This is a (very belated) gift for jesterry for the Zutara Secret Santa exchange over on lj. I offer a thousand apologies for the lateness of this! Life got in the way, and then your prompts were just overly inspiring, and well... all I can say is that I hope you like it and that it was worth the wait! Please note that this story is complete (I'm not giving you an unfinished gift!), I just need to edit the last few chapters before posting them. They'll be up by the end of the week. I hope you had a happy holiday season!

And of course, as always, I don't own AtLA. Now, without further ado...

There is a hole in her sleeve.

Well, it wasn't her sleeve, not technically. Two days ago, when Zuko had handed her a neatly folded stack of black clothing, she hadn't even thought twice about putting it on. It was all just part of the mission, just another necessary part of tracking down the monster who had murdered her mother. She had not, could not, would not think about the length of his limbs as she had adjusted the belt around her waist in an attempt to keep the hem from brushing past her knees, and she certainly had not lingered on past memories of his closeness which were conjured when she had taken a deep breath after adjusting the mask over her face. There simply wasn't time for such foolishness; they had a task to complete. There was no time for these thoughts in her head as her hands had woven through the air, water and blood at her command, no space for these thoughts when she had stopped the rain.

There was also no space for those thoughts later as she sat in silence near the campfire, though for an entirely different reason. The anger and hurt that had driven her for the past two days had vanished, and a relentless stream of what-ifs and whys had rushed in to fill the void. The questions and thoughts came too fast for her to analyze in any depth as they imploded against her consciousness. She felt ashamed when she remembered the words she said to her brother before she left and the look on Aang's face as she insisted on the merits of revenge. She was disgusted when she imagined having to report to the others tomorrow that she couldn't follow through, and even more frustrated by the thought that she may not be able to explain why. Worst of all, she has to try to understand that her mother didn't just simply die in a raid, she died for her. That sacrifice suddenly made everything make sense and yet left so many questions in its wake. Everything was confusing. She despised the monster and always would, but the energy behind the hatred was shifting. She didn't know whether she should feel relived or scared to lose something so familiar.

She thought she heard someone call her name, but it was if it were coming from across the sea, leagues away and scattered by the wind. She ignores it. But when she hears it again, louder this time, she pulls herself out of her thoughts long enough to look up.

Zuko sits not far from her, a curious look on his face and a cup in his hand. "Would you like some tea?"

She doesn't, really, but she nods and reaches for the cup anyway.

It is in this moment, as she reaches for the cup, when she sees it: the strip of blue peeking through the torn sleeve of her borrowed robe. She tugs experimentally at a loose thread, but the pressure only widens the gap and she quickly pulls her hand away as she feels the threads separate.

She stares at the tear. It isn't much, and in comparison to the events of the past two days it is nothing at all. But in that moment it is one more thing that is damaged, one more thing that is all her fault, one more thing to feel sorry for. The ragged edges of the fabric blur in her vision as something inside her cracks and falls away, and she feels the emotion that she had been holding in start to leak down the sides of her face. She feels ridiculous that this is the thing that finally sends her over the edge, and she tries to stop it, to tell herself that she's overreacting. But all of her efforts are for nothing, and in fact seem to just make it worse. Her nose is running now, but she obviously can't wipe it on a sleeve that isn't hers. She tries to sniff quietly, not to draw attention, but in this she fails too: Zuko hears it and his head swings in her direction.

"Katara?"

The way he starts to lean toward her but stops short makes her heart ache. There is no way to articulate how she feels in this moment, so she defaults to gesturing at her arm helplessly. "I ruined your clothes."

He looks relieved. "Oh. That's okay. They're just clothes."

"It's not okay!" The volume of her voice surprises them both, and Zuko flinches. She hadn't meant to snap at him, and the look on his face is just another thing to regret. She cries harder and buries her head in her hands.

She hears him rummage around in his bag, and through her fingers she can see him inch closer and crane his neck to inspect her arm. "Can I see?"

She takes her hands away from her face and wipes her tears with the inside of one wrist. She holds out her arm and he tentatively examines the fabric before reaching into his lap to pull out a small sewing kit. She watches as he selects a needle but looks away when he moistens the thread between his lips. She holds her arm in place as he starts to make slow, careful stitches, his brow furrowed in concentration.

Her tears dry as she studies him. This was certainly not the response she was expecting. And maybe it's the pressure of the past two days, or maybe it's the lack of sleep and the emotional exhaustion, but in this moment her mind conjures up images of when they first met, his hair in a high ponytail and his armor sharp and bulky. It is this version of Zuko that she pictures now before her: the angry, scowling, shouting Prince of the Fire Nation, who is now pulling a needle and thread methodically through her sleeve. She tries to think of something else, but the thought of it is so utterly bizarre that she snorts loudly in an effort to hold back her laughter. Her free hand shoots to cover her mouth in embarrassment, and she stares at him with wide eyes.

He looks up mid-stitch. "What?"

The look of confusion on his face is her undoing, and her emotions now come bubbling out in the form of shrieking laughter. She tries to explain herself as she gasps for air. "It's just – you are sewing my sleeve! – and you used to have this weird hair – and – " She can't take it anymore, she stops trying to explain it and just revels in the stretch of her face as she smiles and the ache in her sides as she laughs.

He narrows his eyes at her. "Are you okay?" She can't speak for the laughter, but she nods. He moves to resumes his work, but then stops and raises his only eyebrow. "Wait - I had weird hair?"

She nods and her giggles wind down as she wipes a different breed of tears from her eyes. "Of course you did! Back when – " when you wanted to save me from the pirates – "When you still had your ship."

His hands still, so quick she almost misses it, and he blows a stray piece of his bangs out of his eyes before he resumes. "Oh. Right."

She feels she has hit a nerve somehow, but she refuses to add this to her list of mistakes. Not now, when she suddenly feels so light. Impulsively, she reaches out and tousles his hair. "I like it better this way, anyway."

It may just be a trick of the firelight, but she thinks she sees color rise in his cheeks. He doesn't say anything, and seems to focus more intently on her sleeve as he makes the final stitches. He ties off the thread and uses his teeth to cut the end. "Okay, it should be fine now."

She inspects the sleeve as he settles a respectable distance away from her. It isn't perfect; some of the stitches are crooked or too long, but the hole is gone and she feels that it will last. "You fixed it! Thank you." She smiles and gestures to the kit in his hand. "Good thing you had that."

He gives her a small smile and shrugs while he puts it away. "It's always important to be prepared."

She examines his handiwork a little further, noticing the quality of the cloth for the first time as she rubs it between her fingers. "Good thing you had these clothes, too. They were great for sneaking around." A stray thought occurs to her and she vocalizes it. "Wait, why did you have these in the first place?"

He stiffens and looks away. "It's not important…Let's just get some rest." He reaches for his sleeping bag and crawls into it. There is something almost comical about the speed at which he does this, and his back hits the ground with a soft thump. He folds his hands over his chest and shuts his eyes.

His abrupt avoidance of the question only makes her more curious, so she persists. "What, did you think you'd need to be doing a lot of sneaking around when you joined us?"

His eyes remain closed. "No."

She waits for him to elaborate, but nothing but silence follows. She tries again. "So you just happened to pack black clothes? I mean, isn't there some rule that people from the Fire Nation always have to wear red?"

"No."

She grins at him. "Is that your favorite word, 'no'?"

He sits up and offers her a long-suffering look but she can see his lips curl up slightly on one side. He rolls his eyes. "No. I brought them because they'd been useful in the past, so I just thought they might be useful again. That's all."

She throws her hands up dramatically. "What does that even mean? Why does everything with you have to be such a secret?!"

She was only half-serious, but the look he gives her is frightened and his palms come out in supplication. "No. Wait. It's not really a secret…or maybe it is, but it's not something that would affect you, I mean…"

Her eyebrows shoot to her hairline before settling into a scowl. "Wait, there really is a secret? You'd better tell me what it is! How am I ever supposed to trust you if you're keeping secrets from me?!"

He runs a hand through his hair. "You aren't going to let this go, are you?" She crosses her arms and continues to scowl at him. He lets out a long breath. "Fine. Did you ever see those wanted posters for the Blue Spirit?"

She nods and waits for him to continue, but he doesn't. He just gives her a level stare and waits. She doesn't know why he just won't tell her and get it over with. Finally, he huffs and flicks his eyes down to his own black clothing and then back at her. Then it clicks.

"Wait – are you trying to say that you stole these clothes from the Blue Spirit?"

The sound of his hand hitting his forehead reverberates through the forest. "What? Are you…. No, I didn't steal them from the Blue Spirit! I am the Blue Spirit!"

She would feel embarrassed for saying something so absurd, but the shock from this revelation outweighs it. "You? You're the Blue Spirit?

He rubs the back of his neck. "Yeah. Or at least I was. I kind of threw the mask away when I left Ba Sing Se. Right after I freed Appa under Lake Laogai, actually."

She quietly considers this. The longer she thinks about it the more she can picture it. He is sneaky, and he is skilled with those swords. There's only one thing that doesn't fit.

"But I thought that the Blue Spirit is an enemy of the Fire Nation. I know you're on our side now, but those posters were up before we even reached the North Pole. How is that possible?"

He turns from her and looks at the fire. "It's complicated."

"Oh." She can sense that he doesn't want to talk about it anymore, and the look on his face makes her feel guilty. She doesn't want him keeping secrets from her, but she doesn't want to alienate him either. So she decides to share a secret of her own, to even the score. "I was the Painted Lady once."

He looks at her, interested. "The Painted Lady?"

"Yeah. She's a spirit who protects the Fire Nation. I dressed up as her to help a town that was suffering… and I kind of blew up a factory that was polluting their river."

It's his turn to laugh, though it's more controlled than her outburst before. She realizes that she's never heard this particular sound before, but she likes it: low and raspy and emanating deep in his throat. "I know the legends. Though I think that may be the first time the Painted Lady has ever been involved in property damage."

"It had to be done! Those people were sick and starving. I couldn't just leave them like that. I couldn't."

His face turns serious and he seems distant for a long moment. Then he reaches for her. It looks like he is aiming for her hand but he hesitates and falters before awkwardly laying his hand on her foot instead. Where his hands are unsure his eyes are not; he keeps his gaze steadily on her. "You're a good person, Katara. You might be angry and hurt but you still try to do the right thing. In the desert when you offered to heal my uncle, in – " he hesitates here and his eyes flick away briefly, as he lightly clears his throat – "in Ba Sing Se, and again today. That's who you are. Never forget that."

She sits in stunned silence and blinks at him. He seems to remember himself and looks down at his hand on her foot, and quickly lets her go. He backs away and shakes his head. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay." She says it automatically, still processing his words. At first she is confused, because she knows that he knows better. He has seen first-hand just how vindictive she can be. But he was sincere, she is sure of it. It dawns on her then that despite all of their fights and her threats, he doesn't hold it against her. Despite some of her past actions, he believes her to be good underneath it all. She pictures that same angry young man that showed up at her home almost a year ago, but this time she doesn't laugh. Maybe it's time she tries – really tries – to pay him the same courtesy. Something warm spreads in her chest as she starts to see him in an entirely different light. And suddenly it is okay, all of it. Not great, maybe, but it's a start.

He lies back down, signaling an end to the conversation. She follows his lead and crawls into her own sleeping bag. They are both quiet for a long time, but she knows from the sound of his breathing that he is not yet asleep.

"Zuko?"

"Yes?"

"I won't tell. About your being the Blue Spirit, I mean. It will be our secret."

"…Oh, um, Aang kind of knows already. But nobody else does. So thank you. I appreciate it."

She wants to ask about this, but doesn't; she has made him share enough for one day. They both lie awake counting the stars long after the fire turns to embers. She almost breaks the silence again to thank him: for this trip, for his words, for his support. But she holds her tongue. She decides she doesn't need to say it. He already knows.

TBC...