Title: Existence | The Beyond Lost Conclusion
Rating: PG-13
Summary: IN PROGRESS. Continuation of Beyond Lost. "It's as real as we make it to be."
Author's Notes: 5/4/2011.

Thank you all, again, for all of the support! I leave for Peru on May 16th, so I'm not entirely sure that another chapter will be out before I return to the States (late June), but I'm glad that I at least got this one out in time. :) I would love to hear your thoughts, so please review!

Chapter 2

Zuko could see himself sitting on the grass by the small pond. Or, at least, he could see a version of himself—something of an entirely different existence—a version who seemed totally unaware of this current, alarming identity-sharing situation, because the first—the real?—Zuko, lo and behold, was still standing in the middle of the clearing that felt so uniquely familiar and was observing his doppelganger in silence. This Zuko considered, without satisfaction, that he was either having an out-of-body experience that was way too realistic, or he was truly going insane.

He knew this place, he could feel that. Yet this Zuko remained on the defensive, his eyes darting around frantically, but unable to focus on any one point for very long without being distracted by the next sensation. Zuko, the Zuko sitting by the pond—"I know that pond," the Zuko in the clearing muttered to himself—seemed to be completely lost in thought.

Suddenly, there was a noise. A slight rustling of the bushes, but it overpowered the peaceful trickling of the waterfall so unexpectedly that the doppelganger was on his feet and prepared to fight in an instant. And all of a sudden, this Zuko was his doppelganger, or at least, felt his movements, knew his thoughts, and saw through his doppelganger's eyes.

Zuko could feel the tumult of his mind racing through the limited ways of defending himself, now that he was without his fire bending abilities. Zuko could feel the tiny droplets of sweat gathering on his brow, feel his heel sinking itself into the yielding patch of grass, and feel himself drawing strength from his steady breath, preparing for what was to come.

Zuko felt, all at once, the flurry of the confusion, the skepticism, the disappointment and the sinking sense of relief, when the Avatar's waterbender calmly walked out through the cherry trees, looking around and taking in her surroundings. Zuko held his position for only a moment more, before lowering his arms, but keeping his guard high.

The waterbender took one look at Zuko and said, "I must be in some sort of hell."

And in the distant part of the doppelganger's mind, the supposedly real Zuko remembered everything. He couldn't understand how he could have ever forgotten the sharp intensity of the revolted scowl on her face.

Well, it's not like you're first person I wanted to see either, Zuko heard his doppelganger mind spit ferociously. But both Zuko and his other self knew better—it had been the most terrifying thing to be alone in that place for so long, without any bending powers. He didn't want to admit it—and I never did, to Katara, when this was really happening, when she was mine, Katara, where are you?—but he had been so grateful for her presence… until he realized how direly he repulsed her. Zuko was not unused to feeling alone, but this Utopian prison was torture. And after seeing her reaction to his presence, and the pure hatred that emanated from her entire being, he couldn't help but sneer and return the favor.

The images blurred, and the scene changed, over and over, teasing Zuko with pieces and snippets and mere tastes of the world he couldn't believe he had let go of. It was replaying before his mind as if to remind him, but it was completely unnecessary—Zuko found that he now remembered everything.

Everything.

And as the pictures swirled around him, the constant shift of memories, Zuko saw only the infirmary ward of their far away make-shift hospital, back in the place where they were supposed to be, and saw Katara's calm, pallid face.

An abrupt cessation in the whirlpool of recollections, and the current changed direction. As the ultimate finale to his almost forgotten world now played in front of him, he could see Katara's peaceful, glowing face once more. Her voice reverberated through his being, "You won't be able to find me."

"But I have," Zuko whispered, his voice raspy and urgent. "I already have—I saw you—I know where you are, and I know that Aang is right, that when we finish the war tomorrow, we will find a way to save you, and you'll remember—you'll remember everything and—"

But too soon came the swirling, silent fog of ubiquitous white. Zuko watched himself begin to fade once more, a familiar feeling he believed to have only experienced just moments ago, and it only took one split second of confusion before Zuko realized what this meant for when he inevitably awoke. His eyes widened in a desperate plea to Katara, who looked back at him, calm and unaffected, with those piercing, garish eyes.

"No!" He called, though the heavy stillness had already quieted his ability to speak. "Katara! Not again! This is our chance—don't you see?" He ran toward her, swinging his arms and thrashing at the air as if to pull him closer, but he floundered. "Katara! Don't let them do this!"

And even after he finally disappeared in a cloud of white, her gaze never faltered.

There are dreams that feel so realistic, so tangible, and so palpable that it is difficult for the dreamer to discern which world is authentic and which world is a product of their mind, of their spirit. Many cultures choose to approach both worlds with equal respect and appreciation, for the one world is just as real as the next.

And then there are dreams that one simply can't remember. As if such a world never existed, or such a story never happened, but one can't tell, because one has no basis for comparison. The only thing left is a quiet, enduring emptiness, and an involuntary acceptance to and subsequent disregard for this loss, always unbeknownst to the dreamer.

Zuko was feeling this a lot, lately.

With a muffled groan, Zuko reached for his head and slowly began the trying process of sitting up on his futon. Apparently, his head had decided over the course of the night that eliciting pain in one sector of his brain wasn't nearly enough. He pressed the heels of his hands to both temples with a hiss and wondered how the hell he had managed to sleep through such a throbbing ache taking root in his skull.

"So much for getting as much rest as possible," Zuko grumbled as he noted the darkness outside his tent with distaste. With one breath the candles in his tent burst forth with flames. There was not much in his tent to lay his eyes on; after all, what items could an exiled Prince possibly want to keep? Upon seeing the bundle of maps and the pile of armor, scattered unceremoniously in a heap on the floor, Zuko remembered what day it was.

And that was the moment it hit him.

He was numb.

No fear, no hope, nothing. He pondered this feeling, this stark emptiness for but a moment longer, staring into the flickering candlelight until his mind burned with the image. With a breath, he lifted himself off the bed, and prepared for the day.

"Just do the job," he whispered calmly. "Just get it done."

And then it will all be over.

The sun had barely risen after Zuko finished dressing in his casual Earth Kingdom garb, and he decided on a whim to visit the Avatar in the infirmary before donning his armor. This was probably going to be his last morning, after all.

Reliable as always, Aang was hunched over her bed, head in his arms, looking awful. It was safe to assume that he didn't get much sleep that night either.

"Aang," Zuko said softly, gently pressing a hand onto the small shoulder. It was too small, he noted absently, and for the hundredth time, Zuko remembered that although years had gone by, this boy was a mere child. The children left among us will not be children any longer, he contemplated coolly, watching the Avatar resist looking away from the girl with detached interest. He vaguely wondered if that's what he had looked like as his own childhood had been stripped away from him years before, along with his seared flesh. "Aang, it's time." There was speech, but it was muffled by a mattress and a pair of arms. Zuko leaned in closer to hear, ignoring the ache in his head. "I can't understand you."

"Aang," the Avatar offered a small, sleepy smile as he turned to face Zuko. "You used my real name. That's the first time I haven't had to correct you." He was looking at the older boy in earnest.

Zuko gently raised a brow. This seemed like a rather trivial matter for celebration considering the circumstances, but who was he to deny the Avatar his last joys? "It's your name, after all," Zuko said simply with a shrug. "Why not use it?" The Avatar replied with a weak, yet bright, smile and stood.

"Yes," Aang said, rising with a sudden determination and a luster in his eyes that caught Zuko off-guard. "It's time. It looks as if the sun will be rising within the hour, and we have a long day ahead of us. I will make the necessary preparations as you confirm the final touches for our arrangements. When the sun begins its ascent, we will rally the troops, and move forward." There was strength in the boy's voice, but Zuko could not appreciate it. With a grave nod, Zuko demonstrated his acceptance.

"And have all of the plans remained the same?" Zuko desperately tried not to let his gaze wander to the girl's sleeping form; his will had been strong throughout his entire conversation up until this point, now when he wished to know if Aang had... other priorities. Aang tensed momentarily, but with a deep breath, he was collected once more.

"I never thought it would come to this," Aang whispered, the storm of pain surging in his eyes.

"Come to what?"

"To the point where I would have to listen to my guru's words—that the world's needs must take priority over mine," Aang's gazed slowly returned to the woman beside him. "And over hers."

Zuko waited patiently, fighting to remain strong and to maintain his gaze on Aang's features. The Avatar was already faring through enough this morning; why exacerbate his pain with just another useless look of pity that no one needed? "So no," the Avatar broke through his thoughts. "Our plans have not changed. We will proceed with the original strategy. Only when the Fire Lord is gone will we begin the search for the cure." Zuko paused, allowing Aang to soak in the moment and gather his strength again.

"Very well," Zuko said, turning away. "I will leave you to..." To what? To say goodbye to the girl you love in peace?

"Thank you, Zuko," Aang said finally, in understanding, as a sad smile pulled at his lips. "Would you like to say any words to Katara before you leave?" His eyes had clouded over. "I'm positive that she will be watching over us on the battlefield today." Aang touched her limp hand, carefully ghosting the bandages with his fingertips. "But maybe some reassurance would help?"

Zuko paused, feeling his throat suddenly constrict. What was he supposed to say? The Avatar was well aware that he and the waterbender had never gotten along, and he had said pretty much everything there was to say the previous night when he was talking to her unconscious form like a lunatic. He looked into Aang's hopeful expression, wondering idly what the Avatar would do if he could hear the words he'd uttered to the girl the night before, and then decided that he was being ridiculous.

"Well," Zuko said, licking his suddenly dry lips. "I suppose I would just like to thank her... For the chance to fight." Aang looked down at the girl on the bed, his eyes flashing with soft pride. "It's her sacrifice that allowed us to have a second chance, and it's what will allow you to defeat my father once and for all."

Aang, smiled sadly, but released a soft laugh. "Don't tell me all that, Zuko. Tell Katara."

Zuko prepared himself to turn his gaze, suddenly feeling anxious for a reason he couldn't understand. He didn't want to see her again, he realized. Not when she was alone and dying and so unlike the fiery waterbending master that he was so used to seeing. Why should he get to partake in this shared moment between the Avatar and his loved one? He had no right to be there, not when he had only seen such a small fragment of who she really was. With a deep exhale, Zuko turned around to face the girl on the bed.

"She's getting worse," Aang said suddenly, as Zuko took in the figure on the bed in silence. "You understand what I mean when I tell you that this ends today?"

"I understand," Zuko whispered, considering the line between her brows. She no longer looked calm.

And for some reason, this upset Zuko more than it should have.

"Master Aang!" The two benders looked up to see one of the doctors approaching. He was severely out of breath and his voice was laced with fear.

"What's wrong?" Aang immediately demanded. His hold on the girl tightened imperceptibly, but Zuko could sense it.

"I beg you, Avatar, come this way! It appears the barrier is already drifting away!"

With a defeated sigh, Aang set his jaw and released Katara's hand. Zuko watched warily as it dropped back to the mattress, each second in time elongated by the focus of his gaze. "Zuko," Aang said, bringing his attention back to the Avatar. "I will be right back. Please tell Katara your kind words, and then prepare for battle." In a flash, Aang had brushed Katara's hand once more, and then was already making his way through the infirmary. "I won't be long."

Zuko stared at Aang's back, watching as the doctor hurriedly lead the Avatar through the tent and out into the morning's darkness. He breathed deeply, realizing that he was once again alone in the ward with the girl before him, and that the summer's heat was already creeping into his skin. His mind throbbed as he began to sweat, and he cleared his throat with difficulty. He knew that he should probably just go now—there wasn't much time to prepare, and he really had no desire to share any more nonsensical words with the waterbender before he died, but his honor held him firmly to where he stood. Aang had asked him to say his parting words to the dying girl in front of him, and he was bound to that request.

With a sudden tightness in his chest, Zuko looked back to the sleeping girl's face and immediately to the crease between her brows. He noticed with distaste that some of her relentless hair had gotten into her eyes yet again and with a roll of his eyes and a deep sigh, he threw caution to the wind and extended his hand to brush it away.

But the next thing he knew, his mind had exploded with pain and he was suddenly curled in on himself, gasping for air. Through the burning gulps he wondered—what was that he had seen? There had been something, a vision of someone, an image of someone beneath him that surfaced as soon as he reached out, and then he was suddenly blinded by the excruciating surge in the ache throbbing throughout his head. He tried to look again, to remember what he had seen, but the sensation clouded over once more. He needed to get outside, away from the infirmary. He realized this with such a primitive urge of animalistic survival that he nearly toppled through the tarp as he threw himself out the back entrance and made for the cover of the forest. What is that noise?

Something was humming and ringing in his ears, a vicious, almost angry sound pounding on his eardrums, into his skull. The pressure against his temples was rising, yet he kept pushing through the forest. Through the haze, Zuko tried again to see the image that had flashed before his eyes—for reasons he couldn't explain, he felt like he had to remember it, it was so curious, but there was more, there was something inside him telling him that it was impossible, that it was important, that it was imperative.

What was it? Was it a dream? It feels like one. It must have been part of his dream from last night, the one he couldn't remember—but what was with his head?

And there it was—another flash of the image. It was a girl, Zuko realized. It was Katara. He collapsed to the ground, pushing through the burning sensations over and over as the image flashed in and out of sight. The more he fought, the louder the ringing grew, shrieking louder and louder as he was able to keep the vision in sight for just a moment longer during each flash. He can see that Katara—he knew for certain now that it could be no one other than Katara—was lying before him in his mind, and with each pulse of the image before his closed eyes, he could see the picture more clearly.

He was positive that he was going to go deaf from the hum, but the more he concentrated on the image, the easier the painful drone was to ignore. Aware of the vicious shrieking in the distance, Zuko held both of his hands over his ears, pushing out the pain as he looked on and saw that the woman beneath him looked troubled, but she was preoccupied with something on his chest, where she had placed her hand. One hand flew to his chest immediately, as if to capture the phantom hand over his heart, and he swore he could almost feel the patterns she was drawing on his chest, as if he had felt it before. The humming screamed against it, and Zuko doubled over in pain, the image momentarily lost, as a blinding white light overpowered his sight. He fought it, releasing a cacophony of sounds as he dragged up the image again, clutched both hands at his chest, found that feeling, and desperately tried to understand what Katara had been doing, why he was seeing this, what had happened, when it hit him.

She was spelling out his name.

And a cascade of images flew before his eyes; they fell down upon him like a monstrous dam collapsing, and the hum gave one final lurch of inescapable sound in furious defeat. But Zuko didn't care. He was seeing everything.

He never wanted it to stop, even with that forceful howl echoing somewhere in his mind, he never wanted the pictures to end, because he was sure that if it did, he would forget it all—forget it again—and he would lose her, just like he did before, just like he promised her not to. But eventually did stop. All of it, the pictures, the noise. After an eternity, it was gone.

And he still remembered.

Zuko lay sprawled on the grass, his weight just marginally supported by the tree behind him, stunned for one silent moment, looking at the trees around him without really seeing them, and he realized—he remembered.

And the howling screamed, so much more violently than before that Zuko's face contorted into a grimace, and his entire body seized up from the sheer pressure exerted over his head. He felt like his skull was being crushed, his body twisted and mangled, as the howling gave a daunting crescendo. At the shrill, screeching finale, Zuko felt something start to crack, start to break inside him, and then suddenly, it stopped.

Zuko lay paralyzed on the ground, unable to feel anything but the ringing echo of the dissipating sound, when his body lurched forward as his stomach gave, and he vomited into the grass. The pain was still stinging at his brows as he panted for breath. Amidst the ragged coughing, Zuko heard a voice. Or rather, a chorus.

And Zuko knew.

"Hello, Zuko," it resonated.

The voices of them: a harmony of male and female. He could never tell how many... They were indistinguishable from one another, mere whispers in the wind, like a song whose origin you could never be sure of. And the sounds might as well have been from the wind—he remembered vaguely that hadn't known that the voices were in his "mind," back in the place he remembered, until Katara had shown up and he realized the things he heard were not always told to Katara. Katara. He remembered thinking that it was probably because she wouldn't understand the messages, he thought with a bitter laugh, coughing out more of the spew in his mouth. How naive he had been... Katara. What was the difference between the voices coming from the wind and coming from his mind, anyway? Did he even have a mind here? His tired mind wandered.

"Still so cynical, Zuko," they cooed, amused.

Oh, how he did not miss them, Zuko coughed again. He must have screwed up big time if they were gaining this much enjoyment from seeing him suffer.

"It's all a matter of conditions," they said, condescendingly.

"Why am I unsurprised," Zuko rasped out of his burnt throat. As he coughed haggardly, he remembered that speech wasn't necessary for them to communicate. They communicated only when they wanted to, and always had their means.

"Indeed, Zuko," their hushed tones rang. "Yet we are surprised to be speaking with you again… so soon."

As the pain slowly ebbed away from his temples, and the haze in his mind cleared away, the memories of his final moments before the white fog first took him away flooded back to him in a violent flood.

Where is she?

"You know where she is, Zuko," they sang. "You saw her lying in her hospital bed just this morning."

I'm not playing games!

"But Fate is a game, Zuko," they whispered hideously. "And unfortunately, the choice to play is not yours to make."

Why isn't she here? Why did you bring me back?

"Because she cared."

Zuko pulled himself up, to lean against the tree. He stared blankly into the grass. What?

"In order to earn the right to live after reaching the Paradise, one must demonstrate the ability to release life, to let go. That is true freedom," they said enigmatically. "Only then will you be in the right position to fulfill your true destiny."

"How does that even make sense?" Zuko spit the awful taste into the grass, and tried to sit up, but moved too quickly. He held his fingers up to his temple. "I care about living—what does that have to do with anything?"

"But you do not," they countered. "You only truly care for Katara. You do not care for where you reside, so long as you have her. You could have remained in the Paradise for all time. It was Katara that dwelled on how the world was faring outside your haven."

"That doesn't make any more sense than the last piece of nonsense you threw at me!"

"You know well enough that we only tell what we are meant to tell."

"So," Zuko gripped a root of the tree by his right hand and squeezed until his knuckles turned white. "What if part of Fate is to fulfill one's destiny with fear? To overcome it?" Zuko demanded. "You can't tell me that the reason Katara didn't come back to save the godforsaken world was because she wanted to so badly!" He shut his eyes tightly against the surrounding trees. He wished they were cherry blossoms.

"No… The reason you were sent back to help Aang complete his destiny was because we knew that you would do it if it meant bringing her back." Zuko's eyes snapped open.

"The reason... she's still dying," Zuko whispered slowly. "You chose for her to stay because of me? Because you needed her to be an unconscious motivational tool… for me?"

"Correct."

"That is sickening," Zuko spat ferociously, his lip curling. "Then why take away my memories of her? Why wouldn't it make more sense to for me to remember exactly what I am fighting for?" He placed a hand on the tree, and catapulted himself into a standing position.

"It is not the way."

"I'm tired of the way," Zuko ground out through his teeth. "Explain."

"Testiness is frowned upon, Zuko." They scolded, but with indifference. Their personal enjoyment at having been loop holed was abating, and now they were taking their rightful attitude as an objective party. "You only needed that drive. You didn't need the reason why."

Zuko sneered. "And now? Now that I remember?"

"You could have done your duty and let the Avatar win, and Fate would have taken its course."

"But now?" Zuko persisted. "What now?"

"But now, for having disrupted the threads of Fate, it your responsibility to defeat the Fire Lord yourself... or she will stay with us."

Zuko paused. "Where? Where is she?"

"With us, Zuko."

"And what will happen to her, if you decide that she can't come back?" Zuko's voice was acid.

"Her soul will follow the way. He her soul will be cycled into its next life, when the time comes."

Zuko asked again. "Where is she?"

"That is not important anymore, Zuko," they said. "What's important now is the new path."

"And what about after this path—after the war? Will she come back?" Zuko felt the heat swell within him, and he slammed his fist into the tree. "Were you ever even planning on giving her back to us—to me?"

"Remember, Zuko," the voices started to fade. They had conveyed their message, and were leaving him now. "If you wish to have your Katara return to you, you must obey the new path."

"No," Zuko said. "I'm done with this—where is she?"

Silence.

"Tell me where she is!" Zuko bellowed, a flame bursting from each fist.

Nothing.

"Tell me!"

Zuko looked around frantically, but found only silent, empty trees. The flames remained burning for a moment longer before Zuko killed them, and let his hands fall to his sides. He dropped to the ground.

Katara.

Was this his destiny? The never-ending failure? The never-ending loss?

Katara.

It was all he had ever known.