It is unfair to blame Aang. But there's responsibility—whether fair or not for a sixteen year-old—on the Avatar to be the balance for all the nations, personal feelings aside, and Zuko thinks he's done his share of setting aside personal feelings for the sake of world peace. He'd broken Mai's heart, again. He'd kept Azula in the most remote hospital to care for her mental health, despite wanting her close. His father alive, though he wanted him dead, so others had no more reason to think him a tyrant.
Obviously, marrying the Avatar's once-hopeful forever girl is a behemoth of a personal difference, but Katara herself agreed.
She had chosen him, she said.
"If you agree to this, and I agree to this, then there's nothing else to say, is there?" She pulls out a scroll and unfurls it across his desk. He sees the faint lines of a typical aristocratic marriage contract and her signature shimmering in barely dried ink.
He's pained. He has always been uplifted by his friends and redeemed by their love. How much will he take before it's enough? Before they tire of it? "I can't."
"You can't or you won't? Your only reason for pushing back on this is because of me." Her expression is challenging. In all their years she hasn't softened in her politics, not once. "We fought too hard for peace to not give it all we have. Not now."
And Aang.
Aang was beside himself.
The space that Aang's absence leaves in their lives is enormous. Zuko's lost his friend. Somehow, Azula's lighting hurt less.
They haven't spoken in five months. At the wedding, Aang had dropped by to say some words, hug both of them awkwardly, and say some rote words about peace. He hasn't written or made any attempt to contact the Fire Nation since.
Toph doesn't write and doesn't solicit to write when she can help it, and so Zuko's updates about Aang come from Sokka. But Sokka and Suki know too how delicate their relationships hang, and tried to mediate the best they could. To no avail. The epidemic spread faster than fire, and travels were restricted, and in the moments Katara and Zuko managed to breathe, there was seldom time to think over how to repair their friendship. If it is even fixable.
"Fire Lord Zuko?"
"Hm? Yes, the quarantine. It can be lifted?"
"I mentioned a few minutes ago that—"
A soft cough interrupts Councilor Omori. But Zuko is not his father and has no issues with his imperfections pointed out. It's fruitless denying it: the past six weeks have seen Zuko grow increasingly waspish. Despite the healing treatments yielding heartening results, and the economy slowly on its way to recovery, it was all he could to do not sprawl across the palace roofs or growl at every sparring partner.
Being a leader is manageable when there is someone with you, he realized. And he has neither his best friend nor his wife right now.
She writes to him ferociously.
Every Sunday, a hawk swoops into his office to drop small letter tied in twine. Its small size belies the content: she covers each inch of the parchment with epitomes on possible side-effects of the healing treatment, ways to counteract it. A list of herbs. A reminder to quality check the medicinal imports. Is Azula okay? How are Ty Lee and her sisters holding up? And how are you? And if space allows, updates on her her life in the margins. He clung to those stray details. That one day before she left was unusually cruel: the hot springs, their bed, and then she was gone.
Agni, the way she arched under his touch, like he was bending flesh instead of fire.
"Fire Lord Zuko?"
He blinks. Motioning for the secretary to gather his files, he straightens, hands splayed over his knees as a wall of fire continues to dance behind him. "Apologies, ministers."
He doesn't provide an excuse, because he doesn't have any.
Katara's next letter is sad.
It's crammed with the usual content that he asks Ty Lee to translate into workable guidance for the Northern Water Tribe Healers, but an empty space near the bottom carries her messy scrawl: Gran-Gran can't walk anymore. Pakku says it's the natural progression of age and all the trauma she's been through. I'm trying my best to heal her but it's not helping.
And smaller, at the bottom, after she's signed her name, Thank you for pushing me to come here. I would've regretted it if i didn't.
He frowns and casts the letter aside. Rolls his knuckles across the lacquered desk.
They already have too much to regret. It didn't make sense to add another one—and his people...his people had a lifetime to levy criticisms at them. Let her be selfish. Let her put her family first.
Let him be selfish. He pulls out a fresh page of parchment and pens a letter to Aang.
There is guilt in thinking Aang was the sort of person who would not arrive in haste in a time of any person's fire need, even if it be an enemy-turned-friend-turned-enemy.
Then there is anger that Aang let this break them apart.
And guilt, again, because he is married to Aang's first, and possibly only, love.
When Aang arrives, he starts, "How was I supposed to know her grandmother is dying?"
Zuko grits his teeth. His guards are running far behind them, their armor clattering, as he's run the length of the pier to intercept Aang first. "You wouldn't known if you hadn't gone silent."
Aang is the picture of righteous affront. He's grown a mile in a few months. His voice is deeper and there is a harshness on his face that makes Zuko nostalgic for the hyperactive child he used to be. "So punish me for the crime of wanting time and space! You think I don't care? I care so much that it hurts, and none of you gave a damn."
Zuko pinches his nose. Tension swells in his sinuses and throat. Now's not the time to argue. He needs to get to the South Pole, and Appa is the only way he can at this time of year. "Please, Aang. Your problem is with me more than it is with her. Can we agree to focus on being there for her? And Sokka," he tacks on.
The breath Aang takes starts from his lower abdomen and rolls up his body. Zuko sees, then hears, his acquiescence.
"Alright," Aang says tightly and tosses him Appa's reigns. Zuko's guards hem and haw when he clambers onto Appa's back. It was a short trip, he had promised his councilors, and the only reason there was not a ruckus was because Aang agreed to pass it off as an Avatar duty.
He needed to see her and ensure she was okay. Let him be selfish.
Their flight is quiet. Zuko brought a hawk with him and finishes some proposal reviews and sends them off. After, he takes to meditating and steering, each turn handing off the reigns with Aang softening the frost between them. Fractionally.
There is nothing he can say. He had said it all hours ago when they left, and months ago when the proposal was first put forth by representatives of the three standing nations. Peace. A new era. Proof the Fire Nation was changing. Strong leadership. The South Pole's need for reparations. All of it, run through again and again to the undeniably best resolution: that Fire Lord Zuko and daughter of Chief Hakoda of the Southern Water Tribe wed.
There was nothing they could do, not then and not now. It is fate's error that there is only one Katara, and they both lo—
He freezes.
"Zuko? Do you want me to fly or no?" The shadows under Aang's eyes are haunting.
"No, I just—"
"Then I'm going back to sleep, wake me up when we cross the frost—"
"I love her."
Zuko mentally slaps himself. It's not too late to chuck himself off the bison.
A flurry of emotions flit across Aang's face. His lips thin; and go even thinner, until they disappear. Though it's cold, sweat beads on his forehead.
"You love…"
"I love her. Katara."
Aang recoils like he's been slapped. His expression morphs into a faint sneer. "Isn't that why you married her?"
"No, Aang," he says tiredly. "But it's…why I want to stay married to her."
The pain on Aang's face dislodges an anvil of regret. Zuko fruitlessly searches for somewhere to sit that will hide his face from Aang, but there is nowhere he can go that will make this easier. For either of them, but he won't pretend he is the innocent one. He's broken Mai's heart, too.
"Do you even know if she loves you back? Is that fair to her?"
Zuko swallows. Aang's face is turned away but his shoulders begin to shake.
"I felt like it's easier to not have her at all, then to see her when she's out of reach," comes Aang's quiet confession. Zuko wonders which Avatar life gave him that bit of analysis.
He nears. "It's not. I know from banishment that being away from everyone you love doesn't make it any better."
Aang starts to cry. Zuko clasps an arm around his shoulders until he stops.
There's an outpost about a mile from the capital. A number of facts floods Zuko's brain: the rebuilding efforts, negotiations delineating jurisdictional distinction from the North migration patterns, but they all flee at how familiar it looks as far his eye can see.
Abandoned at this time of year, the outpost is the equivalent of a rickety sign and a snowed-in tent. Zuko relieves himself and changes his frozen undergarments into a fresher pair, unsure why his nerves are tingling with anxiety.
"Aren't you coming with?" says Zuko.
Aang scratches his head. "No, I'll just stay here for a few — I have everything I need—"
"Don't give Sokka more reasons to kill me."
"But—"
"Come on, Aang." Zuko keeps his voice firm but gentle.
Aang feeds Appa and instructs him to lay low so Water tribesmen hunters don't mistake him for a giant seal. With every step on their hike Zuko remembers the tiny village his ship had cracked open, all for his father's cause. The shame burns less than it used to, but it is still there. It's a part of him he lives with, drives his determination. He gave his all when he was wrong and he will give his all for peace.
The sky is dark, as the South Pole is plunged into perpetual night for the season. But the city twinkles. The village has grown into a city: nestled amidst the frozen expanse, its structures glisten in a blend of traditional Water Tribe architecture and modernization. Crystal-clear ice sculptures adorned the city's pathways. Buildings made from ice and reinforced with animal hides depict scenes from Water Tribe folklore. A central plaza features the tallest building, a common hall for the tribesmen and women to gather in. It is a far cry from the smattering of tents it was years ago.
He tugs his hood over his head and stoops low. Aang's disappeared into a throng of people heading towards a street lined with market stalls, so he's unsure where to go. The common hall? That seems to be the best place, until Aang returns or he find someone he recognizes from Southern Water Tribe leadership.
Eager-faced spectators stumble past him. People are flocking somewhere, and he is pushed to follow. There's a fire pit in the plaza, and around it are scores of tree-bark benches. Through gaps in the crowd Zuko sees some women, all tall and willowy, swing their bodies in circles in tandem with the flickering shadows the flames cast. Men bang what look like thin drums.
Curious, he settles onto a nondescript seat. The older woman next to him scoots over to make room only to do a double take and nearly upend the drink in her hands.
Zuko put a conspiratorial finger to his lips. "I'm Katara's—"
"I know who you are," the lady harrumphs. "And you're late."
She points.
Zuko follows her gaze and finds Katara among the dancers. Because of her deeper complexion, she stands out the most amidst the grey-snow ground and patchwork blue sky. A narrow column of a dress falls to her feet, flowing sleeves draping from each shoulder. They layers are shades of white and blue—his court were fools for thinking she could wear colors, when the color blue exists. And her hair is fully let down, other than her loopies, and sways in one streak. That's not how normal women's hair works, he thinks, remembering Azula's morning hair and Mai's daily wrestle with frizz. Katara's arms arc over her head, her sleeves falling as scythes of water shoot dancing spirals high.
He is, all at once, overcome with the desire to touch his lips to her moonlight-kissed skin and stroke her polished shoulders.
The grandmother watches him, smug.
"You chose well, Fire Lord Zuko."
He startles.
The fire begins to die down and some younger boys leave to fetch more firewood. Zuko slips a hand out of his glove enough to twitch his fingers. The fire sprouts, sending the crowd screaming in delight. Only Katara's eyebrows stitch together, her instincts honed from years in war. Confusion and veiled hope duels on her face, digging at Zuko's heart.
He moves to stand. She hones on him immediately, limbs suspended mid-air. The finely controlled ice lattice falls apart into a shower, forcing the crowd into a low duck.
"Sorry!" she shouts to everyone.
"I am," Zuko murmurs. She's blinking hard and a few faces have begun to recognize him and scoot to create way for him to near.
"Zuko?" The disbelief in her voice ails him.
"Later," he says. "I came to see you dance."
A few whistles and cheers echo in the perpetual night, but most are confused as she is. And he is, too, contemplating if he had not make things worse for her when she pivots and stumbles a bit, but soon she is in tune with the other dancers, her dance less wild and frenzied than before and more meticulous. A small smile plays at her lips and her eyes often strays to his. Each time he sits slightly straighter, drinks in her practiced motions. She's often in the middle of the formation as the sole waterbender; breaking and creating new tessellations over their heads. She's the center of a water fountain.
How could he ever thought of waterbending as lesser? Less powerful, less beautiful?
At the end, everyone goes quiet. A final prayer is sent to La. And then, rancorous applause. The dancers and drummers blush and Katara most of them all.
He waits to the side as Katara embraces everyone in turn. A little too quickly he notices again, much to his ego's glee, but he coughs down the delight and forces a casual look as she bounds up to him.
She stops a pace away and scratches her chin.
"Now I know how you feel," he says. She has had her share of waiting for him at meeting after meeting.
She takes one step closer, another, and it's hard to calculate her reaction.
Her arms fly around him. He turns colder. Her entire body is at a temperature he didn't know existed, much less ever felt in his life even when swimming under the Northern Water Tribe border, but Agni does it feel like home.
She squeezes him tighter.
"Zuko, you're—here."
He lifts her off the ground and swings her around. "I am. Agni, woman, aren't you cold?"
She laughs and he feels it vibrate in his chest. They part but his arms hang around her waist.
Her wide blue eyes take him in. "How did you get here?"
"Aang."
"Aang?" she repeats. He gestures in the direction of the village—no, city's—marketplace. Aang was speaking to curious passersby as a modest crowd grew around him.
"I think he wants to talk to you. To apologize."
The red staining her cheeks darken. This is not how she must have imagined her evening unfolding at all.
Zuko tries again. "He knows his duties as the Avatar are more important than what he feels. Like we did." He tries not to touch her again, or he'll never stop, but manages a gentle nudge until her eyes peel away from Aang and back to him. "We've lost too many people. Let's not lose another friend."
"Yeah," she says hoarsely. "I—let me figure out what to say."
"Take your time. He's probably waiting for Sokka, and I should find your father before he hears from anyone else that I showed up uninvited."
She rolls her eyes to the heavens. "How long did we try to visit again? He'll be thrilled."
Katara was right; Chief Hakoda is thrilled, although irritated Zuko didn't give him a forewarning. To which, Zuko explains his ride was faster than a hawk, and that—Avatar Aang is here too?— sends the Tribe's leadership into a flurry to prepare a welcome feast.
As the moments pass a dull guilt settles into his stomach.
They must have thought he looked down on them, somehow, tossing money from afar as though it restituted his nation's crimes. Taking Katara, whom he quickly realizes is most beloved by the thousands that now live here. One person sneers at him, remarking how wonderful it was he finally let his wife visit, and he's left to stand alone, warring emotions bubbling in his gut.
"I told them—" Katara starts. She swallows and tries again, "Most people know. That you're kind and generous and devoted."
An ugly tendril of self-doubt pinches his brain. Do you even know if she loves you back?
"Have you spoken to Aang yet?"
Katara loops her arm through his. "Later. Let's go see Gran-Gran. That old bat Voa already tattled and now she's trying to come see you herself."
Suki, who is obviously pregnant, a detail Katara either forgot to mention in her letters or was waiting until it was more public news, is helping Pakku carry Kanna outside. The former Kyoshi captain unrolls thick furs near the fire pit for Pakku to set down the frail woman over.
Zuko frowns. "Shouldn't she be resting inside?"
"It's the night of the solstice. She's told us the creation story every year for thirty years," Katara murmurs. "She said she'd rather die than skip her duties."
Kanna is small in stature, but her eyes are bright, possibly more than her granddaughter's. She releases Pakku's hand in favor of reaching for Zuko's face.
"Is this him?" Kanna asks. A cough.
Katara falls to the ground and folds her legs under her. Zuko follows.
"Yes, Gran-Gran. He's here."
"See? You always doubt me."
Zuko looks askance at Katara. Her gaze is politely trained on her grandmother.
He claps Kanna's hands and starts, "Kanna."
"Gran-Gran," she chides.
"Gran-Gran." He's never met his own mother's parents and Fire Lord Azulon never let him call him anything but. "Please accept this dishonorable man's apology. Last time, I..."
Kanna cocks her head and squints. "It is the same scar, but no, you are not him."
"I am." He must be accountable. "Better, I hope, but I am."
"So you are, then. I still will not accept your apology." Gran-Gran coughs. Katara thrusts a vessel of water at Pakku, who tilts it into his wife's mouth. "It's cold."
Zuko lights a small flame and gestures. Pakku narrows his eyes at him, allows him to warm the vessel and soon Gran-Gran's coughs abate. Pakku hadn't been able to attend the wedding either.
Kanna eyes his flame and untangles her hands to lift a wrinkly finger to the sky. "Keep her warm and happy. Then beyond the spirit world I will accept your apology."
"Gran-Gran," Katara's voice is choked. She leans into him. "He does. He will."
"Good. Now stop crowding me, you overly worried mongoose-seals. Always in my space," Kanna grumbles. Gentle laughs ripple through the small circle they make.
Zuko expects Katara to leave and attend to the doubtless duties she has, but she lingers. Suki, too.
"Where's Sokka?" Zuko ventures.
Suki snaps her fingers. "We ran out of seal jerky and he went to grab some from the reserves. Said he'd be back in at before dinner. Missed the dancing too."
"And the…"
"And what?"
He scratches his neck. Suki laughs, semi-shrill.
"Say it, Zuko. I look like a blubber whale."
His face warms. Katara waves an irritable hand—he imagines his wife has heard these complaints before.
"So what if you do?" His ridiculous wife—a woman who enjoys sneaking off to destroy fire nation military bases, mind you—is undeterred at Suki's hiss. "It's sacred. Your body is following the spirit's script to bring life into this world."
"Then you should be pregnant instead of me," Suki grouses.
A beat.
They collectively realize what's been said. Immediately Suki slumps over, pressing a thumb and forefinger into her eyelids. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean—"
"That's—" Katara starts. Suki tries to speak again. Katara's jaw loosens.
Both gape and turn away. Moments later, Suki lifts solemn eyes to Zuko.
The Summit never did specify what they wanted to see out of their union, other than to further the goal of peace. It was an unspoken thing then and now that heirs were as important to him as having children were to Katara.
It was an assumed facet of their contract, not spoken of at length. Which they should have. If this—marriage—is permanent, his children would be hers.
For the first time since entering the South Pole, he feels hot.
"Sorry," Suki murmurs again, a hand going to her swollen belly. How would Katara look, if she were the same? Bright-eyed and excited? Scared to do this as they both were motherless? Complaining about her size?
He wants it. He wants her so much he can't move.
A snowball hits him in the face. "The jerkbender is here."
"Sokka," he growls. Fortunately, Sokka's timing is inhumanely considerate.
"That's for ignoring my letters. And don't tell me you didn't have time, Katara here was moony-eyed at the dozens you wrote—"
Zuko splutters through the snow clinging to his face and eyelashes. It melts away instantly. "It wasn't a dozen!"
"I'm not moony-eyed!" Katara snaps hotly and stalks away, harrumphing.
Sokka shrugs, dropping a giant bag of something that smells utterly divine and plops onto the ground near their feet, hands immediately going to Suki's ankles to massage them.
Zuko stares.
While Suki squeals in delight, Sokka smirks at him. "What?"
"You have a goatee."
A low whistle. "Consider my shock. And your hair is so long I almost mistook you for my sister."
"It's traditional!"
Suki groans. "Men, I swear. Please hug it out and then would you be a dear and grab me some hot cocoa, Zuko?"
"Why does he get to be a dear?"
"I haven't seen him since his wedding."
"You haven't seen me in hours!"
Sokka and Suki's squabbling fades as Zuko trudges through the snow, tying his hair into a loose bun. He thinks of their easy smiles and obvious love for each other; their baby will grow up the to the most loving set of parents.
It makes him sad, for some reason.
Again, the momentary lapse of doubt whispers, Could Aang love her better than me?
As if the universe shifts things in response to his internal turbulence, he finds them chatting near a fish market stall. The area is bustling to a degree he never could have imagined years ago. A long street with every amenity and then some offered by sellers, all laughing and talking.
The stress lines on Katara's face are deep. She's wringing her hands together, which means she's nervous, but her eyes are fierce. Aang hangs his head. Quiet apologies are exchanged.
A cowardly man would make the choice for her and leave. But an honorable man does not preemptively put out his own fire, nor set it loose on another. It will always be her choice, and she can't know the choice she has unless he tells her.
Setting his shoulders, Zuko diverts to scavenge for Suki the most scrumptious dessert.
The silence the usually rowdy crowd is able to sustain when Kanna speaks is remarkable. They give her time as she wheezes and coughs through the legend of a star, falling from the sky to join the sea. Of how it becomes the ocean and reaches for the moon again. How the tidal waves become waterbending gifts, and they all clap for Katara, the first Southern Water Tribe Master in generations, and a few small children stand to demonstrate what they've learned. Zuko sucks in a long breath; there are more waterbenders in the South. His wife is not alone anymore.
They sing. He nods along until some of the verses begin to repeat, and then he adds his own rasp to the collective chorus. Sokka holds his hand during this part and sniffles loudly near the end while Suki rakes her fingers through the grown man's hair. Aang, Katara and Pakku do a last demonstration and pray for the Tribe.
Nostalgia is heavy in the air. He's not the only one; Katara slips next to him during dinner, blinking bits of frost out of her eyes.
"It feels like old times, doesn't it?"
He rests his chin on the back of his hand. "We're missing Toph challenging the polar bears to a fist fight."
He thanks the man, Bato, if he recalls correctly, handing him a plate. The rolls of cured meat and steaming pot of dairy stew sizzle ahead. They all will eat from the same portions, placing one helping at a time on their own plates. He offers to get Katara's but she shakes her head, and shyly returns with their helpings.
"Tradition," she explains. "First winter solstice married."
"Only traditions for the wife? Doesn't the husband do anything?"
He notes her stare quickly smooth over into disinterest. She picks at her meat. "How long are you here for?"
Aang is his ride. Technically, he could leave with Katara after the ice shelf melts, but that's two months away and he's already burdening his people as it is. She gathers this from his hesitation.
"Are the people okay?"
"Better. If you have time, the question I sent from one of the healers—"
"Yes, of course, I was consulting Yugoda about it, but I'll send an answer when I can."
Again, they fall into silence. It's not uncomfortable, exactly, nor is it easy-going. The air is taut, like she's waiting for him to act. She takes small bites. It's hard to tell through her parka, but she looks thinner. The stress, maybe?
"Did you lose weight?"
She narrows her eyes at him. "Was I fat before?" At the next bench over, Sokka snickers. Zuko wants to plunge into the tundra.
"No—I—" the leader of the world's strongest nation stumbles, forces himself to stop, and attempts a fumbled recovery. "Your dance was beautiful. The most beautiful thing I've ever seen."
Sokka gives him a thumbs up. Suki thwacks him. It's hard for Zuko to pay attention to their shenanigans because Katara falls quiet, her irises widening and glittering for the first time that night. They're not glassy with tears. They're glassy with something he can't place.
Still, she pokes at her plate and plays with her food. Something is bothering her, because she wasn't quite skittish earlier. Before she spoke to Aang.
"Katara," Suki calls. "Give the rest of us advice. How do you get a man to leave his nation for you?"
Sokka guffaws and nearby diners roar in laughter. Zuko dodges a fresh round of teasing both at his and Sokka's expense. Katara says nothing. She doesn't put the rowdiness to a halt to it or roll her eyes, continuing to shuffle food around her plate. Eventually, she rolls her leftovers into a sack.
Zuko grows more worried, half-listening even after Hakoda and older water tribesmen join for dinner. They speak politics and nation-building, and Zuko follows protocol the best he can, greeting them by grasping their forearms and straightening his back though the warriors' broad forms have nothing on the slender frames of Fire Nation men. He is clearly different and not what they must have expected of Katara's husband, but they rough him up and make him try their rum. When he doesn't immediately cough it impresses them greatly. Most of them.
"You drink, lad?" asks Bato. Hakoda eyes Zuko warily.
"When I was banished this is all the ship had." He grimaces. "I don't mind it, exactly, but out people prefer wine."
"Weren't you thirteen when banished?" His father-in-law raises an eyebrow.
Zuko laughs. "Exactly. My father sent a thirteen year old to chase the Avatar."
They chuckle again. But Hakoda places a firm hand on his shoulder.
"You are a good man, Zuko. I said this at the wedding, but should you need anything, I would be honored if you could rely on me."
"Thank you, Chief Hakoda."
"Not as Chief, but as family."
Warmth pricks behind his eyes. Zuko tugs at the wooly scarf wound his neck. Some of the men disperse, sensing the gravitas perhaps, but others linger, curious. Bato tries to start another conversation but Zuko knows they're listening.
He finds that he doesn't particularly care how many people know.
"About Katara..."
Hakoda's eyes crinkle as he holds up a hand. "Don't give us anymore to ponder on," he says wryly. "You came here, without any of your guards or fanciful robes, for one reason and one reason only. You came as a man. Go find her."
"I have your blessing?" A blessing of a different sort. Last time, Hakoda wanted his promise to protect his daughter in every way.
This time was to love her in all the ways he possibly could, if Katara would allow him.
"Obviously, or you wouldn't be alive."
Zuko accepts his wins where he can and doesn't push it, slipping away before Bato can make him try the sea prune stew.
The trouble with eternal night is there is no end. And his body, one he is prideful to keep to a strict schedule, does nothing to indicate whether it's time to sleep or not. The people continue on. The air cools further into the evening, and most have their bodies covered head to toe except their eyes, but the frost hinders no one. Children build snow castles that Katara helps freeze solid, Suki and Sokka try every market stall's specials, and Aang fetches Appa to showcase to everyone, speaking at length about his travels and sharing all that he has learned.
Zuko's heart is full. This is the home he might've had with his mother and sister, but he doesn't think too hard over it, because he is excited for the future. It's been a long time that he has felt this way: three years, in fact, since he took the throne. Peace doesn't need to be toiling away at all hours of the day. There can be someone with him to share their burdens. He is not alone.
And he isn't alone now, standing in a hut while Katara is flails to move things around. She had been sharing one with her father, who now was surreptitiously absent. The fireplace cackled. The patchwork of pelts and furs were soaked through with smoke and warmth, and Zuko slipped off his boots, biting back a groan at the heat.
A small stack of papers on a low table teeter. He recognizes the handwriting as his, but Katara is quick to swipe everything sitting out into a bag.
"You don't need to clean." He bends down to help. She stops him, her eyes going shifty.
"Katara?"
"How long are you staying?" she asks again.
Uneasy, he sits on the ground. His plan had been more about getting here. "I probably will need to go back with Aang."
"Okay," she breathes, but it seems more like she's speaking to herself. "So you could be leaving tomorrow?"
"Maybe. I should've checked with him but he was in the middle of a journey when I sent him a missive."
"Okay." She swallows and rolls her shoulders. "I'm going to Suki's. Will be back in a bit."
The hut's doors creak behind her.
Before he has time to decide whether to follow, Hakoda slips in and spares Zuko no look as he collects some belongings.
"Are you staying here?"
Hakoda looks at him like he's declared war. Which he may very well be, considering he's starting to feel there's something he should know.
"I'll be with the hunters," Hakoda answers evenly.
Zuko steeples his hands. There's something rolling low in his stomach, and he refuses to let it sink lower presumptuously.
"Is there something I'm supposed to do on the Winter Solstice?"
His father-in-law looks mildly ill, wordlessly departing after a tight nod goodbye.
So his hunch is correct. Zuko distracts himself by pacing the hut and not at all thinking of what Katara must be thinking right now, or doing. He finds a pail of water and cleans his face, picking out any stray lint and dirt from between his fingers. He cleans his teeth and combs his hair with his hands. When there's nothing else left to do, he examines the selection of scrolls on a shelf and settles on to a plush cushion with one in his lap.
It's series of waterbending forms. He's thoroughly ensconced before a soft knock precludes someone sweeping inside. The door shuts with a click.
He rolls the scroll's wrinkled parchment between his forefinger and thumb. His tongue feels thick.
"So, theoretically, this was supposed to happen during the wedding celebrations here," Katara begins to ramble, "and it's not a requirement, but it's an old tradition that actually belongs to the South, since the betrothal necklace is native to the North. Body markings are sacred, like my father and Sokka got the Mark of the Wise and Bato gave me the Mark of the Brave."
She stops. She waits, and then opens her mouth again to fill the quiet.
Zuko holds up a hand and regains a modicum of control of his oral faculties. "I need a moment."
He's seen her entire body. Thrice. And—seen her move in inhumanly flexible ways, and make all sorts of noises that sends blood out of his head so fast that the room spins.
It had been so hard on the wedding night to not scoop her up entirely and give her everything. It is inexplicably as difficult now, as she pads around the hut in a thin, gossamer contraption that covers nothing of her back. It dips low in the front, and blossoms outwards from her waist, and it's such a light blue it could be mistaken for white. One layer. One, thin, almost translucent layer.
She cradles a handful of paints. There is an ink dot under each eye. He stands and approaches her in even, measured steps even as his breaths come in stuttered plumes.
He lifts a finger to the dots. "What do these mean?" he asks, voice lowering to a raspy, thick timbre.
"The winter solstice. When Tui and La find respite from the sun's harshness." Her words thread together carefully as she juts her chin out. He sees the moon in her face. "But it's not always a celebration."
He loops a finger under a strap, waiting to tug. Should he? Or should he tell her first? The entirety of the universe spins and his blood is aflame, poised to set him on fire. He could. It would be so easy. Katara is so, so easy to love.
"What do you mean?"
"Being far from the sun is painful sometimes," she admits. She sways and her hands come together, tangling.
He pries them apart and holds her hands in his.
"I need to tell you something."
"Okay." Her white teeth gleam brilliantly when she speaks.
He's no longer the angry boy fighting her an oasis. He is a man in progress.
"I love you," he says. "I didn't realize it until today, but I've loved you for a long time. I want to have you forever, if you will have me. You don't have to answer me now."
She kisses him, long and slow, parts to belatedly whisper I love you too as if she'd forgotten, and kisses him again. He pulls her flush against him, and when they break the universe is still spinning. He might fall if he lets go. He might fall further if he stays.
He loathes to separate, but he does. "The paints?"
"Forget the paints," she in a throaty whisper, hands sliding up to his neck.
What he can see of her body, which is quite a lot, is starting to slick with sweat. She's running hot. Her breaths come in stuttered pants and her glassy eyes pin him down, sweeping over him twice-over, and he wonders how he looks to her.
"I want to."
"You don't have to."
"I'm going to, and I'm going to kiss it off you."
She gnaws on her lip. A small gasp and whimper as she watches his finger pull the straps off her shoulders. "Then?"
"Feel your hands all over my body while I taste you—" he tugs her to the ground, "—kiss you until I bruise my mouth—" he reaches for a pot of ink, "—until you come—" he dips a finger into it,"—and finally fill you up completely." The first stroke unrolls a shiver up her back. He lowers his mouth to her shoulder. "How does that sound?"
Painting is not very different from bending. He's unsure as to what he's supposed to paint, so he arcs long waves onto her back. Her breath hitches as Zuko's finger and thumb moves lower, tracing the curves until the swell at the bottom. There, he pauses, and she twists to chase his touch. His nail rakes a final taper to a wave.
She shivers again. Within half a moment she's clambering over him, hitching a leg over his waist. Her dress does nothing to hide everything below her thighs.
"Fuck—" he swears. The intensifying ache between his thighs
Her hands are fiddling with his trousers and she rocks, once, twice, her expression one of complete delight.
"I love you," she says again. "Take me, please."
Shameless. So shameless and so perfect. It feels so wrong and obscene to do this here, and fuck her on her orders, but he nothing if not a fast learner. He didn't come here planning to come inside her, but he also hadn't planned to tell her about the emotions swinging frantically in his chest for months. Relief is not enough to describe what it feels like to let everything go, and know she had the power to prevent him from burning her.
She leads him on an ascension of raw delight. And when he's done with what she wants and is slick on his fingers, he pulls the dress off, flips her over and pushes inside, a primal need warring with a more gentle one to take his time and properly make love. But if they have forever, then maybe he doesn't need to; she claws his back and hikes a knee to dig until his pace falters. Blood rushes in his ears and he licks her pulse, teasing out a breathless moan. He moved his hips backwards slowly only to snap into her, and he begins to fill the ache he knows she feels inside her.
"Like that?" he manages, sounding strangled.
"Could you—could you please—" She cants her hips. He slides in deeper.
"Fuck, Katara—"
She rolls her hips. His forehead meets hers and he groans, "I need another moment."
"Please." Her mouth's dazed plea is hot on his scarred ear. Although he feels little there, the feel of her tongue raking his skin sears his nerves.
"I won't last long," he mutters in the dip between her breasts.
"You can fuck me again tomorrow," she whispers. The nerve of this wo— his brain clutches desperately at a dictionary, trying to make sense of her and her naughty commands, her hands scraping down his sides and thighs urging him to move.
He lets his self-restraint go and thrusts harder. Faster. Deeper. His pace shudders. He swallows her small, ecstatic sobs and overflows her with loving caresses until his muscles seize and he empties into her, clutching her as she tightens and untightens around.
His mind hovers, blissfully content in the half-sleepy, half orgasmic realm, when Katara rolls from under him and pulls a fleece blanket over them both. She curls into his brace and him around her, careful to avoid catching a mouthful of her hair. His own is in no better state, falling over his eyes and sticking to his forehead.
"Zuko?" she mumbles.
He grumbles. "Is it morning already?"
She shifts. "I figured it out today too. When talking to Aang. I had to assure him that I still love him."
He cracks one eye open. Both of her eyes are shut, and her hands cradle one of his under her head. He thinks he knows where she's going, but is playfully contrite when he says, "You're telling me you told another man you love him after you asked me to—"
A whisper. "I love all my friends. But I realized it wasn't the same way I love you."
Her breaths peter out into even ones as she falls asleep after that. His mind is a broken kaleidoscope, but all the sparks are bliss, and he joins her too.
While Zuko finds it impossible to meet anyone's gaze squarely in the eye the next morning, Katara goes about her business. Nothing has changed, but everything has.
Sokka smirks at him at lunch. Suki drifts by when Zuko is preparing to learn how to ice-dodge with Hokada and mutters in a sing-song voice, "You can thank me for that dress," which is not something he ever wanted to know. It's also unclear how the Water Tribe views sexual prowess, but he feels the men are more accepting of him today, even though Hakoda exchanges less than five words with him.
At ease now, Aang agrees to stay another day. And another. Finally, on the third day, when even Zuko is restless, Katara affirms that everything is fine and he should go where he needs to be.
"Gran-Gran?" he asks, as he packs away the beef jerky Sokka offered him for the trip home.
Katara smiles. She's folding his clothes into his sack. "Will be okay. We've been preparing for this for a while now. My healing can't fix everything."
"And you'll be back…"
"After winter, yes." There's a twinkle in her eye. She's the same Katara when she talks to him, teases him, and tousles his hair. There is an underlying softness he can discern now. "I belong wherever you are." A small kiss on his cheek follows. "And in our bed?" she adds, a dimple denting her lopsided smirk.
"I resent that." He ducks his head. They've made a mess of the hut, and he leaves enough funds for Katara to solicit building help for their own hut the next time they visit. "Let me go see Gran-Gran before you call Aang."
"Zuko, wait."
He slows to pull on his gloves and parka. Katara stuffs her hands inside her oversized parka pockets. "Ask her about how she met Pakku."
"Why?"
"Arranged marriage. She left. This necklace," she fingers the gem sitting in the hollow of her neck. "Pakku carved it for her then."
His eyebrows disappear into his hairline. That bit of lore was new information.
"She knew as soon as I got here, I think. She has experience doing things in the wrong order. Maybe it runs in the family."
Zuko presses a kiss to the corner of her mouth. "I'll be waiting for you."