The next morning she wakes up in an empty bed, and when she gets up to go to the kitchen she sees Zuko sitting there with his head in his hands, a cup of coffee in between them. His hair is a complete mess and he's in the same rumpled clothing as last night.
"Zuko?" she whispers.
She can't see his face— when he unveils it it's an absolute mess. The scarred side of his face is clear, but the other has a bloodshot eye and tear tracks rolling down his cheeks. He doesn't make eye contact with her, or speak at first. He just reaches for her arm and pulls her into him, against the counter.
He is unfairly warm, almost moist, and he smells a little bit like alcohol and something smoky, like his natural scent has been emphasized by a fire and something sharp. The scent penetrates her nostrils, but it doesn't make her want to pull away at all. He holds her tightly in the morning light in a way that's intimate, that seems like something that usually takes place at night.
The way he presses himself into her, as though he's comforting her, as though he's ensuring that she's real, almost hurts her. She finds herself trying to find a way for them to get closer through their clothes, pressing their limbs to each other, all the crevices and parts of each other which matter. And then suddenly they're both not holding each other up— they're on the ground, falling apart onto each other.
She's crying. He's crying. They are a mess of tears, and it isn't beautiful. This isn't beautiful. It's early in the morning and the room smells like coffee and salty tears, and they smell each other's skin, and they are limbs in a wet mess.
"I thought you were going to get better, Kat. I thought we were trying."
"I . . ."
"I notice, you know?" he chokes out. "I notice the trash. I notice everything about you. I thought it would happen. I didn't know it was going to get this bad."
"I want to get better," she says into his neck, suddenly, inexplicably. "I really do."
"You're so beautiful, Kat. The way you are. And it's you, you know. It's always been you. I don't know why you could ever think it wasn't you."
"There's like a monster in my mind," she whispers. "It doesn't let me think about stuff like that. It doesn't . . . it just makes me feel sick. And not okay."
When he puts his fingers down, next to her, against her stomach, she realizes how cleanly she can feel her own ribs.
"I love you," he says, in a way that sounds strangely, strangely broken. "Am I the problem? I . . . if it's because of me, and I'm just— if I'm not able to help."
Katara's heart is so close to breaking in two. "No, oh my spirits no," she tells him, pressing his head into her neck, trying to take all of him up and envelop him in her, ignoring the size of his body. "Please, no. No, no, no. It's not you."
"Do you think we can try?" he asks, and the way he says we calms her, because she's suddenly realizing just how scared she once was, how absolutely terrified she was of losing Zuko because she wasn't pretty enough. She's starting to realize that she's been feeling that way lately too, like Zuko can't keep up with her and this broken self she knows she is.
She wonders what she's been putting him through, this whole struggle. She finds a way to clutch him closer. "Yeah. We can try. I'm going to try. I'm going to be able to do it."
And it's not because of his words, it's because of her— she needs to try for herself. "I love you," he says again, loudly. "I love you so much. And last night I thought I'd lost you. You should check your phone, too, because Sokka is really worried and— I can't lose you, Kat," he murmurs. "I can't—"
The alcohol on his breath feels so much more familiar to her now. She remembers stories about his oppressive upbringing and his father, the one who's now in jail, the way he'd told her he'd tried to lose himself. "You can," she breathes into him. "We both can. Together. We can do this. I'm right here."
Some part of herself, that monster, gets placed somewhere else, somewhere inside but hidden, somewhere under lock and key.
"I can't lose you. Not like . . . I can't lose you. I don't know what I'd do."
"You're not going to lose me. I'm okay. We're . . ." she looks at the clock. "We're going to be fine."
He bites his lip. "Is it okay if I work from home for a little while?"
"Do you think you can handle that?"
"I want to stay here," he says. "Sokka was telling me about your dad's projects back home, and I'm thinking I can assist from here too. And that way I'll be here when you come home."
She almost frowns a little. "Do you think we might be too much?"
"I don't think we can be," he tells her. "But if I'm too much, tell me. I don't want to be."
Zuko loves very much, very hard, and she knows he hasn't been able to show that to many people, but it's such an important part of him.
Katara picks herself up, off the ground, slowly. Zuko soon follows, and they start a slow shuffle to their room, and then the bathroom, knowing exactly what they have to do. In the meantime, Katara grabs her phone and calls Sokka, and asks him to come over later tonight.
They have a lot to do. Their relationship has stood through a lot, and it has a lot to continue through. But at the end of it, Katara has Zuko, and Zuko has Katara. It might take time, she thinks, but it will be alright.