Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

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welcome to the club, buddy

Katara’s fingers itch to scratch her neck, but she exerts great effort to restrain herself. It wouldn’t do to irritate the rash further. She knows it will scar permanently if she does, and that’s something her thirteen-year-old vanity simply can’t allow.

Now, don’t get her wrong. Katara is neither so vainglorious, nor so self-involved to imagine anyone other than herself cares about the fact that she’s been steadily breaking out in the most disgusting and vomit-provoking zits all over her chest, neck and back. She’s aware the outside world doesn’t even spare her a second glance.

But damn it, she wants that one glance it does spare her to not leave any wretched bastard that has had the poor fortune of crossing her path running for the nearest bathroom in nausea.

Her hands sit in her lap, clenched in fists, and she wishes she’d brought some origami paper to entertain herself with while she waits.

Gods, what’s taking so long? June’s office is always so busy, she always ends up sitting in the waiting area for an eternity before she’s invited inside. But today she’s alone in the foyer, and still, no one’s come to get her. She should have brought her homework, she thinks angrily, and wrings her hands just so they have something to do.

It’s a welcome distraction from the horrible itching in her neck, when the front door swings open and two people dart in. She looks at the newcomers curiously – it’s an old man with an impressive gray beard and mischievous light brown eyes, and a boy who looks as though he’d rather be anywhere else but here. Welcome to the club, buddy.

She studies them as they settle in the chairs opposite her. The old man is prattling on about something or other, lifting a thermos to his lips every now and then, while the boy sulks in silence, arms crossed over his chest. He doesn’t look that much older than her, a couple of years max, but they’re at that age when even a year can make a big difference, looks-wise.

He’s scrawny and dangly in that way that suggests he’s due for a growth spurt soon – Katara’s brother Sokka has just gone through one of his own and he doesn’t miss an opportunity to gloat about their harrowing height difference – but most prominent in his appearance is the bandage that covers almost the entire left side of his face.

His head snaps up and he pins Katara under an incinerating glare – how can a person glare with so much intensity with only one eye? – and she realizes she’s been staring. She looks away in embarrassment, feeling her cheeks burn, and once again curses herself for forgetting her origami at home.

A nurse comes from one of the doors behind the reception – finally – and looks at her clipboard in what can only be described as profound boredom.

“Zuko Sozin?” she drawls out and surveys the waiting room. The old man gets to his feet and goes to shake her hand with way too much enthusiasm than the situation calls for – “Pleasure to meet you, I’m Iroh, the uncle,” – and they start discussing the upcoming treatment in hushed voices.

Katara dares to look back at the boy opposite her, feeling indignation swell in her pubescent chest. She’s been waiting for ages, and now he gets to go in before her? Sure, whatever’s happened to his face seems a lot more serious than her rash, but still, she thought the field of medical services was supposed to be a democratic institution.

He senses her stare and glares right back. They sit like that in tense silence for a while, willing their eyes to burn holes in the other, until her attention is drawn to the conversation happening a few feet away.

“…and is there any salve we should get? I have a homemade concoction that’s supposed to work miracles, but I wasn’t sure if –”

“You could try,” the nurse cuts him off impatiently. “But your nephew’s burns are very severe. There’s irreversible nerve damage and the skin tissue won’t be able to repair itself. It will most certainly scar. Just make sure whatever you get doesn’t irritate the wound and make everything worse.”

Katara’s gaze softens as she looks back to the boy. He’s intently staring at the floor now, hands clenched in fists, and she suddenly feels very silly for worrying about her rash scarring. Whatever’s happened to him, he’ll be wearing the reminder of it on his face for the rest of his life. It’s a pity, too. What little she can see of it is enough for her to know he’s handsome in that classic, if a little harsh way, all sharp edges and angles.

Despite the bandage around his face, Katara feels unsettled by his handsomeness, in that annoying way that makes her want to pull up the collar of her shirt and hide her own hideousness. She’s aware how silly and childish that is, but still – she’s a silly girl who isn’t anywhere close to becoming an adult soon, so she can allow herself this little bout of insecurity that is a prerequisite of this turbulent age she’s smack dab in the middle of.

But alas, if there’s one place on earth where one can gladly leave their insecurities by the door, it’s a dermatologist’s office. These walls have probably seen enough zits for a thousand lifetimes.

The man – the boy’s uncle apparently – sighs in resignation and calls Zuko to his feet. They disappear behind the door and Katara is left alone in the waiting room once more. The nurse follows them without a word in her direction.

Burns, she’s heard her say. What could have possibly happened to leave his face damaged so harshly, she wonders, and then she snaps her mind away from that trail of thoughts. This is a complete stranger, she reminds herself, one who’s just cut in line in front of her at that (and who far surpasses her in attractiveness, though that’s something she refuses to dwell on). She has absolutely no logical reason to feel sympathy for him.

Katara stews in her bitterness as she waits, and then she waits some more. When the uncle and the nephew reappear, still no one’s come to call her. She’s starting to get hungry, and that only aggravates her further. She can’t wait until she can have her favorite sea prunes tonight.

Ah, sea prunes. Her mouth starts watering at the thought. Admittedly, she has too few joys in her life for a simple cooked dish to bring her this much comfort. She supposes exaggerated misery is in the fine print of the young teenage girl existence also.

But Zuko’s misery – or the apparency of it – isn’t exaggerated, not in the least, considering he’d probably never worry about something as trivial as bad skin in his permanently burned disposition.

Abruptly, Katara has a ridiculous thought about this queue-jumping stranger – I hope he has a favorite comfort food, too.

When they pass by her on their way out the door, all previous animosity she’s felt flies out of her mind, and her mouth opens before she can stop herself. “Get better soon,” she mumbles, and Zuko, who’s now wearing a fresh bandage on his face, falters in his stride.

He considers her for a second, possibly weighing if he can forgive her shameless staring from earlier, and then he just grunts. It’s an unintelligible sound, one that lets her know he isn’t the overly talkative type, but it’s still one of begrudging acknowledgement. He nods and then the door’s swinging behind his back and she’s all alone in the waiting area once more.

=

Katara’s dreams of sea prunes turn out to be of the heartbreakingly impossible kind.

“This is an allergic reaction,” June informs her and gets up to rummage through one of the cabinets. “Take these two times a day and come see me again next week. And no sea prunes,” she says sternly and stares Katara down.

She makes her way out of the office, clutching the pill container tightly, and fights the tears that threaten to fall from her eyes.

=

It would seem her appointment coincides with Zuko’s again the following week. This time, she’s had the foresight to bring something to entertain herself with as she waits, knowing she’ll probably grow breasts before the unwelcoming nurse comes to get her.

Zuko’s alone this time, sitting in the same chair as before, and he’s looking at her. But it’s not so angry anymore, she’s surprised to see. No, he almost seems curious as her fingers nimbly fold the pink piece of paper in her lap and produce a crane of sorts. She examines it after she’s done, nods in satisfaction, and places it on the low table between them.

Zuko looks at the crane, then seems to hesitate for a second, before getting up and coming to sit next to her instead.

“What are you doing?” he asks, and she’s shocked by how deep his voice is. Maybe her previous assessment’s been wrong, and he’s already undergone the transformations that come with puberty. The rasp interwoven in his words reminds her of a crackling fireside, of smoke coming out of a chimney.

“Origami,” she says and wonders if he’s stupid. It’s obvious what she’s doing, isn’t it? She looks up at him pointedly and is caught unprepared by the bright shade of gold of his good eye.

“Oh.” He looks down at her hands, blinks a couple times. Then he looks back at her and clears his throat, seeming very sheepish all of a sudden. “Could you show me how?”

Katara’s appropriately shocked, but after a second, she just nods and hands him a piece of paper. He scowls at it – this one’s also an obnoxiously bright pink – but doesn’t protest. She gets one for herself and slowly guides him through the steps. His long pale fingers flutter over the paper and she can see he’s struggling a bit, but at the end of her lesson, there’s two new cranes sitting on the table – one looking slightly more crippled than the other – and Zuko’s smiling.

The nurse comes to call him inside and he gets up from his seat. Katara finds she’s disappointed to be robbed of his brooding company so soon, but then he looks back at her and says, “Thanks.”

She feels her cheeks flare and grumbles something incoherent in response. Maybe the visits to the dermatologist’s office with all their endless idle waiting aren’t all that bad, she decides.

=

“I can see some improvement,” June muses as she trails a finger over the rash.

“Does that mean I can eat sea prunes again soon?” Katara asks hopefully, but all possibility of her tasting her favorite food again is crushed when she sees the look on June’s face.

“No. I don’t think you’ll ever be able to have them again.” June sighs and the sound is tired in a way that doesn’t match her young age. “You were lucky this time, Katara. But this is only going to get worse. Next time, your throat may swell up to the point where you’re unable to breathe. I’d steer clear of sea prunes for good if I were you.”

Katara feels her throat go tight with tears and gives a strained nod, blinking fast. June looks at her with something almost akin to sympathy – she doesn’t usually express any sort of emotion, at least not ones that lie beyond grave irritation – but now, it seems as though she’s softening in the face of Katara’s own personal little tragedy, just the slightest bit.

“What did you do to get here? I’m guessing you went really wild with those.”

Katara swallows guiltily. She did, she really did. The anniversary of her mother’s death was just last month, and ever since then, she’s been having the treats every night, without fail, sometimes gorging herself to the point where her stomach hurt throughout the entire night afterwards. It had been her mother’s favorite food too, and they used to always cook them together. “Yeah,” she admits quietly.

“Well, don’t do it again. You’ll find something else to enjoy just as much, I’m sure.”

Katara nods again, knowing that’s impossible. Her feet feel heavy as she trudges out of June’s office. With every day that passes, there’s less and less that ties her to the woman who brought her up. She wonders, immense sadness swelling up in her chest, how much time she has until there’s truly nothing left and Kya’s kind blue eyes completely fade from her memory.

=

Chapter Text

not all that bad

=

Katara’s waltz into puberty isn’t nearly as graceful as she has hoped it would be. True, her knees and her elbows don’t jut out nearly as much anymore, she’s grown taller – ha, take that, Sokka – and there’s even some softness to her chest now. But still, coming of age isn’t entirely merciful. Most of her face is now covered with a painful sort of acne, but what aggravates Katara the most is the ugliness that stares back at her from the mirror.

Spirits, she’s really due for a makeover of the Princess Diaries variety right about now.

She’s secretly bought herself a concealer that she generously applies to her face whenever she’s forced to go out – she doesn’t go out much otherwise, afraid of what the other kids may say about her appearance – but it only seems to irritate the skin further, making it blotchy and red.

“Whatever it is you’ve been putting on your face, you need to throw it out,” June says and fixes her under her trademark disapproving stare. “Your skin will heal much better without it, I promise.”

Katara shifts uncomfortably and wonders if she’ll be brave enough to take her advice. But June hands her some products to use – they’re of much better quality than anything she could otherwise afford – and she tucks them in her backpack gratefully.

“How are things going with the move?” June asks just to appease her and Katara feels something unpleasant rear its head. They’re moving to a new neighborhood, after finally deciding none of them can take her mother’s lingering presence in their old house – and that means she’ll have to go through the painful ordeal of switching schools just as she’s starting that hellhole known as high school.

“It’s fine,” she lies for June’s benefit.

“Are you excited for school?”

“Sure.”

“Well, I hope you make a lot of new friends.”

Doubtful, Katara thinks as she absently scratches a zit on her forehead. But she keeps her insecurity to herself and soon enough, June’s kicking her out of her office after having drilled her instructions on how to properly cleanse and care for oily skin into Katara’s poorly packaged skull.

She makes her way out into the waiting area and stops dead in her tracks, blinking dumbly.

Zuko’s there, but the face he’s wearing is not the one she’s used to. She hasn’t seen him in a long time – she’s been away to the South Pole for the summer, and after she came back, it seemed as though their appointments had fallen out of sync – but now he’s here and he seems just as surprised to see her.

Katara can’t stop blinking, her eyelids’ industrious efforts seeming to be aimed at somehow summoning the Queen of Genovia to waltz through the door and make her feel pretty. The desire to look presentable is surely motivated by mere vanity and nothing else, she convinces herself.

“Hey,” Zuko says awkwardly as she shifts her weight back and forth.

“Hey,” she manages and looks away, so as to hide her face. But deep down, she doesn’t think Zuko would judge her, especially not now that his bandage is finally off. The scar is horribly harsh, tender and raw against his otherwise pale skin, and she can’t help but wince. It looks painful, what with the way his left eye is slanted in a perpetual squint, the skin surrounding it seeming to have taken the worst of his burn.

Zuko seems just as embarrassed to be laid bare before her as she is, and they stand there awkwardly for a few excruciating seconds. Unfortunately, no fictional character comes to save them from the prolonged silence.

“So,” Katara says finally and commands her feet to start moving. “I guess I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah,” Zuko says and with a nod, she flees.

=

She does see him again, but it’s where she least expects.

Katara doesn’t know if the universe hates her or loves her, because as it turns out, Zuko is in her new class. He’s older than her, of course, but she’s always been ahead in Math, braving classes with the big kids and all the horrors that comes with. It should feel like an accomplishment, she knows, but getting mocked for being a freak brainiac while everyone around her is a head taller, the girls prettier and womanlier, her smartness has always seemed like an unfortunate burden of its own design.

Her brother is in that same class, too, and she feels slightly reassured by his presence. Sokka takes great care to talk to her and shield her from the worst of the bullying – he’s had his own share of that, though for entirely different reasons – whereas she’s always excelled at Math, he’s always fallen behind, often getting dubbed the idiot of the class, but somehow never resenting her for her academic success – but even his brotherly protectiveness has its limits.

There’s another girl there who’s ahead of their year. Her name is Azula and as Katara quickly learns, she’s Zuko’s sister. Her face is, in stark contrast to her brother’s, made of perfect porcelain, and Katara can’t help but slightly resent her for it. But Azula soon gives her more valid reasons for resentment and nearly makes her wish she could switch schools again.

“You should really cut back on the chocolate,” she drawls one day at lunch, coming to sit at her table uninvited. Katara’s sitting alone, since Sokka isn’t done with his gym class yet and she hasn’t made any friends, and it’s the perfect opportunity for Azula to attack, like a vicious predator on a helpless acne-covered prey.

Katara looks up and narrows her eyes in animosity. But Azula bites on her apple unperturbed. “Ever heard of vegetables? You can hardly afford to make your skin any worse, so I’d give it a try if I were you.”

“Leave her alone, Azula,” Zuko says and comes to sit on her right side. Katara suddenly wants to sink into the earth, away from view, and just die alone in her misery.

Azula rolls her eyes. “Well, I’m hardly wrong, Zuzu. Just look at her.” Katara looks down at her tray in shame, uninvited tears burning in her eyes. “You two should start your own ugly-face club. God knows you could use the company.”

Mercifully, it is at that precise moment that Sokka darts in the cafeteria. Katara stands up stiffly and takes her things, stalking over to him without a word to either of the Sozin siblings.

Sokka looks at her strangely when she comes to stand next to him on the queue for lunch. “You okay, Katara?”

“High-school sucks. It sucks big hairy balls,” she grumbles. Her brother laughs and ruffles her hair affectionately. Spirits, she’s so glad she has him.

=

But eventually, even the comfort of her brother’s unfailing presence is taken away from her. Sokka, loud and friendly and boisterous as he is, ends up making a lot of new friends at their new school, and soon enough, hanging out with her becomes second priority.

He’s always enjoyed athletic activities – they balance each other out in that funny way, Katara’s always had the brains, whereas Sokka has a talent for all-things physical and hands-on – and after he joins the hockey team, it’s only a matter of time before he’s considered one of the popular kids.

Katara, never having been particularly ‘cool’ herself, still hangs out with him and his teammates occasionally. But that stops after she hears one of them – an unfairly attractive, but equally as rude and tactless boy by the name of Jet – saying something along the lines of, “Oh, Sokka’s weird little sister is tagging along again. Swell.”

Prompted to socialize more by her guidance counselor – a caring, but stern man called Piandao – she decides to join the debating team. She’s always been an argumentative person, and she thinks she’ll do okay in a place that cares more for rational thought rather than appearances.

By some grace of the universe, her expectations are proven right, and soon enough, she can no longer call herself friendless. The people she meets at debate club are weird in their own way and it feels as though no one’s judgmental beyond pointing out the weakness of your argument. Toph and Aang are an amusing bunch – they seem to always fall on opposing sides of the debate and the degree of intensity they put into their arguments makes for an entertaining spectacle.

Katara finds out she’s also skilled in wording her own cases and together, they progress so much that after a while they’re told they’re going to compete against other schools.

It's a little before their first competition that their team receives a new addition. It’s Zuko, Katara’s perplexed to see – despite their run-ins at the dermatologist, they don’t really know each other that well, and still, it’s plain to see conversation and words in general aren’t his strong suit – and after a while, she’s grown so curious that she decides to ask him about it.

“Well, my uncle thought it would be good for me.” Zuko shrugs as they make their way down the hall, but there’s an unmistakable grimace on his face. “Azula is better suited to this, but she insists she can't be bothered with talking to ‘the nerds’.”

Katara scowls at that but keeps her mouth shut. She may hold a grudge against Azula, but she respects Zuko enough not to make any biting comments about his sister in his presence.

“And I suppose it’s not so bad to work on my weaknesses,” he says. “Get out of my comfort zone and whatever.”

“Yeah, I guess that makes sense.”

Zuko glances at her as he holds the door open. She slides outside in front of him, blushing slightly at his chivalry. “You’re really good at it though. You should consider becoming a lawyer, or something.”

Katara laughs. “No way. I don’t see myself ever doing that.” She pauses and looks at him appraisingly. “But thanks.”

Zuko shrugs, his face a little red now too. “What do you want to do then?” he asks.

“I don’t know. Something having to do with math, probably.”

He nods and readjusts the strap of the backpack on his shoulder. She looks up at him curiously, wondering why he hasn’t moved in the direction of his car yet. “What about you?”

“I have no idea.” He’s pensive for a second. “Maybe law enforcement. Or social services.”

Katara blinks. Somehow a policeman is the last thing she’s imagined Zuko as. The scar stares back at her deviously, made more prominent by the bright light of the sunset, and she thinks maybe him seeking to right the wrongs of the world isn’t such a far cry, be it as an enforcer of order or a social worker.

Zuko glances at her sideways, hesitant. “Do you… want a ride?” She blinks in surprise, and he clears his throat, sheepish. “I mean, we are in the same direction, so I thought…” It looks as though he feels the need to somehow defend his offer and Katara is suddenly very endeared by it.

“Sure,” she says, just to save him from the trouble of having to come up with more excuses, and they silently make their way through the parking lot. She quietly wonders how Zuko knows which direction she lives in, but quickly disregards the thought.

He puts on the radio as they drive. After the third traffic light, she hears him quietly humming to himself, and looks to the window to hide her smile.

High school may not be all that bad, Katara decides, and starts singing as well.

=

Chapter Text

=

something edible

Katara drags her feet out into the waiting area, head hanging low.

“What’s with you?” Zuko asks from where he’s sitting, and she doesn’t need to look at him to know he’s staring at her as if she’s some sort of extraterrestrial oddity.

She waves her hand above her head and rustles the pill container for dramatic effect. “My hormones aren’t behaving,” she says and plops down on the chair next to him, bringing the hood of her sweatshirt low over her eyes. “It’s not enough that my face looks like Swiss cheese. Now I also have to be medicated for it.”

Zuko snatches the pill container out of her hand and reads the label. He frowns. “Nothing that contains this many syllables can be good.”

“Wait till you hear the side effects.”

“Let me guess. One of them is acne?”

“Bingo. Along with back pain, headaches, and pancreatitis, apparently.” Katara slouches further in her seat, wishing to morph with the leather.

“Does it… hurt?”

“Yeah.” She pauses and peers at him through her fingertips. “Not as much as… well… I imagine your scar hurts a lot more.”

Zuko shrugs and turns his face away so she can now only see his good side. “You get used to it. And besides. It’s probably a different kind of pain.”

“Hm.” Katara looks at the smooth skin on the right side of his face and ponders the phrase good side – she thinks she likes both halves of him equally, even if it’s clear he himself doesn’t; either way, she forces it out of her mental vocabulary.

Zuko seems to sense her staring because he glances at her again and frowns. “What are you still doing here, anyway?”

She shrugs, feeling all too comfortable in these chairs that she’s now positive all have a permanent imprint of her backside on them. “Just taking a moment to ponder the misery of my existence.” And she likes the sound of his voice when he reads aloud complicated names of chemicals, but she omits that part.

He cracks a smile. “Well, if it turns out your misery is expansive enough to keep you occupied for the next forty minutes, we could hang out afterwards.”

She blinks at him and sits a little straighter. “You… want to hang out with me?”

He shrugs, as if it’s not that important. But it is, because what he doesn’t know, what Katara won’t tell him, is that the offer he’s just made is one she rarely receives from anyone. “Sure. We can talk nihilism and avoid mirrors together.”

She can’t see herself, but she feels her grin is positively radiant. “I’d like that.”

Zuko returns the grin. Just then, the nurse calls him in, and he stands up and dusts off his spotless jeans. He looks down at her and seems hesitant for a moment, before saying, “You don’t need to keep your hood on around me, you know.”

She stares at him dumbly. “But… Swiss cheese.” She gestures towards her half-hidden face limply.

“If we’re being foods, then I’m Red Windsor.” The corners of his eyes crinkle in mirth as Katara blinks at him and tries to wrap her mind around the fact that he’s just referred to himself as something edible for her comfort. “And… I’m quite fond of Swiss cheese, actually.”

With that, he disappears behind the register and Katara is left to stare at her shoes, feeling as though she might just have her intense blushing to blame for all the acne.

=

“I can’t believe you’ve never seen it.”

“Sure you can. What part of Princess Diaries screams ‘Zuko’ to you?”

“It’s a classic.”

“Yeah, I’m certain they devote an entire lecture to it in Film Studies classes.”

Katara scowls and stirs her melting ice cream as Zuko drives around aimlessly. “You’re more uncultured than I originally thought, Sozin.”

“Oh? Is that a wrong you’ll seek to right?”

“Well, I just might. You won’t get any of my fabulous references otherwise.”

“Uh-huh.”

=

“You know, I may like your face and all,” Katara starts and struggles to swallow the rest of her bite, though not without an overly dramatic wince. “But Red Windsor is disgusting.”

“You wound me, Katara. And after I praised your type of cheese? You’re heartless.”

“Well, I don’t particularly like Swiss cheese either. I don’t get why they all have to smell that way.”

“Huh.” Zuko looks down at the precut cheese slices he’s brought to their little impromptu picnic. “Turns out you’re the one who’s uncultured.”

He’s promptly hit with a piece of Red Windsor on the forehead. He grimaces as he discards it in the grass; maybe it does smell a bit off.

“Well, pair it with wine and watch my culture unravel.”

“As if I’m condoning underage drinking.”

“You’re underage too.”

“Yes, and I’m also driving. If I have to stay sober, then so do you.”

Katara groans and lies down on the blanket. “Misery does love company.”

He smiles. “It sure does.”

=

“So?” Katara is positively beaming as she presses pause and interrupts the rolling credits. “What did you think?”

“That was…” Zuko just shakes his head and gives up on finishing his sentence.

“Amazing? Groundbreaking? A masterpiece?”

He looks at the ceiling of her room and seems to search for the gentlest possible wording so as to not insult the movie she’s been gushing and pestering him about for weeks. “Groundbreaking… it was not. A masterpiece… well, sure, in its own weirdly deranged category.”

Katara hits him in the chest with a plush Unagi pillow. “You’d be wise to shut up now.”

“What? I mean, it was sort of funny, but the concept seems a bit contrived. And she looked exactly the same before and after her makeover, even though it was supposed to be some life-changing event. It was like Hannah Montana with and without the wig.”

Katara gasps in horror. “She did not look the same. And I’m not discussing Hannah Montana with you.”

Zuko looks at her with raised eyebrows, an amused smile playing on his lips. “All she did was invest in contact lenses and get her hair brushed. She looked alright in the beginning, as she did in the end. You girls focus on hair-straightening way too much.”

Katara lies down on her bed and sighs wistfully. “She’s so pretty, though. I love her eyes. ‘Alright’ is nowhere even near where it’s at.”

“Sure.” She turns her head to find Zuko is looking at her a bit strangely, some indescribable warmth dancing in his eyes. Then he frowns and his forehead wrinkles adorably. She pokes him above the eyebrow and reminds him he’s too young for frown lines, but he swats her hand away. “Why won’t you discuss Hannah Montana with me?”

“Oh, please. She’s the final boss and you’re not ready yet.”

“Well, let me know when I’ve reached that level. I have some very strong opinions to share.”

Katara flips around so she’s on her stomach and starts browsing the Netflix catalogue. “Of course you do. It’s your turn, by the way. What do you want to watch?”

“Oh, Fight Club for sure.”

Despite Katara’s resolve to shit on the movie he’s picked in petty retribution for his disregard of the pure cinematic genius that is her favorite romcom, she ends up loving it. Zuko smirks at her knowingly.

After the movie is over and the popcorn has been eaten and it’s well past dark outside, she looks at him seriously and attempts to alter her voice to a deep baritone. “The first rule of Ugly-Face Club. Is you do not talk about Ugly-Face Club.”

Zuko breaks out in laughter and after he’s managed to calm down – it takes him a while, even though Katara suspects she isn’t that funny – they spend the rest of the evening coming up with a complicated friendship handshake that they immediately forget afterwards.

Katara gathers all her hair in a bun and doesn’t care that the entirety of her face is uncovered, in plain sight with all its imperfections. Zuko, true to his word, doesn’t seem to mind either, and after a while, he stops going through the effort of always positioning his smooth-but-not-really-better side towards her.

Another rule of Ugly-Face Club they borrow from the movie: one fight at a time.

=

“Katara?”

“Yes?”

“What you said before… do you really like my face?”

“…Um. Yes.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“But that cheese is still disgusting.”

“Hm. I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.” A pause. “I like your face too.”

=

Chapter Text

=

revelations and failing spectacularly

Mercifully, her acne clears out eventually, and Katara finally starts feeling more comfortable in her own skin.

She doesn’t know if it’s her newfound confidence or the novelty of the smoothness of her face, but others seem to notice too, and she finds herself talking to people much more easily. Absently, she knows she shouldn’t be swayed by the kind of people who only notice her when she looks halfway decent, but the frivolous teenage girl in her can’t help but feel flattered either way.

On one of her last sessions in June’s office, she notices they have moved in some shiny new equipment that now takes residence beside the cabinets.

When she asks about it, June reveals they are now no longer just a medical facility – they will also start providing esthetic procedures for whoever might want them, at a hefty price at that, and Katara’s eyes shine as she looks over the brochure.

Consequently, she hurries to find herself a job and starts saving up. There’s a diner near school that accepts students for part-time work and even though serving her classmates is sometimes a pain in the ass, Katara thinks affording to treat herself to one of the laser hair removal treatments might be well-worth it.

Zuko is now a steady presence in her life, and she couldn’t be happier about it.

He makes for a good friend, she thinks, as he picks her up to drive her to school and allows her to screw around with the radio. She’s gotten him a few CD’s they can play in his car, and even though he makes sure to complain about it, she just knows she’s converted him into a diehard Backstreet Boys fan.

They often do their homework together and Katara finds he’s just as hopeless as her brother in some subjects – even more so, if that’s possible. English is one such example – Zuko is still notoriously bad with words and any essay he’s forced to write just cries for her attention – and he's even worse in Math, but she finds he’s also incredibly smart when it comes to other things - Physics and Biology, for example, are among his strongest suits.

But more prominent than that are his street smarts. “I’m just saying, if you ever need to, you should hit open-handed.” He lifts one hand to illustrate and stretches out his palm.

Then he places it against hers and for whatever reason, she finds her breath has stopped on its journey out her throat.

“That way, you won’t injure your hand, and your opponent will still get a nasty shock.” He retreats his hand and smiles at her boyishly.

“Uh-huh,” she says unintelligibly and looks away to hide her blush.

Aang and Toph come by the diner often. Katara always lets them have fries free of charge – there’s so much left over at the end of the night, that they end up having to throw most of it away anyway, and she hates being wasteful – but they still bicker over the accidental curlies they find on their shared plate.

Occasionally, Zuko joins them, and they laugh as they go over their arguments for upcoming competitions.

But more often than not, he comes when it’s only Katara there, and most noticeably, around the time her shift ends so they can walk back home together – it’s dark outside, Katara, you’re not walking alone – but I know how to hit people now, Zuko, I’ll be fine – I thought you were a pacifist – yeah, well, you’ve rubbed off on me with all your angst.

Katara finds his presence is a reassuring one, and soon enough is forced to confront the very real possibility that she’s developed a crush on him.

Despite the blood relation to his sister and the traumatic things he’s obviously gone through – the details of which she still isn’t familiar with, but she doesn’t push and hopes he’ll trust her with the story in time – Zuko is always kind, if a bit weird at times, and after a while she’s forced to admit to herself that he has, in fact, become her best friend.

That revelation is a confounding one, and the weight it carries prevents her from acting on her budding feelings. She remembers what it’s like to feel painfully alone, to have no one to eat lunch with when her brother’s not around – which he isn’t, almost at all, nowadays, as she bitterly realizes – and she can’t risk going back to that. As excruciating as being stuck in the friendzone can get, the alternative is much scarier, and she isn’t sure her feelings have progressed enough that she can risk losing Zuko’s friendship entirely.

Secretly, she hopes it will stay that way until she can shake it off, for both their sakes.

Finally, enough months of working at the diner have passed, and Katara is giddy as she breaks her piggy bank open.

It takes an awful amount of time and screaming and stomping in girly frustration, but finally, Hakoda sighs and Hakoda relents and Hakoda signs the parental agreement form.

She practically beams as she bounces over to June’s office. Zuko is there for one of his treatments – he’ll be having those for quite a while, as he’s told her with a quiet sort of resignation in his unfairly attractive raspy voice – and when he sees her, he offers to wait until she’s done as has now become their ritual.

She hesitates for a second – she doesn’t want him to know what she’s come here for; she imagines the primary reason any girl goes through with this is to maintain some sort of illusory image of perfection that has magically come about effortlessly – but in the end she agrees.

June calls her in and sends her off with one of the new employees – as much as she appreciates all the new clients the laser has brought her, she refuses to engage with it herself – and Katara assumes her position in the chair. The forms they give her to sign are dizzying with all the stipulations and possible side effects and she feels her head spin. She’s been asked if she’d like the less painful procedure or the more effective one and she almost scoffed – she’s not giving up her hard-earned dollar for something ineffective, no matter how painless – and so, she’s handed a pair of glasses to protect her eyes and told to sit tight.

She hasn’t imagined laser hair removal would be that bad – certainly, it couldn’t be worse than the torture that is waxing – but the girl approaches her with an almost bloodthirsty smile on her face.

The laser comes to life, whirring terrifyingly loudly, and Katara holds her breath as it nears her skin –

– and promptly screams out in shock at the first burning jolt of pain. Tears prick at her eyes, and she grips the chair tightly, wondering why she’s ever decided to put herself through this.

No beauty comes without pain, she chants in her head and waits for it to be over, gritting her teeth and holding on for dear life.

Afterwards, she stalks out into the waiting area and drags away Zuko by the sleeve. “I need ice-cream, and lots of it,” she barks out and he, bless him, obliges without protests, undoubtedly alarmed by the murderous look in her eyes.

“I heard you scream in there,” he says as he pulls the gearshift and drives out of the parking lot of the dermatology center. “What were you having done, anyway?”

“Oh, nothing much,” she replies and scratches her leg a bit where the burn still stings.

But Zuko isn’t having any of it. “Seriously, it sounded like a rocket was being launched. What kind of machine was that?”

Finally, Katara relents. He’s her best friend after all, she can allow him to see how vain she is. “It was a laser. I was… getting my hair removed.”

Zuko stares at her in disbelief. “Why would you do that? Sounded as though it hurt like hell.”

“It does,” she admits and bites her lip. “I don’t know, I’ve wanted to for a long time. And besides, it would save me a lot of time and pain down the line.” She smiles at him reassuringly, tries to convince her own self that there’s some practicality to all of this beyond just a stupid girlish whim. “Beauty requires sacrifices, Sozin. And I am a girl, in case you haven’t noticed. I want to be pretty just as much as the next person.”

He breaks eye contact and fixes his eyes on the road, frowning. “You don’t need to do any of that to feel beautiful, Katara. You already are.”

Katara’s face burns and it is only when she gets her ice-cream that she manages to calm down the fluttering in her stomach. Zuko is silent as he shoves the vanilla flavor in his mouth with a spoon – he’s so old-school, what a boring kind of ice-cream to choose – and for whatever reason, he seems disappointed with her.

But she ignores it. Just hearing him say what he’s said has made all the pain of the afternoon worth it, and she thinks, this is a kind of burning that she will most gladly get used to.

She also has a vague feeling he’s the kind of person who would have said the same thing regardless of whether her acne had cleared out. Her heart swells with affection and she knows, she has it bad.

=

They wipe the floor with Omashu’s debating team – even Zuko’s gotten exceedingly good by now – and after a celebratory dinner at a pizza place, they’re back in their hotel.

They’ll travel back home tomorrow, but for now, heavy victory partying is in order.

Somehow, Toph has managed to sneak in some alcohol without their supervisor finding out. They all hang out in her room and Katara finds that while the taste is god-awful – no one’s thought to get any juice or soda to chase it with, because for all their debating prowess, they’re all apparently idiots – there’s a certain dulling of her cognition and an increasing of her boldness that’s most welcome.

With every sip of her cup, she’s getting more and more giggly and at some point Zuko nudges her with his shoulder, gives her a stern look that’s obscenely sober, and tells her she better go to bed.

She pouts childishly and starts constructing her argument – she may be well on her way to total inebriation and her words are horribly slurred, but still, she’s an excellent debater, thank you very much – but not long after, she’s nearly fallen asleep at the foot of Toph’s bed, and he sees himself chivalrously obligated to drag her out of there.

Katara leans on him heavily as he walks her over to her room. The hotel’s carpeted floors are swimming in her vision disconcertingly, but all she has the mental capacity to register is Zuko’s warmth by her side.

“Katara. Keep it together until we get you to your room, alright?”

What she’s done to deserve him taking such good care of her is beyond Katara, but she doesn’t dwell on it and winds her arms around his neck.

What she does next, however, is so unbelievably stupid, she’ll smack herself over and over once she’s coherent enough to remember.

For the time being though, she’s drunk and she’s stupid, and Zuko smells really good. She lets him know that as she buries her face in his neck, and they stumble across the halls towards the elevator.

He goes stiff but doesn’t push her away – it would probably be bad form to oppose the shenanigans of cognitively impaired teenage girls – and while they wait for the elevator, her mouth decisively disconnects from her brain and starts running wild.

“You’re so handsome,” she says, and it sounds embarrassingly like a whine. But she is whining, because he is, and it’s really not fair, and he needs to know it, like, right now. “Do you know that?”

“Katara, you’re drunk.”

She considers this for a moment and hiccups in undeniable testimony of the truth in his words. “I am drunk,” she confirms. “But I really do think that. I’m just too awkward to tell you otherwise.”

Zuko blinks at her. She giggles. God, she can’t stop giggling.

“Seriously, Zuko. Sometimes I t-think –” she hiccups again “– how unfair it is that you’re so h-handsome. Like,” she pauses, tries to come up with something to convey how serious she’s being about the depth of his attractiveness, and fails spectacularly, “really handsome.”

Zuko laughs at her, and the elevator finally comes. She stumbles inside and pushes the button – the wrong button – and then they’re moving.

“Okay, Katara.”

“Sometimes,” she continues, for some reason unable to shut up, and oh, how she’ll come to regret it, “I think that maybe it’s good you have that scar. Y’know, so p-people wouldn’t just die when they see your face.”

She hugs him clumsily and it’s only when the elevator door dings open and Zuko makes no move to push the right button, that her sluggish drunken mind registers what she’s said is the most colossally wrong thing she could have.

Katara blinks and retreats her arms from around his neck, scrambling for something remotely adequate to follow her drunken ramble up with.

But Zuko stares straight ahead, face blank and pale, and she kicks herself for being such an idiot. “I’m sorry, I… that was a very stupid thing to say.”

Zuko doesn’t respond. He just slams his fist on the elevator button and waits for the doors to close again.

He’s silent as he walks her to her room and Katara keeps her hands to herself, wordlessly berating herself for her stupidity. When they’ve finally reached her door, she opens her mouth to apologize again, but Zuko quickly bids her goodnight and stalks off, shoulders tense.

=

Chapter Text

=

what were the producers thinking

Zuko doesn’t come to pick her up on the Monday after the competition, or the day after that, or the one after that. He doesn’t talk to her in Math class, he doesn’t even look at her, and her life suddenly becomes a pitifully colorless broken record of eat, sleep, homework, hate self, shift at diner, hate self some more, repeat.

Katara trudges her feet through the halls at school, head hanging low, and tries to wrap her mind around her stupidity. Not only did she get drunk – obscenely so, Sokka would be proud to hear about this rite of passage if the two of them spent any time talking – but she was also all over her best friend in a way that made her feelings disgustingly obvious – and she may be oblivious, but it’s clear even to her they must be unrequited – and to top it all off, the big fucking cherry on the cake, she told him, who’d gotten half his face burned off, that what he’d lived through was something fortunate.

God, she is such a hopeless idiot. And now, she is a lonely one too.

The days go on, excruciatingly long and monotonous, and soon enough, she can’t take it anymore. In a blind fit of indignation – one that’s mostly directed at her own self – she gets on a bus and next thing she knows, she’s knocking on Zuko’s door.

It’s Azula who answers, and her lips immediately twist in a mocking smirk. “Well, well, what do we have here? The nerd who finally invested in skincare.”

“I’m here to see Zuko,” Katara says bitingly and there must have been something desperate in her voice, because Azula’s smirk widens.

“I’ve been informed he doesn’t want to see you,” she says and studies her nails in feigned boredom.

Oh, she’s enjoying this, the heathen.

“Please, Azula,” Katara finds herself begging, and she swears, that combination of words is never leaving her mouth again; but right now, she really is desperate, and she’ll do what she must to earn Zuko's forgiveness.

Azula makes a production of rolling her eyes theatrically, then seems to decide that whatever blowout Zuko and Katara have will be more entertaining and steps aside. “He’s upstairs in his room. Don’t bother saying goodbye before you leave.”

Katara thanks her and hastily runs up the stairs, taking two at a time. This is the first time she’s stepped any further than their driveway, but she somehow lucks into Zuko’s bedroom on the first try.

“Come in,” he says in response to her tentative knock, and she opens the door.

He doesn’t immediately register it’s her, looking at something on his laptop screen, but when he finally does, he immediately scowls. “What are you doing here?”

“I… came to apologize.” She steps inside, then hesitates and stops. “May I?”                                                                                                                             

Zuko stares at her, then sighs and waves an arm to invite her in. He looks tired of her already. “I really don’t need your apology, Katara.”

“I must give it either way.” She looks down and bites her lip. “What I said was awful and I didn’t mean it. You should have never gone through what you did, and I should have never made it sound less important than it is. It’s just that… well, I sometimes forget you even have the scar. Somehow, in that moment, it flew out of my mind, and I was insensitive and a jerk and very drunk – not that it’s any excuse – and… God, I’m sorry, Zuko. I’m so sorry.”

He stares at her for a tense second, then his gaze softens ever so slightly. “It’s okay. I know you didn’t mean it.”

“I didn’t,” she confirms and feels she’s already breathing a bit easier. “But that doesn’t make it okay. Please, forgive me for everything that I said that night. It was all so, so stupid.”

He blinks and his eyes flash with uncertainty. “Everything?”

Katara bristles and feels heat creep up to the roots of her hair.

Then, she starts nodding as if she’s going for a medal. “Yes. All of it. I was drunk and stupid and said a lot of things I shouldn’t have. I was hoping we could forget any of it ever happened and just… go back to being friends?”

Zuko is silent for a moment, and she thinks she must be imagining things, because it looks a bit as though he’s disappointed.

But then he lets out a heavy breath and nods. “Okay. Sure. Friends.”

She gives a feeble laugh, relieved, and comes to sit next to him on his bed. “Best friends.”

“Don’t push it.” But there’s a smile fighting its way on his face and Katara can now finally die a peaceful woman.

“Sure.” She grins and hands him the orange origami crane she’s brought. He takes it reverently, smiles and puts it on his desk next to the sad pink one he made with her help months ago.

“They’ll keep each other company,” he says. “Like us.”

Katara’s heart skips a beat, but she swallows the lump in her throat and smiles.

And so, with that gesture of paper reconciliation, color mercifully comes back to her life once more. Azula seems disappointed as she watches Katara make her way down the stairs and out of their house. There was no big blowout after all – ha, in your perfect face, Fire Princess – and true to her word, Katara doesn’t bid her goodbye.

=

They take up their routine of driving to and from school together again and, Katara thinks, there can’t be much more to life than listening to Zuko belch out a rendition of “I Want It That Way” at eight in the morning.

She’s more hopelessly smitten than ever and despite her hopes that this crush will somehow die on its own, it only seems to intensify. She knows Zuko better now and every new piece of information she discovers only seems to push her further down the abyss of teenage infatuation; the good, the bad and the ugly.

But she’s still convinced getting involved with her best friend is a catastrophically bad idea – and he doesn’t seem to be interested in her that way all the same – so for the most part, she manages to appear almost normal.

But sometimes, Zuko manages to stun her so much, she barely keeps her feelings to herself.

On one such occasion, he tells her he’s been experimenting with a new pasta sauce – because he truly is God’s gift to women, so of course he can cook, too – and shyly asks her if she’d like to try it.

Of course, she accepts – she’s in too deep to refuse, and the look he gives her is so endearing, she couldn’t possibly do so anyway – and so, he invites her to his house one night.

He's alone, his father away on a business trip, while Azula is out of town on a fencing competition – as if she wasn’t terrifying enough without a sword in her hand, Katara thinks with a shudder – and Zuko flutters about in the kitchen as Katara busies herself with making tea.

She’s itching to ask about his mother who he’s never mentioned and who doesn't even seem to have any lingering presence left around in the house - much like the new place Katara's own family has moved to - but she bites her tongue and asks about his uncle instead.

“Oh, he’s fine. He’s just opened his own teashop downtown,” Zuko says. “We should go sometime.”

She gladly accepts, knowing she’s so hopeless she’d hoard every second with him she can even if he takes her to a murder house. She is rewarded with a toothy smile.

Then, Zuko puts a plate of pasta in front of her and anxiously waits for the verdict. “Oh, this is heavenly,” she says and it’s true; he really is a treasure.

Zuko grins and fills two plates with some salad he’s come up with – we’re still growing, Katara, we need vegetables – before he settles in the chair across from her.

“So,” Katara starts carefully and wills the redness to get away from her face, “the end of the year dance is coming up.”

“Yeah,” Zuko says noncommittally and shoves a forkful in his mouth.

She eyes him cautiously. “I was thinking it could be fun. You know… to go or something.” She worries her lip for a second, wonders what she could say to make the prospect of going with her seem more enticing. “They may play The Backstreet Boys,” is sadly the only thing she comes up with.

Zuko, for better or for worse, is absolutely oblivious. She’s never had a penchant for school mandated social activities, much less for the uninhibited mating ritual that dances of this sort always turn out to be. But for some reason, this time around she’s been giddily obsessing over dresses and lipstick colors and all she’s been thinking about is what’s the best way to ask him to go with her.

You know. As two best friends might.

But then he says, “Those things are always loud and stupid. I don’t think I’m going.”

Her fork goes still in her plate. “Oh,” is all she manages. Then she blinks, struggles to act normal, and shoves as much of the salad as she can in her mouth so as to avoid saying anything else that might let on how disappointed she is.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” she says with her mouth full. Her eyes widen slightly as she revels in the delicious flavors in her mouth. It’s not only sauces he’s skilled at making, she learns, and she gluttonously shoves more in. “This is really good. What did you put in it?”

“Oh, it’s nothing. Just some lettuce, some baby spinach, lemon zest, olive oil. There’s walnuts, too, some tuna and –”

Katara’s throat suddenly feels very tight, as if it’s grown twice in size. Her hand goes still in midair as her fork falls to the table with a loud clatter and she clutches her neck, all of a sudden realizing why the taste in her mouth feels so comfortingly familiar.

“Sea prunes,” she chokes out and gasps for air, but finds it’s become increasingly hard to breathe.

Zuko’s looking at her strangely. “Yeah.”

Her vision goes blurry, and she waves her hand frantically. “I’m… allergic.”

And that’s all she manages until the hospital.

=

When Katara wakes up, two blue-eyed faces are hovering over her worriedly.

She blinks as she makes sense of what happened and narrows her eyes at the dimly lit hospital room. Hakoda and Sokka exhale with relief almost simultaneously and then they proceed to hug her one by one and berate her for her undying love for things that want to kill her.

Zuko is there too, as she notices eventually. He’s hanging by the back of the room, pacing back and forth anxiously, but he keeps his distance until her family goes out to look for food and coffee.

“I’m so sorry, Katara,” he starts when they finally leave, snowballing his words into one big, barely coherent jumble, “I had no idea. They said you could have died. I’m sorry.”

She coughs and chuckles a little. “I knew I insulted you with what I said after our last debate, but Jesus, Zuko. Did you have to go as far as attempted murder?”

His face drains from all color, but then he notices she’s smiling and smacks her on the arm lightly. “Don’t joke about this. You really could have died.”

“Well, sadly, I’m still here. I’m getting you back for this, you know.”

Katara tries to sit up, but he pushes her back gently. “You should rest. I brought the rest of the pasta in case you’re hungry.”

“Well, I can’t do that lying down. I’ll choke and I’ll die. Are you continuing with your attempts to kill me?”

“Shut up, Katara.”

She grins. “Pasta sounds good.”

He hands her a plastic container and a fork, then takes one for himself and asks if it’s okay to sit beside her on the bed. She nods, because of course it’s okay – him and her together on a bed, albeit not one that’s property of the hospital, is all her hormone-fueled dreams have been about lately – and he does, cautious not to hassle her.

The TV’s playing some silly program – it’s a cartoon about a bald boy with an arrow on his head that’s supposed to save the world with his air magic; Katara finds it oddly entertaining despite it being aimed at kid audiences and turns up the volume – and they eat together in companionable silence as they watch.

“That prince is a smackhead,” Zuko comments and Katara hums in agreement.

“He sure is. And that ponytail? I don’t know what the producers were thinking.”

“Probably that the villain needs to look stupid so that the people watching would hate him.”

“Well, mission accomplished.”

Then to Katara’s dismay, Sokka and Hakoda come back – they’ve gotten coffee and it’s a meek consolation prize – and Zuko takes his leave. He apologizes for nearly sending her into an early grave and promises he’ll be back tomorrow so they can watch the next episode together before she’s released.

Katara smiles and lets him know that she’ll most certainly poison his next meal. Zuko’s face is flaming an adorable shade of red when he leaves the hospital room.

It's long after her brother and father have left that she feels her heart continuing to hammer against her ribcage thunderously. She thinks of Zuko’s smile, the way one corner of his mouth tilts up slightly more than the other, then the creases in his scar, everything he hates about himself that she thinks made her fall this stupidly hard.

She stares at the utilitarian white walls and the fluorescent lights of the hospital room, wondering if she would have minded dying by his hand that much, and knowing that’s exactly the road she’s going down either way.

=

Chapter Text

=

no spontaneous breaking out into song this time

Katara makes a fast recovery and unfortunately, that means she’s back on the endless treadmill of school and work once again.

One night, it’s nearing closing hours at the diner when her friends settle around and order a round of burgers and milkshakes. She’s mostly done with cleaning up, so she goes to join them – and it is then she’s launched into an epically awkward situation.

Aang is shifting his eyes nervously and visibly struggling to stammer something out. Toph keeps kicking him under the table while Zuko just watches, perplexed, for once seeming to pick up on the surrounding mood.

Finally, Toph seems to lose her patience and says, “Hurry it up, Twinkletoes. I’m not spending my entire night watching you be a cheesy idiot. Just spit it out already.”

“R-right.” Aang clears his throat and his eyes dart to meet Katara’s uncertainly. “I’m… well, I wanted to ask you something, Katara.”

“Oh.” She blinks, wondering what could make her typically carefree classmate so flustered. “Sure. Go ahead.”

“I, uhm… was wondering… would you… like to go to the dance? With me, I mean?”

“…Oh.” She has the inexplicable urge to glance at Zuko but restrains herself. Out of the corner of her eye, she catches his hand tightening its grip around his glass and wonders if she’s going insane.

A snarky voice on the inside of her skull sharply snaps her back to her senses. Of course you’re going insane, you ridiculous girl. He said he’s not going, remember?

She frowns and looks back at Aang’s big hopeful eyes. “Um, sure, yeah. I’d love to.”

Aang exhales in relief and smiles at her blindingly. “Awesome! I’ll pick you up at six!”

“Alright, Twinkletoes!” Toph offers him a high-five and he laughs nervously as he returns it.

Zuko stays silent, and Katara must still be imagining things, because she can practically feel him vibrating in his seat.

Is he… Could he actually be… angry?

As fate has it, that possibility and the absurdity of its implications don’t get the chance to compute properly in Katara’s tired brain – the very next moment Azula darts in, two of her friends in tow, and comes to stand next to their table.

She smiles at Katara and it’s deceptively sweet. Not unlike something that will leave you with a rotting cavity, Katara thinks, and grits her teeth.

“Heard you had a brush with death recently. It’s a pity you made it.”

“Gee, thanks,” Katara says with a roll of her eyes and gets up. She only has room for one moody Sozin in her mental space and Azula’s definitely not it. “What can I get you?”

“Three strawberry milkshakes with a helping of ‘get out of my brother’s life’. Oh, and those free fries we’ve been hearing about. Thanks.”

“Back off, Azula,” Zuko says.

“Chill out, Zuzu.” Azula flips her shiny hair and goes to sit in a booth. The other two follow her wordlessly, though one of them lingers with her eyes on Zuko a second too long. Katara scowls and goes to get their order – sans the fries, of course – wondering who the hell they think they are (even though she knows fully well they do in fact see themselves as royalty).

It is well after closing hours that Azula and her entourage pay – no tip, big surprise – and leave, and Katara finally closes up. Zuko waits for her and they get in his car wordlessly.

“I didn’t think you were going to the dance,” he says finally and there’s something decidedly petulant in his tone.

Katara frowns. “I did tell you, didn’t I? Right before you almost killed me with your culinary concoctions.”

Zuko stares at her in confusion, blinks a couple times. “Oh. I didn’t…”

“Of course you didn’t.” She rolls her eyes. “Well, you said you weren’t going, didn’t you? So, what’s the big deal?”

“Nothing. I just… I didn’t think you’d want to go with Aang, is all.”

God. Is this boy stupid? He really must be.

Katara exhales sharply. “I didn’t. But I am. So, I don’t understand why we’re having this conversation.”

Zuko doesn’t say anything else, and they drive in silence.

Katara doesn’t have the energy to dwell on the possible sources of the tension in the confined space. She’s way too tired and besides, it wouldn’t do to spin crazy lovestruck theories; the facts remain the facts – Zuko didn’t ask her to the dance, Aang did, and that is that.

No matter what she herself desires, she has at least an ounce of feminine pride. She will not lose her composure, pushed by confusing-neanderthal-teenage-fucking-handsome-but-still-stupid-boy-type means of communication.

=

But he does come to the dance, and her composure nearly flies out the window.

It looks as though his sister’s dragged him against his will, and he stands with her and the two girls she seems to have always glued to her side. Katara stares him down from where she’s standing on the dancefloor, but her murderous efforts yield no results – he seems intent on avoiding her eyes and he does it for the entire night.

Despite her irritation, she finds herself wanting to go and lean on the wall next to him, shove an earphone up his ear and sway to their own music, but she strangles the urge. She’s come here with Aang, and for all she cares, Zuko could be just another tile on the wall.

And they do end up having fun, though as it turns out, it isn’t the kind Aang was hoping for.

At the end of the night, they’re bidding each other goodbye in the parking lot, when he clumsily tries to kiss her. She jumps out of his reach and stares with wide eyes as he falls over himself with apologies.

“Sorry, Katara. I thought…” He shakes his head and laughs softly. “I don’t know what I thought. I’m an idiot.”

“It’s okay. I’m the one who’s sorry. You’re great, I’m just…” She hesitates for a second, then decides Aang is someone she can trust. “I actually like Zuko.”

“Yeah, I thought you might.” Aang rubs the back of his brown-haired head sheepishly. “Figures.”

“Well, it seems like we’re both in the same boat.” She sighs and sits down on the curb.

He joins her, looking at her curiously. “I don’t think we are, Katara. There’s a good chance he might like you, too.”

She looks at him in disbelief. He just shrugs. “I don’t know, he seems to like hanging out with you the most. And he didn’t look too happy when I asked you to the dance the other day.” He shrugs again. “Maybe you should give it a shot. Who knows?”

Katara has a hard time believing he may be right, even if Aang is more perceptive than most, and still, she feels silly hope rise within her and swell like a balloon.

“Maybe,” she allows and falls silent.

“So… are we still friends? I’d hate to think I ruined it.”

She laughs. “Of course we’re still friends, Aang. You won’t get rid of me so easily.”

He sighs in relief and drapes a loose arm over her shoulders. She finds she doesn’t mind the gesture and returns the hug.

“Idiots in love, that’s what we are. But maybe there’s hope for us still.”

“From your lips to the spirits’ ears, Aang.”

They sway together, still sitting on the curb in the parking lot, and for once, Katara lets herself be hopeful.

=

But reality promptly squashes her hope to pieces. After school is officially out for the year, she finally gathers the courage and goes to knock on Zuko’s door, reciting the offer she’s come up with in her head over and over, not trusting she’ll be able to think rationally once he’s in front of her.

“Hey,” she greets when he opens the door.

He frowns at her and instead of inviting her in, steps out onto the porch and shuts the door behind him. “Uh, hey. What are you doing here?”

“I was thinking we could go on a picnic? Just the two of us?” She’s wringing her hands nervously behind her back as she smiles. “We could take my laptop and watch the battle for Ra Fing Fe.” She pats her backpack and tries to tell herself that the deepening in Zuko’s frown shouldn’t deter her.

“Uh, I can’t right now. I’m busy. Packing.”

“Oh.” She pauses, forces herself to breathe. “Are you going somewhere?”

“Yeah, I’m… I’m going to Ember Island for the summer.”

“Oh.” Katara takes an inadvertent step back and tries to file away her disappointment for later.

He’ll be gone the entire summer?

“I figured, since you’re leaving for the South Pole in a bit…” Zuko trails off and looks at her uncertainly. “You could watch it with Aang, I guess.”

Why would she want to watch it with Aang? It’s their thing.

Katara shakes her head and tries to form a coherent thought. “But… I’m only going to the South Pole for two weeks.”

“I know, I just… well, I want to get away for a bit. Feel the Fire Nation heat again.”

Katara nods and manages a feeble smile. She can sympathize with the desire to get away, she really can, even if it means they’ll be apart for a few months. “I get it. Promise to write to me?”

“Okay.” Zuko smiles too, but she can see it’s a bit strained. “I’ll write.”

Despite the meek words of reassurance, Katara feels something remote inside of her sinking, the hope she was too afraid to foster deflating like a balloon. Right then and there, the feeling is dull enough to be pushed way back where she can’t see it, and she tells herself it’s insignificant.

She can tell him when he’s back. It makes no sense to do it now when he’s about to be gone for so long.

And that way she can think through what she wants to say, she can put some more time into choosing what to wear, she can make it perfect. This could be a good thing, right?

Yeah. Yeah, why shouldn’t it be? She can tell him when he’s back. No biggie.

Katara’s smile tightens with resolve (though she knows what it really is, is cowardice) and ignores the disappointment – with him, with herself, with Ember Island – she feels all over.

=

Zuko does write, but then suddenly, he stops. It’s only been three weeks and Katara’s back from her trip to her grandmother’s and she wonders if he’s somehow forgotten she’s back in the Earth Kingdom by now and continued addressing his letters to the South Pole.

But a quick phone call with Kanna confirms that no, he hasn’t forgotten about that, he’s just forgotten about her. Katara resolves not to call him out of sheer petty womanly scorn and tries her best to have a good rest of the summer.

She doesn’t.

=

Then the first day of school finally arrives and Katara finds out exactly what kind of Fire Nation heat he’s found over the summer.

It comes in the form of a leggy, fair-skinned, black-haired girl – it’s Mai, one of Azula’s friends – and she’s stupidly perfect, all grace and poise and biting sarcasm. Katara feels her nails digging into her palms as the two of them make their way over to her, Zuko’s arm draped over Mai’s shoulders.

“Hey,” he greets, and she thinks there’s a slight bite to it for whatever reason.

She doesn’t bother to hide her glare as she bites out her own hello and they stare at one another for a few charged seconds.

Then, blissfully, the universe sends Aang and Toph over to them, and the tension dissipates as Toph howls in laughter. “Hello, Sparky. I see you’ve finally managed to blackmail someone into kissing your ugly face.”

He scowls at her. “You don’t even know what I look like.”

“True. But you’re always so insecure about it and you have excellent judgement, so you must be ugly.”

Despite herself, Katara laughs. Somehow, Toph always manages to string both a compliment and an insult in the same sentence. Oh, she’s missed these people, she’s missed them so much.

Aang greets her and asks about her summer, then proceeds to tell her about his own trip to the Southern Air Temple. “And they still have flying lemurs over there, can you believe it? I nearly smuggled one back home, but Gyatso found out and wouldn’t let me.” He laughs and Katara humors him with a smile.

She can feel Zuko staring and turns her head to raise her eyebrows at him. He’s looking between the two of them in confusion, as if piecing something together, and at the same time he looks as though he’s waiting for something to happen.

Katara frowns. Does he expect them to spontaneously break out into song or something?

“Yo, Twinkletoes. Bowling later! You owe me a rematch.”

“Sure thing, Sifu Toph. I’d love to wipe the floor with you again.”

“The only thing you’ll be wiping are your tears of shame. Let’s go!” Toph starts stomping away, only briefly turning to wave at the rest of them. “Bye, lovebirds! Bye, Katara!”

“Bye.” She chuckles to herself and shakes her head.

Then she turns and discovers Zuko and Mai are still standing there, and suddenly feels very uncomfortable to be left alone in their presence.

“So,” she starts and shifts her weight back and forth awkwardly. “I… better go look for my brother. Have a good one!”

With that, she strides off and valiantly tries to ignore the thumping of her broken heart.

=

Chapter Text

=

the stupidest flavor

Things are different that school year, though only slightly. The biggest change is that Zuko has now taken it upon himself to join the football team and because of that, he ends up ditching a lot of their debate club meetups.

Of course, that’s only if you don’t count the profound heartbreak Katara feels. The heartbreak she insists on not feeling to its fullest.

Not to be dramatic or anything.

Either way, Katara doesn’t know what’s made for Zuko’s sudden interest in high school athletics, but she has a sinking suspicion it has to do with his freshly minted girlfriend. Mai is a cheerleader – because of course she is, the very picture of perfection and conventional high school charm – and this must be a way for the two of them to spend more time together.

That’s hardly necessary, Katara thinks bitterly, as they’re the same age and have almost all their classes together, on top of Mai spending every spare second at his house because of Azula. Not so much because of Azula anymore, she thinks, and feels her bitterness exacerbate. Almost to the point where the false image of collectedness she puts up falls apart to make way for the rejected-teenage-girl-rage beneath.

They’ve spent the summer together on Ember Island, she learns, and got together right around the time Zuko stopped writing to her. It is that piece of information that has her imploring the heavens for inner peace and calm the hardest.

But no. She has grown, not only in body, but in confidence as well, and she has some sense of self. She will hold onto her pride. It feels as if it is the only thing left to hold onto anyway.

Okay, maybe she is being a tad dramatic.

Either way, Katara really does try not to be too resentful about any of it. It proves to be a challenge harder than the doctorate grade calculus she spends her free time doing, but at the very least she can pat herself on the back for the persistent effort.

This can all very well turn out to be temporary – this is what she tells herself during the lowest moments when taking the high road simply doesn’t look doable and all she has the capacity to feel is spite.

Most of the time, she simply tries to maintain a face of cheerful nonchalance whenever they all happen to have lunch together at the same table.

They might break up, Katara thinks darkly whenever she can’t help it. But she always hurries to shake the thought off and follow it up with, Or I might just get over it, knowing it would be the best-case scenario. Or at least the one that doesn’t make her a terrible friend.

But then she sees them holding hands and feels that, for the time being, neither of those scenarios is likely.

She’s fine. She’s fine. Katara feels the need to tell herself that.

She will be fine. That, at least, is a bit easier to believe.

She tells herself a lot of things. One of them is that this semblance of Zuko’s friendship is still something worth the effort, still something precious, though the struggle of contorting her schedule to fit his – he’s tailoring his own life to Mai’s now, she knows – is proving to be difficult bordering on downright impossible. The only times she gets to see him nowadays are Math class, but they don’t really talk there, and the rare occasions he manages to make it to debate club.

She takes up studying out near the bleachers at the same time he has football practice, just so she can still tell herself they’re somewhat friends. She tries to convince the jealous monster that’s roaring as it watches Mai leap and jump and dance on the grass, wearing his jersey, that she’s really only doing it because the weather outside is still nice. But really, she wants to keep an eye on him and make sure he’s still Zuko, even as he steadily morphs into some clone of his girlfriend as the days pass.

He's already amazing just as he is, can’t he see that? And that stupid girl that’s somehow wormed herself into every fiber of his life, is she so blind that she doesn’t see it either?

Why does he need to be a jock, does she need him to wear a label just so they can neatly fit into the high school fairytale stereotype?

God, Katara’s so annoyed by the absurdity of it all, that she sometimes wants to get on top of a hill and scream until her lungs give out.

“I mean, did he really have to join the football team?” she whines to Toph one night. The blind girl still hasn’t lost her patience with her entirely, though she can feel she’s verging close to smacking her over the head and telling her to just get over it already. “I feel as though he’s changing his entire identity just so he fits with her. That’s not the way it’s supposed to be, is it?”

“I guess not, Sugar Queen,” Toph drawls in boredom and sighs. “Why don’t you just tell him how you feel and get it over with? There’s a chance he may ditch her.”

Katara scoffs, appalled. “I’d never do that. And he has enough sense to get his head out of his ass by himself.”

“If you say so.”

“I mean, he obviously doesn’t like me, so why would I put myself through that? It’d be humiliating, not to mention how disgusting it is to try stealing someone else’s boyfriend.”

Toph doesn’t look too impressed and Katara raises her eyebrows sternly. “I’d rather have laser hair removal done on my head than get rejected that way, Toph.”

“I don’t know, Sweetness. For all his street smarts, Sparky can be very dense sometimes. I bet he doesn’t even suspect you like him. Otherwise, he would have grown the balls and professed his love long ago. I mean,” Toph pauses to chew on a fingernail as Katara stares with a grimace, “How do people ever get together if both are afraid of rejection? That’s always going to be an option.” She shrugs and pulls on a piece of dead skin on her thumb, somehow managing to inject the entire image with a tinge of wisdom. “People should just learn to spit it out.”

Katara scoffs again. “Oh, you’re one to talk. You’ve been salivating over my brother for ages, and you haven’t said a thing.”

At this, Toph’s face flames red and she promptly throws the Unagi pillow in Katara’s face. For someone who’s blind, her aim is disconcertingly accurate. Katara laughs, and so, the night swerves away from heartfelt conversation and spirals into silliness.

=

Sokka’s hockey team brings home a trophy from the regional competition and, as is to be expected, a big irresponsible party is thrown.

It’s in Haru’s house – one of Sokka’s teammates – and it’s swarming with people from all walks of school life. There’s the obligatory stoners, standing in shady groups of five around the backyard and passing a joint around secretively as if the smell can’t be felt from outer space, there’s jocks from all teams, – right down to the weirdos playing chess, Katara’s surprised to see – there’s all the cheerleaders, to her disdain, and there’s even members of the marching band.

Katara sips on wine and takes great care not to let anyone touch her cup. She’s heard horror stories from other parties such as this, though she’s never witnessed one herself, and she’ll be damned if she lets herself fall into that sort of tragic stereotype. This may be the first party of such proportions she’s attending, but she certainly doesn’t want it to be her last, so she resolves to exercise all her brain cells, and be as responsible as possible while still having fun.

Zuko’s there, alongside his own teammates, and Mai unfailingly latched onto his arm. The two of them rarely make overly affectionate displays in public – they’re both reserved and gloomy in that way and Katara’s grateful for it – but once the alcohol starts flowing in a seemingly endless supply, their inhibitions seem to fall away.

Katara grits her teeth as she watches and grips the kitchen counter tightly.

Do they really need to be like this here, in a stranger’s house? Nobody seems to mind them, but she feels indignant anyway. She forces her eyes to peel away from where they’re embracing on the living room couch and pours herself more wine. She has a feeling she’s having a lot of that tonight.

Then, surprisingly, Jet comes to talk to her.

At first, she’s taken aback – she’s still somewhat reserved after hearing him call her Sokka’s weird little sister what now seems like an eternity ago. But his demeanor as he jokes with her and punches her arm teasingly is nothing short of charming.

He’s being sweet and for a moment, she thinks he may be considerate too and she must have just been mistaken about him, in that way unfortunate first impressions can be, and then all her rationality crumbles away as he kisses her and pushes her against the counter.

It's an interesting sensation, she decides, and not one she’s entirely opposed to. Not at all, she thinks and pulls at his hair to bring him closer, and then he breathes in her ear, “Want to go upstairs? It’s too loud to talk here.”

Katara’s certain it’s not talking he has in mind, but she lets him lead her upstairs all the same, feeling the wine dulling her senses in a most welcome way. She spots Zuko and Mai trying to eat their faces off before she climbs the stairs and that only hardens her resolve.

She may very well be acting incredibly stupid, but so is everyone else, and when else will she get to be a silly teenager? Jet’s hand is warm in hers as he pulls her close. His breath on her neck is even warmer.

They stumble into an empty bedroom, and he doesn’t bother switching on the light. “You’re so beautiful,” he tells her, and she can sense the deliberate flattery in his voice, but she still giggles.

She isn’t used to boys fawning over her, not in the least, and she knows it’s fifty different kinds of wrong, but Jet’s hair is soft under her fingers, and it faintly reminds her of Zuko’s shaggy bedhead.

She absently wonders if his hair is soft to the touch, too, but then pushes the thought out of her mind. She’s here with Jet, and he may have been a jerk to her on one occasion in the past, but he deserves some respect.

Sadly, that half-formed thought is more than what he shows her. He pins her to the wall and the next moment, she registers his hand hiking up her dress and trailing over her thigh.

“Jet,” she breathes and gently tries to push him away. His solid body is unwavering, but his hand momentarily stills. “Stop.”

“I thought you wanted this, Katara,” he says a bit too sweetly for her taste and places a kiss on her shoulder where the strap of her dress has slid off.

“I… I did. I do. But… not that far. Not now.”

Jet pulls back slightly and even through the darkness she can see his frown. Then he scoffs, steps away and turns on the light. “God, you’re all the same, aren’t you?”

She mirrors his frown with one of her own, feeling something unpleasant tugging at her. “What?”

“You get pretty and suddenly, you’re the queen of everything. Nothing’s good enough.”

She recoils. “I never said that. I’m just not ready for… that.”

Jet rolls his eyes and starts nodding his head. “Yeah, yeah, sure. You’ll come looking for me when that acne is back, and no one wants you.”

She can’t believe her ears, nor her eyes. Jet is looking her over, still obviously with desire, but there’s unmistakable contempt there, too, and she won’t be baited into feeling guilty, not about this.

Katara doesn’t know where the primal urge arises from exactly. All she feels is the twitching in her fingers, the violent shivering of every last corner of her insides, and the immeasurable rage at being prodded and pushed like this, on top of then being insulted.

Before she knows what she’s doing, her hand’s balled in a fist, and she swings it in Jet’s face, darkly satisfied when she gets him straight in the nose. He stumbles back so much the cavewoman in her swells with pride. Then he lets out a cry of anger, and she rallies to get out of there.

Not that she thinks he’ll hit her – he can’t possibly be that vile – but she suddenly can’t stand breathing the same air as him.

Maybe it’s wrong to choose violence in situations like these. But Jet wasn’t being reasonable, and if he’s the kind of guy who’ll disrespect your boundaries and then belittle you in an attempt to soothe his own wounded male ego, well then maybe a fist in the face is exactly what he deserves.

A distinct throbbing in her hand alerts her to the fact that she’s done something wrong and is now taking home part of the damage, but she doesn’t stop by the bathroom on her rampage. She wants to be out of there, with or without Sokka, and just forget any of this ever happened.

Her vision is slightly blurry as she makes her way down the stairs, in an unfortunate combination of tears and the alcohol that’s now mixed in her veins. She stumbles slightly but doesn’t slow down.

She hears Sokka’s laughter through the loud ringing in her ears and falters for a second on the next to last step, looking around. But all the noise surrounding her comes like a distant muffle and she can’t for the life of her locate him, much less see anything through the haze that’s become her eyesight.

Think like Toph, she tells herself, and continues on her way out the door – did she bring a jacket? – before thinking better of it and darting to the kitchen instead.

Yup, there’s her jacket, sitting next to the cup she’s left before making the stupidest mistake of her pathetic life, and oh, what a blessing that cup is, because the next second Jet is pulling her shoulder and turning her around.

“Katara, wait –”

She doesn’t know if it’s regret she detects in his voice, but she most certainly doesn’t wait. She grabs the cup and throws the contents in his face, reveling in his shock as his pristine white T-shirt is stained red.

“Hope you don’t get a zit,” she says and pushes past him, jacket in hand. Zuko’s standing in the kitchen doorway, wide-eyed and jaw hanging while Mai laughs by his side, but she pays them no heed and stomps off outside.

“Katara!”

It isn’t Sokka’s voice and that’s enough for her to keep walking without looking back. She’s so angry she can barely see straight, but still, she has the presence of mind to whip out her phone and call a cab. She paces on the sidewalk as she waits to be connected to an operator, and it takes Zuko a few seconds to jog over to her and grab hold of her moving hand.

“Katara, you’re bleeding.”

“Get away from me.”

“What happened?”

“Go away, Zuko.”

He doesn’t. Instead, his worried eyes sweep over her frame and linger on her shoulders and then on her neck, widening slightly. She belatedly realizes the straps of her dress are pulled down and when she reaches up to straighten them, it dawns on her what it is he’s staring at.

She arranges her hair in a way that would cover the hickey Jet left – ugh, it must be purpling by now, did she really need a mark to remind her of her stupidity? – and then nearly throws her phone on the pavement when a mechanical voice tells her there’s no cars available. “Fuck this,” she grumbles and scrolls to her dad’s number, shame be damned.

“Katara. What the hell happened?”

“Spare me, Zuko. Go back inside to your girlfriend and just leave me alone.”

Zuko looks back at the house that’s bursting at the seams with loud music and howling laughter and starts dragging her away down the street. “Did he try anything?”

“Zuko –”

“Did he? I’m going to kill him.”

“No, it’s –” the look in his eyes stops her mid-sentence and demands sincerity. “Okay, he did, but I took care of it. Everything’s fine.”

“Like hell.” He lifts the hand he’s still holding and examines it closely, before giving her his best reproachful look. “I told you to punch open-handed, Katara.”

Well, she didn’t and now she’s bleeding, but she seriously doesn’t care. She wants Zuko to get away from her, because her rage with Jet has bled into her frustration with him and right now, she’s running the risk of yelling out all his missteps to him, all the ways he’s betrayed their friendship and their debate team and her.

“Go back inside, Zuko. I’m calling my dad.”

He scoffs. “Yeah, if he sees you like that, he’ll murder Jet, and then he’ll call the police on the entire party.”

She glares at him. “I’m serious, Zuko. If you don’t get out of my sight in five seconds, I’ll tell him it was you.” He stares at her disbelievingly. “I’m not kidding.”

“Come on, Katara, let me drive you and take a look at your hand.”

Oh, there’s no chance in hell she’s sharing an enclosed space with him, and definitely not now. Her mouth twists in a hostile snarl. “Go away!”

“Kat–”

“What are you doing, offering to drive me? You’ve been drinking!” She takes a threatening step forward and he shrinks back. “What else, let me see if I’m forgetting something, oh, yeah, that’s right – your goddamn fucking girlfriend is inside waiting for you to chew her face off!”

Zuko’s staring at her as if she’s gone insane, and she has, a little, but she isn’t having any of this. “So, spare me the heartache and the bullshit and just go be pathetic somewhere I can’t see you.”

“What…” He seems at a loss. “Katara, where is all this coming from?”

“From me. The girl you forgot existed while you were off having your stupid vanilla ice-cream on the beach, falling in love with someone else!” She’s almost screaming now, and she’s let him know too much, she’s shown her face and she can’t take it back, so all she can do is hide behind her mask of anger and hope he won’t see through it completely. “Don’t worry, the few letters you sent were poorly written anyway. I’m glad I didn’t have to read any more of your incoherent sentences all summer.”

Zuko stares at her, speechless. He looks confused, shocked, maybe a little sad as well, and for a second, Katara thinks maybe she’s gone too far.

Then she catches a glimpse of Mai’s form appearing in the doorframe of Haru’s house and feels her rage igniting all over again. She gathers all the inner venom she’s capable of mustering, and says, “And vanilla’s the stupidest flavor in case you weren’t aware.”

With that, she presses dial and turns away from him.

Zuko makes no sound, no move at all and when she’s reached the corner of the street, she glances back and sees he’s still standing there, glued to the spot in a silent stupor.

Her voice is trembling as she gives the address to her father, but she manages to keep the tears from falling until she’s safely at home, screaming into her pillow.

=

Chapter Text

=

a stinking fucking lot

Katara’s spent her lunch period walking around aimlessly in the school’s fields, but in yet another chain link in the endless string of stupid that she’s now become a true master of, she loses track of time.

Next thing she knows, the football team is jogging towards the grass and starting their warmup. She blinks dumbly and then quickly ducks under the bleachers where they – he – can’t see her.

She’s forced to stay there painfully long – by nothing but her own pride if she must be honest – and misses her next class.

Her inadvertent hideout brings her as much reprieve as one can guess. She is eventually found out and it is by the person she least expects.

Katara looks up as soon as she senses the foreign presence, and the shade of gold she’s met with momentarily sends her into a panic.

Because of that feeling – the one that had her hiding like a toddler in the first place – it takes her a moment to realize the eyes she’s staring at are equal in size, with no marred skin surrounding either of them.

“Uh.” Azula sounds unsure for what must be the first time in her life.

Bearing witness to uncertainty on the Fire Princess’ face – it’s hard to believe those porcelain features are capable of so uncharacteristic an emotion, even as Katara sees it written all over, plain as day – is a meek consolation prize compared to the world’s gross injustices towards her at that moment. She does her best to ignore the intrusion and tucks her chin between her knees.

Azula leans her arms on the metal construction and looks down at her in bewilderment. “Did you drop a piece of your brain down there?”

“No,” Katara snaps and glares at her. “Go away.”

But Azula doesn’t. Instead, she ducks under the railing and comes to sit on the grass next to her.

Katara stares at her, scandalized. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Chill out, Zitface. I just need a moment of peace and quiet. And sadly, right now this is my only option.” Azula leans back and closes her eyes with a sigh.

All of a sudden, she seems very tired. Katara is struck by the strange thought that this is the only time she’s ever seen Azula’s façade fall away.

“Are you… alright?” she asks hesitantly.

Now, where did that come from? Could it be a sentiment of concern for… Azula?

Hell must be freezing over right about now.

Azula cracks one eye open and studies her critically. “Yeah,” she says finally and sighs again.

(Sighing a lot must be a trait that runs in the Sozin family, Katara thinks offhandedly, apparently unable to cut her rampaging inner dialogue in check.

They all seem to attach a certain dramatic flair to it, too.)

The two of them sit in silence for a while, each lost in their own thoughts, until finally, Azula does something groundbreaking. Azula apologizes.

“I’m sorry for the way I’ve been treating you. You’ve done… nothing to deserve it, really.”

It’s plain to see it pains her to say that, and Katara feels she’s getting stupidly lured in.

“Um. Thanks?”

Azula looks up and blinks a few times. “And I’m sorry about my brother and Mai. It was kind of my fault they got together. I pressured him into coming to Ember Island with us.”

Katara lets her words sink in. But as hard as she tries to comprehend them, they stubbornly refuse to make any sense. “Why are you apologizing for that?”

Azula fixes her under her hard gaze and, for the second time in this interaction, Katara is shaken by how similar it is to his.

Funny, how she’s trying to hide from him during every second of the school day, and still, he’s where all her thoughts end up leading anyway.

Azula is still staring at her. “Oh, come on, Katara. It’s clear as day you’re in love with him. And you have been for months now.”

Katara clenches her jaw and says nothing.

What could there possibly be to say? She’s pathetic and apparently everyone knows it.

And discussing her feelings with Azula of all people? By the way it’s going so far, Katara thinks in self-indulgent pity, she might just reach the top ten lowest lows of her entire life in record time. And look at her, what a champion – all before she’s graduated high school.

“I know Mai’s my friend and everything, but… I don’t know. You seem to be his exact kind of weird. Not that my brother and I are particularly close, but still. I think he’d be happier with you.”

Katara gives a sad laugh and runs a hand through her hair. “Yeah. Well.”

“I knew she liked him. I could also sense he was trying to distance himself from you after that dance. Having him come seemed reasonable at the time.”

Katara feels her throat getting tighter with every word she hears and just nods.

Azula sighs – again – and on the surface, she seems irritated. “He likes you too, you know. Maybe more than that, even.”

Katara doesn’t know why Azula’s telling her any of this, but she suddenly feels she’s getting angry. But even if Azula’s words are cruel, should they hold any truth – because what use would knowing any of it be now? – she seems to be sincere.

Rationally, Katara knows she should be on her guard. Azula just admitted to being complicit in robbing her of Zuko’s presence all summer. The insufferable brat just called her Zitface, for heaven’s sake.

But there’s a particular kind of vulnerability to the moment the two of them are sharing, inconceivable as it may seem. Against her better judgement, she feels her resentment dissipating.

“Why are you telling me any of this?”

Azula shrugs. “Because I get how you must be feeling and it kind of sucks I made it happen. Even if we’ve never been friends.” She pauses, hesitates, then looks at her and quirks her lips in a sad smile. “That pathetic boat you’re in? I’m first captain.”

Katara blinks in confusion. “What do you mean?”

Azula brings her knees closer to her chest and leans her head on them, letting her arms dangle limply in the grass. “Is your brother seeing anyone by any chance?”

Oh, now this is getting too much. Azula likes Sokka? Katara would have laughed if she wasn’t so miserable.

“No. But I think he likes that girl, Suki. You probably know her – she’s on the fencing team.”

Azula nods and rips out a few blades of grass at her feet. Katara watches as she tears them to shreds. “Figures. Everyone always goes for the nice girls.”

“Well, you’re being nice right now. Kind of.”

Azula cracks a smile. It suits her more than Katara would have thought. “Do you think he’d go for me? If I asked?”

“I don’t know.” She suddenly thinks of Toph and throws her head back in unexpected laughter. “But you should know there’s already a line.”

Azula snorts and laughs too. “Of course there is.”

“But if you can learn anything from me… better to open your mouth before it’s too late,” Katara says bitterly and starts ripping out the grass too.

“Oh, don’t worry. They’ll break up eventually.” Azula says it so offhandedly that Katara nearly laughs again. “Mai’s too bleh, and Zuko’s too… well, Zuko.”

Katara smiles sadly. “I just want him to be happy. And if he’s happy, then–”

Azula scoffs and rolls her eyes. “Oh, please. My brother wouldn’t know happy if it hit him in the face. Besides, he may be dense and all, but he’ll figure out he hates team sports sooner or later.”

It is then Katara remembers how she originally got stranded under the bleachers and realizes the sound of grunting and shouting on the other side of her hideout has faded away. Azula seems to come to the same conclusion, because she stands up. After a moment’s hesitation, she extends her arm for Katara to take.

She looks at it for a second, then decides holding grudges can’t be good for her health and accepts the gesture.

“Come have tea with me some time,” Azula says as she pulls her to her feet. “Stupid as it may sound, I think I liked talking to you. Not too much.” She smirks. “But a little.”

“Me too. A little,” Katara allows and Azula smiles, before turning away and striding off.

=

The first debate competition of the season takes them to Gaoling, but this time, they lose miserably.

It’s really no wonder. The entire team seems to be off – Katara with her tragic heartbreak and self-hatred; Toph with her growing frustration because of the tightening hold her parents have on her; Aang because he’s been forced to send his sky bison back to the air temples due to animal control regulations – who knew a suburban backyard isn’t suited to housing a seven ton beast? – and Zuko with whatever it is that makes Zuko stew with angst, meaning everything outside of jasmine tea and his uncle.

They don’t throw a party, but (in a display of solidly healthy coping strategies) they do drink in their collective bad mood, sprawled around on the floor of Aang’s hotel room.

“If I were a piece of furniture,” Aang says, stubbornly keeping the silly game they’ve come up with going, “I’d be a ceiling fan. Always spinning, feeling the wind whip around me. Oh, and looking at things from a fresh perspective! That’s gotta be good too!”

“Poetic,” Toph remarks and wiggles her toes. “I’d be an oven. Always warm and smelling delicious. What about you, Sugar Queen?”

Katara considers it for a second and leans her head back on her hands. “I’d be a door. Watching people’s backs as they leave.”

“Dark, I like it. Sparky?”

“I’d be a doormat. Self-explanatory.”

“Wow, aren’t we a cheerful bunch,” Toph muses and laughs. “What about types of food? I’d be papaya, I think.”

“I’d be lentil soup,” Aang says, then adds, “Or a falafel.”

“Right. I forgot you’re one of those vegetarian weirdos.”

“Don’t mock my heritage.”

“Get over it and go chew on a tree. Sparky?”

“Fire flakes, maybe. Or…” He hesitates and glues his gaze to the floor. “Red Windsor cheese.”

“Fire flakes suit you, Sifu Hotman. You, Katara?”

She sighs, tries not to dwell on Zuko’s literal cheesiness. “Sea prunes, probably.”

Zuko props his head up on his hand and looks at her in surprise. “You’d be the thing that kills you?”

She glances at him and raises an eyebrow. “Aren’t I already?”

Toph plops her legs back on the floor and sits up. “Okay, we’re getting too depressing even for our standards. Let’s do something fun. How about Truth or Dare?”

“No,” Katara and Zuko say in unison and exchange a glare.

The fact that they sometimes share a single braincell is getting increasingly hard to stomach.

“Oh, come on, you doodooheads. I’m dying of boredom, and I’ll be back in my parents’ clutches tomorrow. Let me go out with a bang.” Toph gives her best shot at a puppy-dog stare, but she aims it to a spot a little to the left of where they’re sitting.

“Ugh.”

“Fine.”

“But you don’t get to play the blind card for at least two weeks.”

“And you’ll have to wear socks in the diner. People have been complaining.”

“Great,” Toph chirps in contentment and clasps her hands. “I’ll start.”

“Truth or dare?” Aang asks.

“Dare, of course.”

“I dare you to scrub the heels of your feet.”

“You wound me, Twinkletoes. I’ll do it before bed.”

“I hope you know I’ll check tomorrow.”

“Sure, I’ll shove my feet in your face on the bus. If that’s really the type of kinky thing you go for.”

Aang grimaces in disgust and looks at Katara. “Truth or dare?”

She hesitates for a second then straightens up slightly. “Truth.”

But Aang takes too long to come up with a question and it’s unfortunately Toph who speaks up instead.

“What happened between you two?” She’s pointing in the direction somewhere halfway between her and Zuko.

Katara looks at Zuko, then at her lap. “What do you mean? Nothing happened.”

“Oh, something happened alright. You used to be inseparable and now you barely talk to each other. Spit it out.”

“I…” Katara exhales sharply and closes her eyes. Everyone in the room knows anyway. “I was stupid and expected something of Zuko that he couldn’t give. But I never came out and said it and just resented him in silence, until it blew up in our faces. There, you happy?”

“Hm.” Toph clicks her tongue. “Sparky, what do you choose?”

“Truth.”

“Your version of that same story. And less vague for the listeners, please.”

Zuko mulls his answer over for a few seconds. “I saw Aang and Katara hugging after the dance last year, and all summer long, I thought they were together. So, when school started and they weren’t, it was hard to talk to her the same way. Then she got angry with me, and I found out that I’ve been an idiot for months.” He looks up and stares at them one by one. “That’s it.”

“Jesus, you two are hopeless. Either of you notice how you’re both skirting around the elephant koi in the room?”

No one answers, to which Toph responds with an impatient sigh of exasperation. “Aang, mind if I skip your turn?”

Aang opens his mouth, but she cuts him off before he gets the chance. “Great. I choose truth. Both of you are in love with the other, we all know it, it’s cramping our style, so you should just get together already and let the audience breathe for a change.”

Three pairs of eyes stare at Toph. Aang closes his mouth, then opens it again. “But… we didn’t even get to ask you a question,” he says like a guileless child – always one to focus on the crux of the matter.

Katara laughs and lies back down on the floor. “You’re insane, Toph. I’m going to kill you.”

“But am I wrong, Sugar Queen? Don’t make me repeat what you told me. Zuko is amazing just as he is, so why does he feel the need to change for someone else,” Toph mimics her voice with an unflattering shrill and somehow manages to pin a stare on her with deadly precision. “Just say all that crap now and solve all your problems already. For the love of God, please.”

Katara laughs some more and shakes her head, unable to believe her life has now reached this level of ridiculousness. Zuko says nothing and just stares at his lap.

“I choose dare,” Aang pipes up again after a minute of strained silence, trying to dissipate the tension ever so diplomatically.

“I dare you to eat a bar of soap.”

“Ew. No.”

“Fine, then eat a steak.”

“…Soap it is.”

“Good boy. Katara? Unless you no longer want to keep ignoring this?”

Katara grimaces and weighs her options. Sadly, none of them are looking too good.

“Dare,” she says finally. She’s had enough truths for one night, she thinks.

But then Toph’s face splits into a devious smile, as if that’s all she’s been waiting for, and Katara suddenly feels she’s as good as signed her life over to her.

“Why, thank you. I dare you to kiss Sparky.”

“Wh-no!”

“Why not?” Toph presses. “The game is the game, Katara. I don’t make the rules. You either do it or we egg your house.”

“He has a girlfriend, Toph.”

“Oh, he does, does he? You’re being awfully quiet about this, Zuko. Enlighten us as to what’s going on in your angsty teenage mind.”

Zuko peers up from where he’s covered his face with one hand and blinks. He clears his throat and looks to the ceiling, not speaking to anyone in particular as he says, “I… I don’t mind.”

Katara sputters in incredulity and props herself up on her forearms to stare at him. Aang seems just as shocked, if not even appalled.

Toph, for her part, is ecstatic. “You hear that, Sugar Queen? Sparky is cooperative. So, leave your morals behind and do it.”

“No.”

“Oh, just get over yourself. You’re not doing anything wrong here.”

“Oh, I would be. I’m not kissing him because of some stupid game.”

“Come off it. We all know that won’t be why.”

Suddenly, the air in the room doesn’t seem like nearly enough. Katara gets to her feet abruptly and before any of them has the chance to say anything, she stalks out of the room.

She leans on the door briefly to calm her breathing. Then she catches the faint sound of footsteps on the carpeted floor on the other side and rallies to get away from there.

She almost runs to the elevator, but Zuko idiotically manages to catch up with her before it arrives.

Katara stares ahead intently, but there’s an annoyingly persistent burning on the side of her head where Zuko’s looking at her.

“Katara.”

“What?”

“I’m sorry, I… that was stupid.”

“Yeah, no kidding.” The elevator doors open with a ding, and she walks inside.

For some reason, Zuko follows. She stares him down. “What are you doing?”

“I just want to talk. Can we do that?”

“I don’t feel like talking.”

“Please?”

She pushes the button for her floor angrily. “You could have talked before running away to Ember Island. It’s no use doing it now.”

Zuko seems at a loss, but still, he doesn’t leave. The door shuts behind him and Katara stares at it in dismay.

“Is it true? What Toph said back there? Do you… do you really feel that way?”

Katara scoffs and pins him under an icy glare. “You hardly expect me to say anything in this situation, do you? Remember yourself, Zuko.” She turns her head and looks away, jaw clenched. “Respect Mai, at least, if you won’t respect my right to privacy.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees him nod, and still, there’s something right on the tip of his tongue, something he’s struggling to say.

But Zuko, inept as he’s always been with these things, can’t manage to choke whatever it is out. And then he seems to abandon all attempts at words altogether.

He takes her hand, and she turns her head to glare at him again, only it turns out to be a grave mistake. Because the next second his other hand goes around her face and then he’s kissing her.

It takes her stupidly long to connect to her central brain and receive the message that this is a Bad Idea of Epic Proportions. For a few sinfully blissful seconds her hands find his hair and she kisses him back, and it feels like everything she’s spent the last few months imagining and more.

The touch of his fingers is gentle, but he himself isn’t. He’s downright desperate as he pushes her against the control panel and accidentally bumps his knuckles against the Emergency Stop button. His lips are soft, but underneath it there’s something primal, burning and inviting, and Katara’s so unbelievably gone, that for a minute she loses herself in it.

But then common sense catches up to her and she shoves him away harshly.

Zuko’s breathing heavily as he stares at her wildly, and she must be an exact mirror image of him, because a roaring beast suddenly comes alive in her chest and starts thrashing, begging to be let out.

What comes out, however, is impossibly small and weak.

“Don’t do this,” she rasps out and hates how pathetic she sounds. But Zuko, in all his idiocy and infinite blindness, has now truly reduced her to nothing, left her to grovel at his feet and everything he’s dangling in front of her, only to leave her watching it be taken away, always at a distance but never out of sight.

There for someone else to take, Katara has to remind herself. She stands a bit straighter. “Don’t do this to me. Don’t do it to yourself.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what…” Zuko shakes his head and shuts up, probably sensing it’s too late for words now. Especially after the transgression he’s made against both of them, against someone else too, and that’s definitely something she doesn’t want entering their dynamic – it is already deranged enough as it is without having to consider all the moral implications.

Katara’s been a somewhat willing participant, of course – she’s not delusional, for a second there she was kissing him with just as much desire – but this is insane, they’re both insane, and, by the way, someone should really call for help if they’re to ever get out of the madhouse that is this elevator.

Zuko leans over her head and pushes a few buttons and after some lucky combination, they finally start moving again. His face lingers close to hers for a second but then he takes a step back and straightens his shirt.

“Is there any chance… we could be friends? Katara?”

She laughs and shakes her head. “And how’s that going to work?”

“I don’t know,” he says honestly and looks at her with what can only be described as longing. “But I miss you. You’re my best friend.”

“I used to be. Not so much anymore,” she reminds him bitterly and angles her body so it’s facing the door.

“I’m sorry about all that. I really am. But… Could we try, at least?” He looks at her imploringly and she can feel her resolve crumble the slightest bit. “Please?”

Katara sighs. “It’s going to take a lot of paper cranes, Zuko. And I mean, a stinking fucking lot.”

Zuko nods frantically, grasping onto the stinking fucking lot of cranes like a drowning man. “Okay.”

“And shit like this can’t happen again.”

“I know. God, I know, I overstepped and –”

“It’s not fair to anyone.”

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.”

“That’s still not a yes.”

“But…” Zuko blinks and looks at her uncertainly. “It’s not a no either?”

Katara doesn’t respond, and then mercifully the door opens with a ding that lets them know they’ve reached her floor.

She walks away to her room silently, and when she’s finally alone with the darkness, she indulges in her new habit of screaming into pillows.

=

Neither of them comments on what’s happened at breakfast the next day.

Thankfully, the rest of the team is oblivious as they shove forkfuls of food in their mouths – Aang downs at least four glasses of orange juice to get rid of the taste of soap – he’ll be needing a restroom on the way home for sure – and then it’s finally time to leave.

The only acknowledgement that some of them are bringing home more than one type of defeat comes in the form of Toph giving Katara a conspiratory shove in the ribs on their way out the hotel dining room.

Katara looks at her in puzzlement, suddenly afraid her conversation with Zuko in the elevator - that seems like a safe way to put it, conversation - has somehow gotten broadcasted around the hotel through some nefarious communication technology she’s unaware of.

But Toph always seems to know more than she is supposed to, even without being privy to the most important piece of the context.

“Sparky was on the phone this morning. Talking to someone. Rather loudly.”

Katara looks over her shoulder quickly to make sure no one else is in earshot. “Okay. So?”

“So… I’m pretty sure he was talking to gloomy cheerleader girl – in fact, I’m willing to bet Twinkletoes’ vegetarian diet on it.” Toph stops in her stride and crosses her arms, looking at Katara somewhat expectantly.

“Okay, so he was talking to his girlfriend,” Katara says hastily. “Nothing groundbreaking there.”

She pauses for a second to fully feel the chagrin on her tongue. Zuko has a girlfriend. No matter how old that information gets, it somehow never fails to land a punch straight in her gut.

She forces herself to swallow and raises her eyebrows impatiently. “And?”

Toph rolls her unseeing eyes. “Gods, you’re all so slow. I sometimes wonder how we ever won any competitions at all.” She breathes out and steps closer, lowering her voice. “They broke up, Katara.”

Katara blinks at her, feeling her heart suddenly go still. “You can’t know that,” she whispers.

“There’s no way they didn’t.”

“What, did you hear them fight or somethi–”

“There’s no way, Katara.”

“But–”

“Trust me, at least this once. If not me, then a blind girl’s impeccable hearing skills.” Toph takes a step back and finally lets Katara breathe her own air again. “So. The real question is, what are you going to do about it?”

“What?” Katara asks distractedly, her thoughts already trailing off somewhere else as her heart resumes its beating in full force.

“What do you mean, what? Your morals are no longer relevant, may the Spirits help your misguided noble soul. You both know how you feel now, so you’re free to… do whatever.”

Katara says nothing as she shifts her weight back and forth in trepidation.

“Ugh, this conversation is giving me a headache. Just make sure you get out of this funk, okay? This should be enough for you to pull your shit together.” Toph huffs indignantly and looks away with her nose high in the air, probably in an attempt to assert that none of this is in any way born out of concern for her best friend’s happiness. “I’m not losing the debate with those wimps from Omashu too, understand?”

She looks at Katara sternly for a second and then walks away gruffly without waiting for an answer.

Katara stands in the foyer, as still as a mummified corpse, until it’s time to leave.

=

Surprisingly, or maybe not so much, Zuko comes to sit next to her on the bus.

She stares at him as if he’s grown a second head, but he doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest as he untangles the chord of his headphones.

And then he offers one to her. Katara looks at it, then looks at him, and after a lifetime of deliberation, she wordlessly accepts the gesture and takes it.

He plays one of the songs she associates with ice-cream and laughter, and evenings spent driving towards the sunset in his car. She looks outside the window to not let him see that he’s still important to her. That it feels as though he’ll never stop being important.

They silently mouth the words to “I Want It That Way” and after the chorus, Zuko bumps her shoulder teasingly.

Katara chances a glance at him and sees he’s smiling. He hands her a paper crane made out of a hotel brochure, and she feels a smile of her own tugging at the corners of her mouth against her will.

He’s attached a small note to it. It reads ‘1/ a stinking fucking lot’.

Katara places it on her thigh, and she thinks, no matter if what happened last night is to be their first and only kiss ever, no matter how wrong it all was, the irrefutable truth is this: she can not imagine life without Zuko Sozin’s particular brand of weirdness in it, and this is a reality that can no longer be denied.

For better or for worse, she’s more wretchedly in love than ever. But more prominent than that is the warmness she feels at the returning of her best friend.

=

Chapter Text

=

Ra Fing Fe, and other battles

“There’s no way you’re actually going to see Azula.”

“Dare to believe in the impossible, Sokka.” Katara fastens her seatbelt. “Get moving before one of us dies.”

“What, are the two of you friends now?”

“No. We’re just… we have things in common, okay?”

“Like what?”

“Like… math.” Katara glances at her brother and decides to do a good deed. “She’s not that bad, you know.”

He scoffs and steps on the gas. “She’s been bullying you for the past year.”

“Yeah, well, forgive and forget.”

“You’re insane and this will come to bite you in the ass later. And I’ll be there to say, ‘I told you so’.”

She just laughs. “As long as you’re there.”

Sokka drops her off and spends an unnecessary minute dramatizing with lines like ‘never let your opponent know your next move’, before driving away.

Azula smirks when she sees her and tells her she’s already made the tea. Katara walks hesitantly inside the Sozins’ place of residence and tiptoes to the kitchen, as if afraid of what she’ll be greeted with at the next corner.

But the two of them are alone and they drink their tea in awkward silence, before finally coming up with something to do. Namely, their math homework.

Azula, as Katara finds out, is just as much of a nerd as her, though she’ll never be caught admitting it aloud.

“Doctorate grade, nice,” she comments as she peers over Katara’s shoulder.

Katara sips on her tea to hide her smile.

The debater in her, as well as the snarky fencer in Azula, are direct, more than they are anything else – so, eventually they start talking. Their conversation quickly and naturally devolves into the same type of sincerity that marked their previous talk.

They discover they have more in common than either of them has imagined – it is surprisingly then that Katara learns the story behind their mother’s absence.

Azula doesn’t go into too much detail – she may be a hard-ass through and through, but even she isn’t immune to universal afflictions like grief and nostalgia. Ursa, Katara learns, left when they were little – Azula was barely eleven years old – and the details around her leaving are mostly speculation.

There was a lot of domestic conflict involved – this is where she deduces Ozai wasn’t the best parent, much less a good husband, even though Azula never comes out and says it outright. Her brief retelling of how they woke up one day to a household with one fewer parent mainly focuses on the ways in which Ursa did them wrong, how she abandoned them, how it was all incredibly selfish and irresponsible. But even Azula admits – things weren’t good, and Ursa probably took this desperate measure to preserve her own sanity, as she wouldn’t have been able to be a good mother to her and Zuko even if she had stayed.

They stare at the wooden table in silence for a while after Azula has stopped talking. Katara feels sympathy for her newfound friend – if they could be called that – but Azula seems intent on avoiding her eyes and giving herself the appearance of someone who’s just commented on something entirely removed from her own reality, from the way she herself has gotten shaped as a person. If one wasn’t aware of the context, her curt and unemotional tone of voice could almost convince you the story she’s told is about the family next door, and not her own.

After a while, the silence has grown heavy enough that Katara feels she’s brave enough to share her own pain. She quietly tells Azula about her mother’s passing – without getting into too much detail either, she’s still unsure how receptive others are of raw honesty, and she can’t risk getting too emotional here – and the Fire Princess finally looks back at her.

She nods with understanding, refills Katara’s cup of tea without Katara asking, and after that, nothing else needs to be said.

Against all odds, the two of them bond over the shared burdens of their childhoods. With that out in the open and quietly simmering in the edges of them keeping each other company, they return to lighter things. Soon enough, they are laughing in outward testimony that they are, in fact, still just teenage girls, despite having once been forced to grow up too quickly.

When Zuko comes home, he’s scandalized to find them sitting on the living room floor and painting each other’s nails – Katara’s are a deep blue, whereas Azula has opted for bright red – and he just stares, probably wondering how in Agni’s name he can make the image compute.

But Azula chases him away and then offers Katara pizza, and Katara finds she enjoys her company almost as much as she does his.

=

It’s not long after the competition in Gaoling that Zuko confoundingly starts attending all their debate club meetups again. Katara doesn’t know what to chalk it up to, but she’s more than happy to accept this new reality without questioning it, lest it slips through her fingers again.

Soon enough though, she finds out Zuko has quit the football team.

“I’ve never been that into sports,” he says in way of vague explanation and shrugs, as if it’s not that big a deal.

“Pity,” Katara says and tries really hard to make it sound sincere. “That jersey wasn’t bad though.”

“Yeah. I let Mai have it.” Zuko pauses and shakes his head with a chuckle. “I think she liked it more than she did me.”

She wisely chooses not to comment, and they drive home together with Justin Timberlake’s “Cry Me a River” playing in the background.

=

On Katara and Azula’s next hang-out, there’s no homework to do and no traumatic life story to exchange, so they sit idly on the couch and bounce around ideas.

“I could show you my sword collection,” Azula offers after a minute of contemplation.

Katara remembers her brother’s survival advice and decides they haven’t quite reached the point in their friendship where she’s willing to risk her life. She politely declines and they fall silent.

“We could watch this show,” she says finally. It’s been painfully long since she’s last seen it and she’s itching to know what happens next, but she’s been saving the next episode until she can watch it with Zuko.

But watching a cartoon seems like the last thing on his agenda lately, what with the transitions she imagines he must be going through, so she decides it wouldn’t be that big of a betrayal – especially considering it’s been months since they’ve last watched it. She wouldn’t be surprised if he’s finished the entire series without her during all that time – the thought has certainly crossed her own mind more than once.

Azula is at a loss as to what else they can do, so she accepts, and they settle around for the battle for Ra Fing Fe.

Katara quickly catches her up on what’s happened so far and promises to watch the entire thing with her again after this episode – she’s just dying to see the season finale – but Azula doesn’t mind jumping in halfway.

(According to Azula, avoiding spoilers is for the weak. She boasts about it and Katara smiles and lets her have the appearance of toughness that makes her feel at her most comfortable. Even if it is on so ridiculously trivial a scale, the girl obviously has something to prove, though it’s not entirely clear who she’s proving it to.

And who is Katara kidding – she really, really wants to see that episode already.)

“I agree that the prince is an idiot,” Azula comments and slurps her soda, waving her hand at the TV. “But you have to admit, the princess is badass.”

“Oh, yeah. I hated her at first, but she’s more complex than people give her credit for. I think her character has real potential.”

Then the two of them are holding their breath, hanging onto every second of animated awesomeness closely as the prince betrays the water magician and chooses violence.

Then the air magician is dead and Katara’s jaw is on the floor and Azula just looks at her with wide eyes and says, “Wow.”

“Yeah.”

“You’ve just expanded my horizons, Zitface.”

Katara laughs at the nickname that’s no longer laced with venomous contempt. “Consider your life forever changed, Fire Princess.”

It’s then Zuko comes darting in. Katara beams up at him, but then, Mai appears from behind him, and she feels her face fall.

Zuko and her aren’t standing in close proximity or in any other way displaying any lingering signs of affection – but Katara finds herself doubting if Toph’s hearing is as trustworthy as boasted after all – the two of them were never big on public displays anyway.

Zuko hasn’t explicitly mentioned anything about a breakup so far, even as he’s been steadily spending a lot more time with her and the gang lately – so far, she has figured it is mostly owing to his unfailing verbal constipation. She’s thought he’d come out and say it sooner or later, in his own endearingly stunted way, but perhaps that isn’t the case.

Maybe there’s more to it than she’s previously thought. Maybe he’s been keeping silent about a recent breakup because there hasn’t been one.

In the sparse seconds since Zuko and Mai have made their appearance, Katara’s head has already spiraled down the familiar path of panic, heartbreak, and indignation. Azula seems to sense it because she covertly nudges her in the ribs – not too gently, and she snaps back to the present moment.

Zuko, may the Spirits bless him, is characteristically oblivious to her inner turmoil. His attention seems to be solely focused on the novel weirdness of his sister and his best friend hanging out casually, as if they haven’t spent the better part of a year as sworn enemies.

“Hey,” he greets awkwardly and looks around the living room, as if searching for something that could counter his sheepishness.

His eyes fall on the TV, and he takes stock of what they’re watching. He immediately scowls at Katara. “Traitor. I thought that was our thing.”

Katara crosses her arms and huffs, welcoming the mild irritation that replaces her gnawing insecurity. “Yeah, well. You weren’t around, so your sister was kindly filling in for you.”

“When will you learn, Zuzu? Anything you can do, I can do better.”

“Uh-huh, sure. Wait, was that the finale?!”

“Yep.”

“Ugh, you’re unbelievable.” Zuko pauses and takes another look at the screen where the credits are rolling. “Is it amazing?”

“Yep.”

“I’ll gladly watch it again, if you want to,” Azula says with more eagerness than expected, and moves over to make space on the couch. “Here.”

Katara squishes herself beside her, Zuko sits on her other side – his knee is pressed against hers insufferably – and after a second, Mai joins them unenthusiastically.

But they don’t get very far. It’s only a few minutes in when Mai takes control over the remote and pauses the show.

“This is stupid,” she comments and promptly has three pairs of eyes glaring at her.

She shrugs. “What? It’s boring.”

“You’ve only seen five minutes of it.”

“And that’s five minutes I’m never getting back. It’s a kid’s show.”

“Yeah. But it’s also a masterpiece in storytelling.” Zuko shakes his head. “I can’t believe you don’t like it.”

“Sure you can. Grow up, Zuko.”

“Ugh, you’re so uninspired, Mai,” Azula says and gets up from the couch with a sigh. “Come on. There’s these combat boots in the mall I need your opinion on.”

Mai obliges without a word of protest – she’s had her fill of Zuko for the day, it seems, though Katara wonders how something like that is even possible – and the two of them vacate the living room, but not before Azula shoots Katara a wink.

Gods, their budding friendship really is a weird one.

Zuko clears his throat. “So… do you want to watch it?”

Katara feels her face burn, and nods. Seems like a slightly better alternative than voicing the burning question on her tongue anyway.

He smiles, snatches the bowl of popcorn from her lap and presses play.

The scene with the prince’s betrayal plays again and Zuko watches, eyes wide. “What a moron.”

“I know, right?” Katara pauses and chews on her lip. “But I guess it needs to go like this so he can see his life isn’t all it’s cracked up to be and redeem himself in the end.”

“You think he will?”

“Oh, yeah, eventually. But if those two don’t get together at the end, I’m going to be so mad,” Katara says and shoves a fistful of popcorn in her mouth, fingers brushing against his hand lightly where he’s holding the bowl. “I mean, he let her touch his face and everything.”

“They probably won’t though,” Zuko says matter-of-factly.

Katara glares at him as if he’s offended her ancestors.

He holds up his hands in defense. “I mean, they definitely should, it ties perfectly with the symbolism of the entire show. But I doubt they’ll make it happen.”

“Why not?”

“Well, it’s a kid’s show, like Mai said. Now that the main hero has expressed an interest in the girl, they’ll let him have her for sure.”

Katara pries the bowl of popcorn from his hands and sets it on the table, so there’s nothing separating him from her annoyance. “Well, then they shouldn’t tease with all these scenes of them together. I mean, come on. The cave? You could cut the tension with a knife!”

“I know.”

“They balance each other out perfectly! Why the hell would they imply it so heavily otherwise?” She leans back on the couch and crosses her arms. “If there’s no gratification in the end, I’m sending them an angry letter.”

“I’ll sign it, too.”

She pauses in her rant to glance at him and breaks out in laughter. “Spirits, we’re insane. Getting so invested in fictional characters and their relationships.”

Zuko cracks a crooked smile. “Well, better to fixate on that than on our nonexistent real-life relationships,” he muses and moves to pick up the bowl again.

He doesn’t immediately notice Katara staring at him.

Now, what he’s said isn’t necessarily new information, but it also is, especially considering the way it’s rapidly calmed down the jealous beast inside of her. But alongside that, there’s also endearment, and that peculiar curiosity that he inspires in her with the most mundane of things. Not for the first time, Katara marvels at Zuko’s ability to drop dramatic pieces of information in the conversation with as much commitment as if he’s commenting on the weather.

Perhaps this is the stunted way he’s decided to communicate this recent development. What a moron, Katara thinks warmly, and unwittingly starts drawing parallels between her best friend and the animated prince whose betrayal they’ve just watched on screen.

“What do you mean?” she asks quietly, even though she already knows. She watches the deepening creases on Zuko’s forehead, the downward tilt of his mouth, the dusting of pink across his cheeks as he fidgets and tries to form the words.

“Oh.” He looks at her for a split second and then quickly looks away. “I guess I… didn’t tell you. Mai and I broke up.”

“You did?” Katara tilts her head slightly and tries to contain her smile. There’s droplets of sweat forming near his temple and she finds his sudden nervousness fascinating.

“Yeah.”

“Are you okay?” she prompts gently, because as endearing as his unease is, she wants him to feel comfortable sharing to her. She wants him to feel at home.

And she is Zuko’s friend, before she is Zuko’s anything, first and foremost – always.

“Yeah. I really am.” He bites his lip for a moment and exhales. “It happened last week.”

Katara nods and stays silent, without urging him on. Zuko glances at her and she can see he’s blushing. “You didn’t think it would go on after what happened at the debate, did you?”

She tries to come up with something not entirely retarded to say to meet the unexpected uncertainty in his eyes. “But… you were… I mean, just now?”

He laughs at her incoherence. “She asked me to pick her up from her self-defense class, since I promised to before we broke up.” Zuko shrugs. “We’re still friendly, I guess. I’ve known her forever.” Then his eyes dart over to her uncertainly. “Is that… okay?”

She can’t imagine why she would have any claim on who he does and doesn’t talk to, so she just nods, feeling all color drain from her face at the implications of his question.

“I don’t think we’ll be hanging out at all though. Not anymore.”

Katara smiles to herself and keeps silent. She has a very good idea just in what direction they’re moving, but she doesn’t want to push, she doesn’t want to go any faster than this, not after they jumped headlong and almost destroyed everything, right down to their friendship.

And with this, she will happily take her time. Quietly, peacefully, undoubtedly, they’ll grow into precisely what they’re meant to grow into. And no matter the timeline and the things they’ll have to resolve along the way – she knows they’ll do it together.

They put on the first episode of the next season, and somewhere in the middle of it, Zuko’s hand – still greasy from the popcorn – finds hers. Katara finds she no longer cares about what happens to fictional characters and their relationships - just as long as that sticky salty hand stays right there.

=

Chapter Text

=

planning a murder, and goddamn finance

They go out for ice-cream often, even as the weather steadily gets colder. Katara finally has her last laser procedure and though it doesn’t hurt nearly as much as the first, she’s still riled up afterwards.

Zuko takes her to the outskirts of town so they can watch the sunset fall over the city and drapes a blanket around her like she’s a baby. He tells her he’s proud of her, even if he still can’t understand the depth of her vanity, and diligently slaps her hands away whenever she reaches to scratch her legs.

“So, what’s going on with you and Sozin?” her brother asks one day and pins her under a suspicious stare. For someone who’s long since stopped hanging out with his sister, Katara thinks, he seems painfully curious.

“Oh, nothing. You know, we’re friends.”

“Riiight.” He gives her a knowing smile. “And how is it that your room has now become an origami freak circus?”

He’s not wrong. Zuko has been dutifully giving her a new paper crane every time he sees her, and her collection is rapidly expanding. He’s gotten good at it, too, the devil.

She smiles to herself and tells Sokka to focus on his fangirls.

He does and eventually gathers the courage to ask Suki out, much to both Azula and Toph’s dismay.

Katara soothes them both – individually – and Toph drowns her sorrow in bowling the shit out of Aang, while Azula resolves to kill her next opponent at the fencing competition.

(On one occasion, she darkly mentions something could be arranged for Suki too, and Katara stares at her in horror, before convincing her to just do the reasonable thing and drink herself senseless like a normal teenager.)

=

“I think I have figured it out,” Azula says as if to herself, seeming lost in thought, as her hand pauses its movement down the long shiny blade in her lap. “Poison might be my best bet. No one can trace it back to me.”

Katara looks up from where she’s sprawled on the floor and scowls. “Your mind really is just a whirring factory for murderous plots, isn’t it?”

Azula shrugs and gives her version of an innocent smile. The resulting grimace is nothing short of terrifying.

Katara sighs and lies back down. “I hate to say it, but Sokka was right. You’re one scary gal, Azula.”

“So you want me to stop plotting his girlfriend’s death, yet you keep mentioning him? Make up your mind, Zitface.” Azula chuckles and shakes her head, redirecting her attention back to the sword she’s been polishing for the past half-hour.

Katara clicks her tongue. “You can’t scare me, Fire Princess. You’ve already proved you’re just a big softie beneath that tough-girl exterior.”

Azula grimaces. “Don’t ever say that again, or you’re going on my murder list as well.”

“Sure. Take the list out, and I’ll show you how to make an origami shuriken.”

“Well, isn’t that a productive use of your time.”

Katara shoots up from the floor at the unfamiliar male voice and is immediately met with the disapproving scowl of a man she assumes to be Azula and Zuko’s father. Ozai has made his way into the house soundlessly and is now staring at the two of them with unconcealed disapproval, the gleam in his gold eyes like that of smooth steel.

Strangely, Azula seems just as startled. She quickly straightens up and assumes a solemn expression, much like a soldier reporting to their superior. “Father. I didn’t expect you home so early.”

Ozai picks up the sword she’s been polishing and inspects it closely. “Is that why you’re wasting your time?”

“Not at all, father. We already did all our homework, it’s on the dining table if you want to check.”

“How many times have I told you to clean up after yourself?” Ozai looks at Katara appraisingly and she resists the urge to swallow in her nervousness. “And you are?”

“Uh, Katara. Sir.”

“She’s my friend. We’ve been doing math together,” Azula says quickly. Katara gets the impression that explaining her presence in the house with advanced calculus is somehow necessary for her to be granted passage.

“Hm.” Ozai’s eyes linger on Katara for only a second more, before he turns towards his daughter. “Where is that other girl? The one you practice sparring with?”

“Mai’s coming in a bit. She has self-defense class right now.”

“At least she’s putting her free time to good use. And your brother?”

“He should be home soon. He’s with Uncle, I think.”

“Try to get him to study with you next time, Agni knows he needs it. If he wants to be more than a simple tea-maker for the rest of his life, that is.”

“Yes, Dad.”

“And please don’t make the house smell like nail-polish again.”

Azula ducks her head with a nod, though Katara sees her smirking to herself. Ozai strides out of the living room with the same eerie soundlessness he appeared, and the two girls exchange a look. “And here I thought my dad was strict.”

“Yeah. He’s a bit intense. And he’s been in a bad mood lately.” Azula sits back down on the floor and folds her legs beneath her.

Katara follows suit and studies her curiously. “It’s almost time for Zuko to send out his college applications. But his grades aren’t the best, so Dad has been…”

Katara nods in understanding. “You have any idea what Zuko wants to study?”

“He’s mentioned social work a few times. But I know Dad wants him to go for Finance.”

Katara involuntarily winces. Finance? That seems as far from anything she’s ever thought Zuko might end up doing with his life. It’s hard to imagine his own father disagreeing.

“He might need to work on his math for real though. He sucks at it. You should tutor him, or something.”

“It looks as though I’ll need a legitimate reason to hang out in your house anyway,” Katara muses teasingly, but her face falls a little when Azula nods seriously.

“He doesn’t like us wasting our time. It’s understandable, really. The more effort we put in now, the better off we’ll be in the future.”

Katara is wise enough to hold her tongue – while certainly understandable, Ozai’s methods of encouraging his children are too foreign to her notion of good parenting – and they go back to talking about Sokka and all the ways in which Azula’s womanly scorn may get revenge.

“Maybe we can pin the whole thing on your blind friend.”

“Azula!”

“What? She looks so defenseless, I doubt they’ll do anything to her. Besides, her parents are filthy rich, aren’t they?”

“Azula. No murders, and no framing other people!”

“Well, you’re no fun. No wonder Zuko likes you.” Azula clicks her tongue. Then a second later, another click resonates through the house, though this time it is the sound of the front door shutting. “Oh, Mai’s here.”

“Hi,” Mai greets in her usual bored monotone. Katara turns her head sideways and sees her  leaning on the doorframe idly. “You ready to spar?”

“Yep. I just need a minute to change.” Azula hops to her feet and disappears up the stairs. “Zitface can catch you up on my criminal intentions!”

Katara shakes her head with a sigh. “Yeah, no. Azula wants to murder my brother’s new girlfriend.”

Mai smirks. “Oh, is that all? I’m sure I can contribute with a suggestion or two.”

Katara shakes her head again. The people she’s hanging out with lately may not be the best influence.

She stands up and looks around uncomfortably. Maybe she should just get her stuff and leave now. Standing around Zuko’s house with Mai like this is far from her idea of a chill afternoon, and the silence is already hanging, thick and tense with the lingering weirdness of one girl being Zuko’s ex, while the other is famously infatuated with him.

But amid the tension, Katara feels there’s also something else in the air. Something she needs to get off her chest, something she’s had neither the opportunity, nor the courage to express until now.

Well, her courage definitely still leaves something to be desired. But the occasion seems as fitting as she can hope she’ll ever get.

“I’m sorry,” she says abruptly, and it reverberates too loudly and pathetically in her own ears. “I…”

Mai pins her under her gaze, one thin eyebrow arched questioningly.

“About what happened at the debate,” Katara clarifies and clears her throat in embarrassment.

About your breakup. About me kind of causing it. About taking so long to open my mouth about it.

Mai stares at her unblinkingly for a few charged moments, before giving a slight nod. Her expression doesn’t change. “I appreciate it. But you don’t need to apologize for Zuko’s actions. Besides,” at this Mai breaks eye-contact and brings up her hand to inspect her nails, seemingly as a way of distancing herself from the topic at hand. “We were headed there anyway. It was only a matter of time. Zuko is alright, I guess. But some things were always going to be a problem for us.”

“O-oh?” Katara doesn’t really know what to say, and she fails in hiding it. The ‘Zuko is alright, I guess’ part is as alien to her as the entire exchange.

It suddenly registers in her awareness that Azula’s absence from the room is stretching way more than the promised minute. She half-expects the Fire Princess is lingering on the top of the stairs and listening in until they get it all out.

“Yeah. His indecisiveness, for one. He can’t make up his mind about anything, and everything always went according to my wishes. Which is all good, but everything has its limits. It’s exhausting to wear the pants all the time, you know?”

Katara nods and makes a studious effort of cataloguing the patterns of the living room carpet. What Mai is describing is mostly a part of Zuko she isn’t that familiar with, but some of it does ring true. Come to think of it, Zuko has let people and their opinions sway him in one direction or the other, in more than one aspect of his life – Azula, his uncle, Mai, even Katara.

“And if he goes along with what his father wants for him, we would have broken up eventually for sure. Maybe a bit later than it happened, but still. I’m staying in the Earth Kingdom after high school, we always knew that.”

Katara’s head snaps up at that, her heart inadvertently jumping up to her throat. “What? But–”

“Okay, I’m ready to kick your ass!” Azula exclaims as she takes the last three steps of the stairway in one swift jump and lands in a graceful crouch. “You can stay and watch, Zitface. It won’t take long.”

Mai smirks and crosses her arms. “We’ll see about that.”

“Uh, no. I have to get going actually.” Katara smiles and shoves her notebook in her backpack hurriedly. “Have a good one!”

She flees the Sozin household and spends the rest of the day mulling over what this new piece of information might mean. But no matter what of it she still doesn’t know, she’s intuitively aware it can’t be anything good.

=

Katara sits and eats her ice-cream in silence. She doesn’t feel like making an effort to fill the lulls today – and since when is effort even a relevant part of the terminology of her friendship with Zuko anyway? – since when are there even lulls? – and besides, Zuko seems too lost in his own thoughts anyway.

She glances at him sideways, abruptly wishing she could somehow crack his skull open and take a peek of the inside. With the way his eyebrows are creased together in worry, she imagines what she’d find is nothing more than a big mess.

“I’ve been spending more time with Uncle lately,” he says finally and fixes his stare straight ahead. The sun is low in the sky, the last rays a wonderful display of bright fleeting orange.

Katara looks at him, but he stubbornly doesn’t meet her eyes. She hasn’t even asked, but it would appear he’s deemed it necessary to explain his absence during recent weeks.

“Oh. How is he?”

She fixes her eyes on the view in front of them and digs her palms into the rocky surface of the boulder they’re perched atop. It takes her great effort not to ask about the other absence, the more painful one, the one she feels swallowing him even when he’s physically beside her.

Damn it, if he’s going away next year, she wants him to at least be here with her now. She wants them to be close, like they usually are. While they still can.

“He’s great. Keeping busy with the teashop. Business’s been good lately.”

“That’s… good.”

Silence. One, two heartbeats. Katara counts the seconds, measures the thickness that’s settled in the air between them, uninvited and unexplained, and heaves a deep sigh.

Zuko doesn’t say anything.

She looks upwards at the sky and resolves to be grateful for this trial of patience she’s being subjected to. This boy. Spirits, this boy.

“I’ve been… talking to him. Looking for advice.” Zuko pauses and ducks his head so he’s looking at his feet; their figures mirror versions of a reversed pose, like reflections that meet at one end, but are always a hair’s breadth away from touching.

“Are you moving to the Fire Nation?” Katara asks abruptly, trying to break through that invisible surface separating them. She can’t stand this anymore. Even if it’s true, she has to know.

She deserves to know, she thinks zealously. Because Zuko might not be entirely with her in mind right now, but he’s still there in body, and she’ll be damned if she lets this be how they spend the remaining months they have.

He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t move an inch. For a few moments, it seems as though he isn’t even breathing.

“Zuko?” she prompts softly, struggling to hold onto some gentleness even when addressing this.

Zuko finally breaks out of his reverie and looks up, first at the horizon ahead, then at her. “Maybe. I don’t know yet.” There’s something dull in his voice.

He looks so distant, so emotionally removed from the immense weight of his words – can’t he see how they are crushing her? – that she wants to smack him.

She nudges him with her elbow and tries to smile, to return some levity, to help them both escape from the dreariness that could very well be the future. “Is that why we haven’t been on a real date yet?”

He gives her a half-smile. “Maybe.” Then he breaches the invisible barrier and laces his fingers through hers.

Katara blinks down at the sight of their entwined hands. The contrast between their skin tones never fails to amaze her, they are so different, yet so perfectly balanced, and then a sudden uninvited thought crosses her mind, entirely inappropriate for her age and equally horrific in its unreachability – if they ever have any children, what would they look like? – and an invisible steely hand suddenly grabs hold of her throat.

“There’s another reason,” Zuko speaks again and brings her back to reality. Gods, never let him stop speaking, never let this moment slip away. “I also can’t come up with anything much different than this.”

He gestures towards the sky with his other hand and tilts one corner of his mouth upwards – a bit teasingly, a bit apologetically – and Katara gives his hand a squeeze.

“This is great,” she says quietly and leans in to give him a kiss on the cheek. Zuko’s fair skin burns beneath her touch, he turns redder than the sky, and she smiles into his side.

“I’ll figure it out,” he assures her, and it sounds a bit as though he’s also trying to reassure himself. “We have options, right? Katara?”

“We do,” she confirms, even though she’s unsure if their options will prove to be any good in the end, if they will stand the test of time and possible distance.

Maybe if he goes to study in the Fire Nation, it won’t be the end of them – even as they haven’t even had a beginning yet, even as she is certain goddamn finance will be the end of him sooner or later – maybe she can visit on holidays, and then when she graduates a year later, maybe she can go there, too. Maybe she’ll pick up a ridiculous field of study for herself as well, if only to keep the joke running.

Maybe he won’t stop sending his letters this time. Maybe they’ll make use of the fact they were born to meet and become this inseparable in the 21^st century of all possibilities, and actually use some technology to keep in touch while they are apart.

Maybe it will be just fine in the end.

“We do,” she says again with more resolve. “We didn’t go through all this just to give up in the end. Alright?”

“Alright.” Zuko smiles at her, a soft, genuine smile that she doesn’t get to see on his face nearly often enough. “I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but I’m grateful my face got burned the exact day it did.”

She hits him on the arm reproachfully and gives him a smile of her own. But secretly, as morbid as it may be, she might be thankful for the very same thing.

The sun will set soon. Katara already knows the night to come will be cold and uncertain.

But for now, Zuko is bright and present by her side. And she’ll soak up every last second of sunlight she has.

=

Chapter Text

=

graduations, Pentapox-sponsored relationships, and love

The prince and the water magician don’t get together in the end, just as Zuko predicted. Katara stares at her laptop screen as the credits to the final episode roll, and feels cheated.

Is it too much to ask for the love life of her favorite fictional characters getting a more definite ending than her own? Couldn’t the producers have let her have that much at least? Couldn’t the universe?

She shuts the screen abruptly and stares ahead of her, unseeing.

This isn’t fair. They should have gotten together. It was the only logical character arc. Fire and water, a prince and a commoner, good and bad, the Blue Spirit and the Painted Lady.

They both have dealt with family trauma, they both battle the darkness inside, they both struggle and develop over the series, often with each other’s help. She offers the single most valuable thing she has to heal his wounds and he takes lightning for her, for Spirits’ sakes, so how could they send her off to that air magician afterwards?

Katara can’t believe it, she’s certain she never will, and she doesn’t know why the hell she’s so bothered about it.

Then, before she knows what she’s doing, she gets to her feet and starts pacing. They should be together too, she thinks frantically, properly and officially together, and this is what it’s really about. If any pairing makes as much sense as those star-crossed animated lovers, it’s really her and Zuko – no matter how incredibly unlikely that might have seemed in the beginning of their acquaintance.

So why the hell aren’t they?

If not even a kid’s show can follow a reasonable plot, then how could she ask that her own life do the same?

She thinks she may just write an angry letter not only to the producers, but to Zuko too. To the Spirits or whoever up there’s in charge as well, just for good measure.

=

Zuko’s graduation rolls around quietly and undramatically, and still, no clarity on his future whereabouts has made itself present in Katara’s awareness.

Still seething from fictional tragedies, she tells herself not to jump the gun and start mourning her own without a solid reason.

But she starts feeling that she needs a reason, one that points to the contrary of her fears, one that promises a happy ending. Zuko said it will be alright, but that isn’t enough anymore. She thinks she might have just grown the capacity for romantic love all because of his existence, but his indecisiveness and lack of communication is simply too much – even in the idealized cotton candy teenage girl world she’s been living in.

They’re sitting on the bleachers long after the commencement ceremony is over.

The place is still packed with people, and Zuko’s entire grade is howling like there’s a wolf sound-alike contest going on. Sokka is laughing with his teammates with an arm around Suki’s shoulders, while Azula glares from where she’s sitting on Katara’s left. Zuko is on her right, smiling as he fiddles with his freshly-minted diploma.

Katara, for her part, is staring straight ahead at the field and counting the minutes until she’ll be physically unable to sit in patient silence. That seems to be an exercise she’s gotten well-versed in lately.

Then, without preamble, Jet waltzes in her field of vision and bares all his teeth in a wide grin that is probably supposed to be charming. She glares at him and some snarky, vengeful part of her that feels a bit like her own inner mini Azula, cheers in satisfaction when his face falls and he shifts uncomfortably.

But it appears Jet isn’t one to sit in discomfort for long, because he then steps closer and clears his throat. Katara’s glare doesn’t waver, but it’s joined by two others, courtesy of the two Sozins at her sides.

“Hey,” he starts and darts his gaze first to Azula, then to Zuko, before giving Katara a strained smile. “I don’t know if we’re going to see each other again, so I just wanted to say–”

“Good riddance,” Azula snorts.

“Spit it out already,” Zuko snaps.

A smile tugs at one corner of Katara’s lips, but she schools her features into a mask of disdain. “Yes?”

“That I’m, uh, sorry. For what happened at Haru’s party. I was an idiot.”

“Still are,” Zuko quips and Katara sees him tightening the hold he has on the rolled diploma in his lap.

“Right. Just wanted to clear the air.”

“And you’ve done it as successfully as a cloud of exhaust gas,” Azula says sweetly and smiles. “Now shoo.”

Jet blinks at her in puzzlement, then just nods and scatters away.

“You two should consider a career in diplomacy,” Toph comments from somewhere above Katara’s left shoulder. “You’d strike up trade deals without a hitch.”

“Though maybe with a few broken bones,” Azula says ominously and smiles for real this time. “Thanks, Midget.”

“Hey! I give the nicknames around here, Sabre Girl.”

“Ooh, I like the sound of that.”

There’s a moment of silence, before Toph pipes up again, intrigued. “Do you bowl, Sozin?”

Azula looks over her shoulder incredulously. “Oh, I bowl alright. I don’t imagine a blind smidge of a person is a match for me.”

Katara can almost feel Toph’s smirk. “Shall we put that notion to the test then?”

“Lead the way, Your Blindness.” Azula is grinning from ear to ear as she hops up and loops her arm through Toph’s, before they walk away.

Katara turns towards Zuko and they burst out laughing.

“So,” he starts in between laughs, then pauses until he’s regained his composure. “So. I have to tell you something.”

Katara returns to seriousness and turns to look at him better. Zuko clears his throat ceremonially, and there’s really no need for all this preamble – she’s been sitting on the edge of her seat in anticipation for ages – and then he finally says, “I’ve been accepted into Caldera University.”

Katara blinks at him stupidly, slow to understand. Caldera… But that–

“You said you’d figure it out!” she says in unexpected accusation, surprising even herself. Without realizing it, she’s jumped to her feet – pushed straight from anticipation into indignation.

But Zuko is smiling and she can’t for the life of her imagine what it is he finds so amusing. Familiar insecurity seizes her and she suddenly thinks she may have misinterpreted everything that’s happened between them so far. Maybe this possibility of something, of everything, hasn’t meant nearly as much to him as it has to her. Maybe she’s gotten way too ahead of herself, plunged into the idea of them headfirst, without stopping to consider it may not actually be what he wants.

Maybe Zuko is smiling, because what’s really happening here is he’s telling his best friend he’s soon to sail off to the school of his dreams.

As always, he is too slow to stop her before she’s had a full-blown existential crisis. Then again, crises of this type never take longer than two seconds to bloom in their entire catastrophic glory in her mind.

“Listen,” he insists and takes hold of her hand. Katara stills, even as if every piece of her demands to thrash and scream. She centers in on him, the rest of the world blurring until he has her undivided attention.

“Okay,” she says, voice small. She’s gone through too much waiting, too much turmoil, not to listen when he’s finally speaking.

“I’ll be taking Finance. Initially.”  Zuko’s grin grows larger, as if he’s some mad genius, but Katara only feels her stomach sinking further. “The first year is basically general studies, so I’ll be able to switch to whatever after that, and in the meantime, I can take some classes to figure out what I really want to do.”

“Okay,” she says again, feeling as though she’s slowly dissolving from the conversation.

That’s smart of him, she thinks with cold rationality. He’d have Ozai off his back, while seemingly going along with his wishes; he’d buy himself time and space to make the right decision. He really has figured it out.

The monster inside Katara’s ribcage roars in protest, demanding to know where she’s factored in all this, but she tells it to be quiet. Her hand in Zuko’s is limp and clammy, but she stands still and waits.

“My grades were good enough in the end,” Zuko continues. “Uncle helped me with my application essay. I bet that’s what did the trick.”

Katara nods, and her head feels heavier than lead – it’s a miracle it doesn’t unhinge from her neck, she thinks ludicrously. Absurd intrusive thoughts might just be her coping mechanism for disassociation from distressing situations.

“Anyway. My dad wishes I’d done better, but it doesn’t really matter. I–”

“Zuko,” Katara snaps, involuntarily losing hold of her patience. “Are you going anywhere with this?”

He pauses with his mouth half open and slowly blinks. Spirits, he looks so moronic sometimes.

“I thought you’d want to know how it all went. I…”

“Of course I do. I want to know everything.” Katara takes a bracing breath. She really has to spell it all out for him, doesn’t she? “But is this what you’re focusing on right now? After you’ve just told me you’re going to the Fire Nation for the next four years?”

Zuko’s blinking picks up its pace. “What? I–” For a split second he goes completely still, and it looks like a glitch in the matrix for the moment it takes him to compute, before he bursts out in laughter again. “Agni. I’m such an idiot.”

Katara stares at him in disbelief as he doubles over, his entire body shaking. She now wants to get borderline violent with him – what in the Spirits’ name is so funny? She’s standing there, having her tenth Zuko-related heartbreak in the past year, and he’s just–!

“No, no. I’m – Agni, I’m so stupid.” No arguments there, she thinks and opens her mouth to put a stop to this madness, because he’s trying to say something now, but he’s also giggling. “Katara, I forgot to tell you the most important part.”

She throws up her hands in frustration. “Well, go on then! Do you need the Spirits to descend from heaven and give you an engraved invitation? Just tell me already!”

“I’m sorry. Really, I am,” he says and tries to inject his voice with some solemnity, but it’s plain to see he can’t control the smile that’s taken permanent residence on his face. “Katara, I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be right here.”

“But–”

“Let me explain. They offer an online program too. I applied to the in-person one as well, but it takes higher grades to get in, and, well…” Zuko shrugs and smirks. “I kind of sabotaged one of my final exams.”

Katara’s jaw drops. “You failed on purpose?”

Zuko shrugs. “It turns out it didn’t matter in the end. There’s an outbreak of something called Pentapox in the Fire Nation, so all the schools are going digital anyway. Ozai didn’t like it, but there’s nothing he can do.”

Katara pauses and searches her memory. She seems to remember Sokka mentioning something about Pentapox a while back.

Huh. Would it be an act of providence that sticks the two of them together in the end? Who would have thought.

She shakes her head and chuckles. Zuko looks at her fondly, then yelps out in surprise when she punches him in the gut. “Ow! What was that for?”

“You really need to learn how to structure your stories.” Katara smirks. “So, you’re staying?”

He nods, rubbing his stomach where she hit him. “I’m staying. Until you graduate, at least. Then we can figure it out together.”

“Sounds good. Give me that.” Katara snatches his diploma and swirls it between her fingers.

Zuko follows it with his eyes, amused, but doesn’t ask for it back. “Are you holding my education hostage to make sure I stick to my word?”

“Not a bad idea.” Katara grins and starts tugging him down the bleachers and away from all the noise. “This will make a great paper crane, don’t you think?”

Zuko’s laughter echoes from behind her back as he trails after her. Katara smiles and, at long last, lets herself breathe freely.

=

It’s the middle of the summer when Zuko has his final session at June’s office. Katara is sweating from head to toe when she barges into the waiting area.

She’s late, but not too late, it seems. Iroh looks up from where he’s sitting (on two obscenely small chairs) and greets her cheerfully.

“Katara! Lovely to see you!”

“Hey, Uncle.” She smiles and sits one chair over. “He’s still inside?”

Iroh nods. “Are you joining us for his opening ceremony later? I’ve decorated the teashop just for the occasion.”

Katara beams. Leave it to Iroh to make online education feel fancy.

“Do you serve coffee, too?” Sokka asks as he plops down on Katara’s other side and wipes the sweat off his brow.

She rolls her eyes. “You complained all the way here, and now you want to tag along?”

“Well, I see it as my duty to get to know my future brother-in-law. And everyone’s been raving about the Jasmine Dragon, so I have to see it.”

Katara scoffs to mask her blush. All her friends have gotten in the habit of making marriage-related jokes to her and Zuko whenever the opportunity presented itself. Secretly though, some part of her dances joyfully at the thought every time.

Iroh grins with glee. “You’re more than welcome, young man. Though I recommend our green tea. Goes great with muffins.”

Sokka returns the grin, easily convinced. “You have a fridge we can put this in?” He gestures to the massive container of ice-cream he’s deposited at his feet; there’s droplets of water sliding down the sides and making a small puddle on the ground. “My sister insisted we get enough for an army, but it’s already turned to milk.” Sokka grimaces at the ice-cream as if the physics it conforms to are somehow its fault. “And after I did all this carrying.”

“You carried it from the store to the parking lot, then from another parking lot to here. Quit whining.”

“That your way of saying thanks?” Sokka leans forward and puts a hand around his mouth, whispering at Iroh loudly, “Some addition to your family you’re getting, am I right?”

Iroh shakes his head in mirth and Sokka leans back in his seat with a satisfied smile. “And what was all that effort for? That’s right, ladies and gentlemen. Liquid vanilla ice-cream. At least get a real flavor next time.”

Katara glares at him. “First of all, you owe me about thirty months of your presence, so shut up. And second, vanilla is an awesome flavor.”

Sokka opens his mouth to retort, but then the door from behind the counter swings open and Zuko darts out. His face is grim, but he lights up the moment he sees them sitting there.

Iroh jumps to his feet and embraces him. “Well done, my boy! We’re proud of you.”

“I did nothing,” he says and awkwardly pats his uncle on the back, his eyes on Katara. “Thank you for coming.”

She nods and smiles at him, waiting for Iroh to step back so she can hug him, too. “You’re strong,” she whispers in his ear.

“Uh, no. Not strong. But still ugly.”

“I love you just the way you are.”

Zuko blushes so hard, his entire face turns as red as the marred skin of his scar. Sokka clears his throat awkwardly. “Uh, congrats, man. Here’s your ice-cream.”

“Thanks?” Zuko blinks and looks over the humongous container he’s just been handed. “Wow.”

Katara loops an arm through one of his and marches to the exit. “Let’s go. Your education is waiting.”

“Don’t remind me.” Zuko pauses by the door and looks back at his uncle, scowling. “Let’s go, Uncle. You’ll ask June out some other time.”

“Coming, coming.”

Katara laughs and doesn’t let go of Zuko until Sokka’s already parked in front of the teashop. But now it’s him that’s holding her hand, with that particular Zuko-expression that’s indicating he’s trying to chew something out.

They lag behind in the backseat, while her brother paces around the car and waits for them to get out. Poor guy, Katara thinks. Knowing how eloquent her boyfriend is, they’ll be there a while.

But it takes him surprisingly little time to spit it out. “I love you too, just so you know.”

“Oh.” She smiles, a little surprised, and leans in to place a kiss on his scarred cheek. “I know.”

It’s much later that Katara finally learns the details of what happened to his face – a long way down the line, when they’ve once more arrived at a crossroads and Ozai is attempting to steer his son after his own delusional wishes. By then, Zuko and Katara have grown so close that she can no longer tell which part of her is her, and which belongs to him, but she knows one thing. That monster of a human being isn’t having a say in anything having to do with Zuko’s life. And Zuko’s never getting this hurt again, ever. He’s his own person, and for as long as he’ll be Katara’s, too, she’ll love him unconditionally – the whole of him, with all the ugly, jagged parts, all the incoherent tongue-tied pieces, for all the time they have left.

Zuko takes hold of her face and kisses her properly, long and slow. Before her eyes flutter close, Katara thinks she sees her brother throwing his hands up in agitation. She smiles against Zuko’s lips.

“Let’s go, Ugly Face. We have our whole lives to piss our families off, but I kind of need Sokka to drive me home later.”

“Okay,” Zuko says and kisses her again. “Okay.”

=

the end

=