"Sir, there is a ship docking at the port." Zhao looked up at the man waiting in front of him. Raised an eyebrow when the soldier failed to immediately elaborate. He had reports to finish filing, orders to send off, orders to read– The man's armor clicked nervously. "It's Prince Zuko and General Iroh, sir. They are requesting ship repairs."

Oh, well, wasn't that a different flavored treat?

The soldier about-faced automatically when Zhao stood, already prepared to lead the way. Good. They were learning. Zhao loved to give orders but after a while even that became a ceaseless annoyance. There was no real satisfaction in ordering around petty sailors and guards. Things were better efficient. He was better efficient.

(There was less chance of disrespecting the Fire Lord, this way. Less chance of being noticed at all, hopefully, beyond for a promotion. Staying out of the dragon's maw was common sense. Yes, that was preferred.)

Zhao stepped out after the soldier onto the dock and stared. The port was very quiet. "...What did you say happened, exactly, for them to need repairs?"

Armor clicked as the man shuffled. How annoying. Zhao would need to curb his officers' habits of fidgeting, and soon. If Fire Lord Ozai ever visited them (and why would he, busy and high up as he was– but there was no fault in extra, extra, extra–) he would surely be irritated by the distractions of a restless idiot. The soldier scrambled after him as Zhao resolutely made for the familiar visage of the Wani. Strange, that General Iroh was not already outside to smile him down into submission. "Well, um, they–"

A shadow seemed to dart in front of them. Zhao only just managed to freeze in place, only managed to restrain a sparking twitch of heat as gold eyes flashed in the dark– No, He reeled internally, dizzy with it, It's the middle of the day– "It was an Earth kingdom ship," The shadow of Prince Zuko snapped, and Zhao quickly contained himself before he could do something stupid like flinch. A vipershark could always smell the blood in the water, no matter how far or how fast you swim. "We need urgent repairs. The Wani can't sail like this."

It was embarrassing but Zhao would rather be caught shaking off his shock than to be wild-eyed with fear. When had the brat become something to straighten at? Just looking at his face was making Zhao angry. Zuko was so much smaller than him, his face haughty and spoiled at best.

(Today, he seemed to tower. He seemed to bristle, seemed to spark like a summer storm on the horizon. Zhao could smell the ozone and smoke so clearly it triggered his palms to sweat. He swore if he could force himself to meet the brat's eyes long enough, that he would see it again. Those dark, slitted pupils sliced through molten metal, like claws of a serpent struggling to climb it's way out of him—)

Zhao slowly moved his fingers until he could comfortably dig the nail of his thumb into the side of his pointer finger. Pain was easy. Pain was distracting.

"Where is General Iroh," Zhao finally asked. Despite his best efforts, facing down Zuko alone was enough to make the hair on the best of his neck raise. Not out of any misplaced fear, of course. He had nothing to fear from an outcasted hatchling. It was just a physical reaction to the barely tangible snap of electricity in the air. It was just because the entire port abruptly seemed several degrees warmer from the Prince's arrival alone. It was just the lingering shock of having the Prince materialize in front of him, teeth visibly grit as if loosening his jaw meant he would try and– "I would be honored if the General and yourself agreed to have tea with me while your ship is scouted for repairs."

Reign it in. Calm, collected. A hint of blood and he'll know he's caught you. All Zhao had to do was lure them from the ship. Both of them were acting too suspicious to let them just come and go. If they were off the Wani, he could send some of his men to properly interrogate the crew. Standard procedure, of course. Zhao was sure the firelord himself would support him. As much as he tried to appear otherwise, Iroh was anything but harmless– and Zuko would always be more than something spiteful and angry. Those disposed to the Dragon Throne always were. Zhao would not risk his men aboard the Wani if either of them still prowled her deck.

(The moment Zuko realized he was banished– that Fire Lord Ozai never wanted him back– well, that decree of "mercy" was always just a thin rope between Zuko's teeth. Zhao did not trust it. He didn't trust Zuko or Iroh. he barely trusted– no, that was treasonous. He would not– he was not– Zhao was a loyal man to his nation.)

Zuko narrowed his eyes at him. It wasn't suspicion. There was no way the Prince had any way to positively tell Zhao was planning behind his back. Why was Zhao's heart racing? "I'm not leaving the Wani," he snarled. It was more of an order than he had ever heard out of the brat. Firm, resolute. The kind of statement a leader made to dying men. The kind of statement made to someone who would die– and soon if they did not start paying attention. Zhao's back was ramrod straight. "Uncle can join you for tea. I'm staying here."

"I understand," Zhao said, because there was nothing else to say. There was no begging a starving dragon for spare scraps. It was obvious with one look that Zuko was not someone who planned to be moved without force.

(The gold in his eyes seemed to brighten when Zhao shifted too far forward. Like the heat of a candle too close, Zhao felt like he was swaying directly into the path of a wildfire just by standing where he was.)

Zhao steeled himself as discreetly as possible. "General Iroh And I will just have to be without your company then." It was a problem. Zuko was a problem. There would be no interrogating the Wani's crew when the prince was still stalking about on board. The Princeling had a good as tucked his men under his wings.

It would have been a bold, brilliant move if Zuko had even known Zhao had planned to send spies. But if he knew Zhao was planning on trespassing the Commander was sure he'd already be smoldering. No royal ever took well to the encroachment of territory. He was determined, and maybe a little sadistic, and maybe a lot apathetic in places that would disappoint his family, but Zhao knew when even he should back off.

It was then that Iroh stepped out of the Wani, smiling blithely at Zhao. He tried not to shudder. No amount of close-lipped, calm smiles could ever make the man forget how they covered a jaw full of pointed fangs. Sometimes Zhao wondered if his tongue was forked. (Apparently, Prince Lu Ten's had been. Azula's was, too. The slightest little pronouncement, barely seen past the glint of her teeth when she smiled. But she smiled a lot. Not that anyone ever brought it up, of course. That would be a major faux pas, connecting the royal family to their inferior kin— and after already having spent so long exterminating them all...)

"Do you have any ginseng?" Iroh asked.

It never occurred to Zhao that Zuko was hiding something. Of course he was hiding. Of course Zhao already knew. Zuko was always lying. It was of little consequence to Zhao, to let the Princeling pretend he was still of status and power. Better to let him think the Firelord would ever want him back than to be stuck in the range of the temper tantrum when he figured it out. It must take a lot of energy to hide all that bruised pride; and Zuko was never the greatest of liars.

At least, not compared to the rest of his family.

(He never once considered that Zuko had something more than an ego to protect. Something beyond himself. There wasn't exactly much to question, in an overly territorial ex-royal. What was there to see beyond a young and hurt dragon snarling over its scraps?)

(All dragons hoarded, after all.)

Zhao stretched his smile carefully wider and invited the Dragon of the West inside for tea.

Zuko was not happy. Not in the slightest. He was practically melting a hole through the Wani's hull, superheated and pacing as he was back and forth across the deck. Zuko knew it wasn't actually helping him. But the rage was impossible to ignore– he needed to fight, needed to burn– but there was nothing to burn. No one around but his own men, and his… the eggs.

A plume of fire hissed past his teeth when he snarled. He wasn't sure why, but even thinking about the eggs was making his blood boil. Not against the eggs, of course. They couldn't possibly do anything wrong, helpless and unborn as they were. Couldn't run around and cause trouble and destroy his ship and be a threat–

Deep breaths. In, out. Don't exhale any more fire. You have people to protect.

His crew had been on edge since the moment they docked. Zuko had no idea all his men seemed to hate Zhao as much as he did. They all looked remarkably wary, shooting careful looks at each other in between staring nervously at the dock. None of them had approached him. He didn't expect them to. Besides Jee, Zuko didn't find himself talking to them much. There wasn't anything to be said. They were his, after all, his to order around (to protect, to hoard–) and there wasn't much that needed to be said out loud for that.

(His. His to protect. His crew, his eggs, his territory, his nest, his hoard...)

Zuko pinned his glare on the first men he saw who were-not-crew-were-not-hoard and continued to pace the perimeter of his territory.

No one comes aboard. Zuko refused it. It would take longer to repair the Wani and leave, but Zuko was willing, for once, to wait.

Until Uncle came back, and Zuko could hover over his new charges and keep any stray soldiers from wandering too close, he was not about to let anyone he didn't know in. He didn't care if it was suspicious. He did not care.

They wouldn't leave. It seemed like half the port was standing on the dock. Loitering in Zuko's blind spots, too close to his ship. It was frustratingly unsatisfying to watch them jump every time he turned on his heel back towards a new cluster of them.

(What were they waiting for? Did they not have better things to do, than gawk at the banished and scarred prince? Zuko was tempted to– no. They were still his people. They were directly under Zhao, but by extension, they were still under Zuko. He would not threaten his people.)

The distinct scent of tea wafted up Zuko's nose. His head snapped up, towards the end of the dock that his Uncle and Zhao had disappeared towards, and pretended not to see how his entire crew stilled at his movements.

They're finished. The scent of steel and smoke, tea and singed porcelain. Fresh spices. Zuko could hear the familiar clicks of armor. Both of them. Zuko slowly started pacing again.

"Sir." Zuko barely halted his own feet enough to pause in front of Captain Jee. It took a startling amount of effort, but this was his crew. The captain of the Wani. Jee was one of his. He met Jee's eyes evenly and inwardly preened when the man refused to flinch. Even after years on the Wani, some of his crew were still struggling not to twitch when Zuko stared at them. (It only hurt slightly less, to realize the same happened with Uncle. Uncle may be retired, but Zuko had had plenty of lessons in underestimating an opponent.) "When will General Iroh return to the Wani?"

Zuko frowned. Could they not hear them coming? He needed to train his men better. "Here in two," he said gruffly. "Zhao is with him." There was no missing the way the crew reacted, this time. Jee had the stance and training to remain statuesque, but Zuko could see his men exchange restless looks. Clicking armor, furrowed brows.

Fire unexpectedly roared through him, simmering into a thick boil. "He will not step onto the Wani," Zuko found himself snapping. It was more comforting than he was used to, to have so many eyes on him, and yet he found himself wanting to– to– "I will not let him."

Jee's expression didn't change, but his weight shifted. A shuffle almost like a smile. "We do not doubt you, Prince Zuko, sir."

...It shouldn't have. It didn't make sense, but the words settled something cold inside of him. A tiny candle lit against the ice.

Zuko latched onto it as fiercely as he dared, and stormed down the towards the bow of the ship to face Zhao.

(Behind him, he vaguely registered his crew immediately dispersing. As if a flick was switched, and in the wake of Zuko's presence they all slipped to the corners of the ship. Watching, and waiting.)

(It made his shoulders uncurl. Just a little.)

"Uncle," He greeted. Zhao shifted impatiently beside him, drawing Zuko's eyes to the movement. "...Zhao. How long to repair the Wani? We need to leave immediately." The Avatar could still be close. Zuko needed to catch him while he was still within reach. He refused to lose this chance because Zhao decided to be a hindrance.

Zhao narrowed his eyes at him. Zuko watched his expression twitch, a barely restrained expression of irritation, no doubt. The man had always acted as if simply interacting with Zuko was exhausting. Zuko would take what he could get. Anything that got on the man's nerves were well accepted. "...My men will need to board to assess the damage," He finally replied. The soldiers milling about the port (never leaving, always on the edge of Zuko's territory–) all seemed to perk up, like rats smelling trash. Zuko hated it. It bit at him and he barely even knew why the sight of them made him so angry. "It should be done by tomorrow morning."

Too long. "We have to leave tonight."

"Do you have somewhere to go?" Those eyes seemed to narrow further, somehow. Zuko's hands clenched into fists as the man stepped closer, having smelled the hesitation on him, no doubt– "...Something to do?"

He does not know. He can not know. Zuko and his crew were the only people to know about the Avatar, about the dragons; and no one had boarded all day. Zuko had made sure of it. No one got on, and besides Uncle, no one had gotten off. (He hadn't stopped his crew from leaving, of course. They so rarely got time off of the Wani. Yet none of them had so much as glanced at the gangplank, as if the port was a death sentence. Zuko had no idea what he had done, to make them so wary of him that they refused to even take time off. He had been too angry to compose himself enough to ask, and they never said a word.) "There are always new places to check."

Uncle smiled, the expression peacefully shallow. Something about that maintained ease never failed to soothe Zuko, a little. Even while dealing with an enemy on the very fringe of his territory. "We hope that perhaps one of the Air Temples will uncover new mysteries, this time around," He said blithely. "There is no harm in checking, of course. We feel enthusiastic about this one." Zuko did not smile gratefully. But hopefully, Iroh would see something soften if he had the time to look.

Zhao did not look convinced. "If you have found something new, regarding the Avatar…" Something clearly more biting was swallowed without being spoken. Zuko watched Zhao's throat constrict around it. If he wasn't so angry, so on edge, he would have smirked. Even now, despite everything, Zhao managed to control himself in Zuko's presence. It was bitterly satisfying.

(At least I still have this.)

The feeling shattered quickly. "I still can't spare the men to do such a task so quickly. You will have to wait until the morning. Unless you can provide me a reason for your urgency?" His condescending, searching tone made Zuko want to rage, want to snarl "I just did," but he was more than aware just how little that would achieve. He was not cunning, the way Azula was. Not cruelly so, not skilled in mangling words the way she so easily did. He could not soften the blows like Iroh could, until the opponent had no idea they were bleeding. He had none of the raw strength his father did, either. There was so little he could control.

He hesitated for too long. Zhao stepped forward, closer, his face twisting into something resembling victory. The wood of the gangplank creaked under his weight. He was standing on the Wani's gangplank. His feet firmly planted on the wood. Touching, standing, entering Zuko's territory–

He could control himself. He wouldn't snap. Zhao wasn't on the Wani, technically, wasn't yet–

Somewhere behind Zuko, a vaguely familiar foreign warmth pushed against him. Shoved him forward—

Get out–

Zuko felt rather than heard the snarl that ripped out of his throat and surged forward, lunging for Zhao's throat with a mouthful of fire.

Zhao jerked back, eyes wide— Zuko faintly registered him practically leaping away from the Wani, from Zuko— but it was Iroh's hand on Zuko's shoulder that stopped him a heartbeat away from assaulting the man. His hand did not restrain Zuko. It didn't grip him, didn't hurt him; it was just firm. Warmer than the faint pulse calling to him from within the Wani.

He needed it. Latched onto it desperately, frantic to ground himself. The weight of that touch was all he had to help distract him from the push and pull of the eggs, leaving him vaguely floaty and confused but clear-headed. If either of them spoke, he couldn't hear it. What the hell was— Uncle squeezed his shoulder tightly. Zuko's breath whistled out of him, trailing flickering sparks with it. "I challenge you," he finally managed to say, "–to an Agni Kai. If I win, you will have our ship repaired tonight." If I win, you'll lose. You'll leave. I will have protected my hoard.

Zhao eyed him warily. He still looked ready to jump straight off the dock and into the ocean. Was Zuko that repulsive? "Fine. At sundown."

It was easier to breathe now. Uncle hadn't lifted his hand, but for once Zuko was glad for it. It was just distracting enough to pull him away from his head. To layer over that distant warmth with a more present one– as if Iroh had chased away a blinding swarm of fireflies.

"Don't be late," Iroh spoke for him, and gently led Zuko back on board without removing his hand.

i've been writing a LOT for this idea lately, because it was literally all that was on my mind the past month. I've barely worked on anything else. Almost added the agni kai scene here but decided it was a good place to end it and i Dont Have TIme To Edit More ajsfdhbn

also almost gave zhao his own chapter entirely. i love outsider views.

Thanks to everyone who gave suggestions for whether to make this a series or chaptered!

As always, you can find me over at my tumblr, Leviathiane