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i.
He shouldn’t be here. Not in this place, not with them.
ii.
Katara watches Zuko around the temple because she doesn’t trust him.
He’s dangerous, so she watches his actions, his words as closely as possible, waiting for him to make a mistake, to reveal that his intentions are not as pure as he claims them to be.
She knows it’s somewhat irrational to watch him with such intensity, considering Zuko was gone with Aang for several days and had the opportunity to lead him into some trap, and Aang returned, unharmed, with bright eyes and tales of an ancient past, hidden and untouched, that the Fire Nation had long forgotten about.
Aang trusts him.
Aang even likes him, eager to spend time with him outside of training, making sure that Zuko participates in their group conversations and games, even when Zuko himself seems like he would rather be left alone. The others are beginning to like him, too, especially Toph, who likes to challenge him to bending battles, with chunks of rock and fireballs flying through the air of the training yard. They don’t hold back, leading to bruises, cuts, and minor burns that she takes the time to heal on Toph.
Zuko doesn’t ask her to heal him, and she doesn’t offer. After all, they are only minor injuries. Injuries that even the most novice bender would be able to address.
(She heals them because she loves Toph and hates seeing the people she loves in even slight pain.
Hates to see nearly anyone in pain.
Even—)
He has a healing balm, an ointment that he uses on himself. It smells of cloves and peppermint, and Katara can smell it even when she isn’t near him, handing him a bowl of food or passing him in the halls. She knows the scent is from the ointment, not from him, because she knows what he smells like in the evenings at dinner after he has bathed. Agarwood. He smelled the same in the catacombs, and she remembers everything from the catacombs.
It was bright there, with glowing green crystals in the walls and ceiling, and until he arrived it smelled like nothing, absolutely nothing.
The Dai Li (traitors traitors traitors) left her alone there. Left her alone with her thoughts, her fears, her if onlys.
She was alone for a long time and spent that time plotting an escape, racking her brain for some way to alert her friends of what was happening.
She was alone in that place, and then she wasn’t. She was alone, and then Zuko was there.
Katara had seen him in the teashop, dressed in greens and browns, but ran off before she had time to really look at him, confront him for all he had done. But in the catacombs, she had the opportunity to look at him more closely, to see the angle of his jaw, the set of his shoulders, the expression in his golden eyes.
Zuko had seemed so remorseful then, so different from the person who had chased them across the world, searching for them relentlessly. He listened to what she said, and when he spoke, he sounded sincere. She had wanted to help him; she was going to help him and then, and then...
It doesn’t matter. Zuko sided with his sister. Against her, against them, against the world.
And because she was there, in those catacombs, and remembers everything, even (especially) the feel of his scar beneath her fingers, she can’t be like Aang or Toph or her brother. She can’t let down her guard around him.
She can’t.
iii.
The pile of clothes is smaller than usual, with only three pairs of pants and a few shirts and nothing from Aang.
His clothes tear and rip nearly as often as Sokka’s clothes do.
It doesn’t take her long to find Aang. He is demonstrating an airbending trick to The Duke, spinning on a ball of air, his arms extended outward.
When Aang notices her, he stops, mid-turn. “Oh! Hi, Katara! Do you...do you need something?” His voice is slightly higher than usual, nervousness edging into his tone.
“I’m about to mend everyone’s clothes. I wanted to check if you needed anything done.”
“Oh well, I did, but I don’t anymore.”
“You did but now you…don’t? Why?”
Aang looks uncomfortable. She can’t imagine why. “Well, while Zuko and I were with the Sun Warriors, when we were maneuvering through all the booby traps, my pants got caught, and that night, Zuko mended it. So yesterday, I asked him to mend my belt, and he did.”
“What?” Her voice is sharp, sharper than she intended. “Zuko…did that?” It isn’t easy to imagine Zuko mending clothes. His frame seems too large to hunch over in such a way, but his fingers are long, and they move quickly, and Aang wouldn’t lie to her about such a thing.
“Uh, yeah.” Aang fidgets. “And I know how hard you work to keep us together, to help all of us, and since Zuko can mend and do a lot of other stuff, I thought maybe his contribution would help us divide the chores better between all of us.” Katara doesn’t know what to say, and Aang continues talking. “I know you don’t like him. I mean, we all know that, but he wants to help. He really does.”
Later, Katara enters Zuko’s room without knocking to find him sitting in the center of the room, meditating. He is shirtless, and she can see the sheen on his pale skin. His eyes snap open, and he flinches just a little when he realizes it is her. Or maybe he flinches before he realizes it is her?
(She doesn’t know.
It doesn’t matter.
Nothing with him matters. Katara has to remind herself time and time again.)
Either way, it is good that he remembers what she said to him. He needs to. Otherwise, what else would keep him from betraying them? Not his word, not his honor.
“Since you want to help so badly, mend these,” Katara tells him, dropping the clothes onto his bed and leaving his room before he gets a chance to speak.
iv.
The following day, she finds the clothes folded neatly on a shelf. She picks up one of the pairs of pants and runs her finger along the seam where the hole once was. The stitching is perfect, as if it had never been torn.
v.
The fire crackles in the center of the temple, sending sparks into the air as the group huddles around Zuko, watching as he readies himself to resume a tale he had left unfinished the night before.
“So, where was I?” Zuko begins, his words almost comforting as they come out, like the soft sound of rainfall against leaves. “The Dragon Emperor had just taken the name Noren and began his journey through the central highlands searching for a village to rest.”
“No,” Katara says, feeling everyone’s eyes shift to her. She can feel the change in energy within the group. They are all waiting, worrying about what she will say next. “No, I mean that is not where you were. You were, further along, he had found a village, one at the bottom of the mountain range called Kiso. He met a woman in the village.” She pauses, wondering why and how she remembers so much of this story, then adds, “A shopkeeper.”
Zuko blinks, the light from the fire flickering across his face. “Yes, you are right. The shopkeeper. Her name was Noriko...”
vi.
Aang is talking as they search for firewood, but Katara is not listening. Her mind is elsewhere. They have been walking for a while, bundles of firewood in their arms. “Aang, I have to go search for something. Some mushrooms to add to soup for dinner,” she says, interrupting him before handing him her bundle of firewood. “I’ll be back in a bit.”
Katara turns and walks away, the sun beating down on her head. It must be noon, or close to, judging by the heat. She has no idea why she and Aang went out at this time, not earlier or later. It seems stupid, a lot of things seem stupid to her lately, and she hates that she feels this way. Distant. Like she is floating, and she cannot find anything to grab onto.
All she knows is that she wants to be alone, to walk and think without anyone trying to talk to or understand her. Her hand reaches up to touch the bark of a tree, to steady herself because now she is crying and the world is spinning around her.
“Katara,” a voice whispers behind her. “Is everything okay?”
It is the last person she wants to speak to, the last person she wants to see her like this. “Go away, Zuko,” she bites out. “Leave me alone.”
“Alright,” Zuko concedes, backing away. “If that is what you want.”
And because she has to know, she does not bite her tongue, does not let him leave in silence. “What are you even doing out here?” Katara does nothing to hide the accusation in her voice. The hurt and anger are there, festering inside her chest, ready to burst forth.
There is a pause before he answers. “I was in the clearing. I go there to pray, sometimes. If you don’t believe me, I can show you the altar.”
For some strange reason, she does believe him. She can picture it in her mind, him kneeling before an altar like he knelt before them when he offered himself up as their prisoner. He seems like a pious person, speaking with Aang of things like destiny and fate, tenets and spirits. Still, perhaps he could just be speaking of those things because he knew Aang thought of them often, contemplating and reflecting upon his place in the world.
Turning, she steps slowly towards him until she stands a step away from him. “When you pray, what do you pray for?” she asks quietly.
“My uncle. That wherever he is, he is safe and well.”
She remembers he betrayed his uncle, too, just like he betrayed her.
“Katara,” Zuko says, slowly, gently. “I’m sorry.”
That hurt and anger burst out of her, and she lets out a laugh, a harsh, unfamiliar noise. She doesn’t even recognize the sound of it, doesn’t recognize herself. “Sorry? All you can say is that you are sorry?” And he is looking at her, with those golden eyes, bright and warm like the sun. Sad and earnest like they were in the catacombs. (Those La-damned catacombs.) Katara wants Zuko to hurt like he made her hurt. Like he still makes her hurt. So she does the only thing her swirling, chaotic brain can think of: she kisses him.
She kisses him hard enough to bruise, but Zuko doesn’t react, doesn’t move. He is stiff, frozen like a statue, and she doesn’t want this. She wants him to get angry. To touch her. To bite her lip. To grab her hair between his fingers and pull it hard enough to make her gasp. To do something that reveals the darkness that she knows still lingers inside him, but he does none of these things.
He doesn’t do anything she wants, not even now.
He pushes her away from him, his hands firmly against her shoulders, holding her steady. “Aang is calling your name,” Zuko says. His expression is muted, and there is no anger in his tone. “You should go.”
She doesn’t understand how he hears Aang’s voice, not from where they are. How was he even able to recognize that it was Aang? It is another thing she doesn’t understand about him.
Katara doesn’t say anything to him. She doesn’t know what to say.
As she walks away, she hears her name being called and finds Aang standing near the edge of the forest, holding the firewood.
“You were gone for a long time,” Aang says as she reaches him. “Did you find the mushrooms you were looking for?”
Zuko is probably still there, near the clearing, smelling of agarwood and with lips bruised from her kiss. “No,” Katara answers.