Chapter Text
Zuko would never admit it, especially not a year ago, but there was something that terrified him about Katara. She was an enormously passionate (and hard-headed) person, which made her a powerful bender, one of the most naturally gifted he’d seen other than his sister. Her skills had been middling at best when they first met, and then after a few weeks, once she’d had a small taste of the training he’d been getting for years, she was a fierce opponent, so fierce that with his stupid, frail ego, he’d taunted her about being little and a peasant.
He knew better now, despite being taught when he was younger that firebenders were the most powerful. Anyone who had a hundred ice spikes barreling towards their face thanks to Katara may not believe that.
It wasn’t him, for once, in danger of her wrath, though he had put that person in her path, thinking it would gain him the favor he was so desperate to curry from her. Seeing her standing in front of Yon Rha, shaking with rage, made him wonder if this was really the right way to go about getting her to accept him. He had thought that surely a person like Katara would never kill someone so violently, even out of revenge, but found himself faltering once he saw the look in her eyes on the road.
Katara did relent, seconds before her decision became one she could not take back, the rain falling around them again as she spoke and Yon Rha trembled before her.
She ran—bolted—through the rain when she was through, not on the road but over the grassy knoll beside them, surprisingly swift considering they were both soaked completely through with water.
Zuko threw one last glare in Yon Rha’s direction, cowering in the mud like the pathetic man he was, before jogging after her. He feared he’d lost her, chest clenching unreasonably tight at that prospect considering after her last waterbending display it was obvious she was perfectly capable of defending herself. He found her huddling at the base of a large tree, hardly visible from the torrential downpour, knees pulled to her chest.
He reached the halo of branches of the tree, which protected him somewhat from the rain. He wiped the water from his face and managed to push back some of his hair from his eyes.
Zuko hesitated and did not walk up beside her. This was so very far from a situation he had any experience with. He felt deeply the pain and inner conflict he knew was raging inside Katara, but who was he to sit beside her and provide comfort?
She had made it perfectly clear just days ago the extent of her disdain for him, and he couldn’t blame her. He’d thought—it was stupid, looking back—that he could make it up to her by delivering what she wanted: her mother’s killer. Instead he’d only caused her more distress.
Zuko shifted uncomfortably from the other side of the tree—he could only see one side of her elbow, the ends of her baggy clothes fanned out, the black they’d worn and then the water tribe blue underneath, stained darker because it was completely soaked. He couldn’t hear it over the rain, but she was crying, shoulders shaking.
It felt intrusive, watching her like that, when he was at a loss for words and the last person she’d want to see. His foot hesitantly slid backwards, then the other, slightly unsteady on the rapidly softening dirt under him.
Zuko trudged back to the road—Yon Rha long gone—and then down the hillside to where they’d left Appa. The sky bison was waiting patiently, feet tucked under his massive body, head down, until Zuko reached him, and Appa gave him lick in greeting, which was not as annoying as usual considering he was soaking wet.
He nestled into the fur on Appa’s side, propping himself up with his feet. The rain subsided considerably as he waited, then disappeared completely, leaving behind humid air and the strong scent of dirt and grass. The clouds parted too, shafts of sunlight breaking through, drying him off as he stood vigil.
Eventually—he wasn’t sure how long—he heard the crunch of grass and spotted Katara’s dark hair as she crossed the field behind Appa. He scrambled to a standing position when she reached him.
“Katara…”
Her eyes, bloodshot and rimmed with red, flicked up to him—she still looked angry, and he was afraid it was directed at him.
“Are you alright?” he asked.
“No,” she replied stiffly. “But we need to get back.”
Katara brushed past him, while Zuko took a step in her direction. “I can steer, you should-,”
“I don’t want to rest,” she said, frowning. “Come on.”
Zuko hesitated, but then climbed onto Appa after her; before he was even sitting, she grabbed the reins and sent them flying upwards. He staggered down into the saddle, fingers scrabbling along the side of it. His back was to Katara as she steered, but he twisted so he could see her, only his head poking over the side.
He couldn’t very well force her to talk or sleep—instead he sat there wringing his hands in consternation at his utter inability to comfort her, or not be despised by her. He was sorry her mother was dead, of course, sorry that the Fire Nation was the reason, but clearly her quest for revenge had not yielded the results she wanted. She was not at peace, not that killing Yon Rha would have accomplished that anyway, and he had still betrayed her. He was a stranger, other than being an enemy, and he doubted that meant she wanted his audience for such a vulnerable moment.
As if to confirm his spiraling and negative thoughts, Katara did not speak, did not turn her head once as they floated through the sky. He tried to stay awake as long he could, but eventually, his head lolled back and he dozed off.
When he awoke, the sun was setting—a beautiful sight on Appa over the water, with the pastel sky in full view. He’d been in the air before, on war balloons, but somehow gliding along on a sky bison felt far more peaceful. They had made good progress on their journey, but it would take at least a few more hours to reach their camp.
Katara had not moved from where he’d seen her last, body rigid, eyes ahead, hair whipping around her. He wrapped his hand around the side of Appa’s saddle, but hesitated hopping over it.
Zuko did eventually—he had to talk to her, had to make this right or be sorry, whatever it took. Perhaps some practice with a badgerfrog would have helped, but they were not often (or ever) spotted at this altitude, so he hesitantly climbed down beside her.
He tried to keep his distance, but there wasn’t much space on Appa’s head. They sat in silence, and Katara did not acknowledge him, except for her eyes following him when he sat.
“You should get some rest,” he said.
Katara was still quiet, and he was afraid he’d said something wrong, before she let out a heavy sigh. “We won’t be long now.”
Zuko panicked internally after that, which was ridiculous and his own fault because he’d said one thing and was out of ideas to continue the conversation. Katara beat him in breaking the silence.
“Thank you for finding out what happened to my mother.”
His eyes widened slightly—he was not expecting a thank you. More like a how could you.
“I feel like I only made it worse.”
Katara shook her head. “I wanted to know. I did, even if I-,” Her hands tightened around the reins, knuckles white. “-didn’t do anything about it.”
“I know you were angry, but…” He hesitated, uncertain if she’d even want his opinion. “I think you did the right thing.”
Her brow furrowed slightly. “You never sided with Aang and Sokka when we talked about it before.”
“I didn’t think you’d appreciate my input-,”
Katara grimaced. “True.”
“And I didn’t want to tell you what to do anyway. Uncle Iroh never—I mean, even when I was being absolutely impossible, he didn’t-,” His hand had risen to his hair, which was tangled slightly from the wind. “Sorry, I’m—rambling. There are just some things you need to realize for yourself.”
Katara shifted slightly. “What if I had killed him, then? Would you have tried to stop me?”
“No,” he said. “You had every right, after what he did to your mother.”
Her head dropped, hair sliding over one shoulder. “I wanted to. I was so convinced I would.”
“You weren’t consumed by it in the end,” he replied.
She clenched her fist. “I should be ashamed,” she said, harsh tone returning. “The things I did, I…”
He knew immediately what she meant because it had scared him at the time. On the Southern Raiders ship, she’d controlled the body of the captain somehow. It was unsettling, certainly, but it’s not as if his rage hadn’t made him do bad things.
“You mean on the ship?” he asked quietly.
“I did what I thought I had to,” Katara said.
“Is it—a form of waterbending?”
“Blood bending,” she spat. “It’s…vile, and I swore I would never use it.”
Zuko sighed. “I have experience with regret.”
“We’re not the same,” she snapped, at his contemplative look, and he winced.
“I know,” he said hastily. “I’m sorry—I’m not—I only meant that I understand.”
Katara looked over at him, face a little softer, but she did not apologize. Instead she flipped her hair back behind her and fixed her eyes ahead of them.
Thinking she wanted nothing further, he lifted one knee to stand and return to Appa’s saddle. She spoke before he straightened.
“Why should I believe you’re different than before?”
Zuko paused. “I am. I-,”
“Oh well I’m convinced,” she interjected dryly, gaze hardened, not the light-hearted sarcasm she broke out with her friends.
He huffed. “Listen, I understand your hesitation, and I—I deserve it after Ba Sing Se, but-,” His hand dropped into his lap. “I know that my father is a monster and that he needs to be stopped. I was so caught up in gaining his approval and my honor that I lost sight of that.”
Katara pursed her lips. “And you think that being nice to us, doing all these trips is—is enough? What if it’s all a trick?”
“I’m teaching Aang to defeat Ozai, that must mean something,” he said.
“You used your own mother to commiserate with me and make me think you had changed!”
“That wasn’t a trick!” he insisted, more angrily than he intended. “I didn’t lie, and I thought about helping you against Azula like my uncle wanted!”
“Well you didn’t,” she snapped back. “And Aang died.”
He wanted to shout at her, but thought better of it, instead just crossing his arms, with his brow furrowed. “I’m sorry,” he said.
“I don’t-,” She exhaled sharply. “I don’t want any more apologies,” she muttered.
Zuko clenched his jaw tight—he seemed to only make backwards progress with her, and for some reason that he couldn’t articulate even to Sokka, he cared deeply about that failure. Maybe he feared if those he betrayed could not believe he was changed, he really wasn’t.
He wordlessly turned and crawled back up to Appa’s saddle—Katara did not stop him, did not even watch him as he climbed over it and disappeared from view.
Zuko slumped down with his hands over his stomach. “Great going, Zuko,” he muttered to himself because every single conversation he had with Katara felt like poking an angry bear, even when he was apologizing.
It was worse that she was right. Good deeds, for Sokka or Aang or even her, didn’t mean that he wouldn’t pick Azula again in the end if given the chance. He knew he would not, but why would Katara believe that, and why would she take his word for it?
The whole situation was impossible and awful, and his only solace was that he deserved it, and that perhaps, once he defeated Ozai and Azula at her side, she’d believe that he was actually trying very hard to not be so bad at being good.
====
They landed at the dock near their camp in the evening, right on the beach. Katara guided Appa deftly downward, even in near darkness. When Appa’s paws were safely in the sand, Zuko leapt over the saddle and down without a word, clearly deterred by Katara’s brusqueness from their last conversation. He had pulled off the black clothes they had worn, so she could see his red tunic better as he started his retreat in the dim light.
Katara dropped Appa’s reins and slid to the ground.
“Zuko.”
He stopped, giving her a hesitant look, shoulders tense—like she was going to punch him in the face, which she may have considered doing in the past. On multiple occasions.
And yet now—for weeks, actually—he’d been parading around, pretending—insisting—that things were different. Rescuing her father, teaching Aang. She couldn’t help but think it was all an attempt to lower their guard so he could betray them again in the end.
If that was the case, he was one hell of an actor. He was… incredibly sincere and earnest and nervous, which was frustrating because Zuko, Crown Prince of the Fire Nation, was supposed to be one-dimensional: evil, like his father and sister.
He was far more complicated than that and—and sad, honestly. Maybe not so deserving of her derisive treatment now, no matter what he’d done before.
“It was not my intention to be so harsh,” she eventually said. “I know you’re trying.”
“And I will keep trying,” he replied.
Katara crossed her arms. “You are nothing if not tenacious, that’s for sure.”
He did not smile at that, looking too guilty, eyes scanning the dock beside them. “You were right earlier. After what I’ve done, you have no reason to believe that anything is different.”
She hated that she felt sorry for him. She hated that he was doing everything right, even if she didn’t want to believe him. He’d risked his own life, including against his own sister, and no matter how many times she derided him, or snapped at him, he just took it. That wasn’t—it was not how she expected some spoiled noble to act.
Katara let out a slow exhale—she was exhausted, a tiredness in her bones, not just from physical fatigue. Her rage had felt so righteous once, it consumed and propelled her, but now it just felt like a burden. Something she was carrying and letting fester for no reason except that she was afraid to trust again.
“I’m…” She sighed again and dropped her hands. “I’m willing to move forward, Zuko.”
His brow furrowed. “You are?”
Katara’s thoughts were suddenly jumbled—the older, jaded side of herself told her it was because she was a sucker and an idiot, seeing the utter earnestness on his face and feeling compassion for him. Thinking he was brave for leaving absolutely everything in his life behind on principle, on the slim chance that he could do something, anything, to erase his family’s legacy of bad acts. She wanted so badly for all that to be true, if not just for her, but for the whole world—to prove that even the greatest enemies could find a way to seek peace and demand a new course for an entire nation, no matter the consequences.
“I’m ready to forgive you,” she said with a nod.
He smiled, though it was small. She could hardly see him in the low light, just his dark hair and the outline of his scar against his skin.
She’d never asked where he’d gotten the mark, none of them had. Maybe because it was a sensitive topic, or maybe because for so long she’d convinced herself when he was hunting them that the tiny sliver of ugliness on this otherwise handsome boy was just a reflection of his insides, a warning about his villainous nature. The mark of a banished prince, he called it, from a nation bent on destroying everything in its path.
Guilt surged through her at those old thoughts. How convinced she’d been of his absolute immorality after Ba Sing Se and how angry she’d been when he first sought out forgiveness, as if young people like them never made mistakes.
Katara reached out and hugged him, because the poor boy needed one—because she realized that if she truly wanted Zuko to be good, then maybe that meant she should help him, encourage him, show him the kindness she’d extended in the caves of Ba Sing Se that got him just close enough to turning his back on his sister the first time.
Zuko stiffened at first—people from the Fire Nation didn’t seem particularly affectionate—before he put his hands lightly on her waist. He was warm, not surprising for a firebender, and quickly released her when her hands dropped from his shoulders.
“Thank you, Katara.”
She started to reply, when she heard the crunch of sand behind them, and Aang’s voice, as he waved and shouted to them from the other side of the beach, as if they’d been gone for an eternity. Aang would be no doubt elated to hear that she had not followed through with her original plan—no thanks to his lecture, though, and she certainly was not going to forgive Yon Rha as Aang had encouraged, despite the fact that she spared the old man’s life. Especially since she had already forgiven Zuko—that seemed enough forgiveness for the day. Or a lifetime.
====
Katara was understandably on edge anywhere in the Fire Nation—somehow knowing Ozai was closer than ever made her nervous, and it’s not as if their rag-tag group, including their new member, blended in very easily.
Her concern was heightened when Zuko suggested they make camp on real estate owned by the actual Fire Lord—a beach house, which of course elated Sokka and Toph, but Katara did not know whether hiding in plain sight was really a good idea. Ember Island was isolated, at least, and staying put in the house gave Zuko and Aang plenty of time to train because they’d stopped moving around.
The house was big enough for them all, certainly, even enough for Suki and Sokka to furtively disappear for stretches of time doing what Zuko would call losing focus on the task at hand. Katara did not have the same luxury as her brother to gallivant off and had to take stock of what they had in the house. She knew it would be all fun and games at the beach until everyone was ravenous and pointing fingers about who should have made food.
To circumvent that possibility, Katara went rooting through the attic, which was filled with various half-emptied sacks and supplies. Some personal items too, like carved wooden toys and clothes—it was odd to think Zuko was once that age. Maybe he’d been less grumpy as a child.
Naturally there was dust absolutely everywhere—Zuko was not wrong when he said this place was abandoned and had only been used when his family was happy, which was apparently a very long time ago. Some dust flew up in her face as she shifted boxes around, straight up her nose, which made her sneeze.
The sound startled someone who was walking up the stairs. She turned and saw Zuko peer around the corner. He relaxed upon seeing her, which was a new development—he’d always been tense with her before, understandably, because she had taken to snapping at him every chance she got.
They were past that, and she was glad—since their trip, she had to begrudgingly admit there was more to his personality than evil crown prince. He was stubborn and serious, but he worked harder than any of them, and to her surprise even made the occasional dry joke that wrested a smile from her.
“What are you doing up here?” he asked.
“Looking for some pots and pans,” she explained, as she pushed herself to her feet. “Any idea where I could find some?”
He had the decency to blush. “Oh, uh, no, I’m sorry. We never—that is, I never-,”
“You had servants to cook for you,” she finished, brow raised.
“Right,” he said sheepishly.
“I suppose I can’t expect you to firebend and do chores,” Katara said with a wave of her hand, turning back to the boxes.
“I’m not totally useless,” he insisted, stepping forward. “Once I was in Ba Sing Se, there was—we had to do everything ourselves.”
“I was only teasing,” she said. “You actually make pretty good tea.”
Zuko walked over to her, old floorboards creaking under his feet, and knelt down beside a chest she hadn’t opened. “I learned from Uncle. He takes it quite seriously.”
She flushed red now that he was closer—the things in the box in front of her were not the sort she should be rummaging through. In addition to some toys and clothes, she’d found a separate stash of letters and pictures, including what was (hopefully) one of baby Zuko. She thought to show it to him, but instead spotted another unfurled scroll with a dark-haired woman on it. She was beautiful, in ornate Fire Nation regalia, including a crown.
Katara gently brushed her fingertips over it and then lifted it up. “Zuko, I think this is…”
He leaned over, close enough that she heard his breath hitch. “My—my mother.”
“I’m sorry,” she said hastily, moving to stuff it back into the chest. “I shouldn’t-,”
Zuko put his hand over hers where she gripped the parchment, stopping her. “It’s okay,” he said, though his eyes were on the picture and not her.
“I didn’t mean to root through all your personal things,” she murmured.
Katara dropped her hand, so he could hold it himself, and he leaned back so he was sitting on the floor.
“I’ve never seen this one,” he remarked.
“She’s beautiful.”
He gave a short nod. “Yes, she is—was.”
Katara soothed her hand over her leg, eyes down, hating that she’d forced such memories upon him when he looked so forlorn.
“It sounds like you were close.”
His chin was trembling, and she felt bad for what she said. He looked down and cleared his throat.
“Very,” he murmured. “Other than Uncle, she was the only person who…”
Zuko trailed off with a sigh, and she put her hand on his shoulder.
“She’d be very proud of you if she were here.”
He was quiet, brow creased, before he abruptly rolled up the parchment and put it back into the chest. Katara turned to face him more, but he’d already stood, turning away from her with his hand on the back of his neck.
She didn’t hurry to stand beside him—she knew she could be too overbearing sometimes—and sat with her legs folded under her, watching light from the window illuminate dust floating in lazy trails around them.
“I’m sorry, Zuko,” she said quietly. He showed such attachment to his mother--it had frankly surprised her once before, that there was something that could make someone she'd categorically hated seem so...human. It reminded her that he was young, like her, and maybe a little lost. Hurt by the Fire Nation just as much as she was, but expected to love it and be loyal to it.
He furtively rubbed his eyes before clearing his throat again, not facing her. “Do you…have any pictures of your mother?”
Katara smiled ruefully. “No, we never—it’s a thing for much wealthier people, I think,” she said, then reached up and grasped her necklace. “I haven’t forgotten her face, though. Maybe someday I will, but I—I try not to think about it.”
Zuko looked over his shoulder. “I’m sorry I took your necklace. If I had known it belonged to your mother, I would have never-,”
Katara stood and walked over to him. “I believe you.”
Zuko faced her—he was the tallest out of all of them, edging out Sokka by just a little to her brother’s chagrin. Despite that, he felt so small sometimes, carrying too much guilt, probably, and shame.
He ran his hand through his hair. “You know I can wash dishes,” he said. “Whatever you need. Help with the fire too…obviously.”
She certainly did not want to dwell on this difficult conversation any further, so she let him change the subject and gave a small smile.
“The Crown Prince doing dishes?” she said, feigning surprise. “Perhaps you really have changed.”
He lifted his gaze to her—she expected him to be serious and exasperated like he was whenever he was teased, but he smiled back, softly.
“I have,” he said.
Before she could reply, there was a loud crash downstairs, loud enough that it rattled the old walls, followed by peals of laughter, which were unmistakably Aang and Toph’s. Zuko’s smile quickly faded to a frown.
“Aang is supposed to be training,” he muttered.
Katara stepped aside with a small laugh, letting him pass her and hurry down the stairs, his footsteps loud enough that she could also hear Aang and Toph fleeing from the house and slamming the door behind them. If she went to the window, she’d probably see Aang rushing to pretend to meditate.
Zuko did actually clean the dishes that night. She didn’t even ask him, he just quietly slipped away while they sat in a circle talking and started scrubbing in the kitchen. He steeped tea while he did, came back and passed it around when it was ready. Aang and Sokka complained that it wasn’t ginseng—he’d exclusively made jasmine so far, which was her favorite, so she didn’t mind. Even if it was ginseng, or awful-tasting, it wouldn’t matter because he was trying so earnestly—passionately, even, and she didn’t think it was just because of his guilt, that’s just who he was. Someone who cared deeply about things, and maybe he’d been focused on the wrong things before, his honor, but now he knew what was right.
She was glad to have him on their team.