Zuko stood silently at the balcony, his eyes fixed on the horizon as the sun slowly crept over the mountains. Even in the early dawn, the summer heat made beads of warm sweat trickle down the back of his neck. At least, he told himself it was the heat, though it wasn't such a clever lie. Truthfully, it was not the fire in the sky but the fire in his heart that was burning his skin from the inside out. Today was the one day a year he had to visit his least favorite place on earth: the Capital Island Mental Institution, to visit his sister on her birthday. Though he would have been perfectly content to go the rest of his life without seeing her face ever again, Uncle Iroh had made him promise to make the effort.
"Azula might be a terrible person, but it's because her mind has been broken for a very long time," he had said on this same day four years earlier. "I doubt she will ever be sane enough to walk out of that cell, but with even the slightest show of brotherly compassion, she might begin to heal."
"You were the one who told me she was crazy and needed to go down!" he had retorted in his rage, much to his current shame.
But as usual, Iroh had been wise, and he had been right.
"And I meant it. But people change, Zuko. Your sister is very lost, even more so than you were."
The words still rang in his ears, just as they did at dawn every year. Your sister is very lost… He had not believed it at first. Even when they were young, Azula always seemed like one of the least lost people in his life. She always knew exactly what she wanted and exactly how to get it. There was never an ounce of uncertainty about her. She had all the power and drive a girl could ever want, and never let anyone forget it. But after his first time visiting her, seeing her strapped down to her bed by the healers and guards, her refusal to look him in the eyes, only staring up at the ceiling and muttering furiously to herself, he realized what his uncle had meant, and then, of course, the memories made sense.
He was hiding inside the wardrobe, tightly grasping the wildflowers in his hand. He had picked them that morning for Mother, and he knew she would be overjoyed when he jumped out and surprised her with them. He loved the way she smiled when he surprised her. But this time, it was his turn to be surprised. The door to the bedroom slammed open, and through the crack in the wardrobe panel he could see Father storming in, followed closely by Mother. While Father seemed as distant as always, she was more distressed than he had ever seen her. Tears streamed down over her cheeks like rainwater on a roof, but a furious scowl also twisted her face. She grabbed her favorite vase off the bedside dresser and threw it at Father's head, though he dodged it with ease. Zuko flinched at the sound of shattering porcelain.
"You monster!" she screamed so loudly that he thought surely the entire palace would hear. "She's your daughter! Our daughter! How could you?!"
"Be silent, woman," he ordered with his usual terseness, as if she were no more than a complaining child.
"No!" she screamed again, nearly a shriek, and Zuko shrank into the soft silks in the back of the wardrobe, hiding his face in the fabric. He never could have imagined her capable of making such a terrifying and heartbreaking sound. "Ozai, I swear I will kill you where you stand if you ever get near her again!"
Then there was the sound of a fist on flesh, a sound that Zuko had learned well from years of firebending training with father, and he felt the muscles in his back spasm from where he had felt the same blow before.
"I said, be silent," Father warned in a low and dangerous tone. "Azula is my daughter and I will raise her as I see fit. You will never speak of this again, Ursa, unless you want the same treatment for your beloved son. Now be a good wife and get on your knees."
Zuko clenched his hand into a fist so tightly that his fingernails began to cut into his flesh. The pain in his palm helped bring him back from the pain of remembering. The ten year old hiding in his mother's wardrobe did not understand what had happened that night. How could he? But a piece of him was still furious that he had not figured it out earlier, that he was the reason his mother never stopped his father even though she had every opportunity, that his sister could have been an entirely different person. He took a deep breath. No. He had to keep a clear mind. If he held onto even the slightest piece of fear from the past, Azula would smell it and exploit it.
He dressed slowly and deliberately, trying to soak in the last hour of calm before the immersion into his sister's world of insanity. Every time he visited, it was like plunging into an icy river with no guarantee of which direction it would flow. While she refused to even look at him the first year, the next she talked his ear off for hours with her plans for world domination. Last year, she tried to kill him. There was no telling what today had in store.
"Good morning, Lord Zuko. You're earlier than I expected."
Zuko was taken aback by evenness in Azula's voice. She sat up proudly, calmly, on the edge of the bed in her cell, even as the heavy jacket bound her arms to her side. Her golden eyes lacked the tell-tale smolder of passion they had held since childhood, but they were also far from the sedated haze the healers sometimes forced onto her. Even as the guards unlocked the door so Zuko could enter, she remained still and poised, watching him with a blank slate of a face devoid of all detectable emotion. She almost reminded him of a recently tamed animal, only just barely adapting to domestication after a lifetime of feralness. He quickly decided that he much preferred last year's attempted homicide to this empty shell. For the very first time, he wished she would flash the same cruel smile as she did the day their father scarred him, or that she would tauntingly call him Zuzu, or breathe fire in his face and nearly singe off his bangs. At least then he would have something familiar.
"Happy birthday, Azula," he said flatly as he lowered himself into a chair that one of the guards swiftly provided.
The corners of her lips curled up into what was probably the fakest and most forced grin of her life.
"Thank you, brother dearest. Your kindness is appreciated."
He flinched. Even as a child, Azula never embraced submissive manners. The words might have been coming out of her mouth, but they certainly were not coming out of her brain, or the one he had grown up knowing, at least. Whatever the doctors were doing, it seemed to be working… perhaps a little too well.
"Congratulations on the fourth year of your rule," she continued, her voice glowing with soft politeness. "I'm impressed that you've survived this long."
He nearly smiled. That was more like the sister he remembered.
"We need to talk," he said sternly, not justifying her jab with a response. "About that night Ozai-"
"Ozai?" she interrupted. "When did he stop being Father?"
Zuko tightly gripped the arms of the chair to keep from curling his hands into fists in front of her.
"The day I realized that everything he did to us was wrong."
Then Azula laughed. Not a humored laugh, not a kind laugh, not a fake laugh, but a deranged, roaring cackle that echoed around the entire hall and burned itself deep into his spine. He had only heard her explode like this one other time: the day she won her first Agni Kai and electrocuted a man until his heart stopped. She had been nine years old.
"Everything Father did, he did to make us stronger," she finally said, narrowing her eyes like a messenger hawk about to attack an enemy bird. "Don't blame him because you were too weak to handle it."
Zuko burst out of his chair.
"How can you say that?!" he shouted. "How can you say any of that after he… after he…"
Azula rolled her eyes and sneered.
"He didn't rape me if that's what you're trying to say. I never said 'no.' Everything was completely consensual."
Zuko froze. What? He could have sworn that his heart skipped a beat and his whole bloodstream ran cold. Over the years, Zuko had kept a mental list of atrocities Ozai had done over the years in the hopes that if he could put all the pieces together, he might be able to make sense of why his family had to suffer. Their father had abused Mother in every way possible, treated her as his plaything, as his slave. He had beaten and burned Zuko countless times, punishing him for showing the compassion and kindness that he deemed shameful to the Fire Nation. He had forced himself on Azula in unspeakable ways, but worst of all, lower and deeper than everything else he subjected their family to, he somehow made her believe she wanted it.
"Azula," he whispered, barely above a croak. "You were just a child."
"So?" she jeered back. "Even as a child I was twice the heir you ever were! You're just jealous because Father chose me. He loved me, Zuko, more than our traitor of a mother and more than you."
Then she laughed that terrible laugh again, hunching over and shaking her shoulders with the intensity of it all. Zuko could do nothing but look on in horror as she peered up from under the loose hair that had fallen out of its bun.
"Tell me, brother, would it make you feel better if he fucked you too? I know you're keeping him alive somewhere and I'm sure he'd consider it if I put in a good word for you."
Though he knew it was a sign of weakness in her eyes, Zuko had to turn away. He could not let her see the tears beginning to form. He wanted to believe that the asylum and the doctors and the Fire Sages could make Azula better. He wanted to believe that Uncle Iroh was right and that maybe with enough compassion she could become a better person. But now he doubted that had ever been a possibility. Rage boiled inside of him, taking over his stomach and his lungs and his heart until his entire body ached with tension. He was furious, though despite her words, he couldn't bring himself to be angry at his sister. He was still mad at himself, but most of all he was mad at Ozai, so livid that it took all of his control to keep from releasing enough flame to burn down half the city. Where would their family be –where would his sister be? –if he had not done this to her? Would he have grown up with a friend, a companion he could trust? Would she have been there to bandage his face and help him find the Avatar? Would she have loved him?
"What's the matter, Lord Zuko? Afraid there might be a little blood?" she asked mockingly.
He didn't say anything in response. Instead, he inhaled deeply, collecting his wits and composure. There had to be a change, and it had to start with himself. If he let Azula hurt him, he let Ozai win, and he refused to let him win again. Using his sleeve to wipe away the single tear that almost fell, he turned back to face his sister, grinning wildly from ear to ear, the fire of wild insanity back in her eyes. She stared defiantly as he approached her, and he did his best to keep his countenance strong.
"Happy birthday, Azula," he repeated, and leaned forward to gently kiss her forehead. "I love you."
Zuko could hear her sobs even as he left the cell and until the iron front doors of the institution slammed shut behind him.
It was remarkable that the former Fire Lord had managed to keep himself together throughout four years of solitary confinement. When he first locked him up and threw away the key, Zuko had rather hoped that he would lose him mind after the first few months. But now he was glad that didn't happen. He needed his father to be cognizant enough to understand.
"The new Fire Lord; what an unpleasant surprise. Are you finally man enough to kill me?" Ozai growled as Zuko approached his cell and removed the hood of his cloak.
"You will never be that lucky," Zuko replied without letting his emotions waver his voice. "I know what you did to Azula."
A sick smirk flashed across Ozai's face, and Zuko had to resist the urge to vomit.
"I did a lot of things to Azula. You will have to be more specific."
Zuko knew he was being played, but refused to take the bait. This had to be on his own terms, not his father's, but the older man still saw the hesitation in his face and use the opportunity to strike.
"She will never be free of me. As long as she lives, she will always strive to please me in any way I desire. She is my perfect little girl and always will be," he hissed. "She was born lucky, and you were lucky to be born."
The familiar phrase rang in his ears, striking his heart like a bell, but Zuko refused to let him break his focus.
"I'm going to talk, and you are going to listen," he commanded.
Ozai raised one eyebrow. "By all means. I'm interested in what you finally have the guts to say, son."
"When I woke up this morning, I wanted to say that you will never call me your son again, but that's not the truth, and denying it won't fix what happened to us. I am your son, and Azula is your daughter, and Mother is your wife. It's also true that we will carry what you did for the rest of our lives, but that does not mean you have power over us. You have nothing, and never will ever again. Azula was your last hold, your last connection to what used to be, but now that's changing. You got it wrong. I might have been lucky to be born, but Azula was never born lucky, and she is starting to learn. She learning what real love is, and soon your last piece of power will be gone."
Ozai knitted his brows into a scowl.
"You really thing you can take her from me? You will never be strong enough! She will always be mine! Do you hear me? Always!"
His voice kept escalating, but by the time he reached a scream, Zuko was already walking away, smiling. His confidence was restored that while it may take many more visits to the institution, and many more years of pain, he and Azula will finally break Ozai's last hold.
And now their father will have to live with that knowledge for the rest of his miserable life.