He was late. She frowned at the now cold dumplings and rice. The mochi had turned soggy, as had the tarts in the humid summer heat and the komodo chicken smelled questionable. At least the sea soup still looked salvageable. All in all, her carefully planned picnic was turning into a failure.

With a sigh, Katara poured herself a glass of plum wine. So far their fledgling romance had been less than successful; little more than a series of failed dates and interrupted moments. That was the problem with dating men in power; their time was never their own.

Despite his best intentions, Zuko's time was frequently flitted away by meetings, paperwork, and other politics. Not that her role as Ambassador to the Water Tribes left her much free time either. Spontaneity had been abandoned for scheduled dates that were frequently rescheduled anyway. It was all very modern and left little room for romance.

Which is why she'd specifically scheduled this date three weeks in advance with strict warnings to any that dared to interfere. Everything had been going exactly to plan…until Zuko failed to show up.

No doubt he'd been roped into another impromptu meeting with one of the visiting dignitaries - the Earth Kingdom delegates did love to talk - or perhaps one of the Fire Nation nobles had cornered him with another contract that no one considered urgent but still had to be signed immediately. Meanwhile, her afternoon was ruined, her lunch spoiled and once again she was disappointed in Zuko, be it his fault or not.

She didn't like being disappointed in Zuko. It drudged up too many unpleasant memories; unbidden memories of crystal catacombs and almost redemption, memories of unbridled fear, loss, and betrayal - they all stemmed from Zuko. Though she'd forgiven him, she had never forgotten, and sometimes – unintentionally - those memories would rise along with all the unpleasant feelings that accompanied them. Of course, she understood now why he'd betrayed them, betrayed her, but at the time his actions had been inconceivable to her.

Sometimes they still were. She doubted she would ever understand why he gave so much of himself to a father that clearly despised him or a sister that had tried to murder him. Why he worked himself half to death for a country that had branded him a traitor and nobles who sought to depose him.

Too many years in his father's shadow, belittled and hated, had warped him. Now, even as a young man, a young king, he desperately sought acceptance from those around him. He tried to hide it but she knew him well enough to see through his mask. More than anything, Zuko wanted to be loved; to believe he was worthy of being loved.

Despite her best efforts, she'd been unable to heal the deepest wounds Ozai had left on his son. To deprive a child of all affection, twisting the very nature of paternal love into a weapon to wield against your own flesh and blood, revealed a depravity in Ozai she hadn't thought possible in anyone. Years later Zuko still had trouble accepting that love could simply be given, the lesson that love must be earned having been viciously ingrained in him.

Ozai wasn't the only one to blame though; Ursa had played her part. Katara didn't know all the details, but from what Zuko had told her, it seemed Ursa had left of her own free will. She couldn't fathom what could convince a mother to abandon her children to a monster like Ozai and wanted to believe it was with good reason; still, she couldn't quite find it in her heart to forgive the woman. Not when it had cost Zuko so dearly.

If Ursa stayed, at least Zuko would have known the love of one parent, would have had one person to nurture him through his turbulent childhood. Instead, he'd found himself suddenly alone, surrounded by darkness and flames, forced to grow up much too soon. Zuko had only spoken briefly about his father's "training" sessions and the punishments for failing to meet his high expectations. Katara now knew the Fire Nation treated their war prisoners better than Ozai treated his own children. He'd warped them, torturing both his children to mold them into weapons that he pitted against each other and the world.

Ozai had unintentionally molded her into a weapon as well. The war that had stolen her mother from her had also forged her. Like the artic-wolf pups of her homeland, she'd sharpened her claws on her prey, clawing her way through the ranks of Fire Nation soldiers; and like any predator, she'd developed a taste for the hunt. Usually, it was the unbridled satisfaction of watching her opponent fall. The rush of power was intoxicating. Sometimes though, it was darker. Sometimes the horrors of everything she'd been through seized her, demanding vengeance and bloodlust flooded every inch of her soul, sending her thoughts spiraling in a twisted desire to test the limits of her bloodbending.

Until she'd stared into Yon Rha's eyes - or the man she'd thought was him - she'd never wanted to give into that darkness though. Pain buried beneath years of silence had exploded within her, wrapping her in acute suffering as sharp as it'd been the day she'd discovered her mother's smoldering corpse. She'd seized his pulse, savored the terror in his eyes as she'd slowly began to squeeze, severing the blood supply to his heart. The erratic thumping, a panicked death drum, had been a sweet music; a salve to the wound she'd worn for years.

But it hadn't been him. It hadn't been Yon Rha.

The sickening realization of what she'd almost done, what she'd almost become, had crashed into her then and she'd fled the room before the weight of her disgust caused her legs to give out too. She'd barely made it out of the room before she hurled. Zuko had witnessed everything. He'd never said a word about it and she'd been too ashamed to bring it up. When they'd found the real Yon Rha, despite all her pain and anger, she'd refused to fall into that darkness again. In the end, instead of justice or closure, she'd found some unpleasant truths about herself on that trip. Truths she'd been running from for years.

She closed her eyes, vividly recalling the surge of blood, the pounding heartbeat that had stood just behind her that night. She'd had no need to turn around; his pulse betrayed him as easily as the Captain's had. Zuko had been afraid of her.

Just as Aang and Sokka had been when she'd first used her bloodbending. It hadn't mattered then that it'd been to save their lives, to stop Hama from killing them; she'd seen the fear in their eyes. It'd matched her own disgust and she'd easily agreed to Aang's promised to never use bloodbending again. She'd never wanted that particular skill in the first place.

What, she wondered, would Aang have done that night when she gave into her bloodlust and nearly killed a man with bloodbending? What would he say if she'd admitted she'd wanted to kill Yon Rha? Could he have forgiven her? Perhaps, but she knew he would've forever after looked at her with that wounded look in eyes.

Her glass paused halfway to her lips, an unpleasant weight settling in her stomach. She'd never asked Zuko about that night, never considered his feelings as she'd run as fast as she could from her own. They hadn't even been friends then, barely even allies, and he'd seen her at her worst.

She hadn't used her bloodbending in years, but that didn't mean the temptation wasn't there. That darkness still lurked just beneath her skin; an itch always waiting to be scratched and Ozai presented a tempting target. If she slipped again, if this time she gave into that darkness, could Zuko forgive her? Or would he flee from her like she knew Aang would? Could she forgive herself? Would she want to, or would she embrace the feeling of Ozai's blood bending to her will? Part of her admitted she might, even if it meant becoming a monster like Hama.

It seemed Ozai was skilled in making monsters.

Katara downed the rest of her glass in a single gulp. Thoughts like these were dangerous. All they ever did was darken her mood, pushing her down a path she had no desire to walk, and Agni knew Zuko was somber enough for them both.

She considered abandoning her little picnic, retreating from the summer heat in favor of catching up on her paperwork. There never was enough time to get ahead of the treaties, schedules and other documents drowning her desk. With a sigh, she poured another glass deciding she deserved this impromptu vacation sans Zuko if need be.

Her third glass was enjoyed between bites of cold dumplings and rice. She was certain it would've tasted delicious hours ago, still hot and fresh from the kitchen. Even so, she was hungry and it was pointless to let the food go to waste just because her boyfriend had stood her up, again. It was starting to feel a little too familiar. Naturally, a fourth glass was needed to ease that hurt.

Pleasantly tipsy now, she turned her attention west. The sun had nearly vanished beneath the horizon now, the vivid reds and oranges of a Fire Nation sunset bleeding into the now indigo night. One by one fireflies blinked into life, turning the darkening garden into a reflection of the brilliant starlit sky.

Moved by nature's beauty, and a bottle of plum wine, Katara staggered to her feet, swaying in the moonlight like Gran-Gran had taught her. The badger-toads croaks faded into the rhythmic drums of her people, the cicadas and turtle-ducks became the voices of her tribe and Katara lost herself in the ancient songs and dances of her people. It didn't matter that she was alone, thousands of miles from her homeland; they were with her in her heart.

The copious amounts of alcohol she'd ingested made her movements jarring, her limbs heavy and uncooperative. What should've been a fluid waterbending form ended with her flat on her back staring at the stars. Breathless she smiled, imaging Gran-Gran and her mother laughing at her fondly.

She missed them.

The stone was cool beneath her fingers and she laughed out loud. Zuko was right; it was instinct now. She couldn't think of her mother and not touch her necklace. Although she'd told Zuko that one day she would pass her mother's necklace onto her daughter, Katara wasn't sure that she could. Through the years it'd become more than just a necklace; it'd become a lifeline, the last physical connection she had with her mother. That strip of leather and stone had become integral to her being. Without it, she felt incomplete.

It was one of the reasons she'd rejected Aang's necklace. She knew it was the same reason she'd reject Zuko's if he ever offered one. Deep down she knew she'd never wear another necklace.

Tears blurred her view of the sky. She let them fall freely, thinking of the mother she'd lost far too young and of the wound it'd left that refused to ever fully heal. She wept for the child that died that day and for the unknowing soldier that rose from her ashes. The stone bit into her palm as she gazed skyward. Although she couldn't see the auroras here in the city, she knew they were there, and so was Gran-Gran; but she could see the stars. To her, they'd already become a substitute for the auroras. Somehow it seemed fitting. Gran-Gran had always shone so brilliantly. She thought of, of home, of her father and brother and friends she hadn't seen in years. She thought about Aang, about what could've been, what had been and what she'd learned. She thought about Zuko, what she wanted, what she needed, and what she wouldn't do again.

Time passed. Exhausted, emotionally and physically, she sat up and scrubbed the tears from her eyes. Tomorrow was a busy day. The Earth King's delegates had crammed several meetings in with her before they sailed home tomorrow afternoon, so her morning was booked. She preferred dealing with the crafty ambassadors with a full night's rest but that was no longer an option. Still, she should at least try to get a few hours of sleep. Besides, it'd gotten cold out.

She didn't realize she wasn't alone until he draped his cloak around her shoulders. Startled, she turned just as Zuko planted a soft kiss on her cheek. "You're late," she grumbled.

"You're drunk." It wasn't an apology, but he at least had the decency to look guilty.

She tilted her chin, trying her best to look haughty. "Yes, I am."

"Katara," he sighed. "The meeting ran late, then the Earth Kingdom delegates needed to discuss-"

"Stop." She raised a hand cutting off any further excuses. "Just, stop. Zuko, I've been waiting for hours. Just like last time, and the time before and the time before that. I understand things come up, but you have to at least make an attempt or this thing between us, is never going to work. I refused to be second to Aang, what makes you think I'd settle being second for you?"

"I don't." He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly looking far younger than any king had a right to be. "I just…I'm not…" He huffed, clearly annoyed with himself. "I've never been good at this kind of stuff."

"Conversation?"

"Relationships. Haven't exactly had many good examples in my life."

Katara smiled despite wanting to remain irritated at him. He was impossibly hopeless. It was endearing. Or maybe she was just drunker than she thought. Reaching out, she let her fingers trail over his scar. "I know you're trying. You're giving so much of yourself to everyone else, just don't forget I need a little bit of your time too, ok Zuko?"

His hand closed over hers, eyes sliding shut as he nodded wordlessly. He frowned. "You're freezing."

"Watertribe, remember? Grew up on a block of ice as you once put it. I'm fine."

"Tundra, not ice, as you corrected me; and you wore furs to stay warm, not a few layers of silk. "You waited all afternoon, for me?" His voice was quiet, heavy with guilt.

Katara shrugged, attempting to pull her hands away but Zuko refused to let go, already channeling his bending into warming her. It wasn't necessary, but Katara appreciated the gesture and it did feel nice. Combined with the wine, it was a very pleasant feeling indeed. "You might've been running late."

Zuko looked around at the remnants of the spoiled picnic. "Mochi? And is that komodo chicken and dumplings?"

"Mmmm. Your favorites right?"

He nodded, his thumbs absently caressing her hands as he continued to warm them, although he didn't understand why she was allowing it. She had every right to be furious with him; he'd ruined everything, again. This wasn't the first time he'd missed their date. Sadly, he'd started making a habit of it, ridiculous really, as he'd rather have been with Katara than the ambassadors or noblemen who frequently demanded his attention. It was the price of his crown. With privilege came certain obligations, often leaving little time to pursue his desires.

The last tendrils of sunlight had slipped beneath the horizon before he'd finally managed to appease the verbose ambassador. He'd quickly slipped from the room before the man could make any further demands of him, and had bee-lined straight for Katara's office, desperately thinking of any excuse that might've saved him from her icy wrath. Her office had been dark, paperwork still untouched. He'd checked her rooms next, only for her servants to inform him she'd been gone all afternoon. Until that moment, he'd never considered she might've still been waiting for him.

He hadn't known what he would do if he'd found her still waiting in the garden. He'd almost convinced himself it was more likely she'd hopped the first freighter back to the South Pole; then he'd seen her dancing under the stars. In that moment Zuko had realized two undeniable truths: Katara was the most beautiful woman in the world and he was the worst boyfriend ever.

She'd waited for him in the sweltering humidity of Fire Nation summer through the plummeting temperatures of dusk, even as the sun set taking the warmth of the day with it, leaving only unpleasant cool dampness. No one had ever done something like that for him before, except Uncle. No one had ever cared enough to. He dropped his head, not that it did him any good. His hair was still firmly secured in the damn crown that had caused this mess with all its constant obligations and demands on his time, not even a single stray strand fell out of place to cover his face.

He flinched as she pulled her hands from his. Though not unexpected, it hurt all the same. He hated fighting with Katara, hated even more when he was the cause of those fights. He couldn't stand seeing the disappointment in her eyes. He was tired of failing her, of failing everyone. No matter how hard he tried it was never enough. He was never enough.

The slip of her fingers against his cheek made his breath catch. Stunned he lifted his head. She was still there, watching him with those blue eyes he'd lost himself in years ago.

"Zuko."

His mouth twitched the corner lifting into an imperceptible smile at the scolding tone in her voice. Apparently, drunken Katara had less patience for his self-pity than her usual self. Truthfully, he didn't understand why she put up with him at all. Through the years he'd hurt her, betrayed her, pushed her away and neglected her, still, she stayed. Somehow through all the tears, angry words and fights, she'd become a constant in his life, a source of his strength and weakness. The paradox was as comforting as it was unsettling.

He covered her fingers with his hand again, relishing the softness of her skin against his scar. He doubted he'd ever tire of it. Her simple gesture remained as surprisingly intimate as it had the first time she'd innocently brushed her fingers against the rough skin. "Thank you."

"For what?"

A bittersweet smile graced his lips as a thousand reasons rushed through his mind. Any number of them would likely earn him a reprieve from tonight's blunder. Still, the words remained frozen on his tongue, much like the confession he'd longed blurt out for years. He nearly had several times in the past, no thanks to hormones and alcohol, but the thought of ruining their friendship had silenced him before any real damage could be done. No matter how badly it hurt, Zuko had decided the heartache was worth it just to keep her in his life. Better to keep remain only friends than to confess and risk losing both his best friend and love interest in one disastrous blunder

While he was aware she enjoyed his company, and he hoped that perhaps there was something more there, he'd never considered she'd reciprocate his feelings…until she'd kissed him.

The line he'd been afraid to cross was left in the dust as he'd abandoned his reservations. It wasn't until that night, alone once again with his thoughts, that all his doubts and fears resurfaced. True she'd kissed him, but it'd been in a moment of pity, and they'd yet to talk about romantic feelings. This thing between them, whatever it was, was as fragile as a turtle-duck shell. It could crack at any moment and then he'd lose her.

So he kept pushing her away.

He had to maintain a distance or else when she left he wouldn't know how to go on without her. At least, that's what he kept telling himself even as he knew it was pointless. She'd already unknowingly, unintentionally, walked right past every wall, every safeguard he'd erected through the years to protect himself. The damage was already done. She'd waltzed into his heart years ago.

All his excuses were just that, excuses. Whether he said the words or not, when she left – if she left - the hole she left behind would be the same. The only thing silencing him was fear; fear she didn't love him too. He knew he needed to pluck up his courage, take a bite of the silver sandwich and just confess: to tell her that he loved her and needed her; that he wanted to wake up next to her every morning and fall asleep holding her every night.

Drawing her hand to his lips, he pressed a soft kiss into her palm. "Thank you…for waiting for me." Please, wait a little longer, he pleaded silently, hating his cowardice. When he opened his eyes, she was frowning. His stomach dropped, his gut twisting sharply. "Katara?" Perhaps she's tired of waiting, you idiot.

She looked away abruptly, eyes focused on the turtle-duck pond while she chewed at her lip. He knew her well enough to know she wanted to say something; her hesitation made him worry. Katara wasn't one to usually hold back.

He considered just blurting out what he felt, hoping it would be enough to persuade her to give him more time to be the man she deserved. As quickly as the thought came, he let it go, knowing it'd be no different than Aang forcing his feelings on her during the war. Aang's youth, while no excuse, had at least offered an explanation for his gaffe. Zuko, however, was a mature adult, not a selfish child, and he wouldn't do the same to Katara. She was not responsible for his feelings.

He reached out, intending to turn her head back towards him, but stopped. She'd pulled her hand from his, turned her gaze from his, severing all physical contact with him. What right did he have to touch her? It was likely she didn't. It would make ending this haphazard mess they'd begun all the easier he supposed, still, he wanted – needed – to be able to look into her eyes one last time. "Katara," he pleaded softly, "Please, look at me. What," his voice cracked as she looked at him. He swallowed roughly past the sudden lump in his throat. Summoning every ounce of courage he whispered the words he was certain would be the beginning of the end. "What is it?"

Had he not been studying her face, memorizing every detail of her certain it would be the last time he'd have the chance, he would have missed her faux pas altogether; but he didn't. It was only a brief moment, a flicker of her eyes that strayed a little too long to be polite as she stared at his scar, but it was enough to shatter him anew.

Old fears were hard to kill. He heard his father's cruel laughter mocking him as he cried, heard the terrified shrieks of village girls as he passed. Their taunts rang in his ears as his body went numb. He'd forgotten. She was so kind, so sweet, that'd he'd let himself forget how ugly he was, how undesirable. She was friendly, affectionate even, because they were friends, but that didn't mean she loved him! No one as beautiful and perfect as Katara could love a deformed monster like him. Nobody loved monsters. He was alone. He would always be alone. That had been his father's true punishment; the scar was his guardsman, eternal loneliness was his prison.

It took him a moment to realize she been speaking to him. Zuko blinked trying to comprehend the simple statement through the deafening insecurities screaming in his mind. Dazed he looked at the moon and nodded. "Yes, it's a full moon," he confirmed quietly, not understanding. Bathed in moonlight she was even more beautiful, truly at one with her element. A sharp ache pinched at his heart, knowing she was too beautiful, too good, for the likes of him. He watched as she wrung her hands, clearly distressed. Part of him wanted to reach out and comfort her, but he wasn't sure he'd be welcome. It would probably be best if he left. Gathering the remaining bit of his courage, Zuko prepared to say goodbye. It was time to set them both free.

"I'm a bloodbender."

Zuko frowned, thoroughly confused by her outburst. "I know."

Katara scoffed softly, still staring at the ground. Though she wouldn't look at him, she took his hands, her thumbs caressing his softly. She smiled softly when she heard Zuko gasp. "I had a lot of time to think tonight; about things that went wrong with Aang, things I don't want to repeat with you. There's things about me that Aang couldn't accept; things about me that I couldn't accept when I was with him." She looked up, needing to see his eyes. "We never talked about what happened on the Southern Raiders flagship. You were afraid, of me."

"I wasn't-"

"Don't lie to me. I could feel your heartbeat Zuko."

"Why are you bringing this up now?"

Katara's laugh was soft and bitter. "You're not the only broken one, Zuko. You need to know that."

"Katara, you're not-"

"I was ready to kill Yon Rha. If it'd been him on that ship instead, I would have, and I would have enjoyed it. Part of me enjoys being a bloodbender. I know it's wrong and I shouldn't, but I do. Aang ran from that part of me and asked me to do the same, but I can't. You're not the only monster your father made. If this relationship is going to work, you have to see the ugly side of me too. Aang never could."

His breath caught. Slowly his brain sorted through her words, his insecurities quieting as their meanings registered. He'd told her his father had disfigured him; made him a monster. Perhaps it wasn't his scar she'd seen but Ozai as she'd stared at him in that brief moment. Maybe, just maybe, she didn't find him repulsive after all. Hesitantly he reached out, wrapping her in his arms. He sighed in relief when she didn't scream or push him away. "You're not a monster," he whispered, repeating her words back to her, still shocked she could ever believe otherwise. She hadn't rejected him. He'd let his own insecurities get in the way, again, and had almost ruined everything.

"How can you say that?"

He smiled, despite himself, tears brimming in his eyes as he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. It was ironic how many of their conversations came full circle. "Because I know you, Katara."

Pressing her body closer to his, she wrapped her arms around him. Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe she was just feeling vulnerable from her emotional turmoil, but she needed him tonight. Resting her head against his chest she listened to the steady thumping of his heart.

"See? Not afraid."

She smiled as Zuko's low whisper vibrated against her chest, his thumb rubbing soothing circles against her back. She wondered if this is how Zuko felt when she soothed him. Despite having just exposed the darkest secret in her soul, despite the raw pain that ebbed just beneath her skin, in his arms she felt safe. There'd been no judgments, no demands, just simple acceptance; the same she'd always given to others. It was liberating.

"Are you still cold?"

Katara grinned. Even without him actively channeling his bending, the man radiated heat. She snuggled closer, enjoying the pleasant sensation of being cocooned in Zuko's warmth. "Not anymore."