ARC TWO: BODY

The Seventh Chapter

Pain

"Zuzu." My sister greets me coolly as I sit down. I ignore her, trying to get comfortable and figure out a way to hide what I'd done.

"Where were you, Zuko?" questions Blade. She brushes her long black hair over her shoulder, that passive expression in her eyes.

"I can't do anything against those fucking Hakoda siblings with a bad gut," I hiss, deeming it an appropriate response. "Lay off."

Blade shrugs boredly and returns to examining her namesake: a tiny stiletto she'd pulled from her sleeve.

"Let's just get on with it," prods Ty Lee, who desperately wants a nickname but is too picky to accept anything the "Princess" gives her.

Girls, I think. They come up with the stupidest things.

"So, Zuzu," starts Azula, "the little Cat of the alley gave you quite a hard time a few days ago."

"Thanks for stating the obvious." The aftermath of the fiasco a week prior hadn't just left me injured. Thirty-two people, retching and dizzy from the drugged refreshments, had stumbled up and down our hallways until Father came home. They immediately scattered in fear, but not after leaving several puddles of vomit for Azula to clean up. It is strangely satisfying to know (I'd been unconscious at the time, bleeding and unnoticed in the guest room).

"Cool it, Zuzu," Azula snaps. I realize I'm gripping the edge of my seat, knuckles white. I flush and look around the sparsely furnished den before nodding.

"Revenge," she says, "is imminent. What shall it be, Zuzu? Or, who shall it be? The leader of their little troupe? The little blind girl?"

"Don't underestimate them, Azula," I warn.

Her eyes narrow. "You will refer to me as Princess in this room. You know that." She smiles grimly. "The walls have ears, you know. And what are you saying? That your baby sister doesn't have what it takes?"

"Those are street kids, Princess," I say quietly. "Fighting is their entire survival. This is just a game to you." And nothing to me, I want to add.

"Don't worry. I'll still play," she replies sarcastically, examining her nails.

I just sigh.

It's later that I really think about what I've done. I lie on my bed, a banner (with the flame-shaped crest of my family) to my back, a blank white wall in my view. I've never been one for petty luxuries…it's part of the reason I never let Azula's "team" give me a nickname. Zuko is what Mom called me. Zuko is who I am.

I don't want to be part of Azula's twisted ideas. She thinks gangs are fun. Just an amusing little game that makes her "cool".

A clatter at my window tells me she's here; I unlock it, letting her crawl in. She's wearing a dark hood that shadows her face…looking completely like the Cat (but I know she really isn't anymore).

"I told Boomerang that I didn't feel well," she informs me, pulling off her disguise. "To buy time."

"Katara," I say, moving closer. I see her flinch when I say the name. But it's something we agreed on.

I fold my arms around her waist, pulling her flush against my chest. A pair of lips meets mine and I revel once again in my extraordinary luck.

"Zuko," she breathes as I kiss down her dark neck. Something stirs inside me at that tone of voice: it is so simply sincere.

"Yes?"

"Can I ask you something?"

"May I."

"Thinskull," she mutters, but I only look at her expectantly.

She snorts and, pulling herself out of my hold, sits tenderly on the edge of my far-too-elaborate bed. "Where did you get that scar?"

"In a fire." It's a trained response; one I spent the last three years telling myself and others. I speak without hesitation…not even giving a thought to the detailed explanation I've all but extinguished from my memory.

"Is that all?" She looks at me expectantly.

"Don't worry about it," I breathe, struggling to control my voice. I stride toward her, sitting next to her as I hook my arm once again around her waist. "Don't worry about it," I repeat.

I feel her melt into my hold and suddenly a tan forehead is against mine; my breath is her breath and I want more than anything to take those lips, that body…

But even as I press against her in lust, distractions seem to leap into my path.

Something clatters to the floor.

I pick it up.

And slowly…very slowly…close my hand around the silver pistol.