A/N: took some time off from writing because school and real life have been stressing me out but i'm back and ready to party. i think the chapters are gonna be longer now?¿ idk. i'm clearly making this up as i go along lol
buuuut anyway, thanks to all of you who read and enjoy this story! it warms my heart :') i appreciate all the follows, faves and reviews so much xx
Zuko wonders, during his second trip to see his sister, if he would've felt more comfortable with Katara by his side, just as he did during the Agni Kai. He considered asking her when they were sitting at the turtleduck pond, but the image of Azula aiming at Katara replayed in his mind like an echo, and so he never let the thought form into words.
Now, he's not sure whether this is a good idea. Azula's being much more agreeable this time around, and though she's not speaking, she's not trying to attack him, and he thinks these few moments of silence might be the most peaceful interaction they've ever had.
There's something eerie and unsettling about this though. The all white room she now resides in makes him nauseous, the stiff wooden chairs they sit on make him feel more uncomfortable no matter how he fidgets around in his seat or grips the table between them to calm his tense body. He thinks of something else, something glaringly obvious that makes his heart hurt, that after all these years, after growing up just a room away from Azula as a child, that he has no idea what to say to her. He doesn't have an idea what common interests they share, how to be civil with her in a way that isn't completely cliché or childish, and he thinks that they may never actually achieve anything more than uncomfortable quietness.
He considers this both a victory and a loss.
He tries to read Azula, but even in here, with her questionable state of being, with her wild eyes and unnerving silence, she still doesn't allow a moment of transparency. Zuko knows he should say something, that he shouldn't let this trip be for naught. He opens his mouth when he thinks of small talk, but decides against every overused line. If he's going to speak to Azula, he wants it to be genuine, and not some rehearsed social starter to force her into talking.
"You look more and more like our mother every time I see you," Zuko finally says. Azula flinches slightly, but still, it's a reaction, and Zuko is glad he said what he said. She stares at her older brother and eyes him and he wonders how she's interpreting this; he wonders if Azula considers this to be a grave insult or a sarcastic quip, something negative, when in all honesty, he meant it. He sees it in her eyes, in her smile, the structure of her face. He wonders if there will come a day when he won't be able to recognize his mother's face because Azula's will have developed so much that the two will blend into one image in his mind.
Azula sits upright, her chair scrapes the hard floor when she scooches closer to the table. She puts her left hand up to her face, covering the respective area where Zuko's scar would lay if it had been on her skin. Eventually, she lets her hand drop before she leans forward, and though everything Zuko knows about his sister tells him to pull back, he doesn't. He lets her place her palm over his burn mark. He thinks of all the possible ways this could go wrong, how she could lash out and burn him again just like Ozai had, how easily she could ignite his already damaged flesh. She has all the power in the world to hurt him and he willingly resigned it to her.
"I always thought you looked like our father," Azula replies. She smiles at her fingers that are splayed across Zuko's skin. "I wonder if you'll ever become the man that he is."
Zuko seethes at her words and her smile grows because they both know that, though there was no competition between them, somehow she's found a way to win. When Zuko leaves for the night, he'll be thinking of all the different ways she could've meant that and even though Azula will be physically bound to the hut where she now spends all of her days, it is Zuko who will truly be prisoner to the words of his dotty sister.
With all the power in the world to hurt him, Azula, as always, manages to find the thing that will pain Zuko the most.
.
.
.
"Charming," Zuko mutters aloud. He's in Katara's room when he remembers the word and she stares at him with a puzzled expression on her face. He's not really helping her pack, but he's being present, (which is all Katara can really ask for at this point), listening to her tell him more stories she'd heard growing up in the Water Tribe. He never really thought about how different the nations were, growing up as a sheltered child in the Fire Nation until he was exiled, and even then, he only barely familiarized himself with things of the Earth Kingdom. When Katara speaks, he hopes that somehow he'll find a way to commit every word to memory so that he will be able to replay them when she's gone.
When she's gone. Something about that phrase makes him feel vacant.
But her words, the emotions in her voice, the way she stops folding her tunics to use her hands to emphasize things and the light in her cobalt eyes… He's going to miss this in the same way he misses Sokka's jokes and Suki's wit, Toph's demeanor and Aang's optimism, but… This is different. He's going to miss Katara in a different way than he misses his other friends. He'll miss Katara the way rain misses the clouds when it falls from the sky.
"What?" she asks, stopping mid-sentence to peek at him curiously. He remembers then that he was trying to remember what word he'd use to describe her: charming. He feels bashful, his cheeks are hot and it's truly not that big a deal that he was thinking out loud, especially not in front of Katara of all people. He knows she won't poke fun at him but he can't help but feel a bit silly.
"It's nothing," he says. He doesn't know how to explain that he was thinking of her so fondly, that he was listening to her tell stories and build fantasy lands with words and he was entranced by it all, by her passion and vigor and emotional liberty. He wonders what it'd be like if Mai were more open like this, and he feels guilty despite knowing that this thought will never be spoken.
"Always so secretive," Katara says, and her tiny smile only reinstates what Zuko already knows. Katara is charming and pleasant and kind, and Zuko can only imagine how difficult it will be to fill the space once she is gone.
.
.
.
"Oh, everyone 'trusts' you now?" Katara shouts, and Zuko knows he's been in this situation before. The moon is glowing and the air is cold, exceptionally so for the summertime, but all he can focus on is the irate tone of her voice. He stares at her, at her dark brown hair waving in the breeze and she continues to scream words at him that he's certain he's heard already. They sting in an all too familiar way. Regardless, he's silenced by her rage. He's seen her angry; he's heard her yell and reprimand him, but he's never seen her quite like this. His blood ripples through him with shame.
"I was the first person to trust you, remember? Back in Ba Sing Se!" Katara seethes. Zuko wants so desperately to defend himself, but there's no deflecting the truth. She's not generalizing or exaggerating, or even trying to belittle him. She's reminding him of who he is, and he has no response for this.
She walks up to him, dangerously close, and his heart pounds so loudly that he doesn't hear what she says next. All he knows is blue; the blue of her eyes, the blue of her tunic, and everything else gets lost in a flurry of sensory overload. Her words are static noise, he can't process her expression quick enough, and all at once, she's gone, bumping past him with her shoulder as aggressively as she can.
"Katara wait! I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!" He knows this is futile. His words are flimsy and mean nothing in comparison to his actions but he still desperately wants her forgiveness. Zuko turns to grab her by the wrist but when she turns around, it's not Katara's face he sees. He can't believe his eyes for a moment. He steps back, blinking stupidly at what he sees.
It's Ursa.
He knows her eyes and smile anywhere, even here, in this isolated region of the Fire Nation, under a starry sky, after all these years. His thoughts are all too fast and contradictory that he can't possibly act on any of them. He wants to hug her and talk to her and ask her where she's been but he's frozen. All he can do is stare at the woman in front of him. He tries to run to her but his feet won't budge. He wants to shout to her but the only words that leave his mouth are apologies.
"I'm sorry!" he screams, though for what, he's not sure. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" He doesn't know if there's anything else to say. He doesn't know if there's anything else he can say.
"Oh Zuko," Ursa says, but she sounds distorted, far away, like her voice isn't hers. She smiles softly just like Zuko remembers seeing when he was a boy, but just as quickly, her smile melts into a scowl. "It's just who you are. Someone who turned around and betrayed me! Betrayed everyone!" Zuko doesn't know what to say. These words are familiar too but... They don't belong to his mother, do they?
Goosebumps rise on his skin and something is crawling, itching, burning his body. He doesn't understand what's happening, why he can't move or form intelligible sentences or why everything feels so eerily familiar. Ursa pulls up her hood the way she did the last time Zuko saw her, and suddenly he realizes they're not alone. He can see his uncle, in tattered prison clothes, refusing to look at him, Aang in singed robes, eyes glowing and body twitching from the lightning Azula struck him with in Ba Sing Se, Mai, frowning and staring at the ground while guards from the Boiling Rock pin her arms behind her, Azula, crying and hysterical with her hands chained behind her and finally Katara, her wavy hair on either side of her shoulders, while crystal colored tears stream down her cheeks.
"I'm sorry," he pleads. He falls to his knees as everyone draws closer to him. "I'm sorry!" Zuko says again. "Please! I'm sorry!"
Katara steps forward and he stares up at her, at the stream of water she's bending around herself. Slowly the stream starts getting closer and closer to Zuko, swirling around him and surrounding him until he realizes it's just him and Katara in a small dome of water.
"I know!" Katara says. Her words are shrill and manic. The smile she adopts seems fabricated. The water stops moving and Katara keeps her arms out and tensed, controlling every drop. "Why don't you reclaim Ba Sing Se in the name of the Earth King? Or, I know! You can bring my mother back!" Zuko knows he's not meant to respond, but his chest twinges with guilt all the same. Katara moves her arms gracefully around her, and the dome melts into one long stream until it divides into dozens of ice daggers headed straight for him.
"Fire Lord Zuko?"
Zuko blinks a few times and realizes the ragged panting he hears is coming from his own, half opened mouth. It takes him a moment to fully understand what's happening; he looks around and he's surrounded by a dozen men in red robes, and his uncle, directly to the right of him.
His council. He realizes he's in a council meeting and his mind was wandering.
Zuko swears under his breath.
"We need your decision on what to do about the Fire Nation military presence in the Earth Kingdom." Zuko isn't sure which of his men says it. They all look the same to him if he's being honest, all except Iroh, and his mind feels groggy and slow and unable to keep up with everything going on around them.
"I-I'm sorry," he stutters out quickly. He's had lots of nightmares before, but he's never had anything of that nature happen while he was awake (although, the longer he thinks about it, the more certain he is that this qualifies as hallucinating, but he doesn't want to think about that for too long). Zuko sits up straight, pushes his shoulders back, and tries to at least look the part of a leader, even if it's clear his head's not in it at all.
"Are you alright, Fire Lord Zuko?" Iroh asks. Zuko wants to lash out instinctively. Of course I'm fine Uncle! I just need a second to think! He manages to keep his anger under control enough to focus on the task at hand: answering his council. He racks his brain as quickly as he can to pull up the last things he remembers hearing before he was sidetracked. Fire Nation, military presence, Ba Sing Se… but what else? He holds the bridge of his nose in his thumb and forefinger and realizes that the skin is wet to the touch. But from what? Sweat? Tears? Had he started crying and not even realized it?
"Nephew," Iroh prompts again, more sternly but Zuko doesn't reply. He wants nothing more than to disappear, to lock himself in his chamber until the shame and embarrassment from this moment suffocate him to death so he won't ever have to acknowledge it, but he knows that won't happen. He has to be composed, if for nothing else, his nation.
"We will meet tomorrow to discuss this further," Zuko says, trying not to let his voice shake as much as the rest of his body does. "The meeting is adjourned for today." The men of his council all stare silently at him, but refuse to move, and this only makes Zuko more frustrated.
"But Fire Lord Zuko," one of the councilmen begins. "We really should be coming to a decision on this matter and—"
"I said, we will discuss this further tomorrow when I have time to come to a decision," Zuko folds his hands in front of him, stares straight ahead as not to glare down at any man in particular. "You are dismissed."
The councilmen file out of the room, all except for Iroh, who stays behind with his nephew and sits with him in silence.
"I was worried this would happen," Iroh says once the quietness between them becomes unbearable. "You're not getting better, are you, Zuko?"
"I'm fine, Uncle," Zuko says, though he keeps staring forward, emotionless.
"I know you're recovering from being at war, Zuko," Iroh says. "But I'm asking you to be honest. You are not getting better, are you?"
"What else can I do, Uncle?" Zuko asks. "I'm better now. My scar is fine. I regained most of my motor control. I can't just sit around healing all day. I have to move on." He wonders if his voice sounds as hoarse and desperate as he imagines it does. Zuko thinks back to the moments he spent the day before in Katara's chamber, watching her pack, and realizing how real it was that she'd be gone by the following week. He thinks of the star shaped scar on his chest and how now it is healed, how his muscle control has improved greatly, how thankful he should be, and is, that Katara came to his country to make sure he was alright.
"Oh Zuko," Iroh shakes his head as he speaks. "The only thing you can do now is heal." Zuko's jaw tenses, his eyes burn indignantly and he knows it'd be just as easy to storm off and head to his chamber the way he would've a year ago when he didn't get his way. He wants to pretend he doesn't understand. He wants to act like all his scars are physical and that he can claim that he is well now, but he can't. He's aching on the inside and nothing, no teas, no herbs, no amount of Katara's healing can fix the internal damage he's accrued throughout the years. Instead, he lowers his head and shuts his eyes, unsure if the tears he feels welling up are making it past his eyelids.