A/N:
Companion piece to 17. Moonlight.
Prompt 23: Coronation
"Don't go — stay with me, please."
"Shh. We can talk tomorrow."
"Katara —"
"It's okay, Zuko. I'm not going anywhere. Now, sleep."
When Katara awoke that morning, her chest was heavy with a deep sorrow. She felt her body instinctively curl into itself beneath the red blankets, the sadness creeping from the tips of her toes to wedge itself into her stomach, and then burn its way up her diaphragm.
This grief was not unfamiliar.
She had felt it several times throughout her life. For no reason at all, she would suddenly be hit with a great sorrow, an incomprehensible and caustic mourning. There were never warnings; there were never triggers. She could be cooking, or bathing, or eating, and she would abruptly double over with a loss she did not understand.
She likened the experience to standing in low tides, never noticing the waters as they crept higher. She would get swept up in the hands of the sea and, as she was buoyant beneath blue ripples, the high tides would steal her breath for what felt like eons. Then, just before darkness overcame her, the sorrow would leave her on the shore, drenched and cold and gasping.
Katara used to fight it, but experience taught her that one did not argue with the sea, so each time it happened she simply let herself be pulled under.
The unknown grief tore from her great sobs until she couldn't breathe, until all she had left was warm and salty air.
Her fingers tingled with a peculiar emptiness, as if she had been holding onto something all night.
Finally, as she felt the tides sway and fall away, taking with it the strange sorrow, she heard her breathing swell in time with another's fading sighs. It didn't echo, but it was soft in her ear, as if someone was pressed right behind her. When it disappeared, she was left feeling inexplicably alone, and that pulled another short, soft cry.
When Katara felt more like herself, she threw off the blankets and rolled over onto her back, staring at the intricate detailing of the Fire Nation Palace ceiling. She mentally checked off the random breakdown on her list, thinking that it wouldn't hit her again for some months — hopefully.
She sat up, feeling the silk blankets slip from her skin rather than the fur of her Water Tribe sleeping bag. It had been three weeks since the end of the war, and she still couldn't truly believe it. Katara still had the urge to glance over her shoulders at every sudden noise; whenever she entered a room, she always first pinpointed the exits; and every few minutes, she reached for her waist, making sure the flask of water was still there. She wondered if these habits would ever die, or if they were part of the peace that she had to give up for others' sakes.
Of all the things the universe could've taken as fair trade, she thought this was manageable.
Someone knocked on the door.
"Lady Katara?" — A young woman's voice. "Are you up? I do not mean to disturb you, but I was sent to help you get ready for the day's events."
Oh, right. Katara rubbed at her face.
Today was Zuko's coronation. She wasn't excited to continue to be paraded in front of the nobles, but she was excited to see Zuko take his rightful place at the head of the Fire Nation, ready to lead a bitter, misinformed, and misunderstood country into an era of peace. She was excited for what all of this meant — if she was still nervous about the war starting back up again, Zuko's coronation would surely put all of those fears officially to rest.
As Katara called for the servant to enter, she thought that she should've known better than to assume it was only one, as a half dozen entered the room with bags and boxes of make-up and several Fire Nation outfits. The one that had knocked on the door — a girl only a few years older than Katara with sleek black hair and a mole beneath her left eye — seemed to be in lead position; her red outfit had a special apron that made her stand out.
"Um." Katara looked at all of them uneasily. "I don't think this is really unnecessary…"
The servant ignored apprehension and sang, "Come, come!" Soon they had her up and in the bath. Clad in nothing but a towel, Katara was then forced to sit before a vanity while they painted her face and brushed through her hair. Everything they did was either too rough or too gentle, and all the clothes they had brought were lovely, but they were too foreign. This was not her culture; this was not her color.
In the end, she went with her first instinct that a bare face, Water Tribe hair curls, and the ocean blue of her dress was more than sufficient. After throwing on her usual outfit, she undid their Fire Nation braids and rubbed the paint off her lips. If they were to reign in the new era today, she wanted it done as the (un)official ambassador of the Water Tribes.
The lead servant girl looked more disappointed than bothered by her decision, but she cleaned her expression quickly. "I shall bring breakfast then," she said as she ushered the other girls out.
Katara ran her fingers through the tangles of her brown hair, turning her attention to the servant girl. "I thought we were supposed to have some celebratory breakfast?"
"General Iroh has cancelled it," she said, "as Prince Zuko needs the few extra hours of rest."
"Is he okay?" Katara asked, tensing. "Do I need to go visit him? I should —"
"Please, my lady, rest easy," the servant interrupted. "The palace physician has already examined him. The crown prince is simply tired; however, he shall be there for afternoon festivities and, of course, the coronation."
"Okay," she said, though she still wasn't fully convinced. "But keep me updated."
"Of course." The servant bowed. "Please excuse me, Lady Katara."
Katara frowned, feeling her eye twitch at the title. She was younger than the servant girl, and yet the other had such deference toward her. "You really don't have to call me that."
The servant girl paused, but then she smiled and bowed. "Please forgive my insubordination then, Lady Katara."
When she opened the door, she surprisingly unveiled Aang standing out front, his fist outstretched and ready to knock. He pulled his arm back to his side when he saw that it was unnecessary.
The servant girl bowed deeply. "Avatar Aang," she greeted. "Pardon me."
Aang gave her a bow of his own, forcing her to bend even lower to ensure that she gave the utmost respect before exiting the room.
"Hey, Aang," Katara said.
He smiled, entering. "Hey, Katara."
"What's up?"
"Oh, nothing," Aang said, shrugging. "I just thought it'd be nice if we had breakfast together since we're not doing the morning celebration with Uncle Iroh and Zuko anymore."
"Sure," she said. "That sounds like fun. We can go find the others, too." She turned back to the mirror. Now that her hair was free and untangled, she decided trying to wipe the pink gunk off her cheeks took the next top priority.
"Well…" Aang cleared his throat, crossing his hands behind his back. "I was thinking, actually, that maybe we could — I dunno, maybe it could be just the two of us?"
Katara's stomach jerk uncomfortably. Her hand stilled, but she quickly resumed patting the towel against her face to maintain the facade of composure, despite the fact that she could feel her heart begin to hammer painfully in her chest.
"Since they're bringing us food anyway," Aang continued, "we can just eat here. Plus, you have a nice balcony view."
"Um, sure, okay," she said. "If that's what you want."
"Well, do you want to?"
She kept her eyes on the mirror. "Yeah, I'm fine with it, if that's what you want."
"…But is that what you want, Katara?"
When she pulled the towel away, she saw that she had been rubbing too hard. Her cheek had lost the pink stain of the blush, but now had a red rash from the fabric's angry friction. She wondered if this was a physical manifestation of this extremely awkward and extremely horrible situation.
"I mean, yeah, I guess." Katara could hear the way it sounded, the way her voice seemed to drop off the words haphazardly as if they were a secondary thought, but she didn't know what else to say or how else to say it — or how to tell him no.
When he didn't respond, though, she turned to look at him. Aang was staring at her, chewing on the inside of his cheek, his eyebrows scrunched in that way that always tugged at her heart, and she knew she had to amend her statement.
"I just think it'd be nice to eat all together, on this official day."
"Oh…"
"And then we can visit Zuko, make sure he's okay, you know — stuff like that."
"Right."
When a silence began to settle between them, she sighed internally. She knew she had to ask, even if she didn't want to; and she knew she would.
"Aang," she called softly. "Is everything okay?"
He sighed, pressing his palms into his eyes as if trying to block something out.
"Yes," he said. "I mean no. I mean…" He exhaled again, frustrated. Aang quickly sat on the edge of her bed, hands on his knees; then he looked at her, as if ready to explain, but then he immediately averted his gaze. Finally, after some seconds of staring at the ceiling as if there were someone up there he could beg to, he returned his bright eyes onto her and kept her gaze.
"Katara," Aang began. "I know I messed up — kissing you before you were ready. I was dumb and I was upset and I — it was really wrong of me. I'm so sorry."
"Yes," she said, her tone carefully controlled. "It was a little crappy of you, Aang," — at that, he flinched — "but I appreciate your apology." There was a spike of irritation at the memory, but she soothed her boiling blood with silent reminders that Aang was apologizing and that he hadn't tried anything since.
He nodding, pausing; she waited for him to get his thoughts together.
"I've been trying to give you some space," Aang told her. "I don't want to push you. I don't want to make another stupid mistake like that again."
Katara nodded slowly.
He licked his lips. "But it's been three weeks since the end of the war and I just… I thought something would've happened by now." He quickly added, "Not like a relationship or anything! But I thought we would've talked or planned something or said…um."
One hand found its way to his neck, rubbing the back of it anxiously as his shoulders slumped.
"I'm just — I'm not really sure where we stand," Aang finished. "Katara — I'm not sure where you stand."
Her mouth was dry. "I see." When she glanced at herself in the mirror, she saw her own eyes, a similar shade of blue, and yet somehow darker, harder.
Suddenly, she heard a breath of raspy voice —"Don't go. Stay with me, please."
Aang looked at her, hopeful and sincere. She clenched and then unclenched her hands, hesitating.
"Aang, honestly, I'm not sure what you want me to say."
There was a flash of hurt on his face that she tried not to memorize as punishment.
"I don't — I just want to know what you're thinking," he said quietly. "Katara, you…" He smiled softly. "You were the first person I saw out of the iceberg."
The memory was crisp still, like the South Pole air. She smiled, too, at the remembrance.
He shifted on the bed, twiddling his thumbs in his lap until he put one hand over the other to still them. "I want you to be the first person I see every day, too," he told her. "And I want you to be the last person I see at the very end."
"Aang…I…" Katara opened her mouth, and then closed it, at a loss — no, that wasn't quite true.
She glanced back into the mirror, seeing the darkness in her; and she thought of the only other person who had seen that part of her, who had looked her little monster in the face and showed it his own.
Katara wasn't at a crossroads; she wasn't stuck in a decision. She felt that she had already chosen, even if it had never been spoken aloud, even if she had never consciously picked a path. Perhaps it was like the tides, ushering her down one way with her never noticing.
The sound of Aang repositioning himself on her bed pulled her from her thoughts. She watched him pat the space in front of him, and though she faltered, she decided to do as she was asked.
Katara sat down in front of him, crossing her legs.
"You don't have to answer me now," Aang said. "I don't want to push you. I don't ever want to make you do something you don't want, but…"
He reached for her hands; she let him.
"You're my destiny," he declared confidently.
Katara winced. She heard it again —"Don't go."
"I know it. I'm sure of it."
"Stay with me — please."
Aang was grinning at her. Sitting so closely to him, Katara could see the hesitance, the doubt, the insecurity on his face — but there was so much hope, and love, and surety on his cheeks, too. He radiated life and good, good times, happy times, both in the past and surely in the future.
Katara squeezed his hands. This was the boy who had shown her the world from his flying bison. This was the boy who she had claimed as family before even knowing his history. This was the boy who danced with her in bright red, who fought alongside her in all the seasons and all the terrains at the end of the world, who made her smile and laugh and cry and worry — this was the boy she would've killed for, would've died for.
This could be the boy she loved, she thought.
She rubbed her arm. Katara felt it sometimes, too, that feeling of destiny, that feeling that, at the end of it all, there was only Aang, just like how it all began. She had held onto him so much during the past year that, at one point, she wasn't sure if anyone else could fit into her arms.
("Katara — ")
And maybe that would've been sufficient had she not glimpsed gold in the flames, had she not found a defiant beauty in the way a dying ember sparked despite spent, had she not held someone else in her arms, three weeks ago, as he twitched and vibrated with a pulsing electricity, a touch of the world trying to stamp out his fire, and yet still he flared.
And then, maybe it was because she knew that Zuko was a boy she could love, too.
"Don't go — stay with me, please."
She had said yes that night, but Zuko had just been struck by lightning and she was simply telling him that she was going to watch over him as he slept, that she wouldn't let the darkness overtake him. Perhaps in the hours of cooling his fever and then falling asleep exhausted, her answer had changed. Maybe he had heard in her breathing that she wouldn't ever leave, and that was what had let him sleep, and maybe that was why she held onto his hand all night.
Katara pulled away, her fingers slipping slowly out of the grasp of a flinching boy, and she suddenly felt so sorry, but this was one thing she could not give up — this was one thing she would not cover up — this was one thing she couldn't sacrifice.
"I'm sorry," Katara said softly. "Aang, I'm sorry."
"It's Zuko, isn't it?" Aang said, his voice low and cracking, but the words came out smoothly as if he had been practicing, as if he had always been afraid of this. "It's because you're Zuko's, isn't it, and that's why you can't be mine… That's why we can't be together."
"No, Aang." She shook her head. "Zuko's beside the point. You can't tell me that you don't want to push me and that I have a choice, but then turn around and say that I'm your destiny. That's not fair, Aang."
It seemed, though, that he had only latched onto the first part of her reasoning, as he immediately said, "So, it is Zuko."
Katara forced a steady exhale. He was young, she told herself; he was young and she had always explained things patiently to him before. This would simply be another calm and gentle explanation.
"You don't feel anything for me?" Aang pressed. "Katara, nothing at all? Not even when we had been dancing, or when I had nightmares, or — or when we were in the caves —"
"We were trapped underground," she reminded him calmly. "I would've tried almost anything, Aang."
"What are you saying?"
"I'm saying that there are some events that you and I remember differently."
"Katara — "
"I thought you said I didn't have to decide now," she snapped.
Aang looked away. "…But it sounds like you've already decided," he mumbled.
With that, Katara felt her irritation fade, the heat of her temper fading into steam in her cooling element. She forgot that the Avatar was the center, that there weren't a lot of rejections blocking his way. She forgot that he had gone through heaven, hell, and the spirit realm to bring peace and prosperity to a world that had watched his own people die; and that surely, surely, he thought this little respite from it all would be enough, this would be all he needed, she would be all he wanted from the universe — and it was understandable.
She couldn't fault him for this — but she wanted some respite, too.
The universe took from her, too.
"I can't be the person you want me to be," Katara said quietly, as kindly as she could.
His back curled and he hid his face in his hands, and at first she was scared that he was crying, but he only sighed and rubbed at his head.
"I told myself I would be calm," he groaned. "I said I wouldn't push you — but I did it again. I'm a mess."
Katara touched his knee tenderly, feeling her stomach fill with relief at his words, at the fact that he had grown a little bit more.
"Aang," she said, reaching to clasp his hand in hers again, "I do love you."
He couldn't meet her gaze. "But not in the way I love you."
"No," Katara whispered.
"…But you feel that way towards Zuko?"
She thought of Zuko and how he always made eye contact at her during meetings with the ambassadors and heroes, rolling his eyes at something ridiculous said. She thought of Zuko and how she could feel his chest pounding as she always double-checked him after the physician's exam. She thought of Zuko on the bed, struck by lightning, plagued by nightmares, whispering to her in his gasping voice — "Stay."
Love had never been a question, but perhaps it was always part of the answer.
"Maybe," Katara said, as honest as she could.
Aang gazed at her carefully, searching for something in her eyes, maybe doubt, maybe sincerity. She didn't know if he found what he was searching for, but, in the end, he nodded and said, "Okay…I understand."
Her eyebrows furrowed at him in confusion and disbelief, thinking that his comprehension would've taken longer than a few seconds of intense staring.
"You do?" she asked.
Aang gave a wincing grin. "Well, I'm trying really hard to," he admitted.
She smiled. She could accept that.
He cleared his throat. "So, I guess I'll go now and just see you at lunch…"
Katara nodded, feeling like there was something else she was supposed to say but not knowing what.
Aang got off the bed and took a few steps toward the door, his back straight. Then, he paused and turned to look back at her, and Katara felt a surge of something, of guilt or love or heartache or nostalgia, or maybe a mixture of all of them, and she knew that there was something more to be done, that even if there weren't any words left, there was always action, always touch.
She stood up and opened her arms and embraced him. Aang's shoulders shook, and his breathing was shaky, and Katara was surprised that she didn't feel any tears sliding down her neck from where he had buried his face, or down her own cheeks as she remembered all the times she had held him like this; but they held each other for several long minutes, trying to make up for any potential future that had been closed off.
Katara didn't think he would truly understand for a while, and she didn't think she'd be capable of explaining.
She just wanted him to be okay. She wanted him to know that they were still for each other but, maybe, just in different ways than what he had originally wanted, and she wanted him to know that there wasn't anything wrong with that — she wanted him to know that these changes between them were for the better.
Aang tightened his hold, trying to pull her in even closer, as if this was the last time they would ever be this close together, as if this was the closest that they would ever be together.
"Katara, can I ask…?" he whispered. "Can you be mine in another life?" His voice was small. She knew that he was saying, Can I have this much? And for her, the question was, Can I give this much?
She listened to his breathing.
In another life, she thought, thinking that, once again, he was being unfair. She hadn't even begun to understand this life and he was already asking her for the next one.
How many lives did one get, anyway? How many lives had she already had? Who did she give them to? Katara thought back to Zuko and all the ways they seemed to be intertwined, how he never strayed to far from her, how he was always on their path, both before and after his change of heart — and she thought of Aang and how everything seemed to begin with him.
What if she didn't have anymore to give? What if she only had one left? What if she had an endless amount of rebirths? Could she give one up? Could she promise Aang this?
Was this a gift or a sacrifice? Was this simply another path or was this a deal?
She held him close, thinking again of the time that she had believed no one else would fit in her arms, that all flowing currents and rushing rivers and blazing fires and dirt-trodden paths led her back to Aang.
She thought of how much he had on his shoulders. She thought of how hard he tried to make her laugh. She thought of how, that night under the caves and story of Omashu, she had touched Aang's cheek first.
One life, Katara thought.
She could give Aang one of those lives. She could promise him one.
She could see herself being happy with Aang, but in another one, not this one — in this one, she wanted to throw herself in the raging flames. She wanted the wildfires that blazed through dry air, the ones that flickered and crackled to create lightning. She wanted roaring dragons and rising heat. In this life, she wanted Zuko.
"Yes," Katara whispered back.
She felt Aang relax.
"Okay," he murmured. "I love you, Katara. I think I'll always love you."
"Aang…" she said.
"It's true," he protested quietly. "It feels true, right here." He pulled back to press her hand against his heart. She could feel the humming beneath skin and bones. She thought of the time Aang had taken lightning, how he was lit up with blue light and for the briefest moment, she had thought she lost everything.
"I love you, too," Katara told him.
"But not like that," Aang remarked again, as if trying to convince himself. "Not like how I love you."
"No," she agreed gently. "…In another one, okay?"
"Yeah, okay," he breathed, nodding.
When the crown was tucked into Zuko's topknot, the crowd rose to their feet. There was an impressive bout of applause, but even from where she stood in the shadows on the platform, Katara could see a multitude of scattered faces in disbelief and hesitation.
They had a long way to go, she thought, frowning.
Katara looked back to Zuko, standing proudly with the crown, and she shook the darker, more tired thoughts out of her mind. They had a long way to go, but they hadn't thought it wouldn't be that way. For now, she could simply be content that there was a happy ending in effect.
"Still doesn't look like a Fire Lord," Sokka muttered beside her. She elbowed him in the side. "What?" he said. "I'm just saying." But Sokka was grinning when she glanced at him.
Zuko looked around at his people. She watched him pull his shoulders back, looking over to his Uncle Iroh who was patting his sleeve against his eyes — and then, Zuko turned around, pulling his gaze away from his nation to beam at Katara proudly. His eyes glowed brightly and excitedly, and she saw how far he had come in the gentle crease of his scarred eye as he grinned.
Katara felt a warmth in the pit of her stomach, growing and rising and swelling.
He had turned to show her first how he looked in the sunlight, clad in gold and red against the brightening sky.
She grinned back at him, her entire body buzzing. She knew that everyone was watching him, taking note of how he had completely turned his back away from the nation to stare at a peasant waterbender. Even though she was a war hero, she was still the unknown, poor girl of a rival nation, one who caught the Fire Lord's eyes, who he had pulled his gaze away, one that he was unabashedly beaming at.
As her chest swelled with pride, she also felt a sadness creeping into it, a familiar and yet unknown grief.
Katara saw a translucent Mai approach him and grip his neck (only the right side, she noted). She saw an older Zuko, one whose body had finally filled in his shoulders, dressed in red wedding garbs. She saw an old woman in a dark and empty room, bent over a still and scarred body — and then Katara had the sudden fear that she had promised something she would regret, that she had been too forgiving and kind to Aang when she should've been that way to herself — but then Aang touched her elbow.
She turned to him.
He looked sad and hurt, but he was still smiling.
"Go," he mouthed.
And then her chest swelled with love.
She would never regret Aang, she thought, not in any life. She banished to the darkness all her fears and worries about her promise and her future lives.
Then, when she turned back to Zuko, his arms open for her, she thought that she would never regret Aang, but she would never let go of Zuko.
Her hands tingled, as if she could still feel his chest shuddering with lightning beneath her fingertips.
"Katara," she heard, and she didn't know if it was a hallucination or a vision or if his voice had reached her from the top of the cries of the crowd, but it didn't matter because she could hear in between the letters all that affection, all that tenderness — that he would give her every tomorrow until there was nothing left but yesterdays.
Katara rushed forward into his arms, the space between them reverberating until she closed it with a soft thump of hitting his chest.
"Zuko," she breathed. "Zuko."
Her body instinctively curled into his so that, no matter what lifetime they were in, there would be, in her, an emptiness in the shape of him until he returned to her, until the tides lowered her back to shore and she made her way back to him.
He sighed against her hair, his scarred face pressed into her brown locks.
"Remember what I told you that night?" Zuko whispered. "That night I asked you to stay? I meant forever, Katara."
She felt a choking gasp threaten its way up her throat, but Katara swallowed with a gulp and gripped the back of his gown tightly, a fear and loneliness hovering near the tips of her fingers. She saw him wrapped in lightning, then in age, and then in hands that she didn't recognize.
"I would love you," Zuko said in her ear. "I would love you so much."
And she thought, then, that this was her favorite moment; this moment right here would be her fondest — in all of the endless number of lives she could have, she would dream back to this one every time.
"You don't have to decide now. You don't have to give me anything, Katara." She felt him twist his fingers into her hair, another set of threads to connect them. "Just know that you already have me, from the very moment I jumped. My life is yours. There is always space for you; whether you say yes or no, you'll always have a home here."
Katara's nails were digging holes into his gown, and though she felt mildly sorry for it, she had to know that he was tight in her grasp, that no tide or future or thread would pull him away again (— again?).
"Yes," she whispered back. "Yes."
"Katara," he sighed, his voice hinting at a lilt of a song.
"I would love you," she murmured, "in this life, and the next, and any after that, even if we weren't to be, even if we were only distant soulmates. That night I said I would stay — I meant forever. You never have to ask again, Zuko."
She felt his lips smile against her head. When they pulled back, she thought he would kiss her, but he simply touched her cheeks and pressed his forehead to hers.
"Thank you, Katara," he said.
"You don't need to thank me," she muttered, shaking her head.
Zuko chuckled. "I always have to thank you. And I always have to apologize, too — sorry, I can't kiss you right now, but Agni, I really want to."
Her body hummed. "Later then."
Her eyes found General Iroh, still with tears, and then the rest of the nation behind him, and she pulled further away. She saw a panic in Zuko's eyes, as if he had believed that she had changed her mind simply by seeing the mass of obligations behind him, but she held onto his arms firmly and said, "Go make your speech. We'll negotiate afterwards — I'll need a ship to visit my family throughout the year, Fire Lord."
He grinned, relief spreading through his face as a warm blush. "I'll give you a whole damn fleet, Katara."
"Good," she said. Then, fingers still resonating with the way he his body shifted with each breath in her hands, Katara stepped back into the shadows of the platform, watching him as he turned to his people and addressed them of the new era that was to come.
Sokka put his arms around her and Suki, and Katara put her arms around both her brother and Aang, and Aang around she and Toph. She thought that, if ever anything happened, they would go together, that they never spend one second in this life, and any other, apart.
Three years later, when Katara had Fire Lady duties but not the Fire Lady title, she would wake up in a haze, one that made her chest ache and her hands tingle as if she had been holding onto something throughout the night. She would feel Zuko murmur against the back of her neck and pull her in to his chest, and then she would relax, remembering where she was.
The darkness was still haunting her, hiding enemies and spirits and strange, unknown paths, and as if knowing, Zuko would bend the candles awake and she would settle back against him under the orange glow of his fires and the silver light of her moon.
Katara would tell him then, about her dreams, about the ever-lingering grief that was hers, and yet wasn't, and the hypothesis that always came to mind — Have you ever felt that? Like this is one of many lives we have?
Instead of agreeing, Zuko would say to her that, no matter the life, he was always hers, but the answer wouldn't be satisfactory.
Even if you're not actually mine? Even if, for some reason, we're with other people?
She would feel him smile against her, and she would suddenly feel so sad from it, her eyes burning and her chest tightening.
I'm never far behind, he would say.
I don't know what that means.
It means, he would say, that if the spirits let me I would always pick you, and if they forced my path, it would never be separate from you. It means I would be your friend, your lover, your husband — it means I would be your side hoe — (she would laugh, knowing that Toph was the one who taught him that) — and your rival and maybe your enemy. It means that I would be slow to realize it, but one day, every time, I would think about this moment in a different life and remember that I once had you like this, and I would find my way back to you again.
He would kiss her.
Katara, I am always late. I've always struggled with things. I am always asking for your forgiveness, and I hope you always have one more to give — but every time, I will find you again, like this, where I am yours and you are always free to go, no matter how many lives I have to go through to get it right, no matter how many times I have to jump in front of lightning bolts, no matter how long I have to wait for you to save your people or the Avatar or the world before you come back to me.
Katara would frown. Why do you always think that I am the one that's free to go?
Because you are meant for bigger things. Because I am always the one chasing after you. Because my hands are always the ones tangled in your hair.
She would correct him, You were chasing after Aang.
Or, perhaps, I was following previous footsteps, he would suggest.
You are such a martyr, she would say. Can't I be yours for once, Zuko?
Yes, he would breathe. Yes.
And I would still love you, he would say, I would love you so much.
And Katara would fall back to sleep, and she would dream.
She would dream of an old woman with water at her waist, standing beside an old man with arrows on his arms, and she would turn away because this was her current life, and it was in this one she would stay, where Zuko was hers and she wasn't free to go (because she was his, she was solely and only his), and there was nowhere else to go, there was nowhere else to be, than tangled in his flames, and warmed by his breath, and pressed into his chest.