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Avatar fic: The Art of Tea and Conversation (for frith_in_thorns)
I didn't think I'd get this done this weekend, what with the con and all. But I had a little downtime in the hotel room -- and yay! Fic!
Title: The Art of Tea and Conversation
Word Count: 3000
Rating: PG
Warning: Set after the series; contains spoilers for the end.
Summary: For![[personal profile]](https://s.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
frith_in_thorns, for ![[community profile]](https://s.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
avatar_minis. The recipient's request: Post-series. Katara helps Iroh in his tea shop while she works out what to do next. Basically gen with hints of canon pairings.
Cross-posts: On Livejournal | On Dreamwidth | On AO3
The secret ingredient in Iroh's tea was not, as he always claimed, love. Well, part of it might be, for all Katara knew, but mostly it was hard work and a ridiculous level of attention to detail.
She'd never admitted to Iroh how long it had taken her to develop a taste for the sorts of tea favored in the Earth Kingdom and Fire Nation. Foreign tea had been occasionally imported as a luxury item through her tribe's trading network, but generally, tea in the Southern Water Tribe was made from a variety of herbal or floral infusions. Green tea, to her, tasted as if it was made out of grass, and black tea tasted like something that should not be ingested at all.
But in their travels around the Earth Kingdom, she'd developed a slow appreciation for tea in its different flavors and varieties. It was, at the very least, hot and comforting on a cool morning or at the end of a long, difficult day. However, she'd had no idea there were so many kinds of tea in the world, or such an infinite number of ways to prepare it wrong.
Iroh was a patient but exacting teacher. This was how he must have taught firebending to Zuko, Katara thought, as the big, deft hands shaped hers on the teapot, or whisked the kettle out of her grasp before she could pour overly-hot water over delicate camellia leaf tips. He never corrected her with anything other than gentle, calm patience — but he refused to allow a pot of tea out the door of the kitchen before it passed his sipping test.
There were times when she had nightmares of a giant teapot chasing her, trying to pour tea down her throat.
But filling her days with tea-tasting, with boiling water and scrubbing cups and sweeping floors, kept her hands and her thoughts occupied. In her spare time, she practiced waterbending in the courtyard, clearing her mind with the techniques that Master Pakku taught her.
She had turned up on Iroh's doorstep one day. They all did, sooner or later. Katara still didn't quite understand how the teashop in Ba Sing Se, run by their former enemy, had become their touchstone — the fulcrum around which her disparate group of friends from four nations circulated. But it was, and when she turned up alone on Iroh's doorstep after closing time, all he said was, "Come in, I just brewed a fresh pot of tea, and I hate to drink alone." So in she came, and there she stayed.
The war was over. The men of her tribe had come home, and the tribe was rebuilding itself, with the help of their more numerous and powerful Northern brethren. Her skills as a fighter were no longer needed, and her skills as a healer were necessary only for simple, everyday hurts. Sokka had his own life, traveling with Suki and the Kyoshi Warriors to deal with trouble spots around the Earth Kingdom and Fire Nation, occasionally stopping by the two Water Tribes to visit with friends and family.
Ever since her mother's death, Katara had been the glue that held her family together: first in the Southern Water Tribe, and then in Aang's group. She had been a warrior, the first female warrior to learn at Pakku's hands, and she had been a hero. She had fought Azula and won. And now she was — what?
"I don't know how not to be needed," she admitted quietly to Iroh one night, in the teashop's brightly lit kitchen, over cups of yet more tea.
"Is that what's made your lovely face so sad, my dear?" Iroh topped off her cup of tea, and passed her another square of the rich dark Fire Nation chocolate that Zuko had brought on his last visit — another foreign luxury, to which she was quickly becoming addicted.
"Among many things."
"I think you're more indispensable than you give yourself credit for." Iroh reached across the table to pat her hand.
"I just don't know where I'm meant to be. My people are moving on. Zuko and Aang are rebuilding the world ..." She trailed off; her last letter from Aang had been weeks ago, sent via hawk from the Southern Air Temple where he was working on cleaning it up and repainting the murals. She'd accompanied him on some of those excursions, but they'd both eventually decided, by unspoken accord, that this was something he had to do alone.
Katara was a woman of her people now, sixteen years old. But Aang would still be a child for years yet. He was her dear friend, and someday, she hoped, would be more — but not yet, not yet. And that preyed on her mind, as well.
"If nowhere else, you are certainly needed here," Iroh said, smiling at her. "I can't seem to keep a shop assistant for more than a month or two, for some reason. But I am an old man. I can't run the place by myself."
"You defeated the Fire Nation army. I think that you can handle an army of thirsty customers."
Iroh's eyes widened dramatically. "Have you seen them in the mornings, when the tea is too cold or too slow to their tables? I would rather face the army!"
Katara laughed, as she knew he wanted her to. But she did feel better.
When he hired her, Iroh offered her a place to stay in the back of the tea shop. But she politely declined and rented a place a short walk away. It was good to have her own space, and Iroh paid her well, despite her occasional insistence that she would be happy to work for free if he wanted her to. She bought little gifts for her friends and family back in the Water Tribe — candy and jewelry and toys for the children. They reciprocated with things from home, and she spread them out around her small, bare room: small ivory carvings, a tiger-seal fur, a pecked stone lamp. The others brought her things as well, from the foreign lands where they traveled — Sokka in particular was fond of dropping by with some gaudy, too-expensive trinket that he'd picked up in some market somewhere. She didn't have the heart to refuse, although she did have to hide the one carving of the two koala-sheep doing ... things ... which Sokka found hilarious, but Katara thought was in exceedingly poor taste.
For the most part, though, it was just her and Iroh. She'd worried at first that things would be awkward between the two of them, Fire Nation and Water Tribe, without the buffer of the group between them. But it was impossible not to relax around him. No wonder Zuko had been so broken up about the rift with his uncle, Katara thought. She would never want Iroh angry with her — not because she feared him as an enemy, but because it would break her heart to disappoint him. The look on his face when she wasted good tea leaves on tea that was too bitter or too cold was hard enough to deal with.
Toph was right: he was a good listener. Katara found herself telling him things about herself that she hadn't even told Sokka or Aang or Gran-Gran. She talked about her mother's death, about her own rage and confusion. She spoke of the way that it felt when she bloodbent, the creeping sensation of filthy-dirty-wrong under her skin, along with the tingling exhilaration of power.
"Bending lightning is a little the same way," Iroh mused, toying with his half-empty teacup. "It does not carry the ugly connotations of bloodbending, as you've described it to me. It is clean, not tainted. But it is an incredible feeling of power, and it is a destructive power that can only be channeled, not halted or even controlled. When one draws lightning, one does it in the expectation that it will destroy something."
"You've done it," Katara said — not a question.
"Yes," Iroh said. "I have." His eyes looked into the past, and their gaze was dark and sad. Then he focused on her, and a glint of humor appeared. "Have I told you that I learned a special technique for redirecting lightning from studying the teachings of your people?"
"I think so? I watched Zuko teach something like that to Aang."
"Ahhh. Of course he would have." The old man's face was full of pride.
Other nights, in a low, halting voice choked with unshed tears, he spoke to her of his son, Lu Ten, whose body was buried outside the walls of Ba Sing Se. "He was a sweet, gentle child, my Lu Ten. He was a powerful firebender, but he was not a strong fighter. He should never have been in combat. I told my father, many times, but he would not listen. Lu Ten was too powerful for his own good; we could not afford to have him back at home, teaching firebending to children, when he could be here, killing young Earth Nation men on the walls of Ba Sing Se."
"It wasn't your fault," Katara said, her words as useless and empty as her father's had been when he tried to console her after her mother's death.
"It was no one's fault," Iroh said, surprising her. "War is a cruel master, a breaker of hearts that consumes all it touches, regardless of guilt or innocence. At least," he added quietly, "that is what I have told myself, all these years."
Two days later, he closed the shop early, and told her that she could have the evening off. She almost asked where he would be. Then she noticed the basket he carried, with the incense sticks poking out of it; burning incense for the dead was not a Water Tribe custom, but she had spent enough time in foreign lands by now to be aware of it. So she did not ask. But she hugged him, and kissed him on both cheeks.
"Perhaps this is just an old man's selfishness," he said into her hair. "But I am glad that you decided to come to Ba Sing Se, Katara."
After that, the moon turned one full time before Appa landed in the courtyard of the tea shop with a resounding, floor-shaking thud. It was a working night, and the place had just a scattering of regular customers, most of whom were accustomed enough to the comings and goings of the proprietor's odd friends that they barely glanced up when their cups rattled.
Katara had set down her tray and was untying her apron strings when Aang raced into the tea shop on a gust of wind. "Katara! Where's Katara? I need her!" He grabbed her by the wrist, tugging her towards the door.
"At least let me —" Then she registered the rust-colored stains on his Air Nomad robes, and forgot about her apron; half-untied, it flopped against her knees as she raced after him. "Who's hurt?" she asked, dreading the answer.
"Sokka," he said, and the bottom dropped out of her stomach. "We've been chasing a rogue cell of Fire Nation terrorists near the city, helping the Kyoshi Warriors. I flew here as fast as I could when, well — when —" His eyes were huge as he boosted her into Appa's saddle.
The cushioning furs in the bottom of the saddle were stiff with blood. Suki, her makeup smeared in wild disarray, was crouched with Sokka's head in her lap. She tried to smile at Katara, but it stopped somewhere between her mouth and her eyes.
Katara was already uncapping the waterbending bottle that she still carried, even in these more peaceful times. "You had to be the hero, didn't you?" she scolded her brother, pulling apart the rags of his shirt to reveal the raw flesh beneath.
This would be when he'd make a bad joke, something groan-inducing and pure Sokka. But he didn't say anything at all. His face was gray and his eyes were closed.
"Should we take him inside?" Aang asked, behind her, as cool water clothed the flesh of her hands and poured onto Sokka's chest.
"No," she said calmly, "I don't think it's a good idea to move him," and then that was the last thing she was aware of for a while, as she plunged deep inside herself.
A long time later, she woke on a bed in a dim room. It was Iroh's back room, she realized after a few bleary moments, looking around in the slivers of light coming through the folding screen over the window. She was laying on top of the covers on Iroh's bed, and Sokka was beside her, with a blanket over his legs and his bare chest bandaged. His breathing was slow and even, his color decent. Katara ran a hand through the lank hair spilling loose and untied over his pillow. He stirred a little, sighed, then settled deeper into sleep.
Suki, her face wiped clean of makeup, was curled beside the bed, her head resting on the edge of it. Katara got up quietly without waking her. She wasn't sure what day it was. The past few — hours? days? were a blur to her, a series of random snatches of memory. Her clothes were rumpled and not very clean; they felt like they'd been slept in. And she was starving.
She made her way from the bedroom to the kitchen, into the clean bright sunshine of a Ba Sing Se morning. Zuko was sitting at the counter with a cup of tea. Katara stopped. "Where'd you come from?" she asked. Her voice was hoarse.
Zuko shrugged. "I'm here to escort some criminals back to the Fire Nation."
Lots of things went through Katara's mind — the fact that it was a bit of a prosaic job for the Fire Lord, for example, or that he wasn't dressed in any kind of official uniform, but rather, in the brown and green clothes that he wore when he was trying to blend into the Earth Kingdom masses. His clothes were rumpled and muddy at the cuffs.
"There's more tea," he added, nodding at the pot, and then, somewhat casually, "How's that idiot brother of yours?"
"He'll be all right," she said, and saying it made it seem a little more real. Unsteadily, she tried to pour herself a cup of tea, and slopped it over her hand. Zuko materialized out of nowhere at her shoulder, lifted the pot out of her hands and poured it for her. There were crescents of dirt or soot under his nails, and this close to him, she could tell that he'd been firebending recently; she could smell the faint tang of smoke and brimstone that got into a firebender's clothes and hair.
"Uh. Thanks. Where are Aang and your uncle?"
"Out back."
The tea was hot and strong, and it made her feel a little stronger and more awake. She wandered out into the back courtyard of the tea shop, where Iroh kept a small garden and a few ornamental bushes. Here she found Iroh and Aang sitting under the courtyard's lonely little willow tree, talking quietly over cups of tea. Aang's body language spoke clearly of exhaustion; he was almost nodding off in his teacup.
They both looked up expectantly as she joined them, and neither had to ask the question that was reflected in each pair of eyes. "Sleeping," she said, and Iroh smiled, while Aang's shoulders slumped a little more.
"And now ... you should sleep, as well," Iroh said, reaching out to give Aang a friendly little push. The young Avatar stood, blinking for a moment in the sunshine as if startled not to encounter darkness. Then he gave Katara a hug — quick, unexpected, as his hugs often were — and headed into the tea shop.
Katara stared after him for a moment, then folded her legs and sat under the willow tree. Her joints felt creaky and ached as if she was much older than her years.
"It seems we're having a reunion," she said, trying for a smile. "Is Toph around too?"
The corner of Iroh's mouth quirked up. "How odd that you should mention her. I received a hawk this morning from Omashu; apparently our young friend is heading up to Ba Sing Se for a most coincidental visit."
Katara felt her smile becoming more genuine. "No matter how far we scatter, we always return."
"Whenever one of you is in trouble," Iroh agreed. "Do not dismiss the value in that kind of loyalty. Some people never experience it in an entire lifetime."
He reached out and took one of her hands. Katara looked down in surprise as he turned it over, inspecting the square brown hand, the practically blunt fingernails.
"These hands saved your brother's life, you know."
"I know," she said quietly.
"Your loved ones are well and near, thanks in part to you."
"I know." She squeezed his hand, and then let her fingers slide from his.
"And what of you?" Iroh asked. "Do you think that you have found your place yet?"
"I'm not sure." After a moment, she added with a smile, "But right now, I think I'm just where I need to be."
~~~~
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Title: The Art of Tea and Conversation
Word Count: 3000
Rating: PG
Warning: Set after the series; contains spoilers for the end.
Summary: For
frith_in_thorns, for avatar_minis. The recipient's request: Post-series. Katara helps Iroh in his tea shop while she works out what to do next. Basically gen with hints of canon pairings.Cross-posts: On Livejournal | On Dreamwidth | On AO3
The secret ingredient in Iroh's tea was not, as he always claimed, love. Well, part of it might be, for all Katara knew, but mostly it was hard work and a ridiculous level of attention to detail.
She'd never admitted to Iroh how long it had taken her to develop a taste for the sorts of tea favored in the Earth Kingdom and Fire Nation. Foreign tea had been occasionally imported as a luxury item through her tribe's trading network, but generally, tea in the Southern Water Tribe was made from a variety of herbal or floral infusions. Green tea, to her, tasted as if it was made out of grass, and black tea tasted like something that should not be ingested at all.
But in their travels around the Earth Kingdom, she'd developed a slow appreciation for tea in its different flavors and varieties. It was, at the very least, hot and comforting on a cool morning or at the end of a long, difficult day. However, she'd had no idea there were so many kinds of tea in the world, or such an infinite number of ways to prepare it wrong.
Iroh was a patient but exacting teacher. This was how he must have taught firebending to Zuko, Katara thought, as the big, deft hands shaped hers on the teapot, or whisked the kettle out of her grasp before she could pour overly-hot water over delicate camellia leaf tips. He never corrected her with anything other than gentle, calm patience — but he refused to allow a pot of tea out the door of the kitchen before it passed his sipping test.
There were times when she had nightmares of a giant teapot chasing her, trying to pour tea down her throat.
But filling her days with tea-tasting, with boiling water and scrubbing cups and sweeping floors, kept her hands and her thoughts occupied. In her spare time, she practiced waterbending in the courtyard, clearing her mind with the techniques that Master Pakku taught her.
She had turned up on Iroh's doorstep one day. They all did, sooner or later. Katara still didn't quite understand how the teashop in Ba Sing Se, run by their former enemy, had become their touchstone — the fulcrum around which her disparate group of friends from four nations circulated. But it was, and when she turned up alone on Iroh's doorstep after closing time, all he said was, "Come in, I just brewed a fresh pot of tea, and I hate to drink alone." So in she came, and there she stayed.
The war was over. The men of her tribe had come home, and the tribe was rebuilding itself, with the help of their more numerous and powerful Northern brethren. Her skills as a fighter were no longer needed, and her skills as a healer were necessary only for simple, everyday hurts. Sokka had his own life, traveling with Suki and the Kyoshi Warriors to deal with trouble spots around the Earth Kingdom and Fire Nation, occasionally stopping by the two Water Tribes to visit with friends and family.
Ever since her mother's death, Katara had been the glue that held her family together: first in the Southern Water Tribe, and then in Aang's group. She had been a warrior, the first female warrior to learn at Pakku's hands, and she had been a hero. She had fought Azula and won. And now she was — what?
"I don't know how not to be needed," she admitted quietly to Iroh one night, in the teashop's brightly lit kitchen, over cups of yet more tea.
"Is that what's made your lovely face so sad, my dear?" Iroh topped off her cup of tea, and passed her another square of the rich dark Fire Nation chocolate that Zuko had brought on his last visit — another foreign luxury, to which she was quickly becoming addicted.
"Among many things."
"I think you're more indispensable than you give yourself credit for." Iroh reached across the table to pat her hand.
"I just don't know where I'm meant to be. My people are moving on. Zuko and Aang are rebuilding the world ..." She trailed off; her last letter from Aang had been weeks ago, sent via hawk from the Southern Air Temple where he was working on cleaning it up and repainting the murals. She'd accompanied him on some of those excursions, but they'd both eventually decided, by unspoken accord, that this was something he had to do alone.
Katara was a woman of her people now, sixteen years old. But Aang would still be a child for years yet. He was her dear friend, and someday, she hoped, would be more — but not yet, not yet. And that preyed on her mind, as well.
"If nowhere else, you are certainly needed here," Iroh said, smiling at her. "I can't seem to keep a shop assistant for more than a month or two, for some reason. But I am an old man. I can't run the place by myself."
"You defeated the Fire Nation army. I think that you can handle an army of thirsty customers."
Iroh's eyes widened dramatically. "Have you seen them in the mornings, when the tea is too cold or too slow to their tables? I would rather face the army!"
Katara laughed, as she knew he wanted her to. But she did feel better.
When he hired her, Iroh offered her a place to stay in the back of the tea shop. But she politely declined and rented a place a short walk away. It was good to have her own space, and Iroh paid her well, despite her occasional insistence that she would be happy to work for free if he wanted her to. She bought little gifts for her friends and family back in the Water Tribe — candy and jewelry and toys for the children. They reciprocated with things from home, and she spread them out around her small, bare room: small ivory carvings, a tiger-seal fur, a pecked stone lamp. The others brought her things as well, from the foreign lands where they traveled — Sokka in particular was fond of dropping by with some gaudy, too-expensive trinket that he'd picked up in some market somewhere. She didn't have the heart to refuse, although she did have to hide the one carving of the two koala-sheep doing ... things ... which Sokka found hilarious, but Katara thought was in exceedingly poor taste.
For the most part, though, it was just her and Iroh. She'd worried at first that things would be awkward between the two of them, Fire Nation and Water Tribe, without the buffer of the group between them. But it was impossible not to relax around him. No wonder Zuko had been so broken up about the rift with his uncle, Katara thought. She would never want Iroh angry with her — not because she feared him as an enemy, but because it would break her heart to disappoint him. The look on his face when she wasted good tea leaves on tea that was too bitter or too cold was hard enough to deal with.
Toph was right: he was a good listener. Katara found herself telling him things about herself that she hadn't even told Sokka or Aang or Gran-Gran. She talked about her mother's death, about her own rage and confusion. She spoke of the way that it felt when she bloodbent, the creeping sensation of filthy-dirty-wrong under her skin, along with the tingling exhilaration of power.
"Bending lightning is a little the same way," Iroh mused, toying with his half-empty teacup. "It does not carry the ugly connotations of bloodbending, as you've described it to me. It is clean, not tainted. But it is an incredible feeling of power, and it is a destructive power that can only be channeled, not halted or even controlled. When one draws lightning, one does it in the expectation that it will destroy something."
"You've done it," Katara said — not a question.
"Yes," Iroh said. "I have." His eyes looked into the past, and their gaze was dark and sad. Then he focused on her, and a glint of humor appeared. "Have I told you that I learned a special technique for redirecting lightning from studying the teachings of your people?"
"I think so? I watched Zuko teach something like that to Aang."
"Ahhh. Of course he would have." The old man's face was full of pride.
Other nights, in a low, halting voice choked with unshed tears, he spoke to her of his son, Lu Ten, whose body was buried outside the walls of Ba Sing Se. "He was a sweet, gentle child, my Lu Ten. He was a powerful firebender, but he was not a strong fighter. He should never have been in combat. I told my father, many times, but he would not listen. Lu Ten was too powerful for his own good; we could not afford to have him back at home, teaching firebending to children, when he could be here, killing young Earth Nation men on the walls of Ba Sing Se."
"It wasn't your fault," Katara said, her words as useless and empty as her father's had been when he tried to console her after her mother's death.
"It was no one's fault," Iroh said, surprising her. "War is a cruel master, a breaker of hearts that consumes all it touches, regardless of guilt or innocence. At least," he added quietly, "that is what I have told myself, all these years."
Two days later, he closed the shop early, and told her that she could have the evening off. She almost asked where he would be. Then she noticed the basket he carried, with the incense sticks poking out of it; burning incense for the dead was not a Water Tribe custom, but she had spent enough time in foreign lands by now to be aware of it. So she did not ask. But she hugged him, and kissed him on both cheeks.
"Perhaps this is just an old man's selfishness," he said into her hair. "But I am glad that you decided to come to Ba Sing Se, Katara."
After that, the moon turned one full time before Appa landed in the courtyard of the tea shop with a resounding, floor-shaking thud. It was a working night, and the place had just a scattering of regular customers, most of whom were accustomed enough to the comings and goings of the proprietor's odd friends that they barely glanced up when their cups rattled.
Katara had set down her tray and was untying her apron strings when Aang raced into the tea shop on a gust of wind. "Katara! Where's Katara? I need her!" He grabbed her by the wrist, tugging her towards the door.
"At least let me —" Then she registered the rust-colored stains on his Air Nomad robes, and forgot about her apron; half-untied, it flopped against her knees as she raced after him. "Who's hurt?" she asked, dreading the answer.
"Sokka," he said, and the bottom dropped out of her stomach. "We've been chasing a rogue cell of Fire Nation terrorists near the city, helping the Kyoshi Warriors. I flew here as fast as I could when, well — when —" His eyes were huge as he boosted her into Appa's saddle.
The cushioning furs in the bottom of the saddle were stiff with blood. Suki, her makeup smeared in wild disarray, was crouched with Sokka's head in her lap. She tried to smile at Katara, but it stopped somewhere between her mouth and her eyes.
Katara was already uncapping the waterbending bottle that she still carried, even in these more peaceful times. "You had to be the hero, didn't you?" she scolded her brother, pulling apart the rags of his shirt to reveal the raw flesh beneath.
This would be when he'd make a bad joke, something groan-inducing and pure Sokka. But he didn't say anything at all. His face was gray and his eyes were closed.
"Should we take him inside?" Aang asked, behind her, as cool water clothed the flesh of her hands and poured onto Sokka's chest.
"No," she said calmly, "I don't think it's a good idea to move him," and then that was the last thing she was aware of for a while, as she plunged deep inside herself.
A long time later, she woke on a bed in a dim room. It was Iroh's back room, she realized after a few bleary moments, looking around in the slivers of light coming through the folding screen over the window. She was laying on top of the covers on Iroh's bed, and Sokka was beside her, with a blanket over his legs and his bare chest bandaged. His breathing was slow and even, his color decent. Katara ran a hand through the lank hair spilling loose and untied over his pillow. He stirred a little, sighed, then settled deeper into sleep.
Suki, her face wiped clean of makeup, was curled beside the bed, her head resting on the edge of it. Katara got up quietly without waking her. She wasn't sure what day it was. The past few — hours? days? were a blur to her, a series of random snatches of memory. Her clothes were rumpled and not very clean; they felt like they'd been slept in. And she was starving.
She made her way from the bedroom to the kitchen, into the clean bright sunshine of a Ba Sing Se morning. Zuko was sitting at the counter with a cup of tea. Katara stopped. "Where'd you come from?" she asked. Her voice was hoarse.
Zuko shrugged. "I'm here to escort some criminals back to the Fire Nation."
Lots of things went through Katara's mind — the fact that it was a bit of a prosaic job for the Fire Lord, for example, or that he wasn't dressed in any kind of official uniform, but rather, in the brown and green clothes that he wore when he was trying to blend into the Earth Kingdom masses. His clothes were rumpled and muddy at the cuffs.
"There's more tea," he added, nodding at the pot, and then, somewhat casually, "How's that idiot brother of yours?"
"He'll be all right," she said, and saying it made it seem a little more real. Unsteadily, she tried to pour herself a cup of tea, and slopped it over her hand. Zuko materialized out of nowhere at her shoulder, lifted the pot out of her hands and poured it for her. There were crescents of dirt or soot under his nails, and this close to him, she could tell that he'd been firebending recently; she could smell the faint tang of smoke and brimstone that got into a firebender's clothes and hair.
"Uh. Thanks. Where are Aang and your uncle?"
"Out back."
The tea was hot and strong, and it made her feel a little stronger and more awake. She wandered out into the back courtyard of the tea shop, where Iroh kept a small garden and a few ornamental bushes. Here she found Iroh and Aang sitting under the courtyard's lonely little willow tree, talking quietly over cups of tea. Aang's body language spoke clearly of exhaustion; he was almost nodding off in his teacup.
They both looked up expectantly as she joined them, and neither had to ask the question that was reflected in each pair of eyes. "Sleeping," she said, and Iroh smiled, while Aang's shoulders slumped a little more.
"And now ... you should sleep, as well," Iroh said, reaching out to give Aang a friendly little push. The young Avatar stood, blinking for a moment in the sunshine as if startled not to encounter darkness. Then he gave Katara a hug — quick, unexpected, as his hugs often were — and headed into the tea shop.
Katara stared after him for a moment, then folded her legs and sat under the willow tree. Her joints felt creaky and ached as if she was much older than her years.
"It seems we're having a reunion," she said, trying for a smile. "Is Toph around too?"
The corner of Iroh's mouth quirked up. "How odd that you should mention her. I received a hawk this morning from Omashu; apparently our young friend is heading up to Ba Sing Se for a most coincidental visit."
Katara felt her smile becoming more genuine. "No matter how far we scatter, we always return."
"Whenever one of you is in trouble," Iroh agreed. "Do not dismiss the value in that kind of loyalty. Some people never experience it in an entire lifetime."
He reached out and took one of her hands. Katara looked down in surprise as he turned it over, inspecting the square brown hand, the practically blunt fingernails.
"These hands saved your brother's life, you know."
"I know," she said quietly.
"Your loved ones are well and near, thanks in part to you."
"I know." She squeezed his hand, and then let her fingers slide from his.
"And what of you?" Iroh asked. "Do you think that you have found your place yet?"
"I'm not sure." After a moment, she added with a smile, "But right now, I think I'm just where I need to be."
~~~~
This entry is also posted at http://friendshipper.dreamwidth.org/274308.html with
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the one carving of the two koala-sheep doing ... things ... which Sokka found hilarious, but Katara thought was in exceedingly poor taste
Ahaha, that is so them.
Also, does anyone else feel the urge to drink tea after a certain amount of exposure to Iroh?
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*g* Yes! *sips tea*
I'm so glad you liked it -- and yes, Sokka would totally buy vulgar things in the marketplace and give them to his friends and family as gifts. :D (The sort of anniversary/wedding gifts that he'd give probably are best left unmentioned ...)
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*pets your icon* I need a team icon! It's all individual ones that I've acquired so far ...
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Oh, TEAM. Lovely.
Also, thank you for the Sokka h/c. :D
-Pansy Chubb (aka LilRicki)
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painfun around, and people don't seem to write Sokka h/c very often ...