Disclaimer: I do not own Avatar: The Last Airbender, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
"Confession" by Abraxas 2008-07-13
A cold, bitter wind stirred the dust within the house - a door shut into its frame with a thud and, immediately, the air was warm and calm again.
Jarred by the ruckus, Zuko's eye opened, as if shaken out of sleep. He was not upset by the intrusion, however, the winter of the Antarctic was paradise compared to those torments of his dream. That fire whose flames consumed him, mind and body, whenever the world slipped away into oblivion.
He thought - no - he hoped exile into the remotest part of the world would be the way to soothe his demons. Yet there could be no peace within as long as that moment of his past remained unresolved. Incomplete and fractured. His anguish, if unfulfilled, threatened to be like his scar - permanent.
All he wanted was to return home with that prize. The mystical, elusive figure of the Avatar. Whoever or whatever it was. Indeed, if it existed.
Zuko sighed
Despite what the uncle claimed that Avatar had to be real!
Without it he could not be complete. He wanted it. He needed it. And he knew he was destined to find it because, like predator to prey, their fates were intertwined.
The key to success was anonymity.
As long as no body uncovered the truth about his identity, then, under the cloak of a refugee he was free to wander without attracting attention.
The father - like the people of the nation - believed his Avatar wielded great strength and influence openly because they envisioned their enemy to be a perfect, mirror like reflection of themselves. A nation that thought itself so mighty could not be afraid of a meek and humble opponent. But Zuko understood almost by instinct that his Avatar possessed a wisdom altogether different. And he was determined to use his status to its fullest advantage.
Because his Avatar dwelt within the background of the world amidst the impoverished. There were no armies. There were no allies. Rather, his Avatar roamed from place to place, waiting for the moment to attack. If it were otherwise then it could not have escaped, undetected, across the span of the century.
Yes, the pursuer and the pursued were equal, he imagined it first subconsciously, then by degrees more and more actively, until he could not deny the reality of it - they were soul mates.
Zuko stood out of the seat and walked into the center of the abode where a mirror hung against a wall. Lamplight, softened by distance, illuminated his face through a gray, blue haze. His left eye shut. His right eye gazing. He patted his features with water and, without a trace of emotion, felt the rough, rigid texture of the scar.
Katara claimed it could be healed but he refused to consider it.
Even if it were gone, the pain and loss it represented would not be healed.
It was the nightmare that needed to be stopped. A slip of the tongue. The slightest kind of suggestion and everything would be lost.
Already there were rumors about exiled princes
A sound like a sneeze issued from a room deeper within that house.
Zuko turned, curiously, then walked into the chamber which was open and lit by slits.
It was that boy, Aang, who Sokka and Katara rescued. He was sick, again, with fever. Winter did not agree with the boy. And, in truth, he was sympathetic.
Recalling the movement at the door, the exile started to worry about the state of the child.
"Awake, kid?" he asked, coolly. After years wandering he did not like to grow too close to people. Yet in Aang he found a comrade of sorts. A fellow refugee equally strange and mysterious. "You look pale."
"Where's Katara?" he asked, his teeth shivering his speech.
"I think she went to get help," he replied. Sitting at the edge of the bed he noticed the boy's clothes, still dripping wet, against the back of a chair. "Why did you, Aang? Showing off to these guys." The boy sighed and Zuko sighed, too. "I know the urge to be accepted. You and I, we're strangers in a strange land, aren't we?"
"How do you do it? Zuko. How are you so comfortable being different?" Aang raised the blanket up to his chin trying to warm. "I hate being different. And people looking at me like that."
Zuko allowed a sliver of a smile.
"I have been at it longer, kid, I'm used to it."
There was a look within Aang's eyes that bespoke of an abyss of enigma. Secret, hidden possibilities. Falling into their gaze it was like the reflection of a mirror. It was a struggle, then and there, not to go too far. Not to reveal too much. Yet there awoke within the refugee the idea that, perhaps, he might not have to wander alone.
Then, as if to crush that fantasy, he said aloud:
"I have to be alone. I am what I am."
"What are you, Zuko?"
Aang's shivering, chattering teeth continued unabated. Zuko tucked the boy tighter into that blanket.
"I am not them, these people, them..."
"I know that, Zuko!"
The exile stroked the side of the child's scalp. Its skin was exposed. Hairless and colorless. There seemed to be scars, like lines, etched into the flesh. But it was the icy, cold feel of the body that induced fright.
Suddenly Katara's haste was clear
But why the shock when he was used to death already?
And he wondered if it would be safe
"Can you keep a secret, kid?"
Aang nodded. Zuko pressed a palm against the blanket over the boy's chest. At once the touch warmed and he watched, almost tearing, as he child's eyes widened.
"You - I - you're - I..."
"Yes."
The confession without words seemed to demolish the wall between Zuko and Aang - it was akin to intimacy and bonded the two silently.
After a while Aang sat up and, with his head down as if shamed, he uttered:
"I'm ready to tell you my secret now."
He blinked, "What is it, Aang," he whispered.
"You can't tell anyone, you promise..."
"I promise..."
Zuko held the child's hand with his own, unnaturally warm palm.
The implication of that trust between them thrilled and frightened and, despite that hesitation, its climax was unstoppable.
"I - bend - air. I'm the Avatar."
Zuko's grip tightened then relaxed.
Almost about to laugh with disbelief, his reply was the denial which was to be expected:
"What? Are you sure, kid? I mean - what do you mean, Avatar?"
"I'm the Avatar. The last air-bender. I know it. Sokka and Katara said every single air-bender was killed. But I escaped. I was born a hundred years ago. When I was twelve the monks at the temple told me I was the Avatar. Then - the fire nation attacked - and I fell into the water - and my Avatar state kept me alive - and..."
It came out like a bolt of lightning - Zuko struggled to digest what Aang was trying to say.
"You can't tell them - if they knew, if anyone knew - these people would be killed."
Zuko nodded.
"I can't stay. Soon the marks will be showing again. I need to go, Zuko, I need to finish my training."
"Of course," he said, without thinking about what he said. He just needed to speak. "You'd need to find other benders."
Aang tightened his grip against Zuko.
The exile looked at the sight, passively as if still shocked, watching the fingers interlock, fire-bender and air-bender, weaving together.
How could it be Aang? The soul closest to a friend!
"Maybe you can help me?"
Zuko's breath escaped his lungs.
But there was not a moment to think. Again the sound of the door, the chill of the air - and a frenzy of footsteps followed. Zuko and Aang let go of each other's hands like two secret lovers about to be caught.
Zuko stood when Sokka, Katara and a healer entered the bedroom. He melted into the shadows. He stalked across the darkness.
"It can't be true," he stammered.
Calming himself, he sighed.
It was unbelievable and he was shocked by his lack of will. His mind and body just would not react. Never - never in a thousand years - was the confrontation supposed to be like that!
He knew, as he struggled to find his resolve, he knew that act of confession was not over.
END