Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Katara’s laptop slams shut louder than necessary. 

“I should’ve stayed premed.”

Zuko glances up, his hand hovering in midair with his coffee (black, because anything else is a disgusting sugar bomb, he’d said once). “We’re about to start our final year of law school.” 

“Yes, but…” Katara gives a sigh and drops her face into her hands. 

Zuko doesn’t speak, and she wonders why she hoped otherwise. Most of the time it’s nice, because that means he never interrupts her, but sometimes it’s annoying, like right now when she needs a prompt. There’s too many thoughts swirling through her mind right now, and Katara feels like trying to figure out what to say is like trying to catch a swimming fish with her hands, her thoughts slipping through her fingers before she can even attempt to grasp them. 

She’s worried about everything. Katara thinks of her father Hakoda, who’s been undocumented and working at that horrible restaurant since she was in college and anticipating good news she doesn’t have. Her brother Sokka, who’s working a cushy tech job across the country and had to help fund this—possibly useless—degree. Katara inwardly curses the company that she knows she was good enough for, because none of the other interns were working overtime the way she was, and her mentor even gave her an extra project when she finished hers ahead of time, but even then…

She voices the one thing she’s not concerned about. “What if I fail the bar exam?”

“Are you fishing for compliments?” 

She looks at him again, but Zuko’s attention is back to the textbook spread open in front of him, and suddenly the tiny letters dotted across the page give Katara a headache. Based on the layout and color scheme, she knows exactly which textbook he’s reading, and since Zuko’s approximately four-fifths of the way through, it’s likely the chapter on criminal law, and… Katara remembers how little sleep she got the night before and fails to suppress a whimper. 

Zuko’s eyes flick up again. 

“You’ll be fine.” 

“What if I do well and still can’t get a job?” 

“New grad applications will be closed by the time results come out,” he points out unhelpfully. 

“Thanks,” Katara is unable to keep the sarcasm from dripping out of her voice. 

Zuko shrugs and takes a sip of his coffee. Katara is about to open her mouth and say more when he speaks. 

“You got a great internship this summer.” 

“And I didn’t get a return offer.” 

It still hurts to say it even though she’d told Zuko the day she got her results. Katara vividly remembers sitting in that room as her mentor rattled off corporate buzzwords, though she’d zoned out shortly after being told “we appreciate you for all the work you put in this summer, however…” 

There was only one other intern who didn’t get a return offer, she’d heard. And he’d fallen asleep several times on the job. 

They told her she didn’t have to come into work for the rest of the week, so Katara had spent the next day crying in front of the TV with a pint of ice cream. It’s still embarrassing to think about, and she made Zuko promise not to tell anyone or bring it up again when he’d visited her after he got off work while her eyes were still puffy. 

Thankfully, nobody else had to see her in that state. Katara adamantly refused to video call Sokka and hasn’t even broken the news to Hakoda yet. Toph, her roommate, is visiting her parents in China, and even if she was here, she still wouldn’t be able to see Katara. 

Not that that makes her feel any better. Neither do Sokka’s endless reassurances that she’ll find something eventually, because he struggled to get interviews, too, but unlike Katara, he got his return offer. 

“It’s because we’re Russian internationals,” Sokka had said. “And with the political climate right now, things are even worse than they were back then. And who knows, maybe you’re too good for them.” 

She hated hearing that. The top law firms don’t care about someone’s immigrant status, and no intern is “too good” for them. There was another international student from Brazil who’d gotten a return offer, anyway, and to Katara, the idea of pinning her own failures on something external is the same as giving up and never improving herself. She has to have done something wrong, but she doesn’t know what because she thought she had fixed all her problems from her midpoint review, and her mentor had explicitly told her as such. Was Katara too high-strung? Bad at communication? So obsessed with work that she hardly socialized with the other interns? If only the company would be as transparent about feedback as they claimed to be during the duration of her internship now that they didn’t want her anymore. It all just makes her want to scream. 

Katara’s felt so terrible this entire week that today is the first day she’s left her apartment. 

“Yeah, that was stupid.” Zuko’s words pull her back to reality. 

“Okay, just because you’re my friend doesn’t mean you have to lie to me,” she snaps, something breaking in her. “Sometimes, it’s not because I was ‘too good’ or because of immigration or whatever like Sokka said, because they’re already one of the top firms, and I was just not good enough! Saying those things doesn’t make me feel better, it just sounds like a half-assed attempt at comforting me because you feel obligated to!” 

Zuko stares at her, wide-eyed (or at least his non-scarred eye is wide), and Katara becomes conscious of the other cafe patrons’ raised eyebrows at her outburst. 

She stands up, gathers her stuff, and leaves before any of the staff can escort her out for being disruptive. 

Katara haphazardly dumps her stuff on the ground before sinking into her desk chair. The one saving grace about all this, she thinks, is that her internship was in Boston, so she hasn’t had to go through the trouble of finding housing and moving in/out of the apartment she stays in during the school year. Though, more accurately, Katara rents a room in a house in Brookline that belongs to Toph. 

The afternoon sun streams in through the shutters in stripes, illuminating the dust motes drifting lazily in the air. It’s been a while since she cleaned her room, Katara realizes. She hasn’t picked up the duster in three weeks. The last two weekends during which she should have were forgone first due to nervousness about return offer results then depression regarding said results. At least the shared spaces are spotless, thanks to the cleaning lady Toph hires twice a month. But Katara has always insisted on organizing her room herself, though Toph offered. 

Light bounces off the spiral binding of a notebook on the bookshelf to her right. It’s where she kept all her old biology notes from college, from before she switched to prelaw halfway through her sophomore year. It’s useless now, and Katara meant to donate it years ago before deciding otherwise upon seeing the meticulously color-coded notes. Too sentimental, she’d thought. 

She stands up and pulls it out, briefly swiping the top with her finger to clear off any dust that has gathered. A puff floats into the air before dissipating. 

Though it’s been years, Katara has no trouble remembering the concepts as she flicks through the pages. She’s always had a knack for biology, and paired with her desire to help people and make the world a better place, she used to be certain she would be a doctor. 

But it just never felt right somehow. Sure, Katara would probably be good at it and easily get into med school, but she hadn’t found herself terribly excited by the prospect. To her, it just seemed like doing the same thing over and over again until she comfortably retired. Sure, Katara could help people, but something was missing. 

It was her freshman summer when she realized what that “something” was. 

As she did in high school and occasionally throughout the past two semesters during lighter weeks, Katara spends much of her free time volunteering at the local hospital. It’s shaping up to be a perfect summer: she’s missed Brooklyn, and Sokka’s staying home too, since he found a software engineering internship in Manhattan. Since her brother went off to college, their family’s only had fleeting moments when they’re all together, and though Katara and Sokka both attend MIT, it’s still different without their father. He had remained on campus doing research the previous summer, too, so this is really the first time they’re whole again for an extended period. 

Additionally, upon hearing that she’s pursuing premed, Katara’s volunteer manager promised to send a recommendation letter to the research team so she might be able to secure a research internship for her sophomore summer. It’ll look great for her med school application. 

Katara loves volunteering here. She greets all the patients and their families with a smile and offers soothing words to try and lighten the mood. It’s difficult sometimes, when they’ve waited for over thirty minutes past their appointment time, only to be ushered into a room to wait for another fifteen minutes until the doctor arrives. Katara keeps up her cheer and tells them that they’ll be seen soon, though it’s not a promise she can make. While she’s unsure what a doctor’s schedule really looks like, she can only hope that she won’t keep patients waiting for so long when she begins practicing. But if Katara’s able to make them feel marginally better, she’s happy to help. 

One day, Katara’s helping to staff the emergency room, something she’s never done before, when a woman bursts through the door crying. Several nurses are trying to calm her down, but to no avail. Other patients look up, startled, and Katara jumps in to ask if she can help. She’s quickly waved away and told that the situation is being handled, but Katara somehow doubts it. The woman doesn’t stop sobbing, and even once she’s brought away, Katara hears her wailing about how her husband’s insurance can’t cover the surgery or the ambulance their neighbor called, and they don’t have the savings, and she doesn’t know if she can take out another loan… 

Katara stands and stares in the direction the woman went for a long time, knowing there’s nothing she can do to help, even if she were a doctor. Though she knows she’ll probably not return to Russia again in the near future, ambulance service fees would not be a problem there. Then Katara thinks of the endless discourse she’s seen online about the failures of insurance…

Then she’s tapped on the shoulder and told to go restock the storage closet. 

“Don’t you worry about it,” Nicole, one of the receptionists, says upon seeing Katara’s distraught expression. “This happens all the time. Just a fact of life. No use fightin’.” 

That night, Katara scrolls Reddit for hours to read insurance horror stories. She thinks of all the patients she’s talked to and wonders how many of them had battled their health insurance and lost. 

By the end of the summer, she’s unsure if she wants to stay premed. It feels like she’d be willingly submitting to this horrible system and doing nothing as a bystander. Katara understands the feeling of being one surprise bill away from bankruptcy, as Hakoda had used all their life savings to move here and get a master’s degree so she and Sokka have a better shot at top American colleges. How many patients would be financially suffering without her knowing? How much would she unknowingly contribute to their struggles? 

She meets up with her advisor once the semester starts. 

“I’m not sure anymore if I want to be a doctor. I don’t know, this might sound stupid but I don’t want to be complicit in health insurance scams. I mean, I know they’re not actual scams, but the entire industry is so corrupt, and they’re supposed to help people, but people are still struggling, and it’s just so broken and I feel helpless…” 

“If you want to fight the health insurance system, you could try injury law.” 

Law. That’s not a career path Katara has ever considered. She’s always thought of herself as a STEM person, though more on the life sciences side compared to Sokka, who leans heavily into math and engineering. She’s even participated in stereotypical extracurriculars like biology and chemistry olympiads and the science bowl and science olympiad teams in high school. 

At first, she brushes off the suggestion, unable to picture herself working in such a field. It always felt evil to her, exploiting loopholes in the justice system so a select few morally dubious people could make a buck. Katara thinks of all the horrible criminals who’d been allowed to run free because of their lawyers, all the rich billionaires who simply paid enough to avoid persecution for disgusting behavior. She’s always wondered what kind of person would be willing to throw away their conscience to support these people. 

But her advisor had mentioned fighting the health insurance system. 

Katara tries not to think about it, insisting to herself that she would never, ever consider becoming a lawyer. But she can’t stop herself from ruminating on the possibility and eventually decides to research it a bit more to take a break from studying for her Organic Chemistry II midterm. The more articles she reads and the more videos she watches, the more Katara can picture herself in this role. Fighting injustice. Saving people’s lives, just in a different way than before. Helping combat this broken system one case at a time. After all, if Katara’s successful enough, she could change the law. 

At the end of the semester, Katara switches to a political science major. 

Though she sometimes thinks about the what-ifs when she sees her old premed friends posting about their trials and rotations, Katara hasn’t really regretted her decision to switch until recently. She used to feel a sense of liberation when she thought about how much less schooling she’ll have to do, but as the government keeps coming out with new announcements about changes to the H-1B work visa policies, Katara starts worrying that she’s made the wrong choice. And as more migrant workers enter the country, the chances that she’ll be selected in the visa lottery grow slimmer by the year. 

If she were a doctor, there are ways she could have been exempt from it. 

But no such exemptions apply to lawyers. 

She watched her father fail to get selected in the lottery until his student visa expired despite the higher chances he had with a master’s degree. Hakoda had lost his job, and though he considered applying for a PhD, he worried that, due to rising political tensions and the fact that he’d expressed immigration intent by working after graduation, his new visa application would be rejected. And since he would have to leave the country to apply, there was a risk he wouldn’t be able to return. So Hakoda stayed instead and said he’d wait for Sokka to get naturalized and help him apply for permanent residency “with Katara’s lawyer connections.” 

There’s always the marriage visa, Sokka had said, but Hakoda had too much pride to marry for immigration purposes. If he found someone, sure, but he wouldn’t do it for the sake of a green card, not when he had amazing children who could help him instead. 

Now Katara regrets. She can’t go back to Russia, not when she’s publicly gone online to voice her support for certain sensitive issues, not when she’s afraid she’ll struggle to find work if she ever wants to leave. She can move to a different country, but with the war, Katara’s bound to face hostility wherever she goes. Unless it’s China, Toph had said when Katara ranted once about EU travel restrictions after seeing advertisements for MIT’s European Career Fair. In the same breath Toph had also said she would not recommend China unless Katara wants to grind herself to the bone, though maybe it might be better since she’s a foreigner. But most importantly, Katara does not speak Mandarin. 

Her only hope is that she stays here, finds a job, and gets a work visa the legal way. Katara absolutely will not stay as an undocumented immigrant, because as much as she doesn’t want to sound entitled, how would it look if someone who graduated from MIT and Harvard Law School is staying in the US illegally? If she still fails despite having access to some of the best education and resources in the entire world? Katara thinks she will die of embarrassment, especially when Sokka has already submitted a green card application. 

Sokka is right in that there’s always the marriage visa option for her as well, but Katara has not had a boyfriend except that brief and regrettable stint with Jet her freshman year. She used to joke about it with her other international friends in undergrad, but when no romance came her way, Katara resolved to do everything herself. She doesn’t want to feel like she owes anyone anything, anyway. 

Katara remembers the elation she felt when she got her internship offer letter after a slew of rejections. Her future was secure. The return offer rates were high, and she was confident in her ability to impress her managers, since Katara had been told all her life that she was smart, determined, hardworking, and would achieve great things one day. Even if she couldn’t get the visa, she was sure the company had enough resources to move her to one of their offices abroad if necessary. 

Then it all came crashing down a week ago. Will she ever get another offer, when the job market is only getting worse? When her interviewers are surely going to ask if she’s planning to return to her former company? 

Katara slams the notebook shut. 

It’s too late to regret now. 

Katara hasn’t realized she’d fallen asleep on her desk until she’s woken up by a call from Zuko. 

“Huhgh,” she groans into the receiver. 

“Have you had dinner yet?” 

Katara checks the time. It’s 9pm, and she hasn’t had anything to eat since 10am. She considers whether to lie. 

“So no,” Zuko beats her to an answer. 

There’s no point in pretending anymore. “I took a nap.” 

“Thought so. Open the door, I brought you something.” 

Katara sits up, mostly awake now and still not really wanting to interact with anyone but knowing it would be rude to leave Zuko standing outside. She groggily answers it and grunts in greeting. Zuko watches her with a vaguely amused expression, which Katara is only able to decipher from the slight quirk of his single eyebrow. 

“Did I wake you?” 

“What gave that away?” 

“Your hair. Can I come in now?” 

Katara steps aside to admit him and glances at her reflection in the foyer mirror as Zuko kicks off his shoes and puts on the spare slippers she keeps for guests. She nearly jumps at how wild her hair looks, the image eliminating any remnants of drowsiness in her. Zuko chuckles at her reaction and makes a beeline for the kitchen, on which he sets the takeout he brought onto the island, next to a walrus ivory caaqunguaq she’d brought from home as a reminder of her Siberian Yupik heritage. 

“About earlier,” he begins. 

Katara busies herself with opening the takeout bags. 

“Look, I know it’s hard right now, but you’re going to get a job. Though I can’t guarantee it’s going to be at BigLaw, since that’s all up to chance, but you’ll be fine, Katara. You’re one of the most diligent—” 

“That’s what everyone says. And I still didn’t get a return offer.” 

“Okay, and? There’s so many internal politics going on that you don’t know what went into their decision. Maybe they had a headcount limit and some of the other interns were nepo babies. Maybe they wanted to put you in a specific team that didn’t have space. It’s not always your fault. I would know,” he adds darkly. 

“It doesn’t matter, though. It’ll just look like I wasn’t good enough for a return offer and I’ll never get a job. So many of these postings also just conveniently don’t mention that they don’t sponsor, and then I apply on a Friday night and get an email on Saturday that says ‘After careful consideration, we regret to inform you!’” Katara knows she sounds hysterical, but she frankly doesn’t care. Luckily they don’t share thin walls with neighbors who might submit noise complaints. 

“There always will be companies willing to overlook that. If they interview you, that means they’ve already figured as much and accepted it.” 

“Since when did you get so wise?” Katara grumbles as she grabs for the salmon, remembering how uncertain and quiet he’d been in his first year of law school. 

“You’ll get a job.” 

“I’m Russian.” 

“Law doesn’t require security clearance, if that’s what you mean.” 

“Christ, Zuko. I need sponsorship, that’s the issue.” 

“I know, but a lot of internationals I knew from undergrad have gotten jobs.” 

“You don’t understand,” she mutters, stabbing her chopsticks into the salmon harder than she means to.

Zuko was born in California, to rich Japanese immigrants who could afford the one million dollar investment green card route, the EB-5. He hasn’t had to worry about being auto-rejected from jobs for his immigration status. He didn’t have to narrow down his college search to only schools who would provide international students with financial aid, not that he would need it. He can do whatever he wants with no consequences. He can stay here, or go back to Japan, or go anywhere in the world. He has options Katara doesn’t. 

Katara feels a surge of anger, followed almost immediately by guilt. Zuko’s life probably hasn’t been all that great, either, she assumes based on how he always avoids the topic, but it’s hard not to be somewhat resentful sometimes. There are some things he’ll never understand about her, just as she supposes there are things she’ll never understand about him. 

“I can’t go back to Russia,” Katara finds herself saying. “My dad is undocumented, so he’s basically stuck here until Sokka and I help him sort things out, and who knows how many years that’ll take. Maybe I can go to some other country, but I’ll now be faced with more scrutiny than ever because of the war. And the whole reason I wanted to be an injury lawyer to begin with is to help fight against the US healthcare system. I have to get a work visa to stay, and I’m just… so scared I’ll never get a job, or even if I did, never get selected for the lottery. My dad didn’t.” 

When Zuko doesn’t say anything for a long time, Katara speaks again. “And now I wish I just stayed premed, because some doctors are exempt from the lottery depending on what kind of institution they work at. And… I don’t know if I made the wrong decision. And I was good at it, too, and it just feels like I had so much potential that just went… wasted.” 

She’s ranted a bit to Zuko before, but it hits different this time, and Katara suspects it’s due to the desperation in her voice. Never has she felt so hopeless; the optimism she once possessed as a bright-eyed first-year law student seems to have all but drained. 

“There are other ways of getting permanent residency.” 

“I know, but none of those cases apply to me. If I tried to go for a PhD after, I don’t know if my visa would get approved. And it’s not like I have a spare million dollars lying around for EB-5. Unless you’re suggesting I enter the diversity green card lottery? Or better yet, Mega Millions?” 

“Aren’t there certain professions that are exempt from the visa lottery? Like if you worked at a university.” 

“I know but… that’s a whole other path that involves more schooling, and at that point I would rather try to go to med school again. I think I’ll just have to try my luck and hope for the best…” 

“You could get married.” 

“Ha ha very funny, Sokka’s told me that already. But he’s the one with a work visa and an American girlfriend, while I have neither. Besides, I don’t even know how it works.” 

“You’ve never taken a class on immigration law?” 

Katara falters. “Well… no—” 

“You’re Russian, and you’ve never taken a class on immigration law.” 

“I answered that already! Why would I do that, if I already know I’m going to go through the employment path? I have to focus on injury law.” 

Zuko sighs and runs his hand through his hair. Katara feels a spur of indignation. What right does he have to judge her right now? He’s the one with a return offer and citizenship. And probably a trust fund in his name, too. 

“If you’re so keen on staying in America, why are you betting it all on chance?” 

“So you’re saying I should’ve spent all my free time on Tinder instead of classes?” 

“I would’ve kept my options open.” 

Katara is getting sick of his “I know better” attitude, and is about to demand he get out of her apartment before he speaks again. 

“You could marry me.” 

She freezes, her arm in midair on its way to point to the door. 

“What?” 

He folds his arms across his chest and shrugs. “We’d have to open a joint bank account and everything, but it’s doable.” 

Katara steps back, her head spinning. “We haven’t even known each other for that long.”  

“People fall in love in less than two years.” 

“But…” 

“If you don’t trust me you can just say it, it’s fair.” 

Surprisingly, she thinks she does trust him. But there’s a million other things on the tip of Katara’s tongue, a million ways she thinks this could go wrong. 

“Why do you trust me? If I have access to all your savings, and…” 

“I’ll still have separate accounts, obviously.” 

“Why would you do this?” 

The corner of Zuko’s mouth twitches. Katara fails to see what’s so funny about the situation. 

“Well, it’s a good way to put theory into practice, right?” 

It takes a moment for his words to sink in. 

“You can’t be serious.” 

“You’re also my only friend at this school. Besides, it’s not like I have marriage prospects lined up, and honestly, I don’t plan to date anyone while figuring out my career anyway. So I have a few years.” 

Katara flushes. Zuko is her only friend at Harvard, too, and they’re not even that close: they just meet up every now and then, though more often this summer. It’s not that she hasn’t tried: the past two years Katara attended nearly every networking event she could fit into her schedule, but every interaction felt so transactional, and she always left feeling drained and miserable. She’s also attempted to talk to classmates and sometimes manages to build up friendly rapport, but they usually disappear once the semester is over. Even when she tries to reach out and meet for coffee, most don’t seem to want to talk about anything but career prospects, while others just don’t click with her. Zuko, whom she met in her property law class her first semester, was the only person willing to talk about and do random things that had nothing to do with law. Maybe it was because they both hated property law so much they actively avoided discussing it. 

“What if we get caught?” 

Zuko leans forward. “We’re gonna be lawyers,” he says seriously. “If we can’t get you a green card through a fake marriage, I think we’d have more to worry about than getting caught.” 

Katara purses her lips, unable to believe she’s even considering something so ridiculous. “I don’t like breaking the law. We’re supposed to work within it to help people, not exploit loopholes to help ourselves.” 

“The immigration system has been broken for decades, even longer, probably. Laws aren’t always made with people’s best interests in mind. Besides, we’re not breaking the law. Many bona fide marriages aren’t necessarily love marriages, anyway, and we’re helping you so that you can help more people.”

“I don’t know…” Katara has to shy away from his stare. Everything about Zuko is so intense, especially his gold eyes. “I still don’t understand why you would help me like this.” 

“It’s really not that big of a deal.” 

“It is to me.” 

“I’ll write up a contract, and we can discuss the terms when my internship ends. You’re lucky I studied immigration law. Now eat dinner.” 

With that, Zuko leaves, and Katara remains standing by the kitchen counter for a long time after the door closes behind him, the now-cold takeout barely touched beside her. 

On Saturday, they meet at the Tatte in Harvard Square again. Zuko’s already sipping his black coffee as he reads something on his laptop when Katara walks in with a chime of the bell, though she arrived ten minutes before the scheduled time. Even on a non-workday, he’s dressed in business casual. Meanwhile Katara left the apartment in a tank top and leggings. 

“What’s the point of telling me a time when you’re always half an hour early?” she mutters defeatedly. 

“I had nothing better to do,” Zuko replies with a shrug as he moves his backpack from the seat next to him onto the ground. 

Katara slips in beside him. 

“You wrote up the contract already?” 

“I was bored. The last week was just spent networking with full timers so they can glaze you about how great working here is.” 

A waitress arrives with a matcha latte and sets it in front of Katara. Zuko scrunches up his nose. 

“Aww, thanks,” she laughs. “Sorry if this is dumping on your culture. I bet your Uncle Iroh would have choice words about how sacreligious matcha lattes are.” 

“Matcha tastes like grass,” he mutters before returning to his computer. “And Uncle prefers Chinese teas, anyway. He says matcha is an inferior version of green tea, but personally, I can’t tell the difference.” 

Zuko opens a document outlining their “Courting Contract.” Katara inwardly groans when she sees the number of pages and the text density, but will read it carefully nonetheless. After all, she’s made it a habit of at least skimming all terms and conditions since entering law school, and if she doesn’t treat this contract seriously, it would be an insult to both herself and Zuko. 

Katara initially planned to withhold all comments until she’s finished the whole thing, but she’s unable to resist. “To demonstrate filial piety? That’s what you claim to get out of this?” 

“My uncle will start contacting matchmakers and whining about how he’s getting old and wants to be a great uncle soon, and I would rather he not. I mean, it works fine enough as a consideration since I was financially dependent on him for a few years. Look, I had to write something for it to be legally binding.” 

“I know that. But this contract isn’t legally binding, anyway, because” —she lowers her voice— “what we’re doing is not legal.” 

“Yes, it is. I don’t mention immigration benefits at all, just that you would have financial support should you fail to get a job.” 

Katara would find it hilarious was she not one of the involved parties. She hates the idea of unemployment, but she supposes that Zuko is correct in that she’d get economic benefits from this fraudulent marriage if that were to happen. That would mean she’d owe him in that sense as well… 

“Even if the agreement was not legal, I would treat it as such. On my honor.” 

Katara gives an exasperated laugh and keeps reading, only to stop quickly again. 

“Ten million dollars upon breach of contract?” She’s barely able to keep her voice a whisper. 

“Pre-tax, of course.” 

“Zuko, I don’t have ten million dollars.” 

“Don’t breach the contract, then. You haven’t even read the terms yet, it’s not that bad.” 

Katara wants to call it off already, but despite herself, she’s curious what the rest of it entails. 

“I think you’ll find the terms favorable. Besides, if I breach it, that means even though the marriage is off, you could sue me and have enough leftover to pay the lawyer and apply for EB-5.” 

She looks up, half-expecting Zuko to be wearing a nefarious grin and laugh that this is all a joke. But he’s completely serious as always. 

“You have ten million dollars?” 

“No. I don’t plan to breach the contract, if that’s what you mean.” His eyes narrow. 

“Why are you making this contract so terrible?” 

“All contracts are annullable if we both consent to it. I just want to make sure you feel safe.” 

Katara frowns. 

“You should read the rest of it.” 

She sighs and returns her attention to the screen. 

Ah. 

There’s a whole section prohibiting any form of contact or behavior with sexual implications without written consent twenty-four hours in advance from both parties in each individual instance that can be dissolved at any point thereafter. Zuko, thankfully, is scrolling the news on his phone instead of watching Katara squirm. 

“Written consent for casual touches too?” 

“To minimize the risk of domestic violence.” 

Well, that escalated quickly. 

“How does that even work?” 

“We can set it up to be valid for certain time windows. So for example, if we went on a date.” 

Katara shakes her head before continuing. 

He’s outlined logistics for sleeping in separate bedrooms except when guests, unaware of their arrangements, are over, in which case he’ll sleep on a pull-out couch they’ll install in Katara’s room, which will be the master bedroom— 

“Why do I have the master bedroom here?” 

Zuko blinks up at her, then thinks for a moment. “Okay, fair enough, you don’t want me in your room. We can install the couch in my room if you want privacy, I don’t care.” 

“No, you should have the master bedroom.” 

“I don’t have that much stuff.” 

“And I don’t care about your stupid chivalry. I’m getting way more out of this agreement than you are, the least you can do is take the master bedroom.” 

“Uncle is persistent.” 

They have a stare-off for a moment, and Katara is about to flinch away from the intensity of his gaze when he relents and changes it on the spot. Satisfied, she returns to reading. 

The contract states that on nights when they do sleep in the same bedroom, a camera system that can only be turned off during the day will send feeds to both parties. There will also be cameras in any shared spaces at all times that also send feeds. It’s one of the most convoluted setups Katara has ever read. 

Both parties are allowed to freely engage in sexual and/or romantic relationships with other people as long as the other party doesn’t bear witness. 

“I can’t believe you added a whole paragraph on adultery,” Katara says. 

“I wouldn’t consider that adultery. Besides, cheating exists in many marriages, but in this case, we’ll pretend we don’t know, and there will be no emotional burdens. Either way, that clause is mostly out of a need for precaution, hopefully it’s okay that I added it.” 

She supposes he has a point. 

Next, Zuko has outlined finances. Both parties’ names will be on the rental and car lease, if applicable. They will have to add each other as an authorized user on at least one personal credit card, but if either party uses the other’s card, any expenses must be reported within twenty-four hours. Retirement accounts will remain separate, but they will open two joint bank accounts, one checking and one savings and budget together every month. 

“We’re not splitting 60-40.” 

“I eat more.” 

“Most of the money will be going to rent and utilities.” 

“I have the master bedroom.” 

“Look, if you don’t let me pay equally, I’m going to feel like I owe you too much, especially since you’re supposed to cover 100% if I don’t have a job. This is supposed to be a no strings attached relationship.” 

Zuko knows when to pick his battles and changes the terms. 

Any cards opened from their joint accounts will be shared… any other financial agreements regarding personal assets will be covered in a prenuptial agreement should this contract go through. 

Then it’s miscellaneous things, like that both parties must agree in writing to disclose their arrangement to uninvolved parties. No children, biological or otherwise. An “official” courting period to make things look convincing. No physical violence. And of course, both parties must, to the best of their ability, keep up the image that theirs is a love marriage and maintain an amicable relationship. 

“Do you ever get tired of living by such strict rules? ‘At least one date a month’ is crazy.” 

“I thought it would work as supporting evidence for our case, and if we have any problems, it can help sooth things out, maybe,” Zuko shifts a little awkwardly in his seat. “But we can take that out.” 

“No, it’s fine to leave it in,” Katara can’t help the smile on her face. “Still, I do think it’s hilarious you had written a whole paragraph on not having sex without prior written consent. Why didn’t you just forbid it altogether?” 

His discomfort seemingly evaporates. “I tried to write this as objectively as possible, as if I was drafting a contract for a client. I’m not going to dismiss the possibility of two married people wanting to sleep together at some point, regardless of how unlikely I think it is. But the twenty-four hour notice period should be enough to deter any impulsive decisions, so it’s essentially the same as forbidding it with marginally more flexibility.” 

“Fair enough.” 

She finally reaches the end, where Zuko outlines the termination, which is when both parties have either received the stated benefits (and Katara knows the implication is really “Katara has a permanent green card”), or when they both have consented, again, in writing, to annul the contract. 

Katara breaths a sigh of relief when she sees the signature line. 

“Is there anything I missed?” 

“Can you just email me the document so I can mull it over?” 

Zuko nods and pulls his laptop back. “Okay, sent. I hope it wasn’t too overwhelming.” 

“Wait no. Thanks for writing it, I’ll get back to you.” 

He nods again and returns to work. 

Katara considers applying for jobs, then tells him she’ll head to Newbury Street to do some window shopping instead. She wonders what he could possibly be working on. 

School is starting in less than a week. Katara has not looked at the contract since Saturday, and it’s Friday. She’s done her best to push it out of her mind, telling herself it was a heat of the moment idea, and Zuko probably regrets offering to begin with. After she’s decided she’ll never look at it again, Katara knows she should be applying to jobs, but she can’t bring herself too do anything productive. The only thing she’s managed to do is tell her father that she didn’t get a return offer, and somehow his comforting words only threatened to bring back the tears again. Katara had ended the call shortly after. 

Toph returns when she’s rotting on the couch watching YouTube. 

“Missed me, Sugar Queen?” 

“Stop calling me that,” Katara says half-heartedly. 

“Anyway,” Toph says, kicking off her shoes against the wall. “How much money did they offer you? You should negotiate, by the way, and I’ll help, I’m an excellent negotiator.” 

Katara smiles weakly before remembering that her roommate is blind. 

“I didn’t get the offer.” 

Toph doesn’t speak for a moment. “Well, you don’t want to be around prisses who carry leather briefcases and drink black coffee from Starbucks every day, anyway. They probably spend more time ironing their suits than doing actual work then brag about how tired they are. You deserve better.” 

Somehow, that helps. 

“Did your Japanese boyfriend get an offer?” 

It takes Katara a minute to figure out who Toph’s referring to. “Do you mean Zuko?” 

“Unless you have another Japanese boyfriend.” 

“Christ, Toph, he’s—” she pauses. If she’s going to sign the contract… No, Katara has not decided yet. “I’m not going to dignify that with a response.” 

Toph cackles. “You were way too excited about being in Boston with him this summer. ‘Oh Toph, my precious friend Zuko will also be in Boston, can I invite him for some sleepovers?’ Personally, I would’ve wanted out, with that horrible heatwave. Bet things were hot in here too.” 

“How was China?” Katara decides to change the topic. 

“Lots of buildings, apparently. Don’t know, don’t care. What’s for dinner?” 

“Uh,” she glances down at her watch. It’s nearly half past five already. 

“Ooh, I want twice-cooked pork,” Toph immediately catches that Katara hasn’t started yet. “Take your time, I’m not that hungry.” 

Katara sets her laptop down and drags herself into the kitchen, suppressing a sigh. She doesn’t really have any motivation to cook tonight, but with how cheap her rent is and the fact that Toph pays for all the cleaning, the least Katara can do is take care of the food. 

Once she’s prepared all the other ingredients and boiling the pork belly, Katara picks up her phone, which had buzzed earlier while she was chopping up some garlic. 

It’s a text from Zuko. With proper capitalization and punctuation. 

Hey Katara, I hope you’re doing well. If you have time today or this weekend, I’d really like to speak with you in person. 

Her stomach drops. This sounds serious. He’s probably upset that she still hasn’t looked at the contract he’d so meticulously crafted after a week. 

Okay, I should be free in an hour and a half, if that works for you. Outside Tatte?

Okay.

Katara’s hands go on autopilot as she speedruns the rest of the dish. Toph makes delighted noises at the smell, and normally Katara would smile, but there’s a pit of worry in her stomach. 

“I have to go,” she says when she sets the plate on the table with a bowl of rice for Toph. 

“Why?” 

“Something important.” 

Toph smirks knowingly. “Ah, so a dinner date with—”

“No. I fully intend to come back for dinner, so don’t eat all of it.” Katara snaps as she grabs her wallet off the counter and shoves her feet into her sneakers. 

“If you say so, Sweetness.” 

The door slams shut. 

Only after stepping onto the sidewalk does Katara realize she did not ask how Toph knew Zuko was Japanese. 

Zuko stands awkwardly by the entrance of the cafe, shoulders hunched as if he’s trying to appear as small as possible. He’s still wearing business casual and looks up when Katara approaches. 

At this point she’s dropped the habit of apologizing for lateness, because as usual, she’s earlier than the scheduled time. Katara schools her expression and takes a breath.

“Hey. You wanted to talk?” 

“Yeah, I wanted to clarify that I wasn’t trying to take advantage of you.” 

She blinks. That’s not what Katara expected at all. 

“What do you mean?” 

“I promise I have no romantic interest in you, but given you were in an emotional state when I proposed marriage, it might have appeared that way.” 

“Oh, god, Zuko, no,” she nearly laughs. “That’s not what I was thinking at all. I never thought that.” 

He visibly relaxes, but his expression quickly turns into one of confusion again. “I asked a couple days ago if you were interested in seeing the Van Gogh exhibit before it closes, but you never replied. So I thought…” Zuko’s face turns as pink as his scar. 

“Oh, shoot, I meant to reply once I figured out when Toph was coming back, but I guess I… forgot. I’m free tomorrow, though.” Katara had wanted to go since it opened at the Museum of Fine Arts in March, but with her classes and internship, plans were relegated to the back of her mind.

“10?” 

“Sounds good. And I uh… I’m sorry I still haven’t looked at the contract, I just didn’t want to think about it.” 

“That’s okay. I hope it doesn’t feel like I’m pressuring you to make a decision, though.” 

“Oh, not at all, I just… It still feels like a lot to ask.” 

“Well, maybe think of it as repayment for being the only friend I’ve ever made here.” 

“Didn’t you also go here for undergrad?” 

“Yeah.” 

Something about the way he speaks implies the conversation ends there. Katara resists a sigh. She’s known him for two years now and Zuko is still an enigma. He never talks about his past aside from the fact that he took some gap years between undergrad and law school. To do what, he remained vague. 

Toph once laughed while suggesting that he might have been a crime boss in Japan. “You said he has a scar, right? Maybe I can try fighting him, and who knows, he might have hidden skills.” Katara had refused, of course, because despite Toph’s blindness and age, she is one of the best martial artists in the area. Hidden skills or not, Zuko does not need to be her punching bag. 

“Well, I’ll see you tomorrow then?” Katara says brightly. 

Zuko hesitates before nodding. She raises her eyebrows. He shifts on his feet and looks at the ground. 

“I’m really not trying to marry you because I have feelings for you. Because I don’t. And I’ve heard a lot of things about how upset women get when their guy friends confess to them. I specifically tried to write the clauses so that even if I did have feelings, I couldn’t act upon them. If you want, I can change the contract to forbid anything happening altogether.” 

“I know, it’s okay. That part is fine the way it is. And really, I appreciate you offering more than you know.”

Sometimes, Katara forgets how awkward Zuko was when they first met. She quickly pulls him in for a reassuring hug, and even though he’s stiff as a board, she feels him relax just slightly. 

When she returns home, Katara microwaves the leftovers and rereads the contract, which is attached to an email she’s marked as unread this entire time. By the sounds of it, Toph is practicing katas in their home gym, which was originally another bedroom before it was transformed. She’s impressed by how much energy the girl has after landing only hours ago. 

Once she’s finished, Katara stares at the signature line. Everything seems reasonable so far? Katara trusts that Zuko won’t try to twist anything to his advantage, and honestly everything is written very clearly and explicitly; she can’t find any loopholes or secret agenda. If anything, Katara has half a mind to ask him to remove the camera part, but logically she knows it’s for the best. Besides, it’s not like Katara doesn’t know how to live with guys. Aside from her family, she’s crashed at her friend Aang’s place multiple times throughout college. Before he confessed to her, of course. 

And in the worst case, if Zuko does do something terrible, she’ll get ten million dollars out of it. If he threatens her physically or sexually, that would be in direct violation of the contract. If he threatens her emotionally or psychologically, Katara is certain she can handle herself. She’s going to become a lawyer and has studied manipulation and coercion tactics, for goodness’ sake. 

Katara can’t believe she’s actually considering this. 

Then she texts Zuko and asks if she’s allowed to talk to her father and Sokka about this, since she doesn’t think it’s a decision she can make alone. He’s unsure at first, but she assures him that they have no reason to want to turn them in, so he eventually agrees. 

She goes to her room, and within minutes after Katara tells them she needs urgent advice, they’re all connected through video call. 

“Something the matter?” Sokka asks through a mouthful. 

“Swallow your food before you talk!” Katara admonishes. 

“Katara, hey! Hi Hakoda,” Suki, Sokka’s girlfriend, pops into frame. 

Normally, Katara would love to talk to her, but she shoots Sokka a look. He understands, and after saying something quick to Suki, he moves into a different room, the motion making his face shake violently on her screen. 

“What did you want to talk about, Katara?” Hakoda asks, and Katara feels a pang in her stomach at how tired he looks. She had meant to visit if she got a return offer, but when the news broke, she didn’t feel like leaving Boston anymore, especially since she hadn’t bought a ticket yet, anyway. 

Katara takes a breath. They wait. 

How does she say this? 

“You know how I didn’t get a return offer? Well, I… had an idea.” 

“Pull a Karen on HR?” 

“No, Sokka. I…” 

Her throat feels constipated, but she should really just rip off the bandaid already… her family won’t judge her. 

“I’m considering getting married,” Katara blurts out. 

“I think my internet cut out, say that again.” 

“I’m considering getting married!” 

They’re both quiet. 

“I wasn’t aware that you had a boyfriend,” Hakoda says as Sokka makes vomit noises.  

Katara purses her lips, regretting everything. 

“If Katara had a boyfriend she wouldn’t be alone and calling us right now.” 

“Wow, thanks Sokka.” 

“Just doing my job.” 

“Then why—” 

“You know why, Dad. I have to have a backup plan in case I can’t get a work visa.” 

“You’re actually listening to me? Wait wait wait, I don’t necessarily support this plan.” Sokka’s expression is one of slight panic. 

“You think I want to do this? With everything going on these days, it’s much harder to find work and get a visa than before. And I can’t just leave the country, because the whole point of my degree was to help fight against the broken healthcare system here. If I don’t get a visa, Sokka, I’m screwed. Besides, I’m not going to just marry any scumbag, I’m not that desperate.” 

“Okay, wait, want me to make you a—” Sokka makes more vomit sounds “—Hinge profile? Oh wait, what if you asked a friend? Are Toph or Zuko single?” he finishes with a laugh. “Wait, is Toph even a citizen?” 

She pauses. “Actually… I was considering Zuko.” 

Sokka is aghast. “I was joking.” 

“The Japanese boy? I thought you said he had a girlfriend,” Hakoda says. 

“No, Dad, they broke up a year ago.” 

“And did you start a relationship immediately after? That’s not a good sign.” 

“Dad, no, we’re just friends.” 

“I was joking.” Sokka says again. “You’re not even his type!” 

“You’ve met him twice!” Katara retorts. “What do you know about his type?” 

“Okay, but how do you plan to ask him? ‘Hi Zuko, can I marry you for a green card?’” 

“Actually… he offered.” 

“What?” Hakoda’s eyes narrow. 

“Oh god, is he Aang 2.0?” 

“No, it’s not like that, he’s just doing it to help me—” 

“That’s sus.” 

“I agree with your brother. Nobody does favors out of the blue, especially one this big.” 

“Okay, but—” 

“He’s going to use this as leverage to emotionally blackmail you. I knew he was trouble! Always acting like he’s taller than me—” 

“Sokka, he is taller than you.” 

“How could you say that!” 

“You got along perfectly well last time!” 

“I only met him for ten minutes! Then who knows, he might have gone back to go marry other girls under the guise that he’ll give them green cards! You need to stay away from him.” 

“That’s just stupid, he would never—”

“You don’t know what he’s capable of, Katara. He doesn’t seem like he has your best interests at heart.” 

“You’ve never even met him!” 

“I don’t need to. Nobody would offer such a thing without asking for something in return.” 

“Yeah, and no offense, sis, but you have nothing to offer.” 

“I don’t think you should be friends with him anymore.” 

“Oh my god Katara, he knows where you live!” 

“What?”

“You have to move out. He’s probably already plotting something evil. I knew there was a story behind that scar—” 

“What scar?” 

“He has this horrible, ugly—” 

“Stop!” Katara nearly screams to shut them up. “You haven’t even listened to me. I came to ask for advice, but all I’m getting is baseless accusations and insults.” —she shoots Sokka a pointed glare— “Both of you barely know him!” 

“Exactly,” her brother says. “Have you ever thought about how nobody ever does massive favors out of pure goodwill? It’s a dog eat dog world, you should know that by now. Please don’t tell me you’re so naive that you latch onto the first potential solution to your problem. He’s just taking advantage of the fact that you didn’t get a return offer.” 

“I suggest you take more time to think about this, so you can make sure your emotions aren’t interfering with your decisions.” 

“I’m not that emotional!” 

“Riiiiight.” 

Katara takes a deep breath. “Can both of you please, just listen to me talk. Without any interruptions. I will literally mute both of you until I finish talking.” 

“Fine.” Sokka leans back and crosses his arms. Hakoda just nods. 

“He brought this up to me a little less than two weeks ago. At first I thought he was crazy too, but Zuko said he’s willing to help because I’m his only friend at Harvard” —her brother makes a face, which she ignores— “and it’s a way of putting theory into practice, since we’re both going to be lawyers. 

“I was also skeptical at first, because we could get caught, but he said he’d draft up a contract. This isn’t a prenup, by the way, if we were to go through with the contract and decide to get married, then we’d do one. But anyway, it’s almost too detailed, and goes over stuff like living arrangements, some finances, though the rest will be covered in the prenup, and that we need written consent if we were to ever kiss or do anything—” 

Sokka makes a gagging sound. 

“Jesus Christ, Sokka, why are you so immature? You and Suki have done way worse, I’m certain.” 

“That’s because we’re in a real relationship.” 

“Look, it’s not going to happen anyway, okay? Zuko wrote that we’ll have to agree twenty-four hours in advance, so even if we were both drunk and impulsive, we’d sober up eventually and call it off.” 

“He should say it’s not allowed, period. To me, this just sounds like he wants to leave himself chances to get into your pants.” 

“He does not! There’s literally a whole paragraph about how we can both see other people!” 

“He obviously wants to make you feel safe and comfortable. But it’s clearly a trap.” 

“No, he’s making it really easy to sue him if he breaches the contract!” 

“Right, and how much are you allowed to sue him for?” Sokka scoffs. 

“No amount of money is worth compromising your safety and dignity,” Hakoda agrees. “I don’t like this one bit. He’s too calculated.” 

“Ten million dollars.” 

Silence. 

“What?” Sokka says. 

“The penalty for breaching the contract is ten million dollars.” 

Her brother quickly recovers. “These people are disgusting, I bet that’s pennies to him.” 

“Zuko does not have ten million dollars.” 

“That’s what he wants you to think.” 

Katara groans and drops her head into her hands. She’d come to seek advice, not an argument. 

“Ask for a billion. And forget the consent part, he is not allowed to kiss you or do anything more, period.” 

“Okay, but if we’re going to submit evidence to the government, it would be more convincing to have at least a few kissing pictures.” It feels weird to think about, kissing Zuko. She buries the thought in the recesses of her mind for now. 

Sokka makes a strangled sound. “Okay, fine, but nothing beyond kissing. And no tongue.” He shudders.

“Fine.” Katara’s too tired to complain that Sokka has no right to dictate her love(?) life. 

“How would you be able to prove that he breached the contract?” her father asks. 

“Cameras 24/7 that send feeds individually to both of us. We’ll always have access to whatever has happened in the last twenty-four hours.” 

“Send a copy to me.”

Katara nearly cries of exasperation. “I am not letting you surveil me, Sokka!” 

“You’re the one who’s going to live with some rando! What if he destroys all your devices or physically incapacitates you so that you can’t report the proof in time?” 

“I think at that point I would not need the footage to make a case. Besides, as long as I have a brain I can just remember my password and log into my account somewhere else.” 

“You think, but you don’t know!” 

“Katara, I think you need to think about this more.” 

“It’s been a week since I’ve read it, I’ve thought about it enough.” A half-truth. 

“But you’re still upset, and it’s clouding your judgement.” 

“It’s not.” 

“Sokka’s right, you just want a quick fix right now to your problems. But there are other ways to stay here.” 

“Like, as an undocumented immigrant?” she spits. 

Hurt briefly flashes across her father’s face before it’s quickly replaced with a mask of cool indifference, one he dons all too well. 

“That was cruel, sis.” 

She avoids looking at both their faces. 

“I’m sorry for putting you in this position,” Hakoda says quietly. “As for this… if you do think it’s the right decision, I’ll support you, okay? Just don’t get hurt. Your brother and I are only looking out for you.” 

“Worst case, I’ll get citizenship and apply for both of you. I bet you’ll know some great immigration lawyers we can talk to.” 

Katara looks up at them and a swell of gratitude fills her chest. “Okay. Sorry Dad. I know it wasn’t your fault.” 

“It’s okay. I know it’s a stressful time. For all of us.” 

“Just… let us know if you need help, okay? We’ll get you out of there. And don’t ever compromise on your values or dignity. If he mistreats you, leave. You got me and Dad, okay?” 

She nods. 

“But do change those terms. That I mentioned earlier.” 

“And I expect to meet him soon. I’m afraid, that, as a father, I still won’t approve of this marriage if he can’t afford basic decency” —Katara opens her mouth to protest— “But of course, I trust your judgement.” 

She nods again. 

The conversation moves to safer topics, like the community garden a few blocks down from their apartment in Brooklyn. The heat waves in Boston this summer. Sokka’s annoying coworkers. 

Her brother hangs up when Suki calls him for dinner. Katara hears something about the pizza arriving. For a moment, it’s just herself and her father in the call. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Dad, it’s okay, I’m sorry too, it was… not something I thought through before saying.” 

“No matter what happens, I’m always proud of you, okay?” 

“Okay.” A beat. “I’m proud of you, too, Dad.” 

His eyes crinkle when he smiles. Katara blows him a kiss. 

“Goodnight, I love you.” 

“I love you too. Don’t sleep too late.” 

“Okay.” 

She hangs up and stares at her screen and thinks of nothing for a moment. 

Katara doesn’t bother trying to arrive earlier than 10am, since the MFA won’t even be open yet. Zuko is, unsurprisingly, already there. He looks slightly nervous, and Katara wonders why (an intrusive thought suggests that Zuko is antsy about their date before she brushes it away at the insistence that this is not a date) before remembering that she’d mentioned talking to her family about the contract. 

“Good morning!” Katara says cheerily. 

“Hi. Have you eaten yet?” 

“Is that your new greeting?” 

Zuko groans. “Sorry, my Uncle’s been living in China for a while and it’s common greeting they use there. Probably rubbed off on me. I can try to stop.” 

“No, it’s cu—cool,” Katara says, quickly turning to fish for her wallet in her purse to hide her stumble. She’d almost said “cute,” and she does not want Zuko to misconstrue that. “But yes, I have had breakfast. Have you?” 

“Yeah. Do you have time today?”

“I don’t have plans, you?” 

“No. Do you want to explore the rest of the museum after the exhibit, too? I admit I haven’t ever looked at it in full.” 

“Honestly, same, it’s kinda bad.” 

The briefest of smiles flashes across his face, and it suddenly hits Katara that she’s never seen him grin. She mentally makes it her goal. 

“Yeah, I definitely did not take advantage of the fact that we could get into so many museums for free.” 

“Exactly! When I was little and traveled, I always made sure to hit the museums, but here, I just keep telling myself I’ll have plenty of chances in the future, and now I’m about to graduate. Same with New York, I’ve barely been to most of the museums there.” 

“I’m down to try to hit all the museums in Boston this year.” 

“Let’s do this.” 

Throughout the day, Katara finds herself attempting to be funny, but most of her jokes fall flat. Unfortunately, she’s never been a natural like Sokka. Eventually she gives up when Zuko looks at her, confused, for the fifth time. He doesn’t laugh or smile once. 

Usually, Katara would find stone-faced people to be arrogant, stuck-up pricks. She loves to smile and thinks that anyone who purposefully suppress joy are those who think they’re above it. But Zuko is a challenge. And if she’s going to marry him, she has to learn how to make him laugh. 

“Oh, the contract,” Katara says just as they’re about to part ways. 

“Yeah?” 

“Um, my brother said ten million is pocket change…” she cringes. “I think he still finds it unsafe, I…” 

“If you’re comfortable with it, I can change it to a billion. I have no intention of breaching the contract, but I think it’s unwise just in case something happens. You can’t exactly take out a billion dollar loan.” 

“Let’s keep it at ten million, it’s fine. I trust you.” 

She really, really hopes she can. 

Zuko just nods. “Anything else?” 

Katara opens her mouth then shakes her head. She just can’t bring herself to say Sokka’s other request aloud. Besides, she’s certain that no matter how drunk she is, she’s not going to be so desperate to get intimate with Zuko that she’ll actually ask for written consent twenty-four hours in advance. That’s just a recipe for disaster, and Katara feels mortified even thinking about herself in that situation. 

“Well, let me know when you make a decision, I guess? And it’s annullable at any point, of course, though if we do get married and you want to annul it, things will get a bit complicated, but we can always cross that bridge when we get there. I didn’t write anything since I feel like there’s too many cases, but…” 

“Yeah, that’s okay. I think I’ll sign tonight.” 

Zuko looks surprised. 

Katara wonders if she’s going to regret this decision. 

She hopes not. 

Zuko sends over a Docusign that night, and after sitting and staring at her electronic signature for at least a solid five minutes, Katara clicks on the submit button. 

She leans back in her chair and stares at the ceiling.