Time for some more unashamed crack. This oneshot contains copious amounts of silliness. Don't say I didn't warn you.
Responsibility
By Advocaat
oO0Oo
So, I'm drunk. Unintentionally drunk, mind you, but drunk all the same. Like, there was the bottle, and I was thirsty, and how could I be expected to know that there was alcohol in it. I mean, that's silly. Who keeps something like that at a vacation home?
Don't answer that.
The point is, I didn't know what was in the bottle. I had absolutely no idea that the caramel colored liquid inside was alcoholic. Even if it did smell funny.
And boozy.
Alright, so maybe I did know what it was. So what? I was curious. It's not like I make a habit of getting into things that I shouldn't. Because I don't. I'm responsible.
The responsible-est.
Remember when Aang wanted to throw that dance party for all those overly-sheltered Fire Nation kids? I opposed that. Because having an illegal dance party in a cave is irresponsible. And I'm responsible. And remember when Sokka didn't want to put up the tarp over the tent because it clearly wasn't going to rain? I argued against him. Because I'm responsible. And who was the one who was against her friends swindling swindlers back in that Fire Nation town with the ridiculously huge, fire-vomiting statue of Fire Lord Assface in the square? Me. Because I am responsible.
I think it's fairly well established now that I'm the responsible one. The sensible one. The killer of joy. The pooper of parties. Enemy of all things fun and dangerous. I know that. Sokka knows that. Hell, Momo knows that. It's who I am.
And I'm sick of it.
Can you really blame me for wanting to let loose and do something irresponsible for once? Haven't I earned it?
Finding the liquor cabinet wasn't hard. It's always the uppermost cabinet in the kitchen; well out of reach of curious little hands. Plus, it was locked; always a sure sign that booty lieth within. Not that a crummy piece of metal could stop me.
Fun fact: When water freezes, it expands. (Interestingly, water is actually at its most dense just shy of its freezing point, but that is neither here nor there). Suffice to say, that lock cracked like a coconut against Sokka's skull.
I felt a little guilty at first. I mean, technically I was stealing, even if it was highly unlikely that Zuko would mind me helping myself to his crazy, homicidal dad's booze bench. Then I remembered that Zuko's dad was crazy and homicidal and I didn't feel so bad.
I stole up to my room with the first bottle I saw, not even bothering to grab a cup—if I was going to do this, I was going to do it hardcore—, where I then proceeded to take a long swig of the stuff. And promptly doubled over in agony. Look, nobody warned me that liquor burns like a mother-. All I can say is that Fire Lord Craphappy has an esophagus of fortified iron. Ain't no other way that stuff is going down.
Eventually, after much gagging and hacking, I learned to sip, and the whole drinking thing went a heckuva lot smoother. The thing about drinking, however, is that like misery, it loves company. Against my better judgement (which is every bit as impaired by alcohol as they tell you it is), I left my room to see what my friends were up to.
And by 'see what my friends were up to', I mean literally see what they were up to. Without them seeing me. Come on, I wasn't that far gone. I knew what would happen if any of them saw me like this.
The trip to the living room went smoothly. I even managed to walk in a straight line for most of it. (Take that, vertigo!) My friends were all in there, sitting around the tea table. Were they having a pow-wow? Why didn't anybody think to invite me?
Oh yeah. Because I'm a fun ruiner.
Anyway, they were all gathered around the low table discussing something in soft voices. Something that I clearly wasn't meant to hear. Why else would they bother being quiet about it? Not that lowering their voices could keep a great snooper like myself from finding a way to eavesdrop on their clandestine conversation.
It wasn't all that hard, actually. They must've been pretty confident that I was safely elsewhere, because while their voices were low, I could hear them just fine from behind the wall that separated the living room from the kitchen. As I suspected, they were talking about me.
"I could try talking to her," Suki was suggesting when I arrived.
"Just give her some space," Sokka had replied. "She'll sort whatever's bothering her out on her own."
Apparently they thought something was bothering me. I'll tell you what's bothering me, Sokka. Your rank socks. Seriously, man. Laundry. Try it sometime.
"I don't know, Sokka," Aang had chimed in. "She seems sort of... you know, depressed. Maybe talking to her would be a good thing."
Me? Depressed? Psh. I'm the jolliest farmer on the ranch. What could I possibly have to be depressed about? Besides Sozin's encroaching space-rock of fiery death, I mean. We're all a little depressed about that. Well, Zuko might be okay with it. He's a firebender, after all. Firebenders are all about fiery death.
Speaking of Zuko, he seemed to have buggered off somewhere without my noticing. Slippery bastard. Look, just because I forgave him doesn't mean I can't keep calling him names in my head. Besides, it's not like he doesn't deserve most of them.
Case in point, I'm standing here against the wall, listening in all sneakily, and all of a sudden I hear his voice say my name from directly behind me. Son of a whore! (Okay, maybe he doesn't deserve that one. I'm sure his mother is—was—a very nice lady. If anybody's a whore, it's probably him. Have you seen Zuko? That body is one hundred percent panty-dropping man-whore. Not that I want to drop my panties around him. Because I don't. My panties are as iron-fortified as Ozai's esophagus.)
So there he was, behind me, and I'm ashamed to admit that I jumped out of my skin. Well, not literally out of my skin. Ew. But he sure startled me. I whipped around to face him (and tell him off for scaring me) and I saw his face scrunch up in disapproval.
"Katara, you've been drinking," he accused, frowning at me frownily. It's a word. Shut up.
"No I haven't," I denied immediately.
Zuko's gaze traveled pointedly down to my hand, and I realized belatedly that I'd brought my bottle with me. Oops.
"Well, you're a whore," I argued intelligently.
This is the part where Zuko would normally get all flustered and adamantly deny his status as team man-slut, but to my surprise, he only raised his one eyebrow—does having only one eyebrow count as having a monobrow?—at me and said, "You're drunk."
Like I don't know that. Somebody give Captain Obvious a cookie.
I was about to open my mouth and say something sassy about his father's bedroom company, but then he reached out and snagged the bottle from me. Seriously. Right out of my hands. I mean, I know it was his in the first place, or his father's, rather, but still. The nerve. I'm telling you.
"What gives, Zuko? Give it back!" I protested, taking an embarrassingly clumsy swipe at the hand holding the bottle. I missed and stumbled forward a few steps before catching myself. It turns out alcohol impairs coordination even more than judgement. I knew that, of course, but it's an entirely different thing to actually experience it.
The others must've heard me, because I heard Sokka call, "Katara, is that you?"
No, Sokka, it's Suki. Of course it's me. What other girls are there occupying this beach house that aren't currently in the same room with you? I mean besides the oceans of floozies Zuko has probably attracted with his studly man breasts. I bet he keeps them hidden in cupboards around the house. Whore.
"Oh hey, Sokka," I called back. "Finally gonna invite me to join your pow—"
"We were just leaving," Zuko spoke over me, hastily steering me away from the living room with a hand on my lower back. "Katara's feeling a bit tired."
"I'll show you tired if your hand comes any closer to my butt," I objected, perhaps a tad loudly, as Zuko pushed me toward the stairs. "Your man-breasts won't work on me. My panties are solid steel."
I heard Zuko stumble a bit behind me, but I didn't turn around to look at him.
Before I knew it, I was back in my room and Zuko was shutting the door firmly behind us.
"Are you going to give me back my bottle now?" I inquired grumpily, crossing my arms for good measure.
Zuko ignored me. "What's going on, Katara?" he asked without preamble. "I've never seen you act this way before."
I rolled my eyes. "I'm drunk," I reminded him.
Zuko sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. A habit of his, I've noticed, when he's feeling exasperated.
"I mean why are you drinking in the first place?" he clarified. "It's just, it's so..."
"Irresponsible?" I finished for him.
"Not like you," he corrected.
"Oh, and I suppose you know me so well," I said petulantly.
"Well enough to know that you know better," he replied, crossing his own arms. "And you're right. It is irresponsible."
"Well maybe I'm tired of being responsible!" The admission burst out of me suddenly, surprising both of us. Now that I'd said it, though, I found my feelings pouring out easily in its wake. "I'm sick of being the high strung, un-fun one. I don't want to be everyone's mother. I want to be wild and foolish and irresponsible. If I'm going to die in a month, I want to go out acting like a teenager, not a parent."
Zuko looked taken aback. "That's what this is about?" He sounded incredulous. "You think you're not fun?"
It occurred to me then that talking to Zuko, of all people, about being un-fun was probably useless. If there's anybody in the world more un-fun than me, it's him. He might be a whore with cabinetfuls of floozies, but he doesn't have a funny bone in his body.
Okay, that's not entirely true. He can be facetious like nobody's business. But that doesn't count, because he's not actually trying to be funny.
"I know I'm not fun," I corrected him. "I mean, I used to be. I used to be impulsive and adventurous and willing to do all kinds of crazy and dangerous things; like exploring old, off-limits Fire Nation ships and stealing from pirates; but I can't now. Because if I'm not responsible, who will be?"
Zuko's eyes softened, either out of understanding or pity, and for his sake, I hope it was the former.
"Katara, you know you're not alone, right? It's not just you and Aang and Sokka and Toph anymore. You have Suki. She's responsible. And, well... you have me, too." He looked a mix of hopeful and uncomfortable as he said the last bit, and my often uncontrollable touchy-feely womanly tendencies must've been set to high by the booze, because I felt a wash of affection for him that prompted me to attempt to give him a hug. I say attempt, because I tripped over my own feet and ended up tumbling to the floor instead.
Zuko obviously thought I'd been making a lunge for the bottle again, because he held it further out of my reach and said, "Whatever you're feeling, drinking isn't the answer. Do you honestly think that pounding down alcohol is going to make you seem more fun?"
"I didn't pound it down. I sipped," I corrected from the floor. Jeez, Zuko, You could at least help me up before laying into me.
I heard the bottle being set down on a wooden surface—probably the very top of my bookshelf—and then he was hoisting me up by the armpits and depositing me on my bed. Rawr. I wonder if this is how he treats all of his floozies. No wonder they flock to him.
"Floozies?" he asked, bewildered.
Oh, did I say that out loud? Whoops.
"Never mind," I said, snuggling my head into my pillow. (Fun fact #2: Alcohol is a depressant. Apparently it makes you all the more tired when in the presence of beds.) Zuko must've noticed that I was beginning to fade, because he tugged the covers out from under me and laid them across me, tucking in the sides in such a way that I'm certain I looked like some variety of mutant caterpillar-worm. Sexy.
On the bright side, when Zuko was leaning over me to tuck me in, I got a good peak down his shirt to his well-muscled chest. Mmmm. For the record, his collarbones are also quite nice.
"I'm going to go get you some water," he announced as he pulled away. "Don't move."
Like I could. He'd wrapped me like a mental patient.
Zuko headed for the door, grabbing the bottle on the way out—I was right, he had stashed it on top of my bookcase—and I watched him leave with half lidded eyes. I thought about what he'd said; about me not being alone anymore; and I smiled as I closed my eyes fully.
I don't remember Zuko coming back in, but when I awoke the next morning, there was a full cup of water sitting on my bedside table. The wave of affection I'd felt the night before returned as I recalled Zuko's assurance that he and Suki would support me. Really, I couldn't ask for better friends. The wave of affection was, unfortunately, followed by a wave of nausea, but as I ran for the bathroom, I felt happier than I had in months.
Until I started puking my brains out, of course. But when Zuko appeared to hold back my hair back for me, I figured there were worse things than being the responsible one.
So this was OOC and mostly pointless, but I hope you enjoyed it anyway.
I know I ought to be working on the next chapter of The Confrontational Approach, and believe me, I am, but this silly thing hijacked my brain and refused to let go. Look, the muse gets what the muse wants, okay? I'm powerless. Plus, with all the seriousness going on in TCA at the moment, I needed a little humor to rejuvenate me.
Katara's voice in this was heavily inspired by Yuffie's in the fanfic The Ballad of the Gunslinger and the Cat by TheVulpineHero1. Go read his work. Seriously. It's fantastic.
If you have a minute, drop a review and tell me what you think. I love hearing from you.
Ciao!