Underneath the floorboards of the Jasmine Dragon lies a hidden room lit only by lanterns. Aang kneels in front of a small table, pours himself a cup of tea, and feels oddly calm as he watches an angry Azula pace around the room.
I've been letting my guard down around her, thinks Aang as he traces Azula's form with his eyes.
It was the uncertainty. Azula was, at least, familiar to him and that familiarity brought comfort in these uncertain times. It's why he relaxes around her. Something that he had once thought impossible to do, and yet has become almost routine. It was strange how easily they could fit and break against each other.
Aang mulls over his thoughts as he watches her half stalk half prowl.
The feeling of unsettlement is one they, surprisingly, have in common. Although Aang would have to guess at her reasons. When he had simply asked, Azula had bit back with, "Why would I want to be reminded of my failures?" Failures. Plural. There was something she regretted more than killing him, if she even regretted that at all.
Aang folds himself until his chin is resting on his knee and tries not to linger on the past. Azula was on their side now. Although, she still wanted to kill him. Despite being his soulmate.
Aang shakes his head decisively. He wasn't going to think about it. He goes back to watching her.
Azula was a puzzle. Aang has noticed that she has a habit of manipulating everything. She would combine statements with questions and disguise requests as demands. Or was she disguising demands as requests? It was infuriatingly confusing.
"Why did they leave me alone with you?" snaps Azula.
Aang frowns. "It was the safest option. We don't know what's going on out there. The sickness, Iroh heard word that it was a secretly a trap for us, and it's best if no one is alone. Safety in numbers. Plus, they'll return soon." He gives her a diplomatic smile. Azula turns away—
He shouldn't press, but there's nothing else to do in this windowless room except fluff pillows and drink tea.
"You're also injured," he adds.
She turns back to him with a glare. The fury of her eyes contrasting with the soft flickering of candlelight and reminding Aang of orange gliders flickering past the evening sun.
"My arm is fine," says Azula.
Aang hums, noncommittally.
"Your tea is cold," she says with a sneer and resumes her march.
Aang blinks in surprise at his Ginseng tea. It is cold. He reheats it, I didn't expect her to deflect, and takes a sip. The taste is grounding. He heats the tea longer than required and puffs at the rising air, wondering if he could get away with making shapes in the steam without Azula noticing.
His eyes drift towards the nonexistent windows and then rest, once again, on Azula.
Why her?
Aang clears his throat and, in a voice as soothing as the morning breeze, asks, "Is something wrong?"
"The weight of your stare is giving me a headache," snarls Azula, and then she pounces.
In a second, Azula is in front of him. She swipes, snatching the cup from his hands, and his tea evaporates in an instant. With more measured movements, she funnels the steam into a ball and flicks it in his direction. "Ask."
Aang didn't move. Not when she walked up to him. Not when she reached for him. He should have, he knows that, there's a scar underneath his soulmark that reminds him of exactly what Azula can do to him, and yet he didn't move.
I've gotten far too comfortable. Aang stares at the ball of steam in his hands, the one he'd caught without thinking. We're on the same side, he reminds himself. It's a good thing. I'm overthinking it.
He waves his thoughts away and ponders her strange question.
"Ask whatever question is on your mind," clarifies Azula. "I may answer, if only for my own peace."
If I've gotten too comfortable then you have too, resolves Aang. He tugs at the air, pulling both the steam and his thoughts into shape. "…there are moments when I want to know what you're thinking," he says at last, stepping carefully into a familiar dance. Or was it a battle?
"Don't we all?" says Azula. She waits for him to continue, but he is content with watching and thus shakes his head.
"You wasted your question," she derides with amusement. "My turn."
Azula taps a finger to her cheek. Tap. Tap. Tap. They've become sharp. Aang had seen her filing away at them at camp and was struck by how oddly humanizing the action was, until he realized she was sharpening them into almost dragon-like claws. Perhaps that should be his next question— why do you sharpen your claws?
He absentmindedly rubs his fingernails, and that must have been the signal Azula was waiting for, because she strikes,
"What was it like to die?"
Aang flinches and Azula smirks. He schools his face back into a neutral expression, grateful that Azula cannot steal faces. Of course she'd remind me of exactly why I shouldn't be comfortable around her. He unfolds his legs and places his feet firmly on the ground. Azula notices, of course she does, and crosses her legs in response. Her relaxed posture practically oozing with smugness.
"I don't remember death," he says quietly, playing with the steam in his hands and being all too aware of her presence. "I remember being struck and then waking up weeks later."
"You're afraid of being forgotten."
Aang's sharp intake cuts through the room but Azula doesn't comment further; acting as though breaking him was as easy as breaking porcelain. She rises and walks across to one of the many dim lit areas of the room— oh does Aang mourn the lack of windows — and leans against the wall. "You turn," she intones and Aang knows she's still smirking even though her lips are veiled with shadows.
I should disengage. He cools the steam back into tea and stands up. Azula is dangerous. He walks towards her. Closer. I should let her win. He takes a step too close, forcing Azula to lift her chin just a smidge, and then he pivots and leans against the adjacent wall in a parody of her earlier action. He sees her lips twitch with amusement.
Sometimes he likes a bit of danger.
"Why are you afraid of Ba Sing Se?" asks Aang.
"I have many enemies in Ba Sing Se," Azula says, loftily, "Can't imagine why."
He parries. "You're avoiding the question."
She reprises. "Be more specific. I don't recall being afraid."
"Don't worry, I'll protect you," says Aang with a smile and he feels oddly proud of the responding anger in her eyes.
She walks forward, past him, and towards the tea set until the only thing Aang can see of her is the stiffness of her back and the slight curve of her jaw. She pauses to lift his cup. "I am the one who made the plan to burn down the Earth Kingdom with Sozin's Comet," says Azula with a quiet intensity to her voice as she takes his seat.
"Why?" asks Aang, waiting, watching.
Her eyes are cold. "Can't you guess? For stubborn pests, simple solutions are best."
"You're not simple," says Aang, trying to find his footsteps through the smoke.
"On the contrary, I find that my motivations are quite easy to read."
She's toying with me, he thinks as Azula reaches out and pours herself a cup of tea; the hot water spilling into the same cup she snatched out of his hands. "Does that answer you question?" she asks in a tone that implies she already knows his answer.
Azula brings the cup to her lips.
"You wanted to forget."
She stills.
Aang continues, "Happy memories…they hurt the most, don't they? When you can never recreate them." It's something he as the last airbender knows all too well.
Azula stares at him. Now who's watching who? "If you say so," she says, a beat too slow.
Aang grins. He's getting good at this.
Azula sets the cup down. "It's my turn," she says, watching, wary. "Come. Sit down next to me."
He does so, much to Azula's chagrin if her small frown is any indication.
"Are you always like this?" she asks, gesturing in his general direction.
Aang tilts his head. "Like what?"
"Like your element. Simple and confoundingly difficult to grasp."
Aang shrugs and bites his tongue. It wouldn't be wise to reveal that he enjoys their banter.
Azula takes a sip of his tea and recoils. Aang bites his tongue harder. She scowls at him anyways and shoots her next question quickly, like an attack, dropping her pretense of requiring time to think her questions over.
"Are you more afraid of me or my father?"
He startles. "What kind of question is that?"
"Answer it." She demands, and then purses her lips at his expression. "It's a simple enough question."
"No it isn't! When did I make seem like I was afraid of you?"
"When did— make it seem?" Azula doesn't splutter but her words are spit with an indignant ferocity. "You should be afraid of me! Have you lost all manner of self-preservation? Did you have any in the first place?"
"I don't—" I'm not afraid.
"You don't think! Do you honestly believe that I wouldn't—"
"Over your father?" shouts Aang, You think I should fear you that much? "Do you really hate me that much?"
Smoke curls around Azula's fingers and yet her voice is terrifyingly restrained. "You keep watching me, and yet you haven't spent a moment planning your rematch against the Fire Lord—"
"The Fire Lord isn't a pretty girl," retorts Aang. Then his words catch up to him.
He clasps his hands over his mouth and stares wide-eyed at Azula. His mortification turning into shock as he watches her flush scarlet. What a beautiful sight to die to, thinks Aang. The thought as intrusive as it is unbidden. Azula avoids his gaze. There's an awkwardness to the air so heavy that Aang dearly wishes Death would hurry. He wants to say something to fix the silence but, clearly, he can't trust his mouth.
Azula twists a bang in her fingers and, still avoiding his gaze, says, "My father liked the plan."
Mentions of her father were the equivalent of pouring a bucket of cold water over him. Aang's tongue loosens. "What were your other plans?" he asks, tentatively.
The flush retreats to only a bit of pink on her cheeks and a nervousness in her eyes that sharpen at his question. "It doesn't matter," she says coldly, "my father approved of my first plan immediately. It was the best one."
"Because of your father's approval?"
The twitch to her jaw is his only forewarning. Fire meets air in a dangerous combination that brightens the room.
"Why air?" asks Aang.
Azula pauses in her attempt to kill him. "It would have been an ironic death. Fire?"
Aang gives a small shrug. He was mainly acting out of reflex. "It would have been poetic?" he offers.
Azula scoffs and goes back to her seat, pouring herself a new cup of tea, and acting as though nothing happened.
Aang lets her. Whatever happened between them before, it was too close, too comfortable. This feels like he's putting his coat back on.
He takes a seat next to her. Azula's eyes flicker in his direction. Aang resolutely stares straight ahead. "Why do you sharpen your nails?"
He hears an amused huff and, despite himself, turns.
Azula's lips curl in amusement. "You go from asking about my plans for Sozin's Comet to asking about my nails?"
"You went from drinking tea to attacking me," points out Aang.
"Hmmm. True." She doesn't apologize. "You'll notice that I launch some of my attacks through my fingers. Lightning, for example. Focusing on a point releases more controlled, and therefore more intense, flames. Having pointed nails simply help with that, and it can also be useful in close combat." A pause. This time, it's Azula who looks away, staring down at the table with a small frown.
"What was life like at the Air Temples?"
He stares.
"You're the only first hand account left. It's natural that I would be curious," defends Azula.
"No, it's— you can ask me for stories any time."
Azula says nothing.
Aang leans back, folds his hands over his chest, and almost closes his eyes. "When the leaves fell the Monks would make this spiced apple cider…"
He waits, but Azula doesn't interrupt, and so he fills their air with his memories.
"I don't understand Azula," says Aang.
"Story of my life," mutters Zuko. He raises the flame in his hand. "Here, I think this is the spot."
Aang crouches and places his hand on the ground. "Huh, Toph was right. I can't sense anything through this earth." He squints into the tunnel. "Any idea how far down this goes?"
"Only one way to find out," says Zuko. He starts moving forward then he stops. "Actually, you should go first since you're good at setting off traps."
"Good thinking."
They walk through the tunnel for a bit.
"Aang?"
"Yeah?"
"Did Azula do something?"
"What do you mean?"
"You said you didn't understand her. It sounded like she did something." Zuko shrugs awkwardly. "I'm learning how to be Fire Lord, and a lot of it is conflict resolution so, if you, you know, need a conflict resolved. Maybe I can help?"
"Thanks Zuko, but it's not so much of a conflict as it is her in general." Aang sighs. "Do you think Azula lies to herself?"
"Uh…sure?" Zuko winces. "Hey look a door!"
"Huh." Aang stares at the giant brass door. "Why do you think it's here?"
"I don't know but I bet it's related to the sickness of Ba Sing Se," says Zuko, trying to open the door. "It's locked."
"Maybe this symbol on it is a clue." Aang made his fire brighter. "I feel like I've seen it before."
"You have, sorta," says Zuko, "That's Uncle's White Lotus symbol, except in red."