disclaimer: post-finale AU but canon-compliant. i've tried to keep this somewhat faithful to the comics as well but as i have never read those trainwrecks in full, i'm not promising much accuracy beyond general plot points (aka the extent of my knowledge) ...& as always, atla is property of bryke, but zutara belongs to us
author's notes. i didn't really expect to contribute to zutara month this year, but this was knocking around in my head for a while and what the hell, why not.
this was supposed to be light, short, and sweet. naturally, it's become somewhat the opposite of that because apparently i only write in one fucking flavour
title (and general attempt at mood) come from henry saiz's 'fill me up' and all its over-the-top euphoric 80s-inspired synthy drama.
happy holidays, everyone!
PART ONE. letting go
Dark wood, dark night, dark thoughts. Her insides are hollow but the space immediately next to the bar is packed. Music's too loud to make conversation a realistic possibility; the air's so stuffy she's almost glad that she came wearing the sluttiest top she owns. Everyone's come here to escape, after all, and she's no different.
She catches the eye of the cute bartender, waves him down for a gin and tonic. She watches him work, fingers methodically measuring and pouring, face kind, smirk devilish.
"Alone tonight, sweetheart?" he asks, raising his voice so she can hear him over the din.
The clear drink slides across the counter. She wraps her fingers around it, cool citrusy liquid sloshing at glass corners. "And every night after that," she concedes sarcastically, raising her cup in a mock toast. "Because guess who's single now!"
She takes a slow sip of her drink. It's strong but not too strong, the gin clean and cold, bursting through tangy tonic freshness.
The bartender's eyes widen as he leans forward. "Oh, no way! You too, huh?"
Katara sizes him up, eyes narrowed in suspicion. Is he making a pass at her? Should she flirt back? "You didn't...also...just break up with your boyfriend of four years, did you?"
The words slip out of her mouth clumsily. She'd thump herself on the forehead if she could, but she can barely move thanks to the people crowding around her, pinning her arms to her sides. Smooth, she chides herself, real smooth.
The bartender's smirk only widens, in a well-how-did-you-guess sort of way, but he shakes his head. "Nah, my boyfriend's waiting for me back home," he quips without missing a beat, and she blinks, momentarily taken aback. "But another one of my patrons is also out here nursing his broken heart tonight." He shakes his head again. "Looks like fate."
"Looks like," Katara replies uncertainly. She wonders how she's supposed to process this tidbit of information now that she's nineteen and newly single with her cleavey top and smoky eyes. "Is this patron of yours...cute?"
The bartender grins wickedly. "Cute? Sweetheart, he's delicious!" He winks at her. "I should go top him up. But I'll be sure to tell him you asked!"
And with that the bartender disappears, out of sight and out of mind. Leaving Katara alone with her thoughts and the comforting burn of gin.
She isn't sad that it's over, she decides to the sound of chatter muffled by bright music and ice cubes clinking softly in her glass. After all, she's learned so much about herself during her time with Aang. Enough to know that it wasn't either of their faults that it didn't work out. They just needed different things from each other. He was always leaving her behind to go chase his next big adventure. But she needed someone by her side, to help her take root and grow. He expected her to wait in constant adoration, changing her shape like water to fill spaces where she didn't belong. But she's always preferred to carve her own way, whittling away at the world like it's just stone, until it fits to accommodate her.
She's on the cusp of womanhood, burgeoning with potential and hungry for life. She's a storm wrapped up in sunshine and optimism, rough edges peeking through the push and pull of her will. And he wanted her to bury all that beneath soft clouds and perfection, serve it all up on an altar as high as the pedestal he put her on.
He wanted more than she could willingly give without losing herself.
So, heart heavy but spirits feather-light, she'd kissed him on the cheek and said goodbye. Traveled back to Ba Sing Se, where Sokka and Suki were more than happy to have her crash on a futon in their new apartment on the middle ring. Absently sought out the Jasmine Dragon where she knew a cup of tea and some sound advice would always be waiting. But the teashop brought with it no small slew of discomfiting memories - first kiss with Aang being a prime contender - and so she walked right past it, drawn inexorably to the dimly lit bar down the street instead.
No sooner has she drained her glass down to the dregs than the cute bartender reappears with a new bounce in his step. Dimples flash in his cheek as he slides another drink over to her.
She pauses, frowning at the blue martini in its elegant tapered glass sitting by her elbow. "I didn't order that," she points out thickly, wondering if the bartender's confused her for someone else.
But he smirks at her instead. "I know," he announces, leaning toward her to give her a quick wink. "Courtesy of my...other...single patron. He hopes it'll make your night a little better."
Her back stiffens and she whips her head around, trying to catch a glimpse of this mysterious stranger, but everything is far too crowded. "That's nice of him," she stutters, wondering if it's actually just niceness or something a little less innocent. What sort of guy would just buy a drink for a girl he's never even met, just because she happened to be newly single too? Is she wandering into a dangerous trap of expectations and reciprocations and obligations by accepting it? What if the bartender spiked the drink?
"He seems like a nice guy," the bartender agrees with a nod. "Lonely, though."
A pang goes through her at that and she feels bad for her initial suspicions. Because she knows what being lonely feels like, even when she was with Aang, and it somehow feels diminished now that she's here by herself (which is crazy to think about), but not nearly enough. "I'm sorry to hear that," she says simply.
The bartender quirks an eyebrow as she takes the martini glass by the stem. "Anything you'd like me to tell him for you?"
She pauses, feeling a blush rise to her cheeks in spite of herself. Reflexively tamps it down because what will Aang think, and then fights that reflex almost immediately because it doesn't matter what Aang thinks anymore. She's single and perfectly able to accept a drink from a guy at the bar if she wants.
Which, come to think of it, she does. Because the whole thing screams of something equal parts kindness and smooth, smooth confidence, so why the hell not?
"Tell him thank you," she instructs him, leaning forward in a show of what she hopes looks like self-assurance. "And that I hope his night picks up too –" and with a stroke of brilliance, she coyly adds, " – and while you're at it, send him another drink on me."
The bartender's grin is wide enough to split his face in two, and Katara gets the sneaking suspicion that right now, she is positively making his night. "Yes ma'am," he acquiesces. "What would you like to get him?"
Katara pauses, wondering what was appropriate to send to a kind, recently-single, allegedly deliciously cute gentleman she's never met. Her knowledge is woefully limited, in large part because Aang didn't drink and therefore in his presence, neither had she. "I don't know," she admits haplessly, face falling. "What do you think he'd like?"
"Mm…" the bartender scratches at his chin, "he's been sipping whiskey on the rocks all night, but he seems more like an old fashioned kind of guy, if you ask me."
"Get him an old fashioned then," she decides, savouring a thrill of excitement she hasn't let herself feel in years. "And tell him to live a little." Watching the bartender quickly assemble the stiff amber drink, she sends her own personal, private regards to this mysterious stranger, whoever he was, and hoped that his night was going a bit better than hers at least.
She takes a sip of the blue martini and it's absolutely delicious: sharp, sweet, going down like juice but with a bit of an edge. Perfect for her. She should ask the bartender what it's called; she could drink this all night.
A part of her can't help but be intrigued by this stranger. Who he is, how old, what he looks like - that type of thing. Was he recently widowed? Broken up with a long-term but ultimately incompatible partner, like her? She settles on the latter, constructing other details of her fantasy, fuelled in part by the blue martini easing its way down her throat.
Light hair or dark? Lean or muscular? Friendly and talkative, or strong and silent? She sifts through each of the possibilities, custom-creating a perfect stranger that she can spend the rest of the night talking to. Someone who doesn't remind her of Aang at all, someone who wouldn't need to be mothered or coddled or protected, who'd listen to her quiet concerns and fight by her side. Who'd take a bolt of lightning to the heart for her and expect nothing in return.
Her mouth twists at the memory, but not nearly as sharply as her stomach does. She'd buried it during the early years of being with Aang – because some thoughts just made everything unnecessarily complicated. But as her relationship wore on and she became increasingly aware that Aang was not the perfect partner she thought he was when she was a naïve fifteen-year-old, she finds herself swimming in those memories more and more often. How everything went down, how things could have been different, if only she'd been a little wiser or a little bolder…
But the reality of it was that she was young and hopeful, with her head so full of stories about the Avatar that there wasn't really room for anyone else. Not even for the honourable, slightly awkward Fire Nation prince who'd turned on his father, turned the tide of the war, and saved her life. Who'd unexpectedly dug a place in her heart, first with the touch of her fingers against his scar, then with his unwavering support as he helped her confront her mother's killer, and finally, the sound of his voice screaming as he threw his body between her and the lightning, blue as the drink in her glass. For a moment, the taste of it feels electric on her tongue, every last nerve buzzing…
It took another scar – the star-shaped one over his heart with her name written on it – and his quiet, rasping voice thanking her – as if she'd been the one to almost die for him – to question everything she'd taken as a given. To open her eyes to another possibility – that maybe there was a reason that things between them were strained and uncomfortable, even as it was becoming clear to her that there was nobody else who really understood her.
But then the war was over and in the blink of an eye, he'd gotten back together with Mai and that was the end of that. So, without really talking about it, or thinking about it even, she shrugged off the disappointed thing sinking slowly in her chest and went on with her life the way it was supposed to go. Aang won the war, and she became his girlfriend, and that's all she could be. Things between her and Zuko – once so breathlessly precious – now felt…incomplete and inappropriately tense. Whether by chance or yet another unspoken understanding, they drifted. Perhaps for the better.
"He was really touched by the gesture," the bartender announces triumphantly as he reappears, snapping out of her uncomfortable reverie. "He says you shouldn't have. But he's grateful all the same."
A smile works its way onto her face, because even though she has no idea who this strange man is, it lightens her spirits to make someone happy. "He's one to talk. Besides, I wanted to," she points out, gesturing at her martini glass. Half of it is gone already. "This is really good, by the way. I think I might make it my go-to drink from now on."
"You're welcome," the bartender sings in a simpering voice, and Katara laughs because this is exactly the type of light-hearted nonsense she misses. "He really liked his drink too, if you were wondering. He wondered where it had been all his life."
"I'm glad," Katara laughs, "but I can't claim all the credit for that."
"I have a steady hand," the bartender brags humbly. "It's an art."
Apparently so is matchmaking, Katara thinks to herself, but she doesn't say anything. Truth be told, she's rather enjoying the harmlessly intriguing flirtation even if it means she might be getting set up by the bartender. "Tell me more about this guy," she orders, resting her chin on a hand. "What does he look like?"
"Well, he's definitely tall and mysterious," the bartender declares, planting both hands on the dark wooden countertop.
"Mysterious?" Katara's brow furrows in curiosity at the word. "How so?"
"Well he's got this dark cloak and hood on, so I couldn't really see much of his face," the bartender explains, rubbing at his jaw in thought.
Katara's frown deepens. "I thought you said he was cute!" she complains, feeling distinctly cheated.
The bartender shrugs. "He is, from what I could see anyway. My intuition is never wrong about these things, trust me."
She raises an eyebrow, feeling more and more like she should just chalk the whole thing up to bad judgment, finish her drink, and walk back to Sokka and Suki's apartment before either of them got back home.
"I told him you were gorgeous, in case you were wondering," the bartender continues blithely.
Katara flushes a deep purple that she hopes isn't too visible in the dim light, but the way he chuckles in response suggests otherwise. "Was that before or after he sent me the drink?"
"After," the bartender reassures her. "Don't worry, sweetheart, I'm not a total amateur."
"Do you…always…try to set your patrons up like this?" Katara asks stiffly, wondering why she isn't more affronted at his meddling involvement when she's only just met him and her personal affairs are frankly none of his business.
But he gives her such a dazzling smile she can't hold it against him. "I just want people to be happy," he proclaims. "And you two give off such similar vibes, I thought you might enjoy each other's company. That's all."
"Similar vibes?" Katara echoes, wondering if the blue martini and loud music are screwing with her ears.
"Yeah." The bartender nods. "Like you'd do well enough on your own, but you still look sad and lonely."
"I'm not sad!" Katara denies hotly, flinching at the assessment. "Breaking it off with Aang was the best thing I ever did for myself."
"That's great, sweetheart." And to his credit, he says it sincerely, not condescendingly or doubtfully, which makes her perk up a bit. "But you're not lonely at all?"
His question catches her off guard. She thinks of the last four years, how they dragged at her like an anchor tied to her foot. Being overshadowed by the Avatar and his importance. Spoken over at every turn until she felt like she was losing her voice. How liberating it feels to be able to sit here and not worry about his jealousy, his fragile feelings, any of it. And how being alone in a crowd isn't nearly as awful as feeling alone with him.
"Not as much as I used to be," she confesses, but then a thought niggles at her. "But I guess I've always been a little lonely. I don't know, maybe I'm just used to it."
The bartender only looks at her sympathetically, before he disappears again. Katara follows his retreat with her gaze until the crowd of people swallows him up.
She swirls the blue drink absently, something inside her slumping at the admission. Because it's true, and maybe it is a little sad. Sad that it's taken this long to realize it, sad that she doesn't really know what to do about it.
Growing up, Sokka always had Dad to idolize. He leaned on her too, trying to fill the absence created by the loss of their mother. But that void's always stayed empty for her. She used to think that by becoming that figure for everyone else – Sokka, Aang, even Toph – it'd mend the gnawing tearing hole inside that made her miss Mom so much.
But only now does she realize that it's only made her shoulder more than she should, without help. And worse, she doesn't even know how to be anything else.
I didn't have to be that way for Zuko, she recalls, her mouth twisting as it does whenever she thinks of him these days. I didn't have to look after him. I didn't have to pretend. I could just…be.
Being around him didn't make her tired of being herself. And the more she understands this, the more she realizes that she misses him, misses their friendship, hates that they've drifted so far out of touch that she can't even stop in on him like an old friend and ask him how life is treating him.
She wonders what he's up to, if being Fire Lord is still as crushingly lonely and dangerous as it used to be. How he and Mai are doing. Something like sadness grips her at that last thought, because even though she's long accepted that he chose Mai and sometimes teenage crushes are just that, she can't get over the way Mai treats him, the way he lets her treat him –
"So don't hate me," the bartender interrupts again, only this time his voice is a little nervous.
Katara looks at him with a growing sense of dread. "What did you do?"
The bartender slides another one of the blue drinks over to her – a peace offering if she's ever seen one. "Imayhavetoldhimtocomejoinyou," he mumbles so quickly the words jumble together, throwing his hands up in conciliatory submission, "pleasedon'thateme."
She nearly topples the remains of her first drink over. "You did what?" she demands, indignantly aghast.
I agreed to no such thing! Even if the mysterious stranger sounded nice, she just wanted one night on her own, to enjoy her space and not have to cater to anyone –
But then a voice cuts through her scattered thoughts. A gravelly voice, deeper than she remembers, pitched with confusion and inevitability. "Katara?"
Her jaw drops and she whips her head around so quick she nearly hurts her neck. Sees someone tall standing right behind her, a hand rising up to push a dark draping hood past a mess of dishevelled black hair, the glaring red scar blooming on pale skin in the dim light –
Everything stops. "Zuko?" she chokes out, sputtering everywhere because she's accidentally inhaled her own spit and of course he'd show up just as she was thinking about him, how couldn't he?
He raises a hand awkwardly in greeting, the sight of it so familiar it aches. "Hi?" The look on his face dances between apprehension and hope, as though it isn't really sure what it wants to be yet.
"Hi," she breathes, and to her horror she feels just as clumsy.
"You two know each other?" the bartender demands, thunderstruck.
"Well yeah," Zuko states with a shrug, "old friends, I guess –"
It catches up with her then, the realization lagging in her brain by a heartbeat. "Wait, this is your other –" cute, newly single…
To his credit, he plants a hand on his forehead, the bright red blush on his cheeks suggesting that he feels at least as mortified as she does. "That was you?" he blurts out in disbelief.
The bartender's clapping his hands together by now. "I've outdone myself this time!" he announces delightedly, before grabbing at the guy sitting on the stool right beside Katara. "Excuse me sir, how would you like to move to a booth?"