I apologize for re-posting this chapter, but I realized too late that, for some reason, a big chunk of it wasn't uploaded? I think I uploaded the wrong document entirely, actually. Anyways, I hope this missing scene adds something to it, I apologize again for the mistake.

Break

Katara had already moved into the next-door room, on their morning of the fifth day. Zuko was an entirely different man now than the beaten, bloodied corpse of a thing the Foxes had dragged in; the vast majority of his bruises and cuts had healed, save for some light, spattered scarring across his back, and he breathed easier against his damaged ribs. She had no more reason to sleep in the same room with him, as he was not bordering on death or pain, and they could stop this mild indecency. Zuko himself had no idea how thoroughly she had worked on him; often he would fall asleep while she was healing, lulled with the intense comfort of the movement and feel of the water – and hours later he would wake to find her still moving her hands across his chest, or slumped in the chair again, exhausted from the effort.

He admired her – he could not deny that. She was the embodiment of peace and kindness, a kind that he had never encountered before, a light amidst the torture and darkness of the world. She had not the soul of a warrior, as Zuko and Jet and Sokka had; but there was ferocity there, buried beneath her femininity.

He awoke feeling stiff and itching. In the timeless gloom of the library he knew it was impossible to tell the hour, but he assumed it must have been around late morning. A Fox was standing guard at the doorway to the next room, where Katara dwelled; from it, Zuko could hear a low snipping sound, as if she was cutting off more bandage for him.

He came to her doorway, chest sore as always, and leaned against the frame. At first he could not quite see her, for his eyes had not yet adjusted to the light; but when he finally made out her form, sitting quietly on the pillow-covered floor, he rose to speak – though he had no idea what to say.

Then he realized that she was not wearing her niqab.

He froze. She was bending her head to the side, trying to cut a certain length from her hair with a pair of gleaming scissors the Foxes must have brought her. He could see the small, shell-curled shape of her ear, and the side of her dark cheek and chin. She looked soft and vulnerable between the shadows.

"Katara?" he asked, uneasily, from the doorway.

She was turned away from him, luckily, and when she heard his voice she scrambled for her discarded niqab, clapping it across her face instinctively. She had no wish to hide from him, but it was indecent in her mind to show so much of her face. Respectively, Zuko averted his eyes, hoping she would do the niqab again quickly and tell him what the hell was going on.

"…Zuko, I'm sorry…" he looked to find her still without the niqab fully on, though she held the clothe to cover everything below her eyes. "I…I thought you were still asleep."

"What were you doing?" Zuko was trying to draw it out. He was drinking in the sight of her long, smooth, black hair, falling like liquid night to her waist, thicker than Mai's and so much more inviting. Some of it was falling across her wide, startled eyes in the most shy, appealing way.

"I needed to cut my hair," she whispered, and the simplicity of it further astounded him. "It was getting too long…I was having such a hard time, pinning it up beneath the niqab –"

"Oh – alright then. I'm sorry to bother you," he retreated from the door, but as she turned to resume to her work an odd impulse overtook him; he came back into the room, her blue-sari back towards him, hair glistening, hacked, and uneven in the dim light.

"Well – you're making a mess of it, you know," he noticed. The end of her hair was going down in an awkward angle, and she was having a hard time straightening it out.

"I can't do it very well. Song used to cut it for me…" she said sheepishly, the scissors looking huge and awkward in her hand. She turned her eyes up to Zuko then, hopelessly undeniable within its velvet, cerulean blue.

"You…would you maybe cut it for me?"

His heart beat like a canon shot, and his mouth went dry.

"Sure…of course."

He sat down stiffly behind her, letting go a nervous smile as she handed him the scissors, the niqab still pressed to cover her face.

"How much do I take off?" he asked hesitantly. She thought for a moment, and then showed him a length between her thumb and index finger, the width of about two inches.

He followed her instruction, and began to cut. So much hair had she, he began to realize – uncomfortably – that it would take quite a wall to cut it all. His pace was further hindered by the fact the scissors were not well sharpened, probably stolen off a bandit group somewhere in the Desert. Still, he snipped away loyally, talking to her lightly of unimportant things, keeping his wandering eyes in check.

"I have been wondering," Katara said at some point, as Zuko tried to keep his mind on her luxurious, terribly soft hair, and away from her barely concealed face. "Your intended, Mai…is her hair golden? I hear all women from the Union have golden hair."

"…No, she has black hair," said Zuko after a moment. He had not been thinking of Mai at all, not for a long while. "Darker than yours, I think. I can't remember as well anymore."

"Is she very beautiful, then?" asked Katara cautiously. Zuko tried to picture the heiress of Niraj in his mind, and found it very difficult.

"Yes…yes, she is beautiful. But…it is a strange beauty."

"How is that?"

"…I cannot say," he said, and truly he found it very difficult to consider her as beautiful as he once did. Surely, in physical appearance she was the vision of perfection, but he was starting to realize that there were other things to beauty that she lacked. Kindness and generosity and dignity she lacked, and her sort of grace was cold and emotionless, like a mechanical ballerina.

"Maybe she is…not what you think she is," she said lowly, and he felt her weight press against him as she leaned, ever so faintly, into his shoulder. "Maybe here, in Acchai, you will see things clearer than before."

She straightened up, and her weight was no longer against him – but Zuko had frozen. Across her sari-covered shoulder he had seen a clear view of her slender, tan neck, and the arc of her collarbone – and even, if he dared to believe it, the hidden, beginning swell of her breast.

He closed his eyes and took a moment to control himself. The suppressed fires in his veins, the fires of lust and pleasure, sparked ad began to flow through him like a poison. Was it an accident? Or had it been intentional on her part? His mind clouded with frustrating desire and he tried his best to remain unmoved, fearing what rash action he would take.

"Why have you stopped?" Katara asked him after a long moment.

"I'm…I'm trying to get the right length. You said about two inches, right?"

"Yes," she approved, lightly, and he returned to the trimming.

When he was finished with her hair, she gestured for him to turn away again, and gathered it up into a bun. He heard the sound of rustling clothe, and in a moment she was back at his shoulder to thank him, the niqab in its rightful place.

She left the room to prepare lunch for the two, and Zuko took the opportunity to sit slowly on her couch, vividly remembering the feeling of her hair against his skin, and the glimpse of her bare skin.

Break

SmellerBee was carrying a large bag full of potatoes, one of the only things she could afford with her small waitress salary and Longshot's meager earnings at the woodcutter's, as she stumbled down the lane. She was in a sour mood today, because prices had risen slightly, as the King was currently waging a small war with some revolutionary-group of the Crescent Isles. They called themselves the Freedom Fighters, a catchy name at any rate, but they were pissing SmellerBee off at the moment, since the tussle for power was sucking up the Union's resources.

She stopped at a cabbage cart, one she usually tried to avoid with all her might as the owner was off his rocker, but she needed cheap food. He was busy massaging his cheek with one particularly green head of cabbage, muttering to it like a mad man, and it was all rather annoying to the knife-toting, face-painted woman.

"How much for a cabbage?" she asked the man, loudly. He looked at her suspiciously, and slowly placed his own cabbage onto the cart again.

"Three silver," he said after a moment. SmellerBee's arms dropped and a fury overcame her.

"Threesilver? Yesterday it was one copper –"

"Well, yesterday it was rotten cabbage," said the man bluntly, gazing irritably at the girl. "Three silver for good cabbage. You don't got it? Beat it."

"Motherfucker," SmellerBee grumbled, though the cabbage man ignored her and went right back to cooing at his produce. Angrily she dragged her sack of potatoes back up the lane to the side of the woodcutter's shop, where Longshot was sitting by a stand, trying to sell red-wood arrow shafts for five copper. His mute nature and dangerous eyes wasn't making the advertising very easy.

SmellerBee came to him grumbling and cursing, hardly stopping to give him his kiss. She put the potatoes down beside him and turned to search her pockets for loose change, to ante up their remaining wages.

"Stupid cabbage man…why does he grow them if he doesn't want to sell them? Hell –"

She was interrupted, suddenly, by someone smashing into her shoulder as they walked by. The stranger did not even pause to glare or apologize, and SmellerBee, already seething, raised her fist as though she would clock him in the back of his head

"Hey! Watch where you're going you fucking –"

But she froze. The man had stopped at a blacksmith's stand, completely disregarding her, some ways down the lane. His huge, unkempt mop of dirty-brown hair was falling handsomely across his thin black eyes, and there was not even the smallest hint of mirth on his lips. He was placing two swords before the blacksmith, twin tiger-hook swords that had obviously seen combat, and he was asking him for a professional sharpening.

"Jet?" SmellerBee's voice was strained. Longshot stood up from the bench.

Jet didn't hear her. The blacksmith began to offer a price and Jet reached into his side-pocket for the money Azula had given him. SmellerBee walked towards him, disbelieving, with Longshot close behind.

"Jet –"

She grabbed for his wrist, but he had her twisted off faster than lightning, and pulled a knife just as quick. She backed away from him instantly, the tip of the blade pointed between her breasts, Longshot's hand already at an arrow in surprise and fear.

For a moment Jet glared at them both like they were no more than rude strangers. But beneath the desperation and ferocity that now embodied his being, he remembered their faces, like some long-forgotten dream. Slowly he lowered the knife from SmellerBee's chest, blinking stupidly.

"…SmellerBee?" he said it like he was seeing a ghost. SmellerBee didn't hear it, only smiled widely at her old friend's confusion.

"Jet! You're alive, you're here – Longshot it's Jet –"

Longshot said nothing. He was staring at his friend coldly, as though he could see the strangled darkness in his aura, his deceived heart. Jet knew he perceived it, saw the sin lying on his shoulders, the gold pieces in his hand that could not have been his; knew it all beneath the distant smell of perfume that still lingered on his frame, the lying honey on his lips.

Longshot kenw there was something wrong, and he put a hand on SmellerBee's shoulder protectively. Jet backed away and sheathed his knife, picking up his tiger-hook swords, despite the blacksmith's protests.

"…I have to go," he said, and his voice was weak. SmellerBee looked at him like he was insane.

"…Go? Go where? Jet, come in to the bar –"

"I'm sorry SmellerBee," but Jet was looking at Longshot, who tightened his grip on SmellerBee's shoulder instinctively.

Jet turned and left them immediately, disappearing like a shadow into the crowded lane. But his dark eyes were wide and fearful, as the old life came crashing back to him, and the light shone in at the edge of his thought. He writhed beneath Azula's power, but he obeyed it – even though now, with the faces of his two friends before him, he began to doubt again.

SmellerBee looked after him worriedly until he disappeared, and then turned to punch Longshot, who hardly moved beneath her blow. His eyes were grey and hard.

"What's wrong with him? Why'd he leave –?"

"He's in trouble."

Longshot said it without emotion, staring at the empty space where Jet had stood. A cloud overcame the sun as he lowered his head and led an enraged SmellerBee away, dangerously wary of what was to come.

Break

"What are you reading?"

Katara looked up from where she sat against the bookshelf, the long, half-open scroll in hand. Zuko stood over her stiffly, chest bandaged tight to limit his movement and reduce the strain on his ribs. They had taken to wandering about the Library now, as she had bandaged up his chest and he could walk mostly without her support. She had left him to eat alone, having already had lunch herself, and he had taken the time to subdue his mad desire for her.

He tried to convince himself that he was acting impulsively, on the memories of Mai she was inspiring in him. He failed miserably in that regard.

"Oh…Zuko – how do you feel? Do you need something?" she started to stand, but he gestured wildly for her to stay.

"I'm fine," said Zuko quickly, even though he was still uneasy, and the brief glimpse of her uncovered face was haunting the edges of his thought. "I just…I couldn't lay there anymore."

"…Alright," said Katara gently. He lowered himself slowly to sit down beside her, no longer flinching instinctively when she placed a hand on him to guide him. There was something familiar about her that was beginning to grow on Zuko, which was saying much; only a select group of people had ever been allowed into his realm of comfort.

"Thank you," he breathed, when he was seated somewhat comfortably beside her. The scroll in her hand was in written in rushed, sketchy characters, and even Zuko knew they would be difficult to read. "Now what were you reading?"

Her eyes lit up in the way she had when she was smiling – Zuko knew that look by now. She settled near to his shoulder, just secure enough with his presence not to be bothered by the close proximity. Katara had cured Zuko, and she admired him; Zuko respected her skills and healing power, and in some strange way, they were friends now.

Zuko, however, was obviously the less comfortable of the two. He had taken to imagining her unveiled face more often now, a dream that was making him tense and awkward.

"I…I think it's a love letter. You'll think it's silly –" mumbled Katara, and Zuko grinned warmly at her embarrassment, gesturing for her to relax.

"No, come on – read it. Go on."

She looked at him unwillingly, and so appealing and sweet was the look in her eyes he almost took back his words – but before he could she turned back to the letter and began to read, softly and timidly:

My Swan, my dearest one, my Life,

It is you and only you that sustains me now. Four years from the time Long Feng attacked and still I have hope, because of you. Every morning and night I kiss your necklace and wonder how big your belly is. I cannot wait to kiss it, to have you in my arms again. Even when Long Feng himself comes to try and break down the mountain I am not afraid. You have made me the strongest man alive.

You said you wanted news of the fight. I say when you arrive here, safely, with our child – that is when I will tell you. Between kisses, I will tell you. Between your neck and breasts I will tell you. But not until then. There is too much to write, and too little time to spare. I am certain when you and Song arrive you will be angry with me for this, but I warn you the moment you step through the gate I will not allow you a word. I can still taste your lips, even after all these months apart. I cannot wait to taste them for real once more. And to kiss the head of our child!

It went on, to speak of the father's hope that it was a girl, and it would have her mother's eyes – but how he knew she wanted a boy, to name him after her brother. Then it began to describe in lust-filled words how thoroughly he would greet her when she arrived, and how fiercely he would remind her how much he loved her – and at that point Katara could read no more, but blushed and turned away, closing up the letter.

"Something tells me this was not meant for our eyes," said Zuko, trying to break the awkward silence that had descended, and put the scroll aside. Katara agreed and laid back against the bookshelf, and there was a dreaming light in her eyes that caught Zuko unawares.

"It is still very romantic," she whispered. "…I wonder if they had a boy or a girl."

Zuko had never thought much about children. He had seen his share in the streets of Balda Haram, but any children there were dirty and thieving and more or less orphaned, and only the inn-keeper's wives took pity on them. Zuko had given food to his share of impoverished kids, or perhaps a blanket on a winter night – but they were not his children, and overall he could not be responsible for them. He left them to the soft-hearted women and the nuns of the Abbey, and continued on his way with Jet.

"I can't imagine what it would be like. To have a child," said Zuko slowly. Katara turned her smiling eyes on him again.

"That is because you're a man," she said slyly, standing from beside him. He propped himself up by the bookcase and followed her, staring incredulously.

"What is that supposed to mean?" he asked, but he was grinning again. Had he thought about it, he may have realized that Mai had never merited such grins from him. Katara fiddled innocently with her niqab and backed into the hall.

"Nothing at all," she said, and before Zuko could press her further, he saw the coy light in her eyes vanish. Just as she had seen the pain seep into his eyes, he saw the abrupt fear strangle her own, a shadow of panic against her endless blue.

"Oh no…"

Zuko turned and saw the great Owl the same moment it saw him. Wan Shi Tong bristled his feathers at the newcomer and reared up, ungodly in the demonic presence of his being, beak bared open in a thunderous, ear-splitting screech. Zuko did not even allow the shock to phase him, but burst his hands to brilliant yellow flame and roared back at the towering beast.

"No! Stop –"

Wan Shi Tong recoiled at the sight and blazing heat of the fire, but his screech did not fade; rather it strengthened in volume to an unbearable height, so that Katara dropped painfully to her knees and the fire in Zuko's hands shuddered and died. He doubled over beneath the all-consuming shadow of the Owl, crippled by his throbbing ribs and the piercing, echoing screech.

Wan Shi tong may have devoured the firebender right there, for he was old and wild now, crazed with the solitude of his imprisonment; the Library was no safe haven for the spirit, but a satin-lined cage in which he paced and withered and went mad. Long ago in the birth of the world, when the spirits walked among mortals and the name Avatar was still new upon men's lips, he had fallen from grace. The Library was his prison, and he would rip apart a trespasser as soon as aid one. The bones in entrance hall were proof of this.

But the Foxes had already come, and before the old wrath could consume Wan Shi Tong they were before Zuko, a barrier of teeth and fire and fierce, glowing red eyes. The great Owl shuddered at the sight of them, his servants and hits gate-keepers, his obedient prison-guards.

"This is the firebender you saved?" the Owl roared, and suddenly its screech twisted and became a high, cruel, cold pitch of laughter that terrified Zuko more than any ghostly howl. The Foxes said nothing, only growled and snarled like devil-hounds, every hair on their massive bodies erect, teeth unsheathed and dripping in the dim torchlight.

"Pay your debts well, heir of Agni!" cackled the Owl, and the devouring madness in the spirit's voice pierced him like a spear. Wan Shi Tong locked eyes with the firebender one more time before turning to disappear into the darkness; his great, round gaze was full of cruel delight, and Zuko's blood ran cold.

Yet the soreness in his ribs immediately distracted him, and he wrapped an arm around his chest to try and stabilize himself. Katara crawled as quickly as she could to his side, taking his arm gently as he struggled to one knee. Her hands were shaking against his skin, and though he was rather more surprised than her, he placed a steady hand on her arm to comfort her.

"If only he would leave us alone," she muttered, as Zuko leaned against her vaguely and straightened up. One of the Foxes spoke to them in answer, eerie and motionless in the dim light.

Do not fear. We will keep him from you.

"I…thank you, again," said Zuko hesitantly, as Katara checked his chest and arm.

"I think you need to lie back down again, Zuko –"

"No – come on," Zuko breathed, grabbing her hand as she studied his chest, desperate not to return to the couch yet. He had been there more than four days and it was seriously getting on his nerves. "Let's look around. Let's do something. Please, I know it'd probably be better for me, but I don't want to lay there anymore."

She seemed momentarily surprised when he took her hand, but recovered well, glaring faintly at his pleading face. Zuko knew he could not be the most convincing or adorable of people, with the terrible scar on his left eye, but he tried anyway. He had the soul of a warrior, and sitting on a couch all day and night was more torture to him than any pains of the Rope Walk.

"…You're right, it would be better for you," she said, but shook her head in defeat. "But it wouldn't be so bad, I suppose. And if you keep making that face, it'll stick."

They walked about the Library under the supervision of a Fox now, and despite the great Owl's cryptic warning, it did make Zuko feel all the safer. They discovered, as Sokka had before, that though the Owl's collection was vast, it did not mean that all of it was interesting. Several times they came across whole sections labeled things like, Ways to Prepare Leechy Nut Soup, or Notes on the Mortal Foot. There were maps and executive orders and things, but neither of them found these overly interesting, as Sokka may have. They lingered over-long in a section entitled Tales of Chong, a slew of absurd stories written by a nomadic man several hundred years ago, who claimed to have seen everything from a cursed, maze-filled cave, to the Avatar, to a hundred-foot tall purple beaver-rabbit. If nothing else, they were a laugh to read, and by the time they moved on to another section, Katara had picked out her favorites and was carrying them under one arm.

They were navigating the halls by the rows of torches, and so avoided the darker sections where evil words and spells were kept. The Library was not only home to goodly knowledge and history, but a place of insight into dark and dangerous things: terrible uses of bloodbending were written here, and records of Avatars turned cruel, and sicker things involving blood-moons and mutilations and red altars. It was all for the better that the followed the torch-path, which no doubt some good soul had placed long ago in the Library to guide away from the evils, and no doubt had given his life for it. Of course, Zuko could have firebended a light into his hands and guided them into an unlit section, but Katara had decided against it, as the bending could easily sap his strength.

During his whole time of exploration, Zuko was strangely comfortable with her in a way he couldn't quite pinpoint. With Jet and Longshot and SmellerBee, it had always been a friendship based on trust and faith and looming danger, the knowledge that they'd guard one another's backs against a knife. With Aang it was less violent; they trusted one another, but there was still a certain level of privacy and respect to divide them. Sokka he considered an equal, and admirable man of dignity and skill, though 'friend' was still a more strained name to use in his regard. Mai he had never been comfortable with, either lost in burning lust for her or in savage hatred, and there was never a middle ground.

Perhaps it was because she had healed him, because she had seeped the water beneath his skin and soothed his broken body. Perhaps the deep spirituality and closeness of her bending had formed a new connection, and as she made him whole, she was also flowing some part of her into him. But Zuko was lost as to an explanation; all he knew was that he felt no anxiety or animosity between them, only comfort and ease, and he had no desire to upset it – especially with the burning longing he had felt for her as he cut her hair, which he now deemed as a one-time offense.

His wondering, however, was delayed as they passed through another hallway, following the torchlight. An entrancingly beautiful doorway caught his eye, and stopping Katara with a soft nudge to her shoulder he nodded towards it.

"Look – in that room. What's that?" Zuko pointed over her shoulder into a dark doorway, where several lights were glittering, miniature gems.

"I…I don't know. Let's see!" she exclaimed, even more excited than he, and pulled him after her towards the doorway. He had to smile at her eagerness; she was too full of passion and life, as all the people of Acchai, to fear the dangers of the unknown.

When they entered the room, they had to wait a moment to adjust to the darkness. The Fox stood in the doorway but refused to enter; as long as they remained there it remained in the same place, a statue made of flesh and fire.

As their eyes adjusted, the awe overcame them. In the midst of the room, a round calendar was kept, recording the year and month and season and day according to the sky – but this is not what captured their attention. The room was carved out as a huge, perfectly smooth dome; the ceiling, at the moment, was dotted with stars made from shining night-crystals, brilliant green against the black background, and perfectly arranged into the constellations of the sky: the bear, the archer, the Flying Eight – they were all there, shining down as though they looked up at the sky itself. The moon was nearly full, a great, round orb suspended on an intricately designed contraption of iron bars that rotated according the time of year. But what really attracted their attention was the fact that, as they looked up at the fake sky, wondering what genius had concocted such a thing, lights began to flash by – as though, somewhere in the sky far above, meteors were falling. They increased in volume until the whole ceiling was alight with falling stars, of all different colors and sizes, a rainfall from heaven unseen by most men.

"Oh my god…it's beautiful…"

Zuko turned to look at the expression in Katara's eyes, and found that, even covered with the niqab, she was astoundingly beautiful. He had another intense desire to see her without the head covering, a desire that was becoming increasingly unbearable as the days went on, though he still didn't understand why. Was it just curiosity? It was too strong as desire, too pressing, too real to be that…

She was already reading the dates on the round calendar as he thought this, wishing to know when such a gorgeous spectacle would occur. It took her a moment to make out the symbols.

"It says…the fifteenth day of – oh! Zuko! It's tonight!" she looked in surprise at Zuko, who was still too indulged in his thoughts to realize what she was saying, and had to look back up at the sky-map to make sure. She, however, was delighted, and clapped her hands to her niqab-covered mouth. "Oh, Zuko! We have to see it!"

"You want to?" he found he was not entirely concerned with seeing it himself, only avid to please her. She nodded vigorously and he looked back up at the sky-map, grinning at the sight.

"Then we'll do it," he stated. "I mean, they will let us out, right?"

We will accompany you.

Zuko almost jumped, ready to light his hands to flame with surprise, before remembering the Fox standing in the doorway. Katara clapped her hands delightfully again and thanked the Fox profusely, though the spirit watched her only with keen indifference. The sight of her so happy amused Zuko, and though he could not know it himself, she lifted his own spirits a little.

"I'll get a blanket. We can eat and then go up – oh, Zuko! To see a meteor shower! If only Toph – well, I guess it wouldn't matter much to her, anyway –"

Zuko laughed, and followed her out of the room, to prepare for their night of star-gazing.