Author's Note: Shamelessly rewriting Book 2 to scratch that Zutara itch. Is it a bit out there? Perhaps. Am I sorry? Nope.
/ / /
stuck in the aftermath
Katara, Sokka and Aang travel the Earth Kingdom, continuing on their journey to help Aang master all the elements. Things go back to normal, as far as normal can describe their weird little family of three, but Katara is strangely unsettled after the North Pole.
At night, she wakes up in terror, haunted by visions of a moonless sky, of a world gone dark, of a balance that can never be restored. They had won, she knows, but they had been dangerously close to losing. The fact that Aang and Sokka have seamlessly slipped back into lighthearted banter as if nothing happened irritates her more than she'd like to admit.
In nights like those, she eases herself back in her sleeping bag and feels the patterns carved on her mother's necklace with her fingers. Kya's voice comes like a whisper of the wind and eases her back to a restless sleep, telling her stories of Tui and La like echoes from a childhood that she has long since been robbed of.
The moon and the ocean. Push and pull. The balance between good and evil.
Her mother used to tell her that the two spirits were in love, fated to circle each other in an endless dance. Katara sometimes wonders if that wasn't just a pretty story she made up to calm her down.
And if they always move, always chasing each other, but never quite reaching, what is so good about the story anyway? Katara doesn't get it and for some reason it bugs her.
/ / /
shadow of the night, and not so mythical after all
On one such sleepless night, she decides she can't take any more of her brother's loud snoring and stands up to take a walk. It is only when the water's pull makes itself known in her conscious mind that she realizes her feet have a direction.
The night is soft with the moon's gentle glow – the moon that is blissfully still there despite a Fire Nation admiral's deranged determination to snuff it out – and the river's rumble is a welcome soothing sound to Katara's anxious ears. Her fingers itch to reach out to her element, but she stills in place near the shadow of a large tree, not quite close enough to the riverbank.
She doesn't know what's put her instincts on high alert, but she obeys her intuition all the same. She isn't alone here, feeling someone else's presence way before seeing it.
A cloud moves in the sky and Katara nearly falls over at the sight that's illuminated before her eyes.
On the other side of the river, there's a dark figure crouched over the water, hand wading in the shallows. Her fingers are already hovering over her waterskin, but the stranger doesn't seem to have noticed her, shrouded in darkness as she still is. Then their head lifts up and her mouth opens in a silent gasp when she sees the Blue Spirit's face. She blinks, fast, and tries to make sense of the situation.
Is this a spirit? Or is it a man? A ghost? A murderer?
She's inclined to believe that maybe Aang wasn't completely delirious when he told them about his run-in with the vigilante, and she remembers the Blue Spirit saved him from Zhao, but that does nothing to ease her sudden fear.
Whoever it is that's standing on the other side of the river, man or ghost, they seem alert now, so she must have given herself away. But then they give a sigh – a decidedly human one – and just slump their shoulders and stare down at the water.
Katara thinks she hears a grumble and then she follows the ominous smile of the mask – it is a mask, she is now certain, and not some phantom from the spirit world – as it is pulled from the stranger's head and discarded on a nearby rock. Her eyes trail back to the face that's now illuminated by the moonlight and there's no way she's managed to keep her shock silent now.
Because the person standing there isn't a stranger at all. Well, maybe he is, but not in the way she's painfully familiar with the scorch of his flaming attacks.
It takes her two whole seconds to recognize him, what with his head being covered with hair – when did that happen – but there's no mistaking that scar. The Blue Spirit who's been stealing from Fire Nation soldier camps is Zuko.
And now he's staring right at her.
Katara takes an involuntary step backward, and then a very voluntary hold of a water whip. Zuko hasn't moved to attack her, but she's certain he will. When has he not?
But he still doesn't move, and she backs away carefully.
"Wait," he speaks up finally, voice easily carrying over the serene flow of the water. It isn't the harsh demand she's accustomed to hearing; no, it's hesitant and unassuming.
She hates that it makes her stride waver.
She assumes a fighting stance as she waits, eyes narrowed. "I'm not going to hurt you," Zuko says, hands held up in defense as if that would ever convince her. "Can I… Can I cross the river?" He clears his throat, and it strikes her for the first time that when he isn't trying to kill her, he's actually very awkward. Huh. "Without you drowning me, I mean?"
She doesn't say anything, but she flinches when he propels himself with a burst of firebending, obviously having read her silence for acquiescence. He holds himself at a distance, but she eyes the sheathed duo swords on his back warily. It's a good thing she has a whole river by her side.
"I didn't mean to scare you."
"I'm not scared by you," she spits out, but if she has to be honest with herself, she is, a little.
Zuko takes a tentative step forward and she instantly recoils, a snarl forming at her lips. She doesn't know what game he's playing at, but she'd be damned if she left now and let him follow her back to their camp. She is so stupid, she thinks as the silence stretches, their eyes pinned on the other in a wordless battle. He's bested her before, so he could do it again, right here in the dead of night, and he must know now that the Avatar is nearby, so there's nothing stopping him from going after him, capturing him, killing him. Spirits, she's so stupid and reckless and–
"Can you heal?" he asks finally. He sounds embarrassed but he still doesn't look away.
"I…" Katara is taken aback. Of all the things she's expected him to try and pry out of her, by force if he has to, the words uttered with quiet almost-reverence catch her thoroughly unprepared. "Yes," she says, because there's no reason to hide it. He hasn't seen her do it, she doesn't think, but it's common knowledge many waterbenders possess that ability.
"Could you…" Zuko looks away now, pale face flushed, and Katara stares with wide eyes, because it sounds an awful lot like he's about to make a request. "It's just… my uncle. He's unwell."
Her eyebrows furrow in a frown. His uncle, for all the tales of his grand conquests as a Fire Nation General, has always seemed… kind, in a way, even though she doesn't know him. Somehow removed from the reality of the horrors she's come to associate with his homeland. He's always struck her as different.
Kind of like how Zuko's striking her right now.
"I'm sorry," he says finally, releasing them from the tension of the prolonged silence. "I shouldn't have assumed…"
The absurdity of the situation is not lost on him, it seems. He is refusing to meet her eyes and she knows it must have greatly wounded his pride to ask what he just has. But apparently, he holds his uncle's health in higher regard than he does his own pride. In much higher regard, if he would willingly reduce himself, a prince, to asking for the help of a peasant – an enemy.
"It's fine," she says curtly. "I'll do it."
His eyes flash back to hers, wide with disbelief, and she, too, has a hard time believing what she's just said. But she is a healer and she's promised herself to help. No matter what insignia the people she's helping are wearing, or the side of the war they've found themselves on.
Despite his shock, Zuko doesn't test her decision and just gives her a nod. With another burst of fire, he's at the other side of the river again, picking up bags of supplies Katara presumes he's stolen from the nearby village. She uses her waterbending to cross over and follow him, eyeing the provisions curiously.
He seems almost ashamed when he catches her looking. But she understands. Out here, he isn't really a prince. And there are things he must do to survive, even if they lean towards the dishonorable side of the spectrum. From what she's heard, it isn't villagers he steals from.
He motions with his head towards the woods and Katara hesitates for a second, looking back to the vast supply of water she's about to leave behind. Briefly, she considers the very real possibility that this may be a trap. But in the end, she sees no reason for him to capture her, not when the Avatar is so close. She could be wrong, of course, and she is a good bargaining chip to get to Aang, but for some reason she trusts that he's telling the truth, if only because of the apparent concern on his face.
With a sharp exhale, she starts walking and hopes to all stars above that she won't come to regret it. Zuko is silent but his presence is prominent by her side.
/ / /
not what you expected to find, is it?
As fates would have it, the firebenders' camp isn't very far from her own. General Iroh is lying on his back, unconscious in what looks like a very restless slumber, his breaths shallow and strained. There's perspiration on his forehead and it takes only a touch to feel he has a high fever.
Katara crouches down beside him and removes the damp cloth from his forehead. Zuko has tried to do some healing of his own, it seems, but it's clear he has no idea what to do. He doesn't say a word to object to her touching his uncle. It's plain to see he's terrified.
"What happened?" she asks softly, glancing up at him.
"White jade bush, I think." Zuko scratches the back of his head, looking unsure. "Is it… serious?"
Katara closes her eyes as her palms hover over the old man's chest. It takes her a while to gauge the severity of his condition, but she can feel Zuko's patience wearing thin, pacing behind her like he is.
"He'll live," she says, opening her eyes. "But it will take time to heal. His airways are constricted. The inflammation is spreading quickly. He could have…" Something in Zuko's eyes stops her mid-sentence. "It's good that you found me," she says instead.
"I didn't mean to," he grumbles, and she resists the urge to roll her eyes. "But you're right. Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet." Katara takes off her coat and walks over to the fire where he's discarded their provisions. "I need bacui berries."
"Is this it?" Zuko holds up a branch of pink fruit, looking uncertain. "Uncle wasn't sure."
She moves closer to him to examine them. "I think so," she murmurs, tearing out one leaf gently.
"He said they could also be some other kind of poisonous berry, so if you aren't sure–"
Katara scoffs quietly and moves past him. "Just trust me. I need a bowl and fresh water."
He's quiet after that and she notices his apprehension as he watches her work. She supposes she would be unsure too if she were in his shoes. It'd be all too easy to poison his uncle in this situation. But Katara ignores his stare, and he doesn't protest further, apparently deciding to take a chance on her just like she'd done for him. After she's applied the green herbal paste, she focuses on freeing Iroh's airways, careful to keep the inflammation from climbing further.
Her eyes grow heavy, and she does her best to hold onto her concentration. She's still new at this and it takes a toll. The most she's ever had to heal is a simple cut and she's terrified she'll mess up. Maybe Zuko is right to be afraid.
/ / /
you're my enemy, so how is it that I feel your pain
She doesn't even realize she's bit her lip hard enough to draw blood until his hand settles lightly on her shoulder. She jerks, startled, and her hands instantly stop glowing. "What?"
"Take a break. You're exhausted. I don't want you to make a fatal mistake."
She is exhausted. Her forehead is sweating, and she feels slightly light-headed, but that has never deterred her stubbornness before. "I won't be able to come back until tomorrow night, so I have to do as much as I can to tide him over until then."
Gold eyes widen at that. He didn't expect she'd come back then. She wasn't sure she would either, but she wasn't lying earlier – Iroh's condition was a hair's breadth away from worsening beyond repair.
Katara works for a while longer. Then he comes to stand beside her once more and she is gruffly handed a bowl of stew. She looks up at Zuko with an unspoken question, but he refuses to meet her eyes.
She accepts with a sigh and moves closer to the fire. He sits a few feet away and they eat in silence. The stew is tasteless at best, but Katara is grateful, nonetheless. It replenishes her strength the slightest bit and maybe in a bit she'll be able to move on to the right lung.
"Thank you," Zuko rasps out after what feels like an eternity.
"Don't mention it."
He nods and finishes his bowl. Katara sets hers to the side and glances at him briefly. His face seems more weathered somehow, despite how battered it was the last time she saw him. It speaks of systematic exhaustion and maybe even hunger. If she had to guess, she'd say he's only started stealing food recently. His uncle does seem like his moral compass, and one that he's now afraid he might lose. His ponytail is gone, and he looks strikingly different without it.
Katara thinks he looks better with a full head of hair, despite his obvious malnourishment. But that is neither here, nor there.
Zuko apparently senses her staring because he turns his head slightly and looks at her. He isn't intimidating, not right now, but she feels a jolt in her chest, nevertheless. The shadows cast by the fire dance across the marred part of his face, and she feels her face pull down in a frown.
She's seen the posters around the towns they've been to. Zuko and Iroh are now fugitives.
She doesn't know whether to believe he stumbled across her by mere chance, or if he is still chasing the Avatar. But for now, they seem to be at a standstill, almost a truce of sorts.
"Do you…" He clears his throat, sheepish. "What kinds of things can you heal?"
Katara shrugs and finally has the presence of mind to look away. "Cuts. Wounds. I've never done this type of thing before though."
He nods, seeming flustered for whatever reason. He opens and closes his mouth a few times and on the third try that yields no sound, Katara realizes what he's thinking. "Zuko," she starts, gentler than she knew she had the strength to be to him. His head snaps in her direction and he's almost dazzling in the shock at hearing his own name spoken by her this way. She gives a small shake of her head. "I can't heal that. I'm sorry."
He just nods again and looks down at his lap. His fingers hover over his ruined cheek and it looks like he isn't even aware he's doing it, but something about the image unsettles Katara in a way she would have never expected. She's noticed his scar before, but she's never seen it up close, and that ridiculous ponytail had always diverted her attention. But now the fire illuminates it, Zuko doesn't even try to hide from her prying eyes, and she feels… sympathy. For him. For some unknown reason.
And the longer she looks at him, the clearer that fuzzy reason becomes. Her eyes widen and she can't restrain her movements as she lifts her arm towards him, not quite close enough to touch. Her palm stretches out, hiding the burned side of his face from her vision. She sees his good eye flicker to her, but he says nothing.
She can't hold in the terrified gasp that escapes her lips as realization dawns on her.
"I'm so sorry," Katara hears herself whispering. Her arm falls limply to her lap, but her eyes don't. She can clearly see exactly where the hand had been, in exactly what position the person to have burned Zuko had held him. She's being awfully rude, but she's also unable to look away.
"I don't need your pity," he says gruffly and stands up to walk away from her.
She returns to healing his uncle and when she's done, she doesn't even try to say goodbye before she leaves. She doesn't think her and Zuko exchanging pleasantries of any sort will ever feel natural, but she's aware of the urge she'd had to tell him it isn't pity she feels at all. She walks away in silence.
/ / / / /
Author's Note: Longer one this time. Feedback, be it positive or negative, is greatly appreciated. kthxbye!