Practice Makes
Summary: Perfect. That's what Azula is. And Zuko knows that he'll never catch up with her, no matter what his mother says.
Pairings: Mentioned Urzai, but that's canon, so that shouldn't surprise anyone.
Warnings: None.
A/N: Here's a short little thing that I fired off (pun not intended) as a distraction from my other projects. As always, reviews are appreciated.
Practice makes perfect. That's what his mother tells him.
Don't worry, if you keep at it, you'll improve. The greatest Bending masters were once novices. Everyone has to start somewhere, right?
Zuko doesn't tell her what he really thinks, that Azula was born perfect, and no amount of practicing will make him catch up to her. He wants to tell her that Azula never needs extra practice; she always understands right away, gets it right the first time.
He knows what his mother will say in response to that. He and Azula are different, and he shouldn't compare himself to her.
Why not though? His father already does.
Zuko knows what Father would say if he was here right now. He can hear his voice already. You're ten now, and you're still on these forms. Azula is two years younger than you, and she's already moved beyond you. She's three levels ahead of you and working towards a fourth. It's disgraceful.
He over lunges and loses his balance. His mother catches him and gives him a gentle smile. His face burns. It would be so much easier for him if she would sneer at him, show contempt like Father does. But no, she isn't disappointed with him, which makes it so much worse when he fails again. He pushes himself out of her arms.
"You almost had it that time, Zuko," she says. "You just need to fix your left foot. It was tilted too far inwards, which was why you fell."
He wants to yell that she's not a Bender, so what does she know? Why can't she see that he'll never be equal to Azula? Why does she keep hoping that he'll become something that he's not?
He doesn't say any of that though. If he does, she'll smile while her eyes turn sad. That's the look that she wears around Father. He hates seeing her face like that.
Instead, he nods and corrects his stance. This time, when he extends his fist, fire rushes out. He immediately spins into a kick. Turn. Punch. Spin. Jump. Kick. After every movement, fire dances in the air, flickering in the light. A sense of satisfaction wells up in his chest, and for a moment, he is happy. He has finally finished this level. He is able to do every step in this set of forms. He's done it.
His father's voice sounds in his mind. You've been practicing for three weeks, and this is what you've managed to do? This tiny burst of flame? Azula was making fire larger than that at six. Pathetic.
"Zuko, that was great!" His mother's voice breaks through his father's criticizing comments. "I'm so proud of you! I knew that you could do it!"
His mother's encouragement slowly drowns out his father's voice. Warmth spreads through his body as he practices, and it doesn't come entirely from the fire. He never notices the figure watching them from behind a curtain. If he did, he wouldn't understand why her eyes are filled with jealous resentment.