Zuko woke to warmth and the familiar weight of Katara's body pressed against his, and the immediate, mortifying awareness that his body was responding to her proximity in ways he absolutely could not control.
Not again, he thought desperately, his face already burning with embarrassment. Please, not again.
But there was no denying it. He was seventeen, Katara was warm and soft and pressed against him in ways that made coherent thought nearly impossible, and certain parts of his anatomy were making their interest in the situation abundantly clear.
He needed to move. Needed to extract himself before she woke up and noticed and this became the single most humiliating moment of his entire life. Slowly, carefully, Zuko tried to shift away from her, to create distance between their bodies without disturbing her sleep.
Katara made a small sound of protest, her arm tightening around his waist.
Spirits help me, Zuko thought, freezing in place. This is a nightmare.
He tried again, more carefully this time, gently working to disentangle himself from her grip. But the movement only made things worse, the friction of her body against his sending heat flooding through him that had nothing to do with his firebending.
Katara stirred, her eyes fluttering open. For a moment, she looked confused, disoriented, still caught in the space between sleep and waking. Then awareness returned, and her blue eyes focused on his face—close enough that he could count her eyelashes, close enough that there was no hiding the flush in his cheeks or the way his breathing had gone unsteady.
Then her gaze dropped slightly, and Zuko watched in horror as understanding dawned. She could feel it—there was no way she couldn't feel it, pressed against her hip the way they were positioned. The evidence of exactly what her proximity was doing to him.
Zuko's face went from warm to absolutely scalding. "I'm sorry," he said quickly, already trying to pull away despite the awkwardness of the situation. "I didn't—it's not—I wasn't trying to—"
"It's okay," Katara said, and to her credit, her voice was only slightly strained. Her own face was flushed, but she was trying to look anywhere except directly at him. "It's normal. Completely normal. You're a teenage boy and we've been sleeping close together and bodies just... react. It doesn't mean anything. It's just biology."
"Can we please never talk about this again?" Zuko begged, scrambling out of his bedroll with as much dignity as he could muster, which was exactly none. "Ever. For the rest of our lives."
"I'm just saying, there's nothing to be embarrassed about," Katara continued, and Zuko could hear something in her voice that might have been amusement fighting with her own awkwardness. "It happens. It's perfectly natural. My Gran Gran explained about boys and how their bodies—"
"I'm going to drown myself now," Zuko announced, and before his brain could catch up with his mouth, he walked directly to the edge of the hot spring pool and jumped in.
Fully clothed.
The splash echoed through the cave, and Zuko surfaced to the sound of Katara's laughter—bright and genuine and entirely too delighted with his mortification. He glared at her through his dripping hair, which only made her laugh harder.
"You jumped in with your clothes on," she managed between giggles.
"I'm aware," Zuko said with as much dignity as he could muster while standing waist-deep in water with his tunic plastered to his chest. "I made a choice."
"A choice to be wet and uncomfortable?"
"A choice to end this conversation," Zuko corrected. He began steaming himself dry, using his firebending to heat the water in his clothes until it evaporated. "We are never speaking of this again. Never. I'm serious, Katara."
"If you say so," Katara said, but her grin was wicked and knowing in ways that made Zuko certain she was going to bring this up at the absolute worst possible moment in the future.
What Katara didn't say—what she would never admit out loud—was that she'd noticed his reaction before he'd tried to extract himself. That she'd lain there for several moments while he thought she was asleep, hyperaware of the evidence pressing against her hip, feeling heat pool in her own stomach that had nothing to do with the warm cave air. That some traitorous part of her had been pleased to know she could affect him that way, that his body responded to her proximity with such obvious interest.
But that was a thought for later, for when she was alone and could examine it without the mortification of having him watch her face while she thought it. For now, she focused on packing their supplies and pretending the last ten minutes hadn't happened.
They ate breakfast in careful silence, both avoiding eye contact, both very deliberately not mentioning anything that had occurred that morning. Sugar watched them with what could only be described as long-suffering patience, as if she'd seen this coming and had resigned herself to her humans being ridiculous.
Eventually, they gathered their camp and prepared to leave their shelter. The storm had passed overnight, leaving the morning fresh and clean, puddles scattered across the landscape reflecting blue sky. It would make for good traveling weather once the ground dried a bit more.
As they rode Katara found her gaze drawn to Zuko's hands. Then up to his face when he turned to check something behind them, and suddenly she was staring at his eyes.
"Can I ask you something?" she said eventually, breaking the comfortable quiet that had settled between them.
"Yes," Zuko said, though his voice carried a note of wariness.
"Your eyes," Katara said. "That particular shade of gold—is it common in the Fire Nation? Or is it because of your royal heritage?"
Zuko was quiet for a moment, and Katara felt him shift slightly behind her. "It's not common anywhere," he said finally. "My mother had unusual eyes too—amber, lighter than mine but still not the typical Fire Nation brown. I inherited them from her." He paused. "Why do you ask?"
Because I find them mesmerizing, Katara thought but didn't say. Because every time you look at me with those golden eyes I forget how to breathe. Because they're beautiful and unique and I could stare into them for hours without getting bored.
"Just curious," she said instead. "I noticed them when we first started traveling together. They're... different. Striking."
"Different meaning strange," Zuko said, and there was something defensive in his tone that made Katara realize he'd probably spent his whole life being told his eyes were unusual in ways that implied defective rather than beautiful.
"Different meaning unique," Katara corrected firmly. "And beautiful. They're beautiful, Zuko."
She felt him tense behind her, heard his breath catch slightly. The silence that followed was heavy with things neither of them quite knew how to say.
They traveled for several more hours without speaking of it, the almost-kiss from the previous night hanging between them like a question neither was ready to answer. But eventually, as the sun climbed higher and the day grew warm, Zuko broke the silence with a question that had clearly been weighing on him.
"Are you the Avatar's girlfriend?"
Katara twisted in the saddle to look back at him, genuine surprise on her face. "What? No. Where did you get that idea?"
"I just thought..." Zuko seemed to struggle with how to articulate it. "The way you talk about him. The Avatar. There's affection there, and I wondered—"
"His name is Aang," Katara interrupted, her voice firm. "And he's like my little brother. I care about him deeply, but not... not like that."
"Does he know that?" Zuko asked quietly. "Because from what I saw during our encounters, the Av—Aang—he looks at you like you're the sun and moon combined."
Katara sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly. "I know. I'm aware that Aang has feelings for me. But they're not... they're not real feelings. Not really."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean he's thirteen," Katara said. "And he's been frozen in an iceberg for a hundred years, and I was the first person he saw when he woke up. He doesn't love me—he loves this perfect version of me that he's built up in his head. This idealized girl who's patient and kind and nurturing all the time, who never gets angry or messy or complicated." She picked at a thread on her sleeve. "But that's not who I am. I'm not perfect. I'm stubborn and hot-tempered and I hold grudges. I can be petty and mean when I'm hurt. I'm not the girl Aang thinks I am."
"You're wrong," Zuko said, and there was such certainty in his voice that Katara turned to look at him again. "I think you're perfect."
Katara felt heat flooding her face. "I just listed all my flaws—"
"Those aren't flaws," Zuko interrupted. "They're just... parts of you. You're stubborn because you care deeply about things and refuse to give up on them. You're hot-tempered because you feel everything intensely and you're not afraid to show it. You hold grudges because you remember when people hurt you or the people you love, and that's not weakness—that's having standards." He paused, seeming to realize what he was saying but unable to stop. "All those things you call imperfections—they make you more perfect, not less. They make you real. They make you Katara."
Katara stared at him, her heart doing complicated things in her chest. "Zuko—"
"The problem isn't that you have flaws," Zuko continued, his voice gaining confidence. "The problem is that Aang doesn't see them. Or he sees them and dismisses them because they don't fit his perfect image. But those parts of you—the anger and stubbornness and complexity—they're not things you should hide or change. They're who you are."
"He doesn't see them," Katara agreed quietly. "Even though I don't hide them. I've been angry around him, I've been petty, I've shown him every part of myself and he just... doesn't see it. Or he sees it and thinks it's temporary. That I'll grow out of it and become the perfect girl he imagines."
"That's his problem, not yours," Zuko said firmly. "You shouldn't have to change for anyone. I spent four years pretending to be someone I wasn't—the perfect soldier, the obedient son, the ruthless hunter. And it was awful. I lost myself in the process, became so tangled up in the role I was playing that I forgot who I actually was underneath." His hands tightened slightly on the reins. "Don't do that to yourself. Don't change to fit someone else's expectations. You deserve someone who loves you exactly as you are—imperfections and all."
"I won't change for Aang," Katara said. "I won't change for anyone. Unless..." She paused, trying to find the right words. "Unless I truly loved them. And even then, only if the change was positive. If it made me better, not just more convenient for them."
"I know what you mean," Zuko said, and there was something in his voice that made Katara's breath catch.
Then he seemed to realize what he'd just admitted—that he understood about changing for someone you loved, that he was speaking from a place of personal knowledge rather than abstract philosophy. His face went red, visible even from Katara's position in front of him.
"I mean—not that I—I wasn't saying that I—" Zuko stammered, clearly trying to backtrack and only making things worse. "It's just a hypothetical. A general observation about relationships. Not about us specifically. Not that there's an us. There isn't an us. We're just traveling together. Temporarily. Until we get to Ba Sing Se and then you'll go back to your friends and I'll—"
"Zuko," Katara said, fighting to keep the smile out of her voice. "You're babbling."
"I'm not babbling," Zuko protested, even as his ears turned red. "I'm clarifying. There's a difference."
"If you say so."
They rode in silence after that, but it felt comfortable rather than awkward. Companionable, even, in the way that had become familiar over their days of travel together.
When the heat got too much and they stopped to take a break near a cluster of trees, they heard voices—distant but clear, carrying across the open landscape. Both of them immediately dropped into battle stances, Zuko's hand moving to the dao swords at his waist while Katara pulled water from her waterskin.
Then the voices grew closer, and they saw who they belonged to.
A young couple, barely older than Zuko and Katara, emerged from behind a rise in the terrain. The girl was very obviously pregnant—heavily so, her belly round and prominent, her hand resting on it in the protective way expectant mothers did. She looked about Zuko's age, with Earth Kingdom features and dark hair pulled back in a practical braid. The man beside her was perhaps in his early 20's, also Earth Kingdom, supporting her with his right arm while his left sleeve hung empty, pinned at the shoulder.
Both Zuko and Katara relaxed simultaneously, recognizing that a pregnant teenager and her one-armed husband weren't exactly a threat.
"Hello," the pregnant girl called out, her voice friendly and warm. "We didn't mean to startle you. Are you travelers too?"
"Yes," Katara answered, stepping forward with a smile. "My name is Měi Hǎi, and this is my husband Lee. We're heading to Ba Sing Se."
"Us too!" The girl beamed, waddling closer with obvious relief at finding friendly faces. "I'm Aoi, and this is my husband Haoran. We got separated from our traveling group yesterday. They were moving too fast for us to keep up." She gestured ruefully to her pregnant belly. "I have to stop every half hour to pee, and walking long distances isn't exactly easy right now."
Haoran's expression was apologetic as he added, "I can't help carry supplies the way I used to. We're slower than most travelers, and our group couldn't afford to wait for us."
Katara felt immediate sympathy, and when she glanced at Zuko, she saw the same emotion reflected in his face. More than that—she saw recognition in his golden eyes, the understanding of someone who knew what it was like to be seen as a burden.
We should offer to travel together, Katara communicated silently, tilting her head slightly toward the couple.
Are you sure? Zuko's expression seemed to ask. It'll be harder to maintain our cover.
It's too dangerous for them to travel alone, Katara's look replied. Especially with Aoi pregnant.
She remembered the bandits too clearly—the way they'd looked at her, the things they'd planned to do. A pregnant girl and her one-armed husband would be even more vulnerable, even less able to defend themselves if they encountered similar threats.
"Why don't you travel with us?" Katara offered aloud. "At least until we reach the next village. It's safer in numbers, and we could use the company."
"Really?" Aoi's face lit up with genuine delight. "Oh, that would be wonderful! Haoran's been so worried about me, and I keep telling him I'm fine but he doesn't believe me."
"Because you're nine months pregnant and keep trying to carry heavy packs," Haoran pointed out, though his voice was affectionate rather than critical. "But yes, we'd be grateful for the company. Thank you."
They spent a few minutes organizing, and Katara immediately suggested that Aoi ride Sugar. "She's a gentle ostrich horse, and she can easily carry your weight. You shouldn't be walking in your condition."
"Are you sure?" Aoi asked, already looking relieved at the prospect. "I don't want to impose."
"It's not an imposition," Zuko said, helping her mount with careful hands. "Sugar's been carrying both of us. Just you will be easier on her."
So they walked—Katara, Zuko, and Haoran on foot, Aoi riding Sugar and chattering cheerfully about everything and nothing. The pregnant girl was outgoing and energetic despite her condition, easy to like even if she seemed a bit scatterbrained. She jumped from topic to topic with the kind of enthusiasm that suggested she hadn't had anyone to talk to in a while.
"Oh, look at those clouds! Don't they look like turtleducks? Haoran, do you see the turtleducks? We should get turtleducks when we get to Ba Sing Se. Do they sell turtleducks in the city? I've never been to a big city before. Have you been to Ba Sing Se? What's it like? Is it true the walls are so high you can't see the top?"
Haoran was much the same in terms of friendliness, though more grounded and practical. He asked thoughtful questions about their journey, shared information about the road ahead, and seemed genuinely interested in their story.
Katara did most of the talking, knowing Zuko's inability to lie convincingly. His honesty was one of the things she'd come to appreciate about him—the way he couldn't tell comfortable falsehoods, even when it would have made things easier. But it meant she had to carry their cover story, elaborating on their fictional past and their plans for Ba Sing Se.
"We're hoping to find work in the city," Katara explained as they walked. "Maybe open a small shop eventually. Lee's good with his hands, and I can sew and cook."
"That's wonderful," Aoi said. "We're planning to start a family business too. Haoran was a soldier before he lost his arm, but he's learning to be a potter now. It's harder with one hand, but he's getting better."
"The key is finding work that doesn't require two arms," Haoran added with self-deprecating humor. "Turns out pottery wheels don't care if you're missing a limb. They're equal opportunity difficult for everyone."
As the sun began its descent toward the horizon, they found a good camping spot—sheltered, defensible, with access to water. Zuko pulled out spark stones to light the fire, carefully avoiding using his bending while they had witnesses. The action was slower, more frustrating, but necessary to maintain their cover.
Aoi and Katara worked together to prepare dinner, though Katara insisted on involving Zuko as well. "Lee, come help with the vegetables," she called.
Haoran and Aoi exchanged surprised glances—apparently men helping with cooking wasn't common in their experience. But Zuko joined them without comment, his knife skills demonstrating practice and care as he chopped vegetables.
Haoran set up the bedrolls and fetched water from the nearby stream, and Zuko notably didn't offer to help. He'd learned from his own experience that offering assistance to someone with a disability could feel condescending, could make them feel like they were being treated as incapable. Better to let Haoran manage his own tasks and only help if specifically asked.
Once they were settled for dinner, Sugar already fed and lying down close to Zuko, the ostrich horse occasionally receiving vegetables from his hand and gentle petting.
"Thank you," Haoran said quietly to Zuko as they sat around the fire. "For not treating me differently. A lot of people see the missing arm and immediately start hovering, trying to do everything for me like I'm helpless."
Zuko looked at him blankly for a moment, then said, "I know what that feels like."
Haoran's gaze moved to Zuko's scar, understanding dawning. There was a moment of silent recognition between them—two young men marked by violence, both dealing with the aftermath of wounds that went beyond the physical.
"I was drafted at seventeen," Haoran said quietly, staring into the fire. "Just like the drafting law states, unless you're disabled or can afford university. I was a farmer's son from a small village—no money for higher education, healthy and strong. Perfect soldier material." His voice carried bitter irony. "Aoi and I had just gotten engaged. We were planning to wait a few years before marrying, save up enough to start our own household. But then the draft notice came, and suddenly waiting seemed foolish."
Aoi reached over to squeeze his remaining hand, her expression soft with old pain.
"We married two weeks before I had to report for duty," Haoran continued. "Barely fourteen and seventeen, rushing through vows because we didn't know if I'd come back. Half the village thought we were crazy, but we didn't know if I would make it back." He glanced at his wife with obvious affection. "We wanted to have something of each other, just in case."
"I waited two years," Aoi said softly, one hand resting protectively on her swollen belly. "Two years of not knowing if he was alive or dead, if I'd ever see him again. When the soldiers came to tell me he'd been wounded..." She swallowed hard. "I thought they were coming to tell me he was gone."
"I lost my arm eleven months ago," Haoran said. "Battle near Wěngù. A Fire Nation soldier caught me with a flame blast that should have killed me—would have killed me if my captain hadn't pulled me back. But my arm was burned so badly that the field medic had to amputate to save my life." He flexed his remaining hand. "They sent me home after that. Disabled soldiers aren't much use in active combat."
"But he came home," Aoi said, her voice warm despite the sadness. "He came home to me. And we're finally starting the family we always wanted." She smiled, touching her belly. "This little one's our first. We're hoping for a girl—Haoran's always wanted a daughter."
"A daughter I can actually watch grow up," Haoran added. "Instead of being off fighting in someone else's war."
Katara felt her chest tighten. She'd known the war took young men from their families, forced them to grow up too fast. But hearing it stated so plainly—a boy of seventeen forced to leave his fourteen-year-old bride, two years of separation and fear before he came home damaged but alive—made it visceral in ways that statistics never could.
"I'm sorry," Zuko said quietly. "For what the war took from both of you. For the years you lost."
"It's not your fault," Haoran said. "You didn't start this war. None of us did—it started a hundred years ago, and we're all just trying to survive it." He looked at Zuko steadily. "Colonial heritage isn't something to be ashamed of. My grandfather was Fire Nation—came over as a young soldier during the early campaigns and fell in love with an Earth Kingdom woman. Stayed when his unit moved on, built a life here. So I understand what it's like to carry both sides of this war in your blood."
Zuko's expression was carefully neutral, but Katara could see the tension in his shoulders. He couldn't acknowledge the truth—that he was Fire Nation, not colonial. That the blood in his veins came from the royal family that had perpetuated this war for generations.
"Your eye," Haoran continued, steering the conversation back. "If you don't mind me asking—it affects your vision?"
"It's not blind," Zuko said, unconsciously touching the scarred tissue. "But I can't see clearly out of it. Everything from that eye is blurred, indistinct. And my hearing on that side is slightly muffled." He paused. "People assume it's completely non-functional, or they stare at it like it's the only thing about me worth noticing. I hate both reactions equally."
"How did it happen?" Haoran asked, then immediately added, "Sorry, that's personal. You don't have to answer."
Zuko's jaw clenched, his hand dropping from his scar. "I'd prefer not to say."
But Aoi, despite her airheaded demeanor, had been studying Zuko's face with unexpected intensity. "It's shaped like a handprint," she observed, her voice thoughtful rather than pitying. "And your eyes—that particular shade of gold—you have direct Fire Nation blood, don't you? A parent, not long distanced."
The silence that followed was heavy and dangerous. Zuko went very still, his entire body tensing like he was preparing to fight or flee.
"That's not a bad thing," Aoi added quickly, seeming to realize what she'd said. "I'm not judging. The war's been going on for a hundred years—there's probably more mixed blood in the Earth Kingdom than anyone wants to admit. And whoever gave you that scar—" Her expression hardened. "Anyone who would burn a child's face like that is a monster, regardless of what nation they're from."
Zuko stood abruptly, his hands clenched into fists. "I'm tired," he said, his voice carefully controlled. "Goodnight."
He walked to his bedroll and climbed in, turning his back to the fire and the others. His hair had grown longer during their travels, but not quite long enough around his ear to hide the scar's distinctive shape—the clear outline of fingers across his face.
"I'm sorry," Aoi said to Katara, genuine distress in her voice. "I didn't mean to upset him. I just—I notice things sometimes, and I can't help myself."
"It's a touchy subject for Lee," Katara said quietly, beginning to clean up from dinner. "His past is... complicated. And painful." She offered them a small smile. "Thank you for your kindness, though. And for not judging based on heritage. That means more than you probably realize."
"Of course," Haoran said. "The war's created enough division and pain. We don't need to add to it by hating people for the blood in their veins."
Katara helped them settle into their own bedrolls—set up on the opposite side of the fire to give all of them privacy—then made her way to where Zuko lay. She slipped into her bedroll beside his and immediately moved close, wrapping her arms around him from behind.
Zuko turned in her embrace, shifting until he faced her, and buried his face against her neck. She could feel the tension in every line of his body, the careful control he was exercising to keep his emotions contained.
"I wasn't sure," Katara whispered, one hand moving to rub gentle circles on his back. "About your eye and your hearing. I didn't want to assume. To make you feel like I was treating you as damaged or incapable."
"I know," Zuko said against her skin, his breath warm. "I've always appreciated that about you. That you see me as a whole person, not just a collection of scars and disabilities and trauma."
"Did anyone...," Katara prompted gently. "Did your crew treated you differently?"
"My uncle was overprotective. Right after the burn, Uncle Iroh hovered constantly. Insisted on doing everything for me because he was terrified I'd hurt myself further or that I couldn't manage with impaired vision." Zuko's arms tightened slightly around her waist. "As I got older, as he saw I could adapt, it got better. But there was always that undercurrent of worry. Like he was waiting for me to prove I couldn't handle things alone."
"I loved him for caring," Zuko continued. "But sometimes I just wanted to be treated normally. To not have someone constantly watching, constantly ready to jump in and help whether I needed it or not."
"I understand," Katara said softly. "And I promise I'll keep treating you normally. No hovering, no assuming you can't do things. If you need help, you can ask. Otherwise, I'll trust you to manage."
"Thank you," Zuko whispered.
They lay like that for a long time, wrapped around each other, seeking comfort in proximity and touch. Katara knew Zuko wouldn't cry—he'd spent four years suppressing that kind of vulnerability, had spent too many years learning that tears were weakness. But he still needed comfort, still needed to be held and reminded that he wasn't alone with his pain.
Across the fire, Aoi and Haoran had settled into their own bedrolls, speaking in low voices that didn't carry. They'd given Katara and Zuko privacy, recognizing that some moments were meant to be witnessed only by those directly involved.
As Katara drifted toward sleep, her hand still rubbing gentle circles on Zuko's back, she thought about his words from earlier. About not changing for anyone, about deserving someone who loved you exactly as you were.
And she thought about how natural it felt to hold him like this, to offer comfort without words, to understand his pain without needing explanation.
Nine more days to Ba Sing Se, give or take. Nine more days of this fragile alliance before reality intruded and forced them to make choices about what came next.
But tonight, she had this—the warmth of Zuko against her, the trust implicit in the way he'd turned to her for comfort, the growing certainty that whatever happened when they reached the city, she would miss this more than she was ready to admit.