Zuko heaved a great sigh and smiled proudly as he played the last notes of the piano sonata. He turned around excitedly and was greeted with the sight of his mother, sitting in her favorite chair and applauding. She smiled, that warm proud smile she always saved just for him.

"That was beautiful, darling." Her eyes shone with honest pride, and absolute adoration.

Zuko ran to his mother and was immediately enveloped in a hug. His small body was swooped up onto her lap and he laughed as he flew through the air only to land on his mother's skirts. He looked up at her and felt an overwhelming sensation of desperate sadness.

"Mom," he said, tugging at her sleeve. She pulled away from the hug to gaze down at him with those gentle, loving eyes.

"What is it darling?"

Zuko stared at her, feeling as though these words carried an incredible importance, though he was sure he said them to her every day. "I love you."

"I love you too, Zuko." His mother stroked a stray lock of hair out of his eyes. "And I always will."

Zuko smiled and closed his eyes, allowing himself to be enveloped into another gentle hug. He was so drowsy, his eyes so heavy…as though he could fall asleep at any moment. But wait, hadn't he just gone to bed? Zuko's eyes snapped open to stare up at his mother in horror. She spoke with concern, but her words wouldn't reach his ears. Her face blurred like a disturbed reflection in water, only to be replaced with the cold darkness of his bedroom.

Hot tears rolled down his cheeks, tears he angrily wiped away. Crying wouldn't change anything. The clock on the wall said it was shortly after midnight, but Zuko wasn't going back to sleep anytime soon. He stood to pull on a robe and step into a pair of slippers, tiredly running a hand through his long ponytail in an attempt to forget his dream. Maybe a late night snack would help him relax, he mused. He crept to the kitchen quietly, timid to risk waking anyone else in the penthouse. The house was silent and dark. Zuko glanced at the piano as he crossed the living room. When was the last time he had played? He couldn't remember.

"Zuko?"

The voice was hoarse, emanating from some forgotten corner of the darkness. Zuko yelped and grabbed at his robe. His father emerged from the darkness, stepping into the thin light coming through the windows. The bright city lights always shone through their windows, even at night.

Zuko breathed a sigh of relief. "Father…you scared me."

"You need to get a handle on your cowardice," His father chided in a bored tone of voice. "It shows a willingness to bend in business negotiations."

Zuko sighed and stared at the floor shamefully. "Of course. I will remember that."

Ozai nodded distractedly and stared at the window, his son already forgotten. Zuko regarded his father curiously. They had never been close, but ever since the divorce…Zuko shook his head to rid himself of the thoughts. Reflecting on his mother's absence did nothing but distract him from his goals, his father always reminded him of that.

"What are you doing up?" Ozai asked. "It's late."

Zuko blinked, surprised at his father's interest. "I couldn't sleep…bad dreams."

Ozai turned to regard Zuko thoughtfully. "Do you know what I do when I have nightmares, Zuko?"

"No sir," Zuko replied honestly.

A wicked grin carved through Ozai's features. "I burn them away." A small click could be heard, and suddenly a flame was held in Ozai's hand. He held the lighter casually, though the way his eyes connected with the flame…the pure lust in Ozai's eyes made Zuko shiver.

"That's, um…that's good. I guess." Zuko took a step back towards his bedroom, already planning a strategic retreat.

"Would you like to join me?" Ozai asked, extending the flame to Zuko. The fire cast long shadows on the man's face, imitating the face of death coming to whisk away its next victims.

Zuko gulped, transfixed by the flame. "What do you mean?"

Ozai grinned, a spark of pride entering his gaze. "You'll see."

The subway jostled noisily, announcing its arrival to the station with an ear splitting squeal of the brakes, a voice reading off a script over the loudspeaker. Zuko stood next to his father uneasily, eying the surrounding commuters on their train. They all looked so casual, so absorbed in their own worlds and oblivious to the terror he felt. He had never been on the subway. Hell, he had barely been out on the street. When your father was one of the richest men in America, you didn't take any chances with safety. Zuko and his sister were driven everywhere by private chauffeurs, straight to school and back home, only allowed to change course for specific father-approved events. So the subway was a bit of a shock to Zuko.

"Father," Zuko muttered. "Where are we going?"

"Be quiet, Zuko." Ozai responded coolly. "You'll see soon enough. Ah, here's our stop."

The train shuddered to a violent stop, making Zuko clutch the support poles for dear life while his father stood to move towards the door fluidly. Zuko scrambled to follow his father's retreating form.

Out on the street, Zuko was assaulted by an onslaught of light and noise and smell. He had been driven through Chinatown dozens of times, but never before had he stood on its sidewalks, breathed in the air. Delicious smells wafted through the street, occasionally accented by the pungent aroma of the garbage that sat on the edge of the street waiting for morning pickup. Neon sounds adorned every building, and a beautifully ornate archway leaned over the street enticingly.

"Wow…" Zuko breathed, his eyes darting everywhere as he attempted to focus on just one of the many decadent sights before him. The street was deserted this late at night, but Zuko could feel the joyous sense of belonging that permeated the brick buildings around him. This was a neighborhood, a community. People who lived and worked together, held festivals together and danced in the streets to music like they did in the movies.

"Zuko, focus." His father chastised, already moving down the street with a purposeful stride. Zuko jogged to catch up and regarded his father curiously.

"So what are we doing here?" He asked.

Ozai smiled tightly. "Do you remember last month, when I told you and your sister about my new real estate deal, and how it fell through?"

Zuko struggled to think back, only truly remembering how livid his father had been, how he had thrown his steak knife across the room so hard that it had cracked through the drywall and stayed there until a timid maid had removed it the next day. She hung a painting of a flower over it, Zuko remembered. A dandelion. "Yeah, I remember."

Ozai nodded, beginning to walk faster. "Well the reason why that project was cancelled was a bit complicated at the time, but I have done some serious thinking this last month, and I believe I have found an effective solution." A dark smile flickered onto his sharp features. "You see Zuko, I wanted to build apartment buildings on this block. Prime real estate, with a park a block that way and a school two blocks in the other direction. Good for families. And with all the restaurants and cultural events of Chinatown here, I could market it as an urban explorer's dream. But there was a flaw to my plan. Within this block resides New York's most reputable and historic Buddhist temple. And not only have they obtained historic licenses which prevent the building from being destroyed, they have also been declared essentially untouchable by lawsuits and government threats due to charity and religion and other silliness. Damn monks."

Zuko winced at his father's words, hearing his voice grow cold and sharp as he continued.

"So," his father continued, a calm pleasantness overtaking his monologue, "I have made the executive decision to personally eradicate the temple by more alternative means."

"What do you mean by…" Zuko's voice trailed off as the lighter emerged from his father's pocket, the flame already dancing in the night. "No. No, you can't mean that you'll…father!" He pleaded desperately, his heart pounding as the truth of this night's journey becoming clear."

Ozai grinned proudly. "Don't act so shocked Zuko. It's like I've always told you – sometimes in business you have to think of the long term gains when making short term decisions."

"But this isn't a business deal!" Zuko cried. "This is a temple! A neighborhood! People live here!"

"Not for long," Ozai muttered with dark humor.

Zuko felt himself pale. "Father…"

"Come now son," Ozai said, turning to Zuko. "I was hoping we could do this together. Bring you into manhood, get you into the family business a bit early."

Zuko bit back the surge of happiness he got from his father's use of the word son. "I…I won't let you do this."

"You don't mean to stop me?" Ozai chuckled, obviously not the least bit threatened. He strode over to the curb and picked up a trash bag. "Zuko, you are a child." Ozai placed the bag at the door of the monastery, then continued to gather bags as he spoke. "Children are often confused by the actions of their elders. It's understandable. You are young, naïve. You do not understand the ramifications of your actions yet. That is why I am here. To help you make decisions that will carry you in a plentiful direction in life." A pile of trash bags sat in front of the main entrance, with a line of bags trailing down the sidewalk in either direction, smushed against the sides of the surrounding buildings. Ozai paused to smile proudly at his handiwork. "See Zuko? Hard work always pays off."

"Father, we should leave." Zuko was shaking, unable to believe that what he was seeing before him was the truth. "This isn't right."

Ozai sighed and shook his head in disappointment. "Zuko, I really thought you were mature enough to handle this." He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a water bottle. Zuko eyed the strange brown liquid that sloshed inside, illuminated by the dim light of the street lamp.

"What's in there?" Zuko asked fearfully, wrapping his arms around himself.

"Gasoline," Ozai responded. "Surprisingly difficult to transfer into water bottles, let me tell you." Ozai began walking up and down the length of his trash lineup, pouring gasoline onto the trash bags and onto what window sills he could reach. Three more bottles emerged from his pockets, and soon Ozai was standing beside Zuko with a smile, proudly surveying his handiwork.

"So what do you say?" Ozai looked down his son with a small smile, though his eyes were cold and calculating. "Care to set the first flame?"

Zuko shook his head frantically. "Let's just leave. This isn't right. This…this is illegal! You could go to prison!"

Ozai scoffed. "I could go to prison for many things, Zuko, but I won't be going down for this."

"I'll tell the police," Zuko said bravely. "I…I won't let you get away with it. If you do it. We could still leave."

Rage entered Ozai's eyes and he snarled. "Listen here you little monster. I created you, I can end you. Now you are my blood, you carry the same poisons I do."

"I'm not a murderer," Zuko said quietly, a strangely calm voice coming from him despite the panic that was beginning to overtake him.

Ozai glared intensely at Zuko, then grabbed him roughly, his large hand enveloping the younger boy's arm. With no hesitation, no sense of ceremony, Ozai flicked the lighter to life and stroked the first trash bag, letting the flame dance from one to the other before stepping away. Zuko watched in horror as the bag quickly burst into flames, the fire jumping down the line on both sides without hesitation.

"No…" Zuko said, watching the flames begin to climb up the building, catching on window box flowers and creeping in through open windows. "No!" Zuko sobbed, hot tears rolling down his cheeks for the second time that night. He screamed an anguished cry, his knees giving out on him as his father held him tightly upright.

"Look, Zuko!" Ozai roared. "Look how beautiful it is!" Zuko wrenched himself away from the man and began to run down the street, screaming at the top of his lungs.

"Fire!" Zuko called. "Fire! FIRE!"

Ozai chased after his son, managing to grab him by the arm and stop his frantic running. He slammed a hand over the boy's mouth, silencing his cries. "Are you trying to ruin my plan? Is that it? Taking me down won't bring back your mother, you know."

Zuko sobbed, heat of the fire reaching him despite the numbing sense of tragedy he felt.

"I think you need to be taught a lesson," Ozai said, a distant look entering his eyes. "Yes, a lesson…a lesson in respect. Make you understand your place."

"Father?" Zuko's words were muffled behind the hand over his mouth, but the fear in his eyes was evident.

Ozai strode towards the rapidly burning building, hauling his son along with him. Zuko struggled ferociously as the heat of the fire burned even from a distance. Ozai paused to look around for a moment, then grinned wickedly when his gaze landed on a metal letter box that was being absorbed by the flames. The metal was already beginning to melt under the heat.

Zuko screamed as his father clamped his hand over Zuko's ponytail, keeping his head under control. He pleaded for mercy, begged for forgiveness, and eventually just screamed as his father pushed his head towards the burning mailbox. His face was slammed into the fire, pressed upon the mailbox, the pain destroying all sense of coherent thought Zuko had…and then darkness overtook him.

Hakoda stepped onto the street like a king surveying his subjects. His uniform was stained with ash and smoke, dark scars of grey streaking across the formerly bright yellow. The crowd across the street was bigger than it had been an hour ago, and no less frantic. The police were holding them behind the fences, and already pulling witnesses aside for brief statements. Paramedics could be seen attending to burn victims, providing oxygen to those suffering from smoke inhalation. Above the city skyline, Hakoda could see the sunrise slowly creeping its way across the sky.

"Chief Hakoda?" He turned to see Bato approaching, a clipboard held in his gloved hand.

Hakoda nodded. "What did the search reveal?"

Bato sighed. "The majority of the block was destroyed sir…it's a mess in there. Practically nothing is salvageable."

"Any survivors?" Hakoda kept his tone direct and professional, though his heart clenched at the thought of so much wanton death in one night.

"There was one." Bato flipped through his papers briefly before reading aloud, "Twelve year old boy, first name Aang, no known last name."

Hakoda sighed and took off his hat, allowing his long hair to fall down onto his shoulders. Bato handed him the paperwork, which Hakoda read through with a steadily deepening frown. When he reached the end of the page, he groaned in frustration. "God…where is he?"

Bato pointed to a secluded corner of the street where ambulances had set up a makeshift crisis center. Hakoda immediately spotted the boy in the corner – small for his age, enveloped by the blanket that had been draped over his shoulders. He sat huddled on the curb, seemingly oblivious to the hustle and bustle of paramedics and patients around him. As Hakoda approached the child, he quickly noted a few key details about his physical appearance – he appeared largely unscathed, and sported a large ornate blue tattoo that wrapped over his bald head. Similar blue tattoos could be seen on the backs of his hands, which clutched at the blanket with numb desperation.

"Aang, is it?" Hakoda offered his softest, warmest smile to the boy, who looked up at him with glazed, reddened eyes. He had been crying, that much was clear.

Aang nodded. His eyes were dark, his cheeks still full with baby fat. Too young to be experiencing such a tragedy.

"Did you live in one of these buildings, Aang?" Hakoda asked, sitting down on the curb next to him.

Aang nodded numbly. "I live in the temple."

"I wasn't aware the monastery housed children…" Hakoda felt his voice trail off as tears welled up in Aang's eyes.

"I was the only one," Aang explained tearfully. "I lived in China until a couple years ago…the monks at took me in after my mom left me with them as a baby. I came here for a cultural exchange trip, see the world outside our mountains…I liked it here, so I stayed."

Hakoda nodded slowly. "So you're an orphan?"

Aang gave Hakoda an insulted look. "No…I've always had a family. A family of monks, a thousand fathers and mothers who guide me in the ways of peace and harmony. The ways of Buddha."

Hakoda paused, noting the fire in the boy's eyes. "And what about those tattoos? Aren't you a little young for that?"

Aang scoffed with an insulted tone, though he still paused to reach up and touch his forehead tattoo. The blue of his tattoos ran up the extent of his arms, disappearing under the orange sleeve of his loose fitting tunic. "These tattoos…they show my link with the ways of the spirit. My control over how I live my life, and my acceptance of the things in life that I cannot change."

"That's a very good outlook to have," Hakoda replied respectfully, though he still found himself questioning the motives of the people who would tattoo a child. "Aang, do you know anyone else in this neighborhood very well? Neighbors, perhaps other monks?"

Aang paused to observe the burned wreckage across the street from them. "No. Everyone I know is dead."

"Jesus." Hakoda ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "Look…Aang. You seem like a good kid. And with no other relatives in the country…we can't just ship you back to China. My lieutenant was looking into your public record and your custody record is spotty at best. We barely have any knowledge of you in the country, other than you having flown into Kennedy airport and going through customs then. And it was for a vacation, technically. Though your legal guardian changed to another monk at the this temple before then. Guy-atso?"

"Gyatso," Aang murmured, grief overtaking his face for the first time in their conversation.

"Of course." Hakoda placed a comforting hand on the boy's shoulder. "Aang, I don't want to see you thrown into the system. You're grieving, and a crappy inner city orphanage is the last place you should be right now. How would you like to come home with me tonight? We have a guest room, and it will give you somewhere comfortable to stay until we figure out a long term solution for you."

Aang turned to him. "You can do that?"

Hakoda shrugged. "I'll have to check with whichever social worker they assign you, but considering I'm the city fire chief…I doubt they'll have much to complain about."

"That would be really great," Aang murmured, clutching the blanket tighter around him. "I…thank you."

Hakoda rubbed the boy's back affectionately. "Just sit tight and let the paramedics check you over, okay? I have to give closing statements to my team, but we can leave after that." He stood and surveyed the scene, noting how the crowd had calmed and dispersed, the haphazard lights still illuminating the wreckage of the street.

Aang nodded. "Thank you," he said once more, looking up at Hakoda with wide grey eyes.

Hakoda felt his heart clench at the youthful hope in Aang's eyes. He reached to ruffle Aang's hair like he would with his own son, only to stop and pat his bald head instead. "Don't worry kid. We'll be home soon."

"Eat my dust!" Sokka crowed as he drove his character past the finish line. Aang groaned and dropped his controller on the coffee table, the neon characters on the screen now declaring Sokka the winner of the game.

"Good game," Aang said amiably, though the tightness of his smile showed a twinge of frustration in him.

Sokka chuckled and stretched languidly. "Hey, maybe one of these days you'll actually beat me!"

Aang rolled his eyes with a smile and leaned back into the plush couch. He had enjoyed the last two years immensely. Living with Hakoda's family had begun as a temporary means of survival but led to Aang's adoption after a year of residing as a foster child. After the initial culture shock of living in a townhouse instead of a temple wore off, Aang had found himself truly enjoying his induction into normal American life.

Sokka had been cold and untrusting towards Aang at first, hesitant to accept a stranger into his home. But within the week, the two were goofing around like childhood friends. Sokka had taken Aang under his wing in the ways of fashion, humor, sports, video games, and all other aspects of American teen culture that Aang had not yet explored.

"Don't tease Aang," a gentle voice admonished. Aang looked up to smile gratefully at Katara, who leaned in the doorway gracefully. Katara had been immediately welcoming to Aang, comforting him in the dark days after the fire without question. She acted more like a mother than a sister, but Aang knew Sokka and Hakoda loved her for it. Katara was gorgeous, Aang had struggled with a crush on her for months until the priority of his adoption snuffed out any childish daydreams of his.

"But he's so easy to tease," Toph whined from her seat next to Aang on the couch. She leaned back against the armrest, her feet casually resting on Aang's leg.

"Not my fault I didn't grow up with video games," Aang replied, shaking her leg teasingly. Toph grinned in his direction and shook her bangs out of her eyes before leaning over to shove him playfully. She had been his first friend in high school, and had become his girlfriend a few months later. Katara had vehemently disapproved at first, disliking Toph's brash personality and crude humor, but it hadn't taken long for Toph to prove her importance in Aang's life.

"Anyway," Sokka said loudly, removing himself from the couch as Toph and Aang's play fighting began to crowd into his space. "I have a date. See you losers later."

"Will you be home for dinner?" Katara asked. "I'm making sea prunes."

Sokka paused in grabbing his jacket from the closet. "Uhh…maybe. I'll text you. See ya."

"Tell Suki I said hi!" Aang called out, peeking out from the chokehold Toph had him in. Katara rolled her eyes at the young couple's antics and left the room with a muttered excuse of homework. Back on the couch, Aang struggled to wiggle out of the chokehold as Toph cackled maniacally.

"I am the greatest wrestler!" She cawed triumphantly.

Aang reached out and tickled Toph's ribs, making her jerk instinctually and relax her hold on him. Once he was free, Aang tackled Toph in a bear hug, leaning back and pulling her with him till they were fully lying down on the couch. Toph crouched over her boyfriend and laughed at his antics. Aang lay still as Toph crept a hand up his arm, feeling her way to his head to run her fingers through his hair.

"Your hair is kinda weird," Toph stated, running the wiry locks between her fingers. "It's too rough to be normal hair."

Aang scoffed in amusement. "Well okay then, miss hair expert."

She grinned down at him with her pale eyes. "Not to say I don't like it. It just feels weird when I touch it. I'm sure it looks cute as can be."

Aang shrugged noncommittally. "Eh. I guess."

Toph continued to rub Aang's hair, feeling along his scalp until she reached his ears. "It's getting long," she observed.

"Yeah, Katara said she'd cut it for me next week." Aang reached up to tug Toph's hand away from his hair, tangling his fingers with hers. Toph grinned at Aang's obvious ploy for affection. She leaned down to kiss him softly, a kiss he responded to eagerly.

Toph pulled away to regard Aang critically. "You know, all this hair talk has me thinking – you usually wear a hat, right?"

"Uh, yeah," Aang responded, his mind more focused on kissing than headwear. "Why?"

Toph shrugged, reaching up to tug at his hair once more. "I'm just wondering why you wear a hat so much. Is it a style thing, or does your hair look so stupid it has to be covered up? I mean, that would explain why you're dating the blind girl…" she grinned at him teasingly.

Aang pulled away to sit up on the couch. "You really want to know?" his tone had shifted to a much more somber mood.

"Yes?" Toph frowned and adjusted to sit next to Aang.

Aang sighed. "I grew up in a monastery, you know that. But the temple I grew up in was this really traditional sect in the mountains of Tibet. The village was centered around the temple, so our ways were cultural law. The monks there followed a lot of the old ways, traditions that most temples around the world have passed on."

"Okay…" Toph nodded. "You've told me some of this before."

"Right. But what you don't know is…I have tattoos." Aang inhaled sharply, awaiting her response.

Toph paused only a moment before breaking into a grin. "Seriously? That's so cool! What are they of? And where? Are they badass?" She began feeling up and down Aang's arms as though she would detect some difference in the skin.

Aang laughed at Toph's attempts to find his tattoos. "Uh…well. The whole idea behind them is that I've mastered my understanding of the sacred texts. That I will live free of earthly tethers, move with the energy of the universe instead of resisting the things I can't change…"

Toph nodded. She would never admit it, but she loved when Aang talked about his culture. She never wanted to press, knowing it had the risk of bringing back memories of the night he lost it all, but it still filled with her with an endless curiosity to hear about a whole divine culture halfway across the world that she could only dream of.

"Anyway," Aang continued. "The tattoos, they're modeled after arrows. They're pretty big. It's five arrows, one on each arm and one on each leg, and then one that goes up my back along my spine and wraps over my head."

"Wow," Toph breathed, touching Aang's arm wistfully. "I wish I could see them…"

Aang paused, reaching to pick up Toph's hand delicately. "Here, I'll show you where they are." In silence, Toph allowed her hand to be guided by Aang's. She was guided around his bicep, down past his elbow and all the way to his hand, finally ending on the back of his hand, just behind the knuckles. Aang shifted so Toph could reach, and guided her hand up his spine, along his neck, and through his hair. Toph's eyebrows raised in surprise when her fingers hit his hair line, allowing herself to be dragged along his head until they finally stopped in the middle of Aang's forehead. Keeping her index finger where Aang had stopped it, Toph reached out with her thumb to find Aang's eyebrows barely an inch away from where the tattoo ended.

"I can't believe I didn't know about this," Toph murmured. "No one ever said anything about it…something this huge…wow."

Aang moved Toph's hand away from his forehead. "Well, I used to have my head shaved so the tattoo was pretty obvious. But after I got bullied for them all throughout middle school, I decided to cover them up when I started high school."

"Wait, what?" Toph paused, thinking back to the school year. "So all the beanies, and the long sleeves, and those jackets with the fingerless gloves attached…it's all been you trying to cover up these tattoos?"

Aang nodded. "Yup. Anyone at school who didn't know me before freshman year doesn't know about them. I don't like hiding my heritage, but…it's easier this way."

"That's bull," Toph said bluntly.

"What?" Aang sputtered.

Toph glared at Aang. "Dude, tattoos are super cool. And tattoos from traditional monks in Tibet? Even more cool. You should be hella proud to show those things off!"

"I am proud," Aang insisted. "But you weren't there, Toph. I got called all sorts of names, had people saying these really horrible, violent, racist things to me every day…and covering my skin has made most of that go away."

"But Aang," Toph said, placing a gentle hand on top of his. "You're a total badass! You could kick their butts if you would just stand up for yourself!"

Aang sighed. "Okay yes, I could, but I made a vow of peace."

"You're a blackbelt in like, seven different martial arts forms!" Toph exclaimed, mimicking karate chops wildly.

"To be used only in self-defense," Aang reminded her patiently. "I can't just go around beating people up."

Toph groaned loudly. "Fine! But still. I think you should go out and be proud of your tattoos. It's your heritage, your religion, your culture! And if someone decides to be a jerk, you just tell them to screw off! You think I don't have people mocking me for being blind, or short, or for having weird hair?"

"Your hair is not weird," Aang murmured, reaching up to stroke a lock of her hair absentmindedly.

"Not the point!" Toph exclaimed. "Aang, I'm telling you – if you go out and be proud of who you are, and show those bullies you don't care, you will be the most respected, most badass kid in school."

Aang paused to think. "I don't know, Toph. You weren't there when all the bullying was happening. It was really rough. I was a lonely twelve year old kid grieving his family while attempting to adjust to American schools. I had culture shock, language barriers, and kids a lot bigger and tougher than me threatening to beat me up for marks that I used to be proud of. So, so proud."

Toph waited patiently. She could sense a deep sadness in Aang's voice, but a thread of anger was in there. Aang huffed a bit and leaned back to stare up at the ceiling.

"These tattoos mark who I am, how I see the world. It took years of ritual and study to earn them, and I thank the monks who marked me by hiding! It's just not right!" Aang ranted. He stood and looked down at Toph, who was looking up at him with wide eyes. "You're right, Toph. I'm not doing this anymore."

"Cool," Toph said, dumbstruck. It was incredibly rare to hear any anger in Aang's voice, he was usually so calm and put together. She allowed Aang to take her by the hand and guide her to the bathroom upstairs, where she was sat down on the closed toilet. She could hear Aang rummaging through the drawers, followed by an electric buzzing sound. "What's that?" she asked, attempting to place where she had heard the sound before.

"Sokka's electric razor," Aang replied. "I'll clean it after I'm done."

"Wait, are you…" Toph was cut off by the sound of the razor connecting with hair. "Aang!"

Aang remained silent, focusing on the task at hand. Clumps of hair fell onto the counter and the ground below, creating a dark cloud of wiry hair at his feet. Toph remained silent throughout the process, showing rare patience as Aang leaned this way and that to see all the right angles in the mirror.

Finally, Aang turned the razor off and paused to admire his handiwork. "What do you think?" he asked Toph, who rolled her eyes from her seat on the toilet.

"Well I can't exactly see, so…" she said sarcastically.

Aang shook his head with a humored smile. "Right…here." He leaned down so Toph could feel his freshly shaven head. Her fingers explored his shorn scalp, marveling at the smooth skin. There were hints of stubble remaining that he would have to clean up, but it seemed Aang hadn't missed a spot.

"Wow," Toph breathed. "So you really just…took it all off."

"Yup," Aang said proudly. He straightened to look in the mirror, admiring the proud blue arrow on his head. It had been over a year since he had seen the ink on his scalp, and he was surprised to realize just how much of a comfort it was to see the mark of the temple standing proudly on his skin. In a fit of inspiration, Aang reached up to tug his T-shirt off, exposing his back and arm tattoos. Toph listened to the sound of rustling cloth curiously, wondering what was going through her boyfriend's head.

"Why the strip tease?" she asked jokingly, with a touch of concern in her voice.

Aang gazed at his reflection proudly. "No more hiding. Never again."

The tea shop was always too warm for Katara's taste. She shrugged her coat off almost immediately upon entering, draping it over her usual chair. The shop was never crowded at this time of day, but she knew the place would be packed as soon as the sun went down. Come by after sundown and the shop would be filled with old men playing pai sho, businessmen commiserating over a pot of lavender chamomile, young lovers seeking a nightcap, and at least two wise old women who the shop owner, Iroh, would flirt with shamelessly.

"Can I get you a menu, miss?" A light voice asked. Katara looked up to lock gazes with a laughing pair of golden eyes.

"You know I don't need one, Zuko," she chided him teasingly. She had tasted her way through the Jasmine Dragon's menu twice over by this point. Iroh had offered to hire her for her tea knowledge alone, but Katara knew the man's wallet was strained enough without an extra employee.

Zuko chuckled. "All right then. What can I get for you?"

"A pot of Jasmine Desert," Katara said with a smile. "And two cups."

"Of course." Zuko gave a short bow, as was customary of all the shop's employees. Katara fought the urge to laugh at his formality. The tea was out within minutes, and Zuko with it. He draped his apron over the back of his chair and took a seat before expertly pouring the tea for her. They raised their cups, tapping the brims gently.

"Cheers," Katara said before taking a careful sip. "Perfect temperature, as always."

"It's a gift," Zuko replied with a soft grin.

Katara breathed in the aroma of jasmine and sandalwood with vengeance, savoring the earthy roots of cinnamon that spiced the air. "Delicious."

"I know it's your favorite." Zuko took another sip. "It's been almost a week since you've come by. Did you miss it?"

"I missed you, if that's what you're asking." Katara regarded him with a teasing smile. "And I was busy studying. We just had midterms, you know."

Zuko smiled. "The joys of home schooling."

"I'm jealous of you sometimes," Katara said. "Not having to deal with high school."

He shrugged. "Well, no other school in the district would take me after I got kicked out of my fourth high school."

"You never told me why you kept getting expelled," Katara replied, eyebrows knitting in concern. "I don't want to press if it's a…sensitive subject, but…"

Zuko sighed and ran his fingers through his shaggy dark hair. "Everything in my life is a "sensitive subject," Katara. I'll tell you if you can promise you won't let it change what you think of me."

"Never," Katara replied softly, lacing her fingers with his.

He ran a thumb over her fingers absentmindedly. "Alright, well – you know that before my uncle took me in, I was in a pretty bad situation at home. My dad didn't get arrested till I was sixteen, but he kicked me out to live with Uncle Iroh when I was fifteen. I was angry when he took me in. Angry at my dad, angry at the world, angry at anyone who tried to get close. The stuff my dad did…it had really screwed with my head. But I couldn't talk to anyone about it, because that would mean sending my dad to jail. So I stayed quiet, lashing out at anyone and everything.

"Kids can be cruel, you know that. I was an outcast at every school the minute people saw my face. This scar…my father gave it to me. And with it, he branded me as his own personal failure. People would pick on me for it, call me names and stuff. And I would usually respond by punching their faces in. I got in so many fights, the last school had a security guard follow me to all my classes. Just in case I lost it in the middle of a chemistry lab or something. Eventually, they just gave up. Told my uncle to either homeschool me or send me to juvenile detention."

Zuko had been staring down at the table this whole time. He now looked at her, honest vulnerability apparent in his eyes. "So? What do you think of me now?"

"The same I always have," Katara responded softly. "That you're a good person who's survived more than he ever should have been forced to take. What happened after Iroh started homeschooling you?"

Zuko sighed. "Well, it turned out to be good timing. My dad got arrested a week after we started the homeschooling, and then there were the months of police questioning and court appearances. Normal school wouldn't have worked with all that. We scheduled tutoring and reading and stuff around all our appointments and traveling. After the court's decision was finalized and my dad's crimes went public, there was no more fearing retaliation from him. I've been seeing a therapist ever since."

"I'm glad he's behind bars," Katara said. "It scares me to think that a man like that was running one of the biggest corporations in the country."

"You never know what happens behind closed doors until you're in the room with the monsters," Zuko muttered. They sat in silence for a moment, reflecting. "Anyway," Zuko cleared his throat and poured more tea in their cups. "How has your week gone? How were finals?"

Katara sighed dramatically. "I'm pretty sure I failed my math test, but everything else was fine."

"You know I could have helped you study," Zuko said.

"No, you always distract me when we study together." Katara shot him a flirtatious look. "Not that I'm complaining."

Zuko's cheeks reddened. "Fair point."

"But exams were probably fine overall. Sokka isn't even worried about exams, which is annoying because he doesn't study and he always aces the tests. He's too smart for his own good."

"Hey, you're smart too." Zuko said, furrowing his brow. "Don't sell yourself short."

Katara smiled at him. "Sweet."

"I try." Zuko smiled. "You want to get some dinner before my next shift?"

Katara nodded and placed cash on the table to pay for the tea. They left the shop arm in arm, pausing only to observe the gently falling snow around them. "Do you need to grab a jacket?"

Zuko pulled his sleeves down to his wrists. "No, it's not that cold."

"You're never cold," Katara murmured. "Must be 'cause you're so hot."

Zuko regarded her dryly. "Really? That was lame, even for you."

Katara laughed. "Excuse me for trying to flirt with my boyfriend!"

She only felt his hand gripping her waist for a moment before his lips were on hers. The kiss was soft but full of passion as always. Katara smiled as he pulled away from her, his expression as focused as always.

"I love you, you know that?" Zuko said, his voice only a scratch above a whisper.

Katara leaned in to kiss him once more. "I love you too. Come on, I want to get out of the cold."

Zuko gripped her hands in his and blew a breath of hot air on her fingers. "I'll keep you warm in the meantime."

She paused to regard the scarred face before her. So rough to the touch, but soft and sweet underneath. Her hands dropped to hold his, and she looked up at him adoringly. "Sounds perfect."