Water

The Necklace

"Did I wake you, Prince Zuko?"

Fidgeting with his teacup, Zuko shook his head. Being woken would have meant that he'd slept.

"You look like you could use rest."

When didn't Uncle think that? Rest and meditation. Those were probably Uncle's two favorite things in the world. After tea, of course.

For once, Zuko had to agree. He wanted to sleep. He wanted to close his eyes and turn off all his thoughts and sink away from the real world for a while. But that wasn't possible right now. He'd tried, but nothing he could do would shut out the noise inside of his head.

"I'm fine, Uncle. I just couldn't sleep."

"Any particular reason?"

It took all his effort to keep his expression still. "Of course not." He forced himself to take a sip of tea. "Is there any reason why you're having tea with me today?"

"Can I not enjoy my nephew's company from time to time?"

Zuko frowned. Nobody really enjoyed his company. They tolerated it. He was used to that. He was fine with it. Mostly. And that wasn't the point anyway.

"Don't you normally have breakfast with the waterbender right now?"

"That has become part of my routine, yes." Uncle paused to refill his cup. "However, I did not wish to disturb the young lady's sleep this morning."

A sharp twinge of envy hit him in the middle of the chest. "She's still asleep?"

"My understanding is that she was very much awake at the start of the morning shift. As soon as Taro arrived, the girl halted her bending practice and went to sleep." Uncle raised his cup to his lips and stared at Zuko over the rim. "It seems that you were not the only one who had a restless night."

Zuko stared at the cup in his hands, at the steam rising from the surface in delicate, silvery curls. At least she had a choice in the matter. If she stayed up all night waterbending, it was her own fault that she was tired. She could have gone to sleep any time she wanted. Zuko, on the other hand—Zuko could barely even blink without being overwhelmed by her voice and her questions all over again. Questions that he shouldn't have to answer. Questions he couldn't.

He shouldn't have gone down to talk to her. What had he been expecting?

To be fair, nothing about the conversation had been what Zuko expected. The girl had a way of doing that. No matter how hard he tried to anticipate her, the girl was always half a step ahead of him. She was infuriating. She was impossible, she was unpredictable—and somehow, she was none of those things. Because for all that he found her maddening, she was straightforward. She was truthful. She took sharp, unexpected turns in every conversation, but even the worst of her questions didn't trap him the way they could have. She listened to his answers.

He wished that she wouldn't. He wished that her harsh, unyielding edges would sharpen into cruelty. Everything would be so much easier if he could find it in himself to hate her.

But he couldn't. And for all that he found her unpredictable, she began to make an odd, uncomfortable sort of sense when he let her words linger for too long.

That was why he shouldn't have spoken to her. He should have known better. He should have known that he'd never be able to sleep after everything with the monk, and that the silence would leave him alone with no company save for the echoes of the waterbender's voice. He should have known that her questions would crash around inside his head, pushing up against everything else until he had no choice but to look closer.

He didn't want to look too hard at anything she'd said. He didn't want to think too hard about anything that had happened yesterday—not with the girl, not with the monk, not with anyone. He didn't want any of it to start making sense.

If he started to understand the waterbender, everything would come crashing down around him.

"Are you certain that you're all right, Prince Zuko?"

Zuko jerked, and his tea nearly spilled. "Fine," he snapped. "I told you, I just couldn't sleep."

"Mmm." Uncle scooped some more douhua into Zuko's bowl, then served himself another helping. "It strikes me as a rather odd coincidence that you and the young waterbender are both so terribly tired."

"What are you trying to imply?"

"No implication intended." Uncle paused, his spoon hovering partway up to his mouth. "Should there be other implications?"

Face burning, Zuko picked up his own bowl and scooped entirely too much douhua into his mouth. Maybe Uncle would drop the subject if he couldn't speak.

Uncle, however, had more patience than Zuko could fathom. The old man watched in silence as Zuko shoveled half the bowl into his mouth in quick gulps, until the weight of Uncle's single raised eyebrow snapped something inside of Zuko.

He swallowed his mouthful before he burst out with, "I just talked to Katara for a few minutes last night. That's all."

Uncle smiled, sitting a little straighter. "Did you?"

"Just a few minutes," he repeated. That was the most important part, but Uncle hadn't seemed to notice.

"With Katara?"

A moment passed before Zuko realized what he'd done. Ugh. He clenched his free hand into a fist, and the steam from his bowl grew more opaque as his bending spiked. "The waterbender wouldn't talk to me until I proved that I knew all her friends' names." With his spoon clenched in his fist, he stabbed at the squishy contents of his bowl. "I didn't ask her about it."

Uncle still kept beaming. "What else did the two of you speak about?"

"Nothing," Zuko answered, voice and jaw tight.

It wasn't necessarily a lie. Every topic had led to a dead end. The girl was full of questions, and Zuko didn't have answers, and now his mind wouldn't leave him alone as it tried to churn up parts of his memory that were best left untouched in search of them.

"Hmm." Clearly, Uncle didn't believe that. Changing tacks, he took up his teacup again. "Since you were unable to sleep, I imagine you spent some time plotting our course."

Zuko had. Sort of.

They still needed repairs and fuel, and Pohuai's harbor was only a few miles up the coast. Zuko didn't want to go to Pohuai. He didn't want to face Zhao at the best of times, and the day after the monk's escape was as far from the best time as it was possible to be. Showing up so soon after the escape might even look suspicious.

But if Zhao knew how close Zuko's ship was anchored—and knowing Zhao, he probably had some idea—then it would look even more suspicious to stay away. Zhao would never believe that Zuko had the daring it took to free the monk, much less to venture into Pohuai again afterward. But how was Zuko supposed to know if Zhao knew where his ship was anchored? And how much would Zhao's rage boil over even if he didn't suspect Zuko? Could he take that risk? Was it worth it?

His head was beginning to ache. This was too much strategizing for him to handle, and he couldn't ask Uncle's advice if he wanted to.

Edging around the subject would have to do. "We still need repairs. And fuel. But I don't know if Pohuai is a good idea or not."

"It is very nearby," Uncle agreed. "And the celebration around Admiral Zhao's promotion may have already passed."

It had. Zuko didn't need any confirmation of that fact. Even Zhao wasn't a pompous enough fool to keep celebrating when victory had been snatched from underneath his nose.

A knock came at his cabin door, and Uncle started to rise, then looked back at Zuko. "May I?"

With a sigh, Zuko nodded. He didn't savor the interruption, but activity and noise were better than the alternative. Anything was better than being drawn back into his memories from last night.

Uncle returned from the door after a brief pause and settled back on the floor across from him. "I believe this is for you," Uncle said, holding out a small stack of folded clothes. "And this one must be mine."

Zuko took the clothes and set the stack on the bunk behind him. He'd worry about them later. The scroll in Uncle's hand was more interesting anyway.

"Hmm. It seems rather soon to write again," Uncle murmured, then broke the seal and unfurled the letter.

Although Zuko could only see half of the seal, he knew it immediately. Zhao's seal. His pulse quickened, and Zuko let out a slow, silent breath. Zhao didn't know anything, he reminded himself. There was no way he could. No one had seen the Blue Spirit on his way into the stronghold, and anyone who'd seen him on the way out had been very quickly knocked unconscious. Even if they remembered the grinning blue mask looking down at them, they'd never know who was behind it. They'd probably think that the whole experience was a dream.

"Well." Uncle rolled the letter shut when he reached its end. "It does seem that certain parts of the celebration at Pohuai were premature."

Zuko did his best to keep his eyes down and his expression blank. "What, did Zhao get demoted already?"

"Would Zhao write so soon after such a thing?"

No, he wouldn't. Zhao would never publicize a personal defeat like that. Zuko was fairly certain that he hadn't even made a formal admission of his defeat in the Agni Kai the way he should have. If Zhao had admitted defeat, he would have been forced to leave the search for the monk in Zuko's hands, and clearly that hadn't happened. A demotion would probably seal Zhao's mouth shut forever.

"What is it, then?" Zuko couldn't tell if his tone was interested—or disinterested—enough.

Judging by the look he got from Uncle, he must have gotten it wrong. "The Avatar. It seems the Avatar is no longer in Admiral Zhao's custody."

With a small nod, Zuko picked up his tea. Casual. He had to be casual. That was probably the right response.

"You do not seem surprised."

Or maybe casualness was wrong too.

Zuko's mind raced for an adequate response. "It's just—the monk—he's good at evasion. Maybe he's good at escaping too?"

Uncle raised an eyebrow and let the scroll drop into his lap. "Prince Zuko."

"And Zhao isn't very good at—much of anything. He probably redirected all his security to the parade and left the monk unguarded."

Uncle heaved a long sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I dread to ask, Prince Zuko, but was your absence during music night about something more pressing than a trip to shore for fresh air and quiet?"

Zuko clammed up. He knew better than to give anything away about his late-night escapades, even to Uncle. Especially to Uncle. He was too prone to gossip for Zuko's liking, and worse, Uncle might be disappointed if he knew the truth. If he knew who was running around in a blue mask late at night, causing problems for the Fire Nation—Zuko didn't want to think about what his reaction would be.

The silence seemed to be answer enough for Uncle. He folded his hands over his round stomach, leaving both his tea and his bowl abandoned on the low table. "The dilemma over Pohuai is certainly clearer to me now."

Was that it? No disappointment? No stern looks? No lectures or warnings that the crew would be keeping a closer watch over Zuko from now on?

"Do you think we should risk it?" Zuko asked.

Uncle frowned. "I know nothing beyond what I learned in this letter from the admiral. Provided that you do not place yourself or others in further danger, I do not wish to know more."

"So—you don't have an opinion about Pohuai? Not at all?"

"Only that Zhao is a dangerous man when he believes that he has been crossed."

With a groan, Zuko rubbed both eyes with the heels of his hands. "That doesn't help me, Uncle."

"I know nothing," Uncle repeated. "I can offer no advice without information."

Uncle's gaze was too weighty, and Zuko had to look away. He wasn't going to tell Uncle anything. He could hardly stand to think about last night, much less speak about it. But for once, he ached for even a scrap of advice. Anything to make his path a little clearer after—everything. Anything to make him feel a little less trapped.

"Consider the risks well before you proceed, Prince Zuko." Uncle's voice was quiet, and yet it cut straight through him.

He was trying. He was trying so hard to think about the risks, but every time he did, he ended up thinking about last night, about the monk, about the waterbender, about all the things the waterbender had said to him. He couldn't bear it. It burned.

If you turned me over to the Fire Lord, what would he do to me?

Zuko clenched his fists so tight that he wouldn't be surprised if his palms began to bleed, but he couldn't feel a thing.

Relief only came when Uncle broke the silence again, launching into a story about the tea he was hoping to buy at their next stop, about the exact weather conditions that produced the flavor—Zuko didn't care about any of it. He barely understood half of what Uncle was going on about, but he clung to every word. He needed every distraction he could get.

Breakfast dragged on, with Uncle refilling Zuko's teacup and bowl every time they came close to running empty. That part, he was less than thrilled about. Distractions were welcome, but he could only eat so much, and Uncle just wouldn't stop serving him more. At long last, Zuko snapped, downed his tea in a single gulp, and turned the cup upside-down in his empty bowl.

Uncle stared for a moment in silence.

"Ah. I had not realized how late in the morning it was."

Zuko frowned. The time wasn't the problem. If Uncle could just stop trying to gorge him, he would be more than happy to sit around and listen to whatever ridiculous stories Uncle wanted to tell him. More time with Uncle meant less time alone with his own thoughts.

Uncle was already gathering his things back onto the tea tray. "I should go anyway. I'm sure the admiral will be expecting a response. In the meantime, I encourage you to rest, Prince Zuko."

Unlikely. The best Zuko could hope for was to lose himself in his maps again. Or if he were extremely lucky, he might be able to convince Lieutenant Jee to spar with him. But Zuko probably wasn't that lucky. Jee almost never sparred unless Uncle asked him to, and after the past few days of arguing over their destination and repairs, even that seemed unlikely.

"You'll see the waterbender later today?"

Uncle nodded as he rose, tea tray in hand. "Once she's woken up, yes."

Good. If Uncle checked up on the girl, then maybe Zuko could avoid her. At least for today. As poorly as the conversation with her had gone last night, he still felt sick at the thought of losing the progress Uncle had made—of the girl making herself sick again. But Uncle could take care of that. If Zuko could go a day without seeing the waterbender, it would be better for everyone.

Uncle looked toward Zuko's bunk. "And I see that you will have something to deliver to her as well."

No. He couldn't have anything to deliver. There was no reason for him to face the waterbender again. Uncle had to be making up excuses to get them to speak, just like usual.

Grudgingly, he followed Uncle's gaze to the stack of folded clothes on his bunk. There, near the bottom, a scrap of pale blue fabric stuck out from between Zuko's own tunics.

What? Why on earth would they have brought the girl's clothes to him? Her cell was closer to the laundry than Zuko's cabin was. There was absolutely no reason why it should be Zuko's responsibility to take her things down there. Unless Uncle had suggested—

He turned to protest, but the door was already shut, and Uncle was gone.


Once she'd woken with a crick in her neck and the faint, irritating edge of a headache, Katara decided that she wasn't built for this kind of a schedule. Sleeping half the night, waking up while it was still dark, staying awake until morning, and then sleeping until noon was enough to leave her feeling very out of sorts.

Still, it was worth feeling a little less than spectacular. She'd been hoping for time alone. Minutes, she'd assumed, were the best she could hope for, but Zuko had given her hours. Granted, her bending water was nearly gone by the time she finally had a chance to use it, but there was a little left. And a little was all she needed.

She paced past the door, feeling the guard's eyes following her as she tried to examine her handiwork. The lock, it turned out, was made of tougher steel than the rest of the door, and after a few minutes wasted there, she'd turned her attention to the hinges instead. There was more metal to cut through, but at least she could make a dent there. And it wasn't much, but after several hours' work and splashing herself with the grimy water more times than she could count, she'd started to make progress.

It still wasn't much. Each of the three hinges now boasted an uneven notch half the width of her pinky finger. She tried not to think about how many more stolen minutes it would take to cut the rest of the way through, how many days it would take to steal that many minutes. She could do it. She could cut her way out as long as she didn't waste her time worrying about how long it was taking.

She only hoped that that time would come before Zuko captured Aang and turned for the Fire Nation.

"For the love of everything good in the world," Souta said, "what are you trying to do?"

Katara paced past a few more times, keeping her eyes determinedly away from the hinges. She was a little annoyed with herself for wishing that Taro was on duty instead. She shouldn't have any preferences when it came to the guards assigned to watch her. They were all firebenders. They were all equally guilty of keeping her locked up. But this one still had his arm in a sling from his accident during the storm, and he whined about it at every opportunity. At least Taro didn't normally whine.

"I'm pacing," she answered.

"And I can see how you drove Masao and Daiki over the edge with it. Stop it."

Katara didn't want to listen. She didn't really want to keep pacing either, but the spiteful part of her was very tempted to ignore Souta just to annoy him. But she couldn't get a good look at the hinges with a pair of eyes following her around, and she wasn't actually accomplishing anything by pacing back and forth. The general was right about that—if she wanted to escape, she had to save her strength.

With a huff, she perched on the bunk and shot a look at Souta. "We're not moving, are we?"

The grunt he gave in reply could have easily been either a confirmation or a denial. Katara chose to take it as the former. It didn't feel like the ship was moving, and the view out the porthole hadn't changed in ages.

"Why aren't we moving?"

"That storm did a number on the ship. I suppose that's probably it." Souta shifted in his chair and gave a slightly ridiculous number of grimaces and groans. His shoulder couldn't be that bad after three days in a sling.

"Why aren't we going anywhere to get the ship repaired?"

"You'd have to ask Prince Zuko that yourself. I just follow orders."

She didn't care for that idea. Talking to Zuko last night had been more than enough frustration to last her a long, long time.

Leaning forward, she rested her elbows on her knees and snuck another quick glance at the door. It was a start, she reminded herself again. She could deal with Zuko a little while longer. Because soon enough, she'd cut through the hinges and make her escape when no one was watching.

If Zuko could sneak off of the ship, then so could she.


Zuko couldn't remember the last time he'd been so invested in cleaning his cabin. He trimmed the wicks of all the candles and lamps, wiped the dust off of shelves and scrolls he hadn't used in ages, pored over his maps for a few minutes, then organized them all by name, sharpened and polished his swords, and made and remade his bed several times over. But at long last, he ran out of ways to distract himself. With the lone exception of the pile of clothes that he'd moved to the top of his trunk, his cabin was as orderly as it could possibly be.

Slowly, one at a time, Zuko picked up his own tunics and pants, and tucked them away until all that was left was the girl's Water Tribe clothing.

For a long second, he just stared at it. He'd grown so accustomed to seeing her in that exact shade of blue that he couldn't help but picture her. If he let his focus slip, he could hear her voice too.

Are you still planning to take me back to the Fire Nation?

Zuko pressed his eyes shut and sat cross-legged in front of his open trunk. He didn't want to think about that. He wanted to squash out every echo of her voice, but he was tired, and as his concentration wavered, it kept creeping back in.

He heard her accusations again, heard her questions—about Father, about the future, about the monk. At least he'd been able to tell the truth about the last one. As much as it ground at his insides, the truth was exactly what she wanted to hear. He didn't know where the monk was. Not anymore. He didn't know what was worse, the fact that he didn't know, or the fact that he couldn't bring himself to care.

Had he made the right choice? Had Zuko done the right thing by letting the monk go back to help the Water Tribe idiot?

He knew that the answer should have been no. The Fire Nation didn't show mercy. The Fire Nation did what was necessary to further their cause. Zuko knew the rules well, though he struggled to follow them. He'd been a coward, a soft-hearted, foolish coward when he let the monk go.

But still—the more he thought about it, the less he could stomach the thought of taking the monk along with him. If he had, the Water Tribe idiot could have died, and Zuko would have to carry the guilt for the rest of his life. Or the airbender could have made the same rapid decline that the waterbender had, and Zuko would have lost everything. Or he would have had to take them home.

If you turned me over to the Fire Lord, what would he do to me?

Zuko didn't know the answer to that. He should. He should have asked that question when he first began his search years ago, but he hadn't. He'd been too caught up in the chase to think about what happened afterward.

Father could imprison them. But what kind of a prison could hold an Avatar for enough time? The waterbender had already wrecked Zuko's ship once. She would probably do it again if she had enough time, and a prison cell would be no better. Father could chain them up the way Zhao had done to the little monk. But chains did nothing if there was someone determined to rescue the Avatar—Zuko had proven that. If they ever got out, the Avatars would be just as much a threat whether they broke themselves free or they were rescued. Which meant that Father might have to do something more permanent. Something to keep the Avatars from ever fighting again, something like—

With a gasp and a shake of his head, Zuko pulled himself back. No, he couldn't afford to think about any of that. It was Father's choice. Father would do what was right. He always had. He always would.

Zuko was the one who was too soft, too weak to do what was necessary.

Have you considered the possibility that your father might be awful?

Ugh. He dug the heels of his hands into his eyes until bright spots danced into his vision. Zuko was the problem, not Father. He had to stop thinking about the waterbender. He was going to go mad if he kept dwelling on what she'd said. On what was going to happen to the Avatars—to her in particular.

Maybe this was why he'd never asked before. Maybe he'd always been too weak to handle the knowledge, and his mind had shielded him by refusing to ask. Maybe that was the reason why he'd been able keep searching.

Maybe it was a mistake to even think about it. But now that he'd started, he couldn't seem to stop. If Zuko brought the Avatars home to the Fire Nation and Father did something to them, would that be Zuko's fault? At least partially?

His eyes landed on the waterbender's clothes again, and he had to look away. His gaze turned downward, into the open trunk, and found her necklace instead. He almost laughed. Of course that would be the first thing he saw. Of course the universe was determined to keep drawing his thoughts back no matter which way he looked.

Maybe the universe had a point. He reached into the trunk and dangled the necklace in front of his eyes. Maybe he would be able to stop thinking about the girl, about everything she'd said to him if her things weren't right there, taunting him. Maybe giving them back would assuage some of the guilt and doubt chewing away at his insides.

He heaved a sigh and flopped onto his back. Her mother's necklace, she'd told him. A hard, bitter part of him wanted to keep it just for that. Zuko had neither a mother nor anything to remember her by. The waterbender—his throat tightened. He remembered her village, all the women and children huddled close together, protecting one another. Why should the waterbender have things to remember her home and her family by when Zuko didn't? What need did she have for mementos of her mother when the woman herself was back there waiting for her?

He ran a finger over the smooth engravings on the pendant. He had every right to be jealous of the girl. He would give anything to have something from his own mother. She had family to go home to. She had people who missed her.

But if the girl never went back home—if she never saw her family again, wouldn't that be Zuko's fault? The girl already knew that he had the necklace, and the accusing look in her eyes, the desperation in her voice were bad enough. Could he really go further than that? Could he keep her last tie to her family when he was the reason they'd been separated?

Could he live with that?

He clenched his hand around the pendant and squeezed his eyes shut.


The weather must have been getting colder. By early evening, when the sky outside the porthole was beginning to dim, a fine layer of condensation settled on the hull. Katara wasn't going to complain about that. Any water she could find, no matter how scant, was welcome.

She lay back on the bunk, holding her small orb of water suspended over her head. She could be practicing her forms, but precision, she decided, was more important than her regular combative forms. At least for now. She needed to find the most efficient possible way to cut steel before she worried about that. Fighting would have to come later.

She shaped the water into a narrow thread and tried to shoot it from one hand to the other. Too thin. She didn't have enough control to hold the water together in that shape. She tried for a slightly thicker tendril this time. No, that was too thick. That wouldn't cut anything.

She was so caught up in her experimenting that she didn't hear the footsteps approaching her until they were just outside the door. She turned her head until she found Zuko outside the bars again, staring in at her. With a groan, she pushed herself up.

"What do you want this time, Zuko?"

He raised his hand to show her a bundle of blue fabric. "The washing finally got done."

Okay, that was a decent reason. Much better than last night. Katara froze her bending water into a little sphere and let it drop to the bunk before she stood. "Do you remember what I said? There'd better not be anything wrong with my clothes."

"Just take them," he said stiffly.

She obeyed and opened her mouth to ask—something. About the general or their destination or her necklace. All three questions vied for position, and she took a second before starting. "Where—"

Zuko didn't look at her and didn't give her a chance to go on. The second her hands closed around the bundle, he turned back the way he'd come and stalked away.

Typical. Katara wasn't even sure why she tried anymore. Answering questions wasn't something Zuko did if he could help it.

She was tempted to yell after him, but she was still tired, and there was little to argue about. Or little that she had the energy to argue about. That was new. Zuko was exhausting to be around sometimes, but she'd never thought that she'd be too tired to argue with him.

She supposed it didn't matter too much. Perching on the edge of the bunk again, she held the bundle in her lap. Her clothes were clean, and as far as she could tell, undamaged. That was already more than she'd expected from Zuko. And now that she was on her way to escaping, most of the things she could have argued with Zuko about didn't matter anyway. She didn't really need to know what the Fire Lord wanted with her. She didn't have to care about Zuko's reasons for hunting her down. She wasn't going to be here long enough for any of that to make a difference.

Her necklace was the only exception she could think of, but she seemed to have exhausted that subject last night. Zuko had it. Zuko knew she wanted it back. Beyond that, what could she really do? She still didn't know where he was keeping it, and she could hardly expect him to hand it back to her when she had nothing he wanted in return.

He was a firebender, after all. His people had taken her mother, what was stopping Zuko from taking her necklace?

If she had to leave without it—if she had no other choice, then she might have to accept its absence. After Haishui, she had accepted it to some extent. She'd thought that it was lost, probably fallen into the ocean, never to be seen again. It had hurt, but she'd kept moving. Now—of course it felt different now, knowing that it was still out there, but as much as it hurt, she had to be practical. Like Sokka would be.

Between the necklace and her freedom, she would have to choose her freedom. She needed to find her friends again. She needed them. They needed her. The world needed her.

She swallowed back the lump in her throat and stood. Maybe this was what being the Avatar was going to mean. She couldn't have everything. And sometimes—sometimes, it was going to hurt, but she had to think of the world first.

Taking a deep, shaking breath to calm herself, she unfolded her dress with a snap of her wrists. It was a small consolation, but if it was the only one she could expect, she would do her best to hold onto it.

She held the dress by the shoulders and turned it around to examine the back when she heard a small, soft click by her feet.

Katara looked down, and her breath caught in her throat.

Heart racing, she let her dress fall into a crumpled pile on the bunk and dropped to her knees. Slowly, hands shaking, she trailed a fingertip across the pendant and down the length of the neckband before she picked it up. The pendant settled into the hollow in the middle of her palm, and her fingers closed around it.

Pressing her mother's necklace between both hands, Katara held it tight against her cheek as tears began to stream down her face.


Author's Note:

So I'm definitely becoming a sap. I've teared up... probably six times while working on this fic in the past few weeks? And this ending scene was one of them. I blame it on the fact that I was sitting around for a couple of hours trying to get the necklace bit to land just right.

I really like how this worked out. Zuko had to give the necklace back voluntarily, but he's not quite ready to do good things openly... so hiding her necklace inside of her clean laundry and booking it out of there! He's getting closer! Someday he might have to try out being a good person for real.

See ya next week! Reviews are always appreciated, and feel free to visit me on Tumblr (soopersara)!