Moonlight shone through the open window, illuminating Katara's form with its gentle light. She blamed that moon for her sleeplessness, for the thoughts that swirled in her head like the rip current of her element.
She should have felt warm and comforted in her husband's arms after their lovemaking, but she didn't. She just felt empty.
Absently, she ran her fingers over her husband's hands. They were calloused, and bespoke of hard work and powerful bending. But they were cold hands, and lacked the warmth she needed on a chilly night.
She traced the blue tattoo that came to a point jest below his middle finger and recalled the hand's gentleness as it moved over her, the love that the fingers had bespoke of as they had rubbed her shoulders in slow, tender circles as he had drifted off to sleep. But they lacked the passion and fire that she craved.
And Katara wondered why it was that in the stillness of the night, when she was in her husband's arms and their baby slept soundly down the hall, it was Zuko that was on her mind.