A/N: Happy Zutara Week 2015, everybody!
This year, all seven of my entries will be based on films directed by Alfred Hitchcock.
Day One: Happenstance (based on Vertigo).
The last thing Zuko wants to hear anymore is that it wasn't his fault.
He's already heard it a dozen times. First Uncle said it, then Sokka said it, and then Aang. He was the worst. He came to Zuko after the funeral, his face pale and his eyes bloodshot, like he hadn't slept in a month. He spoke in hollow tones and Zuko almost couldn't hear, but when he said the words, they had never been clearer. Aang had sincerely meant them, just like they all did, and that only made it worse.
Because no matter how many times he hears it, or whose mouth it's coming out of, it's all a lie and he knows it.
Yesterday, the tattered remains of the Southern Water Tribe laid to rest someone who should have arrived home a hero. A boat full of mementos and old keepsakes from childhood was set out to sea and sunk where they should have remained the prized possessions of an owner who grew to old age surrounded by loved ones. A small, broken family huddled together in the freezing cold and tried not to cry, where they should have glowed with happiness, one person larger and finally reunited after years of war.
And nothing will ever be more true to Zuko than the simple fact that it is all his fault.
The worst part is not having the body.
He had awoken alone at the setting of the sun, with vague memories of agonizing pain that had dulled down to a tingle. Azula was unconscious in the garden, surrounded by charred grass and stepping stones, tear stains running down her cheeks. Aside from her, all that remained were a few singed pieces of cloth, some clumps of hair, and her necklace, attached to a fraying rope and cracked on one side from the fall.
Zuko's men had searched for her. Now that he was the Fire Lord and had them to command, he sent them scouring the nation for even a trace of her. Azula was of no help, not that Zuko expected her to be. The first thing she did upon waking up in a prison cell was spit blue flames at the guards and scream incoherently for their mother until one of the six men holding her was able to sedate her. If she knew what had happened, it was doubtful she could tell them. By all accounts, she had trouble stringing two words together. Her transfer to a proper mental facility was already in the works, and seeing her out of the Fire Nation and far away from him would be a great burden off of Zuko's shoulders.
But nothing would be greater than finding her, andZuko never gave up hope that they would.
Not even when an entire month passed and the search parties gave up on her.
Not even when her family gave up on her.
Not even when Aang gave up on her.
Perhaps not even now.
A year goes by, a quiet, somber one. At the same time, it's loud and chaotic. Zuko wonders how it can be both at the same time and finds no answer. It merely is what it is.
His goodwill efforts are bearing fruit, but there are still some tensions in the North and the South. His advisers suggest that a trip to one of the Water Tribes to promote peace would be in the Fire Nation's best interest. Uncle agrees with them, and he makes sure to mention how long it's been since they've seen Sokka and how nice it might be to visit an old friend. Zuko knows him well enough to read between the lines, and he wishes he was as brave as Uncle thinks he is, but going to the Southern Water Tribe means seeing that memorial erected in ice, and that means facing the fact that she won't be there.
She'll never be there.
And he's a coward.
He makes plans to visit the Northern Water Tribe in a week.
Chief Arnook arranges a warm welcome for him, but when Zuko stands before the man, he feels the chill in his eyes, even as he's smiling. It's clear that nobody will be forgetting the last time Zuko was here any time soon.
He stays in a luxury apartment in the south wing of the Chief's home. It's not quite as grand as the palace, but the view of the ocean is breathtaking. Uncle takes his tea by the window so he can look out, and Zuko doesn't think he's seen the old man so at peace since before the war began. He'd like to sit and join him, but his feet are restless, and there are only so false smiles and empty words he can take before he needs some time to himself.
Getting out without being seen is easy. He's had enough practice with stealth and spying that he could probably walk right through Chief Arnook's office if he wanted to. Though he doesn't know the area well (or, indeed, at all) there are certain shops and marketplaces that are as familiar to him as if he was still wandering the Earth Kingdom on an ostrich horse. Some things are universal, and tiny backwater bars, it seems, are one of them.
He takes gulps and then sips of his drink as the heavy liquid settles in his stomach. He had asked for something mild, and what he got makes him wonder what a really strong drink from this place would be like. He presses two fingers into his temples, staving off the headache he knows is well on the way.
"You want some more?"
The voice comes from the bartender. Not the one who served Zuko his drink- that man walked out at the end of his shift twenty minutes ago- but the new one who has been mixing drinks out of sight while Zuko stared out the window lost in thought. He glances up to tell her no, he hasn't even finished the first yet.
"No, I'm fi-" is all he gets out, and then he sees her.
And he stares at her.
She stares back.
And he feels like time has stopped.
One month after the funeral, Uncle had taken him aside. He wore the stern expression of a parent about to lecture a misbehaving child, but when he spoke, his words were all warmth and regret and heart wrenching sympathy.
"I know this is hard for you," he had said. "But you must accept that she is gone and move on."
But like a stubborn child, Zuko wouldn't hear him.
"I don't believe it," he said.
Looking at her now, it's almost hard to believe that she's the same person he knew before.
Gone are the flowing locks that reached her lower back and shined in the light of the sun. Now she wears her hair cropped to the ears. Her attire is stereotypical 'serving wench' dress; tight in some places, loose in others. Her dark skin is worn and cracked around the eyes and hands like she;s been working hard and sleeping little. Most jarring is the way in which her lips pucker as she meets his look of astonishment with one of indifference, like he's nothing more to her than the same kind of drunk this bar sees every day.
"Well? You want more or not?"
"I..." Zuko can't recall another time when he was this tongue tied. Then again, it's not often that a close friend suddenly comes back from the dead. "I... you... you're here... you're..."
She rolls her eyes.
"Okay, better cut you off."
She takes his drink and drops it in a bin. Then she goes to serve another man who seems to think her eyes are in her chest and has probably had more to drink than Zuko could ever hope to sustain. He stares after her, lost in a swirl of memories and incoherent, half formed thoughts of what might explain this, until the sky turns pink and he remembers that he's a traveling world leader and there will be nothing but trouble if they go to wake him up and find his room empty.
It takes all the strength in his body to let go of the bar and walk out, blending into the shadows as the number of people walking around increases with the early morning rush. He watches her through the open door, counting money from the cash box and occasionally casting dull eyes around the room, until he is too far away and she falls out of sight.
He doesn't tell Uncle what he saw. He doesn't tell anyone. Not yet. First he has to talk to her.
He's not quite sure why he's keeping it a secret. In all his dreams of finding her, the first thing he did was get everyone they'd ever known together and scream it to the rooftops that he'd been right all along. Now that it's happened, he no longer needs to dream, and the reality is far more complicated.
So he keeps silent throughout a day of meetings and banquets and public addresses. He says nothing when Uncle asks if he slept well, and turns in as early as he can without causing offense. He has to wait an hour for the rest of them to sleep. It's true what they say about waterbenders rising with the moon. Eventually, he's free to sneak out, and then he's back in that same seedy bar, on the same creaking stool, drinking from what may very well be the same stained tankard.
And then she's there again.
"I see you're back for more," she says, leaning so far over him that he has to look to the side to avoid a face full of her cleavage.
"I'm here for you," he says, realizing only too late how that sounds. It's really amazing that his brief time as Fire Lord, his fantastic ability to put his foot in his mouth hasn't gotten him anything worse than a single failed romantic relationship.
She raises an eyebrow at him. "Sorry, buddy. I'm just a bartender. You want that sort of service, you're going to have to go two doors down."
She starts to leave.
"Wait!"
She stops. Looks at him, still like she doesn't know him.
"Do you have a problem or something?"
He shakes his head. It's not the only part of him that's shaking either.
"I just... I mean... I couldn't believe it when I saw you yesterday," he says, and already he knows he's not off to a good start. "To think, all this time, you've been here... for a whole year..."
"A year?" she repeats. "I've been here a little longer than that. Are you sure you're not confusing me for someone else?"
"No," he says quickly. Too quickly. "I know exactly who you are, and I..."
He's gone over this moment a hundred times since yesterday. There are so many ways he can break the ice, so to speak. So many things he knows should be asked first. Like how she survived or why she disappeared or what she's doing pouring drinks to grim faced sailors with wandering eyes when she should be with her family, celebrating a year of peace and preparing to spend her life with... the one she loves.
(He starts to think 'Aang', but it feels like a gut punch.)
"I just..."
He falters, and she crosses her arms. She's seconds away from going, and he has to do something fast.
"I missed you," he says like the world's biggest idiot. "I missed you a lot."
He looks in her eyes, and he prays to Agni that the girl he once knew will look back, but she doesn't.
"Okay," she says with a sigh. "I don't know what you're on, but quite honestly, this is starting to creep me out."
She picks up a dishrag and walks into the kitchen. Barely a second passes before Zuko is on his feet. There's a sign on the door that reads 'EMPLOYEES ONLY' and he ignores it. Rules be damned, he's the Fire Lord, and he's not letting her disappear again. In the back room, a large, greasy man pulls bottles out of boxes and places them on the moldy selves. There's no sign of her anywhere. For a split second, Zuko fears the worst. Maybe she really did vanish or maybe she was never there to start with. Maybe he's finally gone mad with grief. Then he sees the swinging door that leads outside, and a hint of blue moving around the corner.
Zuko breaks into a run. The man with the bottles either doesn't notice him or doesn't care, and not once does anyone scream at him to stop as he crosses the room. He feels cold air snap in his face as he stands alone in the yard. There's a fence with a gap along one side, just wide enough for a person her size to fit through. Her name plays at his lips, spoken softly like a prayer, or a desperate hope.
The next night comes slower than the last, even though he's had comparatively less to do. One afternoon tea with Chief Arnook and his advisers (where little is discussed beyond Uncle's fondness for the tribe's fragrant ginseng), and he is free to pace around his room until night falls.
This time, he vows to stop dancing around the issue and find out exactly what she's doing here. He's going to go in headlong and get some answers from her, and nothing is going to stop him.
"I'm afraid we won't be serving you tonight, stranger," says the beefy man guarding the front entrance of the bar, who eyes Zuko like he's something that's been chewed and spit up.
"Why not?" Zuko asks, shielded by the hood that hides his identity. "I have money to spend here. You have no right to turn me away."
"I do when you've been harassing my employees."
"I've never harassed anyone."
"My bar wench says different. Now, if you want a drink, you can just walk on over to the place across the street, because unless you're some kind of state official or the chief of the Water Tribe, you're not getting in here."
He starts to walk back inside. Alarm bells go off as a deafening roar in Zuko's head. He sees the man's hand on the door, intent on closing it and locking it and keeping her from him. He's going to lose her again if he doesn't...
"What if I was the Fire Lord?"
The man stops in his tracks, turns his head as Zuko removes the hood. His scarred face is bright, even in the dead of night, thanks to the lamp light flickering nearby. The presence of a flame, however small, is calming to him. He takes deep, even breaths, inhaling the scent of ash that keeps him from losing control and burning the door to ashes. He sees the man's face go through a variety of changes, from annoyed, to confused, to understanding, to afraid, to enraged.
"You idiot!"
Zuko thinks at first that it's him being yelled at until the man yanks her out from inside the bar. Protective rage courses through him as she's manhandled. He clenches a fist and it grows hot.
"Didn't you realize he was the Fire Lord this whole time? Are you that stupid?"
He shakes her, and her words are unintelligible as she tries and fails to free her shirt collar from his grasp. Her efforts are for naught as he lets her go and she falls backwards. She moans in pain as she rubs her bruised rear end, and her boss is unmoved.
"Do me a favor and never let me see your face around here again!"
"Fine, whatever!" she shouts back.
With tears in her eyes, she tears away from the bar down the street. Ignoring the worthless man's apologies, Zuko follows her. He no longer cares if anyone sees him. All that matters is keeping his eyes on that bob hair and using his longer legs to close the distance between them.
"Let go of me!" she screams when he catches her. "Let go!"
He has to cover her mouth before her cries attract attention. Half carrying her, he leads them to a darkened alleyway. He walks until he just about can't see in front of his face, and only then does he let her go and let her back a good foot and a half away from him.
"I hope you're happy," she shouts at him, eyes shining. "That was the best paying job I've had in months, and now thanks to you, I've lost it! What the hell is even wrong with you that you keep following me around? What do you want from me?"
She's breathing heavily, and he is, too. His clammy hands reach out to her, and she backs away. She walks into a wall, as if she's forgotten which way they came in. He stands over her, taking in every inch of that face he once knew; everything he remembers and everything he never noticed before. He's never seen a more beautiful face in his life.
"I know who you are," he says.
She grits her teeth. "No, you don't."
He puts out one hand to support himself as he digs through his pocket. She glances to the side like she's searching for the best escape route. He has to hold it in front of her face for her to see it, glimmering in the minimal light and yet unmistakable. Her mouth opens soundlessly. Her fingers reach, but don't touch, as if she dare not try to take back what had once been hers to cherish. The betrothal necklace, still bearing cracks from that horrible day he's spent a whole year trying to forget, on a new thread made from the finest silk he could find. She stares at it, following it's sway with hypnotic focus.
"I know you," he says hoarsely, "and you know me... Katara."
The dam breaks. With a cry, she falls into him, clutching him so tightly that he can hardly take a breath. He still holds her necklace. He'll gives it back to her after they've had a very long talk about where she has been and what she's been doing and why... why... just why?
He tell himself that it's not important, not yet. Later, it will be important. Later, it will matter. Now, what matters most is that she's here and it's her.
He knows it's her.
It has to be her.
Here now, in his arms, right where she belongs. Where she will stay for as long as he can hold her.
Where she will stay forever.