Author Notes:

Disclaimer: ATLA is of course not mine. I'm just borrowing

Season 3, Sozin's Comet

The morning after Zuko and Katara defeat Azula.

Zuko knocked on her door early in the morning. She wouldn't have been awake except she had barely been able to sleep. Both she and Zuko were in the Fire Palace. Word had come that Aang had defeated Fire Lord Ozai. He and the rest of their friends would be arriving via air ship that evening, and they would work out the details after that. Details such as when Zuko's coronation would be and what would happen now. Katara didn't even know how to process what the end of the war would mean for her, and the expansive, ornate guest room she had slept in with its lurking shadows made her feel isolated and afraid.

The knock was almost inaudible. It was as if he were afraid she was asleep or otherwise uninterested in visitors. But she couldn't think of anyone else it could be, and she got up fast to open the door. Zuko stood outside her room, the dark circles under his eyes indicating that he hadn't slept any better than she had.

"Zuko, are you okay?" she asked, but he just opened his mouth silently like a fish sucking in water, his eyes open and vulnerable, so she grabbed his hand and pulled him into the room. The bandages were visible under his robes, which hung loose and untied from his shoulders. She tugged him toward a low couch. "Come on," she said, "let me look at those," and she didn't wait for him to protest before she slid around to help him out of the robes so that she could get a better look look at the bandage wrapped around his torso.

"It's not too bad," he said, but he flinched when she picked up his arm to try to get to the place where the bandages were tucked together.

"Zuko," she said, admonishing him. "Just let me help."

"I didn't mean to bother you for this," he said. She narrowed her eyes at him and made a noise that sounded like "tsk".

"This isn't a bother," she said, looping her arms around him to unwrap the long strip of cloth that was protecting the wound. The room was gray, the sun not yet having found the heavily curtained windows, but even in the poor light she could see the skin where the lightning had hit him. It was red and blistered. She bit her lip. "Sit," she said, pressing him down to the couch. He followed her command and let her help him lie back. She pulled up a stool so she could sit next to him.

Looking at the bare raw skin created a need for her to swallow back a fresh round of tears. She gloved her hands in water and pressed them to the wound, willing the harmed tissue to knit back together. He set his hand lightly on her arm while she did it, and the gesture was endearing.

"I couldn't sleep," he said as she concentrated on him.

"You have a good excuse," she said. "You're going to be the Fire Lord in a few days. That's a lot to think about."

"What's your excuse?" he asked insightfully.

She didn't answer. She didn't know how to answer. Her excuse had something to do with all the worries of tomorrow, and there were too many unknowns to resolve any of those worries. Right now all she could do was try to stay in the present. A present where Zuko (not the future Fire Lord) had come to her for help as a friend.

She focused on him. She could sense a lot of pain under the skin. She gently pulled up with the water, guiding the pain out and away from his body. He let his hand fall to the side while he breathed out quietly. Then she put her hands back down on him again, continuing the process. She wasn't sure all the pain had come from Azula's attack. Some of it felt deeper.

"You could stay here for a while," he said hopefully. "Everyone could."

"Maybe for a little while," she agreed, but she couldn't help wondering how short that time period would be, so she was back to worrying about tomorrow again. She knew by the look in his eyes that he didn't much like the idea of separation either. There was a bond between them that wouldn't get along well with distance. It was strange to think about. Zuko had been a presence in her life all year. They'd been on the same journey in some form or another since the day they'd left the South Pole. Even when they had been enemies, and he was just a a nightmare, he'd always been there. Now they had come to the end of the journey together, and now, when they were finally friends — good friends — their paths were about the diverge again. She hated it.

Her hands stopped moving. She had only been comforting a friend, so she wasn't sure why - while her troubled thoughts floated through her mind - that her eyes chose right then to notice the sharp edge of his jaw and the muscular angles of his torso. She looked away from him and she felt his stomach tense under her hands. He started to sit up, and she quickly tried to correct the mistake.

"I'm not done," she protested, putting both hands to his shoulders to hold him down, but that was only a discovery of something else that was muscular and hard about him, and she hoped he couldn't see her blush. He didn't fight her, though she knew he could have.

"Thanks again, Katara," he said, and it sounded like he thought he was troubling her. He didn't realize the extent to which healing someone else - especially someone she cared about - was meditative and emotionally healing for her as well.

"Stop thanking me," she said. "You saved my life. I'm just returning the favor."

"You returned the favor yesterday when you took down my sister," he said sincerely. "Now you're just being nice."

She wanted to kiss him. Or at least hug him. She couldn't think about why. Instead, she focused on the task of ignoring the physical body she was healing and instead seeking the pain below the surface, letting her hands glide up and down over the wounded area. There were so many physical remnants of pain twisted up inside him. Soon his hand gripped her wrist. "That's good, Katara," he said.

She caught his eye again.

"You can do more later," he promised.

She helped him back up, then he stood while she wrapped a cloth bandage around him tightly again, binding the wound. Her hands were shakier than before, and the close distance necessary for her to pull the cloth over his stomach, below his arm, around his back and so on made her own skin feel warm. She promised herself it was only the strange circumstance doing this to her. That there was nothing else to the heat flowing up from the core of her body except for the emotional height of the last few days. She rather quickly helped him back into his robes, but when the loose fabric still hung untied around him, and he stood looking at her, she fought to ignore the impulse she had to wrap her arms around his chest under the robes.

She had to step back. She looked away, then looked back, and the look he gave her then made her almost step forward again. She didn't. He did it for her instead, and she experienced it in slow motion when he reached for her and she instinctively reached back until their arms were around each other's backs. The side of his face brushed hers before she buried her face in his shoulder and he buried his in hers. She felt tears that weren't her own on the skin of her neck.

"Katara," he said, not letting go, and she had to think not to do something inappropriate, like touch her lips to his neck. "I'm really afraid. I don't know if I can do this."

"Yes," she said, and she did resist and she did not let go, because this was her friend and he was in pain and he needed her to be there for him as his friend. "You can."

Zuko hadn't slept. He hadn't even been able to bring himself to lay down on his bed, in his own room, in the place where he'd grown up. He knew he needed the rest, knew the next few days weren't going to be easier, knew he would have to sleep sometime, but for now his head was too full with thoughts that wouldn't let him go. For so many years of his life he'd perceived the crown as his rightful inheritance. Now he felt like a thief in the night, totally unworthy of becoming the leader of his own country. He feared his inability to bring peace to his people.

Katara was miles away. Or at least it seemed like she was. Really, she was only in a guest room a few hallways away. But for the last several weeks she had rarely been more than a few feet away. It had been startlingly simply to become accustomed to her standing near him. He expected it, turning naturally to look for her at his side or his back. Zuko had come to feel that he belonged with Aang and his friends generally, and she had been the one who solidified the feeling. Now that he was back home, where he truly did belong, he felt lonely without her so close.

It only made sense for him to seek her out the morning after the fight. He went to the room where she had slept like a ghost floating along a predetermined path. It was only when he started to knock that it occurred to him that perhaps she didn't feel the same way. Perhaps she wasn't feeling the emptiness he was feeling alone. He knocked quietly, afraid he'd misunderstood her.

She opened the door almost immediately and acted like she'd known it would be him.

She said something but whatever it was barely registered in his mind. He'd known when he left his own room that he needed to see her, but he hadn't anticipated the feeling that rushed over him once he did and it made him feel like a thief in a different sort of way. He still hadn't responded when she grabbed his hand and pulled him into the room, stopping him in front of a long, low couch.

"Come on," she said, "let me look at those." She was moving around him and her fingers were at the edge of the robes he'd slung over his shoulders so that he wouldn't be totally indecent when he showed up. She swiftly pushed the robes off and out of the way. Then she ran her hand lightly along the bandages covering his back, looking for the place where the binding started or stopped. She thought he was here because he needed a healing session.

"It's not too bad," he said numbly, not sure what to do now that he had the contact he hadn't realized he'd wanted. He let her raise his arm in her search and a sharp pang shot through him. She noticed.

"Zuko," she said, glaring at him. "Just let me help."

"I didn't mean to bother you for this," he said, but she just narrowed her eyes further as if he had said something insulting and made a noise that sounded like "tsk". She started to unwrap the bandage covering the wound and he stood frozen in place while her arms moved back and forth around him. Her face crinkled up when she saw the state of the wound.

"Sit," she ordered, using her hands to push him down onto the couch from his shoulders. He let her do it, and then she put an arm behind his back so that she could guide him down to lie flat. Quickly she had pulled a stool up and was sitting next to him, her hands pressing healing water to his stomach. It was so fast and he was so vulnerable to her that he didn't even try to stop her. All he could do was attempt to reciprocate the comfort she was giving him by weakly placing his hand on her arm while he felt his skin sutured back together.

"I couldn't sleep," he confided while she worked.

"You have a good excuse," she said. "You're going to be the Fire Lord in a few days. That's a lot to think about."

She understood. She didn't expect him to be taking this lightly, nor did she expect him to be celebrating. Her eyes looked tired too, though. Sleep must not have come easily to her either.

"What's your excuse?" he asked.

She didn't answer. She just continued to run her hands along the raw skin. Her healing abilities were impressive. It wasn't just skin and muscle and blood fitting itself back together. It was her channeling pain out of his body. He relaxed under her care and allowed himself to let go of the pain. It occurred to him that she was reaching something buried deeper than physical pain, and he wished he could do the same for her.

"You could stay here for a while," he said, though perhaps that was a selfish thing to say. Maybe he was wrong to think that if she stayed, they could drift into a more peaceful existence together. Maybe he wasn't something she needed. "Everyone could."

"Maybe for a little while," she agreed, but he knew the thing she wasn't saying. That soon she would leave. That soon he would be alone. He hated the idea with so much passion. The connection they'd developed was new and fragile. Distance might destroy it. He wasn't sure why that thought prompted his body to notice the soft touch of her hands and how intimately placed they were on him. Her hands stilled as though she too had become lost in her thoughts, and when she looked away, his stomach clenched. He started to sit up. He didn't want to risk making her uncomfortable. She turned back quickly, placing her hands on his shoulders to hold him down.

"I'm not done," she protested, and feelings he certainly had never acknowledged before arose within him, overwhelming the sense of self-preservation that told him he ought to get the hell out of there before he did something truly foolish.

He wasn't sure what he would have done if her eyes hadn't held the soft kindness of a friend. As it was, he didn't fight her protest. "Thanks again, Katara," was all he said. She was blushing.

"Stop thanking me," she said. "You saved my life. I'm just returning the favor."

"You returned the favor yesterday when you took down my sister," he countered, needing her to know there was mutuality in the affection that continued to grow between them. "Now you're just being nice."

She didn't respond, but her hands started to float along his body again. The healing seemed deeper and more intense. He tried not to notice the physical sensation of her hands drifting down toward his navel and up again toward his sternum, but she wasn't just drawing pain out. She was also stirring up something primal inside him. He held out until he couldn't handle it any longer, then he caught her wrist with his hand, stopping her. "That's good, Katara," he said, trying desperately to calm the intense feelings.

She caught his eye again with a question.

"You can do more later," he promised, not wanting her to think she'd done anything wrong. She seemed to accept that, and she helped him back up. Then he stood still while she bound the wound again, and he thought she might have felt some of the heat rising between them because her hands seemed unsure for the first time all morning and she worked fast to get him back into his robes. He shook the thought away quickly. She was, as it had once been mentioned, way too pretty for him.

More importantly, she was way too good. He could confide in her, and trust her to keep any secret or weakness she discovered in him to herself. He could have dragged her through all the mud and muck of his life, and she would have come out completely clean. She understood things about him that he thought no one else could, and he needed to know that this wouldn't be the last time he could call on her to lend him her strength and compassion.

There was no way in hell he was going to risk losing that for the sake of what was surely a moment of weakness on his part now. His long-term desire to maintain a strong friendship with this girl outweighed the temporary madness that made him want to know what would happen if he did something to turn up the rising heat.

She stepped back from him, looking aside and then looking up again to check his reaction, and they stood looking at each other. She was as vulnerable as he was. He couldn't kiss her. But in this moment he had little control over what he did do. He stepped forward, reaching out for her and feeling her reach back for him, the soft skin of the side of her face lightly brushing his while their arms crossed behind each other's backs. She rested her forehead against his shoulder and he leaned his head down into her shoulder, and this was why he'd come to her room this morning. Because he needed someone to cry with and she was the only friend he had capable of handling it.

"Katara, I'm really afraid," he confessed, not letting go. "I don't know if I can do this."

"Yes," she said, soothing him with her voice and also, thankfully, not letting go. "You can."