Énoument: the bittersweetness of having arrived in the future, seeing how things turn out, but not being able to tell your past self.

Zuko's eyes fluttered.

Zuko?

He couldn't sure, but that might be his uncle. But his uncle was alive, wasn't he?

Zuko!

And it faded to black.

Again, the darkness receded for a second, but it didn't seem right to him. There was supposed to be light at this end of the tunnel, not a dull grey, like he had only closed his eyes.

No.

It really couldn't be. He had tried so hard this third time, he had cut deep and long, and then pushed his under the water. He had no idea why he was alive. For a second, before he knew it wasn't possible, he thought it might have been Azula.

God, please no. I'm dead. I'm dead. I can't be alive. Don't let me live!

He thrashed his body, his heart racing, and the pain from what he was certain was an IV scared him.

Please, please no! This has to be my personal version of Hell, right? I can't live through this anymore!

He was sure his father was eating this up, using these circumstances for his political campaign, undoubtedly faking grief and using it to campaign against drugs, drunk driving, depression, pressure in school, etc. Nobody, not even his uncle, knew what his father did to him in the enclosed space of their house, or what his 'perfect' sister said to demean him. How she had pushed him into anxiety and his first attempt. He finally and truly given up. The first time he had been drunk and hurt, the second wasn't even a real attempt, and now third had failed as well.

All I had wanted was to never wake up again, was that really so hard…?

For a blessed second, everything faded again, before it all lit up, and he knew he couldn't ignore everything any longer.

Zuko fluttered his eyes.

"Zuko?" Iroh spoke.

Zuko opened his eyes all the way, but curled away from the light, it burning him as if he were a vampire.

"Uncle…?"

"How are you feeling?" Iroh asked quietly, after Zuko's eyes had adjusted to the light.

Zuko looked at him.

"Hurts. Thirsty," his dry throat barely let him groan.

Iroh nodded and stood, walking to the door and opening it.

The movement caused him to actually take in his surroundings. The room was white, as expected, his bed placed in the middle. There was an IV attached to him, and the bag was pulled off to his right, along with his empty food cart. There was a window on the left, and large flat screen tv in front of him. The bed had grey, plastic rails and a white-and-brown checkered sheet. He was unfazed by the sheer bored feeling the room emitted, or the suffocating smell of death, illness, and sterility. Zuko had been there before. Different room, same design.

A woman came in with his uncle. She was black-haired and had a white lab coat.

"Hello, Zuko. My name Dr. Jean," she says with a smile, handing Zuko a glass of water.

Zuko knew from experience how fake this woman was, and he didn't want to deal with pretending to listen. He slowly drank his water, despite being horribly thirsty.

"I'm glad to see you're awake," Dr. Jean commented, looking at her clipboard. "The doctor taking care of you will be here in a moment, but I just wanted to ask you some questions."

"Um…"

"Would you like your uncle to step out?" at that, even without Zuko giving an answer, Iroh slipped out.

"Okay, with that settled, I'll get asking. How have you been feeling lately?"

"Like shit," Zuko said bluntly.

"That's too bad," Zuko cringed at that, "How is life at home?"

"Shit."

"Can you elaborate?"

"No."

"That's alright. Do you indulge in any narcotics?"

"Do alcohol and cigarettes count?"

"Yes."

"Well, then, yes," Zuko sighed, getting bored of this conversation already.

"How long have you been cutting?" Dr. Jean asked plainly.

Zuko hated that word, "cutting", as if he were some hormonal teenager looking for attention; he was only looking for an escape, but at the beginning he was too scared to take that last step. He had always been afraid that he'd lived to feel the horrendous pain that must come with cutting that deep, but eventually, he started cutting deeper and deeper, until it didn't matter anymore.

"A long time," Zuko finally answered.