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Chapter Text

/ / /

Zuko is a lot of things.

Hot-headed, irrational, even ill-tempered at times. Awkward, stumbling all over his words and incoherent at others. Sometimes he’s a boggling combination of both, which more often than not also makes him the butt of his friends’ good-natured teasing.

A disgrace, the shame of the royal family, a traitor – before.

A friend, an ally of the Avatar, a ruler with more responsibilities to his nation than he can count – now.

Chief amongst all that and most constant of all, though, is a simple truth the mirror can’t hide from him any better than it can hide his scar:

Zuko is a fool. Always.

/ / /

He feels her retreating from him and putting up the walls of ice he had hoped were torn down forever. He feels it before he sees it. And even before he has solid reason for the gaping hollowness inside of him that stretches with every second she refuses to meet his eyes, he wonders how this is a pain one can possibly live with.

Her presence is still notable around the palace, lingering in crooks of hallways, in doorways he isn’t granted access to, on the rims of teacups whose proximity to her he can only envy.

The way she’s still here, close but not quite, is almost as painful as the inevitability of her eventual departure. She hasn’t uttered a word of her plans to him, but he knows this can’t go on forever. It’s not difficult to see she’s finding this challenging as well, maintaining this decorum the weight of which is threatening to obliterate the easy and effortless contact they used to share.

Zuko never thought he’d refer to the turbulent uncertainty before the war’s end as a simpler time. But in a way, it was.

He sometimes wishes he was still on the back of a sky-bison, still preparing himself for a fight, still terrified of all the possible outcomes, but unmistakably comforted by her unfailing presence by his side.

She’s still here, he reminds himself. There’s still hope. Even if this version of her presence is not the one he so desperately yearns for, it’s still better than absolute nothing, even as it steadily rips something from him. He doesn’t know how long he has left before nothing remains.

/ / /

In between council meetings and important decisions, he often finds his thoughts drifting back to the warm nights on Ember Island.

It is there things began. To be truthful, they probably began a long time before the irreversibility of his infatuation made itself known in his conscious mind. But it was there he finally came to terms with it. It was there he gathered the courage to let her know as well.

It was a humid evening, sweltering with the typical heat of Fire Nation summers, when he found the guts to lift a shaking hand and knock on her door.

He sometimes wonders if it would have been better if his feet had never found the strength to carry him to her room that night.

Katara was standing next to her dresser, a translucent veil draped around her hand, and a question in her eyes. She looked at him, silent, patient, like a harbor waiting for a docking ship, and he felt the unspoken prompt in her shades of blue was all he needed to throw his anchor. Right there at her feet, hers for the taking if she wished to, if she’d ever have him.

Zuko stumbled over his words, inept as he has always been with these things, but the secretive smile that played on her lips told him she could probably read the confession that was obstinately refusing to leave his throat in a half-coherent form.

“Katara, there’s – there’s something…” Zuko swallowed hard and pinned his eyes to the ground, finding it easier to look at the tiles instead of face the possibility of rejection. “I – I’m not sure how to…”

She took a step closer to him, a soft chuckle on her lips, and the sound was the siren song that made him search for her eyes once more, caution be damned.

She studied his face curiously and he could feel her gaze setting his skin alight in a way that simply shouldn’t be allowed for a waterbender. “I, uh…”

Katara chuckled again and rested a soft hand on his cheek, a calming cool to his searing terror, freezing him in place at the same moment he felt his breath getting cut off.

“It’s okay,” she whispered, and he couldn’t tell if the words were meant to be consoling or teasing, but the next moment he found it made no difference whatsoever, since Katara was braver than him and Katara spared him of the torturous need to form words. Katara kissed him.

In the current of all the emotions that swirled within him at that moment and every moment that came after, there was tangible relief. Relief that Katara did want him too, relief that she seemed to understand his feelings without him having to push through the strenuous task of verbalizing them.

His unintelligible silence had been enough that time.

He should never have expected it would remain that easy. He should have learned how to use his words.

By the time he finally realized that she wouldn’t always seamlessly interpret all the nuances of his silences, it was all too late.

/ / /

In the private darkness of those blissful moments suspended in time – fleetingly immune to everything that would eventually catch up with them, all the responsibility, all the restraint, all the goddamn duty – Zuko did find the presence of mind for a few words.

He sometimes wonders if he didn’t do them both wrong with all that he said on Ember Island before the war’s end.

But he did anyways. It wasn’t anything as beautifully coherent as he’d have liked, nothing remotely close to what this girl of water in his arms deserved, but the whispered fractions of “I promise” and “forever” were uttered clearly, albeit quietly, prominently enough to be understood with all the impossible weight they carried.

Katara had a smile in reply to every word that made it out of his mouth. Every smile was accompanied by a kiss. He recognized the sadness in both but didn’t acknowledge it aloud. He was too preoccupied with his own mind-numbing worry that he wouldn’t be able to live up to any of the promises he made, but still foolishly unable to hold his tongue.

She seemed aware of this, of all the complications and implied impossibility, but she didn’t say anything to disturb the deceitful ephemeral beauty of those nights.

Katara had always been better with words. The fact that she was silent then should have let him know there was really nothing to be said. Because words, for all their beautiful naivete, were transient. Immaterial. And no matter how intense the desire behind them might be, it isn’t enough to will them into existence.

But Zuko spoke. Zuko was a fool for it.

Later, he wonders if it isn’t a thousand times more stupid swallowing back all the words he wants to say now. Perhaps all he’d said on Ember Island would have never been quite so foolish, if only he’d gathered the courage to repeat it now that it actually matters.

But Zuko doesn’t. Zuko is a much bigger fool for it, as he’ll find out soon.

/ / / / /

Chapter Text

/ / /

Katara is a lot of things.

Emotional, passionate, protective. Sometimes judgmental and unrestrained in her temper. Sometimes naïve, flustered, stupidly trusting. Sometimes vindictive, ruthless, and scary to her own self.

Afraid, incompetent, weak, purposeless – before.

A warrior, a master, a war hero – now.

But more than ever, she is directionless. Floating in mid-air on an uncertain wave with no harbor calling to her – except the only one where her ship can never accost – with only a piece of frozen land to call home, but it’s now one that’s become painfully small for her.

And after having felt a certain kind of heat, she doesn’t think she can ever reconcile herself with all the ice.

Katara is confused. Not with her desires, as much as with the inability to make them a reality. Because even in this new age of peace, the dawn of the new world is still a place hostile to her innermost selfish longing.

Katara is a lot of things. But with a gaping hole in her chest, a wound much like the one the keeper of her heart took for her, much like a lightning-inflicted scar, the testimony of all the things that can never be, she is one thing more than she is anything else: hollow.

All the titles that have followed and added to her existence amount to nothing, nothing at all, when the one thing she can’t be is his.

Katara is a lot of things. Katara is nothing at all.

/ / /

She feels his gaze on her in the light of day as prominently as she is burdened with its inescapable intensity in her most frequent, most secret dreams. She wonders how much longer she’ll be able to bear this space between them, this space that his position has instilled and that she is doing her damnedest to maintain, the space of all the words that hang between.

Despite the weight of gold eyes following her every entrance and departure from a room, she refuses to meet them. Seeing everything unspoken in them, everything dangerous she wants to lose herself in, would break something in her, she knows, and even though she’s now well past the point of repair, she dares to hope something, someday, will feel close to enough in the absence of the only thing that is.

She did have hope, before. In the days when all they knew was uncertainty and the very real possibility of death right around the corner at any given time. And yet, there had been solace to be found in those days, a refuge of sorts, in mirages of things they could still allow themselves to deludedly dream of.

Katara never thought she’d consider the devastation and instability of the days before the war’s end a happier time. But in a way, it was.

This can’t go on forever, she’s aware. She longs for the day when she can finally breathe free, unplagued by those secretive glances of his, by his looming presence that doesn’t even approximate what she wants from him, from them.

That day is approaching, she knows. She won’t feel any freer when it finally comes, she knows that as well. She resolves to believe so either way.

/ / /

In between sleepless nights and seeking the answers to questions she prefers she didn’t have to ask herself, she often finds her thoughts drifting back to the warm nights on Ember Island.

It is there things began. At least, where they came into the light. Katara now knows they had been simmering beneath the surface a long time before that, before trust and before friendship. She had once been courageous enough to show sympathy to a boy on the other side of the war, to extend him a kindness she didn’t think herself capable of. A while later she had been even more courageous to reinstate her trust in him again, after it had been betrayed to the point of almost no return.

What had transpired on Ember Island had taken a wholly different brand of courage.

Katara remembers the trepidation she’d felt when he’d come to see her. The fluttering of anticipation when he’d been unable to meet her eyes in that endearingly awkward way that is so decidedly Zuko it had made her chest constrict with tenderness for the trouble he was having vocalizing what was on his mind, on his heart.

She sometimes wonders if it would have been better if she had told him to leave.

But she didn’t. She came to stand in front of him and gently relieved him from the words he was choking on, until her own feelings were laid bare, unmistakable before his disbelieving eyes.

Neither of them verbalized the obvious. They should have kept it that way.

/ / /

But Zuko didn’t. In the end, he said things, things she finds herself thinking back to all too often. And Katara probably did them both wrong by letting him. But she did.

They both deceived themselves. But in those stolen moments in the dead of night when all the air carried was the whiff of summer and hope, it was a most welcome deception. A vacuum in time that would never transcend the hypothetical, but still one they were willing to pretend was possible.

Katara kept silent, if only to keep the terror of an uncertain future at bay. Katara was a coward for it.

But now, that terror is coming to fruition and there is no vacuum to hide in anymore. Zuko looks at her as if there’s something right on the tip of his tongue, something forbidden that can never be uttered, because they are no longer on Ember Island.

Katara pretends she doesn’t notice. They are living real life now. She didn’t breach the silence then, and she can afford to even less, now.

Her eyes linger on the Fire Lord’s back as he is ushered into yet another meeting. She stands frozen to the spot and allows her gaze to stay with him for as long as possible, in the way she herself can’t.

When his retreating silhouette is finally swallowed by the endless hallway, she lets out a sharp exhale. It comes as a feeble replacement for all the words that haven’t left her throat, all the words that now never will. The goodbye she doesn’t know how to say, because if she tries, she might just lose any resolve to leave at all.

The silence she’d kept on Ember Island had been a cowardly one. But this one right here marks her a coward a thousand times more.

/ / / / /

Chapter Text

/ / /

Katara makes her way out of the palace a little before dusk.

The cover of the falling night is a welcome one, and with every step she takes it feels as though she’s doing something shameful, something better hidden in the shadows.

She supposes it is. She wishes she could hide from herself just as successfully as she does from the surrounding world.

The only thing she’s taken from the palace is a dark hooded cloak and a cloth she’s draped over her face like a mask.

She doesn’t know where she’s going yet, but she hopes she’ll know it once she finds it. Her heart is pounding in protest, as if willing to leave her body and go back to the man who’s now its master, but she doesn’t dare look over her shoulder in fear that may shake her resolve.

What she’s doing is right, she tells herself. Zuko had promised to find a way, but that is a burden he doesn’t need on his shoulders right now, even if he’ll never willingly admit it. And it would be a heavier burden than is probably reasonable, but that is just the reality they have to reconcile themselves with.

If the last thing Katara can do for him is free him of that weight, she’ll gladly tell herself all the lies it takes to keep her feet moving, despite every step leaving a crack in her heart, gradually hollowing her out in a way she isn’t sure she’ll ever be able to recover from.

She’s doing this for him. It’s her final act of love, one that he’ll certainly resent her for, but it’s the only form of sacrifice she can make. He was willing to give his life for her and now she convinces herself she’s repaying the favor.

And if he does resent her for it, it’s probably for the best. She doesn’t know how she could live with herself otherwise.

She isn’t sure what comes next. But knowing what isn’t, what never can, she can’t really bring herself to care.

She walks under the cover of the falling night. The world gradually loses its color.

/ / /

Zuko has a vague premonition, but it takes him foolishly long to acknowledge the unsettling feeling in his gut. And when he does, it’s all too late.

At first, he attributes it to the new silence that’s settled over the palace. Most of his friends left today, he knows, even though he couldn’t break away from his meetings to see them off individually.

The evening is eerily quiet after the cheerful chatter that had filled the dining room at breakfast. He tells himself he’ll finally get some peace now, but he’s absently aware a sentimental part of him will miss the carefree lightness his friends had introduced into his life.

But this is his life now. Solemn, serious, dutiful. He can’t afford to be distracted. His nation can afford it even less.

The day is over though, and he can finally shed the formal attire, the air of seriousness his responsibilities demand in the light of day. The sun has already set and as the fire in his veins cools off, he allows himself a distraction.

His thoughts trail off to Katara who still hasn’t made her plans known to him, and he wonders if he could catch her for a private cup of tea and maybe a walk around the gardens after dinner. It’s been impossible to get even a few minutes alone with her with everyone else around, undoubtedly due to her own efforts to avoid him as well, and he isn’t even sure what he would say if he does, but he’s tired enough not to overthink his impulse.

Even if he doesn’t say anything, at least nothing of importance, he longs for her presence, while he’s still somewhat entitled to it. And no words that he has the courage to let slip past his lips can ever be enough, so he’ll make do with anything.

Only, Zuko isn’t entitled to that, either. When his premonition has finally taken material form, he finds himself unable to reconcile himself with being robbed of even the faded version of all he wants to say.

“Will you be dining in your chambers now that everyone’s gone, Your Highness?”

“No, I’ll be down to the dining room in a bit. Thank you, Hanako.” Zuko pauses with a hand around the clasp of his robe just as the maid is straightening up from her bow and backing away from the room. “Have you seen Katara around by any chance?”

The girl looks down at her feet and he frowns at her sudden unease. “I saw her heading out into the city earlier, Your Highness. Right after Master Sokka left.”

“Oh. Did she say when she’ll be back?”

She shakes her head. “No, Your Highness. She didn’t say anything.”

Zuko nods. “Hold off on dinner until she’s back then. Come to alert me as soon as she comes.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

Katara doesn’t come back. Dinner goes cold, but Zuko feels colder.

Suddenly, all the inhibitions he’s had, all the sentences he’s been biting back on, all the turmoil and indecisiveness fade into insignificance against the crushing weight of what’s now become his reality.

Katara’s gone. Katara’s gone and he doesn’t know where. All concerns about the how, the why, the impossibility of it all, suddenly seem so trivial, so laughably small when compared to the only important truth of his existence.

He loves her. He loves her and he hasn’t told her. All because of stupid, logical, practical reasons, that don’t amount to a speck of ostrich-horse crap in the grand scheme of things.

He didn’t have the courage to be upfront and honest about it. And now, courage is the least it would take. It looks as though he’s missed his chance.

Practicality flies out the window and Zuko rallies to his feet, praying to Agni he’ll manage to catch up and make up for everything he’s already so late for.

/ / / / /

Chapter Text

/ / /

When he hears the way she was dressed on her way out, he’s immediately worried she’s gone out looking for trouble and something terrible’s happened.

“Spread the word around Caldera,” he barks out to his guards, before heading for the gates of the palace, dual swords sheathed on his back.

“Your Highness, if something’s happened… well, it isn’t safe for you to go alone at night.”

“I’ll be the one to decide that. Do as you’re told!”

/ / /

But there’s no sign of her. Zuko sends messenger hawks to everyone in the gang, but since they’re all still in the middle of their own travels, he doesn’t expect to receive an answer soon. He stops at every tavern and inn in the capital and describes the waterbender, but all he’s met with is shaking heads and apologetic bows.

Against his will, he’s pulled in council meetings and drowned in piles of paperwork before he can piece together what the hell has made for Katara’s sudden disappearance.

The scrolls keep coming and when he finally manages to break away, the trail’s long since gone cold.

/ / /

Two days later, Katara finds herself in a small village near the Southern coast and decides this is where she’ll stay for the time being. It isn’t small enough for her to stand out, but not so big as to warrant any big-city visits from people who might recognize her. The ocean’s proximity acts as a salve to her wounded heart, and she allows herself a few days of rest and planning.

Talk of the newly crowned Fire Lord is all that reaches her ears in every inn and tavern she stops by. Someone’s talking about Team Avatar’s heroics at a nearby table one night, and she can’t help but listen in.

“And then Master Sokka took down twelve battleships with only his boomerang!”

“What about Master Katara? She defeated our princess in a matter of minutes, and then she brought back Fire Lord Zuko from the dead!”

“He wasn’t dead! And I doubt she’s that powerful.”

“Careful how you talk about her. She may be your Fire Lady one day. You’ve heard the rumors.”

The man scoffs. “As if. I’ll never bow down to anyone from that savage tribe, master or not. She may have helped end the war, but she doesn’t belong here. None of them do, not even the Avatar.”

“Come on now, show some gratitude. You’re back from the front thanks to those people.”

“I don’t deny what they’ve done for our country. But if our new Fire Lord is foolish enough to take a Water Tribe girl for a wife… Well, he might as well have stayed banished for all I care.”

Katara doesn’t realize she’s been staring until a woman from their table meets her gaze. The woman’s eyes widen momentarily, and her jaw drops in shock. Katara quickly takes out enough coins for her dinner and makes her way outside of the tavern and the village.

Being proven right brings her no sense of vindication this time. It has never hurt more.

/ / /

Her directionless travels leave her emotionally and physically drained, but not quite enough that she’s spared from the growing feeling of loneliness that festers at her insides like a parasite.

Out here, alone and confused, she only has herself to turn to for guidance, and it’s only now she realizes how bad her own company is. She can’t give herself a single word of advice, much less any comfort, and she spends her nights wondering how she’s supposed to live with herself like this.

Katara’s been wanting the war to end for as long as she’s been fighting it, but now that it has, she doesn’t know what her purpose is supposed to be anymore. Absently, she prefers she was still in that final battle with Azula instead of having to battle the uncertainty of what’s to come.

She wonders if she should have taken up Aang on his offer to join him on his trip around the Air Temples, but she dismisses the thought as soon as it occurs.

Before they all went their separate ways, she made her feelings known to Aang in a way he couldn’t possibly misinterpret. When they said their goodbyes, his smile was bittersweet, but understanding.

But this was Aang and he’s kind and despite it all, he offered her to travel the world with him while he restores balance after all the wounds the war has inflicted. Katara declined, knowing being in his shadow will be equivalent to dying a slow death, because she couldn’t be useful to him in his mission. His path is one of diplomacy, whereas she thrives on field work, physical and violent as it may get.

In the end, she stays in the Fire Nation undercover. She isn’t sure this is where she wants to be, but that’s true of every place she’s ever been to. Besides, she can’t very well secure herself passage on a ship without the entire world knowing the whereabouts of war hero Master Katara of the Southern Water Tribe, and that’s a sort of attention she can’t deal with right now. So, she travels anonymously to small villages by the coast and gets by selling herbal remedies she makes.

In her days of idle wandering, Katara discovers she misses the battlefield. And eventually, mercifully, the battlefield finds her.

There’s unrest among the citizens, with vagabonds taking advantage of the chaos after the war’s end to pilfer and plunder whatever they can, and the anarchy sometimes even escalates to bloodshed. These people who have only known war all their life, are now as lost as she is, and the uncertainty of the times pushes them to despicable lengths until once honorable men are forced to become thieves and murderers to survive.

Katara is thrilled by this. And thus, the Painted Lady is born again.

(She wonders if she’ll ever be able to stop fighting; but for the time being, there are still things to fight, so she doesn’t dwell on it too much.)

She makes small talk with vendors and innkeepers she meets on her way and gathers just enough intel to be able to intercept some of the injustices happening around. The families that haven’t yet turned to wicked means to make ends meet are starving, and she makes sure some of the richer people’s provisions go to them instead. There are war veterans and soldiers whose wounds haven’t been tended to, so she makes herself useful there too, as much as she can without getting recognized. But these people believe in spirits and divine intervention, and most of them are so feverish when she finally gets to them that they probably don’t remember her at all.

Aside from that, she also finds herself doing other things. Things that alarmingly resurrect Hama’s jeers from the darkest corners of her mind.

Sometimes, simply disarming the criminals who she knows are nothing but impoverished desperate men isn’t enough. Sometimes, she sees herself forced to knock them out. Sometimes, she has to hurt them.

Whenever that happens, she struggles to ignore the ecstatic feeling that floods her veins in a sensation that’s all too tempting and all too familiar for her comfort. She holds onto the edge of her abyss, knowing it’s foolishly one of her own design, and fights to cling onto her humanity for dear life.

But sometimes, she doesn’t. Sometimes her mercy and her sympathy slip through her fingers and she doesn’t even try to hold onto them.

Because sometimes, the people she fights don’t have an honorable past to attest to a good character. Sometimes, they are nothing but links in a chain of organized crime that doesn’t steal to keep the hunger at bay; no, sometimes, the only hunger they’re seeking to satisfy is one of greed and wickedness, one that is easily satiated in the face of all the opportunity that has arisen in the ashes of this desolate piece of land. On those occasions, Katara is ruthless in her attacks and her conscience is a dull sound that gets quieter with every hit she lands, every ice dagger that pierces an opponent’s skin, every pained cry she inflicts on her victims as her will makes their limbs twist unnaturally.

When she catches whispers of the Painted Lady’s deeds, they are always spoken with reverence and gratitude for the spirits’ benevolence to the simple civilians. Local officials aren’t so forgiving, and soon enough, there is a wanted poster of her on the notice board. Even though she’s cleaning the area of pests – a task the authorities themselves are proving worthless in executing – she is breaking the law. But it seems as though no one has the heart to really go after her, so she carries on.

But the words of affirmation by unsuspecting villagers are enough for her to ignore all that, alongside the fact that she, too, is quenching a dark thirst with the unspeakable things she does at night.

In her own miniscule way, Katara helps the Fire Nation regain some of its balance – or it’s what she tells herself anyway – albeit through the cowardly cover of the darkness and a fair share of her own violence.

Amidst all of that, she somehow manages to ignore that where she’s helping others rebuild and heal and restore, she’s progressively losing herself.

/ / / / /

Chapter Text

/ / /

“Fire Lord, if I could have a word,” one of his advisers calls after him but Zuko’s already at the door after the council meeting’s been adjourned. He’s made quick work of the day’s agenda, only half-listening to what is being said, but no one’s dared oppose him in his dark mood.

“Whatever it is, it can wait,” he says without even glancing at the old man. “We’re done for the week, and I have some business out of town I need to attend to.”

Everyone in the room is aware that his out-of-town business has brown hair and blue eyes, but none of them comment on it.

“I’m afraid it can’t wait, Your Highness.” The man clears his throat sheepishly and Zuko turns towards him in exasperation, annoyed to be delayed another second.

“Very well, then. Speak.”

“It’s about the South-Eastern provinces, Your Highness. There’s been unrest and we’ve received reports about crime rates climbing with alarming speed. The local authorities –”

“– are clearly incompetent. I thought we were supposed to be the best in the world when it comes to law enforcement.”

“Well, yes, but –”

“Have the reports sent up to my office,” Zuko cuts him off and turns to leave. “I’ll look them over as soon as I’m back. In the meantime, you can send a hawk to the so-called authorities and ask them if they’d like to keep their jobs.”

/ / /

His search of the nearby villages yields no results. He starts suspecting it has to do with his ranking, so he dons on the Blue Spirit mask and reverts to his old ways of questioning. They have always been the more reliable way anyway.

But the only piece of information he manages to get is from a stall vendor, who might have seen a woman matching Katara’s description head out the southern exit of the village. Beyond that, Zuko’s at a loss.

He returns to Caldera in dejection and resolves to scour the palace for anything she might have left behind. If he has to resort to enlisting June’s help, he will do so without any compunction.

It briefly crosses his mind that for Katara to be gone so long, she probably doesn’t want to be found. He immediately discards the thought, the same way she’s discarded him, and turns the palace upside down in search of something, anything, that might lead him to her.

If she’s going to leave him to hang, then the least they could have is a normal conversation about it. Zuko thinks he’s earned that much from her, but remembering his betrayal in Ba Sing Se, he knows this is really only what he deserves.

/ / /

Katara’s efforts have been paying off and at some point she’s satisfied enough to allow herself a day of rest, if only to let her tired muscles catch a break.

Her mind isn’t shown that same mercy. She walks around an empty field of flowers – an unlikely oasis in the middle of all the devastation in this part of the Fire Nation, nature’s reminder that beauty does still exist outside of desperate touches and hues of gold – and finds herself untouched by all that’s surrounding her.

She sometimes wonders how Toph feels, unable to see all the vivid colors of the world. But the earthbender sees more than most, as she is painfully aware. She was the only one to catch onto her intentions back before she left the Fire Palace. Perceptive as ever, Toph hadn’t hesitated to call her out on her bullshit, but none of it had been enough to persuade her. Katara had convinced herself she was doing this for all the right reasons, and that is still a conviction she firmly stands behind.

She tells herself she’s being selfless. It’s the kind of reassurance she’s most used to giving herself, or maybe the only one she’s capable of anyway.

The fact that that selflessness has come at the sacrifice of all the worlds’ colors is something she tries to ignore. The landscape around her couldn’t matter less, not when everything on the inside is already gray and bleak.

Zuko’s vibrant eyes are kept alive in her dreams, but even they start losing some of their light in her unfaithful memory. She doesn’t know if that’s something to be comforted by.

She thinks she gets how it may feel to be blind after all.

/ / /

The replies he receives from his friends are predictable in their unhelpfulness, but Zuko is still disappointed. They range from apologetic (Suki) to optimistically hopeful and wise (Aang) and downright disturbing (Sokka, whose best guess is that his sister has had a tough time of the month and still hasn’t recovered – ‘You know how women, especially waterbenders, are with the whole moon cycle? Weird, I know. But she’ll get over it, buddy.’)

It's Toph’s letter that gives him most information and simultaneously sinks his hopes to the bottom of the ocean.

‘Sugar Queen thinks she’s doing it for your sake, Sparky,’ someone else has written at her request. Zuko only briefly wonders what a confounding task being the Blind Bandit’s personal letterman must be. ‘She didn’t talk to me about it at length, but I can tell she loves you, so your ego can remain untouched at least. What my feet felt to be true is the following: she was scared for you, and she was conflicted. For what it’s worth, I’m rooting for you. But you should really get your wrong ass nation out of the gutter first. Sugar Queen can’t resist repairing broken things (yes, you know exactly what I’m talking about), but even she’ll refuse ruling over the mess that is your insane country. And I have no idea what you look like, but I can tell you’re due for a haircut.’

A reluctant smile tugs at Zuko’s mouth at the last couple sentences. He knows Katara wouldn’t shy away from a challenge, even one as monumental and deranged as the political state of the Fire Nation, so he knows that’s not it. But perhaps Toph isn’t entirely wrong in her assumptions.

But for all the insight that provides him with, it doesn’t bring him any closer to finding her.

He finds himself way too restless and angry for sleep and at night, after the palace has quietened down, he slips out unnoticed, silent as a thief, swords and blue mask in tow.

/ / /

“It would seem, Your Highness, that the reinforcements we sent to the South still haven’t gotten a hold on the situation,” Adviser Yuka says and inadvertently takes a step back under Zuko’s glare.

“What do you mean, they don’t have a hold on it? Do they expect an entire army to come and help their sad asses out?”

“I’m sure they don’t, Your Highness.” Yuka laughs nervously and holds up his hands. “To their credit, they have control over the small crime that’s been going on over there. But it would seem there is an organized group of bandits that’s presumably part of a bigger network. We’re not sure how wide its influence spreads, and so they –”

“What? Do they expect I send all our forces to a handful of villages and leave the rest of the country unguarded? Or are they so incapable that they’d have their Fire Lord go over there to tell it to their face?”

“N-no, Your –”

“I don’t want to discuss this anymore. Come talk to me when we have new information.”

“Very well. May we perhaps revisit the subject of you courting a future Fire Lady soon? With all this unrest, I’m certain that the possibility of an heir –”

“On second thought, let’s go back to the situation in the South.”

“But –”

“The South, Yuka.”

“Very well, Your Highness. Aside from this group of bandits, we’ve been hearing talk of this vigilante…”

/ / /

“There’s news, Your Highness.”

Zuko snaps his head up from the scroll in his hands. “About?”

“The provinces in the South.”

He sighs in exasperation and runs a hand through his hair, a few strands falling out of his tight topknot and in his eyes. He’s never imagined an area so small would be the source of so persistent a headache, but alas. The incompetence among his ranks has somehow exceeded his wildest expectations.

“What’s going on now? Do they need more men?”

Adviser Yuka clears his throat and looks away in embarrassment. “Not at all. It would seem, my Lord, that the problem is now largely… solved.”

Zuko lifts an eyebrow. For something that’s supposed to be good news, his most trusted councilman seems awfully uncomfortable. “Is that so? Did we switch the leadership of the forces down there?”

“No, Your Highness.”

“Then? Did someone more capable step up and take authority?”

“No, Your – well… in a way, I guess you could say that.”

Zuko leans back in his chair and crosses his arms in confusion. “Well, which is it? Yes or no?”

Adviser Yuka unfolds a scroll he’s been holding and hands it to him. “It would seem the one to relieve us of our troubles doesn’t operate on the lawful side. And yet…”

Zuko looks at the piece of paper in confusion. “This is the vigilante you told me about? Some woman with a veil?”

“The Painted Lady, Your Highness. She’s been quite the… uproar in that part of the country lately.”

Gold eyes skim over the text beneath the vague picture that looks like a carbon copy from a children’s book. Theft, destruction of property, coercion, violence. “Why hasn’t she been taken into custody?”

“Well, she’s officially dubbed as a criminal. But unofficially, the people in the area seem to think of her as a… protector of sorts. As far as I know, even those in authority have left her to her own devices.”

“That is unheard of. This person is breaking Fire Nation law left, right and center, and you’re all just letting them do as they please? I didn’t expect this of people who were once Ozai’s subordinates, Yuka.”

“Well, you see… I can sympathize with the way your people feel, Your Highness. Those provinces have been in a bad state for some time now, and the Painted Lady seems to have given everyone hope. She’s giving food to the poor, she’s disposing of thieves and bandits, she heals the sick… It’s as if the spirit itself has come to life and taken mercy on your subjects. And if legends are to be believed, then –”

“Did you just say she heals?”

“Yes, Your Highness, and –”

“Fuck’s sake, Yuka, and you’re only telling me this now?” Zuko’s on his feet before he can revel in his adviser’s scandalized expression at his Fire Lord cursing. “Arrange for a balloon to take me there this afternoon.”

“But there’s a meeting –”

“I will not repeat myself. You wanted a Fire Lady, didn’t you? Get moving.” Zuko takes the ‘wanted’ poster from his desk and strides off from his study. A vague image of a veil draped around a hand in a room on Ember Island on a night of unspoken confessions flashes through his memory and he can’t believe he’s been so blind. It’s taken him an eternity to see what’s been staring him in the face all along. “This is no spirit. It’s a wretched woman who’s about to have a piece of my mind.”

/ / / / /

Chapter Text

/ / /

“Dispose of the balloon as soon as we land.”

“Yes, my Lord. What is my mission afterwards?”

“Go in a tavern and have fun.”

“Uh, I don’t think…”

“What, you’ve never had a vacation before?”

“No, my Lord. If… if you don’t count the training trip the garrison took to the Boiling Rock, then no.”

“Well, you’re getting one now. I’ll find you when it’s time to go back. And remember, not a word to anyone that I’m here.”

“… As you say, my Lord.”

/ / /

The familiar black fabric of his clothes blends him with the shadows of the night, and he soundlessly makes his way through the narrow streets of the seaside village. The guard he’s been stupidly issued to take as ‘protection’ has proved to be useful – he’s quickly gathered enough information from the men drinking at the local tavern who are well on their way to a hangover already.

There’s been a team of three outlaws who have been destroying local farms and stealing whatever they can get in return for not burning the places to the ground. Zuko’s learned there have been attempts to capture them, but none that have been successful as of yet, so it isn’t impossible to place a bet on where he can find the Painted Lady tonight.

There are only two farms that have been left untouched so far, two guards stationed at each, and when it gets late enough he makes his way towards the one that sits closer to the edge of town. The bandits have been going two farms per night so far, and with their ongoing success he doesn’t imagine they’ll break the pattern this time.

It’s easier to find her than he thought. The Painted Lady is perched atop a small hill, seeming to wait for the imminent attack on the farm, and her hair sways with the soft wind, unbound from its usual braid. Zuko stills some distance away and slinks back into the shadow between two trees.

The adrenaline coursing through his veins has nothing to do with the upcoming fight, but he manages to keep his composure. He crouches down and waits and for some reason it feels like the calm before the battle of his life.

/ / /

Katara’s so mad with herself she can barely think straight.

She’s had ample opportunity to deal with the people plundering the local farms, but so far, they have managed to elude her every single time. There’s only three of them (that she’s seen), but they somehow always seem to slip away before she’s even had the chance to properly engage in combat. This one time she managed to grab hold of one of them with a water whip, but when she pulled him across the ground to her, he blocked the chi in both her arms with a few swift movements of his fingers and next thing she knew, they were all gone.

It would seem they are well acquainted with her battle style and it’s reflected by their success so far. But Katara knows not to be too cocky now; it’s cost enough people their livelihoods as it is. She’s set a handful of traps between the two remaining farms and instructed the families not to go outside beforehand. She’ll have them tonight.

Three figures appear from the road out of the town, and she quickly gets down to her knees. Two of them she recognizes, but the third is a new one. She surveys the area as much as the dark allows with narrowed eyes; where’s the other one? Could he be at the second farm already? With these being the last two, she wouldn’t be surprised if they’ve switched up their strategy to account for the predictability of their attack.

She stretches out her arms and in an instant, the perimeter is shrouded in fog. Feeling her way around the mist, she soundlessly moves to where the three of them have stopped and quickly sends an ice dagger to each of their throats, stopping them just a hair’s breadth away from their carotid arteries.

“Good evening, gentlemen. May you be so kind as to reveal your friend’s whereabouts? It would seem we’re missing him tonight.”

“I-it’s her!” one of them breathes out in horror, but the other two don’t seem that impressed.

“Quiet, Satsuki. She won’t harm us.”

Katara steps closer to the one who said that, curling her lips in a nasty smirk. “Oh, yeah? You want to test that theory?”

The ice dagger presses into his neck sharply enough to draw blood and he gasps. But then a blade flies out of his belt holster and straight for her abdomen.

Katara turns to dodge but the next instant there’s a sound of steel clanking against steel and she’s astonished to see a sword’s blocked the attack.

“I dare you to try that again,” a horribly familiar rasp comes out of seemingly nowhere and a swoosh of blades later all three bandits are on the ground, matching deep cuts on their arms.

She can’t get over her shock and it’s the Blue Spirit who ties them up and drags them to where the stationed guards can see them. Before she’s had a chance to decide whether she should fight him or run away like she’s gotten so good at, he’s back and he’s staring her down with his arms crossed over his chest.

“I had a hold on the situation,” she says with indignation, because it’s all her mind can come up with when faced with the fact that he is here.

“Sure you did.” He removes his mask and Katara’s not quite prepared for the piercing accusation in his eyes. “Care to tell me what the hell you’ve been doing?”

She scoffs and turns away. “Putting some order to your lawless ass country, that’s what.”

“Don’t walk away from me, Katara. Have the decency to cut me off properly at least.”

“Is that why you’ve come?” She looks back at him, but all the fight has long since been drained from her. He’s making this hard, unnecessarily so, by being here, and she doesn’t know how long she can keep this up before she’s a wailing heap on the ground.

He hesitates. “Well, I… I heard about the Painted Lady and needed to see for myself that you… that you’re alright.”

“I’m alright. Can you leave now?”

“I… no, okay? Not until you tell me why you left.”

“Zuko, this isn’t the time. There’s another guy on the loose and I’m willing to bet he’s at the other farm as we speak. I can’t do this now.”

“I’m not leaving this unsettled.”

“Do as you wish, but I’m going.”

“I’m coming with you then.”

“It’s one guy. I can take him.”

“I’m certain you can. What I’m worried about is you flying off the handle before you’ve justified your leaving without a word.” Zuko sheathes his swords and falls in step with her hasty stride.

Katara can’t explain that. She can’t deal with him, with this, not in the state she’s in. She’s been feeling like she’s slowly dwindling away from existence for a while now and it had been easier to reconcile herself with the half-life she was living when she couldn’t see him, but now… it takes one curve of his mouth, one glimpse of his eyes and she is right back where she started, heartbroken and terrified and not nearly determined enough.

“You know why,” she says as she wonders if she can somehow coax him into falling for one of the traps she’s set on the way. He dodges the first one with a swift sidestep, never once looking away from her, and she draws a sharp breath. He’s either followed her while she set them, or she truly isn’t cut out for stealth attacks.

“Why? Because you’re not Fire Nation? Because some people won’t accept you by my side?”

Katara’s pace quickens to match her pounding heart. Zuko’s already lost his patience, she sees, and she can only imagine the turmoil she’s put him through to drive him all the way out here, sneaking around in a mask on his own soil.

But he’s relentless and she knows she can’t shake him off, not until they’ve had it out. “You say that as if it’s insignificant.”

“It is. Why isn’t it enough that I choose you?”

Katara whips her head around, halting in her stride. “Have you heard what’s been happening around here?”

He nods, seeming annoyed she’s changing the subject; only, she isn’t. “That’s what you’d have on your hands all over the Fire Nation if we stayed together. Every goddamn village I’ve passed through, every fucking tavern, it’s the same thing, over and over. ‘She’s a hero, but she doesn’t belong here. I don’t care who she is, I’m never having a water tribe peasant leading my country.” She takes a step closer to him and he almost flinches under her gaze. “There’s talk of people who want to dethrone the Fire Lord. Honestly, if he marries that I won’t even be sad when he gets overthrown. Can you imagine a waterbender being the next heir to the throne? What a disgrace.”

“Fuck all of that, Katara. This is all talk, and both of us have endured much worse. The people just need some time to –”

“I’m not taking chances on your life, Zuko. You can’t ask me to do that in good conscience, not for me, not for the second time.”

His gaze softens at that, and he reaches for her hand, but she steps away. Life without Zuko in it isn’t much of a life, that much is painfully true to the point where she can’t convince herself otherwise. But she still believes her decision was the right one. And if she has to hurt him for that to get through his thick skull, she will. If she has to prove to him pain is all she’ll ever bring him and his hypothetical future family, she will. Because Katara loves Zuko and Zuko has enough on his plate to deal with already, Zuko is better off without her.

She’s past rational thought, she’s past exhaustion, she’s even past anger and feeling. All Katara wants to do is just dissolve into thin air to somewhere where she wouldn’t affect anyone’s life and she can finally be free of the way the world views her and the violence that image has the power to incite.

Maybe she should look into relocating to the foggy swamp. Only the visions there will surely drive her mad before she’s had the chance to end her pathetic existence.

Life without Zuko isn’t much of a life; but if she has to choose, she’ll always choose him, even at her own detriment. She can’t stand to look at herself anyway, and not only because of what she’s about to do.

/ / /

“I’m not taking chances on your life, Zuko. You can’t ask me to do that in good conscience, not for me, not for the second time.”

He gets that, he wants to tell her, he gets it, but she needn’t worry, because he can take care of himself, he can take care of her too, and if he can’t do either of those things, he’d still rather die by her side than have the rest of his miserable life be a slow death of its own torturous design without her.

Zuko reaches for her hand, but Katara’s gaze is clouded, unseeing, terrifying in its hollowness, and she’s never been farther from him than she is at this very moment.

The words to express the love he holds for her die on their way out of his throat in the face of her absence and he stares, helplessly, lost in those pools of ocean water that have inexplicably lost their moonlight shine. He wants to take her in his arms, shake her awake, make her believe again.

But Katara doesn’t give him a chance. His eyes are still locked on hers, so he notices the almost imperceptible flick of her wrist too late.

A tingly feeling creeps around the side of his neck and he exclaims in a muffled cry of surprise but then Katara’s face blurs and he feels himself getting pulled down by some invisible force, mental fog setting over him like a thick blanket.

The infuriating woman has just bloodbended him out of consciousness, he belatedly realizes. The last thought to flicker through his sluggish mind before he passes out is not one of anger, but one of frightening concern; the girl he loves is getting pulled down by darkness of her own, and he hopes to Agni it’s one he will be able to help her fight.

/ / / / /

Chapter Text

/ / /

It’s still dark when Zuko comes to, but he can’t ascertain how much time has passed. Katara’s somehow moved him to the shadow of a tree deeper in the tree line, facing away from the road. He wakes up with her mother’s necklace tied around his wrist. She’s nowhere to be seen.

He gets to his feet and sprints off in the direction of the second farm, hoping to Agni she hasn’t gotten herself in any trouble in her determination to get away from him. He needs to make sure she’s okay, even if she doesn’t want him anymore, even if she tells him the most ugly and untrue things she can come up with, even if she bends every last drop of his blood to her will, because all his heart pumps is hers anyway.

The farm is eerily quiet when he arrives. There’s no fog this time, no visible damage to either the barn or the house, no one in sight.

Zuko surveys the perimeter, starting to think they must have been mistaken about the second attack after all, when he comes across the first sign of a scuffle. Katara’s brimmed hat is lying in the dust near the barn. A few feet away from it, there’s an unmistakable trail of blood that stretches to the side of the road and then nearly disappears in the grass.

He follows the blood, his heart constricting more painfully with each desperate step he takes, and then he finally sees her lying on the ground surrounded by tall stalks of grass, almost hidden from view.

There’s a deep cut stretching diagonally across her abdomen and chest. Katara’s breaths are strangled, uneven, but still there. She’s holding her wound with one hand, while the other is lying uselessly by her side.

Never having been a deeply religious man, Zuko prays. To Agni, to the Spirits, to Katara.

/ / /

Katara stumbles in the dark, before finally collapsing on the ground. She manages to turn so she’s on her back and lifts a hand to her face, examining it curiously under her unfocused gaze. It’s red. Did she put on red paint tonight? She doesn’t remember.

Tui and La, she feels so cold.

She tries to lift her other arm, but it doesn’t respond to her command. Right. The bastard cut off her chi pathway as he stabbed her. Her other hand makes a limp attempt, but all the movement does is shoot a blinding bout of pain through her entire upper body.

Is this how she dies? She bested Azula, for Spirits’ sakes, and now she’s drowning in a puddle of her own blood, beaten by one guy, by one katana.

Her fingers glow blue for a few seconds before she feels she’s going to lose consciousness from the exertion if she keeps it up. Her head leans back on the grass in resignation.

Slowly, Katara makes her peace with what is happening. She’s been taunting fate for too long now. It was high time the rubber band finally snapped, and she must pay her dues.

She feels oddly comforted by the thought of death. She got to see Zuko one last time, even if she didn’t deserve it. And now she’ll get to see her mother, she hopes. Maybe Kya can tell her the story of Tui and La again.

She’s already sinking into her final slumber, when Zuko finds her. He drops to her side, mumbling incoherently as he takes in the damage.

“Katara. Katara! Stay awake.”

Her eyes flutter open and a small smile makes its way on her face at the bleary sight of him. “Your eyes…” she mumbles as she makes a faint attempt to touch him with the hand that’s still somewhat mobile. “They’re like the s-sun.”

“Katara. I’ll apply pressure to the wound while you heal yourself. Alright?”

Her eyes hover over his face and then to the stars above her. “Beautiful.” Her hand falls to her side and her smile widens the slightest bit.

“Do you hear me? Heal yourself!”

“No.” Katara closes her eyes. Numbness starts dulling the edges and pulling her down, even as Zuko presses down on her wound. She’s close now, close to feeling at peace, at long last.

“Yes! Do it, do it now!”

“No, Zuko.” Her voice is faint but steady. Here, she’s finally in control. “I have the right to choose how I die. G-give me… that much, at least.”

“Snap out of it!” Zuko slaps her across the face, hard. Her eyes begrudgingly flutter open again. “Your life is not your own. Do you honestly want to do that to all of your friends?”

Her mouth twists and she gives a quiet dark laugh. She’s spent her entire life living for others. Always putting them first. Not now. She wants it to be over, she wants to go, because she can’t stand being here anymore. She can’t stand living with herself. And they’re all better off without her anyway.

Zuko slaps her again. He’s crying, she sees. It stirs something in her, but it’s not enough. Nothing’s ever been enough with them, it seems.

“I’ll never forgive you, Katara. Please don’t do this to me.” His voice breaks and he buries his head between his knees on the ground. A strangled sob escapes his throat, angry and desperate, and having Zuko witness her die must be the most catastrophically idiotic miscalculation ever.

Katara rasps out a sigh and spits some blood to the side. She gives in. Now that she’s been so tantalizingly close to the abyss, she feels at peace. She can get here again. But not with him around, not like this. And he’ll never forgive her either way, but it will dull his suffering the slightest bit. Zuko may be better off without her, but he doesn’t deserve this. She knows he’ll just blame himself for all of it, just like he already does for what’s happened to Azula.

Her good hand glows a faint flickering blue and he lifts his head, teary eyes wide.

Still holding her wound, he turns his head around and starts yelling at the farm with all the force that he has, tall flames escaping his lips in an attempt to send out a signal for help.

Katara doesn’t know if anyone ends up hearing him, ends up coming. But Zuko doesn’t leave her side, he’s terrified to, and the warmth of his presence keeps her from falling off the edge of her exhaustion even as it’s all she wants to do.

“I can’t,” she gasps as her hand falls next to her body limply.

“You can,” Zuko insists through his tears and squeezes her hand tightly. “You must, Katara. Please.”

She nods with her eyes closed and attempts again. With a sharp inhale, she throws caution to the wind and tries to bloodbend the torn tissue back together. She doesn’t feel anything happening, but something must be, because Zuko’s sobs have quietened and he’s staring at the hand that isn’t glowing with wide eyes.

“You’re… keep going, Katara. You’re strong.”

She isn’t strong. She’s weak, pathetic and has resigned any right to hear him say something like this, to hear him say anything at all.

When she’s done a sloppy, but semi-good enough job of stopping her internal bleeding, she finally falls into a deep slumber, but it’s not the one that she wants.

Before Katara slips into unconsciousness, she feels Zuko cradling her head like she’s a baby. “Thank you. I love you. Don’t ever do that again. Agni, I love you so much.”

/ / / / /

Chapter Text

/ / /

Consciousness brings every fiber of Katara’s being pain and she wishes she can slink back into oblivion and sleep for the next month or so.

But the night isn’t so graceful. She’s met with the accusation in Zuko’s eyes as soon as her own open and a wholly different kind of pain makes itself known.

“How are you feeling?”

“Been better.”

Zuko hands her a glass of water and sits next to her on the bed. He looks at her for a few charged seconds, gaze hard, and then takes a sharp breath. “I’m so angry with you.”

She sighs and struggles to sit up. “I don’t blame you.”

“For a minute there, I thought you were going to die. I thought you wanted to.”

She doesn’t say anything and Zuko seems to recognize her silence for exactly what it is – cowardly confirmation that what he’d seen was in fact right. She’d been close to death, and she had been entirely fine with it, even rejoicing in it for the second before the pain in his eyes had pulled her back to sanity.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, and isn’t entirely sure she means it.

His eyes narrow at her angrily. “I hope you know I’m not leaving your side until I’m sure you won’t pull something like this again.”

She isn’t sure if he means her running away, going on suicidal missions or relinquishing her hold on this feeble form of life she’s been leading, but she nods either way. It doesn’t matter. Zuko’s determination is a beast she’s long since lost the power to oppose.

“Why, Katara?” he prompts quietly, and his voice isn’t so angry anymore. She would have preferred it if it was because the withering sadness in it is so much worse; it is her that’s put it there, she knows, and she hates herself for it, that self-resentment the only feeling she has the capacity to feel in its fullness.

“I…” she tries, but nothing even remotely plausible comes up. Something that disgustingly feels like a sob threatens to come out of her throat and she clams her mouth shut.

But then Zuko grabs her hand harshly and she flinches under his touch – the touch she doesn’t deserve – and he implores her to look at him. “Please.”

She swallows and tries to compose herself, at least for as long as it may take to form some words, any words, to try and explain it to him. He deserves that much, he deserves more, and she needs to at least try.

“I was scared,” she admits and is startled by how hollow her voice sounds. Fitting – that’s all she really is. “Nothing mattered anymore. I didn’t have anything left to live for.”

Zuko frowns and it pains her to see he’s fighting his own tears. “How can you say that, Katara? Don’t you have me?”

She looks down to their entwined hands in shame. “I don’t have you, not like that. I never have and can never hope to.” She looks back at him and smiles meekly. “And without that, there was truly nothing left.”

Zuko’s eyes turn firm once more. “Don’t ever say that. Don’t even think it.” Before she knows what is happening, he’s embracing her, too tightly. A hiss of pain involuntarily escapes her lips, and his hold falters the slightest bit. “Sorry. Just… You do have me, understand? Even when you chose to forget that. Always.”

Even before he’s finished speaking, the protest has already formed in her throat. “But, Zuko… You know that can never happen. We’ve known that all along. It was stupid to ever believe otherwise, and we shouldn’t have let it get this far.”

His stare is blazing, unrelenting. “No. Don’t you dare say you regret any of it. It’s a lie and you know it. Don’t disrespect us that way.”

Her eyes soften and she finds the ability for sympathy once more. “Zuko. Come on. We need to be honest about this, now. We can’t keep doing this. I’m only hurting you, I can see it.”

“We can’t do what, Katara? We can do anything, as long as you want to. Don’t you want to?”

She shakes her head. “It doesn’t matter what I want.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“You’re ridiculous.” She laughs darkly. “And this is cruel, you know, what you’re doing. What you’re saying. Here you go, giving me hope again, even though you know clear as day you can never make good on your promises. Spare us the heartache, Zuko, and let me go.”

He’s searching her eyes intently, breath fanning across her face. “I can make good on my promises. I already am. Do you want it?”

Katara exhales sharply. He is too close, and she can’t think, and that’s probably what he’s aiming for, the bastard.

Their noses brush together and suddenly, she can’t remember what it is she’s resisting or why. He looks at her uncertainly, then closes the rest of the distance and kisses her, chaste and tentative. She hates that she can’t will herself to push him away and she sinks into him, firm and erratic and decisive, her ship finally docking and damn it, she never wants to leave.

Of course she wants this, is he blind? He must be, because the hammering of her heart in her chest is so loud, he can’t possibly not be aware of it, or the way she’s stopped breathing a while back, and if none of that is obvious enough, then the tightening of her fingers around his collar surely is.

“Katara,” he breathes against her lips as they pull apart, and her name is a plea on his lips, a blessing, and a curse, and this is all just a colossally bad idea, one that will condemn them both, that will send the entire country into the fires of hell if they allow themselves to be this reckless.

But he doesn’t seem to care the slightest bit, because then his hands are in her hair and he’s kissing her again, as if she’s the air he needs to breathe. “Come back with me,” he says, and she doesn’t want to think if what he’s asking is impossible, if they are impossible, because he’s here and Spirits, she can finally feel again.

“Yes,” she says without thinking. She’s lost all ability to, if she assumes she’s ever even had it in the first place when it comes to him, to them. “Yes.”

Zuko exhales in relief and kisses her, doesn’t stop kissing her, as if she will vanish if he lets go. She just might.

/ / /

It takes an excruciating while before every inch of her stops feeling as though it’s getting ripped apart at the seams. Healing after bloodbending feels distinctly different, even if it’s more effective, and the recovery isn’t made any easier by the crushing guilt she still feels.

The trip back to the capital is a nauseous ordeal, made more insufferable by the guard’s incessant chattering about the blast of a time he had. But he seems excited in a guileless sort of way and Zuko humors him and despite her bouts of nausea, Katara feels endeared by the display of softness the Fire Lord holds for his subjects.

Then they’re back at the Fire Palace and she’s told to rest. She busies herself with reading and walks around the gardens, finding amusement in the rumors she hears fluttering around about the months of her absence.

People seem to be aware of her injuries, what with the royal healer visiting her quarters twice a day – that’s a funny twist of irony she’s decided to allow, because people here seem to care about her wellbeing, and she finds it’s a welcome sentiment – but no one knows how exactly she survived after taking a katana to the chest.

She decides to leave that part to folklore, and it is there the tale truly comes to life. There’s rumors going around about the actual Painted Lady Spirit descending from the sky to revive her with spirit magic. Katara thinks some things are best left untold.

Somehow, Zuko is by her side more often than he is not. She doesn’t imagine the life of the Fire Lord allows for both morning and afternoon tea, along with leisurely strolls in the gardens and evening picnics by the turtleduck pond, but he doesn’t elaborate, and she doesn’t question him, for once happy to just let him be there as he so adamantly insists.

He’s taking care not to push her too much, apparently content with just the fact of her presence there, but she can see his anxiety is growing by the day, a looming question always just on the tip of his tongue.

She doesn’t say anything and just lets herself be comforted by his presence and his attention. She needs time to forgive herself after all the things she’s done, all the pain she’s caused, the irreversible transgression she’s almost committed against both Zuko and herself, and during that time, she can’t afford to take on any more.

Even so, she feels herself beginning to want to, like she’s always suspected she might, and as the days go by, she holds her breath in anticipation. She senses her desires may be aligned with Zuko’s in a way that finally isn’t in conflict. It’s sort of unfamiliar, not fighting with him constantly, but she thinks that may be a new status quo she can easily grow accustomed to.

/ / / / /

Chapter Text

/ / /

“Fire Lord Zuko!”

Zuko lifts a hand in Yuka’s face. “Nope. The Fire Lord is on leave.”

“But, Your Highness –”

“And it’s recently come to my attention that our guards don’t get any time off.”

“...No one does, sir.”

“Well, I’m setting a precedent then. I want the entire employment law rewritten and drafted on my desk by the next new moon. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“Good. Why are you still standing there?”

“It’s just... Your friends have arrived, my Lord. Your maid was wondering where we should send them and I promised I’d relay the message if I happened upon you.”

“Oh, they know what to do. If they ask, just send them to my study. They’re probably there already.”

“Very well, my Lord.”

“And Yuka?”

“Yes, my Lord?”

“Please work in a clause about councilmen getting law-mandated vacation. I don’t mean to be offensive, but you clearly need it.”

“...Yes. Thank you.”

/ / /

The idleness is about to drive Katara to madness, when finally, blissfully, she’s called into a meeting with Yuka, Zuko’s most trusted advisor.

He’s been pushing for a Fire Lady, she learns. That’s a conversation she’s not ready to have, even if it’s heavily implied it’s where things are inevitably headed. Even so, when she does have it, it will certainly not be with the bearded old councilman first.

“Ah, Lady Katara. I’m glad to see you’re making a satisfactory recovery.”

“Yes, thank you.”

“I’m honored to have you here. Now, if we could talk business for a second…”

“Spit it out, Yuka. We’re going to the market in a bit,” Zuko says impatiently as he stares outside the window of his study.

“Yes, of course. Well, Your Highness, I believe I’ve worked out a solution for the conundrum you presented me with.”

“About the employment law?”

“No, my Lord. About… more personal matters.” Yuka’s eyes travel to Katara and he visibly reddens. She frowns in confusion. “About the possibility of a future marriage, sir.”

At this, the color in her cheeks promptly matches the thick red curtains. Zuko, for his part, seems unaffected. He raises an eyebrow and looks back at his advisor. “Oh?”

“I believe Lady Katara has made quite a name for herself down in the South. Well, she’s more famous as the Painted Lady, but I believe that’s something we can use to our advantage.”

“How so?”

“Wait, I –”

“Your subjects have grown quite fond of her. As we have discussed on previous occasions, they perceive her as a protector, a woman of the people, even a deity. So, it was my thought that –”

“Hold up, who said anything about marriage?”

“– that our best move in the situation might be to reveal Lady Katara as the identity behind all the good deeds that have rid the South of crime and brought about a new era of peace and joy.”

“Are you listening? This is too fast, Zuko, I –”

“Yuka,” Zuko cuts her off and smiles at the old man. “Would you please remind Lady Katara that you’re a very busy member of the royal council who has gone through a great deal of trouble to be able to talk to us today?”

Yuka turns towards Katara and clears his throat solemnly. “Lady Katara –”

“I heard!”

“Please proceed.”

“Right. As I was saying, we should reveal it was really Lady Katara who was responsible for all that, and so, undoubtedly, your people wouldn’t think twice about welcoming her as the new Fire Lady.”

Katara’s mouth opens and closes helplessly. She stares with wide eyes. Yuka pauses for a second and rubs his chin thoughtfully. “I think the end of the summer would be a delightful time for a wedding. That is considering all the time it would take for the preparations. And by then, word will have most certainly spread around.”

Zuko considers this for a second and nods. “I agree. Set it in motion.”

“Now, hold on a second. Won’t anyone ask what I think of this?”

Zuko angles his face towards her, a placating expression on his features. “What do you think of this, Katara?”

She throws her hands up in the air incredulously. “It’s insane, is what I think! It’s too fast!”

“Why is that?”

“Well, are you ready for that sort of change?”

“What is it exactly that will change, do you think?”

“I…” Katara sputters unconvincingly, suddenly feeling the weakness of her argument.

“Will you not still live in the Fire Palace?”

“Well, yes, but…”

“Will you not start work on the humanitarian initiatives around the capital like we talked about?”

“Yes.”

“Have you not grown accustomed to wearing red already?”

“Zuko.” Katara runs a hand through her hair in frustration and struggles to come up with something. “Maybe I’m not ready to stop being the Painted Lady, okay?”

“You can still be the Painted Lady. She can, can’t she, Yuka?”

“Undoubtedly, my Lord.”

“See? All settled.”

“No. It’s not the same when it’s not anonymous and you know it.”

Zuko’s mouth twitches in an amused smirk. “I’ll let you borrow my Blue Spirit mask if it means that much to you.”

Yuka sputters in shock as he stares at his Fire Lord with wide eyes. “You’re the Blue Spirit, Fire Lord Zuko?”

He blinks in surprise and clears his throat in embarrassment, only now realizing his mistake. “That information doesn’t leave this room. Understood?”

“Y-yes, sir.” The old man shifts his weight back and forth uncomfortably. “If that’s all, I better get going.”

“Very well. Keep me updated.”

Adviser Yuka nods and with a reverent bow makes his way out of the study. Katara stares after him pleadingly and once he’s out the door, she whips around to glare at Zuko. “What the hell was that all about?”

“That was fun, was what it was.”

“Fun? Are you in the habit of coercing people into marriage with you often?”

Zuko seems to consider this for a second. “No, only occasionally. But I do try to make the most of it whenever the opportunity presents itself.” He circles his desk and takes her hands. “What’s this really about, Katara? I thought you wanted this.”

“I… I do.” She looks away uncertainly. “But I’m still afraid things might turn ugly if we go too fast.”

“Is that the only reason?”

She exhales and braves a look at him “Yes. You know I’d marry you in a heartbeat.”

Zuko’s grin is so bright, it rivals the sun. “Then don’t worry. Yuka’s plan is foolproof. I’d trust the old geezer’s calculating mind with my life.”

Katara sighs and Katara relents. Zuko is jovial as he pulls her to the market and they spend the rest of the afternoon frivolously, walking around and chewing on mango.

A summer wedding, Katara thinks in disbelief, takes stock of her internal state, and tries to find the specks of panic hidden between her insides. She’s amazed to discover she finds none. Instead, what she finds is excitement, fluttering and invigorating in a way that confirms how foolish she’s been to ever think leaving this world without having lived a full life with Zuko first was an acceptable thing to do.

Katara chooses to live. For Zuko, for herself, and mostly, for the shared beautiful adventure they’re about to embark on.

A summer wedding, she decides, may not be so bad after all.

/ / / / /

Chapter Text

/ / /

Toph comes stomping in her chambers, gruffly pushing away the guard that’s been issued to accompany her everywhere. Zuko had tried to get his staff to stop fussing over her – it was for their own good, really – but the collective concern around here about the beloved war heroes’ wellbeing seems to know no limits.

“Alright, Sugar Queen. Let’s get you hitched!”

Katara looks at her in the mirror and takes a steadying breath.

“I have no idea what you look like, but I have a feeling we’ll be scraping Sparky’s jaw off the courtyard later.” Toph pauses, frowns and her voice takes on a softer edge, one that she reserves only for the gravest of occasions. Toph is measured with her emotion, in a way that makes every rare expression of it that much more valuable, and Katara respects her greatly for it. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Katara breathes. She may be nervous down to the last fiber of her being, but she’s never been more okay. She’s ready. This is where the rest of her life begins, and she simply can’t wait.

Her father comes to meet her, and they make their way outside together. Zuko’s standing in the courtyard, against the backdrop of the entire Fire Nation who’s come to watch. He looks as jittery as she feels, and still, he’s so incredibly handsome, she can barely believe her luck.

They stare at each other with wide eyes as the space between their glances closes, and Katara doesn’t know what she’s done to deserve feeling this way.

Zuko takes her hands and blinks down at them, as if he can’t quite believe it himself.

The ceremony starts, but everything that lies outside of the sensation of his fingers against hers is a distant muffle, something less than important in the face of all this happiness. Katara looks in his eyes and finds them looking at her with the same tenderness she feels swelling in her chest, the one that she was so stupidly intent on strangling before.

She doesn’t know how she’s ever managed to cheat her heart out of believing this isn’t home.

/ / /

And home it becomes, for the rest of her life.

That life, the one she blissfully finds herself thrown in, is an adventure she’s glad she didn’t rob herself of, more vivid and passionate and hers than she’s ever thought possible.

With every small brush of his hand against hers throughout the day, and with every fervent kiss and whispered word of love, Zuko shows her his devotion. She grows accustomed to waking up to the light in his gold eyes, so much so that she can’t ever imagine being anywhere else. She’s reassured by the thought that she’ll never have to.

Katara takes the humanitarian part of politics under her wing and finds there’s more to fighting than lunging ice daggers and hiding in the dark. This new battle is one she thrives in, and it is one in which she will succeed. With Zuko by her side, she’s discovered, she feels anything is possible.

“I hear you’re revolutionizing our healthcare system,” he says one night after they’ve already gone to bed, fingers in messy hair and limbs tangled together in an inextricable knot.

“You’re one to speak, Fire Lord. You’ve reconciled both your people and the Earth Kingdom with the colonies.”

Zuko leans in to kiss her neck. “I have to keep up with the Fire Lady. The Southern provinces are having a statue made of you, you know.”

She throws her head back in laughter. “They are not!”

Zuko looks up at her seriously. “They are. I’m thinking of having a replica made for the courtyard.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“I am.” But a mischievous smirk is playing on his lips. “To commemorate the time you ran away from me to put my lawless ass country in order.”

“Well, that’s a task that will take much more than that.”

“We’re doing a good job so far, I think.”

She smiles against his lips. “Yeah.”

Zuko doesn’t end up ordering a statue of the Painted Lady for the palace’s courtyard, but they don’t really need one. What they have needs no material commemorating, for it is ingrained in everything they do, everything they touch, every glance they exchange.

Life goes on, peacefully, beautifully, lovingly. Zuko and Katara go on too, seamlessly dancing together in a circle of duty, passion and eventually, stability, that seeps outside of their private rooms and into the Fire Nation.

Zuko is still a fool. Katara is, too.

But they are fools in love, and that is a type of foolishness they can happily live with. So, they do.

/ / / / /