1. Whisper

Written in **zutara100**. 

**Fandom:** Avatar: The Last Airbender  
**Title:** _Whisper _  
**Pairings:** Zutara, Unrequited Kataang  
**Rating:** PG-13, I suppose, for small implications.  
**Warnings:** Aangst, implications of sex.  
**Prompt:** #60. Guilt  
**Word Count:** 181  
**Summary:** He can still hear her.

"It's late."

Katara almost faltered, but regained what was left of her composure and replied as evenly as she could, "I lost track of time." Aang nodded, his face blank and his eyes latching onto the flames as Katara quickly went on her way.

Like the preceding nights, she did not offer any further explanation; her imagination was running dry and frankly, she no longer saw the point in telling lies that offered no credibility. She did not look back at him as she opened her sleeping bag and slid beneath the welcoming covers, as she could not do so the previous night or the many nights before that. As she had every night since her first meeting with the Fire Nation Prince (a meeting that started and ended with blood and sweat, but both for entirely different purposes), she dared not look Aang in the eyes, for fear of what he would see in them.

And every night, his name fell from her sleeping lips in the softest of whispers. Aang desperately tried every time, but could never completely pretend that he couldn't hear.


	2. If Only

**Fandom: **Avatar: the Last Airbender  
**Title:** _If Only__  
_**Prompt:** # 84. Flower  
**Word Count:** 225  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Author's Notes:** Love to my beta, Irene.

_If only I had given her that rare panda lily._

Humans were prone to make mistakes; it was expected of them. It was a natural spoken and unspoken law that everyone in the universe was well aware of and agreed upon.

So why was it that Aang was having trouble accepting his?

Maybe it was because Aang couldn't tear his eyes away from the two dark figures in front of him, sitting side by side on the small, grassy cliff and staring out at the expanse of dark water before them. _His_ hand was on hers.

_If only I had managed to pluck one of those flowers from the mountain before I went down to warn the people in Aunt Wu's village_.

She turned to face the boy beside her (_he_ was much older, much stronger, much of everything he wasn't) and Aang could see the faintest glimmer of a small smile in the moonlight.

_If only I had given it to her before she realized that there was another powerful bender who loved her... Maybe she would've chosen me instead_.

It was hard to see properly in the darkness, but Aang's cruel imagination created visions to make up for whatever his sight lacked as Zuko pulled Katara in for a kiss.

_If only I had turned to the right on my way back from collecting firewood_.


	3. Driven

**Prompt:** #38. Obsession  
**Title: **_Driven  
_**Word Count:** 979  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Summary:** There seems to be a pattern to Zuko's life. Funny that it's Katara who's next in line.  
**Author's Notes:** Love to my beta, Irene.

&

It was safe to say, on basically any occasion, that Prince Zuko was whole-heartedly, without a doubt, _obsessed._

It began with his burning desire to win father's love and acceptance – for him to just be proud of his son for once – to be seen as an equal in comparison to his younger sister. Even after endless training and persistence – his passionate yearning for his father's approval pushed him farther than he would've thought physically possible – he failed his father, on many clumsy attempts, time and time again.

The Avatar was next, being his last hope to return home and regain any semblance of normality from his life before exile and hopefully for approval in his father's eyes. Zuko sought out the Avatar in every waking moment he had, just as he had done for his father's recognition. It consumed every thought and action, his focus never relenting or conceding for even a mere moment. The thought of returning to a home and being welcomed with open arms by his people – _his_ _father_ -- drove him to the point of flat out _hungering _for itHis fervor lead him far beyond anything he had expected to do as a younger boy, including traveling the world and following after an obnoxious, 12-year-old airbender.

It was the insufferable 12-year-old boy, in fact, that lead him to his most recent – and what seemed to be the _strongest_ – fixation.

Even as he peered through the thick branches of the bush, he distantly wondered what it was that fascinated him about her. She wasn't anything special, he reminded himself, watching intently as she took off her outer robe and vaguely catching it fall to the ground in a wave of blue fabric to her left. She was only a peasant of the Water Tribe. She meant nothing.

But his eyes didn't leave her dark form as she strode off into the stream, gingerly peeling away the lighter, transparent robe underneath – Zuko tried to force himself to look elsewhere, but to no avail – to take care of her right shoulder with a pang of something that was entirely sure of. Not that he really wanted to think about it much. He distinctly remembered injuring it himself earlier in battle _before _he had suddenly found himself incapable of movement at the sight of her.

He would've laughed at just how funny that might have sounded if he wasn't in his current circumstances. Or if he was generally a person who laughed.

He tried to remember what he'd been doing before he stumbled across the stream and its latest inhabitant. He'd been searching for the Avatar, sneaking through the forest to search out for his latest campsite when he'd caught movement to his side.

He certainly hadn't expected this.

Zuko told himself that it was shock that was currently disabling his brain to effectively communicate with his body, which was obviously not cooperating at the moment. He distantly thought of how _improper _it was for royalty to be in any type of situation similar to his current one and he told himself that the logical thing to do would to be to move away and find the avatar, who was surely off guard if his companion felt safe enough to go out for a bath.

But it was a funny thing about those brainwaves, because really, there wasn't much interaction going on right now. He wasn't sure if he was breathing anymore.

Zuko could only continue watching as she let the inner robe gently slip away to join the other on the ground.

Zuko was _pretty _sure he wasn't breathing.

He vaguely wondered what limb would be severed first if anyone ever caught him. He vaguely wondered what _he'd _do to himself when he came to his senses and realize just _who _it was that he was watching, like some perverted, hormonal, average teenaged boy.

He pushed away the voice that told him that that's exactly what he _was_.

But the thoughts dissipated almost instantly as she went out further into the water, letting herself relish in the coolness of the fresh water and savor how obviously refreshing the water must have to her sore muscles, after being put to use all day. He noticed her flinch slightly when her wounded shoulder reached the water, but after a few moments, she laid back – Zuko had to remind himself that yes, breathing was a good thing – and relaxed. Her injury had completely healed, he noticed interestedly.

Zuko was surprised to see her so at home in her element, as odd as it felt to even admit it to himself. There she was in the midst of a century-long war, completely at peace and trusting the entire world. _How foolish_, Zuko thought, narrowing his eyes in annoyance. _Her naiveté will be the death of her some day, placing too much faith in those around her. _Yet, it was intriguing. How someone who could've been exposed to so much would still have so much trust in the world.

He tried to ignore how the moonlight seemed to make her glow or the way that when she took down her hair, he had the strongest urge to touch it, to just run his fingers through every strand and –

Zuko stopped.

_I need to leave_.

Silently and without hesitation, Zuko turned and was gone.

But the images returned frequently. During the day, Zuko found himself often distracted and not paying full attention to his work. She returned every night, her face always clear and sharp in his mind's eye even when the rest seemed blurry, sometimes by the stream as he'd seen her before, and sometimes in quite different situations, though Zuko believed that he'd never mention those aloud. Zuko was finding it hard to concentrate on anything else. Including the Avatar.

_It seems_, Zuko thought one night as he stared blankly up at the ceiling above him. _That I have a problem_. And unlike the problem with his father or his honor or the Avatar, Zuko was going to solve this one.

He was sure of it.


	4. Remember

Written for **zutara100**.

**Prompt:** # 22. Hands  
**Title:**_ Remember_  
**Word Count:** 278  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Summary: **Zuko only wants to remember.

&

In the small, brief moments when he could think properly, he tried to remember how small they were, how gracefully they moved, how narrow her wrists were… the way the skin was so smooth. They were the hands of a true healer, of someone who was accustomed to touch, to gentleness, and showing compassion. They were hands that knew love.

His hands, he had noticed on occasion, were rough and calloused from hours upon hours of training, of days upon days of small, mindless errors in which his clothes and pale flesh were singed by the very fire that seemed to drive him in everything he did.

His vision had gone blurry and his mind scattered, but he was vaguely aware of these unmarked, healing hands touching his cheek, just below the jagged edge of his scar. The fever prevented him from being able to fully take in his surroundings, but that didn't seem to pose as much of an issue to Zuko at the moment because the pain was unbearable and he was beseeching every spirit known to man to just let it _end_.

Apparently, someone heard him because eventually the pain died down and Zuko could breathe without tasting blood again. He started drifting off to sleep with only the hazy, indistinct notion that someone was talking to him, telling him that he was going to be okay, to just hold on because he was going to be all right and for a fleeting moment, he knew the feeling of comfort and warmth of bronze fingers brushing his scar. Before he slipped into complete unconsciousness, he believed the voice.

When he woke up, he didn't remember.


End file.
