Disclaimer: I own neither the animated series nor the comics for Avatar: the Last Airbender. I write fic for my own gratification, and nothing else.
Important Notice: This story takes place near the end of the comic continuation "The Promise," assumes prior knowledge of the comic, and contains major spoilers. If you have not read "The Promise," I suggest you turn back now.
The war was over. The Avatar had returned. Ozai was neutralized. Zuko was on the throne. Ba Sing Se was liberated. He even had his tea shop back. All in all, life couldn't be better.
Iroh hummed to himself as the last of his assistants left, giving a cheerful goodnight as she closed the door behind her. He was just settling down to brew his evening pot of tea when he saw something large and white moving outside the window in his peripheral vision.
The Avatar's flying bison. It would be unmistakable even to someone who was not closely acquainted with the odd group of friends the boy had managed to accumulate over the months since he'd awoken, and to Iroh in particular it was a welcome sight. He made his way to the door and was just opening his mouth to greet his guests, but the words died on his lips when he saw a grim-faced Aang and recognized the limp body he was hefting from the saddle.
"Don't worry, he's not hurt!" Aang said hastily, probably seeing the look on Iroh's face. "Katara even checked him over, just to make sure." He drifted to the ground, unconscious Zuko in tow. "He's just exhausted. Suki said he's barely been sleeping, and I…" He hesitated. "I gave him a really bad scare, just now."
"Well, let's get him inside." Iroh moved to take Zuko's feet—the Avatar was far from weak, but he still had some growing to do, and Zuko's greater height made him a rather awkward load for the other boy. Between the two of them, they quickly got him to one of the Jasmine Dragon's spare rooms—a special one, which Iroh always kept ready just in case his nephew happened to drop by. He just hadn't anticipated the visit to come in quite this fashion.
Aang waited outside while Iroh stripped Zuko of his dusty and sweat-stained armor. As much as he trusted both the Avatar's word and Katara's abilities, the father in him still could not help but check for injuries, but it was just as Aang had said: Zuko had no visible wounds or bruises, nor did he show any sign of worse internal damage, and he was not feverish. He was simply exhausted.
"Is he going to be okay?" Aang blurted out just as soon as Iroh came back out. "I mean—I know Katara said there's nothing wrong with him, but do you think…?"
"Oh, I think that Zuko is going to be fine, once he's rested. A man needs his rest. Now, why don't you come down for a cup of tea?" When Aang hesitated, he added gently, "I think that Zuko is going to be sleeping for a good while longer. If you intend to hold vigil until he wakes up, it is all too likely that you will collapse from exhaustion yourself."
"Yeah, I guess you're right." Aang, however, seemed more hesitant than could be explained by worry for his friend alone. Iroh did not ask—if there was one thing that old age had taught him, it was how to wait—but merely gestured for him to sit while he saw to the tea. The pot he had been in the process of making when the bison had landed outside of his door had overbrewed—a tragedy, really, it had been a very good blend—so it threw it away before starting in on another. It wasn't until they each had a steaming cup in front of them that he brought up the subject he could tell Aang had been dreading.
"Well, Avatar," he prompted, "I suppose you'd better tell me what happened."
Two hours and five pots of tea later, Aang was on his way back out the door.
He had wanted to stay later, Iroh could tell. To give further explanation for his actions. Perhaps even to ask for forgiveness.
The world, however, would not wait. It never did, not for anyone, and especially not for the Avatar. Negotiations were at a crucial stage, colonists and protestors alike needed to be settled, and even though Aang had not left the situation in incapable hands with Sokka, Katara, Suki, and Toph, he still needed to be there. The Avatar needed to be there.
Just before he closed the door behind him, however, Aang turned back around, his eyes still filled with worry. "I'll be back later. To see how Zuko's doing." It was as much a question as anything else, and Iroh heard what he wasn't saying just as well as what he was: What if I'd followed through on my promise?
Iroh smiled. "To any friend of my nephew's, the door is always open."
Once he was gone, Iroh allowed the smile to fall from his face as he made his way back to his nephew's room. There was no change, but then again, he had not expected there to be: one did not simply sleep off several months' worth of exhaustion in the span of a few hours. Still, however, he pulled up a chair to sit by Zuko's side, and watched his nephew sleep.
Why did you do it, Zuko? he wondered. Why would you ask such a thing of the Avatar—no, of your friend?
Of course, no answer was forthcoming. Iroh sat by his nephew's side a little longer before he let out a sigh and sought out his own bed.
Aang came to visit every day, once in the morning and once in the evening. Every day, Iroh had to give him the same answer: no change. Zuko had not yet awoken from his healing slumber.
By day, he tended to the tea shop, but he often went back to check on his nephew. Occasionally, Zuko would come slightly awake: not to full consciousness, but just enough that, by supporting his head and holding a bowl to his lips, Iroh could get him to swallow a bit of water or broth. It wasn't much, but it would keep him alive until he returned to true wakefulness.
On the evening of the second day, Aang brought Katara with him. In spite of what Aang had told him she looked Zuko over once again, running water over his head and torso, but the results were only a repeat of her earlier diagnosis: there was nothing wrong with him that water healing could fix, and she could not wake him—should not, even, since what he really needed right now was rest. Nevertheless, she did know a few tricks that got him to drink more than Iroh ever had.
"I've had to do the same thing for Aang," she explained in a whisper as Iroh watched. "He was out for three weeks straight after Azula…" She bit her lip there and did not continue, and Iroh remembered with a pang that Zuko had been in no small part responsible for that situation. He thought it a courtesy not to continue that particular thread of conversation, but nevertheless thanked her profusely for her help before they left once again.
On the evening of the fourth day Aang returned, alone, to inform him that the crisis had passed and that the Earth King had agreed to negotiations, and that together they had formed a panel comprised of themselves, their allies, and select Yu Dao citizens. The only thing missing was the Fire Lord.
"That is wonderful news!" Iroh exclaimed. "Since you are no longer in the midst of preventing another war, why don't you come in for some tea? I have been experimenting with a new beverage I think you'll like."
Aang's smile was genuine, even if it did seem a bit strained. "Thanks, Iroh. I'll be in in a minute. I just—" The smile faded as his gaze drifted to the ground. "I need to have a word with Roku first." He looked back up, and when his eyes met Iroh's his gaze was hard. "The two of us have some things we need to sort out."
"Take however much time you need, Aang. I am sure the Jasmine Dragon will still be here when you are finished." By the time he finished closing the door, Aang was already in the air.
No sooner had Iroh began brewing the tea than Zuko staggered into the room, a hand held to his head. "Uncle? How did I get here?"
Iroh could only smile, knowing that his relief showed plainly in his face. "Let's get you something to eat."
When his nephew sat down at the table, Iroh came up behind him and gently wrapped a blanket around his shoulders. He half-expected the gesture to be shrugged off, but to his surprise Zuko clutched it closer, looking younger and more vulnerable than he had in years.
"Well, Zuko," he started after his nephew had eaten, sitting down across from him, "do you want to tell me what has been going on?"
Zuko looked up, then, his good eye widening slightly. Panic. "You mean Aang didn't tell you already?" His voice was a near-whisper.
"The Avatar told me what he knew," Iroh replied carefully. There was a short—if significant—pause. "But I think you and I both know that there is more to it than that."
For a moment, he watched Zuko struggle internally, fight with himself over how much he should say. Then, however, he relaxed, his shoulders sagging as he looked away. "I've been going to see Ozai in prison."
Ozai. Not father. Iroh felt a surge of relief that his nephew had finally let go of his impossible dream, even as his heart ached for the boy who had again and again been denied the only thing he'd ever really wanted.
He wanted to ask why. Zuko, my nephew—my beloved son—why do you still do this to yourself? Why did you feel you could not come to me? Iroh did not speak the words aloud, however. Whatever it was that had been going on, it was Zuko's crisis, Zuko who was lost and in pain. He could not—would not—make it about himself.
Instead, he waited, and let Zuko speak on his own terms. Not asking for an explanation. Not judging. Just being ready to listen.
It took a few minutes, but eventually Zuko continued, haltingly at first, but once the gates were opened the words came pouring out of him faster, with increasing urgency, as if he had needed to say this for a very long time and just hadn't known how.
"At first I was just trying to find out what happened to my mother." His voice was wavering. "Ozai said during the eclipse that he'd banished her to the colonies, but right after he told me the Sun came back out and—" At that point, however, he seemed unable to go on, the clenching of his hands into fists the only indication of his feelings.
"Ozai attacked you." It wasn't really a question.
Zuko nodded. "He shot lightning at me. My father tried to kill me. My own father—!" As he spoke the words he seemed to realize their impact for the very first time, and in the span of a few seconds a full cascade of emotions flashed across his face: shock, betrayal, but most of all, hurt.
Wordlessly, Iroh got up from his place at the table and moved instead to sit beside Zuko, firmly wrapping an arm around his nephew's shoulders. He could feel tremors working their way through Zuko's body. Iroh held him like that until the shaking stopped.
When Zuko next spoke, his words were calmer, but also empty, as if all the emotion had been drained out of him, like lancing a wound. "When I went back to see him after the coronation," he continued softly, "I thought that I would be the one in control. I was the Fire Lord now, and he'd been overthrown by a child. I had my bending; he'd had his permanently removed. But I wasn't." Tension ran through his shoulders, and his fists were clenching and unclenching spasmodically. "Even with all of that, Ozai still managed to manipulate me just like he always has." He turned away then, banging his fist against the table. Iroh doubted he was even aware of doing it.
"What did he say to you?" In contrast to Zuko's outburst, Iroh's voice was calm and measured. Turning, Zuko met his eyes, one golden gaze to another. For a few minutes, he held the contact, as if searching for any sign of judgment or anger. Finding none, he looked back down at the wood of the table and sighed.
"He wouldn't tell me anything that would help me find Mom." Iroh nodded; he couldn't say that he was surprised by this information. "Instead, he… just started dangling it in front of me that he could. That if I really wanted to know, I'd have to give him something in return." Zuko took a deep breath, and Iroh knew that they were finally getting to the hard part—and the root of the problem.
After a few seconds, Zuko resumed his tale. "He started going on about how being the Fire Lord isn't easy. About all the pressures that came with the throne." Wearily, he ran a hand over his face. "He said…" His eyes drifted over to Iroh once again, and in them he could see his nephew's apology. Zuko was begging him to understand.
With a look of encouragement, Iroh gave him a small nod. I don't see why you even continue to ask. Whatever it is, you should know by now that you were already forgiven.
He worried that the message would not get through, as it had not gotten through so many times before, but it seemed as if his nephew was finally starting to read him, for Zuko gave a nod in turn and continued speaking.
"He said that being the Fire Lord changes you. That he was the only one I could possibly turn to, because he had the experience." His voice was bitter. He took a shaky breath. "And I believed him. I believed him enough that when Yu Dao finally started to get to me, I went back and asked for his advice. I—!"
"And what," Iroh interrupted softly, "did you do with that advice?"
"I—" Zuko paused, and Iroh could tell that he was thinking, really thinking, about what he had asked. Finally.
"I listened to him," he continued, more quietly. "I thought about what he had said. Some of it made sense. But when it came right down to it… I couldn't believe that just because I'm the Fire Lord, whatever I decide is automatically right." Turning, he met Iroh's eyes. "If that were the case, the world would not have need of the Avatar."
"I see. You have shown great wisdom, my nephew." The pause that followed, however, was heavy with unspoken meaning. "And do you still believe that the world has need of the Avatar?"
"Yes." Zuko spoke with conviction. "Yes, it does. But not…" His breath caught in his throat, and he looked away. "Not like that." The words were barely above a whisper.
"I am glad." Iroh reached out to briefly squeeze Zuko's shoulder, and was met with a warm smile.
"Well," he continued, getting up from the table, "I suppose I had better tell the Avatar that you have awoken. Your friend Aang has been quite worried about you."
"Aang's here?" Zuko's head came up. "Where is he?"
Iroh stroked his beard. "At the moment, I do believe that he is on the roof."
"On the—" Zuko managed a small smile as he shook his head. "Typical airbender."
"Indeed." Halfway to the door, however, Iroh turned around. "Oh, and nephew?"
"What?" At one time, that question might have been laced with barely-concealed irritation. Now, Zuko just sounded tired—and relieved.
"I suggest that you have some more of that tea. It will do you good."
Zuko only smiled in response. The last Iroh saw of him before heading out the door, he was reaching out to refill his cup.
A/N: This is just a bit of a plot bunny that sort of popped into my head without warning. While reading the teashop scene in Part III of "The Promise," I noticed a little detail that made me really happy: Zuko stopped referring to Ozai as his father. I couldn't help but think that something significant must have happened, at least in Zuko's head, in between Yu Dao and that scene.