Chapter Text
Katara
The domesticality is what makes Katara feel so out of place in Zuko’s home. The way Toph sets the table, Azula converses with the other two of her friends, and Zuko makes dinner, is an odd spectacle for her; she can hardly focus on helping.
They talk, they laugh, they exchange physical contact with one another in such subtle, easy ways that it literally startles Katara.
At one point, while she's cutting up some extra vegetables, Zuko joins beside her to help, brushing their arms ever so slightly. She has to force herself not to flinch at the odd intimacy of everything. She hides the grimace that tries to force its way onto her face each time they bump into one another.
She isn't sure how much she hates it, though, and that, she knows, is light-years scarier than the contact itself.
Katara isn’t exactly sure how she ended up running errands with Zuko three hours before midnight. Still, she supposes it’s better than finishing dinner with a group of people who despise everything she stood for merely a few weeks prior.
Then again, that same criterion can be applied to Zuko. Perhaps it’s easier to handle since he’s just one person, rather than five.
When Zuko’s father, Lord Ozai, was said to be mere minutes from arriving, Zuko nearly fell over in his seat to scramble and leave the house. No one mentioned his odd behavior or why he felt the need to be away from his father. Katara, on some level, understood, though. She knew what it was like to want to be away from one’s father at all costs. After all, her’s literally planned her execution.
She hadn’t told Zuko she would be assisting him with his errands, but something about staying in the house with everyone else and leaving Zuko alone felt too wrong.
She had never been inside a Fire Nation store before, unless you counted her stealing clothes just the other night, but she didn’t. The lights were all dimmed, aware of the night that stretched beyond them, and the items were cheap, cheaper than what Katara had seen even in the lower rings of Ba Sing Se.
Each piece of food was nearing its expiration, and those that weren’t wouldn’t be touched until they were, and the prices would be lowered. Even Ozai, one of the most prominent figures in the Fire Nation, couldn’t afford ripe food.
Katara thought back to palaces in the Northern Water Tribe (Palaces. Plural). The feasts that she was sure were held at least once a week, and the excess amounts of food that would just be thrown out because the attendants were too full to continue eating. She had only been there for a day, and yet she had seen everything: the servants assembling, the cooks preparing, all of the unnecessary labor to make sure that those at the top were satisfied.
She hadn’t been in that position for six years, but still, the guilt rose in her stomach and through her esophagus, burning at her throat.
Zuko sent her a confused glance upon her realization. She shook away the emotions surfacing and stinging at her skin.
Apologizing won’t change a thing.
They exchanged no words as they walked from store to store, Zuko analyzing and examining the food being offered, putting it away if he found it wasn't up to his expectations. He searched for the best deals, doing the math for how much each item would cost him and ensuring he would lose as little money as possible when shopping.
Katara found it somewhat endearing.
The way he was so precise with each item, the way it seemed to calm him to an extent she had never seen before.
She specifically enjoyed the silence. Toph and Azula were loud people. Toph, she could understand; when all you have is your voice, you must use it. Azula, however, nearly drove her mad.
The way she spoke without ever second-guessing herself, never thinking about the consequences of her actions. What irked her even more was that Azula’s fighting was the complete opposite. Always thinking before acting, assessing her situation.
She and Zuko were opposites in that way. It was almost uncanny; one’s strength was the other's weakness.
Zuko came to a sudden stop in the middle of one of the roads. No one was around, and most shops had now closed. Katara wasn’t sure how long it had been since they’d begun, but she was sure it was nearing midnight now.
The wind swayed the trees above them, and Zuko appeared to breathe in unison with them, in some kind of odd, meditative state.
Finally, he began walking again, starting back to their host’s house. He hesitated, however, somewhat trapped between thoughts on where to go.
“We don’t have to go back yet,” Katara found herself speaking, not entirely sure if this was the right time.
“The food needs to be refrigerated.”
“I can keep it cold until we get back,” She reminded.
He took a short breath before turning around and heading in a different direction. Katara wasn’t exactly sure where he was leading her, or if he even knew where he was going, but she followed nonetheless, taking one of the bags Zuko was holding and bending a sheet of ice around it to keep the food cool.
Katara had never been good at reading other people; she could hardly understand her own emotions, spirits forbid she ever tried to understand others’. But as Zuko continued to walk towards what seemed to be nothingness, Katara could sense his unease, the way he picked at his skin with his nails, or how he continued to take deep breaths to keep himself calm.
After walking for nearly ten minutes, Katara saw it: a small pond with a singular park bench beside it.
Upon further inspection, Katara noticed a group of Turtleducks swimming about. She wondered if Zuko had purposefully come here or if he had just happened upon it. The area was relatively secluded, and the wind seemed to flourish even more; it didn’t appear to bother Zuko, however, as he took from one of the bags a small loaf of bread. He ripped off a small piece of the bread and tossed it into the pond for the turtleducks to eat. They each went darting to the food, nearly fighting one another for the nutrition.
They stayed like that, Zuko tossing a crumb into the water every few minutes and Katara standing behind him, unmoving, watching.
“My father hates me,” He finally said, causing Katara to nearly flinch at the sound. “I wasn’t born a bender, which, given the state of the world, was hardly a bad thing, but they weren’t married, I wasn’t supposed to happen.” Katara simply hummed. “But my sister, she was born with the spark. Not long after that, I ended up showing. If I weren’t a bender, though, I wonder if things could’ve turned out differently.”
Katara slowly approached, making sure to remain sensitive to Zuko’s obvious catharsis, “With your mom?”
He sighed, turning his head slightly away from the Waterbender. “There have always been raids, always trying to eradicate the last of the Firebenders. When it was just me, we didn’t have to worry. My dad was somehow able to stay under the radar since he was young. I don’t know how he did it, neither does he, I decided, because he never did it with Azula.” He paused his rambling, taking another deep breath and tossing another crumb of bread into the pond to center himself. “When the Water Tribes finally caught wind of a Firebender here in Caldera, Azula was eight. We hadn’t had a raid in years, we thought they were over, but- … wishful thinking on our part, we should’ve been better prepared, I should’ve been better prepared.”
There was a long stretch of silence. Zuko’s words hung in the air, festering more emotions.
“My mom took the blame, said it was her. I was with her, and I saw her sacrifice herself for Azula. And- she told me to grab my father, to run to him, but I was frozen. I could’ve saved her. We had three Firebenders, opposed to the singular one they were told existed. We could’ve done something- if I had just gotten them.”
A turtleduck rises from the pond and approaches Zuko, sitting down beside him. He hesitates, bringing his hand up to the animal in an attempt to pet it. When he finally touches its head, it leans into his touch, a silent connection between the two.
“He blames me,” Zuko adds, continuing to pet the tutleduck. “The worst of it is, I know he’s right to.”
He hands Katara the bread in his unoccupied hand, and she takes it, ripping a small piece and tossing it gently into the pond.
“It’s impossible,” Katara finally speaks, choosing her words as carefully as possible, “Being stuck. We cannot change the past, only influence the future. We only torture ourselves by remaining fixated.”
Zuko lets out a small but cold laugh, “What do you know of torture?”
She hates the question because she knows what it means beneath the spite, beneath the hatred for her Tribes. Beneath the way she grew up, with the choice to be oblivious if she truly wanted to be.
It’s an invitation.
“That’s something we have in common.”
It’s an opening.
“That’s something we have in common.”
It’s a request.
“That’s something we have in common.”
She chooses to ignore it, throwing another piece of bread into the pond. She wonders for a moment if they may be overfeeding the ducklings, but given how secluded the area is, she knows that’s the furthest thing from the truth.
Zuko doesn’t say anything more, letting the question linger in case she changes her mind. She won’t, he should know that. Still, the silence stretches.
She thinks about it, how she would even begin to explain how she grew up. The way Sokka, like Azula, was a prodigy and praised for the littlest of efforts, while she had to beg for even a shred of attention from her father.
How would she even begin to describe her mother? No words could do the woman justice– at least, none that Katara knew of– to convey her heroism towards Katara’s life properly.
She shakes away the thought. Thinking about the past will only keep you stuck in it. She can’t stay stuck.
She feels a sudden warmth against her upper arm, causing her body to betray her mind and jerk in retaliation.
“Whoa, uh- sorry.” Zuko puts his hands up in mock surrender, clearly surprised by her instant reaction.
It was his own arm, she realizes, because he was much closer to her than he had been when she initially sat down. It was his own arm slightly bumping against hers because he was shifting closer.
It really is such an odd thing not to care about touch.
Perhaps it’s because she’s a Waterbender. After all, she can feel his and her own blood flow through their bodies and the sensation of it being pumped by their hearts.
But even so, the only person who ever showed such intimate physicality with Katara was her own mother. Neither Sokka, her Father, nor even Hama would so much as hold hands with another person without a proper reason. All throughout the Water Tribes, too, no one initiates such contact with another unless it’s their spouse, and even that was always behind closed doors.
It’s the distance, Katara concludes, that always influenced her people's reluctance to intimacy. The more distant you felt in relation to another person, the less you cared about them. And when you’re part of a family- a Tribe, whose main objective is to win a war, you find that distancing yourself from people is better for everyone.
She shifts back into place beside Zuko, still leaving some space between the two.
“I know my opinion is the last that matters in this situation, but.. It’s not your fault. It never was. It was us. It was the Water Tribes that killed her; no one is to blame for the tragedy besides the ones who participated.” She finds herself speaking softly, low, afraid someone might hear such a vulnerable conversation despite the seclusion of the pond.
Zuko hums, obviously not convinced, but Katara doesn’t push it.
His character makes more sense to her now. His feelings of guilt influence his behavior with their ragtag Avatar savior group. It’s why he always felt so much older than the rest of the group to her: his paternal instincts towards his friends.
They stay sitting for another few minutes, allowing the silence to speak whatever words they cannot. A second turtleduck makes its way into Zuko’s lap, and Katara has to stop herself from rolling her eyes at him being an apparent turtleduck magnet.
“You never answered Toph’s question, by the way,” Zuko finally says, causing Katara to raise a brow in confusion. “She asked where you were staying. You never actually answered her.”
Katara thinks back to the quick exchange between the two. It was true, she wasn’t exactly “staying” anywhere. If anyone so much as saw her, they would know who she was, so she had been rooftop hopping the past few nights. It wasn’t as uncomfortable as it would seem, and she always enjoyed lying under the stars, though the air was far more polluted than in the North or South.
“I’m fine,” she avoids the question again, knowing that if Zuko and all of his feelings learned about her not actually living anywhere, he would give her some kind of offer, like when he had forced her to stay for dinner, and that was the last thing she wanted. Pity. She wants to throw up just thinking about it.
“That still doesn’t answer anything.”
“Zuko, really, I’m fine. I’ve been just fine these past few days; nothing is going to change.”
“If you were actually fine, you wouldn’t avoid the question like the plague.” Spirits, she hated how stubborn he could be. She does actually roll her eyes this time, causing him to scoff. “It’s going to rain later, you know.”
She did– well, kind of– she had felt it in the air, the moisture increasing slightly as the hours passed. “I’m a Waterbender, it’s easy enough to deflect,” Her pride answered before her logic did, making her wince once she realized her mistake.
“So you admit you’ve been staying outside.” It’s a statement rather than a question, leaving no room for refutation.
“I like the stars.” is the only response she can muster, because it’s the only thing that she can think of that’s true.
Zuko lets out a sigh and stretches it for dramatic effect. “Well, you know, if you want to focus on getting actual sleep rather than keeping yourself dry, my window will be open. Just putting that out there.”
Katara stands and brushes the dirt off her clothes. She returns to the few bags of cold food and lightly freezes them once more before leaving the pond and Zuko. She doesn’t look back at him.
She’ll do just fine lying on a rooftop tonight, much like she had all the days before.
And there would be no overwhelming urge to take Zuko up on his offer once the rain started, and she would be stuck bending a dome over herself for the next few hours.
Fuck, she hated it when she was wrong.
And she especially hated it when someone like Zuko was right.
And she especially extra hated it when someone like Zuko was right and kind about it too.
Because as the rain pours down on her (It felt like the right thing to dissipate the dome as a consequence since she had just been proven wrong), and she fiddles with the window to Zuko’s room, she can see him and that smug smile on his face as he sleeps soundly.
Once she finally opens the window and bends the water that originally soaked her off, she realizes that he was not actually asleep, and was actually, against her better judgment, awake, the words ‘I told you so’ obviously tugging at his lips.
But he doesn’t say anything, instead opting to point at the extra pillow and blanket on the ground.
“You can take them to the main room’s couch instead, if you want.”
She’s left nearly frozen in place, shifting her eyes from Zuko, to the floor, to the door leading into the main hallway, then back to the floor.
It takes her much longer than it should to force the singular “Thanks” out, but Zuko doesn’t seem to mind.
“Let me know if you need anything else,” he says before he turns around in his mattress to fall back asleep.
Katara is left genuinely baffled by his kindness. Was it really kindness? Perhaps it was some kind of manipulation technique, or maybe a way to earn her trust as quickly as possible before he finally finished his job, making her death all the more satisfying for him and his friends.
She silently walks out of the room and into the main hallway, not exactly sure where she’s headed, but needing to somehow clear her mind.
She makes her way into the main room before stopping in her tracks upon seeing a man sitting in an armchair off in one of the far corners of the room.
He’s large, maybe larger than her father, with a larger beard. His eyes glare at her with pure indignation before softening ever so slightly.
Katara instinctively reaches to brush her hair down, trying to make herself look proper. (Years of being surrounded by terrifying authority figures may have had some subconscious effects on her.)
“Katara of the Southern Water Tribe.” Although his voice is quiet, it still booms, and she wants more than anything to get away from this house and never return.
She instead nods her head, keeping her mind clear.
She focuses on his blood. She pours her attention into learning his flow. It’s through this that she realizes that this is Zuko and Azula’s father.
Spirits. She’s fucked.
“Thank you.” He stands up to leave out the front door, not sparing her another glance. She stays frozen in place, not daring to make another sound, let alone movement.
Once she can no longer feel his blood, once she’s sure he’s gone, she rushes as fast as possible back into Zuko’s room.
The rain hits the roof loudly, with thunder following every few seconds. She, more than anything, wants to leave; she really does.
She really does.
Right?
She lies down on the floor, placing her head atop the pillow and herself under the blanket,
It’s odd how comfortably warm it is.