Tenderness

You might be able to walk.

Zuko clings to those words. It's the brightest point he can find amidst the uncertainty that surrounds him. If he can walk again, he might still have hope.

It's probably impossible. Zuko should probably know better than to even think about the future before he knows for certain. Even Katara says that he'll probably have a limp for the rest of his life if he recovers the ability to walk. He doesn't doubt that. Though the feeling in his left leg is clear and consistent, the right flickers and sparks, occasionally sending jolts of pain clear up his back.

Even if he heals, he'll probably need a cane to keep himself steady. He'll probably ache like an old man every time it rains and take far too long to navigate stairs. He'll almost certainly be unable to fight.

That's the part that worries him most. If he can't fight, then he's of very little use to anyone. If he can't fight, then he'll have to limp his way back to Shosoku and set himself up as a calligraphy tutor or something and hope that it's enough to survive on. He'll be a grumpy old man with a bad limp and an even worse temper by the age of seventeen.

But if he can walk—if he can build up the strength to firebend somewhat normally—then he might have another chance. If he can walk, then he can travel. If he can firebend, then he can teach. And if he's strong enough to both travel and teach, he might be able to convince Katara to take him with her.

With the first light of the sun, he struggles to drag himself from sleep. He suspects that if Katara were here, she'd tell him to rest as long as he needs, to recover the energy that the healing sessions drain from his limbs.

She would probably be right. The trouble is that his muscles have lost much of their strength, and no amount of rest is going to solve that. If he wants to walk again, he needs to work at it. He can sleep at night. During the day, he needs to fight with everything he has if he wants to stay with her.

Now that it's occurred to him, it's all he can think about. He gave up his chance to change in Ba Sing Se. As slim as the chances may be, he isn't going to let it slip by without a fight this time.

So he pulls himself upright and eats as much as he can, then drinks his fill of water. His right leg aches and prickles in protest, but he drags himself to the mouth of the cave and struggles his way into one of the fresh sets of clothes that Katara brought back from Shusoku. He ought to bathe properly, but there isn't enough water here, and even if there were, he's not convinced that he's strong enough for that. For now, a change of clothes will have to be good enough.

When he's through changing, Zuko has to rest a while against the wall of the cave. He's tempted to sleep. Even the small effort of changing his clothes is exhausting, and he knows that Katara won't be here until later. He has time to rest.

But exhausted or not, he isn't giving up on rebuilding his strength quite so easily. The sunlight is close, and there is a big, smooth-barked log lying just a few paces away. Surely, he can make it that far. Even if he can't stand, moving has to help.

When the warmth of the sun lands on his skin, Zuko doesn't even care that his back aches or that his right leg is sending quick shocks of pain upward. He doesn't care that his arms are tired and shaking. He can feel the sun again, and he basks in it, closing his eyes to revel in the sensation of the fire in his middle finally burning a little higher again. He leans back against the log, and his muscles relax.

At least his instincts have proven correct for once. He needs the sunlight.

The next thing he is aware of is Katara's voice, close and urgent.

"Zuko? Zuko, look at me. Are you okay? How did you get out here?"

He pries his eyes open to find her crouched beside him, hands on his shoulders. Did he fall asleep? It's hard to tell for sure. All he knows is that the sun still feels nice.

"Did—did you walk?" She sounds worried.

Zuko blinks until his vision and his mind clear a bit before he shakes his head. "No. I tried standing, but I couldn't. Had to drag myself out here." He inhales slowly and shifts until he's sitting upright. "I'm okay. I just haven't been outside in a long time. I missed it."

Katara's brow is still furrowed, and Zuko is surprised how badly he wants to find her hand and squeeze it in reassurance. She hasn't seemed so worried in days, and this time, there isn't much reason for it. Zuko is better. He can't use his legs properly—not the right one, at least—and it hurts to move, but he can. That's more than he's been able to say in far too long.

"What's wrong?" he asks instead. It's easier—safer than trying to comfort her by grabbing her hand.

She pulls back and shakes her head, but not before her thumb brushes softly along his jawline. "Nothing. I'm just surprised to see you out here."

He forgets how to breathe, and it takes all his effort to keep from staring at her hand, silently, stupidly wishing for it to brush his cheek again.

Zuko swallows hard. "And?" he prompts. He has to say something before he loses control over himself.

"And maybe I was a little worried that you might've hurt yourself." She sits back, but she's still close, so close that her knees almost brush against his. "Sorry. It's just—you didn't hear me coming, and I got scared when you didn't answer me at first."

There's still something hanging around her, a kind of inexplicable melancholy that Zuko wants to brush away, to set adrift on the gentle midday breeze. She shouldn't have to be worried about him. She's done so much to help him that she shouldn't have to worry ever again.

"I must have fallen asleep. The sunlight looked really nice. I couldn't resist."

Her mouth twitches into a soft smile that somehow doesn't wash away the melancholy. Still, it's a start. And though Katara smiles far more than Zuko ever has, he finds himself wishing that he could see it more often. "Does it feel as good as you hoped it would?"

He nods. "Better." He pulls himself away from the log until he's sitting fully on his own strength, moving slowly to avoid upsetting the irritable nerves in his back. "I didn't mean to make you worry. I just wanted to see what I could do on my own."

She bites her lip, then looks away. "You changed your clothes too."

A shrug. He can't tell her the real reason why he's trying so hard. Not yet. Not until he's able to walk—until he can ask to join her without becoming more of a burden. "It was time. I wanted to wash up, and this was as close as I could get." He pauses. "Thank you again. For everything. I never thought that you'd bring me fresh clothes."

She doesn't really acknowledge that, but her hand touches his, and it's so soft that he forgets to breathe.

"Everything is going so much faster than I expected." She scoops up his hand and holds it between both of hers. "You're getting better."

"Isn't that a good thing?"

"Of course it is."

"Then why—" he breaks off when she meets his eyes, and that same sadness washes over him in a wave. Zuko caves into it and wraps his hands around hers. They feel small, almost delicate, though he knows very well the kind of strength they hold. "What's wrong? Why are you upset?"

"I—" She holds his gaze for just a second before she looks away again. "I'm not upset, Zuko."

It's a lie. He can hear that as clear as day, and it stuns him how badly it stings. Has he always cared this much?

Katara squeezes both of his hands. "I'm so proud of how well you're doing. And of how hard you're working to get better."

Zuko watches her. She's telling the truth, but that isn't all of it. It can't be.

"I'm just—I'm worried about what happens next."

He is too. It hits him hard in the middle of the chest. He wants to get better—he has to—but the moment he does, everything will change. For both of them. Zuko won't have to rely on her anymore, and she will be free to leave him behind.

He wonders if Katara will ever want to see him again when that happens.

Probably not. He's probably an idiot for even considering the idea of joining her and her friends. He can't imagine Katara wanting that. Why would she? And as much as Zuko hates the idea of being left alone, he can't make her stay.

The most he can do is ask to join her once he's recovered.

"Whatever happens," Zuko says quietly, "I promise I won't be a burden to you. I'll make sure that I can take care of myself."

There is just a flicker of bewilderment in her eyes, and Katara shakes her head. "I've already told you, you're not a burden. You never have been." She plays with a twig so that she doesn't have to look at him. "But you're right. You're going to be fine. I know you will."

She sounds so sad again, and this time, he starts to reach toward her face. To wipe at the tears that seem inevitable.

Before he can, she touches his cheek instead. "Zuko, could I—would you let me wash your hair?"

"What?"

She flushes half a shade darker. "It's just—you mentioned that you wanted to wash up. If you want me to, I could—with my bending, your hair would be easy."

His mouth goes dry when her fingertips trace along his neck, just brushing the ends of his hair. "You—you don't have to."

"What if I want to?"

Zuko tries very hard not to let his jaw hang slack. The very thought of her hands massaging his scalp and smoothing the knots from his hair sets his heart racing. Is this a dream? He has to be dreaming, doesn't he?

Almost numb, he nods. "Okay."

For some unfathomable reason, Katara smiles, and this time, the sadness is gone. Zuko feels his face warm, and his mouth twitches toward a smile. If this makes her happy, even though it's ridiculous and insignificant, then he has to be happy about it too.

Katara darts into the cave for just a moment before emerging with a spare blanket and a square of soap from his pile of supplies. She perches on the log behind him and guides his head into position just over her knees.

"You might want to close your eyes," she tells him as she uncorks her waterskin. "I'll try to be careful, but just in case."

He doesn't have to be told twice. Her hands feel so nice on his scalp that all he can do is close his eyes and allow himself to melt as she begins her work.

Her hands are soft, and every touch is gentle. Although he's grown to expect kindness from her, the tenderness feels strange. It's been so long since anyone has even pretended to care so much—so long since he's been able to trust compassion from anyone—and he can only soak it in, trying not to think too hard about what any of this means. He is here, and so is Katara, and that's all that really matters.

For a while, Katara works in silence, keeping an orb of water hovering smoothly around his scalp. He can hear the water moving in easy ripples as she works through the tangles with her fingertips, smoothing the sweat-matted clumps away. The breeze whispers through the trees around them, and the sun warms him to his core. Everything is soft and illuminated, and he wouldn't mind staying just like this for much, much longer.

He could be doing this himself, he realizes eventually. His arms are strong enough that he could scrub the grime from his own hair and pick apart the tangles. Katara wouldn't have to do this for him, so long as she holds the water in place. But she must know that too. If she isn't going to object, then he can't bring himself to say anything either.

"I'm sure this soap isn't ideal," Katara says eventually, still working her fingers through his hair, though Zuko is half convinced that she's been finished washing it for ages. "I hope it isn't too harsh on your hair."

"Mmm." Zuko lets his eyes open just a crack. "Doesn't matter. It's what I was using in Shusoku anyway. Soap is soap."

She scoffs. "And to think that you're the one who grew up rich. There's plenty of different kinds of soap, and I don't think this one was meant to be used in your hair."

"Does it matter?"

"It can."

He frowns, closing his eyes again. "Then I guess it just doesn't matter to me. It's not like I'm ever going to look good. My hair is just—as long as I smell a little better, that's all that matters."

A pause. Then, "Please. Zuko, you have beautiful hair."

His heart skips, and he wonders if Katara can feel it. Whether the water encircling his scalp carries his ridiculous, stuttering pulse back to her.

"I doubt that," he rasps. His hair might well be his most passable feature, but it's absurd to hear any part of himself described as beautiful. He just—isn't. He knows better than to listen to that kind of nonsense, even if it's meant kindly. He knows better than to lie to himself.

"Well, that's too bad. Because it's true, objectively speaking. Your hair is wonderful. It's soft and it's strong."

His pulse roars a little louder, and Zuko isn't convinced that she's just talking about his hair anymore. He knows better than to believe that she would say anything quite so complimentary about him,but it still sounds like she means more.

"I—I don't really see that," he manages, throat dry. "It's just hair. I never really cared that much about it."

"That doesn't mean you can't look after it. There are some things that are easier to care about once they're properly cared for."

It really doesn't feel like Katara is talking about his hair anymore, but Zuko can't stop himself. "What happens when I can't take care of it on my own?"

There is another pause, and he thinks that she's finally realized how far off track they've both strayed. How much more Zuko has imagined in her tone than her words could have possibly implied.

But even if she knows how absurdly far his mind has stretched beyond her meaning, she takes another small step. "I never said that you had to do things alone. You don't. If something is worth doing on your own, then it's worth doing with help too."

He isn't sure how to respond to that. He thinks that he wants to thank her. Or to assure her that he's trying—that he's doing all he can to be certain that he won't need help for much longer. Or maybe that's the wrong thing to say too.

He decides not to say anything, and for a while, there is quiet again.

Katara runs her hands through his hair, massaging his scalp once more, then she finally pulls most of the water away. He hears it splash to the ground, and her hands return, trailing through his damp hair to smooth away the remaining knots.

"The sunshine—it has something to do with your bending, doesn't it?" she asks softly. "That was why you wanted to come out here."

Zuko nods faintly, trying not to pull away from her grasp. "Mostly. It was a nice change from the cave too." He lapses into silence for a while before resuming, "The other day when I heated up the soup—I think using my bending without the sun was the reason I was so tired."

"I'm sorry I asked you to do that."

He shrugs. "I offered first. I knew what could happen. When I was younger, my uncle always made me meditate at sunrise so I would be connected to my element. It's been a while since I did it, but I did know that the sun made a difference with my bending."

Katara's hands still, then they come down to rest on his shoulders. "Your uncle. Can you tell me about him?"

Zuko opens his eyes a bit. "What do you mean?"

"I mean—he seems so much better than the rest of your family. It seems like he cares about you. Like he'd do anything to keep you from getting hurt."

His throat tightens, and he presses his hands together, squeezing them tighter and tighter until they begin to lose feeling. "He did. He cared about me. He was the best part of my family for a really long time."

"What about now?"

"Now—now, I don't think I'm ever going to see him again. I don't think he'd ever want to see me."

"Why not?"

"Because—after Ba Sing Se, he got thrown into prison. Because of me. It's my fault that he's locked up." His voice breaks, but he can't bring himself to stop there. "I betrayed everyone who mattered, and I'll never be able to make it up to him. Even if he makes it out of prison, he'll—"

"Zuko." Her voice wavers and cracks, and before he knows what's happening, her arms wrap around him from behind, and her face presses down against the side of his neck. She's shaking ever so slightly.

Is she crying? Why? Zuko's eyes are burning, and it hurts to breathe, but this isn't her pain to bear. It's his. This is his life, his problem to sort out. Katara shouldn't have to cry over it.

He cranes his neck, trying to catch even the slightest glimpse of her face.

"Katara?"

With a sniffle, she shakes her head and turns as far as she can to conceal her face from him. "I'm sorry, Zuko."

That's all he can stand. He twists, grimacing when his useless right leg wrenches itself into a crooked, painful angle and refuses to straighten. It doesn't matter. He's getting used to the persistent pain in his leg.

He turns until he can see Katara, and cups her face between his hands, tilting her head upward until he can see the tears glistening on her cheeks.

"What's wrong? Please, Katara." He brushes a tear awkwardly away with his thumb. "Why are you crying?"

She squeezes her eyes shut and rests her forehead lightly against his. "I got a letter from my brother last night."

Oh. His throat tightens again. "You miss them."

Of course she does. She has friends and family who love her. People who care, who want her around rather than merely tolerating her. And he's fairly certain that he's one of the things keeping them apart.

"I miss them," she echoes in agreement, her voice wavering. "And I wish—"

Zuko closes his eyes. He knows what's coming. He knows how much it's going to hurt, and he tries his best to brace himself. She wishes she could be with her friends instead of him. She wishes that he were strong enough to leave behind.

"I wish there was more I could do to help you."

A moment passes before he understands what she's said. It doesn't make sense. What more could she do? She's already given so much to help him.

"You saved my life," he whispers. It's hard to speak any louder than that. "Why wouldn't that be enough?"

She straightens a little, just enough so that their faces are no longer touching, but keeps her arms wrapped around his shoulders. "You saved me first. I'm the reason you got hurt."

There's some truth to that, he supposes. Only some. Not enough to bind her to him. Not so much that she owes him anything.

"That was my choice," he tells her.

With a shuddering sigh, she slides off the log to sit next to him, gently pushing his right leg into a less painful position. "You didn't know who I was. You didn't know who you were helping. It isn't fair that your whole life had to change when you didn't even know what you were getting into."

"I thought it might be you." He looks down at his hands. "I knew I was taking a risk. I knew that things could go wrong." A pause, and he takes a deep breath before meeting her eyes again. "I was okay with that. I knew that my life needed to change."

She frowns, and her fingertips brush across his cheek. "Not like this."

For a little while, they stay perfectly still, and she stares deep into his eyes like she's trying to find something down near his core. His heart does an idiotic little skip. She's pretty. He's always been aware of it, but when she's this close—when they're touching, it's so much harder to ignore. He tries anyway. There's no use in this. She only feels indebted to him because he stopped Kentaro Bumu. She would never want him to look at her like that.

But he still hopes that she might at least like being around him. Even if that's all it ever amounts to. He wishes that he could find a way to stay with her.

Small as the chance may be, he won't stop fighting for it.

Katara draws in a slow, shaking breath and wipes her eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm just feeling—off today. I need to focus. There's still more work to do on your back."

Zuko can't ignore the lingering sorrow in her voice. He wishes he could tell what's been bothering her. He wishes that he could help.

"You don't have to do anything," he says quietly. "I'm getting better. And if you're not feeling well—"

"I want to." She smooths his now-dry hair back, and her hand lingers for just a second. "I want to help you."

"Do you? Katara, I can tell there's something—"

"Zuko." She puts her hands on his shoulders again. "If you want to help me, please just let me do this for you. I promise, helping you is exactly the thing I need to do if I want to feel better."

He can't quite believe it. She's hiding something, and it bothers him more than he wants to let on. He doesn't want to pry into her thoughts. He doesn't want to force her to tell him anything if she isn't ready. But it bothers him all the same.

Whatever is wrong, he can already feel it starting to wedge itself between them and push him away.

But he won't force her to say anything. He knows better than that.

Instead, he nods, and tries to drive the foreboding shadows from his mind. "Okay."

Zuko doesn't believe her. She can see that much at a glance. He can tell that there is something wrong, and Katara wishes that she had the heart—the courage to tell him the truth.

But at the very least, he humors her, and by the time she is ready to leave, she's healed him well enough that he can stand. Only on his left leg, only for a few moments at a time, and only when Katara helps him to his feet and holds him steady, but he can stand.

It's a start. She still has much more work to do if she's going to get his legs working properly again, but at least it's a start.

The trouble is that she doesn't think it's going to be enough.

Just two more days. It should be impossible for time to slip away so quickly, but try as she might, she can't get it to stop. There isn't enough time to finish healing him. Even in her most optimistic moments, she can't convince herself that she'll be able to get Zuko walking again in two days' time. At a stretch, he might be able to rise and stand on his own, but she has neither the time nor the strength to push him farther than that.

But guilt still grips her insides when she gets him settled back in the cave and drapes the blanket around his shoulders. It feels like she's wasting time. She could be healing him while he sleeps. She's done it before. If she had unlimited energy, unlimited strength, she would be healing him. She could make the most of what little time she has left, healing him while he sleeps so that she can spend all his waking hours just being with him. Because like it or not, she cares about him. She likes spending time with him, and she misses him when she's gone. She doesn't want to be working on his back when she could be talking to him instead.

But she's tired, and she can't keep working forever. If she has to choose between taking care of him and doing what will make herself happy, then his health has to come first. Every single time.

Maybe if she had four more days instead of two, she could do both. She could heal him well enough to walk and still leave him with the assurance that she does care. That the last thing she wants to do is leave him behind.

She brushes his silky hair back from his eyes as they begin to close and his breathing steadies. He's exhausted, both from the healing she's done and from his short journey outside the cave, and for now, there's little more that she can do. Except, she supposes, for making certain that he has all the supplies he needs to survive after she's gone.

Her feet drag a little as she sets off on the path down to the village, but she keeps moving doggedly on. Some of his things are still left behind in the little shack, and she really needs to make certain that everything there is ready for him. She needs to know for sure that the villagers are ready to look after him. After that one, bright, shining moment when she thought it might be possible to send for Zuko's uncle instead, the little shack in the village seems like a poor replacement, but this is the best she can do.

Of course she wishes that she hadn't cried in front of Zuko. She isn't ready to tell him how little time they have left, and the tears did nothing but raise his suspicions. They certainly didn't make her feel any better.

Still, just thinking about it makes her want to cry all over again. Her family loves her and is on the way back to find her, but all Zuko has is relatives who nearly killed him and an uncle who can't reach him. She refuses to believe that his uncle would really reject him if not for the prison walls keeping them apart. The world is bleak enough without imagining Zuko's last good family turning against him when he's injured. She has to believe that there is still some hope left in his future. That there is someone out there who would care for Zuko the way she wishes she could.

The shack is much the same as she remembers it when she slips inside, though the door hangs straight on its hinges now. Between the repair and the fact that the rest of his belongings lie undisturbed, she almost dares to hope that they're waiting for Zuko to come back.

She ought to ask them, she knows. She should find the woman she's spoken to in the past and tell her everything—about the attack that left Zuko so badly injured, about his slow recovery, and about his inevitable return to the village once he is strong enough. Katara should make certain that there will still be a place for him here, that if Zuko doesn't turn up on his own, someone will go looking for him. She should take the final steps toward accepting that she'll be leaving Zuko behind.

But she can't quite bring herself to do it. Not yet. Instead, she opens up his trunk in search of clothes, blankets, food—anything that might make his days alone easier, more comfortable.

She stops short when she finds a letter lying across the top of everything else, its seal broken and the paper unevenly coiled. She can't remember seeing that when she was here last. It must be new.

She hesitates, fingertips just brushing the edge of the letter. It seems wrong to read his mail, but someone already has. If she brings the letter to him, then he's going to think that she broke the seal anyway. And if she's going to take that chance, then she at least needs to know whether the letter is worth the trouble, doesn't she?

With a sigh, she settles down on the floor and presses her back against the wall. Maybe it's from his uncle. Maybe it's someone who can give him something better than a little shack in a tiny village.

I'm becoming rather annoyed with you, Zuzu. I put in all that work cleaning up your mess, and you haven't even bothered to send me a word of thanks? That's a disgraceful lack of manners. Hardly suitable for a prince who's just barely regained his honor. Father would be disappointed in you.

Bile rises in the back of Katara's throat. She wonders if this is the way his sister has always spoken to him. Every word reads as a thinly veiled threat and sends chills up her spine. How has he put up with this for so long? Is this why he seems to think that he doesn't deserve any better?

I haven't told him anything, by the way. In fact, Father has been pleased with the recent reports from Shusoku. Pleased with your results, at least. I wouldn't advise you to tell him anything about your methods. From what I've heard, I doubt Father would approve.

Katara doubts it too. Helping the village he was meant to subdue hardly sounds like the sort of thing that the Fire Lord would approve of.

He's sending you to Toku next. You'll have one month to finish whatever it is you're doing in Shusoku and travel to Shu Jing to meet the airship. Fair warning, Zuzu—things are a bit more volatile where you're headed, and Father is expecting quick results. You'll need to approach this one a little differently. It's going to take an iron fist to bring Toku under control.

Don't forget that favor you owe me, dear brother. Though with all the warnings I've given you, I think I'm owed a bit more than that.

Two large favors sounds fair to me. Or one large and two small. Your choice. I'll be waiting.

It takes all her restraint to keep from screwing the letter up into a ball and tearing it to pieces. How dare his sister talk to him like that? How dare she treat him like that? Azula's 'favor' is the reason why he can hardly stand, why he can't—and maybe never will—walk. Zuko shouldn't have to read this. He deserves so much better.

But at the same time, Azula is offering him a way to leave. Katara can't give him that. Not without dragging him along on a journey he probably doesn't want—that he may not be able to tolerate in his condition. Doesn't she owe it to him to give him every option?

She thinks she does. After everything, she has to at least trust him to make his own choice. Even if it hurts. Even if she's afraid that he'll make the wrong one.

A little less than gently, she rolls the letter back up and bundles it in with his clothes and blankets. She'll give him the letter. She just won't be happy about it. Not that it matters. It's his life, and in two more days, she won't be a part of it anymore. He deserves to know all his options.

She tries not to think about why it hurts so much to think about leaving.

In her frustration, she forgets to duck out of sight, and a voice stops her before she's halfway down the street.

"You! Girl!"

She doesn't want to answer to that, but in a village this size, carrying an armload of things that clearly don't belong to her, there is no one else the woman could be talking to.

Katara stops and slowly, reluctantly, turns around.

She's going to be taken for a thief, she's almost positive about that.

Sure enough, the woman surveys the bundle that Katara is carrying and crosses her arms. "You've taken the prince's things."

The prince. Not just the boy from the capitol. The woman must have broken the seal on the letter, or at the very least, read the letter after someone else opened it.

Katara juts out her chin. "You read his letter."

To her surprise, the woman doesn't argue. "Where is he? You seem to know him. Has he left for Shu Jing already?"

Katara isn't sure why she's telling the truth, but she shakes her head. "No. He's still near here."

"Then why hasn't he come back? He left just before things turned around."

"There was an accident." Though it isn't entirely truthful, it's the closest she dares to venture, and her voice breaks. That's probably the story he'll have to tell for the rest of his life. If he wants to tell the truth, no one will believe him. Why would they believe him without proof? "He—he was hurt. Badly. I've been looking after him since then." She starts to turn away, her eyes and her throat beginning to prickle. She's going to have to learn to do a better job at holding back her tears very soon.

"How is he?"

Katara stops, but she can't turn back. She can't bear to look the woman in the eye. "He's—better than he was. He's getting stronger, but it's slow."

"Wait." The woman stops her again. "Will he come back to us?"

"He might." This time, Katara does look back. "If he does, you have to take care of him. As long as it takes. Promise me."

The woman looks a little bewildered, but she nods. "He looked out for us. Of course we'll do the same for him."

"Good." Then, before anyone can try to stop her, Katara turns away.

She should feel relieved. As she makes her way back up the hill, back toward Zuko's little cave, she tries to tell herself that this is a good thing. He has a safe place to go now. She should have given the woman more details—when Zuko might be arriving, how badly he's hurt, where to find him if he takes too long—but she can't bear to make her departure that definite. Not yet. She still has a little time left to heal him, and anything she would say now could change by the time she leaves. She'll just have to go back shortly before she leaves. When she has no choice but to accept that their time is really over.

Until then, she can still daydream. She can imagine a world where there's a way to stay with him—better, to take Zuko along with her. One where he can walk at least well enough to make his way around camp and travel the world on Appa's back along with her and her friends.

But she can't ask that of him. She knows that all too well. Traveling with her and her friends is dangerous, and he's faced more than his share of danger already.

She can't ask him to come with her. But if he would ask her—

She shakes her head. No, that's ridiculous and she knows it. There's no use in getting her hopes up.

When she reaches the cave, Katara waits outside until his steady breathing confirms that he's asleep before she creeps in and silently arranges the piles of clothes and blankets around the edges of the cave. He'll still need more food and water, but aside from that, he's as well-prepared for living on his own as he can be out here.

She comes to his sister's letter and hesitates a moment before she sets it down beside him. He'll find it when he wakes up.

And in the meantime—Katara crouches beside him and straightens the blanket around his shoulders. He looks peaceful, and she wants to smooth his hair, but she holds back. As much as she wants to make the most of the time she has left with him, she doesn't want to wake him either. Because if he wakes up, then she'll have to talk to him. And if she has to talk to him, she isn't sure how much longer she'll be able to last before she bursts into tears or the truth spills out.

Either way, she can't take the risk. Earlier, she came far too close to telling him what was in Sokka's letter—how soon she has to leave. She can't bear to lie to him, but she doesn't have the faintest idea how to begin telling the truth either.

Instead, she sits silently beside him and does her best to memorize all the contours of his face. This will be one of the last chances she has.