Overdone

I'm a snake in the grass,
Watch your feet, let me pass.
I'm tight and afraid;
I can't eat, I can't change.

And all the little mice
Are dancing in sunlight
While I shuffle past,
Just a snake in the grass.


He remembered a time when he wasn't obsessed with a twelve-year-old child.

He was happy once, when Azula would snatch his hand, her own sticky with sweat and the remains of candy, trying to keep up with his longer stride as he ran through the vast palace –Wait up, Zuzu!– and when his mother spent so much time beside the pond in the garden that all he could associate with her these days was the deep, almost cloying scent of fire lilies.

Even now, he hated candy and told his crew he was allergic to lilies, so don't they dare bring any aboard his ship.

He stands there, at the bow, pale hands gripping the edges of the railing, the edges of everything.

He used to hate the sea, the slightly fishy musk that was somehow still fresh. The beginning of his journey, of this never-ending, pointless journey was some of the worst times of his life. Chasing a trail that had gone cold a century ago, an expedition that would surely take the rest of his youth, if not his life, was not something he looked forward to with anything resembling happiness. His mother was gone, his sister was cruel, and his father did not love him. The sea, the vast ocean with a horizon that blended with the sky, so large, was a reminder of the hopelessness of his journey, his mission, and the fact that he would be dining on fish for pretty much the rest of his sad, scarred little life.

But then, unbelievably, success. Or, partial success. He now saw blue arrows in his dreams, flickering into appearance like someone lighting a match, but he when he reached for it, it was out like a candle. His prey was a grey-eyed bird that hadn't even grown out of its down yet, elusive, small, and swift.

But no matter, he had thought then. I have found him, against all odds, and soon, I will be home.

He hadn't anticipated the perseverance of his quarry, or the determined presence of his quarry's companions.

The Water Tribe brats were definitely a problem. At first, he had brushed them off –What could two barbarians do against the Fire Nation army anyway? – but he soon realized that they were one of the main reasons that the Avatar kept escaping. How many times had the Avatar slipped through his fingers because those two idiotic children had simply stumbled on the right place and right time on that giant flying hairball?

But no, that wasn't right. They weren't truly children, he supposed. (He had found that out the hard way when his uncle insisted on replacing a worthless pai sho tile, and some pirates were determined to keep their abnormally-large noses in his business.)

He hadn't expected the female peasant's wrists to be so strong in his hands. They were small, still, fragile and brown, like eggshells, but the way the tendons moved beneath them, he could tell she was stronger than he had thought, her blood pounding between her bones that he could feel through his calloused fingertips.

But it was her eyes, those damn blue eyes of hers, first dark with fear –I'll save you from the pirates – then blazing brightly with defiance, glittering like the scales of a fish –Go jump in the river! – that truly made him understand that she wasn't a mere child. Her determination belonged to that of a woman, strong in her convictions, bold in ways children simply were not.

He still remembered the way she had smelled, even, a combination of sweat and ocean and anger. How the curve of her cheek, like a dark piece of cloth, felt as he brushed it with his, his breath fanning across her neck –Perhaps in exchange, I can restore something that you've lost – his fingers ghosting against her throat as he held up the necklace that he thought meant more to her than anything else. (Another mistake.)

But wasn't until the Spirit Oasis that he began to comprehend who this little fish was. (Fighting an enemy with everything you have is one of the few ways to truly understand someone's character.)

She had become so much better since their last encounter, more sure of herself, of her abilities, so much more of what she would become that Zuko, at the time, was dumbfounded, though he did well at hiding it(I see you learned a new trick.). He had struggled his entire life to become what he was now, bled for it, and she had swept through her training like the water at her fingertips.

The Fire Prince curls in on himself slightly, the ocean air whirling in his ears.

Her fighting, though formidable, was not what bothered him now. He had proved it, back at that pond next to a bird-child that meant the return everything that he had ever wanted, with a blast of fire at dawn(I rise with the sun.).

No, it was the way she looked at him, a prince, royalty, like he was less than the scum on her boot. She, who had lost everything, was still fighting for what she believed was right, no matter how naïve and misled she was.

(Blue eyes accompanied blue arrows in his dreams, now, glinting along the edges, and just as elusive as the creature of water she was supposed to be.)

He found himself admiring her. What kind of person fought so hard when all of the odds were stacked against them, like walls of ice, impenetrable and unyielding? What kind of strength allowed her to look him, one who handles flame, in the eye without flinching?

Probably the kind of strength that commanded an ocean.

He finds himself not minding the smell of the sea so much anymore.

He inhales deeply.

He remembers a time, so long ago, when everything had made sense.