Zutara Month Day 9: Scars
we'll wear our scars
Zuko padded barefoot down the corridor that led from the royal spas and into the dressing room, his wet feet slapping against the stone floor. His hair dripped water onto his shoulders and he had a towel wrapped around his lean waist, feeling a little better after a relaxing soak in one of the tubs.
He shucked his towel and pulled on a clean pair of trousers. Then he tousled his hair with the towel before he ran his hands through it, heating up his palms to steam-dry it. His personal servant would hate him for it later, but right now, he didn't care.
Zuko caught sight of his reflection in one of the mirrors which ran the length of one wall above wide marble basins. His eyes flickered to the burn scars that marred his skin on his face and stomach, and his expression twisted into a grimace.
It really didn't matter how much time had passed, or how much Zuko told himself that it didn't matter. His scars still affected him despite his best efforts to not let them, and in more ways than one—some ways in which he was just discovering.
Being disfigured at the tender age of thirteen had been traumatic for a multitude of reasons. The most pressing was the shame and humiliation of the Agni Kai and his subsequent banishment. But beyond that had been the messy healing process, which had been excruciating.
His head had been heavily bandaged and his scalp shaved to keep his hair from sticking to the burnt flesh, and to remove what had been singed when his father burned him. All that had remained was one lock on the crown of his head. While this had been done in an effort to not completely shame him, it still was a truly awful haircut, really. It showed that while he was royalty, he was disgraced.
For almost a week Zuko hadn't even known if he'd lost sight in his left eye. The pain had been nearly unbearable, each movement of his facial muscles pure agony. And when his uncle would remove the bandages and gently apply healing salves, Zuko had wanted to die. He'd screamed despite his best effort to be silent, to be strong, tears leaking from his unburned eye.
Iroh had been as gentle as he could, and he would apologize every time Zuko screamed at him to stop, his voice thick and his hands trembling with his pain and emotions. But back then, Zuko didn't care. The pain—both the physical and the emotional—was too great, and he would spit curses at his uncle when he finally quit screaming, his throat raw. But Iroh never complained, never reprimanded him.
It wasn't until years later that Zuko realized that his uncle carried guilt about what had happened to him, and that Iroh felt that he was at least partially to blame. Zuko felt guilt of his own for how he had treated his uncle during the early years of his banishment, and he'd tried hard to make it up to him, even though Iroh insisted that he already had, tenfold.
Now Zuko took a moment to study his reflection, his eyes tracing the angry red tissue that spread from the corner of his left eye, across his cheek and brow bone, and disappeared into his hair. Zuko raised one hand and pulled his hair back until he could see the scar tissue where hair refused to grow, even six years after he'd received the mark.
He let his hair fall as his gaze dropped to the starburst scar just below his chest. Then he ran his fingers across it. The skin was puckered and ridged, but smooth. It was a deep red in the center, like dried blood, that lightened the further out it spread. The jagged points looked like lightning and stretched across his ribs and down towards his navel.
No matter how bad the scar on his face was—sometimes, usually in the morning after waking but also when he was exposed to the cold, like when he visited the Water Tribes, the tissue would stiffen up and become almost painful, and he'd have to massage and warm it until the nerves calmed—it didn't compare to the one on his stomach.
Katara had done what she could, and she did a great job. And he would definitely never regret taking the lightning for her. But being struck by lightning, and almost dying, had a lingering effect. And sometimes even now, after all these years, he could feel the ghost pains of the lightning lancing through his abdomen, sharp and searing. It was strong enough sometimes that he'd nearly double over, teeth gritted, before the feeling would pass. Other times it was just a momentary discomfort, almost like a cat's claws tearing across his flesh. Most of the time though, it just seemed to itch, even though it was long-healed.
Zuko wondered sometimes if the pain was imagined, that his mind would conjure it when he was feeling particularly stressed or irritable. It didn't make any logical sense for it to actually hurt now, and so fleeting too. And yet it did, sometimes.
He dragged his eyes back to his face. What might have been a handsome face, had it not been for that scar. He brought his hand up and placed it over his left eye. Bits of scar tissue peeked through his fingers, but for the most part, he could ignore it.
Yes, that was a handsome face, without the scar. He had high cheekbones, an aristocratic nose, an arched brow, and full lips. A regal face. A commanding face.
Zuko pulled his hand away. Now that face was marked, something to gawk at, to whisper about (sometimes in his presence, as if they thought his hearing on the left side was impacted. Well, it most definitely was not). It didn't seem to matter that he was the Fire Lord and it was especially rude to stare at him. People did it anyway.
Zuko knew he wasn't supposed to let stuff like that get to him, but it ate at him. His mind was a cruel place, perhaps more cruel than any of the people he thought were judging him or mocking him. He knew he shouldn't care what people thought of his appearance, but he was the Fire Lord, for crying out loud. Appearances were everything.
And because he was the Fire Lord, he knew peoples' eyes were on him, watching him, waiting to see what he would do, if he would make a mistake. They were bloodhounds for weaknesses, and his scar was perceived as one, even as Zuko put on a mask and pretended that it didn't bother him at all.
With a breath that shook slightly, Zuko gripped the cool marble edges of the basin and hung his head, shutting his eyes so that he didn't have to look at the scars anymore.
One would think by now that he would know how to wear these scars, but he didn't. And the fact that they were given to him by people who were supposed to love him unconditionally, made them all the worse.
Katara wasn't expecting anyone to be in there. It was late, and with a palace full of firebenders, she knew they all went to bed early. She'd thought she was alone in her insomnia (it was a full moon tonight), except for maybe the late-night palace staff performing the duties best done when the palace was less crowded, but clearly, she was mistaken.
Zuko had given her permission to use the royal spas. No one but royalty were supposed to use them, but no one was going to argue with the Fire Lord. She'd rarely used that special privilege, but Katara thought that tonight was as good as any. She could use the relaxation to lull her to sleep. She had an early meeting with the incorrigible Minister Chin.
She had known when she had accepted Zuko's job offer that she would be working long hours (often with people she didn't like, and it was evident by their demeanors that the feeling was mutual). And she was also aware that it would take more than a few years and a new Fire Lord to erase a century's worth of prejudice from these people.
Still, sometimes she became so frustrated being an ambassador. It often felt like she would take one step forward and two steps back, trying to battle preconceived notions and outdated ways of thinking. It was one thing to fight a war with weapons and violence; it was an entirely different experience to try and fight thoughts and ideas.
Thankfully, she always had Zuko in her corner. They were like-minded in most matters, and it really didn't matter if his ministers or the Fire Sages liked him. They could dislike Zuko all they wanted; they still had to respect and obey him.
But it was a fine line she and Zuko were walking. He couldn't show her blatant favoritism. It would be too easy for the other members of his government to accuse him of nepotism, and Katara was here to make Zuko's life easier, not harder. At least he wouldn't tolerate any outright disrespect thrown her way.
So yeah, one could say that Katara was a little stressed, and as far as she was concerned, she had earned a tranquil soak in one of the spas, with lots of fragrant-smelling oils and soaps. What she hadn't been expecting was another person having the same idea.
And not just any other person, but the only other person currently in the palace who was allowed to be there—Zuko.
The door was slightly ajar, and Katara opened it a hairsbreadth further, a clean change of clothes tucked against her chest. She saw his reflection in the mirrors that lined the far wall and stopped short, startled.
He was shirtless, and one of his hands was tracing the starburst scar on his stomach. Katara didn't mean to stare, but her eyes were drawn to the scar like a moth to a flame.
One year had passed since she had seen that scar, since she had healed it for the final time a week after the Agni Kai, just after Zuko's coronation. That was when she had told him that there was nothing more that she could do. It would always be a scar.
It was deep red in the middle, where Azula's lightning had made direct contact with his skin and ripped through him. It grew lighter as it spread out into long, jagged fingers that reached across his flesh like bolts of lightning. She watched Zuko's fingers trace over it as a shiver went through her.
Suddenly he brought his hand to his face and pressed it over the scar there. Katara held her breath, knowing that she should leave. This was a private moment that she had no business intruding on. Zuko would probably be (justifiably) upset if he saw her standing there.
But she felt rooted in place, watching this sad, solitary moment. Her heart ached for him, for the scars he carried both on his flesh and on his soul.
Katara heard the soft sigh that left him as he let his hand fall (and she didn't think that she imagined the way it shook) before he gripped the wash basin, head hanging down. She watched his shoulders for a sign of their trembling, to see if he would let his mask fall and let his emotions push to the surface, but they remained still, rigid and tense, the muscles of his exposed back coiled like a wolf-cat crouched defensively.
She held her breath, knowing that she should turn around and go back to her chambers, but she could feel Zuko's hurt like a tangible thing, like fog in the air. Katara didn't want to intrude, but she didn't feel quite right leaving him alone like this.
Her decision to stay or go was made for her when he lifted his head again. Suddenly, his golden eyes were looking at her directly in the mirror's reflection. She hadn't realized that she'd subconsciously leaned closer to the door.
"Katara," he rasped out, his eyes widening with surprise as he straightened and turned to face her.
Katara looked away, unable to meet his gaze or look at the scar on his abdomen. Her cheeks burned with shame at being caught interrupting his privacy.
"I'm sorry—I didn't think anyone would be awake—" she stammered out, clutching her clothes to her chest tightly. "It's—I thought—I assumed the spa was empty."
"It's okay."
He released a breath before he crossed the room to the door, gripping the edge of it in one hand. She half-expected him to shut it in her face (Zuko had come a long way since his unruly teenage self, but he could still act like that old volatile banished prince, and she'd crossed his temper once or twice since she'd been there), and she wouldn't have been upset if he did. Instead, Zuko opened it further, almost like an invitation.
Katara finally dragged her eyes to his face, meeting his gaze. Despite the years they had been friends—and close friends, at that—he still rarely showed vulnerability with her (or anyone, aside from Iroh, she believed). He rarely divulged his emotions to her, his pain or joy and everything in between. He was closed-off about the things that really mattered.
"Are you alright?" Katara asked hesitantly, already expecting deflection from him.
The mask stayed on as the corner of his lips tugged up into a smile, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.
"I'm fine," he said with forced calmness. He stepped back and opened the door wider, inviting her in now. "Did you still want to use the spa? It's quite relaxing."
Katara forced a smile onto her face. She couldn't let on how long she had lingered there. She wanted Zuko to open up to her, but she knew that he wouldn't if he was aware of how long she'd been watching him.
"Sure," she replied, faux-cheerfully. "Would you like to join me?" She brushed past him, hyper-aware of his bare chest and the scar that blossomed there. "Or did you just get done?"
"Oh—I was just—" Zuko cleared his throat. "I...just got done."
Katara walked deeper into the room, observing his discarded towel on the marble floor and his pile of clothing on a wooden bench. She set her own clothes down beside his and reached up to unravel her hair from its braid. When she looked up in the mirror, she saw that Zuko had lingered by the door.
"Are you going to go to bed now, my lord?" Katara asked, making herself tease him, hoping to lighten the mood.
Zuko ran one hand through his shaggy hair as he crossed the room and picked up his shirt. "I probably should. I've got so many meetings to sit through tomorrow…" He let out a sigh.
"Don't you always?" Katara retorted playfully as she pulled a comb through her hair.
Zuko shrugged into his tunic. "Yeah, I guess so. But tomorrow, it's the big showdown between Minister Huang and Ambassador Thanh. Huang wants to keep our military as is, and Thanh wants to cut it more, to comply with the peace treaty. And both of them are looking at me to back them up."
"And where do you stand on it, Fire Lord?" Katara turned to face him, bracing her hands against the washbasin at her back. Talking about his Fire Lord problems was a start. Maybe then they could broach the deeper stuff, what lay underneath the mask.
Zuko let out a heavy-hearted sigh as he scrubbed one hand over his face. She didn't miss how his fingers seemed to dig extra-deep into his scar.
"The problem is that I don't know. We're perfectly in line with the treaty now. We've cut the military back to a fraction of what it was under my father," Zuko said, frustration dripping in his voice. He hesitated for a beat before adding, "And I don't want to cripple it further."
Katara studied him briefly. "Any reason in particular?"
He sat down on one of the wooden benches, bracing his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands together. Zuko wouldn't quite look at her, and Katara frowned, wondering what he might say.
"I don't want the Fire Nation to be vulnerable," he finally admitted, quietly. "We've complied with every last addendum in the peace treaty. We're no longer a threat. But Ambassador Thanh—well, really, King Kuei and his advisors—want more. I'm just worried…"
Zuko trailed off again. Katara came over and sat beside him, sensing his turmoil and his desire to talk about it with the one person who would never judge him or fault him for it.
"What are you worried about?" Katara nudged gently.
"I'm worried…" He huffed out another breath. "That leaving the Fire Nation crippled like that will give others certain ideas. Certain...fascist ideas."
Katara's brow knit. "Do you think that the Earth King would make a move like that? When we've just achieved world peace?"
"I don't know," Zuko murmured. "I don't think so. I'd hope we all learned our lessons about imperialism from my forefathers. But I can't…" He shook his head. "I just don't want to feel helpless. I don't want my nation to be helpless."
"But you're worried that if you decline to dismantle the military, the Earth King might take it as an offensive maneuver," Katara supplied.
"Or as an affront, at the least," Zuko said. He leaned back against the wall and tipped his head until he looked at her, a humorless smile playing at his lips. "But I really don't want to talk about this anymore. It's been on my mind for days, and I'm no closer to coming up with a solution."
Katara pursed her lips. "I know you didn't ask, but I'm going to give you my opinion anyway: you should tell Thanh no."
Zuko looked at her, surprised. "Really?"
"Yes." She shrugged. "You're right. You have met every one of their demands—all of the world leaders. And you've done so with minimal complaint and a smile on your face. The Fire Nation is compliant. It's overreach for Kuei to ask for more."
Zuko chewed that over thoughtfully. "Maybe you're right." He offered her a short smile. "Thanks."
"You're welcome."
He stood up then. "I should let you get to the spa. It's late, and don't you have a meeting with Minister Chin in the morning?"
"I do." Katara got to her feet, suddenly reluctant to let him go. "But I think I'll pass on the spa tonight. I might deserve it more tomorrow after I don't throttle Chin."
Zuko chuckled. Then he said, "Sorry I disturbed you. I didn't mean to unload my problems on you."
She reached out and touched his shoulder for a moment. "You can always talk to me, Zuko. About anything. That's what friends are for." She let her hand fall away.
He studied her for a moment. "I think I'll go down to the kitchens and put on some jasmine tea. It's quite calming, you know."
Katara cracked a grin. "I see Uncle Iroh's tea knowledge is rubbing off on you."
He smiled back. "Yeah, maybe." Zuko glanced towards the door, clearing his throat. "If you're giving the spa a pass tonight, perhaps you'd like to join me for tea, then?"
Katara looked up at him and studied him for a moment. She could still see the vulnerability in his tired eyes. It was clear that he still wanted her company, and although she was tired, Katara was more than willing to give that to him.
"Sure," she said with a soft smile.
They left the royal spa and made their way through the dark, empty palace to the kitchens. Zuko lit the stove while Katara filled a kettle with water. They sat at a small table while they waited for it to boil. Zuko lit the candle there to push back the shadows a little more.
"It's been nice, having you around," Zuko said after they had sat in silence for a few minutes. "I'm glad you took me up on my offer."
"Me too." She smiled at him. Then she gave him a pointed look. "Though I have to admit, I'm a lot more stressed out here than I was back home in the South Pole."
He gave her a sheepish look. "Sorry, but in my defense, you knew what you were getting into."
"Fair enough," Katara said. She reached across the table and rested her fingertips on the back of his hand. His skin was warm to the touch. "But it's worth it. I'm glad to be here, helping the Fire Nation. The world. You." She met his gaze. "How are you doing, Zuko?"
"Me?" She watched his throat bob as he swallowed.
Before he could answer, and before she could prod him further, the kettle began to whistle. Zuko slipped out of her grasp and busied himself by pouring their tea. Katara watched him, knowing that he was deflecting again. But she had seen him in the spa, when he thought he was alone. He was wounded, and the first step to healing was by opening up the wound and letting the infection out.
He could only put off returning to her for so long. Soon he was carrying two steaming cups of tea over to the table. She didn't miss the slight tremble in his hands as he handed her the tea. He sat down across from her and took a drink of the tea, not quite looking at her.
Katara wasn't going to let him get away with it so easily. "You didn't answer my question."
"Hm?" He was so transparent.
She gave him a pointed look. "How are you doing, Zuko? Really. Are you doing okay?"
He kept his eyes trained on the steam curling above his tea cup, holding it between his hands. She could see the furrow in his brow and how his jaw was clenched. Was he going to let the mask fall? Would he share his scars with her?
Finally, Zuko met her gaze. He swallowed again.
"No," he said at last. "I'm really not okay."
He exhaled then, his shoulders falling as his expression smoothed, like a stone weathered by a river. Katara could understand the catharsis of admitting a truth one held inside for a long time. She was glad Zuko could experience that.
"Tell me," she encouraged softly.
One of his hands fell away from the tea cup and came to rest on his stomach, over the scar that was hidden beneath his tunic. His jaw worked as he tried to come up with the words. Katara waited patiently.
"It's...everything," Zuko murmured. "It's been years, Katara, and I still feel like I don't know what I'm doing. I feel like all of these ministers and nobles look at me like some...some imposter, some child playing Fire Lord. They treat me with the respect I'm due, but I can't help but think that behind my back, they're laughing at me."
He let out a laugh then. It was a hollow, bitter sound, and it scored Katara's heart. She wanted to reach out and take his hand, but she didn't. Instead she waited for him to go on. He did.
"And maybe it's foolish. The throne is rightfully mine. I've done everything right, the way I'm supposed to. Like you said, I've followed the treaty. I've made reparations. I pass laws each and every day that benefit my people, and the world. But I can't...I can't shake this feeling that I'm making mistakes." He shook his head. "It's stupid."
"No, it's not," Katara told him earnestly. "Zuko, the way you were raised...the way your father treated you, he made you doubt yourself constantly. He belittled you, and humiliated you." Her eyes flickered to the scar on his face. "He hurt you."
His hand lifted from his stomach and he brushed it beneath his slitted eye. His mouth twisted into a grimace.
"This is what people see," he murmured. "This mark my father gave me. Despite everything, it still symbolizes exactly what my father meant for it to: shame, weakness, cowardice. No matter how hard I try, I can't get out from behind his shadow."
Zuko dropped his hands to the table, curling them into fists. "It doesn't matter that I helped end the war and began an era of peace. My people say, no, the Avatar ended the war. No, the other world leaders created peace by creating the treaty. And really, they're not wrong."
Katara furrowed her brows at this. "Yes, they are,"
She reached out and took both of his hands in hers, working her fingers into his fists until he relaxed his grip. She squeezed his hands as she looked at him earnestly.
"Aang couldn't have stopped the war without you," she told him. "The treaty wouldn't be more than a piece of parchment if you didn't uphold it. You have done and continue to do amazing things, Zuko. I've seen it firsthand, time and time again. You are far better than your father. He doesn't hold a candle to you."
He looked up at her then, and his eyes shined in the light of the candle on the table.
"Then why am I still so broken?" he asked her softly.
Her heart constricted painfully in her chest as she felt tears sting her eyes. How could she convince him that he wasn't broken? That maybe he was scarred, but he could heal? She swallowed hard before she answered him.
"I used to feel the same way," she admitted quietly. "For...years I felt broken. Damaged. The pain of losing my mother, of being unable to stop that man from taking her from me…" She shook her head. "I blamed myself for a long, long time."
"How did you move past it?" Zuko asked her.
She squeezed his hands again as she offered him a smile. "You helped. You helped me confront that monster. I found healing because of you." She looked down at their joined hands. "I can't promise that the same thing will help you. But I think you need to start talking about it with someone, Zuko. Me, or your uncle, or even Aang, if you're comfortable talking to him about it."
Katara met his gaze. "You're not living in your father's shadow, Zuko. You're living in the shadow of all the pain you've gone through. But you don't have to stay there. You can step out into the light."
"How?" Zuko asked, his voice strained with his emotions that he was still trying to conceal.
"You wear your physical scars for the world to see," she said softly. "But you keep your emotional ones hidden. You need to let it out."
He let go of one of her hands and pressed it to his stomach again, his brow furrowed contemplatively.
"It still hurts, you know," he murmured. "Sometimes, it'll just...spark, like the lightning hit me all over again."
Katara pressed her lips into a line as her heart pulled in her chest. She had done all she could with the knowledge she had at the time...but clearly it hadn't been enough. Maybe she should have tried harder, done more. She could have asked for more healing water from the Spirit Oasis. She could have—
Zuko's hands wrapping around hers cut off her thoughts. Katara looked up and found him looking at her earnestly, his brow furrowed.
"It's not your fault, Katara," he told her gently. "You saved my life. You did more than enough." He huffed out a breath as he let his head fall, his hair covering his eyes. "And part of me thinks it's in my head anyway. Phantom pains, or whatever. It usually happens when I'm stressed or upset. Which...tends to be pretty often."
"I'm sorry," Katara managed to choke out around the lump in her throat. "I'm so sorry."
He lifted his head and offered her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. She didn't look very convinced.
"You have nothing to be sorry for," Zuko insisted, squeezing her hands. "And like I said, I think it's in my head. I just...have to figure it out. Figure out why it's happening, and make it stop."
Katara swallowed hard. "I'm here for you. Whatever you need, I'm here to help you, Zuko. Not just as an ambassador, but as a friend." She took a breath. "And since I've been back, I feel like you've been keeping me at arm's length. You keep all of your friends like that. You don't let us in."
His thumb stroked the back of her hand, his brow knitting deeper. "I know. I know. I just...it's not easy to talk about this stuff."
"Because you don't want to be seen as weak?" Katara murmured.
Zuko nodded. "Yeah."
Katara gave him a watery smile. "You're not weak, Zuko. You never have been. You've been hurt, and you're still healing. But you're not weak. You're never weak."
A single tear slipped from his non-scarred eye and rolled down his cheek. He released one of her hands to wipe it away, but then his hand was back in hers, warm and familiar. He met her gaze, and she could see his pain burning there.
"Let me help you," she whispered.
They held each other's gazes for a long moment, neither of them speaking. Katara could feel the way his hands trembled just slightly, and she held onto him tightly, as if she could hold him together.
"Okay," he whispered back.
She exhaled softly. Her heart was still constricting in her chest, but it felt a bit lighter now. She only ever wanted to help people. And Zuko needed it. She was glad he was accepting it.
He let go of her hands to take a drink of his tea. He pushed one hand through his hair as he let out a breath.
"I thought the saying was, time heals all wounds," he muttered with just a touch of wry humor.
The corner of her lips twitched in response. "The truth is that time only heals if you work through it." She squeezed his hand. "And I promise, we'll figure this out."
"Thank you, Katara." He met her gaze. "For everything."