Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

“I can’t believe you told him he could stay there.”

“Katara-“

“The last thing I could possibly want to deal with on a weekend like this is my ex staying in that house with me. How could you-“

“It wasn’t me, okay? It was-“

“Dad. Yeah, figures. It wasn’t his decision to make.”

A sigh. “I know, but you’re not here. You don’t live here anymore, so when he asked me where to stay for the weekend and I mentioned it to dad, I got the all clear. I didn’t know you’d stay there too. I thought you’d stay with dad.”

“Why on earth would you think that?”

A beat. Two. Three.

“Good question. I’m sorry.”

“Whatever. I’ll deal.”

Katara looks at herself in the floor length mirror, taking in her simple black dress- boat neck, belted waist, knee-cut length, black heels, black tights- and sighs heavily. Her hair holds curls despite the cold, though they look limp in the dim light, like even they know better than to be bouncy on a day like this.

She wears her gran’s necklace and the bracelet Pakku gave her when she turned sixteen- a beautiful silver cuff with a blue crystal cut in the shape of a raindrop hanging from it. Katara never dared ask what it cost though the withering looks her father gave her anytime she wore it told her enough to hide it until she could move out.

Her heart was still racing, has not quit racing since her flight touched down the morning before. It does that on any trip back home since she moved away, though she can count on one hand how many of those there have been, and she shuts her eyes tightly to her figure in the mirror and wills time to move forward a day.

She opens her eyes and sees a black dress, black heels, and black tights.

She sighs heavily and grabs her purse to leave, feeling her pulse tick up at the clacking of her heels on the hardwood, each step sounding like a time bomb counting down in her head.

.

.

.

She didn’t want Sokka to pick her up, didn’t want to be beholden to anyone giving her a ride, but he insisted, so she squeezed in the back between two car seats, while Yue gave her a sympathetic smile from the front.

“Tahnik’s little sister is watching the kids today.” Katara didn’t miss the slight twinkle in the side eye.
“We thought they were a bit young for this.” Twin one-year olds. God help Tahnik’s sister.

Tahnik was a childhood friend of Yue’s from the North who moved down South. Katara dated him for a while and broke up with him when she moved to the Earth Kingdom. Sweet but fleeting.

Yue and Sokka were constantly trying to get her to give him another chance. She knew why. They wanted her to move back. They didn’t want to be alone in the tundra with Hakoda and the empty house and the kids, so there were dreams about her and Tahnik falling in love and having kids of their own and settling down there.

Dreams that were so unlike Katara, she physically squirms in the backseat under Yue’s hopeful gaze.

“He looks good, you know.”

“Hmm.” Katara gives in response, looking out the window to the snow and hoping that would be the end of it.

“How was last night?” Sokka asks instead. “You know, was it..okay?”

For fuck’s sake, the car ride to the funeral is only ten minutes long, yet they have managed to poke at each topic of discomfort inside of Katara. All they need to ask about next is her relationship with her dad, and they’ve hit three for three.

“Yeah, Sokka, it was fine.”

Fine wasn’t the word to use for whatever last night was, but when Katara mulled it over in her head, she couldn’t come up with anything better.

She meets his eyes in the rear view mirror, and she’s not sure they look convinced. The blue is so much like her own and wise beyond their years.
What was once light humor that showed in a crinkle now lies a hardened clarity that always strikes Katara in a way that makes her want to cry, to let her big brother fix things, but there are some systems that only work when they stay fucked up, so she gives him a half smile, and he looks away.

The relief she feels when silence washes over the car nearly makes her laugh.

She lays her head back against the seat and closes her eyes for the rest of the ride.

Sokka picked her up from the airport yesterday morning when her flight arrived though she told him it was completely unnecessary. She was given a lecture about how ‘this is what big brothers do, Katara, stop whining.’

Reading between the lines, she knew he meant her father would never do this for her. He’d never be capable of doing it, honestly.

She climbs into the passenger seat of his truck, desperately trying not to glare at him after the fight they had the day before, and settles her feet awkwardly around the toys in the floorboard, catching the title of a children’s book shoved under the seat titled Z for Zamboni.

Despite her lingering annoyance, she smiles.

“You’re beating him to the house, you know?” Sokka says, testing the waters.

Katara sighs and says nothing.

“It’s not like he’s a stranger. It’s Zuko.”

“Sokka, I’d almost prefer it to be a stranger.”

He gives her a sidelong glance and taps the steering wheel thoughtfully.

“What happened between you guys anyway? I mean you seemed-“

“No, no, absolutely not.” Katara makes her point clear with the finality of tone.

He hums in answer and says nothing else, but Katara bristles.

“I don’t even understand why he’s coming. We broke up months ago, and he barely met Pakku.”

“He’s my friend too.” Sokka says this quietly, and Katara looks over at him in surprise. His face betrays nothing, but the neutrality tells her she struck a nerve.

She didn’t even know it was one he had.

Sokka never got out of the South like she did, and her laying claim to Zuko coming when he was Sokka’s friend all the same, complaining about it, when he was a lifeline to the rest of the world for Sokka outside of her was a bit cruel. Guilt washes down her spine like ice water.

“You’re right. I’m sorry. He’s coming for you, not me. He’s probably dreading staying in the house more than I am.”

Sokka shrugs, though his expression doesn’t change.

“Did you know he sent baby gifts to the girls?”

Katara whips her head at him.
“No, I had no idea.”

He nods. “Nice ones, too. Bouncy seats. And cribs.” He chuckles.

“Actually, between the two of you, I think you guys furnished their entire nursery.”

Katara flushes at that. She had bought the twins all the furniture for the nursery because she could, not taking no for an answer when Sokka said it was too expensive.

She feels an uncomfortable surge of tenderness for Zuko at the thought of him buying things for Sokka’s kids.

“That was nice of him.”

“Yes, it was.”

.

When they pull up to the house, Sokka helps Katara carry her bag inside.

“You can’t stay?”

“Don’t want to leave Yue alone with the two of them for too long. She does enough when I work.”

Katara nods.

“Do you think you’ll come by while you’re here?” he asks.

“I don’t know if I’ll have time. I fly out the day after tomorrow.”

“So soon?” She can detect a hint of desperation in his voice, though he masks his face well.

“Yeah, work and all.”

“I get it. I’ll take you to the airport.”

“Sokka, I don’t need-“

She cuts herself off at his cocked eyebrow with a huff and nods.

When he walks back to his car, he turns to look at her.

“Will you go to dad’s at all?”

“No.”

“Kat-“

“No, Sokka.”

He hesitates for a moment, like he plans to say more, but he eventually gives her a terse nod and gets in his car.

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The house in question was Gran Gran and Pakku’s.

It was Katara’s favorite place in the world.
She laments it had to be in the South Pole.

She steps inside and feels the house greet her like an old friend.

It was a four bedroom, three bath, three story house, which by South Pole standards was practically a mansion.

Pakku was affluent, and when he and Gran Gran came together in their old age, he used his wealth to spoil her. He had the house built, and they filled it with deeply comforting things.

Katara kicks her boots off in the entryway and pads through the foyer in her socks, passing through the kitchen that hasn’t been used in months.

She steps into the living room and runs her hand along the back of the couch, fiddling with the patchwork quilt folded over the back that Gran hand-stitched herself.

She goes to the second level and enters what was basically her own room. Technically, it was a guest room, but Gran and Pakku made it up for her, and she spent almost as many nights here than she did at home.

She wished it had been more. She thinks of her childhood home in flashes- ratty blankets, wood rot, beer bottles everywhere- and squeezes her eyes shut.

She leaves the room and goes to the third level. Gran and Pakku’s bedroom door is slightly ajar and Katara pushes it open though she doesn’t enter. It’s simple in its decoration. Their four poster bed is made from beautiful carved wood, and it’s made up like they’re coming home any minute.

Katara feels her eyes water with traitorous tears for the first time.

She takes a deep, settling breath and closes the door with a whisper. Goodbye, it seems to whisper back.

She continues to the next room, which is perhaps her favorite one in the house-

Pakku’s office.

It is lined with shelves of various knick knacks from all over the world in the travels he’s had in his lifetime with stories he’s regaled her with many times in her childhood.

She looks over the shelves, lightly roaming her fingers over some of her favorite artifacts- a Kyoshi fan, a bison whistle, the mask of the Blue Spirit, the Painted Lady’s statue.

She smiles and crosses the room to sit in his leather chair, sinking into it and basking in the smell of tobacco and Brut cologne.

She doesn’t know how to deal with this loss. Not when the two people she’d ask are the ones who are gone.

She wants to cry but remembers what Pakku told her two years ago when it was just the two of them in his office, drinking whiskey from his pirate ship-shaped decanter.

“Mrs. Mallek died. You know, that old broad down the street with the yappy dog.

Katara gives him a sly look. “Gee, you sound tore up about it.”

He shrugs. “She was older than the damn Air Nomads. Her dog hated me.”

Katara laughs. “I’m glad that you haven’t empathized in your old age at all.”

Pakku seems thoughtful at this. “You know, I probably don’t have long left.”

“That’s not funny.”

“It’s true.”

“Pakku-“

“Katara, you and Kanna have been the two great joys of my life. I’ve lost one, and I still have you, but look how wonderful you’re doing. I don’t worry about you at all. I feel at peace at last. And I’m almost as old as that old windbag, so you need to prepare yourself.”

Katara feels her eyes pinprick, but his speech wasn’t over.

“Katara, you know you can’t rely on Hakoda. You’ve known that since you were a child. I love Sokka, but he has Yue, and a burgeoning family, and you can’t rely on him, not really. But you’re strong.”

He leans forward, pinning her with piercing eyes that belie his age.

“You’ve always been stronger than them all. You’re so much like Kanna in that way. You won’t have me, but you’ll have you, and that’s why I wanted you to get out of here. To meet new people because they’ll love you like I do. Remember what I always said: Family can be what you make it. The one you find yourself is more important than the one you don’t.”

“I mean, I found Kanna and you, didn’t I?”

Katara’s eyes water at that too, thinking of Toph and Suki and Aang and Haru and Zuko, and she knows what he means deeply.

“Okay, no crying. You know what I say about crying.”

Katara rolls her eyes at that. “Water’s too powerful to waste on tears.”

He smiles at her. “And do you still remember what I told you at your grandmother’s funeral?”

Katara takes a deep breath. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

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.

.

Katara must have fallen asleep at Pakku’s desk because she wakes with a jolt when she hears the doorbell ring.

It’s dark outside, and she is bounding down the stairs to open the door when she freezes halfway there, remembering who exactly it is that is knocking.

Zuko.

Zuko. Zuko. Zuko.

Flashbacks hit her like a bad acid trip, and she nearly crumples on the stairs like jell-o.

God, I’ve never seen blue eyes like yours here, all your scar means is that you’re stronger than them- you should be proud I know that I am, I’ve never told anyone that before, you are good it makes me sad that you don’t think that, I’ve never felt this way about anyone like electric is that cheesy, yes but I feel the same way so we’ll both be cheesy then.

I love you
I love you
I love you.

The second ring of the doorbell brings Katara back to herself, and she forces her legs to move forward, forces her hand to unlock the door, forces her wrist to turn the knob, and with an out of body yank, she is face to face with him for the first time in months.

He looks ethereal in the porch light, snow melting on raven hair, haloed with the street light behind him. His cheeks are pink, tinged by the frigid temperature, and Katara wonders briefly how miserable he is- this summer boy. Her own metaphorical Fire Nation prince that swept her off her feet.

He’s not her anything anymore.

“Hey.” he says, and when she finally meets his eyes, they cut into her like lances.

She says nothing, but she stands to the side in the universal gesture of enter, i guess.

He steps in, walking a few steps past her, and she can get a whiff of his familiar cologne-amber and vetiver, and she is annoyed at the innate way her body relaxes.

He turns towards her again, and she takes some satisfaction in his off-kilter expression, and she realizes that really, she should probably say something.

“You can take the room down here.”

She takes off in the direction of the downstairs guest room, and he follows her silently.

She opens the door to it, stands out of the way for him to enter, and turns on her heel to leave, but his voice stops her.

“Katara, wait.”

She stops walking but doesn’t turn around.

“I’m sorry.”

She looks back at him then, eyebrows raised.

“For your loss.”

“Thanks.” It sounds harsh even as it leaves her mouth, but she’s running on empty.

She continues her strides, and he calls out again, voice edging on something a little more panicky.

“I didn’t know you’d be here. In this house, I mean.” She whirls around to face him at that.

His neck is flushed, assuring her he means it.

“Me either, but the only other options either of us had were mine and Sokka’s childhood bedroom in my dad’s house or the couch in Sokka’s double wide.”

Something crosses his face that she can’t parse.

“I’m…sorry.” He says this again, and she doesn’t even want to begin to decipher the meaning behind this apology.

“Zuko, it’s two nights. At least for me. Let’s just…not.” She doesn’t wait for an answer. She scurries up the stairs and into her own room, shutting the door and pretending that her racing heart has everything to do with her hometown and nothing to do with the man downstairs.

Her eyes fly open when she hears Sokka’s car door open and close. Yue’s ever patient smile greets her from the front seat as she says “we’re here.”

Katara takes in the funeral home through the ice-crusted window, though she knows it better than any young woman should ever know a funeral home.

This is her third time here, and she’s not sure if the history makes it more or less daunting.

She makes to get out of the car, dodging bottles and toys to climb over the car seat and nearly busts ass in her heels if not for an arm reaching out to steady her at the last second.

“Hey, you okay?”

She looks up into the face of Tahnik and resists huffing a little sigh.

“Hey, Tahnik. Yes, thanks.” She takes a cursory glance around to find her brother and sister in law miraculously nowhere to be found and grits her teeth together.

“I was so sorry to hear about your grandfather. I know the two of you were close.”

He didn’t. Someone told him that.

“Thank you. We were.”

“How are you holding up?”

Katara realizes at this point that no matter how many times you go through a death, it does not get any easier and not just for the obvious fact you’re losing people but because of this.

These moments. There’s never a right thing to say, and she doesn’t want to say anything.

She doesn’t want to thank people for being sorry for her. She doesn’t want to tell people how she is.

She wants to bury herself in Gran’s quilt and huff on Pakku’s pipe even though he’d scold her for it, but looking into Tahnik’s expectant face, she knows she’ll have to comfort anyone who approaches her and allow them to go home feeling good that they had the courage to ask her questions.

“I’m holding up okay. Never easy, you know.”

Tahnik nods his head knowingly, and Katara wishes he had let her face plant into the ice.

He insists on escorting her inside even though it’s ridiculous, and he hovers nearby while she talks to people briefly.

.

Most everyone in the South is either elderly or under the age of 10, and after the perfunctory nicety of asking Katara how she’s doing, the prying that always happens when she comes home begins, and Katara’s skin starts crawling with the stifling need to run.

Zuko is easy to spot. He’s tall and pale and  intimidating, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, and before Katara knows what she’s doing, she’s crossing the parlor floor to reach him.

All she knows is if she gets asked when she plans on settling down back home one more time, she’s going to explode.

He sees her approach and straightens in surprise when she stops in front of him.

“Hi.”

“Hey.”

Katara didn’t think past the hi.

“I tried to make coffee this morning, but I couldn’t get it to work.” Zuko offers this bit of information to spare her, and the swivel in conversation it takes her brain makes Katara laugh out loud.

If she gets glares thrown her way, she doesn’t notice. Zuko’s eyes dance at her laughter, and his mouth tilts up at the corner.

“Zuko, I think my Gran has had that pot since the 80’s. If you had managed to get it working, you probably would have burned the house down.”

“God, the warmth would’ve been nice for the first few minutes though.”

Katara bites the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing again, darkly delighted at the humor in such a depressing space.

He still knows her. Something tugs on her, and she can’t tell if it’s good or bad.

“Still such a baby in the cold,” she teases.

Zuko’s crooked smile turns into a smirk, and he opens his mouth to respond but is cut off by Tahnik sidling up next to Katara, placing his hand on the small of her back.
“The director’s ushering everyone inside, Kat.”
A flare of annoyance rises in her hotly, and she doesn’t look at Tahnik as she nods.

Zuko keeps his face neutral, but his eyes don’t leave Katara’s as she walks away, desperately twitching to get Tahnik’s hand off her.

Luckily, she’s sitting with Sokka and Yue, and he won’t be included with family.

At this thought, her stomach drops.
When she looks next to Sokka, she leans in to whisper “Where’s dad?”

He looks at her gravely.

“I told him the time. He said he didn’t want a ride.”

Katara feels her shoulders ride up to her ears, nearly too overcome to speak.

“Fuck.”

Sokka says nothing, and Katara bounces her knee, desperately praying that her dad doesn’t ruin this like he ruined Gran’s.

And she stopped praying a long time ago.

Familiar anger at the thought bubbles up, and she tries to push it down, clenching and unclenching her fists, the tremble in her hands involuntary.

Just as soon as the talking becomes murmurs and a memorial video begins playing pictures of Pakku and Gran and the family, she feels someone slide into the spot next to her, and she is slapped in the face with the smell of mint.

Too much mint.

It was a smell she was so familiar with, grew up with, knows what it actually indicates and has had at far too young an age, and she gets nauseous where she sits.

And angry.

“Hey, baby girl.”

She turns to face her dad, looking into his kind eyes. Sokka has his eyes. He looked teary already, but they were just glassy, and she knew what that meant, too.

“Hey, dad.” She whispered.

He gave her an awkward side hug where she sat, and the bouncing of her knee grew violent in its anxiety.

She just needed to get through the funeral.

The video ended and one of the leaders of where Pakku worshiped stood up to say a few words.

Pakku wasn’t necessarily religious, but he was spiritual. He believed in Tui and La, and their push and pull in life. The balance of it all.

He tried to convince Katara of it her whole life, but she’s never felt connected to any sort of Spirit.

When she thinks of her mom six feet under, followed quickly by her Gran and now grandfather, the only caretakers she has ever had, while she sat flanked by a father with poorly concealed booze on his breath and a brother who has condemned himself to a life he admitted he didn’t want, she wonders where the fuck the balance is in all of that?

Where the fuck were the Spirits when she prayed for them?

The man did a well enough job, she supposes. Lots of talk about the give and take of life and letting things go- the ebb and flow of all the water we live around.

It didn’t mean much to Katara, but she thinks Pakku would’ve liked it.

She remembers a time he told her about Tui and La, the ocean and moon spirit, how sacred they were in the North, and there were laws protecting Koi fish because many believe that is their mortal form. Katara rolled her eyes at the time, but she wonders if there’s not something gratifying to believing in a little magic from time to time.

“His granddaughter Katara has prepared some words she’d like to share now.”

The statement snaps Katara back to the present. Her nerves are shot, and she feels herself get up on shaky legs and somehow make it to the stand at the front and look out at a sea of people she’s known all her life.

Somehow that makes this worse.

She doesn’t want to show her underbelly.

Not to them.

But it’s not for them, it’s for Pakku. That promise she made him all those years ago.
So really, it was for Gran, too.

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Gran’s passing happened slowly, the way sickness usually happens to people. Pakku was an ever vigilant caretaker, and when she died, it was unsurprising in the way that they knew it was coming and also surprising in the way that she felt too formidable to die, even in the face of something that was inevitable.

Her passing marked Katara’s second time in the South’s one and only funeral home, and Katara sat up front just as she did for her mother’s though she was too old to hide in Sokka’s shirt, and Gran Gran wasn’t there to pull her into her lap.

A few people spoke on Gran’s behalf and of course Pakku gave a bitter sweet speech that had Katara fighting back sobs, and it was lovely.

It should’ve been lovely.

And then it was Hakoda’s turn.

Hakoda, who had been missing for most of the procession, stumbled up to the stage after Pakku, drunk and belligerent.

His words were slurring, and he was crying, so Katara could only make out certain phrases like best mom, what I’m gonna do without her.

The director tried to coax him off, which did nothing but piss Hakoda off.
Sokka was eventually able to get him outside, and all Katara could do the entire time was watch in mute horror.

She braved a glance towards Pakku and found that he looked emotionless. His face betrayed nothing.

No one dared breathe a word about the incident. Not to Pakku and certainly not to Kanna’s granddaughter.

After the funeral ended, Katara went with Pakku back to his house where she stayed curled up in Gran’s rocking chair while various members of the tribe brought casseroles and pies. Finally, when it seemed to taper off, Katara ventured into the kitchen to find Pakku nursing a glass of whiskey.

Katara hesitantly sits at the table with him. After a few moments of silence, he speaks.

“You have to leave.” Pakku says this quietly, and Katara looks at him and then the clock, feeling loathe to go anywhere near her father right now, but before she can stand up, she feels his hand on her own.

“No, Katara, I mean, you need to leave the South Pole.”

He stares at the kitchen table.

“You graduate this year, and you have to go to school somewhere far away from here.”

“Pakku, I-“

“He will drag you down.” He looks at her with an intensity that scares her, and she closes her mouth.

“It’s too late for Sokka. He’s already got his hooks in him too deep, but not you. You have to leave, and you can’t look back. You can’t feel bad, and you can’t let them talk you out of it. You have to go.”

Katara wanted to. Of course she wanted to. If she was being honest, it’s all she thought about most of the time, but there was a huge glaring issue that cut those dreams in half.

“You know I want to, but the money..”

“I’ll pay for it.”

Katara snaps her head up to look at him, and that same intense look tells her all she needs to know.

He means it.

“Dad would never agree-“

“I have absolutely no intention of asking your father.”

His eyes narrow infinitesimally. “After what he did today, he’s family to me no longer.”

Katara’s heart thumps erratically at the statement, but she finds it oddly freeing. Sokka never came back to the funeral, and the selfishness of her father’s actions, of missing his own mother’s funeral, of causing Sokka to miss it, of ruining it for her, for Pakku, filled Katara with a righteous indignation.

“Pick any college you want as long as it’s not here, and I’ll pay for it all.”

Katara is overwhelmed, and she stands to throw her arms around his neck. He hugs her back tightly.

“You have to promise me something, Katara.”

“Anything.”

“When it’s my turn to go, you’re the only one that speaks at my funeral.”

Katara’s eyes bug. “What?”

“I’m not going anywhere anytime soon, but the only person in this family who I trust is you. I will not have both of your grandparents funerals ruined for you.”

Katara’s eyes mist, but with a confident nod, she answers, “I promise.”

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.

.

Katara stares out at the crowd gathered for Pakku’s funeral and wonders how many people here Pakku even liked.

He was surly though abundantly generous. She takes a deep breath, finds and meets a pair of gold eyes in the audience for a second and pretends that they don’t ease her nerves slightly.

She glances down at what she wrote though she read it so many times on the plane ride over, she knows it by heart.

“Everyone here knows me, so I don’t think an introduction will be necessary.” Her voice has a slight tremble, but she manages to give it volume. With a deep breath, she pushes forward.

“Refuge is usually described as being something safe that shelters you from some kind of trouble. Pakku was one of the smartest people I’ve ever known in my life, and he’s taught me everything. He would always say life is something you weather- there’s sunshine and storms and sometimes the storms are light showers and sometimes they’re monsoons, but they pass, and you pick up the pieces and move on. Our Gran- Kanna- was his whole heart, and she would always chime in at this and tell me that if it was raining in my life, I could come to their house, and they’d wait out the storm with me.”

Katara feels traitorous tears prick at her eyes and hopes Pakku will understand that these tears are powerful ones.

“There was no safer place in the world for me than being with the two of them, and for anyone who has ever lost someone like that, you’ll understand when I say the season we’re all in feels like hurricane after hurricane. They were my refuge, and words cannot express how deeply I will miss them now that they’re gone. But Pakku also swore to me that the storms would pass, and he knew a great many more things than I did, so I have to trust him even if he’s not here to wait it out with me.”

Katara wipes a few stray tears and takes a deep breath to calm the shudder threatening her chest.

”The one comfort I take is knowing that he’s with Gran now. He used to say that no matter the travels or adventures he’s had throughout his life, she was the most exciting thing that has ever happened to him. He loved her more than anything and extended that love to me and Sokka. I will be forever grateful for the time I had with him.”

Katara spares a smile here. 

“Pakku always had one request he would talk about wanting to be done at his funeral. For anyone that knows him and Gran, this was one of their favorite songs, and in his words, Pakku wanted to play it to commemorate the two of them meeting again in the afterlife.”

Katara looks towards the audience, some weepy and some not, and finds she doesn’t feel much of anything except exhaustion. She nods towards the funeral director who clicks play, and she hears the all too familiar notes of My Baby Just Cares For Me, but it doesn’t relax her.

She’s tense as she sits next to her father. Sokka whispers a nice job, while her dad says nothing, and that tells her all she needs to know.

Her leg bounces again with vigor.

.

.

.

Pakku is cremated, same as Gran was. Sokka will collect his ashes later after mounds of paperwork, and Katara will be long gone. This settles in a deep, sad alcove within Katara cut in the shape of a once hopeful, happy childhood. You can always go home again doesn’t apply when the home you think of is broken and unwelcoming, and when the porch light that used to bring you comfort will now remain permanently off.

.

.

When everyone files out, Katara watches the familiar sight of Sokka escorting Hakoda into the passenger seat of their dad’s beat up four door, one that has seen far too many wrecks in its day. Her dad shouldn’t have driven here, but that’s an argument they’ve lost their entire lives. Sokka slides into the driver seat and takes off quickly.

She takes a look around and finds Zuko getting into his rental car. He makes eye contact with her briefly and raises his brow, but she shakes her head, not entirely sure what she’s even trying to say to him.

Finally, Yue comes up behind her, bright and beautiful, and asks if she’s ready to go. With a silent sigh, indicated only by the visible puff of breath she makes in the arctic air, Katara nods.

It’s snowing now.

When they get in the car, Katara checks her messages.

you wine some, and you booze some group message

Suki: Hey, how you holding up?

Toph: how was seeing Zuko

Katara: Fine to both of those

Toph: I can tell you’re lying even all the way in the Earth Kingdom

Katara: Ok fine, awkward and I hate being home

Suki: Sorry :(

Toph: tell all of them to fuck off

Katara: Just one more night

Suki: We’ll have the wine waiting for you

Toph: fuck the pussy stuff, we’ll have the vodka on the rocks

Suki: Yeah, that too

Katara: Can’t wait

Katara allows herself a small smile and when her phone buzzes again, she sees it’s Suki texting her one on one.

Suki: How’s Sokka doing?

Katara: I think alright

Suki: Have you seen his kids at all?

Katara: No, and I probably won’t. No time really

Suki: How are him and Yue?

Katara: Suke, do you really want to know?

Suki: Probably not. I don’t know why I do it to myself

Katara: Have you thought any more about going out with Haru?

Suki: I don’t know, Kat. It just doesn’t feel the same.

Katara: I know, I get it

And boy, does she.

Suki: Aang’s been asking about you still

Katara: I think I’m placing a dating moratorium on myself for the friend group

Suki: I think I’ll join you

Suki: Unless it’s with each other?

Katara: Dude, totally unless it’s with each other

Suki: We’ll have to include Toph as well or she’ll be pissed

Katara: Honestly what all would change? We’re practically a throuple anyway

Suki: <3

When Yue pulls into the driveway of Pakku and Gran’s house, she notes that Sokka and Zuko have both beat them here. She steels herself for dealing with her dad. She hopes he’ll behave.

When she gets out of the car, she jumps at the sound of breaking glass. She looks towards the house and finds that Zuko is standing on the porch, gripping the railing with tight hands and wearing a rather grim expression on his face.

His eyes find hers immediately and there’s a warning in them.

Katara’s stomach drops to her feet.

She hears more sounds of things being shattered and closes her eyes for a brief second, tilting her head up to the sky, letting the snow melt on her face for just a moment before she enters the war zone.

“Kat?” she hears the melodic voice of Yue behind her.
“I’m gonna go check on the twins, okay?”

She looks at Yue, takes in the silver hair, the big beautiful doe eyes, the sweetness that never allows for her to deal with situations like this-an attitude that makes her ignore the worst parts of the small Southern tribe, the ugliest parts.

And she and Sokka’s family had some ugly, ugly parts.

“Okay.”

Katara makes her way up to the porch, hearing distinctive arguing inside that she’s heard a thousand times before, but before she can reach the door, Zuko stops her.

“Katara.”

He’s in front of her in a flash, face pinched with worry, and Katara wonders if this scene strikes a cord with him in a horribly familiar way.

“I wouldn’t.”

Katara sighs.

“I have to.”

She enters the house and is surprised to find that Zuko is right behind her and stays right behind her, never letting her get too far ahead of him.

She hears all the noise coming from the kitchen, so when she finally enters, she assesses the damage- mugs and plates thrown on the ground, shattered glass in every direction- and she looks directly into the face of her father, who is miles away.

“Well, there she is,” he drawls, slurring his words though the lilt of his voice is deceptively cheerful, “the perfect little granddaughter.”

.

.

.

The best memory Katara has of her father was from when she was five years old, and he and her mom took her to get her ears pierced.

It was pretty common place in their tribe to let the girls get them pierced when they were young, some girls even getting it done when they were babies, and Katara was very excited.

 She was going to get jewelry just like her mom and all the big girls. She was giddy the entire day and talked and talked about it right up until the point the piercer brought the needle out.

And then she freaked out.

“It only hurts for a second,” mom tries to soothe her, but Katara could barely hear her over a weird roaring in her ear like something was rushing up there, and she felt oddly woozy like she gets right before she throws up.

“Sweetheart.”
“Sweetheart, look at me.”

Daddy’s eyes were right in front of her, and she couldn’t see anything else but his face.

“Have I ever let anything bad happen to you?”

Katara shakes her head no.

“And I’m not going to start now, okay? That’s what daddies are here for, right?”

Katara nods again.

“Now, it’s gonna be a little pinch on your ear, not even as bad as when Sokka pinches you when he’s being mean. And you don’t even cry when he does that anymore do you?”

Katara shakes her head no and feels a little smile come to her face in pride.

“Okay, so you’re gonna pick out whatever earrings you want, and then this nice lady is gonna put them in your ears, and when you feel that little pinch, you’re gonna squeeze my hands really tight, okay?”

Katara nods.

The lady shows Katara a big board of studs, and Katara is drawn to the very sparkly ones that glitter in the light. When she points, Hakoda laughs.

“Alright, then.”

“Hakoda-“ her mom starts.

“Kya, it’s fine. Every girl needs diamonds.”

When Katara felt the pinch, she squeezed her dad’s hands and didn’t even cry, and that’s how she got her first pair of diamond earrings, and as she looked at them in the mirror, turning her head this way and that to watch them glitter, she felt warm and fuzzy at the thought that no, daddy would never let anything bad happen to her.

.

.

.

“Sokka, do you remember where the broom is?” Katara asks, ignoring her father entirely.

She steps into the kitchen gingerly. Sokka has his hands held out in defense towards Hakoda like he’s trying to calm a wild animal, and he slowly puts them down.

He looks between Katara and Hakoda for a moment, spares a glance towards Zuko at Katara’s back and then simply nods. He turns toward the pantry door to rummage for the broom and pail.

“What, big city girl? Is your own father too beneath you to even speak to anymore? Well, sorry I wasn’t as rich as your grandfather. Maybe if I was, you would’ve spent more time at home.”

Katara feels the cold rage stir inside of her, and she tries to tamp it down before it releases. She tries to remind herself that it’s a futile thing, arguing with a drunk.

.

.

.

The worst day of Katara’s life happens a year after she gets her ears pierced, when she is in Kindergarten.

On a particularly boring school day, her mother dies.

Katara learns a lot of words she didn’t know the definition to, such as murder, drugs, random act of violence.
Katara has a very hard time going to school and coloring pictures of letters, of learning B is for Butterfly, when she heard a cop say words like blunt force trauma.

The nightmares start three months later.

It’s her getting killed, not her mother, and they make her sit straight up in bed, sweating and shaking.

She shares a room with Sokka, and she never wants to wake him, so she goes to find her daddy.

But he’s never in his bed.

Most nights he’s never home when she looks for him. Some nights he’s passed out in the floor or the couch, and no matter how hard her tiny arms shake him, he never wakes up from his sleep.

So Katara gets back in her bed, pulls the covers up to her chin, and thinks that sometimes, daddies might let bad things happen to you.

.

.

.

Sokka manages to find two brooms and hands one to Katara, and she begins sweeping the glass in her corner into one pile.

“I fed you, clothed you, gave you whatever you wanted, but you had to go up there and talk about how that pompous asshole was the one that made you feel safe?”

“Don’t talk about him like that!”

Katara snaps it at him, and she sees the drunken delight for just a moment in his eye at the reaction, and she regrets it.

“He turned you against me, you know? All he did was bribe you with his money.”

Katara shakes her head a little but focuses every ounce of willpower on sweeping the glass.

“He just wanted to turn you into a clone. He never liked me. He wasn’t even blood. We’re your family, not him. He was the reason you never come around anymore. He wasn’t even your real family!”

“He was more family to me than you are!”

It left her mouth faster than her brain could catch it and shove it down.

Silence descends over the kitchen.

It was too big a declaration for the happy yellow walls and blue plaid curtains hanging over the window.

The snow outside was falling too quietly, too peacefully for what was happening indoors.

“What did you say?”

Katara’s anger is boiling, and she can’t stop herself now.

“He raised me more than you ever did.”

.

.

.

The worst memory Katara ever had of her father was when she was 10 years old, and she came home from school to find him rummaging through her jewelry case.

“Dad?” He jumps, which Katara finds strange because she’s never been able to sneak up on her dad.

“Oh, hey sweetheart.”

“What are you doing?”

He turns around, and she catches a glimpse of her diamond earrings in his hand, glittering in the light coming in from the window.

“Oh, I’m having these cleaned for you. We’ve gotta take care of diamonds, you know.”

“Oh, okay.”

He passes by her, stopping to drop a kiss on the top of her head. Katara can’t figure out why, but something feels wrong in her stomach, a seasick feeling, but she chalks it up to school lunch.

Weeks go by, and she never sees her earrings again.

She thinks about asking her dad about them, but that sick stomach feeling stops her every time.

It’s one night when Pakku and Gran come over to drop off groceries that she hears an argument through her and Sokka’s bedroom door.

“You sold her wedding ring? All of her jewelry? Katara would’ve wanted that one day! How could you?”

“What did you want me to do? Not pay bills?”

“Ha! Bills? More like you didn’t want to go thirsty! Look at this place! It’s all beer and booze! Honestly, Hakoda-“

Katara put headphones on because she didn’t want to hear anymore. She thought about her earrings, about girls and their diamonds, and above all, about daughters and their dads.

A dark, sad thought crossed her mind then: maybe, sometimes, daddies are the bad things that happen to you.

.

.

.

Hakoda moves forward after what she says, like he’s trying to get to Katara, but Zuko moves faster.

He steps in front of her, bodily blocking him from reaching Katara, while Sokka grabs Hakoda by the shoulders to hold him back.

After seeming to realize what he was going to do, Hakoda begins to sob.

Katara, to her credit, doesn’t even flinch.

Zuko turns to look at her, and they spare a moment of quiet understanding.

It makes her ache.

It makes her want to hug him.

She hates him for it.

“You need to leave.” Katara says this to Hakoda’s sobbing form.

“No, no, I’m not leaving,” he hiccups.

“Dad, let me take you home,” Sokka says.

“No, I deserve time with my daughter.”

“You’re drunk. Go home,” Katara makes her voice steel.

She has nothing left for him.

“I’m grieving with my family,” Sokka seems to be holding him up more than Hakoda’s legs are.

“You’re insulting the man while we’re in his home after his funeral.”

“You put him on a pedestal, little girl. You remember who your family is.”

Katara’s guts twist uncomfortably, and the rage is making her hands shake.

“Go sleep it off.”

“You think you’re like him? You’re exactly like me,” he laughs, loud and uneven, and Katara clenches her fists.

“Get out of my house.”

This seems to minutely sober Hakoda up. The taunting turns to anger, and she feels Zuko step a hair closer to her.

“So that’s how it’s going to be? The man leaves you the house and you use it to throw out your father?”

Katara says nothing. She stands stock straight, forces her breathing to remain even.

“Won’t even spare a dime for your old man after all I’ve done for you your whole life.”

He makes a pfft noise and takes a step forward though he sways. He pulls a flask from his back pocket and chugs it heartily.

Katara watches him with unwavering calm.

He levels her with the cruel smile, the one that comes out when he’s been on gin, not whiskey.

She knows that much, and she braces for impact.

“Your mother would be ashamed of you.”

Katara stops breathing. There’s cruel and then there’s this.

“Dad, that’s enough. You’re going home.”

Sokka berates him more, but Katara hears the next fifteen seconds from a bubble that seems to slow time down.

She feels Zuko graze her wrist with a warm hand. He says her name, she thinks?

She shakes her head once, twice, and when the bubble pops, she looks at Sokka only and says, “get him out of here.”

She turns and storms out of the back door to the snow, forgoing a coat. She feels colder than ice anyway.

Approximately eight months ago, in Katara’s Ba Sing Se apartment, she was washing dishes when Zuko came out of the bedroom and essentially dropped a bomb on her that changed everything.

He slid into one of the bar stools at the island and tapped his fingers on the granite until she turned around.

“Okay, if you’re going to fidget, the least you could do is dry.”

“My father offered me a job at his company.”

Katara was so surprised, her jaw actually dropped. She turned the water off, drying her hands as well as she could on an already damp dish towel and takes a moment to process what she just heard.

“What?”

“I got an email from my father yesterday offering me senior director at his company.”

Katara’s brain takes apart the sentence piece by piece. “Okay, are you sure it’s him because I get spam emails claiming it’s King Bumi all the time, and-“

“Yes, I’m sure. There’s an offer letter attached. Plus this.”

He hands her his phone opened to a text from Azula.

Congratulations, dum dum. Don’t be stupid. Say yes.

Katara’s heart races a mile a minute.

“Wow.”

“I know.” He says nothing else but watches her carefully. Her heart sinks as the realization slowly dawns on her.

“You want to say yes, don’t you?”

He takes a deep breath. “Katara-“

“What happened to your family being the den of all evil? With your father’s company being the pinnacle of it?”

His father’s company, which Katara knew very little of, was some sort of big business that bought out small businesses and sold them, making a fuck ton of money. There was a lot more to it that she never cared to learn.

“I know, I know. I just, I don’t know. There’s a part of me that thinks I’ll always wonder about it if I decline it.”

“Wonder what, Zuko? How much more horrible they can get?”

He huffs an indignant sigh. “It’s been a long time. People can change.”

Katara thinks of her father back home. She’s never told Zuko about him.
“People like that don’t change.”

“What would you know about it?”

Katara snaps her head up at him, feeling her anger rising at his dismissal.

“Think about Sokka, Zuko. Remember when he used to come visit all the time and dated Suki, and we all thought he was gonna move out there with us because he said he loved it and that it was so much more only for him to cold turkey stop coming around?”

Zuko crosses his arms and looks away.

“Remember he took up the family fishing business with my dad and got back together with Yue and that was that. Pakku always told me he would never leave the South, and we all wanted to believe he would, but he couldn’t. I love him, but he couldn’t change.”

Zuko sighs. “I know they’re not great.” Katara flashes him an incredulous look.

“Okay, they’re terrible, but what if they prove me wrong or what if I could rub off on them or something?”

Panic grips Katara at how strong he’s holding onto the argument.

“What does Iroh say?”

Zuko’s expression darkens. “Safe to say he doesn’t approve,” is all the explanation he gives her.

Katara feels lightheaded and wishes the front of her shirt wasn’t soaked in dishwater while they were having this conversation. It is an absolutely ridiculous thing to pass through her mind, but there’s a determined set to Zuko’s brow, and she feels a tremble in her lip, and if they were gonna have this conversation, she wishes she hadn’t been doing the dishes and that her hair wasn’t two days dirty.

“Zuko, the job is in the Fire Nation.”

His expression softens at that, and he looks at her. “I know.”

“Okay, so you take the job, pack up and move thousands of miles away? What would that mean…” she trails off, unable to finish her own thought and hopes he’ll do it for her.

He leaves the bar stool and comes around to her side to take her hands. She can’t look at him. She’s too busy looking at their hands, the contrast, the fact hers never dried fully, and her fingers were pruny from the water.

“We can talk on the phone everyday, and I’ll come out to see you as much as I can, and you can come visit me. We can make it work, I promise. You know how much I love you.”

Katara’s brain processes this slowly, and then it hits her so forcefully, she nearly pinwheels backward.

She pulls her hands away and takes a step back to look at him.

“You already said yes, didn’t you?”

The surprise on his face at her guess was all the admission she needed.

He held his hands up like he intended to surrender to whatever maelstrom she would let loose on him, but Katara found that her anger felt a little snuffed by something like abandonment, and she cursed her fucked childhood for rearing its ugly head at this moment.

“We’ve been dating a year. And we’ve been friends for a lot longer than that.”

He opens his mouth to respond, but she cuts him off.

“You could’ve stayed here with me and a lot of people who really love you, but you didn’t even think twice about going back to a place you know is bad for you?”

It wasn’t sarcastic. She phrased it like a genuine question to him.

“You sound like Uncle. Katara, it’s a job. I’ll still have all my friends here and you and -“

“No.”

“What?”

“You won’t have me.”

She watches the color leech from Zuko’s face.
“Katara, now hold on. We can make the distance work. I can-“

“No, Zuko. It’s not the distance.”

He runs a hand through his hair desperately and seems at a loss for words.

“If you do this, you’re gonna lose me.”

“That’s not fair. You’re giving me an ultimatum between you and my family.”

Katara feels a tremble start at the base of her spine.
“I thought it was just a job?”

At his silence, she shakes her head a little.

“They’re abusive people, Zuko, and I can’t watch you do that to yourself. I won’t.”

He seems to be trembling like she is, and his eyes are misty.

“I love you, Katara, but-“ she flinches at the but. She feels that one word scoop her insides out and toss them to the side like dirt from a shovel. It hurts her so bad, she turns her back to him.

She wants to say I love you back, but her mutinous pride won’t allow her.

“Katara, please.”

She faces him finally.

“I think you should go.”

He is crying now and so is she and that’s weird because she didn’t even feel that happen.

Katara’s heart lurches for him as she watches him gather his things. It beats so hard in her chest, she thinks it’s trying to jump out and latch onto him as he walks out the door.

Katara inhales the arctic air deeply. The snow is falling heavier, and the temperature has dropped to a degree so low, it hurts to breathe.

She hears the sputtering of her dad’s car, and she tilts her face up to the falling snow and closes her eyes.

“He’s gone.”

His voice nearly makes her jump, but all the excitement for the day has rendered her body incapable of such theatrics.

She doesn’t acknowledge him.

He comes to stand beside her and holds out her coat.

She doesn’t take it.

“Come on, Katara, it’s freezing out here.”

She doesn’t take the coat, but she turns her head to catch his eye, overcome with the urge to try and guess what he’s thinking.

He sighs at her but doesn’t look away, and for the briefest moment- the furrow of the brow, the twitch at the corner of his mouth- guilt seems to be what’s on his mind.

She huffs a breath and turns back to the tundra.

“Katara, I had no clue. Your dad, I mean. I didn’t know that-“

Katara whips her head to him and finishes his sentence before he says something pitying or kind or empathetic.

“That you’re not the only one allowed to have a fucked up family?”

It was mean, and she knows it was mean. The ever burning anger that she can’t quite seem to squash inside is good for a lot of things like being industrious and pulling yourself up by your bootstraps, but sometimes, it also makes Katara really mean.

She turns on her heel and trudges back inside, soaking her tights and heels in the slush that accumulated.

She heads directly to the third floor and into Pakku’s office, not even bothering to change out of her dress and uncomfortably wet tights.

She kicks her heels off and sits in his office chair, pulling her knees up to her chest.

What a fucking day.

Katara sits there for what she approximates is about ten minutes, and when she determines she’s not going to cry anymore, she gets up and heads to Pakku’s makeshift bar.

She grabs two rocks glasses and pours a whiskey for Pakku and herself.

She sits back in his chair and checks her phone again.

Sokka: Don’t listen to the stuff he says when’s like that, Kat. He doesn’t mean it, he’s just drunk

Katara sighs deeply and types out a quick reply.

Katara: You and I both know drunk or sober, dad doesn’t say things he doesn’t mean

She watches the typing bubbles pop up and disappear, and Sokka doesn’t respond for several minutes. When he finally responds, she is disappointed but unsurprised.

Sokka: What time is your flight tomorrow?

Katara: 11:30. Pick me up at 9?

He sends her a thumbs up and Katara takes a long swig of her whiskey.

On a night several years ago when Katara was still in college and Sokka was visiting, the two water tribe siblings were sitting side by side on Katara and Suki’s beat-up futon, watching Zuko and Haru get their asses kicked at beer pong by Toph and passing a joint back and forth.

“You know,” Sokka says, coughing a little at the smoke the two have generated, “I can see why you like it here.”

“Can you?” Katara takes a hit and passes it back to Sokka, trying not to pounce on the opportunity to force feed Ba Sing Se down his throat.

“It’s just,” he seems to mull his words over, “more.”

Katara laughs at him a little. “Can you elaborate or is your articulation gone already?”

Sokka rolls his eyes. “I mean there’s only one way your life can go in the South, and I’ve seen it for myself, and it’s a little bleak.” He takes another hit, holding it for several seconds before exhaling. “Here though, it’s not like that. There’s a thousand ways your life can go.”

Katara takes the joint, holding it but not inhaling and looking sideways at her brother and the far away expression. She thinks it’s a shame it took him getting high to finally admit that to her.

“You can’t let him take you down with him,” Katara says, practically holding her breath at the way it could land with Sokka.

A heart wrenching minute passes before Sokka replies to her.

“I don’t want him to,” he says it quietly and Katara’s heart breaks at the bitterness in his voice.

“So don’t. He’s not your responsibility, Sokka.”

“If not mine, then whose?”

“His own.”

Katara pleads with him with her eyes, and she’s not sure if she’s making progress or just trauma bonding with her brother.

“I want you here with me, you know,” she says.

He grins at that. “Really? You actually want your big brother lurking around?”

She rolls her eyes. “When you keep your stupid ass jokes in check, you’re not half bad.”

He elbows her but looks rather pleased at the admission, and she’s glad she said it. She means it with her whole heart.

“You know when you finish trade school, Zuko knows a blacksmith looking to hire an apprentice. He can put in a good word.”

Sokka smiles again and looks at her. “Does he now?”

Katara nods and shrugs, attempting to look casual. “Piandao’s Forgery, in case you want to research.”

She finally hits the joint and meets Zuko’s eye from across the room before exhaling. The warmth there sends a tingle up her spine.

“He’s a good guy, you know?”

Sokka says this quietly, like he’s sharing state secrets.

Katara can’t quite manage to look away from Zuko when she says, “yeah, I know.”

Suki bustles in the front door at this point with a bag of ice. “Fucking hell, why is there a line at the 7/11 at midnight?”

Sokka jumps up, faster than Katara’s brain can even process what Suki just said to take the bag of ice from her. They’re both blushing and shuffle into the kitchen in private conversation.

Zuko plops down beside her in Sokka’s absence, throwing his arm behind her over the back of the couch.

“They’re subtle, huh?”

“Sokka’s idea of subtle is a punch in the face.”

Zuko smiles at this.

“Tired of getting your ass handed to you at beer pong?”

Zuko steals the joint from Katara’s hand to take a hit.

“I swear to God I’m gonna ask Toph’s doctor myself for the official diagnosis to assure me she’s blind.”

Katara laughs at this, sinking further back into the couch, laying her head on his arm and feeling unbelievably sleepy all of a sudden.

“Weed always makes you tired, you know.”

Katara shrugs, and Zuko just laughs.

“Did you tell him about Piandao?”

“Yes.”

“Do you think he’s seriously considering it?”

Katara glances behind Zuko’s shoulder to see Suki propped on the kitchen counter and Sokka leaning on an elbow, the two so engrossed in conversation, she thinks the roof could cave in, and they wouldn’t notice.

She doesn’t think she’s ever seen Sokka this in love.

She turns to look at Zuko, and his face is so close to hers, the light reflects off his golden eyes like a kaleidoscope.

Ah, well fuck, that would be the weed hitting her.

“I seriously think he is.”

Katara finishes her whiskey, debating whether or not she should just go to bed when Zuko barges into the room, making her jump.

“Oh, Katara, sorry!”

“Jesus, what are you doing up here?”

His face flushes and he holds up a pack of cigarettes. “I can’t find matches or a lighter anywhere in this house.”

Katara assesses him for a moment, and he shifts his weight, like he’s awaiting judgment. She eventually sighs and pulls open one of Pakku’s desk drawers.

“Gran hated the tobacco smell, so he kept all of that in here.”

She pulls out a novelty lighter that was made to look like a white lotus tile and tosses it to Zuko.

He catches it easily and looks at it with something oddly tender. “Uncle has one of these.”

She watches him fidget for a moment like a skittish animal about to bolt, and for reasons beyond her understanding, she feels the need to save him.

“You can smoke in here, just crack a window.”

“Are you sure? I can go outside. Really, it’s fine.”

“Zuko, it’s sub zero out there. His office smells like smoke anyway.”

She watches him jimmy the window open the tiniest amount, and the freezing winds remind Katara of her wet tights, and she shivers rather dramatically.

Against her better judgment, she decides to pour herself another whiskey. It’ll warm her up at least.

She pours herself a glass and sits back in Pakku’s chair, facing Zuko, who has taken to sitting on the floor next to the window, smoking his cigarette and looking miserably cold.

The two eye each other for a moment, and Katara sucks down the whiskey like it’s water, and Zuko smokes the cigarette like it’s oxygen.

“Can I have one?” Katara asks, but it gets jumbled with Zuko asking something to the same effect. She’s pointing at his cigarette and he’s pointing at her whiskey, and they smile at each other despite their godforsaken history.

Katara gets up and grabs another rocks glass to pour him a drink. He says nothing about the one she’s set aside for Pakku. She grabs an ash tray and goes to sit with him in the floor, shuddering at the temperature.

“Should we toast?”

Katara gives him a look. “To?”

“I don’t know. Pakku?”

She shrugs. “Yeah, alright.”

They hold their glasses up.

“To Pakku,” Zuko says.
“And Gran,” Katara adds.

Zuko nods, and they clink glasses, but before drinking, she sees Zuko mimic clinking with the glass she poured for Pakku like he knows exactly what Katara did, and a wave of affection bubbles up inside of her so strong, it nearly steals her breath.

She drinks deeply from her glass.

Zuko gives her a cigarette and lights it for her, and a silence descends over the two of them.

Katara starts to feel a pleasant buzz in the back of her mind.

“So…” Zuko begins.

Katara looks at him with eyebrows raised.

“You’re a homeowner.”

It’s so succinct that Katara actually laughs out loud.

“Yes. He actually did that for me when he was still alive.”

“That’s pretty big.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“What are you gonna do with,” he gestures around vaguely “it?”

Katara sighs at the question. It’s one she’s been avoiding for as long as she can.
“I have no idea.”

Zuko raises his brow but says nothing else and for that, Katara is grateful.

“Sokka seems…” he starts again, and she looks at him then, can practically see the gears turning in his head for an appropriate word.

“Yeah.” Katara says because happy isn’t quite the word. Good is closer but not quite right, and if not those two things, there’s no polite option anyone is left with.

Zuko meets her eye, his curtain of hair falling just a touch into his own.
“I’m sorry.”

Katara snorts. “I’m gonna start making you give me a dollar for every time you apologize to me this weekend.”

He grants her a small smile. “I just haven’t seen him in a while. He’s so different than how I knew him.”

She shrugs noncommittally. “Fatherhood changed him some, I guess.”

Zuko gives her a long, hard look for a moment.

“Okay, Katara, I can’t not address it. Your dad-“

“Zuko, can we not? Honestly, today’s been hard enough without-“

“Katara, come on. It’s me.”

She looks at him at that, grazes her eyes over his scar. She knows what he means.

“I mean, I figured there was something there because you never talked about him, but I didn’t know it was like this.”

Katara crosses her arms and stares at the carpet.

“Why didn’t you tell me? Me of all people?” His voice is a plea, and she looks up at him and is surprised to find he looks hurt at her omission.

“I mean, I wouldn’t have told anyone or pushed you at all about it. I would’ve just listened.”

“Zuko, I don’t talk about it with anyone. The only person that barely knows anything about it is Suki, and she doesn’t even know the extent.”

She scoffs a little. “It’s just not a subject I get into. Also, after knowing what you told me your father did,” Zuko’s hand involuntarily touches his scar, “telling you my father was just some terrible absentee alcoholic parent just felt wrong.”

Zuko reaches a hand out hesitantly and grabs one of hers. She looks up at him and can barely stand the softness of his expression. It makes the bad, clawing thing in her want to be mean and ugly.

“What happened to me doesn’t somehow discredit what happened to you. I wish you would’ve told me.” He runs his other hand through his hair violently.

“And I was such a dick to you when we broke up, saying you didn’t know what you were talking about when you knew all too well. God, I’m sorry.”

Katara is overwhelmed, and she pulls her hand from his to take a drink from her whiskey.

He watches her carefully.

“You owe me another dollar.”

He gives a half smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“If not me, you should talk to someone about it, Katara.”

Katara’s clawing feeling wins out this time.

“God, Zuko, it’s not your job to worry about me anymore. I’m fine.”

He doesn’t even flinch at her words. He takes a deep sip of his drink and then holds his hands up in mock surrender.

“Okay, okay, you’re fine.”

It’s silent between them again, and Katara debates how wise it was to join him for a cigarette.

She peeks at him, but he’s looking over Pakku’s shelves.

She takes a moment to study him and finds that he’s just as beautiful as always, and there’s something sore that pricks her heart in the quiet moment.

“My mother had that same mask,” he says, glancing back to Katara. She blushes because she was staring far too intently, and throws her gaze to where he’s pointing.

“The Blue Spirit?”

“Yes, it was one of her favorite plays to go see, and she’d read the stories to me and Azula,” his smile was all nostalgic fondness, and Katara is slightly ashamed to feel sad that she can’t remember memories of her mother well enough to tell them.

“Pakku told me The Blue Spirit would steal from the rich and give to the poor.”

“He did, but as a kid, I was more impressed by the fact he used two swords at the same time.”

Katara laughs a little. “Yeah, I think I remember asking Pakku if he had a love interest, which annoyed him to no end.”

Zuko laughs with her.

“Pakku had quite the collection here.”

“He did. He lived quite the life.”

“He seemed to do it the right way.”

Katara cocks her head at him. “What makes you say that?”

Zuko doesn’t look at her as he speaks. “I mean, he traveled, met a thousand different people, had the means to provide for the woman he loved, settled down with her, took to her grandkids like they were his own, and passed his assets off to you before he passed away in his sleep peacefully.” Zuko shrugs. “I don’t know. Sounds like a full life.”

Katara blames his speech for what she says next because she’s only human.

And a girl.

“He liked you, you know.”

Zuko shoots her a confused look. “I never met him.”

Katara cringes mentally. “Actually, you sort of did. That one time.”

“What one ti-oh! Do you mean that face time call?”

Katara nods, feeling embarrassed, but Zuko smiles at her- his full one, with the crinkle around his good eye.
“And he liked me based off that?”

“Well he liked how I was when I was with you, too.”

Katara blames that one on the whiskey that now swims inside her bloodstream. She wants to slap herself across the face. Twice.

Zuko leans in. “What do you mean?”

Katara wiggles her empty whiskey glass.
“Answering that is gonna require more of this.”

Zuko smirks and wordlessly passes her his empty glass in response.

.

.

.

A couple months before Zuko and Katara broke up, Zuko was very bravely building Katara a bookshelf from Ikea when Pakku facetimed her.

“Hey, Pakku, are you okay?”

“YES, IM FINE, JUST WANTED TO CHAT FOR A SECOND.”

“Jesus, Pakku, for the thousandth time, just because you’re holding the phone away from your face does not mean I can’t hear you. Please stop shouting.”

“Sorry, sorry, old habits. What are you up to today?”

“Well, I am finally putting away the Christmas decorations, and Zuko is building me a bookshelf.”

“Oh, is the famous Zuko there?”

“Yes, he is.”

“Well, I have to see him for myself.”

“Pakku, come on, he’s in the middle of a project and-“

“Katara, you are everything to me and you know this. I will meet the young man that’s courting you. Even if it has to be over this contraption.”

Katara snorts.

“That better have been a sneeze I heard, young lady.”

“Okay, let’s go see him.”

Katara carries her phone into the bedroom where Zuko is open to a very intimidating page of Swedish instructions, very calmly screwing something together with all the patience in the world Katara has never possessed in her life.

“Hey, Zuko, so my grandfather is on Facetime and would really love to meet you!”

Before she turns the phone around, she mouths I’m so sorry to Zuko, whose face holds blind panic for a second before composing himself.

“Mr. Zuko, it is wonderful to meet you! Katara has told me wonderful things about you.

“Oh, umm, Mr. Pakku, sir, it’s nice to meet you too. Katara talks about you a lot.”

“Well then you should know I don’t mince words. What are your intentions with my granddaughter?”

“Pakku, you can’t ask him that!” Katara screeches as she watches Zuko turn as red as a tomato.

“No, Katara, it’s okay,” Zuko says. “Well, sir, I plan to try and make her happy as often as I can so I can stick around her for as long as I possibly can.”

Katara looks at Zuko, and he’s looking back with open adoration. She feels something like sunlight burst in her chest.

“Do you think you deserve my granddaughter?”

Zuko laughs a little at this. “Of course not, but she, for reasons beyond my understanding, sees something in me that she wants to keep around, so I am trying very hard not to screw it up.”

To Katara’s delight, Pakku laughs at this.

“Alright young man, it was very nice to meet you. I will leave you to your bookshelf.”

Katara leaves the room with one last long look at Zuko.

“I like him. I think you should keep him.”

“Pakku, he’s a grown man, not a puppy.”

“Yes, but he has that kicked quality to him, doesn’t he?”

“Yeah, he’s been kicked around a few times in his life.”

“But he himself is gentle.” Pakku does not phrase this like a question.

“Yes.”

“You seem quite happy with him.”

Katara can’t help the smile that graces her face. “He feels like home.”

.

.

.

Katara refills their whiskey glasses and plops herself back down on the floor.

“You were saying?” Zuko prompts again.

Katara only answers him with a little shake of her head.

He narrows his eyes. “Fine. New question. Who was that guy at the funeral?”

“What guy?”

“The one ushering you to your seat. The only other one you’re not related to outside of me that’s under 100 years old.”

“Oh, Tahnik.”

“Yeah, him. Any history there?”

“Why do you ask?”

“He was shooting me daggers the entire time.”

Katara snorts. “That seems a bit dramatic.”

“Hey, call me what you want, but he wasn’t a fan of me talking to you. I was just wondering if you guys ever..?” He left it open ended and Katara debated teasing him about being jealous, but that felt like a dangerous game to play, so she opted for honesty.

“We dated in high school. Nothing major. Sokka and Yue wish that I’d have a change of heart, decide I’m madly in love with him and settle down here with him and birth lots of babies.”

Katara thought her spiel would turn Zuko’s face bright red, but he’s watching her with interest, sipping whiskey and listening like he’s filing the information away for a test.

“Hence why Tahnik follows me like a shadow every time I come home.”

“So Sokka wants you to follow in his footsteps,” Zuko states.

Katara blinks. “Yeah, essentially, I guess.”

They both take a hard swig from their whiskey.

“What did happen between him and Suki?”

Katara doesn’t look at him after he asks, remembering all too well the aftermath, not so much the doing that led to the aftermath. Suki curled up in her bed for weeks, depressed out of her mind, and in turn, Katara turned to Zuko, and he let her curl up in his bed for weeks when she needed to be the one to lean on someone.

They weren’t even dating yet.

“You don’t remember?”

“Katara, I remember everything from that time. It was bad. I just don’t know what changed his mind.”

Katara sighs. “Give you one guess.”

Zuko looks at her perplexed until the realization washes over him, darkening his expression significantly. “Your dad.”

“I could guess at the verbiage he used with my brother, the guilt trips and all, but it doesn’t matter. He got to him, and Sokka listened even though he knew better.”

“And he broke Suki’s heart.”

“And his own.” Katara says, because it’s true, even if her brother would never fess up to it.

“Did he ever give her an explanation?”

Katara shakes her slowly. “Nope, it’s all what you already knew. He pulled away slowly from her, got more and more distant, and then he sent the text.”

“Fuck that text.”

“Imagine how I felt. You weren’t the one that had to show Suki. It was one of the worst moments of my life.”

“I can imagine some,” Zuko protests. “You came to me after, you know. One of the worst moments of my life, too.”

Katara didn’t forget. She just didn’t know that he remembered.

.

.

.

The incriminating text read as followed:
Sokka: Hey Katara, I just wanted to let you know that I’ve decided to join dad in the family fishing business. Honestly, I don’t think trade school was for me, so dad recommended I shadow him for a few days, and I loved it, so I’m joining him out on the boats! That means my schedule just got a lot busier so I won’t be able to visit you much anymore. Do you remember Yue from high school? She works the front desk. She says hi.

This text came six months after he got high with Katara and lamented how horrible the South Pole was. Katara didn’t respond to the text at all and had to watch one of the strongest women she’d ever met crumble at the realization the man she loved was not planning on coming back.

Suki fell apart on Katara for two weeks straight until Toph kicked her ass and then Suki made it back to her dojo and slowly started to attempt moving on.

However much you can when you really love someone. 

In her mind, Suki was trying to come to terms with Sokka choosing Yue over her.

Katara knew Sokka was choosing their father over them both.

And it cut her to the bone.

Once Suki assembled back to her normal routine, Katara breathed normally, but then she received two more messages.

Sokka: Does Suki hate me for this?

Sokka: Do you?

And at that, Katara couldn’t deal.

She had been to Zuko’s several times- parties here or there, dropping and picking random things up- but stopping by like this, on a random Thursday night was unprecedented. She did not warn him. She got in her car and drove to him before she knew where she was going.

Her body mechanically walked up the two flights of stairs to his apartment before she knew what it was doing, and she knocked before she could think better of it.

When he answered, his look of confusion lasted for approximately two seconds before taking in the look on her face and ushering her inside to his entryway.

“Katara, what’s wrong?”

She simply holds her phone out for him to read the last three texts that Sokka sent her.

Zuko reads them quickly before rearing back like he’d been hit.

“What?”

Katara says nothing.

“I thought he was making plans. I thought he was going to come- Oh and Suki- and-,” he stops his stream of thought to take her in again.

He walks towards her slowly, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder and waiting until Katara tips her head up to look at him.

“Sweetheart, what do you need?”

And that’s what does it. The sweetheart said in the tenor of his smoky voice opens the floodgates and Katara cries, covering her face so she doesn’t have to look at him as she does, crying for herself and Suki and Sokka all at once.

Strong, warm arms surround her, and this makes her cry all the more, and it makes her feel like putty. She’s so tired. She’s so tired of holding everyone else up. She wraps her arms around his neck and buries her face in chest instead.

As if he can tell her body is moments away from giving, he bends down and picks her up to carry her bridal style through his apartment to the bedroom.

She’s ashamed to say that she clings to him, that she’s worried he plans to drop her off and leave, and she doesn’t want him to go, but he lays her out gently in the bed and gets in with her. He lays with her, stroking her hair in a deliriously comforting way. The steady rhythm begins to lull her to sleep and as it does, she’s overcome with the feeling of safety.

.

.

.

“I know. I’m sorry.” Katara says, cursing how small her voice sounds.

“I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant it was really hard for you. The shock of it and all.”

Katara huffs a humorless laugh. “It shouldn’t have shocked me. Pakku warned me my entire life that Sokka wouldn’t ever want to leave the South Pole.”

“Still doesn’t make it fair to you.”

Katara says nothing.

“God, thinking about that text now, I know reading between the lines, it was Sokka telling you he was staying in the South to live a life of babysitting your alcoholic father,” Zuko continues.

Katara gives him a wry smile.

“I wish I had known,” he says again. 

Katara swirls her remaining whiskey around in her glass and doesn’t meet his eye.

“Did your grandparents ever try with Sokka like they did with you?”

Katara does look at him then, steeliness in her voice despite the whiskey she’s drank.
“Sokka was never close with them like I was. Our father has never been a fan of Pakku, and Sokka has always been very loyal to him. So growing up, my father has always swayed Sokka’s opinion.”

“But never yours?”

Katara gives a humorless chuckle. “No, never mine. He called it my bleeding heart.”

She feels more than sees Zuko scoot closer towards her. He places a hand on her own and when she looks up at him, their faces are about a foot apart.

“That’s not a bad thing, Kat.”

His intensity was breaching too many walls now that she’s several whiskeys deep. She needs to quit while she’s ahead.

“It’s late. I should go to bed. Gotta get up early and pack and whatnot.”

“Do you need a ride to the airport?”

Katara’s smile is genuine when she answers. “Sokka’s got that covered.”

Zuko nods, and while Katara gathers their empty glasses, he closes the window and grabs the ash tray.

She carries them downstairs to the sink, and Zuko follows her down, neither bothering to turn any lights on. The only illumination they had was from a light-up Guinness sign that Pakku spent a month convincing Gran to let him hang above the kitchen entrance.

Zuko hovers at the edge of the kitchen.

“Katara?”

She turns and leans against the counter, but in the dark, she can’t see his face.

“Can you tell me why Pakku liked how you were with me now?”

Katara debates leaving him hanging, debates letting her claws be mean enough to kill the question entirely, but she leaves tomorrow, and they live thousands of miles apart, and she’s a little drunk, so what harm could honesty do?

“Pakku said he could tell I was happy, and I told him that being with you made me feel safe.” Katara questions the sanity of what she wants to say next, but it’s out before she can stop it. “And not in like a boring way, in like a coming home way.”

She still couldn’t properly see his eyes in the dark, but she could feel them watching her. She walks slowly out of the kitchen and heads towards the stairs.

“Good night, Zuko.”

“Wait-“

She feels fingers graze her own before she reaches the staircase, and she turns, wondering how he moved so fast.
He’s right in front of her, so close she has to look up at him.
At this distance, his eyes are smoldering, and they seem to glow in the minimal light.

It’s quiet.

She thinks she should say something like you don’t have to say anything, or we need to go to bed, or don’t bother, but he’s so warm, she finds herself wanting to stay, to lean in, to feel.

There’s an old wooden analog clock in the living room that ticks, and without the imperial evidence, Katara doesn’t think she’d believe time was passing at all.

He brings a warm, familiar hand up to brush her curls from her shoulder, traveling across her upper back to her neck so he could oh so gently tilt her head up to him.

There was a question in his eyes that he was looking for hers to answer.

This is a bad idea, but she doesn’t say it out loud. Instead, she slides her hands up his chest slowly and reorients herself with the hard planes underneath, feeling satisfied in the way he shudders at her touch.

She can have this, can’t she? Self indulgence on a day that’s beat her into the ground? She might regret it in the morning, but if she’s feeling torn, she’ll text her friends, they’ll call her an idiot, and she’ll move on like she did the first time.

She watches her hands wrap around his neck and she can’t help but card her fingers in his hair. She’s forgotten how soft it is.

“Katara.” His voice comes out strained, and when she meets his gaze again, he wastes no time dipping down to kiss her.

She folds immediately, like the taste of him on her tongue was all it took to call her bluff.

She tugs on his hair, and he moves both arms around her, dragging her higher and closer, and oh that’s nice. She forgot how much taller he was than her, how she had to stand on her toes to reach him. She moves her hands down his back, sketching out the hard angles and bones.

He moves his mouth to her neck and at a particularly sensitive spot, she makes a breathy gasp, which seems to bring him to life.
She feels him move her backwards, and she doesn’t feel him stop until her back is against a wall. His mouth is back on hers, and when he nibbles on her lower lip, Katara feels her hands start unbuttoning his shirt.

He helps her remove it and he’s shirtless for her, and she has miles of his bare chest to play with. She runs her hands over the muscles downward but stops when she hears him hiss.

She pulls back to look at him.

“Your hands are freezing.”

Katara giggles. “Such a baby.” She touches him again, and he shivers but says nothing else as she roves over his bare skin. When she leans forward and follows the path of her fingers with her mouth, he groans low and moves one of his thighs between hers.

Katara rocks against it a little, and Zuko pulls her mouth back to his, cradling her head in his hands. The kiss he gives her is slow, deep and sweet and when he pulls back, the look he gives her is of such pure longing, Katara forgets to breathe.

“Katara, for me, this isn’t just-“

Whatever confession Zuko was about to give her is interrupted when the power cuts out, and they are plunged into complete and total darkness.
It cuts back on approximately five seconds later when Zuko’s wanton face is illuminated by the neon Guinness sign once more, but the tell tale beep of the microwave and the hum of the refrigerator effectively ruin the moment.

They separate, and Zuko opens his mouth to speak, but Katara gives a small shake of her head and hurries up the stairs as fast as she can.

She thinks the image of him standing bare-chested, arms held open, pain etched onto his face because of her and so beautiful like a fallen angel, will haunt her for the rest of her life.

Katara’s alarm goes off at 7 am though she shouldn’t have bothered to set one. She hardly slept at all. She felt like shit on all fronts and was dreading facing her roommate.
She turns her alarm off and finds that she has a text from Sokka sent at 5 am telling her to call him when she wakes up.
Geez, babies are no joke.
She sits up and scrubs her face, yawning wildly before calling him.

“Hey, Kat, have you heard yet?”

“Heard what, Sokka?”

“Oh, blizzard came in last night. All roads are closed. No one’s going anywhere for a few days.”

“What?!” she shrieks this into the phone and flings herself off the bed.

“Well, yeah, it’s not the end of the world, but I mean, have you looked outside?”

Katara rushes downstairs in a frenzy, barely taking in Zuko in the kitchen, who looks mildly scared at her mad dash, as she whips the front door open and steps out onto the porch.

“Fuck,” is all she can get out.

“They estimate three days or so before roads will be cleared.”

“Three days?” Katara’s shrieking is back.

“Katara, you know how slow things can get around here, and it kinda blew in overnight. We weren’t exactly expecting it.”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“Calm down. Planes are grounded, too, okay. I’m sure your big, fancy law office will understand.”

Katara huffs at him.

“I mean, I know you’re stuck there with Zuko. The two of you gonna be okay?”

Katara thinks of her ripping his shirt off, rocking wildly against his thigh and smacks her palm against her forehead as if it could physically slap the memory out.

“Yeah, we’ll be fine.”

“Oh, what about food? Is there even anything to eat there?”

Katara laughs at this. “God, Sokka, you know they stocked up on frozen dinners and non-perishables like the world was ending. It won’t be pleasant, but we won’t starve.”

“Well, okay then. Call me if you need anything. There’s not much I can do, but if it clears a little, you know I have that snow mobile, right?”

“Yes, yes, fine.”

Katara comes back inside and into the kitchen where she slides into a seat at the dining room table and rather dramatically lays her head down face first.

“I, uh, take it Sokka told you we’re stuck?”

Katara mumbles something affirmatively.

“I’m sorry, I know this isn’t how you thought this weekend would go at all.”

Katara picks her head up and looks at him. He was wearing sweatpants and a very faded Led Zeppelin hoodie that she hasn’t seen in a long time.

It makes her ache.

“Oh, another dollar?”

Katara just sighs. “Did Sokka tell you, too?”

He actually flushes at this question, which throws Katara off. “Uh, Uncle actually called to tell me.”

Katara feels her eyebrows raise so high, she thinks they may get stuck. “Iroh?”

Zuko clears his throat, his usual tell that he’s uncomfortable. “Yeah.” He turns back around, and Katara realizes he’s tinkering with the godforsaken coffee pot, having found Pakku’s pitiful tool bag underneath the sink.

“What are you doing?”

“I’d really rather not be stuck for days with no caffeine.”

With his back turned, Katara allows herself a small smile.

She groans. “I have to go call my work. At least we still have an internet connection.”

Zuko hums affirmatively but continues tweaking with the coffee maker leisurely.

Katara cocks her head at him then.
“You know, you seem awfully calm about being stuck here. I’d have thought you’d be freaking out a little about not being able to get back to work.”

Zuko doesn’t turn around, but he gives a rather nonchalant shrug; however, she sees the back of his neck flush slightly.

Interesting.

“Ozai doesn’t strike me as the type of boss who would be very understanding about the weather. I figured if you couldn’t make a flight, he’d probably want you to start walking.”

It wasn’t nice, the jab she throws, but there was something there, and she wanted to bait him a little. Especially after last night.

She sees him set the tools down carefully, and he turns to face her slowly. He crosses his arms. She can’t read the look on his face, and it makes her nervous.

“I don’t work for Ozai anymore.”

Katara’s jaw nearly drops. That would explain the relationship with Iroh.

“For how long?”

“About a month ago.”

“That didn’t last long.” Katara shouldn’t have said it, and she knows it. He knows it, too if the unamused expression is anything to go by. He turns back around to the coffee maker and picks the tools back up.

Katara opens and closes her mouth, floundering with her words, which frustrates her to no end.

“Do you want to talk about-“

“No,” is all he says.

Right.

These might be the longest three days of her life.