Chapter Text
Setting:
Post-war world, a few months after Sozin’s Comet.
The Fire Nation is still rebuilding. The Gaang has scattered to fulfill their duties — Aang with diplomacy, Toph with police reforms, Sokka helping with infrastructure. Katara’s taken residence in the Fire Nation temporarily, invited to help with healing wounded civilians and advising on water conservation. Zuko has been crowned Fire Lord but is still insecure, overworked, and deeply alone.
Main Locations:
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The Jasmine Dragon (Iroh’s tea shop — occasional safe haven)
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Fire Lord’s palace and gardens
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Hidden beach cliffs outside Caldera City
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War-damaged villages
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Water Nation embassy being constructed
The massive form of the sky bison filled the horizon, its broad back slipping into the low-hanging clouds before Zuko even thought to speak. Appa's giant wings stirred the air in deep, rhythmic pulses, kicking up swirls of dust and sea mist that lashed across the dock like an old wound reopening.
Katara didn't flinch. The salt tangled in her braid, dragged it over her shoulder like a tide trying to pull her somewhere else—somewhere softer, maybe—but she stood firm. Feet planted. Spine rigid. Gaze locked upward until Aang became nothing but a speck, swallowed by gray.
Zuko stood beside her in silence, arms folded—not for warmth. The Fire Nation sun hadn't cooled, but something colder clawed beneath his skin. The posture was armor. A line drawn between himself and the way she leaned toward the clouds.
He’d seen it all. Every motion. The way Aang had wrapped his arms around her like a boy bracing for the ocean to rise again. The way she touched his face like she knew it might be the last time. It looked rehearsed now—polished. As if goodbyes had become another line in their ever-growing list of duties.
But Zuko saw the tremor. Her fingers. Just before Aang let go.
A breath hitched in his throat—sharp, awkward, like a cough caught halfway.
“You two always say goodbye like the world’s ending.”
Katara didn’t turn. Her arms crossed slowly over her chest, palms tucked tight like she could hold her heart in place. “It used to be.”
The wind eased, its bite softened. Somewhere inland, a bell chimed—faint and far, lost in the curve of the coast.
Zuko shifted his stance. The dock creaked under the motion, ancient planks groaning like they, too, were tired of bearing weight.
“He always leaves,” he muttered.
She didn’t argue. “He always comes back.”
That answer landed like a dropped stone. No splash—just sinking. Slow. Heavy.
Zuko stared out at the sky, empty now except for drifting cloud-scraps and Appa’s fading trail. He imagined what it must be like to rise above the world—to float between places, unattached. Then he looked at Katara, and imagined what it must be like to be left behind by someone who could.
“I still don’t get what you see in him,” he said, and tried to keep his voice neutral.
Katara glanced at him then, not offended. Just curious. Her brow quirked up. “Oh? And what exactly is it you don’t see?”
He huffed, frustrated with how easily she flipped things back on him. “I don’t know. He’s short. Bald. Busy. He’s got the fate of the world riding on him. That doesn’t leave room for…” He trailed off.
“For what?” she asked, gently.
Zuko shrugged, eyes narrowed. “For someone. For you.”
Her silence wasn’t agreement. But it wasn’t denial, either.
Instead, she smiled—slow, sly. The kind of smile he hadn’t seen from her since before Ba Sing Se. “Sounds like someone I knew a few months ago,” she said, voice low and edged with teasing. “Scarred. Angry. Obsessed with honor like it owed him something.”
He scowled. “That’s not the same.”
“Isn’t it?” she tilted her head. “Didn’t you spend months chasing him halfway across the world to ‘restore balance’ or whatever?”
He opened his mouth. Closed it.
There was no comeback. Not one that didn’t taste like ash.
Katara’s grin widened, then softened. Not mocking. More like... fond. Annoyingly fond.
Behind them, the harbor breathed. Ropes strained, gulls bickered overhead, and somewhere to their right, a loose sail snapped in the wind like a slap.
She turned back toward the path leading uphill—toward the palace. Toward duty. Her braid swung behind her like a banner, catching gold streaks of sun between the salt.
Zuko didn’t move at first.
The moment hung—delicate and uncomfortable, like steam rising from a cracked teacup.
Then he followed.
A few steps behind. Never too close. Never too far.
Just enough.
---
They walked in silence through the lower city, the path winding past fresh scaffolding, soot-streaked walls, and red-lanterned shrines half-rebuilt by hand. Vendors nodded to Zuko with wary respect. Children paused their play to gape at the Water Tribe woman walking beside the Fire Lord, but she didn’t seem to notice.
Zuko did.
Everywhere they went, eyes followed him. But hers never did.
Not until they reached the garden gate.
Katara paused, one hand grazing the stone archway carved with lotus petals. Moss had begun to grow in the cracks, softening the fire-hardened lines of the palace wall. She looked up at it, then back at Zuko.
“This place is healing,” she said.
He blinked. “The palace?”
She shook her head, eyes sweeping the horizon, then landing—finally—on him.
“You.”
Zuko looked away, throat tight.
The wind had returned. But softer this time.
He stepped past her and opened the gate.
“Come on,” he said, not unkindly. “Iroh saved us some ginseng.”
The Jasmine Dragon was quieter than usual. Late afternoon light streamed through gauzy curtains, and the scent of ginseng and roasted oolong drifted through the air like memory.
They barely had time to sit before Iroh greeted them with a beaming smile and a tray of warm cups. “Ah, my two favorite distractions from retirement.”
Katara smiled, polite but distant. Zuko didn’t even try to correct him.
The tea steamed between them. Katara barely touched hers.
“I forgot how quiet it is when he’s not here,” Zuko said eventually.
Katara gave a vague nod. “Yeah. He fills up every space.”
“I’m still getting used to it. Being alone.”
“You’re not alone.”
He looked at her then—but her eyes were elsewhere, half-fixed on the curtains. On the sunlight. On a sky where a sky bison had disappeared.
Before he could reply, the bell above the door jingled.
“Miss Katara!”
A group of children burst inside, all limbs and loud voices, tripping over themselves as they ran toward her. One clutched a stuffed turtle-duck. Another was already dragging her hand toward the door.
“You promised!” a girl shouted. “Waterbending!”
Zuko opened his mouth to protest—he almost said she’s tired—but Katara was already rising.
The dullness in her eyes lifted just slightly. She smiled for them. Not for him.
They ran to the courtyard. Zuko followed at a distance.
Katara knelt by the koi pond and lifted water with a flick of her wrist. It swirled through the air, catching sunlight, dancing between her fingers. The children gasped and clapped, shouting for more.
Then—
“Are you gonna marry the Avatar?” one of them asked innocently.
Katara froze.
The ribbon of water fell with a soft splash.
She recovered quickly. Ruffled the boy’s hair. Teased. But Zuko saw the way her fingers curled just slightly. Saw the way her jaw tightened when she looked up at the sky again.
She didn’t look at him.
Without a word, she walked back into the shop, shoulders heavy again.
Zuko stayed behind, surrounded by the echoes of her laughter.
But it wasn’t his name on her lips.