It's been a week now. A whole week since her arrival on Ember Island, a week since she's put in the effort to pretend that everything is okay.
She hasn't cooked in a week. She hasn't cleaned in a week, aside from tidying up the richly furnished room that she's been staying in, a room that Zuko tells her belonged to his cousin, Lu Ten, one of the finest in the whole sprawling mansion. And the incredible thing is that she hasn't felt any guilt in that lapse from her usual duties. Somehow, even after the others joined them on Ember Island several days ago, things haven't fallen apart.
She has been paying enough attention to know that Zuko, and to a lesser degree, Suki and Sokka, have been making up the difference while she has been away. Well, not away. Not really hiding or avoiding the others either, just taking a bit of a break. Waiting for the turmoil in her head to quiet before she ventures back out into the world and allows normalcy back into her life.
This morning, just like all the others, she opens the door to her bedroom to find a breakfast of fruit waiting just outside. This time, though, Zuko has yet to make his escape from the corridor, and he stares at her for an instant before clearing his throat and taking a backward step.
"Sorry. I was just leaving." He motions awkwardly to the hall behind him. "I'm not here to—ask you to come out or anything."
"I know," Katara says almost immediately, and her face grows hot. She waves a hand as though she can clear the embarrassment from the air just that easily. "How is everything going out there?"
Zuko rubs the back of his neck. "Fine. You know, lots of training and stuff. Everyone is staying busy."
She nods. It feels strange to be here, so close to all the activity and yet existing outside of it all. She almost thinks that she should feel guilty, and yet when she reaches deep down inside herself, all she can find is a memory of Zuko's arm around her shoulders, holding her close after facing Yon Rha. Of the soft rumble beneath her ear when he told her to take all the time she needs.
It's hard to feel guilty, even after a week, when that echo still lives inside her head, so soft, so assured.
Zuko seems hesitant when he speaks again. "Are you—"
"Am I what? Am I coming back sometime soon?"
He frowns. "Are you doing okay in there? Or—feeling better than before?"
Oh. Crossing her arms, she leans back against the door and gives a small, lopsided shrug. "Different. Really different. I go back and forth about whether it's better or worse." A sigh escapes her lips. "I feel a little lonely sometimes. But—the quiet doesn't bother me as much as it used to."
Zuko's gaze holds steady on her, and after a moment, he nods. "I get that." Another lengthy hesitation. "Do you need anything? If I can help—"
Katara shakes her head. "I'm fine, Zuko. Thanks for bringing me breakfast."
Slowly, he nods. "You're welcome. And if you change your mind—if you need anything, I'll be around. Not all day. I won't be standing out here like a creep, but—"
"Got it, Zuko. Thanks."
He flushes almost scarlet and retreats away from her door before he has to say anything else.
For the first time in several days, Katara thinks about leaving her room, going out to face the others and returning to routine. But the whole group sounds like too much. At least for now. She'll have to return to normalcy eventually—probably soon, maybe even within a day or two, but the idea of facing everyone at once is overwhelming.
She takes the breakfast into her room and perches on the balcony that faces the wedge of tangled forest between the mansion and the beach. It doesn't sound like such a bad idea, now that she thinks about it. She doesn't feel normal yet. She isn't sure that she'll ever return entirely to normal. But she is becoming a little lonely. If she ventures out sometime today, she can spend a little time with a few of the others and gradually ease herself back into normal life before they all start to think that she's lost her mind and resigned herself to the life of a hermit.
But some of them probably already think that, and the others, Sokka and Aang in particular, will just call the whole group out to see her when she isn't ready for anything like that. When she can't fake the optimism and energy that she normally carries. It's years old, but for her, the grief over her mother is still raw, and she can't imagine that any of them will understand.
Except, possibly, for Zuko. He's been nothing but understanding since their journey to face Yon Rha.
She feels strange for even thinking it, but he might be her best choice. If what she wants is to learn to face the world again, Zuko is the person who will demand the least from her at the start. He is the only one who seems to understand why she's locked herself away until now, and he, out of all of them, is the least likely to act as though she's made of glass. And then, once she's grown accustomed to his company again, the others might be easier to face.
For much of the day, she hovers in indecision. She needs to leave this room before too much longer, Katara knows that. And she is equally certain that Zuko is precisely the person she wants by her side when she does, but the shadow of her past resentment still hangs heavy over her mind. She has forgiven him, but what if he decides that he can't forgive her for all the endless needling mistrust? What will she do if she ventures out and Zuko responds by pulling away?
It isn't until the afternoon, when Katara has finished her lunch and arranged the dishes carefully outside her door for Zuko to collect, that she finds her resolve. As she waits inside, ear pressed up against the door, she hears his familiar tread in the hall, hears the soft rattle of the dishes, then hears him hesitate for several long moments. If not for the door standing between them, he would be near enough to touch, and briefly, Katara hopes that he will knock just so that she can hear his voice.
He doesn't. Of course he doesn't. Not after Katara has made it so clear that she wants her privacy, but the disappointment when he finally turns away is enough to make the decision for her. If she doesn't take the chance now, then she'll never find the courage to do it.
Over the next few hours, Katara fusses with her hair and her clothes, checking the mirror over and over to be sure that she still looks like herself. It's hard to tell for certain. There are no specific changes that she can detect, but there is something different, something unfamiliar in her face. Maybe she looks older than she used to, more solemn, more grounded than ever before. Or maybe it's all in her head. Maybe the only difference is that she feels different than she used to.
In either case, she eventually runs out of ways to readjust her hair, and Katara emerges onto the balcony, then clambers over the railing to reach the narrow ledge that runs all the way around the outside of the mansion.
It isn't strictly necessary to take this route to the kitchen. At this time of day, the others are probably out on the beach or in one of the gardens rather than milling about inside, but she's paid enough attention to see Zuko sneaking around this way a few times. Since there is a way to keep out of sight, she might as well use it.
By the time that she lets herself down on the balcony that adjoins the kitchen, the sun is making its way down toward the horizon, and the balcony is bathed in cool shadows. Katara lands as soundlessly as possible, and she congratulates herself on making it this far without being seen.
For the first time in days, she comes close to smiling. It wasn't her plan at first, but now that she's here, she might as well surprise Zuko.
But when she steps up toward the door, voices drift out to meet her, and she stops in her tracks. Zuko is here, but he isn't alone.
"Do you think we could have some moonpeach custard tarts for dessert again tonight?" Aang's voice rings out as clear as a bell, and there is an unpleasant jolt in the middle of Katara's chest.
"Hmm—I don't think so." Zuko's gentle rasp comes as a relief, but it still isn't enough to put her entirely at ease.
"How come? I know it's not that hard to make."
"It is when we don't have any moonpeaches. We ran out last night, and it's a little late to go pick a bunch more." There is a brief pause. "If you really want custard tarts, you could probably talk Toph into helping you pick some more tomorrow."
With a slow exhalation, Katara steps off to the side and slides down to the balcony just beside the door. She can't bring herself to interrupt, not when Aang is waiting inside, not when their bitter argument before she and Zuko faced Yon Rha is still so fresh in her memory. Someday, she thinks, she will be able to face him again. Someday soon, even, but for the moment, it's too difficult not to imagine the disappointed, disapproving look in his eyes. The look that he still hadn't managed to shake off when she returned from Whaletail Island with Zuko.
The balcony is pleasant enough, though, and she reasons that sooner or later, Aang will wander off to prepare for dinner with the others, leaving Zuko to finish up in the kitchen alone. She's seen the pattern often enough, and in the meantime, the mundanity of the conversation begins to soothe her nerves.
"I can't believe we ran out already," says Aang. "Sokka and I picked so much last time."
Zuko grunts in reply. "That's what happens when you've got six people to feed." There is nothing but soft chopping sounds for a moment before he resumes. "What's with the face?"
"Oh—nothing. I just—I guess I kind of forget that there's six of us sometimes."
Katara's insides clench, and it's all she can do to remain in place, to remain silent. Though she hasn't heard this conversation before, she can sense exactly where it is leading, and she feels deep down in her bones that the same path has been tread dozens of times in the week that she's been gone.
The chopping pauses. Then, "Aang, we've talked about this. Give her some space."
"I know! I have been!"
"But?"
"But—how much longer is this going to take? Doesn't Katara want things to go back to normal?"
In the weighty pause that follows, she tries to force her legs to move. She was wrong about today—wrong about everything. She isn't ready to face the others. Not out here. She needs to start slower. Maybe she can manage a conversation or two by her bedroom door with Zuko, but this is too much.
But her legs refuse to cooperate, and inside the kitchen, the chopping resumes again. "No. I don't think she does."
Aang scoffs. "Shows what you know. Katara's my best friend, and she doesn't even like you." There is an unpleasant, bitter edge to his voice, and Katara wishes that it didn't sound so familiar. "Of course she wants everything to go back to normal."
There is a loud clack as Zuko slaps the knife down. "What does 'normal' even mean?"
"You don't know what 'normal' means?"
"Of course I know the word. I just don't know what you think is normal."
The question seems to throw Aang off, and it takes a moment for him to respond. "The way things used to be. That's normal. You know—Katara was always happy, and she took care of a lot of this stuff, and—things were just better."
"And why would she want to go back to that?"
The tight, sharp pain that has been building in the center of her chest gives an abrupt snap, and Katara nearly gasps with relief as it dissipates. She doesn't quite understand why she suddenly feels so much lighter, but the change is unmistakable.
"Why wouldn't she?" Aang demands. "She's not acting like herself anymore. It wouldn't make sense if she didn't want things to go back to the way they were before."
Though Zuko's voice remains quiet, it hardens, and his words come out short and clipped. "She is acting like herself. Got that? No matter how weird you think she's acting, she's still Katara. She doesn't have to try to act normal for any of us."
"Yeah? And what about for her?"
It takes Zuko a while to answer. "I don't think her old normal was much good for her."
"You're just saying that because she's nicer to you now than she used to be."
"No! That's not—" Zuko exhales audibly, and after a pause, the sound of chopping vegetables begins again. "No. Her old normal—there was a lot of pain behind it. She did a good job of hiding it a lot of the time, but Katara was hurting. I guess she probably still is, but at least she's not so worried about hiding it anymore. And maybe—maybe that will help. Maybe she'll actually feel better someday." A pointed pause holds for a few seconds before he goes on. "I don't want her old normal back. She deserves something better than that."
Though the tightness in her chest has subsided, there is a new, gathering tension in her throat, and Katara's eyes begin to prickle around the rims. Something better. A new kind of normalcy—she can't begin to imagine what that might look like, but the thought is intoxicating.
"You wouldn't be saying that if she'd liked you before."
"Damn it, Aang, I'm—" Zuko cuts off, and there is a harsh breath. His voice drops, and he resumes, a little stiffer than before. "Could you just go find out where the others want to eat, please? Dinner will be finished in a few more minutes."
"Fine." The pouting edge to Aang's voice is uncomfortably familiar too, but the door on the far side of the kitchen creaks open, and soft footsteps give his departure away.
The instant that he leaves, Zuko heaves a sigh, and the door to the balcony bursts open. He doesn't look down, doesn't seem to notice her presence at all, and instead storms straight across to the balcony's edge. Elbows resting on the railing, he buries his face in his hands. "Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid."
Katara half hopes that he won't look back. That he'll stay there at the edge, motionless, until she gathers herself back up and manages to escape back onto the ledge that leads around to her room. But the other half of her can't seem to do anything but stare at Zuko's back, at the way his shoulders move along with each steadying breath.
Her vision blurs, and she does her best to blink away the burning in her eyes. It doesn't help. And it doesn't make sense either—she isn't sad, she isn't hurting. At least not right now. So why is she so close to crying?
An involuntary sniffle makes its way out of her, and Zuko's back stiffens. Then, before she can move or speak or even think, he looks back over his shoulder.
"Katara? How long have you been there?"
"Long enough," is all that she can manage.
"Shit." Zuko shoots a desperate look around the balcony as though searching for someone—anyone else to step in and help. When he finds no one, though, he comes forward and crouches in front of her. "I'm sorry. If I'd known that you were listening—"
Katara shakes her head. "I don't understand."
He stops, and his forehead creases. "What don't you understand?"
It's hard to gather herself up enough to respond. It's harder yet to find the right words. Katara sits up straighter and stretches across the short distance that remains between them to wrap her arms around his neck. "I don't understand how you got everything so right," she says, voice wavering as she presses her forehead into his shoulder.
Just like the first time she hugged him a few days ago, Zuko freezes for just an instant before he softens and returns the embrace. "I didn't realize that I had."
Author's Note:
I may have written this oneshot out for something like three other prompts before I finally figured out where I wanted to put it in the week. But closeness definitely works!
I just really like the idea (... which is basically already canon) of Zuko having this deep, intuitive understanding of Katara's grief and pain that the other characters lack, and then using that understanding to help give her the space and time that she needs to heal on her own. And the idea of her overhearing Zuko defending her like this (and specifically the part about him not wanting Katara to go back to normal because her old normal wasn't very good for her) has barely left my head since I first dreamed it up.