sideways grin at the elder Water Tribe sibling. Katara manages to remove herself from the Fire Lord long enough to allow her brother to grip the fire bender's hand in his, clapping his back firmly and nodding to him.
"Figured I should since we've got such an audience, Fire Lord," Sokka says sweetly, before whispering- "Hotpants."
The aside brings the young Fire Lord to a boiling laugh, and he grins crookedly at the pair.
"Can't be helped, guys. Someone out there is pretty adamant about my death, so I didn't want to risk you, too." Zuko's eyes slide to Katara, who is gripping her forearms and keeping her eyes rooted to the ground.
she can hear his blood. she can hear all of their blood. it is raging through the streets, a drum beat in her ear, a pulse in her chest. she could kill them all if she wanted to-
"Ready, Katara?" Zuko is smiling at her- spirits, his smile- and holding his hand out for her and she can see the tiredness in his eyes and the thinness of his face, but she lets her fingers curl around his and lets herself ignore the screaming in her head for long enough to answer him with her own smile.
As they walk, feet in the dust; she feels the crunch of the dry earth beneath her feet and thinks of how he probably doesn't sleep any more. The people on either side of them wave to the girl, and a few call her name- 'Lady Katara! We can't thank you enough for saving our Fire Lord!'- and she conjures bright smiles from her youth so long ago and returns the waves.
But her hand grips Zuko's so tightly her nails nearly draw blood.
If he notices, he doesn't say a word.
"How many attempts, Zuko?" She whispers to him, just quietly enough so that her brother can't hear as he traipses along behind them. She is on his scarred side, and the slanted look he gives her is answer enough. She squeezes his hand for a moment, holds it close to her chest, feels the warmth and lets herself mourn for her exhausted, wayward Fire Lord.
His kindness has not been enough to soothe the pain of four Nations.
"Seven in the last week." He murmurs.
"La, Zuko. You should have called for me earlier." Katara glances up at him, chastising, blue eyes narrowed to slits. Zuko shrugs.
"I didn't want to have to involve you, Katara. I wanted to spare you all -this-" He flutters his free hand uselessly, golden eyes baleful. She only echoes his shrug, her face clouding; there is a hardness in her eyes that was not there before.
"I would do anything for you, Zuko. You know that."
Her tone has taken on a seriousness that makes him squint at the girl with the ocean eyes- she is no longer looking at him- and he wonders what has happened to her.
When his gaze flicks to her brother, Sokka mouthes "later" and Katara does not notice.
She retires to her suite of rooms to bathe the dust of traveling off; and Sokka walks the grounds with the Fire Lord. Zuko stays in full armor, a sheen of sweat on his forehead, hair swept into a high topknot and dark circles bruising his eyes.
"What happened to your sister, Sokka?" He mumbles, so straightforward that the water boy wonders if this is the same man he fought beside a year ago. Sokka crosses his arms tight across his chest and sighs so heavily that its as if his soul is expelling into the summer heat.
"She wasn't the same when we went home, Zuko. She was so drained all the time. Yeah, she was cheerful around the kids she trained and she loved helping Dad out at council meetings, but after Aang left, there was this... I don't know, darkness to her that wasn't there before." Sokka is solemn as he fidgets with a stray blade of grass in his hands.
"Katara has to wake up with the sun every morning to meditate and get herself straight before she faces the village. I had to learn to respect her rituals because she accidentally froze my blood once, which sucked, and after that, she wouldn't come out of her room for a week. When she did, she started going on about control and anger and started the meditating thing. She's been kind of a mess ever since." Shrugging inelegantly, Sokka scratches at his wolf tail and stares hard at the garden in front of them, avoiding the lightning-hot gaze of his friend beside him.
Zuko's golden-amber eyes are sad for a long moment, then.
"Those are my habits for controlling my bending. I rise every morning at dawn to meditate and calm myself for the day ahead. I guess she feels like she can't control herself." He says softly, and Sokka knows it already but hearing it is a different thing altogether; he deflates.
"My sister really cares about you, Zuko. She would do anything to protect you. But I don't think she totally made it out of the war."
Zuko knows this already, too; mostly because he still has nightmares that shake the ground and screams that tear from his lungs long into the night.
He doesn't sleep much. Not any more.
When Katara joins the pair of boys for dinner, she has dressed in red; Zuko pulls her chair out for her and Sokka does not miss that the Fire Lord seats the waterbender next to him.
He does miss the scattering of a blush that dances across the pale boy's high cheekbones and the way her hand grazes his sleeve unintentionally.
Zuko eyes the deep crimson of her gown and the way it compliments the tanned-caramel of her skin and the ice-blue of her eyes and tries and fails not to stare at how the satin clings to her every curve and when did she get so grown up, Agni-
Zuko reaches for his wine goblet, then, and Katara reaches forward to still his hand. Their hands collide, and he frowns; she is as cold as ice.
She jerks her hand away as if she has been burned by him; her expression serene, her eyes tumultuous storms.
"I wouldn't drink that, if I were you." Her voice is eerily calm, and she bends a dark stream of liquid from the cup that she sends splashing harmlessly into the fireplace. Sokka pales.
"Thanks. The last time I was poisoned, I was in bed for a week." Zuko speaks casually, but his hand shakes when he reaches for his glass again.
he did not mention that he vomited blood for days and that the healers nearly couldn't save him and the fever almost burned him alive but she knows, she knows-
Katara splays her fingers wide on the white tablecloth for a moment, eyes closed; she nods at Sokka.
"Yours is fine, Sokka. It's okay to drink it." There is a tired smile in her eyes. She does not eat much. Zuko notices; but much like her brother, he does not say a word.
The siblings part ways to their separate rooms; both in the same hall as the Fire Lord's royal suite, on opposite ends. Katara is a few doors down from Zuko, Sokka is closer to the winding staircase. He grips his sister in a hug that surprises her. Her arms are stiff and long by her sides, as if she has forgotten how to embrace.
"Please be careful tonight, sis. I don't know who is after Zuko, but they're probably after you, too, and I just couldn't-" He stops there, clearing his throat and jerkily removing himself from her.
"-just yell if you need anything, okay?" He says stiffly, before turning and moving away from her. Katara nods at his disappearing back.
"Thanks, Sokka. Love you, too." She whispers into the quiet black of the hall before letting her hand sink onto the latch of the door. It is a nice room; Zuko has draped blue silks across the bed and hung swaths of flowers from her windows. She touches the blooms with hands that have withered entire trees before, her eyes are wistful but she bites down hard on her lower lip until she can taste blood. The girl knows she brings death wherever she goes and she will not sleep tonight. She will not sleep until Zuko is safe.
So the girl settles into the bathtub, letting herself be surrounded by her element; there is a full moon tonight, and she knows she brings the wrath of the ocean with her wherever she goes.
It is a matter of hours before she hears his first scream.
She thinks she imagines it, at first, the scream just an echo from a memory; a dream, perhaps, but it comes again with increasing rawness and she launches herself from the bathtub and throws on her training robes.
She runs so quickly that she slips on the carpet twice; she flings the door open, ice knives bent from the moisture in her hair already in her grasp when she sees that the Fire Lord is tangled in sweat-soaked sheets, dead asleep.
He is caught in a nightmare, and she doesn't hesitate before she scrambles up beside him onto the absurdly large mattress and curls against him; her icy skin against the furious heat of his.
"No, Katara, no-" The words are chafing in his lungs as if he has swallowed glass, and she watches as his hands scrabble against the star-shaped scar on his chest and she knows.
she feels the crackle of the air around them, smells the singed flesh and hears his scream biting through the space between them-
The water-girl is afraid to touch him. She is afraid to freeze his blood like she did Sokka's; afraid to hurt him because she cares, she cares so much, too much.
"Please don't leave me-" The words are quiet now, strangled, his back is arching and he is burning with suffering and he is rolling into a fetal position- she knows this pain, she lives with it every day-
"Zuko, wake up." She mutters fiercely, shaking him, and when he does not rouse but another scream rattles his chest she straddles his hips and grabs his face in both of her hands. to hell with control. she will not hurt him because he is zuko and he is her best friend and La, she needs him-
He is crying her name in his sleep and she could sob with the pain of it, but she doesn't, she just shakes him until his eyes open and he frowns, sleep clouding his expression.
"Katara? I was dreaming about you." Sleepy words from heavy lips, he pulls her down to him and suddenly she is surrounded by a warmth she thought she might never feel again. They lay crumpled on their sides, faces so close that they can feel each other's breath and legs tangled together.
"You were screaming, Zuko. I thought-" She chokes on the words, the thought that he could be harmed- he presses his lips tightly together and she knows he understands what she was trying to say.
"You have nightmares too, don't you?" The question is quiet and rasping and Katara wants to tear at the seams with the realness of it.
She nods, and his answering sigh is a fan of warm breath on her cheeks.
"I haven't slept in months." Zuko whispers.
"Me neither." Katara concedes, and he leans forward until their foreheads are touching and they both want to cry with the sheer weight of this life; this burden that they both bear; but they cannot.
"I can feel everyone's blood." Katara's voice is a cracking, dry murmur, she squeezes her eyes shut against the thought of Zuko's blood on her hands.
"I know." Zuko lifts his hands to gather hers between his fingers, pale knuckles and tanned palms.
"Sometimes I think I'm crazy, Zuko. I can hear voices, and I can hear the sound of hearts pounding in my ears, and I froze Sokka's blood-" She chokes again, her knees curling to her chest, her fingers white with the grip she has on his calloused hands.
"Sokka mentioned you've been using my meditation techniques. I'm flattered," Zuko muses, and the dry humor in his words makes her eyes open again, blue irises dark with emotion, surprised at the sudden levity.
"But I can hear it, too. I see my father's face in the mirror. I see failure." She feels the rawness in his words.
"You're not a failure, Zuko." The words are as gentle as she can manage; porcelain, glass, she gives them to him softly, like a gift.
He wilts right there, in her arms, crumpling into her with a great heave and a sigh and suddenly she is holding him.
"Thank you, Katara." He murmurs against her skin- wasn't it cold a moment ago? it's warm, now- and she lets him pool against her like water in sand.
They lay there for some time, wide awake, listening to the sound of each other's heartbeats and remembering what it was like to lay on hard, packed earth and to eat rice gruel three times a day.
"Katara?" He mumbles, tiredness heavy in his lungs; she shifts, his hair pressed against her cheek.
"I'm sorry about the letters. I shouldn't have stopped writing." The words are an age of relief for the girl and she finds the smallest smile lurking in a corner of her mouth before she remembers why it ached so much that he stopped writing.
"Zuko?" Her voice is a tremor, vulnerable, and he shifts his weight so that they are looking at each other again and she is swimming in his honeyed eyes. Her lower lip is caught between her teeth; there is a drop of blood, hovering there on the curve of her mouth, and he swipes it away with a careful finger.
"Hmm?" His answering hum, deep in his throat, is soft and low and comforting.
There is kindness in the crinkling of his eyes, the folds of his scar. There is a hesitance to him, a carefulness, and she trusts him. She lets it all go like a geyser; tears pouring forth down the hollows of her cheeks and the bruises under her eyes.
"Aang left me for Toph seven months ago, Zuko. He said that forever wasn't possible with me when I'm-" The girl hiccups, Zuko pulls her to him, worry furrowing his brow intensely.
"-when I'm like this." She ends messily, and he offers no answer to her cry. He says nothing; he only holds her against his chest- wide and warm and quivering with emotion, a volcano mass of pain that echoes her own because Mai is not here and she has never been here because he, too, is 'like this'.
she knows Sokka's response would have been 'i'll kill him!' and Suki would have echoed the same battle cry, but she has no want of another fight, no need of more arguments between them all, and she is so tired.
It is another several moments before her sniffles relent and they realize that they're holding onto each other with desperate, grasping fingers, and that there are tracks of salty tears on both of their faces and they are so close that no curve of their bodies escapes the others.
"And Toph is tough, and she is normal and unaffected because she can't hear peoples' blood. And Aang says that I'm dark and he's too moral for darkness." Katara bites the words like an insult and Zuko sees so much of himself in her pain, fuck, and all he wants to do is grab her face in both of his hands and kiss her senseless and keep her safe from the agony of this world but what good would that do?
"Mai, too. She said I'm too boring for it all now, and that she has no desire for me." Zuko is flippant about it because it has been a full year since her dismissive exit; Katara's hand skims the jagged edges of his scar as he says the words, though, and that quiets him.
They are silent after that, listening to the chirping of the crickets in the heaviness of the evening outside, listening to the chafing of the air in each other's lungs. Katara's right hand is tangled in his hair, her left hand is clenched in both of his, and their legs are tangled, and neither of them are embarrassed.
Talking to each other has always been like speaking to another corner of their own souls; they know they are so alike that it hurts to be apart, sometimes.
At some point, his grip loosens and his breath comes in easy sighs and she knows he has fallen asleep. Good, finally. But she will not sleep. She will listen.
It is well after midnight when she finally hears it.
There is the scrabbling of limbs on stone; the gasping of breath of someone scaling a wall. Katara sits up smoothly, disentangling herself from the softly snoring Fire Lord and slipping to the floor. She crouches there, eyes closed; feeling the movements of the mass of blood and liquid climbing through Zuko's window. She holds their heart in her hands, and she lets the weight of it sit in her palms as her hands crack into the familiar shapes that bloodbending requires. she knew this was what she was here for.
It is only then that she opens her eyes and sees the figure dressed in black, approaching with the softness of a trained assassin.
It is only then that she stands, letting them become fully aware of her presence before clenching her hand into a fist and watching them drop to the floor with a loud squeal of pain, wriggling on the floor gasping for air like a fish out of water.
It is then that Zuko rouses, watching Katara close her fist and twist it so that the assassin stills; his blood silences, then, the wild pounding of his heart disappearing.
He sees the quiet torture in her face as she stands there, motionless, impassive, her hands falling back to her sides.
The Fire Lord gets to his feet and pulls the girl to him for the second time that night for a long moment, whispering a 'thank you' to the girl that has just saved his life.
she can feel the stickiness of blood on her hands, on her fingers, dripping to the floor, but there is nothing, nothing-
"Katara, look at me." He murmurs, the words forceful, and she has no choice but to stare up at him with wide eyes that have seen worse things.
"Are you okay?" He asks, and she wonders: why ask me if I'm okay? are you okay? you're the one they're trying to kill-
"I guess." The words are sticky and heavy and she is unused to this kind of concern. He is not satisfied with her reply, he huffs; but he presses a firm kiss to her forehead (wait, Zuko, come back-) and turns to the motionless form on the floor.
He then hefts the body over his shoulder and kicks open the doors to his bedroom, sending a long look at the guards stationed nearby. He eyes them with narrowed slits for a long moment, jaw clenched, spitfire in his mouth, fury in his lungs.
"Another assassination attempt. Find out who they are, who they're working for, and where they're from. I want all of this on my desk by the end of the week." Zuko clips, dumping the body unceremoniously on the floor.
"And burn the body." The words are cold, and the guards salute him; he re-enters the bedroom and locks the doors behind him.
Katara is sitting on the edge of the bed when he returns to her, her hands cupped in her lap, her eyes wide and unblinking. He has to bodily move her back onto the bed, arranging her limbs carefully, his hands fluttering over her because she is so still.
"It's so easy, Zuko." She says, plainly, and he nods. He has killed before, too, and he remembers it as a forceful thing that ended up being much too easy for a teenage boy.
"It's okay." He looks at her as if she were no different than the girl he had met so long ago, as if she were no less soiled, no less tarnished. This came as a relief to her, and she let her body sink onto the mattress as he lay across from her.
"You can sleep here tonight, if you want." He mumbles awkwardly, the tips of his ears reddening at the implication. Katara merely shrugs and curls into the sheets, fully clothed, and when his hand covers hers she allows herself to close her eyes.
finally.
They both wake some hours after dawn to the banging of his head servant on the door. Stiff, Katara rises first, frowning deeply for a moment until she remembers the events from the night before and then she realizes how late she has slept and when was the last time she slept this late?
Zuko slides to his feet and pulls his robe on with an effortless shrug of his shoulders- his chest was bare. was his chest bare last night, too?- and answers the door with a coolness that Katara did not recognize.
"Good morning, sir. You are scheduled for seven meetings today-"
"Cancel them all." Zuko says curtly, and his manservant stumbles a little, unsure.
"My Lord?"
"You heard me. All of them. Canceled. There was another assassination attempt last night and I am not feeling much like dealing with those vipers in my council until I have this solved." Zuko snaps, his jaw clicking with irritation and his hand smoking faintly on the door frame.
"Yes, my Lord. At once."
"Please remind my guards to begin their evaluation of the assassin today." Zuko nods to his servant before shutting the door and locking it again. When he turns to face Katara, she has curled back into the sheets. He returns, scratching at his head and flushing faintly.
"Did you sleep okay? Once you fell asleep, that is." He asks, and she nods.
"Did you?"
He smiles at her question, tying his robe more firmly about his torso before nodding.
"Yeah, for the first time in a long time. I guess it must be 'cause you're here." He jokes, but they feel the tension in the room and they both shiver a little at the implication.
When she returns to her set of rooms to change, Sokka is waiting for her. She holds out her palms to him- I saved Zuko's life last night but I had to kill a man- and he nods.
"I'm glad you're safe. Now I'm going to go find some breakfast. If this place doesn't have meat, I'm gonna be so upset." He smiles at the girl and she smiles back and for a moment she forgets that she just committed murder.
Zuko meets her outside of her room after she has dressed and attended to the snarl of curls that is her hair. He fumbles with his words a little, but he is dressed in simple clothes and his hair hangs around his face and she just wants to bury herself back in his arms because she feels a little like she belongs there.
He asks her to walk with him.
she'd go anywhere with him, she wants to scream, anywhere.
But instead she nods and takes his arm and they walk through the gardens together without saying a word for a while. They feed the turtleducks, and he talks about his mother and how even little-girl Azula liked to singe the tails of the little creatures. Katara frowns and tosses a handful of breadcrumbs in their direction as reparation for the princess and her fire.
They laugh a little over the sweet, cooing animals.
"How long are you staying?" Zuko's voice is soft, even for him, and she strains to hear his question. She shrugs.
"As long as you need me to, I guess." Her answer makes him catch his lower lip between his teeth thoughtfully, and he reaches down to pluck something by his feet. When he turns to face her again, he is cupping a flower between his singed and calloused palms, and his face is red with embarrassment and he is scuffing his feet against the ground.
"Would you- uh- would you consider stayinghereforawhile?" He rushes, thrusting his hands towards her and ducking his head. Katara stares, shocked, for a long moment, blinking. He swallows noisily, arms extended, his heart pounding in his chest. She can hear it.
"What I mean to say is...uh," The Fire Lord gets down on his knees somewhat unsteadily, and Katara is blushing now, too, thinking La, I hope Sokka isn't watching this-
"Master Katara, would you do me the honor of having an extended stay here in the capitol of the Fire Nation? I would value your company most highly." Zuko is tomato-red now and still not looking at her, his golden irises eyeing the ground stubbornly.
Katara laughs.
She laughs like the bubble of a fountain and a geyser erupting, like the rush of a waterfall and the breaking of a dam all at once.
She laughs at this boy who feels the same pain she does, who lives through constant attacks on his life, who fights for peace and kindness and loses on a daily basis and he can still smile through it all. La, Zuko.
She laughs like she hasn't in months, clutching at her stomach, wiping at her eyes, and bending forward to accept the flower.
"I would be most honored." She answers softly, and he nearly topples from shock. She helps him stand again, and he stares down at her for a moment before bending to embrace her, his arms looped about her waist and his chin resting on the crown of her head.
she thinks he understands. she thinks that it may help, being around someone that has felt blood on their hands and continued to live life as if they are no lesser for it.
"You need someone to save your royal butt, anyways." She teases, and Zuko is beaming and he cannot remember the last time she teased him.
"Is that MY sister? I didn't think she knew how to hug anymore!" Sokka is bounding towards them now, and the moment is over; they are separating quickly, hurriedly, fanning each other's very red faces and coughing slightly.
"I thought I heard her laugh, too! What'd you say to her?" He glances between them for a long moment and waits; Katara answers first.
"Zuko just told me a joke, that's all." Her mouth is curved in a smile that Sokka hasn't seen in six months and he stares- two days? two days in the fire nation and she's smiling again?
"Did you two go on a life changing field trip again? Zuko doesn't tell jokes." He narrows his eyes suspiciously, crossing his arms. It is Zuko's turn to laugh, and Katara follows suit; and Sokka is standing, staring, confused and wondering what happened to make his sister act so normal.
"No, but she did save my life last night, so I sort of owe her." Zuko shrugs inelegantly.
"Well you do seem like you need a trained warrior around." Sokka puffs his chest out, brandishing his boomerang suddenly, crouching low.
"Lemme at 'em! That'll show them for messing with Team Water Tribe!" He shouts, and Katara remembers that this is what it was like, before.
we were a family. we laughed together, we teased each other; we saved each other.
Sokka runs off in the direction of the sparring grounds, chopping at the bushes ferociously as he goes, attacking innocent flowers and hacking at the trees. Zuko winces.
"The gardener is going to have a bone to pick with him." Zuko says softly, teasing.
Katara looks up at the man standing next to her for a long moment his blood pounding in her ears and she wonders when he grew up so fast.
"I don't think I'm okay after it all." She says after a pause, scraping her hair behind her ears, fidgeting a little. Zuko glances down at her, solemn, in agreement.
"I don't think any of us really got out without a few scrapes." He muses. He tucks his hands into his sleeves and straightens and for a moment, she can do nothing but stare at the man she has once loathed and now feels as if she cannot leave behind. Not again.
"I think I could be, though. Here." She speaks the words with a quiet curiosity because there is something about the Fire Nation that has eased her sorrows just the slightest; something about the long way he stares at her and the way he listens and looks at her as if she is no less than he-
His mouth curves in the slightest of smiles, gently acknowledging her.
"I think I could be, too. With you here." Zuko speaks slowly, golden eyes flickering in the morning sun, and they stare, and they stare, and they know.
A pale, calloused hand reaches for a scarred, tan one, and the fingers tangle together not for the first time but this time is not like the others, and somehow they know that, and somehow it's okay.
The world is a mess, and the Avatar is not a saint, and the Fire Nation is a land of corruption and the Water Tribes are in ruins and everything is chaos- but somehow, right now, it is okay.
let me know what yall think! i'm not sure if i want to leave this as a one-shot or continue it into a longer piece, but i can't decide. help a girl out!
love,
nightfall26