The Destruction of War- Book 3: Fire

by Vapor23

Book 3 of a trilogy. After a crucial victory in Ba Sing Se, Aang and his friends fight to maintain momentum in the war. But Bumi's final wish lingers in their minds as they face their greatest challenge yet — defeating the Fire Nation once and for all. Love blossoms with Kataang at its heart, while destiny and duty collide in this thrilling conclusion.

10. Chapter 10: A Month of Mending

Chapter 10: A Month of Mending

AN: Oh my gosh! We've made it to the halfway point of the last book! This book is going to be 21 chapters, just like the original series :) Hard to believe we're getting so close to the end!

Latte28 and michaela.s14: I see your reviews and I promise I'm going to get to them soon!

Chapter 9 Review Responses:

Madslynx: I'm glad that you thought the chapter was cute! It was also one of my favorite chapters! I totally agree with you, when Kya was describing Aang, it was totally heartbreaking. I hope that Aang is able to get some well deserved rest and peace soon as well :) Thanks for your support friend and I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Latte28: I see your review friend, and I hope to respond to it soon! Thanks for your continued support! Hope you enjoy this chapter!

---

The warmth of the early morning sun crept slowly into the room, its soft glow filtering through the edges of the fur-draped window. The air was cool, crisp with the freshness of the Southern Water Tribe's climate, but under the heavy blankets, it was nothing but warmth and comfort.

Aang stirred first. His eyelids fluttered open slowly, his gaze hazy with the weight of sleep. His mind felt... quiet. Not in the peaceful way he used to know, but in the hollow, empty way that had become far too familiar. No rush of thoughts. No flood of feelings. Just stillness.

His gaze shifted down, and his heart softened. There, resting against his chest, was Katara. Her head nestled just under his chin, her breath soft and even against his collarbone. Her arm draped over his side, fingers curled loosely into the fabric of his tunic like she was anchoring herself to him, even in sleep.

For a moment, he just watched her. The rise and fall of her back, the way her hair tickled his chin with each breath. There was nothing else in the world but her presence. And for the first time in what felt like forever, he felt something other than exhaustion or numbness. Gratitude.

His eyes closed for a moment, and a breath shuddered out of him. He leaned down slowly, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of her head. Her hair was soft, scented faintly of the ocean, and the sensation of it against his lips lingered longer than he expected.

She stirred, her brows furrowing slightly as she shifted against him. Her eyes slowly fluttered open, still heavy with sleep, and her gaze met his with quiet confusion. "Aang?" she mumbled, her voice barely above a whisper.

His eyes widened slightly, guilt flashing across his face. "Sorry," he whispered, his voice hoarse and low. "I didn't mean to wake you."

Katara blinked slowly, her tired eyes barely open, but she smiled faintly. Her head pressed gently back against his chest, like she wasn't quite ready to leave the warmth of him. "It's okay, Aang," she murmured, her voice as soft as the tide pulling away from the shore.

His heart eased at that, and he let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. His hand moved on its own, drifting up to her back. Slowly, tenderly, his fingers pressed in gentle, lazy circles between her shoulder blades. She melted into him instantly, her body becoming heavy with relaxation as her eyes slid shut once more.

Silence filled the space between them. The only sounds were the soft rush of waves outside, the crackle of faint wind against the walls, and the slow, steady rhythm of their breathing in unison. For once, it wasn't suffocating. It was peaceful.

Minutes passed like that. Katara felt herself slipping closer to sleep, lulled by the warmth, the gentle motion on her back, and the steady beat of Aang's heart beneath her ear. Her breath slowed, her thoughts drifting further and further away, when she heard it.

"Katara?"

His voice was small, shaky, barely more than a whisper. Her eyes opened just a crack, her mind still hazy with exhaustion, but she hummed quietly, her lips barely moving. "Yes?"

There was a pause. A long one. She felt him still under her, his hand pausing on her back like he was searching for the right words. Her brow furrowed slightly, and she shifted her head just enough to glance up at him.

He swallowed hard. His gaze was distant, like he was looking at something only he could see. His throat bobbed, and his lips parted slowly, his words coming out quietly, deliberately, like they were fragile and might break if he said them too quickly.

"I'm... I'm so grateful for you," he said, voice cracking under the weight of his own conviction. His eyes flickered to hers, holding them tightly. "I know this isn't easy for you. Seeing me like this. It's not fair to you. But... everything you've done for me, all the love you've shown me—" He sucked in a shallow, shaky breath. "It means the world to me. More than I know how to say."

Her heart stopped.

For a moment, she simply stared at him, her eyes wide and glassy with the weight of his words. Then her chest swelled so sharply it hurt. It hit her all at once — the ache of love, the overwhelming warmth of it, the way her entire being seemed to glow from the inside out. Her lips curled into a radiant smile, wide and bright, her eyes shining with an indescribable joy. She gazed at him like he'd just handed her the world, and in a way, he had.

Aang blinked at her, his own eyes softening with wonder. His lips tugged upward into a small, hesitant smile as he watched her, like her joy was contagious. It was the first genuine smile he'd worn in so, so long.

Katara reached up slowly, her fingers gently brushing along his cheek, her eyes never leaving his. Her voice was quiet but firm, each word weighted with love that could fill an ocean. "We're going to get through this, Aang," she promised him. "Together. No matter how long it takes. No matter how hard it gets. The one thing I will make sure you never forget—" She leaned in just a little closer, her eyes locking with his. "—is how much I love you."

Aang's breath hitched. His eyes shut for a moment, like he was bracing himself against the force of her love, but when he opened them again, something inside him had shifted. The exhaustion was still there, but there was something else now. Something brighter.

He moved slowly, leaning down, his face so close to hers that she could feel the warmth of his breath on her cheek. His eyes stayed on hers, searching, holding, like he was making sure she knew just how much she meant to him. Then he pressed his lips softly to her cheek. Not a quick peck, but a lingering, tender kiss that seemed to radiate all the love he'd buried deep in his heart.

Her eyes closed at the sensation, a breath shuddering out of her as her heart swelled to bursting. She could feel it — the weight of everything he felt for her, everything he couldn't say, poured into that one, simple action. The warmth stayed with her long after he pulled away.

"Still a little early," she whispered lovingly, her eyes remaining closed as she leaned her head back against his chest. Her voice was soft, drowsy, but filled with such gentle affection that it made Aang's chest ache in the best way. "Let's get some more rest."

He nodded against her, his head resting against hers once more. "Yeah," he murmured softly. His eyes closed, and he let himself sink into her warmth. For once, he didn't fight the weariness. He didn't push it away. He just let himself be held.

Katara's heart was still glowing. Every beat of it felt stronger than the last, like it was carrying both of them now. She listened to the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath her ear, and for the first time in weeks, it wasn't strained or hurried. It was steady.

As they settled back into the quiet warmth of the blankets, Katara gazed at the wall ahead of her, her face resting in the crook of his neck. She knew that today would be another day of small steps. Tiny victories. But she had never been more certain that they were moving forward.

Her eyes closed, her mind slowing as sleep pulled her under once more. And in the quiet, peaceful stillness of that morning, one thought remained as steady as her heartbeat.

There was finally some progress. Aang, slowly but surely, was healing.

---

The sun climbed higher into the sky, its golden glow filling the house with a gentle warmth. The faint crackle of the fire echoed softly in the background, adding a comforting ambiance to the quiet peace of the morning. A thick, woven blanket lay draped over Aang and Katara as they nestled together on the couch.

Katara sat propped up on the arm of the couch, her back cushioned by a pillow, while Aang lay curled into her. His head rested against her chest, his arms loosely wrapped around her waist. His breathing was slow, his body slack with the kind of deep exhaustion that only came after too many restless nights. Katara's hand moved rhythmically, fingers combing gently through the soft fuzz of his hair. Each slow stroke seemed to lull him deeper into rest.

She smiled down at him, her heart so full it ached. He was especially cuddly this morning, not that she was complaining. If anything, she cherished it. Every little sign of him seeking her comfort, every moment of closeness, felt like another step forward. There was something so profoundly sweet about how fully he leaned into her, his complete trust in her evident in every relaxed muscle of his body. She shifted just slightly to press a kiss to the top of his head, letting her lips linger there for a moment.

His eyes were closed, but she could feel the tiny shift of his expression — the faintest upward curl of his lips. He didn't say anything, but he nuzzled into her a little deeper, his nose brushing against her collarbone like he was chasing after her warmth.

The rest of the family gathered nearby, the low hum of conversation filling the room. Sokka and Rina sat cross-legged on the floor by the fire, bundled under a shared blanket. Their voices were soft, but still lively as they recounted some of the sillier moments from their journey.

"So then, Rina grabs the guy's spear, flips it around, and somehow—somehow—manages to break it clean in half over her knee like it was a twig!" Sokka grinned, his hands miming the moment with dramatic flair. "The guy just stared at her like he forgot how to breathe."

Rina leaned her head back, grinning wide. "To be fair, I think I shocked myself too," she admitted, nudging him playfully. "I'm just glad he didn't have a backup spear."

"Yet another reason why carrying two spears is a terrible tactical move!" Sokka declared, jabbing a finger in the air like he was making some grand, world-changing point. "You're just doubling your chances of getting one of them broken!"

A soft sound reached Katara's ears. It was faint, but unmistakable.

A chuckle.

Her gaze shifted down to Aang just in time to see it — his lips quivering into the smallest of smiles, a soft breathy laugh escaping him. It wasn't much, barely a sound at all, but it was there. Her heart leapt in her chest, warmth blooming in her core like the sun had risen just for her.

She gave his hand a gentle squeeze, rubbing her thumb slowly across the back of his palm. "I heard that," she whispered down to him, her voice tender with affection. She leaned down to press a soft peck to his cheek, letting her lips linger just long enough for him to feel it. "Keep it up, and I'll have to start rewarding you for every smile."

Aang let out another quiet chuckle, his eyes still closed but his smile a little wider now. His fingers gave a small squeeze back, and he burrowed further into her like she was the only safe place in the world.

Kya, seated across from them, watched the scene with quiet fondness. Her eyes crinkled with a motherly warmth as she sipped from a cup of tea. She didn't say a word, but the look on her face spoke volumes. She saw it too. The progress. The love. The quiet victories.

The morning passed slowly, but nobody seemed to mind. Every so often, Aang's eyes would drift shut, his breaths slowing as he teetered on the edge of sleep. Then something Sokka said would stir him awake again, usually a particularly bad pun or one of Rina's clever quips. Each time, Katara would feel the soft shift of his body as he tilted his head up just slightly, his eyes half-lidded but present, his smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

And every time, Katara would give him some form of encouragement — a kiss on his cheek, a soft stroke along his arm, or a squeeze of his hand. Each little moment felt like a shared secret between the two of them, and she treasured every single one.

When lunch came, the air in the house smelled of warmth and spices. The soft, savory aroma of stew filled every corner of the room, making it feel even cozier than it already was. The family gathered around the small dining table, bowls of steaming stew and warm rice placed neatly in front of each of them.

Kya brought the final bowl to Aang, her gentle smile unwavering as she set it down before him. "I made your favorite, sweetie," she said softly, her hand giving his shoulder a light squeeze. "No pressure, alright? Just a little at a time."

Aang nodded quietly, his eyes fixed on the bowl as if it were a mountain he had to climb. Katara watched him carefully, ready to offer support but not wanting to hover.

He picked up his spoon, his movements slow and deliberate. He took one small bite of rice. Then another. Slowly, he tried a spoonful of stew. Katara saw the way he hesitated between each bite, his face scrunching with a mix of uncertainty and discomfort. By the time he set the spoon down, he'd barely made it through three bites of rice and two bites of stew.

He exhaled slowly, his gaze dropping, his hands retreating from the bowl like he was giving up. His shoulders sagged with guilt. "I'm sorry," he muttered under his breath.

Katara reached out and took hold of his bowl, but instead of moving it away, she gently inched it back toward him. Her hand stayed on the side of the bowl, her eyes meeting his with quiet understanding. "Leave it here," she said, her voice soft but firm. "In case you get a little hungry later."

Her eyes didn't waver. There was no judgment in them. No frustration. Only patience. Only love.

Aang stared at her for a moment, his eyes flickering with uncertainty. Then, slowly, he nodded. "Okay," he murmured quietly.

Kya's voice came from across the table, light but encouraging. "You're doing great, Aang," she said, her tone warm as the fire behind them. "Every little bit counts."

Her words weren't forceful or demanding. They were kind. Genuine.

Aang gave her a small, hesitant nod, glancing at his bowl. His fingers drummed lightly against the table, and after a moment, he reached for the spoon again. Three more bites of stew. One more bite of rice. Then he finally set the spoon down for good, leaning back into Katara with a quiet sigh.

It wasn't much. But it was more than yesterday. And sometimes, that was all that mattered.

Katara smiled softly, leaning into him as he rested against her once more. Her arms wrapped around him, holding him just as tenderly as she had that morning. He melted into her, his body going slack, his breath warm against her neck. His heart was steady.

Her fingers traced slow, gentle patterns on his back, and as she gazed at him, a powerful swell of love filled her chest, so strong it left her breathless. He was giving her all of himself — his pain, his love, his hope — and she could feel the weight of that trust settle in her heart. Her eyes softened as she held him closer, pressing her cheek against the side of his head. She knew, with unwavering certainty, that she would never take that for granted.

Her gaze shifted to the others around the table. Sokka and Rina sat nearby, quietly smiling at the sight of them, their warmth and support clear in the ease of their expressions. Across from them, Kya's gaze lingered on Aang with pride and quiet relief. It wasn't loud or grand, but it was a victory. Maybe not a big one, but big enough to matter.

Katara leaned down, her lips pressing softly to Aang's temple. Her voice was quiet but firm with love. "I'm so proud of you," she whispered.

Aang didn't say anything. He didn't need to. His body leaned more heavily against her, his breath slow and steady, his trust in her as complete as it had ever been. She wrapped her arms around him, holding him with the care and certainty of someone who knew exactly what he needed. She would hold him for as long as he needed — for days, for weeks, for months, however long it took.

Her eyes drifted closed, her heart at peace. She wasn't thinking of battles or missions or the crushing weight of the world. All that mattered was him, safe in her arms, with nothing but love between them.

They would get there together. No matter how long it took, she would make sure of it.

---

Three days later, the next milestone came.

The first hints of morning light crept softly into the room, casting a golden glow over the bed. Aang's eyes fluttered open slowly, his body still nestled against Katara's. Her arms were wrapped around him, her steady breathing a gentle rhythm in his ears. The first thing he saw was her face, her loving gaze already on him as if she'd been waiting for this moment.

"Good morning," she murmured, her voice as warm and soft as the sunlight filtering in through the window. She leaned down and pressed a tender kiss to his forehead, her lips lingering there for a second longer than necessary.

A soft smile tugged at Aang's lips, and he snuggled in closer, burying his face against her shoulder. The warmth of her embrace was everything he needed, and Katara's heart filled with quiet joy. She could feel him shift his hand around her, his palm resting flat against her back as he began to rub slow, gentle circles. Her eyes closed briefly, savoring the soothing motion.

Over the past few days, she'd noticed that he had started doing little things like this more often. Sometimes, he'd run his fingers through her hair while they sat together by the fire. Other times, he'd press his thumbs into the muscles of her back, working out the tension she didn't realize she'd been carrying. Each gesture was small but deeply meaningful, and every single one left her heart full to bursting.

He was trying to give back to her, in his own quiet, thoughtful way. And she loved him even more for it.

But suddenly, Aang pulled away from her with a small, sharp gasp.

Her eyes snapped open, her heart skipping in alarm. "Aang? What is it?" she asked softly, her voice steady but watchful. Her hand instinctively cupped the side of his face, searching his eyes for any sign of pain or fear.

He blinked a few times, his breath caught in his chest, before his wide gray eyes lifted to hers. "I… I didn't have any nightmares," he said, his voice barely more than a breath.

For a moment, Katara simply stared at him, her own surprise catching her off guard. But as soon as the words registered, warmth surged through her chest. Her lips parted into a slow, radiant smile. "That's true," she said gently, her thumb brushing across his cheek.

The look that spread across Aang's face then was like the sun breaking through a storm. His grin was the brightest one she'd seen in weeks — pure, unrestrained relief and joy lighting up every inch of his face. His eyes crinkled with happiness, and Katara swore she could feel that glow in her own heart.

He pulled her in tighter, wrapping his arms around her with so much love and gratitude that she didn't hesitate to melt into his embrace. Her head tucked under his chin as his lips pressed a soft, lingering kiss to her forehead. Her eyes shut as she allowed herself to savor the moment, her body settling into him like they were two pieces of a puzzle perfectly fit together.

She'd always loved being close to him, but lately, it had been something more. Aang had been so consistently cuddly, always seeking her presence like a safe harbor. She'd been more than happy to offer it, and now, as his fingers resumed their slow, soothing circles on her back, she felt nothing but peace. Her ear rested against his chest, listening to the steady, even rhythm of his heartbeat. Strong. Steady. Whole.

Her breathing slowed as the warmth and comfort of it all began to lull her to sleep again. Every ounce of her body felt weightless in his arms.

Then, his quiet whisper reached her ears, so soft that it almost didn't feel real. "I love you, Katara."

Her eyes opened for a moment, her heart swelling with so much love it felt too big for her chest. She didn't even have to think before whispering back, "I love you too, Aang."

Her hand curled around his back, holding him tighter, her lips tugging into a smile. The words were effortless, as natural as breathing, but they carried more weight now. He wasn't just saying it. He was living it.

Feeling a spark of hope, Katara decided to take a small risk. Riding on the warmth of his love, she lifted her head just enough to see his face. Her eyes were soft with affection, her tone light but hopeful. "How about this?" she whispered. "We take a little nap together, and then when we wake up, we can celebrate your big accomplishment with some breakfast. Sound good?"

For a moment, there was only silence. She half-expected him to brush it off or bury himself back into her chest, not ready to face the idea of food just yet. But then, Aang shifted, his eyes meeting hers with quiet consideration.

"…Yeah," he said after a pause, his voice gentle but certain. "I think I'd like that."

Her smile grew impossibly wide, brighter than the morning sun pouring through the window. She rested her head back on his chest, listening once more to the calm, steady beat of his heart. As she let herself drift off in his arms, the last thing she felt was his hand still rubbing her back, slow and soothing.

Her heart felt so light, so full.

They were going to be okay.

---

The next day marked the biggest breakthrough yet.

For the second night in a row, Aang made it through without a single nightmare. The difference was unmistakable. The once deep, shadowy bags under his eyes had begun to fade, replaced by the soft glow of proper rest. His movements seemed a little lighter, his posture not as weighed down by exhaustion. The change wasn't just noticeable in him — it was in all of them. Sokka, Rina, and Katara had finally gotten a full night of sleep themselves, and it showed. Their eyes weren't as heavy, their yawns less frequent. For the first time in weeks, peace felt tangible.

But Aang wasn't done surprising them.

It was just after breakfast when he approached Katara, his gaze a little unsure but determined. He hesitated for only a moment before asking, "Do you want to go for a walk with me... outside?"

Her heart swelled with pride so fiercely that it left her breathless. "Yes," she said immediately, her smile so wide it hurt her cheeks. "Yes, of course I do."

Their hands intertwined as they stepped outside into the cool, crisp air. It nipped lightly at their faces, but neither of them cared. Together, they walked across the fresh snow, the crunch of their footsteps blending with the distant sound of the waves lapping against the icy shore. The wind was soft today, carrying with it the salty scent of the sea.

They followed a familiar path, one they had walked many times before. It led them to the place where they'd done waterbending lessons together, where the vast, endless stretch of water met the sky in a perfect, boundless horizon. It was a view that could make the whole world feel quiet.

Aang sat down at the edge of the icy bank, his gaze fixed on the water as though he were seeing it for the first time in years. Katara sat down beside him, not needing to be asked. She leaned into him, and he leaned into her, their arms wrapping around each other naturally. Their heads rested together, his cheek gently pressed against hers, as they gazed out at the water in unspoken peace.

Aang's voice was quiet, almost fragile. "I missed this," he murmured. His gray eyes shimmered with something soft, like he'd found a long-lost part of himself. "The water… It's so calm. So peaceful."

Katara's eyes lowered to the water's steady rippling waves. "I missed it too," she admitted, her voice just as gentle.

They sat there together for what felt like an eternity. Neither of them spoke, and neither of them needed to. The distant crash of the waves filled the air, steady and soothing. It wasn't just the water that felt peaceful — it was them. Katara glanced at Aang from the corner of her eye and noticed something she hadn't seen in weeks.

Peace.

Real, undeniable peace.

His eyes didn't hold that haunted look anymore, the one that always lingered just behind his gaze, ready to drag him back into memories he couldn't escape. Today, his eyes were steady. Clear. Calm. She saw it, and she knew he felt it too. Her arms tightened around him, pulling him closer as she rested her head more firmly against his. She didn't want him to think for even a second that he had to face it alone.

Eventually, the cold air began to nip at them a little too sharply. Aang shivered lightly, and Katara chuckled, pulling him up with her. Their hands found each other again as they walked back toward home, fingers interlocked, warmth shared between them.

When they reached the house, the smell hit them first — sweet, rich, and warm. It wrapped around them like a blanket before they even reached the door.

"Smells amazing," Katara said, breathing it in with a smile.

Sokka and Rina greeted them as soon as they stepped inside, their faces glowing with excitement. "Oh, you guys are just in time," Rina said, practically bouncing in place. Her smile was mischievous but warm. "We've got a little surprise for you, Aang."

Curious, Aang glanced at her, then turned as Hakoda and Kya walked in, both carrying fruit pies in their hands. The golden crusts were perfectly crisped, and the sweet smell filled every inch of the room.

"We figured it was time for something special," Kya said warmly, her smile filled with pride. "Katara told us about the fruit pies you used to love. We tried our best to make them for you."

"By we, she means they," Sokka said, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. "I just kind of followed Katara's vague instructions. And, uh… I'm pretty sure it's nowhere near as good as the ones you're used to. I mean, c'mon, none of us are airbenders or master chefs, so don't get your hopes too high—"

He didn't get to finish.

Aang moved so fast that it caught everyone off guard. One second, he was standing in place, and the next, he was crashing into Sokka, his arms wrapping around him in a fierce hug. Sokka stumbled back with a startled "Whoa!" but quickly regained his footing, patting Aang on the back with an awkward grin.

Aang pulled back just enough to look at everyone else. His eyes glistened with tears, shining bright with overwhelming gratitude. His gaze lingered on each of them, from Hakoda to Kya to Rina, then finally to Katara. His voice was thick with emotion as he said, "Thank you. Thank you, all of you. This means… this means the absolute world to me."

Their smiles were warm, full of love, but none were warmer than Katara's. She stepped forward and slipped her arms around him, pulling him into an embrace that was as strong and steady as the waves they'd watched earlier. Aang melted into her instantly, his head resting against her shoulder as he closed his eyes.

"Alright, enough sap," Rina teased with a grin. "I'm way more interested in how this 'Master Chef Sokka's' fruit pie tastes."

Everyone laughed, the sound filling the house with a warmth that chased away every lingering shadow. It wasn't forced or short-lived — it was deep, genuine laughter that echoed through the walls. Even Aang laughed. Not the polite, short kind of laugh he'd been giving lately, but something soft and real. His chuckle started small, then grew into something fuller, his chest lightly shaking with it.

The sound struck Katara right in the heart. She glanced at him from the side, her lips tugging into a gentle, unshakable smile. There was no mistaking it — that was his laugh. The real one. It was musical, like a breeze brushing through wind chimes, and she felt her heart swell at the sound.

Her fingers squeezed his hand under the table, a silent message shared between them that showed just how proud she was of him. He squeezed back, and for just a moment, the whole world felt right again.

When the laughter finally died down, Kya placed a fresh slice of fruit pie in front of Aang, smiling down at him like only a mother could. "Eat up, Aang," she said warmly, smoothing his hair back before returning to her chair.

He stared down at the pie for a moment. The golden crust shimmered under the glow of the firelight, and the fruity filling peeked out from the sides, thick and sticky. His gaze lingered, like he was preparing himself. Then, slowly, he picked up his fork.

Katara leaned in a little, watching him with quiet anticipation. Everyone else glanced his way too, waiting, none of them wanting to rush him. They knew how hard it had been for him to eat much of anything these past few weeks. This wasn't just a bite of pie — it was a step forward.

He carefully cut off a small piece with the edge of his fork, lifting it slowly to his mouth. The room held its breath.

His eyes shifted upward as he chewed. His brow raised slightly, his face thoughtful as he processed the taste. The crust was… well, dense. Sokka must have overworked it, making it a little too thick and dry. The filling was sweet, but unevenly so, as if one half had been soaked in sugar while the other forgot to show up. It wasn't bad, but it wasn't exactly good either.

But for Aang? It couldn't have tasted any better.

Every flavor, every imperfect texture, was laced with something far sweeter than fruit or sugar — love. It was there in the cracks of the crust, in every uneven scoop of filling, in the careful effort that each of them had put into making it just for him. They had done this for him. It was that thought that coated every bite in something he hadn't tasted in far too long — home.

He took another bite. Then another. His chewing was steady this time, more certain, his pace never slowing. His eyes stayed on his plate, his fingers gripping the fork with quiet determination.

One bite. Two bites. Five. Ten.

Before he knew it, he looked down and saw nothing but crumbs.

For a moment, he just blinked, like he couldn't believe it. The thought that he had just finished a meal struck him slowly, like a distant realization breaking through fog.

The silence didn't last long.

"No way!" Sokka's voice shot through the air, full of disbelief and excitement. His chair scraped against the floor as he sat up, his eyes wide as he pointed at Aang's empty plate. "You finished it!" His grin split his face in two, pride radiating off him like heat from a fire. He shot his hands into the air. "Now that is the type of compliment this chef was looking for!" he declared, puffing out his chest and crossing his arms with mock grandeur.

His loud announcement drew everyone's attention, and within seconds, Katara was on her feet. Her eyes locked on the empty plate, and before she could stop herself, she darted forward. "You did it!" she gasped, practically leaping into him. Her arms locked around him with a force that made him stumble back in his chair, his eyes wide with surprise. But he didn't protest. If anything, he laughed.

It wasn't just a small chuckle this time. It was a full, bright laugh that poured out of him like water from a broken dam. His head tilted back as his hands braced against her, and Katara's heart soared. Her arms stayed firm around him, her cheek pressed against the side of his head, and she squeezed tighter, her voice brimming with joy.

"You finished it!" she repeated, her whole face lit up like the sun had risen just for her. "I'm so proud of you, Aang! I'm so proud of you!"

The rest of the table joined in at once.

"Great job, Aang!" Rina cheered, raising her cup in a toast.

"That's no small feat," Kya added with a soft, knowing smile. "You've come a long way, sweetie."

"Not just a long way," Hakoda grinned, lifting his drink as well. "He's crossed an entire ocean."

Aang sat in the middle of it all, his cheeks flushing a deep, rosy pink. His head lowered, shoulders raised in that way he always did when he was feeling embarrassed. His fingers rubbed the back of his neck, his gaze flickering around the table. But even with his head down, Katara could see it.

He was proud of himself.

It wasn't in his words, and it wasn't in his posture. It was in his eyes. It was in the way he looked at the empty plate, like he'd just conquered something no one else in the world had seen but him.

Hakoda leaned forward, resting his arms on the table as he grinned. "So, Aang, what's the plan?" he asked, tilting his head knowingly. "How are you gonna celebrate this big victory?"

Aang blinked at him, tilting his head like he'd never even considered the idea. His lips pressed together, thinking it over. Slowly, his face lit up. A smile spread slowly, naturally, until it was beaming brighter than Katara had seen in weeks.

"A nap," he said simply, his voice as soft as it was confident.

It took a second for it to register. Then, like a spark hitting dry kindling, the room erupted into laughter all over again. The sound was even louder than before. Katara clapped a hand over her mouth, her shoulders shaking as she tried to hold it in, but it was no use. Rina leaned forward on the table, laughing so hard she nearly fell onto her plate, and Sokka slapped the table like it had personally wronged him. The joke wasn't even that funny, but it was the fact that Aang was visibly improving that made it so much funnier.

Aang laughed along with them. This time, his whole body leaned into it, his face buried in his hands as his shoulders shook with mirth. The sound of it was light and musical, free in a way that hadn't been possible for weeks.

That sound.

Katara glanced over at him, her gaze softening with something close to awe. She could have listened to him laugh like that forever. It was pure, light, and whole. Finally whole.

"Alright, sleepyhead," she said through a grin, rising from her chair. "Come on."

She led him to the couch by the fireplace, grabbing the thick, woven blanket along the way. The fire crackled softly, its warmth seeping into the room as she sat down beside him, pulling the blanket over the both of them. He let out a small, tired sigh as he leaned into her, his head finding its place on her shoulder as if it had always belonged there. She wrapped an arm around him, tucking him close, her fingers finding his hair.

Her nails gently scratched his scalp, and she felt him relax under her touch, his breath slowly evening out. His eyes blinked heavily, struggling to stay open. She watched every bit of it with quiet reverence, her heart full to the brim.

"You did so good today," she whispered to him, her lips brushing against his temple. Her words were a promise, a vow, a truth spoken aloud. "I'm so proud of you, Aang. I love you."

He didn't open his eyes, but a small smile tugged at his lips, and his voice was quiet but clear.

"I love you too."

Her fingers threaded slowly through his hair, her other arm holding him tight against her. His breathing deepened, his chest rising and falling in a steady, peaceful rhythm. She pressed her cheek to his head, her eyes fluttering closed.

For the first time in weeks, Aang fell asleep without a struggle.

And for the first time in weeks, Katara didn't feel like she had to keep watch. She closed her eyes, and together, they rested.

---

The next week flew by faster than anyone had expected. Days seemed to blend together, filled with soft conversations, quiet victories, and moments of shared warmth that made the house feel more alive than it had in years.

Aang's progress was undeniable. It wasn't the kind of change that happened all at once, like flipping a switch. It was slower, more gradual, like watching the tide creep in bit by bit. But every small shift mattered. Finally — finally — he was able to finish his plate at nearly every meal. It didn't happen without effort, of course. Sometimes his bites were slow, his gaze distant as if he were thinking his way through every chew. But he did it. One bite. Another. Then another. Until, at last, the plate was empty.

Kya watched him like a hawk, but not with judgment. Her eyes were always soft, gentle but observant. Sometimes, after he'd cleared his plate, she'd nudge him lightly. "Think you can manage just a little more, sweetheart? A few more spoonfuls of rice?" she'd ask with that motherly tone that made it so, so hard to say no. Most of the time, Aang would try, taking a few more bites if he could. But sometimes he'd shake his head, hands resting lightly on his stomach as he let out a quiet, breathy, "I'm full."

And that was okay. Everyone agreed on that. No one scolded him for stopping. No one pushed too far. Just finishing the plate was a victory in itself.

The changes were subtle at first, but they didn't go unnoticed. His breathing grew stronger, no longer shallow or stifled like before. His chest rose and fell with more fullness, each breath less of a struggle than the last. The weariness that had once clung to him like a shadow began to loosen its grip. He had a little more energy, a little more brightness in his eyes. The exhaustion that had weighed on his entire frame was finally lifting, and though it wasn't gone completely, it was fading.

Katara saw it all. She saw everything. She noticed how he sat up straighter at dinner, how his steps on their walks were a little more surefooted, how his gaze didn't always linger on the ground. And most of all, she noticed the way he smiled. Not the small, polite smiles he gave just to make people feel better. Real smiles. Not every day, not all the time, but often enough to remind her of the boy she knew.

They spent most of their time together. It didn't matter what they were doing — every moment shared between them felt like a small victory. Sometimes they went on walks by the water, their hands lightly brushing until one of them finally took the other's hand. Sometimes they sat together, watching the sun bounce off the waves, letting the lull of the water soothe them both. Sometimes they'd join Sokka and Rina for storytelling sessions, where Sokka would tell wildly exaggerated tales, and Aang would chime in with his own playful additions.

But Katara's favorite moments — the ones she cherished the most — were the quiet ones. The times when it was just her and Aang, curled up on the couch or nestled together on the porch. At first, his grip on her had been so tight, his arms wrapped around her like he was terrified she might disappear if he let go. But slowly, as the days passed, his hold softened. Now his arms hung loosely around her waist, his head resting against her chest or her shoulder. She could feel the way he relaxed into her, letting himself trust her with his weight.

Sometimes, it was Katara who cradled him, her fingers combing slowly through his hair as his eyes fluttered shut. Other times, it was Aang who held her. His fingers would weave through her hair or press slow, soothing circles into her back. They both gave. They both received. And they both knew that this was something sacred — something that no one else could touch.

They napped whenever they could. It was something Katara hadn't realized she'd missed until it became part of their routine. The quiet rhythm of his breathing, the warmth of his body against hers, the feeling of being still and safe. It was peace. Real peace. Not the kind you fight for — the kind you earn.

But the best part of all? The laughter.

There was no sound sweeter than the rare, pure laugh that escaped from Aang each day. Sometimes it was a small chuckle, a brief burst of joy that faded as quickly as it came. But sometimes, just once a day, it would be more than that. A real, unrestrained, head-thrown-back laugh. Everyone noticed it. The first time it happened, they all froze like they'd witnessed something miraculous. And then, without even thinking, they all started laughing too. Not because something was funny — but because he was laughing. It was contagious in the best way, like the sound had unlatched something in all of them.

He wasn't quite back to being the boy who lit up every room he walked into, but that was okay. He didn't have to be. The fact that he was present at the table, that he was talking and joking and engaging again, was more than enough. It was a reason to celebrate.

But healing wasn't linear. Everyone knew that. No one expected every day to be good. And, of course, there were rough nights.

The nightmares weren't as frequent as they used to be, but when they came, they hit like a storm. His breathing would spike, his body twisting under the blankets as quiet, desperate sounds slipped from his throat. It wasn't uncommon for Katara, Sokka, and Rina to all be up at once, their sleepy eyes filled with concern as they surrounded him. It took all three of them — sometimes more — to bring him back. They'd sit on the floor beside him, speaking in soft voices, grounding him with gentle touches.

The worst part wasn't the nightmares. It was the guilt.

Every time, without fail, Aang would stare at them afterward, his eyes glassy with exhaustion and apology. "I'm sorry," he'd whisper, his voice so small it could break them all. "I didn't mean to wake you up…"

"It's okay, Aang," Rina would always say, her voice firm but kind. "You didn't do anything wrong."

Sokka would shrug like it was no big deal. "Yeah, you think this is bad? You should hear Katara snore." His grin would be lopsided, his eyes half-closed with exhaustion but still bright with humor. Katara would lightly swat his arm, but she'd smile too.

And then Katara would gather Aang in her arms, holding him close until his breathing returned to normal. Her grip would be fierce, her voice steady as stone. "You're safe, Aang. You're safe. I've got you."

On their walks by the water, where the air smelled fresh and the waves lapped gently at the shore, Aang would sometimes break down. It was always quiet, always slow. He'd be talking about something small, something innocent, and then his words would falter. His breath would catch. He'd stop walking.

"I still don't know if I can forgive myself," he'd admit, his voice barely above a whisper. His gaze would stay fixed on the water, his reflection staring back at him like a ghost. "For what I did… I don't know if I ever can."

That was when Katara held him like she never had before. Her arms would lock around him, and she wouldn't let him go, not until every ounce of doubt had been wrung from his heart. She didn't offer him easy answers. She didn't try to tell him he was wrong.

"You're not alone," she'd say fiercely, her voice thick with emotion. "You hear me, Aang? You're not alone. We love you. I love you. My family loves you. And I'm going to be right here with you. Always."

He'd cry sometimes. Sometimes he wouldn't. But every time, she could feel something in him shift, even if it was just a little.

That was what their family celebrated most. Not perfection. Not some final, picture-perfect moment where everything was suddenly "okay." They celebrated progress. Because despite the setbacks, despite the bad nights and the quiet tears, he was still moving forward. That mattered. It mattered so much.

Through it all, one thing never changed: Aang was never alone.

Hakoda was there to offer quiet wisdom. Kya was there with her gentle guidance. Sokka and Rina were always ready to bring levity, cracking jokes or just sitting beside him, reminding him that his presence was enough.

But most of all, Katara was there. Her love never wavered. Not for a second. She held him every step of the way, and with every glance, every whisper, every moment of quiet comfort, she reminded him of a simple, unwavering truth:

He didn't have to walk this path alone.

He never would again.

---

Two more weeks passed, and Aang's progress remained slow but steady. Every day felt like a small step forward, sometimes so small it was easy to miss. But progress was progress, and everyone in the house saw it.

With the combined efforts of Katara, Rina, and Kya, Aang was eating more than he had in the past month. Mealtime had shifted from something tense and uncertain to something peaceful — almost normal. Kya had started serving him two bowls of rice now, a sign of their growing confidence in him. He didn't always finish the second bowl, but he made it halfway through most days. And that was enough.

That was more than enough.

And it was showing. Slowly but surely, his face began to lose its hollow look. His cheeks weren't as sharp, and there was the faintest curve to them now, subtle but undeniable. His waist and ribs no longer looked so frail and bare-boned. His body, though still far from where it needed to be, didn't look as fragile anymore. The thinness was still there, yes, but it wasn't all that was there anymore.

He had substance again. He was here.

But the most unexpected moment of progress came when he asked Katara, voice quiet but sure, "Can we… bend together? Not a lesson or anything. I just… I just want to feel it again."

Her answer had been immediate. "Of course."

There was no hesitation, no questioning if he was ready. If Aang wanted it, she would give it to him. She led him down to their familiar waterbending spot, the place where so many lessons had started and stopped. But this time, there were no lessons. No expectations. Just the two of them, standing side by side as they moved with the rhythm of the water.

Katara guided them both into slow, sweeping motions. They didn't speak. There was no need. The water followed them, flowing freely from one palm to the other, the current uninterrupted. It moved like silk between them, smooth and steady. Every pass of the water between them was a quiet reminder that bending was more than a tool or a skill. It was freedom. It was feeling connected to something bigger than themselves.

Aang's eyes were closed most of the time, his breathing steady and calm. His movements were slower than usual, but there was grace in them. The water moved with him as if it had been waiting for this moment too. Katara watched him closely, noting every shift of his shoulders, every breath he took. There was peace in his face. No tension. No doubt.

They passed the water back and forth for as long as he wanted. And when his movements slowed and his hands lowered, Katara caught the water and let it flow gently back into the river. He glanced at her then, and for a moment, he looked just a little more like himself.

No words were needed. She smiled, and he smiled back.

The rest of their days followed a quiet rhythm. If they weren't bending or eating or helping Hakoda and Kya around the house, they were curled up together. It wasn't unusual to find them lying on the couch, Katara tucked beneath Aang's arm, his fingers lazily threading through her hair. She didn't know if he did it for her comfort or his own, but she never stopped him. She loved it. She loved every second of it.

Sometimes she'd run her fingers along his back in slow, tender circles. Her hands knew his every knot, every place where tension lived, and she worked each one out with care. They didn't speak during these moments. They didn't need to. It was peace in its purest form. More often than not, their quiet cuddles turned into long, uninterrupted naps. She'd wake up with her head on his chest, lulled by the gentle rise and fall of his breathing, and she'd smile.

She didn't want it to end. If she was being honest with herself, she felt a little selfish about it. Is it wrong to want to stay like this forever? The world beyond these walls felt so far away. Here, in this house, in these moments, everything was safe. He was safe. She was safe. Together, they could just be.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, Aang wasn't rushing to be anywhere. He wasn't carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. Here, he was allowed to just exist.

But things couldn't always stay positive.

The nightmares came back. They weren't as frequent — only three in the past two weeks — but each one hit him like a brick wall. When they came, they came with force.

The first sign was always the sharp, panicked breath. Then the thrashing. His hands would clutch at the blanket, his body twisting as if he was fighting something only he could see. The noises were the worst part — quiet, desperate sounds that cracked like splintered glass.

Katara was always the first to reach him, her hands firm on his shoulders, her voice as steady as she could make it. "Aang, it's me. It's me. You're safe, I'm right here. You're safe." Her words came in a steady rhythm, matching the soft strokes of her hands along his back.

But on the harder nights, it wasn't just her. Sokka and Rina would shuffle from their bed, their faces groggy but determined. Sokka's eyes were sharp with focus as he sat on the floor beside Aang, speaking low and calm. "Hey, buddy, you're good. You're alright. Just breathe with me, okay?" He'd take exaggerated breaths to show Aang how, slow and deep, loud enough for Aang to hear. Rina sat at his other side, her hands pressed lightly on his arm, offering warmth and grounding him.

It took all three of them. It always did. His breathing would steady eventually, but even then, his body wouldn't stop trembling. He'd sit there, curled in on himself, his head buried in his hands. His voice was always the same after. Quiet. Small. Fractured.

"I'm sorry," he'd whisper, his words trembling just like his body. "I'm so, so sorry."

Sokka shook his head every time, letting out a tired sigh as he leaned back against the wall. "I swear, if you apologize one more time, I'm gonna make you eat three bowls of rice tomorrow."

Rina chuckled softly, her eyes half-lidded with sleep. "Sokka's right, you know. You don't owe us anything, Aang. We want to be here for you."

But it was Katara who stayed. After Sokka and Rina went back to bed, Katara stayed with him every time. She sat behind him, her arms wrapped tightly around him, her cheek pressed to the back of his head. She didn't try to make him stop shaking. She didn't ask him to. She just held him.

"It's alright," she'd whisper, rocking him slowly. "You're safe now, Aang. I'm right here. I've got you."

He never answered, but his body would slowly, slowly begin to relax. Sometimes, it took an hour. Sometimes longer. But Katara never let him go. When he finally wore himself out, slumping against her with the weight of exhaustion, she'd guide him back to bed.

The next day, he wouldn't ask for much. No walks. No bending. No helping around the house. All he wanted to do was curl up beside Katara, and she was more than happy to do that for him. She'd hold him close, her hands threading through his hair, her heartbeat slow and steady under his ear. On those days, they didn't need words. They just rested.

But even with the setbacks, the progress was clear. He was eating more. He was growing stronger. He was smiling more. It was slow, yes, but that didn't matter. Healing wasn't supposed to be fast. It was supposed to be real.

And every day, Aang woke up. Every day, he kept trying. That, more than anything, was worth celebrating.

Because the one thing that had never changed was that he was never, never alone.

Sokka, Rina, Kya, Hakoda — they were all there for him. No one ever made him feel like a burden. They helped him breathe through his worst nights. They laughed with him on his best days. They loved him, and he loved them in return.

But more than anyone else, Katara was there. Always. Her love was constant, steady as the ocean's tide. She saw his progress when he couldn't see it himself. She believed in him, even when he didn't believe in himself. She was there in every quiet moment, every triumph, every setback.

After a particularly rough night, it wasn't a surprise to anyone that Aang and Katara were nestled together on the couch. The sunlight trickled in through the window, casting soft golden light over the two of them. They sat in comfortable silence, Aang's fingers slowly weaving through Katara's hair. Each gentle pass of his fingers against her scalp sent a wave of peace through her, her eyes half-lidded as she leaned into him.

Her head rested against his chest, the steady thrum of his heartbeat lulling her into an almost dreamlike state. So strong, so steady, so safe. It wasn't the frantic rhythm she'd once felt during his worst nights. It was calm. He was calm. And that alone made her heart swell with a quiet kind of joy.

Sokka and Rina were off sparring for the afternoon, leaving the house quiet except for the soft crackle of the fireplace. Hakoda sat at the kitchen table with Kya, both of them sipping tea as they exchanged a few quiet words. Their eyes drifted to Aang and Katara every so often. The warmth of their gazes didn't go unnoticed.

Katara noticed, of course she did. She glanced up from her peaceful spot, her brow furrowing slightly.

"Do you need something?" she asked, her voice more pointed than intended.

Hakoda and Kya exchanged a quick look. Kya raised a brow at her, a teasing little smile tugging at the edge of her lips. "What, we're not allowed to look at our daughter anymore?"

Katara's eyes narrowed just a touch. "You're not just looking." Her grip around Aang tightened as she leaned further into him, like she was protecting something precious. "If this is going where I think it's going, you can save it." Her voice held an edge of defiance, her gaze sharp as she eyed both of her parents. "Whatever your approval is, it doesn't matter. I'm going to be with him."

Aang shifted behind her, his fingers pausing for just a second. "Katara, you don't have to—"

"Yes, I do," she said firmly, her eyes never leaving her parents. "They're not going to make me feel like I have to justify this." Her gaze flicked between them, daring them to challenge her.

But neither of them did.

Kya leaned forward first, folding her hands together with a soft smile that had none of the disapproval Katara had braced for. Her eyes were warm and full of affection. "Sweetheart, we're not here to challenge you," she said, her voice as soft as the first snowfall of winter. "We're here to tell you that we see you. Both of you." Her eyes moved to Aang, her gaze as gentle for him as it was for her daughter.

Hakoda leaned back in his chair, letting out a breath that sounded far too much like a laugh. He rubbed at his beard before nodding toward them. "We're happy for you, Katara. For both of you."

Katara blinked, her brows furrowing. "You… are?" Her grip on Aang didn't loosen, but she sat up just a little, peering at them as if she hadn't quite heard them right.

"Of course we are," Kya said, giving her a look like it should've been obvious. "Do you know how much we've seen the both of you grow together? You bring out the best in each other." She tilted her head, eyes softening further as she gazed at Katara. "It's like you fit together, like you've always been meant to."

Hakoda hummed in agreement, his eyes on Aang now. "Aang," he said, his voice steady but kind. "Are you happy?"

Aang blinked, his gray eyes widening as if he wasn't expecting the question. He looked at Hakoda, then down at Katara, who turned toward him, her blue eyes gazing at him with so much love it made his breath hitch. For a moment, he seemed lost in thought. His eyes scanned her face, taking in every little feature, every curve, every familiar mark.

Then, slowly, his face brightened.

Not just a small grin or a fleeting smile — but his smile. Wide, genuine, and so purely Aang that it felt like sunlight breaking through the clouds. It was the brightest smile he'd given since his recovery began, and it lit up the entire room.

"I'm happier than I've ever been," he said, his voice quiet but unwavering. His gaze never left Katara, his smile somehow growing even brighter. "When I'm with her… I feel like I'm whole again."

Katara felt her breath catch in her throat, her heart thudding against her chest. Her fingers curled lightly against his tunic, and she didn't even realize she was holding her breath.

Aang's voice was steady as he continued. "She's been everything to me. My biggest supporter, my rock, my teacher, my friend." His eyes softened even further, his gaze brimming with so much love it felt like it could fill the whole room. "She's more than anything to me. I couldn't have done any of this without her."

He looked down at her again, his gray eyes meeting hers like she was the only person in the world. "She's… everything."

For a second, Katara didn't move. Her heart felt like it had been struck by a tidal wave of warmth, every beat pulsing with so much love she didn't know how to contain it. Her eyes stung with the threat of tears she didn't even bother to stop. Her lips trembled, and a soft, shaky breath escaped her.

Her hands moved on their own, wrapping around him with so much love it felt like she might never let go. She buried her face against his chest, squeezing him tighter than she had in days. "You're everything to me too," she murmured, her voice thick with emotion.

His gaze softened again, and his eyes crinkled with the warmth of his smile. He leaned down, pressing his forehead to hers, his breath a quiet sigh of peace.

Hakoda watched them with quiet pride, his arms crossed but his eyes warm. He let out a low chuckle, glancing at Kya. "We were right," he said, his voice filled with that familiar fatherly weight.

Kya smiled knowingly, her eyes never leaving the two of them. "Of course we were." She looked toward Katara and Aang, her smile turning fond, her eyes soft. "You two belong together."

Her words were simple but final. There was no doubt in them, no hesitation, no uncertainty. Just love.

Hakoda uncrossed his arms and approached the couch, standing in front of them both. He bent forward just a little, his eyes on Aang. "For the record, you're family, kid. You've been family for a long time." He reached forward, placing a hand firmly on Aang's shoulder. "We're proud of you. Both of you."

Aang's eyes darted up to Hakoda, surprise flashing across his face. But as Hakoda's words settled in, Aang's surprise melted into something more — something like belonging. He nodded, his smile small but steady. "Thank you," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Katara glanced between her father, her mother, and Aang. Her chest felt full, her heart aching in the best possible way. She felt the quiet peace settle over all of them. There was no doubt left. No fear. No tension.

They were exactly where they were meant to be.

The fire crackled softly in the background, but it wasn't the warmth of the fire that filled the house. It was this. It was them.

Hakoda squeezed Aang's shoulder one more time before stepping back. "Alright, lovebirds. Don't think I didn't notice that you both left the dishes for me to clean up last night."

Katara snorted, burying her face back against Aang's chest. "Sorry, Dad."

"Sure you are," he grumbled, but there was no bite to it. Only love. Only warmth.

Aang lifted his head slightly, his expression soft with quiet sincerity. "I'm sorry," he said, glancing toward Hakoda. "I can dry the dishes. It's actually super easy and quick with my airbending."

Silence.

Complete, utter silence.

Kya, Hakoda, and Katara all froze in place, their gazes snapping toward Aang as if he'd just said something impossible. Their eyes widened, their faces a mixture of shock and disbelief. No one moved. Not even Katara.

Aang blinked, his eyes flicking between them, confused. "Uh… what?" He tilted his head, his brows furrowing as if he wasn't sure what he'd just said.

Then it hit him.

His heart sank into his chest as realization struck. His face fell, his eyes darting away from them as if he'd just done something terribly wrong. His shoulders tensed, curling in on himself, his hands lightly gripping his knees. "I… I can just use a towel," he muttered, his voice quieter now, barely above a whisper. "That's just as easy."

Katara's gaze softened instantly. Ever since the incident at Omashu, he had refused to use his airbending. No matter how many times she'd offered to help him, he would avoid it every time. It was like he was afraid of himself, afraid that the power of his airbending would only hurt people. He'd only ever practiced waterbending with her, and even then, he always held back. Seeing him like this — shrinking away from his own abilities — hurt her in a way she couldn't fully put into words.

She reached out, placing her hand firmly on his shoulder, her thumb rubbing slow circles into it. "No," she said, her voice calm but firm. "I think this is the perfect opportunity for you to practice your airbending."

Aang's eyes shot up to meet hers, wide and uncertain. "But—"

"You're not going to hurt anyone," Katara said, her voice unwavering. Her gaze held his with quiet certainty, her eyes kind but steady. "Not me. Not my dad. Not my mom. Not anyone." Her fingers pressed a little more firmly into his shoulder. "It's your bending, Aang. No one else's. You're in control of it."

He looked at her, his eyes filled with doubt and hesitation, his lips pressed into a thin line. His gaze flickered to Hakoda and Kya as if searching for any sign of disapproval. But neither of them said a word. Hakoda gave him a slow, steady nod of encouragement, and Kya's eyes were warm with quiet support.

"Come on," Katara coaxed gently, tugging him by the hand as she stood. He hesitated, his fingers loose in hers, but she gave him a small smile, one filled with so much love it made his breath catch. "I'll be with you the whole time. You don't have to do it alone."

Aang swallowed, glancing at the ground, his breathing shallow. But after a moment, he slowly nodded. His grip on her hand tightened, and together, they walked toward the kitchen.

Katara guided him to stand next to her by the counter, placing him where she knew he'd feel most secure — right by her side. She filled the sink with water, bending it with a smooth motion of her hands. The dishes swirled inside, the water twisting and flowing as it scrubbed them clean. A few quick flicks of her wrist, and each dish rose from the water, sparkling clean and dripping wet.

She glanced at him with a playful grin. "See? Easy."

Aang offered a tiny, tight-lipped smile, but his eyes darted to the wet plate she held in her hands. His shoulders tensed again, his breathing shallow. She knew exactly what he was feeling — that creeping doubt, that sinking weight of expectation.

She turned to him, eyes soft, her voice gentle as ever. "It's just like our waterbending, Aang," she said, her words slow and deliberate. "No one's in danger here. Just me, you, and the dishes." Her hand reached up, cupping the side of his face with her palm, guiding his gaze to meet hers. "You've already come so far. You're safe now. We're safe."

Her hand slid down to his chest, just over his heart, feeling the slow, steady rhythm of his breathing. Her voice dropped to a whisper, the words as familiar to her as the warmth of the sun on her skin. "In order to be confident in your bending again, you have to let go of your fear."

Aang's breath caught, his eyes searching hers with quiet realization. His chest rose and fell with a long, slow breath, his eyes shutting briefly as he focused on her words.

When he opened them again, there was still fear — but there was also something else.

Katara gave him a small nod and gently handed him the first dish. "Here you go," she said, watching him carefully. "Nice and easy."

Aang held the plate like it was made of glass, his hands steady but his eyes locked on it like it might shatter at any moment. He took a breath in, long and slow. He lifted his hand, fingers moving with the familiarity of someone who had done this a thousand times before.

The air around them shifted, light and gentle. It swirled softly, a steady current that swept across the plate like a warm breeze. The water droplets scattered, flicking away in tiny beads. The plate was dry.

Aang blinked, stunned. He turned the plate in his hands, staring at it as if it had done the work on its own. "I… I did it," he said quietly, awe lacing every word.

Katara's smile grew so wide it made her cheeks ache. She leaned forward, pressing a quick, playful kiss to his cheek. "Of course you did," she said, her voice brimming with pride. She pulled back and took the dry plate from his hands, holding up the next wet one. "Do it again."

Aang hesitated, his eyes flickering with doubt for a moment. But then he took another breath, his shoulders rising and falling with slow, deliberate movement. He glanced at her, and when she nodded, he lifted his hand.

The air swirled once more, light and steady, brushing past the plate in a soft rush of wind. The water scattered again, and the plate was dry.

"Again," Katara encouraged, handing him another one.

This time, he didn't hesitate. The current of air swept across the plate with more ease than before.

"Again."

The next dish dried faster.

"Again."

The wind moved with confidence now, smooth and steady. One plate after another, he dried them with ease. The kitchen filled with the soft whoosh of the air and the gentle clinking of plates being set aside. With each one, Aang's posture changed. The tightness in his shoulders melted away. His breathing came easier. His eyes grew lighter.

When the last plate was dry, Aang let his hands drop to his sides. His eyes lingered on the dishes for a moment, as if waiting for something to go wrong. But nothing did. Nothing happened.

His breath left him all at once, a long, heavy sigh. His whole body seemed to relax, his posture unwinding like a bowstring finally being let loose. His head tilted back, and his eyes shut with quiet relief. It was like watching someone let go of a weight they'd carried for far too long.

Katara reached for him, pulling him close in one smooth motion. She wrapped her arms around him, holding him tightly against her, her chin resting on his shoulder. She felt him exhale again, his breath warm against her neck. Slowly, his arms lifted and circled around her, his fingers clutching the back of her tunic like he didn't want to let go.

"You did it," she whispered against his ear. "You did it, Aang."

His arms tightened around her, his face buried in her shoulder. She could feel it in the way he held her — the relief, the quiet triumph, the joy of reclaiming something he'd thought he'd lost.

Behind them, Hakoda leaned against the kitchen counter, his arms crossed, a grin tugging at the edge of his lips.

"Well," Hakoda said with a teasing huff. "With these two bending prodigies, I don't think I'll ever have to do dishes again.

Laughter filled the kitchen, light and full of warmth. It started with a small chuckle from Hakoda, but then Aang's soft, breathy giggle slipped out. It wasn't much at first, but it grew louder, brighter, like the rising sun breaking through a cloudy sky. Katara's own laughter followed, sudden and uncontrollable, spilling from her like water rushing downstream.

Aang buried his face in her shoulder, his body shaking with every burst of musical laughter. His arms tightened around her, his whole being leaning into the embrace. It wasn't forced. It wasn't something he had to push himself to feel. It just was. Pure, unfiltered joy.

Katara's heart swelled in her chest, warmth flooding every inch of her. She pressed her cheek against the side of his head, her fingers running lightly up and down his back. Each time his laughter grew louder, hers did too, and before long, they were both laughing so hard that she felt the ache in her ribs.

Her eyes shut tightly as she held him closer, her grin so wide it hurt her cheeks. But she didn't care. She never wanted this feeling to end. Right here, right now, with him in her arms, his voice so full of life and light, she knew — she knew — that a part of him had healed.

The fear that had gripped him for weeks, the doubt that had weighed him down, it was gone. He'd faced it. Conquered it.

Her fingers traced gentle lines up his back, feeling the way his breath hitched between his giggles. He wasn't afraid anymore. Not of his bending. Not of himself.

And for the first time in a long, long while, Katara believed that his healing wouldn't just continue — it would thrive. The weight of everything that had happened wouldn't vanish overnight, but she could see it now, clear as day. He was going to be okay. They both were.

She pulled back just enough to see his face, flushed with laughter, his grin stretched wide, his eyes crinkled at the edges. It was the brightest she'd seen him look in what felt like forever. Her heart ached with how much she loved him in that moment.

"You're amazing, you know that?" she whispered softly, brushing a hand against his cheek.

Aang blinked at her, his breath still unsteady from laughing, but his smile didn't fade. If anything, it grew. He leaned into her touch, his eyes half-lidded, his gaze filled with so much peace it made her chest feel too full.

"You are too," he murmured, voice quiet but firm, like it was an undeniable truth.

Her grin grew wider, and she pulled him into another hug, squeezing him just a little tighter this time. He didn't resist. He never did. His head rested on her shoulder, his breathing finally evening out.

But his smile didn't fade.

Not once.

---

It had been a month since they arrived at the Southern Water Tribe, and Katara had been right. Ever since that moment in the kitchen where Aang embraced his airbending again, his healing took off at a rocket pace. The change was undeniable. Day by day, piece by piece, he was becoming whole again.

For the first time in weeks, Aang made it through an entire week without a single nightmare. No sudden jolts awake, no desperate gasps for air, no frantic apologies whispered into the quiet of the night. Each morning, his smile came easier, his eyes brighter, and the weight on his shoulders felt just a little lighter. And every day, without fail, he'd be the one to pull Katara toward their bending lesson spot, a look of eagerness shining in his eyes.

But this time, it wasn't just for waterbending. He wanted to bend. Truly bend.

By this point, Katara had officially declared him a waterbending master — something that made his grin stretch so wide she thought it might stay that way forever. With that title now firmly his, their lessons shifted into something else entirely. Their spars became playful matches of strategy and precision, each trying to outmaneuver the other. There was no pressure, no stakes, just the pure thrill of bending for the love of it.

Katara's water whirled around her as she ducked under a wave Aang sent her way. She retaliated with a sharp flick of her wrist, sending a splash of cold water at him that smacked him right in the face. He let out a loud, exaggerated gasp of offense, his eyes wide in mock betrayal.

"Alright, that's how you wanna play it?" he said, water dripping from his soaked hair.

"That's exactly how I wanna play it," Katara shot back, her grin daring him to try.

Aang lunged forward, his movements fluid and effortless as he summoned a twisting stream of water. Katara spun, weaving her own water into his, turning it into a spiraling ribbon that danced between them. Their movements mirrored each other like a perfectly synchronized dance. It wasn't a clash of wills. It was harmony. Playful, light, and free.

When they finally collapsed onto the snow, panting and grinning from ear to ear, Aang's eyes were brighter than she'd seen them in months. His chest rose and fell steadily, his breath full and strong, not ragged like it had been before. And in that glow of contentment, Katara leaned over, brushing his damp hair back from his face.

"Still think you're not a master?" she teased.

He laughed, letting his head fall back against the snow. "Okay, fine. I guess I'm pretty good."

"Pretty good, huh?" she grinned, leaning down to hover just above him. "You're amazing, and you know it."

The blush on his face spread like wildfire, and he quickly sat up, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, well… I had a good teacher."

Her heart swelled, and she bumped her shoulder lightly against his. "Don't sell yourself short, Aang."

Their laughter echoed across the tundra, and for a moment, it felt like the rest of the world didn't exist. Just them.

But their bending sessions didn't end there. After every waterbending spar, Katara would guide him to stand, hands firm but gentle on his shoulders. She'd look him straight in the eyes, her gaze unwavering, and say, "Alright, now it's time for airbending."

At first, Aang would hesitate. His eyes would flicker with doubt, his body tense like he was bracing for something to go wrong. But every time, Katara's voice would reach him.

"Let go of your fear, Aang," she'd remind him softly, her words an echo of the very lesson he once taught her. "You'll never be able to trust yourself if you hold on to it."

He'd look at her, his lips pressed into a thin line of uncertainty, but slowly — so slowly — he'd nod. Then, step by step, he'd move through his airbending forms. His movements were shaky at first, his footwork cautious. But Katara was always there, watching with quiet pride. She'd offer words of encouragement as he moved, her eyes lighting up with every completed form. And each time he finished, his breaths were steady, his gaze more confident than before.

With each session, the weight lifted further from him. Katara saw it in the way his shoulders didn't slump as much. She saw it in the way his steps were firmer. He was no longer afraid of himself. No longer afraid of his bending. He was a bender again. Not a monster. Not a danger. Just Aang.

And it wasn't just his spirit that was growing stronger. His body followed suit. With his appetite fully back, Kya no longer had to gently urge him to eat. Instead, he was asking for second bowls of rice, sometimes even a third. She'd grin so wide that her eyes crinkled as she happily piled more food onto his plate, her hands working swiftly like she'd been waiting for this moment all along. And every single time, Aang ate until he was truly full, not stopping until his hunger was completely satisfied.

It showed. His face was no longer gaunt, his cheeks no longer hollow. His waist no longer looked so thin that his clothes hung loosely off him. His ribs, once so painfully visible, had been replaced with a healthy, steady fullness. His muscles, though not bulky, had mass now. Strength. His body was finally beginning to match his spirit, and Katara saw it in every move he made.

He could walk longer distances without tiring. He could spar with Katara and still have energy afterward. And when he bent, truly bent, there was a grace and fluidity that she hadn't seen since before Omashu.

But the mental side of things still had its struggles. Sometimes, after dinner, he'd grow quiet. His eyes would dim, his gaze turning inward to thoughts only he could see. Katara would watch him closely, her heart already knowing what was coming. He'd glance her way, his voice soft but certain.

"Do you wanna take a nap with me?"

And she never once hesitated. "Of course I do."

They'd lay down together, curled up by the fire, the warmth of the flames dancing softly against their skin. He would always hold her like she was his lifeline — arms wrapped firmly but gently around her. His hand would find her back, tracing soft, slow circles. His breath, warm and even, would tickle the top of her head.

Just before he drifted off, he'd always whisper it. Every single time.

"I love you."

Her chest would ache with how much she loved him in return, and she'd bury herself deeper into his embrace. "I love you too, Aang," she'd reply softly. And when his body grew still, his breathing even, she'd close her eyes and follow him into sleep.

He was healing. Slowly, yes. But steadily.

Every day, every spar, every bite of food, every airbending form, every quiet afternoon spent napping by the fire — it all built up piece by piece. Slowly but surely, Aang was becoming the boy they all knew again.

No.

He was becoming more than that.

He was becoming someone who had faced himself, faced his fears, and chosen to let go. And Katara knew, with every ounce of certainty in her heart, that nothing was going to stop him now.

Not the nightmares.
Not the guilt.
Not the past.

Because this time, Aang wasn't walking that path alone.

He had Katara.
He had Sokka.
He had Rina, Kya, and Hakoda.

He had family.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, she saw it in his smile, in his laughter, in the way his eyes lifted to meet hers — he saw it too.

But then he had to go and make things complicated.

Dinner had started so peacefully. The air was warm with the comforting glow of the fire, and the aroma of Kya's hearty stew filled the room. The table was lively, filled with the sound of clattering bowls, laughter, and lighthearted chatter. Hakoda sat at the head of the table, recounting an old war story, his booming voice making Sokka and Rina burst into snickers. Katara sat beside Aang, their knees lightly brushing under the table, while Kya hummed softly as she refilled bowls with second helpings.

Aang smiled as he ate, nodding along to Hakoda's story. He laughed at the punchlines, even snorted once when Sokka mimicked his father's gruff voice to perfection. Everything about him seemed normal — maybe even better than normal. He was eating steadily, his bowl already half-empty as he grabbed another spoonful of stew. His gaze shifted from person to person, soaking in the warmth of the moment.

But Katara noticed. He was too quiet. Not silent, but quieter than he'd been in the past couple of weeks. Normally, he'd be the one chiming in with his own wild stories or cracking jokes with Sokka. Today, he was present, but not fully there. His eyes flickered with something deeper. Something... weighed down. She assumed he was just fighting an inner struggle, something he'd bring up to her after dinner like he always did. She was certain, without a doubt, that by the time the meal ended, he'd ask her for another nap.

But she was wrong.

It started with a simple sound.

Aang cleared his throat.

Everyone at the table stilled. The shift in the air was palpable, the easy warmth replaced by a quiet, tense pause. Slowly, all eyes turned toward him. His fingers drummed lightly on the table, and his gaze swept over each of them, his eyes landing on Katara last.

"I have... an announcement to make," he said quietly, but his voice carried weight, like the world itself hung on his words.

The entire room shifted. The lightness was gone, replaced by an eerie stillness. All eyes stayed on him, unblinking, unknowing. Hakoda leaned forward, his brows furrowing. Sokka set his bowl down with a soft clatter. Katara's heart began to thump in her chest.

Aang's hands pressed flat on the table, his gaze dropping to them for a moment. His breathing steadied as he closed his eyes. A long inhale. A slow exhale. When he opened them again, his expression was resolute.

"I just… I want to say thank you," he began, his voice soft but steady. "For everything this past month. I know I wouldn't be where I am right now without you all." He glanced around, letting his gaze rest on each of them in turn. "I know I made progress because of all of you. Not because of me. Because of you."

Katara felt her heart swell. Her chest ached with pride for him. He was finally seeing how much he mattered to them.

But then his eyes turned toward her. And suddenly, the weight of his gaze pressed down on her harder than ever before.

"Especially you, Katara," he said quietly, his voice laced with something so raw and sincere that her breath caught in her chest.

Her face flushed, warmth blooming from her cheeks down to her chest. She quickly glanced away, eyes fixed on the stew in her bowl. Her heart felt like it might burst, and she had to fight to keep a grin from taking over her face.

Aang's gaze lowered to his hands, fingers fidgeting with the edge of his sleeve as his breathing grew steady and deliberate. He glanced up at each of them—Hakoda, Sokka, Rina, Kya, and Katara—his eyes filled with a quiet resolve that hadn't been there before. The light from the nearby lantern flickered across his face, casting soft shadows that made his expression look older somehow. Wiser. Tired, but determined.

"I know you guys aren't going to like this," he started, his voice quiet but clear. His eyes swept over each of them, locking with Katara's last. Her face was calm, but her brow twitched ever so slightly. She was bracing herself. She could feel it coming. "But it's been on my mind for a couple of weeks now. The more I've thought about it, the more I've realized... I have to do this."

A wave of uncertainty rippled through the room. Hakoda's eyes narrowed, his jaw shifting as he folded his arms. Rina raised an eyebrow, glancing at Sokka, who leaned forward in his chair. Kya sat up straighter next to Hakoda, watching Aang with curiosity. But Katara? She sat perfectly still, her eyes never leaving his face, her fingers tightening around the cup of tea in her hands.

Aang took a slow, measured breath, his shoulders rising and falling as if shedding invisible weight. His gaze hardened with resolve.

"I've decided... I need one more week to properly heal and prepare," he said, the words carrying an undercurrent of finality. "But after that, I'm heading to the Fire Nation."

Silence. Complete and utter silence.

For a moment, it felt like even the wind outside had stopped moving. Everyone sat frozen, their minds struggling to process the weight of what they'd just heard. Hakoda's face went blank, his grip on Kya shifting as he adjusted his grip around her shoulders. Sokka's eyes darted to Rina, his lips parting as if to say something, but nothing came out. Rina glanced at Katara with quiet concern, her brows pulling together.

But it was Katara who shattered the stillness.

"WHAT?!"

Her voice echoed off the walls like a clap of thunder, and the raw disbelief in her tone made Aang flinch. She shot up from her seat, her eyes wide with incredulity, her fingers curled into trembling fists.

"You can't be serious!" she snapped, her voice louder now. "You've just started to get better, Aang! You're not ready for something like this!"

"Katara's right," Sokka said, his face twisting with disbelief. "That's not just a bad idea — that's a terrible one, Aang."

"Sokka's right," Rina added softly, her eyes darting from Aang to the rest of the family. "It's too soon. You just got back on your feet."

Hakoda leaned forward, his face stern but calm, like a captain ready to address his crew. "Aang, think carefully about this," he said firmly. "The Fire Nation is their home territory. They'll be stronger there, more organized. You'll be putting yourself right in the middle of it."

Aang took in all of their words without interruption. He didn't fight them, didn't argue. Instead, he closed his eyes for a moment, his breath steadying. When he opened them again, they were filled with quiet acceptance. He'd expected this. All of it.

"I know," he said calmly. "I knew you'd all feel this way. But listen to me." He leaned forward slightly, hands clasped on the table in front of him. His voice didn't rise in volume, but it sharpened, like a blade cutting through fog. "If there's anything I've learned from the one time I met Fire Lord Sozin before the war and everything I've seen since... it's that they won't give up." His gaze flicked to Katara, his voice growing more insistent. "We pushed them out of the Earth Kingdom, but that doesn't mean the war is over. It means they're regrouping."

Rina frowned, clearly troubled by his certainty. "You don't know that for sure, though," she said softly.

"I do," Aang said, turning to her. His expression hardened. "Because that's what they've always done. Roku told me that Sozin spent his whole life planning this war, Rina. He killed Roku — his best friend — just so he could see it happen in his lifetime. That's not someone who gives up."

Katara's eyes narrowed, her jaw tightening as she folded her arms. "So what?" she shot back, voice sharp as glass. "You're basing everything on something that might happen? You don't even know for sure. You're ready to throw yourself back into that nightmare on just a hunch?"

"Katara—"

"No!" she snapped, her voice rising. Her face flushed with frustration, her eyes glossy with unspoken fear. "Aang, you were broken a month ago. Completely broken. And I watched you fight to build yourself back up." Her voice cracked, and she stabbed a finger at him like it was a spear. "I'm not letting you go out there just to destroy yourself all over again. I won't."

Her words hit him like a blast of wind, sharp and unrelenting. He flinched, his shoulders jerking back as if struck. But his eyes softened, his gaze landing on her with quiet understanding.

"I know, Katara," he said gently, his voice low but steady. "I know it's risky. But if I'm successful, then we'll finally have peace." He glanced at the others, his gaze lingering on Katara. "We won't have to wait for them to strike again. We won't have to live every day wondering if the Fire Nation is planning its next attack. We'll be free." His voice dropped to a whisper, and he looked directly at her. "Because you're right, Katara. I can't go through that again either."

Her eyes flickered, her lips parting as her breath caught.

"And I want to do everything I can to make sure none of you have to, either," he finished softly.

But Katara shook her head, still fired up. Her eyes flashed with defiance. "So, what?" she demanded, her voice laced with betrayal. "You're going to do it alone? After everything we've been through? After everything I've done to get you to finally lean on us for support?" Her voice rose with every word, her face filled with hurt and anger. "You're right back to where you started, Aang!"

The blow struck him harder than any Fire Nation soldier ever had. He sucked in a breath like he'd been hit in the chest, his gaze falling to the floor. For a long moment, he didn't respond. Then, quietly, he muttered, "I was going to ask if you wanted to come with me." He glanced up at her, his expression as fragile as glass. "But I wouldn't force you. I never would."

Katara's body was tense, her shoulders tight with barely contained frustration as she took a step forward, her eyes locked on Aang like a fire that refused to be snuffed out. Her breaths came sharp and shallow, heat building in her chest with every passing second. She wasn't just angry — she was hurt. Her voice cut through the heavy air, sharp as a crack of lightning.

"And what if I said no?" she challenged, her tone sharp and unyielding. Her eyes were wide with a mixture of desperation and disbelief, her brow furrowed deeply as she shook her head at him. "What if I said I'm staying? Are you really willing to throw all of this away over a hunch?" Her voice rose with every word, her heart pounding as the intensity of her emotions boiled over. "After everything we've been through, after everything we've fought for, you're just going to walk away? From us?" Her voice caught on the last word, her throat tightening as she pressed forward. "Think about us for once, Aang!"

Her words echoed in the room like thunder after a storm, leaving the air sharp with tension. Aang's jaw tightened, his hands curling into fists at his sides. He could feel everyone's eyes on him — Katara's blazing stare, Sokka's quiet concern, Rina's worried glance, and Kya's wide gaze. But none of it hit as hard as Katara's words. Each one pierced him deeper than the last, like the swing of a blade that never missed its mark.

He tried to breathe. He tried to stay calm. But it was too much. He'd been holding himself together for so long, fighting through the pain, pushing down his doubts, carrying the weight of a world that never let him rest. And now, Katara — Katara — was telling him he wasn't thinking about them.

His voice erupted before he could stop it, louder than it had been in weeks. "I am thinking about you, Katara!" he shouted, his voice cracking under the weight of it all. His chest rose and fell with each breath, raw emotion pouring out of him like a dam that had finally broken. "I'm doing this for you! For all of you!" His eyes burned as he glared back at her, his words sharp and unrelenting. "Don't you get it? I'm doing this so we don't have to keep living like this! So we don't have to sit around waiting for the Fire Nation to strike again. So we can finally — finally — have peace."

His breathing was heavy, his chest heaving as he tried to reign in the storm of emotions that had finally spilled over. His fists slowly unclenched, his shoulders sagging as exhaustion crept into every muscle. The fight, the arguments, the constant push and pull of trying to do what was right — it was all catching up to him. But he wasn't done yet. He had to make her see.

His voice was quieter now, but no less firm. Each word was deliberate, weighted with the full force of his resolve. "I can't imagine my life without you, Katara," he said, eyes fixed on hers with a kind of intensity that refused to be ignored. "I can't picture a future where you're not by my side." He swallowed hard, his gaze unwavering. "I want to spend my life with you. I want to give you all of me, not just pieces of what's left after the world has finished with me."

He stepped forward slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. "But I can't do that while the war is still hanging over our heads. I can't be free to love you — not the way you deserve — when I'm still carrying all of this." He motioned to himself, his arms spread wide, as if showing her the weight pressing down on him. "I need to end this. I have to end this. Not just for the world, but for us. I want us to have a future where we don't have to live in fear. Where I can be fully present. With you."

His words lingered in the air, raw and open, like a fresh wound that hadn't fully healed. Silence followed. Heavy silence. The weight of his confession hung in the room like a dense fog, settling on each of them, but it hit Katara the hardest.

Her eyes went wide, her lips parting as if to say something, but no words came out. The fire that had been burning so fiercely in her gaze flickered, her expression softening as his words sank in. Her heart thudded painfully in her chest, and a familiar warmth crept up her neck, flushing her cheeks a soft, rose-colored pink. It wasn't anger anymore. It was something far more vulnerable.

She glanced down, unable to meet his eyes. Why did he have to say it like that? She felt her heart twist in a way that made it hard to breathe. He wasn't just talking about peace for the world. He was talking about peace for them. And that scared her more than anything.

No one spoke. Not Rina. Not Sokka. Not Kya. Not Hakoda. They were all frozen in place, each of them still processing the weight of Aang's words. The quiet was deafening.

Aang rubbed the back of his neck, his gaze shifting to the ground. His face was flush with exhaustion, but there was also something steadier in him now. Something resolved. "I'm sorry," he muttered quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't mean to turn this into a fight." He glanced up briefly, eyes scanning the room. "This wasn't the time or place for shouting or arguments." He looked back at Katara one more time, his gaze lingering on her face. "I'm going to get some fresh air."

There was a finality to his tone that no one dared question. Aang turned and headed for the door, his steps slow but purposeful. Just as he reached it, he glanced over his shoulder, his eyes meeting Katara's once more. There was no anger in his gaze now. Only sadness. Sadness, and something far more difficult to name. He opened the door and stepped out, letting it close softly behind him.

Katara took a step toward the door. Her body moved before she could stop herself, a quiet urgency in her movements, her heart screaming at her to follow. But before she could get far, a hand caught her shoulder.

"Katara," Sokka said quietly, his hand firm but gentle on her shoulder. His gaze was steady as he leaned toward her, his voice low but filled with an unshakable calm. "Just… wait." His eyes flickered toward the door where Aang had just left. "Give him some time. Give yourself some time."

Her lips pressed into a thin line, her gaze flickering between Sokka and the door. She wanted to argue, but deep down, she knew he was right. Her heart was still racing, her emotions too raw to think clearly. She'd only make things worse if she followed him now. So, slowly, she nodded. Her body sagged as the tension drained from her limbs.

Sokka's hand slipped from her shoulder, and she moved to sit at the table, her legs feeling heavier than before. Her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her tunic as her eyes stayed locked on the door. Her eyes didn't waver, didn't blink, as if waiting for Aang to come walking back through it.

Rina glanced at Katara, concern etched into every line of her face, but she didn't say anything. Sokka stayed quiet too, his eyes watching his sister closely. Even Kya, who had been fidgeting nervously, stayed still. No one spoke.

Katara didn't notice any of it. Her eyes were still glued to the door. Her mind, however, was replaying everything Aang had just said.

"I want to spend my life with you."

Her fingers tightened on the fabric of her tunic, knuckles turning white. She swallowed hard, her heart aching in a way that wasn't just pain. It was something more. Something heavier.

But she didn't move. She just sat there, her eyes locked on the door like it might swing open at any moment.

The realization hit Katara like a crashing wave, knocking the breath from her lungs. For longer than she could remember, Katara had encouraged Aang to be open with her. To not hold everything inside. And now, he had just laid his heart bare to her—not only to her, but in front of her entire family. He had made his intentions about her very clear. Her selfless Aang, her sweet and selfless Aang, had chosen to be selfish this one time. Not for himself, but for them.

Her breath hitched as it dawned on her. He was doing this for them. He wanted to end the war, not just to fulfill his duty as the Avatar, but to give them a future where they didn't have to live in fear. To give her a future where she didn't have to keep fighting. And she had yelled at him for it. She'd accused him of being reckless, of being thoughtless, when in reality, she'd been on his mind the entire time.

Her hands pressed firmly against her lap as her heart thudded in her chest. Spirits, he had trusted them—all of them—with his healing. He had allowed himself to be vulnerable in a way she knew had been incredibly difficult for him. He'd leaned on her, leaned on her family, and he had done it without hesitation.

Now, he was asking her to trust him.

Her eyes widened as the final realization crashed over her. His last words echoed in her mind, striking deeper this time. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. The rest of his life. Aang, the sweetest, most selfless, genuine, kind-hearted, loving person she had ever met, wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. Her chest tightened, but it wasn't from anxiety this time—it was from love. A warmth that surged through her veins, filling every inch of her being until it was too much to contain. Her heart flooded with the weight of it, and her lips quivered as an uncontrollable smile overtook her face.

Spirits, she wanted that too.

Her chair scraped loudly against the floor as she shot up to her feet. Sokka's eyes snapped to her in surprise. "Katara?" he called, his voice laced with confusion.

She didn't stop. Her body moved on its own, driven by something stronger than reason.

"Katara, wait!" Hakoda's voice boomed from behind her, firm but concerned.

She didn't wait. Her feet carried her to the door, and she shoved it open with enough force to make it thud against the wall. The cool air hit her face like a splash of cold water, but she didn't stop to savor it. The door slammed behind her, sealing her family's voices inside.

She knew where he would be.

Her legs moved with a purpose, her pace quickening with every step. Her breaths came in sharp bursts as she ran, her eyes fixed ahead with unwavering focus. Her heart pounded in her chest—not from exertion, but from urgency. She knew where he'd go. Where he always went when he needed to clear his mind. It was the place they had first bonded. Where they had first practiced waterbending together. Where the water itself had become a bridge between them.

Her lungs burned, her legs ached, but she didn't stop. Not until she saw him.

There he was.

Sitting by the edge of the water, his legs pulled close to his chest, his face buried in his knees. His shoulders rose and fell with the quiet, uneven rhythm of someone trying to contain his sobs but failing. She slowed to a walk, her heart twisting as she caught sight of him. His head lifted slightly at the sound of her footsteps. Red, blotchy eyes turned toward her, rimmed with the unmistakable sheen of tears.

Her heart broke.

No words were needed.

She dropped to her knees beside him, arms wrapping around him in a firm, desperate embrace. Her fingers clutched at his back, pressing him against her as if holding him tighter could somehow convey everything she didn't have the words to say. His body tensed at first, a startled breath catching in his throat, but then he melted into her. Slowly, his arms came up around her, and he buried his face into her shoulder.

His body shook.

Her tears came, silent but strong, dripping down her cheeks as she held him. She didn't care if her sleeves grew wet from his tears—or her own. She didn't care if anyone saw them like this.

Her grip tightened around him, her arms trembling as she poured everything into that embrace. Every ounce of love, every ounce of understanding, every ounce of trust. Her chin rested lightly on his head as his quiet sobs became muffled against her shoulder. She rubbed small circles into his back, just like her mother used to do for her when she was little. Her eyes squeezed shut as tears rolled freely down her cheeks.

They didn't say anything. They didn't need to.

They just held each other, two broken souls finding strength in each other's presence.

The two of them stayed like that for a long time—holding on as their tears slowly dried. Their breaths gradually steadied, the sharp, hiccupping sobs giving way to slow, deliberate inhales. Aang's head stayed nestled against Katara's shoulder, his hands resting firmly on her back as if afraid that if he let go, he might lose her. She didn't let go either. Her arms remained wrapped around him like she was anchoring him to the world itself.

Minutes passed, and the world around them seemed to fade into stillness. The quiet rustle of the water against the shore echoed softly, the only sound besides the low hum of their breathing. Slowly, Katara leaned back just enough to press her forehead against his. Their noses brushed together, and for a moment, they both shut their eyes. No words. No thoughts. Just the steady comfort of the other's presence.

A deep, steadying breath filled Katara's lungs, but as she exhaled, it hitched on its way out. Her face crumpled, her shoulders starting to tremble. Before she could stop it, fresh tears welled in her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. Her breath came out in shallow, uneven gasps, and she tightened her grip around him.

"Aang," she choked, her voice breaking apart like a fragile shell, "I'm so, so sorry." Her shoulders shook harder now, and the tears came faster. "I didn't see it. I failed to see what you're doing this all for."

Aang didn't say anything, but his response was clear. His arms pulled her in tighter, his breath hot and shaky against her collar. His grip on her wasn't desperate—it was steady, firm, and constant.

"You've trusted me this whole time," she went on, her voice straining with every word, cracking under the weight of it all. Her face pressed into his shoulder as her fingers curled into the fabric of his tunic. "You let me take care of you. You let all of us take care of you." Her breathing grew uneven, each inhale dragging painfully in her chest. "And when you asked me to trust you for once, I— I—" Her words stopped as a sharp sob clawed its way up her throat. Her whole body trembled now, her fingers trembling as they gripped his tunic tighter. "I'm sorry, Aang. I'm so, so sorry."

Her words seemed to echo in the space between them, raw and unfiltered. Her tears dripped down his back, soaking into his clothes. Her heart ached as if all the love and guilt in her chest had become one unbearable weight.

Aang shifted then. Slowly, he pulled back, his arms still resting gently on her sides. His face came into view—red, blotchy, his cheeks streaked with dried tears. His eyes were still watery, still glistening, but his gaze held no anger. No blame. No judgment.

Just love.

"I'm sorry too," he said softly, his voice hoarse from crying but steady in a way that only Aang could manage. "I didn't mean to make you feel like I was walking away from you."

His hand reached up, his fingers brushing along her cheek with the gentleness of a summer breeze. His thumb swiped away a tear that trailed down her face, and his hand lingered there, warm and firm against her skin. His gray eyes, still damp with unshed tears, searched hers like he was looking for something. Not doubt. Not hesitation. But understanding.

"I could never walk away from you," he whispered.

Her breath caught in her throat. Her chest felt so full, like her heart was going to burst with everything she felt for him at that moment. Her eyes flickered shut, and she leaned into his hand, pressing her cheek into his palm. She let herself feel the warmth of it. Let herself feel him.

Then, she moved.

Without thinking. Without hesitation. She leaned forward and kissed him.

Her hands cupped his face, her fingers threading through his hair as her lips pressed against his with a depth and certainty that left no room for doubt. Her whole body leaned into it, letting every ounce of love, strength, and trust pour out of her and into him. She didn't care if she was holding too tightly. She didn't care if her tears were still running down her cheeks and mixing with his.

Her heart was speaking now, and it spoke clearly. Of how she knew. And just how much she loved him.

He kissed her back just as fiercely, his hands sliding up to hold her by the sides of her face. It wasn't soft or hesitant like their other kisses had been. This was something more. It was raw. Unpolished. Full of everything they hadn't said and everything they had said.

When they finally pulled back, both of them were breathless, their foreheads resting against each other once more. Their chests heaved as they tried to steady themselves, their faces flushed and tear-stained. Katara's gaze stayed locked on his, her heart thudding wildly in her chest. She opened her mouth, her breath still coming in short pants, but this time, her words were clear.

"I'm coming with you," she said firmly, her eyes unwavering as she spoke.

Aang blinked, his lips parting like he was about to speak, but she didn't give him the chance. Her hand gripped the front of his tunic, tugging him just a little closer.

"We started this journey together," she went on, her voice resolute, every word carrying the weight of an unbreakable promise. "And we're going to finish it together." Her grip on him tightened, her eyes never leaving his. "Because there's no one else I'd rather do it with, Aang. No one. I need you just as much as you need me."

A small, choked sound escaped him. His face crumpled, and before she knew it, his arms were back around her, pulling her in with a sudden, fierce urgency. She didn't resist. She melted into him, her head tucking into the crook of his neck. Her arms wrapped around him just as tightly, her fingers pressing into his back.

This wasn't like before. It wasn't desperate or broken. It was steady. Strong. Like two pieces of something finally slotting into place.

They didn't need to say anything else. Their breathing synced up, their bodies pressing together in an embrace that felt as natural as breathing. His heart thudded steadily beneath her ear, a comforting, rhythmic beat that matched her own. Her eyes squeezed shut as she let herself feel everything—the warmth, the love, the unspoken promise that hung between them.

They would face the future together.

Aang let out a breathy laugh, his chest rising and falling as the weight of everything finally started to ease. His arms slackened, no longer clinging to Katara like a lifeline but holding her with warmth and comfort instead. His forehead still pressed lightly against hers, and his voice came out soft, scratchy, but laced with a hint of humor.

"I think… I'm ready for a nap," he murmured, a small, exhausted smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

For a second, there was silence. Then, a wet, choked laugh escaped Katara's lips. It came out unexpectedly, a little louder than she meant, and soon it bubbled into a genuine giggle. Her eyes squeezed shut as her shoulders shook, her hand covering her mouth as she failed to contain it.

Aang's own chuckle followed, low and breathy but growing stronger with each second. The sound of it made Katara laugh even harder, and before long, the two of them were clinging to each other, shoulders shaking with mirth. Their chests heaved with a mixture of relief, exhaustion, and sheer disbelief at the mess of emotions they'd just unraveled.

"You would say that," Katara said between laughs, wiping at her eyes. Her cheeks hurt from smiling, but she didn't care. Not now. Not after everything.

"Can you blame me?" he grinned, his eyes still puffy and red but filled with light again. "I've been crying for, like… I don't know. Feels like hours."

That only made her laugh harder, and he joined in again, their combined voices echoing faintly off the water's surface.

"Come on, sleepyhead," she said, brushing away the last of her tears as she reached down to lace her fingers with his. Her fingers curled around his palm, warm and firm. She gave him a small tug. "Let's go home."

He squeezed her hand in return, his grin softening. "Yeah. Home sounds good."

The walk back was quiet but far from silent. Their footsteps crunched softly against the path, and the distant hum of the waves echoed faintly in the cool night air. The moon hung high overhead, its silver glow casting soft, pale light onto the village paths. Stars dotted the sky like tiny lanterns, and the night breeze was cool against their faces. Their hands remained locked together the whole way. Not once did either of them let go.

When they reached the house, Katara's heart tensed briefly. She could already see the glow of lanterns flickering inside, their warm light shifting like fireflies through the frosted windows. Shadows moved beyond the glass—her family, still awake, still waiting. She knew the moment they walked in, they'd have to face them. But this time, she didn't feel that same weight of hesitation.

With Aang by her side, her grip on his hand grew stronger. Her eyes flickered to him, and he nodded. No words were needed.

Katara opened the door.

All eyes turned to them—Sokka, Rina, Hakoda, Kya. They were all seated at the table, their faces lit by the soft glow of the lantern hanging above them. They blinked, wide-eyed, as if the quiet night had been broken by something too loud to ignore. No one spoke right away, but she felt their gazes settle on her and Aang like they were trying to gauge what had changed.

Katara didn't flinch. She didn't hesitate.

"I'm going with him," she said firmly, her voice strong and clear. Her gaze swept over each member of her family, her back straight, her grip on Aang's hand unwavering. "I'm going with Aang to the Fire Nation."

Her words hit like a stone thrown into still water, sending ripples through the room.

Sokka leaned forward, eyes narrowing, but not in anger. His arms rested on his knees as he studied her like he was measuring her resolve. His jaw tightened, his gaze flicking to Aang for a moment before coming back to her. He didn't say a word. Not yet.

"I'm asking you to think about it too," she continued, glancing at Sokka, then Rina. Her tone softened, but the strength behind it didn't waver. "I know it's a lot. I know it's dangerous. But… we've all fought for each other before. We've fought for people who couldn't fight for themselves. And now it's time to end it." Her gaze lingered on her brother. "I'm going with him, whether you do or not. But I want you with us." Her eyes darted to Rina, her expression sincere. "Both of you."

Silence hung in the room.

Sokka rubbed the back of his neck, glancing sideways at Rina, his lips pressing into a thin line. Rina's expression was unreadable for a moment, her eyes locked on Katara, sharp and thoughtful. Her gaze lingered on Katara's hand still intertwined with Aang's, and something in her eyes shifted—understanding, perhaps.

"Guess we'll have to think about it, huh?" Rina said quietly, leaning back into her chair. She didn't sound dismissive. Her words were serious, calm, but thoughtful. Sokka gave her a glance, but he didn't argue. He just sighed, his shoulders loosening.

"Yeah," he muttered, glancing at Katara with something caught between exhaustion and pride. "Yeah, we'll think about it."

Her heart swelled with relief, but she didn't press them further. She nodded, her lips pulling into a soft smile.

"Thank you," she said quietly.

Without another word, she turned to Aang, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

"Come on," she said, her voice lower now, warm and inviting. "We're going to get some sleep."

Aang blinked like he hadn't expected her to say that out loud, but he didn't object. He followed her without question as she led him down the hall, their fingers still interlaced.

Hakoda watched them leave, his face unreadable, but his gaze followed them until they were out of sight.

The soft creak of the bedroom door echoed as Katara led Aang inside, shutting it behind them with a quiet click. The room was dim, illuminated only by the faint silver glow of the moon peeking through the window. The cool, quiet night felt closer here, like they'd stepped into a space separate from the rest of the world.

Katara guided him toward the bed, her hands never letting go of his. She sat down first, pulling him down beside her. It wasn't rushed. It wasn't urgent. It was slow, deliberate, like every movement was part of something bigger.

Aang laid back, his body sinking into the mattress like it had been waiting for this moment all night. His eyes slid shut, his breath already starting to slow. But before he could drift off, Katara shifted beside him, pulling herself in close. Her arms slid around him, her head resting on his chest.

Her fingers threaded through his hair, slow and gentle. She didn't speak, didn't rush. Her fingers moved in steady, soothing strokes, running through the soft strands of hair at the back of his head.

Aang let out a slow, steady exhale. His hands moved to her back, his palms resting flat against her shoulder blades. His fingers moved in slow, deliberate circles, rubbing against her back in the same way she was running her fingers through his hair.

The rhythm of it lulled them both into something calm. Something still.

Her eyes slowly drifted shut, her breath syncing with his. The steady rise and fall of his chest under her cheek felt like the most peaceful thing in the world. His warmth seeped into her, filling every crack, every doubt, every fear she'd had just hours ago. Her fingers didn't stop moving, and neither did his.

There were no words left to be said. No confessions left to be made. They had already spoken with their hearts, their hands, and the quiet moments in between.

With every slow, steady breath, Katara's world became smaller—just the feel of his fingers on her back, the warmth of his body next to hers, and the certainty of his love.

She felt his breath slow as he finally started to fall asleep, his arms going a little heavier around her. Her fingers lingered in his hair a little longer, her eyes still half-open as she watched his face relax completely.

Her heart swelled with love, so full it was almost painful. But it wasn't the kind of pain that hurt—it was the kind of pain that reminded her she was alive. That she had him. That they had each other.

Her eyes finally closed, and her breathing slowed to match his. Their bond had never been stronger.

They were together.

And as long as they had each other, they would never have to face the future alone.