ZUKO SAT ON a rock and stared out into the sepia-coloured space. He was thinking. That was all he ever seemed to do nowadays. An errant thought surfaced in his mind and he found himself reminiscing about his uncle. Hadn't he spent time in the Spirit World?

He remembered overhearing the rumours, the crewmen whispering about the Dragon of the West behind his back. What brought him to the Spirit World? Did he come of his own free will or was he summoned here by the spirits? What had he seen? Had he been afraid? Had he been seeking something, someone?

Zuko sighed. There were too many questions, too many thoughts drifting through his mind at once. It was difficult to tell one from the other, and time . . . Well, he had too much of it down here. Time ran slowly, if it ran at all. It felt like he'd been waiting in these meadows forever.

He wondered when he could leave here, when he would be allowed to return to the world above. He even fantasised what it would be like to escape the Spirit World, but then Red-Sash's warnings would echo in his thoughts. He shuddered at the recollection. No, he dared not contemplate escape, for even he was not brave enough to face the consequences.

So Zuko continued to sit on the rock, thinking and waiting—waiting for time to pass him by.

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KATARA DIDN'T KNOW how to find Zuko, and she was convinced that Avatar Kuruk was off his rocker to suggest that she would. She was just this single patch of colour in an otherwise misty grey universe. No, not grey—sepia, which was somehow even more depressing.

She was in a place known as the meadows, a section of the Spirit World where those whose lives were in an equal balance of good and evil came to spend their time. Here they waited to be sorted into the proper realm, so that they could be reincarnated. And while the name meadows might have sounded like a lovely place, it was clearly a misnomer. It was little more than a yellowing swamp filled with the formless dead.

There were a pile of rocks in a clearing to the far side of the river. No one seemed to be there, so Katara picked her way through the aimlessly floating spirits to the shady spot near the overhanging of a cliff. She supposed this was one of the divides between the meadows and another part of the Spirit World. It was slightly warmer here near the cliff, so she curled up on one of the rocks and wrapped her arms around her knees.

She felt so alone that she wanted to break down and cry, but she was terrified of being overrun by the spirits—spirits that bore shadowy faces with humanoid features yet had no spark of light in their eyes. Some had clearly been here for a long time. Their faces were almost worn away, their noses rubbed down, cheekbones gone, their lips mere lines against wispy grey. The recently deceased were recognisable as humans at least, more solid than the others, but even they seemed lost inside their own heads. They brushed past each other without a word, and Katara morbidly wondered if she would end up looking as vacant.

Sighing, she glanced up at the greenish grey sky. Was it always evening here? She wanted to leave this place, to abandon everything and return home, but her pride had immobilised her. She wanted to show herself, and even Avatar Kuruk, that she was worth taking a chance on, and that her stubbornness had the power to match it. But how would she find Zuko in this mass? And what would she say to him?

Zuko—arrogant, scarred, determined, golden-eyed Zuko. Her lip curled at the thought of him. Was she really rescuing a man, who had done nothing but hunt down her friends, from the land of the dead? Was she really risking her sanity to bring this boy back to life just so that he could try to capture the Avatar again?

As if on reflex, she yawned, unable to dwell upon the thought any longer. The weariness she felt from before had finally crept into her bones and fatigue overtook her. She could barely keep her eyes open. She began to sway and then caught herself.

After a moment, she gave in and curled up on the craggy stone. When she was almost asleep, when her respiration had slowed to the point where her body reached a semi-conscious state, there came a rustling sound from above.

"Well, if it isn't the water peasant," a familiar voice rasped. "So who killed you?"

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HE SAW HER before she saw him. She was a beacon of light in the midst of the greyish, foggy gloom. He spotted her huddled on top of a rock, lying between the great divide. She was totally out of place with her vibrant solid body and bright blue eyes. And he wasn't the only spirit to notice her. Her very presence had drawn the attention of the envious dead.

What is that peasant girl doing here? Zuko asked himself with a frown. Before he even realised it, he was pushing his way through the crowd towards her.

For a moment, he thought she was dead. She was too bright to be a spirit, too bright to be one of them, but she had that vague, lost look that he identified already with many of the spirits around here, and that troubled him for some reason.

"So who killed you?" he asked, before he could stop himself. He certainly knew he didn't.

Katara's eyes snapped open and now Zuko really knew for certain that she wasn't dead. There was too much ice in those ocean-blue eyes of hers for her not to be living.

"No one killed me," she said in the mumbling tone of someone who was about to fall asleep. "I'm the one who killed you."

That she did.

"Why are you here, then?"

"I came to get you out of here."

He snorted derisively. He imagined her tone would be far more accusatory if she were fully awake, far angrier. He couldn't remember ever having a civil conversation with her, except maybe the time he tied her to a tree. He inwardly winced at the memory. Regardless, this waterbender had been a thorn in his side since the moment he had first met her, and now she had followed him into death?

"You're falling asleep," he groused impatiently.

Her head rolled limply to one side and she struggled to keep her eyes open. "Am not," she protested like a small child, and then promptly fell asleep.

Zuko could only roll his eyes at her and sigh. He had a feeling she was already plummeting his karma just by being here.

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KATARA SLOWLY WOKE in a daze. Her neck was sore and her limbs were aching. She turned and yawned, meeting the eyes of scores of spirits, all standing as though placed in a line. There was exactly a five foot berth around her in all directions, but just beyond that point were crowds and crowds of the dead, all gazing at her.

She felt the panic bubble inside her chest, but a hasty glance about revealed the guardian who had been keeping the dead away from her. Zuko. He sat beside her, his elbows propped on his knees and his head in his hands, glaring out at the gathering of dead beyond them.

He looked the same as she remembered him, with his long black hair tied back in the familiar top knot. Except his colouring was ashen now, as were the plain clothes he wore. The red scar on his face was the only visible colour, along with his eyes—bright golden and smouldering with unmasked contempt.

He frowned menacingly at a little girl who was peeking at Katara and her bright blue eyes—watching her with her own grey eyes filling with unmasked envy. Katara's heart twinged with sadness, but Zuko tossed his head angrily, a get-out-of-here motion, and the little spirit-girl fled at once. Something shifted in the onlookers' faces, which must have alerted him to Katara's wakening, for Zuko had abruptly turned towards her. He took in her unfurling body with pressed lips and a steady expression.

"Sleep well?" There was haughtiness to his tone, but there was no steel behind his words.

"Yes," she lied.

Her back was cramped and her legs were sore. She was coming down from the high, the loss of adrenaline she had been feeding on since their first fight back at the oasis. However, since arriving here, she had nothing to fight for, and so the chi that had once been boiling in her veins was now dissipating at an alarming rate. She felt tired and heavy. Weak.

"Good," he said. "Then get up. We have some talking to do."

Zuko stood up and Katara's eyes traced his movements, taking in his whole change in appearance and demeanour. Now that she was fully awake and somehow less terrified than the night before (if there was such a record of time down here), she could see that everyone else was as grey and translucent as he was, except Zuko's scar and his eyes still held tinges of colour. Everyone else, however, looked the same. They were all terrifying in their uniformity.

"Get up, would you!"

She glared at him fiercely and stood—because she wanted to, not because he ordered her.

"Who put you in charge of me?" She angrily tossed her braid over her shoulder. "I'm the one who came here to get you and now here you are. Where's the exit to this place? I'm ready to go!"

She strode forward to grab his hand and pull, but her fingers slipped right through his. She stopped, her mouth gaping.

"Come on," he muttered, and then glowered at her. "Are all good guys this dim-witted?"

He pushed through the crowd and she followed in the path he created. She tried not to notice the prickling of her neck hairs with the way she was being stared at.

They walked across the meadows for a long time, until they reached another river, a smaller, less murky one. There was more fog here than anywhere else, but it was relatively deserted. Zuko pointed to a rock and ordered her to sit. Even when angry, he sounded proper. He was a prince, after all. If only he wasn't transparent, she might actually be intimidated by him.

"I'll sit when I want to!" But then, of course, in that moment she wanted to sit. She began to shift on her feet, aching to take a seat.

"I have no idea what you are doing here, but you are leaving now," he said without preamble.

Katara nodded sharply. "Agreed. And you're coming with me."

"No."

"Don't be ridiculous! Don't you want to be alive again?" Her eyebrows all but disappeared into her hairline. "I'm offering to take you back!"

"You offer me nothing," he said dryly. "The gods have to decide whether I return or not. Truth be told, I don't want to return."

She furrowed her brow in confusion. "What? I don't understand."

"I don't expect you to!" he snapped. "This is none of your concern, waterbender. Return to your world."

She wanted to snap at him, but then she caught sight of the scar across his throat—the one she had given him—and she looked away. Shame spread throughout her body like a wildfire.

"But I—I-I killed you."

"Yes, I realised that when I arrived here," he snarked, then threw her a contemptuous look. "You were lucky, by the way."

"Lucky?"

"I was already exhausted before I fought you the first time. And the second time you were only able to defeat me through stupidity and sheer luck."

"Stupidity?" She couldn't believe what she was hearing, or that she was repeating his words like a poorly trained iguana-parrot.

"Oh, so you meant to explode the ice into a dozen deadly shards?"

Her finger was already in his face while her other hand was resting on a jutted hip. "Listen here, you arrogant little—"

"What am I to you?"

She dropped her hand and stood up straight. "W-what?"

"I asked—what am I to you?" His eyes, the only part of him that looked completely solid, bored into her with accusation. "Why do you need to take me back? To appease your guilt? Well, if that's all you're looking for, then you're forgiven. I forgive you. Now leave."

"Look—" Her voice softened, almost pleadingly. "Would you just let me take you out of here, preferably in one piece?" When he didn't even bother to look at her, Katara had to stop herself from stomping her foot in frustration. "What kind of idiot would want to stay here, anyway?"

"The kind who cannot find honour above."

"Honour?" She threw up her hands. "Again with the honour thing!"

"Look!" he snapped, nostrils flaring. "Things are different now. This place—"

"What? How have things changed? You've been here, what, a few minutes and suddenly your views on life and death have drastically altered?"

"A few minutes?" He literally scoffed in her face. "You have no idea."

"Then tell me."

She folded her arms beneath her breasts and waited patiently, or at least as patiently as someone like her could. Zuko met her eyes, saw the look of dogged determination there, and tsked in one part annoyance, the other part resignation. Like him, she would never give up.

He sighed and took a seat on the rock, bringing his misty fingers to his forehead. "Time runs differently here. It might feel like a few minutes have passed for you, but for me it's been years. Years left alone with only my thoughts. And I've decided that I'm not going back."

"Are you saying you want to be dead?" A look of utter incredulity washed over her features. "Are you saying that you want to stay here in this limbo for—for the spirits only know how long?"

"I'm saying things are better this way."

"Better? For whom? I swear—" She stood over him, brandishing her finger at him like a weapon. "I swear if you weren't already dead, I'd—"

"Kill me?" He said it so casually that she wasn't quite sure she'd heard him right. "How convenient for you that I'm already dead." There was no bitterness in his tone, but his eyes were shining in such a way that she immediately swallowed back the biting retort lingering on her tongue. "So you agree I'm better off down here, then?"

"That's not—"

"Great." He was already back on his feet, towering above her so that she had to take a stumbling step back. "It's settled, then." He began ushering her towards the other side of the river. "Now let's send you on your way."

She turned around. "Zuko, you are coming with me."

He stopped abruptly and their eyes met with sudden force. There was a pang of sadness in her chest at the thought that those vibrant golden eyes were going to burn out like all the others down here.

"I'm not coming with you," he said.

"Why? What are you so scared of?"

"What?" His tone was like ice and she lifted her chin haughtily.

"I asked, why are you so scared? Are you just that afraid of life?"

He bit down on his bottom lip with such ferocity that she winced. She knew, knew, that he was nothing but mist, but he was so intimidating right now that she couldn't help but be frightened.

"I am not scared!" he growled. His grey face was only inches from hers. "You waltz down here with your pretty blue eyes and your woeful bleeding heart and you presume to know me, to know everything there was to know about life and death. Tell me, what do you know about being afraid?"

His voice was a raging roar now. She was too overwhelmed to speak, too shocked at his vehemence. His lips curled into an ugly sneer and he glared at her hotly for a moment before spinning around to leave. However, in that moment, Katara finally found her voice.

"Wait! I—I can't live with the fact that I killed you."

Zuko stopped and turned around. His eyes darted to hers with frustration. "You're going to have to."

"Please, Zuko." Her voice wobbled in her throat. "Please come back with me. I don't know what you've gone through down here, and I don't know what makes you so hesitant to return, but—but I promise to help you however I can. You won't be alone."

"What if I like being alone," he replied irritably.

"No one wants to be alone."

He went silent for a moment, and then, "Don't you realise that by bringing me back, I might just go back to the way I was—mindlessly pursuing the Avatar and hurting those you love?"

"And what if you don't?" she fired back. "What if you come back and you're given a second chance? You once told me that you wanted something that was taken from you: your honour. But honour cannot be given or taken away. You must earn it yourself. You have to restore your own honour by doing what's right."

He said nothing at first. He merely scowled at her, and then he spoke, "Are all the good guys this optimistic?"

She smiled thinly. "Only me."

"Thank the spirits."

"Please, Zuko," she pressed, hoping she had found an opening. "I know this is selfish of me to ask, but you have to try. We may not even get out of here, but—but you've got to try, because I can't be responsible for your death."

"You already are," he said bitterly.

"I know." She nodded slowly, head bowed. "I know that, but—but you've got to come back with me. You've got to try."

Zuko watched her with an uncertain expression on his face. There were real tears tracking down her cheeks now, and he suppressed a noise of utter impatience. He stepped forward, still uncertain, but sensed the need for action.

"You didn't condemn me," he murmured softly. "It was just something that was meant to be."

The tears didn't stop, but they slowed. Katara looked up at him carefully, trying to decipher the reason for his kindness. But then she realised that he was sad, too. She had never seen Zuko with anything but an expression of haughty indifference or raging anger, but now he was looking at her with something akin to pity or even sympathy.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, stumbling back to sit on the rock. "I'm so sorry."

Zuko sighed heavily and, after a moment, sat down beside her, perching his cloudy form on the very edge. She turned to face away, holding her head in her hands. She didn't want him to see her crying. She didn't want to watch him pity her.

So they sat together, in silence.

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ZUKO SAT ON the rock, silently fuming. Katara didn't know it, of course, but she had asked him the unthinkable. She honestly believed that she was saving him. If she knew the truth, if she knew what the consequences were for the both of them attempting to leave, would she still try?

He shook his head with a grimace. Yes, the optimistic fool probably would.

"I don't want to leave here knowing that you suffer like this every day," she whispered. "Not because of me."

Her plea was hoarse and ragged, and he couldn't even conjure a response. He only stared down at her fragile figure with resignation. After a moment, he began to trace her profile, following the curve of her forehead, the smooth line of her nose down to the soft bow of her mouth. When he began to trace the slope of her chin to her throat, he noticed the blue pendant on her neck and touched the jagged scar on his own throat.

She would never forget, he told himself. She would never give up. She was a lot like him—too much, in fact. While he was suffering down here, she would be suffering up there, and he would not be responsible for anyone else's guilt and pain besides his own.

From the moment she took his life and descended into this world to retrieve him, their souls had become intrinsically linked. They were bound by death—his death. Why did it have to be her to come get him? Why not her brother or the Avatar? They would have dealt with his negative answer strongly, not crying or begging, causing him so much grief and guilt. Well, maybe the Avatar would have cried . . .

Grimacing, Zuko turned to look back down at the river. The world of the dead was silent all around them. He could hear the river trickling in the distance. For anyone else he would never consider returning to the living world, but for this girl—for some unknown reason, he was less sure.

"Get up."

She sat up straight in terror, staring up at him with those wide moonlit eyes. He exhaled a growl and glowered. Damn those woeful eyes. Damn her.

"Get up," he repeated, glaring at her.

"What's wrong?"

"We're going."

"Going where?"

"Back to the land of the living."

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