-Chapter VIII-

"Whenever a man does a thoroughly stupid thing, it is always from the noblest motives."
― Oscar Wilde

His gloved hand pushed her shoulder back away slowly, deeply conflicted about the proper way to react to Asami's brash actions. "I—Ms. Sato, you…" His other hand reached up to his forehead, grasping it in pain. "You know this is an Opium bar, right? I fear that you're heavily under the influence of these substances they put in your beverage."

Asami's heart sank momentarily; he had resumed with his sense of propriety, regained his stiff manners. "…I wasn't aware of that," she shook her head slowly, backing off as though she had been the one to cause him the pain he grasped upon his forehead. "Perhaps I should be going home, but… I doubt it's safe for me to operate my Satomobile."

"And I never learned how to use those things," Iroh sighed, leading her out the door of the club. "I'm afraid I wouldn't know where to begin."

As her heels grazed the cobblestone sidewalks of the exterior city, her arm instinctively reached up and around Iroh's shoulders to brace herself against any possible falls. As if he knew this was for her safety, his arm reached down, holding her by the waist.

"Commander Bumi told me…" Asami began, smiling up to him. "He told me that you… That you, uh, like me, for lack of a better word." Her normally impressive vocabulary seemed to be lost in the haze that the toxic substance she had ingested put upon her; the words sounded juvenile, but they were all she felt she could muster.

Iroh chuckled, himself nearly stumbling over the uneven pavers in his sober embarrassment. "I doubt those were his exact words, Ms. Sato."

Fuddling with the Satomobile keys in her pocketbook in her open hand, Asami reached out and passed them to the prince. "He said… something to the extent of I 'have your head in a mess', if that makes sense."

"I still don't know how to drive, Ms. Sato," Iroh shook his head, trying to change the subject. "I hardly understand why you expect me to take these."

"It's a convertible Satomobile, and I left the hardtop back in the garage. I can't leave it here overnight or sleep in it," Asami chuckled, leaning into him to urge him towards her car. "I'll have to give you a crash course in driving lessons."

The night air was growing colder by the moment; surely a commute home without any shield from the wind would be interesting. Asami also considered the other factors—a novice driver, her intoxication, the risk of total failure if he forgot which pedal was the brake. Asami stumbled ahead of him, taking the keys back to unlock the driver's side door, then slid across the seat to the passenger's side as she gestured for him to take the seat.

Handing the keys back to him, she pointed to a circular metal disc with a square hole in the center under the steering wheel shaft. "That's the ignition. Put the key in, then push and turn."

He cautiously followed her instructions, and jumped slightly when the engine roared to life. "That's a—powerful sounding engine," he stammered nervously. "What do I do next?"

"There's a couple things," Asami shook her head. "First, this is the gearshift—don't call it the prndl—and it controls what mode the car is in. Right now, the vehicle is currently parked." She reached over to a copper lever, and twisted the handle forward. "What I just engaged was your headlights—you need to have those on to drive at night."

As Iroh inspected the gearshift cautiously, Asami carried on explaining. "Lucky for you, there's only two pedals where your right foot should be right now. This is one of my few automatics—if it were a manual transmission, I'd be truly out of luck."

"Okay, what do the pedals do?" He asked, looking down to where his feet were.

"The right one is acceleration, the left is the brake." Asami rubbed the bridge of her nose nervously—though an automatic transmission was easier for a new driver, the type of engine the Satomobile had was truly dangerous for a beginner. "Now, this is an 8 cylinder engine, General—that means it's very powerful upon acceleration, so you need to take it very easy. If you accelerate too quickly, you could lose control."

Iroh gulped. "I'll go as slowly as I can."

"Last things," Asami pointed around to certain areas of the council. "The steering wheel should be pretty second nature, turning left goes left, and right goes right… Unless we're in reverse, which is a lesson for another day. Oh, and—seatbelt." She reached down to the gearshift as he turned away to secure his own. "Put your foot on the break please, General."

As his leather shoe gently pressed in the left pedal, Asami slid the gearshift into drive.

"Asam—Wait!"

"Let go of the brake, General," Asami chuckled, the evidence of her intoxication finally seeping through her miniature driving lesson. "The best way to learn something new is to dive in, right?" She reached down to his leg as he began to slowly steer out into the street, letting the vehicle roll slowly on its own.

As she pressed down on his knee, the car shot forward in a wild acceleration with a powerful roar. Iroh fought to steer the vehicle as Asami's force on his knee let up, the car gradually slowing down to a manageable speed.

"Where are we even going?!" He shouted, his arms stiff and hands glued to the wheel.

Asami looked up from her daze, too entertained by Iroh's reaction to focus. "Uh—Left?"

With a sudden slam on the brake, the Satomobile drew to a complete stop, tires screeching against the flagstone streets. "Th-there?" Iroh huffed, his pulse racing with adrenaline. "Asami, that's an alley."

"Exactly—a shortcut." Her expression brightened again in reaction to hearing her first name once more. "I'm actually not quite sure where I am right now—I just feel like my home is towards the left."

With a heavy huff, he turned the vehicle towards the alley cautiously and began to drive through. A bright, white light shone in Asami's peripherals—before her Satomobile could pull into the alley, a commercial Cabbage Car slammed into the side, flipping the vehicle over entirely; the tires of the vehicle had raised up onto the curb.

It felt as though time slowed down—random objects flew from the foot wells slowly; her handbag, its contents, a random pen or two all flew away.

Her eyes heavy, she looked to the General, who had shielded his head in a much faster response to what was happening. She could hear him screaming, yet it sounded muffled, as though she was hearing him through a thick wall.

"I'm going to die," She muttered, shutting her eyes as the surrounding world went black.

She woke with an ache, tucked beneath the white satin sheets of the grand master bed in her room. Asami sat up suddenly, breathing heavily. "It couldn't have been another dream," she gasped, looking around the room.

"Oh, it certainly wasn't," Mr. Chang interrupted, filling the vase of gardenias with fresh water. "You've been out asleep for over a day and half, Miss. I'd also urge you to inspect the large welts you have scattered across your body, if you'd like further evidence."

Looking over the deep bruises along her arms, Asami tried to remember exactly what happened. "Where's Iroh?"

"Do I look like his secretary, Ms. Sato?" The butler finished pouring fresh water into the vase and began to leave the room. "It's four in the afternoon, by the way. Perhaps you'd like to get out of bed sometime this century?"

Asami shook her head and slid off the side of the bed, her legs instantly aching as they felt the weight of her body pressing them down to the floor. With a groan, she attempted to walk over to the mirror attached to the large vanity; the General's flowers were in full bloom, with the exception of a single shy blossom near the bottom of the bouquet.

Her entire body ached, but she slid the shoulders of her nightgown down to look at the bruising on her back—it almost seemed as though an arm had been flung around her sharply, causing the deep, red arm-shaped welts. Asami's eyebrow furrowed as she started to notice them doing something odd.

As she focused, the pain she was in started to slowly subside, the bruises on her arms shrunk until they disappeared entirely. Overwhelmed by her confusion, she turned to look at her back—the place where Iroh had reached over to protect her was fading away.

"Dear Spirits," Asami muttered aloud, staring into the mirror as a welt on her neck drew back into her skin and disappeared. "Dear Spirits, dear Spirits—what the hell is going on?"

Pulling the straps of her nightgown back on, Asami dashed out of her room and down the hall to the grand staircase, observing the painting of her above the grand doorway from her perch upon the high stairs.

Her heart rate shot up in horror—the portrait had grown exponentially fouler, the skin of the painted version of herself welted and covered in dreadful bruises. It even seemed as though the woman depicted in oils had aged.

Desperate to take the evidence of the dark sorcery down, Asami ran back to her room and slid into a pair of shoes.

The painting had to go—it needed to be placed somewhere that no one would ever find, no one would ever notice the evidence of the change again. As Asami ran back down the stairs and out to the shed which held the step ladder, she ran past her father's workshop, a painful reminder of what had passed almost a year before.

That's where I'll hide it, she thought. Deep in the workshop, down in the catacombs no one ever went to anymore. Then, I'll have the main structure destroyed; it'll seem like the workshop was never even there.

She pulled the ladder out of the shed, and ran back into the house to take the painting down. As she grasped the frame with both hands, Asami thought she could almost hear the painting growl, as though it wished to remain where it was.

"You're not going to sit here and remind me of my sins," Asami barked back at the still picture. "You, my dear friend… You're going somewhere that no one will ever find you."

In the darkest catacombs of her father's hidden workshop, Asami found a secluded room—she threw the painting down upon a few wooden crates, and covered the image with a heavy tarp. As she walked out and locked the door, a demonic noise came from the cracks between the door and the frame; a deep scream that rumbled from the depths of the room with the force of a multitude of voices.

The smell of familiar incenses filled the room; Iroh tried to sit up quickly, but a sharp pain in his torso prevented him from doing so entirely. He groaned as he placed his hand on his ribs, which was swiftly swatted away by a hand that wasn't his own.

"Your Highness, your ribs are broken," A nurse scolded him, "Please refrain from touching them too much. You have quite a few broken bones, to be frank."

"I'm not in the hospital, am I?" He glanced around—no, the room was familiar. "Wait… That's not possible."

"Your Highness, you're in the royal palace. I can send for the Fire Lady if you wish." The nurse picked up a tray of medications and began to walk out of the grand brass door.

"That won't be necessary—I need to get back to the fleet," Iroh shook his head, trying to remember why he was back home in the first place, let alone with broken bones. It was a blur; nothing he could recall made sense. The last thing he could remember was Asami kissing him in the bar, and he couldn't remember why she had done so in the first place. More important than his fleet, he wanted to make sure she was okay, too.

"Your fleet departed from the harbor a day ago, Prince Iroh. I'm afraid they're long gone by now." The nurse began to close the door behind her. "You mother wished for me to call her as soon as you awoke regardless—I'll send for her promptly."

Within a few moments, the Fire Lady came rushing in the door. At first, Iroh couldn't tell if she was overwhelmed with joy or completely furious. Raising an eyebrow at her peculiar body language, he decided to assume both were true.

This was quickly confirmed with a sharp slap across his cheek.

"Iroh!" She exclaimed, her face fuming red. "I'm—I'm so happy you're awake, but you've done something incredibly stupid!" She leant down to hug him cautiously, careful to not hurt his broken bones or bruises. "What on earth were you doing driving? It figures that you'd get into a terrible accident on your first try."

"Mom, I…" Iroh raised his hand to his now sore cheek, adding on to the many things that ached.

"There's no excusing this!" The Fire Lady glared. "You could've killed yourself and that poor girl you were with."

"Asami? She's… She's alive?"

"Of course," his mother shook her head. "I had the police report expedited here, I wanted to know what the only heir to the throne of the Fire Nation was doing, even thinking about driving one of those dangerous vehicles. In their report, they stated that the young woman you were with was heavily under the influence of a substance." She paused once, tapping her chin with her forefinger. "Oh, and you also totaled the car."

The memories slowly started to form; the Opium bar, the brief driving lesson she had given him, the truck that slammed into the Satomobile which forced his memories back into the depths of his subconscious. "I was trying to do the right thing. She couldn't drive herself home."

"Chivalry is only appropriate if it doesn't risk your life, Iroh," his mother finally took a seat on the bed, seemingly coming to terms with the relief that her son was still alive. "Just because you think something is what a brave prince would do, or something that your grandfather would do… It doesn't mean you should do it."

"Mom," Iroh paused, trying to change the subject. "Why did the commander leave so quickly?"

The Fire Lady sat back a bit, perplexed by his question. "You've been resting for three days, sweetheart. Commander Bumi brought you back here, you should be thankful for that."

"I had business in the Capitol," Iroh shook his head. He was truly concerned for Asami; just because she survived the accident didn't mean she was okay. "I need to get back there as soon as I can."

"Which will be when you're fully healed," his mother grumbled. "There's no way for your ribs to heal properly if you return to active duty. Until the physician says you're all better, you're required to remain within the palace grounds." She stood up from the bed slowly, fetching a pair of crutches from the far side of his wall and placed them close to his bed. "Your right leg is broken as well, which you probably haven't yet noticed due to the pain medications. You'll need these to get around."

As his mother left the room, he considered just how far away he was from what exactly had happened. Three days had passed, and now he was thousands of miles away from the city.

He was back home, in the beautiful, sheltered volcanic palace he had grown up in. This room wasn't his childhood room; perhaps one of the many royal guest rooms, or a remodeling of his former abode. Reaching out for the crutches his mother had left at the side of his bed, Iroh attempted to hoist himself up, suddenly feeling the sharp pain in his broken right leg. Grinding his teeth together as he sat up straight, Iroh tried to stand up slowly, bracing his fragile torso against the wooden crutches.

The golden hallways of the palace were cold, yet radiated warmth in their familiarity; Iroh slowly progressed down the hall, the pattern of the crutches under his hands alternating with his good leg became second-nature as he focused on his destination. The cast coating his right leg in a protective barrier was at first a hassle, but soon became familiar.

In the center of the palace was a beautiful courtyard, the center of it possessing an ancient tree which shaded a small turtle duck pond. As he took a seat on the stone bench under the tree that was older than his grandfather, Iroh looked out into the calm waters of the pond, undisturbed by the family of turtle ducks which slept on the warm, soft grasses nearby.

The air here always smelled of sulfur, an ever present reminder that his home rested upon an active volcano. Iroh rested the crutches upon the ancient tree and leant back, focusing his eyes upon the hazy yellow sky. He was trapped here, in this magnificent palace, unable to leave.

"And it's my own doing," he muttered aloud to himself, shaking his head. If only he had never taken the wheel, if he had only persuaded her to call a taxi, things could've been different. He'd still be in the capitol for a few more days, not stuck in the Fire Nation for a few weeks.

Months, maybe. Iroh sighed, burying his head in his aching arms. He wanted to return to his work, wanted to be better, wanted to apologize to Asami, but most importantly, wanted to see if she was truly okay. Bumi is right, he thought silently. She does have my head in a mess.


-Thanks for reading! A new chapter should be up by next Wednesday at the latest. Reviews are always appreciated, and I always take them into consideration when I'm writing!