AN: I was on vacation with no computer, remember? So that's why this took so long. That and the fact that I spent all the time I could have been coming up with ideas for this fic searching desperately and frantically for Tai whump fanfictions. Karma, the sly dog, rewarded me by giving me only two or three good ones. Pah.

Anyway. Here's the next one. I tried to limit myself to 1000 words but it didn't work out. Lol. Excuse the mistakes- I will edit this ASAP. I've just written it and I had a ten-hour car drive home today so I'm completely knackered. Hope it isn't too crappy.

For those fans not as rabid as me this happens just before Book Two. In The Avatar State Iroh mentions being stuck on a raft drifting at sea. My Irko side took over from there. Unfortunately not even the awesomeness of Uncle Iroh could save this from being a catastrophe. My apologies. I actually feel ashamed.

Disclaimer: Avatar and Iroh's raft do not belong to me.

Swimming

The sun had never seemed that hot and savage before, not even in the many Fire Nation summers he'd lived through. Its heat beat down on him mercilessly, a thousand punishments for crimes he could not name in his state. Each pulse of warm sunlight sucked more moisture from his already dry body. It was torture to swallow; his throat was as rough as old parchment. He'd stopped being hungry three days ago; he had no energy to feel anymore.

With a laughable amount of effort he managed to turn his head to look at his uncle. Iroh looked even worse than he felt: pale, pained and floppy. Both of them were stretched out fully on their backs on their little raft as it drifted aimlessly through the sea. In the beginning they'd tried to steer their craft to shore and catch fish and pray for rain so they could have clean water to drink. They didn't try any more. Even the great positive force of Uncle Iroh had withered under the strain of no food or water and unyielding heat.

Unable to keep seeing his uncle like that Zuko turned his head the other way and allowed his thoughts to be overrun with blame once again. If only he hadn't. That one sentence, adorned with his different actions, had run through his thoughts for the past few days. Even in his weak, befuddled state he knew that their situation was his fault. But then, what was new? It was always him. Him and the bad luck the spirits kept flinging at him at every turn. He wanted to clench his fists and scream and volley fire into the endless water surrounding them to vent out his frustration. All he could manage was to clench his fists.

"Don't do this to him," he croaked through chapped lips to the heavens. "It's me you want. Don't do this to him."

As if the spirits had heard his plea there was suddenly a splash just off the raft. Zuko's eyes were in time to catch the tail of the pigfish as it slipped back under the water. The ex-prince nearly cried in relief: there was food nearby. When the fish surfaced another time, seemingly taunting him, Zuko made up his mind. Using every bit of strength he possessed he rolled himself off the raft. The salt in the water stung his healing wounds but he paid them no heed at all. Instead, he took a deep breath and dove after his quarry.

It took only a minute for him to realize his grave error. The fish was born to swim and it was healthy and fast. He was near starving and dehydrated and thus at the mercy of the sea. His arms ached before he'd even swum half a foot. By the time he realized his chase was futile and he had to get back to the raft his entire body was screaming. And, true to his usual luck, he'd suddenly been caught up in a current.

He managed to drag his head above the water but it was a struggle to keep afloat. His legs were tiring fast and his arms were basically useless. And the raft had drifted a good distance away. Zuko stared as his uncle and his salvation drifted away from him, his entire body caught up in a turmoil of increasing agony. Suddenly he couldn't get his legs to kick hard enough and he was dragged back under the sea, this time with no lungful of air.

He thrashed around a bit but quickly lost his bearing and knew that it was a futile attempt. Frustration coursed through him and with it came an emotion he had rarely felt before but which he now embraced fully. Defeat. His arms and legs stopped their agonising and pathetic attempts to keep him up and his body sank slowly as his lungs burned. He thought of his uncle, wondering if the old man would know what had happened when he woke up to find himself alone. His defeat was punctured a bit by his guilt: he knew his uncle would miss him.

Iroh's words from the North Pole played through his mind again. Ever since my son died I've thought of you as a son. The gold eyes of the drowning prince closed as his body began to panic at the lack of air. Unbidden, a vague thought flittered through his mind: Uncle's first son died because of too much earth and a lack of fire. And now his second one is dying because of too much water and a lack of air.

That thought was enough. He would not be the one to cause his uncle that much pain. He refused to give up his destiny to two elements that were not his own. The torture that ensued from his struggles to live nearly made him give up again. But he grit his teeth and fought the waves. Finally, finally, his nose and mouth broke through. He gasped in what must have been gallons and gallons of air, coughing and crying out his pain to the empty heavens. With stubborn resilience and pure desperation he managed to flip himself over to his back: floating was his best chance at surviving.

As he let the current gently drift him along he allowed his exhausted mind to take in every twinge his cramping, screaming muscles made. He was so intent on not crying out, passing out or sinking that his head hitting against a substance – none to gently – made him jump violently and inhale another round of water. As he flailed and floundered his brain finally gave him the solution; he had hit his raft. He shot out his hand and managed to grab hold of the side of his floating salvation. His other hand followed suit and he dragged his head above the water again.

The sight of his sleeping uncle made him even weaker with relief. But his celebration didn't last long. Every muscle in his body was screaming and causing him to shudder even more violently than just from cold. He had to scrabble to hold on, cutting his arms on the rough wood but not caring. There was no way he'd be able to haul himself up; he just didn't have the strength.

His bleeding, although mild, sapped even more energy from him and he felt himself slipping back towards the cold and merciless water. Finally Zuko could hold his silence for no longer and he cried out, feeling as though he was breaking in half. And then there were hands on his shoulders, pulling him up. The pull was weak but it was enough to drag his half-dead body back onto the raft. He felt like kissing the wood.

"Prince Zuko!" His uncle sounded as raspy as him but more alarmed and concerned. "Nephew! What happened?"

Refusing to move even a twitch to spare him any more agony from his muscles Zuko closed his eyes so he could sleep as he lay, contorted and sprawled. "I went swimming, Uncle."

There was no use worrying the old man, he decided as he drifted. No use at all.