Katara liked the rain. Being surrounded by her own element so far from home and so far from a real body of water was nice. She could be perfectly at home anywhere in the world as long as there was water around.

But when it came fast enough that it dislodged her tent stakes from the ground and sent the whole tent, Katara included, rocketing down the slope, she found that she didn't exactly love the rain.

She clambered out of the mangled remains of her tent, aching from her rapid, unceremonious descent into the valley. It hadn't been her idea to pitch her tent so close to the edge. But after Toph had erected an earth tent smack in the middle of the little plateau, there was barely enough space for Sokka's tent on the upper end of the plateau and Katara's on the lower. And then a few minutes of torrential rain had been enough to send her sailing downward like her tent was some sort of flimsy raft.

Scowling, she examined what was left of the tent. The poles were snapped, and the tarp torn straight down the middle. Perfect. It was still raining as hard as ever, and her only shelter was destroyed. Grumbling, she pushed aside the poles. Her sleeping bag was still in one piece, though muddy and wet, and her pack had split down the side, but all its contents appeared to be in one piece. She spread one half of the tarp out flat and dumped her things—the sleeping bag, her clothes, her mending kit, and a few other small packages—into the center. It would be a wet, messy makeshift bag, but with her pack split open, it was the best she had.

Once she had all of her things bundled into a lumpy, dripping mass, she threw it over her shoulder. She'd have to dry everything out once she got back to camp. Sokka's tent wasn't big, but there would be enough room for her to share with him, at least until the rain stopped.

But it seemed that the rain had other plans for her. When she started up the hill, she made it only a few steps before her right foot skidded out from underneath her, and she fell backward, sliding down past the debris that used to be her tent. Ouch. Her whole right side and part of her back felt bruised, and now she was coated in thick, sticky mud to boot.

She pushed herself to her feet again. Climbing clearly wasn't going to work. Even when she tried to freeze a patch of the greasy mud, it was no easier to stand on. She'd never make it all the way back up to the top of the hill while it was raining, and she ached enough already. Even if she healed all of her bruises, it wouldn't do much good if she made it halfway up the hill only to slide back down to the bottom anyway.

Katara bent some of the mud out of her clothes, rain still pelting down on her. Shelter. She had to find shelter somewhere down in the valley to wait out the storm.

And when she looked around, she thought she could make out a distant cluster of buildings through the grayish haze. That would have to do.

Her feet slid through the mud, and thick, slimy clumps of it stuck to the bottoms of her boots, but she slogged on ahead. Cleaning herself up while she was still out in the rain wouldn't help. Nor would bending the rain away from her head. Or mending her bruised and aching limbs. All of that would take energy, and she couldn't afford to spare any until she was inside, out of the rain.

As she drew nearer, the buildings took shape into a farm. She could make out a barn, and a few pens full of moosows and pig deer, and a turkeychicken hutch. She made for the barn. There was probably a house somewhere around here too, a house with people who would be more than willing to let her in—but it was wet and cold, and the rain couldn't last too much longer. There was no use in bothering the people if she would only be here an hour or two. At least she hoped that it would only be an hour or two.

The doors were huge and heavy, and Katara's feet slipped when she tried to pull them open. She grumbled, planted her mud-encrusted boots more firmly, and managed to haul one of them open by a few inches. Good enough. She shoved her makeshift bag through the opening first, then squeezed in after it, wincing when her bruised side bumped against the rough wood. She got wedged in halfway through the opening, and with a grunt of effort, pushed against the wall with all her might until she toppled through the space and the door swung open after her.

Ouch. She hauled herself back to her feet and glared at the now-open door. Perfect. That was typical for today.

But she was inside, finally, and when she bent the water out of her clothes—unfortunately, the mud was so caked into the fabric that she couldn't do much about that—she stayed dry. She crouched to untie her makeshift bag when she heard a footstep behind her, and spun around to see a pair of swords aimed her direction.

"Who are you, and what do you think you're doing here?"

She blinked into the dark interior of the barn. She thought she knew that voice, the harsh, gravelly tone—and then the swords lowered a fraction, and she could make out a pale, pinched face and a huge crimson scar over the left eye.

"Zuko?"

It took a second for him to recognize the waterbender in the semi-darkness. Though she'd apparently done her best to dry herself off, she was practically coated in mud, her usual braid was—there, but falling apart so badly that it looked more like a disheveled broom than anything else, and she looked much smaller, much less threatening when she was crouched down and not wielding ropes of water.

But then she sprang to her feet, summoning blobs of water to both hands, and recognition landed heavy over him. That was her. That was definitely her.

Of all the rotten luck in the world, Zuko's had to be the worst. It wasn't bad enough that he was crossing an enemy nation alone, practically without supplies and without any way of supporting himself short of stealing. He had no money left, he couldn't convince himself to steal food from families, and to add insult to injury, the Earth Kingdom soldiers had stolen the few meager supplies he'd managed to buy.

Then that little boy had taken Zuko home, and it should have been a bright spot in an otherwise terrible week, but instead, the heaviest rainstorm in months had rolled in overnight, and Zuko was all but stranded in the barn without food, and now—now—

"What are you doing here?" the waterbender demanded.

Zuko let his swords drop a bit. Was he imagining things? He was fairly certain he'd just asked her the same question.

"This is the Earth Kingdom, you don't belong here."

He raised his good eyebrow. "I could say the same for you, waterbender."

She gave an incoherent yell of rage, drawing more water from the deluge outside, encasing her arms with it. "I'm not the enemy. You are. What are you doing here?"

"This is my barn!" Even before the words came out, they felt wrong, and Zuko stopped himself. "I mean, I'm staying here. I don't have a barn."

The waterbender cocked her head to the side, looking just as confused as he felt. "You—you're—" She shook her head and strengthened her stance. "You don't belong here, Zuko. Leave, or I'll find the farmers and tell them that they have a squatter hiding in their barn."

He threw his hands up. The dramatic gesture probably wasn't the best idea with swords still in his hands, he realized when one of the blades smacked into an overhead beam and knocked a cloud of dust down on his head. He coughed and fanned at the air.

"The farmers invited me to stay," he rasped when the dust cleared. "If anyone's a squatter, it's you."

"What?" The waterbender's stance slackened, and Zuko noticed that her right arm moved a little slower, a little stiffer than the left. "Why? Why would they invite you to stay?"

Frankly, Zuko was still wondering the same thing himself. Sure, their son had vouched for him after he'd lied to keep the boy out of trouble, but that was nothing. Certainly not enough to justify giving a ragged drifter like himself a place to sleep. He shrugged. "I helped their kid or something. I don't know. I thought they were going to throw me out last night, but they didn't, so—I'm here."

"How did you help their kid?" She still held her murky globes of water, but her stance looked less fight-ready than before.

Zuko wasn't exactly braced up to fight either, he realized. Aside from the swords in his hands, he was just—standing.

"I saw the kid play a prank on a couple of thugs. I lied to the thugs about what happened."

The waterbender narrowed her eyes at him. For a long moment, he stared back. He didn't owe her any further explanation. He had permission to be here. She didn't. Granted, the family didn't know who he was, but Zuko wouldn't stay long. He couldn't expect more than what they'd already given him, and once the rain passed, he'd leave. But for now, while the storm raged on, he had at least as much right to be here as she did.

Finally, the waterbender spoke again. "Are you going to attack me?"

He huffed. "Depends. Are you going to attack me?"

She didn't quite ease out of her stance, but he watched her waver. She jutted out her chin. "I'm not going back outside in this storm."

He didn't exactly want her to stay—he had enough problems without the waterbender there to rub it in, and he didn't care for company, especially when there was a chance that he'd have to explain her presence to the Earth Kingdom family—but over her shoulder, he could see the rain still coming so hard that the whole world was gray and indistinct. And the waterbender looked miserable. Zuko was many things, but he wasn't a monster.

"I didn't tell you to." He sheathed his swords and crossed his arms.

She shifted, and slowly lowered her hands. "I've got my eye on you," she said, and edged around her pile of supplies, and crouched again, still watching him.

Zuko shook his head. He didn't have the energy to deal with her right now. As miserable as she looked, he didn't feel much better. The rain had started in the night, and since he was staying in the barn, there were no supplies he could find without venturing out into the storm. So he hadn't eaten yet this morning. That made—four days? Almost four days. One bowl of soup in the midafternoon and a scant meal yesterday evening hardly made up for the three days he'd gone without food before, and now his stomach was beginning to cramp again.

He should have moved on already. This family couldn't afford to feed another mouth, and Zuko wouldn't find any better prospects until he left the arid plains behind. Maybe if he'd braved the rain, he could have gotten ahead of the storm and pushed his ostrich horse hard enough to reach richer lands in a few days. Maybe he could already be partway to—wherever he was going. If he knew where that was.

Or maybe he'd just be lost and dripping wet with no more idea of where to go than he had now.

Zuko slumped back into the mound of hay. The waterbender was lucky. At least she had somewhere to go.

He stared up at the rafters, watching from the corner of his eye as the waterbender pulled the moisture out of her supplies and sent it out the door in a smooth, neat wave. She gave a little gasp, and Zuko looked her way again to see her wince and rub her right shoulder.

He shouldn't care. He didn't. He couldn't care about—her.

"What happened?" he asked involuntarily.

She scowled across the barn at him. "I got caught in a rainstorm."

"That's not what I meant."

"Well then you're going to have to be more specific. A lot of things have happened." She tried to kneel and winced again, then settled for resting her weight on her left side.

Zuko sighed and sat up. "Why are you here? Aren't you travelling with the Avatar?"

The waterbender paused in the middle of picking through her things to fix him with a stare. "I am. And I'm not telling you where he is."

That had barely even occurred to him. He was too tired, too hungry, too lost to even consider capturing the Avatar. He wasn't sure he could keep himself alive out here, much less haul the Avatar back to the coast, hire a boat, and—Zuko shook himself. Not now. He couldn't do any of that right now.

"I meant," he amended, "How did you get separated?"

She and her friends had always seemed inseparable, like they actually—actually cared about each other. He swallowed back a pang of envy. Zuko didn't need anyone like that. He was fine on his own.

The waterbender made a face. "An earthbender was a jerk, I set my tent in a bad place, then it rained and my tent tried to find out what it felt like to be a raft." She turned over a small package bound in some type of skin and pulled at the twine holding it shut. "I was at the bottom of the valley before I knew what was happening."

That certainly explained the wincing. The hills around the farm weren't exactly small or gradual. It was a wonder that she wasn't more seriously hurt.

"Uggghhhhhhhh." She let the little package fall open and dropped her head into her hands.

"What?" Zuko pushed himself to his feet again. "What happened?"

She pinched the soggy package by the corner. "My brother didn't close the package after he stole some of my seal jerky."

Oh. Zuko had never eaten seal jerky before, he had no idea what it tasted like, or even if it was worth eating, but his stomach clenched. The thought of food—any food—was almost too much to bear.

The waterbender frowned and passed a hand over her food. A few murky-looking droplets came out, but her expression didn't look any more cheerful than before.

She sighed and rubbed her forehead. "I don't suppose you have any food?"

Zuko looked away, feeling his own forehead crease. He folded his arms over his empty, complaining stomach. "No."

"Do you want some wet seal jerky before it spoils?"

Zuko looked at her like she'd grown an extra head. Hey. That was rude. She was offering him some of her extremely limited food supply, and he had the nerve to make faces at her because it wasn't entirely appetizing. She didn't want to eat wet jerky either, but it was the only food either of them had, and she couldn't pull out any more of the moisture. For now, it would be edible, but in another day, it might start to mold or worse. What good would it do to let most of her food spoil when she could share it now?

But if he didn't want it, if he was too proud to share what little food she had, then—then he'd just have to stay hungry.

She scowled at him. "Fine. If it's not good enough for your refined palate, I'll just let the other half go bad. Or maybe the moosows will want a treat when the storm is over."

Zuko's good eyebrow drew downward. He looked—dejected? Almost? Not for the first time, she was struck by how thin his face had become, by the dark rings around his eyes. Or eye. The scarred one looked as normal as it ever did.

"I—" He shook his head and his arms seemed to clamp tighter around his stomach. "If that's what you want to do, fine. See if I care."

Judging by the tension in his voice and the way his shoulders drew up around his ears, he cared a lot. Not that Katara was going to let that change anything. If he was going to be a jerk, she'd be a jerk right back at him.

Zuko stomped back to his pile of hay and slumped into it again, turning his back on her, and curled inward.

Katara poked the soggy mess of jerky and made a face at it. She was hungry, but not that hungry yet. Not hungry enough to eat mushy, soaked jerky. When she found her way back to the others, Sokka was going to get such a lecture about stealing her food and how to close things properly. Maybe if he'd kept his nose out of her stuff or at least closed it when he was through, she wouldn't be here, in a barn, still damp and aching from her unceremonious descent from the top of the hill with no food worth eating and Prince Zuko of all people.

"Why are you even here?" she asked sharply. "Aren't you supposed to be off with your uncle and the rest of your Fire Nation friends?"

Zuko shook his head but didn't turn back toward her.

"What, did they leave you behind?"

That earned her a scowl, but he turned his head away again. "Partly."

Katara stopped. Despite the scowl, he didn't sound particularly angry. "How do you get partly left behind?"

"The Fire Nation tried to take me and my uncle back as prisoners, then left us for dead. Then I left my uncle." He peered back over his shoulder for a second. "It's not complicated."

Easy for him to say. It sounded very complicated to Katara. She pushed herself to her feet, wincing when she put her weight on her bruised leg.

"How long have you been alone?" The question surprised her as it came out, but she decided not to correct herself.

"A week?" His tone was uncertain, and he looked up into the rafters. "Maybe more."

A week. Katara had never been alone that long. Sometimes two or three nights without Sokka when he went hunting back home, but Gran-Gran had always been there. And since leaving home, she'd been surrounded by strangers, but she'd never gone more than one night without Sokka or Aang nearby.

"Do you like being alone?"

Zuko rolled onto his back, his forehead creasing as he stared upward. "I thought I would. But it's—when it's quiet, it's a lot harder to forget that there's nothing to eat and nowhere to sleep." He looked toward the package of ruined jerky by her feet, then dragged his gaze away and set his jaw.

Huh. She watched his fists clench against his stomach. He was hungry. So maybe he wasn't being snobbish about the jerky. Maybe he was just too stubborn to admit that he needed something to eat.

She shifted her weight, and her entire bruised right side protested against the motion. With a pained gasp, she dropped to the ground.

"Waterbender?" Zuko bolted up.

Katara sat clutching her sore leg and glared at him. "Waterbender? Seriously?"

He ignored that and came a little closer, then stopped a few paces away. "Are—uh—are you hurt?"

She grimaced and pulled up the hem of her pants a bit. The bruises on her ankle were impressive. She didn't want to know how the rest looked, especially considering how much worse the ones on her hip and her shoulder felt.

"I think it's safe to say yes." Great. She had really been hoping that she could get away without healing them, without expending the precious energy to mend a few bumps. She summoned fresh rainwater in through the door and held the glowing bulge of water against her shoulder until the ache subsided.

Zuko's eyes went wide. "What are you doing?"

"Healing myself." She frowned in concentration as she worked her way down her arm, clearing the bruises one after another. Just as she'd feared, she could feel the effort draining her energy. Less sore or not, she'd have a much harder time fighting in this state if he decided to attack her.

"Can you do that?"

She waved her now-healed hand through the air. "What does it look like?" Starting on her ankle, she snuck a look up at Zuko. Waterbender. Was that really how he thought of her? "Can't you remember names?"

He flushed. "I—yes, I can remember names. But I was taught manners, and it's rude to speak on familiar terms without permission."

Katara rolled her eyes. "Uh-huh. What's my name, then?"

"You're—" he scratched the back of his neck. "You're Katara. I think."

She snuck another glance at him. He was crimson clear back to his ears, and he wouldn't look directly at her.

"Lucky guess," she said, then pulled the excess water away from her leg and tossed it back out the door. Patches of her back still ached almost worse than her shoulder had, but she couldn't reach that far back, and all the other bruises had stopped hurting. Whether they were healed enough to not be visible, she couldn't tell, and she wasn't about to check, not with Zuko standing there. Besides, she was tired now. Tired and hungry. She looked down at the soggy jerky again. It didn't look any more appetizing than it had before.

"Do you want me to use your name?" Zuko asked.

She considered. It sounded strange on his lips. It felt strange to hear him call her by her name. They weren't close, and they weren't going to be. Still— "It's better than waterbender." She peered up at him. "Do you want me to use your name?"

He started. "I—I don't know." He shifted, looking down at his feet. "I can't really use my name here. I was calling myself 'Lee', but then the kid I helped was named Lee too, and—" he shrugged helplessly. "I didn't know what to call myself, so I didn't."

A surprised laugh escaped her. "You didn't come up with a new name?"

Zuko shook his head. "I'm not very good at lying."

That seemed—not entirely untrue, actually. He'd done plenty of terrible things, and Katara wouldn't trick herself into believing that he'd never lied to her, but lying was the least of her concerns when it came to Zuko.

"Then I guess I'll just call you Zuko when no one else is around. Deal?"

He nodded, and Katara gave just a hint of a smile before she looked down again. She heaved a sigh and poked at the jerky. "Any ideas on how to make wet jerky less gross? I doubt you want to eat it like this either."

Zuko froze, and his mouth opened and closed. "Me? Uh—what about me?"

Katara tilted her head a bit to the side. "You're hungry too, aren't you?"

"I—"

"Well, all of my food is going to go bad. I really don't see any reason why I should let that happen when there's enough here for both of us."

Zuko stared for a moment, then cleared his throat. "Are you sure?"

She paused only a second before she nodded. It felt right, somehow. Gran-Gran had always taught her not to waste food and to always feed hungry strangers, and Katara had always done her best to stick to that rule. Zuko wasn't exactly a stranger, and he was hardly a friend, but he was hungry. And if he didn't eat with her, the food would be wasted.

Something told her that Gran-Gran might object to that argument, but Katara pushed the thought aside. They were in the Earth Kingdom, so far from any of Zuko's allies that there was nothing he could really do. He couldn't even use his own name safely, and if he was smart, he had to know that firebending out here would be a death sentence. If anything, he was in more danger than she was. And if less-hungry Zuko was also a bit less moody, the risks of sharing food with him seemed more than worthwhile.

"If you can figure out a way to get rid of the sogginess, I'll even let you pick your share. I can't get any more water out of it with my bending."

He took a small step closer and squinted at the mound of jerky.

Katara pushed it closer so he could see without closing the space between them too much.

Zuko scratched the back of his neck. "Maybe if we cooked it?" he offered doubtfully. "As long as no one's around, I could start a fire—"

"The barn looks a little too flammable for that." Even with rainwater seeping in through some of the cracks in the walls, the wood was old and dry as tinder. The hay was dry too. If a spark caught any of it, the storm would extinguish the blaze, but not before the barn collapsed in on them.

"Right. Uh—" He looked around the barn, then drew a slow breath. "Maybe if I just—" He cupped his hands together and a small flame appeared, hovering just over his palms.

For a while, Katara just stared at the fire. She'd never seen firebending quite like this before, quiet and contained, more warm than dangerous. It was odd. In a way, she almost liked it.

She finally dragged her eyes away and met Zuko's gaze, the angles of his face sharpened by the firelight. "Can you hold that for very long?"

He shrugged. "Probably. I've never had to hold a flame for more than a few minutes, but I'm sure I can. It's like meditating."

It was unlike anything Zuko had ever attempted before. He could hold a flame in his hands, he could use his bending to heat a pot or to boil water, but he'd never tried to hold a cooking fire steady without fuel, maintaining the perfect amount of heat so as not to burn the food or to cook it too slowly. It wasn't easy, and a part of him wished that he'd paid more attention to how Uncle warmed water for tea. The precision, the concentration, the patience it took tested his limits.

But he sat crossed-legged on the ground across from Katara, holding the fire in his hands while she threaded the bits of jerky onto a stick, then roasted them over the flames until they were hot and crackling. His mouth began watering the moment the scent reached him, but he tried not to pay attention to that. Keeping his breathing steady, he stared at his own flames, channeling just enough energy into them to keep the heat even.

He lost track of time, but finally, finally, Katara touched his wrist.

"That's enough. They're all finished."

Zuko exhaled, the flames dissipating, and he leaned back on his hands. He felt as though he'd just finished a fight or a particularly demanding training session. Though he hadn't used his firebending in days and the pent-up energy had been desperate to claw its way out, sustaining the cooking fire drained him more than he'd expected. If his stomach weren't cramping, desperate for food, he'd crawl back into his pile of hay to sleep.

Katara slid the bits of re-cooked jerky into a little mound on their wrapping, then poked them into two separate steaming piles with her makeshift roasting spit.

"Pick your half."

Zuko straightened and blinked, disbelieving, at the mounds of food. They were almost exactly the same. He'd expected her to eat her fill, then leave whatever she didn't want for him, not—this.

"I thought—" He paused and shook his head. "I thought you were going to do that."

"That's not the fair way to share food," Katara answered, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. "The person who divides it up always gets last pick. My Gran-Gran taught me that."

It made sense, in an odd sort of way. In Zuko's experience, people were never that dedicated to fairness—or at all—but in a better world, a nicer world, it would make sense.

Tentatively, he pointed to the mound on the left, and Katara pushed it his way without argument.

He hesitated over the food for a few seconds—he knew better than to accept food, or help of any kind, for that matter, from an enemy—but then his hunger won out against the hesitation. The jerky was tough, and it tasted of salt and smoke, unusual to his tastes, but not entirely unpleasant. Most importantly, it was filling. A few bites took the edge off of his hunger, and by the time he was done, Zuko was really, properly full for the first time in days.

Katara finished her last bite a little behind him and washed it down with a long drink from her waterskin.

"Thank you," Zuko blurted out. "You didn't have to share the rest of your food with me, and I just—thanks."

She shrugged and rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. "Technically, you didn't have to let me stay out of the rain here either. I think we're even."

He looked down. It was true, he supposed. He could have tossed her back out into the storm. He had permission to be here, and he could have easily used that to push her out. But in a storm like this—no, he wouldn't do that. Uncle would be ashamed if he had. Of course, Uncle would be ashamed of him for plenty of other things, but Zuko had to stop somewhere. There had to be a line he wouldn't cross, and this seemed as good a point as any.

"What are you going to do now?" he asked. "With all of your food gone—"

Katara let out a slow sigh and turned to stare out the door and into the rain. "My friends aren't too far away. When the rain stops, I'll find them. They have plenty of food." She stopped, studying him. "And you?"

Zuko rubbed the back of his neck. "I don't know. I guess—I'll probably keep going east. It's supposed to be a lot nicer once you get past the desert. Maybe then it'll be easier to find food." He stared down at the darkened patch where the cooked jerky had left a stain on the skin wrapping. Part of him wished that he'd been able to save some of it for later. With no money, no way of finding his own food, spirits only knew when he'd have another meal. Maybe if he was lucky, he'd be able to eat one more time before he left the farm behind, but after that—

She watched him, her blue gaze unusually soft. "Maybe you'll find your uncle."

He met her eyes for a second. He hoped so. He hoped that Uncle would want him back. Travelling alone was nothing like he'd expected, and even with all the annoyance and frustration that came with the old man's quirks and the extra effort it took to keep the two of them fed, he'd rather be with Uncle again.

"Maybe." He looked away again and cleared his throat. "Uh, since the rain isn't stopping, I think I'm going to try to sleep." His hands clenched on the hem of his tunic, then slowly loosened again. He ought to know better than to let his guard down. He ought to know better than to sleep while the enemy was so near, but looking at Katara now, he didn't see an enemy anymore. Not quite. Not the way he used to. Katara was tired and disheveled, and she could probably still fight him—she could probably still win—but she'd shared her food with him. If she meant him any harm, she wouldn't have bothered. And frankly, Zuko didn't have the energy to keep watch anyway.

"The hay is more comfortable than the ground, so—if you want, you can have that spot."

Katara tilted her head, then looked around him toward the mound of hay. "No, that's fine. I have my sleeping bag."

Zuko nodded and pushed himself awkwardly to his feet. "Okay."

He could feel Katara's eyes on his back as he retreated to the haystack again and settled into the scratchy makeshift bed. But he couldn't sleep and found himself watching her as she spread out her sleeping bag, made one last attempt to pull out the moisture, and started to climb inside. She winced when her back touched the ground, then rolled onto her side, and met Zuko's eyes.

His face warmed. No point in pretending he hadn't been watching her. "Are you okay?" he rasped.

She shrugged one shoulder. "Fine. I guess I still have some bruises left that I couldn't reach." She started to roll onto her back again, winced, and turned her face back toward Zuko again.

"Heat might help," he offered before he had a chance to think.

Katara blinked at him. "It might," she replied slowly. "Are you just saying that, or—"

His face was flaming. "Depends."

"On what?"

He picked at a particularly pointy bit of hay. "If you trust me enough to let me try to help."

For a long moment, Katara stared at him. She shouldn't trust him. It wouldn't make sense for her to take a chance like that. But finally, after an uncomfortably long silence, she sat up and wiggled her way out of her sleeping bag. Draping it over her arm, she crossed over to the haystack and hovered a few steps away.

"Maybe just this once."

Author's Note:

I feel like I should make this one into a guessing game. How does this fic relate to the prompt "Fuse"? All responses (within reason) are valid, because frankly, I decided to do a Katara meets Zuko during "Zuko Alone" kind of thing, then never thought about the prompt again until I was done drafting. WHOOPS! I hope you like it anyway!

Anyway, I'm posting for all seven Zutara Week prompts, so you can check out my previous fics for this week and keep coming back for the rest or visit me on Tumblr (soopersara)! Reviews are very much appreciated!

PS: I also want to mention that ALL my fics are Zutara, so if you're looking for some more reading material...