Pretty sure that I responded to this one on Ao3 as well. Will probably continue to just do that because it's better for conversastion.

She finds herself lingering at the outskirts of Wujing, in front of the burned husks of the village. Partially, she wants to drink in her pain, to bask in her hatred and let it fester nice and fresh for when she begins hunting her prey. Mostly she is there to begin just that. She will find traces of them, track them down and eradicate them one by one. Nevermind the possibility that she will destroy her soul doing it.

It is entirely vacant and with good reason; who would want to live on a street stained with the blood of their loved ones? Even a little over a month after the attack the air still smells of it. Smells of blood and traces of the fire. She is doubly sickened by the potent reminder of her past. Is this not what she had wanted-Earth Kingdom villages charred beyond recognition.

A fine ash has settled in the cracks in the pavement amid chunks of buildings and a scatter of charred bones. She finds herself a seat amid the burned skeletons and stares at them. Stares until there is nothing but seething and hatred. She studies them. Studies them until she can differentiate the males from the females, the children from the adults, and the adults. And there are children, so many small bones. Some skeletons cling to one another. At the very least this indicates that they were dead before they were burned.

When her hatred reaches a near boiling point, she picks herself up and moves forward. She walks past the old festival grounds, past the old bridge-noting that it had been very much burned as well, and to Ojihara's farm.

Her belly gives a flop as she sets foot onto the useless soil. She stands at the fence post, she can practically see Seukhyun leaning up against it, flashing her one of his smooth, charming smiles.

She can practically hear him commenting, "I think you might have a chance to out harvest me this year."

And she might have had the field and everything in it not been reduced to ash. Nothing grows within the ashes. The house has been reduced to forerally smoldering rubble. At least the left have anyways. But the right side is growing concave as well. She decides to keep her distance should it decide to topple.

Anyways, she knows what is inside; Ojihara. All alone. His son and granddaughter at her house. And she knows that it is for the best, even knowing that he'd be soon to follow, Ojihara wouldn't have been able to bare watching his son and granddaughter die. He would have been shamed knowing that he had let it happen.

She is shamed knowing that she let her husband and sons die.

She is Azula.

She should have been more powerful than that.

Her hatred reaches a new height.

And it only seems to swell as she grows nearer to her former home.

She stands before the doorway and she feels nauseous. Absolutely nauseous. Really, she ought to turn back. Dimly she is aware that she is only hurting herself. She thinks that she might be addicted to the suffering. She has been ruminating on it since it had been inflicted upon her.

She pushes the door open and invites more of it in. When the smell hits her she caves into the nausea. She finds herself on her hands and knees, tears stinging in her eyes. A second wave hits when she realizes that her hands are pressing into dried blood.

Her own.

Where it had collected after the soldier had slashed her throat and belly.

She isn't certain of how long she does, but she lays there shuddering and fight to control her breathing. She hears a clamor in her head; the rush of fire, the sounds of swords being drawn, of furniture being disarrayed, of screaming…

She shouldn't do it, but she does.

Eventually she crawls her way over to Hajime and Atsu.

The rage she expects to feel amplifies but is swept away all the same by an overwhelming urge to just lay there with them until she withers away. She comes to find that there is only so much that she can take before her mind shuts itself down.

She finds herself back on the outskirts of town, she doesn't remember how she got there. There is only a faint hum, a blurry tingle in her mind. A tiredness. A deep loathing. A deeper sorrow.

She carries herself back to Chin.

That day she learns that she cannot escape her past no matter how far she runs. No matter how long she runs. It is always there. It will always be there. She learns that her mind is so terribly fragile.

.oOo.

She is itching to say something, he knows that she is. He just isn't sure what and he isn't sure that he should ask. Instead he watches her wander about the palace garden. He decides to ask a different question instead, "what are you planting anyways?"

"Turnips."

"Do you even like turnips?"

She thinks for a moment. "That depends."

He furrows his brows. Either you like a food or you don't, at least that has been his experience with it. "What do you mean?"

"They taste horrid but…" she purses her lips and rubs them together. "But the scent of them is familiar. I like how they smell."

Sokka nods, he hadn't thought of it like that. And then he remembers. He doesn't say it, but he remembers. He recalls her journal and her mentioning the old man and his turnip farm. "Can I help?"

Azula hands him a trowel. Truth be told, he hadn't realized that she even knew the difference between a trowel and a regular shovel. Yet she had used it rather efficiently, smoothing and patting the dirt over the seed she had just planted.

She only has the one so they take turns planting each seed until Azula is satisfied that they have planted enough. She stands up and half-smacks, half-rubs her hands together until most of the dirt has been cleared of them.

She seems pleased, perhaps even happy. He smiles too. It seems as though she has found at least one healthy outlet for her pain. She tosses a glance over her shoulder and catches him staring. He flushes.

At the very least, she pretends like she hadn't noticed.

.oOo.

"I haven't had a chance to do that in a while." She notes. She holds her hand in front of her, inspecting her nails. They haven't been so dirty in months. She can't imagine that her serving girls are going to be all too pleased.

Although, it might come as a comfort to them to know that she can respect the sort of work that a palace gardener does.

"Does it make you feel better?" He asks.

Azula nods, "quite."

"That's good to hear."

"Yes." She nods. "I will have to get my nails cleaned."

He laughs, "right away?"

She tilts her head, "preferably, yes." She now has the opportunity to be perfectly clean after gardening, she doesn't see the harm in not wasting it. "I like to be clean." She thinks that Ojihara might have rolled his eyes at that, but she had always had a habit of getting him to do that anyhow.

She tries to fend off the wave of sadness that comes over her. It is the same one that his been threatening to pull her under all day. She glances at Sokka. "Go ahead. Ask." She mutters. "I know that you want to…"

He inhales sharply and melodramatically, "what's bothering you?"

"I was thinking about Ojihara…"

"The turnip grandpa?"

Azula roll her eyes, "the turnip grandpa."

"Okay."

"And I have been thinking about how I never got a chance to tell Hajime my real name."

.oOo.

Sokka cringes to himself. Somehow he has been under the impression that she had told him. Though he isn't quite connecting the dots. "What does that have to do with turnip grandpa?"

She goes quite again for quite a while. "Ojihara used to think that it was...humorous that I didn't like to get my hands dirty. He didn't know that I'm…" she gestures to the palace. She looks back at her nails, at the dirt beneath them. "I can just go and clean them at my leisure. Before going to Wujing there was never dirt under my nails. He didn't know that. Hajime didn't know that." She pauses. "Or they might have, but they didn't know why."

"And so being able to utilize the spa reminds you of how you never got the chance to tell them where you come from?"

She nods. "I was already thinking about that this morning. And now I am thinking about it more."

Sokka nods. "That bothers you?"

"Alot." She replies. "I don't think that Hajime would have...loved me if he knew. He said that he would have, but that's because he didn't know what he was promising to cherish."

"Who."

"Huh?"

"Who he was promising to cherish."

Azula half smiles. "Regardless of word choice, my point still stands."

"I think that he would have." Sokka declares with a smile of his own. "If he loved you for what you are now then I think that he would have been able to handle hearing about the past. I would have still loved you."

.oOo.

"You would have?"

"Sure!"

She isn't quite sure why it makes her feel better to know that. Perhaps because he reminds her of Hajime in many ways. Still, she has to ask, "why?"

Sokka furrows his brows. "What do you mean, why? You're bold and fun and I've never met anyone like you. I bet that Hajime would have felt the same way. And I know your history, part of it anyways, I was there for part of it. I still lo-like you." He smiles again.

She clears her throat, "that's the other thing." His face is flushing, his slip up is not lost on her but she isn't ready to address it yet. "I...there's a part of me that was hoping that he would have fought with me over it."

He crinkles his brows. "Why would you want that?"

"Because it was so perfect, Sokka. We never fought, not once. I know that if we'd been together long enough that we would have eventually. I wanted to know what that was like. To fight with someone…" She wanted, perhaps still wants, to know what it is like to make up after a fight, to feel that special sort of relief that comes with the end of an argument. "To fight with someone and know that they'd still stick around. Hajime would have."

"That actually...it makes a lot of sense."

She swallows. "It does?"

He nods. "It's reassuring to know that you can get someone so mad and they'll still care about you so much. Like how me and Katara are sometimes. She's pretty much the worst but she's also the best?"

"I thought that I was the worst?"

"But you're also the best." He nudges her. His face grows serious again. "And that's why I think that you will have that fight one day." He stuffs his hands into his pockets. "Sorry, I'm not exactly good at the words thing and comforting people. Katara says I'm 'insensitive'."

She shrugs. She can't imagine that he is any more insensitive than she. Really it was a comfort enough just to hear that isn't strange to have wanted a fight. "You don't have to say anything. Sometimes I just want someone to listen."