Chapter 14: The Usual Rules

Katara woke groggily several times during the night. Her mind was still hazed over by the drug, but she knew she was in bed again, and she knew Zuko was next to her because she could feel his warm heat and steady breathing. The second time she woke, her mind was a bit clearer, but not back to full consciousness yet. This time, Zuko was up and talking to someone at the door. Her ears seemed numbed over and she couldn't hear a thing they said, and fell back into blessed sleep before Zuko came back into bed. She knew he did, because the third time she woke up, her hand was held gently in his. Katara turned over, wincing at the pain, to look him in the face. How peaceful and innocent he seemed, sleeping like this. Except his scar. There was a story behind it, she knew, but he hadn't told her. Her free hand slowly, shakily came up to touch his face, tracing the outline of the ugly burn around his eye. Did it hurt him still? Did he have nightmares about it? Could he feel it when she touched him?

The room was dark, except for the thin light of the moon shining through the windows. Everything seemed right with the world during the night. There was no war, no Avatar, no violence. As obtuse as it was, somewhere inside of her, Katara was glad Zuko had stayed tonight. How lonely she'd been before, sleeping by herself. She was so pathetic, desperate for companionship that she would be grateful for the mere presence of Zuko next to her in bed. He'd hit her! What did she have to be grateful for?

Regaining her senses, Katara's hand stilled, then drew away from him. She turned so her back was to Zuko again. Nothing. She was grateful for nothing. She hated him. That's what she was grateful for. It was a good thing she hated him. It was infinitely better than loving him.


The next morning, Katara woke up a bit more refreshed. Zuko was gone. Bright sunlight shone through the windows. She noticed someone had patched over the hole she'd made with a piece of wood. Crude, but not really effective. She could just break another one and escape again. Amused that Zuko would be so stupid, Katara slowly sat up in bed, hissing as the bruises on her back flamed to life, and the cold metal on her wrists clanked together-

What the fuck? Katara thought, horrified. What the fuck are these things?

Thin, flat gold bands encircled each of her wrists, with long, long chains of gold metal reaching from each band until they fastened to one of the bedposts at the head of the bed. Katara shook one wrist experimentally, then got shakily out of bed and walked as far as she could across the room until the chains pulled taut. She could go anywhere inside the room that the length of the chains allowed. She couldn't reach the doors or any of the windows.

She finally understood. This was why no one had bothered to fix the problem of the breakable windows. This was why Zuko wasn't worried about leaving her alone. She couldn't go anywhere. Not while she was tied up to the bed like a dog.

Katara let out a pure scream of frustration that rang in her ears and could be hear throughout the castle.


Zuko graciously sipped his tea, sitting across from Iroh. They could hear her scream all the way from the dining room.

"I suspect she's woken up."

"Most likely."

"Think she'll try to kill you?"

"Most likely."

They each ate their breakfast silently, thinking their own thoughts.

Zuko felt a strange satisfaction at knowing the Katara had discovered her predicament. That would teach her. She wouldn't be going anywhere for awhile. Finally, everything was back under his control.

Iroh wondered what Katara's true state of being was. Obviously she and Zuko had had a falling out of some sort. Zuko obviously wasn't going to go into any sort of detail. He made it a point to visit her sometime today, to have a little talk. Hopefully she wouldn't be as violently disposed towards him as she had been towards Zuko when she'd hurled that vase at his nephew. And hopefully, she would still be alright. By the sound of that scream, her health couldn't be in too bad of a condition.


How am I supposed to go to the bathroom? Katara raged, jerking against the chain. It only served to bruise her wrist even more. What was going through that idiot's head when he did this?

A timid knock on the door shook her out of her reverie. It was Kaz. Oh no. Katara sat in silence on the bed for the servant to come in. What would he think now? He already knew her attempt at escape had failed. Otherwise, why would he be bringing her food?

Kaz's mouth dropped open when he saw her, and if years of training and fear of punishment hadn't been instilled into him, the boy would have dropped the tray of food as well. Katara held her head high. What had she to be ashamed of? But then again, she hadn't seen her own self this morning, with no mirror around. Maybe she looked worse than she thought. A night of running around in the forest, crouching in the dirt, and being hit by Zuko. She couldn't possibly still look civilized.

Kaz quickly dropped his gaze to the floor, and hurried over to the table, setting the tray on it. He looked like he was about to cry. Just before he left, he turned around quickly and glancing at her face, whispered "I'm so sorry."

Katara sighed, all her dignity and pride whooshing out in one breath. She slumped on the bed. "It's not your fault, Kaz. None of this is your fault."

The servant boy left, and Katara sat on the bed for a moment, contemplating his reaction. Hopefully it wouldn't burden his conscience too badly. She wondered what she really did look like to provoke such a response from him. Deciding she'd find out, she slid off the bed and proceeded to rummage through all the dressers and drawers within her reach. Finally she came upon a small hand mirror, and took a deep breath before opening her eyes and looking at her reflection.

Wow. That was one big-assed bruise on her cheek. The side where Zuko had slapped her. She turned her face to check the rest of it. Purple-green-yellow. Not exactly the greatest color scheme. Her hair was a mess too, and several dirt smudges covered her face. But it'd all fade away soon enough.

Katara didn't feel hungry, but looking over at the food, decided that she might as well build up her strength anyways. She limped over to the table, chains clattering behind her on the cold floor. The aches and pains really weren't as bad as yesterday night. The drug had completely knocked her out, and that rest must have helped. Maybe the drug had some healing properties as well?

She uncovered the first bowl. Soup. Wrinkling her nose, she decided it smelled… suspicious. Taking a closer sniff, she slapped her hand over her nose and mouth, resisting the urge to throw up. There was definitely something wrong with the soup. Had it gone bad? She turned her attention to the small plate of salad. That was fine, but when she finally smelled the cooked fish on the remaining plate, a sudden urge to throw up rose inside her stomach again. Shit! She waved a hand in front of her nose. Was that fish rotten? Who would serve rotten food to the Fire Lord's important prisoner? Were they trying to poison her? She decided to chance it once more, and sniffed it again to make sure. Oh shit! And before she knew it, she'd thrown up her entire breakfast into the soup bowl.

Shit! Damn it! Katara felt utterly horrible. Her stomach heaved again, but nothing came out this time. She'd only eaten the salad, after all. Her aim hadn't been that great, and a bit of her vomit dripped from the table onto the marble floor. She bent down painstakingly to clean it up, using a napkin from the tray to wipe up everything. Katara noticed the pitcher of water on the table, and rinsed her mouth out and watched her face. Good, clean water.

She stared at her vomit. It had blended into the soup, and the smell of stomach acid covered the bad food smell. Someone had definitely poisoned the food. But why? And wouldn't Kaz have noticed anything? He wouldn't have served her spoiled fish. He was eternally grateful for her money, and practically worshipped her! Kaz served her food every day, and he would definitely have noticed something-

Oh fuck. There was nothing wrong with the food, Katara realized. Nothing wrong with the food at all. She was the problem.

Katara wanted to cry. She wanted to break down and sob. She wanted to crawl back into bed and weep her sorry little eyes out until she couldn't bleed any more tears. She was miles from home, and she had no one to help her with her… dilemma. Her period hadn't come, and all of a sudden she was smelling food and throwing up. Plus she was chained to a bed by the very father of the child, and she was all alone. The weight of it all felt like it was going to crush her.

Beginning to sniffle, she stumbled back to bed, burrowing into her pillow and pulling the covers tight up to her chin. Pushing every single thought of baby, morning sickness, period, and Zuko from her head, she willed herself to go back to sleep.

After all, her tired body was supporting two now.


Zuko opened the door to his room extremely cautiously, hoping that nothing else would come zooming toward his head. But all was silent, and the objects stayed in their places this afternoon. Slipping into the room and closing the door tightly behind him, he caught side of the mound on the bed. Katara was still asleep? What was it, one in the afternoon already?

Katara heard him come in, but didn't move from her position. Maybe if she pretended to be asleep, he'd go away.

He caught sight of the food on the table, wondering why she hadn't eaten. Upon closer inspection, he found out that she had eaten, but only of the salad. How strange. Picking up a fork, he speared a bit of the fish for himself. Mmm. The palace cook still had her old touch. If Katara wasn't going to finish it, Zuko wasn't going to let it go to waste. Zuko caught sight of the still-full soup bowl. What a strange color. Maybe the cook was trying out something new. It smelled foreign too. New recipe?

Katara opened her eyes to slits. Well, Zuko wasn't going away, but maybe something better would happen. He was picking up the spoon, dipping it full of soup and-

Zuko spat out the liquid, throwing his spoon to the floor where it clattered on the cold marble. "Shit!" He cursed, forgetting that Katara was still sleeping in the bed. What the hell had that been? What the fuck had the cook been thinking? "Damn it!" He hissed, wiping at the stains on his clothes from when he'd spit out the soup messily.

"Hah. Serves you right." A rustle on the bed made him stop mid-swipe and turn to look at Katara, who was sitting up, watching him. Ouch. That bruise looked like it hurt. But her face looked strangely triumphant and satisfied.

What? How did she know the soup was-

It hit him. "What did you do to it?" He gaped at her, amazed that she even had the audacity to do such a thing. She'd tricked him! The full horror of it dawned on him. "You- you didn't pee in it, did you?"

She laughed, a malicious and distinctly… evil laugh. "No."

He relaxed a bit.

"But I did throw up in it."

Fuck. That little brat. Zuko looked utterly disgusted. And she'd just lain there in bed, and didn't see fit to warn him? Now Zuko knew she'd been awake the entire time. "If this is your idea of revenge-"

"I'm not looking for revenge." She cut him off, standing up from the rumpled sheets. Her eyes looked a little red. "I just hate you."

He decided to ignore that last comment. Zuko told himself it didn't matter. It didn't matter whether she liked him or not. Things like hating and loving were irrelevant, especially when he was trying to take over the world. But somehow, the walls he'd built around his emotions wasn't as strong as he'd thought they were. The words squeezed painfully through a crack in his barrier and hit him stingingly in the center of his heart.

He ignored it, like always. "Why'd you throw up?" She wouldn't have voluntarily done that, would she? Not just to play a stupid little trick on him, she wouldn't.

A shadow passed over her face for the briefest second before her emotionless mask came back again. "Something was wrong with the fish. I think it's rotten. That's why I vomited. Would you rather me have done it all over the floor?"

"The fish was fine!" He said, still gaping at her.

"No it wasn't. Maybe you're used to eating spoiled food, but I prefer higher quality meals."

He scowled. Now she was just back to petty insults. Well, he could play this game too. "You could have done it like a civilized person in a bathroom, not a soup bowl."

She held up her wrists mockingly. "The bathroom was a bit, how do I say it, out of reach?"

Zuko glowered at her. Damn it. How could he have been so stupid as to forget the chains? He'd put them on himself. She'd won this round, but he'd won everything else. After all, who was the one chained up to the bed?

"Oh. Sorry. I'd forgotten. Freedom sort of gets to one's head after awhile." He smiled grimly back.

She glared at him. Katara hated him with every inch of her self at this moment. He didn't have to rub it in her face. He'd already won, couldn't he just be satisfied with that? In some deep, dark part of her, a little bit of her consciousness had been hoping that he'd limp back into the room today, sincerely sorry for his actions from the previous night. That he'd hug her, kiss her, apologizing to her for the hurts he'd caused. Shower her with meaningless words and even more meaningless gifts. And she'd known, in some even more secret part of herself, that she would have forgiven him after a while, being the weak-minded and easily manipulated girl she was.

Unable to say anything further, Katara turned her back on him and stared out the windows. Hard to believe that she'd been racing over that very grass and running through that very forest last night. She could barely remember the whisper of soft greenery under her feet, the rough bark of the trees, and the cold, free air on her face. She should've enjoyed what brief freedom she'd had last night. But she'd been in a right panicked state, and hadn't really been focusing on the virtues of natures around her. And now she was back in here.

Katara heard the door snick shut behind her. She turned around slightly. Good. He'd left. Now she could resume crying in peace. Except she didn't break down again. All that mucus and salty water could really get to you after awhile. To be truthful, she just wasn't interested in pouring out her grief anymore. Crying wasn't going to get her anywhere.

But what would? There was nothing she could now about it. No action she could take. In fact, the time for action was over. What she was dealing with now were the consequences.

The door creaked open, and Katara's head whipped around to stare at it. What was Zuko doing back so soon? Had he figured something out? Had she been too obvious with the vomiting thing? Had he put two and two together-

But no. Iroh's grinning face greeted her.

She slowly relaxed, sinking back into her armchair. "Hello."

"Hello yourself." Iroh smiled cheerfully, and walked into the room to sit down on one of the sofas. "I met Zuko in the hallway and decided I'd stop by."

"I'm glad you did." Katara said, shifting slightly in her chair. The constant chains made a clanking noise when she did. Iroh settled onto the seat across from her, raising one eyebrow at the noise.

"I knew about the chains, but gold?" He gave her a sly look. "Kinky."

She gave him a deadpan look.

"Alright, alright! I didn't mean it."

She smiled at him. It had been funny.

"… But I didn't know my nephew had it in him."

Katara was prepared to glare at the perverted uncle again but she couldn't keep the laughter from coming out. She hadn't laughed in a long, long time, and it felt so good. They laughed together, even though they both knew that it was more than the weak joke deserved. Finally, Katara stopped, shaking her head side to side at Iroh's twisted perversity.

And the old man stopped short, eyes fixated on her face, color quickly draining out of his own.

Katara, momentarily confused, wondered why Iroh had stopped. Had he seen something? Before she could turn around to see what was behind her, she quickly realized what it was. Oh. He'd finally noticed it.

"Would it help to say that I fell and broke my fall with my cheek?" She asked carefully.

Iroh sat down slowly on the couch, his earlier grinning visage gone. He looked his age now. Tired and weary. "No. Not really."

She didn't say anything. What was there to say?

"I thought something was different with your face at first, but maybe it was just a trick of the light." His sad eyes gently examined her cheekbone. "I wish it was."

"It's not. It's real as every other part of my body." As real as it is painful. She finished silently. No need to worry Iroh. He had enough on his mind already.


Zuko ignored all the guards that saluted him respectfully as he quickly walked towards the lower innards of the castle, where the dungeons were built. Further in, the stone steps became slightly slippery with damp, and he opened up a globe of fire in his left palm to help light his way. Soon enough, he entered the main jail room that had several branches of cells leading off of it. More guards sat here, making sure nobody who wasn't supposed to leave slipped past the iron doors.

Zuko ignored these soldiers too, who scrambled up to salute to him. His business was elsewhere. Taking the first left passageway, he walked all the way to the end of the empty aisle until he stopped in front of the last two metal-barred cells.

The flame in his hands threw queer shadows everywhere. One of the occupants looked up at him with wide, guarded eyes. The other inmate didn't move from his curled up position in the back of his cell. His harsh breathing filled the dark emptiness of the corridor. It didn't sound natural.

Aang and Zuko locked gazes for a full minute, before the younger boy finally broke away. The Avatar looked over his shoulder at his friend in the next cell. He called out in a low voice, "Sokka. Sokka."

The older boy woke with a start, his limbs flailing, as if trying to find out where he was. "Huh?" Belatedly, he realized his predicament. "Oh." Then he noticed Zuko. "It's you."

Zuko examined him for a short moment. The other boy didn't look too good. He was pale, and bright drops of sweat stood out on his clammy skin. That didn't matter. Katara would be happy to see her brother whether he was good looking or not.

Motioning for two guards to come over, he unlocked the door of Sokka's cell with the key that he kept with him always, on a thin chain around his neck. "Let's go."

Sokka looked at him with a wary and panicked gaze. "Where? Where are you taking me?"

"You'll find out soon enough." It was cruel to keep the information from him, but Zuko wasn't in a generous mood. He felt like taking his spite out on someone. "Just move it."

When Sokka was a bit too slow in standing up, the two guards went in and grabbed him under the arms. "Hey!" He tried to struggle, but they held on steadfastedly. Sokka was weakening. Almost three days in a cell, with no light, no fresh air, and meager food wasn't the recipe for a healthy young man.

"Hey!" Protest came from the Avatar's cell. "Where are you taking him? Take me too!"

Zuko ignored all the complaints from behind him and lead the way back out of the dungeons and up into the main castle. They were all whiners, even the Avatar. Well, this Fire Lord could just let that stupid kid stew in the darkness. He was the one calling all the shots now, not some whimpy Air Bender.

The guards dragged the shouting Sokka all the way up the stairs and through the grand hallways of the palace until they finally reached the room where Katara was staying.

Katara sighed, releasing the chains back to puddle in her lap. She'd been picking at them for the last half hour since Iroh had left, but to no avail. A thump and raised voices on the other side of the doors drew her attention. Now what?

The double doors burst open and wonder of wonders, Sokka fell to the floor in a heap, shouting at someone behind him. "You ugly asshole, you think that hurt?"

Katara stood up, chains tinkling onto the floor, every thought blown from her mind.

Sokka looked up at her. He wasn't sure who he was he here to see, and had an angry retort ready on his lips. Then he recognized his sister.

It seemed an eternity as they stared at each other.

Sokka took in every detail of his little sister. He'd been ready to scream at her, to yell at her, to scold her as a big brother should when his little sister does something bad. But he was stopped by the purple bruise across her cheek, the chains looped around her wrist, and her whole battered form.

And he realized that the assumptions he'd been building so confidently in his head for the past two days were utterly and irrevocably wrong.

He stood up shakily, the blood drained from his face. "Katara-"

She threw herself at him, almost knocking him over with the sheer force of her hug. He gazed down in shock at the gold metal leading away from her body, trailing on the floor, before wrapping his arms around his beloved sister and hugging her back as hard as he could. "I'm so sorry."

Before burying her tears in her brother's shoulder, Katara caught sight of Zuko's emotionless face watching them from outside, before the doors closed and he was gone.

Why did he do this? How did he know I needed to see Sokka? Why did he let my brother out? Why? Why? But Katara had never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth. She just reveled in the fact that her brother understood and had forgiven her, and was standing right here, holding her in his arms. Oh, it felt so good to be with family again. Even if it was just the two of them left. Not counting Gran-Gran, of course. But she was thousands of miles away, and right now, the two siblings were all that mattered to each other.

When they finally pulled away, both of them were crying. They each swiped away the tears, grinning in foolish embarrassment and happiness. They collapsed onto the sofa, and Sokka looked around the room in amazement. He turned to grin a bit sheepishly at her. "Nice place you've got here."

And she laughed, tears still streaming from her eyes. "Oh yes. I'm quite the privileged young woman, aren't I? Living the good life." Her previously weak joke got weaker as her voice ended in scorn directed at herself. It was clear what her opinion of her surroundings was.

Sokka reached up with one gentle hand to brush ever so slightly at the bruise on her face. She flinched away before she could stop herself, even though she knew Sokka would never willingly hurt her, not like Zuko. "But not good enough, eh?" His voice was sad and sympathetic, but Katara could see the burning anger in her brother's eyes. He drew back abruptly. "He did this to you, didn't he?"

"Would it help to say I just had a little accident?" She laughed weakly, trying to keep the mood light with the same lame joke she'd used earlier with Iroh. Like last time, it didn't work.

Sokka stood up from the sofa and began pacing angrily around. Katara watched him worriedly. He didn't look well. He was much too pale, and he was trembling from something other than his anger. "I'll bash his head in. You know, I was thinking that Zuko might have a little bit of human emotion in him, for letting me come up here again and talk to you. But I'm beginning to think different again." His clenched fists were shaking at his sides. "I want to hurt him so badly, Katara." Sokka's intent and strangely pleading eyes turned to her. "I want to kill him for doing this to you."

Katara shook her head. She was unbelievably grateful that her brother had forgiven her and that he still loved her, loved her enough to want to defend her against people who would harm her. But he still didn't understand the full gravity of the situation.

"I'm not sure you understand, Sokka."

"What more is there to understand? He's beating you! That's all I need to know-"

She shook her head again, pleading with Sokka to listen to her. "You don't understand, Sokka. Zuko's not like the bullies back in the water tribe who annoyed us when we were five. You can't just give him a black eye and expect him to leave me alone forever. You can't tell on him, you can't get an adult to chastise him and give him a time out."

Sokka whipped around to stare at her. "I know that! But there's gotta be something else we can do to stop him. There's always something."

Katara looked up at her older brother, her older brother who had become so overprotective of her after their father had left. He'd always been so determined to keep anything bad from harming her. The minute she cried, he knew and would run off to punish whoever had stolen her doll, uncaring of the injuries he would receive for his actions. Even when she'd started growing up and getting notions of independence. I can take care of myself now, Sokka! And she'd run off by herself. Still, he shadowed her, following her, always there to carry her back to Gran-Gran when she inevitably tripped over a root and twisted her ankle. He'd always been there. Always been there to save her and rescue her from the scary monsters.

And now he'd finally met a monster he couldn't protect her from.

"There isn't anything this time, Sokka." They both knew it, but it was more painful coming from her mouth, the words echoing in the silence of the room. "Zuko is- He can't be stopped. He has power, Sokka, power that matters now. He's Fire Lord, and there is no one in the world who can stop him from doing what he wants to do."

"Aang can." Sokka said doggedly. "Aang's the Avatar. It's his destiny to stop power-hungry bastards like Zuko." He expected his sister to nod eagerly, to agree that they still had hope, to hop up and down in excitement like she used to when she'd been younger and still innocent.

But all she did was laugh that choking, hopeless laugh. "Oh, yes, I've forgotten about Aang. Twelve-year-old Aang, destined to save the world. He'll save us all. He'll save us all from the ambitions of Fire Lord Zuko." Her sarcasm didn't help anything, Sokka thought.

But Katara kept plowing on, releasing all her fears and all the things she'd been thinking about in the hopeless dark depths of her mind since she'd been captured. She'd had a lot of time to think. "Sokka, Aang's locked up in a cold dungeon in the bottom of the Fire castle, in a cell that only Zuko has the key to." Her voice rose to a fevered pitch. "Aang hasn't even hit puberty! All he knows is the Air Bending taught to him by some old monk. He has no control, no experience, no will to kill."

She gazed up at her brother, desperate for him to understand what she was saying. Don't look at me like that, Sokka, because what I'm saying is true.

"Don't you understand, Sokka? That's what it all comes down to. Whichever one can kill the other first."

Sokka stared at her, wanting her to stop. Shut up, Katara, it's not true shut up shut up shut up

"Can you imagine Aang killing anyone? Even for the sake of the world? That boy couldn't hurt a fly, much less a human being." Katara gazed at him and lowered her voice, regaining her control. She spoke calmly now.

"Don't you see? Zuko has the ability to kill people. He can do it. I've seen him to it. I've felt the blood of his victims splatter across my face. He killed Jet, did you know? He stabbed him in the back. He cut you without any hesitation, didn't he?"

A shivery, awful feeling ran up his injured arm and continued throughout his body. Sokka couldn't shake it off. He hadn't gotten any care for his arm since he and Aang had captured. It had long ago turned queer colors and was leaking a strange-colored pus. Infection had set in, and it was spreading.

Katara seemed almost a peace now. "Zuko is going to win.He is going to win by the mere fact that Aang can't kill. And Zuko can."

After his sister delivered this final ultimatum, Sokka couldn't hold off the encroaching darkness any longer. His eyes rolled up in his feverish head, and he fell to the ground, knocking over the table and shattering a mug. Sokka's limbs were all askew and his eyes closed, deathly pale, as if he were already dead.

Katara let out a piercing scream. "SOMEBODY HELP ME!"


Zuko had been pacing the floor in the hallway outside his room. He couldn't erase the image of Katara flinging herself into her brother's arms, wholeheartedly and trustingly. The slight wiggle of jealousy in his chest annoyed him. Why would he be jealous of Katara's brother? It was impossible.

Because she'll never embrace you like that. Because she'll never love you with the same amount of love she has for him. Because she'll never trust you like she trusts him. And because you can't stand to see her in another man's arms, even if he is her own brother.

It was all nonsense.

The great carved wooden doors muffled the sounds of conversation from within. Not that he wanted to eavesdrop in the first place. He just liked to keep an eye (or ear) on things that went on in his room. The lower, more aggressively toned voice of Sokka came floated out, while at the same time, the higher, calmer voice of Katara reached his ears. But after awhile, her voice seemed to get more agitated, and it seemed she was doing most of the speaking.

He could barely hold his agitation in. What were they talking about? What was Katara telling her brother?

The guards didn't even dare exchange looks. They noticed their Lord's nervousness, but wouldn't risk his wrath by commenting on it.

When Zuko heard her scream, he was unlocking the doors and in the room before she'd finished yelling for help.

He stopped short. He'd expected many things, but not the scene that now greeted his eyes. Sokka was lying on the ground in the midst of a broken table, with Katara kneeling by him, a hand placed on his pale forehead. She turned calmly to look up at him.

"Something's wrong with Sokka." Her voice was low and neutral.

Zuko had expected a weeping, hysterical Katara who believed the worst the moment her brother collapsed on the floor. But she was in control, and looked like she could take anything he threw her way now.

And your brother is supposed to be my problem? Zuko thought internally. "What is it?"

"I don't know. I think it's a high fever of some sort." Katara said, watching Zuko out of a corner of her eye warily. She wasn't sure what the Fire Lord's reaction would be. "Maybe infection came in through his arm. He hasn't had medicine for it or new bandages." The aforementioned bandages were stained yellow and grimy. Gingerly, she peeled one book and averted her eyes at the sight. It was utterly disgusting, oozing all sorts of odd-colored liquids. The flesh around it was beginning to discolor as well. Definitely infection.

Zuko remembered now. He was the one who had sliced open Katara's brother's arm.

"He needs help, Zuko."

Zuko debated refusing to get help for her brother, but only for the briefest moment. He decided not to go into detailed reasoning about the situation. Sokka was technically a worthless prisoner- he was not the Avatar, and Zuko already had another prisoner, Katara, to use as a threat in order to get the Avatar to comply with his wishes. Sokka was nothing.

But he was something to Katara. And because he meant something to Katara, Zuko would help him. But only for her. Not because Zuko was a generous, benevolent, kind hearted Samaritan who loved helping all sorts of injured people regain their health. He would help Sokka only because of Katara. Only because of her.

Turning around, Zuko began to issue quick orders to the few curious servants who had gathered at the door. One was dispatched to find the Royal Physicians, and another was dispatched to fetch whatever supplies were requested by the physicians. The two guards helped lift the unconscious Sokka into a small room down the hall. Katara followed close behind, a worried frown on her face, but her head still held high. She wasn't one to lose her head in an indelicate situation.

Zuko followed, if only a bit reluctantly. What use was he in this situation? He didn't really care about the patient, and he wasn't going to be much help in the medical department. He'd be fooling himself if he thought Katara needed support in a time like this. She was handling everything well already.

But still, he followed. He knew that the physicians who regularly only served his family would look to him for orders. How much effort would they need to spend on this stranger, one who wasn't of royal blood and didn't necessarily deserve the best treatment? To be truthful, prisoners like Sokka usually weren't afforded the best of medical care. The idea was that they were eventually going to die anyways, so why waste the time with health?

But Sokka was no longer a normal prisoner, but only because Katara wasn't just a normal prisoner to Zuko. And… and to make her happy, Zuko would do what he could for her brother.

I'm getting way too soft, he thought. I should just leave him to die.


Katara couldn't stop her hands shaking as she knelt at the head of the small cot Sokka was placed on. The two physicians rustled back and forth from the low table where the servants had set the supplies. How long had Sokka known something was wrong, and not told anyone? A month? Maybe more. He should have alerted her to his sickness the minute he'd stepped in the door. And now it might be too late. Too late.

The doctors did not acknowledge her presence, something she wasn't extremely bothered by. They just focused on slicing open the disgusting bandages with a sharp knife. These two men knew what they were doing- they had experience. She could trust them with her brother's life.

She watched with as much dignity as she could muster. The bandages were pulled back and thrown away. An awful stench rose from her brother's injury, and the two physicians looked at each other worriedly. A bad sign?

How could it not be a bad sign? She thought. Healthy, healing wounds don't smell or look like that. One of the doctors began to clean up the opening on Sokka's arm with a small cloth dipped in some sharp-smelling liquid. Disinfectant? Medicine? As long as it would help her brother, Katara wasn't overly concerned.

Sokka gave a small twitch and cry in his unconsciousness when the doctor touched his arm. But he didn't wake up from his coma. Katara smoothed his forehead with her hand. Oh please be alright please be alright don't die don't die on me Sokka please be alright.

Katara knelt by that bed, trying to keep out of the way of the physicians while letting her unconscious brother know she was still there. By the looks the doctors were exchanging, she might be kneeling for a very, very long time.


Zuko had long ago given up on pacing. He stood at the large bay window across the hall from the room the doctors, Sokka, and Katara were currently ensconced in. Almost three hours had passed since they'd gone in. What was taking so long? But he knew he wouldn't get the answer just by wondering it. He couldn't very well barge in and demand the doctors for information either. They were in the process of a delicate operation. He didn't want to be the one to inadvertently kill Sokka.

But you already are, the voice whispered in his head. It's your fault he's sick in the first place, you're the one who gave him that horrible wound. You know it. And Katara knows it.

Standing with his feet apart at a comfortable distance, and his hands clasped behind his back, Zuko stared out the glass-paned window at the setting sun. It streaked brilliant colors of red and gold across the sky. Fire Nation colors. His country's colors. He should be feeling patriotic at this very moment, instead of stupidly guilty.

Try as he might, he couldn't erase that image of pure joy on Katara's face when she'd seen her brother. She'll never look at you like that. And the completely unbound and utterly comfortable way she'd thrown herself into Sokka's arms. She'll never embrace you like that. The way she'd carried on such a long conversation with Sokka, and the way her voice had been so trusting when she'd talked to him. She probably told her brother everything, and trusted him with her life. She'll never trust you that way.

Why?

Because she knows enough that you'll just abuse her trust.

I won't this time!

Why should she believe you? You've already done it. She's given you so many chances and you blow it every time.

I'm not the only one. She practically betrayed me by talking to Jet. She keeps trying to escape.

You give her no reason to stay with you. If she's terrified of the next time you'll hurt her, then why wouldn't she try to escape? She's looking out for her best interest: her life.

I never raped her. She agreed to willingly. I asked her. I asked her so many times and she said she was ready. It's not like I wasn't a virgin either.

She probably regrets it now. Especially since she's finally figured out what type of person you are.

I don't regret it. How could she know what type of person I am? Even I don't know.

Yes you do. You think you're the all-powerful Fire Lord. You think no one can stop you from getting what you want. You think you are invincible.

And what makes her think I'm not?

The mere fact that you feel like you have to push her around in order to have control.

I don't push her around!

Then what's that bruise on her cheek? A lovebite?

Zuko shook his slightly as if that would clear the voices clamoring for attention in his head. He never knew which part of him to believe. One was his pride, and one was his conscience. They were both equally strong, and one usually got him into trouble while the other badgered him about it until he felt overloaded with guilt. He liked neither.

But it had sobered him, made him more angry with himself. Why did it have to be Katara? What was so special about that no-name girl from a no-name Water Tribe? She wasn't even his type. Never mind the fact that he didn't even have a type. What mattered was his queer interest in her.

Now that he was Fire Lord, dozens of noblemen wanted to marry their daughters off to him in order to secure a higher position for themselves in his eyes. Getting married into the Royal Family wasn't a trivial matter. Whoever did become the next Queen would gain much honor and standing for her family. He'd been introduced to hundreds of noble women since he'd come back, ranging from old maids at 38 to mere girl children at 6! All of them blurred together in his mind, and the only woman he could ever keep his attention on was Katara.

She wasn't even that pretty. He'd seen plenty of more beautiful women. She wasn't even that smart. He'd met much more learned and intelligent women. What was it that made her stick in his mind? It was becoming increasingly annoying. Usually he got to make a decision about the things he thought about on a daily basis, but in the case of Katara, the usual rules never seemed to apply.

Zuko thought of Katara in that sickroom with her brother. She was probably worried to death herself, and maybe even crying at the fact that her brother was consumed with disease.

Would she ever care for Zuko that way? Would she ever worry over him like that? Would she ever be bothered by the fact that he might die of sickness?


Katara's knees ached when the doctors finished tying the new, pure-white bandage onto Sokka's arm. He was still unconscious, feverish, and pale.

One of the doctors, the younger looking one with black hair, tapped her shoulder gently. "Miss? Your brother will most likely survive."

She grasped at his hand, uncaring that it might be against decorum. "Thank you! Thank you so much! You don't know how much this means to me."

He smiled gently at her, patting her hand with one of his own. "In fact, I have my own brother. I know I would be just as distressed if I were put in your position. But it is a good thing you got help for him in time. A few more days, and he might have lost the arm. It was close enough as it was, anyways."

She couldn't stop babbling her thanks.

"My father and I are just glad to be of help, miss. But, mind you, he'll still need proper care and rest for a week more at least."

So he and the other, older doctor were father and son. She'd thought so, they had the same friendly eyes and gentle hands. The younger one was probably an apprentice, learning the craft of healing from his father.

She listened to all their instructions on how to change the bandages and apply the medicines they'd leave on the table for her. One of them would come back to check on Sokka at the end of the week. For now, all the boy needed to do was sleep and regain his strength.

The young doctor handed her one more small jar of something. "This is for you, miss."

Katara took it, slightly confused.

"His Majesty requested us bring a jar of it for you. It's a very cool, refreshing salve that will help reduce the bruising on your face." The young doctor looked at her earnestly. He didn't suspect anything. He probably thought she'd just received the injury from a clumsy fall or something.

Katara looked at the small, earth-colored jar in her hand. Zuko had asked them to bring medicine for her? It was… thoughtful of him.

The doctors had gone back to cleaning up their supplies and checking over Sokka one more time. Katara knelt on the cold floor, still holding the jar in her hand.

She wondered with a pang where Zuko was. He'd employed two of his very best physicians to help her brother, even when he didn't need to. She knew Sokka meant nothing to the Fire Lord. Then why had Zuko agreed to help him.

She stood up shakily from the floor, ignoring the ache in her legs. Setting down the medical supplies and small jars on the table, she eased slowly over to the door of the room. Turning the knob, she slipped outside before closing it behind her.

Across the wide hallway, Zuko stood with his hands clasped behind his back, staring out the large window. It was sunset. Red-gold light spilled from the windows lining the hallway, coloring everything gentle, warm colors.

Katara stared at his strong back, silhouetted in black against the bright light from the windows. He didn't move, didn't shrug, didn't turn around. Did he know she was there? Or was he just choosing to ignore her?

She crossed the hallway softly on bare feet, until she stood right behind him in his shadow. It was impossible he hadn't heard her already.

Zuko tensed a bit. He could feel every breath she took behind him, feel her glance rake across the back of his head, feel her proximity and almost hear the sound of her heart beating. Was she out here to scream at him? To curse him for putting her brother in such danger in the first place?

Or was she out here for something else? Some other desperate, beautiful reason?

Impossible.

His breath hitched in his chest. But maybe not. He felt her small hand come to rest on his right shoulder. Not firmly with anger, but not lightly with a fear of touching him either. It was just… there.

She swallowed. He didn't move when she touched him. He didn't shake her off, but didn't turn around or lean into the feeling either. How hard was this supposed to be? How hard was it going to be?

Katara stepped slowly around his tall frame to stand next to his side, her hand still on his shoulder. He wouldn't look at her.

Zuko almost didn't feel it when she stretched up on her toes to kiss him on his scarred cheek. It was so quick, so feather-light that it almost didn't happen.

"Thank you." Was all she said.

Katara was about to turn to leave when Zuko finally moved from his stance and pulled her back, folding her in an embrace. He barely touched her, barely held her against him, to let her know that at any moment she could choose to leave him standing there, alone.

But she didn't. She pulled him closer, and Zuko would be forever grateful for the moment when she rested her head on his shoulder and let him know with her relaxed pose that she trusted him enough to let him hug her like this.

You could tell him now, she thought to herself, held in his warm arms. You could tell him now about how maybe there is a child growing inside of you right now. You could.

But she didn't. She didn't want to ruin the moment by shocking him with another revelation. What would his reaction be? Would he even believe her? Would he be happy? Angry? She didn't want to risk it all.

Later. I can always tell him later.


From what I've heard happened in the last episode, "The Storm", which explains Zuko's banishment and his scar,

My. Story. Is. Sort. Of. Screwed.

It's not completely screwed. But still kind of screwed. Because I had my own history of Zuko's banishment and scar made up. This is what happens when you write fanfiction for a show that hasn't even got 10 episodes out yet. Oh well. I'll figure it all out. Maybe I can combine the two stories.

And, after reading so many reviewer responses, it's cool how many different type of reviewers there are. There are some of you who are incredibly smart and look ahead and predict about three things that I've already jotted down to include in the next chapter. You pick up every hint and nuance that I write, and understand every bit of irony included. Sometimes I wonder if you can read my mind or hack into my computer.

Then, there are those of you who, at the end of every chapter, are "OMFG HUH? OMG HUH WHAT JUST HAPPENED? HUH? EXPLAIN! HUH?". It's incredibly endearing. I'm hoping you can keep up. I'll try to answer as many questions as I can!

I still love every single one of you though, so keep those reviews coming!

How many words are in your chapters on average?
Chapter 1 was about 2000+ words, and the last chapter, Chapter 13, was 10,000+. That's about a difference of eight thousand words, you know? 13 was definitely the longest. But as for average… majority of the chapters in between are around 7000/8000.

OMG! I just realized this...your going to make it a sad/sequel ending, aren't you?
… My lips are sealed. Or, rather, my word processor is.

I've got my own question...is Katara pregnant? Seriously, because if you skip your period...that could be one of the causes...Or am I just being ridiculous?
I'll answer this question with another reviewer's words:
I'm now very worried about Katara and her "time of the month." You don't really have to assume anything, the fact that you brought it up is enough information already.
Cough. Exactly. And if last chapter didn't help your suspicions, this chapter most certainly will.

If I missed anyone's questions this time around, please feel free to ask again!