A blast of lightning shattered the sky, thunder shouldering in a moment behind. Katara froze. Nothing pulled her back there like this, when storms rolled through the bay with all the strength built up over the open sea, when the island itself shuddered.

She'd always been able to feel storms coming, the weight of the water in the air, her awareness tugged upwards. But the touch of an electrical storm wasn't something she could sense with her bending. She had to learn it as non-benders did, unconsciously at first, and then, one day, she snapped at her children and realized all at once why she was so tense. The faint prick in the air, the way the hairs on her arm bent to it. She found Aang in the dojo, halfway through a training session. She pressed her face into his neck and held him tighter than necessary.

"Katara?" he asked, concerned.

She shook her head mutely against his shoulder. He held her closer and waited for her to speak.

In the weeks after Ba Sing Se fell, he died every night. Every time she closed her eyes, his death was pressed behind them. It multiplied until the room was choked with it, until she could scarcely see his living form through the specters of his death.

Maybe it was inevitable that she wouldn't be able to shake them all.

Aang learned to feel it too, though not with her precision. Sometimes he came home early when a storm was coming, just in case. Once he was in the middle of a tense debate about extradition to neighboring kingdoms when a crash of thunder rattled the council room windows. He made his excuses, and was out the door and halfway to Appa before the objections had even died down.

He found her in their bedroom, distracting herself by packing for their upcoming trip. She might have looked normal to anyone else, even their children might not have caught the tension of her jaw, the tremor in her hands. She was so lost in her thoughts that he was right behind her before she noticed him. He gathered her against him, and she clutched him gratefully.

"I'm here," he whispered. And he was. She repeated that to herself and tried to control her breathing.

The first time it happened they were in the fire nation, with the weight of the war still hanging over them. The night was hot and slick, and they'd set up camp in a cave for shelter.

Katara was shocked awake by the first bolt through the sky, looking around wildly for Aang. She was in the belly of that ship, his body limp and dollike in her hands. He was missing, taken away while she slept. Panic roiled inside her. She was across the cave, crouched over him the instant she made out his sleeping form. Her hand was inches from his skin when she finally remembered herself. Where they were, and when. Aang's life was not in danger. No, it was, but in a different way.

She hovered there, torn, for a long minute before settling on the ground beside him. They'd slept near each other in the past, but never like this. She was close enough to feel the heat from his body as distinct from the heat of the summer air. She reached one hand to settle on his chest, felt the rise and fall of it, the steady thrum of life under his skin. She meant to move away before she fell asleep, but couldn't bring herself to.

Aang woke to an unfamiliar sensation. Warm breath on his shoulder, a small weight on his chest. When he opened his eyes his heart nearly stopped. He froze for a moment, afraid to even breathe.

The storm was still raging outside, the sky a pre-dawn charcoal smudge. He moved slowly, sliding one hand up over hers. He didn't think there was any way he'd fall back to sleep, heart hammering away in his chest, but eventually he did, lulled by the soft breathing next to him. It was so much quieter than the storm outside, and so much louder.

It didn't take long for Aang to realize what was happening. The way she hovered, the quick flicks of her gaze to his. The moment of terror in them, before she mastered it.

He didn't want to let on that he knew, that he had woken up that night of the storm. She seemed so flustered afterwards. He wasn't sure if she regretted it, and didn't want to make her uncomfortable. So he kept it to himself. But the next time a storm was coming, he sat a little closer, distracting her with stories of his travels before the war.

She flinched every time lightning flashed in the sky. He did too, a little. He took her hand and she held it tight, too unnerved to be flustered by the contact. They sat like that for a long time, hand in hand, watching the storm while their friends slept.

Katara woke him up when the second bolt cracked through their bedroom. She was fully awake from the first, skin on fire, panic twisting in her gut.

She reached for him out of habit, and then she couldn't stop reaching for him. His lips were sleep-slack beneath hers, but her hands still grasped and pressed, reassuring herself that he was here, solid, warm, alive.

He woke to the storm of her, caught up in it. His body was already responding to her familiar touch, but once he woke enough he sensed the frenetic edge in her. He returned her ardor, trying to make sure she was alright, trying to give her what she needed.

"Katara, Sweetie." He had to speak between kisses as she pulled herself onto his lap. "Are you ok?"

She shook her head.

"Just touch me."

There was nothing as peaceful or still as the island after a storm. They took their tea outside that morning, cargo ships bustling along the harbor's busy ports as the sun began to peak over the horizon.

Birds swooped low against the surface of the water. The world took a breath, and released it. Katara tucked her head under Aang's chin, feeling the familiar prickle of his beard prick against her forehead. He held her close, the fold of his robe draping over her shoulder.

They sat together on the shore, watching the sea and the sky, the place where they met, how it bloomed with light.