For the first time in years, Zuko found himself thinking of his father and how wrong things had gone. Zuko and Azula were still young when their father was sent to prison, but Ozai's absence hadn't erased the vague feelings that lingered in Zuko's mind. He remembered raised voices and tears, feeling powerless when he saw his father hovering like some towering monster over his mother as she lay fuming on the floor. He remembered angry golden eyes, like molten lava, turned against him, obscenities yelled, accusations shouted, blows thrown. Whenever Ozai was around, there was a foreboding feeling in the house, like doom to come, never to be averted; Zuko had learned to tread carefully, to hide in closets or under beds just to avoid this man. He hated feeling powerless.

After seeing Aang and Toph Bei Fong in the restaurant together, Zuko was on high alert for the rest of the day. Usually vigilant about his surroundings, he paid even more attention to the figures around him when he left the office and boarded the train that would take him home. He eyed everyone with the gaze of a detective, looking for hidden actions, swift movements gone undetected by those who didn't know better. He kept watch for groups of young men standing idly on street corners, watching people pass by, sharing knowing looks or nods of their heads. Zuko saw their suspicious behavior everywhere. Growing in him was an undeniable urge to fight back, to hit the mob where it hurt and remind them that they were not above the law. He just wasn't sure how far he could take that feeling, but he was sure he'd take it somewhere. Seeing Toph and Aang together was like a promise of impending doom. Zuko effortlessly fell back on old techniques his uncle taught him when he was at the academy.

Iroh had been the one to intervene in his family, at first attempting to convince Ozai to back off without resorting to his badge. It quickly became clear that Ozai had no time for his brother's words or warnings. Zuko remembered seeing Ozai lash out at Iroh, but Iroh was quicker and stronger, and Ozai might have been drunk at the time, and Iroh managed to subdue Ozai so quickly and so easily. When he saw his uncle pin his father to the floor, threatening to dislocate his shoulder should he put up too much of a struggle, Zuko had made up his mind just who he was going to be like when he got older. Iroh had become a hero in the eyes of a small child, and that's why Zuko never cared that Iroh was the one to arrest and charge Ozai with weapons trafficking, money laundering, assault, and theft.

Zuko pinched the bridge of his nose, hoping to stem off a headache as the train rattled along on its tracks, people and bags jostling each other in the mid evening rush. He'd brought all his case notes home with him; the pictures, witness statements, and lists of suspects were stuffed into his briefcase, and he planned to spend a bit of time before bed going over things. He knew there was a plausible and strong connection between Aang and the murder, if only he could search hard enough. Weapons charges would keep Haru off the street, but that alone wouldn't be enough. Zuko needed a more serious charge to put these men away for any length of time. They needed to be gone so long that the world forgot about them, sent to the world's most secure prisons where they'd have no chance of escape or redemption.

The man staring at him from the other end of the train was making it a little hard to concentrate, however. Zuko discreetly took note of his clothing and facial features. He listened for any conversations the man might have, but he remained silent. He was scowling, as if concentrating desperately on some fact, his brows low on his forehead. Zuko sized him up; the guy was easily double Zuko's size, and if it came to a fight, which Zuko was sure it would, he would have a hard time of it. The guy was practically bulging out of his coat. The poor fit led Zuko to believe he didn't belong to either of The Big Three: Smiling Aang, the Bei Fongs, or The Governor. Which just left Haru. Zuko relaxed a little, though not much.

He still got off the train at his stop, watching the man from the corner of his eye and seeing him exit as well. Zuko sighed. This was a prime example of why Haru would never be in The Big Three. It was an exclusive club, entry only granted to the most ruthless, the most cutthroat. Importantly, you had to stay out of jail, and that would be fairly hard for Haru to do if his people were so obvious in tracking others. Zuko turned onto a block he didn't normally take, hoping to lead the man further away from his family. He still had his cuffs in his pocket, and he could call for backup after he'd subdued the man.

As Zuko had expected, the streets were devoid of many people. A few scurried quickly from one place to the next, always seeking the safety provided by closed and locked doors. The man even coughed a few times, and Zuko smiled to himself, turning onto a street with shops recently shut down for the night, intending to double back to the train station. A shadow came out of an alley and tackled Zuko, surprising him and dragging him across the concrete into an alley. Zuko cursed his carelessness as he pushed up against his attacker, struggling to regain air that was forced from his lungs when he fell.

"We're here to deliver a message," one of the men said, the voice not quite close to Zuko's ear. "There are better things you could be doing with your time."

Someone was holding Zuko's face against the concrete sidewalk, grinding his cheek against the rough pavement, a knee in his back, and Zuko grunted, throwing his weight to the side and knocking the man off balance, catching him in the side with an elbow. He tried to assess his surroundings quickly, looking for the big man who'd been following him, but he was nowhere to be seen. There were seven of them total, and they were blocking off the alley's exits. The grim faces looking at him showed there was no satisfaction in this deed; perhaps they understood that Zuko wielded his own power, and there were far more on his side than on theirs. Zuko hoped that's what was going through their heads. They might go easy on him if they feared retribution.

"Hey." It was the one who'd spoken earlier. "We could let you go, but we've got orders."

Zuko turned to face the man, narrowing his eyes. "So what do you intend to do? Keep me locked up somewhere? You don't have the guts to bump me off."

The men stepped closer to him, and Zuko tensed, balling his fists, ready to take a swing at the nearest guy and make a run for it if he had to. He picked the speaker as his target; he seemed to be the momentary leader of the group, and he was also the smallest. This wasn't a fair fight, anyway, and Zuko wasn't above using size to his advantage. It was pure tactics.

"Your name," Zuko demanded.

He'd pegged the guy correctly as the leader. He laughed, and all the others laughed. There was no real mirth in their voices, not in the way there would have been if the Bei Fongs had gotten to him. He also noted that they were unarmed; a clear sign that they weren't The Governor's men. Zuko knew they used a signature knife in all their fights, and they weren't above slashing up a cop. Haru's men tended to be more cautious, perhaps knowing their boss couldn't protect them against bigger foes. They would understand the danger.

"This bull here thinks he's got something on us!" His laughter was a loud, cackling thing, and it echoed in the silence of the night.

Zuko looked around him, a small smirk on his face. "Then you haven't heard? I do have something on you, and he's not coming back from this."

This quieted the group, but no names were offered. If they got away, they wouldn't act without instruction from Haru, and Haru was already going down on weapons charges. The speaker stepped forward, and Zuko noted the tension in the man's body. He was going to strike; he was too tightly wound not to, and Zuko braced himself for a blow he knew was coming. Once the leader struck, he'd be at the mercy of them all. He couldn't fight off seven men at once. He wasn't that strong.

"Look, copper. You don't seem to comprehend your situation. We're telling you to back off Haru, and you're going to do it."

Zuko shrugged. "Fine." That wasn't his target anyway.

Growling, the man let loose, throwing a wide punch, but Zuko ducked, kneeing the man in his stomach, but not sparing time to watch him go down. Immediately, he turned to his left and sent a powerful punch to the jaw of a man who stood stunned and immobile, but these were the only hits Zuko was able to get off before those standing behind him joined the blooming fray. They shoved and punched and kicked, blows connecting with head and back and ribs, and when the leader had his breath back, he kicked Zuko a few times for good measure, too.

Zuko felt their shoes digging into his skin as he spat blood, their blows sending vibrations through his whole being. Their punches connect with his face and his stomach, and he tried to move with them, to lessen the impact of the blow, but when he fell, the picked him up and held him, his movement restricted. His thoughts went to Katara and the children, the promises he'd made them, and he questioned whether he would even be able to keep it. Fear settled in the pit of his stomach, blotting out the growing force to the pain; what if they'd gone to his house? He'd been followed before, and Zuko was sure that Haru and his men knew where he lived. What if they'd gotten to Katara?

Renewing his struggle, Zuko thrashed wildly from side to side, succeeding in breaking the grip of the one holding him. Turning sideways, Zuko plowed through three of the men, using his shoulder as a battering ram just like his uncle taught him, and finding some freedom at the mouth of the alley. Zuko gulped air, his lungs burning, and his heart pounding. He needed to get to Katara, to save her and the children.

Slowing only to pick up his briefcase, Zuko dashed for his house, looking over his shoulder to see if he was being followed. They must have successfully delivered their message, or found Zuko's revelation more unnerving. They did not follow him. Even in flight, Zuko would not let his guard down, not again. He was a four year old boy again, watching the shadows for that foreboding presence, looking for the heroes that would swoop in and subdue the evil that lurked in the night.

He was that hero, and if he couldn't do the saving, then who would?

Few of his neighbors owned cars, and when Zuko saw the space in front of his house filled with cars, he sped up as much as he could, now breathing with his mouth open, searching out Katara's form among the crowd that was gathered.

"Katara?" he called.

As he got closer, Zuko recognized the faces, but this didn't lessen his anxiety and his fear. They were cops, people he'd just left at the office, and they were looking at him, concerned and confused, but Zuko pushed past them all. Their shouts were incomprehensible to him; he needed to see that Katara was alright, mounting the steps to his house three at a time, his heart burning in his chest. The front door was once again unlocked.

"Katara."

He dropped his briefcase and held his arms open to her, and she practically threw herself at him, clutching him and holding him close, not caring for, or not noticing, the blood on his face and shirt. Zuko paid no mind to the soreness in his back or stomach, pulling Katara as close as was physically possible and closer, needing to feel her and to know that she was unharmed. Her eyes were red, and as they held each other, she cried again. Zuko rubbed her back and ran his scratched and bloody hands through her hair. He did not bother telling her that things would be alright.

"I was so scared, Zuko," she whispered against his chest.

"I'm fine. They didn't hurt me too badly."

Katara pulled away from him slightly, and Zuko saw the surprise on her face. She hadn't registered that he'd been hurt, and Zuko felt his muscles began to shake as the adrenaline tried to make up its mind about coming or going. He guided them to the couch, his limbs heavy, one arm around her shoulder. He felt nauseous.

"What happened?" he asked, just as confused as Katara.

Gently, she touched his bloody lip and ran her fingers over the scrapes on his cheeks, fear making her tremble. Zuko grabbed her hand, squeezed it, letting her know that he would be alright.

"They followed me," Katara said, her voice thick and quiet.

Zuko tensed, unconsciously pulling away from her. "Who?"

"From the sounds of it, I'd say it was Aang. Or one of his Blue Arrows."

Iroh came in from the kitchen, holding a tray with three cups of tea on it. Jasmine from the smell. Zuko looked between his uncle and his wife helplessly. He had ignored their warnings, focused so much on his righteous cause to bring peace back to their neighborhood. Zuko looked away from them. His efforts had backfired, and now he had two different mobs hunting him and his family. Katara stood and left the room. Moments later, Zuko could hear the water running in the bathroom, and the cabinets opening and closing. He clenched his fists, anger resurfacing. This had gone on long enough. If they wanted to escalate this war, he would escalate it.

"Nephew—"

"If you're going to tell me that I should have listened to you, don't bother," Zuko said gruffly. "I already know."

"What's done is done," Iroh said, sliding a mug closer to Zuko. "The children are safe with their grandfather. I sent them with an escort to have a little visit with Hakoda."

Zuko nodded, but he couldn't help a bitter laugh. "Just this afternoon, I felt I was on to something."

"Nephew…"

Iroh paused, looking at Zuko as if not seeing him clearly, like there was a haze in front of him. Iroh shook his head, then sipped from his own mug. When Katara came in again, she had bandages and clean cloths, and she began cleaning Zuko's wounds. The three sat in silence for a while, though Iroh would occasionally lean forward as if he had something to say.

"I'm leaving a few officers here," Iroh finally said. "They'll patrol the area just in case those goons decide to come back. Who got to you?"

"Haru," Zuko answered. "Wanted to send me a message. Apparently, they didn't know that we had something on them. I guess Haru's trying to keep it quiet."

"That's ridiculous," Katara said, frowning. "It's been all over the papers."

"Maybe they didn't realize how serious it was, but my bet is that they weren't high enough in that family to warrant being told too much," Zuko offered.

"Are you still intent on going after Aang?" Iroh asked.

"Absolutely."

"Then I might suggest… You won't like hearing this, but as your superior, I have to say this, Zuko. There are other ways to bring him down. I would not suggest a direct confrontation."

Zuko looked away, grinding his teeth. He knew Iroh's opinion on the subject, and maybe he was being stubborn, but Zuko wanted to take these fools down for a real charge, not something like tax evasion that would get them out in a matter of years or months. He wanted them sent away for life.

"I'm calling in the FBI," Iroh said, setting his mug down.

"Then you're pulling your officers off the mob cases—?"

"Katara, you can't be serious!" Zuko pulled away from his wife. She wouldn't betray him like this. She knew how hard he worked.

"This is stupid, Zuko," she said, taking his face in her hands. "They beat you up. I won't let—"

"Perhaps both of you have forgotten why we're even doing this," Zuko said, shaking free of Katara's grasp. "Perhaps you've forgotten just how scared everyone is, how much things have changed—"

"Things will always change, nephew. You cannot hope to stand there against the darkness and keep it at bay forever."

"I never said—"

"Then let your actions match your words, Zuko."

Iroh was leaning forward, sitting at the edge of the couch, his brows furrowed and his face earnest. Zuko looked away. All he wanted was peace. Peace and the chance to erase a bit of fear that was held in the night. It was his job. It was reason he chose this job. He could have stayed a beat cop, he could have moved further up the ranks. He had the credentials, the experience, the support, the record to back up becoming an Inspector in his own right. He stayed a detective for this reason. He wanted to be out there, wrangling the crime and beating it into submission as best he could. He never thought he would be able to hold everything back, but he was charged with keeping the worst of it in check.

"You gave me two weeks," Zuko reminded Iroh, almost pleading for Iroh to remember and honor this deadline.

"But this changes everything, Zuko," Katara said, tugging his sleeve. "I had to send our children away so they wouldn't get caught in this mess. You can't think that's ok."

"Remember, nephew, there are always other paths in life. If you want them off the streets, there are several ways to accomplish that. You have never cared about fame and glory. Don't start caring, now."

Fine. There were other ways.