Overdone

If there's a god that could save me,
I'd ask that he open the sky and do it now
But he's just a chemical, I'm not a snake
I'm just falling apart again.

Movement drives away the stillness, the inner death that's begun to creep in, and fire makes the darkness ebb.

So he practices.

The rain started to pour about an hour ago, but he takes it as a challenge: how much water can he burn away?

Hot, orange light roars, swirls around him, a maelstrom of carefully-controlled emotion, precise kicks, punches, spins that tear through the falling droplets. He's surrounded by steam, fire licking his fingertips. The flame builds around him, billowing out and up until all he feels is heat that borders on pain...and with the flowing motion, left leg extended straight behind, right bent forward, he rolls his body, and the wave of fire surges, and the green grass of his mother's garden sizzles into only scorched, black earth.

Zuko, breathing hard, maintains his position as the wave dissipates. But his frustration, anger, desperation still burns deep.

He's startled to hear slow clapping behind him, and spins around so quickly, he nearly falls over.

And there she is.

Surrounded and illuminated by millions of green glowing crystals-

She's standing under the awning that connects to the palace, leaning casually against one of the wooden scarlet pillars that looks purple in the darkness. (When did the sun set?) Her arms are folded, now, her fingertips touching the gold bangles around her brown, bare arms. Arms she keeps to herself now, she doesn't hug him, doesn't touch his face, his scar-

She's kept her Fire Nation garb, for some reason, and it's harder for him to see than if she was in her Water Tribe blues because at least then he wouldn't have to see what could have-

"-and Iroh said you were out here." She shrugs, and his mouth goes dry because the gesture brings her top up a notch, and for an instant, he can see the dark expanse of her smooth stomach, soft and forbidden.

She's training Aang in her shirashi wraps again and he's torn between delight that she's wet and half-naked and trusting, and horror that she should be so before so many other males-

"I couldn't sleep myself, so I came to see if you wanted company."

He says nothing, cannot say anything.

She's approaching him now, looking slightly concerned. "Zuko? What's wrong?"

His voice appears suddenly. "Nothing." He's amazed at how casual he sounds, almost unaffected by the way her hips sway as she walks toward him, and he can see her in her white wraps again, laughing at one of his dry jokes. White is a mourning color. "You just surprised me."

Her smile turns shark-like, and he thinks she's been spending far too much time with Toph. "Surprised the Blue Spirit?" she says, all mock disbelief. "The stealthy phantom of the Fire Nation?" She folds her hands behind her back and grins up at him, and he can count the raindrops on her forehead. And I could've-

She's speaking again. "-and Iroh even mentioned you might need a sparring partner, after being locked up in your office all week."

His brain shouldn't have to work this hard. "Sparring partner?"

She brings her arms up over her head, and the pond is suddenly empty and they are both drenched and the rain is coming down harder than ever.

He blinks the water from his eyes and glares down at her, but can't maintain the expression: her half-lidded eyes are dancing with amusement and challenge.

Fine, then.

The fire roars from his hands before he really stops to consider his actions, and the past becomes the present.

He goes low, she aims high, and they were meant to do this, to weave apart and together. He focuses on the movement, the way his muscles slide over each other and how his harsh breathing fills his ears, because if he focuses on himself, he won't focus on her, the way her damp hair whips around her as she spins deftly away from his sizzling fire whip, the way her sinews gather as she rolls her hips forward. Everything about her is liquid, and if he's not careful, if he takes one step in the wrong direction, she'll crush him against the cliffside of himself, and he will drown.

You won't have to worry about your destiny anymore.

The rain rolls down their bodies, consistent and cool, as they slash and tear and rip at the air, at each other, and Zuko thoughts are a whirlwind of strategy (When I do this, she'll counter with that), things he's picked up after years of fighting against her, then training with her, and this is where they belong, he thinks. She gives as good as she gets, and he remembers watching her with Aang and Suki and even Toph, and he cannot believe no one saw how she was holding back, how she was so careful.

She was never careful with him, never held back, not even when they were non-enemies that somehow morphed into friends that somehow morphed into...what?

He's suddenly incredibly aware of her steps and his steps, and how they have brought them violently closer, closer, and all at once the battle ends with blades of fire and ice at each others' throats, his arm wrapped around her shoulders, and her leg around his knee, and they breathe each other, their wet clothing cool on the outside, where they're battered from the harsh rain, but warm where their bodies touch.

The ice is cold and sharp against his neck, a reminder of where he is, what he is doing, and he swallows thickly.

"Your move," she says. He licks his lips, he watches her watch his lips move. She squeezes her leg muscles and moves closer, and his balance is threatened.

"I disagree," Zuko replies, his voice low and rumbling (I'll save you from the pirates) and he tightens his arm, and they are flush with each other, and he knows she cannot move now.

Except she does.

Maybe you could be free of it.

She surges forward, a movement he performed when he was training, a move he learned from her, and they meet and she is a weird, thrilling combination of soft and hard, pliant and unrelenting.

"Zuko," she murmurs against him ("Zuko!" she screams as he's twitching on the ground, lightning cooking his skin), "Why didn't you-"

But kisses were invented to cut people off, and so he does, because he doesn't want her thinking, he doesn't want to think himself. But he's thinking that, long ago, he would one day drown her in her ocean eyes, in her movements, but this, this is like breathing underwater, and he didn't realize drowning felt like burning, but of course it does, and she is burning his lungs inside out.

She's gasping for air as if she'll never breathe again, but then she kisses him with such eagerness and ferocity, and it's like she never wants to breathe again.

Neither of us will want to, after this, is his last broken thought before she lifts herself from the ground to wrap her legs around his waist, and they are lost.

That's something we have in common.

Oh, oh, I am in love again.
Oh, oh, I am consumed by it
Oh, oh, I am in love again.
Under-drugged and overdone.
Oh, oh, I am in love.

-Ludo, "Overdone"

A/N: I know, I'm shameless, absolutely shameless. A sparring scene that turns into a makeout scene? IN THE RAIN?

...I'm also unapologetic.

Hope you enjoyed this (my first ever!) completed fic. R & R, folks.