Woooo. I can't believe I wrote this in two weeks. After feeling blocked and disinterested for a year, I'm all of a sudden feeling reinvigorated. This can only be good.
They made port some time before noon.
The first thing they all did was rush to the nearest restaurant, ordering huge sides of meat, steaming vegetables, and tall mugs of ale. Hakoda didn't blame them; they'd been lean on food for days, and ran out entirely the night before. Katara even convinced Aang to cover his head and come ashore. She walked him slowly to the nearest hotel, found the softest bed, and sat with him, picking over a dish of fresh fruit and vegetables. Sokka and Toph joined the men, gorging themselves and sneaking the odd drink when they thought no one could notice them. They filled a long table, which literally groaned under the sheer weight of food. But the mood was far from cheerful. Every man was embroiled in his own thoughts. Ulo's father hadn't spoken a word, and refused to eat despite intense hunger. Bato valiantly tried to rouse chatter from the men, who stared down at their plates in glum silence. Hakoda left as soon as he'd cleared his plate, leaving money for Bato, and wandered up and down the long boardwalk in his full armour, at a loss for what to do.
It was a Fire Nation colony, a port town, encircling a wide, deep bay, protected from the worst of the cold northern winds. Although a few fishing boats dotted the calm blue sea, the town seemed to thrive mostly on the warships that docked for supplies. There were four others already in port; Hakoda did his best to avoid them, advising his men to do the same. News must have gotten out about a captured ship attacking the naval forces. The town held various food stores, maps and navigational equipment, engineers to repair broken machinery, a direct line to a rich coal mine – everything that the naval forces could possibly want or need.
They also had – something else that was very popular among the men. Hakoda had seen it out of the corner of his eye on the first turn. On the second, he stood outside for half a second, before turning on his heel and walking off. On the third, however, he faced the building's facade with squared shoulders, taking in a long breath. Although there was no sign, he knew what it was. The windows were blocked with thick red curtains. He heard the high, playful laugh of a woman inside. It seemed to Hakoda that the house carried a faint, musky smell of bedrooms and skin. He teetered on the edge of a decision, willing himself to step forward and take the plunge. It was something he'd considered many, many times in the nine long years since Kya had died. For the first few years, Hakoda felt dirty and shameful when the thought crossed his mind, as though the mere idea insulted her memory. He had made a commitment for life, both hers and his.
He hoped that the urges would pass as he grew older. Surely as he matured fully and settled down, it would pass, and he would happy enough with his mother and children. But if anything, they increased. He found his dreams growing more and more explicit and vivid. Hakoda felt himself sinking further, with no discernible way of pulling himself out. When he left with his men for foreign shores, the longing grew even more intense. He found himself staring at the women in their draping silks, so exotic and foreign to him. They scented themselves with perfume and coloured their lips red. He did anything to casually brush up against them. To his irrevocable shame, their porcelain skin and acres of shimmering fabric replaced Kya in his dreams.
Moving on was just part of the process. He lay awake at night, trying to convince himself that it was normal. Kya was a ghost, hovering on the edge of his memory. These women lived and breathed, they were alive and warm and near him. He closed his eyes, willing himself to bring her back in his mind, to imagine her beside him. But it didn't work. She was just a ghost. And he was left alone in his cold, lonely bed.
After Sokka had spoken to him the night before, something broke within him. The thread snapped, and he fell completely. As he paced the boardwalk, Hakoda realised that there was no shame in his thoughts or desires. He had maintained an immaculate facade of celibacy for nine years. Spirits, that was longer than their marriage. He couldn't comfort himself with the image of a ghost. And the desire pressed in on him, making it hard to breathe. It wasn't just the physical intimacy. It was the long, lazy mornings spent lying in a lover's arms. It was the sharing of sappy poems and love-tokens. It was the whispered conversations carrying on into the night, while the rest of the world slept. It was the simple, base knowledge that there someone who was entirely his. It was the love.
He wouldn't find that here. Hakoda wasn't stupid. These women were paid to satisfy carnal desires only. What they provided was a cheap, hollow imitation of love. He wouldn't be able to lie with her all night and stroke her hair. He wouldn't be able to talk to her about his children. But damn, it was the closest thing to love Hakoda felt that he could get. And he needed anything. Just a day. An hour. A few minutes.
Hakoda steeled himself. Holding his breath, he crossed the threshold of the rather lopsided little house. There was no going back after this. Kya would lose her last hold on him forever. Hakoda was terrified to lose her.
Yet, at the same time, he ached to be free.
"Ta Min, I found these gloves. The green ones with the flowers on the wrist."
"Oh, Wen." Ursa looked up from the book in her hands. She'd forgotten that she even had gloves. When did she last wear them? She struggled to remember. The housemaid held them up with a weak smile on the threshold of the sunny little nursery.
"What did you want to do with them?" They looked like very fine gloves. The stitching was impeccable. Did Enlai give them to her when they were courting? Did she wear them at a party? Ursa cast her mind about, but she was utterly at sea. Why couldn't she remember a thing about them? And what did she want with them anyway? She wasn't going to go to any soiree or dinner any time soon, not the way the city was going. Besides, she didn't like wearing gloves. They made her hands clammy. How much could she sell them for? They had to be at least three or four seasons old. Not worth half their first value.
"You have them." Ursa shifted the infant in her arms. Wen squeaked. "You're seeing this boy, aren't you?" She nodded silently. "Wear them out on the town then." They would certainly get more wear in the hands of the young, unmarried girl than the mother. The housemaid blabbed a long-winded thanks, leaving the room slowly. Ursa returned her attention to the little boy who was half asleep, lying against her. She was reading a story to him, a silly little fairy tale about an ostrich-horse who tried to catch the moon. Kazu had slept badly the night before, and Ursa was trying to lull the exhausted boy into a slumber. Ursa herself could feel her mental faculties slowly diminishing. The little room was so warm in the afternoon sun. A spider-fly buzzed in the corner of the window. The baby had finally started to snore, and Ursa lay the book on her lap, slowly rocking back and forth in the chair. Her eyelids grew heavy. She didn't notice the heavily clumping up the stairs, or the muffled voices. They were distant, apart from her. Ursa's head lolled back, and for just a minute she allowed herself slowly close her eyes, and...
"Ta Min!" Ursa jerked up as the nursery door was flung open. Startled at the sudden motion, Kazu stirred restlessly in her arms, and started to cry. Ursa's mouth fell open at the sight of Enlai storming into the sunny little room, his mouth trembling. He had been crying. Ursa hurriedly set the baby down in his cot for a moment, trying to embrace Enlai and take hold of his hand. He stepped back as though she had hit him, chest heaving in short, choking sobs. Ursa was fraught with confusion as she stared at her husband. She didn't understand what had frightened him like this. Some sort of overwhelming shock had scarred him. Enlai couldn't speak. It was the soft movement at the corner of her eye that caused Ursa to look up from the man to the figure in the doorway. Her limbs deadened in shock, and Ursa closed her eyes, feeling the earth pitch and turn beneath her. Her ears rang as she looked from Enlai to Zuko and back, a horrible pit growing in her stomach.
"No." Her voice was so small, so tiny and piteous, but they all heard her. To Enlai, it was enough. He turned away from her, wavering unsteadily on his feet. He grasped the cot to support himself, doubling over with his forehead on the wooden rim, crippled with sobs. He never could have imagined anything like this. He would have rather she'd harboured a secret lover from him, than a child of sixteen. Her entire life was cast into doubt. How much of her past was truly honest? The woman who stood before him, his wife, was a stranger to him.
"His friends saw us yesterday." Zuko's voice was flat and dull, rattling off the bare facts. He felt completely drained. "I was cornered and they wanted to know. They thought..." He trailed off, leaving the sentence unfinished. It was obvious what they thought.
"Enlai-" She touched him on the shoulder, but he shrugged her away, shaking his head. Ursa withdrew her hand, pressing her lips together. She wished he would shout at her. The wheels in her mind turned frantically, thinking desperately of something she could possibly say to him. Was there anything she could say, except for the truth? And he wouldn't want to hear that. She couldn't hurt him like that. "Please, let me explain-"
"Go on then!" He whirled around, straightening himself. His eyes shone at her, very bright. "Tell me!" His voice broke, but he kept his chin up straight, looking at her in the eye. Ursa drew in a short, sharp breath, willing herself to think of something good. There had to be something plausible. There had to be a rational explanation for a secret sixteen-year-old child. Perhaps she could say Zuko was born out of wedlock. That she gave him up to an orphanage and left town. Plenty of young, abandoned mothers were known to do that. Ursa opened her mouth to speak, her mind rapidly weaving together a few slender threads of a lie, but as her lips started to move, the voice died in her throat, and her mouth closed. She knew that she couldn't spin another lie. It would destroy them all. There was only one thing she could do that had a slim chance of salvaging her marriage with this man.
"I was married." Zuko made a noise in his throat, and he started shaking his head. Surely, she wasn't thinking of telling him? Ursa ignored her eldest son, looking only at Enlai. "For ten years."
"I-Is he still alive?" Enlai demanded, his inflamed eyes slowly drying. Ursa paused, but nodded slowly. "Do you know where he his?" Another nod.
"Mum, don't." Zuko stepped in, grabbing her wrist. "Please, you can't-"
"Hush Lee." She pushed on his shoulder gently, guiding him away. He released his hold on her and took a step back, watching silently as his mother tried to hold Enlai's hand. He let her, but Zuko could see his knuckles were white. "Sit down." Her grasp was firm, and Enlai yielded to her silently, sitting down heavily in the room's only chair. Ursa got down on her knees in front of him, submissively. She tried very hard to make herself appear small. Zuko leaned heavily against the doorframe, his knees weak. What was she doing? Didn't she realise the danger they would be in, the both of them, if more people were to know? He didn't see the glaring hypocrisy. "I'm not... from here." Ursa paused, her mouth a small wrinkled knot. He would either accept her with the full truth, or cast her out, turn her in, say that he never wanted to see her again. She had to take the chance. "Not just Ba Sing Se, but... the Earth Kingdom." She couldn't look at Zuko; she looked her husband dead in the eye. "We're from the Fire Nation." Zuko's head was in his hands.
"I should have known." She was so different to any other woman he had met. There was something foreign and exotic about her, from the moment he'd laid eyes on her across the room of a crowded tea shop four years ago. It wasn't just in her looks, but the way she held herself, the soft inflection in her vowels, her taste in food, her mannerisms and social idiosyncrasies. He knew she wasn't from Ba Sing Se, but it wasn't just regional. Her difference seemed to put her in another world. Ursa rested on her heels, waiting for the man to continue speaking, but Enlai had lapsed into another long silence. She took a long breath, steeling herself.
"I left seven years ago because I did something terrible. I lied because I thought you wouldn't want anything to do with me." How did she manage to stay so calm? Ursa felt as though she was breaking apart inside.
"What did you do?" Enlai was bursting with questions. He knew there was more, so much more to the story than what he had been told. He felt hollow and dried out, desperately determined to unravel every last thread of his wife's complicated past.
"I murdered my father-in-law." She sounded flat and emotionless. She never had any remorse for what she had done to Azulon. If anything, she felt as though death had cheated him out of any further suffering. To her, his long history of sadism had been left unpunished in his death. "He was... an important person in the Fire Nation."
"How important?" Enlai pressed. Zuko straightened up, clearing his throat. Ursa's eyes flicked to him for a second. He was frantically shaking his head, making a slashing motiona cross his throat. Silently, he begged her not to reveal their darkest secret.
"Enlai..." She found his hands again, and squeezed them gently. Their baby still murmured restlessly in his cot. She longed to embrace the child, but couldn't break her hold. She had to tell him this. He had the right to know the past of the woman he'd pledged his life to. I should have told him when he proposed to me. "My husband was Firelord Ozai." He pulled his hands away with a start, as though she had burned him. His eyes were impossibly wide. Ursa was aware of a violent rushing in her ears. She bowed her head, trying to clear the sound. Zuko swore silently, but the pair heard the sharp intake of breath. Ursa raised her head after several moments of painful silence. She rested her hands on his knees, and he shifted uncomfortably under the touch. But she didn't let go of him. She refused to.
"Did you love him?" How possessive, how selfish of him, to have that the first question from his lips! But it seemed so ludicrous to him. He struggled to make the connection in his mind, between his wife, his sweet, beautiful Ta Min, and the monster who threatened to destroy the world. The woman at his feet seemed entirely alien to him, as she lay before her a past that he never could have guessed. It stretched between them, a yawning chasm, that threatened to split them apart forever, and swallow him up entirely. He felt her slim white hands stiffen on his knee. She was frozen. It wasn't a question she ever would have expected. She thought he would ask first about her name, her age, how many children she really had. All previously established as solid truths, thrown into disarray and doubt. But he bypassed them all, going straight to her heart.
"Zuko, leave the room." Her voice was trembling. Enlai flinched at the use of the name, pained. Zuko stepped towards her, his brow creased in a very, very deep frown. "Please."
"Mum, I-"
"I'm asking you to leave." There was a hard edge to her voice, barbed and almost poisonous. Zuko sprang back at her iron voice, hands falling lax at his sides. "Go into the sitting room and wait."
"But-"
"I didn't ask you, I'm telling you." Zuko had never been scolded by his mother before, and it came to him as a shock. "Leave us." Zuko opened his mouth to respond, but he thought the better of it, and left silently, begrudgingly, slamming the door behind him with a force that shook the walls. Ursa's shoulders slumped in a long sigh as she heard the bang, shaking her head. Of course he was angry. He didn't want to be left out of something like this. But the moment the topic had been brought up, Ursa knew it would be hard to stop. And there were things he couldn't know. Not ever.
He wasn't happy. Zuko swore, loudly and repeatedly as the thumped heavily down the stairs. He was so absorbed in his own mental turmoil, that he didn't see the slim girl struggling with a heavy chair until he almost walked into her.
"Oh!" Her cheeks flushed heavily at the sight of him. Wen walked backwards down the stairs, supporting the chair with her thin little arms. She peered at him over the piece of furniture. All Zuko could see was a pair of wide brown eyes. She hovered uncertainly on the staircase, unsure of how to greet him. On principle, she was to greet any associate of her master with a bow, but her arms trembled under the immense weight of the chair.
"Here." Zuko wordlessly pushed her aside - a little roughly, it was to be said – and easily hoisted the carved chair in his arms. The servant girl followed the unknown stranger in a curious silence, biting her lip. He was dressed like a commoner, like her, but despite his violent swearing, he was far too high-brow to be a peasant. People like her, who spent their time among the upper classes, learned quickly the mannerisms of the highly-bred. "Where did you want it?"
"J-Just in the hallway." Wen stood on the third stair, chewing nervously on a nail. She watched him set the chair near the door, the furniture adding to the carefully-packed pile of goods to be transferred to the new house. The chair was too big, too impractical, to find a home in the new small apartment, but Enlai couldn't bear to part with it. "Thank you."
"Whatever." Zuko paced the hallway distractedly, constantly casting his eyes to the head of the stairs. He was furious. He'd always suspected that there was something, something dark and secret that shrouded the family past. There was always something in the way his mother reacted whenever he asked about her parents. She always looked away and pretended she didn't hear, or she said it was time for bed, or she said not to be nosy. Zuko struggled to put the pieces together, but he could only entertain wild theories in his mind. He never had anything to confirm his suspicions. Even his Uncle refused to utter a word on the subject. It was serious. And he still, he was kept in the dark. Zuko stopped on his heel, staring up at the closed door. He wasn't a child anymore. He could take it. Why wouldn't his mother see that?
The little housemaid pressed herself to the wall as Zuko ran up the stairs, trying to keep his tread light. He paused outside at the door, hesitating for a moment. But he pressed his ear to the door, screwing his eyes shut in concentration as he struggled to hear what the couple were saying in the nursery. All he could hear were soft, muffled voices. He thought he could hear somebody crying, but he wasn't sure who it was. Zuko crouched a little, as though he could hear closer to the ground. But there was nothing but silence. Whatever story his mother had told, it was already over. Or she had paused for breath. Zuko growled in frustration, and wrenched the door open, storming into the sunny room.
"You can't do this!" The words left Zuko's mouth before he realised that Ursa was sitting on the chair, in Enlai's arms. She started, looked up at the intruder. One look at her eyes, and it was obvious who had been in tears. Zuko stopped for a second, uncomfortable and embarrassed, but he ploughed on ahead anyway. "How come he can know and I can't!"
"You don't want to know." Enlai's face was white. Ursa was clinging to him, her hands still shaking violently. He'd never seen her like this, and it shook Zuko, touching something deep in his soul. "You're better not knowing."
"No, I'm not!" Zuko shouted over his meek words. The infant in the crib started to cry, wailing piteously in fright. "Is this about Dad? Look, if you think I can't hate him any more, I-"
"It's not about your father." Ursa finally spoke up, disentangling herself from Enlai as she rose rather clumsily to her feet. The young man hurried quickly over to the crying infant, holding the soft bundle in his arms. "Please, just let this go, y-"
"I can't just let this go!" Zuko didn't mean to shout like this, he didn't, but his anger got the better of him, rising in his chest. "It's not fair! I'm your son and you won't tell me anything! I've asked you for years and you haven't said a word!" Zuko took another step towards his mother, keeping his chin high. He was challenging her. "Whatever it is, I can take it Mum."
"Honey." She spoke simply, reaching her hand out to Zuko's shoulder. "I'm sorry, but not now, I just can't- hey!" A frown creased her ivory skin as Zuko turned away from her, marching out of the room. "Where do you think you're going?"
He didn't answer her. Zuko stamped loudly down the stairs, his mouth set in a deep scowl. He was livid and frustrated, but most of all, he was hurt. Did his mother think so little of him, that she couldn't trust him to take something like this? Did she think he was too immature, too young? When would she learn that he wasn't a stupid little child anymore?
"Please, don't just walk out!" Ursa chased him down the stairs. It seemed as though they were cursed. They had only met three times now, but every time, it was painfully awkward, or it ended in a violent explosion of anger, with Zuko storming out. "Look, I-"
He slammed the door in her face. Ursa stopped short, the door narrowly missing her nose. The gust of wind blew several strands of hair in her face, and she spat them out, her cheeks crimson. She wasn't guilty about anything. Not this time. This time, it was entirely Zuko's fault. He was being childish and unreasonable. Her hand rested on the doorknob, tempted to go screaming down the street for him to get back here. For the first time in many years, she wanted to hit him. Ursa leaned forward, groaning as her forehead came into contact with the wood panelling. How could she make him understand? When it came to her past, it wasn't Ozai that had ruined her life. It wasn't Ozai that had taken everything she had ever loved. It was the one Zuko had looked up to his entire life. It was his sworn protector and closest confidant, the only man Zuko had ever trusted entirely.
It was Iroh that had almost destroyed her.
Mai was not going to ever get used to wearing her hair down. She hated the way it hung over his neck, hot and heavy, like a thick blanket draped over her shoulders. She despised the way it blocked her peripheral vision. Even though she did her best to sweep it back, the black curtain of hair refused to stay out of her face. But she had to bear through it. She had to keep her head up and act as though she wore her hair in a half-topknot every day of her life. Mai was tough but it was the little things that annoyed her and got under her skin. She'd always kept her waist-length hair pinned up, even when she slept. She felt like an entirely different person. Of course, the green dress didn't help. She even confused the cook. But recognition dawned, and he let her take a tray of food to the youngest prisoner onboard the ship.
It wasn't much. A small bowl of rice, some steamed vegetables, and a cup of lukewarm tea. Prisoners weren't allowed anything more, she was curtly told. Mai didn't care much as she slid the heavy lock open. No doubt he would happily eat maggot-laden chicken bones at this point. The Dai Li mentioned that he hadn't been fed yet. It was what gave Mai the idea.
"Hello?" The lantern on the tray cast a soft orange glow around the tiny room. Mai closed the door, sliding the key carefully into a concealed fold of clothing. She measured the cabin in a single gaze. It was very meagre. Eight feet across, at best, with nothing but a worn bedstead taking up one half. The figure slumped on the mattress looked more dead than alive. But Mai could see the whites of his eyes, staring at her.
"H-Hello?" His voice was the barest whisper. Mai set the tray on the floor. He became black shadow, half of his face bathed in light, the other in darkness. She sat herself on the edge of the bed, trying to keep a meek demeanour. But she wasn't a complete iceberg; something throbbed, deep within her, as she looked at his face. He was exhausted, cold, starving, and completely terrified. They were almost the same age. She tried to imagine herself in that situation, an extreme security threat, captured and bound. She couldn't. "Who... are you?" It was like skin on sandpaper. The back of Mai's neck prickled at his broken rasp of a voice, and she bent down, taking the warm tea.
"I'm Mian." Mai decided to choose a name similar to her own. It was easier to remember. "Can you sit up a little more, please?" She watched him clench his hands into fists as he struggled to lift his head. He was too weak to move. Mai bit her lip, and with one arm, she got under his shoulders, hoisting up against the wall. He slumped against her without a word, Mai brushing his fingers. They were like ice, stiff and frozen. That wasn't good. They'd rot off if they weren't careful. Not that Azula would care. Prisoners generally didn't need their fingers. She pressed the cup against his lips. "Drink, it'll make you feel better." He coughed at first, the lukewarm liquid dribbling down his chin. Mai gently touched his throat, coaxing him to swallow. He stared at her, his eyes into her own, refusing to break his gaze for a moment. She watched him drink without another word, not wanting to look him quite in the eye. There was something blank, something chilling, behind them. There wasn't any light in there.
"Where am I?" His voice already sounded better. He gasped a little for air as she broke away, wiping at his chin with the sleeve of her dress. Mai set down the empty cup before she answered, trying to keep an edge of fear in her voice, as though she herself was in a precarious situation.
"A Fire Nation ship." She smoothed out the blanket at his waist. His skin was freezing. "Heading to the capital for..." Mai trailed off, reaching down for the bowl of rice.
"For what?" His voice cracked. "What's going on?" The warmth of the tea, the excitement of another living soul, breathing near him, light, a pair of eyes to look into, sent life into his dying soul. The terror and bewilderment that had welled up in him started to spill over in his broken train of thought. "What's happening?"
"You were arrested by the Fire Nation princess." Mai held a spoon of rice near his lips. He obediently opened his mouth, and swallowed. "For terrorism and attempted murder. You tried to destroy one of the colony towns and killed a number of Fire Nation soldiers." Now she looked into his eyes. Mai watched for his reaction carefully. If he was truly amnesiac, he would respond with genuine confusion. If he was lying, he would deny it. But the words that came out of his mouth knocked Mai for six.
"Who are the Fire Nation?" He asked as soon as his mouth was empty. The hand that held the spoon fell lax, Mai's eyes widening.
"They're the ones who own this ship and arrested you." She tried to mask her surprise, offering him another spoon of rice. He ate greedily, not bothering to chew before swallowing.
"Are you Fire Nation?" He asked quietly. He didn't know if he could trust her, but damn, this was the only human contact he could ever remember. He'd lay bare his soul to her, do anything, to keep her and her lantern in the room. He was terrified of being trapped again, alone in the crushing darkness.
"No. I'm from the Earth Kingdom." He was either taking this to an extreme, or he had genuinely lost every trace of his memory. Mai was an expert of picking up on the most subtle of facial ticks. It was a skill she had learned after years and years of maintaining a perfect, emotionless facade. She became an expert at finding the cracks. And he wasn't giving anything away.
"And me?" He opened his mouth for another spoonful, inhaling the rice. "What am I?"
"You're from the Earth Kingdom too." She was getting in over her head. Mai wasn't expecting this. She was prepared to play the innocent little servant girl, but this was starting to get out of hand.
"What's my name?" It was so weak, so piteous and wretched, it tugged even at Mai's heartstrings. She looked down at her hands for several moments, turning the question over in her mind before raising her gaze. She looked into his eyes, trying to find a tell. But there was nothing there. He was bare. Empty. She couldn't read him and his awful blank eyes.
"Jet. Your name is Jet."
"Dad! I've been looking everywhere for you."
Hakoda sat on the edge of the dock with his feet in the water, watching the almost glassy surface ripple and waver at his touch. He wriggled his toes, watching the tiny rings expand in the water, growing outwards until they faded away. He had tried to find somewhere quiet and relaxed, where he could meditate in peace. He didn't want to be around people.
Hakoda felt revolting.
It was as horrible, as dirty, as he expected. No, it was worse. She wouldn't let him kiss her. She said that cost extra, more than he could pay. She made him lie down and keep still, promising that she would 'take care' of him. It wasn't how he remembered it used to be, with Kya. The woman was too fast and she had nails that scratched. He would have preferred her to lie prostrate on the bed, as lifeless as stone, and at least let him try, rather than furiously trying to get the job done as quickly as possible, before moving on to the next 'customer'.
He hated himself. He felt cold and disgusted. The whole thing was over before he could blink, and she left the room without even saying goodbye. It wasn't even that good. He'd had better by himself. Hakoda was ashamed to think that he could ever begin to replace Kya with some cheap woman. He would rather have the memory of a ghost than the cold, mechanical touch of a prostitute.
"Dad?" Hakoda jumped at the sound of his sons' voice, looking up to see Sokka taking a seat beside him on the isolated corner of the pier. "Where have you been?"
"Oh." He swallowed, his mouth dry. Hakoda kept his eyes on the water, slowly swinging his legs back and forth. "Just around. I've been here for a while. Have you seen your sister?"
"Yeah, she's fine." Sokka nodded. "I booked the rooms around her for us. Figured that'll be nicer than spending the night on the ship." He bit his lip, looking down at his father's feet. He felt undeniably awkward. "Dad... Are you sure you just came here?"
"What do you mean?" Hakoda finally looked up, turning to regard his son. Sokka still looked down at the water, scratching the back of his head. "I walked around a bit, if that's what you mean."
"I mean... did you, go in anywhere?" Sokka's cheeks started to flush red. "Maybe a, um, a certain house of... Well." He coughed, unable to form the words with his mouth. Hakoda's feet froze in the water, eyes slowly growing wide. "I saw you going in."
"Oh." He was quiet. Hakoda's eyes slid up to the sky for a moment, casting his thoughts around. "Yes... I did." He slowly admitted. Sokka was taking it better than he would have expected. He would have thought the boy would shout at him and accuse him of tarnishing the memory of his wife. "You're... taking it well."
"Yeah, well." Sokka have a wry half-laugh. He remembered kissing Suki in the silvery light of the full moon. "I haven't been exactly faithful to someone's memory." He looked his father in the eye. "Do you do it much?"
"What? Oh, you mean..." Hakoda coughed. "No. This was... Actually the first time. Ever." He clasped his hands together, aware the back of his neck was starting to feel very hot. "Since your mother, I mean."
"Can't say I'm surprised." There was another wry chuckle from the teenager. "I had a bet with Katara that when you came home you'd have a new mother for us. It made her furious."
"Hm? No, I wouldn't do that to you kids." His hand fell rather heavily on Sokka's shoulder. "I'm not that interested in finding someone else. Not at my age." He tried to sound convincing. "You two keep me fit enough."
"Oh, come on Dad." Sokka rolled his eyes. "You're not even forty yet. You've got what, fifty years left to live."
"That's ambitious." Hakoda muttered under his breath. Sokka pretended not to hear him. "Look, finding someone else isn't top priority at the moment. We've got a war to fight."
"And then after?"
"I don't know." Hakoda frowned. Why was his son taking an interest in his non-existent love life? "That's a long way away."
"Only a few months." Sokka pointed out. A few months, if they won, of course. But then they would be as good as dead otherwise and it would all be over anyway. "Look, I just mean... Surely there's got to be people out there than well, that." He waved his hand in the direction of the dockside village. "One of our own, for a start."
"Hah. All the women in our village are either married or ten years younger than me. It's not exactly thriving, is it?" Sokka shook his head, chuckling.
"I dunno Dad, a younger lady might be good for y-hey!" Sokka yelped as he was splashed with the warm seawater, spitting out the salty liquid. "Dad!" He tried to splash his father in return, soaking his boots.
"All right. Truce." His feet stilled in the water, and he leaned back on his hands, closing his eyes in the afternoon sun. It was deliciously warm on his face, the salty tang of the ocean air sending shivers down his spine. He could never bear to be more than a day from the ocean.
"I should go check on Katara." With a long sigh of regret, Sokka hoisted his feet out of the water, trying to shake his sodden boots. "Don't be too long."
"I won't." Hakoda's eyes were still closed.
"Oh, and Dad?" His eyes cracked open, and he arched his neck to look up at his son. "Can you promise something for me?"
"What is it?"
"When we win the War," There was no if. Sokka refused to address it. "You'll go on a date with someone." Hakoda's eyes snapped fully open. "Just try it."
"... All right." Hakoda slowly sat up straight, nodding. "When we win, I'll take someone out." His smile faded into a thoughtful frown. When did Sokka... Grow up? It was so strange. He addressed his father like an equal, frankly sharing his mind with him. Sokka didn't seem to need him anymore. He wasn't the little boy that followed his daddy around and asked to go fishing and secretly played with his father's tools when he thought it was safe. Somewhere along the line, he became a man.
And Hakoda had missed it.
Regret blossomed in his chest. Hakoda wrenched himself from the edge of the dock, abandoning his heavy armour and boots as he made his way along the lopsided boardwalk. But he'd only made half a dozen steps when he realised that he couldn't pick Sokka out from the rest of the soldiers in the scattered crowd. Hakoda's shoulders slumped as he looked down at his feet, his eyes and nose burning with the definite and overwhelming urge to cry.
Katara had turned into her mother. It was plain to see. Her fighting spirit, her loyalty and selflessness, and her domestic commitment to the men around her, it was all a mirror of Kya. She was even starting to look like her. But Sokka wasn't turning into his father. He was turning into someone apart. Someone better. Someone who had contemplated the age-old creed of his people, and rejected it for simple humanity.
It seemed to him they'd done a better job of raising themselves than he ever could have done. Hakoda returned to his spot on the pier, gingerly kicking at the heavy bits of armour with his feet. He didn't know what to do with himself. He still felt on tenterhooks with his men, after what he had done to Paka, Kamik, and Ulo. His daughter would be too busy fussing over Aang to indulge him. And he didn't know what he could say to Sokka. He felt as though he'd already said too much to his son over the past day.
He returned to the water.
"I wondered when you'd be home."
Zuko closed the door behind himself without a reply, leaning heavily on the battered weatherboards. The pile of half-peeled vegetables was left abandoned on the low table, Jin almost running across the little room when she saw the look on his face.
"What's wrong?" Zuko stared down at the floor, feeling sick. He'd done it again. He'd shouted at her, stormed off in anger, sworn. And he'd seen the look in her eyes. She wasn't hurt this time – she was angry. She'd never been angry at him before. He didn't want to sit there thinking about it. He didn't want to picture her tearful face. "Zuko?"
"Do you have anything to drink?" Zuko still kept his gaze down at his feet. Jin crossed her arms, forehead creasing in a frown. "Do you?"
"I do, but it's just the day." Jin reached forward, taking his hand. "What's wrong? Where have you been?" Zuko didn't respond. Instead, he began to walk away, clenching his fingers around Jin's hand. "Zuko? Wh-what are you doing?" Jin's voice lowered to a hiss as they entered her dark little room.
"Where is it?" He wrenched open her bedside table, rifling through her meagre possessions. Finding nothing, he turned to her bed, lifting up the mattress. "Where have you hidden it?"
"What do you think you're doing?" Jin grabbed a hold of Zuko's arms, the boy struggling free of her and digging his hand in the pillowcase. "Zuko, stop it!"
"Well, where is it then?" He threw the pillow on the bed, turning to her. "Please Jin, I really need a drink." Jin stared at him, open-mouthed. He hated the stuff. Something horrible had happened to him.
"What happened to you?" She pushed down hard on his shoulders, forcing him to sit on the bed. Zuko ran his fingers through his hair, eyes half-focused on her. He screwed up his eyes, shaking his head. "Zuko, tell me."
"I ran into Mum's new husband. My... My stepfather." He tried the word out. No. It sounded completely foreign and separate to him. He couldn't ever get used to the word. Jin sat down next to him, tightly holding his hand. "His friends saw Mum and I having tea and thought she was having an affair."
"You're joking." Zuko shook his head, looking dazed. "So... How much does he know now?"
"Everything." Zuko held on to her hand tightly. "More than me." He looked in pain. "Where Mum came from, her marriage... I don't know any of that and he knows it all. He asked her if she loved Dad, and she told me to leave. What does that mean?" Zuko stood up suddenly, turning to face Jin. He became inflamed as he recounted the scene in his mind. This was exactly what he didn't want to do, for a reason. "That she did or didn't?"
"I don't know." Jin bit her lip. "Maybe she's ashamed of being in a relationship with him. Maybe she did once or maybe she hated him her whole life. I don't know Zuko."
"And I don't know either." Jin watched him silently. "And she wouldn't tell me anything! I tried and tried but she refused to say a word!" He swore in remembrance. "Why won't she tell me?"
"What did you do?" Jin started to grow worried. Images of violence flashed in her mind. "Please tell me you didn't hurt her."
"Of course I didn't hurt her." Zuko stood directly in front of her. "I'd never do that. I just... I got angry and shouted at her and left."
"Again?"
"She asked for it!" Zuko cried, face flushed. "Who does she think she is?" Jin watched him pace silently before her, his hands twisted in his hair. "She can't decide who gets to know and who doesn't! How come he knows and not me? She's my mother and she won't tell me a thing!"
"He's her husband." Jin sat cross-legged on her bed, resting her elbows on her knees. She was tired, irritated from work, and she didn't have the emotional patience for this sort of behaviour from Zuko. But she pushed her aggravation down, allowed him to foist his frustration on her. He accused his mother of calling him immature. He didn't see the irony. "She would have been scared, Zuko, she would have told him everything."
"And I told her everything!" Zuko sat down heavily on the bed, head in his hands. "Every dishonourable, dark, humiliating, painful moment, I told her all of it." Jin rested her hand on his shoulder. "I don't understand. After everything we said at the Green Leaf, she goes and denies me from learning the truth."
"Maybe she's trying to protect you."
"I don't need protecting!" Zuko stood up again, Jin starting back. "I'm not a kid anymore Jin. Whatever it is, I can handle it."
"She obviously doesn't think so." Jin said quietly. He could be so naive at times. It wasn't as though his mother would hide something without reason. She was scared the truth would hurt him.
"She doesn't know me!" Zuko shot back. "She hasn't seen me in years. She thinks I'm still this scared little kid who doesn't know what to do without someone holding my hand. But I'm fine."
"That's not true." Jin straightened up on her bed, swinging her legs over the side. "Ma told me you're up at odd hours because you don't sleep. I know you fell to bits when you lost your Uncle, and you're not all back together. You're always angry, or distracted." Zuko wouldn't look at her. "And you're not talking to me about anything."
"There's nothing to talk about." Zuko approached her slowly. "Nothing's changed Jin. It's the same stuff, the same problems, going over and over in my head. All I can think about every day is Mum and Uncle and my bending and the city and there's no room for anything else..." He trailed off, shoulders slumped after his unsuccessful effort to explain himself. But Jin stood up, her forehead creasing in a frown.
"Your bending?" Zuko stilled. "What's wrong with your bending?"
"Nothing." He turned away from her roughly, crossing his arms. Dammit. How could he be stupid enough to let that slip? "It's just not as good as it used to be, that's all."
"Zuko, don't lie to me again." He couldn't ignore the iron will in her voice. Zuko turned slowly, and with a long, long sigh, he took one of her hands, sandwiching her fingers between his palms. Jin's eyes slowly widened at the cold pressed against her skin. Zuko had been tentative to touch her for days now. She thought she'd done something to repulse him. But now, she understood. Something like relief swelled in her chest, followed immediately by brash indignation. "When did this happen?"
"A few days ago." His hands fell down, and he looked down at the floorboards. Jin took his hands, entwining her fingers with his.
"Why didn't you tell me?" She tugged at his hands, encouraging him to look at her. Zuko's eyes slid slowly up her dress, settling at length on her face. "I told you no more secrets."
"Because it's humiliating." He pulled his hands away, jaw set. "How would you feel if you woke up and couldn't bend? How could you face people in the street, wondering what they would say if they knew? How powerless would you feel? How could you face them?" Jin watched him silently. "I'm supposed to be a prince Jin!" He blurted it out, his voice breaking as he uttered her name. He looked up at the ceiling, biting down hard on his lower lip. His eyes glistened. Jin pushed down the stabbing in her chest as she realised that he still yearned for a future that was apart from her. Of course he would. The strength of a nation was laid at his feet and then whisked away from him a blink of an eye. He would never be able to forget that he was the heir to the world.
"You're better off as a peasant who knows what's right." Jin spoke quietly, grabbing handfuls of her skirt. Zuko didn't look at her. "And losing your bending isn't the end of everything. It's like people going dumb with shock. They go for years without talking then all of a sudden they open their mouths again. There has to be a reason for it."
"I know the reason." Zuko sat on the edge of the bed, hands clasped together between his knees. He tried to forget about his outburst, but it hung in the air around them, like a bad smell. Zuko knew Jin would never forget what he had said. "Firebending is fuelled by rage and hatred. When I stopped pursuing Aang and started living here, my anger started fading. Now it feels like I have nothing to fight for." He shrugged. Jin sat down beside him, resting her head on his shoulder. "And... I don't want to go back to being that angry person. That's not the real me."
"Then why did you shout at your mother today?" Jin's words fell like stones into an deep, dark pool. Zuko turned to look at her, pulling his shoulder away. She righted herself, staring into his eyes. She wasn't going to back down from her challenge. "You say you're not that angry person anymore, but you yelled at her and you're yelling at me." Zuko looked away, glaring down at his hands. "You know I'm right."
"I know you are." His hands were shaking. He crossed his arms, in an attempt to mask it. "I don't know what you want me to say Jin. I make myself angry. Everything that's gone wrong in my life, I've done to myself. I'm driving Mum away, Uncle's in jail because of me, I destroyed my own job, I failed to save the city..." He was close to crying. "I'm cursed."
"Oh, you're not cursed." She sat behind him, and wrapped her arms around his waist, burying her nose in his neck. She took in a deep breath, enveloped in the smell of his skin and hair.
"I am." Zuko's rage was starting to fade into bitter melancholy. "I'm sure the Spirits are working against me. They want me to fail."
"You're being stupid." Her voice was muffled, but Zuko heard every word. "Look, just because you've screwed up in the past, that doesn't mean you have to keep making the same mistakes. This is your chance to start over and make a new name for yourself."
"I've run out of chances." Zuko muttered. "I've blown it with everyone." His hands rested on Jin's arms around his waist. "You don't understand Jin. I'm the only one who can stop Dad and Azula. I know I am. I know what I have to do but I just don't know how to do it." Jin lolled her head to one side, listening to him silently. "I've spent my whole life being told that it's somehow my destiny, and now I don't even know what the damn word means anymore. I destroy everything I touch."
"That's not true." Jin finally spoke up. "You haven't destroyed me." Zuko felt as though he'd been punched in the stomach. He looked down at her right hand. She still wore a bandage where the dart had pierced through her hand, mainly to keep the chemicals out of it at work. Every night she unwrapped the cloth and put more creams and salts on it, to keep it clean of infection and speed up the healing process. But it still hurt her sometimes, he could tell. She struggled to lift heavy objects one-handed and it would obviously leave a nasty, obvious looking scar. He'd done that to her. He'd nearly killed her. He couldn't ever forgive himself for that. And at the same time, he knew he could never leave her. He would be utterly, completely lost without her. He selfishly stayed with her, knowing that she would never be safe with him, because without her judgeless, simple love, he'd be nothing. Zuko had a horrible feeling, deep in the pit of his stomach, that he would kill her somehow. He turned his face away so she wouldn't see the tears welling in his good eye, threatening to burst through.
"I feel like it's only a matter of time."
I know it feels like there's a lot going on. And there is, more than this story can tell.
Which is why you should all check out the companion fic I put up a few days ago. If you haven't already seen it. Because the issue of Ursa/Ozai/Iroh will become so much more prominent later on, and because I just don't have the scope here, and because it works so well as a standalone narrative, I'm going to post it as a fic in its own right. You don't have to read it, but it would be cool if you did :D Look at that flawless segway. So cool. Anyways, that's enough mindless self-promotion from me, and I promise I won't ramble on about it again.
