One last day.

He can make it one more day.

The people he sees are a sea of color and noise, all nobility putting on displays of excess for the final day of the Ball. The conversations are vapid, the robes muddy along their edges as they drag along rain soaked ground, the smiles are fake. Someone calls him 'peasant boy' as he hands them their tea and he decides he's had about enough of this. He's fulfilled his promise to help his Uncle, give or take a few hours. If he left now, there would be no suspcions about his connections to the assassin. On top of that, The Water Tribe girl had, thankfully, not appeared again. He was going home.

He may live in the Upper Ring now, but he doesn't feel he'll ever understand these people. They had lived in comfort all their lives. They had never known hunger, or cold, or fear. They existed in a sort of reality that was completely opposite to his own. While he detested the struggles his family had been forced to face, the thought of being like any of these people—pompous, entitled, impulsive, obnoxious—disgusts him. And in another life, maybe he is like them. Maybe he is the son of the Fire Prince, living in a palace and being waited on by servants. The thought makes him scoff as he storms through the gardens.

Let these people bask in their own self worship. He wouldn't stay to—

Icy water soaks him thoroughly. He stills mid step, looking down at his soaked clothes through bangs that stick to his forehead and curtain his eyes. Confusion finds him first as he looks up to be sure it wasn't some sudden torrential downpour. The rage comes next, and if not for Ozai's training, fire would be sparking to life around his fists. Some waterbender thought it was funny, didn't they? Bother the peasant boy?

"I'm so sorry! I didn't even see you there I was—"

"Hah! That's what you get, Katara!" An unfamiliar voice cries. Zuko's gaze snaps over to the two of them. Katara. The Water Tribe girl.

"I was trying to hit my brother!" She exclaims, and that strange sensation envelopes him as the water soaked through his clothes and drenching his skin starts to twist and writhe. It pulls from him in glistening droplets, sliding off of every inch of him until he's left perfectly dry. The drops fall to the ground in a thin shower. His hair feels puffy, stripped of oil, and his clothes feel strangely cleaner than they were before. Such a strange element.

"I am really not good at running into you, am I?" Katara continues, and he looks up from his examination of his clothes to see her coming closer, "I was just on my way to see you when my brother thought he could—" Said brother cuts in front of her.

"Let me handle this, Katara." He holds a hand up, nearly colliding with her nose as she tries to shuffle around him. He looks Zuko over, eyes narrowed and lips pursed in thought. One hand remains on the hilt of a sword at his hip. Zuko watches before his eyes flick over to the garden exit longingly. How he wishes this night would end.

"So you're the Fire Nation guy." He finally says, leaning in uncomfortably close, lifting two fingers and gesturing between both of their faces. Zuko leans back, "I'm watching you. I know all about you."

"Me?" Zuko asks.

"Sokka, stop it, those stories aren't even true." Katara interjects, and he cuts her off yet again.

"Ah, ah, ah! That's what they want you to think. Dad always said they were crafty." He turns his attention back to Zuko, "What do you want with my sister? Why was she sneaking off to see you?"

"I don't need this." Zuko rolls his eyes, shoving past him. His boots sink into the sodden mud, and each step takes a little too much effort.

"Zuko, wait, I'm sorry about him. He's harmless, please don't go." Katara calls after him. A distant pang of sympathy tugs at him. He pauses, if only for a moment.

"If you want to continue our conversation from yesterday, you can come with me. But I'm not staying here around people like him." Zuko continues stomping along ungracefully as the mud claws at his feet. Stubborn and unrelenting, he curses being one of the only kinds of bender that has no way of dealing with this. Katara drags the water from the soil under her feet as she follows him, the ground turning to hard, dry earth beneath her far more graceful gate.

"Katara!" Sokka cries, tromping through the wet dirt as she lets the water rehydrate it behind her, "You can't go with him, he's dangerous, you know what he can do! He could hurt you!"

Zuko stops suddenly, spinning to face her with wide eyes.

"You told him about my bending?" Zuko hisses, backing away from her. She frowns, her feet starting to sink into the mud now that her concentration has moved away from bending.

"What? No, I didn't say anything about that, I promised you I wouldn't. He just thinks everyone from the Fire Nation is dangerous." She insists, holding her hands up in defense. It isn't until Sokka leaps in front of her, sword partially drawn, that he realizes his mistake. She hadn't told him about his bending, but he just did.

"You're a firebender! Stay back, Katara, I got this." He goes to completely draw his sword, and Zuko stumbles back. He can't firebend here. There wasn't anyone close enough to hear what was being said, but there were plenty of people within range to see the brilliant light of his fire in the dark of the night. There's nothing to defend himself with.

The sound of ice crackling resonates loudly, and both of them look down to see Sokka's sword frozen halfway out of its hilt, Katara's fingers curled inward harshly as she completes the form. Sokka yanks on it with a few strangled grunts.

"Katara, come on." He whines before unlatching the hilt from his belt altogether, swinging the half-sheathed sword in a wide arc that catches Zuko off guard. The soft leather of the hilt whacks his still slightly bruised temple, and he flinches back with more surprise than pain. Katara yanks the sword from his hands, tossing it aside. Sokka lets out a pained gasp as he sees the fine metal splatter into the mud.

"Leave him alone. I mean it, Sokka. It's not your job to protect me, and I'm going with him. And if you tell Dad or anybody about Zuko's bending, your favorite sword is going to have a horrible accident." The words seem to strike fear into the boy's heart, the threat clearly being a very real one as she jabs a finger into his chest. The two of them lock eyes, struggling in a battle of wills before he huffs and stomps over to his sword, wincing as he pulls it from the greedy earth with a wet squelch.

"Fine. I won't tell anyone." He grumbles, looking back to Zuko, "Only if Katara comes back safe. If she's hurt, and I mean even a little bit! Even like a little cut or something, even a paper cut! Or even just a really, really faint smudge that might be a bruise or—"

"I get it." Zuko sighs, bored of his rambling, "She'll be fine. We're just going to talk, anyway, I just don't want to be on the palace grounds anymore."

"Why not?" Sokka inquires suspiciously. Zuko continues his trek to the exit, but Sokka follows, intent on pestering them until he could no longer do so.

"People like you. I'm not here to be gawked at or threatened with swords." Zuko growls out through grit teeth. It's easier to walk now that Katara's continued bending the water out of the earth, flicking the discarded liquid off to the sides with tight movements of her wrists.

"Even if you weren't a firebender, you're still from the Fire Nation. I'm just trying to keep my sister safe." The gates are approaching. Zuko is thankful that Sokka seems to be slowing down.

"I haven't lived in the Fire Nation since I was two years old. I was raised in the Earth Kingdom. I'm not from the Fire Nation. I was just born there." He answers, "Now go wave your sword at someone else, will you?" Katara seems to at least agree with him, looking back at Sokka before shooing him. He protests, hardly getting a couple words out before she splashes him in the face with a quick jet of ground water.

He finally seems to take the hint, sulking away. They don't speak again until they're safely outside of the palace grounds, walking past the line of parked carriages and down one of the less crowded streets.

"Some brother you've got." Zuko starts, startling Katara out of her own thoughts as she looks over at him. This a residential street, quiet and dark in these hours. The waxing moon is their only light as the lanterns on the street burn out. It's peaceful, the sounds of festivities several streets away.

"He's…Well, he's Sokka. I love him, but he's a little…" She gives an apologetic smile, hand toying with the intricate braids in her hair. It's pinned back again, that same ivory clasp in place, but her wild waves have been tamed into thick braids that come together at the back of her scalp. It brings more attention to her face, makes her brilliant eyes seem even larger.

"I get it. I have a sibling too." He says with a shrug. It shouldn't be so easy to give her so much information, but he finds he likes talking to her. He likes this normality of just two normal people, walking down a normal road on a normal night, "A sister. She's not like him, but she's annoying in her own special ways. She used to torture me when we were little."

"That's what siblings are for." Katara laughs. He's reminded of how infectious the sound is, a smile pulling at his lips, "He's like that with everyone, by the way. It's not just you. Our Dad is this great respected warrior, so he's always trying to prove he's like him. He pulled his sword on Aang, too. It's a right of passage."

"He did that here?" Zuko asks, stunned. Perhaps Ozai wasn't the only one foolish enough to threaten the Avatar, then.

"No, in the South Pole. Aang was there for a while, but when he first woke up, Sokka was kind of…suspicious, to put it nicely. But we're all friends now. No one can really stay mad at Aang very long." The way she spoke about him had a strange familiarity to it, beyond just knowing each other in passing. Zuko pauses as they come by an unoccupied bench, settling on it. His feet ache from the hours of standing with Iroh. Katara settles a respectful distance from him, her hands resting on her lap.

"You're friends with the Avatar?" He asks.

"I'd say so. I came to this Ball just to see him again, and it's been really great catching up with him. We have some plans later this week." She trails off before an idea makes her face light up with a smile, "Maybe you could join us? You probably know this place better than any of us do." She nudges him, and he realizes he really doesn't know it well at all. He knew the route from the Jasmine Dragon to the palace, but he hadn't done much else beside that. Even the bookstore he had found by chance. Everywhere else he'd been in the Upper Ring had been at the guidance of either Ozai or Iroh.

"I don't, actually."

"I thought you said you were raised here? Or were you just trying to get my brother to back off?" She asks. Zuko settles back against the bench, arm resting across the back of it.

"No, it was the truth. I was raised in Ba Sing Se, just not this part. I just got here. When my mom immigrated with my sister and I, she didn't have any money, so we went to the Lower Ring." He pauses for her reaction, any hint of disgust or distain, but is instead met with curiosity and intrigue, "It's a…well, it's just one giant slum. All poor people struggling to get by, criminals, laborers, servants."

"That sounds awful." She frowns, shifting to curl her legs beneath her and resting her head on the back of the bench. Her hair tickles his arm. Her eyes catch the moonlight in a sort of way that seems to make them glow a pale blue, borderline white. It takes him a moment to remember how to respond.

"It was…but it wasn't all bad. Maybe even halfway decent, sometimes." He recalls things he liked, people he knew. He had a life there, and while it was one he would rather largely forget, there were things he held onto, "Not really a place you should go, though. Too dangerous for someone like you."

That was a mistake, he realizes, when he sees that gleaming moonlight in her eyes shift. A glint of mischief finds its way there, and he sits up with a frown. She grins.

"You want to bet?"

"No." Zuko immediately responds.

"You can't just be all secretive like that and then say no. Now I'm curious." She gestures around the quiet, empty street, "I've seen the Upper Ring, now. I'm ready to see more. We've got all night, and you're the perfect guide." Zuko is staring up at her, silent. He's sure she's lost her mind.

"You want me to take you to the Lower Ring." An insane idea. No one wanted to get into the Lower Ring.

"Now that you put the idea in my head." She shrugs, sitting up and crossing her arms stubbornly. He can't believe the audacity that she had. Some noble—some privileged, out of touch girl, wanted to go to the slum he'd only recently escaped from. He almost respects her for it, "And I'll probably go either way, now, but having a guide…someone who's maybe lived there before…"

If she went on her own, she would most certainly end up dead. Or wishing she were dead. And then her brother would make sure Zuko also wound up dead. How was he so good at winding up in these situations?

Zuko lets out a long suffering sigh, lulling his head back until it thumps against the bench.

"Fine."


When she'd first arrived in Ba Sing Se, they had been ushered in on a private train. The windows covered, the view blocked, but now that she can see the Rings as they pass over them, Katara is enraptured.

The city's three rings are distinct, and the differences between them are clear, even without the walls dividing them. The Upper Ring is all fine, beautiful structures. Tall buildings, perfectly placed tiles adorning decorated and elaborate roofs. The streets are clean and paved, dotted with steel posts that light the surroundings in flickering lamplight that glimmer and glow with a soft elegance. The Middle Ring is simpler, but maintains some dignity and elegance. The homes are well constructed, but small. The streets are mostly paved, but none have the polished gleam of the Upper Ring's marbles walkways. There are more workplaces here, more buildings meant for labor and production. Blacksmithing, woodworking, masonry. No such labor intensive buildings appeared in the Upper Ring. It is dark, no celebrations here.

The Lower Ring is unlike anything Katara could have imagined. As soon as the late night train passes over the gargantuan wall, the sprawl reveals itself to her in a confusing mess of material. Buildings are made of all materials—stone, wood, clay, metal, sometimes all four at once. Canvas draped holes in patched roofs. Buildings sat in tightly clustered packs along spindly streets that seemed hardly wide enough for even a single carriage to squeeze through. The streets seemed to have no rhyme or reason to their paths, splaying out in random directions that twisted and curved and met other roads randomly.

And the light. Everywhere, there is light. Lamps, lanterns, torches, bonfires, they all glow in brilliant spots throughout the crowded Lower Ring, marking hubs of activity. People swarm these areas of light. There is more life here than she had ever seen, and the thought of it fills her with excitement and wonder. This is no guided tour through polished streets. This was real.

Their passes are checked as they exit the train, and as soon as they're put away, Katara is bolting ahead, taking in all that she can. The station is tiny and cramped compared to the Upper Ring's opulence. Zuko follows, grabbing her arm and pulling her back.

"You need to stay close to me." He says quietly, "Like I said, this place isn't safe. Stay close."

"I can defend myself." She's pushing forward again, practically dragging Zuko behind her.

"You don't even know where you're going!" He protests, yanking back on her arm and digging his heels into the rough cobblestone road.

"Then show me!" She laughs incredulously, "You lived here, you agreed to take me, show me around. Where did you used to go?" There's a few moments of indecisiveness, turmoil in those his eyes, before he gives in and starts leading her along instead. His grip never leaves her arm, his opposite hand held in a constant tight fist at his side. She can feel the heat rolling off of him. Fire close enough to sense, but nowhere in sight. It reminds her again that these were in fact the people who learned from those mighty dragons.

"Where are we going?" She asks after a long walk through quiet, dark streets. The ramshackle homes start to blend together, the few people sitting out on their porches or leaning in doorways pausing to gawk at her robes of vibrant blue and gleaming silver. Fine furs drag through the grimy street behind her as her cloak whips in the wind. She yanks it up into her arms, suddenly quite aware of her outlandish state of dress.

"Mochi." Zuko finally answers, and her attention snaps back onto him.

"What?"

"There was this…mochi place." Zuko begrudgingly admits, "My mom used to take us there. It was my favorite. And honestly? There isn't a store as good as this one in the Upper Ring. If there is, I haven't found it yet." They come to a stop, and she looks up at the unassuming building.

It is a beacon of light; like the ones she'd seen from the train. People of all nationality and creed gather around it, sitting on the porch, in rickety chairs, on overturned barrels and boxes. A fire burns high off to the building's right, the bonfire billowing into the sky as a group of teenagers take turns throwing various things into it with increasing cackles. Children, barefoot and up far past their bedtime, scurry about underfoot, swerving close enough to the fire to make Katara flinch. Adults play cards and chat; toss knives at a battered plank of wood with targets painted on it. Someone is playing an instrument Katara's never heard nor seen, filling the atmosphere with a homey, quaint sort of feel.

And throughout it all, the are people eating mochi. The teens daring each other to jump through the fire, the children dodging flame and knife as they wrestle and play, the adults betting petty coin and debating politics. All are accented by the sweet rice cake being held in hands, set on platters and planks before being messily bitten into between glances at cards or scrambles through dirt and fire.

Zuko tugs her arm, and she realizes they've approached a small window in the side of the building. An older woman leans out of it, her face lighting as she sees him. She reaches out and pinches his cheeks in both hands. She uses her grip on him to hold him prone as she plants a kiss to his unwilling forehead.

"If it isn't sweet little baby Lee!" She cries as Zuko yanks away with a groan, wiping at his forehead with his sleeve, "You've been gone too long. Where's your momma at? And that spitfire sister of yours? We've got gossip to catch up on around here."

"They're…asleep. It's just me and—" The woman leans over to see Katara. Zuko is abruptly cut off as the woman lets out a deep belly laugh.

"Oh, I see! Don't want momma to know you're on a date." She lowers her voice, digging around for something under the counter with a clatter, "I won't tell her, next time I see her. And let her know we want her back here. Only reliable help I ever could find."

"I'm not on a date! She's just a friend that I'm showing around." He grabs a bag of coins from the pocket of his apron, hunting for the proper amount before she makes a disapproving noise. She sets down an assortment of mochi on a well-worn piece of wood, shaking her head.

"You put that money away, baby Lee. It's no good here. You just treat that pretty lady to a nice date, okay?" Zuko glares, and it looks truly venomous to Katara. The woman just laughs, nudging the mochi forward as she leans out the window.

"Kanae, I'm going to pay you—"

"Next!" She calls. The patron behind them, a man about three times Katara's size with a knife the width of her arm at his hip, shoves her aside with ease as he approaches the window. She stumbles over her own cloak, crying out and expecting an unwelcome fall into hard earth. She blinks when she finds herself just short of the ground, Zuko staring down at her as he slowly lifts her back up. His grip on her had been awkward in his haste, one hand holding her arm and the other bracing itself on her waist. Hoisting her back up onto her feet brings them close, and she admires the way the fire behind her reflects off the exotic gold of his eyes. There's brown there, too, she realizes. And distant shades of reds. Incredible depth.

"Are you alright?" He asks, seemingly unaware of her intrigue as he hurriedly steps away from her, hands lowering. Kanae chuckles, and Zuko sends her another glare as he yanks the platter of mochi from its spot on the windowsill.

"Not a date." He growls as he shoves one of the mochi into his mouth.

He stalks off through the chaos, Katara in tow. He's confident from familiarity, ducking as a knife sails just behind him and gently tugging her down to do the same. He steps over a child as they run by, squeals and laughter trailing, without a second thought, the platter in his hands never wavering. The bonfire leaps out of its confines as one of the teenagers throws something large into its depths, and the flames conspicuously bend away from them as they pass by.

Finally, they find a seat at the far end of the lot. Two logs, their bark polished smooth by years of use, with a table-like stone between them. Names and dates are carved into it, stories and people she'll never know. Katara runs her hands over the surface of it as they sit, intrigued. Zuko sets the platter between them, sitting with a heavy sigh and a hand dragged through wind roughened hair.

"Sorry about her. She's known my family since we first got here." He grumbles, picking up another mochi and chewing it pensively.

"I could tell, baby Lee." She laughs into her own selected piece, turning it over in her hands. This she had tried. Frozen and chilled goods were easily transported by waterbenders, and even more easily stored in either Water Tribe. They were never her favorite, mostly tasting like bland, sticky rice, but she appreciated them.

"Don't." Zuko warns, but there's a smile he's fighting behind a stern look. She takes a bite from the mochi, her response dying.

"Wow." She says, manners forgotten and mouth full. She puts the rest of the piece in her mouth, savoring it, "Wow!"

"Right?" He mumbles around his own mouthful. Flavors she'd never tried before; fruits she'd never heard of. Some were filled with flavorful, gooey paste, some with silky ice cream. Some were savory, some were sweet enough to make her teeth ache. There were combinations of flavor that intrigued her. Combinations that made her cough and spit. They weren't all winners.

"Very nice." He snorts into his hand, nearly choking on his own mochi as she hacks and spits into the dirt, "Could use some work on the execution."

"It isn't supposed to be spicy!" She cries, quickly dousing the flames with a vanilla mochi that soothes her tongue, "Who likes that?"

Zuko slides the remaining spicy mochi closer to himself.

"More for me then." He shrugs, easily eating another. She gawks, shaking her head. Her mouth still burns.

"I need some water." She goes for her canteen, sighing when she finds it empty. She'd used the last of it accidentally soaking Zuko. It was foolish of her not to refill it when they were surrounded by that water soaked earth. These streets were dryer.

"I'll get you some. Just stay here." The spot is fairly secluded, surrounded by stretched tarps and tattered tapestries. It's out of sight from most of the buzz of activity, only slivers of light leaping through the gaps to reach them. Zuko stands, ducking out from under the tarp and making his way back to the window. She peaks out to watch him, smiling as she sees him engaged in another conversation of loud hand gestures with Kanae.

A man blocks her view as he stands from the table he'd been sitting at. It's the man from the mochi line earlier, the giant knife on his hip still glinting dangerously in the light.

"I'm tired of these damn brats running around!" He catches one of the children as they run by, his large fist gripping the back of a ragged shirt and hoisting the squirming girl up to his eye level. She whimpers and twists, fear plain on her face. Katara stands, starting forward.

"Little pests, get out of here!" He throws the girl to the ground. She hits the cobblestone and dirt hard, crying out and scrambling to her bruised hands and knees. She glares up at him, and the indignant look is enough to send the man into a rage.

"Oh, you don't like that, spider-rat?" He takes a step closer to her, his lumbering frame towering over her. He pulls a leg back, prepared to throw a kick.

"She's just a child!" Katara interrupts, all activity seeming to halt as she approaches him. His attention abruptly shifts, and the girl takes the opportunity to run off into the dark of the night.

"And who's this?" He chuckles, the other men at the table laughing with him, "Princess here thinks she can play with the big boys?" She stands her ground, unperturbed by his impressive size and muscle.

"I just didn't want you to hurt her." Katara says, chin held high and shoulders tense.

"Hurt her? I was just teaching the little urchin a lesson. Besides, I'm a reasonable guy. Especially for a girl like you." He comes closer still, and she backs away with a purposeful step. The man interprets it as fear. He doesn't know any waterbending forms, clearly. Distantly, she sees Zuko staring wide eyed at the interaction. Two large mugs of water are in his hands.

Perfect.

She lifts her arms, and the water flies into the air. The mugs clatter to the ground as Zuko drops them in shock. She makes another tense motion of her arms, and the water freezes semi-solid. Liquid still sloshes in its core while its skin becomes a hard sphere of ice. She yanks it forward. As the man turns around to investigate the sound, the ice collides with the side of his head in an explosion of shards and water. The outer coating of ice is enough to knock him out, but not solid enough to do any lasting damage. She has enough experience to know where the limit was.

His body crumples with a low groan, the thud of his weight deafening in the suddenly quiet space. There are several beats of more silence, and then everything starts to happen at once. The men who had been sitting at the table with him rise together, some drawing knives and others ripping earth from the ground. One of the benders attempts to catch her feet in it, but she's quick to jump away from the shifting ground and onto the table between them. The swipe of a blade narrowly misses her as she runs. Rock collides with the side of the building, exploding into tiny shards that sting her face.

"Hey! No fights on my lot!" Kanae cries, disappearing from the window as she heads towards the door. The men aren't persuaded.

"Katara!" Zuko yells as he takes her hand, running off in a direction that seems random to her. He has an intent to his speed, though, some kind of plan. She follows, glancing behind to see the men still trailing them.

"I can't leave you alone for one second!" Zuko continues. He's fast, not weighed down by fabric and furs like her. She lets out an annoyed huff, unclasping her cloak and throwing it back into the face of the closest man. It slams into him, the wind slapping it against him and wrapping it around him in a tangled mess of finery.

"He was going to hurt that girl! I wasn't just going to sit there and let him!" She argues, speeding forward now that she's freed of the weight.

"She's not your problem!"

"Why not?!"

"Are you kidding?!" A wall of rock rises just before them. The distance is too short to stop quickly enough, and they meet the stone with pained grunts. The men close in, one brandishing a knife and the other drawing another mound of earth from below with a sharp jab of his fist.

"Think you can do something like that and get away, Princess?" The bender says, "You waterbenders think you're so great, splashing around in your puddles. What are you gonna do now? No water here." They both chuckle, moving in closer.

But they were wrong.

It had rained recently. There wasn't enough raw earth around to have absorbed the moisture, but there were plants here. Weeds growing between cobblestone and overgrown gardens. Clogged gutters brimming with stagnant rainwater. Basins of dishwater having been left unemptied near open windows. She could feel them all. The moon was nearing its apex, her power nearly at its height.

The plants wilt. The gutters rattle. Dishes clatter as water abandons them. In seconds she has a deluge of water at her disposal, gathering it until it thinly circles the men. The sheet of water freezes and shatters, and the razor sharp shards hover threateningly. Zuko stares, slowly getting to his feet and admiring the glinting crystals. Katara's gaze never leaves the men in front of them, the ice inching closer.

"Back off. Or you'll get much worse than the headache I gave your friend." She orders. They don't seem to take the threat as seriously as they should, pausing to give the ice a few nervous glances before coming forward again. Rock flies forward, aimed for her center, and she braces for the impact. It never comes, the stone blasted off course by a jet of fire. It lights up the ice shards surrounding them in a dazzling array of colors, refracting the light back all around them. Both men look to Zuko.

"A firebender? In Ba Sing—" Katara doesn't let them finish. The shards rain down on them, following the sweeping motion of her arms inwards. They aren't big enough to impale, but they're thin and sharp, like dozens of needles biting into them all at once. The men scream out, thrashing at their skin to deter an assailant that's already melted away. Katara takes the opportunity to continue running, gripping the edge of the wall of earth in front of them and hurling herself over it. Zuko is quick to follow, his steps light and quick as he keeps pace with her.

They don't hear the men follow, but they run. He leads the way, guiding her down twisting, crooked paths and through strange and exotic places. Strange midnight marketplaces selling oddities and questionable wares. People stumbling from buildings with no name. Musicians strumming away at street corners, and others gathering to dance and forming a crowd in no time. It's a whirlwind of color, sound and light, and she experiences it all at two times speed as they run. It's magical and manic and the adrenaline of the fight before only ramps up her pulse to a frantic pounding in her ears.

Finally, when they are sure they couldn't be followed, Zuko stops in front of another building. Gray, unlit, abandoned. It is much like many other buildings here. He smiles fondly at it, guiding her inside through a gap in the bars over the long sealed windows. He climbs the stairs slowly, avoiding some and leaning on others, until they reach what appeared to be an attic. He pulls open the hatch, and a thin ladder slides down. He climbs it and helps her up through it until they arrive at where he'd been guiding her.

"They definitely won't be able to find us here, if they're still looking." He says. Wherever they were, this used to be an attic. But some storm or misfortune had ripped half of the roof away, leaving the room partially exposed to the night sky above. The intact portion is littered with decaying leaves and tattered crates and boxes. A molding mattress and shattered lantern sit half buried in the debris.

"Where are we?" She asks, wandering to the edge of the attic and looking out at the vista below. It was a tall building, stretching higher than most of the other buildings in the Lower Ring. From their vantage point, she could see everything at once. It's like what she saw from the train, but different. It wasn't some view from high above, detached. This was being a part of the view. It wasn't beautiful, by any means, but the effect of the glittering light of the night sky, the blue haze of the large moon's light, and the beacons of activity below created a portrait of life. This was life. Hundreds of lives, thousands, all humming and moving and coming together to create the pastiche before her. She is struck breathless with the need to see more.

"An old secret clubhouse." Zuko answers as he comes up beside her, "Its seen better days. Back when I used to hang out here, it was a lot less…decayed. There was definitely more roof left."

"This is your old clubhouse? It seems a little…" The view was definitely something spectacular, but the interior left a lot to be desired. She tries to think of a nice word to elaborate.

"Yeah, I know. It was never anything fancy, but it was…I don't know. It was quiet. There wasn't a lot of space to ever be alone at the house. So when I wanted to just be alone for a little while, I'd come here." He sits at the edge of the floor, his legs dangling over the brick of the building. He seems to trust the structure to hold, the spot well worn. She sits besides him.

"Well, the view is definitely worth it. I can see why you'd come here for that." She says, accenting her words with a bump of her shoulder on his.

"There are better views. I haven't even been here in a couple years." He looks lost in thought, his gaze distant.

"Why?"

"I'm not sure."

She lets him leave it at that, the sounds of the city before them filling the comfortable lull in conversation. They watch the lights flicker out, the bustle slowly dies down. The city slowly sleeps.

"That was really stupid, what you did." Zuko says quietly, almost to himself. Katara snorts, looking over at him. He's leaning back on his hands, looking up at the stars. The moonlight paints his pale skin perfectly white. Living porcelain marred by a scrape on his cheek from where he'd hit the wall of earth. His face is lightly bruised with both old and new marks. She frowns.

"You're hurt." She deflects, reaching over to gently touch his cheek. He pulls away, touching the spot himself and pulling back with tiny droplets of blood on his hand.

"It's nothing." He wipes the blood on his tunic.

"Let me heal you." She looks around for a source of water, pausing as she sees a long abandoned garden box sitting on a window beside them, the empty dish filled to the brim with rainwater. She bends it out with the practiced slide of her hand, drawing it close, "Sit still." He eyes her warily, shaking his head.

"I'm fine. I don't need you to—"

"Relax. It won't hurt or anything. Trust me." He studies her for another moment before giving a hesitant nod, turning his face so his scrapes and bruises face her. She leans forward, hands gentle as they hover around his face. The water slides over the afflicted skin, and she feels for the damage in her core. The edges of torn skin, the blood spilled in his bruises. The water resonates within them, a faint glow starting that makes Zuko shift with unease.

And just like that, the wounds are gone. His skin is unmarred porcelain, once again. He reaches up to touch his face, blinking in shock.

"You're just full of surprises, aren't you?" He asks, still feeling along his face, pressing and testing for any lingering soreness.

"I know a trick or two." She smirks, sitting back and letting the remaining water drop to the streets below. He laughs, shaking his head.

"I think I've had enough excitement today. And if I don't get you home sometime tonight, your brother is probably going to ruin my life." He's right. As much as she wishes he wasn't, she's sure he's sitting at the door of their temporary home, sword at the ready. She isn't looking forward to dealing with him. But the longer she waits, the worse Sokka will be.

"Maybe a little." Zuko stands first, but Katara hesitates. The lights below are captivating. After a few long moments, she takes his outstretched hand and lets him pull her up.

She decides then, this will not be the last she sees of these lights.


In all his years, both as royalty and not, a feeling Ozai had never bode well with was being trapped. He had rarely encountered it, few having the authority and power to impose it upon a Fire Prince, and an equally scant number able to do so to a dangerous mercenary. He's nearly thankful that during his short time in the masked man's cell, he'd been only half conscious. He didn't have to ponder on being stuck.

Now he is fully conscious, and the walls of Iroh's apartment have become oppressive. His face is on wanted posters and notices all across the city. He can see one just outside the window, plastered onto a large wooden plank. It is a striking likeness, considering the few royal portraits that had been stolen and survived the fire in historical spaces. His face is now well known, at least to those who were looking for him. Leaving the apartment isn't an option.

And even if it was, his own body was starting to prevent any ventures outside. Nothing as dramatic as the nosebleed from the night prior had occurred again, but it had seemed to trigger something. He felt an oppressive weakness, a deep, incurable tiredness that couldn't be shaken. Even pacing the length of the living room could suddenly exhaust him. Nausea clawed at his stomach if he dared eat more than snack sized portions, and he was thankful that a heavy supply of ginger tea was available to help him at least keep his food down at all.

Most worrying of all, though, was his firebending. He settles heavily on the couch before the fireplace, staring at his element before him. He feels it, as he always has, but there's something else. A shadow that haunts the edges of his senses, and wriggles its way between him and his connection with the fire. He holds his hands out, and a weak fire begins between them. It sputters and chokes, thick, inky smoke pluming from it. The effort is exhausting, and he has to strain to push the fire to be larger. It fights him, snapping and crackling like an untamed beast. A tremor racks his hands, and he feels the lightheadedness from the night before start to return. He smells blood, and stops.

The fire dies instantaneously; a drop of blood falls from his nose onto the pale skin of his wrist. He stares down at it. It's hardly recognizable as blood, he realizes, as he twists his wrist in the light. It glitters with obsidian, black as night. Hardly any red swirls inside it. Perhaps Zuko had been right to worry.

Or, this would pass. Such a small fraction of that fluid had been injected into him. It seemed to leak out with his blood, and over time, it would eventually dissipate completely. He'd have to look into bloodletting, if that were the case. It couldn't be too difficult.

He stands, wiping his wrist and nose clean on a sleeve. He is drawn to the window, again, watching the commotion in the streets below. It makes that itch for freedom return, eclipsing his worries for his health. It's late, but not obscenely so. There are plenty of people out and enjoying the last day of the festivities. The chaos and commotion seems to have reached a crescendo, the outside noise penetrating the glass as if it weren't there at all. He's about to turn away, taunted by those who had the ability to roam at will, before he sees Zuko.

He stops in front of the entrance to the teashop, breaking through the surrounding crowd. And then a girl appears behind him, following the opening he'd made in the sea of people. She says something to him that makes him laugh in a sort of full body way that Ozai's never seen from him before. She touches his shoulder, and the laugh dies. Their eyes lock. Even without being close enough to read their expressions, he can see that there's a tension there. Of what nature, he isn't sure. And then she is gone, a swirl of blue all that he sees as she disappears into the crowd.

Curious.

Ozai is still by the window when the door to the apartment opens. Noise from the teashop clatters in behind him, and he leans back against the door as he shuts it. He doesn't seem to notice his father, slumping back against the door and pressing his palms to his eyes.

"Stupid." He hisses to himself, "Why would I—"

"You're home early." Ozai interrupts, and Zuko's head smacks back against the door in surprise. He cries out, gripping the spot sorely, "Iroh hasn't even returned. Yet here you are."

"I didn't feel well." Zuko lies. Still such a horrible liar.

"Kind of that Water Tribe girl to help you home, then." Ozai leans back against the couch, crossing his arms. His wounds are still stubborn, healing slow, but he can put slight pressure on them without pain now.

"How did you—"

"I have not been able to leave this place. The only entertainment I can find is from that window. The reading material here is hardly enthralling." Ozai looks to the window again, collecting his thoughts as they scatter for a moment.

"Oh. Well…she was just headed this way too. I barely know her." More lies. If he didn't hesitate like he did, perhaps he could be convincing. Ozai pushes off from the couch, coming closer.

"I'm sure. Make sure it doesn't happen again, then. I won't have my son mingling with Water Tribe peasants." He's tired, again. Constantly. Ursa's bed calls to him far more strongly than the couch does, and she could scold him for that later. The children could question him spending more time in her room another time. He starts towards her door.

"She's not a peasant." Zuko spits out. Ozai's hand hesitates on the door.

"Oh?" He looks back at Zuko. His eyes are wide, flicking around the room as he clearly panics. Ozai's attention is thoroughly grabbed.

"She…"

"If she's not a peasant, what is she then?" Ozai has no time for his stalling as he stumbles out a couple words. He reaches forward and grabs his jaw, not hard enough to bruise, but enough to force silence. He yanks Zuko's head up, making their eyes to meet. There is less venom in his voice than he normally would apply, "Might I remind you what a poor liar you are? And I do not take well to being lied to."

"It's not important." He deflects. He yanks his head out of Ozai's grasp, shrugging with too much force.

"If it weren't than you wouldn't have lied to begin with. Of what importance is she?" Silence for several beats. Ozai is about to scold him again before Zuko speaks quickly, the words leaving him in a rush.

"The Southern Water Tribe Chief's daughter."

Exhaustion evaporates within him at the hesitantly uttered words. Fury quickly replaces it. He hardly knows where to begin. Zuko is already trying to leave, hurrying towards the door to his room. Ozai grabs the handle first, slamming the door shut and standing in front of it.

"The girl's father is the Water Tribe Chief?" Ozai says lowly.

"This is why I wasn't going to tell you. It's not a big deal. I'm not going to see her again, anyway!" Zuko counters, attempting to duck around Ozai and grab for the door. He grips the back of the boy's tunic, stopping his retreat before he can get the door open.

"Why were you with her at all? And I mean really. Not one of your embarrassingly transparent lies." He pulls Zuko back so they're facing each other again, leaning on the doorframe to better block it. He can see him calculating what to say, trying to prevent another slip of the tongue like the one that had started this conversation to begin with.

"She's visiting for the Ball." He starts, eyes finally meeting Ozai's as he decides on his words, "She wanted a tour of Ba Sing Se. We'd talked a couple times before, and she thought a local would be a better tour guide than someone the city was paying." Ozai searches his face. He looks for any hesitation. Any nervous tick to indicate a lie. Zuko's eyes don't leave his, and Ozai's shoulders go slightly slack.

"Plausible, I suppose. That's the last you're seeing of the little water snake?" The thought of them makes him cringe in revulsion. Their natural opposite. Where the Fire Nation had been innovative and powerful, the Water Tribe had been stuck in their old ways, and weak until they could stab at their superiors with their backs turned. He should have expected that from them.

"Yes. She invited me to go do something with her and the Avatar later but I wasn't—"

"She knows the Avatar?" Ozai asks, nearly breathless in his surprise.

"She's friends with him." Zuko shrugs. He seems uncertain as to the reasoning behind his question, and Ozai can't help but wonder how dense he must truly be.

"You must go do whatever it is you were invited to do with them, Zuko." And just like that, Ozai has a plan. He is no longer hopeless, no longer lost. For the first time since his employer revealed himself, he has a slowly forming idea that could lead to the Avatar's assistance in his ultimate goal of reinstating the Fire Nation Royal Family. His dream of being Fire Lord, his right to power, was possible after all.

"Why? You just said you didn't want me to see her again." He eyes Ozai skeptically.

"You have to look at the bigger picture, Zuko. Come." He goes back to the couch, motioning for him to follow. Zuko settles heavily onto the couch, watching him with healthy skepticism as he paces before the fireplace. He needs to think. This plan was still half-baked yet.

"Bigger picture?"

"Yes. It's really brilliant, what you've done. That Water Tribe girl could be the key to getting our family back everything it deserves." He has to play this correctly to convince him. Zuko is as much key here as the Avatar is, "If you can get her to trust you, befriend her and the Avatar, you can convince them to help me—help us be put back in power. We could have our status returned to us."

Zuko's brow furrows in utter confusion. He shakes his head, sitting back with a huff.

"How would the Avatar even do that?"

"He holds more power than you know. If he endorsed our family as the rightful rulers of the Fire Nation, anyone who opposed it would be going against the word of the Avatar himself. That has incredible meaning, politically." He continues to pace. It was by no means that easy. Even with the Avatar's backing, further work would need to be put in. Loyalists would need to be united. The palace would need to be cleared and rebuilt. But the fundamentals were in place. Their family could rule again.

"And by our family you mean…"

"I would be Fire Lord, of course." Ozai gets the words out quickly, eager to get to the part that would more interest Zuko. He stops in front of him, "But you would be Crown Fire Prince, Zuko. Your sister Fire Princess. Your mother Fire Lady. The luxury and comfort afforded to those positions…none of you would have to want for anything again. All that you, your sister…all that your mother has been through. It would be a thing of the past." Something clicks for Zuko. He knew it would. Ozai contains a grin, settling beside his son on the couch. He places a hand on his shoulder conspiratorially.

"You get them to trust you, first. Think nothing of this, in the beginning. But over time, tell them about our family. Tell them the things the Revolt has done to us, and to our Nation. Make sure to stress the imbalance of it, especially to the Avatar." Ozai's grip tightens. His words are precious and important. If Zuko failed this, there would be no hope, "Eventually, they will see that their perception of us was wrong. They will know who's side they need to be on."

"I would be using them. They'd trust me and I would just be their friend to get something out of them." He mutters, nearly too quiet for him to catch. His mother's soft heart beats within him. That would need to be corrected, eventually.

"Hardly. And even if you were, that is the basis of friendship. It's all an agreement on an exchange dressed up with nice words." He's losing him, so he returns to the words he knows will recapture Zuko's support, "It's for your family." He is visibly torn, gnawing his lip with concern.

"You tried to kill the Avatar. He might not trust you after that." Ozai waves off the matter, unperturbed.

"You can explain to him that I was under contract to do so. I had no other options." He gestures to his own face, the aggravated red line running across his nose and cheeks still freshly healing, "I was given this for my failure. He is sentimental and soft, that much I know. That should be enough to seal the deal."

A beat of silence. Two. The fire pops and crackles as Zuko stares into it. He looks back to Ozai with a slight, almost imperceptible nod.

"I'll do it."


N/A: Longest chapter ever written kills local writer.