PRACTICE

This story presupposes two things: that Katara left the oasis early during the end of the Siege of the North, and that Zuko was so tired after his battle with Zhao that he required some time to gather himself before going about escaping. In the actual series, neither of these things are true.

After the horror and stress of that night had begun to subside, Katara took a walk, her muscles numb, her soul as thin as parchment. The balance had been preserved through Yue's sacrifice, but the image of the moon filling with blood as quickly as wine poured into a cup remained, haunting her. Perhaps even worse was Sokka's face as Yue kissed him for the last time. A palpable ache was in his dry, shocked eyes, his mouth still poised from Yue's parting touch.

The air hung heavy with loss, and Katara could not escape it even after she left the oasis. Pieces of the town lay in her path, chunks of ice glittering and half melting on the carved sidewalks, some of them smoldering. Katara was frowning at one such fragment when a powerful warmth struck her, and she looked up to see Zuko and Zhao, dueling on the bridge just above her. Neither noticed their audience as they exchanged fire blasts in rapid, violent succession. The ground beneath them perspired from the unnatural heat, and Katara wondered if it might be destroyed.

She recalled the angst of the Firebender's life as described by Jeong Jeong: how difficult it was to control the fire, how they must all walk the line between savagery and humanity. Katara saw nothing before her but the former.

Rushing water surged through the canals suddenly, glowing and veined—the ocean spirit. It rose to from a canopy over Zhao and Zuko, and then became grasping fists, which enveloped Zhao and lifted him from the bridge. Katara gasped, but not because of the spirit's justified vengeance. As it began to recede, Zuko, who moments earlier had been attempting to reduce Zhao to a soot smear, reached out for his enemy.

"Take my hand!" he cried, and strained to reach Zhao.

The admiral's expressions shifted rapidly, swirling downward like a whirlpool: first anguish, then something like hope, and finally arrogance, as he clenched his fist and let the spirit swallow him.

Zuko stumbled to his knees, exhausted and surprised, though not so much as Katara. Propelled by amazement (frosted lightly with stupidity), she darted up to the bridge and knelt beside him.

"What do you want," he spat, just before he collapsed. Instinctively, she caught his head before it hit the ice, and lingered on whether or not to let him go. Her fingers trembled against his scalp, and he fidgeted.

"I'm tired," Zuko whispered. "Though if we must fight … " He struggled to pull away, to stand, but failed. Zuko exhaled, and his eyes closed. "… maybe give me a few minutes."

"Why did you do that?" Katara asked.

"Do what," he mumbled.

"After you were trying to kill him, you tried to save him …"

For a long minute Zuko didn't answer, as though trying to turn the question over in his mind. Finally he snapped, "What business it is of yours, peasant?"

Abruptly, she dropped him. The thud of his head against the ice satisfied her, and he growled throatily.

"You're lucky I hardly have the strength to move," he said, and winced.

"Would you kill me if you could?" Katara said.

"No," Zuko sighed. "I've never had any interest in hurting you or your brother. It's hardly my fault that you keep insisting on being obstacles."

"We're doing what we have to do."

"As am I," Zuko said. "I've tried to make you understand that before."

"Oh," Katara said. "Something about honor … right?"

"Maybe it's not a concept someone of your station can fully grasp."

A flicker of anger sparked the wick of Katara's temper, and she replied acidly, "Oh, even a lowly peasant like myself knows the meaning of honor, Zuko. In fact it seems to me that you're the one who's a little fuzzy on the definition."

Steam hissed above the ice around Zuko's body. "You know nothing of my situation."

"You're right, I don't. And you obviously know nothing of ours, or else you wouldn't be doing this. This isn't just about a war, you know. This is about the fate of everything."

Zuko didn't want to hear it. He could not bear to be persuaded from his task, the one thing to which he had clung since his exile began. Right now, he was too tired to imagine any other purpose.

"It's like you said … I do what I must." He turned his head away from her to signify the end of the argument, and she observed the fresh burn marks on his alabaster skin.

"What happened?" she asked.

"It doesn't concern you."

"Does it hurt?"

Zuko exhaled again and a puff of smoke escaped his lips, so that Katara felt as though she sat beside a wounded dragon instead of a boy.

"Can you not just leave me? I won't trouble you any further tonight. I want only to rest."

"You are resting," Katara pointed out. "I'm just trying to talk."

"I liked you better when we were fighting," Zuko grumbled, and Katara blushed.

"I suppose being a jerk was part of your royal training! I'm just asking simple questions!"

"Yes," he said.

"Yes? Yes what?"

"Yes … it hurts," Zuko leveled his gaze with Katara's, his good eye clouded, his other eye obscured beneath layers of slick, crimson scar tissue. Katara could not guess his thoughts as she let her palm rest on his cheek. She opened the water skin which hung from her belt, and pulled some of it out in a thin stream, so that it flowed over her hand and stayed, like a shimmering glove.

"What are you … ?" he said warily.

"Practicing," she replied.

Something cool and soothing seeped into Zuko's veins when Katara touched him again, opposite to the unforgiving chill of the North Pole. While the wind around them bit and stung his injuries, Katara's power calmed them, easing not only the pain but his exhaustion as well. Renewal sprung from some hidden part of him, coaxed out by Katara's healing water. Zuko blinked in bewilderment when she withdrew; the loss of her touch was like breaking free from a trance.

"I can't do much for that big scar yet," Katara said softly. "But the new burns weren't so bad."

Zuko rolled over onto his side, and saw his reflection in the bridge. All the remnants of the pirates' attack on his ship were gone. At least there was one memory which wouldn't stare back at him every morning.

He found the strength to get to his feet, and he hovered over Katara, unsure. "I have to go."

"I know."

"We're … we're still enemies." Zuko stalked off hastily, disappearing into the nearest alley.

Katara watched him go, her hands folded in her lap. "I know."

But maybe it doesn't always have to be that way.