A/N: What is UP everybody today it is my fucking pleasure to tell you I FINISHED THE FIC!
That's right, the whole behemoth has been written, 48 out of 48 chapters complete! Clocking in at just over 115k words, so you know what you're in for. Meaning I can now kick back and find a new hobby, like day drinking or counting the cracks in the wallpaper or cleaning my car with a toothbrush or whatever. Also means I have plenty of time to edit the remaining chapters until they go up, which I may or may not do depending on my mood and whether saturn is in vintage or whatever.
Now comes the hard part, which is not posting all remaining chapters at once and actually being patient and enduring my own update schedule, because at the current rate, it'll take until April 8 to reach the last chapter. The anticipation is already killing me!
While I dance around my living room pumping my fist into the air and uttering misplaced and frankly undignified screams of celebration at one in the morning (it's tuesday! it counts!), please enjoy this chapter.
Content warning: domestic violence, strictly speaking
When they resurface, there is no thought of putting their overgarments back on. Katara casually dries their clothes while they climb the hill back to the house, and once they're inside, Azula slams her against the door and crashes their lips together. Katara's hands are all over Azula's back, touching, stroking, trying to cover every spot at once, and Azula's hands are on Katara's shoulders and neck, feeling the curve of her jaw as it moves underneath her fingers, greedily moving against Azula's lips, as Azula's hand strokes over Katara's cheek, scar—
Katara flinches and Azula recoils.
Out of habit, she feels herself get angry at the guilt that's welling up inside her. Her first instinct is to lash out, to snap at Katara or just leave. To justify it, perhaps. But just this one time, she fights it down, and when she does, the guilt and grief overwhelm her.
"I'm sorry", she whispers.
Katara absent-mindedly reaches up, strokes her fingers over the scar where Azula touched it. It hurts, not the scar itself, but the reminder of what's happened between them. What she was, perhaps, about to do with the person who gave her that scar. She's reminded of how branded she'd felt in the beginning, like Azula had burned a stamp of ownership into her (and Azula would be lying if she'd say that some of that feeling hasn't lingered, flipped into pride for being privy to Katara's company, companionship even, something she has that nobody else does).
"How could you?", Katara quietly asks, and it's clear she doesn't mean the kiss or the accidental touch.
Caught off-guard, Azula's anger wins.
"We've been over this. It was necessary", she coldly states. "You were a prisoner who was acting up. I had to discipline you."
Wrong answer. Katara's blood begins to boil.
"That's all you have to say?"
"What do you want me to say?", Azula shoots back. "That I regret it? I do, you know that! What's the point in bringing it up again?"
"You regret it because it's me", Katara deduces. "Because I'm useful to you, because you think you feel something for me in that cold, sick heart of yours! If I were anyone else, you wouldn't regret a thing, you'd do it again!"
"Is that supposed to wound me? Because you're right, I would. That's the price of being a leader! You have to make the decisions nobody else wants to make! Not that you would know what that means. Enemies are enemies and they get what they deserve, that's how the world works."
Shaking with rage, Katara can feel every bit of liquid in the vicinity flowing to her. A cup from breakfast falls over and empties, a jug of water on the kitchen table shatters as its contents fly towards her and solidify into sharp, pointed icicles around her fingers. Azula takes an instinctive step back, and Katara follows, until Azula's back hits a pillar and the points of Katara's icy fingers touch her throat.
"If I didn't need you", Katara calmly growls, "if I hadn't sworn an oath to you…"
She lets the unfinished threat hanging in the air.
"What do you want?", Azula snarls. "I am who I am; I will not justify myself to you. If you think I've suddenly turned into a goodie-two-shoes just because I share my bed with you and take your advice, you're mistaken. I'm not Zuzu."
"And I'm not Ty Lee", Katara spits. "You can't shape friends, Azula, you have to work for them. I thought you'd started to understand that, but I guess not. If you behave like a monster, you're going to die as one: lonely."
With that, she storms outside and slams the door shut. Azula can hear the ice being fired and embedding themselves in the porch.
"Ugh!"
Who is she to question me?
Stupid, STUPID! Of course she wouldn't like the honest answer. Why didn't I lie and tell her what she wanted to hear?
She thinks back three years. She had been on the way back from the war council when Katara's escape attempt was noticed. She'd stepped into the courtyard just as the soldiers brought Katara down and decided to teach her a lesson right there and then. The deliberation with the military had been unsatisfying and the idea of keeping Katara to break and tame her had been appealing.
Was it petty? Probably. I enjoyed it.
Demonstrating her superiority, seeing Katara humiliated and branded with Azula's own hand, had been gratifying. It's not any more, but at the time…
That's just how it is. It's what you do.
Says who?
What does she want? I've apologised, she knows I regret what I did to her! Why does she care what I might do to hypothetical others? It's not like there's someone tied and bound in front of me, about to get hurt.
At first, she wants to apologise, just to restore the peace between them. But, knowing Katara, she can guess an insincere apology will get her nowhere, probably make matters worse, even. But what else is there to do? She misses Katara already, regrets their fight already. Against better judgement, she reaches for the door…
Katara is in the court yard, angrily slashing away at the fence, the porch, anything. She's mid-slice when she hears Azula's voice.
"What did the poor fence ever do to you?"
She spins around, furious and ready to strike. Azula approaches, undeterred.
"I hope you didn't come to spew more excuses."
Azula bristles at the comment.
"I don't need to justify myself to anyone. Don't overestimate yourself."
Katara snaps.
SMACK!
The slap rings out across the courtyard. Katara stares at her own hand in shock, at the red mark on Azula's cheek.
"Azul—"
A heartbeat after Katara's hand hits her face, Azula instinctively punches back, and with that, Katara's remorse disappears. She swings at Azula, Azula shoves her, and they end up on the floor, wrestling, scratching, punching, biting. Elbows hit ribs, fists hit shoulders and faces, Azula knees Katara in the stomach and Katara bites Azula's hand, tears at her hairs while Azula hits Katara's hand against the floor until she lets go of her wrist. I hate you, Azula spits, and what did I ever see in you, Katara growls, and neither can say who started it, but suddenly, Katara's mouth is on Azula's, kissing her while she's trying to kick her, Azula biting Katara's lips while Katara groans underneath her, from pleasure or from pain when Azula tries to rip out her hair, neither of them know. Eventually, the kicking and punching ends and they're just rolling around on the ground, pinning each other down, breaking free and flipping the other over, kissing, biting, wrestling.
"Truce?", Azula eventually pants.
"Fuck you", Katara snarls before biting down on Azula's lip. "Truce."
Once they're inside, Katara slams a bowl of water on the table and starts taking care of their injuries. Seeing Azula bleeding all over, scratched and cut, split lip and bruised jaw, softens her anger and makes her heart ache for her.
I did this to her.
Not that Katara herself is any better off. Once she's taken care of Azula's nastiest injuries, she takes care of her own before returning to mending Azula's smaller scrapes and bruises. The anger has burnt out of her and at this point, all that's left is sadness.
"You know", Katara begins, tries to be the better person, "I don't think you're actually a monster."
"You don't?" Azula startles. "You'd be right to. I am."
It's a lifelong truth.
Katara shakes her head, wipes dried blood off Azula's face before applying her water.
"I don't think you are. In fact, I don't believe there is a you. Not one that hasn't been shaped by him, at least."
"Katara—"
"He burned Zuko to punish him", Katara continues. "You burned me to punish me. He raised you as his favourite, as his heir in case Zuko didn't measure up. You never had the opportunity to find out who you really are?"
"What, like Zuzu? You think if I had the chance, I'd start drinking tea and betraying my country or whatever?"
"You've been trying to live up to him so hard", Katara refuses to fall for the obvious provocation. "But I know you, Azula. You've been questioning him ever since you realised he's not coming back. You know you don't have to be him, and I believe you can change."
Azula sighs.
"Maybe you're right, who knows. The last years… defeat after defeat… I'm sick of it. I don't want victory any more, I just want it to end. But let's get one thing clear."
She pushes Katara's hand aside and, from where she's sitting, turns and looks up to stare Katara down.
"No matter what happens, I am not yours to shape, either. Maybe you're right, maybe I am not what Father wanted me to be any more. But if so, that's for me to find out, not for you to decide. I am still the Fire Lord; this is still my nation. My people. Not yours. I will rule it as I see fit, and I don't owe it to you to be what you want me to be."
Fair enough, Katara thinks. Azula's admission is the first time she's heard any such sentiment from her. It will have to be enough.
She slowly, but firmly, extricates her hand from Azula's grip.
"I just hope", she says, "when you find out who you want to be, it's not someone who enjoys burning people."
Her hand returns to Azula's cheek, to the last, big cut on it. The water follows her call, glowing softly as she repairs the skin.
"I know you're sorry. That's good. But as long as you would do it to anyone else again, it doesn't mean anything. I don't want special treatement, Azula, I want you to see what you're doing is wrong. Anything else… it's sickening."
"Don't worry. If these negotiations go the way I want to, you won't have to bear my 'sickening' presence for much longer."
The words are meant to hurt, and they do. Azula regrets them almost as soon as she says them, doesn't want to think about Katara leaving, wants to hold on to her for as long as possible. But the damage is done, to Katara as well.
Where would I even go? Home, looking like this? With her hand burned into my face? How could I even face any of them, knowing they fought for their lives while I was coddled away in the palace, sleeping with their murderer? But what else can I do? Stay here, with her? No.I need to go home, I need to remember who I am. But leaving her behind…
The thought makes her cry. As if to plead forgiveness for her words, Azula stands up and offers her arms, but Katara slaps them away, only to realise a second later how badly she needs them, wants them, needs to be held by her right now. She cries into Azula's clothes, fists the fabric and buries her face in it, while Azula strokes her back, unsure what else to do. She leads Katara to the closest couch, sits her down and herself next to her, runs her fingers through her hair and lets her cry into Azula's shoulder. When Katara comes up for air, she buries her face in Azula's instead, pulls her down with her, kisses her like she's drowning when really, she's trying to drown out her thoughts about what comes after.
When the kisses become an embrace, she eventually falls asleep from exhaustion.
She wakes up much later, after the sun has set, when Azula sits back down next to her.
"Here", Azula sheepishly hands her a bowl of soup. "I hope it's edible."
Katara takes a sip. It is, although not much more. But it's the thought that counts, and the fact that Azula tried to cook for her, despite her complete lack of experience, warms Katara's heart more than the hot soup ever could. Next to her, Azula eats her soup as stoically as she can. She's definitely not cut out for cooking. But that Katara hasn't pitched it out after the first spoonful means more to her than the taste.
After dinner, Katara sits down on the porch outside to meditate and Azula follows.
"The constellations here are different", Katara breaks the silence once she's done.
"I imagine they would be."
"At home, these form the Lone Warrior."
Katara points up, at a group of stars Azula has never given any thought to. To Azula, they look like just a bunch of lights, but as long as Katara speaks to her at all, she's willing to listen.
"And do you see these? The small cluster next to the bright one? The positions are different here, but that's The Birth Of La. And the group on the other side? That's Tui's Appearance."
Azula squints, but she doesn't see it. She does, however, catch a shape that's vaguely familiar a little further to the side.
"When I was a child, I believe my mother called those groups The Dragons. The three over there, underneath the moon? That's the Blue Dragon. The four to the East, that's the Red Dragon."
"Interesting. At home, that's the Polar Leopard Cub."
They continue to point out constellations to each other. With each one, Azula remembers more, from nights spent on the palace roof with her mother and Zuko. Agni's Crown. Mother Ash And Her Children. A handful of faint lights forming the constellation of Mother Of Faces. After a while, she tentatively rests her head on Katara's shoulder, relieved when Katara lets her.
The realisation how much she wants this, how much she cares for Katara, washes over her as she listens to Katara describe the stars, tell little anecdotes and folk tales about them from her home. Azula could sit here forever like this. She wants more, more of Katara, more of this, of just them. Briefly, she considers telling this to Katara, then stops herself when she remembers the last time she tried to speak romantically to someone. Part of her quips that it's not wise to tip her hand and expose the full extent of her feelings, but even Azula feels ridiculous thinking along those lines. Not with Katara, who's sworn to protect her. Who's saved her life more times than Azula can ever repay.
She settles for scooting closer to Katara and wrapping her arms around her. Katara will know what she means.