ZUKO
The present day, eighteen months later…
THAT NIGHT, HE HAD A STRANGE DREAM.
It didn't start out that way. If anything, it started out completely normal, just like the dozen or so times he'd had it over the past four years. In it, it's his last day in hospital. It's early in the morning, autumn. The windows are open, and it's very cool. A light, fresh breeze makes the curtains whisper in the quiet. Around him, the hospital buzzes slowly into life. He doesn't notice, though. He's a bit busy.
He's at the mirror, dressing his wound. The left side of his face is beginning to heal, beginning to turn into the scar he can no longer picture himself without, but it's still an ugly, rather horrid mess. He leans very close to the mirror, constantly having to change his perspective so his right eye, his good eye, can see what he's doing. With deft, well-versed movements, he dresses his wound. Very carefully, he cleans it, then he begins to apply the ointment that the doctors insist he use. When he's done with that, he will take the fresh gauze and bandages and wrap it all around his face, though he's a bit lost as to why it matters now. The damage has been done; how much worse could it get?
Suddenly, there's a knock at the door. In the dream, it echoes like a drop of water in an empty pail. Without turning to look (the door is to his left, on his blind side), he says, in a voice he tries hard to keep free from irritation, It's alright, Reiko. Like I said, I can do this myself, and for the last time, no, I won't take any pain medication with me.
But it's not Reiko; no, it's that horrid man who is forever in his cousin's shadow, the horrid man with eyes empty and cold who says his name is Kojima. Zuko uses this name, for lack of anything more polite, but he doesn't believe it for a second.
The man bows. Zuko, confused, bows back. The man announces the arrival of your royal cousin, His Royal Highness Crown Prince Yoshihito, in a voice dripping with disdain. Not for the first time, Zuko wonders if that voice is for him, or for the man's master.
Maybe both…
And then his cousin is there. His cousin, resplendent in the finest silks, finely honed features sporting that carefully maintained goatee and all of it topped off with the royal phoenix tail that Zuko is no longer either obligated nor allowed to wear. There is an awkward pause, when his cousin enters the room and Zuko does not bow, but merely glares, standing at attention like the soldier he is soon to be. In the dream, the pause is very short, which Zuko always finds odd, because in reality, his cousin ended up standing, awkwardly staring, for a good five minutes, waiting for the former prince to bow.
But he did not bow. Zuko did not bow in reality, and he did not bow in the dream.
His cousin begins speaking. The voice, even with the strange echoes and distortions of the dream, perfectly matches the body producing it. The voice is light, exquisitely refined, perfectly at home in the unwieldy court language that turns simple statements like, asking how some is, into monstrosities like, How art thou, my cousin both noble and royal, on this, a lovely autumn day, in mine father's splendid kingdom? The very words make Zuko sick to his stomach, which is why, when he speaks, he uses plain Nihongo, like any person in their right mind do outside of the Throne Room.
It only gets more awkward from there. Even in the dream, Zuko feels the rising tension, the weight of things unsaid, unspoken, unrecalled. His cousin asks after his health, to which Zuko says, I've been better. His cousin goes on at length about his own health, to which Zuko replies, That's nice. His cousin makes a long, flowery speech about how he is sorry to see Zuko go, and he's sorry things ended up this way, and that he wishes him well, and that, from what he's heard, the Ninety-Fourth Infantry Regiment is a fine, just absolutely fine, unit. Phrases like top-class and tip of the spear are used. The top-caliber officers are duly praised.
The latest casualty figures from the Earth Kingdom are not mentioned.
Zuko is never sure how the quarrel begins. In the dream, it's all very confusing. One moment, his cousin is rambling, while Zuko pays not the least bit attention, and then, like a scene change in a poorly staged play, his cousin is demanding to know what is the matter with him. Did it really happen that way? Zuko's not sure. Maybe it did; maybe it really was that sudden.
Maybe my life really is just a poorly staged play…
That's often the first thing he thinks, when he wakes up from this particular dream. The idea always makes him laugh.
If His Royal Highness Crown Prince Yoshihito was expecting a clear and flowery apology, before being allowed to assuage his guilt, he severely misjudged his audience. Sentence had already been passed. Zuko's life as a royal was over. He would be a soldier until the day he died, the implication being that the sooner that day came, the better for everyone concerned. Sure, he had been horribly wronged by his raging, frustrated drunk of a father, everyone knew that, but, see, there was the image of the Royal Family to consider. Just consider the scandal, Zuko, his mother had carefully explained, dabbing her wet eyes with a handkerchief.
Zuko had considered the scandal, and then he had realized that the worst had happened, and that he had nothing to lose.
So he told his cousin exactly what was the matter.
His cousin had not taken it well. Look, you can't blame me for all of this, he sputtered.
Zuko had not backed off an inch. I absolutely can blame you, Yoshihito.
How do you figure that? his cousin replied, sounding genuinely confused.
You were supposed to be there. In the dream, those are the only words that are clear, that sound normal, that do not waver and echo and flutter in a world that seems like it's being viewed through cheap glass. You were supposed to back me up. You were supposed to stand beside me. You promised. Instead, you left me alone to make my case and face my father's wrath.
His cousin shuffles his feet, probably feeling embarrassed for the first time in his life. Well, Zuko, not to put too fine a point on it, but you didn't have to go against your father like that.
Yes, I did. He spits out his words, chopping them up like a chef chopping sushi. Lives were at stake. The honor of the Fire Nation was on the line. It's ideas like the ones my father was proposing that ensure that the people of the Earth Kingdom will never submit, no matter how many soldiers we have walking their streets.
His cousin smiled. Well, that's a bit dramatic, don't you think?
And, just like that, Zuko is done. He has a uniform to put on, a boat to catch, and two taciturn members of the Royal Guard to make sure he's on it. Not that I'd miss it for the world. So, instead of engaging any further, he says, Cousin? Do me a big favor, and go fuck yourself.
That sets the spark to the kindling. Turning bright red, his cousin raises a finger, steps forward, and says (in what he no doubt believes to be an ominous fashion), What did you say?
And that's when the dream changes.
In reality, Zuko merely sighed, said, You heard me, then went back to dressing his wound. His cousin, obviously under strict instructions from His Majesty Fire Lord Iroh to not make things any worse than they already were, had fumed, stomped his feet, acted remarkably like a small child who's never been told no before, then spun on his heel and left.
In the usual dream, Zuko beat his cousin's ass, joined randomly by his sister, the horrid man Kojima, and half the hospital staff, which was why he normally woke with a smug grin on his face.
This time, though…
This time…
A feminine voice replies. It says, sharp as the crack of a whip, You heard him. Now go fuck yourself, and fuck right the hell off while you're at it.
Zuko rounds on the voice. Standing beside him is the most beautiful girl he's ever seen. He hasn't seen her in a year-and-a-half, but he remembers every feature, every detail, like he just saw her yesterday. She's tall for a girl, thin and curvy, with dark skin and thick, curly, dark brown hair that moves like ripples through the sea when it's caught by the wind. He feels a pressure on his hand, looks down, sees that his fingers are firmly entwined with hers.
When he looks up, his cousin is gone.
How did you do that? he asks.
She just smiles, that smile that, even though he only saw it for a week, the mere thought of makes him weak at the knees.
Just have to be a bit firm with assholes sometimes, you know?
He smiles back, even though, in reality, an incident later that day would mark the last time he would smile for a good year.
I suppose so, he says. Then, he frowns, confused. What're you doing here? What does this mean?
To that, she giggles, pops up, and kisses him on the cheek.
Wouldn't you like to know.
That's when reveille blows, and his dream is shattered, scattered like dust in the wind. He opens his eye, looks out on a world shrouded in murky darkness. All around him, the junior officers' barracks comes to life. Young man like himself mutter and curse and sigh, cots made of cheap wood held together by cheap nails and cheap hope groan and squeak like some strange symphony. Floorboards creak and whine underneath bare feet. Backs crack, sparks pop from the tips of fingers and thumbs, the smell of Army-issue tobacco begins to fill the air.
But on Zuko's bunk, nothing happens. He merely frowns at the bottom of the bunk above him, mulls over his dream, decides it turned out alright in the end, and allows himself a smile.