Another piece of my Heart and Soul for you!

As always, you guys are amazing! I can't put into words how much I love to hear from you guys! It really motivates me to keep going, keeps me motivated and keeps me writing this fic! And thank you for bearing with me with through the restructure. I know it wasn't strictly necessary, but I like to keep my continuity consistent XD

Especially to Chevalier Lecteur and Respite88! This work is also on Ao3, but I found you two here, lol. You guys have made my week yet again, you're amazing! You, everyone who reads this, please let me know what you thought of this chapter! Knowing I've done a good job means the world to me!

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ENJOY!

Two Months Previously:

Imprisoned

Sokka and Aang never asked, talked about, or mentioned Jet, ever. For that, Katara would wash all the dirty socks and make all the separate dinners the vegetarian and carnivore could ask for. Except they're also going out to forage, taking turns pitching the tent, shedding Appa, chasing down Momo to make sure he isn't getting fleas, and Katara's a little less grateful.

She's never dealt well with idle time. Every lax second, she counts down until Aang and Sokka grow bored or does one of her chores wrong so she can do it again, the right way. Meditating might work for people like Aang when stress and trauma threaten to overwhelm them, but if she doesn't over-function her body, her mind will crawl deeper into the dark pit Jet's cruelty left in her soul and drag her down with it.

But she's careful not to hover, micromanage, or criticize. It's not in her nature to nag, she hopes. Idleness creates too much time to think, remember, drag her deeper into the ghost of a touch, the flame which wants to flicker, desperate not to go out.

Maybe that's why she latches onto Haru. Sweet and genuine, governed by his pain but not moulded by it like Jet. She can't bring herself to feel bad when he tries to take her hand and she shies back, hiding her shiver of revulsion behind a quick shoulder pat and forced, tittering laugh. She isn't ready for something like that again, even the idea of it. Haru lives constantly in fear, aches for his missing father, but even when he hides his bending Katara finds his fear more truthful than hate.

And he's nice. When she has to have the concept of money explained to her, he does it gently as he picks his mother's discarded copper pieces from the floor. When he leads her, Aang, and her brother to the market he keeps them away from the stalls and sides of town reserved for the Fire Nation soldiers. They can legally go to those areas, but two watertribe citizens so far south would draw enough eyebrows without Aang tagging along. She just hopes the soldiers don't decide they want to slum it the same time as their shopping trip with Haru.

She knows he's not hiding behind a nice façade when he lets the opportunity for any mocking jabs she once mistook for charm slide as the store peddlers shout in numbers and acronyms she doesn't understand. No smirks at her expense when she offers some nuts in exchange for a bag and is laughed away from the stall.

Such commotion doesn't exist in the Southern Watertribe. She comes from a life of trading goods, furs, services, and food. It is strange being in a crowd where no one knows her face or cares for her purpose. In the Southern tribe, women she grew up with would have jostled her, young boys Sokka trained would run across her path. Here, Earth Kingdom citizens slam into her and offer not even a faint apology. It might not be the biggest city, but she does not like it. If not for Sokka and Aang, she'd feel so alone.

She could offer her services, maybe draw water from the morning grass for a thirsty vender. But Zuko's rasped warning always lingers at the back of her mind and makes her feel only a little hypocritical when she encourages Haru to Earthbend.

This town is his home. These are his people. She thought the risk wasn't as great for him. She was wrong.

The Storm

Iroh's swift departure from the cell breaks the reverie concentrating on her Pai Sho tiles put her in. All she's gone through, how it brought her to this box, and the boy with a scar who chased her the whole way. From one prison cell to another. All the way back then, she was thinking about him.

She blinks at the space across the table Iroh once occupied, wondering when the old man learned to move so quickly. Probably grew board of her wondering moves and split focus, but her head just wasn't in the game.

She was too worried about Zuko.

They were approaching the third day he'd gone chasing Aang or Zhao. It didn't matter who. Another foolish attempt to prove he was worthy of being Ozai's son. Iroh thought as much so. She'd been somewhat of a stress relief for the old man these last few days, her cell a safe place to vent his frustrations. It wasn't until she was staring at her completed winter stance strategy consuming his white lotus, stunned at her victory, did she realise how deep Iroh's worry for his nephew ran.

Picking at her barely touched dinner, Katara slumps against the wall. Since when did she fret over Zuko's safety? The prince was an uppity, self-righteous ponce, but he could handle himself. Of course, whenever he had to, he was surrounded by his guards. Like her trapped on this boat, he went into this danger alone. Just the thought of him out there by himself tugs on her heart.

Stupid boy, she decides, trying to shake off her own foolishness as well. It's as she does the door opens. As if she'd conjured him, Zuko strides in.

She drops her forkful of noodles and curried fish. "Zuko!" Jumping up, she practically chases him back to the door when he retreats from surprise. But she's already grabbing his wrists, anchoring him to her as she looks up at his wide, surprised eyes. An ugly, engorged bruise encompasses the swollen left to almost shut. "You're hurt."

He blinks, the right does at least. Disgust from the obvious targeted strikes to the left side of his face fills Katara. Zhao deepens her resident loathing of him another few feet, warring with the knee quivering relief crashing into her as Zuko finally stands there, in front of her. Back in arms reach again.

Zuko, unable to gauge the situation, stammers, "I... fell."

"You fell? Fell where, down a mountain? Have you seen your face?"

That was a mistake. Though she didn't mean his scar, he flinches anyway, waving his hand when she stammers to apologise. "Fell down the stairs. Was thrown. It doesn't matter. I'm fine."

Except when he tries to dismiss her worries again, she sees the mess of skin and burned cloth mottling his right arm. "Zuko!" She grabs his wrist again, gently turning the injured limb in her grasp as she fully assesses the damage. Accidentally, she draws a hiss of pain. "You haven't had this looked at yet."

Hesitation gives way to shyness in the sharp downward trajectory of his eyes, like a parachute failing to open. "I didn't... have time."

"Have time? What do you-" She looks past his injuries for the first time, seeing he's still in his armour. Blood spatters the high neck and crusts around the wounds to his face and arm, not even attempted to be cleaned or seen to. He came straight to her.

Her traitorous heart gives three wild thumps before she schools her face into one of scorn. "Send for some water, a rag, willow bark tea, sellin sap and bandages."

He quirks his right eyebrow at her. "I'm not bringing water in here for you to-"

"And a guard. If you're going to be all jumpy, fine, but be jumpy while I take care of this." She gestures over the cracked, twisted mess of his arm. If she looked up, she'd see the stunned way he watches her worry over him. About him. "And tweezers too. What did you do, get burned then roll about in the dirt?"

"Jumped out a window, actually," he grumbles as he heads for the door.

He returns, arms full of her requested supplies minus the tea, which is carried in by Uncle Iroh and the first smile she's seen on his face in three days.

Iroh sets up his brewing station while Zuko diligently lays out each item she requested. There's a deeply bred care in the way the two firebenders go about their work, while Katara washes her hands and cuts the cloth Zuko brought into strips. Iroh watches her curiously as the fire in his burner flares then soothes.

"Do you know how to heal, miss Katara?"

"I learned under my grandmother," Katara says. Something about her answer causes a look to pass Iroh's face. Perhaps he needed more information before he was comfortable letting her work on Zuko. "Nothing as extensive as the surgeries, but I was taught how to treat sprains, cuts and bumps on the head, and those were all just on Sokka."

Iroh smiles. Zuko doesn't, but he nods and goes back to unbuckling his shoulder guards, chest piece coming off next. Carefully, he peels the ruined sleeve of his undershirt from his arm. Blood cakes him to the elbow, but the burn only seems localised to his forearm.

She gets to work washing the blood, soot, and dirt away from the wound. Zuko hisses at the cool water, muscles in his arm flexing under her working fingers. "You'd think there wouldn't be a lot of burns to treat in the poles but-"

"Why would I think that?" Zuko looks up from his arm. "Or did you not light fires to ward off the cold?"

Two months ago, she'd have thought him being sarcastic, biting at her with his superior cultural understanding, understanding the world beyond his own home. But he waits for her answer, patient and curious. After so much time spent together learning about the Watertribe, he's only seeking to understand more. With her. Not against.

And with that comes the realisation that almost causes Katara to drop the bowl she's setting up as her workstation. Zuko trusts her.

Wound flaking, blood seeping between cracks of horribly twisted skin of his arm, waits for her treatment. He may still hesitate to bring any water near her, she'd think him foolish or be insulted he thought her so weak if he didn't, but he doesn't flinch back when her fingers carefully tread the inflamed skin around the wound, seeking out swelling and where his pain starts.

"You need to tell me when it hurts," she tests. Zuko's never so much as shown her when he's happy, let alone be vulnerable enough to admit he's in pain.

Iroh pretends he's not paying attention, watching his nephew from the corner of his eye.

"There," Zuko grunts when she presses on his skin an inch from the wound. "But only a little."

A steaming cup of willow bark is pressed into his hand by his uncle. "Drink. If not for your pain, then for the tremors. It is not fair to make miss Katara work on such an unstable surface." Zuko grumbles but sips at the tea. "Miss Katara, I brought some jasmine as well. Would you care for a cup?"

"That would be wonderful, General."

"Uncle, if it pleases you."

Zuko chokes, cheeks flaming when they both turn to look at him. He tries to wave them off, until Katara grips his arm. "Ow! That hurts!"

His yelling doesn't shock her like it used to. "If you held still it wouldn't hurt!"

Zuko glares at her. "If the avatar would stop running away, I wouldn't have had to track him to Roku's temple."

"This wouldn't have happened at all if you'd left Aang alone."

"I wouldn't have to leave him alone if he'd just come to the fire nation willingly."

"He wouldn't need to go to the fire nation if your great grandfather hadn't started a war."

Zuko goes to open his mouth, catches her and his uncle staring at him, shuts it with a scowl.

Iroh chuckles as he begins work on the new pot. Absently, he lifts his hand slowly, slowly enough for Zuko to move out of his reach if he wished, and gently touches the gash on his right cheek. "How did this happen, nephew?"

"Zhao," Zuko spits as answer.

"When he threw you down the stairs?" Katara asks as she salves his arm with a sellin sap covered bandage.

"That was actually your little airbender." He smirks at her shock. "Not so peaceful after al-ah!" he yelps when she cinches the bandage harder than necessary.

"I'm sure you gave Aang plenty of reason," she says primly, reaching for her stack of dry bandages to close around the wound.

"I assume you were left subject to Zhao's... questioning," Iroh growls, the dangerous timber deepening with Zuko's nod. "That man is a disgrace to the fire nation."

"Agreed," Zuko mutters.

"Agreed. He could learn a thing or two," Katara says as she finishes tying off Zuko's arm. Both firebenders look at her, but her coy smile is for Iroh. He chuckles, Zuko not understanding what passes between them.

"I'm surprised he managed to catch you off guard, Prince Zuko." There's a bandage leftover. Katara doesn't think as she dunks it in the water bowl, wringing it out as Iroh goes on. "I see we will have to run more of your basics. Malice bleeds like sap from the severed root, and you certainly severed Zhao's in that Agni-"

Clay shatters on the metal hull. Both Katara and Zuko jump, looking at Iroh's stunned face. Jasmine tea trickles across the floor from where he dropped his cup. He doesn't notice, wide eyes locked on Katara's hand. Zuko turns to see, and practically flies away from where the rag she'd been using to clean the gash at his left temple hovers.

"I'm sorry," she gasps, even though she doesn't understand what's happening.

Zuko's chest rises and falls. Water trickles down the side of his face, rippling over his scarred cheek. He can't stop staring at her, gold eyes confused, infuriated, scared.

"No, miss Katara, I am the one who must apologise," Iroh professes. His gnarled hands fumble to pick clay shards off the floor. "I was startled. My nephew does not let anyone near his-"

"Enough, uncle," Zuko snaps.

Her eyes flit between them. Normally, Zuko's temper rises her own from the slumber her people's teachings instilled in her. But Gran-Gran always said she had a fire in her, and hers can ignite quicker than any watertribe native she's ever known.

But Zuko can't meet her gaze, or his uncle's. Sticking a finger into the spilled tea, he turns his scar away from her as he pretends to focus on evaporating it from the floor, flinching away when his uncle tries to put a comforting hand on his arm.

"Why do you prepare your own tea, Iroh?" Katara asks quickly, too quickly in the awkward silence. Both firebenders look at her, Zuko still being careful to angle his scar away from her. But it means she has a perfect view of his working right eye. Soft, cautious, eternally grateful as Iroh's own face creases into a smile.

"Ah, I can see why it would be confusing, seeing I could have it sent for at my simplest whim?" Katara nods, consciously not acknowledging the way Zuko is looking at her, letting him savour and collect himself. "Well, for any firebender, heating a pot of water is no difficult task – a few seconds of rage and a rolling boil is achieved. But a rolling boil would spoil my tea, Katara."

Iroh sparks his burner back to life with a gentle snap of his fingers.

"You see, the secret to a good cup of tea is not in the fire, but often in the temperature of the water." She receives a pointed look she chooses to smile politely at and pretend to miss the point of. "Jasmine, Green, and White tea tend to need a medium to high flame. Go any higher than that, and you'll scald the leaves and wind up with bitter tea. Let it steep for too long, and it'll scald anyway. So, you see, you can't just boil the spirits out of it and walk away; to be really good, a cup of tea needs a lower temperature and a softer flame."

Iroh pours a fresh cup and holds it out to his nephew. "It needs patience and attention." After some hesitation, Zuko takes it with an embarrassed nod. Iroh pours another and holds it out for Katara. She almost drops it due to its heat, forgetting firebender fingers are basically steel. "It takes balance and understanding."

"There are only two cups, uncle," Zuko comments around a sip.

"You drink, Iroh, please," Katara insists, fighting off a blush as her eyes flick to Zuko and accidentally meet his over the rim of his cup.

Iroh presses the cup back into her hands, picks up the teapot and takes off the lid. He holds it up, waiting until Zuko and Katara lift their cups in toast. To what, Katara has no idea, smiling as the three of them drink together.

Two Months Previously:

Imprisoned

Getting arrested for an element she doesn't even bend is far too easy. Raising her voice in front of the stuffy Fire Nation soldiers probably would have done it, but she needed to be taken to where they were keeping the Earthbenders.

Despite knowing Aang and Sokka are right behind her, Katara can't help but hunch into herself during the cart ride down to the harbour. When she's loaded onto the prison transport boat, water on all sides, she closes her eyes and lets her blood move in time with the calm, lapping against the hull. It barely helps. There's so much metal. Beneath her, around her, walking in between their prisoners. She knows fire is the only element which isn't part of nature; it has to come from the bender itself instead of the earth, the sky, or the water. But if they rise with the sun, burn with its heat, why surrounded themselves with so much cold metal?

They ferry them out as the sun begins to set, across inky water turned violent purple as twilight blends sea and sky together. If the ferry ride was long enough, Katara could have seen where the prison island was then risen her rebellion with the moon. But the rig is visible from the shore, a stab of dark shadow in an endless sunburst sky. They built it so close on purpose, not only as a constant reminder to the Earth Kingdom village, but also a constant torture to those captured. So close to land, yet separated by a bottomless, vast sea. Katara wishes she could feel smug at how ill prepared these firebenders are for her, but she feels so small crammed in between prisoners on the transport vessel.

Sokka and Aang are right behind. She keeps reminding herself until the boat docks in the prisons shadow. They make them climb up before removing their shackles. Katara almost slips, fingers numb against the slick, ice cold metal. When the prisoner below her halts her decent, he's cuffed with a hot fist for holding up the procession.

Everything about this place is a show of force. Bringing metal into the middle of the ocean. Forcing Earthbenders off their land. Look what we can do. Anytime we want. Do as we say, when we say. Or end up here.

The warden epitomises this philosophy, because only the Fire Nation can turn force into a way of life.

"Earthbenders. It is my pleasure to welcome you aboard my modest shipyard. I am your warden." Self-importance drips from the weasel faced man, the goatee not helping Katara picture anything but the twitching, opportunistic nose of a hungry rodent. "I prefer to think of you not as prisoners, but as honoured guests. And I hope you think of me as your humble and caring host."

Fat chance, Katara thinks. Next moment he's snapping a whip of fire at the man to her right because he interrupted his sanctimonious speech with a coughing fit. She glowers as the warden sends the poor man into the depths of this metal beast. "One week in solitary will improve his manners!"

Turning, he spies her disdain before she can hide it. She'll be next, and she almost wants it if it means ruffling this peacock cats plumage. Instead, the weasel lips pull back in a nastily satisfied grin. "Simply treat me with the courtesy I give you, and we'll get along famously."

Prisoners labour with axes and shovels below the walkway the warden leads them down. "You will notice, Earthbenders, that this rig is made entirely of metal. You are miles away from any rock or earth." He gestures and postulates, and Katara sees none of it. Craning her neck, the ocean disappears from view one step at a time as they descend into the prison yard. "So, if you have any illusions about employing that brutish savagery that passes for bending among you people, forget them. It is impossible."

Metal gates slam behind Katara. Above her, guards in more metal survey their prison. Even through the many layers of steel, iron and loathing, she can feel the ocean surrounding her. How easily could she flood this yard and all the Fire Nation guards in it if she were better trained? Aang could, but he needed to go into the Avatar State to do it, and Katara shivers from the revulsion the impulse to ask him brings.

"Katara?" a voice across the yard exclaims.

She's running into Haru's arms before the word is out of his mouth, previous reservations be damned. She brought him to this place but, thankfully, no thanks to her, this sweet boy is okay. "Haru!"

He grips her tightly, rigid with surprise, before pulling back to hold her at arms legs. He traces her with confused eyes as if trying to decide if she's truly in front of him. "What are you doing here?"

She bows her head. "It was my fault you got captured. I came to rescue you."

"So, you got yourself arrested?" His eyes sweep the patrolling guards above. "Katara, you've got guts but that's crazy. You're a wat-" He cuts himself off, leaning closer to whisper, "You're a waterbender."

"You don't have to whisper, I know," she teases in a poor attempt to dispel the brevity beginning to swallow her.

"If these guards find out you can waterbend you'll be in a lot more danger than me. You're…" Haru shakes his head, laughing at the ridiculousness they've found themselves in. "You're freaking amazing." She blushes, squashes the treacherous warmth flaring in her stomach when Haru takes her hand. She has no time to repeat past mistakes. "Come on, there's someone I want you to meet."

The Storm

Katara doesn't blink as Zuko slams the door to her cell. Stalking to the table, he drops with none of his usual grace, arms crossing over his chest until he winces and shakes his healing right arm.

"What happened, Sunshine?"

"Nothing." She doesn't look up from the game she's playing with herself, smiling at the tiles when he huffs. "Lieutenant Jee is trying to slow us down. He and my uncle think a storm is coming, but there's been a drought for the last week and the sky is beautiful. He's forgetting who is in charge. When I say we sail, we sail, the lives of the crew be damned. He hates being shackled to this ship but it's like he wants me to lose the Avatar's trail."

"Gee, what's that like?" She looks up, smiling under her lashes at his scowl. "I find it hard to believe the Lieutenant is actively trying to sabotage you. If you succeed, doesn't that mean you all go home? Not that I'd want that, of course. I hope he's sabotaging you."

These days that kind of teasing coaxes a smile from the testy prince. But today Zuko bleeds frustration as he tensely spins a Pai Sho tile across his nimble firebender fingers. Katara catches herself watching him, grabs hold of her wandering mind trying to conjure up the memory of those fingers gently tilting her chin up to feed her water before it can lead her down a dangerous path.

"You really said the lives of the crew don't matter?" she asks.

His shoulders squirm up towards his ears. "Not in so many words. But it's not like they don't know what they signed up for. A storm shouldn't stop them." A far away look overtakes him. He seems suspended in two places. Stuck in this cell with her, lost in a memory. "The Fire Nation doesn't suffer that kind of weakness."

She hums again. Zuko's smart enough to sense her displeasure and keeps his mouth shut. "A storm is definitely coming, but the way."

"How'd you-" He cuts himself off, actually looking at her now, and shakes his head with a rueful chuckle. "Right. Waterbender."

A cooped up Waterbender who barely gets to touch water anymore. Yes, she'd definitely know when a storm was on its way as sure as she knows when the moon will be full.

"And you're in the wrong with the Lieutenant."

"Of course, you'd side with a man you've barely spoken to," Zuko mutters.

"Doesn't mean I'm against you, Sunshine." His scowl deepens. "I'm honestly surprised I have to tell someone who regularly has to face Commander butt breath that being a leader and being a bully are two different things."

Finally, he lets out a real chuckle. More an amused huff, but pride swells in Katara's chest. "It's not butts. It's like a sulphur... And Zhao's bad breath."

She laughs, and Zuko looks ten times lighter. "Better, but I would have thought firebenders would be masters of the verbal burn." Zuko hums instead of jumping on her set up, eyes far away as he looks at his fingers twirling the piece. She can only take so much before she shakes her head and, reaching over, plucks the tile from his fingers. "As much as I derive pleasure from a pained Zuko, enough."

His breath catches, whooshing out again before she can find it odd. "You don't want to play?"

"I don't think you do. You're tense enough." He shuffles uncomfortably, confirming her suspicions. "What do you do to relax?"

"Firebend." He shrugs at her unamused look, but she softens when he looks abashedly at the table. "I've... started to like playing Pai Sho again. It's fun when it's not against my uncle. Meditation works sometimes."

"Meditation it is," she says, ignoring the pink tint to both their cheeks as she stands up. "Let's go to your shrine."

"How do you know I have a shrine?" he asks in amusement from the floor.

"I've met you. You're not exactly indulgent, but you'd never go so far from home without your own dragon."

"I thought our lessons were only on the Southern Watertribe." He'd never say it, but she can see how impressed he is in his gold eyes.

"They were, until you disappeared for three days and Uncle decided to change up my studies."

"Please don't call him uncle," Zuko whines. She agrees it felt odd, her and Zuko couldn't be less related if they tried. And something feels inherently wrong with the implication.

Laughing it off, she holds her hand out to him until he sighs woefully and lets her pull him to his feet.

As always when she leaves the cell, he claps her manacles over her hands, even though they won't actually be going up to the deck. She doesn't fight it, and bounces behind him as he leads her to the meditation chamber he and the other firebenders share. Only, when he opens the door there's a bed in the corner with a singed tapestry hanging over it, and a basin to wash up.

Zuko doesn't meet her eye. "I had a personal shrine installed in my chambers."

Zuko waves to the side of the room and she gasps at the floor to ceiling station dominated by the smoking dragon maw, bookended by two incense burners. A lone cushion sits before the shrine, but Zuko doesn't think twice about pulling his singular pillow from the bed and placing it down next to the plusher seat. What surprises her is when he folds himself down onto the flat pillow, leaving the cushion for her at her leisure.

She studies the shrine a little more first, determined to take in as much detail as possible. "It's broken," she notes, gently touching the crack where the carved tooth was once severed from the rest of the shrine.

Zuko's deep breathing stutters. "I may have smashed the mouth when I was trying to hit the Avatar."

She turns sharply. "When did you have-"

Of course, when her and Sokka came to save Aang. The same day she was graced with the Fire Prince's severe presence. Now he looks up at her from the floor, pale cheeks a delicate pink. A picture of sheepish insecurity he tries to pretend isn't intertwined with his passionate, diligent soul.

Clearing his throat, Zuko gestures to the cushion next to him. Beginning his breathing before she's fully seated, Zuko inhales for eight, pausing at the zenith before exhaling. Shoulder's loosen and almost sway at the moment at the top. Zuko's body becomes no less erect, but somehow unstiffens. Firm, yet flexible. Lithe, yet solid. Like a willow branch in the breeze.

Watching him speeds and slows her heartbeat all at once, deepens her own breathing. Holding her eyes open wastes too much energy. Closing them, she pictures his pale gold eyes in the flickering candlelight behind her own as she breathes in tandem with the dragon.

"Prince Zuko!"

Rapping on his chamber doors startles Katara awake. Was she asleep? Can't distinguish between murky senses. Zuko's hand on her arm. She's back in his cosy chambers. A voice sighs as Zuko hauls himself up and moves to the door. Murmured words make fuzzy imprints in Katara's brain until Zuko's chuckle touches that competitive, prideful place in her only he's capable of reaching.

"First time meditating?" Gold eyes sparkle with a mirth she doesn't usually get to see.

"It's the smoke," she waves off his attempt to help her stand, unfolding her legs but staying on her cushion. "What's going on?"

"Nothing, just something that needs my attention on deck." Picking up the manacles, he kneels and is about to help her fumbling hands clasp them on when he hesitates. "Or would… would you rather stay here and keep meditating? You seem pretty zenned out."

Blinks come slow as she smiles. "Sure. You won't be long?"

It's his turn to smile. "Hopefully."

The door locks behind him. Faith does not extend the fragile bonds they've made with each other. She knows Zuko would never hurt her, never starve her, or torture her for his own ends. He would have done it long before he brought her to a better cell or took it upon himself to deliver her water if he was planning on it. But their trust does not go beyond locked doors. It's hard to forget she's still his prisoner, even if she's experienced more luxury in her cell then she ever did on the ice.

The ache to be free, to find Aang and Sokka, never goes away. It ebbs to a dull throb as she plays Pai Sho, drinks tea, and watches Zuko go from a petulant sulk to a dull indifferent sulk. Does he know he has a beautiful smile? She does, even if she's only ever caught glimpses of it.

Savouring his smile feels hypocritical as she settles back on her cushion and faces the Dragon's maw. It glares down at her as if it knows her mind.

Unable to look into its judging eyes, Katara does her best to shrug away her guilt, and lifts her hand towards the incense burners.

Gears clunk as the doors mechanism is pulled on harshly. Katara knows the waking process now, pulling herself from the Willow's breathing techniques with much more ease as the door opens. It's much easier with the air clear, her vision no longer fuzzy as she greets Zuko with a nod.

"It's raining," he exclaims as he turns and shuts the door. Old habits. She almost wishes it could stay that way. "You were right!"

"And you're surprised?" She is. He's rarely this jubilant, preferring his half grins that touch his sunrise eyes more than his lips.

"Let's go skimming."

He ignores her teasing completely. Already the one to bring up the drought, Katara's heart weighs heavier at his excitement for it to finally be raining again. Metal clangs obnoxiously as the manacles bounce together in Zuko's haste to kneel down and get them on her hands. She's about to give the game away, tell him to stop, when he sniffs. Brows crinkle. He sniffs again and turns to the shrine. One hand clamped shut by the locks, he abandons his task to reach over and pick up the glass incense burner.

"Huh?" Swishing the empty glass, his eyes narrow on the other burner. Empty as well.

Katara's heart leaps into her throat when he looks back at her. Does he know? Will he unlock her cuffed hand to check?

"Must have been gone a lot longer than I thought." He ducks his head sheepishly. "I didn't mean to leave you stuck in here for so long."

It amazes Katara she can stand at all as Zuko helps her up, her heart heavy, threatening to betray her. Does he realise how considerate of her he's grown, or was he always like this while living in a world that decided he was too weak to be worth anything? She feels no better than the monsters of his home as he reopens the door and leads her towards the deck.

He goes too fast as he takes them up. Even with all the trips he's taken her on, the metal walkways and corridors all look the same to Katara. It isn't long before she can't even follow the echo of his footsteps.

"I always thought..." Katara pauses, cocking her head to the voices coming from somewhere below. "...Training accident."

With Zuko out of sight, she moves for the voices. So shrouded in echoes, her footsteps drown out half of what's being said until she emerges into the light. Cautiously approaching the railings, Katara looks down into the ships deep bellied hull, where Iroh sits with the crew around a small fire. She's never heard him so mournful.

"...refusing to fight, Zuko had shown shameful weakness. As punishment, he was banished and sent to capture the Avatar. Only then could he return with his honour."

"No wonder he's so obsessed," Jee murmurs. Whatever animosity brewing between Zuko and the Lieutenant is gone, replaced by sombre understanding. Zuko would hate it even more than his disrespect. Agni Kai's can't be fought because a man knows you better.

"Katara?" Zuko pads up to the railing, his clinking footsteps interspersing Iroh's heavy hearted words. "Things... never return... important... Avatar... Zuko hope."

As always, he places himself so she only sees his right side. She doesn't need to look, hearing his sharp intake of breath as the last of Iroh's words drift up to them. So badly she wants to put her hand on his as his knuckles go white around the railing. All she can do instead is loop her chains around his shoulders and gently pull him with her. "It's all right," she whispers when he resists.

"He-"

"Was talking about your plans for when you return." It slips too easily off her tongue to be a lie. A harmless fib. Zuko knows what he wants to do, how he will do his best to model himself into a better Fire Lord, one she hopes will be influenced more by his Uncle than his father. At least, she knows he will try.

And it's because he doesn't believe her that he accepts the half-truth. Given all the opportunity they've had, they've never once lied to each other. Held back, yes. Openly dismissed talking about themselves, of course.

They're not entitled to each other's lives. It makes the small snippets each of them have shared far more precious. If he asked what she heard, she'd tell him. If she asked what his uncle was talking about, he might not tell her everything, but whatever he did would be the truth.

The fib tells him it doesn't matter to her; the story, what happened, how he feels about it. None of it changes that right now it's raining, and she wants to spend that time with him.

They're soaked in seconds from the lashing rain. When a Fire Nation boy says there's a storm, Katara expects it's probably little more than a drizzle. She forgets the stories of tropical gales Zuko spent an evening regaling her with when she made such a claim. His childhood holidays to the beach ruined, so his sister claimed, while he and his mother would watch the tempest drive into the coastline from the westward screen of his family's summer bungalow.

They fly through such a tempest now, sheets of water pummelling their backs, pushing them faster than Katara's ever gone before. Zuko roars into the gale as he manages to stay on his feet for the first time that night, shocked by the voracity of the wind. Only by copying her wide arms can he manage, and she wonders if he knows the way he cocks his knees, sweeps his hands out, is a classic waterbenders stance.

He falls out of it, into her and the railing. Thunder drowns his laughter and only because his face is practically buried in her neck can Katara hear the husky chuckle, feel it move through his body.

"You're a Storm Son!" She yells into his ear over the wind.

Watertribesmen would take skiffs out into the winter storms and compete to see who could topple the towering waves the fastest. Mothers of such foolish boys would weep long before the waves and ice smashed the skiffs to splinters.

Lightning flashes, illuminating his wild gold eyes, her tossing, tumbling hair. The crew have not come up to watch them tonight, despite the manic sight they must make. Katara's blood thrums with the water. Weeks ago, Zuko worried about her leaping over the side of the rail and tonight, alight and living within the storm, she's tempted to toss herself into its swirling depths.

Then another fork of lightening shatters the sky, slicing into the waters tossing their ship about, and on instinct Zuko grabs her arms. Despite the water in her eyes, she sees his blush as he hastily let's go. "We should get back inside!"

She's about to beg five more minutes from him when the ship rocks. This time he has no qualms about grabbing her to him, pressing her to the railing and holding them together, arms under hers and locked around the rails.

His gold eyes search her. "Are you oka-"

"Help!"

Zuko's head whips around. Past him, a shape dangles from the very top of the ship's watchtower. Hands slip and grab frantically for the safety rail of the perch, but the man atop can never get a firm hold.

"The helmsman!" Zuko lets go, throwing over his shoulder a frantic, "Keep hold of the rail." before he's dashing across the deck.

Lieutenant Jee bursts from the cabin quarters as Zuko races past and leaps onto the ladder. The Lieutenant dutifully follows as Iroh emerges. Lightening forks across his stricken face as he watches his nephew climb into the storm. Katara's own heart slams into her ribs harder and harder the higher Zuko climbs. Monstrous clouds threaten to swallow him whole if the wind doesn't tear him from the tower first.

Iroh's eyes catch her own, a split second of terror passing between them. Then his arms are up as a massive fork of lightening splinters the sky, comes screaming for the deck. Katara's scream rips from her throat as it strikes Iroh dead on.

And then the most amazing thing she's ever witnessed happens.

Iroh's arm sweeps up, catches the lightening. He passes it along his body in a deeply controlled arc. Electricity ripples through him and out his other arm. It happens in the space between her blinks.

She'd know those sweeping motions, the immovable will of standing before the storm. They're moves no firebender should naturally know.

And he's too focused with moving the lightening through his body, with watching Zuko, to notice the oil slithering through the cracks of Katara's cuffed hand. No one spares the seconds to see the sweat mixed with rain across her face as she focuses everything on moving the viscous liquid across the cuffs to where Zuko slots the key.

It's not pure water, the incense oil so much harder to move, especially in the finicky, delicate manner of a key in a lock. All without the comforting use of her hands. All while wind and rain batters her on all sides.

A scream almost slips the oil from her fingers. Above, the helmsman's grip fails him. She gasps as he plummets, cries out in alarm as Zuko's arm shoots out to grab him, shoulder wrenching horribly as the helmsman's fall jerks to a stop.

"Zuko!" She screams into the wind when his own grip on the ladder slips. And something shifts.

The winds wail into the deck, but for a heartbeat the rain rebels, pushing against Zuko's back. He slams into the ladder, dazed for a moment before Jee reaches up to take the helmsman's weight.

He winces his way back down, shoulder tender, and practically jumps when Iroh supports his weight the final few rungs. He's even more shocked when Katara throws her arms up to loop the chain behind his head, drawing him to her.

"You stupid, wonderful, dragon!" she yells over the wind. Somewhere she's embarrassed, but he's gripping her too tightly back for her to care.

Words fail him when he pulls back, her looped hands keeping him from going too far. He's not ready for the chain though, and stumbles back into her space. Foreheads knock. She giggles as water runs like waterfalls down his mostly bald head, but he's staring at her wondrously. As if she'd just risked her life instead of him.

Hot hands tighten around her. When did he get so warm? She finds herself melting towards him, one of his hands rising to pull her in. Her own drifts down the side of his neck, cupping him gently in case he pulls away again.

He doesn't, eyes drifting closed as her fingers move under his ear. When her thumb rests on his lips, he dips his head to press his mouth against the pad. "Zuko..."

She needs to pull back. She can't. Needs to move away. She moves closer instead, until they breathe each other in the storm.

"Katara," he responds. It's the first time he's ever said her name, eyes closed as he nuzzles her hand.

Gold eclipses her vision suddenly. His eyes snap open as he jerks back, grabbing her naked hand out of the air where it once cupped his cheek. He stares at it, at the other heavy by her side, still locked in metal. Stares at her with the trusting confusion of a wolf fox being gently put to sleep in its master's lap. "How-"

A thunderclap roar bursts Katara's eardrums. The chain links slap her side as she jerks away from Zuko. The prince hits the deck along with his crew, not recognising the sound.

Katara stares into the sky. Come on. Come on, I know you're out there!

"Katara!"

Appa destroys a cloud, bursting through the storm. Water streams from his riders as the reins are passed hands, and suddenly there's a shape leaping from Appa's great shaggy head, free-falling towards the deck.

"Aang!" Katara cries. "I'm here! Aang!"

He doesn't bother to unfurl his glider. He slams onto the deck, whipping his staff around his head. No one's spared the onslaught of air that slams into the crew, Zuko, Iroh and Katara, pushing them all back.

"Give her back!" The airbender yells, searching for her.

Katara has to pick herself up with one hand, the other still locked in the cuff. Its rounded edge defies her a chance to grip the rails properly as Appa comes barrelling down.

"Shoot that bison!" Zuko roars right before Appa headbutts the ship.

Katara's feet lose all sense of where the ground is. She can't see, can't feel her way toward up like one does when underwater. Her shoulder strikes something hard, but her scream is thick as she feels her legs become deadweight in the open air above the water. They carry her momentum over the rail and when she reaches instinctively out, her cuffed hand bounces uselessly off the metal and she plummets down into the sea.

"No!" A pale hand shoots out over the railing.

Katara's fall jerks to a stop. Pain burns down her wrist into her shoulder. Above, only the fingers gripping her chain mark the difference between swaying against the ship and the watery pummelling going on not two feet from her swaying legs.

Until a wave rises, slams her into the side of the ship, then tries to pull her back down with it. The hand becomes an armoured arm, becomes a mostly bald head. Zuko grits his teeth against her weight as the water, swirling around her chest now, almost drags him overboard too.

"Don't let me go!" She cries right before another wave shoves water down her throat. Tears mix more saltwater into her existence as she chokes and splutters. The water's too strong to be moved by her one weak waterbending hand. She begins to cry, scrabbling desperately at her chain. "Zuko!"

"Katara!"

Zuko looks from her out to sea, rage contorting his face when Appa, guided by Sokka, drifts a few feet closer. Katara can't help but weep harder at the fearful way Sokka watches her, ignoring Zuko completely. But Appa screams as the fire shoots past his horns.

"Zuko, stop it!" Sokka cries as he tries to wrangle Appa closer. "She's drowning!"

"Get back!" Zuko roars. A bolt of fire sends Appa reeling from the side of the ship with Sokka barely able to hold on. "Katara!" He reaches through the railings, but he can't support her weight and bend far enough to grab her reaching hand. "Reach for me!"

"Zuko, stop this!" Through salt burned eyes, Katara sees Aang hovering precariously in the wild, thrashing winds. His arrow flickers in warning. "I won't let you hurt her. Let me help you."

For a moment Zuko looks stricken. Only Katara sees it. He ducks his head to look down at her, at the chain looped around his wrist. She hadn't noticed before but blood coats the metal crimson where the chain cuts, yet he holds desperately on.

Gold meets blue.

Then she's swallowed by the sea.

She surfaces to a roar, then a jolt, then she's weightless. Links of metal drop around her. Zuko flies backwards as the chain and her weight disappear from the other end, but she floats. Until Aang is there, swooping her into his arms before peeling away from the ship as fast as he can. He all but throws her into Appa's saddle before they're both tossed into the winds, and only his mastery of his element saves him from being flung into the sea as he twists into a new current. He's dropping into the saddle as Sokka heaves on Appa's reins again, and they disappear into the storm.

Pretty please let me know your thoughts and feedback because I would love to know if I'm doing a good job! It only takes a second and it would be greatly appreciated! Reading all your wonderful comments keeps me writing as I plough on for Book Two.

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