A/N: Based on Hayley Foster's "Reunion Part II". Check out her work over at hayleynfoster on Tumblr!

Hayley mentioned that this animatch was inspired by a Zutara AMV set to "peace" and I simply could not stop my brain from writing this quick oneshot. This has been in the drafts for a hot second so I was extremely excited to get it out, finally.

To Hayley, you are the moment. You're everything. I adore you and your work. Thank you so much for all that you do and have done. Hope you, specifically, enjoy this! (And I hope everyone else does too!)

"They'd be amazed to hear
that Chance has been toying with them
now for years.

Not quite ready yet
to become their Destiny,
it pushed them close, drove them apart,
it barred their path,
stifling a laugh,
and then leaped aside.

There were signs and signals,
even if they couldn't read them yet."

Excerpt from "Love at First Sight" by Wisława Szymborska
(Translated by Clare Cavanagh and Stanisław Barańczak)

When she was a little girl and all she'd ever known was ice, just before the festivities that marked this hallowed, annual occasion began in full, her mother would take her and her brother to the watchtower to watch the sun miraculously set. And it was nothing short of a miracle—to see the whole sky alight and play with colour, instead of just the lights.

Kya would tell them to whisper a prayer to the wind spirits and if you were pure of heart, they would hear you and carry your prayer to the sun god. If you kept your heart pure through the whole long, dark night, the sun god would hear you as he rose again in half a year's time, and grant you something you deserve.

"It may not be what you asked for," Kya had said. "But when the sun rises again, it will be exactly what you need."

Sokka, she remembered, had three problems with that: 1) Sokka did not wait. 2) Sokka did not whisper. 3) Sokka could not be counted upon to remember something like that through a South Pole's night. Kya never cared that he did this, though; she never tired of trying to tell him the rules of the rituals, smiling kindly all the while. He would practically hang off the edge of the watchtower and proclaim, through prayer, that he wanted to be the greatest warrior that Southern Water Tribe had ever known.

On the last year, on the last sun set that Kya would ever see, Katara remembered that Sokka asked if the sun god would please convince Hakoda to let him have his own wolf companion. He bargained that he would take care of it, raise it, clean up after it—to which Katara exclaimed that he barely cleaned up after himself. Katara remembered watching the sun set that day; she couldn't remember what she prayed for but she knew that she was tucked under a blanket with her mother by her side, both of them laughing at her brother.

This was the memory that played in her mind as she watched the sky change colour. The deepest, fiercest orange that was almost red melding with the different blues, turning patches of the heavens and the oceans that reflected them purple and pink in between. And when you witnessed miracles like this every day, the way the people of the Fire Nation did, she wondered if they still prayed to the sun god.

She wondered if he could hear her from here.

It was so strange to be back again, finally. It had been a few years and much has changed.

From this vantage point in the Fire Nation's Royal Palace, she could just barely see the blue flag on the boat that carried her here billow in the wind. She closed her eyes and felt the wind in her hair, on her face; she felt the warmth of the sun on her skin. And when she exhaled, she whispered.

Katara prayed to the sun god for the first time since the last time.

Then, not a second later, she heard footsteps coming from behind her. Zuko yawned and stretched before he joined her and stood next to her by the balcony and said nothing.

He only looked at her. He looked only at her.

Finally, she opened her eyes to the sun's warmth then turned to look at him. Katara smiled in greeting and said nothing—a special kind of silence, the kind that only comes when two people understand each other. Zuko returned the smile with one of his own, shifted his weight, and turned his gaze forward.

Together, they watched the sky; the quiet felt like something holy and wrapped around them like a blanket.

Suddenly, he breaks this moment with a nudge to her shoulder and he points at the crescent moon above them, bright and beautiful against the dark, purple-pink sky, and then down to the orange fire that was slowly marrying the sea.

"Is your day just about to start?" he asked. He sounded like he was joking; the tone your voice made when you were trying to be funny. She said nothing, she didn't laugh, but she remained smiling and he said, "You rise with the moon, I set with the sun, remember?"

She stole a glance at him and he shrugged. "Or–or something like that."

It had been years since she'd last seen him, heard his voice like this and his awkward stammer. Years since she'd known the warmth of his company beyond the letters and gifts he'd so often send. His gold eyes, soft and bright and wide and glistening like stars. And she looked at him.

She looked only at him.

And looking at him felt like watching a sun set at the South Pole—nothing short of sacred.

He turned to look at her then and his eyes widen. Zuko straightened his back, looked away, and cleared his throat.

Katara only then caught herself—she'd been staring—and she looked away. She felt the blood rush to her cheeks and she tucked her hair behind her ears.

She felt him move away, ever so slightly, letting holy quiet settle in the space between them. And she remembered he'd always been like this, hadn't he? Zuko had always been good at giving her space—a sun's length away from the moon that she was. He leaned forward and his hands dangled along the side of the balcony.

She curled her fingers into her palm, forming a loose fist, and rested it against her mouth, just beneath her nose. She forced herself to look down, looking at nothing in particular and watching the scene fade into blurs of green, orange, and red. When she stole a glance back up at him, she noticed the calm of the features of his face but then she watched his hands fidget and shake. He couldn't stop his hands from fidgeting, like it was taking everything in his gravity to keep them where they were, to keep them from wanting.

Like he wanted something else, something more, but could not and would not form the words or make the move to ask.

And she knew; how could she not?

This kind of shared silence, after all, was language all on its own. Right then, it was louder than any sound could ever be. It was loud in a way you didn't hear it—you only felt it. And she felt it.

Katara moved closer and placed her hand on top of his.

He was taken aback but Zuko did not move his hand from hers. She looked at their hands—stared, utterly transfixed. Her breaths were heavy; her shoulders rose and fell rapidly. And when she looked up, into his eyes, her breath steadied. Though the same could not be said about the beat of her heart.

With its every beat, she could feel how her blood stirred the way the ocean is moved by the wind, by the life and death underneath it, by the turn of the world, by gravity itself. Every heartbeat formed ripples that turned into tidal waves, a hundred tsunamis a second beneath her skin. And all the while, she thought, 'Am I doing this? Am I really doing this?'

Zuko looked at her with a kind sort of tenderness she'd seen before—a simple gratitude. Like when she'd held him the first time, declaring her forgiveness, and he watched her go. He let her go.

'Look at me,' her eyes prayed and whispered to the silence as the sun set. 'Listen to what I'm saying.'

After a long pause, in the silence, he heard her and he looked.

'Oh.'

Zuko's face changed, to a look she had never seen before. Brows raised, breath caught. Like he did not dare believe it, like he did not dare to do anything at all—like he could not, would not risk what not hearing her correctly meant. In the silence, he listened. His eyes did not leave her unflinching, unwavering, unyielding gaze. She did not let go of his hand in hers. She would not let him talk himself out of this in his own, private silence—not again.

And for a second, neither of them moved. And in a second, they came together.

So close that he could rest his palm upon her cheek. He was hesitating, still, and she could feel the warmth of his breath on her lips. Where he leaned down, she reached up on the tips of her toes.

In the silence, his eyes asked her, 'Are you sure about this?'

He remained steady, no matter how much his arms trembled, and Katara swallowed a breath. She stole a split-second glance at his lips then back to the sunset gold of his eyes, and she had never known such certainty in faith.

'No, not about this,' replied her quiet. 'But I'm sure about you.'

Katara pulled at the collar of his shirt, pulled him to her, and relief came crashing like a wave falling, returning to the ocean. The scent of him filled her lungs and—as the setting sun married the sea—she kissed him, finally.

He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly, and her hands wove to clutch his back. Her fingers dragged along the soft cloth, just barely pressing at his skin underneath, and a sound rose from the back of her throat—something like a cry and a sigh at the same time.

When they parted, she found her hands were by his waist. They were barely apart and they shared shy, knowing smiles between them. The wind danced along with the music of their silence—thousands of whispered prayers carried in them, with the ever-changing, crescent moon overhead, with her borrowed sunlight, answering one.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi."

Her voice was high and the lilt sounded like a laugh.

Not more than a breath later, Zuko pulled her to him with an embrace so tight, so wanting that he almost dipped her. But her arms wrapped around his neck to keep herself standing and wanting just the same, and she giggled against his lips.

There was bliss in the silence that followed—some might call it a miracle, some might call it peace.