Fire - Two years, eight months, two days

Zuko had a way of running his fingers through her hair and turning every thought in her head to smoke, of brushing his hands against her waist, her hips, the back of her thigh, and flooding lightening through her body until every anger, every fear, every passion she had inside was consumed. It was part of what drew her back to his bed again and again. There was something irresistibly delicious about basking in the heat of his embrace, emptied of every lingering anxiety.

But then, there was something nauseating about crawling out of his bed, gathering her clothes from wherever he had thrown them, and seeing what they'd done in the naked sunlight.

"Zuko," Katara murmured, but Zuko swallowed her words, twining his fingers around the hairs at the nape of her neck. He made a sound somewhere between a growl and a groan and tilted her face higher, pressing her back against the wall with the full weight of his body. Katara lost her breath and curled her hands around the sleeves of his robes. It was an embarrassing number of minutes before she remembered that she was upset with him.

The trick, she'd learned, was to disengage in pieces. And to not be afraid to smack him if he wasn't quite getting the hint. Katara peeled her hands away first, pressing her palms flat against the wall behind her. It was cool against her feverish skin. That helped. Zuko's kisses slowed. He leaned back an inch, panting into the space between them.

"Katara," he said and started to lean in again . Katara scowled and covered his mouth with her hand. He sighed and looked at her. He was easier to take like this, as floating gold, a high brow, a sweeping scar.

"I'm serious, Zuko." The words were strong. The voice would get there. "I don't…" She swallowed. "I don't like this."

Zuko arched an eyebrow at her and peeled her fingers away from his mouth. "Yes you do," he said, hooking a finger into the waistline of her leggings and tugging her closer. From anyone else it would have sounded smug. From Zuko, it only sounded certain. Katara blew out a slow, steading breath and Zuko leaned in again, smiling. She turned her head away (such a rookie mistake) and his hands were in her hair again, pulling sharply until he had the exact angle and access that he wanted. Katara sighed and closed her eyes. She gave it exactly five seconds before she hit him in the gut.

Zuko grunted and backed away, scowling. "What?"

Katara matched his glare and folded her arms over her chest. It took her a moment to realize he had undone her robe. She scrambled to pull it closed over her chest wrappings, blushing. "I don't like this," she said, enunciating each word. She jerked her chin towards the pair of guards at the end of the hallway. Zuko followed her gaze and then rolled his eyes.

"Sorry," he said, drawing her further down the hallway, deeper into the shadows. "I forget they're there most of the time." He trailed a fingertip down the side of her neck and over the line of her collarbone. Katara slapped his hand away and resisted the urge to strangle him.

"That's not what I meant," she said, rubbing her face. "I mean it is, but it's also…" She made a weak gesture meant to encompass all of it, the hall, the servant's wing beyond it, the entire Fire Nation Royal Palace. She pushed away from him and drifted towards the window. The moon was new, but the city below glowed anyway, lantern light blazing along the pretty lines of the Caldera City streets. She should have felt out of place here in the heart of a sleeping volcano, but if she reached, she could feel the network of pipes running beneath the city, bringing water to the wealthy nobility. And if she stretched, she could feel the ocean, right on the edge of her senses, rolling dutifully in and out.

She should have, but she never quite felt out of place in the Palace.

"I don't belong here," she whispered to herself. Zuko approached slowly, and slid a hand into her hair, kneading the muscles at the base of her neck. She set her hands on the window ledge. "This just keeps getting harder," she told the spot where the moon should have been. Zuko sighed and tugged her closer so that he could kiss the crown of her head.

Katara turned her face into him and breathed in the scent of clover and baking sand. "What if we just left," she whispered into his chest. She leaned back to cradle his face in her hands, her right thumb stroking the edge of his scar. "Just… I'll find a way, I'll get Koan and you'll get Koza and we'll go anywhere. Just go." She could see the wanting in his eyes, the way the boy inside of him hoped and the wanting swelled and his eyes went distant and warm while the two of them dreamed the same dream. Just for a moment. But then the boy waned and the man was left. The man who was consort, father, and Fire Lord. He closed his eyes and Katara closed hers, fighting against the waves of hopelessness.

Slowly, gently, he drew her into his embrace. "You belong here," he said after a long minute. "With me." It was the closest either of them would ever get to saying it, but lately Katara wondered which of them had drawn that line. She leaned into him and let herself be lulled.

"What if someone finds the letters?"

Zuko rubbed her back in long, soothing strokes. "Burn them once you read them. I'll always send more."

"What if your guards tell Mai?"

He dragged his hands from her back to settle on her hips, pressing kisses behind her ear. "They won't," he whispered and pressed his face against her neck. "They're loyal to me. They won't say anything."

Katara fought to keep her breathing even, even as she fisted her hands in the front of his robes and tilted her head back.

"What if Umako finds out?"

He kissed her and every heavy thing inside of her smoldered away to ash. His hands brushed along her shoulders, and her robe dropped, caught around the crook of her elbows. He pressed her backwards and she followed until her back was flush against a door and he was tugging on her chest wrappings. She fumbled for the doorknob and they tumbled inside.

They barely made it past the doorway.

There was a sharp sigh, and a click, and the pit of Katara's stomach fell down to her toes. Umako stood at the window, fiddling with a lantern with one hand, Koan tucked securely into his chest with the other. She scrambled for her robe, pulling it over her shoulders, knotting the belt sloppily. Zuko's face was white, but his eyes were furious. He closed the door behind them with a snap.

There was a long minute in which no one spoke and the only sound in the room was Koan's long, slow breaths. Katara's chest ached. She advanced, reaching for her son, and Umako took one swift, wordless step back. She felt his message as clearly as a dagger in her stomach. Another minute passed while she stood there, watching him watch her, her hands clenching and unclenching at her sides. Then he nodded ever so slightly and turned to lay Koan on the crimson silk sheets.

"He only just fell asleep," he murmured. "I'd hate for you to wake him."

Heat rolled off of Zuko in waves. "Katara—," he started, coming forward to take her arm, but Umako cut him off.

"Master Katara," he said. Zuko's fingers clenched around her bicep, but Katara didn't take her eyes off of her baby.

"What?" Zuko spit through his teeth. Umako smiled and sat in a chair pulled up to the bedside, his fingertips stroking lazily through Koan's hair.

"My wife's proper title is Master Katara, you highness." The plainness in his voice made Katara's heart pound. "It took my servants a long time to perfect it. They're excellent people, but none of them have spent much time outside of the city walls. The North Pole can be quite… rigid when it comes to gender roles. They called her 'Lady Katara' for the longest time. But I insisted. And they learned.

"You see, my wife trained with Master Pakku, our most prolific warrior, and was his most prized pupil. She is a prodigy who mastered waterbending in a matter of weeks. She trained the Avatar, invaded the Fire Nation," his lip curled ever so slightly, "defeated their Fire Lord in honorable combat." He stood, drifting towards them, and reached for her. Katara stepped numbly out of Zuko's grip and into his, eyes still stuck to her sleeping son. Zuko gave a soft, pained grunt.

"She has earned the honor of her proper title," he said, taking her chin gently. He tilted her head this way and that, inspecting the rapidly darkening marks peppering the skin of her neck. Katara wasn't sure if it was what he saw there that darkened his gaze like that, but his voice was suddenly deathly cold. "Her honor is clearly not something you are concerned with, Zuko."

Zuko advanced and Katara suddenly found herself swept to the side. There was a low, steady scrape of bone being pulled from a leather sheath and suddenly Zuko was standing at the end of Umako's scimitar. Katara's hands trembled at her sides, but she when she tried to speak nothing happened. This was the one nightmare that was never supposed to come true.

Umako's hand was steady. Zuko did not come closer, though he did give the sword a vaguely insulted look. "I care about Katara." Zuko's words were low and furious. "We care about each other."

Umako snarled, his lip curling in disgust. "You sneak her through your palace under the cover of night? You hide her in your servant's quarters? You undress her in hallways while your guards watch?" His voice rose steadily. His knuckles were white around the handle of his sword. "You care about her? Yet you treat her like some back-alley whore." Zuko drew in a breath, looking stricken, and Katara's hand went to her mouth, though she wasn't sure if she was holding back crying or cursing or vomit. Umako's breath trembled. "Katara is my wife, the mother of my son, and the greatest warrior of our generation. You dishonor her." His eyes narrowed. "You dishonor me."

Zuko swallowed, looked at her, and his eyes took on a stubborn glint. "She came here," he said slowly, "because she wanted to. She came here because she loves me." His gaze did not falter. "And I love her." Katara made a low sound, caught between a groan and a whimper.

There was a beat of silence and then Umako snorted. He twirled the scimitar deftly, slipping it back into its sheath at his hip.

"I always forget how much of a child you are, Fire Lord." He turned away, scooped Koan gently into his arms, and deposited him into Katara's embrace. Katara took him like a drowning man took air. "Of course she loves you." Katara dipped her head and breathed in the top of Koan's fuzzy head. Umako shaped his hand to her cheek and gave her a tight, sad smile. "She is young and overwhelmed, sometimes unhappy, sometimes lonely. Given into a marriage she did not expect in a land that she does not know. You are easy to love when I am easy to hate."

Katara's face was hot and her eyes pricked uncomfortably. She had to swallow hard twice before she could find the power to speak. "Umako, I don't—" He smoothed her hair away from her forehead to kiss her there softly.

"She is going to come home with me now. And she is not going to come back."

Zuko's fists burst into flame. "You can't just make her do something she doesn't want—!"

"She will do this," Umako interrupted smoothly, "because she has earned her honor and she will not throw it away for childish passion. She has built a good life— a meaningful life— with me. Of course it's hard. Anything she does that is worth her effort is going to be hard. But she will return because she knows how much more there is to life than common happiness."

He stood there, watching her, so quiet and so sure. Katara could storm, Katara could drown and the steadiness in those eyes would bring her safely to shore every time. And then there was Zuko, whose glare was blazing through her even now. Where Umako was cool, icy clarity, Zuko couldn't help but consume her, to burn her through until she was nothing but smoke. That was just what fire did.

Umako kissed the corner of her mouth, went to the door, and waited. Katara swallowed again, tucked Koan more securely against her breast, and left the room. She tried not to pause as she passed him, but the weight of his words wouldn't let her by. She opened her mouth and tried to say that they could still go away, that this was their chance, that of course she loved him. Zuko turned his face away. Katara shut her mouth with a snap and hurried past.

Umako closed the door after her and started off down the hall. Not once did he look back to ensure Katara followed behind.

She kept quiet until she had slid into the carriage. Mai was settled on the bench across from her, gazing through the window with her elbow on the sill and her temple propped against the back of her knuckles.

"Mai?" Katara's voice was a squeak. Mai's tawny gaze slid in her direction, though no other part of her moved.

"It is the royal consort's duty to see the Fire Lord's guests off safely," she said, and returned her attention to the scenery. Something in her bearing had turned the cramped interior into a throne room and Katara felt very, very small. The carriage jerked into motion and the only sound between them was Koan's soft snores.

But then they came to a halt.

Umako craned his neck to see through the window to the front of the carriage. "Why are we stopping?" he asked quietly. Mai narrowed her eyes and reached into her sleeve.

"Look," she said, and Katara focused on the forms moving in the alleyway shadows of the oddly deserted street. She reached automatically for her hip and then cursed. Her waterskin had been left behind at the Palace. She clutched Koan more tightly to her chest, stretching out with all of her senses. There was a gentle flow of water beneath them, a sewer line. She could pull it to the surface, but she couldn't fight and hold a baby at the same time. Umako's gaze was dark as he reached for the door, scimitar in hand, when suddenly it swung open from the other side.

"My orders were for a water bitch, not a whole circus. Who are the spares?"

Two men peered into the cabin. Katara could see Mai's hand tighten around the knife in her sleeve, but her eyes kept shifting from the men at the door to the baby.

They had to get out of the carriage.

One of them stepped forward, a soldier from the look of his uniform. His ebony hair was long and immaculate, striking against his porcelain complexion. "There was a change of plans," he said. "It was all or nothing." The second man shrugged from his place in the shadows.

"We only need the girl. Get the others out of there."

Katara was feeling distinctly lightheaded, but the way forward snapped suddenly into focus. She slid Koan into Mai's arms. Mai sucked in a tiny breath, but she set her jaw and settled the baby securely against her chest. Katara turned and threw her arms around Umako's neck. "Go," she mouthed against his ear. "Tell him I'm gone and he'll come for me."

Umako's hands clenched around her waist and he whispered something into her hair, too low for her to quite make out. Then he pulled away, crawling out of the carriage with Mai right behind him. Koan stirred as they went past, and Katara traced his cheek with her fingertips.

It would be okay, Katara told herself as she pressed herself back into the leather seats. They would tie them up and leave them somewhere, but Mai would be free in a matter of hours. They could take her quite far in a matter of hours, but it made no difference how far they took her. They'd give her water eventually, or she'd pull it from wherever she had to. Once he knows I'm gone, she told her fluttering heart, he'll come for me.

Umako held his hands up, standing protectively between Mai and the two soldiers. "Okay," he said in his smoothest, most hypnotic of tones. "Okay. I have money. Let's settle this—"

It happened so fast that Katara didn't understand until Umako's body had fallen and his blood was spreading on the cobblestones. Mai released a strangled cry and had let three knives fly before anyone could react. The soldier jerked back, glared at the stiletto impaled in his left shoulder, struck out with sparks flying from his right fist—

In the ensuing battle, an entire city block fell to Katara's might. But when she was subdued (and she was subdued) there were seven drowned men left in the street and three charred bodies: two large, and one world-shatteringly small.

A/N: Tough chapter, tough chapter, tough chapter! Fun fact/rambling anecdote time! (As I'm sure most of you can tell) the fic doesn't go in chronological order, which means that I don't write it in any particular order either, which means every time I write a chapter, it sends me back to add or edit or tweak like five other chapters. In every previous iteration of this story I had the same problem. No matter what I did, it always felt like I was just killing off Mai and Umako so I could get Zutara together (which, yea, fair, but still). So this chapter represents my big breakthrough in my quest to make Mai's death mean something for Katara and Zuko going forward. What do you think? Beautiful tribute? Trite Zutara fantasizing? Let me know in the reviews :)

Million thanks to those who reviewed, favorited or alerted. Glad you all like it and hope you enjoy going forward!