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*
Hatred burns through her, consuming everything in its path like a real fire.
Katara will not stand for it.
The Fire Nation will never hurt another living soul again.
As soon as her brother nods off, snoring and drooling open-mouthed into Momo's fur, Katara takes what she needs. Sokka's machete feels heavy and unfamiliar in Katara's hands. A tool of violence. A means to an end, possibly… if she can stomach it.
This is wrong.
It's not Aang's voice inside her, but her own.
But…
She can't hesitate.
Not anymore.
On the far end of the Western Air Temple, where their rooms cluster down one lone, stone-made hallway, Katara heads to the far corner room. There's Haru and Teo sleeping together, behind this door. And Pipsqueak behind this one, garbling a song while he's out like a light.
They isolated Zuko from others, keeping him where he can't sneak out undetected by a restless Toph.
Better for all of them.
He's got very unique vibrations—kinda like his sister—Toph muttered earlier that evening, rubbing cool mud on the surface of her burned feet—they're both intense and quick in fighting—but unlike her, Zuko walks like he's carrying a lifetime on his back.
That changes nothing for her.
Katara slips in, using the cover of darkness, hitching herself onto Zuko's cot and saddles herself over what must be Zuko's middle. There's no telling if he's asleep, awake, but Katara must make her decision. She already did by coming here.
Sokka's machete presses under his neck, flattening down.
This is WRONG.
Can she do it? Can she cut someone's throat while they're unable to defend themselves?
Can it be her enemy?
Or can she be turning into the enemy?
Katara's throat twists up. Her breathing rattles out of Katara's chest loudly, and by now, Zuko has to know she's here. He has to. She startles a little, raised up high on her knees, when Zuko's warm fingers suddenly clench over Katara's on the leather hilt.
"If you're really gonna do this… you should."
Zuko's murmur does nothing to suppress the rage building in Katara.
"I should…" she repeats Zuko's words, hissing them.
Tears spill hot from Katara's eyes.
"I should… because you have no idea what this has done to us. You don't know our pain."
"The Fire Nation took everything from me and Sokka."
Even now, even years later and away from the Southern Water Tribe, Katara hears the wailing grief of her people in the last raid on her village.
"My… mother…"
Katara bends over him, feeling her tears drip off her burning hot cheeks and vanish.
His neck tilts under Sokka's newly sharpened machete-blade.
She thinks of the Crystal Catacombs, and how they were trapped together, and thinks of the solemn nature in Zuko's expression. Was it all a lie? Did he not want to hurt her or did he? Did Zuko play with her emotional heartstrings like a pipa?
"You made me believe you could change…"
"I let you down," Zuko says quietly in the darkness. "I am sorry."
No…
No, no… it's not true. He's not sorry.
(The hardest part in all of this is Katara's goodness persisting despite her experience.)
(Katara still believes him.)
Her hand re-grips Sokka's machete held against Zuko's neck.
In the process, it slides.
She feels the real gush of his blood on one of her knuckles. Katara breaks out of her trance, her rage ebbing away. The machete drops. She hears Zuko's small, shuddery inhale, quickly lodging her fingers in her mouth to wet them, pressing them onto Zuko's shallow wound, concentrating.
For a moment, the healing glow of blue illuminates Zuko's face.
Astonishment.
Fear.
Concern.
(But for who?)
Katara finishes her healing until the liquid-sticky wound closes. She moves off of him, retreating.
They're left in darkness once more.
"Are you okay?" Zuko asks, shifting himself upright. Or at least that's what it sounded like to Katara. He hasn't even tried to fight back. Or argue with Katara. This was clearly a breach of the fragile, frail trust needed to guarantee that Zuko would teach Aang.
She lets out a ragged sigh. It's almost a laugh.
He's the one who bled and wants to concern himself with her? A Water Tribe peasant?
When Katara doesn't say anything, Zuko shifts again.
The cot creaks.
"My uncle… before we separated… he said that sometimes talking about your feelings helps."
"This is your fault."
Katara remains on the other end of Zuko's cot, keeping her distance. She wipes off her cheeks with the backs of her hands.
"Why did you have to come here at all, Zuko? Why was it so important?"
At first, she doesn't think Zuko wants to tell her.
Maybe it's another lie.
Maybe it's the truth and nobody wants it more than him.
"Because I know what my destiny is." Zuko's voice drifts in, and she feels it like a flickering flame caressing alive on Katara's skin. It could grow in strength and take her over. What happens then? "I have to help the Avatar defeat my father."
"You've been wanting to capture Aang for months. You've hunted us again, and again, and again…"
"It's different now. I'm different."
Katara shakes her head.
"I don't…"
"Defeating the Fire Lord is the only way the world can be in balance again," he insists. "It's the only way I can make it right. I know the Fire Nation is on the wrong path, and I know I hurt you and your friends. But… I'm gonna do the right thing this time."
"You can't make it right," Katara whispers. "Not unless you can bring back the dead."
Another cot-creak.
Light melts golden to Katara's eyes. She watches as Zuko pulls his fingertip smoking from a nearby candle.
"I don't think even the Avatar can do that," he whispers back.
Katara shakes her head again, knowing he can see her, moving to climb off the bed. She halts when Zuko's hand touches hers.
There's a film of bright blood on the collar of Zuko's night shirt.
He's paled out in the candlelight, and looking silently at her…
"Thank you, Katara… for sparing my life."
Her mouth trembles.
This was wrong.
And she was wrong.
Katara's fingers search his, clumsily holding on.
It's just them.
Nobody has to know but Zuko.
*