Zutara Week 2012

Day 2

Prompt: Momentous

A/N: This time, a bit of angst. :)

Momentous: [moh-men-tuhs] adj. of great or far-reaching importance or consequence.

Velvety royal blue; shimmering blue flowers peeping from chocolate curls. Silver, everywhere; in the lace trim of her sleeves and hem, glittering from the mask that covered half of her face. Her eyes were lined with the blackest kohl; combined with azure irises and mocha skin, it gave her a wild, exotic look.

It should have been perfect- everything about this night- but it wasn't.

Zuko was missing. The ball was in full swing; swirls of elaborate robes and long dresses, glitters of gossamer masks, clinks of delicate glasses as people toasted over their firewhiskey. Not much to toast, Katara thought bitterly, pushing her way as politely as she could through the crowd. The party was routine, a tradition established since the end of the war. Ambassadors, nobles, and royalty from all corners of the world would gather at the Fire Palace for the most elegant party of the year, while festivals and carnivals wracked the Palace City for an entire week afterwards. Usually, Katara immersed herself in the joviality of it all; but this year, she knew, there was the least reason to celebrate.

Over the past few months, towns and cities had been pillaged by merciless rebels; over the past few weeks, two attempts had been made to end the Fire Lord's- her boyfriend's- life. Zuko was at his wit's end, and it wasn't even for himself, she knew. He was worried about his nation, about his people; he was worried about what would happen if he failed.

Eventually, Katara reached Zuko's study; and not bothering to knock as she usually would, she simply pushed her way past the doors.

Zuko didn't bother to look up from the papers he was supposedly immersed in; but she knew better. "I'll be there in a minute."

Katara pushed a breath past her lips. "Zuko."

He looked up. How long had those bags been there, she wondered; those incriminating shadows beneath his eyes? And why hadn't she noticed them until now?

She felt, rather than saw, the pad of his thumb graze her lip. "You'll make it bleed."

Katara released her bottom lip; she hadn't even realized she was biting it. "Why aren't you at the ball?"

"Paperwork," he answered succintly. "The paperwork never ends."

"Zuko," she said again. "I know you better."

"I can handle this." The line of determination in his jaw was something he knew he inherited from his father. "Trust me, 'Tara, I'm okay."

"Zuko…" Her fingers grazed his hairline.

"I can handle it." The words were forced past gritted teeth.

Her trailing hands moved to hold his face, cupping each cheek with her palms. "Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Pretend," she said, words fervent. "I deserve better."

His smile was wry. "You do."

"Oh Zuko, talk to me," she pleaded, fingers kneading his temples. "Don't pretend you're okay when you aren't. You can share things with me, Zuko- you don't have to take care of it all by yourself. That's what intimacy is."

Katara undid his topknot, pulling the crown from it and setting it on the desk. "It's hard," he finally said, and the words literally wrenched from his throat.

She nodded encouragingly, threading her fingers through his hair; but he closed his mouth in a certain manner, his lips pressing together in a way that told her he wouldn't divulge any more.

Zuko gently pried her fingers from his scalp, picked up his crown and his mask. He rose. "We're already late."

Katara nodded, and she didn't know why her chest rang with the pangs of loss.

Zuko extended a hand to her, accompanied with a small smile full of the apologies he couldn't verbally say. "Coming?"

She nodded again; and somehow, in that moment, as her tapered fingers slid into his calloused palm, Katara felt worlds shift and collide and rearrange themselves. Everything had just changed between them, in that insignificant second, in a few carelessly uttered words. And, she thought dismally, it may be too late to do anything about it.