A/N: This is potentially my last update for awhile. I'm off to college, and God knows what will happen next. That, of course, was the inspiration for this piece, and I figured, hey, I bet Aang's got some issues with major life changes; I think I'll write a fanfic about being apprehensive! And voila: this story was born. So it has a point, if only for me. I wish I had a Katara, though (not literally, of course!). Well, I suppose that's that. Next thing I post will most likely be tainted with my creative-writing-major-ness. So let's hope the next story shows a vast improvement, right? Ha ha. Ah, since I'm being somewhat emotional, I love all you people who read and review and keep me going. It's nice to have my stuff appreciated. Now read and enjoy and review!! ;D

Apprehensive

Appa had always been comfortable before: a suitable pillow when night fell, a reminder of good days long gone, a friend and constant companion. But now, on this night, Aang found no comfort in his bison's thick fur or warm presence. He lay as he had laid for the past several hours, staring up at a sky that seemed too high above, too far away, and let time pass without a fight.

He wanted to fight it. He wanted to freeze the night at this very second and let it slide into an eternity, never breaking into dawn. But even with all his powers, all his training, he could not stop time.

An unpleasant, tight sensation had settled behind his sternum, and it seemed like the slightest of weights on his lungs, only just inhibiting his breaths. He knew what it was—he had felt like this before. It was almost like fear but subtler, somehow lighter, and he easily identified that he was apprehensive.

He could picture Toph's reaction to that feeling.

Of course you're apprehensive, Twinkle Toes! Tomorrow's the big, butt-kicking day! And if you use any earthbending, you better do it right 'cause I'm not gonna be embarrassed by my airhead of a student.

Sokka's, even, wasn't that hard.

It's the night before a battle. I s'pose it's a natural feeling, but we warriors get used to it.

But Katara? For some reason, he could not imagine her response. And so he did the only thing he could think to do: he airbent himself to the ground and crept quietly to her tent. It was pitched amongst the other Water Tribe soldiers, and if Momo hadn't been curled about one of the poles, he might have bypassed it entirely or spent countless minutes peering into each and every tent.

He paused, his fingers loosely clutching the blue material that was like the blue material on every other tent as far as he could see. She belonged here, with her people, her fellow warriors, her family. And he realized that of all the things he felt apprehensive about, the actual battle was not on the top of the list. Because for a short while, she had not been Katara of the Water Tribe. She had been Katara, the Avatar's waterbending teacher, the Avatar's companion, the Avatar's best friend. She had belonged on Appa's saddle and at his side, not somewhere on the desolate ice sheets.

And now, at this crux of time, her place and identity no longer seemed so certain.

He pushed aside the flap and stepped in, letting the cloth fall gently closed. The only sound here was her quiet breathing, and while it was a lulling, even rhythm, it only increased that tightness in his chest. Who knew how much longer he would be allowed to listen to such a sound. He shut his eyes, determined to commit it to memory, and when he opened them again, he was somewhat surprised to discover that she remained the same.

She lay still, stretched atop her sleeping bag in the sultry Fire Nation night, her warrior's dress twisted about her slumbering form. Her face was completely relaxed in slumber, and her dark hair was scattered across the pillow except for the two loops that framed her face; he smiled to himself, recalling that those two loops had been the first part of her hair he had ever seen. At least some things didn't change.

His smile melted into a frown at that thought, and he cleared his throat and said softly, "Katara?"

He hadn't thought she would be able to hear that, as he had deemed his voice nearly inaudible, but she inhaled sharply and blinked, glancing about the tent. Her shadowed blue eyes fell on him, and she pushed herself quickly to one elbow and shoved her hair from her face with one gloved hand.

"Aang?" she asked, her voice slightly hoarse from sleep. "Why're you here? Is it morning already?"

"No," he replied quickly and no louder than before. "I just…couldn't sleep," he explained, thinking as he said the words that they sounded rather lame.

She studied him for a moment, and he recognized her expression: it was her sympathetic look, the one she always wore whenever she listened to his problems. He wished that she wouldn't look at him that way now, not now. And the moment had passed, and she had sat up all the way and straightened her clothes.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

And there was the line she always used to initiate the conversations where he spilled his problems. It seemed terribly ironic that he wanted everything to stay the same and here he was wishing she would act differently. He should have expected this response; what had he been thinking?

"I don't know," he replied, shifting his weight to his other foot.

"Do you want to sit?" she asked, and he suddenly remembered he was still standing by the flap.

"Yeah, I suppose so," he agreed, and he walked over to her and sat down more heavily than he had intended. He draped his arms loosely about his knees and stared beyond the ground between his feet.

He could feel her gaze, and he predicted what she would say before her mouth even formed the words. "Is this about tomorrow, Aang?"

He shrugged one shoulder, still not looking at her. "I guess it is, but not for the reasons you might think. I mean, yes, I am nervous about the battle, but I'm…apprehensive about something else."

She sat patiently, awaiting his explanation, but when he failed to supply one, she prompted, "And what would that be?"

He absently traced the arrow tattoo on the back of one hand with his other forefinger, his expression pensive. "Tell me that at the end of the day tomorrow, you and Sokka and Toph and I will load up Appa's saddle and fly away from here like we always do. Tell me that nothing will change."

She frowned with both her lips and her eyes, and she laid a hand on his arm; he didn't like the armor plates that covered the back or the indigo glove that swallowed her fingers to the second knuckle. He wanted the gauntlet to go away because the Katara who had rescued him from the iceberg had not worn gauntlets. And he wanted her to braid her stupid (beautiful) hair and sew sleeves onto that outfit of hers because all he could see anymore was the differences, how she had changed from that girl so long ago.

"I can't tell you that, Aang," she whispered, sounding apologetic.

"Then lie," he snapped harshly. "I don't care if you don't believe it or if it isn't true, just tell me."

She sighed softly and held his hands in her own, and he absently noticed that her fingertips felt the same. "I know that you've dealt with some horrible changes in your life: finding out you were the Avatar, finding out that you had been trapped in ice for a century and that the entire world was at war. So I can understand why you're resisting as much as you are, I really can. But change is a part of life, and not all of it is necessarily bad."

"Not all of it is necessarily good, either," he grumbled, and he removed his hands from her grasp.

Her brow furrowed at his gesture, and she said in a low, controlled tone, "You came to me, Aang. If you didn't want to talk to me or listen to me, I don't know why you bothered."

He finally looked at her, and he found himself wishing that her eyes would never change, that they would always remain that contradictory mix of warmth and icy blue. The thought brought a slight smile to his face; of course her eyes would never change.

"I don't know myself, Katara," he admitted, the smile already gone. "Maybe I just wanted to visit you in the middle of the night because I knew this would be my last chance. Whatever happens tomorrow, I know nothing will stay like it's been. Even if we both survive, I won't be able to wake up and talk to you whenever I want. Maybe that's why," he repeated, half to himself.

"Honestly, Aang, is that what you're worried about? That I'll return home and leave you all by yourself? Did you seriously think that I could go back to the South Pole and do Sokka's laundry and make seal jerky again? I couldn't go back there," she said firmly. "My presence is one thing that won't change, I promise."

"Everything else will, though," he said stubbornly, grimly. "And that's only if we're both alive this time tomorrow."

She framed his face in her hands, forcing him to look at her. "We'll be okay," she declared, emphasizing each word.

"You don't believe that," he muttered, dropping his gaze.

Her fingers loosened on his cheeks, and she let out an exhale that could have been a laugh. "You told me to lie to you, remember?" she remarked gently.

He nodded once, and he raised a hand to cover one of hers, holding it to his cheek. "I thought it would make me feel better," he murmured, memorizing her touch. "But I feel as apprehensive as I did when I came here. Nothing's changed."

"I thought that was what you wanted," she replied, a hint of teasing in her tone.

"It is," he acknowledged, and he lowered her hand from his face. "But I never seem to get what I want."

There was a long silence, and she finally said, "You need to get some rest. I'd say tomorrow is a big day, but that seems like the worst understatement ever."

He glanced up at her, and he thought that perhaps, given enough time, he could become used to the way her hair fell loosely about her face and maybe even like it more than her braid. "I probably should," he agreed, but the only movement he made was to drop his gaze once more.

"Do you want to stay here?" she asked quietly, but something in her tone suggested it was more a statement than a question.

"If you don't mind," he replied, but she was already lying down again, so he stretched out beside her, now staring up at the ceiling instead of the sky. He watched her from the corner of his eye as she curled up on her side, and the tight feeling was somewhat relieved as she slid her hand into his and squeezed.

Many minutes had passed, and he wondered if she had fallen asleep when he whispered, "Katara?"

"Yes, Aang?" she replied, her voice hushed and sleepy.

"Don't let go," he said almost pleadingly.

A faint smile curled her lips. "Never."

As he lay beside her, her hand held tightly in his, he let his eyes slide shut and drifted to sleep, lulled by her quiet breathing. And right before he did, he thought that even though everything would change, perhaps she would be right.

Perhaps they would all be okay.

Fin