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She paces from one end of the terrace to the other, heart in her throat. She is the strong one. She is the one they all rely on.
She can't go back to them.
Not yet.
Not when it's all so fresh, when she can still hear the screams, when she can still see Aang plummeting to the ground, lifeless. Not when closing her eyes, even for a second, brings it all rushing back.
It's better for all of them this way. If she tries to sleep, the dreams will come back. If the dreams come back, she might wake them up. It's too great a risk. The war is drawing to a close, and if they mean to win, they all need their rest.
It's better if Katara faces this alone.
She keeps pacing. East to west and back again, measured steps and measured breaths. Twenty times, thirty, fifty—she loses count every time her mind twists the shadows into the shapes of her friends, her family in danger again.
She can do this. She can handle this alone, she has to.
Her throat stays tight and her eyes burn. It was just a dream. It was just a dream. It was just a dream. She's checked on them all, she knows that they're safe, but her pulse refuses to calm and her eyes continue playing tricks with the darkness, turning shadows into scenery and glints of blue-gray moonlight into lightning.
A shadow shifts, and Katara tells herself that it's just another cruel trick of her mind, but this shadow is different. This shadow speaks.
"I don't want your sympathy." The words tear out of her, hot and bitter. "I don't need your help."
Though he is little more than a pale smudge in the dark, Zuko manages to look awkward when he runs a hand through his hair. "I—if you don't want to talk to me, I can get one of the others." The usual harsh edge of his tone is softened somewhat by fatigue and he comes a little closer. "The Avatar or your brother—"
"No. I'm fine on my own." She folds her arms tight and plants her feet. She would keep pacing, but she knows better than to turn her back on him.
"Okay." His rasp is almost gentle, and this time, he doesn't come any closer. He hovers at the threshold of the terrace, half-lit by the moonlight.
"I'm fine," she repeats. Her eyes still prickle and burn and a knot of dread settles in the center of her chest when her mind replays the dream again, but she is fine. "They all need their rest. I'm not going to bother the others over something this—this stupid."
"You do this a lot, don't you?" It isn't a question, not really. Zuko's gaze is steady, his expression unchanging.
Katara bristles anyway. "I do what a lot?"
"You don't let the others know how much weight you're carrying on your own." His voice is soft as ever and he looks away.
She wishes it weren't. Arguing with him, hating him is easier than whatever this is. "I do what I need to do. They need me to be strong, so I—"
"You pretend that you're okay because the moment you stop, everything else falls apart," Zuko finishes for her. Silence hangs between them for a moment before his eyes widen and he flushes a shade darker. He meets her gaze again. "Sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt."
A harsh laugh claws its way out of her throat and she perches on a piece of a fallen column. She hates how easily he reads her, how he sees the depths she keeps hidden from all the others. As though the softness she saw in Ba Sing Se has been there all along.
"It's your fault anyway." Katara gives him a look fit to turn his blood to ice. "I wouldn't be having nightmares about Ba Sing Se if you hadn't—" She breaks off. If he hadn't offered her that threadbare truce. If he hadn't been kind enough to convince her. If he hadn't changed his mind and let his sister steal Aang's final breath away.
Katara takes a deep breath. It's okay now, she reminds herself. Aang is alive and safe and healthy, sleeping in the next room. They're all safe. He doesn't change that. She won't let him.
Zuko steps a little farther onto the moonlit terrace and lowers himself onto what might have once been the base of a statue.
"In that case," he rasps, "Maybe I should be the one losing sleep over it."
For an instant, Katara agrees. This is his fault. He should be the one to fix it. But she sees that look in his eyes, that stupid, almost-sincere look, and she scoffs.
"Don't act like you care."
"I—" He stops himself mid-protest and something almost like sorrow flashes across his face. He rubs the back of his neck before he begins again, a little slower. "I want us to win this war. We can't do that if we're not all at our best." His eyes, faded almost to silver in the faint light, pierce her. "I know how important you are. Without you—without you, we don't stand a chance."
An uncomfortable sensation settles in her stomach and she frowns. A small, nagging part of her thinks that he might have a point. A more irritating, insidious part thinks that he might even be talking about her rather than the endless support she lends the others.
"So—what? You want me to tell you all about my nightmares?"
Zuko nods. "If it helps."
Katara takes a deep breath. The last thing she wants is to hand her secrets over to Zuko. He doesn't deserve them. He doesn't deserve her trust.
But she is tired, so unbelievably tired, and every time she closes her eyes, the dream comes flooding back. She can't go on like this forever.
Her brow hardens into a scowl. "This doesn't mean that I trust you."
"I know."
Another slow breath.
"I was in the catacombs again," she begins, staring into empty darkness. "Fighting against Azula and the Dai Li—"
The next morning, she catches him watching her. While she serves breakfast to the group, his eyes follow her, even as he tends the cooking fire and serves the tea. Katara straightens her spine and tries to ignore him. He knows about her nightmares, but that means nothing. They aren't friends. The secret he holds for her doesn't change that.
By midday, even Sokka seems to notice the weight of their silence. He brandishes Space Sword and swipes at the air between them.
"Stop it, Sokka," she tells him. "No swords around the cooking fire."
Sokka waves Space Sword again. "Not a chance. Me and Swordy are doing a very important scientific study."
Zuko's sigh sounds nearly as irritated as she feels. "What kind of study involves waving that thing around like an idiot?" Zuko grabs Space Sword by the hilt and rams it back into its scabbard.
Sokka yelps and twists out of the way. "For your information," he says loftily. "I wanted to find out if the tension between you two was actually thick enough to cut."
Toph cackles and Sokka folds his arms, looking pleased with himself.
"Maybe there wouldn't be any tension if you all hadn't decided to invite the enemy into our camp." Katara levels a glare at Zuko and catches a glimpse of the same unreadable expression he's been giving her all morning.
"Yeah, yeah, we all know what your problem is, Sugar." Toph waves a dismissive hand in the air. "You've made that pretty clear. I want to know what's going on with Princey-Pants."
Zuko grunts at the nickname. Either he likes that one better than the others, or he's becoming accustomed to Toph's never-ending supply of them. "Not enough sleep."
Katara expects him to go on, to explain everything, to claim credit for his flimsy "help"—anything to prove that his presence is worthwhile—but he stops there.
"Awwww, Hotpants misses his nice, fluffy royal bed." Toph pulls her finger out of her nose and flicks what comes out into the fire.
Zuko's fiery gaze flicks toward Katara, but his expression doesn't change, and he turns back to Toph just as quickly. "More like I can't stand the snoring. Seriously, you all put my uncle to shame, and that's saying something."
Sokka lets out a stream of creative, high-pitched protests, and Toph cackles some more, her small face scrunching into a mess of gleeful creases. But Zuko doesn't smile, and his gaze finds its way back to Katara once again.
"Katara?"
She isn't surprised by his almost noiseless approach. She scowls at the ground, knees pulled to her chest. Why does it have to be him? Out of all the people who could have taken an interest in her nightmares, Zuko is her last choice by far. Too bad that doesn't seem to dissuade him.
He pauses a few strides away and shifts his weight uncomfortably. "Are you okay? Did you have another nightmare?"
Katara scoffs and swipes a hand over her eyes. "Great guess, genius. How did you figure that out?"
She peeks up long enough to see his forehead crease and his brow furrow. But he doesn't take her bait—he's good at that. Or getting better, at least. She wishes he weren't.
Zuko rubs the back of his neck. "Do—do you want to talk about it?"
She shrinks into herself even further. This time is even worse than the last. The moon is nearly full, and she can feel its power in her veins, calling her the same way it did that night with Hama. A bitter laugh forces its way up.
"Don't strain yourself, Zuko. This one didn't have anything to do with you, so you can go back to sleep with a clean conscience tonight."
Zuko is quiet for a moment before she hears him move. She looks up, expecting him to leave, but instead he slides down against the wall, sitting a few arms' lengths away. He doesn't speak. He doesn't watch her, he just sits alongside her, staring into the darkness and waiting.
The silence hangs heavy between them and Katara fidgets with the hem of her tunic. The darkness isn't quite so unbearable when there is someone else with her. Even if it's him. Even if it's still too quiet.
She stares straight ahead and tries to count her pulse, but it's too quick, and she can't focus with the moon heightening both her bending and her senses. She can feel every drop of water, even the ones she wishes were still invisible. She can feel Zuko, the blood in his veins, his steady pulse, his even breaths. It calls out to her—she could take hold of his blood if she wanted and squeeze—
She jolts back to reality with a gasp, and Zuko leans forward, concern written across his face.
Katara lets out a shuddering breath. This is worse than last time. So much worse. If she keeps it bottled up, there is no telling who she might hurt.
"Do you know how much of the human body is made up of water?" she asks.
Zuko looks surprised and takes a moment to school his expression back to normal. "I guess I've never thought about it before."
She shakes her head. "Nobody does. I mean, I always knew. But I never really—knew. Not like this." Her hands tighten into fists. "I couldn't feel it before. And now I can't make it stop."
Zuko doesn't speak, doesn't seem to react. He is quiet and watchful, and eventually, it is enough to pull out the words Katara has been holding back.
She tells him about the spooky night in the forest and how Hama frightened them at first, then took them in. She tells him about their discovery in the attic and how Hama took Katara on as a student. How Katara was elated to learn the bending traditions of her own tribe. How everything seemed perfect until the awful moment when nothing was right anymore.
She watches Zuko for a reaction, expecting shock and horror on his face. She is not disappointed. But when Katara tells him how she took hold of the old woman's veins and brought her to her knees to keep the boys alive, he doesn't leave despite his stricken expression. Instead, he leans forward.
"Are you okay?"
Katara swipes at her eyes with the back of her hand. "Perfect. Thanks so much for asking."
Zuko frowns. "I know you're not."
"Then why ask?"
Zuko scratches behind his scarred ear and shrugs. "Isn't that just what people say?" He sighs. "Sorry. I'm not good at this."
"You're really not." Katara takes a steadying breath and stares down the empty corridor. "You're probably scared that I'll bloodbend you off the cliff by accident or something."
"No." His voice is quiet, almost gentle. "I don't think you could ever do something like that by accident."
She freezes. She is so used to—so sick of—the others telling her that she would never hurt them. That she could never cause any harm. But this—this is different. And as much as her mind rebels against anything that Zuko has to say, she can't help but latch onto his last sentence.
"What was that?" she asks, barely over a whisper.
Zuko's brow furrows slightly. "I'm not afraid?"
Katara shakes her head. "The other part."
He watches her, expression inscrutable. "I don't think you could do anything like that by accident."
She swallows back the painful lump in her throat and looks away. "You really believe that?"
"You're one of the strongest benders I've ever met. I've never seen you lose yourself to your element." His tone is soft and certain. "Of course I believe it."
The lump in her throat rises again and she swipes at her eyes. It's silly that she is so relieved, but his certainty anchors her.
She manages a wobbly laugh. "So you're just afraid that I'll bloodbend you off the cliff on purpose, then?"
Zuko shrugs. "Maybe a little."
Katara laughs again, and a weight lifts. Her shoulders lighten, and all at once, she can breathe again.
"I'm not going to bloodbend you off the cliff."
"Thanks." Zuko's voice is soft, with no trace of his habitual dryness.
Silence hangs between them for a few long minutes, and it is easier, more comfortable than she expects. She can still feel Zuko's pulse, the quiet ease of his breath, but with his words echoing in her ears—I've never seen you lose yourself to your element—its call is gentler. She can match her breath to his without the crimson glow blinding her.
Slowly, her eyelids slide closed. When they open again, she finds herself in her own bed, a blanket tucked around her shoulders, and Zuko making a silent retreat out the door.
She thinks she smiles.
And in the morning, he finally smiles back.
It isn't the first time she's heard him jolt awake in the dead of night, but after he waits outside her tent and follows her across the sea on a quest for justice, she can't ignore it any longer. After he stands at her side in silent support, after she finds relief and safety in his embrace, she doesn't want to.
His strangled gasp rouses her and by the time her eyes manage to focus, he is seated upright, fighting to control his breathing. His hair sticks up a little in the back and clings in jagged streaks across his forehead. His shoulders heave, and by the faint light of the waning moon, she thinks she can see patches of sweat on his tunic.
She sits up, but before she can say his name, Zuko bolts, the airy draperies trailing in his wake.
She finds him a few minutes later, perched on the steps overlooking the beach. His shoulders are hunched and she thinks she can see him shaking ever so slightly.
"Zuko?"
He starts and jerks around to face her. An almost feverish sheen glistens on his forehead, and his jaw clenches and unclenches.
"How—how long have you been there?" His voice is strained and he refuses to meet her eyes.
"Not long."
He gives a stiff nod and turns back toward the ocean.
It isn't an invitation, but Katara sits beside him anyway.
"Are you okay?"
He lets out a shuddering breath. "Not exactly." His hands clamp on the top of the step and he closes his eyes as if steadying himself. "I'll manage. You might as well go back inside," he says after a pause.
A few days ago, she would have obliged. A few days ago, she wouldn't have even made it this far. But now she can't force herself to entertain the thought. She turns her gaze out to sea and times her breath against the lapping of the waves. She can feel the roar of his pulse, the frantic rush of blood in his veins. She could take hold of it if she wanted, could slow its beating back to normal, but instead she only listens.
Gradually, Zuko's pulse evens, and Katara feels his gaze flicker her direction a few times. She keeps her eyes on the water, waiting.
"Why are you still here?"
Katara wraps her arms around her knees and refuses to turn his way. She knows exactly what he means, but she doesn't have an answer yet. Not even for herself.
"It's even more beautiful here at night." She draws in a deep breath of cool salt air.
The weight of Zuko's gaze doesn't lift. "That's not what I meant." His voice is a soft, small rasp.
"I know."
"You don't have to sit with me just because—" He lets out a puff of air and waves his hand in the air. "You don't have to help me."
Katara chances a look in his direction. "Neither did you."
He freezes, his lips slightly parted. For a second, she loses track of his pulse before it roars back, a little quicker, a little louder than before.
"That—" He pauses to clear his throat and turns his eyes back toward the sea. "That was different."
"How?" She watches him now, the tension in his shoulders, the set of his jaw. "You came to sit with me when I had a nightmare. How is this different?"
He pulls his knees up, mirroring her, and crosses his arms on top of them. His hands clench and unclench. "Because I—" He swallows and doesn't finish.
"Because you felt guilty?"
"Not just that." His voice drops so low that she scarcely hears it, but he can't hide the way the blood rushes to his cheeks.
Briefly, Katara wonders if this is anything like the way Toph sees the world—the inner workings all laid bare, even in the dark. His pulse quickens, but there is something softer than panic beneath it.
He runs a hand through his hair, a few damp strands standing on end. "It—it's nothing. I'll be fine."
"Good." She leans back on her hands and stares up at the stars. She is almost near enough to rest her head on his shoulder, and part of her wants to. Very much.
She feels him watching her, his gaze nearly as warm as his touch.
"You really don't have to stay with me."
She turns toward him. There is a familiar look in his eyes, a thread of loneliness that runs clear down to his core. He expects her to leave. He must expect everyone to leave.
"And what if I want to?"
His eyes widen, and she can feel his pulse skip. For a moment, he struggles for words.
"Then—" he finally begins, "—I think I should at least make you some tea."
Katara smiles and lets her hand brush against his. "I think I'd like that."