Trigger Warning: Character death, PTSD, blood, and vague suicidal thoughts.

the crashes are heaven, for a sinner released
and the arms of the ocean deliver me

-Never Let Me Go, Florence + the Machine

i.

There was blood everywhere.

Katara's knees stung as they hit the ground, and she tasted copper on her lips. Zuko swore loudly behind her, and thunder rolled across the sky. The rain ran red.

She'd actually done it; Yon Rha was dead. The man who killed her mother was dead at last.

Katara was a murderer.

A scream pierced the evening, and it wasn't until days later that Katara realized it had been her own.

ii.

Zuko hid the body. He was ashamed to admit that he'd picked up a few tricks from living with Azula and Ozai, but there was no way Katara could do it herself – she'd be tempted to go into town and fess up to the local authorities, both blowing their cover and getting herself stoned to death.

That is, if she ever stopped shaking long enough to stand.

Zuko was shaken himself, but he'd seen worse, and he couldn't lose his cool now. A body was a body; it was the ghosts that were to be feared.

It wasn't until he looked at Katara's face, ashen and lined and still splattered in blood that he felt icy fear creep through his veins.

iii.

She knew the others would be worried if she and Zuko didn't return soon, but she couldn't go back. She could never go back.

Would Aang be angry? Would he slip into the Avatar state and kill her? Katara could deal with that. But if he was sad, if he was disappointed, if he could never look her in the eyes again – that, she couldn't live with.

And Sokka – he'd understand, she knew he would, but he'd never see her the same way again. She'd be the ruthless killer who avenged their mother, not Katara, his sister.

When she could finally stand on her own, she tried to run. To the village, to the sea, she wasn't sure – anywhere but where she was.

Zuko caught her, though, and pinned her to the ground when she thrashed and kicked and screamed. He held her close, until the screams became sobs, and he cried, too, and Katara dug her fingers into his skin and burrowed into his body, as if to crawl into his flesh and sleep in his warmth and never wake up.

They slept in that position when night fell, their camp over the hill and out of sight with Appa. The ground was hard and cold and rocks dug into their sides, but Zuko was warm and Katara was trapped in his arms and she didn't really sleep but she stayed still, wondering how he could stand to lie so close to a monster.

She figured, with his family, he just didn't know any better.

iv.

When they returned to the others, Katara was withdrawn, but strong. She lied to Aang, told him he had been right, because that part was true – she had never needed revenge. He smiled and gave her such an adoring look that Zuko could feel waves of nausea and guilt rolling off Katara, so he shooed Aang away, telling him to practice his meditative stances.

Suki looked unconvinced, and Toph could tell that Katara was blatantly lying, but Sokka gave them a look that made them drop the subject and wander off awkwardly. Sokka ran his thumb across Katara's cheekbone, then kissed his sister's head and said, "You'll be alright."

Zuko found Katara that night staring at her necklace. After a moment's hesitation, she chucked it into the ocean, and stalked off, rubbing at her hands absently. It took him the better part of the night, but Zuko managed to find the necklace buried in the sandy ocean floor about twenty feet out. He tied it to his wrist, like he had done those many months ago, and sloshed off to bed, eyes stinging and limbs aching.

v.

Katara was haunted.

It was apparent in her eyes, the way the blue had gone from a sparkling turquoise to a dull gray. Aang, too wrapped up in his impending battle with the Fire Lord, did not seem to notice. Sokka did, of course he did, but he knew Katara would never tell him what happened with Yon Rha. So he helped in the ways that he knew how: cooking dinner, washing clothes, gratuitous hugs. Suki worked under a similar state of mind, but often threw in intimate "girl talks" to distract the waterbender. Toph remained oddly quiet about the whole matter.

Sometimes Katara would wake up at night, panting and shaking and Zuko or Sokka or Suki would find her in the washroom, scrubbing furiously at her hands. When Zuko once asked what she was doing, she thrust her spotless palms into his face, and hissed, "The blood! It won't come off! It never comes off!"

But her eyes were unfocused and her speech slurred and Zuko knew she was only sleepwalking, so he carried her back to bed and didn't sleep a wink himself for the rest of the night as he sat by her side, shushing her whenever the night terrors would seize her in their clutches.

Toph found her the next night, just before Zuko or Sokka could.

It was the first time Zuko had ever seen the tough, little girl cry.

vi.

The comet was fast approaching, and everyone was working hard to prepare. Even Katara was looking better, as preoccupied with Aang as she was. But then they had to go see that stupid play, and everything went to hell.

Aang was upset that he was played by a woman and that Katara possibly didn't love him. Zuko was upset that his nation had applauded his fictional death. The others were upset about the possible outcome of the impending battle.

Katara was upset because Jet died, and she couldn't do a thing to save him.

It was more blood on her hands.

She never said any of this, but Zuko could tell. She scratched at her fingers, rubbed at the skin of her palms, kept swallowing back tears; it hurt his heart to watch.

Aang ran off as soon as they reached the beach house, and Toph slouched off to her own room, oddly solemn. Suki and Sokka sat on the front porch, talking in hushed voices and exchanging the occasional kiss. Katara went down to the beach; Zuko followed.

When he found her, she was lying on her back in the middle of the water, staring up at the moon. Then she slipped under, and Zuko panicked, diving in after her, deeper, deeper, as she sank lower and lower.

The water was warm and heavy, and everything went dark.

vii.

When he came to, Zuko was lying on the sand, looking up into Katara's bright blue eyes. She was fuming.

"Are you crazy?" She shrieked, bending the water from his clothes, forgetting about her own. "What on earth would posses you to follow me?"

"Y-You-! I had to save you!" Zuko sat up, coughing violently. Katara huffed, slapping his back.

"I'm a waterbender, Zuko. I can swim to the bottom of the ocean without drowning. You, on the other hand…"

"Oh." Zuko felt foolish, yet justified in his worried. "So you weren't…?"

Katara's face fell, and she stared at the sand. "No. Not tonight."

There was a heavy, swollen silence. Zuko felt his throat burn from salt water and suppressed tears, and he held out his wrist to Katara. She gasped at the sight of her mother's necklace tied around his pale arm.

"You dropped this," he murmured. She turned away, hands shaking. Zuko leaned closer, not caring that she was avoiding his gaze. "You've saved so many, Katara. Don't you think those lives outweigh one man's?"

She gave a dark, watery laugh. "Do you actually believe that?"

"I do." Katara turned, surprised. "It wasn't right, but it was justified. It was murder, and it'll haunt you for the rest of your life, but it won't define you. You are Katara, the Last Waterbender of the Southern Water Tribe, teacher to the Avatar, champion of the weak. You are Katara, kind, passionate, good Katara, the girl who restored hope to the world and stole the banished prince's heart. You are Katara. You are better than this."

Katara enveloped him like a wave, soft and warm and volatile, arms tightening around his neck like the weight of the ocean. Her lips tasted of salt water, not copper, and the hands that brushed his neck and shoulders were clean and pure. He pulled her close, drowning in the feeling of her body against his.

The sea was calm that night.