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She hasn’t sleepwalked in ages - years, even. She stopped after her mother’s death; a gift from the gods or coincidence, she’s never been sure.
Still, she’s never forgotten how it feels to wake up and not recognize where she is.
She opens her eyes and finds herself staring at a fountain. Dimly, she recognizes it as the place she washes their clothes, but she’s never been here without a light source; all she can see is the weathered gray of concrete. Moonlight filters in through the windows, but they’re way above her. If not for her connection to the moon, she isn’t sure she’d be able to see it at all.
Now that she is awake, she cannot make herself go back to sleep. She sits on the edge of the fountain and closes her eyes, slipping into a meditative state.
Why now? she asks the moon, asks Yue, and receives no reply.
She breathes out slowly, letting the sound of the water move through her, the light of the moon draw her near.
She senses a presence mere seconds before she hears it, and she sits taller, hands on her knees, and watches the water.
“Katara?” Zuko calls, gentle.
A flash of anger hits her, but the calm of the night is there to bring her peace. “Yes?” she calls back.
“Are you awake?” he asks.
She frowns, looking at him. “What sort of question is that?”
Zuko shifts, but doesn’t come any nearer. “You’ve been coming here for a few nights,” he tells her quietly, and there’s something like sadness in his voice. “You’re usually not awake, though.”
Her frown only deepens. “How do you know?” she asks him.
He shrugs. “I can hear you,” he says, and Katara remembers, suddenly, that he’s separated from the group, that the soft shuffling of her family won’t be as familiar to him. “Toph can too, but she punched me in the shoulder when I asked what it was about.”
“She means it with love,” Katara tells him absently. “What do I do when I’m here?”
“Mostly this,” he tells her, and takes a slow step toward her, hands raised in a universal gesture of peace. “I haven’t done anything,” he assures her.
The worry in his voice tugs at her heart, but she appreciates it. “Okay,” she says, but stays where she is. “I didn’t think I did that anymore. It’s strange.”
“Did what?”
“Sleepwalking. I stopped when I was a little girl.” Well - she still is a little girl in some ways, but she doesn’t say that.
Zuko nods. It takes all of her focus to see it. “Would you like me to leave?” he asks her. There’s resignation in his voice, like he already knows the answer.
It surprises herself, how firm her voice is. “No - you can stay.”
He frowns. “Are you sure you’re not asleep?” he asks, but he walks closer to her less nervously now.
It takes her a moment to identify what’s happening in his voice, but - he’s teasing her. He’s teasing her. She laughs at that, tilting her head at him. “I’m positive,” she says. “Maybe the night’s making me nicer.”
He laughs again. “Or dumber,” he offers.
She laughs properly at that, shrugging. “Maybe so,” she says, stretching out her legs in front of her.
He sits down next to her, leaving a good amount of space between them.
“So other than sitting... what else have I done?” she asks him after a long minute. There must be a reason, she thinks (hopes) for him to follow.
He shrugs. “You tried to fight me the first night,” he says, laughing. “I scared you, it seemed. Other than that, you just let me lead you back to your bed.”
“Oh,” she says softly, considering. “Well… thank you for that.”
“You’re welcome,” he says, and there she hears amusement again.
She smiles at him, catching his eye after a second. “So… did I wake you up?” she asks.
“Actually,” he says, clearing his throat, “I’ve been worried. I thought you might step off the edge of the cliff or something, so…”
“You waited up for me,” she says, not a question. There’s still resentment deep in her chest, but she doesn’t pay it any mind. Not right now.
“Sorry,” he says after a second, wincing. “I know that’s weird.”
“But sweet,” she tells him. She turns to face him properly, face serious. “Thank you, Zuko.”
They’re close enough now that she can see the blush on his unscarred cheek. “You’re welcome,” he says, and when he smiles at her again there’s something relaxed in his posture.
It’s not the end of her anger. She’s never been one to let go without a fight. In this moment, though, in the stillness of the night, she reaches out and takes his hand. Some part of him cares for her. Some part of him thought she might need help and didn’t make a big deal of it.
She hadn’t realized how much she resents being the one to catch everyone else.
His breath hitches when she touches him and she’d apologize but he turns his hand over, squeezing her fingers once, and the words die in her chest.
And so - “I won’t forget this,” she tells him after a long, quiet moment. When she next remembers, when her mother’s death knocks her to her knees, she will rely on this moment to bring her back to center - a boy helping a girl, for nothing in return.
He nods stiffly. If she weren’t watching him so closely she’d miss it but she sees the way his features harden, going back into his mask he’s been wearing around her the last few days. “I’m sorry,” he tells her.
She groans. “No, you idiot,” she says, scooting a little closer to him. “I meant , I won’t forget that you took care of me.”
“I didn’t do anything,” he says, but she squeezes his hand.
“Shh,” she whispers, laughing quietly. “Let me be grateful to you, please.”
He laughs as well. “And what about in the morning?” he asks.
She watches him. “I don’t know,” she says honestly. “But - I want to trust you.”
“I want that too,” he tells her, and he sounds so earnest it breaks her heart.
“Okay,” she whispers, smiling at him. “Then I’ll… we can work on that. I’ll try.”
“Thank you,” he tells her.
She smiles down at her knees, and she’s grateful for the dim light when she feels a blush rise in her cheeks. “I should get back to bed,” she says after a long moment. “Sokka, he... if he wakes up and can’t find me there’s no telling what he’d do.” She looks at him then, really watches him. “But maybe I’ll see you here tomorrow night?”
Zuko visibly relaxes, grinning wider at her than he has yet. “You will,” he promises, squeezing her hand one more time before dropping her hand.
She stands up then, and after a long moment she says, “Good night, Zuko.”
Right before she turns her back to leave the room, she hears, “Good night, Katara.”
She smiles at that, ducking her head. Her blush stays the entire way back to her bed.