A/N: Don't own Avatar or anything etc also don't own any of Neil Gaiman's awesomeness – I used his conception of Gods and also hello shout-out to Fragile, Precious Things and American Gods! I really didn't realize I had completely ripped off Gaiman's idea until reading through this D: Anyway so this was originally just a usual plot-bunny but now I think this might just have to be a three-parter TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK.

He couldn't face the time when she was not his. It was strange going through the world without the knowledge that she would wait for him, that he was free to touch her as he wished, that she would be safe under his undivided protection. He hated to remember his life without the sweet caressing sound of her voice or the gentle fragrant tumble of her hair. All her grace, all her beauty, every giggling coo and murmur of pleasure under him, every smooth delicious line of her body, every curving silhouette, every taste of her…it was no longer his to take, it was no longer his right to possess.

He remembered marking her. She was beautiful and writhing under him, begging for him so sweetly he could not resist kissing, then nibbling at, the long naked column of her neck. They were young, and she was exhausted, but even then he knew he marked her forever, he knew he would take her like this, with all the love in his heart, forever. And the next morning she wore his love on her body, wore his mark for him and blushed when she met his gaze. And she looked so sweet to him then – blushing and clutching at his loose over robe as it slipped off her shoulders – so sweet to him he almost shuddered with the intensity of his emotion, at the sheer painful ecstasy of being able to reach for her and feel her return his embrace.

He treasured every moment. Once, when he returned from a diplomatic trip he found her in his bed already, curled up on her side, her legs twining together. And he was surprised, and she shot up, and she blushed and her legs twisted and her back arched just a bit and he came to her and gave to her everything he could, all the things he was and hoped to be. And in the morning he lay there with her, memorizing her, ingraining her, clutching her to him tightly because he wanted to keep her by his side, like this, forever. She laughed as his grip on her gradually became a tickling caress, and he felt the vibration of her giggles strike him at his heart and that was when he truly knew that he was hers as much as she was his, no, more than she was his, because surely she wasn't ruled by his presence the way he was by hers, surely she didn't feel the beautiful horrible ache of desire well up within her at the mention of his name, in the same way he was by hers. Surely she was not bound to him, helpless to him, the same way he was by her.

He remembered another time, when her tears fell thick and salty to the floor, and her eyes then looked up at him with the purity of an infant's, and he took hold of her hands and warmed them, and when she told him her Gran Gran had passed he felt honored to share in her sorrow and her pain.

He remembered arguments, and heated confessions, and eras of distance followed by honeymoon closeness, remembered dull familiarity and electric romance.

Her toes, her eyes, her lips, her fingernails, the tendons of her ankle, the veins that stood out on her feet…every feature ingrained in his mind, so close to him still. Ah yes, he remembered…

It was all he could do, now. He fumbled with his pockets until he found her necklace, the ribbon already faded. He had made the right decision, he told his tired mind. He had saved his wife and his child. He had chosen to damn himself rather than have them suffer. They were free, somewhere, living what he could only hope was a happy, well-provided for life in maybe the middle ring of Ba Sing Se. Perhaps they were in the North Pole, with Katara resplendent in her furs and the child - their child - looking like a baby penguin-seal. Perhaps they were in his own Capitol. Perhaps, whispered a part of him, scathingly, they were begging on the streets just outside. No, he admonished himself. This is Katara, that's why I didn't worry, she can take care of herself, she can take care of him, It's Katara - and oh, Agni, he didn't even get to name his own son, whose eyes he had only just seen and whose hand he had only just held - his grip tightened on the ribbon and he caressed it with shaking fingers.

It was too painful to imagine them now, to imagine their lives and their futures without him. At first it was easy, he could tell himself that the Spirits had guided them safely to a distant harbor, that Katara had found easy work in the Poles as a waterbending Master or that her diplomatic skills and experience made her an asset at any Earth Kingdom court; that she lived in a right-sized house and was safe and happy, that the child perhaps had his eyes or his hair but everything else of Katara's and nothing else of his. At first he could dream of their happiness, of the precious soft skin of his son and the gentle cool touch of her hands, and the though that he had spared them saved his conscience.

But his dreams turned to nightmares, as he saw them walking in rags, as he saw his infant son crying for food, Katara on her knees somewhere, scrubbing floors, Katara and his son wandering, begging for shelter, as the Fire Lord slept in luxury on his massive, lonely bed. In the deepest depths of the darkness, he would lie awake, wondering what his son would be without a father, hoping desperately that someone would show him how to be a man. That someone took a vague, threatening shape, walking into their lives, holding his wife's hand, touching his wife's body, embracing her, memorizing her curves and the birthmark on her hip. There would be another man. And he would hold Zuko's son and take Zuko's wife at night and this was intolerable. His jealousy almost made him physically sick, and the selfishness of it all reminded him once more how little he was worthy of them.

And now, sleep comes rarely, only when he's too tired to think and too tired to remember. I had no choice, he told himself over and over again. I had no choice but to lose them. I had no other option. And it hurt all the more because there was.

"Zuko, son of Ozai and Ursa, Lord of the Fire Nation, Husband to Katara, daughter of Hakoda and Kaya, soon to be father of the heir to the throne of the Fire Lord."

Zuko was on the throne, but he was surrounded by fire that was not his. He looked up, past the flames, and he saw, amidst endless darkness, a white hot heat flaring and pulsing with power, streaked through with red and blue flames, a forest fire and a flame all at once. He squinted a bit, because the flame seemed unfocused, somehow, and found that the flame was also a great black cobra, its eyes a fierce flaming gold, its scales shining like polished obsidian, and that it was also a dragon, the color of dull bronze, looking aged and decrepit, and finally that it was a man, cloaked in shadows, whose eyes alone remained sharp and golden and aflame. "Agni," he whispered, and stepped down from his throne to kowtow to his patron spirit. His head still bent to the ground, he heard a slither and looked up as the gleam of twisting coils caught his eye in the flame. He saw a man-snake, what was known as the Naga, and when Naga opened his mouth Zuko saw fangs.

"Rise, my son." Zuko stood, but kept his hands together out of respect, looking straight ahead. He didn't know why Agni would choose to talk to him, and, if Agni's track record with the human world were anything to go by, there was no good to come of it. "The sons and daughters of Fire have wrought havoc upon this world, Zuko. The balance was disturbed for too long. Even we, the greater gods, had to intervene."

"Yes, my lord. I was there, my lord."

Naga's eyes gleamed. "So you were child, and the spirits bless you for your deeds in helping the Avatar. The Spirits are not ungrateful. Remember that."

Somehow, the way the Spirit said it, though its voice was a hiss and a rumble and a feeble whine all at the same time, it made Zuko feel distinctly uncomfortable and on his guard. It reminded him of something...

"And yet the restoration of balance was a long time coming. My children have lain waste to too many forests and killed too many of their brethren. They have scarred the earth and dammed the waters. They forgot their loyalties to their Spirits and instead worshipped their tiny Lord." This last part echoed in his mind forcefully, painfully. His eyes watered.

"We are trying to heal the world now, my lord, it needs time, but it will happen - and I have just commissioned a hundred new shrines for your pleasure."

Naga slithered closer to Zuko, but there was an almost paternal smile on his pale, slitted features. "I know, my son. You bring honor back to the House of Agni.

"And so you must do so again." This time Naga turned away, the massive black coils of his tail moving like velvet darkness. "You were born to bring honor back to my house. You were born with the spirits of the sages and warriors of this world in you. You were born to lead this Nation."

Zuko felt his heart soar even as he cautiously followed the retreating snake man. He abruptly kowtowed again. "Thank you, my lord."

His response, however, was merely a long hiss that sounded almost like a sigh. "Do rise, my son. Now is not the time to be thanking me. Not just yet." The sinking feeling from earlier returned and Zuko remembered what it reminded him of: talking to Azula.

"Your life has not been easy. Your happiness has been hard-won. You have successfully redeemed yourself in the eyes of both worlds. Now you must redeem your people."

"My lord?" But now the infinite darkness gave way to a massive hall lined with Spirits he recognized and some he did not. He could pick out Tui and La almost immediately, circling fish who were also mer-people who continually shifted between woman and man, dark and light. He saw Bumi, the Earth Goddess who was at once beautiful young maiden and stout mother, and the shimmering outlines of Varuna in the breeze, and the bent, elderly figure of Fugasu, and the sumptuous presence of seductive Siri Kuam. But there seemed to be hundreds of others, all shifting forms it hurt his eyes to look at for too long, and all - unmistakenly - staring at him. Agni led him to the end of the hall, where, sitting behind a massive desk, stood the imposing figure of Yama. Unlike the other spirits, the God of Death maintained a single, stable form, much like Agni after settling on Naga. Zuko kowtowed again, in front of the desk, and his heart beat in his ears when he was told to rise. Yama sounded like a thousand books closing. Forever.

"Son of Ozai." Yama looked down at his scrolls, considering. "The spirits you see before you have all been wronged by your people. They demand retribution to restore balance." At his last word a gigantic set of scales appeared. In one plate he saw a flame, which weighed heavily. In the other he saw a rock and a leaf and water. Zuko wanted to say something, growing more and more weary of what was going on, but one sideways glance at Naga told him to stay quiet and let Yama speak.

"However, your contributions to the restoration must be taken into account..." Here he saw a blank-faced version of himself seated on the side of the flame. Somehow this lightened the plate and the scales came closer together. But they were not even. Yama smiled his tusked smile. "Almost, son of Ozai. Your heart is pure indeed to lighten the sins of a century."

There was a commotion amongst the spirits. Zuko felt briefly the silent screams of trees as they burned, the call of mothers to their daughters during attacks, the fear of new recruits marching to suicide, the pain of separation from the pack. It forced him back down on his knees. Yama glared at the hall and slammed his lasso on his desk like a gavel. The hall quieted and Zuko was released. "The scales are not even. You, son of Ozai. Will you pay the dues of your people or shall your nation suffer?"

"I won't let my people suffer. What is the price?" Zuko glanced at Naga, who nodded, before going on. "But, before we proceed, I would like to put forth my view. Surely my people have much suffering in the future. Our nation must pay reparations, we will be in debt for at least fifty years, our military is dissolved indefinitely, our industry is dying - the Fire Nation is falling, and it is falling hard. My Lord," he added. "my people pay dearly every day for the mistakes of their - of my - of our forefathers. I don't think we should be held responsible now for what the Spirits allowed for a century."

"The scales decide in this realm, child. And though I personally like your honesty," here Yama gave Zuko a ghastly wink, "it seems like you have learned nothing from Iroh considering the affairs of the Spirit World. We will forgive your ignorance in respect to your willingness to save your country from further difficulty." Zuko's ears were beginning to redden, but before he could point out that Yama had not actually answered any of his points the God of Death went on. "The price...the price must be something that holds enough love to counteract hate, it must be something that will give retribution to those who have suffered and have felt pain. It must be something close to you, something you hold very dear."

Yama sounded thoughtful, twirling the rope absently between his fingers. Zuko didn't like it. He knew this was going nowhere good. About time, he thought. His life had been too happy, earlier. Things were going too well. Too many blessings. And now, as Yama and Agni had just confirmed, the Spirits were out to get him yet again.

He felt surprisingly at ease with the fact that he was the Spirit's sacrificial lamb. Somehow, he felt, perhaps he knew it all along, knew that his struggle was much more than just his struggle. After all, he did deserve whatever the Spirits had to throw at him, and being Ozai's son had made him hate himself almost as much as he thought the spirits did. But now, now he had happiness and it was Katara, and he found himself desperately thinking of everything else to give away that would protect her.

He would, too. He would give it all away, happily. He would restore the balance, and make the spirits happy, and spare his people.

"Well?" Yama looked at him expectantly.

"I'm sorry, my lord?"

"What shall my price be?"

"I'm sorry, my lord?"

"Tell me, Zuko. What will equalize the scales?"

"I...I don't know my lord." He searched his mind desperately. Yama gave him an eternity in which to think. He thought back on his life. What would equalize the scales? A turtle-duck pond? Memories of his mother? The feel of belonging when he joined the Gaang? Iroh's love? There were so many things, he realized, he held dear. There were so many things, so many fragile, precious things from which he didn't think he could bear to part.

This pain, he realized. As he thought of the fight for the throne, of all the things he worked so hard for, he remembered houses, shops being burned. He remembered the look on a woman's face as her son rushed off to join the militia in a small Earth Kingdom town. People, he thought, building their lives, collecting precious things only to have them destroyed by war...

Yama cleared his throat. "In your own time, my child." Zuko thought Yama sounded gentler now. He looked down at Zuko, and for a Fire Lord he felt very small.

Zuko looked at the scales again, then at the myriad spirits before him. No. they would want something more than just memories. They would want - no - they would need the pain. They would need something hard-earned taken away. And he couldn't give up the truly most important thing to him. There had to be a way. There had to be away. Think. What was so integral...what was so close to him...

"My throne." Yama looked surprised at the ready admission. "I give my throne."

Zuko felt that something more was expected of him, so he explained. "I spent most of my life trying to claim it. First from my father, then from my sister. I wanted it because it was my right. And I achieved it. Finally. After everyone said I couldn't."

"Place the throne on the scales," said Yama, and there, the throne appeared. the scales evened more, but not enough. Just as Zuko was beginning to understand the implications of what he'd just given up, the throne disappeared. "It is not precious enough. The spirits will not receive their retribution with this payment."

"What? I mean, what, my lord? It's everything I worked for, for years," Zuko said incredulously. "How is that not enough?"

"The scales are law here, my child." A distant bell tolled, and Yama looked into the distance. "We will conclude the weighing for now. Morning calls. Think carefully."

And then Naga led him back into darkness.

And then Zuko woke up. He blinked a few times - he felt as though he'd been asleep forever, and something about last night left him feeling...unsettled. Every time he blinked he thought he could see the slither of jet black scales darting just out of sight. Blindly, he reached, and his hand met warm flesh, currently sprawled around the majority of the bed. Strangely, he felt as though he had just dodged a fireball to the chest and the need to hold his beloved overwhelmed him. He tugged her to himself familiarly if gently, enjoying her soft sleepy mewl of consent and the feel of her against him. He let his hands wander lightly over her, over the heavy swell of her belly and the gentler swells of her breasts. He buried his nose in the crook of her neck and breathed in deeply - and it was enough to bring him back. It always was, even after the worst nightmares, even after the sleepless tumultuous nights spent worrying about how his country would survive.

In time she woke too, and as she playfully tousled his hair and complained loudly about what he did to her he smiled, and he helped her out of bed and hovered over her as she walked until she snapped at him to stop, she may have been pregnant but she wasn't injured, didn't he have more important things to be working on anyway? To which he replied no, he did not, in fact, and intended to monitor her closely all day. He nipped her neck at the spot that made her melt, and after a few (many) minutes spent in sweet harmony they made their way downstairs for breakfast.