Happy birthday, jennibare!

So here's this lovely piece of literature, perfected after days of hard work. /sarcasm

Actually, I began writing this about a month ago, wrote the majority of it, got stuck on the last few paragraphs, stopped writing, and picked it up again today. Hence, the end sounds a little (a lot) different than the rest of the story, but I haven't submitted anything in a while and I thought you all would appreciate a bit of somewhat-but-not-really angsty Zutara fluff. Somewhat.

I own nothing! Zuko, Katara, Aang, Azula, Ozai, Iroh, Suki, Sokka, Ursa, and anything else recognizable belong to Mike/Bryan/Nickelodeon/Viacom!

Enjoy!

Damn the sun. Damn it, damn it, damn it. I can feel it, spiraling around in my veins and pounding against my skull. It feels like I just fell asleep, which, unfortunately, is probably the case.

Aang's footsteps tracked across the beach and into the water, parading one after another like an army of ant-beetles, so the rest of us camped out along the ocean's edge in case he came back. I don't think any of us fell asleep until the moon was already more than half way across the sky, and my eyes couldn't have been closed for more than a couple hours before the damn sun woke me up.

I can tell that the sky is just a slate of pearly gray, the sun only just beginning to rip a hole of yellow on the horizon. It's not enough to make me get up, but it's plenty to keep me awake. I lie on the blanket for a long time, listening to the ocean chase itself up and down the beach. In and out; back and forth; push and pull; life and death.

After a while, I see that blush of the first rays of sun behind my eyelids, burning the irritating, warm glow of red in my closed sight. My forehead creases as I swallow something that's a cross between a growl and a heavy sigh, temporarily squeezing the light into a still golden-black.

What's going to happen if Aang doesn't come back? Or, what's going to happen if Aang can't kill Ozai? Will Sokka and Suki be alright without bending to defend themselves? Why won't the members of the White Lotus help us take down the Fire Lord and stop him before the whole planet is turned to ash?

What will happen to Katara if I can't be Azula?

The possibilities are enough to send my heart into overdrive and constrict my throat. I open my eyes then, and a shock of potent aquamarine meets me; the sky is already warm and alert. I turn my head and the tension in my chest eases away. Katara is still sleeping soundly, using her arm as a pillow.

It's so terribly wrong, I know; I've known this for quite some time. I shouldn't be thinking of her and the future and feelings while the world is at war with itself. But she has this inferno that rages inside of her, and I want that fire. And what do you do when you desperately want to protect what you love? You fight harder.

I exhale a long breath, only just realizing that I had been holding it in. It was too loud: I couldn't hear the rhythmic lull of her breath, the soft and reassuring expulsion of air between her lips.

I mutter a soft curse and cover my face with my hands. I am so, so screwed. A few moments float by and I let my arms drop, looking back at the waterbender. Katara is awake now, to my surprise, watching me carefully in silence. She curls up on her side, folding her hands by her neck.

"Good morning," I murmur.

She sighs, troubled, because she knows it's not really a "good" morning, but what else is there to say? "Morning," she responds.

The waxing sunlight does strange things to her eyes. Her right eye, caught in shadows, appears emerald while the other is a dark indigo. Pretty in a unsettling way.

"Did I wake you up?" With my question, I reach out a hand to her, my fingers curling on their own accord, as if they don't want to lie flat.

Her dual-shade eyes flutter closed as she yawns. She shakes her head and extends her hand to meet mine. Our fingers do not interlace, nor do we clasp hands like an orthodox couple might. Instead, she keeps reaching until the heels of our palms connect, and then she wraps her fingers around my wrist. In turn, I mimic her, my fingers touching because of her slender frame.

The hold is strong, sturdier than the lacing of fingers. It feels safe and…I don't know, powerful. Reassuring. It's not an embrace that can be easily broken, and stability is definitely what we need now.

I pull my arm back, never breaking contact, and she uses the leverage to half wiggle, half tug herself across the short expanse of sand between us. Now she lets go of my wrist, for the new position isn't particularly comfortable. Katara presses her nose to my neck, brushing her cold, bare toes against my legs.

"How'd you sleep?" she asks, striving for some sense of normalcy.

"Terribly," I mutter. "Nothing new there. What about you?"

Katara shuffles around a bit, molding herself to fit flush against me. "Surprisingly well," she says. "I dreamed of what it'll be like after the war and how much better everything will be when you're Fire Lord." "Hmm," I sigh in response, closing my eyes and resting my forehead against hers. The scent of her hair calms me and the heat of her body against mine reminds me that everything will be okay. She continues reciting her dream, and I focus on the gentle lilt of her voice.

"You gave me my own room at the palace and built a huge waterfall inside. Iroh got his teashop back-he had a huge reopening party and I could have sworn the entire city was packed into the one room. We found your mom up in a little mountain village, and-oh, Zuko," she breaks off, my name just barely more than a whisper on her tongue. Freezing fingertips touch my face, and only then do I realize that I am crying. Slow, silent, steady tears drawing misguided lines down my cheeks.

I open my eyes then, and through the film of traitorous saltwater, I see her two miniature oceans flood with tears of her own.

"It'll be okay, you'll see," she murmurs, and it sounds like she really believes herself. If nothing else, I at least need to pretend that everything will be fine. And then I kiss her, long and hard. Maybe it isn't exactly appropriate timing, but she welcomes the escape that we both need gratefully, clinging to my shirt.

"Promise me you won't do anything stupid later," she demands breathlessly after I draw back. Her tears have dried, for the most part, and the spark that was missing in her eyes returns. She tries to bite back a smile when I tell her I can't promise her that, but fails. "Fine," she compromises. "But you know we won't be able to stay together for the entire battle. Promise me that you'll find me when this is all over."

I nod fervently, tug her a little closer, and rest my chin on her matted hair. "I promise." Maybe by then, there won't be a reason to leave each other. Maybe by then, the first steps toward peace will be taken. Maybe, just maybe, if and when we don't have to worry about the planet being destroyed, I'll be able to tell her just how much I love her.

~Fin~

And there we have it. Can all of you tell the difference between the style of the first and second halves of the story? Because I sure can... :P

Hopefully I'll have something that many of my watchers/reviews have been begging for for quite a long time up by Christmas. Hopefully. But I've said that before. Fingers crossed.

Review, please?
Tchao, Zutarians.
-Erika-
xoxo