A:tLA- Faith In Fire

Three times a week, it’s Katara’s job to do the laundry.  The rest of the time, her only responsibilities are sweeping up and helping Gran-Gran prepare lunch and dinner.  She much prefers those days to laundry days.  

She hates the smell of wet cloth.  It’s always worse when they’re drying- and the wind carries the smell to her wherever she goes- than when she’s actually washing them.  Sokka’s clothes are, unsurprisingly, always the dirtiest.  Now that most of the men have gone off to war, he’s had to take over a lot of the fishing duties.  He doesn’t complain- quite the opposite, in fact- but somehow he always comes back smelling like fish guts, even on days when he doesn’t catch anything.  Other than that, her brother’s job is to take out the refuse at the end of each day, and Katara must admit, she’s glad to not be stuck with that particular chore.

Yet another cleaning day dawns, and Katara carries the sopping wet, newly washed clothes outside to the line, where they will be hung up to dry and she’ll have to hole away in the tent until not a drop of water is left on them.  It would be wonderful, as she’s often thought to herself, if she could just bend the excess water off and be done with it.  She’s not sure is that’s something even a master Waterbender can do.  If she ever meets one, she’ll have to ask.  

She drops the basket next to the pole on the far end of the line.  She sees a row of small fires as families cook their dinner.  Yesterday, Sokka made a decent catch, and that means fish stew tonight.  Katara’s stomach growls just at the thought of it.  She takes a whiff of the air, but smells nothing.  Gran-Gran must be waiting for her to help make it.  That’s fine.  The last thing Katara needs is Sokka devouring the whole pot before she even gets a spoonful.

She pulls out Sokka’s parka first and inspects it.  It came to her with noticeably fewer stains than usual.  Last time, the sleeves were covered in sea water and stank to high heavens.  Katara had had to scrub them no less than seven times to fully get rid of the smell.  The color is still faded around the fur lining, but at least it smells more like cloth and less like rotting fish today.  Katara thinks her… impassioned speech to Sokka about being more careful when out fishing so she doesn’t have to break her back cleaning up his mess may have actually gotten through to him.  

She throws it over the line and smoothes it out, then clips it into place.  She has to make sure there isn’t a single crease.  Gran-Gran will inspect her work later, and she won’t take kindly to any signs of slacking.  Gran-Gran stresses work ethic in her and Sokka.  She wants them to understand now what it means to keep a home running, for when they are grown up and out on their own.  Katara never complains, and though Sokka huffs and puffs, she knows he never will either.

Katara pulls Gran-Gran’s parka out next, hefting it over the line and smoothing it out like Sokka’s before.  She returns to the basket for her own parka.  Now that Gran-Gran’s isn’t covering them, she can see a number of leggings, pants and undershirts, along with a few of her dresses and Sokka’s pair of extra thick gloves for when he’s out fishing.

She’s doesn’t see her parka.

Katara lifts her head, looks at the snow covered ground.  It’s a sea of white without a hint of blue.  For as far as the eye can see, beyond the tent and towards the one directly across from it.  Katara runs out into the open, re-tracing her steps and finding nothing.  It hasn’t been snowing today, so it can’t have been buried so fast, but she can’t see it.

Katara’s shoulders slump.  She makes the slow trudge back to the clothesline, making a final, half-hearted sweep of the area as she passes. When she gets back to the clothesline, she leans her head against it.  She wraps her arms around herself, suddenly feeling colder.  She can’t imagine how disappointed Gran-Gran will be in her when she finds out.  Not to mention, that parka was Katara’s favorite.  Her mother had worn it when she was a girl…

Katara hears footsteps behind her.  They are slow and deliberate.  She thinks, at first, it must be Gran-Gran, come to check on her as she often does when dinner time draws near.  If Katara doesn’t finish her work fast, she won’t be able to help Gran-Gran get the stew on.  She about to turn around and face her fate, when the newcomer coughs, a low nervous cough in a slightly cracking voice that is definitely not Gran-Gran‘s.

“Uh… hey?”

He sounds uncertain, and that alone is enough for Katara to know who it is.  She tries to hide her confusion as she turns to face him.  He should be at home, having dinner with his own family, or else out on the hunt with Sokka.  Sheepish gold eyes meet her blue ones.  His face his uncovered, for once, by the furry hood of his dark blue coat.  His hair is also down, but that’s normal for him.  He’s never worn his hair in the traditional style.  Maybe because he’s not a born Water Tribesmen, but it‘s always looked odd on him.

In his arms is her damp parka.

Katara can’t hold back a sigh of relief.  She could kiss him.  His face is flushed as he holds it out to her.  His eyes are shaking, like he’s having a hard time keeping them on her.

“You dropped this,” he says.

Katara hesitates.  There is, of course, nothing to stop her from reaching out and taking the heavy coat.  The air around him makes her nervous, however, in ways it never used to when they were young.  While he was never exactly sociable, he used to be more at ease with her than this.  Not so much since the men left, and he started to become one himself.

“Thank you, Zuko,” she says finally.  The silence has been deafening, too much for the both of them.

She slowly, but firmly, takes the parka from his hands and holds it to her chest.  It’s not as wet now, but she can still feel a chill seeping through her shirt and into her skin.  Zuko says nothing in response and walks away.  He doesn’t look back; Katara can see nothing but the gentle swaying of his lush black hair in the breeze.  She watches him go, then returns to her work.  She throws her parka over the line, making extra sure that it’s clean and neat as her adrenaline slowly wears off.  She eventually gets to the rest of the clothes, but she doesn’t remember much of that the next day.  

She remembers Zuko with perfect clarity.

**
Katara was not yet born when Zuko was adopted into the tribe.  She wasn’t there to witness the shock, awe and general caution of the people when a very haggard and very pregnant Fire Nation woman washed up on shore.  She claimed to have stowed away on a ship and then stole a life boat when they were a mile off shore.  When no such boat was found, she told them it had sunk.  No one believed her, and her shaky story only fueled their distrust.

Not that it mattered much how she’d arrived.  The important thing, according to Chief Hakoda and his wife, Kya, was that she was here and she needed their help.  The healer was called in, and while they waited, Kya attempted to get more out of the woman.  

Where she had come from?  

What was she doing here?  

What was her name?

The woman never answered the final question.  For the first two, all she would say was that her husband was an important figure in the Fire Nation and that she had run to escape him before he could have any influence on their child.  Though Kya would never say it out loud, she was quite surprised by the assertion that the woman was of a prominent family.  Her disheveled appearance and poorly made clothes suggested lower middle class at best.  She asked no further questions.

The woman went into labor less than a week later.  It took over 24 hours for her to give birth.  By the time her son came screaming into this world, the woman had lost a great deal of blood and was on the verge of death.  The healer knew it was coming, and handed the weak woman her child, so that she could hold him at least once.  Her arms were barely strong enough to keep his head up, the healer had to support most of the infant’s weight herself.  The new mother didn’t notice.

“My son…” she said, with all the love and care a mother could have for her child and more.  “My boy… you’re safe now… you won‘t… be like them…”

Her breath hitched, and the healer feared her heart would stop at any moment.  She brushed hair off of the woman’s sweat drenched cheeks.  The baby, who had just ceased crying, fussed in their collective grip.

“Ma’am,” the healer said softly.  “You must tell me, have you named him?”

The woman didn’t look at the healer, she didn’t change positions at all.  Her hands on the baby twitched, like she was trying to hug him and didn’t have the energy.

“Zuko…” she whispered.  

The healer nodded and gently lifted the baby into the air.  The woman rested her hands in her lap and laid back down.   The healer started to take the baby out, so that he could be cleaned up and then put to bed.  She was out the door when the woman spoke again, her voice barely a whisper.

“Mother will always be with you, Zuko.”

The healer turned around.

The baby in her arms let out a sharp cry.

The woman was dead.

**
Two children are playing tag.  One is a boy of about seven, the other a girl of perhaps five.  The boy is chasing the girl, who laughs as the boy is unable to catch her.  Katara stops short of running into them on her way back to the tent.  They go right by and don’t notice her.  She watches them go with a smile tugging at her lips.  How nice it would be, to be that young and carefree again.  Katara can’t remember a time when nothing in the world could bother her.  She thinks she must have been three.

Sokka walks with her, carrying the bigger jug.  He yawns dramatically.  He’s not actually tired because he must have slept for twelve hours last night.  He’s just making a fuss because somehow fetching water is worse for him than taking out garbage.  They are almost home when Sokka does it again, and Katara rolls her eyes.

“Oh, knock it off.  I know you’re not really tired.”

“Sure I am,” Sokka says indignantly.  “I’m tired of all these chores.  What I wouldn’t give for one day, just one day where I can do nothing but sleep.”

Katara smirks.  “Oh really?  I thought you were the big strong man, holding down the fort while Dad’s gone.”

“I am!  But even Dad took a day off every now and then.”

They pass a group of tents clumped together.  No one is around save a young man slightly taller than Sokka, though it’s hard to tell at the moment when he’s bent over and tending to the fire.  He glances up as they pass, a bored look in his eyes that fades the instant he sees Katara.  Then he springs up like a board, and suddenly the height difference is clear.

“Hey, Zuko, how’s it going?” Katara asks.

“Good,” Zuko answers stiffly.  Though he’s looking Katara right in the eye, she has the sense that he’s not really seeing her.  

“We were just talking about how hard I’ve been working and how I deserve a day off for my troubles,” Sokka says.

Katara wishes her hands were free so she could swat him.

“Well, you have done a lot,” Zuko says, not taking his eyes off Katara.  “Do you need any help with that?”

“We’ve got it, it’s okay,” Katara says.  She adjusts her grip on the heavy water jug so she can hold it better.  It’s really not that bad for her to carry, though she’ll admit her arms are starting to get tired the longer she stands around talking.  She not too eager to leave, though.  This is probably the longest conversation she’s had with Zuko in months.

Count on Sokka to mess it up.

“Well, it’s been fun shooting the breeze, but dinner is calling our names!”

He starts to walk off, looking expectantly over his shoulder at Katara.  

“Calling your name, more like it,” she mutters.

She gives Zuko an apologetic look, but he’s already back to work on that fire.  Katara notes the lack of sticks and rocks around him and wonders how he expects to keep that fire going on his own.  He’s always been good at it, but really.  

“You’d better hurry up before it gets dark,” Zuko says.  “Koma was saying before a blizzard might be coming.”

Katara looks at the sky.  It’s slowly darkening into night and not a cloud can be seen.  She’s mostly just humoring him.  Koma is a seven year old boy who likes to pretend he can predict the weather.  He’s become something of a leader among the kids, at least when Sokka isn’t trying to train them all to be warriors.  Katara didn’t think Zuko, or anyone over the age of six, ever gave weight to what the boy said.  He’s still not looking anywhere near her and his countenance indicates that he doesn’t want to say another word to her.  Katara gets the feeling he really doesn’t believe.

“I’ll see you later, then,” she says awkwardly.

The jug is feeling twenty pounds heavier as her arms start to grow weak.  She thinks next time she stops to talk to someone, it’ll have to be on laundry day.  Koma and a few other boys run by her feet.  The little boy stops and grins at her.  He has two teeth missing, one on either side.

“Hey, Katara!  Were you just talking to Big Bro?”

Katara smiles and nods.  It’s cute how affectionate the boy can be towards Zuko, even though he never gets much for his troubles beyond a smile and a pat on the head.  He never complains.  It always seems to be enough for Koma, just to be acknowledged.

Then Koma snickers, his friends joining in though it’s likely they have no idea what’s so funny.

“He likes you, you know.”

Katara pauses.  Koma’s quiet laughter turns to shrieking giggles and he runs off, his friends on his tail.  They are running away from Katara, she doesn’t see where they’re going.

“Oh, and beware of the storm coming!”

He makes a ‘whoo-ing’ noise like the sound of wind.  If it’s meant to sound scary, it isn’t working.  Not on Katara, or his friends, or the women within earshot, who roll their eyes and then go on with their business.  They’re all used to Koma‘s antics.

Katara’s arms start to shake, and the water with it.  It gets her moving again, but she can still hear Koma’s words in her head, and Zuko’s head bent over the fire.

‘He likes you, you know.’

**
The woman was cremated.  It went against the funeral traditions of the Water Tribe, which dictated that the dead be buried at sea.  They were wrapped in blankets and weighed down.  Sometimes with stones, sometimes with personal possessions- and then they were rowed a few miles out and let go, while on the shore, men and women huddled together in prayer, wishing their fallen friend safe passage to the world beyond.

It was Kya’s idea that they honor their mysterious guest and her culture.  If Hakoda hadn’t agreed to it, and no one could say whether or not Kya coerced him, the matter would have been dropped in an instant.  No one else wanted anything to do with the woman, alive or dead.  He took her body out in the dead of night, with two or three trusted friends, and preformed the burning before sunrise.  No one spoke of the lingering smoke.

The next task was finding a home for the baby, and it proved easier, though no less troubling.  Many didn’t know what to make of the child.  At best, they were like the healer and treated him like any other child his age; cooing over him and pinching his little cheeks.  At worst, they acted like he didn’t exist.  They walked right by when the healer brought him outside for some fresh air and sunlight.  They didn’t ask if they could help, didn’t offer to hold him so the aging woman could rest her arms.

When he was six months old, the healer’s son and daughter-in-law took him in.  The healer had grown fond of him in that time, and parting with the baby made her heart ache, but she knew it was best this way.  She could still see him whenever she pleased and her son would make an excellent father.  She was getting on in years, and her little family was one of the few sources of joy she had.

It was widely believed that her daughter-in-law was barren.  Even the healer herself had proclaimed her as such.  Two years after her death, her son and his wife were blessed with a child of their own.  Zuko was eight years old when Koma was brought into the world.  He stared down at the tiny, dark skinned baby and didn’t know how to handle this ‘big brother‘ thing.  He didn’t have many friends, often preferring his own company to that of others.  At times, not even his surrogate family could reach him.  Now, he was expected to play protector and teacher to this bean shaped little thing that couldn’t even open his eyes yet.

The truth was that Zuko wasn’t a social child, and he never had been.  It wasn’t entirely his fault either.  Those people who turned up their nose to him as an infant didn’t change their attitudes as he grew into boyhood.  If anything, they got worse.  The war was finally spreading their way, the attack by the Southern Raiders that took the life of their Chief’s beloved wife felt like a mere taste of what was to come.  Of course, Zuko had been hidden away with his new family at the time and had nothing to do with it, but he shared the looks of those men who had forced their way in and nearly destroyed them, and for some, that was enough.  They refused to so much as acknowledge Zuko’s existence beyond a few hateful glares.  They taught their children to act similarly.  It created a rift between the younger kids.  Half of them were nice to Zuko and treated him no different than anyone else, the other half taunted and teased him mercilessly, calling him names and throwing heavy balls of snow at the back of his head while he was playing or doing chores.  

“Why don’t you go and burn some houses down, Firefreak!”

Zuko ignored them mostly.  If Katara or anyone else asked if it bothered him, he’d just shrug his shoulders and move on.

“They’re not even clever about it,” he’d say.

Katara and Sokka, out of all the children, were the closest to him, but that wasn’t saying much.  Sokka tried many times when they were younger to get through to him, the only other boy close to him in age.  He’d invite him to play, to go fishing, to come and stay for dinner, and Zuko rarely accepted any offer.  He grew more interested in sitting by himself, either out in front of his tent or next to the fire, than making friends.  

It got to a point where Sokka had given up on him, and the only ones left were his parents, Koma, and Katara.  She greeted him in the street every morning and walked by his tent every night to wish him a peaceful sleep.  He used to answer her back warmly, but now, she was lucky to get two words out of him.

Could he really change so much over the years?  Katara had never done him any wrong.  Why would he shut her out now?  It made no sense to her.

What Katara wasn’t ready to admit yet was that there was another reason his standoffish-ness bothered her.  They had both grown so much in recent years.  Katara was just entering womanhood, and Zuko would soon be as tall and strong as an adult.  They were clearly no longer children, and Katara was wanting more from Zuko than just a smile and a hello.

So much more.

**
There is a thump and a woman screams, and Katara is close enough to the beach that the water is calling to her, but she whirls around.  She sees a pair of elderly women, with wrinkles and worry lines that put the warm faced Gran-Gran to shame.  Before them, Zuko is on his hands and knees, collecting the broken pieces of a water jug.  His sleeves are damp with water that is visible even from so far away.  Equally clear is the vein popping out of the head of the woman closest to him, and the merciless rage on both their faces.

“What is wrong with you, not looking where you’re going?!”  the woman shrieks.   Her fists are balled around a wooden stirring spoon that she must be aching to slam over Zuko’s head.

“I’m sorry, Ma’am,” Zuko is saying.  He speaks softly, so Katara isn’t sure how she can hear it until she realizes that she’s walking towards them.

“Sorry isn’t going to fix that jug!  It belonged to my father, you little worm, and his father before him!”

While the first woman rages, the second one sniffs at Zuko, not a hint of sympathy to be found in her cold gaze.

“I always knew this boy was trouble,” she says.

Zuko slows a little.  Katara may be imagining it, but she thinks his shoulders might be shaking.

“I’m very sorry,” he says again.

He finishes cleaning up the remnants of the water jug and the women have walked off without it.  They can still be heard speaking in loud tones about what a nuisance Zuko is.  It’s clear that there is nothing left to see, and soon no one remains but Zuko, arms full of broken plaster, and Katara, who stands a few feet away; close enough to reach out and touch him.

“Zuko,” she says.

He walks away without a word.  Katara is not taking that for an answer.  She starts after him.

“Zuko, wait!”

He slows just a little bit, but it’s enough for Katara to catch up.  She walks at his side, keeping steadily up with him even as he tries to lose her by walking faster and turning more sharply.

“Leave me alone, Katara.”

His rudeness doesn’t have the desired effect, assuming it’s just because he really wants her to go.  All that does is make Katara more determined to keep talking, even as her eye twitches with annoyance.

“I just want to know what happened,” she says.  “I know you didn’t knock into that woman on purpose.  It wasn’t right for her to yell at you like that.”

Zuko shrugs, and says not a word.  Katara begins to feel antsy.

“Well?” she says expectantly.  “Doesn’t it bother you?  The way they treated you was wrong, I thought you’d be angrier than this.”

She stops, and he keeps going.  She watches his back.  His shoulders are slumped as if in defeat, but when he speaks there isn’t a hint of weakness.

“Of course I am.”

Katara raises a hand, opens her mouth, but can’t make herself move or talk.  He goes on without her.  She eventually walks back to her home.  It feels much too far from his all of a sudden.  The next time she sees him is in the evening, when she’s coming back after a short walk along the water.  She sees him by the fire.

**
The last day of the week is Katara’s one day free from chores.  She usually spends it alone, in a tiny pool far off from her village.  Today is no different.  It’s a quiet little area, with just enough water for her to practice the few forms she knows.  There are rarely fish around, just the occasional crab, and she knows how to avoid those.  She’s pretty sure no one knows about this spot but her.  There’s a chance Sokka may have already found it while fishing, but he’s always been one to report such ‘fascinating discoveries,’ loudly and always to her first, so Katara doubts it.

Katara gets herself into position.  The sun is starting to go down, but she pays it no mind.  She’ll stay as long as even a sliver of light remains if it means getting this right.

She breathes deeply and evenly, as she’s trained herself to do.  Inhale exhale.  Inhale exhale.  She can almost feel her heartbeat slowing, relaxing.  

She brings her hands up, holds them there for a moment, then raises them higher.  The shimmering water starts to shake and reform, rising up with her manipulations.  Katara’s fingers shake, and she does her breathing again to calm herself.  She lets her arms drop, and the water splashes back into place.  She puts a hand to her chest, but she feels no changes.  Two years ago, that would’ve left her exhausted and out of breath.  It’s a great improvement, she knows, but it’s not enough.  She can do better.

“Okay, for real this time,” she says to herself.

She lifts her hands again.  The water starts to move.  She pulls it up as high as her arms can reach, then lowers it again.  She waits, counts out three seconds, and then, Katara pulls.

At least half the water in the pool flies into the air.  Katara struggles to hold it.  Her form is still rough and she can’t keep all the water suspended.  It leaks out in different directions.  By now, she’s lost most of the water she’d originally pulled out.  She manages to keep the rest in place, forming it into an imperfect, but stable ball.  She holds it in place, eyes wrought with concentration.  She can see her reflection in it’s surface.  She can’t help notice her hair sticking out at certain angles.  She’ll have to re-braid it in the morning.

Katara squints her eyes to try to see more.  For some reason, the water isn’t as clear as it usually is.  She looks through it, at the blackening rock wall that surrounds on all sides, and she realizes the truth.

It’s not the water, it’s the sky.

A heavy burst of wind hits her back.  It’s hard and unexpected and Katara nearly loses her balance.  She gasps and waves her arms around to keep herself up.  She hears a loud splash as her water falls back into the pool, but that no longer has her attention.  When she looks up, Katara sees the beginnings of snowfall.  She lowers her gaze to her hands.  Tiny flakes land in her palm and then melt.  They are soon replaced by other, bigger ones.  Katara hastily grabs her mittens and jams them on.  She buttons her parka up all the way and throws the hood on.  Then she runs.

It’s amazing to her that she already can’t see her home well when she makes it out of her secret spot.  The wind is picking up, the snow falling faster.  Katara feels a horrible chill, like the temperature has just dropped twenty degrees.  She shivers and wraps her arms around herself, but it doesn’t help.  She takes a step forward, and the winds become stronger, as if to deliberately push her back.  She presses on, forcing her feet to move, one in front of the other.  The snow is thickening, coming down faster, and with such force that any stray piece that hits her face feels like a tiny dagger cutting into her skin.  

She has to stop when her hood is blown back.  She struggles against the wind to secure it.  It feels tight around her neck, but she can still breathe, and it’s not going to fall off now.  Katara looks out again and can’t see a foot in front of her.  The twinkling lights of the village that had been guiding her are extinguished.  That, or the snow is covering them, leaving Katara in a blind haze.  She doesn’t have time to think about it, she needs to find shelter now.  That’s the first thing her father taught her and Sokka about survival when they were children.

Katara looks in all different directions, looking for any color other than white.  She looks forward, backward, left and right.  To her right, she just barely sees a hint of darkness.  It’s close to being blotted out by the storm, but Katara has already honed in on it.  She knows it’s not home, and that she’ll be alone in whatever it is.  It may not even be anything but an illusion, but it’s better than just standing here.  She turns and walks to it, as fast as the wind will allow.  As she grows closer, the black spot becomes clear.  It is a solid color, nothing to be seen inside.  Katara fears it may be just a large boulder until she sees the rocky edges around it that are covered in snow.  Some of it drips down to the ground.  Katara recognizes it now, and she cries out in relief.

A cave.

She stumbles through.  Cold air hits her back, but as she gets further in, it becomes warmer.  The snow recedes at her feet, it can’t blow in this far.  The ground is now plain rock and dirt.  Her footsteps echo.  She looks around and sees all blackness.  It’s really not much better than being out in that storm.  She finds a slab of flat rock sticking out of the ground.  It looks like it’d be fine to sit against.  Katara lets herself fall, only now realizing just how much her legs are shaking.  It’s a miracle she’s stayed standing this long, let alone walked all this way.  

The rock is cold, but her parka protects her.  She pulls her legs close to her chest, wrapping herself up in a tight ball.  It staves off the cold only a little bit.  Now that she’s been in here a while, this cave is really only a little warmer than outside.  She still feels like she’s about to freeze in place.  Katara closes her eyes tight, cursing herself for not going home when she had the chance.  Gran-Gran always said she didn’t like her staying out so late, even if it was to practice her bending.  She must be worried sick right now.  Sokka will want to go out looking for her immediately, and Gran-Gran will have to stop him.  Sokka will argue, and Gran-Gran will remind him that the storm is still raging, and that it’s no good if he gets lost too.  There’s no way anyone can set foot outside until it clears up.  Sokka will be left to pacing around with an anger and frustration that Gran-Gran shares, but can’t do a thing about.

When the storm finally passes, they will send a search party, no doubt.  But will it be too late by then?  Will they eventually come upon this cave and find nothing but Katara’s frozen body surrounded by rocks and snow?

‘No.  No!  Don’t think like that.’

Katara huddles closer to the rock.  It may be cold, but it’s solid and it reminds her that at least she isn’t out there.  She closes her eyes, and then opens them again.

‘Don’t go to sleep.  Don’t nod off.  Don’t even close your eyes.  Stay awake and wait.  Someone will come.  Someone will be looking for you.  Stay awake…’

She repeats that thought, an endless mantra that keeps her fading consciousness alive for a while longer.  She still feels her eyes dropping.  Her whole body aches, from her practice, from walking, from the cold.  It would be so nice if she could just sleep a while.

“…ara…”

Her eyes are growing heavier.  She’s so exhausted, she thinks she just heard someone say her name.

“Katara…”

There it is again.  Maybe she’s already asleep and dreaming, and just didn’t realize it until now.

“Katara, wake up!”

But her eyes are open, and she can see that there is someone in front of her.  He is shivering just as badly as she is, and wears a furry blue coat usually reserved for the men in their tribe.  Nobody wears them now except Sokka, and…

“Zuko…” she looks into his golden eyes, not daring to believe it.  The storm outside is strong as ever, she can hear the whistling wind so loud it makes her ears hurt.  “When did you get here?”

He doesn’t answer, but Katara hears his grunting, accompanied by a shuffling sound.  He must be close, because she can hear his labored breathing right next to her ear.  Something wraps around her body and pulls her into a soft surface with something harder underneath.  It’s warm too, whatever it is.  It’s like a godsend to Katara, and she tries to push herself further into it.  Zuko gasps, and now she realizes that his body is what she’s pressed up against.  His arms around her are like iron, she couldn’t break free even if she wanted to.  He sighs and rests his head on top of hers.  His cheek against her forehead is just as delightfully warm as the rest of him.

“I guess Koma was right for once,” she says.

“Hey,” he whispers.  His hand on her forearm tightens.  “It‘s going to be okay, now.  I promise you we‘ll be alright, Katara.”

Katara could laugh at how brave he makes himself sound.  It’s obvious he’s as scared as she is, maybe more.  It makes her wonder again what the hell he thinks he’s doing here.

“You came to find me?”

“Of course I did,” he answers.  He pauses to breath and then goes on.  “You didn’t come back, I… someone had to do something.  Sokka wanted to, I know that.  He was crazy when your Grandmother stopped him.  He was still yelling at her when I left.”

“You came alone… that’s pretty stupid.”

She thinks she can feel his smile.

“About as stupid as staying out until dark to play in the water.”

She would smack him for that if she could.

“Bending is not playing,” she says.

“I know.”  

He sounds like he really does.

Another gust of wind howls and comes very close to reaching them.  Zuko somehow pulls her closer.  Katara’s face is crushed up against his shoulder, with her nose and mouth just free enough that she can breathe in his scent.  She still wishes she could get closer.  She has a favorite old blanket at home that her mother and father made her when she was a toddler.  It’s made of bearskin and has kept her warm on the coldest of nights, but it’s nothing compared to how she feels here, in Zuko’s arms.  She inhales deeply, the air around him is as warm as his skin.

Too warm, in fact.

Now that her mind is clearer, Katara remembers that Zuko walked through a snowstorm to find her.  His coat is no thicker than hers.  He shouldn’t be this warm.  He shouldn’t be warm at all.

Katara opens her eyes.  She slides her head up just enough that they peek out into the darkness.  If she looks all the way up, so high that her eyes hurt from the strain, she can just make out Zuko’s face.  He has a look of deep concentration.  Katara has seen this face so many times, it might as well be his signature look.  He wears it every day, when chores are done and the sun is going down and he’s sitting by the fire.

Always by the fire.

It hits Katara like a rock to the head.  She comes very close to wrenching herself free from him.  It’s an instinctual fear that goes back to the day when an evil man in black and red took her mother’s life with his callous, burning hands.  She reminds herself that the Zuko she knows would never and could never be that man, no matter what.  This is her friend, someone she’s know her entire life.  In the split second it took Katara to understand the truth, nothing changed.  He was still the boy who walked through a storm to find her, simply because he cared that much.  Nothing had changed.

“Zuko…” she speaks with a strength she thought had been seeped away by the cold.  “Zuko, are you…”

Though she can’t get the words out, Zuko knows what she means.  His arms around her stiffen, but they don’t fall.  Katara buries her face in the crock of his neck, squeezing his arm in a comforting way.  She can’t talk right now, but she wants him to know that it’s okay, that she’s not angry or afraid.  He doesn’t relax again, just lowers his mouth to her ear, and now she can feel his breaths.

“Please don’t tell anyone.”

They don’t speak again.

**
It’s another laundry day.  Katara drops the basket in front of the clothesline.  It’s a little heavier today because Sokka somehow managed to get all his clothes drenched yesterday.  Sometimes, she wonders if he does this stuff on purpose.  Katara unfolds all of them, counting each one as she strings it on the line.  The parkas are at the bottom today, and she pulls them out one at a time.

One.

Two.

Three.

They are all here and accounted for.  Katara smiles, satisfied with her hard work.  She sets her parka and then steps back.  She can already taste dinner on her tongue.  It’s going to be the best she’s had in days.

It’s been a week since her little adventure in the cave.  The storm cleared up shortly after Zuko arrived, and they walked home to a crowd of anxious and angry friends and family.  Sokka plowed his way through them all to get to them.  He had alternated between hugging his little sister to death and screaming at her for staying out so late; thanking Zuko profusely for finding her and threatening his life if he tried anything.  Katara herself had to yell at him for that one while Zuko just stood there, red in the face.

From there, things proceeded much more quietly.  Katara returned home to face Gran-Gran, who barred her from dinner the next night and gave her extra chores to do for the rest of the week.  Katara never found out happened to Zuko when he went home.

She hadn’t spoken to him since then, mostly because she hadn’t seen him.  He must’ve been performing his chores when he knew she wasn’t around.  He wasn’t even sitting by the fire anymore.  Katara saw Koma running about with his friends a few times and thought about asking, but could never bring herself to.  The truth was, she didn’t know what she should say to Zuko, what questions she should ask.

Katara stretches out her back and starts for home, but stops in her tracks when Zuko appears from behind a neighbor’s tent.  He carries an empty water jug under his arm and he is looking away from her.  He must sense he’s being watched, because his eyes flick to her for a second, and then he freezes.  

They stare at each other, and don’t appear interested in taking it any further until Zuko shies away, and turns his head.

“Wait!”

Katara hears her voice and sees her hand stretched out, stopping him.  She wishes she had thought this through first.

There are so many questions she has.

How long have you known?

Have you told anyone else?

Do your parents know?

What about Koma?

Have you practiced with it?

How have you kept this hidden for so long?

Why would you give yourself away to me?

Why did you even come looking for me?

Why, when you’ve been acting so weird and avoiding me for so long?

Why can’t you just tell me what you’re thinking?

Why can’t I just read your mind and find all this out myself?

Why do you make me feel the way you do?

Why?

Why, Zuko?

Why am I the one you trust?

But she can’t say any of it.  Not now.

“Thank you,” is what she says.

And Zuko may be smiling a little, or maybe it’s just a trick of the light.  Katara smiles back anyway.

**
Zuko sits by the fire that night.

Katara sees him, and doesn’t intend to join him, but her feet have a habit of moving on their own lately, and soon, she’s sitting next to him.  The flames lick at their feet playfully.  Zuko’s fingers twitch, like he wants to reach out and stroke them.  Here with his element, he looks completely at peace, and it’s something Katara has never seen on him before.  She likes it right away, this is how he should always be.

They sit together all night, silently, comfortably, happily, and never once think about leaving.