AN: I apologize in advance.
It's sound that comes back to him first.
It fades in unevenly, starting with cracking and popping, like wood on a campfire. The scraping of boots on stones and the rattling of metal. A wail pierces the air, and his muscles tense on reflex.
It's pain that comes back to him second.
The involuntary movement lances him with a pain that rips the air from his lungs and makes him want to curl into himself if he only had the strength. But he doesn't. He doesn't even have the strength to open his eyes. He's not even sure he would want to.
Zuko inhales raggedly, and the thick smell of smoke and sweat makes his stomach churn. He swallows hard and tastes blood.
Suddenly there is pressure at his waist and behind his head and he feels his body shift, grits his teeth against the stretching of the wound at his chest, feels the skin pulling apart. He wants to shout but all he can manage is a muffled groan.
Another sound. A whisper.
"No."
A pause and the sound of rustling clothing. "No, no, no, no."
Something cool touches his chest and for a moment it stings the way he imagines it would if his ribcage were occupied by a hundred angry scorpion-wasps. Behind his eyelids the world turns blue.
This is it. This must be what happens in the end.
It isn't grand like he thought it might be, or noble, or even wistful. It is agony. He always imagined he would think of his mother or his Uncle when the end finally came, but he doesn't. If he had the will he might feel ashamed of his own selfishness, but all he can think of is pain.
And then it is gone.
Not gone. Not really. But instead of a screaming, burning pit in his chest he is left with a deep, pulsing ache. His breathing is rough and shallow but at least he is breathing, and it no longer feels like his lungs are full of broken glass.
It is his vision that returns last, when his eyes finally crack open.
The world around him slowly regains its color, blurry shapes dancing against a field of red and gold and a sky of violet. His attention is drawn to the blue form by his side, the color looking so incongruous and lost among the rest of it. But it is a welcome sight, because he knows that shade, knows it's her before those crystalline eyes even come into focus. That shade of blue at his side means that she is alive and that she is safe. His pain is tempered by relief.
His voice creaks as though he's been sleeping for a hundred years. Like Aang, he thinks. Her face slides into focus. His lips manage to curve around his words to form the smallest of smiles. "Thank you, Katara." For everything.
He can see well enough now to know that she is crying, and for some reason this makes him feel ashamed. She shouldn't cry. Not now. And not over him. He almost tells her so but she speaks first. "I think I'm the one who should be thanking you."
It takes effort, but he gathers his strength and his muscles strain as he reaches up to thumb the tear from one cheek. Even with her hair singed and dress torn he is stunned by the sight of her. A dozen things to say come to mind, but he finds he cannot voice any of them.
She bites her lip and searches his face. "Zuko, I… I didn't know…" She catches his fingers with her own and brings his hand to her lap.
The simple gesture causes something else to explode behind his ribs, not pain this time but something warm and tingling. He gives her a sad smile. "I know."
The tears return in earnest and his hard work is erased by glistening new tracks that roll down to her chin. His world shrinks to the space between them as she reaches out to touch his face, and begins to lean toward him –
He notices too late that the world has gone eerily silent. And then he hears it. The clatter of metal against stones. Buzzing. No, crackling.
The warm feeling is replaced by needles of ice that parade through his heart. His hand shoots up, oblivious of the pain, and shoves weakly at her shoulder. He hates the hurt that spreads across her face as she stops short, but there's no time to explain. He chokes on his quickening breath. "Katara – "
The hurt is replaced by fear as she reads the panic in his face. "...Zuko?"
" – Run."
"What –"
But she doesn't finish, doesn't even get to turn her head because suddenly she is glowing.
Her body convulses and all the while he hears the laughter of his sister, the cackling that echoes over everything else. Time crawls as he watches Katara twitch and writhe inside a web of blue light, sees her hair lift from her shoulders to dance around her face as though she were surrounded by her own element instead of his. A lifetime passes in the space of a heartbeat and there is nothing he can do but wait for it to end.
Azula's shape comes into focus behind Katara after she slumps to the ground next to him. He ignores his sister, ignores the way she is hunched over, shrieking with laughter, chains pooled and discarded at her feet. All that matters is Katara. Some distant, rational part of his mind knows that it is just shock, a defense mechanism, but logic is overridden by denial as he rolls over and gropes for her, shaking her arm and calling her name. She is strong, she is a healer, maybe –
He turns her over and her mouth goes slack. Her head lolls to one side and he knows, he knows –
The pain in his chest vanishes along with the laughter and the smoke and the bright flames that lick at the buildings that would have been part of his birthright. He knows he should feel something - rage or grief or despair or something. He should want to stand up and incinerate his sister or feel the pain in his chest renewed as his heart cracks in two. But there is nothing, only a muted, lingering sense of melancholy. Nothing in this world had ever gotten under his skin and made him feel more alive than this girl, made him feel more vulnerable and desperate and free. And now she was gone, taking all his emotions and his hope with her. His fingers reach out and gently brush a lock of hair away from her forehead and trail down her cheek. He offers a small broken smile that she can't see.
He can hear footsteps approaching, but he doesn't bother to look up. He knows what's coming.
"You were right, brother. I'm not sorry at all."
The pointy toe of his sister's boot connects with his temple and the world fades to black again, but not before he takes a final glimpse of blue.
...
...
...
A/N: I'm sorry.
This melodramatic scene has been bouncing in my head for a little while now. At the end of another fic I mentioned that those chains weren't going to hold Azula forever, and then I started thinking about what might happen if they didn't…
There's this song from Repo! The Genetic Opera (stop judging me) that kept going through my head while writing. The chorus has the line: "I didn't know I'd love you so much/But I do."
This is my loose interpretation of the prompt "melancholy" for Zutara Week 2014. I'm bummed because this is the worst possible time of year for me, so this may be the only thing I can contribute (at least on time). But dammit, this is my fifth Zutara Week and I wasn't going to let it go by without at least contributing something!
Seriously though. Sorry.