Your Heartbeats are Sweet Lullabies

Katara sat by the veranda, enjoying the last sips of her tea by small amounts. It was good tea, a new blend of Iroh’s and made by Zuko. Distracting enough to keep her attention for a time, and capable enough of keeping her mind off the lengthening tilt of the shadows. It was to be a day of celebration to the Water Tribes. And she did want to be there beside everyone, want to be there, and not feel as if she wanted to vomit.

She swirled the last dregs in her cup as she looked at Zuko lying on the ground, entirely unlike the Firelord he had to pretend to be outside. He seemed to be enjoying the view. A pity, the sky appeared to have a beautiful golden glow. She’d stare too if not for the risk of also glimpsing the cause of all her upcoming misery.

The last cup of tea from the kettle was already lukewarm, so she lifted it up to play with it instead. Warming it up as much as she could, then freezing it to ice. Shaping it into balls and spinning it around her hands to then melt it again to fall to her cup. Iroh would scoff at such display, maybe even be a bit hurt. Zuko was much more forgiving fortunately as he smiled fondly at her, probably having the same thought.

She closed her eyes, feeling just the water tea flowing around her with her bending. But with each moment that passed she only grew more sure of herself – the droplets in the froth pulled in with finesse, the ripples on the liquid’s surface reigned in with increasing precision – and her dread that she at bay started slowly trickling in.

And then she felt it – the moment of utmost surety, which kept going on, and on, until her sphere of focus was no longer just the tea in her hands.

Zuko's blood most the prominent – warm and lively – the largest reservoir nearby. His was the first her senses latched on to. She felt the little turtle-ducks by the pond that Zuko grew, that strange cat Miyuki Jr. that Zuko brought in, a rat that was probably being chased, and Zuko. She tried to confine her field of focus on just these things. But the more she tried to constrain it, the more her senses spread until it encompassed even past the boundary of the house.

There was a heartbeat where she felt calm, as if everything and her were the same and part of each other. A smidgen of confidence that she could keep herself together. Then Miyuki bit into the rat, and Zuko moved. The small rats flesh parted to make way for teeth, and the human body near her began turning to face her. And then the dam broke – the nausea and fear all rushing back to chip away her composure.

The water around her splashed all around her as she rushed inside.

Katara rose up to the surface, feeling the water break and the air rush into her lungs again. The deep heaving that followed being a sweet relief, and also one additional thing to focus on. She opened her eyes – they were never closed for long – and fought the urge to wipe at them a little better with the slowly gained power of repetition. The passers-by outside had gown into crowds now.

And she could feel every person, every body, every movement of anyone nearby. All that which can breathe and bleed she sensed. And it was tempting, so tempting, to just reach out through that bond and pull on it. Like a waterbender was wont to do in any other instance. Pull and push and alter its form, to manipulate it, harden it to ice and melt it back to liquid. It was right there for the taking. At her will and mercy.

It would be different with blood, sure. The bodies, unlike water, had a will of their own and would fight back. But she still had to put her mind into not doing it – pick up those stings and to tug on them. It was possible. It was within reach. The strings were in her hands. She could do it should the need ever arise.

Did Hama feel this too? The temptation to play with them as if they were toys? Yes, she definitely did, and probably reveled in it too. She had ample reason to anyway.

So she pulls at the water in her bathtub instead, having encased herself in it, turning it from freezing ice till her teeth clatters to lukewarm to the almost warmth that seems to be the waterbender’s limit. She does so over and over again until her mind wanders once more past the water around her and to the blood filled bodies past the walls and the house. So she breathes deeply once more and sinks back in.

It is true what they say about it being difficult to fight waterbenders in the full moon. Anyone would have an impossible time sneaking up on her tonight. And so she feels Zuko moving in her direction before he even rounded the corner into the corridor of the bathroom door.

She knows it is him, for he never left her sight. She knows it is him because he has been there even before the evening began – and now he hardly registered as foreign. She feels the thud of his legs as he takes each step akin to hearing his footsteps, never mind that the carpeted floor of the corridor would muffle such noises. She feels as he pauses before the door and raises his hand to the door.

She recognises the way his fingers curl inwards as he prepares to knock, the way his forefinger juts outwards. Another pause as he breathes in deeply and then some more as his heartbeat falls to a steady rhythm. The abrupt jerking of his forearm and wrist as he finally raps at the door.

The distinct tremor of his throat as he definitely is calling out her name, probably asking if she is okay again. He is knocking again. She knows it is him. She knows it is him because she can feel the veins his blood flows through, and she recognises it as his.

He opens the door and walks in, close to a Katara almost encased in ice, rather like Aang when they found him. She feels him kneeling by the tub, waiting. It is as she is running out of breath – and as she feels him to reaching out – that she rises again. Her face emerging amongst the floating chunks of ice. His hands were reaching out, and through the mild irritation of watery eyes she sees thin disks of flames petering out in his palms.

She looks away and melts the icy surface, bringing the temperature up to lukewarm again. Sinking until only her eyes are above, she blows bubbles through the water, occasionally coming up to breathe and refill her lungs. He keeps her company by her side, his heartbeat a nice little distraction.

It is as she makes to sink again, water icy cold again as the distraction that was Zuko’s body nearby began to falter, that she feels him moving towards her, looming above the tub and sinking alongside her. The water he displaces is enough to cause her despair, but the warmth he brings along with is a small comfort. He is warmer than the lukewarmness she could produce. This close, she could feel his heart – warm and lively like the hearth in an igloo. She snuggled closer to that warmth.

She realizes that he has begun warming the water beside her, taking care enough to not burn her in the process. Raising the temperature past what she could do by herself, but enough to be a comfortable warmth to luxuriate in. She feels the lethargy of the constant bending crashing into her.

Her senses lean into his heart – and the many many strands of his veins spreading from it – in intimate detail. His heart beating in rhythm to the life flowing through his veins, smearing all other presences into inconsequential blurs. A rhythm tempting enough to lull her into drowsiness.

It was as she fell into the calm that she felt assured herself once again. She’ll excel in this too. One full moon at a time.

Notes:

After sifting through a handful of discussions online I concluded that waterbenders could freeze water but not boil it, and that firebenders could heat up water but probably not cool it down much.

Examples being how Iroh heated up water being suspicious enough for Jet, and how Roku once removed the heat from the lava through firebending. The Doylist explanation would be that stretching the capabilities of these separate powers would be mess up the worldbuilding’s rule of cool .

This is my first ever attempt at completing an ongoing work so forgive any messy writing that may have gone over my head in the frustration of nailing down a writing style.