Chapter Text
When the crown prince takes lightning for the waterbender, she swears she can feel it hit her chest as well. In and out, exiting right through the heart. The electricity radiates around the city, raises the hair on her skin, and screams into the sky soon after.
There is a moment where she has to collect her surroundings, dazed by the electricity and enormous energy, but then she sees him crumpled on the ground-no.
It wasn't enough. The lightning passed right through him. She feels it. The stupid firebender prince, idiotic in thinking that he could do this alone, took lightning for her and saved her life. No, no, no-
The waterbender surges forward, a blinding intensity in her ocean eyes, and runs to save the boy with the scar.
Every breath she takes burns.
As she drags Zuko across the eerily empty halls of the palace, she has to stop every few minutes to catch her breath. The entire city reeks of smoke and it invades her lungs. Although the town is free of any sign of life, she can still sense the power that brews deep within the mountain. So much fire burning inside.
Zuko, on the other hand, is another entity of fire itself. He’s slumped on her side, weak but able to help in moving along. The adrenaline is wearing off them both, and it’s not long before she grows tired.
“Are we almost there?” she asks, breathless.
“Turn the corner.” His voice is leathery. That’s not good.
They make it to his bedroom safe and sound, both of their footsteps careful and quiet. She unceremoniously throws him onto the bed, and he crumples into a lump. Tui and La, she knows it’s not right to throw the crown prince of the fire nation around like that, but her bones ache. His big build was not easy to carry, especially after the battle that just ended.
He groans at the move and lays there for a bit, face down. She sighs. “Zuko, flip over.”
He begrudgingly turns until his tattered robe is in view, along with a marred chest. She stares at it, unable to look away.
He saved my life, she thinks.
Immediately she goes to find water. She moves to his sink and pulls the water to her beckoning. His scar is sheathed in glowing blue light soon after.
“Katara,” he opens his eyes, “We just got out of there. I’m fine. Just rest.”
“It’s going to scar more if I don’t fix it.” She presses onward, avoiding his stare.
“It doesn’t matter to me.” His voice is softer. She stills, remembering the one that mars his face, so beautifully, so tragically.
“It’s not about that,” she says, momentarily stopping in her task, “You've been through so much. I just don’t want you to feel anymore pain.”
“It’s okay. It’s not so bad with you here.” He closes his eyes again. She’s not sure if he knows the weight of his words, but it’s enough for her to not have an answer.
After a lapse of silence, she tries to draw the water again—only to be met by his hands.
“Katara,” her name sounds like a hymn, “Rest.”
She makes a face, unable to hide her disappointment.
Still, rest does sound nice. But she just can’t relax, not in this location, where they are alone, unguarded.
“I’ll keep watch. You should listen to your own advice first.” She places her hand to his heart.
“How could I? You might run off and I’ll have to protect you again.”
“We both know I don’t need protection, thank you very much.” She snaps, looking away, but only out of concern. “Zuko, you didn’t—you shouldn’t have—“
“I did it and it’s done. I have no regrets, Katara.”
She looks up at him, amber meeting blue, and the look he’s giving her is clear. He means every word, and they both don’t need to say anything else to know.
He would do it for her again, and again, and again. Just as she would for him.
(The way he’s looking at her makes her heart beat a little faster, though she doesn’t know why.)
She’s the first to break the stand-off, finally succumbing to his request and laying down next to him. They stare at the maroon ceiling together, thinking off into silence.
Her thoughts take over, thinking of Aang, Sokka, Toph, Suki, the invasion. Have they won? Are they okay? Will they make it home safe? Everything she can’t afford to think about drills into her mind, and the silence is too loud—
“Rest.” he says it once more. She turns to him, his eyes now closed and breathing more evenly.
She focuses on his chest again, and her eyes water.
He doesn’t even feel sorry about what he did for her, and that’s what worries her the most.
She should be worried. Too many people have sacrificed their lives for the greater good.
But this boy–this prince–this king–is bound for more than she could ever describe.
And yet he took lightning for her without knowing if he would make it.
Is it selfish to not want him to ever do that again?
“No,” he says, “It would never be.”
He startles her, and she nearly jumps two feet away from him.
Did she just say that out loud?
“I understand how you feel obliged to help me,” he keeps his eyes closed, and she wonders when he started to be able to talk with her like this, “But I’m going to be okay.”
She huffs. “It doesn’t hurt to want to help you.”
He doesn’t answer for awhile, and she begins to drift off into sleep. The weight of the world finally presses down on her, until she hears it–
“It doesn’t hurt to want to protect you.”
Her breath catches, but she doesn't dare open her eyes. Instinctively, she feels him move slightly closer to her, the space between them very small.
“Just… let me.” He asks her with a pinkie drifting a little ways from her little finger.
“Let me protect you.”
In her dreams, she answers by intertwining her finger with his.
Nothing disturbs them for the rest of the day, and when they wake up sore and bruised and battered, she realizes she wasn't dreaming.
Still, she grabs the water once again. He keeps his eyes on her all the same.
(She feels herself blushing, and sees the matching slightly pink tint of his cheeks, but they both pretend not to notice.)