Water
Teatime
Zuko could have run after Uncle. He could have demanded that Uncle come back for the training he'd promised.
But Zuko had tried to push Uncle before. He knew what came of that. There would be stories and proverbs and moments when Uncle wandered to the side to gossip with the crew, and through it all, Uncle would somehow manage to keep Zuko cycling through the same simple forms he'd been practicing since he was a child.
He stomped to his cabin and threw the door shut behind him. It stung, being lied to like that. By Uncle of all people. Uncle was supposed to be on his side. Nobody else ever was.
For a second, he stared at his bunk. He'd been up all night long. It would make sense to sleep. Sleep had to be better than sitting around, mulling over Uncle's deception and the disappointment of being denied training again—but he wasn't exactly tired anymore. Not after all the meditation and breathing exercises and stretches under the bright morning sun.
He changed out of his training clothes and back into his regular outfit. He couldn't sleep, he knew that without so much as lying down. With a long, irritated sigh, he pulled out his charts and settled cross-legged on the floor. Maybe he could find a likely spot along the coastline, somewhere defensible and yet near enough to a village that the monk would be likely to camp close to the shore. Somewhere that Zuko might have a chance at capturing his prey.
He trailed his finger along the jagged coastline from Makapu to the convent, then farther north. His fingertip hovered over a bay to the northeast for a moment. That might be a good place to trap the monk. It was sheltered and secluded enough for the monk and the Water Tribe idiot to camp nearby if they wanted to stage a rescue attempt—but maybe it was a bit too sheltered. If the monk decided to take the risk, the terrain would work too much to his advantage. And if the monk and the Water Tribe idiot were smart, they might recognize the position for the trap it was.
Frowning, Zuko traced farther north. What had Uncle been talking about, anyway?
You must see to the waterbender. It is your responsibility to know these things.
What things? Uncle had been far too solemn about it to simply be baiting Zuko into talking to the girl. It was ridiculous, but Uncle seemed to think that Zuko was lacking somehow by having no friends his own age. Or any friends, actually. Zuko was fine on his own, but that hadn't dissuaded Uncle from pushing him to amass his own cluster of friends in the past.
But even Uncle wouldn't suggest anything that nonsensical. Probably. Zuko hoped.
Has there been any change with the young waterbender? Uncle's voice echoed back to him again. That didn't sound much like a misguided attempt to force Zuko into friendship. It sounded more like concern over an ailing child. But the waterbender wasn't sick. If she was, the medic would have been called. Zuko would have heard about something like that.
Wouldn't he?
His stomach knotted uneasily. No, it couldn't be that. The waterbender had been completely fine—furious, and disheveled, but fine—yesterday. Nothing could have happened in that short a time. Nothing serious, anyway.
But doubts settled in anyway, clouding the edges of his thoughts.
She's been at it all night. All day before that too. Didn't sit down for more than a minute.
Zuko shoved his charts to the side and took a slow breath. It was fine. It had to be fine. But every time he tried to silence the creeping doubts, another came up from behind, louder and more insistent than the last.
He pushed himself to his feet and tucked the charts back into their shelf. He'd be back for them.
Just a few minutes. He'd go down to the cell, confirm that everything was fine, and be back to planning before he knew it. He just had to be certain.
As quietly as he could, Zuko crept out of his cabin and across the hall. He didn't need anyone to know that he was entertaining Uncle's silly concerns. There was nothing to them anyway. He just wanted to see for himself. He was just—curious.
He closed the door with as much care as possible and reached the bottom of the steps with barely a sound. Farther down the hall, Masao sat hunched in his chair, same as he had been the previous morning, looking bored.
There was a series of sharp thumps from inside the cell. Zuko's heartbeat came a little louder, a little faster as he crept closer.
"That's three times now," Masao said, his tone flat. "Sure you want to keep this up?"
A pause, then there was a slow, scuffing noise, and a faint shadow rose up from the ground. "Shut up." The girl's voice came out harsh, but the sharpened edges didn't conceal the hoarse waver underneath.
Masao shrugged. "Fine. Want me to keep counting?"
"I didn't want you to start."
"Too bad. Not like there's anything else for me to do down here."
The waterbender gave an enraged yell, and this time, the hoarseness in her voice was more apparent. Her hazy shadow raised its arms, but the ship shifted ever so slightly, and there was another thump as the shadow dipped out of sight.
"And there's four." Masao rubbed his forehead. "Or three and a half. You didn't make it quite to the ground this time. How generous should I be with the half points?"
At the edge of the cell, Zuko stopped. He couldn't see the girl yet, and he couldn't decide whether he wanted to or not. His stomach kept churning, and his pulse raced. Something was wrong. He could feel it. And now that he was close enough to know that much, he wasn't certain that he wanted confirmation. His hands clenched into fists, and the pendant dangling from his wrist brushed against his skin. He didn't want Uncle to be right. He didn't want to know what Uncle had meant by—everything he'd said.
Masao finally noticed him but Zuko raised a hand before he could speak. He didn't want to know what was going on. He didn't want to deal with yet another thing going wrong, but he'd come too far to go back now.
Slowly, deliberately, he stepped forward. His boot nudged against a tray in front of the bars, and he looked down just long enough to see a full meal waiting there, untouched and growing cold, the sauces at the top of the bowl congealing into oily pools. And then he saw the waterbender.
She was disheveled and her clothes a bit grimy—not unusual, Zuko assumed, given the circumstances. But she rested on her hands and knees in the center of the steel floor, breathing hard, and when she tried to stand, she failed. She had to stop and steady herself on all fours again, then support herself on the bunk as she pulled herself up.
That wasn't normal. That was very much not normal.
Has there been any change? Not a bit.
Her food was untouched. The cup of water on her tray was untouched.
There is more than one way out of captivity, Prince Zuko. If you are not careful, the waterbender will find other means of escape.
That was it. That had to be what Uncle meant.
Two days without sleep was unusual. Two days without food was troubling. Two days without water was dangerous. Two days without any of them—it was no wonder that Uncle had been worried. If she refused food and water, the waterbender could push herself over the edge, and then Zuko would be back where he started again. No Avatar. No way to lure in the monk. And the waterbender would be gone.
His stomach knotted. He couldn't be responsible for that. He couldn't be the person who let the Avatar—one of the Avatars—die. It would be a disaster for his nation. Would another Avatar be born to replace her? Would all her powers flood back into the monk, or would it end the cycle entirely? Either way, Zuko's chances of going home would be destroyed.
And the girl would be dead.
He knew he shouldn't be concerned with things like that. This was a war. People died. But never at his hands, not if he could avoid it. And the waterbender—she shouldn't die like this.
Would she? Would she really push herself so far that she couldn't come back?
His fists clenched tighter, and for a second, he remembered the night on the pirate ship, how the girl had doused the pirates and given him time to escape before she froze the pirates in place. How she had apologized for hurting him and offered to look at his injured arm.
No, that wasn't the part of the night that should concern him now. She'd had no idea who she was talking to. No, what mattered was that she'd realized that something was wrong and leapt from a bridge in the dead of night to escape him. She could have died then, and she hadn't so much as hesitated. Why would this be any different?
The girl finally hauled herself upright, and Zuko retreated a few steps before her eyes could focus on him. His lungs felt tight, and he was almost certain that his eyes had gone too large for his face. He couldn't let the waterbender see that. He couldn't let anyone see that. The fear and dread coursing through him had to stay Zuko's secret.
Speak to Masao and Daiki.
Zuko didn't need to do that part. Uncle ought to give him credit for that at least—he wasn't a complete idiot. The girl herself was enough confirmation for Zuko.
Masao gave him a strange look, but Zuko ignored it and spun back around. He wasn't a complete idiot, but knowing what was wrong didn't mean that he knew what to do about it.
He climbed the stairs, not caring how much noise he made in his retreat and let the door swing shut behind him. Rather than retreating to his cabin, Zuko turned right and marched to the next cabin down the row. Without knocking, he flung the door open and stepped inside.
"Uncle? I think I need your help."
Eventually, even Katara had to admit it. She couldn't keep bending like this. She had reached her limit. The condensation on the walls hadn't afforded her enough water to drink, and what little she was able to pull from the hull and the seams in the steel ceiling and walls was brownish with dirt and rust. Even if she knew earthbending, it wouldn't be enough to separate out all the impurities so she could sate her thirst. And every time she stood up, her head pounded, and her knees felt wobbly. She needed something to drink—probably something to eat too.
For now, though, she needed to sit. Just for a moment. Just long enough to stop her vision from spinning.
She wasn't stopping. She wouldn't give up that easily. She just needed a few minutes of rest before she tried to find her way out again.
From her place on the floor, back resting against the bunk, she glanced at the tray outside the bars. No. She couldn't trust the firebenders. No matter how hungry or thirsty she was, she couldn't risk the provisions they'd brought for her.
She thought she heard the door at the top of the stairs open lightly, and she watched the corridor from the corner of her eye. She could have sworn that she'd heard movement a while earlier too, but when her eyes had finally focused, there was just Masao in his chair, still watching her with that same bored, perplexed look.
Maybe she was imagining things now. That could happen with severe hunger and thirst, right? She'd never seen it, much less experienced it, but Gran-Gran had told her enough scary stories about lost hunting parties that it didn't seem impossible.
"Good afternoon, Masao."
Katara recognized that kindly voice, the even tone. The general had come again. Was it time for another meal already?
Masao rose and gave a small bow. "Tea? I hope you brought the Pai Sho board too. It's deathly boring down here."
The general stopped a few paces away and shook his head. "I'm afraid I did not."
Masao groaned. "Well, at least tea's better than nothing."
"Goodness, no." The general angled the tea tray away from Masao's reaching hands. "After all the time you've dedicated to our guest, you must have a more rewarding diversion than this."
Masao raised his eyebrows, arms crossed.
"Ah!" The general brightened. "Why don't you go up to the galley and enjoy a break with the rest of the crew?"
"But Prince Zuko—"
The general smiled blithely. "Prince Zuko will have no argument if I take your place for a while. Go, enjoy yourself."
With a long, skeptical look, Masao slid out of his seat and began edging toward the stairs. "If you're certain, General Iroh—"
"Of course."
Apparently that was all the confirmation he needed. Before the general had a chance to change his mind, Masao dashed down the corridor and up the stairs.
The general chuckled, his big belly bouncing, but the tea tray remained perfectly steady. Then the fat old man turned toward Katara and bowed, the tray never tipping or shifting a bit.
"May I be seated, young lady?"
She narrowed her eyes at him. He seemed friendly. More friendly than the surly guards she'd been stuck with so far. It would have been a pleasant contrast if she were able to judge his sincerity by his expression and voice.
"I don't see how I could stop you," she finally answered, her voice scratchy and raw to her own ears.
The general was oddly graceful as he settled to the floor just outside the barred door and arranged the tea tray in front of him. "I do hope you enjoy a ginseng blend. This has been my favorite tea for quite some time now, and it would be a shame to keep it all to myself."
Spirits, she was so thirsty. Katara forced herself to shake her head. "No thank you."
"Hmm." Though the old man's tone was light and easy, his gaze was anything but. Under the warmth in his eyes, a sharp, shrewd edge. It felt a bit like Nuwa's gaze had—so, so long ago, boring straight through her. But then the general looked down, cupping his hands around the base of the teapot until steam began to roll from the spout. "May I ask your name?"
Katara frowned. She didn't want to say it. She didn't want to give these people anything more than they already had. They didn't deserve to take that too.
But they couldn't do anything worse than they'd already done just by knowing her name. They couldn't hurt her with it. Maybe they'd at least use her name rather than calling her a nuisance or the waterbender or something worse.
She drew her knees up to her chest and clenched her hands into fists. "It's Katara."
"May I call you by your name?"
Katara shrugged.
With a smile, the general folded his hands over his stomach and tucked his hands up into his sleeves. "I understand, Miss Katara, that you have been refusing all food and drink since your arrival." He paused, as though giving her a chance to respond, and when there was none, he continued, "I do understand that you are in a rather distressing position. I have spent much of my life in service to my nation, and I have seen far too many situations like yours." Another pause, and the old man dropped his voice a bit. "I have no desire to make your time aboard my nephew's ship any more distressing than it must already be."
Staring straight ahead, Katara tightened her jaw. The general kept saying things like that. Like he expected her to believe him. "Why should I trust you?"
"You do not need to trust me if you prefer not to." Unclasping his hands, the general lifted the teapot and poured a cup. He looked up at Katara. "Shall I pour a second? If what your guards tell me is true, you must be terribly thirsty by now."
Katara swallowed. Her mouth was parched. It had been for hours. How much longer could she go without drinking anything? Sooner or later, it would be too much. Sooner or later, the thirst would get the better of her, and the firebenders would have the upper hand. Again.
Slowly, she nodded.
Looking pleased with himself, the general filled the other cup and offered it through the bars.
Katara narrowed her eyes. Thirsty or not, she wasn't going to take any stupid risks. She wasn't that far gone. She shook her head. "You take that one." If the old man took the cup meant for her and drank first, she'd at least know whether they were trying to poison her or not.
But when the general obliged without complaint, she changed her mind. Maybe it was a trick. Maybe he'd planned for her to take the first cup. Maybe he knew that she was afraid of being poisoned and would ask him to switch cups just to be safe. Or maybe he was counting on her realizing that, and he had really poisoned the second cup so that she'd get the poison when she switched them again—
Ugh, she was giving herself a headache. Or at least worsening the headache she already had.
"Wait." Frowning in concentration, she lifted half the tea from each, dropped the liquid into the opposite cup, and swirled it around until everything was thoroughly mixed. There. If there was anything dangerous in either cup, the general couldn't avoid it, no matter what kind of mind games he tried to play.
For a second, the general stared at the cups, brows drawn in confusion, then he chuckled. And then the chuckle grew to a full-bellied laugh. After a moment, he wiped his eyes and suppressed his laughter.
"My, that is quite clever. Remind me never to try two clashing varieties of tea in the presence of a waterbender." He chuckled again. "Do you have a preference as to which cup I take?"
Katara shook her head. "Not anymore. If you're trying to poison me, you'll get yourself too."
"Ah." The old man passed one of the cups through the bars and cradled the other between his hands. "I take it that that is the reason why you have refused food and drink since your arrival."
A little reluctant, she nodded. The tea looked so, so tempting, but she couldn't risk it. Not yet. She slid a little closer to the bars and fixed the general with a stare. "You drink first."
"Of course." He tipped the cup back and took a long, slow sip. No hesitation. No apprehension. The old man made a little hum of contentment. "It really is a lovely blend."
Katara watched him for a second longer before she finally reached for the second cup. She should wait longer. She should wait until the old man had time to show signs of poisoning. She knew that. But she was thirsty, so unbearably thirsty. For a long moment, she stared down at the cup before she finally took a small swallow. It felt wonderful, soft and soothing on her parched throat.
The old general smiled. "I assure you," he said, "that I have no intention of causing you any harm, Miss Katara. Nor do the rest of the crew."
She looked up. Nothing in the old man's expression or posture seemed to indicate that he was lying—he was perfectly relaxed, and his eyes showed nothing more threatening than curiosity. She didn't believe that for a second. Still, the tea was nice. Having something to drink for the first time in days was better than nice.
She took another, slightly larger sip before resting the cup against her knee. "Somehow I think Zuko is an exception."
"My nephew—" the old man sighed and took a sip of his own tea. "Prince Zuko has been tasked with bringing you back to the Fire Nation. He is well aware that it is in his best interest to keep you safe and healthy."
Her hands tightened around the cup, and the steam stopped rising. "Is that what this is about? You're trying to keep me healthy so Zuko can take me to the Fire Nation?"
The old man studied her. "Must there be only one reason? Of course I must think of my nephew's concerns first." A pause, and he watched for a reaction. "However, I see no reason why interests might not align on occasion."
"What do you mean?"
The general set his cup down and folded his hands. "You wish to escape?"
Katara hesitated. It was hardly a secret, but she probably shouldn't admit to it. What if Zuko sent more guards to watch her? What if he made it even more impossible for her to get out?
She frowned. Actually, there wasn't much more he could do to make escape more difficult. And she wasn't fooling anyone by pretending she didn't want out. Slowly, she nodded.
"If you are hungry, how can you hope to escape? If you collapse from thirst or exhaustion, how will you find your way back to your friends?"
Though it had gone cold, Katara finished off the rest of her tea. "How am I supposed to get back to my friends if there's something dangerous in the food I'm eating?" she countered. "I can't just believe that nobody here wants to hurt me. I've seen what your nation has done to my people. I've watched it happen." The blank space where her mother's pendant used to hang felt achingly empty again, and a lump rose up her throat. "Believe it or not, I haven't been refusing to eat just to spite Zuko." That was part of it, but only a tiny, tiny part.
The old man watched her steadily. "Of course." There was a hint of sadness to his voice and his expression, but it flashed out of sight almost as quickly as it had appeared. "I have no desire to watch a child waste away, but of course I cannot ask you to trust our intentions. Your wariness is wise." He picked up his teacup again.
Katara frowned. "Is that it?" She'd expected more. An argument, a clearer motive, something.
The general finished off his tea and offered her another cup. After a second of thought, she bent the tea into both cups herself.
A smile, and the old man took a sip first. "I am always interested in sharing tea and conversation with interesting people," he said after a pause. "And as fascinating as my nephew's crew may be, three years at sea has exhausted much of the novelty in their company. But now that I understand your predicament better, I believe that you and I might reach an agreement."
"What kind of agreement?"
The old man gave another benign smile. "If I were to take my meals here, perhaps I could prove that your food and drink have not been tampered with. I, in return, would appreciate the variety in company." He watched her for a response.
Katara looked down into her steaming cup for a moment. She could last a while longer. Now that the sharpest edge of her thirst had worn away, she felt better than before. Though stabs of hunger ripped through her stomach, she could go without food for a few more days. She would, if she could be certain that she'd be out by then. Accepting the general's offer felt a little too close to admitting defeat.
But she still had no clear escape plan, and if she passed up this offer, there was no telling when she'd have another chance to eat or drink without worrying about poison.
Slowly, she nodded.
"Wonderful." With an unusual level of grace for his age and his girth, the general stood. "If you don't mind being left alone for a few minutes, I will speak with the cook. I believe he has a delightful soup that will respond to your bending very well."
Again, she nodded. Soup would be perfect.
The general turned to leave.
"Wait." She crept a little closer to the bars again. "You said you were under Zuko's command. He isn't nice enough to agree to this."
The old man stopped and turned back to face her, head cocked slightly to the side. "You are mistaken, Miss Katara."
She stared. "But Zuko is—" So many things. A firebender. A jerk. The person who took her away from her friends. "What makes you think that he'll let you help me?" she settled on instead.
With a little flappy flourish, the old man folded his hands inside his sleeves again. "Contrary to what you may believe," he said kindly, "I did not come to speak to you merely to satisfy my own curiosity. I came because Prince Zuko requested it. He will have no argument with an agreement made under his own orders."
Her whole body went numb. That sounded—wrong.
"Prince Zuko is—something of a difficult personality. But he is not without feeling." A short pause. "I have hopes that it may rise nearer to the surface someday." Then, before she could respond, the old man turned and padded away.
Aang was doing his best to be positive. Positive that Katara was okay, positive that they'd find her, positive that everything would go back to normal once they did. He was good at positivity. Monk Gyatso had always taught him that there was no use in looking at all the ways that things could go wrong when you could dwell on the good in the world instead.
With Katara gone, that was harder. She at least tried to be optimistic most of the time. Sokka on the other hand—Sokka was grumpy sometimes. And usually a bit pessimistic. But right now, it was mostly grumpiness. He was grumpy about cooking, he was grumpy about cleaning, he was grumpy about all the normal things that they had to do to keep moving forward, and somehow, he was even grumpy about traveling.
That made no sense to Aang. They both wanted to get Katara back. Traveling, keeping up with Zuko's ship, was the best way to do that. Shouldn't Sokka be happy that they had a way to keep up with the ship? Not everyone was lucky enough to have a way to travel that fast—well, Bato's boat was probably fast enough, but Aang had a sky bison. And Fire Nation ships were much better at fighting off other boats than sky bison.
But despite all of Aang's best efforts to cheer him up, Sokka kept being grumpy. Two whole days had passed, and nothing seemed to work.
Aang did his best to understand. He missed Katara, but Sokka probably missed her more. Aang didn't know what it was like to have a brother or a sister, but maybe it was a bit like his old friends at the Air Temples. Aang had been with all of them as long as he could remember, and it had always felt a bit lonely when a few of them left the others behind to travel with their mentors.
No, on second thought, that wasn't quite right. Sokka looked sad a lot of the time, but his temper was short and he snapped at Aang sometimes. Aang had never done that—never felt like that—when his friends went traveling.
He didn't like being snapped at. Sokka wasn't trying to leave him behind like he had back at the convent, but he was still obviously angry, and none of the nice things Aang tried to do really made a difference. He didn't know what else he was supposed to do.
Getting Katara back had to be the solution. If Aang could just get her back, then Sokka would go back to normal, and they'd all three be the best of friends again. If he rescued her, Katara would have to forgive him for their disagreements back at the convent, and Sokka would be so happy to have his sister back that all the grumpiness would disappear.
Well, most of it. Sokka would probably still be grumpy in the mornings. But that, at least, was funny when Katara was around.
It couldn't be that hard to rescue Katara, Aang decided as he reclined on Appa's tail, and the sun dipped toward the west. He could fly after the ship on his own, sneak on board, just like he and Sokka had done at Haishui, find Katara, and fly her out. Maybe he'd have to fight off a few firebenders, but he could do that. He was a great airbender, he knew a bit of waterbending, and that was more than any of the firebenders could say. Wherever Katara was on the ship, it couldn't be too hard to find her and get her out.
He rolled onto his side and Momo chittered at him. Aang could do it tonight, probably. He'd just have to wait until Sokka was asleep, then he could sneak out of camp, rescue Katara, and be back to surprise Sokka before sunrise. It would be perfect, and everyone would be so happy to be back together again that all the tension between them would be forgotten. It would be even better than before.
For most of the day, Zuko paced. He couldn't focus on much of anything, not his charts, not reports from Uncle's military connections, nothing. He certainly couldn't sleep. What if Uncle couldn't do anything? What if the waterbender continued to starve herself? What then? What kind of a failure could take a prisoner and then lose her without ever opening her cell?
Zuko could. Zuko was that kind of a failure.
For a while, he paced inside his cabin, then he moved to the deck, then to the hall between his door and the steps down to the lower level. He saw Masao sneak past, but the door never opened. Not when he was looking. And Uncle wouldn't have snuck past without saying anything. Uncle would have reported to Zuko if he'd made any progress with the waterbender. Right?
Come to think of it, Zuko wasn't positive that he'd asked Uncle to report back, but it should have gone without saying. He needed to know what was happening with his prisoner. Uncle knew that. He had to.
But hours passed, and afternoon slipped on toward evening, and there was still no word. His stomach knotted. At this rate, he would go without food nearly as long as the waterbender had.
Zuko thought he heard movement behind him, and he passed by Uncle's cabin on another circuit of pacing. This time, a sliver of light from beneath the door painted a stripe of brightness across the toe of his boots.
That hadn't been there before, had it?
Without knocking, Zuko burst through the door.
Uncle started, then looked back over his shoulder, a row of meditation candles burning before him. "Prince Zuko," he said, smiling. "I thought that you would be resting by now."
Of course he wouldn't be. Zuko had more important things to worry about than resting. He crossed his arms. "What happened, Uncle?"
Uncle scrunched his face into a look of utter perplexity. "Many things, most likely. I am afraid I do not know all of them."
Ugh. Zuko rubbed a hand over his forehead. A bit of soft stubble brushed against his hand. It was nearly time to shave his head again.
"With the waterbender, Uncle. What else would I be talking about?"
"Ah." Uncle faced his candles again and let out a slow breath, the flames rising in time with his exhalation. "I spoke to the waterbender."
"Yes. And?"
"And." Uncle paused to adjust one of his candles in its holder. "Regrettably, I was not able to find a partner for my afternoon Pai Sho match. It seems I will have to wait until this evening."
The muscles in Zuko's jaw pulsed. "I meant," he growled. "What happened with the waterbender?"
Uncle made a thoughtful sound and reached up to straighten one of the trinkets on his shelf. "That is quite a large question as well."
If he had more hair, he would be tempted to yank it out of his head. Instead, Zuko pinched the bridge of his nose and took a long, slow breath before he tried again. "Is the waterbender doing better than she was before?"
This time, Uncle looked back again, and the maddening calmness in his expression softened into something else. "It may be best to see for yourself, Prince Zuko."
Zuko's shoulders deflated, curling forward just a fraction. "That's all you're going to tell me?"
Uncle nodded.
"Fine," he grumbled after a long moment.
Fine. He could do that. He could face the girl. He could cross his fingers and hope against all hope that whatever progress Uncle had made wouldn't be undone if she saw him. Scowling, he turned back toward the door.
"And Prince Zuko?" Uncle added just before he crossed the threshold. Zuko looked back. "Masao's shift is nearly over. You might consider a different guard this time." Settling his robe into neater folds around his knees, Uncle looked at his candles again. "Neither he nor Daiki is very well suited to working with people."
Zuko gave a grunt by way of reply, and swung the door shut after him. Uncle had a point. The problem was that no one on his crew, aside from Uncle, was much good with people.
He took the steps down toward the cell as softly as he could. It was quieter than before—no sounds of movement from the cell, no mocking words from Masao—in fact, Masao's head hung almost to his chest, probably asleep. Zuko scowled but stepped over the old man's outstretched legs. He'd deal with that later. For now, he only cared about the waterbender.
It was still quiet, even so near to the cell, and Zuko steeled himself for a second before he finally looked inside. The girl lay curled on her side in her bunk, so still and silent that for a second, Zuko couldn't tell whether she was sleeping, or—or—
But then her shoulder raised ever so slightly along with her breath, and Zuko let out a breath he didn't realize that he had been holding. She was asleep. The tray outside her cell was missing too. She must have eaten. Finally.
Zuko turned and kicked the leg of Masao's chair. The old man jolted awake and blinked several times before he managed to focus blearily on Zuko's face. Typical.
"Get up," Zuko ordered in a harsh whisper. "The shift bell is about to ring."
Masao yawned expansively and scratched his chest. "It hasn't yet."
Too loud. Masao's voice was much too loud for such a small area, especially with the girl sleeping just a few paces away.
Zuko glowered and waved a hand to silence the old man. "Shh. Get up and find Taro. He'll take the next shift here." If he remembered correctly, Taro was switching to night shifts anyway. He wouldn't have too much to complain about if he were on guard duty instead of in the engine rooms.
Masao grumbled a great deal as he hauled himself up, then stared down his nose at Zuko. "What about the waterbender? I thought you said she had to be guarded—"
Zuko scowled deeper. "I know what I said. Just go."
With an eyeroll and another series of grumpy, sleepy grumbles, Masao set off down the corridor, paces a little too heavy for Zuko's liking.
But the door at the top of the stairs closed before he could complain, and Zuko let out a long, irritated sigh. Running a hand down the side of his face, he peered into the cell again. Somehow, the waterbender had managed to sleep through all of Masao's grumbling—after two whole days with no rest, Zuko supposed, that was to be expected.
He leaned against the bars and let his eyes close for an instant. He'd only missed one night of sleep, and he was already tired enough. Two nights—he'd managed that much before, but never while forgoing food and water at the same time. If it hadn't been so much trouble for Zuko, he might have almost admired the girl's endurance. Almost.
He opened his eyes again and watched her through the bars. Despite the grimy, sweaty streaks on her face and clothes and the disheveled state of her hair, she looked almost serene in her sleep.
He let out another slow breath and his shoulders felt lighter for an instant. Maybe he could actually do this. Maybe he could get her back to the Fire Nation safely. If Uncle could somehow make sure that she ate and slept, then it might be okay. Of course, Uncle would probably insist that Zuko take some part—stopping by the cell once a day or so to check on the waterbender or something equally useless. Still, he could manage that. If it meant that he wouldn't lose the Avatar before he got back home, he could deal with the girl for a few minutes a day. If Uncle insisted on it.
With a swallow, Zuko pulled slowly away from the bars and sank into the chair across the hall. This wasn't supposed to be so difficult. Why hadn't anyone ever told him how much more effort it took to keep a prisoner than just keeping the doors locked behind them? Someone should have mentioned all the other dangers—the chance that a prisoner could choose to resist in other ways. Someone should have mentioned that keeping a prisoner alive could take more than delivering food and water to their cell.
He rubbed his forehead again and scratched at his prickly scalp. At least he'd figured it out before things went too far. The girl would be fine. Uncle was good with people. As long as Uncle helped, there shouldn't be any problems that Zuko couldn't handle. And Uncle would help.
In the meantime—Zuko leaned back in the chair and tried to steady the uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach. It was fine. Everything was fine. There was no reason for him to feel this way. It was probably just lingering nerves still twisting around inside him. He drew in a long, slow breath.
It didn't help. Zuko leaned forward instead, resting his elbows on his knees, and watched as the girl's shoulder moved in time with her breathing and a few loose strands of hair fluttered with each exhalation. Clenching his hands into fists, he willed the uneasiness to leave.
Author's Note:
Zuko may not be the world's fastest learner, but he's trying, dammit. Sooner or later, he'll start figuring things out on his own. Until then, Iroh is just going to have to keep giving him vague nudges in the right direction.
This is one of the chapters that I've been planning since I started this fic three years ago, and I'm really happy with how it turned out! Of course, my brain came up with a lot more interactions for Katara and Iroh that didn't make it into this chapter, but there's still plenty of time to work them in later, now that Iroh is her breakfast buddy. And lunch buddy. And... y'know. All the meals.
Thank you for reading! I'll be back with a new chapter in 2 more weeks, and in the meantime, reviews are always appreciated, and feel free to visit me on Tumblr!
