Author's Note: The idea of using one of my favorite lines from my all-time favorite play for Mai and Zuko recently came to me when I used this quote in another fic. Since the girl in that crossover had a childhood just like Mai's ("Conceal, don't feel!"), and the guy is haunted by a dark, painful past like Zuko, it's pretty appropriate. I guess I just like this kind of couple...

"What are you thinking of?"

The Fire Lord shook the faraway look out of his eyes and turned to his bride-to-be. "That... trip to Ember Island."

Mai took a step closer to him and turned to face him, leaning one arm against the balcony. "The one where we had our first time?" she guessed with a saucy smile.

Zuko sighed and closed his eyes. "That's the one..." That wasn't the part he'd been thinking of, however...

Not counting their childhood, that trip had been the first time he'd ever seen Mai around other men – men besides soldiers or servants; men who were at liberty to smile at her as she passed; to approach her and speak to her as an equal; to look at her as an attractive, young, single woman... and Zuko had been jealous of every man who might. He'd tried to ignore it, tell himself he was being paranoid, remember that encountering people throughout the day was a routine part of life, and he'd known it was all true – it just hadn't mattered. Because whenever another man spoke to or even glanced at Mai, all Zuko could see was a handsome face – smooth, whole, and unmarred by a hideous scar. Then he would look at the vision of beauty on his arm and think she must know she could do so much better.

Here they were the night before their wedding, and the feeling was back, as strong and relentless as it had ever been. Zuko turned and stared intensely at Mai, carefully studying every inch of the lovely face before him, before focusing on the reflection in her eyes. The contrast between the two made no sense – such things just didn't go together. Someone like her deserved so much more than a disfigured mess of a man!

"What is it?" Mai finally asked him.

He shook his head and looked back over the balcony. How could he explain it without sounding pathetic? "It's not important."

"I've heard that before..."

He shook his head again. "It's not a secret, it's... it's nothing new."

Mai turned to face the same direction and clasped his hand, resting on the railing, in her own. "Is this about our family again?"

"No," Zuko answered honestly – he'd already worked through his fears of turning into his father, of being a horrible father to his own children, and had long since realized that he had the power to choose what kind of man he would be, that neither his blood nor his past could control that if he didn't let them.

Mai sighed ever so softly. "Please don't tell me you're still worried about me?"

Zuko couldn't help but grin at that. "Of course I am, and I always be, but no more than usual."

He could actually hear Mai roll her eyes. "When are you going to stop obsessing over protecting me?"

"When are you going to accept that people are still trying to kill me?"

"No one's going to kill you." He heard the familiar zing as she unsheathed a knife. "I love you."

Zuko raised his head as he was thrown back to the past. They had first said those words to each other about two months before the Agni Kai, back when he'd been unashamed to show the world his face, before it had been turned into a disgusting hunk of charred flesh. He remembered the stray comments he'd overheard servants and officials make about how "the prince is growing into a fine, handsome young man" and how "soon, he'll have every girl in the Fire Nation vying for his attention..."

There was something else struggling to escape the back of his mind, though – some other memory brought to life by those three words, but what? He couldn't place it. He closed his eyes and squeezed Mai's hand. He knew she loved him; they had been best friends since they were little children (their betrothal overriding Azula's "friendship") – sparring and playing in the castle gardens, hiking or riding through the hills outside the city, having picnics on their favorite spot, splashing around on the beach... Every summer, she came with them to Ember Island...

Zuko's eyes shot open. He wasn't surprised to hear Mai ask him, "What?"

He didn't answer right away. He was thinking of her tone when she'd just said, "I love you." He finally turned back to face her and said, "The way you said that... it reminded me of something."

"Of what?"

He might as well tell her. He smiled and explained, "Do you remember that play we saw on Ember Island one summer? The one about that soldier who fell in love with his best friend from childhood, but he was so ugly, he was sure there was no way she could love him back, so, rather than face the rejection, he never told her?"

Mai nodded and, with a smile to mirror his own, lay both her hands on his arms. "Until the day he lay dying in her arms, and she cried, 'You shall not die! I love you!' I'll never forget it – one of my favorites."

Zuko frowned and dropped his eyes. "You remember what he said next?" Mai didn't reply, so he just said the next line: " 'No – that is not in the story! You remember when Beauty said "I love you" to the Beast that was a fairy prince, his ugliness changed and dissolved, like magic... But you see...' " He had to pause before he could finish: " '...I am still the same.' "* He sighed as the burden lifted from his shoulders – he'd finally said it. He waited for something to happen.

Mai waited a moment, too, then slid her arms up around his neck and held him close, pressing her cheek against his. "Want to know a secret?"

He was taken aback slightly by the tone and the question, but he asked, "What secret?" with perfect composure.

"A secret shared by womankind, closely-guarded for many generations."

"About what?"

"About the first story, where the prince's handsome appearance was ruined, and he turned back into his old, perfect, handsome self when the girl fell in love with him."

"What about it?"

Mai whispered softly in his ear, "There's not a single girl who doesn't think the story would have been better if the beast hadn't changed at the end." She pulled back and looked him right in the eye, grinning mischievously, but it softened into the look of grave tenderness she gave nobody but Zuko, as she reached up to touch his scar. "Who says perfection is beautiful?"

*Rostand, Edmond. Cyrano de Bergerac. 1898. Trans. by Bryan Hooker. Bantam Classic edition, 2004. Pg. 224.