(no subject)
characters: Katara and Zuko
what: Being at Aang's bedside.
Zuko didn't remember passing out-but he didn't remember passing out at that time, either (only his Father's shadow stepping over him). Now he was looking up at the white ceiling through unfocused eyes. Had someone taken him home? He thought, and then maybe someone took him somewhere else (this place wasn't familiar), or-was it Azula? He sucked in a breath, and it was warm, and it hurt, and then a thought hit him so hard that it was painful: Where was Aang? What happened to him?
Everything hurt as he moved, as he breathed, and as he thought. The bed was white, so was the room, and there was a window and a table-and something on the table-but he didn't pay much attention to that. He sat up, and his body threatened to fall over again, but he steeled himself against the nauseating feeling of the concussion he received and got to his feet. He was bandaged, and even with his iron will he had trouble moving his feet. If there were any nurses or doctors there, they would have bid him to rest.
Instead he stepped across the room, becoming more used to the pain with each step, ignoring his bandages and burns and walking out into the hallway, his eyes drifting from door to door.
The whole thing was like a bad dream. He remembered Katara screaming, and Toph trying to shake Aang out of it. He remembered, for a second, grabbing the Avatar's arm, pulling him back-and that was it. He berated himself for not thinking of the rest, but now his mission was to find Aang and make sure that he was safe. He stepped from door to door, glancing in to see who was laying on the bed. Finally, as he passed the intensive care unit, he saw a familiar face, and his heart sank to the bottom of his belly.
Had he failed that badly?
The possession of Aang's body frightened Katara, and she vaguely remembered the guiding words of the old woman. Her blood boiled as she rushed out toward Aang with Zuko and Toph at her side, shoes slapping against the ground as she gathered as much water as she could. Whoever took their friend would pay, but when they arrived, there was a body on the ground and a red aura from their friend's right eye. She remembered all-too-clearly the rage that seemed to spread over Aang's face. It was foreign and it contorted the innocence of his expressions into ugliness; she wondered if she looked like that when she was angy, if she looked that frightening in the moment when they fought the old woman. Was that what evil looked like, and would this permanently affect Aang?
The fight eventually ended at some point for her and Zuko. She remembered him going down first and a piece of artificial earth following and taking her down next. She remembered feeling warm, and realizing that the warmth wasn't comfort but blood.
There wasn't blood on her when she woke up. The colors of the hospital made her dazed, and she scrambled out of her bed and landed on the floor with a smack. A daze came over her, but she pushed herself up. Dressed in a loose fitting hospital gown, she plodded through the halls untl she saw the left face of a boy with a familiar scar--with an expression that made her stomach drop when she realized where they were.
"We couldn't help him." Her hands were already clenched into fists as she relucantly fell into place beside the Fire Nation Prince. Her eyes showed that she was tired beneath the fierceness and the guilt that immediately overwhelmed her. Her skin tone was paler than usual, and beneath her eyes, there were visible gray rings. Katara already felt choked up as she looked at Aang.
They couldn't help him. She had failed him again.
There was something decidedly gentle about the young Avatar as he laid on his back, artificial air filling his lungs. This was no place for him, for them, and Zuko had told himself that a million times over in a determined mantra to break free of this place, and all of its shackles. It was quite and peaceful, but the roar of battle still echoed in his mind; and the fire he felt then still stirred brightly inside of him. It wasn't fair! It wasn't ... it wasn't fair.
That wasn't the Aang that grabbed his arm and dragged him for icecream, or that promised, no matter what, that he'd tell Zuko when he was ready to be Fire Lord. But it was still the boy that he swore his allegiance to.
He opened his mouth; what would his Uncle do now, what would he say to make them feel better? Something about their Fate, about how they did help, about how this helped them somehow. Instead, all he could think about was the pain that it caused. "I failed him," his brows twitched and drew down in an expression of fresh pain. His knuckles gripped the frame of the door until his knuckles turned white. Was that all he could say? "I promised him ..." Something caught in his throat, as if he might cry; his body was tense, every muscle hardened in the thought of failure, "I promised him I'd do everything I could. After everything I've done, I ...
"I couldn't even do that."
There were a moment of fury that passed over Katara. Zuko had failed him? She clenched her fists more tightly, sending pain throguh her body that eventualy made her wince and almost fall to her knees. She knew it wouldn't be long until she would be on her knees anyway. There had been little strength in her body when she started to plunge through the hospital, aimlessly looking for something and stumbling on the signof her failures. The anger still boiled at the back of her throat, making her feel angry at Zuko for thinking it was his job to protect Aang and that he should feel guilty for failing him--but it was selfish anger, she realized. As she went throug the motions of her thoughts, she forced herself into the room with Aang. Doctors wouldn't want them in there, but she didn't care. This was Aang; this was the person she lived to help guide and protect and ...
She realized she didn't even render a response for Zuko, but the selfish part of her was still winning. She needed to touch him. Aang looked as helpless as he did all those weeks on the boat, with her caressing his back with water so she could bring him back to them. She remembered her tears and rage every day at herself. Her rage at the Fire Nation--and what she realized now was rage at herself.
Katara extended a hand to caress Aang's cheek, and the moment she made contact, the tears filled her eyes. Her body started to tremble from lack of strength and from the sorrow that filled up inside of her. There would be new scars, she noticed--a cut on his arm, a gash in his leg. They were all deep, signs that he would be wearing the marks from this battle even if it wasn't his to fight. She wondered if he would remember it like the people who remembered having their blood bended; she hoped this was not the same. During that fight, with the red aura, he didn't seem like himself. He didn't even sound like himself. She hoped, because that would be one less thing he had to endure. Aang already endured enough.
Her hand pulled back and slid over Aang's for a moment, and then she stepped back and moved to collapse on the floor, legs bent under her and hospital gown carefully collecting against the floor to hide anything that might have been revealed. She still hadn't said anything to Zuko, but right now, with the tears falling so quickly from her eyes and the sobs escaping from her throat, she couldn't have managed to say anything anyway.
Zuko watched from the door, careful of his distance, watching with painful awareness of how much this waterbending girl reminded him of his mother. This was her time with the Avatar, and he even felt a little guilty watching. As she lowered to touch Aang's hand, he felt the lump in his throat grow. The young Fire Nation Prince stood, straightening his posture into something stronger then he felt. His whole body was weak, but he fought against it like he fought against everything else in his life. He was fine, he was fine.
And somehow, when she fell, he scrambled into the room with half the amount of grace that he usually moved with. "Hey ..." He started, still not quite sure what to say. He wasn't good with things like this, not like his Uncle was. He was sure, after everything that he'd done, that not even his presence could comfort her.
It wasn't his nature to be an optimist, but moreso to allow her the feelings that she felt now. He lowered to put a hand on her shoulder unsurely.
The support was a gesture that was foreign to him, since he never really gave or accepted such a thing. When he was smaller, maybe, his mother and uncle gave him such things freely-back when he glowed with naive enthusiasm over his position in the world. Maybe then he'd know what to say to her, but right now, he didn't know. "Katara ..."
The feeling of his hand on her shoulder made her wince in discomfort. It wasn't Zuko that was supposed to be here. She wasn't certain who it was, but it wasn't him. She felt as if her father was supposed to be there, apologizing and reminding her that he always loved her--or perhaps Sokka, but not the Prince of the Fire Nation, not the boy that terrorized them. Yet right now, with pain the pain that took over the entirety of her body and the sobs that shook her, she couldn't turn him away. She couldn't find the words, even if she did look up at him with a squinted gaze to indicate that he shouldn't get any closer.
But she didn't remove his hand. As much as he didn't belong in this room with her, with Aang, she didn't remove his hand. Zuko was trying to change, she realized, though the stubborn belief within her to reject the change had always been there. It had been quietly sitting inside of her, and when Aang hadn't asked her to the dance, she continued to be upset with him, even angry, that his presence had forced a wedge in-between her and Aang. He had rushed out of the apartment at the same speed as her, with fierce determination crossing his features. Even as he wielded the flames during the fight, he was careful to use them to scare the person that controlled Aang--rather than hurt the boy himself.
Zuko was changing, so she let him keep his hand there. And somehow, the sobs started to subside.
Sitting on the floor, she straightened her body. Katara knew she couldn't reach up or rise, but at least she could see Aang's chest move every time he took in a new breath. Her arms wrapped around her knees and she rested her chin on the cloth that covered the outside of her legs.
The whole of Katara's life had been spent protecting people, and again--she failed. She protected her village like a mother. She was the only one that had been there for Sokka in many ways. In a way, she had come to accept her role as the protector of the group, ensuring that they would do little menial tasks like washing and eating dinner instead of playing around. It was her job to be the moral backbone of the group, but they kept facing trouble. She felt naive, even stupid, believing that things could be better here. She went on carelessly, and even tried her best to accept Zuko into the group. She had her friendship with Simca and she had her continued crush on Jet and she had her ... She wasn't certain what it was that she felt for Aang, but she felt torn up inside, angry with herself, for even daring to be selfish about the ball. It was just a dance. They spent the holiday together and almost every other day. That should have been enough.
And then there was the possession. Possession, controlling--it jarred Katara to know she could do the same thing. She could take control of others and make them act against their wills.
She tilted her head forward and finally shrugged off his hand. It wasn't a rough gesture, but an indication that it'd been there for too long.
"I couldn't save him again," she finally spoke, and her words were softened by the previous sobs. "I had the opportunity to do it and I couldn't ..." She clenched her eyes shut. "I want to blame you, Zuko," she added with a bit of strength to her tone. "But for once it isn't even your fault." For once. The indication that she hadn't completely accepted him, but it had to be passed into the air. It would be a lie if she didn't make that clear.
Maybe now she could start trusting him.
It was Katara, always, who reminded him of that pang of guilt. Her words were always like barbs, searing small scars in his flesh at each word. It hurt, because only a moment before, she was caressing Aang's cheeks as if she were his mother, as if she was his mother; but the illusion had broke into a million tiny pieces at her harsh words. Zuko had tried, in many ways, to please her specifically, though it really never seemed to do anything but upset her. It was almost like trying to please his own family, who constantly turned him away; and those select ones that wrapped their arms around him and soothed his wounds. Something he once thought of as a weakness, but that he wished for now.
Maybe he wasn't the one who was supposed to be there, but he was there; and he was trying, despite everything, he was trying.
Even in trying to please her, he never got the reaction that he wanted. Instead he got fierce words of passion-something he supposed, though, was a pleasant difference from his former companions. They were all so emotional; and he felt a little more comfortable as that. He was unaware of her internal conflicts; all the pain her face was twisted in was from her inability to protect Aang.
There was a soft, warm sigh that escaped his lips, and he sat beside her. At least, for now, neither of them were alone. (He, who was always, always alone. Who made himself that way.) He listened to her, let her talk; that was something that he could do. He glanced at her, and his brow furrowed slightly, and then softened, "My Uncle was really good at saying the right things ... I'm sorry, I can't think of anything ..." They had failed, each of them, in their own way.
His words weren't comforting in the least, but she didn't want to say that. Katara didn't expect other people to be comforting. They weren't supposed to have a knack for it like she did, but in a place and time like this, where was her comfort? She supposed she should have been grateful for Zuko's failed words, but there was still existing contempt that stirred in the pit of her stomach whenever she thought kindly of him. Whenever she said nice things to him, she felt as if she was betraying her nature. It was partly because he betrayed her; he apologized, but she would still need time to get over it.
She imagined that if she gave him a chance now, the one feeling would eventualy subside and the other would intervene and dominate.
"I'm supposed to know the right thing to say," she admitted, "but that doesn't help me." She thought to soothe Zuko's wounds in some way, but she didn't think he was deserving of that yet. Her words to him were always correcting him because that level of encouragement could come across as real. Katara breathed a sigh and tried to relax a bit. Even if the floor was cold, she imagined she could, and it was partly because she was there with Aang to some degree. Eventually her strength would return and she would find a way to move closer, and damn anyone that stopped her.
"I'm going to try and trust you now." The words almost caught in her throat, but she forced them out. "You could've died there, too, and you didn't even want to hurt him. I ..." She finally looked at him, and it seemed as if the smile on her lips was forced but necessary. It wasn't fake, just a struggle given the nature of the topic. "Thank you."
Zuko, in all of the things that he was incapable of, had known when he had rejoined them just how deeply he had hurt her. She wouldn't be so easy to touch again, and he had come to terms with that, and because he had failed, he would just have to try harder. He promised himself a thousand-fold that he would do all he could if he could see the same girl that she was in that cave. So open and willing to help him, thinking that, just maybe, he could make it up to them. It was here, with her, that he felt comfortable, even if she didn't-this was his family. This was where he belonged, so now he had to make up all his past deeds to them.
His legs were folded on the floor, his arms resting there as he gazed up at the boy in the hospital bed. He had decided that he would stay here with her, no matter how many times she beat him and cast him away. He would come back, because he knew that this was the place that he belonged. After fighting against his Destiny for so long ...
There was another breath that escaped his lips when she spoke, and he closed his eyes. Her words seemed to sooth him a little. You did good, Zuko; we're proud of you, Zuko.
For a moment he stood perfectly still, and out of the corner of his eye he could see her strained smile. Like him, she was trying too, just as hard as he was, to keep this precious boy safe from everything that threatened him. It was their strained duty and responsibility as the people that they were born as, strung together by thousands of past conflicts and meetings-and finally, everything fell upon them. The next of his breaths was accompanied by what could have been a strained sob, as if she had reached inside and touched something that he didn't want anyone to see. All of his inadequacies and all the times that he just wasn't good enough-she was speaking gently to him, not reprimanding him as she usually did, but smiling and telling him that he did good, and that she wanted to trust him after everything that he had done.
When he had ran behind her a day ago, it had been different than it usually was. He wasn't looking for acceptance, all he had wanted to do at that time was protect Aang, and those were the only thoughts rolling through his head at the time. It felt a little odd, letting her see what was coming, because he kept it inside, and his feelings were so blazing that he couldn't help but lower his head and cry. Cry for this precious person that was in the hospital bed above them, in pain; cry for her soft voice, her pain; cry for his mother and his uncle; and for what they were going to do now.
It was as if they changed places, and the stubbornness in Katara began to look like a weakness on her part. She curled tighter into herself as the silence passed between them; she had been waiting for a response, but the silence was all she obtained. When the tears came, she understood--and felt guilty. She felt guilty for the passing moments between them and the lack of understanding, but Katara was a prideful person. Despite the guilt that seemed to displace both of them and leave them teetering on the edge toward a greater understanding, she could not completely let go of her pride. They would take it in steps. One little bit of sincerity would be followed by more until they would be able to reach out toward one another and be completely honest.
But she wondered if they would be more honest than they were in this moment. Would this be the peak of it between them, and everything that followed would seem fabricated, unreal? She grappled with this internally and knew she had no one she could turn to for advice. Though she had her friends, her brother, and even Simca, she knew none of them could give her that answer. She would need to seek it in herself.
That answer seemed to appear when the wetness returned to her eyes and the sobs took hold, sending a tremble through her frail body. Katara said nothing, but eased closer to Zuko, showing him acceptance in allowing their failures to be let out, one by one, through the tears that fled from their bodies. He was a passionate person, but she wasn't certain she'd ever seen her brother cry like that. Zuko was so different, and she realized that half her pride was because she didn't understand him. He wasn't like Sokka or Aang or even Jet. His pride was shredded by the multiple trials he faced, and though he needed a caring hand just like they did, he would always react to it differently.
She imagined there wouldn't be much more to say here, in this place, as they waited for Aang's eyes to open and the familiar carefree smile to appear on his lips. She knew they would be there together, crying and silent, because words and phrases weren't the best way to express their pain right now. It was pain, she knew; not the same pain that Aang must be feeling, because they weren't as hurt, weren't as controlled into that place, but it would still be pain. The pain of sorrow, the pain of failure.
And for Katara, it was the pain of letting go of her pride and starting to grow more. She felt no anger toward the boy at her side, but a remnant of past thought that lingered in her mind. It would remain there, ready to strike out if he made any mistake, but she accepted the flaw in its existence and shared her tears with them. This was real, she realized; this wasn't a trick or some game, some ploy by his sister.
They were there for Aang. She knew they would always be there for him.
what: Being at Aang's bedside.
Zuko didn't remember passing out-but he didn't remember passing out at that time, either (only his Father's shadow stepping over him). Now he was looking up at the white ceiling through unfocused eyes. Had someone taken him home? He thought, and then maybe someone took him somewhere else (this place wasn't familiar), or-was it Azula? He sucked in a breath, and it was warm, and it hurt, and then a thought hit him so hard that it was painful: Where was Aang? What happened to him?
Everything hurt as he moved, as he breathed, and as he thought. The bed was white, so was the room, and there was a window and a table-and something on the table-but he didn't pay much attention to that. He sat up, and his body threatened to fall over again, but he steeled himself against the nauseating feeling of the concussion he received and got to his feet. He was bandaged, and even with his iron will he had trouble moving his feet. If there were any nurses or doctors there, they would have bid him to rest.
Instead he stepped across the room, becoming more used to the pain with each step, ignoring his bandages and burns and walking out into the hallway, his eyes drifting from door to door.
The whole thing was like a bad dream. He remembered Katara screaming, and Toph trying to shake Aang out of it. He remembered, for a second, grabbing the Avatar's arm, pulling him back-and that was it. He berated himself for not thinking of the rest, but now his mission was to find Aang and make sure that he was safe. He stepped from door to door, glancing in to see who was laying on the bed. Finally, as he passed the intensive care unit, he saw a familiar face, and his heart sank to the bottom of his belly.
Had he failed that badly?
The possession of Aang's body frightened Katara, and she vaguely remembered the guiding words of the old woman. Her blood boiled as she rushed out toward Aang with Zuko and Toph at her side, shoes slapping against the ground as she gathered as much water as she could. Whoever took their friend would pay, but when they arrived, there was a body on the ground and a red aura from their friend's right eye. She remembered all-too-clearly the rage that seemed to spread over Aang's face. It was foreign and it contorted the innocence of his expressions into ugliness; she wondered if she looked like that when she was angy, if she looked that frightening in the moment when they fought the old woman. Was that what evil looked like, and would this permanently affect Aang?
The fight eventually ended at some point for her and Zuko. She remembered him going down first and a piece of artificial earth following and taking her down next. She remembered feeling warm, and realizing that the warmth wasn't comfort but blood.
There wasn't blood on her when she woke up. The colors of the hospital made her dazed, and she scrambled out of her bed and landed on the floor with a smack. A daze came over her, but she pushed herself up. Dressed in a loose fitting hospital gown, she plodded through the halls untl she saw the left face of a boy with a familiar scar--with an expression that made her stomach drop when she realized where they were.
"We couldn't help him." Her hands were already clenched into fists as she relucantly fell into place beside the Fire Nation Prince. Her eyes showed that she was tired beneath the fierceness and the guilt that immediately overwhelmed her. Her skin tone was paler than usual, and beneath her eyes, there were visible gray rings. Katara already felt choked up as she looked at Aang.
They couldn't help him. She had failed him again.
There was something decidedly gentle about the young Avatar as he laid on his back, artificial air filling his lungs. This was no place for him, for them, and Zuko had told himself that a million times over in a determined mantra to break free of this place, and all of its shackles. It was quite and peaceful, but the roar of battle still echoed in his mind; and the fire he felt then still stirred brightly inside of him. It wasn't fair! It wasn't ... it wasn't fair.
That wasn't the Aang that grabbed his arm and dragged him for icecream, or that promised, no matter what, that he'd tell Zuko when he was ready to be Fire Lord. But it was still the boy that he swore his allegiance to.
He opened his mouth; what would his Uncle do now, what would he say to make them feel better? Something about their Fate, about how they did help, about how this helped them somehow. Instead, all he could think about was the pain that it caused. "I failed him," his brows twitched and drew down in an expression of fresh pain. His knuckles gripped the frame of the door until his knuckles turned white. Was that all he could say? "I promised him ..." Something caught in his throat, as if he might cry; his body was tense, every muscle hardened in the thought of failure, "I promised him I'd do everything I could. After everything I've done, I ...
"I couldn't even do that."
There were a moment of fury that passed over Katara. Zuko had failed him? She clenched her fists more tightly, sending pain throguh her body that eventualy made her wince and almost fall to her knees. She knew it wouldn't be long until she would be on her knees anyway. There had been little strength in her body when she started to plunge through the hospital, aimlessly looking for something and stumbling on the signof her failures. The anger still boiled at the back of her throat, making her feel angry at Zuko for thinking it was his job to protect Aang and that he should feel guilty for failing him--but it was selfish anger, she realized. As she went throug the motions of her thoughts, she forced herself into the room with Aang. Doctors wouldn't want them in there, but she didn't care. This was Aang; this was the person she lived to help guide and protect and ...
She realized she didn't even render a response for Zuko, but the selfish part of her was still winning. She needed to touch him. Aang looked as helpless as he did all those weeks on the boat, with her caressing his back with water so she could bring him back to them. She remembered her tears and rage every day at herself. Her rage at the Fire Nation--and what she realized now was rage at herself.
Katara extended a hand to caress Aang's cheek, and the moment she made contact, the tears filled her eyes. Her body started to tremble from lack of strength and from the sorrow that filled up inside of her. There would be new scars, she noticed--a cut on his arm, a gash in his leg. They were all deep, signs that he would be wearing the marks from this battle even if it wasn't his to fight. She wondered if he would remember it like the people who remembered having their blood bended; she hoped this was not the same. During that fight, with the red aura, he didn't seem like himself. He didn't even sound like himself. She hoped, because that would be one less thing he had to endure. Aang already endured enough.
Her hand pulled back and slid over Aang's for a moment, and then she stepped back and moved to collapse on the floor, legs bent under her and hospital gown carefully collecting against the floor to hide anything that might have been revealed. She still hadn't said anything to Zuko, but right now, with the tears falling so quickly from her eyes and the sobs escaping from her throat, she couldn't have managed to say anything anyway.
Zuko watched from the door, careful of his distance, watching with painful awareness of how much this waterbending girl reminded him of his mother. This was her time with the Avatar, and he even felt a little guilty watching. As she lowered to touch Aang's hand, he felt the lump in his throat grow. The young Fire Nation Prince stood, straightening his posture into something stronger then he felt. His whole body was weak, but he fought against it like he fought against everything else in his life. He was fine, he was fine.
And somehow, when she fell, he scrambled into the room with half the amount of grace that he usually moved with. "Hey ..." He started, still not quite sure what to say. He wasn't good with things like this, not like his Uncle was. He was sure, after everything that he'd done, that not even his presence could comfort her.
It wasn't his nature to be an optimist, but moreso to allow her the feelings that she felt now. He lowered to put a hand on her shoulder unsurely.
The support was a gesture that was foreign to him, since he never really gave or accepted such a thing. When he was smaller, maybe, his mother and uncle gave him such things freely-back when he glowed with naive enthusiasm over his position in the world. Maybe then he'd know what to say to her, but right now, he didn't know. "Katara ..."
The feeling of his hand on her shoulder made her wince in discomfort. It wasn't Zuko that was supposed to be here. She wasn't certain who it was, but it wasn't him. She felt as if her father was supposed to be there, apologizing and reminding her that he always loved her--or perhaps Sokka, but not the Prince of the Fire Nation, not the boy that terrorized them. Yet right now, with pain the pain that took over the entirety of her body and the sobs that shook her, she couldn't turn him away. She couldn't find the words, even if she did look up at him with a squinted gaze to indicate that he shouldn't get any closer.
But she didn't remove his hand. As much as he didn't belong in this room with her, with Aang, she didn't remove his hand. Zuko was trying to change, she realized, though the stubborn belief within her to reject the change had always been there. It had been quietly sitting inside of her, and when Aang hadn't asked her to the dance, she continued to be upset with him, even angry, that his presence had forced a wedge in-between her and Aang. He had rushed out of the apartment at the same speed as her, with fierce determination crossing his features. Even as he wielded the flames during the fight, he was careful to use them to scare the person that controlled Aang--rather than hurt the boy himself.
Zuko was changing, so she let him keep his hand there. And somehow, the sobs started to subside.
Sitting on the floor, she straightened her body. Katara knew she couldn't reach up or rise, but at least she could see Aang's chest move every time he took in a new breath. Her arms wrapped around her knees and she rested her chin on the cloth that covered the outside of her legs.
The whole of Katara's life had been spent protecting people, and again--she failed. She protected her village like a mother. She was the only one that had been there for Sokka in many ways. In a way, she had come to accept her role as the protector of the group, ensuring that they would do little menial tasks like washing and eating dinner instead of playing around. It was her job to be the moral backbone of the group, but they kept facing trouble. She felt naive, even stupid, believing that things could be better here. She went on carelessly, and even tried her best to accept Zuko into the group. She had her friendship with Simca and she had her continued crush on Jet and she had her ... She wasn't certain what it was that she felt for Aang, but she felt torn up inside, angry with herself, for even daring to be selfish about the ball. It was just a dance. They spent the holiday together and almost every other day. That should have been enough.
And then there was the possession. Possession, controlling--it jarred Katara to know she could do the same thing. She could take control of others and make them act against their wills.
She tilted her head forward and finally shrugged off his hand. It wasn't a rough gesture, but an indication that it'd been there for too long.
"I couldn't save him again," she finally spoke, and her words were softened by the previous sobs. "I had the opportunity to do it and I couldn't ..." She clenched her eyes shut. "I want to blame you, Zuko," she added with a bit of strength to her tone. "But for once it isn't even your fault." For once. The indication that she hadn't completely accepted him, but it had to be passed into the air. It would be a lie if she didn't make that clear.
Maybe now she could start trusting him.
It was Katara, always, who reminded him of that pang of guilt. Her words were always like barbs, searing small scars in his flesh at each word. It hurt, because only a moment before, she was caressing Aang's cheeks as if she were his mother, as if she was his mother; but the illusion had broke into a million tiny pieces at her harsh words. Zuko had tried, in many ways, to please her specifically, though it really never seemed to do anything but upset her. It was almost like trying to please his own family, who constantly turned him away; and those select ones that wrapped their arms around him and soothed his wounds. Something he once thought of as a weakness, but that he wished for now.
Maybe he wasn't the one who was supposed to be there, but he was there; and he was trying, despite everything, he was trying.
Even in trying to please her, he never got the reaction that he wanted. Instead he got fierce words of passion-something he supposed, though, was a pleasant difference from his former companions. They were all so emotional; and he felt a little more comfortable as that. He was unaware of her internal conflicts; all the pain her face was twisted in was from her inability to protect Aang.
There was a soft, warm sigh that escaped his lips, and he sat beside her. At least, for now, neither of them were alone. (He, who was always, always alone. Who made himself that way.) He listened to her, let her talk; that was something that he could do. He glanced at her, and his brow furrowed slightly, and then softened, "My Uncle was really good at saying the right things ... I'm sorry, I can't think of anything ..." They had failed, each of them, in their own way.
His words weren't comforting in the least, but she didn't want to say that. Katara didn't expect other people to be comforting. They weren't supposed to have a knack for it like she did, but in a place and time like this, where was her comfort? She supposed she should have been grateful for Zuko's failed words, but there was still existing contempt that stirred in the pit of her stomach whenever she thought kindly of him. Whenever she said nice things to him, she felt as if she was betraying her nature. It was partly because he betrayed her; he apologized, but she would still need time to get over it.
She imagined that if she gave him a chance now, the one feeling would eventualy subside and the other would intervene and dominate.
"I'm supposed to know the right thing to say," she admitted, "but that doesn't help me." She thought to soothe Zuko's wounds in some way, but she didn't think he was deserving of that yet. Her words to him were always correcting him because that level of encouragement could come across as real. Katara breathed a sigh and tried to relax a bit. Even if the floor was cold, she imagined she could, and it was partly because she was there with Aang to some degree. Eventually her strength would return and she would find a way to move closer, and damn anyone that stopped her.
"I'm going to try and trust you now." The words almost caught in her throat, but she forced them out. "You could've died there, too, and you didn't even want to hurt him. I ..." She finally looked at him, and it seemed as if the smile on her lips was forced but necessary. It wasn't fake, just a struggle given the nature of the topic. "Thank you."
Zuko, in all of the things that he was incapable of, had known when he had rejoined them just how deeply he had hurt her. She wouldn't be so easy to touch again, and he had come to terms with that, and because he had failed, he would just have to try harder. He promised himself a thousand-fold that he would do all he could if he could see the same girl that she was in that cave. So open and willing to help him, thinking that, just maybe, he could make it up to them. It was here, with her, that he felt comfortable, even if she didn't-this was his family. This was where he belonged, so now he had to make up all his past deeds to them.
His legs were folded on the floor, his arms resting there as he gazed up at the boy in the hospital bed. He had decided that he would stay here with her, no matter how many times she beat him and cast him away. He would come back, because he knew that this was the place that he belonged. After fighting against his Destiny for so long ...
There was another breath that escaped his lips when she spoke, and he closed his eyes. Her words seemed to sooth him a little. You did good, Zuko; we're proud of you, Zuko.
For a moment he stood perfectly still, and out of the corner of his eye he could see her strained smile. Like him, she was trying too, just as hard as he was, to keep this precious boy safe from everything that threatened him. It was their strained duty and responsibility as the people that they were born as, strung together by thousands of past conflicts and meetings-and finally, everything fell upon them. The next of his breaths was accompanied by what could have been a strained sob, as if she had reached inside and touched something that he didn't want anyone to see. All of his inadequacies and all the times that he just wasn't good enough-she was speaking gently to him, not reprimanding him as she usually did, but smiling and telling him that he did good, and that she wanted to trust him after everything that he had done.
When he had ran behind her a day ago, it had been different than it usually was. He wasn't looking for acceptance, all he had wanted to do at that time was protect Aang, and those were the only thoughts rolling through his head at the time. It felt a little odd, letting her see what was coming, because he kept it inside, and his feelings were so blazing that he couldn't help but lower his head and cry. Cry for this precious person that was in the hospital bed above them, in pain; cry for her soft voice, her pain; cry for his mother and his uncle; and for what they were going to do now.
It was as if they changed places, and the stubbornness in Katara began to look like a weakness on her part. She curled tighter into herself as the silence passed between them; she had been waiting for a response, but the silence was all she obtained. When the tears came, she understood--and felt guilty. She felt guilty for the passing moments between them and the lack of understanding, but Katara was a prideful person. Despite the guilt that seemed to displace both of them and leave them teetering on the edge toward a greater understanding, she could not completely let go of her pride. They would take it in steps. One little bit of sincerity would be followed by more until they would be able to reach out toward one another and be completely honest.
But she wondered if they would be more honest than they were in this moment. Would this be the peak of it between them, and everything that followed would seem fabricated, unreal? She grappled with this internally and knew she had no one she could turn to for advice. Though she had her friends, her brother, and even Simca, she knew none of them could give her that answer. She would need to seek it in herself.
That answer seemed to appear when the wetness returned to her eyes and the sobs took hold, sending a tremble through her frail body. Katara said nothing, but eased closer to Zuko, showing him acceptance in allowing their failures to be let out, one by one, through the tears that fled from their bodies. He was a passionate person, but she wasn't certain she'd ever seen her brother cry like that. Zuko was so different, and she realized that half her pride was because she didn't understand him. He wasn't like Sokka or Aang or even Jet. His pride was shredded by the multiple trials he faced, and though he needed a caring hand just like they did, he would always react to it differently.
She imagined there wouldn't be much more to say here, in this place, as they waited for Aang's eyes to open and the familiar carefree smile to appear on his lips. She knew they would be there together, crying and silent, because words and phrases weren't the best way to express their pain right now. It was pain, she knew; not the same pain that Aang must be feeling, because they weren't as hurt, weren't as controlled into that place, but it would still be pain. The pain of sorrow, the pain of failure.
And for Katara, it was the pain of letting go of her pride and starting to grow more. She felt no anger toward the boy at her side, but a remnant of past thought that lingered in her mind. It would remain there, ready to strike out if he made any mistake, but she accepted the flaw in its existence and shared her tears with them. This was real, she realized; this wasn't a trick or some game, some ploy by his sister.
They were there for Aang. She knew they would always be there for him.