A/N: So, whoops, I accidentally wrote an AU where Katara is the most powerful crime lord in all of Ba Sing Se! There will be a bit of plot before there is porn, but there should be enough UST and banter to tide you over till then. Keep in mind that this is AU, so I've made some slight edits to the characters' pasts for reasons of sense-making or inclination, and that Katara in particular might seem pretty OOC at the start. You should start to recognize her a little more as the story progresses. Zuko is, of course, still Zuko. Please don't forget to favorite and review if you enjoy this!

I. Traitors

Katara paced around the room without speaking, without even looking at her captive. The man was bound and submerged up to his neck in water. Apart from the wooden tank in which he stood, soaked to the skin, the room was bare of furniture. The only indicator of her immense wealth in that space was the dark mahogany of the walls. And, of course, the jewels and silks she habitually wore. Katara smiled grimly. It was good to be Queen.

At last she turned to face the man in the water. "Well?" she asked, her voice light. "Have you anything to say for yourself?"

Jet glared back at her. "No. Just kill me and be done with it." It was an order, which was a mistake. Katara didn't take orders. Not anymore.

She stepped closer and cupped his cheek. "Really, Jet," she said in a voice of poisoned honey. "After everything I've done for you, you dare to defy me?"

He shrugged one shoulder, casual, careless as ever. "You used me. I used you. That's how it works. You of all people should know that."

Katara's eyes narrowed and she took her hand away from his face. "Is that what you think? Well, fair enough. But what I can't figure out is why you thought revealing my hideout's location to the Dai Li would work." She inspected her finely manicured nails. "Don't you think they'd have killed me outright by now, if they could?" He didn't answer. Suddenly she slapped him. "They have known where this place is for years, Jet," she hissed. "Whoever they sent to deal with you really screwed you. I thought I taught you better than that."

Now Jet was bewildered and panicked. "What? Then why—"

"They wanted to take you out, idiot. They thought that if they convinced my consort to betray me, I'd soften up. They were going to pump you for information, and when they were done, they were gonna throw you right in the river to rot. Do you think they'll risk coming for you now?" He said nothing, radiating shock—and fear. "And they were stupid enough to think that I'd be all torn up over you. To think that I would let you slow me down." She bent close to his face and whispered, "Ba Sing Se is mine, Jet. I fought for it, and I won. And no one will ever take it from me." She bent right to his ear and finished, "Least of all a whiny, arrogant, useless little gutter rat like you." She slowly curled her hands into the starting position. "Now beg."

"Katara," he said, his voice low and shaky, eyes wide, "Katara. I promise, I will do whatever it takes to win your trust back. I'll tell you who I talked to in the Dai Li. I will paint the streets with their blood in your honor. I'll do anything, just don't kill me—"

Katara smiled. "No." And she shot a bolt of ice 2 inches thick right through his neck. As he gurgled, choking on his own blood, she turned and left the room without looking back.

#

The Dragon of the West stared into the cage where his nephew slept, shoulder pressed uncomfortably tight to the wall. "Oh, Zuko," he murmured. "After everything I've done for you."

Zuko's eyes snapped open. "Uncle!"

"Storming into the palace with no disguise and no plan. Getting captured almost immediately and sentenced to death. Had Ozai any sense of irony, he would appreciate how alike the two of you are," Iroh continued in a stern voice.

Zuko flinched and strained against his bonds, hissing in pain. They had broken his fingers so that he couldn't bend. He growled and said, "I am not like him, Uncle. Ozai is insane. You know it. He is hurting our people. I had to do something!"

Iroh held his glare. "I see. And why not just kill him quietly in his bed, sparing your friends' lives and your own?" Zuko looked away, and Iroh's expression softened. "You couldn't do it, could you. No, no, don't feel ashamed. It does you credit." His nephew still did not look up. Iroh continued gently, "Then why not hire an assassin? Give him the key, let him do the dirty work?"

Zuko raised his gaze back to his uncle's. "Honor," he said solemnly. "He is my father. It would not… be right, to force someone else to shoulder the burden of ending him."

Iroh nodded slowly. "I see. And what would you have done about Azula? She would have fought you, you know."

"I would have helped her. I would have made her see…" Zuko trailed off and looked away.

Iroh sighed. "My boy." He leaned down to cup Zuko's cheek. "You are so brave. But bravery means little if it is not accompanied by intelligence and forethought."

"I am proud to die for my country. For my people," Zuko hissed, his voice urgent and earnest.

"Yes, I can see that." Iroh took the dagger from his belt. Zuko closed his eyes… and felt his hair fall down his back as Iroh cut off his topknot. "How about you live for it instead?"

Zuko opened his eyes. "What?"

Iroh reached into his robes and pulled out a key, waggling his eyebrows with his characteristic humor. He put it into the lock and opened the door. Still in shock, Zuko did not move. With a flick of his wrist and a brief smell of smoke, Iroh burned away the bonds tying his hands. "One day, the Fire Nation will need your strength, Zuko. And your honor. But that day was not today. Live to fight another. Live, and perhaps one day, you will redeem this nation's honor, and your family's."

Zuko's eyes were filling with tears. "Where will I go, Uncle?" he asked in a soft voice.

"I have chartered a carriage. It will take you to the edge of the Earth Kingdom. I got you papers, but they alone will not keep you safe. Go to Ba Sing Se. Find the Queen of Thieves. Make her the right offer, and she will protect you in return." He offered a hand to his nephew, who took it, his legs still shaking. They stared at each other for a moment before Zuko jerked him into a tight hug. "Go, Zuko. I will find you when I can."

"Agni look kindly on you, Uncle," Zuko said into his shoulder. After another moment, he whispered, "I wish every day that you had been my sire."

Iroh was speechless. He merely hugged Zuko tighter and then turned him towards the door. "Go now. I put sleeping powder in the guards' tea." He flashed a grin. "My signature blend, so they would never have refused." Zuko nodded dumbly and started to run. As he was about to turn the corner, Iroh yelled, "Zuko!" The boy looked back, his eyes full of emotion. "Be careful. I love you." Zuko nodded, and then he ran into the darkness.

#

Several hours of uneasy sleep as the carriage bumped and thudded along the roads. His dreams were full of fire and blood. His father's eyes, watching coldly as his guards broke his son's fingers. Mai, poor Mai, as she was sliced through the chest with one of her own knives by his father's soldiers. So many dead because of his stupidity. It was all so much.

He opened his eyes and blearily slumped closer to the window, twitching the curtain aside so that he could see how close they were to the Earth Kingdom. Had they been followed? He doubted it. Unlike himself, Uncle was a strategist. He would have made sure that the driver was loyal, that no one saw them.

Agni, his fingers ached. There had been no time to set them. He would have to see a healer as soon as possible when he got to Ba Sing Se or risk being crippled forever. A discreet healer. His broken fingers would mark him as a criminal and a bender. He wanted to cry.

It had all started with the burning of Chiangsu. The village had been identified as a hotbed of resistance to Ozai's rule, so the Fire Lord had ordered it razed on the recommendation of one of his generals. Zuko had protested, and then the general had challenged him to an Agni Kai. But when Zuko entered the ring, it was his father standing across from him in dueling clothes. Smiling. And when Zuko begged forgiveness, the Fire Lord singed away half his face—and the last bit of hope that somewhere deep down, his father loved him.

Iroh had begged for his life. At last, Ozai had said, "I don't care what you do with him, just as long as I don't see him." So Iroh had taken him in, tending to his damaged eye, playing endless games of Pai Sho and brewing him endless cups of tea. And life had almost returned to normal. But then Zuko got older and became restless. Though Iroh tried to protect him, he heard reports of his father's increasing cruelty. So he'd started wandering nights, wearing an old blue mask he'd found lying around. The people of the Fire Nation learned to hope again. They left notes and offerings for the Blue Spirit, their protector, their shield against Ozai's brutality. And then he'd received a note with a meeting place and a time.

Iroh knew that something was up, but let his nephew keep his secrets. Suddenly Zuko was smuggling weapons, recruiting, coordinating meetups. By then, the leaders of the rebels all knew who he was, and he strategized with them, opening the secret entrances to the palace so that they could get directly to Ozai's chambers. They'd heard through their contacts in the palace that Ozai planned to burn more villages on his birthday, more as a display of his absolute power than anything else, and decided it was time to strike. He'd led the charge, his dao swords swinging, Mai just behind him. They'd known that it would be risky, that many of them would die, but they hadn't counted on the fact that one of them had betrayed them all, alerting Ozai to the impending attack—as well as to the fact that his son would be leading it. So the guards went right for Zuko, capturing him almost immediately. He'd been made to watch as his friends were killed in front of him, and then dragged to Ozai's chambers, where the Fire Lord had his guards break his son's fingers, then had them throw him in a cell, to be executed in public the following morning.

And then, once again, Iroh had saved his life. Iroh was canny and careful, but what if Ozai found out that he'd helped his fugitive son escape? Zuko closed his eyes and offered a long prayer to Agni. Please. Not him too. Please, Agni. Watch him. Guard his steps. Shade Ozai's eyes so that he cannot see the clever old python in his nest. Please do not take him from me, Agni. Please.

And let his sacrifice not be in vain. His driver kept his silence; Prince Zuko's whispered prayers and guilty thoughts were his only company all the way to the Earth Kingdom.

#

Zuko pulled his sleeves over his thickly bandaged hands as he approached the gates of Ba Sing Se. As he approached, he went over the information he would need to give the guards. My name is Lee. I come from Hira'a. I've been offered work in the Agrarian Zone. The mark on my face is a birthmark. My hands were injured in a farming accident. But to his shock, the guards merely flicked their eyes over his papers and waved him through, the boredom plain on their faces. He stepped through the gates and turned back, starting to say, "Excuse me, how do I get to the—" but the guard closest to him rolled his eyes and yelled, "C'mon, jackass, you're holding up the line!"

And indeed he was. The crush of people flooding through the gates just shoved him forward. As Fire Prince, Zuko had lived in a world devoid of touch, save for the violence of his father and his uncle's few affectionate gestures. He had never been buffeted about so carelessly, the people around him totally indifferent to his presence, even his manifest injuries. He tried to stop a few passersby to ask directions, but they all ignored him, so he just gave up and kept walking, pulling his hands to his chest to protect them from the crowd.

Finally, as he reached the city's inner walls, the crowds started to thin somewhat. Progressing from the Agrarian Zone to the city proper, he started to see shops and streets. At last he stopped in at a tea shop to ask how to get to the Lower Ring. The portly proprietor gave him a dry look and said, "Son, you're already beaten up enough. You wanna disfigure yourself even more?"

Zuko frowned, confused. "Uh, no. Actually I am looking for a healer there, by the name of Hama. I was told—"

The proprietor shook his head. "Don't know anyone of that name, but if you keep following the wall east, you'll reach the Lower Ring." He smiled, revealing a few gold teeth. "Got a coin for my trouble?"

Zuko sighed and gingerly procured a gold piece from his pack.

#

Zuko was actually able to tell when he'd reached the Lower Ring without asking. The buildings started to look like the broken teeth of a man who'd just been punched in the mouth, crooked and half-finished. The streets became dirtier and he almost wished his uncle had packed closed slippers along with the money and a few sets of clothes. But even this part of the city had a certain charm. Clotheslines garlanded the rooftops with the pale-colored cheap-dyed clothes of the poor; windows were full of knickknacks and bric-a-brac which bravely tried to cheer up the dirty grey houses. The street-corner toughs yelled curses and greetings to each other with equal measures of joy and hostility, such that you could hardly tell who were friends and who foes. A cabbage salesman loudly hawked his wares with a cry of, "Barely any caterpillars in 'em at all!" Whatever else you might say about the Lower Ring, at least its streets were teeming with life. More than could be said for the Fire Nation's capital, with its empty aseptic streets and high uniform walls.

It took a few more tea shops and a few more gold coins than he might have liked to get directions to Hama's place. When he found it, the sight wasn't terribly encouraging. The dingy walls looked like they were barely supporting the low-slung roof, and the sign saying "Healer No Questions No Answers" hinted that Hama's clientele was less than distinguished. Nonetheless, his uncle's carriage-driver had told him to seek her out specifically, and he was certainly not in a position either to ask questions or to give answers. He ducked past the beaded curtain that served her for a door and cleared his throat. "Hello?"

The room was surprisingly bright, lit with the ubiquitous crystals that gave Ba Sing Se its wealth and its light. The room was cramped—he had to keep his body bent to avoid hitting his head—but reassuringly neat, if cluttered. There was a table arranged with slightly frightening-looking tools which he imagined were her professional equipment. The couch which probably served as her examination table was covered in a floral quilt that looked distressingly handmade. But there was no sign of a human being anywhere in the space. Uncertain, he called again a little louder, "Hello? Is anyone here?" Receiving no response, he sighed and turned towards the door, intending to return later.

"Hello there, young man!" He jumped at the sound of her creaking voice and turned to see a wizened little thing with a huge smile and frizzy grey hair. She waddled over to him and took his arm, waving him towards the floral couch. "Now, how can I help you today?"

He sat and cleared his throat, proffering his hands and shrugging his shoulders a bit so that the sleeves fell back to reveal the bandages. "Oh, my," Hama breathed. "You poor thing! Now let's get these bandages off you and let old Hama take a look."

As the bandages were peeled away, Zuko winced. His fingers were red-brown and violet with bruises and dried blood, and he could even see a few fragments of bone sticking out of his fingers. Feeling the bile rise in his throat, he looked away quickly, focusing on the hypnotically awful floral shawl. Hama squinted and frowned, taking one of his ruined hands gently in her own. "Now, how did this happen, young man?"

"Farming accident. Horse spooked and I couldn't get out of the way," Zuko said, trying to keep his agitation at the lie out of his voice.

"I see, I see," she muttered, almost as if she wasn't listening. "Now I'm just going to get a better look. You shouldn't feel anything, but do let me know if you start to sense a twinge!" She closed her eyes and he felt a slight cooling sensation run through his fingers. "Hmm. Hmm-mm. Very bad indeed, young man, very bad indeed." She opened one eye. "You said a horse stomped all over you?"

"Just my hands," said Zuko, too quickly.

"Ri-ight. Well. It looks like your fingers are all broken in different places." Her gaze was suddenly sharp, but Zuko kept silent, hoping she would just drop it. But she opened her other eye and continued, "You see, if a horse had done it, you'd get like a horseshoe pattern in the breaks, see? Your two middle fingers would have a break right here—" she waved a hand over the uppermost part of his digits— "while your outer two would have breaks lower down." She waved again, indicating the length of bone just above his knuckle.

Zuko tensed, and they stared at each other for a minute. Then the woman let out a rattling, shrieking cackle. "Bahaha! Don't you worry. Keep your secrets, young man. Now let's take a look at your scar." He opened his mouth to tell her to leave it alone, but the old woman was as strong as she was pushy, and she was already bending his head down close to her face so she could take a look, brushing his hair away with calloused fingers. "A-ah," she tutted. "I'm sorry, young man. Nothing I can do about your face." She let his head go and he straightened, eager to get away from the slightly musty smell she gave off. She grinned up at him and added, "Nor your hands, neither."

"What?" Zuko exclaimed. "You can't heal me? So I'll never—" he cut himself off and finished in his head, So I'll never bend again. He felt a pang of grief rip through his chest and his eyes stung with tears. Crippled. Useless. Again.

But Hama held his gaze, her smile thinning into a little smirk. "But I know someone who can." Before he could ask, she stood abruptly and said, "For now, you stay here. She stays busy in the daytime but I think I can get her to come tonight. I'll make you a nice cuppa. Jasmine or gunpowder green? And you're so skinny! I'll see if I can do us some porridge, shall I?"

#

After tea and dinner were shoved at him, he was shoved into a back room surprisingly bare of ornament or furniture, unlike Hama's exam room. There was already ratty old bedding on the cot, so the old woman ordered him to lie down and get some rest while she went to see about "my little friend, who I'm sure will be ever-so-eager to help a simple handsome young farm boy like yourself, hee-hee!" Had there been a tinge of irony in that comment? Zuko wasn't sure. But it seemed the woman was dead-set on helping him—disturbingly so, in fact—and he wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth, so he obediently lay on the bed, staring fixedly at the ceiling in an attempt not to notice the skittering he could hear under the floorboards.

He must've gotten so bored that he passed out, because the next thing he knew he was waking to the sound of a hand on the door. He fluttered his eyes shut again when he heard Hama's voice whispering, "Just through here."

Through slitted eyes he could just see two figures approach, rendered in thick blocks of light and shadow by the moon coming through the window above his head. The shorter one was obviously Hama, but the taller one… this must be her healer friend. She was wearing a long cloak with a hood that concealed the upper half of her face, aided by the darkness. But the cloak itself seemed almost blue-white in the moonlight. The fabric shone. Odd. Most people in the Lower Ring probably couldn't afford a cloak made from cloth nice enough to shine in low light.

They were almost by his bedside now, so he shut his eyes fully. He wanted to see if they'd be more honest about his prognosis if they thought he was asleep. He willed his muscles to relax.

"Oh, teacher. What a prize you've brought me," said a new voice. Light, feminine, almost musical. His nose filled with the scent of jasmine and he felt the heat of her body as she leaned over him. Expensive jasmine, he thought, because the scent was pure and sweet, not sharpened with alcohol as you got in cheaper perfumes. This healer was wealthy, which hopefully meant she was good. Better than the strange scrawny old woman, hopefully.

His hair was brushed away from his bad eye with fingers far softer and more careful than Hama's. The healer hummed thoughtfully and added, "He's very handsome, too." Zuko willed himself not to move or react, but he could feel the color rising in his cheeks. He almost felt the smirk in her voice as she added, "And awake, I see."

The game up, he let his eyes flick open. "How did you know, miss?" he asked dryly.

She snorted slightly. "Your blood pressure. I thought it was too high for someone asleep, but then it rose when I said you were handsome, so I figured you'd probably heard what I said."

Zuko looked away, embarrassed. "Right."

"Well, if we're done playing games, let's see your hands," she said lightly, and sat on the bed, reaching her own towards him. He moved carefully, placing both of his now-naked hands on top of her palms. Not quite so soft, he noticed. She had a callous athwart the meat of her palm. So she was not unused to holding tools… or blades.

He felt the same cooling sensation as he'd felt when Hama had examined him, but the flow was stronger, subtler, more directed somehow. "Mm-hmm," she said with finality. "It's quite bad, but I can fix it."

Hope lit his heart. "Really? All the way?"

She laughed like bells. "Yes, little farmer. You'll have full use of your hands when I'm done." Again a strange something in her voice, slanting across the word "farmer." Like she knew he wasn't one. But she didn't press the point. Her voice turned businesslike, losing that teasing lilt (he rather missed it), and she said, "I won't lie to you, it'll sting. The bones didn't set properly so we'll have to re-set them. Your hands will ache for a few days, but, I think, not worse than they have been already." A smile graced the full lips beneath the hood and he felt mesmerized by their luscious curve. "On three. One, two—"

She was right, it stung like the blazes, but he was too used to pain by now even to wince. That mouth turned again in a moue which he thought meant she was impressed. "Interesting. A stoic little lad, you are."

He grunted. "Not little."

Again that chiming laugh, white teeth gleaming in the moon. He thought her skin must be a little dark, because the color was so bright. "My apologies, farmer. You're a big, strong man, of course."

He could handle a bit of ragging if it meant he got to hear that sweet lilt of amusement in her voice. Agni, how could he be this attracted to a woman he could hardly see? True enough, the ample curves of her breasts were visible even through that cloak… it seemed to cling slightly to her, and he liked what he saw, but even so it wasn't much. Shouldn't be so much. He could feel the blood in his veins and his muscles were tense, aching for more of her touch. Had it really been so long since he'd last…? To distract himself, he asked gruffly, "So what do I owe you?"

She waved a finger in his face. "Nah-ah-ah! We're not done yet, hothead." She smirked. "Are you always so hasty with your lady friends? And I was just getting to like you, too. Such a shame."

Zuko's jaw actually dropped. She giggled and closed it for him with a playful tap to his chin, then said, "Give me your hand again. We need to clean you up a bit and see if everything's still working." She turned to Hama and said, "Hama? A basin, please." Her tone had been perfectly polite, but it was clearly an order. He imagined that the old witch wouldn't take it, but to his surprise, she murmured, "Yes, lady," and waddled out of the room.

The flirtatious healer turned back to him and said, "Now. Flex your fingers for me. Stop and tell me if it hurts."

He obeyed, and his fingers bent fully without much complaint. "Stings just a bit, but I think that's left over from the setting."

She nodded. "Good. Now stretch them out. Same thing." He obeyed almost without thinking, drunk on her voice. "All good? Wonderful. Now rotate your thumb. Excellent. Almost done." She laced her fingers through his. "Just need to test your grip. Roll our hands around in a circle. Right, like that, with your wrist." He lolled their wrists around, at first trying to feel out his muscles for himself, then relaxing into the motion, letting her control it. She turned his hand this way and that, and the test was seeming to last quite a bit longer than necessary, but he really didn't mind. Her fingers were short but strong, and in the glow of the moon he could see that they were covered in ink. Trying to seem like he was just resting his eyes, he focused on her brown fingers peeking through his pale ones. Along the top part of her pointer finger, someone had tattooed a fine image of a dagger. On her middle finger, he saw horizontal lines going at least down to her knuckle. With a slight shock, he realized that these were prison tattoos. Some of his rebels wore them. The horizontal lines represented prison terms; the dagger he wasn't sure about, but gangsters often wore symbols indicating their position within the organization. A dagger, though… so she was not just a healer. He shivered slightly, frightened and, much to his chagrin, more than a little thrilled.

She was smirking at him, and damn if that didn't go straight to his cock. "Can… can you still feel my blood?" he asked softly, eyes trained on her lips.

"Why yes, I can," she replied, sounding not a little smug. "And I must say, it's very flattering. You're so… responsive."

Judging by the heat in his cheeks, his face must have been glowing. "Hmph. Are you always this hasty with your male friends?"

The woman laughed at his throwing her words back at him. "Oh, yes." Just then, Hama reentered the room with a dull glowing shape that was likely the requested basin. "Ah. Hama. Thank you." The healer took the basin and placed his hands just inside, so that his fingertips were brushing the metal. She opened the flask at her hip and guided the water out of it and onto his hands. She took his hands again, rubbing old blood off his fingertips and his palms.

Unable to help himself, he grinned and commented, "You know, miss, my hands are healed now. I could probably wash them myself."

She grinned back. "Mmm. I'm not so sure about that, young man. If anyone could find a way to injure himself while washing his hands, it'd be you."

Hama cackled again. "Oh, Katara, stop playing with the poor boy. You're getting him all worked up."

Katara tensed. She hadn't liked something in what the old woman had said. That she'd revealed her name, or that she'd berated her at all? Trying to appease her, Zuko cleared his throat and said, "I, ah, never told you my name, Miss Katara. I'm Lee."

Her smile returned. "Ah. Lee. A pleasure to meet you." She waved the water back into her flask with a fluid motion. "One more thing, and then I'll let you sleep." She bent over him and he couldn't breathe for a long moment. Her fingertips carded gently through his hair, revealing the full extent of his scar. He could taste her sweet breath. She left her hand on his forehead for a few moments, and then mercifully (damn it) moved away from him. "There is nothing I can do for your scar, Lee. The healthy tissue has grown into the damaged, and at this point trying to separate it out in order to fix it would, I fear, do more harm than good." She grinned then and stroked his cheek once. "Good thing it suits you." She stood up then and said, "Hama, I wish to speak to you in the hall." She turned back to Zuko and smiled again. "And Lee, do be careful these next few days. The healing needs time to take. And I hope I see you again soon."

His throat was dry but his gaze was steady as he replied, "I hope to see you too, Katara."

He was drifting off, but he strained his ears, trying to hear the whispers from the hall. Just before he lost consciousness, he thought he heard Katara say, "…keep him here." And Hama replied, "Yes, my lady."

#

He drank mostly tea and ate mostly porridge, and listened to the old woman's incessant chatter. Fine by him. The less he talked, the less likely it was that he'd make a mistake like he'd made with the horse story. And the more time he had to think.

The mysterious Katara, he thought, had been winding him up. He understood that to some people, flirtation was a harmless pastime, but she'd really been laying it on thick. What he could see of her, the way she held herself, and her unabashed confidence indicated that she was a very attractive woman; surely someone like that couldn't possibly be so enchanted by a man with half a face. And then there was the matter of referring to him as a "prize"; the deference with which Hama treated her despite the fact that Katara had referred to her as "teacher." The expensive silks she wore, the pricey perfume, and most of all her obvious power… this was no village healer.

He was aware that there was an extensive criminal underworld in Ba Sing Se, and he knew from experience that in the rough-and-tumble business of smuggling, a healer's services were very valuable. The mysterious Katara was clearly wealthy, but she walked the nighttime streets of the Lower Ring unafraid. And she wore gang tattoos. So she had influence in the underworld, or at least a presence… perhaps she could even lead him to the Queen of Thieves.

He considered the possibility that he was just inventing excuses to see her again, but truly, the more he thought about it, the odder the encounter seemed. For example, both the waterbenders had to know that the scar on his face was old, yet both of them had checked it. Out of kindness? Both of them? He doubted it. He recalled his uncle's firebending lessons and remembered that one's chi was focused in the head. That other benders could sense your chi through contact with your forehead. Had all that petting been an excuse to suss him out?

It seemed increasingly likely. The old lady was sharper than she looked, but one of the lessons he'd learned from Iroh was that nobody was as discreet as they thought they were. What with Hama calling him "hothead" all the time and giggling to herself after, it wasn't hard to figure out. So they at least knew that he was a firebender. And surely his father had circulated wanted posters throughout his lands. Ba Sing Se, by virtue of its walls, was hardly "his," but it wasn't unlikely that one or even a few of the posters had made their way to the city. And, of course, there was the issue of his scar. That alone ensured he was far from inconspicuous.

He made a few attempts to direct Hama's flowing chatter with a few inane questions that might let him on to how much she—and Katara—knew about him. But the canny old bat just laughed and flowed around his inquiries like a river around a boulder.

By the time three days had passed, his hands had stopped stinging, and he was getting increasingly uneasy. He knew Katara's name, after all. Perhaps he could find her the same way he'd found Hama, and through her, the Queen. But Katara had ordered Hama to keep him here. He resolved to wait until night and sneak out while the old lady filled the little house with her sawblade snores.

He'd have been fine if he'd just waited a full hour, as he'd originally planned. But as usual impatience, the eternal bane of the exiled Crown Prince, would-be leader of the rebellion, and impulsive idiot Zuko, undid him. It was thirty minutes before his leg was twitching so badly he thought it might pop out of his hip joint, and he climbed out the window swiftly and silently—

But not swiftly or silently enough. Just as the windowsill was about to obscure the guestroom from his vision, his limbs froze. Panicking, he tried to move, and found that he couldn't. He looked up into the grim face of Hama. "Trying to run from a waterbender at full moon, Prince Zuko?" He tried to open his mouth to protest, yell, do something, anything, but his lips wouldn't budge. Something else was in control now. "Very, very stupid mistake. One you will not make again, I think."

Against his will, his body climbed back up the wall. To his horror, he saw that Hama seemed to be… controlling his movements. With every jerk and twist of her arms, his limbs moved. He tried to scream for help, to bend, but he could not break her control. As soon as his feet touched the floor of the room, she walked him a few steps forward. She jerked her hand straight down and everything went black.

#

For fuck's sake, how many more prison cells was he going to wake up in before he died? For one horrible moment, he feared that his escape, Hama, Katara, all of Ba Sing Se had been a dream, that he was still in the Fire Nation—but he flexed his fingers. They were still whole, though his hands were bound. And besides, the light was wrong, the air did not smell like the air in the palace, and—ah. There was definitely a distinct lack of chunky, tattooed men with gold teeth in the palace dungeons, at least on the outside of the bars. He directed a full-strength baleful glare at the guard and demanded, "What happened and where am I?"

The man laughed a deep, rumbling laugh. "Just ye sit tight, princeling. The Queen's about ready to see ye now. She'll handle all yer gripes right quick." He grinned nastily. "At least, I hope she does." He took a big key from his belt and unlocked the door. Zuko tried to kick out, but the man was surprisingly light-footed. "Ah-ah-ah. Patience is yer friend, little firebender. The Queen demanded that I deliver ye in one piece, but it ain't gotta be a pretty one." He hauled Zuko to his feet and marched him directly in front of his body, making sure Zuko wouldn't be able to surprise him. What he could do was walk as slowly as possible in front of the other man, so that he was liable to trip over his own feet. He grunted. "All right, princeling. You're a clever one, I'll grant ye that. Y'best thank yer Agni we're nearly there."

At last, he was shoved through a door, which opened onto a large room with a raised black marble throne surrounded by a shallow pool of water. Actually hall was a better word for it; there were people in bright silks and fine leather surrounding the throne, guards in mail, tattooed crooks, lovely women with bright fans and hairpins who, it occurred to him, were almost definitely prostitutes. The hall was full of noise but dropped into silence as Zuko was dragged to the center and forced to his knees directly in front of the throne.

Draped across the throne was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She was barely older than he was, if at all; she looked eighteen, twenty at most. Her skin was a light brown shimmering with gold, her hair a slightly darker shade of the same color, loose except for the golden/gemmed little clips that were threaded through it, and it curled all the way down to her waist. The diaphanous blue and violet silks she wore barely covered her full breasts and left her stomach exposed but for a thin gold chain which led to her navel and curved jealously around her waist. Her hips were full too but her stomach was flat, her thighs and arms thick with muscle, and all that bare skin showed off a few nasty scars. The silk skirt she wore was more of a kilt, openings at the sides reaching all the way up to her prodigious hips. She was actually dripping gold; in addition to the belly chain, she wore bracelets, long earrings, a thick gold collar, and anklets. Her hands were covered in ink. But most striking of all was her icy blue gaze and the devilish smirk she wore as she stared right at him. Her lovely face was propped up against her hand, which rested on one arm of the black throne; she was lying on her side slightly, letting him see her whole body, legs carelessly tossed over the throne's other armrest.

"So," she said. Her voice was musical, light, playful, addictive. He couldn't be sure from just one word, but he was sure she'd smell of jasmine. She pushed herself easily off the throne and stood, the movement athletic, fluid. She walked through the pool, the silk of her skirts almost touching the water, and kept moving towards him until she stood directly in front of him. "My subjects have gifted me with a fire princeling for my birthday. How kind."

Now he was sure, beyond a shadow of a shadow of a doubt. His eyes widened, and he opened his mouth to say her name. "K—"

Her eyes narrowed and she flicked a wrist. His tongue was suddenly heavy and cold in his mouth, very cold. Stunned, he realized she had actually frozen his tongue in his mouth. Despite the heat of his body temperature, the ice cage did not melt. "Now, now. None of that. You are in my domain now, Prince Zuko. You will speak when spoken to." Another subtle movement of her fingers and she melted the ice. Zuko worked his tongue and jaw. "Is that understood?" she asked sweetly.

He looked her right in the eyes and answered, "Yes, Your Highness." Oh, she liked that. He could tell from the way her eyes narrowed and her lips quirked. She smiled fully and lightly chucked his chin. "Very good, little hothead."

He closed his eyes. Agni fucking preserve his miserable soul.