Clarity

Zuko hasn't been awake for this long since before Kentaro's attack.

He isn't sure that he likes it.

It isn't that he's not grateful to feel so much better, to be strong enough to keep his eyes open for hours at a time. It isn't that seeing the sunlight isn't refreshing, even though he's still too weak to reach it.

But his thoughts feel crowded, and he can't find any way to escape them. All the things he used to do when his thoughts got too noisy—firebending practice, work, breaking into places where he isn't meant to be—are impossible now. And although he could probably attempt to meditate in this state, he's never been much good at that either. How is he supposed to clear his thoughts? That's what he wants the meditation to do for him.

Pressing his eyes shut, he does his best to slow his thoughts instead.

Katara knows now. She knows that he remembers her, that her disguise has failed, and he can only assume that this is the end. She won't be coming back for him anymore. They're enemies again. From her perspective, at least.

Zuko almost wishes that he'd kept quiet last night. If he hadn't said anything at all, then maybe she would have taken another chance on him. Maybe if Zuko had kept pretending not to know her, the generosity, the kindness that she's shown might have held out a little longer.

Or maybe she would have left him anyway. Maybe she would have fled into the night, and Zuko would still be here, and he would never have gotten his chance to apologize. Maybe he would be alone and wracked with guilt.

He can't imagine liking that any better.

He tries to slow his breathing. It isn't quite meditation, but it might help all the same. There isn't much else that he can do.

If he wants to survive, then he'll have to get out of this cave somehow. Of course he's still too weak, and it still hurts terribly when he tries to move, but he has food and water to last another few days. Even without any further healing sessions, he might improve a bit more in that time. And if he's near enough to Shusoku, he might be able to drag himself part of the way back. Close enough that someone might find him.

And once he's there—if he makes it back to the village, he still can't count on anything. Maybe they'll take pity on him and make sure that he doesn't starve for a while. They might feel some small measure of gratitude for his efforts at bringing the village back to life and try to help him in return. Even though most of the progress was Katara's doing, they might still try to help him. And considering the fact that he can feel his legs again, it doesn't seem impossible that he might someday be able to stand.

Even if it's difficult. Even if it hurts.

He might not be useless forever.

Or maybe they'll leave him to die instead. Maybe he's more trouble than he's worth.

Or worse. Maybe they'll send word to Father. Maybe they'll say that Zuko is badly hurt, and that someone needs to fetch him back from Shusoku. Maybe Zuko will have to see Father like this and watch the contempt grow in his eyes until Father finally decides to rid himself of this new burden.

His stomach sours, and he tries to clench his fists, but his hands only shake. There's no use in thinking like this. He's alone, and for the next few days, all he will be able to do is eat, drink, and sleep until a fraction of his strength returns. And when it does, the village will be his only choice. He'll do his best to take along any supplies he has left and drag himself as far as he can.

It's the best he can do. The only thing he can do.

What happens after that isn't up to him.

He just wishes that he could fall asleep now to push the worries out of his mind. He needs the rest, and all this wondering is only making things worse.

But when he closes his eyes, he thinks that he hears footsteps outside. His heart lurches inside his chest, and when he manages to raise his head, he sees her.

Katara looks different than he's ever seen her before—than both her spirit disguise and the Water Tribe girl he's come to recognize over the months since he crashed his ship into the South Pole. She wears simple Fire Nation silks, and though her hair is pulled into its usual knot at the base of her skull, the rest hangs loose in thick, smooth curls.

His breath catches, and he pushes himself up onto his elbows. It hurts, and he probably looks absurd, but instinct tells him that he ought to stand for her. Right now, this is the nearest he can get.

"Don't try anything," she warns sharply, hanging well back from the mouth of the cave.

Zuko grimaces. "I think you and I both know that there's nothing I could try."

That must be the wrong thing to say. Katara crosses her arms and juts out her chin. "You know what I mean."

He thinks he does, but there still isn't anything that he can do. Even keeping himself propped up is almost too much.

She presses her mouth into a thin line and looks away for a second. Then, "How long have you known?"

He hesitates. He thinks he knows the answer she's looking for, but he doesn't dare risk saying the wrong thing. She's near enough to leaving him already.

"How long have I known what?"

"Who I am."

It's exactly the question he expects, but that doesn't make it any easier to answer. He swallows. "Two days."

She makes a small, anguished noise and presses her head between her hands like she's trying to squeeze out the words she doesn't want to hear. "When? When exactly did you figure it out?"

"It was—your hat fell off the night that I tried to move my legs for the first time. I recognized you then. But my head was just—I couldn't think when it happened. I didn't remember your name until the next morning."

"So why didn't you say anything?"

There is a curious mixture of rage and hurt rolling off of her in waves. One that feels all too familiar to Zuko. One that reminds him of nothing so much as himself. At least of himself in the past, when he still had the strength and the energy to spare on anger.

"I thought that was what you wanted." His voice is raw, and it's getting harder to keep himself propped up. "You were trying so hard to hide who you were—I thought it was better if I left things alone."

"I didn't want to be lied to." She's quieter than before—so quiet that her words are nearly lost in the stillness between them.

"Neither did I."

Katara pauses a moment, brows drawn tight. "What do you want, Zuko? Why are you even here? Wasn't the whole point of turning against us in Ba Sing Se so that you could go home to your big fancy castle and live like—" a strangled, humorless laugh. "—like a prince?"

Zuko wishes he could find it in himself to at least smile. This whole experience might hurt less if one of them could acknowledge her attempted joke for what it is.

"I thought it was. I thought I could just go home, and my life would go back to the way it used to be. In the three years I was gone—I guess I forgot what my father was like." He can't bring himself to meet her eyes anymore. He knows that's a lie. Zuko never forgot what Father was like. He never forgot what Father thought of him. He just hoped that it would be different. He hoped that he'd finally done enough to prove himself.

He swallows hard and fixes his eyes on a crooked branch in the distance behind Katara. "I was only home for a few weeks when my father sent me away again. Shusoku is as far from the palace as I could go without leaving the Fire Nation." He has to pause to settle the burning in his throat. He's known all this for a while, but it's harder to say it than he ever could have guessed. "I'm as good as banished again. All because I had the audacity to come home."

Katara edges just a little closer. "But why here?"

Zuko shakes his head. "It was all lies. He said that there was a rebellion out here. He told me to deal with it. On my own. Without any money or supplies." He has to pause to steady his voice. It still hurts, even after all this time. "Of course there wasn't any rebellion, just a lot of people starving. I did everything I could to help them. For all I know, they might have killed me if I hadn't." He frowns. "Maybe that's what my father wanted."

There is a long pause, and either Katara is beginning to falter or Zuko's arms are, because everything starts to look wavery and uncertain around the edges. He blinks hard to keep the world in focus.

"Why are you here? Isn't the Fire Nation a little dangerous for you?"

Her icy gaze pierces straight through him. "So far, it's been a lot safer for me than it has been for you." A pause. "I'm here, okay? That's all I'm going to tell you. I just am. And right now, my friends are somewhere else."

"You didn't have to help Shusoku," he points out. "They aren't your people. You—" his voice falters, and when the world begins to blur this time, he knows that it's his strength failing. "You didn't—"

"Oh, for spirits' sake." Katara uncorks the waterskin at her hip, and a thick tendril of water pushes against his shoulder, knocking him down. "Stop being stubborn and just lie down."

He lands with a painful jolt and lies breathless for a moment, vision swimming with dark spots. She could have just asked him to lie down. Zuko would have listened. Probably. Maybe.

Maybe not.

When his vision clears again, he finds Katara closer, leaning against the mouth of the cave, her face half shadowed. She won't look at him, and she keeps her arms wrapped tight around herself. "Why did you do this? You could have let me get hurt instead. That would have made more sense."

Zuko inhales shakily. "Yeah, well—thinking things through has never been my strong suit."

She scoffs and shoots a sideways glance at him. "I figured that out a while ago, thanks. Of course, I always thought that I was good at thinking things through." She turns to face him, then closes her eyes, head resting against the rock beside her. "Then this happened."

He isn't sure what to say to that. He isn't sure she wants him to say anything at all.

Sure enough, after a long silence, she opens her eyes and resumes. "Do you know who that was? The man who tried to attack me?"

He nods faintly.

"Who?"

"It was Kentaro Bumu. He's—he was kind of a legend in the Fire Nation. An assassin who specialized in hunting down people who were supposed to be untouchable. Mostly nobility."

"And why was he after me?"

He hears Azula's voice echoing through his head. I've done you the greatest favor anyone will ever do. Make it worth my while. He wonders if Azula would be pleased to see him like this. Is this worth her while? "I think my sister must have hired him to kill the Avatar."

A flicker of anger crosses her face, and as quickly as it appears, it is replaced by confusion. "Then why come after me? I don't exactly look like Aang. Especially in disguise."

"I don't know. Maybe he found something of the Avatar's around here and assumed that it was the Avatar in your disguise. Or maybe she asked him to get rid of the people protecting the Avatar first. There's no way of knowing with Azula."

"If you knew that, then why did you protect me?"

Zuko shakes his head. "I didn't know for sure. All I knew was that Kentaro Bumu was attacking the only other person trying to help Shusoku. No one has ever escaped from him before. I knew that I couldn't stand by and watch it happen, no matter what that meant for me." He closes his eyes. "I had no idea that jumping on his back would work."

"It worked and you almost got yourself killed. You would have died if I had been anyone else."

Zuko opens his eyes and looks her way. Her brow is creased, and she is biting her lip. He can't quite identify that expression—confusion, most likely.

Katara chafes her hands up and down both arms, and peers out into the forest. "You have enough food and water, don't you."

It isn't a question, though it sounds like it should be.

"For a few days."

She nods, still looking away. "I can't heal you more. Not right now. I did too much the other night." She hesitates. "Tomorrow. I'll make my decision by then."

Her voice carries such gravity that Zuko has to push himself up again, just to be a little closer, to get a better view of her face.

"What decision?" he rasps.

She doesn't look back as she starts to turn away. "Someone will be here for you tomorrow. I just don't know if it's going to be me."

Incredibly, Katara manages to sleep.

Maybe it shouldn't surprise her. She hasn't slept a bit since before fleeing Zuko's cave in the middle of the night, and by the time she returns from facing him without her disguise, she is exhausted all over again. But not, she thinks, too exhausted to lie awake for hours mulling over all the things she said wrong, all the things she could have done differently. All the ways this whole problem could have been avoided if only she'd been able to keep her hat and veil in place the night when he cried himself to sleep in her arms.

She expects to be overwhelmed by thoughts swirling confusedly through her mind, but instead, she feels oddly blank on her walk back to camp. Even lying quiet in her tent doesn't awaken her thoughts and worries.

It isn't until morning that she starts feeling things properly again. Her thoughts are no clearer than they were when she left him, but as she lights her morning campfire and begins cooking her first hot meal in days, her feelings begin to find their direction.

She still doesn't know if she should go back to help Zuko. Her instincts are torn between leaving him in his own people's care and continuing the help him on her own. If she chooses the former, then she won't have to be near him anymore. She won't have to face the risk that he might turn on her directly. But if she goes back, there is a chance, however small, that she might be able to gain enough of his loyalty to keep herself and her friends safe. Zuko might give up his search for Aang permanently if he hasn't already.

Both options make sense, and when she tries to be pragmatic, neither seems to outweigh the other.

But when she is honest with herself, she has to admit that she wants to go back. If nothing else, she likes having some small measure of control in this situation. She likes being close enough to see how he's healing and to watch as he changes his mind—or as he doesn't. She likes knowing.

Of course, it also terrifies her to think of everything that might go wrong now. Though the weight of keeping her face hidden has lifted, though she no longer has to worry about avoiding him during the daytime, Zuko knows her now. He might try to use that against her.

And yet those dangers haven't changed. He's known who she is for days now, and as hard as she tries, she can't think of a single sign that he means her harm. It's freeing, in a way, to have the truth out in the open at last.

She still knows better than to trust him. She's smarter than that. But Zuko is still injured, and even if he did mean her harm, there isn't much he could possibly do. At the moment, the risk is still small.

And she wants to see him again. That's the simple fact. She doesn't care to examine the reasons behind it, but the thought of leaving him, even with villagers who will care for him, bothers her in ways she can't describe.

Maybe it's because he saved her. That could be it. Even if she's technically returned the favor by now—she has saved his life, and he will live if he finds help—she wants to do more. She wants to undo as much of the damage as she can. She wants to put things back to the way they were before.

And, she supposes, there's still a part of her that's holding out hope that he might choose to be a better person. Unlikely as it may be, she wants to find proof that her hopes aren't entirely unfounded.

She mills around camp for a while after breakfast, brushing Appa's wooly legs while he grazes. There isn't a good reason to wait, but she finishes grooming Appa, puts out the fire, moves her leftovers to a shady pit to cool, and plays with Momo for a while before she finally lets out a breath and looks down the slope.

She's going to see Zuko again. She's going to keep going back for as long as it takes. She thinks that her mind has been made up for a while already.

After Katara packs up another small package of food and fills her waterskin, she finally sets off for the cave. Momo tries to follow her a while, but she distracts him with a scrap of dried fruit and slips away. It isn't until she's within sight of the cave that her stomach begins to flutter. Making up her mind to help him is one thing. Coming back without her disguise to do it is quite another.

In the dark of the cave, a pale smudge rises just a bit. "Katara?" Zuko pushes himself up on an elbow. "You came back?"

She hangs a few strides back. "What does it look like?"

"Right." He tries a little harder to rise, and he gasps and falls back on his elbow.

Katara drops the package of food beside him before she kneels and pushes him back to the ground. "Why do you keep doing that? It obviously hurts when you try to sit up."

His grimace takes a while to fade. "Sorry."

She shakes her head and sits cross-legged by his side. "Don't apologize to me. You're just hurting yourself."

"Seems like I'm pretty good at that." He pauses a moment while his breathing steadies. "I didn't think you were coming back."

"Neither did I." It's partially true. She wasn't certain about it for a while. At least not consciously.

"Then why—"

"Even if I knew, I'm not sure I'd want to tell you." She looks pointedly away and swaps his nearly empty waterskin for the fresh one.

After a pause, Zuko speaks again. "Katara, I never asked, but—were you okay?"

Her eyes are drawn back to his, and he looks almost nervous. "What do you mean?"

"I mean—after this. I know that I got hurt. Obviously. Were you—"

"No." Her throat begins to burn, and she speaks as quickly as she can. "No, nothing serious. Just a few bruises."

He exhales, and some of the tension drains from his face. "Good."

Katara's breath catches. It sounds like he's relieved. It sounds like he means it.

Has he been wondering about this? With so much of his own trouble to worry about, it seems incredible that Katara's safety would have even crossed his mind. He's seen her nearly every day since he got hurt. He knows that she's okay now. If he actually cares, then she's just going to get her hopes up for the future.

She lets out a breath and carefully unclenches her hands and her jaw. She can't think about that. She needs to stay focused. "Is your back feeling any better?"

He hastily nods. "Much better. It's fine."

She raises an eyebrow and rests a hand on his shoulder. Even without her water, she can feel traces of the tangled, broken energy tracing outward through his nerves.

"You want to try the truth this time?"

He winces and looks away. "It is better. I can mostly feel my legs now. My back—it doesn't hurt most of the time."

"How often does it hurt?"

He shrugs, still avoiding her eyes. "Just sometimes. It comes and goes. When I try to move, it gets a lot worse."

At least she can believe that. She taps his shoulder. "Can you turn over? I want to see how much else I can do."

Zuko meets her eyes, then he nods and starts to push himself onto his side. Katara steadies him when she has to, and by the time he makes it onto his side, he is pale and sweating a bit.

She bends the sweat off of his forehead and rests a hand on his arm, holding him still while he collects himself. "That's far enough. You'll be okay. Just breathe slowly."

He nods, eyes closed, and one of his hands reaches toward hers, then stops short. It hovers in midair for a second before lowering back to the ground and clenching into a fist.

Katara swallows and forces herself to look away as she uncorks her waterskin. She almost wants to squeeze his hand, to reestablish that pattern of easy, gentle contact that they'd begun to build before she tossed aside her disguise. She wants to comfort him because no one else can.

Instead, she coats one hand with water and holds him steady with the other. The water finds its way to the source of the painful energy, and Katara frowns in concentration while she works. The tangles that used to encircle his spine haven't returned, but the strands of energy that branch outward from the injury seem to be curling back inward, like they're trying to encase the damage again. With any luck, they won't have a chance. If Katara can at least mend the cracks in the bone, the nerves will be protected, and maybe the damage will stay contained.

Zuko's breathing evens, and from the corner of her eye, she sees him watching her.

"How do you do that?"

She jumps but doesn't glance his way. She needs to keep her focus.

"It's a type of waterbending," she answers as she works on one of the worst cracks in the bone. "I learned a bit of healing at the North Pole."

Zuko pauses before he says, "That's why you said that I brought life back to Shusoku."

"When did I say that?"

"Right after I got hurt. You were talking about the well I helped to dig. You needed the water to heal the people."

Katara has to look at him this time. He isn't entirely right—she always brought her own water when she was the Painted Lady—but she thinks she remembers saying as much. "I can't believe you didn't forget that."

"Mmm. I remember pieces of it. There are a lot of blank spots, but I think I remember most of the times you came back here. And parts of stopping Kentaro."

Katara bites her lip and focuses until the fracture she's working on is sealed completely. Then she drops her voice to something just barely over a whisper. "Do you regret it?"

Zuko looks up at her. "Regret what?"

"This." She taps his back just above the injury. "Stopping him."

He frowns. "I've been trying not to think about that." A pause. "If I had another chance, I probably would've tried to come up with a plan instead of just jumping on his back."

She gives a quiet laugh. "You did tell me that thinking things through wasn't your strong suit."

To her surprise, Zuko manages a small smile in return. "It isn't." He exhales slowly. "But I don't think I'd change the rest of it."

The water falls out of Katara's control for an instant, and her face burns as she catches it. She wishes that she had either the darkness or her veil to hide behind. "You wouldn't?"

He shakes his head. "I don't think so."

She keeps her eyes fixed on the soft glow emanating from the water around her hand. "I don't think I ever remembered to thank you for stopping him." The hand that isn't occupied with healing him finds its way down from his shoulder to brush against the back of his hand. "Thank you, Zuko."