"I talked to Katara the other day. I'm thinking about heading over and helping Hakoda with the children."

"You don't have to do that, mom."

Zuko sighed and dropped his forehead to the kitchen table. He contemplated holding the phone away from his ear so he wouldn't have to listen to her tell him the same thing everyone else was telling him. Give it up. He was done giving it up. Iroh had said there were other roads, and Zuko could see them clearly.

"Nonsense. I haven't seen my babies in a while. Or maybe I should come visit you. Heard you had a rough time of it last week."

"Don't worry. Katara's fussing enough for the both of you."

There was a long silence, and Zuko pulled the phone away to check that the cord was still plugged in. He knew his mother worried, and she just wanted her children to be safe, but Zuko wanted the same thing for his children. They just had different ways of ensuring that safety, and neither way had proven to be terribly successful.

"Mom?"

"I understand why you do it, Zuko. Believe me, I understand."

"What?" Zuko bolted upright. Given his mother's adamant pleading that he remain safe and as much away from harm as possible, he hadn't ever expected her to say something like that.

"If I had the power… You know I follow everything you do in the papers, if I can, and…" Ursa sighed heavily, and something shuffled on her end of the line. "Weapons charges? I don't believe it's the best you can do."

Zuko ground his teeth, gripping the phone tighter. "It's not. I know I can do more."

"Then you have to do it—"

"It's not that simple—"

"Nothing ever is, Zuko, but these cretins don't deserve to be on our streets," Ursa said, her voice dark and cold, coming across the line as a barely audible growl. "The others don't know. You and I know, Zuko. We know what they're like. We know that they do not stop."

Her words were like a soothing balm on an aggravated wound, and Zuko let them wash over him and sink into him. They rarely talked about Ozai and the effect he had on their family, but when they did, Ursa's anger and resentment always rose to the surface, and he'd suspected these emotions were what made her keep her silence. They had been on the front lines as Ozai invited one unsavory character after another into their front room, their scars and bullet riddled bodies filling a young Zuko's nightmares, their guns laid out on the dinner table in his mind, sitting on plates like a macabre, deathly meal.

There was a reason they didn't talk about those years. In those years, they had been powerless. Ozai ignored the looks on his children's faces, and when Ursa stood up to him, he always retaliated with closed fists. He was bigger than they were, stronger, and his resources were better. Though Ursa was terrified for Zuko when he joined the academy, he had imagined he saw a faint glint in her eyes. Zuko had convinced himself that it was pride in this great accomplishment of his, pride at seeing her son avoid his father's footsteps. Ursa's words now said to him that this had never been his imagination. Mixed in with that pride had been joy in knowing her son would be dealing retribution. They were not powerless anymore. Zuko would not let them make him feel that way again.

"I am so proud of you," Ursa said.

For him, that badge meant he had power. He would not have to stand around and wait for things to happen. He was that catalyst. He would change things.

"I know, mom."

"Iroh can't understand, but bless his heart for trying to do the right thing. What does he want you to do now that the papers are talking about the raid? I bet he's telling you to back off. When will the warrant be served?"

Zuko gave voice to the first syllable of the first word, but caught himself. Though he knew his mother would never tell Haru or any other criminal information that might help them escape, he still needed to keep that information quiet. There were enough holes in the police force as it was. If Haru got away, it would not be because of anything Zuko did. They had a hard enough time trying to catch him. It stirred something in Zuko to hear his mother talk so openly and so passionately about justice. A part of him felt vindicated, that there was someone who agreed with him. Even if his mother had no power over the police, her one voice could be the voice of many within the city who've had enough. They'd been silenced by rampant acts of violence, and perhaps enough was finally enough.

"Everyone wants me to back off," Zuko said instead. "They keep saying there are other things I can do, but mom—"

"They fight dirty, sweetheart. Sometimes we can't help getting a little dirty, too, when they start flinging mud…"

In his mind, those many voices symbolized by Ursa's one voice called to him. They asked him how far he was willing to go to protect them. The answer was too ready on his tongue.

.O.

Zuko shouldn't have let his mother's words affect him so much. He knew she was speaking from her pain and her fear, and those weren't exactly emotions that lent themselves to rational thinking. Sitting at his desk, absently smoking a cigarette, Zuko couldn't help but play those seductive words in his head. Sometimes, a little dirt touched those who otherwise managed to stay clean.

There were days when it seemed the only cops who managed to get anything done were the ones whose hands were caked with mud. Those were the ones with the connections to the underworld and had friends in "the know," those cops weren't afraid to turn to the mob to get their work done. The idea had floated in his mind so many times before, but ultimately, he pulled away, designating that as a line he didn't want to cross. He would not become a crooked cop, he told himself. He couldn't understand how so many would risk so much just to lock away a few people. The past six months had turned his universe inside out; he saw the world in stark relief, now, shadows highlighted where they'd remained dark before. He understood frustration not only with the bureaucracy, but with the people they were supposed to help. The residents were the ones determined to keep quiet. They were the ones determined to doom themselves.

Zuko looked across the aisle at Jet. There was surely no small amount of dirt on Jet's suit, and yet he remained a working part of the force. He was currently surrounded by friends, laughing and joking, unaware of brewing darkness. Jet was still a popular and well liked guy. Zuko snorted. There were so many corrupt officers on the force, and those were the ones with the connections to remain above the law. Those same connections were within his grasp. All he had to do was make one phone call. Ten minutes on the phone could change the course of this brewing war. Ten minutes could possibly stop this madness before it started. The idea was so very tempting.

Putting out his cigarette in an ashtray overflowing with butts and ashes, Zuko stood and headed to his uncle's desk at the head of The Pen. It was for his family that he had remained clean. What would Katara say if he told her what he was thinking about doing? She'd probably threaten to hurt him if he even considered stepping back into the shadows. He could spend a thousand years explaining things to her, and still she would beg him not to do it. Zuko balled his hands into fists. They'd had to send their children away. That's what being straight did to you. He couldn't stand back and let his children or his wife die. He loved them too much. He needed them too much.

As he walked down the aisle between the desks, other detectives turned to look at him. The bruises were only beginning to fade, and his side did still hurt sometimes, but he walked with his shoulders back, wearing his bruises as a badge of honor. Every morning he saw those marks, he let that hatred coil a bit tighter in his stomach, knowing just what it would do, hoping it would make him hate those mobsters enough that he wouldn't care how they fell, so long as they did.

"Ah, Zuko, I was hoping you would come to see me." Iroh gestured to the chair across from his desk, and Zuko sat. "The guys from the FBI are coming in tomorrow, and I'd like you to be one of the leads on their team. You've worked the closest with the mob cases, and your knowledge will be invaluable."

Zuko nodded. It was a high honor, and he knew he deserved it. But he also knew his uncle.

"What do you want in exchange for this new position?"

Iroh laughed genially, resting his folded hands on his stomach. "There are days when I wonder why you haven't moved further along by now." Iroh cleared his throat. "You always find a way to remind me that being a detective is important work, and I'm glad you're still doing it."

"Don't bullshit me."

When Iroh wanted, he could be direct and to the point. When he wanted to cushion a blow for Zuko, he always turned to flattery. Zuko took a deep breath and gripped the arms of the chair.

"We're investigating them, yes," Iroh said, "but not for what you would like. Lesser charges—"

"No," Zuko said, standing.

"Don't be stupid!" Iroh slammed his hands down on the desk, drawing the attention of nearby detectives. "What do you hope to do, Zuko? Hm? I've been working Chicago since before you were born, and I managed to stay alive by knowing my limits."

Zuko turned his back to Iroh, but he did not leave. If Iroh could manage to convince him that there was a way to dismantle Chicago's most dangerous mobs without resorting to a direct attack, Zuko would be willing to listen. He'd even go along with the plan if it showed any sign of being effective. So far, Iroh and the FBI had given him nothing, no viable plan, and nothing they were currently doing managed to make any dent in organized crime. They were still drowning in this mess.

"Knowing your limits is a sign of maturity, wisdom, and respect for your position. Knowing when to pull back and when to push forward is the sign of a good leader. I will give you the chance to turn down this position at the head of Operation Soap Bubbles—"

"Operation what?"

"—but should you turn it down, Zuko, understand that these cases will no long be your responsibility. You walk away from this, and you'll lose control of everything you've spent the past six months working on."

Zuko pinched the bridge of his nose, turning to face Iroh with narrowed eyes.

"So this is your way of controlling me?"

"No, this is my way of making sure you don't get killed. I happen to love your wife and your children, and I don't want to see them mourn your death. I buried one son. I will not bury another."

Iroh matched Zuko's frustrated gaze with one of pain and pleading. Zuko couldn't stand to look at that face for too long, and in the end, he was the first to turn away. So much was at stake.

"Promise me you will think on it. I'll give you the week, and until then, I'll be briefing the incoming FBI agents. How far are you willing to take this, detective?"

.O.

Dinner that night was a quiet affair between him and Katara. The house seemed overly large and empty without the children, and it was plain that Katara was suffering because of it.

"I think I should call to check up on them," she said, standing and leaving her plate mostly untouched.

Zuko stood and pulled her against him as she reached out for the phone. She fisted his shirt in his hands and took deep breaths.

"You've already called three times in the past hour."

"I know, but Ira—"

"Your father knows how to handle Ira. He took care of both you and Sokka, remember?"

Katara laughed softly, resting her head against his shoulder. These were the moments that Zuko enjoyed best with his wife. He loved having Katara against him, he loved knowing that he could always protect her. There had been far too few of these moments lately. A deadly tension was rising between them that started six months ago, and would threaten to drive a wedge between them. It was all because Smiling Aang got greedy and decided to gun down Haru after a failed business deal.

"Maybe you could take some time off work and visit the children at your father's?" Zuko offered.

"And leave you here alone?" Katara asked, pushing Zuko back so she could look in his face. "One of the reasons I'm staying is that you'll have to come home and look at me every night. I know that if you have to see me and what this is doing to me, you'll think more about what you're doing."

Zuko laughed, pulling Katara against him again. "So, in short, you're manipulating me."

"Yes."

Rather than argue, Zuko kissed her, because he wanted to have Katara around to manipulate him. She was a physical reminder of that line and the costs of crossing that line, and while she did remind him that it was a dark path, she also gave him reason to push down that path.

Katara threw her arms around Zuko's neck, holding him tightly as if he was trying to get away from her. Her body fit perfectly against his; they'd spent years fitting effortlessly into each other's lives. They knew every curve and every muscle, just the right way to hold and to touch, and as Katara deepened the kiss, Zuko was reminded of every way in which Katara knew how to sink her hand into his chest and grab his heart, to tug one way or another. He pulled her closer against him, moving his kisses down her neck, loving that breathy sigh, needing more of her.

His mother's words were seductive because he wanted to be the kind of person who would pursue justice at all costs. Zuko wanted results, and to deliver heads on platters. He wanted to be able to send a message that said no one could mess with him or his city.

As Katara pulled away and smiled at him, though, the love in her eyes tugged at his heart until he admitted that every step backward he took would be tinged with pain, guilt, and self hate. There was no way he would be able to keep that from Katara. They'd shared so much of themselves, and it was so natural between them. That secret would weigh heavily on him, and it would make him choose which one he wanted more: his family or his city. For her and for their children, Zuko needed to find a middle ground.

Zuko ran his thumb over Katara's lips before kissing her again, holding her against him as tightly as possible without aggravating the bruises on his side.

"I love you so much, Katara."

.O.

The telephone ringing downstairs awoke them early the next morning.

It was Azula. Mai's father, The Governor, heard that Zuko was going after Smiling Aang, and she wanted to talk.

He was stupid to put on his coat and head out the door.

.O.

"I'm only doing this as a favor to Azula," Mai said, sitting across from Zuko at an out of the way coffee shop.

Mai was a perfect picture of Victorian elegance, the exact opposite of many of the women Zuko saw on a daily basis. Mai embraced the restrictive clothes and long skirts, her bangs cut sharply at eyebrow level, her hair twisted into a neat bun on top of her head. Not a strand of hair was out of place, even when she walked into the coffee shop followed by a stiff breeze. She'd taken command of the little shop the moment her foot crossed the threshold, and people were at her side, accepting her coat and gloves, ushering her to the table where Zuko waited, even pulling out her chair for her.

"This conversation will be strictly between you and me. I am not here to act as a representative for my father. You are not here to act as a representative for Police Inspector Iroh, the City of Chicago, Cook County, or the police district. Are we agreed?"

Mai stirred her coffee with sharp, precise movements. Her voice was quiet and flat, her eyes cutting and searching. Her eyes did not leave him as she tapped her spoon once on the side of the mug before setting it on the saucer with a faint clink. Zuko watched as she brought the pure white porcelain cup to her mouth, painted a bold red. As she returned her cup to the saucer, she smiled at him, a closed-lipped smile, her eyes narrowing flirtatiously, just a bit.

"We are agreed," Zuko said, stirring his own coffee just to have something else to look at. "Nothing you say in this conversation will ever make its way to the police. You have my word."

"Good," Mai said. "I hear you are a very trustworthy man. I will take your word."

Her voice was low and gravelly, sometimes making him want to clear his own throat. There were other people in the restaurant, but theirs was a private booth in a private room, blocked from all prying eyes. It was necessary to ensure secrecy, something they'd both insisted on. Zuko hadn't even told Katara what Azula's phone call was about. As far as she knew, he was going into the office earlier, and might stay late. It was nothing unusual. Guilt did try to settle in Zuko's stomach, right next to a bit of shame, because he knew what he was doing was wrong. It was as if that line was thick and red, right down the middle of the table, and he and Mai were talking across it.

"It wouldn't be good for your father's reputation if it was known you were talking to the police," Zuko said, watching for Mai's reaction.

"No," she said, smiling. "It wouldn't be good for him at all. But then, I'm not talking to the police."

The corner of Zuko's mouth twitched, and he raised his cup to her. She did the same.

"So. Azula says you wanted to talk to me. Why?"

"I am not above using all of my connections to my advantage," Mai said. "You and I have a common enemy."

Zuko scoffed. "I'm going to go ahead and assume that you're not talking about The Moustache. He would hardly be a threat to you."

"Your assumption would be correct. There are rules to our world, Zuko. I am sure you understand this."

The longer the conversation went on, the more uncomfortable Zuko became. He reached in his pocket and felt the cool metal of his cigarette case and grasped onto it desperately, holding it like a talisman. It was Katara in his pocket, and he wanted that reminder of all he was fighting for. There was a coldness in Mai's demeanor that threatened to reach out and grab him from across the table. It was in the way her eyes met his, the way her mouth stretched into a smile, like a bloody gash across her pale face. It was in those precise, controlled movements. Her distance made her retreat further across that line, showing Zuko just how far he'd go if he took that first step.

He was not dealing with Haru and his third rate gangsters.

"I understand that every world has rules," Zuko said, lighting his cigarette. He kept the lighter in his fist, ran his thumb over the monogrammed 'Z.'

"Then you will understand the importance of rules and how…angry…people get when those rules are so blatantly ignored." Mai placed her hands on either side of her cup and leaned forward, the tip of her nose crossing that invisible barrier. "There was order when we dealt with Gyatso. Aang is young and foolish, and has no respect for boundaries. I blame it on his mother and his generally poor upbringing. Gyatso should have been sterner with him."

Mai's nostrils flared, and Zuko could have sworn the corner of her thin red lips was pulled up, ever so slightly, in the faintest hint of a snarl. When she leaned back, Zuko released a breath he hadn't meant to hold. He blinked slowly, holding that monogrammed lighter even tighter in his fist. He had been trained to see and read between the lines, and Zuko could feel the invisible barrier keeping him in his seat; it kept him from standing and walking over to Mai's side. While her eyes searched his, he probed deeper into hers. There was no middle ground here. The Governor had an agenda. That was why he'd authorized this meeting. Azula's name had only been the key that unlocked the door to this possibility.

"Haru's territory is not Aang's to take. It would go to us first, then the Bei Fongs. Then Aang and his stupid Blue Arrows. He is insolent and foolish to think he could so blatantly overstep his boundaries, and if the Bei Fongs are helping him, I will have their heads, too."

Mai gripped the edge of the table, and the corner of Zuko's mouth turned up in a sarcastic smile. Before him were several paths. He'd taken one step and the shadows had been banished, and now he could see so clearly. From one, Katara and the children smiled, their arms open to him, welcoming him. From another, Iroh and his FBI agents waited, their badges and official documents ready. The path he was standing in front of now was covered in blood. He could see the blood on Mai's hands, red as her lips, dripping from her hair, staining her white satin blouse.

"Should you choose to work with us, my father will share information with you that could put 'Smiling' Aang away for a very long time," Mai said, leaning back. "We will then move in and restore order."

"And you expect the Bei Fongs to be ok with this?"

Zuko regarded Mai from the corner of his eye, doing his best not to look directly at her, as if she was some mythical beast that could stop his heart with one glance. It was that smile, he decided. That cold, deadly, red-lipped smile. He wondered who really ran The Governor's gang. In all the big three, the old regime was getting older, dying out. Soon, a new power would come to rise in the city, and these were a new breed of gangsters, not afraid to shed a little blood.

"Oh," Mai said, leaning back and resting her hands in her lap. "It's not for the Bei Fongs to like at all. If they had any part in Aang's would-be takeover, they shall just have to be next on our list, hm?"

Ok, so this became a really long chapter, and a lot has happened in it. Zuko has had a crisis, reaffirmed his love for Katara and the children, another gangster has been introduced, Zuko has come to a realization. I'm loving the chance to recast some of our favorite characters as mobsters :D Mai struck me as perfect for a mob princess and a woman of the 20s who completely rejects the flapper image and is quite happy in the more restrained Victorian attitude of the years before. I actually think this works to her advantage for intimidation factors. I also realize that this story is sorely lacking in the Zutara department, and that I should make up for that in the coming chapters.