Disclaimer: Iroh belongs to me only in my dreams. Asami belongs to whoever created ATLK. Bryke, was it?

Note: Hadn't expected so many reviews/watches. Thanks, guys!

Iroh's POV.

Iroh gazed at Asami unashamedly. Dinner was anything but silent, and everyone's attention was almost always directed elsewhere. Generally, the general preferred to remain silent at meal times. Not out of disdain-he simply preferred watching and listening. Tenzin's children provided plenty of life and noise, almost too much to handle. A flicker of revulsion ran through him as he glanced at Aang's grandson, who had his finger so far up his nose it was a wonder that he wasn't fingering his brain. Smirking, Iroh wondered if the boy even had a brain. That point was certainly questionable.

His eyes returned to Asami. To his surprise, she was already staring at him. She flushed and looked away. Iroh, however, was too set in his soldierly ways. His face remained stoic, void of emotion. He looked at Asami, really looked at her. She certainly was a beauty, with those flashing green eyes and thick waves of ebony hair framing perfect, angular features. His own name startled him out of his contemplation.

"Iroh!" Korra was laughing, her round blue eyes sparkling.

"Yes, Avatar?" His tone was cordial, unintentionally cool.

"Sorry to bother you, but would you pass the noodles?" The young water bender's face had sharpened. She'd noticed his mistake.

"Of course, Korra. I'm surprised you didn't ask earlier. What you served yourself wasn't enough to fill a bird's stomach." This time, he was more careful. His voice was friendly, teasing. As the Avatar took the bowl from his grasp, she grinned toothily. He was forgiven.

After dinner, he found Asami on the pier. Legs dangling and eyes gleaming in the moon's light, she looked years younger. He settled down beside her-close, but not too close. He didn't want to scare her away. She seemed fragile, delicate. After yesterday, he was afraid of saying the wrong thing, let alone being too forward.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Asami asked. It took Iroh a moment to register her question. He'd been to busy admiring the other view.

He turned his golden eyes to the water. It shifted in an everchanging pattern, catching the moonlight and throwing it back. The sea seemed restless. While it was a striking sight, it wasn't beauty. Not to Iroh. The ocean seemed unhappy to him. Glancing again at Asami, he realized that there was beauty in unhappiness. Something about the ocean, though, struck him as petulant. What had the water to be unhappy over? What could it possibly want? Why could it not be calm? What was keeping it from stillness, from peace?

All these questions ran through his mind, and, too late, he realized that Asami was still waiting for an answer. "No." He said, slowly. Tasting the word as it rolled through his mouth, into the air, and to the beautiful woman sitting beside him. "No." He repeated, his voice growing firmer. "It isn't."

Asami threw a questioning glance at him. "Why? There is more poetry about moonlight on water than there is about love. It seems to be a universal agreement that there is beauty here."

"I thought you of all people would know better than to take something at face value." He replied, thinking of everything she had been through. Her mother had died, left her with a father who had tried to kill her. Someone she trusted and loved had discarded her like trash for another.

Her voice was hard, and he knew he'd made a mistake. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I only meant that there is more depth to you than one might expect. One does not suspect such courage, such loyalty, and such will from a rich, beautiful heiress." He hoped his answer would suffice. Wounded women were tricky, though. Two ways of wording the same idea would produce very different reactions.

He turned to look at her. The sparkle in her eyes that he had taken as moonlight reflecting off of them had truly been tears. He saw them now for what they really were as they spilled onto her cheeks. She let the fall from her chin, showing no sign that she realized.
"I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you." Fool. He should've been more careful. Why was eloquence failing him so spectacularly this evening?

Without a word, Asami slid across the rough boardwalk and into Iroh. Surprised, he caught her and held her as she began to weep in earnest into his chest.
"Why am I not good enough for anyone?" She gasped between sobs.

Iroh decided it wouldn't be any good to try to speak to her at the moment. He would wait until she regained her senses. It probably was ungentlemanly to hold her in this manner in her moment of weakness. But he enjoyed it too much to let her go. Besides, a little comforting never hurt a soul.