Katara is standing on his balcony, looking out over the sea. Zuko knows that his bed is behind him, and he can hear the waves crashing relentlessly against the rocks far below.
She turns toward him, the wind tugging at her hair and her clothing while her blue eyes pierce him as they did years ago, when they were so young and he was the enemy.
I don't want Aang, she tells him.
She steps closer. I don't want anyone.
And then she is there with her arms and her hair wrapped around him and her mouth is hot and wet and she is burning. His blood is burning and he can hear the waves crashing.
The waves are crashing into the tower far below and Katara is warm and substantial in his arms and the stones are cracking and crumbling and the palace is crashing down.
Katara is in his arms warm and soft and hot and perfect and they are falling together, crashing together into the sea.
He pulls her closer, holds her tight and shuts his eyes, waiting to hit the water, waiting to be crushed, ready to drown.
Zuko wakes up gasping, tangled in sheets damp with sweat.
Zuko wakes up alone.