AN: And, somehow, I got a second wind of muse. I guess now that I've started writing again I'm anxious to get finished. Not so much that it will all be over, per se, but more so that I have less chance of flaking out of this roll of muse.

This prompt was also decided upon pretty early on and it also is based off of actual events of the show. Because of that and because I wasn't sure how much I wanted to babble and drone on and on with this one I asked my dear younger sister to give me a random number. She chose 1360. And I fully intended for it to be only 1360 words. But it didn't work out that way. And I didn't want to cut down because my muse deserted me three sentences before the end of the fic. So.

Sorry about the quality for this one. Maybe the next and last two will be better? *hopeful*

Disclaimer: I own Avatar as much as I own a remedy that cures all ills. If it were true that I owned both of these I would be extremely happy. This, however, is not my happy face. Hence I own neither.

Expect

The thing about sulking, Zuko learned as he grew older and wiser, was that it rendered one slightly oblivious to what was really happening in the outside world. The deeper and harder one sulked the more desensitized one was to the intent of one's surroundings. On that particular night he had been sulking very deeply indeed.

Zhao – the arrogant, frustrating fool! – had taken his entire crew from him. His entire crew! Not only did that knock Zuko's pride completely to the floor and spit on it whilst it was down but it also sent the Avatar that much further out of his grasp. Looking at matters right then the banished prince began to despair that he would never be able to return home. And his uncle! The stupid, stupid old man had been calm about it! He hadn't even tried to stop Zhao. He'd gone for a walk. Sometimes Zuko wondered if Iroh really wanted him to capture the Avatar at all. Seething with renewed anger, Zuko vowed to give the retired general an even bigger bit of his mind when he returned.

As though the Spirits were eager to present him with at least a small bit of opportunity on that night a noise suddenly rang through the quiet ship. Zuko's eyes popped with surprise and he sat up immediately, instinctively calling for the only man who ever truly returned to him. The Firebender padded to the door, wrenching it open and calling quietly into the deserted, cold metal hall.

"Uncle, is that you?"

No reply. No sound of heavy footsteps. No clinking of teacups. No singing. Silence and Iroh never went together unless something was very, very wrong. Instantly, Zuko's guard went up. Whirling quickly into the halls with his hands at the ready he stalked toward the navigation room, checking over his shoulder every few steps. The oval room was silent and empty of everything except furniture and equipment. And yet… Zuko frowned, furrowing his brow as he tried to shake the feeling of unease and of being watched. Snorting at his own paranoia he scratched the back of his head briefly to try and calm his nerves and turned to head toward the front of the room so he could look out onto the deck and try and spot his uncle.

He had taken all of four steps when he realized his mistake.

His sulking had made him aware of only his own emotions and bad luck. Because of that he had not paid proper attention to the happenings that went on around him. He let his guard down. And because of that simple fact he did not expect the attack.

He did not expect the attack, that is, until he saw the great green bird perched on the railing of his ship. Reeling to the side in surprised, he faced the creature and stared, slightly dumbfounded, as it seemed to smirk before spreading its great wings and taking off. That was when Zuko's mind caught up with him. He recognized the bird and saw its departure for what it was in one sickening moment. He had no time to react before the back of his ship exploded.

Letting out a surprised noise at the sound, he whirled in time to see a wall of flame heading his way. In the stunned moments when his body shut down in shock despite all his training he realized that in order to survive he had to teach himself to expect attack and strife at every turn.

Then the flames hit him and he was yelling as he was tossed through the window behind him. His very first instinct was one of pure survival born of many nightmares over the past years: as the flames reached him he immediately lifted his hands to cover his face. For this reason he had nothing to slow his decent as he was tossed thoughtlessly from the window of his ship. Glass from the shattered window flew everywhere, cutting his hands and arms and even his torso as he twisted uncontrollably in the air.

Then he was falling and his instinct changed, pulling his hands from his face so they could attempt to cushion his fall. Before he had chance to hit the deck another explosion went off, the force careening his body sharply to the left. He opened his mouth to cry out and got a mouthful of salty water as his body hit the ocean. Wildly he tried to struggle to the surface, gasping for air when he finally managed to make his aching arms work for him. But instead of clean oxygen he got a mouthful of smoke, sending him into a cascade of coughing that made him have to fight to stay afloat.

Gasping and hacking, barely above the water, the Firebender did not expect the ship to continue exploding. That was, however, exactly what it did. Glass arched into the air in a brilliant, shining arch, many small pieces slicing at his exposed face as he swallowed water in his surprise. And then his ship was falling on him, smashing into his chest and dragging him below the waves mercilessly. Chest burning from lack of air and from the bad bruising the falling wood had inflicted, Zuko writhed as he tried to claw his way free. Getting to the surface was so painful that he would have simply succumbed to the waves once more if there had not been a piece of wood for him to cling desperately to.

The Firebender used what little bending strength he had left to put out the fire on the wood as he simultaneously retched and gasped for breath. His body ached tremendously and he could feel the blood begin to trickle down his face. Weakly he cursed the Spirits as he tried – unsuccessfully – to pull himself onto his floating salvation.

And then – damn his fate and his luck – smaller bits of wood began to rain down on him, piteously battering the parts of his body that remained above the water. One large chunk caught him square on his unburned eye. His answering yell was equal parts pain and indignation at the unfairness of it all. Cursing, he held his newly injured eye, now unable to see anything but a bare minimum.

"Do you want to throw anything else at me?" he coughed weakly at the burning remains of his ship. "Go ahead!"

He really did not expect an answer, but still he got one: his response was a particularly large chunk that smacked him on the head.

The Firebender's head erupted with pain, and all sense of direction and understanding left him. He felt himself slip back into the water but could not tell if he'd fully let go of the plank. Head blazing, eyes unseeing, lungs not working, Zuko screamed his best hope to the heavens.

"Uncle!"

For his efforts he got another mouth of seawater. The rolling waves that had started because of the explosion sucked him under even as he clawed desperately to stay afloat. But which way, exactly, was up? He didn't know any more. He was aching all over and drowning…

Rough hands grasped his injured waist, sending shockwaves through him that caused him to cry out silently. Before he could lament the loss of his last air he felt his head break the surface. Wildly, completely confused, he struggled.

"Prince Zuko!" He'd never loved that voice more in his entire life. "I have you, my nephew. It's okay!"

He slipped slightly into unconsciousness, then, knowing nothing more until he felt the cold ground beneath him. Iroh's hands moved him and he hissed in pain as his body twinged. The man above him gasped but Zuko could not see enough out of the slit of his burned eye to decipher the emotion. Very abruptly, the Firebender's legendary anger sprang to the surface. Those filthy scum! How dare they attack his ship! Spitting out curses he rolled over sharply and roughly pushed himself to his feet. The could not have gotten far; he would find them and –

Pain stopped his train of thought and he almost keeled over, gasping, stumbling and mostly blind. An alarmed cry sounded behind him and Iroh's arms wrapped around his body, partially catching him and partially restraining him. The pounding of his sore head and the sickeningly acute pull of gravity rolled his stomach and he was finally able to vomit up the water he had swallowed. Iroh used this as an opportunity to pull him gently back to the ground, holding him tight so he could not go anywhere.

Zuko spat and heaved and swore, attempting to struggle out of his uncle's grip. His struggles stopped, however, when he felt wet splash onto his neck. His surprised turned to shock as the body holding him back shook with a sob. Uncle Iroh was crying.

No matter what situation or frame of mind or state of consciousness Zuko was in, he would never, ever expect his uncle to cry.

The retired general's breakdown sapped the anger and energy from Zuko's aching limbs. Exhausted, the prince allowed his tearful uncle to pull him onto his lap. He could still see nothing, and his head was throbbing in a way that made him vaguely sure he had a mild concussion.

"Sleep, nephew." It was more a desperate plea than an order.

Zuko obeyed for once, relaxing into warm yet wet arms and allowing his eyes to close. But then his confused mind prodded him with something and he struggled into awareness so that he could say it.

"We're going after them when I wake up," he slurred. "Surprise attack… They won't expect…"

Iroh gently began to rock him. If Zuko were any less befuddled he would have been insulted at the way he was being handled like a child. As it was he just allowed the motion to lull him completely into sleep. His last waking thought was that at least he could know what to expect when he woke: his uncle and his disgusting healing tea.