tiptoeing across the ice - Zutara
There is a moment-there’s always a moment-when she remembers the battle with Azula and her lungs stop contracting and her fists clench and Katara
can’t
move.
Her eyes see his form outlined against the fiery white as he clasps the lightening to his chest, and collapses to the ground. Everything feels blurry at first, because-spirits-Zuko-dead-
It’s too much for her to handle. The one person she never had to take care of, and in those few moments, he was almost
gone.
Weeks after the incident, she begins to recall Zuko’s hands reaching for her. Perhaps a shiver wracked through his body…perhaps his glazed eyes stared at her desperately…perhaps-
Perhaps she should stop trying to remember one of the worst moments of her life, especially when in the company of her new boyfriend.
But Katara’s brain rushes ahead of herself, forcing her into a world where Zuko isn’t simply injured, but he’s been ripped apart from the inside out-and there he is, trying so fucking hard anyway.
As Aang’s secure, warm arm wraps around her, Katara shudders.
X
Katara recalls farther back than that, though. She remembers the mission to find the dirty bastard who murdered her mother.
After they left him there, weak and disgusting and not even worth her anger, Katara and Zuko didn’t speak. He watched silently as she demolished three trees in a row, flung a few animals into the bushes, fell to her knees, and sobbed into her hands.
Zuko did not reach out to her, but he watched her. And when she had cried so hard that she’d exhausted every inch of herself, he asked her quietly, “Are you okay?”
Katara asked him bitterly, “What do you think?”
She doesn’t like to remember that particular journey very much at all. Katara is still waiting to decide whether the look in Zuko’s eyes as he gazed at her
(I understand your pain)
should be any different.
She fulfills her time accepting panda lilies from Aang and pecking him on the cheek, and doesn’t think about her mother at all-or wonder how Zuko lost his.
X
Sometimes, at night, she recalls the feeling of Zuko’s warm body falling on top of hers.
His arms wrapped around her waste as he swept her out of danger’s way, and his legs were splayed awkwardly between hers as they rolled onto the ground. Katara doesn’t want to wish for his thigh gliding between her legs, so she doesn’t.
Instead, Katara takes in a breath, puts her own hand to her crotch, and does not imagine
him
(not his hand)
inside
her
because that would be dirty and disgusting and not really her at all, wouldn’t it?
She and Aang haven’t kissed in weeks.
X
Back at the beginning, when everything was simple and easy (villain, hero, heroine-except it wasn't supposed to go hero, hero, heroine) he stormed her village and terrified all of the children. Zuko terrified everyone, years ago, in the era that Katara wants so desperately to forget, but cannot bring herself to let go.
She feels like laughing. The irony-what delicious irony-that when he returns to her village years later, it is for a wedding.
Hers.
X
In their unconventional and confusing past, there is only ever one memory that she finds worth revisiting. Ironically, it was far from pleasant at the time. Somehow, this is what makes it bearable.
“The Fire Nation took my mother away from me!” she’d yelled at him, crouching down to the floor and submerging herself in self-righteous anger and sorrow.
She heard the rustle of his robes as he turned towards her. “I’m-”
“Sorry,” Katara apologizes for her fiancé as Aang storms out of the hut. “He doesn’t-I’m sure he didn’t mean it,” Katara says awkwardly. She sighs.
As he places himself on one of the majestic, icy chairs, so unlike the humble furs of her childhood, Zuko massages his temples wearily. Katara watches him carefully, memorizing every angle of his sharp, noble face.
Zuko glances up at her form, proud and tall throughout all of her troubles. They are called back to other times, of anger and absolution; insensitivity and forgiveness.
Under the weight of their shared memories, Zuko and Katara shiver.
Suddenly, Katara realizes that the atmosphere of the room is awkward and absent of conversation. “It’s stupid that you two have to fight. I wish…” Katara mutters, “I wish none of this had ever happened.”
The Firelord watches her out of the corner of his eye, and says, “That’s something we have in common.”
It isn’t the only thing.
X
A/N: Um...wow. 0_0 THAT was weird. And really depressing. Err, I'm not sure exactly what I was trying to say, but I felt like writing angst. I don't like it very much, actually.
can’t
move.
Her eyes see his form outlined against the fiery white as he clasps the lightening to his chest, and collapses to the ground. Everything feels blurry at first, because-spirits-Zuko-dead-
It’s too much for her to handle. The one person she never had to take care of, and in those few moments, he was almost
gone.
Weeks after the incident, she begins to recall Zuko’s hands reaching for her. Perhaps a shiver wracked through his body…perhaps his glazed eyes stared at her desperately…perhaps-
Perhaps she should stop trying to remember one of the worst moments of her life, especially when in the company of her new boyfriend.
But Katara’s brain rushes ahead of herself, forcing her into a world where Zuko isn’t simply injured, but he’s been ripped apart from the inside out-and there he is, trying so fucking hard anyway.
As Aang’s secure, warm arm wraps around her, Katara shudders.
X
Katara recalls farther back than that, though. She remembers the mission to find the dirty bastard who murdered her mother.
After they left him there, weak and disgusting and not even worth her anger, Katara and Zuko didn’t speak. He watched silently as she demolished three trees in a row, flung a few animals into the bushes, fell to her knees, and sobbed into her hands.
Zuko did not reach out to her, but he watched her. And when she had cried so hard that she’d exhausted every inch of herself, he asked her quietly, “Are you okay?”
Katara asked him bitterly, “What do you think?”
She doesn’t like to remember that particular journey very much at all. Katara is still waiting to decide whether the look in Zuko’s eyes as he gazed at her
(I understand your pain)
should be any different.
She fulfills her time accepting panda lilies from Aang and pecking him on the cheek, and doesn’t think about her mother at all-or wonder how Zuko lost his.
X
Sometimes, at night, she recalls the feeling of Zuko’s warm body falling on top of hers.
His arms wrapped around her waste as he swept her out of danger’s way, and his legs were splayed awkwardly between hers as they rolled onto the ground. Katara doesn’t want to wish for his thigh gliding between her legs, so she doesn’t.
Instead, Katara takes in a breath, puts her own hand to her crotch, and does not imagine
him
(not his hand)
inside
her
because that would be dirty and disgusting and not really her at all, wouldn’t it?
She and Aang haven’t kissed in weeks.
X
Back at the beginning, when everything was simple and easy (villain, hero, heroine-except it wasn't supposed to go hero, hero, heroine) he stormed her village and terrified all of the children. Zuko terrified everyone, years ago, in the era that Katara wants so desperately to forget, but cannot bring herself to let go.
She feels like laughing. The irony-what delicious irony-that when he returns to her village years later, it is for a wedding.
Hers.
X
In their unconventional and confusing past, there is only ever one memory that she finds worth revisiting. Ironically, it was far from pleasant at the time. Somehow, this is what makes it bearable.
“The Fire Nation took my mother away from me!” she’d yelled at him, crouching down to the floor and submerging herself in self-righteous anger and sorrow.
She heard the rustle of his robes as he turned towards her. “I’m-”
“Sorry,” Katara apologizes for her fiancé as Aang storms out of the hut. “He doesn’t-I’m sure he didn’t mean it,” Katara says awkwardly. She sighs.
As he places himself on one of the majestic, icy chairs, so unlike the humble furs of her childhood, Zuko massages his temples wearily. Katara watches him carefully, memorizing every angle of his sharp, noble face.
Zuko glances up at her form, proud and tall throughout all of her troubles. They are called back to other times, of anger and absolution; insensitivity and forgiveness.
Under the weight of their shared memories, Zuko and Katara shiver.
Suddenly, Katara realizes that the atmosphere of the room is awkward and absent of conversation. “It’s stupid that you two have to fight. I wish…” Katara mutters, “I wish none of this had ever happened.”
The Firelord watches her out of the corner of his eye, and says, “That’s something we have in common.”
It isn’t the only thing.
X
A/N: Um...wow. 0_0 THAT was weird. And really depressing. Err, I'm not sure exactly what I was trying to say, but I felt like writing angst. I don't like it very much, actually.