The prison door opened with a creak, a brief shaft of light falling onto the man's face before disappearing as the metal slammed closed again. The prisoner didn't look up, his long black hair, slicked down in dirty dreadlocks, hiding most of his face. Only his eyes could be seen in the shifting half-light of the shadowy room, rich gold focused on his knees. His visitor, dressed in simple but elegant robes, stood by the door with his hands folded in his sleeves, waiting.

Finally, Ozai turned his gaze up without lifting his head, a sneer of disdain and hatred twisting his otherwise handsome features. "What do you want?"

Iroh tilted his head, considering. "I guess I wanted to pay my little brother a visit."

"Spare me the courtesy, Iroh. It doesn't fit in with the décor."

Iroh half smiled. "Old habits die hard."

Ozai tossed his head to remove the errant strands of hair from his field of vision, letting out a sad chuckle. "Come here to gloat then, have you?"

"No." Iroh moved across the room to sit at the end of the dirty cot, and Ozai glared at him from his curled up position at the head, his back pressed against the corner. The walls were damp, and there was no sunlight for fear of the prisoners using it to bend. The only light came from a small crystal imbedded in one wall that glowed a sickly luminescent green. In the darkness of the chamber and the strange shadows, the younger man could barely see Iroh's face. He continued, quietly, "I came here to talk."

"Yeah, so I figured," Ozai drawled. "I'm sure you meant to give me a well-rehearsed sermon about the consequences of doing evil, and how forgiving and moving on cleanses the soul, but I'll just tell you right now that I'm not interested."

"I didn't come here to preach," Iroh said coolly. "Or to gloat. Just to talk. We used to be able to, a long time ago."

"Longer than I care to remember," Ozai spat. "We were both different men back then."

"That's true," Iroh allowed. "I was a younger man then, brash and bold and arrogant. I didn't think you were worthy of my attention. I was a good soldier, and a good commander. I had our father's love and praises, and you were left with our mother more than I care to admit. I was a war hero… but I was a terrible big brother."

"Wow." Ozai sneered. "What admirable humility you show, Iroh. You have no idea how much it means to me to hear you say those words." His sarcasm could be heard from the Earth Kingdom. Iroh shrugged his wide shoulders, his own amber eyes piercing.

"You say that out loud, but you still won't admit to yourself how much I hurt you."

"You didn't hurt me!" Ozai growled, straightening a little. "I didn't need your attention, or your love! I grew strong on my own. I was glad you were gone at war all the time, I couldn't have stood you being at the palace, strutting around like you owned the place."

"You see?" Iroh's voice was quiet. "You really do wish I had been there, and that I had been more accepting."

Ozai shook his head. "You're a fool, as always. A fool that considers himself a genius."

Iroh sighed and looked away. "No, Ozai. You are the fool. Only fools lie to themselves."

Ozai's face was furious and he looked about to argue, but he didn't say anything. After a moment, he looked away. "Why don't you leave? Obviously, your quest to make me repent is futile."

"I already told you, I'm not on a quest. You were the one that brought up this rant. I simply wanted to talk."

"Then talk," Ozai sneered. "It's not like I can force you out."

"Very well," Iroh said. "I wanted to tell you that Ursa has been found."

Ozai tried very hard not to let his eyes widen, but he wasn't entirely successful. Iroh noticed and he chuckled wryly.

"Yes, it's true. After all those years you spent searching for her, cursing her for running away with your unborn son, after all your vain attempts to find her, it was Zuko that managed to discover her – and his brother's – whereabouts. I suppose it only goes to show that he knew her better than you ever did."

Ozai was silent for a long minute. "I care nothing for petty news," he finally spat, but Iroh could tell that his words dug into him like daggers. "It is meaningless to me in here. Time itself is meaningless."

"Then perhaps you'd be interested in something less minute?" It was Iroh's turn to sound sarcastic. "Your daughter died two nights ago."

This time, Ozai couldn't hide his surprise. He stiffened and his eyes blazed. "Azula?" He paused. "No, now you lie. She's too strong for that."

"I tell the truth," Iroh insisted. "When she was captured, she was immediately placed into a high security mental ward. She was kept subdued through drugs constantly – originally, we dosed her food, but she was smart enough to figure that out and stopped eating, so we started giving it intravenously. Three days ago, she tried resisting the dosing, and the nurse accidentally punctured a major artery. She was rushed to the infirmary, despite rules that prisoners were never to be taken out of the ward except for execution, and the doctors tried their best to heal her. Unfortunately, seeing as she hadn't had her drugs for twelve hours, she was conscious enough to try an escape. The guards had no choice but to kill her. It wouldn't have mattered much even if they hadn't – the girl couldn't firebend, her face was well-known as a traitor's, and she barely had any finite muscle control or cognitive abilities after being on the drugs for so long. In the end, with the wound left untreated on her arm, she wouldn't have lived long anyway." Iroh sounded slightly sad and pitying, but he delivered his speech without stop or significant emotion.

Ozai said nothing, just stared at his knees. Iroh waited, knowing that eventually, the man would speak.

"What a disappointment," he finally muttered. "I trusted her to be perfect. She was my last option, my best card. How could she fail me?"

"She failed because you trusted her to be perfect," Iroh said. "She broke under the pressure of pleasing your impossible demands."

"She demanded perfection of herself; I simply expected it."

"I can't say I'm sorry she died," Iroh said, rising to his feet. "She was crazy, and she tried to kill my nephew. The sad truth is, she was too dangerous to be kept alive. The only reason she hadn't been publicly executed was the fear of turning her into a martyr, and the only reason she wasn't quietly assassinated was because the Avatar and the Fire Lord are merciful." He stood by the door for a second, turning back with his hands in his sleeve imperiously once more. "I'm sorry I can't stay longer, brother. But I have things to attend to."

"Too dangerous, eh?" Ozai spat. "Then why am I not dead yet?" Ozai glowered at the well-dressed, plump older man through broken eyes, his voice trying to be as passionate and hateful as his reputation demanded.

Iroh just smiled sadly and left without another word. The ex-Pheonix King heard the bolt draw behind him, and he was left in the silence and shadows again, staring at his knees and thinking.

Ozai couldn't have said how long the break was. It was true what he had told his brother, that time meant nothing. Though it seemed like little over a few days, he knew that the hours ran together, and day and night were indistinguishable. He slept whenever he got tired, and was fed twice a day – it was undeterminable whether the meal was breakfast or dinner, so it was no use to try and figure out the time of day. The guards wouldn't have told him even if he asked, and damn if the greatest Fire Lord to ever live would humble himself to the blithering idiots to inquire.

But when his door cracked open again, Ozai could guess who it was on an instinctual level. And suddenly, time mattered even less. "Back again, brother?" he asked, without looking up. The door closed with a quiet click, and Ozai felt the cot beneath him sink as the heavyset man lowered himself on the other end.

"Indeed."

"Do you have more news for me?" Ozai sneered. He lifted his gaze. Iroh was staring at him with his court face on, his expression unreadable even had the room been fully lit.

"More like, I have more opinions for you."

"I care nothing for your opinions."

"Well, as you said before, it's not like you can force me out, can you?"

Ozai growled. "Fine, then. Let's hear these opinions of yours." He wondered if he could kill the man if he put enough contempt in his voice.

Iroh shrugged nonchalantly. "It's nothing world-shattering. I just wanted to talk. I guess it would be more accurate to say I want to make you feel horrible. Do you want some tea?"

Ozai's head spun as he tried to sort through what his brother had just said. He sighed, unable to puzzle out the stark contrast in his statements, and tossed hair out of his face. He put on his best court mask, the kind half-smile on his graceful face. "Tea would be lovely," he said smoothly.

Iroh laughed. "Ah, Ozai. You were always good at the politics game. I guess that's part of the reason Father wanted me on the front all the time – I never was very good at hiding my emotions, not like you. For example, I know that right now you really want nothing more than to just rip out my throat for coming in here and patronizing you just because I can. But I only know that because you're my brother, and I know you better than anyone. That smile of yours could fool a lot of people into thinking you're still quite civilized."

"What's wrong?" Ozai spat. "You're acting quite cruel, for you."

"Me?" Iroh angled his head, considering. He shrugged. "I guess I'm meaner than I let on. I want to torture you a little bit."

"Shut up and make the damn tea," the younger brother muttered, looking away. The truth was, he was dying of thirst, and he couldn't remember the last time he had had anything hot to eat or drink. If he had to humble himself a little bit… he supposed he could stand it, just this once, just with him….

Iroh laughed again, and the dark walls echoed with the sound of lies (1). "Well, isn't that interesting. Your masks are crumbling, Ozai. You can't keep them up for very long anymore." He stood and walked to the door, and like last time, turned around for a parting word, smirking. "I didn't bring tea today."

Those were his last words.

The next time when the door creaked open, Ozai leaped off his bed and lunged for his brother. Iroh calmly caught his open hands, the nails long and dirty, and twisted his arms behind his back. He pushed him against one of the damp stone walls, not hard enough to really hurt but not gently enough to be called merciful.

"Don't try that," Iroh said simply. He let him go and the door closed.

"Get out of here," Ozai growled. "I don't ever want to see you again."

"Which is what I figured, and why I come," Iroh stated. "I have the control in this situation. I know you hate that."

Ozai stood up very straight, glowering. "I can't make you leave," he hissed. "That's true enough. But I can make sure you don't leave."

"Don't bother," Iroh ordered calmly. "You're in no state to fight me, let alone think of winning. You couldn't beat me even if you still had the gift of firebending, and even if we decided to fight hands-on like simple men I would beat your skinny body in a minute. You can't hope to kill me."

Ozai knew the words were true, and they lit a fire of hatred in his gut. He made his way back to the cot very carefully and lowered himself onto the edge with grace. "Alright," he said, his voice neutral. "I see your point. Perhaps a battle of wit would be more appropriate?"

Iroh raised one eyebrow with a tiny smirk. "You really don't want to try that with me," he said. "I'm smarter than I look."

"Really?" Ozai looked him in the eye arrogantly. "I don't have anything else to do. I'm sure I could cripple you quite efficiently."

Iroh just shrugged, a pitying expression on his face. "Alright, brother. You want to spar, like in the old days? Fine then, words will be our weapons. Next time, you can unleash your first wave against me. For now, though, I brought you a gift." He pulled something from his voluminous sleeves and tossed it to him. Ozai, his reflexes still honed to perfection, caught if deftly and stared at the object in his hand. Had there been any light, he could have been seen visibly paling.

"Where did yo-" his voice shook, and he looked up, only to find that he was talking to space.

He returned his gaze to the doll. Her tiny, perfect porcelain face stared at him neutrally, her silk dress soft against his dirty hands. Her bright red lips were vibrant even in the dull green light, her long black hair straight and untangled even after all this time. He could still remember the day his mother lifted her from the shelf in a tiny antique shop, admiring her beauty. She had bought it and lovingly placed it in his tiny hands, just like she lay in the cradle of his fingers in the present. It was impossible, this doll was broken; he had broken it at her funeral in a childish fit. He couldn't have found her-

Ozai suddenly stood and flung it against the opposite wall, wincing and smiling at once as she shattered with a bang and her pieces fell to a puddle on the floor with tiny plops.

He collapsed onto the bed, ignoring the shouts and pounding on the metal prison door as the guard outside ordered him to stop the racket and quiet down. He stared at his now empty hands, unwanted memories of another beautiful face smiling as he stared at his new friend and giggled a thank you.

"Damn you, Iroh," he muttered.

Ozai was ready when his brother finally came back. It may have been his imagination, but he thought the break was longer than it had been the last time. He totally ignored Iroh as he entered, sitting by the wall with a puddle at his side. He dipped his fingers in the water every few seconds and drew characters on the wall, practicing his calligraphy. Iroh sat down quietly and waited. The minutes drew on with no other noise than that of Ozai's fingers brushing the water and the rock and both men's quiet breathing. Finally, after an undeterminable amount of time, Ozai brushed his fingers off, acting as though they were still the pristine, dangerous weapons they used to be. He turned around and stayed sitting.

"Why are you here?" he asked calmly.

Iroh smiled. "I came here to listen to your insults," he said, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. "Surely you're prepared for our epic battle." His tone was light, almost joking.

Ozai arched an eyebrow imperiously. "I meant to inquire why you come here consistently. You could just ignore me like everyone else in the world. I'm just a prisoner, a monster everyone wants to erase from their memories. You don't have to keep visiting me, yet you do. Why?"

"I told you," Iroh said. "I enjoy torturing you. I have the power to get back at you for nearly destroying the world now."

"I don't think so," Ozai said confidently. "I think you want to save me."

Iroh shook his head. "You want to be saved, Ozai, but don't realize that saving you would take longer than a lifetime."

"It seems that you have become the fool that lies to himself, Iroh," Ozai purred. "You may tell yourself that I am beyond help, but deep down, you come here to try and get rid of your guilt."

"You're right that I feel guilty, for a lot of things," Iroh admitted. "Unlike you. The fact that you feel no shame for your actions is what tells me that giving you any advice would be useless."

"No," Ozai said quietly. "You want to save me, because you couldn't save him."

Iroh was silent for a long minute, after which he laughed, nothing more than a sad little chuckle. "I guess I underestimated you," he said. "Or overestimated myself. Though I expected you to bring him up, I thought I had come prepared to deal with him."

"It's your shame that causes his memory to bother you," Ozai told him. "You know it was your own fault he died. You come here because you remember him, how you let him down – how, had you been more vigilant, he would still be alive right now. And in your mind, you can't help but wonder how things would have been different if you had been vigilant all those years ago, when we were both young." He trailed off. "Maybe you could have saved me, Iroh, had you started earlier."

Iroh cocked an eyebrow. "You spent most of your time with mother," he said. "I can't pretend that that was a harmless thing – women are all manipulative on some basis. I think you learned a lot of horrible things from her. But I spent most of my time with father, and that was just as dangerous a pastime. Think of all the training he made me do, all the war strategies, all the plots and meetings and assassinations when I was barely fifteen." Iroh shrugged. "I didn't mind it back then. I knew I was getting all the attention. But when I think of it now, I realize it was all really a horrible influence on me. Yet somehow, I turned out fine. If I had spent more time with you, I can't help but think that it all would have just worn off on you – the bloodlust, the power-hungry social climbing. I don't imagine I would have done you much a favor by letting you look up to an arrogant bastard of a Royal General like me." He looked his younger brother in the eye, his golden gaze piercing, curious, disappointed. "So where did you go wrong?"

Ozai said nothing.

After a moment Iroh nodded. "A good enough blow," he admitted. "Well thought-out, intricate, and not entirely unbelievable, despite everything I said. However, I know the truth about Lu Ten's death."

Ozai's blood ran cold for a brief moment, but Iroh didn't say anything else. He sighed and rearranged his hands in his lap. "I expected better from you."

He stood and walked out, parting with a glance over his shoulder and a word about how he would have his own sword sharpened when he came next. But Ozai knew him better than that, knew that small little smile on the corner of his lips as he closed the door behind him. He knew that Iroh understood his last sentence had been a dagger of its own.

"You're here earlier than I expected…brother."

"So you have been keeping track." Iroh sounded slightly amused. "Must be difficult down here. I bet you wish you could feel the sun, just a hint of it, just enough for that firebender in your veins to instinctively know the time from the angle and the heat of it." He cocked his head with a knowing smile.

Ozai cursed him silently. One step through the door and he was already playing the game. "I don't need the sun. You are a weak old man, to believe the ancient ways. Firebending comes from inside, from your anger and hate. It fuels power you will never understand until you have reached out and touched it." Ozai shrugged. "Then again, I suppose I shouldn't be talking. It's your turn to tear me down, so go ahead, blabber away."

"No, no, please talk," Iroh insisted, sitting down as usual, his hands placed calmly in his sleeves. "A duel is no fun if your opponent doesn't fight back." It wasn't Ozai's imagination that his eyes narrowed and darkened, his white brows drawing together as he said carefully, "You should know."

Ozai tossed his head back and laughed cruelly. It echoed around the room, filling it with the chilling sound. When he stopped, he looked Iroh in the eye with a pitying expression. "Really?" he asked, almost hysteric. "You're going to play that card? I expected so much worse!" He laughed again. Iroh was quiet.

Finally, Ozai seemed to calm himself, and he regarded Iroh with a twisted half-smile. "You must have overestimated yourself, brother. I care nothing for him, so any battle plan you may have devised by bringing him up is useless against me."

"That may be true," Iroh said carefully. "I didn't expect his memory to affect you. You were the one that burned and banished him, after all. I would say you were a heartless man, but if that was true, playing psychological games with you would be pointless. It wasn't my intent to make you feel guilt."

"So what was your intent?" Ozai drawled.

"To make you feel shame." There was a half-second pause, when Iroh took a breath to elaborate. "After all, he was the weaker child. He was the eldest, but you favored the second, your daughter. You looked over him like he was nothing, a fly beneath your attention, while Azula was a prodigy that would bloom under your tutelage. Ironically, I think you put yourself into Azula. You were supposed to be the second, the 'worthless' one. By acknowledging your daughter, and refuting your son, you reinforced that you were better than me."

"Interesting," Ozai said, an eyebrow raised patronizingly and sarcasm dripping from his tone.

"Yes, it is interesting," Iroh agreed. "Interesting that the one you refused to recognize was your ultimate downfall, defeating all your dreams and ambitions, and tearing down your precious favored child, while Azula went slowly mad and accomplished nothing in the end."

"It was not Zuko that beat me," Ozai growled. "It was not Zuko that attacked the capital on the Day of Black Sun. It was not Zuko that kept the Avatar, the only resistance to my rule, alive and strong. He was nothing from the very beginning, and I recognized it."

"But it was Zuko that defeated Azula," Iroh pointed out.

Ozai turned away, hatred and disgust written on his every feature. "Yes. Azula failed me."

"The point remains, though you scarred him, on the outside and the inside, he returned stronger than ever and took his rightful place as Fire Lord, despite all your attempts to remove him from the line. Doesn't that bother you?"

Ozai's eyes flashed, and he returned his gaze to his brother's amber eyes. "I'm not beaten yet," he hissed. "I'll destroy that dishonorable child one day."

Iroh said nothing, just smiled sadly. "You tried that once," he said quietly. "Many times, actually."

"I will finish the job!"

"Not while I'm here," Iroh said, standing up. "You won't lay a finger on that boy for the rest of your life." He towered over his younger brother, his gaze hard. "You devastated every hope, every dream he had for years. You tried to shame him into being less than a Prince. You fought a thirteen-year-old boy, your own son, for speaking out of turn – standing up for your own soldiers, no less! You sent him on a hopeless quest thinking he would either die or give up his throne and accept that he was worthless. You scarred him, and he will bear that mark for the rest of your life. You almost killed Zuko."

"And I would do it all again, given the chance," Ozai growled fearlessly.

Iroh bent over until his face was merely inches from the prisoner's. "You are a broken man, Ozai," he whispered. "But you still have some pride. You still have the firebender passion. But eventually, I will wipe it out, in vengeance for everything you did to my nephew."

"Going to kill me?" Ozai asked quietly, his voice steady for a man inquiring about his death. Iroh's eyes narrowed, piercing into his soul.

"No," he said slowly. "I'm not going to kill you. I'm going to destroy you."

Ozai felt the cold knife of fear tighten his stomach as he looked up at the rock hard face, the cold hatred in his brother's eyes. Iroh turned and stalked away, slamming the door behind him.

Don't worry, the gesture said. I'll be back.

Iroh came quietly the next time. He slipped in the door and stood with a straight back and his hands in his sleeves, staring at the silent man tucked in the corner at the head of the dirty cot. Several seconds passed by in stillness.

"Well?" Ozai finally purred. "Going to destroy me?"

"Yes." Iroh was matter-of-fact. "But first, I want you to know why."

"Oh, I think you thoroughly explained last time," Ozai said lightly. "I 'devastated his hopes and dreams, scarred him, almost killed Zuko'… or somesuch."

"It's more than that," Iroh stated. "Zuko is, of course, my main reason for hating you. But I should also mention that my own son is quite high on the list."

"I didn't kill Lu Ten," Ozai argued. "It was a stupid mistake on the battlefield."

"You've told yourself that for a long time, haven't you?"

Ozai was silent. "I don't know what you're talking about," he eventually said.

"Oh, I think you do," Iroh replied. "You forget that I have access to every single military scroll ever drafted from the capital, and I have contacts with access to all the rest. You can have no secrets from me."

"Lu Ten's death was the tragic but commonplace thing of a young soldier faced with experienced fighters," Ozai said. "You can't put his death on my shoulders – even I couldn't have orchestrated that."

"You're too humble," Iroh leered. "Ursa told me all about your preposition to father. 'Iroh has no heirs. He is a failure, he ran away after the fall at Ba Sing Se. While I am strong, I am here, and I have children to spare. Choose me as your successor.'"

"I admit I said that. But what does that have to do with Lu Ten?" Ozai kept his tone carefully even.

"Don't try and act innocent, brother. That façade crumbled a long time ago. You were the one that sent Lu Ten's century out to the front line. You were the one that gave the orders to attack the most experienced earthbenders on the wall. And more than that, you were the one that ordered Captain Zhao to murder him."

Ozai's eyes widened – if only for a moment. "You've gone crazy in your old age, Iroh. I wouldn't murder my nephew. Nothing personal, of course. But he was a good soldier, and a good Commander. If he had been successful, we might have broken into Ba Sing Se twenty years earlier. I wouldn't sacrifice that for a stab at you."

"Perhaps not," Iroh agreed. "But you would sacrifice it for a chance to be on the throne."

"Captain Zhao is a loyal Fire Nation soldier," Ozai spat. "He wouldn't kill his own people."

"Really? Because, under your orders, he tried to kill Zuko multiple times. If he's so honorable, why would he enlist pirates to do his dirty work? Or maybe, he was just finishing what he started. If he could kill Lu Ten because you told him to, why not Zuko? He's an ambitious man – I think he would do most anything to rise in power."

"You're sadly mistaken. I had no hand in Lu Ten's death."

"You don't want to accept that mistake? Fine then. But you know that I know. Now, my other reason for destroying you."

"More?" Ozai drawled.

"Oh, the list goes on a considerable length," Iroh replied. "But let me mention my top three. The Avatar."

"Oh, I couldn't see that one coming." Ozai rolled his eyes. "Of course, kill me. I tried to wipe out the balance keeper, the great Avatar himself! I almost succeeded, too. What a horrible person."

"He was twelve."

"He was a weapon! The other countries only wanted to harness his power. A twelve year old couldn't see through their plots, he would have been used up and spat back out as a cynical and very powerful husk of a spiritual bridge. Don't say that I'm wrong."

Iroh was silent. He withdrew his right hand and lit a small, tame flame the size of a candle. "I have told you. Now I can finish what I came here to do."

"You don't have the gut," Ozai spat. "I'm your brother, you said it yourself. You wouldn't burn me."

"Are you sure about that?" He walked over to the cot and stood over Ozai for a second, the flame licking his fingers obediently. Iroh put his free hand on the wall over the ex-Fire Lord's head and leaned over him. "Zuko was your son, and you burned him. You forget, Ozai, that I can be as heartless as you. I'm a soldier, after all."

Ozai's left eye reflected the flames as they danced in his vision a moment before the impact. That, or they may have shimmered with fear. Or, perhaps, they shined with the unshed tears for the moments he never shared with his brother.

Several hours later, Ozai was rushed to the intensive care hospital, and the guards were doubled to ensure he didn't escape. Iroh stood on the other side of the wall, staring through the window to the cot where his little brother lay, the left side of his face a charred mess. He looked so much like Zuko just then, the family resemblance strengthened by the wounds inflicted on each. The doctors hurried around his cot like busy ants, shouting things Iroh couldn't hear through the glass and breathing through surgical masks. After a moment of staring, the General turned away. He knew Ozai had been utterly destroyed.

And finally, for the first time in twenty years, he was truly satisfied.

A/N: Dark Iroh... scary... This was hard to write, actually, because I want brothers to have rapport, and to have those cute moments, and these two just don't. I tried to incorporate canon with a few surprising twists. Did I do okay?

Please, please, please review! This took a while and a lot of effort!

(1) This line, this amazing, beautiful line, is courtesy of OutAndOdder, who I basically stole from her story "Click" word for word. I'm sorry, OutAndOdder. I know you're my friend, but I should have asked. This is your proper credit. You are amazing. :)