Warning: Read this author's note.

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Seriously, read it.

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I will know it if you don't.

This chapter depicts some disturbing events, and makes no attempt to sugarcoat them. As a result, it probably pushes an M rating, and may even cross that line at points. However, I have read enough to know what I've written is not as explicit as it could be, and for that reason (and the fact said explicitness has been the exception rather than the rule) I have no immediate plans to up the T rating of Dominion. If, after reading, you would like to suggest that I do so, feel free. I will consider any arguments to the case.

My reason for this change in tone is simple. I think it's necessary for readers to know exactly what happened, in order for them to begin to understand why it happened. Also, it would probably push willing suspension of disbelief just a little too far to me to simply say it happened, without the readers seeing what brought them to this.

That said, I anticipate a strong reaction to events in this chapter. I welcome it, so long as it's intelligently expressed. And no, I'm not going to warn you any more specifically than I have about events in this chapter, despite the conventions of fanfic. Please trust me when I say you'll see it coming. Whether you choose to read on is yours to consider.

This seems as good a time as any to show my hand, and admit that I have intended Dominion from the start as something of a deconstruction. Not just of Azula and Zuko as characters or their relationship on the show, but of everything I've read about them in fanfiction. And believe me, that's a lot.

You've already seen me deconstruct some time-honored tropes of Azula redemption-fic, and this trope is no exception. Yes, I AM going there. First, because it interests me. Second, because I've yet to see it handled to my satisfaction.

The obligatory disclaimer: No, I do not approve of this behavior in real life. I am well-aware that it is sick, sad, and twisted. I would remind you these are fictional characters, however attached we may get to them. This chapter was very difficult for me to write, for exactly that reason. And other reasons. But having come this far, I could do no less.

Also, my sincerest apologies for the long delay in updating. Besides the difficulty writing I previously mentioned, my job has been kicking my ass on a pretty regular basis for the past few months, leaving me barely time enough for sleep or a social life, let alone hobbies. Now that I've crossed this threshold though, I will try to update more regularly. Especially considering the evil cliffhanger at the end of this chapter. (That is becoming something of a thing for me.)

Anyway, now that you've been thoroughly warned in the vaguest possible terms, please do enjoy your reading. And review.


Zuko stared. He couldn't help it. He hadn't seen her in four years.

He didn't know what he expected from the escapee of an asylum, but this wasn't it. Gone were the hacked off bangs, the dark circles under her eyes, the nails clipped short for her own and others' protection. No trace of her nearly successful attempt at starvation, or the resulting illness that almost killed her, even when she stopped. Her cheekbones were a little more prominent than he remembered, perhaps, the subtle hollows of her face barely discernible in the moonlight that fell softly on everything in the room, what he realized now was their mother's bedroom.

It was that resemblance that struck him most, to see Azula standing there in his mother's robe. He recognized the elegant swirls embroidered at the neck, the hem she was too short to keep from dragging in the dust. And even if she inherited their father's sharp chin and slanted eyes, she had Ursa's hair and painted mouth, and lined her eyes with kohl.

It barely occurred to him to wonder where she found cosmetics, when Azula hadn't stayed here since she was a little girl. His mother's robe, his mother's paints… How in eight years had he never noticed, that she tinted her lips the very same shade?

Then she spoke, and the illusion was shattered.

"You were already on the island," Azula realized aloud, her eyes narrowed intently, her stance loose but ready, "or you couldn't have got here so quickly." Zuko took a careful step into the room, and she stepped sideways. But not back, never back. "You … came to see me?" she spoke slower, almost tentatively. "Why?"

"I hardly think that matters now, after what you've done!" Zuko reproached her, angry not just at her escape anymore, but something he couldn't even name…

"It matters to me," she said simply. And looked sincere as she always did, when she lied.

"Then why do this, Azula?" he demanded, with an angry thrust of his hand. "Why reject my help, your doctors' help —"

"Your help?" she cut across him, eyes lighting with resentment. "And what help is that? Shutting me up like some kind of leper?" And Zuko couldn't help flinching at her accusation, when it was one he'd put to himself.

"Do you really expect me to believe," she said darkly, her fingers curling into fists, "I would have left that place any other way?"

"You're a danger to yourself and other people," Zuko insisted in a hard tone, taking another step closer to another of her sidesteps. "You would have left when you were ready, when your doctors said you were ready!"

"You don't know anything!" Azula snapped at him, and it wasn't anger that flashed across her face when she shouted this, but pain. "Those doctors don't know anything. I came as far as I could there, and I did it on my own!"

He blinked once at her defiance, reminded uncomfortably of another confrontation, one he stood on the other side of. "And how far have you come," he said carefully, stepping onto the edge of an elaborate rug to see she didn't yield, "when cold gives you a nervous breakdown?"

Azula took her cue from his measured tone. Her face fell with practiced ease into a familiar expression of contempt. "That was two years ago," she coolly replied. "Maybe you should check notes with Uncle Fatso."

Zuko scowled at the demeaning nickname, though he supposed he shouldn't expect her to be grateful to Uncle. "And your hallucinations?" he said flatly.

"I banished them." Something eerily like pride suffused her, her lips just curved in a characteristic smirk. "All but one."

His eyes widened in sudden realization. "Mom…" he whispered.

Azula nodded once, stepping into a square of moonlight that shone through the broken window panes and onto the dusty floor, watching his eyes follow her. "Have you found her?"

"Are — are you serious?" Zuko asked her in disbelief, and mounting frustration. Oh gods, just what was wrong with her? "Of course I haven't! How could you think I had?"

"I've been locked in an asylum, Zuko," she replied, arms propped casually on hips. "They say for four years." And her tone was more remarkable for what wasn't in it. No acid sarcasm, no condescension, no blame even, at least for the moment. Just a statement of fact. "How would I know, when you don't tell me?"

And suddenly, her letters made a little more sense. Not much, but a little more. "You really think," he said slowly, his brow relaxing its scowl in surprise, "I'd keep her from you?"

Her expression didn't change, and he realized this was exactly what she thought. "You did it once. You could do it again."

"Will you listen to yourself?" Zuko said hoarsely. But his voice gained volume with the strength of his conviction, and he moved closer, stirring up dust from the rug. "This is supposed to convince me you're sane?" His hands clenched reflexively. "You're as paranoid as ever!"

A bitter smile flit across her face. "I don't mean to convince you of anything," she contradicted almost gently, spreading her hands, and withdrew from him as if to confirm this. But Zuko was put instantly on guard, when he realized their wary circling had brought her closer to the door than he stood. "You'll see what you want to see. You always have."

"Then what do you want, Azula?" he demanded, a little desperate to keep her talking, already contemplating what he would do if she ran. "What do you want?!"

"I want to be better," she admitted steadily, and looked straight at him when she said it. But there was a crease between her brows, as if she were daring him to laugh at her. "And I think the only way to make this stop, is to find her."

Zuko's mind ground to a halt. "You want to find ... Mom?" he all but whispered.

Azula drew a deep breath. "Yes."

And Zuko had to make a conscious effort to crush the hope that surged like fire in his veins. The tiny voice of truth that said if anyone could do the impossible, it was Azula.

"You hated her! You didn't even care when Dad sent her away!" Zuko said harshly through the tears that stung his eye, remembering her cruel taunts. Her lies, her lies… She knew just what he wanted to hear. "And you really expect me to believe that?"

"I stopped expecting anything from you a long time ago," she coldly replied, looking on his tears unmoved.

His brow furrowed in surprise, he didn't miss her reproach. "Then why bother telling me this?"

"Oh, I don't know, because you asked?" Azula said contemptuously, spreading the fingers of her left hand as if to number his absurdities. "I don't delude myself you'd help me, even for something we both want." She sidled between Zuko and the door, and her fingers closed into a fist that she held tightly to her chest, as if she were guarding her heart. "All I require is that you stay out of my way."

"You require?" he echoed, incredulous. Zuko advanced on her in growing anger, but she held her ground. "You're in no position to make demands!" he reminded her, with a sweep of his hand for added emphasis. "A disgraced princess with nothing but an empty title to her name! No money, no power, no friends —"

"I have friends!" Azula cut across him, taking exception to this, of all claims.

"What makes you think you can find her?" Zuko shouted, the fire of his resentment stoked when she stepped forward to meet him. "I'm the Fire Lord!" He gestured to himself, as if this needed reinforcing. "I have a whole nation at my command, and I couldn't do it!"

"It wouldn't be the first time I succeeded where you failed," Azula swiftly replied. Her mouth framed the words just the way he remembered, she lifted her chin to meet his glare.

"It doesn't work like that anymore!" he said hotly, fists clenched to match her own. Zuko was nearly close enough to lay hands on her now, and two steps away from trying it. "In case you haven't noticed, I'm not the one who landed in an asylum!"

Azula went very still, her eyes fixed on him with an awful intentness, in the electric pause that fell with his words. And the distance between them seemed suddenly greater. Even in his anger, Zuko knew he'd crossed a line. But the thought of apologizing to Azula was as foreign to him as bending water. He didn't owe her anything.

He didn't owe her anything.

"No," his sister said slowly at last, her every word calculated for maximum effect, "you're just the one who put me there, and forgot that I exist." The righteous anger he wore like a mask slipped just a little at her cutting words, but if Azula noticed, she gave no sign.

"So much better to be cruel than crazy, isn't it?" she whispered, close enough that Zuko could just glimpse something sad and secret behind her eyes. "I should know."

But Zuko knew too well what she was trying to do, and to steel himself against it. "I might feel worse about — Hey!" he cried in surprise, when Azula ducked to the side of him and made a break for the door, predictably, with no warning whatsoever.

Zuko took two steps after her, before he remembered his intention to signal the search parties, and ran for the window instead. He made a promise to Mai. And he was a father now, he forced himself to recall. He had to be more careful than —

A whip of blue fire lashed out from behind him, and just scorched his neck to leave an angry welt. Zuko clapped a hand to his burn and turned on his heel with a sharp cry, more of surprise than pain, to face Azula. His sister stood just outside the door, two fingers extended and her hand held closely to her chest. "That's not what you came here for," she chided, a familiar promise written in the arch of her brows.

"That hurt!" Zuko hissed furiously, aware even as he spoke what a childish sentiment it seemed under the circumstances.

Azula looked on him without pity, her petite form framed by the door. "You never should have turned your back on me."

Zuko's eyes widened, his breath caught in his throat. Had she really just come out and said… "Azula —" he tried, but her expression hardened the moment his gave a little.

"Why are you here?" she demanded, fingers still drawn and ready, her tone as harsh as any interrogator's. She took a slow step back into the hall.

"To bring you to justice," Zuko replied automatically, because he'd said it to himself and other people enough times that that must make it true. "You need to be tried for your crimes in the war," he insisted, ignoring how her teeth ground at the suggestion that what she'd done was wrong. "And as soon as you're sane, you will be."

"Well, if that isn't an incentive to recovery, I don't know what is."

"This isn't a game, Azula!" Zuko retorted, his hands held loosely at his sides, ready to deflect her next attack. He followed her deeper inside without conscious decision. "Our nation owes it to the world to hold people like you to account."

"People like me…" she echoed quietly, and let down her hand, her eyes fixed on him as if waiting for some sign. Of what, he didn't know.

"Your posturing is tiresome as ever," Azula said at last, in a tone that made it clear just how much she despised him, "and I've had enough judgment to last me a lifetime." She uttered the words with all the vehemence of a curse. "No thanks."

His eyes popped in disbelief. Did she really still think she could talk her way out of this? "You're coming with me if I have to call the entire imperial guard down on you!" Zuko snarled, moving to the nearest window to make good on his threat.

"If you drag other people into this," Azula warned, her voice low and silky, "I'll have no choice but to do the same." And he turned to face her, his brow knit with confusion. "I hear I have a nephew now," she said, and her eyes gleamed darkly out at him from under the line of her brows. "Does he know he has an aunt?"

He tensed in immediate suspicion, and had to make a conscious effort to calm the racing of his heart. Was she really suggesting… "No," Zuko stiffly replied, "he does— I haven't told him about you."

And Azula smiled. It was not a nice smile. "Five points for good parenting, Zuzu," she condescended, turning quite casually to leave. "Kids are scared enough of imaginary monsters at that age." Her voice fell as she moved off down the hall. "How soundly would he sleep, if he knew about me?"

"You stay away from my family!" Zuko snapped, rushing out the door after her to make sure she got the message.

"You seem to forget they're my family too, if I wanted anything to do with them," Azula neutrally replied, not even bothering to turn around, her back to him like an invitation. "How lucky for you, that I don't."

And Zuko stopped outside the threshold, his eyes fixed on the waist-length hair that fell between her shoulders. "So why don't we make a deal?" Azula said flatly, her arms crossed in front of her, stance distinctly forbidding. She turned her head, not far enough to look at him, and what little he could see of her face gleamed like a half-moon palely out of the dark. "Leave me alone to find Mother, and I will have nothing more to do with you. Or yours."

"What?" Zuko whispered, unsure what to think of this.

"If the best I can expect from you is neglect," she explained, her voice grown clipped with impatience, "the best you can expect from me is neglect. Not quite as nice as having me under your thumb, to be sure," Azula added coldly, lifting her chin, "but don't pretend you wouldn't rather I was gone."

"Azula —" he tried, but she turned her face away, dismissing anything he might have said.

"This is the best offer you're going to get," she quietly concluded, inclining her head. "And the last."

Zuko swallowed hard, wondering why she wouldn't look at him. "You're crazy," he said at last, watching her as closely as if he expected her to spontaneously combust. "And I won't promise you anything."

Azula turned to face him then, and he saw her fingers were drawn, arms crossed over her chest to hide her intent. Her left arm shot toward him, her right swept a sharp arc aimed at his feet. Two bursts of blue flame were her answer, before she ever said, "So be it."

Zuko brought his arms up in a quick block, but had to break his root to spare his bare feet the worst of the flames. Dodging to the other side of the hall, he hit her with a flaming roundhouse kick, but Azula ducked and turned her momentum to a spin. Her leg flashed out from the folds of her robe, and swept an arc of fire across the narrow floor that toppled him.

The fight might have ended right then, if Zuko hadn't seen what he saw next: Azula caught herself in a crouch, and her arm gave from the pressure, dropping her painfully on her left hip. His eyes went wide even as he rolled away from the fireball she punched at him, two seconds too late, and onto his feet. Azula sprang back up in the same instant, hands raised before her in a stance that matched his own.

Such a small tell, but it spoke volumes. Azula of the cat-like grace never fumbled a landing. And suddenly he realized how she deceived them all: The asylum staff sedated her so much, she must have built up a tolerance. But it wasn't complete, and Kwan told him they dosed her higher than usual tonight.

Zuko had the advantage here. And the black look Azula gave him said she knew that he knew.

With no more warning than a curl of her lip, Azula punched downward with both fists, and Zuko had to dodge back into his mother's room to avoid getting blown into the wood paneled wall. The concussive blast of blue flame left a smoldering hole in the floor where he'd been standing.

So much for the sedatives affecting her bending, he thought grimly, poking his head out the door to see Azula running for the stairs. And Zuko vaulted over the scorched floorboards in close pursuit, igniting whips of fire in his hands and bringing them down on her head — or where it would have been, if she hadn't already disappeared down the stairs to the dust-choked landing on the second floor. He cursed, sprinting after her and considering his options.

Zuko's advantage in physical strength would benefit him little, unless he could fight her at close range. Azula would also have a harder time bending at him without risking injury to herself. He would have to hope she was rational enough to consider that —

He jumped the last few stairs to the landing, firing off two bursts of flame at her as he fell. Azula twisted at the waist and bent an arm behind her to deflect his first blast, even as she ran for the stairs. But Zuko had put more force behind his second, and it knocked her off her feet. Azula tumbled painfully end over end through the dust, her short, sharp cries punctuated by the dull thuds of her repeatedly striking the gray stone floor. She missed the stairs and hit one of the wood columns to the side of them instead.

Zuko closed quickly on her, one fist held protectively in front of him, his other hand at the ready. "Surrender now, Azula!" he ordered harshly, stopping just short of where she started to pick herself up off the floor. "I don't want to hurt you."

"Of course you do," Azula darkly contradicted him. Her hair spilled over her face, making it impossible to glimpse her expression. But her clenched fists and the tension in her arms made her intent obvious enough to Zuko. "You just don't want to admit that you can't!" And with this last, she twisted where she knelt on knees and elbows, sitting abruptly to cast her hand out at Zuko.

He swept his arms before him to disperse the flames that never came. This did nothing for the dust she threw in his eyes. Zuko fell back, coughing and swiping at his eyes, just in time to avoid the kick she twisted to aim at his legs.

He dimly perceived her jump quickly to her feet, tossing her hair behind her shoulders, but Azula moved out of his limited field of vision. Zuko just managed to throw his arms up in a partial block, but couldn't see where her attack was coming from. The burst of blue flame threw him across the room and into the little console table that sat beneath the discolored wall where their family portrait used to hang.

The table shattered on impact, and Zuko's vision swam when he tried to pick himself up from the debris, wondering if he'd broken any bones. He thought Azula might have done when she hit that column, from how slowly she walked up to him now, holding her left side.

"You're proving unusually hard-headed tonight," she remarked, stopping beside one of the large decorative urns that lined the wall to run her free hand along its smooth black side, brushing away the dust that coated it. "So much the worse for your head." And she gave the urn a mighty shove that would have toppled it on Zuko, if he hadn't rolled stiffly out of the way and back to his feet. It crashed to the floor instead, shattering on top of the sad remains of the table.

Zuko had to watch it fall out of the corner of his eye, wondering what would possess her to try something like that; he led Azula's retreat with a gout of flames from his outstretched arm that cut her off from the stairs. She didn't bother to block his fire, circling nimbly out of the way instead. She wanted to knock him unconscious? he considered. Zuko couldn't believe she hadn't tried to throw lightning at him yet, if she was as fast as Uncle said. Unless she was just afraid he would redirect it…

Azula put the stair rail between herself and Zuko before she returned fire, bringing her right arm up over her head and then down in a sharp arc, two fingers extended. Her strike made all the more elegant by the long, trailing sleeve of her robe, fringed with gold, that followed the arc of her flames. Could she mean to take him hostage? Zuko thought, abandoning his own efforts to break her wave of fire with a roundhouse kick. She had to know he would never go along with that.

But Azula turned a quick circle, arms drawn to her chest as if to build momentum, before Zuko realized she was building up to a fresh blow. When she threw her left arm out with a bolt of blue flame, he crossed his arms solidly in front of him, and even blocking it fully, was still pushed back by the force of her strike.

He grit his teeth in frustration, falling into a crouch and swinging his legs in two low, sweeping kicks that loosed a ring of fire around him. She would keep this up as long as she needed, until he made a fatal mistake. Azula knew where her weakness lay, and as long as she could confine their fight to open spaces like the dusty landing, she would never let him get close enough to incapacitate her.

His flames rushed through the gaps in the stair rail. Azula leapt atop it in a handstand that would have done Ty Lee proud, but didn't make the mistake of trying to support her weight with her arms for very long. Instead she twisted in midair, kicking flames down at him even as she righted herself on the rail, balancing on both bare feet with her arms held out at her sides. A quick tremor that rippled through her was the only sign of the effort this cost Azula.

But she also didn't seem to want Zuko to alert his forces to her location, he realized. He took advantage of her distraction to fake a run at the wall of windows lined with rice paper, interspersed with wood columns behind him. And the silvery light of the moon was cast into insignificance by a swift burst of blue flame from behind him, that cut off his route to the windows. Her warning shot.

Zuko spun on his heel, and threw a series of flaming punches in quick succession, just as she jumped down from the stair rail. Azula blocked them with a high sweep of her leg; the last snuffed out some distance from her, when she reached into the air and closed her hand into a fist. "No one else to fight your battles now," she said darkly.

"We'll see," was all Zuko replied, smiling inwardly when her eyes narrowed at his implication. And he bolted for the stairs they just descended, gaining them before she could take another shot at him. Her flames chased him up the stairs, as relentless as their source. Zuko could hear her close behind him, and allowed himself a moment of relief that she took the bait, even as he searched his memory for where up here would be best to trap her…

He was thinking a little too hard, unfortunately, to remember the smoking hole Azula blew in the floorboards outside their mother's room, and tripped in it on his way down the hall. Zuko swore softly, and had to throw himself through the door into the bedroom to avoid a fresh blast of blue flame she threw at him. He just managed to lock the door behind him when he heard her soft footfalls come to a stop outside; his eyes cast about the room, searching for some way to salvage this ambush— The wardrobe!

Zuko just managed to hide himself inside, drawing the paneled door nearly closed, when her first kick struck the bedroom door. The next blew it off its hinges in a burst of flame. It landed in a splintered heap not far from where he hid. And Zuko narrowed his eyes in the musty darkness of the wardrobe, watching her step foot inside the room, her hands held loosely before her, fingers joined. Her eyes searched shadows and corners for him.

He tensed in anticipation. Just a little closer, and she would — she would remember she hadn't closed the wardrobe door. And Zuko cursed himself for forgetting she had a near-perfect memory, thought back to that one time he'd searched her room. How careful he'd been to put everything back exactly where he found it, and she still knew. His sister never missed little details like that, and hadn't let him live it down for days.

As if Azula heard his thoughts, her eyes darted to the wardrobe. Her head turned directly toward him, and a wicked smirk curved her lips. With two fingers extended and a casual turn of her wrist, she set the wardrobe aflame.

But Zuko had already burst from hiding in the eerie flickering of her blue fire, and leapt at her with a war cry, and daggers of flame in his hands. Azula ducked his swing and rolled swiftly to the side. He turned on her to press his advantage, but she sprang up to meet him quicker than he expected, and they collided…

Zuko froze in the warm orange light of the wardrobe that burned freely beside them now, when her left hand grabbed the back of his neck — and two fingers of her right thrust into the hollow of his jaw. The daggers of flame in his hands went out, bare inches from burning her robe. Without them, he probably looked like he'd paused in the act of hugging her, and thought better of it. But he didn't dare try to remove his hands.

She had only to ignite the fire at her fingertips, and he was dead.

"Is this what you wanted?" Azula said softly, lifting her head so the tip of her nose just brushed his chin. And Zuko realized, bitterly, that she guessed his intent.

He stiffened at her closeness. Her body was pressed right against him, leaving little to the imagination. He was probably about to die. So he really should be thinking of anything other than how very thin her robe was.

Her hand ran slowly up the back of his hair, and Azula leaned her head close to whisper, "You were a fool to come alone." Her voice was low and almost seductive, her breath hot in his ear. "And if you try to hold me here, I'll show you just how much."

But Zuko jerked back reflexively before she could conclude her threat, when he felt the smallest of tugs at the back of his head — He should have remembered she was left-handed — This was probably all that saved his life, when Azula slashed downward with the pin that held his topknot in place, opening a stinging gash beneath his right eye.

And Zuko struck her hard across the face.

She fell back from the force of his blow and dropped the golden pin, her lip split and bleeding. Zuko stared in horror first at her and then at the hand he still held before him, as if he suspected it of acting against his will. He hadn't meant to do — How could he — Why couldn't she just be normal? the old resentment drowned out his shock, when Azula reached up to touch her bleeding lip and laughed once, harshly. And something in him broke.

With an inarticulate howl of rage, Zuko charged at her, grabbing Azula around the waist to ram her brutally into the nightstand beside the crimson-draped canopy bed. She uttered a faint gasp of pain when she hit, knocking the glass lamp to the floor where it shattered, but then bent in his grip. Lithe fingers grabbed the sash that cinched his waist to pull his long vest up over his head — and set it on fire. And Azula slipped his grasp.

He tore and twisted his way from the burning cloth with an angry shout, stifling her flames with his own bending. Zuko threw the charred silk aside and gave chase when he found Azula fleeing. He overtook her at the foot of the bed. She favored her left ankle, and it occurred to some distant, rational part of him that she might have turned it when he rushed her.

Zuko grabbed her wrist to jerk her back, and didn't know he burned her until he felt the heat beneath his fingers. Her twisted ankle could not support her weight when he pulled, and Azula fell against him with a sharp cry that choked off too quickly, as if she were afraid to make a sound.

He barely had time to register this, his hand still gripped her hot and blistered skin, when Azula pressed a soft kiss to the side of his neck. Zuko went absolutely still, his face frozen in surprise even if he didn't let her go. His stomach lurched like he stepped off the edge of a precipice, fallen into the gap between who he was before she did this, and now. He still stood in that attitude when her free hand slid under the crossed collar of his crimson shirt.

Her fingertips on his skin were electric, and Zuko exhaled a shuddering breath when he remembered to breathe again. She was— Why was she— What? He struggled to form a coherent thought, or even conceive of his danger, when he leaned into her next kiss, and her teeth pulled at the soft skin where his neck joined his shoulder. Her nails began to scratch, he could feel her tense against him…

No. The word cut like morning light through the fog that settled on his mind. He gripped her arms hard to throw her off. And ended up not letting go, when Azula only kissed him more insistently, her arms twisted in his grasp as if she would tear free and … what? Kill him?

Her feverish kisses gave Zuko the odd impression of being circled, as if she were only looking for an opening to land a fatal blow. He bent his head to try to glimpse her expression in the moonlight that shone through the broken window panes. If he could just catch her gaze, he would know why — He would know what to do.

But her eyes were tightly closed as a child's who pretends to be invisible, just because she cannot see. Tears struggled at the corners of them, and she turned her face away when Zuko brought his mouth too close to hers. Such a fucking tease, the ugly thought burst into his mind like a dam breaking.

His jaw clenched at the slight, and he grabbed for the knot that cinched her robe, tearing it asunder with hands more forceful than skilled. There was nothing she could hide from him, whatever she thought. Azula didn't try to stop him, but shivered once as if with cold when her robe fell open. Her fingers grasped his collar, and she pressed closer, as if to hide herself against him —

But Zuko refused her, tore the shirt impatiently from his shoulders and cast it to the gray stone floor, like throwing down a gauntlet. He wouldn't give her any purchase. He could hear his own blood pound in his ears, when he seized her face in his hands to force her acknowledgment.

"Look at me!" he demanded unnecessarily, for all that his fingers nearly closed about her neck, his thumbs forked beneath her chin to make it so. But Zuko stopped at the face she showed him.

Her dark brows drew low over amber eyes that were impenetrable as two stones. The curve of her mouth was as fixed as a painted smile on a porcelain face. She didn't feel anything. She never did.

Zuko hated that smirk at once, wanted nothing so much as to see it gone. It was wrong, as wrong as everything about her. That was the only motive he could think of to explain why he pressed his mouth to hers, if he had been interested in explanations at the moment. But the only thought that broke through his haste was that she tasted like blood.

Her fingers trailed down his chest to strip the cloth belt from his waist, and loose the fly of his pants. He made a strangled sound deep in his throat when he felt her hand on— but his step back landed on broken glass, and it was hard to decide which was the more immediate concern. These distractions might account for why he didn't realize she was pushing him gradually toward the bed, until he hit the edge of it and sat abruptly.

He grabbed her arm reflexively and pulled her along, vowing she would not escape him. But Azula sprang in behind him without resistance, an unexpected concession, and would have turned his momentum against him to pin Zuko to the dusty covers, if he hadn't scrambled back to the dark wood headboard.

There was nowhere to go then, no time for any defense when Azula practically climbed him in her urgency. Her fingernails carved furrows in his neck and shoulders, she trailed heated kisses down his scar. His hands had found their way inside her robe, and he held her hips in place with a bruising grasp. He lifted his head, and his mouth captured hers. His teeth tugged at her lip, demanding admission, until she bit down hard on his, and he entered her.

Azula gave a soft gasp, such a small sound he might have missed it, had his every sense not been heightened by an adrenaline rush he could only compare to redirecting lightning. To hold so much power in his hands…

He felt her whole body tense up around him, her arms closed about his neck to pull him into the closest thing to a hug they'd shared since they were children. Something coiled in his chest and threatened to break, when her breath came so hard and fast he thought she might be having a panic attack.

Zuko said something indistinct into her ear, but lost even that limited clarity when she reached into his hair, and spread her knees wider to sink into him. He groaned and fell back against the headboard with her. He couldn't keep his hold even as Azula tightened hers, gripping his hair hard to pull herself up, moving her body against his in a slow grind.

His low moans corresponded to the speed of her movements, and even he couldn't tell just what they signified anymore. Azula looked over his shoulder, her face turned into the headboard so he couldn't see the awful concentration in it, her breathing strictly controlled. As if she were performing some complicated kata. Her eyes were closed, her mouth set in a pained grimace.

She began banging his head against the wall and top of the headboard with every grind, and Zuko was still too overwhelmed to do more than try to reach for her bent arms or trailing sleeves, to stop her. But his nerveless fingers wouldn't obey him, could not seem to stray above her waist. And anyway, what would happen if he let go? Who knew what she would do? Who knew what —

And suddenly as Azula began, she pulled him upright again, both of them panting, Zuko still trembling from their exertion. She shifted where she sat on top of him, but couldn't disengage when he still held her hips against him. Instead her fingers clenched in his hair, and she jerked his head back, forcing him to look her in the face.

A thin sheen of sweat covered both their skins. His lips were parted, his scar flushed crimson, and the train of Ursa's robe spread out behind her on the dusty bed. He thought he saw his own anguish in her mouth drawn tight. Her eyes accused him. They had the same eyes.

They were the same. They were the same…

"Now you've taken everything from me," she whispered harshly. "Is it enough? Will it ever be?"

"Never," Zuko breathed. A reply more articulate perhaps, but no less unthinking than any other she compelled from him tonight.

Her sudden stillness was his only warning, but this time, he heeded it. Zuko threw her on her back with a wordless cry of outrage. She hit the mattress so hard her head bounced, and the daggers of blue flame in her hands went out. His long hair singed and smoking, he fell on her in an instant. He couldn't let her bend again at such close quarters, she would kill him…

He moved hastily to pin her down, grabbing her arms to restrain her. But she twisted beneath him, kneeing Zuko in the ribs to try to throw him off. A pained grunt escaped him, he winced and almost lost his hold. Her eyes blazed hatred at him. Her teeth were bared in an almost animal expression, when she inhaled sharply. It would be all she needed to finish him —

Without time even for conscious thought, he crushed his mouth against hers, and stole her breath before she could ignite. Azula jolted with surprise and a frantic noise of protest that died in her throat, without voice. Zuko only deepened the kiss, and she wrenched in his grasp, arched beneath him in a last desperate attempt at escape. But he clamped an arm around her waist and gripped the damp hair at the nape of her neck, holding her so tightly against him he left her no room to move.

As if this had been a signal, she shuddered once and went still, without explanation. It felt enough like surrender that Zuko broke from her, breathing hard, and laid his head against hers, his harsh exhalations stirring dust from the faded covers. He could feel her heart beat much too fast behind her ribs, like a bird breaking itself on the bars of its cage. Zuko wondered, distantly, if there was even more wrong with her than he knew.

It was the last coherent thought he managed, before he found himself again in her midst, before he barely felt her fingers dig into his back, her nails break skin. There was too much else to feel, and he didn't know what to call any of it. And she was close, so close he couldn't tell her heat from his own, where he ended or she began. She would be the end of him.

She cried out once, and his stomach twisted with guilt, but he didn't stop, couldn't make out what she screamed before she strangled the sound in her throat, as if she were scared of getting caught. Then there were only his ragged breaths and her shallow ones, and waves beating a slow and ceaseless assault against the gray sands outside. She didn't speak again and only held tighter, as certain as Zuko, it seemed, that letting go would mean her death…

He had no way of telling how much time had passed, when he surfaced from the black well of instinct with a shudder, and realized he was spent. Azula lay still beneath him, her thin fingers resting lightly on his shoulder blades and the back of his neck. With what felt like a monumental effort, Zuko pulled away just enough to look at her, and her arms offered no resistance, she registered no reaction.

She was gone.

That first glimpse of her face was like a dagger to the heart. Her eyes were empty of recognition. Her lips moved silently, forming the same word over and over again. But he couldn't read it.

A deep and visceral horror filled him. She was never this bad before. He did this, he did this…

But no sooner had he reached for the tears that drew streaks from the corners of her eyes to her hairline, than she changed, with frightening swiftness. Her vacant gaze lit with a predatory gleam, a look he'd seen her wear before, but one he caught more often from his father.

Azula pushed him off and climbed quickly astride him, holding him down with no more than her little weight and a hand on his chest. She reached up with the other and turned his face away, pushing his scarred cheek to the rumpled sheets. Her sharp nails pressed lightly into his skin.

Even if Zuko couldn't see what she was doing, he could feel it. She had pushed him beyond the limits of his endurance, in more ways than one. But he couldn't stop his body responding to hers, though it protested now as strongly as his mind. Oh Agni, this was wrong. This was so wrong…

"Aaah-ah! Ngh…" was all the objection Zuko could manage, when she thrust herself aggressively against him. It was too much. He had nothing left to give, and she was hurting him.

Azula leant down, her hand pressing harder against his jaw. Her hair fell over them like a curtain descending. "You're mine. You'll stay mine," she breathed, and her voice sent a shiver down his spine. She didn't even sound like herself.

"You will bend for me, you will obey me." She punctuated each command with a thrust of her hips, and Zuko's hands on them did little to deter her. "You'll never tell. You'll never tell. And even if you tried," she faltered here, and had to choke out, "who would believe you?" Her tears fell on his chest, so hot they almost scalded, when she whispered haltingly, "Azula always lies. Azula always — lies…"

And Zuko turned his head to look at her when she drew back. Her hands pressed against his chest, her fingers clenched and unclenched compulsively. Frozen with the shock of realization, she looked down on him as if she'd just woken from a nightmare, to find it followed her into the waking world. "No…" she whispered brokenly, her voice edged with panic.

"Azu— 'Zula," he tried, reaching up to grasp her shaking hands. But she tore them from his fingers, her teeth clenched with disgust. Making up her mind to run, she tried to climb off of him, but her legs shook and couldn't support her weight, and Azula only fell in beside him.

With the last of his dwindling strength, Zuko pulled her against him, holding her head to his chest. He felt her fingers ghost over the starburst scar she left him with the last time they fought, and come to rest there. The rest of her trembled with rage.

"I missed you," he offered weakly, too exhausted to realize this was the first time he had admitted it to anyone. Even himself.

And had Zuko been a little more awake, he might have known to worry at her deadly quiet, before Azula bit out, "Go to sleep."

He fell asleep breathing the smoky scent of her hair. It made him think of fire burning on a starlit beach, of sitting on the cobwebbed porch of this empty house, holding on to all that remained of the life he'd known before. Of his sister, come to join him in his loneliness…


Moonlight still cast the shadow of windowpanes over the siblings like the bars of a cage, when Azula's eyes sprang open. The abruptness of her waking betrayed that she had not been sleeping at all, and she disentangled herself from the unconscious form of her brother to climb from the crimson sheets.

Azula took five halting steps into the dusty room before she succeeded in tying the sash of her robe with shaking hands, so tightly she could barely breathe. It wasn't nearly tight enough. Her jaw clenched to keep from screaming, and she didn't look back. Not yet.

She had done worse than this, she reminded herself. She had done worse, and lived. She would survive this too.

The only question now, was whether Zuko would.

Azula slowly turned, and her eyes fell on him with a baleful glance. He lay on his back, long hair spread behind him on the pillow. Half-covered by the faded silk sheets, his chest rose and fell with each breath, and the arm nearest her still reached for where she'd lain. He looked every bit as secure and content as she had imagined him, these four years she lost as his prisoner.

He'd taken everything from her. He would never stop taking from her. And Azula recalled his unthinking admission. What she'd wrung from him, in a moment of carelessness. She knew it. She knew it.

Her mouth bent into something resembling a grimace, and her sight blurred with tears. She clenched her hands into fists to forget how Zuko tried to hold them, when she panicked. He was just trying to save his own worthless life, she told herself, bitterly. It had nothing to do with you. It never did.

Azula had to look down before she realized she had drawn her fists to her chest, as if to shield herself from a blow. Her eyes closed against the shame of it, she turned from him and let down her arms in one swift motion. She limped the last few steps to her mother's writing desk against the paneled wall opposite the windows and the wardrobe gutted by her fire, cursing her sprained ankle, and seated herself before it.

She had to take several deep breaths with head clutched in hands before she composed herself enough to retrieve sheets of paper and brush, and a dried up old inkwell, from beneath the hinged panel of the small desk. Gritting her teeth at yet one more reminder of what she'd been reduced to, Azula spat twice into the inkwell, and spread the moisture around with the brush.

She smoothed the paper with her hands and printed four characters down the length of it. They did not satisfy her, and she crumpled the paper and wrote them again. And again, and again, and —

Finally, she stood from the finely carved chair, her message clutched firmly in hand. She circled the canopy bed before a cool breeze off the ocean ruffled her hair, and Azula looked over to catch a glint of moonlight off pearl from the folds of Zuko's discarded vest.

It was the pearl dagger, she realized, taking a few halting steps closer to kneel down beside the charred cloth. The dagger their uncle gave Zuko from his abortive conquest of Ba Sing Se. How much she coveted this once, Azula recalled. But he never meant it for her. And she contemplated putting it to a use he never intended.

Her fingers closed around the hilt…