Tremors.

The nervous system is mysterious and difficult to heal. It's one thing to coax tissues to knit together, to urge bones to mend. But to peek into the electrical circuitry of the body, to disturb the intricate pathways created and sustained by the brain and spinal cord- that's a much more difficult task to undertake. Especially given the Waterbending nature of healing- lightning travels through oceans and rivers, and so the electrochemical conductions slither through the nerves.

Lightning is drawn to water.

Zuko hisses, gritting his teeth as he holds his forearm in a bruising grip. Years of his uncle's calm instruction slip in and out of his ears, encouraging him to take slow breaths, to inhale through the nostrils and into the diaphragm, to focus his chi. Sweat beads along his spine beneath his bandages, and he swallows hard. He shuts his eyes and tries extremely hard to concentrate.

"My Lord," a voice sounds at the door. "Everything is ready for the coronation. The Avatar is waiting for you."

"Just another minute," he bites out in reply. His forehead creases as his features twist with frustration, and he tries to grasp at the strings of control he's lost. The twitching, writhing hand at the end of his wrist slowly turns a faint shade of purple while his circulation is pinched by his own tight grasp. His muscles scream in agony, still healing from his sister's blast not even an entire day ago.

Katara's Waterbending brought him back from the edge of death, but it couldn't make him perfect. The aches, he can handle. The new scar that bloomed in the center of his chest- he can take that too. But this. This tremor. Nobody can be allowed to see that their new Fire Lord can't hold his hands still long enough to conjure a single spark.

It takes more than just one minute before the episode passes. Zuko presses his forehead against a tall marble column and attempts his meditative breathing until the twitching subsides. Until he can force his fingers to straighten without dancing madly, to curl into a fist without trembling. It's terrifying, not being in command of his own body. But he won't let on that anything's amiss. Not when it's likely a temporary symptom of the shock his body took during Sozin's comet.

He dresses with calculated movements, taking note of each brush of fabric against his skin, each pinch of silk between his fingertips. Every minute motion is cataloged and analyzed to be sure he's the one making it. When he goes to slip his robe over his shoulder, he flinches and mutters a swear against the stiffness of his injury.

"Need some help with that?"

He whirls at the sound of her voice. "Mai!"

And for the moment, the problem is forgotten.

"Are you quite sure you can't stay a few days more?" Iroh gives her a sad smile and squeezes her shoulders. "There's still much of the capitol my nephew and I have yet to show you all."

Katara knows she'll miss Zuko and his old uncle. It's strange parting from them after weeks spent in the Fire Nation. It's the first place since leaving the frigid coasts of the South Pole that has felt anything like home. But another part of her is ready to leave. Her time as a celebrated war hero lounging around the Fire Palace has come to a close. It's time to resume the life she had to leave behind to help a young Airbender save the world.

"I promise I'll visit soon," she swears instead. Chasing a lock of hair that a warm breeze is throwing in her eyes, she tucks it behind her ear. "The North Pole isn't far, compared to the South. I'll be back through before you know it."

"I'll be counting the days," Iroh sighs dramatically. He stares wistfully towards the water. "I had planned on returning to my tea shop after the coronation, but now I am reluctant to leave the new Fire Lord. He'll be under a tremendous amount of pressure in the coming months."

Katara's eyes flick to the young man in question. She's already said her goodbyes to Zuko, already buried her face in his too warm neck and felt the impossibly smooth silk of his robes sliding against her skin. He's joking with Sokka now- or more, Sokka's probably joking with him. But he's smiling nonetheless, a rare expression of mirth. A pang of sadness hits her when she remembers that she's leaving.

"I'm sure he's going to be a great Fire Lord," she assures Iroh. The corner of her mouth tugs upwards in defiant fondness. "Maybe not the most level-headed, but probably one of the best."

The old man chuckles, sliding his hands into the sleeves of his robes. "I like to believe he'll calm with age." For a few heartbeats, they stand in comfortable silence as they observe the rest of their group saying their parting words. Then Iroh says, "Does Zuko appear... off? Or is it just an uncle's worry?"

Katara glances at the Fire Lord again. His posture is straight and confident, his expression easy as he rolls his eyes at Sokka's last comment. Like his uncle, he has his hands tucked in his sleeves, a common habit of Fire Nation citizens, she's learned. The ornament of his position gleams in the pink rays of sunrise. There might be a bit of strain around Zuko's eyes, but she's unconcerned. The man lost his father and his sister in one day, and then took control of a nation the next. It will probably take years to fill the cracks left in him.

But for now, he looks happy. She nudges the old man playfully and tells him so.

"What are you doing?"

He's panting when Mai digs the edge of her knife into his throat. After a moment of staring with scrutiny, she shoves him away and flicks her weapon so that she can wipe the handle on her sleeve.

"What do you mean?" Zuko scrubs the heel of his palm across his throat, wiping away the sensation of cold metal. His private training room echoes with the sound of his heavy breaths, though she looks like she hasn't even broken a sweat.

"You're not letting me win, are you?" Her accusation is flat with accusation.

He straightens. The dao swords in his hands slip just a little. His eyes widen, and a flare of indignation lights in his chest. "No!"

"Why aren't you Firebending, then?" Her knives disappear beneath her robes, and she folds her arms in front of her chest. Expression even and bored, Mai drags her eyes down his body and back up.

Zuko grits his teeth. For a second, a flash of anxiety makes him wonder if she notices the stress in his posture, the way one of his swords is trembling. It's taking all of his concentration just to keep the grip from slipping. The more he thinks about it, the more his fingers twitch and rebel. He shoves his swords into place at his back.

"I just wanted to work on my sword skills," he snaps. "I didn't realize you thought I was such a pathetic sparring partner."

She sighs and turns. "Losing poorly isn't very becoming of a Fire Lord."

One hand squeezes into a fist as she leaves. The other twitches and shakes.

Katara snatches her hands away so quickly that the water she's been using splatters across the bed and her clothes.

"I'm sorry!" she blurts, mouth opening and closing as she stares at her patient in shock. Her arms tingle with the exertion of healing practice, and her head is swimming with unfamiliar images. "I- I don't know what just happened."

Tua, the North Pole's most accomplished healer, reaches over and pulls the water from Katara's skirt. "No need to apologize," she assures her student with an easy smile. "It's a little unnerving the first time, isn't it?"

Heart still fluttering in her chest, the Waterbending master looks down at the man in front of her. Even though he's been healed of all the visible wounds he sustained during an avalanche, he hasn't woken from his sleep in a week. There's something in his mind, she knows, that needs to be mended. But learning how to heal him is proving more difficult than she could have ever imagined. For years now she's used her focus to learn how to fight with water. Now she has to learn to mend.

"The brain is incredibly complex," Tua continues. She takes her own glove of water and presses it to the patient's forehead. The faint blue glow sets his features in shadow. "Nobody's quite yet sure how it works."

Katara slips her gaze up to the middle-aged woman's face. Tua's eyes slide closed, and she takes deep breaths through her nostrils. Though she sincerely tries to pay attention, Katara can't quit seeing the crush of an avalanche burying her alive.

Smoke billows from beneath the doors of the Fire Lord's chambers. The guards push at them, panicking as they try and force their way in, but something has been shoved in the way. Their leader snarls at them from inside, and even as they hear the crackle and snap of large flames, he forbids them from attempting to enter. Chaotic shouting goes up. Somebody calls for Lord Iroh.

And then a loud splintering sound precedes a sudden and sharp cry of pain.

"He hasn't been himself for a while, I'm afraid."

Iroh's face is solemn and concerned. His frown seems carved into his features, his brow heavier than she remembers it being last she saw him. He watches the marble floors of the Fire Palace as they journey through the high-ceilinged halls.

"So it started before the fire?" Katara feels weird being in the Fire Nation without the rest of her friends. She keeps glancing down corridors expecting to see Sokka and Aang sneaking food from the kitchens or Toph bossing around Zuko's guards. Without them, the palace seems larger. Fancier. More intimidating. She receives several bows as she passes, but she's too nervous to acknowledge them.

"Mm." Iroh's grunt of affirmation is followed by a heavy sigh. "I can't pinpoint when he began withdrawing, exactly. But he only became hostile after the accident."

There's a joke about the young Fire Lord's temper on the tip of her tongue, but it seems inappropriate to let it pass. If Zuko's condition is serious enough to worry his uncle, then it's something she should be worried about too. "Why didn't he just... put out the fire?"

The ex-general shifts his gaze to her, lifting a brow. "That is the question, isn't it?" They turn the corner that leads to the royal chambers. "It's possible he was injured before he could. Though I find that difficult to believe. The room was already burning before the guards arrived, and my nephew's not one to be unaware of his surroundings."

"What set him off?"

Iroh blinks at her. "I did not explain in my letter?"

Katara shakes her head, fingers twisting at her midsection. Her water skin beats against her hip with every step.

He pauses, and she nearly trips trying to stop as well. Lacing his fingers over his round belly, he lowers his voice to say, "Lady Mai returned to her family's estate. As I understand it, Zuko's recent temperament caused conflict in their relationship."

"So she left," Katara breathes, surprised despite herself. She's not so shocked that her friend's hot head would put strain between him and his girlfriend, but it does strike her as odd that their relationship would dissolve after just a few months.

Iroh makes another thoughtful noise and nods. "So he was understandably a bit agitated that evening. But..." The frown lines in his sagging cheeks deepen. "Master Katara, I don't believe my nephew intended on setting that fire."

But that's impossible. Zuko is a Firebending master.

She sets her jaw and swallows down her apprehension as he leads her to the end of the hallway, where a set of ornate double doors is protected by a single guard standing at attention. Katara shivers. She wonders if their skull-faced helmets will ever not send chills down her spine. After a brief goodbye from Iroh, she takes a deep breath and curls her fingers around the heavy gold knocker. Her few metallic taps go unanswered, though. As do the next few.

She hesitates. He might be sleeping. Iroh assured her that the worst of the injuries he sustained during the accident are healed, but he might still need his rest. But healing is what she she rushed from the North Pole for. And it wouldn't be the first time she's disturbed Zuko's sleep.

Straightening her shoulders, she steels her resolve and pushes the door open. Before she even has a chance to slip inside, the thick odor of smoke clogs her throat and makes her cough. It takes a minute to adjust, but then she's pressing on.

His room is pitch black. The curtains are drawn, and the sunlight peeking through the crease in the windows is hardly enough to illuminate more than the charred remains of a carved headboard. After a few steps, she trips over something- furniture, broken and thrown in the middle of the floor. Righting herself, Katara furrows her brow at the obstacle. Zuko, despite his often entitled attitude, never expected her to clean after him. He always kept his space neat and his things in their place.

She doesn't hear the heavy footsteps until they're right on her. Her head snaps up, and she's halfway through his name when the Fire Lord backs her against the wall and slams his palm next to her face.

"How dare you!" he hisses, bearing down on her. She can feel the heat in his glower. "I said I didn't want to be disturbed, and I expect my orders to be followed!"

Despite herself, her heart races. "You- I-"

"My chambers are off limits," he barks. "Indefinitely." Then he grabs her upper arm in a grip so strong that she feels the first flicker of fear she's felt in months. His touch is bruising and painful, more like the Zuko who chased her across the world than the man who rested his cheek on her head the last time she hugged him goodbye. When he drags her across the room towards the door, she stumbles over her own feet trying to keep up with his yanking.

And then she recovers.

She's relieved to find that her body still responds to a fight with fluidity and ease. Before he can jerk her forward another step, she has her water skin uncapped and a whip gurgling through the air. It swirls around her once before slapping her assailant across his bad cheek.

"How dare you?" she bites back when he all but pushes her away in shock. "Is this how you're treating your servants? Is this the kind of Fire Lord you've become?"

"Katara?" His voice changes so quickly- it's hard to believe he's the same man who held her so tightly her arm throbs.

She holds the defensive stance she's assumed. "You didn't answer when I knocked."

In the dark, he exhales a short sigh of frustration. "You should've announced yourself. What are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be at the North Pole?"

She squints, even though she's not sure he can see the change in her features. "Your uncle sent for me. Said you needed some healing."

There's a beat of heavy silence. Katara can feel his demeanor change again. "I'm fine. You shouldn't have come."

"Give me some light and I'll be the judge of that." Still cautious, she lets her whip slither back into her skin. "Why are you holed up in the dark anyways?"

His quiet contemplation is cold. It's as if she can hear him thinking, hear his jaw creaking as he clenches it hard. Then he turns- she can just barely make out his silhouette as he stalks away from her. "Go home, Katara. I don't need your help."

Those words are a blow all their own. She's taken aback for a brief second before irritation takes over. "That's not what I hear!" she shouts after him. "From what I hear, you're setting fires, you're missing meetings, you're hiding in your room... You're keeping secrets and lying to your uncle, and you're biting off everybody's head."

"Uncle exaggerates," Zuko growls.

She tries to cross the room to follow him, stubbing her toe on another piece of dismembered furniture. It's too dark to tell where exactly he's slithered away to, but she knows he's not far. "Is this because of Mai? Because if it is-"

"It's not because of her!" he spits, taking a few steps in her direction.

"Then you're either sick and need to be healed, or you're a jerk who needs to get out there and do his job!"

"You don't know the first thing about it, so just get out and leave me alone!"

"What are you, five?" Katara balls her hands into fists and stomps towards the single slit of light in the room. It's a furious, graceless storming, since she keeps tripping over debris, but it has to be done. If he won't turn on the chandelier, she'll find her own source of light. Then they can have a discussion like grown ups, and not surly, overdramatic teenage boys.

"Katara, wait- don't-"

She doesn't. She takes the heavy, embroidered curtains in both hands and tears them open. Blinding Fire Nation sunlight floods the room.

At first, Katara just scans the room, eyes widening at the catastrophe. It's no wonder she smelled smoke upon entering- everything is blackened and singed. The floors are covered with ash and smeared with soot. Scorch marks mar the walls, and there's pieces of chairs and a once-cushioned divan everywhere. Further towards the attached bathing room, the damage seems to fade. The only thing that hasn't been touched by fire is the clean but rumpled blankets of Zuko's enormous bed.

After taking it all in, her gaze finally settles on the Fire Lord. He's turned away from her, shoulders heaving like he's run a mile. Dressed in sleeping pants and an open silk robe, she can tell he hasn't even dressed for the day. His hair isn't pulled into a topknot, but hanging dark and loose around his face. She blinks, having expected a glare or maybe some caustic rebuttal for their argument.

"Zuko?"

"Close them," he commands, his tone ringing with all the authority of the Fire Nation's ruler. "Please."

Katara tilts her head, trying to understand his posture. His shoulders are curled in on himself, and he seems to hold his arms close to his chest. Narrowing her gaze in confusion, she lets her hands fall from the curtains and slowly steps towards him. "What's going on?" she asks, suddenly as concerned as the first time she read Iroh's letter. "You didn't get another scar, did you?"

He makes a grunting noise that sounds like a negative. "Just get out. I'm asking you as a friend, Katara."

That only makes her worry blaze higher. She hurries closer, and he flinches away.

"If you're hurt, I'll fix it," she says, trying to coax instead of force. "I'm a healer, Zuko. Let me look at it."

"You can't fix it," he snaps.

She puts a hand to his shoulder. His skin is hot beneath his thin robe. "Why not?"

"If you could, you would've already." She doesn't understand his answer, or the bitterness in his voice.

For a moment, she just stands there, feeling him tremble beneath her fingertips. Then her need to know overwhelms her. He'll be angry, but she can handle it. Taking his arm much gentler than he grabbed hers earlier, she tugs him around to face her.

At first, she doesn't get it. Even though he's glaring and frustrated and unkempt, he only looks a little different than the Zuko she's used to. It's been hardly four months since she left the Fire Nation, but he looks older somehow. There's dark circles under his eyes. And there's a yellow-ish green bruise above his good brow that seems to be healing well. She can see a burn peeking out from the bandages wrapped around his chest and shoulders- a flash of pink climbing the back of his neck. But that doesn't seem all that unusual either.

Then motion catches her eye, and her brain registers the sound of rustling fabric. Her gaze rakes down, and her breath is sucked through her teeth.

"Zuko...?" She releases his elbow, reaching for the other arm. "Are you doing that-"

"On purpose?" he interrupts, coughing a sarcastic laugh. "Really, Katara?"

She lifts his hand and lays his twitching fingers across her open palm. His wrist flails, and she has to tighten her hold. And for a while, they're both speechless.

"How long has it been doing that?" she asks later.

"Since everybody left," he answers quietly. The sensation of old bandages pulling away from his skin is sickening and a little painful. "It's getting worse. I can't hide it anymore."

"Who knows?"

"Nobody. I think the court medic suspects. And Uncle knows something's up."

"Everybody knows something's up. You nearly tore my head off earlier."

"Sorry."

They're silent for a minute. He tries not to groan in relief as her glowing glove of water smooths over blistered burns.

"You didn't mean to start the fire in your room, did you?"

"No. My bending's shit with this... thing. I can't control it."

"That must be difficult for you."

"At first, it was just little shakes every now and then. When I got stressed. Just my fingers. Then my whole hand. Now most of my arm." It's calmed down, now that they have. But it still wavers at his side.

"I'll try it after I take care of these."

"It won't work."

"Why do you keep saying that?"

He exhales through his nose. "I think it's from the fight with Azula. You healed me right after that."

"I'm gonna try anyways."

"Mm."

After a few minutes, she's shifting on the bed. She'd had one leg on either side of his hips as she worked, but now she moves to sit beside him. Cool fingers slide along the underside of his arm and flip his hand palm-up.

Another long stretch of time rolls silently between them.

"I don't..."

"It's okay, Katara."

"I'll figure it out."

"Okay."

"I will."

"Okay, Katara."

Carefully watching the Fire Lord's expression, Katara presses into the tendons at his wrist. "What about that? Does that hurt?"

"No," he replies tonelessly. His features are as flat as if they'd been carved in stone. He watches her with bored, golden eyes. It's a little unnerving.

Adjusting her hold on his hand, she pinches closer towards his elbow. "That?"

"Nope."

Releasing his arm, she shoves her bangs back and growls with frustration. She's tried everything she can think of. Nothing makes sense. It doesn't hurt, bleed, ache, or swell, so none of her healing attempts work. For all she's learned in her months of training under Tua, she can't figure out the source of Zuko's tremor. It's driving her mad.

She pushes her chair back and stands, pacing again. He follows her with those unflinching eyes.

"I'm going to write Tua," she tells him, lest he think she's losing hope. "Are there any ships heading towards the North Pole in the next few days?"

"I'll find out."

"She'll know what to do. She's incredible."

There's a knock at his chamber doors, and she ceases her pacing to answer it. Zuko has been indisputably more pleasant since her arrival two days ago, but she still can't convince him to leave his room. It's a miracle she's been able to keep the curtains open. He even let a servant girl in to clean up the charred mess.

A squat, vaguely familiar lady peers at her behind a pair of thick glasses. "His Excellency summoned me?"

"Seamstress?" Katara asks, pointing and lifting her brows. At the woman's short nod, she beams. "Hi. I'm Katara. You made me a really pretty dress for Zuko's coronation celebration."

The seamstress curtsies low. "Master Katara. Of course. It was my honor."

"Just one second," she says, leaving her standing in the doorway to move back to the table where Zuko waits. Gathering a handful of papers from her things, she ignores Zuko's raised brow and returns to the seamstress.

"Okay, so I was hoping you could make some adjustments for me." She knows he thinks she's ridiculous for it, but she's spun an entire story about Zuko wanting to be more innovative and less traditional in his rule. And because of that, they're tweaking his wardrobe to make him more fashionable and appealing to his younger subjects. All in an effort to make them more politically conscious, of course.

She can hear him rolling his eyes from behind her.

"So the sleeves'll come down into points like this," she tries to explain, finger tracing the terrible sketch she's drawn out. She and Sokka share the same artistic ability. "You shouldn't be able to see his hands if he holds them at his sides. Very Earth Kingdom. Very embracing other cultures."

The seamstress sniffs doubtfully, but she takes note and listens respectfully to Katara's requests. If she thinks the idea is as dumb as it sounds, she doesn't say so. After several minutes of discussion and adjusting, the seamstress takes the drawings and tucks them into her own sleeve.

When Katara thanks her and gives a little bow, she suddenly feels a warmth behind her. A strange thrill tickles her spine, and she straightens as Zuko's good hand comes to rest above hers on the door.

"Thank you, Sanako." His voice is smooth and pleasant near her ear. "I appreciate all your hard work."

The little woman peers at him, lowering her glasses. She drops into another deep curtsey. "It's my pleasure. If I may be so bold- I'm pleased to see His Majesty is recovering well."

Katara looks up at him over her shoulder, and his smile is utterly charming. And fake. "Thank you. Please pass on the word that Master Katara will be acting as my temporary aid. Any and all questions should be directed to her for the time being."

"Absolutely, My Lord."

After Sanako the Seamstress disappears and Zuko closes the chamber door, his smile drops. His expression falls back into despondent disinterest. When he sighs, his warm breath rustles her hair.

"That was embarrassing. If you're planning on hiding this thing under some fabric and calling that a solution, I'm going to need to find another healer."

She tries to throw an elbow back into his ribs, but he's already moved away. Still, the warmth of his chest nearly pressed against her back stays. And stays.

A week later, she breaks into his study as he's trying to clean ink off of his desk. The morning was proceeding with unusually few hitches, and his mood had actually been something like cheerful. Then his wrist snapped out and his fingers turned over the ink pot he was using to sign some overdue documents. It clattered, and he swore. Now he's using parchment to try and soak up the puddle of black that risks staining everything with every second.

"Zuko!" she says, not even flinching when he looks up with disdain. "It's done!"

She uncorks her water skin and sweeps a wave over his desk. Then, wringing the ink into the trash bin by the door, she separates her water and coaxes it back to its home. The entire process takes less than ten seconds.

"What is that?" he asks, pointing at the box tucked under her arm. Approximately the size of a hefty tome, it's wrapped in brown paper and stamped with the royal blacksmith's insignia.

Minutes later, he finds out. Katara holds out the shining metal gauntlet with an uncertain smile. Her blue eyes can't disguise her excitement, but her hesitance is clear. "Here. Put it on."

He ends up needing her help. She eases herself up onto the arm of his chair and smooths back the sleeve of his left arm. Her touch is cool and gentle, surprisingly soothing. He flicks his eyes to her face for just a second before glancing back to his trembling hand. His cheeks feel inordinately warm, but he's sure that's because of the constant embarrassment he feels at needing her aid with every little thing. It's becoming more bearable, but it's still painfully irritating.

"Just- careful-" Katara murmurs. She wraps her fingers around his palm and squeezes so that his hand straightens. Then she slowly eases him into the strange piece of armor. He's surprised to find that there's an inner glove made of thin leather to protect his skin from the cold metal and various overlapping layers. It's heavy, but he can still move inside it.

"It fits," he tells her, holding up the gauntlet for inspection. It comes a third of the way up his forearm, made of so many interlocking pieces, he can't believe it only took a few days to create. He uses his other hand to test the flexibility of the thing, and he finds that it moves as cleanly as fabric. If nothing, it's certainly an extremely interesting upgrade to a normally uninspiring piece of armor. Most Firebenders don't wear armor, especially metal armor, because it interferes with their bending and scalds the skin.

He doesn't have that issue, of course, for now.

"What's it supposed to do?" Aside from the interesting aesthetic and impressive range of motion, it doesn't seem to be of much assistance to him. His hand still shakes uncontrollably, and the sound of it is only amplified by the metal fingers clanking against each other. "It's too loud."

That's when Katara breaks into a self-satisfied grin. "Watch."

She takes his arm again, curling her own fingers around his wrist. At first he thinks she's going to remove the gauntlet, but then she turns a free-standing piece in her mad creation and shoves it down. Zuko jumps as various interlocking parts shift, and his hand is suddenly forced into a fist. His inhale is sharp.

"I- I can't move it."

Inside the glove, he can feel his fingers still trying to rebel, but they're held tightly in place. He attempts to pull one of the digits from the fist, but even with outside force, it won't budge. He's fascinated. Then she takes his wrist again, slides the ring back into place, and it morphs once more. It moves like a second skin.

"All I can say is, you have some pretty impressive people working for you. That blacksmith deserves a raise." Katara slides off his chair and walks back to the other side of the desk. Zuko distantly notes that he's disappointed for some reason, but he's too enraptured by his new device to think on it.

He can handle meetings without stress. He can greet dignitaries and ambassadors without fear of being found out. Later, after most of the palace has gone to bed, he'll take the gauntlet to his training room and see what he can Firebend single-handedly.

"This is incredible," he breathes, the words falling off his tongue before he even realizes he's saying them. "Thank you."

When he glances back up at her, her gaze is warm.

"I can't do that," she sighs, rubbing her tired eyes. "Tua- she never finished teaching me."

Iroh sits down next to her on the edge of her bed. "I would not have asked for your help if I did not think you were the most capable healer for the job." His voice is deep and even, and it reminds her of her father and of home. "Please, Master Katara. I beg you to try."

"It's the brain," she says, almost to herself. She rubs the corner of the letter in her hands between her fingertip and thumb. The handwriting curled across the parchment is graceful and neat. "Even healing masters prefer not to touch it."

The old Firebender makes a rumbling noise in his chest. His inhale is deep.

"I could permanently damage him," Katara whispers.

Doing his morning routine under the beams of the hot sun feels like the first gasp of air after swimming underwater. It's been months since he felt that invigorating glow on his shoulders, felt sweat bead in the dip of his spine. He knows the passing servants keep pausing midstep to determine whether or not it's really him, but he pays them no mind. He distracts himself with the strain of muscle, the rhythm of his breathing.

Sunlight catches a flash of blue. Katara's hips sway as she heads his way, a little smile on her mouth. Then she's stripping as she walks, shrugging out of her sarashi and stepping away from her skirt. It's disorienting, to be shoved back into their familiar practices when he's spent weeks under the strict laws of propriety. But she doesn't care, so he chooses not to.

She stops at his side. Drops into a bending form and lets her eyes slide shut.

He keeps his on her while they move together.

They're sitting on the floor, the table at their side covered with half-empty dishes from lunch. Legs crossed, they're facing each other, and she thinks Zuko looks a lot more calm than he should.

"You understand how dangerous this is, right?" Katara licks her lips nervously, rubbing her palms together and trying to take deep, relaxing breaths. "With the gauntlet, you could live a perfectly good life. Doing this... I'm not half as good at healing as I am at fighting."

His solemn gaze narrows. His hands clench the tops of his knees. "Could you spend a perfectly good life without your bending?"

She lowers her eyes. He already knows her answer. Without further commentary, she calls a rope of water from her shallow bowl and sheathes her hands in a faint blue glow. Noticing that there's a little space between them, she scoots forward. He extends a leg and shifts the other so that she's framed by his thighs. His heat radiates towards her, coming off his torso in waves. It's like sitting by the sun.

Katara wishes he wasn't watching her face so closely. It's distracting.

"Close your eyes," she instructs him quietly. "Try and clear your mind."

With the glint of golden irises gone, she feels better about her focus. Leaning into him, she lifts her hands and presses her fingertips against his temples.

In the North Pole, slipping into one's conscious was like slowly peeling off her parka. Cool, refreshing air sliding along her skin and enveloping her in a brisk wind. It was like letting a cold wave of ocean brine trickle around her body. But Zuko's mind is like stepping into a sauna. She closes her eyes, feeling warm steam breathing beneath her thin clothing. It sends her temperature rising, makes her cheeks flush and her heartbeat sluggish.

Delving deeper, she takes a deep breath- and is immediately blinded by the blaze of flames flying towards her.

Katara can't stifle her weak scream. She snaps out of Zuko's mind, water falling from her hands as she recoils back in terror. Her breaths scrape in and out of her lungs, and the Fire Lord's eyes snap open with concern.

"What happened?" he blurts, reaching for her. Noticing how her hands are held tightly to her chest, he pulls them close and inspects them. "Are you okay?"

She blinks, feeling stupid. "I'm fine." His robes are drenched, she's playing with his brain, and he's worried about her. "I just haven't done this in a while."

When he doesn't find any sign of injury on her hands, he allows her to tug them back. Her heart's still fluttering uneasily, and though she's stepped out of his consciousness, she's still warmer than usual. Lifting the water from his robes, she deliberately avoids making eye contact with him.

It's not unusual for the brain to show you its most painful memories first, Tua had told her after working on the coma patient in the North Pole. It's frightening, but it can't hurt you.

"One more time," she sighs as her water begins to glow. This time he doesn't close his eyes until her hands are resting on his face once more.

Katara closes hers too. She breathes slowly and deeply, feeling the heat crawling up her arms and sliding over her skin. Remembering her mentor's instruction, she anticipates the sharp pull of his mind. She'll have to remember that it's not her own.

When the flames come again, she flinches, but she presses her lips together and refuses to pull away. Now she can see that it's not just a fire- she makes out the sharp angles of knuckles behind the flickering blaze, the pale skin of a muscled forearm. And in the corner of her eye, she makes out shadowed faces. For some reason, there's not just fear buried beneath the layers of emotion. There's a strange and detached sense of sorrow. The fist of fire makes contact with her left temple. Jolts tingle across her eye, but she knows the real pain was much worse.

The yellow glow fades to black.

Just as soon as she's jerked from the memory, she's catapulted into another. This one is much more disorienting. She's moving- Zuko is moving, but Katara knows she's sitting still. There's another light. This time, a bright, crackling blue. Her nostrils sting with a metallic odor. Unlike the first time, there's no sadness. Only a sharp, piercing panic. An imperative.

The lightning doesn't simply slam into her like the fire did. It's a pinch in her chest, and then the electricity is exploding inside her, leaving shards of buzzing energy in her veins. She gasps for air and coughs on sparks. Everything's black for a moment. But then while the lightning is pouring back out of her fingertips, the darkness parts and for just a moment, she sees a flash of blue.

She starts, thinking it's the lightning again. By the time she realizes it's the blue of her own eyes, the memory cuts off.

When he asks a servant to invite her to dinner in the royal garden, he's informed that she's sleeping.

"Should I wake her, Your Majesty?"

Zuko lets his gaze drop to his hand. It was heavy and a little numb for hours after their strange healing session, but now it's feeling better. While his servant is near, it rests in the gauntlet's locked position, but even loose, there's already a significant improvement in the tremor. He wanted to celebrate- to thank her with a nice meal.

"No. Let her rest. I'll take dinner in my office, in that case."

"I also happened to take a look at your itinerary for the evening," the servant mentions respectfully. "Will His Excellency be needing an Earthbender to accompany him to the palace prisons?"

His easy mood drops just a fraction. His jaw tightens.

"Yes, please."

Katara left the North Pole as soon as humanly possible after detecting the urgent tone in Iroh's letter. She'd taken the first passage out- a shipping boat, incidentally, that tried to refuse her passage but changed their tone once they realized who she was. In her haste, she'd forgotten to pack several things, including her hairbrush and summer clothes. Fortunately she did have the sense of mind to scribble out a letter to her family and friends letting them know of her change in location.

It'd slipped her mind. Until she received a letter from her father inquiring after Zuko's health. Feeling guilty for not updating all the people she'd probably panicked, she jotted off letters to her father and Sokka, and then a third to Suki.

But now she's torn. Toph and Aang are both currently residing in the Fire Nation's colonies, located in the Earth Kingdom. Tensions are still high, even months after the war, and the area needs their representation as peace keepers (though the idea of Toph keeping peace, even among her own people, strikes Katara as a little like using a hammer to open a glass jar). She's not sure whether or not she should write separate letters for the two, or one joint letter.

Separate, her instincts say. No, there was no real conversation about what she and Aang were to each other now that they weren't rescuing the world from total domination. No, there's no definite title for people who shared blushes and kisses during two weeks of rest and relief. But it's the principle of the thing, right? Their relationship, even without those kisses, should deserve two different letters.

Katara nibbles at the end of her brush. Even if what she has to say to both teens is the same? Even if she doesn't particularly want to discuss those particular stolen moments through a letter? What if she doesn't feel the same kind of excitement she felt during the weeks they spent celebrating the end of the war? That thought gives her stomach a little bit of a twist. A drop of ink splatters onto her parchment, and she has to crumple and throw it in the trash. She wipes invisible dust from the clean sheet beneath it.

A knock raps at her door. She jumps, glancing up to see Zuko peeking inside.

"Uncle wants to have tea. Are you busy?"

She brightens, stomach fluttering a little. "No, just writing some letters. Let me finish really quick."

In the end, she writes one letter.

He's suddenly a lot more apprehensive about her messing with his brain.

"You're in my thoughts?" Zuko's not sure why his heart starts racing at the thought, or why he instantly starts wondering if she's seen anything incriminating. Thinking back to their morning exercises together, he wonders if she's discovered the glances he sneaks at the line of her spine, the flare of her hips, the curve of her waist. Or the week before, when they ate wafers with a spicy chocolate sauce after dinner- does she know how he resisted tasting her thumb when she used it to wipe chocolate from the corner of his mouth?

"It's not like that," she assures him, holding her hands out as if in defense. "It's weird for me too. I see- y'know- significant memories. Whatever's on your mind, whatever caused the injury." Shrugging, she glances down at the small garden pond next to them.

"What kind of things have you seen?" he asks, swallowing hard. He watches her reach out and ripple the surface of the water.

Blue eyes flick up to his face, but immediately drop back down. Her cheeks turn a pretty shade of pink, and his stomach lurches.

Oh, Agni. She did see something, didn't she?

His hand clenches into a fist without the help of his metal glove. Zuko immediately begins stammering, trying to come up with an explanation for the dishonorable thoughts that he thought he'd been able to keep to himself. Just as he's about to splutter an apology, though, she reaches between them. Her fingertips are light as a breeze on the ruined skin of his scar.

He swallows the rough embarrassment in his throat and resists the urge to straighten.

"I... I saw your dad give you this," she confesses quietly. His mouth is suddenly dry. Katara's inspecting the purpled, ugly flesh around his eye, and he's fighting not to pull away. Mai touched it once- placed her hand against his cheek like she could cover it before she kissed him. Not like this- never like this. The nerves there are destroyed. There's no evidence of her roaming fingers. But he feels the burning touch somewhere much deeper.

"You- you did?" He scowls. It's a little hard to think while she's caressing his cheek like that.

"I kind of felt it." There's a storm of emotions in her eyes. "You were scared. And sad. And ashamed."

"You felt it?" His hand flies to his scar, brushing against her knuckles. They both pull away. But he's instantly concerned. He only remembers the pain of his father's punishment like a distant, horrifying dream. The idea of Katara experiencing the burn of melting flesh- it makes his heart twist. "Is that why you pulled away? Why didn't you tell me?"

"Not like that," she rushes to amend, shaking her head. "It only felt like a sunburn to me. But I felt what you were feeling when it happened." After a moment, she adds, "I saw Azula's lightning too. That was scarier."

Because I had to protect you, he thinks.

"What did you see this time?" They chose the royal garden for its privacy, since rumors are starting to waft through the halls. He does his best to keep them out of Katara's ears, but now he's making a valiant effort to avoid spending most of their time in his chambers. It was easier to clear his mind like she requested, with the sound of trickling water and rustling grass surrounding them. And she hadn't jolted back or shrieked like she had the first time.

She looks over her shoulder at the bridge. "Um. A lady." Her smile is a little nervous. "Tall, pretty. She wore the Fire Lady ornament. You were hugging her skirts."

"My mother."

It's only a little surprising. She's been on his mind since his last visit to his father's cell. He wasn't going to mention how being in the garden makes him long for her.

"You loved her a lot," Katara hums. Tilting her head, she gives him a gentle smile. It's a world of difference from the pained way she stared at him while touching his scar. "And the way she looked at you- my mom used to look at me like that."

There's a little quack behind him, and a turtleduckling waddles around his side. Zuko lowers his hand to the grass, and he hears the flip flip flip of tiny webbed feet across metallic fingers. He holds the turtleduckling out to Katara. She giggles and pets its fluffy yellow head.

"She liked this garden," he tells her, stealing a glance at her smile while she makes a drop of water dance for the turtleduckling. It chases the drop and tries to catch it in its beak. "It was a mess after my grandfather's reign. She had all the flowers planted right after her wedding. Brought in an Earthbender to redirect the stream through the palace. It was her favorite place."

"I like it too." Katara holds her hand next to his. He'd feel her brushing his fingers if he wasn't wearing the gauntlet. With a quack and a brave little leap, the turtleduckling jumps into her palm. "There's no flowers in the South Pole."

"I'll let you take some potted ones," he murmurs. "When you leave. If you keep them inside and make sure they get sunlight, they should be fine. I'll ask someone what kinds do best in the cold."

Her eyes flit up to meet his. Something teasing flashes in them. "That's one way to give a girl flowers."

He's not sure how to answer her, so he doesn't.

Zuko is handsome in his everyday armor. If it's as heavy as it looks, he must be even stronger than she remembers. She likes the thought of him carrying it around, safe and protected from potential threats. There's two scars on his body now, and she doesn't want him earning any more.

Zuko's handsome in his sleep clothes too, though. She doesn't see them as often, now that he's not condemned to self-imposed isolation. But on the night of the full moon, she couldn't sleep, and she reluctantly woke him for a late night chat. She remembers the peak of his collarbone from behind the deep vee of his silk robe, the pale length of his throat in the moonlight. Her whole body vibrated with energy that night, and it filled her head with weird thoughts of how thin that silk was. How few layers he wore. It was hard to focus while they talked.

Zuko is handsome in a topknot, and he's handsome with his hair down. When it's up, he is calm and collected, and he radiates authority in his posture. She notices that they argue more when it's all shaggy around his face, but that likely has more to do with the fact that he's not posing for his subjects than the effect of a hairdo on his personality.

She won't admit it to anyone, hardly even herself, but Zuko is extremely handsome in the morning. Under the sunrise, when he's shirtless and glistening with sweat, he makes her breath quick and uneven. Maybe it's the fact that she can see the muscles banded around his arms, defined in his back and in his stomach. They're certainly impressive, and she can't pretend like she doesn't think about touching them. But she likes to think she likes him best in the mornings because that's when he's most at peace. His features stay relaxed and smooth, sometimes softened with a faint smile.

And Zuko is most handsome when he smiles.

The bottle of firewhiskey is half empty between them. He steals it from her, raising it to his lips and enjoying the way it burns down his throat.

"Ugh. Do we have to go back?"

Katara snorts and reclaims the alcohol. "You have to go back. It's not my banquet."

Damn her if she isn't right. She's only joined him for the evening out of absolute kindness. Fancy royal dinners are stiff, formal, and generally uncomfortable. Having to hide his tremor only makes it that much worse. To remedy that, she's stuck by his side all night, keeping her hand tucked in the crook of his elbow in case they need to play off a stray spasm or twitch. It starts the whispers up again, but he decides he doesn't mind as much as he used to.

Still, he thinks as he watches her mouth give beneath the opening of the bottle. Maybe dealing with all these pompous dignitaries for an evening is worth seeing her all dressed up like this.

The lavender gown Sanako made for her makes her brown skin look even smoother and lovelier than usual. It's patterned with dark blue violets, and a cobalt sash is tied tightly around her waist. For the most part, it's a conservative style, but the wide neckline that shows off more than a bit of her slender shoulders makes him hungry. He particularly likes that her hair has been pulled up to show off her long neck, and her mother's pendant dangles in the hollow of her throat. She looks utterly exquisite.

"If I have to go, I'm taking you with me," he threatens, lifting his good brow at her. With a bravery only possible through the emboldening power of Firewhiskey, he wraps his arm around her waist and pulls her close.

It's already tight in the servants' passage where they're hiding. They were already so close he could smell the oils someone rubbed into her skin. But with her body molded against his, every part of him feels electrified, like the buzz of his sister's lightning has shocked him all over again.

"You chased me across the world," she teases. Her color's a little high, and he wonders what it's from. His heat? The alcohol? Or the way they're pressed against each other? "What makes you think you can hold on to me?"

Zuko smirks. "Think of all the times I found you. I trekked continents. You think you'll be able to hide in a palace?"

Katara's grin is absolutely devilish. She takes a long draw from of Firewhiskey and cringes. "Don't worry," whispers, angling her face up to his. "I'll save you from the ambassadors."

The kiss she presses against his lips makes his heart stop.

She never had to stand on her tiptoes to kiss Aang. None of their kisses were accidents, either. She doesn't know why she keeps thinking about that, but she does.

Even though she doesn't talk about it, it's not like she pretends it didn't happen either. He doesn't ask her about it after the Firewhiskey fades and the pins are gone from her hair. They simply don't bring it up, and it fades into the background. A kiss between friends. Between the girl loved by the Avatar and a struggling, damaged Fire Lord.

"You seem better these days," his uncle notes, eyes level over a cup of steaming tea.

Zuko only glances up from the contract he's editing for a half second. Long enough to catch the light suspicion in the old man's stare. "I am better," is all he replies. Nobody needs to guess at it. It's no mystery.

"Perhaps Master Katara's healing is working?"

"It is," he says succinctly. His fingers are trembling even now, but with every minute he spends underneath the glow of her hands, it diminishes. Another fact that nobody can question. Despite her lack of faith in herself, Katara is the most talented healer he knows. For all her uncertainty, all her worry, she does nothing but good every time she touches him.

Even though he can tell there's more than what his uncle's saying beneath the surface of his words, Zuko doesn't think denying Katara's help will make his prying any less persistent.

"Perhaps having her at the palace has been beneficial in more ways than one?" The suggestion in his voice couldn't be more rehearsed if he tried.

Zuko sighs and rests his brush on the rim of the inkpot. "What are you trying to figure out, old man?"

"Nothing!" His uncle insists, sounding as if he's offended at the accusation. Taking a tiny sip of tea, he places his cup back on its saucer. "Though, while we're on the topic of Master Katara. Perhaps you might know where she disappeared to during your banquet?" He strokes his beard as if he's utterly perplexed.

The Fire Lord's mouth tugs at one corner. He keeps his voice entirely casual. "I hadn't even realized she'd gone missing."

No matter what Iroh suspects is going on, telling him about the moments he spent with Katara in a dark passageway over a bottle of Firewhiskey won't help either of them.

Katara desperately wishes that she could stop blushing, but when she's seated between Zuko's thighs, all she can think about is how she wants to press just a little further into him. It's an intrusive, annoying desire, one she can't seem to shake. And it doesn't help that his eyes are watching her patiently. They're the color of honey pouring into a cup of tea, the color of wheat in the high noon sun. Warm things. Sweet things.

To hide from that gaze, she raises her hands to his temples and focuses on mending his nervous system. When the familiar heat of his consciousness begins crawling through her, her breath hitches just slightly. Her heart skips a little faster, and she feels her teeth burying into her lower lip.

She's seen much of Zuko's life through his eyes. Episodes of arguments with his sister, flashes of life growing up as a prince. She's felt his father's fire, his mother's hugs, even the comforting squeeze of his uncle's hands on his shoulders. Sometimes it's heartbreaking. Sometimes she stifles a smile. But for the most part, she's a viewer. An objective third party.

When she's pulled into the shadows of his mind, she quickly realizes that this experience won't be like that.

He's thinking of her. She's getting flashes of her reflection- the shape of her mouth, the gleam of her water-gloved hands. Her own laugh echoes in her ears, sounding strange and too high-pitched. It's so bizarre that she almost jerks away. Almost breaks the connection. But she's so curious, so fascinated. She exhales in wonder, watching her own face flicker through his memories.

He was indifferent to her when he first saw her. Another brown face ringed by white fur.

He realized she was pretty when he tied her to that tree. It excited him to whisper in her ear.

The older she watches her face get, the stronger the affection feels. It eventually settles into the bonds of friendship, founded in mutual respect and a common goal. He never saw her as more than a pretty Waterbending ally.

But then she begins to catch bits of skin. Her bare collarbones, exposed by the dress she wore to dinner several nights ago. The length of her calf, peeking out from her robe the evening of the full moon. Even the muscled plane of her stomach, the top of her breasts, the dimples of her lower back. She hadn't realized he noticed those parts of her while she was stripped down to her bindings. He always kept his eyes forward or closed.

Even when she wanted him to look at her.

The last image slams into her so quickly that she's taken aback. Though she manages to hold back her yelp of surprise, she quickly pulls away from his consciousness. Katara drops her hands, blinking furiously and guiding her water back to the bowl on the tea table.

Zuko slides one eye open. "Done already?"

"Yep," she nods, scooting back just a fraction. Her heart won't stop pounding.

He rolls his shoulders, lifting his gloved hand and testing his fingers. "That was quick. What did you see?"

"Nothing," she blurts, gaze darting around the room. "Just stuff from our adventures."

The way he stares tells her he doesn't quite believe her. No matter how much he asks, though, she will not tell him about the way her body answered his memory of their kiss.

Firebenders don't get hot like normal people. It's not in their nature. Just like Katara hardly feels the cold of the tundra, he's used to Fire Nation heat.

Still, after the dream he's experienced, he's tangled in the sheets, breathing hard, and trying to force his body's temperature to drop. He's not sure if Waterbender skin would cool him off or boil him alive.

"I don't want Aang," she admits, though she can't make herself face him when she says it. "I'm in love with you."

His balcony is so nice at night, and she doesn't want to tear her gaze away from the moon. She wants to stare at the Fire Nation sky and let those words hang between them forever. If she could freeze time like she could freeze water, she'd hold the moment there. Suspended forever in the moment before his reaction.

He could be a lethal predator. She doesn't hear his footsteps across the floor, only feels his torso warm her back as he approaches. A hot hand hovers at her side for a long minute before finally resting on her waist. Zuko turns her to face him, pinning her between his body and the railing. His fingers raise to touch her face, and though she braces herself for the cold bite of metal, the gauntlet is as warm as the rest of him. Hard steel brushes across her cheekbone, too tender for the kind of armor made for battle.

His features sharpen in the moonlight. She reaches up to touch them. Together they trace noses, foreheads, jawlines. He examines her hair loops. She studies the hard ridges of his scar. When he reaches her lips, he trades hands. Fingertips like little flames burn across her mouth.

This time, when they kiss, it's not a clumsy drunken peck. He melts against her, and her legs feel like they might give beneath her. Stepping closer, he encircles her in his arms, and it's an absurdly familiar feeling. She tries to place it for several heartbeats before she realizes that this is what it feels like to fall into Zuko's consciousness. The warmth that wraps around her and heats her skin is the same as when he's embracing her.

He pries her apart, and his tongue swipes hungrily at her lower lip. Her gasp tastes like smoke when he gives her a quick nip of his teeth. Unthinking, she lets her hands wander away from his scar and into his hair. She tangles her fingers in the silky strands at the back of his head, nails scraping lightly over his scalp. Zuko responds to the exploration with a moan that makes his chest vibrate against hers.

His kisses taste like cinnamon and ash. His skin smells like jasmine. When he exhales steam against her neck, she shivers and holds him tighter to her.

There's no telling how long they spend on the balcony before she's edging him back into his rooms. She's not sure exactly when exactly they became impatient, when learning each other's mouths became not enough. But soon the are shadows falling across them as their hands search above and below clothing. They hold tight to each other, only parting to shed another layer. When he drags her onto the bed and crawls over her body, she doesn't panic or shy away.

Then he's kissing parts of her she's never showed a man before. And she distantly realizes that he is a man. That they're not children holding a war-torn world together anymore. She doesn't owe anything to anyone. No responsibilities have been forced upon her here. She's free to choose- if she goes back to the Poles, if she travels, if she stays in the Fire Nation just a little bit longer. She can choose to go back to the life she would have led if she'd never revived the Avatar, or she can choose to forge a new path. And she chooses him.

"Are you sure?" he whispers between swallows of air. He pushes her sweaty bangs away from her face.

Katara licks her lips. Reaching for his arm, she slowly eases the gauntlet off of his hand and lets it fall over the side of the bed. He's shaking. Badly. But she'd rather feel his skin against hers instead of metal. She gives his palm a kiss and nods.

Even though she winces when he fills her, it's the most incredible feeling she can recall ever experiencing. He's above her, inside her, all around her. Everything is his comforting heat bearing down on her. She is burning, and she hears water leap from the wash bowl in the bathing room when the rhythm of his narrow hips make her whimper his name.

Her hands skim along his back. His tongue buries in the shell of her ear. She's arching into him, her breasts scraping against his chest as he plunges into her.

Katara learns parts of her body she never knew existed. She learns the pleasure of being broken apart. She learns how a man groans and shudders into a kiss when he spills, and she learns how tender his hands become afterwards.

She's indescribably happy that she learned these things from him.

Sometime during the night he wakes up to the sound of sniffling. Immediately alarmed, his eyes snap open, and he finds her sitting up next to him. She wipes glittering tears away from her cheeks and runs her fingertips across his torso. After a moment of sleepy panic, he realizes that she's tracing the scar that the lightning left behind.

Relieved, he draws her back into his arms. He kisses her hair until she falls back asleep.

When he takes off the gauntlet, she's shocked. Zuko switches the lever to release his hand and then slowly eases himself free. Then he holds it out to her. Quickly taking it and holding it to her chest, she furrows her brow with confusion.

She can tell her father is perplexed too.

The Fire Lord balls his fist at the base of his palm in the Fire Nation sign of respect for a higher authority. It would cause a political crisis if his advisors were to see him making such a gesture to a leader of equal standing. But then Zuko folds into a low bow, and her heart flutters at the sight.

"Chief Hakoda of the Southern Water Tribe. It would be my greatest honor if you would allow me your daughter's hand in marriage."

"What did you see this time?"

"It was the fight with Azula again."

"Did you have to feel the lightning? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. It was afterwards, when I was healing you."

"Oh."

"You were so... happy."

"Because I was able to stop it in time."

"...No more shaking?"

"Nope. Not a bit."

"Good. I'm relieved."

"Thank you Katara."

"I should be the one thanking you."