Disclaimer: I don't own Avatar or any characters therin.

Notes: I won't even pretend this makes complete sense, cause it doesn't. It's a slice of life and it doesn't explain how they got together or how they end. I tried to figure out how to explain it, but I really couldn't think of anything. So...this is it. Please review.

Iron Fences

There's a yard surrounded by a fence. It's several feet tall and made of sharply pointed iron. There's a gate too: black with gaudy gold. Quite impressive, and meant to declare that security is not an issue. Not that it would be, because everyone knows who lives behind that fence. Nevertheless the family almost never sees the fence, because they live in a palatial mansion that has extensive grounds and both business and entertainment are brought to them instead of them being brought to it.

But Katara sees the fence. Sees it almost every day as she walks home from school. Actually, it's the reason she walks from school instead of taking the bus. Not that she ever sees anything aside from the fence and the beginning of the carefully tended grounds. And Zuko. Which is really why she still walks by every single day.

Today is the first day of real summer. Which means Katara is lugging twice her usual amount of stuff, because she had to clean out her desk and everything else. She doesn't really mind, except her books are heavier this year than they were last year and the sun is really beating down because it's May 25th. So she stops in front of the fence just beyond the gate because it's just out of sight of both the security cameras and the road. She leans against the metal bars, her backpack a barrier between the burning metal and her skin.

The sun is hot but the air is teasing with a breeze that's mostly cool. The asphalt is warm underneath her bare feet because her sneakers are tied to her backpack just for the hell of it. A car zooms past and Katara breathes in the scent of wax and exhaust. Which makes her cough of course because of her stupid asthma.

So she's in the middle of her coughing fit, trying to figure out why everyone in this stupid not-quite-city is addicted to cars let out ungodly amounts of exhaust, when she hears a dark, cracking voice behind her. "Hi, Katara," as warm hands cover her eyes. Her coughing fit calms immediately as she breathes in his soft wood smoke scent.

"Hi, Zuko," she says. Her voice might be a little too breathy, even for her, but it's not like he notices as his hands―large, callused, and always warm―drop from her eyes. They talk well into the afternoon about school and bullying and elbow skin and heaven only knows what else. Eventually Katara drops her backpack so she can feel his muscled chest against her back through the too-tall fence.

When it's twilight, she turns and give him a slow kiss. It's still a little awkward, but there's unbridled passion behind it. Zuko pulls away. "We can't. Anymore."

"Why not?" There's honest curiosity in her voice.

"I…you're fourteen."

"And you're sixteen," she says primly.

"Yes. And I…I have that girl, um…" he stutters as he stares down at her. Her big blue eyes always undo him.

"Mai," Katara reminds gently.

"Um, yes, Mai. Mai. She loves me…"

There's a little bit of reproach written on the girl's expression. "So do I."

"But my parents―"

She lays a finger on his lips. "Don't approve of me. You…belong with her."

Silence falls, her hand drops to her side. Finally Zuko reaches through the bars to grab her hand. He gently presses it to the scar on his face. "No. This proves it." There's no elaboration what 'it' was proven, there's none needed.

They kiss again, lingering and passionate and a little bit sloppy. Soon they'll separate: her to finish her walk home, him to make excuses for his absence all afternoon. Tomorrow she'll be giggling with her neighbor and pretending she doesn't notice the way his eyes follow her; and Zuko will be politely entertaining Mai and pretending he didn't really flinch when her slim fingers grazed over his scar.

They're kissing each other through iron fences and learning the art of fake smiles. It's not Romeo and Juliet but it's as close as you can get when you're only fourteen and sixteen.