"Sir, I hope you don't think me too forward, but are you sure you won't take the Satomobile?"

Zuko finishes securing his hair in its topknot before giving his head attendant a sidelong glance. "Since when have you ever been worried about being too forward?"

"You know I wouldn't dream of it, my lord." The man keeps his mouth in a thin line as he helps tie the sash around Zuko's waist. "But you and I both know you are…"

Zuko shoots him a look and dares him to say it. "I'm what?"

His attendant's face gives away nothing. Not for the first time, it occurs to Zuko that his people are spectacular at this game; if he didn't know better he would think that politicking was a genetic trait that passed through the citizens of the Fire Nation in equal measure with pale skin and dark hair. His attendant clears his throat lightly but maintains a level gaze.

"…a precious national resource."

The moment stretches out as the two men regard each other. Zuko's face cracks first, the corners of his mouth quirk into a smile. "Go on. You were going to say 'old' weren't you?"

His attendant's eyes sparkle though his facial expression remains blank. "Nonsense. Age is simply a number. May all men hope to enjoy robust health as for long as you have."

Zuko chuckles. "I knew it."

Zuko straightens his tunic and adjusts the sleeves. His clothes may still be made from fine tailored silk, but they are much less fussy than the heavy formal robes he donned for decades. His head is less encumbered as well; he finds that he does not miss the weight of the crown that used to rest there. Not anymore, at least.

"My concern is only for your safety, sir. You can't be too careful these days."

Zuko turns and checks himself in the mirror. With his curved posture and wrinkled-carved face, he might pass for any other elderly tourist, just another retiree escaping from the long winter to enjoy warmer temperatures. Except for one thing. No matter where he goes, he's never just another tourist. The scar that blazes across his face announces his legacy from a distance, especially when he travels within his own country. There may have been a time when people here did not recognize him, but those days are long gone. He stands a little taller, tries to channel a little of the pride of his youth.

"I think I can handle myself."

His attendant hovers into view behind him. "Of course. But it is a long walk. One of the men can drive you, if you prefer."

It's no secret among the staff that Zuko doesn't care to drive. What they don't know is that it's because he's not very good at it. To this day he could detail the workings of a steam ship or a war balloon, but there was something about the shifting and steering of a simple Satomobile that made him feel as uncoordinated as he was in his youth trying to execute his first kick. He really was getting old. But today that was beside the point. "No thank you. It's a beautiful day. I prefer to walk."

His attendant clicks his tongue. "If you insist. You might at least take a guard with you."

Zuko shakes his head. "No. This is something that I must do alone. You should know that by now."

He sighs. "Yes, my lord. We'll be waiting for you when you return home, then. Have a safe journey."

Zuko nods and makes his way down the stairs, keeping one hand on the thick wooden bannister. The staff in the foyer bows and provides him with his shoes. He thanks them before pulling open the door. The smell of salt and the sound of the tides greet him. He inhales deeply and starts his journey down the long path toward town.

Spring– post war

Tea cups rattle on the shelves as he pulls open one of the many cabinets in the back room of the Jasmine Dragon. What had Uncle said? Was it the gray cups with the white trim? Or the white cups with the gray trim? The ones with gray and white stripes? The fact that he is faced with all of these options (plus many, many more) is at once stunning and unsurprising. Uncle had apparently taken no time in updating and expanding his collection of tea sets after the war was won. He can't help but wonder just how many of these were for customers and how many were for personal use. He pushes air past his teeth and reaches for the white with gray trim. They would have to do.

As he starts to collect the cups on the counter, he hears the soft creak of the lanai out front followed by the groan of the heavy door. He frowns. Uncle shouldn't be back from the market yet.

He yells over his shoulder. "I'm sorry, but we're closed today. You'll have to come back tomorrow."

"Zuko? Is that you?"

Katara. He calls out to her. "In the back!"

She appears in the doorway a moment later. She looks… different. He hasn't seen her since she left the capital months ago. Is she taller? No… maybe. But that can't be it. Maybe it's her hair, which falls in loose cascades over her shoulders and seems to gleam in the soft light of the tea shop. No, that isn't it either; she'd worn it that way during the war. Perhaps it's the simple yet elegant robes that hug her figure and trail the floor. He's never seen her in green. That must be it. The color is throwing him off.

He realizes that he is staring, and quickly turns back to his task. "Hi, Katara."

He can tell that she doesn't know quite how to greet him. He'd seen her welcome her friends in the past, pulling them into fierce hugs garnished with toothy grins. He can sense that she wants to follow that natural impulse but holds back. She compromises by providing that enthusiastic smile but stopping a few paces away. "Hey. Am I early?"

"A little. But that's okay." He looks past her, expecting an entourage. No one is there. "Is it just you?"

She shrugs. "The others will be along soon. Aang took everyone to the zoo this morning."

He can't help but think of the smell of the rhino pens on the ship, or an unwashed Appa, and struggles to understand the appeal. But he nods and continues pulling cups out of the cabinet. "You didn't want to go?"

"I did, but I decided I wanted to sleep in more. We stayed up way too late at the Earth King's coronation celebration last night." She leans casually against the counter. "We looked for you, but Iroh said you and Mai left pretty early."

"Mai and I wanted to go to bed. Go to sleep, I mean! It was a long day. We were tired. " He clears his throat and concentrates harder on the cup in his hands, not sure why he suddenly feels embarrassed. But Katara either didn't catch his meaning or didn't want to. When she speaks her voice is teasing.

"I believe it. How many times did she nudge you awake during the coronation? Three?"

Inwardly he cringes; he had hoped no one else had noticed. He was never that lucky. "I'll have you know that I had quite a long journey. Not to mention that I've been busy running a country for the last few months. It's not my fault the ceremony lasted four hours!" He pauses and quirks an eyebrow at her. "Wait. Were you watching me?"

"N-No!" She sputters. "Aang noticed first and then Toph and Sokka started taking bets. You cost Sokka three silver pieces; he thought you were going to fall out of your chair for sure."

He pinches the bridge of his nose. "Great…" He can already imagine the lecture he will get from Uncle.

Katara just laughs. "Don't worry, you weren't the only one. It was really boring. Yours was much better."

He bites back a retort – of course it was – and mumbles his thanks instead. An awkward silence bubbles up, punctured only by the clinking of porcelain.

"So… is Iroh here?"

"No. He went to the market. He said he was running low on his favorite type of ginseng."

"Sounds about right. Mai?"

"Shopping."

Her eyes go wide. "Mai likes to shop?"

He gives her a sheepish look. "…No. But as thanks for keeping me awake yesterday I sent her down to a store nearby that specializes in senbon."

She smiles at him. "That was nice of you."

He snorts. "More like the least I could do. She hates those events as much as I do."

Katara screws up her face. "But you guys were born into all that stuff. Aren't you used to it by now?"

He finishes putting the cups on the tray and starts reaching in the back for the saucers. "Being born into it and enjoying it are two different things."

She considers this. "I suppose you're right." She watches him stack the plates. "Do you need any help?"

He shakes his head. "No. I've got it."

Another beat of silence. From the corner of his eye he can see Katara twirling a lock of hair around one finger. It's a strange behavior for her; she is never coy. Not with him at least. "So…Iroh told us you'd be serving us tea today. Is that true?"

His suspicions are piqued with the odd tone of her voice. "…Yes. Uncle asked me to."

"Hmm. So I guess that means you'll be our tea server for today."

He frowns. "Yes. I just said that."

Her eyes sparkle like a dragon-hawk narrowing in on a gecko-rat. Her voice is teasing. "Well then, where's your uniform?"

"…My uniform?" He looks down at his brown robes and is utterly confused. "You mean my regalia? Why would I wear that today?"

She rolls her eyes. "No, I mean your uniform. For serving tea."

He scowls at her. If this was a joke he was not amused. "I'm the Fire Lord, not an employee."

She shrugs dramatically. "Sorry, your highness. I just thought since you had one last time, you might put it on for old time's sake."

He narrows his eyes. "How would you know anything about it?"

She crosses her arms and her smile is triumphant. "Don't try to deny it, teabender. I saw it with my own eyes. You were standing right out there and – "

The stack of plates slips from his hands and clatters loudly on the countertop. "You saw us?" He ignores the plates and turns to face her. "When?"

Her smirk melts away and her victorious attitude vanishes. "Oh. Yeah. Back when we were all living here. But I, uh, didn't exactly stay for tea."

He isn't sure if he should laugh or wince. "How did you find us?"

"It was a coincidence. I was working with the Council of Five, and I thought maybe I'd get some tea between meetings. That's when I saw you. You were out there, like I said, giving tea orders to Iroh."

He starts to restack the plates, but keeps a wary eye on her while she studies the floor. She seems nervous for some reason. "Why didn't you say anything before?"

She rubs the back of her neck. "It never came up. We've never really talked about that time before. Not without yelling, anyway."

The sudden shift in her mood strikes him as odd, and something about the situation tickles at the edge of his awareness, like he's missing something important but isn't sure what. "Did you tell the others we were here?"

She shifts uncomfortably on her feet. "Not exactly."

He still isn't sure where this is going, but her uneasiness is contagious and he's almost afraid to ask. "What's that supposed to mean?"

She bites her lip. "I told your sister."

His blood runs cold. Katara is recoiling as though she is just waiting for him to explode, but he is too stunned to even react. He blinks and cocks his head to one side. "You told my sister?"

She holds her hands up and the words come spilling out. "I didn't mean to! I was scared, okay? I was surprised to see you here, so I ran back to warn Suki and the other Kyoshi Warriors, but it wasn't them! It was your sister and her friends in disguise – "

"You told my sister." He turns to face her fully, his task entirely forgotten. Shock turns to anger as the implications start to click into place, and he can feel his fists shake at his sides. "You told Azula we were here?!"

"Yes, but it was an accident! And then Ty Lee did her freaky chi blocking thing and they threw me in prison – "

"I can't believe this." He covers his face with his hands and shakes his head. "It was you…" His hands fall away from his face and he stalks toward her, pointing his finger in her face. "It was all your fault! I always wondered how Azula found us! You got us both thrown into prison!"

She smacks his hand away and sticks out her chin, getting right in his face. She is taller, but not by much; at this proximity she still has to tip her chin back to look him in the eye. "What, you think I liked it any more than you did? It's not like I did it on purpose!"

His voice rises, tinged with incredulity. "No! But the whole time we were in there you were blaming me! You accused me of plotting to capture the Avatar!"

She matches the volume of his voice. "I apologized for that! I was just angry!"

"But the whole time you knew it was you!"

"I was wrong, okay? Is that what you want to hear?"

"You said I was a terrible person!"

She explodes. "And then I offered to heal you!"

"I – " He quickly shuts his mouth. What was he going to say, really? There's no comeback, no defense. It takes no effort to remember her slow steps as she approached, her hand as it tentatively reached toward him, the strange sensation of gentle fingers ghosting over the ruined skin of his face. They stare at each other for one long moment, faces inches apart, searching each other's eyes. The anger drains away and familiar shame replaces it. He backs down but does not back away. He hangs his head and can't meet her gaze. "I know. I'm sorry."

She doesn't respond. He doesn't even want to know what she's thinking. She might have forgiven him for his betrayal, and they might even be friends, but there was a reason they had avoided talking about that day. He wonders if they'll ever be able to talk about this without yelling. He wonders if they'll have the chance to. Suddenly he is worried what this might mean for their friendship, and is surprised to notice how much it matters.

The silence is broken by a heavy sigh. "I'm sorry too. And not just for telling Azula." Her words fill him with relief. Before he can reply he startles when her cool hand reaches up to rest on the left side of his face. The response is automatic; his eyes flutter closed and he holds his breath. Her voice is soft, almost a whisper. "I'm sorry I couldn't heal you then."

His eyes open and he studies her. She is sincere. It's foolish, but he can't help but wonder what might have been different if Aang and Uncle had waited just a minute longer. Maybe nothing. Maybe everything. But there was no going back to change it now. He shrugs, trying to sound nonchalant and failing miserably. "It's okay."

Her eyes shift and study the uneven planes of his cheekbone, her thumb tracing over glossy flesh. "You know, if you wanted, I could see if Chief Arnook would send me some more water from the Spirit Oasis - "

The back door swings open and Iroh appears carrying a sungi horn and a bright bouquet of pink peonies. Katara jumps back a step, but not quick enough to escape his Uncle's notice. A feeling of déjà vu overwhelms him, and he almost expects the Avatar to rush in and hug Katara. His Uncle's eyes shift between them and his lips curve into a grin.

"Katara! So good to see you! You look radiant today. Zuko, would you help me bring in the other packages that were left outside while I start the tea? Our other guests should be arriving any minute." He shoots Zuko a meaningful look.

His jaw drops and he wants to stomp his foot. It's not what it looks like! Instead he swallows his retort and tries to gain some composure. "Yes Uncle."

They both watch as Iroh sets the flowers down on the counter and shuffles away into the other room. Awkwardness overtakes him and he rubs the back of his neck. This is not what he thought he was in for when he agreed to come to the Jasmine Dragon today. His Uncle's little tea party hadn't even started and he already can't wait for it to be over. He turns to escape out the back door to gather Iroh's purchases - and his wits - but her voice stops him.

"Zuko, wait! About what I said…"

Damn. It's tempting. It really is. But he shakes his head. "Thank you. For the offer, I mean. But it won't be necessary."

"Are you sure? It wouldn't be a problem..."

He looks at her. She's fidgeting with her hands and looking at the ground. She really does look different. Maybe she is different. Maybe they both are. He is startled to notice that his hand has crept up to his chest, his fingers rubbing absentmindedly at scars unseen. He forces his arm to his side. "No. You've done enough for me already."

The smile she gives him is soft and warm. "Okay. I wanted to offer just in case. Though I'm kind of glad. To be honest I can't really imagine you without it."

Something warm expands under his skin as she says it, though he isn't sure why. Her words aren't even that complimentary. But there is something about the look in her eyes that seems to make the whole room feel smaller. He realizes he's staring again.

The moment breaks as they hear the front door open and muffled voices begin to fill the tea shop. He recognizes Aang's laughter and catches a few words about rabaroos and hogmonkeys. She turns her head to listen and chuckles to herself. "Sounds like they had fun." She looks back at Zuko, and opens her mouth before closing it. She seems to consider something before thinking better of it. "So… I'll see you at the party, then?"

He nods, and watches her turn toward the doorway that leads to the front room to greet her friends. His limbs seem to move of their own accord; suddenly he is right behind her, his hand reaching for her shoulder. "Katara, wait."

She turns and blue eyes fill his vision. "Yes?"

He gapes at her, speechless. What was he doing? Why did he stop her? He could've escaped all this! Panic starts to take hold and his eyes skip away. They land on the flowers resting on the counter. On impulse he pulls one from the bunch, cracking the stem to shorten its length. He holds it out to her.

"Here…For your hair."

He shouldn't feel so victorious about the soft color that rises in her cheeks, but he does. "Thanks, Zuko. Are you sure Iroh won't mind?"

Inwardly he groans. Uncle. "No. I'm positive that he won't."

She works the stem into the bun at the nape of her neck and turns for him to inspect. He catches the sweet fragrance of the flower in the air as she moves. "How does it look?"

Perfect. "Good."

She gives him one last bright smile over her shoulder. "Okay. I'd better go say hi. See you later!"

Iroh passes her on the way out, and he resists the urge to run a palm over his face as he sees his Uncle eyeing the flower in Katara's hair. He steps toward Zuko carrying a tea pot and reaches for the tray of cups that Zuko has collected. He says nothing, and starts to causally measure out the tea. For a moment Zuko thinks he is safe. He turns on his heel to head out the back door.

"So, nephew… "

He flinches and pauses in his steps. "Not now Uncle."

"What?" Iroh's voice is irritatingly innocent. "I was simply going to suggest that you go down the street and let your girlfriend know that the others have arrived."

Mai. Right. "Of course. I'll be right back."

He storms out of the shop and down the street, shaking the instance from his mind. It's not what Uncle thinks. It was nothing. We've been through a lot together. She's always been able to get a rise out of me, and this is no different. So what if I did something nice for Katara? She offered to do something nice for me. It was only fair. I have a girlfriend, and I care about her. It was nothing.

He had just about convinced himself by the time he reached the weapons shop, and had almost forgotten about it entirely as he walked through the streets with Mai, listening to her briefly explain the pros and cons of single and double edged senbon and the reasons she bought both. He smiles at the hint of excitement in her voice. He likes making her happy.

By the time they arrive back at the shop it is easy to pretend like nothing happened. Because nothing had happened. It was a fluke. Of course he likes Katara, she is his friend. That's all. It was nothing to worry about. That explained everything.

And yet he couldn't explain the slight ache of disappointment he felt when he glanced out at the balcony at sunset to see the Avatar holding Katara in his arms.

He thanks the florist with a small smile as he accepts the bouquet of flowers. As always, the young woman behind the counter tries to refuse the silver pieces he offers in payment, but Zuko insists. Once, when he was a much younger man, he might have kept the coins; members of the royal family were accustomed to accepting gifts from commoners, entitled to them even. But Zuko is not a young man anymore.

The streets of Ember Island are crowded as always, even more so than normal as citizens enjoy the national holiday. Spring has finally come to the Fire Nation, and today the sun and moon will share equal time in the sky. Those that notice him smile and dip at the waist as he passes, but most are involved in their own lives and he continues without fanfare or incident. He weaves past couples and families that stroll along the sidewalks. A little girl with pigtails in her hair sprints by and he spins deftly on one foot to dodge. He smiles to himself; he might be old but his reflexes are still intact. He chuckles when her mother gives chase an instant later, shouting apologies.

The sounds of town fade and are replaced by crashing tides and crying gulls as he approaches the shore. He toes off his shoes and enjoys the feeling of sun-warmed sand shifting under his feet. The population thins as he heads farther west. He follows the undulating line of the tides, allowing the sea to lap at his toes. Before long he spots the jutting rocks that frame his family's home. The climb up the path to the front doors seems to get steeper each time he makes this journey, and he is thankful for the stiff ocean breeze that passes over him as he approaches the steps. It wouldn't be long before he might have to acquiesce and let someone drive him to town. But not yet.

Servants greet him upon his arrival and welcome him home. They anticipate his sandy feet; they flutter about him and help him to sit while proffering him a warm damp towel. He does his best to eliminate the stubborn grains of sand, and once he is satisfied that he won't leave a trail all over the floors he nods his thanks before strolling to the back of the house, slipping his shoes back on before stepping outside.

The courtyard is more well-kept now than it was in his adolescence. Gardeners have tamed the vines that climb the wooden posts of the long lanai and the bushes are carefully trimmed. Though cracked and smooth with age, the stones are swept. The fountain at the center displays cascades of streaming water, kicking up clouds of mist that refract the slanting afternoon sun. It is his favorite area of the house. Though he spends time here almost daily, he is still always a little taken aback by the transformation. His most vivid memories of this place are not of manicured landscapes but of overgrown hedges and weeds; not of silence and tranquility but of sweat and aching muscles as he trained the Avatar to control fire.

But today he does not linger here. Instead, he veers right and heads toward the small set of stairs that lead to a copse of tropical trees and vegetation. He climbs them and follows the dirt path, the crowded leaves overhead cloaking him in dappled light. The path bends left but he steps right, pushing his way through low hanging branches that threaten to cling to his robes. His feet follow the trickle of a stream until he reaches a small clearing. He surveys the area and smiles.

"Hi, Katara."

Of course, there is no one there.

The space is empty, just a small clearance in a thick mass of trees. Tall grasses blanket the ground. The shallow stream snakes its way along the line of trees, bubbling over rocks. It's a pretty area, private and peaceful. He slowly kneels down at its center and brushes debris away from the flat marble slab that lies flush with the ground.

It is not the memorial she deserves, nor the one she would want. He remembers her exasperated comments – how can you stand the heat here - and the way she would bend away the sheen of sweat that bloomed across her chest with the flick of a wrist. But it can't be helped. He owns no property in the other nations, and he needed to keep her close. Closer than she was in life, anyway. He hopes the shade and the sound of water appease her spirit should she chose to visit.

The rest of the house may be meticulously groomed, but the staff knows better than to disturb the area beyond the courtyard. Here the plants grow wild, and he frowns as he notes how the grass and weeds are already encroaching on the stone despite his efforts to fight the overgrowth during his last visit.

Kneeling down, he sighs and sets to work. Long fingers pick at the tendrils of grass and stray weeds that have sprouted up around the edges of the stone and pluck at vines that curl across its surface. He tells himself that the tremor in his hand is simply an artifact of old age. Satisfied with his work, he brushes off his hands. He frowns as he discovers the stains on his fingers left behind by the plants. Green smudges have worked their way into his fingertips. He tries to rub away the stains, but they are stubborn, smearing across his palms and corrupting his mood. He curls his fingers into fists and his eyes squeeze shut, attempting to will away memories of this particular shade.

"Green was never a good color for us."

His fingers unfurl and he reaches for the package he brought with him. He unwraps the bouquet of pink peonies he purchased in the market and separates the stems. One by one he places them reverently around the edges of the stone. He loses himself in this color instead, and smiles at the memory of the flush in her cheeks and the scent of her hair.

A/N – Thanks for reading! This story will be told in four parts, and each chapter is based on a prompt from Zutara Week 2014. This chapter was "melancholy." Up next: "slow dancing."

It was also inspired by the song "Weatherman" by Tori Amos. If you listen to it, you might get a feel for the tone of the story. And also you'll have listened to a lovely piece of music, so it's a win-win, really.

Don't forget to let me know what you think! (PS: I can't decide which I like writing more: awkward turtleduck Zutara or snarky banter Zutara. Look for much more of the latter in the next chapter!)