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When Katara thinks of the older days, of her and Aang and Sokka and Toph, all four of them plus Momo drifting through the clouds on Appa’s ever-fuzzy back, she is always struck by a strange pang of nostalgia. Young and hopeless as they all were, bearing the weight of saving the world on their weary shoulders – there was a strange bond to be gained from it all. And if past-Katara could think of her future, one in which they saw the world safely returned to its long-ago state of harmony, and of Aang’s saviour crown plucked from his head and placed comfortably to the side, she would have been scared. Overjoyed at the end of the war… but slightly hesitant at the potential prospect of losing the family she’d grown so close to over the course of the most dangerous, thrilling, emotional year of her life. She’d have suspiciously clung to her memories, unsure what would be done with them, but present-Katara can only smile softly at the thought. The foolish thought.
Everything is better than she could have ever imagined, now that she can love him freely.
Now that the near constant threat of death no longer looms over their heads. Now that bounties and warrants and searches cease to follow them to every corner of the earth, now that they need not look over their shoulders everywhere they go. Now that Aang saved the world, as Katara always knew he would, and he is free to catch up on the childhood he lost so much of. Now that she can stand by his side, and hold his hand, and revel in the giddying feeling of safety. No one is coming to take him away. He’s hers now, for the rest of time. And they’ve got all the time in the world.
She recalls the moment she realized she was in love with him. It had been the most terrifying moment of her life, which was terribly ironic, in the grand scheme of things. The situation in which her epiphany occurred was no less unideal. Aang had been the most devastated she’d ever seen him, ruined at Appa’s disappearance, prepared to make those sandbenders pay.
She had calmed him down.
It had broken her heart, more than a little, to watch him that way. But what she felt in that moment could never once be mistaken for fear. How could she ever be scared of him? She loved him, and that was what she was scared of. Of the thought. Of its magnitude. Of what it meant – that she had so much more to lose. They were in the middle of war, never a day gone by when they didn’t have to run for their lives, already thinking of how they’d survive the next – and she loved him. It was as simple and easy as her favorite sea prunes recipe. She loved him, and the world was ending, so it didn’t matter. There was no time to think about what it meant, or if he felt the same, and if maybe he did because he kissed her, right before he flew off to his near certain death, almost as if he was scared and he wanted it to be the last thing he did.
Katara knew she was in love with the silly, charming, good-natured boy who had stumbled into her life one fateful day and had made a whirlwind of it ever since, and she was sure he loved her right back, and it was the most depressing thing in the world, because she couldn’t do a thing about it.
How times have changed, she thinks now, because it’s been five years since they defeated Ozai, and she thinks she has never been happier.
True, Aang might just be the busiest man in the world, right up there with all the world leaders, but Katara could not care less, because he never fails to make time for her.
For her, because they’re together now – have been since Sokka barged in on them on the balcony of the Jasmine Dragon. No matter how many meetings he has to attend, and public gatherings he’s requested to make appearances at, or people he’s bribed to endorse, or other things on his unnecessarily long list of duties as Avatar, Keeper of World Peace but More Importantly That Southern Water Tribe Girl’s Heart – he always shuffles into their bedroom at obscene hours of the night to collapse into her smug embrace. She attends most meetings with officials and diplomats with him; they’re of great importance to her and someone’s got to represent the Southern Water Tribe (and it’s certainly not Sokka). But Aang’s schedule is infinite, and the pity Katara feels every night he stumbles back into their room – spent, exhausted, and in utter need of the relief of her comforting arms – is often overruled by the plain happiness of getting to spend time with him. She’ll follow him anywhere, she knows that, so when he is called to one corner of the world, then the next, then the next, and then the next, she goes too. Aang once confessed to her he felt a bit ashamed of stealing her away from her family all the time, but Katara had rebutted this at once.
You’re not stealing me away from anything, she’d told him firmly. You know I can visit the Southern Pole whenever I want, Aang, no one’s forcing me to be here.
I know, I just don’t want to take up so much of your time when you could be spending it with your whole family back home. There was so much lost time, and… I’m always busy, Katara. I doubt this is a vacation for you –
Stop. You’re being very silly, you know that? You’re smarter than this, Aang. I want to be here with you. I want to be everywhere with you, all the time – why do I have to explain this? I don’t need to spell it out for you, but I will, because I don’t want you to doubt any of it.
He’d gazed down at her, adoration written across his face, gray eyes fixed intently on her ocean blue, as if she held all the answers in the universe and he was waiting to hear each, one by one, even if it took them a lifetime.
She’d taken hold of his hand. I love you, she’d told him. I love you and I don’t care what we’re doing or how boring it is or if you’re working all the time, Aang, I… it doesn’t matter to me, as long as we’re together.
She’s not likely to ever forget the way he’d looked at her then, his eyes full of stars at her little monologue, roving all over her face like he wanted to memorize the moment – like he wanted to memorize her – in all its intimacy.
She’s not likely to ever forget the way he’d kissed her right after, either.
Or the returned I love you, too, for that matter. He’d whispered it into her hair a million times that night, and every night since.
They’ve come far since then, since everything, and it’s a little dizzying, a little hard to believe, a little too good to be true at times. Then Katara turns and spots the loveliest boy in the world right next to her, never too far from her side, and all her worries drift away into a breeze he’s likely crafted himself.
He makes her laugh, and cry when she’s overcome by him and all the wonderful things he encompasses, and he’s the best part of her day every day, and she’s never felt so full of love in her life. Maybe she’s never felt love like this in her life, period. Maybe Aang invented a special kind of love, just for her. Maybe he was made for loving her. Maybe she was made for the same reason.
She thinks of all of it now, tangled in silk-soft sheets in the cozy inn bedroom in an Earth Kingdom town they’ll be departing from in just a few hours. The weak light of dawn bleeds through the open curtains without much of an entrance, draping the entire room in a soft, hazy filter. Katara likes this room. Mostly because of the boy sleeping soundly right next to her.
Shifting slightly, she turns to look at him, because he so rarely sleeps for longer than absolutely necessary, even though that’s something she’s been telling him to work on, because really, he has enough to do all the time and a lack of a proper sleep schedule won’t help matters. In any case, the sun rises steadily in the east, Aang dozes on, and Katara smiles to herself in victory.
It is short-lasted.
He wakes slowly, unlike the abrupt come-tos that always leave Katara giggling at his sudden wide-eyes and slightly open mouth. This time, Aang blinks, looks around, clears his throat. Spots her. Smiles.
(He always does that when he wakes up and sees her. It shouldn’t bring on as many butterflies as it does, but she’s a simple girl.)
“Hi,” he says, voice slightly raspy from overnight disuse. Before she gets a chance to reply, his arms tighten around where they’re already curled around her waist. He pulls her, impossibly, closer. Burrows his face in her shoulder. Lights her heart on fire. All in rapid succession.
“Hi,” she breathes back, because she’s often reduced to deoxygenated states around him – causes wholly unknown. “Good morning.” Then she grins, because she’s going to take her win for all it’s worth, all seven extra minutes of it. “You sleep well?”
She can feel his scowl against her skin. “I would’ve woken up earlier if I didn’t get back so late last night. I don’t know why those meetings drag on like they do. Half the time they don’t discuss anything actually important! Who cares if someone’s cabbages got smashed in a freak accident for the twenty-seventh time?”
“You poor thing,” Katara teases, though her sarcasm is not nearly as effective as it could be on account of her hands running soothing paths along his arms. Really, it’s his fault for having such soft skin. And for not wearing a shirt to bed.
He laughs, fingers starting to tap against her lower back. He finds a lock of her hair and fiddles with it. His favorite pastime, he’d told her once. Playing with her hair. She’d let him braid it for hours afterward; turns out his long, slender fingers are quite adept at wielding the prettiest results from her head.
“I know., you’re right. I’m being dramatic, and anyway, who wants to talk about work first thing in the morning? Not me!”
“Me neither,” Katara agrees, then feels bad for the poor guy. Stupid heart. “Look, I’m just glad you got a little more rest today. And hey, at least we’ll be out of the city before noon. Then you’ve got the whole remainder of the day off!” She looks down at him, feeling the pillow bunch around the side of her face as she pokes his chest. “Lucky, lucky.”
He grins up at her, one arm releasing her back to twist around up to her hand. He holds it simply, like he can’t possibly go one second in her presence without his hands on her at all times, and Katara feels the sudden urge to scream I love you as loud as humanly possible.
“I am lucky.” His voice softens, gaze doing the same. “Katara, what do you wanna do later?”
It’s a pointless effort to try hiding the stupid grin breaking across her face at his offer to spend time with her, as if they aren’t together every single day – and the one free day he’s managed to wrangle in months, one he could spend all to himself, doing whatever his heart desires – he wants to spend with her.
Stupid heart. Stupid boy. Lovely, wonderful, out-of-this-world boy.
She pretends to ponder for a moment, free hand set against her chin as if she’s deep in thought. “We can think about that later,” she says firmly. “Aang, we have at least a quarter of an hour until we’re expected to be up. Just rest for now. Here. We never sleep in together. We can figure out the other stuff later.”
And she half expects him to object, to protest, because they do have a busy morning ahead of them, and perhaps he’d like a plan to visualize what the rest of his precious free day will look like, and to not be suspended in mystery – but he does none of it.
He does, however, kiss her hand. Say, “Whatever you want, Katara.” Twine his arms even tighter around her. Tuck his chin over her head. Drop his mouth to her hair. Stroke his thumb against her arm. Hold her, for all of fifteen minutes, because she asked him to.