Zuko scraped a hand over his eyes, feeling frustration sizzle like a tight ball of fire in his chest. Get him off my ship. Anything is better than this.

"A perfect day for sailing," Zhao proclaimed, hands clasped regally behind his back and chin high. He surveyed the expanse of water before him with apparent relish, Zuko watching from beside him with barely-hidden resentment. The nagging captivation with the Admiral wouldn't leave him alone, no matter how much he loathed the bastard, and Zuko was tired of wondering what it meant – rather tired of Zhao's company entirely.

Iroh shifted on Zhao's other side, brows drawing together in consternation. "I think not, Admiral," he said, voice deep and slow. "There's a storm coming. A big one."

Zuko raised his eyebrow, looking at the sky above him dubiously. "There's not a cloud in sight, Uncle. The weather is perfect."

Iroh gripped the taffrail with one hand, watching the waves break against the prow of the boat with unusual severity. "The storm is coming from the North," he added, as if he hadn't heard Zuko at all. The Prince tried to bury the flash of indignation that stirred in him at being ignored. "I suggest we alter our course and seek shelter in a port." He looked to Zhao expectantly.

Why is he addressing him? Zuko couldn't help but sniff in offense. I am the commander of this ship! "And where is the Avatar?" Zuko asked tightly, cutting off Zhao as he opened his mouth to respond.

Iroh shrugged with measured nonchalance. "Heading North, I suspect." He tucked his hands into his voluminous sleeves.

Zuko's jaw clenched, and he gritted out the words, "Then if we wish to maintain any hope of beating him to the North Pole, I suggest we keep going."

Iroh turned to look at him at last, expression grave. "Prince Zuko, consider the safety of the crew. I am warning you, this storm is not one you will want to brave."

Zuko growled and suddenly stepped inside Iroh's guard, leaning forward so his face was a foot from his Uncle's. "The Avatar is far more important than any individual's safety," he hissed, his frustration growing. Haven't you learned that by now? It's been three fucking years.

Iroh's eyes strayed to the scar, and the smallest breath of a resigned sigh slipped through his lips.

Grimacing at the motion, the Prince straightened again and adjusted his armor with no small amount of embarrassment at losing his temper. He took a deep breath, trying to calm the writhing anger burning in his chest. "Besides, if any of their lives were in danger, I would be more concerned. But, as I said, the weather is ideal. You're losing your mind."

"We would do well to mind your Uncle," Zhao said, his voice devoid of its usual sneer. Zuko whirled on him, aggression firing back up instantly when met with its source. Don't lump me with you, he almost snarled, but the Admiral's dark expression stopped him. "Some of the worst storms come after a calm," he muttered. "If there is any clue that one may be coming, it is better to take shelter." He tilted his head, a hint of his normal arrogance slipping back into his countenance. "Even if the storm does not come, we have only lost a day."

"A day means leagues for a skybison!" Zuko replied, unsuccessfully trying to keep his voice even.

"The Avatar will also have to stop, Prince Zuko," Iroh said, his tone the controlled level that Zuko automatically associated with taming wild animals. "If a boat could not make it on the sea, nothing could hope to travel in the sky."

Zuko just stopped himself from turning around again to face him, swallowing the bile that rose in his throat. Is that how it is now? Siding with him?

"Do what you want," he spat, meeting Zhao's eyes with a smoldering glare. "Commander, General. If you have need of me, I will be in the guardhouse."

He strode away quickly, but not fast enough to miss Zhao's sneered, "Petulant child." He ground a hand against his throbbing head and tried not to curse at the passing Marines, who regarded him with somewhat wounded expressions.

Ever since the Winter Solstice, his head had been pounding with every waking minute, and worse whenever he was near Zhao. It had been tolerable when they sailed on their own ships, but the minute Zhao stepped onto his deck, he was hit with a wave of anger and longing that he couldn't suppress. Massaging his temples irritably and trying to stretch his sore neck, he climbed the steps to the guardhouse and slipped inside.

"Zhao being insufferable again, sir?"

"I'm beginning to think that he is not actually savage by nature, but acting. He must put on the façade to piss me off – no one can possibly be so annoying by sheer accident."

Izo chuckled. "You're still young, Prince Zuko. At your age you think everyone is a good person at heart, and they just have bad traits."

Zuko, already sprawled in his usual chair, glowered at the back of his head. "That may be the most naïve, ignorant thing you've ever said, Helmsman."

He shrugged. "Maybe. Honestly, though, do you think Zhao is evil to the core?"

Zuko opened his mouth, ready to affirm his point by screaming, but he stopped himself. Pictures of Zhao speaking well of his Uncle, looking afraid under Zuko's ready fist, smiling in the face of the salty sea breeze, flitted through his memory. He grunted in distaste and said nothing. Izo's triumphant 'hmph' could just be heard. Zuko closed his eyes and tried to breathe evenly, running through options in his head.

"Take the ship to port, Izo," he finally said, heart heavy with a bitter resignation.

"Yes, sir."

And like that, Zuko's tense shoulders relaxed slightly, and he opened his eyes without pain. At least someone on this ship still respected him and his command.

"Those storm clouds have been growing really quickly, Aang. I think we should stop for the night."

Aang's grey eyes were unfocused, seemingly peering into the darkening horizon.

Lightning flashed brilliantly. Appa roared and swerved to avoid it, the rain beating into his eyes almost horizontally. The sea crashed against him, cold and dark and lifeless. Gyatso's face. "Why did you disappear?"

"Why?"

"We need you, Aang."

Katara's face, the skin melting away until nothing but blanched white bone remained in a cobblestone courtyard. Dark clouds gathered above her.

"We need you, Aang. We need you. We need you-"

"Aang!"

The air monk jerked to consciousness as Sokka gave him a rough shake. He stopped his hands from reflexively blasting the boy away, already halfway through the motion, and blinked rapidly. "Sorry, Sokka, sorry." He dropped his hands guiltily. "What?"

The boy looked concerned, hand lingering on his shoulder. "Are you okay, buddy? You were really spaced out there."

Aang rubbed his eyes, feeling his heart pound against his ribcage. "Yeah… yeah, I'm fine. Just had a bad daydream. What were you saying?"

"We think we should head into that port," Katara spoke up from behind him. He turned to face her as she crawled up to sit next to Sokka, sewing abandoned at the back of the saddle. "Those storm clouds are starting to freak us out. We might want to find some shelter."

Eyeing the clouds distrustfully and pushing down further flashbacks, Aang nodded. "You're right. Appa's usually pretty good in rain-" he stopped, smothering a wince of pain and terrifying memories and cold and dying- "but… we shouldn't take our chances." He pulled on the reins, aiming for a wide dock where two elderly people stood. He gestured at the pair with his head, trying to stay calm. "We can stop and ask them where to take shelter."

As soon as they landed, Aang hopped down and walked over to the couple, overhearing their ongoing argument while he was still several feet away.

"My joints say there's going to be a storm," the woman said. "A bad one!"

"Well, it's your joints against my brain," he replied, hands on his hips defiantly. "If you won't come, then I'll pay someone else to haul the fish for me!"

"Excuse me?" Aang interrupted them hesitantly, and they both faced him with irate expressions. "It looks like the storm will be pretty bad. You might not want to go out to sea tonight."

"The boy with the tattoos has some sense," the woman huffed, lifting her chin at whom Aang mentally labeled as her husband.

"Tattoos… Airbender tattoos…" the man mused. His eyes suddenly widened, and he jabbed a finger at Aang. "Yer the Avatar, ain't ya?"

Aang smiled and rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "Well, yeah-"

"The Avatar that disappeared for a hundred years? Not interested," the woman sniffed. She turned on her heel and hustled back inside, slamming the door behind her. Aang watched her departure with a vague feeling of guilt, then turned back to the man.

"What did she-"

"She's right, son," he growled. He lifted his head just enough for Aang to see the anger in his wrinkled eyes. "Ya turned yer back on the world."

Aang swallowed hard, pushing down the bile that was quickly rising in his throat. The world cannot afford to wait until he's sixteen, Gyatso! They need an Avatar now. The sight of the storm clouds were just visible over the man's head, hovering on the edge of his vision. "That's not true." He tried to make his voice as firm as the Elder's had been, but it came out shaking. "That's… that's ridiculous."

"Yeah! Aang has never turned his back on anyone in his life!" Katara was suddenly beside him, arms crossed over her chest and glare out in full force. "How dare you even suggest that! He's been spending weeks trying to learn about his duty and help people to whom he owes absolutely nothing."

"He puts all of his effort into saving others," Sokka added, in calmer tones, flanking his other side. "Aang is the bravest kid I know."

The man didn't miss a beat, his grizzly face wrinkling with a scowl and bad memories as he drew himself up to his full height. "Weeks," he spat, hobbling forward a few steps, pain flashing in his eyes. Aang's breath quickened and guilt rose in his stomach on a wave of panic. "'Weeks!' What're weeks ta an old man? Who's seen the horrors of war his whole life? Whose father died in one of the first attacks, as an honest fisherman? What're weeks ta a hun'red years of death? You've grown up in a time of peace, li'lle girl. Ya like ta think the war rages around ya, but ya ain't seen trails of smoke along the path of a Fire Nation regiment, as they burned city after city ta the ground." He stopped, leaning a shaking arm on his cane and lower lip trembling ever so slightly. Katara could only stare at him with wide eyes, one hand clutching the necklace at her throat, and Sokka stood stiffly on his right, not moving. Aang struggled not to choke on his ragged breath as the man's sea green eyes pinned him down, feeling a drop of sweat slide down the back of his neck despite the cold air.

"Weeks," he scoffed bitterly. "And what were ya so afraid of before then?"

"I'm only twelve," Aang managed to croak. The man coughed out a vague noise of disgust.

"I've heard the stories, boy. Rumors about the 'Mighty Avatar's' return come fast. Locked yerself away in the ocean where ya could be safe for a hun'red years-"

"I didn't mean to!" Aang yelled, cutting him off. He ignored Katara's started squeak and Sokka's gentle touch on his arm, viciously swallowing back nervous sobs and a growing sense of helpless anger. The storm clouds seemed to swarm in his line of sight. "I would have done whatever I could have to save your people, if I had just had a little more warning – if I – if I had just had one friend to keep-"

"Nobody gets the warning they deserve," the man snarled. "You think the Air Nomads did?"

Aang's heart skipped a beat, the breath stolen from his lungs as if it had been cut out of him. He heard Sokka inhale sharply as if he were a mile away. The image of Katara's bleached skull at the temple was joined by Sokka's, the old man's, a whole swarm of skeletons piling in his vision-

"How dare you talk about that!" Katara hissed.

"What?" the man leered. "The boy's afraid of the storm and his past? Afraid to own up to the fact that he screwed over the world? Afraid to admit that he's afraid, that he's a coward?"

"Shut up!" Katara screamed, and she stepped forward, hand raised-

"Stop it." Aang's arm blocked her motion, his gaze fixed shakily on the fisherman's face. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, focusing on counting and feeling his thudding heart calm. "I was afraid of my duty," he conceded solemnly. "I wanted more time." He forcibly, physically swallowed his pride. "But you're right. We never have the time. I don't have the time to regret my decisions, and I certainly don't have the time to argue with you about them." He lowered his arm very deliberately, fighting the urge to turn and run, to snap open his glider and escape-

"I need a place to stay for the night," he added, fighting to make his voice even. "Do you know of one in town?"

The fisherman stared at him, watery eyes filled with resentment. Finally, he just grunted and turned around, hoisting a basket of rope onto his back. "There's an inn nearby," he grumbled. "You'll have to pay for room and food – they won't give a kangaroo-rat's ass that you're the Avatar." He moved away, mumbling something degrading under his breath.

Aang turned to Katara questioningly, not trusting his raw nerves to speak intelligently. She shook her head. "Bumi gave us food and travelling supplies, not money," she apologized.

"It's fine," Aang said absently, considering the fisherman as he loaded his little boat, still cursing quietly. At last, knowing he would probably regret the decision, he called out, "Hey! Old man! Do you still need a deck hand?"

The man turned and fixed him with an incredulous stare, just as he felt a heavy, comforting hand settle on his shoulder. "Or two?" Sokka asked, not quite looking at him.

"What do you know?" Zhao said, rolling his shoulders to loosen them after a long match against Zuko's own Marines. The Commander had turned ruthless when his four opponents had started winning, and had dealt one man an underhanded facial shot, just hot enough to scorch his eyes. The Marine was currently in the infirmary, and ever since, the crew had been below deck in the mess hall, ignoring the officers in the guardhouse. They had orders not to leave the ship, despite it being docked at port.

Zhao craned his neck to look out the guardhouse window. "Looks like your Uncle was right about the storm after all," he chided smugly.

"Lucky guess," Iroh quickly placated, looking between the two from his seat at the Pai Sho table.

Zuko lifted his eyes slowly, wishing he could penetrate the back of Zhao's head with the ferocity of his hatred. "Zhao," he said slowly, "I stretch my ship's and crew's hospitality to house you day after day. You would do well to treat me with respect."

Zhao turned, his face nearly mocking. "Respect? You're the one that has always needed that lesson, Prince Zuko."

"That joke is getting tiresome," Zuko replied from gritted teeth.

"It was never meant as a joke."

Zuko stood with more force than he had intended, making Zhao flinch ever so slightly. Zuko tried not to revel in it like some predatory animal would. "Good. Because I'm not in the mood to deal with banter at the moment," he said, somehow managing to keep his voice even. He clenched his fist at his side, seeing Iroh watch him with blatant worry, but still holding his tongue.

Zhao tilted his head, watching, and then casually strode to stand before Zuko. He leaned forward, his lips inches from Zuko's ear, settling in his guard just as Zuko had done earlier. "Admit that you've lost this one, my boy," he whispered, his voice so low that even Iroh couldn't have heard it. "Your idiocy has lost your Uncle, and your crew, to my sympathies. They should have realized earlier that you weren't worth the time or effort – I just helped the process along."

Zuko ground his teeth together to keep from saying anything. Do not lash out, he told himself, digging his fingernails into his hand and pressing his arm against his side. Do not be dishonorable.

Zhao leaned back again, smirking lightly. "I'm going to get a drink, Iroh. Would you care to join me?"

Zuko looked over the Commander's shoulder, locking eyes with his Uncle. His bland stare the opposite of the torrent of emotions he felt at the offer, covering the childish hope that Iroh would refuse. He knew his Uncle had to be the diplomat, knew he had to keep playing to Zhao's egotistical desires – and knew that he did it all to make it easier on Zuko.

But his head was throbbing, the sky was dark outside, the rain was just beginning to splash against the guardhouse window, and all he really wanted was a cup of chamomile tea.

Iroh's eyebrows drew together, as though he was trying to decipher the younger men's actions. After what seemed like an eternity, he sighed heavily and stood.

"I would be honored, Commander," he answered, bowing his head slightly. Zhao shifted so Zuko could see his triumphant expression as Iroh held out his arms. "Lead the way."

As the two amiably shuffled out, Zuko sunk back into his seat, furious energy drained. He propped one elbow on the table and held his head in his hand, digging the palm into his eye and trying to bite back tears. He hissed as his neck was racked with a sharp bolt of pain.

I really have lost this one. He felt pure self-disgust course through his mind, fed by the hideous emptiness of the room around him. He was alone, and all was silent.

Finally, he pushed himself up and made his way down two flights of stairs, opening a door he had never once entered in three long years. The mess hall instantly silenced as he entered, and he cast his gaze over the crew members as they scrambled to their feet. Some unknown, warm emotion threatened him at the motion. "At ease." His men relaxed slightly, though the majority still regarded him warily, wondering what had driven him to seek their company. He observed them all for a long minute, battling with his own thoughts. At last, he took a breath.

"Zhao has left the ship for the time being. What say we take it for a little trip? We'll be back before he could stop to wonder why the buffoon of Ember Island shares his last name."

He was met with a single quiet chuckle, while the other Marines stared at him numbly, their shock bordering on horror. Their commander never spoke to them unless it was an order, much less sought them out and joked. Jee stepped forward after a heavy of moment of silence.

"Is it wise to go out in the storm, sir?" he asked, somewhat hesitantly.

"Wise?" Zuko pretended to consider. "Most likely not. Cathartic? Definitely. We won't have to see Zhao strutting like a peacock-panther all over our deck for a few hours." His eyes settled on a pair of Marines in the dark cloth of their underarmour. "How is he?"

"Fine, sir." One replied, somewhat hesitantly.

With more bravado, the second added, "His eyesight will be a little blurry for a few days. Nothing too major, just a little heat scarring. He's bandaged up and resting in his room now, Sir."

Zuko nodded. "Alright men, let's head out. Any objections?"

With the sound of their feet clacking into attention, they all cried, "No sir!"

"Izo!" Zuko called, turning on heel. "I'll need my best helmsman to steer tonight."

"Yes sir!" was the enthusiastic response from behind him. He climbed the stairs once more, buffeted by wind and rain the moment he stepped onto the deck. A small smile wormed its way onto his face, twisted with the tight ball of rage still coiled inside of him. He fancied he saw Iroh's large shape in the window of a pub offshore, but buried the thought quickly. He didn't need the man. Not now.

"You know, he probably has some incredibly clever reason for going with him." Jee's voice suddenly spoke up from behind Zuko, and the prince fought the urge to whirl on the intruder. "Some greater plot he's hoping to accomplish."

"Maybe," Zuko conceded. He noticed the bitter note in his voice and sighed under his breath, crossing the deck so he could hold onto the railing and pretend he was bracing himself against the wind. "Or maybe he just wanted a drink."

"Does it matter?" Jee questioned, as the boat shifted beneath them and Izo steered it out to sea.

He stared into the warm light from the window, feeling the waves lapping against the hull of the boat as it turned. "Of course not," Zuko lied.

"All hands on deck! I want everything sealed against the water, I want the engines running full speed – dammit! Where were we hit?"

"I don't know!" Jee steadied himself against a current of water, shouting over the crashing waves and yelling crewmen.

"Sir, the Helmsman!"

Zuko felt himself go numb with horror at the anonymous scream, spinning around to see Izo hanging off a bent piece of metal dangling dozens of feet above deck. A wretched, smoking hole had been blown through the side of the guardhouse, the metal twisted and jagged. "Shit!" He took off at a sprint without thinking, hearing the splashing footfalls of the Captain behind him.

"I guess we know where we were hit," Jee hissed, and Zuko didn't pause to so much as grunt, taking the rungs two at a time.

"Hang on, Izo!" he screamed. He turned his head down to the deck, eyes squinted against the downpour. "I want three men on deck prepared to catch the helmsman!"

He couldn't hear if they agreed to the order, between the pounding torrents of rain and wind and the sound of blood rushing in his ears. He kept his eyes fixed on Izo, whose hand was slowly falling down the length of the fragile metal fragment, and there was blood running down his wrist, and it was too slippery to hold on-

"Sir, look out!"

Zuko caught Izo with his right hand as the hair stood up on the back of his neck. He dropped the man into Jee's ready arms, instinctively reached out, and pulled the lightning bolt into his outstretched hand.

A tidal wave slammed into the side of the boat, the crash of the water and the thunderbolt drowning out Izo's shriek. Twitching, Zuko's hand lost its grip, and he fell sideways into the crashing waves.

"Zuko? Zuko!"

Zuko snapped into consciousness, sitting straight up on the deck that was still being barraged with the hurricane. He was immediately slammed into a bone-crushing hug, and he turned his head numbly to stare at the hugger. Brown hair, tan skin, clothes soaked through…

"Who are you?" he asked.

He – definitely male – pulled away, giving him a wary stare. "Zuko, I'm Izo. I am the helmsman. You are the commander of this ship. We are in a typhoon, and we need to get back to port."

"Why am I sitting on the deck then?" Zuko asked crisply, standing. "Helmsman, do you have enough of a vantage point to steer us to the eye of the storm?"

"I should, sir," the helmsman replied, somewhat hesitantly. "I'll need to get back up to the guardhouse, but it'll be dangerous."

Zuko's eyebrows scrunched and he looked up to the guardhouse, only to see that there was a rough hole blasted in one side. "Take two men to steady you," Zuko ordered, looking at the number of men on deck. He commanded them all? "I want two men under the hole in the guardhouse, now!" he ordered, louder, and the two nearest men rushed to follow his orders. He turned back to the helmsman, only to note that he was still regarding him with a lingering stare. "Get going, helmsman!"

"Sir!"

Zuko instinctively turned, seeing a middle-aged man with a sprawling beard slogging towards him though the flood. The uniform named him Captain – he must be the second in command.

Zuko paused. Why can't I remember this? He should know his crewmembers, if he really was their commander. A vague vision of a lightning bolt shot through his mind, echoing with pain, and he shook it out quickly. Not now. He had to get these men to safety first. "Captain?"

"There's another ship out at sea, a wood one. It's not sturdy enough to survive these waves. Orders?"

Zuko scrubbed a hand over his right eye. He really didn't need this – that much was for certain. "How far?"

"Look over your shoulder, sir."

The boat in question was hardly a stone's throw from the ship, being tossed viciously by the colossal waves. Zuko considered shortly. It was rather close – it wouldn't take much time to reach it, but it was still was a distraction from ensuring his men were safe.

"Tell the helmsman to intercept it," Zuko decided. "I want all their passengers onboard in five. Whoever doesn't make it doesn't make it – we're turning the ship not a moment later."

"Yes sir!"

"Aang, this was a bad idea!"

"I know, Sokka, I know!" Aang sloppily tried to make an air shield to stop an incoming wave, but it broke, the water splashing into his open mouth and down his throat. His shoulders shook as he tried again, openly sobbing, knowing with absolute certainty that he was going to die. Visions of Gyatso's face and his glider and Appa overlaid reality, and he couldn't shake the terror that gripped every muscle and bone in his body.

"Keep slingin' the water out, boy!"

"I'm working on it! You steer!"

"I'm steerin', sure, but there ain't nowhere to aim!"

Sokka stopped throwing water off the deck with a flimsy basket, face contorted in despair. "I don't want to die!" he yelled, voice raw with tears and salt water.

"Nobody wants ta die, kid, so keep workin'!" the old man snapped, throwing his whole body against the rudder as a wave stormed into one side of the boat, threatening to tip it over completely.

Aang felt quick, shallow breaths racking his lungs, and shot a blast of air at an incoming wave to split it around the boat. Out of nowhere, a black ship emerged across their path.

Sokka swore, catching sight of it. "We're on a collision course! Turn, turn!" He reached for the rudder, grabbing for it manically.

"Calm down, sonny!" The old man pushed Sokka away roughly, sending him skirting across the wet deck. "That ship is trying ta rescue us, not hit us. Everyone ta the prow!"

"Grab the rope!" A faint voice carried over the wind, and suddenly, a wet rope was flung onboard, hitting the wood with a splash barely audible over the storm. Sokka flung himself down to tackle it, holding it desperately in both hands. "Now what?" he cried.

"Tie it ta something, the mast maybe!" The old man braced himself against the rudder as a wave crashed overboard, sending Aang slamming into the opposite rail. "Steady, boy!"

Aang couldn't speak through his panic. He watched Sokka frantically tie the rope to the mast, and then turn back to the looming black ship. "It's tied!" he screamed. "Please help us!"

Their boat was slowly pulled abreast the ship, until their sides gently touched. More ropes were immediately tossed down. "Hurry up," someone called. "We have to leave soon!"

"Ropes," Aang said, the word tasting sour in his throat. Ropes were used for tying up prisoners, for binding people together-

He grabbed the old man in one arm and Sokka in the other and in a burst of adrenaline, leaped. He airbent without truly thinking about it, without huge gestures, and sent them flying over the railing of the towering ship. They landed in a heap on the wet metal, coughing out salt water and picking themselves up uneasily.

Sokka was the first to his feet, a broken "Thank you" halfway out of his lips when he saw his surroundings. "Aw, shit! Aang, this was a bad idea!"

"What? Why?" Aang airbent himself to his feet, the feeling of impending doom lessening slightly with the feeling of solid metal under his feet. He followed Sokka's line of sight, and his breath caught in his throat. The metal was suddenly far more familiar and far less comforting.

Zuko's profile was just visible through the slanted rain, the scar dark against his pale face. His feet were firmly planted, shoulder-width apart, and his arms were crossed over his chest. His phoenix tail whipped in the wind, stray hairs plastering over his forehead, but he didn't so much as twitch to move them, so intent on overseeing the ordered chaos that was his deck. He turned to the rescued group, face utterly expressionless. Aang could only watch, confusion boiling in the pit of his stomach, as he regarded them without emotion for a long second, and turned back to his crew. "Cut the rope tied to their mast. Turn away from the wood boat; distance ourselves from it immediately! I want engines at 80% capacity – get three firebenders downstairs to take over now."

Sokka faced Aang, his jaw slack with shock, as Zuko continued to shout orders and ignore their presence entirely. "What in Koh's name is going on, Aang?" he asked, voice unnerved and shaking with fear. "Is this some weird spirit shenanigans that I should know about?"

Aang could only shake his head. "I have no idea. Maybe this is all just a ruse?"

"Maybe he's just takin' ya back ta port," the fisherman spoke up, having grabbed the taffrail in a two-handed grip and settled with his head down. "What does it matter? He saved us, di'n't he?"

"Sure, but you don't know him," Sokka argued, somewhat indignantly. "He wouldn't 'save' us without having something far more hideous in store."

"I know plenty of his kind," the old man replied, and for once the bitter edge to his tone was somewhat subdued. "Those Fire Nation soldiers all act tough and cruel, but some of 'em would rather not have civilians die on their watch. So what if he keeps ya prisoner? It's better than being dead, ain't it?"

"Don't worry about it Sokka," Aang mumbled. "We've escaped from this ship once, we can do it again."

"What was that?" Sokka asked, shouting to be heard. Aang shook his head in reply.

"Nothing. We'll be fine."

As if in answer, the air stilled without warning, the sea calming to an even level under the ship. Blue skies soared straight above them, and a hint of pale sunlight blushed over the deck. The ship stilled immediately, silence reigning over the crew as the enormity of what they had accomplished settled over them. The peaceful, breathless moment shattered as a dozen crewmen all cheered together, screaming with wordless relief.

The rescued men were largely ignored, Aang watching from a distance as Zuko's face melted into a genuine grin and he whirled to hug a middle aged man embossed with two silver bars. "We did it, Captain!" He turned and clasped arms with another Marine, and waved joyously to the helmsman far above, who was jumping and shouting with glee.

Sokka sank to a sitting position beside him, holding his head in his hands and visibly trying not to cry. Aang knelt beside him, one hand awkwardly on his shoulder, understanding his exhaustion and bewilderment. Still, he couldn't take his eyes of the sight of the banished Prince, proud and happy and uncaring, for all his honor, that the Avatar was willingly on his ship.

"You're alive! Thank the powers that be, you're home at last!"

"Eh, gerroff me woman. I wasn't gonna die out there."

"You said you were afraid to die," Sokka sniffed, but the smile in his eyes as he watched the two embrace couldn't be hidden, lit up by the platinum lunar glow.

"Yer one to talk, lad," the old man scowled. Aang stifled laughter.

At last, the woman leaned back, eyes squinting to see clearly in the darkness. "But how did you make it? And where is the boat?" She looked over her husband's shoulder, searching for any sign of the wooden hull, and was met with the chilling sight of a black Firenation ship. Her eyes flew wide. "What? What are they doing here?"

"Ma'am." Zuko strode up to them, still disturbingly calm in Aang's presence. He nodded to the old woman respectfully, expression solemn. The other crewmen were still onboard, bandaging injured and bailing water. "We have brought your husband home this time," he said firmly. "Please restrain him, if he ever decides to go out in such weather again." He turned to Sokka and Aang, not even a flicker of recognition on his face. "The same with you, boys. You should have known not to look for fish in that storm."

Sokka looked like he was about to faint from shock, his tan face drawn and pale and eyebrows almost touching his hairline. Aang watched Zuko and, suddenly struck with revelation, bowed deeply. He took a deep breath, questioned the intelligence of what he was about to do, and then spoke. "Prince Zuko of the Fire Nation, Son of Ozai and Ursa, Nephew to Dragon of the West, Iroh; we are deeply honored to have been rescued by the hospitality of you and your crew."

He straightened, carefully watching Zuko's face. For one terrifying moment, his face remained utterly blank. Then, something flashed in his expression, and his hand twitched, rising slowly to touch the charred skin surrounding his left eye. He staggered back a step as if punched, but steadied himself before Aang could so much as reach him. "Oh," Zuko whispered softly, his face hung from view. "Oh."

"Zuko?" Aang asked, tentative.

"The Prince of the Fire Nation!" The old woman grabbed her husband's arm and yanked him back, practically throwing him through the open inn door. "Stay away from me and my family, you disgusting filth!" She followed after the fisherman, slamming the door behind them. The sound of a lock turning echoed in the dark, silent streets. Nobody dared move.

"Zuko?" Aang asked again.

"How dare you!" Zuko screeched, snapping his head up to glower at Aang. "How dare you come aboard my ship, and take advantage of my crew-!"

"You saved us, Angry Boy," Sokka interrupted, stepping between Aang and the furious Prince. "If you want to regret it, fine, but don't take it out on him."

"You could have killed more men," Zuko hissed, bending around Sokka to look Aang in the eye. "You know what a risk it was, wasting time to save your flimsy ship from your own stupidity? I took it because I thought you would be innocent – if I had known it was the boy that had murdered one of my Marines, I wouldn't have bothered!"

"What are you talking about?" Sokka asked, daring to push Zuko back. "Aang's never killed anybody!"

"Not of his own decision, maybe," Zuko spat, smoldering gaze still pinned unerringly on the monk and not even bothering to fight Sokka back. "Do you even realize what you've done?"

Aang felt the panic rise in his stomach, still hovering nearby, ever ready for a trigger when storm clouds were in sight. He stared into molten gold eyes, expecting for fear to cover him in a cold blanket – yet he felt a warm calm settle over him instead. He stepped around Sokka, standing uneasily just in front of the shaking Prince. "Zuko," he said slowly, trying to ignore the Prince's implications, to cover and bury them, "You were at the Southern Air Temple with your Uncle. I've wanted to ask you ever since you captured me; why were you there? How did your Uncle know to leave me that message?"

Zuko's brow crinkled. "What are you talking abou-"

"Prince Zuko! What in the name of all hells were you thinking?" A furious voice echoed around a corner, making Zuko snap his head towards its source. His eyes flew wide when he recognized the man, though Aang couldn't see who it was.

"Get inside!" he growled, pushing Aang and Sokka roughly. "Hurry up, go through the back door! Run!"

"Wha-"

"Don't fucking question me, monk, just follow orders – unless you really want to be captured tonight." He shoved them into the alley, gesturing urgently towards the inn on the left. "Get out of here, now!"

"Why would we follow orders from you?" Sokka started, but before he could even finish the question, Aang had grabbed his hand and yanked him deeper into the alley. The two forms slipped seamlessly into the clouded darkness of the night, diving around the corner and pressing themselves against the inn's back wall. They sunk behind a cart of garbage, Aang holding a commanding finger to his lips. "Don't look a gift ostrich-horse in the mouth," he whispered.

Sokka nodded, blue eyes wide. Aang stared at the wall facing them without focus, a thousand tangled thoughts buzzing through his head. He was going to have a terrible headache in the morning – and he was talking to Roku as soon as physically possible. And he was not going to think about Zuko's accusations, not until the storm was gone, and he could think straight.

"Zuko! Are you alright?" Iroh's frantic voice echoed to their position, and Aang stilled to listen. Zuko's voice sounded muffled - by clothes? - when he replied.

"I'm fine, Uncle. I… I… No, I'm not fine. I feel like I'm going to be sick-"

Aang leaned into the moment of silence, curiosity begging him to peek. He stilled the urge. Finally, the unknown voice scoffed with arrogance. "I have never met such a stubborn, idiotic child. What disgusting weakness. Not to mention the damage done to the ship-"

"His ship, Zhao," Iroh said coldly. "And I think he has shown incredible strength tonight, by returning all his men unharmed. I suggest you return to your crew, or find a room to stay for the night. Our ship is not the most hospitable tonight."

"Is that a dismissal?" 'Zhao' asked, voice low and dangerous.

"Yes," Iroh answered sharply. "Leave us. And while you head to the dock, tell Captain Jee to meet me inside."

The sound of a hateful sigh and bootfalls were all that reached Aang's ears for a long minute, until his sensitive hearing picked up quiet sobs and the dull rap of knocking. "It's safe," he breathed. "Let's head inside and get dried off."

"Maybe Katara will have food?" Sokka asked, hopefully following Aang through the back door. Aang shook his head and tried to chuckle.

A/N: I am aware that this chapter was crap and ended up being five months later when I SAID I wouldn't do that and I'M SORRY. At least we're finally getting into the heat of the action!

Thanks for your lovely reviews last chapter. Please keep leaving them so I have the inspiration to write more these last few months of high school, when all I really want to do is curl in a ball and cry.