"Ozai, wake up."

A gentle hand on his shoulder, shaking him lightly. He shudders, the wind howling through the trees and rattling their branches overhead. The sound of the leaves raining onto the tarp above is like a gentle rain. He blinks slowly, finding the light having only just started to crawl its way over the horizon.

"I heard something." She whispers hurriedly, sitting up. Azula fidgets against her, squirming in the makeshift sling on her mother's chest. Zuko still sleeps soundly, wrapped in his father's coat for warmth against the autumn chill. Ozai can maintain his warmth better than a child.

"Guards wouldn't be on patrol so early." Ozai murmurs in response, rolling over to face the long extinguished fire. He takes a moment to stretch, arching his back and loosening the tenseness in his arms before he sends a blast of fire forward into the pit of ashes. There isn't much for the flames to grab hold to, the embers sputtering and choking as they try to find purchase. Ozai sits up, grabbing a nearby branch and tossing it into the fire.

"Or on patrol so far from a city." He scoots closer to the fire, soaking in the warmth of it. It's only a mild chill, now, but he knows as they travel deeper into winter, the cold will become more pervasive. They would need thicker clothes if they were to survive.

"Can you check, just to be sure?" She asks, trying to shush Azula's cries. Ozai glances back, meeting her tense gaze.

"I suppose. Stay here." He climbs to his feet, ducking out from under the tarp and glancing around the dimly lit forest. Everything is painted in blunt oranges and greens, the leaves beginning to shed and litter the floor with their decay. It was providing less cover, and making it more dangerous to travel. Ozai lights a small fire over his hands as he sets off, stepping cautiously. Even with his caution, his steps are still loud in the crinkling leaves.

"It came from that way." She urges, peaking out from the tarp and pointing North. Ozai follows, holding his hand far in front of him to light the way. The underbrush was denser in this direction, providing more cover but also limiting how far he could see. He continues forward for minutes, nearly about to retreat and claim her worry on a wayward animal. It's then that an arrow grazes his arm, his limb only saved by a stumble over a tree branch that makes him waver.

He staggers back, immediately parrying with a blind blast of fire in the direction of the assailant. Another arrow whizzes through the air, catching in the collar of his shirt and pinning him to a nearby tree. Three more come in quick succession, each one grazing his skin but never piercing. He soon finds his arms pinned to the tree with the arrows, the fabric of his shirt stretched taught where they're pierced.

A man drops down from the singed tree, and Ozai immediately relaxes. An indignant snort leaves him, his head resting back against the rough bark.

"A Yuyan Archer. I suppose you have someone else holding your leash, now?" Ozai asks, "Who is your master?"

"That's none of your concern, Prince Ozai." He says as he notches another arrow, but he keeps his bow lowered, "We have instructions to eliminate you on sight."

"And you've done a poor job of it." Ozai answers, "What do you want with me?"

"I want to warn you." The archer says, looking to the ground for a moment, conflict written on his tattooed face.

"Before you kill me? Seems pointless." Ozai shifts uncomfortably, the arrows keeping him pinned in an awkward position like an insect on display. He could rip his clothes to get free, but they were the only things he had to wear. He couldn't risk it, if he were to escape.

"I'm not going to kill you." He insists, stopping just an arms length away, "I am loyal to the Royal Family. We have served under your family's name for generations. You have been well to us." Ozai stops in his struggling, frowning. He hadn't thought to consider the Yuyan as allies. They had always been a resource to the Fire Nation military, loyal to a fault and not to be trifled with. He'd had very little contact with them, but he'd known of their importance and skill.

"So you've come to warn me that you're supposed to kill me? Is that all? You and many others. This is no surprise to me." Ozai insists, "Now let me down. This is undignified." The archer seems uncertain, but obeys. He yanks out the arrows one by one, sliding them back into his quiver before kneeling respectfully.

"My apologies, my Prince." Ozai brushes off the splinters, looking down at the archer with a nod.

"Stand. Kneeling is unbecoming of someone of your skill." He orders, "What else do you have to tell me?"

"We've been ordered to kill you."

"You've told me that already."

"No, I mean you. Just you. There were no orders regarding your family, should they be alone." The man speaks purposefully. Ozai pauses, furrowing his brow in thought, "But if they were with you, we would have no choice—"

"You would kill them if they were found with me." He amends. The archer nods solemnly, "Should I be found alone, or they be found without me, they would be allowed to live."

"That is correct. My fellow archers don't like what we have been tasked to do. But we must follow our orders. You know the code we follow." Ozai himself had been there when his father had renewed said code. It was sacred, and binding. To deny their orders from whoever they may be lead by would be considered the greatest dishonor a Yuyan Archer could face, "The order exactly was to eliminate the Fire Prince, and anyone accompanying him. So, by that logic, if they are not accompanying him, they are not our concern."

Ozai doesn't answer. He watches him silently, torn. He had every reason not to trust the archer. This could be a ploy to get them to separate and make his family an easier target. He should kill the man now to ensure he couldn't be followed. His fist clenches, fire prickling beneath his skin.

His eyes meet the archers, and he sighs out a tense breath. His fist loosens.

"How am I supposed to trust you?" The man gives a small smile at that.

"We aren't known for our deceptiveness. And that aside, I would never lie to you, my Prince. I simply wanted to give you a warning, and a head start out of the area. We will be stationed here for several weeks while we scout the forest. Once you and your family are safely out of this forest…do with my information what you will." He gives another respectful bow. Ozai runs a hand through his tangled hair, letting out a deep sigh. It went against his instincts to trust. But still, if what he'd been told was true, this information would be lifesaving. The Yuyan were not to be taken lightly.

If this man had wanted Ozai dead, he would have speared his head before he'd had the chance to know it. He guesses that counts for something.

"Very well. Thank you."

"Of course."

When he returns to Ursa, he settles beside her, reassuring her of the fox antelope he had stumbled upon.


They travel out of the forest quickly, along an old road with no name. It's overgrown, the plant life having returned to reclaim the cobblestone so thickly that Ozai has to cut through it with precise jets of fire. They're overfed, fat with water, and they hiss and sizzle when his fire meets them.

This goes on for hours. His muscles ache, the respective motion of his hands and arms straining him. His fire grows sloppy, taking several passes to cut through even moderate vines. Ursa pauses, concern in her voice as she places a hand on his sweat soaked back. His breath comes in heavy pants.

"You need to rest." She asserts. He looks back at her, and then over her. Searching the trees above for movement. The glint of an arrowhead, the flash of red tattoo. He has no way of knowing how far he's gone. But he must go further. He'll go as far as he can, out of these woods. It was after that Ursa truly needed to worry about.

"I'm fine." He insists, turning and burning through heavily grown vine with renewed vigor. The roar of the fire is enough to drown her protests out for the time being, and he gets far enough ahead of them that she can no longer touch him to get his attention. He continues on this way until he can't. Until the last burst of flame seems to tear through him physically, drawing a deep cry as the fire dies on his fist.

It's pure exhaustion. His body aches. His throat itches with a dryness he can't shake. He hadn't eaten a decent meal in days. Most of what they managed to buy or find was going to his family. The only way to keep the child moving was to keep him fed. The only way to nurse Azula was to take care of Ursa's needs first.

But still, he has no fuel to give. He's drawing fumes, burning his own energy to keep his fire alight. He sinks to his knees, on the edge of hyperventilation as he tries to breathe. Ursa stops beside him, kneeling and brushing his hair out of his face. He doesn't look at her, eyes closed shut in outrage. How weak of him, to crumple like this in front of his family.

"We've gone far enough." She hesitantly speaks, unsure of how close she should be to him. She recognizes the fury on his face. She can't begin to understand why. He won't tell her.

"Here—" She goes to offer him the canteen on her hip, and he pushes it away.

"I heard a river nearby." He says once he can catch his breath again, "I'll get water there. Save that for yourself and Zuko." His own canteen is long empty. Her hands grasp his, and he swallows his pride long enough to let her help him back up. He likes to pretend he isn't leaning into her for support.

A sizzle nearby draws his attention, and he looks over to see Zuko cutting through a gnarled mass of vines with his own flames. He lets out a choked laugh, wiping the sweat from his brow.

"I don't want you exhausting yourself, son." Ozai rumbles, voice rough as he kneels beside him. Zuko huffs, slicing through another vine.

"I can help." He grits out, ever the determined child.

"I'm sure." Ozai responds, gripping Zuko mid form and pulling him back, "You can help me bring water back for your mother."

Firebending forgotten, Zuko nods quickly.

"I can!" He exclaims, already reaching for the lightweight basin in Ursa's bag. She smiles, handing it to him with a gentle ruffle of his hair.

"Make sure your father doesn't overexert himself anymore, alright, Zuko?" She tasks him with a kiss to his forehead. He's emboldened by his task, clutching the too large basin in his arms and going to Ozai's side.

They start off towards the river, and Ozai has to repeatedly remind himself to slow his gate to allow the child to keep pace. He's making an admirable effort of catching up to his father, basin held tight against his chest and short legs hurrying to keep up. He nearly tumbles to the ground as an exposed root catches his feet, and Ozai pauses to grab him.

"Careful. We have no time for you to be injured." Ozai says as he rights him, setting him down slightly in front of himself to keep watch over him. Zuko mumbles out an apology, continuing on. The way seems to be mostly clear, now, the area closest to the river more of a sodden clearing than the surrounding space.

Zuko hops up onto a rock, basin settled in his lap. He looks to Ozai for instruction, but he's too busy kneeling into the cool water to bother. He needs to regain his energy, replenish his own inner fuel. His damp shirt is peeled off first, tossed onto another rock. He dunks his head into the water, dragging his fingers through oily, knotted hair and over sweat slicked skin. He lifts his head with a soft gasp, dragging his hands over his face. He brings more water up to wash over his chest and back, sighing as he sheds some of the long overdue grime. Zuko is watching him with fascinated eyes. He can see the thought before he does it.

"Do not get in the water." Ozai orders, lifting a hand to stop him in case he decides to anyway, "It's too cold. You'll catch something." Zuko pouts, crossing his arms on the basin.

He returns his hands to the water, cupping a large handful and heating it between his palms until it's nearly painful to hold. He pauses, letting it cool slightly before taking a heavy gulp of it. He repeats this until his throat feels eased, and his headache starts to recede. He feels his strength start to return, if only by inches.

"Where're we going?" Zuko asks, his feet swinging over the edge of his rock. Ozai stays kneeled in the water, watching his reflection in the serenely moving current. Dull, unkempt hair. Dark circles under exhausted golden eyes. Sunken cheeks making his cheekbones even more prominent. Overgrown, coarse hair peppering along his jaw. He hardly recognizes himself, dragging a hand through the water to wipe the image away.

"Somewhere safe." Ozai says as he fills his own canteen, capping it. He then reaches out for the basin, and Zuko hands it off to him.

"Where?" He pesters. Ozai rolls his eyes, dunking the basin into the water and pulling it out. He hands it back to the child, letting him balance it in his lap. His fingers continue combing through his hair, trying to get the worst of the knots out.

"Just…somewhere safe. That's all I have to say." Because even he isn't sure. He just knew safe was synonymous with 'Not with him.' And once they were far enough away that he could be sure no Yuyan Archer was watching them, they would be safe. Or safer, at least. He could only give them that much.

"That's dumb." Zuko huffs, throwing a stone into the river. It disturbs a fish, scattering it closer to the shore. Ozai startles, staring down at it as it lazily swims in a circle now that it's out of the river's direct current. He shushes Zuko as he goes to say something else, shifting his weight to better ground himself. Calling fire forward still makes him ache deep in his core, but he does so anyway, a precise jet of it coming to life over his fist. In a quick movement and a cloud of steam, the fire pierces through the fish's head, its body thrashing with the spasms brought on by death.

He grabs its body from the river, setting it aside. Zuko abandons the basin, awed.

"Woah!" He exclaims, "How—How'd you—" He scrambles down from the rock to look over the fish. He prods at the perfectly singed ring in its skull, burst through to the other side as if it had been speared.

"Throw another stone, Zuko." He orders, lowering his body to be further submerged in the water, looking for more fish hidden among the glittering rocks of the riverbed. Zuko is eager to oblige, finding another rock and hurling it into the water. More fish scatter, too many for Ozai to track, but the few who find themselves wandering into the shallows meet his strikes. He doesn't hit every time, but the one's who are unlucky enough to get caught in his attacks are quickly tossed onto shore with the first fish. He settles back on his knees when another splashing stone yields no more fish. The pod had moved on, it seemed. They would make do with what he'd caught.

"But they're in the water, how'd you..." He realizes Zuko is talking to him, looking over as he shakes out his hand sorely. His knuckles are scraped and battered from colliding with the riverbed.

"Water is weak." Ozai interrupts, and his son pauses with wide eyes. He listens like it's the most important thing in the world, "If your fire is hot enough, it can shortly cut through it. And when I'm at full strength, I can create a flame so intense, it could cut through water, earth and bone alike." He's nearly reverent as he speaks, smiling. It was rare to have that kind of power, even for himself. The sun would need to be at its closest; his chi balanced. But when he could build that super-heated fire, more intense than even the illusive blue flame? It was a spectacle to be seen, only second to his lightning.

"Can I do that?" Zuko asks, raising his hands and stretching out his fingers inquisitively.

"One day." Ozai gathers the fish, already savoring the idea of fresh, filling food. There were four of them here, not particularly massive, but enough that he could eat two and regain some of his strength to continue forward. He calls Zuko to follow, hearing the sloshing water in the basin as Zuko carries it with him. And if he'd thought the boy was slow before, he's painfully sluggish carrying the heavy water. Ozai impatiently leads him, the fish carcasses being cradled in the makeshift basket of his shirt.

"But when?" Always so inquisitive and persistent. Ever since he'd started to speak he'd been bothersome, always having constant questions. Ursa handled them with boundless patience. Ozai has to contain his agitation.

"Not soon. You're as novice as a firebender can get. You're still afraid of it." Ozai glances down to see Zuko stumble again, but his grip on the basin stays firm. He glares up at his father, chin held up indignantly.

"Am not!"

"Don't argue with me, child. Respect your father." He orders. Zuko's attempt at following those orders is admirable for about thirty seconds.

"But I'm not scared!"

"Zuko!"

"But I'm not!" Ozai stops abruptly, Zuko crying out when he slams into the backs of his legs. Water trickles down his already soaked pants.

"When I give you an order, it is to be followed." He kneels to be on eye level with his son, fish set aside so he can grip his jaw and force their gazes to meet. Zuko is practically quivering under his hand, eyes wide with fear. Raw strength lingered in his very touch, the very real threat of violence under each fingertip, "If myself or your mother ever gives you an order, or commands anything of you, you will oblige. We may not live in the palace any longer, but that is no excuse for you to behave like some commoner brat. You will hold yourself with dignity, and respect your elders."

Now, he gives silence. He clearly wants to whimper or cry, but instead he closes his eyes tightly. Restraint.

Very good.

Ozai stands, picking up the bundle of fish and continuing on as if nothing had occurred.

"Come along. Your mother is waiting."

When he finally does return, the sun inching towards the horizon yet again, Ursa stands quickly. She breathes a heavy sigh of relief, coming closer.

"You were gone longer than I thought you would be, I was starting to worry—" She stills as she gets close, looking inside the bundle in Ozai's hands.

"I was picking up dinner." He says, handing it off to her without ceremony and settling onto the ground heavily. He rests against one of the walls of the old road, crumbled and ancient. Zuko follows, setting the basin down slowly, cautious not to spill a drop before he sits as well, leaving an ample space between himself and his father. Azula is out of her sling, crawling across the small clearing as she chases an unlit glowfly. Ozai watches her wearily, shifting her away from the border of yet to be cleared vines. He repeats the motion several times, Azula glancing up at him scornfully as she tries to climb into the mess of foliage without success. Ursa goes about cleaning the fish, tossing what remained of their severed heads far away from their makeshift camp. The scales scrape off in a glittering mess, littering the far end of their clearing. At some point, Ozai dozes off and awakens to the smell of roasting fish.

He looks over to see Zuko, hands held in front of him, keeping a small fire burning to heat the hefty chunks of meat speared on long metal hairpins. There was no dry kindling here, only the vines. He should have thought of that when he'd ventured into the wooded area to get water. A stupid oversight.

He sees the struggle on Zuko's face, his control over fire still tenuous yet, as he'd said. He struggles to maintain the heat, obviously scared of burning his mother as she rotates the fish. She reassures him, and the fire steadies out to an even stream. Ozai snorts to himself. That was no way to teach a firebender. He couldn't always rely on kind words when he needed to control his fire. Doing so would only make it harder for him to learn later on.

Ozai looks down at the feeling of movement, finding Azula asleep on his lap, her head braced on his now dried and bare stomach. His hand comes up to rest on her back, soothing her fidgeting as she curls in on herself.

It's an oddly quaint scene. They could almost be mistaken for a regular family. Refugees with nothing to their name and nowhere to go, yes, but still a family. He shifts into a more comfortable sitting position, blinking away sleep. He feels invigorated, his strength returned, but hunger is gnawing hard at his gut every time he breathes in. Ursa pauses when she sees him shift.

"Hungry?" She asks, and he doesn't need to answer. She hands him one of the largest cooked pieces on a thick piece of hide from the vines behind them. He devours it quickly, following it with a gulp from his canteen. Ursa finishes cooking the last two pieces, handing one to Zuko and then herself. She sits beside him, and Zuko climbs onto her lap. Her head rests on Ozai's shoulder as she eats, and again, he is struck by that odd serenity of the moment.

Knowing what he must do, it makes him uncomfortable. He looks anywhere but at her, staring at the stars above instead. In the complete darkness, they illuminate the sky brilliantly. Glowflies flash in the distance, blinding like strikes of lightning. Cool air whispers through grass and distant trees, swirling around them and whipping her hair into his face. He goes to pull it away, pausing with his hand in her hair until it slowly lowers to rest on her cheek. Despite his best efforts, he can't keep himself from looking into her eyes. She's finished her fish and has taken to watching him instead. The moon reflects off her deep, caramel eyes and he's caught in them, trapped in the sweetness there.

"What are you thinking?" She asks.

"Just…planning." He says into the minuscule space between them. They had only known each other a couple of years, and most of those years had been filled with turmoil. But still, she could read him well. Her hand braces his cheek, melting his defenses and crumbling his carefully built walls.

He hated to admit that he had grown fond of her. She was more than just the wife he had been told to marry. The vessel through which he would receive the powerful heirs he had been promised. She had gotten dangerously close to him. No one, not his teachers, not his parents, not even his brother, knew as much about him as she did. There was terrifying power in that. He should want to push her away more than anything. He should revel in regaining his carefully built defenses.

Yet he couldn't shake the feeling of loss at the thought of leaving. He would have to live with it, he supposes. He tries to remind himself that she's simply a reminder, now. A physical representation of the life that was taken from him. Keeping her around was a threat, a distraction, to both himself and to them. Tactically, it was his only option.

"Do you know what's at the end of this road?" She asks after he doesn't elaborate further. He sighs, head resting back against the wall with a heavy thud, the spell of her eyes broken. His hands fall back into his lap, cradling Azula there.

"Somewhere else? Most roads lead somewhere." Ozai says to the sky, "I'm not—" A soft kiss interrupts him, and he turns his head to see her.

"Wherever it is, we'll figure it out. We've made it this far." He stares down at her and wonders how much she knows. If she's purposefully making this harder for him. Perhaps. She'd always been clever.

He cups her jaw and kisses her deeply, holding her tightly as if it's the last time. It very well may be. She sighs into it, relaxing against him and returning it with a sort of sweetness that nearly matches the caramel of her eyes. Even without looking at him, she traps him again. How did she manage to do this to him?

Zuko looks up at them and makes a noise of disgust, shuffling off her lap.


"Ozai, wake up."

He startles awake, and for a long, terrifying moment, he has no idea where he is. It seems that all periods of time are mashed into one moment. The richness of the palace, the desperation of the forest, the achingly hard floor of the shed, the icy cold of the cell. He panics, sitting up and going to make an arch of fire to defend himself with, but only thick, oily plumes of smoke rise and fan out in front of him.

Ursa coughs softly, waving the smoke from her face.

"Ozai?" She inquires, and time seems to have settled, now. He recalls where he is. What has happened. What's happening to him. He looks down at his hands, sees the smoke still curling off his fingertips.

"I'm fine." He answers, lying back down beside her. She pauses to watch him, skeptical as she lifts his hand and studies it. He clenches his fist, yanking his hand away.

"Something's wrong with your bending, too, isn't it? Whatever was in those things…it's really hurting you. You need a healer. A real one." He rolls over to face away from her stubbornly, "You can't eat, you can't bend, you can hardly even sleep—"

"I was sleeping fine until you disturbed me." He growls, half burying his face in the welcoming pillows.

"You were talking. You seemed…upset." The memories had clawed their way back in his dreams, that much he knew. So visceral and real, it was as if he was living them anew. The smell of the fish, the steel of the archer's arrows. He could normally suppress those thoughts better than this. He could sleep soundly, content in knowing he'd done what was right.

But that kiss. That one, last lingering kiss. The trust and dedication and love he'd felt in it. It had marked, cursed, and haunted him. It had cast shadows of doubts on his own decisions, and no matter who or what he distracted himself with, he could find no relief. It had taken years to bury those feelings and memories, and now here they were again. A cutting blade, an un-healing wound. Marrying Ursa was the single most ruinous thing he'd ever done in his life.

"I'm not." He finally answers, but his shoulder is lax now as she tugs on it. He rolls onto his back, looking up at her with a distant, troubled gaze. Silence floats between them as her eyes scan every part of his face.

"What are you thinking?"

What are you thinking?

Time was cyclical. It played in an endless loop. He groans, throwing his arm over his eyes.

"Do you remember the night I left?" He asks.

"The night—that night?" She pulls back, "Of course I do." The agony in her voice is more than he can bear. He regrets asking immediately. How this woman made him feel things. Maddening, upsetting things, "You just disappeared with this awful note—"

"Did you know I loved you, then?" He freezes, lifting his arm from his eyes to stare at the ceiling in confusion. He hadn't even confessed that to himself. His feelings for her had always been nameless. A vague fondness. He wouldn't ever dare call it love. Such a thing didn't exist for him—it never could. Whatever part of him that had long ago believed in love had been locked away, safely discarded.

Yet he can't stop himself.

"I knew that night, that I did. And the next morning." She looks almost horrified. The expression on her face is comically confused, "It pained me more than you know to do what I did." He recalls writing as much in that scant letter to her. He hadn't known what to say. So he'd said almost nothing.

"Then…then why did you—"

"Because I loved you." He still can't believe he's saying those words. He blames it on hunger, on stress, on fever, on the mystery fluid in his veins. In no sound state of mind would he ever be so open with his own unknown feelings, "If I had not loved you, I would not have left. But it was the only way to keep you safe."

"That's what you said before. Some people were suspicious because of you, that we could be found out, but you don't know—" He stops her, reaching over to grip her chin with a soft touch. His fingers stroke along her jaw, his mind a haze of thoughts and feelings and confusion.

"My dear, I do know. The Yuyan Archers were going to kill all of you if we were found together." She's stunned into silence, so he continues, "It was a guarantee. If I had stayed with you, none of us would have survived. But I was able to move more inconspicuously and evade them, and they had no interest in you or the children without me."

"Ozai, I don't…why couldn't you just tell me…"

"You wouldn't have let me go, then. And you wouldn't have believed me, when I first returned." And he'd known that to be the truth from the beginning, "There's so much I should tell you." He ponders, hands still exploring her soft jawline. She's all softness. Where he is hard angles, sharp lines, she's curves and delicate shapes. His complete opposite. His perfect contrast.

And in a moment, he feels like a switch is being flipped, and his defenses come firmly back into place. He sits up, hands jerking away from her. What had he been thinking, talking like that? To be so openly vulnerable, to allow anyone so much power over him, it sickened him. That kind of weakness was unacceptable.

He goes to climb out of bed, but she grasps at his arm before he can. Her hands feel ice cold compared to his overheated skin, and he flinches.

"Don't go." She says. It's a soft, fragile hope in her voice. A reverent, tentative tone that he'd heard from her only on rare occasions. When she talked about her family, or her home, or her fiancé, it would creep into her words. And now she was using it for him.

How weak he's grown if some soft words swayed him this way. He leans back into her touch.

"I should go back to the couch before the children wake up." He insists. He wishes he could say he'd had alternative reasons for being in Ursa's bed, but he'd only found sleep here. It was simply easier for him to rest in an actual bed than on the admittedly well made couch. After what had happened last time they'd ventured anywhere beyond that, Ursa had made it clear she wasn't interested in entertaining any notions of intimacy until he was healthy again. With every passing day, Ozai wonders if such a thing were possible.

Saying the things he said, remembering the things he did, were not things he would ever do in his right mind.

"Alright. But we're not done talking about this." She lets her hands drop. He feels the loss of them profoundly, the chill of her fingers gone but the ghost of her touch is one that stays with him as he stands. He's gone without a response, wandering back into the living room as the first streaks of daylight claw their way through the blinds. He slumps down onto the couch, skin feeling too hot and mind awash with conflict and haze.

"So anyway." Azula starts. Ozai lets out a startled noise, sitting up and looking over at her as she sits at the dining room table, picking apart a piece of toast between precise fingers. He stares, uncertain if he's imagining things. If he has truly started to lose his mind.

"Azula?"

"Present." She says, leaning back in her chair and planting her heels against the table, "You and mom getting to know each other again?" There was no use skirting around the fact. Azula was far too intelligent to try something like that.

"You and your brother exist, I'd say we know each other well enough already." She makes a face, finishing the last of her breakfast, "Why are you awake?"

"Just got home." She answers, smoothly getting to her feet and nudging the chair back into place with her hip, "And I've got news."

"About the Avatar?"

"Oh, yeah, that too." She settles on the couch beside him, lowering her voice, "I tailed Zuko last night. He was out with them for a while, I thought they were done, but then that Water Tribe girl came back. They talked for a while, I wasn't close enough and it was honestly pretty embarrassing and boring—he's so bad at making conversation—"

"This has no value to me." Ozai interrupts. She makes a quick motion with her hands, shushing him.

"Then they left. He took her to the Lower Ring."

"What?"

"Exactly. So, I took the next train after them. Took me a while to find them again, but I know all of his old hangouts. They spent the whole night there."

"Doing what?"

"Just…talking. And being kind of gross, honestly. I mean he's definitely never had a girlfriend before, and it shows—" Ozai stops her there, his voice barely above an enraged hiss.

"Girlfriend? I asked him to befriend them, not anything so…so disgraceful as lower himself to consorting with Water Tribe peasants." The thought of his own son, the future Crown Fire Prince, even considering something of that nature was enough to make his blood boil. The girl was beneath them. She belonged to the weaker element, and the weaker nation.

"Relax, they're not doing anything like that. Mostly just his really bad attempts at flirting. I don't even know if he realizes he's doing it." Azula waves off his concern.

"Be sure he doesn't."

"You're asking me to get in the way of them?" She seems more amused than anything, laughing to herself.

"Just make sure he stays aware of the true goal. She is a passing fascination, if she's even that. Our main focus is winning the Avatar."

"Right, and about the Avatar. Seems like he's already starting to go soft on us." She says it as if it's an afterthought, something of little importance.

"Is that so?" A distant hope. Perhaps this wasn't a lost cause, if Zuko could remained focused.

"He mentioned wanting to help the Fire Nation, and getting Zuko's input on it. It's a start." There's a shuffling in one of the bedrooms, and they can't be sure which one is the source. She stands, heading back over to her empty plate.

"Thank you, Azula. I'll ask Zuko about all of this later today, and see how truthful he is with me. Keep reporting back to me." He orders, and she gives a flippant nod before heading down the stairs into the teashop below to deposit her dishes.

The situation was evolving quickly. Only days had passed since his original arrangement with Zuko, but he'd spent nearly every day with the Avatar and his friends. Ozai had seen it only as progress. And it was, to some extent.

Perhaps, too much.


N/A: When you accidentally tell your wife you love her. :/