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Chapter Text

They’ve known each other for as long as she could remember.

Katara couldn’t remember the first time they had met; it seemed that he had always been there. Perhaps it was during the annual visit of the Air Nomads to the Southern Water Tribe for the Festival of Dancing Lights; perhaps it was during the weekly trade between their nations. Perhaps it was even as simple and innocuous as a trip Gyatso had made to her home—he and her parents were close friends, after all.

Whatever the case, Aang had become a part of her family, as surely as the sky was blue and the ocean ran deep.

Her first, half-formed memory of him had been rather strange, in and of itself—to this day, she still wasn’t sure if she dreamed it. She had been six, and wandering around the snow fields in search of cloudberries, since her mom had wanted to make some tarts “for some special guests.”

She had just found a bush and was plucking them from their branches when she felt a burst of hot air on her neck and the huff of a breath, and she turned to find herself face-to-face with a giant, fluffy beast.

She remembered shrieking in surprise and falling to the ground, instinctively thrusting her hand out at it. The snow had only stirred a little, not enough to fight off the beast but enough to send a light spray of frost towards it.

That was the day she had learned she was a waterbender.

But that was not the only thing she learned that day, for a child—dressed in the colors of the Air Nomads and no older than she—came running up. He threw his arms around the beast, alternating between apologizing to her and reprimanding the creature, whom he called Appa.

He had offered a helping hand to her with a beaming grin and shining gray eyes. He had asked for her name.

That was the day she learned his name was Aang.

After, when all had been said and done and he had helped her pick the berries, they had trudged back together towards the village. It wasn’t until they began heading towards the same direction, her family’s igloo, that she realized he must be one of the “special guests” her mom had been talking about.

They had entered together, his hand clasped in hers (or was it the other way around?) to see her parents and her brother sitting around the dining table along with an elderly Air Nomad with a flowing gray mustache and kindly gray eyes that matched Aang’s. Aang had squealed his name—Gyatso—and let go of her hand to race towards him. At the same time, she had run to her mom, presenting the basket full of berries with a grin of her own.

And from then on, they were friends.

Her second, more concrete memory had been when she was seven and he was six. Gyatso had brought him along to the Festival of Dancing Lights. She had remembered waiting in eager anticipation for the moment he would arrive, silently counting down the hours until he would come back. She remembered somehow hearing Gyatso’s flying bison before anyone else and running out the door before they had even landed. She remembered running up to him just as he slid to the ground and tackling him in a tight, gleeful hug. 

The festival that night was brilliant and joyful, even more so with him by her side. The thrum of dancing and singing had filled the air as the lights in the sky danced above, like the spirits themselves had come out to play. She had watched and laughed as her people danced under the stars, as her own parents made their way across the snowy fields, as elegant and flowing as the rivers of the tundra.

And then she had felt a tug on her hand, and Aang had looked at her with a playful grin on his face, and before she knew it, she was being pulled right into the center of the crowd, under the watch of everyone around her. The way he moved was unlike anyone else she had ever seen before: light and flighty like the wind of his element, but also graceful and gentle like the waters of her home.

That was the day she learned Aang was a boy who loved to dance.

She had tried to keep up—and she was far less elegant and nimble than he was, she hadn’t had much practice at all—but the grin he gave her had been brighter than even the sun itself and outshone any shame she felt at her lack of skill.

(but for him, just for him, she practiced and practiced and practiced until her limbs were numb with cold and her sweat froze on her skin and it was hard and exhausting but fun, and the delight on his face when she showed him more than made up for it)

The seasons changed, slipping from her fingers as quickly as they had come, and they both changed and grew along with them, but his gray eyes were always playful, always beaming, always sparkling with life and everything worth living for. Daylight saw them chasing each other in the snow, laughing and bantering and racing away into the tundra to penguin-sled; nighttime saw them sitting right outside her family’s igloo, him and her and sometimes even her brother, looking up at the stars and teasing each other.

It was a world that belonged to just her and him, a world in which she lost herself, and as she pressed her shoulder into his and looked up to the stars, she could hardly remember that time in her life when he had not existed.

He had always been a part of her life, and for that, she couldn’t be more glad.

She was ten and he was nine when her mother died.

They came first upon clouds of smoke and smog and soot and ash, upon monsters of black steel that hoisted red flags emblazoned with sea ravens. She would never forget the day it happened, how their air of fun and carefree happiness had turned quickly to fear and hardened determination.

She couldn’t remember much about the fighting and chaos that had whirled all around her—all she remembered was running. Freezing air stinging her lungs, chest heaving in and out, her tiny legs carrying her as fast as they could go as she ducked under fighting men and dodged wayward fire blasts.

She couldn’t remember the fighting. She could only remember running, running, running to her family’s igloo, running to seek her safety, running to find her mother.

But when she got there, all she found was a man with sneering golden eyes, towering over her safety, her shelter, her mother.

She couldn’t remember what they said—she only remembered the blood on her mom’s face, the bruises blackening her cheeks, the fear in her eyes. She had never known her mother to be someone less than invincible, someone who could feel fear, and for the first time, she was afraid for her mother’s life.

Then the man said the one thing she would remember for the rest of her life.

“You heard your mother, get out of here!”

She looked at the man (invader, invader, invader) and his menacing golden eyes, and her mother and her kind, comforting blue eyes. Of everything from that day, that would be the clearest thing she would remember: her mother’s eyes, blue and kind and comforting and even sad.

She turned and ran.

Everything after, like everything before, was a blur of fighting and shouting and screaming—there was nothing she would remember from the battle, only that there had been one. She remembered finding her father, though. Finding him and calling to him and begging him to please help mom’s in danger mom’s alone with a man mom’s gonna—

Hakoda ran, and so did she. She ran and ran and ran—they both did—but it wasn’t enough.

Because when they returned, she was already gone.

“Katara!”

She looked through the window of her igloo to see a boy in orange and yellow robes dashing towards her. She hesitated for a moment, looking up to Gran Gran for direction—a part of her wanted to go, and a part of her felt she couldn’t afford to go. Her grandmother merely nudged her towards the door, a silent encouragement.

Slowly, Katara set down the basket she was weaving and trudged out the door—and perhaps in any other life, in any other time, she would run out to him with a grin and a laugh. But not now, when her grief still scraped the inside of her chest raw, when it didn’t feel right to be happy when her mom never will.

Aang slowed to stop just a little within arms’ reach of her. A part of her vaguely wondered if he understood her silent desire for space in her eyes, in her expression. “Your dad, he told us— We heard— I was—” He stopped, perhaps aware of the way he was rambling on, the way his words were tripping over themselves. Slowly, hesitantly, he reached out to grasp her shoulder, his eyes peering at her worriedly. “Are you okay?”

Katara raised her eyes to his and had to stop herself from flinching when gray peered back at her—gray like the ash that had fallen on their village, gray like the smog that had choked their air. “I—” Her breath shuddered involuntarily, and she dropped her gaze so he couldn’t see the tears in her eyes. “I don’t know.”

For a long moment, the only sound that came from him were his breaths, puffing out in crystalized mist, one after the other. She kept her head down and her eyes trained on the snow beneath her feet, dreading what he would see if she looked him in the eye again.

Then she felt two arms encircle her shoulders and pull her into a tight, warm hug. She stiffened instinctively, a part of her wanting to pull away, but her arms were already wrapping around his shoulders, as though unconsciously craving the warm, solid, real, alive presence in her embrace.

“I’m sorry, Katara,” he said, and the tremble in his voice made her breath catch in her throat. He pulled her closer and pressed his cheek to her neck. “I’m so… so sorry.”

A sob rose in Katara’s throat, and she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to will away the hot tears stinging in her eyes. Her arms tightened around his shoulders, ready to pull him even closer—and then a flash of golden eyes. Her mother’s eyes, staring out at her and so sad, so so sad.

Why didn’t I run faster?

Her breathing shuddered, and she pulled away. As if sensing her unspoken wish, Aang’s arms fall away from her. For a long moment, the tundra wind was the only sound that filled the silence between them.

Katara schooled her face into a blank mask, forced her lips to curl in a smile that felt fake, fake, fake. She looked up to Aang’s eyes. Gray, she couldn’t help but think, like ash. “I’ll be okay,” she said, her smile stretched across her face—beautiful, lovely, gorgeous, fake.

(her mom always did say her smile was beautiful)

But even as it stretched her face and made her cheeks ache, even as her eyes stung and her face hurt, even as she tried so desperately to hide, Katara couldn’t help but think Aang could see right through it.

He found her later that night, slumped against the side of a hut and sobbing.

In truth, she wasn’t entirely sure how she ended up there—everything from before was a blur. But she remembered the screaming. She remembered the way her father and brother tried to placate her, the way her blood had boiled over. She remembered the anger—fiery and all-consuming, burning just beneath her skin, exploding at the first chance she could get.

She remembered running, running, running, until she could no longer run, until she collapsed under the weight of her grief and rage at the world, under the anger at herself for not running faster she should’ve run faster why didn’t you run faster—

She didn’t know how long she had been curled up against the hut or when he found her. All she knew was that he was suddenly there, his shoulder pressed into hers, grounding her with his solid, warm, alive presence. She also didn’t know how long she had cried for, only that when her sobs died down to sniffles and she scrubbed at the cooling tears on her face, he was there to clasp her hand in his and gently tug her to her feet.

Slowly, he led her out to a snowy plain, where their only witnesses are the stars glittering above and the moon shining softly down upon them. Her breath caught in her throat at the sheer number of constellations that glittered in the sky, and she craned her neck up to gaze upon them all.

(a part of her wondered if her mom was looking down on them now)

Movement rustled out of the corner of her eye, and she turned to see Aang standing in a snow plain, not unlike the one they had danced upon all those years ago, during the Festival of Dancing Lights. He held out his hand to her, his eyes gentle and concerned and gray, gray like the ash that had fallen, like the smoke that had wafted up from—

The force of his silent request was a sledgehammer to her ribs.

She shivered and hunched over herself, feeling like her insides were torn out, leaving her bloody and raw. “I can’t,” she whispered. It was only the barest breath, a step above silence. But Aang heard her.

He heard her.

His eyes glistened with sorrow. It was not the sorrow of someone who had lost a loved one, but the sorrow of a friend watching others grieve. It was not the sympathy that felt empty and shallow when others gave words of condolences to her, but the empathy of someone who saw others hurting and hurt alongside them.

It was sorrow. It was empathy.

It was understanding.

“Okay.”

And he said nothing more.

That was the day she learned Aang was a boy who was kind, who understood even when she said nothing more. But that was also the day she learned Aang was a boy filled with life and hope, a boy who would wipe her tears away and pull her up with him and teach her how to laugh and dance again because always, always, there was still something worth living for.

Though she did not dance or smile for a long time, Aang’s gentle gray eyes were always there, always kind, always encouraging. Step by step, day by day, she learned to pick up the pieces and put them back together. It was slow, slow, ever so slow, but he was patient and understanding and kind, and he never asked for more than she was willing to give.

And in time, when her smiles began easing into something more genuine and real, when she could breathe without inhaling smoke, when she could finally look into his gray eyes without seeing ash and smog, she learned to dance again.

She danced again, because it was the only thing she had left to go on. She danced again, because it was what her mom would’ve wanted her to do. She danced again, because war would take and take and continue to take, and this was the one thing she refused to let it take.

She danced again, because when she looked to her side to see gray eyes, glimmering softly with the constellations of the Southern Water Tribe, she knew that everything would be okay.

He was her best friend, and she loved him.

Chapter Text

She was fourteen and he was twelve when everything changed.

Both Northern Water Tribe leaders and Southern Air Temple representatives had come down to their tribe to meet with their people. They claimed there was a war approaching. They urged the people of the Southern Water Tribe to join them in the fight.

Although Katara wasn’t exactly thrilled to have the Northern Water Tribe on their land (where were you when the ash fell and the firebenders came?), at least the presence of Air Nomads also meant another chance to see Aang again.

At twelve years old, Aang had finally, finally, received his mastery tattoos. Katara had always known he would receive them soon—his airbending had surpassed anything she had ever seen before—but it hadn’t been any less exciting when he had told her the last time they had met.

Unfortunately, that also meant she would have to deal with Hahn.

The few times she remembered the Northern Water Tribe sending a convoy down to their tribe, Hahn had always been a part of them, and a menace at that. The last time they had sent him down here, when Master Pakku had joined the Southern Water Tribe to teach their waterbenders, Hahn had instigated a fight with her brother that left them both with black eyes and broken noses—and Katara might’ve left him encased in a block of ice as well.

Needless to say, Chief Arnook had apologized for the incident and promised to reprimand him. Unfortunately, her father had also promised to rebuke both her and Sokka.

And so it was that days before they were due to come down, Hakoda had sat them both down with the tired eyes of a man who had far too many burdens weighing on his shoulders. “It is imperative that we stay in good relations with our sister tribe,” he had stressed, meeting each of their gazes in turn. “And as the son and daughter of the chief, there is no one else they will look to more for the respect they feel they deserve. So please, do not provoke any of our Northern brethren.” Only his eyes had betrayed a small glimmer of mirth, so shadowed was his expression by the exhaustion lining his face. “Even if it is Hahn.”

As much as Katara despised Hahn, she couldn’t help but feel a stab of guilt at the way her father had looked so tired, the way his steps came heavy, as if the stress and burdens of being the chief weighed him down. And as much as she wanted to give Hahn a piece of her mind, she could also see the wisdom in her father’s reasoning—the Northern Water Tribe was a powerful ally with even more powerful connections, especially in the face of the approaching war, and losing their respect meant losing contact with potential allies.

And so it was with all those things in mind that she had resolved to keep her distance from him.

It would’ve worked, too, if he hadn’t decided to actively seek her out.

That was how she found herself in her current predicament: with Hahn following her everywhere she went, making sneering comments at her or leering down at her decisions or even criticizing her waterbending, all the while shoving his face in hers. Sokka had disappeared off to Spirits-know-where—probably off to grab a bite to eat—and the Air Nomad delegation hadn’t even arrived yet.

“—and I’m sure your simpleton of a brother is still bumbling his way around the chief’s work.” She could hear the smirk in his voice as he said pointedly, “How’s his black eye?”

A familiar anger rose in her chest, but she forced herself to take a deep breath, the way Aang had taught her to. Icy, stinging air pricked the inside of her lungs, and when she exhaled, she forced her shoulders to relax.

“Leave me alone, Hahn.”

“Or what?” He smoothly stepped into her line of vision, forcing her to look at him. “You’ll waterbend at me?” He sneered, his eyes filled with something worse than a challenge. “You do that, and the Northern Water Tribe will be pulling their aid faster than you can say ‘peasant.’”

Katara clenched her fist in an effort to avoid waterbending that smirk off his face.

“Although…” He tapped his chin in mock thought. “It seems like we have our work cut out for us, doesn’t it? Considering how much of a failure your brother is at chieftain work.” Hahn gave her a predatory grin. “And how you won’t be able to do anything about it.”

Now Katara’s blood was boiling. She slammed down the basket of fish she had been carrying and fixed a glare at him. “And just what,” she said in a low, dangerous tone, “is that supposed to mean?”

Hahn merely gave her an overly innocent look. “Oh, nothing.” He waved his hands nonchalantly. “I’m just saying… maybe your father would rather have a more… competent son. Someone who can really do a chief’s work.” The look he gave her made disgust swell in her chest. “Someone who can put women in their place.”

“You little—” Katara clenched her fist again, and she couldn’t bring herself to care as the snow swirled menacingly at Hahn’s feet. She was two seconds away from sending him back in an iceberg, good relations be—

Her father’s face, tired and weary and so sad, flashed through her mind.

She breathed in. Breathed out.

And unclenched her fist.

“I don’t have to listen to you,” Katara said, her voice coming surprisingly steady despite the rage that boiled just beneath her skin. She threw him a glare with the force of a thousand suns and deliberately turned her back on him to stalk off. “Now get lost, Hahn.”

But before she could take more than a few steps, a domineering hand closed around her wrist and yanked her backwards. She stumbled over her own feet.

“You don’t get to talk to me like that,” Hahn snarled. He twisted her arm around—painfully—until she was face-to-face with him. Her vision was filled by his narrowed blue eyes and the rancid, sour smell of fish on his breath.

“Let me go!” Katara shouted. She tried to yank herself back, but it was as though she were tied to a ten-ton boulder—her strength didn’t even make him flinch.

“Apologize, and maybe I’ll consider it,” he sneered. He leaned in, and Katara had to force herself not to flinch away from his breath.

“You know what I despise the most about women like you?” he growled. His blue eyes glinted dangerously in the sunlight. “It’s that you think you’re on equal footing with us. You think you can tell us what to do and get away with it. Well”—his hand tightened painfully around her wrist—“it’s time you had a man put you in your place.”

Something in Katara snapped.

Her vision was filled with a red haze, energy crackled within her belly, and she narrowed her eyes dangerously at him. “I said,” she growled, “let me GO!”

Then three things happened all at once:

Katara ripped herself free and shoved him away.

Voices shouted in the distance, too indistinct to make out.

And a jet of water slammed into Hahn, sending him sprawling into the side of a building.

The next thing she knew, her brother was by her side, grasping her shoulders and turning her towards him, frantically checking over her. She exhaled with relief when Sokka’s concerned eyes—so unlike Hahn’s sneering ones—filled her vision. “Are you okay?” Sokka asked worriedly, doing a once-over on her. His grip on her shoulders was solid yet gentle, very much at odds with Hahn’s violent, dominating grasp. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

Katara was about to shake her head but then caught herself. “Just my wrist,” she said honestly, rubbing it with her other hand. “It might bruise a little, but apart from that, he didn’t do anything else.” She shrugged, trying to affect an air of nonchalance despite the shakiness she felt in her core. “Hahn was just… being Hahn.”

Sokka pursed his lips, still not looking convinced. “Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked. He shot the prone Northerner a narrowed-eye glare. “I swear, if he so much as lifts a finger—”

“Sokka, really,” Katara insisted. She laid her hand on Sokka’s shoulder, trying to draw his attention away from Hahn even as she sent her own glare at him. “I’m fine. I can take care of myself.”

For a long moment, Sokka didn’t relent, still glaring daggers at Hahn. Then he softened, turning back to Katara. “Yeah, I’ll say.” He brightened as he added, “That was a really awesome waterbending move you did. He deserved it.”

But confusion flickered through Katara’s mind. “What are you talking about?”

It was Sokka’s turn to frown. “Didn’t you waterbend at him just now?”

Adrenaline still coursed through her veins and familiar energy thrummed underneath her skin, but she knew she hadn’t unleashed it in the way she intended, the way she so desperately wanted. Mystified, she slowly shook her head.

Sokka frowned again. “Then who…?” He trailed off as he turned away from her and looked to something over his shoulder, and Katara followed his gaze to see…

Aang was standing a little ways away, the wind fluttering the orange shawl around his shoulders. Everything about him was the same as the last time she had seen him, except this time, strips of sky-blue ink arched over his forehead and entwined with his arms, ending with arrows.

But that wasn’t what got Katara’s attention.

What got her attention was the way he was staring down at his hands, as if they had suddenly become alien. He slowly turned his hands over, as if he could hardly believe his hands were truly his. His face was pale.

It didn’t make sense. They were the only ones here—she knew she hadn’t bent the water, and Sokka certainly couldn’t. But the way Aang was staring down at his hands… it was almost as if—

“Aang,” Katara began, struggling to comprehend the thoughts swirling in her head. She took a step forward, a hand half-lifted towards him. “Aang, what…?”

“You are the Avatar.”

Startled, Katara whirled to find a coalition of Northerners, Southerners, and Air Nomads standing a little further back from the three of them. But they weren’t looking at her; they were looking at Aang, their expressions filled with varying degrees of awe.

One of the Northern elders stepped forward, his hands half-lifted in reverence. “I can’t believe,” he said with a trembling voice, “that after all this time, we have finally found you.”

Aang stumbled back. Katara caught him before he could trip over himself. “No.” He began shaking his head, first only slightly, and then more and more desperately. “No, there has to be a mistake.”

“There is no mistake,” came another voice. Another Northern elder pushed his way through the crowd, and it only took Katara a moment to place a name to his face—Elder Amaraq. He pointed a finger at Aang, and she couldn’t help but notice the way he flinched and shrank into himself. “You are an Air Nomad who just bent water. You control two of the four elements.”

Aang looked up to them, a miserable expression on his face. “I don’t know what I did,” he protested. Instinctively, Katara tightened her arms around him.

And still the elder remained firm. “There is no mistake,” he repeated, his expression hard and his stance unyielding. He turned to one of the monks—Monk Pasang. “You saw it too, did you not?”

Monk Pasang merely studied them, his gray eyes piercing. Katara had to force herself not to flinch as they locked onto her, feeling as if he was boring deep into her soul and reading everything hidden in there.

Finally, he sighed. “Yes, I saw it as well,” he said. He turned to Aang, his expression unreadable. “Come, Aang. We must—”

He was interrupted by a jostling in the crowd, and someone in heavy orange and yellow robes forced his way through the mass—someone with a kind, gentle face and a flowing white mustache. “Aang?”

Aang perked up. “Gyatso!”

In an instant, Gyatso was by Aang’s side, a gentle, steady hand on his shoulder. Katara let her arms drop away and stepped back as Gyatso steered around to face the crowd, but she thought she could see a silent thank you in his eyes when he glanced at her.

“You are not taking Aang anywhere,” Gyatso said to Pasang and Amaraq. “As long as I am his guardian, I will decide where he goes.”

Monk Pasang frowned disapprovingly. “He is the Avatar,” he said sternly. “He no longer belongs to you as your pupil, Gyatso. His duty is now to the world.”

Amaraq interjected, “For years, we have feared the rise of the Fire Nation. You would be blind not to see the signs—the raids of the Water Tribes and Air Temples, the sieges on the Earth Kingdom. War is imminent.” His eyes darkened. “But now, now that we have finally found the Avatar, we finally have a chance to fight back.”

Aang flinched again, shrinking into Gyatso’s side. But before Katara could reach out herself to grasp him in a hug, Gyatso’s arm wound around him and pulled him into his side. He shot Aang an encouraging glance before fixing Pasang and Amaraq with a stern look. “Then wherever he goes, I will go as well.”

For a long moment, Pasang and Gyatso stood off. The tundra wind whistled in the space between them. Pasang studied him with an unreadable expression, and though Katara couldn’t see Gyatso’s face, she could see the firmness in his shoulders, the way he stood tall despite the crowd’s gaze upon him.

Finally, Pasang frowned and dropped his gaze. “Very well.”

Elder Amaraq looked incredulous. He turned towards the monk and opened his mouth as if to speak, but a raised hand from Pasang halted him. “I will allow it just this once,” Pasang said. Then he fixed Gyatso with a stern glare. “But if you prove to cloud his judgment, if you cannot show you are willing to concede for what’s best for the world, then you and Aang will be separated. Do I make myself clear?”

Gyatso merely bowed, unfazed. “Of course.”

Pasang merely studied him a moment longer, not looking entirely convinced. Then he sighed and turned back towards the crowd. “Let us convene to a more private place. I have a feeling we have… much to discuss.”

Amaraq stared down at Gyatso and Aang with a glint in his eyes that made Katara uneasy. “And bring the Avatar as well,” he commanded.

Frozen in place with shock, Katara could only watch as the elders swarmed around Aang, herding him off to wherever they decided to meet. And even still, despite all the jostling and jolting and reverent flailing, Aang managed to stick to Gyatso’s side as they were ushered away.

But even then, Katara couldn’t help but notice how small and alone he seemed amidst the elders leading him away.

They kept him in a secluded ice fortress.

The Avatar must be kept separate from the world, they had said over and over again—in their whispers to each other, in the privacy of tents, in the stories they recited to their children. The Avatar isn’t a mortal—flawed and imperfect. The Avatar resides among both spirits and humans, but belongs to neither.

The Avatar is a legend. The Avatar is a god.

The Avatar isn’t human.

But Katara couldn’t bring herself to believe any of it.

Because when she saw gray eyes that lit up with glee every time she slipped her hand into his, when she heard his delighted laughter ringing over the tundras as they hurtled down snowy hills on the backs of penguins, when she saw him dance, careless and joyful and free, she thought he was anything but.

How unfair it was, Katara thought to herself, how unfair it was that finding out an aspect of him would change everything. How unfair it was, that just one little display of waterbending from an airbender would change how people saw him. She saw it in her own village, how their jokes and fond reminiscing of his antics had turned to reverent and fearful whispers, how the mirth in their eyes had turned to wariness at even the mention of his name. She saw how the laughter of the children in the village became questions about their old playmate Aang, how the parents pulled them close and hushed them, warning them that they were talking about the Avatar.

He was Aang before he was the Avatar—but no, she silently corrected herself, that wasn’t right. He had always been the Avatar. He was the Avatar, he was Aang, and Aang loved to play games and soar in the sky on Appa’s back and take her penguin-sledding. He had always been both Aang and the Avatar, and discovering that didn’t change who he was.

And yet… and yet everyone, save her own brother, acted like it did. Like the Avatar was the only part of him that mattered.

How unfair it was, Katara couldn’t help but think bitterly, how unfair it was that when the world saw this boy, this boy who loved to dance and play and laugh and live, they only saw a god of their own making. How unfair it was, that they focused so much on the Avatar that they forgot about Aang.

Aang, who was a boy who loved to smile and make everyone around him smile. Aang, who was a boy who reminded her there was always something to live for.

Aang, who was her best friend.

He was her best friend, and they were imprisoning him in that secluded ice fortress on that cliff towering above their tribe—untouchable and unreachable, like they wanted him to be. He was her best friend, and they forbade her from seeing him, telling her he’s the Avatar, you’re just a simple Water Tribe girl, he has no need for people like you. He was her best friend, and they were parading him around like—like he was some kind of weapon, like he wasn’t human.

He was her best friend, he was alone, and she needed to do something.

So she did.

On a night when the moon was but a sliver in the sky, Katara crept out of her home and snuck her way through her village, taking care to cover her tracks by manipulating the snow around it. She slipped through the clusters of igloos and tents like a fish through a current, keeping an eye out for the men patrolling through the community, and before she knew it, she found herself on the outskirts of her village.

Finding which room Aang was in was easy; in the days leading up to this night, Katara spent most of her time from afar, studying the fortress alongside Sokka, her (somewhat) begrudging partner-in-crime. He was the one to figure out where they were keeping him, pointing out where they entered and how long it took for them to bring Aang out for practice. That, combined with Sokka’s reasoning that they had to have a window for Aang, a flighty airbender, ultimately led him to pointing out which room he was being kept in.

(she hoped Sokka was right, for his own sake)

The hard part, however, was reaching him without being detected by the guards. Katara found herself straining all her senses, careful where she trod for fear that one little misstep, one careless tread on hardened snow, would give her away. Whenever she heard the crunching sound of footsteps, she would flatten herself into the shadows thrown upon the walls of the fortress, the icy chill creeping into her back as her heart pounded in her chest. But the night was cloudy and the moon was dark, and for that, she was grateful.

It felt like both seconds and eons later that she found herself in front of the window, the one Sokka had reasoned belonged to Aang’s room. She peeked inside, but in the lack of starlight and moonbeams, all she saw was darkness.

It was risky, she knew, but she had to find him, to make sure he was alright.

And so she leaned her head through the window and softly called out, “Aang? Are you there?”

Silence.

Katara’s blood pounded in her ears as she held her breath, her heart threatening to race out of her chest. With each second that ticked by without response, Katara felt her insides grow cold with dread.

Was Sokka wrong after all?

Then, she heard rustling. Something moved in the blackness beyond her vision. The sound of soft breathing grew louder, as though coming towards her, and as she watched, eyes appeared in her line of sight.

Gray eyes.

Katara’s breath caught in her throat.

“Katara?”

Her inhale stuttered on a gasp. It was his voice, filled with wonder and disbelief, as if not quite sure she was really there. She had not heard his voice in so long. 

Slowly, he emerged from the shadows—first his face adorned with the telltale blue arrow, then his woolen saffron-and-gold robes, complete with his red cloak. He crept up to the window and gazed across her through the window, his expression still full of disbelief.

“Katara?” he said again, gazing at her with wide eyes. “Is… is that really you?” He reached out with his hand, tentative and uncertain, but drew back at the last moment, as if afraid that touching her would dispel the illusion that she was really here.

Katara’s breath shuddered out from her like a sob, and she pulled off her mittens to reach out towards him. He recoiled from her, his gaze still wary and unsure, but before he could move completely out of her reach, she grasped his (solid, warm, real) hand in a tight grip. “Yes, Aang.” She looked up at him with tears in her eyes. “I’m here.”

As soon as she touched him, everything about him changed. His expression transformed to that of shock and wonder, and he gasped at the sound of her voice. For a long moment, they simply looked at each other, drinking in each others’ appearances. Katara couldn’t help but notice how… tired his eyes looked, how weary his posture seemed.

But when he looked at her, as he did now, she couldn’t help but notice how life flooded back into his expression, how color came back to his face, how the light finally, finally, returned in his eyes.

“It’s you.” Aang’s voice was filled with something close to awe. “It’s really you.”

Katara laughed, and she didn’t care if it sounded more than a little watery. “It’s me.”

Aang finally, finally smiled, and Spirits if it wasn’t the most beautiful sight she’d ever seen in her life. He drew close, no longer afraid that it was merely a dream, and reached out to clasp Katara’s other hand. He gripped them so tightly his knuckles turned white and it hurt, but she didn’t care.

All she cared about was that they were finally together.

“I missed you,” Aang said in a hoarse whisper. His breath shuddered, and when she looked to him, she saw tears in his eyes that surely mirrored her own.

She rubbed her thumb against the back of his hand and looked down at their conjoined hands. Pale skin adorned with blue arrows, entwined with her own tawny skin. Fitting together perfectly, as if that was where they both belonged.

She swallowed back her own tears and whispered, “I missed you too.”

They kept it up for an entire year.

Every night, when the moon was at its peak and the guards would rotate shifts, Katara seized those few moments to sneak up to his window. She would call to him, and he would emerge from the shadows that cloaked his room. Sometimes, he would pull her into his room, and they would sit on his bed and talk. Sometimes, she would pull him out of his room and steal away into the tundra with him, his hand warming her hand and his laugh warming her core.

These late night excursions always left her exhausted when daybreak came—which never escaped the notice of Master Pakku, her waterbending master. More often than not, he would comment snarkily on her disheveled appearance, the sluggish movements of her bending.

If she had been younger, Katara might’ve taken offense to his insults. Maybe even fought against him—she had done that once, after all, when he had first refused to teach her waterbending. But she found she couldn’t bring herself to care, not this time.

She would gladly sacrifice her decorum and dignity, if it meant seeing Aang again.

During the daytime, when she wasn’t being hounded by her master and family and community, Katara struck out into the tundra, mapping out the best places they could spar and bend and look at the stars and talk and be free.

Then, later that night, she would take him by the hand and lead him through the tundra to her chosen location. Sometimes, they would lightheartedly spar with each other, their laughs ringing in the air. Sometimes, Katara would coach Aang on a particular waterbending skill he was struggling with, grasping his hands from behind to guide him through the motions, leaning into him ever so subtly. Sometimes, they would simply sit in the snow and huddle together, chatting in the open air.

Sometimes, when the nights were really clear, they would look up to the sky and point out all the different constellations they saw. Katara taught Aang about the different Southern Water Tribe myths associated with each constellation she spotted and the signs they brought forth. In turn, Aang taught her about the different stories of the Air Nomad constellations and what they meant to him and his people. 

And it was those nights, when they did nothing else but huddle together under a canvas of navy blue and black and looked up to the stars and teased each other, that Katara never felt more… at peace. Content. Free.

Happy.

But even as they laughed and teased each other and looked up to the sky, something in her heart whispered that this wouldn’t last, that this could never last. At thirteen going on fourteen and close to mastering waterbending, there was no doubt in her mind that Aang would soon have to leave to find a master in earthbending and firebending. Her heart clenched at the thought, the thought that what they had now, these excursions where they could laugh and talk to each other and be free, would soon become just a distant memory.

But for now, sitting next to him and holding his hand, watching as the sky slowly turned to red and orange on the horizon… for now, it was enough.

(she should’ve seen it coming)

(she should’ve seen it coming, when the masters’ once benevolent—if not stern—gaze upon her turned to narrow-eyed suspicion. she should’ve seen it coming, when visits to her family’s little igloo from not only Master Pakku but also the Water Tribe elders became more and more frequent. she should’ve seen it coming, when nervous whispers of someone who was breaking the law, someone that the elders were investigating, reached her ears on the tundra winds)

(she should’ve seen it coming, and she should’ve known)

(the masters were too smart to outthwart for long)

The night was oddly cold, even for the tundra. It was the clearest it had been for weeks, and the sky was filled with a thousand constellations and a thousand more lights, dancing in the wind. Hanging high above them, beautiful and unreachable, was the moon itself.

Katara had chosen their most isolated location yet for this excursion—a crater hidden far beyond the outskirts of her village. When she had climbed to the rim of the crater, the ice fortress had been but a speck in the distance. Because of that, she and Aang had met earlier, to make the best of their time together.

In hindsight, perhaps that was what gave them away. Their eagerness overriding their caution.

They had been practicing in the crater, twirling and spinning around each other. It was not so much sparring as it was dancing, Katara thought. It was in the lightness of Aang’s footsteps that left barely a mark in the snow, the way he leaped and flipped in the air around her waterbending strikes, the way he redirected her strikes back at her. It was in the lightness of her own feet, the way she ducked and dodged and spun around his strikes, the way she took his attacks and pushed them back at him.

It was in the way they pushed and pulled at each other, the way they were free.

And then, in the midst of her own display of bending, the water in Katara’s control slipped from her grasp.

She froze in place, staring in shock as the water swirled around her, weaving at a faster pace than she and Aang had bent it. It whirled around her agitatedly before shooting up into the sky.

Instinctively, she looked to Aang, a part of her hoping that he had been the one to bend it out of her grip. But Aang’s gaze wasn’t focused on her; it was fixed upon something above her. His face was pale.

A cold, cold dread began forming in her gut, and Katara looked up just in time to see a silhouette of her old master freeze the water into ice and break it apart into glittering ice shards.

Monk Pasang ordered the guards to separate them. Katara fought them off as best as she could, redirecting their blasts when she could and ducking and dodging when she couldn’t. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Aang fending them off as well, calling upon both air and water to defend himself. But there were too many of them, and they were closing ranks around them both, as if trying to create a wall between them. In desperation, she broke away from her attackers and tried to run to him.

But before she could take even two steps, a pair of firm hands grasped her by the shoulders and yanked her away. Her arms were forcefully twisted behind her back.

“No!” Aang lurched forward, but a pair of strong arms wrapped around him in a bear hug and wrenched him back. Still, he struggled against the guards’ restraint, his eyes fixed upon her, wide and desperate. “Let her go!”

Elder Amaraq scoffed in disdain. “I thought you would know better than this, Avatar Aang,” he growled. “You are the Avatar, the bridge between the spirits and humans and the mediator for the world. You have no use for a mere mortal like her!”

“She’s my friend!”

Katara’s heart tore at Aang’s voice, filled with such pain and desperation and anguish. She had never known him to be someone filled with hopelessness and despair, had never known it was possible for the light in his eyes to fade as it did now.

But far from being moved, Amaraq’s eyes only darkened further with cold fury. “The Avatar has no use for friends,” he spat out venomously.

Rage burned in her chest then, a rage that was kindled by the arrogance on the elder’s face, by the devastation written upon Aang’s, by the way the elder called him Avatar. Katara writhed in the guard’s grip, but she bit back a cry of pain as he twisted her arms further behind her back.

“And you!” Amaraq’s gaze turned on Katara, and a chill went down her spine at the anger that roiled in the elder’s gaze. “You should’ve known better than to go frolicking off with the Avatar!” His eyes narrowed. “He cannot be distracted by his duties to the world.”

“But he’s not just the Avatar!”

Elder Amaraq’s face twisted further with rage, but before he could say anything else, Monk Pasang interjected, far more gentle and composed than the Northern Water Tribe elder but stern all the same. “Be as it may, what we need now is what’s best for the world.” He looked over to Aang with a grave expression. “And what the world needs right now is the Avatar.”

Katara had never seen Aang look so stricken, as though he had been slapped in the face.

Pasang’s next words were addressed to Katara. “As much as it pains me to say it, you have done nothing but distract Aang from his duties. Worse, you have forced him to grow an attachment to you, and it has clouded his judgment.” He looked down for a moment, and in that moment, Katara thought he looked… weary. Eternally tired, as if he was the one who had lived a thousand lifetimes.

But when Pasang looked back up at her, all she saw was resolution.

“You and Aang must be separated.”

Whatever air Katara had left in her lungs fled her right then.

A dull ringing began in her ears, a ringing that drowned out the rest of the words Pasang was speaking; only the strength of the guard’s hands on her arms kept her upright.

The ringing in her ears faded right as Pasang gestured to someone behind her. “Take her away,” he ordered. “Keep her under constant watch until we get the Avatar onto the next ship for the Earth Kingdom. She is to never come close to him as long as they both reside in this village.”

“No!” Aang strained against the arms wrapped around his body, his voice pleading and tearful and anguished and begging and Spirits Katara had never heard him like this, so scared and desperate and alone. “You don’t need to do this!”

“We must.” Though Pasang’s tone contained a note of regret, his voice was stern enough that it was almost drowned out. “It is for the good of the world.”

“C’mon,” the guard said gruffly next to Katara’s ear. He began hauling her off, dragging her away away away, and she renewed her struggle with triple the vigor. She lurched and writhed and thrashed, but little by little, the guard managed to drag her off.

“Stop!” Aang lunged towards her, halted only by the arms around him. There were tears running unbidden down his face now, his expression filled with a desperate pleading that Katara had not known was possible to see on his face. “Please!”

No one listened to him. All of them were watching her now, watching her struggle with expressions that ranged from regret to scorn—even her own master. Katara shot Master Pakku a pleading look, but all she got in turn was him looking away.

“Stop!”

Katara twisted again, and this time she couldn’t hold back a cry of pain as the guard wrenched her arms so far back they threatened to pop out of their sockets.

“I SAID STOP!”

An explosion of air ripped away the hands on her arms and sucked the breath from her lungs. Instinctively, Katara flattened herself to the ground, struggling to pull in air as she squeezed her eyes shut against the howling wind tearing at her clothes. When she managed to catch her breath, she squinted up through the gales swirling all around them.

And then she saw him.

Aang.

His body was cocooned in a ball of air that lifted him off the ground, his limbs rigid and his hands frozen into claws. The look on his face was blank, blank, blank, his eyes and arrow tattoos shining a brilliant white. His expression was contorted in unearthly rage, his eyebrows contracted in an inhuman fury that made the blood in her veins run cold.

But even with the blank mask of vengeance on his face, Katara could see the tears streaming down his cheeks.

She forced herself to stand. The winds howled and rushed at her, threatening to tear her off her feet, but she gritted her teeth and planted herself firmly into the tundra, shielding her face from the gales pummeling her body.

And, with a strength that not even she was aware she had, she began fighting her way towards him.

“Aang!” she called to him, struggling through the winds tearing at her. “Aang!”

But her voice was lost in the howling vortex.

Gritting her teeth again, Katara pushed her way through the raging storm towards him. It was getting hard to breathe, the wind whipping away her breaths almost as fast as she was taking them, and her eyes stung with the ice and snow that was swirling around, kicked up by the wind. But somehow, miraculously, she found herself right in the center of the storm, staring up at blank glowing eyes filled with both rage and anguish.

And without thinking, she reached up to grasp his forearm.

Aang’s head snapped towards her, that unearthly rage and inhuman fury of the Avatar now directed at her, but she couldn’t bring herself to be afraid.

Because when she looked at him, she didn’t see a raging Avatar. She saw Aang, hurt and despairing and alone.

She reached up with her other hand towards his other arm, forcing him around to face her. The winds didn’t abate, continuing to swirl all around them, whipping powdery snow into an icy hurricane that separated them from the elders. Slowly, gently, Katara tugged him down to her level.

And with a deep, steadying breath, she pulled him into a hug.

For a long moment that stretched in an eon, Aang stayed stiff and unyielding in her grasp. She stubbornly held on even as the wind threatened to tear her from him, and she hugged him even closer when the gales intensified.

(she wasn’t going to lose him to the Avatar. not like this)

(not when they wanted to take him away)

For one terrible, long eon, nothing seemed to happen.

And then…

The winds died down.

The stiffness in his body melted away.

And before she knew it, it was Aang in her embrace, shivering and clutching at her back in his own desperation to hold onto her. He trembled in her arms, and somehow Katara knew it wasn’t just because of the cold.

“I’m sorry,” he gasped out. His face twisted in anguish, shame etched on every line in his expression. His breath came in harsh pants, like the onslaught of a panic, and he buried his face into her shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

Again and again, apologies tumbled out from him like a rushing river, and Katara could do nothing else but to hold him, to whisper reassurances and forgivenesses in his ear as she stroked her fingers over his face in an effort to soothe him. Gradually, the shudder in his body quieted along with his harsh, rasping gasps, and soon he was still in her arms, clutching her like he was afraid she would disappear if he let go.

Just behind her, she could hear the groans of the elders and guards as they stirred, rousing back to consciousness. With each audible movement from them, each moment that brought them closer and closer to tearing her and Aang apart, Katara could practically hear the seconds tick away.

Their time was running out.

She took his face in her hands and pressed their foreheads together, forcing him to look her in the eye. “Wait for me,” she begged him.

His expression shifted, melting away into something hard, something resolute. His eyes darkened with determination, and his arms tightened around her back, drawing her still closer. His hot breath feathered over her lips, chasing away the cold of the tundra.

“I’ll find you,” he breathed, a vow to the wind. “I’ll find you again, and I’ll wait for you for as long as you need me to.” The look on his face softened with something heavier than sadness, and he closed his eyes with something worse than resignation. “I promise.”

Her next exhale escaped her as a gasping sob, and she flung herself at him, locking her arms tightly around his torso and burrowing her face into his shoulder. His hands scrabbled for purchase and fisted her parka, his own desperation clear in the way he clung to her just as tightly as she to him.

Because they both knew that this would be the last time they could hug each other.

And as hands of unyielding tradition grasped her arms and tore her away from him, as Aang himself was dragged away into the shadows, as she reached out for gray eyes that lingered long after the warmth of his presence had faded, as she clung to the memory of him as tightly as she had hugged him, his words drifted on the breeze, as clearly as he had spoken them.

I promise.

Chapter Text

They shipped her off to a medical clinic somewhere in the Earth Kingdom.

It’s too dangerous for a woman like you to be on the battlefield, they had told her. Your assistance will be more valuable there.

A part of her wanted to scream at the injustice of it all, wanted to shout down those stupid, arrogant, good-for-nothing pigs who thought the women were only good for healing. But a sliver in the back of her mind knew they were only doing this to keep her away from him.

It didn’t make it any easier.

She resented this prison they had made of her, these shackles they had forged from her healing abilities. She yearned for the one person who truly understood her, the only one who could set her free with his love of life and everything living.

But he was nowhere to be seen except in her dreams and memories.

He wrote letters to her, letters that would appear every week on the same day at the same time. Katara found herself waiting eagerly for the next correspondence, the next chance to hold a piece of him close to her chest. Sometimes, on those days, she found she couldn’t concentrate on her tasks, so great was her anticipation to see a shadow of him in the parchment. And for the most part, the letters came frequently, reliably, on those days.

Until they didn’t.

First, it was every week. Then it was every other week. Then they began coming in erratic spurts—sometimes it took two weeks, sometimes three, sometimes even a month. When she would unravel the parchment, she couldn’t help but notice how his writing, while still elegant, started looking more like a hurried scrawl, as if he was trying to quickly finish it up.

A part of her wondered if he was simply getting busier, if it was just slipping from his mind from time to time. But the greater part of her knew.

The masters didn’t take kindly to disobedience.

So she kept his letters close to her heart, taking them out only when the moon was at its climax and the world was asleep around her. Countless nights found a lone tongue of flame flickering in her tent, revealing the elegant characters that could only be from his penmanship. She traced the strokes carefully with her fingertip, taking care not to smudge away the only pieces of him she had left.

And every night, as she fell asleep to the memory of gentle gray eyes, she couldn’t help but wonder when the next letter would come.

(if the next letter would come)

Katara looked up in startlement as Nurse Tanaraq hurtled through the door. “Another case just came in,” the younger girl panted, “from the war front.”

Katara frowned worriedly. Those who came from the frontlines of the war were often the most grievously injured, the ones with the least chance of making it out without scars or even amputations. She quickly finished stocking the bandages in the cabinet and grabbed a water basin. “How bad is it?”

“Master Yagoda said it’s a lightning wound.”

A shiver went down Katara’s spine. They have had lightning wound cases before, but they were exceptionally rare—the ones they had received were all from Earth Kingdom soldiers who had been fighting in a particularly brutal battle.

As Katara’s hands moved swiftly about, filling the basin with fresh, clean water, she continued peppering Tanaraq with questions, trying to gauge the severity of the wound. “Are they stabilized?”

“I think so. Master Yagoda’s in Room 1011 tending to him right now. But she still asked me to send for every healer I can find.” Tanaraq’s voice dropped. “It’s really bad.”

Not surprising, Katara thought grimly to herself, the faces of the Earth Kingdom soldiers flashing through her mind. Aloud, she asked, “Entry and exit points?”

“Last I saw, the entry wound was on the center of his back. I’m not sure about the other one.”

The basin was filled now. Katara hoisted it into her arms with little effort—a year of practice did wonders of honing her strength—and turned to see Tanaraq shifting uneasily on her feet, her eyes flicking about, as if having something to say but unsure of saying it.

“What is it?”

The younger girl’s eyes flicked up to her. “I—I’m not sure if I should say it, since it shouldn’t really matter who the patient is.” She pawed at the ground with her foot, her eyes flitting down to the ground. “But—but Master Yagoda said that it’s really important we get everyone we can over there.”

Confusion flickered through Katara—in the time Katara worked here, Yagoda never called for every healer available to work on a single case. “Why?”

Tanaraq’s eyes jumped up to Katara, and Katara was shocked to see trepidation and fear shining in the younger girl’s eyes. “Because,” Tanaraq said with a quivering voice, “the person who came in—it’s the Avatar.”

Katara froze.

The basin crashed to the ground.

She was out the door in a heartbeat, tearing through the hallways and ignoring Tanaraq’s confused cries of where are you going? She could barely hear her footsteps ringing through the hallways over the roar of blood in her ears, the thump of her heart against her chest, the rising flood of panic swelling in her throat.

All too soon, she found herself in front of a room marked 1011. She wasted no time barging through the doorway. She skidded to a halt as a bright fluorescent light filled her vision, panting as her eyes adjusted.

She was only distantly aware of the exclamations of surprise around her, of the familiar rumble of her brother’s voice as he rushed towards her. She was only distantly aware of Yagoda’s voice, urgent and grave, of the masters’ demands of why are you here?

Because all she saw was him.

Aang.

His skin, pale and bloodless underneath the blue of his arrows. His face, slack and empty as his head lolled like a broken doll’s with every tug of his body. His arms, limp and heavy, one laying by his side and the other thrown over his bandaged torso, which rose and fell with shallow breaths.

His blood, staining Yagoda’s hands.

It was only when Sokka’s hands grasped her shoulders that Katara finally remembered to breathe. She forced her eyes to tear away from Aang’s prone form to look up at Sokka, whose mouth was moving rapidly, his eyebrows furrowed. A dull ringing began in her ears, a cold numbness spread to her legs, and it was only Sokka’s strength that kept her from collapsing to the ground.

Katara grasped Sokka’s arms to steady herself. Gradually, the numbing weakness receded from her leg, and with it the ringing from her ears. Bit by bit, sound from the outside world filtered back into her ears, along with her brother’s voice.

“—breathe, Katara, just take a moment.” He peered into her eyes, deep ocean blue filled with worry. “Are you okay?”

Katara forced herself to inhale and exhale. In. Out. “I’ll be fine,” she gritted out, hoping her surly tone would conceal the shakiness she felt in her core. “It’s Aang you need to worry about.”

Sokka’s eyes darkened, but with what, Katara didn’t know. His hands tightened around her shoulders. “Are you sure?”

His uncharacteristically gentle tone, far from calming the panic roiling in her gut, only seemed to heighten it, and she wrenched herself out of his grasp. “I said I’m fine!” she snapped, her tone coming out harsher than she had meant it to and immediately regretting it.

But far from looking offended, Sokka only studied her, his deep blue eyes far too piercing, far too knowing. Unsettled, Katara turned towards Yagoda, who she just realized was arguing with one of the elders.

“—need every healer I’ve got,” Yagoda was snapping at him, “and she’s the best we have!”

“She cannot come near him under any circumstance!” the elder—Elder Amaraq, Katara suddenly remembered—thundered. “We separated these two for a good reason! She’s a threat to the Avatar and what is best for the world.”

Yagoda narrowed her eyes in a reproachful glare. “What is threatening the Avatar right now is the lightning wound in his back!” she retorted. Her eyes darkened. “Are you so willing to hold onto your pride that you would let him die?”

As Elder Amaraq sputtered indignantly, Katara took the opportunity to rush to the other side of the bed. Aang had been turned on his side, his limbs limp and heavy, his head lolling as Yagoda gently eased him over. “What can I do?” she asked desperately, not bothering to hide the panic in her voice.

“We need to keep his heart beating,” Yagoda said to her, her focus solely on the unconscious Avatar. “Make sure he also keeps breathing. I need someone to hold him steady so I can draw out the energy twisted up in his back.” Meeting Katara’s gaze, she added in a low tone, “I don’t know what will happen to him when I do.”

Katara’s breath came as a stuttering gasp, panic constricting her throat. Perhaps sensing Katara’s distress, Yagoda hastened to add, “But as long as you keep him stable, he should be okay.” Her gaze turned grave. “Can you do that?”

Katara had to remember to breathe, just breathe, to squash down the terror trembling in her stomach and harden it into steely determination.

“Yes.”

Yagoda studied for a moment longer, her bluish gray eyes flashing with… something, something that passed far too quickly for Katara to catch. Then she nodded and broke her gaze. “Keep your hands on his chest and steady his chi flow and heartbeat,” she commanded. “Tell me if you feel something out of the ordinary.”

Katara nodded in acknowledgement, wasting no time in drawing water from the nearby water basin. She carefully flattened her hands on his chest, trying to ignore how his skin was too cool, his breathing too shallow, his heartbeat too weak. At the same time, Yagoda sheathed her hands in water and pressed it against Aang’s back.

She was only faintly aware of Yagoda’s movements of pulling, of her quick but careful hands as she pulled at the strands of energy entangled in his back, of the tense quiet that had settled over the room. All her energy was focused on the chi paths that pulsed along with his blood, the beat of his heart, the rise and fall of his breath.

Yagoda was right to be worried. Every time she pulled a strand of the energy from his back, his chi would flow faster than normal, and with it, his heartbeat; Katara had to concentrate on slowing them both to a normal rate. But they never exceeded the point that would cause Katara too much worry—and for that she was grateful.

She and Yagoda quickly settled into a rhythm: Yagoda would pull at the energy in his back and then wait as Katara focused on slowing down his chi flow and heartbeat. For a while, they simply went back and forth, pushing and pulling with the energy in Aang’s body.

Until his heart stopped.

One moment it had been there, weak and fluttering but still present beneath her fingertips, pulsing along with his chi and blood and breath. And then the next—

—it wasn’t.

Terror snatched the air from her lungs. Katara choked on an inhale, her own breath turning into a strangled gasp as panic constricted her throat. Ignoring Yagoda’s urgent questions of what’s wrong, she frantically combed through his chi paths, sinking down into his veins and lungs. She reached for his heart, looking for the pumping of blood and chi she knew should be there.

But she found nothing.

“His heartbeat’s gone.” The words fell from Katara’s lips, numb with shock, the barest breath of a whisper. But a sharp inhale from Yagoda indicated she heard it.

Quickly, the older healer moved Katara’s hands aside and rolled Aang onto his back before laying her own (bloodstained) hands on his chest. Reality felt more like a distant dream at that moment, and Katara could only watch numbly as Yagoda bent over Aang’s head, turning her ear over his lips. Another sharp inhale from the healer locked around Katara’s throat in a chokehold.

“He’s not breathing.”

All the air from Katara’s lungs seemed to disappear, and she stumbled back, struggling to pull in a breath. But she was drowning, drowning, drowning, and the only person who could give her air was—

He was—

She was only distantly aware of a flurry of movements around her, of the urgency rising in the room. All she could see was Aang laying there, limp against the bed like a broken doll, his lips parted for breath that was no longer coming, the stillness of his chest and the silence of his heart and the coolness of his skin he shouldn’t be cold why was he cold—

Arms wrapped around Katara’s torso and yanked her back, and suddenly Katara found she had enough air left in her to scream. “What’re you doing?!” She struggled against the arms locked around her, twisting in vain. “Aang— He—!”

“I know.” The rumble of Sokka’s familiar voice should’ve been comforting to her, but a cold dread congealed in her chest when she heard the shudder in his words. “But Yagoda needs space to work, Katara.” His arms tightened—a merciless restraint that only caused her to struggle further. “She said she’s going to try chi resuscitation.”

Whatever breath Katara had left in her lungs fled her right then.

Chi resuscitation. A technique that was only used on patients who were about to die.

And Yagoda was going to use it on…

Katara tried to struggle against Sokka’s restraint, but her muscles were weak, trembling with exhaustion; she had used up too much energy focusing on healing Aang.

Aang, who was the Avatar, who had a duty to save the world. Aang, who was her best friend, who had been taken from her by the masters.

Aang, who was right there in front of her, who was right there and dying and there was nothing she could do to save him—

Katara suddenly realized there were tears burning down her cheeks, her breath shuddering out from her as sobs. She could only clutch at Sokka for support, watching helplessly as Yagoda pressed her hands to Aang’s chest, the cold blue of the water illuminating the grim determination of her face.

A bright flash of blue appeared as Yagoda flooded Aang’s body with chi. Katara’s breath caught on a gasp as he jerked, spasming with the energy flooded through his veins. He fell back into the bed, his head lolling, his mouth slightly agape.

His chest motionless.

Another bright flash. Katara squeezed her eyes shut, but she couldn’t get the image of Aang’s body seizing from her mind, of the slackness of his face and the limpness in his arms and the stillness of his chest and—

The tightening of Sokka’s arms around her brought her back to the present, grounded her, and she forced herself to breathe.

Again and again came the flashes of blue light, intermittent as Yagoda continually checked for his heartbeat, his breath. But with each flash of blue, each shake of her head, the atmosphere slowly turned to despair. Defeat.

Hopelessness.

As the latest flash of light faded once more, Katara silently counted down the seconds it took from one flash to the next. When she reached the end, she braced herself for the next flare.

But it didn’t come.

Confused, Katara looked up to see Yagoda was simply standing there, staring down at Aang. She wasn’t doing it again. Why wasn’t she doing it again?

“Why’d you stop?” Her voice came out hoarse and raspy, the familiar burn of tears clogged in her throat—she hadn’t realized she had been crying until then. Slowly, she uncurled from her grasp around Sokka. “He’s still not breathing.”

Yagoda didn’t respond, still staring down at Aang’s prone form.

“Why’d you stop?” Katara demanded again, irritation flaring in her chest. Didn’t she know that every second mattered? Katara tried to take a step forward, but Sokka’s strength against her reminded her of his restraint around her body. “You have to keep going.”

Yagoda dragged her eyes up, meeting Katara’s gaze.

And then, ever so slowly, she began shaking her head.

Terror and panic hardened in her lungs, and Katara suddenly found it hard to breathe. “You have to keep going!” She tried to wrest herself from Sokka’s grip, straining against his arms. “He’s still not breathing, and if you wait for too long, he’s going to—”

“There’s nothing more I can do.” Yagoda’s quiet voice slammed into Katara like a stone boulder. She gazed back down at Aang, and a chill went through Katara’s spine when she saw the look on Yagoda’s face. It was a look of sadness, of weariness, of resignation—the look of a healer giving up.

“He’s gone.”

Katara’s breath froze in her lungs.

No…

Sokka’s arms slackened around her torso just as her knees went weak.

And when she collapsed to the ground, there was no one to catch her.

Katara was only distantly aware of the tears burning down her face, of the sobs buckling out from somewhere deep in her chest. She squeezed her eyes shut, desperately hoping that this was all just a nightmare, that it wasn’t real.

Gray eyes crinkling with a smile as he flew down the slopes on a penguin.

“Look at the stars tonight!”

Water flowing between them, back and forth, push and pull, two halves of a whole.

Eyes darkening with determination, arms tightening around her.

“I’ll find you. I promise.”

He promised.

He promised.

He promised he would find her again, when all of this was over. He—he promised he would find her and wait for her, and they would live and love with everything worth fighting for, and it wasn’t fair that he would be taken by the war, wasn’t fair that they would take him from her, wasn’t fair that they would send him off to battle and let him die and they would never live and it wasn’t fair—

Something hardened in her chest, something determined and vengeful and enraged, and she bolted to her feet. Ignoring the elders’ indignant demands of what are you doing and wrenching away from Sokka’s feeble grip, she surged towards the bed that held Aang.

Aang, who was her best friend, her closest confidante. Aang, who gave her hope, who was her hope of a world without war.

Aang, who was not going to die today.

Katara all but flew to his side, calling upon the water resting in the basin next to Yagoda. She flattened her water-sheathed hands on his (still) chest and glared down at his pale face even as tears stung her vision. “You are not dying on me, Aang,” she hissed.

And with that, ignoring the continued protests of her brother and the elders and Yagoda, she thrust down.

A brilliant burst of blue flashed as she channeled chi into his body, flooding his heart and spilling it out into his veins. She felt him spasm underneath her hands, his muscles seizing as a jolt of energy went straight through him, before his head fell back. Again was that slackness, that stillness of an emptiness of life.

Again was that absence of breath and heartbeat.

Katara swallowed back the sob swelling in her chest. She concentrated again, pouring all her focus into the hands on his chest, into the chi she was about to release into his heart. She thrust her hands down a second time.

Again came that jolt of energy passing through his unconscious body. Again came that seizure as his heart overflowed with chi. And again came that slump, the heavy limpness in his limbs.

But this time—

This time, Katara thought she felt a flutter against her palm.

For one moment, just one moment, Katara thought she felt his heart fighting to restart.

And then he was gone again, leaving behind only a slack, broken doll.

She shut her eyes against the despair threatening to overtake her. “Aang,” she whispered, tears trailing down her cheeks. “Please.”

With one final heave, she thrust down.

A bright flash of blue. A flood of chi through his veins.

And a great gasp for air as his heart jolted back to life.

A startled cry escaped Katara as Aang’s eyes flew open. His body lurched, his back arching up in a spasm and his limbs going rigid, before falling back down into the bed.

He panted for breath, his limbs jerking as though electrified. His gaze was wide-eyed and disoriented, his body movements erratic and flailing. His eyes skittered about the room, wild and fearful, as though not able to register where he was.

But when they landed on her, recognition flashed through them.

“K…” His body jolted as he tried to adjust himself. His chest jerked up underneath her hands, clearly struggling for breath, but his eyes were fixed upon hers, gray, alive, alive. “K’tara…”

Katara’s next breath left her as a strangled sob, overwhelming relief swelling in her chest. Keeping her hands on his chi paths, she leaned down towards him until her lips brushed his temple. “It’s okay, Aang,” she murmured, swallowing back another sob. “Just breathe for me.” She closed her eyes, a wet warmth sliding down her cheeks as she whispered,  “Breathe.”

She felt Aang nod against her, his every breath a labored rasp, and when she pulled back she found he was still gazing up at her even as his eyes began losing focus. His body spasmed again as he lifted one of his hands. Violent tremors ran through his muscles as he reached out towards her, the action clearly taking much more effort than it should.

Katara lifted one of her hands from his heart and reached up, catching his hand before it could fall back onto the bed. Her breath inadvertently stuttered when she felt how warm it was, felt the pulse in his wrist—weak and fluttering, but alive, alive. She twined her fingers with his, nearly weeping when she felt his curl around hers in response.

A look of contentment crossed his face, a contentment that tugged his lips in a weak smile even as his eyes glazed over and his lungs rattled in his chest. “K’tara… I…”

“Shhhh.” Katara leaned over to press her forehead against his, hoping her touch would calm him. She closed her eyes and hoped he couldn’t hear the quiver in her voice as she whispered, “Don’t speak. Save your strength.”

Aang nodded again, still gasping for air. But his breaths were evening out, becoming less frantic, more rhythmic. Beneath her palm, what was once the rapid stutter of a heart sputtering back to life began calming into a steady thump. His fingers loosened around hers, and when she looked at him, she saw his eyes were struggling to stay open.

“Stay with me?” His words were a breath of a whisper, a faint plea.

Katara choked back a sob and craned her neck up, pressing her lips to the tip of his arrow. “Always.”

His gray eyes shimmered with the vestiges of a smile before they drifted shut. His hand relaxed in her grip, but didn’t slacken. His heartbeat continued thumping on, slowly strengthening under her palm.

She released a breath she didn’t know she was holding. Air leaked out from her as a stuttering exhale, and it was only then that she felt the cold trails on her cheeks, the burning behind her eyes, the ache in her chest.

Movement rustled out of her peripheral vision, and she looked up to see Yagoda was now on the other side of the bed, her own hands covered with water. Her gaze, normally soft and kind, was as sharp as an arrow and just as grave. “You did very well stabilizing him for now, Katara. But he’s still in critical condition.” Something flickered in her expression as she added, her voice softening, “Maybe you should take a break, wait outside. You’ve done enough.”

Katara was already shaking her head before Yagoda was finished speaking. “I can’t leave. You said so yourself: he’s in critical condition,” she insisted. Her fingers involuntarily tightened around his hand. “You’re going to need every healer you’ve got. And I…” Her voice faltered.

I promised I would stay with him.

Yagoda studied her intensely. Katara did her best to keep her eyes locked onto the elderly healer’s, blue warring against bluish gray, a healer defying orders from her superior.

But Yagoda must’ve seen something in Katara’s eyes, something desperate and pleading, because her expression softened. “Very well,” she sighed, breaking her gaze away from Katara. “If that is what you want.”

As Katara exhaled shakily, Yagoda turned to the nearest nurse. “Cancel all non-emergency appointments,” she ordered. “Gather everyone who is available and bring them down to this floor.” She gazed down at Aang, her eyes grave.

“The Avatar is going to need all the help he can get.”

Chapter Text

“You love him, don’t you.”

Katara raised her head to see Sokka studying her from the other side of Aang’s bed, his gaze as sharp and piercing as an eagle hawk’s. She didn’t move at all from her seat at Aang’s bedside.

“Of course I love him.” Katara glanced down at the hand she cradled in her lap, rubbing circles in his palm with her thumb. “He’s my best friend.”

“You know that’s not what I meant.” Sokka’s quiet assertion caused Katara to look back up to her brother. Sokka’s eyes had turned to the unconscious Avatar, his expression softening to something a little heavier, a little sadder. He almost looked like…

Her grip on Aang’s hand tightened involuntarily.

After a pause, Katara cleared her throat. “How’d you figure?”

She had meant for her words to come out scathing, accusatory, but all that left her was a half-hearted, weary question. She could no longer bring herself to care enough to be angry. And maybe, just maybe, a part of her was curious on how Sokka came to that conclusion.

Sokka dragged his eyes from Aang’s unconscious body up to Katara. “He was the only one who could make you smile,” he said. His mouth twisted down and his expression shadowed with the vestiges of grief. “Ever since…”

Katara swallowed, her throat suddenly tight.

The stone pendant hung heavy from her neck.

After a moment of silence, Sokka seemed to gather enough of himself to continue, “And even now, you’re not happy. Not really.” He peered up at her, his expression unusually somber. “You haven’t been happy since they took him away.”

Katara couldn’t help but bristle at the implication in his words, even as a small part of her heart twinged at his words. She opened her mouth to retort, but the look on Sokka’s face halted her. Maybe it was the tiredness in his eyes, the bags underneath them. Maybe it was the raggedness of his expression.

Maybe it was the way he looked so much like their father—old, weary, sad.

“Katara, I want you to be honest with yourself.” Sokka’s eyes bored into her soul. “When was the last time you were happy? Truly happy?”

Katara opened her mouth again.

She shut it when she realized she didn’t have an answer to that.

But far from looking triumphant, Sokka’s face only became sadder.

She turned her attention back to the hand nestled in her lap. She traced the creases and calluses etched in Aang’s palm with her fingertip, followed the flow of chi that pulsed along with his blood. Thud. Thud. Thud. A sign of life pulsing through him, when only a few days ago there had almost been none.

“Does it matter?” she found herself saying bitterly, the stern faces of the elderly masters flashing through her mind. Her fingers involuntarily curled into the warmth of Aang’s palm, as if to shield him from them.

“It matters to me,” came Sokka’s voice, quiet but firm. She glanced up as he made his way around Aang’s bed to stand in front of her. He looked down on her, his jaw set and his eyes steely. “And it should to you too.”

Katara’s breath hitched at the sincerity in his eyes, the determination in his voice, and she ducked her head down to hide the burning in her eyes. “Still, it doesn’t matter what we want,” she said with no small amount of bitterness. “The only thing that matters is what the masters want. After all”—her grip on Aang’s hand tightened even more—“we’re just their means to ending the war.”

To that, Sokka had nothing to say.

For a long moment, the two siblings lingered in the silence. The quiet between them was filled by the distant clatter further in the building and the gentle ebb and flow of breathing—of Aang’s breathing. Katara pressed her fingers to his wrist, reveling in the strong pulse bounding there.

Sokka’s gaze became unfocused, as if seeing something no one else could see. “I told them it was a bad idea to separate you guys,” he muttered, almost to himself. He dragged a hand over his face. “If I had just tried harder to convince them, maybe…” His voice faltered. “Maybe Aang…”

For the first time, Katara noticed—really noticed—the haggardness of his face, the exhaustion that creased his expression. Her heart clenched as she wondered what Sokka could’ve seen out there that made him look so much older, so much more worn.

(she wondered if he blamed himself for Aang’s near death)

“It’s not your fault,” Katara said.

Sokka’s gaze focused back on her, and Katara found herself staring into blue eyes not unlike her own, blue eyes shadowed with the haunted look of someone who had seen too much. “I know it isn’t. It shouldn’t be, anyways.” He looked over at Aang again. “But I can’t help but feel like it is.”

And she thought she understood.

Sokka glanced down at his feet, looking like he was deep in thought, before his expression hardened with resolve. He brushed past her and moved with brisk purpose, like a man on a mission. Katara watched as he paused before the doorway, turning his head just enough to lock gazes with her.

“And for what it’s worth,” he said quietly, “Aang hasn’t been happy since then either.”

And then he was gone—as if he had never been there in the first place.

Katara blew out a breath as she turned back to Aang, taking his hand into her grasp once more. It might just be her imagination, but she could’ve sworn Aang’s unconscious expression was… softer. Less tense. More relaxed.

Slowly, she lifted his hand and pressed her lips to his knuckles, wishing more than anything that his gray eyes would open, those gray eyes that had always been filled with life and love and everything worth living for.

“Please come back, Aang,” she whispered against his skin, pleading to empty air. “Please come back to me.”

It was three weeks later before he woke up for good.

She spent every day at his side during those three weeks—sometimes with a bowl of healing water to check him over, and sometimes just to sit by his side and hold his hand and hear him breathe.

(sometimes she would wake up in cold sweat, deafening silence ringing in her ears as she reached for his broken body)

(sometimes she would wake up sobbing, half-forgotten dreams of pressing down on a cold chest and a silent heart, over and over and over again)

(every time she was always too late)

Sometimes Sokka would join her vigil, standing by her side and staring down at the unconscious Avatar. He would always come in with an increasingly haggard face, bags under his eyes and exhaustion weighing down his steps. But his hand was always gentle, always kind, as he laid it on her shoulder in silent support—and for that she was grateful.

(he never spoke much during those times either)

(for that she was also grateful)

Other times Yagoda would enter the room to check on Aang herself. Katara would silently move aside as her superior came in to redress the wound with fresh bandages and prod him for his vitals. But Katara couldn’t help but notice how Yagoda never checked his wound with her bending water.

(she couldn’t help but wonder if she knew)

And every time she would leave the room, there was always, always, that little pause, that moment of hesitation right before she stepped out the door. There was always that little moment when Yagoda locked eyes with Katara—bluish gray on blue—with a look that seemed more than knowing.

Then she would leave, and Katara would release a breath she didn’t even know she had been holding.

Some of the elders tried to stop by as well—emphasis on tried. Because when they stood at the doorway and looked as though about to step in before catching sight of her, when they lingered at the door like they were unsure if their presence would be welcome, one glare from Katara was always enough to help them make a decision.

And so it was in those three weeks that a routine emerged for Katara: eat, sleep, heal, stay with him, hold his hand, hear him breathe. And for those three weeks, she stuck to it as religiously as she had her waterbending studies.

Until he woke up.

It started with a snuffle, a soft intake of breath that roused her. Katara lifted her head, blinking the bleariness out of her eyes—she must’ve dozed off without realizing it. She took a moment to let her eyes adjust back to the fluorescent light, the glare slowly fading from her vision, before glancing over at Aang’s face with a sliver of hope trickling in her chest.

And just like every other day, he was lying there, as silent and motionless as he’d always been.

But wait—Katara squinted at his face. She wasn’t sure, but she could’ve sworn that she saw something flicker beneath his eyelids. Another soft sound emerged from him, and Katara wondered if she imagined the way his eyebrows tightened just the slightest bit.

But it wasn’t until his fingers curled around her hand that she knew for sure.

Her breath caught in her throat. She shifted in her seat, leaning over him as a soft groan escaped his lips, followed by his eyebrows furrowing, as if bothered by the light filtering through his eyelids. Katara leaned over even more, blocking the light from his face.

And she watched with bated breath as his eyes fluttered open.

Time seemed suspended as Katara held her breath, watching in wonder as Aang blinked away the bleariness in his eyes. She dared not move for fear that should she speak, she would break the spell that had settled over the room.

“K…Katara?”

Her next inhale stuttered on a gasp, and she grasped at his hand, pressing her lips to his knuckles. She looked at him then, looked into gray that was weak and weary but alive, alive. “Aang,” she choked out, her voice catching on the end of a sob.

Aang’s expression relaxed, as if relieved to see her. His other hand reached up to cup her cheek, and in turn, she reached up with her other hand to cradle it against her skin, relishing in the warmth of life seeping from him. “Katara,” he breathed, his voice hoarse from disuse. He gave her a weak smile—a smile she never thought she would see from him again. “You’re here.”

A sound emerged from her throat—maybe a laugh, maybe a sob, maybe both—and she turned her face into his hand, nuzzling into his palm. “So are you,” she whispered tearfully.

For a long moment, they simply sat there, basking in one another’s presence. Aang’s thumb had moved over her cheekbone, stroking it lightly, and Katara couldn’t help but close her eyes, reveling in the warmth radiating from his skin.

Aang turned his gaze to the room around him, taking in the clinical white walls, the pristine tile floors, the medical equipment scattered about. His eyebrows furrowed in a frown. 

“Where…” His voice was raspy, breathless, and he took a moment to draw in a faltering breath. “Where are we?”

Katara swallowed, her throat suddenly dry, and ducked her head to study their conjoined hands. “We’re, um, we’re at the—the clinic,” she tried to explain, stumbling over her words—but for what reason, not even she knew. “The one that they… that they sent me to.”

Aang’s eyes widened. “This… this is the place?” He took a moment to scan his eyes all around the room. He tried to get up, only to wince in pain and lay back down in the bed. “What… what happened?”

(no breath)

Katara had to remind herself to breathe, just breathe as she studied his hand further. “I—I don’t really know all the details,” she said, hoping he wouldn’t hear the shudder in her voice. She blinked rapidly, hot tears stinging in the back of her eyes. “But you—you were…”

(still chest)

Breathe, Katara reminded herself, even as her throat closed in on itself and her breaths seemed so unnaturally loud and strangled in the quiet and her blood roared in her ears. Breathe.

“… you were hurt really badly.”

(silent heart)

Aang was silent for a long moment, digesting what she had told him. She chanced a glance over at him to see his eyes were unfocused. His fingers had gone slack against her cheek, and for a long moment, the only indication of life from him was the sound of his faltering breaths.

Then: “How badly?”

Katara’s mouth went dry. “Aang, I don’t think—”

“Katara, please.” His tone was pleading, his eyes even more so, and Katara felt her resolve cave under the gaze of that gray. “How… How badly was I hurt?”

She swallowed again, trying in vain to rid the lump forming in her throat, and ducked her head down to hide the tears forming in her eyes. Breathe. “You…” She drew in a shaky breath, suddenly feeling like she wasn’t getting enough air. “You just…”

stopped breathing along with your heart

“You…”

died right under my hands

“… got a lightning wound to your back,” she found herself whispering, blinking away the saltwater stinging her eyes.

Aang’s hand went slack in her grip. “Oh.” He paused. Breathed. And then: “Is that… is that all?”

Katara avoided his gaze for fear he would see the lie in her eyes and nodded miserably, trying to discreetly bend away the tears that managed to leak onto her cheeks. But she could still feel his gaze upon her, and somehow, she got the distinct feeling that he knew.

Then the warmth of his hand slid across her cheek, and she looked up to see something in his gaze, something open and gentle and kind that made her breath catch in her throat. She found herself leaning into his touch and closing her eyes, grateful that he understood.

“Was…” He stopped to take a breath. “Was anyone else hurt?”

Katara shook her head. “No.”

Aang’s eyes softened with relief. “That’s… that’s good.” He laid his head back on the pillow. His hand relaxed against her cheek. “I’m…” He paused to draw in another breath. “I’m glad.”

But far from making her feel better, somehow, Katara found her throat closing up, an irrational anger flaring suddenly in her chest. Why was he worried so much about everyone else other than himself, she couldn’t help but wonder bitterly, when he was the one who—who almost—

Because it’s Aang, her mind reminded her, because it’s Aang and he cared with everything he had and he loved with all of his heart, so much so that even when he would be dying he would care more about the people around him, care more about the people he’s protecting and it wasn’t fair and he should care more about himself why didn’t he care about himself—

“Katara? Are you okay?” His thumb brushed her cheek, smearing a wetness against her skin—she hadn’t even realized she’d been crying. “Why are you crying?”

Katara choked on a sob, her anger vanishing at the tender concern on his face. “I just—” She swallowed back the thickness of tears clogging her throat and pressed her face into his hand. “I missed you,” she whispered.

Aang’s eyes softened with that look, that look that had never failed to make her feel seen, heard, known. His palm slid down her cheek to cradle her jaw, and she couldn’t help but lean into his warm touch. “It’s okay,” he murmured, offering her a weak smile. “I’m here.”

She closed her eyes. “You’re here,” she whispered back, a reassurance to herself.

And it was enough.

A peaceful quiet settled over them then, a quiet so unlike the grieving silence of the weeks, days, even moments before, when Katara had kept her vigil over his broken body. It was in the way his eyes were open and gray and alive, alive, alive. It was in the way his fingers curled around hers and his hand squeezed back whenever she clung onto him. It was in his quiet strength and soft voice and tender concern.

It was all in the ways that made Aang Aang, all the things she didn’t even realize she had missed about him until now.

It was a few moments longer when Katara felt Aang’s fingers drift down her cheek, and she opened her eyes to see he was fighting to keep his eyes open—but this time, not from the looming darkness of unconsciousness, but from the weariness of sleep.

She took his hand from her cheek and folded her fingers with his before laying it on the bed. “Get some rest,” she whispered to him—for some reason, raising her voice felt like it would violate something unspoken between them, like it would chase away the intimacy of their silence. “It’s okay. I’ll be here when you wake up.” She lifted his other hand and pressed a kiss to his knuckles, hoping he couldn’t hear the sadness that hung heavy in her heart. “I promise.”

Aang nodded sleepily. As if her words had given him permission, his whole body relaxed, and suddenly he seemed… serene. At peace. So still, yet so full of life.

And as he slipped away into the darkness of sleep, as his hands relaxed in her grip for a second time—but not for long, she knew—as his eyes drifted shut and his breathing slowed and deepened, Katara heard him whisper one last thing:

“I missed you too.”

Chapter Text

It was several more weeks before he recovered enough to go outside.

For the first few days, he had been too weak to do much more than turn his head towards Katara whenever she entered the room, his voice breathless, his movements feeble. Katara did her best to soothe his aches with her bending water, but it wasn’t enough to ease the pain that flashed across his face whenever he shifted even the tiniest bit.

His recovery was slow, and the return of his lively energy still slower, but it was a journey Katara had learned long ago that took a thousand steps, that began with the first, and so when he struggled to the next step and the next, she was always there to help him, to hold him, to heal him.

Within a week and a half, he had recovered enough strength to lift himself up into a sitting position against the wall—with her help, of course, but it was a start. By the next week or so, he could fully sit up without the need for support. And in the weeks afterwards, little by little, he regained the old ease of his mobility.

They started him off within his own room—step by step, piece by piece. Then, they ventured little more than a few feet outside of his room. Then it would be down the hallway, up and down a floor, then two floors. Every few weeks, Katara—and Yagoda, but mostly Katara—would coax him to walk further and further away. For his part, Aang’s jaw would set whenever they gave him a new goal, his gray eyes flashing in determination.

(she tried to ignore the heat that flared in her cheeks whenever he had that look on his face)

With every new exercise that came his way, Aang first had to lean on Katara for the distance that he wasn’t accustomed to, his arm looped around her shoulders and his weight sturdy against her frame, his skin warm against her hands and his heart steady under her palm. Then, little by little, he would let go of his grip on her—until the inevitable day when he would be able to walk the distance with little discomfort.

(but sometimes she wondered if he was in less pain than he said he was, if he was making excuses to stay close to her)

(sometimes she wondered if she imagined the way he leaned closer and closer to her, the way his heart quickened under her palm when she laid a supporting hand on his chest)

It was during that time that she found herself encountering at least one of the masters every week—which was one master too many and once a week too much, in her opinion. But really, she shouldn’t have expected anything else—the masters were here to make sure their Avatar was awake and doing well, so it should come as no surprise that they would stroll through the hallways of the clinic like it belonged to them.

And yet, every time Katara helped Aang through the hallways, every time an elderly master caught sight of them together (his arm around her shoulders, hers around his waist), every time she pulled him just the tiniest bit closer and glared at them, instead of looking disapproving or even offended, Katara thought they looked… awkward.

Some elders would dip their head towards them with a respectful, “Master Katara” and “Avatar Aang” before strolling on. Others would avoid their gazes and pick up their pace, walking past them as if getting too close would burn them. Still others would mutter something under their breath—maybe an excuse—before diverting their paths entirely.

Definitely a strange change of pace, but a welcome one nonetheless.

And so it was with this patient and steady routine that Aang soon recovered enough to walk around the clinic with only a shadow of pain, a shadow that only a healer like Katara could see. With the return of his physical mobility quickly came the return of his sprightly energy, and in no time he became restless, like the wind in a hurricane. It became a common occurrence for Katara to find him staring forlornly out the window of his room, his finger tapping a nameless rhythm upon his knee and his muscles coiled with energy that had nowhere to go.

That was when Katara managed to convince Yagoda to let him out of the clinic.

The days had chilled to autumn when she took him out of the clinic for the first time since he had come in. The vibranr leaves of red and orange and gold swirling in the breeze and the soft look of wonder on Aang’s face, so different from the clinical white walls of his room and the (deathly) pallor of his face of just a few weeks ago, was enough to take Katara’s breath away.

It almost didn’t feel real—like a dream she would inevitably awaken from.

But then Aang’s hands would curl around hers, solid and warm and alive, alive, and Katara would remind herself that it was real, that he was real and alive and here with her, watching as the leaves danced in the wind with the colors of the Air Nomads.

While the autumn days were beautiful, Katara’s favorite time to take him outside was at night, when the stars were out and the world was quieting to sleep all around them. It was only during that time when it felt like the world was only just the two of them and the stars above, an echo of a long-passed memory of him and her, sparring and laughing under stars that glimmered down upon the Southern Water Tribe. It was only during that time when everything in Katara’s world felt right, like she belonged there, laying side-by-side with Aang and watching as the stars faded to dawnlight.

It was only during that time when she felt like she had come home.

On a particular night when the stars seemed to shine brighter than usual, Katara found herself laying next to him out in an open grassy plain, gazing up at the constellations and talking about everything and nothing. It was less in knowing what they were saying to each other than it was in reveling in the sound of his voice and the warmth of his presence, in listening to his breathing, in knowing he was alive.

There was a pause in the conversation, and Katara watched as Aang’s eyes turned to the sky, his expression growing thoughtful and serene. It was times like this, when the moonlight gently bathed his features in an ethereal glow and glimmered in his gray eyes, that Katara could hardly find herself believing that he was really, truly here, here and alive and with her.

“The stars are really bright tonight.” Aang’s tone, full of wonder, broke through Katara’s thoughts, and she looked back to see his gaze was fixed upon the canvas of black and navy blue. “It’s all so… beautiful.”

“It is,” Katara agreed. But she wasn’t talking about the stars.

Aang turned his face towards her. In the pale shafts of moonlight that alighted over him, Katara thought he looked so young. “Gyatso once told me,” he said in a low, wistful tone, “that whenever I was lost, the stars would always be there to guide me back.” He turned back up to the sky. “Sometimes, when I miss the temple, I would go out and look up at them.” He smiled softly. “It always made me feel… better, knowing that they would always be there to lead me back home.”

Katara didn’t miss the way his tone turned bittersweet at the end, the way his gaze became distant and forlorn when he said home. She heard everything he left unspoken and saw everything he kept carefully hidden in the way his words hung in the air, in the way his smile was tinged with something a little more than sadness. She swallowed, her heart hanging heavy for him, and scooted a little closer, hoping that her presence would be enough.

Then he seemed to shake off his reverie to gaze upon her, his eyes soft and kind and ever so gentle. “What about you?”

Katara blinked in surprise. “Me?”

“Yeah.” Aang rolled on his side to face her, and Katara found herself mirroring him. “Do the stars remind you of home?”

Home. It was a word Katara had found herself thinking about more and more often, ever since she had been sent away by the masters to a strange, isolated place somewhere in the Earth Kingdom—a place where she didn’t and wouldn’t ever belong. It was a word that Katara used to associate with icy tundras and snowy plains, of a father and mother and brother in blue parkas, of igloos and drums and a people she called her own.

Used to.

Because when she thought of the word home now, she thought of a boy dressed in the colors of autumn with cloud-gray eyes and blue arrow tattoos, a boy filled with light and life. She thought of a boy who marveled at the beauty of life all around him, a boy who laughed like there was always, always, something worth laughing about. She thought of a boy who would take her out under the stars to train and laugh and play, a boy who taught her how to dance even when the world felt cold and gray, a boy who brought warmth and hope back to her when she thought she had nothing left to live for and to love.

Do the stars remind you of home?

And the truth was, Katara thought to herself, the truth was that it did, it did, but not in the way he might think.

She opened her mouth, ready to reply with a simple yes—it wasn’t wrong, exactly—but something tugged at her in her ribs, compelled her, and before she knew it she found herself saying instead, “No, not really.”

Aang’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, clearly not expecting that answer. “Really?” He shifted, propping himself up on a forearm braced against the ground. “So then what do they remind you of?”

Katara had to hide a smile as gray eyes filled with stars peered at her. “There’s this old friend of mine,” she began carefully, looking down at the hard ground carpeted with grass, “that I haven’t seen for a long, long time. He used to take me star-gazing and point out all these constellations he had in his own culture. We would spend those nights comparing them with the constellations from the Southern Water Tribe.” She idly plucked at some of the green stalks peeking out between her fingers. “I missed him dearly.”

Even in the dim light of the moon, Katara could see a glimmer in Aang’s eyes. “What a shame,” he murmured. His impressively straight face was ruined only by the twitches at the corners of his mouth, very clearly trying to suppress a smile. “He seems like a really nice guy.”

“He is,” she agreed, her own smile threatening to overtake her face. She looked back up to the sky. “Unfortunately, he had to go off and fight in the war.” She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. “It’s been… rough, only having his letters to know he’s still alive.”

Aang shifted next to her. “I’m sure it was just as hard on him,” he offered. She looked over to see him looking up to the constellations. “It was probably difficult to keep waking up without your smile there to greet him.” He glanced over at her, his expression soft. “He probably missed you just as much as you missed him.”

Katara breathed out, something warm and light fluttering in her stomach at that look in his eyes. She tried to steady the tremor in her fingers and voice as she said, “I mean, I wasn’t sure at first.” She glanced back at him. “But if you think so, it must be true.”

Something shifted in his gaze then, something a little heavier, a little sadder. “Why not? You’re amazing.” He turned his eyes back up to the sky. “You’re kind, you’re caring, you’re strong, you never give up a fight you could win.” He gave her a meaningful glance. “If I had a friend like that, I’d say she would be my biggest inspiration, the biggest reason why I keep on fighting.”

Heat crawled in her face, and Katara had to duck her head down to hide the smile threatening to stretch across her mouth. “I’m sure she would be lucky to have you as a friend as well,” she murmured.

Aang chuckled. “I’d think I’d be the lucky one.” Then he nudged her teasingly. “But c’mon, back to your friend. Tell me more about him.”

Katara affected a casual shrug. “If you insist.” She settled back on her hands and looked up to the canvas of black and navy blue. “He’s kind, caring, compassionate. He’s a gentle soul, but…” She smiled softly to herself. “He has this strength around him that makes everything impossible feel… possible. He gives everyone around him this hope, the hope that something will still be left after the war—something still worth living and fighting for.” She looked at him then, meeting gray eyes filled with the constellations of both the Southern Water Tribe and Air Nomads. “He gives me that hope.”

In the pale moonlight that alighted upon his face, Katara could see his face turn beet-red, redder than she had ever seen it before, and she had to stifle a laugh as he was the one to bashfully duck his head down this time, the blush creeping to his ears.

But he clearly wanted to have the last laugh, because he glanced up at her with a smile that somehow managed to be both sly and shy. “Well, if that’s the case…” His lips quirked. “Is he handsome?”

Katara couldn’t help but bark out a laugh, swatting at his shoulder. “Aang!” she chided, hoping the darkness could cover the heat flaring in her face.

Aang laughed, melodic and light and free, and all at once the premise of a faux-serious conversation lifted; Katara could hardly believe how utterly ridiculous this all was. “C’mon, you had all those nice things to say about your friend!” Aang protested. He leaned forward conspiratorially, smirking mischievously with a cocked eyebrow. “He must be at least a little good-looking.”

She shoved at him as he burst out laughing at his own antics, giggling herself. “Okay, okay!” When their laughing fits subsided, Katara suddenly found the grass between them very interesting. “You know what?” she said with feigned thoughtfulness. “He is good-looking. Very good-looking.” She peered up at him through her lashes. “But if I told him that to his face, his ego would never come down.”

Aang laughed. “Of course, I understand.” He winked at her. “Not everyone is a simple monk like myself, after all.”

Katara scoffed. “Please, you flatter yourself.”

“Who, me?” Aang’s eyes stretched wide in comical disbelief. He touched his hand to his chest with an exaggeratedly wounded look. “But I am!”

“Okay, yeah, just keep telling yourself that.” Katara shoved him lightly, and they both chuckled, basking in the light-heartedness of their banter. And for the first time in a long, long time, Katara felt… light. Free.

Happy.

A serene quiet settled between them then, a quiet that was filled only by the chirp of the crickets all around them, the cool, gentle breeze that caressed their faces, the sound of life and everything living humming through the world as the land sank deeper and deeper into sleep. Without thinking much of it, Katara reached over and covered his hand with hers. In response, Aang laced their fingers together.

It felt… warm. Safe. Right.

Katara’s eyes were growing heavy, the low buzz of the world lulling her to sleep, and she was teetering on the edge when Aang shifted next to her. She glanced over blearily to see he was half-sitting up, staring down at the ground with a furrowed brow.

She squeezed his hand. “Aang? What’s wrong?”

Aang looked up in surprise, his expression only softening when his eyes landed on her. “Oh—uh, nothing, really.” He turned his attention back to the ground. “It’s just… I was thinking about your friend, and…” He chewed his lip. “I think… I think he would also want to apologize to you.”

“What?” Confusion clouded her mind, and she sat up, scooting closer to Aang. She reached over and touched his knee, causing him to glance back up at her. There was something a little sad in his gaze when he looked at her then, something that crushed the carefree mirth that had been there just moments ago. “What makes you say that? Why do you think he would want to apologize to me?”

“Well…” He avoided her gaze again. His fingers agitatedly picked at the grass on the ground between them. “If he was off fighting in the war, then maybe there were some times where he… he almost—” He swallowed thickly, something haunted flitting through his gaze. His fingers tightened around her hand. “He got hurt really badly.”

In response, Katara pressed her shoulder to his, hoping it would ground him, even as his words sent a cold, cold dread shivering down her spine.

Aang still wouldn’t look at her. His other hand had moved onto his knee, twisting the fabric of his pants in a white-knuckled grip. “And during those times… when he wasn’t sure he would make it…” His gaze flickered over to her before flicking away. “I think he’d want to apologize to you. In case he wouldn’t come back in one piece.” He glanced down at the ground, his expression twisting a little. “When he didn’t come back in one piece.”

(“He’s not breathing.”)

Katara’s breath stuttered in her throat. She desperately pressed into him even as her stomach twisted, reliving the utter fear she had felt, as sharp and visceral as it had been all those weeks ago. She shook her head insistently. “He shouldn’t have to apologize for that. It’s not his fault.”

“I— maybe he knows that, deep down,” Aang admitted. He finally, finally looked up to meet her gaze, soulful gray against the reflection of the stars above. “But… maybe he can’t help but feel like it is his fault.”

She was already shaking her head before Aang was even finished speaking. “It’s not his fault,” she said assertively, almost harshly. With her other hand, she lifted it up to cup his cheek, stroking his cheekbone with her thumb. He gazed at her with such a sad look in his eyes that she wanted nothing more than to wipe it all away, to see that joy of life he himself had once given her. “That’s just the risk that always comes with fighting in a war. He shouldn’t have to apologize for that.”

Aang really looked at her then, looked at her instead of through her, and in those eyes that were filled with color and light and life, Katara could see a thousand unspoken words and a thousand more emotions flickering through that gray, that gray that had always filled her with hope. With trembling fingers, he reached up with his other hand to cover her hand on his cheek.

Something in the air shifted between them, something that became a little more… heavy. Intimate. Katara suddenly realized she could feel his breath ghosting over her skin, the subtle shifts in his grip as he curled his fingers over her hands, the way his skin seemed to burn under her touch. His gaze had darkened, and she wondered if she imagined his grasp on her hands tightening ever so slightly.

“But…” She swallowed thickly, suddenly finding it very hard to breathe, and looked down at the ground. “There is something he needs to apologize for.”

“Oh?” Was he closer? She could’ve sworn he was closer—his gray eyes filled her vision, his breath was hot against her lips, and when she tilted her head back up, their noses brushed. Her breath hitched in her throat. “And what does he need to apologize for?”

Katara closed her eyes, inching forward just the tiniest bit. The space between them was filled with hot, uneven breaths, and she exhaled shakily, the fluttering in her stomach intensifying into a thrill of exhilaration when she felt puffs of his breath flit over her lips.

“He needs to apologize…” She brushed her nose with his, purposefully this time. “… for stealing my heart,” she whispered.

And when he finally, finally kissed her, everything felt right.

His lips were warm against hers, his hands were firm against her back, his touches were gentle against her skin and it was wonderful and amazing and better than anything she could’ve dreamed of. He tasted like the clean sea-blown breeze, the kind that reminded her of home and everything that had once made it home. He tasted like everything that had been missing from her world, everything fun and joyful and full of life, everything she didn’t even know she had been missing until then.

He tasted like a love worth fighting for.

She wrapped her arms around the back of his neck and pulled him closer. The thrill of adrenaline roared through her veins now, fireworks bursting to life behind her eyelids, and she pressed herself still deeper, coaxing him to open up even more.

Just when their kiss was becoming more fervent, more desperate, Aang suddenly broke off with a sharp gasp, doubling over in pain. Katara cursed, scrambling to her feet and moving until she was behind him. In an instant, she was on her knees, pressing a gentle hand against the center of his back, where the wound was. She swore again when she felt something hot and sticky smear onto her fingertips.

Katara quickly bent a stream of water from her pouch and pressed it against his bandaged back. The water hummed a cold blue, illuminating the broken chi paths inside, the torn flesh underneath, the rigid jerk of his muscles from even her feathery touch as she tried to knit it all together.

When she had stitched together what she could—one healing session could only do so much, after all—she sat back and discarded the used healing water to the side. Then she reached out, brushing her fingers as gently as she could against his bandaged wound. Her stomach twisted as she imagined the glee on his assailant’s face as they inflicted this wound, the sheer agony he must’ve felt when he was unconscious, dying, alone.

I should’ve been there.

As if sensing her somber mood, Aang gingerly turned, scooting around until he was facing her again. Katara let her hand drop, but he caught it and laced their fingers together. “Hey, I’m okay.” He dipped his head to meet her gaze, his eyes soft and kind and ever so tender. “I’m okay, Katara. I promise.”

Katara had to blink back sudden tears, an irrational anger flaring in her chest. “You always say that.”

“Have I been wrong yet?” His gentle tone, normally a soothing balm, only served to fan the flames of this anger burning in her chest, and she wrenched her hand out of his grasp.

“You tell me,” she snapped, “since you came back to me nearly dead!”

Aang flinched, and in an instant Katara’s anger vanished. “I’m sorry, Aang.” She brushed away her tears, staring down at her lap. “I just… I never would’ve thought the next time we would see each other, you… you would… you almost—”

“Shhhh.” He enveloped her in a hug, and she clutched at his bandaged back, burying her face into his shoulder. “It’s okay, Katara. I’m here.” He pressed a kiss to her temple, coaxing her to open up in his embrace. “I’m here.”

They stayed like that for a long moment—Katara clutching at him to reassure herself he was alive, alive, Aang whispering reassurances in her ear and dusting petal-soft kisses on her skin. He pressed his cheek to hers, and she felt more than heard the rumble of a wry laugh roll through his body. “Maybe I should apologize for not coming back in one piece after all.”

The corners of Katara’s lips involuntarily curled up even as shame pooled in her gut, and she pressed her face to his neck. “I’m sorry,” she said miserably. Her fingers curled against his chest, right over his heart. Thud. Thud. Thud.

She felt Aang shake his head. “Don’t be. It’s not your fault.” He rubbed soothing circles against her back. “You were worried. That’s only natural.”

Katara squeezed her eyes shut as fresh tears seared their way down her cheeks. “I was so… so scared,” she whispered. She swallowed back the sob burning in her throat. “I… I thought I lost you.”

Aang pulled away just enough to touch their foreheads together. “I’m not going anywhere,” he murmured. He reached up and brushed stray strands of hair out of her face. “I’m here to stay, Katara. I promise.”

But even as he embraced her again, even as she pressed her ear to his chest to hear the steady thump of his heart, even as the warmth of him wrapped around her like a blanket on a cold night, Katara couldn’t help but remember utter terror she had felt when she didn’t feel the rise and fall of his breath and the beat of his heart, the scarlet red of his blood staining Yagoda’s hands, the grief that had filled her when, for a few minutes, she thought she had lost him forever.

And so it was that she made her decision.

“Aang…” She slowly extricated herself from his embrace, but she kept her hands on his chest, reveling in the beat of his heart. As if sensing her unspoken wish, Aang loosened his embrace and dropped his hands until they rested lightly against her waist. She looked up into those gray eyes, so gentle and warm and kind, which only made what she was about to say worse.

But she had to say it.

“I think we should wait before we’re together,” she forced herself to say. She reached up and drew her fingers down from his temple to his cheek, hoping that her touch would soften the blow of her words. “At least until after the war is over.”

Aang frowned, confusion flickering in his eyes. “You… you want to wait?” He peered into her eyes, as if trying to search for the reason in them. “But… why?”

Katara looked down at her hands, still pressed up against his chest. Thud. Thud. Thud. “We—we’re still in the middle of a war,” she tried to explain, stumbling over her words. “You’re the Avatar, the only one who has the power to end it. If—if we start a relationship right now, it might…”

distract you in battle

“… distract us from what really matters. And I…”

can’t lose you again

“… don’t want you to lose focus.” She couldn’t find the strength to hold his gaze, so she looked back down at the ground.

Aang was silent for a long moment, processing her words. Katara kept her eyes trained on the grass between them, her breath stuttering over her every inhale. Then she felt his lips softly, carefully, press into her hair. “Okay.” He exhaled, his hot breath ghosting over her scalp. “If that’s what you want. We can wait until the war is over.”

Hardly daring to breathe, Katara looked up to see Aang’s gaze upon her, ever gentle, ever kind. “You’re okay with it?”

Aang gave her a smile that was tinged with sadness. “Of course. I told you that I would find you and wait for as long as you need me to.” He touched his forehead to hers, and his eyes softened with that look that stole the air from Katara’s lungs. “I made that promise back then, and I’m making it now.” He kissed her on the spot between her eyes. “I’ll wait for you. I promise.”

Katara’s next breath left her as a strangled sob, and she closed her eyes against the burning tears pricking in them. “Thank you, Aang,” she whispered, over and over again. “Thank you.”

She was the one to move this time, opening her arms out and wrapping around his torso in a hug that he immediately reciprocated. She laid her head in the space between his shoulder and neck, relishing the warmth of his body seeping into hers, the thump of his pulse against her cheek, the strength of his arms around her.

Katara closed her eyes and tried to pretend the coarse bandages underneath her palms didn’t exist.

She tried not to hold his hand as they stood before the elders.

But it was so hard, especially since he was right there next to her, his presence warm and comforting and real. Every time the back of his hand brushed against hers, she had to stamp down the itch to reach out herself and hook their fingers together.

She needed to resist, if only to preserve whatever decorum she had left.

But it wasn’t just that that was forcing her to keep her hand away from him; it was also the reason for this meeting in the first place. Only a week after the night they had gone out to watch the stars, Yagoda had deemed Aang healed enough to return back to his Avatar duties.

Which meant he would return back to the battle front.

If anything, the ache Katara held to be close to him, to relish every last moment they had together before he inevitably had to leave her again, made the itch to hold his hand so much more worse. But she knew that if she did that, it would be harder for her to let him go, to watch him as he left her for the third time.

And so it was with a heavy heart that she stood alongside Aang for what would be the last time until the war would end and he would come back to her.

(if he would come back)

(she tried not to think about it)

Aang bowed to the masters and she followed his lead, if only reluctantly—if it were up to her, she wouldn’t be showing this much respect to them since they didn’t deserve any of it, she thought with no small amount of bitterness. As it was, she couldn’t risk them taking their displeasure out on Aang or separating them even further, so just for now, she would bear it.

It was Elder Amaraq who broke the silence first, clearing his throat a little awkwardly. “Well, it is good to see you back on your feet, Avatar Aang,” he said to Aang. “We were all worried for your well-being.”

Aang dipped his head in acknowledgement, the easy-going smile plastered on his face almost masking the weariness in his eyes. “I had the greatest healers I could ask for by my side,” he said lightly. The back of his hand brushed against hers again. “There was no need to worry. They’re the best at what they do.”

Somehow, Katara got the distinct feeling he wasn’t talking about all the healers.

As if reading her mind, the back of Aang’s hand pressed against hers, solid and warm and real, and then she really had to stamp down the urge to intertwine their fingers together. She ducked her head, hoping that they wouldn’t notice the heat rising to her face.

A small chuckle sounded somewhere to her left, and she peered up to see a man with a tight topknot and a neatly trimmed beard—Master Piandao, Katara remembered Aang telling her—folding his hands behind his back with an amicable expression on his face. “I’m sure they are,” he said rather good-naturedly. “You’re on your feet and looking good as new.”

Master Pakku grunted. “Being on his feet and ‘looking’ good as new doesn’t mean he’s fully healed,” he muttered grumpily. Katara had to force herself not to flinch when her old master suddenly turned his piercing gaze upon her. “I want your confirmation on the state of his health.”

Katara cleared her throat and straightened as much as she could under the intense gazes of all eight elders and masters. “Master Yagoda did a final examination of his health, and she deemed him well enough to return to his… Avatar duties.” Her voice involuntarily wavered right before saying Avatar duties, but luckily none of them seemed to notice.

But much to her surprise, a man with wild white hair and a goatee—Master Jeong Jeong, Aang had told her—merely let out a snort and waved dismissively. “Yes, yes, we’ve already heard the verdict from Master Yagoda, since that is the only reason why we’re even here in the first place.” He turned his eyes onto Katara, and she was startled to see a deep fire burning in his eyes. “But what do you think?”

Taken aback, Katara couldn’t do much more than stare at Aang’s firebending master in shock. “What?”

It was Monk Pasang who spoke next. “Since you were his… primary caretaker”—he said the words as if he chose them with deliberate care—“it stands to reason that you would know better than anyone about the state of his health.” He gave Katara a grave look. “It is imperative for us to know if he is truly ready to return to battle.”

Return to battle. He said the words so easily, as though the bloodshed and violence and death that haunted the clinic every day was just another aspect of life, a natural part of the world. But when Katara had to gaze upon the prone forms of groaning soldiers savaged by the war, when the blood of thousands of patients stained her hands as she fell asleep at night, when she had to watch as Aang nearly died under her hands, she couldn’t help feeling anything but.

She stole a glance over at Aang. If it weren’t for the firmness of his jaw and the slight pallor in his cheeks, she would’ve thought all he felt was confident. Determined, even.

But she saw just the tiniest flicker of fear in his eyes.

A vindictive anger rose in her chest then, an anger that fed on the bitterness that had hung heavy in her chest for years, ever since these same masters had taken Aang away from her. She opened her mouth, half-tempted to say that he wasn’t ready, if only to stop them from taking him away and sending him off to battle to get him killed—

And hesitated.

Because when she looked up at the masters, she saw their eyes.

Their eyes had always held a semblance of pride, yes, but sometimes, she thought she would see a flicker of something else pass through them. It was often too quick for her to catch and put a name to, and so she dismissed that nagging feeling, reasoning it was simply her imagination.

But now, that emotion that had once been so fleeting was clear and tangible, warring with that pride in their eyes. With it laid so bare on their faces, it only took Katara a moment to place what it was:

Desperation.

And then she remembered her own words, the words she has given Aang that night under the stars.

“He gives everyone around him this hope, the hope that something will still be left after the war—something still worth living and fighting for.”

Maybe, Katara thought to herself as she gazed up at the masters, maybe when she said everyone, it meant even those who tried everything they could to end the war, even if it meant sacrificing others’ desires. They were wrong to do it like this—isolating them both, sending him to battle all on his own, using him for their own purposes—but maybe, maybe it was only because he gave them hope of a world without war, like he had with her.

(but there was a difference, she knew, there was a difference between them and her)

(theirs was a hope given to them by the Avatar)

(hers was a hope given to her by Aang)

When she looked over to Aang, she saw that his gaze was upon her. Though there was a hint of fear lurking in that gray, there was also that determination, that quiet strength that she had known and come to love ever since they had first met. The encouragement in his eyes propelled her forward, and the reassurance in his slight smile gave her the strength to speak.

“Yes.” Katara tore her eyes from Aang’s to meet the masters’ gaze. She swallowed the last of her apprehension and tried to ignore the heaviness in her heart as she said, “I believe he is ready.”

She waited for the elders to dismiss her, to give her a curt nod of acknowledgement before shooing her off. She waited for them to take Aang away for the third and final time, to usher him out the doors—and out of her life.

But much to her confusion, they didn’t do any of that.

Elder Amaraq’s eyebrows shot up, clearly not expecting her answer. Monks Pasang and Tashi exchanged unfathomable looks. Master Jeong Jeong let out a gravelly hum as he folded his arms across his chest, his eyebrows furrowing with something that was not quite displeasure as he appraised her with his fiery eyes.

In fact, the only ones who seemed to have any sort of positive expression at all was Master Piandao, who was still wearing an easy-going look on his face, and…

Katara squinted. Had she imagined the approval that flashed through Pakku’s eyes?

It was Aang who broke through the prolonged stares and silent conversations, giving voice to the question that had been rising in Katara’s mind. “With all due respect, Masters,” he said, stepping forward, “is there… something wrong?”

Pasang and Tashi exchanged another look before Pasang stepped forward, clearing his throat. “In the wake of these past few weeks,” he said delicately, “we have come together and reevaluated our… former decisions.”

Katara frowned, and beside her, Aang looked puzzled as well. “What do you mean by that?” he asked.

Somehow, Katara had the distinct feeling that if the monk didn’t have an air of dignity to preserve, he would be fidgeting right now. As it was, he had enough sense to look a little sheepish. “The Council of Elders have realized that it would be… unwise to expect the Avatar not to have close companions to rely on,” he said, “especially those who cover the weaknesses of his current group. The events of the last few weeks have revealed as much.”

It was Piandao who spoke next, interjecting smoothly. “We realize now that it is in the best interest of the Avatar—and the world—to give him a group of companions whose diversity of skills can cover any situation that may arise.” He gave her a glance full of meaning, and Katara’s breath caught in her throat. Were they saying what she thought they were saying…?

Pakku stepped up then, gazing down at Katara with piercing pale blue eyes. But even through the glare reflecting off of his gaze, she thought she could see a sliver of satisfaction hidden within. “As one of my best students in both combat and healing, you have the versatility we expect of someone who can fight alongside the Avatar. And as your former master, I would like to be the one to extend the offer to you, Master Katara,” he said formally.

She could barely breathe as he extended a hand towards her. 

“Will you accept becoming one of Avatar Aang’s companions?”

Time hung suspended in the air, as if it all came down to this moment. Impulsively, Katara glanced over to Aang, who looked just as shocked as she felt. Then, slowly, his mouth began stretching into a beaming grin as his eyes lit up—the first genuine smile he had ever since stepping in this room with her.

Seeing Aang so… happy, so light and joyous and free, lifted a heaviness in Katara’s chest she hadn’t even realized was even there, and she felt her own lips curling up in a smile that mirrored his.

And it was all she needed.

She grasped Pakku’s hand in a firm grip and gazed up at her former master, hardening her tone with determined forcefulness as she said, “I accept.”

This time, she knew she didn’t imagine the approval in his eyes.

He bowed to her and she to him, and this time, it wasn’t at all reluctant. When she straightened, she found Aang by her side, wearing his own look of relief and gratitude. He bowed first to Pakku, and then the other masters. “Thank you, Council of Elders,” he said, “for allowing us this opportunity.”

Elder Amaraq harrumphed, clearly not pleased by their visible excitement. “Don’t get ahead of yourself,” he snapped at Katara. “The only reason I agreed to this is because you are a healer, and the next time the Avatar is injured, you will be there to save him. That is your first duty, above all.” His eyes bored into Katara’s soul. “Do you understand?”

Her hackles rose at his insinuation, and she had half a mind to snap back at him when a glance around the room (Aang with his shining eyes, Pakku with his warning gaze) reminded her of the fragility of their new deal. So she swallowed back her retorts and dipped her head in what she hoped would be taken as humility, even as bitterness churned in her stomach. “Of course,” she said.

Elder Amaraq’s eyes narrowed, clearly not convinced, and opened his mouth when Monk Pasang cleared his throat. “Then that is all we require of the both of you,” he said. “We will inform you of our next course of action in due time.” He waved them off. “You are both dismissed.”

Aang and Katara bowed for the third time before making their way out of the hall. When the stares from the masters on her back seemed to disappear, when the tension in Aang’s shoulders seemed to melt away, when it was clear they were alone once again, she deemed it safe and looked at Aang—really looked at him—for the first time since entering the room. She found him looking back at her with a wry expression on his face.

“Well,” Aang remarked rather dryly, “that went better than I expected.”

“You can say that again,” Katara agreed, secretly filing a mental note to ask Sokka if he had anything to do with their sudden change of heart.

Aang chuckled, the sound melodic and beautiful and airy, and Katara couldn’t help but share in his joy, revel in his laugh. Though the echoes of his laughter eventually faded, they walked through the empty halls in comfortable silence, shoulder-to-shoulder, matching each other’s stride.

And then it hit her all at once.

She would be coming with Aang.

She would be coming with Aang.

She would no longer be waiting in anticipation for the next letter, the next time she would hear his voice. She would no longer be laying alone in a tent on cold, empty nights, praying for him to come back to her, alive and safe.

Because this time… this time, she would no longer depend on letters to find his shadow when she had him right by her side. This time, she would no longer have to pray for him to come back to her, because she would be right there to make sure he did.

This time, she would be with him until the end.

It almost didn’t feel real—like it was a dream she conjured up through half-wishes and what-ifs and what-could’ve-beens.

And yet… and yet, she knew it had to be real. The memory of his presence could never hold the same warmth as he did right now, by her side. The memory of his smile could never shine as brightly as it did now, when he flashed it at her. The memory of his eyes could never carry that same depth of kindness and strength and love as it did now, when he glanced over at her.

But just as suddenly as the elation came, it was snuffed out by a cold, heavy ache in her chest. She couldn’t shake the memory of his kind and warm gaze as she looked up to him with a desperate pleading, as she said we should wait. She couldn’t stop thinking of confused gray eyes as he peered at her and asked why? She couldn’t forget the way her own voice was filled with stuttering words and shaky uncertainty as she told him I don’t want you to lose focus, even when she knew deep down that her spoken answer wasn’t the truth, not entirely.

It seemed, Katara couldn’t help but think bitterly, even when they were together, the world was trying to keep them apart.

As they turned a corner, Katara was pulled from her thoughts when she felt something warm and calloused slip into her hand. Startled, she glanced down to see a hand adorned with a blue arrow curling around her fingers, and she looked up to see Aang watching her carefully.

“Is this okay?” he asked.

A sudden swell of warmth surged through her chest, pushing away the cold ache and replacing it with a new memory, the memory of gray eyes that promised her I will wait for you. She intertwined their fingers together and rubbed away the tension in his hand with her thumb.

“It’s okay.”

For now, at least, it was enough.

Chapter Text

True to their word, the masters searched the corners of the earth for suitable companions that could “bolster the Avatar’s cause.” It was only a testament to their global connectedness that they managed to find three more companions within a mere six months.

Companions, the masters called them. Detached and formal, as they most likely intended for the Avatar.

But the truth was, Katara thought to herself as she gazed upon them now, the truth was that they were friends.

Suki was a woman of strength and determination, of confidence and ambition—it was no surprise to Katara when she had learned that Suki had risen to leadership in the Kyoshi Warriors by the age of fourteen. Even away from her own people, she was a natural leader: strategic and cunning, she knew which battles to fight and which to walk away from—something that Katara highly respected her for. In fact, she thought with no small amount of amusement, the only “flaw” Suki had was fancying her brother. And despite that trivial hiccup, they became fast friends.

Toph was another story. As soon as she had set foot into their camp, she had directly challenged Aang to an earthbending fight and taunted him when he had declined. Crass and bold, she would proceed to butt into their training sessions and loudly proclaim how terrible Aang’s earthbending skills were—much to Aang’s long-suffering patience and Katara’s mounting annoyance. More often than not, she would drag him away by the arm to teach him “real” earthbending.

Which often resulted in Katara constantly having to heal Aang’s bruises and cuts.

She had gotten into more than one fight with Toph about her rough-and-tumble training methods—which would usually devolve into ferocious bending matches. More often than not, Aang had to haul her away, spitting and thrashing, as Toph was also restrained by both Sokka and Suki.

But, eventually, they too became friends.

It was Prince Zuko, son of General Ozai and grandson of Fire Lord Azulon, whom she had the most trouble trusting. With golden eyes glaring out from under shaggy black hair and lips curled in a perpetual sneer, Katara couldn’t help but see a man with golden eyes, a man who had sneered down at her from inside her own home and told her you heard your mother, get out of here.

He was disgruntled, gruff, angry. Any time she got anywhere near him, he would glance at her with those baleful gold eyes, eyes like the ones that had invaded her home when ash had fallen, and she would find her hand drifting to rest on her water pouch. When she and Aang would cross paths with him, she found herself stepping in-between them, as if trying to shield him from that gaze.

Aang noticed, because of course he did. Sometimes she wondered if she was really that easy to read.

(sometimes she wondered if he knew her better than she knew herself)

When he had asked her, she had evaded answering, instead looking up to him and asking, Do you trust him?

She would never forget the way he had glanced up at the ceiling thoughtfully, as if genuinely contemplating her question, before smiling ruefully down at her. No, not really, he had said honestly, but Master Iroh must have a reason for bringing him here. I trust him.

She wished she could say the same for herself.

Theirs was an animosity that slowly eroded away, piece by piece, chip by chip. But Aang’s friendship with him was a flame kindled by a kindred spark, a connection between them that not even she understood.

It was through that friendship that Katara learned to coexist, to live in cordiality with the Fire Prince. And in time, when she could finally see golden eyes without breathing ash and smoke, she also became his friend.

But, as all things had in her life, those few moments of happiness didn’t last.

It was only a few months later, when Aang had finally been deemed a master of both earth and fire, that the masters had called them all together—all the generals and commanders of their army and Aang. The elders had commanded the Avatar to come without his companions, but they fought bitterly—Katara most of all.

She could still remember the chill that had settled in that tent, despite the jostling crowd and the heat from the tightly packed bodies. She could remember the whispers of tense anticipation, the glances of anxious trepidation as masters filed in one by one, standing grave and dignified as they fanned out in a semicircle. She could remember the warmth of Aang’s hand as it slid over to hook their fingers together, the reassuring squeeze he had given her, the soft smile on his face that had warmed her core.

 The masters’ speeches were verbose and drawn-out—rather unnecessary in its eloquence, Katara thought wryly to herself. But as long-winded as they were, they all boiled down to one sentence, a sentence that snuffed out any reassurance Katara might’ve felt from Aang’s presence and replaced it with a cold, cold dread.

There was going to be a frontal assault on the Fire Nation Palace.

There was going to be a frontal assault on the Fire Nation Palace, and Aang would face the Fire Lord.

Katara would never forget the way Aang’s hand had tightened in her grip, the way his jaw had set as a determined resignation came over his expression. She would never forget the way shock had flashed on everyone else’s faces as they turned to look over at him, the way she had so desperately wished to step in front of him and shield him from their gazes. She would never forget the way he suddenly looked so small and so young in the presence of all the commanders and generals he would be leading.

She would never forget the way her own fear had crawled up to her throat, the way icy dread had pooled in her stomach and spread through her veins.

That night, when they were away from the stares of their comrades and generals and friends, Katara had sat next to him on his cot as he stared off into the unknown, wanting nothing more than to wrap her arms around him and hold him close. She had laid a comforting hand on his shoulder and watched his expression carefully as she asked him, Are you okay?

She would never forget the way he had gazed upon her, his gray eyes so tired, the way he had somehow seemed eons older than his fifteen years, the way all his lifetimes as the Avatar had creased his face in that moment. He had glanced down at his hands, his brow furrowing, and he had spoken.

No, not really, he had said honestly, glancing back up to her. I had always known I would have to face the Fire Lord eventually, but… His gaze turned heavy with something more than trepidation and worse than resignation. I didn’t think it would be so soon.

She had wrapped her arms around him in a hug then, her heart aching for the weariness in his eyes. He had responded in turn, his arms fitting perfectly around her waist, as if that was where they belonged. She remembered how she had pressed her ear to his chest, reveling in the steady thump of his heart, in the warmth of his body as it enveloped her. She remembered shutting her eyes as fresh tears stung, as she clung desperately to him, as she prayed the war won’t take him from her for a second time.

The days leading up to the final battle were chaos—Katara couldn’t remember much, apart from being pulled by Master Pakku into a group of waterbenders (all male, she couldn’t help but note with slight bitterness) to touch up on her combat skills. On more than one occasion, she found herself sparring against Zuko and the few firebenders who had defected from the Fire Nation; after all, there was no better way to prepare against firebenders than to practice against them.

And through the frenzied mayhem of preparations, Katara found Aang slipping away more and more throughout the day, excusing himself from the table with an unfocused look in his eyes or declining offers to spar—not just for her, but for all of them. Sometimes she would catch him in deep conversation with the Elder Monks, his brow furrowed and his mouth pressed in a thin line. Sometimes she would catch him staring off over the sparring fields with a distant look on his face, absentmindedly scratching Momo’s ears.

But as much as Katara wanted to help him through this, wanted to ask him what’s wrong, she knew she couldn’t. It seemed to be a burden that only he—Aang, Air Nomad, the Avatar—could bear, and that was something that couldn’t be shared, as much as she wished it could.

And so it was that those last few months went: a schedule of relentless sparring intercut with meals and sleep and planning for the frontal assault. Sokka proved himself to be a natural leader, his plans not only realistic and practical but detailed, addressing countermeasures to what felt like every possible scenario that could be thrown their way.

Between the rigorous training and the elaborate planning, when the day finally came, Katara felt confident, prepared.

The night before the battle, she had slipped away from the crowds into Aang’s tent, where the sight of him meditating greeted her. She had always found watching him meditate soothing, even hypnotic, as his shoulders rose and fell with every breath. But it was more than that—it was in the way his posture was relaxed, the way the cadence of his breaths came steady and calm.

It was in the way he looked so… at peace with himself, like he found where he had truly belonged.

She remembered the way he had lifted himself gracefully, his saffron and yellow robes fluttering about him like leaves dancing in the wind. She remembered the way he had turned and caught sight of her, and the smile he had given her—so crooked and genuine and Aang. She remembered the way they had stepped towards each other, as if drawn together by an unseen force, and the way they embraced each other as one.

He had been so warm, like an inviting fire on a cold, dreary night. That warmth had wrapped around her like a comforting blanket, and despite the nervous anticipation and deeper dread of the next few days, for just a moment, she could believe that everything would be okay.

She remembered pulling away to press her forehead to his, to gaze into that gray she had fallen in love with a long time ago. She remembered the way his breath had ghosted over her lips, the way his gaze had been so gentle and tender, the way she had prayed the war wouldn’t strip that from him. She remembered how she had closed her eyes and whispered a plea in the small space between them.

“Be safe.”

And she would never forget how his eyes had softened with that look, how his hands had glided up to her face and cradled her jaw. She would never forget how he held onto her—careful and tender and loving, like he was holding a precious treasure within his hands. She would never forget how the corners of his eyes crinkled with a soft smile, how he looked so… content.

“You too.”

They held onto each other until dawn approached, until the songs of the birds filtered into the tent. They held on until the shouts of soldiers rang through the air as movement rustled outside. They held on until the masters came to escort the Avatar—Aang—away for preparations, until their friends came to find Katara for one final rundown of the plan.

They held on until they couldn’t, and then they let go.

The final battle came messy and bloody and awful. What had been a clean-cut, organized plan devolved as soon as they stepped onto Fire Nation soil, and now only havoc and mayhem reigned.

Steel sang through the air as they clashed with iron, punctuated by the screams of the wounded and dying, the rumble of rock, the hiss of water against fire, the shouts of men as they barked orders to their soldiers. The battle whirled around her at a dizzying pace, but it was what she was prepared for, what she had known long ago, when men of golden eyes invaded her home. And so she fought back, summoning every scrap of training that had been pounded into her bones.

And then, at the height of the battle, when the cacophony of the armies pressed in her ears in a crescendoing roar—

—an ethereal blue light filled the world.

All around her, the battle screeched to a halt. As one, the battling armies turned towards the Fire Nation Palace right as another pillar of light, this one of oppressive orange, shot into the sky. Fiery orange and sky blue bathed the land, washing over them all until she couldn’t tell who was friend or foe.

A hand grasped her shoulder, familiar in its weight and comfort. She whirled to see Sokka staring up at the sky, his own expression filled with equal parts terror and awe. “What’s happening?”

Katara turned her eyes up to the sky, where the blue battled the orange. She watched the blue creep forward, filling the world with a sense of calm, of serenity, of peace, and then she suddenly realized she knew.

“It’s Aang.”

It had to be.

And in that moment, there was nothing more than she ever wanted in her life than to race through the battlefield and rip through the waves of Fire Nation soldiers standing in the way between her and Aang. There was nothing more she wanted than to enter the Fire Nation Palace herself and find him and help him.

But she couldn’t.

Because this was the Avatar’s battle to win or lose. This was the Avatar’s destiny, and the Avatar’s alone. But more than that, it was Aang’s destiny—a destiny that she knew he never wanted in the first place, but a destiny he took up because he was Aang and that was what he did, if it meant giving the people he loved a chance for a brighter future.

And so she stood on a bloodsoaked battlefield, watching as the world was consumed by blinding color.

Katara couldn’t remember what happened when everything exploded into a brilliant white. She thought she might’ve prayed to the Spirits. She might’ve screamed for him. She might’ve even stood there, transfixed in awe, until the world became too bright for her to bear. She wasn’t sure.

But what happened after, no one could forget—least of all her.

As soon as the lights vanished with a flash of blue (blue, she couldn’t help but notice, her breath catching in her throat, blue), chaos exploded. The tide of her friends and allies and comrades surged forward with deafening victory cries right as the firebenders tried to fall back, and soon the wave of red was overcome by a wave of blue and green.

But Katara didn’t join them.

The next thing she knew, she was hurtling over stone and obsidian as she sprinted to the Fire Nation Palace, her heart pounding in her throat and her blood roaring in her ears. She tore through a battlefield filled with the dead and dying, screaming his name, pleading to the spirits that she wouldn’t find him among them.

She barged through the gateway to the palace courtyard. She skidded to a halt.

Time stood still as she took in the devastation of the courtyard, the debris of broken stone and dying flames and burnt shrubbery. Surrounded by the scene of death and destruction were two figures a couple paces from her, one who stood tall and strong despite the burns and bruises on his bare torso, the other collapsed in a heap at his feet.

She held her breath as the first figure turned towards her.

And her inhale caught on a gasp when gray eyes locked with hers.

“Katara?”

“Aang!”

She sprinted to his side just as his steps faltered, throwing her arms around him right before his knees gave out. They staggered together, his battered body leaning all its weight against her. She clutched him and whispered his name, and then she couldn’t stop whispering his name as his arms engulfed her, locking tightly around her as if he never wanted to let go. They sank to the ground together, neither of them relenting their grips on each other.

“It’s okay,” she found herself saying, over and over again. “It’s okay, Aang. I’ve got you.” She nuzzled her nose into his neck, hardly daring to believe that the thumping pulse in his throat was really there. “I’ve got you.”

Aang trembled in her arms, so warm and solid and real, his shaking hands fisting her robes as he buried his face in her shoulder. “We did it, Katara,” he said, his voice raw with emotion. “It’s over. We won.”

Katara closed her eyes, somehow feeling more overwhelmed than she thought she should.

But not because they won.

After all these years, all the heartaches and separations and the what-ifs and what-could’ve-beens and the moments of despair and terror, when she thought she would never see the end of the war… after everything they’ve been through, it’s over.

It’s over.

Katara smiled as she spotted her boyfriend meditating in the garden of the Jasmine Dragon.

It had been six months since the end of the war—six months of healing, of rebuilding, of peace talks and treaties and traveling the world by Aang’s side. It had been a long, busy six months for the both of them; this was the first time after the war that they truly found the time to relax.

In the wake of the war’s end, Iroh—Zuko’s uncle—had decided to settle down in Ba Sing Se and establish the Jasmine Dragon, his own tea shop. “My old bones aren’t what they used to be,” he had said when they asked why, “and a life of peace and quiet would do wonders for an old soul like myself.” He had chuckled and turned to Zuko, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Besides, this nation needs a young, honorable man to lead them into a time of peace—someone who can give them hope. And I have no doubt Prince Zuko is the right man for the job.”

And although Katara had agreed with him, the stab of sadness that went through her surprised her, and at the same time didn’t. With Zuko now the Fire Lord, her brother the appointed ambassador for the Southern Water Tribe, and Toph and Suki off doing Spirits-knows-what, it meant that they could no longer see each other as much as they wanted to. Rebuilding after a war was busy work, and with the nations pulling the Avatar away at any notice, making time would be difficult.

But they’ll find a way. They always do.

And on the bright side, Katara thought with fond amusement, at least this tea shop gave her and Aang a good place to rest.

A deep, shuddering exhale broke his usual cadence as Katara came up behind him and laid her hands on his shoulders, bending down to give his cheek a small peck. Bright gray eyes glinted in the sunlight as he twisted his head to look up at her, a content smile playing on his lips. He lifted his hand up to her, and she caught it, lacing their fingers together. “Hey, sweetie.”

“Hey, yourself.”

Aang only chuckled, a sound that sent a thrill of contentment through her. It had been too long since they could be like this, being close to each other without fear of losing the other and laughing with this new lightness, this new carefree simplicity.

For a long moment, they simply reveled in the peaceful silence, Aang’s thumb stroking her hand and her own hand soaking in the warmth of his skin. A light breeze had picked up, swirling the falling sakura and wisteria petals in a beautiful whirl of pink and purple.

While designing the courtyard for the Jasmine Dragon, Iroh had also included a garden filled with sakura and wisteria blossoms. “To provide a place of peace and tranquility for anyone who seeks it,” he had explained. He had then turned to the setting sun, a distant look coming over his face. “And to remind us there is still beauty in the world, even after this war.”

Katara heard everything he had left unsaid, and she understood. The war would leave scars that would take generations to heal, and bitterness could easily take root in the meantime. Already bitterness was creeping through each nation as they demanded their own reparations and the Fire Nation haughtily tried to defend their honor—many nights, Aang would come back to their temporary house with bags under his eyes and weariness weighing down his steps. And many nights, as Katara soothed his stiff muscles, he would recount all the different happenings occurring in each meeting—most less than amicable.

But here in this garden, far away from the squabbles of nobles and stress of mediating, Katara saw what Iroh had hoped for the garden to symbolize all along—peace and tranquility and beauty and hope.

“It’s the autumn equinox today,” Aang said suddenly, breaking her away from her thoughts. Katara looked down to see Aang was staring off in the distance, absentmindedly fiddling with his robes. “Gyatso told me that I was born on the equinox. Although,” he added with a chuckle, “we always celebrated everyone’s birthday at the beginning of each month. So no one would be singled out.”

The twinge of slight sadness in his voice didn’t escape her notice, nor the lonely nostalgia that clouded his eyes. She swallowed hard and tried to keep her voice light as she remarked, “Then that means you’re turning sixteen today, aren’t you?”

Aang nodded.

“Happy birthday, sweetie,” she said. She squeezed his hand. “Sixteen. By Water Tribe standards, you’re a man now.”

Much to her relief, Aang laughed. It is a light laugh. A carefree laugh. A joyful laugh that was only a little bit tinged with sadness. “Yeah, I guess I am.” He turned his gaze to the distance, his eyes growing unfocused.

“You know,” he began, “they told me that I wasn’t supposed to find out I was the Avatar until I was sixteen.” He looked down at his lap, his brow furrowing in thought. “I guess in any other time, today would be the day the monks would come find me to tell me. But here I am now”—he gestured vaguely to everything and nothing—“ending a war and doing Avatar work before then.”

Then he turned his gaze on her, and the look in his eyes made her heart flutter in her chest. He scooted around until he was facing her and clasped her other hand in his. “And here I am now,” he added in a low voice, “with you.”

Katara squeezed his hands. “What do you want to do next?”

Aang glanced away thoughtfully. Petals of both sakura and wisteria fluttered down, dusting his shoulders with pink and purple. “I wrote to Gyatso and told him I would visit him and the Southern Air Temple soon.” His eyes grew distant again. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen him—seen them all.”

When Aang had been held in the secluded ice fortress, Gyatso had been separated from him—the masters had claimed he was too close to the Avatar, that he was distracting the Avatar from his duties. Sometimes, when Katara snuck into Aang’s room, she would find him huddled in a corner, sobs shaking his shoulders.

Sometimes, she would let him fill the silence between them by talking about Gyatso. Sometimes, she would hold him and whisper reassurances in his ear. Sometimes, she would simply sit next to him and press her shoulder into his, trying to ground him in the roaring silence. Always, she wished it was enough.

But now that the war was over… there was nothing keeping him away from Gyatso any longer.

Katara squeezed his hands again, bringing him back to her. Gray eyes filled with love and hope and life gazed back at her, and he smiled as he wrapped his hands more fully around hers.

“What about you?” he asked gently. “What do you want to do?”

Katara couldn’t hide the smile that stretched on her face when he gave her that look, nor could she stop the way her heart pounded in her chest. Not that she ever wanted to. “I want to visit the Southern Water Tribe again sometime,” she said honestly. “See how the rebuilding is going. I want to keep exploring the world with you. And maybe…” She let her gaze drift to the sakura and wisteria petals dusting the ground. “Maybe, when we take care of everything else… settle down. Start a family.”

Then she realized what she said a split second later, and she sputtered, throwing her hands up as she scrambled for words. “Only if you want to, of course!” she backpedaled frantically. “And not now! I don’t want to make any assumptions—wait, am I making assumptions? I hope not—”

A finger on her lips immediately shut her up, and she looked back to see Aang leaning in, a mischievous glint in his gray eyes. His expression softened with a look that made heat spread across her face, and he moved his hand across her face to cradle her jaw, guiding her down to his level. “I think,” he murmured, his lips brushing over hers, “that’s a wonderful idea.”

With that, he closed the distance and kissed her tenderly.

And for the first time in a long time, Katara was happy.

It was a happiness that had been bitterly fought for, a happiness that always seemed to slip away from her every time she tried to reach out to grasp it. But here, sitting under the shade of the sakura and wisteria trees, with petals of pink and purple fluttering down to alight upon the boy she loved, it was more than she could have hoped for and everything she could have ever wanted.

All was right.