It was several more weeks before he recovered enough to go outside.

For the first few days, he had been too weak to do much more than turn his head towards Katara whenever she entered the room, his voice breathless, his movements feeble. Katara did her best to soothe his aches with her bending water, but it wasn't enough to ease the pain that flashed across his face whenever he shifted even the tiniest bit.

His recovery was slow, and the return of his lively energy still slower, but it was a journey Katara had learned long ago that took a thousand steps, that began with the first, and so when he struggled to the next step and the next, she was always there to help him, to hold him, to heal him.

Within a week and a half, he had recovered enough strength to lift himself up into a sitting position against the wall—with her help, of course, but it was a start. By the next week or so, he could fully sit up without the need for support. And in the weeks afterwards, little by little, he regained the old ease of his mobility.

They started him off within his own room—step by step, piece by piece. Then, they ventured little more than a few feet outside of his room. Then it would be down the hallway, up and down a floor, then two floors. Every few weeks, Katara—and Yagoda, but mostly Katara—would coax him to walk further and further away. For his part, Aang's jaw would set whenever they gave him a new goal, his gray eyes flashing in determination.

(she tried to ignore the heat that flared in her cheeks whenever he had that look on his face)

With every new exercise that came his way, Aang first had to lean on Katara for the distance that he wasn't accustomed to, his arm looped around her shoulders and his weight sturdy against her frame, his skin warm against her hands and his heart steady under her palm. Then, little by little, he would let go of his grip on her—until the inevitable day when he would be able to walk the distance with little discomfort.

(but sometimes she wondered if he was in less pain than he said he was, if he was making excuses to stay close to her)

(sometimes she wondered if she imagined the way he leaned closer and closer to her, the way his heart quickened under her palm when she laid a supporting hand on his chest)

It was during that time that she found herself encountering at least one of the masters every week—which was one master too many and once a week too much, in her opinion. But really, she shouldn't have expected anything else—the masters were here to make sure their Avatar was awake and doing well, so it should come as no surprise that they would stroll through the hallways of the clinic like it belonged to them.

And yet, every time Katara helped Aang through the hallways, every time an elderly master caught sight of them together (his arm around her shoulders, hers around his waist), every time she pulled him just the tiniest bit closer and glared at them, instead of looking disapproving or even offended, Katara thought they looked… awkward.

Some elders would dip their head towards them with a respectful, "Master Katara" and "Avatar Aang" before strolling on. Others would avoid their gazes and pick up their pace, walking past them as if getting too close would burn them. Still others would mutter something under their breath—maybe an excuse—before diverting their paths entirely.

Definitely a strange change of pace, but a welcome one nonetheless.

And so it was with this patient and steady routine that Aang soon recovered enough to walk around the clinic with only a shadow of pain, a shadow that only a healer like Katara could see. With the return of his physical mobility quickly came the return of his sprightly energy, and in no time he became restless, like the wind in a hurricane. It became a common occurrence for Katara to find him staring forlornly out the window of his room, his finger tapping a nameless rhythm upon his knee and his muscles coiled with energy that had nowhere to go.

That was when Katara managed to convince Yagoda to let him out of the clinic.

The days had chilled to autumn when she took him out of the clinic for the first time since he had come in. The vibranr leaves of red and orange and gold swirling in the breeze and the soft look of wonder on Aang's face, so different from the clinical white walls of his room and the (deathly) pallor of his face of just a few weeks ago, was enough to take Katara's breath away.

It almost didn't feel real—like a dream she would inevitably awaken from.

But then Aang's hands would curl around hers, solid and warm and alive, alive, and Katara would remind herself that it was real, that he was real and alive and here with her, watching as the leaves danced in the wind with the colors of the Air Nomads.

While the autumn days were beautiful, Katara's favorite time to take him outside was at night, when the stars were out and the world was quieting to sleep all around them. It was only during that time when it felt like the world was only just the two of them and the stars above, an echo of a long-passed memory of him and her, sparring and laughing under stars that glimmered down upon the Southern Water Tribe. It was only during that time when everything in Katara's world felt right, like she belonged there, laying side-by-side with Aang and watching as the stars faded to dawnlight.

It was only during that time when she felt like she had come home.

On a particular night when the stars seemed to shine brighter than usual, Katara found herself laying next to him out in an open grassy plain, gazing up at the constellations and talking about everything and nothing. It was less in knowing what they were saying to each other than it was in reveling in the sound of his voice and the warmth of his presence, in listening to his breathing, in knowing he was alive.

There was a pause in the conversation, and Katara watched as Aang's eyes turned to the sky, his expression growing thoughtful and serene. It was times like this, when the moonlight gently bathed his features in an ethereal glow and glimmered in his gray eyes, that Katara could hardly find herself believing that he was really, truly here, here and alive and with her.

"The stars are really bright tonight." Aang's tone, full of wonder, broke through Katara's thoughts, and she looked back to see his gaze was fixed upon the canvas of black and navy blue. "It's all so… beautiful."

"It is," Katara agreed. But she wasn't talking about the stars.

Aang turned his face towards her. In the pale shafts of moonlight that alighted over him, Katara thought he looked so young. "Gyatso once told me," he said in a low, wistful tone, "that whenever I was lost, the stars would always be there to guide me back." He turned back up to the sky. "Sometimes, when I miss the temple, I would go out and look up at them." He smiled softly. "It always made me feel… better, knowing that they would always be there to lead me back home."

Katara didn't miss the way his tone turned bittersweet at the end, the way his gaze became distant and forlorn when he said home. She heard everything he left unspoken and saw everything he kept carefully hidden in the way his words hung in the air, in the way his smile was tinged with something a little more than sadness. She swallowed, her heart hanging heavy for him, and scooted a little closer, hoping that her presence would be enough.

Then he seemed to shake off his reverie to gaze upon her, his eyes soft and kind and ever so gentle. "What about you?"

Katara blinked in surprise. "Me?"

"Yeah." Aang rolled on his side to face her, and Katara found herself mirroring him. "Do the stars remind you of home?"

Home. It was a word Katara had found herself thinking about more and more often, ever since she had been sent away by the masters to a strange, isolated place somewhere in the Earth Kingdom—a place where she didn't and wouldn't ever belong. It was a word that Katara used to associate with icy tundras and snowy plains, of a father and mother and brother in blue parkas, of igloos and drums and a people she called her own.

Used to.

Because when she thought of the word home now, she thought of a boy dressed in the colors of autumn with cloud-gray eyes and blue arrow tattoos, a boy filled with light and life. She thought of a boy who marveled at the beauty of life all around him, a boy who laughed like there was always, always, something worth laughing about. She thought of a boy who would take her out under the stars to train and laugh and play, a boy who taught her how to dance even when the world felt cold and gray, a boy who brought warmth and hope back to her when she thought she had nothing left to live for and to love.

Do the stars remind you of home?

And the truth was, Katara thought to herself, the truth was that it did, it did, but not in the way he might think.

She opened her mouth, ready to reply with a simple yes—it wasn't wrong, exactly—but something tugged at her in her ribs, compelled her, and before she knew it she found herself saying instead, "No, not really."

Aang's eyebrows shot up in surprise, clearly not expecting that answer. "Really?" He shifted, propping himself up on a forearm braced against the ground. "So then what do they remind you of?"

Katara had to hide a smile as gray eyes filled with stars peered at her. "There's this old friend of mine," she began carefully, looking down at the hard ground carpeted with grass, "that I haven't seen for a long, long time. He used to take me star-gazing and point out all these constellations he had in his own culture. We would spend those nights comparing them with the constellations from the Southern Water Tribe." She idly plucked at some of the green stalks peeking out between her fingers. "I missed him dearly."

Even in the dim light of the moon, Katara could see a glimmer in Aang's eyes. "What a shame," he murmured. His impressively straight face was ruined only by the twitches at the corners of his mouth, very clearly trying to suppress a smile. "He seems like a really nice guy."

"He is," she agreed, her own smile threatening to overtake her face. She looked back up to the sky. "Unfortunately, he had to go off and fight in the war." She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. "It's been… rough, only having his letters to know he's still alive."

Aang shifted next to her. "I'm sure it was just as hard on him," he offered. She looked over to see him looking up to the constellations. "It was probably difficult to keep waking up without your smile there to greet him." He glanced over at her, his expression soft. "He probably missed you just as much as you missed him."

Katara breathed out, something warm and light fluttering in her stomach at that look in his eyes. She tried to steady the tremor in her fingers and voice as she said, "I mean, I wasn't sure at first." She glanced back at him. "But if you think so, it must be true."

Something shifted in his gaze then, something a little heavier, a little sadder. "Why not? You're amazing." He turned his eyes back up to the sky. "You're kind, you're caring, you're strong, you never give up a fight you could win." He gave her a meaningful glance. "If I had a friend like that, I'd say she would be my biggest inspiration, the biggest reason why I keep on fighting."

Heat crawled in her face, and Katara had to duck her head down to hide the smile threatening to stretch across her mouth. "I'm sure she would be lucky to have you as a friend as well," she murmured.

Aang chuckled. "I'd think I'd be the lucky one." Then he nudged her teasingly. "But c'mon, back to your friend. Tell me more about him."

Katara affected a casual shrug. "If you insist." She settled back on her hands and looked up to the canvas of black and navy blue. "He's kind, caring, compassionate. He's a gentle soul, but…" She smiled softly to herself. "He has this strength around him that makes everything impossible feel… possible. He gives everyone around him this hope, the hope that something will still be left after the war—something still worth living and fighting for." She looked at him then, meeting gray eyes filled with the constellations of both the Southern Water Tribe and Air Nomads. "He gives me that hope."

In the pale moonlight that alighted upon his face, Katara could see his face turn beet-red, redder than she had ever seen it before, and she had to stifle a laugh as he was the one to bashfully duck his head down this time, the blush creeping to his ears.

But he clearly wanted to have the last laugh, because he glanced up at her with a smile that somehow managed to be both sly and shy. "Well, if that's the case…" His lips quirked. "Is he handsome?"

Katara couldn't help but bark out a laugh, swatting at his shoulder. "Aang!" she chided, hoping the darkness could cover the heat flaring in her face.

Aang laughed, melodic and light and free,and all at once the premise of a faux-serious conversation lifted; Katara could hardly believe how utterly ridiculous this all was. "C'mon, you had all those nice things to say about your friend!" Aang protested. He leaned forward conspiratorially, smirking mischievously with a cocked eyebrow. "He must be at least a little good-looking."

She shoved at him as he burst out laughing at his own antics, giggling herself. "Okay, okay!" When their laughing fits subsided, Katara suddenly found the grass between them very interesting. "You know what?" she said with feigned thoughtfulness. "He is good-looking. Very good-looking." She peered up at him through her lashes. "But if I told him that to his face, his ego would never come down."

Aang laughed. "Of course, I understand." He winked at her. "Not everyone is a simple monk like myself, after all."

Katara scoffed. "Please, you flatter yourself."

"Who, me?" Aang's eyes stretched wide in comical disbelief. He touched his hand to his chest with an exaggeratedly wounded look. "But I am!"

"Okay, yeah, just keep telling yourself that." Katara shoved him lightly, and they both chuckled, basking in the light-heartedness of their banter. And for the first time in a long, long time, Katara felt… light. Free.

Happy.

A serene quiet settled between them then, a quiet that was filled only by the chirp of the crickets all around them, the cool, gentle breeze that caressed their faces, the sound of life and everything living humming through the world as the land sank deeper and deeper into sleep. Without thinking much of it, Katara reached over and covered his hand with hers. In response, Aang laced their fingers together.

It felt… warm. Safe. Right.

Katara's eyes were growing heavy, the low buzz of the world lulling her to sleep, and she was teetering on the edge when Aang shifted next to her. She glanced over blearily to see he was half-sitting up, staring down at the ground with a furrowed brow.

She squeezed his hand. "Aang? What's wrong?"

Aang looked up in surprise, his expression only softening when his eyes landed on her. "Oh—uh, nothing, really." He turned his attention back to the ground. "It's just… I was thinking about your friend, and…" He chewed his lip. "I think… I think he would also want to apologize to you."

"What?" Confusion clouded her mind, and she sat up, scooting closer to Aang. She reached over and touched his knee, causing him to glance back up at her. There was something a little sad in his gaze when he looked at her then, something that crushed the carefree mirth that had been there just moments ago. "What makes you say that? Why do you think he would want to apologize to me?"

"Well…" He avoided her gaze again. His fingers agitatedly picked at the grass on the ground between them. "If he was off fighting in the war, then maybe there were some times where he… he almost—" He swallowed thickly, something haunted flitting through his gaze. His fingers tightened around her hand. "He got hurt really badly."

In response, Katara pressed her shoulder to his, hoping it would ground him, even as his words sent a cold, cold dread shivering down her spine.

Aang still wouldn't look at her. His other hand had moved onto his knee, twisting the fabric of his pants in a white-knuckled grip. "And during those times… when he wasn't sure he would make it…" His gaze flickered over to her before flicking away. "I think he'd want to apologize to you. In case he wouldn't come back in one piece." He glanced down at the ground, his expression twisting a little. "When he didn't come back in one piece."

("He's not breathing.")

Katara's breath stuttered in her throat. She desperately pressed into him even as her stomach twisted, reliving the utter fear she had felt, as sharp and visceral as it had been all those weeks ago. She shook her head insistently. "He shouldn't have to apologize for that. It's not his fault."

"I— maybe heknows that, deep down," Aang admitted. He finally, finally looked up to meet her gaze, soulful gray against the reflection of the stars above. "But… maybe he can't help but feel like it is his fault."

She was already shaking her head before Aang was even finished speaking. "It's not his fault," she said assertively, almost harshly. With her other hand, she lifted it up to cup his cheek, stroking his cheekbone with her thumb. He gazed at her with such a sad look in his eyes that she wanted nothing more than to wipe it all away, to see that joy of life he himself had once given her. "That's just the risk that always comes with fighting in a war. He shouldn't have to apologize for that."

Aang really looked at her then, looked at her instead of through her, and in those eyes that were filled with color and light and life, Katara could see a thousand unspoken words and a thousand more emotions flickering through that gray, that gray that had always filled her with hope. With trembling fingers, he reached up with his other hand to cover her hand on his cheek.

Something in the air shifted between them, something that became a little more… heavy. Intimate. Katara suddenly realized she could feel his breath ghosting over her skin, the subtle shifts in his grip as he curled his fingers over her hands, the way his skin seemed to burn under her touch. His gaze had darkened, and she wondered if she imagined his grasp on her hands tightening ever so slightly.

"But…" She swallowed thickly, suddenly finding it very hard to breathe, and looked down at the ground. "There is something he needs to apologize for."

"Oh?" Was he closer? She could've sworn he was closer—his gray eyes filled her vision, his breath was hot against her lips, and when she tilted her head back up, their noses brushed. Her breath hitched in her throat. "And what does he need to apologize for?"

Katara closed her eyes, inching forward just the tiniest bit. The space between them was filled with hot, uneven breaths, and she exhaled shakily, the fluttering in her stomach intensifying into a thrill of exhilaration when she felt puffs of his breath flit over her lips.

"He needs to apologize…" She brushed her nose with his, purposefully this time. "… for stealing my heart," she whispered.

And when he finally, finally kissed her, everything felt right.

His lips were warm against hers, his hands were firm against her back, his touches were gentle against her skin and it was wonderful and amazing and better than anything she could've dreamed of. He tasted like the clean sea-blown breeze, the kind that reminded her of home and everything that had once made it home. He tasted like everything that had been missing from her world, everything fun and joyful and full of life, everything she didn't even know she had been missing until then.

He tasted like a love worth fighting for.

She wrapped her arms around the back of his neck and pulled him closer. The thrill of adrenaline roared through her veins now, fireworks bursting to life behind her eyelids, and she pressed herself still deeper, coaxing him to open up even more.

Just when their kiss was becoming more fervent, more desperate, Aang suddenly broke off with a sharp gasp, doubling over in pain. Katara cursed, scrambling to her feet and moving until she was behind him. In an instant, she was on her knees, pressing a gentle hand against the center of his back, where the wound was. She swore again when she felt something hot and sticky smear onto her fingertips.

Katara quickly bent a stream of water from her pouch and pressed it against his bandaged back. The water hummed a cold blue, illuminating the broken chi paths inside, the torn flesh underneath, the rigid jerk of his muscles from even her feathery touch as she tried to knit it all together.

When she had stitched together what she could—one healing session could only do so much, after all—she sat back and discarded the used healing water to the side. Then she reached out, brushing her fingers as gently as she could against his bandaged wound. Her stomach twisted as she imagined the glee on his assailant's face as they inflicted this wound, the sheer agony he must've felt when he was unconscious, dying, alone.

I should've been there.

As if sensing her somber mood, Aang gingerly turned, scooting around until he was facing her again. Katara let her hand drop, but he caught it and laced their fingers together. "Hey, I'm okay." He dipped his head to meet her gaze, his eyes soft and kind and ever so tender. "I'm okay, Katara. I promise."

Katara had to blink back sudden tears, an irrational anger flaring in her chest. "You always say that."

"Have I been wrong yet?" His gentle tone, normally a soothing balm, only served to fan the flames of this anger burning in her chest, and she wrenched her hand out of his grasp.

"You tell me," she snapped, "since you came back to me nearly dead!"

Aang flinched, and in an instant Katara's anger vanished. "I'm sorry, Aang." She brushed away her tears, staring down at her lap. "I just… I never would've thought the next time we would see each other, you… you would… you almost—"

"Shhhh." He enveloped her in a hug, and she clutched at his bandaged back, burying her face into his shoulder. "It's okay, Katara. I'm here." He pressed a kiss to her temple, coaxing her to open up in his embrace. "I'm here."

They stayed like that for a long moment—Katara clutching at him to reassure herself he was alive, alive, Aang whispering reassurances in her ear and dusting petal-soft kisses on her skin. He pressed his cheek to hers, and she felt more than heard the rumble of a wry laugh roll through his body. "Maybe I should apologize for not coming back in one piece after all."

The corners of Katara's lips involuntarily curled up even as shame pooled in her gut, and she pressed her face to his neck. "I'm sorry," she said miserably. Her fingers curled against his chest, right over his heart. Thud. Thud. Thud.

She felt Aang shake his head. "Don't be. It's not your fault." He rubbed soothing circles against her back. "You were worried. That's only natural."

Katara squeezed her eyes shut as fresh tears seared their way down her cheeks. "I was so… so scared," she whispered. She swallowed back the sob burning in her throat. "I… I thought I lost you."

Aang pulled away just enough to touch their foreheads together. "I'm not going anywhere," he murmured. He reached up and brushed stray strands of hair out of her face. "I'm here to stay, Katara. I promise."

But even as he embraced her again, even as she pressed her ear to his chest to hear the steady thump of his heart, even as the warmth of him wrapped around her like a blanket on a cold night, Katara couldn't help but remember utter terror she had felt when she didn't feel the rise and fall of his breath and the beat of his heart, the scarlet red of his blood staining Yagoda's hands, the grief that had filled her when, for a few minutes, she thought she had lost him forever.

And so it was that she made her decision.

"Aang…" She slowly extricated herself from his embrace, but she kept her hands on his chest, reveling in the beat of his heart. As if sensing her unspoken wish, Aang loosened his embrace and dropped his hands until they rested lightly against her waist. She looked up into those gray eyes, so gentle and warm and kind, which only made what she was about to say worse.

But she had to say it.

"I think we should wait before we're together," she forced herself to say. She reached up and drew her fingers down from his temple to his cheek, hoping that her touch would soften the blow of her words. "At least until after the war is over."

Aang frowned, confusion flickering in his eyes. "You… you want to wait?" He peered into her eyes, as if trying to search for the reason in them. "But… why?"

Katara looked down at her hands, still pressed up against his chest. Thud. Thud. Thud. "We—we're still in the middle of a war," she tried to explain, stumbling over her words. "You're the Avatar, the only one who has the power to end it. If—if we start a relationship right now, it might…"

distract you in battle

"… distract us from what really matters. And I…"

can't lose you again

"… don't want you to lose focus." She couldn't find the strength to hold his gaze, so she looked back down at the ground.

Aang was silent for a long moment, processing her words. Katara kept her eyes trained on the grass between them, her breath stuttering over her every inhale. Then she felt his lips softly, carefully, press into her hair. "Okay." He exhaled, his hot breath ghosting over her scalp. "If that's what you want. We can wait until the war is over."

Hardly daring to breathe, Katara looked up to see Aang's gaze upon her, ever gentle, ever kind. "You're okay with it?"

Aang gave her a smile that was tinged with sadness. "Of course. I told you that I would find you and wait for as long as you need me to." He touched his forehead to hers, and his eyes softened with that look that stole the air from Katara's lungs. "I made that promise back then, and I'm making it now." He kissed her on the spot between her eyes. "I'll wait for you. I promise."

Katara's next breath left her as a strangled sob, and she closed her eyes against the burning tears pricking in them. "Thank you, Aang," she whispered, over and over again. "Thank you."

She was the one to move this time, opening her arms out and wrapping around his torso in a hug that he immediately reciprocated. She laid her head in the space between his shoulder and neck, relishing the warmth of his body seeping into hers, the thump of his pulse against her cheek, the strength of his arms around her.

Katara closed her eyes and tried to pretend the coarse bandages underneath her palms didn't exist.

She tried not to hold his hand as they stood before the elders.

But it was so hard, especially since he was right there next to her, his presence warm and comforting and real. Every time the back of his hand brushed against hers, she had to stamp down the itch to reach out herself and hook their fingers together.

She needed to resist, if only to preserve whatever decorum she had left.

But it wasn't just that that was forcing her to keep her hand away from him; it was also the reason for this meeting in the first place. Only a week after the night they had gone out to watch the stars, Yagoda had deemed Aang healed enough to return back to his Avatar duties.

Which meant he would return back to the battle front.

If anything, the ache Katara held to be close to him, to relish every last moment they had together before he inevitably had to leave her again, made the itch to hold his hand so much more worse. But she knew that if she did that, it would be harder for her to let him go, to watch him as he left her for the third time.

And so it was with a heavy heart that she stood alongside Aang for what would be the last time until the war would end and he would come back to her.

(if he would come back)

(she tried not to think about it)

Aang bowed to the masters and she followed his lead, if only reluctantly—if it were up to her, she wouldn't be showing this much respect to them since they didn't deserve any of it, she thought with no small amount of bitterness. As it was, she couldn't risk them taking their displeasure out on Aang or separating them even further, so just for now, she would bear it.

It was Elder Amaraq who broke the silence first, clearing his throat a little awkwardly. "Well, it is good to see you back on your feet, Avatar Aang," he said to Aang. "We were all worried for your well-being."

Aang dipped his head in acknowledgement, the easy-going smile plastered on his face almost masking the weariness in his eyes. "I had the greatest healers I could ask for by my side," he said lightly. The back of his hand brushed against hers again. "There was no need to worry. They're the best at what they do."

Somehow, Katara got the distinct feeling he wasn't talking about all the healers.

As if reading her mind, the back of Aang's hand pressed against hers, solid and warm and real, and then she really had to stamp down the urge to intertwine their fingers together. She ducked her head, hoping that they wouldn't notice the heat rising to her face.

A small chuckle sounded somewhere to her left, and she peered up to see a man with a tight topknot and a neatly trimmed beard—Master Piandao, Katara remembered Aang telling her—folding his hands behind his back with an amicable expression on his face. "I'm sure they are," he said rather good-naturedly. "You're on your feet and looking good as new."

Master Pakku grunted. "Being on his feet and 'looking' good as new doesn't mean he's fully healed," he muttered grumpily. Katara had to force herself not to flinch when her old master suddenly turned his piercing gaze upon her. "I want your confirmation on the state of his health."

Katara cleared her throat and straightened as much as she could under the intense gazes of all eight elders and masters. "Master Yagoda did a final examination of his health, and she deemed him well enough to return to his… Avatar duties." Her voice involuntarily wavered right before saying Avatar duties, but luckily none of them seemed to notice.

But much to her surprise, a man with wild white hair and a goatee—Master Jeong Jeong, Aang had told her—merely let out a snort and waved dismissively. "Yes, yes, we've already heard the verdict from Master Yagoda, since that is the only reason why we're even here in the first place." He turned his eyes onto Katara, and she was startled to see a deep fire burning in his eyes. "But what do you think?"

Taken aback, Katara couldn't do much more than stare at Aang's firebending master in shock. "What?"

It was Monk Pasang who spoke next. "Since you were his… primary caretaker"—he said the words as if he chose them with deliberate care—"it stands to reason that you would know better than anyone about the state of his health." He gave Katara a grave look. "It is imperative for us to know if he is truly ready to return to battle."

Return to battle. He said the words so easily, as though the bloodshed and violence and death that haunted the clinic every day was just another aspect of life, a natural part of the world. But when Katara had to gaze upon the prone forms of groaning soldiers savaged by the war, when the blood of thousands of patients stained her hands as she fell asleep at night, when she had to watch as Aang nearly died under her hands, she couldn't help feeling anything but.

She stole a glance over at Aang. If it weren't for the firmness of his jaw and the slight pallor in his cheeks, she would've thought all he felt was confident. Determined, even.

But she saw just the tiniest flicker of fear in his eyes.

A vindictive anger rose in her chest then, an anger that fed on the bitterness that had hung heavy in her chest for years, ever since these same masters had taken Aang away from her. She opened her mouth, half-tempted to say that he wasn't ready, if only to stop them from taking him away and sending him off to battle to get him killed—

And hesitated.

Because when she looked up at the masters, she saw their eyes.

Their eyes had always held a semblance of pride, yes, but sometimes, she thought she would see a flicker of something else pass through them. It was often too quick for her to catch and put a name to, and so she dismissed that nagging feeling, reasoning it was simply her imagination.

But now, that emotion that had once been so fleeting was clear and tangible, warring with that pride in their eyes. With it laid so bare on their faces, it only took Katara a moment to place what it was:

Desperation.

And then she remembered her own words, the words she has given Aang that night under the stars.

"He gives everyone around him this hope, the hope that something will still be left after the war—something still worth living and fighting for."

Maybe, Katara thought to herself as she gazed up at the masters, maybe when she said everyone, it meant even those who tried everything they could to end the war, even if it meant sacrificing others' desires. They were wrong to do it like this—isolating them both, sending him to battle all on his own, using him for their own purposes—but maybe, maybe it was only because he gave them hope of a world without war, like he had with her.

(but there was a difference, she knew, there was a difference between them and her)

(theirs was a hope given to them by the Avatar)

(hers was a hope given to her by Aang)

When she looked over to Aang, she saw that his gaze was upon her. Though there was a hint of fear lurking in that gray, there was also that determination, that quiet strength that she had known and come to love ever since they had first met. The encouragement in his eyes propelled her forward, and the reassurance in his slight smile gave her the strength to speak.

"Yes." Katara tore her eyes from Aang's to meet the masters' gaze. She swallowed the last of her apprehension and tried to ignore the heaviness in her heart as she said, "I believe he is ready."

She waited for the elders to dismiss her, to give her a curt nod of acknowledgement before shooing her off. She waited for them to take Aang away for the third and final time, to usher him out the doors—and out of her life.

But much to her confusion, they didn't do any of that.

Elder Amaraq's eyebrows shot up, clearly not expecting her answer. Monks Pasang and Tashi exchanged unfathomable looks. Master Jeong Jeong let out a gravelly hum as he folded his arms across his chest, his eyebrows furrowing with something that was not quite displeasure as he appraised her with his fiery eyes.

In fact, the only ones who seemed to have any sort of positive expression at all was Master Piandao, who was still wearing an easy-going look on his face, and…

Katara squinted. Had she imagined the approval that flashed through Pakku's eyes?

It was Aang who broke through the prolonged stares and silent conversations, giving voice to the question that had been rising in Katara's mind. "With all due respect, Masters," he said, stepping forward, "is there… something wrong?"

Pasang and Tashi exchanged another look before Pasang stepped forward, clearing his throat. "In the wake of these past few weeks," he said delicately, "we have come together and reevaluated our… former decisions."

Katara frowned, and beside her, Aang looked puzzled as well. "What do you mean by that?" he asked.

Somehow, Katara had the distinct feeling that if the monk didn't have an air of dignity to preserve, he would be fidgeting right now. As it was, he had enough sense to look a little sheepish. "The Council of Elders have realized that it would be… unwise to expect the Avatar not to have close companions to rely on," he said, "especially those who cover the weaknesses of his current group. The events of the last few weeks have revealed as much."

It was Piandao who spoke next, interjecting smoothly. "We realize now that it is in the best interest of the Avatar—and the world—to give him a group of companions whose diversity of skills can cover any situation that may arise." He gave her a glance full of meaning, and Katara's breath caught in her throat. Were they saying what she thought they were saying…?

Pakku stepped up then, gazing down at Katara with piercing pale blue eyes. But even through the glare reflecting off of his gaze, she thought she could see a sliver of satisfaction hidden within. "As one of my best students in both combat and healing, you have the versatility we expect of someone who can fight alongside the Avatar. And as your former master, I would like to be the one to extend the offer to you, Master Katara," he said formally.

She could barely breathe as he extended a hand towards her.

"Will you accept becoming one of Avatar Aang's companions?"

Time hung suspended in the air, as if it all came down to this moment. Impulsively, Katara glanced over to Aang, who looked just as shocked as she felt. Then, slowly, his mouth began stretching into a beaming grin as his eyes lit up—the first genuine smile he had ever since stepping in this room with her.

Seeing Aang so… happy, so light and joyous and free, lifted a heaviness in Katara's chest she hadn't even realized was even there, and she felt her own lips curling up in a smile that mirrored his.

And it was all she needed.

She grasped Pakku's hand in a firm grip and gazed up at her former master, hardening her tone with determined forcefulness as she said, "I accept."

This time, she knew she didn't imagine the approval in his eyes.

He bowed to her and she to him, and this time, it wasn't at all reluctant. When she straightened, she found Aang by her side, wearing his own look of relief and gratitude. He bowed first to Pakku, and then the other masters. "Thank you, Council of Elders," he said, "for allowing us this opportunity."

Elder Amaraq harrumphed, clearly not pleased by their visible excitement. "Don't get ahead of yourself," he snapped at Katara. "The only reason I agreed to this is because you are a healer, and the next time the Avatar is injured, you will be there to save him. That is your first duty, above all." His eyes bored into Katara's soul. "Do you understand?"

Her hackles rose at his insinuation, and she had half a mind to snap back at him when a glance around the room (Aang with his shining eyes, Pakku with his warning gaze) reminded her of the fragility of their new deal. So she swallowed back her retorts and dipped her head in what she hoped would be taken as humility, even as bitterness churned in her stomach. "Of course," she said.

Elder Amaraq's eyes narrowed, clearly not convinced, and opened his mouth when Monk Pasang cleared his throat. "Then that is all we require of the both of you," he said. "We will inform you of our next course of action in due time." He waved them off. "You are both dismissed."

Aang and Katara bowed for the third time before making their way out of the hall. When the stares from the masters on her back seemed to disappear, when the tension in Aang's shoulders seemed to melt away, when it was clear they were alone once again, she deemed it safe and looked at Aang—really looked at him—for the first time since entering the room. She found him looking back at her with a wry expression on his face.

"Well," Aang remarked rather dryly, "that went better than I expected."

"You can say that again," Katara agreed, secretly filing a mental note to ask Sokka if he had anything to do with their sudden change of heart.

Aang chuckled, the sound melodic and beautiful and airy, and Katara couldn't help but share in his joy, revel in his laugh. Though the echoes of his laughter eventually faded, they walked through the empty halls in comfortable silence, shoulder-to-shoulder, matching each other's stride.

And then it hit her all at once.

She would be coming with Aang.

She would be coming with Aang.

She would no longer be waiting in anticipation for the next letter, the next time she would hear his voice. She would no longer be laying alone in a tent on cold, empty nights, praying for him to come back to her, alive and safe.

Because this time… this time, she would no longer depend on letters to find his shadow when she had him right by her side. This time, she would no longer have to pray for him to come back to her, because she would be right there to make sure he did.

This time, she would be with him until the end.

It almost didn't feel real—like it was a dream she conjured up through half-wishes and what-ifs and what-could've-beens.

And yet… and yet, she knew it had to be real. The memory of his presence could never hold the same warmth as he did right now, by her side. The memory of his smile could never shine as brightly as it did now, when he flashed it at her. The memory of his eyes could never carry that same depth of kindness and strength and love as it did now, when he glanced over at her.

But just as suddenly as the elation came, it was snuffed out by a cold, heavy ache in her chest. She couldn't shake the memory of his kind and warm gaze as she looked up to him with a desperate pleading, as she said we should wait. She couldn't stop thinking of confused gray eyes as he peered at her and asked why? She couldn't forget the way her own voice was filled with stuttering words and shaky uncertainty as she told him I don't want you to lose focus, even when she knew deep down that her spoken answer wasn't the truth, not entirely.

It seemed, Katara couldn't help but think bitterly, even when they were together, the world was trying to keep them apart.

As they turned a corner, Katara was pulled from her thoughts when she felt something warm and calloused slip into her hand. Startled, she glanced down to see a hand adorned with a blue arrow curling around her fingers, and she looked up to see Aang watching her carefully.

"Is this okay?" he asked.

A sudden swell of warmth surged through her chest, pushing away the cold ache and replacing it with a new memory, the memory of gray eyes that promised her I will wait for you. She intertwined their fingers together and rubbed away the tension in his hand with her thumb.

"It's okay."

For now, at least, it was enough.

a/n this is probably the most fluff i have ever written for a fic ever LOL

anyways, thanks again for giving this a read! last chapter will be posted next week hahaha, crazy to believe that this fic is almost over. as always, if you enjoyed this chapter, let me know your thoughts 💖