A/n: I couldn't think of another name for Me. So Me it will have to be, although in all honesty I could've sworn there was another, better word right on the tip of my tongue and I couldn't get it out. I was tempted to leave it blank but that would have some confusion, yes?
Chapter I: The Beginning
Zuko
When I was 12, I saw a great sight. A tragic, terrible, great sight.
My father had allowed me to come with him to scout out a newly conquered city. The city itself was quite interesting – the people and their culture were different from that of my sheltered childhood at the Palace.
But when we had returned to the harbor to board the Enigma, my father's favorite ship at the time, I had seen a Dark Thing on the shore. A limp, motionless Dark Thing.
It had been a woman, but she breathed no longer. In her arms was a child, no older than eight.
It had become apparent to me that the woman had tried to keep her daughter warm, by giving her the last bit of life she had.
How I'd conceived this idea at the innocent age of 12, I do no know. But as I looked down at this sight – as villagers flocked around me – as a fishmonger assured me he knew the girl and would help her, I knew it was true – all true.
So when I found the blue-eyed girl on the bank four years later, I knew what to do.
Me
I do not know my name. I address myself as I or me.
And strangely, this doesn't bother me. The dark is blessed to me.
Zuko
She seems to be awake, and I hurry with my morning routine. It will be better if she has someone to explain things. I poke my head into my tent, where I've put her. She is sitting up. She looks at me, and I look at her. Her face and hair are mud-caked.
"Hello," she says simply. "I do not remember myself so it is better not to ask."
I am surprised at this. "You…cannot remember?" She nods.
"Why is your face marked so?" she asks.
I hesitate. This girl is incredibly forward. "A burn," I finally say. There is no trace of emotion in my voice.
"I think," she says, "I think I know you.
I am not surprised. I am an exile, an outlaw. My face adorns numerous posters throughout numerous cities. But her voice sounds slightly familiar and I silently wish I could get a closer look at her face.
Me
I feel him watching me, and something is eerily familiar about it. It tugs at my mind, and I wish for the first time this morning that I could push the darkness away. My head aches and I fall back to the ground.
Before I know it, warm hands are cradling my head, and there is a murmuring of words that fall apart before they reach my ears. I fell water being poured down my throat. I fight not to choke on it, and I don't. But the blackness comes over me once again.
Zuko
She cannot remember. She looks so pitiful, her dark hair, a chocolate brown, clinging wetly to her face. Those great blue eyes –
I recognize her.
I can remember.
Me
When I wake, again, there is a chill in the air that I feel instantly. As I crawled out of the tent, I see him watching me.
"What?" I ask. What if I was wrong? Maybe he isn't the friendliest of people –
He says something. Mutters it.
"Come again?" I am confused.
"I said, I know you." He replies loudly.
"You…do?" I am suddenly hungry for this knowledge.
"Yeah." He starts rummaging through a bag.
I tap my foot, waiting. Finally, he turns towards me.
"Don't know your name," he says. He is scooping a sort of dry bran into a wok. Silly thing, if you ask me. Nothing wrong with a good kabob.
"You know me, but don't know my name." I repeat this dryly. He nods, ignoring my sarcastic tone. He'd begun to fry his mixture of bran and water, occasionally poking it with a red chopstick.
I sigh and settle down near him as he cooks over his blazing fire. Funny. It wasn't there earlier.
He glances at me warily and for a second I catch his unguarded expressions. There is fear – fear of me? There is greed – for what? There is, in its purest form, recognition. And all this is blanketed by confusion of the most complicated sort.
All this is hidden in his cold tiger eyes.
Zuko
"What are you cooking?" she asks. For a moment I say nothing. I had always found those eyes had a tendency to read me. Then, I say,
"Breakfast."
"Not too talkative, are you?" She tries to smile. It turns into a confused grin.
I hate her just then. She had barged in on me in my weakest moment. How do I know she even has this – what was it called – amnesia? Was that the word? Yes; I recall Uncle Iroh having a short bout of it when I was twelve. Twelve seemed to be the age when everything happened.
My thoughts, I muse, seem to go everywhere today.
"Did…do I know you?" She asks. I stiffen. She had no memory; I could make up anything I want.
"You did." I say
truthfully. She smiles.
"And did I like you?"
My breath catches in my throat at that. What could I say? "Absolutely hated me."
She laughs, and was not meant to.
