Water

Delivery

"What are you doing?" Zuko asked. They'd finished the letter, finally. It felt as though they'd been at it for hours, quibbling over every detail until they managed to come up with something innocuous enough to make it past Zhao's censors, cryptic enough to conceal their true meaning from anyone but Uncle, and only slightly deranged. They were supposed to be done. But now Katara had General Bujing's letter in one hand and a knife in the other, and Zuko was beginning to wonder whether one or both of them had lost their mind in the process of encoding their message to Uncle.

Katara didn't look up. Holding the letter flat on the table with one hand, she pressed the knife blade as flat as she could across the width of the paper. "I'm trying to give the letter a finishing touch."

"We're not sending General Bujing's letter to my uncle, Katara. Not even if you cut it into little pieces."

She glanced up just long enough to stick out her tongue. "The seal, smart guy. If I can make an impression of the seal from the old letter, we can copy it onto the new one, and no one will ever suspect that it's not from General Bujing." There was a pause as she began working the blade into the slight gap between the edge of the seal and the letter. "If I do this right, we might even be able to reuse the old wax."

Zuko frowned. No matter how hard he tried, he really couldn't wrap his mind around her particular type of optimism. "How exactly are you planning to make a copy of Bujing's seal?"

"With ice."

"Ice melts."

This time, she didn't just look up. This time, she sat up straight, looked him in the eye, and flicked him in the middle of the forehead. "And water is wet. In case you've forgotten, I'm a waterbender. I think I can keep ice from melting long enough to make one little wax seal."

Scowling, he rubbed his forehead. "That's—"

"A brilliant idea?"

Unfortunately, yes. "Probably going to take a lot more time than we have to spare."

Katara narrowed her eyes at him. "Pessimist. Give me five minutes. If I'm not close to finished, then you can complain about how we're running out of time."

He started to reply, but she had already bent over the letter again, and after a bit of careful wiggling of the blade, she was able to chip off most of the seal in a single, intact piece. Huh. Maybe she could do this relatively quickly.

Zuko watched in silence as Katara freed the rest of the wax from the letter, then assembled the pieces pattern-up on the table and froze a bit of water over them to replicate the stamp that had made the markings in the first place. Then, within another minute, she had melted the wax once again and pressed it into place on the new letter.

"There. Good enough for you?" she asked, holding the letter out to him in triumph.

There were only the slightest, imperfect ridges left in the wax where the original seal had been broken—so slight that Zuko had to hold the letter up to the lamplight just to see them. It looked good. Really good.

"I think it's—"

She raised an eyebrow at him. "It's what?"

For some reason, it was difficult to find words. Zuko cleared his throat. "It's good. And—thank you. For—you know."

"I'm not completely sure that I do know, but you're welcome." She gave him a small smile and poked his arm. "And don't get too excited about thanking me yet. We still have to get the letter out of the city without being caught."

His stomach sank just a little, and he sighed. "Right."

"Relax, Zuko. It's late. Hardly anyone will be out at this time of night." She pushed herself up from the table and pulled her parka over her head.

Zuko raised his eyebrow at her. "Yeah, well—" He rose alongside her. "Hardly anyone saw me just after I got to the city, and I still wound up at the bottom of an ice pit. So forgive me if my optimism is running a little thin at the moment."

"What optimism?"

He scowled, and Katara laughed.

"I'm just teasing you, Zuko."

"Sure you are," he grunted. As he pulled on his own parka, the hood fell into a big uncomfortable lump on his back, and he struggled and strained to straighten it out.

She watched him for just an instant. Then, "Zuko."

"I'm fine. It's just stuck somehow, and—"

"Zuko." Katara stepped around him and pushed his hands lightly away. "Hold still for two seconds, would you?"

At the slight brush of her hand, his face went hot, and he froze in place. There was something wrong with him. There had to be. That was the only possible explanation he could think of for the way that his pulse was reacting to her proximity.

"There," she said, and after a quick tug, the parka fell into its proper place over his shoulders. "Now you almost look like you belong here."

"I doubt that," he said when he found his voice again.

"Mmm. Well, it is dark outside. Besides, you're with a master of distraction. It's going to be fine."

"That's what you're calling yourself now?"

"Yep. One of my many illustrious titles."

He snorted. Ugh, there really had to be something wrong with him. He couldn't remember the last time he'd really laughed, and now Katara kept getting him frighteningly close to it.

She came around to face him again, and Zuko did his best to bring his expression back under control. Katara, however, was still smiling.

"Ready to go?"

"Almost." Gently, he coaxed the hawk onto his hand, then lowered her into the bag. "This would be a lot easier if I didn't have to carry a live bird across the city."

"Look on the bright side," Katara offered. "If anyone sees you, they'll probably assume that you're Sokka and that Momo is in the bag."

He made a face. "Somehow that isn't exactly reassuring. I think I'd rather be recognized than have someone mistake me for Sokka."

Rolling her eyes, she gave his arm a soft tug. "Come on, Mister Grumpy. Let's go before Sokka gets back here and hears you complaining."

As Katara had anticipated, the streets were deserted when they ventured back out into the night. She breathed a sigh of relief. Considering how long it had been since they'd returned to the city, the boys had to be nearly through explaining things to Chief Arnook, and though they'd agreed not to say everything quite yet—Katara had a better understanding of the inner workings of Fire Nation ships than the rest of them—there was still more than enough to cause worry. Possibly even panic. She hardly would have been surprised to find the streets beginning to fill with patrols out searching for Fire Nation scouts. She'd be even less surprised if security began to tighten first thing in the morning so that no one could go more than a block or two without spotting a warrior or waterbender guarding a street corner.

For now, though, it was still calm and quiet. For now, Zuko was relatively safe at her side.

She led him clear across the city—past the waterbending arenas and healing huts, over several canals, and up to the city wall. They had to skirt along its base for quite some distance, following the wall's curve westward until they reached a guard platform that appeared to be deserted. Katara glanced back at Zuko, then motioned him along behind her as she started up the steps. At the top, she paused a moment, searching both ways along the wall before she stepped out of the way to allow Zuko up the last few steps.

"We're clear," she said, barely allowing her voice to rise above a whisper. "Is this a good enough place to let her go?"

Zuko shrugged. "It should be." He joined Katara at the waist-high wall before the ice dropped away to the frigid black sea. "She'll have a clear flight south from here."

Katara took a step closer to Zuko as he carefully extracted the hawk from the bag. Under the light of the waxing moon, the whole world existed in shades of gray and blue, and this little stretch of wall felt both sheltered from the city and wide open to the rest of the world. The air was still, and yet it somehow felt colder out here at the edge of the city than it had inside the wall.

"Hey," he said softly, stroking the hawk's back when she fluffed herself up at the sudden cold. "Easy. You're okay, girl." The hawk gave a small, strangled-sounding squawk and shifted from one foot to the other on his hand, but as Zuko kept murmuring, kept stroking the bird's back, she slowly quieted.

Katara couldn't help but watch him. Though she knew that look on his face—the quiet thoughtfulness, the softness that overtook his entire face when his habitual scowl faded—it still took her off guard. Mostly, she thought, because of how natural it seemed. He was well-practiced in maintaining his usual scowl, but that seemed to take effort, and thiswas just here. It seemed easy and natural. It was almost as though the softness was always there, lying just out of sight beneath all his angry blustering.

She knew that was ridiculous. He wasn't alwaysas grumpy as he tried to pretend, but he was still hotheaded and prickly. That part wasn't an act. But as far as she could see, neither was this.

Katara thought she liked the fact that he let her see his softer side from time to time.

When the hawk was finally calm, Zuko slipped the old sock off of her head and felt his own pockets. "Great," he mumbled. "Of course I forgot to bring something for her to eat."

"I might have something," Katara said, patting her parka until she found a small bundle of seal jerky in one pocket. "Here."

He gave her an odd look. "Do you always carry food with you?"

"Only when there's a strong possibility of Sokka getting whiney because he's hungry. So—yes, pretty much always." She produced a single strip of jerky from the bundle and held it out to Zuko.

The hawk didn't wait for the jerky to be offered to her—instead, she hopped across to Katara's hand and nabbed the jerky in the razor-sharp talons of one foot.

Katara couldn't help it. She gave a small shriek of surprise, and when the hawk began flapping and squawking at her, Katara flung her arms up, trying to shield her head. Talons scratched at her parka sleeve, and she squeezed her eyes shut.

"Katara. Katara!" Zuko grabbed her wrist, and she felt his other hand on her shoulder. "Relax, okay? She's not going to hurt you. She's just trying to eat."

"Is that supposed to be reassuring?"

"The jerky, not you!" One arm wrapped all the way around her shoulders, and he pried her hands away from her head with the other. "Just stretch your arms out. She'll stop flapping if you give her some room."

Katara kept her eyes squeezed shut and her head turned as far to the side as possible—the talons were still too close to her face for her liking—but she allowed her arms to straighten, and she felt rather than heard Zuko exhale.

"See? It's fine."

The hawk had gone quiet, and slowly, Katara allowed her eyes to open. Sure enough, the hawk sat perfectly calmly on her hand, holding the jerky still with one clawed foot and ripping it to pieces with her hooked beak. Katara exhaled, suddenly very aware that Zuko's arm was still wrapped around her shoulders.

"Sorry," she said. "I just wasn't expecting that."

His grip on her shoulders faltered, then dropped away entirely. He cleared his throat and took a step to the side, away from her. "Yeah, well—" he paused. "Messenger hawks can be—intimidating if you're not used to them."

Giving a small nod, she snuck a glance at Zuko. Her own face was burning, and if she wasn't mistaken, Zuko seemed a bit red as well. She wasn't sure whether that made her feel better or not.

She swallowed and forced her attention back onto the hawk. "How long do you think it's going to take her to get to the fleet?"

A shrug, and a silent moment passed before he seemed to find his voice again. "A day? Day and a half? Depending on how long it takes Uncle to write a response, we might hear back in two days. Or—" He sighed. "Or it could take a week. It's hard to know for sure."

"But she'll be able to find us?"

He nodded. "All of our hawks are trained to memorize new places. As long as Uncle uses the same hawk and gives her the signal to find me, she'll know to come back here." He paused until the hawk finished eating, then clicked his tongue until the hawk hopped from Katara's hand over to his. "I suppose it's time."

Katara nodded, stepping back just a bit as Zuko began what looked a bit like a ritual, giving a series of whistles and clicks while the hawk listened intently. Then, giving the hawk a push off into the air, Zuko sent her loose on her journey toward the south.

Katara stepped forward again, resting her hands on the edge of the wall as she watched the hawk's flapping even as she found her place in the air currents. The message tube dangling from the hawk's leg was still evident from this distance, but it was still dark outside, still quiet. By the time that anyone else would even glance that way, the hawk would be long gone along with their message.

With a slow exhalation, Katara leaned forward, her hand nearly touching Zuko's while her shoulder brushed lightly against his arm. This was nice. After all the chaos of the day, it felt like they were finally getting somewhere. Like they'd finally made enough progress that they had a chance to step back and breathe again.

But before she could truly relax, footsteps approached up the steps behind them. Her pulse leapt back into a frenzy. What were they supposed to do now? She'd chosen this point on the wall specifically because it was quiet and unguarded. There weren't supposed to be any people out here. She exchanged a hasty, panicked look with Zuko before she whirled on the spot, searching for somewhere—anywhere—for them to retreat, to hide.

There was nowhere to go. Though the city wall was divided into segments separated by watchtowers for most of its length, and staircases punctuated the wall every dozen or so paces, offering at least three easy retreats from each, Katara had chosen a staircase to a much smaller, balcony-like platform near the far western end of the wall. It was quiet and sheltered, but small—only ten paces across in any direction, and it boasted only a single staircase. Whoever was coming this way was going to see them.

She turned to face Zuko again. His eyes had gone wide, and his mouth hung open just the smallest bit, like he wanted to speak but was simultaneously petrified by the idea of making a sound. No. He was trapped here because of her, and she was not going to be the reason he got caught.

"I'm really sorry about this," she whispered. Then, before he had a chance to react, she thawed a cave-like hollow into the wall beneath them, pulled the water up onto the ledge, wrapped it tight around Zuko's middle, and catapulted him over the edge and into the hollow.

He shouted something incomprehensible as he fell, then went quiet again when he landed. Katara hung her head over the edge just long enough to be sure that he was hidden—his sleeve and one of his boots stuck out from the side of the wall, but no one was likely to notice unless they knew that someone was hiding there—before she straightened again.

The footsteps quickened, and then, "Katara?"

Her eyes widened at the voice, and she turned back. "Master Pakku? I—what are you doing here?"

Pakku frowned. "What was that sound?"

"I—I don't know. I didn't hear anything." She looked out over the water again. "Maybe you're just imagining things." Her heart sat at the back of her throat. Why did it have to be Pakku of all people? He was the one person she could think of who might be suspicious enough to really look around, to suspect that she might possibly be hiding someone who shouldn't be here.

Pakku's feet crunched in the snow as he took another step toward the ledge. "Is that a Fire Nation messenger hawk?"

Katara's jaw dropped, and she had to struggle for a response. What on earth was going on? The hawk was visible in the distance, but it was too far off to make out much detail now. "It's—no, I think that's just a seagull," she said when she found her voice again. She looked at Pakku sharply, struggling with all her might to keep her tone and her expression steady. "Why would you think that there was a Fire Nation messenger hawk all the way up here? Hasn't the Fire Nation left the North Pole alone for decades?"

Both uneven ends of Pakku's mustache quivered, and he crossed his arms tight. "That is not relevant, young lady."

"You brought it up."

Pakku harrumphed, and his mouth pressed into a narrow, severe line. "You should not be anywhere near the city walls, especially not at this time of night." His tone steadied as he seemed to find his stride again. "As you are fond of reminding me, I do not know your grandmother as well as I once did, but I am certain that she would caution you against venturing out after dark."

Katara crossed her arms right back at him. She was painfully aware of how close Zuko still was, of how precarious a position he was in, both physically and metaphorically, but this was a subject that she could manage. If she was careful about it, she could probably steer the conversation far enough off course to get Pakku to leave.

"Well, I'm certain that my Gran-Gran would tell me that it's a good idea to get some fresh air when I'm having trouble sleeping. So if you don't mind, I think I'm going to listen to her advice instead of yours."

Unfortunately, rather than retreating, Pakku took a spot a few paces down from her and rested backward against the waist-high wall instead. "You are—having trouble sleeping?" he asked stiffly, haltingly.

Her eyes felt very much like they were going to fall out of her face and roll all the way down to the water below. "Sometimes, yes."

"Why?"

She shot a disbelieving look at him. "I—just—what kind of question is that? Honestly. Do people usually know exactly the reason why they can't sleep? Because it happens a lot, and I don't think that—"

"Kanna." Pakku said, and when Katara's eyebrows shot up even higher, he added. "I know very well that I have been losing sleep over your grandmother for the past sixty years. Why would it be unusual for someone to recognize the cause of their own distress?"

"Maybe because most people don't make mistakes that they have to spend sixty years dwelling on," Katara muttered.

"Most people have the luxury of making amends to those they have wronged," Pakku replied, much louder than her. "Kanna never allowed me that chance."

"Are you seriously blaming my Gran-Gran for leaving you?" She pushed back from the edge just a little, her hands clenched into fists. "Just because you liked her doesn't mean that she owed you another chance. That's not how any of this works."

"Don't put words in my mouth, young lady. I merely intended to say that now that I know Kanna has made a life elsewhere, I have turned my attempts at making amends elsewhere too." Pakku paused. "Toward her descendants. In another world, you might have been my granddaughter. In this one, I consider it my solemn duty to look after you as Kanna would."

Katara's brow furrowed. "What? Are you—are you trying to win Gran-Gran over by acting like you're—"

"I am acting as I believe Kanna would wish me to act."

"You're trying to pretend that you're my grandfather! Why? What are you hoping to accomplish? Do you think that I'm going to go back to the South Pole and beg my Gran-Gran to take you back?"

His brows crept downward. "I am not ashamed to make what connections I can in Kanna's absence."

A harsh, breathy laugh burst out of her. Unbelievable. Pakku wasn't even trying to hide the fact that he was still chasing Gran-Gran. Somehow, the openness almost seemed worse than his previous thinly-veiled interest had.

Clenching her fists, she drew a few long, slow breaths before she spoke again. "Master Pakku, I'm glad that you finally agreed to teach me. I've learned a lot, and I can admit that I wouldn't have made it as far on my own. But that does not make you my grandfather! My grandmother married someone else at the South Pole, and she loved him. My grandfather was there to look after my tribe and raise my dad and welcome my mom into the family and take care of my brother. He was there for us right up until the day he died. You could be the best man in the world, and you'd still never replace him because my grandfather was there for my whole family, not just for me and Gran-Gran."

Pakku narrowed his eyes. "I have never intended to replace anyone."

"Good! Great! So leave me out of—whatever this is. If you want to fix things with Gran-Gran, then find a way to talk to her. I have enough to straighten out without worrying about some disagreement you had with her several decades before I was born." She crossed her arms, hoping that that would finally be enough to drive him away.

Pakku, however, didn't leave. Instead, he fixed her with a harsher glare. "Then perhaps I ought to speak as your waterbending instructor when I tell you again that the city walls are not a safe place for you. And you should not be wandering the streets at night without supervision."

"I can take care of myself, Master Pakku. If you've spoken to Master Taqqiq at all recently, then you should know that I've beaten every single one of my classmates at least once."

"So I have heard," Pakku said. "But that does not make the city walls any less dangerous. Especially for you."

"What are you—" Katara cut herself off, drawing in a slow breath. He didn't know that she was the Avatar. He couldn't possibly. Whatever he was going on about was probably much less significant than that. "What is it this time? My clumsy girl legs are going to make me fall over the edge or something?"

He looked annoyed. "No. It's because you have made it very clear that you have been targeted by the Fire Nation in the past. And I have received some—rather troubling news about their recent activities."

"Chief Arnook talked to you already?" she asked without thinking.

Pakku's eyebrows shot upward. "What would Chief Arnook have had to discuss with me?"

Oh, no. Her face went hot, and she looked away, shaking her head. If Pakku knew that the others were off talking to the chief, then her being on the city wall would look even more suspicious than it did already. "I—I mean, he's the chief. If the Fire Nation is up to something—he's going to be the first to know about it, right?"

From the corner of her eye, she saw Pakku's frown deepen, but for some reason, he chose not to push the issue further. Instead, he said, "We have reason to believe that a rogue firebender may be approaching the city."

She practically choked on her own inhalation. "A rogue firebender?"

A nod, and he seemed to be watching Katara's reaction closely. "A vicious brute, I understand. Quite possibly one of the very same who targeted you in the past."

It took all her will to keep from glancing down in Zuko's direction. "That doesn't narrow things down much. Hardly any of the firebenders we met on the way here were friendly." A pause. "Where did you hear that someone was coming this way?"

"That is not your concern." Pakku took hold of her shoulder and propelled her toward the steps despite her protests. "What does concern you, however, is the great likelihood that this firebending brute will do his best to harm you if given the chance. You are going home, and you will stay there until morning. No more arguments."

Zuko wasn't entirely sure how he'd managed not to fall out of the little notch in the ice so far. Every surface around him was slick and angled downward, just trying to tip him out into the sea. His legs had lost all feeling from being cramped up against the far side of the opening for so long, and though he was tempted to melt a little more of the ice to give himself more space, he was half convinced that the only thing that would do was to make the ice more slippery so that he was guaranteed to fall. Dropping down into freezing water was a bad idea at the best of times—not that it had stopped him before—but when his legs were asleep, it sounded like a death sentence. Using his bending to keep himself warm wouldn't do much good if he couldn't actually swim.

He stared at the narrow strip of ice across from him. How much longer was he going to be here? Katara had argued with that old guy for a while, so it made sense that he'd be stuck until that was over. But things had been quiet for a good while now, and he didn't seem any closer to getting out of here.

In fact, things were so quiet that he was beginning to suspect that she wasn't coming back. He'd never known Katara to give up easily—that was one of her more infuriating qualities, especially at the start—but that old guy had seemed intent on getting her home, and if she couldn't sneak away, Zuko would be left here. Alone. Frozen to the outside of the city wall. Left to the mercy of the elements and whichever people happened to find him when the sun rose.

No, he wasn't going to be here when the sun came up. If Katara didn't come back for him, Zuko would have to jump eventually. The longer he hung here, pinned to the ice by his clothing, the colder he felt, and the harder it was to keep from unleashing enough heat to melt all the ice around him. Sooner or later, he'd have to give in to keep himself from freezing, and then taking his chances with the black waves below him would be his only choice.

Not yet, though. Maybe it was entirely unrealistic, but he was still clinging to hope that Katara might come back. He thought she cared enough to do that much. Maybe. He really hoped that she did.

He wasn't sure how long he'd been waiting when the ice around him shifted—it softened and started to give way beneath him. His stomach dropped, and he tried desperately to grab onto something—anything, really—but rather than falling, the water closed in around him and began to rise.

His heart sat in his throat until he was lifted up over the edge of the ledge and he could crane his neck around to see Katara frowning in concentration.

She exhaled audibly. "Do you have any idea how heavy—" She released her grip on the water as she spoke, and Zuko's legs gave way beneath him.

"Ouch!"

"Zuko?" He heard her drop down beside him. "Are you okay?"

"My legs are asleep," he answered, twisting himself around so that he could sit. The movement had turned the prickling to burning, and even he didn't think that he could push through that quite yet. He groaned as he leaned back against the short wall. "Was that really necessary?"

"It was either that or letting you get caught by Master Pakku, so yes, it was necessary." She sounded a bit annoyed, but her hand rested on his shoulder, and her eyes bored into his. "Are you okay? I'm sorry it took me so long to get back here. Pakku insisted on walking me all the way back to the house, so it took ages to ditch him."

Her eyes looked so, so soft, and Zuko found it very difficult to look away. She'd come back. She'd freed him from that tiny, frozen notch in the wall, and she was even apologizing for leaving him there.

How on earth was he meant to respond to that? Coming back for him was remarkable enough, but an apology—he could probably count the number of genuine apologies he'd gotten in his entire life on his fingers with plenty of space left over.

He forced himself to look away and swallowed before he managed to speak. "I was beginning to think that I'd have to jump into the water."

"Hey!" She flicked his forehead. "Give me a little credit. I'm not about to leave you behind like that."

"Why do you keep doing that?" he asked, rubbing his forehead.

"Because sometimes I think that you need to be reminded to use your brain," Katara said. "That's what it's there for." Letting out a huff, she turned and dropped down beside him. "And just to be clear, people don't typically want to see their allies get killed. We're on the same side, remember?"

"Typically?"

She glared. "Want me to flick you again?"

Truthfully, he didn't mind that much either way. It always surprised him a bit, but it never really hurt when she flicked him in the forehead. More than anything else, it was weird. Weird because of how easy, how natural it seemed to come to Katara—how willing she was to get close enough to flick Zuko in the forehead. Weird because of how much it reminded him of the way she so often interacted with the others—almost like Zuko was one of them, not just an ally on the very fringes of the group.

It almost felt like a strange, exasperated sort of affection from her.

Zuko cleared his throat. "That guy—was that your waterbending teacher?"

Katara sighed. "Yeah. Well—sort of. He was the first teacher I had, and he's in charge of all the combat waterbending lessons, but I'm in a different class right now. Still, Pakku thinks that he needs to be in charge of everything."

"It sounded like it."

A grimace crossed her face. "How much did you hear?"

"Almost all of it, I think. Enough to know that he sounds like a jerk." Zuko flexed his legs, testing to see whether the prickling was gone. Not entirely, but near enough. He pushed himself up to his feet.

"Pretty much." Katara rose alongside him. "I think he thinks that he's doing the right thing. Especially when that means protecting me from rogue firebenders."

He rolled his eyes. "Mphf. So how does he know that I'm here?"

With a shrug, she led him back toward the steps. "I'm only half convinced that he knows anything. He does know that I was on your ship for a while. I guess he could be trying to scare me."

"Or he knows."

"I don't see how he could know. I haven't told him anything about you, and I'm not going to."

"I know," Zuko answered without even thinking. He stopped a few steps away from the street. He did know. He knew that Katara hadn't given him away. He knew that she wouldn't. When had he become so certain about that?

Katara reached the street, then turned back to face him. "What?"

Zuko swallowed and trotted the rest of the way down to join her. "Nothing."

"You look lost."

She was being metaphorical, he knew that. But he wasn't going to tell her that his mind was hung up on how strange it was to really trust her—to trust anyone outside of Uncle. He shrugged. "To be fair, I never had a chance to learn my way around here because someone decided to stick me in a hole."

"That's not what I meant, and you know it." Rather than pursuing the subject further, though, she grabbed his elbow and tugged him toward the left. "Come on. Knowing Pakku, he's probably still guarding the house to make sure I'm not sneaking out. We have to go the long way around."

His shoulders and his jaw relaxed a bit. Good. There were some things that he just couldn't talk about right now.

He shoved his hands into his pockets. "How did you come back without him noticing?"

"I went out through the back of the house."

Zuko raised his eyebrow. "I didn't see a back door when we were there."

"Yeah. That's because there isn't one." Katara looked up at him, expression dark. "I had to melt a hole through the back wall to get out."

Zuko snorted and tried to suppress a smile.

"It's not funny, Zuko."

"I didn't say it was."

"No, but you're laughing at me. Same thing."

He frowned. "I—I'm not laughing." His face grew hot when Katara looked his way. "I'm not. I can't even remember the last time I really laughed."

"That's—" Katara began, "Such a weird thing to brag about."

"I'm not bragging."

"Well then it's just sad." She looped her hands around his elbow and tugged him ever so slightly toward a darker, narrower street. "Everyone needs things to laugh about sometimes."

He frowned again, trying his hardest not to think about the fact that she was still holding his arm. "Yeah, well—it's been a long time since I found anything worth laughing about."

"I guess so. But someday, though. Someday, I bet I'll be able to make you laugh."

"Why are you saying that like it's a threat?"

Katara stuck out her tongue at him. "Maybe it is." Then, after a lapse, she sighed. Her grip on his arm loosened, but didn't drop entirely away. "You know—everything is going to be different tomorrow. As soon as people hear—"

"Yeah," Zuko replied quietly. "It probably will." He glanced down at her. "And it could be—I mean, these people have been living outside the war for decades. Who knows how well they're going to take it? I'm not trying to be a pessimist, but—it could get ugly."

"Yeah," she echoed. Her hand slipped farther down his arm until it snagged lightly on his hand and stayed there. "I know. But it could have been worse too. Thanks to you, we at least have a little time to prepare. That has to help us out no matter how badly the tribe takes the news."

"I hope that's enough."

"Me too." Her grip tightened a little on his hand as she took a slight corner onto another street.

They continued on that way, hands looped absently together, nearly slipping apart several times over before Katara tightened her grip just enough to guide him around another corner, down another street. It almost didn't feel real. The city was as near to perfect silence as he could imagine, and although it was still night, the partial moon and the stars shed enough of a glow over the streets to bring nearly every detail into focus. It was strange, but strange in a good way. It almost felt as though the two of them were completely alone, shielded from the rest of the world by a cloak of quiet solitude, and perfectly safe.

When they reached the edge of the lake again, Zuko's eyes traced over the many sets of footprints left in the snow leading to the near-invisible edge of the pit, and reality settled back over him. His shoulders slumped just a bit. Reality somehow felt heavier than it had before.

"Hey," Katara said quietly, giving his hand a slight squeeze. "Something wrong?"

Yes. I don't want things to change. I don't want this day to end. I like the way that things are right now, and I know that the second I set foot in that pit, it's all going to be over.

Zuko set his jaw. Even if he wanted to, he didn't think he could say any of that. He couldn't let his guard down that far.

"It just—it feels like we've been gone a lot longer than a day," he settled on. That was safe enough. Not the whole truth, but near enough to it.

"I suppose it does," said Katara. Her grip on his hand slackened, and Zuko found himself hoping that she wouldn't let go. Remembering that he had to go back to the pit was bad enough without losing that slender thread of connection.

Still, there was nothing he could do about it. The day, the journey was over, and sooner or later, he'd have to accept that he, at least, was right back where he had started. A useful ally, but nothing more than that. Certainly not a friend. Certainly not a person who anyone would want to spend time around if there was another choice. Maybe it would hurt less if he just got that through his head right away.

He started to pull away, heading toward the pit ahead of her.

Katara, however, stopped him. "Zuko?"

He looked back, pulse roaring.

"I, um—I don't think I'll be able to sleep at all tonight. And I really don't feel like sneaking past Master Pakku again."

"And?" he rasped.

"And—would you mind if I stayed out here a while longer?"

Zuko's breath caught, and he had to look away. He rubbed the back of his neck. "I guess—only if you really want to."

Author's Note:

I think the fact that I'm not the biggest fan of Pakku/Kanna is starting to sneak into the story a little bit here. I can't help it. Pakku just makes it so clear in canon that he's been stuck in his ways for AT LEAST sixty years that I can't see how even getting smacked around a little by his ex's granddaughter would make much significant/lasting impact on his worldview. At most, I can see Katara being the first kick in the pants that starts him down the road toward becoming a more decent person.

That said, for being a weird old stick in the mud, Pakku is actually pretty fun to write. I wonder what that says about me as a person.

I hope you all enjoyed Zuko and Katara being adorable dorks together! They're finally starting to acknowledge the fact that they care about each other (at least a little bit), and I'm so excited about where we're going from here!

See you again in two weeks, and in the meantime, reviews are much appreciated!