It wasn't easy to blend in with the rest of the citizens; though Katara did find other people's complextion here sometimes mirrored the dark hue that ran over her own skin, the curves of her hair, paired up with the unrelenting blue of her eyes and the well-known gossip that the Fire Lord and his palace often played host to the coming and goings of the Avatar's waterbending master…well, it often marked her out to anybody who got a good glance at her face. She could lessen the effect sometimes by wrapping herself up in robes of red or dark brown, and by adorning her hair with a stylised top-knot and a harsh red hair-piece that resembled either a spear or the sharp curve of the crescent moon; but today she had rushed out without thinking and the blue of her tribal clothes drew eyes to her wherever she went. She was like a fish that had darted out into a river with a stronger current than she had expected, and she caught a glance, down one street, of a little girl staring at her, open-mouthed.

'Mommy, her hair-'

'Hush now, it's rude to stare.'

The woman yanked at her daughter's hand, those tiny fingers rapidly becoming lost in the loose, open fall of her sleeve, spread wide and hollow in a way that would never survive the biting climate of the South. Katara found her own hand reaching up to adjust a curving partition of her hair, fingers glancing over the beads that bulged up against the top of her forehead in hard cool knots of bone.

You're plenty rude yourself, she thought sorely.

Then, firming her shoulders, she stalked into one of the main courtyards, out where a fountain she was particularly fond of bubbled up like a geyser. There were dragons entwined in it's centre, long necks cork-screwing around each other, producing a patterned weave of their bodies that remained her of a hair braid. She longed to run a hand over them, but never quite dared to; she had noticed other people keeping their distance, only ever keeping to the rim of the fountain, in order to scoop up additional water with buckets or large pots.

Katara paused a safe distance away to watch the silver of the water sluicing from each open dragon mouth in a snarl, the sun catching each stroke of fluid movement and painting it an agonising white; she did not know how long she ended up staring at it, all while keeping herself pressed to a yellow wall curled over with a strange red ivy she lacked the name for. Until she felt calm at least.

What am I doing? She thought. I'm better than this. She sighed and moved to break from the wall – when something, a sixth sense honed from the battles she had been throwing herself into since she was fourteen and barely a real bender, alerted herself to the whoosh of hot air dive-bombing her. Katara wasted no time in diving towards the fountain. She fell short by a hopeless six metres of course, being on the other side of the square, and she felt the familiar pull of fire as it landed where she had been standing and spread out towards her in an unrelenting roll. Acting on instinct, and trying to ignore the panicked screams around her, Katara forced her body to move, to roll over out of her dive, arms flying up over her head as she skidded over onto her back in order to call up some protection. A crested wave of water was immediately spat out from the fountain, racing over the courtyard paving stones to wash over her body in a surge that barely beat out the rolling tide of blue fire as it continued its journey towards her.

Of course, she thought grimly. Of course it would be blue.

With another stroke of her arm, the water spun her round and twisted her body into an upright position, forming a small tornado round her form. Katara narrowed her eyes through the blur of liquid, idle but precise twitches of her fingers and wrist changing the spin and speed of her self-made prison as it pulled her round the yard, dodging round a few people too slow to flee the scene. She spotted a dim if familiar silhouette perched on the corner of a nearby building and flew forth, her tornado erupting into a harsh, upright wave that pushed her head up, just below the peak to snatch a few well-earned breathes. Her arms jettisoned outwards, causing a flurry of icicles to snatch themselves from the wave and launch themselves to the part of the roof the figure was sprinting towards, quickly sealing off the chosen route.

It was a dangerous manoeuvre, Katara knew; out here, beneath the sun, as it was reaching the top-most part of its daily journey just before it started to dive down towards the horizon in the afternoon, Azula would be at the height of her fire-bearing powers. Katara meanwhile, was limited to the water she would either pull from the air or snatch from the fountain, or possibly even the brittle twig-like structures of ivy that continued to crawl over the walls. And all that, she was keenly aware of, would soon be dwalfed by the almost endless sheets of flame Azula could summon before the former princess tired. She should be fleeing, to the canal, or back to the palace where there would be people, who, though they were not quite sure what to make of her, would still want to help preserve her life. Probably.

On the other hand, there was no guarantee that Azula would be goaded into following her into such an obvious trap.

Katara let the wave carry her round in a curve, sweeping in front of the icicles that had embedded themselves into the roof - no point in running away from another source of water after all - and placed her hands in her hips as she let the wave fall with a splash. She took grim satisfaction in the face Azula made as the liquid touched her shoes.

'Azula,' she spat, 'what are you doing here?!'

Azula glanced at her, an amused, patronising smile curling her mouth and Katara felt a shiver travel down through her, right to her toes. There was no trace of that fevered madness in her eyes, or if it was there, it was carefully hidden. In fact, the calm way Azula held herself, steady, with no unnecessary leaning to the side, all of her weight perfectly balanced and centred, in a way Katara had almost forgotten Azula was capable of doing, spoke of an obvious danger.

'My, my, how rude.'

Katara felt another shudder shake at her guts as Azula spoke. There was a careful drawl to her voice, a calculated enunciation to the words. Another throwback to the old Azula.

'But then what else could I expect from a peasant?'

Katara knew she shouldn't goad Azula. So she simply said: 'That doesn't answer my question.' And then because she couldn't seem to help herself, she added: 'besides; it was hardly polite to attack me suddenly out of nowhere, in the first place.'

Azula scoffed. 'You dodged, didn't you? You wouldn't be worth much if you couldn't even do that.' She tilted her head to the side. 'Still. I suppose you have some manners. Ty Lee would have been squeaking about the state of my hair by now. Or perhaps just simply squeaking. She always was a coward when it came to me.'

'Your hair's certainly neater than the last time I saw it,' Katara ventured, carefully arranging her hands into a fighting stance, palms open and flat and ready to curve, quick as knives, into the next position. She felt disgruntled as she saw Azula refuse to do the same. 'But you shouldn't insult your old...minions like that. Ty Lee's brave when it matters. You of allof people should know that.'

Azula bared her teeth, an ugly expression of hate snapping into place on her face. 'Oh yes, I know all too easily how quickly people betray each other. Father betrayed me when he could have changed the course of history, by having someone at his side when the final battle of the war came. Zuko betrayed me by picking people other than his family to fight for. And so did the people I gave the honour of being my friends to.' She tossed her head. 'And you of course, peasant, understand betrayal all too well. It was only a few months with the Avatar before you decided you were done with him, and chose to climb the social ranks by being as sweet as honey to my brother!'

Katara screwed her face up. 'You're being a lot more diplomatic about the subject than other people I could think of.'

Now wasn't that a discomforting thought.

The anger mostly faded from Azula's face at that, allowing her to smile again, though a healthy portion of it remained in her eyes, making them gleam a nasty gold.

'Who Zuko brings into his bedchamber is up to him. It's been made pretty clear to me that I have no say in who's going to be siring or bearing the next heir to the throne. Besides-' and here Azula lowered her gaze as though the ground held far more interest than the space Katara's body occupied. But Katara wasn't fooled; there was still that horrible smile curving her lips as she spoke, a smile that fell into her eyes and made them look cool and superior even as they were lowered from her. It was as though Katara was unworthy of being looked at, or at least that's how it felt. But then Azula had always had masterful body language.

'-I imagine it would probably be impossible to use your healing abilities-' and here Azula gave the word some bite, as though it were described something truly disgusting, like Katara used her salvia instead of water in her customary scan of body parts each time she fell into the role of doctor. '-or at least difficult to do so when giving birth. And with no one else around to admonish the same life-giving powers, you may well die. I'm sure our family physicians won't be too well acquainted with the body of barbarian and how they differ from our own.'

Katara saw red at that. It was stupid and impulsive and a part of her knew it, but still, before her brain had fully caught up with the movement of her body, her arms flung themselves out again with a knife-like curve through the air. The water streaked towards Azula like a bullet at her command, with more of a slamming force to its motion than the elegance of a water-whip, but the other girl simply spun round into a kick, allowing a sweep of blue flame to disperse the onslaught of liquid before it could even touch her. Katara didn't stop; she twirled, her arms whipping above her head like the branches of a tree in a storm, her breath puffing out wide and heavy as the steam from the evaporated water condensed, sweeping out over Azula in a roll of mist. Katara's fingers then tightened and curled like claws, into tight fists, and the mist solidified, forming white streaks over Azula's limbs and clothes, even coating her eyelashes with fine white icicles. It spread like veins that had been slashed open and Azula stumbled for a few seconds, the cold clinging to her clothes and her face, before her eyes lit up and she breathed out low and heavy, the ice evaporating instantly at the touch of warm air.

But Katara was already running forward, more water curling round her, journeying up from the fountain to the top of the building and then sliding round her arm before it punched out from her hand, becoming a thick heavy battering ram towards Azula's chest. With a smirk, Azula stepped slightly to the side to avert the force somewhat and then allowed the water to push her off the building. Katara didn't pause to think why that might be so as she hurried forward, arms coming together so the water rolled under her and swept her off the roof after Azula in a graceful curl. Katara's arms spread again, ducking and diving into tight triangular motions as the water swept out round Azula, carrying them both down before gravity caught them and smashed them into the ground. And then her fingers curled once again and suddenly Azula's body was wrapped in a barrel of firm ice.

Azula smiled. 'Always the hero, hmm? Must be addicting, being the Avatar's groupie. I can relate; I've formed a group of my own, after all.'

Katara felt unease at the statement, felt the prickle of cold awareness as she heard the thud of boots nearby and experianced the instinctive sensation of another human being nearby, running full-tilt towards her. She was starting to turn, feet almost on the ground, when something thudded into her side, knocking her out of her self-made ramp of water and Katara fell, rolling into some clay jars and letting out a cry as the shattered pieces pierced her arms and scraped long gashes of blood through her skin. She rolled some more, water raining down around her, over her, as it slipped from her control for a few vital seconds and then a shadow passed over her head. Katara could feel it, the pricking awareness in the back of her skull that told her something, no, someone was leaning over her. With a gasp she rolled over, just in time to watch Azula's boot slam into her face.

And then everything went dark.


Katara woke to more darkness. She groaned, and winced as pain rolled through her, as it suddenly became violent and ugly, forcing a cry from her throat as it ripped down from her torn and battered arms and into her brain. Katara froze, tasting dust and dirt on her tongue, her forehead knocked against the ground as though she were forced to bow. Something was wrong.

She tilted her head to the side, as far as she dared, and saw small stones roll into her vision, tiny pebbles scattered over the ground, as though to mock her. There was a wall, not ten paces away, and an old broken stool nursed against some equally broken bowls and bottles. She was in the stock room of some run-down bar, or so she summised.

She groaned, carefully tried to roll herself over and couldn't hold back the keening cry that reared up from her throat again. It was like glass was poking up through the spokes of bones in her arms, jostling against the nerves.

There was motion to her side, a shuffling, and Katara froze as she heard a door swing open.

'Huh,' said the new voice, and Katara felt a grudging sort of relief that it wasn't Azula's. 'You're awake.'

Boots crossed into her vision, over the loose litter of stones, and, as gently as she dared, Katara leaned back. 'Who are you?' she gasped out.

'I wouldn't move around too much,' came her non-answer. 'I broke your arms pretty good.'

Katara felt a strong stab of fear at that, fear, and an overwhelming rush of horror. She couldn't bend, she thought to herself with a sick surge of dizziness. She couldn't bend!

'I did it when Miss Bossy wasn't watching of course; she thought you just needed some chi blockers to do the trick. But I knew better. I could tell from the way you moved that you wouldn't stay down, once you were up. Not for nothing.'

Katara swallowed down another sick rush of fear and licked her lips. Her throat was parched. 'Are you one of the...inmates Azula freed?' she asked carefully. If they didn't want to give her a name, perhaps they would give her that much. She and Zuko were both aware than Azula had sprung free some of her fellow inmates at the asylm she had temporarily made her home, what with the whole Kurigage thing that had happened months back. 'And...if my arms are really as broken as you say they are then...would you mind getting me something to drink? I could hardly bend at you right now anyway...'

At that point, she would even tolerate some of that Earth Kingdom ale Sokka had become so fond of recently.

A low snigger then. As though she were trying to be funny. 'You're cute. Tryin' to be all stonic. But you're no Toph.'

The boots walked away from her and after a brief, forebearing pauses, the door slammed shut with a finality that rattled her bones.

Katara grimaced. Because she had learnt two things. One, Azula wasn't fully in control of her ally, one who seemed to be allegic to giving her name or occupation. And two; she was indeed no Toph. No witty remarks crept into her head, no smart comments, or threats to yell after the closed door. No, instead she closed her eyes and concentrated.

Because Toph couldn't heal. But Katara could.

Free from the usual ease of motion she had, imprisoned with a body that couldn't not perform the sweeping slide and pull Katara sometimes used when running hands over a body, frequently not her own, Katara was forced to go back to the rudimentary, instinctive basics. She remembered how she had pulled the water into her hands, made them glow, when Aang had burnt then. She had done it as more a reflex than anything else.

But she was more experienced now; she felt the blood in her arms, the way little vessels spilt and crept into the fissures of her muscles and the shrapnel of her bones. The break hadn't been clean. She felt parts of her splintered, small knobs of bone stuck in places they should never touch. Katara focused. She could not move bone. She could only coax the chi to move into certain places, to shift and push various parts of her body back into the place they needed to be. She had no outside sources of water, just the blood that swirled and flowed through her broken bones, that would not obey her without the pull of the full moon. And perhaps, those stray bits of moisture she could rip from the air. But she needed her fingers for that.

Katara bit down into the dirt, into the dust, to choke down her cries as she painstaking jerked her fingers, as she curled them millimetre by millimetre and made a few dewdrops of water suddenly glisten and sparkle on her arms where before there had been nothing. It took effort, monumental effort, but Katara repeated the process. Her teeth sawed into the floor, into the harsh grit that soaked up all the moisture in her mouth, but again and again, her fingers waggled, to make more water dance and bead against her skin. Then Katara's brow furrowed even harder, and she focused on those pinpricks of wetness on her skin, coaxed them down, to be absorbed into her flesh, to thread their way into her muscles and round the torn shape of her bones.

Katara had been a seamstress for many years, had patched together cloaks of blue cloth and white fur as snowstorms raged outside. Her travels with Aang had been easier, the robes they had stripped down to in the warmer climates of the world, running thinner, and being far easier to slip a needle and thread through. The work she was doing now called for the same precision, the same careful attention to detail.

Her bones shifted, ran into their old original shapes, splintered pieces of them nudged into position by the careful push and thud of chi. Katara's brow tightened. She could not see it, but she could feel the glow of her healing abilities at work.

Don't faint, she thought, as she gave her arms an experimental tug and felt no surge of searing pan in response. Don't faint, she thought again as she rolled up onto her knees and gingerly stood. And swayed. She clutched at the wall, forced her way to the door. Stood and breathed, slow and heavy. There were no windows to try and kick her way out. Just a solid wooden door. She would need more than tendrils of water she could snip out of the air to break it down; and she could sense no larger sources of water nearby. Of course not. Azula and her cronies were probably too clever for that.

Katara leant against the side of the wall. Rolled down into a slouch. And much against her will and furious thoughts, found herself drifting.