So … this was due last December. Ahem. Let's just ignore that little detail.
In Which a Truce is Made
Katara groaned and opened her eyes, then immediately winced in pain. Her head felt like a komodo rhino was having a merry old time stomping on her skull. Maybe she would just lie here for a bit. That was sure to help the wriggly, twisting feeling in her stomach, because she was pretty sure she would vomit if she moved. At least her pillow was semi-comfortable. The silky covering felt nice against her cheek, though the warmth emanating from it was a bit annoying. She would have preferred something cooler to help with the komodo rhino problem.
Oh well, it's better than the ground.
She huddled into a ball and draped her arm over her face, trying to plump her pillow into a more comfortable position. But it didn't want to cooperate. In fact, the more she felt around, the more she realised that her pillow didn't feel much like a pillow at all. The surface was all uneven, and as she moved her hand up and along with blind fingers, the silky fabric ended and something equally smooth, but not as fabric-y, came into contact with her touch. It almost felt like—
Her eyes suddenly snapped open again and she stared in alarm at her hand, which was pressed against a toned, pale abdomen. Slowly, her gaze travelled higher, past ribs and sinewy muscle to the face that was half-shrouded in shaggy black hair. Oh.
Oh.
Katara removed her hand as if burned. Unfortunately, that only made her aware of where her face was currently snuggled against, as if Zuko's lap was a nice, fluffy blanket. Even worse was the distinct wet patch she could feel mushed against her cheek and mouth. She'd been drooling in her sleep, and it was all on his pants. Oh, spirits, this was horrid! But at least he was still asleep. She'd just carefully extricate herself and then—
Zuko made a soft sound and shifted underneath her. She suddenly found herself staring into a pair of sleepy gold eyes. He blinked. She blushed. It was mortifying.
"Um, hi?" he said awkwardly.
Katara could have smacked her palm against her forehead. What kind of response was that? Didn't he care that she'd fallen asleep on him? And why had she been all snuggled up against him anyway? Her memories were frustratingly hazy, like she was staring at an unfinished jigsaw puzzle through a shroud of fog. There had been that path of mirrors, then she'd run into the grumpy caterpillar and had a tea party with him, and then—
"Oh, no," she moaned, sitting up and covering her face with her hands. It was too horrible, too embarrassing.
Piece by piece, the whole tragic story was falling into place. The trapdoor, the rescue, the terrible, terrible comments she'd made. Zuko was right; she'd definitely been drunk. That was the only explanation for why she'd sprawled herself all over him and told him she thought he was kind of cute. Because he wasn't. Not one bit.
Okay, fine. He wasn't ugly, but he was still a double-crossing jerk and right now she wished the ground would swallow her whole. This was so unfair!
"Hey," Zuko said, distracting her from her brooding thoughts. "Are you okay?"
"No," Katara responded in a muffled voice (she refused to raise her face from the sanctum of her hands). "I'm stuck in this maze, a caterpillar got me drunk, and I'm pretty sure I completely humiliated myself in front of you last night. What part of that sounds like I would be okay right now?"
"I wouldn't be too hard on yourself," he responded. "It's not like you meant to get drunk. Besides, I've seen worse."
That did make her lower her hands, and she stared at him through wide, slightly suspicious eyes. "Are you—are you trying to comfort me?"
Zuko's unscarred cheek tinged with pink.
She groaned and hid her face back in her hands. "Ugh, I must look really pathetic if you're trying to cheer me up."
"Whatever," he muttered, if a little defensively. No doubt he'd noticed the underlying insult.
Katara just went back to brooding. She probably would have stayed that way as well had he not told her that they had to keep moving.
"Who said anything about 'we'?" Katara demanded, even as she grudgingly got to her feet.
Zuko gave her a blank stare that had "are we really going to do this again?" written all over it. Katara just huffed and folded her arms, holding her chin high. She did not want to cooperate with him. He was a scheming, double-crossing firebender. So what if he had rescued her from falling into that abyss. So what if he had carried her when she was too drunk to walk, and had even been nice enough to not tease her about all her silly ramblings. It didn't make a difference, because he was still a backstabbing jerk.
Gah. Even in her mind she didn't sound that convincing.
Zuko just shook his head in a despairing sort of way and started walking down the path to the right. She stood there for a moment, hands twitching into a half-fist and wondering if she should follow or take the path on the left, just to make a point. A defiant, stubborn part of her wanted to do just that to show that she hadn't forgiven him for his stunt in Ba Sing Se. However, her head was still throbbing from whatever the caterpillar had given her, and she had enough sense of self-preservation to realise that Zuko did have the upper-hand when it came to navigating this maze without bending. If he was willing to help, she would be stupid to turn down the offer a second time.
"Wait," Katara called in a resigned voice.
Zuko paused and looked back at her with his eyebrow slightly raised. She didn't need him to speak to know he was thinking something smug that probably went along the lines of her "finally seeing reason" or some such rot. Ugh, it made her want to swing right back around and go in the other direction, but Katara knew that would just make her look immature. She would swallow her pride this time, but that didn't mean she had to like it. Even if she did find the sight of his shirtless form a nice distraction from all the moss and stone that surrounded them.
Irritated at her own traitorous thoughts, Katara gritted her teeth and followed him with stompy little steps, glaring at his back as if there was a big red bulls eye right in the centre. Minutes passed, and she was still fuming. It was all his fault she was feeling so upside down and muddled, like dye swirled round and round until the colours were just a big cloudy mess. Stupid Zuko with his stupid niceness and—and stupidness! He was too distracting, strutting about all sexy ruffled morning hair and bare chest, and—
Her foot connected with something sharp. She let out a yelp and found herself sprawled on the ground in an awkward heap. Groaning, she pushed herself into a sitting position and examined the tender spots on her legs and elbows, which she knew were going to blossom with bruises. A low chuckle told her that Zuko had seen the whole thing.
"I thought waterbenders were supposed to be graceful," he observed from somewhere above her. "I guess that dictum doesn't apply to ones suffering from a hangover."
Katara raised her head to make a waspish retort, only to pause as she was confronted with a warm, teasing smile that did odd things to her stomach. All those flutters and swoops were quite unnerving. It was like there was a whole circus act of airbenders performing inside her, reaching right up to her thumping, equally fluttery heart.
"Here," Zuko said, offering his hand.
Katara's cheeks warmed. "I'm fine," she muttered, making a point to get back to her feet without his assistance.
Rubbing her elbow, she stalked ahead without a further word, avoiding his gaze and feeling a little shaken. This was not good. Not good at all. Her heart was still thumping in her chest like a drum, tattooing whispers of emotion that she refused to accept. Lopsided smiles and shaggy bed hair were not going to be the downfall of her self-respect. She was a smart, independent female, and damn it she had standards! It was time to get a grip!
Katara nodded emphatically to herself, as if to corroborate her resolution. It became much easier to ignore Zuko's presence after that (or, at least, the cute, unsettling parts of him). Instead, she focused on putting one foot in front of the other so she could get out of this maze (and far, far away from him); she focused on how she'd felt when he'd turned on her in the caves: the betrayal; the sick realisation that she had been taken in by his sob story just like she had with Jet, letting the prince's fingers curl around her heartstrings to tug and tug until she had almost wasted the Spirit Oasis water on him.
"Maybe you could be free of it."
Her gaze flickered involuntary to Zuko's face, staring at the scar that ravaged the left side of his otherwise handsome features. It was in that moment the mist came, swirling around them in thick gusts, as if a monstrous giant were breathing the foul stuff down on them to blind their vision. Fingers closed around her wrist.
"Don't move," she heard Zuko murmur.
Katara had to admit that, despite her misgivings and frustration towards the prince, she was glad for the physical contact. It kept her grounded—connected to him in a way that assured her neither of them were suddenly going to be carried off into some random mirror trap as had been her previous fate. Still, her heart thumped against her ribs in a very different manner now as fear coiled its way up her body, choking her throat. What would the maze throw at them this time?
Zuko's fingers suddenly tightened around her wrist, almost painfully. "Mum?" he whispered.
Katara blinked and looked around, but she couldn't see anything but thick fog obscuring her vision. Suddenly, Zuko's grip was gone and she felt him step away.
"Mum?" he said again, this time louder. "Is that—is that really you?"
The longing in his voice made something in her heart ache. He sounded so much like a lost child—so much like that tired and exhausted boy she had been locked up with in the caves of Ba Sing Se. Zuko took a step forward, then another, and for the first time Katara was able to make out some kind of figure through the mist: a ghostly wraith wearing a cloak over a dress the colour of crimson. Her spine tingled and the fine hairs on her arms prickled in warning. Without even thinking, Katara reached out blindly and was relieved when she made contact with warm skin.
"Zuko, wait," she hissed, pulling him back. "Something isn't right."
He tried to shake himself free, but she just held on tighter.
"Let go," he ordered with a sort of frantic desperation. "I have to see! I have to know if it's really her!"
"Your mother is dead!" Katara retorted, yet her heart twisted in sympathy. If anyone could understand his pain, it was her. "You told me yourself, remember? Back in the caves. You said the Fire Nation took her away from you—that she's been gone for years." Her gaze met his through the waning mist, wanting him to believe—to see the truth. "That woman you're looking at isn't your mother, Zuko. She's gone."
"No." He shook his head and, with one ruthless tug, managed to break free of her grip. "No, I refuse to believe that. Mum!" He was running now, chasing the cloaked woman, who had started moving away from them. "Mum, please stop. Please talk to me!"
Katara cursed under her breath and sprinted after him, careful not to trip over any more loose rocks. The mist had faded enough that she could at least see Zuko's blurry form stumbling after the wraith-like figure, but it was still impossible to make out where they were going. She was running blind, and with every step she took the bad feeling that shivered up her spine got worse.
"Zuko, wait!" Katara yelled, getting frustrated now.
The prince didn't listen. He was too busy calling out to the woman, pleading with her to stop—to just hear him out.
"I know it was my fault you had to leave!" he cried, and Katara could hear the tears he was trying so hard to suppress in the hoarseness of his voice. "You sacrificed everything to save me, and—and maybe you regret that now. Maybe you wish you had just let Father kill me. I get it, and I'm sorry. I'm sorry I ruined everything!" His voice thickened and he slowed to a halt, hanging his head. "Just, please—please, don't go. Please, don't leave me again." A shuddering breath. "I need you."
The woman paused. Slowly, she removed her hood and turned to gaze at Zuko, so silent and expectant, as if she were waiting for him to do something. Mist curled around her and her cloak rippled in a non-existent wind, even as strands of dark hair blew softly across her face. She was beautiful—beautiful and terrifying, with empty, amber eyes and skin so pale it was like marble.
Katara stopped a few feet away from the prince, chest rising and falling as she tried to catch her breath. Her gaze kept flickering from him to the woman, but she didn't know what to do now that they were all standing together. She felt paralysed, or maybe it was just seeing Zuko so vulnerable that made her hesitate. In that moment, it was like they were back in the cave all over again, staring at each other in sad wonder as they realised their kindred pain.
"That's something we have in common."
Zuko reached his hand towards the woman, achingly uncertain in his need to touch her. "Mum," he said in a small voice, taking a step closer. "I know it's you. I know you can hear me, so why are you keeping your distance? Don't you recognise me? It's me, your son Zuko." He took another step. "Please, just say something. Please, let me know you at least forgive me for what happened."
A faint smile curved the woman's lips, and she lifted her hand and beckoned to him with her finger. His eyes shined with hope and he took a step forward, following her summons as if in trance. The hairs on the back of Katara's neck stood on end.
"No, wait!" she cried.
Too late. The mist vanished, along with the woman, and Zuko let out a shocked little gasp as he stepped over the edge of a gaping hole and into nothing. Katara didn't think: she just ran, throwing herself forward and latching her arms around his middle. She grunted as she dug her heels into the ground and used all of her weight to pull back. There was a horrible moment where she thought they would both fall into the pit, but then gravity did its work and she and Zuko tumbled backwards away from the edge in a tangle of limbs.
For a moment neither of them moved. Katara breathed hard as she tried to catch her breath, conscious of the warm body pressed all up against her. His hair shielded his face, though she could feel damp splotches spreading on her skin from where his cheek brushed her neck. That was when she noticed the fine tremors travelling up and down his frame—heard the choked little sounds escaping his mouth.
"Hey," she said softly, placing her hand on his shoulder.
He flinched at her touch, and when he raised his head she could see the tears glistening on his cheeks. A tiny string in her heart reached out to him in response, connecting her to this scarred, wounded boy with gossamer threads of understanding. Then Zuko seemed to realise what he was doing and he quickly scrubbed a hand across his face, wiping away the tell-tale droplets.
"Sorry," he muttered, getting off her and averting his face. "I don't know what came over me."
Katara shifted to a sitting position, biting her lip as she stared at his huddled form. "Zuko, you know that wasn't your mum, right? It was just an illusion."
He paused, expression veiled by the curtain of his hair. "Yeah," he said, though he didn't sound convinced.
A creased formed on her brow. She didn't know why it was so imperative that she get him to see that the person who had tried to kill him just before had not been his mum (spirits knew he didn't deserve her comfort), but regardless she found herself shuffling closer.
"Hey," she repeated, touching his arm. "Look at me."
Zuko didn't move, so she simply grasped his chin with her hand and turned his face towards her. His eyes widened slightly as he met her gaze, no doubt shocked by her boldness, but he made no motion to push her away.
"You said your mum sacrificed everything to save you, right?" she demanded.
He nodded.
"Well, then, there's your answer." She let her hand slip down to clasp his hand, linking their fingers and giving a gentle squeeze. "After everything your mum did for you, she wouldn't just turn around and try to put you in danger. No mum who truly loved her child would do that."
Zuko stared at their intertwined fingers. Then he just sighed and turned away, slipping his hand free of her grasp. "I know what you say makes sense. There's no reason for my mother to be in this maze—no reason for her to be anywhere in this world. Her death was made official years ago." He hugged his knees to his chest. "I guess I just wanted so hard to believe that she was still alive, even if—even if it meant she hated me."
Katara frowned. "I'm sure your mother wouldn't want you to think she hates you, Zuko."
His brow furrowed, and he raised his head to stare at her in genuine curiosity. "What makes you think that?"
She touched the spot where her pendant normally rested on her chest. In her mind, she could see the sooty snow falling all around her and the ships closing in on her village; see the blood splattered on the blue stone that would never be warmed by a mother's life-force again.
"Because I believe your mother chose to make that sacrifice out of love for you," Katara said softly, releasing her visions of the past and meeting his gaze. "Because that's what mums do."
Zuko let go of his knees and stretched his legs. His expression was distant, pensive. "Funny. My mum told me the same thing once."
"Then maybe you should listen to her."
A ghost of a smile tugged at his lips. "I'll keep that in mind."
Katara just nodded, and for a moment it was as if all of their bad history together had never happened. Understanding. Acknowledgment. She felt the connection grow stronger between them—stronger even than it had in the crystal cave when he had first opened up to her. No matter how much she wanted to hate him for what he had done in Ba Sing Se, she couldn't deny that her heart was attuned to his.
That they had a bond.
She frowned, unsettled by her feelings, and looked the other way. "We should go. There's not much sand left in the hourglass."
"You're right."
Zuko stood up and offered his hand to her. She hesitated only a moment before letting him pull her to her feet.
"Thanks," she murmured.
He let go of her hand. "I think I should be the one thanking you."
Katara felt her cheeks warm. "Well, I couldn't just let you die."
"Even though I'm a backstabbing jerk?"
Her blush darkened. His voice was teasing, but the expression in his eyes was grave—even curious. Flustered, she planted her hands on her hips and raised her chin, putting on a haughty front.
"Especially because of that," she retorted. "If anyone is going to kill you, Zuko, it's going to be me."
"Well, it's nice to know I'm still in your good books," he said wryly.
The corners of her mouth twitched upwards. "Just keep walking."
Zuko obliged and, after some backtracking, they headed deeper into the maze. Katara cast a sideways glance at the prince. In her heart, she knew she had not really forgiven him for siding with his sister back in Ba Sing Se. Still, a silent truce had been made. Even if they couldn't be friends, perhaps they could at least be allies of a sort.
She wondered why she even cared.