Coming Home
Zuko walked slowly alongside the highway, collar pulled up and head ducked low to keep the rain out of his face. He was twenty-three years old, though he felt and looked older than that. His hair was dark and long, cut choppy; it had grown a lot since the last time he got a regulation cut. A large, red scar covered his left eye and a good portion of the left side of his face. Dark stubble coated his jaw, stopping where it hit scar tissue; it was on its way to becoming a full beard, though, thick and a little ragged. Mud coated his black boots and the cuffs of his worn jeans. A set of metal tags were hung around his neck, over his t-shirt, barely visible with his jacket zipped up high against the weather.
Every time he saw headlights approaching and heard the roar of an engine, he stuck his thumb out, hoping for a ride. Each time, a car just drove on past, occasionally splashing him as they went past. What little hope left inside of him was dying a slow and miserable death.
He'd been 'back home' for almost six months. If you could call it being home. His father had taken one look at him and declared that no cripple would be his son. That he'd rather have a dead son than a broken one. Ozai Agni had never been a man known for mincing his words. The old man had slammed the door in Zuko's face and made it clear that he wasn't welcome in his childhood home. As he'd walked back down the driveway he'd looked back and up and he could see his little sister stood at her bedroom window, staring down at him. She didn't look so little anymore; then again, it's not like she ever looked up to him anyway.
He'd raised his hand to wave at her, but she'd just closed the curtains. Azula and he had never been close, especially not since the untimely death of their mother, when Zuko was ten. It appeared that the situation hadn't change in his long absence.
So, there he was. No food, barely any money, no job prospects. Just the clothes he was wearing and a spare set in his duffel bag. Nowhere to go and no hope for a future that didn't include vagrancy and frequent trips to the drunk tank. He'd seen it, even before he'd deployed; men who'd come back broken. Missing limbs, blinded, or just lost inside their own heads. It didn't seem to end well for any of them.
In many ways Zuko had been lucky; he could recognise that, even in his embittered state. Charlie had just clipped his face with a makeshift flamethrower. It took out his left eye, and some of his face, but that was the worst of it; he couldn't see out of it, but he still had the right one to get by. Still had both arms, both legs. And while there were days when his life seemed empty and without meaning… well, everyone had days like that, right? So what if he occasionally got lost in the noise of gunfire, the screams of men dying in agony, and the bombs exploding all around him. He was a soldier; it came with the territory, right? Right?
He was a soldier. That was the bit that was hard to remember sometimes. He'd barely turned eighteen when his dad had forced him to enlist. Eighteen, fresh-faced, and full of all sorts of ideas about what serving his country meant.
Those ideas hadn't included being screamed at in Vietnamese or watching his friends die in the mud. It hadn't included life-changing injuries and further estrangement from his already distant family. It had all seemed so much more… clean in the enlistment office, even if he had been pushed to enlist by his father. But it wasn't clean, not even slightly; serving his country had led to nothing except blood, and mud, and death. Sometimes he wished it could have been his own. His father certainly would have preferred a folded flag as opposed to a scarred son.
Zuko hoisted his pack further onto his shoulders and kept walking. With the rain falling hard, the mud on his boots, and the pack on his back, it felt like he was still over there. It'd be the rainy season over there, right about now. Only thing missing from the picture was his M16 strapped to his chest, his finger forever resting again the trigger guard, and his boys at his side. Some of them were dead now, some discharged. Some were still over there, fighting a war that seemed without end.
He shook his head. It wouldn't do for him to get stuck in those sorts of thoughts. They couldn't lead anywhere good. Then again, was there anything good for him to get to?
The sound of an engine caught his attention and he peered over his shoulder, seeing headlights approaching, heading his way. Sighing, already resigned to being ignored, he stuck his thumb out, praying for the Big Guy Upstairs to give him a break for once. Just once.
The car slowed down and Zuko internally cheered. Maybe there was something to the whole 'power of prayer' thing?
That cheer and hope disappeared when the car got closer and he realised that it was a police cruiser. It turned its siren on as it approached him.
"Shit." He cursed under his breath and stopped walking, feeling himself hunch in a little more.
He'd encountered this sort of thing before on his trek across the country. Local law enforcement would took one look at him and brand him a vagrant and a potential public menace. They'd judge him to be unseemly and a drain on society. They didn't seem to get that he'd be perfectly content to contribute to society if someone would just let him do so. But no, they saw the scar, the long hair, and the worn clothes and assumed the very worst of him. Maybe they were right to do so.
The cruiser came to a halt behind him, headlights preventing him from getting a good look at the cop that stepped out into the rain; though, even in silhouette, Zuko could see that the man was tall, taller than him, and that his right hand was resting on the butt of his sidearm. Zuko tensed even more.
Hoping to pre-empt the officer and avoid a trip to the cells, Zuko raised his hands to show they were empty and called out, "Is there a problem, Officer?"
He heard the crunch of boots on gravel and the figure stepped closer, allowing Zuko to see the shine of his Sheriff's badge. He cursed again, internally this time. Just his fucking luck.
The Sheriff drawled, "Seems to me that you might be lost, boy."
Zuko stiffened slightly, especially at the word 'boy'. His father had always called him that and he hated it.
Trying to keep his voice light though he said, "I don't think so, no. Ba Sing Se is just up ahead, right? About a mile or two further up the highway?"
The Sheriff nodded absently, and Zuko could now see the scowl on the man's face, framed by a set of ugly sideburns. He said, "It is, but I reckon it's not the sort of place for folk like you."
"Who's folk like me?" Zuko couldn't resist asking, voice hardening a little.
The response was quick and sharp. "Vagrants. Delinquents. The mentally troubled. Not the type that should be around honest, hard-working folk such as those that live in Ba Sing Se. You understand, of course."
Zuko's mouth went into a thin line. Still with forced levity he replied, "I reckon you might have judged me wrong, Sheriff. I've had a little bad luck, it's true, but I have family in Ba Sing Se. An uncle whose got a job waiting for me."
That was a lie. While Iroh did live in Ba Sing Se, and the last he'd heard the man ran a fairly successful diner/teashop, he didn't know Zuko was coming and he didn't have a job waiting for him.
"Even if that were to be the case, which I sincerely doubt," The Sheriff drawled. "I don't believe that you would, uh, fit in with such fine upstanding citizenry. Best you just turn around and go on back down the road."
"And if I don't? If I keep walking up this highway? What then?" The levity had left Zuko's voice and it became like granite. He'd been run out of far too many towns by this point.
"Well, then," The Sheriff said, voice equally stony. "I'm thinking I might have to declare you a public nuisance and take you in to avoid a disturbance of the peace. Is that what I have to do, boy?"
Zuko's temper finally got the better of him and he snapped, "For fuck's sake, just do it already. We both know you will anyway."
Zuko's head slammed against the hood of the cruiser with bruising force, hands cuffed too tightly behind his back and his rights being read to him by an amused voice.
Hah, Zuko thought bitterly, as if he had any fucking rights.
It was late and Iroh was helping his staff sweep up the shop and stack chairs on top of tables after the day's business. That was when the phone rang.
Iroh stared at it quizzically, and was about to go over and answer it, when Aang, a theology and philosophy major that he employed, dropped his broom and shouted, "I've got it!" and hurried over to the phone.
He picked it up and said in a cheery tone, "Jasmine Dragon, this is Aang speaking, how can I help?"
Iroh watched the boy out of the corner of his eye. He saw the frown that came over his face.
He heard Aang say, "I'm sorry, who are you looking for?"
Aang met Iroh's gaze and covered the receiver. "Iroh? I think it's for you."
Iroh walked over and took the phone from Aang with a smile. The boy picked his broom back up and went back to sweeping. He watched as the boy began talking quietly with Sokka, an engineering student who worked at the shop part time. It wasn't hard to guess that they were talking about whoever was on the other end of the phone.
Iroh held the phone up to his ear and said brightly, "Hello? This Iroh Agni speaking, how may I help?"
It was quiet for a long moment. Then a heartbreakingly familiar voice said lowly, "Uh, Uncle? It's… It's Zuko."
Iroh's heart almost stopped. Zuko… he'd barely heard a word from or about his dear Nephew since the day he enlisted. Ozai had seen to that.
"Nephew…" Iroh said just as lowly, voice thick with emotion. "It has been so long. I'm so glad to hear from you after all this time."
If Zuko was calling from a US number, then he was home. At least temporarily, but maybe he had been discharged?
"Yeah, Uncle, I'm… Look, I'm sorry to drop this on you, especially after all this time, but I-I need bail. I was on my way to see when this… dickhead Sheriff picked me up for vagrancy. Could you, I mean, you're probably busy, but if you have the time could you come get me? I can pay you back, eventually I mean. I could work it off, maybe—"
Iroh cut him off. "Nephew, I will be there soon. Which Sheriff arrested you?"
"His badge said 'Fleet'. I was only about a mile or two outside the city when he picked me up."
"Ah, yes. Zhao Fleet. I am familiar with him. I will be there to post bail soon, my Nephew. Sit tight."
"Thank you, Uncle. I'll pay you back. Every penny." Zuko was quick to reassure him.
Iroh said, "Nephew, you are my family. It is no problem. I will be there soon."
They ended the call.
Iroh was then faced with a conundrum. He didn't own a car, hadn't done for years, and needed to get to the Sheriff's station fast. The only problem? The Sheriff's station was several miles away from the shop, and Iroh wasn't as spry as he used to be.
His eyes fell on Sokka, who was pretending to sweep while actually observing his boss.
Iroh called out, "Aang, Sokka. A moment, if you please?"
The two boys, young men really, propped their brooms up and hurried over; they were clearly curious.
"Everything okay, Iroh?" Sokka asked.
Iroh nodded slowly. "I am afraid I must ask a favour of you both. It appears that my Nephew has run afoul of Sheriff Fleet and is need of bail money; I was hoping, Sokka, that you could give me a ride there and back?"
Sokka nodded quickly. "Yeah, I should be able to make that work. I'll need to call my sister, let her know I'll be a little late?"
Iroh nodded and gestured to the shop's phone, and Sokka picked it up and began dialling. His finger absently fiddled with the spiral cable.
Iroh stepped away, giving the boy a little privacy, and turned to Aang. He fished the shop's keys out of his pocket. "I was hoping that you could lock up today, Aang? I must hurry down there at once and I may be some time."
Aang accepted the keys with a wide smile. "Of course, yeah. Whatever you need."
Iroh returned the smile. "Thank you, my boy. It is much appreciated."
Aang waved it away as Sokka hung up the phone. He said, "Yeah, it's all good. You ready to go now?"
Iroh nodded, stepping into the back and grabbing his coat. Sokka did the same.
On their way out of the door, Iroh said to Aang, "Don't stretch yourself, Aang, just finish sweeping and lock up on your way out. Everything else will keep until the morning."
"Sure thing, Iroh." Aang called. "See you tomorrow."
Iroh and Sokka left the building. Sokka said, "My car's just over there."
It was a beat-up 1960 Buick Skylark, in midnight blue, and it was Sokka's pride and joy. He loved it almost as much as he did his girlfriend, Suki; he had to say 'almost', otherwise she'd beat the hell out of him. The car was dinted and scratched and a little rusted in places, but Sokka was proud of her nonetheless.
He'd gotten it only a couple years ago, after saving since he was sixteen, and he drove her everywhere.
He unlocked the doors, and Iroh and he climbed inside. He didn't mention the way the car settled lower as Iroh climbed inside.
"So," Sokka said. "The Sheriff's station?"
Iroh nodded. "Yes, please."
His hand was in his coat pocket, clutching the roll of bills that he'd picked up before he left. He did not know how much his Nephew's bail would be, but figured that that day's takings should be enough to cover it.
Sokka hadn't known what to expect of Iroh's nephew. On the one hand, he was related to Iroh, so he was expecting a shorter guy, maybe a tad overweight, and very bright and smiley. On the other hand, the guy needed to be bailed out of jail.
What Sokka hadn't expected was a guy a little older than him, taller, with a dour expression and a huge burn scar across his left eye.
Zuko, as he was introduced, had a backpack in one hand and his jacket in the other, leaving him in a dirty white t-shirt with a set of dog tags on his chest and a tattoo peeking out from the bottom of his left sleeve.
He'd exited the holding cell and smiled slightly as soon as he'd laid eyes on Iroh. There wasn't much life behind the smile, but he seemed to try and force it for Iroh's sake.
"Uncle." He greeted in a subdued voice. "It's good to see you."
Iroh had immediately bustled forward and wrapped both arms around Zuko, hugging him tight. If Sokka was a betting man, which he sometimes was, he'd have put good money on the fact that Iroh hadn't known about the scar, based on the moment's hesitation when Zuko appeared.
"Nephew, it has been far too long." Iroh announced.
Zuko had dropped his jacket and pack to the floor and returned the hug, hands fisting in the back of Iroh's coat so hard that his knuckles turned white.
They separated and Iroh said quietly, "I did not know that you were home, Nephew."
Zuko paused. "Father… didn't tell you?"
His hand brushed across the scar, almost absentmindedly.
Iroh shook his head. "Ozai and I… we do not speak much these days. Not since… not since you left. He and I had words around that time and he no longer takes my calls."
Zuko nodded. "Yeah, he's—he's not so keen on me these days, either."
Iroh frowned at him but Zuko just shook his head.
The younger man's single working eye fell on Sokka, who was loitering awkwardly besides the custody desk, clutching his car keys and staring in their direction.
"Uncle?" Zuko said, tilting his chin in Sokka's direction.
Iroh turned and exclaimed, "Ah, yes, of course! Sokka, my apologies. Zuko, this young man is Sokka, he works for me and kindly gave me a ride here. Sokka, this is my Nephew, Zuko, he has been away for some time."
Sokka's eyes examined Zuko once more. Dog tags, tattoo, major injury, haunted look; yep, he knew what that meant. He'd been 'away'.
Sokka stepped forward and stuck his hand out. "Nice to meet you."
Zuko eyed it a moment and then accepted the handshake.
Sokka could feel a variety of callouses and little scars on the man's hand and felt somewhat inadequate. His own hands were, by no means, smooth, however they lacked the roughness of Zuko's.
They released the handshake and Iroh clapped his hands together. "Shall we? I have handled everything with the good sergeant here."
The sergeant behind the custody desk nodded amiably at Iroh and then returned to his newspaper.
A voice behind them said loudly, "Not so fast there, boy."
Zuko turned and glared at the Sheriff that arrested him.
Sheriff Fleet eyed Zuko with disdain, then his gaze rested on Iroh.
"Iroh Agni." He drawled. "Should have known this vagrant would fall in with you."
Iroh's eyebrows drifted down into a mild frown. "Zhao, my Nephew is no vagrant. Merely momentarily down on his luck."
Zhao scoffed. "Sure. That's what they all say. Just keep the boy out of my sight. I might have to arrest him again otherwise."
Zuko snarled but before he could run his mouth, the Sheriff turned and stalked away without a backward glance.
"Well," Sokka said awkwardly. "Shall we go?"
Sokka drove the two back to the Jasmine Dragon, as Iroh's apartment was above the place. The car was almost silent and bordering on terminally awkward.
He'd tried to start a few conversations with Zuko.
"So, Zuko, you at college? I'm a junior at Ba Sing Se University."
Zuko was sat in the back of the car, having surrendered the passenger seat to Iroh, and he met Sokka's gaze in the rear-view mirror. He shook his head and said, "No. I'm not."
There was a long, drawn out pause and then Iroh said cheerfully, "Sokka is an engineering major. A very talented one. He has saved us much money with maintenance and repairs at the diner."
Zuko said quietly, "That's good to hear, Uncle."
Silence again.
Sokka tried again. "Hey, Zuko, couldn't help but notice that you've got a tattoo there? What is it?"
In the rear-view mirror he watched Zuko tug his shirt sleeve lower, covering the tattoo.
"It's nothing." He muttered, looking away.
Silence fell once more.
Sokka left it at that. If the guy didn't want to talk, he wasn't about to make him.
When they reached the Jasmine Dragon, they found that Aang was just finishing up, inserting the key into the lock as they pulled up. The younger boy turned around and grinned widely. He waved at them.
Iroh climbed out of the car and called, "I thought I said to just finish the sweeping?"
Aang shrugged sheepishly. "I did finish the sweeping. And I wiped down the tables. And stacked the chairs. I might have also done some of the dishes."
Iroh chuckled and held a hand out for the keys. Aang walked over and dropped them in the older man's hand.
Iroh clapped him on the shoulder and said, "Thank you, dear boy. You do too much. I will be sure to reward you in your wage packet."
Aang just shrugged again, blushing a little at the praise. "It was nothing, seriously. There's no need."
His eyes went over Iroh's shoulder and landed on Zuko, who was exiting the car, jacket and backpack in hand.
Aang stepped forward with an outstretched hand and a smile. "Hey! You must be Iroh's nephew. I'm Aang."
Zuko shrugged the pack onto his shoulder and shook the hand briefly. "Zuko."
"Nice to meet you, Zuko."
"Sure." His tone was flat.
There was that silence again; Sokka was beginning to get used to the awkwardness that seemed to surround Zuko, however it still made him vaguely uncomfortable. The guy's unblinking stare didn't help, even though he had to be blind in his left eye. No way someone could see after… whatever the hell did that to his face.
Aang eventually said, "Uhh, hey, Sokka, think you could give me a ride home? Save me the bus fare?"
Sokka jumped on that way out of the awkwardness. "Yes! Of course. Aang, jump in. Iroh, I'll see tomorrow for my afternoon shift."
Iroh smiled and nodded. "Until tomorrow, my young friends. Drive safely."
Aang and Sokka climbed into the car and Sokka pulled away from the curb.
There was silence for a little while and then Aang said, "So, Zuko seems…"
He trailed off and Sokka said, "Quiet? Weird? Awkward? Intense?"
Aang nodded. "All of the above. Has Iroh ever mentioned a nephew to you?"
Sokka frowned, shaking his head. "Maybe once or twice, but only in passing. He's talked about his son from time to time, and the nephew usually cropped up in some of those stories. Gotta assume that's Zuko."
Aang nodded again. "Yeah. That's what I thought. Didn't he describe his nephew as kind of shy and nervous but generally a happy little boy, especially when he was with Iroh's son?"
Sokka nodded as well. "Yeah. What the fuck happened to him?"
Iroh had been quick to usher Zuko upstairs to his apartment. It was a relatively small place, mainly because some of it was devoted to storage for the diner below. It didn't help matters that Iroh had become something of a hoarder in recent years, filling the apartment with trinkets and oddments.
He had a guest room though, right next to… next to Lu Ten's old room.
Iroh sighed quietly. Almost thirteen years had passed since a drunk driver took his son away, and there were days when it still felt like yesterday. It was like gripping a shard of glass; it digs into the hand, cutting and shredding the flesh, blood gushing over it; however, over time, he had become accustomed to the pain, almost numb to it, until the shard twisted and caused a bloom of fresh agony.
Iroh shook his head, forcing the dark thought away. It would do no one any good to dwell on such matters; not himself, and not the haunted young man in front of him.
That was the only word Iroh could think of to describe the look in Zuko's solitary working eye. Haunted. There was a… distance there, as if the boy was very far away.
He said cheerily, "I have a guest room that you're more than welcome to, Nephew. Please, make yourself at home."
Zuko sent him a look that was probably supposed to be a smile. In fact, to someone who didn't know Zuko at all, it probably appeared like a smile. However, Iroh knew Zuko's smiles and this was not one. This was a movement of muscles that pushed the corners of Zuko's mouth vaguely upwards.
"Thank you, Uncle. I can't thank you enough, for everything. And I'm sorry for bringing unpleasantness to your door. I'll pay back the bail money—"
Iroh waved that away once again. "Nephew, as I said, we are family. What is mine is yours. Through no fault of your own you needed to be bailed out of jail and I was happy to pay. Let us speak no more of it."
Zuko nodded slowly. "If you're sure, Uncle."
Iroh nodded as well. "I am. Now, I think this situation calls for some tea."
Zuko said wryly, "You think that about every situation, Uncle."
"And I am correct every time, dear Nephew."
Zuko chuckled. Once again, it fell a little flat. Iroh would have to try and do something about that.
"I will make jasmine tea, Nephew." Iroh announced, heading for the kitchen. "Just the thing after a long day."
Out of the corner of his eye he watched his nephew stand awkwardly in the middle of the apartment, still holding his coat and bag. Iroh noted that he was practically at parade rest.
He gestured to the kitchen table and insisted, "Sit, sit. Make yourself comfortable, Nephew."
Zuko did, though he still looked vaguely uncomfortable. Iroh wondered sadly when the last time was that his Nephew was comfortable. He feared it may well have been the last time they saw one another, all those years ago.
Iroh shook his head and began brewing the tea.
