'oh, you're in my viens, and i cannot get you out'
written for zutara month 2017 - day four: enemies to [we could be] lovers

It's the same every night.

Uncle would gather the crew around a fire on deck, telling everyone to huddle close for warmth. As they sailed further south, fuel and food started running low. The old general was determined to keep spirits high. He would pass around bowls of juk to fill bellies, then guilt Zuko into playing the Tsungi horn — an honorable leader spends time with his people — while he sang folk songs.

Every night, when the crew relaxed with sleepy smiles and satisfied stomachs, Zuko would hope he escaped. Then his uncle would wind down with a final tune and plop on a stool.

He always starts with a dreamy sigh, then he drifts into a story about his late wife, recounting how they met and fell in love.

Sura is his soulmate, he says, his heart and his soul. He dreams of her frequently. Or, he sees the future they were meant to have together, as their destinies are entwined forever, even from the grave.

Uncle likens the visions to gifts, going on about the spirits and their influence and the path he must take to reunite with his wife. Zuko always pushes back, asking why the spirits can't let him move on.

He finds it annoying; not the idea of love so much as soulmates… why should he be forced to love someone?

His uncle always winks. "When it happens, Nephew, when you meet her— it's like everything aligns. You won't care that you have no choice."

"Everyone has a choice," Zuko snaps. "Isn't that what you're always telling me?"

"You are very clever," Uncle wags his finger like Zuko's still a child, "but you are wrong, in this sense. Everything will be touched by her. You won't be able to look anywhere without seeing her fingerprints, without seeing every moment you will have with her."

Then, Uncle shrugs, prodding Zuko with an elbow. "Or him."

He stares for a minute, finally grumbling, "You sound insane."

Uncle just laughs, eyes crinkling at the corners. "Love is just another form of insanity, Prince Zuko. You will see; when it happens to you, you will see."

And then it does—

She's beautiful, that Water Tribe girl.

Their gazes meet, lashes blinking away falling snowflakes.

Zuko stares. For a long moment, all he can see is her smile. It comes with murmured compliments and kisses in bed. It brightens with whispered affections and games of chase in the fire lily gardens. Her eyes light up at his jokes, with his laugh, over gifts of lavender soap… even though, somehow he knows, she much prefers the pine-scented stuff he keeps next to his bath.

Then, that smile vanishes, shattering the mirage in his head.

He watches the girl shake her head, her eyes on the snow, her brows pulled down with confusion. When those eyes snap up, sharp and violent and locked on his, Zuko's gut sinks.

Through all her strength, he recognizes fear— and he's the cause of it.

Zuko lets go of the old woman trapped in his grasp. He curses the spirits and sends her stumbling back towards the girl.

Fire leaps from his fingers then, and Zuko snarls, "I know you're hiding him!"

Surely, it isn't her.

Surely, destiny wouldn't be so cruel.

She's fifty paces from him on Kyoshi Island, clambering onto the back of the Avatar's bison. Their eyes meet for a brief second, though hers give nothing away.

Her brother shouts her name. "Katara! Let's go!"

Katara.

Zuko watches the child Avatar snap the reigns. The bison leaps above the bay's shimmering waves. He wears a grimace, pretending his soul doesn't ache as she fades from view.

What a pretty name.

When Zuko is called in by the warden of some slumpy prison rig, he finds the necklace she always wears around her neck. He remembers it so distinctly from their first meeting in her homeland, from that memory of lavender soap.

He wonders if Katara ever imagines a future where the scent of pine clings to her. He picks up the jewelry, praying for an inkling that she does, that this link between their souls won't forever be torturous for him.

That's all it could ever be, right? Torture.

His status is too far above hers. He's the Fire Nation's Crown Prince. He has a duty to his country, a noble destiny. He's to capture the Avatar, help his father in the war, and bring his nation's prosperity to the world.

How fitting that the spirits fucked him over, pairing him up with a peasant. That's all she is— a peasant. The hovel she calls home would fit inside the palace.

You're wrong, he tells the spirits.

He repeats that alone in his bed, with his hands resting over the aching knot in his chest and his fingers endlessly tracing the silky ribbon around his wrist.

You're completely wrong.

He tries to prove it, choosing a mockery of honor and destiny.

On Crescent Island, he's sure this is it. He has the Avatar. He'll steal the boy right out from under Zhao and go home. He'll forget her. This has to be it.

Zuko pulls an iron chain tight around Katara and her brother when her voice whispers against his consciousness.

"Whenever I would imagine the face of the enemy, it was your face."

He stumbles on that word, reality overpowering the vision of green that surrounded them. Was. Why did she use 'was?' Do they somehow become friends?

He imagines leaving this futile quest behind, finding something peaceful and pure. He knows his uncle would be better for it. He's old and tired. Zuko's tired.

But just as the hope for a different life wells up, the happy future is replaced by a vision of Katara exploding in his face.

"Oh, everyone trusts you now!?" The sea crashes behind her. Wind rips through her hair and his. He senses that they're older, only by a year or so. "I was the first person to trust you! Remember, back in Ba Sing Se. And you turned around and betrayed me, betrayed all of us!"

Zuko retracts like she's slapped him. The chains clatter against her legs. His lashes flutter rapidly, trying to dispel the heinous expression she wore. It's all the same though: in the present, in the future. Katara's glaring at him like she'll kill him if he gives her a chance.

As the temple crashes down around him in the Avatar's wake, full of lava and heat that can't touch the fire in her eyes, he wonders if the spirits have a taste for sadism.

"I'll save you from the pirates."

It's cruel and twisted, the way he says it, the way his breath puffs over her face and his fingers ensnare her wrists. It's cruel and twisted— but the spirits have brought him to this.

Because now, with Katara's skin turning white where his fingers dig into her soft flesh, there's no vision, no glimpse of the future they could have together.

Maybe he's finally won. Chasing her around the world, endangering her and her makeshift family— he's taken just enough steps in the wrong direction. Something in him aches with the thought because his dreams have been filled with her, filled with swirls of blue and the sounds of rushing water.

Every night, Zuko makes her smile. He runs his fingers through her hair and watches as the sun kisses her nose. He's always jealous of it, of the gentle caress the golden light can give, and he's warmed every time she looks up, tells him she loves the amber of his eyes even more.

That's always the moment he leans in. He wants to press his lips to all the places the sun touches, all the places it doesn't. Before he can, he jolts awake in the dark familiarity of his room, trying to shake her eyes, her lips, her laugh from his memories.

Still, when he greets the first rays of pink-tinted sunlight on the deck of his ship, when the color reminds him of the flush on her cheeks or how peonies look against her chocolate hair, Zuko clings to those fragments. He wishes for the honorable path, the path that ends with her and a life of peaceful afternoons.

But that's just the problem, isn't it? He's lost his honor. He needs it back. It doesn't matter the personal cost.

That's why he ignores the panic. That's why he pretends not to care about losing her and losing the happy dreams. He holds her tight, pulling her away from the river's rushing waters. With her wrists tied behind a tree, Zuko throws a hollow threat in her direction:

"Tell me where he is, and I won't hurt you or your brother."

Katara reacts as he expected. "Go jump in the river!"

Her gaze is sharp, a cutting contrast to the moon's soft glow. The blue tracks him from the group of pirates until all that separates them is a single stride. She falters then, her expression shifting from outright defiance to apprehension.

"Try to understand," he murmurs, aiming for a softer appeal that only she can hear. "I need to capture him to restore something I've lost… my honor."

Katara's head tilts, a flicker of uncertainty cast his way.

Zuko stares back, with a dozen questions hanging from his lips.

Does she know? Has she seen his past? Has she been touched by dreams, too?

He swallows them, forcing himself to maintain his tight control, reminding himself that for every sweet word she murmurs in his sleep, Katara hates him that much more.

Zuko sweeps around her back, untying the necklace from its place on his wrist.

"Perhaps, in exchange…" He pauses behind her, out of sight. "I can restore something you've lost."

Katara jerks, trying to look for him, but freezes the moment he reaches around her, the jewelry stretched between his fingers. Her breath catches, then rushes out with an exclamation.

"My mother's necklace!"

Katara fights against the rope, trying to break free and steal it. He smirks and holds the blue ribbon with its glistening stone up to her neck.

"How did you—"

The words die in her throat when his fingertips brush her skin.

Zuko suddenly knows what her pulse feels like under his lips, as all innocence and pretense fade away, and she's no longer bound by rope to a tree—instead, he's bound up by her whims.

The bark against her back is a cool wall in the palace. His pants are halfway down his thighs. Her dress is shoved up above her hips. There's a clatter; in the corner of his vision, a gold crown spins across the floor. Then, her fingers tangle in his freed hair and she tugs. His hands grip her ass, and his lips chase the scent of lavender down her throat to her collarbones.

"Zuko…" She moans his name, low and long. It makes his face warm, his stomach tight with need.

With his tongue seeking out every inch of skin he can reach, his own words, "I love you, Katara," spill out with blinding pleasure, echoing in their ears when the heat fades, when all the red disappears, and he remembers where they are, who they are.

Her sharp gasp is what clears his mind completely.

Zuko almost asks if she experienced the same thing, but he already knows she did. "Katara, I—"

"Don't touch me," she snaps, yanking on the ropes. Her wrists tear and bleed where the rough knots dig in. "Don't touch me! Get away from me! Get away!"

He does as he's told after he burns the ropes and rips them loose.

She spins around before her binds even hit the ground, glaring at him.

"Don't ever touch me."

Her voice is strong and sure. At her core, however, she looks shell-shocked and frightened. He hates it.

Zuko wants to comfort her. He wants to tell her that he'd never touch her, in any way, if he had anything less than her explicit permission. He wants to say he doesn't understand the visions either, because what sense does it make for them to be soulmates?

That would only make this all worse. That would make her hate him more.

Zuko bows his head as if to say he's sorry. He holds the necklace out to her as he does, ignoring the many protests from the pirates.

She's frozen for a single heartbeat. So is he. Then, Katara lunges forward, snatches the jewelry from his outstretched hands, and darts into the shadows of the forest.

Zuko watches until her shape can't be seen. His uncle comes up behind him, a hand on his shoulder.

"Nephew?" The old man's tone implies that he knows. "Are you okay?"

He yanks away and marches back to his ship. "I'm fine."

Zuko thinks about her that night, about that moment in the future.

He wonders if it's wrong to imagine her like that, to remember how she looked with her eyes half closed and her lips all red and swollen. He can't help it, though. She'd smiled at him and pulled his hair and whispered love for him between every panting breath.

So, Zuko lets himself get lost in it, in the vision of her mouth half open and her legs wrapped around his waist. Her chocolate hair and chestnut skin clash so perfectly with him.

His heart races. Sweat pricks his limbs. He can't tell if he's weak from the sudden release or the memory of how she whimpered his name. That sweet, sensual sound— it's seared into his brain.

The echo eventually fades as his pulse slows down and guilt follows in its wake. It takes him until the very edge of sleep to realize the reason.

He used to think it was torture, being tethered to her. How much worse does she feel?

Her heart is pure, and her honor is unquestionable. He's nothing more than a reckless wildfire wreaking havoc on the earth, scaring her and hurting her. No matter how many different ways he sees her, being hers will never be a privilege he deserves.

Zuko fingers the empty space of his wrist, where her necklace used to be.

Give her someone better than me.

They won't listen to him.

Despite his hellbent determination to capture the Avatar, Zuko somehow avoids any interaction with her, until—

"I'm perfectly capable of protecting him."

Anger bubbles up in his chest, a fiery rage meant for the spirits, for the games they play: providing him with this perfect chance to take the little monk and all but halting him in his tracks with that proud statement.

He almost makes her an offer— hand the Avatar over, and he won't hurt her— but Katara takes up a bending stance the moment she sees him, and Zuko knows there's no point.

They clash and dance in the grass. Their elements kiss, water hissing, fire licking. She holds all the power beneath the moon, and he marvels at how quickly she's advanced. But, when the sun clips the horizon, he finds renewed strength.

She's not ready this time, and he's desperate to go home, to walk out of her life. She'll find someone worthy of her. He'll ignore the stinging loss. Katara's defense fails, and the wooden arch framing the Avatar shakes when she hits a pole.

The soft cry of pain in her chest sends Zuko to his knees.

'No!'

It's his voice. He's the one shouting. He's the one screaming and crumbling and watching white light crackle beneath a blood-stained sky.

Zuko hears it, sees it, smells it when the lightning finds its mark.

Soft blue eyes close for the last time as he reaches for her, but the moment he blinks, all the fire and smoke fade to green grass, to a rising sun, to a sick chill settling in his bones.

Zuko clambers to his feet. He forces his mind to focus on the present, to see only the tranquil waters of the spirit oasis. The airbender is right there. He's helpless. It would be so easy for Zuko to take him, to run back to the Fire Nation and regain his honor.

His eyes flick to Katara—

"When you find your soulmate, the spirits will reveal visions of the future. I had many myself after I met your aunt," Uncle's wisdom echoes. "Every choice you make will influence that future, Nephew, so be careful which paths you choose."

Zuko leaves the monk alone.

His uncle will purse his lips. His father will declare treason. His mind will scream "Fool! You fool!" But, Zuko's always been a fool.

He brushes his fingers up Katara's neck, waits for the faint beat of her pulse, then flees.

Zuko stares out at the frozen water. Uncle works at the raft's small sail behind him, a dramatic sigh coming now and then. The old man is waiting for answers, but Zuko offers none for a time.

Finally, Iroh presses. "You don't have the Avatar, Prince Zuko."

He shakes his head. He could lie. Uncle won't buy it, but what does it matter?

Zuko's lost it all. His crew, his future, his chance at the throne. Katara deserves far better, and Uncle does, too.

"I let him go this time."

"Oh?" Uncle's question carries curiosity. There's no hint of condemnation in it.

"That girl," Zuko exhales slowly, "Katara. She was with him."

It's all so vivid.

The thunderous crack drowns out his thoughts. The flash from blinding white to simmering yellow to deadly red blurs the dark waters surrounding the raft. The sickly-sweet smell of burning flesh makes him double over.

He vomits violently, retching over the raft's edge.

Uncle is there in a second, wiping Zuko's chin with the edge of his sleeve, offering a sip of fresh water. He helps Zuko lie back.

"Rest, Prince Zuko. A man needs his rest."

Azula joins the fray several months later.

Zuko's attempt to find himself turns into a mad dash after her.

He doesn't want the Avatar anymore. He wants to make sure that vision never comes true, and he knows what his sister can do with lightning. What he doesn't expect— the blow he thought was meant for Katara pierces his uncle's chest.

Half of Zuko's world crashes down in an instant.

The other half stands behind him, her voice quiet and empathetic.

"Zuko, I can help."

It rattles around his skull. I can help. I can help. I can help.

Zuko smells the sea. A breeze flutters around him, flirting with the tops of foamy waves, spraying him with salty mist.

Katara wades towards him from deeper water, calling out. "Hold on! I can help!"

As soon as she's close, her fingers rise to his brow, glowing a soothing blue. A pain he hadn't noticed abates as she draws her hand away.

"I told you to watch out for the coral," she admonishes.

Zuko grins sheepishly, "Sorry."

"Just be careful." Katara nuzzles her face into his neck. "Your people love you, and I love you, but if they were to find out their leader swam right into The Ember Island Reef to avoid an octopus… I dare say it'd be quite embarrassing for us all."

"I don't like them!" Zuko protests. "They are weird and squishy and— "

"— and nothing but birds should have beaks?"

Her laugh tickles across his collarbones. She wraps her arms around his waist, and Zuko kisses the top of her head, smiling like a happy fool.

"I'm sorry," he says again, this time sad and despondent. The ocean is gone, taking away the warm breeze and her loving smile.

Zuko glances over his shoulder, catching the stares of all her friends. Her eyes wander over him, at first looking star-dazed, like the vision warmed her, too. They were so happy. They could be that happy.

But, he's reminded of its impossibility, of the lightning, of what could happen if he gets too close to her, if he lets her help here and now. He has to keep her safe.

Fire leaps from his hand. His face twists into a scowl.

"Leave!"

A massive bed and silk sheets materialize in the flames. A little girl with his eyes and Katara's smile wrestles in his arms, "I didn't want Daddy to leave, Momma."

Zuko's gaze follows his daughter's to an expectant mother amidst what would be a romantic scene— wine and candlelight and lace.

He has to gather himself because the red fabric against her skin is striking and her hair cascades around her shoulders in luscious curls of chocolate. She's older, maybe ten years older, shaped with beckoning curves from her pregnancy. She looks like a queen, like his queen.

The smile on her lips shifts from secretive and intimate to something like knowing mirth. Her hand pats the mattress, and the princess squirms from Zuko's arms to bound across the sheets.

"I learned how to make a dragon, Momma!"

"Oh? Show me, Kya."

Zuko settles on the bed as fire sparks above the little girl's palms. The dragon dances around, flickering and fluttering like the real beast.

"It's beautiful, Kya. You'll be a master soon, just like your father," Katara murmurs, leaning back against Zuko's chest. Her voice drops an octave, "You know she didn't want you to leave because she wants to learn at least three more forms, right?"

"She's as persistent as her mother." He nuzzles Katara's hair, smelling a hint of pine in the long locks. His lips brush her ear, and he whispers, "Don't get out of bed in the morning. I'll make it up to you."

The fire that conjured the scene dissipates, revealing the desolate landscape and her eyes on him. Her friends drag her away.

For the second time that day, Zuko repeats himself. "I'll make it up to you."

His approach is utterly silent, but Uncle's presence doesn't surprise him. "You do not look well, Prince Zuko."

A frown twists Zuko's lips. "I'm not a prince anymore."

"Perhaps not in title…" Uncle lowers himself to the ravine's edge with a weary grunt.

It's been a long and arduous recovery for him. More than once, Zuko finds himself wishing he'd taken Katara's offer. When he falls asleep at night, the lightning cracks across the sky and he remembers why he didn't.

"Honor is restored within oneself, Prince Zuko. No one can steal it from you. No one can bestow it upon you."

"If you're going to lecture me about being a beautiful butterfly…" Zuko scoffs, agitation settling in his bones. "I'm not honorable, Uncle. I'm a disappointment to everyone I cross."

He's hurt so many, too many to count. But, nothing compares to the sorrow he's seen in those deep, blue eyes. Agni, the way she looks at him— her ability to see right into the depths of his soul may only be beaten by the perceptiveness of Uncle.

"Nephew…" The old man tugs at Zuko's psyche like he can read his thoughts. "Why don't you tell me what's wrong?"

"Who says anything is wrong?"

His voice comes out choked like it is when he screams at a red sky flashing blue and white. His eyes burn like they do when he sees her, when he smells burnt flesh and the metallic stench of hot blood. And his chest aches, like it does as she dies, like it does when she lives, but she's still not his.

Zuko's mind flicks to the little girl consuming his visions. She's always calling to him, squealing happily as he teaches her firebending, demanding that her mother watch.

"Kya," he whispers. Her laugh echoes in his ears. She sounds just like Katara— so hopeful, so determined.

Zuko swallows a knot, pushing past the threatening tears to speak. "When you first met Aunt Sura… you… you say she's your soulmate."

"She is." Uncle looks at him perplexedly, brows scrunched.

"What was it like to lose her?"

He's never had the tact for sensitivity. He regrets that now, as hurt flashes across Uncle's face.

"Uncle, I- I'm sorry," he stutters. "Aunt Sura's death… it's difficult to talk about, I understand." Zuko looks away, his lip quirking as he second guesses himself. What was he thinking, bringing up such a painful history without so much as a warning?

But he needs to know… he has to know.

"Please," Zuko murmurs, trying softly. "Did you know? When you met her, did you know she would die? Did you know how it would end?"

Uncle's demeanor changes. The initial wound disappears beneath a sorrow Zuko cannot begin to understand.

Though, somehow, he does. Somehow, he knows the agony of losing the one soul tethering his to the earth. That scares him.

His uncle exhales heavily. "Nothing the spirits give is written in stone, Prince Zuko. They provide different ends to different means, dependent on the choices you make along your way."

It's not the answer Zuko hopes for. Uncle seems to sense this. He slides closer, clasping Zuko's shoulder with a comforting squeeze.

"There are a thousand paths you could take," he says. "There are a thousand different ends to your life, to your soulmate's life. When I met your aunt, I only knew that her death was a possibility. I did not know that my failure to protect Lu Ten would be the cause of it."

That pulls Zuko's gaze back to his uncle's, but he's not seeing Uncle's muted gold. He's watching Kya flit in the palace ponds, splashing herself and the turtleducks. He's walking up and down the palace halls, holding Katara's hand and listening to her gripe about their son's delayed arrival. He's whispering I do's and I love you's to his wife, to his daughter, to his newborn boy.

He blinks the images away, focusing on his uncle after a long silence.

"I need you to teach me how to bend lightning."

The universe is a fickle thing.

He gets a flicker of hope, and it's all snatched away, like the smoke from every failed attempt catching the wind.

Zuko pushes to his feet again, his gaze sweeping over the charred landscape. It reminds him too much of her fate.

Is this really how it ends?

Perhaps, Zuko judged the universe too soon. Perhaps, it's not entirely slated against him.

He climbs to the tallest mountain in the middle of the storm, blinded by rain but spurred on by a vindictive rage. Everything the world has thrown at him… everything the world may throw at her…

"Now I can give it back!"

There's power in the statement. It feels like electrocution.

The vision of her dying changes as lightning cracks across the sky. His chest burns. His lungs scream for air. He can feel his heart hammering against his sternum, pleading for her to save him, for anyoneto save him.

Zuko collapses with a strangled scream, his kneecaps cracking against the stone.

It's terrifying, but he'll take it. He'll do it. If this is the end… so be it.

After months in Ba Sing Se, his nights filled with visits from her in his dreams, he tumbles into a crystal-lined cave, landing at her feet.

"Zuko!" Quiet surprise shapes Katara mouth into a perfect 'oh.' Her lips are even prettier than in the visions.

But, Zuko drags his gaze over the rest of her. There's dirt on her tunic and her right cheek, but she's not hurt. It comes as a massive relief.

"You're alright," he sighs, brushing off as he stands.

"Since when do you care about my well-being?"

Katara crosses her arms, her nose up in the air with what would be a haughty look. He almost gives it to her— she has every right to be stiff and cold. No corner of the world had been safe from him.

Her stance wobbles, though. Her face shifts from defiance to diffidence. "It's… nice to see you're alright, as well. Is- is your uncle— ?"

"He recovered well."

"Good… good." She nods, her lips pressing into a terse smile. "Your hair looks nice like that… grown out a bit. It looks nice even longer, too." Katara gestures at her collarbones. "Around here."

Zuko blinks at her. "Thanks. Yours, uh, yours looks nice… braided… and down. It's pretty down."

"Mhm!" Her brows shoot up and color spreads down her neck, but she doesn't say anything more.

For the moment, that's fine with him. They've made it this far in one piece, but they've always been on opposing sides. And despite all the months he's spent in Ba Sing Se, Zuko still can't say who he stands behind— the Fire Nation or the world.

He only wants to keep her safe. That's all.

As if she can read his mind, Katara breaks the pause. "Should we… talk about it?"

Zuko's heart leaps into his throat. He tries to sound calm. "About what?"

"All the— I- I don't know what you're taught, but I grew up hearing about—" Zuko hears her swallow from across the cave. "—soulmate visions from my grandmother."

He looks up, hopes he didn't know he clung to flaring up in his blood. His veins freeze at the harsh look in her eye.

How naive can he be, thinking she wouldn't hate him?

"I spent half my childhood dreaming about some Northern warrior. He'd show up on the shores of the South Pole with a charming smile and war decorations. He'd be kind, honorable— I'd have visions of a happy, easy future." Her glare falters. She focuses on her feet. "Instead… you show up."

Her eyes are on him again, soft blue turning as hard as ice. "You crash into the village, stomp around, burn the huts, and I'm lost in the fragrance of pine-scented soap. I prayed it was a trick, but all these months later and you're still invading my head. I can still smell you."

Zuko holds her gaze until he can't anymore. Something akin to shame swarms his senses, making his face hot and his chest tight. He chokes on the emotion, wishing he could be better, wishing he could fire back and tell her she's wrong.

But, she's not.

He fights the urge to cry, whispering, "I'm sorry."

"Oh, I'm sure," Katara snaps. "I mean, what's one more thing? The Fire Nation's already taken my family from me. Why not take my dreams of happy future, too?"

Angry tears line her lashes, like little diamonds that glint green with the glowing light in the cave. Katara catches him looking and turns away, crouching down in the dirt at the opposite end of their prison.

"What's one more thing?" she repeats, her voice tight around a suppressed sob. "We're soulmates and I can't even fight it, just like I couldn't fight when my mother was taken away from me."

His breath is stolen from him. Zuko takes a step toward her, hesitating with uncertainty. He shouldn't approach her.

Instead, Zuko's hands clench at his sides as he searches for the right thing to say. Didn't Uncle always instruct him in the power of apologies? He tries that.

"Katara," He murmurs her name carefully, struggling for confidence and sensitivity in the same note. "Katara, I'm sorry… about the visions… about your mother. That's… something we have in common."

She wipes her cheeks and turns toward him. "What?"

"I- uh—" Her genuine interest catches Zuko off guard. He rambles his answer, "I was a kid. Eleven. I woke up one morning and my mother was gone. I don't know if she's dead or if she just ran away. With my father being who he is, I can't blame her, even if I'm… sometimes angry…"

He trails off, realizing he's monopolized her grief. "What happened to your mom?"

"She was killed," Katara answers quickly, almost like a defense mechanism, "in a Fire Nation raid."

Zuko gathers that she doesn't want to say any more about it, either from a lack of trust in him or the pain being too much to flesh out with a near stranger. He doesn't push anymore, accept to offer condolences.

"I'm sorry. If she's half the woman you are, I imagine she was incredible."

"Because you know me so well."

"Don't I? In a way? I see our future every time I'm around you. You're in my dreams… we talk and laugh and… I know you don't like hot tea, but you love scalding baths. You have a soft spot for little kids. You like teaching. You're smart and passionate and brave. Doesn't that count as knowing you? At least pieces of you?"

Katara grimaces at the dirt. He worries he's made everything worse, but maybe he should take it as a good thing that she's no longer shouting. Even uncomfortable silence is an improvement.

Just as Zuko resigns himself to sit and wait for some other development, she stands, facing him.

"I'm sorry, too," she says finally, looking smaller and shy, "for yelling at you before… and blaming you."

"It doesn't matter, Katara."

"No… it does," she protests. "It wasn't right. You can't help this any more than I can. It's just… for so long, whenever I imagine the face of the enemy, it's been your face. That's hard to get over."

His stomach sinks. "My face…" Zuko touches his left cheek, tugging down on the scarred skin. "I see."

"No, Zuko… that's- that's not what I mean."

"I don't care. It's fine."

"No, it's not! Why do you always say that? You always say it's okay and brush away your feelings like they're nothing, but that's not how a relationship works!"

He looks at her curiously. Katara's cheeks flush a deep pink. She bites her tongue when she realizes how much she's said.

"I—" She clears her throat and fidgets. "You're not the only one having dreams…" she mutters, looking down at her feet. "You're not that special."

"Oh?"

A tiny smile cracks on her face and her blush worsens. It's the first time Zuko can breathe around her, with a teasing smirk on his lips and a laugh in his chest.

Just as quickly as his lungs expand, Katara's hands fly to her neck and she pulls a vial from beneath her tunic.

"I might be able to heal it though… your scar," she gestures at his eye, "if you're self-conscious about it."

"It's a scar. It can't be healed."

"This is water from the Spirit Oasis…" Katara explains, ignoring his protests completely. She takes the vial from its cord, holding it up between them. "It has special properties. I've been saving it for something important."

Her fingers brush his cheek. Zuko closes his eyes, barely resisting the urge to lean into her touch.

"I don't know if it'll work, but…"

He smells lavender. He senses her thumb hovering millimeters from his lips.

Zuko doubts the water will do anything, but she's soft and cool, like a babbling creek. He's felt this gentle caress a dozen times in his dreams— the spirits remind him of every single one, showing him every kiss she bestows on his left cheekbone, every brush of her thumb along the line of scar tissue and smooth, ivory skin, every whisper that he's handsome and she loves him.

The visions dance across the back of his eyelids and when they fade, he looks at her again.

Katara's lashes are wet, but her palm still cups his face. "You're not a Northern warrior…"

"No, I'm not." Zuko reaches up, wrapping his fingers around her wrist delicately.

"You're from the Fire Nation."

"The one and only banished Prince." He says it sarcastically.

Katara isn't fazed. "That doesn't mean you're not kind," she whispers, "or honorable."

"It means you deserve better than me." He tugs her hand away. It will be easier for her if he keeps her at bay, if she has no attachment to him. He's supposed to die for her anyway.

Zuko turns his back to her, hating himself in that moment. "Save the water for someone else."

Azula never comes for them. How typical. Maybe she hopes they'll kill each other, doing all the work for her.

But the cave is quiet, peaceful. From the pangs in his stomach, Zuko guesses it's late. Katara is curled up on her side, her back to him.

Is that a sign of trust? He swallows, wondering if he trusts himself. So much of his soul is begging to go with her, to leave this cave and Ba Sing Se and teach the Avatar firebending. His heart aches.

But he can't give in. The smallest sign of loyalty to Katara won't go unnoticed by Azula. She'll capitalize on it: hurt the waterbender to hurt him. Even with his intentions to save Katara, Zuko doesn't want to risk it.

She shivers in a dream, distracting him from his thoughts. Zuko climbs to his feet, shedding his green kimono as he does. He'll be fine in pants and a sleeveless tunic, with firebending to keep warm and all.

He drapes the kimono over her. The added heat makes her stir, but all he gets is a sleepy stare before she closes her eyes again. It makes him see mornings spent laying in bed, marked with kisses down her neck and laughter tickling his skin.

Zuko hisses through his teeth. He has to stay distant. She has to stay safe. Then, he retreats to the opposite side of the cave.

The sky is red, so red. Like blood.

His tunic is warm and wet.

Zuko looks down, finding the source of the sticky heat, the smell of iron and death. Blue eyes flutter, holding desperation and dread until they hold nothing at all. He panics, cries, shouts curses at the fire surrounding them.

"No. No. Katara, no!"

Lightning crashes, thunder rumbles, drowning out his screams. She's supposed to live. It's supposed to be him.

"Katara!"

Zuko bolts upright, blinking sleep from his eyes. The cave has turned into a cloud of brown dust and scattered crystals. Two figures move among the mess, one small and agile, the other thick and portly.

"Aang?" Katara's soft voice is the first thing to make sense. "Aang! You came!"

His uncle materializes in the gloom next, pulling Zuko up and into a hug. Zuko stares over Uncle's shoulder at Katara.

Her eyes are begging him, but the dream is too fresh. It has to be a warning, a reminder. Stay away or she'll get hurt. His fingers shake. His stomach churns. He can't breathe.

Zuko looks down at his feet. He can feel Katara's heartbreak as she walks away.

His ears ring with the crack of lightning, with her screams as the Avatar fell.

"I was the first person to trust you!"

His eyes water with the memory of tears staining her cheeks.

"Remember? Back in Ba Sing Se?"

In the end, it all makes sense.

"And you turned around and betrayed me, betrayed all of us!"

Zuko stares down at the black sea, white-capped waves spreading out in the wake of his sister's warship.

Aang. Sokka. Toph. Katara. Uncle.

If only he could count himself among them.