Drabblebending
A Set of Avatar: The Last Airbender Drabblings

Self-Control
A Zhao Drabble

(Taken/edited from my other fanfiction, "Of Wind and Rain.")

Commander Zhao thought only of himself.

He enjoyed thinking only of himself, because it meant he reaped all of the benefits of his actions, keeping them to himself. Other people were simply other variables, and many of them couldn't be trusted. The Fire Nation was full of freeloaders who cruised on others' success. Why should he share his achievements with others? Why should he care what happened to them?

He stared out of the window of his personal chambers, watching the shifting darkness of the ocean, the glow of fires around the docks.

"Next time you get in my way, I promise: I won't hold back."

Zhao scoffed. Prince Zuko. It was easy to laugh at his childishness now, in the pre-dawn. But even though he pretended he didn't care, he'd been awake all night, unable to sleep after the agni kai. He could still feel the fury knotting in his stomach. The humiliation. The defeat.

His fist clenched and he set his jaw. Zuko had just been lucky. That's all. Next time, he'd show him real firebending. Scary firebending. He'd make Zuko never want to firebend again.

He realized that he was craving some tea.

Across the room, there was an iron stand with grooves running down the sides. He walked over to it, pressing his palm against the far right groove. He took a deep breath, and pushed his hand down, exhaling. The channel lit up, the heat of Zhao's firebending turning it orange, then red. It ran underground and came up on a similar stand in the servants' quarters. Hopefully someone would be awake to see it.

Zhao pulled his hand off of the stand, looking at his palm. This palm had done magnificent things. Some might even call them terrible. He flexed his fingers, noticing many rough calluses, as well as a cut he couldn't remember getting.

With this hand, he would become a legend. He would capture the Avatar, and go down in the history books as the man who single-handedly changed the future of the Fire Nation.

He smiled. Single-handedly.

A soft rapping sound came from the door of his chambers. He looked up, pleased and surprised that the kitchen would have responded so fast to his summons.

They are learning to be punctual.

"Enter," he called. The door creaked open a small bit, then stopped. He frowned, less sure that it was someone from the kitchen. He craned his neck to see who it was.

A soft voice drifted from the cracked door. "M-Master …"

The kitchen girl. He relaxed. "You can bring it here, Airlia." The door opened, slowly, revealing a bowed figure. Zhao noticed she wasn't holding anything. No tray, no tea. He looked past her, perhaps for the old cook, but she wasn't there. His brow creased. "Where is my tea?"

Airlia bowed lower. "I-I … I did not know that Master had requested tea," she whispered. "I came here of my own accord … to ask …"

Her shaking voice suddenly cut off. He noticed that she was trembling.

More importantly, he noticed that it bothered him.

He looked away, uncomfortable. "What is it?" he barked.

She made a small, squeaking sound. Like a little mouse. "Teacher Aneko and I w-were …" she swallowed, "feeding the prisoners last night, and …" She cut off again, and Zhao could hear her fast, shallow breaths. He closed his eyes, trying not to notice. "…a-and I noticed that one of them was… really sick." Her hands were clasped together. "Master… if you… I mean, if Master would be so kind… I think he needs treatment. To be treated."

Her voice faded.

Zhao opened his eyes, staring at the wall, trying to ignore the shivering girl in his periphery. "I am not familiar with this prisoner."

It was a lie. He knew exactly who she was talking about. Jude. Nikko Jude, the war traitor.

She sighed. It was a soft sound. "Oh."

They were both silent.

Then, softly: "Master?"

Zhao looked back at her, expecting to see her bowed low enough to touch her forehead to the ground.

But she was looking directly at him.

He was startled. "Yes?"

"May I bring him some medicine? The prisoner?" Her voice was still soft, but it wasn't shaking anymore.

Zhao sighed, looking at her hopeful, young eyes. He felt no compassion. Just pity.

"He will die in prison eventually. You must see that you're prolonging his suffering."

"Please, let me help him," she whispered. "Please, Master."

He couldn't look at her eyes. They were so soft, so loving. He couldn't look at her when he knew he could never understand her feelings. To be able to love someone like this; to care about a suffering stranger. He'd never known such a feeling. He'd never wanted to know such a feeling.

Not until this moment.

He sighed, refusing to acknowledge the warmth that was growing in his chest. He knew it would fade away if he ignored it. It always did.

"Speak to the steward. I know he is awake by now. Tell him I've sent you. He'll give you access to what you need." Zhao was leaving this compound, anyway. He would be searching for the Avatar, not keeping track of prisoners. A new commander would come. A new commander could deal with Nikko Jude, healthy or not.

Airlia bowed low. "Oh, Master… Thank you, Master…"

Zhao watched the top of her head. She was keeping her face turned down again, not looking at him.

He couldn't see her eyes.

He didn't want to see them.

"Look at me, Airlia," he blurted, before he knew he was speaking.

She looked up, surprised, her dark eyes wide.

He could see it all there. Her hope and her propensity to love. Her innocence. Her dreams. Broken dreams, he'd wager.

And he knew what she saw when she looked at him.

A stone heart. Ferocity. Blankness where there should be some form of emotion.

Any form of emotion.

But he'd worked hard to kill his feelings. Even now, he was killing the warmth that was bubbling back up.

"You may go," he said.

And by the time she was gone, his heart was cold again.

I want to do more about Zhao.
I enjoy thinking that maybe he's a broken person.
And maybe we're not sure why he's broken. Maybe that's why he feels nothing.
Maybe that's why he's so bad, because obviously he is very, very bad.
But usually people are bad for a reason.