The One with the Bet (Part 2)

Katara isn't sure why Zuko, of all people asked her on a date. On a date to a museum, even. She's not going to question too deeply though. She has had a crush on him since she was a freshman.

Katara is sure Zuko doesn't have a lot of experience with art, that he's so blown away by Renaissance art. He's been staring at a still-life - the one with the extinct watermelon the internet went nuts over a bit back - for twenty minutes.

She's not quite sure how to identify what she's feeling as she watches feelings flutter over his face. He much prefers the Italian Renaissance to the Northern; that much is clear. She can watch his eyes trace the light, the curve of the shapes and color.

He's entranced, and she's entranced by him.

It's hard not to be, she realizes. Looking at him from the right, she can trace his youth, the fresh face and curve of a young man full of promise. His eye is bright. Watching from the left, looking over a wrinkled bend singing of fire, she sees a painting of pain that refuses to easily yield up its story.

It looks like some bastard put a fist of fire in his face.

But through it, she can trace determination, and a strength to hold onto every shred of hope that he could with the luck required to keep both eyes even with that wound.

He finally shakes himself, torn free from whatever deep truths he was finding in fruit.

Katara reaches out and touches his arm, half a breath from taking his hand but she stops herself. "Come with me. I need to show you what came next."


He can't stop staring at the light.

He wants to stare at her, this girl who can figure out what art will touch him after a single afternoon together.

She's light, he thinks of screaming when it hits him like a thunderbolt. He glances at her, and is grateful to see her distracted by the perfect representation of light on water.

She's entranced and entrancing.

This is the best bet he's ever lost.

He watches her eyes trace the movement suggested by the color and the composition, the order he can trace himself, but not when he's captured by her curves and twists, how her hair catches the light. Her skin glows, a myriad of different colors as if she herself is a painting by Monet.

Zuko almost lets anger creep in - anger at his father for never letting him out to museums, anger at tutors for never covering art, only war - but instead, he slips his hand in hers as she stands before a garden recreated in splashes of paint.

She squeezes his hand, and lights his heart on fire.


He buys her a sandwich in the museum cafe, and she trails behind him to a table. Without the art, they are awkward and shy, two kids remembering they hardly know each other.

Suddenly he makes a face while looking over her shoulder.

Katara twists around to see a table full of high school boys who are staring back, whispering and poking.

"Ignore them," Zuko starts, voice low with annoyance. "They don't believe I actually had a date with a pretty girl."

"Haven't they ever heard of 'pics or it didn't happen'?"

Zuko snorts, amused. "We haven't taken any pictures together, now have we?"

It only takes a second of processing her idea before Katara fishes her phone out of her bag, takes a drink of water, and pulls her chair around to sit next to Zuko. "Well then let's fix that."

She can feel the eyes of his friends on them as the two lean in to the frame. The camera focuses, and just at the last second she leans in and kisses his cheek. Her calm confidence and his utter surprise are saved forever, and she smiles to herself as she offers her phone to him, it ready to send the picture just as soon as he puts a phone number in.


"Can I see you again?" he blurts out. Her phone is offered like a lifeline he's going to tug on until he stops drowning in her but first he needs-

She smiles. "Of course. But I'd love your number first, so we can coordinate."

He messes up his own number twice, but when his phone dings with the picture, it sounds like a promise.

Katara stands and puts her chair back. "Give me just a sec, and I'll be ready when you are to head back." She vanishes towards the restrooms, and her chair is immediately filled with Jet.

"Dude, it's rude to crash a brother's date. Piss off."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Come on. You've paid up enough. Ditch the girl and come game with us. With you we'll have a 5-stack."

"Date's not done. Maybe I'll catch up later."

Jet rolls his eyes dramatically as he settles into the chair. The other guys are making big motions at their table, which both Zuko and Jet ignore. "Zuko. Come on. This is enough time and money spent on a bet-"

"I'll have you know I actually like this-"

"A bet?"

Fuck. Zuko turns ninety degrees to see Katara, standing baffled and hurt off to his side.

Jet, the insufferable bastard, doesn't look sorry at all.