Proximity

For what feels like far too long, Zuko stares at the crumpled letter. He's read it only once, but he knows every word of it. Or if not every word, then near enough to it. He knows that it's all a lie. It's from Azula. Of course it's full of lies.

He should burn the letter and be done with it. He has no intention of listening to anything Azula has to say. Even if he still wanted to chase the shadow of Father's approval, he knows that he isn't strong enough. If he so much as shows his face in Shu Jing when the airship arrives, they'll—well, it seems too optimistic to think that they'll just fly away and leave him behind. In any case, they would never bother carting him off to another unstable village when he can't even walk.

Which is fine with him. For possibly the first time in his life, the promise of Father's approval rings hollow. Zuko is past that. And as terrifying as the uncertainty sometimes feels, his shoulders haven't been so light in ages.

But the letter still bothers him. Katara told him yesterday that she was going back to Shusoku for more supplies. He expected the clothes and the blankets, even if they seem a little unnecessary. But why did she bring him the letter?

The seal was open. Katara must have read it. Zuko isn't sure how much that bothers him—or how much it should. What does bother him is the fact that even after reading the letter, she still brought it back to him. If she knows what Azula is asking of him—if she knows that Zuko is supposed to run off to Toku, then an endless string of broken villages afterward in search of Father's approval—then why show him the letter? Does she think that this is what he wants? Worse, is this what she wants for him?

She can't. Right? Katara knows as well as he does—better, probably—how far he is from being what Father wants him to be. She knows that he can't walk. She knows that he won't be able to help a village, much less put down a rebellion. He can't even make it to Shu Jing to meet the airship.

So why bring him the letter? What's the point?

Does it have something to do with whatever was bothering her yesterday?

Will he get a chance to ask her?

With a groan, he reclines back on his makeshift pillow and covers his face with an arm. He misses the days when he was able to occupy his mind with training when his thoughts got to be too much. Having to confront these things head-on is exhausting.

Maybe when he's stronger, he'll find a new way to keep himself busy. Something that doesn't require the use of his legs.

It's a small mercy that he at least took the time to eat and use the rainwater pouring down outside to clean himself up a bit better before he read the letter. Now that he's seen Azula's words, his head is too full of echoes and worries to properly function. What did Katara mean by bringing him the letter? What's been bothering her for the past few days? And will she ever consider accepting him if he recovers enough to walk?

Maybe it isn't such a bad thing that it's raining so hard. Zuko is getting stronger, but he isn't sure he can bear to face Katara right now. Not when it's all so fresh, when the questions hurt so much to think about. By the time that the rain ends and she comes back, he might be a little more prepared to confront—everything. In the meantime, he'll do everything possible to regain his strength.

He just wishes that his thoughts would quiet for a minute or two.

He only manages to lie still for a few minutes before he grows restless again and he has to sit back up to stare at the coiled letter again. Why did she bring it to him?

The soft rush of the rain shifts, and when Zuko looks toward the mouth of the cave, he finds Katara just outside, an arm arched over her head as the rain slides away without ever touching her.

His breath catches, and he clenches his hands. "I didn't think you were coming today."

"Why, because of the rain?" It closes in after her like a soft, gauzy curtain. "Water is never going to stop me."

"Oh. Right." His face warms. What kind of an idiot is he to forget about her bending?

"I almost hope that it never stops."

There is a soft, wistful edge to her voice, and she stares out into the rain.

Zuko wants to watch her. He wants to stare at her profile, memorizing the soft, beautiful curves of her face, but he can't. Instead, his gaze is drawn back to the letter again.

Katara catches him staring at it, and her hands twist together. "Zuko, I read your letter."

He meets her eyes for an instant. His mouth is dry, and it's difficult to speak. "I thought you probably had."

"I'm sorry. The seal was already open when I found it. I know that's not an excuse, but I just—"

"It's fine." He isn't sure that he means it, but those are the only words he can find. But he doesn't care as much about the fact that she's read the letter as he does about the fact that it's here.

"Is it fine?" She slowly sits down across from him. "You look—"

He raises his remaining eyebrow, waiting for whatever comes next.

"Confused, I guess," she finishes.

He snorts. That's true. He's confused about practically everything, and he doesn't know if it's ever going to stop.

"I just—I don't understand why you would bring it here after you'd read it." He pauses long enough to glance at the crumpled letter again. "If I was in your place, I wouldn't want me thinking about going back."

Katara freezes. "Are you thinking about going back?"

He can't find the words he wants. No doesn't seem like a strong enough word, and for the life of him, he can't think of a way to express the extent of what he feels. He can't find words to explain how badly it would end for him if he ever went home. How can he tell Katara that Father would kill him for the crime of being too weak?

And if he can tell her, then how will he ever convince her that he cares about more than his own safety? That he wants to leave that life behind—that he'd made that decision well before his injury?

Rather than speaking, he touches the corner of the paper and stares at it until it crackles and bursts into flames.

Katara inhales sharply, but Zuko doesn't look her way. He's not sure he can. It's one thing to know that the past is closed behind him, but it's another to confirm it, to let Katara see it.

He hopes that at the very least, she won't be upset by it. He hopes that she wasn't counting on him returning to his family for the help he'll inevitably need in the future.

The silence starts to weigh on him before Katara slides a little closer and touches his hand. "Are you okay with this? Are you sure?"

He attempts a smile, but he doesn't think he succeeds. "I couldn't go back if I wanted to. I'm no use to my father like this."

"Would you want to? If things were different—if you woke up tomorrow completely healed, would you change your mind?"

He almost wants to laugh. It's an impossible notion. Katara herself has said that he'll probably have a limp if he learns to walk again. Even that would be unacceptable in Father's eyes. It doesn't matter what he would do if things were different, because they aren't and they never will be.

But then he catches a glimpse of her face from the corner of his eye, and for some reason, he imagines the Painted Lady in her place. He remembers all his time in Shusoku and how hard he fought to push back all the feelings about Father's rejection while he tried to keep the people from starving. If one thing has changed since then, it's the fact that he's never felt so certain before in his life.

"No." He feels himself tense slightly. "Even I can only get thrown aside so many times before the message sinks in. My father doesn't want me. I doubt he ever has."

Katara's hand wraps around his and squeezes tight. "He doesn't know what he's losing."

This time, he does laugh, though it's stiff and humorless. "He doesn't know that I'm hurt. But this time, I think he'd be exactly right about what he's getting rid of." A weak and useless son. A son who isn't willing to do what it takes to control people just struggling to survive. That is who Zuko is. It's who he's always been.

Maybe someday he'll even be okay with it.

He meets her eyes again. "Why did you bring the letter here, Katara?" The words burn a little on their way out. "Did you want me to go home?"

Her eyes widen, and she shakes her head. "No. Of course not."

"Then why bring it to me?" He hates the pleading tone that creeps into his voice, but there's nothing he can do about that. He needs to know, even if asking makes him sound like a pathetic child.

"Because it's your letter. Your family. As awful as she may be, you deserved to know that your sister was trying to reach you." She looks a little ashamed. "Especially since I'd already read it. I couldn't tell—I didn't know if you wanted to hear from your family or not. It didn't seem right to keep it from you."

Zuko can't bring himself to look at her. It makes sense. He hates how it makes him feel, but it does make sense.

Katara brushes the back of his hand. "I was hoping that you wouldn't listen to your sister."

He shakes his head. "That was never going to happen. I know better than to believe anything she has to say." Mostly. Except for times when he felt desperate—times when Azula was close enough to spot his exact weaknesses and plunge her claws in. But that's never going to happen again. He'll never even get close enough for Azula to try.

"I didn't have any way of knowing that." Her voice is soft, and her hand stays steady on his. "But I'm glad I trusted you."

He thinks he is too. It isn't often that he gets to make decisions like this without interference, and it's even rarer to find support when he thinks he's made the right one. Usually, it feels like he's being tested, like a single misstep will bring the world crashing down on his head. But with Katara—he can't be certain, but he thinks that she would have at least left him in peace if he'd chosen otherwise. That's more than he can expect from anyone else.

Katara stares down at their hands. "Have you thought about what you're going to do instead?"

"When do I stop thinking about it?"

He feels her gaze turn upward and pierce through him. "And? What have you decided?"

He shakes his head. "Nothing. It's hard to make a decision when I'm still getting better. I don't know how well I'm going to heal." Or how much time he has left before he stops improving, for that matter. His progress can't hold steady forever.

"Have you decided what you want to do? If everything works out perfectly—"

"Yes." The word comes without thought, and his face flames. He isn't sure that it's a good idea to answer at all, much less in such a rush.

"What do you want to do?"

I want to stay with you. I want to do everything I can to see the war finally end. I want to help you and your friends. For once in my life, I want to be part of something that matters.

I want to help people the way we did in Shusoku. With you.

He forces all of that back down. He can't tell her that. Not now. Not yet. He's still too weak to be anything more than a burden. It would be selfish to ask to come with her now.

"I'd rather not say." He can hear the strain in his own voice, and he feels Katara's gaze trying to pry him open to uncover the truth he's hiding. "Sorry. I just—not yet. Things tend to go badly when I get my hopes up."

Of course, he's already gotten his hopes up. That's the real problem. He's already setting himself up for disappointment, and he knows it. But for right now, while he still has time to recover, while Katara is here and helping, he thinks it might be best to keep it to himself. He can't decide whether it's selfish or not. On the one hand, if Katara does want him around, he can be certain that he won't get her hopes up this way. She won't pour extra, unnecessary effort into healing him. Zuko will either recover enough to travel with her, or he won't. On the other hand, he can't believe that Katara could possibly want him to stay. Why would she? And if she wants to leave him behind, then his silence is probably the only thing keeping her from fleeing.

For now, it's probably best to leave things alone. Maybe it is selfish to leave things this way—to let her help him without revealing his intentions—but it seems safer. When he can at least stand on his own, then he can ask her about the future.

"Then—what would it look like for things to go well?" Katara asks quietly. "Maybe I can help you get there so that you can decide."

Zuko stares at her for a second before he drags his eyes away. "You don't have to. What you've been doing—it's more than enough."

"Humor me. If it's too much, I'll tell you."

His hands clamp down, and he waits a moment for his pulse to slow. "I need to be able to walk." He chances a quick look in her direction. "It doesn't matter if I limp or if I need to use a cane for the rest of my life. I just—I need to be able to move on my own."

Katara nods. "Okay. I'll see how much I can do."

"Katara, you don't have—"

"I know. But you're not planning to go back to your father, are you?"

He shakes his head.

"Then I want to do this."

"And if I wanted to go home? Would you change your mind?"

She considers that. "I don't know. I wouldn't be happy about it. I—I would be crushed." She pauses, focusing her attention on the waterskin hanging by her hip. "But I don't think I could just leave you."

Zuko's mouth goes dry again. He isn't sure why he asked—he shouldn't have—but once again, he is blown away by her response. "I still don't understand why you would bother."

She gives a soft little hum. "Then I guess we're even." She scoots until she's sitting alongside him where she can see his back.

Zuko cranes his neck toward her. "What do you mean?"

"I still don't understand why you saved me. It wouldn't be fair if I didn't get to confuse you sometimes too."

He isn't sure how to respond to that, but before he has a chance, she brings her water up against his spine, and he feels the usual quiet buzz of energy well up around it.

"Try moving your legs. That should help me figure out where I need to focus."

He obeys, and Katara sets to work. It's easy to lose himself in it after a while—she makes small requests, and he follows along, even as the healing energy wrapped up around his spine starts to spiral its way upward and make him sway as it reaches the base of his skull. He can never tell where all that energy is coming from—whether it's his or Katara's or some strange blend of the two working in tandem to find and knit up all his broken parts. All he knows for certain is that eventually, the buzz reaching up into his skull turns to dizziness, and his energy drains faster than before.

He loses track of time, but he thinks they've been here a while. He thinks Katara must be almost through with this session—or if she isn't, then he is. He doesn't think he can stay upright for much longer.

Maybe it's always been like this when she heals him. Maybe he always gets this dizzy, this tired, and he just hasn't noticed because the ground has always been there to keep him stable.

"Can you try moving your right leg one more time?" Katara asks.

Or he thinks she does. His head is full of buzzing, and it's hard to bring his eyes into focus. He almost forgets which leg is the right one until the persistent ache catches his attention. Oh. Now he remembers. The right one is the one that hurts all the time.

He tries to force his leg to move, but he can't tell whether it works or not before he begins to list toward one side.

The right side. He's oddly proud of himself for remembering that.

Although he can't figure out how to right himself, he never hits the ground.

"Zuko? Zuko, look at me. Are you okay?"

He turns his head to find Katara's face hovering by his shoulder. Is she holding him? She must be.

"Sorry," he rasps. His tongue feels heavy and thick in his mouth. "Sorry. I think I got dizzy."

"It's okay. Don't apologize. I was pushing you a little too far."

Though his vision is hazy around the edges, he can see her face perfectly well. She looks tired. Her eyes seem heavy, and without thinking, he reaches up and brushes a hand against her cheek.

"Are you okay?"

She laughs, and the arms around him tighten just a little. "I'm fine. It's getting easier to heal you now that you're getting stronger." She shifts, and the dizziness abates enough for him to realize that she's moving him to his makeshift bed.

"Is it?" Once he's settled on his back, he finds her hand and grasps it loosely. "You look tired."

A short pause. "Maybe a little."

"I'm sorry."

"Zuko you don't have to—" a yawn escapes her, and she rubs her eyes. "It's okay," she says. "I want to do this. I don't mind being a little tired." But she stares at the spare stretch of unused blanket by his side. "Would you mind if I lie down by you for a little while?"

It makes his vision spin, but he shakes his head. If there is a reason to object to lying down beside her, he can't think of it now. All he knows is that they're both tired, and his mound of rumpled blankets is far more comfortable than the rest of the cave.

It isn't until she's curled up next to him that Zuko realizes that he's still holding her hand.

The rain ends sooner than she wants it to.

Walking to Zuko's little cave is nicer when the sun is shining, she supposes, but a part of her wishes that the rain had never stopped. At least while it's raining, she has an excuse to sit with Zuko, lingering for hours after she's through with healing him. At least while it's raining, she can be certain that Sokka and the others aren't getting any closer.

At least the rain can buy her a little more time.

But the sunshine gives her an opportunity to find a strong, slender branch with a crook at the end, and she spends part of the morning cutting it down and trimming the ends smooth. Now that the rain has ended, the future is barreling toward her faster than she cares to consider. The full moon is past, and she has to keep preparing, even when she isn't with Zuko.

Since she wants to be with him as much as possible, there isn't much time to fill. Still, she strips away some of the bark and tucks the partially stripped stick safely away inside her tent before she leaves for the cave. Necessary as it is, making a cane for him feels strangely final, and she doesn't think that she can bear to finish the work in one sitting.

Seeing Zuko isn't much easier, but at least there is a chance to distract herself with conversation.

"Have you tried standing today?" she asks almost as soon as she arrives. Now that he's recovering, Zuko is becoming something of an early riser. She wonders if he's always woken up with the first light of dawn.

Probably. She still remembers when he told her that he rose with the sun. It feels like a lifetime ago.

"No, not yet." His voice is gravelly, and his hair sticks up a little in the back. "I didn't realize you'd be here so early."

"Neither did I."

But she hadn't expected to stay with him so long yesterday either. She hadn't planned to lie beside him until the sky began to grow dark. Now she almost wishes that she'd stayed longer. She wishes that she could have found more excuses to curl up beside him and stay there.

She wishes that he'd asked her to stay. She thinks she would have listened to him if he had.

Coming back to him early in the morning is the next best thing.

Katara clears her throat as she kneels down beside him. She brings her water up to his back and feels the shape of the damage. It still isn't entirely healed. It probably never will be, but the injury feels so much smaller than it used to, and the jagged edges have all been smoothed away.

"Is it getting better?" Zuko asks, voice hesitant.

"I think so." She pulls the water away. "Are you ready to try standing?"

Slowly, he nods. "Might as well get it over with."

Katara pokes him in the shoulder blade. "I'm not sure that's the right attitude if we want this to work."

His forehead creases, and he starts to look away.

She hugs him softly from behind. "I know you're worried, Zuko. I am too. But I'm not done trying. There's still more I can do."

At least until tomorrow. Unless the rain returns, tomorrow will be her last day with Zuko.

But she refuses to give in. Even with what little time she has left, she can still make a difference.

She hopes she can, anyway.

Zuko lets out a shaky breath, and his hand brushes softly against hers before he nods. "Okay. I guess I'm as ready as I'll ever be."

"I'll be right here," she assures him as she moves to kneel by his elbow. "Whenever you're ready."

He takes a moment to steady himself before he attempts to move. He is terribly unstable, and it hurts to watch as he struggles. It would be so, so easy to take hold of his arm and guide him to his feet. She wants to. He's going to be alone soon enough—it seems cruel not to help him when she knows what's coming.

But that's precisely why she can't help. Not yet. Not unless he absolutely needs it. If he's going to make it out here, he needs to be able to do this on his own.

Katara hovers beside him all the way, hands poised to catch him if he stumbles. There are a few moments when it seems close, when his balance falters and his legs waver beneath his weight, but he finally, finally makes it to his feet. He has to duck his head to avoid the roof of the cave, and he sways badly. Katara reaches out to catch him, but he regains his balance before she can, and leans heavily on his left leg.

A bright, breathless smile breaks across her face. "You did it. Zuko, this is amazing."

He is pale, and sweat is beginning to bead on his forehead, but he keeps his eyes fixed straight ahead. After a shallow breath, he attempts a small, hobbling step forward. The first one goes well, but the moment he tries to rest his weight on his right leg, it buckles, and he groans in pain.

Katara catches his arm. "I've got you." She starts to lower him back to the ground.

Zuko shakes his head and grabs her wrist. "No." His voice is strained, but his grip remains strong. "Not yet. Can—can you help me go a little further?"

Her breath catches, and she stares at him in profile. He means it. He really does.

She nods. "Of course. Of course I can."

Holding his arm tight, she walks alongside him one slow, painful step at a time. Zuko can't seem to handle any weight at all on his right leg, and it lags with every step, but his left holds steadier. It's progress. He's walking.

At several points along the way, she expects Zuko to stop. His breathing is strained, and she can feel him shaking, but he keeps moving, jaw set in grim determination. Every step takes an age, and she can only imagine how much it must hurt. But there isn't much Katara needs to do—he leans on her only when he needs to, only when his right leg can't do the work itself.

If he can do this, then he'll be able to use a cane. The future he's been hoping for, whatever it may be, is within his reach.

They make it as far as the log outside the cave before Zuko has to stop.

Katara's eyes prickle as she helps him sit, but she can't stop smiling. "This is incredible. I'm so proud of you, Zuko. How do you feel?"

For the briefest instant, he smiles, but then he sways violently and barely manages to catch himself. Leaning sharply forward, he rests his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. "Like I held my breath and ran all the way up a mountain."

She perches beside him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders to hold him steady. "It will get easier. You've come so far in the past few days. I know things will keep getting better."

Zuko nods, but his breathing is still shallow and shaky, his balance uncertain. A very long time passes before he can straighten without lurching from one side to the other.

Katara doesn't mind. He can walk. He needs help to do it, but he can walk. Holding him upright while he recovers his breath is the farthest thing from trouble.

In time, the dizziness will pass, and Zuko will learn to use his cane—he'll be able to leave this place on his own strength and carve out a life for himself. Even without her help, he'll be okay.

She could almost ask him to come along with her when she leaves. He'll be strong enough to keep up after a while. With Appa around, there isn't much walking to be done. Zuko could learn to steer the bison, and use his cane when they aren't flying, and help out with the cooking and washing around camp—she has to stop herself there. She can't imagine him ever agreeing to such an arrangement. She knows all too well how dangerous their travels can be, and after everything, she can't be selfish enough to put him at risk. Zuko deserves a chance to be safe.

When he finally looks her way again, Zuko still looks exhausted, but he wears the brightest smile she's ever seen.

Her stomach flutters. Can't she keep him? Just for that smile?

No, she knows that that's ridiculous. It's too much to ask.

"I might be able to do this," he says softly. "I know I shouldn't be so excited about—"

"No. Zuko, you should be." Her arm tightens around him. "This is huge. If you can walk with me, you'll be able to walk with a cane too." She's almost tempted to tell him that she has a cane for him lying half-finished in her tent—that she'll bring it back for him tomorrow, and he'll be entirely ready for the future. But she can neither bring herself to say it nor hold his gaze. "Whatever you were hoping to do—you can do it now."

Zuko seems uncertain, and he scuffs his palms along his legs like he's trying to wipe away sweat. "I hope so."

"Can I ask you what it is?" Maybe if she knows, then she'll be able to stop all her useless daydreaming, all the silly musings about what it might be like to travel with him. Maybe if she knows, she can be satisfied with imagining him safe and healthy someplace else.

"I—" Zuko falters. He turns his eyes downward and pretends to be fascinated by his hands. "I can't say yet. I want to make sure that I can go farther than this without wanting to collapse."

"You—you don't want to tell me more than that, do you?"

"It's not like that."

She looks away. To her, it sounds like that's exactly what it's like. Is he ashamed of what he's planning? Is that it? Does he have a reason to be ashamed?

"I just—" He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. "I'm scared that it won't work out. That I won't be ready in time." Zuko looks her way, and though she tries not to meet his eyes, she can feel the softness of his gaze. "I want to tell you everything. I will. I just—don't think I can risk it until I'm strong enough. I don't want to spoil the little luck I have."

"I think you might have better luck than you realize. It's just that luck isn't everything." She looks his way again. "It wasn't bad luck that made your father send you away. That was a choice he made. A bad one. And it wasn't luck that made the village trust you either. That was all because you proved that you cared about them." She studies him. "Is this something that involves luck?"

Zuko gives a shuddering breath before he meets her eyes. Beneath all the uncertainty, there is something in his expression so warm, so soft that it makes her stomach do backflips.

"I don't know for sure," he admits. "Both, maybe?" He rubs his right leg, and Katara can't tell whether it's hurting him or if he's just nervous. "I have to be strong enough to look after myself, but it doesn't mean anything if I haven't done enough to earn a second chance."

She imagines him orchestrating a rescue for his uncle and making a heartfelt apology before fleeing to the Earth Kingdom. She imagines the two of them finding a quiet little village and building peaceful lives for themselves. They're royalty—Zuko can probably exert enough influence to get someone to break his uncle out, and then the two of them should be able to find the money to handle the rest. It's possible. Dangerous or not, it's probably his best chance. If he does find his uncle again, at least there will be someone to care for him.

"I think you deserve another chance."

His breath catches, and his eyes go wide.

"Zuko?"

"I—" He shakes his head and clears his throat. "Sorry. It's nothing."

That has to be a lie. Katara brushes his hand. "Are you okay?"

He nods. "Fine. Just—surprised, I guess."

"Do you think that I think so badly of you that I wouldn't want you to have a life after this?"

"Maybe?" He starts rubbing the spot just over his right knee again. It must be hurting. Katara feels for the waterskin by her hip as he continues. "I haven't forgotten what I've done. I couldn't really blame you if you still hated me for that."

It does still hurt to think about what happened in Ba Sing Se—about Zuko turning his back on her when she was so willing to trust him. But it doesn't feel like betrayal anymore. Zuko has apologized over and over, and he's done all he can make amends. She doesn't hold that against him anymore. She can't.

No, more than anything else, she feels the loss of the closeness they might have had if he'd never gone back, closeness that they don't have the time to claim now, even though it feels so close. And she feels the ache of uncertainty too. It hurts not knowing where he's going to end up—whether he'll be able to hold onto his determination to forge a new life away from his father.

If only Katara could stay with him, she could know for certain.

"I haven't hated you for a long time, Zuko."

She feels her voice beginning to break, and she turns, burying her face into his shoulder. She doesn't think she can hold back the tears if he looks at her.

One more day isn't enough. A week, a month, a year wouldn't be enough. She cares about him. She doesn't know quite how deep that care runs, but it doesn't matter anyway. She has to leave him regardless.

"Katara, can you please tell me what's wrong?" His voice is soft, almost pleading. "It's been days and I still don't know why you're upset. Whatever I did wrong, I'm sorry."

She shakes her head as forcefully as she can without showing her face. "It isn't you." Her voice comes out muffled and wavering. "You haven't done anything to upset me."

In fact, if anything, his recovery and his determination to find his own way are what's keeping her together.

He tilts her chin upward until she has no choice but to meet his gaze. "Then what is it?"

She can't bring herself to say it. Not yet. All she can offer him is one last day of what passes for normalcy. One more night of peace, knowing that Katara will be back in the morning.

His mouth is so close, and his lips look so soft—before she can think, she stretches upward and kisses him. It only lasts a second, and when she pulls away, her face is burning, and Zuko is scarlet and wide-eyed.

"Tomorrow," she whispers close to his cheek before she sits beside him again. "I promise that I'll tell you everything tomorrow." She closes her eyes and lets her head rest lightly against his shoulder. "For now, can I just stay with you a while longer?"

He swallows audibly, then his arm comes hesitantly around her shoulders. "Only if you want to."

Katara nods. "I want to."