Zuko thinks that people forget how water kills.

He knows; remembers. When the pirates blew up his ship he remembers the way the water closed over his head, his body almost too bruised and battered to pull him to the surface, opening his mouth to suck in air and finding only water rushing into his lungs-

It's not an easy death.

In all their talk about Fire Nation cruelty and Fire Nation destruction, Zuko thinks that people must willfully forget that water can be just as cruel.

Zuko knows.

And he can see it now in the ocean-blue, storm-blue eyes of the Waterbender girl and wonders how people can say that water is a gentle element. He knows that should he slip – and who knows what the waterbender considers slipping – she won't make it easy for him.

That scares him more than he'd like to admit, that she has that power over him and there's absolutely nothing he can do. After all, she's a loyal, trusted member of their team. Zuko's the one who has to prove himself. Pushing back would only prove Katara right, and he doesn't have anywhere left to go.

He tries to do things for her. He helps with dinner one night, or tries, but she chases him away spitting about how he's ruining everything and Zuko knows that she doesn't just mean the food. He offers to wash the clothes and she explodes about how she can do it herself, she didn't need him and he knows that isn't just about the clothes, either.

Somehow with every gesture and word she manages to tell him in resounding tones that it would be better if he left.

He dreams of drowning, night after night after night, the water reaching down his throat like a thing alive, guided by the inexorable, brown-skinned hand. Zuko wakes up panting and thinks that Katara is not his sister's opposite, no; she is just like her in every possible way.

You don't ask water for mercy any more than you ask fire. He bows his head and meditates, the circles growing dark around his eyes. Don't get too comfortable, is his mantra. Never forget. They won't. Nobody ever does.

There is a treacherous part of him that feels that he deserves this, but that thought just makes him feel sick.

She watches him all the time, her eyes following his back, weighty and judging, and everyone else just looks away from her bitter, biting comments and her stare like a storm at sea. Either they don't want to challenge her or privately, they agree with her.

He suspects the latter.

"They need me," he whispers, opening his eyes from a failed meditation. "No matter how much they hate it, they need me. The Avatar needs a teacher. He won't let the waterbender kill me." Until you're no longer needed, a small voice whispers, and he curls into himself a little and wishes fervently that his Uncle were here.

But he has no choice, really. All he can do is trust

Zuko's never been very good at trusting people.

He closes his eyes and dreams of drowning, over and over and over again.