disclaimer: disclaimed.
dedication: to V.
notes: ugh fake nails are a pain in the ass why do I do this to myself

chapter title: burning candles in a lightning storm
summary: Zuko, Katara, and life after the war. — Zuko/Katara, others.

—

.

.

.

.

.

Katara woke to rumpled sheets and a bone-deep contentment. It was still dark out—the sun hadn't risen over the horizon quite yet, and the Fire Lord's chambers were quiet and dark. Zuko was a heavy weight at her side, warm like a stoked fire. For a while, she drifted; hovering on the edges of sleep with her eyelids drooping, Katara was a gentle quiet thing dreaming of ice whorls melting beneath her fingertips.

If she'd had her way, they would have stayed like this all day.

But the sun was peeking in through the curtains, a bloody red-gold that cut through any illusion she might have had of a nice day. The weather was going to be terrible, and they were all going to broil.

It couldn't be much worse than the Western Air Temple, but Katara had a dreadful feeling it would be very, very close.

At least in the Fire Palace, she had access to soap.

Zuko stirred next to her, face pressed into her hair. "You're still here," he mumbled.

"I guess I am," Katara whispered back. There was something fragile in the air between them, melancholy-sweet and thick like lionseal blubber, and she breathed it out and in with her mouth inches from his. "Is that alright?"

Zuko's grip tightened, his hand curling around her hip. Electricity tingled up her spine, yellow-white like happiness, and she shifted in his arms just enough that she could lean up to kiss him lazily.

"Good morning," Katara smiled against his lips.

"You don't usually stay," Zuko breathed.

"I fell asleep."

He huffed out a dorky little sound from the back of his throat, half contentment, half incredulity. "You snore."

"So do you," Katara snickered into his shoulder. "Two of a kind."

Zuko snorted. "Sure."

But he kissed her again, anyway.

"Gross," Katara laughed. "Morning breath!"

His hair was loose and dark across his eyes, getting longer every day. Katara had seen the old paintings of past Fire Lords—they all wore their hair long, and they all had thin wisps for beards. Zuko seemed to be emulating his ancestors in all but the horrible facial hair, which was a good thing, because it suited him.

"Do I look like my father?" he asked quietly.

"No," Katara said. "Not even a little bit."

"Sometimes I look in the mirror, and I—I see him."

Katara curled up into him. "Do you know why I haven't offered to get rid of your scar? You know I could," she asked him, very softly.

He stayed silent, fingers clenching and unclenching in the fabric of her sleep dress.

"I know you see him," Katara told him gently. "You flinch, sort of. Just a little. Your scar… it's you, Zuko. It makes you different. It's proof that you're different."

She reached up run her fingers on the ridged edges of his scar. The flesh there was tough and folded, the kind of scar that was never going to heal without magic. She didn't even know if he could feel her touch, or if Ozai's cruelty had burned away the nerve endings there. Frankly, she didn't care. Katara curled her hands around her face, and Zuko pressed his lips to the inside of her wrist.

"I don't want you to see him," she said. "Because you're not him. You're so much better. You're kind, and you care, and—and if you were him, I wouldn't be here," and here, her voice dropped to a whisper. "I'd probably be dead."

"I know," he said heavily, at last.

Katara gathered him up, wrapped her arms around his shoulders and carefully began to tuck in all his ragged edges. The Fire Nation needed its Fire Lord, and if he went, the entire world would implode into another war. The Fire Nation would destroy itself, but it would destroy Zuko first.

She simply couldn't let that happen.

She cared about him too much, for that to happen.

"Zuko, I—" she started.

And then the door swung open.

Mai stood in the doorframe, expression so determinedly bored that Katara almost had to laugh. She was staring at them, hands folded in her robes, hair shining in the light from the hall. "There's news," she said delicately.

"What do they want?" Zuko groaned.

"You have precisely…" Mai paused, tipped her head as she listened to something neither Katara nor Zuko could hear, "six minutes to get out of here before the healers come thundering in here to ruin your rest."

"The healers?" Katara said.

The skin around Mai's eyes tightened. "Something is happening."

"Is—Agni, Azula," Zuko swore, and shoved the sheets away. "Katara, can you—"

"I'll be there," she said, then turned to Mai. "Are you sneaking me out of here, or what?"

The tiny curl of Mai's lips was her only answer, but that seemed to be enough. Katara pressed her lips to Zuko's once more, quickly, and then hoisted herself out of bed. Mai caught her up, and the two of them disappeared around the corner.

Once they were away from Zuko's room, Katara asked the question that had been bubbling on her tongue from the moment Mai had opened the door. "What's wrong?"

Mai's lips thinned to a white line across her face. "Azula's awake."

—

The healing buildings were absolutely abuzz with activity. It was vibrant with life in a way Katara had never seen it, and it put her on edge. Anxiety clenched low and hot in her gut, the sudden tension to her throat slicking up enough that breathing was getting a little hard.

"You are a professional," Mai's cool fingers tapped against the pulse in Katara's wrist. "Act like it."

Katara calmed. Her shoulders relaxing from where she'd had them pulled around her ears, and she took one slow, deep breath. "You're right."

"Of course I am," Mai said flatly.

Katara didn't reply to that, but the twitching of her lips gave her away. The two women walked quick but serene, floating along the floor like the world didn't affect either of them at all.

"How is she?" Katara asked quietly.

"Asking for you," Mai said.

They did not look at each other, because they did not need to. Instead, Mai's hand curled tight around Katara's, held close and shaking, but only for a moment.

"She's going to be fine," Katara said.

But she held on tighter, all the same.

Katara and Mai swept into Azula's room with all the grace of the war heroes that they were. Jet had shouted something indistinguishable from the other room that they both ignored—there was time to deal with Jet later, and as he wasn't dying as far as anyone could tell (frankly, he seemed to be hanging around mostly to annoy every healer who went in or out, but especially Katara), it was easy to tune him out.

But it was noisy, so noisy that Katara couldn't even hear herself think.

"ENOUGH!" she shouted.

And the entire room went still.

"Everyone, out," she ordered. "Yes, Toph, that means you. Go get Zuko. Ty Lee, you can stay. Everyone else," she repeated, "out. Do you understand me?"

The nobles in the room—for there were nobles; it seemed that most of the court had forced their way into Azula's room, though Katara had no idea where they'd come by this information—began to make a fuss, but at the furiously deadly expression on Mai's face, they filed out one by one.

The last to go was an old man, hands trembling. He opened his mouth to say something.

Mai had a stiletto to his throat before a single sound could come out. "Do not," she said very softly, "insult Princess Azula. Do not think to use her. Leave now, and I'll let you live."

He took a step back, eyes beady and dark under the white shag of his eyebrows, and then he was gone. Just like the rest.

"Do you even know his name?" Katara asked.

"I don't pay attention to political climbers," Mai replied, and then she walked to Azula's bedside across from Ty Lee, and sunk down to her knees.

"'Zula?" Ty Lee asked, voice bubbling out of her mouth, overeager and stretched with a sharp, almost painful adoration. "'Zula, are you okay?"

"I'm—" the princess stopped, shivered a little, shook her head. "Ka—the waterben—where's Zuzu's—"

"Azula," Katara said.

"You were in my head," Azula's eyes were glazed over. "You—you and—"

Katara knelt down on Mai's other side, pressed her thumbs to the pale blue veins beneath the surface of Azula's arms. The water from the skin at her hip rose without even a twitch of her fingers, and it curled around her hands like a lover.

"I'm sorry," Katara said quietly.

"No, I…" Azula trailed off, shook her head. Her hair had grown out, the hollows of her cheeks too sharp to be attractive—the princess had been beautiful, once, but no longer. Time and her disease had left her too pale and too thin for the vivacious electric beauty that had once been hers.

"Zuko will be here, soon," Katara said.

"Urgh, Zuzu," Azula wrinkled her nose, and Katara had to stifle a laugh.

Some things never changed.

Katara held onto Azula a moment longer, retching on the inside as the princess' golden eyes sharpened slowly. This was what she had worked for, had spent weeks of her time trying to make happen, and now she was… unsure.

She'd done this for Zuko, because she knew that if it had been Sokka in the princess' position, she wouldn't have rested until she'd found a way to wake him up. She knew the desperation that lived on Zuko's tongue, had tasted it thick and poison-sweet on her tongue, and so she understood.

But now…

Now, Azula was awake.

Now, Azula was awake, and the world wasn't going to be the same again. It was a paradigm shift that would shake things up, if left alone—the princess was the unknown element, for all that Katara had examined every inch of the inside of her skull.

Evil was subjective, and really, Azula was mostly just mean. Broken, too, and craving an acceptance that no one but a likely-dead woman could give her, but not evil. Not evil.

"We'll talk later, Lady Azula," Katara said softly, and drew back. Azula didn't answer her, but she'd expected that.

"Can we have her back, now?" Ty Lee asked.

"Yeah," Katara tried for a smile. "Of course.

Mai and Ty Lee knelt on either side of Azula's bed, fingers locked through the princess and through each other's. A triangle of hands—the princess' perfect but weak; Ty Lee's tanned and strong; Mai's spiderlike and pale. It was nothing but a tangle of flesh, but there was something honest and real about it. Something raw. The bones of their wrists stood out shockingly delicate for all their strength.

Katara's heart hurt, just from the way they were looking at each other. Zuko would turn up, soon, robes flapping and hair wild. He'd looked ridiculous—it wasn't even a question.

But something jagged like broken glass low in her stomach told Katara that this particular reunion wasn't one she wanted to see.

It would hurt too much.

And with that last thought, she left the room, closing the door very quietly behind her.

—

.

.

.

.

.

tbc.

notes2: it's the second-year anniversary of this fic, so I figured I should give you guys an update: I'm still not back, this chapter was a huge bitch to write, and the world keeps turning. thanks for sticking with me this long, and I hope y'all are okay. come say hi, I'd love to talk!