"Katara, he's not breathing!"

Immediately, Aang was jolted out of his would-be sleep as dread shot through his body. No, no, no, no, no, no, no—!

Katara, however, was faster; she was awake instantly and at Zuko's side within seconds, pushing away anyone else who tried to gather round. "Give me space!"

Water leaped from the nearby bowl and to her hands. She frantically pressed it to his midsection, his throat, his back, but to no avail: though the water glowed with a healing blue light, Zuko's chest still failed to rise and fall.

"No," she sobbed at last as the glow faded and the water pooled lifelessly over Zuko's chest, her blue eyes welling with tears. "No…"

"No!" Iroh's cry was even more frantic, the panic in his eyes plain for all to see. "Zuko, please, no!" Tears were streaming down his face. "Katara, please!"

"I'm sorry." She squeezed her eyes shut. "I've done everything I can. But healing takes time, and he doesn't have any more time unless we can get some air into his lungs—" Her eyes flew wide, her head shot up and she looked straight at him. "Aang! I need you over here, now!"

He hurried to obey, the others hastily moving aside to make room for him. When he stood across from Katara, she looked at him, her eyes deadly serious.

"Aang, you're an airbender. Right now, the only chance Zuko's got is if you help him breathe."

He was unable to suppress the gasp that followed. Katara was looking at him expectantly, with an intense mixture of hope and fear, but he suddenly found himself overwhelmed by a memory, the memory of the day he had earned his tattoos…

"Congratulations, my pupil!" Aang was absently kneading the skin on his forehead, which was still sore from the repeated jabs of the needle, but he couldn't hold back a grin at the sight of Gyatso coming to greet him. "So how does it feel to be the youngest master in air nomad history?"

"I could never have done it without such a great teacher." Clasping his hands together, he gave a brief bow. "Thank you, Sifu Gyatso." The formality of the moment was broken, however, when he launched himself forward and wrapped his arms around his teacher's waist.

"You are quite welcome, Aang." Gyatso's arms tightened briefly around him before letting go. "Now come with me, my young pupil. There is one last thing I have to show you as your teacher."

Interest piqued, Aang followed quickly after his teacher as he took up his glider. "What is it, Gyatso?"

"Something that everyone must learn upon achieving airbending mastery." They had reached a fairly isolated point on the temple ledge, and Gyatso turned to look at him, glider still folded. "I believe that it is especially important for one as young as yourself."

Though Aang's happiness at his accomplishment hadn't dimmed, there was something in Gyatso's voice that made him straighten his back and turn to look his teacher in the eye, to show that he knew that whatever Gyatso was about to show him was serious and that he would treat it with the respect it deserved. "I'm ready."

"I knew that you would be." Gyatso nodded with approval. "Now follow me."

Gyatso led him through the air to the opposite side of the mountain from the temple, where a natural recess had been stabilized and expanded. The elder who was at the entrance stood aside for them, allowing Gyatso to lead him into a room filled floor to ceiling with shelves that were stacked to the brim with scrolls.

"Woah." Aang's mouth hung open, a grin of delight spreading across his face as he took it all in. "How come I never knew about this place before?"

"The Secret Library is forbidden to anyone who has not yet attained mastery—and for good reason. Do you know why the Air Nomads are pacifists, Aang?"

Aang was somewhat taken aback by the sudden change in conversation topic, but thought he should do his best to answer regardless. Gyatso had never asked him anything without good reason. "I always thought it was just because it was the right thing to do."

"You are correct, my pupil, but there is also another reason." He began to move around the periphery of the room, and Aang followed. "The truth is that we must take special care for the sake of those around us, because ours is in fact the most deadly of all the bending arts."

"Wait a minute… airbending is deadly? But we don't even have any offensive techniques!"

"We do not make use of any offensive techniques," Gyatso corrected gently. "We keep records of them here, in this library, where the master airbenders can study them for academic purposes only. We do not teach them to apprentices."

"But I still don't get how airbending is deadly!" He knew that it was disrespectful to argue with his master, but Gyatso had always encouraged him to ask questions whenever there was something he didn't understand, and this lesson in particular was already making his head feel much as it had those first few times he'd tried out his air scooter idea, and had ended up getting spun around repeatedly only to be unceremoniously thrown against the nearest available wall. "I mean… it's just air! Yeah, it can hurt if you get hit with it too hard, but I don't see how that's worse than a rock to the head, or a fireball to the face, or being dragged underwater." He sank cross-legged to the ground as he talked, propping his chin in his hand as he tried to work out this puzzle.

"Think about it, Aang." Gyatso sat down across from him, always the patient teacher. "You say that it is 'just' air not because air is insignificant, but because it is so ubiquitous that you have come to take it for granted. All four of the elements are important in their own way, but there is not a single human who can survive for more than a few minutes without air."

"I… guess that makes sense." A truly horrifying thought occurred to him then. "So you're saying that just because I'm an airbender, I could end someone's life, just like that? Just by taking away their air?"

Gyatso nodded grimly. "That, and more. The healers of the Water Tribes could tell you that the human body exists in a delicate balance—too much air in the wrong places will kill just as surely and far more swiftly than air deprivation, and in ways that are rather more messy and painful, as well."

A shiver went through him, and Aang drew his legs in close to his body, hugging his knees against his chest. "I think I'm gonna have nightmares tonight…"

"I am not sharing this with you to upset you, Aang, and I regret that I have caused you such grief." Gyatso moved close enough to wrap an arm around his shoulders, and Aang leaned against him, taking comfort from his embrace. "I am only reminding you of why, as an airbender, you must always take great care with your art." Aang nodded, his face still buried in Gyatso's robes, and the arm tightened around him. "If anything, that this information has caused you such distress gives me great hope that you will never be tempted to use any of the techniques you might learn here."

Aang's breath hitched as the memory ended. He did in fact know of a technique to move air into a person's lungs, but it was intended to be deadly, its purpose to kill from the inside out. What's more, he had only managed to read half the scroll before he had become too horrified to continue, and of course he had never practiced it in its original form, much less modified it to the extent that it would be necessary here.

"I… I don't know if I can do this, Katara." He looked down at his friend, and saw to his alarm that Zuko's lips had already acquired a tinge of blue—but the possibility of what Aang could do to him, with even a little bit of well-meaning airbending… "This isn't like flying, or making an air scooter. If I mess up—even a little—I could very easily kill him."

"I know." Katara leaned forward to cover his hands with her own, and in that moment he knew that she knew exactly what she was asking of him. "But if you don't at least try, we're going to lose him for sure."

Aang took a deep breath. "Okay. I'll try."

"Don't worry, Twinkletoes," Toph reassured, her feet and hands alike pressed firmly to the floor. "I'll be sure to let you know if you're going too far." He nodded his thanks.

"What do you need from us?" Iroh asked.

"Absolute quiet. I can't afford any distractions right now."

Sokka nodded. "We should probably let the palace staff know as well." Simultaneously, he and Suki got up and moved to the door.

Again, Aang steadied his breathing. He had to get this right, and he had to get it right the first time. The consequences of failure were just too awful to think about.

You can do it. I know you can. You're a talented kid.

Focusing all of his concentration on his task, Aang bent the first breath of air into Zuko's lungs.

It was a tense few minutes, and at first Aang's work proceeded in fits and starts. Eventually, however, he got the hang of it, and when he and Zuko began to breathe in unison, with no sudden stops or terse warnings from Toph, everyone let out a breath they were not aware they had been holding.

The occupants of the room also exchanged a few uneasy glances, however. What they were thinking went unspoken, but was nevertheless first and foremost in everyone's mind: Aang was the last airbender on the planet, and if he had to stop, for any reason, there was no one else who could take over. They would keep this up until Zuko started breathing on his own again—or Aang collapsed from exhaustion.

The irony was not lost on anyone that, a hundred years after Sozin had wiped out the Air Nomads, his great-grandson was now fighting for his life, only hanging on by a thread thanks to the aid of the Avatar whose extinction he had sought.

Katara, however, did not have time to think, a fact for which she was at least somewhat grateful. She was too busy with her healing, stubbornly clearing chi paths even as they were blocking faster than she could unblock them, and coaxing blood to flow where it was needed most. Even as she worked, however, she knew that she was only providing support. Ultimately, this was something that Zuko would have to fight his way through on his own.

He's stubborn, Katara reminded herself. He spent years searching for the Avatar and months chasing Aang all over the world. He's survived an exploding ship, submersion in polar waters, starvation, my waterbending, and a bolt of lightning to the chest. Zuko's a fighter. He can survive this too.

A flicker of motion caught the corner of her eye, and she turned to see that Sokka and Suki (face now clean of makeup) were coming back into the room, carrying a large bucket of water between them. Most of this went to replenish her bending water, for which she smiled in thanks; the rest was poured into cups and passed around. Katara took hers in one continuous swallow before getting back to work; Iroh only drank a few sips before setting his portion aside. Sokka set a full glass beside Toph, who was now taking her turn to sleep, curled up on the floor with her back pressed up against the foot of Zuko's bed. Suki, meanwhile, picked her way across the room to stand by Aang, holding the last glass of water out to him.

Knowing full well the potential consequences of distracting him, she did not touch him or speak, did not even make any motions to get his attention. Instead, Suki simply stood beside him, close but not close enough to potentially startle him, and waited for him to notice her.

It took him a few minutes, but eventually Aang's eyes flicked over to where she stood. Suki held out the glass of water, indicating he should take it—he was only using one hand to bend the air at this point, and could easily afford the attention to drink if he needed to. At the sight of the water, Aang's eyes widened slightly, and he licked dry lips—but then he let out a sigh and turned away in a refusal that couldn't have been plainer if he'd said it out loud.

Katara realized that Aang wasn't drinking because as things were at the moment, he couldn't even afford a trip to the bathroom.

Catching Suki's eye across the bed, Katara sent her an intense look and shook her head, telling her without words to respect Aang's decision. Thankfully, the other girl got the message and moved instead to slump against the far wall next to Sokka, pillowing her head on his shoulder. They were asleep within minutes.

Now, the only ones awake were Aang, Iroh and herself. The night crawled by with agonizing slowness. Once, Katara raised her head to glance out the window, and saw faint streaks of light on the horizon. After what she could have sworn amounted to several hours, she looked again, to see that the only the barest tinge of color had been added.

The morning sky was streaked with fiery yellow when Katara noticed something that made her smile in relief. Zuko's condition had not improved, per se—his body was still only hanging on by the barest thread, and he still could not breathe without Aang's assistance—but he was no longer actively deteriorating, either. It seemed that the medicine had finally taken effect, and they were nearly through the worst.

Nevertheless, she continued to work on Zuko throughout the rest of the morning, concentrating her healing powers on the vital organs that were on the brink of shutting down because of the poison. The task was a wearing one. She might have gotten some rest during the earlier part of the night, but it hadn't been nearly enough to make up for her earlier lack of sleep coupled with the steady depletion of her energy, and Katara found herself once again swaying where she stood. By the time that Toph woke up, mere minutes before noon, Katara had decided that she was going to need to sleep again, and soon, before her body made the decision for her.

Yawning, she bent her water back into the bowl and made her way over to Toph, trying not to stagger as she went. A touch to the younger girl's shoulder conveyed her request; a thumbs-up from the blind earthbender assured that it would be granted. Reassured that Zuko would be looked after during her absence, however brief, and that she would be notified right away in the event of another emergency, Katara slipped out of the room to take care of a much-needed bathroom break before she slept—among other things.

Sokka was already in the kitchen. Wordlessly, he passed her a bowl as she came in—it seemed they had grown used to not speaking, to communicating without words even when not dictated by necessity. The staff, too, was quiet, conversing in whispers that were hastily hushed whenever they came within hearing distance of Katara or her brother. Even Sokka, every few minutes, would turn toward her with his mouth open as if to speak, but then thought better of it and went back to his noodles.

As she finished her breakfast, handing her bowl to a passing servant with a nod of thanks, Sokka reached out to rest a hand on her shoulder. The contact was swift, fleeting, and he only gave a brief squeeze before letting go, but she nevertheless smiled slightly in thanks, brushing her fingers lightly over his before he could decide that such an offer of comfort was too unmanly and withdraw.

Not wanting to torture Aang, she made sure to drink her fill of water while she was still in the kitchen. Before she left, however, she gave a hushed request to one of the cooks—to make up a thick broth, without meat, without any ingredients at all that would require chewing or the use of utensils, to be sent back with Sokka whenever he was ready to leave. Aang might have been resisting water, but he would need to keep up his strength—she felt a pang of guilt at the thought that she was about to sleep, when he didn't even have the luxury of sitting down.

It's for the best, she reminded herself as she walked back to the room, traversing the hallways of the Fire Palace in a fuzzy-headed haze. You know it, and you know that Aang knows it too. We'll all be able to rest after this is over.

With that thought—she refused to think anything otherwise—she turned the final corner that would bring her back to the infirmary, only to find Iroh waiting for her outside the door.

He looked tired. Dark circles stood out under his eyes, and his normally jovial expression was nowhere to be found, his face instead dragged down by desperation and grief. In spite of his gray hair and obvious wrinkles, Katara had never before thought of him as old. Yet now, as he stood before her, eyes downcast, he was no longer the Dragon of the West, the Fire Nation's most renowned general. He was simply Zuko's uncle, begging her to tell him what would happen to his son, and Katara thought she had never seen anyone who looked older.

"Tell me honestly," he said, before she could even open her mouth or get her tired brain to find the words that were needed. "Everything—one way or the other."

Katara rubbed her forehead—not in exasperation with him, but because she was so tired and so worn and so worried for her friend. It was a few minutes before she found the right words, but Iroh waited patiently. Patience, at least, was one thing that he had in abundance—the man had raised Zuko, after all.

"He's got a chance," she admitted at last. "It… isn't a very good chance. At the moment, his condition isn't deteriorating anymore, but he's at a very low point right now—and he could start slipping away again at any time."

"I see." He turned back to the door, staring at it as if his gaze could pierce the wood. "Is there any hope at all?"

"There might be." She rubbed her arms. "Tonight is the full moon."

"I see. Then you should rest now."

"I will." Her last word ended on a yawn. Before moving into the room, however, she turned to Iroh. "You should rest too."

He smiled then, sadly. "You still have the potential to do something useful, a potential which will be helped by rest. I can do nothing—all I have is the choice to waste time, or cherish it. I think that the sun is helping him now," Iroh added quietly before she eased open the door. "Hopefully the moon will help him too."

In spite of her weariness, Katara slept fitfully. Even after curling up on her pallet with the curtains drawn, she tossed and turned for what seemed like an eternity before drifting off into an uneasy sleep that didn't feel like sleep at all. Dreams came to her then, dreams that felt real; she would hear Iroh's sob, feel Sokka dragging her stone-weary body out of bed with the pronouncement that Aang had collapsed, that Zuko had died while she slept, only for her eyes to fly open to see Aang still at his post and Toph still at hers, Zuko still hanging on (if only just), and Sokka still snoring beside her with Suki curled up against him. When this happened she would breathe a sigh of relief, spare one last glance for Iroh (who was holding a cool cloth to Zuko's forehead and hadn't moved once), close her eyes once more and try to sleep again, for everyone's sake.

By the time that the natural light in the room began to dim once more, Katara did not feel rested. She was, however, no longer on the verge of collapse, and she supposed that that would have to do. Wearily, she pushed aside the blankets and got to her feet—the last streaks of sunlight were streaming in through the window, painting the room blood-red.

She was, it seemed, the last one to awaken. Suki handed her a bowl as she sat up, her hair tangling in a ratty mess down her back; Sokka was already eating. Katara swallowed her breakfast gratefully, the food reviving her far more effectively than her attempt at sleep. Once she had eaten, she pushed herself to her feet. Toph also stirred slightly as she stood, but only when Katara touched a hand to her shoulder did the blind earthbender give a nod, yawn, and curl up on the floor to take her own turn to sleep.

Dipping her hands into the large bowl of water, Katara got back to work. Though gratified to find that Zuko's condition had not deteriorated further while she'd slept, she also felt a jolt of worry that he had not shown any improvement or regained consciousness, nor had he started breathing on his own. Aang was still working doggedly away without a single complaint, but the dark circles under his eyes were plain for all to see, and Katara noted to her alarm that his hands were now trembling slightly as well. The last time that Aang had tried to go without sleep… well, she didn't even want to think about what would happen if he started hallucinating again. She knew right then that she was going to have to heal Zuko at least enough to restore his breathing, and do it tonight—if she didn't, there wasn't going to be another chance.

With that thought in mind, she focused all of her concentration on his lungs. Though she knew that her healing would be more efficient if she had had access to Zuko's back, changing his position was a risk that she wasn't yet willing to take, not with Aang in the state he was in. So instead, she concentrated her energy on his midsection and on the muscle Yugoda had once taught her controlled the breathing—and which, in Zuko's case, seemed to have seized up and stopped working.

As the sky outside darkened, Katara could feel the tug of the rising Moon, pushing and pulling the water of the oceans, lending its strength to her own. Even as her healing powers peaked, however, as the last rays of the sun slipped below the horizon she once more found Zuko's condition beginning to deteriorate: without the strength of the sun to sustain him, he was going to start slipping away from them once again.

Just focus on getting him breathing again. Her hands shook even as the water she wielded was suffused with a blue glow.

Please, Yue, she thought. I know that Zuko's done a lot of wrong in his life. I know he took Aang away from the Spirit Oasis right when he was needed most, that if not for him, you might not have had to sacrifice your life—and for that I am sorry. But I also know that you were a very kind person in life, and that you have never held a grudge against anyone. I know that it was you who called back La's wrath and saved us all. I know that if you've been watching Zuko at all, you've seen that he's been doing everything in his power to make things right. So please. Help me heal him now.

For the moment, nothing happened. Then, however, her body seemed filled to the brim with a liquid energy, she felt the tug of the Moon on her spirit, and Katara knew that her prayer had been answered.

Thank you. As she bent to her task once again, she found that her senses were clearer, sharper—though the damage to Zuko's chi had been apparent to her from the beginning and further details on his body's shutdown had become increasingly more evident the longer she worked, this time she could locate the ravages the poison had worked on every muscle and organ—and if she could find it, she had a chance of fixing it.

With renewed determination, Katara started what she could not do before and began methodically sweeping the poison from his system, clearing it away particle by particle from the places it had settled in his body. The process required massive amounts of water in order to trap the poison and to direct it where she wanted it to go, and before long Sokka and Suki were hauling bucket after bucket in and out the door—clean water being brought in, while that tinged with blood and tainted by poison was moved quickly out of the room, to be disposed of in a way that wouldn't pose a danger to other people.

Every once in a while, when she was in between buckets, Katara would pause to assess her work. She finally seemed to be making some headway, rather than constantly fighting against a continuous backslide, but there was so much damage that had already been done. However the rest of this night played out, Zuko was going to have a long recovery ahead of him—if, that was, he made a full recovery at all.

Right now, I just need to make sure that he gets out alive. We'll deal with the rest as it comes.

With that, she focused on drawing out what should have been the last of the toxins. As she threw another two handfuls of soiled water into the empty bucket, however, she noticed to her worry that even the act of healing, of drawing poison, seemed to be putting an additional strain on Zuko's body. When she rested her fingers against the side of his neck, it was to find his skin clammy and his pulse racing.

Come on, she thought. You can hold on just a little longer. One more ought to do it… She had isolated the last remaining traces of the poison; once she removed those, his system should be clean and he'd be able to start healing for real. Taking a deep breath, she drew out the water, focusing all of her concentration on holding the toxins…

There! Katara smiled grimly as she pulled the water away from his skin, carrying the last of the poison with it. Even as she dropped the water into the waste bucket, however, Zuko's body gave a shudder—and then went still.

No! The thought shot through her with a jab of dread. No no no, we can't lose him now, I was so close—!

When she placed her hand against his chest, however, her touch was greeted by a deafening stillness.

He doesn't have a heartbeat. For the moment, she could only stand there, frozen. Her palm rested against Zuko's chest, fingers brushing up against his lightning scar—the scar he had gotten saving her life, and she hadn't even been able to return the favor, in spite of all her efforts…

"Katara."

Everyone in the room started. Aang had demanded complete silence, and they had done everything in their power to give it to him: her name was the first word spoken in that room in nearly twenty-four hours. Nobody, however, had expected that Aang would be the one to speak.

He hadn't moved from his position, nor had he stopped his airbending, in spite of the fact that he had to know what was going on: the devastation that was plain on her face as her fingers clenched over Zuko's heart could not have meant anything else. When he looked at her, however, his eyes, though deeply shadowed, were clear and determined: he still had his wits about him, in spite of his lack of sleep.

"He's not gone yet," Aang continued. "If Zuko's spirit had left his body, I would know it."

"As would I." Iroh's voice, in contrast to his earlier pleading, was eerily calm. "Zuko is going to keep fighting as long as we do. Do not give up on him, Katara." In spite of the control with which he spoke, the look in his yellow eyes was intense—like molten fire.

"Right." Standing up straight, she nodded—and in that moment Katara knew what it was that she would have to do. The only way to keep Zuko alive at this point was to restart his heart.

The light of the full Moon washed over her. With the aid of its power, she could feel the presence of every drop of water in the room: the water she'd been using for her healing, the sweat on her own body… the blood in Zuko's veins. Grimly, she raised her hand against the backdrop of the Moon.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

Bringing the hand down in the gesture Hama had taught her, she forced Zuko's heart to beat.

Even unconscious, he let out a groan and jerked away as the pain of bloodbending worked its way through his body… Iroh moved to hold him down, whispering something that Katara couldn't hear over the pounding of her own blood in her ears… Sokka and Suki were looking on in horror, Sokka with a hand over his mouth as if trying not to be sick… Toph had her feet drawn up to her chest, a hand pressed to either side of her head…

Katara stopped bloodbending. She had held on for maybe ten beats at most, but it had felt like hours of suspense, of inflicting agony on her friend to save his life. In spite of the fact that she had barely exerted herself at all, she was breathing hard.

It's not over yet, she reminded herself grimly. If Zuko's body didn't start functioning on its own, there was only so much she—or anyone else, for that matter—would be able to do, and she only had until moonset to do it. With that dark thought in mind, she laid her fingers once more against Zuko's chest.

The heartbeat was there. It was irregular, and jerky, and far too fast, but it was there. Immediately she coated her hands with water and pressed them to his chest, concentrating all of her will to repair the damage to the organ, to soothe it back into a regular beat that would sustain his body on its own. After a few minutes, she withdrew the water, and this time, when she pressed her fingers to the side of Zuko's neck, it was to find that his pulse was steady and strong. She smiled in relief.

Even as she counted the beats, Zuko's eyelids began to flutter, and he blinked open groggy yellow eyes to look at her with a mixture of confusion and fear.

"Hey." Katara found it impossible to hide her wide grin. "Welcome back."

His eyes flicked from her over to Iroh, and then to Aang at his other side. His lips moved as if to ask a question, but Iroh stopped him before he could start.

"No, nephew. Do not try to speak." His fingers tightened around Zuko's hand. "You must not make Aang's job harder than it already is."

"You stopped breathing about a day ago," Katara explained, even as she began healing again with renewed determination. "Aang's been keeping you alive ever since."

Thankfully, he obeyed and stayed still, even as discomfort flashed across his face. Katara imagined that having another person literally breathe for you could not have been a pleasant experience—and giving the way her healing was going, it was unfortunately about to get a whole lot worse.

"Okay," she said at last, throwing her water to the side. "I don't think I'm going to be able to use water healing to get your lungs working again." Zuko's good eye widened in panic, but before he could react further, she went on. "I'm going to have to restart your breathing the same way I restarted your heart—with bloodbending."

He knew what she was talking about—she could see it in his eyes. He'd asked her about it, once, after their confrontation with the Southern Raiders. At the time, she'd still been raw and tender of spirit, from the old wound of her mother's death and Hama's lessons alike, and had answered in short, clipped sentences—but she'd still told him.

He held her gaze for a moment longer, and when his eyes closed in resignation, she knew she had his permission. Nevertheless, she couldn't help but notice the way his fingers curled to grasp his uncle's hand, where before he had remained limp and unresponsive, letting Iroh do what he wanted but not returning the gesture. Katara pretended she hadn't seen. Zuko had already had his dignity compromised enough, and in all honesty she couldn't blame him for being afraid.

She'd had this done to her before. It was agonizing. She'd never been so scared in her life as she had been that night, when the very water in her body had started moving to someone else's command and her limbs had had no choice but to follow, the muscles twisting in ways they hadn't been meant to move. As intense as it was, however, even the physical pain had paled in comparison to the realization that her body was no longer her own—that she was now nothing more than the puppet of another, that her own hand could easily be turned to slay her brother, or Aang, and now she was about to do it to one of her friends…

You're saving his life, she reminded herself. Do you hear that, Hama? You taught me bloodbending so I could punish the Fire Nation in your stead—but I am going to own this technique. I hope you find out someday that I used your lessons to save the Fire Lord's life.

With a gesture, she cued Aang to stop his airbending. Immediately Zuko began to struggle for air, panic lighting his face as he realized that he was, in fact, incapable of breathing on his own. Katara, however, was ready: raising her hand to the Moon, she began to push and pull at the muscles that worked his lungs, easing them out of their torpor as gently as she was able, marveling at just how much the act of breathing was akin to the ebb and flow of the ocean tides.

As expected, the experience was not a pleasant one for Zuko: tears spilled from his good eye, and every muscle in his body locked up at once; he was, it seemed, incapable of moving. "Hold on," she murmured over her bending, "I'm almost done…"

Finally, she was. Tentatively, she eased her control over Zuko's blood, ready to take hold again if her work had not been effective—but then he took a shuddering gasp, and another, and another after that. Every breath shook with effort and residual pain—but he was breathing.

"Th-thank…" He only managed the single word, however, before his voice failed him. Immediately Iroh's hand was beneath his head, the other hand holding a cup to his lips, making him take the water in slow, tiny sips. Katara was gratified to see that this time, he managed to keep it down.

"Katara?" She looked up, to see that everyone else in the room was watching her intensely. "Is everything… I mean, is he going to be…?"

She smiled. "I think that he's going to be fine, thanks to you. You can rest now, Aang."

No sooner had she spoke than Aang's legs gave out from under him. Katara managed to catch him before he hit the floor—and a few seconds of holding water to his head told her that there was nothing wrong with him that couldn't be fixed by a good night's sleep; he was only exhausted.

"Rest now," she repeated, gently lowering him to the floor. She planted a swift kiss on his forehead. "I'm proud of you." Aang was asleep before he was even fully on the ground, a goofy grin spreading over his face.

Unable to hide her smile of relief, Katara gathered the water to her hands once more and turned back to Zuko, ready to spend the rest of the night taking full advantage of the power the Moon had granted her.

He was going to be okay. Everything was going to be okay.

A/N: It probably seems like Aang's taking his sweet time having flashbacks while his friend's dying in front of him, but really, that memory flashed through his head in a matter of seconds. The mind does weird tricks like that sometimes.

Fun Origin Story time: This fic came about due to me wondering whether I could come up with a legitimate use for bloodbending.

There are potentially horrible uses for all four types of bending—bloodbending for water, and it's been established fanon for a while that airbending can potentially be used in horrible ways. Given the number of Fire Nation skeletons that were surrounding him, I for one am convinced that Gyatso at least did something less-than-pacifistic to defend the air temple during the genocide—and it's gratifying (if somewhat terrifying) to see the possibility at least confirmed in Korra Season 3. Yet in this story, it was modified versions of those very techniques that eventually saved Zuko's life. As a matter of fact, if there's a theme to this story at all, it's that methods and techniques are no more good or evil than the people using them—forbidden techniques are forbidden because of their potential to do great harm, but in the right hands and with a bit of creativity, they can also do a great deal of good.

At any rate, aside from a potential epilogue that I'm still considering, that marks the end of this story (I did say it was going to be short). I know I'm hardly the first to come up with something like this, but this is my personal take on the situation and it was rather fun to write. Thanks for sticking with me!