Katara wakes up with her hands just under her breastbone, morning after morning.
She traces a scar not on her body, absent-minded, not truly thinking.
It's not her scar, but it kind of is.
Her fingers find the carved stone at her throat, and she wishes her first thoughts were memories of her mother - of Kya's kindness and warmth, her laughter and lessons, her bravery.
Now, after so many years and adventures and marriage, her first thought is of an idiot boy who offered to save her from pirates, and the man that saved her from lightening.
She rolls over now, splaying out across the bed for two, feet tangled in red satin sheets.
Fire Lord Zuko is away on a contrived goodwill mission to get him out of the palace while Katara and Iroh ferret out a plot against him.
The Fire Lady is left with only memories of her husband, at least for a few more days.
Then, she will wake up with her hands running over him, tracing his scars, perhaps, or more wonderfully his lips. Then she can wake him up with reminders of all their joy before, and all the joy to come.
