push and pull
“There’s love everywhere, Katara,” Kya had told her, holding onto Katara’s hand.
Hakoda and Sokka were walking ahead of them; Hakoda was teaching Sokka how to hunt animals bigger than him. Sokka was an eager student, which was surprising to no one. He was always excited to learn any and everything from his dad.
And it was snowing—but barely.
Katara and Kya wanted to watch them hunt and kept their distance from them (Hakoda insisted they do it for their own safety).
“What do you mean?” Katara asked, glancing up at her mom. “There’s love everywhere? How?”
Kya smiled, letting go of Katara’s hand. “Yes—I like to think so, Katara.” A beat. “And…well. There’s love in how I do your hair every day. There’s love in the way your brother always wants to play with you no matter what. There’s love when you’re excited to show me something, or tell me something. There’s love when your father asks about my day, and when your brother always gives me a hug first thing in the morning. There's love when your Gran Gran makes our favorite foods when we have a bad day. There’s so much love in our family, Katara.”
Kya squeezed Katara’s shoulder, and they stopped walking. Kya crouched down to look at her daughter in her eyes. “And—outside of our family, there’s so much love, too. Don't forget that. There’s love intertwined with someone—a friend, saying ‘I am here,’ ‘I understand you,’ and ‘I’ll give you the space you need’. There’s love in someone being patient, being kind. There’s love in a stranger being a giving person when they have nothing left to give. There’s love in the simple things, the small things; there’s love in everything, everywhere, everyone. This is what I like to believe, Katara, even during a war.”
“In fact, when I was your age, Katara,” Kya’s head shifted to the side, and she twisted her arm so the front of her hand faced the sky. Her fingers uncurled themselves from a loose fist, and she opened her palm. Her expression exposed how she was thinking of a time when she was a child; Kya had that faraway look on her face, as if she was reminiscing something.
“I used to believe that there was love in snowflakes—even in the smallest one you could find.” A single snowflake landed on Kya’s glove, right in the middle of it, and it stayed in its shape for a few seconds before melting into the glove. Kya put her arm back to her side and turned her head back to Katara, giving her her attention.
“What about now?” Katara asked, her eyes big and blue, and so full of that look—seeming like she’s feeling that feeling that only a child could have. That adoration, that wonder. That curiosity.
That naivety—oh. No, no. Kya knew better; Katara was not a naive child. Not at all.
“Do you still believe that snowflakes have love, mom?”
“Yes, of course,” She replied softly and hugged Katara. “Especially when I have such a talented waterbender like you for a daughter.”
Katara closed her eyes and hugged back tightly. And she was gonna say, ‘I love you, mom,’ but Sokka—Sokka ruined the moment. Like always.
But it was fine.
Katara would have more time to tell her mom that she loved her.
She was certain of that.
“Hey! Are you guys gonna come watch us hunt like men or what?” Sokka called out.
Kya laughed and stood up from her crouching position. “Come on, my little seal pup, we don’t wanna keep them waiting.” She held out her hand and Katara took it. They started to walk again.
“Will he ever even catch anything?” Katara found herself asking out loud. “He hasn’t tried hunting like this before. He’s only fished before.”
“Katara, please have some faith in your brother,” Kya chuckled. “He might just surprise you. Especially since your dad is the one teaching him.”
“Okay, mom,” Katara nodded and they quickened their pace to catch up with Hakoda and Sokka. The snow was still falling slowly, barely. They kept a distance and watched as Hakoda taught Sokka what he knew.
It was rare for the four of them to manage to get away from the Tribe. Hakoda was always needed for something (he was the Chief, after all), even if a raid hadn’t happened for almost a year.
It was nice—even if it wasn’t going to last forever.
—
“I got berries,” Zuko emerges from the forest with what seems like a wooden bowl cradled in his arms. “And fruits,” he adds after a few beats. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, and his shirt and clumsily made shorts don’t look particularly clean. (Before he left to get the berries and fruits, Katara had asked to clean his shirt and shorts for him but Zuko refused; he told her how he cut his pants up to his knees because of his calf wound. She had scolded him for not waking her up sooner to heal him, but he said he didn’t want her to push her too much while she was still healing. She didn’t have a good response for that.)
(And Zuko will not let her leave their camping spot, much to her annoyance.)
“Great,” Katara comments and he sits down, placing the wooden bowl between them. She reaches for a fruit, but Zuko stops her, covering the bowl with his hand.
She raises an eyebrow at him, unimpressed, and waits for him to say something.
He clears his throat, and motions toward the bowl and to the river. “You should—can you—“ Zuko groans quietly, mumbling a soft ‘Spirits, I’m not good at talking to people,’ under his breath, before sighing.
He rubs his face and looks at her. “Can you clean them before you eat them?” He asks. Then Zuko’s cheeks turn pink with embarrassment (when he blushes, his right cheek turns a rosey pink, and the skin around his scar on his left side turns a rosey pink). He admits: “I may have dropped some of the berries, so—yeah.”
Katara’s lips curve upwards with amusement and she raises her right arm. She summons some water to her hand with ease, and when Katara goes to clean the berries and fruits Zuko picked for breakfast, she pauses the second Zuko makes a small noise of disagreement.
She’s patient as she glances at him, as if she expected him to say something, and calmly goes, “Yes, Zuko?”
He looks down at his hands folded over his lap. Zuko looks at Katara awkwardly and clears his throat. “Please—um, please,” he adds quietly, sheepishly. “I...forgot to say please. Earlier. I—yeah. Sorry.”
“It’s okay, Zuko,” Katara smiles at him genuinely, and cleans the berries and fruits thoroughly with the water. She puts the water back in the river.
“These are mangoes,” Zuko murmurs, and grabs his Earth Kingdom dagger. Katara watches him in silence, and puts a few berries in her mouth, eating them. He grabs a red-yellow, oval shaped fruit from the bowl, and slices its red-yellow skin. He slices the skin in two straight lines, dividing the mango’s skin in four, even sections. Zuko peels the skin back to reveal the mango’s flesh—it’s yellow and looks rather appetizing.
Especially since Katara’s pretty hungry.
“Here,” Zuko hands it to her carefully. “Just bite into it. You’ll like it, I think.”
A beat.
“If you don’t like it, I’ll finish it. I love mangoes too much to let one go to waste.” He’s already peeling a mango of his own, and eating it with gusto, and looks at Katara expectedly as she holds the mango.
She hasn’t bitten into it yet.
Katara looks at the mango and slowly takes a small bite out of it. She makes the happy food noise Sokka makes when he’s especially pleased with what he’s eating. Mangoes—this—it’s surprisingly juicy and sweet—its juice dribbles down the corners of her mouth, and she licks the juices away eagerly.
This—this is delicious.
No.
More than delicious.
“Oh, my Spirits,” she says after swallowing her first bite.
“I know, right?” Zuko meets her eyes and his lips are curved into the smallest of smiles.
“This is—wow,” Katara stammers, looking at the mango and then at Zuko. “Mangoes are—“
“I know,” Zuko nods at her. They finish their mangoes in silence, and their hands are sticky with mango juice afterwards, despite their best efforts to keep their hands clean. (Katara gets some water and cleans their hands with it. Zuko said no at first but Katara insisted.)
They eat fruits and berries until the bowl is empty. Katara pats her stomach, satisfied. She looks at Zuko, and asks: “Where did you get the bowl?”
“I carved it,” Zuko gets up, and stretches his arms and legs, his body. “That’s why it took me so long to come back earlier. Carving takes forever.”
Huh.
He’s a Prince, so why would he know—
“My Uncle insisted on teaching me about survival and the wilderness, and I never thought I would be in a situation to actually use anything he taught me, yet here I am,” Zuko sits back down.
His head, now bald, looks shiny especially right now since the sun is really bright. It also looks really smooth. Too shiny and too smooth.
She unknowingly, unintentionally starts to stare at his head, at him. If Katara could focus enough, could she see her reflection on his head? The thought almost makes her want to smile, to laugh.
Unfortunately, though—
“What, Katara?” Zuko frowns at her, his hands curling into fists defensively, and his eyes flash an emotion Katara doesn’t know before it disappears. Like it wasn’t there in the first place. His shoulders look tensed up. “What’s—why are you staring at me? Is it—“
“Your bald head,” Katara cuts him off and nods. She feels guilty now. “I’m sorry, Zuko. It’s really rude to stare and I shouldn’t have done that to you.”
“Oh,” Zuko mumbles quietly, almost to himself, and his fists uncurl. He seems to be more at ease, and the tension in his shoulders seems to fade. “Okay. It’s fine. That’s fine,” he tells her.
Katara blinks, and then something in her brain clicks, and she feels more guilty than before. “Wait, Zuko,” she looks at him, her eyes soft. “I wasn’t staring at—“
“—Yeah, I know that now—“
“—But, please, just listen—“
“—I’m sorry for assuming you—“
“—No, I’m sorry for making you feel—“
“—Katara,” Zuko says firmly. “It’s fine. Can we drop it now? Please.” He almost sounds tired. Like he doesn’t want to have this conversation. Like he’s had this conversation already, a thousand times over, and he’s just tired of talking about it.
And she can understand why.
“Alright,” she agrees, and they look at anywhere but each other.
She wouldn’t want someone to stare at her scar either.
—
Zuko strives to be like Uncle Iroh for Katara.
Well, not to act like Uncle Iroh exactly, but to be the person Uncle Iroh was for him. But for Katara. That makes sense in Zuko’s head, but regardless, Zuko is doing his best to be patient and kind with Katara.
He really is.
He remembers how he was when he was twelve, and how the pain was all he could focus on for a really, really long time. How he cried a lot when the ship’s healer would replace the bandages, and clean the burn, and apply various creams and salves to it; and how he was in so much denial when he realized that his hearing and eyesight were greatly affected by the burn.
He remembers looking at himself in the mirror when the bandages were removed for the last time and how he didn’t eat for two days afterwards. He remembers wanting to peel the scar off, to remove it with his bare hands because he just hated it so much—
He remembers it all and how Uncle Iroh was by his side through it all with no judgement.
He remembers—he—
“My dear boy,” Uncle Iroh had murmured gently, rubbing Zuko’s back, his shoulders with a big, steady hand. Zuko was crying after trying to summon a fire in his hand.
Zuko tried to make him leave, but Uncle Iroh insisted on staying.
“You didn’t deserve this. You’re just a child,” the retired general’s voice broke, and he gripped Zuko's shoulders. “No matter what that damned man ever made you think, you didn’t deserve this,” he hugged Zuko tightly and Zuko clinged to him tightly.
“But it’ll be alright now, Prince Zuko,” He soothed him gently. “It’ll be alright, it’ll be okay now, I promise you that. I’ll always be here for you—“
—andI’ll always love you, my son.
—
“We need to wait here,” Zuko announces when she sits up and rubs her eyes, awaking from a nap. She looks up at him and he’s stretching, shirtless, as the fire crackles. “It’s important that we stay here, Katara.”
“You’re kidding,” Katara replies, her voice a bit raspy with sleep. She clears her throat and stretches her arms and legs. Her shoulder aches and screams for attention, and Katara silences it with swiftness. She’s gotten good at ignoring it—her pain—or at least that’s what she tells herself to make herself feel better.
“We can’t stay in this forest forever, Zuko.”
“I know. And we’re not going to stay here forever,” is all Zuko ends up saying.
She waits for a few seconds. Katara feels her nose twitch in annoyance when he doesn’t even attempt to explain himself further. “So you’re not even going to tell me why we need to stay here longer?” She looks at him with a ‘Really?’ kind of expression.
“Fine,” Zuko sighs deeply and sits across from her, legs crossed. “My Uncle is coming. Or at least, I hope he is.” He frowns, his shoulders slumping over. “I left a note saying that if I’m not back in a day or so, to find Jun the bounty hunter, and come and find me.”
He doesn’t look at her.
Katara frowns at him. “But we’ve already been—“
“—here for about three days. I know,” Zuko clears his throat and rubs his arm awkwardly. “I know, Katara. He’s never let me down before, so I…” His hand curls into a fist briefly before he lets it hang at his side.
“He has to come. He has to,” Zuko says quietly, still not meeting her eyes.
A beat.
“Zuko,” Katara begins, not really sure what to say.
Zuko’s gold eyes flicker to her and he waits.
He always waits—he’s patient like that.
A beat.
“...” She has no idea what to say to make him feel better. Maybe she can just change the topic? “Can...can you make me a burn salve?” She asks him at last, fiddling with her fingers, her eyes lowering to the fire. “It...it really does help my shoulder when you make it for me. I—thank you. I don’t…” Katara swallows dryly before continuing, “I don’t know if I ever properly thanked you for making me burn salves the way you do. So—I, um, thank you, Zuko.”
She could slap herself, or pinch herself. She’s should be making him feel better, and she just—
“You’re welcome, Katara,” Zuko gets up, dusting off his tattered shorts. “I’ll be back.” Katara watches him as he goes into the forest, the sound of his footsteps gradually fading.
She knows he’ll be back.
He always comes back.
“There’s love in someone being patient, being kind,” Katara mutters her mother’s words to herself and shakes her head.
No—her and Zuko do not have love for one another.
This is survival.
And only survival.
To distract herself, she moves herself so she’s in front of the river, and her element calls out to her the way it always does. It takes her a while to get the courage to do so, but Katara raises her arms slowly. She’ll just do a simple wave. She used to do those all the time with her mom, so—
She gets a hold of the water, and attempts to do a push and pull motion. All Katara has to do is move her arms and shoulders, and lean back and forth.
She can do that.
She can.
She—the pain—the burn—
The water splashes, and flows along the river, as if Katara didn’t have a hold on it just moments ago. Her lips curl in frustration and she turns her back to the river, trying her best not to be upset with herself. A few tears escape anyway, despite her best efforts. Sure, she can use her right hand and right arm just fine, but she needs both arms to fight in the war.
How can she fight if she can’t even do the first waterbending move she ever learned?
Isn’t she supposed to be...strong? A warrior, a fighter?
“I didn’t firebend for a really long time after I got burned,” Zuko speaks and Katara jumps in surprise, wiping her cheeks quickly. She hadn’t heard him come back. He sits down, grabbing the mortal and pestle he somehow made himself. Katara silently watches as he starts to make the burn salve, hands on her lap.
“I avoided my element for such a long time, even though the fire inside of me demanded to be used,” Zuko hasn’t looked at her yet and that makes her feel better for a reason she doesn’t know. Maybe it’s because she didn’t want him to know that she was just crying?
“It was really difficult, but my Uncle Iroh was really patient with me through it all. I don’t know where I would be without him,” Zuko adds the remaining burn salve ingredients into the mortar and grabs the pestle in his free hand.
A beat.
“I know it’s hard, but keep trying, Katara,” Zuko finally looks at her and nods once. His gold eyes always seem like they are going right through her. As if they see her.
She isn’t sure how to feel about that.
“In the beginning, my uncle had me start from the very, very basics. Breathing techniques, mediating, stuff like that. What are the basics for waterbending?”
“What I just tried to do,” Katara looks down. “That was the basics. A simple push and pull, a simple wave.” Her voice trembles, shakes with emotion, and the shame and embarrassment eating away at her makes her want to curl up and cry. “And I couldn’t even do it—“
“I’ll do it with you,” Zuko says gently and she looks at him with shock, losing the voice to protest, to say anything.
She just…
Why would he do that for her?
She doesn’t understand.
“When my uncle had me start from the basics, he would do it with me even though he’s a master firebender,” He puts down the mortar and pestle.
She finds her voice. “But you can’t—“
“—waterbend. I know, Katara,” Zuko finishes the sentence and scoots closer slowly, facing the river. “Come on, Katara. Show me what to do, and I’ll do it with you. Don’t actually bend the water if you don’t feel like doing so. It’ll be alright.” His voice, always boyish with a rasp, sounds almost soothing, almost comforting.
Her lips quiver and she nods. She turns around to face the river, and lifts her chin up. Katara straightens her shoulders and back, even though her left shoulder throbs, sings with pain, and clears her throat in a desperate attempt to focus her attention on what she’s doing, not on what she’s feeling.
“Okay. So—raise your arms,” Katara raises her arms as she says it, and keeps her hands open, fingers hardly curled if at all. She doesn’t turn her head to see if Zuko did it. She just keeps her eyes on the water.
“Just—“ Katara frowns, knowing how she’s not good with her words or explaining herself. “Just watch me, Zuko. Watch what I do.” Again, she doesn’t look at Zuko to make sure he’s copying her. She just likes to believe he is.
Katara inhales, and makes the push and pull motion that she’s done so many times before. She doesn’t try to make a wave, despite how much she wants to. She closes her eyes and keeps doing it, moving her arms and her shoulders and her body, as the water calls out to her, but she doesn’t answer.
Not this time.
It used to be so natural, so easy to just do it. To just make a wave. And now—now, it’s hard. And sleeping is hard now, too, regardless of how many flowers, herbs or anything Zuko can find to make it easier for her. But it doesn’t get easier. (Zuko says dark purple sun poppies are really good for making someone have a dreamless sleep, but those are only grown on Fire Nation soil.)
Her arms shake a bit, but she opens her eyes and looks over at Zuko. Her lips curl upwards slightly in amusement. Zuko is stiff as a board, the tip of his tongue poking out to show how focused he seems to be, and his arm movements are tense, choppy.
He pauses when he notices her looking at him. “What? Am I not doing it right?” He questions, frowning. “I thought I was?”
Katara lets out a chuckle and shakes her head, lowering her arms. “Zuko, you’re so stiff. And your arms—“ A giggle slips out. “Here, let me just fix it for you,” she smiles as she scoots closer, and reaches over.
She gets on her knees and Zuko watches her with his one eyebrow raised upwards, and his arms frozen in place. Katara gently adjusts his arms, and with a firm yet tender grip on his wrists, moves his arms the way that they’re supposed to be moving.
“This is how you’re supposed to do it, Zuko,” Katara tells him, and jokes, “were you even trying to copy what I was doing?”
Zuko’s cheeks turn pink as he meets her eyes. He crosses his arms. “I was trying,” he defends himself. “I just...it’s not natural to me. You know that. I did my best, Katara.” His shoulders and body slump over and Katara pats his shoulder. Her hand lingers on his shoulder. She squeezes it so gently that Zuko isn’t sure if she did it or not.
He looks at her, meeting her eyes.
“You did do your best,” she agrees. “Thank you, Zuko.” Her eyes soften and she pulls her hand away from his shoulder. Katara gets off her knees and sits back down on her butt, scooting away from him—but not too far away.
Their knees almost touch.
“Do you want to keep going?” Zuko asks her. “I swear I’ll do it right this time.”
“Sure,” Katara smiles at him, and they continue doing the push and pull until Katara feels better. She doesn’t make a small wave yet, but Zuko doing that with her actually felt—it felt—
Nice.
“Come here,” Zuko beckons her over when he finishes making the burn salve. Katara moves closer to him wordlessly. “I added tree sap this time instead of honey. It’s harder to get out of a tree than you would think it’d be,” he informs her. “And I didn’t add that much of it, but just enough.”
She notices that he doesn’t ask her if she’s ready to try healing herself. She’s glad that he didn’t ask, because she isn’t ready.
She isn’t sure if she’ll ever be ready.
“Are you ready for me to do it?” He gets a generous amount of the smooth, sweet smelling burn salve on his fingers.
Zuko is looking at her with tranquility, his hands steady, his voice certain and gentle as he tells her, “It’s okay for you to cry when I do it or after I do it. It’s okay, Katara. It'll be alright, I promise.” He said this the other two times he applied the burn salve to her, but it still makes her want to cry when he says it. Katara doesn’t get why it makes her want to cry, but at the same time, she does get it.
Katara bites her bottom lip, hard, and nods at him once. She squeezes her eyes shut tightly. Zuko applies it to her burn as quickly and as delicately as he can.
She cries when he’s done, just like the other times he applied the burn salve.
(And she cried every time he cleaned it with water. He’ll heat up the water in the canteen just a little, just enough for it to be warm, and he’ll clean her burn for her. He does it three times a day without fail, and he applies the burn salve twice a day without fail.)
He doesn’t touch her at all, but he comforts her as well as he can. Zuko is a big ball of awkwardness, anger and frustration, but he’s surprisingly good at comforting her. It—it’s—
Nice.
And maybe...just maybe it’s nice to be taken care of for once. Katara knows that when she rejoins Sokka and Aang, she’ll wear herself out and have to do everything again—but for now, even if it’s not for good reasons and even if it’s not gonna be for a long time, she’ll let herself get taken care of.
Even if she shouldn’t trust him, even if he is the enemy—he’s taking care of her.
And it feels nice.
Her mom’s voice and words sneak into her thoughts again, unprompted: “There’s love in someone being patient, being kind...there’s love in the simple things, the small things—“
Katara shakes her head at herself, as if shaking her head will get rid of those words.
Why is—
‘This isn’t love,’ she thinks to herself. ‘Not at all.’
Zuko asks if she’s okay. She tells him yes, and he starts cooking a fish for their dinner.
‘This is just survival,’ she thinks as Zuko gives her half of the cooked fish.
‘It’s just surviving with the enemy. That’s all this will ever be.’ She nods once, slightly, as if it will confirm her thoughts, make them a reality.
If Zuko wants to ask her anything, he doesn’t do it. They eat dinner, and small talk is made; then the moon comes out, and they fall asleep across from each other.
They are just surviving.
Together.
That’s all.