Chapter Text
Zuko has always liked giving gifts to people he cares about.
Sometimes his gifts are more like big actions he does for people, but the point is, he likes to show his affection. He likes it to be something that leaves a real, tangible impact.
And while things like lighting lanterns, hauling ass to bring in an income, breaking friends' fathers out of prisons, and finding the people responsible for ruining lives are good examples of what he likes to do for people, it's the little things that bring him actual joy.
He always loved getting gifts for his family when he was young, and he considers himself good at finding just the right thing.
So when he finds his mother's old earring box one day, he knows exactly who he wants to have them. There's only one person who could understand the value they hold.
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"Here," he says, holding out the box that afternoon. "For you."
Katara blinks, looking up from her perch on the steps. He notices Sokka and Suki stall their sparring from across the courtyard, but he doesn't pay them any mind as she takes the box gingerly.
"Um, thanks Zuko. What is it?"
"Open it."
She does and gasps softly. "Are these seashells?" She asks, lifting the tiny earrings out of the box. He nods. "Where'd you get these?"
"They were my mother's," he admits, and she goes wide-eyed. "She loved seashells. She found these herself." Katara stares at him, setting the box down between them. "She had a jeweler turn them into earrings. She always wore them to events here on the island."
"Zuko, I-"
"It's okay!" He reassures. "I know she'd want you to have them. They're wasted being left here."
She still stares and he pushes the box towards her gently.
Eventually she gives. "Well. They are beautiful. Hold my hair back for me?"
He does, and can't help but admire the soft, yet slightly rough, texture in his hands as she turns and fixes the earrings in place. He can tell she was in the ocean this morning. Her curls are quite a bit more defined.
"I was worried," he admits. "I wasn't even sure your ears were pierced."
"I got them done back in the Earth Kingdom," she says, and he can hear the sly smile in her voice, like it's a secret she got away with. "They were tan stubs, so Sokka wouldn't notice."
"Sneaky," he responds, for lack of anything better to say. His eyes catch Sokka staring at the dangling seashells in bewilderment and thinks that she did a good job of hiding it until now. "All done?"
"Yep." He lets her hair fall as she turns to him. "Do they look nice?"
They do. The shells are a delicate cream color, and they pop against her dark hair. They change her appearance a bit, highlighting her eye color somehow.
His chest warms and the words stutter and tumble as they try to reach his mouth and he struggles for a second until he lets out a soft, "Yeah."
She blinks and, suddenly somber, places her hand on his arm. "I'll take good care of them."
"I know," he says, because he thinks she understands that the little earrings matter more to him than he's saying they do. "They suit you."
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Katara doesn't wear the earrings every day. But he does notice she likes to wear them into town, when they need supplies. He appreciates that she won't wear them during bending practice, or while cooking or cleaning. Once, he sees her carefully take them out after returning from the market and fold them in cloth before placing them in her pocket and starting on dinner.
It's nice, he thinks, that she so very clearly values the precious shells.
"Don't girls like stuff like this?" he'd asked Mai once.
"Maybe stupid girls," she'd replied, and the corners of his mouth twitch down.
He doesn't think Katara's stupid. He likes that she gets excited over pretty things like flowers and jewelry and fine art. She had asked him the most questions about his family's old home when touring the many hallways and bedrooms. While Sokka had lit up at the expanse of the library, excitedly going through his father's old war plans in order to "get a better understanding of Fire Nation strategies," Katara had been far more interested in the history and folklore sections. Zuko himself had never had a penchant for history, at least not the boring stuff, he had loved to hear his mother regale them all with the poems and tales of old. He found himself all too willing to let her take as many scrolls as she wanted.
Now, looking at the way some scrolls had been, oh, so carefully placed back where he had found them, he can see that some of them have even been cleaned. He blinks in surprise. Actually, all the cobwebs that had been in here are gone.
Slowly, he moves on to some of the other rooms, the ones that hadn't been cleared out right away upon all of them moving in. The art room is near spotless, his sister's old room cleared of moth bitten cloth, and even the sunroom has been touched up. Most surprising of all, though, is his mother's old office, with the ink wells having been replaced, stationary arranged neatly and even the curtains had been touched up. He runs his fingers over the lace embroidered on the edges, which he vividly remembers being separated from the fabric due to time and use just over a month and a half ago.
He makes his way to the kitchen to find Katara prepping the food, again, for the third night in a row. The earrings are off on the other counter, neatly arranged on the cloth, far away from the fish and vegetables laid out in front of her
"Zuko," she exclaims in surprise. "What are you doing here?"
"You've been restoring the rooms." The words tumble from his mouth before he can think. She blinks, mouth falling open. "It was you, wasn't it?"
"I-" she looks down and wipes her hands before looking back up, sheepish. "Yes. I have."
"Why?"
"Well, at first, it was just out of habit. Back home, all the women were so busy with new children, and the men were either away or planning ways to stop the war. So the only one really keeping old things from falling apart was me." She smiles and starts taking plates down from the cabinets. "I know you don't like it that much, but there's so much good craftsmanship around here and I thought, well, it'd be a shame if it was left to just fall apart."
Zuko is seized all at once by emotion. He can't even name it, just what her words mean to him. But he has to do something-
"Let me take you shopping," is what comes out, instead of the many different 'thank yous' he meant to say. She blinks, bewildered.
"Shopping?"
"Or- or to a museum. Or a nice meal. Just-" He tries to stop himself from being stupid. She's looking more confused by the second. "Please. Let me find something to pay you back."
"No, Zuko, I-" she huffs. "This is me paying you back," she says quite loudly, as though he's trying to argue. "You helped me find my mother's killer. You more than apologized for everything you've ever done and I just wanted to do something for you to- to make you happy."
His heart does a strange jump in his chest. To make him happy? Happy? How long has it been since anyone had done something like that, other than Uncle? His resolve hardens.
"Still, let me do something for you."
She sighs. "Fine. You want to do something for me? Help me make all this food."
As Zuko follows her instructions on how to help gut the fish he makes a silent promise to himself to figure out some way to thank her properly.