ARC 2: A War Divides Their People
DAY 11: Touch
Katara recovers in Zuko's little tent, sleeping and listening to the wind howl outisde; reminiscing with the man that is quickly becoming her friend again. With the horror of his banishment clear between them, it feels as though the floodgates have been opened. It's easier to talk, easier to relax. It's almost too easy to forget his allegiances and think of him as her childhood prince instead.
They swap stories, tales of Azula, a frightening prodigy, and his uncle, who despite tumultuous years has stood beside him all the while (Zuko tells her that he's waiting in a nearby village and she wonders if she'll escape before they have a chance to meet). Katara regales him with Sokka's many adventures and Gran-grans vast cooking expertise (and sarcasm; yes, it runs in the family). And yet, there is a sad undertone, the vagueness of certain tales and quiet silences that hide secrets they cannot share.
A week passes in this fashion and then two, each one as comfortable as the last.
All things considered, Katara is surprised that it doesn't happen sooner.
They're reminiscing over the fire together one evening (the one thing Katara can do without trying to rip his throat out) and Zuko makes a wild gesture (she never remembers what the subject was, only that his face had never been more animated).
His hand comes to rest on her thigh, instead of on his own (they hadn't even realized they'd moved so closely together).
Zuko doesn't realize what he's done until until his companion falls silent.
They stare at his hand.
Katara reels from the sudden stomach dropping, muscle clenching realization that Zuko is gorgeous (handsome, attractive, beautiful) and then their lips are touching.
Katara sighs into his mouth, as if kissing him at last is such a relief. He pulls her closer, until she's straddling him and her heart is pressed up right against his own so tightly they practically beat together.
"I don't hate you." she admits, touching the hollow of his throat.
"I could never hate you." he murmurs, worming his way into her tunic.
They don't talk much after that, shedding layers and layers of clothing as they go. Katara tries to lose herself in the feeling of Zuko's mouth against her neck and his hands slipping down her hips. He won't be the first man she's been with, but something tells her to stop this, to take this back, to prevent the disaster that this will become. Katara pulls back.
"We shouldn't be doing this." she whispers.
Zuko kisses her jaw as if she has not spoken.
"Stop." she says, pushing him away.
Zuko blinks and he begins to shake off that half-lidded lethargy that has gripped them both. She wants to tell him that this is wrong, that they're fire and water and not friends—but something powerful and raw and special, something she worries is love, is surging through her and drowning everything else out.
"Katara?" he asks, eyes clear with concern.
She considers who they are.
Prince and Chief's Daughter. Zuko and Katara. Firebender and waterbender. Man and woman. Fate says they should be apart and her heart says something different.
She teeters on a precipice, this is not a light choice. They can't come back from this, she will never be able to forget the sensation of his hands ghosting over her skin, his mouth against hers.
"Katara, are you alright?" Zuko says.
She touches his swollen lips and realizes that she wants this despite everything that dictates otherwise. Katara falls over the precipice as if there was never a choice to begin with.
"Shut up." she says and pulls him down with her.