I just want to thank all of you for reading this far, whether it's now or long after this is published. You have no idea how much it means for someone as young as I. I appreciate the support and the reviews, and I encourage you to check out my other stories. Thank you, enjoy, review.
Zuko violently on his back and fights to choke back his putrid vomit, as he falls into stableness at the painful touch of cool hands on his injury, followed by the sting of water in his open wound. Yelping and shouting, he jerks upward and flails, the entire world painted red instead of just the sky consumed by the comet.
"Shh, Zuko, shh!" a girl's voice commands, near tears. "You're going to be all right, I swear, just hold still!" She places her hands on his chest again, muttering to herself, something like, 'not healing water', and 'please work, please work'.
Suddenly the majority of the pain is gone at last, and Zuko manages to breathe without strain. His eyelids flutter open to find a worried Katara kneeling over him, almost as worn and drained as he from attempting to heal him.
"Thank you, Katara," Zuko breathes laboriously, and Katara's hands fly to her open mouth in gratitude and shock.
"I think I'm the one who should be thanking you," she says, and a tear rolls down her cheek, a trail of liquid mirth.
Something passes between them then, the weakened Zuko and the relieved-beyond-measure Katara, both heroes in their own ways- a possibility. They could acknowledge it, then, the possibility of a future as more than friends, could tell each other at last what the nagging feelings in the back of their minds is telling them. In that instant they are clear to choose whether or not to do these things, in this smaller crossroad, and, at the moment, both of them seriously consider closing the small gap between them. Until, that is, two different faces come to mind, two different people to fight for, care for, confide in.
And, just like that, the moment passes, like the trails of airplanes criss-crossing in the sky that miss each other by inches. Their roles in each others lives are established without argument. Friends, and perhaps better off that way.
Zuko allows himself to be helped up and supported by Katara, and as he struggles to his feet, he hears a dejected wail from across the courtyard. Azula, her last grip on sanity dissolved, lies chained to the sewer grate, spitting fire and curses and sobs, screaming at the phantoms that won't leave her be.
"How did you do it?" Zuko mutters, wincing at both the pain his chest and the sight of his defeated and insane sister.
"The water in the sewer grating," Katara whimpers, hardly able to look at her. "I lured her onto it, froze us, and tied her up by melting just the water around me."
Zuko nods without another word, then attempts to stumble forward towards this broken girl. Katara's arm is still slung around his waist, though, and she is reluctant to approach Azula.
"You-ouch- you'll be fine." Zuko assures, and she thankfully consents.
Azula glares up at Zuko when he reaches her, preparing to breathe out fire like a dragon. But Zuko is ready for it, and turns her damp, pale face away from him speedily, wincing with strain, suddenly desperate for answers, for closure, before she slips away without remembrance.
"Tell me, is she dead?" Zuko commands, scared witless of the response. "Azula, tell me about Mai! Are Mai and Ty Lee dead?"
Azula screams, a loud and broken and sobbing screech, at the sounds of the girls' names, twitching with wide, staring eyes as if she sees their betrayal before her now. She bites her lip so hard it splits, and blood courses out onto her chin, and her eyes are squeezed tightly shut.
"I won't hurt you," Zuko says to her, losing his patience, shaking her trembling, despairing body. "I just need you to tell me!"
Azula snarls something in a garbled voice that sounds closest to "better off dead" as she kicks at Zuko fruitlessly.
"But are they?" Zuko cries. "Azula, please!" The girl, hardly older than a child, and her glassy eyes focus on him in a glare of utter revile. How could this proud and powerful warrior become this? How could the Spirits have ever let them coexist, knowing what they would drive each other to become?
"No," Azula snarls through a mouthful of blood, and Zuko stumbles back, steadied by a stunned Katara.
"Come on," Katara murmurs to him. "We should go."
Zuko obeys without question. "They're alive," he marvels softly as Katara guides him away from the painful remains of Azula. Mai, wonderful Mai, is alive, as well as the cheerful Ty Lee.
"So what now?" Katara asks him. "Do we go look for them?"
Without greatest reluctance, Zuko shakes his head slowly, glancing up at the sky that is losing its red tinge. "We need to find out what happened with Aang."
"But how do we do that? Where do we go?"
"I…don't know. But I have a hunch."
Katara clutches at Zuko's hand when they spy the creaking metal wreckage of the air ships peeking out from the sea and the shore beneath them, and the view only gets worse from there.
"Oh no…" Katara breathes, for nothing else can be said, no words are capable of describing what they see.
The edge of the Earth Kingdom is naked- bare of trees and shrubs and people, the earth beneath life exposed and shredded. The empty, lifeless past extends to the horizon.
Yet, right before Zuko and Katara's very eyes, the trickling rivers that run across the parched, scorched surface like angry scars rise and flood the land, putting out the raging fires, before retreating again, leaving the ground soft and muddy and ready to renew.
Katara meets Zuko's amber eyes with infinite joy, and the mirthful words tumble past her bright, teary smile. "He's alive!"
"He's alive," Zuko repeats quietly, for that means his father is not. He expected the knowledge of being fatherless to be awful, yet he feels no difference, as he realizes the man that was truly a father to him has conquered Ba Sing Se once more and is safe from harm.
"Look!" gushes Katara. "There they are!"
A group of four stand tall on a large hill- Aang, Sokka, Suki, Toph. Zuko counts them all, murmurs their names, and their unharmed figures are pure miracles, the kind Zuko was sure he no longer believed in.
When Appa lands, Zuko, with Katara's help, struggles up the muddy hill in order. Chest heaving, heart pounding, wound smarting, Zuko watches as Katara throws her arms around every member of the group, saving Aang for last.
"I'm so proud of you, you did it!" she says joyously, but Zuko knows Aang is too distracted by the fact her arms are around him to answer.
"Yeah, he did!" Sokka cheers. "It was awesome! Aang was amazing!"
"And you, Sparky?" Toph asks, crossing her arms.
"We defeated Azula, yes" is Zuko's quiet reply.
Suki bites her lip. "And is she dead?"
Zuko shakes his head. "No. I had the sages take her to a mental facility on Whale Tail island. I'll be able to look after her there."
"And you think she'll heal?" Suki asks doubtfully.
Zuko shrugs. "I don't think she'll ever be okay, but I had to try, didn't I?"
Didn't I? Zuko wonders. He didn't have the heart to kill her; for surely the state she was in was worse than death, hell during life. He contemplates what it would be like to look at people and see only how they've hurt you, betrayed you, defeated you in the past, because a person like her is nearly impossible to love, when she shows none in return. He wonders what it would be like to never be able to escape the mad, turmoil within.
It is only then that he notices the heap of dark red clothing behind Aang, and the white hand poking out from under its folds, as well as the tangled mess of black hair near the back.
"Father…" he whispers weakly, eyes growing wide. "Is that…?"
Aang walks over to the next Fire Lord, claps a hand on his shoulder comfortingly. "He isn't dead, Zuko."
"What are you talking about?" Zuko chokes out. "You didn't kill him?"
Aang shakes his head. "He's unconscious and weak, Zuko, but he is still alive. He won't be able to hurt anyone again. I took his bending away."
Zuko is stunned. "That's possible?"
Sokka laughs. "That was my reaction, too."
The sixteen-year-old studies the Avatar's face for a long time before he says his own sort of compliment. "You are a much better person than we wanted you to be. And I am so thankful for that. He doesn't deserve it."
"You're right," Aang replies steadily. "He doesn't. But this is the way for the world to heal."
No, Zuko thinks. This is the way for me to heal.
"Oh, ouch!" Zuko collapses to the tiled floor of the Fire Nation palace in pain, two days later, only halfway into his robe. Taking a deep breath, he staggers back up, clutching his healing wound and hoping no one saw.
"Need some help with that?" a voice asks. Instead of being angry or embarrassed, Zuko turns around, grinning, as a familiar figure steps up and helps him into his silk cloak, the touch gentle and tentative.
"Mai!" Zuko smiles, overjoyed to see her alive and next to him. "You're okay! They let you out already?"
Mai ties the sash behind his back. "My uncle pulled some strings. And it doesn't hurt when the new Fire Lord is your boyfriend." "Wait. Does this mean you don't hate me anymore?"
Mai blushes, a strange and new sight but not entirely unwelcome. "Actually," she says softly, "I think it means I actually… kind of like you."
Then Zuko kisses her, a feeling he's missed and pined for weeks on end, dreamed about, even, a warm feeling that spreads from his toes upward. This is where he belongs, and one of the people he belongs with.
Mai draws back after a few seconds and suddenly frowns. She jabs a finger pointedly into his chest, avoiding the side with the wound and instead nailing into his heart, like always. "But…Don't ever. Break up with me. Again."
Zuko smiles sheepishly. And what else can he say, what else can he venture, but a simple "Okay"?
"Zuko!" calls a young voice, and the newly appointed Fire Lord turns around to find Aang standing in front of the curtain to the balcony, beckoning him over.
Mai squeezes his hand fleetingly. "I'll catch up with you later." And she is gone again, too quickly, another face amongst the crowd outside.
Aang nods to Zuko as he joins him, his eyes trained on the curtain that separates them from the crowd below, a mix of all nations. "I can't believe a year ago I was still hunting you."
"I can't believe a year ago I was still frozen in some ice." He looks up at Zuko. "And now we're friends." "Yeah," Zuko says, testing the word. "Friends." It is a promising option, exactly like Aang said all those months ago, just after Zuko rescued him from Zhao.
"Everything is so different now. The world has changed, so much."
"But we're going to rebuild the world, Aang. And we'll do it together."
With one last flash of a smile, Zuko takes a breath and slips through the curtain to face the crowds and his coronation. No turning back now. Not, of course, that he wants to.
Earsplitting cheers reach his ears as he surveys the people below him, thunderous claps as the crown is placed on his head, where it rightfully belongs. Zuko is beaming, suddenly proud to return to his panicked nation as it scrambles to pick up the pieces of its shattered endeavors, face the fire it has enkindled. The youngest ruler the nation had acquired in centuries, they said, and already perhaps one of the best. The entire world has waited for this moment, the second the new Fire Lord shows his distinguished face, and volunteers to lead them from this dark age they've stumbled into with new light, a beacon to slice the shadows with his faithful fire.
Fire Lord Zuko. Yes, he muses. The name fits nicely.
"Please," he calls down, silencing their cheers. "The real hero… is the Avatar."
Aang shyly emerges through the curtain, and the cheers are just as immense as Zuko's, if not louder still. For a second, there has been no separation, no darkness, no war. For a second, there is only harmony and adoring faces, only improvements.
And then that second ends, and the chaos of the world settles into place again, for this crazy, mixed up world is finally falling into balance at least. Or at least as balanced as his crazy, mixed up world can achieve.
Zuko painstakingly clamors alone down the cold, stone, spiraling stairs, lantern held aloft, illuminating the gray walls of the prison. He is suddenly claustrophobic, terrified of these containing walls, and must resist the urge to flee, for there are things he must do, people he must face, problems he must address. Starting with this one, one that has been burned into the back of his mind for years.
"Well, well." drawls a raspy voice, dripping with sarcasm, and Zuko shines his light into the dank cell in front of him, flashing brightness on the face of his father for the first time. "To what do I owe the grace of the new Fire Lord's presence? I suppose I should be grateful he is here to visit me in my lowly prison cell, a father to see his son."
This carefully chosen phrase makes Zuko wonder; Ozai does not ask whether or not his daughter is still alive, even though she is, in a sense, trapped in a hospital on a remote island, being looked after by Zuko and Ty Lee. He does not ask for mercy, which means he is still as proud as ever, even down here, where hope is extinguished. And most importantly, he does not give a care that Zuko is finally happy.
"You are no father of mine," he whispers coldly. "And you should be grateful that the Avatar spared your life." Ozai rolls his eyes. "Why are you here, Fire Lord Zuko?"
Zuko puts his face as close to bars as he dares and asks the million-dollar question. "Where. Is. My mother?"
"So…you're leaving me again?"
Zuko cringes at Mai's assumption. "I wouldn't put it that way, but yes. Just for a week or two, though."
"And you're not going to ask me to come."
"I didn't think you'd want to. Do you?"
"No," she says with a thin smile. "Not really."
Zuko kisses her cheek and turns to the door. "I'll be back before you know it."
"I'll be here, I guess." And the bittersweet sadness of their temporary parting is matched by the light drizzling of the rain outside in the streets of Ba Sing Se. Zuko draws up his hood and heads for the tea shop with the air of a man with a secret, a determination that burns in the form of a fire the rain cannot quench.
"Zuko!" calls a cheery, familiar voice as he crosses the threshold of the tea shop, the rain chasing off most customers but not the positive atmosphere.
"Listen, Uncle," Zuko says in a hushed voice. "I have something to tell you."
Iroh nods over the steam emitted from his tea as Zuko tells him his plan, a sad smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "And you leave when, my nephew?"
Fire Lord Zuko shifts uncomfortably in the doorway of the Jasmine Dragon's kitchen. "Tomorrow." His uncle looks up at him, intrigued. "Did you want me to come with you?"
Zuko gulps down his misgivings, smiles at the family member he is proud to call his as he plans his search for another. "But you're happy here, Uncle. And I think I can handle this on my own."
"After all," Iroh contributes. "You are the Fire Lord now."
And he is; he is an emblem of power with the world at his feet, but he cannot yet control it until he finally gets control of the last lost pieces of the past.
The mid-morning sky is the blue of a robin's egg, the fiery sun a source of warmth and light. Zuko bids farewell to the Kyoshi Warriors, including Ty Lee, as well as his closest friends from the Water Tribe and the Earth Kingdom, and, most importantly, the Avatar, as he steps onto the boarding plank of the large ship. For a few weeks, the Fire Nation will be left in his uncle's and the Avatar's care. For a few weeks, he will be nothing more than a teenager with a journey to complete. For a few weeks, he will be simply a boy looking for his mother in an enormous world that can no longer threaten to swallow him up, now that he knows his place in it.
"Zuko," calls a voice, a monotone music to his ears, and Zuko peeps over the side of the ship to find Mai standing there with a single bulging suitcase.
"Mai?" he asks in surprise. "What are you doing here? Are you coming with me after all?"
She shrugs her shoulders with a shy smile. "I reconsidered your offer, and I thought that maybe this trip might not be as boring as staying here after all." Zuko helps her on board gladly, the deep green waves sloshing at the iron sides.
With closure on the impending horizon, Zuko waves a temporary goodbye to his friends and his homeland as it fades behind him, even if it is not yet a home. For home is where the heart is, and, for now, his heart stands right beside him, holding his hand, and on the shores of many lands, in the faces of his friends, friends who have faith in his fire.