Warnings for some pretty intense, emotional shit ahead.

"Come in." The words were muffled by the heavy oaken door, polished so perfectly that Zuko could see his own palid face in it. It was just as heavy as the rocks in his stomach when the shiny brass latch clicked and he pushed it silently open.

Ozai was sitting at his desk, hands folded on the neat and gleaming surface. Returning, he found that it was almost shocking how clean and polished and well-kept everything was. Unnaturally sterile - unnaturally perfect. It was always important that everything be absolutely perfect.

"Hello, son." His father gave a tiny sliver of a smile, the likes of which never seemed to fit on his face properly. Ozai's voice was always like velvet with that deep undercurrent that seemed to sweep everyone up and demand respect in even the most menial of situations. "Have a seat."

Zuko gave a little bow of his head in return, polite but wary, saying nothing yet- not knowing what he -would- say. To be before his father again... stirred up such a whirl of conflicting emotions that he found it hard to breathe. He took a seat in the polished leather chair opposite Ozai's and for a brief, disturbing moment, felt as though he were back in Doctor Zhao's office, staring down the shrink with terror and determination. The comparison was not a pleasant one.

Perhaps the only thing on his side was that he knew his father's tricks. The low, high-backed chair to make him feel small. The faint, sour smile to lull him into comfort - but he couldn't help but feel as though it were a twitch of whiskers before a tiger struck.

"I appreciate you taking the time to come home today."

For a just a half a beat, Zuko hesitated, instinct warning him against speaking at all, but he reminded himself, silently but firmly, that he was not so weak as he'd once been, that allowing his father to intimidate him only gave Ozai leverage.

"You are my father. It only seems... right to hear you out." Zuko felt ridiculously proud to have spoken the words aloud.

When that fake little smirk faded from his father's expression, he knew his words had hit their target. It was clear that he wasn't expecting such confidence from the young man who'd been begging his forgiveness from the rug only a few months earlier. "Mm." The hum vibrated like thunder in the perfectly silent room. "Family /is/ terribly important isn't it? I think it's time we worked out our differences. It's not proper that a member of this family should be living the life you've been reduced to."

Zuko raised a brow, fighting the urge to visibly bristle. "I agree. Family is very important. My Uncle has been very kind to me the last few months I've been reduced to living with him." He paused for a breath, a thrill shooting through his chest at his own daring.

He saw the flicker of muscle at his father's jaw, the clench of teeth and he felt the tension thicken in the room, as though the temperature itself had risen. But then he forced a new bitter smile and took a breath before he spoke again, "We needn't... burden your uncle anymore. You can plan to move back in right away. It shouldn't take long to pack up the items that you stole."

Now Zuko did frown. "I didn't steal anything." He didn't let his guard down yet, even when there was a tiny part of him that still wanted, very much, to nod and thank his father and leave this office to prepare for his return. Instead he took a short breath, quickly before Ozai could respond. "And I... I need to know why you want me back now."

"As I said..." Ozai said carefully, steepling his fingers. "Family is important. It doesn't come across well that you're living with your uncle. And upon reflecting the last months, I've decided that you're not... unsalvagable."

"Oh." For a long beat, Zuko said nothing else, then finally looked up from the top of his father's desk to meet his eyes. "Is that all? Because it reflects badly on your reputation for me to live with your brother instead of you?"

"It reflects badly on all of us, Zuko." There was that silky, low voice again, coaxing him to trust. "Can you imagine how difficult it will be for you to get into a decent college with two expulsions on your record, graduating from some two-bit public school? Return home and you can return to Hakan for your senior year in the fall. I'll erase all your past mistakes from your permanent record."

Whatever Zuko had been expecting, it hadn't been this. He was more shocked than if his father had leaned over his desk and delivered a sound backhand to his cheek. "Y-you... you would do that?" he heard himself say, cursed himself for it, for that tiny part of him, quiet for months and its surge of hope. If he graduated from Hakan, his future was secure. He could do anything he wanted after that. The responsible thing to do would be to accept his father's offer, wouldn't it? For the sake of his academic- no, his -whole- future. And once he turned 18... once he graduated, he could move out again, right? Here was the second chance he'd once begged for.

Ozai just nodded. "These last few years... have been an unpleasant mark on our family. It's time we start repairing the damage."

"Under what conditions?" Zuko knew his father. He didn't give gifts, he made deals.

This time his father's smile was real, though it was thin and vaguely disturbing to look upon. It was a knowing smile and an almost-appreciation for the understanding that was gathering between them. A scrape sent a chill up Zuko's spine as Ozai opened a desk drawer and produced a pamphlet which he pushed across the desk to Zuko. The front read in bold, cheerful script, "Valley Pure Heart Camp." Photos boasted happy teenagers in various summer activities - as well as the camp's massive, gleaming church. "You'll spend the summer and two weekends a month here to get rid of your little problem. Of course you won't be able to fraternize with the riff-raff from your old school anymore. Neither will you be spending time with your uncle. That man's bleeding-heart liberalism is a poor influence."

Zuko felt the thump of his pulse as he reached across the desk and picked up the pamphlet, opening it wide, scanning the test with unblinking eyes. Highest success rate among teenagers and young people... leading your child away from sin back to the path of the Lord... treating confusing and sinful urges with love and proper example.. "You... want to send me to -gay- camp?" Though the other conditions were equally as worrisome, one thing at a time, Zuko told himself.

Ex-gay within a week or two according to their claims," Ozai replied, dry and icy. "Your recent behavior is completely unbecoming of this family. That will turn right around. We don't need your sin tarnishing our family name."

"But... I'm not doing anything -wrong-. All of my friends are good people and Uncle cares about me, and I'm doing -better- now! My grades have gone up, I'm not getting into trouble, even my teachers have said so. Didn't you read any of their letters?"

Ozai waved a dismissive hand, adding with it a harsh edge to his tone. "None of those things have anything to do with your moral standing or your reputation. I've already told you that you can return to Hakan. My offer is extremely generous."

"My moral standing and reputation are better now than they ever were. I have -friends-, people who look up to me. People who -care- about me. You're asking me to give that up as though it were nothing!" He tried to keep his voice even, the indignation in his voice less than he felt.

Ozai snorted, as though bored with the subject. "You'll have plenty of friends at Hakan. If you let insignificant people hold you back, you'll never get anywhere in life, Zuko."

Now Zuko did bristle, his eyes visibly narrowing, and he leaned forward to pointedly set the pamphlet back on his father's desk. "I know how important reputation is to you. And I do care about my academic future. So I'll come back to Hakan. I'll even move back here. But I'm working now and I won't quit my job at Uncle's tea shop. I won't abandon my friends. And I'm not going to go to your brainwashing church camp. I'm not evil or disturbed or mentally ill or even confused. And I'm not going to stop seeing Sokka."

Ozai stared at him, hard, for a long moment before he suddenly laugh. He tossed his head back and /laughed/. "The real world gave you a tiny bit of backbone, didn't it boy? Well that's too bad - this isn't a negotiation. My house, my school, my rules. Your reservation is already set and paid for at the camp this summer."

For a long moment, Zuko just glared, arms crossed, jaw set. Then, without warning, he stood, shoved his hands in his pockets. "I guess we're done talking then. I hope you can get your money back."

There was a breath in which Zuko was fairly certain he'd never seen his father look so... human. Surprise sprang across Ozai's features as though unable to comprehend that he was being turned down. But then he laughed again and a nasty sneer curled his mouth. "You don't seem to understand. This isn't a /choice/. This is what you're going to do."

"I don't think -you- understand," Zuko answered, just as icily as his father. "I'm not joking. And if you're going to make me give up the only things that make me happy, then I'm not going to come back."

The wheeled leather chair behind the desk shrieked across the wood floor and smacked sharply when it hit the wall, thrown back as Ozai surged to his feet. "You sit your ass back down in that chair, boy!" There was the snarl. "I'm your father and you'll do as I say!"

It was to Zuko's credit that he managed to twist his flinch into a sneer worthy of the man across from him. "My -uncle- has been more of a father to me in the past three months than you've -ever- been!"

All it took was three long strides for Ozai to round the desk and grab Zuko's bicep in a fierce, bruising grip. "You're /going/ to that camp. You have no idea the gossip you've started by entering into this filthy lifestyle. You're going to clean up and show them what a member of this family is supposed to look like."

Zuko froze, the grip on his arm chilling and infuriating him all at once. "Maybe if you treated your children like people instead of trophies, showed that you cared at all about our happiness, that you had even a -shred- of love to spare, maybe then your reputation wouldn't suffer so much."

If there was anything that was an accurate confirmation of his assumption, it was the sting of the back of Ozai's hand across his mouth. It'd been months but it still felt almost familiar. He tasted blood. And then Ozai's hand was in his hair, yanking his head back up. "You ungrateful little shit. If you weren't such a weak, emotional little queer you'd see everything I've done for your pathetic carcass."

Zuko spat pink, willed his eyes to focus and reached up to take hold of his father's wrist. Ozai was strong, but Zuko hadn't trained in Northern Shaolin style for ten years without retaining something. And this time, he wasn't afraid. "And if you weren't such a self-centered, hateful, pathetic excuse for a father, you'd see that all I ever wanted was for you to show me one -ounce- of affection, a single word of praise. Even before Mom died, you never cared! All my life you made me believe I was worthless. Well I'm done. I'm done with it! Let me go!"

Ozai laughed and yanked Zuko's hair hard, dragging him across the room before giving him a good shove. Pain again shot through his senses, exploding on the unscarred side of his face at brow and temple when Ozai slammed his face against the wall and held him there. "Ah, yes, your whore of a mother. You're just like her. A pitiful, worthless /burden/."

Up until that moment, the plan had been simple: let Ozai get in his kicks -he'd survived them once- and then leave. Leave and never come back. But his words, those words that angered Zuko when directed toward him, lit a fire of irrepressible rage in his chest and behind his eyes when applied to his mother. For an instant neither moved or spoke. Then, Zuko's grip tightened and the howl left his throat was raw, bitter, sudden. And in less than a breath, Ozai's arm was twisted away, freeing Zuko from the wall, and he dropped, kicking out to sweep his father's legs out from under him. In the time it took the man to grunt in surprise, Zuko had straddled his waist and delivered a blow that left his knuckles flecked with Ozai's blood. "Don't you -ever- say that again!"

It was going to take more than that to keep the older man down. Though blood trickled from the corner of his mouth and his hair was disheveled, rage burning in his eyes, he grabbed Zuko's wrists and threw him to the floor. A hand closed on Zuko's throat, pressing him to the expensive, spotless oriental rug. "I should have killed you when I burned your face. You'd be better off dead than being fucked by some middle-class faggot trash."

Ozai's first mistake was not quitting while he was ahead. His second mistake was failing to properly pin down the arms of a boy who was near his equal in martial artistry and his superior in youth and flexibility. Face already darkening from lack of air, Zuko spared a moment to hiss a breathless, "Fuck. You." Then, with blinding speed, Zuko twisted sideways, momentum snapping his arm in a tight, controlled arc and into Ozai's sneering face with a satisfying crack. The moment that hand was gone from his throat, Zuko surged upward, shoving at his father as he scrambled back, cheeks damp with angry tears and voice horse as he shouted. "You shut up! Shut the FUCK up. Don't -ever- talk about ANY of them again. Don't fucking DARE."

The impact of Zuko's words were somewhat lost on his father - the older man was a bit busy snarling in pain, doubled over as he clutched at his nose. Blood poured between his fingers and dripped into the red of the oriental rug where it was thirstily absorbed and disappeared.

Zuko's pulse pounded wildly in his chest, but adrenalin dragged him to his feet. He hardly felt it when his hip caught the edge of his father's desk. He didn't notice when his steadying hand slipped on a stack of papers, sending a coffee mug (proudly declaring Hakan Alumi) tumbling to the floor where it shattered loudly, scattering crimson shards across the hardwood. He was already halfway to the door, well out of Ozai's reach when he paused, turned back around. "I'm leaving now," he said, catching his father's gaze when the man looked up. "I'm going back home."

Rage flashed in Ozai's eyes but before he could find his voice or surge to his feet, the heavy oaken door slammed shut. Zuko made it as far as the living room where Azula was standing at the end of the hall. She looked nervous and didn't seem to be helped by the appearance of bruised and bloodied Zuko. As he approached, she composed herself though and put a hardness into her mascaraed eyes. "Father doesn't want you to leave."

"As far as I'm concerned, -Father- can go fuck himself." He made as though to push past her, but she grabbed for his shoulder and pushed him back.

"This is idiocy, Zuzu. Are you actually /choosing/ mediocrity over what Father can give us? You're even dumber than I thought!"

Zuko's eyes were hard when they met hers, but underneath the anger was a sliver of desperation, a desire to make her understand. "What I'm choosing, Azula, is the chance to live my own life, to shape my own future, the opportunity to -make- my own choices. Don't you want that? Don't you ever get sick of him deciding your whole life for you? -Using- you to his own ends?"

Azula frowned, suddenly reproachful and suspicious as though she didn't know how to react to Zuko reasoning with her. "He- everything he does, he does it for me. You're just blind and selfish and you can't appreciate that he's trying to mold us into greatness." And then haughty Azula returned airily. "Not that it's any skin off my nose if you leave. All the inheritance will be mine. Someday I'm going to own the school and the estates and the stocks - I'm going to be /great/, Zuzu. Greater than you could never be."

It wasn't any use, Zuko could see that. And his heart hurt too much, his anger still too raw to press back harder, to risk the time needed to convince her. "Maybe," he answered, nodding, nodding. "If he doesn't kill you first. Who's he going to take his anger out on without Mom or me around? Don't think you're safe because you're the golden child."

"Che. Whatever. The big difference, Zuko, is that I'm not a failure." But Zuko was already walking away and his words seemed to rankle her enough that she wasn't chasing after him. "Father loves me!" she shouted across the front room.

"You know what, Azula? Believe whatever you want. Do whatever you want. But if that's how it's going to be? You spending the rest of your life kissing -his- ass? Then just be sure to stay the hell away from me and my friends. Because I'm done."

He didn't wait for an answer and Azula was left standing there, open-mouthed, as the door snapped shut with an echoing finality.