Katara stops short five feet--a comfortable distance--from him. In one hand is a small, carved box. "A gift," she says, thrusting it out towards him, "from the Southern Water Tribe." She does not move from her spot.

Zuko's expression is placid as he closes the distance between them, just enough to reach out and take the box. "It is much appreciated," he replies slowly. "Please give your chief my heartfelt thanks."

Katara nods once, curtly. There is an angry set to her jaw.

Zuko takes this opportunity to hand the box off to the servant shadowing him. "Please take this to my chamber." The servant murmurs a brief assent before hurrying off.

There is a long silence.

"I still can't forgive you," Katara says finally. She is not looking at him.

Zuko almost laughs. "Is that it?"

Katara glares. "Is that--yes, that's it!" she shouts. "What were you expecting, a monologue?"

"For you to not be wasting my time on a petty grudge, for one thing."

Katara grits her teeth. "It's not petty. Do you have any idea what you put us through--"

"Since you were so helpful as to provide me with a list the last time we met? Yes." Zuko looks down at her. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a country to run. Go play with your empty-headed Avatar."

"Don't you dare," Katara hisses, "talk about Aang like that--" She stops.

"...well?"

"I can't believe someone as insufferable as you is ruling a country." Katara's eyes narrow dangerously, as if homing in on some point. "You don't deserve to be Fire Lord."

Zuko steps in close to her, so that her gaze is now on his jawline. "Say that again."

Katara glares up at him, raises a hand as if about to hit him--then grabs his shirt and pulls him down (before or after he leans in and grabs hers, he doesn't know), and then, suddenly, they are kissing, kissing fiercely, Zuko's hands tangled in Katara's hair and Katara's nails digging into Zuko's back--

And then it is over, and they are standing five feet apart once again, both ramrod-straight and breathing hard. Zuko sneers. "Satisfied?" he asks her.

Katara's nostrils flare, and for a moment he's not sure whether she's going to kick him, or kiss him again. But she does neither, merely turns on her heel and strides down the walk, proud as ever.

She is halfway across it when she pauses. "Goodbye, Zuko," she says.

He glances at her one last time--taking in the high, tense set of her shoulders--before turning to leave himself. "Goodbye, Katara."

FIN