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Katara could sleep through an earthquake, Sokka always said. That was before she moved in with Zuko. Unlike her, he woke up with the sun, and he liked sleeping in a warm room. Sometimes he talked and moved around. And once, she’d caught him sleep-peeling an entire bunch of bananas in the kitchen.
She’d be a liar if she said it wasn’t a problem, at first. But they were working on it together. They'd navigated their sleep style differences and reached healthy compromises. She’d also reassured him, more than once, that she loved him enough to work it out.
But there wasn’t much they could do about the nightmares.
Tonight, a sharp kick to her leg jolted Katara awake. Zuko tossed and turned in the bed beside her, muttering incomprehensibly. The sheets tangled around him like a snake trying to swallow him whole. Her phone screen read 2:36.
This was one of his better nights. So far, it had only happened once.
“Zuko,” Katara whispered, lightly shaking his shoulder. “Zuko, wake up!”
Normally that worked, but this time, he just groaned and rolled away. He was in too deep. She ran a hand through his sweat-soaked hair, the only thing she could do at this point.
Suddenly, Zuko’s mumbled sleep-talking became much clearer. He whimpered in terror, “No, don’t. Don’t, Dad, please…” One hand gripped the old scar over his left eye.
Oh, no… If he wasn’t moving so much, she would’ve hugged him and never let go. As it was, Katara rubbed his back, helplessness washing over her. The sob came out even though she tried to keep it in.
This wasn’t the first nightmare about his dad that she’d witnessed. It wouldn’t be the last, either. But it would never stop breaking her heart.
____________
Zuko shot upright with a horrible scream. He stared wildly around their bedroom for a few seconds before sagging back against the headboard. Their therapist’s words came back to Katara: Let him practice self-soothing first. Then step in, if he needs your support. So she pretended to be asleep, counting his frantic breaths, muffled in his hands.
The mattress popped up slightly as he got out of bed. His footsteps were still so quiet, even in a safe space. The balcony door slid open and, after a minute, she sat up. Moonlight outlined him in silver as he sat crosslegged outside, his back to her. Her heart unclenched itself, just a little: the dark silhouette of a guitar’s neck and head stuck out from his left.
He’d played as a teenager. Returning to it, and to arranging music he loved (at their therapist’s suggestion), had been helping.
The first notes came, a feather-light climb upwards. A few achingly sad chords, played by the bowed strings in the original. Then the melody, translated beautifully from the flute. He’d been working on it for weeks now. And it was perfect, so familiar, the heart of their favorite childhood film. Katara watched in silence as Zuko began to sing into the night.
“Look at me / I will never pass for a perfect son / Or a perfect brother / Can it be / I’m not meant to play this part? / Now I see / That if I am truly to be myself…” He sang so softly she almost couldn’t hear him. “I must break my family’s heart.”
He transitioned to the second verse. The pull-offs he’d chosen to use suited it so well. It was her favorite part of his arrangement. Outside, Zuko’s voice grew stronger. But it was not a confident strength. It was demanding, racked with pain.
“Who is that boy I see / Staring straight back at me? / Why is my reflection someone I don’t know?” Another leap in power and volume, becoming a desperate, angry confession. “Somehow, I cannot hide / Who I am, though I’ve tried! / When will my reflection show who I am inside?”
His voice broke, the agonized cry flinging itself into the sky above. The silence that followed nearly made her heart stop. He held it for longer than usual, looking up at the stars as a light breeze lifted his hair. Katara gripped the blankets around herself, tears stinging her cheeks.
He played the final phrase on his guitar, recentering himself. After a deep breath, his voice weary, Zuko finished the song: “When will my reflection show who I am inside?”
____________
He came back into the bedroom after a bit, setting the guitar on its stand. When he turned to face her, he froze. He’d seen her sitting up, waiting for him. They looked at each other for a moment.
Zuko crawled back into bed with her. Wordlessly, she put her arms around him, pulling him close. He sighed her name into her hair. “Katara…I woke you up again. I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s all right…shhh…” She brushed his hair back, looked into his exhausted golden eyes. “I’m here,” she affirmed. “I’m here, sweetheart.”
“And I’m here for you,” he affirmed back. “Always.”
He kissed her, the kind of long, deep kiss that lit her very bones on fire (and often led to other things). But this time, she simply drank him in, returning it with everything she had. She drew back before he did, and she smiled at him: that was a first. He knew it too, for he gave her the quirked-up, slightly goofy grin she adored.
“I love you,” he said quietly, resting his forehead on hers.
She brushed another kiss to his scarred cheek. “I love you too, Zuko.”
They got back under the covers together. Curled up against his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin, Katara drifted. Next thing she knew, morning sunlight was streaming through their window. Zuko lay on his stomach, sleeping peacefully next to her. She rubbed his back again, smiling to herself.
He’d made it through the rest of the night.