Water

The Lesser Evil

As hard as he tried to stop it, Aang's optimism was starting to wear thin.

Considering the circumstances, that was probably inevitable. Being pinned to a log with arrows, bound with ropes, and hauled back to a hulking Fire Nation fortress wasn't exactly good for an optimistic attitude. He was a little impressed by the archers' accuracy, but the fact that they hadn't so much as nicked his skin wasn't exactly reassuring. Neither was the big, scary man with meticulously trimmed sideburns who inspected him and made a long, disparaging speech about the Air Nomads after Aang was chained down. And losing track of time, unable to see the sun, unable to move, and with his shirt stuffed full of frozen frogs was terribly discouraging.

It felt like he'd been here a long time. The cold, slippery frogs coming back to life and wriggling around inside his tunic seemed to confirm that.

Aang's head hung forward. He wanted to keep trying, keep struggling against the chains until he was finally able to escape and make his way back to Sokka, but he'd been trying that for ages now, and he was tired. Too tired to fight. Too tired to move. Too tired to even feel ticklish when the frogs tried to wiggle their way up his chest and out from under his collar. He just wanted to get out and go back to the ruins and his friend who needed his help, but he couldn't.

Briefly, he wondered if this was anything like what Sokka had felt on the night Aang had snuck out of camp to look for Katara. Powerless. Desperate to get to the friends who needed him, but unable to reach them. Like everything was his fault.

Aang hated feeling like this. And the worst part was that Sokka was so sick that he probably didn't even realize that he was gone. This time, there was no one to rescue Aang. And if there was no one coming for Aang, there was no one to help Sokka either.

Aang squeezed his eyes shut as a frog found its way up to his collar and wrestled its way to freedom. He couldn't tell for certain, but he thought a tear rolled down his cheek, and for the first time since he'd been captured, Aang didn't try to wipe it away.


"Music night?"

"Yes." The general bustled around the corridor, placing chairs and crates in tight arcs just outside the cell. "It has been a much beloved tradition for the crew since we first departed the Fire Nation.

Katara sat cross legged on the bunk, watching the old man. If more than five men tried to come down here, she was fairly certain that they'd all be knocking their knees together for the whole night.

"And so you have your music night here?"

"Goodness, no. Most weeks we hold the performances on the deck, but the repairs have made that impossible this time."

Raising an eyebrow, Katara scooted closer to the edge of the bunk and watched as the general procured a few small instruments out of one of the crates before upending it for a seat. "And there wasn't anywhere else that would have made more sense than this?"

"Hmm." The general placed a hand drum on one crate and a little stringed instrument on the next seat down. "Perhaps. However, it does seem terribly dull for you to remain here with so little entertainment." He cast a glance back at her. "Of course, if it is unwelcome, then—"

She shook her head. It wasn't unwelcome, just weird. And a little suspicious. She knew full well that they were close to land, and she could have sworn she saw a lifeboat paddling to shore just before sunset. There was something suspicious going on, and the general was doing his best to hide it from her. He wasn't even subtle about it.

"It seems like a lot of effort to keep me from trying to break out, that's all," Katara answered.

"Nothing escapes you, does it?" The general took up a larger, gourd-shaped string instrument, and strummed it once before fiddling with the knobs at the top of the neck. "But it is our usual music night. It would be unfair to deprive you and your guard of a part in the festivities."

If she had to judge based on the firebenders' voices she'd heard so far, Katara certainly wouldn't guess that any of them were great singers. Hopefully their skill with instruments made up the difference or this could be a very long night.

"So does everyone come to music night?" she wheedled. "Does Zuko?"

"Prince Zuko does not care for music night." The general twisted another tuning peg and strummed the instrument again, producing a much more pleasant chord this time. "It is a pity, as he is quite talented at the tsungi horn."

Katara didn't know what that was. The Water Tribe had plenty of instruments, but none that looked like these, and certainly nothing called a tsungi horn. At a guess, she would say that it was the big, curling horn-shaped thing.

She couldn't imagine Zuko playing that. She couldn't even imagine Zuko touching an instrument like that. Music didn't seem like something he'd concern himself with.

"Will you perform anything?" The general asked her.

Katara frowned. There was always music back home. She could play practically any instrument at the South Pole at least passably well, and she sang with the rest of the women during chores, but she wouldn't know where to begin with any of these instruments. And the thought of sharing any of the Southern Water Tribe's songs with a bunch of firebenders—to say the very least, she wasn't thrilled by the prospect.

She shook her head. "I don't think so."

"Very well." The old man took his place in a chair right next to the bars and began tuning another instrument as the door at the top of the steps opened. "Daiki! I have your pipa tuned. I hope the others are coming as well?"

Katara stopped listening. Music was one thing. She might even enjoy that part, but the conversation had nothing to do with her, and she had more important things to think about. Things like the lifeboat she'd seen rowing away from the ship, a lone, dark figure on the bench, like the fact that Zuko didn't care for music night, like the fact that the general wasn't even trying to convince her that this wasn't some sort of distraction.

If Zuko wasn't coming to music night, it had to be him on that lifeboat. If the general wasn't trying to hide his motives from Katara, the distraction couldn't be meant for her. So was this all some kind of elaborate ruse to hide the fact that Zuko was missing? Had the rest of the crew noticed his departure?

If he never came to music night in the first place, no one would notice his absence. It would be the perfect cover. Well, almost perfect. If he'd left after dark so Katara couldn't see his lifeboat departing, it would have been even better.

Still, he was up to something, and the general seemed to know about it. She would almost be willing to bet that it had something to do with that letter from yesterday—she'd felt the ship change course after Zuko ran off with it, his face paler than usual and his eyes wide with—something. Shock or fear or desperation. Something that had to do with that Zhao person who'd blockaded Crescent Island so many weeks ago.

A sinking feeling settled into her stomach and she pulled her knees up to her chest as the crewmen gathered in an increasingly noisy cluster outside the cell. Did this have something to do with her? Or Aang? Was that why Zuko had been so desperate to sneak off without anyone knowing? Was that why no one would say anything? Did anyone else even know what was happening?

She clamped her hands on the hem of her tunic and stared straight ahead. Something was wrong. She just wished she knew what it was.


For all of Zhao's precautions, sneaking into the stronghold wasn't that difficult. Zuko found that fact immensely satisfying. He'd had his own moments of hubris before, but never like this. He'd never gotten too wrapped up in celebration to remember the odds stacked against him. He'd never lost the most important prisoner in the world because his attentions were focused on self-congratulation.

Zuko felt a slight twinge of guilt when he found his way to the airbender's chamber. Technically, he supposed, this was treasonous. But Zhao wasn't really trying, so Zuko couldn't feel too bad about it. And the airbender was going back to the Fire Nation either way. If Zhao wanted credit, he should have made more of an effort to keep his prisoner secured.

But sneaking out of the stronghold was less simple. The airbender's fear passed after just a few moments, and he seemed perfectly willing to follow Zuko anywhere. That was good. That made things easier. But the airbender wasn't exactly quiet. His footsteps were. The airbender could walk without making a sound. But everything else the boy did was almost unbearably loud. He asked questions in an exaggerated whisper, he told Zuko all about his capture, and he kept patting and fussing over some strange, wiggly lumps inside his yellow tunic.

For that last bit alone, Zuko was oddly grateful that he couldn't speak to the child. His imagination conjured up plenty of horrible possibilities about what was moving around in the monk's tunic on its own. Right or wrong, he didn't want any confirmation.

Holding the monk tight by the wrist, Zuko hauled him out of sight behind a wall and pressed a gloved finger to the mouth of his mask.

"Oh. Okay, I'll be quiet," the monk whispered loudly.

It took all of Zuko's restraint to stifle a groan back down into a prolonged sigh. This was fine. It was going to be fine, as long as the monk actually kept his promise for the rest of their escape.

Zuko peered down the corridor, then gave the monk's arm a small tug before setting off again. It was a little jarring to realize how small the boy really was. All the times Zuko had seen him before, the monk had been far away, and Zuko's focus had been elsewhere. On the waterbender. Who was still smaller than Zuko, but not this small, not a child who could easily be tossed over one of his arms and carried like a sack.

It felt weird, uncomfortable, unpleasant to see the monk up close, all wide-eyed and naïve instead of the whirl of orange and yellow who'd always avoided his attacks with ease.

"No, no frogs, you have to stay in there." His whisper was a little quieter this time, but the monk lagged behind. Pausing in the middle of the corridor, he pulled out the collar of his tunic enough to peer down at the wriggling things inside, and a little grayish frog poked its head out and croaked.

Zuko felt like his eyes would have fallen out if it hadn't been for the mask keeping them in place. Frogs? The monk had frogs in his tunic? And he wanted them to stay there?

"Get back down," the airbender ordered in a whisper, and pushed the escaping frog back down by the nose. "Sokka needs you, so you have to stay put until we get back, okay?"

Sokka—who was that? The waterbender's idiot brother? The sky bison? The lemur? It had to be one of them, but why on earth would any of them need frogs?

Okay, so Zuko did want to ask about that. Just a little bit. He was still afraid of the answer he'd receive, but whatever it was couldn't possibly be stranger than the fact that the monk had a bunch of frogs climbing around inside of his clothes.

He didn't ask, though. Right now, getting out of the stronghold was more important. He yanked the monk's arm to get his attention and pressed a gloved finger to his mouth once again.

The monk looked surprised, then nodded, patting the moving lumps in his tunic with his free hand one more time.

Zuko shook his head. Frogs. Of all the things it could have been, the monk had to be after frogs. It was bad enough that the monk couldn't seem to keep himself quiet. Now his tunic was croaking too.

He tugged once more and motioned the monk after him. There ought to be a back way out of the stronghold. Somewhere that wouldn't be occupied by all of Zhao's festivities, somewhere they could escape unseen. And if there wasn't a gate, Zuko would be more than willing to scale a wall with the monk clinging to his back.

He dodged from one corner to the next, peering down every corridor to look for oncoming soldiers and moving as quietly as possible. The monk, thankfully, followed him without speaking. Good. They didn't have any room for error. If they weren't quick enough, the airbender's absence would be noticed and the stronghold closed up tighter than before, and if they were spotted, it would be even worse. Zuko could lose his head over less than this. But that just meant that he had to do what he was best at—sneaking and escaping.

Somehow they made it past the walls, and Zuko kept pulling the monk along, deep into the forest where they couldn't be seen.

"Um—Mister Ninja Guy?" the airbender hissed. "I don't think they're following us. You can let go of my arm now." His tunic full of frogs croaked in agreement.

Well, Zuko couldn't do that. He couldn't let go of the monk. He finally had both Avatars under his control, and he wasn't going to screw things up this time.

"Where are you taking me?" the monk asked, a little louder this time, almost as though he didn't think Zuko had heard him the first time.

Back to my ship. He didn't have the second cell prepared quite yet—it was across the ship from the waterbender's, and it had taken some damage in the typhoon, but there were other cabins that could be used, other doors that could be locked just as tightly. And then he could go home to Father, and—

And Zhao would have written to Father by that time. Father would know that the airbender had been in Zhao's custody shortly before Zuko managed to capture him, and that Zuko's ship had made it back to the Fire Nation too soon to have captured the monk anywhere else, and they would know. So far as he could tell, no one had seen the Blue Spirit lurking around the stronghold, but they would know that Zuko had had something to do with the escape. Father wasn't stupid. He wouldn't take this for a coincidence. It wasn't a coincidence.

His grip tightened involuntarily on the monk's skinny wrist, and his pace slackened a bit.

He couldn't let the monk go. Not after putting so much time and effort into freeing him. Not after three years of chasing a shadow around the world only to find him at the South Pole and chase him more than halfway around the world again. He had to take the monk back with him.

"Mister Ninja!" The monk twisted his arm in Zuko's grasp. "I need to go the other way!"

Zuko kept walking. Maybe he could keep the monk hidden somewhere, then pretend to capture him after he'd been missing a few days. He could tell the whole world that the airbender had escaped the stronghold alone and that Zuko had managed to capture the fugitive. Who would ever believe the monk if he tried to tell the truth? Zuko wasn't much good at lying, but if he had enough time to plan, and he made sure that the crew saw him delivering the monk to the ship in a few days' time, they would have to believe Zuko.

"Please, Mister Ninja. Thank you for helping me get out, but I really have to go back to—"

Zuko turned his head to glare back over his shoulder. He couldn't oblige, no matter how much the monk begged. His honor, his whole future depended on this going well.

So Zhao is just like you.

The waterbender's voice came to him entirely too clear, and Zuko jerked forward again, trying to hide his face. He forgot about the mask, forgot that the monk couldn't see his expression under the eerie, toothy grin.

I'm not the same. I need this. Everything depends on me taking you both home to Father.

The girl's voice didn't relent. You're both firebenders trying to capture me and my friend. I don't see any difference.

Behind him, the airbender was breathing too quick and too sharp, almost like he was going to cry. "Please. My friend is really sick, and I gathered up all of these frogs for him, and they're almost gone now, but I still have a few of them! I need to go back to my friend. I don't know if he's going to get better without the frogs."

None of that made sense to Zuko. Was the monk talking about the Water Tribe idiot? He almost had to be, but why frogs? And when had the idiot gotten sick? Was it as bad as the monk thought? If Zuko took the monk away, would the idiot—die?

He remembered the waterbender again, saw a harsh, vivid flash of her on her hands and knees, exhausted and unsteady. If the monk was telling the truth, then the Water Tribe idiot had been sick and alone for nearly two days. He could be even worse off than his sister had been.

That wasn't Zuko's fault. He hadn't gotten the idiot sick. He hadn't kept the monk away for the past two days. He couldn't be responsible for anything that had already gone wrong. But now—if the Water Tribe idiot was still out there waiting for help and Zuko took the monk away, that would be Zuko's fault. And Zuko would never know the difference. He would carry the idiot's life on his conscience either way.

And what about the monk? How long would Zuko have to keep the boy hidden? A week? Longer? How long could he? Two days was all it had taken for the waterbender to push herself to the brink of collapse. In a week, anything could happen. After a week, Zuko might very well have two lives left as permanent stains on his conscience.

His stomach churned, and an unpleasant weight settled down on his chest and his shoulders. Zuko should be okay with this. He'd been fighting for this very opportunity for years. Costs be damned, he wanted to go home. He needed to go home.

All the same, he found his pace slackening, and though his grip didn't loosen, he was becoming more and more aware of how small the monk was. How young he was. The monk was a child, Zuko had known that from the start. But just how young he was had never occurred to Zuko before. And he knew it shouldn't matter, but—he caught a glimpse of the monk out of the corner of his eye again.

It hurt to breathe. He could hear his pulse in his ears, and he was almost convinced that the monk could hear it too, or his breaths at the very least. Every inhalation was sharp in his chest, and the mask suddenly felt suffocating, and the sensation was beginning to fade from his fingertips, and—

"I'll go with you," the monk said, his voice small. "Okay? Wherever you need to take me. I won't fight you. But you have to let me help my friend first. I'll even take you with me so you can see that I'm not trying to escape. Please. I just need to make sure my friend is okay."

The pleading, the bargaining, struck something in Zuko's core so hard that all his breath left him in a rush. It was familiar. Too familiar. He couldn't place it, but the boy's tone and his wide, pleading eyes turned him completely numb.

Zuko didn't feel the monk's arm slipping out of his grasp, just the light thump when his arm fell back to his side. He didn't hear the monk speak, just watched his mouth move as he backed away.

Do you think you're better than What's-His-Name?

Was he? What was better, anyway? Cowardice? Cruelty?

Why wasn't there another option?

By the time his eyes focused again, the monk was gone, and Zuko was too numb to feel anything about it. Too numb to look, too numb to chase the monk down even if he knew which way the boy had gone.

He made his way to the lifeboat in a daze, barely sensible enough to remember to remove his mask before emerging in full view of the ship. The whole ship seemed to be asleep, not that he would have noticed if it were otherwise.

Mind still blank, Zuko found his way back to his cabin and tucked the mask away in its hidden storage compartment, then hung his swords back in their place on the wall. He had just begun removing the hood, the gloves, the overshirt that concealed his identity when the numbness vanished in a rush.

In an instant, it felt like being crushed again. Breathing was painful and difficult, and Zuko felt trapped. The cabin was too small to contain so many thoughts, so many feelings. He needed to talk, to tell someone at least part of it or he would lose himself.

He'd already lost the monk. He'd let the child slip through his hands almost voluntarily and made no effort to stop him. He was a failure. Even more than usual. Aside from concerns about Zhao realizing who had freed the airbender from the stronghold, he should have had no doubts, no reservations. The monk was an enemy of the Fire Nation, and Zuko knew that. He knew it was his duty to capture the monk for the good of his people. And yet he'd failed.

Because—because Zuko was a coward. A coward who couldn't bear the thought of an enemy in pain.

He had to talk. He had to shout, he had to scream. And as much as he wished he could wander out into the night and scream at the ocean until it carried all his problems away, Zuko knew better than to try anything quite that stupid. He had to get all of these feelings out before they burned up his insides and left him hollow, but he couldn't risk the crew hearing any of it.

Uncle would listen to him. Uncle would have words of advice and reassurance—but then Uncle would try to give advice and reassurance. He would try to smooth everything over with proverbs and platitudes.

That almost sounded worse. Vague nothings were the last thing Zuko wanted—the last thing he needed right now.

He was halfway down the steps before he realized where he was going, but his limbs moved of their own accord. Grasping the guard by the collar, Zuko shook him awake.

"Get out. Go back to your cabin. And don't come back unless I tell you."

The crewman blinked up at him with bleary, coppery eyes. "Huh?"

"Out!" Zuko shouted. "Get out now!"

Breathing hard, he watched as the man scrambled to his feet and made his way up and away from the cell. Not fast enough. Not nearly fast enough. Everything was about to erupt, and the longer the man lingered in the corridor, the harder it was to hold it back.

The instant the door closed behind the guard, Zuko shook the waterbender's door so that the rattle echoed up and down the corridor.

She stirred.

That wasn't enough.

"Waterbender!" Zuko said, his voice ragged at the edges. "Wake up, waterbender."

Too slow, the waterbender pressed her face into her sleeping mat, then turned her head up, squinting at the brightness from the lamps. They couldn't be that bright—Zuko glanced back and had to press his eyes shut. His bending was drawing the flames higher and higher until it looked like the glass would shatter. He fought to bring his breath under control and the flames lowered a bit.

The waterbender sat up even slower, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand before she peered out at him.

"Zuko? What the—"

Zuko realized that he had no idea what he was planning to say. No idea why his legs had carried him straight to the waterbender. No idea why he felt rooted in place, like even trying to go anywhere else would bring the world crashing down around him. But he didn't have to think. The words came of their own volition.

"How old is the airbender?"


She had to be dreaming. That was the only possible explanation. Why else would Zuko be down here in the middle of the night—or what felt like the middle of the night—if she weren't dreaming?

Katara stared at him. He looked off. He'd traded his usual red uniform for black, or a gray so dark that it might as well be black. Black pants, black boots, and an odd, sleeveless black tunic. That was strange enough. But something else was off too. Something looked wrong, and she couldn't quite place it.

His expression certainly didn't help. He looked like he'd seen a big, crooked-toothed spirit staring up at him from his toilet.

Maybe it was his hair. The usual sharp spike of binding around his ponytail was gone, and she had to assume that his hair hung loose down his back. That was almost worse than when his head had been covered with stubble.

Katara yawned, stretching her arms over her head. If this was a dream, there was no reason to hurry. She could stall him all night long. In fact, she could do that even if this wasn't a dream.

"What happened to your hair?" she asked.

Zuko looked confused for just a second, then smacked the bars with the palm of his hand. It sounded like that hurt, but his expression never shifted. "I asked you first. How old is the airbender?"

Okay, maybe this wasn't a dream. That was too stupid a question for a dream.

"What does it matter? And why would I tell you something like that?"

Zuko scuffed his palm up the side of his face and over his shaved scalp to the place where his ponytail was—would have been. "It can't possibly hurt you to tell me. How old is he?"

Crossing her arms, Katara turned so that she was facing him, still perched on the edge of the bunk. "That depends who you ask."

"What does that mean?"

"It means that if you ask my brother, he has at least four different answers for you."

Zuko narrowed his eyes. "How old is the airbender really?"

Pursing her lips, Katara tilted her head a little to the side. "If you ask my brother, anywhere between a few months old and a hundred and twelve."

"Ugh!" Zuko smacked his hand against the bars again. "Tell me! How old is he?"

"He has a name," Katara snapped back. "Nobody is named 'the airbender'."

He scowled, and if she didn't know better, she'd almost think that he was moments away from hyperventilating. "What's his name?"

"It's Aang," Katara answered frostily. "Do you know any of our names? What's my brother's name? What's mine?"

Zuko leaned his head against the bars, breathing hard, and squeezed his eyes shut. "Your brother—it's something with socks. Sok—Sokka?"

She pursed her lips. "And my name? I know yours, Prince Zuko of the Fire Nation."

He opened his eyes again and stared at her, still leaning his head against the bars. It almost looked like he was the one locked away. "You're—you're Katara." His voice came out choked.

Katara glared at him for another long moment. Why was he so shaky? His face looked paler than usual, and his breathing was too fast. If it bothered him so much to talk to her—to talk about her friends—then why was he putting himself through this?

She gave a curt nod before answering him, voice tight. "Aang is twelve. He was frozen for a hundred years and dead for fourteen, but he's twelve years old."

The answer didn't seem to make Zuko feel any better. He stared at her for just a second, eyes wider than she'd thought they could go, then backed away from the bars, shaking his head.

"No. No, no, no." Zuko backed up against the wall, slid down to the ground, and buried his face in his knees.

Katara could only stare. She couldn't tell whether she was imagining it or not, but she thought his shoulders were shaking. That didn't make sense. Nothing was making sense right now. She pinched her own arm to check whether she was dreaming, and it hurt. So Zuko was definitely here. And she definitely wasn't imagining the glossy trail of black hair hanging down the back of his neck, free from its binding, just as she'd suspected. She wished she was imagining that last part, though.

For what felt like a very long time, Zuko didn't move. Katara began to wonder if he ever would. Was he planning to become a permanent fixture in the corridor? Because she didn't like that idea, not even a little.

"Is that all you came down here for?" Katara asked after several more moments of silence. "Did you seriously wake me up in the middle of the night just to find out that Aang is twelve?"

She heard Zuko draw in a slightly shaky breath before he raised his head. His eyes—well, the right one, at least, was rimmed with red. He didn't look at her. It almost seemed like he couldn't.

"I haven't been home in three years."

"The general said almost three years," Katara retorted.

"Almost. Whatever. What difference does a few months make?" His hands clenched into fists and his knuckles stood out as white peaks through his pale skin. "I can't go home—ever—unless I take you and the monk back with me." He looked up at Katara. "I don't have a choice. You have to understand that."

She frowned. It didn't sound like he was lying. That didn't mean she believed him. That didn't make it sound any less ridiculous. Zuko was a prince, and it didn't make sense for him to be barred from his own nation.

"I don't have to understand anything," she said icily. "I understand that you took me away from my brother and my friend. I understand that you're planning to turn me over to the Fire Lord as soon as you get your hands on Aang." He had finally raised his head enough to meet her eyes, and Katara glared even harder. "As long as that's true, I don't have to listen to any of your excuses."

"I just told you, I don't have a choice about any of this!"

"How?" Katara shot back. "How hard can it possibly be to stop hunting us? You're a prince! Just leave us alone and go home!"

"I can't go home. Don't you think I want to?" He squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm banished. I can't go home until I restore my honor by bringing the Avatars back with me."

She stared at him for a second. "That's probably the stupidest thing I've ever heard. Isn't your father the Fire Lord? Can't he do something about that?"

Zuko's hand dropped, and he stared back at her, looking equally confused. "My father ordered my banishment."

He said it like it should have been obvious. Like being banished by his own father was the most natural thing in the world. It definitely wasn't. Ordering Zuko to search for the Avatar was one thing, but solidifying the order with banishment seemed excessive. Even for Zuko.

"Have you considered the possibility that your father might be awful?" she asked sarcastically.

He opened his mouth as if to respond, but she didn't give him the chance.

"And you still haven't answered my question. Why are you even down here? It's the middle of the night. You couldn't be that curious about how old Aang was."

"I—" He shook his head, averting his eyes again. "I don't know why I came down here, okay? I just—did."

"Why? Just to wake me up? Just to tell me that all of this is actually your father's fault, not yours?"

"No!" Zuko reached up to run a hand over his head and through his weird streak of hair again. "It's not my father's fault, I—"

Katara didn't hear the end of the sentence. A patch of glossy, reddish skin on Zuko's arm caught her eye instead, and she couldn't look away. She'd never noticed that before. She'd never seen that part of his arm before, and she hadn't cared to. A burn scar on a firebender's arm couldn't be that unusual. But this one looked new, probably no more than a few weeks old, and it sat just below his left elbow.

With a jolt, she remembered a cool night on a different ship, adrenaline coursing through her veins. She remembered reaching out, grabbing an arm. She remembered the noise that came after, a horrible, rasping cry of pain.

It couldn't be him. There was no way.

"What's that?" she demanded.

Zuko followed her gaze toward his own arm, then flushed scarlet and dropped his arm back to his side, clamping his elbow against his middle.

That was all the confirmation she needed. Katara jumped to her feet. "You! It was you the whole time. You're Masky!"

"There is no Masky! Nobody calls—" Zuko stopped short, and his face flushed. He started to stand.

"No. Stop right there," Katara ordered. "What—How—" She scanned him up and down.

The black boots, the black pants and tunic—they all made sense now. Or sort of made sense. She couldn't imagine Zuko dressing up to run around pirate ships at night, much less fighting with swords, or defending her from pirates, but how could it be anyone else? If that burn was a few weeks old, it would have still been fresh that night on the pirate ship. That would explain why it was still hurting him when she grabbed his arm. Why she hadn't seen him get hurt during the fight, and why he wouldn't let her look at the injury. Why he'd apparently given up on the scroll as soon as he saw Katara.

But it didn't explain why he was wearing black right now.

"What were you up to tonight? You were out in the mask again, weren't you? Why? What were you doing—" She cut herself off midsentence.

What else would he be doing? What else would Zuko be doing in a disguise in the middle of the night? He'd tried to capture her the first time. Or he'd at least tried to steal the scroll to lure her in.

"What were you doing?" she repeated, her voice shaking a little this time. "What did you do to Aang? Where is he?"

Zuko shook his head. "I didn't do anything. And I don't know where the monk is."

"He has a name," she snapped.

Zuko looked like he'd swallowed something sour again, and his scowl deepened. "Aang. I have no idea where Aang is."

"And how am I supposed to believe that?"

"If I knew where he was, don't you think I would have brought him back to my ship?" There was a bitter edge to his voice. "I don't know where he is."

Pressing her face between the bars, she stared at him for a long moment. Oddly, Zuko didn't move. She expected him to. She expected him to bolt at the first suggestion that he was Masky. But he was still here, still holding eye contact, and as much as she hated to admit it, he made sense.

"You were looking for him," she said, her voice low. "That's where you were just before you came down here, wasn't it? You were out looking for Aang?"

Zuko grimaced and looked away. "What makes you think it was me under that mask?"

"You just admitted it," Katara answered. "And the burn on your arm. That's exactly where I grabbed you that night. And you're wearing black. And your hair looks stupid, but there's no other way you could hide it under a mask."

He whirled to face her again. "Why do you keep doing that?"

"Doing what?"

"Saying that my hair looks stupid!"

She blinked a few times. "Do you seriously think that your hair looks good?"

"I—I don't—" He spluttered and scratched the back of his head. "I don't know. I don't care if it looks good."

"So what's the problem?"

Zuko opened and closed his mouth a few times before he burst out with, "Because there's so many other things you could have picked, but it's the hair every single time."

Katara's jaw dropped. "And—what, is there something else you would rather I comment on? Do you want me to make a list of things I could insult you for?"

He kept reddening. "No!"

"Then why are you asking?"

"Because you've never said anything about my scar," Zuko yelled at last. "Why haven't you made fun of my scar?"

She stared at it, the mass of painful red creases over his left eye, the ridges in his skin that ran halfway down to his jaw and back even past his ear. She saw it, she noticed it, of course she did. But it was a scar. What was there to comment on? If she didn't know how he'd gotten it, if he wasn't going to tell her, then there was nothing to say about it. It just was.

"Do you want me to make fun of your scar?" she asked, incredulous.

"It would make this a lot easier." Zuko paced a few steps, then turned back toward her again.

Her eyes remained locked on the left side of his face. What was wrong with him? How would his life be any easier if she made fun of a scar?

Katara shook her head in disbelief. "I don't know when you think it became my job to make your life easier. In fact, as far as I'm concerned, making your life easier is the exact opposite of my job."

If Zuko heard her, he didn't respond. Instead, he leaned back against the wall opposite her again and slid back to the floor, head in his hands.

"Why are you so desperate to get me to insult you, anyway?"

Zuko raised his head just a bit, but he wouldn't look at her. He shook his head. "Are you afraid of me? Is that why you won't say it?"

"No," Katara answered automatically.

His eyes turned up toward hers, and there was a sudden drop in her stomach. She wasn't afraid of him. She hadn't been for a while, but admitting as much—the fact that she didn't even have to think about it—was jarring. Zuko didn't feel like a threat anymore. Not to her. To Aang, possibly, but not to Katara.

She jutted out her chin. "I'm not afraid of you," she repeated quietly. "I think it's stupid that you're so hung up on me complaining about your hair. And I think your hair is stupid. And I don't understand why you're so interested in getting me to insult your scar." She scowled down at Zuko. "I'm more than happy to yell at you for the other things you've done, though."

Zuko held her gaze for just a second before he looked away again. "Like what?"

"My mother's necklace. You stole it. You have no right to keep it away from me."

At that, he scoffed. "I didn't steal anything. You lost the stupid necklace. If I hadn't found it, you'd probably never have seen it again."

"Where did you get it, Zuko?" she demanded.

"Haishui. Where you left it."

"Ugh!" Katara threw her hands up and dropped to sit on the edge of the bunk. "I didn't leave it. I would never leave it anywhere." She felt the empty space where the pendant should have been. "Give it back. That was my mother's necklace, and you have no right to keep it."

Zuko shook his head, then rubbed his forehead with the heel of his hand. "You shouldn't have lost it, then."

"Zuko, I mean it! Give my necklace back!"

"Why should I? You aren't cooperating."

"You want me to insult your scar? Is that it? Is that really your condition for giving my necklace back?"

"What? I—no."

"Would you be cooperative if I was holding you prisoner?"

"I—I don't know. Ugh." He dropped his head back into his hands. "This wasn't supposed to be so complicated."

"You're messing with my entire life. It's going to be complicated. Deal with it."

He apparently had no response for that, and silence descended over them. Relative silence, anyway. There was a faint hum from the engines—softer than when the ship was moving—mingled with muffled sounds from the sea. The lamps in the corridor pulsed faintly, slowly, and it took a few moments of watching the rise and fall of the flames before Katara realized that they were moving in time with the rise and fall of Zuko's shoulders as he breathed.

She found her eyes drawn to Zuko again, and she watched him for a long minute before the silence began to wear on her at last.

"Are you still planning to take me back to the Fire Nation?" she asked.

Zuko raised his head. "I don't have a choice." But this time, she noticed, he looked distinctly unhappy about it.

Katara felt her hands clench. If he was so unhappy, he should let her go and be done with it. Banished or not, he was a prince. He ought to have another option.

This may be another topic worthy of discussion with Prince Zuko.

She didn't want to follow the general's advice. She wasn't interested in prolonging the conversation any more than necessary. But Zuko was here. If she was ever going to get an answer about what the Fire Lord was planning, now was the time for it.

"What happens then? If you turned me over to the Fire Lord, what would he do to me?"

"He'd—" Zuko blanched and cut himself off.

"He'd what?" Katara scooted a bit closer to the edge of the bunk.

Wordless, he gaped at her, then without warning, pushed himself up and turned for the steps.

"Zuko?" She jumped up and darted to the bars to keep him in sight. "Zuko, answer me!"

He didn't respond, and he didn't turn back. He pounded up the stairs before she could say anything more, and Katara got one last glimpse of the burn on his arm before he slammed the door shut, leaving her alone.


Author's Note:

She's starting to get in his head!

I've been exploding to post this one ever since I dug into editing it. Gaaaah, there's just so much feeling, and I love having Katara get close to Zuko at this early stage because she gives voice to so many of his doubts and hauls them all out to the surface where he has to start dealing with them. And she doesn't even have to try! All these questions that she legitimately wants/needs to ask are exactly the questions that Zuko needs to be thinking about too, and I just... I had a TON of fun with this one. And my brain felt like it was going to explode for a couple of weeks, so there's that too.

I think I mentioned the balance I was trying to hit with Zuko and Katara to keep this whole... situation on the right path, and I really love how it's working out. Zuko being shout-y but with his good side showing more and more? Katara being justifiably harsh and yet not crossing the line from brutal honesty into cruelty? I can't remember if this was quite the balance I had in mind, but it's working, and we're getting so close to The Big Chapters that I think I'm going to scream!

Anyway. Screaming will probably resume this time next week, since we're back to weekly updates for... a good while (I'm working on drafting Chapter 42 in my notebook at work, so there's a bit of a buffer ;) ), and since I'm trying REALLY hard not to spoil everything, and incoherent screaming is my coping mechanism.

See you next week, and in the meantime, reviews are always appreciated!