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Zuko can never predict the days when his body remembers being hit. And he doesn’t mean the trials of combat, though those memories leave their own sets of wounds. He means the learned helplessness of waiting to be struck by the hands that, by rights, should have been softest toward him. Shrinking away from pain. Pain dealt out in recompense for failure, weakness, or disobedience.
His mind has healed, but his body remembers. And those echoes are louder on some days than others.
He’s in Ba Sing Se the next time it happens, on a series of diplomatic visits across the Earth Kingdom. He wakes next to Katara and finds that even the weight of their blankets on his skin is too much. He pushes them away and rises, careful even now not to wake his sleeping wife.
His skin feels electric, like a live wire, like if touched he would give off sparks.
Zuko takes deep breaths. He forces himself to move slowly. With measured gestures, he makes himself a cup of tea. Elderflower and chamomile. Calming. It may not help, but at least it won’t hurt.
He sits cross-legged and watches the sun come up. He feels every breath that hits his chest like a weight settling in his lungs. He cannot, for the life of him, get a full breath. When he sets the empty teacup aside, his hands shake.
He breathes. He closes his eyes. His hands clasp hard on the tops of his knees. He sits with his body and tries to remember that it’s his.
It works, somewhat. When Katara wakes and her touch falls on his shoulder, he doesn’t flinch.
If he was at home, he would take more time. But he’s not at home, and there are meetings to be held. Demands that must be met. He will make do. He always does.
He has survived far worse than this.
—
He always thinks she doesn’t notice, but she always does.
Katara can see Zuko’s bad days in the way he holds himself. His eyes are distant. His hands are always clutching at something. She knows they’ll shake if he doesn’t. She gives him her hands to hold as he prepares for the day, and he accepts them.
But he says nothing, so she doesn’t either. She trusts him enough to know he’ll ask for what he needs.
When they part ways -Zuko has meetings to attend and Katara has her own diplomatic duties to fulfill today- she rises onto her toes to give him the lightest of kisses on his cheek. The unscarred one. The other would be far too painful today. His face is stony, but he manages a tight smile.
“Take care of yourself today,” she says.
He gives her a tiny nod. She hopes he will be able to manage his meetings. It’s easy for him to vanish into unspeaking silence on these kinds of days. His hands slip from hers as he steps back.
“I’ll see you at lunch,” she says.
He nods again.
Katara goes about her morning and tries not to worry. She meets with a community of waterbenders in the Upper Ring. A community of refugees who made a home and a life here in the years since the war ended. Her visit -the Fire Lady, a waterbender- has the community alive with excitement. She sits with them as they share their stories. She shares waterbending forms she’s learned in her travels.
But she isn’t surprised when Toph appears about an hour before lunch. The little earthbender bursts into the building. Water puddles on the floor as a dozen benders lose focus all at the same time.
“Toph!” Katara says.
“Come with me, Sweetness,” she says. “Zuko needs you.”
—
Zuko is cognizant enough to be embarrassed, and that makes it worse.
It was such an innocuous gesture. A servant approaching from his scarred side, just outside of his vision, as thousands of servants have done over thousands of days without issue. But today it startles Zuko. It startles Zuko and his live wire of a body fractures.
Toph feels him shut down before he notices himself. Her feet picking up the change in his breathing. The erratic pulse of his aching heartbeat. She deftly halts the meeting, finding a lull and calling for a break, and fresh tea. And as the dignitaries shift away from the table she steps up to his chair.
“Come with me, Sparks,” she says.
He doesn’t move. He can’t.
“Zuko,” she says. “Come on.”
It’s the use of his name that gets through to him. Toph never calls anyone by their name. He’s Sparks. He likes being Sparks. Agni, she must be so worried about him.
He gets up.
He follows her into a small sitting room off the meeting hall. She shuts the door behind them. Even in his current state he admires her care. Her tact.
“Sit,” she says.
Zuko does, settling gingerly on the sturdy sofa facing the hearth. Toph stacks wood and lights a small blaze in the fireplace. Silly. Zuko should have been able to do that.
“Stay put, Sparks,” she says. “I’ll go get Sweetness.”
She leaves. Zuko stares into the fire, his hands limp in his lap. He’s not sure how much time passes but when the door opens again, it’s Katara.
Pulling his gaze from the hearth to meet hers takes effort.
“Hey my love,” she says softly.
She settles herself next to him. On his good side, so he can see her fully. He pulls a little more tightly into himself. He hates it but he can’t help it.
She moves so slowly, like he’s some wild thing that might bite.
“I’m going to take your hair down, ok?” She says.
He’d tied up his top knot so tightly this morning. Looking for a little bit of control. She lifts the pin from his hair and pulls gently at the tie. His locks loosen and pool around his face. She doesn’t run her hands through it. She knows he wouldn’t be able to handle that yet. But the sudden looseness is a relief.
His head falls forward. She shifts, kneeling on the ground in front of him, where he can see her without lifting his head.
“I’m going to touch your knees, ok?” She says.
Her hands, soft, slow, settle on the tops of his legs. Zuko tenses, his shoulders tightening and his hands curling into themselves, but Katara’s touch is gentle. They both know that this is how he will come back to himself. She stays there, unmoving, until he softens again.
“It’s ok, my love,” she says. “You’re ok. It’s ok.”
He turns his head away. He is so ashamed of this. Of the way he can break over nothing at all.
“It’s ok,” Katara says again. “It’s not your fault. I’m so sorry.”
She always knows what he needs to hear.
He tips forward and she catches him. His head falls onto her shoulder and her arms close around him. He doesn’t reach for her yet. He can’t. He leaves his hands where they were. But he lets himself be held. His breath shakes.
“It’s ok,” she soothes. “You’re safe. I love you so much. It’s ok.”
Her hand traces a small, soft line back and forth across his back.
Love has echoes too. And Katara’s hands are soft.
.