A/N:
thank you LovetoRead613 for leaving such a thoughtful comment!
I've been waiting an eternity to post this chapter! please enjoy šš
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The apartment was quiet except for the sound of the water gargling through the pipes and the fridge growling occasionally. That and the creak of floorboards. Even the muffled city sounds were soft at 1:00am on a Tuesday.
Snip snip snip went the kitchen scissors. Wet water dripped down Zuko's neck onto her fingers. It was cool and Katara shivered.
After their most recent shouting match in the street, they'd both had trouble sleeping. As they lay in the dark and listened to the other's breathing, Katara offered to finally cut his hair.
He'd only asked her three months before. Andā¦ she'd never gotten around to it. Didn't think of it as a priorityāhadn't made Zuko the priority in yearsāso it just didn't happen.
This felt like a good first step.
A tiny nudge in the right direction.
"Zukoā¦" Katara began, combing her fingers through his wet hair. "Have you thought of seeing someoneāyou knowāfor the sadness? It seems like more than normal." She didn't voice how much more than normal it seemed.
He was silent.
Katara chewed on her tongue, steeling herself to remain quiet and allow him to answer in his own time.
The Snip snip sniping of the kitchen scissors resumed. Bit by bit she trimmed away the ends of his shoulder length locks. She pulled each section up and slid the snipping scissors down each edge. His dark curtain of hair fell away. The short style revealed high cheekbones and his striking golden eyes.
Zuko was still thinking and she could almost hear the gears turning in his brain.
"Uh, I mean. No." He finally said.
Katara didn't speak straight away. She paused in cutting, resting her palm comfortingly at his shoulder. Stray slivers of hair feathered across his t-shirt and she absently brushed them away.
"Hmmā¦" She began, gently "It might help you to have someone you can speak to who wouldn't judge you or blame you. Or, you know, even have an opinion."
"Maybe." He swallowed.
"It's just a thought." Katara said. She resumed trimming. "No pressure. I promise."
"Katara." He turned without warning.
She pulled the scissors back just in time to avoid cutting him. "Careful!"
Zuko grimaced, took the hand with scissors and lowered it. "Kat."
"Yes?" She frowned. "What is important enough to risk decapitation?"
"Please don't promise me anything."
She began to protest but he gripped her hand.
"No, please listen. Don't make me any promises. Iā¦" He swallowed again. "IāuhāI don't think I could take it if you didn't keep another one."
His words were like a slap to the face.
She opened her mouth to retort but he flinched away from her. Her stomach dropped. Her throat tightened. Once again icy shame zipped along her spine. She'd conditioned this response in him. She'd done damage that couldn't be healed in a single night.
This was her doing.
Katara took a deep breath in, and held it. She held it. And held the breath. And kept the air in her lungs another second before exhaling it. "Okay, Zuko. I can try. No promises to not make promises."
He exhaled pure relief. "Okay."
Before he could turn back around in his chair, Katara kissed him. His mouth was warm. His mouth was welcoming. Zuko leaned into her touch with full surrender.
His eyelashes fluttered closed, and his body relaxed. It took so little to appease him. She on the other hand made every want a battle of tug-a-war. That was yet another trait she had to fix. The list seemed to have no end.
"I love you." He said.
Katara was once again thankful for her stubbornness. If her personality was part of the problem, she would reform it. She would and she could.
She brushed her fingertips along his jaw, affectionately. "It might sound crazy, you probably don't believe me, but I love you too." And as she said the words, she meant them as an oath.
He took her face in his slender hands and pulled her down for a full kiss.
It was quick, but communicated more than words could.
He swiveled around and she continued to snip away at his wet mullet.
As she cut, she began to inventory the interaction.
He was willing as always to please. Was that a bad thing? Katara honestly didn't know. His devotion scared herābut the fear might stem from the abandonment she was so accustomed to. Sokka, her father, Jet, and Aang, were just a few names on the list.
But, it would never be Zuko.
She knew that for a fact.
Zuko's breathing evened out as she combed her fingers through his damp locks. His shoulders lowered. The hair that fell away represented much more than a new look. Away with the dead ends dropped just a tiny bit of the hatredāas unintentional as it had always been between them.
He washed his hair and they settled down to sleep around 2:00am.
It was several hours before Katara managed to nod off.
Zuko lay awake.
He couldn't put the night's events out of his mind. He'd met Jet and he'd seen Katara interact with him. The interaction had been handsy. That wasn't even the worst part. She'd looked at Jet with fiery eyes. She saw that manāreally saw himāspoke directly to him without hesitation.
The jealousy would be overwhelmingly unbearable if it were not for one thing.
All of that paled in importance. Zuko started the fight this time. Like usual, Katara hadn't failed to finish it
The difference tonight was that Katara's anger hadn't been directed at him. It was something altogether alien to hear her voice rise in displeasure and not be the recipient. Her fury had been as far removed from him as the sun was from the earth.
Her words were ringing through his mind. Ringing. Ringing. Ringing. Again and again, her voice said, "You're wrong. You are not worthless. You are not."
His fingers were numb where he gripped them over his heart.
That one sentiment was earth-shattering.
It was too big to comprehend.
It tilted his world on its axis at a 180-degree angle. It was like the whole universe had tiltedānot just his world. Katara was upside down too.
His father and Azula had fallen to the bottom of his personal globe. His whole life they reigned supreme at the very top.
Could they really be wrong? It was possible. He hoped with all his heart they were.
All from that one sentence: You Are Not Worthless.
You are not worthless not worthless not worthless not worthless.
He could breathe.
He felt for the first time in his entire life like his throat wasn't closed and his chest wasn't tight. He could breathe and he was allowed to. He wasn't worthless.
And then she had told him she loved himācompletely unprompted. Completely on her own. The words were hers. The voice was hers. She him.
The world spun with the universe and he was at its center spinning too.
It wasā¦
It wasā¦?
Amazing.
Amazing, but incomplete.
His dreams of acceptance were not exactly fulfilled. He wanted more. He needed more of the buzzing warmth her words had brought.
Sleep evaded him for a long long time. When the predawn light began to crawl through the gap in their curtains, he was still staring at the ceiling in rapture.
Iroh's apartment was situated on the ground floor. It was a quaint space with detailed crown molding and faded wallpaper. The two-bedroom three-bathroom apartment made Katara's one-bed feel like a broom closet. His kitchen continued the antique feel. He had a boxy blue fridge and a short black stove and a wide yellow sink. The cupboards that lined the kitchen were painted a pale lilac-y pink.
Katara stood at the deep sink washing dishes. She'd asked Iroh if he could go out for coffee. He invited her to his home instead. Coffee? Of course he didn't want coffee.
She lathered the sudsy soap up, squishing the sponge between her nervous hands. She rinsed the final pan and set it to dry in the dish rack.
He hadn't asked her to clean but she knew standing for long periods was difficult for him.
Iroh limped into the kitchen, favoring the leg that hadn't received surgery. He smiled at her and winked. She pursed her lips, too on edge for a smile of her own. He settled himself into one of the high-backed antique chairs.
His home really was a clutter of mismatched antiques.
"Come and sit down. I value you taking the time to clean my home as much as the next man, but it is time to rest and chat. Would you like tea?" His eyes twinkled.
"I would." Of course not coffee.
She was rewarded with a wide smile.
"Good, good." He patted her shoulder before heaving himself up with a great harumph.
"Let me!" She began to stand but he waved her off.
"No, dear, I can handle myself just fine."
She folded her hands neatly in her lap and waited. "Thank you, Iroh, for coming with us to dinner tomorrow. I'm worried about Zuko."
He chuckled, his voice rumbling through the small room. "Katara my daughter, I am happy that I can join you. Let us go into battle against Zhao together. Two are better against any foe."
He returned to the table with a treat-laden tray. He winked conspiratorially as he set the cups out and began to prepare the tea. He shuffled leaves around in their jar. His wide and wrinkled hands were nimble.
He adjusted her cup just so. She wrapped her hands around it to stop from fidgeting. That was one of Zuko's more annoying habits and she wasn't trying to pick it up. "Battle? That seems like a strong word."
He patted her hand. "It is far from it."
She watched as he began the first pour of the hot water over the jasmine tea leaves.
She found herself fiddling with her skirt. Great. The fabric was silky smooth, soft to the touch. She closed her fist tightly, crumpling it. There was one very specific question she wanted to ask him.
It was a terrifying one. Her pride had already suffered so much that she almost didn't believe she could open her mouth and spit it out. More criticism was not the least bit attractive. But, change didn't come without sacrifice. She was prepared for discomfort.
Looking up directly at Iroh, Katara faced the worst head-on. "Iroh, how badly have I hurt him?"
Just enough to maim.
Those words that came to mind were the ones she had always attributed to her break up with Jet. It was so fitting to her and Zuko's marriage that she felt nauseous. Her stomach did a neat little backflip and she swallowed.
Enough to cut deep and leave behind scars.
Iroh frowned. "Marriage isn't a competition. You don't win arguments and you don't lose them. It is a healthy part of the process." He pet her knuckles. There was worry in his eyes but also an uncanny understanding.
She bit back a protest about winning arguments that jumped to her lips. And, any comments about the health of arguing.
Instead, Katara said, "No, but I have hurt him, Iroh. I've hurt him so badly that he can't look at me without cringing away. He can't stand me, but he wouldn't leave me even if he needed to."
The words tasted like ash.
"Then," Iroh sighed heavily, "If he won't leave, you must make his home a safe place once again." He fixed her with a stern stare. There was gentleness but it was matched by seriousness. "If he cannot walk on his own you must carry him until he can. Help alongside his limp. Be kind Katara. You know as well as I how fragile he has become. Marriage is the process of two becoming one. If one of the two is injured, then both are. Be his crutch."
Iroh clinked the ceramic lid onto the stout teapot and poured the first draft of tea into a second kettle.
She watched his practiced movements as she digested his words. They sounded niceāvery sage, very wiseābut was she capable of such selflessness? Katara supposed she would find out. There wasn't any way forward but, well, forward.
Iroh set the first kettle down and folded his hands atop the table.
"I want him to get therapy." She said.
Iroh paused. He thought for a moment and she could see the genuine concentration.
"Hmmmm. That may be a very good idea for him. I am afraid his father looked down on that sort of thing. It might be very difficult indeed to convince him."
"I'm worried I waited too longā¦ in this whole situation."
"It's never too late to start. Some wounds cannot be healed but how will you know if you do not try."
"I want him to get better because," she blushed, "Uh, because he's always been there for me. Supported me the best he can. I realized it yesterday actually. Talk about embarrassing. I want him toāuh. He deserves better." She flushed deeply.
"He deserves good things, you are right. Your marriage may come to be good for him yet."
Katara's eyes stung and blurred and she reached across the space separating them to embrace Iroh.
"Thank you." She said, simply. Silent tears dripped down her chin. They were a mixture of mortification, shame, and hope.
He hugged her tightly. "Thank you, Katara. I was afraid your marriage was at an end. Love him. He needs it."
"I'm gonna really try." She whispered.
She let go and scooted back in her chair.
"My nephew has done his best for a very long time." He fixed her with one last pointed look. "Do not let his efforts become a waste."
"No. No, I won't." She shook her head, wiping her face with trembling hands.
She meant it.
The tea was pretty good too. Even if it wasn't coffee.
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Thursday evening, Zuko walked in on Katara standing over a jumble of dresses, skirts, and tops, on her bed. She had an option gripped in each fist. It was obvious she was on the verge of tearing her hair out.
"Zuko!" She greeted him with a scowl.
"Yes?" He covered his amusement poorly but she was too incensed to notice.
"Help me! Does black seem dressy enough?" She shoved a long black sweater with beading across the front in his direction.
"Uhhh. Yeah. Totally Kat." He couldn't honestly say whether or not black was dressy. He also wasn't a fan of that sweater. It made him think of Tuesday and Jet's hands on her bare skin.
She threw the clothes onto the pile. "This is impossible! What am I doing?"
"It's just dinner."
"Just dinner with Zhao GuÄn! Just your Not-Uncle with all the money and none of the decency. Yeah. Just dinner."
"Hey, calm down. We'll be fine. We have Sokka to back us up, right?"
"I mean, yes. He said he's still going to be there. Butā" She scowled, hands automatically jumping to her hips. "Zuko, we can always tell him we're busy or something. We don't have to eat dinner with Zhao." She took his hand gently in both of her own. They were cool. "I was wrong to ask you." There was genuine pain in her voice and on her face.
He blinked, totally taken aback.
Katara was wrong?
He squeezed her hands and quirked a grimace. "Maybeeeeeeā¦"
"No. I shouldn't have asked you to contact your family when it's obvious there's a reason they aren't around. I should have realized I was being an ass."
He didn't correct her. The words coming from her mouth were the sweetest thing he'd ever heard. He reached up to cup her cheek. Her flushed face was blazing to the touch. His hand trailed along her throat, tracing the faint veins in her skin,
"Zuko. Let's cancel." She whispered.
He buried his face in her hair. She smelled so so nice. He breathed her in and it was comforting and arousing all at once.
"I can't." He muffled into her hair.
"Why?"
Why? To prove I'm not weak? He wanted to say. To prove to you I'm not worthless? To prove I can do the one little thing you asked me to even if you've taken it back.
But saying those things aloud was too hard. He couldn't voice them. He sealed those words away and instead what came out was this: "Thank you. I want to do this. Can you support me?"
"Iāyeah. I can." She held him back. Her arms were firm against his trembling sides.
The dim sum restaurant Zhao chose was ornateāand expensive. If they weren't about to meet with the third worst person on earth, Katara would be thrilled to have dinner here.
The place smelled like heaven.
The three of them were seated and waiting. She and Zuko sat knee to knee. He held her hand firmly and she swirled soothing circles into his palm. Sokka slouched in his chair. He wouldn't stop scowling and refused to talk. He wasn't having any of this.
Butā¦ he had showed up. That had to count for something. No one discussed Tuesday.
Katara adjusted the fabric bunched at her hips again and twisted a lock of hair nervously. She was always nervous around Zhao. This was a terrible idea.
This terrible idea was all her fault in the grand scheme of things.
Katara gave her brother one last warning look. "I know this is hard for you but please be on your best behavior."
"Yeah, yeah." Sokka rolled his eyes.
Two smartly dressed men twined their way through the dining room, past the moving carts and staff, and up to their table.
The first words out of Zhao's mouth were, "It's a pity Azula couldn't be here this evening." Condemnation was his greatest skill. "Iroh is running late I see." Another criticism.
Katara bit her tongue. She stood and offered a hand to her faux uncle-in-law. "It's so nice to see you!" The words slipped through her teeth like silk being tugged.
He took her hand and pulled her in for a stiff side hug.
Zuko looked down at his hands. His fingers fluttered against the table nervously.
There was a glint of pleasure in Zhao's black eyes as he watched Zuko's reaction. "You're just as lovely as always my dear Mrs. Nilak."
It was a jab with style only he could provide. His voice said what his mouth did not. Zuko flinched.
Poor. Low. Worthless.
"Oh, my apologies dear. I always use the wrong surname. I'm sure your father wouldn't mind though. Family legacy and all thatā¦"
His arm tightened briefly at her side and then he was drawing away to straighten his suit jacket. His very expensive suit jacket. He brushed himself off like one might crumbs.
Lei was the opposite of his father. He shook Katara's hand and grimaced in apology. More empty greetings were exchanged. Zhao took his seat at the farthest chair from them. It was a small table but the sentiment was clearly communicated.
The waitstaff were polite and efficient. No doubt they recognized Zhao's face. He was a very high-level man. The kind of high level that got plenty of publicity.
They ordered and made small talk. When food arrived, Sokka was the only one with an appetite.
He began shoveling little sui mai and other assorted dumplings into his mouth. Katara tried not to cringe. At least someone was enjoying dinner.
She herself only nibbled at the glazed chicken feet (her favorite). It was delicious but she simply didn't have an appetite.
"So, your sister tells me you're a famous comedian now." Zhao directed the statement at Sokka. His tone of voice was pleasant enough but it held the mildest touch of humor. The humor was what made all the difference.
"Wow! She said that about me? It seems like my sister has as big a mouth as she's always had." Sokka shot a look her way.
Zuko's hand twitched under the table right up against her thigh.
"Oh?" Zhao exchanged a look with his son. "Has it been a while since you last spoke? It's a pity. You know what I mean, broken families can only be so close."
Zuko was clenching his fist into her thigh. Out of reflex Katara took his wrist, smoothing his palm out on his own knee.
Sokka cleared his throat. "Oh? Broken families seem to be run-of-the-mill. Where did you say your wife was staying?" He smushed some lo bak go around on his plate.
Zhao didn't narrow his eyes but his smile tightened. "Did I mention my wife?"
"No, I don't remember you doing that. Sorry, your ex-wife. I forgot."
"She is alive and well."
Katara blanched at the comment. The hair on the back of her neck prickled, standing up in furious attention. It was Zuko's turn to try to pry her gripping fist off of his fingers.
"Lei, when was the last time you saw your mother?" Zhao asked.
Lei stared at his napkin. "Um, it was Sunday." He was shuffling his food around too.
"Yes. He and his mother are very close. Speaking of mothers, Zuko. Have you spoken with your mother recently?" If a voice could be sugar-coated in smug malice, Zhao's was diabetic.
Katara spoke up, deflecting the attack. She squeezed Zuko's hand in a vice grip. "Mr Zhao. We've barely had the chance to talk about you!"
"What do you want to know?" And his tone seemed to promise, I'm very successful.
"Yeah, Mr Zhao, what's been going on with you? Besides the marital issues." Sokka cut in.
Ignoring Sokka he said, "I wouldn't want to brag butā¦" He rubbed a steady hand over his bearded chin. "Things have been good. Lei, tell them about the promotion."
Lei was twisting the corner of his napkin and he still wouldn't look up. "Yeah. Stuff at work is good."
"Zuko! Tell us, how have you been coping?"
"Things are good at the Jasmine Dragon! It's too bad Uncle Iroh couldn't make it." Zuko checked his phone again. Still no reply.
Katara would be nervous if Iroh wasn't perpetually late to everything.
"Yesā¦" Zhao sighed. "It's too bad. He's such a generous man. I wasn't sure if you would find a job afterā¦ the whole delicate severance situation. It's a pity Katara was the one to take over her position and not you. What do they call that? Quid pro quo? Ah. My mistake. Marriage."
Four bodies at the table paused. Brief though the pause was, it was an icy one.
His way with words was so ass-backwards but if she wasn't mistakenā¦
"I always thought you'd be the one to inherit your father's legacy. When he asked me to offer you a position since your sister was his choice candidate, well. How sacrificial to give it to Katara."
"Wait. What are we talking about?" Sokka braced his elbows against the silk tablecloth.
"It's old news."
"Yes," Katara started. "It is old news Zhao. I earned my spot."
"Oh, I never implied you didn't."
Zuko was shaking for real. His fingers twitched and spasmed against her knee. "Uncle. That'sāYouāHow isā"
"Some ways of earning are a bit more archaic than others." Zhao's lips twisted around the words.
Sokka stood up stiffly, he was chewing his lips furiously and the two men held locked gazes across the small table.
"Say it again. Say that to me again."
"Your sister never told you she was promoted in lieu of her husband? Not long after they were married in fact."
"I don't see how that's relevant." Lei sounded weary. He finally looked up. He placed a gentle and placating hand on Zhao's arm. "Father. Can't we please have a pleasant meal?"
"As long you insist on insulting me and my sister I refuse to sit at the same table as filth like you." Sokka gestured wildly knocking several glasses of ice water over in the process.
Katara and Sokka both reached for the mess of glass and ice. Their skulls cracked together. He swore loudly. She scrubbed at her scalp.
The whole restaurant was silent.
Zhao sneered but did not raise to the bait. "How humorous, I was thinking precisely the same thing."
Sokka scooped up a handful of ice, cutting himself on the glass, and chucked it at Zhao. "Shut your mouth."
Zhao almost leaped out of his seat. He picked ice from his expensive suit and dabbed urgently at the damp areas. Hopefully, it would stain.
Zuko stood then too and grabbed Katara's hand. His palm was sweaty. She squeezed back.
Zuko took in a deep breath, letting out, "He's right, about you being filth. I don't have to listen to you either. Why would I? All you've done is insult my wife, her family, and me. You're only cruel because you can be."
"Cruel? What a childish thing to call me."
"Yeah well. Thanks for meeting us."
"And who will pay for these damages?" Zhao asked coldly.
"You have money." Sokka answered. Then he stormed from the restaurant with all eyes on him.
Zuko and Lei shared apologetic glances. Zuko pulled Katara along with him in Sokka's footsteps.
He shouted behind them, "Uhāsorry about the mess!"
Once they were in the street Katara burst out laughing. She hugged Zuko so so tightly. He hugged her back half-heartedly.
Already, embarrassment and regret painted his drawn face.
"Don't be sorry! You should have seen yourself!"
"What are me?" Sokka cut in.
"Thank you Sokka." She untangled an arm to wrap it around his shoulders and pull him into the hug.
Standing in a huddle of limbs and grins, they looked weird outside of one of the priciest restaurants along the block. Who knew what passersby would assume. Katara found she didn't care.
"Have I missed dinner already?"
They all looked up to find Iroh in a nice suit and a floral bowtie.
"Sokka broke a few things." Katara answered with a reasonable level of chagrin.
"We, uh, left Zhao with the bill."
"Atta boy." And Iroh clapped his nephew firmly on the back.
Since only Sokka had eaten, they went out for second dinner.
Katara couldn't stop smiling the entire time. She was so proud of Zukoāand thankful for Sokkaāthat nothing could get her down. She didn't think about Zhao's insults even once.
Sunday night the dinner fiasco with Zhao was far enough removed to be funny.
It was late in the evening. Their bedroom glowed yellow with the artificial lights. Their bed was once again cluttered with clothing: laundry day and all that.
"Say it again." Zuko stage whispered. He was bad at impressions, but he wasn't letting something as trivial as that stop him.
His breath hit her on the back of the neck and she jumped out of her skin.
"Zuko. My brother sounds more like," and she pitched her voice up into a nasally whine. "As long as you bad mouth me and my family, I don't have to listen to trash people like you."
He laughed and flopped onto the bed beside her.
"Hey! Watch it!" She was far more concerned with the clothes she was folding than with the jump scare.
"Your brother is a lifesaver."
"I am thankful, I'll be honest. That was the worst 40 minutes of my life. Butā¦ don't you care that he and Jetā"
Zuko crept across the neat clothes pile to whisper in her ear, "Say that to me again." In his best attempt at sultry.
Katara burst out cackling. "Noo! Zukoā"
"Can you imagine them together? Sokka could still marry into wealth."
"No! And I'd rather die than facilitate that mental image!"
He grinned.
Warmth pooled in her belly. His face was beautiful. His smile was beautiful. He was beautiful. (His neat short hair only added to how pretty he was.)
It had so much to do with him the personāthe man on the insideāand yet that didn't take away from his outward looks.
Kind. He was kind despite the unkindness he had received in his life.
Zuko rested his head against her knee. He was staring up at her and his expression resembled adoration. That brought her up short.
His look of utter longing frightened her.
"Zukoā¦"
"Yes?" He sat, full attention on her.
"Youāwellā" But then Katara thought better of it. She could voice her concerns later when there was a firm barrier of trust to cushion the words. It was best to leave those worries for another day. "Never mind."
He curled a strand of her hair around and around an index finger. He twirled her hair up and up to her shoulder blade. "It's gotten so long."
"Hm."
He traced a line along her shoulders where her hair had once ended. "Were you happy back then?"
She paused mid-fold.
He continued the line across her bare skin.
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Becauseā¦" She set the folded shirt on its pile. "Someone wanted me."
"Was there ever a time when it mattered to you that it was me that wanted you?"
"Yes. As long as we've been together. I mean," her tone grew apologetic, "more towards the beginning."
"I hate you sometimes. Did you know that?"
"No." And it was true. She had never thought that he could feel that way. It was a sobering confession.
"Do you hate me?"
"Iā"
"Because I won't blame you for it."
"No Zuko."
"No?"
"No."
His fingers crawled along her bare skin. The motion was innocent, but despairing. Hopeless. He drew his hand away, letting her curls fall back to her shoulders.
She acutely felt the absence of his touch.
"I feel unimportant to you sometimes." The words caught in her throat like dry breadācloying. "You've always chosen Iroh over me. Andā¦ that's unfair of me. Granted, I understand that he's always been your family and I'm only your wife."
Behind her, he was silent.
She waited, tensed.
The damp warmth of lips pressed into her shoulder blade.
His fingers trailed along the exposed skin of her stomach. Zuko wrapped both arms around her waist and pulled her body into his.
Teeth and tongue met the cool skin of her shoulder.
Katara's breath hitched and she leaned into the touch in a daze.
His whispered words mixed with his kisses against her bare skin. "I hate myself. I think I always have. If you'veāif Iāyou do matter to me Katara." With each word his speech quickened. "If you hadn't loved me I wouldn't be here today. If you didn't love me I couldn't keep goingāsomehow you love me but I'm always afraid that if I burden you with my worries or my family or what makes me happy or what I want you'll hate me just as I much as I do."
Katara turned in her seat on the bed to stare at her husband. She didn't know what to do. His words horrified her.
He shrank back from her shocked look, an apologetic hunch stealing over him.
They stared at one another.
Moisture clung to his lowered lashes. A fresh tear rolled from the corner of his damaged eye and down his cheek to where his jaw worked. He was chewing and chewing the inside of his cheek.
Katara threaded her fingers through his hair. "That was hard for you to say, wasn't it."
He nodded into her hands, closing his eyes.
"Thank you." She pressed a chaste kiss to his wet lips. Salty. His tears smeared against her cheek as she tasted them.
Katara slipped her hands down to cup his chin and she kissed him again. Just as chaste. And again.
He let a deep breath out through his nose.
"Thank you." She kissed him this time with an open mouth, warm breath against warm breath.
A shiver ran along her spine with the warmth. It was so incredibly intimate a feeling to exchange breath like this. Her hands smoothed down his throat and down his shoulders, down and over his chest. One hand felt his thrumming pulse and the other flattened against his heartbeat. She pushed him back into the covers of their bed.
Zuko's hands circled her waist, gripping her hips as he pulled her down with him.
His mouth was chapped but deliciously pliable against her own. They found themselves lost in the sensation of each other. Heat and breath and touch clouded Katara's mind. Tongue and gentle teeth set her heart hammering in her chest. He tasted of salty tears and the iron of his chewed cheek.
The folded clothes were a crumpled mess under their intertwined bodies.
Zuko was kneading the flesh of her thigh with one hand and stroking the side of her breast with the other. She knotted her fingers in his hair. Mussing his dark locks. Twinning and scrunching.
More. She needed more. She needed so much more from him.
Her raggedy shorts and bra found their way to the floor and she was pulling his own shirt up over his head. His pants and her underwear went next. And then his.
Flesh to flesh, chest to chest, they met. As one. Again and again.
Heat melded them.
Sensation joined them.
Completeness sent them over the edge together. They were complete flaws and all. They were one.
Neither bothered, afterward, to push the forgotten laundry off the bed. They lay intertwined in the mess of clothes and covers. Her cheek against his chest. He played with her hair as she rubbed circles into his ribs.
Sometime in the night, she woke and was cognitive enough to crawl out of bed and turn the light out. She crawled back into bed and pulled the covers over them, righting some pillows while she was at it.
Zuko didn't stir.
She placed one last kiss to his mouth and another to the crease of his scar before sleep welcomed her back.
.
.
.
Katara woke to cool light. It bathed the walls and ceiling with an early morning glow. Her side was flush against Zuko's hot skin, his bare chest. It took her a moment, groggy as she was with sleep, to remember the events of the night before. Her skin flushed pink with remembrance but an unfamiliar heat bloomed in the pit of her stomach.
This feeling had lain dormant for so long that she felt a jolt of guilt at the sensation. Her guilt was quickly replaced with affection as Zuko mumbled in his sleep and rolled half onto her. She turned in to his body and draped her arm over his side, pulling him closer. She nestled her nose into the crook of his shoulder and neck.
She breathed in his floral but warm scent.
It was wonderful to feel his heartbeat against her own.
She pushed the guilt away with a last effort before slowly drifting off again. He was warm.