different
Back at the palace, in the huge, spacious courtyard, Azula and Zuko would have their firebending lessons.
Azula, of course, was in advanced classes, while Zuko still struggled to move past the class for beginners. Azula always got praise and rewards for doing so well with her firebending.
Ozai never failed to make it obvious that Azula was his favorite (he’d even put in the extra effort to keep her away from Ursa).
Ozai decided that since Azula was progressing nicely (he had even called her a prodigy), he thought it would be a good reward to allow her to have friends—but just two.
Azula chose Ty Lee and Mai, two girls born into high nobility, and she would play with them in the courtyard. Sometimes, she’d get Zuko to play with them, but it never lasted long. Zuko didn’t want to play with Azula’s friends. He wanted his own friends. He expressed this to his mom and she said she would talk to Ozai about it.
The next day, Ozai walked up to Zuko while he was practicing his firebending forms and stances. “If you ever catch up with your sister,” Ozai had said to him, narrowing his eyes at Zuko, “you can get two friends. But only if you catch up with her.” He had smirked a bit then, as if he knew something that Zuko didn’t know. He walked away before Zuko could think of anything to say, Azula trailing not too far away from him.
“You’ll never catch up,” Azula whispered to him, and skipped to catch up to Ozai.
Zuko was determined to catch up with Azula, to get friends of his own. He loved his mom, of course he did. He loved to spend time with her, but—but he didn’t think it was a crime to want friends his own age. Ursa had assured him that that was a perfectly normal thing to want and that eased his guilt.
He didn’t want his mom to think he didn’t want to spend time with her. Ursa seemed to be the only person in his family that...that wanted him around. That thought he wasn’t...worthless.
He shook his head, as if trying to get rid of those kinds of thoughts. No—Ozai and Azula did love him, they just had a different way of showing it. They wanted him to improve, to be better.
Right?
But then...Zuko didn’t improve, he didn’t get better.
He didn’t catch up with Azula, and he didn’t get to earn having friends of his own.
Then, before he knew it, he was on a ship after Ozai burned him, and that ship only had people way older than he was. Sure, when the ship would dock to get supplies, Zuko and Uncle Iroh would visit towns, but it was never for that long.
And no one ever wanted to be friends with him, anyways.
His guess was that it had to do with his scar.
He remembered asking Uncle Iroh something personal while they were sitting down next to each other. They were drinking jasmine tea in a comfortable silence.
Zuko cleared his throat, and Uncle Iroh looked at him and put his cup of tea down. Zuko rarely tried to start conversations himself, so when Zuko did do it, Iroh always made a point to give him his full attention.
“Uncle—is there something wrong with me? I mean,” a thirteen year old Zuko fiddled with his fingers. “I—why...why can’t I—“ Zuko made a noise of frustration, and Uncle Iroh smiled at him the way Ursa used to: with patience, with understanding, and with what Zuko assumed was love.
“Why can’t I make friends? Even back home, I didn’t...earn friends. Azula earned her chance to have her friends, Mai and Ty Lee, and I—I tried my best, I worked hard to catch up to her. I did.” He grimaced at how sad he sounded, how weak he must have seemed to Uncle Iroh at that moment.
But Zuko convinced himself to keep talking to his Uncle. It was making him feel better, lighter.
“But I never did catch up to her, you know?” He squeezed his hands at his sides. “I never got to have my own friends like she did. I just...I don’t know. I… I feel...”
He couldn't say it.
“You feel lonely,” Uncle Iroh finished for him. Zuko swallowed and nodded. Uncle Iroh wrapped his arms around Zuko in a tight embrace. Zuko returned the embrace, heart heavy, his cheek pressed against his Uncle’s shoulder.
“Prince Zuko, I know it must be hard for you to be on this ship,” the old man began.
“I never realized how lonely it must be for you, how hard it must be to not be able to talk to people your own age.” His voice was gentle, quiet. “I’m not going to tell you anything that will give you false hope, Prince Zuko—I’m not going to tell you we will find the Avatar and go home soon, because that is up to the Spirits to decide for us. But,” Uncle Iroh grabbed Zuko’s shoulders and leveled himself so he was at eye level with Zuko.
Zuko was still looking down.
“Please look at me in my eyes, Prince Zuko,” He requested softly. Zuko hesitated, but did what his Uncle Iroh said to do.
“Prince Zuko, my boy—I cannot get you a friend your age to have on our ship. But what I can do is, whenever we dock anywhere, we can go into town. We can just sit somewhere, eat a hot meal, drink tea, anything. For as long as you like, we can just be together.” Uncle Iroh smiled warmly. “I may not be your age, but I am more than happy to provide you with my company—and my knowledge. I can teach you a lot of things about the real world.”
His eyes twinkled. “And maybe, one day I can teach you a firebending move that neither Ozai or Azula know about.”
Zuko’s eyes brightened. “Really? You’d do that for me?”
Zuko didn’t feel like mentioning to his Uncle that they already do that—that they already spend time like that together on the ship, because he wanted to go to towns with his Uncle, and he wanted to eat hot meals made by different people, and he…
Mostly, Zuko wanted to make some friends.
“Of course,” Uncle Iroh chuckled. “And trust me when I say there’s nothing wrong with you, Prince Zuko. Perhaps we can dock soon, and you can try to make some friends your own age, huh? I’m positive that you’ll make some friends, Nephew.”
Zuko nodded with a small smile, more excited about making friends than he’d like to admit. He was sure Uncle Iroh noticed, though.
Uncle Iroh always noticed everything.
—
Uncle had insisted that Zuko change into some casual Earth Kingdom clothes. He didn’t see the point in it, because their ship was obviously Fire Nation, but he did it anyway. They docked the ship at night, then he and Uncle Iroh checked into an inn.
The next morning, Uncle Iroh encouraged him to go out and meet some young people. And Zuko was excited—he really was, honestly, but he was also really nervous.
He was gonna make some friends. Or at least, try to. And to Zuko’s credit, he did try.
He tried to talk to a group of Earth Kingdom boys who seemed to be around his age, and Zuko had thought that they seemed pretty nice.
But then Zuko got shoved to the ground and beat up by them—because of his stupid, ugly scar and his Fire Nation eyes. He ran back to the motel on the verge of tears, and when Uncle Iroh calmly asked him what happened, he got even more upset and lashed out at him.
They went back on the ship shortly after Zuko got back to the inn. Zuko never tried to make any more friends after that day, and Uncle Iroh never questioned him about his decision.
And then it took him a while to do it, but Zuko requested for the ship to be docked. Then he went up to his Uncle Iroh, and even got shy and nervous to ask his own Uncle—his own family, his own blood!—to spend time with him.
Uncle Iroh smiled fondly at him and agreed.
Soon, Zuko got into the habit of getting the ship docked when it didn’t need to be.
—
“Good morning,” Zuko greets Katara, a dead trout in his hands, not even lifting his head to look over at her.
She sits up slowly and yawns. She rubs her eyes and looks at Zuko again sleepily. “Good morning,” she greets back with a slight rasp to her voice. She clears her throat.
Zuko makes a soft noise of acknowledgement, but he doesn’t actually pay attention to her, he’s gutting the pretty big trout (with his bare hands? Why is he not doing it with his dagger?).
Well, Katara didn’t think he knew how to do that at all but she also didn’t think that he could make a burn salve—so she guesses that she should just keep expecting Zuko to surprise her.
That’s all he’s done so far.
“Why aren’t you using your dagger to gut the trout?” Katara asks and crosses her legs, staring at the trout in his hands. Her stomach growls and she really hopes Zuko didn’t hear it. She quickly grabs her canteen, unscrews it, and drinks from it. Maybe some water will silence her stomach.
Zuko responds: “I used it to cut the fish open, but I don’t want to use it to actually gut it. My dagger is very special to me. Besides, I can just wash my hands. It’s not a big deal.”
“Water?” Katara offers him the canteen. Zuko stops gutting the trout to look at her, and to give her a ‘Really?’ kind of look.
“What?” She frowns at him.
“Katara, you just drank from that,” Zuko grumbles, “so no. No water for me. Thanks.” He adds the ‘thanks’ in a sarcastic, dry tone of voice.
Oh.
Katara rolls her eyes at his tone, but still offers, “Then let me bend some water into your mouth, Zuko.”
A beat. “I mean, I just—aren’t you thirsty, Zuko?” She bites her lip and glances at him.
She feels like she’s trying too hard to be nice to him, but...but he helped her out when he didn’t have to. She can’t be mean to him after that.
His shoulders slump over a bit, and he nods. “Yeah, I am,” Zuko mumbles, closes his eyes, and opens his mouth. Katara smiles a bit, and bends some of the water from the river into his mouth.
Katara bends water into his mouth until he raises a hand to signal her to stop. She does so, and puts the water back into the river. Zuko drank every drop with enthusiasm and sighs contentedly.
“Thanks.”
“Yeah, no problem.”
Then: silence.
But not for long.
“Hey, Zuko?” Katara calls out and fiddles with her fingers awkwardly. She looks at him. “What is this? What are we doing?” She asks him these questions out of genuine confusion—because she really is so confused. Don’t they hate each other, not trust each other? Why are they acting like...like they’re not enemies?
Zuko meets her eyes and he just shrugs his shoulders. He tries to mask the wince he makes when he shrugs, but Katara notices it (of course she does). She’ll ask him about it later.
His reply is short and blunt: “We’re surviving, Katara.”
“But we’re enemies,” Katara points out and crosses her arms over her chest, trying not to wince at how her left shoulder feels when she does that. “We’re supposed to hate each other’s guts, aren’t we? And aren’t we supposed to be fighting right now?” Her voice becomes small when she mentions how they’re supposed to hate each other.
If Katara is gonna be honest with herself, she doesn’t exactly hate Zuko right now—like, at all. He did save her from Zhao. She’s actually really grateful to him for that.
How is she supposed to hate him?
Especially with how nice and patient he’s been with her so far?
Well...
Sometimes, he looks annoyed with her, but he hasn’t done anything mean to her.
Like—take right now for an example, Zuko is just looking at her in pure exasperation. “Katara—you want me to fight you right now. Really?” He motions toward the trout in his left hand. “Well, I’m sorry that I don’t wanna fight you right now, I wanna eat breakfast!”
Katara groans, rubbing her face. “No, Zuko—I don’t want to fight you right now. That’s not what I meant.” She motions to him, then to herself, and places her hands on her legs awkwardly. “I—I just...we’re supposed to be enemies! I—me and you, this isn’t supposed to be like this! You know that, don’t you?”
Zuko purses his lips. “Yes, Katara. I know.” He looks at her face for a few seconds, then shakes his head.
“We’re still gonna be enemies and hate each other and not trust each other, but…” A beat. “But for right now, let’s just focus on surviving in this forest, okay? Does that sound like a deal to you?”
Katara nods and stretches her hand out. Zuko glances at her hand and then at her face with a raised eyebrow. “I’m gutting a fish right now,” Zuko reminds her and Katara chuckles at him softly.
“Obviously, I know that, Zuko. I used to gut fishes myself back home, so it doesn’t matter to me,” Katara tells him. “Just shake my hand, Zuko.” Zuko shrugs and shakes her hand firmly.
They sit in silence as Zuko continues to gut the trout. Getting all the bones can be tricky, in Katara’s opinion. Back at home—
Oh, right.
Home.
She’s so far away from it. She stares at the fire, and just thinks about home.
About her mom.
—
“My little seal-pup,” Kya had whispered secretively to Katara while she did her hair. “Would you like to eat some sweets with me today? You know your father and your brother don’t like it when we eat sweets without them, so we’ll have to do it really quickly.”
She had finished doing Katara’s hair loopies, and her daughter turned around eagerly with a big smile. A three year old Katara giggled and nodded at Kya, “Yes, mama. Pwease sweet.” Katara did her best to speak and clearly as she could, but she still couldn’t pronounce some things.
And that was okay.
She was three.
Katara still had a lot to learn.
Her little, chubby arms reached up to Kya, demanding, “Up, up, up,” and Kya smiled lovingly as she lifted Katara up into her arms.
“My little seal-pup,” Kya crooned, and pinched her cheek gently. “I just love doing your hair, you know that? Hmm? Do you even know how pretty your hair is? Hm? It’s very pretty, I wish my hair was as half as pretty as yours.” Katara looked at Kya and pressed her small hands against Kya’s cheeks.
Katara squished her mom’s cheeks and blinked at her. “Mama pwetty,” Katara had said to Kya in a whisper, and Kya chuckled softly, eyes crinkling with fondness.
“Oh, thank you so much, my little seal-pup,” Kya kissed her cheek and hugged her, rocking her back and forth.
“It means the world to me coming from you.”
Every day after that, Kya would do Katara’s hair, and when Katara was old enough, she practiced doing different Water Tribe hairstyles on Kya. Her mom was very patient with her and always found something nice to say to Katara when her daughter would do her hair.
Kya never failed to make Katara feel loved, even when she felt like she messed up.
In fact, it was Kya who encouraged her when Katara felt like giving up on waterbending entirely. (Sokka would just call it weird water magic, and Hakoda was very supportive, but he only really knew about how to do non-bending fighting styles.)
“Please remember that it’s okay to mess up, my little seal pup,” She had told Katara with warm eyes. “It’s how we learn, how we get better.” Kya squeezed Katara’s shoulder.
“Go on, Katara. Try again,” she smiled, and motioned to the water in front of Katara.
“I believe in you, my love.”
Seven year old Katara nodded, and practiced pushing and pulling a small wave. Her arms trembled a bit, but she adjusted them into a different position. She inhaled, pushed and pulled—and made the wave bigger. She grinned—she never did that successfully before.
“Mom! Mom? Did you see that?” Katara turned around, excited, and Kya laughed. “Please tell me you saw that!”
“I did see that,” Kya confirmed as she walked closer, eyes gleaming. “You did so good! One day, you’ll make such big waves that Tui and La will be jealous of you,” she said the last part teasingly. Spirits were never to be messed with.
Katara giggled, and smiled shyly. “You really think that, mom? You really think that I’ll make really big waves one day?”
Kya hugged her tightly and kissed her forehead. “I know so,” she said sincerely. “Do you wanna keep practicing or do you wanna go eat dinner?”
“Eat dinner,” Katara admitted. She and her mom had been outside for a while. Her stomach growled loudly and her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.
Kya laughed, amused. “Let’s go eat, then. Gran Gran said she was gonna make us something special tonight,” she reached out for Katara’s hand and Katara held it tightly. They shivered, and huddled closer. It started to snow.
Together, they started to walk home.
“Really? Did she tell you what she was gonna make?”
“No, she didn’t. It’s gonna be a surprise for me, too, Katara.”
“I’m excited,” Katara beamed, “Gran Gran always makes the best food surprises.” She squeezed her mom’s hand in reassurance, “But don’t worry, mom. You know I like your cooking best.”
“I know, Katara. You always tell me,” Kya replied with a soft smile. “And you know I love you.”
“I know, mom. You always tell me,” Katara leaned her head on Kya. “And you know that I love you, too.” They talked until they made it home.
That night, Gran Gran made steamed fish dumplings, something she didn’t make that often but knew everyone loved.
It was quite the surprise.
—
Katara played with Sokka in the snow. They laughed together happily as they hit each other with a snowball.
Then, there was black snow, and all Katara felt was the bile rising in her throat. Sokka ran to get his boomerang and fight with the warriors, and Katara ran home. She had a bad feeling.
Her mom was still alive, but there was a tall, scary Fire Nation man with her. He yelled at her to leave and Katara flinched at his voice.
Kya had looked at her with a small smile. “Go find your dad, my little seal-pup. Don’t worry—I’ll handle this. I love you.”
It felt like Kya was saying ‘I love you’ for the last time, and Katara was tearing up already. “I love you, too, mom,” she croaked out. The man hadn’t made a move to hurt Kya yet. She didn’t want to run—if staying with Kya meant that the man wouldn’t kill her yet, then she would stay.
“Go on, my love,” Kya pleaded, removing her necklace, and handed it to Katara with shaking hands. “I’ll be okay.” She met Katara’s eyes and she tried to smile as if everything was okay.
But Katara knew it wasn’t okay.
Katara held the necklace in her hands tightly, blinking away tears before they could fall. She gave her mom one last, sad look, turned around, and Katara ran as fast as she could, but it wasn’t enough.
When she and her dad got back to the tent, the man was gone.
And so was Kya.
She could never forgot how the man had ruined Kya physically. The charred, melting skin—the blood, the badly singed parka, and even Kya’s hair. Just everything.
The man had ruined Kya, ruined Katara, ruined everything.
—
“Katara. Um. Are you...okay?” Zuko asks quietly, not really sure what to do with a crying girl. He keeps his distance, knowing that he shouldn’t be pushing past the boundaries they set up. They agreed to stay enemies but they also agreed to help each other survive in the forest.
A few hours ago, Katara was fine and eating breakfast with him.
Now, she’s crying.
Katara cries into her hands and says some things incoherently, and Zuko just rubs the side of his neck awkwardly. He scoots a bit closer. “Can you—can you repeat that? And say it louder?”
He fumbles with his Earth Kingdom dagger in his hands—then he realizes something, so he puts it on the ground, and kicks it out of his reach before Katara notices. (Zuko had realized that he probably shouldn’t have a dagger in his hands while trying to talk to a crying girl.)
He watches in silence as Katara tries to pull herself together to repeat what she said.
“Zhao ruined my hair, and he ruined my shoulder, and I—“ Katara cuts herself off with a sob. Her knees are bent, with her arms folded on top of them, as she hangs her head low and cries.
Zuko swallows thickly and scoots even closer. He reaches over slowly and places his hand on her right shoulder (the unburned one). Katara tenses up, lifts her head, and looks at him with teary eyes. She waits. He squeezes her shoulder gently. “Listen…” he begins quietly. A beat.
"I know what it's like," He admits, "I know how you feel. And... nothing anyone said to me after I got hurt really helped me. I mean, my Uncle—he'd...tell me proverbs. Poems. Quotes. All kinds of things. You know. To make me feel better. And it never worked. But, I don't know, maybe it'll work for you? I don't know—“
"So. Um." He clears his throat. "No matter how long the storm, the morning is sure to come, Katara. If it were not for hope—“
Giggling, tears still running down her cheeks, she asks, "You aren't making fun of me for being a hopeful person. Are you?"
Zuko blinks, taken aback by her laughter and sadness. But then, he thought, is Katara not full of surprises? "No. I'm not." (He doesn't say, 'You haven't been hopeful since I helped you, but I can't blame you for that,' even if he kinda wants to.) "I could do it. If you wanted me to."
"Sure, you would." Katara rolls her eyes, wiping her cheeks dry. "Can you put the burn salve on me already? Please."
"Uh. Okay," he mumbles. They sit in silence—while Zuko stole a few glances of her crossed arms and distant expression—before Zuko grabs the burn salve made of honey and gotu kola grinded into a smooth texture earlier. No 'chunkiness' (as Katara once called it) in site. Just a sticky, green salve, ready to make Katara feel at least a little bit better. (The honey was no problem, if one could believe it. All he had to do was set fire to a bit of lavender and let the smoke knock out the butter-bees to sleep, and he was golden. It was the gotu kola that was harder to find—animals loved to eat it.)
In the middle of him applying the burn salve to her injury, his eyes lingering on the singed ends of her hair. More than a quarter of it was gone. He clears his throat, awkward but sincere, “Katara—if you want...if it’ll make you feel better, I’ll cut your hair for you. You can cut mine first, so you know I’m serious about it. And that I mean it."
Katara looks at him with surprise, body stiffening. She clearly did not expect him to say—no, to offer to do that for her, just to make her feel better. It's sweet, a kind thought, but she just can't. And she doesn't know if he'll understand. Would he? Voice cracking, face hiding, she rushes out, "Thank you, but I don't want to do it. Excuse me," before she walks away, just some feet away from their little campsite.
Zuko watches, shoulders slumped over, as Katara walks away tensely, fists clenched. He rubs the back of his neck, not really sure how to feel. Disappointed? Annoyed? Concerned? Wait—shouldn't he not care at all? What is he doing? He doesn't care about her. Doesn't even like her. So, what if she doesn't want her hair cut? Right? So what if she sounded sad? So what if she hid her face from his eyesight? So what if— "Oh, Agni," he mutters, rubbing his face and he puts the burn salve down. He cares about her. Doesn't he? Isn't that what this means?
No, no. He doesn't care about her. He's just helping her until they can reunite with their groups. They aren't friends. Just temporary...not enemies. Not friends. Because if they were friends, that would imply he cares about her, and he doesn't! Care about her, that is.
Zuko glances over at Katara, whose back was turned to him and hunched over. He'll give her some space, but he'll talk to her about this later. He will.
—
"Uh. Hey." Katara looks up, and sees Zuko standing there, hands gripping a fish. "You think this is enough?"
She frowns, brows furrowed. He never asked her before. Mostly because he insisted, she 'focus on getting better and let him do everything'. Why did he care about her opinion now? "Yeah. It...looks like enough."
"Alright. Thanks." Zuko nods before walking away, leaving her with her feet in the river and her mind confused. Was that weird, or was it just her?
—
"Can I put the burn salve on you?" He asks after he swallows his bite of ginger-basil flavored fish. "I still have some from earlier."
Katara nods silently.
Zuko frowns but doesn't press. He assumes, maybe, she still needs her space. 'That's fine,' he thinks. 'Who cares? Not me'. (But then, at night, he finds himself wondering if the hair question was too much. He finds himself thinking, 'I never should have said anything. Ugh,' as he tosses as turns on the ground. He finds himself glancing over at Katara's sleeping figure more than usual, almost like he was expecting her to...he doesn't know—wake up and cry, maybe? Be angry at him? Something? However, nothing happens, except her usual nightmare.)
—
It takes a few days, but she's more expressive again. She has more fire in her. He gives Katara her space when he thinks she might want it, but he does try to make small talk. He tries. He'll look for a reason to talk to her, walk up to her, ask her something, and he walks away, 'cause he can only make small talk last so long before he feels like dying on the inside. So, of course, he just had to mention it—the possibility of them giving each other a haircut—to see if it really was what made her upset.
"About our hair, yours and mine, I was thinking—“ He starts.
Immediately, her face changes. Goes from a neutral, calm expression to a faraway, unrelaxed one. Bright eyes become dull. Regret swirls in his stomach. Makes the fish in his hands look unappetizing. She opens her mouth, ready to decline, but—
"Hey. We don't have to talk about it." Zuko pokes at the fish. "We don't have to do anything about it if you don't want to. I don't care what your hair looks like. You can do whatever you want with it, it's fine, it's not my business—“
"Later," Katara interrupts, meeting his eyes for a second before keeping her eyes on her fish. "Let's talk about it later."
Zuko looks at her before he mumbles, 'Fine with me,' and eats his fish clean off his leaf 'plate'.
--
"I have some things to explain to you," Katara admits, fiddling with her fingers, heart drumming in her breastbone. She swallows. "I'm sure you know what I'm talking about. My hair. It's...hair is an important thing with my people, my culture."
Zuko nods, motioning for her to sit down and talk more. 'Tell me more,' he mouths. Katara lets her lips twitch upwards before she sits down. Time passes by as she tells him about how Tui and La used to be human, how the 'warrior wolftail' and her 'hair loopies' came to be, and other hair styles of her people were created. How, when hair is cut off in her Tribe, it is either tied with sage and burned, or is set to flow in the water. How it happens after a large event—whether it is good or not—changes someone's life. How it must be a person in her Tribe to cut her hair off, not someone like him. It would take a moron to not notice how badly she misses home. Katara seems to have so many feelings, and yet—when she was upset, she hadn't wanted him to see, how it happened as if it was something she's done before. As if she was used to putting her feelings aside for whatever reason it may be.
"Katara," Zuko says as gently as he can, "I liked hearing about your people. I get why you don't want to do it. And it's fine, you know. I get it."
He isn't sure, but he thinks he might've caught a small smile on her face before she turned her head away from him. "Thanks," She replies. Then, softer: "I'm glad you understand."
"Uh." His face flushes. "No problem."
They sit in silence before Katara turns to him, a fist hovering above her open hand. "Want to play Elements?" She asks, eyes hopeful. (Zuko hates that he doesn't say no. He also hates that she beats him over and over again. He always won against Uncle—what kind of tricks does she have under her sleeve? How did she know he'd pick Earth, when she had picked water? How did she know?)
—
Katara marches up to him a few days later, head held high, her hair loose and frizzy. She had run her fingers through it until she deemed it decent enough to cut. "I want to do it, Zuko."
What? Zuko blinks a few times. Oh. Right. "You...want us to cut each other's hair? You sure?"
“Yes,” Katara nods in confirmation, crossing her legs. “I want to cut your hair, Zuko. And I want you to cut mine.” She meets his eyes and gives him a small, weak smile.
Zuko nods. He makes a decision. “Come with me,” He says, getting up from his place on the ground. “We need to go into the forest.”
Katara stares at him, blinking slowly when the dots connect in her mind. “You…want to get me some sage, don’t you?”
“Yes. Well. Only if you want to.” He clears his throat. “I don’t know what you would rather do. The, uh, sage or the river—“
”I want the sage, Zuko,” She whispers. “I want the sage.”
He nods. He takes her into the forest. He shows her where the sage grows and he silently watches her collect a bunch. Zuko grabs dry leaves and dry grass. He leads her back to their little campsite; he can hear her worried whispers of ‘What if this isn’t enough?’ and ‘I hope the Spirits forgive me for this.’
If the Spirits don’t forgive her for this, he won’t forgive them himself.
They stand there, Katara with her sage and anxious, teary eyes, and Zuko with the dry things he brought for her to use.
He feels awkward again, so he grabs his dagger from his pocket and sits by the river. “I’ll go first,” He tells her.
The words seem to ease her, if only a little. She didn’t want to go first.
He motions for her to come to him. He moves his head forward and hears Katara come up behind him. Zuko hesitates, his grip tightening on the unsheathed weapon. It’s not a good idea to give your enemy a dagger with your back turned to them. He shouldn’t do that. He knows that. But then he hears Katara try to silence a sniffle, and he unsheathes the dagger. Wordlessly, he hands it to her without turning around. Zuko quietly tells her to not try anything and Katara says she won’t. He knows that if she does try something, he’ll probably just pin her to the ground. He won’t firebend at her.
(Not yet.
Not when it took Zuko a whole year to firebend again after he got burned.)
Katara taps her finger on Zuko’s shoulder and clears her throat. “Zuko?” She prompts with some nervousness in her tone. “Do you want me to cut it all off and make you bald, or do you want me to just get rid of the ponytail?”
Zuko exhales. “All of it, Katara. All of it.”
“Okay, Zuko. I’ll just cut off the ponytail first, then do the rest,” she tells him.
“Wait,” Zuko reaches behind his head and removes the hair tie from his ponytail. He puts it over his wrist. Zuko closes his eyes when Katara gets a gentle, yet firm hold on his hair, and slices it off. A soft splash makes him look at the river. His hair floats above the water, and then, in seconds, it’s gone. Katara is careful and slow when pressing the dagger to his scalp, and eventually, Zuko is very, very conscious of how he can feel the air on every single inch of his head now. Katara is delicate when she starts to wipe away the strands of hair that stayed on Zuko’s head for whatever reason. When she’s done, she mentally prepares herself for her own haircut. Silently, she hands him back his dagger and sits down next to him. Zuko stands up and gets behind Katara.
“How short?” Zuko asks.
“This short,” Katara places her finger maybe two inches below her ear. Her finger trembles—her whine hand does. Her eyes shine with tears. “Can you do that?”
“I can,” he says. Zuko hesitates before using his hair tie to give her a ponytail. He figures it would be easier to burn like this. Katara closes her eyes and he can see that her hands are clasped like she’s praying. He thinks she actually is praying—she’s whispering, so he can’t hear her, but she sounds like she’s pleading for grace. For forgiveness and for her devotion to not be questioned. She sounds so desperate for them to understand her.
Zuko reminds himself to not mess this up for her—and he cuts her hair as short as she wants it, as even as he can make it. That’s when she starts choking out sobs. Katara accepts the hair when he hands it to her, cheeks wet. She ties the sage and the hair together; she forms the dry leaves into a tight, slim cylinder and lights them up with the fire used to keep them warm.
Her hair burns with sage on the dirt ground, where it will not catch fire to anything else. She kneels in prayer, eyes closed, words leaving her lips in her native tongue. He doesn’t know what to say or do, so he doesn’t say anything, but he sits a few feet away from her, eyes closed and hands clasped in prayer to join her.
Zuko decides to kneel; he whispers prayers and such in his native tongue for her sake. If she notices his efforts, she doesn’t show it. She cries and prays as her hair turns to ash, and she cries and prays long after.
—
“How do you feel?” Zuko inquires after two days, and she doesn’t say anything. Katara just touches her hair in complete silence. He worries that he shouldn’t have asked her that so soon.
And then, “Different,” is what she replies with. “And you? How do you feel, Zuko?”
Zuko sits down next to her. “Different.”
“Hey, Zuko,” Katara turns her head to look at him. “Do you mind if I ask you something?”
He meets her eyes and sighs. “Maybe. It depends on what it is, Katara.” Zuko has a feeling he already knows what she’s gonna ask him.
“Why did you save me from Zhao?” Katara clears her throat and she looks down at her hands. Zuko keeps looking at her, though. He doesn’t know why. “I mean, I’m your enemy, Zuko. I don’t see why you would save me. If anything—it was probably gonna be better for you in the long run to just...leave me there.”
A beat. “Is it because of Aang?”
Who?
Another beat. “The Avatar’s name is Aang, by the way.”
Oh.
Zuko moves his arms so he can lean back on his hands. He looks at the river and bites his lip. “Well,” he starts. “I know Zhao and I’ve always hated him. In fact, Zhao and I, we fought in an Agni Kai together.” He smiles a bit smugly. “I won against him. He was so upset that he lost, he tried to firebend at me while I walked away, but my Uncle had my back.” Zuko pauses, thinking about how Katara most likely doesn’t even know what an Agni Kai is. (She’s from the Southern Water Tribe, how could she know Fire Nation traditions? And the same goes for him. He’s Fire Nation, he couldn’t possibly know about Southern Water Tribe traditions.)
“An Agni Kai is a duel between two firebenders. It ends when one of them gets burned or dies. I didn’t burn Zhao. I couldn’t do it,” Zuko just stares at the river. “He called me weak for not burning him, and he called me a coward for showing mercy.”
He shakes his head and continues, “Anyway, I heard that he had you as his prisoner, and that he was gonna personally interrogate you. And I obviously know how he interrogates his prisoners, and I—“ Zuko curls his fingers around some grass tightly. “I think that you should know that I thought about leaving you there—just for a second, I thought about it, but I couldn’t actually do it. I couldn’t leave you there. I had to save you, Katara. Sure, part of it was because of the Avatar, but...it was mostly because of the possibility of Zhao burning you. Getting burned is something I could never wish, or want to happen, to anyone—not even my enemy.”
Zuko lets go of his grip on the grass, and he moves his arms so they’re at his side. “I’m sorry I didn’t get there sooner. If I got there sooner, Zhao wouldn’t have even touched you. I’m—I’m really sorry, Katara. It’s my fault,” he apologizes, because he feels like should. She deserves an apology from him. Zuko should’ve gotten there sooner. Really, he should have. It’s his fault.
Zuko doesn’t look at her. He can’t. He just knows that she’s looking at him with a hate filled, icy glare—
Katara places a hand on his shoulder and squeezes. “Thank you, Zuko. If you hadn’t come for me, I don’t even know what I would’ve done,” she admits and Zuko looks at her in shock.
He did not expect that.
At home, after Ursa left (and even when Ursa was there to defend him), he got yelled at for a lot of things. Things he didn’t even think were his fault.
But this—this was his fault. Yet, here she is, thanking him. And he doesn’t understand it. Why isn’t she angry with him?
“Oh—uh. You’re welcome, Katara.”
A beat.
“Just so you know, I honestly don’t think it’s your fault, Zuko.”
Zuko opens his mouth to protest, but then Katara says, “Zuko, let me see your calf and your shoulder,” completely out of the blue, and he opens his mouth then closes it, not even knowing what to say. He’s really puzzled.
How does she know? Was he being obvious that he was in pain? He thought he was hiding it well enough?...
Katara turns her body so she’s directly facing his right side. “Come on. Take off your shirt, Zuko.” Zuko’s eyes widen at her words, and her cheeks turn bright pink. “You know—for medical purposes. Cause of your shoulder,” she explains awkwardly, and bends some water around her right hand like a glove.
Zuko sighs and takes off his shirt, doing his best not to wince. He turns so his back is to her. He hears Katara gasp loudly. “What happened?” She asks, placing her left hand on his back. “Why did you keep the arrow tip inside of your shoulder?”
He tenses up at her in unexpected touch, and grunts, “An archer got me in my shoulder and my calf. Let me know when you’re gonna take the arrow tip out.”
Zuko doesn’t want to answer the last question.
“Are you serious, Zuko? Right now,” Katara tells him and Zuko immediately tenses up even more. She rubs his back with her left hand. Her hand feels soft, warm. It feels kind of nice for her to rub his back; her hand and fingers press into his muscles gently, moving in small circles.
“Hey—just relax, Zuko. I’m gonna count to three, and then do it.”
Zuko makes himself relax as much as he can, and shoves some of his shirt into his mouth. He bites down on it in anticipation.
“One,” Katara has obviously frozen her water glove—he feels the ice touching, going into the wound. Zuko bites down on the shirt, hard, and grips onto his knees.
“Two,” he feels the ice get deep into the wound, and grab the arrow tip. He’s already trembling in pain.
“Three,” She yanks it out and his scream is, again, muffled by the shirt in his mouth. Zuko keeps biting down on his shirt, his breathing all uneven, and then—
And then—
The pain gradually disappears.
Huh.
“Thank you,” Zuko sighs in relief and turns his body around so he can face her. He looks at Katara with gratitude. She smiles at him, scoots closer, and points to his right calf. He frowns and nods, untying the cloth he wrapped around it yesterday. The cloth was really wet with his blood. Zuko discards it behind him with a grimace.
Katara frowns at his wound, and props his calf up on her leg. “You can make a burn salve for my shoulder, but you can’t make something for your own wounds,” she states with a shake of her head.
It’s the same process as before: one, two, three, his muffled scream into his shirt, and her water glove on his calf wound, healing it.
His pain, like before, is short-lived. He watches in awe as her healing knits his skin back together, as his pain goes away. There’s a scar left behind, but he doesn’t mind it.
“You’re amazing,” is what he ends up saying before he can stop himself. Zuko feels his cheeks get really, really warm.
Katara pauses and looks at him in surprise, her cheeks also getting really, really warm. “Oh—I, um, thank you, Zuko,” she stammers. She obviously did not expect a compliment like that from Zuko in such a...way.
To be honest, Zuko didn’t expect himself to say that either. It just kind of slipped out.
“...Gotta go,” Zuko scrambles to his feet, and walks into the forest without limping.
Maybe he should set more boundaries with Katara.