...Hi! I'm back! I had to really sit down and strip this story down to basics over the last few weeks. But we are back and rest assured this thing will not get abandoned.

This chapter had a beta reader! Special thanks to the lovely allthewaydown for making this thing coherent. And thank you to the people I've screamed to about this for many weeks now (if you're reading this, you know who you are).

Happy ZFAW week, everyone! And Americans, Happy Thanksgiving!

Enjoy!

CHAPTER 12

It wasn't entirely unexpected for Iroh's door buzzer to go off as early as it did on a Saturday morning. It wouldn't be the first time a young person in his building had unintentionally been locked out of their apartment after a night out, forced to buzz neighbors at random. The real surprise was the knock that sounded at his door and the muffled "Uncle; it's me."

"Zuko, what brings you here at this hour?" He said, taking in his nephew's wrinkled shirt and slightly-too-low riding jeans. He was beginning to notice a pattern with the disheveled looks of this Zuko. Had he slept in yesterday's clothes?

Instead of answering, Zuko wordlessly crossed the threshold to plunk down in one of the dining chairs, setting a steaming paper bag on the table in front of him. For a moment, Iroh could only gawk at the back of his nephew's head, blinking away the last dregs of his interrupted sleep. Zuko, too, seemed unable to do much but stare out the window across the room, paying Mushi no mind when he approached to nuzzle his leg in greeting. Limbs catching up with his mind, Iroh tentatively took the seat across from him, effectively blocking his view of the window.

The young man blinked, then offered him a sheepish smile. "I brought breakfast," he said quietly, pulling…two loaded hot dogs from the paper bag.

Iroh couldn't help the small chuckle that bubbled from his lips. "Breakfast of champions this morning, eh?"

His amusement was not shared. "You don't have to eat it if you don't want it," Zuko grumbled, and Iroh again had to remind himself to tread lightly with this one. He was evidently appeased when Iroh grabbed one of the hot dogs and took an enormous bite. It was almost certainly a product of the food cart across the street.

There seemed to be an unspoken understanding between them that Zuko would be the one to break the silence, whenever he was ready. He didn't do so until long after they had both polished off their hot dogs, and Iroh had risen to put the kettle on.

"Can I stay here with you for a little bit longer?"

Something about the tone of his voice compelled Iroh to hold off on selecting a tea to give his nephew his undivided attention. Upon turning to face him, he found that Zuko met his eyes with a certain desperation etched into his features.

Before Iroh could respond, he spoke again. "Don't you think it's ironic that I'm stuck in a tiny room with Katara and her parents right now when only yesterday you pointed out that your entire apartment was too small for three people?"

Iroh raised a brow at this. It was easy to see that Zuko's relationship with Katara was not quite the same where he came from as it was here. Still, the anxiety rolling off his nephew in waves indicated that it went beyond merely a lack of romantic involvement.

"Well, it is certainly too small for long-term stays. But Kya and Hakoda were very keen to see you, especially with all that is going on. I'm sure you can handle it for a couple more days. Will you not be heading to your mother's house soon, anyway?" he asked his last question carefully, gauging his nephew's reaction as he spoke.

Zuko visibly shrunk into himself at the words–a jarring reminder of his response to learning of his mother's proximity during their afternoon chat the other day. It brought up a litany of questions, but Iroh was a patient man.

It took Zuko several minutes to work himself up to speaking again, and he sounded resigned when he did.

"I need to stop coming into the tea shop for a while."

Well, that certainly wasn't what Iroh had expected to hear. "Why?"

"It's–I can't really explain it. Something's been happening to me since…since I've been here. Katara, she had a theory about it. I just don't know what else to do–"

Iroh cut him off with the wave of a hand. "Don't worry about it. I'm sure I can hire some extra help until you…get back home. Or Lu Ten can take on a little more." He wondered if Zuko was even aware of it when his entire body recoiled at the mention of Lu Ten's name.

"Thank you," Zuko said once he recovered, offering Iroh a tight smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. He looked ready to say more, chewing on his lip for a moment before continuing. "I'll still be around, Uncle. Just because I can't come into work, I…well, I'll still come to see you."

Iroh returned the smile–albeit with a bit more enthusiasm–then turned his attention back to the whistling kettle.

"Have you had any luck with the temples?" he called over his shoulder. In truth, he hoped that bringing up Zuko's journey back to his own life might be an opportunity to transition into those questions about it that he so desperately wanted to ask.

He could tell by Zuko's expression that those temples had been the last thing on his mind, but he nevertheless mumbled, "I don't think that's going to work."

"Do you want it to work?" Iroh asked, pouring his favorite green blend into a mesh infuser.

The question evidently caught him off guard because there was a significant pause before his next words. "There are still things I have to do here."

Well, that was obvious. But something told Iroh he wasn't referring to insurance payouts. Leaving the tea to steep, he sank back into the chair opposite Zuko. The wary golden eyes scanned the apartment–lingering first on the open bedroom door and then on Mushi. Not for the first time in the strangeness of the past week, he looked decidedly rattled. There was so much he wasn't saying.

Eventually, the gaze swiveled to the man sitting across from him. "Are you happy, Uncle?"

It was Iroh's turn to be caught off guard. But there was unquestionable sincerity in his nephew's eyes. He answered honestly. "I am."

Zuko looked like he might say more, then thought better of it. He glanced at the two mugs waiting next to the steeping pot on the counter, then aimed an apologetic look back on Iroh. "I should go. Katara's family will start to worry."

Iroh tried his best to look affronted. "You won't stay for one cup of tea?"

In answer, he stood and shook his head. "I didn't tell them where I was going."

It was all he was going to get today, Iroh realized. He sighed and stood to see his nephew out the door, placing the second mug back in the cupboard. "Don't be a stranger, Zuko."

He nodded, rocking onto the balls of his feet and rubbing his hands down the front of his jeans. There was a moment of hesitation before Zuko pulled Iroh into a loose embrace. He smelled of stale sweat, which all but confirmed Iroh's earlier suspicions about how long he had been wearing this particular set of clothes. Before he had a chance to tighten the embrace and hug him properly, Zuko was slipping from his grasp. He offered one last stiff nod before opening the door and sliding back into the hallway.

"Oh, Uncle? Can I, uh—can you get me a ride back to the hotel?"

Southern Water Tribe folk appeared to be late sleepers because no one had awoken by the time Zuko slipped back into the room at midmorning. He took his time to shower and change into his new clothing. By the time he was ready, everyone else had just begun to yawn and stretch.

He spent most of the day following the family around as they wandered busy, garbage-strewn streets. They had met up with Sokka outside the hotel and decided it would be a day to take in the 'touristy stuff'—which really just amounted to a lot of walking and pointing at things.

There was a quick breakfast in a restaurant near the hotel–Zuko simply argued that he wasn't hungry when asked why he didn't eat. It wasn't entirely untrue, given his meal that morning, but they didn't need to know that the tightness in his chest wouldn't allow him to swallow more food if he tried.

The family left him mostly to his thoughts, which was both a good and a bad thing. On the one hand, he didn't have to pretend to be some other person. On the other hand, the last thing he needed was to be alone with his decidedly unsafe thoughts.

Here he was, slowly losing his mind, following Katara and her family around like some kind of lost koala sheep, when he was supposed to be looking for answers.

But what else could he do?

For so many years, he had been driven by a single-minded determination to hunt the Avatar. He'd had a purpose. How was he supposed to know what answers to find now that he had no north star? He was reasonably sure that Roku and Sozin were dead here, so asking them was not an option. But what would he even ask? It wasn't the first time Zuko had wondered, and the desperation was beginning to mount.

What would Uncle say? His Uncle, not TranquiliTea Uncle. Though, he imagined TranquiliTea Uncle would have equally cryptic wisdom.

The path that reveals itself to you is the path you are meant to take. Do not fight the current, Prince Zuko. Let it carry you, and eventually, you will reach the ocean.

Had Uncle ever even said that? What was the ocean in this situation?

Just go with the flow, Zuko.

The gears of his mind ground to a screeching halt at the uncomfortable familiarity of that second voice. It floated again to his awareness from a few paces ahead of him, saying, "That's great, Sokka," in response to her brother's impassioned diatribe about 'internet fanboys' refusal to accept a female superhero.'

He wasn't going to bother trying to piece that one together.

Despite her apparent disinterest in whatever Sokka was saying, there was an undeniable softness to her good-natured smile and the hand that patted his back sympathetically. The gesture held an easy companionship—one he didn't see in Katara's stilted interactions with her parents—that gave way to a closeness to which she was likely accustomed. One Zuko would never quite grasp.

Hakoda and Kya strolled hand-in-hand next to him, absorbed in a conversation about the merits of bike travel. They had asked his opinion on the subject at some point during his reverie, and he had responded with what he thought was an appropriate answer—that he preferred ostrich horses. That had gotten a raucous laugh out of Kya, though he wasn't sure why.

The more time he spent with them, the more persistent the pressure on his chest became. But there was something else unnameable there, too, watching Katara turn at the sound of her mother's voice. She could tell him all that she wanted about his selfish reasons for letting this go on—and, well, she wouldn't be wrong. But Katara needed this.

And some part of him, he knew, wanted this for her.

Her parents would be leaving tomorrow, which meant that Zuko would be sent to see his own not-dead mother. Katara had told him that morning that she had arranged for Ursa to pick them up outside the hotel at around the same time her parents would be leaving. Ever since, he had occupied himself with pointedly filling his head with thoughts of anything else, but the effort was futile.

Several times throughout the day, he considered asking Katara just how she managed to handle seeing her mother and acting…somewhat sane. But every time he found himself drifting closer to her, he remembered what had happened when he woke up that morning. So he stayed at the back of the group, avoiding her glances his way.

But of course, the more he avoided her, the more glances he received from Hakoda. Those were significantly less welcome. But it was a crude reminder of the exchange they had the day before, and Zuko remembered that no matter what his feelings toward Mai were, he did have a role to play…for now.

So it was mid-afternoon during a tour through the second art museum of the day that Zuko sidled over to Katara and snaked his arm around her waist. She jumped and attempted to pull away, but he tightened his grip and steered her ahead–just out of hearing range of the watchful Hakoda.

"Zuko, are you in there? Come back," she whispered, blue eyes frantic as she searched his face.

"It's me," he said, glancing away from her to look at the painting of a lighthouse—so those exist here, too—in front of which they stood.

"Your dad thinks I'm cheating on you."

Katara ducked out of his grasp, whirling on him. "He what?"

Zuko shot her his best pleading look, glancing pointedly in the direction of her family before slowly wrapping his arm back around her—the shoulders, this time. Baby steps. "It's a long story. But I was thinking a bit more about your theory. Wouldn't it make sense for us to–uh, break up? If we're not supposed to be 'immersing' ourselves, I mean."

There was a long pause while she seemed to contemplate his words, chewing her lip and scrutinizing the lighthouse painting in a way that made it clear she wasn't really looking at the picture. After a moment, she sighed and relaxed into his side. An odd burning sensation licked up his stomach then, the heat radiating up into his chest—hopefully, his inner fire kindling just a bit brighter than it had in recent days.

"Zuko, look how badly we've messed up these people's lives already," she said without glancing at him. "As much as I like that line of thinking, we can't keep adding things to the list."

It wasn't a particularly shocking response, given that it was evidently in Katara's nature to think about other people, not herself. It was one of the many things he was coming to admire about her. In truth, he'd mostly suggested it as a means to control his confused thoughts of late—the inexplicable need to please her that had prickled in the crown of his head for days; the ones he had a sneaking suspicion could not be blamed entirely on the slips.

When Zuko didn't respond right away, she added, "Plus, we've been 'together' this entire time, and I haven't had a slip yet. Don't you think I would have by now?"

He hadn't considered that. But that could also just mean Katara's theory about the slips was incorrect—a thought he would rather not have ruminated on for too long. "So for now, we should just…keep pretending?"

Her nod was resolute. "For their sake, yes."

There it was again. Zuko opened his mouth to ask her how she felt about it, but they were interrupted before he had the chance.

"So, we have a little bit of a surprise for you," Kya said, appearing with Hakoda at Zuko's right shoulder. "And we almost canceled it, but figured that in light of what's going on, you both need a distraction."

Under his arm, Katara stiffened.

Hakoda shot his daughter a toothy grin. "We have tickets for the five of us to take a sunset sail around Qiuling."

Quiling. It was one of the names Uncle had given Zuko for the different boroughs of Da Ping Guo—the one in which he and Katara lived. Sunset sail?

"It had great reviews online. We'll get a fantastic view of the skyline; there will be hor d'oeuvres—"

Sokka, who had wandered over from a sculpture of what looked like a giant feather, cut in. "Sunset cruise with the parents, eh? Sounds pretty bougie."

Hakoda clapped him on the shoulder. "There's an open bar, too."

Sokka's smirk was devious. "Say no more."

Before Zuko knew it, he was sitting in the back of another vehicle—this one mercifully more spacious than the one from the previous night—weaving through countless streets in the shadows of infinite imposing buildings. Next to him, Katara sat rigidly, her eyes glassy and fixed on the front window.

Zuko eyed her hands folded in her lap, and his own hand twitched as he wondered briefly if he should take one of hers in it. Isn't that what couples did?

He swallowed dryly—the tightness in his chest now a stranglehold on his throat—before losing his nerve and channeling his thoughts toward the passing scenery outside.

They arrived at a set of docks arranged in a square around a broad promenade, creating a marina not entirely different from that of the one in Caldera, if much smaller—but that was where the similarities ended. The sleek sailing vessels of varying sizes that lined said marina were a different story, and somehow Zuko didn't think his royal sailing education would have prepared him to pilot a single one of them.

Sunset sail. Sailing at sunset. Right.

The boat that Kya let them to, the Jianshui, was among the largest of them all. It was white-bodied and sailed, with polished dark wood finishings on the deck. Zuko's inner sailor had a brief, indulgent moment of giddiness at the sight.

A woman stood near the dock with a cluster of bound parchment. A small line of presumed passengers had formed in front of her. Kya provided the family name when they reached the front of it, and they were given brief safety instructions to which Zuko admittedly paid no attention.

The moment he stepped aboard, a smiling man in a blindingly white sailing uniform handed him a flute of foaming yellow liquid. An experimental sniff filled his nose with the soured fruit scent that he associated with some of the palace's finer wines. Though, the palace wines didn't bubble and fizz—was it boiling? To his right, Katara eyed her own glass suspiciously.

"Champagne! Ma, you've really outdone yourself with this one," Sokka said, downing the entire drink in one gulp as he brushed past Katara to venture further onto the deck, now slowly filling with other patrons. Kya rolled her eyes and offered the bemused server an apologetic smile as she accepted a glass, evidently making a point of taking a dainty sip.

Zuko and Katara turned simultaneously to meet each other's eye, her shoulders lifting in a small shrug before she brought the glass to her lips. She blinked a few times, then took a second sip. "This is good."

It was all the encouragement Zuko needed, and he found himself agreeing wholeheartedly when the drink—like liquid gold—hit his tongue. Mid-sip, he became painfully aware of Hakoda's gaze on his back, and the sip became a swig. It burned down his throat and settled warmly into his belly, and before he could give himself time to think about his actions, he was finishing off the drink and taking a second one from the waiting hand of the champagne server. Katara raised an eyebrow at him over her mostly-full flute, her eyes sparkling, not unlike the drink in her hand. Then she turned to pick her way to the other side of the deck where Sokka sat, animatedly chatting to a girl with cropped russet hair.

As he downed his second glass of champagne and felt the beginnings of a tingle in his fingers, Zuko decided this would be his only chance of getting through the evening. He risked one glance at Hakoda, who had struck up a conversation with the boat's captain, before following Katara to the end of the deck.

By the time the boat had launched and set off at a glacial southerly pace, Zuko was finishing off his fourth drink. His view of the city widened as they pushed further out onto the river, and watching the skyline expand, he realized that Quiling was, in fact, an island. They were stuck…on an island.

Comforting.

Until that point, he had carefully avoided Katara and the rest of her family. But as gold seeped into his bloodstream and the city lights in the distance began to blur at the corners, he found his gaze wandering.

Katara's back was to him as she stood at a railing overlooking the mass of illuminated buildings in the distance, sipping her champagne as she watched her mother next to her with rapt attention. The sun was properly setting now, and it cast its golden hues over her long hair, revealing a sparkling copper tone woven into its dark waves. Her skin glowed, made even more ethereal by the yellow dress that hugged her curves—

Zuko squeezed his eyes shut against his treacherous thoughts, unsure if they were a result of the alcohol or…the other thing. He didn't even want to attempt to imagine that it was both.

He tore his eyes away and made his way toward the back of the boat to the bar, taking another glass of champagne without hesitation.

A scan of the deck saw Sokka still chatting to the girl he'd cornered at the start of the voyage, his arms flailing about as he was beginning to notice was typical when he was in the midst of a dramatic story. The girl's hand covered her mouth to tamp down on her laughter.

Another brief look toward Hakoda—now inspecting the boom on the mainsail—and Zuko's feet were moving, the pleasant buzz coursing up through his limbs giving him the courage he needed to totter up to Katara's side.

"Hey," he said, leaning just a bit too heavily on the railing.

On Katara's other side, Kya bit her lip, and there was laughter in her voice when she spoke. "Having fun, Zuko?"

He looked between Katara—now also watching him with open amusement—and her mother and blinked. The alcohol did nothing to quell his bewilderment at their uncanniness, especially now that his lack of meals that day was beginning to catch up to him. He felt his head bob up and down and couldn't decide if the lazy smile that stretched his face was voluntary.

Kya chuckled and turned her attention back to Katara. "I'm going to see if I can tear your dad away from his new wife." She squeezed her arm and turned to stroll over to where Hakoda still stood, admiring the mainsail.

Katara watched her mom leave before swiveling back to look out at the skyline beyond, the breeze ruffling the hair around her face as she took a rather large sip of her champagne. "It's a lot more daunting from this distance, isn't it?"

Daunting was an understatement—he could still hear the city from out here.

Zuko grunted his acknowledgment but didn't tear his gaze away from the girl next to him. The humor that sparked in her eyes was gone, replaced by a sadness that was quickly becoming familiar to him. There was a dullness there, a cloud passing over blue sky.

He watched her for a moment longer before taking a final gulp of champagne and bending to place his empty glass on the deck. Katara's eyes flicked to his movements, and when he straightened, she too downed the rest of her drink before setting the glass down and shifting her attention back to the view in front of them.

The boat rocked under their feet, Zuko's mind swaying to it with his body. Another breath and he haltingly covered her hand on the railing with his.

She jolted under the touch, the tendons in her hand stretching taut as she turned again to search his face like she had done in the museum earlier. But whatever she saw there made her pause, and she bit her lip before stepping closer.

The gesture invited him—an invisible threshold she beckoned him across. So he removed his hand from hers on the railing in favor of enfolding her into his arms, her face pressing to the thin fabric of the shirt covering his chest.

He didn't know if it was the buzz, or the scent of her hair or the feeling of her body pressed to his, but something in him drifted away, down the river, at that moment. And she was really, really beautiful and she was kind and she was stubborn and she was his—

Breathe.

He breathed, and suddenly his senses were overwhelmed by her. And he didn't care anymore.

Maybe Katara didn't either, because slim arms disengaged themselves from where they were pinned between their bodies and ever-so-slowly snaked themselves around his waist. She didn't protest when his lips found her forehead.

Behind them, the sun blazed a path toward the river.

Under the thin sheets of the rollaway bed that night, Katara let her hazy mind drift.

The night's excitement had long since worn off, leaving behind only sluggish limbs and a lightheadedness that was not enough to quell her racing thoughts.

Sunset. It had been a fitting end to all of this. But of course, it wasn't really the end. She still had to wake up tomorrow and say goodbye to her mother again.

Though there wasn't a chance for goodbye the first time, was there?

There would be no final morning meditation on the ice, no arctic hippo stew for breakfast. No last ghost story around the cookfire. Just fizzy alcohol and finger food in a life that was not her own. Needless frivolity—that was not now she would have spent a final day with her real mother.

But her real mother was gone for good, and the next day this one would be, too. Then it was back to work.

And then there was Zuko, an arm's length away, somewhere in the darkness. Zuko, who was the blood of the very reason her family was torn apart. Zuko, who—in another life—was considered a part of that family.

Zuko, who played his role rather wonderfully that day. Zuko, who spent the better part of his evening leaving trails of fire on her skin. Zuko, whose gentle touches she couldn't possibly justify missing.

There were a lot of things about him she couldn't justify. Why did she find herself suddenly trying to?

Maybe she didn't need to justify anything. Maybe she was all alone here without him. Maybe, despite his moodiness and unpredictability, he had been a companion to her through all of this. Maybe she was just a little bit worried about him.

She didn't know what compelled her to do it, but she found herself patting around the mattress in the dark. Her hand found Zuko's forearm, the fine hairs of it raising at her touch. "Hey, are you awake?"

A pause. "Yeah."

He didn't sound very awake, but Katara pressed on. "How do you feel about tomorrow?"

She could just make out his even breathing in the stretch of space between them. "Terrified."

"Me, too," she whispered, half to herself.

There was another pause, this time much longer, before Zuko's arm disappeared from under her fingers. The mattress moved, and she had been about to ask what he was doing when he shifted his weight and scooted closer to her. Tentatively, she turned to face him, and then there were only a few inches between them, his warm puffs of champagne-scented breath dusting her face.

They stayed like that, unmoving, for several minutes, until Zuko spoke again quietly. "How do you do it?" The strip of light seeping in from the curtains illuminated one eye, honey in the dimness, as it watched her.

"Do what?"

He lifted one arm and gestured toward the bed above them, where soft snores rang out across the small room. "…All of this."

He didn't need to elaborate any further. Katara had wondered it herself; when this cool detachment had begun to eclipse everything else, the closer her parents' departure loomed. Why she had trouble feeling anything at all when she had never had a problem with it before. "It's almost like I'm watching myself from outside my body. Like I'm playing the part of their daughter."

A dark brow pulled down over the eye that could see. "But you are their daughter."

She ignored the ache behind her ribcage. No. She was a daughter of the Southern Water Tribe.

"Not the one they know."

He scrutinized her for a moment before sighing and turning onto his back to stare at the ceiling.

"I don't know if I'll be able to do that."

Right. Tomorrow was a big day for Zuko, too. "What's that, exactly?"

"…Pretend. I didn't last two days with my uncle. I don't know how I'd—I can't do it. Not with her."

It occurred to Katara then that Zuko probably wasn't very good at pretending, from what she had gathered about him so far. She didn't want to begin to think about the implications of that regarding their earlier activities.

"Are you saying we should tell her?"

"No!" he said quickly, and Katara surged forward to clamp her hand over his mouth, but in the darkness, the heel of her palm landed in his eye. His indignant squawk was tempered by Katara's shushing sounds. For a moment, neither of them moved, but the sounds of sleep coming from the other bed did not let up.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, pulling the hand from where it hovered over his face. She didn't miss when he flinched away from it, almost as if she'd burned—

Oh.

Before her mind could catch up with her actions, she reached between them and laced her fingers with his, squeezing gently. To her surprise, he gave her a small squeeze in return. She took it as an encouragement to say the next thing on her mind.

"Zuko. You said once that the Fire Nation took your mother away from you. You don't have to tell me, but I—"

"She disappeared. I think she killed my grandfather to save me, though there isn't any proof of that. She was gone before I ever found out if it was true, and of course, my dad was never going to tell me."

Katara blinked. He'd spoken so quickly she nearly missed it. Killed his grandfather to save him? From what?

About a hundred different questions lingered like bile at the back of Katara's throat. There was tension rolling off of him in waves, though, so perhaps it was best to stick only to the most crucial question.

"Do you think she's still alive?"

The sound of shifting fabric. A shrug, maybe. "I've thought about going to look for her."

Though she was fairly sure she knew the answer, she asked anyway. "Why haven't you?"

A breathy, humorless laugh. "I was a little preoccupied."

The silence was thick after that, hanging in the air like an icicle waiting to pierce them. Katara wasn't ready to broach this topic with him again—not when they were already on uneven ground.

But then Zuko was speaking again, so quietly she had to lean closer to hear.

"When she said goodbye to me…I didn't know it was goodbye. If I had…"

The ache in her chest deepened and clawed its way downward, her stomach churning with it. His words from months ago flooded every corner of her senses. That's something we have in common.

It was more true than she could have possibly imagined.

"Maybe this is your chance. To say goodbye, I mean," Katara said finally, gripping his fingers like a vice.

He was silent for a long time after that. So long, in fact, that she was sure he was asleep when she took a shaky breath and spoke her next words.

"My mother was killed in a raid. I…I couldn't get help in time. When my dad and I got home, she was–she…" she trailed off, and the sound of her other mother's deep breathing from somewhere to her left was suddenly deafening. So much so that she didn't hear when a very-much-still-awake Zuko started speaking.

"Katara." A light touch to her shoulder. He sounded distorted, far away. "Katara, I'm so sorry." Cool, scratchy fabric pressed to her face. It took her several seconds to realize that she was crying and that the material belonged to the bedsheets as Zuko used them to wipe the wetness from her cheeks.

Somehow, that made it worse, and she had to press her face into the pillow to stifle a sob. The hand on her shoulder rubbed down her arm soothingly.

"I'm probably the last person who should be telling you this, but I think you need to allow yourself to feel this tomorrow."

Katara shot the undefined lump in the dark—blurry through her unshed tears—an incredulous glare.

He sighed despite not having been able to see her. "When your parents leave. Don't play the part."

You don't know what you're talking about, was, of course, the knee-jerk reaction. But Katara was beginning to come around to the idea that maybe he did know what he was talking about.

Maybe Zuko was a child when her mother was killed—when his own mother was taken from him.

Katara clamped down on that last thought, feeling exhaustion begin to overtake her. So she left him with the other question that had haunted her for the previous few days.

"Is your sister going to try to murder me in my sleep?"

Zuko huffed, removing his hand from her arm and shifting away from her. She told herself she didn't miss his heat. "I wish I knew."

Just before she slipped into unconsciousness, she realized that he hadn't been joking.

The morning brought a chill that had nothing to do with temperature. Katara wearily looked on as Hakoda packed large bags with his and Kya's belongings. Zuko had taken off in a rush early, stammering something about needing to 'see something'. Katara had a sneaking suspicion that this was another attempt to get her alone with her parents.

Sokka had said his goodbyes the night before, so she had well and truly been thrown to the tiger sharks.

But there wasn't enough time in the world for her to say all that she needed to say, to feel all that she needed to feel. So she watched her family prepare to leave her in silence, laughing when she needed to at her dad's cheesy jokes or her mom's dry sarcasm; provided monosyllabic answers when questioned about Iroh's progress on the insurance claim. The casualness of it all was a noose around her neck that only tightened as the clock ticked the minutes away.

When the time finally arrived, Katara stood in front of the hotel while Kya and Hakoda deposited their bags into a car that would be taking them 'to the airport'. Every other thought swimming in her mind at that moment dulled her curiosity at what that phrasing implied.

She felt Zuko's eyes on the back of her head from where he stood a few feet behind her when her parents finished loading the vehicle. Now or never, she imagined him whispering.

"I'll text you when we land," said Kya, pulling her into a tight embrace.

Katara squeezed her eyes shut. "Sounds good," she heard herself whisper.

When the contact was broken, something in her broke, too. And suddenly, she really, really wanted to smash something. When Hakoda handed her a slip of parchment and said, "I will hound you until you cash this. Just accept it," the onslaught of rage nearly blinded her.

This was the last time she would ever see her mother—maybe her father, too. This wasn't right.

Katara nodded, jaw clenched, and returned Hakoda's hug stiffly. Zuko stumbled his way through a goodbye to each of them, and then they were climbing into the back of the waiting vehicle.

With a final wave and blow of a kiss, the car rolled away, and they were gone.

And Katara was given no time to ruminate on any of it or calm down, for that matter, because when she whirled on Zuko, he had gone stock still, wide eyes fixed on a spot just down the road from where they stood in front of the hotel. Right on time.

She followed his gaze to where a woman sat in the front of another car—this one rather large, rather loud, and rather rusted. The woman looked up when she felt their stares and smiled.

Katara couldn't help the tiny gasp that escaped her. Ursa was beautiful. Even in her dirt-smudged clothes with her mussed-up hair, she was every bit as regal as one might expect from Fire Nation royalty. Now she was beckoning them forward, and Katara's feet were moving of their own accord—like a moth drawn to a flame.

She didn't know what she had expected Zuko to do next, but it wasn't fling his packages of new clothing to the side, run ahead of her at full speed, nearly tear the door off the side of the car, and knock the wind out of his mother with the fierceness of his embrace.

"Zuko!" she wheezed, her surprised tone colored with concern as she shot Katara a questioning look over his shoulder. Katara could only manage a shrug in response.

"Now you're all dirty," Ursa said, petting his hair. The words were reprimanding, but she was chuckling as she spoke. "Hop in. I've got the AC cranked to full blast." Zuko seemed incapable of forming words but reluctantly pulled away from her to move to the other side of the vehicle.

"Sorry about the mess," she said kindly, gesturing toward behind Katara, where a large storage bed stretched out at the back of the vehicle—that was new—filled to the brim with sacks of soil. "I had to stop at Midori on my way into the city."

Zuko, sitting in the front next to Ursa, had maintained a frustrating silence. So Katara forced a smile and nodded. "That's alright."

Ursa either sensed the strange mood or shared her son's more reserved tendencies because the ride consisted only of her infrequent quiet questions, followed by Zuko's even quieter answers, followed by long stretches of more silence. But it wasn't an uncomfortable silence—Ursa's serene confidence was a welcome veil blanketing the space.

When Zuko did speak, there was a softness in his voice that Katara had never imagined him capable of producing.

But she stopped paying attention to any of that when they crossed one of the many bridges over the river they'd sailed the night before, leaving Da Ping Guo far behind them. In its place, the further away they traveled, were tranquil tree-lined roads and houses not entirely unlike those she had seen on her travels through small Earth Kingdom towns. The territory was by no means familiar, but something about the atmosphere put Katara's mind just a bit more at ease than it had been during their time in the city.

She didn't know how long they had been driving when the vehicle slowed and turned onto a path that led to a house of creamy wood and brick. The path was lined with flowers and shrubbery to a scarlet front door, on which a wreath of more flowers hung.

Ursa helped carry all of their new clothes inside, apologizing the whole way if anything was dirty after touching her soil-caked overalls.

"I have to run back to the garden center to drop off the soil, but feel free to make yourselves at home while I'm gone. Bedroom's at the end of the hall upstairs," she called over her shoulder, already walking back toward the car. "Azula's staying at her friend's place in the city tonight, but she'll be back tomorrow."

She offered them one last sympathetic smile. "We're really happy to have you here, for what it's worth." Then she was revving the car's deafening engine and backing out onto the street.

Katara closed the front door and made for the carpeted stairs in front of it right away. There would surely be time for a tour of the house when Ursa returned, and she needed a moment to clear her head. Zuko followed her silently, and it was easy to guess that his line of thinking was similar.

At the top of the stairs was a bright yellow-painted hallway lined with framed paintings—no, photos?—of a smiling Zuko and his sister. Katara paused briefly, decided that no, she was most definitely not in the mood for Zuko's memory lane, and continued along the hall to where Ursa said the bedroom would be. She dropped her bags unceremoniously to the floor and scanned the small, sunlit room. One bed, as she feared. And no futon.

She turned to give Zuko the bad news but hesitated at the look on his face as he examined one particular photo of him, Azula, and Ursa. A recent photo, from the looks of it. He scrutinized it for what felt like several minutes before Katara sighed and tentatively stepped toward him.

"You okay?" She placed a hand on his shoulder, stiff and coiled to spring.

Zuko turned to her slowly. "Katara…"

He paused, pinching the bridge of his nose. She gave his shoulder an encouraging squeeze.

"Katara," he tried again. "I know you don't owe me anything, but I need you to do me a favor."

She couldn't help raising her eyebrow a bit at that, but the look he was giving her—like a lost little boy—was enough for her to offer him a curt nod.

He spoke lowly, desperately. "I…I can't ask because I'm supposed to know. But I don't know. And I have to know. And you—or, other you, might not know. It would only make sense for you to ask."

"…I don't understand."

He ran a hand roughly through his hair, turning to stare once more at the picture. "I need you to find out why my dad isn't…around."

And while a large part of her didn't want to know about the Fire Lord's family history, something about this felt vitally important. So it only took her a moment's hesitation to respond with a confident, "I will."

AN: I hope that was worth the wait, friends. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for all of the kind words on the last chapter. The comments are such a wonderful encouragement to keep writing. I'd love to hear your thoughts on this one!

(Also, yes, Katara did not refer to any cars as 'death machines' in this chapter. Didn't quite fit the tone, eh?)