Time heals wounds (but leaves scars)
16.
He's sixteen when he recklessly dives in front of a lightning bolt.
The whole plan to stop his sister from claiming the throne was on the line. An Agni Kai between two royal siblings to determine the fate of a nation (maybe the world) and he doesn't think twice before almost tossing his life- and previously mentioned fate of the nation- away for a bossy, self-righteous waterbender.
He's been told he doesn't really think things through. Maybe there's some truth in that.
He raises his hand to his chest, absently tracing the ugly red wound through the thick bandages.
He'd do it again, though. In a heartbeat.
"It's going to leave a scar." Speaking of bossy waterbenders.
He shrugs. "Wouldn't be my first."
And it's true. A firebender burnt by his own family. Two scars- one for defending his people, and the other for protecting someone he cares about. There's a strange sort of poetry about it, if one were so inclined to appreciate such things. Which Zuko is not.
He does, however, recognize the painful irony.
Katara steps closer, a vision in blue. Her hand hovers over the bandages. "I should have healed it sooner. It might have helped..."
"You've done more than enough, Katara." It comes out with a little more fervor than he would have liked. He gives himself a mental shake. "I wouldn't be here if it weren't for your healing."
Her blue eyes snap to his. He's reminded that ice burns, too. "You wouldn't have needed healing if it weren't for me!"
"I asked you to come-"
"And I accepted with pleasure!"
He stares at her, with her ridiculous hair beads and smooth brown skin, her stubborn stance and fierce devotion to anyone she considers a friend. He deems himself fortunate to have made it into that category.
It occurs to him that after chasing his 'honor' for three years- only to learn he has to earn it back himself- he spends weeks working to gain Katara's good opinion (which, once lost, turns out to be pretty hard to get back).
It seems all he does is chase.
(Uncle Iroh probably has a wise proverb about that. He'll have to ask him.)
He clears his throat. "I guess we're even."
She raises an eyebrow, looking every inch the daughter of a Water Tribe chief she is. "I could whip your entitled firebending butt to the next eclipse, Zuko." Her expression softens. "But yeah, we're always even."
That stirs something in him, a marrow-deep gratitude for this gift she offers him. He's always been beneath, inferior, not enough. Unworthy. But to this rag-tag group of teenage misfits, to this powerful fighter with simmering anger and enough empathy to crack the walls of a broken prince, he's even. He's equal.
He's terrible with words, and yet he feels them bubbling in his chest, threatening to spill over in some clumsy form of acknowledgement. They vanish when she places three fingers on the pristine white bandage.
"You'd have done it for any of us." She says it as a statement. It sounds like a question.
She isn't looking at him. He's glad for that small blessing. It's something he's carefully avoided thinking about, because he's afraid he's not as selfless as he'd like to be. It was instinct that made him lunge- Katara dying was just not an option. It was unthinkable, consequences be damned.
So he goes with the safest answer. "Of course." For all he knows, it might be the truth.
Toph isn't around to tell him.
The crowd is starting to grow in front of the palace gates. He hears the bustle of people gathering, the buzz of anticipation tinted with impatience.
She hears them too. "Big day." She shoots him a grin. "You ready?"
"How about no?" He mutters.
"Hey. We're all here for you. As long as you need us."
He clicks his tongue. "Yeah? Don't make promises you can't keep." It's supposed to be a joke, but he's never been very good at making them.
Her blue eyes are warm, just like the hand she wraps around his bare arm. He glances down, taking in the dichotomy of her dark skin against his pale one. There's a pain in his chest that has nothing to do with comet-fueled lightning bolts.
She lifts a shoulder. "I don't," she says simply.
Suddenly she takes a step back, clapping her hands together. "Oh, I'm taking up all of your time. You should be getting ready. Anyway, I just wanted to make sure you were okay before they swept you off to all your royal duties."
He allows himself a small smile at her sheepish expression. "Check again after the coronation."
She sniggers, before catching sight of the thick, red robe folded over a chair. She gestures at it with the slightest hesitation. "I can help you with that, if you want."
A wave of weariness overcomes him then. The last thing he wants at that moment is her help. He's had too much of it; he feels it- it pulses in his veins, it hums along his scar. It echoes in his very soul, because she saved him, this bona fide force of nature wrapped in the shape of an unassuming, if lovely, Water Tribe girl.
She saved him. In more ways than one.
So he just shakes his head. "I'll be fine. Thanks."
"Alright." Her lips quirk as a strange look comes across her face. "Besides, you might get help with that soon enough."
"Hm?"
"Nothing."
There's a fragile silence between them, the kind they haven't experienced in weeks. He hates it.
Which is why, of course, Katara shatters it by enveloping him in a hug that temporarily knocks the breath of out him.
He winces. "Ow-"
"Sorry!" Her face is buried in her neck and her hair tickles his nose. Is it possible to smell like sunshine, he wonders. "You're going to be a wonderful Firelord."
He grimaces. "Your misplaced faith is deeply appreciated. Thank you."
Her frown contrasts with the smile playing on her lips.
He looks away first.
"Anyway. Toph is waiting for me. She wants me to help her pick out an outfit- something to do with color-coordination. And she wants her eyes to pop." There's no missing the fond exasperation in her voice.
He snorts in amusement, the closest thing to a laugh he thinks he'll manage today. "Right. Can't keep Miss Bei Fong waiting. I'll see you all at dinner. Uncle said he's prepared... something. Wait, do you know- Katara!"
With a grin, Katara mimes locking her lips and throwing away the key, while skipping backwards out of the room. He shoots her a frustrated huff as she disappears behind the door with a giggle and a shouted "Good luck!"
Yeah. He's going to need that.
He picks up the robe and sighs, now faced with the daunting task of dressing himself. He grunts as he pulls on the first sleeve, pain shooting up his side, and reminds himself that he needs to have a talk with his pride.
The soft rustle of cloth catches his attention and he spins around, not expecting company. (Not really wanting it either. Not after-)
His eyes widen in surprise as he takes in one of the last people he expects to see today.
"Mai."