disclaimer: disclaimed.
dedication: can sleep be a dedication? can I dedicate this chapter to sleep?
notes: did y'all not get that half of the last chapter was literally not supposed to make sense? cos literally half of the last chapter was literally not supposed to make sense.

chapter title: whispering ghosts
summary: Zuko, Katara, and life after the war. — Zuko/Katara, others.

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Azula's mind was a shattered thing.

Katara was no builder. Shattered things were not her area of expertise.

But here, in their shared mindspace, Katara began to put the princess of the Fire Nation's mind back in order. It was a slow process: Azula was awake but dreaming, moving herself further and further away from reality with every passing day. Drawing her back from the self-imposed isolation was not an easy thing, but it was easier now that the madness in her mind had been cut at the root.

It was more like sewing than anything else, Katara had learned. She quietly sewed Azula's memories back together, sealed them across the crumbling ceiling with glowing blue palms and wisps of spirit threading through to piece the princess back together.

It's safe, now, Katara murmured to her. Come back, 'Zula, it's okay, now.

The nickname might have been the hardest part, for Katara—but it was a nickname Azula responded to, bloomed under the attention and the reminder of her childhood. It brought her closer to the surface; it pulled her up from the dark places where Ozai's face loomed white and twisted, from where his expectations weren't such a heavy thing.

Azula's soul was red-gold beneath a film of darkness, though that layer probably would be forever—there were some things that not even the greatest healer in the world could erase. The princess' anger was jagged glass around her heart, as much defense as offense. She was boiling and broken with her fury

Katara was the ocean. Katara was waves against a rocky shore. Katara was gentle and relentless and quiet, smoothing over Azula's rough edges until the princess' grievances with the world were nothing more than sand.

Katara was the ocean.

And the ocean always, always prevailed.

—

Pulling out of Azula's mind was always an exhausting task. Falling in was easy, but coming out… not so much.

Katara swayed back and forth before Mai's fingers closed tight around her shoulders to keep her upright. At least she hadn't passed out, this time.

"Hey," Katara murmured. "You're frozen."

Mai's hands were always glacial. The cold shocked her, and for a moment, Katara was plunged into a memory of ice water against her toes, the water shooting hoarfrost through her veins. It was not something that Katara was used to—all those of Fire Nation descent Katara had ever encountered ran hot, firebender or not.

Mai was an anomaly.

It was absolutely nothing new.

"You look like you just had a terrible encounter with a komodo rhino," Mai said conversationally. "You're white as snow."

"Thanks so much," Katara said acidly. But she leaned against the other woman, breathing heavily, taking great harsh gulps of air to try and steady herself. "I just love hearing that I look like a crazy person."

Mai's hands moved to her forehead, and Katara nearly moaned in relief.

"You can't keep doing this to yourself," Mai said softly.

"You sound like Zuko," Katara told her, eyes closed beneath Mai's palms. The wonderful coolness of her skin froze away the headache that was quickly developing between her temples, and it was phenomenal.

"The horror," Mai said dryly.

Katara chuckled weakly, and slumped backwards until the full weight of her was cradled against Mai's frame. The other girl was a lighthouse in a storm, serene and unmovable as stone beneath ice. She held her solid, easy, unafraid of the monsters that still clung close to Katara after yet another voyage through the twisted halls of Azula's mind.

"You need to do something about your saviour complex," Mai said quietly. "It's going to get you killed."

"Aang's the one with the saviour complex," Katara murmured. Ant that was true—the Avatar was the one who wanted the world at peace without the bloodshed; he was the one who wanted good things to come of nothing.

But Katara wasn't like that.

Katara wasn't like that at all.

She didn't save people selflessly, not the way Aang did. She saved them to make up for being unable to save so many others: she healed because she had no choice, because if she didn't her guilt would eat her alive. She hadn't been able to save her mother, and she hadn't been able to save everyone else along the way. Even in the end, she'd only barely been able to save Aang, and the world needed its Avatar.

Katara wasn't saving Azula selflessly, either.

But everyone knew that.

"Impossible," Mai muttered. Her fingers closed around Katara's wrist, unfolding herself from the ground. "Get up, Waterbender. We should get you out of here and back into our beleaguered Fire Lord's rooms before someone realizes we're gone and does something drastic."

"If anyone would do something drastic, it'd be Zuko," Katara said.

Katara didn't ask how Mai knew about her extended stay in Fire Lord Zuko's room. It was the same way she didn't ask about the purple-black smudges beneath Mai's eyes, or the dark blue bruises exactly the same shape as Ty Lee's mouth that hid just beneath the collar of her robes.

Love was hard.

Friendship was harder.

Mai pulled her up, humming noncommittally. Katara stood rather unsteadily, leaning heavily against her friend, still light-headed and weak in the knees. As they left the room, the Fire Princess rolled over so that her hand was curled by her facem and murmured something beneath her breath. It was a soft, sweet sound. Innocent.

Katara would have looked back, just to see what her bending could do. The thrill of it was still itching beneath her skin, singing with the moon and melding her exhaustion into something tangible. It bit at her, knowing that she was fixing Azula; she needed to see.

But Mai closed the door, and so Katara didn't have the chance.

—

Zuko's bed was huge.

Katara was a loose-limbed thing in the sheets, the golden sun blazing in through the curtains as the afternoon became evening. She'd been lying there a while—Mai was long gone, and she was alone with her thoughts.

It was not a bad thing.

It gave her time to think about the world, and about her family, and about Aang, and about Zuko. It gave her time to wallow it in, in the parched dry land and the thick scent of bushfire that hung in the air. It gave her time to make some decisions.

She was almost asleep, hair out of its ties and spread across the pillow, eyelids drooping steadily. She was safe, and sleep pulled like a magnet.

But then Zuko came in like a tsunami.

Eyes burning and shaking with suppressed emotion, he was a wild thing. It wasn't an emotion she could name; it was a blur of fear and respect, terror and awe. She hadn't seen that emotion before in her life, and Katara reached for him. She was warm and heavy with fatigue. There was a smile hidden in the corner of her mouth.

"You okay?" she asked him gently.

"Why is your tribe so much nicer than the Northern one?" he said into her shoulder, grumbling as he sunk down on the bed. His weight was a reassuring anchor to the world, Katara thought distantly, too focused on the sensory overload to really register her own thought process, and wasn't that just the funniest thing when fire was so fickle? "They want reparations. We can't afford their reparations on top of everything else, Katara. What do I do?"

"We have Gran-Gran, that's why," Katara told him frankly. "And of course they do, they're all horrible people. They didn't suffer, but regardless, they're entitled to reparations. Tui, they have no perspective."

"You didn't answer my question," he said.

"You leave them to me, obviously," she said patiently.

Still he shook, but now it was repressed laughter and not repressed rage. "How's my sister?" he asked, for want of a change of subject. Anything was better than thinking about how broke the Fire Nation was, they both figured.

"Better," Katara said. "She was moving when Mai and I left. I think she's…"

"You think she's what?"

"Close to waking up," she finished the sentence on a sigh.

Zuko didn't kiss her. He just looked at her for a very, very long time. He looked at her like she was the universe in a person. He looked at her like she was magic, and beauty, and truth. He looked at her like he was in love with her.

He'd looked at her like that always—the first time had been in the Crystal Caverns beneath Ba Sing Se, so long ago when they'd both been children. How had she not noticed—and Katara was only just beginning to realize that. Maybe she should have realized it as long time ago.

But she hadn't.

And now she was.

"Oh," she said. "Oh, Zuko."

"What?" he asked.

Katara shook her head. "Nothing. Never mind. It doesn't matter."

Zuko looked at her like he was in love with her. The rest of the world could go up in flames (and it was going up in flames, honestly, the cracked land dying for rain and the relief that came with it) but she knew without a doubt that that was not going to change. Zuko loved her. Zuko loved her. Zuko loved her.

"Kiss me, Fire Lord," she said.

So he did.

And it was good.

It was good, and it was everything Katara needed.

—

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tbc.

notes2: im not back