A/N: Takes place during and immediately after the finale. I will forever resent the fact that Aang was literally fifty feet away from Katara when he gave Korra back her bending, and the Spirits could have at least given him five minutes to say hi, at least. - Tinged

She get's lonely, sometimes.

On the cold, windy nights, when the snow falls in swirls and the sky is obliterated by white, she thinks back to a time when she was dirty, stinking, exhausted and scared. Her clothes are ripped and ragged, and the only reason she can't smell the dirt clinging to her skin is because she's grown so used to it. The white, warm fur underneath her is soft, and the wind is cool. The stars are bright, and they are running from the Fire Nation.

She thinks about the nights she spent, her brother and her friend and the boy she loved, fleeing from the Prince who needed to restore his honour, and then his sister, who wanted nothing more than glory in the form of a grave. Always running, always fleeing, always looking over their shoulders, nervous and unsettled, never comfortable in one place for very long.

She remembers the stench of burnt skin and blood that clings to the Avatar's body when Azula struck him from the sky. It sticks to her hands as she ministers to his injury, terrified and desperate, praying to the Spirits that they don't take Aang, too.

She remembers the nights and the days when they could forget their fears for a little while, and just enjoy the fact that they were alive, and fighting, and young, and with all the world to hope for.

She is a respected woman, now; the greatest Healer in the world, unquestionably, the greatest Waterbender in the world, without a doubt. She is an honorary member of the White Lotus, a consultant to the UN, and revered as the Mother of Airbenders, the Wife of the Avatar. People say her name with reverence, awe, and delight.

But she is very alone.

Sokka and Toph, Suki and Hakoda, their times have passed. They've lived so fiercely and so fully that Katara tries not to mourn their absence too hard. They've left nothing undone, no joke untold, no adventure unhad. They've lived like they've always wanted to live, and Katara is glad for it.

Zuko is far away, an aging Diplomat where once he was King, and although they exchange letters, every now and again, it's hard to know that, soon, one of them will be alone, the last of Team Avatar, with nothing but memories.

Most of all, she misses Aang.

She misses the sound of his laugh when he's heard one of Sokka's jokes, or the way he bounces through life instead of walks. She misses the gleam of his grey eyes, the corners crinkled from laughter and smiles, the way they always light up when he hears one of his children shout "Daddy!"

She misses the soft blue of his arrows that always seemed a little brighter in the dark, and the way he would shudder when she ran kisses down the lines, tracing them over his body, memorizing the shape of his being.

She misses the way he would kiss her, bodies pressed closed together and hearts intertwined, or the way he would call her, in front of hundreds, in front of crowds, "Master Katara."

She misses the way he feels inside of her, hands trembling as they cup her face and hold her to him, and she misses the way her body responded, knowing she is holding onto her soulmate and she never wants to let go.

She misses him so much it's like an ache, a real, tangible pain that will never go away, like a shard of ice that chips a little harder into her heart.

When Korra comes to see her with her head bowed and her eyes pleading, Katara can sense Aang, hovering just beyond the veil, solemn and serious, and she does all she can: for the girl she has come to love as a daughter, and the man she has loved her entire life.

But nothing works.

She doesn't despair, though. It hurts to see Korra in pain, but nothing is permanent in this world, not even our troubles. Korra needs to learn to heal, to accept ... and then fight. If something can be done, it can be undone.

It's why, when Korra comes bursting back into her home, two hours later, humming with life and purpose and joy, Katara is the one to smile the hardest.

She thinks she can spot Aang, standing just behind Korra as she gives Lin her bending back. In the bright gleam of Korra's eyes - eyes that Katara has seen on a man as wise and as powerful as the Lion Turtle who taught him this ancient trick - Katara thinks she can see Aang smiling.

It's cold, tonight, bitterly cold, but Katara is warm, surrounded by people she loves. She pulls the sheets back on her bed, but she has no intention of sleeping. Instead, she looks out the window, out to the sea. The moon is full, and Katara feels a tug, deep inside of her, like the tide. Tonight is not the night for sleeping.

She slips out the door and walks through the snow, not feeling the cold or the soft wind. Her body feels full of life, tonight, and she walks, peaceful and contently, towards the sea.

She stands on the edge of a cliff, head tilted towards the moon, remembering a girl with white hair and selfless courage.

And as she stands there, she hears someone move behind her and then she feels a hand, a gloriously familiar touch, and when she turns, she hears the words she's been missing for 17 years.

"Baby, you're my forever girl."