((Disclaimer: I do not own A:TLA, but merley my intellect, regardless of the margin or lack thereof...)) Just a random idea of what would happen if a regular interraction between Zuko and Katara happened. Written not even halfway through second season and not relevant to real story line.

Wish

Those who knew her well, as well as those who caught only passing glimpses, knew her to be a healer- a guardian angel gracing the world with her merciful touch. The desire to repair and make well again ran in the girl's blood. Someone hurt himself and she instantly stepped forth and appeased the lesion.

But some wounds refuse to heal. No matter how hard we wish.

She tried her best, she really did, so hard the effort sometimes caused her temples to pulsate in irritating headaches. This time proved different, the wound original. The young man, indifferent and rarely else, refused to be healed.

"You can tell me, you know," she would offer. "Please talk to me!," she would beg. "You need a friend to unload on- go ahead and place your burden for a moment on my shoulders. It just isn't healthy, bottling yourself up like this!" Easily could she tell that her company was always unwanted and that she irritated him (it wasn't like he invited her to come sit next to him in his usual spot everyday when he sought tranquility in the slums of Ba Sing Se). She wondered why he did not find a way to ditch her, find another spot. The girl supposed he was sending her a message; "My spot first- you leave because I won't." But every time she offered her healing, he point-blank refused her.

Then one day, she unintentionally nagged him over the edge.

"You know what?" he interrupted her curtly, his flashing eyes narrowing (the good eye closing by a larger margin than the other). "If you want to listen to me talk-fine. You asked for it." He paused, face impatiently scowling as usual. He did not look at her, he rarely did, but rather stared straight ahead as though in an invisible attempt to burn a hole in the unfortunate spot that his gaze rested on. The girl bit her lip slightly in anxiety.

"I wish people would stop pretending to care."

"Zuko-"

"I wish those who knew my real identity would not hate me. I wish there was a way to escape this. Everything. But there is nothing to fix my screwed up life. Life isn't always so easy and optimistic, you naïve girl." His tone was unmercifully flat and matter-of-fact, though the ending insult had added distaste for spice. The young woman frowned angrily and opened her mouth to retort, but she never got to say the spiteful comeback on the tip of her tongue.

"But most of all, I wish you would pack up your false sympathy and leave me the hell alone." Crystalline orbs widened, then softened somberly. An uphill battle-ninety degrees straight towards nowhere. A battle long lost, impossible to win, and suicide to attempt. What was the use? She turned her undeniably hurt gaze to the grass beneath her folded legs, then finally stood. Her back, proudly straight, facing the young man still seated cross-legged on the ground, Katara paused and whispered something he nearly missed but managed to catch as the wind carried her soothing voice to his ear.

"I wish I could walk through fire…and not get burned."

Some wounds refuse to heal, no matter how hard we wish.

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I swear I am a Zutara fan ever faithfully, but I don't see this particular relationship blossoming as vibrantly or easily as others imagine. I imagine there would be obstacles to work around ((Zukosissues)).