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Tempestuous	By : YoukaiFate Category: Avatar - The Last Airbender > Het - Male/Female > Katara/Zuko Views: 17334 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Avatar: The Last Airbender, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 4
- 5
- 6
Disclaimer: I do not own any of “Avatar: The Last Air Bender's” characters, etc. This story is for entertainment purposes only.

TEMPESTUOUS

Summary: Ten years have passed since Sozin’s war ended. Alliances must be forged between embittered nations, and Katara must marry to keep stable the peace. But can she ever find love in the arms of an old enemy? (Zutara)

A/N: This was yet another hard chapter to write. Keeping Zuko and Katara somewhat in character while dealing with their denial of who they are is going to drive me friggin’ nuts before this is all over. Not that I’m not already pistachio---but aren’t all fanime writers? ;o) Many thanks for all the people who reviewed---I’m startled by the response to this story. I was brought to tears and cheers by all the kind words. Thank you so very much!

WARNING! LIMES AND CURSING (DAMN FIREBENDERS)

Added A/N: I may come back and write out a lemon for this chapter and post it to affnet and mmorg. Sad as it is to admit, I just wasn’t in the mood for lemonade, and told a pissed off Zuko I had a headache. That lame excuse has been saving women for centuries…LOL! (Fate)

Chapter Five

He turned away from the doors and came towards me with a firm stride, stopping just in front of me so that I was forced to look up---and up, as he was far taller than I had remembered, even from our brief contact at the ceremony earlier that day. The thought of that brief contact, his quick, almost-kiss, had me flushing as I tilted my head back to get a better look at this man who was now sworn to me in ties closer, even, than family.

He stared as intently at me as I did him, our wordless exchange measuring the changes we found in each other. I wondered briefly what it was that he saw as he looked down at me, if I were as changed as he seemed to me. It was not something obvious---his hair was perhaps more of a true black than before, but swept back in the same topknot he had sported when first I met him. His skin was tanned, the stubborn lines of his jaw more defined. The scar that flowered around his left eye in ridged lines of reddened flesh like the outline of a bird’s wing seemed much the same, the tilt of his eye still narrowed to almost an one-sided scowl. He must have broken his nose at some point or other, as the refined, royal line of it seemed more hawkish than I remembered. He had the same thin lips, the same self-contained expression. The height of him, of course, had changed, and the wide breadth of his shoulders attested to the fact that he had grown into his height in the solid strength of his manhood. He stood proudly, as always, for he had always been proud, but with his feet more firmly planted on the ground in a stance an Earthbender could envy. His face was expressionless, as unreadable as a brick wall, but that was hardly unusual. His eyes, the color of melted gold, were as hard as his expression, but there was nothing unusual in that, either.

There was something there, though, something that had changed him in unalterable ways that made me feel uncertain and---to be honest---a bit intimidated, though the spirits knew I would never let him know that. Bad enough that his height had me developing a crick in my neck from having to stare up at him. There was something so solid and overwhelming in his presence, as if he were a banked fire held barely in check and only by sheer will alone---and perhaps that was what made me so nervous. He seemed so much more in control, so certain and sure of his own place in the universe. Every hard line in him seemed to exude power and control, strength and self-assurance as I had never and might never know, for my nature was different than his, more malleable. Perhaps there was even a faint part of me that worried that such power could overwhelm my own until I was all but lost within it.

Life, which had seemed so easily predicted before, was suddenly a frightening, unknown prospect, and I shivered, my eyes widening at the startling revelations that circled my feverish brain in dizzying eddies of useless doubt and misgiving.

He spoke then, in a quiet voice that made the flesh rise on my arms, though his question was courteous and inane. “Are you cold?”

I mutely shook my head no, though I wrapped my arms around myself to try and stave off yet another shiver. What an idiot I was, to be so spooked and for no good reason. But his eyes, his eyes were so molten a gold in hue, like lava, and they seemed to burn straight into mine, piercing straight to my soul. I could not tear my gaze away from his as he stepped closer, whispering softly, “It’s been a long time, Katara.”

It had, and he was not as I remembered. It was unnerving, and perhaps it was the alcohol I had over-indulged in earlier that was bringing my buried emotions and suppressed fears to the fore, for my reaction to him was not normal for me. He was so close I could feel the heat of his skin, as if the fire of his inner chi could reach out and burn me to ash. It was not a comfortable thought and I stepped back away from him, unbalanced by the sheer cowardice in my retreat.

Something flickered deep in his eyes, something I could not claim afterwards to have even seen, but his expression grew remote, as if a wall had been built between us. I frowned at the thought, my brows drawing together as I chided myself for acting like a scared little bunnyroo. Zuko was but a man, only a man, no matter what titles and trials he had inherited from his birth. He was the Fire Lord, true, but I was a Waterbending Master, a formidable one, and I was not one to ever back away faint of heart from a fight. I was as proud as he, and would not let him intimidate me any longer.

My chin rose, my lips set in a determined line. Taking up the silent (and probably one-sided) challenge, I gathered my courage and stepped back towards him, so that we were even closer than before. I had to tilt my head back again, and that damn crick returned, but he seemed to relax minutely, even grinning slightly as his eyes warmed, the tension breaking suddenly between us.

“You’re taller,” I said rather stupidly, not knowing what else to say.

He shrugged, a rippling movement that caused the muscles in his wide shoulders and arms to flex under the loose silk of his formal kimono, his armor having been discarded sometime earlier. “Yes.”

What was I to say to that? I kept staring up at him, feeling uncertainty creeping back up my spine. It was a weird feeling, but one I had gotten far too used to as of late.

Damn it.

“You’ve changed as well,” he said, his eyes sliding down to stare at my breasts, which were revealed far too much for my liking by the plunging neckline of my sorry excuse for a nightgown. I felt a flush burning up my chest and cheeks as I fought the urge to cover myself with my arms once more. I hated feeling so exposed, and he must have sensed it, for his gaze abruptly rose back to mine, an ironic twist to his lips.

Well, this was awkward. Far more awkward than I had imagined, though what I had imagined was not even close. What does one say when caught in such a situation? Hi? How are you? Nice to see you again. Glad---or maybe not---to marry you? “Read any good books lately?”

“What?” He blinked, taken aback.

I flushed, suddenly realizing I had said that last thought aloud. *Great move, stupid!*

“Heh…uh…just trying to break the ice,” I mumbled and stared over his right shoulder, not wanting to meet his eyes.

“Ice. Yes.” He seemed at a loss for anything to say. We both seemed stuck in the same boat and that thought was surprisingly comforting to me. The awkward uncertainty between us made him more human and less of an enigma.

I had never been good at dissembling. There were questions burning in my mind, but I wasn’t sure how to broach them. ‘What now?’ was a good one, but that seemed childishly unsophisticated. Nothing else was coming to mind, though, so I just stood there and so did he.

“So, what now?” I finally caved, growing tired. Patience was never one of my strengths.

“Ah…well…” His eyes flicked toward the bed and then back to me. I pretended to study my nails intently, flushing like a girl half my age. Not that I was that old, but I had seen and experienced a lot in my short lifetime and often felt older than I actually was.

Not that I was feeling anything like that now. Instead, I felt decidedly foolish, somewhat intimidated, somewhat put out and deflated and definitely tired.

“It’s been a long time, Zuko,” I offered desperately, forgetting that he had already pointed that particular fact out.

“Yes,” he agreed, his gaze closed and measuring. There was not much to read on those hard features, but his eyes were another matter.

“You look good. I mean, ah, that you look well. Fit. Healthy. Strong,” I said, digging myself deeper into a hole. The heat of another blush stole up my cheeks. One would think I would have run out of them by now.

“Yes,” he said, clearing his throat. “I am. Healthy, I mean.”

“That’s good.” I tried hard not to stare at him, or the bed. Both seemed so huge in the room, taking up far too much space.

Abruptly coming to life, he stalked across the large chamber to pour himself some wine from a bottle left conveniently on a sideboard. He lifted a dark brow in my direction, holding the opened flask over a second cup, and I nodded sharply at the silent question. I shouldn’t, after all my earlier imbibing, but I was desperate for something to dispel the awkward tension between us. Pouring with a liberal hand, he picked both glasses up and brought one over to me. I took it, my fingers brushing his.

“Should we toast?” he asked, his deep voice lightly mocking.

“What?” I didn’t understand him, or what he was doing.

“You’ve toasted enough, then, for one day.” The wall was back, and I felt chilled by the cool calculation in his distant gaze.

“No, I…” I floundered, not knowing what to say. I hated how much he flustered me, and was growing irritated with his abrupt changes in mood and meaning. “What are you asking me?”

“It’s not obvious?” he asked sarcastically. I hated sarcasm.

“No. It isn’t,” I snapped, allowing my anger to show a bit. “I don’t know what you are doing, and I won’t play a game I don’t know the rules to.”

He grew still, the expression in his eyes (his only expression, actually) seemed almost surprised. “You’re serious.”

“Of course I’m serious!” My voice rose, almost shrewish, as all the tension of the past few hours caught up with me.

“Then all that out there,” he waved his hand at the door, as if I would know what he was getting at, “then all that was not for show? To win the men’s loyalty?”

“Loyalty?” By the spirits, I felt slow and stupid, but his twisted word games were giving me a headache. Why in all the heavens had I ever agreed to marry this crazy lunatic? The twisted coils of his mind were too much for my own tired brain to pin down and I felt inexplicably angry that he could stand there so accusingly without me even knowing what it was he thought I was guilty of!

“That is a good question, isn’t it,” he said, his expression hardening. “Loyalty.”

“What are you going on about now?” I demanded, furious at his strange mood swings. Had I just married some manic madman? He couldn’t be as crazy as he seemed, although maybe I was giving him too much credit. He was Ozai’s son, after all, no matter how many times he had switched his loyalties.

“You’re a fine one to talk about loyalty,” I said, smarting under that chilling gaze. If anything, it grew harder at my sharp words, a flash of pain flickering deep in the golden eyes that bore into mine.

I felt immediately contrite. I never liked causing anyone pain, and by his expression, I had fetched him a low blow, one that had thrust deeply. I was always too quick to anger, always regretting the words I spat without thought as to the pain they might cause someone, too caught up in my own damnable pride. It was something my teachers had tried to make me see, something I had always known was one of my failings.

“Zuko---I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. Truly.” I held out a hand to him in entreaty. He looked at me, impassive, unmoving, cold and proud and hurt. The water in my very nature called out to me to heal that hurt and I could only swallow my pride and offer sadly, “I’m an idiot. I am always saying things I don’t really mean. I’m just so nervous and uncertain about all this…this marriage and everything. To be honest, I’m scared. Really scared. I don’t know you. I don’t know who you are or what you will do. I don’t know if this was a good choice or if it will even work. We are so different, and there is so much between us…”

He just stood there, silent, and I suddenly deflated, slumping back on the side of the bed’s mattress in defeat. There was nothing more I could do or say. I had already exposed more than I had ever cared to, and it had done nothing. This had been a mistake, a bitter mistake.

He was suddenly there, kneeling in front of me. I looked at him and could not read the strange mix of emotions that glowed in his fierce gaze. I made as if to speak, but a calloused finger pressed lightly against my lips, bidding silence. So I just stared at him, as he stared at me, and was caught by surprise as his hand lightly brushed the stray hairs that clung to my cheek back behind my ear. It was a gentle gesture, and for some reason the tenderness of it made my heart ache even as the beat of it sped up. I blushed in confusion as he leaned closer, his eyes lowering to stare at my lips, which I had bitten in uncertainty.

“I want to kiss you,” he said abruptly, his voice husky.

“Ahh…” I didn’t know what to say to that bald statement.

“May I?” He asked, his eyes boring into mine. The heat of him was almost palpable. I trembled, caught up in that heat, and wondered what the hell I was doing as I nodded slowly.

His kiss was soft, undemanding. His lips worked over mine with tentative pressure, a feather-light exchange that was almost heartbreakingly tender in its gentleness. I suddenly wanted more from him, but the warmth of his mouth left mine and he sat back just far enough to whisper, his breath still warm on my skin, “Do I really frighten you? I don’t mean to, Katara.”

I shivered. “I think I know that,” I said, almost wonderingly.

“We should toast, my lady,” he said, his gaze holding mine. I had all but forgotten the cup that still dangled in my tightly clenched hand, and I blushed as he brought his up to mine. Tapping the rims lightly, he said almost tiredly, “To loyalty, then, and to us.”

I nodded, mumbling through the words. “To loyalty…to us.”

I drank then, as did he, and when I was done he took my glass and left it with his beside the bed. Leaning back up, he cupped my narrow face in his broad palms, the calloused fingers feathering lightly along the upper curve of my jaw, close to my ears. He paused a brief moment, as if seeking permission, before kissing me once again.

This was far different than the other two. His kiss was hard, demanding, pressing his claim and desire as if he would brand his mark upon my very soul. I was stunned breathless by the fervency of his mouth upon mine, stirring up such a whirlwind of emotions and reaction that left me almost giddy. His tongue slid along my bottom lip, tantalizing my mouth with tingling sensations I had not even realized were there. Instinctively, I opened my mouth to experience more of that strange headiness, and his tongue swept inside to twine with mine as my breath caught in a curious moan of awakening need.

Confused as I was by my response to him, the havoc he was wreaking on my senses was too delightful for me to ever want to stop. He rose up beside me, his arms sliding over my shoulders to hold me closer to him. His skin seemed to burn with a fire that threatened to overwhelm me, but it was a fire I strangely hungered, wanting to burn as never before. The thought was disturbing, as my nature was not fire, but water, and I could only equate this hunger with the sea during a restless storm. The waters rose within me, pooling into a spinning maelstrom of utter yearning that swept me along on the crest of their rising wave until I was all but drowning.

His tongue ravaged mine again and again, his hold tightening until I felt as if we were melded as one and not two. I gasped and almost sobbed as his lips left mine to grab needed breath. His look was as stunned as mine must have been, and he said hoarsely, “By Agni, I never expected such passion from a Waterbender…”

I stiffened at the slight, but he only kissed me again, his lips claiming my weak protest and sending it spinning away on the chaotic whirlwind of utter sensation as the tides of desire swamped over me once more. Burgeoned on that rising wave of raw hunger and fierce need, I attacked him head on, returning his turbulent kisses with my own. Sweeping aside his tongue, I dueled with mine until I was exploring his hard lips as he had with mine. Demanding entrance, I mapped the hot darkness of his wet mouth, the taste strange and heady as the heat threatened to overwhelm my senses and take away my last breath….a breath I did not mind surrendering, so lost was I to anything else but the churning seas of our rising passions.

ooOOooOOooOOoo

Zuko lay on his back, his eyes staring up at the distant ceiling without truly seeing it. One arm was bent, hand under his head, supporting it against the pillows in a common pose, the other curled loosely around the shoulders of the woman who lay sleeping at his side.

His eyes lowered to look down at her, his expression tightening. She curled against him, her cheek resting on his bare chest, one brown hand splayed open along his abdomen. Her hands were small, but the fingers were long and narrow, the nails neatly clipped. The better for healing, perhaps. They were not as soft as they looked, for she had calluses on the tips and at the base of her palm. They were faint, though, as if she had once worked hard with her hands at many a task before but not so much as of late. Interesting, that. He would have liked to ask her about it, as he would have liked to ask her many things about herself, curious as he was, but he did not know if she would welcome such intrusion. She seemed, at times, to be as contained as he, himself, could be, and he would not have welcomed such pithy questions. He was very much a private person, always had been, and he would understand perfectly if she did not want to share such inane and trivial things with him.

Still, he did wonder, and wished that he could ever trust somebody enough to actually open up like that with them. It must be incredibly freeing.

And stupid. To open up like that---that was to leave a vulnerability and weakness he could ill afford. He was not like other men. He was the Fire Lord. He could never trust anyone not to use that fact against him. Even if she meant well and happened to drop some small little secret by casual accident into the wrong ears, then the consequences could be dire. He had seen that happen too many times in his life to ever let it happen to him.

He was not that foolish.

Still, he felt strangely lonely, even with her curled so innocently against his side. He stirred restlessly, uncomfortable with such emotion. Damn it, anyway! The truth was that he didn’t know her, didn’t have one clue, and he wasn’t sure he ever could. There were depths to her that he could barely sense, but they made him uneasy. She seemed so innocent at times, so naïve and simple and self-accepting. She wore her emotions on her sleeve for all the world to see. It was a weakness to be that open and accepting. It left one vulnerable to others in a way that made him twitch with discomfort.

Perhaps she was just shallow. He had known women---and men---like that, too many of them. They, too, had worn their emotions on their sleeve for all the world to see---but those emotions were quick and fleeting, without true depth or feeling behind them. He might even be lying to himself, thinking that there was more to her than he could know or understand. It just might be wistful thinking on his part, and it was terrible to put such expectations on her. She might be as simple as she seemed---though that, too, seemed a lie to him. He had known her, or thought he had. Their past and the relationship between them was so complicated, but she had always been so direct---at least, emotionally---when dealing with him. He had known her anger and her hurt, her bitterness and distrust. He had also---briefly---known her hope and her kindness, her open heart that had held room for forgiveness. He had betrayed that forgiveness, and she had not forgiven him again, even when he had tried to make it right between them. She had spurned his fumbling attempts until he had given it up as lost, and dealt with her on as cool and distant a level as he could, though it strained the friendship budding between him and the Avatar and the others of their small group at the time.

Her warm breaths brushed against his skin in a slow, even rhythm. It was clear that she must be as exhausted and worn out as he, but he could not sleep. It was hard for him to sleep. It was easier to brood, although that was not particularly productive and hardly worth his time. Normally he would have turned to any of the namelessly endless tasks that always awaited him---most of them the bureaucratic nonsense that came with his title. He didn’t know how his father had ever borne it. Ozai had been known for his impatience for such things, and had always palmed such nonsense off on his many advisors and sycophants. Zuko had decided early on in his reign that he would never push off even the smallest responsibility onto someone else. He was the Fire Lord, not anyone else, and if his responsibilities were enormous and growing more burdensome by the day, than so be it. That was just the price that came with the job.

Besides, he could hardly trust anyone to do as thorough a job as he, and he refused to let even the smallest matter go out of his control, lest it grow into bigger a problem than he would ever want to deal with.

It would have been nice, though, to have some help from time to time…

Ah, well, that was the price of power. There were many.

He often had to act more decisively than he felt. More in control, more commanding, more---kingly. He was the Fire Lord. The people expected that sort of thing. The Court, who had anticipated his failure when first he lay claim to the Iron Throne, demanded no less. Any sign of weakness or indecision on his part would have signed his own death warrant in bloody lines of rapacious fire at any time over the past ten years.

He was not a fool. If he were to retain any kind of command over the fiery factions of his Court, than he had to appear to be as iron of will as the throne. He had buried his inner doubts in his own abilities long ago, knowing intuitively that such weakness could never be exposed, lest his end be quick and bloody. He had become a past master at ignoring the niggling doubts that could plague him from time to time. Occasionally, though, they crept out of hiding, as now, to nag at him with insistent, insoluble questioning.

He knew full well his own strengths and weaknesses. Little could surprise him anymore. Katara had, though. The passion within her---the fire. It was unheard of in a Waterbender. Unexpected. Unsought, un-thought, and yet---nice.

*Now there’s a descriptive word. Nice. Idiot!*

He was an idiot. He had felt like one, walking in here and seeing her so---changed. So grown up. *So---succulent.*

Shuddering at the sudden image of his fat uncle that that thought called up, Zuko shifted his weight uncomfortably on the giant bed. The girl cradled at his side murmured a sleepy protest and buried herself further into his warmth even as he tensed, afraid he had awoken her. He was surprisingly loathed to greet her, uncertain what he---or she---might say. What could he? Good morning? Nice to see you? Nice to fuck you?

Agni, it had been nice to fuck her. It had been great. Phenomenal. Earth-shattering.

Scary.

He hadn’t lost control like that in---years. He hadn’t felt as alive as that in---years. He hadn’t felt as vulnerable and stunned as that since the damn day he had finally realized that his ass hole of a father could never, would never, love him, and would only use him as he used everything else---for his own benefit and unendingly mad ambition. On that day his loyalties had turned for the last time, like a compass finally pointing true north, and he had abandoned his so-called family for the Avatar. His eyes had finally been opened to the truth, all the bloody horror of it, and his own actions and honor had been found wanting.

He was uncomfortable with the memories, even now. Iroh was a saint to have forgiven him for all that he had done to the old Dragon. He didn’t understand it. If their positions had been reversed, he wasn’t sure he could have forgiven himself for all the terrible things he had done.

He hadn’t, actually.

*Why the hell am I thinking about all this crap?* He scowled, staring hard at the golden coverlet that bunched around their lower bodies. There were stylized flames embroidered into the rich cloth. Typical Airbender---subtly elegant and fluid. Air was much like Water in that respect.

She was elegant and fluid. Every controlled motion seemed full of flowing grace and certainty. He felt stiff, awkward, unbending and (shudder) Earth-like around her. He was surprisingly angry about that thought. He felt like a teenager again, caught in that awkward stage where he never knew what to say or feel. It was unnerving and irritating as all hell.

The fact was, he felt almost intimated by the Waterbender now sleeping by his side. By Agni, that was a horrible thought. He could not be intimidated, he was the Fire Lord, damn it! But somehow, some way, this girl---woman---made him feel as if he tread on thin ice, and all the more irritated for that fact.

Truth was, she was not as he remembered. She was beautiful. Agni, was she beautiful. He hadn’t expected any less, for the promise had always been there, but he hadn’t expected to be so overcome by the fact. She was smaller than he had pictured, and slighter. Slender and lithe, yes, he had expected that, but she was curvier, her hips and her breasts fuller than he would have imagined. Her facial features had narrowed to lend a delicacy to the high cheekbones and stubborn jaw. Her nose, slightly upturned, and the sweet bow of her full lips were the same, but her eyes seemed larger, more almond in shape than he remembered. It could have been the kohl that darkened her lids and smoked the outline of her thick lashes, but he didn’t think so.

Her hair, always abundant, was longer and more wavy and wild, though that could have been from the tightly braided coiffure she had sported earlier that day during the wedding feast. Dark brown, a duskier shade than her almond skin, it fanned behind her in rippling waves across the satin sheets. He remembered the feel of it in his palms, spilling through his fingers as he cupped her face to kiss her, and shifted uncomfortably as his groin tightened at the memory.

He wanted suddenly, fiercely, to kiss her again. Kiss her to wakefulness so that he could imprint his fingers once more across her tantalizing skin, experience once more that surprising passion that lent fire to his own, but he knew such a move would only be crude on his part. She had been a virgin, a tight one---by Agni, damn tight---and he had been a bit rough in his eagerness to claim her. Too eager. He had abandoned caution and skill for uncontrolled lust, and she would probably be sore as a result. It was true that she had matched his passion---he could not actually say who had conquered who there in the end. It was daunting to admit that he had actually lost control so easily, that the fire in his loins had burned so fiercely he could not now recall when and how control had slipped from him.

She was so delicate. So sweet. So feeling. So innocent. So---surprising. It was---disturbing. Irritating. He didn’t need such distraction in his carefully controlled life. He didn’t need such disturbing thoughts or such useless brooding. He needed distraction of a more productive kind. There were those reports from the Fifth Infantry to go over, the ones stationed on Crescent Island, as well as the information gathered by his personal spy network on the imperial court and their true reaction to his unexpected alliance with the Water Tribe. His troubled mind would be better spent in ferreting out any inconsistencies in those reports than in endlessly questioning himself, as he was now.

He did not want to disturb her, she was sleeping so soundly. Better if he took the reports to the small study kept just off this suite. Better if he put some distance between them. This was a political alliance after all. He had already spent too much time brooding on the past and the future. The future would take care of itself, the troop reports would not.

Slipping from the bed and her side, he paused as she murmured again in her sleep, rolling into the faint warmth left behind on the sheets from where he had lain. Feeling a bit awkward, he covered her bare shoulders with the thicker blankets. Satisfied he had done right by her, he turned away. Grabbing up the satchel of papers and a robe on his way out of the room, he did not look back as he left.
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Tempestuous