AN: Thank you all for the well-wishes and warm welcomes! You remind me why I love working on these stories.

The last chapter was an absolute glutton of time and effort and had mostly existed for years. This one is all new. Fresh! I've reworked my outline and the next few chapters should come fairly quickly - some scenes are already written because they were too fun to resist. I can't wait to share those...

I'm excited to be writing again. Thank you, to you all out there, for feeding me.

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"Thank you."

Katara didn't react. Maybe she could just pretend she hadn't heard him at all. He'd said it so quietly, like the words had been squeezed out of him under enormous pressure despite massive resistance, and the sound was nearly lost in the evening breeze.

She stood at Zuko's side on the grand front steps, watching the Gan palanquin recede toward the gates. He had restrained himself so much through the end of the meeting, she supposed she should have been prepared by now with some biting follow-up. Maybe a more cutting and in-depth lecture, since he was suddenly feeling so receptive to feedback.

But the thought of exerting so much energy into what would probably just turn out to be a futile endeavor only annoyed her and filled her with bitter resentment.

Phuh. That look of shock on his face when she laid it out for him. The budding understanding and horror. Because it hadn't been eating at his conscience at all. Her situation didn't even register for him. The audacity to try and apologize right then!

No, if Zuko was going to reckon with all the misery he had put her through, he was going to do it on his own time. Katara had more important matters on her mind, now. Like whether that path up the cliff was really passable, or whether Lady Gan was sending her into a trap. She was wondering how long it would take to free every waterbender in Caldera. Which would probably be easiest if she just assassinated the Fire Lord first...

The moon hung fat in the east. It would be full in a few days. And wouldn't that be just the perfect time? To kill the man who deserved to die more than anyone else in the world?

Every thought that came before was exhilarating, but this last filled her with fear and a sharp, virulent sort of hope. And a sick uneasiness she couldn't seem to shake.

But she needed to be at her best if she was going to take on such a powerful opponent, and right now, she definitely wasn't. It galled her to admit it, but Loska had been right - Zuko could have trounced her this morning if he had really been trying. Even with an injury. The duel with Zhao had taught her a valuable lesson at least. She had lost that fight in part because she was out of practice. Her mind had been stirred up with raw emotions and clinging anxieties. Her body had grown stiff and out of shape, and now it was even worse, stressed by injuries and the demands of the last few days. A few gentle bending lessons with Iyuma weren't going to be enough to bring her back to full strength.

But...

Zuko was peering at her - she could tell from the corner of her eye, but she still refused to look back at him. He hesitated until the palanquin was nearly out of sight, then seemed to muster his resolve.

"Katara, what you said-"

"We should be training."

She looked at him then, tight-mouthed. His face pinched like he was holding something back, but whatever it was, he didn't say it. He only dipped his chin, looking briefly off to the side. When his eyes snapped back to her, his resignation had morphed into determination.

"Yeah, we should. Now or in the morning?"

Katara was tired. Despite the long nap, the walk and conversations of the evening had eaten away at her until she was nearly as exhausted as she had been this morning.

But the full moon was just a few days away.

"Now," she said.

It wasn't like she was trying to be combative or threatening. It was just hard tonight not to growl when she looked at him. Zuko narrowed his eyes.

"Go change," he said. "I wouldn't want to singe your good clothes."

"You go change," she nearly sputtered. Where did he get off, telling her what to wear? She mustered up all the scathing she could. "Do you even own anything made for more than strolling in a palace?"

"For your information, yes." He glowered down his nose at her. "Not that sparring with you will take all that much more exertion."

"Huh! You puffed up, arrogant hot-head." Katara descended the steps and stomped toward the fountain, sniping over her shoulder, "On second thought, don't change. I'll scrub that baby drool out of your shirt when I drown you."

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Zuko tore his eyes away from the irritated swing of her fists at her sides and looked back into the doorway where several servants had attended the departure and waited still to be dismissed. With a wave of his hand, he sent them off. Machi's eyes flicked up to him, a bright flash in her professionally blank face, then she followed along with the rest.

It probably wasn't great to let them see her insult and threaten him, he realized belatedly. It just... suddenly didn't seem as important as it used to. There were so many, so much more important things to worry about, now. More troubling things.

But this wasn't the time to try and think it all through. Katara reached the fountain and whirled around, arms crossed and one foot tapping impatiently. She wanted to train. They needed to train. It was so rare that they agreed on anything...

Everything else just had to wait.

Zuko stepped down to the courtyard and breathed deep, working to still his thoughts. Probably the worst possible place to mull things over was in her striking range. He stopped at the proper distance and bowed.

She rolled her eyes at him instead of returning the gesture, then dropped into her starting stance.

A complete lack of respect.

The hissing voice in the back of Zuko's mind reminded him a prince did not tolerate disrespect. He should lash out at her, punish her for her audacity. Use his anger to strike out at her and bring her low, remind her of his power and his worth. His anger rose up, responsive after years of conditioning. The familiar blaze swelled through him, hot and reassuring.

They struck at the same time. Katara hauled up a stream and flung it toward him just as he kicked a swirl of flames at her. Their elements clashed with a hissing boom. They fought on.

Zuko kicked and punched, favoring his sore shoulder only slightly now, and quickly began to gain ground. Katara was fighting hard - he could see it in the slash of her eyes and the strain on her face - but she was losing steam fast.

Weakness, hissed the voice, savoring impending victory.

But that other voice rose up, too, rasping sadly at memory. She did not always look at you this way, you know.

In a jarring rush, Zuko remembered the day they had sparred on Hakoda's ship. Then, Katara had slung her element at him and watched him with shining eyes. Trusting. Playful. She had skated alongside the ship and laughingly returned everything he launched at her. She hadn't been unhappy and trapped in that moment. She had been free. And daring.

And she had chosen him.

Now, her teeth were bared and her eyes had a fixed, exhausted sheen to them. She faced him with anger and grim determination. When he blasted through a shield she had thrown up with wide sweeps of her arms, she flinched back hard.

It was only a reflex, an instant's twitch of muscle, but Zuko recognized it. She had thrown her hands up that way when Zhao came down on her.

He stopped his advance, his heart pounding for reasons entirely unrelated to exertion. "Let's call it a night. We can go again in the - hey!"

Katara didn't stop. She flicked forward a thin stream and took one foot out from under him. Zuko staggered forward one awkward hop, his ankle caught in a hook of ice, before managing to kick himself free. She was already building up for her next wave.

He could have struck while she was in the middle of her pull. A quick blast to startle her back, interrupt her movement. But Zuko found himself abruptly unwilling to launch fire anywhere near her face.

Instead, he kept his attack low, scuffing bright crests at her feet. She jumped back, lost her root. Zuko pressed the advantage two more steps - only to have his front foot knocked out from under him by a hard splash that spun him onto his knee. He rolled out of the way just before a fresh wave bounded over the fountain's edge and went crashing past.

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Katara pushed herself. She was breathing hard and her limbs were shaking with the effort of pulling up so much water, but she had to be stronger.

If she was going to assassinate the Fire Lord, she was going to need to be so much stronger.

Was she going to assassinate the Fire Lord? Was that... really... what she wanted to do?

Zuko was pulling his punches. She could see it clearly now. He lacked the furious focus he'd had even just this morning. When she had thought for a heartbeat she was going to get burned - fingers crackling like twigs, splitting, roasting my cheeks - the fire hadn't even come close enough to sting. Instead, Zuko had shot her an anxious, pitying look and tried to end the spar.

Of course he waits until the most inconvenient time to develop his budding conscience.

Katara struck at him harder. She gave ground and then won it back with a big strike. Only, pushing that wave left her legs quaking under her, so when Zuko leapt over it and was suddenly within arm's reach, she couldn't back up fast enough. She tripped and went down on her back. Rather than roll out of the way, she could only lay there, winded.

Luckily, Zuko didn't press the advantage. He just stared down at her from his ready stance, assessing. "Are you o-?" He cut himself off and asked a different question instead. "Can we stop now?"

Katara wanted to fight him. She wanted to leap up and wipe that exasperated look off his face. Instead, she dropped her head back against the paving stones and glared up at the stars.

"I'm not strong enough."

She hadn't meant to say it out loud, and Zuko certainly seemed stunned by the admission, but it was just a statement of a fact. It didn't matter if she wanted to kill the Fire Lord. She couldn't do it. Certainly not by the full moon.

Relief gusted through her, unhitching a mighty load she had only barely been aware of trying to haul.

"You'll get stronger." Zuko had abandoned his stance, but he was still watching her with grim, troubled eyes. He held out a hand to help her up. "Pushing too hard right now is just gonna make it take longer."

She wanted to bat his hand away. Better to lay here all night than to willingly touch him.

But her arms were terribly heavy. Katara heaved a breath and rolled up to sit with her elbows on her knees, tipping her head away in the hope that he would withdraw.

He dropped his hand and stepped back. When she didn't stand up, he folded his arms over his chest and frowned at the ground between them.

"I'll never burn you. You know that, right?"

Katara wanted to scoff and tear into him - Not the way you were fake-fighting tonight. or You burned me beyond recognition! - but she was tired. She just curled her lip and turned her face away.

"It's hard to... It was hard for me to come back after I was burned, too. Once you've felt that kind of injury, your body doesn't forget it right away. It just takes time to work through it."

"Great. Thanks. Any other tidbits of wisdom you're dying to share?"

He was silent for a moment and, when she shot him a sideways glare, he only stood with his head down, his mouth a bitter twist. "Wisdom pretty obviously isn't one of my strengths."

Katara watched him for a moment, then rolled her eyes. What phase of Zuko was this? Tortured penitence? Self-pitying epiphany? Whatever it was, it was exhausting. He was exhausting. More exhausting than exhaustion itself.

It took more effort to regain her feet than it should have, but she managed to avoid staggering. Without a glance at Zuko, she made for the house.

"I'll have food sent to your room. Is there anything you want?"

"For this conversation to be over?"

"It will be, but that won't replenish your chi."

"My chi?" Katara pulled up short on the steps and fixed him with an affronted scowl.

He hadn't brought up her chi since... before. When he had been stealing food for her in the resistance base. When he had inserted himself into her reunion with her father to insist she should eat more. Now, suddenly, he wanted to be attentive that way again? He thought he could do all he had done and she would just let him take care of her that way?

That boy was never real! You won'ttrickme again!

She stabbed a finger hard into his chest. "My chi is none of your business. I don't want to hear that word come out of your mouth ever again."

He jerked his head back, a flicker of frustration escaping - finally, the honest truth. "If you're going to regain your strength, you need fuel."

"Not from you."

He looked surprised, incensed, and he opened his mouth to argue-

And then dropped his head and nodded. "Okay. I won't bring it up again."

Katara watched him closely. It was unnerving to have him... resurrect this old habit, but even more unnerving to have him drop the subject so easily. Zuko seemed to thrive on conflict, crave it. He probably couldn't go very long without it. Whatever game he was playing at now, there was no way it would last.

She frowned a little harder, then stalked off to her suite, leaving him behind on the steps.

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Zuko watched her go.

He was remembering, for the first time in a long time, that last night on the deck of her father's ship. It came to him like the lightest, sweetest knife through his chest. She had gazed up at him, had touched his face and pleaded for him to abandon his hunt and join her cause. At some point - in the trunk or on the royal cruiser, he wasn't sure now - he had become convinced that she had been trying to control him, to maneuver him into doing what she wanted like a player nudging a Pai Sho tile around the board. It was something Azula would do, play on his emotions to steer him into doing her will.

He knew now that that wasn't true, had known it for a while, but he had not really... taken the time to think it through. As he was reflecting now, he forced himself to accept that Katara's plea that night had not been some attempt to diminish or control him, but longing wrenched straight from her heart. She had begged him to join her, not because she couldn't win without him, but because she wanted to win with him.

We could face anything together, Zuko. I know it.

Painful as the memory had been when he was convinced it was a play for power - the very reason he had avoided thinking of it all this time - it was excruciating to know that it had been real. She had really loved him in that moment.

And he had answered her with indecision. Followed closely by betrayal. Captivity. A running tab of stains on her honor. Shame. Humiliation and degradation.

He had allowed others to diminish her so that he could appear greater. He had gained at her expense. He had allowed Zhao to burn her horrifically. He had used her power to fuel his glory until her power was eroded and spent. Repeatedly, he had tried to get rid of her - to free her, but also just to get her away from him.

And then, after all of that, she had come back and defended him.

A realization was coalescing in him, shifting his understanding of many things.

I don'tdeserveher respect.

The hissing voice in him bridled at the very notion. If you can't command respect, then you are weak! Pathetic failure! But that was wrong. He could see it so clearly now. He had been weak when he had used Katara as a veneer to project the sort of man his father wanted to see.

Now though, he thought with bitter sarcasm, he was strong - and an absolute fool. He heaved a sigh and tore his eyes away from the empty corridor to peer instead out at the stars.

It was agony, but this was just one of months' worth of cruelties he had yet to fully realize. How was he ever going to apologize?

After some time, Machi emerged from the house with a candle and a searching flick of her eyes.

"Prince Zuko, the summons still awaits a response."

As if he could forget. There were just... so many difficult things he needed to think about. Zuko stepped past Machi and, as she fell in a step behind him, made his way toward the office where the messenger had been waiting since he had arrived late in the afternoon, just before the Gans.

It had been daring merely to ignore the summons for a few hours. Technically, the Fire Lord would not expect him to arrive at the palace until very late in the night, but when he did not appear at all, Zuko knew there would be repercussions. It was a simple missive commanding him to return to the palace to answer for his actions. There was no mention of the assassination attempt or Zuko's injury, just the gut-sick certainty that his father was displeased that he had disobeyed him and freed his crew. There was no doubt in his mind that answering this summons would end in some devastating punishment. Banishment or imprisonment, most likely.

So Zuko simply would not go. But if he openly refused, Ozai would send the royal guard at once to arrest him. Zuko had a handful of his own guards still, and the Gan villa was protected by many more household guards, but even with all that support, Zuko couldn't very well fight a small army - and that's what Ozai had in the palace. A small army that could at any moment begin marching down to Harbor City. And, likely, most of these household guards would surrender to the royal guard anyway simply because they did the Fire Lord's bidding.

The best thing, then, would be to stay out of Caldera, but do it in such a way that Ozai did not think the full force of the royal guard was necessary to bring him to heel. The trick would be in making his father think he wasn't dealing with a true threat, only... Well, a fool.

How fortuitous that Zuko had so much experience in being and appearing foolish.

It chafed him raw to acknowledge it, but Ozai's low opinion of him was about to serve a very important purpose. It could buy Zuko time. Time to gather his resources and build some kind of defenses. Win allies, as he had today.

Well, as Katara had. Shame and gratitude flooded through him, but he shut that away for now.

"Your highness," Machi intoned as they approached the office door, then held out a thick letter, already pressed with his seal.

Zuko took it, then paused and shifted his gaze fully to her. He suddenly found he couldn't not say it. "Not that I don't appreciate everything you've done for me, Machi... but you may come to regret leaving your job as head laundress."

A faint smile played through her eyes. "Only if your highness has misjudged this gambit. Which, considering the tutor, I doubt will be the case."

Zuko's eyebrow tipped back minutely, a faint reflection of the flash of pain, guilt, resentment, and sorrow that shook him. Iroh's voice welled up out of memory, warning him against the straightforward gambit, urging him to consider other strategies. He had never, ever listened. Not in Pai Sho, not in life. Now, he wished desperately he had received his uncle's lessons with more than thin patience and thinner respect.

"I hope you're right," he said at last, then proceeded toward the office.

The courier rose and bowed the moment Machi opened the door as if he had not been waiting for almost three hours, but his eyes were a little wild. "Prince Zuko," he said in a hushed tone.

"Take this message to my father with all haste," Zuko said only a little stiffly, passing the weighty letter into his hand.

The courier peered down at the letter and glanced up at him. "Prince Zuko, I - of course, at once. What- what shall I tell the Fire Lord?"

He was breaking out in a sweat now, because he was realizing that he would be returning to the palace without retrieving the prince. Zuko watched him, not entirely pitiless despite appearances. "The situation in Harbor City is urgent. This letter explains it all. It took me all evening to compile the enclosed figures."

This was a lie. Zuko had written the letter - more of a windy report, really, which was the kind of thing Master Tak had enjoyed assigning - this morning after his confrontation with Katara. Waiting to send the messenger back now was a bid to win a few more precious hours.

"I'm sure my father will understand."

Ozai would understand only the whiff of defiance. He would be furious to have his summons effectively ignored for what he would no doubt consider a meaningless waste of time. Humanitarianism. He would almost certainly send soldiers -

Zuko felt again the memory of his father's fist-hard stare. A threat, even from a child, should never go unanswered.

-but he would not yet muster his full strength to collect his incompetent, bleeding-heart son. Not yet.

Zuko sent the messenger off, his stomach tight with nerves and fury and... hurt that went on and on.

He sat down at the writing desk and, before he had had time to really sink into his miserable feelings, Machi placed a tea tray before him. Ginseng. And off to the side, a plate of steamed buns.

Zuko stared at the warm wisps curling off them, only to immediately be lost and wasted in the open air.

Not from you.

"Machi, make sure Princess Katara..."

What? Make sure she gets some buns and tea? Make sure she eats them? It was none of his business, she'd said, and she had a point. He had no right to involve himself in her affairs - most especially matters of her body.

"Prince Zuko, I hope I have not overstepped, but I ordered another bowl of broth and some wholesome cabbage dumplings placed in her sitting room."

"Oh. That's good..." He peered off to the side, not liking how his face grew warm. Dealing with Pokui had never left him feeling wrong-footed, and he had thought at the time it was because she was simply an effective majordomo. But Machi was far more effective - to the point of impropriety. There were many questions she did not bother asking. She just knew.

"Forgive my inquiry," she said now, "but does Princess Katara not eat meat at all?"

"She does. Just not..."

...when she's been too close to death.

In his mind, he drifted on the edge of a dark valley, where a slim girl waited for his company, her stiff shoulders and wolftail glazed in moonlight. His belly was full of rabbotter stew while she stood empty. Stricken. Desperate.

Zuko's face twisted reflexively as he shied away. These memories ached like infected teeth - so hideously painful that he could not bear to touch them. He did not want to. He had enough to deal with! He didn't need all this pain, too, when he was dancing on the edge of destruction with his father!

But Zuko drew a breath and let the memory linger - like holding his hand on a hot stove. He owed her this much. It was the very least of his mountainous debt to her. The merest beginnings of making it right.

"Make some meat available," he finally said, "but nothing too aromatic for a few more days."

Machi bowed and left him to his thoughts.

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The guests arrived at the lavish townhouse in their customary style. Silks in so many shades of roses, pinks, and peaches, with each lady trimmed in some splash of crimson, vermilion, magenta - such things often went unnoticed, but one did not wear such bold colors in the morning hours unless one was a bold woman herself.

Lady Gan had always thrown the finest brunches before the birth of her child, so even if it had been a while between occasions, no invitation went unaccepted. What good fortune to have descended from Caldera early enough to attend! But good fortune does often come to those who know how to listen to the subtle songs sung in high society - songs sung only under the breath.

The repast was decadent, the decor transcendent. Each lady in attendance felt herself a special guest held in their host's high esteem. So each lady felt in her heart that she could ask the question burning in the back of her mind.

"Yaza, you have not told us anything about your honored house guest. Everyone at Court is dying for news of the Prince and his waterbender..."

Ladies of the Court did not giggle; they tittered, light and knowing with their eyes cutting across the table to each other. But Lady Gan declined to titter.

"In point of fact," she said with measured grace, "there is so little to tell. I shouldn't wish to bore you."

Every voice cried out in stately protest. How could Lady Gan deny such a rising tide of encouragement?

"I suppose there was one peculiar thing... Prince Zuko introduced Princess Katara as his honored guest."

Gasps. He truly did free her, then? And she remained by his side? Is her spirit so broken? So like Ozai and Ursa...

Artfully, like a dancer filling a stage with precise steps, Lady Gan spun out the interrogation with half-answers and deft omissions. The Princess was anything but broken; like a blade from a forge, she had emerged from her indenture tempered to a razor's edge. Now, her gaze was fixed on the plight of her people.

"Their Princess Yue made the ultimate sacrifice for her people," Lady Tsuni murmured.

"The Northern Princess was a dutiful figurehead. But the Southern Princess is a fighter," Lady Jing primly insisted. "Do you remember how she confronted the Admiral? And he flinched back from her?"

"Who would not flinch," Lady Shau reasoned, "when faced with a snapping wolf?"

"I recall her limping after the Prince at Princess Azula's birthday gala. She did not look like much that night."

"Her health must be much improved," Lady Gan offered, idly sipping her tea to force a pause. "Else, she would not have held her own so fiercely."

"Do you mean to say there was some conflict? Between which parties?"

"Princess Katara does not appear inclined to shy from conflict with any party."

"She didn't! What was the Prince's response?"

Lady Gan did not allow it to show, but this was a most crucial step. Told the wrong way, or to the wrong audience, the moment would cast Prince Zuko in an unfavorable light. (And certainly, she could never breathe to anyone that the Princess had struck the Prince and chastised him like an obstinate boy.) But she had selected her messengers carefully. She knew exactly where their sympathies lay.

"A gentlemanly acceptance of correction from his esteemed companion."

Jaws dropped around the table. It was so at odds with what was known and what was widely accepted to be true. But if it was coming from Lady Gan herself, there could be no doubt.

"He would elevate her to a peer," breathed Lady Shau.

"The way he carried her off the dueling court..."

"I heard from my maid that he fired his majordomo over her treatment."

"Romantic as it may seem, the Fire Lord is unlikely to permit this new arrangement to go on," Lady Tsuni said loftily. "What do you imagine the Prince will do when he returns to the palace?"

Lady Gan did not speak, leaving the others to speculate. She was fairly confident that Prince Zuko would not be returning to the palace for some time - barring the event of his arrest. In fact, she and Koji were about to be notified of a rather serious issue in their holdings to the south which would require their immediate attention. A great deal of rice was going missing at this very moment...

But before they went on a long journey to investigate, there were a great many pieces to put into position.

"Esteemed companion, hnn?" Lady Shau was watching her narrowly now. "I heard a tale from my maid as well not so long ago. She had it directly from one of the girls in the companion suite that the Prince came one evening for... some purpose requiring privacy. What manner of companionship was he seeking then, would you say?"

Lady Gan recalled the Princess on the cliff, the wind pulling her short hair as she snarled about "gross, creepy things" and lashed out with devastating honesty. It almost made her want to smile, the happy discovery of that offended and resentful and... innocent young woman.

And, well... she had been instructed to tell all her friends...

...and it was such a delicious bit of gossip...

"I would say that the Prince, whatever his purpose, wisely kept his hands to himself. Maidens of the Water Tribe don't permit men to get too familiar, you know."

Another flood of gasps and speculation spilled forth, and Lady Gan could only just manage to steer their discourse without a satisfied smirk creeping onto her face.

It was almost certainly a lie she was spreading now - in fact, knowing what Yaza knew, it was ludicrous to suggest that the Princess had not indulged herself with the Prince at some point - but accidental fact hardly mattered in this situation. What mattered was honor and the greater good. Princess Katara (and her people, for that matter) had had her honor badly tarnished by her servitude and, to now go on and fulfill her purpose, she would need a fresh shine put to it. A purpose well worthy of some modest curating of fact.

As the famed poet wrote, Tell the truth, but tell it slant. And Yaza endeavored always to slant toward the light.

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psst - the famed poet is Emily Dickenson