Alright, so I should be posting Day 21: Costume Party today, but I'mma skip that one because I've already written a (crack) story about a costume party which can be found in my silly AtLA oneshot collection titled This Time With Feeling. It's pretty rad. I'd definitely go check it out if I were you. *winky face*
As for today's story, some of you may have seen it on tumblr already because I posted it there yesterday, but for those of you who haven't, all I'll say about it is maybe don't read it if you're sensitive. It's an eency bit dark.
Day Twenty-Two
Assassin
Katara wasn't really surprised when Zuko's eyes shot open the moment the cool blade of her knife touched his neck. She'd anticipated it. Hoped for it.
It wouldn't have meant anything if he'd simply died quietly without ever knowing who was responsible.
What did surprise her, however, was when he looked up into her eyes and merely exhaled a quiet sigh. He didn't fight her, nor did he look scared. The only emotion she saw in those pale-yellow eyes was resignation.
"Hello, Zuko," she said in a quiet, calm voice.
A shaft of moonlight illuminated Zuko's face from the open window she'd entered through and brought into stark relief the whiteness of his skin and the black of his hair splayed around his face like a halo of shadow. He didn't speak for a long time, but Katara waited, and finally, in that familiar gravelly voice she remembered from her travels with Aang—from their conversation beneath Ba Sing Se—he said, "I knew this day would come sooner or later. But I didn't expect it to be you."
The corners of her lips turned up in a small, joyless smile. "You should've. Because of you, Aang, my brother, my father, and thousands of defenseless Earth Kingdom and Water Tribe people are dead."
Zuko just continued to watch her face without emotion. "I know."
Katara scowled down at him, her anger breaking through her façade of control. "You could've stopped it! You could have been the catalyst that turned the tide of the war, but instead you ran home to the Fire Nation and sold us out to dear old dad." She leaned in closer, her knife pressing more firmly against his flesh. "Tell me, Zuko. Was it worth it? Did trading all those lives buy you the happiness you wanted?"
Zuko's eyelids fell shut and he took a deep breath. His chest rose and fell with the motion. "No," he said at last, his voice barely above a whisper. "This was never what I wanted."
Katara's chin dropped and she took a deep, shuddering breath of her own. "This war took my mother from me," she repeated her words to him in the catacombs. "And now it's taken my brother and my father. I want them back, Zuko."
Zuko's eyes opened again and this time she saw a new emotion in them. She saw regret. "I can't bring them back, Katara."
The use of her name almost caused Katara to drop the knife. Zuko had never addressed her by name before and she'd never expected that he even knew it. But she held her weapon fast. Her conviction, at least, was strong. Steeling her determination, she asked, "You're not going to beg for your life?"
Zuko's answer was prompt. "No."
She'd expected as much. "Any last words?"
This time, Zuko was quiet for a while as he seemingly considered her question. Then he said, "If you see my uncle…tell him I'm sorry."
Katara nodded. That was reasonable enough. "Sure."
"And also," he added, his voice as soft as silk. He looked meaningfully into her eyes and Katara knew his next words were directed at her. "I regret the choice I made in Ba Sing Se. If I could go back to that moment…" his eyes closed again briefly and she saw pain in the wrinkle of his brow. Opening them one final time, he said, "I'd choose you."
Despite her resolve, Katara felt hot tear prickle at the backs of her eyes. "There are no do-overs, Zuko."
When Zuko said nothing, Katara knew any further conversation would be superfluous. Taking another deep breath, she said simply, "I'm going to do it now."
She thought Zuko might, when finally faced with the certainty of his own death, have a change of heart and attempt to defend himself, but he didn't. He didn't even close his eyes. He watched her steadily as she drew her knife across his throat in a single swift slice, and even as his lifeblood flowed out from the cut, he never removed his eyes from hers.
Katara wanted to close her own eyes to the sight of his life draining away onto his bedsheets but she didn't. She couldn't. She would face this act and carry it with her to her own grave, however many years in the future that turned out to be. The tears that had been waiting just behind her eyes overflowed but she didn't attempt to wipe them away. She refused to break eye-contact.
Zuko's body convulsed a few times as he tried to draw breath and couldn't, and then, finally the spark of life drained from his eyes and he fell still. The deed was done.
Shakily, Katara stood from the bed and she wasn't surprised when her knees buckled under her, sending her to the floor. She'd just taken a life. Her first one ever. The body of her old enemy lay on the bed at her back, a body that had been speaking and breathing merely a moment prior. She'd hated him—loathed him more fiercely than even the soldier who had killed her mother. She'd had to kill him. But completing the act had brought her no peace. She'd known from the beginning that it wouldn't.
For the second time, she tried standing and this time her legs held her. Looking back one final time at the boy on the bed, she whispered, "I wish we could go back, too."
Her task finished, Katara returned to the window and disappeared as silently as she'd come.
oO0Oo
Hmm. Kind of makes you want the comparatively cheery plague fic back, doesn't it?
