He lets out a slow breath. He isn't sure why he's doing this. He wants to cheer her up, but surely there are other ways—better ways, less humiliating ways to do it than this. But Zuko has never been very good at plans, and this is the only idea he can think of. It will have to do for now.
He finds Katara exactly where he left her, legs curled up to her chest and staring into the darkness out the window. She looks small right now, small and uncertain.
He would do anything to change that. That's why he's here, he reminds himself. This is for her.
That doesn't make it any easier to begin.
"You're still up?" he asks.
Katara looks up, startled, then gives him a small, faint smile. "Yeah. Just—a lot to think about, I guess."
She curls inward again, and Zuko ventures a little closer.
"Worried?"
She nods. "Aren't you?"
He is. He has been worried for ages now, almost for as long as he can remember. He isn't sure he remembers what it feels like to not be worried. But Katara—he isn't sure why, but it stings to see her so consumed with worry. Even though he knows the reason for it. Even though he feels the same.
"I brought something."
She cocks her head to the side and her eyebrows raise. By the dim light of the lamp on the table in front of her, she is illuminated in shades of copper and gold.
"Is 'something' the scientific term? It sounds very specific."
His face flames, and he forgets what he planned to say. He produces the broad, flat box from behind his back and drops it beside the lamp.
"Here. Uh—" The words refuse to come back, and he turns to leave.
"Zuko, wait." Her voice is soft, just a little hesitant, and it pulls him to a halt. "Could you stay for a little while? I can already tell it's going to be a really long night."
He turns back. Of course. For her, of course he'll stay.
"Besides," she adds, smiling. "You can't just bring a box in here and not tell me what's inside."
On second thought, maybe he doesn't want to stay. This was a stupid idea. She's worried about the comet, and about Aang—about all of the innumerable ways their lives could change or end in the next few days. Silly distractions aren't going to help. And if she opens that box, she's going to know what kind of an idiot he is.
But he's quickly losing all ability and desire to tell her no. Especially now. When they're all fighting to keep from falling apart, he doesn't want to refuse her anything. Even if it makes him look like an idiot.
Honesty, he decides, is the best option. He can't force himself to leave her alone—he doesn't want to leave her alone, so he'll just tell her the truth. That the box is nothing worth her concern. That he's more than happy to talk to her, or to listen, or to sit in silence for the whole length of the night if she forgets about the box.
"That," he begins, rounding the table to take a seat on one of the cushions beside her, "is a stupid idea I had. It's nothing. Really."
"I don't think you have stupid ideas, Zuko."
His face heats as he settles in.
"At least not recently," she amends.
"I broke my less-stupid streak," he says, staring out the window along with her. "Sorry. It's nothing. I should have left the box where it was."
Katara's curiosity isn't so easily satisfied, and she leans forward, resting a hand on the cover. "Can I be the judge of that?"
Zuko swallows. "I guess so."
This is going to be humiliating.
He looks away, but from the corner of his eye—his good eye, the one that can see her all too clearly on the periphery—he watches her hands lift up the lid and push aside the fabric wrapping inside. Zuko clenches his fists, bracing himself for the inevitable awkwardness, and Katara's hands trail delicately along the edges of the box.
"What's this?" she asks, her voice quiet and almost breathless. She lifts out the first portrait and holds it at an angle to take advantage of the lamplight.
"It's—my family. When I was younger. Since you went looking for pictures, I thought—"
"I wasn't looking for them!" Her words come in a rush, and when Zuko turns her way, he thinks she might be blushing. He envies how subtle her blushing is. "I told you guys. I was just looking for cooking pots."
Though he can't bring himself to look at the portrait, or at her, he can't keep the smile from creeping slowly over his face. "Right. Of course that's why you ended up on the other side of the attic with all the portraits. When the kitchen is already full of cooking pots."
"Shut up." She nudges him, but the smile is evident in her voice.
"Anyway." Zuko shifts uncomfortably. "Since you found the wrong baby pictures, I thought you might want to see the right ones."
"You thought right." She reaches toward him, her hand brushing against his. "But come on, Zuko. You have to at least tell me who everyone is. Here." She leans back, the portrait in her hand, and her head comes within a few inches of resting on his shoulder. "You have to be in this one, right?"
He takes a deep breath before he nods. "Right there. I must have been two or three in this one." He tries not to look too long or too hard, but the image is already burned into his mind so well that he could draw it from memory.
"Awww." Katara's voice softens, and she leans even closer, pulling the box onto her lap. "So that must be your sister—who's the older boy?"
He looks at the portrait again, at the sleeping infant in a little basket on the ground and the squirming toddler held around the middle by a boy with a gap-toothed smile. "My cousin, Lu Ten."
She nods, and her fingertip trails over the image of tiny Zuko. A soft, placid smile settles on her face, and after a minute, she pulls out the next one. "This is you too?"
In this one, Zuko is a little older, probably four or five, and crouched over a tidepool, small hands outstretched for something just beneath the rippling surface. He nods. He remembers that day. He remembers being that small and curious, full of eager questions that his mother was always willing to answer.
He clears his throat. "I kept asking my mother questions about all the things moving around in the tidepools. She was telling me all the names of the fish and the crabs and snails—" he trails off for a second. "And after that, we collected seashells all afternoon and she helped me figure out what they used to be."
He feels Katara's gaze on him, warm and soothing. "That sounds nice." Her voice is barely more than a breath, and he can feel the slight heat from her cheek bridging the gap to his shoulder. She pulls her eyes away and looks at the portrait again. "Do you still remember all of their names?"
"I—I'm not sure. It's been a long time." He remembers some of them. The soot-tipped snails and the little colorful lilypetal fish—he can't think of any of the others right now, not with Katara's head hovering so close to his shoulder.
"You're going to have to tell me all about them when this is all over," Katara says quietly.
Right. When this is over. Just a few more days now. He tries not to think about what that will look like—what could go wrong in the meantime.
Instead, he only nods. He can't linger on that. He is meant to be cheering up Katara. That's more important right now. Even if his face burns and his stomach ties itself into knots with each new portrait she looks at.
Katara pores over the pictures one at a time, examining them all, asking questions like she's thirsty for every tiny detail she can glean from his past.
Zuko doesn't know exactly how he feels about that. No one has ever really been this curious about him before, so excited to know more about him. Usually, no one digs any deeper.
With anyone else, he might think that there is malice beneath the surface of her interest, that she wants to know him so that she can cut through him with less resistance. That's been his experience with most people. But Katara—there is something in the softness of her voice, the wide-eyed wonder as she looks over his memories that softens him as well. He is still wary. He isn't sure that he'll ever reach a point when wariness isn't his first response. But he tries to trust her. Though his insides quiver a little in anticipation every time she begins another question, he does his best to answer. He stumbles over his words and forgets what he's trying to say, but Katara doesn't seem to notice. Or if she does, she doesn't react.
At long last, she reaches the last portrait in the stack and pulls it into her lap.
Her fingertips trail along the edge of the canvas, and this time, she doesn't speak. She doesn't ask any questions. She just studies the portrait, the painting of little Zuko, age nine, still unscarred and happier than he would be for too many years after. She lets out a slow sigh, and Zuko can see the soft smile on her face as she leans toward the side, letting her cheek finally come to rest against his shoulder.
"Sometimes I can't believe how cute you are," she says, her voice quiet.
Zuko is stunned by the weight of her head on his shoulder. Too stunned, for a moment, to even realize what she's just said. How cute you are. Present tense.
It has to be a mistake. Katara almost never misspeaks, but if Zuko was ever cute—and he's not sure that he ever was, even before the Agni Kai—those days are long gone.
"Maybe when I was little," he concedes. Though he knows that it's not exactly true, he can't bring himself to contradict her.
Katara nestles in against his side. "Nope. I'm an expert on the subject. You're cute, Zuko." She tilts her head just enough to meet his eyes.
Zuko frowns. She's wrong. He can't be cute, especially now, but her expression is perfectly sincere.
"I—" he begins, then swallows. He can't remember what he was going to say, and his mouth feels very dry all of a sudden. Then, against his will, words spill out of him. "You're cute too."
His face flames when he realizes what he's said, what he's done, and he pulls away, burying his face in his hands. "Spirits. I'm sorry, that's not what I—"
Katara has no time to react to his sudden movement, and she lets out a small yelp as the shoulder she was leaning against moves out of her reach. She falls over, landing on her side against Zuko's back.
Zuko is fairly certain that he's going to either combust in a puff of smoke or melt into the floorboards, leaving a big, stupid, reddish smudge where a firebender once sat. People would go on tours of this place someday, and they'd see the puddle that used to be Zuko, and some stuffy old tour guide would point to the spot on the floor and announce to all the spectators that, 'Here lies all that remains of the disgraced former prince of the Fire Nation, Zuko. He met his end in a most undignified manner after admitting that he found a waterbender pretty.'
Zuko's impulse is to pull away again, to wrench himself from underneath Katara and to run out of the room without explanation. He stops himself, though, when he realizes that he would only send Katara toppling again. His face grows hotter and hotter, and he doesn't dare to move.
Still half-sprawled across Zuko's back, Katara giggles. Then laughs. Then keeps laughing as she rolls onto her side and wraps her arms around him from behind in a strange, lopsided hug.
Zuko can't decide whether staying still and silent while Katara hugs him from behind is the best course or not. He can't make this any weirder than it already is. If he does, then Katara is going to be that stuffy old tour guide telling people about how Zuko died of sheer embarrassment and melted into the floor. Except that she's Katara, and she'll never be stuffy. She'll be beautiful no matter what her age, and—oh, spirits, he really has to stop thinking before he lets anything more slip out.
"I'm so sorry," he manages to croak after a too-long pause.
Katara is still laughing, and she squeezes him tighter. "Don't be," she manages between giggles. "You just wanted to cheer me up." She pulls herself all the way up this time and holds onto his shoulder to steady herself between more bouts of giggling.
"I made everything awkward," he laments.
"And that's what I love about you."
Her words don't sink in until she lets out a surprised squeak, claps a hand over her mouth, and buries her face in his shoulder.
"Wait. What did you just—"
Katara shakes her head. "Nothing," she says, voice muffled against his shoulder. "I didn't say anything."
"Katara." He takes hold of her shoulders and pushes her back just far enough so he can see her face.
Oh. She's blushing. Zuko isn't imagining it this time—her cheeks have taken on a slightly darker hue, and she's avoiding his gaze. His heart skips. She meant it? He doesn't want to get his hopes up, but she wouldn't be blushing if there weren't some truth to it, would she?
"Did you just—" He breaks off, his eyes wide and his face aflame.
Katara meets his gaze and gives a small, crooked smile. "Um—surprise?"
His head spins, and he can feel his mouth pulling into a smile. He never would have dared to hope, but Katara is smiling, and he's smiling, and he has to remind himself to breathe.
"Since we're already making things awkward," she resumes, "there's something else I might as well tell you."
Zuko can't stop staring into her eyes, falling deeper and deeper into the endless blue that looks almost like silver by the pale light of the single lamp.
"There is?"
Katara nods. "I really want to kiss you right now."
His mouth goes dry again, and he is numb when he manages to nod. "That—that sounds good to me."
And that was a stupid response, he tells himself, but before he can think of a more dignified one, Katara's lips are pressed against his.
Zuko's eyes close, and a bit of the tension drains from his shoulders. Maybe he can handle this, he decides. He's still the most awkward person he knows, but maybe that isn't such a bad thing after all.
Author's Note:
Ah, yes, another oneshot that I wrote almost entirely in 15-minute sprints during NaNo with exactly zero idea how I was going to get it to fit the prompt. I just knew that I wanted Zuko showing Katara his real baby pictures after she mistakenly found Ozai's, and the awkward all came later. Is this a lesson about planning being overrated? Maybe. Am I gonna stop overthinking fics anytime soon? Absolutely not.
This is officially the last request I had left over from 2019 (not the last prompt that was requested in 2019, but now I've written at least one fic for every person who sent in a request that year), so here you go, anon on Tumblr! It's only a year late...
Now I gotta start working on the requests I got in 2020, huh?
I hope you all like it! Reviews are always appreciated!