V

The Fire Lord sat pensively at his desk, struggling to concentrate on the report before him. From what he'd read of it, these rebels on the Water Tribe-Air Nomad border were not a variable to be ignored. His mind kept sweeping back to Katara in the sickroom and he slammed the document onto the wood in frustration, tangling his fingers into his lush black hair. He didn't have much chance to reflect however, as pattering footsteps and a boisterous voice grew steadily louder in the corridor just outside his study. The voice was that of Sokka, and he could hear Jet's distinctive footsteps crashing madly down the hallway. He knew this, of course, because Sokka was more light-footed, having lived to walk on unsteady ice and snow. On the contrary, Jet had never learned such care and generally sounded like Appa bouncing around in glee when he was careless. He could be extremely quiet at other times, though. That's what made him a good soldier, Zuko supposed, but his training didn't seem to be innate.

He glanced at a pitcher of water across the room, wishing nothing more than to be a waterbender at that very moment. He was rather surprised when a good-sized sphere lifted from the pitcher to hover for a moment. He could... oh there was no way... He could feel the water hang there, suspended as though by strings linked to his–hands? He looked to see his hands in midair above the desk. He looked back at the sphere, wondering what would happen if it moved a little to the left...

In a split second, Zuko thought the door would splinter right off its hinges. The water sphere was destroyed and splashed just to the left of the glass pitcher. He let his hands fall uselessly back to the desk.

"SHE'S AWAKE!" Sokka tripped over the rug just after shouting and landed with a dull 'thud'. Jet calmly jogged up and stopped behind him. Zuko stood and glanced at Sokka's prone form for a moment, and when he lifted his head, spitting fuzz, the Fire Lord sat back down, pinching the bridge of his nose. "She's awake," Sokka repeated. Zuko looked at Jet's incredulous face.

"Sokka..." Jet started, then shook his head and let his thoughts trail into nothing.

"Is this true, Jet?" The Fire Lord propped his head on his hand, closing his eyes.

"Hmm?" Jet looked up, saw the Fire Lord, and remembered just why he was in his study. "Oh! Yes, she's awake. She asked to see you as soon as possible."

Zuko nodded, and without a word stood and left, his footsteps silent on the marble flooring.

"You're an idiot." The grumble of a voice came from seemingly nowhere and a young man shuddered in the shadows.

"Yes, Master," he whispered.

A pleased sigh fell from the same nothingness the voice had come from. "But your idiocy will not get in my way again."

"No, Master."

"You will follow the plan to the dot."

"Yes, Master."

"Good. Now leave."

"Yes, Master."

The boy was gone in a rustle of clothing. From the darkness, feral, golden eyes flared open, and a figure stepped into what light permeated the room. A woman, a young adult, half-decayed and reeking of death glided easily through her home, her rotting rags trailing behind her. A surprisingly full head of hair trailed down her shoulders and a glowing pendant encircled the remnants of her neck. Suddenly she stopped, an iron door before her. She raked a blood-stained talon down the front of it, muttering something Otherworldly under her breath. A hiss followed and she pushed the door open silently.

A dim glow surrounded a bed in the middle of the room. Lying on the bed was a middle-aged man, his silky black hair flecked with grey. The clothing he wore was extravagant, the fabrics designed for a king. The young woman knelt by the bed, resting her scaly, dead hand on his soft, pale brow. She scraped her claws through his hair.

"Soon, Father. Soon, this will all be over. Soon, you will have your throne. Soon, Zuko will fall and the world will be ours."

A knock at the door startled her, and she stood. "What?" she barked.

A quivering voice wafted from the other side of the iron. "My Lady, I have brought the Cleric."

"Let him in, then."

She turned back to the prone form on the bed, resting her hand in its previous position. The door hissed and opened, and footsteps, accompanied by the murmur of robes, approached her. She didn't turn as the Cleric spoke to her.

"Lady Zula, how are you?"

She let out a short, bitter laugh. "I'm half-dead, Cleric. How do you think I'm doing?"

She could feel the tall man smile behind her. He rested a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Ah, yes, but it is your death that keeps the Fire Lord alive."

She looked up at him, meeting his warm brown eyes with her amber ones. "And what, pray tell, keeps me alive?"

The Cleric's smile widened. "Why, me, my dear, and me alone."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "With the guidance of Agni, of course."

He chuckled. "Of course." They stared at one another a moment longer, before Zula turned back to her father.

"How long until we can restore his life to him?"

The Cleric breathed deeply behind her. "He's still not ready for the final life-blood, I'm afraid, but it should be soon."

"How soon?" she snapped.

He put his other hand on her remaining shoulder and leaned close to her decaying ear. "Patience, my princess, patience..." he whispered.

She glanced at him, meeting his brown gaze before everything in her world went black. Before drifting into unconsciousness, she vaguely noted that she hated him, for all that she loved him, for the power he wielded over her dead body. He was the one who kept her–and Ozai–alive. It was to him that she owed her throne, and she knew he would get his pay in the end of it all.

In full, if not with interest.

Zuko knocked lightly on the door to Katara's room, leaning his head to the door. His other hand rested on the door handle. He heard a hoarse and quiet 'come in' from the other side of the wood, and complied with a relieved sigh. The first thing he saw when he lifted his eyes to the bed were her cerulean eyes. He wanted to run to her, hug her tight and never let her go on one of her escapades ever again. He wanted to kiss her, ask her to marry him and rule with him and...

He wanted to know why he could waterbend all of a sudden.

"What did you do to me?" he asked, a little harsher than he'd intended. Surprisingly, Katara smiled at him.

"I bestowed upon you the gift I was given,"she said softly.

He furrowed his brow. "Can you do that?" She shrugged.

"It is mine to give to whomever I wish, I suppose."

He sat down on the edge of her bed, taking her small hand into his much larger one. "Where did you learn this?" he asked.

"Aang," she replied.

"How long does it last?"

She looked back up at him. "I'm not sure. I wasn't even convinced it would work when I did it. I wasn't thinking about it, really. I was much too concerned about you."

Zuko nodded, looking from their intertwined hands to her face. "About that, Katara. Why didn't you tell me?"

She shook her head. "Tell you what?"

He sighed. "You know perfectly well what..." he paused for a moment, hesistant. "Shashi..."

She shut her eyes, clenching them as if the motion would make it all go away.

"I didn't want you to know," she whispered after a moment.

"I know," he replied, just as quietly.

"I did it to protect you."

"I know. And I don't want you to do it again."

"But Zuko, I–"

"No 'but's, Katara. I won't have you risking your life for me," he said calmly. He'd learned to control his temper much better lately.

"Zuko, my life isn't nearly as important as yours!"

His eyes, which had fluttered closed simply listening to her voice snapped open, flashing dangerously. "Don't you ever, and I mean ever, say that again, Katara. Not to me, not to Aang, not to Sokka, not even to yourself. Do you understand me?"

She looked up at him pleadingly. "But Zuko–"

"Do you?" he asked, boring into her gaze with his own. Sheepishly, she nodded.

He kissed her lightly on the forehead, brushing her hair back from her face. He sighed. "Katara, I know you wanted to talk to me, and I want to talk to you, too, but I have more pressing matters weighing on my mind and desk right now." He looked into her eyes, drowning in the sheer water of them. "I promise I'll come back to talk to you tonight. I just have some rebels I need to sort out."

She sat up abruptly. "Zuko! That's–" he shushed her, lightly pressing two fingers to her lips and pushing her back down to her pillows.

"I promise," he whispered, kissing her once more on her brow. Silently he left, like a ghost, almost, back to his study.

Katara sighed as the door closed. "That's what I wanted to talk to you about..." she murmured to the stiff wood that blocked her voice from his ears.

She hoped he wouldn't make any decisions until tomorrow. She had to tell him what she knew, what she had learned. He didn't know who–what–these rebels were. He didn't know what they were planning. He didn't know why he was their target, if he even knew that he was. He didn't know who was leading them.

He didn't know that his sister was back from the dead, waiting to revive Ozai with Zuko's life-blood.

I love you all!

God Bless you, I'll be praying for you, whoever, wherever you are.

Love,

Luci