Cloaks and Daggers
I may someday make this into a oneshot, because I kinda pulled away from the direction I was originally going in. And just to clarify these drabbles aren't related in anyway (maybe if you squint really hard and turn your head sideways very very fast, maybe.) I need a beta reader so bad, or better yet a grammar and spelling Nazi!
"A saint is a sinner, a sinner is a saint. It's all just the cloaks we hide behind."-Live, Hero of Love
What difference dose it make if she steals for the poor and he steals for his self? Both hide behind faces that aren't their own, both take what isn't theirs, what dose it matter the intent?
Still when the blue demon gazes upon the painted lady he can't help but feel ashamed.
When the painted lady looks upon the blue sprit she can't help but feel a pull of belonging, a kindred sprit at last.
He wears a blue mask, the symbol of her people to hide from his own linage. The destiny chose for him, he wears the mask so he is free to choose his path.
She becomes an icon of his people to help the needy, without the repercussions it would bring. She hides her face behind the red paint and vale so she is able to be herself without persecution.
He looks upon her again now, closer, close enough he can see through the thin fabric that hides her face from the world. He gasps underneath his carefully constructed façade. She takes his breath away for more reasons than one, and he feels the shame all over again. For looking upon something so sacred to the watertribe girl he knows, for thinking possibly that the two enigmas (the one he has created, and the one he has come to know) stood beside this river could maybe run away from the world together. He is not worthy of this pure hearted girl, he is not worthy of her beauty with the angry red scar he wears. He can't be with her because that would be betraying his people, his father; the thought sends shivers down his spine. For months now he has fantasised about the avatars bodyguard? When did the face of his enemy become so mature, so pretty, and so familiar in a startlingly different way?
"Who are you?" She asks and even her voice sounds different, but it's enough to break his revere. He doesn't want to say your mortal enemy, but anything else would be a lie.
"Who are you?" It's the best he can come up with, but it's a valid enough question, she certainly isn't the girl he remembers. She seems flustered and torn. He takes the opportunity, snatching her hand and squeezing it.
"Goodbye." And he's gone far into the night.
And this time when he rips his mask off, he doesn't just let it float away he, breaks it into a million different pieces. There are plenty of things he is hiding from and behind as it is, he can't risk that too.
When he gets new information he finally makes the decision to become the man he wants to be, choose his own destiny, as Zuko and nothing else. He only hopes his Uncle, wherever he is, is safe and happy and can possibly one day forgive him.