Chapter Text
Katara only lasts a few hours after fleeing Omashu before she demands they find the nearest body of water. By now night is closing in but still, whatever it was the pink acrobat did to her, she can’t get the water in her sling to do more than shiver.
It yanks her back to that terrible absence during the Siege of the North, without light or bending or hope.
Aang finds them a good spot by a river. Sokka grumbles they should get more distance between them and occupied territory, that Katara’s being ridiculous to freak out so hard about finally being regular. But he must see the scared little sister in her eyes, because he agrees to set up camp by the shore while she and Aang strip to their underclothes.
Katara’s movements are hurried, clumsy, partly from the numbness in her limbs and partly from fear that the damage, that this time there’s no Yue to sacrifice herself to bring her bending back…
“Hey,” Aang says quietly, taking her hand and pulling her into the water. It’s freezing this late in the evening but she barely feels it. “If you want to be a bender, you have to let go of fear, remember? Stop thinking so loud.” They’re up to their knees when he turns to face her. Losing the sunlight darkens his tattoos to the hue of the open ocean. “It’s just you and me right now.”
She nods, willing her arms to rise and forcing them through a basic form. But the water around them only spasms, shivers, and stills.
“Hm,” Aang says. “Okay, what if instead, I… Here,” he draws a stream from the river and tries to pass it to her as he has a hundred times before, push to pull, but when Katara tries to catch it it falls between her arms with a splash.
“Agh!” she punches the water. “What did she do to me? How long is this going to last?”
“It’s gonna be okay.” She looks up and sees Aang as he was when he first started waterbending. So far ahead of her without even trying. She’d been so mad at him for stealing what was hers. But now he’s become hers too; her student, her responsibility, so it isn’t anger she feels this time so much as failure.
Aang accepts her frustration with open arms and a smile. “We’ll keep trying. We’ve got all night.”
Trying again doesn’t do much but infuriate her. All that time learning to heal and Katara can’t fix herself. There’s just Aang, pouring all his energy into a cup that won’t fill.
She throws in the towel as dusk falls to full night. Aamg follows her back to shore, dutiful student even when she’s useless.
“I don’t even understand what she did to me,” Katara growls.
“Must be a pretty nasty technique to do this to the strongest person I know,” Aang says. Katara blinks. “I’m sorry I can’t heal you. But maybe…”
He takes her hand again, palm down, brushing the back of it with his thumb. The touch is curious, not intimate, but Katara still shivers. She blames it on the night air. “How did you say it feels?”
“…Numb. Tingly.” Aang’s touch runs from the back of her hand up her forearm, twisting around her elbow. The same path his tattoos follow.
She remembers first catching sight of them in that Southern igloo– mesmerized until they disappeared under his tunic. She’s seen them a bunch of times since, but every time it feels… strange. Sacred, almost. He’s a walking monument to everything the Fire Nation stole from the world, alien and beautiful in a way that transcends simple aesthetic.
In his tattoos Katara sees all the South Pole traditions that have eroded with her tribe's numbers. She sees the marks of the Brave and the Wise and the Trusted, she sees bone-carved flutes and folktales told around campfires and the many waterbending forms forever lost to time. Like ice caving to the relentless drive of the sea.
Training in the North had been a dream, despite the teething issues, but it did expose how much of Katara’s inheritance had been stolen. When she was allowed into Master Pakku’s library she found only a few Southern scrolls, brought over by diplomatic envoys or scholars or traders. Most were so old you needed gloves to handle them.
(When Katara opened the box of scrolls Pakku gave her for their journey, she found not just the fundementals they’d been drilling in class, but every Southern form that could safely travel snuck inside as well. She cried, careful to not let her tears fall on something so priceless, and then set to learning the Southern Octopus form. Now what remains of the South’s waterbending legacy rides with them in Appa’s saddle, passed between her and Aang like childhood secrets whispered behind hands.)
Katara wonders if Aang will ever be able to share his heritage the same way. Maybe after the war, once they’ve sifted through the ashes of the Air Temples and recovered what they could. For now he has the strange melodies he plays them on his homemade flute, unheard by anyone in a hundred years; his recipes; and his tattoos.
“It feels like she’s blocked your energy somehow,” Aang murmurs. His tongue pokes between his teeth as he traces up her shoulder, concentrating, concentrating; like he can see the chi under her skin. Is he imagining blue ink under his fingers? What would it mean for them to share a culture, a history, a suffering, even more than they already do?
Aang freezes.
“Uh. Katara?”
Katara realizes her own hands have wandered. Up his arm, across his shoulders. Following blue, blue, blue like a river winding home. She freezes too, with her hand on the back of his neck.
They lock eyes, close enough to share breaths. For the second time. Katara thinks of the Cave–
“Sorry!” they both yelp. Aang splashes back, cheeks glowing brighter than his tattoos.
“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable! I was just checking–”
“It’s fine,” she says hurriedly, heat crawling up her throat. “Aang, it– I promise you it’s okay. I don’t mind–”
“You two done splashing around yet?”
They jump. Sokka is standing on the bank, arms crossed, eyebrow raised. How much did he see?? Katara realizes she’s still holding Aang’s wrist and drops it guiltily, which is ridiculous because they weren’t– they wouldn’t–
“We’re gonna keep trying,” Aang manages. Sokka hmphs. To be fair, he has just set up camp single-handed.
“You guys better not wake me up when you’re done. This is just like the North all over…”
He trails off. Katara follows his gaze over her shoulder, to the moon just peeking from behind a cloud. She looks back and their eyes meet. It’s his turn to look guilty even though he shouldn’t, even though all he has to do is talk about it.
“Sokka–”
He cuts her off with a fake yawn.
“Well! I’m turning in for the night. Try not to freeze to death, jerks.” He shoots her a smile so like dad’s it cracks something deep in her chest. “Try not to worry too much, Katara. It’ll come back. You’re too stubborn for it not to.”
She watches him go until Aang’s fingers brush hers again.
“Come on. It might be easier with the moon out.”
And it is. Its pale light is a balm, a deep-soak that dulls the aftershocks of what the acrobat wrought. Until, after a dozen attempts, Katara is able to hold the water in the air again, shakily. Aang whoops.
“Aang!” Sokka bellows from camp. Katara bursts out laughing.
Improvement is steady but slow. She and Aang move clockwise in tighter and tighter circles as they pass the water between them, the moonlight slowly flushing her chi-pathways clean. It feels like Yue smiling down on them both, guiding Katara by the hand through her recovery.
Katara finds herself thinking of the Cave again. How the two lovers learned their element from the Badgermoles, the original Earthbenders. Hadn’t Yue said the same of the Moon for water?
She and Aang have drawn close again, weaving around each-other, steps slower in the water but no less precise. She thinks of koi fish in a pond, of shared suffering and shared healing, of two people finding each-other against all odds.
“Thanks for this,” Katara murmurs.
“No problem,” he says brightly, concentrating on his elbows like she’s been telling him. His form is improving so much already.
“Gotta get the extra practice in now, I guess,” she hums. “We’ll be doing less of it once we find your earthbending teacher.”
She sounds a little hollow even to her own ear. They’ve been on every step of this journey together, and even if she’s ahead of him now the idea of continuing alone isn’t very appealing. She tries imagining Aang’s mysterious earthbending teacher; probably a buff, gruff guy who won't respect the value of what they’ve built together, in these moments of tranquil focus.
Something burns in Katara’s throat. Not jealousy. Of course not. More like protectiveness. He’s her student. Her responsibility. Hers.
But Aang shakes his head.
“I won’t let the other elements get in the way. I wouldn’t want to lose any time in the water.”
“Aang, training’s important but that doesn’t mean you should forget to have downtime. We’re still kids, right?”
She wonders when he started needing the reminder as much as her. A piece of him was lost on their way out of the North, she thinks, caught between the drifting carcasses of the Fire Navy ships and held fast. Like the piece of her girlhood she abandoned with Mom in that Fire Nation raid long ago.
But Aang still smiles.
“I know, I just meant… Waterbending doesn’t feel like work with you. Not that I'm not learning stuff! You're a great teacher. It’s just relaxing. And you’re way more fun than Pakku.”
She grins. She can count the number of times someone called her ‘fun’ before she met Aang on one hand. Back home she was always too busy working for the kids to see her as anything more than an arm of the adults. Sokka’s ever-hovering wet blanket.
“...I do think we should probably sleep, though. We’ve been at this for a while and Sokka will want to leave early tomorrow.”
He nods. Their arms brush as they drop– have they really gotten that close?-- and for a moment he’s just looking at her, and she’s looking at him, and everything is perfect and silent and still, with Yue their only witness.
They haven’t talked about the kiss. Haven’t had a chance to, with all the craziness in Omashu, but also… Katara isn’t sure she’s ready to. They’re operating on kid rules, almost– Like because it happened in the dark it didn’t count. Just cover your eyes and pretend it isn’t there. Pretend Katara didn’t feel his soft, never-have-this-again, please don’t hate me I can’t do without you desperation against her mouth.
Like she could ever hate him. Ever leave. But Aang looks away and the moment is broken. He steps back to a respectful distance and bows. Lesson ended.
She smiles and returns the bow. He keeps finding new ways to make her feel powerful, even after being at her lowest. They dress quietly, bending the water from their bodies first, and Katara finds herself thinking.
Maybe Aang hasn’t brought up what happened because he’s waiting for her cue. She’s the one who suggested they kiss after all, and he seemed almost as blindsided by it as her.
She still doesn't really understand why she did. The image of them… doing that just… popped into her head unbidden. Love leads the way, right? She’s not quite sure when love had become him.
They return to camp, Aang going to check on Appa while Katara snuggles into her sleeping bag next to Sokka’s.
“You touch him any more and you're gonna give the kid an aneurysm.”
Katara whips round. Sokka’s eyes are still closed but he’s fighting a smirk. She checks Aang’s still out of earshot before whispering fiercely:
“Those are just the forms! I'm instructing him, Sokka.”
“Is that how Pakku instructed you? ‘Cause we might have to head home so I can lay the guy out.”
She flushes.
“You’re ridiculous.”
And she buries herself in her sleeping bag before Aang gets back. Sokka will not make her self-conscious about spending time doing the thing she loves with her best friend, whom she…
(Ugh. Now they’re out of danger and the panic of losing her bending is past, a lot of feelings well-suppressed are bubbling to the surface. Why did she even suggest they kiss? Sokka joked about Pakku, but he never had this problem teaching his classes.)
It’s fine. Kissing her student doesn’t have to be a big deal if she doesn’t make it one. It was a high-pressure situation, they were alone in the dark, it doesn’t mean anything that it was the first place Katara's mind went.
Just a kiss between friends, an act of necessity, an act of trust. That’s all. Katara knows what first kisses are supposed to feel like, and that wasn’t it.
She squeezes her eyes shut against two figures leaning towards her. One is shorter than her with eyes like a thunderstorm over the sea. The other towers over her, with sharp eyes and a sharper smirk and dark hair in a wild curtain over his brows.
Jet had kissed her in secret too. Clandestine in the treetops when no-one else was looking. Sharp and hot and knee-buckling and breathless.
That’s how it’s meant to be, right? Like in the stories the old women told back home. Not tentative, curious, clinging to the other person as your anchor, giving and taking in equal measure.
Maybe that’s why Katara’s confused, because everyone paints romance as this bold bolt-from-the-blue thing, sudden as a lightning strike. But kissing Aang wasn’t all that different from bending with him. A logical next step, smooth and easy, stance to stance as they would weave through the water.
Katara twists in her sleeping bag, trying to dispel the ghost of Jet. She hasn’t thought of him in a while, but all this is bringing it back. She feels a little bad for stealing Aang’s first kiss the way Jet stole hers, but at least Aang’s was with someone he could trust, who loves him. Even if it’s not in that way.
(It’s not. She is his teacher, his protector. Shut up, Sokka.)
She opens her eyes and finds the moon, high in the sky. She thinks of Yue, and of Sokka’s broken heart. Of the jagged pieces of her own jamming in her chest after Jet drove a boot through it.
“Thank you for guiding me back to you,” she breathes to the moon, quiet enough that Sokka won’t hear, then turns back over. If Aang’s happy to leave their kiss where it lies then maybe that’s for the best. Now isn’t the time.
Maybe she’ll talk to him about it later, once they’ve found his earthbending teacher, or once they’ve won the war. Maybe by then she’ll have figured herself out, and they can put all this to bed. The world has waited a century for their Avatar. Katara can stand to wait a little longer for Aang.