Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters on Avatar: The Last Airbender – I am simply playing with them. I make no money from this.

Au Note: Iroh is Fire Lord instead of Zuko.

Katara's footsteps were resounding in the empty corridor – but not so loud that she slowed her steps to that of a lady's. She was a warrior of the Fire Lord himself: that status gave her every right to walk as a man would.

"Your footsteps are deafening; practically vulgar," a voice said. Katara turned to look, already knowing who spoke. Zuko, leaning his shoulder against the wall, stared at her. "Is there something the matter?"

She wanted to hit him. Not to seriously injure – just to get away without hearing another word from his cocky voice. As the Prince – and without even the smallest threat of the revocation of that title – Zuko had fallen back into his old attitude. In the Palace, at least. Outside, he was the friend she knew and loved as she loved her own brother. But here, they were enemies of a sort, and they both fell into the practice the moment the Palace doors slammed shut behind them. "No," she said, turning and walking away from him.

He wasn't so easily deterred. "Are you going to ask my Uncle for another assignment?"

Katara sighed, but didn't answer. To say yes would be truthful, but would bring on a torrent of ridicule. And she would not lie to him. It is the one thing Zuko would not forgive – even after they were away from the walls that sent him spiraling away from himself.

So, rather than risk it, she jogged away, her feet light and easy. She acted as a lady – lifting her silk skirts and loping almost silently. But her face was the mask of a man's. She was angry, and wanted nothing more than to escape. Zuko yelled something after her, but she didn't hear him – didn't want to hear him.

When she reached the gold-plated door to the dining hall, Katara paused. There were two men in full armor guarding the doors, but they didn't look at her. Catching her breath, she pushed the doors open, and stormed inside.

"If I have to –!" she started, but stopped. Iroh was not alone. In fact, he was the furthest from alone as she had seen him in a long time. He did not often invite company into his private dining room – Katara was surprised to find every available seat filled with a thick, wobbly body. Nobles, she thought, bowing at the waist. A woman gasped, and she remembered. Not a man. She almost ducked out past the guards, possibly thwacking one for not warning her. Their silent laughter was nearly tangible behind her.

"I'm sorry, my Lord," she said, staying low. She went down onto one knee, thinking that it was – possibly – better than standing like a warrior. She was a woman, and few knew of her actual status in the Palace. Especially not the air-headed nobles that forced themselves upon Iroh in such an unworthy manner. "I did not realize you had company."

When she looked up, Iroh was scowling. Not at her, but at the men and women crowded around him. He wiggled his fingers so she would come to him. Pulling her closer with a hand wrapped around her wrist, he whispered into her ear. "Trust me, child, this was not my idea. If I could get rid of them, I would. And I will within the hour. Can you return then?"

Katara nodded, but did not speak. Many of the women around the table were staring, gossip already sparkling in their eyes.

"Do not fear, Katara," he said; "I have an assignment for you and my Nephew. Bring him with you, if you could."

Again, she nodded, before pulling away. Patting his shoulder, she excused herself with a little curtsy to Iroh and the table as a whole. Several men stood, feeling, she thought, their inferiority to her.

Leaving the room, Katara returned to her quarters. Inside, the walls were painted red, and the furniture was bare and blank. She rarely unpacked her bags inside the Palace. If she did, it was only to create the appearance of stability to visiting family. Like Sokka or her father, though she believed Sokka knew her restlessness within the cage-like walls of the Palace; he never stayed for long.

Zuko didn't bother her again while she lay on her bed and counted the stars that she had painted the day she was given the room on the ceiling above. There were seventy-four of them – the same age as her Gran had been. Every year she would add another before she went to the South Pole to visit. It would be a few more months.

She had been in the Palace for nearly a year – though most of it was spent travelling great distances to fulfill any of Iroh's orders. She was to protect a village here, and fetch an orphan child there. Zuko always by her side.

Iroh did not send them together for any reason besides one – and it was one that she understood and agreed with. When she and Zuko were together, they did not make the same number of rash decisions. They argued through the kinks in their plans, and fought until the idea was perfect. They were never afraid to point out a flaw or an opening for an enemy. It could be painful, but they were honest, and they trusted one another with their lives. Iroh trusted that, together, they would always return to him.

An hour later, Katara stood and left the room, uncaring that the back of her gown was wrinkled like the waves on a windy sea. Zuko was sitting on the floor outside, and looked at her when she came out. "Iroh wants to us both," she said; "We have a new assignment."

Zuko nodded and stood. They walked in silence, side-by-side, back down to the dining room. Katara didn't question his quietness. She hoped he chose silence out of kindness, though she doubted it. There was an ulterior motive – or a cruel thought. One that, she thought, she didn't want to know.

Iroh was alone when Katara pushed the doors open a second time that morning. His face was red, and the plates that had once been surrounded in men and women were still covered in food, as if they had left in a hurry. "What did you do?" Zuko asked, poking a half-eaten chicken leg. "Make the guards escort them out?"

Katara raised an eyebrow and Iroh glared at him. Iroh didn't like Zuko's attitude-change any more than she did. But the glare vanished quickly, and he rubbed at his temples. "Nearly," he said; "I'll be feeling the wrath of this morning for a long time."

Moving toward him, Katara leaned against his shoulder. She didn't speak any consoling words, because she didn't honestly care. She didn't like his discomfort, but she wanted to know her next assignment. She couldn't stay in the Palace for another entire day. It had been so long – they'd been sitting around for two weeks without a single word. Even Zuko was becoming anxious.

Iroh stood and began piling the plates. The servants would arrive in a few minutes, after Iroh had calmed some. But, before they could, he would do some of the work. He always did. "I know my political problems bore you," he said, smiling at Katara; "You've come for your next assignment."

Reaching into his robe pocket, Iroh pulled out two scrolls. It was regular protocol. The walls had ears in this palace – usually they were servants' ears, but occasionally nobles, guards, or officials would hear their conversations. And those were not the people one wanted to share their secrets with. "No questions asked," he said, and turned away from them. He went into the kitchen, disappearing from sight.

Zuko unrolled his. "We leave at dusk," he said, before rerolling it, shoving it into his robe, and following behind Iroh. Katara wouldn't open hers until they were safely travelling. She was a woman, and if anyone knew Iroh sent her off to fight where trained soldiers could not, there would be an uprising.

Katara was ready hours before the boat was set to leave, so when it finally lowered the gangplank, she was half-way up it before she remembered to say farewell to her Fire Lord; her friend; her uncle.

Wrapping her arms around him, she whispered; "I love you, Uncle. I promise we will return safely."

"Do not make a promise you can not control the outcome of, my dear," he said, squeezing her tightly. "But I will still hold you to it. Return to me, and I will be here."

With those words as their goodbye, Katara jogged up the plank and across the deck. She dropped her things in the tiny, bunk-stuffed room and grunted with happiness. She was finally leaving the Fire Nation capital. After two weeks – one of their longer stays – she was off. Toward what, she didn't know. She patted her belt, where she held the scroll and her water pouch. Both were still readily available. Nothing stolen on the dangerous docks. Good.

The bunk room that Katara would sleep in was little comfort on the rocking ship – she felt imprisoned, though she knew escape was quick and easy for her. If they sunk, she would be the only survivor. Her bending would save her – the water would bring her to shore, and would leave her with only guilt and sadness as company forever.

So, rather than lay on her bed with worry and fear as her secret companions, she escaped to the quietest part of the deck. Behind the captain's platform, where no windows looked out upon her, and very few others frequented, she lay down on the cold metal.

Iroh's scroll bumped against her hip, reminding her of the duty that left her in such a compromising state. She pulled it away, and held it up against the sunlight. It was small – smaller than usual. Few words would be scrawled inside, and Katara was sure Zuko had already spoken most of them.

Sighing, she unrolled it, and read:

On Jang Hui island, a boy-child is dying. Save him.

- Fire Lord Iroh

There was a little surprise in this message. Iroh had sent them on missions like this before – but more information usually accompanied it. A name; a description of the village or family; sometimes even the name of the sickness, and how to cure it. But never had he sent them somewhere so blind. She didn't so much as know the age of the child – was he a baby, or a teenager? Was he dying of a bodily injury; a burn, perhaps; or of something internal, that Katara couldn't likely heal?

Questions pounded at Katara's mind as she rerolled the scroll and returned it to her belt loop. The idea of asking Zuko was impossible – they had long since learned that they received nearly the same letters. He wouldn't have any more knowledge than she did.

Katara laid there until her jittery limbs forced her to stand and move. She returned to her bunkroom, unsure of what else she could possibly do.

Zuko came to her doorway as he passed by toward his own bunkroom. "The captain says it will be three days before we reach Jang Hui. Get some rest."

"Zuko!" Katara called, as he turned away toward his room; "meet me on the deck in an hour."

"For…?"

She grinned. "Training, of course."

In the palace, Katara was prevented from bending. Not as law – those had long-since been revoked by Iroh – but as simple custom. If she was seen bending, she was often mistakenly jailed. Then the man who jailed her would be beaten or harmed by those that Iroh could not control, and the mess was unbearable. So she was forbidden to bend. Especially not when it was training as a warrior – a woman warrior. The war had forced Ozai to accept women in the army, but it had been unwilling. Women were gentle and harmless in the Fire Nation. And were supposed to stay that way – even when they were raised in the South Pole, where women were as strong or stronger than their male counterparts, and were expected to work as such. Perhaps not in war, but in everything else.

Zuko's lips twitched. "Of course," he said, tilting his head in a mocking bow before turning his back and walking away.

The boat ride felt like a short one. The longest span was the hours they spent sitting in still water waiting for clearance to dock – in which Zuko was blasting Katara with flames so hot that she was bending sweat and salt water. She was laughing, though, the feeling of freedom so great that she never wanted to return to her new "home" nation.

The Fire Nation's main island was stifling hot all the time – and the people were crushing in their obvious opinions and beliefs. She couldn't stand it there, though she stayed to help. To help rebuild. To go on these missions so that she could feel something beyond her usual restlessness. After her travels with Aang, anything short of constant excitement was tiresome. Tiresome and dull.

The islands were cooler, and she was able to let her sleeves hang loose for the first time in weeks. Zuko and the others, on the other hand, had pulled on thicker clothes, and were moaning about their fingers in the cold wind. Zuko glared at her grin, and she smacked him as she jumped down onto the dock below, catching herself with water before she hit. She landed lightly, but was forced to wait for Zuko to slowly descend the plank, complaining of cold, stiff joints all the way.

From the outer docks, they boarded an old, creaky carriage and travelled another few hours. They arrived at the river just as the sun began it's descent over the distant horizon. Looking down, Katara could see nothing. Following the river's winding path, they searched for the village that was always just a little out of reach. The sky was lit mostly by the almost-full moon when they finally spotted it.

Lanterns were winking off the moving water, and people were visible jogging to and fro on the floating docks. A small boat was quickly moving toward them, and the carriage-driver stopped the ostrich-horses and helped Katara down, though she barely touched his hand out of courtesy. Zuko chuckled behind her, closing the door.

The boat pulled up below, and she stared down. She could barely see the man's face, though she was sure she recognized it. He wore a hat that stood high above his head, only drooping at the very tip. There was virtually no hair on his head, but his beard was exactly as it had been the last time she'd seen him. "DOCK!" She yelled, waving her arms with sudden excitement.

She did, in fact, recognize him. He had helped Aang and the rest of the group across this very river to his home – to the little village on the Jang Hui river. Her brows wrinkled as her arms drooped; she wondered if she'd used the right name. It could be Dock or Xu or Bushi for all she knew. Of course, she thought, swiping at the cloud of confusion that filled her mind; they were all the same person, so it didn't truly matter.

Zuko was staring at her. "I've been here before," she said, shrugging.

She followed the path down to the bottom carefully, Zuko trailing behind her. The path was steep and unsteady, but they were tired and wanted the company of a living, breathing village. The trek down the easier path would take too long.

When Katara finally jumped down the last few feet, she grinned at Dock, who was squinting at her. He was trying to recognize her – a face he hadn't seen in a year. He wore nearly the same clothes he had when she'd first met him – except these were cleaner and were held together with newer patches, and his belly was less swollen. He looked healthier: happier. The end of the war had helped everyone, she thought, following him onto the boat as he chattered; even those who hadn't known they were miserable.

Katara barely listened to Dock's – as it was quickly confirmed that he was Dock at that moment – words as he pushed them with his long pole across the river. This time, the pole came up clean, and Katara ran her fingers through the crisp, fresh water. She touched her fingers to her lips and smiled. This village was healthier because of her. It was a heady knowledge, that.

"We need to see the sick boy," Zuko said, pulling her out of her self-imposed trance, and making her glance over her shoulder at him. He was close to her, his knee nearly touching her back. "We're here to heal him on orders from the Fire Lord himself."

Zuko reached into his coat, as was usual, his hand shaking with cold, to pull out the official document made up by Iroh. But Dock didn't need it, and he helped the two of them onto the dock without even glancing at it. "The sick boy," he said; "His name is Lee. But you may not be able to see him tonight. He'll be in quarantine, I think."

Dock led them up the long dock, past the market, which was still in the same place, though far larger and better cared for, and up to the same house she'd been in the first time she'd visited. To cure the sick there, acting as the river's spirit – the Painted Lady.

Many more buildings had been added to the village since she'd last been there – and many were a good distance from where she stood. Several even floated in their own islands, tied to the village only by the flag waving in the wind above the tallest house – the same that waved above the old sick house. Dock stopped them outside the building, and, pushing the flaps aside, went in.

The sick house had been renewed since she was last there. There were real bamboo walls, which were clean and sun-bleached nearly white. The windows were spread wide open for air circulation. But it seemed so small compared to last time, when it had held so many sick. How many would it hold now? When they were separated and cared for with real medicines and knowledgeable treatments?

Dock slipped back out of the sick house and shook his head. "No visitors tonight," he said, and then, suddenly, switched topics: "You'll stay with my wife and me on the Southern Docks, yeah?"

Katara nodded, though she didn't look at him. Zuko spoke, though she didn't hear him. They began to walk, though Katara only followed on impulse. To be completely honest, her heart and soul were still inside the old sick house. She was bending the sweat on the sick-boy's body, trying to find his illness. Any cut or bruise. Anything out of the ordinary. But to her outward feel of him, he seemed perfectly healthy. Nothing was wrong with the dying child.

They had to cross another span of water in a second canoe, which Dock claimed was his own. His house was the second on the right. It was large, with several rooms, a bathroom of sorts, and a kitchen. His wife was cooking.

They ate quickly, and, except for Dock's occasional chattering, silently. His wife was beautiful, and was with child – young, Katara thought curiously. But when she watched the woman press her lips to Dock's aging ones, the slightest, happiest of smiles on her face, she knew they were happy together. The woman was not with him for his influence, money, or anything else. She genuinely loved Dock.

Katara fell asleep that night, just a wall separating she and Zuko, thinking about the pair of star-crossed lovers. Because that's what they were. Taboo. Wonderfully, beautifully taboo.

In the morning, Katara ate breakfast in a similar fashion as the night before. Awkwardness was nearly tangible in the room – Zuko sat without eating, his eyes never leaving the wooden table. She worried that he might catch it on fire by accident, the way he sat with his back so carefully straight and his hands gripping the edge as if he were falling and it were his only means of survival. She watched him, and he watched the table, and Dock spoke in his slow, but terribly difficult-to-understand way. His wife listened intently, as if she knew exactly what he said, even though he spoke a different language to everyone around him.

Katara wondered for a moment as Nim – which it turned out was the name of Dock's wife – collected their plates, who had worn off on whom – Dock or Nim. Dock slapped Nim's bottom as she walked by, and Katara grinned to herself. Definitely Dock, she thought, as Nim returned the favor with a kiss.

Nim's pregnant belly didn't seem to get in her way as she sauntered around the house. Katara could almost swear that she didn't notice it – except for the moments when she stopped to press against a foot or head that was uncomfortable under her ribs. She smiled at Katara as she walked by, before continuing whatever task she had been working on beforehand.

It amazed Katara – Nim's stamina. Katara couldn't imagine spending an entire day with Dock, let alone a lifetime. But Nim took it in stride, outwardly happy with her husband and their life together.

Katara shook her head as she shut the door behind herself, smiling. She wanted their life – wanted it so badly that her heart ached. Except that she would never have it. Settling down would be wonderful, but it couldn't happen. Not anymore. She would never stop moving - it was a knowledge that tore at her every moment of every day. Sitting still, holding a child in her lap, spending day in and day out doing the exact same thing – she couldn't handle that. She could barely even stand running for her life in the same fashion every day.

Zuko looked back at her, his eyebrows drawing down. "Katara?" He said, interrupting her thoughts; "Are you okay?"

She looked at him, and smiled. She was glad he had taken her from her thoughts – her terribly morbid thoughts. "Yeah," she sighed; "Fine."

He nodded and led the way to the closest canoe, which Dock had taught him to propel and steer earlier that morning. Katara smiled to herself. "You don't need to stop," he'd said; "The dock will do that for you!"

Katara had understood the situation within the cabin the moment she'd passed by it – her bending alerting her to the two bodies within. The same two were there when she passed through the skin flap that served as a door. One – the boy-child Lee – lay as he did the previous day; still and quiet in the small bed centered in the room. Along the wall, a woman, her young face aging with sadness and worry, paced, unnoticing of Katara.

Walking up beside the boy, Katara pressed her fingers against his skin – it was hot; burning hot. A cloth was already propped against his forehead, but it was barely damp, and was room temperature at best.

Glancing up, Katara watched the woman – whom she assumed to be his mother – turn on her heel and return in the other direction. Her eyes were glazed with blatant unawareness as she turned, and Katara wondered if she was the boy's only caretaker. Because, if that was the case, she would be the reason the boy died sooner rather than later.

Pulling the boy's blanket up to his shoulders, Katara tucked it in around him, and then disappeared quickly back onto the deck.

Outside, Zuko was waiting for her. "What's happening?"

Katara looked around; "I'm not sure. He's unconscious, and his mother is in full mental shock."

As Zuko nodded and turned to leave – probably, Katara thought, to argue with the head of the town over the child's lack of care – Katara called him back. "If you find a bucket," she said, raising her eyebrows in a silent plea; "I need one. Any size will do."

"What for?"

Shrugging, Katara glanced at the building again, feeling for the boy inside. His chest heaved – alive. "Bending water," she said; "To keep close."

"Can't you bend the water through the slats in the floor?" He asked, gesturing to the dock beneath their feet – the floors inside the buildings were much the same, with obvious gaps between the planks of wood.

"I'm afraid it will weaken it. But, if you find one…"

Zuko smiled and patted her arm. "I'll bring it here."

"Don't steal it!" She snapped, as he turned to go.

He faced her long enough to frown. "Wasn't planning to."

Waving to her over his shoulder, Zuko disappeared around the corner of a building close at hand. She stood still for another moment, before turning to the water behind her – beside the sick house. Popping open her empty water pouch, Katara dragged it in, feeling through it for any unwholesome chemicals. There were so few that they didn't matter in the least.

The boy's condition was worse than Katara had ever seen, and was deteriorating on a daily basis. He was starving, unable to eat except in occasional wakeful spurts, and dehydrated – his lips were cracked and bleeding. Most of the time, unconsciousness pulled him away from Katara and her healing hands.

"We have to take him back to the Capital," Katara said, looking at Zuko as he slid into the sick house. "They must have a cure. Or… at least they can keep him alive longer than I can."

Katara never spoke like this when Lee's mother was around – but she was sleeping outside on the deck, long and hard, after days of restlessly watching her son die before her eyes. She thought it, and waited until someone she could say the words to came along. Zuko would be able to help her – Zuko could help her bring the child back to the Capital hospital, where they would help him.

Zuko shook his head. "He'll die before we reach the main island."

"He might not…"

"He will," Zuko said sternly, coming up to stand beside her and look down at the child's sunken cheeks. "You know that we can't move him."

"But if we don't do anything-!"

He glanced at her. "He'll have a better chance here, with you and his mother, than travelling across the ocean, where he's certain to die."

Katara knew he spoke the truth – but her eyes stung with frustration. She could do nothing for him. She could keep his fever down – the wet rag was kept forever at a near-freezing temperature – but that was little more than his mother could have done for him without her. "I'm not a doctor, Zuko."

"No," he moved back toward the door; "You're a healer."

He turned back to face her, his eyes curious and hungry. Zuko had spent the last two days on the island searching through the local library – located atop a nearby mountain – for a name to Lee's disease. Having found nothing, he asked her several times a day for an up-to-date list of maladies. "Any more symptoms?" He asked.

Katara nodded. "His gums started bleeding this morning. I don't know if it has to do with that exactly – but his face…"

"Is redder," Zuko finished for her, looking at Lee, who was sucking in deep, even breaths. He paused and coughed, choking momentarily, before resuming in the same pattern. He didn't wake. "Okay. I'll keep looking.

"Does it… does it sound familiar at all?"

Zuko shook his head. "I'll find it Katara. I promise."

Turning back to Lee, Katara chilled the cloth across his forehead. Zuko left quietly.

Days slipped by inside the walls of that floating death trap. Katara wanted to pick up Lee's tiny, frail body and carry him away. Back to the Fire nation where a real cure could be found. Not just a prayer to a missing spirit lady. And he consistently grew worse – one day, he only wheezed; the next, his gums bled and he choked on the blood. The last, he did neither; he lay prone, almost dead – exhausted. Pain-filled sleep tore him away from them consistently, killing him from the inside. Katara could feel it. Could feel his body losing the fight.

His mother was no better, and quickly became her second patient. She wouldn't sleep or eat without being forced. Whenever she wasn't in Lee's sick-house, Zuko was by her side, keeping her away. Feeding her. Making her stay down long enough for her exhausted body to sleep. She had been so strong for so long before Katara arrived that her falling apart was not a surprise. But it was an awful inconvenience. Katara spent half of her time healing cuts and bruises the woman inflicted upon herself escaping Zuko or falling into the river trying to jump from dock to dock to reach her son faster. She wanted to scream with frustration, but didn't. Lee needed her.

During one of her lengthier naps, Zuko sat carefully beside Lee, taking the boy's hand in his own. "I received a letter from Uncle today," he said, looking at her. Katara glanced up at him, though her hand did not pause in its path over his face and neck. They were burning hot to the touch, and she couldn't imagine how unbearable they were to Lee; "A reply."

"To the symptoms?"

Zuko nodded. When he had learned of Katara's confusion and frustration – her inability to heal the sick boy – Zuko had compiled a list of symptoms and sent them to the palace. Two days it had taken for Iroh to receive the letter, and have his scholars find whatever illness it was. So that, perhaps, he could send a cure. Or tell her how to fix him. "It's nothing good."

Katara wasn't surprised. "What does it say?"

The letter was crumpled and smeared when Zuko pulled it from his pocket – as if he'd read it again and again; as if the writer had scrawled quickly, almost illegibly, to send it as quickly as possible. "Lee has a blood disease. His… his blood is too thick. It moves too slowly and clots easily. There's no cure that the Fire Nation knows about."

He handed her the letter. Katara skimmed it quickly; curious only to why Zuko had given it to her – as its contents said only what he'd just told her. And then she reached the bottom, where there was a note in a different handwriting – a scrawl that she knew well. Katara, it said; you can heal him. It's up to you.

"Iroh," she breathed, handing the note back to him.

Zuko nodded. "I don't know why we're here, Katara. But this boy must be important. And…" he paused, placing a hand on her shoulder; "And you must have the cure. Or else he wouldn't have even tried."

Katara shrugged off his hand, glaring at him. "If I had the cure," she said; "I already would have healed him. I can't heal the blood, Zuko. A flesh wound, sure. His stomach or lungs, I'm sure I could reach. But his blood? No. I can't do that."

This lie crumbled around her in the coming days – because she knew she could control his blood. Control it, and, perhaps, manipulate it. Thin it; heal it. She could save his life, if only she was not so afraid to allow the memories that she had kept so safeguarded back into her life. Returning to the fear and the anger that her terrible powers allowed her was not something Katara did lightly. Nor something she did willingly.

For, even with the possibility that she could save him, Katara couldn't make herself do it. Couldn't do more than reach for the power, and then draw back. From fear of failure or success – either as terrible as the other. If she failed, Lee died. If she succeeded, then she would have to face the reality that, perhaps, the power that seemed so cruel to her, might be something good. Something worth testing – something Zuko might convince her to experiment with.

Shaking her head, Katara watched as Zuko walked slowly into the river, along the outer banks, his arms filled with Lee's fragile body. This was her last hope – surrounding the boy in her healing waters. Perhaps she could reach far enough into him to heal him. Perhaps she could heal his every ailment.

"If I pass out," Katara said, looking between Dock – who stood beside her – and Zuko; "and Lee isn't awake, take him out of the water. Dry him off and put him back in bed. Do everything you can to wake me up."

Zuko nodded stiffly, but Dock seemed less sure. "You might pass out?"

Before Katara could, Zuko answered, knowing the answer as well as she did. "It takes a certain amount of Katara's strength to heal using water. The river is natural, and so will be more manageable, but it is still not easy. It drains her. I've seen her heal this way many times, and she doesn't faint often. But this…" he looked at Lee; "is different. Lee's injuries are different than the others. His are more than skin deep."

Dock, his eyes still squinted with confusion, said; "Okay. I'll make sure you don't fall in or something."

Katara smiled, and stepped into the river. She waded in until her hands pressed against Lee's body. Breathing deeply, and staring into Zuko's worried face, she delved deep, and, pushing her powers past the capacity of her body, she began to heal the water around Lee. Her hands shifted around his skin; over the horizon of his chest and face. But she couldn't bring the water past his skin.

With a grunt of frustration, she returned to her sweat-drenched body, cursing. "I can't get past his skin!" she groaned, running her wet hands down her face; "How can I heal his blood if I can't get past his skin?"

Zuko reached for her, comfort on his fingertips. He ran his hand down her arm, up her shoulder, to her neck. He gripped her there, and watched her carefully. "You can do this, Katara," he said; "I know you can. You're a master waterbender."

"I don't need to be a master waterbender," she whispered, tears filling her eyes; "I need to be a master bloodbender."

Katara didn't give him a moment's pause – did not want to see the worry that would cloud his eyes, or the confusion that she knew would have to be explained away later. Now was not the time to worry.

Stepping forward, she reached for Lee again – pushing her power toward his body as she wrapped her fingers around one of his hands. The water glowed, and yet Katara knew he did not heal. She could feel the blood in his body pushing against his veins, hard-pressed to move fast enough to keep him alive. She pushed the water against his skin, and reached for his heart. But it was as if she tried to force her hands through his skin – the water only skittered across the surface. Again and again she tried – around his wrists, stomach, chest. Pushing against the skin that was stronger than her ability. Stronger than the healing water that she wanted so terribly to make a difference. She reached deeper than she ever had before – pushing so hard into his body that she felt something give way. Felt a barrier break, as if the water had passed through his pores – gotten closer to her destination. Elation grabbed her, and she kept forcing her way in. Because she had to – she had to save Lee.

In such a trance, Katara did not see the black dots before they completely clouded her eyes. Pushed away the red of sunlight through her eyelids – a shadow, she thought. And then her fingers loosened suddenly from around Lee's hand, and the glow faded, and she slid under the cool water, unconscious to the world.

Authors Note:

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