Chapter Text
She watches him assess the humble umiak that will transport them to the South Pole. He scans over the vessel skeptically. He must already be plotting his escape.
“Not what you’re used to,” she remarks upon their departure, securing his chains to the boat's supporting planks.
“I’ll adjust,” he quips.
She grips her oar tighter.
She’s the only one propelling the ship. There’s no sail to help her. She uses her bending for a lot of it, but he can see how exhausting it is for her on her own. When she reaches her capacity for waterbending them through the sea, she uses the oars, though it’s still tiring. Sometimes she just lets them drift.
“How many people usually man this?” he asks out of curiosity. Though it’s a small vessel compared to the empire-class Fire Nation warships he’s used to, he can tell it’s too large to be left in the sole command of one person.
His question obviously catches her off guard. She hesitates to answer. “This one was built for fifteen. Others are larger.”
“No sail.”
“No,” she replies pugnaciously.
“No need to get testy. Just making an observation.”
“Why?”
“I know a thing or two about ships.”
“Not this one.”
“It’s not exactly difficult to figure out, especially with how primitive the design is.”
She bristles. “This is the design of the Northern Water Tribe. In the South, the ships are different. Southern ships have sails.”
At night, he watches her treat the blisters on her hands. She’ll have fresh ones tomorrow. It’s still a long, long way to the South Pole.
“You should let me help you row,” he tells her one night from his cramped seat, shackled to the planks he's memorized by now. He can't try to break the planks. They're a supporting structure to the boat. He'll sink them, and then he'll drown.
She laughs at him. “I’m not that stupid, Prince Zuko.”
“You are. You think you can get us all the way to the other side of the world by yourself? I haven’t even seen you look at a map once.”
“I know what I’m doing,” she huffs at him.
“You could be heading straight to a Fire Nation patrol.”
“And if I am, you’ll be in more trouble than me. Now shut up. I’ve made this trip before.”
Still, he sees her consult a map the next morning. It seems he’s able to affect her, even in small ways.
It isn’t an exciting trip. There isn’t much to look at, besides Katara, and the sea, the floor, and the sky. During the day, he observes Katara. He learns everything he can about this odd opponent of his, from the two necklaces she wears to the foot she leans into for her bending stances. During the cool nights, when the moon’s influence on the tides pulls them, he studies the stars.
“We’re going east,” he realizes gravely.
“Of course we are. There aren’t any Fire Nation patrols in the Eastern Sea.”
“Because it’s the least navigable sea in the whole world!” he exclaims. “You think you can cross it in this?”
She bends a large wave to surge them forward, as if to answer him. “I happen to have an advantage,” she reminds him, forming another wave.
“Save your strength,” he cautions. This isn’t even the most dangerous part of the sea. Further south, the winds pick up, and the currents converge to produce waves strong enough to overturn warships. She’ll need her bending then.
“I could always help you row,” he offers again.
A stern glare is her only reply.
“You were nicer to me when I was unconscious.”
Of course I was , she thinks to herself. He had looked so pitiful then, thrown against the wall of the spirit oasis. His skin was scorched from Zhao’s fire, and underneath laid the broken bones she never thought she could heal. He is the breathing manifestation of her ability. The greatest work she’s ever done as a healer, all for Prince Zuko of the Fire Nation.
Now that he’s healed, he’s dangerous. There’s no room for niceties between them.
“You remember that?” she asks instead.
“Parts of it.”
“Do you remember when it happened?” she wonders, thinking that perhaps the concussion would erase the preceding moments from his memory. She doesn’t know why she wants to spare him that pain. He doesn’t deserve any more of herself than she’s already given, but she hopes he doesn’t remember. The pain would have been unimaginable.
“Yes,” he admits, gazing out at the sea, shivering either from the cold or the thought.
For the first time since his awakening, she pities him.
He remembers how attentive she was during it all. He remembers how she had been afraid to leave him alone. The compassion is natural to her, he learns. Though she’s hostile when she speaks to him, there is no mistaking her character for anything else as she spoon feeds his meals and holds a skin of fresh water to his lips. If it wasn’t her, he’d refuse. But there’s no use in holding onto his pride, not with her. She’s already revived him from the edge of death. She’s shifted his bones with her own hands. She's spurred his skin to grow anew. She's pushed broth past his lips and supported his weight as he built strength back in his legs.
He wonders why she’s so intent on keeping him alive.
They run into a storm. The winds pick up the way Prince Zuko warned. Cold rain pelts them without respite. As confident as she’d been before, in truth this isn't the way she traveled North with Sokka. Their trip north involved several stops along coastal cities to gather supplies, and a lot of the traveling was done on foot. She hadn’t been a master waterbender then. She hadn’t known the spirits that fueled her element.
She dissolves a large wave heading towards them, only for the wind to turn them over. She's thrown from the umiak, gasping for air in the freezing water. She opens her eyes in the sea, searching for Zuko. If she can't find him, he'll drown. He's still chained to the umiak. She swims to him as fast as she can, as the waves crash over top of them. She bends a bubble around them so they can breathe. There’s no use resurfacing now. They’ll be thrown back under if they try.
But the water is so cold. She hopes the storm passes quickly, before the hypothermia sets in.
Zuko exhales. His breath is warm. An idea occurs to her then. She dissolves the bubble long enough to slice through Zuko’s shackles before restoring their air supply. Zuko looks at her in surprise, but then she grabs on to him, wrapping her arms around his middle and encouraging him to do the same.
He catches on. His inner fire keeps them warm until the storm passes.
She doesn’t reshackle him. He knows she doesn’t have anything to shackle him with, but she could always use rope to tie him if she wanted to. When the sea calms, and they resurface, they turn the umiak back over. Katara climbs in first and bends any lingering water from the inside, while Zuko floats, holding onto the side.
She pulls him in. He waits for the restraints. They never come.
“Help me row,” she says.