Chapter Text
It’s the last patient of the day, and Katara is exhausted. Volunteering at the student-run medical clinic at the hospital is always tiring, but she tries to put on a cheerful smile for the last patient.
“Good afternoon, sir,” she says with a vigor she does not quite feel. “My name is Katara. How are you today?”
“Hello, Miss Katara,” says the old man politely. “I am not quite feeling myself, I must admit, but I am very glad to make your acquaintance.”
She is struck by the man’s polite tone as he gives her a respectful bow from his seated position. His demeanor gives him the air of a man used to a more sophisticated setting than the somewhat dingy clinic, which mostly catered to recent immigrants and down-on-their-luck cases.
Katara has been volunteering at the clinic since she was in her first year of medical school, and although it was certainly a tiring job, it always helped lift her spirits at the end of the day. She herself came from a very rural, isolated community, and it was hard in a big city like Ba Sing Se to feel connected to people. Even the people she did usually interact with — her fellow medical students, hospital staff, and people in the large school library — were usually busy and difficult to get to know. But the clinic was always different. Most of the patients just needed someone to talk to, someone to really listen to them. Of course, they usually required minor medical care as well, but there were plenty of cases of people who just needed reassurance that yes, that mole did look normal.
Katara fills out her evaluation form as she questions the man, who reveals his name to be Iroh Sozin, age sixty. He is jovial and kind, and Katara finds that her smile becomes more and more authentic with each passing minute. He tells her about his beloved nephew, the tea shop he runs, his favorite strategies for pai sho. It is not the most efficient intake session Katara has ever done, but he’s the last patient of the day, and she doesn’t mind lingering in the presence of such a friendly person.
“Do you take any medications?” she asks, checking her form.
“Oh, no,” says Iroh kindly. “I believe tea is the best medicine.”
This triggers something in Katara’s brain.
“What kind of tea?”
Iroh lists a dozen-odd blends, most of them harmless. But some, Katara knows, can have ill effects if taken in too high a dose. If Iroh does have some underlying condition — high blood pressure is Katara’s best bet, given his age and physical condition — it could be exacerbating the issue.
She excuses herself from the interview and goes to fetch the actual resident doctor on staff, filling him in on the way back to Iroh. They re-enter together for a full evaluation.
The doctor suggests several possibilities to Iroh, reassuring him that a blood test will be the first and fastest step. A followup appointment will be scheduled for his results, but the most likely culprits are nothing that cannot be treated or prevented with a minor change in diet or medication.
Iroh shakes the doctor’s hand and turns his attention to Katara.
“I must say, doctor, that I have been to this clinic before and I have never encountered such a thoughtful and thorough student. Thank you, Miss Katara, for taking such good care of me today.”
Katara tries not to flush at the praise, but it’s been a very long day and she feels a little emotional. She’s not sure how much she actually helped Iroh — it wasn’t like she had the power to do much as a recently-turned fourth year medical student — but she appreciates the compliment all the same. It’s nice to feel that she’s helped someone, even in a little way.
She packs up her backpack and bikes home from her shift. She manages to shove some re-heated stir fry into her mouth before passing out on top of her bed. She has no idea that her life has been changed.
—
As autumn begins in earnest, Katara juggles her schoolwork, clinical rotations, volunteering, and social life. Her brother, Sokka, would scoff at her calling an occasional coffee catchup session a true ‘social life,’ but Katara has to squeeze in what she can get.
She’s relieved to be done with her rounds on the neonatal intensive unit, which were interesting but physically and emotionally draining. She tries to rush home, but her bike chain jumps and she spends several angry minutes swearing as she attempts to fix it. She pulls her bike off to the side of the street next to a shop that smells heavenly, which only makes her grumpier. She just wants to go home and sleep but the universe seems to be conspiring against her.
Frustrated almost to tears by her mechanical ineptitude, Katara is about to give up and just walk her bike home when a young man emerges from the shop.
“Need some help?”
Katara blinks up at him. The man is tall and slim, with piercing eyes that flash gold in the setting sunlight. There is an angry scar across the left part of his face that looks like a burn. His body language does not quite match his helpful words; he looks more ready to flee or fight than to help her.
“Oh, it’s okay,” Katara says, embarrassed by her failed attempts with the bicycle. “I can just walk it home.”
The man moves to crouch next to her, seemingly resolved to help despite his initial wariness.
“Can I…?”
He trails off and Katara shrugs. She watches as his nimble fingers pick around the gears, carefully rearranging the chain back onto the metal teeth. He gives the pedals an experimental push and the chain slides noisily around.
“It should work now,” the man says. “But you need to oil the chain.”
“Thanks,” Katara says, still embarrassed by the state of her bike and herself. She goes to grab the handlebars when a smaller, older man pops out of the shop.
“Zuko, what are you — oh! Miss Katara!”
Katara blinks. It takes a moment for her to recognize him, but the memory jumps back at her. Iroh, from the clinic a few weeks before.
“It is very nice to see you again, Miss Katara!” Iroh says with a bow. “Please, if you are not in a hurry, you must come in for tea. I insist.”
Katara wants to protest, but her stomach gives an audible growl. The young man next to her tries not to laugh and Katara feels her face flush red.
“Oh, I wouldn’t want to…” she tries to begin.
“Please, please!” Iroh says, waving her inside. “My nephew can put your bike in the back with his own. Zuko, this is the very nice young doctor I saw at the clinic.”
Zuko gives her a curt nod and disappears, wheeling her bike into a back alley. Katara is ushered into the tea shop, which smells even more wonderful inside. Iroh moves quickly through the customers to bring her some fresh tea and a pile of pastries. She tries again to protest, but Iroh will have none of it.
“I know they do no pay you at that clinic,” he says, wagging a finger. “You must allow me to offer a young doctor some food so that you may continue your excellent work!”
Katara’s throat feels tight with emotion, and she is glad when Iroh turns his attention to other customers. She sips her tea slowly for a few minutes before Zuko emerges from the back.
“I oiled your chain,” he says in a rasping voice. “Just so you know.”
“Thanks,” she says, smiling. “I’m useless with bikes.”
Zuko nods, looking a bit awkward. Katara tries not to laugh; Iroh is so friendly and talkative, it seems strange that his nephew is so shy.
“Do you work here with your uncle?” she asks. She knows she should probably let him do his job, but it’s been hours since she’s had a non-work related conversation, and she’s feeling a little starved for attention.
“On weekends,” Zuko says.
“What do you do during the week?”
“I’m a software engineer,” he says without enthusiasm.
“Do you like it?”
He shrugs.
“It pays the bills.”
An awkward silence descends. Zuko wanders off to help some customers, but returns a few minutes later with Iroh.
“Please, nephew,” Iroh says with a twinkle in his eye. “I must take care of a few last customers. You should talk with Miss Katara. I’m sure two bright young people such as yourselves have much in common.”
Iroh gives Zuko a pointed look, which makes him flush. Iroh returns to the kitchens and Katara can’t help her giggles.
“Is he always like this?” she says, smiling at Zuko.
Zuko’s lips twist slightly in amusement.
“Yes,” he admits. “I don’t think he realizes people come here to talk to him, not to me.”
Katara pushes the plate of pastries towards him, nodding her head.
“Please, I don’t want to offend your uncle, and I don’t think I can finish all of these by myself.”
Zuko hesitates for a moment, but grabs a pastry with a muffled thanks. They descend back into silence, but it’s a little less uncomfortable given their preoccupation with their food.
“This tea is delicious,” she says politely.
“I didn’t make it,” Zuko says. “I’m not allowed to handle the tea.”
“Not allowed?”
Zuko flushes and rubs the back of his neck.
“I told Uncle Iroh that tea was just hot leaf juice when I was a teenager and he’s never let me handle it since.”
Katara lets out a peal of laughter. Zuko looks surprised but pleased at this reaction. When her laughter subsides, she takes another sip and smiles at Zuko, whose cheeks are faintly pink.
“So you’ve been working here for a long time?”
“Yeah, I live here actually. Well, not here here, but above the shop,” he says, pointing upwards.
“Oh, that’s nice,” she says, thinking of how delicious their apartment must smell all the time. “Does the rest of your family live with you, too?”
Zuko’s expression darkens, and Katara immediately recognizes she’s said the wrong thing.
“No, it’s just me and my uncle,” he says.
His voice sounds sad, but there is some coldness in his expression, and Katara wonders at the story behind it. However, she decides to deflect; she’s just here to enjoy some tea, not interrogate her former patient’s family dynamics.
“Are you from Ba Sing Se originally?”
This causes Zuko to glower even more, and Katara regrets not just sticking to talking about the weather or something less personal.
“No,” Zuko says curtly. “I’m from Caldera City. I moved here when I was fifteen.”
“I’m going to Caldera City in a few weeks,” she says with some hesitancy. “Any tips?”
Again, this is the wrong thing to say, because Zuko slumps a little, looking defeated.
“I haven’t been back since I left,” he says quietly. “But there are some really nice parks if you like that sort of thing.”
“I’ll have to check it out,” she says softly.
She can’t think of what else to say to rescue this disastrous conversation, but fortunately Iroh swoops by to refill their pastries.
“Oh, that’s very kind of you, but I couldn’t…”
“Please, Miss Katara, I insist. It is not often that my nephew takes a break from working. I must feed him as well.”
Zuko lets out a quiet groan.
“Uncle, please, I’m fine.”
“Zuko is very skilled with bicycles,” Iroh continues, ignoring his nephew. “I’m glad to see he could help you with yours.”
“Yes, that was really nice of you,” Katara says, turning to Zuko.
This seems like safer territory to discuss, and Iroh bustles away to take the last orders before closing. Zuko shifts in his seat, giving Katara a questioning look.
“You’ve got a pretty cool old bike,” he says. “Where did you get it?”
“My ex,” she says, proud of herself for not wincing too much at the reminder. “He’s a great cyclist. He’s got like eight bikes at his place. I usually prefer walking, but he got me a bike so we could go places faster.”
The gift of the bicycle had been a little more romantic when Aang had presented it to her, but when she said it out loud, it made it seem like he had just been annoyed at her slow pace. She supposed both things could be true: that he loved her and that he didn’t want to wait for her. It was, in the end, why they had broken up. She had wanted to pursue her career, a long road of medical training, and he had not wanted to wait and be tied down. An absence of love had never been the issue, only the absence of patience.
She catches Zuko’s curious expression, and realizes that now she is the one whose melancholy mood is making things awkward. She shakes thoughts of Aang away and focuses on the man in front of her.
“Do you road bike or mountain bike?”
This sparks a pleasant enough conversation about the local bike scene, and eventually leads to a discussion of how the drivers of Ba Sing Se were total jerks to cyclists, something they both ardently agree upon. By the time Iroh swings around again, the conversation flows much more easily.
Iroh asks her a dozen questions about her life — are they working her too hard at school? Does she have time to see her friends and family? Where is she from and does she know people in Ba Sing Se? — while Zuko looks faintly embarrassed by his uncle’s curiosity. Eventually, the last customer leaves and Katara stands to head home. She fights with Iroh about paying the check, and only caves when he promises that she can pay full price the next time she visits.
“Don’t count on it,” Zuko whispers as his uncle is distracted. “He’s just saying that so you’ll come back again — he’s never going to let you pay.”
Zuko goes to fetch her bike and she waves goodbye as she sets off. The pedals move smoothly as she pushes; the oil Zuko had used had been very much needed.
She resolves to go back to the shop again the following weekend when she’s recovered a bit from her brutal work schedule. She could go during the week now that her rounds are finished, but she reasons that it would be best to go when both Zuko and Iroh were present. That way one of them could talk to her while the other worked. It certainly had nothing to do with the fact that Zuko was quite handsome, and that he had let her eat all of the sesame-flavored pastries after he noticed she liked them the best. No, this was purely to connect with new people, not to share dessert with cute boys.
—
The tea shop becomes a weekend habit, and she comes to a compromise with Iroh. She pays full price for her tea, but Iroh lets her eat whatever leftover pastries he can’t sell by the end of the day. She usually shares them with Zuko, although he always claims not to be hungry when her favorite sesame buns are all that remains.
When the shop is particularly busy, she uses the time to study. The second step of her medical licensing exam isn’t until March, but she figures it doesn’t hurt to start early. Sometimes the crowd dies down and Iroh insists Zuko entertain her, but they usually work together in silence, Zuko tapping away on his laptop. When he starts looking miserable, she is the one to distract him from his work. He doesn’t seem to enjoy his workplace very much, and Katara wants to ask several times why he doesn’t just quit, but she bites her tongue. Zuko seems like a very private man, so she waits to draw him out of his shell. It’s slow process, and it’s hard to tell if she is making any progress in becoming his friend.
Winter descends upon Ba Sing Se, and with it comes a frost that ices over the roads. Katara, exhausted after a long day at work, doesn’t notice until too late, and wipes out on her bike. She manages to shield herself in the fall and ends up with only a few bruises, but something goes wrong with her bike, and she can barely get it to move forward. The next weekend, she walks it over to the tea shop.
“Can you fix it?” she asks Zuko. “I can pay you back for parts or whatever, but I don’t even know what’s wrong with it, and the bike shop near me just closed.”
“Sure,” Zuko says, bending to inspect the bike. “But it might take me a few days. Do you have a way to get around?”
“I have a car,” she says. “I usually bike because the hospital parking pass is crazy expensive, but I should be able to park on the street for a few days. There’s no rush, and if you don’t want to fix it, or if you don’t have time...”
“It’s cool, I’m happy to fix it,” Zuko says with a wave of his hand.
“Thanks, Zuko!”
Before she leaves, Zuko sidles up to her table, pulling out his phone.
“I can text you when I’m done if you give me your number,” he explains.
She tries not to get too excited about this development. She’s pretty sure it doesn’t count as giving out your number to a cute guy if he’s only going to use it to text about bicycle-related topics.
Sure enough, Zuko shoots her a message three days later that her bike is fixed. She drives over after work to find the tea shop closed; Iroh shuts the shop early most weekdays. Zuko helps her cram her bike in the trunk of her beat-up Subaru. Katara thanks him profusely, which he waves off.
“It was fun,” he says.
Katara eyes him skeptically. She can sense that Zuko, like his uncle, will refuse payment even though she can tell that some of her bike parts look shiny and new.
“I’m starving,” she says, peering down the street. “Do you want to get something to eat?”
Zuko looks a little surprised, but he nods.
“There’s a pho place on the corner that’s pretty good,” he suggests.
They set off, and Katara spots a small number of people waiting outside. She hangs back, wondering if perhaps they should try someplace less crowded, but Zuko seems undeterred and heads inside. She follows him to find a smiling hostess already ushering him to two empty seats at the bar.
“Did we just skip that line of people?” Katara asks, incredulous.
Zuko shifts uncomfortably on his stool.
“Yeah, uh… Uncle and I get takeout here a lot.”
A waitress materializes next to them, quickly taking their orders. Katara barely has time to glance at a menu, so she just orders the same thing as Zuko, trusting his judgement. The restaurant staff all give him curious looks, which he seems determined to ignore.
“Zuko!” An older woman in her mid-sixties emerges from the kitchen. “They told me you were here with a girl, and I had to see it for myself!”
Zuko flushes bright red, and glares at the woman, but she ignores him and turns to Katara.
“And who might you be?” she asks kindly.
“I’m Katara.”
“Oh!” The woman’s smile increases. “I know about you! Iroh told me if I went to the medical clinic to ask for a very nice young doctor with your name. He says you are an excellent listener.”
Now it is Katara’s turn to blush. Zuko bites his lip as if holding back laughter.
“Well, Zuko,” the woman says, rounding on him again. “You must come back here more often with your friend. You both could use some feeding!”
The waitress returns with two huge, steaming bowls of soup, and Katara and Zuko are left alone for their meals. They both dig in immediately, avoiding eye contact.
Halfway through her bowl, Katara starts to resent the silence. She wishes she felt less awkward talking to Zuko. They had known each other for weeks, but she still always felt on the precipice of saying something that would upset him. She suspects that he has had a complicated past, but without knowing more about him, she can’t quite figure out which topics to avoid. Fortunately, Zuko has opened up enough that he asks Katara about herself, and she’s usually more than happy to answer. He seems interested in what she has to say, and sometimes her responses will prompt him to share a bit about his own life. But it’s still a lopsided conversation, and she wonders if it’s possible to actually become friends with someone so closed off.
“Are you going home for the holidays?”
Zuko’s words startle her from her contemplation. She inelegantly swallows a mouthful of noodles before answering.
“Yeah, for a bit,” she says. “It’s probably the last holiday break I’ll get in a long time, so I’m going to take advantage.”
“I bet your family will be happy to see you.”
“Yeah, Sokka — that’s my brother — told me he and my dad have a bet going, and the winner gets to pick me up from the airport. Why they can’t both come to the airport is a bit of a mystery, but I figure it’s some macho, guy-competition thing.”
“Your mom doesn’t get the chance to come pick you up?”
Katara’s heart squeezes. She realizes that Zuko is not the only one with a complicated past.
“My mom passed away when I was eleven,” she says quietly.
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
It’s been long enough that she can usually talk about her mother, but she feels caught off guard. A wave of grief has knocked her sideways, and she struggles to right herself.
“I lost my mom when I was thirteen.”
Katara blinks, turning to stare at Zuko. He is gazing forlornly into his soup, and her heart twists. The pain in his expression is more than familiar to her.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” she says. Without thinking, she reaches out a hand to touch his arm. “I know how hard that must have been.”
Zuko turns to look at her, a curious expression on his face, as if seeing her for the first time.
“Yeah. Yeah, it was hard.” He takes a deep breath, as if to steel himself. “She died in a car crash,” he says, his voice barely a whisper.
Katara cannot resist, and moves her hand down to cover his, squeezing a little. He squeezes back and grimaces.
“What about your mom?” he asks softly.
“Breast cancer.”
He winces a bit in sympathy and squeezes her hand again.
“I’m sorry. That must have been rough.”
Katara sighs, taking back her hand to stir the remains of her soup. The loud atmosphere of the pho shop seems to fade away, like only she and Zuko exist in their cloud of grief.
“Did you always want to be a doctor?” Zuko asks.
“Yes, even before my mom…but yeah, that kind of solidified it.”
“I guess I never asked,” he says a little sheepishly, “what kind of medicine you want to practice.”
“Well, for a long time I was dead set on oncology. I wanted to stop what happened to my mom from happening to other families. But then… I don’t know, cancer is an important field, but there were so many other problems at home. Where I grew up, no one had good access to basic medical care, let alone a decent oncologist. I know I could do a lot of good specializing in oncology, but it just doesn’t call to me as much as family medicine and pediatrics.”
“That makes sense,” Zuko says, nodding absently. “Treat the whole family unit, maybe do some preventative care.”
“Exactly,” Katara says, relieved to be understood. She had waged her own battle deciding what to study for years; it feels good to have someone else agree with her decision.
She wants to keep the conversation going, but, as usual, feels some trepidation about saying the wrong thing. She takes a deep breath a throws caution to the wind. If she and Zuko are going to be friends, they need to be able to speak honestly to each other, and Katara is done dancing around, trying to avoid topics.
“Why did you decide to be a software engineer?”
As expected, Zuko’s face darkens, but after weeks of trying to pry him open, he finally cracks.
“That was always the plan.”
“The plan?”
“My dad wanted me to be good with computers. He said they were the future, and in order to follow in his footsteps, I needed to study computer science.”
Katara tries not to slurp her soup too loudly and break this fragile moment. Zuko had never mentioned any of his family before now, and she was loathe to interrupt what was obviously a painful confession.
“My little sister was always better than me. Azula. She was the talented one. I was fine, but I wasn’t her. She could write lines of code in her sleep, invent all sorts of crazy stuff. But I wanted to prove to my dad that I could live up to my potential. Even after I… after I left… I still felt like I had to do it. Just to prove that I could.”
“Do you like it? Coding, I mean.”
“Yeah, most of the time. My boss right now is a total dick,” he adds with disdain. “But the coding itself is alright. Just wish I had a better project to work on.”
“Have you thought about leaving? Going somewhere else?”
“There’s not that many good tech places in Ba Sing Se right now,” he says hesitantly. “It’s all back in Caldera City.”
“And you don’t want to go back?”
“It’s complicated.”
Katara is ready to drop the subject — she feels like she has pushed Zuko to speak more than enough — but Zuko surprises her.
“I left because of my dad. He’s the one who did this,” he says, pointing at his scarred face.
Katara can feel her eyes bulging out of their sockets in horror. She’s grateful Zuko is staring at his soup and can’t see her expression before she schools it into something more composed.
“Zuko, that’s… that’s terrible. I’m so sorry.”
“It took me a long time to admit what kind of man he really was. He’s the reason my mom is gone, too. He was the one driving the car. He was drunk. He walked away without a scratch, but my mom—”
Zuko’s voice cracks and bit, and Katara feels her stomach drop like a lead weight. She had guessed that Zuko had suffered, but she had certainly not imagined this.
“Anyway, I’ve always wanted to go back, but I couldn’t make myself. I knew there was no way I’d run into him, but I couldn’t risk it. He’s been in jail for the past year for embezzlement. Oh yeah—“ he says, an ironic smile twisting his lips at Katara’s stunned expression— “he’s a piece of work. An abusive, alcoholic crook. Really just the pinnacle of father figures.”
It’s not really funny, but Katara gives a snort of laughter and Zuko’s smile softens into something sadder, but more genuine.
“The truth is, I don’t know if I can go back. It would mean leaving Uncle Iroh behind, and after everything he’s done for me…”
“I’m sure he would understand if it was something you really wanted,” Katara says. “He cares about you so much.”
“I know,” Zuko says sadly. “I used to be a real shit to him.”
“You said you left home at fifteen, right? All fifteen-year-olds are kind of shitty.”
Zuko gives a little rasp of laughter.
“Yeah… but I was really bad. We didn’t come to Ba Sing Se right away, actually. We moved around a lot — I kept getting expelled from school.”
“Why were you expelled?”
“I would hack into the school’s database and mess stuff up. Just to prove that I was smarter than them, or just because I was mad at someone and wanted to give them all F’s. That sort of thing. It was really stupid, but it caused my uncle a lot of grief.”
“I’m sure he forgives you, Zuko. You were young and in a lot of pain.”
“You were young and it a lot of pain, too,” he says, looking curiously at her. “But I bet you didn’t edit the yearbook so that everyone’s last name was ‘Penis’.”
Katara snorts soup straight out of her nose. Zuko chokes on his own spit laughing. She glares at him as he hands her an extra napkin to clean herself up. She can’t keep up the charade of annoyance for long, however.
“Did you really do that?”
“Yeah,” Zuko says, a grin pulling at his lips. “Right before they sent it out for printing, so they couldn’t change it. And no one noticed until too late.”
Katara laughs again, loud and bright.
“Yeah, I definitely didn’t get in trouble like that,” she says.
“I bet you never got into trouble at all.”
“No, I didn’t,” Katara says with a sigh. “I kind of went in the opposite direction. I felt like I had to be perfect, like I had to be good all the time. Every time I did something nice or helped someone, they would tell me how much I was like my mom. So I just kept doing it.”
“That sounds like a lot of pressure.”
“Oh yeah, I’ve always been really good at putting pressure on myself,” Katara says with a humorless laugh.
The both fall silent, staring into their soup bowls. The waitress comes by to give them the check and Katara wrestles it out of Zuko’s hands.
“For fixing my bike,” she explains.
“Katara…”
“Fine. How about we agree that I pay this time and you’ll pay next time?”
“Next time?”
Katara can feel herself blushing a little, but she squares her chin determinedly.
“Yes, next time. That’s what friends do, right? Go get pho together.”
A ghost of a smile crosses Zuko’s face.
“Thanks, Katara.”
“My pleasure.”