She sat on the beach. A hand brushed the hair from her neck, a familiar voice heavy with her shared desire, longing, wishes and dreams. No shadows hid their passion, laughter light on the breeze where the storms of war had been moments ago.

A blink and suddenly she was standing in the palace courtyard. Coronation day. Amber eyes burned the space between them from where he knelt up on the veranda. The Fire Lord's headpiece slipped over his topknot. His helpless expression said it all. Dreams crumbling, ash on the wind. A Fire Lord's duty, they had said, and Water had no place in it. Not like that.

Fog billowed in and then she was alone in the thick grey curls. And when it cleared, she was inside the palace, in the great hall. He was there too, but that woman's arms hung around his neck like a noose, squeezing, strangling. Her smile stretched unnaturally from ear to ear, her teeth filed to sickening points. In every direction, the stern eyes of the council watched, never blinking. Watching, damning.

A starless night. In the black velvet of shadows he ushered her into his quarters, and she sunk beneath him in a sea of satin and they were tangled, lips and breath and hunger. Gratitude, relief, and laughter breathed and tasted. But those ever-seeing eyes rushed from the shadows and he was wrenched from her, engulfed in a giant fist of fire.

There were only glances and whispers in passing then, an ache where the easy smiles had been. A touch when they thought no one could see. And each time the storm calmed, thrill and desire rose swiftly again.

The moon was riding high. She was running her hands through his hair and he took her wrist and they moved through an alleyway, drunk with their secret, where columns of vines hung from the walls. Her back at the cold brick, his hands hot on her hips, and those vines wrapped around them until there was nothing but sparks and skin and sweat and promises.

Promises…

Emptiness. A void where his touch had been. No more secrets, no more glances. He was slipping through her fingers. Too many chances, caught too many times, and now those all-seeing eyes would make sure they were never together again. She reached for him, but he didn't reach back, amber eyes dull and dead.

He didn't reach back…

Katara woke to the pattering of rain at the window and a thick blanket of grey pressing down from the sky. It darkened what remained of the late afternoon light and she could see that it wouldn't be long before the city succumbed to nightfall. She had slept through most of the morning and afternoon, the night spent in waiting and the breaking of her heart rendering her exhausted. But it had been a restless sleep, peppered with haunting dreams, memories, flickering dead-ends and longing like a candle in the wind. She woke now to the discontent of life in her skin. Woke to festering bitterness.

She groaned into her pillow and rolled out of bed, smoothing the wrinkles from her tunic and pausing to assess herself in the mirror. Her eyes looked sad and her hair was disheveled. She ran a comb languidly through her unruly brown locks. What would her friends say when they saw her?

What would Aang say?

Things had been cordial enough since the war's end, she had to credit him there. But it had never been the same between them. The day she and Zuko had risen together to take down Azula, something had clicked into place, like the fitting of a final puzzle piece. She had held Zuko as he'd lain charred and blistered, sprawled in agony, the wound pitted so much deeper than the raw, bubbling flesh at the surface. He was dying in her arms. And she had healed him. And with the fusing of his flesh beneath her touch, so fused their souls, bound together, moon and sun as one.

And Aang knew. It was there on his face, in the wilt of his shoulders and the shallow, strained sigh when he saw them again. It was impossible to miss it. Tangible, this energy between them like a lightning storm on a summer night. He knew. He knew he could never compete with what they had now.

Well. What they had then.

Her blood pulsed sour and she dropped the comb on her dresser and opened the door. From the hallway she could hear the hum of voices rising up from the great room below. She walked toward the loft, keeping to the shadows, and peered down. Aang and Toph sat atop a plush mat, Suki opposite them on either side of a long, squat table, bowls of steaming rice and meat set before them. The conversation was light and even the guards, who stood at the grand entrance, wore easy smiles and chimed in the banter.

The house – mansion was more like it, big enough for each of them to claim their own floor – was nestled just outside the palace walls, a gift to the new Fire Lord's closest friends and advisors after the war. Risk of any trouble so close to the palace was minimal, and it showed in the guards' casual manner. It wasn't unusual to catch them with Sokka in the middle of a game of Pai Sho.

"Hey, I was just coming to check on you."

Speak of the devil. She turned to see her brother sauntering up behind her from the other end of the hall.

"You must be hungry. Chef Lu really outdid himself this time. Smoked fish, poached platypus-duck eggs, the most delicate sticky rice you'll ever…" Sokka's goofy smile faded as he took in her appearance, her slack expression. "Oh," he breathed out, his shoulders drooping.

"I don't wanna talk about it," she said before he could say anything, as she turned and made her way down the staircase. Sokka followed closely behind.

"Wait. You're not even gonna tell me what he said to make you look like this? Do you need me to beat him up? He may be Fire Lord, but I'm pretty sure being part of his war council reserves me the right to kick his royal behind."

The staircase curled out from the loft above to the great room in a grand arch. It spit them out right into the center of the common area and the open layout of the mansion made it impossible to slink toward the kitchen without being seen. The moment she set foot in the room, her eyes met with Aang's in an unintended glance and she looked away quickly.

"Hey, Katara," Toph piped impishly. "Lucky you showed up. Suki and I were just about to flip a coin to see who gets your share of the food." The girl scarfed down another bite of rice and fish but then stopped, mid-chew, and tilted her head. "Is it just me," she mumbled through a mouthful of food, "or have you been run over by a herd of elk-hippos?"

"Not now, Toph," came Sokka's voice as Katara ignored them and passed through an archway into the dining room, stopping once she was out of sight at the door to the kitchen. She could feel her brother's eyes on her as they stood silent for a long moment. A gentle hand came to rest on her shoulder finally and when he spoke this time, his voice was soft, concerned. "Hey…"

She spun around so suddenly that he stumbled back. "Did you tell anyone?"

"What?" he blinked as he caught his footing. "Of course not. Why–?"

"Because Zuko thought he was being followed."

Sokka's eyebrows arched high, his hands held palms-up as if to say, And? "Whoever it was, they didn't hear it from me. You have to know that."

Katara sighed dejectedly. "I know. Sorry, it's been a long night. Day. Whatever it is." She turned and pushed through the door and was instantly met with the aroma of – what would have been, on any other occasion – a mouthwatering meal. Two plates of still steaming food sat untouched on the counter, artfully presented. But right now, the idea of eating made her stomach clench.

She would need the energy, she told herself. She hadn't eaten since yesterday. She picked up a pair of chopsticks beside the plate and pushed the food around before finally taking a small bite. Her jaw moved but she wasn't sure if she was really chewing. It felt unnatural, like she had forgotten how. In the corner of her eye, Sokka ignored his food and placed a hand on the counter, leaning on it and studying her.

"You know I'm here if you need to talk. Or cry. I have two perfectly good crying shoulders right here." He puffed up his chest and jutted his thumbs toward them with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

She paused and managed some semblance of a smile. "Thanks, Sokka. But I'm fine. Really." She placed the chopsticks back on her barely-touched plate and walked back through the door. With a breath she steeled her jaw as she passed her friends, avoiding eye contact in hopes they wouldn't talk to her, and returned to the solace of her room.

Katara bided her time alone after that – well meaning friends, and brothers, sent away – until night had long since descended and the city had hushed to a quiet sleep. A cold fluttering was working its way into her stomach as she shrugged on her hooded cloak, gazing out the rain-streaked window, the roads glossy and smooth in the flickering lamplight. It was a dangerous plan. If she were caught, she would be thrown into a highly secured waterbending prison for the rest of her life. And that was if she were lucky. But desperation and vengeance chased away any voice of caution and when she was sure most of the house was in bed, she tiptoed down the hall and peeked from the loft to the foyer below.

The two guards sat engaged in a game of cards, relaxed smiles conveying their lighthearted banter. They could be flecks of dirt on the wall for all they actually did here. Pride of the Fire Lord's sentry, she thought with a wry snort. It wouldn't be hard to slip out unnoticed. There was a window in the library at the other end of the house, the one she'd used on many such nights in her rendezvous with Zuko. The shrubbery was high enough to conceal her escape and far enough from the perimeter guards. A piece of cake.

As she slinked back into the shadows of the hallway, she turned and gasped, her hands flying up to clasp over her mouth. She had nearly collided face to face with Aang and he stood before her now, a sharp raise of an eyebrow, the narrowing of his eyes. She hadn't heard him behind her, his steps so nimble and quiet.

"What are you doing?" He tried to sound light but there was a hint of wariness. "In case you haven't noticed, it's the middle of the night."

"I could ask you the same question," she said, crossing her arms in an attempt to downplay her reaction.

"Are you going somewhere?" he continued, his narrowed eyes searching, probing. "In a rainstorm?"

There was a hot churning in her stomach and she fought back the scowl that burned behind what she hoped was a casual expression. "In case you haven't noticed," she mimicked him, "rain doesn't really bother me. But if you must know, I was just going to get some fresh air. I didn't think I'd need your permission." She moved past him toward the other end of the hall and down the opposite stairway that led to the library and grand sitting area. She didn't look back and fervently prayed that he wouldn't follow her.

When she reached the bottom, Katara waited for several moments in the nook between the stairs and the wall. Eventually she breathed a quiet sigh of relief when it appeared she was alone again. Hopefully Aang had given up. She removed her hood briefly to pull on her mask. Only her eyes would be exposed now. She crept to the window, sheathed in curtain to the right of the plush sofa, quietly slid it open, and crawled through.

.::. .::. .::.

Water dripped from her hood in a small stream. Rain fell relentlessly in fat drops, her cloak a clammy weight against her skin. It would have been easy enough to bend the water around her but it was a trivial thing to waste energy on. The moon had begun a new cycle tonight. If her powers peaked during a full moon, they were weakest during the new moon. She would need every ounce of strength she possessed for this to go the way she planned.

Katara snaked to avoid lighted areas as the face of Capital City Prison emerged from the murky darkness. The maximum security prison tower – reserved only for the most dangerous criminals – was built into the side of the volcanic crater that was home to the nation's capital. It was well fortified and heavily guarded. The Prison Tower guards were rigorously trained and underwent grueling tests, both physical and mental. The few who made it out of training wore an honorary pin on their lapel, signifying their strength and dedication. Against these super-humans, as they were sometimes called, the prison was virtually impenetrable.

Unless you happened to be a bloodbender.

From the winding walkway that led to the prison's entrance, Katara could see the silhouettes of two guards at the gate, one on either side, postures rigid and watchful. She kept her back to the precipice as she crept closer up the path. Almost there. The closer she could get, the better control she would have.

Finally, Katara stopped and gulped a breath, extending her arms, fingers splayed out. She pressed back the quiet voice of shame that scraped at the surface of her consciousness and tightened her shoulders. There was no turning back. She exhaled slowly and concentrated, feeling the flutter beneath her fingertips, the first guard's blood pumping through his body. The water of life in his veins. Slowly her fingers curled in toward her palm, a slight twist of her wrist, and the pulse was slowing. Slowing, slowing, the thrum of his heart tiring beneath her power. It was as invigorating as it was terrifying, having this kind of power over another person. But Katara didn't let her thoughts linger there long.

The guard shook his head, swaying, and it wasn't long before he crumpled to the ground like a discarded ragdoll, unconscious, his heart beating just enough to keep him alive. From a distance she could see the other guard tense and recoil at his partner's collapse before rushing to his side. He never made it though. He suddenly froze in mid-stride and buckled down on his knees, leaning on a hand for support. And a moment later, he joined his comrade in a heap on the ground.

Katara waited a moment, watching. When no other guards came running to their aid, she proceeded in the shadows to the gate. Kneeling, she searched the belt of one of the passed out guards until her fingers found the cold ring of keys. They unhooked with a chinkling and, after glancing over her shoulder and trying a few keys in the lock, the gate clicked open. She readied herself and she slipped inside.

The gate groaned closed behind her, resonating against the cold stone corridor. By the time the four guards turned, two of them were already thrown up against the wall, their feet dangling above the floor, their mouths forming a silent scream. The other two charged toward her and Katara shot her arm forward, palm up. They froze, suspended in mid-stride, eyes wide in horror. She held them there, sweating beading on her brow. Her arms were burning, trembling. One had been effortless, even two like child's play. But four very powerful men at once. The rapid, frightened beat of their pulses fought fiercely against her power.

Oh, gods… She couldn't hold them.

She clenched her teeth against her draining energy. She couldn't fail. Images flashed before her of shackles, dry, thirsty prison cells, Sokka's hurt, scorned face. There was no way she could face her brother, her friends, again if she were caught. Failure wasn't an option.

Slowly – agonizingly slowly – the flow of blood became sludge under her shaking grip. One by one, their eyes rolled back and when Katara was sure they were unconscious, she released her hold with a sharp puff of breath. The first two men slid down the wall like limp noodles to a pile on the floor, the other two slumped contorted in the center of the corridor. She double checked that there was just enough pulse to keep them from death and then shook her arms out, the pain slowly fading away.

For several moments, Katara stood there, listening intently. Her strength was sapped. She prayed to the spirits that there were no other soldiers in the immediate vicinity. The occasional plink of a water droplet was the only sound that came, echoing in the silence. Torch sconces flickered against the algae-mottled walls, casting a gloomy light along the dirty floor at her feet. She exhaled a ragged breath as she crept along the wall, clammy and cold, to the corridor that branched into a T at the end.

The cell she was looking for was down the corridor to the left, situated at the end of another short walkway from there. She had managed a peek at the prison map in Zuko's office and had done her best to memorize it. Still, the way the hallways split and snaked out from each other was disorienting. She only had one chance to do this right. She prayed her memory would serve her.

She turned left and slinked along the wall, hardly daring a breath in the echoing space, and darted down the walkway she hoped was the one. A heavy wooden door towered before and she glanced over her shoulder before trying a key in the lock. It didn't turn. She tried another one. Still nothing. She tried another and another, her hand starting to tremble. What if the key wasn't on this ring? She assumed all the guards would carry a master key to unlock all cells – wasn't that how it worked? – but she was second-guessing her knowledge now.

With each wrong key, her stomach tightened more. Her hands were growing slippery with cold sweat. Fumbling, she placed the last key on the ring into the latch and held her breath. There was a click as it turned and Katara released a silent breath. She pulled on the heavy door, surprised at the weight of it, and cringed when it groaned softly in the echoing silence. Quickly, she slipped through the door and pulled it shut behind her.

"Something tells me you aren't here to replace the guard."

A silky voice cut through the stale air like a sharpened blade. Her breath caught in her chest and Katara turned slowly to find a pair of amber eyes watching her from behind the caged door of the cell. Ozai sat on the grimy stone floor, leaning back against the wall with his arms crossed. There was not a hint of surprise in his cool, sneering expression.

"And what brought you to that conclusion?" she said in a half-mocking tone.

A corner of his mouth turned up a degree as he studied her. "It was fairly obvious by the fifth key you tried in the lock."

Katara shoved the key ring inside her cloak pocket and glared at Ozai. "No one ever told me the fallen Fire Lord had a sense of humor. But sorry to say I'm not here to tell jokes."

"What a pity. Then why are you here?"

Katara pulled the mask down off her face and steeled her jaw as his gaze wandered over her features before returning to her eyes.

"I don't believe I've had the pleasure of your acquaintance. I'm sure I would remember if I had." His eyes smoldered and Katara tensed under their heat. Her hands clenched briefly at her sides.

"I'm sure you would, but not in the way that you'd like. My name is Katara. You don't know me but I'm sure you've heard of me. I'm the waterbender that took down your psycho daughter."

There was a flash of something dark in his eyes. "Ah. Yes. I'll admit I was impressed when I heard. In a fair fight, very few would have bested Azula. And she wasn't exactly known for fighting fair." Ozai stared at her for a moment before continuing. "So. Now the infamous waterbender stands before me in my lowly prison cell. To what do I owe this honor?" he scoffed. "Come to finish the job?"

"Maybe. But not today." She took a firm stride toward the cage door and sat down on her heels, leveling a hard gaze on him. "I have an offer I doubt you'll want to refuse."


A/N: Thanks to everyone who's reading and those who have reviewed so far! It means so much to me :)