Hello, everyone; Separate Entity here, dragging myself from the snares of NaNoWriMo to bring you this story because it just wouldn't shut up and let me do the writing I was supposed to be doing.

This is a futurefic between Zuko and Katara.

I do not own Avatar: the Last Airbender. The character names, ideas, etc. belong to someone far more creative than myself.

"If My Heart Was A House" and its lyrics are property of Owl City and its respective owners.

Enjoy!

You're the sky that I fell through, and I remember the view whenever I'm holding you

The sun hung from a string, looking down on the world as it warms over everything

They spar together after lunch, and he watches her movements. They're smooth and fluid, like she's dancing rather than bending. She wields her element like it's just another limb, a true extension of her body. She flings a loop of water into the air and it spirals upwards, circling around the summer sun, a halo of water around the fiery orb. She's a natural, he thinks. He remembers her feeble attempts at waterbending the first few times they had encountered each other and marvels at the difference. She is a remarkably quick learner and a harder study than he himself ever was.

Then he is jerked out of his reverie as she swings a whip of water at him with blinding speed. He ducks, but he is too late and she knocks him to the ground. He collapses in the dirt in an undignified heap, sopping wet. Still, he can't help but think, even as he wipes dripping hair out of his eyes, of how graceful she looked when she struck.

Chills run down my spine as our fingers entwine and your sighs harmonize with mine.

Unmistakably, I can still feel your heart beat fast when you dance with me.

She looks down at him and laughs. "A very noble landing, Lord Prince," she says, and he can't help but smile back at her sarcastic tone.

"Can I get a hand up?" he asks, and she offers it to him. He wraps his fingers through hers and pulls himself to his feet—right on a patch of ice. He stumbles, and throws an arm out instinctively to catch himself. When he regains his balance, his right hand is clasped in her right hand and his left hand is gripping her right shoulder. Their faces are inches apart and he can see that she is breathing hard. He feels tingles rush through him where they touch. What is this sensation? He has never experienced anything of its ilk before, never felt anything in a touch other than pressure or temperature.

He releases her and they both blush and mutter apologies. But the feeling of her touch, even through the layers of their clothing, stays with him for a long time.

We got older, and I should have known that I'll feel colder when I'm on my own

So I may as well ditch my dismay.

He sits just outside the circle at dinnertime, watching the easy banter between friends. He laughs at her brother's latest rant about the merits of blubbered seal jerky versus whale jerky, but he is still not fully accepted by the others. He finds himself gazing at her from across the fire. She isn't doing anything special, but even the way she eats is entrancing.

She looks up, as if she can sense his eyes on her, and he turns his head away quickly. This isn't going to get you anywhere, he scolds himself. Stop acting like a smitten koala-sheep.

Circle me, and the needle moves gracefully back and forth; if my heart was a compass you'd be north.

Risk it all cause I'll catch you if you fall,

Wherever you go, if my heart was a house you'd be home.

He tosses and turns that night as her face circles through his dreams again and again. What is happening to him? Is he being possessed by some sort of spirit monster? Why can't he stop thinking of her?

It makes me smile because you said it best; I would clearly feel blessed if the sun rose up from the west

Flower blonde perfume, all my clothes smell like you 'cause your favorite shade is navy blue.

Nobody talks like she does. She is entirely unique. With just a few words she can break up even the most heated of disputes. The others look up to her.

He watches her blue parka as she weaves through a cluster of kids. He wishes the others would look up to him, even a little bit. He has never had respect from another person that was not based in fear.

I walk slowly when I'm on my own, yeah, but frankly, I still feel alone.

So I may as well ditch my dismay, bombs away, bombs away.

He sits in the dinner circle now and banters with the others. He watches with a smile as the blind girl puts the brother in a headlock for saying something insensitive. Life is good.

But then his eyes go to her again. He watches her watch her brother and then lean in away from him to listen to something the boy with the arrow tattoos has to say. He watches her laugh at his words.

There are three people sitting between them, but it feels like three islands. He wants to sit next to her, he realizes. He wants to be the one making her laugh. He wants to be the one who can touch her without incident. He wants her to trust him, to accept him the way the others have.

Circle me, and the needle moves gracefully back and forth; if my heart was a compass, you'd be north

Risk it all, 'cause I'll catch you if you fall, wherever you go; if my heart was a house, you'd be home

He approaches her after dinner. Everyone else is gone, getting ready for bed or finishing up the day's tasks. She has opened her water skin and is bending streams of water around and around in the pot, washing out the remnants of the stew they had eaten for dinner.

"Need a hand?" he asks. She jerks at the sound of his voice and he winces; he hadn't wanted to startle her. He watches in dismay as she drops the pot and it rolls into the fire pit, acquiring a sooty coating.

"I'm so sorry," he exclaims, rushing forward. She reaches for the pot, and he tries to warn her not to, but she does and she singes her fingers. "I'm sorry," he repeats, and withdraws the pot himself. He draws heat away from the vessel with his firebending and offers it to her. "I'm sorry," he says for the third time. "You'll have to wash it all over again now."

"Don't worry about it," she says reassuringly. "It's not permanent." And for the briefest of seconds, he wonders if she is still talking about the pot.

He needs to talk to her. He has to sort out his thoughts. "Katara," he says, and something in his tone must have alerted her to his inner turmoil because she sets the pot down and stands in front of him.

"What is it, Zuko?" she asks, and he feels a strange thrill run through him at the sound of his name on her lips.

"I need to talk to you," he says, feeling slightly foolish.

"So talk," the Water Tribe girl responds, and the feeling of foolishness intensifies.

"I just … I've been thinking about things lately, and I…" he grits his teeth. His words are making as much sense as his thoughts, which is, to say, no sense at all. He gazes into her steady brown eyes and tries to draw some of her tranquility into himself. He wishes he could be as clearheaded as she seems to be. He swallows and tries to start over. "Katara, I don't know how … I want…" his hands, which had been clenched into fists at his sides come up against his will. He watches as they land on either side of her face.

"Zuko," she says, "I think I—"

But he doesn't find out what she thinks, because his head is moving of its own accord now, and suddenly there's only a hair's breadth of space between their faces, and then their lips meet and they're kissing.

She freezes at first and then relaxes against him and leans into his embrace. His hands move down to wrap around her waist and her own hands find purchase on his face, her fingertips tangling in his scruffy hair. Her lips are soft and warm. This close, he can smell her scent, fresh and clean like mountain air. He realizes then, as their mouths move together, that this was what he wanted—what he needed—all along.

They pull away and stare at each other, breathing hard. Her lips are parted slightly and he has to tear his eyes away from them to look into her eyes. They are sparkling, brown and bright. Her cheeks are flushed. "Zuko," she says again.

The sound of her voice drags him back to reality, and an intense weight settles over his chest as he realizes the repercussions his action will have. He had worked so hard to get her to trust him, and now all his efforts have been eradicated. Nothing he says could fix this indiscretion, but he has to try. He needs her trust more than he wants her affections. "Great Fires, Katara, I'm sorry I did that. I wasn't thinking. I shouldn't have put you in that position." He looks away before continuing, forcing the last words out of his mouth. "I shouldn't have imposed on you like that. It won't happen again, I promise. I—"

"Zuko." She says his name firmly, cutting him off. She puts one hand back on his face and forces him to look at her. Her eyes are steady again and he can see his own face reflected back in them. "Calm down. Breathe."

She's not yelling at him, not punching him or lashing out at him with water. He takes this as a good sign and follows her instructions.

When she is satisfied that he has regained his composure, she continues. "Zuko, you … it's obvious that you … feel something for me." She's right. He knows it now. But the realization had come too late and been expressed in all the wrong way. He had blown any chance he had with her. He looks down, despite her grip on his face.

She was still talking. "I don't hate you, Zuko," she says. "I like you." Her voice is very gentle. "And, maybe…" she trails off, but then her voice regains its strength. "And maybe as more than a friend. I don't know why, and I can't explain it, but if you … if you want to, I'm willing to see where this goes. Just … you'll just have to work with me, and and we'll take it slowly and see what happens."

He's never seen her this flustered, he thinks to himself. "Katara, I…" he starts, and then her words start to sink in and he jerks his eyes back to hers and stares at her, shocked silent. "You … you really…?"

She surprises him by laughing. "Yes, Zuko, I meant what I said. Is it really so hard to believe?"

"Yes," he admits, trying to avoid her gaze.

Her smile is sadder now, and she reaches up and places her other hand on his face. "You're a good person, Zuko. You have a good spirit. It's buried pretty deeply, and maybe you can't see it—spirits know I didn't—but it's there."

And because she simply cannot seem to stop surprising him, she places a swift, chaste kiss to his lips. "Give yourself some credit. And give me some time. Give us some time."

He stares at her, unable to comprehend her faith in him. What happened to the girl who stormed into his room in the dead of night and threatened him with death if he so much slipped up once? When had she gotten to this point where she was willing to stand before him without flinching? She was so brave. So strong and so resilient, just like her element.

He realizes that she has been waiting for a response. "Okay," he says. "All right. Okay."

And then he leans in and kisses her softly, sweetly, for just a few seconds, just because he can. Pulling away, he looks at her expression, at her closed eyes and the small smile gracing her lips, and for the first time in far too long, he is filled with hope.

If my heart was a house, you'd be home

I hope you liked it. Please review!

Signing off,

Separate Entity (1,905 words to go!)