disclaimer: it's all bryke's, except what's not.

.

.

.

vii. starlight.

S3, alternate end-of-war gathering in ba sing se.

.

.

.

It's quiet now, after the hubbub of the day has passed. Everyone else is in bed except for Iroh, who works in the kitchen by the light of a single lamp, cleaning up the mess of the day. Katara offers to help him, and he allows her to do so for a while, chatting pleasantly, but as the hour gets later, he shoos her away, telling her to go find Zuko.

She does, and finds him where he stands out on the balcony, looking over the city. The sky stretches wide, full of stars, above them. Zuko looks softer in the starlight, muted and drenched in quiet. The months since the end of the war have been long and hard on him, and when Katara had first seen him earlier that morning for the first time since the week after his coronation, she was shocked at how gaunt and exhausted he'd looked.

You didn't tell me in your letters, she'd chided.

There wasn't a need, he'd said.

She'd strongly disagreed and told him so.

You look just as tired as I do, he'd shot back at her.

Of course. The world needs to be rebuilt. But I haven't forgotten to eat.

Only sometimes, he'd protested.

I'm taking you to Iroh, she'd said, and dragged him to the kitchen, supervising as he'd eaten a bowl of noodles.

Now, she walks up beside him, sliding her arm through his and squeezing softly. "Hey."

"Hey," he says, taking his gaze from the sky and focusing it on her. "Why are you still up?"

"I was helping Iroh clean, but then he sent me to find you."

"I'm glad he did," Zuko says, soft. "I missed you these past few months."

Katara nods. "Me, too," she says. "I…got used to being around you, at the end of the war. It was nice, and I missed it."

"Yeah." Zuko's fingers skim along the balcony railing, tapping out a soft rhythm beneath the edges of his sleeves.

Katara reaches over, gently, and soothes them with her own.

"It's been two months now," Katara says. "And I've only heard reports of how hard life is in the Fire Nation now. It's not safe."

"No," Zuko agrees, a haunted look in his eyes. "It's not."

"It never was, I guess, in lots of places."

"No, it never was. The general populace is more secure now that they're not being conscripted and sent to their deaths on battlefields or working themselves to death in munitions factories, but the nobility is just as perilous as it's always been, with infighting and factions. Some people like me, some people don't," he says bluntly.

"The ones who do will win," Katara reassures him.

Zuko pulls a sour face. "You don't know that for sure."

"I do, Zuko. Because you're a good leader and the people of the Fire Nation are strong. You'll help them find peace. You'll lead them well."

Zuko's expression softens, and he glances back toward the interior of the tea shop. "You sound like Uncle."

"If I do, it's because Iroh's right," Katara insists. "He told me he's moving back to the Fire Nation to be with you."

Zuko looks down, a faint blush barely visible in the dim light. His fingers flex under Katara's, pressing into the cool stone railing. "He doesn't have to."

Katara takes a step closer. "He doesn't have to," she agrees, "but he's doing it because he wants to. Because he loves you."

Zuko blinks and looks up at the stars above them.

Katara squeezes his hand again, and uses the gentle space of night between them to cocoon her words as she speaks next.

"What would you say if I told you I thought I loved you, too? Not like an uncle, but like a girl who loves a boy."

There is a long, long pause and Katara can see Zuko staring at her out of the corner of her eye, looking gobsmacked. His pulse is racing; she can sense that much from the hand she has on his and his pulsing chi. She stares resolutely at the stars.

"I—I'd say I don't know why you do," he says finally.

"If I said you were brave and kind and loyal, would you believe me?"

"But I betrayed—"

"And we have all forgiven you," Katara interrupts, firmly, turning to look at him to make sure he understands.

He watches her carefully for a moment, then says, "I would still say I don't see why, but… I've thought for a while that I might love you, too."

Katara phrases her next words slowly; she feels like she needs to think them over as they come out of her mouth, even though she's considered the possibility of this conversation countless times in the past two months. "I think it's possible, in this new world, to be together even though we're from different nations."

Zuko's free hand moves and he rubs the back of his neck, coughing slightly. "I, uh, I may have spoken to Uncle about the possibilities. He, um, he had some ideas. He thought we could probably make it work. Convince the councilors. And stuff."

The tension that had been mounting around her spine at Zuko's hesitation melts in affection. Katara's eyes shine with joy when she looks up at him. "We wouldn't jump into things," she says, schooling herself into practicality. "I still have travels to make; I have to help my Tribe rebuild. I'm planning to spend some time up North, too, learning healing in more detail. But I'd like it if I could make the Fire Nation a stopping point, as well as the Southern Water Tribe."

"You'd come back to me?"

Katara raises her eyebrow, hoping she only looks mildly annoyed at being questioned, not burning in anger at Ozai for making his son question his worth at every turn. "Of course I would. If you'll have me," she says, because turnaround seems polite.

Zuko clears his throat. "Yeah," he says, a little too forcefully. Warmth at his certainty curls in Katara's stomach and her fingers seem to close around his again, tighter, in response. "Yeah, I—I'd like that, too. A lot."

Katara smiles up at him, then leans up on tiptoe and kisses his cheek before curling herself against his side. He wraps his arm around her, and they watch the stars in silence for a long time. It feels like too much, too much possibility to comprehend, here at the beginning of life after the war. But if she's going to face it with anyone, she'd very much like to face it with him.

.

.

.

fin.