The Ways of Tea and Failure
"This tastes terrible." Asami shoves the acidic jasmine tea away from her with a disgusted twist of her lips. "How hard is it to make a decent cup of tea?"
Pabu, batting around a peppercorn on the counter, sniffs the slightly-chipped cup and sneezes.
"Oh, be quiet." she looks at the label again. "Boil for three minutes, steep for two, swirl...geez. Pema? Korra? Bolin? Tenzin? Mako? Iroh? Anyone know how to make decent tea?"
No response.
"I guess a nice glass of water will do." she sighs, dumping the contents of the teapot down the sink. She thinks about pouring it into one of the Temple's hanging plants, but at the rate it was going, her poison will shrivel the herbs so brown that Tenzin could crunch them into dust and used them for light ink. The sink's handle squeaks as it turns quickly, water gushing into the the tall glass. She whirls around, her drink in hand, to see a small platter of egg custard tarts beside the oven, faintly steaming in the air.
"Pema must've left them there before she ran out to get the kids." she mutters to herself, looking around. Taking a small step forward, she calls out in the smallest whisper, "Anyone want some egg custard tarts?" Shrugging, she snatches one and snaps a bite, smiling as it oozed between her teeth. Pabu ignores them in favor of chasing an orange and black butterfly, swiping his white-tipped paw fruitlessly. The Sato girl sits down with the whole plateful and the glass of water to watch. A groan and creak—an airship, she immediately reasons—startles the Fire Ferret into cowering under the windowsill. It's not an Equalist airship, or else everyone would be running and shouting. Asami is not inclined to leave her new treats for a non-threat.
When was the last time she had these? Asami thinks as she stuffs another one into her mouth. She remembers now—it was during her last birthday, when she got a new Satomobile, and when she and Dad—
Her dad. Could she even call him that anymore? She remembers the rage in his eyes as the mecha's hand crashed through the glass face of her suit, her throat closing and her terrified breath and her heart racing as the shards cut her face—I'm going to die, this is it—before Bolin came to help her. He was going to kill me—why would he—I'm his daughter...
She shudders and pushes the plate away from her, the tart now lukewarm and disgusting mush in her mouth.
The kitchen door suddenly slams open when a bulk of faded green and brown bursts in and shakes Asami by the shoulders, causing her to spit the yellow custard out. "Asami! Guess what!"
"Egg custard tart brings out the green in your eyes?"
"It does? You'll never guess who arrived—"
"I'll greet them later, Bolin."
"Oh." Bolin takes one look at her and pulls up a chair to sit beside her. "Do you...want to talk? About your dad?"
"Hiroshi." she tries. She's called him by his first name before, when introducing him or herself as his daughter, but it sounds cold and odd now. "I don't know, Bolin. You were there through everything." She looks away, wraps her fingers around her cup. "When we put him away, he told me that I was a disgrace. That he wished I had exchanged places with Mom." Her fingers feel clammy and chilled, but Asami ignores them. "Why? Why would he say those things?"
"Because he's a stupid man." Bolin answers angrily, but quietly. "Because he's a horrible father. You rescued Tenzin. You helped destroy the planes. You fought mechas. You turned against your own father to do what's right. You drove that Satomobile when we disobeyed Tarrlok. You took down Equalists. You're great, Asami."
"Bolin, thank you." Asami smiles at him a little. "But, no. You have had loving parents. You don't...you can't understand. No one can. Your parents, if they were alive today, would never say, never do anything close to what Da-Hiroshi has done. I'm sorry, Bolin. No."
Bolin thinks for a moment, popping a tart in his mouth. "So, you need someone who gets...being betrayed by their parent?"
Asami raises her eyebrows. "Bolin, I don't want you to find a random stranger in this temple that—" But Bolin had taken off, the curtain-door swinging frantically behind him. She sighs; she knows Bolin has good intentions, but she really doesn't want an awkward encounter with a random Air Acolyte whom she barely knew about deep, personal thoughts. But it makes her smile just a bit to imagine Bolin shaking monks from meditation and asking them, "Have you been betrayed by your father or mother?"
She stands up when she finishes her glass and searches for new treats when the door opens and shuts.
"Bolin, I appreciate your attempt, but I just want to talk to someone who really understands and can help. Maybe when all the movings done, I can hire a psychologist or something."
"I don't want to disturb you, then."
Asami whirls around, ready to offer an apology to whomever Bolin had dragged out, but her eyes immediately travel to the left side of the wrinkled face, where an old burn scar had ravaged his golden eye and ear and part of the gray-streaked rave hair. Her mind flashes to her Great History of the Four Nations, which she had left back at the mansion, and she nearly drops the box of crackers in surprise.
"Oh my spirits!" she would have pointed like a fool, but luckily she stops herself. Her voice squeaks, though, and her cheeks flush red. Well, how would you react to seeing the man who had dominated many pages of your brightly-colored, dog-eared storybook? "You're Fire Lord Zuko," she continues stupidly.
The elderly man waves it away with a smile. "No longer. I'm, well, an traveling ambassador of sorts. I gave the crown to my daughter a while ago."
"Oh, yes. That was a few years ago." Asami quickly amends, vaguely remembering the newspaper and radio news. "Why don't you sit down? Would you like some water? My tea isn't very good, I'm afraid."
The former Fire Lord chuckles, eyes distant. "My tea was very poor when I was young, too. But I'm much better at it now, but not as good as my uncle's. Would you...?" He gestures towards the stove, and Asami bobs her head automatically while thinking incredulously, I'm going to have tea with former Fire Lord Zuko.
They sit down, and Asami notices an awkward silence. Years of dinner parties and banquets have trained her to avoid these, but it seems that this really has slipped her by.
"You sure look like Iroh. I mean, he looks like you. Because you're his grandfather." She immediately shoves a cracker into her mouth and considers banging her head against the table.
"Oh, yes. He does, though he looks a bit like the late Prince Lu Ten, too." He stares off sadly into the distance for a minute, and Asami silently groans. She's triggered a sad moment for him. She's not supposed to do that! She's never done that! Should she...pat him somewhere, like she did with Mako? Say something? Would it be improper? Was there an etiqutte book about ex-Fire Lords and grief?
"I'm sorry for your loss." she finally says. It's a well-worn phrase, almost cold, murmured with a distant pat on her back with the smell of lilies and the flash of cameras. But she doesn't know what else to do.
"He died a long time ago. But thank you." He sips his tea. "Now, I came here because your friend...Bolin...told me a little something about fathers and thought I'd understand."
"Wouldn't that be insensitive and bring back bad memories for you?" Asami thinks out loud.
He shakes his head. "No. If I was not comfortable, I would not be willing to talk about it with you."
Asami nods at his matter-of-fact answer. "Well." Suddenly, it's hard to talk, and something climbs into her throat. "It happened a few...weeks ago. My dad was found out working for the Equalists; he was building stuff, weapons for them. He was with Amon. His excuse was for Mom." She pushes her teacup around three times like a ritual, biting her lip down hard. The color swarm beneath her eyelashes. "Mom died when I was just a child, but he really loved her." The words pour out of her as fuzzy and blurred images and sounds fly and curl around her fingers.
"A Firebender triad gang broke into our house and killed her while they were getting out. I don't really remember much. I was just doing my homework, and Mom was going out of the room to get a snack for me. You know, an after-school snack—she always did that. I heard her whistling...and suddenly, Dad was shouting and the guards were grabbing me and pulling me away, and I was screaming and wondering what was going on. He was calling the police, I think. I don't remember seeing her. I just heard this scream, and this different scream, then I was screaming, without knowing why. It was so hot and we were trying to get out, and when I was out of the house, the flames were just...tall. Tall like smokestacks. Dad wasn't out yet, and I was screaming and crying and the guards were telling me that everything would be fine, but I knew it wouldn't, so I kept crying."
She doesn't give Zuko the time to offer condolences before she plows on. "I don't remember much, and I hate that. I just remember Dad rushing out, asking me if I saw Mom—there was ash on his clothes and face...and the house...it was burning. I didn't hear screaming, and I wasn't sure if..." Asami can't breathe; her voice is trembling. "If...that...was g-good or not. Later, a bunch of reporters came over to publish the story, the police investigated, and the Triad...the Agni Kais—some got arrested, some didn't."
Asami continues, refusing to stop until she finishes the story, rushing at break-neck speed, stumbling and stuttering. "Anyway, he offered for me to join him, and I told him no. And I took him out with his own lightning glove. Later on, in the final battle, he captured Bolin, Iroh, and me. He offered me the chance again, so I told him straight, that what he had done, it was unforgivable. Mom wouldn't have wanted it...soon after, we broke out. Iroh had gone to stop the planes. I got into the mecha and hoped to smash his weapons in case he decided to follow Amon with them. He caught me. And..."
She's breathing too fast, like when she's driving around the racetrack and she's first, but it's not the same sort of thrill. It's a sort of sick feeling, like being dizzy after throwing up.
"And...he tried to kill me. After disowning me." She gulps down the tea furiously. Her voice is far away.
He doesn't waste words. He knows how it feels.
"It hurts you. But you think it shouldn't, because he's bad."
Simplistic. Asami likes that.
"Yes."
"I talked this over with my uncle many times." he continues. "But we had a really big one after the first Peace Summit."
"To plan Republic City. It was a year after after the...failed Harmony Restoration Movement." Asami recalls from school, the rustling textbook pages, her organized notes with equally neat, swooping calligraphy.
"Yes. All the leaders had to make a speech to begin. And, the irony of it, the first Peace Summit was to be held in the Fire Nation Capitol. I was also the one to go first."
The Fire Lord takes another sip. "I was nervous. The Earth Kingdom was divided between dislike or begrudging peace. The Northern Water Tribe still was angry over the Siege of the North. The Southern Water Tribe was quiet—I knew I had allies in Hakoda and Katara and Sokka, but I didn't know too much about the rest of the tribe. Aang, the last of the Air Nomads, was smiling at me as I opened my mouth to begin.
"I described what Aang and I had come up with, tracing back to Yu Dao cautiously. Some were nodding at the idea. I tried not to look too hard, though. Sokka had given me the designs, and my presentation seemed to be going as planned.
"I then was ending and asked, 'Are you with me?' Then the room was silent. And someone at the back snarled, 'Never.'"
Asami shudders inwardly. It reminded her of when she and the group had posed for a picture at a victory gala. The reporters were congratulating Korra, who was tiredly smiling, and swarming the rest of the group with questions. One had been bold enough to ask if Asami had, to be sure, severed all ties with her father. Asami had, with a hard tone, replied in the affirmative, but General Iroh, who had noticed a tremor in her voice, politely escorted her for a dance. She had never felt more humiliated—she had dodged the reporters at the Air Temple Island, smiled for that one victory photo of the catching Equalists night, and avoided attention at the Southern Water Tribe (which was easy, since reporters barely ventured there because of the climate)—at a stupid ball, in front of everyone, had to be asked like a criminal.
"I just looked at Aang, who immediately gave one of his harmony speeches and called for us to step outside for a break. I managed to nod to him—I remember every mundane detail—and walked as fast as I could to the private garden, where I just slumped at the tree. And swore at the turtleducks."
Asami giggles in spite of herself. The former Fire Lord smiles back, despite that they were talking about one of the worst days of his life.
"I suppose the last part does ridiculous," he admits. "Anyway, Uncle came over. He had tea set and a tray with him, pushed a cup into my hands, and talked to me."
Asami remembers General Iroh from her history lessons, too. The basic family tree, the failed Six Hundred Day Siege, how he got his title of Dragon of the West, the reconquering of Ba Sing Se during the Second Sozin's Comet, his title of Advisor to the Fire Lord, and owning the Jasmine Dragon, which spread throughout the world as the best tea franchise with the creation of new flavors. He was supposed to be wise, funny, and always have a cup of tea in his hand.
"He started to tell me a proverb, but I cut him off: 'Uncle, I know what you're going to say. Don't let your past define you. Well, it has!'
"Uncle shook his head and told me something unexpected. He said that 'the past does help shape you, and it is part of you. You must not forget the darkness of your past to help build a better future.'"
The former Fire Lord lets Asami sit back and fully absorb this.
She looks out the window, fiddles with the now-cold cup of tea, and stares helplessly at the table. "I...I think I know what he means. But...I admit that Hiroshi was my father and part of the Equalist movement. And that he was trying to get me to join him, the cause. But I'm not him! I'm tired of trying to defend myself, sir. I just want to be me."
He sighs. "I know. That's how I felt about everything. I didn't want to be tied up in my ancestors' shadows, but I wanted to make up for it. I think what Uncle was getting at was..." The older man sips his tea again, as if trying to draw inspiration from the contents. "You can't change the past. But you can use it to move forward."
"Like how you became Fire Lord and tried to make the world a better place by reforming the Fire Nation school system, trying to change the public opinion, fixing environmental problems caused by the industry, recovering from war efforts, becoming an ambassador now, and—" Asami realizes that she's descending into pedantic mode and reliving her years as a babbling student whose hand shot up at every possible opportunity. She remembers she used to be a mixture of Ikki and Jinora before everything and feels a small pang. But she sighs, drums on the table, and waits as Zuko—she really has to see who calls him what—finishes swallowing an egg custard tart.
"I've planned on taking over Sato Industries." Asami says. "It's a shame that such a great company would go down after years of labor and hard work. I think I can do it."
"Really?" Gold eyes pierce her sharp green. "But you're the disgraced daughter of an anti-bending traitor, inventor of weapons that helped invade and destroy the city. How do we know you won't attempt to free your father and reignite the cause?"
Asami smirks and straightens up. He inclines his head.
"While I admit he is my father and played a major part in the Equalist movement, I do not share his views at all. I fought with the Avatar and her team, and I, with General Iroh of the United Forces and Bolin of the Fire Ferrets, helped destroy the weapons and take down my father so they would not cause further harm to Republic City." She pauses. "I can continue the legacy of what Future Industries was meant to be."
"And how will you do that?" His tone is curious now, no longer playing the part of an interrogator.
Asami thinks of the final battle, the smoking ruins in Yue Bay, and Iroh's combined admiration and complaints about the difficult steering.
"I have some ideas. I just need to look at my father's blueprints and make a few adjustments of my own." She stands up and bows. "Thank you for the tea."