Episode 18: Not a Rescue

A/N: Sorry it's a little late!! Enjoy, lovely readers!!

The door was massive and red with a giant Phoenix painted over the front. Zuko's hands were shaking.

He was still reeling from Azula's reveal. If he helped the Painted Lady now, he would lose any favor he had gained with his father. False favor to begin with, but still.

Azula pushed ahead of him and shoved the door open, striding in like she owned the place.

Zuko followed close behind. She was the only familiar thing in the room.

The conference table had been replaced. Where before it had been a solid mahogany, it was now inlaid with a red marble that provided a new level of ostentation to the high order's meeting place. The windows that had always been open, allowing natural light to stream across the room were blacked out. A sort of flame bar, probably gas, ran along the edge of the room giving the area a fierce glow. It also made the room deathly hot. Pulling at his neckline, Zuko was suffocating in his high collared outfit.

Azula appeared unfazed by the heat as she sauntered to the end of the table and took a seat next to the only other person in the room. Zuko's eyes met his father's. Six Years. He was struck by how closely he resembled him, it hadn't been as noticeable when he'd been younger. Their physical appearance was about the only thing they had in common.

"You've been away for a long time. I see the weight of your travels has changed you. But now, you have redeemed yourself, my son." Ozai grinned and held his arms out as if to embrace the room. "Welcome home."

Zuko gulped and faltered back a step. What did you say to your father after six years?

"Uhh, hi...Dad."

Azula snickered. Ozai's lips pursed.

Great, back five seconds and I'm already a disappointment.

"Please." Ozai motioned to the chair directly to his right. "Sit."

The flames flickered orange across the room refracting like the underwaters of hell. Zuko focused on his breathing and maintaining his internal temperature, one of the few lessons he was willing to remember when it came to his bending. Each step echoed like water droplets in an empty sink. He made his way along the extended table to where his father and sister sat.

The chair Ozai had motioned towards was high-backed and gilded in some kind of shiny gold material. A chair fit for a prince. Zuko felt like slime sliding into it.

The cushion beneath mocked him: you don't deserve this.

The cold, metal arms bit into his skin: Liar. Traitor.

Silence added to the suffocating atmosphere. The heat, the crackling of the flames, the steady gaze of his father. Zuko thought he might drown beneath the weight of it all.

"I hear you have been excelling in your studies," Ozai said.

Zuko relaxed slightly. "Yes, I'll be finished in the next two months."

"I wonder what they have been teaching you." His father stroked his beard. "What would you say is the first rule of business?"

His first thoughts were on what he'd been taught in his classes, but he found wisdom of another kind slipping out of his mouth, "Persist. Most likely, things are going to fail a lot before they work out. Even though you'll probably fail over and over and over again...you have to try every time. You can't quit because you're afraid you might fail. Ambition and determination drive success."

Azula scoffed. "Failure? That's your big takeaway? Losing is for the weak."

Zuko shook his head. "I disagree. From what I've seen, failure is what builds resilience and creates the strongest people. It is a fear of failure that holds people back from taking risks, and business is all about calculated risks."

"Indeed." Ozai's expression gave nothing away. Zuko wished he knew his dad well enough to know what he was thinking, how he had fared in this little test. "Your professors have perhaps confused success with true leadership. Want to know what the first rule of business really is?" Ozai leaned towards him. "True power means never being wrong. Never apologize for anything. You don't need forgiveness. Never say you're sorry. You cannot be wrong, you make right."

Zuko's heart sank to join the pit that was growing in his stomach. All those years he'd been working so hard, struggling through his classes, fighting with indecision...for this?

A knock on the massive doors drew their attention.

"Sir?" Kei called, poking his head in. "They're here."

"What-Who?" Zuko panicked. "Dad?"

"I invited a select few of the council here to discuss what to do about our newest problem." Ozai waved assent to his assistant who opened the door wide. A small group of men between the ages of fifty and seventy all with silvering beards filed into the room. They barely spared Zuko a glance as they took their seats.

Ozai continued his lesson. "Sit straight, Zuko. Let them know you deserve to be here."

Zuko complied, his old tutoring coming back in an instant. Shoulders back, hands folded, show no fear.

Zhao entered last, closing the door behind himself and glaring at Zuko. His gait was stilted, obviously not completely recovered from their bout that afternoon. A small victory in a day of disasters.

A single administrator stood while the rest sat. Zuko remembered his name as Shinu. "We are here to discuss the fate of the Painted Lady. I want to remind the council that this decision extends beyond a single person. While the Village is still under our control, rebellions have prevented us from achieving total victory across the island."

Victory? Zuko thought. What was he talking about?

As if in answer, the administrator unfolded a long paper across the conference table. It was a map of the island, areas owned by Phoenix Industries were marked in red. There was very little outside their company's realm of control. Was it their plan to take the entire island?

"What is your recommendation?" Ozai asked.

"Our warehouses are spread too thin." The administrator started walking about the room. "Once the South Bend is purchased, we should transfer more domestic forces into the outer rim streets to gather up the stragglers."

"Hmm." Ozai stroked his beard again. "Zuko, you've been among the island's commoners. Do you think that adding more troops will stop these rebellions?"

Zuko's eyes snapped over to his father before looking back towards the council. Everyone's eyes were on him. Gulping, he said, "The people of the Village are definitely weakened without the Painted Lady, but even so they endure everything thrown their way. She has brought them hope."

Ozai smiled. "Yes, you're right. We need to destroy their hope."

A man Zuko recognized as a district manager for the upper side of the island interjected, "What kind of damage can one little girl really cause?"

Zuko's eyes automatically passed to Azula who was filing her nails. An appearance of ease, yet Zuko knew her eyes and ears were acutely aware of every minute movement and breath in the room. This man should already know not to underestimate 'little girls'.

"There's a saying," Zuko said, his nervous talking getting the better of him again. "You can't truly call yourself 'peaceful' unless you're capable of great violence, if you're not capable of violence you're not peaceful, you're harmless." He made a point to catch the eye of every member present. "Mark my words: the Painted Lady is peaceful, but if you push her by continuing to hurt those who are harmless...she will become their violence."

Ozai stroked his beard, thinking. "What would you suggest, then, my son?"

He sat up straighter. "Ask her what she wants, perhaps we can come to an agreement?"

"Out of the question," Zhao stood. "After what we went through to apprehend her?"

"We?" Azula spoke up, her eyes flashing.

"Calm yourself," Ozai murmured to his daughter before saying louder, "Zhao, you will give my children the respect they deserve. Were it not for Azula, we would still be waiting on your Blue Spirit to bring the Painted Lady in."

At the mention of the Blue Spirit, Zuko's muscles tightened.

"With a little more time, my men would be equipped to handle the waterbender's-"

Ozai held up a hand and he stopped talking. Turning to Zuko, he said, "Excuses are a side effect of failure. What did your professors have to say about that?"

As much as he enjoyed embarrassing Zhao, Zuko knew one wrong move would send him right back onto the streets.

Sensing that he did not intend to respond, Ozai continued, "If I had the time to wait I wouldn't need her contained in the first place. As it stands, the problem is being handled."

"What makes her such a threat to you?" Zuko asked. "The unrest in the village can be contained. Surely bending alone is not a crime."

"She's snooping where she doesn't belong. There is an..." he hesitated, "artifact...that I would rather not get into the wrong hands."

Artifact? This was the first Zuko was hearing about any kind of artifact. Did he mean the waterbending scroll? Perhaps another type of bending scroll? Something even more valuable?

"And you think she has this...artifact?" Zuko asked.

"I know for a fact that she does not, but I want to make sure this will be the end of it," Ozai said. "Another lesson in business, never leave to chance what you can make certain."

Each minute brought on new misery for Zuko as they discussed what to do with the Painted Lady. Varying forms of torture were mentioned, each new suggestion more horrifying than the last. In the end, Ozai had decided upon the commonly practiced interrogation methods that prioritized time.

Just when he thought things couldn't get any worse, his father moved the discussion to the purchase of South Bend. Apparently Hakoda wasn't the only one with debts to the Industry, and Ozai planned on calling them all in as seizure of property. The way he talked about the plans for the new factory...it was like it didn't matter how everything turned out as long as the buildings that were currently on that block were demolished to rubble.

Ozai ended up dismissing them around 7 p.m., telling the council he would share with them tomorrow what he found out. After they'd left, he turned to Azula. "I want to know who she is, who her family is, where she came from, and anything she's gleaned about the company."

Azula bowed her head. "Of course, Father."

He turned to Zuko. "It was good to have you back, son."

Before he could offer to have him stay, Zuko said, "I'm afraid I need to get back to my roommate."

Azula scoffed at the mention of Sokka.

"I am interested to learn from the Painted Lady, though."

"Azula will pass along what she discovers. It shouldn't be a problem since you were so accommodating with her capture."

Zuko and Azula shared a look as they stood to leave.

"Headed out, Zuzu?" she hummed, walking beside him. "More failures to explore?"

"Mock all you want, Azula, but one day you will finally meet failure and you may feel differently." Zuko rolled his shoulders, a tingle running down his spine. "There's one last thing I need to do."

He knocked lightly at first, then harder when there was no response. The door opened to reveal a nurse wearing plain white scrubs. Zuko found his mind jumping to Katara before he reminded himself to focus.

"Can I...can I see her?" he asked.

The nurse glanced back into the room. "She's resting."

"Please," Zuko said, "Can you tell her that...that Zuko is here to see her?"

The nurse opened her mouth, no doubt about to lecture him on the importance of rest when a soft, quiet voice spoke from within the room.

"Zuko?"

The nurse looked back again to say, "You shouldn't push yourself, ma'am."

"Let him in," the voice said more sternly.

"I don't think Lord Ozai would-"

"To hell with him. Let my son in. Now."

The nurse gave off a heavy sigh, glared at Zuko, then opened the door. "Ten minutes," she muttered under her breath as he passed.

There was so much white. The walls, the furniture, the bed: all white. The only color in the room was a single tapestry that depicted Japanese cherry blossoms.

Sitting in a simple chair in the center of the room was a middle aged woman with straight black hair that fell to her waist. She wore a basic white frock that had her blending with the rest of the room. She looked paler than he remembered, her face without make-up looked almost gentle. As her faded eyes appraised him, his mother smiled. "Hello, Zuko."

"Ursa," Zuko greeted her. His gaze continued to move about the room. "Nice place."

"I have a garden," she said. "Would you like to see?"

Zuko looked back to see the nurse standing by the door with her arms crossed, a frown on her face. "Maybe another time," he said. "I can't stay long."

Ursa's smile faltered. "You're leaving."

Zuko gave a curt nod, sliding his hands into his pockets. Her eyes strayed to the left side of his face, to his scar.

"Have you been well?" she asked.

Inside Zuko's pockets, his hands were fists. "I get by," he said.

Ursa watched him, seemingly searching for something to say. "Are you finished with school, then?"

"Just a few more months before I'm done."

Her eyebrows pulled together. "But he let you come back?"

Zuko shrugged. "Guess he's a little more forgiving than he used to be."

Ursa winced. "Zuko-"

He held up a hand. "Don't. Please," he said, "I didn't come to talk. I just...thought I would try it. Seeing you."

"And?"

Zuko rolled his tongue around inside his mouth. "I'm still debating."

His mother pursed her lips, her eyes assessing him. "You look good."

"Do you really think so?" Zuko asked bitterly.

"Yes." She smiled again. "Thank you for coming."

With a final nod, Zuko said, "I am glad to see you're being taken care of, at least."

Her eyes mimicked his perusal of the basic room. "They keep me fed and clothed. I have little comforts." Her lips twisted strangely. "I do wish my children would visit a bit more, though."

"You'll have to talk to Azula about that," he said. "Not much I can do."

Almost as if to make his point, the nurse cleared her throat. Zuko checked his watch. "I have to go."

Her face fell. "Will you come back?"

Zuko stopped with his hand on the doorknob and hesitated. In the end, he left without saying anything. He had more pressing matters to worry about.

It was around 10:30 at night when Zuko returned to the facility dressed as the Blue Spirit. He knew exactly how to slip past the outer rotation of the guards, when to cross the spotlight when the cameras were cycling. He'd been studying how to break into this building since he was fifteen years old. He'd always assumed he'd be sneaking in, he'd never thought he'd use the knowledge to attempt to break someone out. Taking a deep breath, he strung his grappling hook towards the roof before beginning the climb. Yes, the Painted Lady was as far down as you could get in the Industry headquarters, but he'd decided that his best chance for reaching her unnoticed would be to go through the air vents.

10:45. Azula would be arriving to the holding cells with her 'specialists' within the next hour. Zuko was sliding on his elbows and stomach through the dusty metal maze of vents.

Down, down, down.

Not exactly how I planned to spend my Friday night...he thought. He'd much rather be at his study session with Katara, he'd had to text her to cancel again. It was annoying that the main thing he was using her phone number for was to spend less time with her.

By the time he made it to the lowest rafters he was covered in a thick layer of dust, no doubt looking like a giant, feral bunny with a demon mask. As silently as he could, he unscrewed the closest vent and lifted the grate into the tunnel with him so that he could peek out into the hallway of the holding cells.

Damn. Out of time. Azula was already on her way, the click of her heels like the steady drumbeat before an execution.

"Give me five minutes alone before you come in," she said. Right as they were passing beneath him, Zuko slid until he could bend at the waist and twirl out of the vent. He probably looked like a frickin ballerina, but it was worth it when his heels slammed directly into Azula's face and she crumpled to the floor in a heap. The guards reached for their guns.

Swinging with his right, the first guard joined Azula on the floor. Turning to the second guard, Zuko realized he'd made a grave mistake by forsaking stealth.

"Blue Spirit in the basement! We need-"

Zuko unsheathed his swords and expertly twisted the walkie talkie out of the man's grip before spinning to kick him in the stomach. While he was doubled over, Zuko aimed a well-placed blow to the back of his head sending him into unconsciousness.

Grabbing up the walkie talkie from the guard and the keys from Azula, he rushed the rest of the way down the hallway to where the Painted Lady's cell was. He slowed when he came to her door, pausing with his hand on the looking grate.

"Don't shoot," he called through the metal. "I'm a friend."

He barely caught the sound of her snort before he used the keys to open the door. Just to be safe, he kept away from the opening and waited for any ice needles before looking in. She hadn't moved from the position he'd seen her in earlier. Hunched in the corner, her shoulders seemed slightly more caved in. She blinked against the light shining on her from the open doorway. Her bright blue eyes were dulled with dark circles underneath them making her cheeks look sunken and aged.

"My lady?" he called in. "It's me."

"Spirit?" she asked. Her voice was scratchy, no doubt a consequence of going 24 hours without anything to drink.

"Oh, thank La," she said. There was movement like she was trying to stand when she slumped back against the wall.

"Watch yourself." He rushed in and helped her up, drawing her arm around his shoulders and carrying most of her weight against his right side. "Can you walk?"

"A little." She winced. "It may take me a moment."

"Here." From his side pouch he pulled a small skein of water that she gulped down greedily. Already she looked ten times better than she had a moment before.

"Now, let's get you out of here." As gently as he could, he led her out into the flickering lights of the hallways, then promptly cussed. For marching down the line at both ends was a seemingly unending row of guards.

"Uhm...Spirit?"

Zuko's head swiveled back and forth, trying desperately to figure a way out of this situation.

"Relax, this was all a part of my plan."

"Really?"

"Well..." Zuko scratched the back of his neck. "Getting to you was part of my plan. Next step is getting out."

She growled some words he'd never heard before beneath her breath. He didn't think any of them were meant in gratitude.

The guards were getting closer. Did he risk the vents? The Painted Lady seemed stronger, but could she climb the entire way out of the building?

Idiot. He'd been so focused on getting to her that he hadn't even thought about how to get them out. Letting her go, he drew his swords. They'd have to fight their way out of here.

"What are you doing?" she demanded.

"Do you have any better ideas?" he asked. "How many rescues is it going to take before I finally get greeted with a thank you?"

A guard leapt forward and Zuko kicked him in the stomach, sending him reeling into a nearby empty cell.

"This isn't a rescue," she insisted. "Maybe if you find us a way out of here, you'll finally get your thanks. Did you happen to bring any other water? Something I can bend?"

Dang...that would have been a good idea.

He slammed his sword hilt into the nearest guard's face. "I'm a little busy here!"

She saw right through his stalling. "You didn't bring water?!"

"Do you want to be rescued or not?" He shouted. "Can't you use the water in the air or something?"

Her arms waved about wildly. "There is no water in this air!"

Even though it felt rather meaningless, Zuko continued to fight. Their only advantage was that the hallway was too narrow for any large assembly to get through. As long as he took care of the front line, they had a little time. The Painted Lady seemed to be trying to help, but there was so little she could do. This was probably killing her, feeling powerless. A new wave of guards crashed into Zuko and his back slammed against the wall. This isn't working.

They needed leverage, they needed something big. Some kind of distraction or...he glanced at the Painted Lady pushing away the guards on the other side with the moves he'd taught her weeks ago.

Was she worth it? Everything he'd risked? His relationship with his father, his standing as an Agni Kai, his entire future with the company?

For some reason it was Katara's voice that bled through his thoughts. It's your power, she said. Normally it was his Uncle's wise words that pierced through his panic.

Are you really going to let your dad control you for the rest of your life? Katara's voice continued. Zuko faltered and took a hit to his weak side, they were nearly overrun.

Save her, mind-Katara pleaded to him. They need her. You need her.

Gritting his teeth, Zuko lifted a hand and sent out a burst of flame.

Fire.

He was bending fire. Even after he'd told her he never would. Even after he'd expressed to her his fear: that it would corrupt him. He was willing to risk it, risk everything, to get her out. And what was she doing? Standing idly by while he maneuvered their way out of there? No, she was better than this.

There wasn't water in the air, but there was plenty around them. Taking a deep breath, Katara summoned the last of her strength. Her hands stretched out before her with her fingers splayed.

Her eyes closed in concentration.

She sensed the water and shifted it into her domain. The element was hers to command. She felt it the moment they came under her control.

The guards stopped advancing. A small group surrounding the rogues had suddenly stiffened, muffled cries of pain echoing off the stone walls. The Spirit straightened as if confused before his mask turned towards her. He must have understood at least some semblance of what she was doing as he quickly stepped up to use it to their advantage.

"Back up!" the Spirit yelled. "Now, we're going to walk out of here, and anyone who stands in our way will find themselves at the mercy of two powerful benders."

Katara's eyebrow twitched and she fought the urge to snort as a bead of sweat slid down her temple. Master bender, indeed. He was probably relying on base instincts, the call in your lungs and limbs that responded naturally to your element. Meanwhile, she held the physical control of several guards through sheer will and expert technique. Katara thought she would feel exhausted, but instead she felt a rush of energy. Every cell, every pulse of the guard's bodies were under her control.

She felt powerful. She was power.

Her fingers twitched and grown men knelt to the stone floor. Cries of pain fell on deaf ears. The roaring of the ocean, the majesty of waves, the terror of a hurricane rushed through her.

She vaguely heard the Spirit calling to be let through again, then guiding her past the guards she had pinned to the ground. As they walked over the prone bodies she pushed them further into the dirt, almost as if she could shove their bodies straight through the floor. Power again coursed through her veins. She was invincible. She could make them pay for tricking her, trapping her. Make them feel the fear she'd felt when that metal cage had snapped shut around her. Anger only increased her power, the men groaned under the weight of her added pressure.

Katara?

She started from her reverie.

It was Zuko's voice, soft and understanding.

This isn't who you are.

Her fists clenched at her sides. Who was he to tell her who she was? He didn't know her! She definitely didn't know him...but the words were right. This wasn't the type of bender she wanted to be. Katara lowered her arms. Her energy immediately faded and she would have collapsed if the Spirit hadn't caught her. She had enough sense to understand she was being hauled into an elevator when a voice breathed in her ear, "Don't die on me now, that would really dampen the rescue."

"You wish," she muttered back. Her reward was a soft chuckle just before everything went black.

Luckily, the Painted Lady woke up as soon as the motorcycle started which was a small favor. He'd been worried about trying to drive home with her against the back without disrupting her veil. Her death grip was lessened due to her weakened state but he felt better knowing that she was there and alive.

He'd saved her, they'd made it out alive.

She had...done...something. Some kind of waterbending he'd never heard of before where she controlled the very blood of the guards, forcing them into submission.

Zuko's hands tightened on the handlebars. He'd never seen anything so terrifying. The guards had practically begged them to leave, shouting words like 'demon' and 'magic'. She'd spoken about a woman who had taught her some type of horrific bending style, but he'd never imagined this.

He chanced a glance behind him. He could feel her shivering against his back, and he would bet it wasn't from the cold because his own body was sending off some serious heat. It wasn't only her, he'd firebent. The tingling sensation lingered in his fingertips, his stomach felt empty yet warm. It could be the adrenaline of the entire night, but he'd never felt more alive.

It scared him, the idea felt like an addiction. He wanted to firebend again, as soon as possible, all the time. His mind reeled at the possibilities of using his fire in everyday life.

"Let me off here." The Painted Lady tapped his shoulder lightly. They were at the hospital, Katara's hospital to be precise. He pulled over and helped her slide off the bike.

"Are you going to be alright? Would you like me to help you inside?"

"No." She shook her head, wrapping her arms around herself. "I'll be fine. Thank you for...for getting me out of there."

A harsh shiver rocked her body. She most definitely did not look fine, but Zuko wasn't sure he was in the best situation to help at the moment. With a final nod, she headed down the side alley to be swallowed by the darkness.

He continued to stare long after she had left, wondering if he should have gone after her. She was weak, the entire city would still be looking for her. For them. Finding a secluded spot, he took off his mask and switched his shirt so that he no longer resembled the forsaken bounty hunter before throwing on a hoodie he kept under his seat.

He felt restless with energy, so he sent Katara a quick text asking her if she was awake. He even tried walking into the hospital to see if she was working, but one of the nurses told him she hadn't been scheduled that day. Zuko couldn't tell if it was just his own mind playing tricks on him, but something about the way she said it seemed off. He tried calling her with no luck before deciding to head home.

He parked the bike, sent another text. Climbed the stairs, called again. Recounted the story to Sokka, and then fell into bed.

Still no messages.

Of all the people in the world, he just wanted to see her. Talk to her. Maybe she could help him figure out what was going on, help him understand how he was feeling...but she wasn't answering. Maybe she was asleep? He was just debating with himself about driving over to the bakery to try and find her when exhaustion hit him. Sending one more text, he conceded for the night and laid his phone on the center of his chest before closing his eyes.

Katara was on top of the hospital roof. Her knuckles ached from being clenched around her phone for so long. The screen was excruciatingly bright in the darkness.

Three missed calls. Five text messages asking if she had time or if she could talk. Then this:

01:34 Zuko: [Katara, please.]

She could imagine his expression, his pleading gaze. His golden eyes burned into her mind's eye like miniature suns. They were her favorite thing about him, the feature that brought her to her knees. She would recognize them anywhere.

And she had.

Somehow, Zuko had visited her cell while she'd been apprehended as the Painted Lady. She'd seen him, heard him offer to help extract information from her. Heard how he'd sold her out to gain his father's favor. All this time she'd thought he'd been moving towards change, trying to uncover the truth, but no. He'd lied to her. He was just like the rest of them.

Shutting down her phone, Katara wrapped her arms around her legs, buried her face against her knees, and cried until the sun rose.