Spoilers: 3x12 (so very very slight!) I'm unspoiled for anything else, so please keep your reviews clean!

Comments: So, last week irrel did this amazingly pretty K/Z fanart "Ends", remember it? And she had a little prompt at the end asking for people to write a continuation of the scene, and some talented people did. I didn't see the request prompt until tonight so I'm kinda late in bringing the drabble goodness, but better late than never, right? If you can, look at the fan art before reading this. The clothes in the image are important to the drabble, and it will make more sense if you see the image first.

the art: "irrel" at DevArt, deviation #83878503

irrel's prompt: "Also, I have no idea what is happening here. I imagined that it's after the war, Katara and Zuko are saying goodbye, going their separate ways and then...

End/Begin

"Wait," Prince Zuko snapped, too sharp and too formal. The ancient uniform, drenched in sable and stiff with gilded brass, had robbed his voice of its empathy and the hand on her arm of gentleness. Katara turned with slow precision, aware of the way his fingers pressed at the inside of her elbow and the delicate, invisible tremor of his wrist.

"Yes?" she said archly, and Zuko dropped his hand instantly. His neck flushed.

"This isn't right."

"What?" asked Katara, holding her chin high because the lace of her collar itched if she didn't, and the silk, laden with priceless embroidery, deserved a bearer who wouldn't be ruffled, even in front of a prince. It draped from shoulder to ankle, and Katara knew the sky-colored threads held every ounce the power of a dragon suit of armor.

"This... this!" said Zuko, flicking his hand at the columns, the colors, the distance between them that would only grow. "Katara."

He squared his shoulders, and bowed with one hand against his stomach, the other behind him in perfect form. It was not how he bowed to Aang, or to Toph. It was not how he'd bowed to Katara in the past after a scrimmage. Without a pause Zuko rose again, then stepped forward until he was close enough to push the dark strands of hair from her eyes.

"Katara," he said with the same formality, but this time time with fingertips ghosting the edges of her face.

"Yes?" she repeated, holding still because Zuko's face had transformed into the expression he always wore when the future was laid out before him, as manifest as a painting or a feast or a scroll of secrets. He'd worn this face at the Western Temple when he spoke to Aang about fire and fathers and destiny, and he'd worn it the night below Ba Sing Se when he knew who he was and what he was prepared to do.

For all his confusion and indecisiveness, Prince Zuko was gifted with moments of great clarity and purpose--true flashes of transcendence--and Katara had always envied him for it. She envied him now, as he looked into her eyes and prepared to speak.

"I care for you. I... I love you. I love you."