A/N: This is just a drabble-like chapter that I'm posting to see if I can work some bugs out (no pun intended – you'll know what I mean after you read).

This takes place at the Chikai Oceanview Inn the same night Zuko shared with Katara the information in the scrolls so it's a tiny bit out of the time-line but I'll try to segue back in the next chapter without causing whiplash.

Chapter 11

Zuko lays in his bed, listening to the sounds of the ocean born on the wind. He often has trouble sleeping and finds meditation soothing, but tonight it's not been helpful. His mind is a whirl of images from his past and concerns about the future.

He thinks about the scrolls his uncle left for him and how shocking it had been to find out about Yukio. The young boy is not to blame, but Zuko can't help feeling resentment toward him and, not surprisingly, a bit of jealousy. He's also consumed with guilt over the years he spent with his Uncle, worrying over his own concerns while the old man had a child of his blood in the Fire Nation potentially exposed to the wrath of Ozai. Iroh had to have known that joining Zuko in exile would take him far from his grandchild for years, but that was perhaps exactly what he'd wanted. The further from the Fire Nation the rightful heir, the safer the grandchild of that heir would be.

And suddenly Zuko feels like a pawn, anger welling up inside him, washing away the fear, resentment and jealousy. How dare Iroh use his torment to protect the other child? Had he purposely obstructed the search for the Avatar in order to delay their return? Was everything they'd shared a product of his Uncle's love for Yukio and not concern for Zuko?

No, Zuko decides. His uncle had brought them all back to the Fire Nation. Had brought them close to Yukio, he realizes remembering that they had actually camped not far from Ikeni on their way to the capital.

Now Zuko's anger turns toward the grandmother who refused to allow Iroh to tell anyone about his grandchild. He feels great sympathy for his uncle, knowing he would have reveled in the child's closer proximity at the palace during those last two peaceful years of his life.

Nothing to be done but confront the old woman, he realizes. Without "being mean" of course, he thinks and smiles.

Having Katara at the meeting will help to keep things calm. If anything she'll help to keep the conversation flowing. Zuko has horrible images of him just sitting there staring at the child, with nothing to say; the two of them blinking at each other like a couple of sloth-tuna, the only fish in the sea that actually blink.

Spirits, I miss uncle! He thinks suddenly. And, as he has done every other time these emotions have overtaken him, he thinks back to another moment in time.

Zuko had come upon the Avatar's camp and had stopped, stunned at what he was seeing. The entire group, Sokka, Toph, Katara, the Avatar, Ty Lee and his uncle were engaged in various activities and in a near complete state of undress. They were all in their underwear.

His first thought was that somehow his uncle had debauched these children, and then he thought absurdly that they might have been the ones to have debauched the old man. Then he bounced back to his original thought.

They looked so strange, all these barely dressed people. Iroh seemed to be teaching Sokka to play Pai Sho on a primitive board carved into the ground with rocks instead of tiles. Toph and Ty Lee were taking turns paralyzing each other's body parts. The Avatar was playing some kind of game of catch with the lemur and the bison was snoring loudly. Katara was stirring a pot on the fire like some stereotypical witch and Zuko was staring at it all in complete confusion.

Katara looked up at him and smiled.

"Hey Zuko," She said coming toward him, "Take off your clothes, I'll throw them in the pot."

"What?!" He had backed away.

"It's wash day. The boiling water kills the lice." She explained.

"I don't have lice!" Zuko protested, although he had been scratching like a madman for days, he wasn't about to admit that to the Avatar's band of peasants.

"Go ahead nephew. Let the breeze kiss your skin. It's very enjoyable." Iroh said, concentrating on the game.

"I'll come back later." Zuko turned.

"Don't be such a baby," Katara said. "Just take them off and I'll put them in the pot. Then I'll check your hair for ticks and nits and you can go wash up in the lake."

She had the nerve to come close to him then and start pulling on his robe.

"Get your hands off me!" He ordered.

"Take them off or I will. You're not bringing bugs back into this camp after all my hard work." She growled.

"Fine." He gave in, surprised the Water Tribe warrior wasn't already attacking him with his machete.

After his clothes had been added to the boiling water he sat with his legs crossed and tried to meditate while Katara combed through his thick hair looking for ticks. Every once in a while she would find one and pull it out. Then she'd interrupt him to show him what it looked like, as if he'd want to see the disgusting thing that had attached itself to his head. He'd sigh and scowl and look at it and nod and she'd flick it into the fire.

But now in bed all these years later he remembers how her ministrations in his hair had aroused him humiliatingly. When she was finished and he was free to go to the lake to wash he sat for a moment, insisting on completing his meditation, hoping no one would suspect his predicament. As soon as he was able he got up and stomped down to the lake, making a big show of his indignation, all the while praying silently for frigid water.

Tonight he laughs at himself and his teenage lack of self-control, but he knows the same thing would happen to him if she were to comb her fingers through his hair now. And on that pleasant thought, he rolls over, closes his eyes, and hopes for the chance to take a hike in the woods with his pretty Water Tribe guest. As sleep finally overtakes him he smiles realizing that he'd meant to look back on a memory of his time with Iroh, but somehow the focus of his thoughts had turned to a memory of Katara in her underwear. A sigh escapes his lips as the memory fades into a dream of very similar detail.