Zuko is fifteen years old the first time he gets well and truly drunk. Really drunk. Brilliantly drunk. Ceremoniously drunk. It is a process that involves a harbor, a tavern, and memories of Uncle Iroh ordering one more round. The remaining details are blessedly hazy, though not enough so to stave off the suspicion that a duck may have been involved at some point in the evening.
Zuko is fifteen years and one day old when he wakes up with a monstrous headache, fuzzy teeth, and Katara's disapproving frown. Neither one of these seems particularly auspicious.
"Here," she thrusts a cup towards him. "Drink."
The cold tea, because it's always tea, tastes so absolutely vile that it must be amazingly healthy. He downs the cup without complaint and starts to feel more optimistic about the possibility of being upright. Meanwhile, Katara moves softly, lighting candles, and watching him out of the corners of her unsettling, brilliant eyes. Zuko appreciates the quietness more than the tea.
Of course, he's not about to admit that sort of thing out loud.
"Do you think you could eat something?" she asks when he finally sits up.
He nods. "Yes." The nod travels downward, rolling his stomach. "No. Never."
"Oh, you'll be fine. Your uncle has already had a full breakfast and he outdrank you by seven cups." The girl's brows rise and quirk into what translates as amused censure. The gesture is damnably familiar. "Apparently you challenged him to a drinking contest after the third bottle. You lost sometime after the eighth, I think."
It certainly feels that way, Zuko reflects, while the bones of his skull try to slide out. The feeling explains his lack of affront at the pressing of a cool, wet cloth to his face and Katara muttering, "Must be a guy thing."
"Jealous you got left out?"
She leaves the cloth spread ungraciously over his face. "Why? I got to see a crew full of grown, mostly sane men have their common sense overthrown by a couple of jugs. Not to mention the musical portion of the evening. I learned some lovely new tunes for the next music night. Especially that ditty about how the monk's staff has a knob at one end…very inspiring. Hmm, that reminds me; I'd better mend lieutenant Ji's uniform before the poor man starts worrying too badly about where his pants ran away to. Mind you, he won't be the only aching head pondering that sort of question; the dancing got a little rowdy after the fifth wine crate."
Zuko really, really hopes he was unconscious by that point. Unconscious and fully dressed. The gleam in Katara's eye advises him not to ask. "How long before we're ready to set sail?"
"Depends on how long until someone finds the holding cell key."
"Key?"
"To unlock the helmsman."
"…Katara?"
"Yes, Prince Zuko?"
"Why is the helmsman locked in the holding cell?"
He doesn't need to see her shrug to know it's there. "Probably for the same reason Master Iroh insisted on telling the story about when you were seven and got your shoes melted onto a suit of armor. You know, the one they had to carve you out of?"
Ah. Of course. Zuko wonders how many people he's going to have to throw overboard during the course of the coming week. The thought is a vaguely uplifting one.
"I will never touch another drop of alcohol as long as I live." Which, judging from the way he's feeling, won't be all that long anyway.
"Uh-huh." The cloth vanishes to reveal Katara looking at him with mild curiosity. "Well. How does it feel?"
"Like every organ in my body has been replaced with slime."
She rolls her eyes. Unladylike. Really, the girl is hopeless. "Being fifteen, silly. Do you feel different? Wiser? Stronger? Taller?"
"I feel like executing you for impertinence."
"So, no change?"
His head hurts. His mouth is dry. His face is damp and chilled despite the overbearing warmth of the room around him. Though docked, he can feel the ship rock softly on the water in an illusion of movement, of going and getting somewhere. He is fifteen and hungover and the scar he didn't have when he was fourteen a year ago is in the same place it was when he was fourteen a week ago.
Zuko closes his eyes.
"No change."
Author's Note: For those mad enough to spot it, this segment has a mild Terry Pratchett reference.