Chapter Text
Aang wasn’t supposed to be an alpha.
That much was crystal clear to anyone who had the pleasure of meeting the guy.
Softhearted. Gentle. Benevolent. Genial. Benign. Those are the words that adequately describe the Avatar. Not labels often associated with alphas, such as overbearing, aggressive, hostile, or grouchy.
And even with this soundproof logic, a week before Aang’s eighteenth birthday, he managed to shock everyone.
The Avatar experiences his very first rut.
Katara thought there was something fatally wrong with him—he contracted a horrific disease, he accidentally ate a hallucinogenic plant, he was otherwise dying…
Nothing her healing couldn’t fix, right?
The possibilities swirl around endlessly in her head before the truth wiggles its way into her brain like a worm in fresh soil.
Originally, she finds him curled up in bed, in a fetal position, sweating, shivering, pale, and honestly, appearing like he’s on death’s door. The sight alone is enough to ring alarm bells, and she moves without so much as a decision to move being made—the action entirely automatic. Similar to how a hand will jolt away when it gets too close to a fire. It’s preservation.
The preservation of Katara’s whole world.
“Aang,” she exclaims, and within the next moment, she has leaped to his bedside—filled to the brim with worry. “What’s wrong?”
To say that she is confused when Aang insists that she leave his room immediately would be the understatement of the century.
“Grab Zuko, please,” Aang tells her through gritted teeth, his scent transforming drastically in the course of a couple of minutes—shifting from its neutral scent to overbearing—like the air after a hard summer rain. “Tell him I need to see him. Thank you, Katara.”
That’s the thing about Aang. Even if he’s in immense pain—literally going through hell, he’ll still manage to convey his please and thank yous. Katara has never successfully figured out whether that’s a monk thing or an Aang thing.
“Okay,” she says rather reluctantly. Before she can leave, though, she touches his forehead with the back of her hand, and when he flinches away from it, it puts a real pep in her step. Something’s really wrong. “I’ll go fetch him. Hang tight.”
Upon leaving, there’s an undeniable, irreversible change in Katara. An ineffable shift in how she views the now-alpha. One might argue it’s biological. His scent lingers long after she exits the room. The image of him both dominant and needy infiltrates her conscious mind.
Rather than shove it down, she bathes in it—lets it reside in the recesses of her psyche.
Aang isn’t a kid anymore.
Katara isn’t a kid anymore.
For all intents and purposes, they’re capable of giving each other what they need. What they deserve.
What a terrifying thought.
The gang is staying at the Firelord’s palace, having attended his long-awaited wedding with Katara’s brother. And if that isn’t bizarre enough, they’re both alphas. So, no children. The Fire Lord’s court is still scandalized, and rushing to figure out how they’re going to secure an heir.
Not to mention how unconventional it is to have a man marry a man, especially in the Fire Nation. Let alone that man who’s marrying another man being the Fire Lord. Aang was present at the announcement in case of a coup, but the most resistance Zuko received was minimal and came from the older, more traditional members of his court.
Aang had to hold her back when someone on Zuko’s court suggested that he impregnate her in order to make an heir.
Let Zuko deal with this, Katara.
That sentence worked its magic, and Katara immediately relaxed—the fury simmering rather than boiling. If anyone other than Aang said that same thing to her, she’d have knocked them out.
Aang equalizes her.
The wedding itself was beautiful—in the palace gardens, decorated with fire lilies and moonblush flowers. Sokka tried to pretend that he was too manly to care for floral arrangements, yet ended up requesting that those flowers be rearranged four times before he was satisfied with how they turned out.
Given that Zuko is the Fire Lord, it was a shockingly intimate affair. About fifty guests, give or take. It was one of those rare times that Katara saw Aang imbibe in alcohol.
They danced together for the first and last song—tangled up, chest-to-chest.
Katara could shudder simply thinking about it.
Most of them are staying on the guest side of the palace, which is, fortunately, not where Zuko and Sokka are. Toph was ultimately the most thankful one, claiming that the last thing she wants to deal with while on vacation is those kinds of vibrations.
On her way over to the opposite wing, where Zuko resides, which is a trek and a half by the way, Katara continues to mentally sort through the range of alternate explanations.
Aang isn’t dying.
Probably.
Katara would feel that. Would feel it from a continent away. If the Avatar died in her lifetime, he’d take half of her soul with him.
And perhaps he’d leave half of his behind.
So, no. He isn't on the verge of death.
He couldn’t be sick, either. It’s the summertime, and no one else in their entourage has caught a bug. Therefore, it must be something else.
As she passes by the throne room, it suddenly hits her like the times that Appa has been a little too excited to see her and forgets how large an animal he is.
The pain. The feral look in his silvery eyes. The demand disguised as a request that Katara, an omega, retreat from his room. She remembers that same expression in others throughout her life, and it came during one specific time of year.
There’s only one logical explanation:
Aang isn’t a beta. He just hasn’t presented until today.
That realization stops her mid-step, and she has to grab onto a nearby table to hold herself up. The only sound she registers is the blood roaring in her ears—the extreme pressure of it pumping through her veins. An invisible hand seizes her lungs, squeezing them tighter and tighter. She inhales and exhales in hasty bursts, never taking in the proper amount of oxygen to replenish her reserves.
Spirits, I can hear my heart beating.
“Katara?”
Victory! Just the person she needed to run into.
The invisible hand slightly eases the pressure it's exerting in her chest.
“Zuko,” she calls out and waves her arm above her head as if he can’t see her from his vantage point at the other end of the hall. “C’mere. We have a—“
A what exactly?
A complication? A problem?
No…
“—a medical emergency!”
Zuko freezes, his brow furrowing.
“What’s that got to do with me? You’re the healer.”
Shoot. He isn’t grasping the gravity of the situation.
The my-best-friend-is-an-alpha-now dilemma. There’s a part of her that’s screaming to return and help Aang in any way she can—he’s in agony after all, but Aang doesn’t want that. Doesn’t need Katara. Sent her away.
That hurts more than it should—like a dozen knives stabbed into her back. She doesn’t care how dramatic that sounds, either. Trust is at the foundation of her relationship with Aang, and he didn’t trust her enough to explicitly tell her what’s happening.
“I think he’s going into a rut,” she explains, trying and failing to stand on her own two feet without the assistance of something solid to hold onto.
Weak. Weak, weak, weak!
…Why is the concept of Aang in a rut affecting her so badly? It isn’t like she hasn’t met a thousand alphas. She was right outside her brother’s igloo during his first rut, and it didn’t bother her.
Yet this is different.
Don’t ask her how.
“He requested you specifically.”
“What?” Zuko asks and crosses his arms across his chest. His nose wrinkles, and his eyes dart from her toward the table she’s leaning against. “An alpha? Are you sure?”
She nods, biting her bottom lip, worrying it between her teeth until it’s swollen tender.
“Late presentation,” Zuko says, mostly musing out loud. “He did grow like six inches overnight. And packed on all that muscle…” Squinting in the general direction of Aang’s room, he sighs. “Fuck it. Not like anything can be done about it. I’ll make sure to give him the talk that all the young alphas in the world inevitably get. Except it’s supposed to be a father to son thing. This’ll be—“ He winces. Grimaces. His scent sours. “—fun. A lot of fun.”
It takes everything in Katara not to follow directly on his heels. Micromanaging is, by far, her favorite activity, especially when it comes to Aang. Or her idiot brother, for that matter.
But she can’t let it go entirely, so she settles on a, “Please let me know if you need anything. Please.”
She’s a recovering nag, alright? Give her a break.
Zuko, slightly dragging his feet, gives her a nod instead. “Wish me luck.”
It’s Aang—Zuko won’t need luck. Even in a rut, the Avatar will still be his courteous, polite self. She’s certain of that.
The same cannot be said for anyone else in the world. Even Katara. She’s bitten Sokka’s head off a time or two during her prior heats. Didn’t matter whether he was trying to bring her food or water. The mere sight of him pissed her off beyond belief.
Katara presented as an omega at the typical age of fifteen. So, she’s had years to adjust and learn how to exist as her gender designation. It must be terrible to be navigating this as an adult.
Betas don’t deal with the same intricacies that alphas and omegas have to grapple with. Katara assumed that Aang would have been spared from it. Remained a beta.
Turns out she couldn’t have been more wrong. Fate had other plans for him.
Why is Aang presenting so late? Could it have something to do with being trapped in that ice for one hundred years?
Well, she doubts that it helps.
That isn’t to say that people never present this late, it’s just rare. So rare that she hasn’t met anyone who has presented past the age of sixteen.
In hindsight, Aang’s behavior the last couple of weeks starts to make more sense. He’s been uncharacteristically irritated lately—spending more time alone and even snapping at Katara when she requested to accompany him on a late-night stroll through the palace gardens. She assumed it must be some kind of fluke. Or, maybe, it’s due to dredged up emotions as they approach the same time of year that Appa went missing during the Hundred Year War.
Katara can still smell Aang on her clothing. His scent is strong, and it makes her nostalgic for rain clouds and hot nights with warm showers. Going swimming seems like the best way for her to take her mind off what’s happening in their wing of the palace.
Lucky for her, the palace has natural springs nearby.
If she’s even luckier, Aang’s scent will wash off once she dips herself in the pools. Not that she hates the aroma—the opposite, honestly. It’s just…making her skin prickle in a semi-unpleasant way.
A cold sweat breaks out on the nape of her neck as she passes by Aang’s room on the way to her own, eager to grab her swimsuit and promptly depart.
She hears faint talking through the wall, but decides that it’d be rude to eavesdrop, and hurries past Aang’s door.
Once she throws her swimsuit on and grabs a towel, she gets the hell out of there. Hopefully, the water isn’t too tepid. She prefers it cold, like in the south.
The air outside is balmy, and her face is covered with a light sheen of sweat by the time she approaches the springs. She groans as she peels her robe off and drops it haphazardly onto the ground, uncaring if it gets dirty.
“Finally,” she says out loud as she dips her body into the water.
It’s not quite as cool as she would prefer it, but this’ll do.
Even though it’s difficult to fully relax, she makes an effort, sinking further and further down, until only the top portion of her head is above the waterline. She absentmindedly rubs up and down her legs, soothing, and allows herself to contemplate what today means.
The Avatar is an alpha.
Okay, sure, not the first and definitely won’t be the last.
Aang, however, is hers.
My Avatar is an alpha.
And Katara is an omega. Technically, the yin to his yang.
Not that she’s had any doubt about this in the past. Once upon a time, they had something real. But to put it simply, life got complicated, and with it, she shoved all of these re-emerging feelings on the back burner.
Now, now—it’s different. Unavoidable.
People can only repress their emotions for so long before they lurch back up to the surface. There’s something in the matter that makes up Katara’s body that’s pleading with her to return to the palace—to seek out her yang.
Harmony can only be reached when she’s near him. When he’s near her.
But he kicked you out, a voice in her says. He doesn’t need you anymore.
Frustrated, she slams her fists onto the wall she’s leaning against, in the mood, apparently, to act like a child.
“What’s got you all worked up?”
Katara’s shoulders jump, and she whips her head around.
“Toph, don’t sneak up on me like that.”
“It’s not my fault your hearing’s bad,” Toph replies, grinning as she sits down at the edge of the spring and lowers her feet in—scowling as she does so. Her mossy scent pervades the space. Katara has always liked it. It reminds her of deep, lush forests. “What’s going on with Twinkle Toes?”
“Did you happen to hear anything?” Katara asks, evading her question, the words tumbling out at high speed. So, yeah, she’s interested in information that isn’t necessarily hers to know.
“Just Zuko talkin’ about, ‘when an alpha presents…’ yadda, yadda, yadda. It was boring so I bowed out, and decided to go for a walk and found you.”
Toph recoils from the water as quickly as she slipped her feet in, and places them back onto the dirt, smiling. Mud crusts on the pads of her toes as she wiggles them around, and Katara, quite frankly, wants to vomit from the sight.
Katara scrambles. How should she ask for more details without being suspicious? Should she even ask for more details? What if those details are not details that she wants to hear?
“His heart was beating rather fast,” Toph continues, as though reading Katara’s mind. Leaning back on her elbows, she tilts her face toward the sky. “I didn’t hear much. But I can tell ya that after Zuko said your name the first time, it did start beating faster. Significantly.”
A deep red creeps up Katara’s neck to the tips of her ears.
Oh.
“Good to know,” Katara says, clearing her throat. “Do you—“ She licks her lips, her mouth suddenly dry. “—do you think he’ll be alright?”
Toph laughs, clutching her belly as she rolls around on the ground, kicking up dust. The particles waft up into thick clouds, and Katara sneezes.
“Why’re you laughing at me?” Katara grumbles and considers wearing her world-class pout if only Toph could see it.
“Aang’s survived much worse than a rut, Katara. I mean, he defeated Ozai during Sozin’s Comet. He’ll be more than fine. Uncomfortable, yeah. But fine.”
True. Facing off against the former Fire Lord is a much more daunting task. Katara wishes that after everything that Aang has undergone in his life, he’d be rewarded with a long, peaceful hiatus. He’s the Avatar—but that doesn’t mean he has to suffer.
Ruts last about three or four days, give or take. Not a lengthy amount of time by any means. Although it’s still a hurdle.
And Katara can’t protect him from it.
The sun begins to slink below the horizon, casting orange and pink hues above the duo as they sit in relative silence for a moment. Cicadas begin their lagging tune, humming over the sound of the distant waves washing ashore.
Never in her life did Katara foresee herself ending up here.
“You’re right,” Katara says, exhaling. “I just wish I could make it all go away.”
Toph smirks.
“I mean—there are a lot of things that you can do for Twinkle Toes.”
Immediately, Katara splashes her, and Toph yelps, scooting further away.
“Hey—”
“What’s that supposed to mean, Toph?”
The viciousness in Katara’s voice only seems to goad Toph on.
“C’mon, like you think I don’t notice the way your heart rate picks up whenever you sit there and watch Aang train with me. He’s really bulked up recently, huh? I've even noticed his change in density.”
Katara scoffs, like Toph isn’t spewing the absolute truth. Because Katara uses the excuse that she is sunbathing—getting much-needed fresh air—but that isn’t the case. Observing Aang as he bends makes Katara’s toes and fingers tingle. It makes her belly clench in wantwantwant. Even Aang’s grunts of pain when Toph lands a hit on him fuel Katara’s fantasies.
He’s often shirtless. Muscles stretching, skin shimmering, beads of sweat forming…
I’m such a pervert!
“Why haven’t you told him how you feel?” Toph asks.
“I—”
Her jaw hangs open.
Damn. Great question.
Terrible, terrible question.
“—I can’t,” Katara finishes lamely, her shoulders deflating as she slides further into the water.
It’s futile to deny the love she harbors for Aang. He’s…the sun. A bright star in a desolate sky. What guides her and feeds her and warms her.
“You two are hopeless,” Toph mumbles and kicks the earth to push herself onto her feet. “Whatever. You can keep moping in here for the rest of the night. I’m going to find some firebenders who are stupid enough to agree to a duel with me.”
Good riddance.
Katara stays in the water until her skin prunes. She names as many constellations as she can before she ends up getting out, and then waterbending herself dry.
The journey back to the palace takes longer than usual due to Katara carefully plucking fire lilies out of the grass until she holds a bouquet of them in her shaking hand. The trembling worsens as the distance between herself and the looming palace decreases.
She finds a vase when she returns and places it in the center of the large dining table. Stepping back, she admires her handiwork, pleased with the flawless petals and the deep crimson shade. For it being the Fire Nation’s palace, most of their guest suites are built of natural woods and orangey hues. Katara finds the houses and structures here rather gorgeous.
Sokka has been living here for most of the year for the last half a decade, and she finds the Fire Nation increasingly charming with each visit, minus the temperature. Zuko has done a wonderful job in creating a welcoming place for people of all nations to come together. There’s even a fair share of tourists in the summer months from other nations. Kids and their parents who travel to the Fire Days Festival and the various islands strewn about.
Last summer they spent a couple of weeks on Ember Island. The island was more serene this time around.
When she enters her room, it’s strangely silent, especially since she expected to hear Aang to some extent on the other side of the wall. She puts her ear against it, shuts her eyes, and listens.
Then—
“What are you doing?”
Katara simultaneously jumps out of her skin and flings herself away from the wall, tumbling over, the mattress breaking her fall.
“Sokka!”
“In the flesh,” her brother says, smiling like a moron.
He’s leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed across his chest, wearing their tribal blue.
Jeez, he’s starting to resemble their father.
“Knock next time,” she replies, unsuccessfully keeping the vitriol out of her voice, and smooths her palms down her robe, like that’ll save her some dignity.
“He isn’t in there anymore if that’s what you were trying to figure out.”
Without asking, her brother marches further into her room and plops down next to her on the bed. What a pest.
“We took him to another wing to ride out his rut,” he explains. Katara’s heart plummets. “It’ll be better for him. Give him privacy.”
Ugh.
If Katara were being honest with herself, she’d admit that she misses his scent. Misses the timbre of his voice. The way his eyes soften when he glances at her from across the room, or when they’re up close. How he’ll put his big hand on the small of her back to guide her through a crowded street.
Twelve hours without him—and Katara yearns.
“That being said—he’s asking for something of yours,” Sokka says, frowning so hard he’s pouting. It runs in the family. “Demanding it, really.”
Something of…mine?
As Katara stands up and grabs the nearest blanket off her bed, she tries to think of a million excuses as to why Aang would request an item heavy with her scent.
Comfort, perhaps? They have been friends for years. And at one point, when they were younger, and their lives were simultaneously less and more complex, they shared something else. Deeper. More intimate.
Or at least as intimate as young teenagers could be.
An omega’s scent can absolutely help an alpha through their rut, even if that alpha and that omega are only on friendly terms. So, it’s not out of the realm of possibilities that Aang needs Katara’s scent for pure comfort reasons.
Sokka grabs the cotton, and before he leaves, he halts at the door and says, “I wouldn’t go near there if I were you. I know it’s Aang—but he’s also in a rut, and well, you’re an omega. It isn’t—“ He stops, hesitating. “It isn’t safe.”
Katara opens her mouth to argue, then snaps it shut. As much as she hates to admit it, Sokka is right. Alphas in rut are unpredictable—and usually, driven entirely by their desire to stick their knot in anything that moves. Not that she believes Aang would forcefully do anything without another person’s consent, it’s best not to make the situation worse by strutting around outside his room. Instincts are a bitch without being in one’s cycle, and it would make his rut that much worse if she were to spread her omega pheromones around carelessly.
Besides, Aang has always maintained a respectful distance whenever she endures her twice-a-year heats. Doing the same is the least she can do. Heats and ruts are private events and should only be shared by mates.
With each hour that passes, she feels like she’s becoming more and more stir crazy. The sheets are too scratchy, the air is too scorching, and her mind won’t stop racing. Aang this, Aang that, over and over and over again. She screams into her pillow for good measure before she tiptoes out into the kitchen.
A walk on the beach will offer relief.
Ideally.
If not, she’ll continue to compartmentalize until some sort of equilibrium is reached.