Water
It surrounds me
Picks me up into the sky and wraps me up until I'm drowning
Don't bother to save me
Let the waves take hold and change me
"Sword" - Sufferer
Take Control
There is an easy balance between them, a natural push and pull that always leads them back to each other.
It was something they'd taken little notice of in the early days, far too young and stubborn to acknowledge the growing tension between them. Whenever there was the barest hint of a spark, Katara would be there to wash it away. Not that he can blame her. Back then, he was brash and unpredictable. Hardly deserving of friendship let alone anything more. It has taken them years to fully realize what's been there all along. They both needed time to grow, time to learn, time apart. No matter how many miles ran between them, they never stopped writing. It was in those letters, in the words and spaces meant only for each other, that their connection truly blossomed.
She is a tempest and he is a raging inferno. When he burns at his hottest, his brightest, she steps in to stop him from melting away to ash. When she is full of fierce determination, a brutal rainstorm whipping up to the fury of a typhoon, he holds her with steady hands to soothe the tides. Push and pull.
"What?"
Her voice is light and playful, the barest hint of annoyance glinting in her eyes. He tries not to stare too long, tries not to get lost in the endless depths of blue. He fails. Miserably.
"You're always doing that", she continues in a huff, "I can't be that nice to look at right now".
It is early still and yet they are seated together on the balcony, watching as the first rays of sunlight peek over the horizon. Or, they should be. He's gotten distracted, as he's wont to do. Not even the warm pull of Agni's light can dim the shine of the woman next to him.
He takes in her wild, dark hair - the curls not yet tamed and teased into submission by her eager attendants. He lets his eyes continue on, undeterred by the firm pout set on her lips. Her skin has been kissed by the sun, warmed bronze, and he resists the urge to let his fingers trail up the length of her arm. She's draped in her silk robe, accented in gold, and he can't help but think that red looks the best on her. The soft curve of her neck and the gentle swell of her breast betray a softness that's counterbalanced by the wiriness of her arms and the strength of her back. He's with her every day and yet, in these quiet moments, it's like he's seeing her again for the first time.
"Spirits, Zuko", she chastises him with a light swat to the arm, "There's too much to do today".
"I'm sure I can make time", he murmurs, finding he doesn't want his voice to disturb the peace they've found here.
He so rarely has time to appreciate the beauty of his wife, of his home, of Caldera City as a whole. There's so much life that he neglects, hardly having time to stop and breathe let alone take in the scenery. He doesn't want to miss any more than he already has.
Katara's expression softens, be it marginally, but there's a sadness creasing her brow that sends a twinge of discomfort through his chest. She reaches for his hand and easily laces their fingers together, as if sensing the shift in him. Her skin is smooth and cool to the touch. He knows his palm is probably burning.
"Ah but a Fire Lord's work is never done".
It's meant to be a joke but there's a sharp edge to the words that cut him deeply. It has been several years since he took the crown, years since he was thrust into a position that he was neither prepared nor experienced for. He's grown into a young man with strength and composure, no longer the brooding sixteen-year-old boy who struggled through restoration meetings and sobbed into his uncle's shoulder when the weight of it all threatened to crush him. He may be older, wiser, but his life isn't any easier. There is no true relief when governing an entire nation. He wishes to be more attentive, more carefree, but those are luxuries he is no longer afforded. He can't relax, can't get too comfortable. He must always be on guard….
Which sometimes comes at the expense of those he holds closest. It's a delicate dance that he's still clumsily stumbling through. Today, he realizes that he needs far more practice.
He gently squeezes her fingers, trying to convey everything he can't say, "I mean it. I can make all the time in the world for you".
He'll cancel whatever meetings are penned on the schedule; advisor be damned. If someone needs him, if she needs him, he'll be there.
"I know…", she graces him with a small smile, "But not today".
He hopes the disappointment doesn't show on his face but the way she chuckles says otherwise. He's always refused to be like his father - too wrapped up in power and procedure to care for others. At the moment, he feels like he's failing.
"There really is a lot to do. The summer solstice is right around the corner".
He sighs, "You're right-"
"Aren't I always?"
"Humility looks great on you", he says with a roll of his eyes.
"Hey, you wouldn't be half on schedule without me".
"Of course. What is a lord without his lady?"
She laughs fully at his serious tone and he can't help but join in. It works to ease a bit of the pain, to soothe the aching in his soul. She leans in to press a soft kiss to his temple and he sighs contentedly. He works to hold onto this moment, to commit it fully to memory so he can call upon it throughout the day.
Soon, they'll have to get up and return to their chamber. Soon, they'll have to don their regalia and address their seemingly endless agendas. Soon, they'll have to part ways – him to meetings and her to festival preparation. Soon. Too soon.
For now, he'll drink in as much of her as he can.
(***)
Katara knows how to be fluid, adaptable, no matter how much pressure is weighing down on her shoulders.
Every move she makes is flowing and graceful - from the easy way she glides through the palace halls to the steady, unwavering presence of her voice during council meetings. She is Zuko's tether, the only person capable of keeping him grounded when he's on the edge of a dangerous precipice – threatening to tip over.
It's a tough job but she manages it effortlessly. Well, almost effortlessly.
She swallows down the sadness welling up in her chest as she watches Zuko depart to the council room. His retreating figure is the picture of stability - head held high, shoulders squared, walking with long, purposeful strides. He's filled into himself, into his role, and as much as she swells with pride seeing him succeed... she still has a hard time letting him go.
She feels his absence so closely, so acutely, that it seizes her heart. Maybe it's childish, the way she pines after him, but she can't help but remember the long nights spent away from each other. When she and all of her friends scattered to separate parts of the globe, she was ill-prepared for how lonely she'd become. She needed to find her own way – to figure out who she was outside of the Avatar, outside of caring for her brother…caring for everyone, outside of being the Master waterbender of the Southern Water Tribe.
It was a necessary ache but the longing for companionship never left her. She sent letters to everyone she loved – to her father and Sokka, to Toph, to Aang, to Suki. To Zuko. The letters she sent to him were always the most honest, filled with every worry and insecurity she'd ever had. For some reason, venting to him was easy. Effortless. He would always answer promptly, despite the long list of duties he must've had. His words were encouraging, understanding in a way that she was constantly surprised by.
She wasn't sure when the scrawl of his neat script started to worm its way into her heart but, by the time she noticed, it had already taken hold. When she finally returned to the Fire Nation, three years after the end of the war, she was full of hope and trepidation.
They fell together easily, drawing and giving strength in equal measure. Their courtship wasn't quite so simple but Zuko fought for her with the same ferocity that he used to chase the Avatar. He refused to back down and he refused to have anyone speak ill of her, of her culture and her background. It didn't take long for the court to bend, even they understanding when discussion was at a stalemate. It warmed her heart to see the depth of his love for her, to see the lengths he was willing to go to have her at his side.
He is her foundation, her stable ground. After so much time spent traveling the world, unsure of herself and her place in it, she needs that.
"Fire Lady Katara".
She is startled by Chiyo, her lady-in-waiting, but she maintains her outward composure. Chiyo has become another source of comfort for her, especially on the days where she runs herself ragged. Chiyo is a slight older woman with neat raven hair, streaked through by gray. She is always polite and warm, and not just because of her job, which Katara had taken awhile to understand.
"Good morning, Chiyo", she nods politely, "A lot on the schedule today".
Chiyo offers up a sympathetic smile, "Yes, but hopefully well worth your time".
She's trying, which is enough for Katara to swallow back her sour retort. She accepted this responsibility without question, understanding that it wouldn't always be fun. She didn't use to appreciate Fire Nation tradition but with a little time, a little added water tribe flair, she'd struck a perfect balance between old and new. For all the headaches, she knows that she and Zuko are breaking new ground. He trusts her to lead the nation alongside him and that trust is enough to have her following alongside Chiyo, ready to attack the day head-on.
In a few short hours, she'll see him again. Until then, she can manage.