Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Be happy, Zuzu. Weren't you just saying yesterday how you wished that Father would give you more responsibility?"

The feeling has gone out of Zuko's fingertips, and the scroll drops from his hands. When will he learn? He's known Azula for fourteen years. He should know by now that her promises of good news can never be trusted. That she will never agree to play the messenger unless the news she carries will tear him apart.

He can't decide whether the relative privacy of her room is a relief or merely another layer of torture.

"This is even better than what you asked for," Azula continues. "A meeting or two is nothing. I've been going to war meetings for nearly three years, and Father has never done anything like this for me. This is real. Do you realize how much power this is, Zuzu?"

This doesn't feel like power. It doesn't feel like an opportunity or a fresh expansion of his authority. He isn't sure what it feels like. All he knows is that his stomach is turning, and he might be sick.

She leans in closer, forcing him to hold her gaze. Her eyes are sharp and steely, and he can feel them trying to bore into his mind, to control what's inside his head. "Father just entrusted you with an entire region of the Fire Nation. Do you have any idea how much that's worth? Even you can't be stupid enough to throw this chance away."

"I'm—" Zuko's tongue hangs heavy in his mouth. He knows what she wants him to say. There is only one safe answer, so why is it so difficult to shape the words? Why do they stick at the back of his throat, trying their best to choke him? "Of course not."

This is what he's been hoping for. Azula is right, Father is handing him a new level of trust and authority, a new assignment designed to ready him for the throne. The fact that he'll be taken away from the capitol, away from Father and the palace, away from Uncle doesn't matter. He's nearly a grown man. He needs to follow his responsibilities wherever they may take him. No matter who they take him away from.

He wishes he could believe that. He wishes that it felt less like lying to himself. That he could nod along with Azula without icy fingers of doubt creeping up the back of his neck.

She looks pleased with herself, and she reclines back on her hands. "Good. After all that time chasing shadows, it's about time that you get a little practice handling unrest in the Fire Nation. It's essential that the future Fire Lord have experience with his own people, don't you think?"

An unpleasant jolt shoots through the base of his skull, but Zuko nods. Despite his doubts, Azula has him cornered. She's echoing Father's orders, nothing more and nothing less. Father always has his reasons, and Father doesn't lie. Though the throne still seems like a distant fantasy, that must be what Father is preparing him for. There is good reason for all of this if Zuko can only see it.

Isn't there?

"And maybe it'll be good for you too. Jumping out of your skin every time someone mentions the Avatar can't be good for your health."

Zuko stiffens, and the briefest smirk flashes across Azula's face.

"There you go again. Really, you ought to keep better control over yourself, Zuzu. We wouldn't want Father to start suspecting anything, would we?"

His hands clench into fists, and it takes all his restraint to hold his expression steady. "Was this your idea?"

"Don't be an idiot. It's much more convenient for me when you're nearby." Azula examines her meticulously manicured, claw-like nails, and then makes a great show of pouring herself another cup of tea before she spares him a glance. "But if you're worried that news about the Avatar might surface while you're away—"

Yes. Of course he is. He hasn't forgotten the waterbending girl with her little blue vial and her promises of healing. He hasn't forgotten the way those vibrant blue eyes lit up for the Avatar. He doesn't know why he cares about that last bit—about her eagerness to leave Zuko behind—but it doesn't really matter. What matters is that the girl is with the Avatar. So long as she stays at his side, there is always a chance that the Avatar could survive. A chance that Zuko will be blamed for it.

"—then perhaps I could make some arrangements. I suppose I deserve a bit of the blame." The threat is evident in her tone. I made this mess, but I don't have to clean it up for you. Make one wrong move and I can bring the nation's wrath down on your head in a heartbeat.

She can do it. Zuko knows that. His word means nothing next to Azula's, and it never has.

"What kind of arrangements?" His voice comes out as a croak.

"There's no need for you to worry about that. Just remember that you owe me a favor." She smiles, her eyes cold and calculating over sharp, glistening teeth.

"What else is new?" It's probably stupid to risk provoking her, but he doesn't have the energy to care. According to Father's message, he'll be leaving the capitol in two days' time. Even Azula can't cause him much harm before then.

He'll be leaving. Unease grips his stomach again, and he can't hold back the question that rises to his lips. "Where is he sending me?"

"Finally something relevant." Azula's smile broadens until she looks more wolf shark than human. "That's it, Zuzu. Keep practicing and you might turn out competent after all."

Zuko's pulse quickens and he leans forward. If Azula is enjoying this so much, then it has to be bad. "Where?" he demands, voice ragged.

"Shusoku," she answers with a smirk.

A speck of a village on the furthest eastern reaches of the archipelago. So remote, so far removed from the capitol that it hardly belongs to the nation at all.

Bile rises in the back of Zuko's throat. He feels like he's thirteen years old again, alone and afraid. He may as well be. Though he is older now, the loneliness is harder, heavier. He's being sent away again, and this time, he will truly be alone. This time, he won't have Uncle.

He tries to force the bile back down. This isn't the same. It isn't a new banishment. He isn't even leaving the Fire Nation this time.

It just feels like last time. It feels like being discarded for the sake of an impossible quest.

It feels like Father doesn't want him to come back.

"Smile, Zuzu." Azula stands and dusts herself off. "I told you that this was a great opportunity for you."

He thinks he imagines the emphasis on the last two words, but Azula's expression makes it clear that it is no mistake. This is a great opportunity for him. For anyone else it would be an insult, but Zuko can expect nothing better than this. Being shuffled off to look after the farthest reaches of the Fire Nation is all he'll ever be good for.

Zuko wishes he could find the strength to argue.

"You're sure you're okay with this?" Sokka pauses in the middle of his packing. "Like really, really sure?"

Katara crosses her arms. She isn't sure how happy she is about it. She doesn't savor the prospect of being left alone in the middle of nowhere in enemy territory, but she doesn't really have a choice in the matter. Someone has to stay here to wait for word from Dad and the rest of the invasion force. And with Toph taking Aang off into the mountains for a few weeks of advanced earthbending lessons, and Sokka venturing back to Shu Jing to resume his studies with Master Piandao, that leaves Katara.

Though if Sokka is just going to keep fussing at her, she might be grateful for the silence when he leaves.

"I've already told you at least ten times. I'll be fine. And I don't see why I should keep answering you if you're just going to ignore everything I say."

"Yeah but being fine and being fine with it are two different things. Which one are you talking about?"

She glowers, but Toph saves her the trouble of answering.

"Drop it, Sokka. Sugar Queen says she's fine, so she's fine." Her sightless eyes drift somewhere over Katara's head. "Besides, she'd just be a distraction if she came with me and Aang. We're done with the coddling for good. When this is over, I'm either gonna bring back a master earthbender or a bag of bones."

Aang looks alarmed, and Toph shoots a pebble at him. "Think fast, Twinkle Toes!"

This is going to be a disaster, Katara can already tell that much. "Stop teasing Aang," she orders. "He's nervous enough already."

"Who's teasing?" Toph kicks the ground with her heel and her pack launches into Aang's arms. "If he doesn't master it, he's going to get killed. Your babying isn't going to change that."

Katara resents the implication that she would just coddle Aang the entire time. She's helped Aang with his earthbending before, and she could do it again.

But right now, splitting up is the only option.

Sokka is still giving her that same concerned face, the one that's been cropping up ever since they decided to split up. Before that too. Since Hama, at least.

"You could come with me," he offers. "It's not going to be much fun out here. And—" He cuts himself off, but not before Katara catches his meaning.

And if you come with me, then I can keep an eye on you. I'll make sure you don't get yourself into any more trouble like with Hama or Jang Hui.

She should probably appreciate the sentiment. After all, Sokka does care. That's the only reason why he's being this pushy. He just wants to make sure she's safe, and out of everyone they've met in the Fire Nation, Master Piandao is easily the most trustworthy. Like it or not, she can understand why Sokka wants her to join him.

But Katara doesn't want to go along with Sokka. She doesn't like the idea of having him watching over her shoulder all the time, and there are some things that they both have to face alone. For all she knows, this could be exactly the chance she needs to sort out her messy thoughts.

"And what would I do there, hmmm? How would going to see Piandao be any more fun for me than staying out here?"

"You could—" Sokka scratches behind his ear. "Uh—you could watch my lessons."

Katara shakes her head. Though she's proud of Sokka for learning, she's no more interested in watching him train than he has ever been in her waterbending.

"I think I'll pass on that. Besides, we've already talked about this. Someone needs to stay behind to wait for Dad's message and to keep Appa and Momo out of sight."

Logic. It's a simple argument, but she knows that it's exactly the sort of pragmatism that he'll fall for every time.

"I'll be fine," she repeats. "I have plenty of supplies, and I can take care of myself." She looks especially hard at Sokka. "The three of you have a lot more to worry about than I do."

The only thing she has to worry about is them. But that's to be expected, and she couldn't stop herself if she tried.

Sokka frowns at her, but for once, he can't find an argument to counter that. He stuffs another package of jerky in alongside his clothes and yanks the drawstrings shut.

Leaning back against Appa's side, Katara tries not to worry, tries not to hover as they finish up their packing. While she stays safe and hidden out here in the forested hills on the fringes of the Fire Nation, the others will be days away, traveling uncertain roads through an unfamiliar land. They'll all be fine, she tries to tell herself. It's only about three days to Shu Jing on foot, and once Sokka gets there, he'll be under Piandao's protection. Aang and Toph will be less secure in their travels, but so long as they stick to the mountains, they should be safe. And in a few weeks' time, they'll all be back here again, together and happy, just like they were never apart.

Toph, of course, is the first to finish packing and jeers at Aang to hurry up. Katara can only hope that the eagerness to get Aang all to herself is for the sake of training rather than anything else. Aang, for his part, dawdles as long as he can, shooting glances back at Katara all the while. And Sokka, of course, spouts bits of advice to no one in particular until she has to roll her eyes.

She's going to miss this. She's going to miss them—mostly—but they won't be gone for long. A few weeks. A month at most.

She gets a hug from Aang and Sokka, then a punch in the shoulder from Toph. Katara pulls Toph into a hug too, despite her grumbling, and although Toph resists for a second, she eventually squeezes back.

"Okay, that's enough. Miss you too, Sweetness." Toph pulls back and punches her shoulder one more time. "Let's go, Twinkle Toes. Don't you dare try anything fancy with that glider."

"I know, Toph. I won't try to scare you."

"I'm not scared." But when Toph wraps her arms around his waist, she clings so tight that Aang nearly doubles over with the force of it.

When he recovers, he turns toward Katara again. "We'll see you soon, okay?"

She nods, and Aang unfurls his glider and launches himself and Toph up over the treeline.

Long after they're both out of sight, she can still hear Toph's frightened screeches, and Katara keeps looking up, watching the pale, cloud-speckled sky through the canopy of leaves.

Sokka comes up beside her and nudges her arm. "Don't blow anything up while we're gone, got it?"

She shoots a quick scowl at him. "That was one time. And Aang helped."

He doesn't smile. He hardly reacts at all.

Katara nudges him back. "Don't lick anything you don't recognize."

"Hey! That's—" He lets out a huff, then slings his pack over his shoulder and gives her another quick hug. "Just say hi to Dad for me if he gets here before we do. And be careful."

Katara nods and squeezes him back. "You too. Show them all what a Southern Water Tribe warrior can do."

Sokka smiles, and with that, he's off too.

Katara watches him go until he's out of the clearing, vanished between the trees that lead down to a broad, lush valley to the north. For a while after he's gone, she remains still, listening to the light breeze in the treetops, the birdsong, and Appa's ceaseless chewing on bits of leaves and grass. She almost wishes that the hill was bare so she could watch Sokka find his way down to the river that will guide him back to Shu Jing, but she knows that they all chose this spot for a reason. The forest will keep her hidden. That will keep her safe.

As she turns slowly, deliberately back toward her tent and begins to dig for something—anything—to occupy herself, Momo comes up behind her, chattering. His tiny hands tug at her sleeve, and she looks back.

"I know, Momo." She strokes his long, velvety ears and lets him clamber up into her arms.

She's here for a reason. She knows how important it is for the others to train and for someone to wait for Dad's message. That sense of purpose should be enough to keep her going.

But the clearing feels empty, and neither Appa nor Momo will be bothered if she admits the truth.

She hugs the lemur tight. "I'm really going to miss them too."

Chapter Text

The fact that Father has ordered one of the new airships to take him to Shusoku should be a good sign. It should mean that things will be different this time. After all, there is a whole crew traveling with him, and the airship—unlike the rusty tub of a boat he had at thirteen—is the newest and best in the Fire Nation’s fleet.

Maybe he won’t be alone after all. Maybe he’ll have all the military’s best at his back and a moderately comfortable cabin to return to at the end of each night. He won’t have Uncle, but it might be bearable anyway.

And someday, perhaps, Zuko will know better than to hope.

But Zuko has yet to reach that point, and when the airship lands in the broad, sloping meadow just on the northern edge of Shusoku, the soldiers usher him off in a rush. Zuko hardly has time to think before a burly, gray-haired man drops a heavy, ornate trunk at his feet. Dust rises from the path, settling in a fine, ashy haze across the tips of his boots and the embossed lid, but it never reaches the soldier’s boots.

Zuko turns back, questions and words of thanks vying for position, but the soldier is already gone, and the airship’s stairs are rising off the ground.

His chest constricts, and his feet turn to lead. Even if he could manage to run, there is no way for him to reach the airship in time. Though his means of escape is almost close enough to touch, he knows that he is stranded already.

Maybe someday he’ll know better than to hope. And maybe that someday will come sooner than he expects.

He watches the airship longer than he should. He knows clear down to his bones that it isn’t coming back, but it’s easier to watch its retreat than it is to face what’s coming.

It’s fitting, in a way. Last time, Father sent him away with supplies and a ship but no destination, no real hope of ever fulfilling his mission. This time, Zuko knows exactly where to go, exactly what’s expected of him, but he has nothing.

This time, he doesn’t have Uncle.

He can feel eyes on his back, and Zuko’s face and throat both begin to burn. He doesn’t want to be here. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, and even if he did, he doesn’t think he can manage it on his own. As much as it feels like it, this is not a banishment. Maybe it’s a trap instead.

He considers running. This far from the capitol, even with the village watching him, it wouldn’t take long to disappear. If he tries hard enough, he can vanish into the wilderness and spend the rest of his life—however long that is—privately wallowing in the burning injustice. He can wall himself off from the rest of the world so he never tries to trust anyone again.

But before he can make up his mind, a pair of shuffling footsteps make their way up the path. “You the one they sent from the capitol?”

Zuko is tempted to point to the airship still visible on the horizon. Where else do you think an imperial airship came from? Where else would I have come from? Do you see people fall out of the sky often? But he can’t quite form the words, and instead merely nods.

“Hmpf.” The old man shuffles around in front of him and lowers his unruly gray eyebrows. “Don’t know why I expected anything better.”

Zuko should snap back at the old man. He should announce that he is the crown prince, and that even without support, without supplies, he is better than the people deserve. He doesn’t say any of that. He isn’t even sure he believes it anymore.

“Have a name, kid?”

His mouth opens without his permission. “Lee.”

Maybe it’s because the old man reminds him of Uncle a little bit. A slightly taller, skinnier, and coarser version of Uncle. Maybe it’s because it feels like he’s been banished all over again. Or maybe it’s because calling himself royalty feels like a lie, but Zuko doesn’t correct himself. If the villagers don’t know who he is by now, then he doesn’t owe them the truth.

“Captain? Or Lieutenant, or—”

“Just Lee.”

The old man sighs and shakes his head. “I hope they had a damned good reason for choosing you, Just Lee. We don’t have room for freeloaders.” He pointedly ignores Zuko’s belongings and waves for him to follow. “This way. And call me Hideo.”

When Zuko hoists the trunk off the ground, he staggers under its weight, but Hideo is already partway down the path and gives no indication that he might help. Again, Zuko considers turning the opposite direction. He could almost reach the tree line before anyone could stop him, but the handles are cutting into his hands, and if he tries to run, it will only be worse. The village is closer. At least for now, Zuko may as well play along.

By the time he catches up, his fingers have gone numb, and the trunk feels heavier with every step. He looks up at the villagers lining the streets only once, just long enough to see dozens of angry, mistrustful glares fixed on him. This, at least, feels familiar. Just like his days traveling as a fugitive.

Beyond the village gates, the place is practically in ruins. Houses lie in disrepair, with crumbling walls and entire roofs split down the middle and sliding to the ground. The few people he spots from the corner of his eye—the few who aren’t glaring like he’s wandered naked into a temple—seem uniformly pale and listless.

“What happened here?” Zuko asks, brittle and abrupt.

Hideo looks back over his shoulder, upper lip curled in disgust. “Who gives you your orders? Don’t they tell you anything?”

Zuko should have a defense at the ready. Usually, he does. Something about Father’s other duties, other concerns occupying his time and attention. Something to excuse the lack of detail in Father’s report of the situation. But this time, no defense comes. This isn’t what he imagined when Father ordered him to put down unrest in the farthest reaches of the archipelago. Nothing in Father’s orders could have suggested anything like this.

This isn’t unrest at all. It’s desperation.

“Storm,” Hideo says, quieter than before. “A typhoon or something. Few weeks back. It wiped out almost half the town. Not that there was much to it before.”

A small pang strikes him in the middle of the chest. More than anything else, it reminds him of that little town in the Earth Kingdom desert, of that little boy playing pranks on the soldiers meant to protect him. Of the family who took Zuko in, then nearly lost everything.

“My—” He stops himself. Whatever instinct kept him from admitting his real name before was probably wiser than he knew. “The Fire Lord just said that there was unrest in Shusoku.”

Hideo snorts. “Next thing, he’ll tell you the sky is blue.”

It takes a second before Zuko registers the sarcasm, and he grimaces. “He made it sound like a rebellion.”

“I’ve heard worse ideas.”

He starts to argue, but as they pass yet another crumbling house, he catches sight of the shadowy figures through the broken slats around what used to be a door—a woman cradling a skinny, motionless child in her arms. She looks out into the street, eyes hollow and cheeks pinched, and Zuko has to look away. Things aren’t supposed to be like this in the Fire Nation. Even in the Earth Kingdom it felt wrong, but here, in his own country, it grates on him even worse than before.

But that isn’t why Father sent him here. He’s meant to prevent an uprising, not to sympathize with the villagers.

He wonders why he shouldn’t do both.

Hideo leads him to the center of the village before turning to the right and weaving back toward the northwestern edge of town. If he wasn’t convinced that it would make the journey longer, Zuko would demand to know why they’re going so far out of the way. He’s stuck here. He’ll have plenty of opportunity to see what the village—or what’s left of it—looks like when he isn’t carrying everything he owns.

But just at the end of the last street, Hideo stops in front of a crooked, shabby little shack. Vibrant crimson paint peels off the walls in sheets, and the door hangs ajar like it’s unable to close.

Hideo motions him toward the door, and Zuko hesitates. His hands have long since lost all feeling, and he’s almost certain that he’s going to break his foot when he inevitably drops the trunk on it, but this house—he can’t help but wonder why they’re stopping here.

“Go on,” Hideo barks. “Never seen a common house before? Haven’t you ever been outside the capitol?”

With a frown, Zuko pushes past and shoulders the door open. “I have.”

Just not since he returned home, not since he convinced himself that that part of his life was behind him. Since he believed that everything was okay again. He’s seen worse places than this. He’s slept in worse places than this, but never in the Fire Nation. According to everything he’s ever been taught, places like this aren’t supposed to exist here. This kind of poverty is only meant to exist in the other nations.

He wonders when exactly he stopped believing that. How many other towns like this lie between the Fire Nation’s borders? How many other people are starving?

“Is this—” Just beyond the crooked door, he stops and looks over his shoulder.

A nod. “Finest accommodations we can offer. It has a roof and everything.”

Zuko looks up. The roof hardly looks like it can withstand a stiff breeze, much less a rainstorm, but it’s there. Compared with what he’s seen of the rest of the village, it’s a marked improvement. Even if the door won’t close and the floor is nothing more than slightly spongey earth.

He tries not to think about how depressing that is.

He places the trunk alongside one wall and flexes his hands until the feeling begins to return. He hopes that whoever packed for him knew more of the situation in Shusoku than Zuko. Whatever is in there is going to have to last until—he isn’t sure he wants to know how long he’ll be here. Months, at least.

“Thank you.” It’s all he can think to say. This is the best the village has to offer.

Zuko can’t help but wonder whether Father made the arrangements for him to have this house. Did Father write someone to ask whether there was a place for Zuko to stay? Did he decide that a shack with one room and a crooked door was good enough? That it wasn’t worth at least sending a sturdy military tent to Shusoku?

Or did he leave this as yet another problem for Zuko to solve on his own?

Does it even matter? Either way, it’s clear that Father didn’t spend much time on the decision. He didn’t think it was worth his concern.

Hideo gives him a skeptical frown, but the edge to his tone seems to have dulled just a bit. “Settle in. Make it quick. I’ll be back in an hour with the rest of the village council.”

Now that his hands are free, Zuko bows, and again, the old man hesitates.

“Word of advice,” he adds, quieter this time. “Get rid of the armor. You’ll make no friends done up as an imperial firebender.”

Zuko scoffs. “If I wanted to make friends, why would I be here?”

A shrug. “Suit yourself. Not my business if you want to be attacked in the streets.”

“Isn’t that an even better reason to keep my armor on?”

“Not without a helmet, it’s not. At least without the armor, you stand a chance of blending in a while. But don’t let me spoil your fun, Just Lee.” Hideo turns around and slaps the door on his way out.

Zuko watches him go. Blend in for a while. Until what? Until when? Even if he somehow manages to keep up the charade as Lee, the people will come to recognize him in a matter of days. His face doesn’t blend in anywhere. It never will. And even if they somehow believe that he is some common soldier, they’ll all know that he’s from the capitol. They’ll know who sent him. And prince or not, they’ll be more than happy to tear him apart if their rage toward the capitol runs deep enough. How could it not?

He wanders around the shack just long enough to confirm what he already knows—that the floor is dirt all the way across and the only furniture, if it can be called that, is a smelly, moth-eaten mat against the far wall. He’s fairly certain that Uncle’s accommodations in prison are better than this.

He sinks to his knees in front of the trunk and opens the lid to examine its contents. There isn’t much. Clothes, blankets, some food, a sack of coins, and a few other odds and ends. The sort of things he might have expected for a pleasant trip to the ocean, not an impossible mission to a crumbling village. He digs further and unearths a collection of brass spoons and engraved chopsticks, blank paper and ink, brushes—all next to useless. Until his hand reaches the bottom, he can’t fathom who would have packed him such a worthless assortment of junk. But then he discovers his swords tucked away at the bottom with a little scrap of paper wrapped around the hilts.

You’re welcome, Zuzu.

He crumples the paper in his hands and watches it fall to ash. His stomach feels sour, but the words are burned into his mind, and now that he’s seen the handwriting, there is no surprise left in him. Father sent him away. Azula snatched up the opportunity to gloat about it. How could he ever have expected better?

His insides burn, and he yanks at the fastenings holding his armor in place. He doesn’t know if Hideo is right about blending into the village. He doesn’t really care. All he knows for certain is that the armor is heavy and uncomfortable, and that he isn’t here as a member of the royal family. He’s a nobody named Lee, and he may as well look the part. For all he knows, that’s the way Father wants it.

He tosses it all aside one piece at a time and then clamps his hands on the edge of the trunk until he can almost smell the wood beginning to smoke.

Though it’s a little easier to breathe with the extra weight removed, this still solves nothing. He’s still stranded hundreds of miles from home with no real hope of going back. He still has orders to quash a rebellion that doesn’t exist in a dying speck of a town. And if he isn’t careful, he might die along with it. Maybe that’s what they’re all expecting. Maybe that’s been the point all along.

Zuko’s head hangs, and his grip fails, leaving faint sooty fingerprints behind in the wood. In all but name, this is a banishment. And the worst part is that although fulfilling Father’s orders is unlikely to change anything, it’s still the only path he can see. If he’s stuck in Shusoku, then he can’t allow it to succumb to chaos and decay. Not if he wants to survive.

He swallows back the burning in his throat and forces himself to dig through the trunk for the plainest set of clothing he owns. If he has no choice but to restore order, he may as well do it his own way.

For two days, Katara stays close to camp, only venturing as far as the river off the eastern side of the hills to bathe and practice her bending. It’s nice, in some ways. With Appa and Momo both foraging for their own food and her own stores of grain, jerky, and dried fruit, there’s little that needs to be done. For the first time—possibly the first time ever—her days are entirely her own.

But she isn’t accustomed to the solitude. Momo fills the silence with chattering as he chases after colorful birds and bugs, and Appa always seems to be listening, but it isn’t the same. Camp is too quiet. She misses the sound of human voices, and the urgency that used to keep her bound to routine. She hardly even needs to cook for herself, and one person’s washing takes a fraction of the usual time.

With a sigh, Katara plops down in a patch of prickly grass beside her tent. In her whole life, she’s spent very little time truly alone. She probably shouldn’t be surprised to learn that she’s bad at occupying herself without other people around.

And there’s no sign of it ending any time soon.

No messages have arrived. The others will still be gone for weeks.

She’s going to lose her mind before they come back.

She stretches her arm through the tent flaps to find her pack and jumps when Momo screeches at her.

“Ugh! You scared me, you little brat!”

Momo screams again, and Katara leans around the tent flaps to glare at him. He’s perched on top of her pack like it’s a nest, and he swipes his little paw at her hand when she tries to move him.

“Enough, Momo. That’s not a seat, it’s my stuff.”

He tries to grab the strap as she pulls the pack out of his reach, but Katara moves too fast for him.

“Just give it up for two minutes, would you? I’ll put it back once I get my Fire Nation clothes out.”

From the other side of camp, Appa rumbles at them both, and Katara looks back, mouth poised to speak again before she remembers that she’s been talking to a lemur and a sky bison for two days straight. It may be too optimistic to say that she’s going to lose her mind. She may have already lost it.

She digs around until she finds her red silks and dresses herself as quickly as possible. Since she’s been alone, she’s mostly given up on blending into the Fire Nation. Out here in the wilderness, there’s no one to blend in with. The river she likes to visit is too rapid and narrow for boat traffic, camp is practically invisible except from the air, and even the nearest footpath is almost a mile away. Out here, she can dress in her usual Water Tribe clothing and no one will know the difference.

But there is a village somewhere to the south, and she’s almost certain that just seeing other people will make her feel better. Even if it’s just for an hour or two. Just long enough to hear a few voices that aren’t her own.

She hopes it will help. She doesn’t want to end up holding full conversations with Appa. It’s bad enough that she can hardly keep herself from talking to Appa and Momo for most of the day. It’ll be even worse if she starts to imagine them speaking back.

She slides her feet into her sandals and sweeps her hair up into a topknot, then hides a small pouch of coins under a fold in her skirt. There’s nothing she really needs to buy, but if there’s one thing she’s learned in the past several months of traveling, it’s that shopping for supplies is always a good excuse. As long as a stranger has money, no one bothers asking too many questions.

Unless that stranger is Toph and she’s cheating all the town’s gamblers. Fortunately, Katara knows better than that.

When she’s changed, she returns her pack to its place. With an accusing stare, Momo sidles back into the tent and perches on top of it again. Katara rolls her eyes.

“Behave, you two. I’m going to be gone for a few hours, and I don’t want to see anything destroyed when I get back, got it?”

It isn’t until Appa rumbles at her that she remembers that her goal is to talk to Appa and Momo less often. She doesn’t want to think about how much Sokka and Toph will tease her if she’s having regular conversations with animals when they all come back. Shaking her head, she huffs and marches off down the southern slope of the hill.

The walk is refreshing all on its own. It’s been two days since she last ventured anywhere aside from camp or the river, and breaking out of the little bubble she’s constructed for herself helps to lift some of the heavy fog from the corners of her mind.

Maybe she’ll have to make a habit of this. Every day, she can either make her way down to the village or explore a new section of the forest around camp. She can search for edible plants and hidden springs and map the entire area in her mind. Even if it’s pointless, at least it will be something to keep her mind occupied.  

She veers a little to the left when she finds herself at the base of a short cliff and trails along its edge, past a few small caves, before she emerges into a strip of meadow that leads to a well-beaten footpath. From there, the path winds back into the trees before opening to a broad hillside speckled with boulders and scraggly bushes. From here, the village in the bottom of the valley looks tiny, and if she shades her eyes, she can make out the sharp glint of the sea in the distance beyond it.

It’s beautiful here. She couldn’t deny that fact if she wanted to. Whatever else the Fire Nation may be, it is breathtaking to look at.

But the village, when she reaches it, is desolate. Houses lie in near-ruin, and in places, entire streets are littered with splinters of wood as thick as her arm.

Katara’s pace slows, and her gaze trails from one crumbling wall to the next. Shards of broken roofing tiles lie in low, colorful drifts around the base of each house, and nearly every window is hung with crooked shutters or tattered curtains.

She knows the work of a storm when she sees it. The swathes of damage carved out by wind and water are unmistakable. But she’s never seen anything quite like this before, anything quite so complete. The destruction is everywhere she looks, and the buildings that remain standing all look tired somehow. Like weary travelers swaying from side to side and then frozen in place.

In front of an almost unrecognizable mound of rubble, Katara stops. If not for the fact that one corner still stands relatively upright, she would hardly recognize it as a house. The roof and most of the walls have caved in completely, and yet there are shapes in the midst of all the splinters that look strikingly like bits of broken furniture. A piece of a table, something that may have once been a stool, and then in the middle—a bed. A small one that probably belonged to a child.

Her breath catches, and she wraps her arms around herself. She wonders whether the child was there when the storm hit. She wonders whether anyone could have survived.

“You here from the capitol too?”

Katara starts and turns on the spot to find a tall, broad woman staring at her from the opposite side of the street. Her face is fixed in a frown, and her black hair is pulled back so severely that her skin seems stretched.

“I—no,” Katara says. She drags her eyes away from the rubble and squares her shoulders. “I’m just traveling.”

“Then keep traveling. We don’t have any use for gawkers.”

Katara begins to protest. She isn’t gawking. She only came down from the hills because—well, because she wanted to see the village. But she had no intention of gawking. How could she when she had no way of knowing what had happened here? And now that she does, staring is the last thing she wants to do. 

She wants to do something. She wants to help if she can. That’s what she does.

But something in the woman’s expression makes it clear that she doesn’t trust Katara. That no matter what she says, she will only ever be an intruder.

Katara is used to that, but she will not be satisfied with it.

She feels the slight weight of the coin pouch concealed under the flap of her skirt, and produces it, holding it out in offering.

“I’d like to keep traveling, but I can’t get anywhere without supplies. That’s what I came here for. I had no idea anything had happened here.”

The woman’s amber-bright eyes narrow, and her dark forehead crinkles with suspicion. “You really think we have anything to offer you? Look around. The storm took almost everything.”

They can offer purpose. That’s more important than any food or medicine she could have come here to buy. Besides, by the way the woman’s eyes keep flicking back toward the coin pouch, she can tell that they need the money.

“A cooking pot would do for now,” she answers. Surely there are a few spares lying around somewhere, forgotten and unneeded. “I think I left mine behind the last time I stopped.”

A scoff. “Careless is what you are.” The woman glances at the money again and hesitates for a long moment. “It might cost more than you think.”

Anywhere else, Katara would be annoyed by that. She would think that she was being cheated. Here, though, she can’t bring herself to mind. Here, it feels like a way in.

“I guess I can’t complain, since I was the one who forgot to pack up all of the cooking supplies.” She smiles blithely. “I hope it’s not too much trouble.”

The woman stares. She narrows her eyes and purses her lips, but then she heaves a sigh and turns, motioning for Katara to follow. “Fine. We’ll see what we can find you.”

Katara allows her smile to slip as she trails along behind. The village is in ruin, and as she ventures farther, she begins to see faint silhouettes through the darkened skeletons of all the houses. As long as they can last until the night, she can start to make a difference.

Chapter Text

Zuko can’t quite forget the ache in his chest, the sinking knowledge that Father sent him away to fail, to never return home. But he tries. He buries himself in work, in talking with the various village elders, trying to formulate plans to bring the village back to life, to help its people survive.

It seems an impossible task. Though Hideo’s advice holds true and the villagers’ glares carry a little less venom when his armor is removed, Zuko is still an outsider. He can still feel them staring, and he still doesn’t know what to do about it. Maybe even more than when he first arrived, he feels lost. There is so much to be done, and he has precious little to offer.

He has to work with what’s here, with the few things he owns, and with whatever cunning he can muster.

The trouble is that he isn’t cunning. He never has been. But like it or not, he is here, and there will be no way out. If Zuko can’t find a way to help these people, then he is done.

“Food. We need food. And medicine.” Hideo hangs over Zuko’s shoulder, so close that his breath rustles the paper. “Rebuild the houses. And—”

It takes a great deal of restraint to keep from shoving the old man back. Instead, Zuko leans hard to the side and hunches around the few splotches of ink he’s managed to put down. 

“I know,” he snaps. “Don’t you think I know that? I’ve seen the village.”

“Then why aren’t you writing it down?”

Because it’s too much. Zuko is only one person, and he can’t take everything on at once. If he hopes to succeed here, he needs to know his own limits and move forward one step at a time.

He’s never been much good at that either.

But he doesn’t have a choice. He has to figure out the most important parts and see to it that they come first. If he can’t improve things fast enough, the people will suffer for it. Zuko will too, when they inevitably throw him out for his failure.

“Because I don’t know what needs to be done first,” he answers, his voice harsh and jagged. “My—the Fire Lord only sent me, and you’re not helping by giving me a hundred things to do at the same time.” He feels the weight of two gazes turn on him, and his ears burn. “I’ll do all of it, okay? Just start with the important stuff.”

“It’s all important.”

“Hideo.” The voice from the corner is sharp enough to cut the old man off. “You know what he means.”

Zuko exhales, and his shoulders loosen just a bit as Hideo finally leans away. The village council is only two people, but the woman, Tomoe, seems the more reasonable of the two. At least for now.

With a great harrumph, Hideo takes another step back. “I’d like to know what the Fire Lord means by sending us one underfed kid a month after we first asked for help.”

Tomoe ignores that and speaks before Zuko’s temper has a chance to rise again. “Tending to the sick. Especially the children. They come first.”

He nods, and his brush hovers an inch over the paper. He agrees, but the trouble is that even that seems insurmountable. Zuko doesn’t know the first thing about medicine—except for how to tend his own small burns from bending practice—and the little he does know just makes it look harder. There are still too many parts, too many things to do, too many places where everything could go wrong. His jaw tightens.

“Are there any doctors here? Or medicines, or—”

“Already doing all they can and running short on supplies.” Tomoe is curt. “We don’t need outside help telling us to use what we already have.”

Right. That’s why they wrote to the capitol. That’s why Father sent Zuko. That’s why Father should have sent a whole team and an airship loaded with food and medicine. But he didn’t, and Zuko has to live with that. He has to accept that even if he writes to the capitol for help, it will never come.

He grinds at his eyes with the heels of his hands until reddish spots begin to spin in and out of his vision.

“What’s the nearest place we could ask for help?”

“That would be Shu Jing,” Tomoe answers.

A vague memory of the place hovers in the back of his mind, but he does his best to ignore it. He doesn’t have time for that. “And how far away is Shu Jing?”

“Three days by foot. Two by dragon moose cart.”

His stomach drops. That’s still too long. He remembers the hazy-eyed children staring listlessly out of the windows as he passed. He isn’t sure what exactly is wrong with any of them, but he knows that it’s dire. Even if a messenger hawk can make the trip in a day and help follows in two, it won’t be soon enough for some of them.

It has to be done, though. The supplies will save some of them.

“They haven’t responded to any letters,” Hideo says. “What makes you think they’ll help?”

Tomoe doesn’t hesitate. “We’ll have to send a real messenger this time.”

“And? Are they going to send help out of the goodness of their hearts? Is that it?”

“I’ll figure that out,” Zuko answers without thinking. He has money. Not very much, but probably still more than the village has. He can afford some supplies. And he can’t quite place the memory yet, but he thinks he knows someone from Shu Jing as well. If he isn’t mistaken, it might be one of the few places left in the world where his name could matter. “How soon can we send someone?”

“Probably tonight.” A pause, and then Tomoe continues, “It’ll be four days at least before they’re back. What happens until then?”

Zuko tries to force back the rising bile in his throat. He doesn’t know anything about this. He isn’t equipped to handle a village full of sick and starving people, and yet he is the only one who can. Food, water, shelter, medicine—the people need all of it, and he wishes he knew which would help the most. He can only manage one at a time.

“Water,” he decides aloud. His voice sounds uncertain, even to him, and he clears his throat. “We’ll get the well fixed first, then worry about everything else when there’s clean water again.”

Hideo gives a grudging nod.

Zuko lets out a slow breath. It’s a rather lackluster sort of approval, but at least it’s approval. At least he’s earned a day to prove himself before he has to make any further choices.

Water will help. He can only hope that that’s enough of a start.

It feels strange to make herself up as the Painted Lady out in the open. The sun still shines low in the west, casting blade-like beams between the trees, and Katara can see the bright crimson residue still clinging to her fingertips from the paint she spread in streaks down her arms and across her face.  

This feels like something to be done in private, but right now, the open wilderness is as private as anywhere else. Appa and Momo will hardly lecture her for dressing up as a spirit and sneaking out of camp, and there is no one else to see her.

But while she sits here in the daylight, surrounded by all her other things, the Painted Lady’s robes seem like nothing so much as a silly, childish masquerade. She is a little girl playing at powers beyond her understanding, and it feels like the whole world knows it.

But as the sun dips below the horizon and Katara rises, sweeping on her hat and her veil, it becomes real again. Her shoulders straighten, and she stands a little taller. In the gathering dark, cloaked in anonymity beneath her veil, she becomes powerful.

Momo scampers out of her path and hides behind one of Appa’s massive legs as she glides past them both and out of the clearing. This is what she remembers about being the Painted Lady. This is the kind of strength she needs to make a difference when she reaches the village.

And this time, she will have as many nights as she needs to help them.

By the failing light of evening, the journey back to the village seems longer than she remembers. Maybe she shouldn’t be surprised by that. The world is a wash of deep blues and grays, and shadows crawl across the forest floor, creeping in and out amongst the trees. In the dark, everything is unfamiliar, and the voids of blackness seem to stretch on and on.

It’s eerie and lonesome amongst the trees, and Katara walks a little faster. She doesn’t mind the dark. She doesn’t mind the forest either, but a forest at night is another matter. Especially when she’s alone.

The last time she was in a darkened forest without her friends, it was with Hama.

She tries to forget about that. Hama isn’t here, and no one in this part of the Fire Nation means her harm. Any strange noises, any long, creeping shadows are just her mind playing tricks on her. Wind and wildlife both seem more threatening when they’re obscured by darkness.

As she expects, the unease drops away when she steps beyond the last of the trees and into the open hillside above the village. By the light of the stars and the faintest sliver of the moon, she can see once again, and she has room to wield her water freely. She can feel the humidity on the air and the moisture in the plants around her, all ready to call to her command if she needs it. Out here in the open, she is no longer vulnerable.

The village is still when she glides in, every footstep smooth and measured. She summons a faint mist to hover around her limbs and swirl around her feet, and then turns down the first street she finds. As far as anyone here will ever know, she is not a girl but a spirit.

Her mists drop away as she slips through the gaping hole in the side of a house to find the family asleep inside. One night won’t be enough, she knows that already as she kneels beside a sleeping child and coats her hands in water. One night will cure no one, but she brings the water to the child’s forehead anyway.

One night doesn’t have to cure anyone. Katara has time. For now, all she needs to do is to make sure that the people have the same luxury.

The child’s fever recedes, and Katara works her way through the rest of the house, careful not to make a sound as she checks for wounds and fevers and infections. It’s a difficult balance to strike—she needs to do enough to bring them all back from the edge, but she can’t spend too much time or strength on any one of them. Somehow, she has to reach them all.

Just a nudge toward health, that’s all she does for most of them. Cooling a fever, sealing a wound, driving an infection back. For most of them, that will make enough difference. The children earn a little more of her time, but even with them, she limits herself. There will be time for more tomorrow.

One by one, she works her way through the broken husks of the houses, keeping to the shadows when she can and shrouding herself in mists when she cannot. Though she begins to grow tired as she zigzags her way to the center of town, she is better at this than she was in Jang Hui. Her robes glide silent behind her, and no one around her stirs. More than ever before, she feels like the Painted Lady.

It isn’t until she nears the center of the village that she begins to notice a change. A new sensation hangs in the air, and by the pallid light of the stars, she thinks she can see something new in the middle of the square.

She tries to ignore it at first. There are still people to heal, and no amount of curiosity should outweigh that. But she passes through one quiet house where hunger and exhaustion are the only ailments she can find, then another and another. And with each person she is able to leave untouched, her curiosity only grows.

At long last, she leaves off in her healing and creeps forward to investigate.

It looks like a pile of rubble at first. Like someone gathered up all the bits of broken roofing tiles and heaped them together in the center of town, but Katara knows that isn’t the case. She’s been stepping over and around the shards of tile all night long, and she can think of nothing else that would look quite like that. Not until she steps nearer, at least, and the scent of heavy, moist earth strikes her.

She circles around it slowly, squinting to make out anything more than grayish shadows. The mound of dirt is new, she knows that much for certain. She just doesn’t know what it’s for until she sees the uneven ring of stones encircling a great, deep hole.

Katara can’t quite understand why, but she finds herself smiling as she edges nearer, holding her hat in place to peer down into the blackness. She can see nothing, but down, way, way down, she can feel something. With her free hand, she makes a scooping motion, and water surges up from the depths to meet her.

Her smile broadens. As wells go, this one is neither deep nor elegant, but the fact that it’s here, freshly dug and ready to bring clean water to the village, feels hopeful. Like despite everything that’s gone wrong, despite the odds stacked up against the village, someone still stood up and decided that it was worthwhile to fight. Like there is someone else in the village who believes enough in their chances of survival to work to the point of exhaustion for a single, small improvement.

They will survive. Katara will make sure of that. If nothing else, she’ll do it for the person who dug the well. She can only hope that they recognize her appreciation somehow.

For hours longer, Katara continues searching, moving in silence between every house, every half-collapsing pile of rubble in search of people to heal. Every house, that is, except for one.

At the northwestern edge of the village, a small house sits mostly intact, all its walls upright, with a roof still in place. There is nothing terribly unusual about it, nothing that should look out of place. But the door hangs crooked on its hinges, and a faint orange light flickers out around its edges.

Katara hangs back. The light doesn’t necessarily mean anything. It could simply be a candle left to burn through the rest of its wick, or a lamp turned down low while its owner sleeps. This house could be like all the others, still and quiet despite the glow emanating from within.

But it’s the first light she’s seen in the entire village. She edges a little closer, thickening the mists at her back as she watches the light shift through the open doorway in soft flashes of orange and red.

There’s someone inside, she is certain of that. A parent tending to a sick child perhaps, or someone lonely and frightened, trying desperately to tend their own wounds by candlelight. Someone who needs her help. Someone who may not last the night without her. There has to be something that sets this house apart from all the rest, some reason why the light burns here but nowhere else. Some greater need for Katara to investigate.

Or it might be the opposite. The light could be a sign that everything is fine here, that the person inside is well enough to tend a flame to work through the night. It could mean that this place is a threat to her.

She doesn’t quite believe that, and yet she can’t bring herself to venture any closer. Instead, she circles the house, squinting into the glow as she searches for any openings, any cracks small enough to peer through without revealing herself. She finds none, and when she returns to her place in the street, she bites her lip.

Whether she is needed here or not, the light might give her away. If she gives herself away, she might be caught. And if she’s caught, she won’t be able to help any of them.

As much as she longs to help, she can’t throw aside the rest of the village for this one house. She has to be pragmatic. If she risks her safety to find out who’s inside, she may not be able to help anyone at all.

Still, she stays where she is, watching the faint, flickering glow until it finally goes out. Tomorrow, she promises herself. Tomorrow she’ll find out who is inside.

Chapter Text

Sometimes Zuko wonders what it might be like to not be a firebender. To not feel the sun’s energy jolting through his nerves at the first light of dawn, to be able to keep his eyes shut and sleep through part of the morning.

Today, it sounds appealing. He doesn’t know when he finally went to sleep, but he can tell that it was too late. A few more hours of sleep couldn’t possibly go amiss.

But he can feel the sun stirring the energy in his middle, and worse, shining straight into his eyes. Since the door won’t stay shut and the earthen floor is spongey and damp except for the lone spot where the sleeping mat lies, there is little he can do about that. Either he can deal with the sun in his eyes, or he can wake up in a slimy puddle the first time it rains.

Although, as he lies there, unable to block out the light even with his eyes pressed shut, he begins to wonder if sleeping in a puddle might be preferable to this. He is a firebender, after all. He can dry himself off perfectly well, but he can’t do anything to block out the sun.

He rolls over and tries to cover his head with a blanket, but all that manages to do is trap in the musty scent of the sleeping mat, and he has no choice but to shoot upright before it makes him gag.

He regrets it. Even though the mat smells, even though his eyes are grateful for the slight respite that comes from plunging into the shadows when he sits, the rest of his body protests. His arms, his shoulders, his back all ache from the strain of repairing what remained of the well yesterday. His head feels foggy and the side of his face itches from the mat, but he hauls himself upright and staggers to where his trunk rests against the opposite wall. At least it’s dim there. Even if he can’t sleep, he can enjoy a bit of darkness until the rest of the village wakes.

He half-tumbles to the ground and digs through the trunk until he finds a few pieces of dried fruit and meat. He probably should feel guilty keeping all his food for himself, but for now, he’s too tired to care. He did most of the work on the well yesterday. He’s the one who was strong enough to dig through the heavy, wet earth for hours, and he deserves to eat after all that effort.

Besides, he doesn’t have enough food for all of Shusoku. If he keeps his supplies hidden, he can feed himself for a few weeks. He can remain strong enough to function until he finds food for the rest of them. If he allows guilt to take over, if he tries to share his provisions with the rest of them, it will all be gone in a day. It isn’t selfishness, it’s practicality. If he’s going to keep working, he needs to be able to eat.

His stomach does an unpleasant little quiver anyway.

It doesn’t matter, he tells himself as he rests his head against the wall and lets his eyes slide shut. Now that he’s succeeded in bringing water back to the village, he can turn his efforts toward finding them food. In a few days’ time—if he’s lucky—he’ll figure something out.

Part of him wants to write home to Father. After all, Father did send him here, and Father should probably know how things are progressing in Shusoku. Now that there is progress to speak of, anyway. The well hasn’t solved anything, but the people seemed less adverse toward Zuko when the work was through. That has to count for something.

But Zuko didn’t spend three years at sea agonizing over letters that Father never read to think that writing might make a difference now. Even if Zuko sends a letter, Father will never see it. At best, Azula might run across it when she rifles through Father’s correspondence, but Zuko knows better than to expect help from her. He knows the price of her assistance, and he has nothing left to barter.

No, he has to do this on his own, and he has to get used to the fact that no one outside of Shusoku will ever know the difference. It’s better this way. At least if Father and Azula never hear from him again, they can’t think any less of him than they do now.

He finishes his meal and packs the rest of his food away before he pushes himself to his feet. His legs ache along with everything else, but there’s nothing to be done about that. There is still work to be done, and he can’t rest any longer.

Zuko plods his way down to the well, eyes only half open. It’s still quiet, that’s the one mercy he can find. Most of the village must still be sleeping.

He is midway through raising a pail of water to the surface when Tomoe joins him. Unthinking, he offers the pail to her first, and there is a brief glint in the woman’s eyes. Something like approval, he almost thinks, but it’s gone too quickly for his sleep-addled mind to decipher. For the moment, silence is reward enough.

But the silence only lasts an instant before a cry rips through the morning air, jolting him out of his lethargy. The pail slips out of his hand, splashing its contents across his boots, and then Zuko is sprinting toward the cry. It sounds like a woman. And as he draws nearer to the fading wails, he thinks he recognizes the house.

It comes back to him in a flash—the broken slats of wood around the door revealing vague outlines of a hollow-cheeked mother and her motionless child. The empty eyes that stared out at him just after his arrival, forcing him to look away.

His blood turns cold. A sick child. No medicine. A crying mother—it doesn’t take much thought to stitch it all together.

His pace slackens, but not before he is near enough to see the woman half bowed, cradling her child.

The wavering voice cuts straight through to his bones. “My baby.”

Zuko stops moving.

Fuck.

He’s a failure. He knows that, he’s always known, but not like this.

Never like this.

He tries to look away, but before his eyes obey, he thinks he sees a flicker of movement from the child.

Zuko’s breath leaves him in a rush, and he jogs ahead.

Please. Please, please, please.

“What is it?” he demands, breathless. “What happened?”

The woman raises her tear-streaked face. “The fever,” she explains, voice quaking. “Her fever is gone.”

From her mother’s arms, the little girl blinks hazily up at Zuko, and all at once, he remembers how to breathe again.  

He squeezes himself through a gap in the wall and drops to his knees in front of the pair, his brow furrowed. It seems impossible. He remembers this child. Not well—he did his best not to let any of the details sink in too deeply yesterday—but he remembers seeing the silhouettes from the street. He remembers seeing the little girl lying pale and motionless, seemingly nearer to death than anything else. And yet she’s still here, thin and exhausted, but with color in her cheeks and light in her eyes.

The little girl blinks up at Zuko until her eyes focus, and she gives him a little wave.

He clenches his fists until his fingertips dig into his palms. It seems impossible, but he isn’t dreaming.

From the window, Tomoe speaks soft and low. “The spirits smiled on you. It’s about time they showed mercy for someone.”

The mother is still crying tears of relief, and Zuko has no time to react when she deposits the little girl in his arms and rushes to the window to sob on Tomoe’s shoulder.

Zuko stiffens. The child can’t be more than four or five years old, and she feels like she will break if he dares to move. He doesn’t know how to hold a child. This isn’t what he’s here for, and—

A small hand clutches the front of his tunic and tugs until he looks down.

“I seen a lady last night,” the little girl whispers. It seems to be all the sound she can muster. “She was pretty.”

Zuko freezes a moment. “What do you mean?”

“The lady. She smelled like leaves.”

That doesn’t make any more sense to him. Unless someone visited here last night, the little girl must be talking about a dream.

“What did the lady look like?” he ventures. He can’t believe that anyone would have been wandering through Shusoku in the dead of night—he was awake for most of it, and he heard nothing—but it does no harm to be certain.

She creases her forehead, eyes sliding shut. “Don’t know. I was sleeping.”

Zuko exhales. It must have been a dream. He still can’t understand why the little girl seems so much better than yesterday, but there was no mysterious lady. There couldn’t be.

“Are you sure you’re feeling better?” he asks dryly. “That sounds like a pretty strange dream to me.”

“Mmm.” Her little face scrunches up, and she shakes her head just a little. A pause follows, and just when Zuko begins to think that she won’t continue, she says, “My tummy hurts.”

“You’re hungry?” he guesses.

A small nod.

That shouldn’t come as a relief to him. There is hardly any food left in the village, and if the child doesn’t eat, she’ll only deteriorate again. Probably within a day or two. Probably long before help returns from Shu Jing.

But there is some food here. Zuko can’t feed the entire village, but surely he can spare enough for one small, weak child. He has to do something, or he’ll carry the guilt for the rest of his life.

“If I can find you some food, will you promise not to tell anyone for a little while?” He can spare enough for the little girl, but anything more will drain his provisions too quickly.

Her eyes don’t open, and he can’t be sure whether she’s heard or understood a single word. But then pale, skinny fingers wrap tight around his thumb. “Promise.”

Zuko’s breath catches, and he shoots a glance toward the window. Tomoe is still comforting the little girl’s mother, and neither of them seem to even notice Zuko still crouched in the middle of the room. They shouldn’t notice if he sneaks out for some food.

Carefully, he lowers the little girl back onto the sleeping mat and pulls a ratty old blanket up to her shoulders.

“I’ll be right back,” he tells her. And as he stands and backs toward the door, he thinks he can feel the little girl watching him.

It feels—strange. In a way, it reminds him of that town in the Earth Kingdom, of that little boy who borrowed his swords in the middle of the night. Why do children have such a talent for getting into his head, for making him softer, weaker than he already is?

Not that it matters anymore, he reminds himself as he jogs up the street. Father was the one who always called Zuko weak. Since Father isn’t here, maybe his ideas of weakness don’t matter.

Zuko is only halfway back from the shack, a few scraps of food stuffed into his pockets, when he begins to notice the movement. Through one splintered door, he sees a silhouette rise from the floor, and through another, a bleary-eyed villager wanders out.

His pace slackens. He can’t remember all the houses, all the people, but there is something strange on the air all the same. There’s too much movement, too much noise. Yesterday, everything was still. But today—

Hideo calls to him from across the street. “Lee! Do you know what’s happening here?”

As Zuko turns back to face the old man, the noise only increases, and more villagers begin to emerge. He doesn’t have to recognize any of them. By the sheer number of them, Zuko knows that some of them were ill just yesterday. And now they’re up and walking. Not entirely well, but better. Just like the little girl.

He shakes his head. It shouldn’t be possible. Fixing the well can’t have made this much difference.

Something else must have happened in the night. Nothing else makes sense.

Zuko can’t decide if he wants to know what it was.

Katara finds herself staring at the lone, illuminated house again. Through the gaps around the door, a pale light flickers, making small shifts along with the house’s inhabitant.

Just like last night.

She hovers in indecision. Last night, she promised herself that she would check on that one, just to be certain that whoever is in there is okay. Just to be certain that the light isn’t a silent plea for help.

But last night, she’d expected that the light would be gone when she returned, that it would be safe to approach and peer into the dark. Instead, it glows as bright as before, painting the street with faint stripes of orange light.

She ought to check anyway, but she doesn’t quite dare to step into the light. What if she’s seen? She can’t risk the good she can do the rest of the village for the sake of this one house.

Still, she lingers a while, watching the soft light stretching outward through the gaps where the door refuses to close. It could be a good sign, she tries to tell herself. If the light is still there, it must mean that the person inside is strong enough to keep it lit. She tries not to think about the possibility that there is more than one person in there, that only one of several can manage to keep a flame burning. The fact that someone is keeping the house illuminated has to be enough for now.

She’ll circle back around when she’s through with the rest of the village, she promises herself. If the light is gone, then she’ll see who is inside.

Katara summons a mist to swirl around her as she makes her way toward the center of town, the moonlight just a fraction brighter than last night. And with its aid, her careful, gliding gait comes a little smoother.

At the first few houses she visits, all is as she expects. The villagers all sleep, a little softer, a little easier than last night. She tends to wounds where she must and reins in fevers where they have reappeared, but most of the people are as well as can be expected. Better, in some cases. Better than she has any reason to believe possible. But it isn’t until she’s partway down the street that she begins to see the real changes.

At first, it seems inconsequential. A tarp thrown up over a broken roof on one house, a door refastened to its frame with makeshift hinges of rope on the next. Small changes, but as she moves further through the village, they become unmistakable.

It’s like the well all over again—that one brilliant flash of hope in the middle of all the destruction. Though the repairs to the houses are smaller, each unremarkable on its own, the sheer number staggers her. Just like last night, it strikes her as a monumental project for a village with so many of its people sick and starving.

As she crouches over a pair of young boys, drawing the remaining infection from one of their wounded feet, she tries to imagine which of them could have possibly scrambled up onto the roof to place the tarp that is keeping them sheltered. Neither, she decides. The child she is tending to likely hasn’t walked in days, and the other is too small and scrawny to have pulled the tarp into place on his own. He must have had help.

That, she realizes as she moves on to the next house, is the pattern. The well was too large a project for the village to undertake with its people in such a state. Even if they all banded together to repair the well—and Katara isn’t certain they could have finished the work in the state they’d been in yesterday—it would be a useless endeavor if there was no reason to believe that they would survive. The same is true for the new repairs.

They wouldn’t be doing this much work if they’d given up. And since they couldn’t have come this far alone, there has to be someone else who refuses to give up on them.

Katara squeezes through an opening in a broken wall, and the cloth draped over the hole trails behind her like a shadow as she creeps toward the sleeping mother and child. This child in particular stands out in her memory, and when Katara crouches by the little girl’s side, she is relieved to find that the fever she spent so long battling last night hasn’t returned.

But there is something else too. Something else different, something else—better. Until she brings her hand to the child’s forehead, encased in healing water, it is too dark to see. But then, by the glow of the water, she makes out the rough outline of a small cloth bundle lying by the little girl’s head. Frowning, Katara nudges it open. Food. Not much of it, but the few scraps of dried meat and fruit will likely feed the girl for another day or two.

Katara pulls her hand away and leans back on her heels, staring into the darkness. The village didn’t have food when she first visited. Or not much. Not enough. And, at a guess, nothing that looks so much like the dried travel provisions that Katara and her friends have been living on for months. A meager store of grain would make more sense.

Frowning, she checks the little girl and her mother over one more time before she makes her way out again and pauses a moment to stare toward the well. There is someone else here. There has to be. Some outsider here to help the village, someone who has the strength and the resolve to do things that the villagers cannot. Things like the well. Things like patching up the houses to keep the people sheltered until more permanent repairs can begin.

Things like sharing their provisions with a tiny, sick little girl.

Is that the difference she’s been noticing all night? Is that why the people seem just a fraction stronger than they would otherwise? Because someone was kind enough to share their own provisions with the recovering villagers?

She remembers the light in the shack at the edge of the village, and things begin to snap into place. That must be where the mysterious helper is staying. The light isn’t a beacon calling out for help, it’s a sign that someone else is helping.

Katara finds herself starting to smile. She almost wants to go back, to greet whoever it is and thank them for taking a part in bringing the village back to life. But she doesn’t quite dare to. She is an outsider here, and she can’t ask another outsider to keep her secret.

But she can find a way to express her gratitude. Silently, with mists swirling around her, she turns for the distant river. If the other helper has been sharing their provisions, then the village needs more food before their visitor runs out.

Fortunately, so long as there is a river nearby, Katara can gather a lot of food in very little time.

Chapter Text

“You’ve gotta see this, sir.”

Zuko jolts at both the voice and the title. No one ever calls him ‘sir’. Not without copious amounts of sarcasm, at least.

“What?” Even to his own ears, his voice sounds harsh. He makes no effort to correct himself. There are more important things to worry about than whatever odd sight Hideo wants to drag him off to. Things like the gnawing emptiness in his stomach and the nearly depleted supplies left in his trunk. Things like the fact that he’s only slept a few hours since he arrived.

He can’t quite bring himself to regret any of it. In the hours he’s sat awake, he’s managed to work out his next steps toward repairing the village. And he certainly can’t regret giving most of his provisions away to the newly recovered children. The only trouble is that he doesn’t know how much longer he can keep working with so little food left.

“Fish.” Hideo leans down close and whispers like it’s some grand, mysterious secret. “A whole fucking heap of fish.”

Zuko jerks away from the old man’s sour breath. “What?” he repeats, incredulous.

What’s so strange about fish? The river is about a mile off, but finding fish in a river is the farthest thing from surprising. Unless someone has managed to catch enough fish to keep the people fed until supplies arrive from Shu Jing, Zuko could hardly care less.

“Clean the mud out of your ears, Just Lee. I said you had to see it.”

With a groan, Zuko stands. This sounds like a waste of time. He’s tired and hungry, and he ought to be focusing on what he can do to keep Shusoku afloat until help arrives. He ought to be making more repairs and organizing groups of villagers to search the forests for ash bananas and wild tomato carrots. But it seems that Hideo will not be dissuaded, and Zuko doesn’t have the energy to argue.

“Fine. Just make it quick.”

Hideo fixes him with a glare, but motions for Zuko to follow. Reluctantly, he obeys. Maybe he’ll be lucky. Maybe there really is something worthwhile out there. Though Hideo is undoubtedly exaggerating, a few fresh-caught fish would make a difference. If there’s enough food to keep the children from falling back into illness, then Zuko will be satisfied. 

He refuses to believe it until he investigates for himself.

The village is livelier than he can ever remember it being, and just like yesterday, Zuko sees more faces he recognizes on the street—more people who he knows were too sick or injured to leave their beds just yesterday. It still sends uneasy tingling across his back to think of the unnatural recoveries, but he sets his jaw and marches after Hideo. He can think about that later. For now, he presses his way through the increasingly dense crowd until he reaches the front.

At the sight of it, he stops so suddenly that he almost jumps backward. Hideo isn’t exaggerating. An assortment of muddy brown and dull silver-colored fish lie in a heap in the middle of the path, stacked nearly up to his waist and sprawling over more than half the street. There is a faint, muddy smell on the air, but the fish themselves hardly smell at all. They must be fresh. Even the eyes have barely begun to glaze over.

Zuko looks around to all the assembled villagers, and they stare back, just as baffled as him.

A whole fucking heap of fish, just lying in the middle of the street. How on earth—

He rubs his forehead with the heel of his hand. It isn’t that he’s never seen so many fish before—of course he has, plenty of times, at sea and in coastal market towns, but Shusoku is neither. The river is nearly a mile off, too far away for the fish to have ended up here by accident. Too far for anyone to have ventured there and back since sunrise. Too far for anyone to have hauled so many fish back, even if it were possible to catch this many.

It almost looks like a fisherman’s cart overturned, spilling its contents across the street. Except that there are no wheel ruts left in the ground, nor any grooves or dents a cart might have left when it overturned.

In fact, aside from the fish themselves, the only unusual thing Zuko can see is a broad, darkened ring of sodden earth. A bit of water makes sense, but if he squints, he thinks he can make out narrow, smooth whorls carved into the ground. Almost as though there was so much water that it etched rivulets into the path when it escaped.

That should be impossible. It would take an enormous amount of water to soak so much of the ground, to say nothing about smoothing away the old ruts in the pathway. No one who was already trying to move such an enormous number of fish would carry water with them too. Not unless—

“Told you that you had to see it.”

Zuko jumps and turns back to face Hideo. “Don’t sneak up on me.” His scowl only holds for a few seconds before confusion overtakes him again and he turns back to the pile of fish. “How did these get here?”

Hideo shrugs. “We all thought it was you.”

“What? Why? How would I even—”

“Anyone with eyes can see that you don’t sleep. How are we supposed to know what kind of crazy shit you get up to all night?”

Zuko scowls. He has been sleeping. Not much. Certainly not enough, but he’s slept an hour or two every night since his arrival. He probably sleeps better here than he did at the palace simply because he works until he’s ready to drop and because there’s no longer any danger of Azula sneaking up on him. Even the scratchy, smelly sleeping mat doesn’t bother him too much anymore.

“I don’t wander around making piles of fish,” he retorts. “Is there anyone here who could have done this? Any crazy fishermen or anything?”

“If we had someone who could get us this much food overnight, don’t you think we’d have asked them instead of starving until we had no choice but to write to the capitol?” A pause. “No offense meant.”

Zuko ignores that. He can barely consider himself a product of the capitol anymore. Not after three years at sea, months as a fugitive, and now this. It doesn’t particularly matter whether the old man means to insult him or not.

“Let me get this straight,” he says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You have no idea where the fish came from but you’re still going to eat them?”

“You want us to leave them to rot instead?”

Zuko starts to protest. He knows how badly the village needs food. It’s been weighing heavy on his mind since he arrived, but this seems dangerous. It isn’t normal for heaps of fish to appear out of nowhere. And maybe it’s just because he’s spent too much of his life in contact with his own family, but he’s never known such a grand gesture to come without costs.

He wants to believe that it’s a kindness. That someone out there somewhere saw the people struggling and brought them food. It will be a better world if it’s true. If the fish are safe, then the village will be fed until help arrives from Shu Jing. Longer, even. And if the village is fed, then Zuko can focus his efforts on other things. He can start making this place livable again.

But there is still an edge of doubt in the back of his mind. It’s too much. It’s too strange.

He thinks back to yesterday, to watching in disbelief as the first of the villagers emerged from their houses, so much stronger, so much healthier than before.

Someone must have done that. Someone must have healed the people in the night, and someone must have brought the fish here, and maybe—there is a flash of clarity, and an idea begins to take shape in his mind.

“We’ll have the old people try it out first,” Hideo says, shattering the thought before it can form. “We’ll know if there’s anything wrong with the fish before the whole town gets themselves sick.”

“We can’t force them to—”

“Kid, we all volunteered. Take it easy.”

Oh. His shoulders deflate a little. He still doesn’t like the idea of any of the villagers acting as poison testers, but he’s seen enough of the world to know its cruelty. Right now, caution is necessary.

Zuko nods. “Then the sooner you can start, the better.”

After Hideo selects a few of the fish and trots off toward the square, Zuko stands still for a moment. The fish ought to be moved out of the sun, he realizes. Moved and cleaned and smoked so that they keep as long as possible. The food will do them no good if it spoils within a day or two.

It surprises him when he begins to work and several of the bystanders join in immediately, scooping up slippery, scaly fish by the armload and loading them into carts while a few others run off to start the fires. The villagers who stay seem to actually listen to Zuko and appreciate what little help and direction he is able to offer. He isn’t used to this. He isn’t used to being appreciated.

He tries not to get used to it. When he first arrived here, the people didn’t trust him. If he dares to take this newfound trust for granted, he will lose it. It’s happened before. He’ll do whatever he can to keep it from happening again.

Zuko loses himself in the motions, walking in short spurts from the fish pile to the carts, then from the carts to the smoking racks. He almost forgets the suspicious rivulets carved into the path, the evidence of the person who must have been visiting Shusoku in the middle of the night. He starts to remember the reason why he trained so hard during his banishment—with enough work to occupy his mind, he can drive almost anything from his thoughts.

He nearly succeeds. By midday, he is tired and sweating, but the old people have eaten, most of the fish are cleaned, and Zuko is nearly done hauling firewood to the square. But before he can go back for his final armload, Tomoe clears her throat behind him.

Zuko turns to face her, and his eyes are immediately drawn to the pristine, gold-trimmed scroll in her hands.

“I’d say that this is for you, sir, but the name—”

His face heats when he sees it. To Prince Zuko, written in Azula’s unmistakable, meticulous hand.

“I—I don’t—”

Tomoe dangles the scroll. “Something you forgot to mention to us, hmm?”

He’s gotten used to being called Lee. So used to it that he’s nearly forgotten the possibility that the people here might learn the truth. He has forgotten the possibility that Azula might still try to communicate with him. He’s begun to think of this place as his home, or something near to it, at least. This is his life now, and it bothers him less than he ever could have guessed.

He feels a little sick. He should tell the truth. He probably should have told the truth from the very beginning, but it’s far too easy to gloss over who he really is. He doesn’t feel like royalty anymore. And he doesn’t think he wants to be known as royalty out here either.

It isn’t just that the people will hate him for it, though he does think briefly about the armor stashed away in his little shack, hidden beneath the rest of his supplies so they might forget where he’s from. It isn’t just that he’s traded the safety of armor for the safety of anonymity.

“Why?” Tomoe demands, amber-colored eyes piercing through him.

“Because why should I claim them when they’ve been looking for an excuse to throw me away ever since I was born?”

It bursts out of him before he has a chance to think, but once it’s out, he can’t quite bring himself to regret it. Mother and Uncle were the only two who ever cared for him, and now that they’re both gone, there is nothing to keep Zuko tied to his family. He is adrift, and through the bitter sting of it, he thinks he might like things better this way.

Tomoe stares at him, and Zuko holds her gaze for only an instant before he pulls away again. He has firewood to carry. And once he’s through with that, there are villagers to check on, repairs to be made—a hundred things he can busy himself with until nightfall. A hundred ways to prove that whatever else he may be, Zuko is useful.

But before he makes it more than two steps, the scroll jabs him in the center of the back, and he whirls back around.

“Take the letter, Lee.” She holds it out to him, her expression pure stone. “Read it before someone thinks that you stole it.”

Zuko feels his brow furrow as he looks down at the impeccable script again. It’s clear enough by Tomoe’s voice that she doesn’t quite trust him. That she’ll be watching him closely for even the smallest misstep, but she hasn’t called any attention to them yet. This feels like an offering of some kind. 

Though he isn’t sure he wants to see what Azula has to say, he takes the letter and marches off toward his little shack. The ridges of the wax seal soften and begin to melt, taking the shape of his hand as he grips the scroll tighter and tighter. This is new. He’s never felt such a strong desire to burn a letter from his own family without so much as opening it.

But he lets the door swing shut behind him, and grudgingly breaks the sticky, half-melted seal.

My free time around the palace has become terribly dull without you here, Zuzu. Who would have ever thought that I’d get so accustomed to having you around in just a few weeks?

I suppose it’s fortunate that I have so little spare time now. Father expects me to attend most of his meetings, and they can fill a day very quickly. Don’t be too disappointed if he doesn’t write, by the way. He’s far too busy for correspondence. I’m sure you can understand that.

Zuko understands perfectly well. Not once in the three years of his banishment did Father ever find the time to write. Why would he start now?

In fact, I am very short on time as well. But since I am a kind and considerate sister, I had to let you know that the little problem we discussed before your departure is being dealt with. I can’t possibly understate the difficulty I went through to get everything sorted, but you can rest easy now. I’ve done you the greatest favor anyone will ever do.

Don’t rush yourself trying to repay me. I’d much rather you take your time and make it worth my while.

It takes a moment before Zuko realizes what ‘favor’ Azula is talking about. He hasn’t thought about the Avatar in days. He hasn’t had time to.

Zuko twists the letter up into a tight, crumpled wad, and stares at it as his bending takes over and reduces it to ash. He can’t afford to think about the Avatar, or about what Azula might have done to the child. He can’t give in to his weaker side, and for once, it isn’t because he’ll be torn limb from limb at the first sign of vulnerability. Out here, practically no one knows him, and no one cares if he’s weak.

Out here, the only thing that matters is whether he can keep moving. And if he lingers too long on what Azula might have done to the Avatar, he might not be able to do that.

His mind returns to those little streams cut into the earth around the pile of fish, to the amount of water it would have taken to produce that effect. To the extremely limited number of people who could have done something like that.

Maybe he can focus his attention on the mysterious nighttime wanderer instead.

By the light of day, she likes the journey to the village far more than she remembers. After several nights of only venturing out after dark, of creeping through the trees alone and barely able to see, she is finally able to shake off the feeling that she is being watched in the forest.

It’s just silly paranoia, she tells herself. In the daylight, she can see all the places where the most frightening shadows hid by night. She can see that the mass of darkness between the two crooked trees was nothing more than a thorny bush, and that the small cave along her path—ominous in the dark—is empty.

It comes as a relief. Though she never had the intention to stop her nightly visits, the darkened forest has grown more frightening with every journey she’s taken through it. Knowing that there is nothing to fear helps to set her stomach at ease.  

But that’s only an inadvertent benefit of her daytime visit. Her real purpose is to find out what else is going on in the village—to find out who else is helping the people there. Maybe if she knows, she can find a way to thank them in secret. Maybe, if she can figure out her counterpart’s plans, she can work in parallel with them in some sort of silent cooperation.

In the absence of anyone she can talk to, helping the village has become her best outlet, and having an ally—even one she never sees or speaks to—will be even better.

When she arrives, the village is busier than she expects. People hurry from one house to the next, moving supplies and tools while the others lug armloads of firewood toward the center of town. She doesn’t have to feign surprise at the sight of it. She is surprised. In the daylight, the difference in the village is more dramatic than she expects. The debris has been cleared from the paths, and though the makeshift repairs look no more substantial than they did by starlight, the cloths covering the holes in the walls and roofs are vibrant and colorful. It looks hopeful, even more so than it did last night.

Better still, the people are moving, working to bring their village back to life. Katara may have given them a push, and her counterpart working in the daytime is certainly helping too, but the people are fighting for themselves. Ultimately, their survival is in their own hands, and as far as she can see, they are grasping for it with everything they have.

Katara does her best to look lost as she meanders the path toward the house with the crooked door, the one that is always illuminated when she arrives. She may never have a better opportunity to learn who has been working alongside her.

But when she is still several streets away, the villagers begin to notice her. She can hardly be surprised. Newcomers are probably rare out here. Still, her shoulders stiffen a little as she walks. If they’re all watching her, she can’t get close enough to peer through the windows. If she’s going to attract attention, she can’t investigate the way she would like.  

She makes it another few steps farther before a voice stops her.

“You again?”

Katara turns around to find the tall woman who sold her the cooking pot watching suspiciously from the middle of the street.

She does her best to smile. “It’s nice to see you again too.”

The woman is unimpressed and slings her bundle of tarps over her shoulder. Looking past the woman, Katara can see the blank spaces left behind where the cloths used to cover broken patches on the houses, and a small cluster of villagers closing in with tools and short planks of wood to fix in their places.

“I didn’t say that it was nice.” The woman starts walking toward the center of town and motions for Katara to follow.

No. Katara doesn’t want to be led away. She has to know who lives in the house with the crooked door.

“Come for more cooking pots?”

Katara catches up in a few quick strides, then shakes her head. “Not this time.” She pretends to be enthralled by a roof draped with cloth. “It looks much nicer here than a few days ago. You must have all been working hard.”

A grunt. “You could say that. If you’re not here for more cooking pots, then why are you back here? You saw last time that we didn’t have anything to spare.”

They do now. Katara made very sure of that last night, but she wouldn’t ask them to give up any of their food. Not when she had to take so many fish at one time. It will take a few weeks for that section of the river to replenish itself.

“I was wondering if you had any way of sending a message,” she answers. It’s the best option she can think of without incriminating herself—she can write a letter full of nonsense and send it off to someone who doesn’t exist, and she’ll neither deprive the village of its supplies or give them any reason to suspect her. “Some friends of mine are supposed to meet up with me, but I’m beginning to think that they’re lost.”

The woman gives her a suspicious look but shakes her head. “Not now we don’t. Our messenger hawks are all out to the other towns nearby.”

“Oh.” Katara does her best to look innocent. “Is that who’s been helping rebuild here?”

“You must think pretty highly of people.” There is a brief pause, then the woman adds, “No. It’s been weeks, and we’ve heard nothing.”

She doesn’t believe that for a second. There has to be someone else here. Someone had to dig that well. Someone had to decide that the haphazard rehanging of doors and shutters was a worthwhile effort while the village was still desperate for food.

“The Fire Lord himself only saw fit to send us one scrawny kid.” The woman stares straight ahead as she marches to another house and hands the tarps off to a waiting man. Her tone softens just a bit. “Between the boy and whatever’s been happening at night, we’re scraping by.”

Katara nods. If she has anything to do with it, they’ll be standing on their own feet before much time passes. The boy, whoever he is, must be determined to do the same.

“He had a messenger hawk come by today,” the woman adds. “Already sent it off empty, though. Not that we could’ve given over an imperial hawk for a message to your friends if we wanted to.”

It takes all of Katara’s will to keep from asking the boy’s name, or whether she can see him. It’s too great a risk. Whoever he is, he’s from the capitol, which means that he has ties to the Fire Lord. Which means that he might have heard of Katara and her friends. Which means that no matter how much good he’s done here, he’s still a danger to Katara.

She still wants to know who he is, but she’ll have to investigate more carefully.

“When the regular messenger hawks are back, could I use one of them to send my letter? I have money.”

The woman scrutinizes her. “If you can wait, I suppose. At this rate, we’ll have everything rebuilt before they come back. But—” she pauses to give Katara a stern look, “—if anyone here needs the hawks, your friends will have to wait.”

“Of course.” She doesn’t actually have a message to send, so of course she doesn’t mind.

“I suppose you’ll be wanting someone to alert you when they’re free again?”

Katara shakes her head. The last thing she needs is for someone to find her camp full of Water Tribe tools and clothing, to say nothing of Appa and Momo. “No thank you. If I don’t hear from my friends, I’ll stop by and check for myself.”

She excuses herself and tries not to be bothered by the long, suspicious look that follows her as she makes her way back toward the edge of town. Part of her still burns to check the house with the crooked door, but she doesn’t dare. Not now. Not with people watching her, and especially not now that she knows he’s from the capitol.

Maybe tonight. Maybe when it’s dark and she has the benefit of her disguise and the mist to conceal her, she’ll be able to take that chance.

The feeling of eyes on her back doesn’t subside when she’s out of sight of the village, but she tells herself that it’s just the same creeping paranoia that haunts her at night. That the prospect of meeting the boy who the Fire Lord sent to the village has gotten into her head and scared her. Besides, she hasn’t slept yet, and tiredness never helps these things.

When she’s back at camp, she rubs Appa’s belly and scratches Momo behind the ears, then crawls into her tent, still trying to ignore the feeling that she’s being watched. She’s going to figure out what’s going on in the village tonight, and before she can do that, she will need her rest.

Chapter Text

Zuko stares at the light he keeps flickering by his trunk. Most nights, he sits up, using the trunk as a table as he tries to puzzle out his next steps. Most nights, he has no other choice.

Tonight, he has little left to plan. There is food and water. The villagers are beginning to recover their strength, and the messenger ought to return from Shu Jing in another day or two. When that happens, there will be nothing left but to rebuild the houses. They’ll have the supplies they need. Sickness and hunger will be a thing of the past, at least for most of them.

The people will survive with or without Zuko, and he can’t decide whether he’s grateful for it or not. On the one hand, his usefulness was the only reason they tolerated him at the start. If they don’t have to rely on him anymore, then what’s keeping them from driving him away now? Especially now that Tomoe knows who he really is.

But on the other hand, it’s been days since his last full night of sleep, and after a full day of carrying fish and firewood and clambering around on roofs, it’s hard to keep his eyes open. There is nothing left for him to plan tonight. For the first time since his arrival, he can rest without any fear that Shusoku will suffer for it.

For the first time in ages, he can go to sleep knowing that he’s done enough.

But despite it all, his mind refuses to quiet. Someone has been visiting the village at night. It sounds insane—even more so, thanks to the fact that the villagers have been speculating about whether some river spirit might have come to help them—but he can’t deny the fact that it’s happened. Someone had to bring the fish here. Someone apparently brought an extraordinary amount of water along with them as well.

There is a possibility floating in the back of his mind, the faintest hint of an idea of who it might be. He knows one person who can move enormous amounts of water with very little effort—one who claimed to have healing abilities.

It’s ridiculous. He knows that. Probably even more ridiculous than the possibility of a river spirit taking an interest in Shusoku. At least a spirit might have a reason for being here. She wouldn’t. She can’t be here.

He keeps repeating that. She isn’t here. She would have no reason to take such a risk, and even less reason to help. For all Zuko knows, she might have been lying about her healing abilities. Or if not, she probably needed the water from that little blue vial she wore around her neck in Ba Sing Se. After what Azula did to the Avatar, there is no possible way she could have any of that left. Certainly not enough to make such a difference for an entire village.

But there is someone out there. Someone has been helping the people every night, and if Zuko can’t find a way to force the most ridiculous possibilities from his mind, he will drive himself mad over it.

And, he supposes, he still needs a distraction from Azula’s letter. Something to keep him from puzzling over what exactly she meant about “taking care of” the Avatar problem. About all the horrible fates that could befall the Avatar at Azula’s hand—that may have already befallen him. After all, she must have sent the letter two days ago or more for it to have reached him out here. If she gave orders before sending the letter—worse, if she found the Avatar and did the work herself—then it may already be over.

He can’t afford to linger on that. Whatever Azula has done is her responsibility. Zuko never asked her to intervene. He never really wanted to kill the Avatar in the first place, and he never wanted the credit for it after Azula shot the boy with lightning. Though he is grateful for it now, in a strange way. Before, Zuko had always thought that there was something he could do to prove himself, some victory grand enough to win Father’s approval. As much as it still burns him from the inside out, at least he knows better now. Defeating the Avatar is the single greatest accomplishment in Father’s eyes, and it still isn’t enough.

Maybe if he’d realized that sooner, things could have been different. Maybe Uncle would be here with him instead of rotting away in prison. Maybe the gnawing sensation inside his chest wouldn’t keep coming back.

He closes his eyes. It’s too late to change anything, and he knows it. Maybe this is for the best. He’s stuck in Shusoku, but at least here, surrounded by his own people, he can make a difference. At least here, he’s far enough away that neither Father nor Azula can reach him.

And if he can find out who else has been helping the people, maybe he can do better than driving Azula and her vague threats from his mind. Maybe he can find a way to express his gratitude for all the help the mysterious visitor has given them. Even if he can’t figure out exactly who it is, Zuko can probably find a way to make their work easier.

And more importantly, he can prove to himself that it isn’t the one person he keeps imagining. There has to be some other explanation.

When the rest of the village goes quiet and the light fades even further, Zuko extinguishes his flame with a breath. Digging through his trunk with one hand, he finds his swords and straps them across his back. He likely won’t need them, but he can’t imagine venturing out into the night without them. In truth, he has a hard time imagining himself going out into the night without his mask, but that is long gone, and he has nothing else to disguise himself with. But he still has his swords, and he can’t think of any reason not to carry them.

As close to silent as possible, he pushes out through the crooked, creaking door and into the gathering darkness. Though pale pinkish light still streams outward from the western horizon, the rest of the sky is rapidly fading to indigo, and the first of the stars shine through as pinpricks in the dimness. Beneath it all, Shusoku almost looks pretty. Still lopsided and crumbling in places, draped with colorful blankets where there should be planks and roofing tiles, but peaceful. And for the first time, stable as well.

After checking the streets once more to be certain that he’s alone, Zuko rounds to the back of the house, leaps high enough to grab the edge of the roof, and slowly, carefully, hauls himself up. After yet another day of work, his muscles ache, but he makes it onto the roof and lies flat along the edge. From here, he will have a better view of the village if the mysterious helper appears again. And from here, he won’t be seen. Nobody ever looks up.

As time goes on and late evening wears away into night, Zuko remains still on his stomach, his chin resting atop folded arms. Once he manages to wedge himself in place so that he isn’t continually sliding closer to the edge, it’s surprisingly comfortable. If nothing else, the roofing tiles smell better than the mat he’s been sleeping on, and the evening breeze is just cool enough to be pleasant. His eyelids begin to droop as the weight of his near-sleepless nights begin to settle over him.

He probably should have chosen a different night for this. A night when he isn’t aching from hours of work and practically falling asleep on a roof. A night when he can stay awake long enough to see the figure appear.

But tired or not, he needs answers, and something tells him that tonight is the best chance he will ever get. So he stays, fighting to keep his eyes from closing, and trying to focus on the darkened village sprawling out before him. A few slight shifts in the shadows startle him into alertness until he can make out the shapes of opossum foxes creeping between the houses, and his eyes grow heavy again.

But then, as the moon glides higher in the sky and the pale light finds its way to the village, he sees something different. A mist gathers just beyond the edge of town, and when he squints and blinks to clear the fog from his vision, it coalesces into a more distinct shape. A cloud, almost. It moves closer, sliding toward the central street, vanishes behind a house, and then emerges again on the other side.

Zuko’s breath catches, and he stares. He’s not imagining this. Or he doesn’t think he’s imagining it. He clenches his fists until his nails bite into his palms as confirmation. At the very least, he isn’t dreaming.

As the patch of mist moves closer, the dark figure in the center becomes clearer. Though the edges are indistinct, cloaked in billowing shadows, the figure itself seems small. A person wearing robes, he suspects. A person a bit smaller than Zuko, wrapped up in too-large robes, and somehow surrounded by their own personal bank of fog.

He can understand why the villagers would have taken the figure for a spirit. Everything about it looks unearthly, gliding up the street like the ground is perfectly smooth while the swirling mists catch the faint moonlight. It looks unnatural, but Zuko has seen spirits before. For all that the gliding seems impossible, for all that the delicate fog gives the figure a ghostly appearance, it doesn’t seem like a spirit to him.

His eyes widen as the figure comes closer, following the street directly toward him before pausing just in front of the door to his shack. From this angle, he can’t see the face concealed by the hat and veil, but he can tell that the figure is, in fact, a girl—or perhaps a woman—dressed in oversized robes. Human, but in disguise.

He cranes his neck to the side for a better view, doing his best not to breathe. Any noise, any disturbance at all, and he is certain that he’ll frighten her away. But before he can twist himself far enough to catch a glimpse of her silhouette under the veil, she squares her shoulders and steps forward, out of sight.

He hears the door creak open and holds his breath as he waits for another sound. But he can hear nothing over the sound of his own pulse, and after a few moments, the door creaks again and the figure reemerges.

Zuko considers leaping down from the roof to confront her. He’s in the perfect position to do it, and the stranger won’t have time to react until after he’s seen her face.

He doesn’t move. Whoever she is, it doesn’t seem right to startle her. Instead, he lies still until she is halfway down the street again before he slides toward the edge of the roof. Dropping soundlessly to the ground, he darts into the shadows and watches until she rounds a corner up ahead.

Keeping tight against the houses as much as he can, Zuko follows her.

The prickling sensation at the base of her neck doesn’t subside. If anything, it grows stronger.

As hard as she tries to remind herself that there is nothing lurking in the shadows, she can’t quite believe it. The feeling is too close, too real, and it sends shivers coursing up and down her spine.

Tonight, unlike most, the feeling doesn’t dissipate when she steps out of the trees and glides down the open path toward the village. Tonight, it feels like the presence that has been stalking her through the trees since midday has broken loose from the forest. Like there is nowhere she can escape it until daylight returns.

After tonight, it might be best to stay away for a night or two. The village is doing better, and if she returns every night, they’ll find her out sooner or later. For their sake, it might be best if she leaves the boy from the capitol to look after them for a few days.

She won’t abandon them. Not permanently. She probably just needs a few days away to throw off the sensation of being watched. And if there is someone following her, she would do best to break her pattern, to draw her pursuer off of her own trail and away from the village.

Not that that’s likely. She’s probably more tired than she realizes, and a few nights sleeping in her own tent while Appa and Momo keep watch will make the difference. By the time she returns, she will be better rested, and the uneasy prickling will go away on its own. It has to.

But tonight, she’s gone too far to turn back. She reaches the village cloaked in her usual shield of mist and turns directly toward the northwestern edge of the houses. Now that she’s come this far, she can’t turn back without finding what she’s looking for. The little house with the crooked door and the near-perpetual light inside. The person who lives there—the person who can only be the boy from the capitol. The one who has been unknowingly working alongside her for days now.

Something tells her that finding him will make all the fear worthwhile.

With the mists twisting around her thicker than usual, she strides up the street, moving as quickly as she can without breaking the illusion of her even, gliding steps. Tonight, she doesn’t bother keeping to the shadows. She has only one goal, and even from here, she can see the house she’s looking for. And tonight, for the first time, the light is gone.

Straightening her shoulders, Katara exhales. This is her chance.

The sensation of eyes on her back doesn’t fade, but she does her best to ignore it. After a deep, steadying breath, she steps beneath the eaves of the house and does her best to peer through the gaps around the door before slowly pushing it open. Despite her caution, the door creaks as though in complaint.

But the street behind her stays silent, and when the door opens wide enough for her to step inside, the house is empty. It’s a tiny space—just a single room with an uneven earthen floor. Nowhere for anyone to hide.

Holding the door open to admit what little light the moon and stars afford, Katara surveys the space. A thin, worn sleeping mat lies against the opposite wall, and next to her, a trunk is pushed into the corner. Nothing remarkable, and more importantly, nothing she can immediately identify. She thinks she can see a row of candle stubs lined up beside the trunk, and a dark, rumpled section of cloth lies diagonal across the sleeping mat, but by the moon’s watery rays, she can’t decide whether it’s a blanket or a robe or something else entirely.

She edges a little closer and runs her fingertips over the lid of the trunk. It’s too dark to make out the details, but she can feel the elaborate engravings, and for a second, she is tempted to rifle through all its contents. Surely there must be something hidden amidst the boy’s belongings to reveal who he is. If she would just look—

No. She pulls herself back. This feels like too great a violation, and it’s too dark for that anyway. Whoever the boy is, this isn’t the way to find him.

She frowns, scanning the room one more time before she backs toward the door. He must be out there somewhere in the village, helping one of the villagers. Just because she’s never seen him out at night doesn’t mean that it’s impossible. Just because she can’t think of anyone who would need his help right now doesn’t mean that things haven’t changed.

The door creaks again as she lets herself out, and the creeping sensation reasserts itself once she is in the open, even stronger than before. Either her unknown observer is closer, or there is more than one of them.

She doesn’t care for either possibility, and her pace quickens. She’ll search the village as well as she can for the boy who has been living in the little crooked house, but after that, everything else will have to wait. She can’t stand the feeling of being watched for much longer.  

Chapter Text

Zuko thinks about stopping.

It’s easy enough to follow the stranger. Though it has been weeks—months—since his last stealthy nighttime outing, it comes back to him as naturally as breathing. He finds every shadow, every corner without thinking, and times his every movement to keep himself hidden. Unlike so many other things, he is good at this. He is good at remaining unseen, unheard.

But the stranger’s pace quickens, and Zuko begins to wonder if he should be following her at all. He wants to know who she is under that disguise, of course he does, but it feels like a violation to chase her this way.

Like she’s an intruder. Like she’s unwelcome.

She’s done nothing but help the people, and she must have her reasons for doing it in secret. Zuko should respect that. He should trust that she hasn’t disguised herself with any ill intentions.

But he’s never been good at trusting people, and there is something else—something strange hanging in the cool night air.

The girl hasn’t seen him, he realizes. She hasn’t looked back once, and yet she keeps moving faster, her stride occasionally breaking from its effortless glide and into something more frantic. Something must have put her on her guard, and if it wasn’t Zuko, then there must be another reason. There has to be something else going on.

Near the far end of the village, the stranger stops before an open doorway, and Zuko ducks around a corner, heart racing, as she peers back over her shoulder. Though she hasn’t seen him, she does seem to realize that there is someone behind her. But when he dares to poke his head out again, she’s already given up on searching for him, and her gaze trails over the treeless hillside instead.

Zuko pulls into the shadows again and rests his back against the wall. He should turn back. He’s found his answer. He knows that the stranger is a girl disguised as a spirit. He hasn’t seen her face or learned her name, but that should be enough. It’s more than he expected to find. Why should he pry any deeper?

What if he gets closer to her? What if he finds out who she is?

What if his first guess at her identity turns out to be wrong? Worse, what if it’s right? How will he deal with that?

He shakes his head. That’s ridiculous. It’s not her. It can’t be, and he ought to return to his little shack before the idiotic notion gains any more traction in his mind. He needs sleep before he drives himself mad with wondering.

But before he can convince himself to move, he catches a flicker of movement on the hill above the village. Leaning to the side, he squints into the distance. Though it’s dark, he thinks he can make out an indistinct figure hidden amongst the scraggly bushes.

A man, he thinks. A very, very large man.

From the girl’s place in the doorway around the corner, she can’t possibly see the man, and he can’t see her. But the man seems to be watching the path where she will inevitably emerge, crouching in wait for her to pass by his hiding place.

Zuko’s blood turns cold. He doesn’t know either stranger, but the way the man hides in the undergrowth sends shivers up his spine. He’s waiting to ambush the girl. That’s the only thing that makes sense.

Zuko pokes his head around the corner in time to watch the girl emerge from the doorway, drawing in soft, silken mists to surround her once again. He could call out to warn her, but she’s far enough away that he would have to shout. If he dares to raise his voice—if he frightens the girl, she might run straight into the trap. And if he alerts the man, it could be even worse.

Holding his breath, Zuko edges sideways along the wall, struggling to make out more detail on the hillside. The man hasn’t moved. If anything, he’s crouched lower, ready to lunge.

All at once, Zuko forgets his conflict, and he creeps farther along the wall, never allowing his gaze to break from the man hidden in the bushes. This isn’t about following the girl anymore. Now, she is walking straight into what looks like a trap, and after all she’s done to help the people of Shusoku, Zuko owes it to her to investigate.

He feels for his swords hanging over his shoulder, and once he’s reassured that they’re still in place, he makes his way toward a cluster of tall grasses just at the edge of the overgrown meadow. He’ll have to cut straight across the slope, avoiding the path to reach the man in time, but fortunately, neither of the strangers look his way. The man halfway up the hill is too preoccupied with watching the girl’s approach, and though her swirling mists keep her shrouded, she can no more see out than Zuko can see in.

Keeping low to the ground, Zuko ducks from cover to cover, hiding behind boulders and bushes and grasses. Though he can’t keep his footsteps entirely silent, he remains unseen, and he makes good time up the hill.

It isn’t until he’s closed the gap and is nearly parallel with the girl’s position on the path that he gets a better look at the man lying in wait. Tall and massive, with one arm glinting in the moonlight, and hair cropped close to his scalp. Enough to affirm the threat in Zuko’s mind, but not enough to prove anything. Not enough to recognize the man. But then his head turns just a fraction, and Zuko can make out the mark on his forehead.

His stomach drops, and for a second, he is frozen in place.

For him, at least, seeing that mark in person—even in the dark, even at a distance—is stranger than it would have been to discover that the girl’s disguise was genuine. He’s heard stories of that mark—of the man who wears it on his forehead for anyone to see. When Zuko was a little boy, the man had sounded like a legend. Like the sort of story made up to frighten children into obedience. Except that the man had a name, and it was the adults who were too afraid to speak it above a whisper.

Kentaro Bumu, one of his tutors had eventually told Zuko, used to be a soldier, but somewhere along the way, he had traded his allegiance and half of his limbs to the spirits in exchange for power. Father used to laugh at that. Rather than authority, the spirits had given Kentaro a mark on his face and a new way to channel his firebending. Rather than status, the spirits had given him limbs of steel. To Father, it seemed, those bargains were worthless. Though royalty without firebending were useless, no amount of skill could make up for a common birth.

But Father was the only one who didn’t take the stories seriously. To all the other adults, Kentaro Bumu was a man to be feared. And although Zuko never admitted to it, the stories scared him too.

And then when Zuko was older, there were a rash of disappearances among the nobility. In every case, there was a single patch of earth melted to something like glass and a lingering smell of burning on the air. In two or three cases, there were scraps of the noble’s charred clothing left behind. And in only one, there was a witness who swore in the name of all the spirits they knew that Kentaro Bumu himself had reduced the missing man to vapor.

Zuko dodges behind a boulder as he tries to catch his breath. It doesn’t matter if all the stories are true or not. The fact that the man is here at all means something.

The little problem we discussed before your departure is being dealt with.

Realization strikes him hard in the middle of the chest. Azula’s letter earlier today can’t be a coincidence. The timing is too close, and none of the people of Shusoku fit the usual mold of Kentaro’s targets. Zuko is the only one who comes close. But Zuko himself isn’t the problem Azula promised to eliminate, and Kentaro is focused on the girl. She isn’t the Avatar, but she can control mists and heal people, and—

Zuko bolts out from behind his boulder and sprints for a new hiding place higher up the hill.

It doesn’t matter if it’s her. What matters is that the girl making her way up the hill seems enough like one of the Avatar’s companions to be in danger. What matters is that whoever she is, she’s done nothing but good.

And, Zuko decides as he searches for his next patch of cover, he is through with going to these lengths to win Father’s approval. If stopping Kentaro before he reaches the Avatar means that Zuko can never return home, then he thinks that it’s a price he’s willing to pay.

Even with the mists encircling her, keeping her hidden from sight, Katara can feel eyes following her every movement. The sensation is stronger than before, and she is almost tempted to return to the relative safety of the village. Of course the villagers will find her. They’ll see her disguise and realize where the unexplained help has been coming from, and for all she knows, they might even send word of her exploits back to the capitol. But at least she’s met some of the people in the village. At least they might think twice before harming her.

She can’t expect the same from whoever is watching her. The presence feels menacing, and more than anything, she longs for the safety that comes from hiding in a crowd. If something happens to her tonight, it could very well be weeks before anyone knows. At least in the village, someone might find her. At least there, someone might help.

But by the time that the idea occurs to her, she has gone too far to turn back, and the prickling along her spine feels closer than ever. She almost wishes that the moon was full so she could search the hillsides for the presence she knows is there—so she could reach out with her bending and find the stranger by their blood. But the moon is still a narrow crescent, and she can neither make out details through her cloak of fog nor push her bending more than a few paces in any direction.

She could, however, still manage to fight if necessary. She doesn’t have much water with her—not enough to defend herself properly, but the prospect of a fight still sounds better than this endless uncertainty.

She can make it to the river, she thinks. And once she makes it there, she’ll confront whatever is after her with no fear, no hesitation. And once this is all over, she’ll be able to return to camp at last.

Holding her head high and straight to keep from betraying her fear, she veers to the right, off of the path and down the slope toward the river in the distance. She is barely out of sight of the village when she calls all the mist back to her, shaping the water into an orb that she can use to fight if needed, and breaks into a run. Even over the rush of her pulse, she thinks she can hear footsteps behind her, and she pulls the water from the grass in front of her, freezing it into a slick path that will carry her to the river faster. That is her best chance. Maybe her only chance.

The footsteps grow louder, more distinct, and though she can’t help but feel relieved to know that the presence is real, Katara does everything she can to keep from looking back. She can’t lose time, not until the river is within reach. Not until she has all the water she could possibly need to fight. If she stops now, she may not be able to summon enough from the air and the plants around her.

If she stops now, she might be caught.

Skidding down the slope on a path of frozen grass is quieter than running, and yet as she continues, the footsteps behind her grow closer and clearer. There is something odd about them. A hitch in the step, one foot landing harder, heavier than the other. Like her pursuer has mismatched feet, and yet they move with equal speed and determination.

She glances over her shoulder for the briefest second, just long enough to see the man chasing her—huge and terrifyingly close. A strange, dark pattern carved into his forehead catches her gaze for a moment too long, and she almost stops moving. No. There is no time to stop. No time to wonder, no time to question any of this. She just needs to run. She looks forward again, but her frozen pathway hits an uneven patch in the ground, and her balance falters.

She should have known better. She should have never looked back.

Katara catches herself on her hands and springs back to her feet, her hat and veil lying abandoned in the grass. But before she can move further, a sharp hissing sound begins to gather, and warmth builds up behind her like a bonfire without light.

She turns around, drawing on all the water she can find, but it isn’t enough, and in the heat, it starts to simmer away before she can so much as shape it into a whip.

This is it. Though her heart still races as she tries to back away, her mind is oddly calm and clear. She can’t escape whatever this man is doing. She can’t fight it.

She should have turned back while she still could. She should have taken her chances in the village, but now she’s missed her opportunity.

Now there’s no one around to help her.

She wishes that she’d thought to leave the others a message, just a quick note to let them know that she’s been visiting the village in disguise. Just a hint so that they might be able to figure out what became of her. She doesn’t want to leave Dad and Sokka behind, but the thought of them wondering, never knowing for certain how she vanished from the safety of her campsite, makes it all worse.

She’s going to die out here, and she doesn’t want to be a mystery that haunts her family’s dreams for the rest of their days.

She is still fighting, still struggling to draw in more water, anything if it might buy her another minute or two, when a dark blur hurtles out of the bushes and launches onto the man’s back. It’s too dark to tell much about the second figure, but the arms wrapping around the huge man’s neck look smaller, slimmer—closer in size to Katara’s than the man’s. For an instant, she can do nothing but stare, breathless in the oppressive heat. But then the hissing sounds go muffled as the smaller figure presses the flat sides of twin sword blades over the dark patch on the man’s forehead.

She swings back into motion, backing away one step at a time as she stretches farther and farther with her bending to find even the smallest drop of moisture hidden in the grass. Maybe it isn’t over quite yet. If she fights hard enough, maybe she can still get out.

Before so much as a drop of moisture responds to her call, the hissing sound rises to an inhuman scream. Threads of blinding white light burst from beneath the crossed swords over the man’s forehead, and the heat intensifies until it feels like she’s going to choke on her own lungs.

It’s too much. Too hot. Too bright. Too loud.

Even if she could manage to find water to fight with, there is no way for her to bring it close enough to the man to make any difference, and she can feel the whole clearing sizzling itself dry. Katara raises her hands in a vain attempt to block out the screeching as she staggers backward.

Too much. Too much. Too much.

The light flares even brighter, and then there is a blast so strong that it throws her off of her feet.

In the stillness that follows, Katara can’t tell where she is. The world is a blackened void, and she can hear nothing over the ringing in her ears. The air is still so hot that it hurts to breathe.

Maybe it’s over. One way or another, things seem to have stopped. Whether that means that the man is gone or that he’s succeeded—that she is gone, or will be soon—it’s impossible to know.

But her lungs keep working through the stifling heat, and by the time a breath of cool night air reaches her, shapes have begun to form around her too. She can see faint flickers of starlight overhead, and the trees cast shadows across the near-black sky.

For what feels like a long time, she lies in silence, listening to the sound of her own heartbeat. Nothing makes sense, but she seems to be alive. And the man—whoever he is—hasn’t come any closer.

Maybe he really is gone.

When her breathing finally comes a little easier, Katara sits, then gingerly pushes herself to her feet. As far as she can tell, she isn’t hurt. Nothing more than a few small bruises and burns, at least. Nothing that a few minutes of healing won’t fix.

The clearing, on the other hand, is parched and smoldering. It takes a moment for Katara to figure out where the man once stood, but she finally spots a blackened patch of earth nearly a dozen paces away. Farther back than she expects. And the man himself is nowhere to be seen. The only definite sign she can find is a few bits of steel still glowing red amidst the wilted grass.

He’s gone. Whoever the man was, he’s really gone.

A faint wheeze catches her attention, and Katara turns toward its source. The smaller figure lies farther up the slope, crumpled and unmoving, the pair of swords strewn on either side.

Katara hurries that way, details coming clearer as her eyes adjust to the moonlight again. It’s a young man—a boy—and though she can hear him breathing, she knows at a glance that it’s all wrong. His insides are shattered, and the pieces refuse to find their proper place.

“It’s okay,” she whispers instinctively as she kneels down beside him, searching farther up the hill for any scrap of moisture she can reach. “You’re going to be okay.”

She isn’t sure she believes it, but it feels better than saying nothing. Carefully, she rolls him onto his back and begins searching for wounds she can treat before her eyes inevitably make their way up to his face.

Her breath leaves her in a rush, and she staggers to her feet.

Away from him.

Away from Zuko.

Chapter Text

The stars are moving.

He blinks a few times to be sure of it, and the stars just keep spinning, leaving behind faint trails of light etched into the velvety dark of the sky. Nothing will come into focus, and he can’t manage to turn his head, but everywhere he looks is the same. Stars and shadows alike warp and twist away as though trying to escape from him.

The motion makes him dizzy and turns his stomach sour, but he doesn’t close his eyes. He doesn’t dare to. It takes all his effort, all his strength to make sense of his surroundings. And so long as his mind is occupied with the twisting, lurching stars above him, he can feel nothing else.

That’s the way he wants it. In some distant, near-inaccessible part of his mind, he’s aware that something is wrong. He’s aware that he’s hurt. But if he keeps his eyes open, if he stares up at the sky until the stars turn bright enough to make his eyes water, then he doesn’t have to feel any of it. He can know that he’s been hurt without hurting.  

And if he keeps his eyes open, then maybe he can keep himself from slipping. Maybe if he holds on long enough, whatever is wrong with him will mend itself.

Or maybe the fact that it seems possible means that he’s already begun to fade away.

A dark, blurry form looms overhead, and panic grips his insides. No. The shadow is blocking out the stars. He has to keep his eyes on them. They’re the only things keeping him anchored.

“Can you hear me?”

He can, and he latches onto the voice. He can still hear. That has to be a good sign. He can see, and he can hear. It takes much longer before his mind sorts out the words, and longer still before he realizes that he’s meant to answer. 

The sound he produces is barely human, just a faint, crackling moan. Even that is too much. His lungs protest the effort, and the dam holding back the feeling breaks.

Pain strikes him like a wall. Somehow, the world has turned from velvety black to brilliant, burning white agony. His eyes squeeze shut, and a horrid rasping noise fills the air. The sound can only be coming from him, and yet he isn’t aware of making it. He can hardly think. He can hardly breathe.

He doesn’t know how many more beats his heart can manage.

“Shhh.”

It’s the same voice as before, still soft, still gentle as it tries to quiet him, but he can’t stop the noise escaping from him. The pain has taken control, and he feels his consciousness flickering, fading.

“Just breathe. Slowly.”

A single point of coolness cuts through the burning pain.

“Hold on, okay? I’ve got you.”

The rasping quiets, then stops, and he can’t tell whether it’s because of the coolness or not. Everything still hurts. He still has to struggle to breathe. It still feels as though he’s flickering out of existence.

But the coolness spreads outward until he can feel hands wrapped around him, keeping all his broken pieces contained, holding them in place.

At first, it’s worse like this. Any contact is too much to bear, no matter how soft. All his shattered edges press against one another, grinding him to dust from the inside. But he can do nothing to escape it, and slowly the edges begin to wear away. The agony softens, but the hands remain.

He doesn’t know how long it’s been when he manages to pry open his eyes. There is a glow now, soft and bluish white, centered somewhere near his stomach. It’s too bright for him to look that way, but his gaze fixes on something else hovering over him and illuminated by the unearthly glow. A face.

A girl’s face. Though the edges blur and details swim in and out of focus, he is certain of that much. A girl with dark curls hanging loose around her shoulders and vivid streaks of crimson all across her face. Vaguely, he wonders whether the streaks are blood or burns or something else. Whether she needs any help to tend her own injuries, or if she is somehow covered in his blood.

Her eyes flick toward his, and something tries to awaken in the back of his mind. She’s familiar. Something about her face, her voice—he reaches, grasping for more detail, but it slips through his fingers. He can scarcely remember his own name or bring his eyes into focus. How can he possibly recognize another person when there is nothing but blurry patches of color as far as he can see?

For what feels like a long time, the girl stays still, bowed over him and staring at the glow around his middle. Even when the glow fades away and the coolness recedes, she doesn’t look his way again. Not that it would make much difference. Exhaustion strikes him in a wave, and between the invisible weight keeping him immobile and the now-blunted pain, he can barely keep his eyes open.

He doesn’t mind very much. The darkness is soft, and he is so, so tired that he can’t bring himself to care about anything else. In the dark, he can rest.

“I have to move you.” The girl’s voice is quiet as ever, but her tone is formal now, almost stiff. “It’s going to hurt, but I have to get you somewhere safe.”

Safe. That sounds nice. Though his memory is foggy, he remembers danger. He remembers fear. He remembers chasing a dark, hulking shadow across a tangled, overgrown meadow because of—because of something. Something important. He can’t remember exactly what it was.

“Hold on.”

The warning comes too late, and before he can prepare himself, the pain awakens again as a pair of small, cool hands roll him onto his side. He scarcely manages to catch his breath before the hands roll him back over and he is left lying on his back, dark spots dancing across his vision.

He wonders if it’s even possible for him to be safe. Whether he’ll survive being moved anywhere. It doesn’t feel like it. Even after the pain begins to dull, he feels like he’s falling apart.

For a moment, the girl stands over him before she bends down, and he begins to move. It hurts. Less than he expects it to, and he thinks he can feel some kind of coarse cloth keeping him off the ground, but it hurts all the same.

Fragments of questions float through his mind—why isn’t he safe here, where is she taking him, what exactly has happened to him, is he going to live—but he can’t seem to hold onto any of them long enough to try forming the words. It’s all he can do to keep his eyes open as he tries to focus on the sky.

And when he briefly sees the girl silhouetted against the soft indigo overhead, he thinks he remembers her. From a village somewhere, he thinks—a village where people whispered about a spirit who brought them healing in the night. A spirit who could do impossible things and somehow believed that a tiny, half-forgotten village was worth her effort.

It seems impossible. It is impossible, and yet the figure pulling him along the ground doesn’t change. He remembers her. She is the spirit from the village.

He must be hallucinating. There are no spirits with healing powers—none who would deign to help him, at least. Maybe he’s dying. Maybe his mind invented the girl to help ease him into oblivion.

Fresh waves of pain rip through his nerves, and everything stills.

“Stay with me. I know where we have to go.” The world darkens a bit as she leans over him and arranges his arms so that they no longer lie so uncomfortably at his sides. “For now, this is the best I can do.”

The stars begin to move again.

There’s a cave around here somewhere.

Katara keeps her eyes down, doing her best to keep her pace steady so as not to jostle her surprisingly heavy burden. He doesn’t look that much bigger than she is. He’s taller of course, and undeniably bulkier in the chest and shoulders, but it seems almost absurdly difficult to drag him along.

The cave is close. She keeps repeating that. Maybe not as close as she would like, but it’s the nearest shelter she can think of. For now, that’s all that matters. He’s hurt, and he needs to be somewhere safe. Somewhere that’s not the still-smoldering clearing. Somewhere away from the scorched patches of earth and bits of debris left behind by the man who could have killed them both.

This is the least she can do.

Isn’t it?

She fights the urge to look back at him. She’s seen his face enough times. She doesn’t need any further confirmation. She doesn’t want it. If she doesn’t look back, then she won’t have to think about who stepped in to save her. She can pretend that he’s just—a boy.

It’s simpler this way. Safer too.

One step at a time. She has to get him to the cave. Everything else can wait.

The trouble is that she can only pull him a few inches at a time. The spare cloth from her Painted Lady robes is more than sturdy enough to drag him along, but he’s heavy, and the ground is uneven, and the cave is much, much farther up the hill.

For a while, she manages to keep moving, to keep her attention fixed on the path ahead. He saved her life. She doesn’t understand why he did it, but she can’t leave him like this. She can’t just let him die.

But she is tired from the strain of healing him, and she can only make it so far before she has to pause to catch her breath. As hard as she tries, she can’t keep herself from looking back.

He’s lost consciousness. Katara isn’t sure whether she should be grateful for that or not. She certainly isn’t surprised. He’s so badly injured that it would be far more surprising to find him awake. And at least like this, he can’t recognize her. It’s probably less painful for him too.

She crouches down beside him and lets her hand hover just over his chest. Even without water, without touching him, she can feel the damage—burnt and blistering skin, crushed and torn organs, shattered bones. And farther down, energy knots around his spine, so tight and tangled that she can’t tell what is at the core of it. Broken bones, nerves ripped to shreds from the force of the blast and his landing—anything seems possible. She just can’t feel it through the haze of tangled energy. Not without picking apart all the knots to find what’s underneath.

Her gaze finds its way to his face again. Why does it have to be him? Of all the people in the world, he shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t have helped her.

She lingers on the scarred side of his face longer than she likes. She remembers the way the smooth, hardened ridges in his skin felt beneath her fingertips back in Ba Sing Se, the soft warmth of his breath against her palm, and—

With a gasp, she pushes herself back to her feet and grabs the cloth beneath his head again. The cave. She needs to get him to the cave before she tries to figure out anything else.

This time, she keeps her eyes on the forest ahead even when she has to stop to rest. She can’t afford to think about him. She’s helping the boy who saved her. The boy who didn’t hesitate to leap onto a man more than twice his size, to contain the attack meant for Katara. If he didn’t stop to worry about who she was before stepping in to help, then she can try to separate the too-familiar face from the boy who saved her.

She manages it for a while. Until she reaches the cave. Until she has no choice but to turn around to pull him the last few steps. By then, the sky is fading to a faint lavender-gray, and Katara can hardly feel her arms. Still, she does her best to avoid his face as she settles him in place and kneels by his side. He’s still breathing. Not well, but he’s breathing, and her efforts at repairing the damage to his organs seem to be holding up. That, she supposes, is the best she can expect.

After a long, slow breath, she rolls him onto his side to work the cloth out from beneath him, then rolls him onto his back again. Then, at last, she has no choice but to look at his face again.

Zuko. Zuko was the one who saved her. Zuko is the boy she healed and dragged away to shelter. And now Zuko’s life is in her hands.

The enormity strikes her all at once and she sits with a thump, clenching her hands together to stop them shaking. Why is Zuko here? What would have happened if not for his intervention? Did he know what he was doing? Who he was saving—what would happen to him when he did? Did he—did he know the man who attacked Katara? Or was it all an impulse? Did he just wander out into the night and happen across Katara and the man pursuing her by mistake? Did he leap into action because fighting is in his blood?

She can almost believe that last possibility. She’s seen Zuko fight plenty of times before. Picking fights, most of the time. She can almost believe that he would see huge, terrifying man lurking in the bushes and intervene just because he could.

But in all the times she’s seen him fight, Katara can’t remember anything like this. She can’t remember him ever defending anyone. Certainly not someone he didn’t know. He would never—he’d never defend her.

She pulls her knees up to her chest. Now that she’s given in, she can’t bring herself to look away from Zuko.

His hair is longer. Aside from his injuries, that’s the only real difference she can find in him. Aside from the burns trailing up and down both arms, aside from his scorched and blackened tunic, aside from the bruises blossoming through the tattered remains of his clothing, he looks just like he did in Ba Sing Se.

It feels like he shouldn’t. It feels like that was a lifetime ago, like she was a different person back then. A more naïve, more trusting person. It’s true enough, she supposes. She trusted him back in Ba Sing Se. She knows better now.

But he looks the same. While she watches him now, his eyes closed, lit only by the faintest glow from the east, all she can think about is that day in the catacombs. When he was just a boy crouching across from her, his eyes, his voice softer than she ever believed possible. When he gave in for just a minute, just long enough for her fingertips to trace over his scar before everything turned to dust around them.

Her throat burns and she squeezes her eyes shut. He looks the same. Just as soft, just as vulnerable. Just the same as the last time she believed that he could change. That he was capable of better—that there was compassion beneath the surface, and that if he were only willing to try, he could make everything different.

But that boy was never anything more than an illusion. Zuko is real. Zuko turned against her in the catacombs. She can’t delude herself about that anymore. He isn’t kind, he isn’t selfless.

Bitter threads wrap around her heart and pull tighter and tighter. He’s a firebender. He always has been. After Ba Sing Se, she should never have tried to heal him. After Ba Sing Se, she shouldn’t have even brought him this far. The boy who betrayed her doesn’t deserve her help.

But the boy who lies beside her now, unconscious and unmoving—he came to her rescue. He leapt into a fight he couldn’t possibly win without hesitation. He never stopped to figure out who he was helping. He threw everything he had into protecting Katara, and now—now his face contorts with every shallow breath. Now there’s hardly an inch of his body left that doesn’t radiate painful, broken energy.

If he were anyone else, Katara wouldn’t hesitate to do anything to keep him here. She would fight with all her strength to return the favor.

Her chest tightens as she watches his face.

This is Zuko. That has to change things.

Doesn’t it?

Chapter Text

Zuko’s mouth is dry. That’s the first thing he’s aware of. His mouth is dry, and his throat feels like gravel, and for a brief, bleary moment, he tries to remember where he left his drinking water. It has to be somewhere nearby. Waking up in the middle of the night is a common enough occurrence for him that he always plans for things like this. Or he thinks that he does. He can’t quite remember where he is, which makes things a bit more difficult.

His eyes open just a slit, and when the light hits him, a hundred other sensations strike at once. Pain, mostly. It hurts to blink, to breathe, to think. Zuko’s head spins, and the edges of his vision flicker and blur into darkness until all he can see is an amorphous smattering of grays and browns overhead.

He finds a dark, rusty streak in the center and does his best to focus on it until his breathing steadies a bit. The pain doesn’t subside, but the shock of it begins to dull. Enough so that he can at least get an idea of where it’s all coming from.

Nearly everywhere, as it turns out. His chest and stomach feel like they’re on fire, and it radiates outward from there. He recognizes the sharp, sour pain of burns across his arms, and the more solid, jagged sensation of broken bones. And beneath that, there is something else—something deeply wrong, though he can neither find nor identify it through the rippling surface of his reality.

For a while, it’s all he can do to keep breathing through the agony. This must be what dying feels like. Except that he’s here, and his heart is still beating—he knows that much for certain, because every pulse sends a fresh jolt through his chest. His eyes close, and he tries to steady himself.

No, this can’t be what dying feels like. This is awful, unbearable, but it isn’t dying. Dying is what he felt in the dead of night, when the stars shuddered and swam across the sky, when his lungs tried to reject the air. At the very least, death has retreated a few steps, back into the shadows to watch and to wait.

Flickers of memories return to him—an enormous figure lurking in the dark, a girl enveloped in swirling silken mists, feet pounding against the ground, then a wild leap into the air, and then—then nothing. A void. Light and darkness, cold and burning all wrapped up together, so entangled with each other that it all turned to emptiness. And all of it in a broad forest clearing somewhere.

When he manages to open his eyes again, the forest clearing is still missing. He can’t even see the sky. Though his eyes struggle to focus, he thinks the wash of mottled gray and brown above him looks like stone.

A cave? Is that where he is? How? He can’t remember anything after the darkened meadow, and through the haze that fills his mind, he can think of no way he could have moved here. Wherever here is.

Unless—he tries to raise his head.

His vision erupts in a burst of colors, and he falls back again. He would be screaming if his throat weren’t so dry, and as it is, the pain leaves him retching.

He didn’t make it here by himself. That much is clear. He won’t be leaving here on his own either. Not unless things change—unless everything changes—and he somehow recovers from whatever is wrong with him. But that doesn’t seem possible. He doesn’t have to know how this happened. He doesn’t have to know everything that’s broken. He can tell that it’s too much. He can feel each and every injury crying out, sapping his limited strength until even opening his eyes seems like too much effort.

He’s going to die, he thinks. He is alone, and in a matter of days, either his injuries or the thirst will get the best of him. No one will ever know the difference.

His eyes seal themselves shut, and Zuko lets his head loll to the side.

He doesn’t want to die. He doesn’t want to be forgotten.

He doesn’t think there’s anything he can do to stop it.

If it’s coming, he hopes that his end will be quick. That sleep will come for him first and soften all the edges before he slips away for good.

That someone, someday, might remember him and miss him at least a little.

As his consciousness begins to flicker, he briefly wonders how he ended up here. He is alone, but someone must have moved him. Someone must know where he is. Maybe if he’s lucky, someone will find him when this is all over. He certainly can’t expect anything more than that.

But before the world fades entirely to blackness, he remembers the hazy figure gliding down a street again. He remembers the veil trailing behind her, and a shadow rising from cover to pursue her. His mind replays the blast again, but this time, another flash follows. This time, he remembers a blurred face hovering over him, streaked with red and lit by an unearthly bluish glow.

He remembers someone telling him about a spirit who only visited in the dead of night. A spirit helping and healing—something about that sounds familiar.

Is she the one who moved him? Is she the one who slowed his descent?

The last of his consciousness begins to slip through his fingers, and he hopes with all he has left that she might be real. That she might come back, if only for an instant.

For a long time, Katara can’t stop shaking. It’s nearly daybreak by the time she arrives back at camp, the dirt-packed section of her robes draped over her arm. Aside from a few bruises on her arms and across her shoulder blades, the cloth she used to drag Zuko away is her only proof that anything happened at all. 

Everything looks the same. Her tent is still in order, and her supplies still neatly piled beside her sleeping bag. Appa opens one enormous eye at the sound of her footsteps, then closes it again, tucking his front paws underneath his chin. Momo is already searching the ground for bugs, and he scampers up to greet her, then clambers onto her head.

Nothing has changed. Not here. Not really. The prickling sensation on the back of her neck has subsided, and the air feels lighter somehow, but nothing else is different.

Only her. She’s only been gone a few hours, and yet everything feels foreign to her.

She clutches the cloth tight against her chest and huddles into Appa’s dense fur. It should feel foreign, she supposes. Someone was watching her all along. For days, probably, just waiting for an opportunity to do—something. To hurt her. To leave her broken and dying alone in the forest just like Zuko. Or worse.

She almost didn’t make it back this time. She could have died.

If not for Zuko’s intervention, she would have died.

She can’t bring herself to care about the dirt as she buries her face into the spare section of cloth. She would have died, and if the man who attacked her is any indication, there would have been nothing left. Sokka, Dad, Aang, and Toph—they never would have found her. They would miss her forever and never know what happened.

Her eyes begin to burn, and she presses them shut, shoulders shaking. She shouldn’t have gone to the village last night. She knew that before she even left camp. But if she hadn’t, then Zuko never would have found her. He never would have intervened. And the man still would have come for her.

She tightens herself into a ball as the first of the burning tears break loose. She’s fine. Everything is fine now, and she can’t understand why she’s crying. Still, the tears refuse to stop.

Appa gives a comforting rumble and turns his head far enough back to snuffle at her hair. A moment later, she feels little hands resting on her knee, and raises her head just enough to see Momo watching her too.

“Hey, buddy,” Katara whispers, patting Appa’s giant nose and stroking Momo’s ears with the other hand. “I’m okay. I promise I’m okay.”

It’s the truth. The threat to her life is gone now. Unless the villagers find her and decide that her help is unwelcome, then there is nothing left to hurt her.

But he isn’t okay. He is—he’s probably dying. Alone in that cave. Unconscious or in unbearable pain. All because of her.

What on earth is she supposed to do about him?

Momo loses interest in her crying and scampers across the clearing. Cooking pots clatter inside her tent, and the lemur emerges a few seconds later with a slice of dried ash banana sticking out of his mouth. He holds perfectly still, then chomps the ash banana in half and chews furiously, never breaking eye contact.

Katara rolls her eyes through a sniffle. She should care about that. She should be annoyed at Momo for rifling through her supplies, but right now, Zuko takes up too much of her attention. He’s going to need more healing soon. And food and water after that. And she doesn’t know if even that will be enough to hold him together.

He might still die. And either way, his life is in her hands. 

She wishes it weren’t. He’s still Zuko. Still the same Fire Nation prince who chased her and her friends all around the world, fighting them at every turn. Still the same boy who pretended to open his heart to her in Ba Sing Se. Who turned against her just when she started to trust him.

How can she justify helping him after all of that?

And how can she possibly think of leaving him to die?

She rests her head against Appa’s leg. She could take him to the village. They’re his people. They would look after him. The trouble is that they might not be able to do enough. It wouldn’t be her fault, but Zuko could still die in their care. And if he doesn’t die, then there’s always the chance that he might remember her. He might give her away—intentionally or otherwise. She can’t take that risk. Either risk.

She almost wishes that she had someone else to talk to—someone else who could help her sort out the mound of contradictions in her head. But she already knows what the others would tell her. Sokka would be pragmatic—they should leave Zuko behind because he’s the enemy and it will take too much work to save him. Aang would try to be kind, but he would inevitably bow to the others’ opinions. And Toph—she would probably want to interrogate Zuko before making any decisions.

Katara doesn’t want any of that. She doesn’t want to be beholden to their opinions, no matter what they may be. She wants to make her choice without interference or judgment.  

And yet she isn’t convinced that she can decide what to do on her own.

“What do you think, Appa?” she asks, quiet enough that her voice is nearly lost in the stillness of the clearing. “He’s going to die without me. But if I help him—” she trails off and closes her eyes. “Why should I help him? After everything he’s done, I can’t—”

She can’t make a fool of herself again. She can’t trust him after everything he’s done.

But now ‘everything he’s done’ includes saving Katara. Doesn’t that mean something? He didn’t know who he was protecting, but he did it all the same. 

Katara would have done the same. Or she would have come close. She might not have leapt onto an attacker’s back, but she would have helped. So would a lot of people. But there’s a difference between helping the way Katara and the boy in the village have been, and what Zuko did last night.

Wait. She sits perfectly straight, perfectly still. The boy who’s been helping the village—he’s supposed to be from the capitol. She knows that he’s strong and determined, and—really nothing else. But any one of those things could be Zuko. Zuko could be the boy from the capitol. It would explain his presence here. It would explain his apparent interest in the Painted Lady. And if it’s true—if they’ve been working in parallel all along, then her dilemma is solved. She can’t leave him to die if he’s done so much good.

She rests her chin on her knees. She doesn’t know what to believe anymore. Zuko seems like the last person who would ever give so much of himself, and yet there’s a part of her that wants to believe it. If she has a reason to help him, then she’ll have no reason to make herself feel guilty. She can go back to heal him and convince herself that it’s all for the sake of the village.

Confirmation. That’s what she really needs. If she can just find a definite answer about the boy from the capitol, she can make her decision.

Zuko won’t be any help. Even if he is lucid enough to tell her anything useful, she can’t trust him to tell the truth. But the villagers on the other hand—they have no reason to lie to her. Not if she’s careful.

She nearly forgets to wash off the rest of the red paint before she sets off, and once she does, it’s all she can do to keep from staring at the cave as she passes.

It won’t do any good to stop now, she tells herself. She doesn’t have either the water or the energy for any more healing, and she isn’t convinced that Zuko is strong enough to withstand another session anyway. She’ll come back for him later. When she’s sure that this is the right thing to do.

If she’s ever sure about anything again.

Her pace slackens as she makes her way past the burnt and shriveled grass where the confrontation took place. A shiver runs up her spine. It’s closer to the road than she remembers, and the ring of wilted vegetation spreads farther than she realized in the dark. All of that destruction—it could have hit her instead.

She edges a little closer, doing her best to ignore the harsh, burning scent lingering in the air. It’s too much like cooking gone wrong, and she doesn’t dare to think about where the smell is coming from. She finds the pair of swords lying blackened and abandoned, though, and stoops beside them. Her fingertips trail along the hilts and come back darkened with soot. Maybe on her way back, she can take them along with her.

Maybe.

She can’t afford to think about that yet. The truth has to come first.

The village is busy when she arrives—busier even than yesterday, and no one seems to notice her. Good. Katara needs to find the woman she’s spoken to before, or her questions will probably sound insane.

She winds her way up and down streets, trying her best not to stare at the little house with the crooked door, trying not to imagine Zuko standing on every street corner. She knows better than that. She knows better than to believe she’ll find him here. But she keeps imagining it anyway, thinking of all the places he could be, all the things he could be doing had he not thrown himself into danger.

It isn’t until she reaches the center of the village that she finds both the woman she’s been searching for and the source of the commotion. A line of carts, all stacked high with supplies, stand along the central street, and a group of people mill around several of the worst damaged houses discussing repairs.

They’re here to help, she realizes. They must be from the surrounding villages, come here in response to the letters the village sent out for assistance. As she meanders closer, Katara wonders if Zuko had some part in this. Did he bring some of them here? How much of this is his work?

The woman glances Katara’s way after a few minutes and nods, motioning her over.

“Looking for the messenger hawks already?”

It takes a while for Katara to realize what she means. So much has happened that her own alibi sounds foreign to her.

“I, um—”

“Because you’ll have to be more patient than that. They’re not back yet, and I wouldn’t expect them for another day or two at least.”

“That’s—” Katara breaks off. Her thoughts are messier than she realizes, and it’s difficult to find the words she wants. “If the hawks are still gone, then where did all these people come from?”

“Shu Jing. We sent a messenger there in person a while back. Guess a letter and a sack of money from the capitol is more persuasive than anything the rest of us could do.” There is a slight edge to her voice, but it’s only mild irritation. At least the people are getting the help they need.

“That’s actually why I’m here,” Katara says quickly. “The boy from the capitol—who is he?”

A skeptical eyebrow lifts. “Who wants to know?”

Katara answers slowly, carefully. “I think I met him on my way back to camp last night.” It isn’t a lie, strictly speaking. “I just want to be sure it was him and not someone I should be worried about.”

“Hmpf.” The woman looks her up and down. “He never told us much.”

Katara’s heart sinks. Zuko wouldn’t have kept secrets, would he? Not here. He’s royalty here.

The disappointment that strikes her through the middle of the chest takes her by surprise. It shouldn’t bother her if she’s wrong. She shouldn’t care.

“Teenager. Called himself Lee. Probably cuts his own hair with a kitchen knife. Looks like he doesn’t ever sleep.” There is a pause, then the woman motions to the left side of her face and finishes with, “Burn scar.”

Katara’s breath catches in her throat. It is Zuko. She can’t understand why he wouldn’t offer up his name, but it has to be him. He’s been fighting with everything he has to keep the village from collapse and now—now Katara has the chance to do the same for him.

Relief and dread in equal measures settle into the pit of her stomach and mingle there.

“That’s him. That’s who I saw.”

The woman frowns, turning to accept a crate off of one of the carts. “We haven’t seen him all morning.”

Katara’s throat burns. They won’t see him. Not unless she manages to heal him. And even then, not for a very long time.

She does her best to feign surprise. “Where do you think he is?”

“You probably know better than us if you saw him after sunset.” Another pause. “He got a letter yesterday. Could have something to do with that.”

That seems unlikely. Unless the letter told him something about the man coming to attack Katara, last night must have been a whim. A whim that could have killed him. He never would have intervened if he’d known who she was under her disguise.

Or would he?

“Thank you,” Katara says, trying to bury the conflict beneath a smile. She needs to get out of here, and she fumbles for an excuse. “I think—I need to get back to camp. If I still need a messenger hawk, I’ll check back in a few days.”

The woman shrugs. “Suit yourself.” She starts to turn away with the crate, then stops, turning back toward Katara. “If you see him before we do, tell him that he still has a house to come back to. His friends in the capitol may be useless, but he’s one of the good ones.” Then, before Katara can find another word, the woman turns away.

Chapter Text

The world won’t stop spinning away like it’s trying to escape his grasp. Like he’s pursuing it and the world wants nothing to do with him.

He shouldn’t be surprised. Most of the world doesn’t want anything to do with him. But the cave walls twisting out of his reach seem a bit extreme. Even the stars outside the cave refuse to stay in place, and their dance makes him dizzy. Nothing is certain, nothing makes sense when reality keeps warping itself into knots.

The one constant, the one point of certainty in his entire existence, is the pain. In some dim, deep recesses of his mind, he thinks that it should fade. That over time, he should get used to it and begin to heal. That he should stop feeling so much.

Too much.

Everything is too much.

But the pain doesn’t fade. So long as he lies perfectly still, it doesn’t worsen either.

Nothing changes.

This, he has to assume, is his new life. Nothing has changed, so nothing will change. For however long he manages to survive, things will be the same.

Still. Aching. Cold.

Alone.

His eyes close, and the darkness shuts out the spinning for an instant. This isn’t any better. Though the dizziness subsides, the pain is more than willing to flood in, filling the voids left behind.

He opens his eyes again, and a shadow obscures a patch of the stars. He blinks, and the shadow moves closer. It doesn’t bother him. Everything is moving. Everything but him. It makes sense that the shadow would move too.

“Look at me.” The voice is cool and hollow. A woman’s voice, though he can’t discern anything else. “You’re still here.”

Of course he is. Where else could he be? It’s the rest of the world that won’t stop moving. He has been right here almost as long as he can remember.

His eyes begin to close again, and the shadow looms nearer.

“No. Stay awake.”

He isn’t sure why, but he wants to obey. It’s difficult. He’s tired—so, so tired, and the pain cutting through his chest and radiating outward drains what little strength he has left. If he could sleep, it might help. It might be an escape, if only for a little while.

The shadow shifts to the side, and he struggles to follow it with his eyes. Something about the silhouette looks familiar—he thinks he recognizes the flowing robes and the broad hat. He should know her. He thinks he does know her. If he can just reach the memories—

A hand hovers over his forehead, and he can feel the warmth against his skin. Is he really that cold? It’s hard to tell through the fog clouding his mind.

The hand lingers just an instant over his forehead before retreating, and then something cool and wet presses against his mouth.

“You’re dehydrated. Drink. Slowly.”

The water is sweet and crisp, and it soothes his burning throat. Everything still hurts, but for the first time, he finds a shining point of relief and clings to it with all his might. If he can focus on that, maybe everything else will fade away for a while. Maybe it will be a little easier to keep breathing.

He doesn’t feel his eyes close, but they struggle their way open again to find the figure bowed over him, glowing a soft bluish white. Glowing or illuminated, he can’t quite tell the difference. Through the veil draped over her face, he can make out the delicate curve of her cheeks streaked with red and big, dark eyes that seem to pierce straight through his middle.

He remembers her. He knows that he does. If he can just figure out why—

It takes all his strength, but he reaches for where her hands rest against his chest. She pulls just out of his reach, and the glow flickers and fades.

Her eyes bore into his. “Don’t.” Her voice is softer this time, and the hollowness in her tone has faded. A different memory drifts toward the surface. “Don’t try to move.”

He hears a different message. Stay back. Don’t ask questions. Don’t try to recognize me.

Do this my way or do it on your own.

His strength fails, and his hand falls back to his side.

There is a slow exhalation, and the glow returns, growing brighter and brighter until he has to close his eyes to block it out.

Much as he wants to listen to her, much as he wants to push back the memories so that she might stay, his mind wanders. He remembers another moment just like this—lying on his back, immobile and in pain with a figure knelt beside him. He remembers a glow dulling all the sharp edges of his pain, and a gentle voice offering reassurances through the haze.

The Painted Lady. That’s who she is. Or it’s one of her names, at least. For now, it’s the only one he can find. For now, he can only hope that it isn’t enough to drive her away.  

After a long time, the glow fades again, but he can’t manage to open his eyes. He is tired. Far too tired.

A hand brushes across his forehead, and then something soft and warm settles over his chest. Though the ground is still cold and uneven, he feels something almost like comfort.

“Try to rest. You need time to heal.”

He couldn’t disobey if he wanted to.

Dressing as the Painted Lady feels strange tonight. She isn’t going to the village. There’s no real risk that she’ll be discovered or that showing her face might put her in jeopardy. She doesn’t need to hide behind a disguise tonight. Not really.

Still, she is meticulous in applying the streaks of red pigment. At her core, she knows that it’s absurd. There isn’t any real reason to disguise herself from Zuko. Even on the slight chance that he is lucid enough to recognize her, there is nothing he can possibly do about it. He can’t follow her. He can’t harm her. And yet the thought of being recognized sends chills up her spine.

It will be better this way, she tells herself. She can’t leave him to wither away alone in a cave. After everything, she owes him at least a chance. But he doesn’t need to know her name. That belongs to her. Healing him will be more than enough.

Maybe this will even help him. If Zuko doesn’t recognize her, maybe she can buy them both a little more time. If she never shows her face, then maybe she can keep coming back. Maybe she can give him a better chance at recovery.  

At least that’s what she tells herself as she sets off from camp, spare waterskins strapped beneath her robes and blankets draped over her arms. She is disguised for his sake, not because she is afraid. It has nothing to do with the fact that the veil makes her feel like a different person, like someone who belongs here. Like someone who should be helping him rather than someone who has been tricked by a misplaced sense of duty and debt.

He is unnaturally pale when she reaches him, and though his eyes are open, they refuse to focus. His breathing is thin and ragged, and he struggles to find her face. Her stomach sinks. How long has he been awake? How much time has he lain here, alone and in pain, and aware of it?

Katara edges into the cave and kneels beside him. Through the scorched remnants of his shirt, his skin looks worse than before—bruised and blistering all across his chest. Carefully, she pulls away the shreds of fabric, cutting through crumbling threads with her bending when they prove too stubborn to tear with her bare hands. There’s no use in trying to salvage his clothes now. Not when she can sense his pulse a few inches away, faint and erratic.

It’s lucky that it’s so dark. What little she can make out by the pale starlight filtering into the cave is already enough to make her stomach turn. She’s seen horrific injuries before, plenty of times, but never quite like this. Never while the heart keeps beating. It’s a wonder that he’s still holding on at all.

She does her best to keep her eyes averted while she helps him drink, then brings the rest of the water to his chest and pours herself into healing. This part is easier. By now, she knows the shape of his injuries, where all the jagged edges lie, and instinct guides her hands as she pieces them back together. With all her focus directed inward, on the struggling organs and torn tissue, she can forget the burns for a little while. She can pretend that the only damage, the only pain, is fading away between her hands. 

That’s a lie. She’s fully aware that there is more wrong with him, but after a while, she begins to feel his energy as well. A warm, faint light pulses outward, shining through all the cracks like it’s trying to help mend them. Like it wants to help Katara’s healing along if it can only figure out how. Though it flickers and fades, there is something hopeful in it.

He’s still fighting. Even deep, deep down, even through all the pain, he’s still trying to survive. If she’s careful, she can guide him back along that path. She just doesn’t know how far she can take him. Or how much time she has left to do it.

When his heart and lungs—all his organs—seem to be functioning properly again, Katara hesitates, just holding the water in place to soothe him while she surveys the rest. Even with all of that fixed, there is still too much damage. Burns trailing up and down his arms and torso, cracks in too many bones to count, and wrapped around his spine, an absurd wrongness that she still can’t identify.

There’s still so much she needs to do, so much she needs to fix, and she hasn’t the faintest idea where to start.

As she puzzles over it, her gaze tracing from one injury to the next, Zuko’s hand raises just a bit. Her breath catches, and she looks him in the eye for the first time. His forehead creases, and by the glow of her healing water, his face glistens with beads of sweat. Even in the dark, his face is ashen, and his eyes still refuse to focus. But his hand is still there, reaching out, trying to find her.

Katara pulls back. Instinct tells her to take his hand, to reassure him that he isn’t alone, that the pain will fade in time. That he’ll get better, and that she’ll be here whenever he needs her. It may not be entirely truthful, but that doesn’t matter. Comfort and reassurance—that has to be what he’s looking for right now. But his skin is raw and puckered from the burns, and Katara doesn’t dare to touch him unless she’s prepared to heal it. Unless Zuko is still and quiet enough to tolerate the healing.

“Don’t.” She forgets to disguise her voice, and it comes out quiet and uncertain. “Don’t try to move.”

It’s just going to hurt you more. I know it’s not the kind of help you want, but you have to give me time to heal you first. Maybe in a day or two, when the burns are healed and the cracks in his ribs begin to close, she can spare a little time for comforting words and holding his hand.

No, she tells herself. Even then, she can’t be too soft with him, she can’t comfort him the way that all her instincts say she should. She’s here as his healer, nothing else. She’s not his friend. They cannot—will not—be friends.

His hand hovers a second before it falls limp at his side again, and Katara lets out a breath. Good. She can’t be certain that he understands. She can’t be certain about much of anything, but at least he’s stopped.

She draws the water back together again and holds it against his midsection. As the healing glow brightens and spreads, her eyes are drawn downward to the burns, to the swollen, glossy patches on his hands and arms.

She remembers when her own hands looked like that. When the sharp pain drove her to the edge of a river where the water first responded to her silent pleas and smoothed the damage away. But Zuko’s burns are worse, and he’s had them for a full day. And yet they haven’t stopped him from reaching out in search of her. In search of warmth and reassurance.  

Her eyes prickle inexplicably, and she clenches her jaw. The burns have to go. Even if she can’t take hold of his hand and tell him that he’s going to be okay, he should at least be able to reach out. He should be able to try without causing himself pain.

She traces the burns up to his shoulders and begins there, frowning as she tries to wash away the redness and the swelling. In the periphery, she can see his face contort as his eyes press shut. She hopes that it’s exhaustion rather than pain. She hopes that he’s trying to rest.

Slowly, carefully, she works her way down one arm then the other, repairing his skin inch by inch. It’s too soon and too dark to know whether any scars will be left behind, but by the time she’s finished, the skin is smooth and whole.

This is practical, she tries to convince herself. Both the night and her strength for healing are running thin, and there is still so much to do, but his burns are gone, and with them, most of the danger of infection. His ribs are still broken, and his spine encased in impossible tangles, but the burns could have killed him in a matter of days.

Or, she adds as she drapes a blanket across his chest, maybe it was only pity. Maybe it just bothered her to see him in pain. And maybe some small part of her wants him to be able to reach out for help, for comfort. Maybe a part of her wants to provide it even though she knows that she shouldn’t.

She sits down beside him as his breathing slows and he lapses into sleep. His breaths still come in shallow rasps, but they are steadier than she remembers. And in sleep, his expression eases too. He’s better than he was before. Not very much, but better.

She pushes her veil aside and watches his face, nearly lost in the shadows of the cave. More than anything else, the softness in his face reminds her of Ba Sing Se. Of the catacombs, and the precious, fragile minutes when she believed that he was different. That he was good, and that he might choose a better path. A path with her and with her friends.

After what he’s done to help the village, she almost believes that he’s capable of it. That he can change. After throwing himself into danger to keep Katara safe, she can almost believe that the thoughtful boy she met in the catacombs is still in there somewhere.

Almost.

Or maybe she just wants to believe that Zuko is worth all the effort.

Her hands clench into fists and she closes her eyes. She can’t allow herself to believe that. She fell for his act back in Ba Sing Se, and she can’t fall for it again. If his kinder side was ever real, it must be reserved for his own people. For rebuilding villages in his own nation, for doing his duty as royalty.

He never would have protected her if he’d known that she wasn’t Fire Nation.

Her insides knot up. The worst part is that she can’t blame him for anything he’s done here. Katara cares about the village too. The common people of the Fire Nation are just that—people—and she can’t keep herself from caring.

Why is it that she feels so compelled to act, to help, when Zuko has never returned the favor? He’s never knowingly taken a risk for anyone outside the Fire Nation. How can that be when he apparently cares so much for his own people?

Or maybe that isn’t the worst part. Maybe the worst part is that despite it all, Katara wants to help him. And as time goes on, as she continues to heal him, things will inevitably become clearer. If he survives, he’ll grow more lucid by the day, and Katara’s stupid, childish optimism will be dashed to pieces when she discovers which side of him is real. One way or another, she’ll find confirmation of what she already knows—that Zuko has never cared for anyone outside the Fire Nation. She’ll have to live her life knowing that she was tricked twice by the same boy.

Because if she is honest with herself, she has to admit that she doesn’t just want to help him. She wants to believe that he deserves her help. She wants to believe that those moments of kindness in Ba Sing Se were genuine. That he has a heart after all, and that he is capable of change.

For a while, she watches his sleeping face before she bends the sweat from his forehead and tests his temperature with the back of her hand. He’s warm, though not quite to the point of fever.

She should leave him. Feverish or not, Katara has done all she can for him tonight. It does little good to hover beside him, lost in her own thoughts. Zuko will survive or he won’t, and in the meantime, Katara should return to camp and rest.

She can’t convince herself to move.

Chapter Text

It isn’t until after he’s turned his head that Zuko realizes that something is different. He can move. Not much, and not without difficulty, but he can at least move his head without pain so intense that it makes him retch. A small improvement, but that’s usually the best he can hope for.

His vision seems a little clearer too. Though edges soften and blur, and the light from outside is bright enough to make his head pound, the details don’t attempt to swim clear of his reach.

He is in a cave, that much is clear. The walls around him are dark and drab, and the ceiling is low enough that he would have to duck his head if he could stand. If he could find the strength to move that far. But he can scarcely raise his head up off the ground, and a gentle voice in his memory tells him not to move. To rest and to give himself time to heal.

That’s right. He can remember things too. He remembers a shadow in the mouth of the cave, a shadow that came closer until he could finally recognize the Painted Lady kneeling at his side. He remembers her voice, gentle, if a little distant, as she told him to rest. He remembers her hands on his chest and an unearthly bluish glow that dulled all the sharpest edges.

That must be why the pain is less consuming than he remembers. The ache in his chest still worsens with every breath, and nearly everything else hurts as well, but it’s—less.

She must have helped him. She must have done something to drive away the edges of the pain.

He can’t imagine why. This is far from the first time he’s been hurt, and he’s encountered plenty of spirits in his life. They’ve never once taken an interest in him before. What makes this time so different? Why is he worthy of the spirits’ notice now?

He almost thinks that it was all a hallucination. That none of his memories after the injuries can be real. That maybe the pain was so severe that it muddled his mind and conjured the Painted Lady from nothing. People talked about her in Shusoku, didn’t they? Maybe that’s what he’s remembering, and his mind is just twisting things until it seems real and he can see the spirit herself.

But he remembers seeing Kentaro Bumu. He remembers keeping low to the ground, creeping nearer and nearer until he could see the rivets and seams in Kentaro’s mechanical arm. He remembers the Painted Lady making her approach up the hill, then veering off the path just as Kentaro surged out of hiding. He remembers the split-second decision to follow, and his inexplicable resolve to protect her, no matter what the cost. After that, everything grows less distinct—just a haze of near unbearable heat and light, and then falling into blackness.

He can’t have imagined that. He knows that he’s hurt, he knows that it had to happen somehow, and his memories are too clear right up until the end. He can’t have imagined the Painted Lady any more than he’s imagining his own injuries or the man who caused them.

Zuko turns his head toward the side where he remembers her kneeling in the night. She isn’t there. It shouldn’t surprise him. He can hardly imagine that a spirit who only ever visited Shusoku after dark would bother staying with him in the daytime.

She isn’t there, but a small, unfamiliar leather pouch lies just within arm’s reach. If he can manage, he needs to find out what it is.

It takes a considerable effort to raise his arm—and when he manages it, he pauses, startled into stillness when he discovers a blanket draped across his chest. That is new to him. He certainly doesn’t remember having a blanket before.

The Painted Lady must have left that too.

By the time he reaches the pouch and succeeds in dragging it closer, his strength is drained almost to nothing. It’s heavy enough that he has to assume that it’s a waterskin, and all at once, he realizes how dry his throat is.

He fumbles for the cork, to no avail. His hands are too clumsy and his arms too weak, and after struggling with it for what feels like ages, both arms fall limp, the waterskin still tucked against his side like a child’s toy.

He couldn’t have lifted it anyway, he tells himself. Or if he had managed, he would have lost his grip and spilled out its contents or dropped the entire waterskin on his face. As badly as he needs something to drink, neither would do him any good.

Tonight. He can last that long without water, and if the Painted Lady returns, she might be kind enough to help him drink. And if not—if Zuko is really alone, maybe he’ll be strong enough to try again.

He’s asleep when Katara arrives. Good. He needs the rest, and if she can spend an hour or two healing him and sneak away unseen, all the better. Now that she’s come to him once in the guise of a spirit, she has no choice but to keep up the charade, and the less he sees of her, the better the chances that the illusion will hold.

The better his chances of making a real recovery.

She walks as lightly as she can, stepping on soft grass and packed soil to avoid any cracking twigs or crunching gravel, and crouches down beside him. He’s pale, like before, but his expression is placid and his breathing even, if a little shallow. He’s better than last night. Not strong enough to survive long on his own, but better. For now, that’s all she can expect.

She lets her hand hover just a fraction over his forehead, not quite brushing the skin. Like when she left him, he is warm, but she can’t quite tell whether it’s a fever or not. Not without touching him. Not without disturbing his sleep.

Of course, she’ll likely wake him when she pulls the blanket away to get at his broken ribs, but for now, she just watches him. He’s peaceful. Quiet and still and vulnerable. Somehow, it still takes her by surprise. She isn’t used to seeing him like this, even after the catacombs. He just looks so young, so soft.

“I couldn’t get the water open.”

The voice is faint and crackling, and for a moment, Katara isn’t entirely sure that it’s real. It doesn’t sound like Zuko. The hard, angry edge to his voice is gone, replaced by thin, crackling weariness.

But when she pulls her arm back, his tired golden eyes stare up at her, and he does his best to push the blanket down from his shoulders.

She follows his feeble gesture to where the waterskin lies tucked beneath his arm, unopened. Last night, she’d left it behind, hoping that he might at least be able to drink. She can’t leave food behind, not yet. Not when he is still so weak, not when the wildlife might come snooping around in search of food and find him lying here, defenseless. Somehow, though, she’d managed to forget that a full waterskin might be too heavy for him to lift.

“You need to drink,” she says, doing her best to disguise her voice.

“I know. I tried, but—”

He’s misunderstood her. He thinks she’s upset—that she’s reprimanding him for not making use of the water she left. That’s the trouble with disguising her voice. She can’t speak too plainly or he might suspect that she isn’t the Painted Lady after all, and yet her stiff formality doesn’t leave enough room for softness.

She shakes her head. How to approach this without sounding too—human?

“What happened?”

“My hands—”

Katara follows his gaze downward to the pale hand struggling to raise more than a few inches off of his chest. With a frown, she lets her hand hover over his, just near enough to feel his warmth, to sense his energy. The burns are gone. His hands are undamaged, as far as she can tell.

“Are they hurting?” she asks in a whisper. Maybe she’s left some scar tissue behind—maybe that’s what’s bothering him. Maybe there is a lingering ache that she won’t be able to fix.

Zuko shakes his head ever so slightly  “No. They just can’t—” He tries to make a fist, but tremors run through his hand until he has to give up and lower it back to his chest.

Katara wants to take hold of his hand. She wants to cradle it between both of her own and hold it steady until the trembling stops.

Instead, she wraps them around the waterskin. She can’t do that. She isn’t here to comfort, only to heal.

“You need help,” she tries, a little quieter this time.

There is a flash of something in his eyes—sorrow, humiliation, she can’t tell which—but then he nods. “I think so.”

Simple enough. She can help him drink. She can drain the waterskin until it’s light enough for him to lift, then work on his ribs until her energy for healing is spent, and that will be the end of it. She’ll have done all she can for him, and she can return to camp and do her best to forget him until tomorrow night.

She removes the cork, and just as she starts to draw the water out with her bending, she catches another glimpse of his eyes. They’re clearer than before. They still fade in and out of focus, but he’s watching her. And at least most of the time, he seems to understand what she’s doing.

She releases the water before it can emerge from the mouth of the waterskin. No bending. Not while he’s watching her. He has to remember what waterbending looks like, and if he sees it, he’ll begin to suspect her.

Katara can’t risk that. Especially not now, when he’s barely stable enough to last a day on his own. All his suspicions would be correct, and he would remember her in a heartbeat. And if she reveals herself, she’ll have no choice but to abandon him. She won’t be able to risk turning him over to the village if he knows she’s nearby. She’s been discovered once already. She refuses to put herself in that kind of danger again.

But he won’t last on his own. If she leaves him now, all her work will have been for nothing. He’ll be dead in a matter of days.

She wonders how long she can keep up this charade. Sooner or later, Zuko is going to look beneath the veil and realize that the features look familiar. He will recognize her as an enemy, and then—then leaving him is the kindest option she can think of. Maybe if she’s lucky, she’ll be close to leaving too. Maybe she’ll be able to point the villagers toward his hiding place and then vanish before they can hunt for her. Maybe they’ll look after him when she can’t anymore.

Or maybe she’s too optimistic. Maybe Zuko will attack like he’s done before, and Katara will have to flee. Maybe he’ll force her to leave him alone.

But for now, she tries to push that possibility out of her mind. He doesn’t recognize her yet. And for now, he still needs her.

Katara hesitates a moment before she slips a hand beneath his shoulders and lets his head come to rest in the crook of her elbow. He grimaces with the motion, and Katara holds him still and steady until the creases in his forehead begin to smooth. He looks so vulnerable like this, yet so open and trusting.

She tips the waterskin to his lips and lets him drink his fill before her thoughts can wander any further, before her most foolish impulses can win her over and she ends up cradling him, stroking his hair until he falls asleep. Healing, not comfort, she reminds herself. That’s what she’s here for, and that’s what Zuko needs.

A low, painful groan escapes him as she lowers him back to the ground, and Katara averts her eyes, focusing on the waterskin. If she doesn’t look at him, then maybe she’ll be able to restrain herself from doing anything stupid.

Zuko draws a few harsh, ragged gasps before his breathing steadies again. The pain is evident in the sound of it, but Katara clenches her jaw. It’s his ribs bothering him, and they won’t be soothed by anything short of healing water. She knows that. She needs to remember it.

In the meantime, she dangles the waterskin outside the mouth of the cave, letting its contents trickle out until it’s only half full, then returns to his side. Delicately, doing her best not to touch him, she balances the waterskin on one of his hands.

“Can you lift it now?”

His hand trembles, but after some effort, he raises it an inch or two. He nods faintly. “I think so.”

Good. Katara replaces the cork and settles the waterskin back in against his side. By the time he needs more to drink, he’ll feel better—his chest will hurt less, and he should be better rested. By then, he should be able to manage it on his own.

“Why do you care?” he rasps after a pause. “The spirits have never helped me before.”

In Katara’s experience, few of them do. Most spirits care more for themselves and their homes than for any people who might happen to share their corner of the world. They are usually apathetic, at best. But by the look on Zuko’s face, she can see that he doesn’t stop there. He doesn’t just believe that the spirits have forgotten him. He thinks that they are determined to harm him.

“You helped the village,” she answers. The Painted Lady did thank Katara back in Jang Hui. It isn’t entirely unreasonable to think that she would go a step further for Zuko here.

He scoffs. “Helped. I dug a hole in the ground.” His voice catches on the last word, and he coughs a few times, face contorting horribly.

She can’t stand to watch any longer. While his eyes are shut, Katara coats her hands in water and presses them to his bare, shuddering chest. He hasn’t seen her heal before. So long as the water remains out of sight, he shouldn’t recognize what she’s doing. The glow should be unfamiliar enough to trick him, at least for a while.

Slowly, his face relaxes again, and his eyes open a slit.

“You dug a well. You brought them water,” she says softly, keeping her eyes focused on her hands as she searches for the cracks and brings the bones back into alignment.

“They had the river. The well—it was just something to make me feel useful.”

Katara shakes her head. “The river was too far. They didn’t have the strength to make the trip anymore. The well brought water where they could reach it.”

In the periphery, she sees his arm tighten just a little around the waterskin, holding it snug against his side as though it’s something familiar and comforting rather than just a leather pouch.

“Life relies on water,” she adds when he goes still again. “You brought that back to them. Of course you helped.”

Zuko frowns, but he makes no attempt to argue.

Katara’s forehead creases as she focuses harder on mending his chest. Bone is difficult to work with, and she has to manipulate all the fluid around it to push fragments back where they belong and fix them in place. Even then, the seams feel fragile, like a single jolt or cough could break them all loose again. It’s a start, though. If she can put everything back in its proper place, then it should be easier to bind it all together and keep it from splintering again.

“You helped them too,” Zuko whispers, almost as though he’s afraid to breathe too deeply while she works on his chest. “You helped them more.”

She pauses in the middle of sealing a particularly nasty fracture. “How do you know that?”

“They talked about you. I didn’t believe it at first, but then—” his brow furrows. “I saw you too.”

On the night of the attack, she assumes. He must have been watching her—he must have heard enough rumors to pique his interest, then snuck out in the night to watch for her. She remembers feeling a second pair of eyes following her through the village, and an uneasy tingling at the back of her neck that intensified the farther she ventured from the houses. She remembers feeling the presence in the village as wary and suspicious and the one in the open as sinister, even downright terrifying. She remembers the moment when she considered turning back for the village to hide among the houses and take her chances with whoever was waiting for her there.

Maybe if she had, this would never have happened. Maybe Zuko would have been okay. But then maybe the man would have caught her instead. Maybe Zuko wouldn’t have been able to stop it.

“Why aren’t you in Shusoku now?” His voice breaks through her thoughts. “They matter more than me.”

Her insides turn cold at the last part, and she pulls her gaze away from his bruised and broken chest to meet his eyes. Does he mean that? Does he believe it?

“They don’t need my help,” she replies. It’s the safest answer she can think of. And with the carts and the visitors from Shu Jing, she thinks it might be true. The village can rebuild itself now. She looks deep into his eyes. “But you do.”

His single eyebrow lowers a bit, and his forehead creases. “But the spirits never help me. I’m not lucky. The world just keeps trying to crush me.”

Katara tries to keep working, though she can’t manage to look away. He’s so uncertain, so lost, and it hurts more than she expects to see him question his worth like this. Whatever else he may be, he’s still the boy who saved her life. He knows that, doesn’t he?

She can’t bring herself to say it. “So why do you trust me to help you?”

He struggles with that one for a moment. The pain seems to be wearing on him, and his eyelids sag. As far as she’s concerned, that’s a good thing. The sooner he sleeps, the sooner she can stop hiding her water from him, and the sooner she can start trying to push his voice back out of her head. 

“You helped Shusoku,” he settles on eventually. “You helped them. Lots of spirits don’t help.”

He makes a surprisingly good point. She’s encountered plenty of unhelpful spirits in the past several months. Katara turns her focus back to his ribs.

“And lots of people don’t help either. But you did, so I’ll help you in return.”

Zuko nods, but his eyes have closed, and he’s beginning to drift. For a few moments, he is silent, and Katara begins to believe that he is asleep. But then in the faintest rasp, “What’s wrong with me?”

By the time she realizes that he isn’t being metaphorical, he’s already sleeping. Still, she finds her eyes drawn lower, toward where she knows the mass of twisted energy swirls around his spine.

Tentatively, she reaches toward it and feels as deep as her bending will let her. A storm of burning, damaged energy surges up to meet her hand, and she has to pull away.

She bites her lip and squeezes her eyes shut. In a way, she is afraid to finish with his ribs. Because as soon as they are healed, she’ll have to confront whatever is at the core of that horrible, darkened wrongness.

Chapter Text

Zuko isn’t patient. Waiting has never been one of his strengths. Even when there is nothing useful to be done, he always manages to find something to keep his hands and his mind occupied. Anything to keep out the unpleasant thoughts that threaten to engulf him at every turn.

Right now, lying alone in a cave, that is a rather difficult prospect. There is nothing to look at that he hasn’t already stared at for hours, and nothing for him to do when he can hardly move. It’s a bit easier to breathe today, and his hands feel a bit stronger, but he can move no farther than that. Every time he thinks of moving, every time he tries, something sparks and crackles low in his back. It isn’t pain exactly, but it’s enough to leave him gasping all the same. There is something wrong with him. Something deeply, horrifically wrong, and he can’t quite identify what it is.

It was easier, in a way, when he hurt too much to think. He’s known all along that he is hurt, but now he can feel the depth of it. Now that his burns are gone and his ribs ache a little less, he isn’t so quick to tire. Now he can lie awake for what feels like hours, and in that time, he has no choice but to think.

If things are as bad as he suspects—if he is hurt too badly to ever recover—then life as he used to know it is over. His future, or what little remains of it, will turn upside down.

He can’t go back home, that much is obvious. Even before the injuries, Father never wanted him back. Now that there is something wrong with his spine, something that seems irreparable, he can’t even try to convince himself.

He is unwanted. Useless. Maybe he always has been.

It surprises him how little it hurts to admit it. Maybe there is simply enough lingering pain to drown out the shock, but if anything, he feels steadier with the admission.

He isn’t going home. Not even if he somehow heals enough to leave this cave. Not ever.

He thinks he knew as much before his confrontation with Kentaro Bumu. He thinks he can remember a mantra pounding through his head when he leapt onto the man’s enormous back—nothing left to lose. Nothing left to lose. Nothing left to lose.

He was only half wrong about that. He’s been hurt before, but never this badly. Never so badly that he still can’t identify all his own wounds after days of waiting. But not being able to go home—that doesn’t feel so bad anymore. He won’t have to get his hopes up that one more mission, one more accomplishment might finally earn Father’s affection. He won’t have to watch all his efforts crumble to dust in his hands. And if he’s lucky, he’ll never face one of Azula’s threats again. No more insults or manipulation. No more favors too steep for him to ever repay, no more tiptoeing around the truth just to keep himself alive. And no more assassins nearly killing him for getting in the way.

Kentaro Bumu was Azula’s doing, wasn’t he? It’s the only thing that makes sense to Zuko. Azula has never been one to do things halfway, and if anyone could find and hire a near-mythical assassin, it’s her. And if there’s one thing she would hire Kentaro for, it’s finding the Avatar.

The only thing that doesn’t seem to fit is the Painted Lady. Azula would hire an assassin, of course she would. And she would set an assassin out after a child if it meant bringing down the Avatar. But why target the Painted Lady? It doesn’t make any sense, unless—a possibility flickers into his mind, but before Zuko can grasp onto it, it fades away.

He releases a long sigh. There are still parts of his memory that seem walled off from him, inaccessible for some reason. The Painted Lady must be one of them.

Right now, he doesn’t think he has the strength the battle his way through those walls to find what lies beneath. The Painted Lady is real, he knows that much. Real, and the only reason he’s still alive. The only chance he has at staying alive. He suspects that he’s no more than a mile from Shusoku, but if the Painted Lady decides to abandon him, he may never be found. He’ll waste away in this cave, alone and forgotten.

But the Painted Lady won’t leave him. At least he doesn’t think so. She’s already come back to him—three times? More? The exact number doesn’t matter very much. It’s still more than he could have expected. More, he thinks, than she would have bothered with if Zuko was just a passing whim to her. It seems like too much time, too much effort to pour out if she intends to abandon him. Besides, he’s seen what she’s done for Shusoku. Zuko is one person. Hardly worth her time when there is an entire village she could be helping instead, but he’s seen her determination. If she thinks that he’s worth the effort, then she’ll keep coming back.

She’s brought him water and blankets, after all. That has to mean something.

His hand closes around the neck of the waterskin. It does mean something, though most likely not what he hopes. It probably doesn’t mean that she cares about him. It probably doesn’t mean that his chances of recovery are good.

But it does mean that the Painted Lady is probably human. He doesn’t think that a real spirit could bring him a blanket. He isn’t even sure that a spirit would understand why he needed a blanket.

She’s definitely human.

His pulse quickens, and he does his best to steady his breathing as bits of his memory come clearer. He remembers staring long and hard at smooth ripples carved into the earth by water. He remembers clambering up onto a roof to wait and watch for the Painted Lady to appear. He remembers seeing her come closer, very much real, and almost near enough to touch.

And then—he remembers a flash of light streaming from Kentaro’s forehead as Zuko struggled to hold his swords in place to block the imminent blast. He remembers seeing her face uncovered and illuminated for just an instant, but when Zuko strains for the details, it all begins to slip away again. The details blur into one another until all he can remember is the Painted Lady, concealed by her veil once again.  

He recognized her. He knows that much. There was a moment, once, when he had a real, human face to assign to the Painted Lady, but now his mind refuses to stretch back that far. The wall around the forbidden parts of his memory reasserts itself, and Zuko has to close his eyes against a wave of dizziness.

He knows the Painted Lady. For now, that has to be enough. He can’t push himself any further when it hurts to think too hard. Maybe he’ll recognize her again someday. Maybe all the details will eventually snap into place, and the wall cutting him off from some of his memories will crumble.

In the meantime, he knows that she is human. He knows that she has been helping him for days with nothing to show for it. Zuko owes her something in return. Even if he can’t properly repay her, he ought to show his gratitude somehow.

Maybe if he does, she’ll see a little more reason to return to him. Spirits know there’s nothing else in this for her.

The trouble is that he has nothing to offer her. Here in the cave, all he has are his own clothes—and now that he thinks of it, he’s fairly certain that his shirt is already gone, likely burned right off his body. He can’t even be positive that he’ll be awake to thank her when she arrives, and he can’t possibly give her anything of value either.

Not unless his trunk is still in Shusoku. He may not be able to reach it, but she can. And maybe, if he’s extremely lucky, she might accept some of his belongings as payment.

It takes a tremendous amount of effort to roll even halfway onto his side, and when he does, Zuko has rest for a long while. And when the throbbing pain finally eases enough that he can catch his breath, he opens his eyes again. He is exhausted already, but he needs to be certain that she gets his message one way or another.   

He feels around until he finds a jagged rock the size of his fist, and slowly, carefully, begins to scratch a message into the ground.

Though she knows that it’s safer to visit at night, it’s becoming harder to force herself to wait for sunset. She isn’t tired. She’s slept for most of the day already, and she just keeps thinking about Zuko. There’s so much more for her to do. Cracks still remain in his ribs, and now that he’s a little stronger, he needs to eat as well. And if she is rested well enough to heal again, what’s the use in waiting?

Except for the fact that he’s getting better. He was lucid enough to hold a brief conversation last night, and for all she knows, he may already be well enough to remember her. And as the days go on, he’ll only grow stronger.

Katara has to visit him at night. That’s the only way she has a chance of keeping her face hidden.

But she doesn’t like it. Nor does Momo. When she paints the red streaks on her face and arms far too early, the lemur spends several minutes hiding from her, only to emerge with a shriek and try to snatch the paint jar from her hand.

Katara gives him a slight swat and twists the lid back onto the jar before he can stick his hands inside.

“You’re a terror sometimes, you know that?”

Momo snatches the jar and chases it halfway across the clearing before it catches on a raised root and he loses interest.

Katara pulls the small package of food at her side from his grasp when he returns to investigate that too. “Stop it. This is for Zuko. He hasn’t eaten in days, but you’ve spent all day chewing on bugs.”

The feeling of his name on her tongue startles her. She’s avoided saying it for days in a silent hope that he might never remember her if she doesn’t admit to knowing him. But his name comes too easily, too naturally. It’s warm and soft on her lips, and for a moment, she remembers holding him, his head resting in the crook of her arm.

“Zuko.” It’s barely more than a breath, but it escapes against her will. “Zuko saved my life.”

Her face burns, and she pinches the bridge of her nose, trying not to smear the careful streaks of red across her face. She needs to get herself under control. Maybe it’s ridiculous to think that she can avoid any trouble by just avoiding his name, but she can’t risk it. She can’t get in the habit of saying his name if there’s a chance that she’ll slip up in front of him.

But she can’t hold herself back. Maybe what she really needs is to get it out of her system. To say everything that’s on her mind while she’s all alone so that it doesn’t slip out later.

“Zuko saved my life,” she repeats to the empty clearing. “And now I’m trying to save him.”

Nothing but soft silence comes in reply. Katara doesn’t know why it surprises her. There’s no one else here. No one else who can answer her. No one else she would trust with this. Still, she almost wishes that someone would answer.

“Or maybe I already saved him. He’s alive. He wouldn’t have survived this long on his own, but I kept him here. That counts, doesn’t it?” She stares at Appa like he might somehow answer. “That’s really all he did for me, isn’t it? He made sure I didn’t die. And I did the same for him. That makes us even.”

Appa just keeps chewing, not looking her way.

“Answer me! We’re even, right?”

Appa makes a sound that might be either a grunt or a belch.

With a groan, Katara tucks the package of food under her arm and crosses the clearing to retrieve her jar of red paint. “Why can’t it be that simple?”

She wishes it were. She wants to believe her own lies. But Zuko kept her safe. He threw his life away without a moment’s hesitation. He almost died to keep Katara from getting hurt. As much time, as much effort as she’s put into healing him, she hasn’t had to risk much of anything. If she stops visiting him, he will die.

She doesn’t want that to happen. Even though it was his own stupid choice to sacrifice himself, she doesn’t think she’ll be able to live with herself if she lets him go. She never asked him to take this risk, but if he dies, it will be her responsibility. Besides, he’s shown her glimpses of a different person beneath the surface—the same gentler, kinder boy she first met in Ba Sing Se. She can’t bring herself to let go of that boy. He is worth saving. 

If he’s real.

If that version of Zuko has ever been anything more than an illusion.

She begins to think that she’s losing her mind with all the questions swirling through her head, but at long last, the sun dips below the horizon. Katara pulls on her robes, then her hat. It’s still early—possibly too early—but she can’t bring herself to wait any longer. She has to see him.

Momo tries to follow her out of camp, but even after stopping to scold him, it’s barely dark when she reaches the cave. The sky is still streaked with gray, and she hovers outside for a while, just out of sight. She wonders if it’s late enough. If he sees her, recognizes her, then it will be over. Then she’ll have to give up on the faint chance that the version of Zuko she remembers from Ba Sing Se might come back. She’ll have to choose between abandoning him entirely and facing the risks of turning him over to the village.

But luckily Zuko is asleep when she kneels by his side. Though his eyelids flicker at the sound of her feet crunching across the gravel, they don’t open. Letting out a slow breath, Katara sets the package of food down within easy reach. It’s all dried fruit—not exactly a proper meal, but it should be enough to keep him fed for a day or two, and, she hopes, unlikely to attract any dangerous animals into the cave.

When he’s stronger, she can bring him something better. As long as he doesn’t recognize her, there will be plenty of chances.

For a while, she just watches him sleep. Except for small twitches crossing his forehead, he is more peaceful than she’s seen him in ages. Yesterday, he seemed to be a light sleeper, but today, he doesn’t stir.

Cautiously, she feels his forehead and checks his pulse. Everything seems fine. He’s not feverish, his pulse is steady, and when she nudges the waterskin by his side, it feels lighter than last night. He’s as well as she can hope for. He must just be exhausted. She isn’t surprised. Though his injuries are healing, his condition is delicate, and it takes much of his strength to make it through the day. The fact that he is still asleep means nothing. Or maybe it’s a good thing. It means that he’s recovering.

But the longer she looks at him, the more she starts to notice something—off. It isn’t that he’s sick. No, he is improving. It’s something else.

She starts to pull the blanket back to check on his healing chest when she realizes it. He’s moved. Not much—barely enough to be noticeable, but he’s rolled ever so slightly onto his side, twisted uncomfortably at the waist. At some point during the day, he must have turned partway over onto his side.

Maybe that’s why he’s sleeping so deeply. Moving at all must have been too much for him.

But why would he—she pulls the blanket back a little farther and finds a rock lying beside the waterskin, and just a few inches away, rough, indistinct scratches in the ground.

It’s too dark to see at first, but when Katara brings her water to Zuko’s chest and the healing light flickers through the cave, she can make out coarse characters carved into the ground.

House in Shusoku. Take whatever you want from the trunk. It’s all I have to repay you.

Beside the words, there is a rough drawing—a map of the village, she thinks, with a large X drawn over the place where the little house with the crooked door sits at the edge of town.

For some reason she can’t quite understand, her throat grows tight, and she has to look away, focusing all her energy on mending the remaining damage to his chest and smoothing away all the rough edges, all the pain. Zuko wants to repay her. She isn’t sure what’s stranger about that, the fact that he thought to show gratitude, or the fact that he didn’t think saving her was enough.

She doesn’t need any of his things. She doesn’t want any of them. If there’s anything she wants by way of repayment, it’s to discover that the kinder side of Zuko, the one she saw in Ba Sing Se, is still in there. That it’s really him. But she can’t ask for that. If it isn’t real, she doesn’t want it.

But she can probably bring back some of his things for him. A change of clothes, spare blankets—anything that he can actually use. That might make it easier for Katara. She might have to use fewer of her own supplies, and that, in a way, might be a small kind of repayment.

She does all she can to finish repairing his ribs, then sits back on her heels, thinking. The damage to his back feels too daunting to tackle now, and it’s still well before morning. Maybe she can go now and retrieve some of his belongings while he sleeps.

She tucks the blanket back up around his shoulders and smooths his hair briefly. It will be the first time since the attack that she ventures out to the village at night, but it seems worthwhile. And certainly easier than untangling the knots of damaged energy in his back.

“I’ll be back soon,” she whispers before she remembers that he can’t hear her in his sleep. On an impulse, she grabs the rock he used to carve the message for her and scratches out her own.

Just rest and have something to eat. Repay me by getting better.

Chapter Text

Repay me by getting better.

For what feels like ages, he puzzles over that. The handwriting is unfamiliar, though that doesn’t surprise him. He can hardly recognize his own writing scratched into the dirt. No, what surprises him isn’t the writing, it’s the message itself. Get better. It’s so—ordinary. So gentle and kind a demand that he can’t wrap his mind around it. She can’t possibly be satisfied with so little. No one can ever accept such a small repayment for so much effort.

Except that Zuko did. In Shusoku, the only thing he really wanted was to see the people finally be okay. He hadn’t asked for more than that. And the Painted Lady was the same. She never expected any kind of repayment from the villagers. He can imagine her doing the same for a single stranger just as readily.

Except that this time, Zuko is the stranger, and he has a hard time imagining why anyone would choose to help him. Even with some sort of repayment. How is he worth it?

But for some reason, the Painted Lady is still helping him. The package of food by his elbow is confirmation of that, as is the fresh blanket tucked beneath him and folded at the top to cushion his head. There is even a small stack of neatly folded clothes by the mouth of the cave. He can’t reach them, and he wouldn’t be able to change even if he could, but the clothes are there. Brought back to him by the Painted Lady. As hard as he tries, he can’t fathom her reasons, but she’s still helping him.

Zuko can’t count on that to continue, but for as long as it does, he will be grateful. And confused. He can be both.

And when she arrives shortly after sunset, he is struck by a mix of gratitude and confused relief. She’s here. He doesn’t know why, but she hasn’t left him alone.

He wishes he had the strength to sit up to greet her, but the best he can manage is raising his head a few inches before his strength fails and he sinks back down with a grimace.

“You came back,” he rasps stupidly. He should say something else—anything else—but no other words come to him. She’s here. There’s a soft buzz at the back of his skull, and he thinks he must be breathing too fast.

The Painted Lady freezes a few steps outside of the cave, and by the faint light of the moon and the stars, he watches her hands tighten around a bundle.

“I thought you would be sleeping.” There is an odd, hollow quality to her voice, but even in that, there is something familiar. Recognition drifts nearer to the surface, but this time, he doesn’t try to grasp for it. If it comes, it will have to do it on its own.

Zuko shakes his head faintly. “I don’t think I could sleep at the same time two days in a row if I wanted to. It’s—ever since I got hurt—”

The Painted Lady looks away, and something pulls at the center of his chest. No. She seems upset, and she shouldn’t be. He can’t leave it like that.

“I just—I can’t remember everything.” He stares up at the roof of the cave. He doesn’t know how he’s supposed to do this. He doesn’t know how to stop her from being upset. “How—how long has it been?”

“Five days.”

Zuko’s breath hitches, but he manages a nod. Five days. It sounds close enough, but five whole days—it’s so long. How has she been coming back to help him for so long?

“I thought I was going to die days ago.” He isn’t sure why he’s saying this, but the words spill out of their own accord. “Is—is Shusoku okay?”

The Painted Lady nods and advances a few steps. “The village is fine. Some other towns sent people to help them.”

Good. Zuko breathes a sigh of relief and allows his eyes to close for a moment. Good. It feels like a weight has lifted from his chest. They haven’t suffered in his absence. He can lie here and rest without harming anyone.

“I wasn’t planning to come here,” he rasps. “I wanted to stay home. Be with my family for a while. But my father sent me away again the first chance he got.” He opens his eyes again, and the words just keep coming. “He said there was a rebellion in Shusoku. I was supposed to handle it on my own. But there wasn’t any rebellion. Just—” He sighs and rests a moment before he’s strong enough to continue. “If my family doesn’t want me, what does it matter if they think I’m a failure? I wanted to do things my way for once.”

While he’s still speaking, she comes closer and crouches down beside him. Her hand, warm and soft, brushes across his forehead. Zuko frowns. Is he rambling? Does she think that he’s feverish because he’s rambling?

Maybe he is feverish. Maybe that’s why he can’t seem to stop talking.

“Is there something wrong with me? Do I have a fever?”

Though it’s hard to make out detail through the veil, he thinks that she frowns. She shakes her head. “No fever. Have you eaten?”

He nods. “Not very much, but—”

She touches his shoulder, her touch feather-light, and it is enough to silence him. “Good. That’s good. You’re being careful.”

Zuko looks away. That isn’t it. Not quite. It’s more that he was too tired, too shaky to take more than a few bites. But he thinks that she has a point. He remembers someone telling him that he could get sick if he ate too much after starving for days. It was probably Uncle. Probably when they were refugees back in the Earth Kingdom. Back when he thought that he’d never need that sort of advice again.

He goes quiet as the Painted Lady pushes down his blanket and makes a quick examination of his chest before nodding and covering him back up. “Your ribs are healing. Do they feel better?”

He can breathe without feeling like there are knives protruding from a hundred different places in his chest now. There is still a lingering ache, and his heartbeat still feels too sharp, but it’s nothing like it was before.

“A lot better.”

The Painted Lady doesn’t seem to react, but it’s difficult to tell through the veil. She picks up the waterskin from beside him and weighs it on one hand.

“You’ve almost finished your water too.”

Zuko nods.

“I’ll refill your water. You should have enough food left for another day.”

She starts to pull away, and a jolt of irrational fear strikes Zuko in the heart. Is she leaving already? Is she planning to come back? He realizes that he doesn’t want to be alone anymore. He’s never cared much for being around people, but this kind of solitude, this kind of isolation—it’s killing him. Even if he’s safe here, he can’t stand the uncertainty any longer.

His hand catches against her elbow, and she stops.

“What is it?”

Zuko’s mouth feels dry all of a sudden, and it becomes difficult to keep his hand raised. “I—I don’t—”

I don’t know how much longer I can stand being alone here. I don’t know what’s happening to me. I don’t like wondering when you’re coming back—if you’re coming back. I don’t know who you are or why you’re here, and that scares me.

I’m scared.

He forces himself to swallow all of that back. She’s helping him. She has been for days, and he has to trust that she’ll keep coming back. There must be a reason why she’s still wearing the veil, still hiding her face, even though Zuko knows full well that she’s human.

She sinks down beside him again, and she checks his forehead with the back of her hand. Though that isn’t the problem, though he knows he hasn’t developed a fever in the past five minutes, he clings to the sensation, to the closeness.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” he finally chokes out. “I can barely do anything—”

“You’re recovering.” Her voice is soft, and more familiar than before. “It’s okay. You just ate for the first time today. It’ll take a while for your strength to come back.”

He shakes his head. “I can’t move. It has nothing to do with strength. I’ve tried. I just—can’t.” He squeezes his eyes shut. “What happened to me?”

The silence lasts far longer than he likes, but then the Painted Lady finds his hands and holds them still. “Something happened to your back when you landed that night.”

His eyes snap open. If that’s the case, then he must be right. He must be—

“There’s a lot of damage,” she continues. “It hasn’t gotten any worse, but it’s not healing either.” She turns her head slightly, breaking her gaze away from his. “I had to focus on the injuries that were killing you first. Now—now your back is all that’s left. I just have to be sure you’re strong enough to handle more healing.”

He tries to draw in a steady breath. “Can you tell if I’m—if it’s ever going to heal?”

For another prolonged moment, there is silence again. Then slowly, she rises. “Close your eyes.” He hears soft footsteps, then a small scuffing sound, and her voice comes from near his feet. “Tell me what you feel.”

Panic. He feels panic.

He clenches his jaw and tries to press the fear back down. That isn’t what she’s asking, and he knows it.

He feels his forehead crease as he tries to concentrate. It’s dim, but he thinks he can feel a faint, prickling pressure in one of his ankles. A flood of relief strikes him, and he lets out a shaking breath. He can feel.

“My ankle,” he says, barely above a whisper.

“Which one?” The calm, the patience in her voice makes it a little easier to think.

“The right one.”

The pressure lifts and moves to the opposite leg. “And now?”

His voice feels more certain this time. The pressure on his ankle is clearer this time too. “My left ankle. It’s like you’re pushing down on it.”

The pressure lifts again, and there is a light exhalation. “You can open your eyes again.”

Zuko obeys. By the pale light outside the cave, he can see the Painted Lady in a clear silhouette, with just the faintest rim of light catching the soft contours of her face and her shoulders. Again, there is a flicker of familiarity just out of his reach. This time, though, he is almost afraid of what he will find if he ventures too close.

“I don’t think you’re really paralyzed,” she tells him. Her voice is firm but gentle. “If you still have feeling left, you might be able to move again. It’s just too soon to know how much.”

Zuko manages a tight-lipped nod. For now, that should come as a reassurance. He can barely raise his head. Of course he can’t walk now. And he has to believe that the Painted Lady is right, that there is at least a chance that his legs will work again.

That’s more than he could have hoped for a few days ago. A few days ago, even survival had been uncertain. But now, the thought of surviving frightens him more than he cares to admit. If he can’t look after himself properly—he can’t decide whether it’s better or worse knowing that he can’t go home. At the palace, there are servants and physicians to manage things like this. People who are duty bound to provide anything he might need for the rest of his life. Out here, though, there is no one. He can’t even ask for the kind of help he might need. Out here, no one will stand by him, and he might well starve if he isn’t strong enough to take care of himself.

And yet Azula is at the palace. So is Father. And even when Zuko was perfectly healthy, he was never strong enough for either of them. He remembers how readily they tossed him aside even when he was useful. A scarred and disgraced prince who can’t walk—he’d be found dead in his room within days.

He can’t even convince himself that it would be Azula’s doing. He can’t find the energy to make excuses or to explain things away. Father burned Zuko. Father banished him. And when Zuko came back home, Father sent him away again. It burns him from the inside out, but he can’t pretend that Father wouldn’t do it. He wouldn’t hesitate. One small opportunity—just a few minutes with the guards and servants looking the other way, and Father would make sure that there was no more crippled prince to mar the royal family.

“Easy.” Her voice cuts through his thoughts, warm and soft. “Try to breathe slowly. You’re safe here.”

He tries to clench his fists, but his hands shake too badly with the effort. He stares at the darkness above him, unable to look her way.

“For how much longer?”

She hesitates. “What do you mean?”

His jaw tightens painfully, but he forces himself to speak. “I can’t stay in this cave forever. If I don’t get better—”

Hundreds of possibilities flash through his mind, too quickly to come into focus, but his heart beats faster and it’s harder to keep his breathing under control.

He barely feels it when a hand brushes against his leg. “Can you try to move your feet? That should give me a better idea of how much healing I can do.”

Zuko tries to steady his breathing. She sounds sincere. She’s trying to help. He needs to believe that. Still, it’s difficult to nod.

She taps his left foot. “Try this one first.”

He tries. He closes his eyes and concentrates with all his might, and he feels something burning and crackling along his spine. What he can’t feel is whether his foot is responding, and his pulse begins to race again.

“Good,” she says, interrupting the horrified thoughts tearing through his mind. “You did it. Not much, but it’s a start.”

His breath leaves him in a rush, and he doesn’t have time to recover it before she goes on.

“Now try the other one.”

He sees rather than feels her hand touch his right foot, and the hot, snapping sensation in his back resumes. He pushes himself a little harder, and all at once, the world turns to a wash of burning red around him.

There is a cry that sounds a little like his own voice, but he isn’t aware of making it. All he is certain of is the shooting, sparking pain radiating outward from his spine, and the edges of his mind flickering with darkness around all the red.

“No.”

He can’t remember whose voice that is, but it’s close, and reality spins around him after the word dies in the air.

“I’m so sorry. Please, just hold on for me. Can you do that? Just hold on for a little while.”

Hold onto what? He can’t feel the ground anymore—there’s just pain spinning outward from his spine.

“I’m trying, okay? I’m trying to make it better. Just hold on.”

The coolness softens and spreads through his back, and as the burning redness gives way to light, the world begins to come back into focus. He feels warmth around his shoulders and wet all across his face. He feels the ground beneath his hand and pries his eyes open to find himself propped against the Painted Lady’s shoulder.

She’s warm and soft and close, and Zuko turns inward, burying the scarred side of his face deeper into the scratchy fabric of her robes. His eyes leave damp smudges behind, but he doesn’t care. It hurts, and she is the only escape he can find.

He can still see the glow through his eyelids, and the Painted Lady cups her free hand around the back of his neck. Zuko tries to focus on the thumb stroking through his hair. Everything else is too big, too overpowering. At least this is gentle.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t want to hurt you.”

He wants to tell her that she didn’t—that it was his own stupid body that caused him all this pain, but he can’t find the words. It hasn’t hurt like this since the night of the attack. Or maybe this is even worse. He can’t really tell.   

Dizziness strikes him, and even held snug in her grasp, Zuko sways.

Her breath shudders beneath his ear, and she leans down closer. “How else can I help you? What do you need?”

She probably means water or blankets—something she can give him to make him more comfortable when she inevitably leaves. He doesn’t want any of that. He doesn’t care if it will make the pain ease.

Zuko clings to a loose fold in her robes as though it will keep him anchored. “Don’t leave me,” he begs, his words slurring together. “Please. I don’t want to be alone.”

She inhales sharply, and Zuko turns his eyes up toward hers, the scarred side of his face digging into the rough folds of her robe. Her hat is gone now, and the veil along with it.

He always thought that recognition would come as a burst of light and clarity, but when it strikes, it’s barely a ripple through the pain. His vision flickers and blurs around the edges, but he can see her perfectly well.

She isn’t the Painted Lady. Zuko knows those eyes, that face. He remembers her voice and recalls the first touch of her hand.

He remembers her.

But her name hovers out of reach, and it hurts too much to think. The strength drains from his limbs, and his eyes slip shut.

She smooths his hair once more, then her hand stills, holding him steady against her shoulder.

“I’ll stay until you fall asleep.”

Even after his breathing steadies and he goes limp in her arms, fast asleep, Katara can’t bring herself to let him go. His voice just keeps echoing through her mind, small and pleading. Don’t leave me. It’s such a small request. It demands so little of her.

How could she possibly refuse?

That’s what she tries to tell herself. It’s easier than admitting how frightened she is. How terrified she was when he yelled out, plunging into agony with the simple act of trying to move. It’s easier than thinking about how it felt to see him crying and helpless as his damaged nerves did their best to destroy him.

Zuko’s head rests in the space between her neck and her shoulder, and she counts the warm, shallow gusts brushing past her skin. Though he is comfortable enough to sleep, Katara can’t ignore the way his forehead keeps creasing and twitching. She’s managed to bind the tight, angry energy around his spine into a smaller knot and cut it off from its relentless spread to his other nerves, but it’s still there. Still as bright and broken as ever.

If the pain is ever going to fade for good—if he’s ever going to regain the movement in his legs—then she will need to tease apart the knots around his spine. She’ll have to dig down to the source of all the shattered energy before she can begin to repair it.

Will he be able to withstand that? And even if he’d strong enough, will she be able to bear it when he cries with the pain and reaches out for comfort?

If tonight is any indication, probably not. If she could bear to see him in pain, she wouldn’t still be holding him. It wouldn’t be so difficult to think of leaving.

Logically, she knows that she has to. She can’t let Zuko see her face by daylight, and even if she wanted to take that risk, she’ll need supplies from camp sooner or later. She’s more than fulfilled her promise to stay until he falls asleep. She can leave him now if she wants to.

But the thought of leaving him to wake alone and afraid after everything he’s gone through bothers her more than she can ignore. She remembers the way he looked up at her, eyes dark in contrast with his skin, with tears streaming down both cheeks.

I don’t want to be alone. That was all he asked for. Not healing, not relief, just company.

Surely she can give him that much, can’t she?

As carefully as she can, Katara turns sideways, pulling Zuko along with her until she can rest her back against the wall of the cave. His breath hitches and his mouth pulls into a harsh grimace, but he doesn’t stir.

With a slow sigh, she reclines and lets her fingertips trail through his hair before settling softly around his shoulders. Healing his back is going to be difficult—maybe one of the most difficult things she’s ever done. She doesn’t know as much as she should about damaged nerves, and instinct can only lead her so far.

The other trouble is that she still doesn’t know how far her healing should go. He is a firebender after all. One who has caused no end of trouble for her and her friends—one with a closer tie to the Fire Lord than any other. If she heals him, then he might make things worse. He might decide to begin hunting them again—he might send word back to his father and his sister and set them on her friends’ trail. If she heals him well enough to walk again, he might follow her back to camp and ambush them himself.

But if she doesn’t heal him, then he’ll never leave this cave again. Or if he does—if she leads the villagers to him and leaves Zuko in their care, then the strain of being moved could make everything worse. She’s already seen what happens when he tries to use his legs. If the damage to his nerves causes him so much pain, then it might be kinder to end him than to leave him like this.

Her eyes prickle as she looks down at the soft profile of his unscarred cheek. She can’t do that. She can’t imagine even considering it. Not after he’s saved her life. Not when she can hardly look at him without remembering the time when he apologized for her mother’s loss and extended a hand toward her. Maybe she was a fool for trusting him then—she’s certainly a fool for trusting him now—but she can’t abandon him. She can’t give up on him.

Maybe she can find some sort of middle ground. If she can heal his spine well enough that it stops hurting him, she can take him back to the village. Even if his legs don’t work, they’ll still take care of him. Won’t they? The woman who Katara spoke to said that Zuko was one of the good ones. She seemed to care about Zuko. If he can’t walk, surely someone will look after him.

And if he can’t walk when Katara leaves him with the villagers, then he won’t be able to pursue her and her friends. She can be satisfied that he is safe without worrying about the threat he might pose.

That is, if her healing works. She knows what a spine is meant to feel like, but that doesn’t mean that she knows what is wrong with his. It doesn’t mean that she’ll be able to stitch the shreds back together into something whole, and it certainly doesn’t mean that she can choose whether she mends his pain or his ability to move.

All she knows for certain is that she’ll have to open the knots of agonized energy in his back to even begin, and the process could be even worse than what he went through tonight. If she can’t find a way to dull the pain before she begins healing him, she’ll just end up holding him again, trying to comfort him while he cries. She’ll tie the knots even tighter to give him a little relief, and she might never be able to make a real difference.

Her hand strokes the back of his head again, and Zuko gives a small whimper in his sleep. There is medicine at camp, she thinks, from back when Aang was injured. That ought to be enough to help Zuko—or at least enough to start. If she’s lucky, it might allow him to sleep while she works and spare him the pain and her the risk of being recognized.

That’s it. That’s what she’ll do.

She just hopes that it will work.

She finds the blanket that’s fallen down around his waist and pulls it up to his shoulders again. She should leave, she thinks. It’s late already—probably well past midnight, and she is helping no one by continuing to hold him. He can sleep just as well on the ground as he can tucked in against her side. But he’s warm, and somehow the idea of moving him back to his makeshift bed sounds entirely too complicated.

She’ll hold him for just a minute longer. Just until she figures out how to move him without waking him up or causing any further pain.

Her eyes slip shut.

When they open again, the sky is growing light, and Zuko is still there, his breath still steady against her skin. It takes a minute for Katara to remember why, and another minute longer to convince herself to move, to settle Zuko on the ground and tuck the blanket around his shoulders again.

It’s too close to sunrise. If she stays any longer, he’s going to wake up and find her still here—he’ll recognize her for certain.

But she remembers his plea again—don’t leave me—and hesitates. Though he looks peaceful now, his terrified face is all too clear in her mind. If he wakes up alone, he will be afraid.

She hovers a moment before she wipes away what little remains of the messages scratched in the ground and etches out a new one.

I can’t stay with you during the day. Take care of yourself, and I promise I’ll be back after sunset.

Chapter Text

“How are you feeling? Are you okay? Any pain, or—”

Zuko can’t stop staring at her. Though the veil still obscures her face, her features are unmistakable. When he can see them, at least.

He can’t believe he didn’t see it sooner. Her big, vivid eyes, the soft curve of her lips, and the smooth slopes of her cheeks—Zuko knows her. Even her voice is familiar. Her attempts at masking her voice do very little to conceal her familiar cadence. And now that he recognizes her, he can’t stop remembering.

He wonders why she, of all people, is here. Surely even the outer reaches of the Fire Nation must be a dangerous place for her and all her friends. It’s dangerous enough for him, and he’s the crown prince. Or he was. He’s fairly certain that he hasn’t been in line for the crown for three years, and he can hardly imagine that he’s still a prince. And even if the title still belongs to him, he doesn’t think he wants it anymore.

But of all the places in the Fire Nation she could be, the fact that she’s here surprises him most. Here near Shusoku. In this little cave. Right beside him. She’s been helping him, healing him for days now, and that is easily the most baffling piece of all this. She wouldn’t have to be here. She wouldn’t have to help him, and yet she’s here. She has been here, night after night, without fail. And last night, she—no, it’s better if he doesn’t think about that. That can’t have been real.

Amid all the confusion, all the questions, only one thing is clear. He can understand the reason for her disguise now. The disguise keeps her safe here. And as badly as he wants to seek confirmation, to lift her veil to prove that he hasn’t lost his mind, he can’t bring himself to even consider it. She doesn’t want Zuko to recognize her. Though he can’t erase the knowledge from his mind, he can still pretend that he doesn’t know. Honoring her wishes is the least he can do. She’s saved his life, after all.

“Can you hear me?” He sees the frown through her veil, and she presses a hand to his forehead.

Zuko swallows in an effort to quench his gravelly throat. “I—yeah, I can hear you.”

“Are you sure? You’re not acting like it.”

He manages a nod. He can’t get caught up in staring at her like this, or she’ll realize that something is wrong. He fixes his gaze upward.

“I feel—about the same as yesterday.” He feels her gaze sharpen. “As this time yesterday,” he quickly amends. It’s barely past sunset now, and the wash of agony came well after dark. “Just—tired. And I still can’t move.”

Her voice goes quiet. “No pain?”

Zuko shakes his head. He can feel tension, can feel something huge and awful trying to claw its way out of that spot in the middle of his back, but for now, something holds it at bay.

“Not really. I’m not exactly comfortable being stuck here all the time, but—” He finds his gaze drawn back to her and cuts himself off. She’s trying. He knows that she’s trying, and there’s no use in complaining about something that neither of them can change.

He allows his eyes to wander off. Maybe if she thinks that he’s still a little hazy, it might help things. And it isn’t entirely untrue. His thoughts are clearer now, but never in his life has it taken so painfully long for the sunlight to rouse him in the morning. Never has it taken him so long to recognize a familiar face.

“I’m sorry,” he rasps.

“For what? For last night?”

Last night. He remembers arms wrapped around him, his face pressing against her shoulder. His face heats. He hopes that the gathering dark is enough to hide it. He isn’t even sure that it happened the way he remembers it. There’s no use in blushing over it.

“For—everything.” He puts all the force he can muster behind the word and hopes that it’s enough to make her understand. She knows who he is. She knows how many reasons he has to apologize. Maybe she’ll realize how deeply he means it.

For a few seconds she stares, and Zuko can see her lips hanging slightly parted. Like she’s surprised. Like she’s only a breath away from speaking. But then she shakes her head, turning pointedly away to rustle through her pack of supplies.

“You don’t have to apologize for last night. You’re injured. I should have realized that moving would make things worse.”

Zuko almost wants to push back, to edge a little closer to the truth. He means more than that, and she has to understand it too. Even if she isn’t thinking about the mistakes that came before he returned home, she must know that everything means something bigger. Everything doesn’t just mean crumbling into tears of agony. Everything doesn’t just mean begging her not to leave. And everything doesn’t just mean clinging to her, pressing his face into her shoulder until he fell asleep in her arms.

He should apologize for that too. Even though the pain felt like it was destroying him from the inside out, there is no excuse for clinging to her like that. Especially now, he needs to learn to rely on her less. Now that he knows who she is, how deeply she despises him, he can’t burden her any more than he already has.

It’s only a matter of time before her concern for him runs out.

“You’ve eaten today?” she asks, all purpose again.

He nods. He can’t manage much. His stomach is still uneasy from last night’s ordeal, but a little has to be better than nothing. It isn’t as though he’s using much energy lying here. Even a few bites will stave off starvation for a few more hours. 

“And drank water?”

He frowns. “Probably not enough.”

She gives a small hmpf before presenting him with a small bottle. “You’ll need a few drops of this. It would have been better if you’d had enough to eat and drink, but it’s probably too late for that.”

His fingertips brush the textured base of the bottle. “What is it?”

“Medicine.” She’s trying a little harder to disguise her voice now, and he almost wants to laugh. Despite her obvious effort, she isn’t very convincing. “For pain. So that I can work on your back without sending you into shock.”

It strikes him that it isn’t a very spiritual thing to do, offering medicine before a healing session. She doesn’t really need to do things the way the spirits would, he supposes. She’s human, after all. But it is strange to think that she has some kind of medicine strong enough to dull the nerves in his back. Where would she have gotten such a thing? And why?

Unless it was after Ba Sing Se. Unless it was for the Avatar.

His throat tightens, and it’s hard to swallow.

“A few drops—how much is that?”

She closes her hand around the bottle again, and her fingertips brush against his. “I’ll help you with it. Don’t worry. Just—brace yourself. I’ve heard that it doesn’t taste very good.”

She’s right about that. When the first drop hits his tongue, it’s so bitter that he almost gags, and it takes a few tries before he manages to accept the rest of the dose. Whatever the medicine is, he hopes that it numbs his tongue along with the rest of his body. Maybe then the horrid lingering bitterness will go away.

When he manages to stop wrinkling his nose, he looks up at her. “So—what happens now?”

She closes the bottle and sets it aside. “Now we wait until the medicine starts working. I can’t heal you if it’s going to hurt so much that you can’t stay still.”

Zuko grimaces, and he can’t be certain whether the lingering bitterness in his mouth bothers him more or less than the embarrassment. He should have been able to withstand the pain last night. This isn’t the first time he’s been hurt. This isn’t the first time he’s had to endure significant amounts of pain. Last night shouldn’t have given him so much trouble.

But he is still so weak as to be immobile, and last night was like nothing he’d ever felt before. Like something deep inside wanted to tear him to pieces.

Still, his face heats every time he remembers curling into her, smearing his tears all across her robes. It’s even worse when he remembers how warm, how soft and comforting it felt.

“Do you know what’s wrong with my back?” He asks, half hoping that her answer will be enough to silence the rest of his thoughts.

She shakes her head faintly. “I’m not sure. Not yet.” The artificial quality in her tone drops away again, and Zuko loses sight of her face amidst the folds of the veil. “There’s a knot of energy wrapped up around your spine, and whenever I try to get near it, it pushes me out before I can find what the problem is. Last night, the knot broke open when you tried to move, and the pain just—filled you up.”

He nods. That’s certainly what it felt like. Like everything was on fire and being stabbed and crushed and torn all at the same time.

“So—this time?”

“This time, I’m hoping that the medicine will keep you from feeling so much pain when I try to get to the center of it. That’s the only way I’ll be able to figure out what’s wrong.” She lets her hand brush against his wrist, then pulls back.

Unease settles inside his chest. What if it doesn’t work? What if the medicine isn’t as strong as she thinks—what if it dulls the edges, but nothing more? It could turn out just like last night, except for the fact that she won’t be able to stop even if he feels like he’s dying. This time, he’ll be as good as alone, even with her crouched right beside him.

“Are you okay?” she asks in a whisper.

Zuko isn’t sure how to respond to that. The medicine is starting to blunt the edges of his thoughts and making it harder to form words in his mind, much less force them out.

“I’m afraid,” he admits when his mouth decides to cooperate.

This time, she doesn’t just brush against his wrist—this time, she grabs his hands and holds them tight. “You’ve made it this far,” she says as the world starts to darken even further. “I’m not going to turn my back on you now.”

He tries to form another thought—thank you, probably, but it escapes his grasp. He just barely manages to squeeze her hands in return before the world goes black.

Katara isn’t sure how she makes it back to camp. She’s spent hours bowed over Zuko, hours picking apart threads of broken energy until she could finally reach the core of it. Hours more mending the damage, bring the frayed nerves back together and fixing cracks in the bone shut. Hours torn between determination to finish what she’s started and terror that Zuko might wake halfway through, that he might feel everything, and all her progress might be lost. But through it all, Zuko doesn’t stir, and by the time she is through, she can no longer feel the whorls of energy spiraling outward from his injury.

Whether that means that she’s had any success or not, she can’t tell. Even healing Aang’s lightning wound after Ba Sing Se was nothing like this.

What she knows for certain is that she hasn’t slept so deeply in ages. Her own sleeping bag is strangely less comfortable than her previous night of sleep, but she tries not to think about that. She tries not to consider why lying wrapped up with Zuko came so easily, why it was so difficult to pull away. Why it feels so empty lying here in her own tent.

It’s just the warmth, she tells herself. Just the human contact after so many days on her own. It can’t be anything else.

In any case, the exhaustion strikes her deep after so many hours of healing, and the sun has crossed the midpoint in the sky by the time her eyes finally open. Even then, she lies still for a long time. It would be easy to just stay here, quiet and unmoving, until the sun drops below the horizon or until she falls asleep again.

But hunger gnaws at her insides, and after a while, she has to give in. She can hardly scold Zuko for not getting enough food or water if she neglects eating and drinking as well.

Katara wants a proper hot meal, but the thought of lighting a fire—to say nothing of cooking—is more than she can confront. Instead, she rustles through her supplies and settles against Appa’s shaded side with a few strips of jerky and pieces of dried ash banana.  

She isn’t sure she’ll be able to muster the strength for any further healing when she goes to see him again tonight. Visiting won’t be optional—she needs to see how well he’s healing. She needs to know whether his injured back has wrapped itself back up with the same kind of wrongness again. Even if she can’t fix it tonight, she might at least be able to help him through the hours until she’s ready to try proper healing again.

But right now, the idea of leaving camp seems daunting, and she snuggles deeper into Appa’s wooly leg, her meal balanced on her lap.

“You’re going to be a good boy and let me nap here, aren’t you, Appa?”

The bison turns his head a little and grunts, and she chooses to take that as a yes. Good. She yawns and begins slowly picking at her food.

If there’s one good thing to come of this unusual sleepiness, it’s that most of the paint on her arms seems to still be in place, and she’s still wearing her Painted Lady robes. At least when the time comes, she won’t have to do very much to refresh her disguise—just wipe away a few stray smudges of red and clean up the edges. She can manage that much. Even now, even exhausted, she can manage to clean up the worst of her smudged makeup to maintain her disguise.

She needs the disguise now more than ever. The stronger that Zuko gets, the more dangerous it will be to help him. If he regains the use of his legs and realizes who she is—she shudders and nearly drops her piece of jerky. If Zuko realizes who she is, then she will have crossed a line from taking a foolhardy risk into actively endangering herself and all her friends. She really ought to know better than this.

But the longer she keeps going back, the longer she keeps trying to heal Zuko, the less she wants to back away. She thinks she can see the good in him—or the potential for it, at least—and she wants more than anything else to coax it out into the open. She wants to see him accept that goodness and finally, finally reject everything else. She wants to give him a chance so that he can make that choice.

But she knows better than to think that she can coax anything, good or bad, out of anyone. People just—are. Zuko is Zuko, and nothing is going to change that.

But last night he apologized to her, and she almost thought that he meant—more. More than just embarrassment over relying on her help, more than shame over crying in her arms until he fell asleep. And if he did mean more than that, then maybe she just doesn’t know Zuko as well as she thinks.

Maybe he’s trying. Maybe there is hope.

It takes a long time to push past those thoughts far enough to finish eating, but when she does, Katara dozes off and on throughout the day until she finally wakes up in the moonlit darkness. With a little more effort than seems reasonable, she fixes the streaks of red paint on her arms and gathers her supplies again.

By the time she reaches the cave, her head has cleared a little, and she pauses outside for a moment or two. Zuko lies on his back, just like always, but she could almost swear that she left him lying on his side in the wee hours of the morning, too tired to reposition him after an exhausting healing session. Has he moved on his own? Is he regaining his strength sooner than she expects?

She edges a little closer, and when she realizes that he’s sleeping, she clears her throat.

Zuko starts and blinks a few times before he manages to blearily focus on her face. “I—sorry. I tried to stay awake, but—”

Katara nods. She can hardly complain after she spent most of the day sleeping on Appa’s wooly leg. Not that she plans to tell him that. He’s supposed to think that she’s a spirit, and spirits don’t sleep.

“How are you?” She kneels beside him and takes note of his diminishing supply of food and water. At least he’s been eating and drinking.

He takes a moment to think. “I’m not sure. I think I must have slept most of the day. I can’t remember very much.”

It makes sense to her. He must be exhausted, both from the healing and from the lingering effects of the pain medicine from last night. She hadn’t expected it to strike him so hard that he lost consciousness. It was probably for the best that he wasn’t awake through the healing session, but for all she knows, he might still be tired for days.

“And how do you feel right now?” She prods.

“It’s weird. Everything just—aches.” He pauses. “But maybe that’s a good thing. At least I can feel everything.”

Katara lets out a long breath. If he’s regaining the feeling in his legs, and he isn’t in agony, then it must be good. The horrible, tangled energy around his spine must not have returned. Or if it is coming back, it’s doing so slowly enough that she might still be able to reach the injury itself in a day or two when she’s ready to heal him again.

If she can heal him again. If she ever gets that chance.

She lets her hand brush against his. It’s almost too easy now, too comfortable to touch him for no good reason. She pulls her hand back.

“I think it’s probably a good thing too.” Her gaze slips down toward his legs, and she notices how uneven and twisted the blanket is around his ankles. “Did you try to move?”

His lips press into a tight line, and he shakes his head. “Barely. I rolled over so I could eat, but—I was afraid to try anything more than that.”

By his pallor and the tension in his expression, Katara guesses that even that much strained him—that just turning himself over put enough pressure on his back that it sent shocks of pain through his body. She can only hope that it wasn’t as bad as a few days ago.

She nods, and her hand brushes his shoulder. “It’s going to take more time.”

“I know.” Zuko takes a slow breath. His eyes close, and for a while, she thinks that he’s fallen back asleep.

There’s nothing wrong with that. He needs the rest, and at least he’s been awake for a little while. At least he’s been able to speak to her and prove that he’s recovering. As long as he’s well enough to last another day, she’ll have the time to help him.

Katara twists until she’s sitting parallel with him and begins slowly refilling his supply of food and water. Even if he’s sleeping, she thinks that she might stay here until sunrise. Camp seems too far away, and there’s no harm in spending a night here in the cave with Zuko to make sure that he’s okay. If he can stay here night after night and day after day, then she can spare a few more hours too.

It has nothing at all to do with the fact that he’s lying off center in his makeshift bed, and the leftover space looks just her size. She knows better than that. Just because it was oddly comfortable the last time she fell asleep here doesn’t mean that she’s planning to curl up beside him.

Still, she stares at the empty space beside him for a little while. The blankets look nice. She’ll have to take one of the spares from the pile by the mouth of the cave so that she can rest without succumbing to the temptation of lying down beside him.

 “Have I said thank you yet?” His voice comes unexpectedly, and Katara starts.

Her face burns, and she hopes that the veil is enough to hide her blush. He does not need to know that she keeps remembering how wonderfully warm he felt wrapped up in her arms.

“I don’t remember,” she admits.

“Thank you,” he says. He sounds so soft, so earnest that she gets trapped in his gaze.

For the thousandth time, she remembers Ba Sing Se, the soft greenish glow flooding the caverns, and the gentle warmth bridging the gap between her hand and his cheek. She remembers the hope, the racing of her heart. She can almost feel it starting up again.

“Thank you for everything. I know you didn’t have to do any of this,” he says, quiet and slow, like it takes effort to speak. Like he’s considering every word before he even tries to form it. “I hope I won’t have to be a burden on you for too much longer.”

Katara’s mouth hangs open just the smallest bit. A burden? For all the effort she’s put into healing him, she can’t remember feeling burdened by looking after him, not even once. If anything, she hates the fact that she can’t be here during the day, that she has to keep her face concealed. The fact that she can’t do more feels like the true burden.

“You’re not. Zuko, please don’t worry about—” She breaks off, heart in her throat, when she realizes her mistake.

No. No, no, no.

She scrambles to her feet and staggers back toward the mouth of the cave. No. He isn’t supposed to realize that she knows him. He’s supposed to think that she’s a spirit, or at the very least, an odd stranger.

This is all her fault. She’s supposed to be more careful than this and now—now, she has no idea where to turn. All she knows for certain is that she has to leave. She can’t stay here. She can’t give Zuko the opportunity to recognize her.

She needs to be anywhere but here.

“Katara, wait.”

She falters and looks back over her shoulder. In the dark of the cave, Zuko is nothing more than a faint, pale smudge, but she almost thinks that he’s trying to sit.

She isn’t sure that she remembers how to breathe.

“I’m sorry. For everything.”

Chapter Text

Zuko hasn’t been awake for this long since before Kentaro’s attack.

He isn’t sure that he likes it.

It isn’t that he’s not grateful to feel so much better, to be strong enough to keep his eyes open for hours at a time. It isn’t that seeing the sunlight isn’t refreshing, even though he’s still too weak to reach it.

But his thoughts feel crowded, and he can’t find any way to escape them. All the things he used to do when his thoughts got too noisy—firebending practice, work, breaking into places where he isn’t meant to be—are impossible now. And although he could probably attempt to meditate in this state, he’s never been much good at that either. How is he supposed to clear his thoughts? That’s what he wants the meditation to do for him.

Pressing his eyes shut, he does his best to slow his thoughts instead.

Katara knows now. She knows that he remembers her, that her disguise has failed, and he can only assume that this is the end. She won’t be coming back for him anymore. They’re enemies again. From her perspective, at least.

Zuko almost wishes that he’d kept quiet last night. If he hadn’t said anything at all, then maybe she would have taken another chance on him. Maybe if Zuko had kept pretending not to know her, the generosity, the kindness that she’s shown might have held out a little longer.

Or maybe she would have left him anyway. Maybe she would have fled into the night, and Zuko would still be here, and he would never have gotten his chance to apologize. Maybe he would be alone and wracked with guilt.

He can’t imagine liking that any better.

He tries to slow his breathing. It isn’t quite meditation, but it might help all the same. There isn’t much else that he can do.

If he wants to survive, then he’ll have to get out of this cave somehow. Of course he’s still too weak, and it still hurts terribly when he tries to move, but he has food and water to last another few days. Even without any further healing sessions, he might improve a bit more in that time. And if he’s near enough to Shusoku, he might be able to drag himself part of the way back. Close enough that someone might find him.

And once he’s there—if he makes it back to the village, he still can’t count on anything. Maybe they’ll take pity on him and make sure that he doesn’t starve for a while. They might feel some small measure of gratitude for his efforts at bringing the village back to life and try to help him in return. Even though most of the progress was Katara’s doing, they might still try to help him. And considering the fact that he can feel his legs again, it doesn’t seem impossible that he might someday be able to stand.

Even if it’s difficult. Even if it hurts.

He might not be useless forever.

Or maybe they’ll leave him to die instead. Maybe he’s more trouble than he’s worth.

Or worse. Maybe they’ll send word to Father. Maybe they’ll say that Zuko is badly hurt, and that someone needs to fetch him back from Shusoku. Maybe Zuko will have to see Father like this and watch the contempt grow in his eyes until Father finally decides to rid himself of this new burden.

His stomach sours, and he tries to clench his fists, but his hands only shake. There’s no use in thinking like this. He’s alone, and for the next few days, all he will be able to do is eat, drink, and sleep until a fraction of his strength returns. And when it does, the village will be his only choice. He’ll do his best to take along any supplies he has left and drag himself as far as he can.

It’s the best he can do. The only thing he can do.

What happens after that isn’t up to him.

He just wishes that he could fall asleep now to push the worries out of his mind. He needs the rest, and all this wondering is only making things worse.

But when he closes his eyes, he thinks that he hears footsteps outside. His heart lurches inside his chest, and when he manages to raise his head, he sees her.

Katara looks different than he’s ever seen her before—than both her spirit disguise and the Water Tribe girl he’s come to recognize over the months since he crashed his ship into the South Pole. She wears simple Fire Nation silks, and though her hair is pulled into its usual knot at the base of her skull, the rest hangs loose in thick, smooth curls.

His breath catches, and he pushes himself up onto his elbows. It hurts, and he probably looks absurd, but instinct tells him that he ought to stand for her. Right now, this is the nearest he can get. 

“Don’t try anything,” she warns sharply, hanging well back from the mouth of the cave.

Zuko grimaces. “I think you and I both know that there’s nothing I could try.”

That must be the wrong thing to say. Katara crosses her arms and juts out her chin. “You know what I mean.”

He thinks he does, but there still isn’t anything that he can do. Even keeping himself propped up is almost too much.

She presses her mouth into a thin line and looks away for a second. Then, “How long have you known?”

He hesitates. He thinks he knows the answer she’s looking for, but he doesn’t dare risk saying the wrong thing. She’s near enough to leaving him already.

“How long have I known what?”

“Who I am.”

It’s exactly the question he expects, but that doesn’t make it any easier to answer. He swallows. “Two days.”

She makes a small, anguished noise and presses her head between her hands like she’s trying to squeeze out the words she doesn’t want to hear. “When? When exactly did you figure it out?”

“It was—your hat fell off the night that I tried to move my legs for the first time. I recognized you then. But my head was just—I couldn’t think when it happened. I didn’t remember your name until the next morning.”

“So why didn’t you say anything?”

There is a curious mixture of rage and hurt rolling off of her in waves. One that feels all too familiar to Zuko. One that reminds him of nothing so much as himself. At least of himself in the past, when he still had the strength and the energy to spare on anger.

“I thought that was what you wanted.” His voice is raw, and it’s getting harder to keep himself propped up. “You were trying so hard to hide who you were—I thought it was better if I left things alone.”

“I didn’t want to be lied to.” She’s quieter than before—so quiet that her words are nearly lost in the stillness between them.

“Neither did I.”

Katara pauses a moment, brows drawn tight. “What do you want, Zuko? Why are you even here? Wasn’t the whole point of turning against us in Ba Sing Se so that you could go home to your big fancy castle and live like—” a strangled, humorless laugh. “—like a prince?”

Zuko wishes he could find it in himself to at least smile. This whole experience might hurt less if one of them could acknowledge her attempted joke for what it is.

“I thought it was. I thought I could just go home, and my life would go back to the way it used to be. In the three years I was gone—I guess I forgot what my father was like.” He can’t bring himself to meet her eyes anymore. He knows that’s a lie. Zuko never forgot what Father was like. He never forgot what Father thought of him. He just hoped that it would be different. He hoped that he’d finally done enough to prove himself.

He swallows hard and fixes his eyes on a crooked branch in the distance behind Katara. “I was only home for a few weeks when my father sent me away again. Shusoku is as far from the palace as I could go without leaving the Fire Nation.” He has to pause to settle the burning in his throat. He’s known all this for a while, but it’s harder to say it than he ever could have guessed. “I’m as good as banished again. All because I had the audacity to come home.”

Katara edges just a little closer. “But why here?”

Zuko shakes his head. “It was all lies. He said that there was a rebellion out here. He told me to deal with it. On my own. Without any money or supplies.” He has to pause to steady his voice. It still hurts, even after all this time. “Of course there wasn’t any rebellion, just a lot of people starving. I did everything I could to help them. For all I know, they might have killed me if I hadn’t.” He frowns. “Maybe that’s what my father wanted.”

There is a long pause, and either Katara is beginning to falter or Zuko’s arms are, because everything starts to look wavery and uncertain around the edges. He blinks hard to keep the world in focus.

“Why are you here? Isn’t the Fire Nation a little dangerous for you?”

Her icy gaze pierces straight through him. “So far, it’s been a lot safer for me than it has been for you.” A pause. “I’m here, okay? That’s all I’m going to tell you. I just am. And right now, my friends are somewhere else.”

“You didn’t have to help Shusoku,” he points out. “They aren’t your people. You—” his voice falters, and when the world begins to blur this time, he knows that it’s his strength failing. “You didn’t—”

“Oh, for spirits’ sake.” Katara uncorks the waterskin at her hip, and a thick tendril of water pushes against his shoulder, knocking him down. “Stop being stubborn and just lie down.”

He lands with a painful jolt and lies breathless for a moment, vision swimming with dark spots. She could have just asked him to lie down. Zuko would have listened. Probably. Maybe.

Maybe not.

When his vision clears again, he finds Katara closer, leaning against the mouth of the cave, her face half shadowed. She won’t look at him, and she keeps her arms wrapped tight around herself. “Why did you do this? You could have let me get hurt instead. That would have made more sense.”

Zuko inhales shakily. “Yeah, well—thinking things through has never been my strong suit.”

She scoffs and shoots a sideways glance at him. “I figured that out a while ago, thanks. Of course, I always thought that I was good at thinking things through.” She turns to face him, then closes her eyes, head resting against the rock beside her. “Then this happened.”

He isn’t sure what to say to that. He isn’t sure she wants him to say anything at all.

Sure enough, after a long silence, she opens her eyes and resumes. “Do you know who that was? The man who tried to attack me?”

He nods faintly.

“Who?”

“It was Kentaro Bumu. He’s—he was kind of a legend in the Fire Nation. An assassin who specialized in hunting down people who were supposed to be untouchable. Mostly nobility.”

“And why was he after me?”

He hears Azula’s voice echoing through his head. I’ve done you the greatest favor anyone will ever do. Make it worth my while. He wonders if Azula would be pleased to see him like this. Is this worth her while? “I think my sister must have hired him to kill the Avatar.”

A flicker of anger crosses her face, and as quickly as it appears, it is replaced by confusion. “Then why come after me? I don’t exactly look like Aang. Especially in disguise.”

“I don’t know. Maybe he found something of the Avatar’s around here and assumed that it was the Avatar in your disguise. Or maybe she asked him to get rid of the people protecting the Avatar first. There’s no way of knowing with Azula.”

“If you knew that, then why did you protect me?”

Zuko shakes his head. “I didn’t know for sure. All I knew was that Kentaro Bumu was attacking the only other person trying to help Shusoku. No one has ever escaped from him before. I knew that I couldn’t stand by and watch it happen, no matter what that meant for me.” He closes his eyes. “I had no idea that jumping on his back would work.”

“It worked and you almost got yourself killed. You would have died if I had been anyone else.”

Zuko opens his eyes and looks her way. Her brow is creased, and she is biting her lip. He can’t quite identify that expression—confusion, most likely.

Katara chafes her hands up and down both arms, and peers out into the forest. “You have enough food and water, don’t you.”

It isn’t a question, though it sounds like it should be.

“For a few days.”

She nods, still looking away. “I can’t heal you more. Not right now. I did too much the other night.” She hesitates. “Tomorrow. I’ll make my decision by then.”

Her voice carries such gravity that Zuko has to push himself up again, just to be a little closer, to get a better view of her face.

“What decision?” he rasps.

She doesn’t look back as she starts to turn away. “Someone will be here for you tomorrow. I just don’t know if it’s going to be me.”

Incredibly, Katara manages to sleep.

Maybe it shouldn’t surprise her. She hasn’t slept a bit since before fleeing Zuko’s cave in the middle of the night, and by the time she returns from facing him without her disguise, she is exhausted all over again. But not, she thinks, too exhausted to lie awake for hours mulling over all the things she said wrong, all the things she could have done differently. All the ways this whole problem could have been avoided if only she’d been able to keep her hat and veil in place the night when he cried himself to sleep in her arms.

She expects to be overwhelmed by thoughts swirling confusedly through her mind, but instead, she feels oddly blank on her walk back to camp. Even lying quiet in her tent doesn’t awaken her thoughts and worries.

It isn’t until morning that she starts feeling things properly again. Her thoughts are no clearer than they were when she left him, but as she lights her morning campfire and begins cooking her first hot meal in days, her feelings begin to find their direction.

She still doesn’t know if she should go back to help Zuko. Her instincts are torn between leaving him in his own people’s care and continuing the help him on her own. If she chooses the former, then she won’t have to be near him anymore. She won’t have to face the risk that he might turn on her directly. But if she goes back, there is a chance, however small, that she might be able to gain enough of his loyalty to keep herself and her friends safe. Zuko might give up his search for Aang permanently if he hasn’t already.

Both options make sense, and when she tries to be pragmatic, neither seems to outweigh the other.

But when she is honest with herself, she has to admit that she wants to go back. If nothing else, she likes having some small measure of control in this situation. She likes being close enough to see how he’s healing and to watch as he changes his mind—or as he doesn’t. She likes knowing.

Of course, it also terrifies her to think of everything that might go wrong now. Though the weight of keeping her face hidden has lifted, though she no longer has to worry about avoiding him during the daytime, Zuko knows her now. He might try to use that against her.

And yet those dangers haven’t changed. He’s known who she is for days now, and as hard as she tries, she can’t think of a single sign that he means her harm. It’s freeing, in a way, to have the truth out in the open at last.

She still knows better than to trust him. She’s smarter than that. But Zuko is still injured, and even if he did mean her harm, there isn’t much he could possibly do. At the moment, the risk is still small.

And she wants to see him again. That’s the simple fact. She doesn’t care to examine the reasons behind it, but the thought of leaving him, even with villagers who will care for him, bothers her in ways she can’t describe.

Maybe it’s because he saved her. That could be it. Even if she’s technically returned the favor by now—she has saved his life, and he will live if he finds help—she wants to do more. She wants to undo as much of the damage as she can. She wants to put things back to the way they were before.

And, she supposes, there’s still a part of her that’s holding out hope that he might choose to be a better person. Unlikely as it may be, she wants to find proof that her hopes aren’t entirely unfounded.

She mills around camp for a while after breakfast, brushing Appa’s wooly legs while he grazes. There isn’t a good reason to wait, but she finishes grooming Appa, puts out the fire, moves her leftovers to a shady pit to cool, and plays with Momo for a while before she finally lets out a breath and looks down the slope.

She’s going to see Zuko again. She’s going to keep going back for as long as it takes. She thinks that her mind has been made up for a while already.

After Katara packs up another small package of food and fills her waterskin, she finally sets off for the cave. Momo tries to follow her a while, but she distracts him with a scrap of dried fruit and slips away. It isn’t until she’s within sight of the cave that her stomach begins to flutter. Making up her mind to help him is one thing. Coming back without her disguise to do it is quite another.

In the dark of the cave, a pale smudge rises just a bit. “Katara?” Zuko pushes himself up on an elbow. “You came back?”

She hangs a few strides back. “What does it look like?”

“Right.” He tries a little harder to rise, and he gasps and falls back on his elbow.

Katara drops the package of food beside him before she kneels and pushes him back to the ground. “Why do you keep doing that? It obviously hurts when you try to sit up.”

His grimace takes a while to fade. “Sorry.”

She shakes her head and sits cross-legged by his side. “Don’t apologize to me. You’re just hurting yourself.”

“Seems like I’m pretty good at that.” He pauses a moment while his breathing steadies. “I didn’t think you were coming back.”

“Neither did I.” It’s partially true. She wasn’t certain about it for a while. At least not consciously.

“Then why—”

“Even if I knew, I’m not sure I’d want to tell you.” She looks pointedly away and swaps his nearly empty waterskin for the fresh one.

After a pause, Zuko speaks again. “Katara, I never asked, but—were you okay?”

Her eyes are drawn back to his, and he looks almost nervous. “What do you mean?”

“I mean—after this. I know that I got hurt. Obviously. Were you—”

“No.” Her throat begins to burn, and she speaks as quickly as she can. “No, nothing serious. Just a few bruises.”

He exhales, and some of the tension drains from his face. “Good.”

Katara’s breath catches. It sounds like he’s relieved. It sounds like he means it.

Has he been wondering about this? With so much of his own trouble to worry about, it seems incredible that Katara’s safety would have even crossed his mind. He’s seen her nearly every day since he got hurt. He knows that she’s okay now. If he actually cares, then she’s just going to get her hopes up for the future.

She lets out a breath and carefully unclenches her hands and her jaw. She can’t think about that. She needs to stay focused. “Is your back feeling any better?”

He hastily nods. “Much better. It’s fine.”

She raises an eyebrow and rests a hand on his shoulder. Even without her water, she can feel traces of the tangled, broken energy tracing outward through his nerves.

“You want to try the truth this time?”

He winces and looks away. “It is better. I can mostly feel my legs now. My back—it doesn’t hurt most of the time.”

“How often does it hurt?”

He shrugs, still avoiding her eyes. “Just sometimes. It comes and goes. When I try to move, it gets a lot worse.”

At least she can believe that. She taps his shoulder. “Can you turn over? I want to see how much else I can do.”

Zuko meets her eyes, then he nods and starts to push himself onto his side. Katara steadies him when she has to, and by the time he makes it onto his side, he is pale and sweating a bit.

She bends the sweat off of his forehead and rests a hand on his arm, holding him still while he collects himself. “That’s far enough. You’ll be okay. Just breathe slowly.”

He nods, eyes closed, and one of his hands reaches toward hers, then stops short. It hovers in midair for a second before lowering back to the ground and clenching into a fist.

Katara swallows and forces herself to look away as she uncorks her waterskin. She almost wants to squeeze his hand, to reestablish that pattern of easy, gentle contact that they’d begun to build before she tossed aside her disguise. She wants to comfort him because no one else can.

Instead, she coats one hand with water and holds him steady with the other. The water finds its way to the source of the painful energy, and Katara frowns in concentration while she works. The tangles that used to encircle his spine haven’t returned, but the strands of energy that branch outward from the injury seem to be curling back inward, like they’re trying to encase the damage again. With any luck, they won’t have a chance. If Katara can at least mend the cracks in the bone, the nerves will be protected, and maybe the damage will stay contained.  

Zuko’s breathing evens, and from the corner of her eye, she sees him watching her.

“How do you do that?”

She jumps but doesn’t glance his way. She needs to keep her focus.

“It’s a type of waterbending,” she answers as she works on one of the worst cracks in the bone. “I learned a bit of healing at the North Pole.”

Zuko pauses before he says, “That’s why you said that I brought life back to Shusoku.”

“When did I say that?”

“Right after I got hurt. You were talking about the well I helped to dig. You needed the water to heal the people.”

Katara has to look at him this time. He isn’t entirely right—she always brought her own water when she was the Painted Lady—but she thinks she remembers saying as much. “I can’t believe you didn’t forget that.”

“Mmm. I remember pieces of it. There are a lot of blank spots, but I think I remember most of the times you came back here. And parts of stopping Kentaro.”

Katara bites her lip and focuses until the fracture she’s working on is sealed completely. Then she drops her voice to something just barely over a whisper. “Do you regret it?”

Zuko looks up at her. “Regret what?”

“This.” She taps his back just above the injury. “Stopping him.”

He frowns. “I’ve been trying not to think about that.” A pause. “If I had another chance, I probably would’ve tried to come up with a plan instead of just jumping on his back.”

She gives a quiet laugh. “You did tell me that thinking things through wasn’t your strong suit.”

To her surprise, Zuko manages a small smile in return. “It isn’t.” He exhales slowly. “But I don’t think I’d change the rest of it.”

The water falls out of Katara’s control for an instant, and her face burns as she catches it. She wishes that she had either the darkness or her veil to hide behind. “You wouldn’t?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t think so.”

She keeps her eyes fixed on the soft glow emanating from the water around her hand. “I don’t think I ever remembered to thank you for stopping him.” The hand that isn’t occupied with healing him finds its way down from his shoulder to brush against the back of his hand. “Thank you, Zuko.”

Chapter Text

He shouldn’t be so proud of himself just for finding the strength to sit up. Even after more than a week of lying nearly immobile, it’s a pathetically minor accomplishment.

But pathetic or not, it’s still progress. Enough so that he can almost afford to think about what happens next. He can’t walk. He can’t even stand, but it’s getting closer. Maybe someday he’ll be able to rise to his feet. Someday, he might even be able to leave this place on his own strength.

“Zuko?” Katara stops short in the middle of the clearing, then jogs the rest of the way to the cave. “You’re sitting. When did this happen?” She drops to her knees beside him. “How long have you been able to—”

“Just today,” he answers. Much as he wants to, he can’t hold her gaze. It’s too bright, too difficult to decipher. She almost looks happy. Almost. But there are too many other emotions vying for position on her face, and he doesn’t think he can bear it if she is any less than pleased with his progress.

Zuko swallows and focuses his attention on his hands. “It’s not much. I know that. It’s just been so long since I could—”

“Zuko.” Her hand comes to rest on his shoulder, and he has to meet her eyes. “This is incredible. You’re doing so well.” She raises her hand toward his face, then stops herself and clutches his shoulder again. A small, soft smile crosses her face. “I’m happy for you.”

He exhales. He isn’t used to feeling like this. He isn’t used to having people care about him—to having people celebrate his victories without turning to mockery. But Katara seems sincere. She may be a bit hesitant, but Zuko has never known her to be dishonest before. Angry, sometimes, but never dishonest.

He tries to trust her.

“Thanks.”

Katara allows her hand to linger a moment longer before she sits back and smooths her hair. “Of course, I might be congratulating myself for doing such a good job healing you too. I can’t really decide who I should be more proud of.”

He feels his mouth twitch into something that might look a bit like a smile. “I think that’s fair.”

“Good.” She pulls a covered cooking pot closer from where she’d placed it by the mouth of the cave. “And good timing too. I brought some of my leftover soup, and it might’ve been a little difficult to eat if you couldn’t sit up.”

He nods and tries his best to shift into a more comfortable, more upright position. A sharp stab strikes the middle of his back, and he winces.

Katara’s eyes widen. “Are you okay?”

He nods again. “Fine.” As soon as he settles back against the wall of the cave, the pain fades away. That in itself is an improvement. Before, the pain would always linger. “It still hurts sometimes, but it doesn’t last very long.”

She looks a little more solemn now, but she sits back. Being relatively close to eye level with her makes for a nice change, even if he’s still stranded in this cave.

“Um—the soup is probably cold by now, but it should still be better than jerky and dried fruit.”

“It wouldn’t have to be cold,” he volunteers.

“I think it’s too late for that now,” Katara says dryly. “I don’t want to go looking for firewood, and it’s a bit of a walk to get down here from camp.”

“No, that’s not what I meant. My bending. I could try to heat it up with my bending.”

Katara stops short, and her mouth opens like she wants to speak, but no words come. She almost looks frightened.

“Katara?”

“Fine! It’s fine. I’m fine.” But she won’t meet his eyes, and her hands clench together in her lap.

“You don’t want me to use my bending,” he guesses.

Considering all she’s done for him, it’s a small enough request. He can hold back his bending. He’s done it before. Back in the Earth Kingdom, he passed himself off as a nonbender for weeks straight. But now, even though he doesn’t have the strength for much firebending, it stings a little. How long is this going to last?

“I just—no, not exactly.” She unclenches her fists and scuffs her palms against her thighs. “I’ve seen a lot of firebending, and it’s never been used for anything good.”

And what you did was the worst of all of it, his mind fills in. She hates him for that, she has to.

“I’m sorry for what I did in Ba Sing Se,” he says quietly. “I tried to apologize before, but I’m not sure you knew what I meant.”

Katara shrugs. “I understood you. Or I was pretty sure I did.” She pauses. “But I also thought I knew what was going to happen in Ba Sing Se, so clearly I don’t understand you as well as I sometimes think.”

“I really thought that things would end differently in Ba Sing Se too.”

She scoots back against the side of the cave and pulls her knees up to her chest. “So why didn’t they?”

His mouth feels dry, and it’s difficult to speak. “I wanted to go home. That was all I could really think about. It was all I wanted for more than three years. I couldn’t even imagine letting go of that chance.”

For a while, Katara doesn’t respond. But then, “Would you do anything different?”

He has to think about that. “I don’t know. Maybe if someone had told me what was going to happen when I got home—I don’t know. I probably wouldn’t have believed it anyway. I don’t think I would have believed that my father would ever—” he breaks off. “I’ve never actually learned anything without letting it blow up in my face first.”

Katara won’t meet his eyes, and he can’t really blame her for that. She was probably hoping for something different—an assurance that he would never have chosen his father if something had been different. If someone had just said the right thing to him. In a lot of ways, he wishes he’d been that wise too.

“I trusted you,” she begins softly. There isn’t any anger in her tone, just an edge of wistfulness. “I would have vouched for you if you’d changed your mind in the catacombs.” She meets his eyes briefly. “You could have had a home with us.”

His throat burns a bit. That sounds nice. He thinks he would have liked that. Or he would have grown to like it over time. He could have been with Katara. He could have gotten to know her better—everything could have been different. He wouldn’t have gotten hurt like this. He would have been on the opposite side of the war, and maybe, just maybe, it could have been what he’s been searching for his entire life.

“I’m sorry, Katara.”

She shakes her head. “You don’t need to keep doing that. You’ve apologized plenty already.” She plays with the hem of her skirt. “I know that you mean it.”

His breath catches. She does? She believes him?

It seems impossible, but he trusts her. Even so, he wishes that there were more. He wishes that he could go back and change things. That he could erase all the bad memories—for her, anyway. He’s well aware that he would make the same mistakes all over again if the consequences were wiped from his mind.

“I guess sometimes I learn the same way as you,” she adds. “I don’t realize that I’ve even made a mistake until after things blow up in my face.”

He wants to reach out to her, to rest a comforting hand on her shoulder the way she’s done so many times for him.

It’s probably a good thing that he can’t reach that far.

“Is there any way I can make it up to you?”

She thinks a while, then offers him a small smile. “Do you think you could manage to heat up some soup? All this thinking is making me too hungry.”

That isn’t enough. He knows it won’t make up for anything, but he’ll still try. It’s the least he can do.

Katara moves the pot to where he can reach it and shapes a little hollow in the damp ground to keep it from tipping. It doesn’t escape his notice that she backs almost to the mouth of the cave before he even reaches for the pot—the mistrust, warranted or not, still hurts—but he does his best to concentrate.

It’s been too long since he last used his firebending. Either he’s forgotten how strenuous it can be, or he’s still too weak for this. Whatever the case is, by the time that the steam begins to rise, Zuko feels heavy, and he’s almost unreasonably grateful when Katara comes forward to ladle the soup into bowls.

He barely has the energy left to eat, much less move an entire bowl.

The quiet while they eat is easy, almost comfortable. He can’t be sure whether Katara feels the same, but if nothing else, Zuko is grateful that he doesn’t have to speak.

He’s nearly finished with his meal when he loses his grip on his chopsticks and can’t figure out how to lift them again.

He’s tired. So, so tired.

“Zuko?” Katara touches his wrist. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

Words are difficult, and sentences seem positively impossible. He struggles a while before he finds the word he’s searching for. “Tired.”

She sets down her own bowl and moves a little closer to catch his before it can spill.

“It’s okay. I’ve got you.” She steadies him while she moves his bowl aside too. “Just have a little water and I’ll help you lie down so you can sleep.”

He isn’t sure that he needs to sleep—the exhaustion feels emptier than that—but he isn’t sure how to explain what he’s actually feeling, and lying down does sound amazing. Sleep or not, he needs rest.

Still, when Katara’s arms come around him as she tries to move him, Zuko thinks that sleeping like this might be nice. He remembers falling asleep on her shoulder once before. It could be even nicer now that he isn’t in so much pain.

His limbs cooperate only reluctantly as she settles him onto his side.

“I guess it’s a bit too early for you to be bending,” she says as she adjusts the folded blanket beneath his head.

She’s probably right. Zuko has a feeling that there’s something else too—he hasn’t seen the sunlight in days. That has to have some part in it. He’s a firebender. He relies on the sun.

He can’t exactly move from the cave on his own, much less ask Katara to bring him outside into the sunshine, but someday. Someday when he’s stronger, Zuko can drag himself out of the cave and feel the sun at last.

“Go ahead and rest,” she tells him. “I’m just going to work on your back a little more. I don’t think it’s going to hurt.” She brushes his hair away from his increasingly heavy eyes. “You should be able to sleep right through it.”

Though his eyelids are beginning to droop, he still isn’t convinced that sleep will help. It’s his bending that’s left him depleted, not his body. But he can’t argue with her. He doesn’t want to.

He lets his eyes slide shut as she brings a cooling swell of water up against his spine.

“For the record,” Katara says softly, “if you’re still listening, I don’t think I would have done anything differently either. I couldn’t keep you from getting hurt, but I would help you every single time.”

He doesn’t have to open his eyes or look her way to know that she means it. He wonders if he’ll ever be able to repay a fraction of the debt he owes her.

You could have had a home with us.

He wonders if that’s still true. If she would ever give him a second chance to prove himself.

If there’s a chance, no matter how small, that he might be able to repay her if she decides to let him stay.

“Momo, I swear if you don’t stop that, I’m going to take you back to camp and shut you up inside of my tent.”

She swipes at the lemur’s tail as he reaches for Zuko’s bundle of food, but Momo leaps clear of her grasp, and turns just far enough back to screech at her. Then, before she can grab onto him, Momo scampers off to explore the back of the cave.

Katara catches Zuko watching her, and her face flushes. “I really thought I’d figured out how to keep him from following me.”

Zuko cranes his neck to watch Momo darting around the back of the cave, overturning rocks and sniffing for bugs. For the first time, Zuko is sitting upright without any support, and Katara has to continually fight back the fluttering in her stomach. He’s improving. Pride and excitement mingle together with uncertainty, and she can’t decide whether to smile or to panic.

Maybe it’s a good thing that Momo is here. At least he can provide something of a distraction.

“Does he always follow you around?” Zuko asks, his brow quirked in mild bemusement.

A shrug. “Not just me. He’ll follow anyone who might give him food. But he’s been clingier than usual for the past few days.” She leans to the side to peer past Zuko’s shoulder. “I think he’s been getting bored with just me and Appa to keep him company.”

“Appa—is that the sky bison?”

She nods. It can’t hurt to admit that much. She’s been careful not to reveal too many details—where she’s been staying, where the others are, why she’s alone out here—but it’s getting harder to convince herself that such secrecy is necessary. He can’t use this against her, even if he wants to.

“I’m on animal babysitting duty until the others come back. Luckily, Appa is perfectly happy to graze and lie around in the sun all day, but Momo—” at the sound of his name, the lemur looks back, “—he mostly likes to cause trouble.”

As if on cue, Momo launches himself across the cave and lands hard on Zuko’s shoulder.

“Ah!” Zuko gasps, and his whole face twists into a grimace.

“Zuko?” Katara snatches Momo off of his shoulder. “Are you okay? I’m so—”

He nods, face still drawn. “Yeah. I’m fine.” After a few slow breaths, his forehead smooths out again. “I’m fine. That just surprised me.”

“Are you sure?” she asks as Momo wriggles out of her grasp. As though ashamed, the lemur climbs up to her shoulder and buries his entire head beneath her hair. Katara rolls her eyes and pokes the fuzzy little knee poking out beside her ear. “Sure, now you’re embarrassed.”

“I’m really okay, Katara. I just wasn’t ready to be ambushed by a lemur.”

She watches him a moment before she nods. He seems okay. Much better than he’s been in a long time. Of course he isn’t strong enough to stand, but at the rate he’s been improving, it might only be a few days away.

She wonders what it will mean when that finally happens.

“I don’t think anyone has ever been ready for a lemur ambush.” She carefully extracts Momo from her hair and makes a face at him when he chitters in protest. “Hey, you’re the one who wanted to come with me, Momo. You don’t have permission to use my hair as a tent.”

An almost impossibly soft smile flickers across Zuko’s face, and her heart skips. His smile is so rare that she is stunned to silence. She wonders what it might take to coax that smile out of him again. She wonders how she can make him laugh.

The smile is gone sooner than she hopes, and Zuko turns thoughtful instead. “You’ve really been staying out here with just a bison and a lemur all this time?”

Katara shrugs. “You’ve been sleeping alone in a cave,” she points out. And for just an instant, she considers how much nicer it might be for both of them if that were no longer the case. She’s fairly certain that the spare tent is still packed away in Appa’s saddle too. She could take Zuko back to camp with her, and it wouldn’t even have to be weird for them. She wouldn’t have to be alone, and he would be able to get out of this cave.

But he can’t walk yet, she reminds herself, and certainly not that far. She can’t put him through that kind of ordeal.

She tries not to think about why that’s the only obstacle that occurs to her.

“It’s not that bad,” she tells him instead. “I still have plenty of supplies, and I’m very used to living in a tent.”

“Alone? I don’t remember you ever being away from your friends—well, ever.”

She should be wary about giving him any details at all. He doesn’t need to know anything about her friends—where they are, what they’re doing, why they’ve left Katara here—but something in his tone puts her at ease. It doesn’t sound like he’s digging for details about them. She doesn’t think that he’d be subtle enough to approach the topic this way if he were searching for information.

“This is the longest I’ve ever been away from my brother,” she admits. “I was on my own in Ba Sing Se for a few days, but before that, we’d hardly been apart for more than a few hours at a time. And the other two—” she remembers Toph and Aang trading jokes by the campfire after dark, and there is a small pang. She does miss them. “We didn’t have much choice. Someone needed to stay behind to keep an eye on things, and I was the only one who could.”

“Still. Being sent away was hard enough for me, and I’m used to it.”

“My friends didn’t abandon me, Zuko. They’re not planning to leave me in the Fire Nation for good.” She pauses. “Even if they tried, they left me with Appa. I can travel a lot further and a lot faster than any of them if I want to.” She scratches Momo behind the ears, then opens her arms so he can escape. “I don’t know much about your family, but I know that the way they sent you away isn’t normal. And it’s not what happened to me.”

He frowns, and Katara begins to wonder if she’s crossed a line somewhere. His family is awful, but he probably doesn’t want to hear that. He probably doesn’t want any reminders.

“My father sent me to a village. That’s something. He could have dropped me off in the middle of the desert instead.”

She narrows her eyes at him. “Zuko.”

He pulls his mouth to the side. “I know. It’s just—what else am I supposed to say?”

Katara shakes her head. “I don’t know. But I don’t think you owe your family any consideration. You don’t have to pretend they did the right thing.”

“That’s going to be a tough habit to break.”

She makes a small noise of assent. She can’t even imagine how difficult it will be for him. It’s hard enough being left alone when she knows that her family and friends miss her and will be coming back sooner or later. She can’t begin to fathom what it must be like to be alone and unwanted.

“Didn’t you say that your sister hired the man who attacked me?” It’s probably the wrong time to ask, but she can’t find anything else to say.

Zuko nods. “I think so. I can’t think of anyone else who would have done it.” He looks down at his legs, sprawled in a slightly unnatural position before him, and tries to straighten them. They each move no more than a few inches before he gives up. “I know I wasn’t the person she wanted to hurt, but I doubt she would be disappointed with how things turned out.”

“If you’re not completely sure how or why she hired him, then how do you know that she didn’t mean for you to get hurt?”

At that, Zuko pulls a face that looks somewhere between a grimace and an ironic smile. “Because she would have been more efficient if she really wanted to get rid of me. And because she kept making a fuss about how many favors I owed her.”

Katara pauses. Sometimes she still manages to forget who she’s talking to—who they’re both talking about. “Did you—did you ask her to hire someone to get rid of Aang?”

“I—no. Not exactly.” His hands clench visibly, and his forehead creases. “I just didn’t argue. She told me that she was going to keep my father from finding out that I’d failed, and—I don’t really know what I was expecting. Not this. I wasn’t even convinced that Kentaro Bumu was real.”

For a while, she can’t find anything to say. It hurts. Knowing that he could have guessed what was going on sooner if he’d tried—that he could have stopped this before it even happened—burns her from the inside out. Things could have been so different. But she can’t exactly blame him for any of this either. Because he did stop it when he found out. He did keep Katara safe. And she has to believe that he would have done the same for anyone else.

But it still hurts.

“Katara, I’m sorry.”

She shakes her head. It’s all in the past now. The hurt will heal in time.

“What about now? Have you thought about what you’re going to do after this?”

It almost looks like he’s forgotten how to breathe. “I—”

Momo creeps around behind him and sniffs at his hand, then clambers up into Zuko’s lap. Zuko seems to lose his train of thought before it really begins.

“I—um. Hi, Momo.” Zuko awkwardly pats Momo on the head.

Momo chitters back at him, then nudges harder against Zuko’s hand.

Katara can’t help but smile. “I think he likes you.”

Zuko gives the lemur another cautious pat, and Momo curls up on his lap. “Does he like it when people smell terrible, or—”

“Or he likes that you’re warm,” she says. “And he probably feels bad for jumping on you.”

“Oh.” Zuko rests his hand on Momo’s back, and begins stroking gently when the lemur chitters at him. For a while, he won’t look anywhere else. Then, “I have thought about the future. Probably more than I should.”

“You have?”

He nods. “I think I know what I want to do now. I mean, ideally. If everything turns out perfectly.” He swallows. “I know it probably won’t, and it all depends—”

“On what?” she asks when he doesn’t continue.

“On how well I heal. How much I can do after this is over.”

Katara watches him. He still won’t look at her, and there is a guarded look on his face. She suspects that he’s hiding something. That there are truths hiding just beneath the surface that she can pry out if she pushes just a little.

She decides against it. She isn’t sure that she wants to know what he’s hiding. It’s easier not to know than it is to be disappointed with what she finds.

“You might be able to walk eventually,” she tells him instead. She thinks that’s probably what he wants to know. “It’s going to take time. Your right leg isn’t responding as well as your left, but I think you’ll be able to get around. Even if that means that you have a limp.”

Zuko’s hand stills on Momo’s back, and his eyes widen just a bit. “You think so?”

She shrugs. “The only way to know for sure is to keep trying. If you want me to keep healing you—"

There is something wild and bright, something desperate in his eyes. He nods. “I—yes. Please.”

Katara hesitates for just an instant. She’s never seen such eagerness in him before. She’s seen him desperate, but never like this.

She isn’t sure she wants to know the reason behind it. She isn’t sure that she can trust his reasons.

But she pushes the doubt back down where it belongs. She’s made her decision. Lots of times. Dangerous or not, she’s not going to abandon him, and she’s not going to leave him in pain.  

Zuko is still awake, though groggy, when Katara is through healing him. As much as she’s tempted to stay with him, to sit by his side in quiet companionship until he falls asleep, she thinks that would be a bad idea. She likes this too much. Sitting with him, chatting and studying the angles of his face, the slight shifts in his expression, gives her too many silly ideas. It makes her daydream about changing things. About what might happen if she could convince him to come along with her. If she could keep him, somehow, and reclaim the chance that they missed in Ba Sing Se.

She’s going to have to move on eventually, she knows that. Sokka and the others will come back for her, and then they’ll have to leave. They’ll go off to fight—and hopefully finish the war, and Zuko will stay here. She can’t possibly ask him to come along with them, to join the fight against his own nation, his own family. Not now. Not after he’s sacrificed so much to keep her safe. Not when he is still suffering the effects, when he still can’t defend himself because of what his family has done to him.

He’ll be safe in the village. And if they have enough warning, Katara can take him there to be sure of it. She’ll get him on his feet again, walk alongside him back to the village, get him settled back into his little house, and then, when everything is in place, she’ll say goodbye to him. It’s going to hurt when that day inevitably comes, but they still have time.

And when she arrives back at camp and Momo swoops off of her shoulder, screaming at a hawk perched on the tip of Appa’s horn, Katara feels a twist down deep in her stomach. Very, very soon, she’ll know exactly how much time they have left.

It takes some time and plenty of frustration before she manages to get Momo far enough out of the way to snatch the messenger hawk and untie the little message tube from its leg.

She should probably be annoyed with Sokka for taking so long to write. She would be if not for the fact that she’s been busy as the Painted Lady, then with looking after Zuko. She almost hasn’t noticed how long it’s been since they left.

She settles down by the side of the campfire ring before she opens the leather case and pulls out a small, coiled letter.

Dear Sapphire Fire, the letter begins in Sokka’s scrawling hand, it’s me, Wang.

Katara snorts. She misses Sokka and his odd sense of humor. She misses all of them.

Kuzon and Emerald joined me in Shu Jing a few days ago. Emerald says that Kuzon bends like a sand beetle now, whatever that means. I guess it must be good? Kuzon’s training must be done since they’re not doing anything much. Just bugging me and Master Piandao most of the time.

Anyway, things are going well here. Master Piandao says I’ll probably be done with my training by the full moon, so the three of us are planning to stick around here until we can all travel back together.

Don’t get too bored without us, and feed Hawky a mouse for me. I’ll make sure we’re on the road back right after the full moon.

See you in a few more days.

The full moon. Katara doesn’t have to look up at the sky or wait until nightfall to know what that means.

The full moon is tonight.

Shu Jing is only three days away.

Three more days. Only three.

Her throat tightens, and her eyes begin to burn.

Three days.

That isn’t nearly enough time.

Chapter Text

You might be able to walk.

Zuko clings to those words. It’s the brightest point he can find amidst the uncertainty that surrounds him. If he can walk again, he might still have hope.

It’s probably impossible. Zuko should probably know better than to even think about the future before he knows for certain. Even Katara says that he’ll probably have a limp for the rest of his life if he recovers the ability to walk. He doesn’t doubt that. Though the feeling in his left leg is clear and consistent, the right flickers and sparks, occasionally sending jolts of pain clear up his back.

Even if he heals, he’ll probably need a cane to keep himself steady. He’ll probably ache like an old man every time it rains and take far too long to navigate stairs. He’ll almost certainly be unable to fight.

That’s the part that worries him most. If he can’t fight, then he’s of very little use to anyone. If he can’t fight, then he’ll have to limp his way back to Shosoku and set himself up as a calligraphy tutor or something and hope that it’s enough to survive on. He’ll be a grumpy old man with a bad limp and an even worse temper by the age of seventeen.

But if he can walk—if he can build up the strength to firebend somewhat normally—then he might have another chance. If he can walk, then he can travel. If he can firebend, then he can teach. And if he’s strong enough to both travel and teach, he might be able to convince Katara to take him with her.

With the first light of the sun, he struggles to drag himself from sleep. He suspects that if Katara were here, she’d tell him to rest as long as he needs, to recover the energy that the healing sessions drain from his limbs.

She would probably be right. The trouble is that his muscles have lost much of their strength, and no amount of rest is going to solve that. If he wants to walk again, he needs to work at it. He can sleep at night. During the day, he needs to fight with everything he has if he wants to stay with her.

Now that it’s occurred to him, it’s all he can think about. He gave up his chance to change in Ba Sing Se. As slim as the chances may be, he isn’t going to let it slip by without a fight this time.

So he pulls himself upright and eats as much as he can, then drinks his fill of water. His right leg aches and prickles in protest, but he drags himself to the mouth of the cave and struggles his way into one of the fresh sets of clothes that Katara brought back from Shusoku. He ought to bathe properly, but there isn’t enough water here, and even if there were, he’s not convinced that he’s strong enough for that. For now, a change of clothes will have to be good enough.

When he’s through changing, Zuko has to rest a while against the wall of the cave. He’s tempted to sleep. Even the small effort of changing his clothes is exhausting, and he knows that Katara won’t be here until later. He has time to rest.

But exhausted or not, he isn’t giving up on rebuilding his strength quite so easily. The sunlight is close, and there is a big, smooth-barked log lying just a few paces away. Surely, he can make it that far. Even if he can’t stand, moving has to help.

When the warmth of the sun lands on his skin, Zuko doesn’t even care that his back aches or that his right leg is sending quick shocks of pain upward. He doesn’t care that his arms are tired and shaking. He can feel the sun again, and he basks in it, closing his eyes to revel in the sensation of the fire in his middle finally burning a little higher again. He leans back against the log, and his muscles relax.

At least his instincts have proven correct for once. He needs the sunlight.

The next thing he is aware of is Katara’s voice, close and urgent.

“Zuko? Zuko, look at me. Are you okay? How did you get out here?”

He pries his eyes open to find her crouched beside him, hands on his shoulders. Did he fall asleep? It’s hard to tell for sure. All he knows is that the sun still feels nice.

“Did—did you walk?” She sounds worried.

Zuko blinks until his vision and his mind clear a bit before he shakes his head. “No. I tried standing, but I couldn’t. Had to drag myself out here.” He inhales slowly and shifts until he’s sitting upright. “I’m okay. I just haven’t been outside in a long time. I missed it.”

Katara’s brow is still furrowed, and Zuko is surprised how badly he wants to find her hand and squeeze it in reassurance. She hasn’t seemed so worried in days, and this time, there isn’t much reason for it. Zuko is better. He can’t use his legs properly—not the right one, at least—and it hurts to move, but he can. That’s more than he’s been able to say in far too long.

“What’s wrong?” he asks instead. It’s easier—safer than trying to comfort her by grabbing her hand.

She pulls back and shakes her head, but not before her thumb brushes softly along his jawline. “Nothing. I’m just surprised to see you out here.”

He forgets how to breathe, and it takes all his effort to keep from staring at her hand, silently, stupidly wishing for it to brush his cheek again.

Zuko swallows hard. “And?” he prompts. He has to say something before he loses control over himself.

“And maybe I was a little worried that you might’ve hurt yourself.” She sits back, but she’s still close, so close that her knees almost brush against his. “Sorry. It’s just—you didn’t hear me coming, and I got scared when you didn’t answer me at first.”

There’s still something hanging around her, a kind of inexplicable melancholy that Zuko wants to brush away, to set adrift on the gentle midday breeze. She shouldn’t have to be worried about him. She’s done so much to help him that she shouldn’t have to worry ever again.

“I must have fallen asleep. The sunlight looked really nice. I couldn’t resist.”

Her mouth twitches into a soft smile that somehow doesn’t wash away the melancholy. Still, it’s a start. And though Katara smiles far more than Zuko ever has, he finds himself wishing that he could see it more often. “Does it feel as good as you hoped it would?”

He nods. “Better.” He pulls himself away from the log until he’s sitting fully on his own strength, moving slowly to avoid upsetting the irritable nerves in his back. “I didn’t mean to make you worry. I just wanted to see what I could do on my own.”

She bites her lip, then looks away. “You changed your clothes too.”

A shrug. He can’t tell her the real reason why he’s trying so hard. Not yet. Not until he’s able to walk—until he can ask to join her without becoming more of a burden. “It was time. I wanted to wash up, and this was as close as I could get.” He pauses. “Thank you again. For everything. I never thought that you’d bring me fresh clothes.”

She doesn’t really acknowledge that, but her hand touches his, and it’s so soft that he forgets to breathe.

“Everything is going so much faster than I expected.” She scoops up his hand and holds it between both of hers. “You’re getting better.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

“Of course it is.”

“Then why—” he breaks off when she meets his eyes, and that same sadness washes over him in a wave. Zuko caves into it and wraps his hands around hers. They feel small, almost delicate, though he knows very well the kind of strength they hold. “What’s wrong? Why are you upset?”

“I—” She holds his gaze for just a second before she looks away again. “I’m not upset, Zuko.”

It’s a lie. He can hear that as clear as day, and it stuns him how badly it stings. Has he always cared this much?

Katara squeezes both of his hands. “I’m so proud of how well you’re doing. And of how hard you’re working to get better.”

Zuko watches her. She’s telling the truth, but that isn’t all of it. It can’t be.

“I’m just—I’m worried about what happens next.”

He is too. It hits him hard in the middle of the chest. He wants to get better—he has to—but the moment he does, everything will change. For both of them. Zuko won’t have to rely on her anymore, and she will be free to leave him behind.

He wonders if Katara will ever want to see him again when that happens.

Probably not. He’s probably an idiot for even considering the idea of joining her and her friends. He can’t imagine Katara wanting that. Why would she? And as much as Zuko hates the idea of being left alone, he can’t make her stay.

The most he can do is ask to join her once he’s recovered.

“Whatever happens,” Zuko says quietly, “I promise I won’t be a burden to you. I’ll make sure that I can take care of myself.”

There is just a flicker of bewilderment in her eyes, and Katara shakes her head. “I’ve already told you, you’re not a burden. You never have been.” She plays with a twig so that she doesn’t have to look at him. “But you’re right. You’re going to be fine. I know you will.”

She sounds so sad again, and this time, he starts to reach toward her face. To wipe at the tears that seem inevitable.

Before he can, she touches his cheek instead. “Zuko, could I—would you let me wash your hair?”

“What?”

She flushes half a shade darker. “It’s just—you mentioned that you wanted to wash up. If you want me to, I could—with my bending, your hair would be easy.”

His mouth goes dry when her fingertips trace along his neck, just brushing the ends of his hair. “You—you don’t have to.”

“What if I want to?”

Zuko tries very hard not to let his jaw hang slack. The very thought of her hands massaging his scalp and smoothing the knots from his hair sets his heart racing. Is this a dream? He has to be dreaming, doesn’t he?

Almost numb, he nods. “Okay.”

For some unfathomable reason, Katara smiles, and this time, the sadness is gone. Zuko feels his face warm, and his mouth twitches toward a smile. If this makes her happy, even though it’s ridiculous and insignificant, then he has to be happy about it too.  

Katara darts into the cave for just a moment before emerging with a spare blanket and a square of soap from his pile of supplies. She perches on the log behind him and guides his head into position just over her knees.

“You might want to close your eyes,” she tells him as she uncorks her waterskin. “I’ll try to be careful, but just in case.”

He doesn’t have to be told twice. Her hands feel so nice on his scalp that all he can do is close his eyes and allow himself to melt as she begins her work.

Her hands are soft, and every touch is gentle. Although he’s grown to expect kindness from her, the tenderness feels strange. It’s been so long since anyone has even pretended to care so much—so long since he’s been able to trust compassion from anyone—and he can only soak it in, trying not to think too hard about what any of this means. He is here, and so is Katara, and that’s all that really matters.

For a while, Katara works in silence, keeping an orb of water hovering smoothly around his scalp. He can hear the water moving in easy ripples as she works through the tangles with her fingertips, smoothing the sweat-matted clumps away. The breeze whispers through the trees around them, and the sun warms him to his core. Everything is soft and illuminated, and he wouldn’t mind staying just like this for much, much longer.

He could be doing this himself, he realizes eventually. His arms are strong enough that he could scrub the grime from his own hair and pick apart the tangles. Katara wouldn’t have to do this for him, so long as she holds the water in place. But she must know that too. If she isn’t going to object, then he can’t bring himself to say anything either.

“I’m sure this soap isn’t ideal,” Katara says eventually, still working her fingers through his hair, though Zuko is half convinced that she’s been finished washing it for ages. “I hope it isn’t too harsh on your hair.”

“Mmm.” Zuko lets his eyes open just a crack. “Doesn’t matter. It’s what I was using in Shusoku anyway. Soap is soap.”

She scoffs. “And to think that you’re the one who grew up rich. There’s plenty of different kinds of soap, and I don’t think this one was meant to be used in your hair.”

“Does it matter?”

“It can.”

He frowns, closing his eyes again. “Then I guess it just doesn’t matter to me. It’s not like I’m ever going to look good. My hair is just—as long as I smell a little better, that’s all that matters.”

A pause. Then, “Please. Zuko, you have beautiful hair.”

His heart skips, and he wonders if Katara can feel it. Whether the water encircling his scalp carries his ridiculous, stuttering pulse back to her.

“I doubt that,” he rasps. His hair might well be his most passable feature, but it’s absurd to hear any part of himself described as beautiful. He just—isn’t. He knows better than to listen to that kind of nonsense, even if it’s meant kindly. He knows better than to lie to himself.

“Well, that’s too bad. Because it’s true, objectively speaking. Your hair is wonderful. It’s soft and it’s strong.”

His pulse roars a little louder, and Zuko isn’t convinced that she’s just talking about his hair anymore. He knows better than to believe that she would say anything quite so complimentary about him, but it still sounds like she means more.

“I—I don’t really see that,” he manages, throat dry. “It’s just hair. I never really cared that much about it.”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t look after it. There are some things that are easier to care about once they’re properly cared for.”

It really doesn’t feel like Katara is talking about his hair anymore, but Zuko can’t stop himself. “What happens when I can’t take care of it on my own?”

There is another pause, and he thinks that she’s finally realized how far off track they’ve both strayed. How much more Zuko has imagined in her tone than her words could have possibly implied.

But even if she knows how absurdly far his mind has stretched beyond her meaning, she takes another small step. “I never said that you had to do things alone. You don’t. If something is worth doing on your own, then it’s worth doing with help too.”

He isn’t sure how to respond to that. He thinks that he wants to thank her. Or to assure her that he’s trying—that he’s doing all he can to be certain that he won’t need help for much longer. Or maybe that’s the wrong thing to say too.

He decides not to say anything, and for a while, there is quiet again.

Katara runs her hands through his hair, massaging his scalp once more, then she finally pulls most of the water away. He hears it splash to the ground, and her hands return, trailing through his damp hair to smooth away the remaining knots.

“The sunshine—it has something to do with your bending, doesn’t it?” she asks softly. “That was why you wanted to come out here.”

Zuko nods faintly, trying not to pull away from her grasp. “Mostly. It was a nice change from the cave too.” He lapses into silence for a while before resuming, “The other day when I heated up the soup—I think using my bending without the sun was the reason I was so tired.”

“I’m sorry I asked you to do that.”

He shrugs. “I offered first. I knew what could happen. When I was younger, my uncle always made me meditate at sunrise so I would be connected to my element. It’s been a while since I did it, but I did know that the sun made a difference with my bending.”

Katara’s hands still, then they come down to rest on his shoulders. “Your uncle. Can you tell me about him?”

Zuko opens his eyes a bit. “What do you mean?”

“I mean—he seems so much better than the rest of your family. It seems like he cares about you. Like he’d do anything to keep you from getting hurt.”

His throat tightens, and he presses his hands together, squeezing them tighter and tighter until they begin to lose feeling. “He did. He cared about me. He was the best part of my family for a really long time.”

“What about now?”

“Now—now, I don’t think I’m ever going to see him again. I don’t think he’d ever want to see me.”

“Why not?”

“Because—after Ba Sing Se, he got thrown into prison. Because of me. It’s my fault that he’s locked up.” His voice breaks, but he can’t bring himself to stop there. “I betrayed everyone who mattered, and I’ll never be able to make it up to him. Even if he makes it out of prison, he’ll—”

“Zuko.” Her voice wavers and cracks, and before he knows what’s happening, her arms wrap around him from behind, and her face presses down against the side of his neck. She’s shaking ever so slightly.

Is she crying? Why? Zuko’s eyes are burning, and it hurts to breathe, but this isn’t her pain to bear. It’s his. This is his life, his problem to sort out. Katara shouldn’t have to cry over it.

He cranes his neck, trying to catch even the slightest glimpse of her face.

“Katara?”

With a sniffle, she shakes her head and turns as far as she can to conceal her face from him. “I’m sorry, Zuko.”

That’s all he can stand. He twists, grimacing when his useless right leg wrenches itself into a crooked, painful angle and refuses to straighten. It doesn’t matter. He’s getting used to the persistent pain in his leg.

He turns until he can see Katara, and cups her face between his hands, tilting her head upward until he can see the tears glistening on her cheeks.

“What’s wrong? Please, Katara.” He brushes a tear awkwardly away with his thumb. “Why are you crying?”

She squeezes her eyes shut and rests her forehead lightly against his. “I got a letter from my brother last night.”

Oh. His throat tightens again. “You miss them.”

Of course she does. She has friends and family who love her. People who care, who want her around rather than merely tolerating her. And he’s fairly certain that he’s one of the things keeping them apart.

“I miss them,” she echoes in agreement, her voice wavering. “And I wish—”

Zuko closes his eyes. He knows what’s coming. He knows how much it’s going to hurt, and he tries his best to brace himself. She wishes she could be with her friends instead of him. She wishes that he were strong enough to leave behind.

“I wish there was more I could do to help you.”

A moment passes before he understands what she’s said. It doesn’t make sense. What more could she do? She’s already given so much to help him.

“You saved my life,” he whispers. It’s hard to speak any louder than that. “Why wouldn’t that be enough?”

She straightens a little, just enough so that their faces are no longer touching, but keeps her arms wrapped around his shoulders. “You saved me first. I’m the reason you got hurt.”

There’s some truth to that, he supposes. Only some. Not enough to bind her to him. Not so much that she owes him anything.

“That was my choice,” he tells her.

With a shuddering sigh, she slides off the log to sit next to him, gently pushing his right leg into a less painful position. “You didn’t know who I was. You didn’t know who you were helping. It isn’t fair that your whole life had to change when you didn’t even know what you were getting into.”

“I thought it might be you.” He looks down at his hands. “I knew I was taking a risk. I knew that things could go wrong.” A pause, and he takes a deep breath before meeting her eyes again. “I was okay with that. I knew that my life needed to change.”

She frowns, and her fingertips brush across his cheek. “Not like this.”

For a little while, they stay perfectly still, and she stares deep into his eyes like she’s trying to find something down near his core. His heart does an idiotic little skip. She’s pretty. He’s always been aware of it, but when she’s this close—when they’re touching, it’s so much harder to ignore. He tries anyway. There’s no use in this. She only feels indebted to him because he stopped Kentaro Bumu. She would never want him to look at her like that.

But he still hopes that she might at least like being around him. Even if that’s all it ever amounts to. He wishes that he could find a way to stay with her.

Small as the chance may be, he won’t stop fighting for it.

Katara draws in a slow, shaking breath and wipes her eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m just feeling—off today. I need to focus. There’s still more work to do on your back.”

Zuko can’t ignore the lingering sorrow in her voice. He wishes he could tell what’s been bothering her. He wishes that he could help.

“You don’t have to do anything,” he says quietly. “I’m getting better. And if you’re not feeling well—”

“I want to.” She smooths his now-dry hair back, and her hand lingers for just a second. “I want to help you.”

“Do you? Katara, I can tell there’s something—”

“Zuko.” She puts her hands on his shoulders again. “If you want to help me, please just let me do this for you. I promise, helping you is exactly the thing I need to do if I want to feel better.”

He can’t quite believe it. She’s hiding something, and it bothers him more than he wants to let on. He doesn’t want to pry into her thoughts. He doesn’t want to force her to tell him anything if she isn’t ready. But it bothers him all the same.

Whatever is wrong, he can already feel it starting to wedge itself between them and push him away.

But he won’t force her to say anything. He knows better than that.

Instead, he nods, and tries to drive the foreboding shadows from his mind. “Okay.”

Zuko doesn’t believe her. She can see that much at a glance. He can tell that there is something wrong, and Katara wishes that she had the heart—the courage to tell him the truth.

But at the very least, he humors her, and by the time she is ready to leave, she’s healed him well enough that he can stand. Only on his left leg, only for a few moments at a time, and only when Katara helps him to his feet and holds him steady, but he can stand.

It’s a start. She still has much more work to do if she’s going to get his legs working properly again, but at least it’s a start.

The trouble is that she doesn’t think it’s going to be enough.

Just two more days. It should be impossible for time to slip away so quickly, but try as she might, she can’t get it to stop. There isn’t enough time to finish healing him. Even in her most optimistic moments, she can’t convince herself that she’ll be able to get Zuko walking again in two days’ time. At a stretch, he might be able to rise and stand on his own, but she has neither the time nor the strength to push him farther than that.

But guilt still grips her insides when she gets him settled back in the cave and drapes the blanket around his shoulders. It feels like she’s wasting time. She could be healing him while he sleeps. She’s done it before. If she had unlimited energy, unlimited strength, she would be healing him. She could make the most of what little time she has left, healing him while he sleeps so that she can spend all his waking hours just being with him. Because like it or not, she cares about him. She likes spending time with him, and she misses him when she’s gone. She doesn’t want to be working on his back when she could be talking to him instead.

But she’s tired, and she can’t keep working forever. If she has to choose between taking care of him and doing what will make herself happy, then his health has to come first. Every single time.

Maybe if she had four more days instead of two, she could do both. She could heal him well enough to walk and still leave him with the assurance that she does care. That the last thing she wants to do is leave him behind.

She brushes his silky hair back from his eyes as they begin to close and his breathing steadies. He’s exhausted, both from the healing she’s done and from his short journey outside the cave, and for now, there’s little more that she can do. Except, she supposes, for making certain that he has all the supplies he needs to survive after she’s gone.

Her feet drag a little as she sets off on the path down to the village, but she keeps moving doggedly on. Some of his things are still left behind in the little shack, and she really needs to make certain that everything there is ready for him. She needs to know for sure that the villagers are ready to look after him. After that one, bright, shining moment when she thought it might be possible to send for Zuko’s uncle instead, the little shack in the village seems like a poor replacement, but this is the best she can do.

Of course she wishes that she hadn’t cried in front of Zuko. She isn’t ready to tell him how little time they have left, and the tears did nothing but raise his suspicions. They certainly didn’t make her feel any better.

Still, just thinking about it makes her want to cry all over again. Her family loves her and is on the way back to find her, but all Zuko has is relatives who nearly killed him and an uncle who can’t reach him. She refuses to believe that his uncle would really reject him if not for the prison walls keeping them apart. The world is bleak enough without imagining Zuko’s last good family turning against him when he’s injured. She has to believe that there is still some hope left in his future. That there is someone out there who would care for Zuko the way she wishes she could.

The shack is much the same as she remembers it when she slips inside, though the door hangs straight on its hinges now. Between the repair and the fact that the rest of his belongings lie undisturbed, she almost dares to hope that they’re waiting for Zuko to come back.

She ought to ask them, she knows. She should find the woman she’s spoken to in the past and tell her everything—about the attack that left Zuko so badly injured, about his slow recovery, and about his inevitable return to the village once he is strong enough. Katara should make certain that there will still be a place for him here, that if Zuko doesn’t turn up on his own, someone will go looking for him. She should take the final steps toward accepting that she’ll be leaving Zuko behind.

But she can’t quite bring herself to do it. Not yet. Instead, she opens up his trunk in search of clothes, blankets, food—anything that might make his days alone easier, more comfortable.

She stops short when she finds a letter lying across the top of everything else, its seal broken and the paper unevenly coiled. She can’t remember seeing that when she was here last. It must be new.

She hesitates, fingertips just brushing the edge of the letter. It seems wrong to read his mail, but someone already has. If she brings the letter to him, then he’s going to think that she broke the seal anyway. And if she’s going to take that chance, then she at least needs to know whether the letter is worth the trouble, doesn’t she?

With a sigh, she settles down on the floor and presses her back against the wall. Maybe it’s from his uncle. Maybe it’s someone who can give him something better than a little shack in a tiny village.

I’m becoming rather annoyed with you, Zuzu. I put in all that work cleaning up your mess, and you haven’t even bothered to send me a word of thanks? That’s a disgraceful lack of manners. Hardly suitable for a prince who’s just barely regained his honor. Father would be disappointed in you.

Bile rises in the back of Katara’s throat. She wonders if this is the way his sister has always spoken to him. Every word reads as a thinly veiled threat and sends chills up her spine. How has he put up with this for so long? Is this why he seems to think that he doesn’t deserve any better?

I haven’t told him anything, by the way. In fact, Father has been pleased with the recent reports from Shusoku. Pleased with your results, at least. I wouldn’t advise you to tell him anything about your methods. From what I’ve heard, I doubt Father would approve.

Katara doubts it too. Helping the village he was meant to subdue hardly sounds like the sort of thing that the Fire Lord would approve of.

He’s sending you to Toku next. You’ll have one month to finish whatever it is you’re doing in Shusoku and travel to Shu Jing to meet the airship. Fair warning, Zuzu—things are a bit more volatile where you’re headed, and Father is expecting quick results. You’ll need to approach this one a little differently. It’s going to take an iron fist to bring Toku under control.

Don’t forget that favor you owe me, dear brother. Though with all the warnings I’ve given you, I think I’m owed a bit more than that.

Two large favors sounds fair to me. Or one large and two small. Your choice. I’ll be waiting.

It takes all her restraint to keep from screwing the letter up into a ball and tearing it to pieces. How dare his sister talk to him like that? How dare she treat him like that? Azula’s ‘favor’ is the reason why he can hardly stand, why he can’t—and maybe never will—walk. Zuko shouldn’t have to read this. He deserves so much better.

But at the same time, Azula is offering him a way to leave. Katara can’t give him that. Not without dragging him along on a journey he probably doesn’t want—that he may not be able to tolerate in his condition. Doesn’t she owe it to him to give him every option?

 She thinks she does. After everything, she has to at least trust him to make his own choice. Even if it hurts. Even if she’s afraid that he’ll make the wrong one.

A little less than gently, she rolls the letter back up and bundles it in with his clothes and blankets. She’ll give him the letter. She just won’t be happy about it. Not that it matters. It’s his life, and in two more days, she won’t be a part of it anymore. He deserves to know all his options.

She tries not to think about why it hurts so much to think about leaving.

In her frustration, she forgets to duck out of sight, and a voice stops her before she’s halfway down the street.

“You! Girl!”

She doesn’t want to answer to that, but in a village this size, carrying an armload of things that clearly don’t belong to her, there is no one else the woman could be talking to.

Katara stops and slowly, reluctantly, turns around.

She’s going to be taken for a thief, she’s almost positive about that.

Sure enough, the woman surveys the bundle that Katara is carrying and crosses her arms. “You’ve taken the prince’s things.”

The prince. Not just the boy from the capitol. The woman must have broken the seal on the letter, or at the very least, read the letter after someone else opened it.

Katara juts out her chin. “You read his letter.”

To her surprise, the woman doesn’t argue. “Where is he? You seem to know him. Has he left for Shu Jing already?”

Katara isn’t sure why she’s telling the truth, but she shakes her head. “No. He’s still near here.”

“Then why hasn’t he come back? He left just before things turned around.”

“There was an accident.” Though it isn’t entirely truthful, it’s the closest she dares to venture, and her voice breaks. That’s probably the story he’ll have to tell for the rest of his life. If he wants to tell the truth, no one will believe him. Why would they believe him without proof? “He—he was hurt. Badly. I’ve been looking after him since then.” She starts to turn away, her eyes and her throat beginning to prickle. She’s going to have to learn to do a better job at holding back her tears very soon.

“How is he?”

Katara stops, but she can’t turn back. She can’t bear to look the woman in the eye. “He’s—better than he was. He’s getting stronger, but it’s slow.”

“Wait.” The woman stops her again. “Will he come back to us?”

“He might.” This time, Katara does look back. “If he does, you have to take care of him. As long as it takes. Promise me.”

The woman looks a little bewildered, but she nods. “He looked out for us. Of course we’ll do the same for him.”

“Good.” Then, before anyone can try to stop her, Katara turns away.

She should feel relieved. As she makes her way back up the hill, back toward Zuko’s little cave, she tries to tell herself that this is a good thing. He has a safe place to go now. She should have given the woman more details—when Zuko might be arriving, how badly he’s hurt, where to find him if he takes too long—but she can’t bear to make her departure that definite. Not yet. She still has a little time left to heal him, and anything she would say now could change by the time she leaves. She’ll just have to go back shortly before she leaves. When she has no choice but to accept that their time is really over.

Until then, she can still daydream. She can imagine a world where there’s a way to stay with him—better, to take Zuko along with her. One where he can walk at least well enough to make his way around camp and travel the world on Appa’s back along with her and her friends.

But she can’t ask that of him. She knows that all too well. Traveling with her and her friends is dangerous, and he’s faced more than his share of danger already.

She can’t ask him to come with her. But if he would ask her—

She shakes her head. No, that’s ridiculous and she knows it. There’s no use in getting her hopes up.

When she reaches the cave, Katara waits outside until his steady breathing confirms that he’s asleep before she creeps in and silently arranges the piles of clothes and blankets around the edges of the cave. He’ll still need more food and water, but aside from that, he’s as well-prepared for living on his own as he can be out here.

She comes to his sister’s letter and hesitates a moment before she sets it down beside him. He’ll find it when he wakes up.

And in the meantime—Katara crouches beside him and straightens the blanket around his shoulders. He looks peaceful, and she wants to smooth his hair, but she holds back. As much as she wants to make the most of the time she has left with him, she doesn’t want to wake him either. Because if he wakes up, then she’ll have to talk to him. And if she has to talk to him, she isn’t sure how much longer she’ll be able to last before she bursts into tears or the truth spills out.

Either way, she can’t take the risk. Earlier, she came far too close to telling him what was in Sokka’s letter—how soon she has to leave. She can’t bear to lie to him, but she doesn’t have the faintest idea how to begin telling the truth either.

Instead, she sits silently beside him and does her best to memorize all the contours of his face. This will be one of the last chances she has.

Chapter Text

For what feels like far too long, Zuko stares at the crumpled letter. He’s read it only once, but he knows every word of it. Or if not every word, then near enough to it. He knows that it’s all a lie. It’s from Azula. Of course it’s full of lies.

He should burn the letter and be done with it. He has no intention of listening to anything Azula has to say. Even if he still wanted to chase the shadow of Father’s approval, he knows that he isn’t strong enough. If he so much as shows his face in Shu Jing when the airship arrives, they’ll—well, it seems too optimistic to think that they’ll just fly away and leave him behind. In any case, they would never bother carting him off to another unstable village when he can’t even walk.

Which is fine with him. For possibly the first time in his life, the promise of Father’s approval rings hollow. Zuko is past that. And as terrifying as the uncertainty sometimes feels, his shoulders haven’t been so light in ages.

But the letter still bothers him. Katara told him yesterday that she was going back to Shusoku for more supplies. He expected the clothes and the blankets, even if they seem a little unnecessary. But why did she bring him the letter?

The seal was open. Katara must have read it. Zuko isn’t sure how much that bothers him—or how much it should. What does bother him is the fact that even after reading the letter, she still brought it back to him. If she knows what Azula is asking of him—if she knows that Zuko is supposed to run off to Toku, then an endless string of broken villages afterward in search of Father’s approval—then why show him the letter? Does she think that this is what he wants? Worse, is this what she wants for him?

She can’t. Right? Katara knows as well as he does—better, probably—how far he is from being what Father wants him to be. She knows that he can’t walk. She knows that he won’t be able to help a village, much less put down a rebellion. He can’t even make it to Shu Jing to meet the airship.

So why bring him the letter? What’s the point?

Does it have something to do with whatever was bothering her yesterday?

Will he get a chance to ask her?

With a groan, he reclines back on his makeshift pillow and covers his face with an arm. He misses the days when he was able to occupy his mind with training when his thoughts got to be too much. Having to confront these things head-on is exhausting.

Maybe when he’s stronger, he’ll find a new way to keep himself busy. Something that doesn’t require the use of his legs.

It’s a small mercy that he at least took the time to eat and use the rainwater pouring down outside to clean himself up a bit better before he read the letter. Now that he’s seen Azula’s words, his head is too full of echoes and worries to properly function. What did Katara mean by bringing him the letter? What’s been bothering her for the past few days? And will she ever consider accepting him if he recovers enough to walk?

Maybe it isn’t such a bad thing that it’s raining so hard. Zuko is getting stronger, but he isn’t sure he can bear to face Katara right now. Not when it’s all so fresh, when the questions hurt so much to think about. By the time that the rain ends and she comes back, he might be a little more prepared to confront—everything. In the meantime, he’ll do everything possible to regain his strength.

He just wishes that his thoughts would quiet for a minute or two.

He only manages to lie still for a few minutes before he grows restless again and he has to sit back up to stare at the coiled letter again. Why did she bring it to him?

The soft rush of the rain shifts, and when Zuko looks toward the mouth of the cave, he finds Katara just outside, an arm arched over her head as the rain slides away without ever touching her.

His breath catches, and he clenches his hands. “I didn’t think you were coming today.”

“Why, because of the rain?” It closes in after her like a soft, gauzy curtain. “Water is never going to stop me.”

“Oh. Right.” His face warms. What kind of an idiot is he to forget about her bending?

“I almost hope that it never stops.”

There is a soft, wistful edge to her voice, and she stares out into the rain.

Zuko wants to watch her. He wants to stare at her profile, memorizing the soft, beautiful curves of her face, but he can’t. Instead, his gaze is drawn back to the letter again.

Katara catches him staring at it, and her hands twist together. “Zuko, I read your letter.”

He meets her eyes for an instant. His mouth is dry, and it’s difficult to speak. “I thought you probably had.”

“I’m sorry. The seal was already open when I found it. I know that’s not an excuse, but I just—”

“It’s fine.” He isn’t sure that he means it, but those are the only words he can find. But he doesn’t care as much about the fact that she’s read the letter as he does about the fact that it’s here.

“Is it fine?” She slowly sits down across from him. “You look—”

He raises his remaining eyebrow, waiting for whatever comes next.

“Confused, I guess,” she finishes.

He snorts. That’s true. He’s confused about practically everything, and he doesn’t know if it’s ever going to stop.

“I just—I don’t understand why you would bring it here after you’d read it.” He pauses long enough to glance at the crumpled letter again. “If I was in your place, I wouldn’t want me thinking about going back.”

Katara freezes. “Are you thinking about going back?”

He can’t find the words he wants. No doesn’t seem like a strong enough word, and for the life of him, he can’t think of a way to express the extent of what he feels. He can’t find words to explain how badly it would end for him if he ever went home. How can he tell Katara that Father would kill him for the crime of being too weak?

And if he can tell her, then how will he ever convince her that he cares about more than his own safety? That he wants to leave that life behind—that he’d made that decision well before his injury?

Rather than speaking, he touches the corner of the paper and stares at it until it crackles and bursts into flames.

Katara inhales sharply, but Zuko doesn’t look her way. He’s not sure he can. It’s one thing to know that the past is closed behind him, but it’s another to confirm it, to let Katara see it.

He hopes that at the very least, she won’t be upset by it. He hopes that she wasn’t counting on him returning to his family for the help he’ll inevitably need in the future.

The silence starts to weigh on him before Katara slides a little closer and touches his hand. “Are you okay with this? Are you sure?”

He attempts a smile, but he doesn’t think he succeeds. “I couldn’t go back if I wanted to. I’m no use to my father like this.”

“Would you want to? If things were different—if you woke up tomorrow completely healed, would you change your mind?”

He almost wants to laugh. It’s an impossible notion. Katara herself has said that he’ll probably have a limp if he learns to walk again. Even that would be unacceptable in Father’s eyes. It doesn’t matter what he would do if things were different, because they aren’t and they never will be.

But then he catches a glimpse of her face from the corner of his eye, and for some reason, he imagines the Painted Lady in her place. He remembers all his time in Shusoku and how hard he fought to push back all the feelings about Father’s rejection while he tried to keep the people from starving. If one thing has changed since then, it’s the fact that he’s never felt so certain before in his life.

“No.” He feels himself tense slightly. “Even I can only get thrown aside so many times before the message sinks in. My father doesn’t want me. I doubt he ever has.”

Katara’s hand wraps around his and squeezes tight. “He doesn’t know what he’s losing.”

This time, he does laugh, though it’s stiff and humorless. “He doesn’t know that I’m hurt. But this time, I think he’d be exactly right about what he’s getting rid of.” A weak and useless son. A son who isn’t willing to do what it takes to control people just struggling to survive. That is who Zuko is. It’s who he’s always been.

Maybe someday he’ll even be okay with it.

He meets her eyes again. “Why did you bring the letter here, Katara?” The words burn a little on their way out. “Did you want me to go home?”

Her eyes widen, and she shakes her head. “No. Of course not.”

“Then why bring it to me?” He hates the pleading tone that creeps into his voice, but there’s nothing he can do about that. He needs to know, even if asking makes him sound like a pathetic child.

“Because it’s your letter. Your family. As awful as she may be, you deserved to know that your sister was trying to reach you.” She looks a little ashamed. “Especially since I’d already read it. I couldn’t tell—I didn’t know if you wanted to hear from your family or not. It didn’t seem right to keep it from you.”

Zuko can’t bring himself to look at her. It makes sense. He hates how it makes him feel, but it does make sense.

Katara brushes the back of his hand. “I was hoping that you wouldn’t listen to your sister.”

He shakes his head. “That was never going to happen. I know better than to believe anything she has to say.” Mostly. Except for times when he felt desperate—times when Azula was close enough to spot his exact weaknesses and plunge her claws in. But that’s never going to happen again. He’ll never even get close enough for Azula to try.

“I didn’t have any way of knowing that.” Her voice is soft, and her hand stays steady on his. “But I’m glad I trusted you.”

He thinks he is too. It isn’t often that he gets to make decisions like this without interference, and it’s even rarer to find support when he thinks he’s made the right one. Usually, it feels like he’s being tested, like a single misstep will bring the world crashing down on his head. But with Katara—he can’t be certain, but he thinks that she would have at least left him in peace if he’d chosen otherwise. That’s more than he can expect from anyone else.

Katara stares down at their hands. “Have you thought about what you’re going to do instead?”

“When do I stop thinking about it?”

He feels her gaze turn upward and pierce through him. “And? What have you decided?”

He shakes his head. “Nothing. It’s hard to make a decision when I’m still getting better. I don’t know how well I’m going to heal.” Or how much time he has left before he stops improving, for that matter. His progress can’t hold steady forever.

“Have you decided what you want to do? If everything works out perfectly—”

“Yes.” The word comes without thought, and his face flames. He isn’t sure that it’s a good idea to answer at all, much less in such a rush.

“What do you want to do?”

I want to stay with you. I want to do everything I can to see the war finally end. I want to help you and your friends. For once in my life, I want to be part of something that matters.

I want to help people the way we did in Shusoku. With you.

He forces all of that back down. He can’t tell her that. Not now. Not yet. He’s still too weak to be anything more than a burden. It would be selfish to ask to come with her now.

“I’d rather not say.” He can hear the strain in his own voice, and he feels Katara’s gaze trying to pry him open to uncover the truth he’s hiding. “Sorry. I just—not yet. Things tend to go badly when I get my hopes up.”

Of course, he’s already gotten his hopes up. That’s the real problem. He’s already setting himself up for disappointment, and he knows it. But for right now, while he still has time to recover, while Katara is here and helping, he thinks it might be best to keep it to himself. He can’t decide whether it’s selfish or not. On the one hand, if Katara does want him around, he can be certain that he won’t get her hopes up this way. She won’t pour extra, unnecessary effort into healing him. Zuko will either recover enough to travel with her, or he won’t. On the other hand, he can’t believe that Katara could possibly want him to stay. Why would she? And if she wants to leave him behind, then his silence is probably the only thing keeping her from fleeing.

For now, it’s probably best to leave things alone. Maybe it is selfish to leave things this way—to let her help him without revealing his intentions—but it seems safer. When he can at least stand on his own, then he can ask her about the future.

“Then—what would it look like for things to go well?” Katara asks quietly. “Maybe I can help you get there so that you can decide.”

Zuko stares at her for a second before he drags his eyes away. “You don’t have to. What you’ve been doing—it’s more than enough.”

“Humor me. If it’s too much, I’ll tell you.”

His hands clamp down, and he waits a moment for his pulse to slow. “I need to be able to walk.” He chances a quick look in her direction. “It doesn’t matter if I limp or if I need to use a cane for the rest of my life. I just—I need to be able to move on my own.”

Katara nods. “Okay. I’ll see how much I can do.”

“Katara, you don’t have—”

“I know. But you’re not planning to go back to your father, are you?”

He shakes his head.

“Then I want to do this.”

“And if I wanted to go home? Would you change your mind?”

She considers that. “I don’t know. I wouldn’t be happy about it. I—I would be crushed.” She pauses, focusing her attention on the waterskin hanging by her hip. “But I don’t think I could just leave you.”

Zuko’s mouth goes dry again. He isn’t sure why he asked—he shouldn’t have—but once again, he is blown away by her response. “I still don’t understand why you would bother.”

She gives a soft little hum. “Then I guess we’re even.” She scoots until she’s sitting alongside him where she can see his back.

Zuko cranes his neck toward her. “What do you mean?”

“I still don’t understand why you saved me. It wouldn’t be fair if I didn’t get to confuse you sometimes too.”

He isn’t sure how to respond to that, but before he has a chance, she brings her water up against his spine, and he feels the usual quiet buzz of energy well up around it.

“Try moving your legs. That should help me figure out where I need to focus.”

He obeys, and Katara sets to work. It’s easy to lose himself in it after a while—she makes small requests, and he follows along, even as the healing energy wrapped up around his spine starts to spiral its way upward and make him sway as it reaches the base of his skull. He can never tell where all that energy is coming from—whether it’s his or Katara’s or some strange blend of the two working in tandem to find and knit up all his broken parts. All he knows for certain is that eventually, the buzz reaching up into his skull turns to dizziness, and his energy drains faster than before.

He loses track of time, but he thinks they’ve been here a while. He thinks Katara must be almost through with this session—or if she isn’t, then he is. He doesn’t think he can stay upright for much longer.

Maybe it’s always been like this when she heals him. Maybe he always gets this dizzy, this tired, and he just hasn’t noticed because the ground has always been there to keep him stable.

“Can you try moving your right leg one more time?” Katara asks.

Or he thinks she does. His head is full of buzzing, and it’s hard to bring his eyes into focus. He almost forgets which leg is the right one until the persistent ache catches his attention. Oh. Now he remembers. The right one is the one that hurts all the time.

He tries to force his leg to move, but he can’t tell whether it works or not before he begins to list toward one side.

The right side. He’s oddly proud of himself for remembering that.

Although he can’t figure out how to right himself, he never hits the ground.

“Zuko? Zuko, look at me. Are you okay?”

He turns his head to find Katara’s face hovering by his shoulder. Is she holding him? She must be.

“Sorry,” he rasps. His tongue feels heavy and thick in his mouth. “Sorry. I think I got dizzy.”

“It’s okay. Don’t apologize. I was pushing you a little too far.”

Though his vision is hazy around the edges, he can see her face perfectly well. She looks tired. Her eyes seem heavy, and without thinking, he reaches up and brushes a hand against her cheek.

“Are you okay?”

She laughs, and the arms around him tighten just a little. “I’m fine. It’s getting easier to heal you now that you’re getting stronger.” She shifts, and the dizziness abates enough for him to realize that she’s moving him to his makeshift bed.

“Is it?” Once he’s settled on his back, he finds her hand and grasps it loosely. “You look tired.”

A short pause. “Maybe a little.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Zuko you don’t have to—” a yawn escapes her, and she rubs her eyes. “It’s okay,” she says. “I want to do this. I don’t mind being a little tired.” But she stares at the spare stretch of unused blanket by his side. “Would you mind if I lie down by you for a little while?”

It makes his vision spin, but he shakes his head. If there is a reason to object to lying down beside her, he can’t think of it now. All he knows is that they’re both tired, and his mound of rumpled blankets is far more comfortable than the rest of the cave.

It isn’t until she’s curled up next to him that Zuko realizes that he’s still holding her hand.

The rain ends sooner than she wants it to.

Walking to Zuko’s little cave is nicer when the sun is shining, she supposes, but a part of her wishes that the rain had never stopped. At least while it’s raining, she has an excuse to sit with Zuko, lingering for hours after she’s through with healing him. At least while it’s raining, she can be certain that Sokka and the others aren’t getting any closer.

At least the rain can buy her a little more time.

But the sunshine gives her an opportunity to find a strong, slender branch with a crook at the end, and she spends part of the morning cutting it down and trimming the ends smooth. Now that the rain has ended, the future is barreling toward her faster than she cares to consider. The full moon is past, and she has to keep preparing, even when she isn’t with Zuko. 

Since she wants to be with him as much as possible, there isn’t much time to fill. Still, she strips away some of the bark and tucks the partially stripped stick safely away inside her tent before she leaves for the cave. Necessary as it is, making a cane for him feels strangely final, and she doesn’t think that she can bear to finish the work in one sitting.

Seeing Zuko isn’t much easier, but at least there is a chance to distract herself with conversation.

“Have you tried standing today?” she asks almost as soon as she arrives. Now that he’s recovering, Zuko is becoming something of an early riser. She wonders if he’s always woken up with the first light of dawn.

Probably. She still remembers when he told her that he rose with the sun. It feels like a lifetime ago.

“No, not yet.” His voice is gravelly, and his hair sticks up a little in the back. “I didn’t realize you’d be here so early.”

“Neither did I.”

But she hadn’t expected to stay with him so long yesterday either. She hadn’t planned to lie beside him until the sky began to grow dark. Now she almost wishes that she’d stayed longer. She wishes that she could have found more excuses to curl up beside him and stay there.

She wishes that he’d asked her to stay. She thinks she would have listened to him if he had.

Coming back to him early in the morning is the next best thing.

Katara clears her throat as she kneels down beside him. She brings her water up to his back and feels the shape of the damage. It still isn’t entirely healed. It probably never will be, but the injury feels so much smaller than it used to, and the jagged edges have all been smoothed away.

“Is it getting better?” Zuko asks, voice hesitant.

“I think so.” She pulls the water away. “Are you ready to try standing?”

Slowly, he nods. “Might as well get it over with.”

Katara pokes him in the shoulder blade. “I’m not sure that’s the right attitude if we want this to work.”

His forehead creases, and he starts to look away.

She hugs him softly from behind. “I know you’re worried, Zuko. I am too. But I’m not done trying. There’s still more I can do.”

At least until tomorrow. Unless the rain returns, tomorrow will be her last day with Zuko.

But she refuses to give in. Even with what little time she has left, she can still make a difference.

She hopes she can, anyway.

Zuko lets out a shaky breath, and his hand brushes softly against hers before he nods. “Okay. I guess I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”

“I’ll be right here,” she assures him as she moves to kneel by his elbow. “Whenever you’re ready.”

He takes a moment to steady himself before he attempts to move. He is terribly unstable, and it hurts to watch as he struggles. It would be so, so easy to take hold of his arm and guide him to his feet. She wants to. He’s going to be alone soon enough—it seems cruel not to help him when she knows what’s coming.

But that’s precisely why she can’t help. Not yet. Not unless he absolutely needs it. If he’s going to make it out here, he needs to be able to do this on his own.

Katara hovers beside him all the way, hands poised to catch him if he stumbles. There are a few moments when it seems close, when his balance falters and his legs waver beneath his weight, but he finally, finally makes it to his feet. He has to duck his head to avoid the roof of the cave, and he sways badly. Katara reaches out to catch him, but he regains his balance before she can, and leans heavily on his left leg.

A bright, breathless smile breaks across her face. “You did it. Zuko, this is amazing.”

He is pale, and sweat is beginning to bead on his forehead, but he keeps his eyes fixed straight ahead. After a shallow breath, he attempts a small, hobbling step forward. The first one goes well, but the moment he tries to rest his weight on his right leg, it buckles, and he groans in pain.

Katara catches his arm. “I’ve got you.” She starts to lower him back to the ground.

Zuko shakes his head and grabs her wrist. “No.” His voice is strained, but his grip remains strong. “Not yet. Can—can you help me go a little further?”

Her breath catches, and she stares at him in profile. He means it. He really does.

She nods. “Of course. Of course I can.”

Holding his arm tight, she walks alongside him one slow, painful step at a time. Zuko can’t seem to handle any weight at all on his right leg, and it lags with every step, but his left holds steadier. It’s progress. He’s walking.

At several points along the way, she expects Zuko to stop. His breathing is strained, and she can feel him shaking, but he keeps moving, jaw set in grim determination. Every step takes an age, and she can only imagine how much it must hurt. But there isn’t much Katara needs to do—he leans on her only when he needs to, only when his right leg can’t do the work itself.

If he can do this, then he’ll be able to use a cane. The future he’s been hoping for, whatever it may be, is within his reach.

They make it as far as the log outside the cave before Zuko has to stop.

Katara’s eyes prickle as she helps him sit, but she can’t stop smiling. “This is incredible. I’m so proud of you, Zuko. How do you feel?”

For the briefest instant, he smiles, but then he sways violently and barely manages to catch himself. Leaning sharply forward, he rests his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. “Like I held my breath and ran all the way up a mountain.”

She perches beside him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders to hold him steady. “It will get easier. You’ve come so far in the past few days. I know things will keep getting better.”

Zuko nods, but his breathing is still shallow and shaky, his balance uncertain. A very long time passes before he can straighten without lurching from one side to the other.

Katara doesn’t mind. He can walk. He needs help to do it, but he can walk. Holding him upright while he recovers his breath is the farthest thing from trouble.

In time, the dizziness will pass, and Zuko will learn to use his cane—he’ll be able to leave this place on his own strength and carve out a life for himself. Even without her help, he’ll be okay.

She could almost ask him to come along with her when she leaves. He’ll be strong enough to keep up after a while. With Appa around, there isn’t much walking to be done. Zuko could learn to steer the bison, and use his cane when they aren’t flying, and help out with the cooking and washing around camp—she has to stop herself there. She can’t imagine him ever agreeing to such an arrangement. She knows all too well how dangerous their travels can be, and after everything, she can’t be selfish enough to put him at risk. Zuko deserves a chance to be safe.

When he finally looks her way again, Zuko still looks exhausted, but he wears the brightest smile she’s ever seen.

Her stomach flutters. Can’t she keep him? Just for that smile?

No, she knows that that’s ridiculous. It’s too much to ask.

“I might be able to do this,” he says softly. “I know I shouldn’t be so excited about—”

“No. Zuko, you should be.” Her arm tightens around him. “This is huge. If you can walk with me, you’ll be able to walk with a cane too.” She’s almost tempted to tell him that she has a cane for him lying half-finished in her tent—that she’ll bring it back for him tomorrow, and he’ll be entirely ready for the future. But she can neither bring herself to say it nor hold his gaze. “Whatever you were hoping to do—you can do it now.”

Zuko seems uncertain, and he scuffs his palms along his legs like he’s trying to wipe away sweat. “I hope so.”

“Can I ask you what it is?” Maybe if she knows, then she’ll be able to stop all her useless daydreaming, all the silly musings about what it might be like to travel with him. Maybe if she knows, she can be satisfied with imagining him safe and healthy someplace else.

“I—” Zuko falters. He turns his eyes downward and pretends to be fascinated by his hands. “I can’t say yet. I want to make sure that I can go farther than this without wanting to collapse.”

“You—you don’t want to tell me more than that, do you?”

“It’s not like that.”

She looks away. To her, it sounds like that’s exactly what it’s like. Is he ashamed of what he’s planning? Is that it? Does he have a reason to be ashamed?

“I just—” He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “I’m scared that it won’t work out. That I won’t be ready in time.” Zuko looks her way, and though she tries not to meet his eyes, she can feel the softness of his gaze. “I want to tell you everything. I will. I just—don’t think I can risk it until I’m strong enough. I don’t want to spoil the little luck I have.”

“I think you might have better luck than you realize. It’s just that luck isn’t everything.” She looks his way again. “It wasn’t bad luck that made your father send you away. That was a choice he made. A bad one. And it wasn’t luck that made the village trust you either. That was all because you proved that you cared about them.” She studies him. “Is this something that involves luck?”

Zuko gives a shuddering breath before he meets her eyes. Beneath all the uncertainty, there is something in his expression so warm, so soft that it makes her stomach do backflips.

“I don’t know for sure,” he admits. “Both, maybe?” He rubs his right leg, and Katara can’t tell whether it’s hurting him or if he’s just nervous. “I have to be strong enough to look after myself, but it doesn’t mean anything if I haven’t done enough to earn a second chance.”

She imagines him orchestrating a rescue for his uncle and making a heartfelt apology before fleeing to the Earth Kingdom. She imagines the two of them finding a quiet little village and building peaceful lives for themselves. They’re royalty—Zuko can probably exert enough influence to get someone to break his uncle out, and then the two of them should be able to find the money to handle the rest. It’s possible. Dangerous or not, it’s probably his best chance. If he does find his uncle again, at least there will be someone to care for him.

“I think you deserve another chance.”

His breath catches, and his eyes go wide.

“Zuko?”

“I—” He shakes his head and clears his throat. “Sorry. It’s nothing.”

That has to be a lie. Katara brushes his hand. “Are you okay?”

He nods. “Fine. Just—surprised, I guess.”

“Do you think that I think so badly of you that I wouldn’t want you to have a life after this?”

“Maybe?” He starts rubbing the spot just over his right knee again. It must be hurting. Katara feels for the waterskin by her hip as he continues. “I haven’t forgotten what I’ve done. I couldn’t really blame you if you still hated me for that.”

It does still hurt to think about what happened in Ba Sing Se—about Zuko turning his back on her when she was so willing to trust him. But it doesn’t feel like betrayal anymore. Zuko has apologized over and over, and he’s done all he can make amends. She doesn’t hold that against him anymore. She can’t.

No, more than anything else, she feels the loss of the closeness they might have had if he’d never gone back, closeness that they don’t have the time to claim now, even though it feels so close. And she feels the ache of uncertainty too. It hurts not knowing where he’s going to end up—whether he’ll be able to hold onto his determination to forge a new life away from his father.

If only Katara could stay with him, she could know for certain.

“I haven’t hated you for a long time, Zuko.”

She feels her voice beginning to break, and she turns, burying her face into his shoulder. She doesn’t think she can hold back the tears if he looks at her.

One more day isn’t enough. A week, a month, a year wouldn’t be enough. She cares about him. She doesn’t know quite how deep that care runs, but it doesn’t matter anyway. She has to leave him regardless.

“Katara, can you please tell me what’s wrong?” His voice is soft, almost pleading. “It’s been days and I still don’t know why you’re upset. Whatever I did wrong, I’m sorry.”

She shakes her head as forcefully as she can without showing her face. “It isn’t you.” Her voice comes out muffled and wavering. “You haven’t done anything to upset me.”

In fact, if anything, his recovery and his determination to find his own way are what’s keeping her together.

He tilts her chin upward until she has no choice but to meet his gaze. “Then what is it?”

She can’t bring herself to say it. Not yet. All she can offer him is one last day of what passes for normalcy. One more night of peace, knowing that Katara will be back in the morning.

His mouth is so close, and his lips look so soft—before she can think, she stretches upward and kisses him. It only lasts a second, and when she pulls away, her face is burning, and Zuko is scarlet and wide-eyed.

“Tomorrow,” she whispers close to his cheek before she sits beside him again. “I promise that I’ll tell you everything tomorrow.” She closes her eyes and lets her head rest lightly against his shoulder. “For now, can I just stay with you a while longer?”

He swallows audibly, then his arm comes hesitantly around her shoulders. “Only if you want to.”

Katara nods. “I want to.”

Chapter Text

It’s the sound of rustling that wakes him.

It seems unusual. It’s been days since the last time he was so tired that he slept until Katara arrived. And although his short walk and the final healing session yesterday left him exhausted, he’s been getting better. He’s nearly as strong as he’s ever going to be. He shouldn’t be sleeping until midmorning.

He pries his eyes open to find the world bathed in a wash of pale grays. It’s still early. Too early for Katara to be here.

But the rustling, though quiet, is still unmistakable. It must be coming from something else. A badgerfrog hopping around in the undergrowth, probably. He doesn’t see Katara nearby, so it’s probably nothing.

Before he can close his eyes and let sleep overtake him again, he sees something else. A heavy stick, stripped bare and cut clean at the ends, lies beside him.

He sits up. The stick is sturdy looking and polished almost perfectly smooth—and the far end is bent almost perpendicular and wrapped with narrow bands of leather. Is this a cane for him? And if it is, then Katara has to be—

He looks out of the cave just in time to see a flash of red retreating out of sight. His heart sits in his throat. Something is wrong. He’s known it for days now, and this is all the confirmation he needs.

“Katara?” He doesn’t take any more time to look around—the unfamiliar bundles lined up around the edges of the cave and the curl of paper lying beside him don’t matter right now. Instead, he grabs the cane and shoves himself to his feet as quickly as he can.

It still isn’t very fast. Not fast enough, he fears, and even with the support of the cane, his right leg protests at every motion, but she’s close. If he can’t catch Katara, maybe he can at least try to call her back before she disappears without explanation.

He makes it as far as the mouth of the cave before he misses a step and pitches forward with a cry of pain. The impact forces the air out of his lungs, and he lies still on his stomach, gulping for breath.

Damn it. He can live with a sore, barely functioning leg. He can live with leaning on a cane and limping around for the rest of his life. He doesn’t particularly like it, but he can survive this way. He’ll adapt to it, in time. But if his stupid, weak legs are going to keep him from Katara—if he’s going to be separated from her just because he can’t move quickly enough to stop her, then he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to forgive himself.

Through the rush of his own heartbeat, he can’t hear her approach. But after a few desperate pulses, after he manages a few shuddering breaths, a soft, warm hand clasps his shoulder.

“What are you trying to do, Zuko?” Her voice wavers like she’s on the edge of tears. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”

He doesn’t care. He’s been hurt for her sake before. Doesn’t she know that?

She helps him up to his knees, and he can see her hands shaking as she picks up the cane and presses it into his hands. “I thought you were asleep.”

“I was.” Considering the fact that he hasn’t entirely caught his breath, the words come out with a surprising amount of force. “It isn’t even sunrise yet. You’re never here this early. Are—are you—” His throat keeps growing tighter, and he has to pause for a breath. “Are you leaving me?”

He hopes that she’ll deny it. Maybe she’s just bringing him supplies. Maybe she’s planning to find a few more things and then return when he usually wakes up. Maybe she wants to let him rest a while longer before she comes back at her normal time in the middle of the day.

Maybe things will be fine. She’s been taking care of him for well over a week. It isn’t that unusual for her to come and go, for her to bring him supplies when he isn’t expecting it.

Katara places her hands on his shoulders and brushes a thumb ever so softly along his jawline. Her eyes lock with his for just an instant and then, before she can speak, before she can offer the reassurance he is longing for, her face begins to crumple. She looks away and presses a hand over her mouth as the tears begin streaming down her face.

“I’m so sorry, Zuko.”

He isn’t sure that he remembers how to breathe. He doesn’t care. The world is crashing down around him, and he barely dares to move. He doesn’t want to disturb anything. He doesn’t want to dig any deeper—he’s been abandoned before, and breaking through the surface never does any good. It only makes the pain worse.

For some reason, he still can’t stop himself. “You weren’t going to say anything?”

She had promised. Yesterday afternoon, she’d kissed him and promised to tell him everything, but now—now she’d tried to leave without a single word. He doesn’t care about all the supplies she’s left behind. He doesn’t care if he can last a year here on his own. He doesn’t want to be alone. He wants to know that there’s at least one person in the world who cares about him a little.

He’d thought that Katara might be that person.

Apparently he’s been wrong about that all along.

“I meant to. I wanted to get to the village and back one more time before you woke up.” She’s crying, and it’s all too obvious in her voice. “I was making sure that you had somewhere to go after—” A pause. “And I wrote you a letter. I wanted to tell you everything in person, but I wasn’t sure I’d be able to get through it without crying. Obviously, I can’t.”

Zuko can’t look her in the eye. At any other time in his life, he would have run. If he were better with his cane, he might have tried it again. He doesn’t want to hear what comes next. If she’s leaving, he doesn’t want an explanation. Things are bad enough already. He doesn’t want them to get worse.

The hand on his shoulder tightens a little, and she finds his hand with the other. “I’m sorry. Ever since I got my brother’s letter, I’ve been trying to find another way. But I can’t. There’s nothing I can do.” She chokes on a sob, then leans forward and buries her face against his neck as she wraps her arms around him. “I don’t want to leave you.”

“Then why are you?” His voice feels strangled, and his shoulders are stiff. He almost regrets asking. He doesn’t want to know her reasons, not really. He’s almost certain that the answer will tear him apart. That Katara will tell him that this has been her plan all along—that she’s always been planning to heal him just enough so that he can survive on his own before abandoning him to whatever fate may find him.

The worst part of all of this is that he can only blame himself. He should never have hoped for anything more than that. He’s an idiot for convincing himself that she could really care about him.

“The letter—my friends are coming back for me. They should be here tomorrow morning.” She sniffles and pulls just far enough back to meet his eyes, hands resting lightly on his shoulders. “I have to go with them. There’s still the war to think about, and I can’t leave my friends to fight alone, even if I want to.”

There’s clearly something wrong with him. He ought to know better than to ask anything more, but the words come on their own. There’s so little left for him to lose anyway.

“You want to stay?” He can hear the bitterness in his own voice.

Her eyes are rimmed with red, and she shakes her head, looking miserable. “Not exactly. I don’t want to spend my life out here. I miss my friends and my family. I don’t like spending so much of my time in a cave.”

Right. So it’s exactly as he thought.

She cups her hands around his jaw and rests her forehead against his as yet another wave of tears washes over her. “But I don’t want to leave you. I wish I could choose both.”

He shouldn’t believe her. He’s made a fool of himself by being too trusting before—it’s come close to costing his life several times. But it doesn’t sound like she’s lying, and he can’t think of a reason she would be.

Maybe it’s just habit. Maybe he just wants to trust her because she’s been helping him for so long. Maybe he just can’t believe that she could have come so far if she always meant to hurt him in the end.

“This was the best option I could come up with. You’re safe out here. I brought enough food and water to last you a few weeks, and by then, you should be able to make it to the village.” It sounds like she’s begging him to understand. “That’s why I was headed down there. I was going to tell them that you’re coming back and make sure that they’ll look after you. You’re going to have a place to stay, and lots of people who care about you. Everything—everything will work out.”

She sounds sincere. It sounds like she wants him to stay safe and healthy, even if she can’t ensure it herself. He wants to believe her. Why else would she have given up so many of her own provisions for him? Why else would she have taken the time to carve a cane for him when he could have done it for himself?

He has to believe her. If it turns out that she’s lying, then there’s nothing left that he can trust. He has to believe in something or he’ll lose himself.

“Katara,” he begins, but he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to say after that. He isn’t good with words, and he never has been. All he manages is a grimace before he looks away again.

“What is it? Are you hurt?” Though it wavers with tears, her voice is still unbelievably soft. “That looked like a bad fall. I can still heal you one more time, but you’ll have to be careful after—”

He shakes his head. “Just bruises. I’m fine.”

The hand hovering toward his chest pauses in midair, and Katara clutches his hand instead. “Please promise me that you’ll be careful when I’m gone. The villagers are going to take care of you, but—it’s not going to be the same.”

Zuko thinks he manages to nod. Of course things will be different. With Katara gone, there won’t be anyone around to heal him. One missed step, one slight stumble, and he might lose much of the progress he’s made. There will be nothing to do but rest and hope that time might be enough to mend the damage. Of course he’ll have to be more careful. He isn’t very good at that, but it isn’t like he’ll have any choice in the matter.

“And if you take care of yourself, then there’s no reason why you can’t do—whatever you were hoping for. You’ll be able to walk much better once you’ve had a little more practice with your cane, and when you’re stronger—”

Zuko stops listening and nearly forgets to breathe. What he’s been hoping for—if Katara is leaving tomorrow morning, then this is his chance to ask her. Possibly his only chance. If she’s leaving tomorrow morning, then he doesn’t have time to worry about the fact that the ache in his right leg only seems to subside when Katara’s healing water dulls the nerves in his back, or the fact that his cane feels unwieldy in his hand.

He isn’t ready for this. He isn’t as strong as he’d like to be, he barely knows how to walk with his cane, and he might very well slow down Katara and her friends for a while. But if this is his only chance, then he needs to take it. If he doesn’t, he’s going to regret it for the rest of his life.

Zuko can’t remember the last time he was this nervous—or this desperate—to speak.

He squeezes her hands. “Katara, wait. What I wanted to do—”

Her gaze pierces him, soft and pleading. Somehow, through the glint of the tears, her eyes look brighter than usual in the early morning light.

His mouth goes dry, and it becomes all but impossible to speak. How can he possibly ask her for more than she’s already given him?

And yet, there’s that pleading look in her eyes, and a small, stupid part of him begins to hope that she might be happy when he asks to join her. If she’s telling the truth—if she really does want to find a way to stay with him, then there’s a chance that she might say yes.

“I’m not going back to my father.” He’s told her as much before, but those are the first words that come to him. “That part of my life is over. I’m done with it. I need to follow my destiny, but I think I’ve been wrong about what that means for a long time.” The tension in his chest and his throat ease enough that it becomes a little easier to form the words. “Katara, do you think that I could—”

A distant rumble from farther up the hill cuts him off, and Katara turns toward the sound.

“That’s Appa.” Her voice comes in a whisper, and when a chorus of cheerful shouts join the rumbling, her face crumples again. “No. They aren’t supposed to be here yet.” She meets his gaze for the barest instant before she lunges forward and wraps her arms tight around his shoulders. “I’m so, so sorry, Zuko. I have to go.”

No. He can’t lose his chance this way. “Katara, please just give me a minute to explain—”

“I can’t. I don’t have any more time.” She stretches upward and presses a kiss to his forehead, her lips just brushing the upper margin of his scar. “Please take care of yourself.” Standing, she pulls her hands out of his reach and wipes at her eyes. “I’m going to miss you so much.”

“Katara, please—”

She doesn’t let him finish. Even as he tries to object, she turns away, walking slowly at first, then breaking into a jog, then a sprint. No matter how many times he calls out, Katara doesn’t look back.

It isn’t until she’s out of sight that it occurs to him to shout that he wants to come with her. That maybe, just maybe she might have stopped for that. At least it might have caught her attention.

But his voice is raw, and his chest feels tight, and it’s too late to call out to her anyway. Katara is gone. He’s failed.

All he had to do was ask a simple question, and he couldn’t even do that properly.

He feels like his chest is being torn open, and his shoulders begin to convulse. He should be embarrassed to cry like this, but he can’t help himself. It’s not like there’s anyone around to see him anyway.

Katara is gone, and what’s worse is that he might have stopped it if only he’d said the right thing.

The sun is beginning to peek its way through the trees before Zuko finds the strength to push himself up with his cane and limp back into the cave. It hurts, and it feels worse than useless, but there is a letter waiting for him. Maybe he’s just torturing himself, but he may as well read it. If it’s the last he’ll ever hear from Katara, then he wants—needs—to let the words sink in under his skin so that he can carry them forever.

His hands shake as he unfurls the paper.

Zuko—

I’m sure this isn’t what you had in mind when I promised to tell you everything. It’s not what I was hoping for either, but I’ve tried rehearsing it all out loud more times than I can count. I hope you believe me when I say that I’ll make more sense this way.

If you’re upset with me for saying this in a letter, I can’t blame you for it. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to forgive myself either.

His eyes swim as he reads on. He can almost feel the warm weight of her head resting against his shoulder and hear her voice whispering the letter’s contents aloud. It hurts. He can’t deny that. But he sees tenderness in her handwriting and hears the soft echoes of affection that carry through her words. He isn’t sure he’ll ever feel that sort of kindness again, and he savors it while it lasts.

As he continues, Zuko loses track of the words themselves and gets lost in the memory of her voice. It isn’t until he nears the letter’s end that her meaning begins to reach him once again.

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve daydreamed about taking you along with me when it was time to leave here. I still think about it sometimes. But I could never ask you to turn against your own people or put yourself in more danger.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m going to miss you, Zuko. I hope you find what you’re looking for, and I hope it makes you happier than you can even imagine.

Stay safe, and please be kind to yourself. If I can, I’ll find you when the war is over.

The letter drops from his hands. Heart racing, Zuko clutches the cane instead.

He can walk if he has to. So long as he’s careful, so long as he moves slowly, he thinks that he can make it a good distance before he runs out of strength. And he doesn’t know exactly where Katara went, but he at least knows which direction to look.

She wanted to take him with her. He clings to that. She wanted to stay with him one way or another. And though she probably didn’t mean to do it, she gave him one slim, fragile chance of finding her in the shape of a cane.

Maybe Katara can’t ask him to put himself in danger, but if he offers, then maybe there’s a chance that she will say yes.

Katara cries when she finds the others already at camp. It feels like she should be out of tears by now, but try as she might, she can’t help herself. Some small, stupid part of her mind has been hoping that the shouts might have been all in her head. That she might still have a little more time.

Of course it’s all in vain. She knew that much when she turned away from Zuko. She knows that it’s all over now.

She can’t even bring herself to mind when Toph calls her a sissy and punches her in the arm. It’s better for the others to believe that she’s only a wreck because she’s been left alone for too long. At least it’s a distraction.

She tries to tell herself that things are better this way. With the provisions that she left for him, Zuko will last more than a week on his own. Longer, if he’s careful. And so long as he rests, so long as he plans, he should be able to make it near enough to Shusoku for the villagers to find him. Zuko will be safe there. After all he’s done, the village has to look after him. 

They will. She knows they will.

She’ll make sure of that once the others have gone to sleep tonight.

It becomes a mantra. He’ll be safe. He’ll be safe. She can’t tell whether she believes it or not. He’ll be safe. He’ll be safe. He’ll be safe. The words begin to lose their meaning, but the rhythm carries on until at last her tears run dry. 

The boys are both eager to demonstrate their newfound mastery, and while they show off their new moves in the center of the clearing, Katara remains perched on the end of Appa’s tail. Despite Toph’s insistence that she didn’t miss Katara at all, she sits close enough that their shoulders brush.

It does nothing to soothe the ache in her chest, but watching the boys show off all of their new skills does help to quiet her thoughts a bit. Maybe this is the best that she can hope for. She’s happy to have the others back, and life with them is always busy enough to grant plenty of distractions. If she can keep herself occupied, maybe in time, the ache of missing Zuko might begin to subside as well.

“C’mon, Aang, focus!” Toph shouts across the clearing. “You had this down yesterday. Stop messing around.”

Katara has to shake herself back to reality. “It looks like he’s doing well to me. He’s a lot more focused than he used to be.”

“Yeah, you would say that,” Toph grumbles. “He can do better.” She stands and aims a rock at Aang. “Get your head out of the mud, Twinkle Toes!”

Turning on the spot, Aang deflects the rock before it reaches him. He grins. “I am paying attention. See?”

“Not good enough. If you were really paying attention, you’d notice everything.” Toph plants her feet wide apart and crosses her arms. “Now focus for real. What are you missing?”

“I’m not missing—”

“Think harder.”

Aang sighs loudly, and he lets his head hang back, but he closes his eyes. “Fine. There’s Sokka, Appa, Momo, you, and Katara,” he says, pointing to each of them in turn. “There’s something little in the bushes over there—maybe a meadow vole or something? And then—” He breaks off, brow furrowing.

“There it is.” Toph smirks in satisfaction.

“There’s what?” Sokka looks back and forth between the two of them. “What are you talking about?”

“It’s—hard to tell,” Aang answers. “It’s a long way off, but I think it’s big enough to be a person.”

“It is a person, you numbskull. Coming this way too.”

Katara’s heart skips, and she is almost grateful for Sokka’s immediate squawk. He flails with his sword and spins to search the surrounding forest, training forgotten. 

“Who? Where are they?”

Toph marches across the clearing and whacks him on the back of the head. “Not that close. And I’m pretty sure we don’t have to worry too much about this one, but Aang should worry about why it took him so long to notice.”

Katara is frozen in place. She wants it to be Zuko. It terrifies her how much she wants that.

“There’s a lot of stuff between us and whoever that is,” Aang protests. “I can’t see everything.”

“Uh, excuse me. If there’s someone coming toward us, we need to figure out who it is.” Sokka points his sword downward. “No offense to your feet, but I’m not taking any chances on this one.”

“Yes.” Before Toph can protest, Katara nods. “Sokka’s right.” Her throat is raw, and it’s hard to force out the words. But she needs to know. Even if it isn’t Zuko—even if she’s never going to see him again, she needs to be certain. “It could be anyone. We have to go and see.”

Toph’s brow furrows, and her sightless eyes stare unnervingly close to Katara’s. 

Please don’t ask. Please don’t make me say it if it isn’t him. 

At long last, Toph relents. “Fine. But if I’m right and it’s not someone we have to worry about, I’m eating both of your shares of the dried ash banana for a week.”

Katara can hear a protest forming in Sokka’s throat, and she leaps to her feet before he can speak. “Okay. That’s fine. Let’s just go.” Her voice is beginning to crackle with something akin to panic, and it takes a great deal of effort to ignore the puzzlement on Toph’s face. “Now. Before they get away.”

“See? She gets it.” Sokka swings his sword to the north and motions for the others to follow. “After me.”

Shaking her head, Toph kicks the ground with her heel, and a rock pops up in Sokka’s path, just high enough to trip him. “Nice try, but you’re going the wrong way, genius. Follow me.” She turns and marches out of the clearing.

Southward. Down the hill. Roughly in the direction of Zuko’s cave. 

Katara’s heart sits in her throat. Though she wants to run on ahead, to get there ahead of everyone else, she doesn’t dare. Terror grips at her insides, and her steps begin to lag slower and slower as they make their way down the familiar path toward Zuko’s cave. If she’s wrong—if it isn’t him, she doesn’t know how she can possibly continue. The dam inside her will burst, and she isn’t certain she’ll be able to hold back what’s behind it. 

If it is him, it could be even worse. 

Sokka overtakes the other two at the crest of a small rise, then stops short. “What the fuck—”

Katara can’t remember how to breathe, and her legs feel like lead, but she doesn’t stop until she is near enough to see past Sokka and the others.

Zuko leans heavily on his cane, his face pale and drawn. He carries only a small bundle over one shoulder, and he is sweating through his tunic, but he’s here.

“Zuko?” Aang can’t seem to decide between aiming his staff at Zuko or bowing to the reality that Zuko is neither threatening them nor in any condition to defend himself. He’s scarcely staying on his feet, and if Katara weren’t paralyzed by shock, by the others’ presence, she would be at his side in an instant. 

“What are you doing here?” Sokka demands. He, unlike Aang, has no qualms and points Space Sword straight at Zuko’s chest. “How did you find us?”

Zuko meets Katara’s eyes for just an instant before he looks back at Space Sword, forehead creased. “I’m pretty sure you guys found me.”

Sokka splutters. “I—that—shut up, Mister Fire Fists. Why are you here? Were you looking for us?”

Katara can’t take her eyes off of Zuko, but he will barely look her way. As much as it stings to be ignored, part of her almost believes that it might be better this way. Maybe the others will take his word more seriously if they don’t know what’s happened between them.

“I—yes, I was looking for the Avatar.”

Sokka throws his free hand up in the air. “I knew it. I knew it.”

“It’s not like it sounds,” Zuko protests. He attempts to kneel but makes it only halfway to the ground before both knees buckle and he catches himself on his hands. His face contorts, but aside from a harsh, uneven gasp, he makes no sound.

It takes all of Katara’s will to hold herself back. She can’t intervene. She can’t explain this for him. She isn’t even sure she knows what he’s doing out here—whether he’s here for her or for something else.

Zuko’s cane falls to the ground a few moments after him, and with a grimace, he pushes himself back onto his knees. By the resignation on his face, Katara suspects that he’s stumbled, that he’s fallen several more times on his way here.

She wonders how many times. She wonders whether he’s hurt.

“I want to help,” he manages, voice strained.

Sokka scoffs, but Toph elbows him before he can speak. “He’s telling the truth.”

Aang frowns. “What kind of help were you thinking of?”

“You still need a firebending master, don’t you?” Zuko sits a little straighter, still resting back on his heels. “I can help with that.”

“Can you?” Sokka cocks an eyebrow upward. “I mean—no offense, but how exactly would that work? You know—” He gestures vaguely toward Zuko’s legs. “Considering?”

Zuko scowls. “I thought you were going to be happy to find out that I can’t fight anymore.”

Katara doesn’t have to see Sokka’s face to know the stricken expression he’s wearing. She can feel it in the weight of the silence that closes in over them all. For all the times they used to wish to get Zuko off of their trail, none of them would have ever wanted this. Not even Sokka.

“Zuko,” she breathes.

He meets her eyes for just a moment before he looks down and draws a long, steadying breath. “My uncle taught me everything I know, and he hardly ever used his bending during my lessons. I’m sure I’ll be able to do the same thing.” He gives a slight bow in Aang’s direction. “If you’ll give me a chance.”

Aang shifts and rubs the back of his neck, finally lowering his staff to the ground. “I will need a teacher pretty soon.”

“As soon as possible,” Toph says. “You don’t get to start slacking just because you’re halfway decent at earthbending now.”

Katara keeps her eyes on Zuko, watching as the apprehension draws all the lines in his face tight. She isn’t quite sure how he’s planning to teach Aang when his legs are still weak and the effort of walking leaves him in agony. From the look on his face, she suspects that he isn’t sure either, but she’s never known him to give up. He’ll find a way. She trusts him with that.

“Why?” Sokka asks. “Why would you help us? And why now?”

Zuko won’t look anyone in the eye, but he begins speaking slowly, choosing his words with caution. “Because I’ve had a lot of time to think. That, and not much else to do.” His forehead creases, and Katara can’t tell whether he’s in pain or simply searching for words. “I almost died, and I realized that I had too many regrets and not a single person who would miss me. I have to change that now that I have a second chance.”

Silence falls again, and Katara is almost ready to run to him when Toph finally speaks.

“Well, that sounds like a lot of bullshit to me, but at least it’s honest bullshit.” She jabs both boys in the ribs. “I say we keep him.”

“Aah!” Sokka squirms out of her reach and swats her poking finger away. “Stop it. And don’t say it like that. You make it sound like we’re taking people as pets. That’s weird.”

“I was thinking of it as voluntary kidnapping, but if you want to keep him as a pet, that’s on you.”

Sokka scowls and begins another protest, but Aang interrupts this time. 

“I do need a teacher, but I can’t put my friends in danger.”

“Yes,” Sokka points at Aang. “That. What he said.”

Aang ignores him. “But if Toph trusts Zuko, then I trust him too.”

“What? Aang! Zuko is like the prince of doing bad things.” Sokka points Space Sword at Zuko again. “He’s going to put us all in danger.”

“How?” Zuko rasps, scowling. “If I did anything dangerous, you could all outrun me at a slow walk.”

“Also true,” Toph says. She seems to be enjoying this. “And besides, you’re outvoted so far, Sokka. Aang agrees with me. There’s only one of us who hasn’t voted yet.” A sly smile creeps over her face. “Katara?”

Her mouth feels dry, and she isn’t sure whether she can remember how to speak. But she nods, and the words burst out of her before she can even think. “He’s staying with us.”

She aches to say more than that, to let all of her thoughts come pouring out, but her tongue sits heavy in her mouth, and she doesn’t trust herself to say the right thing in front of the others. She has hundreds—thousands of things to say, but they’re all for Zuko. Only for Zuko.

If she can’t find a few moments to speak to him alone, then she’s going to burst at the seams.

Sokka looks displeased, turning to glare at each of them in turn, but finally he sighs. “Okay, fine then. But we’ll be keeping a close eye on you. All of us will.” He hesitates a moment before replacing his sword in its scabbard. “See you at camp, Zuko. You can’t miss it. Just look for the clearing with a bunch of tents and the ten-ton flying fluffball at the top of the hill.” With that, he grabs both Aang and Toph by the shoulders and begins steering them away.

Katara remains rooted in place. She hears what Sokka is trying to say in that one simple motion—we don’t trust you. We all know who you are and what you’ve done. Either you can prove yourself now, or you can change your mind and leave while you still have the chance. No one is going to help you.

Katara can’t be swayed. If the others still want proof of Zuko’s intentions, that’s up to them. She doesn’t want any more proof. She doesn’t need it.

She would trust Zuko with her life.

She already does.

“Katara,” Sokka barks back at her. “Come on. Let’s go.”

She shakes her head. “I’ll be there in a minute,” she answers. 

“Katara, I mean it—” Sokka begins before Toph punches him in the shoulder.

“Leave Sugar Queen alone. She probably just wants to scare him a little.”

After another moment of silence, Sokka grumbles and stomps off up the hill, dragging Aang by the elbow even as Aang stares bemusedly back over his shoulder. Toph lags behind just long enough to waggle her eyebrows and mouth, you’re welcome in Katara’s general direction before jogging off to catch up with the boys. 

Katara isn’t even sure that the others are out of sight before she races to Zuko’s side. He’s on his hands and knees, struggling to push himself to his feet with the help of his cane, and his face contorts with the effort. She doesn’t so much as pause before her hands close softly around his arm, holding him steady as she helps him rise.

For a few silent seconds, he leans hard against her shoulder before he manages to straighten, shifting his weight over to his cane instead.

“Thanks.” His voice is thin, and he won’t quite meet her eyes. 

Katara doesn’t care. He’s here. His face is pale, and now that she’s close, she can hear the slight, painful catches in his breathing. He’s unsteady and exhausted, and Katara doesn’t mind any of it so long as he’s here.

“Are you okay?” she asks. “Are you hurt? Is there any—I mean, of course you’re in pain. How bad is it? Do you need me to—”

“Katara.” His voice is quiet, but there is an edge to it, and she can’t look him in the eye.

“I have my waterskins here,” she continues in a rush. “If you’re hurting, I can help with the pain so we can make it back to camp. Then after that, I can keep healing you, and maybe someday—”

This time, he speaks a little louder, a little sharper. “Katara.”

She meets his eyes. His whole face is drawn tight, and this time, she can tell that it isn’t just the pain in his back and his legs. There’s more to it.

She looks away again. “Is—is this what you were trying to tell me earlier? That you wanted to—”

“Yes.” His voice almost breaks. “I wanted to ask if I could come with you.”

Before she knows what she’s doing, she surges forward, wrapping her arms around his chest and burying her face into his sternum.

Zuko stiffens a fraction, and she hears his breath catch. “I didn’t think you wanted me.”

“I did,” she whispers. “I do. I’m sorry it took me so long to say it.”

A small exhalation, and the tension in his muscles eases a bit. “Your letter—that was the only reason I took a chance on coming here.”

Katara pulls back just far enough to search his eyes. “You read it?”

He nods. “It’s one of the only things I brought with me.”

Her eyes squeeze shut, and she can feel her hands shaking as they press against his back, pulling him closer. She’d thought that he would burn the letter. That he would hate her for leaving him behind and never giving him a chance to explain himself. She can’t understand why the letter was important enough for him to carry it along with him, but maybe it doesn’t matter. He came. He’s here, and she doesn’t think she’ll ever be able to let him go.

“Katara?” His voice is small and uncertain. “Are—are you crying?”

She draws in a shuddering breath as she opens her eyes. Is she? It’s so hard to tell. 

Steadying himself on his cane, Zuko raises his free hand and hesitates an instant before he brushes his thumb across her cheek. It comes away glistening, and his brow furrows. 

“Why are you crying?”

She closes her eyes again and presses her cheek into his hand even as fresh streams of tears trace their way down her face. She isn’t sure she has the words to explain it—the lingering ache of guilt over trying to leave him behind, the heaviness that settles in her chest when she thinks of what he’s gone through to make it this far alone, the bone-deep chill at the thought of how much worse it could have been, and above it all, the relief of knowing that he’s safe. That he has a place alongside her, and that he wants that place. That she’ll be able to wake up in the middle of the night and find his sleeping face only an arm’s length away.

“I didn’t know if I was ever going to see you again,” she finally whispers, the corner of her lips brushing against his hand. 

She opens her eyes to see his lips parted in a small, soft expression of surprise. He swallows visibly. 

“I’m sorry I took so long. I thought I was going to be too late.”

She shakes her head. “Don’t apologize. You’re here now.” She looks deep into his soft, tired golden eyes. “You’re here,” she repeats, reaching upward to cup his cheek. Her thumb brushes the lower rim of his scar. “I’m so happy that you made it.”

Slowly, cautiously, his free arm closes in around her waist. “I think I’ve always been on my way here.”

Katara smiles, stretching upward until her lips are only a breath away from his. “I think I have been too.”

And this time, when she kisses him, though it’s hesitant, though she can feel the tears on both their cheeks, Zuko kisses her back.