Bluetara! Because I can...

The Guardian

"Put me down!" Katara cried softly, but clung tighter to the mysterious masked stranger as He stealthily leapt the gap between the out buildings beyond the Dai Li's secret complex. She could feel the way His muscles rippled and bunched beneath His rough clothing, could almost discern the laboured breathing beneath that wicked blue and white visage, and she had the oddest sense she'd heard it before.

Of course, that sense of familiarity had washed through her on their first meeting in the grand Earth Kingdom city, when she'd witnessed Him dispatch a pair of thugs beating up an old man in an alleyway in the middle ring. She had heard the old man's cries for help and rushed to the rescue, water skin at her side, but when she found him, so had He.

The Blue Spirit, she'd gasped, remembering the Fire Nation wanted posters plastered across the land. And at His feet were the culprits, two swarthy, burly fellows, heaped one on top of the other, their intended victim leaning wide-eyed against the far wall, the contents of his meager money pouch splayed across the ground.

And then He'd spotted her. The figure in black had stilled at her appearance at the mouth of the alley, His spine snapping straight in what Katara could only ascribe to recognition. He deftly sheathed the menacing twin broadswords, cast her one more look, then melted into the night, leaving her alone to tend to the victim's injuries.

"Praise the Spirits!" The old man had cried in relief as she healed a scrape. "They've sent us a Guardian in that hero!"

But she would not have called him that. It took her a sleepless night on her pallet—restless and oddly aroused—before she realized it. After all, she had learned how to recognize fighting styles and to spot her opponents' defensive idiosyncrasies. That wide stance, the lithe movements, and of course, His almost liquid handling of the broadswords…she knew them well. No, He was no Guardian. Or at least, she didn't think He was…

But now, couched in his arms, breathing in that heady, metallic boy-scent that seemed to linger around all teenage males as He whisked her away from danger, Katara was certain.

She hugged Him closer. Proud, sad, elated, confused…

They dropped down from the rooftops, their efficient escape unnoticed, and landed in a narrow, cluttered alley between two hovels at the outer edge of the middle ring. He set her down silently and made to hasten away, but Katara grabbed Him by the wrist, thick and strong in her tiny-seeming grasp.

"Wait," she called, a husky whisper tempered by yearning more than necessity. "I…I want to say thank you."

The grinning mask stared mutely back at her. He shrugged imperceptibly, hitching one shoulder carelessly up. He pulled out of her grasp again.

"Stop," she pleaded more firmly, and surprisingly, He did. "You…you've come a long way."

This statement made Him pause. He cocked His head a little to one side.

"I know who you are," she murmured, feeling a blush creep up her cheeks. "I know…we've had our differences in the past, had our share of fights…but you've changed." She approached Him slowly, pinning Him with her gaze. Heat and nervousness fluttered through her, and she swallowed dryly. "I can see that now. I always thought you were some kind of thug… Maybe this is who you really are. Who you've always been, and the other you was a mask…" She stood toe to toe with Him, and lifted a trembling hand upwards, her fingertips trailing up His broad, heaving chest.

He was leaning toward her now, not even trying to escape back into the darkness. She could hear the hitch in His quiet breath, sense the way He was straining forward, as though suppressing the dire magnetism she herself had been fantasizing about giving in to since their first meeting.

Her hand skimmed up to the smooth, lacquered shell, and her fingers traced the edge of the mask, feeling the crescent of stubble-roughened skin beneath, pulling, lifting. But He quickly stopped her, pressing her small hands against His cheeks to keep her from moving.

Katara trembled at His touch, hot even through His gloves. "It's okay," she whispered. "I want to say thank you properly…I want to say I'm sorry for what happened between us before, for freezing you and all that. I want…I want…" He gently released her hands and let her inch the mask up to just under His nose, exposing a pair of soft, parted lips. She leaned in, closing her eyes, and He dipped His head down before hearing her whisper:

"…Jet…"

Muahaha! Mine is an evil laugh! Incidentally, if this had already been written...well...I suck for not keeping up with what on the net these days...