a/n: Okay, I couldn't help myself. I had to jump on the Painted Lady/Blue Spirit bandwagon.
But this one... this is a little different.
I decided to write this in Onji's point of view, since I thought that would make it more interesting.
Of course, this is zutara, but it's aanji if you squint. :D
- - -
It was raining when Onji saw them.
The figure of a man in a mask was chasing the shadow of a woman down the deserted street.
It was well past curfew, and the young girl was pretty sure she was starting to catch cold, but the scene was just too intriguing to ignore. So Onji tore off after them, not even bothering to keep quiet – the pair was racing (dancing, like the boy with the headband) far ahead of her.
Her feet hit the wet cobblestone in rhythm with the raindrops, determined to catch up to this mysterious couple cloaked in the sort of darkness fire could not penetrate. She ran past houses and markets and citizens who were sleeping as they were supposed to. She darted in between rules and regulations and the fine lines that wound the city together. (And for a moment, she could fly.)
But as the man grabbed the woman's arm, spinning her around to face him, Onji crashed down to earth again.
"Wait, I know you!" Stage whisper, don't wake the guards.
A beautiful face obscured by a veil panicked – though the man and Onji could not see. "Of course you do. I am the spirit of –"
"Don't give me that." His voice was thick with the color red, despite the cool blue of his mask. "You're as much of a spirit as I am. Now tell me who you are."
The lady flinched, but struggled to free herself from his grip – Onji could now tell that he had both of her wrists caught between his fingers – to no avail. The masked man was stronger, and did not move.
No words were spoken for several moments, and the small Fire Nation girl with a taste for rebellion stood silently with bated breath as the blue not-spirit leaned in closer to the painted woman, who attempted to pull away.
The man slowly dropped her hands.
"Katara?"
The woman froze; he must have been right. She did not move as he pulled off her hat (almost gently) and tossed it to the ground near Onji's hiding spot (so close she could almost touch it).
The woman, younger than Onji had originally thought, stared at the carved face in front of her with eyes (blue, from the nation that the spying girl had always wanted to visit, but couldn't) that swam with fury and sorrow and longing so intense, that it all fell to her cheeks in tears. Of course, it could have been the rain.
"Zuko."
Onji stifled a gasp. No. Zuko? Prince Zuko? It couldn't be! How could she tell, if he was wearing a –
The mask clattered to the stones below, revealing a young man with much more emotion on his face than Onji had ever seen.
I'm sorry.
The words poured from his mouth in a river of fire.
I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.
He said it a thousand times in a single phrase.
Forgive me.
The woman (girl) named Katara raised her hand, and for a second Onji thought that she was going to slap him. Instead, her fingertips met the skin of his scar, and Prince Zuko closed his eyes.
"If I had healed it," she began, her voice unsteady, "what do you suppose would have happened?" Her thumb softly grazed his lower lip (an act so pure that it made Onji want to cry); "Would things be different than they are now?"
Zuko's eyes opened slowly, this time full to the brim with an emotion that the hidden girl could not identify. He took her hand into his own, and then backed away, the pads of their fingers holding on until the last possible moment, until they dropped to their sides. He bent down to pick up his discarded alias, hesitating before putting it on, as if he had forgotten how.
Zuko (the Blue Spirit) paused for a beat, holding back his answer.
"There's no way of knowing, is there?"
He said it softly, as if pained, and walked back the way he came.
Leaving Onji alone with Katara (the Painted Lady) and the secrets (the questions) that the three of them shared.
- x -
The day after, Onji wore her school sash as a headband.
"To mock the system!"
"To stand out!"
No.
She wore it to conceal a small part of her identity, and in turn, reveal a much truer side that no one had chosen to notice. To recognize the masked man and the healing woman.
(And also, to remember the gray-eyed boy, who she suspected had secrets of his own)