Chapter 19: Bridging the Distance

Zhao gazed into the cup of ginseng tea in front of him that General Iroh had offered to everybody at the beginning of the meeting. It was a pretty little trifle—glazed blue and with some kind of delicate bamboo painting and an old proverb written on the side. Zhao hadn't bothered to read it. It was probably supposed to be deeply inspirational and significant, and he couldn't stand useless things like that.

The droning voice of General Li at the opposite end of the table buzzed in Admiral Zhao's ears like some kind of obnoxious insect.

"—therefore, we should exercise the utmost caution when considering a rescue mission. We could lose much more than the Emperor's life. Our reputation as a strong, honorable country is at stake."

General Iroh, uncle of the said Emperor, nodded his head gravely at Li's finished speech. "We will take your opinions into account, General Li."

Li, the idiot, accepted this graciously and sat down, a superior smirk on his face.

It was all Zhao could do to keep from rolling his eyes. A "strong, honorable country"? Ha! Honor had died the day the first Zuko, the deranged one, had launched his massacre on the Water Tribes and desecrated anybody who stood in his path of world domination. There was no honor left in the Fire Empire. Not in the royal family, not in the army, and certainly not in the common people. What was left consisted of greed, lust, envy, and cruel ambition.

All of which Admiral Zhao had in abundance, he was proud to say.

He stood up, slapping the table in a show of confidence and arrogance. The teacup rattled dangerously, and Iroh's eyebrows raised. You stupid old man, with your stupid blue teacups.

"I say," he proclaimed, raising one arm, "that we've already delayed our rescue of the Emperor for far too long! He has been kidnapped by those bloodthirsty, barbaric rebels, and who knows what sorts of horrors they are committing on him right this minute. It is our responsibility, as honorable and loyal officers of the Empire, to bring our leader home safely. We should leave now, with the biggest fleet of ships the world has ever seen, and those Kyoshi rebels will know what kind of empire they're truly dealing with." It was a passionate and rousing speech; he could see it in the eyes of several other commanders and captains situated around the table. They were caught up in the glory and the picture of victory he'd painted for them.

"But," interjected General Li, "there are large risks, and committing an unnecessary amount of firepower on a mere rescue mission—"

Zhao rounded on him, "Are you saying that the life of our Emperor is not worth a few paltry ships? Are you implying that our loyalties aren't strong enough to necessitate the immediate return of our great monarch?

"No! I'm saying that we have to be logical—"

"You," Zhao pointed at Li, "might not put much worth in the life of the Emperor, but I, and several others here, I'm sure, are eager to free our great leader from the traitorous hands of the rebels. We are honorable men with integrity, Li. What are you?"

Li mumbled something about support and getting right to it.

Zhao smiled, a gracious and kindly smile directed at General Iroh, who had been watching this entire exchange in silence. "My Lord?" It was like a dagger in his pride, every time Zhao had to call Iroh by this honorific. General Iroh was part of the royal family—while he was not the current ruler, respect was still accorded to him.

One day, thought Zhao, we'll see who deserves to be My Lord. Or, more accurately, Your Lord.

"Admiral Zhao has brought up several good points," said Iroh, "not the least of which is that my nephew has already spent far too long a time in the grasp of the rebels. He needs to come home, and soon."

Zhao nodded agreeably and thought: You weakling. That speech of mine wasn't spouted off just for Li's foolishness. It was also catered toward your weaknesses—your love and devotion for your nephew Zuko. I'm playing with your sympathies, I'm in charge of your emotions, and you don't even know it.

"Zhao," said Iroh, "Prepare your fleet and your men. You have my permission to mount a rescue operation for the Emperor. I put you in command of the entire mission."

Zhao bowed in gratitude, and laughed inside.

"However, I'll be sending General Li here along with you. Perhaps his cooler head will provide a good balance for your ambitious energy and rush, however good your intent is."

A short laugh from the men around the table; Zhao was too blinded by anger inside to see who it was specifically.

General Iroh was intelligent, Zhao'd give him that. Sending along a spy, a little minion to follow Zhao's every move and report back to Iroh about it—that was a good idea on Iroh's part. And Zhao wouldn't be able to publicly refuse General Li's accompaniment. To do so would be outright disrespectful, and taken as a move of insubordination.

So Zhao bowed again, significantly shallower this time around. He didn't care if anybody noticed. "As you command, my Lord."

As Zhao straightened up, his right elbow "accidentally" shoved the blue bamboo teacup over the edge, spilling ginseng tea everywhere. The small piece of intricate pottery shattered on the floor.

"Sorry," he made a regretful face at Iroh and the others. "My apologies." Sketching off another bow (he barely dipped his head,) he left, swinging the doors shut behind him.

Zhao was feeling strong. Things were finally beginning to move and happen.

Pity that General Li wouldn't survive to see it once they left the harbor.

Katara woke up, and for the first time in a long, long while, stayed in bed. This time, there was no hurried Lt. Ensei yelling in her ear that they had business to finish, rebel ass to kick, missions to accomplish—the usual.

Instead, there was faint sunlight on her cheek, the muffled morning cries of Suyan in the next room, and a peace that only came with being home.

She wondered how Zuko was dealing with his morning in his prison cell.

And immediately her good mood was ruined.

She remembered that she had to continue with her punishment today, which involved seeing Zuko face-to-face in about a half hour to feed him his breakfast. This would most likely result in a heated battle of words as soon as he noticed her arrival. She didn't understand why he'd been so hostile to her last night.

Actually, now that she thought about it, a few choice reasons came to mind (betrayal of trust, Hiro's death, hidden identity—to name all but a few).

But if he wanted to escape, wouldn't he try to go about it in a more sensible way? Instead of harrying her and insulting her and calling her a weak, soft coward—it was confusing and a waste of time. There was no point.

. . . but to say she was not looking forward to this verbal duel would be to lie.

Katara had lain awake last night after coming back from the prison house, thinking about their conversation. She went over every detail—what he'd said, then her own response, then his response, and so on and so forth.

Then she made up a whole new version of this conversation, the version where she was actually able to say the clever, ingeniously witty comebacks that she only thought of now.

It was pathetic, her having devoted so much brain time to the ten minutes of bitter conversation with that man.

Suyan let out a particularly ear-splitting shriek from the next room, and the scent of burning cloth wafted through the house.

"Katara!" Suki called out, slightly nervously, "Could you come over here? And bring the water pitcher from the kitchen with you."

The joys of family.

"Did you miss me?" he asked as she approached him in the dim light of the hallway outside his cell.

"Oh, what's not to miss?" she snapped back, setting down her tray to open up the door. He noticed her left arm was still bound in a sling. And she noticed him noticing.

"Taking advantage of my temporary weakness to escape would be cowardice," she said, stepping inside.

"Good soldiers are taught to take advantage of opportunities."

"This island is crawling with rebel warriors, and surrounded by ocean water. You wouldn't make it very far," she pushed the tray over to his feet, where he was sitting upright on his rumpled cot.

Zuko could think of a couple of ways. These rebels weren't very smart after all, sending Katara here alone to deal with him, and her with a broken arm too. Didn't they realize how easy it would be for him to overpower the slighter, injured girl? He could take her hostage, threaten to kill her unless her brother, the Island leader, and his people agreed to do as Zuko said. It would be easy—well, easy if he had his Firebending.

This drug he was fed continuously, the drug he was drinking now, it made him sluggish and he hated not having that innate heat inside him, ready to attack and defend on his command.

But he wouldn't do something so dishonorable as using blackmail and threats to get off the island. He would accomplish escape, eventually, but he would do it in the most triumphant way.

Katara would let him escape, of her own free will.

He could feel her eyes on him, from her position next to the cell door, putting as much distance between them as she possibly could. Interesting. She made a point to avoid physical proximity; it probably made her uncomfortable or nervous. That was something to remember.

"Good food," he said, putting something in his mouth (he didn't know what) and chewing, "did you make it?"

"No," was her curt answer.

"So who did?"

"I don't know."

"Not in a conversational mood, I take it?"

"No."

A bit of silence.

"What are you thinking about?" Zuko asked, knowing it would annoy her.

"Trying to figure out the best way to kill you," she said spitefully.

He chewed, tilting his head upwards. "As in quickest? Easiest?" he gulped down the drugged water, "Or with the least mess? Blood stains, you know," he smiled.

Her hands, wrapped around her legs, clenched tighter.

"Or maybe," he said thoughtfully, setting the cup down next to him on the cot, "you're thinking of the most painful way to kill me."

She averted her eyes, mouth thinning to a sharp blade of pink against her dark skin.

He continued to look her way, even though she was avoiding eye contact now. Coward. "Hanging's a popular one. I might not take break my neck completelyl, but I'll hang there for awhile, choking to death, face turning purple, eyes popping."

Her jaw moved—she was longing to say something. Did she want him to stop?

"Or perhaps a knife stroke through the stomach. It takes a long time to die from a stomach wound, a painfully long time. I'll have an open gash, my innards dripping out. Then the acid from my belly will eat through the rest of me until it reaches my heart, or whatever life-preserving organ comes first. My lungs. Then I'll drown in my own fluids."

Katara was blinking hard.

"A knife in the gut. Is that how you originally planned it, Katara? Maybe when we first fought in the arena, when you were trying to get into the Elites. When I found your little traitor-friend, Juiko. Remember him?"

"Stop—"

"Or perhaps when I was sleeping so close next to you in the tent, with only a thin layer of fabric to separate us. You could have rolled over, planted one in my heart, and left before the rest of the patrol woke up. You'd be long gone by the time they realized your betrayal. I wonder what stopped you?"

"You bastard—"

He slid off the cot, coming closer—like some kind of graceful, dangerous cat before the leap—saying, "I wonder if it was because you thought you felt something."

She twisted away, but she'd been in a corner and the corner was the only place she could go.

"I wonder," Zuko continued, crouching lower until their faces were on the same level, until he was staring into those lying blue eyes, "I wonder if it was because you thought we were friends."

Those eyes are wide open now, scaring him with their defenselessness, but he presses on, because he needs to do this, he needs to get out, he needs to be warm again (he's so cold), "I wonder if you thought there was something more—"

The blue is utter despair for a moment, hopeless and all-consuming despair, before she snapped up, and Zuko knew she'd seen something in his face. Snarl consuming her previously terrified expression, she placed one hand on his chest, shoving him hard with an unexpected strength, all the way back until he lost his balance and fell against the cot, jarring his spine and neck.

Katara stood up straight, one arm in a sling and the other clenched into a fist at the end.

"You think too highly of yourself, your majesty," she bit out at him.

Zuko stared up at her from the ground.

"Finish your food," she said, nudging at the plate with one foot. A red apple rolled off the plate and came to rest next to his hand. "I'll be back later to pick it up."

Katara left, locking the door with a malicious screech of metal behind her.

Zuko, face in a grimace, picked himself up from the ground. He was going to have bruises by tomorrow, if not tonight. He stood up shakily, and went through what had just happened. He ran over everything he'd said, every movement he'd made and her every reaction. Where had he gone wrong?

He'd meant to push her over the edge, cause a breakdown of some sort. She was a weakling with no strength, no resolve, no motive to fight and kill if needed. A complete coward; they'd already established that part. Of course he'd expected her to break in the face of his verbal attack.

So why hadn't she?

Had he gone overboard with the gruesome list of deaths? But she'd been bothered by those—she'd shown it with her tensing body and averted eyes. His accusations, his nearing physical proximity—those had terrified her as well. But as he closed in, she'd realized something and she'd fought back.

What was it?

Had she, at the last moment, seen through him as well? Seen how scared he truly was, seen how he was bullying her, threatening her, not only because he needed to escape, but because he didn't want to be known forevermore as a failure? Both of them had been lying—both of them pretending to be confident and sure and right. In the end, neither of them were any of those things.

She'd figured out that they were equals. That he did not have the upper hand because he was bigger, stronger, more powerful and an Emperor to boot—he was, the whole time, shaking just as badly as her inside, just as afraid, and just as much of a liar.

Katara was not weak. She was not weak because she'd chosen not to kill him. She'd betrayed him, yes, but she'd betrayed him to save them all from harm and injury in the name of Admiral Zhao's hatred and ambition.

When a person makes a grave error, the first instinct is to hide it from others in order to avoid facing humiliation and embarrassment. If that is not possible, as was Katara's case, then the second instinct is to destroy it—to eradicate any evidence of all wrongdoings.

She had failed her mission, failed her people, and still she came back every day to face him, her greatest mistake—and the personification of every single thing she'd ever done wrong in her life.

Yet she kept him alive. She wasn't consumed by anger or malice, the feelings that so often accompanied the need to destroy and hide. She was merely... apologetic. Sad. Regretful. He'd seen it all in her eyes.

She was no coward. She was no weakling.

I'm the failure, Zuko thought.

He picked up the empty water pitcher and flung it against the wall.

Outside, on her way towards the light, Katara heard the noise of shattering pottery and flinched.

They'd just finished lunch; Sokka was slightly worried because Suki hadn't shown up like she usually did to eat. Katara stood next to him on the porch, balancing Suyan on one hip.

Finally, Suki appeared from behind the wall of trees. Sokka, smiling, stepped down to meet his wife in the middle of the path.

"Where were you?" he said.

"Liya was sick yesterday—she needed a make-up lesson," Suki said.

Sokka's eyes sharpened on the white bandage across her right shoulder. "What happened there?"

"An accident," Suki said, brushing it off. "Liya had her first training with a metal sword today—I guess she wasn't fully recovered from her sickness. She fainted while I was turned around, and she sort of just slid forward onto me," Suki laughed. "It was partly my fault. Since she was a beginner, I wasn't cautious and decided not to wear my armor. Kind of an embarrassing way to get a bad sword wound, hm?" She said, hitching her bag over her good shoulder as she neared Sokka.

"Bad wound, alright," he said, examining her bandage. "There's dried blood all over this, Suki."

"It's better now. I can hardly feel it."

He bent down to take the bag from her, but she said, "It's okay, Sokka, really."

He leaned in closer and whispered, "Let me."

She smiled, slid one hand behind his neck, and kissed him. It had been such a long time since they'd touched like this, what with Suyan's newfound Avatar abilities, Katara's return, the Emperor's capture, and all the ensuing fuss, fuss, fuss. There had been worrying, crying, sometimes even shouting—and not enough of what had brought them together in the first place.

But it was common in war, to forget the things that you were fighting to protect: the freedom to live your life, the ability to love those you loved. These things were pushed aside, deemed to be not as important when there were plans to be made, warriors to train, enemies to kill. And at the end of it all—or when they did reach the end—they were too tired, too worried, or too hurt. They were constantly thinking about what the next day would bring, and had no time to think about Today, Here, Now.

There just wasn't enough time.

Suki sighed, shuddering, and Sokka slipped an arm around her waist, leaning his forehead against hers. Too long.

Katara looked away to give them some privacy. "Me and Suyan," she announced loudly, startling Sokka and Suki (they'd forgotten she was there; she smirked), "are going to be having a lot of fun by ourselves today. Aren't we?"

Suyan laughed and clapped her hands.

"We won't be needing anybody else. We'll play in the house, so the beaches, the forests, the rivers will probably be empty. We're going to have a great time, Suyan and I. All by ourselves."

Katara stepped inside the house, sliding the door shut behind her with a resounding snap.

When she looked out the window ten minutes later, her brother and Suki were gone.

She smiled, and looked down at Suyan before grumbling out loud, "Your mama and papa are out there getting it on. What are we going to do for the rest of the day?"

Suyan gurgled and raised her hands to be picked up.

Sokka pulled her forward through the trees, and Suki followed along, breathless, joyous to be free, to be alive, finally—

He turned and pressed her against a tree. Suki guessed they were far enough into the forest to be undetectable, and laughed, low in her throat, skimming her hands over his face, his head, his neck, under his shirt.

"Too long," he whispered into her ear.

"What?" she murmured, trying to catch his lips again.

He laughed. "I mean," he said, "too long since we've had time to ourselves—Suyan, then Katara, then that Fire bastard in the prison house—"

She smiled back, pressing her face against his neck so she could feel his voice rumble throughout her body. "Don't waste it by talking," she spoke, voice muffled.

Suki could feel him smile, and he pressed himself against her—she arched (too long)—and he kissed her, softly.

The feel of his lips against hers—she was suddenly filled with a sense of urgency, of hurry hurry and desperation not enough time; she wound her arms around his neck and pulled him down harder, come on.

He reciprocated, understanding her needs, and his hands slid urgently down her face, her throat, gliding hard across her collarbones until he pressed against her shoulders—

She tore away, crying out at the sudden flare of pain.

Sokka's face was horrified. "Suki—Suki, are you okay?"

She slid down the trunk of the tree, breathing harshly, hand trembling as she held onto her right shoulder. He followed her, gathering her carefully in his arms, leaning her hand against his chest. "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry."

Suki shook her head against him, smiling wanly. "Not your fault." She felt something wet against her shaking fingers—shit, the wound had opened again.

And then she felt something wet against her hair, her face.

"Sokka?" she reached up with one hand to feel his face. "Sokka, why are you crying?"

He was rocking back and forth now, mumbling something—she put her ear to his chest and heard, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," over and over and over again.

"Sokka—don't, you didn't meant to—" but it was a disease, it was contagious, like laughter was contagious but worse, because now it was a disaster, the despair coming down her cheeks as well.

"What are we going to do?" she asked, and cradling his face in her hands, tried to kiss away the salty tears. It was hopeless, stupid, because there were too many, everywhere, flooding them and never giving them a single goddamn day of rest—I just want to stop, please—they'd been having such a good time before, a good life, a happy one with a darling baby girl.

But that was a lie, really, because the war had always been there, before either of them were born.

And here, in this secret place in the heart of the forest, it still managed to extend its dirty, ash-covered tendrils through the dying trees, the cold winter, and touched her, ruining the day they should have had, ruining the people they should have been and they lives they should have lived.

They sat there, on the gray dirt covered with dead leaves, clinging to each other and wondering why they weren't happy instead of sad—but one was too hard to achieve, and the other too easy to slip into—

It. Just. Wasn't. Fair.

The sky slowly darkened outside as clouds overcame the sun; Katara frowned slightly as she kept a close eye on Suyan who was trying to stick an entire wooden spoon into her mouth.

Katara pulled the utensil away from her niece: "I hope your parents know how much time is passing," she mumbled, rinsing the spoon in the water basin, "Looks like rain."

Suyan reached for the spoon. Katara gave up and handed it back to her, since it was already ruined with all the chew marks on it.

Katara kept hoping that Sokka and Suki would come back in the next hour or so—she still had to deliver Zuko his lunch, something she wasn't exactly looking forward to, what with this morning's events—and she didn't want to have to cart Suyan along. It would be a hassle, and, when she thought about it, very dangerous.

When Sokka and Suki didn't return after three hours, Katara began gnashing her teeth in frustration. Once her brother and sister-in-law came back, she'd give them a piece of her mind. Suyan didn't seem to notice anything was wrong, and continued to amuse herself in various ways.

Come on, Katara thought to her brother, foot tapping on the wooden floor in annoyance. Where the hell were they?

General Li had suffered a strange malady of the lungs the first day they left the Fire Nation harbor. His body had been deposited of quietly, over the side into the deep blue ocean. Iroh would be missing his updates and messages from his little minion; oh well, delivery birds got lost, storms whipped up—anything could happen on a ship.

Especially Admiral Zhao's ship.

He studied the map tacked to the table on the command deck. It was a fair distance from the harbor in the south of the Fire Nation to Kyoshi island. A week, at least.

Well, he'd waited this long—he could wait a few more days for victory.

Admiral Zhao's fleet of twenty ships was making good progress towards the rebel stronghold—twenty ships carrying upwards of two hundred men each. He probably had more soldiers under his command than the entire Kyoshi island population. It was a miracle, really, that those idiot villagers hadn't been wiped out and subdued some time ago. It had been a hundred years since Zuko the First began his domination of the world—why had he made the decision not to attack this tiny lump of rock in the middle of the ocean?

There'd been some decree, Zhao could faintly remember reading about. None of the Fire Nation ships had ever moved against Kyoshi Island before; some stupid law the first Zuko had made about not attacking the islanders, how they weren't a "threat".

And the second Zuko—he wasn't much better. If it'd been up to Zhao, those rebels would have been dead or enslaved a long, long time ago.

But no use regretting the wasted time. His goal was in reach now, his mission clear. Rescue the Emperor, destroy the rebels, and return to the Fire Nation a victorious Admiral.

Two out of three wouldn't be bad.

There'd been an "accident" in the ensuing attack; the rebels panicked, fingers got arrow-happy and killed their hostage before Zhao's fleet had even set foot on the island. What a shame. Oh well, Zhao was still a good, loyal man to his Emperor and he was consumed with exacting revenge. He proceeded in meting out justice to those rebel bastards, no room for mercy, submit or die.

General Iroh would be devastated. In his sorrow and grief, he would retire to his suites, trying to find some meaning to continue living his life after the death of his nephew, the last of his family (after his wife and son's passing-away a few years back.)

Zhao would step in, a man with integrity and honor, to lead the Empire. He was even faintly related to the royal family on his father's side; a few of the earlier Fire Lords had been generous in their company and pleasure. Almost half the nobles in court could claim relation to the royal bloodline. But Zhao's case would be stronger, because he would have loyalty of the army, and several of the richer nobles (Huang came to mind) to back him up.

There was no way his plan could possibly backfire.

Zhao smiled. His plan would be executed perfectly—and if somebody somewhere screwed up, heads would roll.

As the sun began to set, Katara made her decision. She couldn't very well leave Suyan here by herself, and she didn't know anyone else who would take a six-month-old baby on such short notice; besides, Sokka had trusted her with his daughter, not a neighbor or a stranger.

And besides, she'd be in and out of the prison house really fast this time; no more stopping for conversation or arguments with Zuko. She would merely drop off the food, pick up the old tray, and leave. Then hopefully Suki or Sokka would be back home by then—after a little while, she could go back to Zuko's cell and clear out the dinner tray. Simple.

So cradling Suyan in her good arm, she set out for the prison house. Her niece was in a good mood, smiling and clapping her hands (her favorite new trick) and gurgling happily.

Katara carefully clasped Suyan against her body with her elbow, picking up the tray with her good hand and setting it on top of her broken arm in the sling. This could all very well be fixed if she just healed herself—but she didn't. She wasn't exactly sure why. Guilt was too simple a reason. Perhaps it was because the memories and nightmares from Zhao's interrogation would take forever to heal, if they ever did—and compared to that, a broken arm was nothing.

Suffice to say that she just didn't want to waste the energy on it when her arm could heal well enough on its own time.

So, balancing both food and child carefully, Katara moved down the darkening hallway, growing more and more apprehensive with every step. Then she reached the cell bars, and there he was, sitting on his cot, leaning forward with his elbows on his thighs. She saw him open his mouth as she came in his sight; but he closed it as soon as he saw whom she'd brought with her.

"Your brother's?" he asked.

Katara merely nodded, reminding herself about her No Conversation rule for tonight. Bending down slowly, she set the tray on the ground, wincing as the plates rattled dangerously. Suyan pushed at her impatiently, making a little whimpering noise. Katara let Suyan go as well, placing her gently on the wooden floor.

She turned to unlock the door, sliding the key in and out quickly before turning back around to pick up the food tray and cursing as her hand shook and one of the plates smashed to the ground. Forget it, Zuko would just have to go without his vegetables for tonight. Her hand was trembling—why the hell was it trembling?

Katara swiveled carefully to push the tray inside the cell—so intent was she on keeping the tray balanced that she hadn't noticed that Zuko had moved from his position on the cot. All of a sudden, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Zuko reach down, grasp Suyan by the arm, and gently slide her into the cell.

There was a click of a lock sliding into place.

Katara stared through the bars at Zuko and Suyan.

Zuko gazed back at her, calm and steady. Suyan made an incomprehensible noise in her mouth and continued to crawl to the opposite side of Zuko's cell, away from the door.

Her mouth was dry, so dry—this had been a mistake, she knew it—and her hands fumbled at her belt for the keys, which key was it again, oh fuck, if only he would stop looking at her like that, like he had everything under his control, the bastard.

Her fingers found one key, she shoved it blindly into the keyhole without looking to see if it was the same make, the same color, the same type—it wasn't, it got caught, too big, and wouldn't go in or come out.

"Wrong choice," he said softly.

The keys dropped from her hands to the floor, a rattle of silver and metal. She grasped the bars, slamming herself forward.

"Don't you dare touch her."

Zuko didn't break eye contact with Katara. "She's the one, isn't she?"

The One had now pulled herself up against Zuko's cot, giggling and yanking at the sheets.

"I'll kill you." Her hands were white-knuckled.

Zuko's eyes moved, sweeping over the toddler rummaging through his blankets. "You wouldn't kill me to save your mission and your secrets and your people's last chance for freedom—but you would kill me if I touched this one child?"

She is our last chance for freedom. Our only chance.

Suyan was trapped in there, with Zuko, but Katara felt like the one who was encaged, the one imprisoned and denied.

"That leads me to believe that this girl must be somebody very, very special."

He moved away from her—Katara's hand reached through the bars, trying to grasp his shirt, trying to pull him back—"No!"

Zuko bent down over Suyan, and lifting her up into the air, settled her against his shoulder. She fumbled, laughing, with one of the laces at the neck of his shirt. She was so innocent, so unknowing.

Katara stared through the bars. Zuko had just taken the drugged water this morning—he couldn't Firebend. But there were so many other simpler ways to kill a baby. Brutal ways. Choking, crushing, twisting.

"You wouldn't," she said, mouth dry.

"I wouldn't what?" he said, voice steady. Suyan's mop of dark brown hair rested against his neck. He was cradling her almost tenderly. Katara refused to believe it.

"You wouldn't harm a child, Avatar or no," she said.

"Who said anything about an Avatar?" Zuko said, playing stupid. Katara didn't buy it—she knew he'd suspected it the moment he'd seen her with Suyan. He'd seen her on the beach when they arrived, and he'd seen her walking through the village square.

"I know you," Katara continued, buying time. "I've heard you say before—that time you told us Zhao wanted to kill all the Earth children in order to force the Avatar to be reborn into the Fire Nation—you were against that, you didn't want to do it."

"That was massacring tens of thousands of children, Katara," Zuko said, and began to pace back and forth inside his cell, with Suyan in his arms. "But this time, I've got no need to waste lives unnecessarily. I have the only one I possibly need."

She was speechless with terror. These iron bars were keeping her from the one who would save the world, and the one who would destroy it.

"Zuko—I know you—"

"You're my enemy!" he hissed, and Suyan let out a faint whimper, "What the hell could you possibly know about me?"

Katara worked, mouth dry.

Know your enemy. One of the first pieces of advice ever told to a warrior in training. Strategies and tactics and plans were built around a person's knowledge of the enemy they fought. Strengths, weaknesses, routines, when they went to the bathroom at night, and if it would be the best time to strike when their guard was down. She liked to eat chocolate-covered mangoes at dinner—there was a deadly poison from the Earth Kingdom that had the same consistency and flavor as chocolate. He had a secret lover, a woman in the village whom he visited every fourth night. Expose him to destroy his reputation—or catch and knife him as he was leaving his lover's bed. These things, the tiny, inconsequential details, were the ones that could kill a person.

Whom did she list first as an enemy?

Zuko, whom she'd betrayed and lied to. He'd been her friend—and then she'd made him her enemy that day in the dungeons at Fort Luxing.

But he was my enemy in the first place, before he was ever my friend. Her head and logic knew this—her heart and emotions didn't.

Know your enemy.

What kind of impossible demand was that? The more you knew about a person, the more you realized that there was so much more you didn't know about them. And to truly know someone was to get inside their head—and then you ran the risk of learning how much you were alike.

But if you were truly determined, you would continue to wrap yourself in that person, to completely immerse yourself in their world for the purpose of finding out their strengths and weaknesses: this was where the deadly danger of falling existed. Falling into obsession, into revelation, into—if desperation called for it—love.

The saying shouldn't have been, "Know your enemy."

It should have been, "Know your enemy enough so that you can kill him when you see him, but not enough that you start wondering why he's your enemy in the first place."

"I know," she began, eyes never leaving his face, "that you're a man of honor and you would never, never stoop so low as to kill a child in cold blood, even if she is your greatest enemy."

Zuko's face was a mask of anger and underneath, admittance.

She'd been right.

"Pick up your keys," he snarled.

She did, bending down slowly, keeping eye contact. She felt the cold metal beneath her fingertips, and feeling around, found the correct key. She slid it smoothly into the hole, never shaking once, and unlocked the door, opening it.

Zuko held Suyan out towards her. Her niece kicked her feet in midair, uncomfortable in the situation.

Katara slowly walked forward before taking hold of Suyan, then bringing her down close and cradling the baby against her chest. Zuko said nothing, merely looked at the two of them.

"It is my weakness," he said slowly, eyes on Suyan, "that I can't do what needs to be done, because my emotions and morals get in the way."

"It's not a weakness."

"It makes me a failure."

"Am I a failure then," Katara said, "for keeping you alive? For not killing you? For saving your life, or however the hell you want to say it?"

That was unfair, Zuko thought. He couldn't possibly insult her for not having killed him. A few days ago, a few hours ago, he might have answered yes, just to spite her and get her angry. But if he said that now, then he'd be lying.

He just looked at her, holding that child as if it were her own, and shook his head.

"It's different," he said. "I'm the ruler of my empire—there are things I have to do in order to protect my people."

"And killing a defenseless baby is one of them?"

"She's not always going to be a defenseless baby! She's the Avatar! If I let her, then she'll be the one to overthrow me and destroy everything I've ever worked for."

"And you believe in what you've worked for? The enslavement of the Earth people, the deaths of so many who wish to be free, all to feed the greed that is the Fire Nation?"

"It doesn't matter what I believe!" he exploded, "All that matters is my duty and what is required of me!"

"Alright," she said. And then Katara, holding Suyan beneath her chubby arms, shoved the infant Avatar towards Zuko. "Kill her."

Zuko's face was surprised, shocked.

"Come on," Katara said, pushing Suyan at Zuko. "Do it. Fulfill your duty. Your requirements. What are you waiting for? My arm's getting tired."

Zuko's jaw worked, and his eyes narrowed. "If I called you on your bluff right now, you would end up being responsible for your brother's child's death, and the death of the hope of every person on this island."

"But you're not going to," Katara answered, eyes clear. "You're not going to kill her—I already know it."

Suyan began to cry and squirm.

Zuko took hold of Katara's hands around the baby and pushed them back towards her own body, until she was cradling Suyan against her chest again. "I get your point," he said sarcastically, "I'm a good, honorable man with integrity."

"Considering."

"Considering what?"

"Considering the fact that you're the leader of the Empire, my people's worst enemy, and the fact that you're Fire, a destructive element, and the fact that you can be a horrible bully—"

"Alright, Alright—"

"—then you're good and honorable, but only considering."

"Thank you for your generous praise," he snapped, "What's next, a marriage proposal?"

"My brother would kill you."

"I was joking."

"This conversation's getting too civilized. I have to go."

She picked up the old tray and turned to leave.

"Katara."

"Yes?"

"You—you didn't kill Hiro, did you?"

She froze in the doorway. Her voice was bitter: "I might as well have."

Did you run him through with your knife? Did you shoot him with your bow? Did you get one of your rebel friends to do it for you?

Do you regret it? He wanted to ask.

But the answer was already there, on her face, in her movements, and in the fact that Suyan, a perceptive child easily influenced by her aunt's emotions, began to cry.

Katara reached the house, beginning to pant slightly with the exertion she'd taken to walk back quickly while carrying Suyan. Sokka and Suki were probably home already, and worried that they couldn't find her.

She climbed the steps to the porch, and noticed her brother's and Suki's shoes left carelessly by the front door. Sliding it open, Katara stepped in, surprised to see that the main room was deserted, and the house silent.

Slightly worried, Katara walked along the short hallway, stopping before their door. She pressed her ear gently against the wood, and couldn't hear a single noise from inside. Taking a deep breath, Katara slid it open, preparing herself for anything—maybe nakedness or some other equally embarrassing thing.

But the only thing she was Suki and her brother sleeping calmly in their bed, Sokka's arm thrown over his wife.

Katara grinned, creeping closer with a strangely silent Suyan in her arms. She wanted to scare them awake; it'd be something to laugh about later, and they all needed something to laugh about right now—

She stopped when she saw Suki's face. It was streaked with dusty tears, and there were bits of leaf here and there in her hair. Her shoulder bandage was a rusty brown. Somber, Katara looked over at her brother's face—it was dirty as well, and his cheeks were still wet.

Something had happened, something that had broken the happy couple she'd seen earlier before they left. Whatever it was, they were obviously dead tired, and needed a few hours to just forget.

Katara began to back out of the room, slowly, holding Suyan's head against her chest. She reached her own room, and began to lay out extra blankets and a pillow.

"We're going to give your mom and dad a break tonight, okay?" she whispered to Suyan. Katara set her down on the bed, and her niece slipped her thumb into her mouth, looking up at her with clear, understanding brown eyes.

Zuko fell asleep that night and dreamt of a white memorial in a garden, an ocean by his side, and deep, dark regret.

I wish I could change it.

I wish I could have saved her.

I wish—

Zuko woke up in the morning to bright, wintry sunshine, and his face was damp.

A/N: I want to extend a gigantic thank-you to Mystikat, witheringheights, chickygurl, AkaVertigo, oookelcitaooo, Spleefmistress, Whomever, and Melodiee for their help in betaing this chapter. They save me from a lot of embarrassment concerning grammar and spelling and all sorts of nasty, ugly things.

This chapter was four days shy of being a month between updates--winter break and vacation was what got to me, mostly. Oh, and I watched the Chronicles of Narnia! I had a short little obsession with that as well, and wrote a few ficlets for the fandom, because I absolutely adored the books when I read them as a kid. Don't think I'll ever post them here though.

I haven't had a Q&A/reply thing in awhile:

It seems to me that you like this story better than THATP too. It just comes out in your writing, how much you love what you're writing. The best things I have ever read were written by people who love what they're writing. You can always tell, you know? --Farren
You are indeed correct, Farren, but I personally wasn't aware that it came out in my writing. That's a nice surprise. :) I do enjoy writing this a lot more than THATP.

Reina D.--
Thank you so much for your calculations. Their ages and the succession of time was not something I paid very much attention to; I see now I could have worked harder at that. Thank you for being so understanding. :D You deserve a cookie for all that math you did.

my only suggestion is to speed up the romance between Katara and Zuko --witheringheights
Many people have been calling for fluff and romance. I think a lot of people will agree with me that even though I started writing this story with Zutara in mind, it's become less "Zutara" and more "Zuko and Katara", which is a disappointment. Do I make sense?
Everytime I try to attempt the romance--I get scared and cop out. I always get the feeling that I'll blow them both out of character, and that it won't be believable. So I take the easy, lazy path and just try not to do it, which is stupid, because this is supposed to be kinda romantic. I'm not a very good realistic!romance writer, but I'll try harder in the future.

(But I do want to defend myself slightly and say that even though this is classified as part Romance, it's also action, adventure, drama, angst, (occasional) humor, and political/war intrigue. This is not going to be one of those stories where it turns into a complete soap opera centered on romance and I'm sorry if that disappoints you, but you'll have to go somewhere else for mega-fluff (try the latest chapter of These Circumstances for that?) Not that I have anything specifically against romance, mind you, it's just that this fic won't be totally centered on it. When it works, I'll slip it in.)

Thanks for all the amazing reviews. I read EVERY SINGLE one of them, even if they're short or if they're super-long.