so bad at being good || moffnat x kal

[moffnat]

When Prince Zuko heard about his father's new prisoner, the final bricks in his crumbling resolve began to give. The Fire Nation Capital become less of a hesitant safe haven and more of a bomb factory; one spark was all it would take. Zuko spent the first night battling his conscience, and the next two planning out what he would say. Not a single greeting would fit. She would see through it all, and leave nothing for him but crumbs of the man he wished to be.

On the fourth day of knowing she'd been captured, Zuko had to act. Interrogations wouldn't be kind, and while the prisoner had no reason to seek solace in Zuko, something deep within nagged at him to "do the right thing," as his uncle would say. Whatever that "right thing" was, Zuko didn't know. But he had to do something.

Under cover of night, Zuko crept from the palace. He brought nothing with him. Only a lantern to guide him, and a robe to cover his scarred, recognizable face. He made his way to the tower where she was imprisoned. He said nothing to the lone guard, who he had built an unspoken understanding with, and took a deep breath. Now or never, he supposed.

Zuko stepped before the door of the newcomer's cage: Katara of the Water Tribe.

 

[a touch of dread]

This had always been a possibility.

On nights where sleep made itself scarce, the scenario played in her head. This very one. Capture. How ironic that come now, after the nightmare in her head became reality, her mind stilled. It was her body which screamed.

She'd never accounted for how dry it would be. And why wouldn't it be? Water was everywhere, naturally. So they stoked their coals and sapped it out of the air. Even the sweat on her forehead evaporated as near quick as it appeared. Her throat burned, her wounds burned, oh how she craved for even a drop of water.

There was no subtly or mystery-- when the rusting metal cried, she knew they were back. Already? Night was a time of respite. She would not show surprise, she would not let them throw her off guard. Even if to stand was a struggle, even if her legs shook and fought against her, she would show them: they did not have her spirit.

Katara didn't recognize him, not immediately, until her eyes focused under the amber lights of lantern and coals. That unmistakable scar. It hurt to scowl.

 

[moffnat]

As expected, Zuko was met with hostility. He scoffed. "You're glad to see me," he joked, though the humor fell flat. "I shouldn't have even bothered to come here."

But he had bothered. And he didn't leave, either. He pitied Katara, this tribal girl locked in a cage, a girl he knew to be kind-hearted and willful, even though she was his enemy. He remembered her offer of the spirit water to cleanse his scar. Oh, yes, Zuko remembered it well; it was the kindest thing anyone had ever done for him.

He did not turn away. Instead, Zuko lifted the lantern higher to see her better. No visible bruising, he noticed, no bleeding or scars from rough treatment. Her age had earned her a bit of a pass. He was ashamed at how relieved this made him feel. "Doesn't look comfortable in there," he noted. "How did you get caught? I thought you and your group were better than that."