A stack of paper hits Zuko's desk and he looks up at Uncle Iroh's sheepish grin.
"More?" Zuko's been signing away projects all afternoon. It feels like he's barely gotten through the current stack he's been working on, as thick as a tome. But it isn't like it all collected in one day; Zuko clearly needed more water for the dried-up ink he's used on and off during the months. More off than on, he's embarrassed to say.
Helping Katara has been one of his more urgent Fire Lord duties.
"General Mak believed it would be best to send me instead of anyone else," Uncle Iroh says, sits across from his nephew, glad he isn't in the position of Fire Lord. This only means that General Mak had a message for Zuko but figured nobody else could talk sense into him like his uncle could. And that was only sometimes.
Zuko sighs. "What is it uncle?"
"I hear you've been falling behind in your Fire Lord duties."
"If that means not being stuck here all day while my hand cramps, then yes. There's so much more to do outside of here, I don't see how signing any papers helps anybody."
Uncle Iroh only smiles at Zuko's impatience. He didn't have time to practice the role of Fire Lord for the past three years, not the way Azula was trained to be. Knows his nephew has a palette for adrenaline, fighting, and exploration. "There is an order to things, Fire Lord Zuko. If there is no order, it becomes a flowing river stopped by a dam. Or… a clogged sink that requires undraining."
Zuko blinks at him. Uncle Iroh continues, "What I mean is, you are what's causing the clog. The Earth Kingdom seeks compensation for the time Azula tore down their walls. There is unrest in your own nation about your ruling, and your soldiers only grow more exhausted doing nothing but heavy drills all day."
He's heard all this, a sort of blurred memory, when he sat in on all those meetings. There were more problems than the ones his uncle just listed, he knows, and he should be more attentive as Fire Lord. He's offered plans of action to the table though, and it's not like they weren't received well. The generals just had better alternatives, and they've been doing this a long time. It wasn't the same generals his father had either. These ones were open to other cultures and moved up in rank due to hard work and dedication. All he had to do was sign the papers approving their ideas.
"I'll admit," Zuko says, puts the brush down. "I've been a little distracted."
Uncle Iroh raises his brows. "Distracted by a certain water bender?"
He blushes, looks down at the signature he practiced for weeks on end when he was younger. "It's not like that."
Uncle Iroh can't help but feel both happiness and pity for him. He wants his nephew to find love, and to be able to freely pursue it but the shackles of being a Fire Lord prevent him from doing so. "It's all about finding the right balance."
Zuko slouches in his chair. "I just think helping her is more important." When Uncle Iroh snorts at the word 'helping', Zuko says. "Anybody can sign papers. General Mak can easily forge my signatures for me, if he really cares about getting these done."
"I don't know if that's what I would call helping," Uncle Iroh teases. "And secondly, that would be dishonest."
"I just-I mean, it's kindof helped her."
They've been sparring together in the gardens and the beach, fire against water. She's improved significantly, able to keep up with him when he launches bursts of flame toward her. Not fast enough, she laughed, before unleashing a giant wave over him leaving his clothes soaking wet and his hair in his eyes. They're taking things slow, decided it'd be best if they kept their interactions friendly with minimal contact. But sometimes Katara fixes him with a look when he's caught staring at her lips for a second too long, and he gets defensive about it, knows he needs to do a better job about hiding it. But the same can be said of her; Katara's blush spreading across her cheeks like wildfire when he peels the wet clothes from his back every time she sends a solid jet of ocean water at him.
"Somebody sounds like they're in love," Uncle Iroh says, in a sing-song way.
"I'm not," Zuko rushes to say. "We're just friends."
"And how does she feel?"
When Zuko pauses to answer, Uncle Iroh can already see the corner of his nephew's mouth turn up.
"I think she feels the same."
Before Uncle Iroh leaves the room, he tells Zuko not to forget about the stack of paper regarding the wages and possessions of former Fire Lord Ozai's previous generals and advisors. Zuko nods, already signing the rest of his day away, has always been aware of the responsibilities of a Fire Lord. Just wishes he could worry about simpler things sometimes.
"You've done that trick so many times already!" Zuko barely avoids the sliver of ice underneath his foot.
"Yeah, and you normally fall for it almost every time," Katara laughs, releasing her hold on the water from the fountain. They've been sparring in the gardens for almost an hour, just physical combat, no bending. But that doesn't stop Katara from getting back at him for all the times he's jump scared her. He was good at hiding, sticking close to the shadows in the forest when they practiced bending near the ocean.
"Let's take a break," he says, the cold air bites at his cheeks. It gets to Katara too, but she's used to it, her skin tougher than his. They're clammy with sweat in the chill air despite their internal body heat rising from their movements.
Katara collapses onto the bench beside him, and they can see their breaths in the air, little puffs. Zuko focuses on creating a small fire with his hand, holds it between them. It would make more sense to go inside, but then people are more likely to bother him for his time. No Fire Nation resident willingly wants to go outside into the cold come winter season. Well, except for him.
The light from the fire illuminates the bags underneath Katara's eyes. She hasn't been sleeping well lately, even moved to a better room despite her protests. Didn't want to feel like she was receiving special treatment from the Fire Lord himself, but even Uncle Iroh insisted. He burned some incense in her room, the lavender meant to calm her, but she only woke up in fits again.
When Zuko checked up on her in the mornings, he saw the tray of food, a couple of bites in and then forgotten. Katara said she was probably just sick, but Zuko is reminded of when Uncle Iroh lost his son. That blank, empty look in their eyes, the inability to do anything. He wants to ask Sokka, but even Sokka has been acting strange; Suki's been at his side even less too.
Aang tried to cheer up the siblings, on two separate occasions. Katara was unamused by his antics and Sokka, dully, said, "Ha. Good one." Toph thinks maybe they're homesick. It's started to snow, and tonight they were supposed to get at least two inches.
"How are you feeling?"
"That's the billionth time you've asked me in the past three days," Katara says. "I feel the same as I've always felt. I'm fine."
"You've barely ate anything. And you look… tired."
"Come on, Zuko," she smiles, unimpressed. "You can tell me how terrible I look."
When he doesn't say anything, her smile falls, the way ice cracks over. Slowly, but then all at once. "I guess I haven't been feeling the greatest. I don't know what it is though."
"Maybe not being able to remember your past or who you are now is finally taking its toll on you."
She looks at him, voice desperate. "What if I never remember?"
That thought has crossed his mind multiple times and every single time, he doesn't know the answer. He supposes they'll keep on living the way they are, but to start over and rebuild yourself from scratch? It's like the years he spent searching for the Avatar, trying to find something that was nearly impossible.
Zuko breaks their minimal contact rule and wraps an arm around her, pulls her close to him. Hates himself for saying something he doesn't know is true. It's already been about five months since her accident. "You will, one day. You're slowly becoming yourself again, and eventually everything will come back to you."
At least the part about her becoming herself is true. Bits and pieces of Katara's core self comes out randomly; her sass, her know-it-all comments, and her interactions with Toph. He's not sure if she's always been so playful, but he loves that side of her anyway. And even how annoying her moral compass can be. It's almost like it's her again.
But deep down, she doesn't feel like it. Sometimes when she's looking back at herself in her mirror, the blue eyes and brown skin, the shape of her face, the set of her brows, she wonders who that is. And even the Water Tribe necklace. She knows it belonged to her mother and that it's very special to her. But how can she ever feel like herself again when she's constantly having to ask Sokka or Aang details about herself? Things that she should know in her heart. And in a way, she's glad there are people close enough to her to remember her, but it's not the same. It's like having to remember stuff about a date, or a random military general.
"Yeah," Katara finally says to Zuko. Half-heartedly, "Maybe one day."
A soft knock comes at his door in the middle of the night and Zuko fumbles out of bed, still trying to get used to plush carpet. He wonders who it could be, hopes it's not Mai; it's late and he couldn't think of anyone else who would bother him at this hour. And if it were an emergency, Uncle Iroh would have kicked the door down, not even bothering with a knock.
He tiptoes to the door, places an ear against it. Silence.
Maybe he was imagining things. Right as he starts to return to bed, another soft knock. He cracks his door open. His voice is thick with sleep. "Who is it?"
"It's me, Katara."
He opens the door and can barely make out her silhouette. It's a dark winter night, the clouds obscuring the moon. Looks both ways down the hall. "What are you doing here?"
"I, uh," her voice cracks, and it's now that Zuko can hear her hitched breathing, like she's been crying for hours. "I couldn't sleep."
"Come in," he says, immediate. They sit on the edge of his bed, Katara's hands limp in her lap. He waits for her, could probably wait lifetimes for her if she needed.
"I had a dream," she starts, shifts uncomfortably. "It was… about my mother."
"I'm sorry," Zuko says, low.
Katara laughs a little, but her eyes are shiny. "I am too. I shouldn't be here; I should have stayed in my room but- it's just- today is the anniversary of my mother's death."
Zuko doesn't know what to say; no amount of words could ever bring her back. Instead, he opens his arms and Katara buries herself against his chest, silent tears staining his shirt.
That's why Sokka has been off. And that's why Katara has been so troubled even if she couldn't remember it herself. Her subconscious holds the memories most important to her, and Sokka wasn't strong enough to remind her. He was going through it as well. Maybe even worse because he felt alone; his sister didn't remember, and his dad was somewhere far away on a ship.
Zuko brushes her hair down, soothingly. Has never met a girl who has gone through half the battles Katara's been through and back, and he wishes he could just take some of it off her shoulders for a bit. She's always been more emotional, more sensitive than the others.
She mumbles phrases about how she wishes her mother were still alive, about her fragmented memory and something about not recognizing herself, and how much she loves her mother. Zuko sits with her through it all, despite her half-sentences and choked up words. Knows she isn't necessarily trying to talk to him, but maybe speaking the words that crowd her mind makes it easier to bear. To put a name to her feelings gives her a way to organize them, seem more manageable.
At some point in the night, Katara's tears slow down when snow starts to drift softly outside of the window. Feels like she's been crying her whole heart out, and even though she's stopped, she doesn't let go of him.
He's going to ask her if she's ready to go back to bed, but then her lips are suddenly on his, wistful and filled with anguish.
His eyes widen. "Katara-" He places his hands on her shoulders, leans back from her. Her mouth is parted, and she looks like a beautiful mess; a heartbreaking sight. "I thought we were trying to be friends."
"I'm sorry," she whispers, her brows knit together, and she leans back too. "I'm just not in the right state of mind and I guess being with you has always helped. I'll go now," and when she gets up to leave, Zuko, against his better judgment, grabs her wrist.
"Stay," he says, the word already out of his mouth before his mind can process it. "Stay the night. If it helps you to get your mind off things."
And she does. It's a horrible idea, but really, when has Zuko had any good ones? One thing always leads to another with him and they forget about being friends, for tonight. Zuko forgets about the stack of paperwork he signed, and she forgets what it's like to think. Katara's been so stuck in her mind for a long time now, that Zuko pulls her out of it. Physically, emotionally, tenderly. Soft kisses, here and there, as though she's afraid to forget him again. After some time, she guides his hands underneath her robe, her bare skin heating up under his touch, just like his face. What follows are his own lips, trailing kisses along her sides and her stomach, reaching lower and lower until he stops to move up and kiss her forehead.
"Zuko," she sighs. Her hands keep his on the curve of her waist. He's on top of her, between her legs, breath ragged. Thinks that kissing her could become his favorite pastime. Without a word, she reaches down and feels him, and he groans under her touch, and he feels a little guilty.
"You're not-" Another feel, and his mind goes blank, her body practically melts underneath him. Finally repeats, "You're not in the right state of mind."
Katara laughs, but it sounds sad. "I'm not drunk."
"But you're emotional."
Frustrated, she kisses him and runs her fingertips up his spine and onto the back of his neck, entangles them through his hair. Whispers, "This helps."
Zuko's mind flashes to what he told his uncle about helping her and figures he was right in saying that, though this isn't exactly what he was thinking of at the time.
But maybe it's helpful when his clothes come off, water benders with hands so skilled, and so precise. Knows exactly where to push, to stroke, to coax parts of his body into feeling good.
Maybe it's helpful when she tells him she needs him, makes his hands fumble less when he's trying to undress her, the image of Katara's body, completely bare and vulnerable beneath him having only ever been a wild fantasy of his during the pre-war days.
And maybe it helps both of them when he's finally inside, eliciting a gasp from Katara's mouth and Zuko biting back a curse because it feels better than he could have imagined, has to slow down because even though he's experienced it before, doesn't mean Katara has.
And with a shock, he realizes Katara's never done this before. He's her first.
He slows to a complete stop, his gaze level with her, and she opens her eyes, panting, asks, "What's wrong?"
"Am I…?" Knows it's horrible timing to ask but feels compelled to anyway. Voice low, as if other people were around to hear something so vulgar, "Am I the first person you've done this with?"
Katara wants so badly to throw a pillow over her face, just so he wouldn't see the shame wash over. "I think? I mean, I'm not too sure."
Zuko tries not to feel too concerned about it. Katara wouldn't remember, of course, but he's mostly confident she hasn't. "Are you sure you want me to be your first?"
"Zuko," she hits her palm against his chest. Motions to below them, and says, "It's kindof already too late."
"But are you okay?"
"I'm fine," she murmurs, then moans when he pushes into her again, a little slower than before. Has to really hold himself back when she starts scratching at his back, his pace picking up, and then Katara's trembling against him and he can't think of anywhere he'd rather be other than here.
He wants to tell her how much he needs her when he's close, wants to paint her skin with his admiration of her, wants to tell her just how much she's changed him for the better, and that he's honored to be her first, and mostly, that he is in love with her.
And when that thought crosses into his mind, that fleeting idea that maybe, just maybe, what he feels for Katara is more than just a crush, or a simple romantic like, he feels his heart swell up so much that it almost hurts. His teeth marks the skin on her neck as he holds back the words he yearns to say, and she wraps her arms around him when he's finished, a content sigh escaping her lips.
"Thank you," he utters, like a man released from his prison. Broken, but still salvageable. She makes him want to be better. She makes him feel free.
It's quiet for a few minutes, and when he looks up to find her fast asleep, it's the most peaceful he's ever seen her.