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The first time it happens Katara is approaching sixteen and Zuko has just turned eighteen, and the tumultuous, tenuous time right after the war has passed.
But that does not mean there is rest for Katara, and it certainly doesn't mean rest for Fire Lord Zuko.
Katara highly suspects that Zuko has not once rested properly. Not once in his entire life.
They are sitting in his study poring over trade documents, and Zuko’s dark hair is falling down and into his tired eyes despite the loose, haphazard knot piled on his head. He has grown his hair out long, and his bangs are presently at that difficult place where they are too long to truly be bangs but too short to stay tied back properly. And finally, after well over half an hour of seeing Zuko struggle to peer through his hair, Katara simply can't take it anymore.
She reaches over and impatiently brushes his hair out of his face for him, attempting to tuck the stray strands behind his ears.
“You need pins,” she tells him, stern but affectionate. “It’s a miracle you can see at all.”
If she thinks his eyes are a little wider than normal or that he’s gone more still than someone usually might, she chalks it up to other things.
Stress. Distraction. Lack of sleep.
The general hysteria of being a teenage monarch.
Zuko stares at her for a long time, lips slightly parted. “Right,” he says finally, his voice unnaturally hoarse. “Pins. Will do.”
The second time it happens, Katara is the one that’s eighteen, and she’s drunk.
Like, properly drunk.
Drunk enough that someone is carrying her. It's something she registers only vaguely at first, with a detached sort of interest; the sway of movement, the way the ground is tilting, the way the little flicker of torches lining the sand of Ember Island Beach glimmer along the walking path. She’s also drunk enough that she’s not embarrassed about needing to be carried. There was a lot of rice wine involved. And shots of Fire Nation liquors that burned the chest. Plenty of other things.
Toph kept throwing things at her, so who knows.
In retrospect, maybe she shouldn’t have trusted Toph quite so much with her alcohol consumption, but it had been a great time.
Katara squints up at the person carrying her. Her face breaks into a wide, goofy smile when she sees that it’s Zuko.
She quietly watches him for a while and decides it's massively unfair that someone from down here, from this angle, can still look like that. She decides it's the line of his jaw. Or perhaps the way the flickering torches reflect in his amber eyes, or how his long hair cascades past his collarbones. She’s resting against the swell of his chest as he carries her, and it is comforting.
All of these are not thoughts she would allow herself to entertain sober.
Because she currently has all the impulse control of a toddler, Katara’s hand flies up and starts to stroke his hair. “It’s very nice,” she slurs. “Silky.”
Zuko tucks his chin down to gape at her.
Katara just starts giggling and repeatedly tapping on his jaw. “Hard,” she observes, very eloquently.
A spark of warm amusement flares in Zuko's eyes. “Yes,” he says in a low, lilting voice. He kicks the front door open with his foot and begins moving with her up the creaking staircase of his family's beach house. “That’s usually what bones are like. They’re hard.”
Katara finds this so disproportionately hilarious that she dissolves into a peal of laughter, stuffing her face into Zuko’s shirt. As he opens the door to her room, she pulls back and starts experimentally poking his arm. “Not just bones,” she announces, the words stumbling sloppily over each other. “Also your muscles.”
One corner of Zuko's mouth quirks up as he carries her to the bed.
“Am I heavy?”
“No.”
“Because of your muscles,” Katara concludes, nodding firmly to herself as if she’s solved something of great consequence. She pokes him again in the bicep, and a slow grin creeps across Zuko's face. Katara watches the movement with hazy eyes. It's so rare that he smiles. When he sets her down, she pouts.
“Don’t look at me like that,” says Zuko. “Drink some water.” He points at the cup and pitcher of water on her bedside table.
It’s probably been sitting there all day, warm and unappealing. Katara wrinkles her nose and pouts harder. “Ew.”
Zuko crosses his arms and Katara's traitorous, altered mind is briefly distracted by the way the muscles flex.
“Drink it,” he says.
Maybe a change of subject will distract him from the ocean-temperature water. “Where’s Sokka? Why didn’t he carry me to bed?”
“He sneaked off with Suki about an hour ago.”
“Eeeeewwwww.” Katara squeezes her eyes shut and violently shakes her head as if she can physically ward off the implications.
Zuko just chuckles. “You didn’t even notice? You really are gone. Here.” He hands her the water that he apparently and rather regretfully has not forgotten.
“It’s warm,” Katara complains. “It’s been sitting in here all day.”
Zuko peers down at it and frowns. Then he sighs and leaves the room, returning only a few moments later with new water. “There,” he says. “Drink.” Katara obeys, even if she feels full and her stomach is churning and the last thing she wants to do is consume more liquid. She gulps the last bit down with a dramatic lip smack and then slumps back onto her pillow. Zuko starts tucking the blankets tightly around her, then gives her a warm smile. “Sleep well,” he says softly.
His lips briefly brush her forehead before he leaves the room with a quiet snap of the door.
The third time is a year later, and it is easily the worst.
It happens like this:
They are in a long meeting, surrounded by snooty Fire Nation nobility and some advisors that Katara actually likes because they’re the ones Zuko picked. It’s miserably hot outside, and Katara can feel sweat pooling where she's sitting and under all her clothing, despite the lightness of her fabrics. When it’s finally over the first thing Katara does, as all the others are gathering paperwork and talking to each other in low voices about who knows what, is slip over toward Zuko.
When he turns fully toward her Katara is struck, suddenly, by how tall he’s become.
There is hair falling out of his official Fire Lord top knot again. Something about the lighting softens his face, and Katara feels an undeniable urge to cup his cheek in her palm, just as she did all those years ago in Ba Sing Se. Instead she stands on her tiptoes and methodically adjusts his hair back into his bun.
Zuko's reaction is immediate and unexpected: a deep flush erupts along his cheekbones.
And then he clears his throat and his face is back to careful impartiality, though Katara doesn't miss that he takes a small step back and away from her.
She is so confused by this reaction to a simple, affectionate adjustment that she almost doesn’t hear the sharp intakes of breath from several of the others still lingering nearby. An angry voice cuts across the room. “Your ignorance of our customs reaches into obscenity!”
The outburst came from one of the oldest council members, Master Yeza. He's glowering at Katara in clear disgust and outrage.
And Katara…hesitates.
She's used to hearing phrases like 'ignorance of our customs' and 'ruining our culture' and 'degrading our values.' Most of the time it comes from the nastier people in the Fire Nation, or sometimes even in the Earth Kingdom; and what they are almost always actually upset about is that the world is changing. Those sorts of people dislike her general level of political influence and outspoken views, and resent everything about her. Normally she would give this man a real verbal lashing.
But remembering Zuko’s reaction makes her waver this time.
Katara never wants to disrespect the harmless aspects of Fire Nation culture. And clearly she's done something strange, even in Zuko's eyes.
Uncertain, she glances up at Zuko again. He’s already glaring across the room.
“Watch your tongue, Master Yeza," says Zuko. His tone is low and dangerous and Katara has never heard Zuko sound quite like this before. "How much do you know of Water Tribe customs? Cultural misunderstandings are to be expected when nations mix. You will have understanding and tolerance, or you will be thrown off my council. Tomorrow you will present an adequate apology to Master Katara. Now get out of my sight." Zuko jabs his finger at the door, his eyes flashing.
The room empties immediately.
When they are gone, Katara swallows hard and breaks the silence. “So, ummm…what did I do wrong?”
Zuko grimaces. “Well,” he says, fidgeting with the hem of one of his sleeves and avoiding her eyes, “there’s a—a thing. With hair. In the Fire Nation.”
Katara stares at him. “A thing.”
“Yeah,” says Zuko. “So, uh, normally palace workers wash and brush the hair of the upper classes. But that’s only in a very specific context…uh, I mean, only they're allowed, only with us laying back, and our head in the wash basin. Otherwise, uh…” He fidgets further and the blush is rising on his face again.
“Otherwise?” Katara prompts. She feels something akin to mortification creeping in.
“Otherwise,” Zuko says, “it’s not really appropriate to, uh. Touch someone's hair? It's especially a big deal with me because I'm...you know. The Fire Lord.”
“Oh,” says Katara, heat flooding her face. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”
“Don’t be,” he says earnestly. “It's not a big deal.”
“So, is it because your hair is linked to your honor?” She meant it as a joke, but Zuko fixes her with a look that tells her she’s accidentally guessed it.
“Oh,” she says, blinking rapidly. “So did I just…remove your honor somehow?”
He gives her a small, amused smile. “No,” he says. “But there is a lot of honor surrounding hair and the top knot. Uncle and I cut ours off when we became Fire Nation fugitives. To...separate ourselves, I guess. It’s kind of a symbolic thing here. It’s also why I keep it long. Royal purposes."
Katara secretly thinks that she doesn't mind Zuko with long hair. Like, at all.
She finds it much wiser to keep this particular observation to herself.
“So I offended their monarch? Is that it?”
“Uh. Well, it’s not offense, exactly, it’s, um…well. Generally stroking someone’s hair like that is just reserved for, ah…” His face starts to fill with color again, and he suddenly seems very fascinated by something over her shoulder. “Private activities,” he finishes in a rush.
Horror sweeps over her. “Are you telling me I just did the social equivalent of groping you?”
Zuko lets out an awkward half-cough, half-laugh. “Yeah. Kind of.”
“That’s—I—” And then more embarrassment fills her as she remembers the other times she did the exact same thing.
Suddenly his previous reactions to her touching his hair make sense.
“Zuko, I’ve done this before!”
Zuko clears his throat. “Uh huh.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?!”
“Sorry,” he mutters, flushing deeper. “The first time was quick, and I didn’t really want to bring it up. I thought if it happened again I would…but then the second time you were drunk, so it felt pointless to let you know if you might not remember anyway. I mean,” he says, with a shaky little laugh, “you were pretty drunk.”
Katara’s mouth falls open as she remembers. She stroked his hair while he carried her to a bed. Silky, she’d said.
She buries her burning face in her hands with a low wail.
“Sorry,” Zuko repeats, sheepishly. "I should have told you earlier."
“It’s okay, I just—what, their first assumption was really that I was doing that on purpose?” Katara lifts her head from her palms, bristling with growing indignation. “What did they think I was going to do, pounce you here on the table? Of all the ridiculous things.”
“Totally ridiculous,” Zuko says quickly. “You. Pouncing."
"Us," says Katara, laughing nervously.
"Table."
“Totally.”
There’s a long, agonizing pause in which they hold eye contact a few moments too long. Katara thinks she may have accidentally looked at his mouth.
In her defense, he has a very nice mouth.
“Well," Katara starts in a too-shrill voice, stepping to the side, "I should probably, um—”
“Yeah, so, paperwork, and uh, papers and stuff—”
They try to step around each other but end up going in the same direction. She cannot help but notice how wide and warm his body is when she goes careening off it and stumbling back. Katara doesn’t dare look at his face when Zuko takes hold of her arm to steady her. She thinks she might combust.
“Sorry—”
“Don’t worry—”
They keep trying to go the same direction and almost colliding again.
Eventually Katara has to take his shoulders and very firmly guide him off to the side. “Bye,” she squeaks, and moves out of the room as quickly as she possibly can.
Two days later, Katara finds herself walking down a corridor and crossing paths with Zuko and two of his guards.
To her dismay—or maybe her sense of excited anticipation, hard to say for sure; possibly both, probably both—he halts when he catches sight of her.
And then he says to his guards, "Carry on," and makes a beeline for her, which causes her stomach to erupt with butterflies.
“I haven’t seen you much,” Zuko says carefully, as soon as he’s standing before her.
All of Katara’s skin feels hot. “Well I—”
But a voice interrupts, ringing through one of the nearby corridors.
“—shouldn’t be made to wait, I should think. Especially when it concerns the whereabouts of our daughter.” It’s a female voice, and she’s speaking irritably to a guard. Katara recognizes it as Lady Beifong. Apparently Toph did not deign to tell her parents that she’s in the Earth Kingdom right now.
In fact, Katara strongly suspects that Toph misled her parents on purpose and left Katara and Zuko to deal with the fallout. Zuko seems to think the same, because he growls under his breath, “That little monster.” Then he takes Katara’s arm and hurries her away, yanking open a minuscule door and tugging her inside.
It's a storage closet.
“What are you doing?” Katara whisper-shouts, stumbling against him.
“I can’t deal with Lady Beifong today,” Zuko mutters. “I just can’t.”
Katara knows the feeling. The wealthy Beifongs demand a lot of attention and service, and generally act as a collective waste of everyone’s time.
Still, she feels rather guilty that they’re hiding in a closet.
She can barely move. Zuko is so close and he looms above her in the tiny space, his hands curled on the shelves behind her. He smells of salt and incense and smoke, and the heat coming off him is palpable. Katara tries to ignore these things in favor of listening to the passing of footsteps in the corridor.
She’s wildly unsuccessful.
They both relax when the footsteps fade away. Katara reaches for the door.
But Zuko takes hold of her wrist, his voice soft. “Wait.”
Every single muscle in her body tenses and a distracting heat blooms in her stomach. Here in the dim light of the closet Katara can only make out a sketch of him, simple lines; she sees the shape of Zuko's eyes, the curve of his mouth, the angle of his jaw. But she sees enough to know that his eyes are darker, and he's wearing an expression that makes her breath catch. Boldly, Katara inches closer, aligning her body with his. Her heart is pounding so hard it hurts.
She has wanted to be this close to Zuko for a long time. She was almost afraid to acknowledge this before. Now it is unavoidable.
Deliberately, painstakingly slowly, Zuko raises his right hand and sweeps his warm fingers through her hair. His touch is light as a feather, and it could have been casual were it not for the look on his face, the vague tremble of his fingers, and what Katara now knows this means for him.
Katara stares up at him, wide-eyed, for two long seconds. Then she yanks the front of his robes to pull him down to her, and kisses him furiously.
When her lips meet his, it sets every nerve in her body ablaze.
Zuko wraps his arms around her and his fingers press tightly into her back. His tongue slides against hers like silk, and he swallows the low moan that pulls from her throat. Shelves rattle menacingly when they stagger and their combined weight is thrown into them. They ignore it. Several items fall; they barely notice.
His lips are so warm, moving against hers. He kisses her like he's been waiting for years. Katara can’t touch enough of his skin. His face. His jaw. Her fingers tug desperately at his hair and her heart pounds like the beat of a drum, right in her ears, loud and erratic. Zuko cups her neck with large hands and runs them possessively down her sides before he takes her hips and steps forward, pinning her firmly between him and the shelves. He starts to kiss down her neck.
Katara tips her head back and is rewarded with Zuko's mouth dipping lower, down to her clavicle.
He's wearing too much. Katara doesn't care that they're in a closet. She fumbles blindly at his robes, ready to pull them away, seeking more skin—
A voice sounds directly outside their door and they both freeze, panting hard. The little gasp of surprise that comes out of Katara’s mouth is quickly stifled by Zuko’s hand. His golden eyes lock with hers; his cheeks are flushed and his chest heaves in almost-silent deep breaths as they both listen intently.
“...was just through here, Lady Beifong. He stopped to speak with Master Katara.”
They hear an audible, indignant sniff from Lady Beifong. “Hmph. That explains it, doesn’t it? Probably gone off to make goo-goo eyes at each other.”
Zuko’s eyebrows raise. Then he grins, eyes crinkling with amusement. The sudden giggle that bubbles out of Katara's throat is muffled in his palm.
“Perhaps they returned to the courtyards?” the guard says, sounding distinctly uncomfortable. Lady Beifong sniffs again, and she’s grumbling something about irresponsible youth as the footsteps retreat, this time in the opposite direction.
“Let’s make a run for it?” Katara suggests in a whisper when Zuko removes his hand.
Zuko nods and slides his hand around hers, weaving their fingers.
They slip out of the door and down the corridor, hoping fervently not to meet anyone else on their way.
An indeterminable amount of time later they lay in Zuko's bed, curled tightly together.
Katara snuggles closer to his bare chest and closes her eyes with a content sigh. “I did have things to do today,” she laments.
“Me too,” says Zuko. “I’ve missed four meetings. Wait, no. Five." He frowns. "Six?"
Katara laughs. "How do you not know?"
"At some point it really all just blurs together," Zuko admits. "Anyway, it doesn't matter. No matter what I’ll hear enough grumbling tomorrow to give me a headache.” His fingers are tracing a light, careful pattern on her stomach. He leans forward and kisses just below her ear. “Worth it, though,” he says huskily.
“Yeah?” She's breathless and shivery again.
“Yeah.” He gathers her closer. “Katara...I know that with me being the Fire Lord, it makes things a little...complicated.” He hesitates. “I want this anyway. Me and you. But I want you to be happy, so I want you to know that I more than understand if you don't want—”
Katara props herself on his chest and cuts him off by gently placing her fingers over his lips. “You make me happy, Zuko,” she says. "I want this, too."
When he leans forward to kiss her, his hands glide through her hair, and she smiles.