Work could wait. Contracts and signatures and documents could all wait.
Katara had insisted that she and Aang remain close to the Fire Nation capital in the weeks leading up to the Queen's due date. She'd secured permission to be present for the birth (if she was able) from both the Fire Lord and his wife when it was revealed at a particularly intimate dinner party that they would both be expecting little ones just weeks apart. And just two weeks after welcoming her own bundle of joy into the world, she was flying as fast as Appa could take her to help one of her best friends welcome his.
They landed at the palace just two hours after Iroh sent word via messenger hawk that the Lady's water had broken. Aang was tasked with keeping watch over Bumi while Katara charged into the building, barely stopping to be identified by the guards. She made her way swiftly down the long hall that led to the infirmary and prepared herself. While it was far from her first time assisting a birth, it was her first time assisting a friend. And, she admitted silently to herself, it was much harder to keep a cool bedside manner when someone you cared so much about was in such pain. She hoped, more than anything, to act as moral support, as she trusted the doctors Zuko kept at arm's length. They'd taken good care of him in his recovery after--well, after.
As she rounded the final corner in her seemingly hours-long journey to the delivery room, she caught a shadow disappearing through a doorway. The palace had always been swarming with staff; she couldn't even imagine how much they'd beefed-up security and help now that there would be another tiny soul living there. I'd do the same thing, she thought.
And then she was there: standing in front of the surprisingly quiet infirmary where Zuko and his wife would soon welcome their first child. She took a steadying breath and allowed her face to break into a reassuring smile before pushing her way through the doors.
It was dark.
Six people stood around the still figure lying heavily on the bed. There was blood--a lot of blood--on the floor, on the blankets, on the aprons and arms of the physicians who looked up at her with wide, sad eyes. What happened? She wanted to ask. But she already knew.
Familiar eyes met hers'. Before she knew it, Iroh was at her side, gently pushing her out of the room. "It happened so fast," he said quietly, his voice filled with an emotion she'd never seen from him. "Nothing could have been done."
Katara drew a hand to her chest. "The baby?" she asked.
"Fine," he assured her. "But--"
"Zuko," she finished. Her heart ached for him. He was only 25. They had their whole lives ahead of them, that little family. She gave a gracious nod to Iroh, then stumbled backward a few steps and took off running.
She wasn't sure if she followed the sound of sobs or the aching in her chest, but within seconds she'd found him crumpled to the floor in an office a few doors down from the infirmary. She hesitated at the threshold, wondering briefly if her presence would do more harm than good. Would the sight of her send him spiraling deeper?
Her hesitation was short-lived, and she found herself kneeling in front of him, her palm on his shoulder and her head bowed low. He grabbed for her desperately, pulling her tightly to him. Sobs wracked his body, then hers'. And they cried together like they'd done as children all those years ago.
"I loved her," he confessed into Katara's hair. "I loved her so much."
She searched her mind, then her heart for the right things to say. There was nothing. Absolutely nothing she could say would make this better. "I know." It was all she could manage. She couldn't tell how long they'd spent crying together on the floor of the darkened bedroom, but what seemed like a lifetime later, there was a knock on the doorframe.
"Your grace," a small voice said.
They both looked up to see the head physician, features drenched in candlelight, cradling a small, soft bundle. Katara watched as Zuko mustered every ounce of strength he had left to push himself off the floor, chin quivering and eyes glossy, to take his daughter from the physician's arms. She heard him take a shuddering breath, then as firmly as she'd ever heard him speak say "Thank you. For everything."