A/N: I suppose this fic is what happens when I'm shut indoors for two and a half days with nothing but Assassin's Creed 2 and Skrillex. Atlanta weather be cray cray. I'm also super happy that the very first prompt for Zutara month happened to fit it. Hope everyone enjoys my first attempt at coming off my writing hiatus. :)

Prince Zuko of the Fire Nation does not consider himself a murderer. Or a killer. Or a demon, like the people have nicknamed him.

He is a protector. A guardian. He makes sure his city is kept in shape, for the good of his people. For the good of his throne and his father's name.

Long live the Fire Lord.

Tonight he stalks a high fire priest who has been linked to child enslavement. It's quite easy for Zuko to slip silently into the top floor of the brothel, where women pretend to be ladies and too rich men show off their true colors.

The prostitute the priest is laughing with dances out the door, claiming to be right back with their drinks.

When she returns moments later the priest is sporting a bright, dripping red smile. By the time she screams out "Demon!" Zuko is too far away to even hear her.

The first time he goes to kill her it is raining and Zuko couldn't be in a more piss poor mood. He eases into her room, silent as can be, blade steady in his hand, ready to take down the estranged water bender who has been hiding fugitives and spreading anti-Fire Nation propaganda. She is stupid for coming into his city, into his domain, he thinks. She might as well have signed her own death certificate.

When he hears splashing sounds, he stills. At first he assumes she's bending, and a part of him is curious, for he has never seen actual waterbending in person before, and watching her bend for a brief moment is a secret he would never have to breathe to anyone—

And then he realizes she's bathing.

Good, she is vulnerable. Wait.

Bad, she is surrounded in her element.

Frowning, he moves closer, figuring that if he springs on her fast enough then he'll at least have the element of surprise. He peers around the corner and sees a slip of wet skin and impossibly long hair that clings to a bare back. He swallows.

She stands, and his eyes glue themselves to the slope of her rump. In a flash she turns and, naked, flings three long, deadly icicles in his direction. He does not move his head in time, and three burning cuts sear themselves into his cheek.

He is out her window in a blink, but not fast enough to escape her laughter.

The second time he tries to kill her they are in public. She moves about the crowded marketplace slowly, picking up exotic fruit after exotic fruit and sniffing them, tasting them, before she buys bushels of them from their sellers. Zuko wonders where she is procuring all that coin. He doesn't focus on the way her hair curls around her neck, doesn't focus on how long her legs are, doesn't focus on the sharp intelligence of her eyes.

He watches her as she makes her way back to her small apartment hidden in the city, watches as she fans herself, her forehead slick with sweat.

He flings his blade, his path clear and perfect. But she turns her head just too soon. The knife slices through some tendrils of her hair and she freezes, watching her own locks fall to the ground. And normally Zuko would be throwing another knife, and normally his target would be running for their lives.

But the water bender casually bites into a mango and looks straight at him, eyes finding his with ease, despite his hiding place.

He disappears before he can take note of how blue her eyes really are.

By the third time he has grown slightly frustrated with his main target, but no less determined. He acquires a potent poison from the finest apothecary he knows. He stares as she sits down for her dinner, alone. Then she swears and gets back up, and leaves the room. Zuko seizes the opportunity and slips the poison into the white wine she always drinks every evening.

The poison will work quickly. She will be dead seconds after she consumes it. She comes back into the room, sits back down, and picks up her glass of wine.

Zuko goes as still as he possibly can.

And then the waterbender smirks. With a practiced and talented hand, she pulls the wine from its goblet and separates it from the poison. She puts the wine back and, while taking a hearty sip, flicks the poison onto Zuko's shoe.

He has no idea how she even sees him.

The forth attempt calls for drastic measures. He surges into her room one night, covered in shadows, forcing himself not to wonder as to why she never bars her doors, never takes any measures in protecting her home, and raises his dual swords high. He will slice her open efficiently this time.

Except somehow she is, as always, prepared. She freezes him to the wall in an instant, only leaving one hole for him to breathe through.

And he is shocked that she doesn't kill him herself.

"You know, you and I would make a good team," she says, and although her voice is muffled it is pure and lovely and why has he never stuck around long enough to hear her voice before?

It doesn't take him long to free himself with his firebending, but when he does she is gone, leaving him alone in her own home, just like he knew she would. He should ransack it, burn it to the ground, punish her for being annoying and fleeting and too smart for him.

But he doesn't.

The fifth attempt is unplanned.

She shows up at one of his father's many parties, dressed in red lace and a golden mask, but Zuko instantly knows who she is.

And he thinks that now is the time, if only he can lure her away from the main ballroom and make short work of her in a nearby balcony, or perhaps his bedroom.

The idea of the water bender being in close proximity to his bed makes him swallow.

She is a talented dancer, he notices, with shapely hips and graceful arms and balanced feet. He could never dance like that. And it is as if she's drawn to him, despite his lack of a mask, despite his scarred face and severe frown. She eases him onto the dance floor and he allows himself to be eased. If she likes him enough, perhaps she'll follow him out of here, and his mission will finally be completed.

It works. She consumes expensive wine and rich chocolate and so does he, and soon he is forcing himself to concentrate on how to walk, on how her arm feels looped through his, of how the hot skin of her bare stomach is pressing against him.

His room is not far, and they make it there in one piece. When the door is closed, when it is truly just the two of them, her smile slips into a smirk and she pulls off his shirt and then his shoes. And he lets her.

She sighs. "Don't you want to know the name of the woman you're trying to kill, demon?" She licks and kisses along his neck and he almost staggers.

"It's Katara," she informs him, moving out of arm's reach and toward his dresser. She easily finds his hidden blade and inspects it curiously. And then she hides it in her clothes and asks if he can see it on her.

He can't.

"We'll make a good team," she echoes, sitting on the edge of his bed, letting glimpses of bare leg move into his sight. "Your agenda barely needs any editing." And she smiles, and it is a beautiful smile.

Zuko cannot kill her.

He thinks she might have killed him long ago anyway.