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My take on fic writing is that I don't care what actually happened in canon.
- but I do need to get the price of tulips in 1850's Paris right because that's how I'm letting you guys know that my ignorance of the source material is a hard-earned and intentional kind of bliss.
the sheer offensiveness of rereading something you wrote, discovering that, hey, it’s actually pretty good, and then reaching the end, wherein you realize that if you want more you actually have to write it
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Hey whaddup I have an infant for whom I'm the primary caregiver. Said babe has only JUST figured out napping alone in the crib isn't awful, so I haven't written in a long while. I'm planning to catch up on naps before trying to write more, because I tried to get a new one-shot out that's been bouncing in my head but words wouldn't come. Sleep deprivation will getcha
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Green growth always follows the rain. Though the rain might bring floods, end games, darken moods - the grass that springs in its wake is the softest underfoot.
Katara slips her hand into Zuko’s - the war the biggest stormcloud of them all finally dissipating - and she knows, that the grandest adventure, the biggest chance to grow, is only just beginning.
Zuko squeezes her hand as the comet leaves on its centennial cycle - the promise of many joyous tomorrows contained in that gentle pressure.
Katara has stopped the rain before - she can withstand any storms to come, her hand always in his.
Ancient and wild, the Fae Prince looked her up and down. He offered his hand, and into it leapt a crystal ball - smokey images swirling inside.
“I can offer you your dreams, Katara,” he replied in his husky voice, the shadows on his face sharpening the edges of his facial scar. “But this is not a gift for an ordinary girl, stuck mending her brother’s clothes all day.”
Her shoulders square, she looked straight into his golden eyes. “Then you’d better give Sokka back so he can mend them himself.”
The corner of the prince’s mouth twitched into a smile.
Zuko twists the strands of Katara’s hair into a topknot before securing her crown into place. His hands might be older and more frail, but he was born to this. His hands do not forget the way hers do, who learned later.
She smiles in thanks, accepting his help up and stealing a kiss.
Arm in arm, the Fire Lord and his Lady sweep out of their private chambers, as elegant and powerful as the day they were crowned in the prime of youth.
The gold has matched so well with both the brown and now silver of her hair.
If every heartbeat is precious, then your beloved’s is even more so. To hear that beat, to feel that song coursing through veins and lifting up a body to laugh, to move, to love, and from your dearest love’s heart? Irreplaceable.
To have seen how close that heart can come to stopping? Unimaginable.
Katara bends away the rain as she walks with Zuko through the palace gardens, twists and turns known well after years together. She could reach out with her bending to feel his pulse, but she has no need, not when tonight they’ll curl up close together tonight.
“You know, I think this is some of the finest work I’ve done.”
Punai turned back and forth in the mirror, feet shuffling so she avoided actually twisting her midsection. The curling vines, thorns, and roses danced around the scar to somewhat highlight it and somewhat obscure it - a garden growing where death had almost claimed her. “It’s amazing.”
“It was a lot easier to schedule the last couple sessions without you being away on jobs.” Blackjack frowned. “You gonna be able to pay your share of the rent?”
“One, Samantha is charging me way below market rate.”
“Got it. Tonight she’s Samantha.”
Punai shimmied into her dress, leaning into Blackjack’s hands to slip her shoes on. The final look-over after everything had healed up had been her chance/excuse to change into something more appropriate for “Fancy” curry night. Do- Samantha had insisted tonight was a celebration. “And two, I’ve been picking up more dock work than ship work. I wanted to be around.”
His hands tightened slightly in surprise before letting go completely. “Oh?”
She rolled her eyes, jabbing him a little with her elbow as she left the back room. “Okay, so I want to be around, and I aim to get what I want. What are you going to do about it?”
Blackjack was smiling; it was unmistakable in his voice even without looking back. “You know, I’m starting to have several ideas.”
Punai spun around to the other side of the counter in the lobby of the tattoo parlor, slightly leaning over said counter with what she hoped was an appropriately saucy look. “Been a while since you got any ideas.”
“What can I say,” he replied, turning off some of the lights. “I’ve been trying to let everything heal, and not just your tattoo, before rushing into-” He broke off when he looked at her, sucking in a breath. “Where ever did you get that dress?”
With a grin not unlike a cat with a canary, Punai took a step back, hands on her waist so the keyhole dress more obviously showed off the final bloom he’d inked on her skin at the bottom of her sternum. “Samantha knows a couple tailors willing to experiment. Why, do you like it?”
“I’m just- honored?”
“Well, while you figure out what you are, can you drive us to the restaurant? I don’t want to be late.”
The shop locked up, the two made their way to the high end Indian restaurant their friend had chosen. Naturally, she had them sit together, but they didn’t mind. It made compliments on her finished tattoo that much easier to process.
As dinner with their friends wound down, Samantha stood up and lifted her wrist to show everyone the infinity sign tattooed there. “Two years ago, I got this tattoo. Now I hear what you’re thinking - are we here to celebrate the anniversary of an infinity tattoo? Well, yes. Because right after I got tattooed and this lady here-” she nudged Punai. “-had her first consultation, we got curry together. And then again the next week. And then I brought Jack, and then also Ro, and Punai finally brought her tattoo artist, and now here we are. Two years later, still getting food together as friends. Now, we haven’t all made it every time. Some have missed it for months at a time.”
Under the table, Blackjack’s knee pressed into Punai’s.
“Some of you just don’t love me enough, and I get it, it’s fine.” She smiled, and everyone laughed. “But I’m glad we’re all here. So here’s to us, together where we should be, and just trying to be a little happier, a little healthier next year. You all have got to see what I have planned for when we hit five years.” Jack whooped. “So everyone, raise a glass.
“To curry, to friends,” she took a deep breath. “And to your favorite purveyor of names, Dolores.”
“Salud!” Punai replied, raising her glass to clink her friend’s.
As the chattering and clinking died down, Blackjack leaned over. “I did not expect that name reveal.”
“Me neither. But I think it’s good.”
“She’s taking the waiter home with her, you know.”
Punai demurely chuckled into her wine glass. “Oh, I know.” She looked him dead in the eye. “I was hoping you still had ideas. And that they involved going back to your place.”
He leaned closer. “Darlin’, I have fifteen months worth of ideas.”
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(A/N: Google Docs says I haven’t touched this since April 27, 2018. Well happy 2/29/2020 babes; I always finish what I start)
Her gut dropped like a stone as Punai looked up at Blackjack.
“Did Dolores send you?”
“No?” Rocked by his calm, quiet tone, Punai continued. “I fucked up.”
“No shit.”
He slipped past her with his laundry, a hiccup in his step either from the ungainly movement or from spotting her go-bag in the hall. But, without a word and without looking back, he continued his way to the stairs as the door to his apartment swung shut behind him.
“What? This isn’t how this is supposed to go-”
“How! How is it supposed to go, Punai?” Blackjack swung around suddenly on the steps, basket clacking loudly on the top of the stairs as he slammed it down. “You say sorry and just waltz back into my life until the next time you get spooked and leave?” Something stretched in his voice at the final word.
“You were gone, Punai. You left for weeks. I didn’t know what I’d done until a week later, when your best friend came by the shop to check whether you were dead. And I. Didn’t. Know. I didn’t think so, but had no way of knowing. You took everything of yours but what you’d acquired since meeting me, so I had no room to think you were coming back. Have you even talked to your best friend?”
“She knows me-”
“Have you ever considered maybe she doesn’t want to?”
Punai rocked back on her heels, as if stunned by an unblockable blow. “What?”
“Do you have any idea how agonizing it is to care about someone who’s doing their level best to keep you at arms distance? Someone only interested in the inane, boring, surface level relationship because otherwise she can’t just pack up and leave when she gets hurt?”
“Oh yeah? It’s not like you’ve let me into all the crooks and ugly things about you!”
“Well funny thing, I can actually admit I should have done that earlier! What do you think the damn key was for?”
She’d hurled it before her mind caught up to her hand.
His face was stone as it clinked on the floor within his grasp, and stone still as she burst forward, skidding on her knees as she scrabbled to pick it back up. Something unreadable shuddered over his face as he tucked the basket on his hip and headed back down the stairs.
“Who’s running now?”
“You don’t get to play that card. Have you looked at your texts?”
“Not ye-”
“Get some damn therapy.”
She growled to herself as she stood up, key clenched in her hand, and she raced down the stairs after him.
“Listen, you ass, it’s not like I expected you to wait around-”
“Oh, no, you did-” he retorted, pushing through to the laundry room. The other occupant took in the oncoming storm and quickly decided to do their reading elsewhere. Blackjack continued, “you obviously expected me to be pining around waiting for you when you finally decided you would deign to officially move in.”
“I needed space! I need air! I can’t just be tied down and stay in one place!”
“What about me makes you think I’d do that to you? Why are you convinced I’m going to try and take away part of your self that is so intrinsic to you? When I say I-” he inhaled “-care about you, I am meaning all of you, you know?”
“That’s not what I’m saying,” Punai replied, anger shrinking into soft hurt.
“But that’s what I’m hearing.”
“Oh.”
A shirt whiffed into the drum of a washing machine. “Yeah.”
Punai took a hesitant step forward as he tossed more clothing in. “What do I need to do? I can promise I won’t vanish again – and I won’t! – but what do I need to prove that? How can I fix this?”
“Well to start- shit!” In turning to face her, hurt boiling over, his hand slipped and tossed detergent down the front of her shirt.
“It’s fine; it’s fine. I have more right upstairs. It shouldn’t stain sitting until I can find a machine-”
“Oh just toss it in.”
“What?”
He was stone, turned away from her to measure out a little more detergent. “Just toss the shirt in. I have a box of your stuff to return, anyway. What’s one more shirt in the pile?” With only a moment’s hesitation, Punai peeled off her shirt and tossed it into the machine, biting her lip as Blackjack suddenly seized her left shoulder. “That’s new. Who- who did the lining? It’s, um, good.”
She glanced at her newest tattoo, the unfinished rose farther down her body mocking her. On the left side of her chest, right above where the curve of her breast began and easily visible above her bra cup, was a playing card - a jack of spades on the top half and a jack of clubs for the bottom. “I probably have her business card somewhere; I got it about a month ago. First mate joked that if I was going to keep drawing it everywhere, I might as well pay someone to draw it on me, so, yeah.” She shrugged – his warm hand on her shoulder staying put. “I am truly, deeply sorry, James. After I gave up panicking I spent so long hating myself, which didn’t help anything, just made me want to hide even more. I know, I know now I should’ve just owned up to my fears and faults and faced them but-”
He pulled her close suddenly. Her face tilted up out of habit, and they gently crashed together – a kiss born of loss and pain, of missing the other and being so close after so long but still so far apart.
“Oh come on!” A basket slammed onto a washing machine to punctuate the exclamation. “Your apartment is literally up some stairs. Have your quarrel and make-up sesh there, not where everyone can see. For Christ’s sake.”
The neighbor angrily shoveled dry clothes into a basket on top of their book as Blackjack peeled himself away from Punai. He pulled off his own shirt and offered it to her, which she accepted mostly to hide the unfinished rose. As she slipped it over her head, he murmured, “I think you should stay somewhere else tonight.”
“What? Where am I going to do that? I don’t have an apartment, much less a bed anywhere.”
“You ought to call Dolores then.”
She raised her eyebrows. “I thought she didn’t want to be my friend, according to you.”
He winced. “I’m sorry; that was unfair of me. Just because it sometimes hurts and you wish it didn’t, doesn’t mean you don’t want to be someone’s friend at all.”
Punai gave him a brief smile. “Apology accepted. Off to dig through my bag for my SIM card so I can call her.”
“You pulled out your SIM card? That’s a little dramatic.”
“Hardly the most dramatic part of what I did.”
Blackjack raised his eyebrows with a tilt of the head to agree as he shut the washing machine and sent it going. He followed her up the stairs to his apartment and her bag sitting outside. As she knelt and began rummaging through her stuff, he slowly unlocked his door and, hesitating, stepped a little inside.
“You might as well bring that inside to look through. Do you want any coffee?”
Punai looked up and met his eyes. “If you’re offering, I’d love some.”
“Right there!” Katara let go of the couch and hopped onto the cushions. Cradling her mug of warm tea with both hands, she looked pointedly at Zuko until he joined her, curling around her to lean his head on her shoulder.
“The view is perfect,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head.
Outside their cozy home, rain fell in torrents as the storm moved through. But inside, warm, wrapped by her personal-heater of a husband with the couch turned to their bay window, this was the best way to watch the weather she loved so much.
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