Zuko stared at the patterns on the mural on the ceiling of the bathroom, done in a delicate ceramic tile to represent the early morning sun. He focused on counting the red tiles. Then the blue ones. Then only a specific shade of red, something between red and orange, but that only got him caught up in determining the color of the tiles. He decided that would be better than merely counting, and set about trying to name the different colors. Red, light red, reddish something something, darker red than the light red. Red that only looks different because it's between a red and an orange tile. That's when he decided his eyes must be tired, and he should go to bed.
"Zuko?"
He tilted his head back until he could see Katara standing in the doorway in one of his sleeveless red shirts that tied at the waist. Under different circumstances, he would have found the way the shirt barely came down past her hips alluring. He would have found the cleavage peeking out irresistible. She was drying her hair with a towel, clearly having ignored the blue nightgown Yina set out for her.
"Mistress Yina brought food."
"I'm not hungry."
"You should eat something before you go to bed."
He turned away from her and sunk further into the bath. He closed his eyes and thought about his breathing.
"I know what I should," he said softly, "but right now I just want."
She left him alone, and he sat in the steaming tub for another hour before finally getting out. He dried off, put on some pants, and stepped into his bedroom. Katara was sitting on the bed, absently munching at the food and staring off into space.
"Did you mean what you said?" Zuko asked.
"Every word of it. But which part in particular?"
"About wanting her to be your mom."
She looked away from him, and he noticed the bottle of wine sitting on the bedside table. He inspected it, sighed, then put it back in the liquor cabinet. He fished around until he found something stronger.
"She can't replace my mom. No one can." Katara watched Zuko open the bottle and pull out two cups. "I was just hoping that…maybe she'd…you know, be another mother. Like I'd have two mothers. You have your uncle, and Dad's kind of taken you in, so you've got two father figures. Maybe I can have two mother figures."
Zuko downed his glass in one gulp, then poured himself a second.
"What is this stuff?" Katara asked, smelling it.
"Vodka."
Katara sipped hers, and Zuko ate a bit, but he could only stomach so much. He would only have one day to sort himself out before he would don the mantle and the crown and be the Fire Lord again. He'd have to bow out of this adventure forever, and he wouldn't even have the pleasure of greeting her first. After all he'd done, that honor would belong to someone else.
When they'd eaten their fill, Katara moved the tray to the anteroom and climbed into bed with Zuko. He pulled her close to him and buried his face in her hair. He sniffled a bit, but was done crying. Katara held him tightly, then cradled him against her chest. The Fire Lord was not allowed to cry.
That night, he dreamed that he was in the prison again, inside Ozai's cell, driving his fist into the man's face over and over and over. Bone and muscle and skin gave way, and when Ozai tried to fight back, Zuko punched him hard in the stomach. Ozai was no real fighter. His only skill was his bending, and Zuko gloated in knowing he had finally had the upper hand, not even bothering to stop the sneer that unfolded. He was better than Ozai, because even without his bending, Zuko would have his swords and his fists. Zuko would never, could never, be defenseless, and Ozai was just some helpless little shit too proud to understand that he didn't deserve to have the world kneel to him. Zuko made Ozai's blood splatter, coloring the brick walls a bright red. This was his sacrifice to his mother.
Unattached hands were pulling at him because he knew giving in to his anger like this was dangerous, that restraint would get him more than anger, but he pushed them off. Zuko was determined to beat the fight out of Ozai the same way Ozai had done with him when he was little, only Zuko intended to be physical while Ozai had been verbal. Old memories mixed with the violence. Nothing was ever good enough for him, and at first Ozai thought it was Zuko's teachers, and when Ozai began to teach him personally, he decided it was his worthless son. Zuko's fists sparked, because he remembered the time Ozai turned his rage, not on his eight-year-old son, but on his wife, accusing her of all sorts of vile things, of sleeping around because no child of his could be that pathetic. And she stood and took the abuse. From the moment he was born, she'd taken Ozai's shit. She paid for it because Ozai was arrogant and stupid and had a mind only for conquest, not for his children or his wife. They were just more things to be conquered.
A weight tried to hold him down, guilt tried to creep into his consciousness. Ozai was bloody and bruised. Zuko reached down to his inner fire and brought it up, spewing it in a huge jet toward Ozai, determined to prove his worth, determined to show Ozai that he was no weak, pathetic thing. Now it wasn't enough to just hurt Ozai, Zuko wanted him dead, and it was such a firm, concrete goal in his mind, that he reached out, grabbed Ozai's arm and burned him. Zuko burned him through the fabric, right down to the skin, and he struggled to free his other hand so he could make Ozai stop screaming forever. An image, long suppressed came unbidden to his mind, of his father standing over him, a pillow in his hands, looking down at that pathetic waste of seed that could not be his because that whore had to have spread her legs for some lesser man. Ozai had reeked of fire whisky as he put the pillow over Zuko's face. He couldn't breathe. It was too strong, something was pressing down on his chest, but he could still smell Ozai burning, flesh falling away.
Zuko awoke with a start, flinging the covers off him, coated in sweat and yet freezing cold and shivering, and he felt dizzy and nauseous.
"Zuko? Zuko, are you alright?"
He shoved Katara off him and ran for the bathroom, and he threw up. He was lying to himself if he pretended to believe in that whole 'good guys, bad guys' tripe. He'd killed people. He'd giving in to his anger and his desperation and his rage, and he became Ozai. When he was fighting in that prison, when he ignored Katara's words, when he acted without thinking, he was Ozai, and in his dream, he'd been Ozai, even as he tried to murder his own father.
Katara was trying to get him to drink water, but he couldn't stand the thought of anything going in his stomach when he wasn't sure that stuff was done coming out of it.
"It's ok, I'm here." She as pulling him into her arms, stroking his head, and he didn't realize he was shaking until Katara tried to pin his arms down.
The violence of the dream scared him. It felt so real, and he halfway expected to see blood on his hands. Katara was rocking him, kissing his head, whispering things to him, and he focused on her words, and slowly, he drifted back to reality.
"What happened?" she asked once he calmed down, taking his face in her hands.
"A… I had…" Zuko swallowed. "I dreamed I was beating Ozai… I think he tried to smother me when I was a kid…"
"Tui and La…" Katara pulled him into a hug, and they stayed that way, holding each other on the floor, until Zuko felt more stable, until the world around him was concrete and real.
"What if I'm becoming him?"
"There is no way you could ever become Ozai." Katara kissed his scar. "Despite all the things Chem may believe about you, I know the truth. I know your heart, Zuko. You're my little polar leopard—"
"I'm your what now?"
Katara smiled and stood, offering him her hands. Zuko let her lead him back to the bed. She collected a comb and a brush from the vanity, and perched behind Zuko. Where he was sitting, he could see them both clearly in the mirror across from the bed.
"You're my polar leopard," Katara said, combing his hair. "People look at you and know to keep their distance yes, but those who know how to approach you find that you're fiercely loyal. You're a pack animal, and your family is your pack. You work well with us, but if people try to harm the pack, or get in your way, you tear them to shreds."
Zuko reached up to make her stop playing in his hair, but she only draped her arms across his shoulders, her cheek touching his. He looked at their reflection in the mirror. They still looked exhausted, but Zuko suspected that wouldn't be going away for a long time. Katara's face was soft and kind, as it always was. He kept his eyes trained on the mirror as he brought his hand to her cheek, caressing her soft skin. She closed her eyes and sighed happily.
"Kitten…"
Katara kissed his jaw, and for the first time, Zuko tasted the word in his mouth. Wife. Wife Katara. His wife. She picked up the brush and ran it lazily across his hair.
"You have such pretty hair, Zoozie."
The strands dropped randomly around his face, and Zuko stiffened. Katara pulled away from him, her hands resting on his shoulders. His scar was mostly covered, and it looked very much like Ozai was in the Fire Lord's bed. With Katara.
"Stop it, Zuko." Katara grabbed his arm when he tried to get away. "You're always so quick to look and see Ozai—"
"Because I look like him!" Zuko said, gesturing toward the reflection he wouldn't recognize as himself.
"And Sokka looks like Dad, and we all have that moment where we look in the mirror and see our parents—"
"Yes, but your dad isn't some…homicidal maniac!"
Katara huffed and came to stand in front of Zuko. She ran her hands over his chest, and down his arms, taking his hands in hers.
"You're just feeling vulnerable right now, Zuko. You're so quick to look for your father in you. Why don't you ever look for your mother?"
Zuko shrugged, and Katara pulled him back to the bed. She continued to brush and comb his hair, and he let her, trying to call up more pleasant thoughts. Katara was always a pleasant thought. He liked when she massaged his scalp like that. She'd abandoned the comb and brush to just run her hands through his hair. It would be even better if she were a firebender, because then she'd be able to heat her fingers while she did it. Slowly, he found himself relaxing into her touch.
"What would I do without you?" he asked quietly.
"Probably explode into a cloud of negativity and brooding thoughts."
Zuko laughed, turning to pull Katara across his lap. "Thank you," he said, nuzzling her neck.
"Zoozie? Did you mean what you said about us and spending the rest of our lives together?"
"Of course, Kitten. I'd rather not be a cloud of negativity and brooding thoughts."
It was weird to confess that. To be so blunt about it. To talk about it as if it would actually happen. And why shouldn't it? Other people got to marry because they were happy and in love, so why not him? Oh, that's right. Because he was the Fire Lord, and he had responsibilities, which he'd blown off to spend time with his secret lover, whom he hoped would be his wife…
"Stop it, Zuko." She knew his moods so well. "Tell me we can stop this, soon."
"We can stop doing this soon. We'll be married, and you'll be a bride second only to my mother."
"Second? Why do I have to be second?" Katara sat up in his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck, and her legs around his waist. She kissed his neck and started braiding a section of his hair.
"I didn't think you wanted that kind of spectacle. I saw her wedding dress, and it would take days just to get in all of that. Don't even get me started on the hair ornaments. And all the red, and the flowers. Uncle said she upstaged his own wedding just with her appearance."
"I want the biggest spectacle there is, Zuko. I want to be a Fire Lady like no other."
A/N: A little fluff before Zuko gets another reality check. I'd always planned for Zuko to get that last one. It's so very Zuko to try and do things on his own, thinking it's his responsibility or his problem, and that no one should have to suffer because of it, but he's still got to remember he's very much needed at home. No matter how calm things might be when he's there, the Fire Nation is still full of opportunists. Anywhoo, witness the birth of another stupid Katara nickname. The idea the Zuko looks like Ozai came from the episode where he got sick and started hallucinating. Avatar Extras said that Ozai is the unscarred evil faces of Zuko, so I took that and ran with it. Zuko looks like his father. Not so bad when you're Sokka and your father is Hakoda. Kinda unsettling when you're Zuko and your father is Ozai.
And, once again, it's time for my reminder that this is a two part story. I just don't want anyone to be surprised that it doesn't wrap up nicely after this. On the same day I post chapter 19, I'll post chapter 1 of Finding My Way Home. There are a few reasons for the separation, the main one being that Finding My Way Home quickly became something very different from The Chase. It became less about hunting and more about settling in and and finding where you belong, so it differs thematically. Also, big changes in narration style. So...yeah.