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Five Months Previously:
The Avatar State
Sitting by the open face of the gilded spa villa was a mistake. The cherry blossom petals sway on the gentle breeze, wafting in to brush his outstretched legs, bringing a scent of fresh air and earthy richness. His straw hat is tilted towards the inside of the room in a feeble attempt to block the half-naked sight of his uncle from his better eye, leaving his face open to the wan sunlight building its strength for the coming spring. Uncle groans in satisfaction as the masseur works the knots weeks of sailing hammered between his shoulders, into his lower back.
But it's the rushing, crashing, break of the waterfall dropping out of existence beside him that Zuko can't stand. Even through his left eye, the wobbly sheen of flowing water is visible. Inviting. Offering him a cool reprieve from the torment he knew today would bring. He hadn't wanted to leave his room, but Uncle insisted he at least show his face to Agni.
Agni brought him to this so he can have the ruined half for all Zuko cares.
Naked feet pad to a stop in Zuko's peripheral vision. Thankfully, his Uncle kept on his shorts, throwing a robe over his paunchy, soft body, before folding himself down beside Zuko. "It's the anniversary today, isn't it?"
Iroh won't have forgotten the worst day in Zuko's life. He was hoping Zuko would bring it up himself. He thinks reflecting on the past, to accept it for what it is and move on, is the way to heal from it. Zuko would rather forget, if such a feat weren't ruined every time he has the bad luck to pass by a mirror. He avoids them when he can. Being surrounded by water makes that habit a little harder to enforce.
"Eight years ago today," Zuko mutters when his Uncle doesn't leave, leaning imploringly into his space instead. His uncle is the easiest man to talk to, yet Zuko still has to force the words of his reality out. "I was banished. I lost it all."
Twenty-two years old. The better part of a decade discarded from his home. For some reason, this anniversary stings deeper than the last seven. Maybe because he's lost the cobbled together comforts of his ship, his crew. The rare comfort of being able to walk hallways that were familiar, see faces he knew, who might not have known him but knew enough not to bother him.
All except one. She ran the first chance she got, threw him away the second. One way or another they all do.
The water gurgles on; it sounds so much like laughter.
Attention, Curiosity, Interest
Zuko has to remind himself roughly four times that Katara isn't interested in him.
He's sorting tea packets when he remembers it's the Blue Spirit, no, Blue, who has her interest. Blue who she trusts to teach her how to survey people without them knowing while Zuko mops down tables. Blue who she fought the Dai Li beside as his shoulder grows stiffer the longer he sweeps and stacks cups, and Blue who she spent hours searching Ba Sing Se for after she got away. His heart gives a traitorous lurch when his focus on the job wains and the vision of her relief when she found him lit up her face.
When she found Blue, he chastises himself.
It's a job, Zuzu, Azula's voice taunts in his mind like it's her second home. She's stretched out and made a comfy place for herself between his sanity and last nerve. I know it's tempting, but don't abuse your power and try to fondle the help.
"Easy, nephew," Uncle's voice chuckles as he passes, tray in his hands laden down with steaming cups. "You're going to wear a hole through that wood if you scrub any harder."
He turns his thoughts away from Katara and Blue. Monotony has become a tool Zuko wields with precision. The boredom fuels his desire to be free, the repetition allows his mind to wander while his body is stuck serving tea.
Think like Azula. Be ruthless. You have her attention. Turn it into curiosity.
Except Zuko doesn't have Katara's curiosity. He thought being up front with her in the Middle Ring was the forthright approach she'd appreciate. Now, bored out of his mind, he realises he's taken all the mystery out of it. She's been around the shop, just like she promised. She's at least contributing to their economy with the occasional cup of tea, and her undivided attention on Zuko as she sips. True to her word, she's watching him.
But she knows that he knows now. Azula would have played it smarter, would have strung her along, letting her think she had the upper hand instead of foolishly giving up his advantage for the chance to tease her.
She let's Blue touch her. It's the only language besides gesture they share, by his own design. Zuko could pick her voice out of a crowd of screaming thousands. He can't risk her being able to do the same, not until he's built enough trust between them to capitalise.
Zuko can't build that trust yet. So, Blue will have to do. That's something Azula cannot do, she said so herself. Blue already has Katara's curiosity, time to start building it into interest.
In the end, he'll come out the winner.
Five Months Previously:
The Avatar State
He can't look at the shells his uncle brings back to their room. The rooms gloom cannot cover their clacking as he upends the bag onto the table they take their meals at. He doesn't know if there are shells in the South Pole, if those kinds of creatures can survive the cold, but the association is inevitable and puts a sour full stop on his terrible day.
"We don't need any more useless things." He pinches the bridge of his nose, beginning the ritual of massaging the evening headache away. Uncle suggested one of the masseurs to offer to help, and Zuko's sleep deprived, drained and overall miserable mind thought his Uncle was trying to lighten his mood with a joke. No one touches his face. "You forget, we have to carry everything ourselves now."
"Oh, let the old man have his curios, brother. So quick to judge."
The purred lilt sends ice down his back. She's at their table, half-wreathed in shadow, pale fingers rippling against the top in a succinct succession of long nails on wood. Like claws. His sister's ability to slink into position before being noticed always reminded him of a predator, a fox cat leisurely taking its time. Years later and it seems she still relishes that moment right before the pounce. That moment the prey realises its inattentiveness has cost it its life.
"What are you doing here, Azula?"
A perfect eyebrow goes up, before she turns her attention to the shell she pretends is more interesting. "In my country, we exchange a pleasant hello before asking questions. Have you become so uncivilised during your time away, Zuzu?"
"Don't call me that." Looking at the shell is easier than holding her crystal gold gaze. It's grown sharper. He imagines his is blunt to her, something to keep beating against.
She smiles slowly. Too relaxed. Beyond taunting. Unsettlingly secure. "You were right, Commander, he's still touchy."
"Like a poker left too long in the flame," a low, superior voice drawls. Impossibly, Zuko's blood runs colder.
Armoured footsteps come, uninvited, into the villa, drawing their wearer to the side of the table where Azula waits. He's straight backed, tall and pressing as much of his imposing nature into every corner of the room that he can. Except where a tight topknot once sat on his head, thick stubble begins to make its reappearance.
Zuko refuses to be pressed beneath the air of intimidation. He beat this man, more than once. "I see you were demoted, Zhao."
"I was captured by the enemy. I would expect nothing less. Instead, I received the unexpected chance at freedom, and fair punishment, from our esteemed princess Azula." He doesn't favour Azula with the same appreciation his words imply. His steely eyes are hard and hateful as he stares at Zuko.
Next to him, Uncle is tense like a taught willow switch. Ready to lash back as he matches Zhao's loathing. The only thing more sacred to Iroh than tea is his connection to the spirits. A connection Zhao violated. The fact he had nothing to say of the retribution Zuko and Katara stopped the spirits from taking against the Admiral spoke volumes. It's the closest his uncle has ever come to wishing death on someone.
Zuko looks at his sister. "You broke him out of the North Pole?" It took a whole navy to even approach their borders, and Zuko almost drowning to get inside. How could she have gotten close?
"No. Surprisingly, he managed that on his own. Fire and Ice don't mix well." Katara would have something to say to that. "My crew fished him out of the ocean half frozen. Seems being demoted might give the Commander a chance to remember his basics."
Iroh huffs, maybe a bit of steam escaping with the derisive slip. Zhao notices, eyes narrowing.
"But we are not here to talk about the Commander's failures." Azula's not even looking as she effortlessly splinters off a piece of the man's hateful spirit. Behind her, Zhao grits his teeth. "We're here for you, Zuzu."
Her cold eyes turn on him, fresh from breaking one of the most famous Firebenders in the Caldera, and Zuko cannot help the stiffening of his back as dark hate rises inside him. He's always hated this callous part of his heritage, even as he waits, part polite deference part unbearable curiosity, to hear her out.
"I will be brief. Cannot bear the sound of rushing water, you know." He does but finds he cannot share her animosity for it anymore. "You were a gambit when father sent you to hunt down the Avatar. A gambit which mixes its success and failures, according to Zhao. You know this?"
By the indulgent smirk over Azula's shoulder, Zhao's been tipping those scales towards the latter. Not like Zuko can correct him. "I do." She waits for explanation, but the short success of capturing the Waterbender is something he can't share with his sister. He doesn't know why, only that he's wise to the hunter's presence now, feeling the danger creeping up on him.
"Father thought your technical skill competent, and it was well understood by the court you had plenty to lose should you fail. But the amount of time it took you to so much as discover the Avatar was," she spares a glance over her shoulder at Zhao, "uninspiring to our hopes for you. Expectations began to dip, you understand?"
Zuko shudders inside. The private fear he shared with uncle feels so violated, as if she'd been listening in even then. I want him to see I'm not worthless. It brings a whole new sense of premeditation he can't prepare for.
"Azula…" This cannot happen. If she comes to take on his mission, eight years of work will have been for nothing. He can't fight her like he fought Zhao, not when he has no idea how long she's been hunting. "If I may-"
"You may not." She pretends not to notice his barely contained fuming, inspecting her nails instead. She's far too calculating a creature to disregard his temper, yet still he barely holds onto his rage. "The decision was made months ago. There is no use bandying words with me, I am no Earth Kingdom merchant trying to pull himself up by some mouldy cabbages. Zhao…"
"The particulars are simple, Prince Zuko, so they will be easy to grasp." Zhao hasn't taken his eyes from Zuko. Filled with hate even as he gets exactly what he's wanted for the better part of a year.
"Of all the Firebenders I actually made it through the North Pole defences, on my own, without my bending," Zuko rushes out before Zhao can deliver the blow. Coming from him would be the best way for Azula to make it sting. "He couldn't make it through without an escort. That was before he ran when Uncle dispatched the unit."
Uncle doesn't rise higher with the praise like most Firebenders. He's sinking into himself as he remembers what brought on the bought of indominable fury. Unlike most who wield fire, unlike Zuko, rage is not Iroh's ignitor.
"That was… impressive," Zhao's reluctant to concede. "But this reunion is not about your performance at the North Pole."
"Then what?"
"It is your constant presence in places like this, wasting away your time."
"We were on a raft for three weeks! This is the first time we've been on land in months."
"Oh, please. You relish the little celebrity you've built up on this mission. Or should I say, the celebrity not of a scar, but of a mask?" Zuko's blood goes cold. He looks to Azula, but she isn't reacting, treating the shells with more interest now. "Ah, yes. Even though the Fire Nation mock's the Blue Spirit, you bathe in the limelight and cloak your heritage in shame. I saw how you preened with those swords hung on your wall. Showing them off. As though it replaced a mirror for you to look upon your deeds. Understandable, considering the reflection."
"They were antiques, I told you as such," Zuko spits.
"Which was a cute cover, until you confessed to me on the Ice Bridge. What was it, you had too? Or was it all part of your plan to divide your family's house?"
"You're spinning ostrich horse shit," Zuko snarls.
That gets Azula's attention. "And you were raised better, Zuzu. Zhao, stop antagonising him. We are not here to discuss your machinations as the Blue Spirit. Frankly, I couldn't care less, and neither could father."
Zuko doesn't know what to say. Half of what Zhao's saying is made up, the other half-truth without its proper context, fabricated just to spit in Zuko's eye, just to show he's under his power. That inkling of truth, even falsely propagated, is just enough to damn him.
"If you are not here on official business, to what do we owe this honour?" Uncle speaks for the first time, but even his conciliatory tone is forced.
When Azula moves to try and catch his eyes, his own move with the shell she's plucked from his collection. "Hm, must be a family trait. No hello, just a demand I get to the point." Being ignored is something Azula doesn't tolerate. She crushes the shell with an easy flex of her fingers. Her purr deepens with the pleasure of Iroh's frown. "I haven't come to take on your mission. I've come with a message from home. Father's had a lot of time to think these past years. He's decided family is especially important to him." She catches Zuko's eye and offers a quirk of her eyebrow, as if they share a secret. It's not one she's let him in on. "He's heard rumours of plans to overthrow him; treacherous plots. I took great strides to make sure he was disabused of the Blue Spirit. Family are the only ones he can really trust."
The amused quirk of their father needing no external reason to love them falls away. "Father regrets your banishment. Your performance at the North Pole and rescue of the Commander have convinced him of your loyalty. He wants you home."
Zuko's stunned.
Incompetence is another intolerance of Azula's. "Did you hear me? You should be happy. Excited. Grateful. I just gave you great news."
Iroh cautiously answers for him. "I'm sure your brother simply needs a moment."
Azula doesn't even look at him. Age, caution, fragility. All bore and disgust her. All his uncle wears as proudly as his opened robe. Or maybe it's because he never bothered to fight them, while creatures like Zhao believe they will go on forever. "I still haven't heard my thank you, Zuzu." Then, because nothing can be a gesture, can be offered without reward. "I am not a messenger. I didn't have to come all this way."
"Father regrets?" Those two words don't belong in the same sentence. It's as foreign to him as trying to pronounce the undocumented, spoken prayers to the ice Katara's people hold dear. "He… wants me back?"
But Azula's already bored with the massive emotional load she's just dumped on him, departing with Zhao, leaving him to deal with eight years of clean up. "I can see you need time to take this in. I'll come to call on you tomorrow. Good evening."
Attention, Curiosity, Interest
Katara's pitifully easy to stalk when she's not thinking about Blue's training. Donned in his mask and tight black tunic, Zuko keeps to the Middle Ring's tight packed Coin District rooftops. Merchants have spent decades cramming themselves into this stretch of real estate, packed in as tight to the upper-class tram station the Upper Ring residents favour whenever they leave their uniform gardens and high class tea houses. Despite the sun having long set, Zuko thanks Agni for the easy pathway above unsuspecting heads their desperation has built him.
Like a switch going from off to on, Katara goes from walking normally through the district, stride lazy, gait relaxed, to watching every window, fiddling with the Earth Kingdom silk scarf around her neck, and taking exaggerated routes between shops and stalls.
As far as Zuko can tell, no one's following her. When she first began zig zagging, he watched the streets for any sign she'd attracted any attention. Had the Dai Li realised it was a waterbender running around with the Blue Spirit after all? Or were those thugs who first attacked her back for round two?
Zuko keeps his eyes glued to Katara's back as she flits from store, to stall, to cart, to fountain square, back to the markets like an indecisive flutter-bee searching for honey. She's got a bag on her shoulder where she occasionally adds a piece of fresher produce Middle Ring shoppers can afford.
She cuts across the fountain square, heading for the open roads of the restaurants and ale houses. Zuko grunts in frustration, scaling down from his perch on a silk merchants' shop. Those roofs aren't nearly so packed together. He's going to have to work harder to keep up with her and the whims which guide her tonight.
Except when he finally picks a secluded roof hidden away within a cluster of tea shops Uncle's easiest brew could outclass, he catches a flash of blue heading back towards the markets.
What is she up to?
He'll lose her if he stops to try and figure it out. He shimmies across two rooftops before he's forced to scale back down a wall and up the side of a money lenders. From the angle he can see all of the market square. All of it, except for where Katara's stopped. She's directly behind the fountain, her visage blurred by the clear running water.
She's speaking with a merchant. They, too, are obstructed by the flowing water. He's about to climb down and find a better spot, when Katara turns.
Her smile is devilish as it rises above the other shoppers' heads, seeming to look directly at him as the curtain of water parts for a split second to frame her triumphant face and the purple flower tucked behind her ear.
The breath is sucked from Zuko's chest.
The curtain drops. She didn't twitch a single finger, didn't telegraph in any way. By the time he's regained his senses and slipped along the rooftops, she's nowhere in sight of the flower stand.
He gives chase, grinning under his mask. The rooftops yield to his need for vantage, offering him a multi-story indoor market to seek her out. He grips the flagpole where a red banner decorated with the multiple insignias of the Earth Kingdom's richest patrons stands watch over the sacred commerce. He can see almost all the square from this perch, a happy accident he stumbled upon while fleeing a botched attempt to break into the market.
There. He spots the tell-tale blue instantly. She's ducking around a corner, heading further away from the Coin District, away from the Upper Ring wall.
All right. She wants to play, and it seems he's it.
He's got a good idea of where she's headed, and he doesn't need to follow her exact route to get there. He cuts the opposite way she's running before doubling back, using a drainpipe to climb down from the thinning rooftops. If he were in the Lower Ring he wouldn't need to. Refugees consume the space around them before being forced to take it from the sky. They've filled every possible ground level avenue with huts, shacks, lean-tos. Anything with a roof they can call home, and if it's stable, someone else will come along and build theirs on top of it.
He knows the alley's like the back of his hand. The bricks backing up Kwong's Laundry and Dye Emporium are identical to the bricks making up a thousand other buildings in the city, but the stink of soap and dye guide's Zuko over the wall.
The alley's empty. He keeps his back to the wall as he looks around. Katara had a head start, he made sure to give it to her so he could catch her in the act. The corner where he hid to clean his mask out ends in another wall, one too sheer for Katara to make it up on her own.
Checking it out is an impulse he can't ignore. He wasn't lying when he told Katara he was trained to anticipate assassination attempts. He also grew up with Azula for a sister.
Celebrating her victory early brings Katara's downfall. He spins the second the stifled chuckle brushes his ears, grabbing her wrists from the air right as she's about to pounce on his back.
Her blue eyes go wide before she outright cackles. "The mighty hunter corners her prey."
Zuko chuckles, pointedly looking at the wrists he has captured in his hands.
"I still got the jump on you," Katara says, tilting her chin in the way of a winner looking down from their place on the podium. She always was a sore winner.
So, he hooks his ankle behind hers and spins. Her back hits the bricks, her startled cry of ooff cut off as the wind is knocked out of her. He crowds into her space, so close that if the mask weren't in the way he'd be able to feel her breath on his neck.
Katara has to suck in a few breaths before she can regain enough composure to glare up at him. "Fine, fine. You win."
She was always a far worse loser.
You're not supposed to be enjoying this, Azula's voice chastises him. I thought you were supposed to be getting her interest.
Zuko would roll his eyes at her lack of sportsmanship and demand she bow to his victory with grace. But Katara doesn't want Zuko. She wants Blue.
So, he backs off, but holds out his hand for her to steady herself with. As an added measure of charm, he leans down to press the masks lips to the back of her hand. When he looks up, she's fighting off a blush, pretending with horrible conviction not to be charmed.
"Yeah, yeah, you're forgiven." She pulls her hand from his. "Come on, we're wasting moonlight."
He agrees. The quicker he can get out of this Agni forsaken city the better. Unclipping her white mask from his belt, he tosses it to her. It's easier to ignore the wild thumping of his heart once her quick-smiling face is covered, and he can finally get on with the real work.
Five Months Previously:
The Avatar State
It isn't.
He doesn't know if this can count as one of her lies, a miscalculation on her part, but Azula's parting words are a flick of a firebenders fingers to kindling. He never dislikes himself more than when he blows up at his uncle. Especially tonight.
I care about you. Zuko knows this is true. Never known my brother to regret anything. Zuko hopes this isn't true. He hasn't seen his father in eight years, and while Azula seems pretty much the same, his father must have seen something in the passage of time they spent apart. Maybe he realised he had been too hasty? If Zuko bows when he returns, bears his scar with the honour of accepting his failure, his father will see the man his son has become.
Zuko feels anything but a man under the judging dark night. The moon puts a pale face to his misery, on a night where he should be happy. Lazy. Mistrustful. Shallow. How could he have said those things? But how could Uncle doubt their chance to return home? He knows how much it means to Zuko.
Moonlight and rushing water. If Zuko wanted to torture himself, he's picked the perfect spot to do it. He's good at that. Hundreds of feet below the cliffs of the villa, his sisters Fire Nation vessel sits docked, smoke chugging lazily from the vents. With a ship of that size, it wastes less energy keeping the fires lit and low then to extinguish the flame entirely and wait for the whole vessel to wake back up.
It feels like no time at all until he'll be aboard the beast, heading home. So why is he up here, looking out across the vast, black ocean, listening to the water fall away? Always away. Why doesn't he roll himself into bed and let the night pass him by?
Holding onto this moment feels like holding onto a shard of glass, trying to be tender, knowing if he slips it will cut his hand. Glass, or perhaps ice.
"I've never seen someone so tortured over good news." He blames his fixation on the waterfalls as Azula slinks across the grass topped cliffs to sit beside him. At least he doesn't jump like a startled deerling this time. But his spot is off the trodden path and the night is dark. She must have been hunting him, even now. "Too excited to sleep, brother?"
"I've got a lot to think about," he answers brusquely. He doesn't care to know why he seeks water and moonlight, only that he does when he wishes to be alone.
"I didn't think an open invitation to return home required much thought." She's stretched out, bathing in moonlight like one might soak up the sun. "Father doesn't know you're the Blue Spirit."
He whips his head around to look at her so fast his neck cricks. Maybe he should have gotten that massage when he had the chance. "You didn't tell him?"
"No." Her eyes glitter as she looks out across the ocean. No matter what she looks at, whatever she sees satisfies her. "Zhao told me the first chance he got, and I ordered him to keep it to himself. No, that's not true. I believe my exact words were, 'if I even hear the words blue and spirit in the same sentence, banishment will be the least you can hope for'."
"You did?"
"When have you ever known me to exaggerate, Zuzu?" she sighs sufferingly, repeating herself a pointless labour. "Information like that, when father needs people he trusts around him, would devastate him. We're family. I know you had no ill intentions against the Fire Nation when you put on that mask, just against Zhao. That, I can understand. I've been around the odious shit for a month now."
Zuko huffs. "I thought we were raised better."
Azula turns to look at him. "Weren't we? All I remember is father doing his best to pit us against each other. And mother leaving us."
Zuko doesn't like it when Azula talks about their mother. Her tone is always dismissive and unkind, a direct violation of Zuko's memories of the woman. "She didn't leave. She died."
"Same thing." Azula never shared his appal at forgetting those who were gone. Her barbs prick anyone who comes too close, but loyalty to her is everything. Cross her, you're wiped from existence. He never saw their mother's departure as a betrayal to that notion until this moment, and it softens him to his younger sister for the first time. "I still have Mai, though not as close as I'd like now that her father has been assigned Omashu."
His good side faces her like he makes sure it faces everyone. For the first time he regrets the compulsion when his good ear goes pink. He knew the teasing, mean-spirited Azula still lurked, and he refuses to give her an opening. "Need to make some new friends, I guess."
Azula chortles at the notion. "Who has the time for that? Besides," her voice takes on a more sombre note, "Father works me far too hard for something as trivial as socialising. Not in any way he doesn't approve of. I confess, I took this job a little selfishly. I was so sick of being presented at balls like some prize Sun Stallion."
"Father's on the hunt for a betrothal?" Zuko asks derisively. Perhaps a new heir while he's at it.
"He wants someone who won't disappoint him." The revelation is not one he expected. When he peeks at his sister, she's looking at the sky. "I still can't bend lightening. I think he's starting to realise I probably never will. He's… specific in who he introduces me to."
Zuko thinks back to how Zhao looked a little too favourably on his young, admittedly attractive, sister. "You keep Zhao close?"
"It works in my favour too," Azula reveals without preamble. "Just enough to keep him in line. Spout enough Fire Nation drivel about keeping the line pure, the girl untainted." She fakes a gagging motion. Zuko agrees.
"If he realises you're stringing him along without any intention of following through, he might try to take it." He and his sister don't have the best relationship but seeing her flame dampened by Zhao would be too awful to bear.
He knows she agrees by the sharp, dangerous gleam to her eyes as she says, "I'd like to see him try."
Eight years is a long time to be apart. Maybe he was too quick to try and dismiss her. The Azula of eight years ago never would have admitted a fault, let alone confess she might not be able to do something. If his sister could change, could his father do the same?
And perhaps this is his destiny. The Avatar will be hunted by the heirs to the Fire Nation, a united force, just like their mission for the rest of the world. They'll see the strength and power and rejoice when they are allowed into its fold.
The ocean laps against the shore far below, but even from this height, Zuko can see the tides moving in and out. Pushing and pulling. Both generate distance in their own way when independent of each other, and maybe that's why he and Katara could never have worked. Why destiny always divided them. Not working in their harmony but their definitions; their elements seeking to put space between the mistake, the connection which never should have been allowed to happen.
"I'll be down in the morning," he murmurs, picking at the grass. He picks at it long after Azula squeezes his shoulder and returns to her ship.
Attention, Curiosity, Interest
"I almost didn't see you come in this time," Zuko mutters as he puts the cup of Jasmine blend Katara was about to order in front of her on the table. "Back again?"
Her surprise doesn't last nearly long enough for him to savour. She schools her expression, picking up the cup to blow on the steam. "Someone has to keep an eye on you, and I happened to be thirsty."
"So, I'm still on probation?"
Katara hums noncommittally, pausing just as she's about to take a sip of tea, eyeing him suspiciously over the rim of the cup.
"It's not Kumis, but it's not papaya this time either," Zuko promises, rolling his eyes.
Reminding her of their months on his ship has the opposite effect he was hoping for. She sours as if drinking the fermented milk instead of his Uncle's Jasmine blend, casting her eyes about the teashop. She may as well have told him to leave. Not like she hasn't already done that. The spirits and their a sick sense of humour just love throwing them back into each other's lives too much for it to stick. Either way, the dismissal feels like a slap after all the pointless spy games and chasing she put him through two nights ago.
Bet if Blue told her a joke she'd laugh. Actually, that's not true. The second Blue spoke with Zuko's voice she'd freeze him to a wall while she fetched the Dai Li.
Keep up the silent and mysterious act, Zuzu, Azula chides in his head. Let's face it, you're at your best when you don't talk.
Five Months Previously:
The Avatar State
Zuko didn't think he could be any happier until Uncle came charging down the stone steps. He can't explain the sudden burst of elation, only that the words which immediately follow jumble in his mind, clash together too hard to really comprehend.
Family... Chosen... Not left.
His Uncle's hand on his shoulder holds him together, bringing everything back into a sharp clarity. You're choosing me, Zuko wants to say, cry for how unreasonably happy that makes him, but the words lodge in his throat. "You've changed your mind," he says instead.
As always, his Uncle can read between Zuko's lines. "Family sticks together, right?"
Zuko nods and, his giddiness spreading throughout his body, leans down to grab his uncle's pack and sling it over his shoulder. It's lighter than he expected, the click-clack of knocking shells absent as he settles it with his own. He wants to laugh at how, typically, his Uncle chooses to heed his advice right when he doesn't need to. "We're finally going home."
It's the first time he's been happy to see the ocean in weeks. Over the course of sailing, fleeing, and hiding out at the villa, Zuko's disdain for salt on the breeze, how the taste reminds him of flaking crystals on dark skin, has grown. Seeing his beloved home banner flap lazily, throwing off the waters attempts to tamp it down, fills his stride with vigour.
He's returning home, his plans already forming in his mind as Azula smiles at him from the peak of the gang plank. He'll detail every last piece of information he can on the journey home, consolidate his power once he gets there, then scour the Earth Kingdom until they find the Avatar and bring him down together. As a family.
It'll feel good to flex a little muscle once again.
Royal procession guards flank their passage up to the ship. Zuko would feel a little silly in his spa robes if he weren't feeling ten times lighter. It's so close. He can practically taste the sweetly hot fireplum seasoned dishes he loved as a child. He hasn't worn armour in months, but he's sure one of these guards will spare him a set. It won't be his, but the tailored suit with screaming dragon maws on the shoulders waits for him. Back home.
He bows to Azula at the base of the walkway. His sister's never been one to show joy. He'd hoped his homecoming would be enough for her to lift the mask if but a little, but the lilt of her thin lips is a triumph he can share.
Uncle does too, if a little stiffly, eyeing the guards closing the way behind them as they prepare to board after. Closing the chapter on the worst eight years of Zuko's life.
"Brother. Uncle. Welcome."
"Are we ready to depart, your Highness?" Azula's captain asks.
She catches Zuko's eye, rolls hers as if the question is obvious, then answers sweetly, "Set our course for home, Captain."
Home, he thinks. He's locked his heart up so tightly, only few words can crack the vault his years of banishment have sealed it in. It's hinges squeak, so long without use, as he begins to ascend the ramp. He isn't aware Uncle has slowed. Zhao tightens in at Azula's side. Count the days, you pathetic worm, Zuko thinks. Even with what he knows, against him and his sister, the disgraced Commander won't stand a chance.
"You heard the Princess..." The Captain looks to his sister, hesitates where the command to raise anchor should fill the bay. Hesitates, as if looking for a sign.
Her head bobs in a tight nod. Zhao tenses beside her.
"Move, Zuko!"
Heat explodes at his back. Zhao flies at him from the front. Years of bending, never retreating, and Zhao's own personal fury, save him. He twists, steps around the commanders too eager lunge, and sends him spinning into the water. He doesn't stop, charging up the ramp towards his smirking sister.
"You lied to me!"
Her easy, vindictive smile slams the vault of his heart shut with a careless swing and a mockingly purred, "Like I've never done that before."
And then she turns her back. Of course, she'd never fight him herself. Of course, she'd never stoop down to his level, robe fluttering around him, air simmering with his rage. Why, when she has men to do her dirty work for her. Men who should be Zuko's. Bound to a ship which should be Zuko's.
They come at him. Big mistake. He bellows, rejection his igniter, fury his fuel. Their flames dissipate with a sharp cut of his arms before he's flying through the boiling air, through them. Their cries of pain fall on deaf ears. His sights set on Azula. On the back turned to him across the ship. Twin daggers of flame burn for her and her alone.
"Zuko, let's go!" Uncle shouts.
Zuko ignores him. He moves through the guards, furious and unforgiving as the first burst of flame from the dragon's mouth. Eight years he's let this rage grow. Azula knows nothing of what he's been through, how he's survived. Let her realise how the tables have turned as he reels up, sets his stance, and delivers a blast of fire-
That sails right over her head. Her dodge was so fluid, lazy and mocking, he blinks and she's at another spot on the deck. Her sharp features haven't shifted. So happy, so satisfied with his rage.
He closes the distance in a flurry of blows. Keep her moving. Uncle refused to teach her the Way of the Willow. It's the only advantage Zuko has. So long as she's dodging, his branch is bending, getting ready to snap back. He thinks he sees his opening, but when he strikes, her hand whips up and pushes him back.
So fast. When did she get so fast?
"You know, Father blames Uncle for the loss of the North Pole. And he considers you a miserable failure for not finding the Avatar!" How can she speak as they scour the deck with scorch marks? Zuko's panting, sweating. The robe feels heavy on his shoulders while Azula dances in full armour away from his blows. "Why would he want you back home, except to lock you up where you can no longer embarrass him?"
You're wrong! But when he tries to say it, an incoherent roar comes out. His flames shoot towards her, hot and deadly. Her next dodge brings her to a knee, and he presses. But she's up before he can reach her. So impossibly fast. No drag to her. And she still hasn't matched his flames. So, he comes in close, intending to go up in her space, tackle her if that's what it comes too.
But her hand flashes up, lines of pain opening across his right temple, down towards his eye. His shriek is involuntary and mortifying as he makes his first retreat in their duel. Azula smirks, cruel and regal, not a hair out of place.
His rage reignites, consumes him. He forgets all he knows about moving sideways, creating space, cementing his root. All that matters is beating Azula, showing her she can't beat him.
So, he pummels her furiously up the steps of her ship, forcing her backwards. He thinks he's gaining the upper hand. Then she's lashing out, grabbing hold of his arm mid-swing. And holds. Him, and his eyes, waiting for the prey to realise as the predator prepares its pounce.
Blue fire, hotter than anything he's ever endured, blasts him off the steps. He curls his arms around his face, twists as he falls. Anything to keep that burning, wretched fire from taking any more of him. He lands roughly at the bottom of the stairs. Azula moves in jarring veils, flickering in and out like a desert mirage. His temple throbs, stink of hot blood, the blur of searing air, swirling in and out of his senses. He isn't sure what's happening until Azula cocks her arms back, fingers pointed to sky and to him.
She begins the wind up. I still haven't mastered lightening. Energy crackles in circular motions. Like I've never lied to you before. The world slows down to that fine point of his sister's finger. The energy solidifies, crackles as it gathers its breath.
Zuko knows enough of lightening to know it sucks the atmosphere in on itself. He still can't breathe when he meets his sisters cold, crystal eyes.
And she fires.
Into a roaring, angry, man. Iroh grabs Azula's hand from the air in one of his, twists and sends the lightening shooting off across the bay. It arcs in the vengeful, seeking manner his sister used on him, and strikes the far-off cliff side. In the same arcing move, Iroh bends downward and sweeps Azula's legs out from under her. She shrieks as she hits the water.
Iroh doesn't give Zuko enough time to revel in it, grabbing him and sprinting from the wreckage of their family reunion.
Attention, Curiosity, Interest
He's silent as a statue as he and Katara crouch in the alley opposite a bustling Middle Ring bar. The doors are thrown open, spilling light and laughter out and letting the cool evening spring air wash through the press of bodies milling in and out. Tsungi horns and thin flutes tinkle in the night air for the particularly joyful revellers. A young man steals a kiss from a girl's cheek before sweeping her into a spin in the middle of the bar.
What Zuko could show these lead-footed Earth Kingdom citizens on a dance floor. But even that Zuko is a ghost compared to the one holding himself over Katara as she observes the everyday festivities common people create for themselves after a long day's work.
Their masks cover their faces, but Zuko can smell the lingering's of flowers, spices and the fresh fallen snow scent which always clings to Katara. It never fails to remind him of dense woods blanketed in winter, breath brittle in the chest, nature's song amplified with each crisp print in the snow.
Agni, he's been away from home far too long. Longing for snow? He's a child of the Caldera, prince of monsoons and tropical storms for spirit's sake. Katara's a siren trying to pull everyone down into the frozen pole's sanctimonious depths.
He taps her shoulder to bring her back into the hidden depths of the alley.
"What's the challenge?" Her voice is slightly muffled beneath the mask.
He points to the ale house behind her, then at her. with one hand flat in the air between them, he walks his fingers forwards, then back, before covering her eyes with his palm.
Without taking his hand from the mask's eyes, Katara nods. "Slip in and out without being spotted by the staff."
She's known his mind better than he has so many times before. Her ability to understand Blue's silent language comes as no surprise to him.
She laughs when Blue presses his hand against the mask and jostles it, pulling him off by his arm. "Easy peasy. Hold your breath, Blue, I'll be back."
She's almost out of the alley when he clears his throat. He taps his own mask, and an embarrassed huff makes its way past the thin clay of her own before she's tugged it off. Her black outer tunic is stripped off and turned inside out, revealing a dark green Earth Kingdom lining. She can draw the tunic tight at the waist with a cord she's sewn into the lining, dictating comfortably to the Earth Kingdom high born ladies slight and slender fashion. Mixed with the tight black leggings, she cuts a sharp, exotic figure amongst the soft, giggling herd of green gossiping sheep.
She's supposed to be blending in. Zuko has no doubt she has no idea how gorgeous she looks or how many heads she's turning as she ambles towards the ale house front entrance. Lucky for her, the hostess on the door is being bombarded with a party of smelt workers fresh off the bellows.
If the rest of the world could embrace Fire Nation prosperity, they wouldn't need to sweat from sunrise to sunset. Zuko's seen the state of the Earth Kingdom's villages, how without their earth benders their homes are nothing but wooden shacks. He's also seen the suffering his father's rule has brought to the people.
If he can get between his father and the people, the right way this time, maybe, just maybe, he can do this all the right way. If he can pull this off, if Azula's plan succeeds, he can be the grate between the Fire's heat and the people's desire to be warm.
He can be the spark which finally brings the Nations of this broken world in from the cold.
First, he must thaw Katara's aversion to Zuko. He must embrace what Blue can do, instead of red.
He's so distracted by his thoughts he forgets he's supposed to be watching her progress. Scanning the ale house outer gardens, his heart stutters when there's no sign of Katara, only to trip over itself in relief when he spots her giggling at something the brutish thug on the door is saying.
The flash of ugly hot emotion is sudden and unexpected in his chest. He can only tamp it back down by reminding himself that that technically means she's failed his test.
So why is she still laughing? Why is she still letting that ham-fisted brute slobber over her like she's a drink of water and he's been stranded in the dessert for a week?
Katara daintily takes the hand the man's about to touch her arm with and turns it palm up. Her delicate finger glides across his thick, dark skin, tracing a line in his hand.
Zuko's teeth gnash together beneath his mask. Blue doesn't care, and only Blue is going to get her to Zuko. Lock up whatever that is.
A rowdy cheer erupts into the night. The group of smelters are joined by the second shift. They barrel through the entrance, stain the polished wood with soot and cause such a ruckus coming in, the front man on the door is swallowed by the chaos. Shouts erupt for ale and sweet cakes, then more shouting of the less jovial nature that has Zuko gripping the wall tighter.
When the wave of shouts for drinks and food breaks across the long bar, Katara is nowhere in sight. He straightens, his grip practically crushing the stone. Where is she? Did she get swept up in the crowd? Or was she grabbed?
In the Lower Ring he wouldn't think twice, it's why he never brings her there. The Middle Ring's no better, but the crime is polite crime. You get ripped off at a market stall or your purse strings get sliced, not your neck if you're stupid enough to take a poorly lit shortcut.
He's plotting the ways he can get inside without anyone noticing, when out of a side door strides Katara. Her tunic's been swapped back around so she's all in black, but she's pulled her hair out of its braid. The dark curtain obscures her face from the man on the door, but he still gives a doubletake to her back as she saunters along-side the ale house wall and back out into the open street.
Only Zuko can see her triumphant grin. It faulters as she steps into the alley and she sees his crossed arms and stiff posture.
"What?"
She can't see he's biting his tongue under the mask. With a fury he points at her, then at his eyes before gesturing in a wave over her and shaking his head. He usually makes more sense, movements more coherent, but he's spitting mad. And something else, something he doesn't care to name.
"The smelters blew my chance to be anonymous before I even made it to the door. The security guard heard them coming and I was in front," Katara snaps back hotly.
Was she? Were those smelters coming even then? Zuko had been so caught up watching her, he hadn't noticed them at all. Spirits, he hadn't been aware the outside world existed beyond Katara as she'd turned into the soft glow of the open door and for all the world looked like a setting sun over the ocean.
She's still talking, backlit from the fingers of light reaching into their alley. Now, he thinks, rueful, she's more like a storm gathering its breath. "And I had to get the guards attention. That low-life pickpocket was about to steal that poor man's purse in all the commotion."
Zuko snaps back to attention. She got herself seen... on purpose? He shakes his head, making an x with his arms.
Katara, still without her mask, balks at him. "I wasn't invisible, but I was inconspicuous. I should at least get points for that."
He shakes his head again.
"So, I'm supposed to let innocent people be robbed for your made-up test?" Her cheeks go an angry, sunburn red when he nods. "As if I'd let that-"
He waves his hands at her to shut her up.
"Don't shush me, I'm in the right and you-"
He does it again, crossing his arms in front of each other in multiple x's, or no's as she's come to understand them. Couldn't she see how dangerous that could have gotten? Beautiful women have all the confidence in the world because men fall over themselves around them, but they don't take them seriously. Confronting the wrong man, in front of his friends, spirits, in front of a room full of strangers, was reckless even for Katara.
Of course, he can't say any of this. Not only because she'd ignore it, but also because she'd recognise his voice and drown him on the spot.
But it's him, even if she doesn't know it. Inevitably, some of it gets through. "I don't care if it was dumb, Blue!" She snaps. "I can't waterbend, I can't show my face, I can't do anything that might bring the Dai Li down on my head, but I can't do nothing either! Even if I wasn't inconspicuous, I did something, and that something meant a man could keep enjoying his night. What's wrong with that?"
She put her own safety at risk for a stranger's good time? Zuko's beyond livid now. He wants to rip off his mask and shout how she knows nothing about this city. What if those pickpockets belong to a gang in the Lower Rim? Her face wasn't covered. But at least a man she'll never see again gets to keep wasting his coin on watered down, overpriced ale. Doesn't matter that businesses like that have insurance, that he obviously has money to spend.
"I did the right thing, Blue," she states firmly, the opposite of his trembling rage. "And I don't care that it put me at risk. Stopping someone who thinks it's okay to do wrong, who decides the rules don't apply to them, is always worth it. I thought you would understand that."
Yes, a vigilante who all but spits on the Dai Li's authority is the perfect example of following the rules. Spirits, she's so confusing and inconsistent, he wants to tear his newly grown hair out.
"Are you still out there?"
Zuko leaps back at the timid voice, the shadows welcoming his dark clothes. Katara doesn't follow. He just sees her smile as she turns, walking to the edge of the alley so the man hovering at its edge doesn't come any closer.
His brow furrows. "You're alone? I thought I heard you talking to-"
Katara speaks over him before his thought can finish forming. "I stubbed my toe. Yelling at the bucket makes me feel better."
It's just odd enough to be relatable. On the ship, Zuko's furniture would scrape and slide across the floor. His temper over those first months at sea meant a lot of their funds went to replacing burnt tables that he'd kicked when not paying attention.
"Lucky for me it did." The man flushes and begins backtracking. "Not that I'm glad you hurt your foot. I just meant I'm happy to have caught you. Not that I was chasing, I just wanted to catch up to you because..."
What in Agni does this buffoon want? And how in the spirits does Katara have the patience to smile and put her hand on his arm? She's always touching people. Zuko knows better than most how calming her presence can be.
"What's the matter, Han?"
Han smiles. "I wanted to find you before you left and thank you."
Katara's already shaking her head. "There's no need, really."
"There is," Han insists. He takes a breath that suggests an annoyingly long story. "My girl and I are getting married. The money those men were going to steal is all we've saved for the ceremony."
Zuko rolls his eyes. So, she puts herself at risk so they can have a party.
"But we've just found out... she's pregnant."
Katara lets out a small sound of delight. "Han, that's wonderful."
The man blushes in the low light. "It's a miracle. Our miracle. It's why we were out tonight. Her families' inside with us to celebrate our marriage."
"You're... already married?" Katara asks, as confused as Zuko.
"Earlier today, as soon as we found out." Han reaches out and takes Katara's hands, holding them to his chest. "We couldn't waste that money on our wedding, but it almost got taken anyway. Without you, it would have been. Now we can raise our baby in the Middle Ring. It will be tight, but she'll be safe, go to school." He squeezes Katara's hands. "In these desperate times, you've given her a future."
Katara's voice is shaky. "Her?"
Han blushes, letting go with one hand to rub the back of his neck. "Oh, it's far too early to tell I just… I can only hope she grows up to be like you."
A self-deprecating, astonished laugh breaks out of Katara. "Han, I..." She's too choked by emotion to speak for a moment. She composes herself with the last of her chuckles. "I can't take all the credit. It wasn't only me. I wouldn't have been out tonight if not for a special friend."
The back of Zuko's neck prickles. It erupts into goosebumps as Katara gestures into the alley. Han goes to peer into the alley, but Katara stops him with a hand on his chest.
"He's not just my friend. He's a friend to all of Ba Sing Se. He likes to make it his business to keep an eye on the good people of this city." She smiles into the alley. "No matter where they come from."
"Han?" a woman's voice calls.
Han looks over, then looks back at Katara, his brows furrowed. "Are you talking about...?"
Katara puts her finger to her lips and winks.
Understanding dawns in Han's dull brown eyes. He nods back, fishing into a pouch at his side. Silver glints between his pinched fingers. Even Katara's eyes widen as Han stoops and places it at the mouth of the alley. With one more bow of thanks for Katara, he returns to the ale house. The woman waiting in the door embraces him, his hand resting easily on her stomach.
Katara, blocking most of the alley, doesn't move even when they're out of sight. It takes Zuko a moment to understand. Grunting, shaking his head, he slips just far enough out of the shadows to swipe the coin off the ground.
"There's nothing wrong with letting the people of Ba Sing Se know the Blue Spirit cares." Katara rolls her eyes at his stony silence. "Yeah, yeah. Trying isn't cool. Being silent and mysterious is." She shakes her head before moving into the alley. "Let's go. Give me my mask back."
She doesn't bother to slip into the teashop, nor seek out the most hidden spot. And, as loath Zuko is to admit it, he barely registers her until he's coming up to take her order. Whatever merit there is to her 'in plain sight' strategy, neither he nor Blue warrant it better than staying out of sight. Let Katara try it with a very ugly, very noticeable scar on her face and see how well it works then.
"Do I need to ask?" He drawls, already halfway through writing the Jasmine blend he knows is her favourite. He's so bored he's actually relieved to see her. He did good work as Blue a few nights ago, after that first disastrous challenge. Hopefully all this work will start to pay off.
"It would be polite to," she answers shortly, not looking away from her menu. It's all for show. Katara likes sweets, especially with something moody and strong to balance them with. She wouldn't order a sweet drink, not when he's already spied the days grocery hall in her bag with a packet of sour plum cakes resting on the top. They're already open.
"I'll tell Uncle to use the new extra strong blend he's been working on," Zuko says while writing a two next to Katara's order. There isn't an extra strong blend, but Zuko forces as much charm as he can muster from the depths of his apathy and winks down at Katara. "It's not open to customers yet, but I'm sure he'll make an exception."
"You'd do that?" Katara asks. Her eyes narrow. "I swear to the spirits if you bring me another papaya blend."
"You think I'd get away with that in house?" Zuko bites down his frustration. Agni he really can't do anything nice for her. Yes, it's back ended by motive, but she doesn't know that.
Then, to his utter shock, Katara laughs. Soft, restrained. So like all those times he'd say something that amused her on his ship. And she doubles down with a sigh, a shake of her heard, and, "You still haven't learned to smile when you do that."
His heart gives a painful thump in his chest. He's spent months trying to remember her smile then turning away like it was the suns glare and he only deserved to be burned. Now he stares at it, lungs shrivelling the longer he forgets to breath. Wasn't he supposed to be doing something? He can't remember. Can't remember his own name, let alone pay attention to a nagging voice that sounds a lot like Azula's. Not with Katara's laugh still ringing in his ears.
"Um, excuse me?"
Zuko almost drops his pad and charcoal stick. Katara jumps as well.
An older man, possibly older than Uncle, has hobbled into their conversation. Zuko wants to scowl at him and bark he go away, but Katara's watching. "What?" He mutters in such inhospitality the man flinches. Spirits. "Can I help you with something?"
From the corner of his eyes, Katara's frown lessons an inch. He's trying, can she really expect anything more?
The old man either hasn't noticed or has been to put off by Zuko's tone to press him further. "I've finished and thought I could catch you to pay. I didn't mean to interrupt you and the pretty young lady."
Katara blushes faintly. Zuko finds something in him heating at the customer's implication. Do they look good together? He turns, scanning the room for the man's table, and sees a booth with the empty cups and pot stacked neatly on the tray, napkins crumpled and weighed down like he'd tried to wipe the table himself.
Zuko's prickliness and heat vanish in a puff of self-loathing. He really had been rude. Not many customers would take those fifteen seconds to make his job a little easier. This one in particular hasn't got many seconds left to spare on some impetuous, rude boy.
"Of course," Zuko says with a nod and quickly writes up the receipt.
But when the man takes it and reads, his eyes widen. Just a fraction, but enough for Zuko to notice. The man's hand trembles as he upends a deflated coin purse into his hand. Three copper pieces and two chits.
Barely half what's on the receipt.
Zuko chews his lip. He's aware of the man's fragile composure, gnarled hands wringing like twisted tree roots. He's aware of Katara looking up at him but trying not to be obvious about it. She's keeping one eye on Pao, who's eyes Zuko can feel burning into his back.
Without him needing to say anything, Katara stands and slips around the old man, menu in her hand as she noisily makes her way towards Pao. "Excuse me, but I believe this menu has a spelling error. This is completely unacceptable, what on this mortal plain is Gigsing?"
Pao stammers. "I-I'm sure it is meant to say Ginseng."
"Is it?" Katara replies shortly. "What if it doesn't? What if Gigsing held dairy? I am highly lactose sensitive. My stomach goes bubbly, and I'm irritated for hours afterwards. And where would Gigsing come from? Because if it's picked by abused migrant workers then I protest this tea and this entire establishment!"
As Pao splutters and Katara fumes at his back, Zuko slips his hand into his apron and pulls out a silver piece, putting it in the tray with the receipt. "Thank you for your valued custom, we hope to see a new member of our family again here very soon." He scowls all the way through the farewell Pao insists on his servers, but the man's gratefully returned bow eases the ache between his brows.
Katara slides back into her booth once Zuko puts the tray in Pao's hand, signalling the end of her performance. Her tea is brought out sharpish, Zuko informing her it's on the house.
"Curtesy of Pao, along with an apology," he grumbles. "And, despite the big tip, I now have to stay late and write up new menus. News flash, did you know Pao's Family Teashop supports Earth Kingdom refugees and in no way has any affiliation with abused migrant workers?"
Katara winces. "Sorry, honestly I barely understood half of what I was saying. I didn't think he'd make you do that."
"Doesn't matter."
She watches him set down her cup and saucer, along with a little napkin to hold them with. He forgets sometimes not everyone has heat-proof fingers like him. "That was some shiny cash you flashed for that old man."
"I have a job. I'll make it back, hopefully in tips." He gives her pointed look.
She rolls her eyes but pulls a small purse out to sit on the bench beside her. "I never took you for the charitable type."
"Emotional extortion counts as charity?"
His attempts to distract her don't land. "You did something nice," she says in a teasing lilt.
"I couldn't exactly wring the tea back out of him, could I?" he grumbles. He doubts she'd have that same grin if she knew where that coin came from.
Now's the time to let her know. I don't know if you've noticed, Zuzu, but girls don't smile and tease boys they claim to dislike.
Katara always has. There's never been forced pretences between them, never a punch pulled, a feeling spared in this twisted path they've stubbornly trod down. But there's also never been a lie told, a word either of them didn't mean. Honesty was never expected, and it's something they've unintentionally cherished between them.
A heart was broken, but that was Zuko's own fault.
The promise of home salves the ache, bandages the wounds he's earned. The scars up his arm are nothing but an extension of the one on his face. A mark of weakness he will stamp out with the conquering of Ba Sing Se. Not even his father will be able to see him as that snivelling, kneeling coward when he presents the city and the Avatar to him.
All of that healing will come as soon as he stops thinking like the lonely open wound Zuko was and work with Azula and be the ruthless weapon the Fire Nation needs its heirs to be.
"Will you be coming back to make sure Pao's remains migrant friendly?" Zuko asks.
Katara draws her finger across the cups rim as she looks up at him beneath her eyelashes. "I suppose I'll have to. You know, to put Pao's mind at ease."
"Of course." Zuko pretends to wipe a spot on the table and swipes a sour plum bun.
Katara tracks the movement without turning her head. "And I have to keep making sure you're behaving."
A dark chuckle washes across her neck where Zuko leans in. "I look forward to it."
She turns into him, mouth open to demand he return her prized pastry. His eyes zero in on her bottom lip and he's slammed with the memory of feeling it caught between his own. How perfectly it slid beneath his teeth, leaving enough room for him to feel her gasp.
He catches and wrestles the memory back down before it can consume him. What he can't control is the way Katara's looking up at him.
Azula has a plan. Azula has a plan. A plan he needs to carry out for his future.
Katara's eyes bore into his, fathomless blue drawing him into their depths. They search him, search the memory of their past they're both drowning in. Until they dip, looking at his lips as if they hold the answer.
"Do you want to meet later?" the words slip out of his mouth, but he isn't thinking about Blue masks and challenges to remain hidden. He's thinking about low lights, somewhere that serves tea where he doesn't have to make it so he can keep listening to her tease him.
"What?" She blinks, eyes coming back to look around the tea shop.
"Do you want-"
"Spirits." Katara's eyes go wide at something over his shoulder.
He turns, catching the ominous flash of green and black robe before the Dai Li agents are passing by the window. Before he can ask what's wrong, Katara's pushing her way out of the booth.
"Katara?" Zuko tries to stumble after her, but Pao intercepts him. He can barely hear the man demanding he get back to work. He ignores Uncle's attempt to catch him as he storms back into the kitchen.
He only cares that Katara is pushing her way out of the tea shop, out of the Lower Ring, taking his future with her.
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