Work Text:
The first reminder comes when Azula’s least suspecting; some board member of the firm has pulled her aside and engaged her in hellish small talk about her son.
“He’s like you as well, dear, hard-working and intelligent. He’s gone into medicine though! It escapes me, however, why he chose animals instead of people.”
“Mhm.”
The second is apparent — in her face when she’s invited out for dinner by her uncle. It’s already a rare occasion that she accepts. As fate would have it, he chooses a Water Tribe restaurant.
She still hates sea prunes.
The third is insignificant, or at least it should be. All she’s doing is waiting in line, ordering her caffeine fix, and cringing when the barista absolutely butchers the spelling of her name on her cup. Really, it’s the incompetence of the service that brings it about, her first sip immediately reveals that it’s not the oolong she requested.
Sure, it’s been steeped for way too long, and the bitter aftertaste is not at all familiar, but it’s the flavor that jumps out at her. Jasmine.
Azula has never been so easily sentimental and doesn’t spend time reminiscing with her head in the clouds. She’s the last person to keep mawkish trinkets and nostalgic souvenirs, or to stroll down memory lane wearing her heart on her sleeve.
What in Agni’s name is going on with her?
And she can’t at all concentrate whenever she’s brought over reports that are filled to the brim with statistics and new cases to assign staff to. Which is constantly.
The fastest flight out of the Fire Nation is this evening. It’s a few clicks to book a seat, one of the only times in her life that she allows herself to be impulsive.
“What do you mean you’re leaving?” her brother screeches, bounding into the office breathlessly.
“I’m taking a break.” He looks even more skeptical, shutting the door. Azula doesn’t have time for this, she should be well on her way already. “Call it a sabbatical or whatever. Spin it however you want, just don’t expect me to show up to work tomorrow.”
“Just where are you going?”
“Back to her.”
The airport bar does wonders to calm her nerves. The television screen affixed to the wall is broadcasting some pro-bending match. She could have been a pro-bender, in another life. Her fire has even made the history books. She nurses the glass, occasionally checking the time.
“His footing is shaky.”
A voice interrupts her reverie. Azula glances to her side and sees the lady sitting across from her. She’s watching the match with keen interest, before shifting back to meet Azula’s eyes. “Lonely?”
“What makes you say that?”
“Nothing.” She smiles, her eyes twinkling in the dim light. “I just wanted you to be.”
One month ago, even one fortnight ago, Azula would have gone along with the suggestive wink. Now all she feels is annoyance.
“I’m married.”
“I don’t see a ring.” It’s a simple observation, nothing more and nothing less. “Everyone is just passing through, so if you change your mind…” the woman trails off, and leaves her words hanging midair.
“Don’t count on it.”
Azula turns away, drains her drink.
It’s insane, she thinks looking out the plane window, to be chasing after her estranged wife who’s halfway across the world. The tarmac glitters under the night sky. It even tops the time she had proposed in the first place.
They never should have been apart. Ozai would have agreed. Even with his habits of negotiating mergers through thinly veiled blackmail, backstabbing deals, and other unsavory means that skated the line of legality, somehow the concept of marriage was sacred. Inviolable. To be honored. 'Honor' was such a buzzword in the household, something Zuko can attest to. Often though, it really meant reputation, not always, but certainly most times.
Zuko calls her before she has time to properly settle into her seat. He tells her not to worry, and that he’s successfully delegated her duties for the next couple of weeks. The journey is mostly uneventful — the aircraft rumbles, and the clouds pass.
Azula lands at Ba Sing Se without issue, pulling out the address of a property she technically owns but has never lived in.
Katara goes to work like any other day. It doesn’t start out special, she has a packed roster of patients as usual. Though it looks like today she might have to take a shorter lunch break, to fit in a Pomeranian with diet issues. She sighs, so much for having time to stop at her favorite café. It’s not that she doesn’t enjoy being a vet — because she does, immensely. It took her quite some years to get to where she is today. It’s just a long day, it happens once in a while. The tea sits warm in her hand, ready to start her morning right.
The appointments blend together. One cat refuses food, and another is perhaps eating too much. She doles out a range of vaccinations, medicine, and flea sprays. Throughout the day she grinds out paperwork, makes phone calls, and gets things organized. The last thing on her plate is discharging a Maltese who was in for surgery.
Its owner arrives late, a woman dressed in lavish fabrics and jewelry. It’s not ideal, Katara still needs to close up, but it’s better than the alternative of her not picking up her pet at all. She goes through the post-surgery instructions and gives the woman directions in case of any complications. Lastly, she brings the animal out.
The woman creases her brow in confusion upon seeing it, her eyes darting between the dog and Katara. “What happened to his coat?”
Katara blinks. ”I had to remove his fur because it was on the incision site.” The words are simple enough, they should be easy for the woman to understand. They’re also true.
The owner purses her lips. “He’s quite a mess now.”
Katara bites the inside of her cheek and resists the urge to roll her eyes. “It’ll grow back, rest assured.” The woman nods slowly, but there’s uncertainty behind her gaze. She doesn’t seem at all happy about the state of her dog’s grooming. That’s the thing with opening a practice in the Upper Ring, you get used to dealing with eccentric clientele that also happen to have a padded wallet.
Katara ushers her out and sprints to the clinic bathroom. Cutting it close, brushing her curls, and managing a swipe of lipstick is the best she can do. Ditching her white coat and scrubs in favor of a tasteful black dress, she rushes out, only a few minutes later. It’s easy to grab a taxi that takes her to some fancy restaurant.
Her date isn’t there yet, which is a little unfortunate, Katara thinks. This is supposed to be the highlight of her day; getting to know someone new, past the cheesy pickup lines and online profiles. No chance of that happening if this girl keeps making her wait around like a lost child. She orders an appetizer, drinks a glass of wine, then checks her watch. A quarter past seven, and still no sign of her. If she’s going to keep Katara waiting, Katara may as well order herself proper dinner, too.
The predictable half-hearted apology text comes through before her food is even delivered to the table.
Katara swears it’s the last time she tries online dating.
Katara is twenty-nine, married single, and tired of being alone.
Her back is sore by the time she gets home, and it’s only after the shower that she curls up in bed, the warmth of the covers enveloping her.
The doorbell rings.
She groans into her pillow.
They met in college.
Katara was just the girl in the library, who had walked up to Azula one day, and dragged out the chair opposite her. Never mind that it was a secluded spot, never mind that most people avoided her like the plague — that she liked that they did.
“You don’t own the table,” Katara had said, paying no attention to the aggressive tapping of Azula’s pen on the oak table.
“You’re aware then. That your company is unwelcome.”
“So is yours,” Katara retorted. “I like it here. The window has ample daylight, it’s away from the busy aisles and there’s—“
“Charging sockets.”
Katara chuckled. “Exactly. So if I have to deal with you, I will.” There was a certain kind of confidence in the way she looked down at her, challenging Azula.
Deal with her she did, all through the semester, with study schedules that clashed almost scarily. But eventually, Azula got used to her presence. No more furtive glances over laptop screens, no more avoiding eye contact while trying to appear disinterested. They’d both stayed extra late once, studying together until their brains felt like mush. Katara had brought takeout, pushed a box of komodo chicken to her side of the table, and told her to eat.
And then, after, it was Azula’s turn to initiate some sort of contact.
“Biology.”
“Law.”
“Hm. Is that why you’re so argumentative?”
“You know one day we should eat something that doesn’t come out of a paper container.”
“Are you asking me out, Azula?”
“Do you want me to ask you out?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
(They didn’t study much after that. Books were the furthest thing from their minds when Katara’s hands roamed up and down the length of her body, lips finding her collarbone and her neck and the dip where the column of her throat began.)
“Azula?”
“Darling.”
“What— what are you doing here?”
Azula shrugs, leaning against the doorframe.
(Five years have not changed her. Still sharp in every way possible. Always has the same look, always her signature red lipstick, always the aloofness that radiates from her presence. The last time Katara had seen Azula she wondered if she would ever find someone that could be as much a force to be reckoned with.)
“Is it weird that I just want to see my wife?”
Katara scoffs. “I’m hardly your wife anymore.”
“You never stopped being my wife.” Her voice drips honey, like syrup, and Katara feels something stir in her stomach. It feels familiar, almost painful, but in a good way. Not the way it’s been for the past half of a decade, like a phantom limb, a memory buried in her psyche that haunts her when she closes her eyes for too long. No, this feeling isn’t that, not like the wound that hasn’t closed properly.
(If only it wasn’t still gaping, bleeding.)
“What’s got you so worked up?” Katara teased with a lilt in her voice.
“You.”
“Uh huh… and I’m sure that perfect score on your essay has nothing to do with how you’re practically ripping my clothes off.”
“It helps.”
“Are you going to let me in? Or is there someone I should be aware of?”
(Katara laughs, laughs because Azula is as subtle as a hurricane, laughs because wouldn’t it be her that this imaginary lover should be aware of, laughs because Azula is at her doorstep without warning — a literal piece of the past that comes knocking.)
Azula is wearing a blazer and pencil skirt combo, the kind of outfit that tells Katara she came straight from work. Yet the complete lack of belongings throws Katara for a loop; there’s only a shoulder purse hanging from the crook of her elbow.
“Are you staying at a hotel or?”
Azula’s face slumps into a pout. “If you want me to.”
“Nonsense. Stay here.” She steps aside so Azula can step in. “Just… is that all you’ve got with you?”
“My planning wasn’t exactly stellar, but I have the essentials; phone, passport, wallet. What more do I need?”
Azula was sick and tired of being sick. Sick and tired of being tired. Katara’s palm rested against her forehead, cool to the touch and soothing. A hand brushed the hair out of her face, a feather-light kiss against her temple.
“Your fever’s breaking.”
A cough rattled Azula’s chest. “You’re gonna get yourself sick too,” she croaked out.
“Well, what are girlfriends for?”
“Girlfriend, huh?”
“Shut up. Plenty of fluids and plenty of rest, then you’ll be back in tip-top shape.”
(“Yes, ‘girlfriend’ sounds good,” Azula whispered, nights later, having shooed away the frat guy who had offered to take Katara home. It was music to her ears.)
“How have you been?”
Katara asks the question quietly, leaning back into the couch cushions. It’s dark outside, the moon casting silver light through the window. She fiddles with the hem of her nightdress, pulling at threads with her fingernails. Azula's hand reaches out swiftly, grabs hold of her wrist, and drags her hand away from the fabric. It takes a second before Katara realizes Azula is tracing small circles on her skin. Her fingers are warm.
“Could be better.”
Katara hums at that, understanding. “Is it work?”
“What—“ Azula cuts herself off, frowning at nothing in particular. Her eyes flicker over to Katara, the barest hint of disappointment clouding them. “No, it has nothing to do with work at all.”
“Go on. What is it?”
Azula lets out a huff of air, a sound that could either be amusement or exasperation.
“Fine. Keep your secrets. You know I always pry it out of you anyway.” Katara stands and stretches her arms above her head. “Well? Are you coming to bed?”
“The bed?” Azula raises an eyebrow.
“Unless you’d rather sleep on the couch after a long flight.”
Azula shakes her head, the movement slow and deliberate.
“Thought so,” Katara smirks. “I prefer the left side now, so you’re just going to have to manage.”
“Mean.”
The letter was crumpled by the sheer force of Katara’s one-handed grip. It was good news; whatever guilt, regret, or shame that weighed heavy on her shoulders was self-inflicted.
(Because she couldn’t blame the system for choosing her as if it wasn’t her who applied in the first place. That would be like blaming the lottery for her winning the jackpot. She was the universe’s source for mockery; the one who seemingly crumbled under too much opportunity.)
“It’s far is what it is. I’m not going.”
“It’s a world-renowned veterinary program Katara. Like hell you aren’t.”
“Spirits above Azula! I can’t just leave this—”
“Marry me.”
Katara stilled.
“You’re not funny.”
“It wasn’t a joke. What? Are you scared?”
“We are not getting married because I have a competitive streak.”
Katara’s clothes smell of Katara.
It keeps Azula up that night — along with how Katara still tosses and turns in her sleep.
“Katara.”
“Hmm?” Katara’s eyes blink open tiredly.
Azula shifts, wraps her arms tightly around Katara’s waist, and buries her face in the crook of Katara’s neck. Katara freezes, tensing at the sudden contact.
“Stop moving,” Azula sighs, nuzzling closer until her nose brushes against Katara’s jaw. “Sleep.”
Katara hates that she melts at the touch. She hates it and she hates how easily Azula manages to make her crumble. She hates it because it will be excruciating to miss this again — agony to replay the moment over and over again when she eventually goes back to a cold bed.
(but maybe this is what she meant, one of the last times they spoke, that her door would always be open.)
Sokka pulled at her graduation cap, tugging lightly on the gold tassel that dangled from its center.
"You're ruining my hair," Katara grumbled as she batted his hand away with her free one.
"It was lopsided. You're welcome by the way," her brother replied with a grin.
Gran-gran coughed pointedly, and Sokka straightened up instantly as she raised the camera to her eye and snapped a photo.
"Hold it up higher Katara!" her father instructed.
"Can we quit it now? We've got about a hundred million," Katara whined. The sun was beaming down on the grassy courtyard. Families were scattered across the lawn, graduates dressed in dark gowns. Her father waved her off as she palmed her diploma to Sokka.
She found Azula by a fountain.
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Let’s get married.”
Azula kissed her then, pulled her close, held her tight. Giddiness consumed her and she felt so alive — drunk with hope, with possibility.
The morning comes with Katara leaping out of her embrace, an alarm blaring, and the sound of running water. Azula is left lying on the bed, squinting until her vision adjusts to the brightness.
A chime rings from the nightstand, and Azula picks up the phone that isn’t hers, brow furrowing upon seeing the notification on the screen. She grimaces at the icon, and clicks her tongue in irritation.
She’s not unfamiliar with dating apps, having seen how Ty Lee would play around with them.
It just stings, a bit, but no matter.
Wife sounded even better, Katara thought, when they were stumbling out of the courthouse, unable to keep their hands to themselves. Pure elation, she felt, when her head dipped back in the elevator and Azula was there, right there, lips pressed to hers.
Ozai kept strict tabs on his children. It was not a surprise to Azula, not even close. She should have expected it, especially after Zuko had started skipping a few classes in his last year of high school — barely anything at all. Not enough for the teachers to alert her father, though enough for her father to be told that her brother was spotted at a skatepark midday.
Marriages are public record, freely accessible on the nation’s database.
Apparently, it was not very honorable to get hitched at twenty-two; to do so on a whim, without warning, without any sort of ceremony or preamble that involved meeting the family beforehand.
“Listen, I’m heading to work,” Katara declares, gathering her hair into an updo as she speaks. Azula watches as she struggles with the zipper on her jacket. “I’ll be off by five thirty. Explore the city, or do whatever it is that you came here to do.”
“When’s your lunch break?” Azula questions, propping herself up on her elbows.
“At about one.”
Katara was nauseous. Her stomach was in knots and she felt as if she were going to be sick. Azula had offered to come with her, insisted, but Katara refused adamantly. She realized that they were rash, yes, that the only reason why her own family wasn’t more concerned, more agitated, was because her parents had eloped as well.
Katara wanted her father-in-law to like her, she really did and wished that it wasn’t too late. That meant showing up alone, as he requested.
The way he was scrutinizing her said otherwise — sneering, looking down at her as if she was some bug that could be squashed beneath the heel of his shoe. Katara recited in her head that she understood that he was rightfully upset. This was a man who didn’t walk his daughter down the aisle, who couldn’t take part in a father-daughter dance—
“It’s smart of you to do,” Ozai said, finally. “Trapping her down?” Disdain tinged his words, an accusation uttered with condescension.
Katara caught on quickly. “I’m not with Azula for the money.” It came out sharper than she intended it to.
He snorted, disbelieving. “Of course you aren’t. I suppose you also won’t mind backing up your claim.”
“Of course not.”
He pushed a hefty stack of papers toward her. It was some contract, to do with inheritance, Katara registered faintly. She signed it with a flourish, just to spite him — to show that she wouldn’t bend.
Except, that was her bending, wasn’t it?
“You had her sign a postnuptial agreement?”
“Why would it matter? The both of you are head over heels, or am I mistaken?”
“That’s not the point, Father.”
“If it’s just a contingency that won’t need to be called into effect, then it shouldn’t matter.”
“You had no right—“
“Didn’t I?” His voice raised. “The firm and the family’s legacy is to be protected.”
“You and Ursa married earlier. How is this any different?”
“Do not use your dead mother’s name in vain.”
(The send-off was delayed to the point where when Katara touched down, she made her way straight to the university.)
Katara rocked on her feet, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.
“We’ll see each other soon enough,” Azula said, low and soft as if she were trying to convince herself too. “It won’t be so bad.”
“Promise me,” Katara pleaded, her voice cracking. “You’ll call, text, tell me how your day went.”
“Have some faith Katara.” Azula rolled her eyes, but then she reached out, cupped Katara’s face in her hands. “I will, I promise.” She gave a little nod of her head. “You’re going to miss your flight.”
“I know, I know.” Katara let out a breath. “I love you.”
“I know, I know. I love you too.”
Azula isn’t a good cook. She doesn’t remember the last time she’d eaten something that came from her own two hands.
Katara’s shirt is short on her, the sleeves don’t quite cover her forearm and her midriff peeks out when she goes to scavenge the kitchen cabinets above head height for ingredients. Spices, herbs, and jars of pickled things are all neatly arranged in rows with labels in a tidy, precise script. The fridge doesn’t disappoint either; a plentiful assortment of meats and cheeses, eggs, and vegetables. Katara was always the one with a knack for whipping up hearty meals, and Azula broods wistfully.
Nonetheless, Azula will try to make it work as best as she can.
“Listen, I’m really sorry but I don’t know if I can visit over the break.”
“No worries, I’m pretty busy back here too.” The phone was cradled between Azula’s head and shoulder as she attempted to read through her notes from the lecture she’d attended that morning. A woman found a cabbage slug in her salad, sued the restaurant, and won her claim. If the professor had cold-called her the next day, she’d have been ready as usual.
“…Azula?” The voice on the other end of the line sounded hesitant. “Are you still there?”
“Yes. What is it?” She closed the book and set it aside, looking up at a wall clock. Two assignments still to be completed, a few readings, then there was also studying for a test coming up.
“Nothing, never mind. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
All was well, months later, when Katara did return, jumping into Azula’s arms as her suitcase thumped down onto the ground. Azula laughed as she lifted Katara off the floor, spun her around, and twirled them both in a circle.
Katara can tell her receptionist is unsure even over the intercom.
“Doc, there’s someone here who—“ A pause, muffled voices behind the door, then louder, “says they’re your wife. I can drive them off if you want me to.”
Katara exhales amusedly. “That won’t be necessary, send her in.”
“You’re married? But I thought… didn’t you want me to set you up with—“
The press of a button silences anything the woman can say next.
Katara breathed a sigh of relief as the display by the boarding gate stated her flight was delayed for another thirty minutes. Her last final had gone smoothly but afterward, she was forced to grab a particularly pricey cab, deal with her jewelry setting off metal detectors, and brushing off accidentally wandering to the wrong terminal. Her fingers flew over the keyboard.
[13:53]
i’ll see you soon?
I’m going to be somewhere
so Zuko will pick you up
instead.
ok
I’ll see you after.
[14:11]
I love you.
Zuko had a creased piece of paper held up, ‘Welcome Home Katara’ scribbled across it in black ink and slanted letters. A sorry excuse for a sign.
“Well if it isn’t my favorite sister-in-law!”
“You only have one,” Katara said fondly, stepping forward and giving him a hug. He took her luggage and they walked together toward the parking lot.
“How was your trip?” he asked, opening the passenger door of the car. She slid inside, buckling up.
“Oh, fine. A little tedious, but I’m used to it.” She shrugged, watching him start the engine. “Where are we heading?”
Zuko put his hand on the gear shift before answering, “I was going to take you straight to Azula’s, but…” He glanced at her, and his face softened. “You want to see her, don’t you?” Katara nodded sheepishly. “Alright, alright.”
They arrived in front of a fancy-looking office building with big windows and ornate glass doors. Zuko led her inside, into an elevator that took them up several floors. As they stepped out, chatter and laughter floated down to them. They turned the corner to come upon a hall lined with white marble columns and bright chandeliers hanging from above. People milled about everywhere; all dressed in suits and dresses, holding champagne flutes in their hands. They weaved through the crowds, where Zuko was occasionally stopped to shake someone’s hand or give a brief greeting. Katara felt out of place, in her sweatshirt and jeans, the only consolation being that Zuko wasn’t in formal wear either. Eventually, they came to a stop by the back wall.
Azula stood against it, talking animatedly with some woman, who was laughing loudly at whatever Azula had just said. Azula noticed them nearing, brow furrowing momentarily as she stared at Katara with surprise then deflated so subtly that Katara wasn’t sure if she had imagined it. Ouch. Not exactly the welcome she was expecting. The woman seemed perturbed by the break in the conversation and turned to study Katara curiously, eyes narrowing.
“Ah. Miss Lee, this is Katara. My wife,” Azula introduced her. “And you know Zuko.”
“Nice to meet you,” Katara greeted the woman politely.
“Married already? That’s impressive.” Nothing they haven’t heard before. Katara smiled anyway. “Let’s chat more soon Azula, I believe we have many a topic to discuss.”
“Of course,” Azula replied. “Take care.”
The woman departed, her heels clicking away in the opposite direction. Azula leaned against the wall again, and held a hand out towards Katara who took it and let herself be pulled into a loose embrace.
“You brought her here?” Azula asked her brother, tone flat. Katara could feel her heart sinking, and she tried to pull away from Azula’s grip.
“Don’t sound too excited.”
“No, that’s not what I meant,” Azula said, releasing her. “It’s just — I’m a law student, I need to network.” Azula turned to Zuko. “Which you knew.”
“Don’t blame him,” Katara interjected. “I wanted to see you.”
Zuko rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Azula, you were already born with plenty of connections. She deserved to see you.”
Azula gave him a withering look, before relaxing slightly, shoulders sagging in surrender. “I know. Thanks, Zuzu, I can take it from here.”
“I’ll leave you two alone.” With that, Zuko made his way out of the room.
“Hm,” Katara remarked. “So you must have some of your school friends around here. Should I meet a few?”
Azula looked conflicted. “I was thinking we’d get out of here.”
“Are you ashamed of me or something?” Katara joked weakly, the strain was obvious in her voice.
“Love—“
“Whatever. Let’s go,” Katara muttered, stalking past Azula.
(”I’m sorry. I’m sorry for what I said,” Azula told her once they were alone, in Azula’s apartment. Katara perched on the edge of the kitchen island, rocked her hips forward as Azula kissed her neck, leaving marks that would turn purple. “Forgive me?”
“I don’t know…”
Katara forgave Azula, forgave her when she ended up lying down fully on the cold granite as her skin felt like it was on fire. Forgave Azula when her head was between Katara's legs.)
Katara stares at her visitor as she enters her office, but what catches Katara’s eye is the large bag she clutches.
“What do you have there?”
“Lunch.”
Katara is skeptical; the Tupperware being unpacked definitely doesn’t suggest takeout. Azula sets one down on Katara’s desk.
“From… where?”
Azula tuts at the question. “I’m not completely incompetent. Have some faith.”
[09:43]
are you free to call later?
Why? Is there
something wrong?
there doesn’t need to be something
wrong for us talk.
we haven’t talked much
it’s been too long
Too long.
I have class now, but yes I
think later works.
2 Missed calls
[16:55]
hey i hope everything's ok
i miss you
3 Missed calls
[22:39]
Everything’s fine.
Just busy.
Like you too I guess.
1 Missed call
[12:22]
sorry.
we keep missing
each other.
we’re gonna have to
work on that
[23:56]
Probably.
4 Missed calls
[07:46]
i hate phone tag
[18:19]
So do I.
“It’s good!” Katara exclaims, raising another forkful of food to her mouth. Azula reads her like a book and observes as Katara chews and swallows. “Honestly.”
Azula smiles, a little pleased with herself. “You’ve made quite a name for yourself here. It’s everything you’ve ever wanted.”
Katara scrunches up her nose. “Yeah well, technically it’s in your name too.” She points her fork accusingly at Azula before eating another bite. Azula snickers, taking a sip from her bottle of water. “…And well it isn’t everything,” Katara trails off quietly, looking down at the remnants of her meal.
The conversation lulls, the sounds of the scraping of cutlery filling the room.
“You look hot in a white coat,” Azula blurts out suddenly, almost making Katara choke.
By the third visit, Katara loathed planes, airports, and flying for hours on end.
At least this time, Azula had picked her up.
On the last night, Katara studied Azula next to her in bed; hair tousled, eyes glazed over, watching her too. She reached out and stroked the line of Azula’s jaw with her thumb. Azula turned her head and kissed Katara’s palm. Katara noticed the dark circles under her eyes and her paler-than-usual complexion, noted how her cheeks had gained a slight hollow look to them, and sported fewer freckles.
“Do I have something on my face?” Azula asked, running her fingertips along Katara’s collarbone.
“Have you been sleeping?” Katara countered. Azula sighed heavily, closing her eyes and leaning further into Katara’s touch.
“Sure,” she replied tiredly. Her eyes popped open again, fixing on Katara. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You don’t seem like yourself,” Katara pointed out, carding her fingers gently through Azula’s hair.
“I’m always myself,” Azula retorted, sitting up.
“You run yourself ragged too much.”
“Don’t worry about me,” Azula brushed her off. She tugged at Katara’s bra strap and started working it off her shoulder.
“I can’t help that I care. It hurts to watch.”
“Well then don’t,” Azula snapped, frustrated. “Stop caring.”
Katara frowned, reaching behind herself, undoing the clasp. “You think I like caring?” Azula didn’t reply, simply pulled her own shirt over her head, tossing it aside. “You certainly don’t make it easy sometimes. I care so much that I’m here.”
Azula pushed her down into the mattress, climbed on top of her, yanked at the waistband of her underwear. It ended up bunched at her ankles. “Give it a rest.”
“I will not,” Katara argued. “Not when I’m doing all the work.” She shivered at the feeling of Azula’s hot breath against her chest. “It’s always me running to the Fire Nation, never the other way around.”
“If I remember correctly,” Azula mumbled, lips brushing across Katara’s bare stomach, “I never asked you to.”
“You’re kidding me.” Katara laughed humorlessly. “That’s rich.” Azula slid a knee between her thighs, pressing against her. Katara’s voice steeled as she arched her back. “Consider this the last time I ever do then.”
“You sure about that?”
A gasp escaped Katara. “It’s a promise,” she gritted.
(They don’t fuck the grudge out.
Katara glared at her through angry tears, pushing her away after they had finished. The front door is slammed moments later.)
“I’ll see you back at the house?” Azula asks as she makes to stand, giving her a peck on the cheek.
“Mhm.” Katara nods her agreement. Azula’s lips are just as soft as Katara remembers, and it’s enough to distract her for a while.
(It’s all a bit too close for comfort. It’s a good thing she knows it.)
“Are we seriously doing this?” Azula huffed on the other end. ”Stop being so damn stubborn.”
“Are you coming to Ba Sing Se?” Katara fired back, ignoring Azula’s remark. She bit her lip, waiting a moment, listening closely. Silence. “Typical.”
“It’s not that I don’t want to,” Azula insisted, growing more frantic. “If I could find time, I would.”
“I found time though, didn’t I?”
“That you did,” Azula conceded, although she still sounded like she was holding back an argument. “Can we just stop all this nonsense?”
“This isn’t nonsense, Azula,” Katara spat. “I want you to remember how you’re speaking to me right now.” Katara could make out a string of incoherent curses, followed by a sharp inhale.
“I’m sorry.” She heard Azula swallow hard.
“Yeah, well, I am too. We both are.”
Azula did come to Ba Sing Se, once, on a truly random weekend. She’d shown up drenched by the downpour outside, looking miserable and exhausted. Kissed her hard as they stumbled inside. They barely spoke as they moved towards the bedroom, the sheets rumpling under them.
But the aftermath was sobering. Azula spent the entire night behind the glow of her laptop as Katara rested her head on half of Azula’s lap. After the rain died down to a mere mist, Katara fell asleep, curled up in a ball while Azula continued typing.
Her next patient is carried in by a man who almost hits his head on the door frame entering. He’s cheery, chipper even, warmth radiating off him. It’s almost endearing when he strokes the dog as if it’s an apology for the jostle.
“So this little guy has a cut on his paw that looks a bit worrying…” he says as he sets the pet down on the examination table.
“Let’s take a look, shall we?” Katara steps closer. “Can I ask what caused it?”
“We came home one day from the park…” He pauses, seeming to ponder something before continuing, “must have been something sharp on the path back.”
The gash doesn’t look too serious, nothing to worry over. Still, it’s deep enough for her to do sutures. The dog whines quietly even with local anesthesia when she works with the needle. Her hands are steady and efficient.
“Poor Appa…” the man coos as she finishes stitching up the wound.
“Oh, Appa! I forgot to introduce myself, did I?” She shakes her head. “You can call me Katara.”
The man grins widely, “I’m Aang.”
She looks up briefly, a smile plastered on her face. “Nice to meet you Aang.”
“Likewise.”
“I don’t understand, if I come you’ll be busy? Isn’t it the holidays?”
“I’m working too.”
“You can spare a day or two.” Katara tried her best to be hopeful.
“A day or two.”
“You’re not coming.”
“I’m traveling down South. My family hasn’t seen me for ages.”
“Right.”
“Don’t get snippy Azula.”
It was supposed to be a surprise. Katara had departed home two days earlier than she’d planned, saying early goodbyes to everyone and seizing her chance to make a stop while she could. She should have remembered that things weren’t as simple as that; that things never worked out easily for them.
“But I’m here. For Tui’s sake Azula—“
“I can’t just drop everything now. I’ll be there tonight.”
“My flight leaves in five hours. I could come to your office?”
“No, don't bother. Can you just get a later flight?”
“I’ve got school too,” Katara reminded, trying her hardest not to sound as pathetic as she felt.
“Then go.”
“Azula!”
“Just leave.”
“But—“
“Go.”
Katara froze in the middle of the busy Fire Nation street, unable to move. She stood there, staring straight ahead, for a long time; until someone bumped into her from behind. She shook herself off and kept walking. “We’re not working out.”
“I see. You’re giving up on us.”
“I am not—“
“You are.” A cruel chuckle echoed through the phone. “We can forget about each other then. Go our separate ways.”
Katara was paralyzed once more, unable to utter a word.
“See, that wasn’t so hard was it?” Azula asked, her voice dripping with venom.
“Fuck you, Azula,” Katara finally managed to spit out.
“That’s how we got here.”
The line went dead. Her eyes burned yet watered, and she pressed her hand to her mouth, trying desperately to keep the sobs at bay. They were done. Everything was over. There was nothing left; nothing to desperately, hopelessly, claw onto.
(They were both tired.)
Aang loiters around. Katara had concluded her speech on aftercare, and even tidied up her supplies while they engaged in casual conversation. He’s funny — the type of funny that one doesn’t realize they have.
(Not the type of funny that’s sardonic, snarky, biting in the way it makes you reel first before you can even laugh. Not the type of funny that’s a bit bitter, a tad cynical and dark, dry humor at someone else’s expense or your own.)
She learns about his travels, how Appa and he came to be, and how he volunteers at the local community center every week or so. It’s not one-way though, Aang asks for more details about the clinic. About Katara. So she tells him about herself. Not everything, there’s still heaps she keeps secret. But she starts talking more openly than ever. He listens intently. He laughs with her whenever she makes a joke or tells a story—and he doesn’t interrupt, just lets her ramble on.
“I’ll see you and Appa for a follow-up next week?”
He nods vigorously. “Absolutely! Can’t wait!” Then he’s gone, with a spring in his step, Appa trotting happily at his side. And Katara stares at the closed door. He’s cute. Cute in a boyish way — warm, friendly, and inviting.
“Should I expect divorce papers in the mail?”
“Azula…”
“Katara.”
“I’m much too preoccupied to even think about that.” Katara gulped. “Are you?”
“…No.” A rustle from the other side. “So what? This isn’t permanent?”
“It should be.”
“But it doesn’t have to be.”
“We’re going in circles!” she almost yelled, her left hand curling tightly into a fist, nails digging deep into the flesh. “It’s unhealthy.”
“This is it then.”
”It’s for the better. Just because we couldn’t make it doesn’t mean we can’t be in each other’s lives.” A beat passed. “Please don’t be a stranger.”
(Her voice broke. The call ended.)
At the end of the day, when Katara strides out the clinic doors, a man is waiting in front of his car, idly kicking a small stone around on the ground. He abandons the rock once he sees Katara, approaching her with quick steps.
“Are you Katara Sozin?”
Katara flinches at her legal name but recovers speedily. She straightens, folding her arms across her chest defensively. “Yes, why do you ask?”
“You’ve been served.” The man hands her a paper envelope, coughing when she doesn’t move immediately. Katara’s eyes widen and she snatches it from his hands, tearing it open quickly.
Katara raised a brow at the random number flashing on her phone, her ringtone ringing incessantly in the otherwise silent apartment. She answered it expecting some telemarketer or scam artist and prepared to tell them to go screw themselves.
“Hello? Who is this?” she asked instead, annoyed.
“Ah. Katara.”
Katara sat up straight, putting her pen down on the table, suddenly wary. “Ozai?”
“Indeed.” He sounded uncharacteristically subdued, the edge of his usual hostility dulled. “I apologize for bothering you, but there is something that I need to ask of you.”
Katara braced herself, trying to remain composed at what insulting implication she was sure he would suggest next. “Go ahead.”
She heard some shuffling in the background and a cough, before Ozai cleared his throat awkwardly, and spoke again. “I would like to see you in person. If you’re willing.”
“Is this coming from Azula?” Katara couldn’t quite stop the sharpness of her tone.
“No, and I’d like to keep this between you and me.”
“Is this about money?”
“No. I‘ll also have to ask this of you; that we meet in the Fire Nation.”
Katara frowned deeply. “Is this important?”
There was another coughing fit before he responded, sounding agitated and almost breathless. “Yes. Very much so. I’ll send you the address and we can set up a time. Goodbye.”
Katara stared blankly at the device in her hands, a strange sense of unease settling over her body as she read the email sent by Ozai.
The address was a hospice center.
The jargon blurs together in her mind as Katara scans over the papers, reading each line carefully, making sure she understands everything correctly. There is a lot of it and the language is complicated, but the gist of it is pretty straightforward.
Katara has to look up every once in a while to ensure she’s on the right route home. It doesn’t last though, because she becomes immersed in the documents. It scares her, she’s never had any sort of legal dispute, and her clinic is a small practice in itself. She really doesn’t need this threatening what she’s built from the ground up. She doesn’t need anyone claiming malpractice to ruin her career.
It makes perfect sense that she collides head-first into the metal pole of the streetlamp.
”…Miss?”
“Someone call an ambulance!”
Katara lingered by the doorway, fidgeting with the strap of her bag, until the nurse came over and motioned her in, irritated at the way she was pacing around like a caged animal. She walked in with her head held high; after all, she did bear a plane ride for him.
Ozai was tucked into a propped-up bed. His eyelids fluttered open at her steps resounding into the room, which was sparsely decorated; a single nightstand with a lamp and two chairs positioned by a window. He looked frail, pale, and worn out. A pang of sympathy struck through her.
“Sit down,” Ozai rasped, gesturing to one of the chairs. “Don’t be shy.”
Katara obliged, dragging it over closer so he wouldn’t have to strain his vocal cords to talk to her. “How long?”
“The sickness or my inevitable passing?” Ozai asked wryly. He reached up to adjust his glasses and Katara indulged him.
She sat down. “Both.”
“I was diagnosed eight months ago. I have about six weeks.”
Katara hummed, tapping her fingers on her leg before searching for her bag. She brought out a box of mochi and hotcakes she’d picked up on the way.
(Years ago, Katara had attended some party he had held in his mansion, with businessmen mingling around. They didn’t interact, not that she minded. Katara was only invited to keep up appearances and had stolen away with Azula not long after her arrival. Still, before Azula had led her to one of the many upstairs bedrooms, Katara had found herself noticing that he would keep going back for the desserts on the buffet tables in between socializing.)
He perked up at the sight of the food. “Thank you.”
Katara smiled. “What did you want to talk about?”
“You should make up with her.” There was a certain finality in his tone; it made her disappointed for him.
“We haven’t been in contact for at least two years.”
“Doesn’t mean you have stopped loving each other.”
“You seem to know a lot about a relationship you aren’t in.”
His gaze was intense, unwavering. “Are you telling me that there’s another reason for a divorce not being filed? Azula’s whole family works in law, so it wouldn’t have been hard.”
Katara shifted uncomfortably, unable to hold his stare. “Ozai—“
“I’m not saying now,” he interjected. “But you both should make things right in the future.”
“Not everyone is you and Ursa.” Katara supplied strategically, watching how he seemed to look out the window wistfully, sparing her from responding to his misguided advice.
“I know, child. I know that,” he murmured. He took her hand into his own and she caught the faint mottling of blue veins on the back of it. She tried to ignore it, squeezing back gently.
“Take care,” Katara bid, standing.
Katara wakes up to prodding and what she irritatedly considers to be shouting. Her body aches from the impact, and the pain only increases when she tries to raise her hand to rub away the sting of the injury. Her head feels heavy and dizzy, but she forces her eyelids open anyway. When her vision finally focuses, she sees the paramedic kneeling beside her.
“Hey, hey, hey, don’t try to sit up. Stay calm. Just stay there and let us get you patched up.”
She tries to collect her thoughts, remembering what had happened to make her end up being loaded onto a stretcher.
“Wait!” Katara blurts out when they begin to push her along. “My papers!”
The same paramedic looks puzzled and then alarmed when Katara begins to flail her arms around wildly in an attempt to pull free from the straps. “Miss!”
“I’m fine! Just grab them for me.” Katara points to the sheets on the ground at their feet.
The man looks hesitant and apprehensive at first but ultimately relents. Though, when Katara motions for him to give them to her, he firmly refuses, saying something about concussions. Katara mentally grumbles, ‘I went to med school you know’.
Katara is stuck in the emergency room, with a doctor asking her endless questions and scribbling things down on a clipboard. She tries to think of a plan of action, how to deal with getting sued, but her mind keeps drawing blanks.
“Love.” Azula’s voice cuts through the fog in her brain. Katara hadn’t even noticed she’d shown up at the hospital. “Guess I’m still your emergency contact. What if I wasn’t in town? Do you know how dangerous that could’ve been?”
Azula stands in front of Katara, where she’s sitting on the bed. Katara’s eyes follow Azula’s movements as she places her hands on Katara’s knees, tilting her head slightly.
“Now how’d you get into this mess?”
“I’m getting sued,” Katara laments miserably.
“On what grounds?” Azula presses, leaning closer to Katara.
“I- I don’t remember exactly,” Katara mumbles, staring at her hands instead. “They served me those today.” She gestures to the pile on the nearby stool. “I’m not allowed to read.” The doctor grunts in approval.
Azula sighs, stepping away to pick up the pile, flipping furiously through the pages. After she’s done, she turns back to face Katara, “You walked into a street lamp because of this?” Azula’s lips quirk into a half-smile before she erupts into laughter.
“It’s not funny! My license could get taken away!”
“Relax,” Azula smirks, coming forward again. “There’s no way any judge won’t grant a motion to dismiss. Ruining a dog’s grooming isn’t a good enough civil claim.”
“That’s what this is about?”
Azula did a double take at the incoming call.
“Katara?”
“How are you coping?” Concern colored Katara’s voice. “Should I come?”
“Zuzu told you?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m completely fine,” Azula answered curtly. “No, don’t come. I don’t want to bother you.”
“A funeral isn’t a bother Azula.”
“Trust me, this one will be. It includes delivering eulogies to people who he met once for a business transaction.”
“I feel like you should be sadder.”
“Well it’s not like it came as a surprise, and you knew him Katara. He wasn’t exactly the most loving parent.”
“I also know that you loved him.”
(Katara sent flowers and well wishes.)
The doctor sends them off with instructions to rest and take things easy. It comes with a warning tone; Katara’s antics on the stretcher have apparently been made known to the staff.
Azula offers her an arm, which Katara readily accepts. She leans slightly against Azula and lets herself be led outside. Azula calls for a cab, helping her in before climbing in after her. On the way home, Katara finds herself drifting off on Azula’s shoulder, exhausted from the events of the day. She’s only vaguely aware of the feeling of Azula gently stroking her hair.
Azula is a maddening caretaker.
The first night, Katara is woken up several times throughout the night by Azula’s gentle shaking, coaxing her awake, checking to make sure that she’s alright.
The next morning, Azula confiscates any devices of Katara’s, disconnects the television, and doesn’t let her leave the house.
(It gets old fast. Katara just wants to check her emails, have a jog around the block, or sleep continuously.)
The thing about this whole situation that gnaws at Katara is the whiplash from having Azula out of reach to being able to touch her again. If she even wants to, that is.
It’s driving her crazy.
“How much does this mean to you?” Katara murmurs at dinner, looking up at Azula. They’re at the dining table in the living room. Azula had ordered food, then tapped Katara out of her nap. The question really is meant for both of them, but it’s Azula who flew a thousand miles, Azula who had sought her out. Katara isn’t the one who has to answer.
“Everything,” Azula replies, without hesitation, which irks Katara even further.
“Why are you here?”
“You don’t want me here?”
“I don’t know what to want Azula.” Katara slams her chopsticks down on her bowl. “I don’t know what I’m allowed to want.” Azula stares at her with sad eyes, but says nothing, continuing to eat her meal quietly. “Are you on leave or?”
“In a way.” (There it is.)
“Right. Okay. So this was just some kind of vacation for you.”
“You’re putting words in my mouth.”
Katara can feel the lump in her throat swell painfully. “I can’t believe you’ve put me in this situation again.” She trembles, feeling so utterly defeated. She wants so desperately for things to go back to normal. She wants Azula to go home. She wants her heart not to hurt anymore.
“No Katara—“
“Save it.” Katara tastes salt on her tongue and she doesn’t bother to try and stop the tears from falling.
“I’m here right now,” Azula tries.
“Yeah? Care to clue me in on the countdown?” Katara sneers, wiping angrily at her cheeks with the sleeve of her jacket.
“No fuck — you’re not getting me Katara.” Azula stands. For a moment Katara thinks she’s going to storm out. Instead, Azula is kneeling on the floor by Katara’s chair, holding her hands tightly. “I’m here to stay.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“By your side,” Azula adds, voice barely above a whisper. “If you’ll let me.” Katara snorts derisively, and Azula tightens her grip on her hands. “Don’t shut me out. Please.”
“Shut you out?” Katara spits. “You might not have been the one who walked away but damn it, I wish you would’ve. Anything other than how cold you were would have been the better alternative!” She squeezes her eyes shut, trying hard not to break down. When she opens them again, Azula is still on her knees but her hands are limp and her forehead rests against Katara’s hands. “You were ruthless.”
“I know, I know.”
“No, you don’t! Because you know what? I’ve spent five years thinking I was the one to blame. But you drove me away.” Azula remains silent, and Katara feels the resentment boil over. “I loved you, I did.”
“Loved?” Azula whispers, lifting her head up to look into Katara’s eyes. It’s the only time in eleven years does Katara see Azula cry. Her eyes are bloodshot and wet; her lip quivers uncontrollably. It triggers an avalanche in Katara’s chest. Without thinking, she sinks down to the ground.
“I—“ Katara gasps, unable to continue. A sob actually slips out of Azula.
“I’m sorry, Katara,” Azula chokes out. “I regret everything. You don’t deserve me, but I’m here. If you want me to leave, I’ll leave. I’ll go and I won’t ever bother you again.”
“I still love you.” The truth comes out as if it were torn from her own body.
(Azula kisses her, clinging to her like a lifeline.)
This feels like deja vu to Katara. The cycle repeats itself. It kind of makes her sick.
“What makes you think this time will be different?”
The bedroom is dark; Katara’s curtains are pulled shut to block out the moonlight. Azula lies there, legs tangled with Katara’s, her arm draped loosely across Katara’s waist. Their breathing is slow and deep and steady.
“I’ll go wherever you go.”
“Would you chase me to the Southern Water Tribe?”
“Yes.”
“Be serious.”
“I am.”
“Then what’s going to happen?”
Azula shrugs. “I can start a branch of the firm in Ba Sing Se. Or even in your freezing tundra of a homeland.”
“You’re serious. Do you really think it’s worth it? Us? The mess that we are?”
“You’re worth it.”
Appa’s paw heals perfectly by the time Katara sees Aang again. She smiles warmly as she holds it up for inspection. “So how do you feel Appa?”
The big dog sniffs at it happily. Katara lets herself chuckle. “Good boy.”
Aang grins brightly at her. “Thanks for taking care of him so well. You’re the first vet he’s ever liked.”
She ruffles Appa’s fur lightly and sees his tail wag in response. “I’m glad. I’m quite fond of him too.”
“And, uh—” Aang scratches the back of his neck, his face bright red. “I was wondering… would you maybe want to get coffee sometime?” He laughs nervously, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “I mean, I know it’s kind of forward, but I really enjoy talking to you, and you love animals and stuff and—”
One month ago, even one fortnight ago, Katara would have jumped at the opportunity. Now all she feels is a sense of pity.
“That’s awfully flattering, Aang,” she says gently, “but I’m married.”
Aang, for all his previous nerves, seems unfazed by it. “No worries, I understand fully.” It’s the way he says it, the carefree acceptance of her answer, that makes her admire him even more. “Yip-yip Appa!” His dog bounds across the room, taking its place beside him. “Have a nice day Katara.” With a cheerful wave of goodbye, he leaves.
But she can’t help feeling cheated, swindled, and robbed. She hates the unknown; hates the guessing game she plays in her head. Had they both patched things up quicker, with more nimble fingers, could they have had all of this earlier? After all, they have it now.
Maybe that is greed talking. Maybe she should take what she gets. Distance makes the heart grow fonder until it doesn’t. Katara knows that all too well; she wears scars on her heart. Maybe it was the pain of yesterday that made the bliss of today possible.
Were they lucky or cursed?
“We can make up for lost time,” Azula promises.
Katara mourns anyway.
Katara smiles anyway.
Katara loves anyway.