It was the little things that got to her first.

Little things, like how he fetched firewood or water without having to be told first. The way he woke up in the mornings exactly when she did, sometimes earlier, and offered to help with breakfast (always declined). The way he never seemed to ignore her (like Toph), cared enough to take regular baths (unlike Sokka), and didn't run off from chores to play (like Aang).

It was, in the strangest way, refreshing.

It was the way he apologized to Teo, Haru and The Duke for the crimes committed against them by the Fire Nation – and, barely holding onto his pride, carried out the menial tasks they made him do after that, almost without complaint.

It was the way he saved his last piece of bread for Toph when she complained she was hungry, even though he himself had hardly eaten. Or the way those two were the last to fall asleep, talking deep into the night about their lost aristocracy and gilded lifestyles – and strangely enough, tea – under the sprawling starry sky.

Or the way he fought against his naturally quick temper to be patient with Aang, as he taught the young Avatar the basics of Firebending. She thought the way they got along with an almost startling casualness was mostly due to Aang's high spirits and friendliness, but she noticed more and more with each passing day how they both seemed less like student and teacher, but more like brothers.

Or the way Sokka's eyes seemed to glow with a livelier enthusiasm these days, after finding a worthy sparring partner to practice the sword with. They got along faster and better than she thought, when hostilities were laid aside for sport. And Sokka seemed to defer to the older boy with an unspoken respect and admiration, giving him a streak of maturity and humility she'd never seen before in her brother.

Maybe it was the way the animals seemed to be so comfortable around him, so much that it surprised her. "Just the result of spending days on the road with nothing but a horsebird for company," he explained, as he noticed her staring when he tossed a few apples to Appa. "You tend to look out for more than just yourself when your only escape from miles and miles of desert needs to be fed, and watered, and rested."

Or the way his bravery and ambition reminded her uncomfortably of a certain charismatic young man she left behind, his tawny gaze and crooked smile forever lost in memories of treetops and darkened forests.

Or the way he smiled at her, tentatively. Or the way he called her name for the first time, softly.

Slowly but surely, he was wearing away at her defenses. Slowly but surely, she found herself on the brink of forgiving him.

Slowly but surely, Zuko was beginning to get at Katara, and she dreaded the day she would have to answer to those dark eyes and scarred face, and ask herself if the past really mattered at all.