The young boy sat cross-legged beneath the trailing branches of an old tree in the darkness, cradling the flickering sphere within his cupped hands. He smiled a little as the first moth-gecko flitted towards him out of the shadows, circling him curiously.
He stayed perfectly still, hardly daring to breathe as the creature called out; a strangely quiet clicking noise, which momentarily summoned two more. The boy shifted his attention back to his hands then, trying to steady his heartbeat and perfect the shape of the fire struggling within his palms.
Rotate it, study it, the pattern of hot orange and red and shadows on skin.
The moth-geckos were clicking at him, now, passing so close to his fingers he could practically feel their powdery scales, the air they pushed out behind them. He felt strangely content like this, despite the moon behind him and the scratchy grass between his toes.
But then a voice broke the silence and he faltered, losing that control, and the flame-sphere sputtered out.
"Oh, Zuzu." A sigh, and even without the hated nickname there was only one person who would speak to him with such condescension, such bored arrogance. "What silly game are you playing by yourself this time?"
"I'm-- I'm not," he said shortly, standing up without facing her. The moth-geckos were long gone. Zuko could feel her smirk on his back, and didn't bother elaborating. No matter what she thought, Azula didn't understand him at all.
She sighed again. "You're so boring. And here I was thinking you might be able to entertain me..."
Azula stepped forward, slim, hot fingers reaching out to brush past his dark hair and settle on his shoulder. He felt her tug, nails digging in through the thin fabric, forcing him around to face her. "Come on, brother... don't you want to do something fun?"
"Not with you."
Zuko was tired of it. Of her calculating, judging glances; of the way she spoke down to him, and bested him at every opportunity. And yet...
She finally released her hold on him, and he shivered.
"Fine." Azula narrowed her eyes, and Zuko's breath caught in his throat. "Have fun playing with your bugs in the dirt, Zuzu." She turned to leave.
"They're better company than you," he muttered, and was left with nothing but the strangely empty darkness, and the sound of Azula's laughter echoing in his ears.
Zuko panted, chest tight, ignoring the irritating feeling of sweat trickling down between his bare shoulder blades. Focus. He shifted his stance once more, feet flat against the sheen of the cool marble flooring.
He raised an arm, the pale skin taut against tensed muscle, and curved his wrist almost imperceptibly, readying for the move. Calm. It was much easier to hold frustration at bay when he was alone. Zuko regulated his breathing again, closing his eyes as the building energy coiled in his stomach.
In one swift movement he fell into the pattern, drawing the flames from deep within himself - feeling, rather than seeing, the way they arched and curved around his body as he cut the air. He went through the motions eight more times before he was satisfied, and sank to his knees in exhaustion.
He should have known better than to expect to be left in peace; Zuko had barely been motionless for a minute before footsteps sounded, tapping lightly across the polished stone. It was Azula, of course - he was all too familiar with the sound of her approach.
"What do you want?" He pushed a dark, sweaty strand of hair out of his eyes and stood up, trying to ignore the way she looked him over, eyes lingering, as though assessing whether or not he was worthy of her time.
She smiled and shrugged off her jacket, letting it fall to the floor behind her. "I thought you'd be up for a little... sparring."
For a moment he didn't answer, trying to calm the conflict inside. While he knew he had improved, it was still likely this could end in defeat and humiliation, as it had done before. But it was a risk he'd have to take; Zuko would never give up, and certainly didn't want to back down from her. "Fine."
As one, they sunk into their bending stances, eyes meeting across the hall. Azula's red lips twisted into a predatory smile, and the fight was begun. They circled one another, watching, waiting. Azula struck the first blow, forcing Zuko backwards as they parried and dodged scorching flames.
Zuko's eyes widened as he stumbled, conscious only of twisting desperately to keep his balance, and at the last moment somehow managing to transform this into a feint Azula could not have predicted. She scowled as their positions reversed, sending small daggers of fire in quick succession towards her brother's head.
He flung up a shield, the intense heat amplifying the aches already present in his overworked joints.
A split-second later, and he just wasn't fast enough. The fight was over before it had hardly begun; Zuko could see the triumph in Azula's eyes as she knocked him to the floor, and, barely able to catch his breath, he could only watch in shame as she came closer, reaching down to gently touch under his chin.
"Looks like I win again, Zuko," she whispered, dropping to her knees beside him.
He hated the expression she was wearing, because it almost fooled him, every time. Demure; sincere. Certainly nothing like the cruel Azula he was so familiar with. But then, she never could keep it up for long.
She said nothing, as though allowing him time for his internal struggles. He blinked, and - then there was a smile, a genuine, honest smile, alien to her lips.
"You'll never beat me, Zuzu. Someday you'll learn to accept that."
He almost laughed at the harsh pronouncment, so predictable was it; so much closer to what normal Azula would say. But her expression didn't change. Instead, his breath died in his throat as she leaned in and slowly, purposefully, bit his lower lip.
"What are you doing?" Zuko's voice sounded unsteady even to his own ears; Azula would perceive it as a sign of weakness, and he destested the thought.
"Nothing, brother... aren't siblings meant to be close?"
Then she leaned in again, and this time, Zuko's fingers convulsed against the cold stone, and he said nothing.
The nights following their mother's disappearance, Zuko knew what it was to feel truly alone. The heavy red drapes of his room held shadows dark with the threat of his father's words (though he didn't believe it, he didn't, it couldn't be true) and he would lie awake, thin sheets twisted and tangled around still-childish limbs.
He stared at the wall blankly, curled up on his side. Even through the faint pricklings of fear, he was determined to be strong; to prove his worth; to be better than--
"Lonely, Zuzu?"
He almost didn't catch the soft whisper, murmured as it was from across the room. Zuko sat up, frowning, and found that his glare was already mirrored in Azula's scornful eyes.
"Go away," he bit out, hating that she knew, and hating even more that some small part of him was glad she had appeared.
"I can see through you, Zuko," she continued as though he hadn't even responded, making her way across the room, "I know just how pathetic you really are."
He clenched his fists, anger overtaking his grief. "You don't know anything about me." Zuko's voice was low, controlled.
Azula raised an eyebrow, leaning against a tall wooden bedpost, "is that it? Where's your anger, Zuko? Mother's not here to put a stop to anything, anymore."
He could feel his rage building, hating his sister for bringing up Mom so flippantly when she hadn't even been gone a week. But he wouldn't let Azula provoke him into-- he wouldn't let her--
Control, he needed to stay in control.
"But don't you see?" She was even closer now, trailing her fingers carelessly along the edge of the bed, up towards him, "it's okay; I'm here for you, Zuko, don't you understand that?" All traces of her derision were gone, leaving only concern (but it's not real, it's not.)
Zuko looked away from her, away from her simple thin nightdress and soft lying lips. "Stop it. All you've ever cared about is yourself."
He felt Azula cup his cheek in her hand as she sat on the edge of his bed, felt the now familiar sense of wrongness as she thumbed his lip, pushing into his mouth. Zuko choked and bit down gently, grabbing her wrist and pulling away.
She caught his gaze, murmuring, "that's not true. We only have each other, after all. I don't want you to close yourself off from me, Zuzu..."
Azula slipped her arms around his neck and pressed a chaste kiss to his unresponsive lips.
Zuko knew. Knew it was a lie; knew he was caught in some meticulous plan or game of hers. He felt sick, but finally brought up a hand to rest on her thigh.
What if it's not a lie? (foolish hope, foolish) but, just maybe...
"Why do you need me so much?" she whispered against his lips, and he felt her smile, as they fell back against the pillows.
The conflict roiled within him as he flung open the door to Azula's room, "this has to end."
He saw her emerge from a door on the far side of the room, wrapped only in a towel, hair still wet and skin covered in a sheen of moisture. She looked amused.
"You've said this before, you know... why should I think you mean it now?"
"I've had enough," Zuko spat out, months of pent-up anger building at the sight of her casually drying herself off in front of him. "I should never have listened to you! When I think of-- of Mom, I..."
He began to shake, hardly noticing as Azula came to stand before him, and reached out to take his hand.
"No!" he yelled, finally letting his control snap, his anger-panic take over, "don't touch me! I've been weak, and I hate myself for it. But don't think you can manipulate me and lie to me any longer--"
She laughed, and he thought he saw triumph in her eyes. "That's it, let it all out, brother."
"She... she told me to always remember who I am. And recently, you've been making me forget; in some ways I wanted to..." he spoke bitterly now, but with a faint smile, "I suppose you know me far better than I would ever have admitted to myself. But I'm finished with you.
"Goodbye, Azula."
He turned and started walking, leaving Azula staring after him.
"You can try and leave me," she called out after him, "but you'll always come back."
Weeks later, he sat once more in the darkness of the gardens, palms cupped, concentrating intently. But something was different. Zuko took a deep breath, drawing out the flame sphere, trying to keep it steady.
The moth-geckos inevitably began to approach, but it no longer held the same charm for him; Zuko felt as though something inside him was broken. The sphere still formed, but every so often it would spit out a violent finger of fire unexpectedly, marring its shape and previously tranquil mood.
But time after time, the moth-geckos were still drawn to it. Even as one got burned by a rogue flame, it still returned. No doubt hoping perhaps that, this time, it would be different.