3. Potential

"Two more laps, people, now!"

Katara sighed inwardly, but smiled placidly as Pakku turned his look in her general direction. He hated complainers. After all her work to get into his prestigious swim team, she was determined not to complain inside or outside of the pool. Others dared not to openly groan, but some were grimacing while underwater.

She loved swimming, though. She used to paddle in the local pool since she was a toddler and swam so far out into the ocean at the beach that her motherr, after scolding her, would joke that that she was secretly a mermaid. The water was so cool and lovely against her skin, so pretty when the sun touched it. She felt weightless in it, as if she was in another world—

She finished her lap before she knew it. Pakku checked his stopwatches and raised his eyebrows.

"I'm impressed, Katara. That's very...fast. Beat last time's by a long shot."

"Thank you, sir." Katara kept standing at her spot at the shallow end of the pool. Her other teammates weren't done yet. She expected him to order her to do another lap, but he kept looking at the stopwatch and tapping his pen against the clipboard.

"After practice and after you clean up, you need to come to my office. Don't worry," he looked amusingly at her startled face. "you are not in trouble. Quite the opposite."

"Katara," Pakku sat across from her from the polished mahogany desk. Katara tried not to fidget. Her cotton skirt was sticking to her legs. "You have surpassed all of my students this year. You are the best swimmer on this team and faster than anyone than they've ever seen."

Katara tried not to gape. "Really, sir?"

"I wouldn't be telling you this if it was false, Katara. You've placed very well in the national competitions. I have a suspect that you can train for something greater."

Her mind was slowly forming something, but she couldn't exactly place it. She was now fiddling with her mother's necklace and quickly folded her hands in her lap.

"Sir?"

"I am talking about the Olympics."

If she was holding something, she surely would have dropped it. "I—Pakku—"

"No buts. I think you have a great talent. We will be starting a new practice for you. Alone. Saturdays, at six. I will bring along a special guest."

Katara was still rigid in her seat. Her? In the national world competition? In her mind, she saw herself on a television screen, smiling, slick with water as the first place banner rolled across her figure with her name and country and time proudly labeled. But no. She couldn't—

"Well, Katara?"

Katara stood up and pushed her chair in. Her palms felt sweaty. "I—I'll be here first thing, sir."

"Katara, glad to see you here." Pakku greeted her. She nodded back, and her eyes flickered to the tall, pale figure at his right. He was certainly taller than her coach and wore casual attire—a white shirt with blue jeans and track shoes. The transparent shirt revealed his obvious muscle. She had seen him, definitely, somewhere before.

The man seemed to be observing her, too, and she tried not to flush as she wondered how he could be thought as familiar in her mind. She rifled through her mind and paused with a dawning mixture of surprise and crippling anxiety when his face appeared in her newspaper clippings, proudly displayed on her bulletin board in her room by her medals. Of course, his attire and the backboard was different and unmistakable—the fullcolor photo revealed a perfectly clear-blue pool, goggles hanging around his neck, black hair barely visible beneath the swimming cap, water dripping off of his body, the other swimmers looking astonished or disappointed, and a stone-faced look despite the events.

"As I have observed—" Pakku dryly said, and Katara snapped out of her musings to pay attention. "you have recognized our guest today. Katara, this is Zuko Agni, six time Olympic gold medalist and other famous awards we shall not spend more time discussing. He is here to observe you today—" Katara gulped. "I have known his uncle for many years, so you should be lucky to have the privilege to have him here. Katara, why don't you show Zuko Agni a few laps and demonstrate your forms, hmm?"

Katara tried not to shiver as she stepped into the freezing pool and put on her goggles with slightly shaking hands, fully aware of him watching her every move. Pakku did not help, as he was murmuring her various times and placements in various competitions. She took a deep breath and pushed off the concrete.

She tried to focus, closed her eyes as the water pulled her in. Ignore him. Pretend you're at another ordinary practice. You're just swimming; you're in the zone. Concentrate on the water.

Something in her mind clicked, and she felt herself easily settle into a rhythm she'd known for years. She shifted from one form to the next as easily as one would transfer from their left foot to their right. The water felt slick against her form and lapped against her as she lightly but firmly pounded at the water. She was seven years old, hair loose and waving gently in the water, smiling at someone beside her...It felt so easy, so breathless, that she almost didn't hear Pakku calling her to come back.

She quickly swam back and stood up as if she were a soldier in the army. Zuko's famous gold eyes appraised her as Pakku gave her a subtle nod and softening of the eyes, his cue for a well-done. He seemed to ignore the stopwatch he was holding in his hand, as his eyes traveled from her dark blue cap to her fidgety hands in the water.

"Pakku has told me much about you." he started, his voice sounding exactly as it did on the television. It was raspy and low, but she could hear every word he was saying. "You have great promise, Katara. You did very well. Very well."

She ducked her head in attempt to hide her pleased smile and was glad when Pakku ordered her to do more drills while he and Zuko talked more.

"You're going to be my coach?" she blushed at her rude outburst and clamped down on her lip as a reflex. "I mean, I sorry—I thought Pakku would train me."

"Pakku cannot teach both you and his team. I can, as I am retired." Zuko Agni replied tartly. She nodded mutely.

He did not smile as she would have to reassure her. Instead, he barked, "How much do you practice?"

"Well, four times a week—"

"Starting tomorrow, you will practice every day, most of it. Some days you won't be swimming, some days you will—but you will be working hard. Understand?" This was emphasized by a stabbing of a pen at his clipboard.

Katara shook her head. He glared impatiently, and she resisted the urge to shrink down like a potato bug.

"What don't you understand?" He spoke slowly as if he found her stupid.

"I—I have a job. I have to support myself and my brother. I can't train every day, but I can train most of the days, if my brother doesn't get sick and I need to work overtime—"

He sighed impatiently. "I will pay for your rent, or whatever. Quit your job."

She stared at him. "You can't."

He growled at her, almost like a dog. She would have laughed if he wasn't almost a twice as tall as her. "Why not?"

"I mean, I can't just take your money, even if you do have a lot. I—I wasn't raised to take charity—"

His eyes closed, and he seemed to be going through an understanding before he pointed a finger at the pool.

"You will work for me instead and also work three times as hard at training. Now get in. We should have started ages ago."

She scrambled down the metal ladder and into the pool and began to swim as fast as she could. She still felt his eyes on her back.

Her actual work, she realized, was training. If she ever ventured to actually ask Zuko for a job, he'd roll his eyes and ask her to fetch him something, like a meal or a coffee or weights.

She hated the weeks when when they sat down together to discuss the last practices at the gym's snack bar. Katara espeically remembered one particular one; it wasn't even that special or even out of the ordinary, though, so she couldn't quite put a finger on it. She was nibbling on a nuitrition bar, as Zuko moved his finger down the neatly-typed schedule and her times, not quite looking her in the eyes, and talking to her about her diet and whether she should run more miles on the treadmill. Katara only nodded as she concentrated on sitting up and chewing. She looked at the clock. Usually at this time, he'd wrap it up, tear off a piece of paper from a pad with written instructions, and send her home.

"Katara, you didn't log in at the pool in two weeks except for one day. Those weeks was to concentrate on your timing and form while I was away. Where were you? You cannot get to the top if you're lazing around and dilly-dallying."

"I...I was sick, Zuko. I caught something from my brother."

Zuko lowered his voice and skimmed his paper, then pointed to her latest time. "Then how is it that your time hasn't degenerated? Why is it the same...or dare I say, perhaps a smidge faster?"

Something in his tone frightened her, something low and deadly as if she'd step on his fragile patience. "I...don't know. I wasn't here at all."

"I see." Clipped words spat from his mouth as he ripped the paper from his notepad and handed it to her with the usual reminders. "I'll see you tomorrow, Katara."

As she walked out the doors, she swore she could hear a biting hiss of "Prodigy."

Zuko never went easy on her. Her muscles always ached, and she never dared to rest, even when he stepped out. He never used a whistle like Pakku—his commanding, subtle tone was enough. She was always tired and tried to eat as much as she could throughout the day.

She soon began to realize she couldn't visualize her underwater peace anymore. The water was just water to her, and all she could hear and see were Zuko's glowering eyes and folded arms.

Zuko always shook his head now when she climbed out of the pool or walked out of the gym, exhausted and weary. She felt tired and as if she had been beaten by numerous clubs throughout the day. They never actually spoke—he commanded, she responded, all was silent except grunts and gasps.

"Katara, you always look so worn-down these days!" Sokka commented over making quesadillas.

"Oh, it's just...practice." Katara tried to smile, but found that she really couldn't. She focused on cutting the bell peppers into neat little cubes.

"Geez, your new coach seems like he's whipping you into shape for the Navy Seals, not the Olympics, little sis!" Her brother chopped the onions furiously and lightly skimmed them into the pan. They sizzled. "You need a vacation."

"Oh, he'd never agree to that." Katara answered, dumping her share of vegetables into the frying pan with the rest. "Besides, where would I go?"

Sokka grinned. "Are you kidding? Dad's coming home from overseas! We're throwing a party, here, on Saturday! Even Gran Gran will show up!"

Katara grinned back, relieved. "Dad's okay? Sokka, that's great!" She pictured a small cookout in the backyard, Dad and Sokka cracking stupid jokes while she laughed and rolled her eyes, Gran Gran whacking them lightly with a wooden spoon. She felt nostalgia and warmth as her mind skimmed over the recipe for stewed sea prunes...

"Yeah, I know! Listen, sis, you have to just get one day off. Just one. Come on, it won't be that hard."

Katara took one look at Zuko's face Monday. He'd say no, she thought. Four more days passed, with the lingering anger. She shouldn't be scared of her coach. She should easily be able to ask him if she could celebrate her dad's homecoming. It was ridiculous. She was saying this to herself when she was tossing her bag into her car on Friday.

She just decided not to tell him. If he asked on Sunday, she could say she had a cold or something. Katara squared her shoulders and drove away from the building without looking back.

"Dad!"

"Katara, Sokka! Look how much you've grown, and living all by yourselves! And Mom, you...um, look the same."

Gran Gran wagged her finger at him. "Nice try, Hakoda."

The children laughed, and Hakoda smiled when he sniffed the air. "Are those sea prunes?"

"Ooh, yes!" Sokka nodded eagerly. "Come on, let's eat in the backyard!" With that, he sprinted towards the screen door, nearly forgetting to open it on his way out. Gran Gran sighed as she followed.

Hakoda laughed. "That boy is more excited for sea prunes more than me."

"Don't be silly, Dad, he just shows love in different ways." Katara joked, hugging him.

"How are you, Katara?" he asked her as they strolled to the table, where plates of sea prunes and a smorgasbord of food the two siblings and their Gran Gran had spent most of the day preparing. "I haven't received as many emails from you. Sokka tells me you've been training for the Olympics."

"Oh," she looked down. "I'm sorry for not writing as much, Dad. I'm just really tired. My coach, he's...really strict."

He sensed she didn't seem to want to talk about it as much. "Well, you have tonight to relax. Let's eat before your brother begins gnawing on the plates, shall we?"

Katara rewarded him with a laugh and beaming smile. "I suppose we should."

She didn't except him to actually come through her gate, but as she reviewed her training, she might have guessed he'd go to extreme measures.

"Katara!"

"Um, Katara?" Sokka stage-whispered. "Is that another disgruntled ex we should be worried about?"

"Shut up, Sokka." Katara hissed and gasped when Zuko took ahold of her upper arm and dragged her out of her chair. She struggled, and grabbing a spoonful of mashed potatoes, hit him in the face with them as he was shouting, "Where were you—?"

"Young man!" Hakoda looked rather impressive, despite the lack of his uniform and a firearm. Katara was glad for his booming voice that normally made her and Sokka immediately point to each other and blame "It was her/him!"

"Let my daughter go, and tell me—what...is going on here?"

"Katara didn't show up for practice today and failed to notify me why." Zuko glared at her. "I asked Pakku for her address and came here to ask her why exactly she skipped out when she should be training for the Olympics."

Something went off in Katara's head. The Olympics. She was told that every single damn day. He was actually crazy enough to barge in on her family dinner, manhandle her, and dangle the supposed carrot in front of everyone. Looking back, she realized he had never praised her, except for that first day with Pakku. He worked her to the bone—and she had justified it with of course, it's the Olympics—but she found out she couldn't. She'd given up her friends, her job, her life, almost her family for this man who...ruined swimming for her. She missed her team, she missed Pakku, she missed the water—the fun. She should not fear him, she remembered herself, and straightened up.

"How dare you!" She realized she was in a public area and that the neighbors could hear her, but the burning in her chest needed to be unleashed. "I worked my ass off for what? To please you! Not for me! To do this sort of thing, you have to do it for yourself, and guess what—I am not doing it for me! I am sacrificing all of this—" she swept her arm around the table. "for a jerk like you! I don't even like swimming anymore! It used to be something I loved! It used to be something I did with my—"

She almost gasped, as memories of her mother nearly overwhelmed her, nearly choking her, as if she were drowning, but she shook them off angrily and went on tearing at him.

Once she went going, she didn't stop, not noticing the semi-horrified faces of her family and her own angry face and fist still clutching the spoon she'd used to hit him with. She knew everything about him—his stats, his family, his whole story. He used to be her idol! Ha!

"...And you know what I think?" She snarled. Zuko was actually stepping back. Poison was lacing her words. "You are just a pathetic man! You surround yourself in all of these medals and fame and cut yourself off from everything to...to...forget your own family! To forget your life!"

She knew she had went too far, but Zuko wasn't stopping her. No one was. He wasn't fighting back. He looked as if she had pushed him off the diving board, stones tied to his hands and feet, and all he could do was sink.

"...And you think I will walk back in there tomorrow and pretend this never happened? Well, I have news for you!...I...I quit!"

"Fine." His voice was softer than usual, but he looked at her, really looked at her. "I will not see you tomorrow, then. Good day...Katara."

He quietly stalked out of the backyard, shutting the gate behind him as Katara stared after him with tears running down her face in wild streaks.

This will be continued in tomorrow's prompt, Change.