Fire Boy

by These Lonely Skies

She remembered the day that she had looked at him and he had looked back with his golden eyes so full of hatred and anger that it took her breath away. A new kind of Zutara.

She remembered the day that she had looked at him and he had looked back with his golden eyes so full of hatred and anger that it took her breath away. She remembered how they seemed to burn into her, a slow roasting of her soul that rose from within until even her cheeks began to sizzle and redden under his scrutiny. She remembered how he had turned away. A dismissal, a statement - he wanted nothing to do with her, the dark-skinned girl with wide blue eyes and a fat braid over one shoulder.

Why should he want anything to do with her? He was rich, handsome even with the scar over his eye, his life full of things that she had never dreamed of attaining. But she had seen the fire in him, and it had sunk into her veins, only to be deadened as if she had extinguished it altogether with her average life. The blue of her uniform, which had until now seemed soothing, now felt drab. She felt drab. She wanted his fire.

How to get close to him? He was upper class, went to a different school altogether. His blazer was red with black trim - on anyone else it would have seemed ludicrous, but on him... it fit. He was fire, with a dark edge. He wore black dress pants and expensive-looking black leather shoes. He had a ring on his finger, heavy metal stamped with something that she had yet to make out, that she would not be able to make out unless she drew closer and risked being scorched by this stranger. She, in comparison, wore a blue dress with a white collar, hideously calling attention to the fact that she attended a public school. She wore sandals, black leather, worn and scuffed because she had got them from Suki, who had used them last year. She rarely ever felt ashamed of the fact that her family didn't have that much money - she lived in a tight knit community, so everyone helped each other out, and it wasn't like she was unhappy - but today she wished for skinny jeans and glossy lips like the girls in the magazines, who always seemed so much prettier despite the fact that she followed every how-to tip, substituting expensive brands for snatches of her deceased mother's old makeup.

The day had been hot and largely unsatisfying. She had been taunted for her hairstyle, which was still in the traditional way of her people; her money had somehow vanished before lunch; and Sokka and Suki weren't there to defend her from the other kids. Her ugly uniform clung to her sweaty skin, and she prayed that she didn't have sweat patches all the time she was walking home. When she wasn't thinking of the fire boy, that was.

Suki had been in her kitchen, cooking. She had taken over the role of mother after she and Sokka had dropped school last year, and, unable to get a job that would support her on her own, moved in with their family. Sokka was teaching rich kids swordplay, making money which he saved almost every penny of so that he and Suki could get their own house and so he could buy Suki an engagement ring. Suki had tried to teach martial arts, but she had lost her temper at one of the more crass members of her class and had been blacklisted.

Katara always found it fitting that Suki and Sokka were fighters by trade.

"Katara," Suki said upon seeing her, smiling.

Katara ignored her, ignored the life that she was certain wouldn't be good enough for the fire boy, and walked past into the closet-sized room which had once been Sokka's but was now hers, because he and Suki shared the larger room.

The fire boy burned in the back of her mind, prompting her to change so that the next time they met, she would be ready to withstand his glare, knowing that she was protected. She got a job at a restaurant, run by a kind, fat old man named Iroh, who she was sure could read the soul of a human being in one glance. With the money, she acquired a short, choppy hairstyle that highlighted her cheekbones. She bought her own sandals and clothes.

Sokka could not figure out why his little sister was so determined to distance herself from their lives. Yes, they had grown up without a lot of things - but running away from her family by throwing herself into work and new so-called friendships with her past tormentors at school was not the way to climb out of being poor. She had cut off her long hair - he supposed it looked fashionable, but it had taken away the element of her looks that identified her as Katara. Suki had always said that his sister had an honest beauty. Now she said nothing, only sighed when she saw each addition to the new Katara.

*.*.*.*

Iroh watched his youngest employee, a surprisingly strong young woman who was so misguided. She reminded him of his nephew - caught between living the life she had been given and running away from it. She dragged a broom across the wooden floor, raising small clouds of dust. The Jasmine Dragon was a popular place, and it was only in these rare lulls that it could be cleaned properly. Her hair fell into her eyes, being too short to restrain unless she either slicked it back or used many pins.

"Katara," he called. "How old are you now?"

She paused her sweeping, glancing up at him. Her blue eyes, which still had the same earnest look they always had, had recently been lined with black every time he saw her. It wasn't bad-looking or poorly applied, but it had seemed somehow wrong on Katara's face until Iroh had become used to the sight.

"Fifteen," she said. "Why?"

"I was just wondering if you were the same age as my nephew," Iroh answered, resting his hands on his stomach.

She smiled. "Ah, the infamous Zuko. I'm beginning to think he's a figment of your imagination, Iroh. Am I?"

"Are you what?"

"The same age?"

"Oh, no, he is a few years older than you. He is almost ready to leave school. Next year, I hope he will go to a university and further his studies." Iroh turned away as he talked and hunted through tins of home-baked treats for something. "His father, my brother, wanted him to head his company, but since he passed away, Zuko does not seem to want it. Or perhaps he does, but he is scared of making a mistake or asking for help. That is usually the case with him. He despises showing any weakness."

"Don't we all," Katara murmured, returning to her sweeping. "Iroh, if your brother owned a company, why are you in a tea shop? You could have been rich."

"I was rich," the old man replied, setting a plate down on a table. "Come and sit with me, Katara, you look hungry."

Katara sat, because she knew that Iroh was a good storyteller and because the butterscotch slice he had on the plate looked too good to resist after three hours of serving tea and other such slices.

"I was rich," Iroh repeated. "The company was passed down through my family for years, you see, and my father possessed it when my brother and I were young. But he... he died, one way or another, and he left it to Ozai. It was meant to be mine, and at first I was bitter about that, but... I had lost a son somewhere along the way, and I knew better than Ozai what true happiness was. No one else I knew understood my decisions to remain in the background, but that was fine. When Zuko and his father fought badly, he lived with me for a while. That is why I talk about him so much - I think of him as my own son, and we have been through much together."

"Does he know?" she asked, touched by the story.

"That I love him? Oh, yes." Iroh nodded and bit into his square of baking. "He does not like it sometimes, when it is an inconvenience to have someone care for him, but he knows it. And what about you, young lady? A story for a story. What is your family like?"

"You already know I have a brother," Katara said, collecting her thoughts. "Uh, him and his girlfriend take care of me when Dad's at sea. Dad's in the Navy. We don't see him much. But Sokka takes good care of me, and so does Suki, and we can always call on Grams if we need help. She used to live with us too, but she moved a few houses down when Suki came to stay."

"What about your mother?"

"She died when I was little. I was there, but..." she frowned. "I don't remember any of it, I think. I don't really know if it's my memories or things that people have told me and I put together in my head. She was being mugged and they didn't see me, and then she told me to run to Grams' house, because we were only around the corner from where we lived. And then she was dead by the time someone found out what was happening."

Iroh's eyebrows furrowed. "And you still live in the same neighborhood? That is brave, Katara."

"Not really. I don't remember any of it."

The old man studied her again. "If you don't mind me asking, why are you changing how you look? You were beautiful before."

Katara blushed, knowing Iroh to be kindly, the sort of person she would like to have as a grandfather or, indeed, an uncle. "I know it sounds silly, but... I saw someone who made me think about my appearance. And everyone seems to like me better this way."

"Everyone who does not matter, perhaps," Iroh mused. "Those who love you will value more important things than whether you look like a girl from one of those magazines you read over lunch."

Her skin darkened as she flushed again. "Maybe you're right, Iroh. But it's not the people who love me that I'm worried about."

"You worry too much."

"Maybe," she repeated, growing uncomfortable with Iroh's uncanny ability to read her. "Iroh, is it alright if I leave now? I'll just finish sweeping and..."

"No, no," Iroh interrupted. "You go, I'll clean up. I've kept you too long already. Suki will come and find you if you are late, and from what you have told me, I do not want to be on the wrong side of such a lady."

She grinned at him. "You're right about that. I'll see you tomorrow!" And then she was gone, leaving her too-tall apron on the hook by the door so that whoever had the morning shift could wear it.

Iroh sighed.

*.*.*.*

It was winter when she next saw the fire boy. He had changed his blazer - it was now black with red trim, a small insignia stitched over the breast. It made him seem even more pale than the rich red had. The fire boy was like porcelain. Smooth, flawless, white as bone.

Katara didn't see him until she ran into him, so distracted had she been by trying to control the bags in her hands. She had gone shopping for Christmas, and it had taken much longer than planned. She had ended up buying several things, having painstakingly saved her wages, and as a result now had numerous oversized bags with considerably smaller items in them.

"Oh!" she gasped, slipping on snow in an effort to steady herself and dropping her bags so she could break her fall. She still landed with a thud, wincing. "Ow."

That was when she looked up and saw a much taller, much paler boy with a red scarf around his neck and black gloves on his hands. His gold eyes were just as gloriously lit with anger as last time, only now she was certain it was directed at her.

"Watch where you're going!" he snapped.

So that's what his voice is like, Katara thought in some corner of his mind as her face twisted and a retort came to her lips. "You could've swerved! I don't see you laden with bags!"

"You didn't see me at all!"

"Clearly!" Katara cried, unable to stop the automatic response to being talked down to. "Otherwise I would've avoided an asshole like you at all costs!"

His lips tightened, and he stalked off, footsteps crunching in the snow. Katara tried to pull herself up using the corner of the building, but her brief time on the ground had melted the snow beneath her and she slipped again, falling flat on her back. She stared up at the sky, not moving other than to cross her arms angrily.

"I was going to help you up," drawled the voice of fire boy, "But apparently you enjoy being on the ground."

Katara sat up, rubbing the back of her head where it had connected with the concrete. "Love it. It's my favourite place to be. So wonderfully wet and slushy."

He was standing in front of her again, tall and imposing in his dark clothes. The pale skin of his throat peeked out from the slash of finely-woven dark red around his neck. He extended a black-gloved hand to her.

She took it with her own blue-clad - why always blue? - hand and allowed him to pull her up, inhaling deeply as she saw her scattered shopping. "Thanks," she muttered.

"You're welcome," he said stiffly. "I apologise for my behaviour."

"That's okay," she said. "I was rude as well."

He raised an eyebrow. "Aren't you going to pick up your bags?"

"Oh!" she blushed and stooped to collect the closest of them.

He was still there when she had finished.

"I'm Li," he said, making no move to offer his hand.

"Katara," she replied. What could she have shaken his hand with anyway? Her arms were full.

His eyes flashed, then returned to normal. "Aren't you cold?" he asked.

She glanced down at her jeans and still bright-blue sweater, handed down from Suki.

"I don't get cold easy," she lied. The truth was, his gaze was warming her enough that she hadn't felt the cold in all the time they'd been talking.

His eyes narrowed as he considered this, and then he was taking off his scarf and winding it around her neck. She could smell him as he leaned in - spice and soap with a hint of musk.

"Why are you giving me your scarf?" she asked, confused.

"You work for my friend Iroh," he said. "I've seen you a few times when I stopped by to talk to him, but I didn't recognise you until you told me your name... he thinks very highly of you, and I think very highly of him."

When had he come in? She had never seen him, never noticed such a haughty figure in Iroh's relaxed shop.

"But..." as much as she did not want to give the scarf back - she could use it as a pretext of seeing him again - she felt she ought to protest. "Won't you need it?"

He flashed her a shark smile, all teeth, attention-catching but not at all friendly. "I'm hot-blooded enough to make it home."

"Oh."

He turned and began to walk away without saying goodbye. Katara watched him go, resisting the urge to gape, the scent of him - imprinted on the scarf - filling her senses.

She had her own piece of his fire, to keep her warm until he next decided to show up.

*.*.*.*

"Katara, where did you get that?" Sokka nodded towards Li's scarf. Katara had neglected to take it off indoors - it was cold enough to keep it on. The house needed to be reinsulated, but where would they get the money from? Better to wait for Sokka to buy a house of his own and beg to stay in the spare room.

"The scarf?" Katara looked down at it. Against her skin, the effect was nowhere near as dramatic as it had been against Li's. She was much darker, and instead of being in stark relief, her skin was complimented by the red, glowing golden.

She had decided that she would buy more red instead of her usual blue. A pity that her school uniform couldn't be helped. If only she went to the same school as the fire boy...

"It was a present," she found herself saying. "From one of the girls."

Sokka would not understand. At the slightest hint of a boy, he would become overly protective and ruin any chances Katara might have at happiness. Suki tried to stop him, but he wouldn't listen. As far as he was concerned, no one was good enough for his little sister.

"You weren't wearing it when you went out," Suki said, raising her eyebrows.

"I met up with Anya at the mall."

"Who's Anya?" Sokka asked through a mouthful of noodles. He loved any cooking, but he claimed he loved Suki's best.

"The one who's in love with you."

"That doesn't narrow it down."

Katara glared at him, but it was true - Sokka was popular with the girls, ever since he had grown into his lanky form. Suki was fierce enough that they never made a move on him, but that didn't stop them from hoping.

"The foreign one."

"Oh!" Suki's eyes lit up in recognition. "I remember her now. She didn't seem very nice... you're friends with her?"

"Yes," Katara lied. "She's not that bad, really..."

The next day after school, Katara changed into comfortable clothes and set off for Iroh's shop. The scarf was in her bag - she didn't know if she had the courage to wear it. What if he showed up and demanded it back? It was made of very nice fabric, after all. It must have cost a lot. It was agonizing and reassuring at the same time to know that the red garment resided inside her shoulder bag, ready to warm her in the absence of her fire boy.

It wasn't until after her shift was over and Katara considered the cold streets that she made up her mind and drew the scarf from her bag. Iroh noted the colour - he only knew of one person who wore such a rich red, three shades darker than his uniform dictated.

"Katara, what a lovely scarf!" he proclaimed, moving closer to examine it. There, in the corner - a tiny crest stitched, almost the same colour as the rest of the scarf. "Where did you get it? It looks warm."

Her cheeks darkened. "I'm borrowing it from someone. I think."

"Who?"

"Li." Katara fiddled with the soft fabric. "He said he knows you."

"I know Li," Iroh said thoughtfully. "He is a nice young man. I did not know he was so generous."

The night outside was dark, and Katara immediately wished she'd taken Iroh up on his offer to escort her home, but she didn't want him seeing the street she lived in. Iroh, for all his kindness, was from a much better neighborhood than hers, and still was in a richer area even now he served tea. She shivered and adjusted her clothing, thankful for Suki's kindness in letting her borrow a fleece-lined jacket. Through her worn gloves - she had been too busy saving for Christmas to buy a decent pair - her hands were slowly going numb. She shoved them in her pockets.

Sokka would kill her if he knew that she was walking home alone. She told him that Iroh saw her to the end of the street. Perhaps Suki knew the truth - Suki was very perceptive, after all - but her brother's girlfriend had the sense not to bring it up. The siblings were both very stubborn, especially when locked in combat with each other. Katara knew self defense, anyway, and carried a cellphone at all times.

Perhaps, if Suki did indeed know, she should have told Sokka, because tonight was the night that Katara's luck would run out.

There were two of them, footsteps crunching in snow and litter. She sped up and so did they. She crossed the street and they followed. Katara was beginning to worry. One man she could probably defend herself from. Two? She simply wasn't strong enough.

They caught up with her, one grabbing her shoulders. She ducked and whirled, slamming her elbow into his gut and attempting to escape. The second man - taller, thicker arms - was waiting to grab her. She whipped her elbow back to connect with his face, but he was too tall and before she could change her tactic the first man had grabbed her arms.

That was when she began to scream.

"Shut up!" shouted the first man. "If you want to live, shut up!"

Katara didn't care about living. Better to be dead than alive when these men did what they undoubtedly intended.

How arrogant she had been, how naíve! Believing in her ability to the extent that she thought to walk the streets at night, in the winter when everyone was tucked up and wouldn't hear her calling for help.

The first man drew a knife from his pocket, unzipped her jacket and grabbed her shirt, tearing and hacking at the fabric until it was in tatters and her bra showed, black against gold. Then he cut that too, and he cut Katara in the process, her struggles stilling momentarily at that. Her breasts were exposed to the man, who tucked away the knife and squeezed them so hard that she cried out in pain.

Better to be dead...

She screamed again. She didn't know how many screams she had left. Her throat already felt raw.

This was not how she had pictured her first time - barely hidden from the glow of a streetlight, in a crummy neighborhood she only walked through as a shortcut when it was cold, forced into things by two men who were holding her down.

The first man was reaching to yank down her skirt and tights when there was a thumping sound and the man fell forward, knocking the breath out of her as he collided with her chest. He tumbled to the ground and the second man shoved her away, looking around for whoever attacked his accomplice. Katara could care less. She fell to her knees, shivering and whimpering.

A hand appeared in her vision and she flinched back from it, falling over and curling up into a ball.

"It's okay," someone said. "They're unconscious. Are you hurt?"

Not in a way anyone can fix, Katara thought, but she couldn't force the words past her lips.

The stranger swore. "Katara, I'm going to help you up, okay?"

It wasn't, but she didn't resist when she was pulled up and supported by whoever it was. They guided her to a ledge on the nearest building and hands zipped up her fleece, covering her bareness.

"Would you like to go home, Katara?"

Home. Home meant having to pretend this didn't happen or else Sokka would never let her out of his sight again. And she never wanted anyone to know what happened. She never wanted to relive this. Ever.

Katara shook her head.

"Would you like some coffee?"

Coffee. Warm, with lots of sugar, to chase away the chill that was sucking the energy from her soul. She nodded.

"Okay then. I'm just going to wrap my arm around your waist in case you fall and hurt yourself. Your arm goes around my middle like this, see? Now you don't have to walk with all your weight."

She thought, as they headed into the nearest shopping district, that they must seem like a couple. A twisted parody of what two people in love looked like.

The interior of Starbucks was hell. At least the line was small. Thank god for small mercies. Her saviour ordered coffee, grabbed a handful of sugar sachets, and led her out into the darkness again. They ended up in the alleyway beside the store. It was heavily graffitied, but thankfully smelled only of damp and cold. He handed her all of the sachets and slid down until he was sitting on the ground. The snow hadn't reached here. Katara mimicked him and sat staring at the opposite wall, trying to find the bricks behind the sprayed paint and grime. Her coffee sat between the two of them.

Her fingers shredded the first sachet. She watched as the crystals fell to the ground and merged with the damp.

She shredded another one.

"Stop that," he snapped as she went to destroy the fifth and final one. "It's irritating."

She had already torn the packaging. His voice had made her jump, spilling the sugar over herself.

He sighed and picked up her coffee, pressing it into her hands. "Drink it. You need something warm."

Warm. Like the scarf Li had given her.

Like the scarf she had somehow lost.

It was suddenly very important that she get that scarf back

"I lost my scarf," she told him.

"Actually, it was my scarf."

She didn't understand for a moment, but then she did and she wished she could go back to not knowing. The fire boy had seen her... had seen what was happening...

He waited patiently.

"Li?" she asked, uncertainly, hoping it would be wrong.

"Zuko," he corrected. "Li's a fake name. I use it... when I want to be someone else."

Why would he want to be someone else?

"I'm sorry about the scarf," she said quietly.

"It's okay. I have other scarves."

She took her first sip of coffee. It went slowly down into her stomach, warmth spreading into her numb limbs. Zuko was a very distinctive name. She had only ever heard of one other Zuko.

"You're Iroh's nephew."

"Yes. You work in his shop."

She glanced his way for the first time, surprised. "You've been to the Dragon when I was working?" Surely, she would have seen him?

"Once," he replied. "I like being around Uncle. I can relax. Until he starts being wise."

"It makes you uncomfortable."

"Yes."

She smiled humourlessly. "Me too, sometimes. He tries to tell me that I should never have changed how I look or anything."

Zuko crumpled his cup and threw it into a trashcan about three metres away. It sailed in with room on all sides. "He dislikes people hiding behind themselves. Why, how were you before?"

"Different," was all she said in reply.

There was silence for a long time after that. Katara sipped her coffee and snuck glances at Zuko, whose hood had fallen back. His profile was lit in the dim glow filtering through from the streets. He appeared to be staring at the wall opposite them. When she finished her coffee, she handed the cup to him and nodded towards the can. His mouth curled and he threw, again with accuracy. The tips of her mouth tilted upwards too.

Katara looked down at herself. How would she get past Sokka and Suki with clothes like this?

"I'm going to be in trouble," she said.

"From who?"

"My brother, Sokka."

He tilted his head towards her. "Sokka?"

"He's a weapons expert. He'll probably try and track them down."

Zuko laughed, a short, sharp bark that rang in the quiet. "I know Sokka. I've fought him a few times."

She frowned. "Why?"

"Stupid reasons. I don't know, really."

Katara stood, looking down on his black hair and pale skin, darker where his scar swiped through it, and his long legs stretched out in front of him.

He was gazing up at her too. Waiting again.

"I want to go home," she said.

"I'll walk you."

"You don't have to."

"Katara." He stood as well, much taller than her. "Do you really think I would let you walk home by yourself after what happened?"

She was glad he had said that, because she didn't want to walk home alone, today or ever again.

They didn't talk when they walked through the streets. He noticed her shivering and wordlessly handed her the scarf he had been wearing. This one was black, she thought, although she couldn't be sure, because it might be very dark red in the poor lighting. She wrapped it around her neck, burying her hands in the extra length that hung down after she was swaddled. It was beautifully soft, unlike the heavy, scratchy scarves that her grandmother knitted.

She stopped him down the street from where she lived. If Sokka saw him, things would be worse. She handed him back his scarf. He took it for a moment, staring down at it, then draped it carefully on her again.

"Keep it," he said.

She frowned. "I don't take charity."

"It's not charity."

"Then what is it?"

"An excuse for me to walk you home next time you have work."

And then he turned and walked away, just like that. She fingered the soft fabric, inhaling once more the scent of Zuko. It was almost too much, because how can one night be so good and so terrible in the space of a few hours?

*.*.*.*

He was waiting outside the Jasmine Dragon when she finished her next shift. She stopped short for a moment, surprised that he had come. He was facing the street, leaning against the wall. His posture was relaxed. It was truly as though he didn't feel the cold.

And then he turned and saw her, and his mouth quirked at the corners. She smiled back, moving towards him.

"I didn't think you would be here," she admitted as they began to walk. She was mimicking his hands-in-pockets stance, mostly so she wouldn't worry the fabric of the black - it had been black after all - scarf and seem nervous.

"I keep my promises."

She glanced sideways at him. "You didn't promise, though."

"Didn't I?"

"No."

"Well, I promise to walk you home whenever I can."

She smiled again. "Are you in the habit of adopting strays?"

He met her gaze and shrugged. "You're no more of a stray than I am. I'd rather be here than listening to the idiots who want to run my life for me."

And so, with one exception, he walked her home every time she had work during the following months. Sometimes they talked, sometimes they trudged in silence - it didn't matter to Katara whether they filled the gaps with idle chatter, and it obviously didn't matter to Zuko. She learned that some days, he would be in a bad mood and snap at her and they would get into fights. But he still went with her to the end of her street, whether they were angry or not. And he came back again the next time.

She asked once why he wasted time walking her home when he was in his last year of school and he should be studying or doing something that busy senior students seemed to do. He had looked at her as if she were the sludge underfoot and told her never to talk about his responsibilities again. So she didn't. He had apologised a few days later, but she sensed that it was a sore subject for him. Perhaps, like Iroh thought, Zuko was scared of doing things wrong so he did nothing at all.

Sokka never saw them together. Suki did, several times, but decided that because Katara had been so happy lately, so much more like the old Katara before the makeup and haircut, she would keep her mouth shut and let it happen.

Time went by. Katara let her hair grow and wore only the barest hint of mascara, spurred on by Zuko's opinion that her short cut and dark-rimmed eyes made her seem to much like anyone else, which was ridiculous to him because he knew she was different to the others.

And so it went on, until one day Katara arrived to find the Dragon closed. She used the spare key Iroh had given her for emergencies and let herself in the back door.

"Hello?" she called. "Iroh?"

She thought perhaps the place was empty, until she heard footsteps and turned to see Zuko coming down the stairs from the apartment atop the tea shop. He seemed surprised to see her.

"Katara? What are you doing here?"

"I thought I had work," she replied, feeling stupid. "Obviously not."

"Uncle's sick," Zuko said by way of explanation. "He'll be fine in a few days."

"Oh." She didn't really want to go home. Her job wasn't just about money. It gave her time to unwind and prepare herself for home, where Sokka and Suki were tired and in a completely different stage of life than her. She never felt like a child at work, a feeling that always lasted until Zuko bid her farewell at the end of the street. "Should I... I'll... go?"

He watched her fumble her words and move towards the door.

"Katara," he said, right as her hand landed on the doorknob.

She turned, eyes questioning.

"I'm not very good at making tea."

Katara blinked at him. "Pardon?"

"I'm not very good at making tea," he repeated. "Could you... help me make Uncle something to drink?"

"Oh." Katara dropped her hands and walked past Zuko into the kitchen. The hallway was narrow and she had to turn slightly to get by because he didn't move one millimetre. Once inside, she turned and found that he was right behind her, towering over her again. "Um... what kind of sick is he?"

"He has the flu."

"Alright." She went to a cupboard and pulled out a few jars of tea leaves. Iroh had taught her his way of making his own blends, and what was best for taste and ailments alike. Zuko placed a teapot in front of her, leaning against the bench to watch her work. She tried not to focus on him. It was easy to be around him when they were walking and the whole world was happening around them, but here it seemed that they were alone. It made a difference, somehow.

She finished and put the lid on the pot for it to steep for a few minutes.

"I can't believe you don't know how to make tea," she said, smiling at him.

"I know how to make it!" he protested, straightening. "I'm just not very good at it. Not like Uncle."

"No one makes tea like Iroh," Katara agreed.

Awkward silence fell for a few moments.

"I like your hair," he said abruptly.

She touched it reflexively.

"It's longer," he elaborated unnecessarily.

"I haven't cut it."

"I can see."

She dropped her sight from his eyes, the gold eyes that always had intensity whether he was teasing or angry, and focused instead on the white flesh of his throat. "I think the tea should be alright for Iroh now."

"Oh." He reached up and grabbed a tray. Katara busied herself retrieving a teacup. They assembled the arrangement and Zuko took the tray, his mouth curling in his not-quite-smile. He disappeared into the hallway. Katara listened for his footsteps on the stairs, then sighed and left herself, shutting the back door carefully behind her.

She was barely halfway down the street when she heard someone calling her name. She looked back and saw Zuko jogging towards her.

"Was the tea okay?" she asked anxiously when he stopped in front of her.

"Yes. Uh, that's why I came out here. To thank you." He was talking to the left of her. "For helping me and Uncle."

"You've both helped me," Katara said. "All I did was make a pot of tea. I'd be doing that anyway if he wasn't sick."

"Oh. Yeah."

Katara hesitated before speaking again. "Zuko?"

"Yes?"

She focused again on his throat. "What if your uncle needs more tea?"

He looked confused. "What?"

She repeated her question.

"I suppose I'll just..." he began, then his eyes widened a little as he realised what she was asking. "Oh! I guess I'll need your help again."

"I could stay as long as I usually do," she offered. "Just in case."

"Just in case," he agreed.

For the next few days, until Iroh recovered, Katara made tea for him and sat at a table with Zuko for hours, until she knew she had to go home. Iroh, hoping something would come of it, pretended to be sick for a whole extra day after he recovered, just to give them more time.

A week later, Zuko's hand found Katara's as they were walking.

*.*.*.*

Summer came, and suddenly the city was heavy with heat and everyone seemed irritable and tired except for Zuko, who confessed he loved the heat, and Iroh, who thrived in it. School ended without incident. Katara's skin darkened under the sun, and she resorted to braiding her hair back to keep it off her face and neck in the sticky weather. Sokka and Suki continued to work, so she was free to do as she pleased.

Zuko invited her to the beach.

It was crowded with volleyball nets every so often and stretchers everywhere. Katara led Zuko to the water, diving under without waiting for him. He loved heat, she loved water. Summer was the most complimentary season for them.

He laughed at her when she emerged.

"What?" she demanded, embarrassed without even knowing why.

"Your hair is all messed up," he explained.

She felt it. It seemed sleek to her. She frowned and opened her mouth to ask where it was mussed. That was when he lunged at her, toppling them both into the water. They wrestled, coming up for air and dunking each other, spluttering and choking. She felt his hands in her hair, messing it for real. They emerged, clinging to each other for balance. She tried to get revenge by scrunching up his hair, but he forced her wrists down and clamped his arms around her, effectively restraining her.

She tried to scowl, but it came out as more of a grin. "Let go, Zuko!"

"Okay," he agreed, dropping his arms. She moved back, wary of him. He stepped forward as she stepped back, and his strides were longer, so he stayed very close. She kept stepping, but he was herding her away from shore and she stopped when the water was at chest height.

And then he kissed her.

It was like coffee. Warmth pooled in her stomach and spread through her body. He slid his arms around her waist and she wrapped hers around his. She had expected fire, expected to be consumed alive. But, she realised, this slow heat was much more like summer. Like Zuko.

The fiery kisses came later.