What Happens in the Swamp

Summary: "What happened with Zuko…Aang, it was a one night thing. You don't understand. We had been there for weeks." Sometimes she apologized without realizing what she was apologizing for. Exploration of the Swamp, years later. Kataang, Zutara, Rated M.

Author's Note: After "Letters from the Falling Sky," and various one-shots, this will hopefully be a fiction to remember. I truly admired the episode "The Swamp" in the series. But I feel like there's so much to be added.

I'm not really a fan of Zutara but it is an interesting contrast to Kataang, so when I write Zutara I find I have a tendency to add Kataang to it. I don't know how this one will turn out, to be honest, but I've found that this story is nearly writing itself.

If Katara was 15 when the show ended, she is about 20 in this. That makes Zuko 22, and Aang (for the sake of the story, even though it's not technically correct) a good 19.

I mention this so that you are not confused, or horrified. Ha, ha...

Happy reading!

-scorpiaux

-1-

I remember thinking what bad luck it was, for us to be sucked into the Swamp like that, in the middle of the night…it was raining, too, and dark, and Zuko and I were both irritated and annoyed with ourselves and with this turn of events—we hadn't seen one another in about two years and I was reminded of why we almost never got along. Bad tempers, the two of us. And big mouths.

At first I blamed Zuko and his sense of direction. And then I blamed Aang for telling me I should go with Zuko to represent the Southern Water Tribe at this conference that was supposed to be important. I have never found much in my life to be important. But when it comes to politics, Aang knows better, and I trusted him, agreed to go. It would only be for three days. And there was a hotel involved, one that was rumored to be amazing and ornate and luxurious. Three days listening to old men talk about things that didn't really matter, but a nice hotel. It was one of those "pros-cons" argument, if you know what I mean, and our tribe's igloos aren't exactly what I call fancy living.

After we were walking for about three hours, I blamed myself, because Zuko had never been to the Swamp before, but I had. I should have remembered how to direct us out of there, but I couldn't remember a thing. And the balloon…the balloon was destroyed. It wasn't like we had Appa. We had some dinky war balloon with a Fire Nation emblem on it. The war has only been over for five years. Somehow I imagine that we looked like an open target to the Earth Kingdom. Somehow I imagine we looked vulnerable, and stupid.

I can tell you what I know; I don't think I should have gone with Zuko in the first place. I don't think I should ever go anywhere with him again.

He said simply, "I think we've been here before," and turned to her for confirmation. But when Katara stared back at him with a questionable expression on her face—brows down, mouth pulled to one side, arms crossed—he turned his attention back to the vines blocking their path, and sighed outwardly. If the familiar outline of a makeshift passage through the vines wasn't enough to convince him that they were here before, Zuko could see their footprints from earlier: his larger foot, and Katara's smaller one.

"It's getting late," he said instead.

"It is." She shivered, pulled her coat a little closer. Zuko assumed that she would have been used to the cold based on her background, but Katara was no warmer than he was. It might have been the opposite. Since their arrival here, he had held a small flame in his hand to light their way. Thankfully, even though it was raining, the thick canopy was stopping any water from getting to them. But it was cold, and smelled damp, and Zuko was exhausted and sick of this.

She looked around them and announced, "You know what? Let's just set up camp. Right here. We can finish looking for a way out in the morning. What do you think?"

"You're asking my opinion?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

Zuko cut a dry twig with his dagger and set it in the center of the clearing—it looked like some form of rock, a boulder, with a flat top that both of them were standing on, and a bottom covered in moss. Around them, there stood a mass of branches and vines, and a small hole, where Zuko and Katara had wandered in unknowingly, and walked in a circle, and returned here.

"Oh, I don't know. You didn't seem very considerate when we landed here. If I remember correctly," he finished, cutting another twig and throwing it with the rest, "you were swearing, and it was loud."

"Forget I asked," Katara fused lazily.

"Why did you bring a tent with you?"

Katara was removing a tarp from one of her bags, and looked up to find him staring at her intently. She blinked, suddenly self-conscious, and stood up, dusting her knees. "Why not?"

He answered, shrugging, "I don't know. I would have never thought to bring a tent with me on my way to one of the greatest hotels in the world."

"Not all of us were raised in palaces," she returned evenly, lifting one of the longer branches Zuko had cut and fixating it to the side of the tarp. "Besides, you don't have to sleep in here. I only brought one tarp. You can sleep outside. On the ground."

She was mostly kidding. Katara didn't mind sharing tents with anyone. But he took the comment seriously, and—frowning—started cutting the branches off with a little more force.

For a short time there was silence. A bird screeched loudly from above them, and when Zuko jumped, Katara started laughing without pretending she wasn't. He ignored this. Then he finished setting up a fire, small but warm, and sat cross-legged in front of it, face expressionless. Katara's finished tent was large enough to fit a good four people comfortably, but she didn't ask him to come in, and she didn't tell him that she wanted to sleep. Instead she joined him by the fire and threw a small pebble at his face.

It hit the center of his cheek squarely; he flinched.

"What are you thinking about?" she wanted to know. "You've been staring at the fire like that forever."

"Forever?"

"For a long time," she corrected distractedly.

"I would appreciate it if you didn't throw rocks at my face," Zuko said, picking up the pebble and inspecting it.

Katara was swatting at a thin swarm of some species of insect. "I would appreciate it if you hadn't led us into this hell hole," she replied hotly.

"I would appreciate it if you could remember how to get us out." Zuko sent a hand through his hair, clearly distraught, and turned to her. In the dark, and against the slight light from the fire, Katara's eyes looked as though they were glowing. It was a captivating shade of blue, thought Zuko, who was absentminded enough at this point to be annoyed with this person but also in some form of awe at her creation. It was enough that the skin around her eyes was smooth and flawless. Without thinking, he slumped forward and covered his scar with his hand, resting his elbow on his knee, making it look as though he were thinking.

"Anyway," he clarified, "arguing won't get us anywhere. So maybe we should just…sleep or something."

Or something, she wondered. What else was there to do besides sleep? The thought of apologizing crossed her mind, but Katara decided against it. There was nothing to apologize for. They had exchanged a set of choice words, argued, complained, whined at each other. And here they were, in a situation that could be deemed both pathetic and remarkable. Although she didn't know how it would be considered remarkable. Maybe it wasn't remarkable at all. Maybe it was just stupid luck; destiny and fate, colliding and overlapping. She was reminded of Ba Sing Sei then, and she looked at the side of Zuko's face—he was covering part of it with his hand, for some reason—and said, "I'm sorry."

"It doesn't matter," he said monotonously. "I'm sorry too. I can't believe we're going to miss this meeting." Then he fell to his side and turned his back to her.

She realized without him telling her that it was time to sleep—'or something'—and so she crawled underneath the tarp, closing her eyes and thinking of ways to escape, and if the men at the conference would send for them once they realized they were missing. Or if they would be here forever.

Or at least a long time.