A/N: FINALLY! Another chapter! Sorry I hadn't gotten this up sooner, but as you all know, it is the end if the semester and things can get pretty stressful this time of year. This is when my life goes -ppbth- down the drain. With ROTC and college work combined, I've had a lot on my plate. But I still got this chapter done, even though it is long! Yay!

I love Eli, he's so cool... :)

Chapter 10—Eli

Zuko awoke to the sound of his cell door sliding open with an audible screech. He raised his head off the cold, concrete floor groggily and he blinked as a pair of pants and a shirt was thrown at him. Confused, he held the cloth up and stared at it, not paying attention to the guard standing above him angrily. It was not until the guard yelled at him to get up that the memories of the night's events returned to him. Sitting up, he closed his eyes and sighed. He was not ready to begin the end of his life, but he knew he had no choice. The guard remained standing in front of Zuko as he quickly removed his Nazi uniform and replaced it with the prisoner garb that had been rudely handed to him. With the greatest regret, Zuko removed the swastika arm band from his old uniform and placed in on his upper arm while the guard held him at gun point.

"Hurry up!" the guard barked as he grabbed Zuko by the sleeve and dragged him out of the cell. Zuko calmly obeyed, allowing the guard to lead him out of the cell into the grounds of the camp. The sky was still dark and it made him wonder how long he had actually been allowed to sleep. He glanced over to the horizon and noticed only the slightest sliver of light beginning to rise with the morning. Sighing again, he looked down at his feet and followed the guard through the camp. They passed a few buildings until they came across a building with prisoners flowing out of the door around it.

Zuko watched as each one of the men standing outside turned and glared at him with obvious malice in their eyes. He kept his face blank, not wanting to portray any sort of feeling to any of them and looked away. They knew who he was; his arm band gave him away and he would have given anything to be rid of it, to blend with the crowd and to have the others ignorant.

But it was not to be. He knew his sister well and if there was anything she exceeded at, it was mental torture. She had found the best way to put her brother through the worst kind of hell imaginable, and physical exertion was only part of it.

Zuko took his place at the edge of the gaggle of people between an unnaturally skinny boy who was shorter than him and an older man with only slightly more bulk than the boy. He stood at least a head taller than Zuko and his eyes bore down on the German with relentless hatred. Only out of curiosity did Zuko turn to see the boy's reaction. He was quite the opposite of his larger counterpart, nervously staring at him and trying his best to stay as far away from the ex-Nazi as he could.

Deciding that he had had enough, Zuko looked down at his feet and tried his best to avoid any eye contact with any of the other prisoners. He had to survive two months of this; two months and then he would be sent to Berlin to be executed. Zuko almost welcomed that fact. He wanted to die; better that then living like this for the rest of his life. He eagerly awaited his trip to the capital of his home country. To spit on the Fuehrer's shoes seconds before he was to be shot by six armed men. He closed his eyes and imagined the scene with a smile on his face.

"Get moving!" a sharp, authorative voice rang out, jarring Zuko from his thoughts. Opening his eyes, he walked forward with the rest of the group to see what they were doing at the front of the so-called line. The soldiers were handing out tools such as shovels and pickaxes to the workers. Some took large wheelbarrows before they left the building and headed out to the field beyond the encampment. Zuko was unsure of what they were doing out in the field, but he did not care. He only did as he was told and remained to himself as he grabbed a giant wheelbarrow and dragged it off to a pile of sandbags.

There was a group of Jews there filling the bags with sand and pilling them up to be taken to a different location. When Zuko arrived, they all glared at him but allowed him to help them load the wheelbarrow with the sandbags. He worked in silence, not bothering to speak at all and in return, the others did not speak to him. He wanted it that way; it was better than having them accuse him of heinous acts he never committed. He was in no situation to take their ridicule.

Taking two sandbags at a time, he loaded them onto his wheelbarrow and when he turned to grab some more, he was surprised to see that one was handed to him. He blinked, staring at the sandbag with uncertainty before looking up at the man who was handing it to him. He was smiling, a strange sight for a prisoner in a Nazi death camp, and looking at Zuko as if he were a best friend.

Suspicious, Zuko took the last bag and loaded it onto the wheelbarrow before picking it up and leaving without saying a word. He distrusted the man. No one had ever smiled at him like that in his life with the exception of four people; his mother, his uncle Iroh, his cousin Lu Ten, and Katara. His heart sank as the beautiful smile of the woman he loved entered his mind. Her bright, blue eyes and endearing smile were all he could think of as he dragged the wheelbarrow filled with sandbags across the camp. He remembered how happy he was when she had asked him to dance, how fast his heart beat from more than just the dance. He frowned from his anger at his own people. He was determined to see Katara before he was to be executed. One way or another, he would see her again.

He arrived at the edge of the fence where the camp separated the male area from the female area. He stopped the wheelbarrow near another group of workers and began to unload, handing the sandbags to each, hatred-filled faced prisoner. Zuko tried not to look any one of them in the eye as he unloaded the wheelbarrow and focused his gaze on the ground beneath him. He finished unloading in silence before leaving the area with an empty wheelbarrow.

When he returned to refill the wheelbarrow, the man from before was still there and still smiling. Zuko did not understand what made this man smile as he did. It seemed unorthodox for someone as thin and weak as he was, but yet there he was, the kindest expression on his face as if he had never been taken to Auschwitz in the first place. He was curious, but for some reason he could not bring himself to ask. Instead, he gratefully accepted the man's help and left to unload his wheelbarrow once more.

His work was repetitive and tedious, but he kept going, not even bothering to ask why he was moving sandbags from one end of the camp to the next. It was pointless, he knew, but he also knew that that was the point. The Nazis wanted the prisoners to be kept busy in any way possible.

The day passed by agonizingly slow. It seemed an eternity before the heat of the afternoon set in and the sky glowed a deep orange. Zuko wiped sweat from his brow as he once again picked up the full wheelbarrow and pulled it across the camp. As the night approached, the sky darkened and the air grew colder. When the glow in the sky was no longer present, the guards kept the prisoners working for several more hours under the light of several oil lamps before they led them back inside for their meal. Zuko deposited his wheelbarrow back at the tool shed before following the quiet crowd to the outdoor mess hall. They stood in a disheveled line and received only one bowl of something he hoped was soup. It smelled awful and tasted even worse, but he forced himself to stomach it knowing it was all he was going to get.

He sat alone, his fellow captives shunning him and sitting at least ten feet away from him. Every so often one would shoot him a dirty look, but he just ignored it and concentrated on downing his soup without hurling it back up again.

The soldiers did not give them very much time to eat and it was only five minutes later that they began barking orders at them, yelling at the prisoners to empty their bowls and drop them in the wash basin before returning to their sleeping quarters. Zuko did as he was told, getting in line and dropping his bowl in a large bucket filled with soapy water and leaving the rest of the captives with his escort of armed guards back to his cell. The sounds of the guards yelling at their Jewish captives slowly faded out as he walked between two soldiers to the building that his holding cell resided in. The guard in front opened the door to the building when they arrived and the guard behind him shoved him roughly inside and they continued walking until they arrived at his cold, metal cell.

The door creaked opened and he was shoved in like before but his foot caught on the floor and he fell hard on the cold concrete. He winced from the pain in his sore limbs and did not look up at his escorts as they slammed the door shut behind him. Forcing himself off the floor, Zuko crawled over to the corner of his cell and gripped his knees in an attempt to get comfortable. It failed and he ended up letting his limps sag limply at his sides as he leaned his head against the wall of the cell and fell asleep almost instantly from exhaustion.

---

Almost immediately after falling asleep it seemed he was being woken up once again by the guards. He groaned as he forced himself up into a sitting position and allowed the soldiers to pull him roughly to his feet. He swayed for a moment until he stood still and was dragged to the middle of the room and thrust into the cold, uncomfortable chair. Zuko looked up, bewildered and not understanding why he was not led out of the room to work with the rest of the captives. He opened his mouth to ask but nothing came out. Instead, his unsaid question was answered when the very person he did not want to see walked through the open cell door.

"Zuzu," she said, a malevolent smile playing across her face. "So glad you decided to stay behind for a little chat."

Zuko rolled his eyes. "Like I had a choice in the matter," he grumbled.

Azula did not reply to his sarcastic comment, only smiled and snapped her fingers at one of the soldiers near her and then pointed at her brother. He nodded once, muttered a clear "Yes, Ma'am," and tied Zuko's wrists to the arms of the chair, ensuring that he could not move. He glared daggers at his twin sister as she continued to smile and walk circles around him.

"Tell me, brother," she began. "I'm curious, why is it that you would risk your life to betray your country? What possessed you, of all things, to save a gypsy from a fate she so obviously deserved?"

Azula's words made his rage boil inside him. "She didn't deserve to be raped!" Zuko blurted out. He struggled against his bonds fruitlessly. Azula raised an eyebrow, surprised at her brother's outburst.

"Oh?" She fingered a coiled up whip at her belt thoughtfully. "You think so? You want to know what I think?" She circled around behind him and placed her hands on his shoulders, squeezing just hard enough to make him flinch. "I think a gypsy or a Jew deserves whatever punishment our soldiers or the Fuehrer so orders or thinks necessary; and if rape is decided upon, so be it."

Zuko shook his shoulders free of his sister's grip. "That's not true," he stated. "No one deserves that kind of punishment, no matter what they did. No one deserves to be here at this camp for punishment, either."

"Quite the contrary, dear brother," she countered. "These people are the reason for our country's bad reputation after the First World War. They deserve what we give them."

"No, they don't!" Zuko's blood was beginning to boil from his rage. How could she say such things? "And they aren't the reason why we're in this mess! Our fucked up government is!"

Azula frowned. It was obvious that she did not like her brother's comment. "Tell me," she said, moving back to her first question. "What is the reason why you came here to free one of the female prisoners?"

Zuko knitted his eyebrows together and lowered his head. Closing his eyes, he remembered the pleading faces of the group he had saved when they had wanted to go rescue their friend. Katara's face was what stood out the most for him, her pleading eyes begging him to help them. They haunted him, made him wish he had never agreed to take them to Auschwitz in the first place. Yet in a way he was glad he agreed to go. If he hadn't he would have never been able to get to know the gypsy girl as he had. He was grateful for the opportunity, however short it was, to be able to love Katara for all she was and have her love him in return.

He opened his eyes and glanced to his side, his eyebrows still knitted together. He refused to answer his sister's question and instead he remained quiet. Azula frowned and looked at one of her soldiers, nodding in her brother's direction. The soldier nodded once before walking over to the man strapped to the metal chair and beating him upside the head with the butt of his rifle. Zuko groaned and slowly and painfully sat up straight to glare at his sister.

Staring at her with all the hatred he had, he spoke in a strong, uncompromising voice. "You're a crazy bitch, Azula."

Her face contorted with rage. Her eyes bore down on her brother as she spoke to him. "What did you just say?"

Zuko did not even smile as he repeated his insult, even with a few more add-ons. "I said you're a psychotic bitch! No wonder you're still a virgin; what kind of man would want to get with a woman who was sure to kill him once they were through? And since I'm pretty sure that we're not Wolf Spiders, no man is willing to go through your torture for a bit of pleasure. You're just not worth it."

Azula was silent, her rage slowly boiling up inside her each second she remained unspoken. Finally, after two minutes of silence, she lunged at her brother. Taking a knife out of a sheath on her belt, she pressed the blade to his neck, her face an inch away from Zuko's. She was so close he could feel her hot breath on his skin from her rapid breathing. They looked into each other's eyes with loathing and revulsion as she spoke with a voice that shook from her fury.

"You're going to wish you had never opened your mouth, brother," she growled. The knife was pressed so hard against his skin that a thin trickle of blood began to seep from his neck and drip down to his chest. She turned to her guards. "Shackle him to the wall," she ordered.

The soldiers did as they were told, untying Zuko from the chair, the hoisted him to his feet and dragged him to the back wall of the cell where a pair of shackles hung from the ceiling. The soldiers grabbed his wrists and raised them above his head, placing them in the thick, metal cuffs and tightening them, letting him hang facing the wall. He felt the guard grab the back of his shirt and rip it open to reveal his bare back. He knew what was coming; he had seen his sister fingering the whip thoughtfully throughout their conversation.

"Searing pain should teach you not to open your mouth again." He turned back to look and confirmed his suspicions. Azula had her whip out and ready for use. He turned back to face the wall, bracing himself for the lashes that were sure to come.

The first hit came with intense agony. The end of the whip cut deep into his flesh making him cry out in pain. A few seconds later, the second stroke came, creating what Zuko only assumed as an X across his back. More lashes connected with his bare skin, creating more gashes and bringing more blood. Azula let out all her wrath with each stroke of her whip, making the pain even less bearable. Zuko tried as hard as he could not to scream. Gritting his teeth, he squeezed his eyes shut and balled his hands into fists, trying to focus on anything but the sharp sting of the whip's slashes.

But he could not avert his mind from the pain when it hurt more than anything he had ever endured. His skin felt like it was on fire and that something was going to burst from his back if the pain did not go away. Several times he nearly blacked out, but he held on strong, determined not to show weakness in front of his sister. Zuko let out strained grunts here and there, unable to help it from all the pain and agony he was put through with each stroke of the whip. He clenched his teeth together, breathing rapidly through them and soon he was drenched in sweat from head to toe. Azula had put him in more pain than he had ever experienced in his entire life.

He lost count of how many times his sister attacked him with her leather flog. He knew it had to be more than ten times from the amount of pain emanating from his back. She kept going until suddenly, Azula let up her incessant lashes. Zuko panted and felt the cool sweat begin to trickle down his face from his scalp. Confused, he slowly turned around, careful not to make any excessive movements and rip open the flesh on his back any more than it already was. He saw her speaking with a guard just outside the cell doorway. She nodded before turning back to her brother and smiling.

"Looks like the Sonderkommando have another group to get ready for a send off," she said, sounding oddly happy. "I must go and assist them." She handed her whip to the guard who had chained Zuko to the back wall. "Finish up with him. Fifteen more should do the trick. And get him a new shirt when you're done." She then turned and left, leaving the big soldier to do her work.

Zuko saw him smile before he turned and faced the wall again. Azula had mentioned the Sonderkommando, a group of Jewish prisoners who helped the others get ready to enter the gas chambers for execution. He squeezed his eyes shut and let a single tear fall for those poor souls. It must hurt them to have to help their friends, knowing that they would soon die.

He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he almost did not notice when the guard behind him began his own set of lashes. But he felt it and actually screamed in agony this time. This first lash was worse than the others, most likely due to the fact that the old sting had lingered for too long and the new sting just added on to it. This man was better than Azula, however. He was quicker and more hurried in his strikes so the old pain could delve into the new and it was no longer increasingly painful. Almost as soon as it had started, it was over.

Another soldier came over and unlocked the shackles that held his arms above his head. He slumped to the floor when he was released, weak from blood loss and pain. He tried to stand, but his legs were too weak and he fell back to the concrete floor. Laughing, the soldier that had finished flogging him tossed a new, yet just as ratty, shirt at him.

"Put it on," he ordered. Zuko did as he was told. Cringing from the open wounds on his back that he was sure looked like several train tracks, he removed his old, torn shirt and pulled the new shirt over his head. The other guard tossed him his swastika arm band, waited for him to put it on, and then grabbed his upper arm and dragged him out of the cell. "Back to work," the man said, sounding amused.

Zuko sighed. It was going to be rather difficult to work in the shape he was in, but he had to, he had to unless he wanted the Sonderkommando to attend to him just like the rest of the prisoners. They walked out of the building and out onto the grounds. The Jews had already been put to work and all the tools from the shed had been taken out. With nowhere else to work, his escorts left him at the sandbag pile to fill the bags and load them onto the wheelbarrows that came their way. Zuko grabbed a sack off a pile and walked to a nearby sandpit. Taking a small shovel that had been leaning against the side of the pit, he slowly and painfully began to shovel sand into the bag. Once it was full, he tied off the top and dragged it instead of carried it over to the pile to be loaded onto a waiting wheelbarrow.

He groaned when he saw the waiting wheelbarrow. The man who had it glared maliciously at him when he approached, but Zuko just ignored him. Squatting down, he grabbed the sandbag he had dragged over and attempted to pick it up. His loss of blood had made him weak and frail and when he tried to stand with the bag, his knees wobbled and gave out causing him to fall over and drop the sandbag. Frustrated, he tried again only to get the same results. He slammed his fist into the bag and, deciding to leave and let the others load the wheelbarrow, he turned to go back and fill more bags with sand but was stopped by a voice behind him.

"Need some help?" Puzzled, he turned around to see the smiling man from the day before standing by the sandbag he had attempted and failed to pick up.

"What?" he asked, knowing very well it was a pointless question.

The man's smile never faltered. "I saw you having trouble with the bag. Do you want help with them?"

Zuko closed his eyes and smiled to himself. He was glad for help but was unsure what to make of the joyful man offering it. Nodding, he walked back to the sandbag pile. He grabbed one end of the bag while the man took the other end. Together, they hoisted it up and tossed it safely into the wheelbarrow. Now that it was full, the man who carried it gave Zuko one last dirty look before turning and leaving the area. He watched the man's back as he left before turning and heading back to the sand pit to continue filling more sandbags.

When he got there, he was preparing himself to bend over and grab his shovel that he had carelessly tossed to the ground but was surprised once again to see the smiling prisoner handing it to him. He gratefully took it and began filling his own sandbag. The man walked over and worked next to him filling his own bag with sand. Zuko looked at the man with a curious expression but he only smiled in return and continued filling his bag.

They worked in silence for several minutes until their bags were full and the cheerful man left first to deposit his sandbag in the pile as Zuko struggled just to drag his bag across the ground. The man came back when the German had made it to the edge of the sand pit and stopped, resting with his back against the side of the pit.

"It isn't a good idea to get your back dirty," the man said, jumping into the pit next to Zuko. He stared at the man, not sure what his point was until he felt a stinging pain in his back where the whip had dug into his flesh. He quickly withdrew away from the sandy wall and attempted to wipe off his back but cringed from the pain and stopped. "Here, let me," the man offered. He moved behind Zuko and began to lightly brush off his back. "It's too bad they did not give you any bandages for this. You're bleeding all over your shirt and if you're not careful, it could get infected."

Zuko groaned. "I know," he said, frustrated. He squatted to lift his sandbag as soon as the man was done dusting him off. "I'm just not used to having train track gashes on my back." He was sarcastic, something he hadn't been in quite some time and it seemed foreign to him.

Again, he struggled to lift the bag and the man again helped by lifting the other end. They brought the bag out of the pit and tossed it with the others on the ever-growing and shrinking pile.

"By the way," the man started. "May I ask how you got those gashes?"

Zuko glared at him. "May I ask why you seem unnaturally happy all the time?"

The man laughed, making Zuko raise an eyebrow. "Because, my fellow prisoner," he began, grabbing another empty bag and filling it with sand as Zuko did the same. "I am a man of God. I know that no matter what happens to me in the mortal plain, God will take care of me in the afterlife."

The German gave the man an odd look but shook it off and answered the question directed at him. "My sister gave them to me," he said, focusing his gaze on the sand he was shoveling into the bag. The man's eyes widened as he looked up disbelievingly at Zuko who frowned and concentrated on filling his sandbag.

"How-?" he began to ask, but thought better of it and turned to his own shovel. They were silent for several more minutes before either one of them spoke again.

"This morning," Zuko said as they were carrying the full sandbags to the pile, making the other man raise a confused eyebrow again.

"Excuse me?" he asked.

"My sister gave me these gashes this morning," Zuko repeated.

"Who is your sister, may I ask?"

Zuko did not answer right away but concentrated on loading the wheelbarrow that had returned empty and was waiting to be full again. When he did speak, he offered an explanation instead of an answer. "First of all," he began. "You must understand that my family is not the normal happy family most people have. My father was a very aggressive man and beat my mother, eventually driving her out of the house. She died soon after." The man listened intently to Zuko's story and he was not even sure why he was telling this crazy Jewish man his whole life story. But he kept talking, not bothering to stop himself. "The only people in my family that ever treated me like a person were my mother, my uncle, and my cousin. All three of them are gone now and there is only one person left who-." He clamped his mouth shut, catching himself from speaking of Katara. It hurt him too much to think of her so he always tried to think of something else when she crossed his mind. He continued, ignoring the puzzled look the other man gave him. "Um, anyway, my twin sister was always my father's favorite and I was always shunned as the failure. Even when I climbed fast through the German enlisted ranks, my sister moved on to become an officer, and a good one at that. So, naturally, I was the outcast."

They finished loading the wheelbarrow and it was taken away to be unloaded as the two went back to once again fill more sandbags. "So where do the gashes on your back come into play?"

Zuko sighed. "As you may have guessed, I used to be a Nazi, but am now a prisoner to my own people. I'm not proud of the part my country is playing in this war, I never was. And I'm ashamed to say I went along with it anyway. Eventually, I couldn't take it anymore and I betrayed my people, killing a man and injuring my commanding officer. I was captured and here I am. The night I got here, I found out that my own twin sister is the commanding officer for this place." He looked the man directly in the eyes as he told the next chapter in his story. "Azula is a very sadistic person and enjoys instilling as much pain as she possible can on someone. Instead of having me executing immediately, she decided to keep me here, making me wear my old swastika." He pointed to the red, white and black arm band he wore. "You've seen the effects it has. No one but you will talk to me." He paused. "Speaking of which, why are you talking to me?" It was true, Zuko had been wondering why the man had been so willing to even be in the general vicinity of the ex-Nazi. It was a curious thing to think about.

The man only smiled and tied off the end of his full bag of sand. "That is an answer for a later time. Right now you are in the middle of a story."

Zuko said nothing as he tied off his own bag and dragged it as far as he could without hurting himself further than he already was. When the man came back to help him carry the bag out of the sand pit, he wrapped up his story.

"This morning Azula came into my holding cell to interrogate me on my reasons for treason. I insulted her and she ended up punishing me by flogging me for fifteen minutes straight."

"Wow," the man said before growing silent. For a while the only sounds they heard were the sounds of the sand on the shovels, the sandbags thumping onto their piles, and wooden wheelbarrows creaking and bouncing over bumps in the paths. After several hours had passed, Zuko looked up to the darkening sky to see that evening was soon to be upon them. He was glad that the day was almost over. His stomach growled angrily from the lack of food he had received and he was almost impatient to get to the disgusting slop the Nazis served them for supper.

Once the sun set over the horizon, Zuko's back was on fire. The gashes his sister had given him had become inflamed and it hurt him to move even in the slightest motion. After several more hours of enduring the pain, the guards walked into the work yard and rounded up all the prisoners and herded them back to the barracks. Zuko and the man who had helped him walked back together, sticking close together and trying to blend into the crowd so they were not picked on by the guards.

The man softly patted Zuko on the shoulder as they headed for the outdoor mess hall. "My name's Eli," he said, his signature smile playing across his face. "May I have the pleasure of knowing yours?"

Zuko hesitated, debating on whether he should tell this man his name or not. But then he had told him his whole life story, so what was the harm in a simple name? "Zuko," he replied. "I'm Zuko."

Eli nodded. "It's very nice to meet you," he said. He stopped talking as they entered the mess hall and grabbed their bowls, filling them with the slop that was disguised as food.

Their dinner break was as short as it was the night before. After five minutes of muscling past the gag reflex, the guards called for them to empty their bowls and place them in the wash basin. They did as they were told, and no sooner after he had let go of his bowl was he dragged off by his escorts. Zuko left with them away from the other prisoners to his own lonely cell.

As usual, he was shoved unceremoniously into the metal cell and had the door slammed as soon as he was inches passed the metal door. Zuko grunted from the pain in his back as he moved to his own corner he had designated for sleeping. It took him a long time to find a suitable position to sleep in without have his wounds open up again. He hoped that they would be somewhat closed by the time the guards came in to wake him up in the morning. Finally finding a comfortable position to sleep in, Zuko fell asleep almost instantly. That night his dreams consisted of nothing but the woman he loved. However much he tried, he could not get Katara out of his mind.

---

Days went by with nothing changing. Azula came into his cell every few days at night to interrogate him. She asked many questions, including where he was going when they had left Auschwitz. When he would not tell her, she slammed her elbow into his face, breaking his nose and causing blood to gush down his face. He could taste the metallic flavor of his blood as it oozed into his teeth and flowed under his tongue. Zuko watched her leave with a smile on her face as the guard untied him from the chair and tossed him face down in the back corner of his cell. He was then thrown a towel and promptly told to wipe his face before he was locked in the dark.

The next day, he was sent back to work, his nose still cracked and out of place. And to his luck, he was set to work with Eli once again. When the Jewish man saw his face, he offered to put his bones back into place. Unable to do it himself, he conceded and allowed the man to squeeze his nose quite painfully and jerk it back into place. Zuko only grunted from the pain, knowing that it had hurt a lot worse when he had received the injury than when it was fixed. Sniffing a few times and wiping the snot and blood from his nose with his shirt, Zuko continued working, ignoring the pain of his body and hungry growls of his stomach.

They worked diligently throughout the day, not talking much and fighting the urge to sit down and take a short break. Zuko and Eli worked in a different area this time. They had pick-axes and shovels and they dug a trench, or as Zuko called it, a "death pit." He knew exactly what they were and attempted not to think too hard on the subject. Every time he did, he gave himself a headache and the worst one he had was when he imagined Katara and the others as dead, gassed out corpses buried underneath hundreds of other dead bodies.

Zuko rubbed his temples in an attempt to remove the horrible image from his mind and kept digging. It was not long until the woman he loved entered back into his mind and the task at hand suddenly became distant and unimportant. He was jarred from his thoughts, however, when the sound of Eli's kind voice sounded behind him.

"Who is she?" he asked.

The German whirled around in surprise and saw the man casually tossing earth from his shovel out of the hole they were in. "What are you talking about?" He had no idea what was on this man's mind.

"Who is she?" he repeated. "The girl you keep thinking about."

Zuko's eyes widened slightly in surprise, not sure how he knew what he was thinking, but then frowned and went back to shoveling. "I don't know what you're talking about." He thrust the end of his spade into the soft earth and pulled out a shovelful of dirt before sending it up and out of the hole.

Eli smiled and moved right next to the German. He nudged him softly before continuing his inquiry. "I know no one looks like that while thinking of how miserable they are. It's obvious; I see it in your eyes." He paused to dig up more dirt and toss it out of the hole. "Is she your wife?"

Zuko sighed and shook his head. "No," was all he said.

They were silent for a while until Eli spoke again. "Who is she, then?"

Zuko did not say anything. He really did not want to get into that conversation with anyone. Not until he was with her again; not until he could hold her in his arms again. But he answered anyway, not even knowing the reason why. "She's a gypsy," he said, a slight hint of anger in his voice. "And she is the woman I love." He turned his back to Eli after he spoke, not wanting to see the expression on the man's face from his comment. He kept digging, trying not to think of the reaction of the Jewish man. It was unorthodox and strange that he, a Nazi, would fall in love with someone who was of the race they were trying to eradicate. But she was the reason he was there in the first place, the reason he no longer fought for Germany, the reason he betrayed his own people, the reason why he was an outcast. Eli should shun him like all the rest of those there in the camp, like those who had put him in there. He belonged nowhere, with no one, and he was not even sure if he even deserved Katara's love, let alone Eli's acceptance.

Zuko concentrated hard on his work and was surprised to feel Eli's hand lay gently on his shoulder. He turned around to see the man's face was very understanding and kind. He was too shocked to make any kind of expression as he saw the man smile and place both hands on Zuko's shoulders.

"It is alright to love someone even if they are of different blood than you are," he said philosophically. "That is what separates you from the rest of your people. You accept others and love them for who they are. You don't judge them by what race or religion they are. That is what makes you different; what makes you better than them."

"But look what I've done," Zuko objected. "I've made a mess of my life, I've betrayed my people, betrayed my family, and I'm no closer to ending this war or being with her than I was before."

Eli shook his head and went back to shoveling. "You are wrong," he replied. "Being here is not your fault and you could have chosen to return to your military, but you didn't. You decided to defy them and be put in here, to be humiliated and put to work. You did the right thing by making that choice, and if you and the woman you love are truly meant to be together, you will find her in the end."

Zuko just stared at the man, unable to decipher what in hell he had just said. It took him a while, but soon after he was able to understand the man's words. Eli was right, he was supposed to be there, and he was supposed to escape. But how? How on earth was he supposed to escape with his twin sister, who knew him so well, watching his every move and holding "meetings" with him every other night? It seemed impossible and improbable. He turned to Eli.

"How am I supposed to see Katara again when I can't even find a way to escape this place?" he asked.

Eli only said one sentence before returning to work. "Trust in God and anything is possible."

---

Zuko sat in the back corner of his cell curled up in the fetal position and contemplating the conversation that transpired earlier that day. Azula had not visited him that night and he was thankful for that, but he was still stuck there, stuck in a cold, metal cell at night and out working with those who ridicule him during the day. He had no plan for escaping and failed to come up with even one plan, either fail-safe or stupid. But what about what Eli had said at the end of the conversation? "Trust in God and anything is possible"? What did that mean? Zuko was never a religious man and was never sure on whether he believed God existed or not. But what if Eli was right? Maybe he should trust in God. It might just work.

Zuko was unsure if anything was possible without making it happen himself, but he just thought he would give it a try. Raising his head and looking up at the ceiling of his cell, trying to imagine seeing the starry sky passed it and feeling very stupid, he forced himself to comply and began a very awkward and very unsure prayer.

"God, if you're really there, help me leave this place. Help me see Katara again and taste freedom one more time. I know I can end this war if I am just given a chance. Please, help me leave here and do my best to save these people. Amen."

That said, he lowered his head and rested it on his knees, falling asleep instantly.

---

It had been almost a week since they had left Zuko behind in the Death Camp known as Auschwitz. Katara tried not to think of him as she, her brother and the others trudged along slowly towards Denmark. The small, peaceful country had yet to be taken by the Germans so they all figured it was a safe haven to hide out until the war was over. They traveled north, from the forest outside Auschwitz to grassy hills and back into another forest.

The group grew tired and weary with every step they took but none were as bad as Suki. After her days in the death camp, her muscles were not as strong as they used to be and Sokka had to help her walk everyday they traveled. However, her health was improving gradually as they moved and near the end of the first week, she was able to walk for a few hours on her own without a pack until she had to go back and lean on Sokka's shoulder.

It was nighttime now as they all sat around their camp in the large forest near a city not far from the German/Denmark border. They had a fire going, figuring they were as safe as they were going to be in Germany, and Katara and Aang used it to cook their dinner. They ate in silence, as they did every night so they could keep their ears peeled for any disturbances in the foliage around their camp.

Katara watched her bother as they ate. He would eat a bit of his own food and then hand Suki the rest of it, selflessly sacrificing some of his own food to feed his girlfriend. Her heart was tied in a knot. It had been like that since the rescue mission at Auschwitz. She missed Zuko, missed him more than she did her parents or her grandmother. Did she love him? She did not know, but she did know that she liked him, a lot. He was there when no one was. He saved her when no one else could. He was her knight and she was his princess. But now it was time for the princess to save her knight from certain death.

The entire time she had been traveling, she had been working in an escape plan to save Zuko from his terrible fate. She would disguise herself once again, but as a supply soldier. Then, right under their noses, she would find him and sneak him out in one of the packages that carried uniforms and other assorted clothes. There was only one problem with her plan. She was a week away from where Zuko was held captive and she also had to find a way to ditch her brother and the rest of the group to go back. She had not figured out how she would go about doing that yet. Maybe when they were all asleep; tonight she would leave.

"Someone's coming," Toph suddenly said quite calmly. "They're right behind me."

Everyone looked up, frightened, and glanced behind the blind girl and tried to see who it was through the dark.

"I don't see anyone," Aang said, rather nervous.

"They're too far away," Toph said. "But they are coming our direction."

"Then we must hide," Sokka said, taking charge. "Everyone, up in the trees."

They all obeyed, climbing the tree trunks as fast as they could to get out of sight of those after them. Katara was the last one up after helping Toph and Aang up into the tree. She climbed up and found a secure spot to sit on a thick branch and then looked down to watch as the men entered the campsite.

She was surprised to see that they were not wearing German uniforms but civilian clothes just as they were. The men poked around the campsite, digging through their packs, smelling their food, and feeding the fire. She glanced over to Sokka and nearly fell out of the tree from surprise. He had his rifle out and pointed down at the men below, ready to fire. She shook her head no but he seemed not to notice as his finger slowly squeezed on the trigger.

When the men began to talk, Suki suddenly put her arm out in front of her boyfriend and stopped him. He looked at her with surprise. She returned his look with a quieting finger to her lips.

"Shhh," she whispered. "They're speaking Russian."

Indeed they were. Katara just noticed, now that she was not too intent on seeing them as enemies, she realized that they were speaking in a language she did not understand. She turned to Suki.

"Do you know what they're saying?" she asked.

Suki shook her head. "No, I cannot speak Russian, but I can recognize it."

Katara sighed and looked back down to the men in their camp speaking their funny language. Who are these men? She wondered. It was fact that very few Nazis spoke Russian and the Russians were fighting against the Germans. So what were these men doing in enemy territory? It seemed very odd and out of place. Katara did not know if she could trust them, even if they were speaking a different language.

All of a sudden, Suki's foot slipped from her tree branch and her feet fell off her perch. She would have fallen all the way to the ground had Sokka not caught her and kept her at bay. She let out a small gasp before Sokka caught her. She did not fall below the canopy hiding them from view, but the men below had heard her slip and gasp. The one that appeared to be the leader motioned for one of them to investigate. A small man, who could have been just a boy, waked to the base of the tree and looked up. Obviously not seeing anything, he turned back to his leader and said something in his language that was replied by the leader in the same language. Nodding, the boy turned back to the tree and began to climb it.

They all knew what was going to happen once the boy had reached their level. They would be caught and brought down for interrogation. But there was nothing any of them could do to stop it and before they knew it, they were staring at the boy face to face. He looked at each one of them, first at Sokka and his rifle, then to Katara, Toph, and Aang, but when he laid eyes on Suki's shaved head, he smiled and greeted them warmly.

"Hello there!" he said in perfect German. "It's okay, we're not Nazis. Why don't you come down?" He then disappeared back under the canopy of the tree.

They all exchanged funny looks before Toph spoke. "Well," she began. "They already know we're here, so why not go down? Besides, this tree is getting rather uncomfortable." Then, without anyone agreeing, she slipped off her tree branch and jumped down to the ground.

Katara sighed. Knowing that Toph was right, she nodded to her brother and jumped down herself and was soon followed by Aang, Sokka, and Suki. She looked around at the men who had entered their camp. They were all of different sizes, big, small, and medium. She studied the leader. He was very handsome, with bright brown hair, tanned skin and defined muscles, he reminded Katara of Zuko a lot. But he was not the man she had fallen for back at the Festival. He was different, more rugged and had a softer face.

"Hello, fellow travelers," he said in almost perfect German. "My name is Jet. My friends and I have traveled a long way from Russia to gather information on the war for our country. God smiles down on us now that we've had good fortune to run into escapees from a concentration camp."

Katara stared at the man. How did he know?

A/N: WOOOOO! Yay for Jet! I could not resist putting him in here. Jet is all that is man...not really...but he's awesome... :) By the way, here is Jet's age: 26.

Poor Zuko, has to deal with Azula's torture. I know that Nazis did not usually use whips, but I just thought a whipe would be cool and it kinda fits with Azula, don't you think? Zuko's jsut lucky she didn't have a Cat-of-Ninetails. -shudders- That would be even more painful...

Hope you all enjoyed and see you next time!