A/N: Trigger warning - hints of abuse
Is it ridiculous that I am now curled up in bed with Zuko's sweatshirt? I'm not even wearing it, just hugging it. My brain keeps replaying this tantalizing scene—his car windows all fogged up for a much different reason. If only we had been swapping spit instead of sob stories.
Would he think me a desperate fool if I just… kissed him? After confessing about my dead mother, yes… yes, he would.
I wonder what the scar feels like.
What would Mom say? I could use a little advice here. Is it too soon? Yes. Is he even my type? No.
Jet had a tragic backstory. A small voice in the back of my mind says.
But Jet was also an amazing kisser. Says an even smaller voice.
I can't sleep, so I turn on Netflix. I'm halfway through season six of a dramatic series based on Greek mythology. Because I'm a dork. Coincidentally, the episode is about the goddess of love forming an escort service, of sorts, and is quite graphic in its depictions of the Erotes. I fall asleep thinking about simply kissing Zuko, but one thing leads to another, and then...
I am so embarrassed by my first ever sex dream (of such great detail) that I don't think I can face him at work the next morning. It's still raining, so I dread that Yue will assign Hahn and Zuko to the lab again, and I might slip and say boner instead of beaker or pussy dish instead of petri dish. Why am I'm such a mess? I blame Aphrodite and her meddling.
The gods have mercy on me. Zuko doesn't show up at the center today. But this also worries me. Did he make it home OK in the rain last night? Should I text him? No, he's probably fine. This internal debate continues, and for the second day in a row, I'm terribly distracted at work. It's only a matter of time before Yue notices.
That night, I snuggle up again with his sweatshirt, trying to calm myself in the storms of uncertainty. The relentless rain, among other things, has chilled me to the core. I'm nearly asleep when Zuko sends me a message, offering me a ride to work tomorrow. The gesture itself sends a jolt through my body, like lightening. Excitement and nerves quickly settle into that warmth I was craving—his comfort. As much as I would love to accept, though, he lives halfway between here and the Marine Center. It would be too far out of his way, so I shouldn't inconvenience him.
God, I hate riding the bus. Especially in the rain.
But Zuko now says he's staying with his Uncle.
Why didn't he mention that before? I'm too tired to consider the reasons. I can just ask him in the morning.
I'm a downpour of nonstop chatter when I get in the car. I guess I do that when I'm nervous. I shouldn't be since we had such a good talk the other day. But then I literally had a dream about kissing him and… stuff, so…
Once I finally shut up, I realize how quiet he is. He keeps his eyes trained on the road and doesn't look at me at all. I can respect a careful driver, but something isn't right.
"Zuko, are you OK?"
"Yeah, just tired."
His voice is huskier than usual, and there is a dark circle under his right eye. I lean forward so I can catch a glimpse of the other side of his face, but he quickly turns his head away. I try to follow his sudden movement, but the seatbelt locks up on me, so I slump back in my seat.
"How long have you been staying with your Uncle?"
"Since last night."
"Oh." This doesn't make sense, but I can't figure out the best question to ask next, so we ride the rest of the way in silence.
"I'm just gonna drop you off and head to my next assignment, OK?" he says as he pulls into the Marine Center parking lot. "I can give you a ride home, too, if you want."
"Sure, that'd be great." He still won't look at me, and now I'm worried that I did something wrong.
At the end of the day, Zuko is in Yue's office, so I sit outside the door to wait for him. I don't mean to eavesdrop, but the walls are thin, and I can hear every word.
"Zuko, are you sure it's not broken?"
"No, ma'am. I'm fine."
"You're not fine. You look terrible."
"It doesn't affect my ability to work, so please, can I just—"
"That's where you're wrong," Yue interjects. "It does affect your work when the summer camp counselor calls me and says you're scaring the children."
"The kids are always scared of the scar anyway, so it's not—"
"Zuko, I'm pulling you from education. You can work in the lab with Katara. She's behind on her reports and could use the help."
As troubling as the conversation is so far, I'm elated at this news. The extreme distress in Zuko's voice overshadows any fleeting joy I feel, though.
"But Dr. Arnook, please. My father won't… I have to…"
"The Marine Science Center appreciates your father's generous donations. We'll make sure his patronage is properly recognized." Yue's tone has turned to ice.
"OK, but… could you maybe not tell him? That I've been reassigned? I just don't want him to think I failed… again."
"I will leave that up to you. What you tell your father is your business."
"Thank you, Dr. Arnook. Thank you so much."
"But Zuko, if I have any reason to believe that he is the one doing this to you… then I will make it my business. I will report him. I don't care how much money he makes or how much he gives us, he can't just—"
"D-d-don't. It's not what you think… Please, don't say anything."
My heart starts pounding, and I clutch my chest to suppress the rising ache when I finally see his face. His left jaw sports a nasty bruise, and his lower lip is swollen. The scar looks the same, but in that instant, I know. Whoever inflicted these fresh wounds was responsible for that one, too.
I didn't think it was possible for me to hate someone so much, someone I've never met… and in defense of someone I've only just met, actually. Dad calls me fiercely loyal, so maybe that's what he means. I joke about wanting to hit Hahn for being so stupid. This… feels different.
How could he do such a thing? And how do I make him pay?
Zuko scowls at me, and I immediately melt into a puddle of worry. He doesn't want my pity, that much is clear. I've seen that look, and I understand that feeling. I do my best to mask my concern, but how do I show him that I care? I want to help.
"I'm sorry you had to wait," he mumbles.
"It's OK."
About halfway through the torturous drive home, I take a chance in breaking the silence. "Hey. Let's go get some sushi. I'm starving. I have a favorite place not far from my house."
He doesn't answer right away. He might not answer at all. Or ever talk to me again.
"It's Mushi Sushi on the corner of 43rd and Kings Road," I add with an air of hopefulness.
He laughs. And laughs again. And then laughs some more. I like the sound of his laugh, but right now it's unnatural and annoying. And he's wincing in pain, too, which makes it borderline unbearable.
"What's so funny!?"
He clears his throat. "That's my Uncle's place. I was headed there anyway."
I gape at him. "Your Uncle is Mushi?"
"Well, his name is Iroh. But yeah."
Zuko pulls his hood over his head and slides into a booth near the back of the restaurant. It's more crowded than I expected and decorated with colorful banners and candelabras. I had forgotten about Mushi's theme nights on the third Thursday of the month. If my dinner companion wasn't in such a sour mood, we could have fun celebrating… whatever it is.
The server, dressed in robes presumably for the occasion, hands me a menu. "Tonight's specials correspond with your table assignment. Let's see, you're seated at Icarus, so you can enjoy seafood soup, fried chicken wings, and ambrosia."
"Ambrosia?" I ask.
"The nectar of the gods," he says with a smile.
It's Greek mythology night! My inner dork squeals with delight.
"I'll give you a few minutes to decide."
Zuko slumps even further down in his seat, like he wants to disappear. "Shit, I forgot about this. Let's just get out of here, OK?"
"Aww. It looks like fun! Maybe it'll make you feel better?"
"It's supposed to be a sushi restaurant. I don't want chicken wings."
"You have to admit it's kinda clever. Fried wings for Icarus?"
For the first time today, he makes eye contact. "Yeah, the guy who got burned because he couldn't please his father."
Oh.
I do my best to hold his gaze, but the intensity of it is almost too much. "That's not really how the story goes, you know. Daedalus warned his son and tried to help him. Icarus fell to his death because he didn't heed his father's instructions."
He looks away. "Daedalus built a maze to hold a monster. Icarus is better off dead anyway."
I'm not backing off, though. "Seriously, did you sleep through sophomore second semester? You've got your Greek myths all wrong."
"And you're the expert? You probably get your info from that stupid show, Crossroads of Destiny."
"I do watch that show. And it's a great resource!"
"It's not about Greek mythology! It just borrows from it. And butchers it. Honestly, how can you and my uncle watch that shit?"
He makes that incredulous face again with the one raised eyebrow. The shadow of his hood hides the trauma we're both trying to ignore… by arguing… over nothing.
So, I laugh. And laugh again. And then laugh some more.
"What's so funny!?"
"I can just see Mushi—I mean, Iroh on the edge of his seat with a remote control in one hand and a golden goblet of ambrosia in the other, waiting with bated breath for the season premiere of Crossroads of Destiny to start. I bet he dresses up for convention, too."
"I did not attend CoDCon this year, although I considered it. I did dress as Dionysus at the annual wine festival last October. And coincidentally received a golden goblet as a souvenir."
I hardly recognize the man, clad in leather armor, even though I've seen him before. He's also wearing a broad grin framed by a course white beard and creases etched in thick skin, like that of his costume. I can tell he's been through a lot—and would be prepared to take on anything. The heat of my embarrassment burns in my cheeks as I shake his extended hand.
"Odysseus at your service, my lady," he says with a bow. "Katara, I presume?"
I swear Zuko is blushing, too. So, he's told his uncle about me?
"Yes, sir. Pleased to meet you. Er—nice job with the Trojan horse."
"One of my finer moments, indeed! You're a good judge of character, but only half-right, I must say." The old man winks at me. "I do wait with bated breath but not with remote in hand. I often watch shows on the iPad. It's much easier on these aging eyes of mine. Also, ambrosia is both a food and a drink, and for today's menu, I'm serving it as dessert. I'll bring you some, on the house."
I open my mouth to say thank you, but Zuko's groan causes both of our heads to snap in his direction. He probably did it out of annoyance with his uncle's antics, but I am now reminded of his injuries.
Iroh is, too, as his countenance changes completely. "Nephew, you need to get ice on that. It's still swollen."
"I'm fine," Zuko growls.
"I can help," I offer.
"I don't need help."
Iroh sits down next to me, facing Zuko. His voice is so low that I strain to hear his words. "Nephew, you can hide behind your hood and sulk in the corner all you want. But you can't deny the truth anymore. And part of that truth is that you do have people who care about you."
Iroh then turns to me. "Take him upstairs to my apartment. There's an icepack in the freezer. I'll bring food up later… including that dessert I promised."
Zuko slouches on a bar stool with arms folded across his chest, his mood matching the darkness of his marks—all of them—which I now carefully inspect.
I've never been this close to him, yet somehow I'm not as nervous as I thought I'd be… if we ever got to this point under different circumstances, that is.
Oh, how I wish the circumstances were different.
He flinches when I place the ice on his face, so I instinctively cup his other cheek with my hand and lightly trace the stubble at his jaw line with my thumb. The gesture is more intimate than I intended, but I hope to return some measure of the comfort he gave me. His sigh comes out more like a shudder—a release—as he leans into my touch.
I step forward and press our foreheads together. It's a way of bracing myself to be strong for him. Because I need to feel a connection even if it is a small one.
"I don't know what happened to you, and you don't have to tell me, OK?" I whisper. "But I'm here… if you need to…"
"Thanks, Katara." He closes his eyes and brings his hand up over mine to adjust the ice pack. When he lingers there, my body finally betrays me with a quickening pulse and a fluttering sensation in my stomach. I am standing but no longer steady. I am connected but not in control. I allow my fingers to slip to the nape of his neck and thread them through his hair. Because suddenly I need more.
Kissing him right now would be a matter of simply tilting my head. I feel the warmth of his breath. I hear him swallow. I smell the damn fabric softener that started this whole thing.
We are that close. It would be so easy.
Yet so… complicated. The trail of melting ice running down my forearm reminds me that I am here to help. He's too vulnerable, and I don't want this—whatever this is—to be confused with pity. I do want to make him feel better, though. I don't exactly understand what I'm feeling.
Because I've never felt this way before.