22.- hands

A waterbender’s hands are soft, gentle, but also strong and firm… very much like the water they bend and control. A firebender’s hands, though, were rough. They did not caress like water, did not hold steady like rock, did not lift you up like air. Zuko’s hands, in particular, were calloused by blood and deceit. He couldn’t stand to look at them sometimes, especially when he served tea. Those delicate teacups that his uncle loved so much, held by his hands; it was akin to blasphemy as he saw it. His hands shook when he served tea and not from the heavy stares from the girls at his table. Those hands knew these tender cups were too precious for them, misplaced in his care.

Looking across the dining hall, he could see Katara. She loved coming down to Ba Sing Se and helping out in the Jasmine Dragon. Now those were hands meant to tend to those cups. They were so gentle. He could imagine them on his face, that time in the cave; he knew how soft and loving they could be… and in the same thought, knew how strong and brutal they could quickly become. However, Katara had control and her element was nurturing and able to heal. Fire only took and destroyed…

He wanted to feel her hands on him again and not just on his face. He wanted to know what they felt like on his neck, shoulders, chest…

He remembered not too long ago, feeling those hands grip his sleeves, begging him not to go. Her body close to his, water and fire as one. She’d been crying about her mother, a topic he hadn’t heard about since before the defeat of his father. It made him wonder. How many times had tears been forced to grace those hands? Sure, Aang was the Avatar and had all this worldly knnowledge, but he couldn’t understand Katara’s pain. He’d said it himself that he’d forgiven the many fire nation soldier who virtually wiped everyone he knew off the face of the planet (not in all those words, but still), but the one man that hurt Katara the most was still alive, still punishable.

Zuko was certain that somewhere inside her, she still wanted revenge, but could never do it. Her hands were never meant to be soiled in that fashion.

Before long, it was night. Sokka and Aang helped Iroh close up the shop. Toph and Mai took trash out while Suki and Katara washed dishes. Zuko excused himself to the apartments above the shop to rest. Almost a year had past since Azula shot him full of lightning and he almost didn’t redirect it. He could sometimes still feel the sparks dancing dangerously through his body. Iroh had suggested requesting a healer from the Northern Water Tribe, but the stubborn Fire Lord never got around to it.

Undressing slowly, Zuko watched the star burst scar reveal itself on his abdomen. The acursed thing was yet another disappointment manifesting itself on him. Touching both scars, he realized that if he’d only kept quite, he wouldn’t have either. Then again, if he’d kept quite, then he wouldn’t have discovered his true destiny, nor would he have become a hero to the world.

And he would’ve never gotten to know Katara.

“Zuko?” The fire lord jumped. How long had Katara been standing there?! This was slowly becoming a recurring event. He pulled his shirt back on and turned to face her. She was leaning in the door jamb, rubbing her hands to equalize the water in them and keep them from pruning. Her hair was pulled back into a braid, then looped up over her head, probably too keep it from falling in the sink water, “Mai was telling me that you were still suffering from the aftershocks of Azula’s lightning.”

“Did she?” Zuko cringed and moved over towards his bed. Katara was not far behind, plopping down beside him.

“Yeah, would you like me to take a look?”

Zuko’s mind dropped down into a nether region. Before he could say anything lewd, he moved his shirt aside slightly so she could look at it. She pulled the top open, much to his surprise, and laid him back on the matress. His cheeks burned furiously as she looked away to open the waterskin she’d brought up. The water was definitely cooling, more so than usual, “Katara…”

“The others and I took a trip back up to the Northern Watertribe before coming down. This is Spirit Oasis water, the kind I used on Aang after Azula shot him.”

Katara’s hands were just as gentle as he had dreamed. They were comforting, motherly, things he had missed when his own mother was banished. His eyelids lowered slowly, his expression almost seductive as he looked up at her. He put his hand to her face, not quite sure how to take her gasp. She let it stay there, leaning into it, putting her face to it and inhaling deeply. Everything about her was so controlled, so smooth and fluent. What could someone so even like her think of a man so jaded and edged like him?

“Your hands..” Katara started softly, “They’re so soft…”

END: Hands