A/N: I still plan to stick with a rougly once-weekly update schedule, but I just finished one of the most important chapters of the fic, clocking in at a whopping five thousand words, so I figured, what the fuck, to celebrate I'm gonna treat yall and myself and put out the next chapter early.
You won't be seeing the chapter I've just written for several weeks, I'm around 20k words ahead at this point, but take this chapter and dig in to celebrate with me :)
Here be content warnings: brief mention of suicide attempts and disordered eating. TLDR in the closing author's notes.
The moon is once again high in the sky when Katara wakes up.
It happens. Nightmares, pain, she's no stranger to waking up in the middle of the night. She can't quite remember what she's just dreamt about. Something about fire. It usually is. She's dreamt about Azula's hands burning into her face, about the war, her mother disappearing in flames; dreamt about lightning, sparks, and burn wounds on blue tattoos. More than once, she has woken up with the feeling of burning or imminent death. It's something she's more used to by now than anyone should ever have to be. This time, though, something is wrong. She can't quite put her finger on it.
She's just about to fall asleep again when it hits her:
A draught.
Her eyes fly open and she bolts upright. There's a window or a door open somewhere that shouldn't be.
She slips out of bed and opens the door as quietly as possible. The larger room outside hers is empty, but the draught is stronger here. She stands motionless for a moment and listens. Nothing. Through the open doorway, she reaches into the dining room – empty, as far as she can tell – and draws the contents of the water jug from last night's dinner into her hands, forms spikes and shards, ready to go at a moment's notice. Thus armed, she clears the drawing room and the study when she hears the scream.
Shrill, abruptly silenced, and coming from Azula's bedroom.
Fuck.
The locked door splinters under the third water blast from Katara.
She takes in the view in a split second. The broken window. The burn stains on the floor. The empty bed. Azula wrestled to the wall by a man in dark robes, kicking, biting into the hand that's clamped over her mouth. An old woman, similarly disguised, jabbing her knuckles into Azula's spine, and it takes Katara a heartbeat to recognise her as the chi-blocker from before. The terrified look in Azula's eyes as she feels her powers fade, her inner fire flicker and go out.
The man's flaming fist inches from Azula's face.
For a split second, everything is silent as Katara and the intruders stare at each other.
Then all hell breaks loose.
She unleashes the water in her hands at the man, a wave that packs enough punch to loosen his grip on Azula and shove him away from her. Azula collapses, and Katara doges the assassin's fireball, summons the water back to her, and dodges another flame that takes the rest of the door off its hinges. Her next blast ices one of his hands to the floor while the rest of it goes past him, turns into a huge icycle, and impales the chi-blocker to the wall, but his other hand has enough time left to spew fire in her direction before the plumbing next door bursts, the wall breaks down, and a thousand shards needle him to death.
Silence.
From the floor, most of her limbs still paralysed and useless, Azula looks up at Katara.
In the middle of the room, Katara stands over two dead bodies, water still dripping off her hands, and looks down at Azula.
Silence.
The first cry wrings itself from Katara's throat before her knees have even hit the floor. Helpless, Azula watches Katara crumble into a sobbing mess next to her, cry upon cry until her throat is sore, and more after that. Azula reaches out with her only working arm to squeeze Katara's hand, but that only makes her sob harder.
Seconds after the fight has ended, her bodyguards burst in. The bodies are carried out. Azula is lifted up and, as dignified as possible when she's slack like a noodle, draped into her bed while she waits for the feeling to return to her arms and legs. The following hours are a blur as the entire palace wakes and turns into a busy beehive. Lights turn on. The captain of her guard sends out patrols throughout the entire palace city. Search parties try to trace the intruders' path inside. The broken window is covered up. A guard tries to lead Katara to a chair, but she shakes him off, still crying, looking down, seemingly not perceiving anything around her at all. When the captain wants to question her, Azula sends the officers away. Eventually, Katara's eyes dry out and her breath runs out. The crying fades, replaced with only occasional sobs that shake her entire body.
They sit in silence.
I've failed.
Again.
I've broken.
I could have run. Make it out while everyone looks after her. Steal a boat while the palace is in uproar over her death. I could have been far away by now.
I didn't.
Again.
Why?
Katara has been broken, she realises. She's gotten complacent. Used to her situation. Used to Azula.
I've saved her life.
Again.
Silence. Katara is still kneeling on the floor. Azula is awkwardly propped up against her pillow.
I owe her my life.
Again.
Once again, Azula doesn't know what to say. What do you say to the person who's saved your life for the second time?
The honourable thing would be to let her go. She's not sure if that thought sounds more like Katara or Zuko. Either way, Azula rejects it immediately, but to her shock, she finds what's on her mind is not the security of her nation, the things Katara knows about the palace, about her government, about Azula herself. Instead, unexpected thoughts cross her mind.
If I let her go, she'll probably launch herself right back into battle. The army doesn't take prisoners. She'll be dead within the year.
I will not let that happen.
She tries to tell herself it's because Katara is her most valuable prisoner. It's because she's beat Katara and now her life belongs to Azula. But that's not it. No, Azula has become accustomed to Katara just as much as Katara to her. Has gotten used to the sarcastic remarks, the sparring with someone who's not afraid to rough her up without hesitation, the refreshing contempt from the only person in the palace who openly displays her hatred for Azula. The submission she's brokered from Katara, the only person in the nation who isn't honour-bound to obey Azula's divine rule, whom she had to make into what she is today.
She doesn't want to lose that.
"You did the right thing, you know."
Anything, anything to fill the silence.
For the first time in hours, Katara looks up and levels a glare at Azula that could melt through solid steel. It's exactly the kind of challenge that Azula enjoys about her. She doesn't even need to say the words, the unspoken accusation rings clear.
If you had any honour, you would let me go.
They stare each other down for what feels like minutes. Azula's words, never said aloud, are equally clear. You know I can't do that.
Eventually, Azula averts her gaze. It's a first. Her shoulders sag almost imperceptibly, but Katara picks up on it nonetheless.
"Fine. I admit, 'the right thing' probably doesn't mean a lot to you right now. I don't suppose it helps if I assure you of the nation's deepest gratitude?"
It does not. Azula steadies herself for what she is about to say.
"My gratitude. I—", oh Agni, why is this so hard, so much harder than last time? "I'm grateful you were there."
There to save me.
Again.
"If there's anything you need, just say the word. Think on it. Whatever you want, you'll have it – within reasonable limits, of course."
The dutifully formulaic words fall flat, sound dead even to her ears. There is nothing Katara could want from her that Azula can give her. Let me go. End the war. Or perhaps, just die. Any reward she can give Katara is meaningless. Azula knows too well what honour dictates, and she knows equally well what she wants and what her nation's needs demand. Today is not a day to choose honour.
"You may go", she adds when it becomes clear Katara isn't going to respond. Almost mechanically, Katara gets up and walks out without sparing any further glance for Azula.
That night, when Azula has trouble falling asleep, she hears Katara sob in the other room, and it weighs more heavily on her than it should.
The next morning, Katara drags herself to the breakfast table. Eats apathetically, as if the taste doesn't matter. Avoids Azula's eyes, ignores Azula's words. Drags herself back into her room.
From then, she doesn't leave her room anymore. When Azula returns from an angry afternoon spent exercising, Katara doesn't sit by the window, longingly staring out. She isn't bent over her parchments, drawing. When dinner is served, the listless display from the morning repeats. Her eyes are dull and flat, Azula notes, as if she's not looking at anything, just passively taking sights in. She shovels a pitiful amount of food in her mouth as if it's just a matter of nourishment. Withdraws to her room again. Azula would never use such dramatic words, but in short… Katara appears to have lost her will to live.
Azula doesn't question the fact that she has apparently gotten pretty good at reading Katara. She has always been a people person, that's all.
But while that may be, even Azula can only speculate about the thoughts going on behind Katara's lifeless eyes. Her face doesn't betray her emotions like it usually does.
I could have run, but I didn't.
What's left? My life is over.
This is where I will live and die.
What for? Because I had to save her life? What has she done to deserve to live? What do I owe her?
Nothing.
Then why? What is wrong with me? What has she done to me? I have every reason to hate her, so why can't I let her die?
I don't know.
What do I have left? Eighty years living in this prison? Eating from her table until I die? What does that make me?
A weakling?
A failure?
Nothing?
Katara's absence, a shadow of her former self when she does leave her room, invisible and unheard when she doesn't, makes Azula feel all the more keenly what Katara brings to the table. The silence, Azula's best friend for most of her life, silence to think, silence to exercise, silence to work and to plan, has now become unbearable, weighing her down as if the air has gotten heavier. Being surrounded by reverence and unquestioning obedience all day, something that she has always taken for granted, that has been her right since birth, has become stale and boring. Every word of admiration, every declaration of respect and loyalty, sounds false without Katara's defiant insults and genuine hatred to contrast it.
If either of them knew what the other is thinking, the symmetry would be impressive. Inside her room, Katara sits in darkness and silence and considers her weakness, her failure to do what needs to be done, her inability to see Azula for what she is and act accordingly. In the rest of the palace, from the war room to the great hall to the Fire Lord's dining room, Azula considers her weakness, her unbefitting attachment to a tribal peasant, the impropriety of being indebted twice over for her life and her honour to a captured savage. Her emotional failings, like missing Katara, like having looked forward to her witty remarks.
Days pass. Weeks. Azula is kept busy interrogating any suspects the palace guard rounds up, and in turn keeps them busy, obsessing over the security of her rooms and the palace city in general.
Unbeknownst to Azula, more than once, Katara kneels down in her room and brings a blade of ice to her throat. Feels her heart beat against the blade like Azula's beat against it so long ago, and prepares to end it all. But like when she held Azula's life in her hands, she can't bring herself to do it. Perhaps out of weakness. Perhaps out of spite, out of refusal to give Azula an easy way out of her debt. And every time she fails, the apathy returns, stronger than ever.
A/N: TL;DR: Katara wakes up when assassins break into the palace and intervenes just in time to save Azula's life once again. She absolutely cannot deal with the guilt and self-loathing of once again keeping Azula alive and beats herself up for not taking the opportunity to escape while the palace is in chaos over Azula's death. Azula is equally lost at the mounting debt she owes Katara and completely useless at expressing gratitude. Katara gets severely depressed, barely eats, doesn't speak, doesn't leave her room, and can't bring herself to end things.