This was written after 2x07, before "The Chase", so the gang hasn't encountered Zuko yet. Also, warning for potentially OOC Katara. And, possibly, OOC Zuko. I usually try to avoid taking characters OOC, but my romantic overwhelmed my canon adherence. --WAIT! I just remembered, this fic has been jossed by episode 2x08, and that makes it...you guessed it...AU! And we all know that Alternate Universe Zuko and Alternate Universe Katara cannot be out of character, because AU makes them in-character, by definition. Whee! See what I did there? My logic is circular and masterful in its circle-ness.

Microcosm

When she first spied him in the clearing, he was sharpening his swords. One lay beside him, resting across the rock on which he sat. The other was held out before his chest, shining a little brighter with each swipe of his whetstone.

She stared at his face for a long time, longer than it takes to recognize an ordinary person at the end of an ordinary day. From where she stood at the edge of the trees, the knee-high grasses sweeping back and forth across her legs, she tried to imagine if her eyes could be believed.

His profile was that of an average young man, if you discounted the pale cast of his skin. He had high cheekbones, a defined and narrow jawline. His nose was straight and his neck was long, bowed forward over his task. All in all, a handsome boy. A boy you could stare at across a grassy meadow and wait and hope he might look up and see you. Perhaps smile at you, beckon you nearer? The short-cropped hair fell into a widow's peak, and she wondered what it'd be like to see it up close. She'd never seen a grown person with hair that short, and her mind shied away from the why of it. Instead, she turned the idea over in her mind: would it be scratchy, or soft? Had he cut it with his own swords?

Turn your head, she thought to him, as if her will could force his body to motion. Let me see if you're really him.

If he was the boy she thought he might be—which made no sense because that boy was months away and had no need for swords or the solace of a lonely meadow—then all it would take was a turn of his head, just the slightest tilt, and she could be certain. But what then? What would she do when she saw him and he saw her and they were each staring at the other across grass and sunset: the girl with the trees at her back and the boy with the rock at his feet? Would the hundred years war begin again in a clearing far from both their homelands, or would he cast aside his swords and speak to her? Would he lay down his fire the way she might lay down her water? In the end such a thing was impossible for a bender who carried his flames beneath his skin.

He can't give up his real weapons, she acknowledged, but I can give up mine.

When Zuko finally raised his head and jerked at the sight of her, Katara set her canteen in the grass and dropped her hands to her sides.

On his feet, against the world, he faced her like a dragon and did not lay down his swords. After a silence he began the long trek across the grass, a blade resting surely in each hand. He no longer looked to Katara like a prince or a firebender, but Zuko's walk still screamed of danger and war, of tightly reined aggression and confidence in his own precision.

Katara held her ground, and did not break his gaze as he stepped close enough to embrace her. Adrenaline seeped into her fingertips till they itched, and the sound of her heart hammered in skull, but she let him get close because a foolish, daring part of her wondered how close he'd dare to step, how near to his enemy he'd allow himself to go before the words or the violence began. She asked herself if he was stepping closer because he wondered the same.

If this was a game they were playing, Katara had no idea who was winning.

Face to face they now stood, her arms still at her sides despite every desire to raise them in defense. His arms hung as well, swords dangling to brush the grass. Their stares met; it was something strange and electric, because the last time she'd stood so close to to him it had been as warrior, and before that as a prisoner. What did he see in her now? The Prince Zuko had looked at her as something to be beaten; this Zuko was eyeing her like he didn't know quite what to do with her.

She had always seen herself reflected in his eyes as the object blocking his path. But for whatever reason the driving goal was gone from his gaze, and Zuko wasn't looking beyond Katara, but directly at her. Her, because she was in front him and—like a hunted animal—all this new Zuko could see was that which stood right before his eyes. Although he did not attack Katara could see it in the changed hair, the road-worn clothes, the sharpened gold of his gaze: the prince was still dangerous, but now he was wild.

She sucked in her breath as he drew closer by inches. What happens when you leash a dog to make him into a wolf, then rip the leash away? Is the creature that's left a boy who carries swords when all he needs is fire?

Zuko exhaled; his breath tickled her neck. Katara shuddered and closed her eyes.

I'm ending it there.

Because I'm EVIL.

This was written off a mental image, more than anything. Two mental images: the first of Zuko sitting on a rock in a grassy meadow (the the tree line a ways behind him), in profile, sharpening his swords.

The second image was Zuko and Katara in a widescreen-style shot, with Zuko on the right and Katara on the left, a long space of grass between them with the sunset over trees (it's a small meadow) in the background. Zuko is still sitting on the rock (body facing the audience/camera now) with his swords, but he's looked up and seen her; Katara is standing in profile to us but facing him, with the wind blowing her hair artfully and everything's all anime Miyazaki or Ang Lee Movie and there's quiet, melodic, but subtly dramatic music to indicate a stirring moment of recognition.

Yeah, I totally don't write episodes in my head. Shut up.