He was beginning to think she wouldn't come.

He sat on the back porch of his small cottage on the shore of Ember Island, watching the waves lap against the wet sand. Along the horizon, a full moon was beginning to rise. Inside the cottage, an elegant dinner had long since cooled.

He stood, slowly making his way down to the place where the cobblestone path met the sand. He hesitated a moment, but then stepped farther, feeling the cooling sand shift beneath his feet as he made his way to the tides. He let the water rise to meet him, focusing on the way it coyly curled around his ankles before retreating, always with the promise to return. If only her promises were so steadfast, so predictable.

The first time it had happened as if by accident. She had been working in the Fire Nation for the past month, teaching classes on healing and helping in the local hospitals and clinics when she could. She worked long days; there never seemed to be a shortage of sick and injured patients to treat despite the fact that the war had ended years ago. As a continued acknowledgement of her service during the war, she was granted free lodging at the Fire Nation palace. Catching a glimpse of her around the palace was a challenge, however; she seemed to stay only long enough to sleep before she was back out in the city at large.

Which is why he had been surprised to find her one night, slouched on the bench by the turtleduck pond, tossing the last bits of a roll into the water. He had come to this place for some relaxation after a long day of meetings and pompous politicians. Had it been anyone else, he would have been incensed that someone would dare invade his personal place. But she was welcomed as few people ever were- she seemed to enhance the tranquility of the space. He had approached wordlessly and sat on the bench next to her, watching the turtleducks swim lazy circles around one another.

She had sighed and rolled her shoulders before leaning over to him, as though she had a secret to tell, and gave him a weary smile. "I need a vacation." She might have only meant it as a joke, or a fantasy, but looking at her he knew it was true. Her fatigue showed in her eyes, and her hands trembled as they moved to rub circles on her temples. He silently inventoried his own list of burdens - lack of sleep, stifling schedule, pressures from the council – and he knew it was true of himself as well. They needed a vacation. So it was all too easy for him to mention that he still owned a small piece of property on Ember Island, where they could both go to relax for a while.

At first she had laughed it off – don't be silly, we both have too much to do – but one day he caught a glimpse of her in the aviary, a pained look on her face. She held a scroll tightly in one fist. He watched as she took a deep breath and blinked hard before shoving the scroll back into a tube wrapped with a yellow ribbon. The next morning she appeared in the doorway of his office looking resolute, asking if the offer still stood. It took but a day to make the arrangements.

The trip hadn't been without its awkward moments. They were friends, to be sure, but it had been years since they had spent this much time together, and even longer since they had spent time alone together. The ride on the ship to the island was mostly a silent affair peppered with small talk, and he couldn't help but be reminded of prior excursions with her. He remembered thinking that perhaps the third time was the charm; this would be the first solo trip they had taken together where the agenda did not include murder or hostile takeover.

Upon arrival they stepped into the cottage that was to be their home for the next week. After a few kinks were worked out –"do you want the bedroom?" "no, you can have it" – they settled in quite nicely. When he decided to cook a meal for them, he wasn't sure if she was more impressed by his culinary skills or by the fact that she didn't have to do it. It was this act that broke the ice; the quiet, easy conversation that followed was an ideal complement to the meal. After dinner, he had dozed on the porch while she swam in the calm waters of the bay.

It wasn't long before they fell into a lazy, comfortable rhythm. They had sparred in the mornings, when the sun was low, and swam in the afternoons to escape the heat. The evenings had been his favorite time of day, as they had lounged on the porch sipping glasses of fire wine, swapping stories, reminiscing, and sharing old secrets. Those few days were idyllic; no obligations, no tensions, just a quiet sense of relaxation that permeated their every sense.

He hadn't planned to kiss her, but that's how these things work out sometimes.

It was the final evening at the cottage. The pair had spread out a blanket across a stretch of sand close to the water, and had made a small fire pit to warm them against the cooling temperatures brought on by nightfall. Their shoulders leaned casually against each other as they sipped fire wine, staring at the push and pull of the tide and speaking in low tones. The topic of conversation leading up to the moment in question eludes his memory even now, but the other little details are ones that couldn't be forgotten if he were to live a hundred lifetimes. She had been laughing about something he said, from which he took a particular pleasure; no one ever laughed at his jokes. Watching her laugh - there was just something about the way the soft light accentuated her skin, made her eyes flash in a certain way, made her loose hair shine - he could not bear to look away from her. Inspired by this moment, and emboldened by the light-headed feelings brought on by the wine, he had leaned over and gently cupped the side of her face with his hand. She quieted, and studied his face. She had not flinched or recoiled as he might have expected; instead, she appeared curious. He had taken this opportunity to lean forward, softly bringing his lips to hers. To his delight, she returned the kiss, tentatively at first and then building in passion. Feelings he thought had been long forgotten resurfaced, making his heart race and his skin tingle. Overcome with these sensations, he couldn't help but smile against her mouth, breaking the kiss. They had remained that way for a moment, a breath apart, searching each other's eyes. Feeling suddenly embarrassed by his boldness, he had laughed softly, shifting back to his original seating position, and ran a hand through his hair.

Still smiling, he said, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that. I don't know what came over me."

"I think I do." She said it without a hint of irony or judgment. Her level stare was accentuated by the glow in her eyes made by the firelight.

He gave her a sidelong look, not sure of what she meant. "Is that so? Still, I shouldn't have. It wasn't right. What about-"

"Aang? What about Mai? Is that what you were going to say?" She settled back down against him.

He sighed. "Yes, I suppose it was. But more than that, I shouldn't have made any assumptions, you know, about you and me. It was unfair."

She had leaned over to place a quick kiss on his temple before standing up, preparing to make her way back to the cottage. "I can't speak for you and Mai, but my relationship with Aang is…complicated at the moment." Her face had taken on a stormy appearance temporarily, but then she had smiled. "As for your other concern…maybe it was unfair for you to not make those assumptions." And with that, she made her way up the cobblestone path.

The second time it happened, six months had passed, and in all that time he hadn't seen her. He knew by her letters that she had been spending time in the Earth Kingdom, looking for Airbenders with Aang. No mention had been made about that night on the island, and he thought perhaps that was for the best. Mai was still off visiting her parents, and he hadn't had any communication with her in months as well. After their last argument, he didn't expect to. Alone in the palace, he found he was free to lose himself in his work, though he did experience a twinge of loneliness at times when he would sit by his mother's turtleduck pond.

When she unexpectedly arrived in the doorway of his office, he was surprised but confused. Shouldn't she be on another continent? But he didn't question it; she was here and that's all that mattered. It was not until that moment that he realized how deeply he had wished for her return.

She looked a little worse for wear, her eyes were red and rimmed by dark circles, as though she had spent the past few nights crying too much and sleeping too little. But most curious was the lack of Airbender tagging along with her. This too, he chose to ignore. She would explain whatever she wished to divulge in her own time. She did not come here to complain or gossip, she came with a request: she wished to return to Ember Island. And of course, he could not refuse her.

Within two days, they were back on the ship that carried them to the island. He watched her bending on the deck of the ship, sinuous and powerful against the backdrop of the setting sun. She challenged him to a sparring match; a folly thing, trying to beat a master waterbender surrounded by the sea. But he was finding that he was willing to be a fool for her in more ways than one.

By the time they arrived, they stumbled off the boat to the sound of her laughter ringing in the air. They tossed their belongings across the threshold of the cottage. She sank into a chair, still giggling, while he poured two glasses of fire wine. She accepted the offering wordlessly, with a shaking hand and a nervous smile. He watched her curiously as she trained her eyes on his over the rim of the glass as she took a long drink. She then took a deep breath, set the glass down gently on the floor, and stood, walking out toward the cobblestone path. He took a moment to finish his own glass, and then followed after her.

By the time he reached the point where the path dissolved into sand, all that was left of her was a trail of discarded clothing leading to the water. He followed the trail – here, her boots; here, her overcoat; here, her pants; here, her wrappings – until he felt the tides lap at his toes. Looking up, he saw her, head and shoulders above the water, facing him. He was reminded of that same look she had given him during their last visit; smiling, but hinting at something, a secret. He put one foot in the water, but she shook her head and gestured to his body. He gave her an incredulous look, but she remained undeterred. Smiling, he divested himself of his clothes as well, but only removed his pants once underwater to preserve some sense of dignity.

He felt the water shift unnaturally around him, pulling him out farther into the sea. Once he reached her, she released her hold. "Come and see what I've found." He swam after her until he could see her destination up ahead: a small landmass, nothing more than a bank of sand, in a small secluded cove. As he watched, she swam into to the shallows and slowly stepped up the incline of the sandbank until she stood on top of it, dripping and unabashed. Whatever uncertainty she had possessed earlier had vanished; she moved now with purpose and confidence. Looking at her then, the unreality of the situation struck him: that he should be so lucky, that she should look so magnificent.

He remained stock still in the water, frozen in place, fearful that the slightest movement or exhaled breath might scatter this into the fantasy that he believed it to be. On the sandbank, she glistened softly in the moonlight, but her eyes burned brightly. This look, this act – he couldn't decide if it was a challenge, an invitation, or perhaps both. Before he could make the decision to join her though, a slight breeze moved in, causing her to shiver slightly. She looked back at him with the same smirk: "Maybe you're right, maybe it's better in the water." She waded back into the water until she found a space where she could stand and remain unexposed from the shoulders down. He approached her, tentatively, feeling a little like the world was tilting in strange ways. He was not sure where this was leading but he hoped that her ideas mirrored the thoughts spinning in his mind.

He was not to be disappointed. They stood, facing each other for just a moment, until she reached up with her right hand and caressed his scar. He closed his eyes and went perfectly still, savoring the touch. A small part of him was aware of the hitching of her breath and the slight tremble in her hand. Perhaps the earlier bravado had been a false display of confidence after all. These thoughts were immediately abandoned as he did not see, but rather felt, her move in closer to place a soft kiss on his lips. The sudden contact of her mouth on his, coupled with the way her breasts grazed his skin, sent a powerful wave of sensation throughout his body. Every thought he could manage in this moment was consumed with images of melting his body with hers, right this moment, right now. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her in, deepening the kiss.

She led him back to the shallows, to a place that they could remain in the water but still be supported by the sand beneath. What followed was, even years later in retrospect, one of the most surreal nights he had experienced. If asked to remember the hours spent in that cove, he most certainly could have recounted each moment. But it was not the narrative in its entirety that was remembered most; it was the small details that would jump into his mind, at odd intervals, filling him with longing. Like the way she could manipulate the water around them in creative ways, or the way he would inadvertently heat it for her as a result. Like the way her eyes could express so much – what she wanted, what she needed, what she craved. Like the taste of her skin as he peppered small kisses along her neck. The arch of her back, the sound of his name on her lips. The way the water made everything slower, stretching out time and allowing them to luxuriate in sensation. The way that same sense of unreality would wash over him – how can this be happening – how can she be so beautiful – how do I deserve this – and the way she could bring him right back into the moment with a grind of her hips, ratcheting up his desire. The way she had curled up tightly against him in the end, as their breathing returned to normal, as they rocked gently together in the push and pull of the tides.

Time passed, the moon rose higher in the sky. Reluctantly, they swam back to shore, aided a bit by her waterbending. Upon reaching the shore, they collected the clothing that was strewn upon the beach and headed for the cottage. He found two soft robes, and helped her into one before shrugging one on himself. He heated some tea, and brought two cups out to the porch where she was sitting. He handed a cup to her before sitting down on the bench alongside her. They sat in silence; the only sounds were that of the wind across the sea and her breath as she blew on her tea. It should have been peaceful, but he was having a hard time interpreting her mood. The tranquility of the moment was making him question if the whole thing had just been a dream after all. But if it wasn't – if it had been real – he was gripped by the fear that he had scared her away or ruined what tenuous friendship they had. His uncle's voice echoed in his head: you never think these things through.

He was about to escape by bidding her goodnight when she suddenly laughed softly and leaned against him. "I told you it was unfair to make assumptions."

He smiled in spite of himself. "You were right." He hesitated. "Where will you go once we return? I would have assumed you would return to the Earth Kingdom, but perhaps that assumption is wrong as well."

She stiffened momentarily. "There's nothing I wish to do in the Earth Kingdom right now. I was there helping Aang, but… well sometimes he doesn't understand. I get tired of traveling all the time. I miss home. I miss my family, my friends. I thought that the chaos of our lives during the war would end with the war, but it hasn't. There's always a new task or a new mission, and I know he's the Avatar and I can't begrudge him for it, but sometimes, it feels like my life isn't my own anymore. I told him as much, and it just caused a fight. I told him to find me again when I can be his partner, not just a priority somewhere on a list." She spat the last words as though they left a bad taste in her mouth.

He carefully draped an arm around her shoulders. "I'm sorry. I had no idea." He paused. "What made you come to the palace? Why not go visit your brother, or even Toph? She's still in the Earth Kingdom, isn't she?"

"Yes, Toph's still there. And I probably will go visit Sokka soon. It's just, I don't know, you and I, we understand each other. There have always been parts of me that you understood long before anyone else did, parts that other people still don't understand. You have no expectations of what I should be. I don't have to be anybody else with you, I can just be Katara, and that's enough. That's the kind of freedom I need; not the freedom to be anywhere but the freedom to be anyone. I guess that's why I came to the palace, you allow me that freedom. I thought maybe I could relax and really take a look at who I want to be and what I want."

He decided to risk it. "And just what do you want?"

"For now? Just this." She snuggled in a little closer to him. They remained this way until the first light of dawn began to highlight the sea.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed. He sat on the sand, watching the tides, remembering the times they had spent and the way she had promised to return. The moon had reached its zenith. She still hadn't arrived.

He sighed, pulling himself up and stretching out the stiffness in his limbs. He made his way back to the cottage. He bypassed the dinner still laid out on the table; he found he had no appetite. Instead, he went straight for the fire wine, pulling a bottle from the shelf. A lifetime of manners made him reach for a glass, but he decided against it. The cork made a soft popping sound as he freed it with his teeth. He took a long draught from the bottle, focusing on the warm feelings that spread throughout his body. There was a brief pang in his heart as he thought of the last time he had tasted this vintage, but he quieted it with another drink.

He returned to the porch, hand curled around the neck of the bottle. He slumped down on the bench there and stared at the moon. For a moment, he thought the alcohol was playing tricks on his mind: he swore he saw a dark spot move across the moon. He looked closer, following the shape as it became larger in his vision, until he could clearly see the outline of a bird. A hawk. A messenger hawk. A messenger hawk that was flying in his direction.

It landed on the railing of the porch with a loud squawk. It turned nimbly, revealing the tube on its back. A blue ribbon peeked out from the cylinder.

His blood turned to ice as he stared at the bird. He was certain now that she was not coming.

He approached the hawk cautiously, both anxious to read the message within and horrified by what it might contain. He hated his hands for trembling as he reached for the cylinder and removed the scroll. Unrolling it carefully, he read and re-read the characters on the page.

It was a betrothal announcement. For Avatar Aang and Master Katara of the Southern Water Tribe.

He blinked at it a few times. This is it? This is the only message she sends? He dropped the scroll and reached over to the bird once more to make sure he hadn't missed something, but it was empty. Rage consumed him. He growled and sent a jet of flame toward the beach where it fizzled out on the wet sand. The hawk, startled, squawked at him once more before flying away. He kicked the bench before sitting down upon it roughly. He grabbed the wine bottle again and took a long swig. As he did, he noticed the abandoned scroll lying face-down on the ground. It was then that he saw it.

There, in the corner, on the back of the scroll, written in neat characters, was her message: I'm sorry.

This only enraged him further. Sorry? Sorry for what? The thought that she should have to apologize to him was an insult to them both. Had she not listened to her own words during their last meeting? She was correct in that he held no expectations about who she should be. She was free to make her own choices, and if this was her choice, so be it. She owed him nothing. Was he disappointed that she was not here to share his company? Yes. But not because he had any illusions about whom they were to one another. Would he have preferred she communicated this message in another way, in person, perhaps? Yes. But not because it would alter her decision. There was nothing to apologize for, because there was nothing to forgive.

He drained the rest of the bottle and stumbled back out onto the beach. He plopped down onto the sand and sighed. Looking out across the bay, memories of trembling limbs and warm waters flashed across his mind. Running his hands across the sand recalled images bathed in firelight and the sound of her laughter. He looked up at the moon and smiled.

"I'm not sorry. For any of it."

A/N: I'm not going to lie, when I started writing this, it was a bit more graphic. Ok, who am I kidding, it was waaaay more graphic. For whatever reason I chose to tone it down a bit, and I kinda like it better this way. For those of you who even remember the longer story I've got going (If It Kills Me), I swear to the spirits that it will be updated. Eventually. Grad school has run me over like a herd of angry alpacas. Anywhoo, feedback is always welcome, so leave me some love (or criticism, if that's what you like)!