They're back at the Western Air Temple. Flames flying as they dance dangerously atop the massive war balloon. She produces a fistful of blue flame and flings it at him full force, his own fire already released from his palm. He can see that they're going to connect catastrophically but it's much too late to do anything. The world seems to move past him in slow motion as the collision throws them both backwards. First skimming across the war balloon, clawing hastily at the tough material, then finding nothing to grab. The speed of his descent drew the air right out of his lungs and he knew this was how it would end.

It seems impossible but a pair of hands plucks him from his free fall, pulling him to safety. Those he'd only months prior considered an enemy have saved him, but he can't take the time to thank them now. He leans over the edge of the flying bison's saddle and searches wildly for the girl he knows must be on the same rapid dive.

"Wait, go back," he shouts to the others as he spots her, limbs flailing and hair whipping around her face. The airborne animal manages to sidle next to her as she falls. He reaches out to grab her, bracing himself to bear her dead weight.

He calls her name and manages to catch her hand in his. His interruption of her inertia causes her to swing violently against the animal's side and the impact makes his arm feel as if it is being torn abruptly from its socket, but he has a good grip on her and she brings her other hand up to grasp his.

She looks up at him, fear clouding her eyes for once and it gives him pause as she dangles at his mercy.

"Pull me up," she attempts to order but there's an incongruous catch in her voice.

He tenses his muscles to yield to her will as he always has, but something stops him. "What are you waiting for?" He stares into her calculating amber eyes… he knew what needed to be done. He allowed a flicker of flame to spring from his palms. The unexpected searing of her own flesh shocked her into letting go. She frantically tried to clutch at the animal's fur, a strangled cry escaping that mockingly painted mouth, before she was descending again and this time there would be no rescue, only a rocky outcropping to break her fall.

Even with the wind whistling so loudly around his ears he still can hear her scream.

"Zuko!"

Zuko jolts upright in bed. The queasiness is invading his gut and liquid acid burns in his throat. He throws the blankets back in one swift motion and rushes into his chamber's bathing room. His roiling stomach immediately purges itself. He vomits into the basin, nothing but sickly green bile comes up. He hasn't been able to eat much. Everything turns ashy and bland in his mouth and has a commitment to making a second appearance. He dry heaves a few more times, his stomach contorting painfully. The sudden weakness in his knees forces him to sit down on the floor. Dazedly he watches a bead of sweat drip from the hair hanging in front of his face onto the cold mosaic tile. Zuko breathes deeply trying to clear the images from his mind but they are burned onto his retinas and every time he closes his eyes he sees her falling. It makes his labored breathing catch in his throat.

"Zuko, are you all right?" Mai asks, concern tingeing her normal monotone as she approaches him gingerly.

"I'm fine," he barks back gruffly, snapping out a hand to keep her at arms length. He'd been avoiding them all, including his future Fire Lady. He was too ashamed to share more than a few words with them. All he could see was Mai attempting to hold him back, tears spilling from Katara's eyes as she insisted there was nothing she could do, the firm set of Aang's jaw as he'd ushered Katara and Mai out of the room, before someone else gets hurt, while Zuko himself had thrown fireballs wildly against the walls in agony.

Now, he'd decline to join Aang and Katara, who had extended their visit, for meals. He couldn't sit across from them and see the concern in their eyes. He refused to go to bed for hours after Mai retired, hoping he'd return to find her already asleep. He didn't want her to try and comfort him. There was nothing to say. Besides, his anger that night had frightened him. It had been years since he'd felt so utterly out of control. How could he touch Mai with hands that had reacted carelessly and violently in a moment of tragedy that had been none of their fault? Instead he spent the majority of his time locked up in his study, wallowing in the past. He hates that they're seeing him this way. Pathetic, crumpled, angry.

Without a characteristic, dry, retort, Mai retreats. He hears her rummage about in the room's linen closet and moments later she's back at his side. She hands him a damp cloth wordlessly. He takes it, still not wanting to look at her, ashamed of how he's let his sorrow manifest as hardened ire. He takes the cloth, passing it over his sweat-drenched face. Mai takes it immediately from his hands lays it atop the vanity. He wants to say something, but to open his mouth feels like inviting water into his lungs to drown him.

Before he can stop her she's kneeling down and wrapping her arms tightly around his torso. The cool silk of her dressing gown feels soothing against his hot skin.

"Mai," he starts, ready to apologize for his gruff tone and callous behavior but she cuts him off.

"I'm so sorry," she whispers, resting her head between his shoulder blades. He feels her own tears slide from her cheeks onto his back, forming tiny rivulets down his spine.

She doesn't say anything else. She just holds him tightly while he shakes in pain. Her fingers dig into his skin as if she is the one keeping him from falling apart all over again and he's so grateful for the gravity of her touch.

It's been three days since his sister died… he's yelled at his loved ones, brooded in his study, cursed his father, scorched the walls until the smell of smoke clung to his flesh… but now, finally, he cries.