The moment the chains are secure around Azula's wrists, Katara breaks out into a run.

Her boots slap against the stones and each step echoes mockingly in the empty plaza: too late, too late. Panic squeezes her heart as she sees him lying crumpled on the ground, and she wishes for just that moment that she were an airbender so that she might get to him faster. If only she had just stayed on the sidelines, if only she hadn't just frozen, if only Azula wouldn't have wasted so much time, if only –

The smell of charred meat and scorched fabric hits her in full force when she is just paces away, and suddenly it's Aang all over again but it's worse, it's so much worse, and she doesn't have the spirit water this time, but what would it matter anyway, she can't heal a corpse –

He groans, low and gritty, and it's all she can do not to shout her thanks to the spirits. She skids to a stop and kneels down; cradling his head as she gently turns him over. One look at the wound is enough to quell the celebration in her head. She swallows hard and pulls the water to her hands. Her palms hover over his abdomen, but she concentrates on his face. His eyes are closed and his breathing is shallow and shuddering. She watches his features go into sharp relief as the blue glow washes over him. She knows she needs to concentrate, knows she needs to center herself, but for one terrifying moment his body quakes and she can't bear to take her eyes off of him, in case –

No. This is Zuko. He never gives up without a fight. And I won't either. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. She wills the tissue to heal, plunges her awareness into his flesh. With every breath she counts the reasons he will survive.

Inhale. I'm a master waterbender.

Exhale. I healed the Avatar, I can heal you, too.

Inhale. You're a powerful bender.

Exhale. I saw you redirect the lightning, even if the form wasn't right.

His body convulses again and her concentration is broken, but she doesn't dare stop. Her lip starts to tremble and her own breathing stutters but she wills it to even out, pushes down the fear and helplessness and tries again.

Inhale. You aren't going to die.

Exhale. You can't die. Not for me.

Inhale. You can't leave me here like this.

Exhale. You can't leave me here with so much I need to say.

Inhale. Wake up. Wake up so I can tell you how stupid you were to do this.

Exhale. Wake up so I can tell you –

He groans again and her eyes snap open, her thoughts forgotten. His face is agony; she can hear him grinding his teeth. She risks a glance at his chest. It's only a start, the skin is still an angry red and the lightning has left spider-webbed welts in his flesh, but at least for now the bleeding has stopped. His face relaxes and her relief washes over her like a tidal wave when he opens his eyes. Her heart aches when he offers her the ghost of a smile.

"Thank you, Katara."

She isn't sure when she started crying, but her vision has blurred and she can feel the tears cooling on her cheeks. She smiles back. "I think I'm the one who should be thanking you."

She wipes her eyes and helps him to sit up. She tries to make him stay still, to rest for a minute, but he is as stubborn as ever. He grits his teeth and screws his eyes shut with the effort of it, but he manages to stand. Katara follows closely at his side, her hand on his back. She wants to stop him, but she can sense his determination despite the unsteadiness of his steps. Together, they make their way toward Azula, slowing to a stop just outside of the range of the blue fire spilling from her mouth.

She waits. Beneath her hand she can feel his ragged breathing, but he doesn't move, doesn't speak. He just stares unflinchingly at his sister, his face unreadable. Azula's writhing intensifies with their proximity; her eyes roll wildly and the volume of her screeching is enough to make Katara flinch. Her words are mostly incomprehensible, but when she says her brother's name it is as both a plea and a curse. Jagged pieces of her hair stick to the tears smeared across her cheeks and her nose is running into her wailing mouth.

Maybe it's the stress of the battle, maybe it's her natural empathy for people in need, maybe it's the relief that Zuko is okay, really okay, but despite everything that has happened, despite the fact that she can smell her own singed hair from the battle just minutes ago, she can't help but feel something in this moment. Pity, embarrassment, sadness, disgust: she can't quite place it, but she knows she can't stand to witness it anymore. It's too much. She looks away.

She turns to Zuko. The glossy flesh of his scar conceals the emotion in his eyes, but she notices the corners of his mouth begin to twitch downward and a slight tremble in his chin. He blinks hard, swaying a little on his feet, and before she can stop him he turns on his heel and storms toward the exit of the plaza.

He makes it less than ten paces before clutching his chest and stumbling to his knees.

She shouts his name and rushes forward, just barely catching him awkwardly and preventing his head from thumping against the ground. He is limp in her arms. His breath rattles in his chest and he goes silent.

Behind them, Azula's moans turn to cackles. Katara does her best to ignore the sound of it and the feeling like lead in her gut. She eases him onto his back and gives his shoulder a tentative shake.

"Zuko?"

No response. She knew he shouldn't have gotten up so soon, she knew she should have insisted that he rest. But he was okay just a minute ago, wasn't he? He sat up. He walked. She resists the urge to splash him in the face with her water. Instead, she shakes him harder and says it more firmly this time, as though he is just playing a trick on her and if she is stern he will obey.

"Zuko. Come on. Get up."

The seconds tick by and nothing is happening. She hesitates, then checks his pulse. It is weak and irregular and suddenly she is afraid that it won't last. The thought makes her feel dizzy, makes her feel frantic. She pulls her water to her hands and tries to finish what she started, but this isn't like healing a cut or a burn. The problem isn't centralized, it seems to be everywhere. She needs more time. The urge to escape overwhelms her. She needs to get away from this place, to get to somewhere to heal him and let him rest, to get away from that incessant noise coming from his sister, to do something, to save him. She has to move him, of this she feels certain.

She makes several false starts, not sure how to carry him without aggravating his wound. He is just so heavy, and more than once her mind has to avoid the phrase dead weight. She finally decides to grab him from behind, hooking her arms around his waist and dragging him while his heels scrape the stones.

She manages a few steps before her foot catches on the uneven ground, disrupting her balance. They tip backward and the two of them crash down together. She lands hard on her tailbone, legs splayed out in front of her, still clutching Zuko around the waist. He hunches forward, arms drooping at his sides.

The weight of his body and the weight of the day and the weight of the moment all catch up to her at once. She sees herself as though from the outside: a teenage girl, surrounded by a structure that is burning all around her while she clutches a dying boy like a talisman. She feels so alone and so stupid – why did I ever think I could do this? Why did I let him? – that she finally succumbs to the despair that has threatened to bubble over ever since she saw him glide into that web of crackling blue light. The tears start slowly, but build in earnest until her wails drown out Azula's. She pulls him closer, presses her body against his back, as if saving him was simply a matter of holding him tightly enough. She digs her chin into his shoulder, rocks him gently, and between hiccupping sobs she whispers repeated promises that she isn't sure she can keep. If they are for her or for him, she isn't certain. She has always been strong, always been dedicated to helping people who need her, but in this moment all she feels is defeated and she is utterly unsure of what to do. Unbidden, she thinks of her mother, and fresh tears spread on his tunic as she begins humming her favorite lullaby from childhood, the one her mother used to sing that promised quick sleep and sweet dreams.

Sleep. Bed. Blankets. That's it. Her tears dry and her sense of purpose is renewed. She glances frantically around the plaza until her eyes find their target. She gives Zuko a quick squeeze before gently laying him down.

She sprints to the steps of the coronation plaza. Banners bearing the Fire Nation insignia and another she doesn't recognize wave in the breeze, tassels and edges burning brightly. She uses her water to douse the flames before tearing one down and running back.

She doubles the banner and lays it on the ground next to Zuko. Grabbing him from underneath his arms, she settles his torso on the cloth before picking up his ankles to finish the task. Bending down, she picks up the extra length of fabric behind his head and starts pulling. She makes it halfway across the plaza before she feels an extra tug on the other end.

She looks behind her and jolts when she sees a man in red robes bending down, pulling on the cloth near Zuko's feet. She flows into a bending stance, the embodiment of rage and fear and desperation.

"Leave him alone!" Her voice is shrill and high and not her own.

He drops the banner and holds his palms out to her. "Stop! Please! Let me help you."

"Get away from us!"

He remains calm in the eye of her storm. "Please. It's not safe here. I know where to take him."

She studies him but does not yield. He takes a step back and keeps his hands where she can see them but holds her gaze. She is more than suspicious, but her eyes flick down at Zuko and something about the way he lays so still atop the proud symbol of his nation raises goose bumps on her arms. She realizes with shame that she doesn't even have a destination in mind; she was just focused on getting away. The truth is she has nowhere to go.

Her stance softens but her eyes do not. "Why should I trust you?"

She watches his every move as he reaches into the sleeve of his robe and produces a small round token. She recognizes it immediately and almost laughs. A white lotus tile.

"I know his uncle."

Her shoulders droop and she resists the urge to throw her arms around him. We are not alone. She approaches him and picks up the end of the banner at Zuko's feet. "Lead the way."

Together they carry him with haste through the empty streets of the capital. A feeling of déjà vu settles over her as she thinks of the last time she was here. The journey is not long but each second drags as she stares intently at Zuko's chest and face, watching for signs that he will make it, as though any moment now he'll open his eyes and tease her for worrying so much. Just a little longer. You're going to be fine. The thought only seems half empty: she is scared, and he is hurt, but she still has hope that they can make it.

When they approach the palace walls she tenses, but there are no guards in sight. "Where is everyone?"

"Azula dismissed the Imperial Firebenders. Ozai took many of the others to Ba Sing Se. But that doesn't mean the palace is unprotected. Quite the contrary." She can't see his face, but she senses the smile in his voice.

They make their way through the manicured grounds and enter the cavernous halls of the Fire Nation Palace. At any other time she might have stopped to marvel at its opulence or ask questions about the lavish rooms seen though open doors as they pass. As it is she notices none of it, and instead watches the shadows that pass over Zuko's face as they traverse a long hallway dotted with burning braziers. She wishes they would just hurry. She almost doesn't notice when her companion slows in front of an ornate door and shifts Zuko's weight so that he can open it.

They lay him down on a bed covered in red silk. He lights the lamps in the room and fetches more water at her request while she busies herself with adjusting the pillows beneath Zuko's head. Her fingers find the pulse at his neck; slow and faint and scattered, but there all the same. When she sighs she feels it in her bones. Her hand lingers, and she reaches up to brush the hair off of his forehead. A fingertip ghosts over the crease of his scar and she snatches her hand back without knowing why. The sound of his labored breathing is all she can hear until her helper startles her from the doorway.

"Your water, miss."

She thanks him as he sets a large bowl on a table near the bed. She moves to pull the water to her hands, but the light from the lamps illuminates the golden dragons enameled onto the side of the bowl and she stops. For the first time, Katara looks around the room and notes the fine tapestries, the plush carpets, and the shine of the mahogany.

"What room is this?"

He smiles and his eyes dart to Zuko before finding hers again. Oh. Unconsciously she inches away from the bed a little.

"Why here?"

He says it matter-of-factly, but his eyes crinkle with kindness. "It's the safest room in the palace, aside from the Fire Lord's."

She nods, not sure what to say, anxious to get to work. "Thank you. So much. I don't know what we would have done without your help."

He bows. "No need. It's a pleasure to serve. Now, bar the door behind me."

She is startled, not at all certain she wants to be left alone again. "You're leaving?"

"There are other matters I must attend to. But you will be safe here."

He turns to leave, but she stops him. "Wait. How did you know…?"

He gives her an enigmatic smile. Then he is gone. She follows his orders and places the heavy iron bar across the door. Then she returns to Zuko's bedside.

She takes a deep breath and summons the water. She offers a tired smile that Zuko can't see.

"Did you hear that? We'll be safe here." She sighs and applies the water to his wounds. "It's going to be okay now. I'm going to heal you, and I'm going to do it right. You'll be stomping around and scowling in no time, you'll see."

She works well into the night. The water glows, the skin knits, but he does not wake up.