Long Night

By Jasmin Kaiba

Zuko listened to the sound of his own breathing winding its way through the darkness of the room. His breath came deeply and slowly, cold, like the northern winds that sometimes brushed his skin when he trained on the barren plains. His wasn’t the only breathing in the room. Another life expelled breath into the air, quicker and a little more shallowly than he. But his breath wound around the weaker, complementing it, carrying it outside and up to heaven. There was a hitch in the breathing next to his, followed by throat-clearing.

“Still up?” the woman next to him murmured without opening her eyes.

“Yes,” he whispered, looking down at her. He wanted to reach out and touch her hair, but whatever sort of sick pride he possessed prevented him from doing so.

Katara sat up beside him. It was one of the few nights they hadn’t done anything before sleeping and so she was still wearing sleeping clothes, a cotton shirt with matching leggings. He frowned at the outfit. Regardless of what they did, he thought that the only way to sleep in a bed was naked. Such garments were foolish and unnecessary. Besides they were taking a vacation on Ember Island, and the weather was balmy at the very best. He again wanted to reach out to her, to finger the soft fabric, but he forced his hands to remain immobile in his lap.

“You never sleep,” she said, adjusting the pillows behind her to give her more back support.

“I do, but you’re so lazy you always fall asleep first,” he said, words moving like ice across her skin. He was baiting her again. She had to constantly battle his encrypted speech to prevent it from getting the better of her. He normally didn’t spar with her at night, being so intent on satisfying other needs. She wondered for a moment if he was cranky because they hadn’t made love that night, and she finally decided to hazard a look at him. It was hard to see because of the dimness of the room, but she could still make out the golden pits of his eyes. They weren’t as shiny as usual; instead, they had a matte finish as he stared out into their bedroom. Cruelty was not housed in that stare, nor was anger or passion. He seemed made out of marble, so still did he sit in their bed. She wouldn’t have been sure he wasn’t a marvelous statue if she hadn’t been able to feel his ferocious body heat or hear his deep breathing. “What’s bothering you, Zuko?” she said with concern.

He looked at her for long moments, eyes drinking in the sight of her. “Nothing,” he muttered, knowing better than to offer bait again that she had refused earlier. Getting her angry was not going to make her leave him alone with his thoughts.

She reached out a hand and let it rest on his rock-hard thigh. “Please, tell me,” she whispered, moving her head to rest on top of his thigh as well.

Her hair rubbed against his naked stomach and he liked the sensation of it. He welcomed the feeling of her being so close, so solid, so real beside him. He wanted to fold his arms across his chest or grab her and pull her to him, but he did nothing to spare himself any embarrassment. “No. Mind your own business,” he snarled. He glanced at her, almost regretting his words. He thought for a moment he saw anger flash in her eyes, anger that would distract her from his true mood. The fire in her gaze went out and he felt colder as her kind eyes turned to him. She wasn’t acting as planned.

“Please. After all this time, after all we’ve shared, you still can’t trust me?” she asked in wonder. She rolled over so that she was looking straight up into his face. Gingerly, she rose a hand and let it trace the deep crease between his eyebrows. She had examined his expression so many times, and he knew she hated the scowl he wore at the moment. She looked past it, perhaps for the first time, and realized, startled, just how young he was. As she studied him she realized that he was most likely far younger then any other Fire Lord before him. He was barely over the age of twenty-five and has ruled for almost seven years. The scowl, however, and the set of the mouth combined with the expression in his eyes, made him seem far, far older. He closed his eyes as she ran her fingertips over his eyelid. Her fingers dwelled on thick lashes and moved into the thick, coarse black hair of his forbidding eyebrow. Her other hand gently explored the thick flesh of his scar, showing no hesitation or disgust upon touching it. It was a part of who he was, with the scar he was Fire Lord Zuko, without it he may still be Ozai's spawn.

“There’s nothing to trust you with,” he said, eyes remaining closed. She felt his eyebrow move slightly under her touch, and realized he suddenly looked more pained than angry.

She reclaimed her hand and let it rest on her stomach. She sighed, feeling oddly tender. They had shared their lives and everything else, really, for so many years, even had a child together. Yet she felt like she didn’t know him at all; his inner workings were completely alien to her. At the same time she felt like she knew him completely. Regardless of what she thought she knew or didn’t know about him, there was no doubt in her mind that this was the closest she’d ever felt to him. Her hand left her stomach and moved to his mouth. She had asked him so many times in their life what was wrong with him, why he was unhappy, why he didn’t just turn to her and grin. Her thumb moved over his lips lightly, exploring.

His lips moved slightly under her touch, almost forming a kiss. He glanced down at her and saw her looking up at him with a kind of mysterious wonder, studying him as if he was a work of fine art. He looked back at her and thought how lovely she looked in the weak light, even if he would never say so openly. He had never seen such a serene look on her face, and he wondered if he really knew her. If he had ever really even thought about her before. Her fingers still moved across his lips, and this time he did kiss them gently before staring out into the darkness once again.

He heard her take a deep breath. “I thought at one time that you’d kill me,” she said quietly. “The first time you took me into your arms I was afraid. I didn’t trust you not to do away with me after we were finished. But then I looked at you, lying there, almost spent, and I didn’t care what you did to me then. What we had done was so natural and the closest to heaven I’d ever been...” she trailed off, transported.

He glanced down at her face and saw by the film over her eyes that she was remembering his hands running down her body or his breath in her ear. A smile stirred in his face, but remained unreleased. He let her daydream a while longer before speaking. “Katara, what would you do if I died?” he probed, deep voice spreading like fog, saturating the room heavily. He heard a sharp intake of breath.

She had to stop herself from being snide, from saying something to the effect that she’d be only too glad if she never had to see his arrogant face again. The look in his dark eyes, the fact that he hadn’t batted her affections away, and the tone in his voice wouldn’t let the unkind words pass her lips. She felt color rise in her cheeks. He was asking for a real answer. She looked up until his eyes locked with hers. “Die,” she said gravely.

Her words hit him like a boulder, nearly making him grunt. Her answer was the last that he had expected. He hadn’t expected her to put aside her independent pride...he realized with a start that she and he were alike in that regard. They both had unmatched pride. Could it be he understood her better than he thought? That he wasn’t so alone? “Why?” he demanded, feeling his hands beginning to quiver slightly.

She gave a low laugh. He wasn’t being easy on her tonight. She nearly shrugged; he always expected her to give him what he wanted, and she almost always did, no matter what the cost. Tonight it would seem he wanted her walls, the barriers that protected her from his arctic tongue and regard. “Because...because...” she trailed off, words sticking in her throat. She closed her eyes and shook her head, which was made difficult because of the friction between her hair and his thighs. “No, I just can’t do it,” she muttered.

She felt his muscles tense. “Why?” he said again, almost sounding urgent.

“Because I...I...” She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, much like she would before diving into an icy river. “Because I love you,” she blurted and immediately looked him in the eye defiantly.

He looked away instantly. “Oh.” He felt her heart crumbling at his response; he knew that she wanted to hear him say the same thing to her, maybe more than anything. But he couldn’t, he just couldn’t. He wasn’t sure what love was, and he didn’t feel like lying to her. He wondered why he stayed with her, the little sweet Waterbender. Not having a Fire Nation Noblewoman as his wife made his Court reprimand him every day, almost going as far as to belittle his Water Tribe Consort. She must know that, she was smart if nothing else. She seemed to have an uncanny ability to read him. Why did she always give him what he wanted? Was it because of this “love” thing?

He remembered an evening in which he had had a particularly fruitless training session, and memories of what had been and what could have been hunted him again; Azula, his sire, Uncle Iroh, his mother, the Avatar. Anger had welled up in him like cancer and he had stormed up to their room. She was standing by the bed, finishing putting her hair up for the night, clad in a tiny sleeping robe. He had gone up to her and ripped the clothes from her, breaking the silk sash that held the robe closed. Pushing her violently down on the bed, he had been extremely rough with her, not holding back his strength hardly at all. As he looked back on it, he had treated her like an animal. When he was finished her skin was raw and her lips may have been bleeding from the violence of his kisses. He had pushed off of her with his hands on her shoulders and looked into her eyes, feeling sick at what he had done. Yet there was no reproach, no fear or anger in her eyes as she looked at him, only an odd understanding and a subtle longing. He had torn away from her in disgust with himself and left the room, leaving her there on the bed alone.

When he had gone back the next night she had bruises on her waist and breasts, and said nothing to him as he crawled into bed. She had merely rolled over and kissed him gently on the cheek before turning out the lamps. She was too tender to allow him to anything with her for a week. When she had healed he had done his best to be incredibly tender and loving with her, but what bothered him was that he had no way of knowing if she understood, if she knew what was going on in his mind.

He grunted to himself softly and felt her shift in his lap. What did she do for him? Why did he need her? Was he so incredibly flawed? He sighed. The only time he forgot his loneliness, his anger, or his frustration was when he made love to her. In those moments she made him perfect, invincible. Perhaps that was why their relationship seemed purely physical. Did the scars run so deep as to cut him in half, he wondered, and looked down at the woman in his lap.

She studied his face carefully. Extra lines had appeared around his mouth as he seemed to ponder something. She sat up and placed her hands on his warm chest. She got the desired reaction; he looked at her.

Images of his son sped across his vision. She had given him the biggest gift possible, their boy, made them a family. He had tried to be a good father; better then his sire could ever be, for his heir, his son, but mostly for her, for his queen. He shuddered as he realized that if she asked him to bring her the stars; he would do it or die trying. What had she done to him? He felt her hands rest against his chest and he looked at her. As his eyes met hers he saw all the soft pain he had caused her, as well as the more bitter wounds. It suddenly seemed as if he could see right through her...she was only a mass of colors before him. He reached out to her carefully, examining her life force with his other senses. It glowed strongly before him. He had caused her so much pain, and yet she understood she didn’t run away. He cleared his throat, which tightened as though filled with metal shavings. “Katara,” he whispered hoarsely. Her gaze devoured him, and he nearly lost what he had to say. As he looked at her he changed his mind. “Give me your hands,” he murmured, and she offered her hands to him, utter trust reflected in her face. He pressed her hands to his chest once again and concentrated. If Agni was gracious to him, maybe he could show her what pained him, without having to find the words. He concentrated, sweat forming on his brow. He felt her mind jerk back in fear, then slowly open as he touched her, much like a flower opens for the sun. He almost felt pain at her gentleness, but he pressed further and wrenched his mind open as well.

She gasped as she saw it all. She saw the coldness of his upbringing, felt his pride, understood his humiliation countless times at the hands of his own father. His confusion about feelings hovered around her like a second skin and she shivered in spite of its burning pain. He was so much like her in some ways...the images abruptly ended and she slumped in exhaustion. She looked up at him carefully, finding his breathing short and rapid. She crawled into his lap and put a hand on each of his temples, directing his head so that she would be the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes. Minutes passed, and hot dread began to thread its way through her veins as he lay still. She was about to run for help when his fathomless eyes fluttered open.

He made a choking sound. She knew everything now. He hoped he hadn’t infected her with his aching loneliness forever. Emotions roiled within him, making him feel helpless. “Katara,” he began again. “I’m...sorry...for everything I’ve done,” he muttered, a single tear slithering down his cheek. He winced inwardly as tears formed in her eyes as well.

“I know,” she said, and smiled at him. “Thank you, my lord.”

“You are my life,” he whispered, “My soul mate.” He nearly looked away in embarrassment, but her hand stopped his head’s movement and held it.

“I love you, Zuko. You don’t have to be alone anymore,” she murmured, and threw her arms around him, burying her face in his neck.

He felt the tears from her eyes wind their way down his skin and felt the coldness he had carried in his heart for so long go with them. He would never be able to show his emotions well, but the best he could hope for was for her to understand, and it looked like she did. He squeezed her tighter and she laughed quietly, leaning into his muscles.

“Never leave me,” he said hoarsely into her hair.

“Never,” she replied, and kissed him on the cheek.

Nothing had changed except for everything.

The End

AN: A small take on a somewhat angsty one-shot about how Zuko might feel after the end of the Great War. I'm of course a Zutara shipper so it's only natural that Katara takes up the place of his mate/wife/consort.

Please tell me what you think, read and review.

Jas