Beyond the Rising Sun
xiv.
The warm glow of late afternoon diffused the shadowy interior of the storehouse into a dark golden haze, dust motes drifting languidly in the scattered streaks of sunlight. From somewhere outside, birdsong seemed to add to the quiet instead of detracting from it, and there was the distant soughing of wind in the trees.
When Zuko opened his eyes, he found himself gazing at Katara.
She was lying on her side, her fingers and legs still twined and tangled with his. Her lips were slightly parted, her shallow yet deep breaths disturbing a stray curl that fell across her mouth.
His heart clenched, but it wasn't the same painful reaction from hours earlier. It was softer, warmer, and a smile as quiet as the afternoon curved the corners of his mouth.
Agni, he loved her.
Shifting slightly—enough to move his free hand but not so much as to disturb her—he brushed his knuckles against her cheek, almost as if to prove to himself that she were real, that he hadn't imagined any of it. But when she nuzzled into his touch, seeking him even in sleep, he felt a weight he hadn't even been aware of evaporate from his heart.
He relaxed back into the blanket, unable to contain his smirk when he recalled the series of events that had led to Katara declaring the blanket damn good enough to serve as a bed. His hand slipped down her face, fingertips tracing the edge of her jaw before trailing down her throat. His relatively light mood dissipated as he touched the pendant on her necklace.
He had touched it before, of course, all those years ago when he'd found it on that just-liberated prison. He winced when he recalled that he had taunted her with it, this last keepsake of her mother.
His hand briefly fisted. So much had happened today, and it wasn't all good. He had found Ursa only to lose her to an incurable illness in an unspeakably cruel twist of fate. His chest tightened, and he felt tears pricking his eyes before he forced himself to focus. This wasn't as he had envisioned it before—no, this wasn't one step forward and two steps back.
This was losing something and gaining something else.
One kind of love gone, another love found.
He didn't think he would go so far as to call it an even trade…no, it still hurt too much in his soul for that to be the case. But the edge had dulled a little, some of the emptiness had filled. He wasn't completely and utterly devastated any longer.
He still had Katara.
Smiling faintly as he drank in the sight of her again, he carefully unlaced their fingers and reached down for the second blanket draped across their hips. She was probably cold, considering their state of mutual undress. But as he began tugging the material up, his eyes caught sight of something he hadn't noticed before in the blinding, intoxicating rush.
His smile morphed into a frown, and a shiver crept into the back of his mind, although he wasn't immediately aware why. There, right in the center of her abdomen, that looked like…
His fingers, which had been moving to investigate, paused a hair's-breadth from discolored skin.
…bruises.
His brow crumpled, and he swiftly scanned the rest of her—when had this happened? To the increase of that amorphous fear in his subconscious, he located another blotchy patch of shadows on her shoulder and a third on her hip. He let his fingers skim across the bruises, grateful now that she was a deep sleeper; he didn't want her to wake up to this. But how…?
His mouth went dry as hazy memories recalled themselves. He had been so consumed with grief that he only had bits and pieces of the immediate past, but…but he knew on some level that he had lost control and started firebending, and that she had stopped him. It made sense that there would have been some sort of battle, and…
And…
His hand retreated after covering the damning evidence with the blanket, and he pulled himself away from her, bile rising in his throat. He reclaimed his clothes from their scattered locations and jerked them on sloppily, too preoccupied to pay much attention to the actions. He wasn't even aware he was clenching his jaw until his temples began to throb from the pressure.
He had done that to her, hadn't he.
He'd hurt her.
Zuko clapped a hand to his mouth, as if to hold back the bile, which now mixed blackly with self-loathing. He knew on a logical level that he'd encountered her in battle before, but he'd never had to see the resulting damage before, either. And he certainly hadn't physically attacked her since…since…had it been since that fateful fight in the catacombs of Ba Sing Se? Even then, he'd done his best not to cause her undue harm, just to hold her off.
But now…he had…
The chasm in his heart reopened, no longer possessing any measure of cover. Despair and disgust overwhelmed him, and he staggered out of the storehouse, barely making it to a clump of bushes before his stomach finally, unstoppably rebelled.
But all he spat was acid.
Katara was first aware of warm contentment swirling lazily in her belly. Even before she opened her eyes, a satisfied little smile curved her lips. She cuddled deeper into the blanket, trying not to derive too much happiness from rather recent memories; it was all because of such loss, but still…still, she couldn't say that she was upset it happened. Quite the contrary, actually.
And to think that just a week ago she would've waterbent anyone's ass who suggested she would kiss Zuko, let alone make love with him. It was rather funny how the world worked sometimes.
She reached out blindly with one hand, expecting to encounter him; it was a bit cool, even with the blanket, and she wanted his firebender's warmth…but her fingers only swiped empty air. Brows slanting together, she finally opened her eyes and observed the lack of Zuko her hand had already identified.
A chill had only gotten halfway down her spine before she reasoned that she must have rolled over sometime. She might have fallen asleep after him—he had been exhausted, all those days of little or no sleep piling up, not to mention that he had exerted himself quite a bit in the space of an hour—but that was no guarantee that she would've held her initial position.
It was only when she rolled onto her back and turned her head and still didn't find Zuko that the faint fear bubbled up again.
Clutching the blanket to her chest in an unnecessary concession to modesty, Katara levered herself up onto her elbows, scanning the immediate vicinity. But she couldn't see him, and even with all the boxes everywhere, she should have been able to hear him, at the very least. The only things worth mentioning were her clothes, draped on various crates in similar states of uncaring disarray. She didn't neglect to notice that his were nowhere to be seen.
She gained her feet, somewhat stiffly, wrapping the blanket around her slender frame. There might have been no one around to see, and if Zuko walked back in, it wouldn't exactly matter anymore, now would it? But if one of the villagers happened to enter, perhaps searching for her in connection with the late Fire Lady, and found her in this less-than-proper state, that would be more than uncomfortable.
She retrieved the various pieces of her outfit, flushing as she recalled exactly how she'd lost each article, but the heat drained from her cheeks when she continued contemplating Zuko's absence. She numbly pulled her clothes on as her thoughts began to race. He could have simply stepped outside for…for a breath of fresh air, perhaps, or they'd finally run out of food, or…or…
He had just left for a second: she wanted to believe that—needed to believe that more than the other possibility gnawing at the edges of her heart, making her feel sick and somehow hollow. The possibility that Zuko hadn't really wanted this, wanted her.
That his actions had been entirely spawned by his grief and pain.
That he even regretted it.
She fisted a hand in her robe, as if by clutching the material above her heart she could soothe its ache. She couldn't even bear imagining what it would be like to be dismissed after prying herself so wide open, and it was all made worse by the knowledge that she had set herself up for this. She had willingly surrendered to this ultimate vulnerability and given herself to him, and he had taken every last offered drop.
She only hoped she might get some of it back.
Spirits, please, she begged in the awful silence in her head. Don't let this die, too.
Distractedly smoothing the wrinkles from her robe, Katara navigated the crates and emerged out into the now-late afternoon sunlight, the canopy of leaves casting dappled shadows on her skin. Her best friend—Twi and La, no matter what else happens, please let that survive!—wasn't hard to find; he was sitting with his back to her, his legs drawn to his chest and his arms hooked around them.
She didn't move into his line of sight. She was too afraid of what she might be able to read in his eyes.
"Here you are," she said softly instead, doing her level best to stamp the quaver out of her tone.
He flinched as her voice interrupted his self-imposed exile, but he made no other acknowledgment of her presence.
Dread leaked into her stomach, drip by icy drip, and it took all her self-control to swallow the sob that rose in her throat. Her hands curled into such fierce fists that she absently worried her fingers would snap from the strain.
"I…I hope you slept well," she managed to continue, knowing that was the most useless thing she possibly could have said. "You needed the rest."
His head bowed further, his brow resting on his forearms, and he spoke into the shadow created by his hunched form. "Katara…" Her name escaped on a thick exhale, sounding like a plea. "Don't…don't be like this…not after…"
Her eyes closed as his words sank in, her lashes suddenly as heavy as lead. He did regret her.
She didn't know how the words escaped her mouth—her throat was so swollen with unshed tears speaking should have been impossible. "I…I'm sorry, Zuko. I shouldn't have…I should've been able to stop…I just—"
She stumbled to a halt when he looked at her sharply, and some still functioning part of her mind was bewildered to see pain on his face, too.
His mouth fell open, but he did not say anything for a long moment. Finally, though, after several wordless movements of his lips, he croaked, "What do you have to be sorry for? I'm the one who hurt you!"
The bewilderment enveloped the rest of her consciousness, and she shifted her weight, feeling equally unstable physically as she did emotionally. "Wh-what are you talking about?" she asked, blindsided and wishing that she knew what was going on. She had a niggling feeling they were holding two entirely unrelated conversations.
His brow furrowed, only confirming that theory. "What am I talking about?" he echoed, incredulous, and he gestured vaguely towards her with one hand. "Didn't you see the bruises? They're all over you, and I put them there. I'm a monster—how could I do that to you?"
The last part was a whisper, and he looked away as he said it.
Katara stared at him several seconds longer before she hesitantly placed a hand on her abdomen—yes, her ribs were twinging a little, and she remembered being struck by his explosion during the battle, but she hadn't thought…Fumbling in her haste, she unfastened the front of her robe and looked quizzically at her stomach. The skin was mottled in ghastly hues of purple and yellow, and she winced at the sight.
But then she gloved one hand in water, applying the healing technique to her wounded flesh. Zuko glanced back, his attention caught by the cool glow, and he simply stared when she ceased bending to reveal flawless tan skin.
"No harm done," she said, emphasizing her statement by prodding the previously wounded area unflinchingly. "I'm fine, just fine. And I already told you not to feel bad about losing control—I know how much it hurts, and what that hurt can do."
No, Mom, no! Daddy, don't let them take her away! Mama!
She shut her eyes as her own voice echoed in her memory, but she shook herself of the sorrow and refocused resolutely on the present. Closing her robe, she chanced a look at Zuko; he was still sitting in the same position, his mouth once again flapping uselessly.
"But…but I…" he protested, determined to castigate himself.
She crouched in front of him and rested her hands on his shoulders, but he staggered backwards—if that were even possible while sitting—and lurched to his feet. He retreated a good dozen feet, leaving her as confused as ever and somewhat stung by his adverse reaction.
"Stay away from me," he said, and she wasn't given enough time to cringe properly before he hurried on. "Don't come near me. I can't trust myself anymore. Not when I can just turn on you like that." He shook his head, though the recipient of such denial was left unexplained, and held his arms tightly at his sides. "I never should have dragged you into this. I should have left you with the Avatar, where you were safe." He swallowed hard, the words doing their best not to escape his mouth.
"You were better off with Aang. He would never hurt you."
Katara stared at him, feeling as lost as if her waterbending had suddenly disappeared. How could he be suggesting that she leave him now? After all that had just happened, he expected her to just walk away and resume her previous life as if it'd never been interrupted? Was he insane?
But she found herself saying different words. "Well, that's not entirely true," she pointed out.
Zuko looked at her so sharply she nearly heard his neck crack, distance notwithstanding. "What?" he blurted incredulously. "Are you saying Aang hurt you? When? I'll kill him!"
Under better circumstances, Katara might have been amused by his sudden switch from brooding and isolated to fiercely protective, but as it were, she merely shook her head. "Calm down," she said, but the rebuke in her voice was halfhearted. "It was years ago, back before the Siege of the North. Aang had just started learning firebending from Jeong Jeong—you remember him; he's in the White Lotus Society—and he got overeager. He tried a move that was too much for him, and I was an idiot, hanging around so close, and I ended up getting burned."
Because that did not seem to deter the Fire Lord's wrath, Katara hastily added, "It turned out okay, though. I actually ended up learning that I had healing abilities, and…" She trailed off and actually smiled faintly. "I really liked that timing. I had just learned—too well—that firebending was so easy to lose control of, but that was alright, because I had this balancing technique. At the time, I figured if Aang ever lost control firebending again, I would be able to put it right."
She met Zuko's gaze squarely, and for the first time he didn't seem inclined to let his slip aside. "But now I realize that I can put it right for you, too."
He exhaled, his frame relaxing only marginally and only for an instant. "I don't want it to be like that, Katara," he imparted softly, wearily. "I don't want it to be okay to hurt you just because you can fix it afterwards. I never, ever want to hurt you again."
"And I believe that," she replied, her voice equally soft. "I do. You're so careful with your meditation, so aware of your limits—I can't imagine how you would ever lose it again. It's not as if—"
She stopped herself abruptly, nearly choking on her unfinished sentence. How had she been about to refer to that so casually, so callously? She actually raised a hand to her mouth and turned apologetic eyes on Zuko.
He made a vague, dismissive motion. "I get it. It's fine—it's true. As long as you and Uncle stay in perfect health, I'll never have to experience that much…that much…well, that much again," he concluded awkwardly, finally glancing away.
"Nothing's going to happen to me," she assured him, closing half the space between them in a few strides. "Because I know you won't let anything, from yourself or otherwise. I trust you."
He snorted weakly. "Huh. You, trust me? When did that happen?"
Relief trickled into her system, grateful that he had gotten to a sarcastic stage. And so she replied in kind, only partially teasing, "I think it had something to do with the lightning."
Zuko didn't need any more reference than that, and he nodded. "Yeah. Sometimes I still can't…but Azula was, well, Azula back then, so I'm not really surprised. And in the end, I couldn't let you die—how could I? You were…you were so…"
She tilted her head to one side, a smirk flickering into existence. "I was so what?" she prompted.
Amber eyes caught azure, and her breath caught at the sheer seriousness in those irises. "Beautiful," he replied, barely audible. "I don't mean in appearance—although you are," he tacked on, a fragment of lightheartedness there and gone. "I mean…all the way through. The way you managed to forgive me, even after all that I'd done; really, I wouldn't blame you if you never had. And how you let me in after that, so fast and so close…I've never known anyone quite like you."
He lowered his eyes, focusing on the ground as she meandered a few steps closer, now only an arm's length away. His arms remained locked at his sides, and he shook his head and whispered, "You're too good for me, Katara. I don't deserve you. I never have."
She cuffed his shoulder before raising that hand to trail feather-light down his scarred cheek; he didn't jerk away this time, but he didn't reciprocate, either. "Don't make me hurt you," she chided gently, and she tilted his face up; he hesitantly returned her gaze. She smiled faintly, crookedly. "Have you ever thought that maybe I don't deserve you?"
"You deserve the world," he insisted.
She grinned briefly. "Maybe so. But all I want is you."
His eyes widened, and he searched hers, as if he wanted to find a scrap of insincerity. But there was none to be found, and his lips slowly curved upwards in the quietest, most genuine smile she'd ever seen.
The sun was setting beyond the trees, but the shadows were not too long yet in the second floor of Gensu's house. The window in Ursa's room faced west—faced home—and the shallow golden rays gave the chamber an ethereal glow and tinted her pale skin in a last wash of color.
Zuko stood at the foot of the bed, his arms hanging limp and heavy at his sides, the locket gripped tightly in one hand. He was dimly aware of Katara and Gensu conversing quietly downstairs, but he couldn't make out their words, not that he cared enough to eavesdrop.
This was his final farewell.
Not bothering to fight the tears that welled anew in his eyes, Zuko slowly strode to his usual seat, the mattress bowing beneath his weight. The Elder had already begun making the necessary preparations, but the shroud did not yet cover Ursa's face, which was now eternally serene.
He couldn't quite believe that he had been speaking to her only that morning. A scant twelve hours had passed, and yet absolutely everything had changed.
Too much emotion clogged his throat, delaying his goodbye, and so he cracked open the locket instead, glancing between the portrait and the woman in the bed. She looked so similar, really, and he numbly lifted the curled lock of hair and twirled it between his thumb and forefinger. To think that he had defied all the odds to find her, only to lose her.
He wanted to think the fates were cruel. But maybe, in some twisted, backwards way, they were kind for allowing him one last week. Maybe it all, somehow, made sense in the end.
His movements slow and somewhat stiff, Zuko tied off another small section of his mother's hair and pulled out a penknife. The keen edge of the blade made quick work of the raven strands, and he studied the second bundle of her hair for a pained moment before he tucked it inside the locket as well and closed the lid with a quiet click.
As if that sound were his cue, he found the strength to speak.
"I guess this is goodbye for now, Mom," he murmured sadly, glancing back at her still features. "I'll see you again someday, on the other side, I promise you that. Maybe I can get Aang to let me cross over sooner."
He shook his head faintly at that and added with the subtlest of smiles, "I'm sure you'll be able to track down Katara's mother. If she's anything like her daughter, you'll get along just fine."
His jaw clenched then, his expression growing taut as sorrow tangled his heart once more. "I know you saved my life back then," he revealed quietly. "And I think that's why you didn't come home—it'd be too hard, wouldn't it? Even though you felt you had to do it…It must have been awful, knowing you let him onto the throne, knowing how he only escalated Fire's cruelty. Knowing that Uncle Iroh probably would have stopped the war like he'd stopped assaulting Ba Sing Se."
Zuko shook his head slightly, needing to dismiss his what-ifs before they brought him down an even more painful road. "So I wanted to thank you for giving it all up to save me, and for everything you've ever done, especially for looking out for me and loving me. You are so much the reason I became the man you're so proud of. Thank you."
He slipped the locket back around his neck, the metal cool where it rested against his skin beneath his tunic, and he rose to his feet and offered a deep Fire Nation bow. And then he leaned in and brushed his lips against her unresponsive forehead.
"I love you, Mom," he whispered. "Sweet dreams."
Zuko straightened and, with slow ceremony, pulled the shroud over her face, tucking it in carefully. He had only just retrieved the vial of her perfume from the bedside table and pocketed it when a thin voice broke the silence.
"Forgive my interruption, Lord Zuko," Gensu said. "I merely wanted to see how you were."
The younger man nodded dully. "As good as could be expected," he said, turning to face the Elder. "I wanted to apologize again for—"
Gensu waved one hand, cutting the firebender off. "You need not, my lord. Your formal apology before was enough. Besides, the circumstances push us to consider compassion, and Sifu Katara minimized the damage to a very appreciable degree." He paused thoughtfully, studying the other man for a lengthy interval before he added, "She is a powerful bender, and an amazing woman. You are very lucky to know her."
Zuko nodded again. "Believe me, I know," he replied sincerely.
Gensu held his silence for several seconds. "I would like to thank you, my lord, for performing the traditional last rite here. It was a very generous gesture, and we all appreciate it."
The firebender waved one hand dismissively. "No, it's nothing. My mother lived here with you for nine years, so it's only fitting that you should all be able to attend at least part of the ceremony. And I hardly thought you'd all want to come to the Fire Nation capital for the actual…for the actual funeral."
The Elder bobbed a slow bow in acknowledgment, and when he straightened, he glanced at the former Fire Lady before meeting Zuko's eyes. "Are you ready, then, my lord?"
Zuko's jaw clenched, and in answer, he balanced one knee on the bed and gathered his mother's shrouded body in his arms, balancing the brunt of her weight against his chest. He marginally adjusted his grip, trying not to think too much about what he was doing, and followed Gensu from the room and down the stairs. He caught sight of Katara when they walked to the door; she was waiting for them, and when she saw them, her eyes briefly closed and she reached up with one hand to clutch Kya's necklace.
He flinched inwardly at the sight—this had to be so awful for her, too—but his own sorrow surged to the fore, and he didn't know how he managed to step out into the dusky light and make it to the pyre constructed in the center of the square. He set Ursa's body on the carefully stacked wood and stepped back, vaguely aware that Gensu was speaking.
But he couldn't make out the words, deafened with emotion, and he barely noticed Katara next to him. He couldn't focus on anything but what he was about to do—the final, irrevocable last rite of the Fire Nation.
Somehow he realized that the Elder had ceased his eulogy, and Zuko walked closer to the pyre, his mouth dry and his chest aching. And somehow he cleared his throat and spoke, loudly enough so that all the assembled could hear.
"We, the children of Agni, are born in fire, and we die in fire. Fire Lady Ursa, I return your body to ash so that, like the phoenix, your soul may be freed for its new life in the Spirit World."
He bent in another deep bow, and tears seared his eyes as he slipped into a firebending stance. He grit his teeth so hard his head hurt, and he paused, needing a moment to regain his composure. He didn't want to do this; he didn't want to watch this, her slow degradation to dust…
No no no, this can't be happening, none of this is real, it can't be—
—In and out. In and out. Fire is in the breath.
"Goodbye, Mom," he whispered, and he punched forth a powerful burst of flame. He was only dully surprised that the fire started out brilliant and blue: the hotter it was, the swifter this would be over.
He retreated to Katara's side, the pyre already hot enough to project waves of heat, and he did not relax when she gripped his hand in hers. He shut his eyes, but he could see the glow through his lids, and he could feel the dry heat on his skin. He could not escape this.
It was over now.
His mother was well and truly gone.
They lingered long after the villagers had paid their last respects, and when the fires had finally died, Zuko numbly collected the ashes before the wind could carry them away.
Sand sank beneath his boots, and the highest, foamy waves swept close and swallowed his shallow footprints. The breeze off the ocean was stiff, and he closed his eyes, allowing it to ruffle his hair and caress his skin. He inhaled deeply, drawing solace once more from the comforting scent of the vagrant wind and the salty brine and the endless blue.
The tautness in his shoulders loosened as he stood there, half-caught in a reverie, and he could almost believe that he was just here for the nostalgia or the scenery. That he had been compelled to visit Ember Island for some reason other than his mother's passing.
Zuko's grip tightened briefly on the small, ornate urn he carried, and he slowly opened his eyes, his vision blurred with a different kind of salt water.
"I almost forgot how beautiful this place was," Katara observed quietly, idly playing with the tides as she came to a halt beside him. "Back before the comet, I didn't wholly appreciate it. Too much had to still happen, I guess," she concluded with a soft exhale of a laugh.
He blinked a few times, reciting his meditation's mantra to regain his composure. At length, he remarked hoarsely, "Mom always loved it here. She loved the beach and the sea; it's a bit far away in the capital, and…well, there weren't any responsibilities here. We could just…be a family. An ordinary family."
He shifted his footing, finding better purchase in the damp sand. "This was the only place we ever were remotely ordinary, or remotely like a family. I remember that Mom used to try to get…to get him to bring us here more often, and sometimes she'd win, and we'd drop by for a long weekend or something. It was…it was all so simple back then."
Katara listened without interruption, her arms folding on her chest as she gazed out across the turquoise shallows towards where the sea merged hazily with the sky.
"I suppose that's why I wanted to come," Zuko mused, glancing down at the earthenware container. "Or maybe it's because I don't want to go home yet. Heh, maybe I just don't know anything anymore."
She studied him sidelong, concern shading her expression. "Perhaps we should go up to the house," she suggested gently. "I should probably start making dinner, anyway. We didn't eat much on the voyage here."
He didn't move or even acknowledge the fact that she'd spoken. "She always loved the beach," he echoed wistfully. "I…I think she'd like to stay here. Where we were happy."
She didn't need to ask what he was talking about; it wasn't hard to decipher. She watched instead as he slowly—and with great care—unscrewed the lid of the jar and gave it a shake. Ashes drifted out, catching on the breeze, and scattered: some to the shore, some to the ocean, and others stayed airborne, dancing out of sight on the wind's back.
He remained in pensive silence for several minutes, but at length he reclosed the urn. "That was about half," he commented blandly, as if he didn't expect anyone to care to listen. "I'll need the other half for…for the formal…for the…"
"I know, Zuko," Katara interrupted softly, not wanting to see him continue to struggle with the concept.
He turned, but he only walked a few paces up the beach, just getting out of the range of the tide line, before he slumped onto soft golden sand. He set the jar aside, tucking it into a little cradle of sand, and loosely hooked his arms around his half-bent legs, one hand gripping the other wrist. He stared unseeingly at the waves, and Katara sat beside him, drawing her knees to her chest and waiting.
"I don't…want to go home yet because I don't want it to be real," he confessed, barely audible, after more minutes had flown into the past. "To be really real. Coming here…it's almost like it was all just a bad dream or something, one that I'll wake up from sooner or later. But if I have to go back and notify everyone and have the ceremony…it'll be too real. And it's too soon."
Katara nodded absently. "I know what you mean, about it being too soon. And you can take your time, Zuko; no one's going to rush you. Not in this."
He shifted slightly, digging his heels more into the giving ground. He remained mired in pensive silence for some time, the only sound the waves lapping at the shore, ever gaining ground only to recede once more, forever playing the waterbender's game of push and pull.
He inhaled slowly and exhaled just as slowly, his eyebrows slanting together. "You know…I was wondering, but…but you don't have to tell me, of course. I just wanted to know."
"What is it?" she asked, curious, and she tucked wind-teased curls behind one ear, clearing her view of him.
He stared steadfastly at his hands, but he did spare her a brief glance. "What's it like in the Water Tribe?"
Again, she didn't require clarification. She sighed, a long, low breath, and her brow pinched ever so slightly. "It's…completely different," she began, her tone somehow as distant as her eyes. "Like you, our ceremony reflects our element, but that's where the similarities end. Instead of fire and ashes, we give the dead a last journey, setting them adrift in a canoe. It's called 'returning to the sea', and…" She trailed off, memories and their emotions stealing her voice, and she bit her lip.
"It's not a story I like to tell," she added at length, even though he had not prompted her.
Zuko almost moved to embrace her, but something in his gut told him to hold off, not yet. So he sat there instead and shrugged. "You don't have to say anything," he told her.
She nodded at that, her attention fixated on her interwoven fingers. "I suppose, but…I never have told it before, and I can't imagine who else I would want to share this with."
"Then I'll listen," he replied. He didn't how well either of them would deal with the recounting of Kya's final voyage, but he sensed that it still ought to be said. Another bond forged between them, another layer added to their already extensive weave until absolutely nothing could tear them apart.
Katara gazed somewhere beyond the horizon. "It was the worst day of my life, and for some reason, I remember so clearly that it was sunny…"
The sun reflected off the snow, blindingly bright despite the relative weakness of its rays. There was no warmth from the arctic sun; only light, thin and watery, that willingly imprisoned itself in a hundred thousand crystalline facets.
The snow crunched beneath Katara's boots, her weight breaking the thin frozen crust and turning her footprints into shallow, bluish cracks. This was not the kind of snow you could make anything out of, nor the kind that the wind, however swift and biting, could kick up into white whirls. No, this snow was already well on its way to becoming more solid than stone and far colder and unyielding than rock could ever aspire to be.
It was hard and flat and pure cold, just like that Fire Nation soldier's eye.
Katara shivered, more from the memory than the wind, even though that came close to cutting straight through her thickly padded parka. She'd had nightmares about that eye, dreams that had ended with her sobbing and yelling for her mother and being comforted by someone else—once Gran-Gran, once Hakoda.
She didn't quite get it. Why wouldn't her mother come? But whenever she asked her father or grandmother, they both would grow silent and still and not offer any satisfying answer. Katara knew something was wrong, of course, but it had been a few days, and Kya should have recovered by now, at least enough so that Katara could see her. But she and Sokka were barricaded from that hut and told vague, unhelpful things.
The flap of the family tent was pushed aside, and her elder brother emerged, looking surprisingly somber. She had an amorphous notion that he knew—or at least suspected—more than she did, and it irked her slightly that he was holding out on her with this information.
"What's keeping Dad?" she inquired instead, frowning a little and trying not to breathe too deeply: the air was too clear, and it burned her nostrils and pierced her throat with each grudging inhalation.
Sokka glanced at her, hunched into his own blue parka, and then he glanced away again.
"Oh, come on," she protested, and she stamped one foot in annoyance. The snow cracked more from that added pressure, but it still refused to submit entirely. "He said he'd be right out 'cause we had to go somewhere."
Sokka shrugged, one rise and fall of his small shoulders, and he had that frustratingly aware look in his eyes again. "I dunno," he mumbled. "Soon, I guess."
Katara huffed, her breath escaping in an evanescent cloud, and she folded her arms imperiously on her chest. She was being kept out of a loop, and she was fast beginning to loath it. But she didn't have to wait much longer, as Hakoda emerged several minutes later, Kya's necklace still gripped in one gloved hand.
And that bothered Katara as well. Surely her mother would want that back, so why did Hakoda insist on keeping it? And why did he always look so sad? Kya must be better by now…she had been hurt, but, really…why was it taking so long?
"Come, Sokka, Katara," Hakoda said gruffly, blandly, as if he hardly had the capacity to focus on anything.
The children fell in step behind him, Sokka shuffling and Katara looking at him sidelong. Hakoda seemed so sad, and Sokka did, too…what did they know that she didn't? And why were they keeping it a secret?
She was about to voice this confusion when they arrived at a cluster of tribesmen; in fact, it looked like everyone in their small community was present. Katara's brow furrowed, and she reached up, tugging on her father's sleeve.
"Dad, what's going on? Why's everyone here?"
He studied her for a long, pained moment, and she almost thought she saw tears in his eyes. But he didn't cry—he was the strongest and the bravest, he didn't cry—! He crouched down so that he was level with her, and he placed both his hands on her shoulders, dwarfing her in his larger grip.
"Tara," he said softly, "we're here to…see your mother. To say goodbye."
Katara frowned more than ever, her forehead furrowing at this unexpected announcement. "What? But why would we do that? Where's she going? Does she need help from someone else? I want to go with her!"
Hakoda bowed his head and held that position for another heavy interval, but he met her eyes again soon enough. "No, my little penguin, you can't do that." He heaved a sigh and straightened to his full height, retaining a hold on her shoulder. "Come…this way…"
The chief guided the two children through the crowd, and Katara realized they were on the edge of the ice floe, that the unfrozen sea stretched out before them. Kana stood next to a ceremonial canoe, looking bleaker than the empty ocean, and the rest of her family moved to her side.
Katara broke free of her father and peered over the lip of the slim boat. To her bewilderment, Kya lay inside, her hands folded on her chest, her eyes shut. But she didn't look right. She didn't look right at all.
The young waterbender turned, fear shining in her cobalt eyes. "What's wrong with Mom? Why's she asleep? And why does she look so cold? Daddy, what's wrong with her?"
Hakoda swallowed and cast Kana a pleading glance; the elder understood the unspoken words and approached her granddaughter. "Darling," she said slowly, quietly, as if speaking louder or more quickly would shatter her already weak voice. "Your mother has to go away. She has to go on a journey, and we can't follow her. She has to visit Grandpa, and the Moon Spirit—you remember them, right?"
"Yeah, but…" Katara floundered, more confused than ever. "But what does that mean? We just need to get more boats—someone needs to get another boat! Then we can follow her, easy! Daddy, get another boat!"
She was almost yelling at the end. Somewhere, somehow, she sensed this was far more final than a simple canoe trip. She could tell that this boat, once gone, would never come back.
Hakoda hurried over, his son on his heels. "Sokka, please take care of your sister," he said, and the boy interpreted that as grabbing onto Katara's arms from behind and dragging her a few paces away.
"Sokka, stop! Stop! I want Mom! Mom, wake up! Mom!" Katara cried, struggling in her brother's grip, but to no avail; he'd always been stronger than her. But why wasn't Kya stirring? She always responded to her daughter's calls, always always always! It didn't matter if it were the middle of the night or if she were engaged in some other activity, her mother always came.
And she was so close! Katara knew she could hear!
Hakoda closed his eyes briefly, as if some weight were burdening his lashes, but then he reopened them and began speaking in grave tones. Katara quieted, stilling her attempts to escape Sokka, and paid attention with half an ear, even as she continued to wonder why this situation was all so wrong.
"In the Water Tribe, we all are born from Mother Ocean and watched over by Father Moon. With their guidance, we flourish and live. And when it is…when it is over, we return to their comforting embrace, sheltered once more in the circling arms of Twi and La."
Hakoda paused, appearing troubled, but then he resumed determinedly. "We who loved you, dearest Kya, set you on your last voyage and return you to the sea, sustained in the knowledge that you will always be there: in the water, in the moon, and in our hearts."
He motioned for his children, and they hesitantly obeyed, peeking over the boat's rim. Kana knelt on the other side, and the younger members waited for their cue. When the elders simply offered quiet, sad farewells, Katara and Sokka followed in suit, even though the former still didn't grasp the whole scenario. They had done this years ago with their grandfather, yes, but she couldn't really remember him, and it had never occurred to her to notice that he had never come back.
But Hakoda gently pulled them away from the boat, and the children stumbled back, watching as their father waved Bato and another tribesman to the fore. They took up positions on either side of the canoe, and then, to Katara's terror, they shoved it off the ice and into the ocean.
She struggled wildly against Hakoda's hand, which was vise-like on hers.
"No, Mom, no! Daddy, don't let them take her away! Mama!"
Her voice broke on the last syllable, pitching her scream to a shriek.
And she pulled free of her father's grasp, her mitten remaining clenched in his hand, and dashed forward, reaching for the canoe, for her mother. Hakoda caught her up almost instantly, sweeping her off her feet and back into his chest, not flinching as she fought his hold, legs kicking and hands stretching towards Kya's disappearing vessel.
The waves obeyed her untutored gestures, bowing to the demands of the Southern Tribe's last waterbender. The canoe retreated, bobbing back towards the icy shore.
"Mama! Come back! Mama!" she pleaded, tears streaming down her face and nearly freezing to her wind-chafed cheeks.
"Tara, she won't come back—she's gone," Hakoda said urgently, holding her tighter in an attempt to smother her movements. He somewhat succeeded; her unconscious waterbending sputtered and failed, but she continued to flail.
"She's not gone!" she cried. "She's right there! Mama!"
Sokka glared up at her, his own face wet with tears. "Don't you get it?" he snapped savagely, unable to stand her denial any longer; it was only exacerbating his already broken heart. "She's dead!"
Katara went utterly still at that, the color draining from her face, leaving only the red of the wind and the blue of her tears. She blinked slowly, several times, and stared numbly at the receding canoe, steadily sailing farther and farther away.
"Sokka!" Hakoda said in sharp reprimand, and he knelt down, setting his daughter's unresponsive feet on the ground. She crumpled where she stood, still staring blankly after her mother, and was barely aware that he was speaking to her.
"I'm sorry, Tara. I didn't mean what I said before—dead isn't the same as gone. You know Mom will always be with you, right? Here, in your heart," he said, motioning with a large hand. And then, after a moment of consideration, he proffered the necklace, its pendant shining in the weak rays of the weak sun.
"Here," he said softly. "You should have this. She would have wanted you to have it, and now you'll always have something to remember what I said: that she's always with you."
Katara numbly allowed him to tie it around her neck; there was a lot of excess ribbon at the back, and it still sagged loosely. But at length she lifted her small, ungloved hand, frozen fingers curling around the bluish disk.
The too-bright sun hurt her bloodshot eyes, and the too-sharp wind hurt her trembling lungs, and the too-real image of her mother's tiny vessel vanishing into the horizon hurt her hopelessly shattered heart.
She knew one of those pains would never go away.
Katara drifted back to the present, unsurprised that her hand had risen and gripped her necklace on its own accord. Contrarily, she was surprised that her voice had remained largely steady throughout the retelling, that tears had gathered on but not fallen from her lashes. It was almost as if something had happened, as if by sharing this some of the weight had lifted from her heart, as if a scab had finally begun to form.
"But I guess I pulled myself together somehow," she added musingly. "Because the next day and every day after, it seemed, I was watching out for Sokka—he's such a hopeless cause," she remarked with a faint fond smile. "He was worse back then, and of course he absolutely refused to learn how to sew, regardless of how helpful it would've been. Dad left soon after, though, off to war, and Sokka got worse, so…" She trailed off, not entirely sure how to continue, not entirely sure if she even should.
"I get it, I get it," Zuko said, a shade of teasing in his tone. "Stop whining and get back to work. I've got a whole country to take care of, though I daresay Sokka was more of a headache."
She looked at him for an elongated instant. "I didn't mean that at all, Zuko. I already told you that you can take all the time in the world to grieve this loss."
He shook his head slowly, still thinking it through as he spoke. "No, I know…but…I'll still miss her. I'll always miss her. It's not like salvaging a nation will distract me too much, and your example was a good one. I need to get back into my old routine, even though so much has changed in the meantime." He paused, glancing out over the sea. "I guess…we'll leave the day after tomorrow. I didn't say I'd just jump in the deep end, after all. I'd like to wade out a bit."
She nodded, and she nearly squeaked in surprise when he pulled her into a sideways hug; she was still holding onto her last connection to her mother, and the subsequent lack of balance caused her to fall into him.
"I forgot to thank you," he murmured into her hair, "for sharing that story with me."
She relaxed into Zuko's embrace, and eventually her fingers abandoned the necklace to hold onto him, instead.
Time passed almost pleasantly on Ember Island, even as they rehashed old memories, trading tales as they rooted through the attic of the royal family's abandoned house. The place was still damaged from that day before Sozin's Comet when Zuko had attempted to pound reality into Aang's head, but then again, he didn't have the resources to spare fixing it. All his time and most of his money were devoted to shoring up the crumbled foundations of his disgraced country, and anyway…
This place was somehow in the past. It seemed wrong to bring it into the future.
There was a surprising amount of boxes in the attic, and he wondered how much of the stuff had originated on Ember Island and how much his mother had brought from the capital. There were crude charcoal drawings, smeared from being stacked together, that once had been depictions of four familiar people, one familiar family. There were professional portraits, too, some individual and some group, and unlike before, Zuko rolled up and saved one of all of them.
Some determined digging unearthed tiny clothes, most likely his and Azula's, although it was possible that some of them were carryovers from his father's or even grandfather's generation. And in one of the furthest boxes, thick with dust, he retrieved a faded ink portrait of two young men; the inscription on the rear identified them as Sozin and Roku.
He studied it, glancing from one great-grandfather to the other, with a frown on his face. It still boggled his mind to think that he had descended from two of the most powerful men in recent history, even though it didn't surprise him at all to learn that his mother was a daughter of the Avatar's line.
When Katara asked why he looked so pensive, though, he brushed the matter aside. It really wasn't worth dredging up.
They finally descended hours later, sneezing and swiping at the ancient dust that had gathered with magnetic persistence on their clothing. They were each carrying a box, filled with the odds and ends that Zuko had seen fit to transfer to his permanent apartment in the palace. After setting the boxes in the cobwebbed and creaky kitchen, Zuko wandered off for a quick bath, almost eager to wash the past from his skin.
Maybe, he thought as cleansing, hot water coaxed the dust and the dirt away, this was what moving on was like. Maybe this was the first step towards that elusive destination called closure.
By the time he returned to the kitchen, Katara had mostly finished whipping up a quick meal, idly using her bending to stir the haphazard ingredients of the soup. Zuko installed himself in one of the chairs, taking care to brush the dust away first.
"You didn't have to do that, you know," he remarked.
She shrugged. "I don't know about you, but I was starving. It's hardly an effort anymore, anyway. I always cook." She laughed and added, "It's what I do. I'm Katara, master soup-bender."
He chuckled at that, and when his stomach voiced its approval moments later, he put a hand to it and grinned crookedly. "Guess I'm hungrier than I thought I was. Thanks."
"No problem," she replied airily, tapping a lingering dust bunny out of a fine china bowl. "I tell you, this place might be stocked and all, but you really must speak to the maid."
His grin broadened. "I'll get right on that," he said, accepting the bowl and appreciatively sniffing its now-dustless, steaming contents. He wiped off a spoon and tucked in, amused when Katara didn't even bother with utensils and simply bent the mouthfuls of soup directly.
Zuko had polished off his bowl in record time—she really did know her way around a pot, especially with such a random assortment of ingredients—and watched her continue her unique consumption for several silent, easy moments. But then he opened his mouth, and tension thickly filled the air.
"So…when we go back to the capital, what're you going to do?"
She quirked an eyebrow at him, a sphere of soup suspended in midair. "What d'ya mean?"
He made a side-to-side motion with his hands, a different sort of shrug. "Well, after everything happens that needs to happen…what will you do?" He paused, then asked with private dread, "Will you stay?"
She didn't answer right away and preoccupied herself with streaming the soup back into its bowl. Her mouth had opened and closed several times before any words were heard. "Admittedly, I hadn't thought about it. I was trying to take this one step at a time, kind of thing."
"Oh," he replied quietly. "Oh. Okay."
"Not that I object to the idea!" she salvaged hastily. "I just don't have any plan. The future is blank." She made an expansive motion, as if she were an artist referring to her canvas.
He nodded and added more lightly, "Well, you know where I'll be, in any case. Up to my eyeballs in paperwork and trying to remind myself that that's a good thing."
She laughed softly at that, but he could tell she was distracted. Probably thinking about all the things she hadn't had the time or energy to contemplate before. Especially that tricky where do we go from here/what are we to each other question. He realized that they hadn't addressed the matter at all; the grief had all come rushing back after they'd cleared up the guilt concerning her injuries—although the thought still stirred the acid in his stomach—and they had never circled back to the very momentous change in their relationship.
He didn't know what to think about it, let alone what to say, so he let the matter lie. He had never been particularly eloquent, anyway, and maybe just taking a path and sticking to it and seeing if she followed would be enough.
Katara finished her meal in silence, barely paying attention to what she had previously deemed a highly delicious repast. Zuko had, however accidently, opened up a Pandora's box, and she was torn between slamming the lid shut again and sorting through its contents, as they'd done in the attic.
The silence, though, had become companionable by the time Zuko assisted her with the dishes, which largely consisted of him handing her things and her waterbending them clean and dry. He replaced them in their respective cupboards, where they practically gleamed besides their dusty brethren, and she leaned against the kitchen's doorway, waiting for him to finish up. She might have stayed here before, back when the war still raged, but it was his house and therefore only polite to let him show her to a room.
Katara fell in step behind him when he brushed past her and climbed the stairs to the second storey. It was dark, as night had long since fallen, and he held a shivering collection of flames in one hand as he navigated the run-down hallways to the bedrooms. He peered into several chambers before he found one that suited whatever criteria, and he let the door swing wide as he padded in on cat's feet. She had followed him in and begun crossing to the bed, assuming that he was hanging about to check for…something, like demons or assassins or loose floorboards, but he beat her there.
And she froze in her tracks.
Zuko looked up at her from where he was already sliding under the covers, his brow furrowing. "What's wrong, Katara? You're just…standing there."
She swallowed, too many feelings weighing her down, too many thoughts competing for egress. It appeared she would be diving headlong into that box, after all. She stared at her hands, as if her fingernails were truly that fascinating, and confessed softly, "Zuko, I…I don't think I should stay with you. Tonight. Or…any night in the near future."
He frowned, watching her with a trace of wariness in his eyes. "Why?" he asked, his tone as far from accusatory as audibly possible, merely inquisitive.
Her fingers laced now, and she wrung them distractedly. "I…I just…spirits, Zuko, I'm not sure how to say this at all. Please just…bear with me. This might get a little long-winded, but hear me out to the end…it won't sound good right now, but…hang in there."
The wariness was replaced with concern, and he sat up, leaning forward with his arms on his loosely bent knees. "Alright. Go on. I promise I won't interrupt."
She exhaled heavily, the updraft disturbing the ever-present loops in her hair, and she closed her eyes. "What…what happened between us, back in the…well, you know what happened," she said, an almost-laugh riding the words, her cheeks flushing briefly in the darkness. "It was…it was amazing, spirits, it was amazing, but…it all happened so fast, you know? I barely had time to get used to the idea that I loved you, and then we were…and it was like we skipped to the end, see?"
He nodded once, acknowledging that point, and smiled fleetingly, indulgently at her admission before he continued devoting the whole of his attention to her.
She made a meaningless, incomplete gesture. "And that's not sitting right with me. I don't want to start at the end with you, Zuko. I want it all. I want everything, including the beginning. So I thought that…that maybe we could do that. Go back to the start."
He nodded again, slowly but firmly, and he looked a little relieved, as if he had been expecting far worse. "I don't see why not—"
"You promised you wouldn't interrupt, and I'm not finished yet," she said, the words blurring together in her nervousness. He blinked, a little surprised, but closed his mouth in acquiescence. She bowed her head slightly, pinching the bridge of her nose before continuing.
This had to be done right, she thought. Because this was Zuko. He wasn't Aang. He wasn't Jet. This love couldn't, shouldn't be like those.
"I'm so scared of messing this up," she whispered. "And I don't want to rush things, to stumble into a romantic relationship and have it…and have it consume everything we already have. I don't want to just…make out with you all the time and never talk to you anymore…um, well, you know that I mean," she amended awkwardly before hurrying on with all seriousness. "You're my best friend, Zuko, and I want you to remain that. I don't want our friendship to get lost in the shuffle. I couldn't bear that. I like the way we work together. I like our rhythm. It feels…right, somehow, comfortable in a way that has nothing to do with habit. I like us."
He smiled halfway. "I like us, too, Katara," he told her.
She let out a soft breath, her expression fleetingly mirroring his. "Yeah. So…so could we take this slow? Because I want this to last. I want this to last forever." Her face fell. "I probably just completely freaked you out."
He chucked quietly and waved a hand. "Hardly. I'm no stranger to commitment, and I'm certainly not afraid of it. Besides…I can't imagine who else I could possibly want to share my life with. You've saved me, Katara, in more ways than one."
She blushed at the praise, but then she stepped to the foot of the bed, tentatively extending one arm. He scooted forward until he was close enough to lace their fingers. "I think we can do this, Zuko," she said softly. "I think we can find the middle ground between friends and lovers. I think…no, I know that we can have both and find that balance."
He smirked. "Balance, eh? It'll be tricky to maintain between fire and water…"
Yin and yang, she thought again, picturing the swirling koi. And she remembered the perfect harmony when they had performed the Waltz of the Phoenix, how everything had settled into flawless order…and how the same exact feeling had enveloped her not too long ago when they'd performed a different sort of dance that, like their bending battles before, still managed to possess the same rhythm.
It had never been just the music.
"If anyone can do it, we can," she replied strongly, squeezing his hand.
He simply looked at her for a moment. "You know, I've always admired your resolution. Even when," he added, now cracking a smile, "it would be more appropriate to call it pig-headedness."
"You're one to talk," she sniped gently, and a faint smile chased across her lips before it disappeared in pensiveness. "Did you hear that? That's what I'm so afraid to lose."
Now his fingers tightened on hers, a return gesture of reassurance. "I understand your caution, Katara, but I wouldn't worry. The universe hasn't been able to take us down yet, and we both know it's tried."
She nodded, grateful for his words, but she still hadn't quite finished. "So you're okay with this, right? Going back to the beginning? Starting out slow? Because I don't want to force it on you. I'd never want that."
"You're not," he promised her, and then he shook his head vaguely. "I can't believe you can be so mature, but I understand. And…I'd like to have it all with you, too. Properly, this time."
She studied him as quiet moments slipped away, and then she said, her voice hovering on more than breaking the silence, "Then you understand why I can't stay here tonight."
He regarded her seriously before quipping, "Temptation is a bitch."
She snickered, unable to help herself. "Yeah," she agreed, "something like that. Well…goodnight. See you in the morning."
"Bright and early," he let her know. "Because I rise—"
"I swear to all the spirits, Zuke, if you say that one more time, I will waterbend you so hard you'll never wake up before noon again," she warned, but her lips were twitching in a grin.
He bobbed his head meekly, his eyes mockingly wide, but he held his silence. That is, until she had reached the hallway and was closing his door behind her. Then he burst out, his voice rich with laughter:
"—with the sun!"
Katara couldn't bite back her amusement, either, and as she stepped into the adjacent room, still giggling, she acknowledged with relief that she had made the right choice. They did say slow and steady won the race, after all, and she was convinced they would win.
They were Zuko and Katara. Who else stood a chance?
A/N: In a fit of shameless self-pimpage, I drew a coverart of sorts for this fic. It's in my deviantART gallery, which is linked in my profile here. Check it out if you're interested!