A thousand eager faces cling to her words, to a hope they thought was dead and ashes. A thousand desperate hands grasp out, needing warmth, support, like a child caught in a snowstorm. She parades around the world, trailing off inspirational speeches and happy thoughts until there are none left for herself, a smile she is not allowed to break stretches at her face until she cracks at the seams. Sometimes, she feels like she is drowning in her own element.
On days when the pressure has worn lines around her mouth and smudged deep bags under her eyes, she goes to them. Thinks for a moment that Aang's natural buoyancy, Sokka's easy confidence, Toph's rooted strength, could somehow flow into her through osmosis. But she knows deep down she is the glue, the warmth that holds them together. She is the mother. She nurtures, reassures, soothes the pressure away. Without her, they would break into pieces and the world would shatter with them. So when she turns to them, weary-eyed and afraid, they say, never doubting, she can do it, when she cannot, she cannot.
It's different with Zuko. He is not unswerving confidence and determined optimism. He is uncertainty, turmoil. But he does not expect her to coax away his paranoia. He does not need her to tell him everything will be ok. When she comes to him, he pulls her out of the flood, folds her in his embrace, reminds her she is not treading water, she does not have to carry them all. He burns away their expectations; soothing water turns to passion, heat, fire. He allows her to be selfish. Their bodies move in tandem until she is floating in air, free. Buoyant.