(Be sure to check out zutarotica too, as I posted a rather longish (~3K words) snippet of the fic there!)
________________
Katara found herself leaning into Zuko’s workspace. “You were thrown in a cold locker?” she asked, her voice low and whispering. “As punishment? What was that like…?”
He turned his head to her and smiled wryly. “…Cold.” When she gave him an exasperated look, he went on. “Biting, stinging cold. Colder than I’ve ever been, even at the North Pole.”
She bristled. He just had to bring that up. “You wouldn’t even be able to survive a week at the Northern Water Tribe.”
Zuko fixed her with a scowl, speaking lowly. “Be thankful that was the case eight months ago.”
When he was last there. As if he thought he could have beaten her after all, even when she’d pummeled him in the snow and had nearly left him for dead, if not for Aang’s intervention.
Katara fumed, biting her lip, and shoved the unwrapped pork shoulder toward him authoritatively. “Cut that up,” she seethed. “And then go serve them some tea.”
Zuko bowed his head in acquiescence. Wordlessly he edged closer and moved behind her, reaching around her other side to get another knife for the meat, and she stood perfectly still; she could feel his breath on her shoulder, intentional or otherwise, and at that single, simple gesture she felt herself shudder.
He returned to his side of the shelf, and she thought she spied the corners of his lips turned upward.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
branchandroot
no subject
Date: 2010-06-11 05:31 pm (UTC)(Be sure to check out
________________
Katara found herself leaning into Zuko’s workspace. “You were thrown in a cold locker?” she asked, her voice low and whispering. “As punishment? What was that like…?”
He turned his head to her and smiled wryly. “…Cold.” When she gave him an exasperated look, he went on. “Biting, stinging cold. Colder than I’ve ever been, even at the North Pole.”
She bristled. He just had to bring that up. “You wouldn’t even be able to survive a week at the Northern Water Tribe.”
Zuko fixed her with a scowl, speaking lowly. “Be thankful that was the case eight months ago.”
When he was last there. As if he thought he could have beaten her after all, even when she’d pummeled him in the snow and had nearly left him for dead, if not for Aang’s intervention.
Katara fumed, biting her lip, and shoved the unwrapped pork shoulder toward him authoritatively. “Cut that up,” she seethed. “And then go serve them some tea.”
Zuko bowed his head in acquiescence. Wordlessly he edged closer and moved behind her, reaching around her other side to get another knife for the meat, and she stood perfectly still; she could feel his breath on her shoulder, intentional or otherwise, and at that single, simple gesture she felt herself shudder.
He returned to his side of the shelf, and she thought she spied the corners of his lips turned upward.