Just an attempt at an alternate version/ending of the events during 'The Crossroads of Destiny'. Wanted to try create a believable portrayal of Zuko and Katara's interactions/relationship during this stage of the show. This is more of a character study/bonding story than romance but I do enjoy the ship, so there might be subconscious pushes ;D.
Onwards!
When he first hears her voice after they toss him down the tunnel, Zuko is too busy cursing the spirits, his sister and the world at large to register anything beyond the pain of his bruising skin.
Things had finally been settling into place, Uncle was happier than ever and maybe, he was as well. But then, everything goes astray the moment his sister enters the picture.
Azula always did like breaking his favourite toys.
The thought is bitter, like acrid smoke from a rotten fire.
"At least this time she just got to the point..." The words are muttered quietly to himself, but the sound of loose pebbles clicking together reminds him of his unintended audience.
The tension in the cave is thick when he risks a glance at the waterbender to find her glaring at him, shoulders set and fists clenched like a coiled tiger-dillo ready to lash out at someone...
Oh.
It occurs to him that between their flight to Ba Sing Sei and the hectic life within the walls that followed–constantly dodging the eyes of the Dai Li–he hadn't really had the time to think about the Avatar's group. And after he set the bison free, he had found he'd stopped caring.
He realises the last time he saw them was at that ghost town in the desert, where they had all worked together against Azula. Where Uncle had taken that hit.
Where I scorned the healing hand that they–that she offered.
A flash of guilt, of shame runs through him and Zuko lets his mind get away for a moment, wondering–what would mom have said about that?–but those thoughts are too painful, so he shunts them away.
The rustle of cloth brings him from his reverie and he looks up as the girl starts pacing, feet beating a furious track into the stone. The sudden twitch of her fingers catches his eye, as they clench into tight fists for an instant before loosening again.
For a brief moment he wonders if she's going to attack him. Doubts it, when he realises there's no water for her to bend, no weapon for her to grasp.
'Helpless at the hands of my sister? Don't worry, I'm familiar with the feeling.'
He sighs quietly and lets his gaze fall to the barren rock at his feet.
The healer in her is already stepping towards the crumpled body curled on the ground when Katara sees that scar–that stretch of ruined skin that always seems to herald yet another fight for her life–and she freezes.
A thousand thoughts fight to make it past her lips but she only manages to spit out his name, catching her hand as it moves to her belt–reaching for water that isn't there.
He doesn't move, doesn't even bother to meet her stare and the dismissal only nettles her more.
The strained silence drags on and just when Katara feels like she's about to snap, he says something quietly, almost to himself.
The break in that tense absence of sound–where she's alone with nothing but her thoughts–disrupts her anger long enough for her to realise attacking Zuko with her bare hands is probably a bad idea.
He looks up at her and now that his face isn't twisted into that permanent scowl, there's something off about the subtle slump in his shoulders and the way his gaze flickers away from her stare. So different from the proud, relentless prince that chased them across the world.
There before her, seemingly stripped of his fire–his drive–the years all but melt away.
He's young, she realises with an unpleasant start, far younger than she'd imagined. This is the closest she's ever been, the clearest she's ever seen him and the sharpening jaw of a growing boy–just like Sokka–is all too noticeable.
He looks defeated, she thinks, broken down and robbed of his willpower. And while that should be good news for her–one less pursuer–something squirms uneasily in her gut. She tells herself that it's just apprehension, because she's never seen Zuko so unbalanced except when his sister is involved.
And she knows painfully well that Azula is around. Somewhere.
But Zuko is here–now–and she reminds herself that he has always been the enemy. When he lowers his head again, when all Katara can see is the red scar of the Fire Nation prince and the boy with bitter golden eyes is hidden away, she finds it all too easy grab onto that anger again.
He might have looked up in the moment she turns away, but Katara is too deeply submerged in resentful memory to notice.
Her heart beats a furious tattoo on her ribs as the black snow falls and the hulking vessel carves through the village walls. An icy cold fear flushes through her veins and her palms slicken with cold sweat as she watches her brother charge the enemy leader; the ease with which the grim, pale-faced man defeats him.
But when he yanks Gran-Gran from her arms, Katara's mind goes blank, coherent thought slipping away like water. The voice that speaks is the raspy, breaking voice of a teenager but in her mind she only hears the arrogance and malice of a man that still haunts her sleep. Suddenly, it's not the almost-man that stands there but her mother's killer, and once more she is a helpless child looking into the dark eyes of the Fire Nation.
The relief that comes crashing down when he shoves Gran-Gran back into her arms is almost worse than the fear. Her legs are failing and she clutches at the elder woman's robes, tears threatening to burst free.
The thought of losing her gran is horrifying. When the Fire Nation took her mother, Katara had found herself stepping into the space left behind but Gran-Gran had always been there, guiding her–teaching her.
If they were to attack the South Pole...
No, she strangles that line of thought, I won't let that happen.
She turns to glare at the other figure in the cave, I won't let him stop Aang.
"Why did they throw you in here? What are you planning?"
Nothing. Not a twitch. Not a sound. She almost growls in frustration, turning away before she speaks again, contempt twisting her words.
"Oh wait, let me guess...it's a trap. So that when Aang shows up to help me you can finally have him in your little Fire Nation clutches."
She even throws in stupid hand motions, wondering if the belittlement of his home will pull a reaction from him.
He shifts, breathes and settles. Still nothing.
In the lull before she speaks again, Katara thinks of everything Zuko has done.
Her next words are spat venomously, drenched in a very personal anger.
"You're a terrible person, you know that? Always following us, hunting the Avatar, trying to capture the world's last hope for peace!"
She hesitates for only a breath, knowing what she's about to say might be cruel, but she doesn't care–carried on by a river of fury. She doesn't look at him.
"But what do you care? You're the Fire Lord's son. Spreading war and violence and hatred is in your blood!
He laughs. And Katara freezes in disbelief, feeling the fury turn ice-cold as she whips around to scream at him.
The words die on her lips. He's staring at her, but those dull, smothered eyes are not the ones she remembers–brilliant, blazing gold–and the stuttered chuckles sound so painfully weak, so fragile.
His distant gaze goes right through her, voice disconcertingly soft.
"You don't know what you're talking about."
The beginnings of another bitter laugh tinge his words but she's so overwhelmed–with disbelief, rage–that she ignores it, lashing out furiously.
"I don't! How dare you?"
Images of her loving mother's unseeing eyes, of the blistering red burn that tore it's way across her flesh, flash past her minds eye.
"You have no idea what this war has put me through! Me, personally!"
She's touching the necklace, seeking support from her long lost mother as the memories sear a track through her eyes and sharp tears gather. Katara sees something that might be compassion, maybe empathy, or even pity slide through those orbs, but it's too much and as her knees buckle she twists away from him and his sad, sad stare. Sharp rocks dig painfully into her knees as she lands roughly but all thoughts have succumbed to those terrible memories and Katara openly weeps, tears gliding over sobbing, gasping cheeks.
"The Fire Nation took my mother away from me..."
She buries her face in her trembling palms, barely registering the sound of shifting rocks behind her.
She feels his gaze raise the hairs on her neck before she hears his quiet voice, but it is his words that jerk Katara from her grief.
"I'm sorry...that's something we have in common."
Zuko weathers the sharp storm of her rage, wondering for the tenth time what he can possibly do to make it any better.
What does she want me to say? "Sorry, I was confused at the time?"
That just won't cut it.
So he says nothing. Just sits and lets her words break over him like a wave crashing against rock. Every sentence burrows under his skin, sparking the beginnings of his old uncontrollable rage but this time he tames it–snuffs it.
"You're the Fire Lord's son."
He can't help but laugh at that, as bitter memories of an isolated Earth village in the middle of nowhere surface.
"You're an outcast! His own father burned and disowned him!"
Zuko wonders how his dishonour is so widespread that random backwater Earth villagers know the story. Azula perhaps, or maybe father himself.
The thought tastes like ash on his tongue but he knows now that his father hasn't seen him as a son in a long, long time.
"You don't know what you're talking about."
The words spill from his mouth like rattling beans, a voice tinged with despondent laughter that barely carries over the thrum of distant water and the echoes of every shifting pebble.
He sees the grief engraved in her ocean blue eyes, something so deep and twisted that she pushes it down, bottles it away. Anger, frustration, grief and agony all vie for her mind, wrenching the expressions into mangled imitations, spat out as hateful words.
"You have no idea what this war has put me through. Me, personally!
She falters as tears gather at her eyes and a choked sob wrenches free of her lungs, trembling fingers clutching at the necklace. Something yanks in his chest and the vertigo leaves him with a dizzying pain in his temples.
Her mother's necklace, Zuko remembers, belatedly, and suddenly the situation becomes all too clear.
Don't humanise your enemies. Don't humanise your enemies. Don't humani–
But she's not your enemy is she, Zuko?
Azula's yes, and his father's but not his. Not anymore.
She's turned away from him, sitting awkwardly on her splayed legs with her face buried in shivering arms. Voice thick and wavering with anguish, the waterbender girl manages to choke out, huskily.
"The Fire Nation took my mother away from me..."
She's not looking at him, but he ducks his head anyway to hide the shimmer of unshed tears. Unbidden, the memories come flooding back, bringing with them a distant happy warmth intimately tangled with inevitable pain.
He sees again the peaceful days spent in her arms by the turtle-duck pond. He hears the soothing cadence of her voice, giving him words of quiet confidence.
And then he remembers that night. The way his mom's eyes seem to dart around at the shadows, at every sound. He remembers those last few words.
Everything I've done, I've done to protect you.
He knows all too well the pain of losing a mother, but still he hesitates to speak, wondering if the girl will simply reject his sympathy.
He knows what Uncle would have wanted, what his mom would have wanted.
Deep breath. "I'm sorry..."
"That's something we have in common."
She turns slowly, still wiping at her tears, to regard him with wide blue eyes. He says nothing more, instead letting go of the churning sorrow within.
The dam breaks.
In her eyes he sees a kindred soul, one that knows the same wrenching pain that roils inside him. Zuko almost laughs, tears running down his cheeks–one unblemished and smooth, the other ruined and mangled.
Who'd think that after all the years of nightmares and regrets, anguish and hatred, I'd find understanding in a former enemy.
An eternity passes by as they sit there, blue locked to gold as years of sorrow flow between them. He lets his eyes drift shut, free of a burden he'd never been aware of, and feels more at ease than he ever has.
"I'm sorry I yelled at you before."
For some reason, he's not surprised that she apologizes first, tentative as it is.
"It doesn't matter."
She seems to pause, collect her thoughts.
"It's just that...for so long now, whenever I would imagine the face of the enemy..."
A breath. A twitch.
"It was your face."
A flash of old pain jerks his hand up to the wound.
"I see."
The girl winces, stepping forward.
"No, no that's–that's not what I mea–"
Zuko cuts her off with a hand, shaking his head. It feels wrong, letting her apologize to him, in light of their past.
"I'm sorry as well...for...for everything." He regrets a lot of things–too many to name–and hopes the girl can sense the sincerity in his lackluster apology.
She must because she takes another small step towards him, the blue of her eyes is brighter–purer.
"You're so different...you used to be so proud, so crazily obsessed–driven."
She lets herself smile as she says it, almost offhandedly, like it wasn't so bad–like he hadn't been the enemy. Something pushes him to explain, to share a little more of his past with this perplexing waterbender.
"I used to think this scar marked me. The mark of the banished prince, the unworthy son, cursed to chase the Avatar forever. But lately..."
Zuko glances at her, hoping against everything for something–acknowledgement? Acceptance?- as he continues.
"I've realised I'm free to determine my own destiny."
The stretching silence is deafening and his hopes falte–
"Unworthy son?" He looks up to find her standing inches away, blue eyes glinting with something imperceptible.
What? When did she get so close?
"Zuko..." His eyes snap shut at her touch.
"How did you get this scar?"
Words fail him–thoughts fail him–as Zuko falls back in time to that fateful day, when he stood across from his father in honour-bound Agni Kai.
Her fingers are soft and cool on his skin but he can only feel the scorching burn of the flame, that deep piercing agony that tore at his mind as much as his flesh when his father branded him.
Zuko surfaces from the past to find himself crumpled against a wall, tears leaking from his damaged eye as russet-brown hands jerk him around, an urgent voice calling his name.
She looks terrified but all he can manage is a incoherent groan.
"Zuko?" Her voice is quiet, hesitant.
Though the worst of it has passed, faint echoes of that phantom pain still linger and his words catch on a grimace.
"I–It's just not something I like to think about..." His throat is raw, though he's not sure why, so the words rasp like dried grass. The girl still looks distraught.
"I didn't know...and–and y–you just started screaming an–"
Spirits, he'd been screaming? That explains it...
Zuko's hand flies up again to halt her distraught words and once his voice has levelled out, he speaks.
"It's okay. Like I said, because of this scar–because of everything that's happened–I'm finally free to choose my own way. And that's enough, even if I'll never be free of my mark."
She looks at him for a long moment.
"Maybe...you could be free of it." A beat.
W–what?
"I have healing abilities."
He catches that growing sliver of hope and quashes it, unwilling to believe.
"It's a scar, it can't be healed." A rustle of cloth; the faint clink of metal.
"This is water from the Spirit Oasis at the north pole. It has special properties...so I've been saving it for something important."
Zuko's gaze snaps up, locks onto her sincere blue eyes, the little vial of water in her hands and he can scarcely believe her words. This waterbender, this girl that he has wronged over and over who can just turn around and forgive him for who he was–accept him for who he is.
Who can just offer him something he has never dared to hope for.
He doesn't even know her name.
"What's your name?" The question is blurted out abruptly.
Her eyebrows lift a little in surprise but he can see the relaxing line of her brow as she steps up to him again. She's smiling when she answers.
"Katara."
She's so caught up in his words–unworthy son?–she almost misses his declaration of freedom. Katara finds herself wondering what that means, but her gut is already churning with the implications.
She feels sick–unsteady on her feet–as she steps closer to him, the question leaving her lips unhindered.
"Unworthy son?" He looks surprised that she's so close, eyes widening but doesn't answer. She raises a hand to his scarred cheek, lightly resting her fingers on the roughened skin as his golden eyes screw up.
"Zuko...how did you get this scar?"
He stiffens, arms snapping rigidly to his side and then–just as suddenly–he goes limp, teetering back haphazardly. Her hand jumps out to grab the sleeves of his robe and just as she settles him against the cave wall, his face twists.
"Please, father...I am your loyal son."
Katara's blood freezes in her veins at that desperate pleading voice–at the fear perforating those few words–hand mid-stretched to wipe the cold sweat springing from his skin.
Zuko stiffens again. And then he screams.
The sound tears at her ears, her mind and her heart. Desperately, she grabs his shoulders as he curls in on himself and shakes, frantically calling his name as she tries to wake the whimpering boy.
"Zuko! Wake up!" Eventually his eyes flicker open but the gold irises blearily looking up at her are unfocused. She struggles to force back the burning in her eyes, jerking him again and earning a weak groan as he slowly drags his gaze to meet hers.
"Zuko?" Her voice is muted, tentative and unsure.
His rasped answer doesn't really reassure her because his father–his own flesh and blood dad–gave him that horrible scar. Mutilated his own son. She nearly chokes on the rising bile. Katara tries to imagine her own father hurting her or her brother, but Dad had always been gentle, if stern in his discipline. He'd never struck them.
She feels the seething sickness surge up her throat again and fights it back down, struggling through her halting apology. His raised hand, trembling as it is, scatters her prepared words and he says something but the way his scar moves leaps out at her and Katara, trying to calm her own mind, only catches the last of his words.
"...even if I'll never be free of my mark."
A thought occurs to her, accompanied by the wizened voice of her old master.
The water has unique properties.
"Maybe...you could be free of it."
Katara sees the flicker of something in his eyes but it fades before she can capitalize on it. He doubts her at every turn and she feels a little exasperated, but then her mood takes a dive when she sees just how hard he's trying to reign his hope in.
He's too scared to hope...
The thought is heartbreaking, because sometimes she thinks that without hope for the next day–for a brighter tomorrow–it is all too easy for the trials of the world to break a person's will, leaving them to rot.
She's a little taken aback when he suddenly asks for her name. But he's not rejecting her help–not putting up those walls–anymore so she goes to him, mouth tugging into a faint smile.
Katara gives him his answer and still smiling softly, lays a hand gently on the marred skin of his scar.
She hears the deep breath he takes, feels the air brush over her skin as Zuko inhales.
The wall behind her explodes in a shower of dust and flying rocks. She pivots, arms and legs snapping into a combat for–
And spots the tell-tale bright yellow of Aang's habit as she turns.
"Aang!"
Suddenly she has an armful of relieved airbender. The old man with him–Zuko's uncle–steps past them towards his nephew.
As she assures Aang that she's fine, Katara hears traces of the frenzied whispering conversation behind her before they break apart and the old man tells them to head off first.
She can't help glancing back at Zuko, forgotten in the momentary excitement of escape, when Aang tugs her away and the dejected look in his gaze spells the story of a dashed hope.
Something writhes uncomfortably in her chest.
Later, when he steps into the tense stalemate, she feels something like cold anxiety crawl across her skin. She's too far away to see his eyes but it looks like the boy in the cave is all but gone.
The almost-smiles and surprising kindness of an unexpected kindred spirit have vanished in favour of the angry, hardened, determined Zuko of her past. His uncle isn't with him and the dread pools heavier in her gut, but still she hopes.
When he blasts a scorching flame at Aang, Katara feels the strength and will seep from her limbs.
Even after everything...
She tries to tell herself that his betrayal comes as no surprise.
But then she'd be lying.
Azula always lies.
The mantra holds and his decision is made–was made the moment he stared into blue eyes and saw a shared grief that even his sister had never known.
As Zuko steps into the fray, he hardens his features into the authoritative mask of his days as a ship commander.
Spares a long calculating glance at his sister before he turns his glare on the boy Avatar. Something like envy lurches within him at the sight of this child, another prodigy with everything–including a blue-eyed waterbender, Zuko?–handed to him on a platter, but those thoughts are strangled as he refocuses on the plan.
'This is about more than me, now.'
Living for months as an Earth Kingdom refugee has managed to force some lessons into his head. He knows the Dai Li are watching him, waiting to see his choice because there's no way Azula would leave a loose cannon like him unchecked in her grand plan. So he will wait until the time is right, before he strikes. Uncle's words come to him again.
"It is important to draw wisdom from many different places."
This will have to be perfect.
He inhales, feeling the chi in his stomach roil and flicker to life.
The fire Zuko unleashes against the Avatar burns white-hot, roaring with purpose as it devours the air between them.
He doesn't look at her, doesn't want to see the hurt–the betrayal–that undoubtedly swirls in her eyes. The Avatar's shock and his sister's smug gloating he can handle, but Zuko doesn't think he can pull this off if he looks into her blue eyes and sees only hatred again.
Instead, he lets himself fall into the familiarity of fighting an airbender, motions ingrained into instinct during his long hunt. The world slowly narrows to a pointed focus and Zuko finds himself ignoring everything–the sharp sting of the cutting wind, the blunt pain of slamming into crystal rock and the way his flame flows easier–burns hotter– than ever. The boy may fight with three elements now but he is still an airbender at heart, still fights like an airbender.
His sister's shout drags his attention away, just as she's bodily lifted by the waterbender. There is no hesitation as he moves, a blade of fire already slashing through arms of water. Azula smirks and doesn't hesitate to turn away towards the Avatar, leaving the waterbender to him. He can't help but think she's testing him.
He wouldn't put it past her.
Damn it.
Zuko doesn't meet her–Katara's–stare as he calls flame to his hands, instead fixing his gaze on the blue stone of her necklace. For once, she attacks and he defends, whips of fire and water tearing at each other, matched blow for blow.
"I thought you had changed!" Her words are charged with fury and hurt and something that might be regret.
Zuko's eyes never lift to hers and he tries to harden the facade before he answers.
"I have changed."
He ignores the hitch in her breath, the stutter in her languid movements and fights on. The motions come easily to him and Zuko realises that in all the time he'd spent chasing them, he stood across from the waterbender the most.
He doesn't see the blue fire until it crashes into her, hastily blocked at the last minute. As Azula surges into the offensive, Zuko's eyes dart to the billowing clouds of dust to the side and feels a spike of panic rising but he shoves it down, certain the boy isn't dead.
He tells himself that if she'd killed the Avatar, Azula would use that victory as a weapon in and of itself. Katara seems to know this as well, fighting on desperately but she's starting to flag and as good as she is, Zuko and his sister are simply too much. Something screams for him to act now, before she's overwhelmed–before something irreversible happens–but he clamps down on the urge because Azula has yet to play her hand.
The blow that catches her is only part-blocked–heat snuffed but not the force–carrying through to throw her into the wall. Before Azula can strike again, something rumbles ominously and they turn together as the ground shatters under the Avatar's landing. Even from this distance, Zuko can see the determination in the younger boy's eyes as he surges towards them, bent earth roaring beneath his feet.
But the shadowed forms that line the cavern walls–patiently waiting–had decided this battle before it even began.
Or so they think.
But the moment is not right. Not yet.
So Zuko holds himself back as the Dai Li swarm into the fray.
It is why he stills his hand when despair and desperation creep into Katara's blue eyes, into her weaving limbs, as she faces down the earthbenders, a dozen to one.
It is why he restrains himself when the boy–Aang–is overwhelmed, a stone hammered into his chest blasting him back. He struggles to stand after that, breath wheezing between gritted teeth. Zuko thinks his ribs might be broken and he's too young and this is all wrong–but the moment has not come and so Zuko does not move.
It is only when Azula whirls her arms–one clockwise, the other counter–and flickering blue sparks trail behind her fingers, ready to strike through the heart of a defeated child, that Zuko knows.
His uncle's words whisper at the back if his mind.
Up the arm.
Lightning surges through his flesh as he clamps down on her hand, a deadly, intense bolt of pure power.
Down to the stomach.
The energy sparks his sea of chi into a raging maelstrom as it flows through, a deluge that threatens to tear him apart.
Up and out the other arm.
His other hand tenses, poised to strike as that searing heat channels back up to h–
Something hard slams into his ribs–bones fracturing–and his steady breathing shatters.
Dai Li.
The pain breaks his concentration–his delicate control–and as the burn of that unnatural power intensifies, lancing through his flesh, he knows he needs to get it out.
Let it flow.
Zuko pushes–forces the bolt through–feels a scorching pain in his heart that he knows he shouldn't, but there's no time to care as that light finally rips free of his hand.
The world vanishes in a cataclysm of fire and smoke and crumbling rock, but Zuko feels only the momentary weightlessness of free-fall before he smashes into something and hits the ground hard.
Everything burns and throbs and he's vaguely aware that the sound of fighting has broken out in the background, but something manages to catch his splintered attentions–to drag his mind from that mire of pain.
"ZUKO!"
She's there, blue eyes brimming with so many emotions he can't name.
Katara...
"No...no no n–"
He wants so desperately–more than anything–for her to just understand, to look at him with something other than hatred again. His words are softly spoken, quieter than a whisper even as he chokes on the pain.
"I–I'm...sorry, I–"
Zuko takes a deep breath–feels the sharp sting of broken bone cutting into flesh as his lungs fight to expand–struggling to finish even as the darkness of oblivion closes around him.
Something soothing seeps into his ravaged flesh, a balm that numbs the scalding agony as it creeps through him; but the emptiness that replaces it, that spreads from his core is so cold–colder than anything he has ever felt.
A familiar voice–harder and angrier–yells something, but Zuko is deafened by the slowing throbs of his weakened heart as it valiantly struggles on.
Distantly, he realises that this is it. Accepts it. The end of his road.
Death.
But one I chose for myself.
He smiles through the pain.
The last thing Zuko sees is Katara's face, mouth frozen in a scream he can't hear, blue eyes glimmering–desperation, sorrow–with falling tears, illuminated in a brilliant glow.
Katara doesn't think they can win. Her arms burns with the strain of overuse and there is no uplifting faith, no surge of strength–no hope–left in her.
Only empty despair.
She looks at Aang, hand pressed against his battered torso, as he struggles to his feet and knows that they've lost. Even as she keeps her arms weaving, the forms inherent to her, Katara wonders how it all went so wrong.
If only...
Her eyes dart to Zuko and she wonders if things would've turned out differently had Aang not burst into the cave at that exact moment. If she hadn't walked away from him, taking his fragile hopes with her.
And then there's no more time to wonder, because Azula is moving–arms corkscrewing–tracing flashing lines of blue fire through the air.
No...not fire, Katara realises, frozen in disbelief, as she notices the way it lances uncontrollably around her form; tastes the charged air of a thunderstorm.
Lightning.
Azula lunges, hand striking forward as the writhing light gathers at her fingerti–
And Zuko clamps down on his sister's hand, yanks and suddenly the lightning is coursing up his arm.
What is he doing?
Katara glimpses something like true fear seep into Azula's eyes for the first time, slides her gaze across to see only determined purpose burning in Zuko's stare.
She tries to cage the fluttering hope rising in her chest before it gets away from her, because she can't be sure...
"I have changed." There's something strange in his words, his voice–the way he never meets her stare; never strikes the first blow.
Except she is.
Something sparks in her chest, igniting a fire that burns away the pain of her wounds and the weariness of her body as she watches Zuko move.
Hope.
The lightning crackles around him, a shroud of deadly energy that swirls towards his coiled arm–poised to strike.
For an instant everything stills.
The heavy rock that punches into Zuko's side is like a pin-drop, almost toppling him but he recovers his footing, twisting again to face Azula as she moves to counter. Faster than possible, his hand lashes out...
And the world explodes into motion.
Dimly, she notices the old man–his uncle–land heavily beside her, bellowing furiously as his fire roars towards the earthbenders. But Katara can only watch, frozen in horror, as Zuko's smoking body crashes through glittering crystal to lie terribly-deathly-still.
"ZUKO!"
Katara moves without thinking, a surge of churning waves the only mark of her passage before she's at his side, desperately pressing water-cloaked hands to his ruined body.
She falls back an instant later with a despairing sob because there's so much damage and she doesn't know where to start and his skin is so cold.
Bleary golden eyes peer at her–bleeding, broken–as his lips move but she can't hear any words over the sickening gurgle of blood in his throat. Her heart is breaking and that fleeting spark of hope is snuffed, but Katara will never forgive herself if she doesn't try.
I will never turn my back on people who need me!
Glowing blue hands lay once more over his chest, over the violent ruin of flesh and skin that ripples across the skin covering his heart. She urges the water to heal, to mend flesh and knit bone together, and slowly–so terribly slowly–she feels his body begin to calm, feels the stiffness leave his musc–
His breathing fades. His heartbeat slows. Zuko smiles, blood sliding from his lips.
She freezes.
His eyes close. She feels everything in the moment his heart stops beating.
ZUKO!
Katara pours everything into her hands, feels the tears come even as she knows it's too late...
The spirit water!
But there's no time because Aang is pulling at her shoulder, shouting in her ear–we have to leave!–and she glances up to see the line of green and black pushing ever closer.
Zuko's uncle still stands strong between them but she can see the grief in his eyes–one they share–in the weary slump of his shoulders when he looks back at them to yell, voice hoarse with loss.
"I'll hold them off as long as I can, go now!"
And then the water is lifting them up to safety, to freedom.
It tastes of bitter ash on her tongue.
As they fly from Ba Sing Sei, illuminated in the moon's glowing light, even her ever boisterous brother is sombre.
The body in her arms is just silent and cold.
When she lays him against Appa's soft fur and draws the spirit water free, there isn't even a lingering warmth and the blood is long gone from his skin–face paler than ever, lips deathly blue.
She remembers his words. His final broken smile.
"But lately...I've realised I'm free to determine my own destiny."
The night is silent as she whispers a quiet prayer to the moon spirit–to Yue–for a boy who'd made his choice and given up everything to help them.
The swirling water, clearer and brighter than any she's seen, glows as she pours all her faith–her beliefs and her dreams–into it, hoping against hope for something...
Anything.
A long moment passes by.
Nothing.
Trembling, Katara looks up into Aang's grey eyes just as they snap open in amazed wonder.
The body beneath her hands shifts, groaning harshly and she meets his gaze as he blinks open golden eyes.
He's alive.
He still looks beaten–wearied and exhausted–but his gaze is clear, his breath is smooth and she can feel the steady thrum of his heart against her palm where before there was only silence. Katara collapses weakly beside him–relief more draining than fear–and smiles, impossibly happy, as she squeezes his trembling hand tightly–already warm with life.
"Katara...? I'm alive?"
She almost laughs–tears falling freely–giddy with disbelieving joy, when she answers.
"You're alive."
Hopefully I managed to remain true to the characters, as it's the first time I've written either o.O
But most of all, hope you enjoyed it!
Cheers for reading!