Memento Amor

Summary:After betraying his Uncle—and ultimately himself—beneath Ba Sing Se, Zuko is involved in a freak accident. Given another chance by the spirits, Zuko is placed in the body of a cat and must redeem his own honor. This time though, he must remember to love, and he somehow finds himself chasing the Avatar in an entirely different way...Kitty! Zuko

Story Pairing: Zuko/ Aang

Chapter Rating: T

Disclaimer: All characters of Avatar: The Last Airbender are property of Nickelodeon. Also, all song lyrics belong to the American alternative metal band, Flyleaf.

Why?

Why was it so cold? Something was terribly, horribly wrong. It was too cold. It was just like when he'd been stranded in that blizzard up at the North Pole. The only possible explanation for his survival back then could have been his internal heat, with him being a Fire Bender. But right now, it felt as if that bright flame—present since his birth—had somehow been snuffed. Its absence left him shivering, even as a blistering external heat nipped at his skin. Something was wrong. Whatever its source, he remembered that he would usually find comfort in such warmth. At the moment, however, he felt his entire being stand on end. Rather than comfort, the outer heat screamed danger. And even as he was yet dragged into consciousness, he just knew that something was wrong.

His thoughts were clouded by an opaque haze, and his senses seemed to be blocked by something. But when they came, they flooded him with sensations of an intensity he'd never felt before. His dry eyes burned and he realized that he hadn't blinked in all the time he'd been lying with them sightlessly open. Blinking now, his eyesight began to return, but he still felt as if he were looking at the world through a dust window. He was also confused as to why everything was oblique compared to what he subconsciously expected. Then, slowly, his brain processed the fact that he was lying on the ground; on his side.

A layer of gray substance coated the topsoil near his face, and several specks of the same stuff danced before him, not wanting to settle. Some tickled his nose, causing it to twitch involuntarily. His sense of smell was coming back to him. The gray matter burned his nostrils with its unique scent, and he recognized it as ash.

Ash… He'd never realized how distinct its smell was.

He also began to notice the gurgling in his ears, as if he were underwater (which, he could see, was obviously not the case). The gurgling grew louder and louder…until whatever it was roared mercilessly, beating on his eardrums. Why was the world so loud? And had his ears always been so sensitive? He swore he could feel them shifting atop his head like antennae as they tried to make sense of what was going on around him. The noisy blare was difficult to decipher, but he ever so slowly came to recognize it as that of a roaring blaze. Fire, he concluded, pinpointing the source of the heat he felt behind him. His back felt as though he was being carefully roasted over an open flame.

Fire…and ash… Two childhood friends who now approached him as complete strangers. Why did he feel the need to move away? The urge to get up and run? What was the clenching in his gut and the nagging at his mind that told him his current location was unsafe?

He didn't know, but he'd grown up following the impulses that some would call instinct, and right now was not an exception. Blinking again, he rolled over onto his belly. The action disturbed the ash that had settled there; sending up a gray could that lingered in the air around him. But he ignored how the particles clung to his body's surface area and continued to push up onto his feet. Once standing, though, he swayed a bit, and his eyes reflected the spinning of his thoughts until he took an unbalanced step forward. The planting of that foot on solid ground reassured him, and he shook his head lightly to refocus his mind. Then he looked around.

As it turned out, his eyes hadn't been playing tricks on him: taking in his surroundings really was like peering through a dusty window. Judging by the number of visible trees, he figured he was in a forest of some kind. But instead of green garb, everything was coated in a sheet of gray. Ash like snow floated down from the blackened sky, settling just as gently on the broken tree limbs and frosting the barren ground. Fog prevented him from seeing more than a few meters ahead. The stinging in his eyes, though, indicated that it was not fog, but smoke that completed the eerie beauty. That explained the slight burning in his chest that accompanied each shaky breath he inhaled.

Yes, he was shaking. Partly because of the ice he imagined flowing sluggishly through his veins, but also from something else. His body wanted to run. He wanted to charge straight into the silver-shrouded unknown before him and not look back. That want—that need—to run…caused him to take a few steps forward. Ash curled around his ankles, though, and he halted as if he were caught in chains. What really rooted him to the spot was his natural curiosity; the part of him that wanted to look back to see what exactly he'd be running from. There was no harm in that.

Without further debate, he turned around…

…and came face to face with the fiery pits of Hell.

The searing wall of heat that had been at his back now hit him head on. His face would burn, just like his back, if he looked for too long. But he couldn't tear his eyes away. It was so bright. Too bright. Orange and yellow and red smudged familiarly into a white hot structure that towered above him. Fingers of threatening temperatures reached out to caress his face, and he couldn't move. He shouldn't have turned around, because now he was frozen from the inside-out, and the fire would eventually cover that short distance to consume him. No matter how wide his eyes grew, all he could see was fire. All he could hear was the flame's howl.

He was close to smoldering, but he was still so cold. He wanted to somehow pull that intense heat inside of him, where it belonged. But he couldn't because he couldn't think beneath the terror and awe warring in his chest. Run.Somebody thought for him.

And then he smelled it. A stench so awfully foul, he wondered how he'd taken so long to notice it. Something he had hoped to never smell again, because his memory of it alone would forever haunt him. But here it was; real, and back with a vengeance that made his eyes water. One wouldn't know the abomination-of-a-scent from the tantalizing aroma of dinner over a campfire. But he knew. Oh, he knew:

The smell of scorching human flesh.

He turned and bolted.

He ran blindly at first, the sudden dimness of the woods a shocking change of lighting. But even when he did manage to blink away the last shadows of light, everything seemed to shoot by him in a blur. He darted over the uneven forest floor as fast as his legs would carry him, which was surprisingly fast. He couldn't remember ever being so lithe, but he was grateful for whatever change had occurred because it now enabled him to escape Hell's clutches a lot quicker. His chaotic jumble of thoughts reorganized a bit with each minute he continued to run.

Ash blanketed earth gave way to singed grass, which grew greener under every gallop. Overhead, more leaf-needles and cones began to appear on branches, and the smoke clouded sky cleared to reveal that it was past Midday. But he continued to sprint. His body's stamina and endurance impressed him, seeing as how his breathing was barely ragged after all this way, and the raised roots of the forest hadn't tripped him up once. Plus, with each passing moment, his thoughts began to make more sense.

He realized now that what he'd fled from hadn't been Hell. But it may as well have been.

How had he survived such destruction? Surely the impact of the crash alone should've killed him, and yet he'd somehow even managed to escape the wreckage unscathed. Well, not completely unscathed, he noted, bringing to attention the irritating feeling on his back. He wasn't in so much agony that he knew he would have another scar, but he could tell that the skin would be sensitive for a while. Especially since any ointment he'd had in his travel pack had undoubtedly been incinerated….

He shook his head to dismiss the thoughts. He didn't want to remember the crash, or if he'd felt anything in that last moment, or the horrid smell of the crew's death. He didn't want to remember why he'd been on that doomed airship in the first place, or what he'd had to do to earn it. He didn't want to remember his mistakes; his life. He didn't want to remember who he was.

But then…thinking about what one doesn't want to remember is really an indirect way of remembering those exact things. Therefore, he tried, but couldn't really stop the torrent of unwanted thoughts that invaded and infected his mind.

I am Zuko; son of Ozai and Ursa; brother to Azula; prince of the Fire Nation. His body stretched. I am an outcast; a traitor and, most of all, a failure. His muscles ached. I couldn't please my father. I couldn't prevent my mother's disappearance. I couldn't capture the Avatar. I disappointed Uncle. He gritted his teeth and willed his tiring body to run faster, ignoring the sting of the wind on his back.

My name is Zuko and I should be dead. I deserved to die. I was ready to die. Why didn't I? Why am I not dead? What could I possibly have to live for? Nobody wants me. The world hates me, as it should. I hated myself and I wanted to die. Why did I live? Why am I alive? I have nowhere to go because I have nobody to go to. It's just me, all by myself. I am alone now and…oh, Agni, it hurts! Why does it hurt so much? And why is it so damn cold? I need…Help! Somebody, anybody, please…It's so cold and it hurts so much…Why? Just tell me, why? I…I'm just so…

He didn't notice when the gradual decline of the forest floor become not so gradual, or when gravity was propelling him forward rather than muscle. The throbbing pulse in his temples obscured his ability to comprehend his own actions as his body instinctually tried to regain balance. His feet scrambled, trying to slow down, but inertia—and inevitability—were not merciful. Attempting to skid to a stop on the steep, muddy slope only resulted in his feet slipping forward, throwing the rest of him backwards until he was sliding down the cliff's face on his raw, tender back-side.

The friction was painful. Very painful. And he voiced his agony with an outcry as his silent pleading went unheard.

But was it just the building mud and soot in his ears, or was his voice not his voice? What he heard was not the raspy shout of an adolescent male, but the scratchy shriek of an animal. And it was, most definitely, not the sound of any animal he'd ever heard. Such a detail, though, was not as important (at the moment) as the original cause for the outburst. His back stung. He could feel each and every one of the tiny pebbles of the wet, gritty rock scratch at his back's sore spot, like rubbing salt into an open wound.

But he couldn't fight gravity—couldn't fight nature—and he wondered if he was in Hell after all. Would the pain never cease? He wondered this, also, as he endured the entire graceless ride down the decline…until the earth finally leveled out and his weight brought him tumbling to a stop.

In reality, his torture lasted less than thirty seconds. But of course, torture often makes the most fleeting of moments last a lifetime.

Zuko groaned—which also sounded strange to his clogged ears—and rolled over onto his belly to relieve the stress from his undoubtedly bleeding back. Then he laid still, eyes screwed shut as the screaming pain reduced to a much quieter cry. This, therefore, eventually allowed him to hear something other than his inner turmoil. Despite their blockage, his ears twitched to pick up the sound of running water. Sweet, cool, reviving flowing water. And even though he shouldn't have been alive; even though he thought he deserved to suffer, his body begged to differ. It wanted to get up and take a running-leap into the liquid responsible for that alluring euphony…to bathe in nature's soothing lifeblood and relish in the brief healing relief it would offer….

His body craved the comfort—something he'd always deprived himself of because he was determined to prove that he could endure anything without help; alone. But right now, he actually was alone, and there was nobody for him to feel the need to prove himself to. So why not indulge, just this once?

Zuko sighed inwardly though, not quite ready to get up from his spot on the riverbank. He felt weak. Instead, he turned his head to see what awaited him. The river was wide, and the water's edge was just a few paces away. He couldn't tell its depth from this angle, but he did notice that the current wasn't all that fast. In fact, it was so slow that he wondered how he'd been able to hear it at all. Zuko was also surprised by the water's powerful scent. And what he smelled, he didn't like. It was salt water…which meant that bathing in it would literally apply salt to his wounds. And did he really want to risk more pain later for momentary relief now?

Weighing the options, Zuko eventually decided that immersing his self in his current state would be one of his most senseless mistakes up to date, and he didn't want to make any more. So he lay there, staring at the river and willing away his urges to sob. But it was so hard. His one chance to be comforted vanished as quickly as that, and now he didn't know what to do.

This wasn't like that instance when he'd almost starved to death while riding that ostrich-horse around. Back then, he'd been fortunate enough to happen across that little Earth Kingdom village with the small pocket change he'd had. Back then, he'd still been set on finding the Avatar, and that determination had driven him forward. Back then, he'd been ungrateful enough to voluntarily leave his uncle Iroh.

Right now, Zuko tried to think of where he would be on the world map he now knew by heart. The few airships headed back to the Fire Nation had been en route southeast, crossing Chameleon Bay before they would've continued right on across the ocean. He was lying beside a river. The only river that would've been close enough for him to run to from the crash-sight was the river linking Chameleon Bay to Serpent's Pass. Reptile's Tail.

With a tired sigh, Zuko remembered that, to his knowledge, there were no remaining towns along Reptile's Tail. Meaning that even if he did summon the strength—and the will—to get up and search for medical assistance, he would probably die from exposure or starvation. And even if he did miraculously stumble upon civilization, he wouldn't have any money, and he'd already made up his mind not to steal food again if he could help it.

Meaning he was royally screwed.

Zuko trembled, once again feeling the loss if his inner flame. His eyes stung. He blinked away the tears, and then scolded himself for wanting to cry. Why was he surprised? Why had he expected any different? Why did it hurt so much to realize he was alone now, when he'd hardly felt any qualms about it before?

It was becoming difficult to breathe, and he couldn't understand the painful squeezing in his chest. All he knew was that it hurt, and that he was shivering from the cold, and that he'd momentarily forgotten all about his exposed, bloody back. He also knew that he wanted it to stop. He wanted to shut off the threat that was reality and lapse into the worriless sleep he hadn't had in years. He wanted the empty loneliness to end.

It was just like that fever he'd had in Ba Sing Se. Only he was freezing out, not burning up.

I…need to calm down…He thought, trying to heel his lungs before he started hyperventilating. Oh wait, he already was. I…need to focus…what…would Uncle say…to do…?

Just remember, you're never alone.

Did…Uncle say that? Zuko wondered, feeling the words were vaguely familiar, as if somebody had actually given him that advice. I'm…never alone…? The squeezing loosened a bit by just repeating the words, as if they'd comforted him whenever he began to panic as a child. Like an old lullaby. I'm never alone…Zuko thought again. It was a calming notion, alright. His breathing already sounded less frantic. I'm never alone. I'm never alone. It felt better just to have some form of an answer—some form of hope—especially knowing that somebody had actually cared enough to reassure him. The biting cold within him faded in intensity with each repetition of the mantra. I'm never alone, I'm never alone, I'm never alone…

It took several minutes, but Zuko actually managed to coax himself down to a leveled manner of thinking, which he hadn't been on even when he'd first woken up. I'm never really alone. He repeated for the umpteenth time. He was regaining confidence. His uncle was still out there. And because Zuko was lying here right now, alive, he still had the chance to find Iroh and prove his worth. He would find and get the man out of jail…somehow. And he vowed not to give up until he was back in the retired general's good graces; until he regained the love he'd always taken for granted.

He also still had the chance to find the Avatar.

He just knew the Airbender was still alive somewhere. Not only did he feel it, but it was logical. The tattooed nomad appeared passive, but Zuko knew well that the boy's stubborn streak could be just as fierce as his own…meaning that a lightning strike from Azula wouldn't be his demise. Besides. If he had survived Hell's incarnate, how could the Avatar not survive a single bolt of electricity?

Zuko promised to find Iroh and the Avatar's group and apologize to them each a hundred times over, if he had to.

But a thousand-mile journey begins with the first step, and his first step was to stand up.

Pushing against the ground, Zuko regretted his prolonged lounging. By now, the sun was already beginning its descent to the horizon, and here he was with no shelter for the night. Ignoring the sensation of nail dragged down his back, he righted himself. In doing so, Zuko noticed a couple of things. The first was that, unexpectedly, standing up was more difficult than staying up, and he didn't even sway once on his feet. The other was that, even in his right mind, the ground seemed a lot closer than he remembered it being. Just so he didn't question his sanity for the entire trek ahead, Zuko looked down to inspect himself for the first time.

And what he saw made his newly discovered claws dig into the ground—before his very eyes—as he screamed like some kind of animal.

Literally.

"It won't be long now."

Sokka's shoulders tensed in surprise at the sudden presence beside him. He looked over to see a pair of brown-clothed knees before raising his head to identify his father, Hakoda, from beneath the wolf-head helmet of his warrior armor. Their outfits were similar, and the "son" in Sokka swelled with pride as he realized what that meant: he was a Water Tribe warrior, just like his dad; as he'd wanted to be for years. But at the moment, Sokka-the-son's pride was being overshadowed by Sokka-the-friend's anxiety, and his usual excitement was greatly dulled by worry.

As if sensing this (with what Sokka supposed they called "parental instinct"), Hakoda glanced down at his son knowingly. "Sokka," the man continued, "He'll be fine. You said your sister has been working on him the whole time, right?"

Sokka nodded slightly before down casting his blue eyes to the sand between his outstretched legs. Back to the doodles he'd been drawing before Hakoda's appearance. The preparations for the attack had been completed that morning, and the airships they'd been looking for had been spotted in the distance hours ago. There had been nothing else to do since then but to lay in wait. Looking at the awful scribbles now, even Sokka couldn't tell what his hands had been attempting to create. The teenager sighed.

"She's exhausting herself, dad." Sokka replied wearily, but with all the concern of a protective older brother. The sixteen year-old was worn down his self from the past week's chaos, but there was no way he was going to sit this one out.

The chief, knowing his son well, knew this, and so did not force Sokka to stay on the side lines with his sister. Hakoda unfolded his arms and squatted down in the sand, resting a heavy, tan, reassuring hand on Sokka's shoulder. Said meat-lover raised his head again to meet the elder's gaze; blue meeting identical blue. The two didn't did to speak in order to convey their understanding, a bond that Sokka had been elated to discover still existed between them, despite his father's absence from the Southern Tribe.

Remember, your sister is strong. It's all going to work out, Sokka. Hakoda's eyes affirmed. They smiled, small wrinkles at the corners wrinkling in their middle-age. How could it not, with two of the greatest Water Tribe warriors as support?

Sokka's were relaxed, shining gratitude. Your right, Chief…Thanks, Dad.

After a moment, Hakoda stood up. "Well," he started, looking out over the bay. The water sparkled a bit, reflecting the sun, but showing no other signs of movement. Then, right at the horizon, Hakoda's experienced lenses pinpointed a series of black dots that hadn't been there before. The sign he'd been predicting would come before sunset, and here it was. "It looks like they're here."

Hakoda turned, cupped his hands to his mouth, and called out to his men, whom were scattered here and there in this area of the bay's beach. "All right men! You know what to do!"

There was a chorus of bass and baritone in response. Sokka got to his feet, standing at attention in respect to his leader, along with his fellow warriors. Sokka-the-warrior was now on duty, but Sokka-the-friend would be there to fuel his actions as he helped capture one of the approaching Fire Nation ships.

Zuko was tired.

It felt as if he'd been walking forever, and not once had he allowed himself to stop to rest. He was following the river's flow—which he'd concluded was eastward; since the sun was setting behind him—but was staying as close to the cliff's face on his right as possible. He had been trudging along the water's edge, but he changed positions for a number of reasons. One was that he caught his self glancing down in disbelief at his reflection so often, he wasn't keeping up to pace. Another was that the longer he looked into the water, the more he was lured to jump in, which he knew would be disastrous. So Zuko strayed, quite reluctantly, to the opposite side of the riverbank.

It was a relief, not being tempted to look down any more. It was a relief not to see the black, four legged creature he'd somehow become. It was a relief not to notice the short, dirty fur, ruined on his back. It was a relief not to involuntarily twitch his round-tipped ears, tweak his small black nose, or wave his long, thin tail.

Yes. He had a tail. A furry, fucking tail.

Zuko hadn't been able to restrain himself from bounding right over to the water's edge upon seeing his light, toned arms were slim, dark legs with paws.He'd had to know if he was just hallucinating; if he'd inhaled more carbon dioxide than he'd thought and if it had went to his head. Afterwards, he wished he hadn't. Because no matter how many times he looked to reassure himself, he still wasn't him. And it was unsettling.

But surprisingly, after getting over the initial shock, Zuko found that he wasn't nearly as surprised as he should have been. It was as if someone had told him before that things like this happened: that people come back to life in different bodies; that he would survive the airship crash, but wouldn't wake up as a human. It was as if he'd subconsciously been expecting this, and that his shock had only been because he'd never seen an animal like him before. He had the head of a Cat Owl, but the body of the Pygmy Puma he'd seen once in Ba Sing Se...

And strangely, he felt comfortable in his new skin.

Well, as comfortable as he could get with his back in pain, anyway. It certainly explained why all his senses seemed to be heightened.

He just wanted to lie down. He'd dealt with the irritation for what had to be hours now, and his feet—paws—were starting to drag. He couldn't recall the last time he'd slept, and he was too mentally exhausted to even attempt to remember. All he knew was that the human in him didn't care; he could drop down right here and fall asleep right now. But instinctively—being the animal he now knew he was (for how long, he wasn't sure)—he felt that it wasn't safe to sleep out in the open. He hadn't yet come across any predators, still, he dragged forward. Something told him to keep going. That refuge would come along soon enough….

How soon is "soon enough"? Zuko thought irritably.

He wouldn't receive an answer until a short while later. Just about ready to collapse, Zuko slowed to a stop. The sun was no longer visible directly behind him, seeing as how the river meandered; however, it still illuminated the sky with an orange-redness that told him he didn't have much time left. Suppressing his body's urge to take a step forward and continue from there, Zuko turned to face the cliff wall, ready to slump against it and go to sleep, predators be damned. But the cliff was gone.

Zuko blinked tiredly and looked up. Oh, no, the cliff was still there. But he was standing in front of a cave. No, not a cave… A dugout. Whether it had been carved into the cliff face or had formed naturally, he had no way of telling, nor did he particularly care. All he saw was, finally, a place to stay.

Zuko entered the dugout without a second thought and was mildly surprised when, even in the dimmed light, he could see where he was going. He supposed it was thanks to the animal eyesight his uncle used to tell him about. Back then, he hadn't seen the point in having such knowledge, but now, he was grateful for the fact. He saw shapes. At first, he couldn't tell what they were; just that they were large and not well defined in the darkness. Big, indefinable lumps of earth that had probably fallen from the roof of the dugout.

Then he smelled them.

Their scents mixed with the shadows of ash that still lingered in his nostrils, and when Zuko focused, he could hear their faint breathing. Trying to discern the scents, he determined that there had to be four of them. Their breaths were out of sync with each other, but they individually sounded pretty calm. Perhaps they were sleeping.

Why would anybody be sleeping in here? He briefly wondered. The answer was immediately obvious though. Because they're just like me, with nowhere to go….

Zuko turned, rather reluctantly, to leave the dugout. It was a pretty small space anyway, and as much as Zuko craved to be around other beings, he was still a bit disturbed by the crash, currently experiencing a mild case of claustrophobia. Figuring he would just rest right outside the dugout, though (since his body wasn't up for any more immediate traveling), Zuko hadn't gotten far before his senses went on high alert. He'd walked right out into darkness. There, looming above him and casting a shadow onto the cliff wall—obscuring the dugout's entrance—was metal. Cold, dark, offending metal that he'd come to recognize anywhere.

A Fire Nation naval ship.

Zuko didn't think. He turned on his heels and scampered back into the dugout, burrowing into the first source of protection he could find. He didn't even look back to count the number of ships cruising up the Reptile's Tail. He didn't notice that there was one less ship present than what he'd been informed was coming to reinforce Ba Sing Se since it had fallen. He didn't peek out even when the sound of monstrous engines had passed, leaving the water to settle.

Zuko had hidden, curled up defensively with his eyes squeezed shut, and unintentionally fallen asleep.

Minutes later, another shadow entered the fading light that reached into the dugout. This shadow, however, wasn't even six feet tall, and was much, much slimmer than that of a ship.

"Katara, are you guys alright?" the shadow spoke.

Sokka's bright blue eyes searched the darkness as he stepped into the small space, trying to make out the figures he was looking for. His ears strained to hear any indication of whether his sister was still, in fact, in the dugout, or if she and the others had somehow been caught by the passing Fire Nation fleet. After a few moments, his concern was dispelled.

"We're fine, Sokka." Katara answered from somewhere in the dugout. Her voice sounded a bit groggy, and Sokka was pleased to realize she'd been spending her time resting rather than fretting over their friend: as she'd been doing ever since they fled Ba Sing Se via Appa.

"Well you guys can come out now." Sokka said. He stepped further into the dugout as his eyes began to adjust. "I'll take Aang. You and Earth King Kuei head back to the beach. Dad, Toph, and the others are already on the ship."

"Is everybody okay?" Katara asked with anxiety evident in her tone. If anybody else had gotten hurt…Katara shook her head to shun the negative thoughts. She was reassured by her older brother's response.

"Of course; it went off without a hitch. We waited for the tail of the fleet before we struck, so there wasn't any unnecessary fighting. Just like you asked, oh dear sister." Sokka ended with a hint of sarcasm, wanting his younger sister to relax.

Accustomed to the darkness because she'd been in it all day, Katara carefully maneuvered the sleeping boy in her arms as she stood up. Sokka turned towards her, hearing the shift, and stepped closer until they could careful perform the exchange. He held Aang bridal style in his arms, cautious not to disturb the wound on the poor little guy's back. Aang's breathing hitched only slightly at the change in position, seeing as how he'd been in Katara's lap all day, but continued to sleep.

From behind him, Sokka heard a deep grunt, and he turned to see the Earth King and his pet bear, Basco, exiting the dugout in the direction of the mouth of the bay. He glanced back at Katara, who was stretching. She'd been cooped up in the dugout ever since that morning, warned by Sokka and the others to stay as still as possible, should something go wrong and the soldiers came searching. Now though, she was relieved to be allowed to walk again. And to hear that her request had been honored.

"That's good." She responded simply, ready to go. She wanted to get out of this place; to put further distance between herself and bad memories. She also felt a bit guilty for falling asleep instead of healing Aang in her spare time, even though it couldn't be helped. She wanted to get settled on the ship the warriors had captured so that she could continue her work as soon as possible.

"Wait, don't forget your stuff." Sokka reminded, turning to leave with the last Airbender in his hands. "By the way, I'm starving. I can't remember the last time I had any meat…."

"I thought you ate that fish this morning." Katara said, smirking slightly. She loved her brother, especially when she knew he was trying to make her feel better.

Sokka replied just as Katara bent down to retrieve her bag of Water Bending scrolls. "Fish isn't meat," he said, matter-of-factly. "Meat is meat; meat is much more delicious!"

"Oh, so you're saying all those times I cooked you fish and you said it was delicious, you really didn't think it was?" Katara inquired in mock offense as she slung the bag over her shoulder. She couldn't stop the tug of her lips as Sokka tried to defend himself ("Now Possum Chicken? That was some good stuff!"). She felt a bit lighter now that Aang was out of her hands—both figuratively and literally—if only for a few minutes. But she didn't notice that she wasn't feeling as light as she could have been.

For because she'd been used to handling Aang's weight for the past few days, she wasn't alerted by the fact that her bag of scrolls was now twice as heavy as when she'd put it down beside her that morning.

I had a dream that we were dead
But we pretended that we still lived
With no regrets, we never bled
And we took everything life could give
And came up broken, empty handed in the end…

Had a dream that fire fell
from an opening in the sky
And someone warned me of this hell
And I spit in his naive eye
And left him crying for my soul
He said would die…

In the hearts of the blind
Something you'll never find
Is a vision of light
With the voice of the dead, I'm screaming

I don't know who I am anymore
Not once in life have I been real
But I've never felt this close before
I've been looking in your window
I've been dressing in your clothes
I've been walking dead
Watching you
Long enough to know I can't go on

A/N: Sorry for taking so long to update! And I'm sorry for torturing Zuko, but it was necessary! D:

This chapter dedicated to Squidcats, new moongirl, and milk0bar…my first three reviewers of this story! But thanks to you all for reading and reviewing, and I hope this chapter didn't disappoint too much.

~Please drop another review? 'Taku ^^