Chapter 6

Katara sighed audibly and handed Zuko another ice pack, a bit less carefully than her profession demanded. Her patience was waning, it seemed. Her papers were back out in front of her—one of her assistants had been called to the back door a while ago to switch out one pile of work for another that needed Katara's dire and immediate attention. He hadn't been able to hide his unimpressed look at how quickly she'd disregarded him in favour of her 'dayjob'. Was this how she handled all her dignitary guests, or was he just that special in her regard?

Internally, he felt he already knew the answer, and it made him cold. The disappointment crept back in around the edges, and he let it in.

Refusing to give her the satisfaction of grunting in pain, he snatched the ice pack from her and moved it to the side of his head. Insensitive bitch.

He glared at her incredulously then shifted on the uncomfortable wooden bench in the lodge's back room. They had a few minutes before he was due out to meet his afore-mentioned cushion. He just hoped at this point he'd be able to get back up to his feet afterwards.

"They're trying to kill me," he grumbled when she glanced up at him in exasperation. Again.

She has to see it, now—it was obvious!

"It's all in your head," she repeated, as if on autopilot.

"No, but that puck almost lodged itself there. Permanently!" He gestured angrily at his temple.

"Stop whining, they didn't even knock out any of your teeth." She flipped to the next page of her report, her brow furrowed.

"They made me the goalie and shot at me instead of the net!"

"Zuko, you're the goalie, of course they were shooting at you."

"With the intent to do me physical harm! Not score!"

"I can see why you never took up team sports, you always make everything about you."

Zuko threw his arms in the air in frustration—until the sudden movement jarred his brain inside his skull, setting off the violent pounding of his headache all over again. He did moan lowly then, and wrapped his hands over his aching head as he leaned and suffered and tried to find a happy medium between blazing agony and fuckawful pain.

Katara snorted. "You'd never have made it on offence. They'd have had you trapped against the boards the whole time."

"It wasn't my decision to do the whole physical activity and bonding thing—the PR team gave me a choice. Hockey or the other things."

"Really? What kind of alternates did they give you? Wrestling polar bears or leopard seals?" she said flippantly as she dug out a sheaf of papers and started reviewing them and adding notes here and there—though a part of her was curious if her expression and quick glance back at him meant anything. Zuko hoped it did; just a bit. He was also beginning to think he harboured masochistic tendencies.

"It was hockey or curling," he groaned, closing his eyes. There, that helped. Darkness was bliss. He adjusted the ice pack gingerly, and found a more comfortable spot for it before he continued.

"The other one involved throwing rocks around in houses," he explained tiredly. "Your sports are crazy and violent. Hockey was just chasing a little black rubber disk on some ice. Obviously, I went with that one, since it was the more civil-sounding one. Until they put me in goal…"

Katara dropped her papers in her lap and stared at him for a full three seconds.

Before she burst out laughing.

"Hockey… curling… civil… hahahahhahahahaah!"

Zuko opened his eyes and glared at her from beneath the ice-pack. He was not amused. "It's wrong to mock the afflicted."

Katara just pointed at him and laughed harder, tears streaming down her cheeks.