Chapter Text
Zuko's body gives up on him barely five minutes after a screaming, sobbing Azula is hauled away for safekeeping. "Gently," he wants to protest as she's muscled into bending-dampening cuffs by a handful of Fire Nation guards that must be loyal to Iroh. Despite them binding her hands and feet in the standard position— a firebender would burn themselves trying to escape —and despite the cuffs weakening her, blue flames still lick along her skin. She doesn't seem to notice or care, and he can hear her wailing long after they're out of sight.
The last thing he sees before he passes out, and the first thing he sees when he wakes again is Katara's stricken face. He blinks several times, trying to clear the haze from his head and in front of his eyes. His mouth his horribly dry, aching when he coughs, and his chest hurts like a komodo-rhino has just done a tap number on it. Cool water flows down his throat and he sighs gratefully as it whisks away the pain.
"Ughhh," he says, instead of something reassuring. His muscles shriek at him when he tries to sit up, so he lets it be and flops back against his mound of pillows.
"Zuko!" Katara's face swims back into his line of vision. "You idiot, hold still! You've been out for ages." A little dazed, he just watches as she covers his chest with more glowing water. The sensation is odd at first, he can feel little pieces of himself knitting back together before it fades with most of the soreness.
"Where am I?" he rasps, finally having the wherewithal to look around. It hits him just before Katara says it.
"Your childhood room," she explains. "I was going to take you to the infirmary but one of the healers… Okeyo? Said you'd be better off here."
Zuko remembers Okeyo. He'd been given five days to recover before being sent out on the Wani, and she had been the one to tend to his burn before that duty had been passed down to Uncle. The memories are fleeting, and tinged with pain, but he remembers her being exceedingly gentle. There had been a night where she'd come down when everyone was asleep and brushed his hair to keep it from matting.
It strikes him then that the palace is still full, no doubt with servants and guards still under his father's rule. Katara must see the tension on his face because she puts a comforting hand on his shoulder and smiles. "We're safe in here. Two of your Uncle's guards are outside the door, and you have more supporters than you think. Plus, the White Lotus is sending reinforcements to help take the city."
"But, the other guards, the Fire Sages—"
"—Are loyal to the Firelord," she finishes. "That's you now, in case you forgot." Honestly, he had. "And it's not really the soldiers you need to worry about, just the generals calling the shots. Once they go down, the troops will follow."
The way she's talking, she's making it sound like— "Did we win?"
Katara's smile is tentatively hopeful. "I haven't heard from Aang and the others yet, but I've already got a message from the White Lotus. They've retaken Ba Sing Se."
The komodo-rhino takes one of its feet off Zuko's chest and he breathes a little easier. "Thank Agni," he sighs. "And the others will be fine too, you'll see. Aang and Toph are some of the strongest benders I've ever met. Sokka's too smart for his own good, and you know Suki won't let anything happen to him." He's saying it to convince himself as much as her, but it seems to loosen something in Katara.
"Who ever thought you'd be the one making speeches about hope?" she teases. He chuckles and winces as the lightning wound stretches. Her eyes go to it immediately and a shadow crosses her face, all traces of her earlier humor gone. "Tui and La, for a moment I thought you were really…"
To his horror, he sees tears well up in her eyes. He'd seen her cry once, confronting Yon Rha, and privately vowed to never let it happen again if he could help it. "You know me," he tries for a joke. "I'm like a rat-roach. I just keep coming back."
She doesn't laugh. "We used to call you that," she says unhappily.
"It's not like I didn't deserve it," Zuko admits. "I think I'm just unkillable."
"But you're not!" Katara shouts at him, and there's a real note of anger in her voice. "Spirits, what were you thinking, jumping in front of her lightning like that?! You asshole!" He can tell she wants to thump him, but is holding back due to his injury. "Do you have any idea how fucked we'd all be if you'd died?"
Oh, right. Iroh doesn't want the throne and Azula couldn't have ruled, even if she wanted to. "Uncle would have stepped up, don't worry. And he would've gone along with whatever you guys needed."
Apparently, that's also the wrong thing to say. Her gaze turns icy. "Sure, Zuko. That would've been our biggest problem if she killed you. Politics."
He opens and closes his mouth a few times helplessly. He has no idea what she wants from him and he's suddenly very tired. People were always doing this, saying one thing and meaning another and expecting him to understand. "Katara," he sighs and closes his eyes. "Please, I don't understand. Are you angry with me? Was it because I didn't kill her first? Whatever it is, I'm sorry." He's not about to try to explain to her that he can't kill Azula, could never kill Azula— he just wants this conversation to be over with.
In the darkness behind his lids, he listens to her huff several short breaths. That's her I'm-about-to-go-berserk warning and he braces himself for the explosion. It never comes.
Katara takes both of his hands in her own and he cracks his eyes open in surprise. The tears are gone, though her eyes are red-rimmed. "Listen carefully, hothead, because I'm only going to say this once." She sucks in a giant lungful of air through her nose and lets it out slowly into their shared space. "Some people care about you. Even beyond your role in ending this war and trying to reform the Fire Nation. Some people get worried when you get hurt. Especially when you take a massive bolt of lightning to the chest, because some people think you've been hurt enough."
She squeezes his hands so tight that a few of his knuckles pop because, while she's a healer, she's a fighter first and has never let him forget that. "There are people who want only the best for you, from here on out, and people who would do anything to make that happen. There are even people who love you," her voice cracks and Zuko feels the air leave his lungs. "But I think that's just a rumor."
Like her brother, she's always been better at jokes than Zuko. He allows himself a small huff of laughter, even as the mushy, too big and too warm feeling threatens to suffocate him from the inside. He clings to her hands with only a little less pressure than her own grip. He's never been great at words, but he owes it to her now to try.
"You asked me what I was thinking when I jumped in front of you," he starts. Her nails dig into his skin and he looks down at them, unable to look her in the face. "I wasn't."
"Were you trying to get yourself killed?" Her voice is deliberately empty.
He shakes his head and then shrugs. "No. At least, I wasn't planning on it." He doesn't say that there's a tiny part of him that knows death would have been easier. Like all of them, he's been run ragged with the weight of the war since he was a child, and it's only going to be an uphill battle from now on. That tiny part of him had whispered the truth in his ear— if he didn't wake up, he could die a hero and let the world sort itself out. They had Aang, what did they need him for?
But the other, larger part of him, the part that was Ursa's son and Iroh's nephew, demanded he fight. He didn't get to lie down. He'd promised change, and he would have to make it happen. The lightning arcs into him and through him.
"Being a water bender, I'm fairly sure it would have killed you, and you wouldn't have gone peacefully." He imagines it, supercharged heat and electricity arcing through Katara's body, stopping her heart and torching her inside and out. "I've seen what lightning can do to a person. If you live, it's in agonizing pain for the rest of your life. Burns and brain damage… it's ugly, Katara."
"You didn't think that would happen to you?" There's still a touch of anger in her words, but the question is more genuine than anything else. Zuko gives a small shrug.
"I've done it before." He can hear her unspoken question. "My father," he clarifies, and Katara gasps. "He didn't take it very well when I confronted him during the eclipse and told him I was going to help Aang."
"So he tried to kill you?" she whispers. Zuko thinks of Hakoda and realizes how strange this must be for her.
"Wouldn't be the first time," he mutters. He shakes his head to stall any more words; he needs to say it before he loses his nerve. "That's not my point. What I'm saying is, I knew I'd survive it. Worst case scenario was some nasty burns, and I have plenty of experience with those, you know." It's not even remotely funny. He decides to cool it with the jokes. "But if I didn't try, we would have lost you." Zuko forces himself to look at her, begging with his eyes to make her understand the depth of feeling beneath his words. "And I don't think I could've survived that."
Katara is staring at him, tears running down her face. He feels wetness on his cheek and realizes he must be doing the same.
"Please don't cry," he croaks, letting go of one of her hands to reach out and dry her face. "I hate it when you cry."
She lets out a watery laugh and bends the tears off their faces, which is a very odd feeling. "You sound like Sokka." Despite his earlier assurances, he really hopes they're all okay. Agni has never answered a single one of his prayers, but he sends another one to her anyway.
Katara sniffles and wipes her nose on the wraps at her arms, and for the first time, he notices how tired she looks. There are dark smudges beneath her eyes and she's leaning on her arms to keep herself upright. Maybe its his imagination, but she looks thinner too. "When's the last time you slept?" he asks.
She glares. "Now you really sound like Sokka," she grumbles. "I'm fine."
"That isn't what I asked."
"I'm fine, Zuko," she insists. "Healing takes it out of me sometimes. I just need some rest and some food and I'll be good as new."
"Then go get some!" He shoves at her shoulder. "What have you been doing this whole time?"
"Making sure you woke up, jackass."
Oh, right. Guilt bubbles up inside him but Katara smiles at how quickly the wind is taken out of his sails so it's a partial victory. "W-Well, thanks for that," he blusters and she smiles bigger. "I'm awake now, so go eat and sleep. We can't have you passing out before the others get back." He's chipping away at her resolve, he can see it. One thing he's learned about Katara is she usually has to be reminded to do things for herself, and will fight you on it every step of the way, but if she thinks you need help…
Zuko puts on his best baby fire-ferret eyes, the kind that always worked on Mother and Uncle and says, "And when you're done, could you bring me something to eat? I'm kind of hungry."
She narrows her eyes at him for a long moment before she sighs, defeated. "I know what you're doing," she grumbles as she rises on slightly wobbly legs. "I don't know how I ever thought you were trying to play us, you suck at manipulation."
Zuko grins and leans back against the pillows with an obnoxiously loud yawn. "All the genes went to Azula," he agrees. Katara snorts, making her way towards the door. In all honesty, he doesn't want her to go. Okeyo was right that he'd feel safer in his own bedroom, but the palace is still the palace, and he's dreading the idea of being left alone with his memories and the ghost of his bright-eyed, bushy-tailed, oh-so-naive eleven year old self. Still, he waves her out with a "Shoo!" when she pauses to look back at him from the hallway.
He hopes she'll be okay. As far as safety goes, he's only moderately concerned. Anyone that could handle Azula would be fine watching their own back. It's more the Fire Nation of it all. Zuko loves his country, despite everything, but even he feels strange and out of place in the palace. When he'd returned with Azula, after the initial nostalgia and overwhelming relief at his father's approval had faded, he'd begun to slowly suffocate. He can't imagine how she must feel, surrounded by the colors of the enemy that had destroyed her home and taken her mother's life.
The guilt returns in full force, making him physically wince. He knows he wasn't part of the raids, was barely old enough to know about them, but it doesn't stop him from curling up in shame at the memory of sailing his own ship into their village to look for the Avatar. He remembers Sokka with his face painted and weapon held high— a boy his own age throwing himself at a group of Fire Nation soldiers to protect his people. He couldn't even bend, and he'd been willing to take them all on. Zuko has apologized countless times for it, though he feels the need to find Sokka and apologize again. When he's Firelord, he's going to take a personal trip to the South Pole to make amends, especially to Kanna.
Agni's tits, when he's Firelord… Just thinking about the work he's going to have to do is already exhausting him. There's a small part of him that sort of resents Uncle for dropping the crown in his lap and fucking off to make tea and play Pai Sho or whatever he gets up to in his free time. Uncle's reasoning had made sense and logically, he knows it has to be him but now, vulnerable and shrinking from stray footsteps in his too-big bed, he's uncomfortably reminded that he's only sixteen. What does he know about ruling a nation? Father had rarely included him in any kind of council and being banished at thirteen hadn't done him any favors. He's holding back a full blown mental spiral through sheer force of will at this point.
The injury aches without Katara's ministrations and he grits his teeth against the pain. He wants her to come back and heal it. He wants his uncle, his mother, even Hakoda, anyone to come through the door, bundle him up, stroke his hair and tell him it's all going to be okay. Father has never, and will never hug him, though in his desperation, he wishes for that too.
Then, like a guardian spirit, the door clicks open and Katara enters, wearing only the dress that goes over her long-sleeved tunic and pants, balancing two bowls of jook on her arm. "I'm back! Sorry it took so long, I needed to clean up and change." He watches, dumbfounded, as she makes her way back to her seat at his bedside and hands him a bowl. There's little balls of minced pork in it and an egg cracked on top. His stomach rumbles loudly. "Eat up," she instructs, and begins inhaling her own portion.
Zuko looks between her and his food, his brain struggling to keep up with his rapidly shifting emotions. A minute ago, he was nearly drowning in his own despair. Now he's trying to keep himself from stumbling out onto the balcony and singing Katara's praises for the entire damn nation to hear. She looks over at him and frowns when she notices he's not eating. "Not a fan of jook? It's all I could rustle up in—"
"I like jook," he says, before she can get defensive. He sticks a spoonful in his mouth, finding it pleasantly warm and bland enough to sit in his stomach without making him sick. "Thank you. It's just, I thought you were going to rest?"
"And leave you alone in here? Not a chance." She stabs her egg and mixes the yolk into the porridge. The bowl is nearly empty already. Katara glances over at his own again. "Don't make me feed you."
Zuko scowls and starts to eat, galvanised into action by the threat. "You wouldn't dare. I'll spit it out at you."
She wiggles her fingers smugly. "Waterbender," she reminds him. "You're welcome to try it, though."
There's not a lot he can say in reponse to that, so he keeps eating and contents himself with scowling around his spoon. He's not sure if she could actually jook-bend, but he's seen her stir their stews and soups with waterbending while on the road and he's learned to not underestimate her in these sort of things.
Their conversation fizzles out, replaced by the sounds of vigorous eating. Once he gets started, it catches up to him how damned hungry he is and he's only a few seconds behind Katara in finishing his food. She sets their bowls to the side with a satisfied sigh and pats her stomach. "Much better," she says, and looks him over with a critical eye. "How's your chest?"
"Nuh uh," Zuko wags a finger at her. "It's time to rest, remember? You promised."
"I did no such thing."
"Yeah, you did. And I outrank you, so you have to listen to me." He folds his arms and sticks his nose imperiously into the air. Katara lets out a bark of surprised laughter, executing a sloppy bow.
"Of course, Your Highness," she intones dramatically. "I serve at the pleasure of the Firelord."
"Actually, it would be Your Majesty," he says, just to be annoying. "Your Highness is for the prince or princess."
Katara heaves the biggest eyeroll he's ever seen on a person, including Azula, and flings herself into the chair. "Don't get cute with me, you aren't Firelord yet."
"But you just said—"
"Shut up! I know what I said." Zuko snickers, trying not to jostle his injury too much. He can't help wonder if this is how it was supposed to be with Azula, if this is how siblings usually were with each other. Then again, there wasn't any lost love between Uncle and Father either. Maybe it was a Fire Nation royalty thing. "Whatever. Go to sleep, jerk. If I have to rest, so do you."
With that she folds her arms, tucks her chin to her chest, and closes her eyes. It looks supremely uncomfortable. "What on earth are you doing?"
"Sleeping. Shh."
"In the chair?" This wouldn't do at all. Zuko scoots to one side and pats the mattress. "We'll share." Katara cracks one eye open to squint at him skeptically and it's his turn to roll his eyes. "Your virtue will remain intact, I promise."
Katara throws one of the nearby pillows at him. "Oh please, I'm not worried about that," she grumps.
"Then what?"
She screws up her face. "Alright, you want the honest answer?" She looks serious and Zuko's stomach twists as he nods. "It's too damn hot in the Fire Nation." That's not the answer he was expecting. His confusion must be naked on his face because she sits up suddenly, jabbing her finger at the window for emphasis. "Seriously! It's the middle of summer and we've got the window closed in case of sneak attacks so it's hotter than Appa's asshole in here—" Zuko's eyebrow soars into his hairline. "—and your blankets trap heat like a furnance, not to mention the heat you put off." Katara wrinkles her nose. "I'll pass, thanks."
It's such a Katara thing to say that he can't help but laugh. He's been doing it a lot more since meeting them all and he doesn't mind it as much as he pretends. She's fixing him with a scowl that rivals some of his best when he finally stops laughing, wiping a fake tear from his eye.
"Just to be clear, you're refusing the big, soft, comfy bed because you might get a little sweaty?"
"I'm not built for this heat," she says darkly. "Even after taking all my underlayers off, I'm still melting. It's unnatural."
"I could say the same about the North and South poles. I didn't even know it was possible to be that cold." He shudders at the memory. Perhaps swimming through artic waters wearing only two layers of clothing wasn't the best idea.
"You get used to it," she defends. He gives her a pointed look and she sighs in defeat. "Fine. Only because it'll finally get you to shut up."
Katara toes off her shoes and climbs onto the bed beside him. With how big it is, they don't even touch. She lays on her back for a while, staring at the canopy above their heads. Zuko thinks she's finally drifted off when she sits up and shakes her head. "Nope, still too warm. Spirits, how do you cope?"
She shoves the blankets off her and crawls to the foot of the bed, curling up on top of the silk sheets and sighing at their coolness. "Give me a pillow."
"Katara," he protests.
"Nope, this way I'll actually be able to breathe." Zuko thinks she's being a tad dramatic. "And, I'll be better equipped to fight off anyone who comes through the door." Aha, so she doesn't necessarily trust the guards either. He knows he's not going to change her mind on this. Still, the thought of her sleeping there like a guard dog makes him a little uncomfortable. He doesn't need to be guarded. With a huff, he reaches over and slings a pillow in her direction. "Much better."
Zuko grunts and flops down on his back, immediately being reminded of why he shouldn't do that. Katara is there before he even finishes crying out, sitting on her knees beside him and holding more water to his chest. He's becoming more used to the feeling of water healing. It's nice. "Idiot," she grumbles before crawling back to her spot.
"Thank you, Katara," he calls after her. She flicks a hand dismissively in his direction, though he gets the feeling it's with a smile.
Zuko lets his eyes drift shut and listens to her breathe. For once, the memories and the ghost of himself leave him alone. His muscles start to relax, one by one, until he can feel darkness start to take him. He welcomes it, secure in the knowledge that Katara is there if the memories come back. Maybe sometimes, being guarded isn't so bad after all.