A/N: I guess a broke a record :P It's the fastest I made a new chapter for this story :P (And this one, too, the longest so far as well.) Also, as of chronology: this one is set after all three pervious ones, about half a year after Zuko and Katara's wedding. I hope you'll enjoy it!
Rating: T
Word Count: 3631
Disclaimer: [Insert funny text here that tells you I do not own Avatar: the Last Airbender.]

Katara took a sip from her tea; the amber liquid first felt unpleasantly bitter, but then left a surprisingly sweet aftertaste what lingered in her mouth for minutes afterwards. She looked down at the cup, frowning a little. She knew this tea well – she had been drinking it for half a year. And she was starting to get enough of it.

This tea, made of the leaves of the common rue was supposed to prevent her to get pregnant, and so far, the drink served its cause. And even in the beginning, when she and Zuko had just gotten married, when she had been just adjusting to court life, it made sense to drink it. Neither of them wanted to have a baby so soon – it would have been inconvenient. They were young. They had time. Plenty of it.

And still, now, six months later, they were still young – she was only seventeen – and they still had time, the Council was silent, there were no demands for an heir yet, they were enjoying their time together, so certainly, a child was not needed yet, but… Most recently Katara felt like something was missing. There was that hollowness within her when her moonflow arrived. There was that soft, nudging feeling inside of her, urging her forward, urging her to create something, the drive to give life.

…But she had no idea if they were on the same page with Zuko on this topic.

She glanced at her husband sitting opposite of her on the other side of the small, low table, engrossed in some document or other. A small smile played on her lips. The Sun had just started its daily journey on the sky and he was already deep in work, his breakfast untouched, forgotten in front of him.

Now or never.

"You know, I've been thinking," she started softly, as if she was introducing a completely ordinary topic, like the things still had to be done regarding the impending spring festival, not a completely life-changing one.

Zuko immediately raised his head.

"Yes, sorry, did you say something?" He put the document aside and looked into her eyes, granting her his undivided attention. He always did that – he was either listening to her with every fiber of his being, or wasn't paying attention to her at all. But when she needed him, he was ready to put aside anything her was working on, and to concentrate on her, and on only her – something she was really grateful for.

"Yes. I said I've been thinking," she repeated.

"And about what?"

"About that maybe I should stop drinking this," she said, lifting her cup, not saying the exact thing, her exact desire, only hinting it.

Confusion clouded his eyes.

"Why would you do that?" He put his elbow on the table and leaned closer to her.

Katara did anything to remain calm and nonchalant.

"Well… I've thought it would be time for us to try for a baby – well, it might not be the right phrase. Not blocking nature's course would a more appropriate way to put it, I guess." She, too, leaned closer to him, trying to be a little seductive, trying to have him see all the appeal her idea had.

Zuko leaned back, away from her.

"Again: why would we do that?" He asked, apparently slightly repulsed and startled by the idea. "We are okay. We are good. We are happy. Why would we change that?"

It was Katara's turn to be confused.

"You think it would change that?" She asked, bewildered.

"Yeah, I guess so." He shrugged, evidently uneasy about the topic. "I mean, we have absolutely no reason to do that, not yet. We are healthy and young enough so that the Council is convinced that we have plenty of time for conceiving an heir. The economy is stable. The people are content. There's no reason for us to have a baby, really."

Katara scowled.

"I guess there are other factors we should consider." She meant to mean things like having a little person made of the two of them for them to love, for example, but apparently, Zuko had other things on his mind.

"No, I think I've already considered every factor," he replied, shaking his head a little.

Katara started lose her composure.

"You speak like it was a political decision."

"Because it is," he answered without missing a beat and then, just to prove what a completely ordinary thing he'd just said, he lifted his cup and took a sip from the – rue-free – tea.

Katara opened her mouth and then closed it. She didn't know what she should say.

"Are you being serious?" She started, but before he could have spoken, she continued. "This is really all what a child means to you?"

Zuko let out a long sigh, as if his wife was annoying him.

"Look Katara, I am the Fire Lord, every decision I take, every move I make, I have to consider–"

"That's not what I asked!" She snapped. The tea trembled in their cups. "I asked if a baby meant anything more to you than a wise political move. Than a tool. Than…" She choked on a sob. She didn't even realize how upset she'd gotten. She wanted to tell him so many things, about happy families and little feet and toothless smiles and happiness, bust she just simply couldn't. She was aware of the atmosphere he had been raised in, but she also knew what a warm-hearted, sensitive person he really was. She knew his real face – the one without the scar – but this new angle he was showing… She didn't like it at all. She swallowed. "Tell me you weren't being serious." She didn't look into his eyes.

There was a pregnant pause between them.

"Katara, I…" Zuko started, but then stopped. He blinked and tried again, opening his mouth.

But Katara had heard enough.

"You know what?" She asked angrily, already standing up from her seat. "Save your breath." And with that she stormed off, leaving her almost full cup of rue tea on the table.

When the door slammed shut behind her Zuko buried his head in his hands.

He was so screwed…

Katara avoided him all day. He didn't try to look for her, giving her time to calm down; he thought it would be okay to ask for her forgiveness only when she would listen to him without waterwhipping him into next week at least long enough for him to say that he was sorry. That he was a jerk. A huge jerk.

But then she missed lunch and didn't even show up for dinner, and it was starting to worry him. And when she was still nowhere to be found when he started to get ready for bed, he decided to abort his plan to let her come around and seek her out himself.

Not wanting to go to her empty-handed, he made a little detour to the kitchens and grabbed some cookies and made a little calming tea – just to have some peace offering on hand. He even thought about picking some flowers in the gardens, but he didn't want to seem that desperate – even if he was.

Finding her proved to be rather easy – it only took asking a servant who was oblivious to their row. According to him, the Lady had retired to her chambers not a long ago.

…To her chambers. The rooms meant for the Fire Lady and the Fire Lady alone. The rooms she hadn't used ever since they had gotten married, having moved to his room right after their wedding.

It was not a good sign. Not at all.

He hesitated a little before knocking on the door of the Fire Lady's suite quietly, carefully. The knock turned out to be so soft that he wasn't even sure if she'd heard it. He waited a little for her to respond, but when she didn't, he let out a deep breath and opened the door.

The room was almost completely dark, only the moon shining through the window and a small, lone candle placed on the bed side table illuminating it. All the furniture was covered with tarps, save the bed, where his wife lay on her side, the furthest away from the door, facing away from him, the sheets drawn up to her chin.

Zuko swallowed and started walking to her.

"Hi," he said, his voice soft, barely above a whisper. He saw her stiffen a little at hearing his voice; this told him that she was awake. "I brought you some cookies and tea."

She snorted.

"If it's rue, you might as well drink it yourself," she muttered into the night, not turning to face him, staying still. "Because I won't. If you don't want children… well, there are other ways to prevent that."

Zuko didn't react to her words. He didn't even flinch, even though they hurt. Even though he'd deserved it.

"No, it's jasmine. Uncle's blend, actually. I thought you liked it."

No answer; she stubbornly remained silent.

Zuko, upon reaching the bed, put down the cookies and the mug on the bedside table, kicked off his shoes and climbed into the bed, sitting beside her. He waited a little, giving her time to do something, to say something, but she remained impassive.

Zuko sighed, resting his elbows on his knees, not even trying to touch her.

"Look, I…" He started, not really sure what he wanted to say. What he should say. "I just wanted to say I am sorry. I was a moron this morning. An ass. And I am sorry."

Katara didn't answer right away.

"Yes you were. And it's nice you've realized it. But it doesn't change the fact that you meant what you said. You really only see children as the necessary bad." She took a little break, and Zuko was sure if he could see her face, he would see tears streaming down her face. "And it's hurts. Really bad. Because we are so not on the same page here."

It was Zuko's turn to take his time with answering. To be completely, brutally honest.

"It's not just… that," he said finally, letting his head fall. "No, scratch that. This isn't about that at all. I think I wasn't completely honest with you this morning…"

This seemed to catch her attention a little. She flinched slightly, as if she wanted to turn around to face him, but then she remained still, lying on her side.

"What?"

"It's not really that I see children as some kind of political tool… it's more like that I am afraid." He hesitated a little, trying to collect his thoughts or waiting her to say something, he wasn't sure. "I am scared that if we had children I couldn't love them."

This time she did turn around, facing him, half sitting up, propping herself up on her elbows.

"What kind of nonsense are you talking about?" She asked harshly, sounding maybe a little angry, but he knew that it was only so to mask her fright.

"Let's face the facts – I didn't exactly have a caring, loving father whose footsteps I should follow," he continued, stubbornly staring at the opposite wall. "And what if I wouldn't be any better than him? What if I held our baby in my arms, and all I could think of would be if he could do exactly I wanted him to do? What if I had expectations so high for him that he could never live up to them? What if trying still destroyed him? What if I resented him for that? What if I hurt him? What if I… ended up being just like my father?"

Sometime during his confession Katara's arms found their way around his torso, pulled him down, laying him down next to her. He didn't resist, but instead wrapped his own around her, burying his hand and face in her hair.

"What if then, Katara? What would happen then?" He whispered.

"You are nothing like your father, you should know that by now," she whispered back, one hand on his cheek. She pushed him away a little, so she could look into his eyes. "You are such an amazing, loving person, I know this better than anybody. And I know that you are scared – but there's no point in it. You love me, right?"

He wanted to answer her with a million of things – that he loved her with all his heart, loved her more than anything in the world, that he would die for her, but he could barely croak out a simple "Yes."

She pressed a quick, sweet kiss to his lips.

"Then I don't see why are you scared of not being able to love somebody who's made of the two of us." She said, wiping the tears he didn't know he'd shed from his face with her thumbs. "And anyway, you think you are the only one who's afraid?" She asked softly.

"Why? Are you…?"

"Afraid? Yes. Petrified."

Zuko blinked. He was just unable to comprehend what would scare his brave, loving, warm-hearted wife about motherhood. Her, who had taken every misfit under her wings, acting as a surrogate mother to their little, dysfunctional almost-family during the war.

He pulled her closer.

"Tell me. What scares you? Tell me. I want to help."

She sighed.

"I started helping my Grandmother at births at home in the South Pole when I was nine; I even helped to deliver a baby on our way to Ba Sing Se all alone. Please, don't say anything now!" She asked when she saw him opening his mouth. "I've seen everything – the joy, the love, the pain and the death." She paused for a moment, taking a heavy breath. "The South Pole is… cold. Unforgiving. The Dark Months are ruthless. With the men away, we didn't even always have enough food. The expecting mothers often were weak, malnourished. The babies small and fragile. There were times when every third baby we delivered was a stillborn or died not long after birth. Even less survived their first few months. And there was no year when we didn't lost a mother in labor, too."

Zuko was too stunned to talk. He had been in the South Pole, more than once, and he had seen that, especially during the war, the living conditions in there weren't best, but he had never thought that so many had died because of it.

He wanted to say something comforting to her, something reassuring, but before he could have, Katara continued.

"My mother was no exception; she had children before Sokka and me. Children she lost. I even remember her having a baby once. I was really young, maybe three, and I remember her stomach rounding and she pulling Sokka and me close, telling us about out new sibling, but then she went into labor and… we never saw the baby. It sure was a stillborn, or died right after birth. I'll never know." She sniffled; Zuko could feel her tears on his neck. "And sometimes, when I think about us having a baby, I think about it too. About losing a baby we didn't even really had, one I carried within me for nine months, holding the limp, little body in my hands… I have no idea how my mother dealt with losing her children while remaining sane; I am sure the grief, the pain would drive me crazy, and when I think about I am just so, so afraid, you can't even imagine that, Zuko."

She didn't say anything after that for a long time, only sobbed silently into his neck, soaking his collar with her tears.

Zuko thought about what she'd said – her fears were real, tangible; she'd seen it happen. She had seen the dead children and mothers. She knew how easily that could happen. His fears, compared to hers, felt irrational now. Because Katara was right – he was not his father. He knew how to love. He loved her. If he had the chance, he could love their children as well – their children, all big, blue eyes and ink black hair, bending water or fire…

A warm, unfamiliar feeling blossomed in his chest at the thought.

Maybe, just maybe, he wouldn't even find caring for a child that hard after all.

…But then there was Katara still, shedding tears for her very rational fear.

"But…" He started softly, but the words died on his mouth. He swallowed and tried again. "You are this afraid – and yet, you still want a baby? How can it be?"

She looked up at him then, her eyes glistering with tears.

"I can't explain it – I just want it. It's a lot like falling in love. It's completely absurd and irrational, but recently no day passes without me thinking about having children. About having a little life grow within me, a life planted by you, feeling this little person move and feeling its heartbeat… I know the risks, maybe better than anybody, but I still want it."

He tried to understand her, and he liked to think that he did, even if only a little. He shifted a little, lying on his back, pulling Katara to his chest, somehow slipping under the covers in the meantime.

"Well, I am pretty sure – I think I even saw a document about it a few days ago – that the infant mortality rates in the Fire Nation, especially around the Capital, are rather low, lower than it's ever been," he said, seemingly starting a completely new topic, speaking in a calm, almost factual tone. "And the harvest was surprisingly good last year, and we are expecting another good season; there's enough food for everybody, without the fear of famine breaking out. Because of it, many things imported from the Earth Kingdom, what were considered up until now luxuries, are now reachable for even the poorer classes – spices, certain vegetables, herbs..." He took a little break, looking down at Katara. Her sobs had quieted and as he was caressing her hair, he saw her eyes slowly close. "And… if you did get pregnant, you could have the best of everything – I'd make sure of that; we could hire an array of healers, both from here and the Water Tribes, if you wanted. You wouldn't have to worry about anything, only about getting strong, and making our baby strong." He kissed the top of her head. "I wouldn't let anything to happen to you; I would do anything for you. But you already knew that, right?"

She chuckled.

"I had a good guess."

Neither of them said anything for a very long time after that. Zuko was sure that Katara was slowly falling asleep, but he was unable to calm his mind. How did they get here from this morning? What he'd found a foolish, dangerous and as of now unnecessary action only twelve hours ago, suddenly seemed, well… appealing.

He inhaled deeply.

Yes, he could picture Katara and himself with a baby now. No, it's not the good phrasing – he had always been able to do that. It's just that, suddenly, this picture didn't hold any negative meaning for him anymore. The thought was… nice. To have a little person to look after, somebody who'd smile a toothless smile at him, chubby little hands reaching for him…

As shocking as it is, he found himself wanting that.

"Katara?" He asked softly so he won't wake her if she'd already fallen asleep.

"What?" came the murmured, sleepy reply.

"If you stopped taking the rue tea like… today, would you conceive right away?"

She nuzzled her face against his chest.

"No… It would take about a month for the rue to get out of my system, and then who knows how long to get pregnant? I might conceive right away, in the first month after the cleansing period, might not. It might take months."

Zuko only took a moment to think it over.

"That's right. Then what do you say if we inform the kitchens that you don't need that tea anymore?"

Hearing his words, Katara raised her head to look into his eyes, her own eyes suddenly wide open and alert, just to see if he wasn't kidding.

"Are you quiet serious?" She asked cautiously and he nodded. "There's no way back once we start walking down that road, you know that, right?" Another nod.

"I am aware of that. And even though I might not be quite ready for it yet, a couple months… I think that would be enough for me to get prepared for it."

"And to get over your silly fears," Katara added, playfully jabbing his chest.

"And yeah, that… But I'll need you for that, okay?"

She laid her head back on his chest.

"You can count on me. I am not going anywhere."

"I am glad to hear that," he whispered entangling his fingers in her hair. "And you should know that I'll be here, too. For you. All the way." He pressed a kiss to her hair and then with a swift flick of his wrist he put out the lone candle that illuminated the room.

"So?" Katara asked after a few moments of silence.

"So what?"

"Are we doing this? This whole baby-making business?"

He smiled into the darkness.

"If you want me to, I'll burn the palace's whole rue supply in front of your very eyes the first thing tomorrow morning."

"That would be nice," she murmured, snuggling even closer to him. "I love you."

"I love you, too," he whispered, though he wasn't sure if she heard him.

There was nothing else to be said.

A/N: The situation Katara describes in the SWT might seem as a little bit of an exaggeration, but I don't think so. I mean, we only have to take a look at history: for example, Mozart (so we are talking about the eighteenth century, not even the middle ages) had several siblings – about maybe six or seven, I'm not sure – but only he and his sister lived into adulthood. My grandmother had ten siblings – two of them died in infancy (and now, we are talking about the thirties). Add the things we know about the SWT to these facts – cold, no real buildings, the men away, so I don't think they always had enough food, no real healers, and we can also assume a shortage in, for example, healing herbs. Now, this high infant mortality rate doesn't seem so exaggerated anymore, right?
Also, I have been told once, I think in a review for Wedding of the Century, that Zuko and Katara are marrying pretty young (and, according to this story, starting a family pretty young, too), but I don't think that it is such a big issue. I mean, we know that Yue was betrothed at sixteen – which means she should have gotten married still deep in her teenage years. We shouldn't get upset about it – it seems like that in the Avatar world (at least in AtLA, as I would never say the same about LoK), this is the norm. In the real world, even a hundred years ago, it was completely ordinary to get married before turning twenty. So… it might seem a little bit strange for us, but not for them :)
…And before I forget: I did my research. Common rue was really used as contraceptive back in the day :) Although it was used by the Romans, and actually I have no idea about the dosage and the method of usage… But let's pretend that it is available in the Avatar word and is taken as tea, okay? :P