• The Stowaway •

Oh, Father tell me, do we get what we deserve?
- Way Down We Go, KALEO -

They took him to a dark room deep within the ship. Far, far beneath the decks he had visited a long time ago.

They chained him to a chair. Ankles. Wrists. Waist.

They scanned him, searched his pockets, took some things out and scanned him again.

Something sharp and cold was pressed into the back of his neck…

And then he was left alone.

Alone, trapped by four walls again. Nothing to occupy his mind but the pain of his failures. The heaviness in his chest. A final encroaching numbness.

Maybe, whispered a voice in his head, this was what he deserved.

The tension in the bridge was palpable, the silence as thick as tar. Not one of them thought to sit, choosing instead to lean against the nearest surface while they waited.

The door pushed open.

Heads lifted in anticipation.

"Well, that was something," Bato said at length.

Valaq deflated. "You don't say."

"Where's Tolrok?" Kavra asked at once.

"On his way. Said he had to check on something... Juatan– turn on the feed for brig one, would you?"

Juatan tapped a few strokes into his keyboard, and the wall lit up with a live video of their prisoner strapped to a chair. Illuminated by an overhead bulb, head ducked low, sitting very still. It was perhaps for the best that his face was hidden.

"He's not said a word," said Bato grimly,

He lowered himself into his own chair and the rest of them shifted into more relaxed stances, subconsciously mirroring their team leader.

"So he's trained…" Tarmon sounded resigned.

Bato dipped his head.

Valaq glanced sideways at the others. Their eyes darted to him in turn, waiting for him to say it. So he did.

"Bato, that's a fucking twelve year old in there."

"And your point is?"

"We- we can't imprison a child!"

Bato looked at him squarely. "That's a dangerous line of thinking and you know it, Valaq."

"The ashmakers had no qualms about sending one into the field…" Nuniq said suddenly.

Valaq spun towards him in disbelief.

Nuniq looked uncertain, but he shrugged. "What? He's an agent in their eyes. Why should we have a problem with treating him as such?"

And here he'd thought they were all on the same page…

"So we just descend to their level?" Valaq laughed humourlessly. "Wow, I never thought I'd see the day…"

"Val," Tarmon said in quiet warning.

Valaq ignored him and turned on their team leader. "Bato, you can't possibly be serious?"

"Tolrok says he followed you both from East Shanghai and you didn't even notice." Bato leaned back in his chair and tapped the arm thoughtfully. "He's too skilled. Which makes him dangerous. I understand that going against our principles is conflicting. We have always protected the young. But what do we do when the enemy is, in fact, the young?"

Kavra turned to face Bato. "But– but what if we've got it wrong? What if he was just… I dunno, in the wrong place at the wrong time? Maybe there's another explanation."

"That display with the UAVs not enough for you?" Amaruq challenged, handing Bato a coffee.

Valaq wanted to break something now.

"Why would the enemy even recruit a child?" he shot back with a sense that this argument was spinning wildly out of his comfort zone. "Huh? You tell me that. What does he have that adult agents don't?"

"Can't you guess?" Bato asked, sipping from his mug.

Juatan scratched his jaw. "Stamina, fitness? I don't know. Flexibility?"

Valaq snorted derisively. "I know agents with more flexibility than an acrobat."

"Fitting into small spaces," Yuka said.

"Not what I was going for," said Bato, "but valid all the same. No. It's something else."

Valaq combed his hands through his hair in frustration. "Guys, come on. There's no precedent for a child soldier. It just doesn't make sense…"

Everyone either avoided his gaze or crossed their arms. Only Tarmon was watching him, intently, as though Valaq were a particularly intriguing sea creature. Then suddenly, he tilted his head.

"Disarming the enemy," he murmured.

"I'm sorry, come again?" Valaq asked.

Bato exchanged an irritatingly significant look with Tarmon. "Yeah. Exactly."

Tui and La…

"So that's their big plan?" Valaq scoffed. "Make us feel sorry for him?"

"Hasn't it worked so far?" Tarmon asked coolly.

Okay what. No, that was not what was happening–

Bato got to his feet, cutting off his reply and calling them all to attention; his persona shifting from 'Bato' to Captain.

He withdrew something small from his pocket.

Valaq's heart dropped.

So that was how he did it…

No wonder Bato was so certain. No way would a citizen possess such an advanced infiltration tool.

For what had at first sight looked like a black playing card was in fact a Z-tech manufactured security pass, one of the most sophisticated bits of programming ever designed, meant for only the highest level of clearance and definitely not for commercial sale.

"That is not a kid ," said their captain, voice ringing in the sudden gravity. "That is not a victim . That is a trained hostile. You will treat him as such, like the agent he is, as per your own training— especially the interrogatory aspects of your training." He paused to let this sink in. "Should you feel incapable, consider yourself off duty with regards to the suspect for the duration of his captivity."

"To be perfectly clear, sir," Valaq ventured before he could stop himself, "you want us to decide if… we're going to torture him or not?"

"Like I said, if you have a problem with that, I don't want you involved. Consider this an exceptional case, I won't be so generous in the future."

Valaq bit his lip.

"You can hold a gun to his head. But when it comes down to it, are you going to be able to pull the trigger?" Bato's gaze swept over each of them and Valaq found himself examining the coffee machine.

"I need to know if I can count on you." He pocketed the cursed access pass. "Only put yourself down in the rotation if you think you can do it. Otherwise you've bought yourself more free time for the rest of our journey."

He left the room.

Valaq sank into his chair. "Fuck."

"I don't think he meant that," Juatan said suddenly.

"Oh, do you now?" he drawled.

"I mean– I don't think he's planning on seriously incapacitating the prisoner."

Valaq lifted his head incredulously. "Sure we heard the same speech, Juatan?"

Juatan rolled his eyes and turned back to the feed.

"Cap just wants to make sure we're fit for duty," Tarmon explained instead, patting Valaq's shoulder as he walked towards the exit. "That's all. I think he knows it's going to be hard for all of us. So he's prepping us for the worst."

That… didn't sound too far off base for their team leader.

Kavra groaned. "How did it even come to this?"

"The only people to blame are the cursed ashmakers themselves," Yuka muttered.

Just as he had spoken, the door was flung open for the second time, a lot more violently than before. On the threshold, stood Tolrok, eyes wild and chest heaving.

"That little ashmaker snake got blood on my scarf."

All right. Valaq leaned back in his chair. Here we go.

"Used my bathroom." Tolrok marched inside. "And stole my mints. Probably thought it hilarious. The fucking audacity of that piece of—"

Valaq dug his palms into his eyes and groaned loudly. "So much for some fucking R & R."

The black globules undulating across his vision enticed him. He tried to choose one in particular and watched it unfurl as long as it lasted. Then he chose another.

A sharp sting across his cheek made it dissolve.

And in its stead… a room like a metal-box came into focus. His wrists shackled to a chair... A too-bright bulb overhead. Air that was so cold it cut into his throat like shards of glass.

A man, very angry, scowled down at him, his hand half-raised.

Zuko's restraints tightened. Dug across his chest. Refused to let him back away.

"What were you doing on the ship?" the man wanted to know.

I don't know, Zuko tried to say but the answer got stuck on the way up. It felt like his chest had been run through with something that was alternatively holding him together and ripping him apart.

The man who'd been two feet away was suddenly in his face. His arm went over his shoulder, disappearing from view to grip the back of the chair, and the only thing Zuko wanted in that moment was to rip it off and shove him back. But his hands were tied.

The man smiled.

"Finally getting through, am I?" He tilted his head. "Tell me everything I want to know, and all of this can stop. Otherwise…"

He leaned in and pressed a cold, hard metal object under Zuko's chin.

His senses rearranged themselves, centering around this one point, even letting go of the competition between the knife twisting his innards and the red-hot brand over his eye. Sounds distorted, the drumbeat in his head became the loudest of all.

He was going to throw up. He was going to pass out. He was going to scream.

None of these being options, he focused on keeping still.

What was it that he'd said? Something about telling him everything…

Pain shot up his throat and a voice that wasn't his asked, "What do you want to know?"

The man looked triumphant. He leaned in closer.

"… why were you on the ship?"

The weapon touched his cheek.

"Was running away. Didn't know – it was yours. Guards were catching up. Needed to leave. Saw a ship leaving… so I got on."

Heat exploded across his cheek. Moments later he registered the sharp cracking sound echoing inside the room.

The gun had gone off. It had to have.

… but then why could he still see?

Zuko looked around– his head had turned somehow– to find the man standing in the same spot breathing heavily.

Zuko waited for him to move.

"You take us for fools, don't you?" he hissed. "You think we don't know the truth?"

The truth?

Oh.

So they knew.

They knew who he was.

The drumbeat in his head turned into his dirge. All of a sudden he couldn't stand the suspense, this dragging out of his last moments. He wanted it over. He was done.

"If you know– why don't you just kill me now?"

The man flinched for some reason.

Someone else came up behind him. Took the gun from his hand. Stepped around him, pulled a chair out of nowhere and sat in front of Zuko.

This second man didn't look angry.

He looked more in control.

More like Father.

When he leaned forward in his seat, Zuko shrank back.

"Because we can't let you escape so easily now, can we?" he said with a smile.

Zuko despised him with everything he had left.

The man settled back comfortably. "Let's start with how you knew who we were."

"I didn't." He didn't understand why this was so important. "I still don't."

"Hm. For how long were you following our men?"

"I wasn't following you." This was all a huge misunderstanding. Apparently they were under the impression that the crown prince had been spying on them. He didn't know how he could possibly convince them otherwise. "I swear- I was just… trying to get out of there."

He stopped, having said the most he could before he had to catch his breath again.

"You want us to believe that you're a stowaway?" the first guy asked, leaning around the other. He looked incredulous.

Zuko was finding it very hard to prolong this moment of clarity. "I am," he hissed.

He seemed to have been waiting for this answer, because he smiled nastily. He leaned forward, his face so close that Zuko tried instinctively to back away—but found his chair wouldn't allow it.

"Then," he said silkily, "how come you were at the health centre?"

"I needed medicine."

"A happy coincidence that you then followed us in our own truck?" spat the man whom he now recognized as the driver.

He could feel himself slipping. He curled in on himself.

"I didn't follow you," he heard himself gasp. "I had to hide. The truck was there. I snuck on. It took me to the docks. I wanted to go there anyway. It was… a coincidence."

He stopped, his voice giving out as he tried to catch his breath.

"A coincidence, you say?" the man in the chair prompted.

Zuko tried to nod but pain was blinding him. He hummed instead. He couldn't do more than that.

"Why did you hide? Why couldn't you have asked for a lift?"

Something was off here. Something he couldn't quite grasp.

Zuko squinted at his interrogator. "Because someone… was there. Chasing me. Had to go. Fast."

"You were being chased?" he asked sharply.

"No. I didn't know he was trying to help. I didn't know."

The angry man stepped forward again and Zuko jerked backwards.

"I thought he was chasing me at first!" he heard himself cry out as a hole was ripped into his chest. "I had never seen him before… in my life. But he was only trying… to help me. Said… that we had a ship to catch… but I… Guards came… I had to leave him… got on the first ship I saw. Yours. –swear…"

"You had this on you." The second man held a black card up in front of Zuko's swimming vision. It took him a few seconds to recognize Demaih's access pass. "Explain."

"He… gave," he wheezed.

"One does not just simply give a government level security pass to a street rat."

"It was… in case… we got separated."

"Is he your handler?"

What…?

"No," he managed to say, too breathless to continue.

"Did this guy also order you to kill us with those drones?" the man persisted.

Those were there for me, not you.

He felt like he was missing something huge here but the implications escaped him.

More importantly, he needed to convince them that he never meant for anyone to get hurt. That was imperative. He focused on his knee, trying to gather his scattering thoughts, to get his voice to work.

The man in control didn't seem to like his silence.

"Talking to us is in your best interests," he said quietly.

The other one stepped forward and without further warning, pressed his hand into Zuko's bandage.

The manor room was dark for noon.

The door had shut behind his father for the first time in years…

The hand caressing his cheek was not what he'd expected. Not after such a disgraceful display.

When it set his face alight, he was still too surprised to move. To scream.

And then the pain hit.

When Zuko came back to himself, his throat was raw. He couldn't breathe normally around the thing in his chest anymore. His own sharp gasps were the only things louder than the ringing in his head.

"Let's try that again, shall we?" said the man in the chair, his calm voice too loud. "Who do you report to?"

The fingers were still burning Zuko's face.

"No one," he croaked. " Please . I'm sorry. I was just trying– to get away. Please…"

… don't make me burn.

The ringing carried on uninterrupted for longer than usual.

He opened his eye.

The angrier man was within striking distance. Yet, he and the man who was seated were watching Zuko avidly. As though he were a fascinating animal in a zoo; one to be treated with howsoever they chose.

His interrogator leaned forward, eyes aglint.

"What were you trying to get away from?"

They knew. They knew who he was.

So would it even matter if he told them this?

They'd find out eventually anyway.

But it hurt. It hurt his heart, more than he would have ever thought possible, to admit it, to say it out loud… to say to these people hurting him that his own father had hurt him the worst.

The words refused to form. The man was waiting for an answer, the other one was waiting for him to lose patience, but still the truth refused to surface on Zuko's lips.

The interrogator's expectant expression changed.

"Yeah, I thought so."

He stood up suddenly and Zuko braced himself.

"Come on," he said quietly to the one still glowering down at him. "He's not going to talk."

The muscles around the driver's eyes tightened further.

"Maybe not now, but he will soon."

The interrogator seemed to agree. "We'll give you some time to come up with something else," Zuko heard him say.

Through the hazy veil obstructing his vision, he watched them leave without glancing back at him even once. He slumped over and sucked in shuddering gulps of frigid air, held upright only by the ropes that bound him.

• O •

They didn't come back for hours and desperate escape plans fizzled into incoherent threads of action. All of a sudden—or perhaps it had been a gradual process- it had become difficult to think.

He found himself memorising the door, its lines, its every groove, the way it shone in the light of the bulb behind his head.

He tapped out code in an attempt to keep it together. Diligently trying to get sequences right. But then he went wrong and had to go back to the beginning.

Over and over again.

Soon enough, when he got them wrong more than he got them right, he stopped.

He lost track of time.

Once, he heard gulls in the distance and strained to listen to their faint yet ceaseless cries– cries that stirred up memories of sand and laughter– until the sound faded out and he wasn't sure if it had been a dream.

He fell back to habit and emptied his mind then, ignoring pain like how someone ignores a hurricane battering at the windows of their house, just a few gusts away from reducing the whole structure to debris.

• O •

A tray of food appeared on his lap.

More importantly, he realised his left hand had been uncuffed.

He tried to reach for the back of his neck. To find… something.

But his elbow refused to move higher than his waist. Anything more was a painful battle he didn't have the strength for.

Later, the tray disappeared. He hadn't touched a thing.

• O •

Someone came in with water.

They held the bottle to his lips.

He turned his head away, nauseated.

Then, his interrogator stepped in to the cell.

Zuko willed his mind to sharpen, his breaths to regulate, but wasn't very successful. Knowing what was to come didn't help. He wished they'd finish him once and for all this time.

The interrogator, watching Zuko calculatingly the whole while, waved someone else forward.

Zuko's breath hitched– but the two men only undid his bonds, re-cuffed his wrists together and stepped aside.

"On your feet," the interrogator ordered.

It sounded as though this was some sort of test he was expected to fail.

Father never expected you to pass either…

Zuko moved slower than he ever had but in the end he was standing, looking the tall man in the eye without having to crane his neck.

He wore an odd look on his face.

Zuko refused to let the room sway.

"Go ahead."

The other two men grabbed an arm each and pushed him forward.

Zuko didn't know why this was happening. But he knew he couldn't let weakness show.

He fought to put one foot in front of the other as the too-bright corridor played tricks on him, distorting and dimming around the edges as he went. Sheer willpower allowed him to remain standing until they'd stopped in front of another door. A smaller one.

Was this where they killed him then? A part of him wondered why he wasn't more scared, more upset. But when one of them pushed it open and shoved him inside with the sharp order of "Three minutes only," he found himself in a bathroom.

His knees gave out the second he was alone. He fell forward, just managing to grab onto the toilet before his stomach emptied itself.

Nothing came out but foul-tasting bile. His vision blackened on the third heave and he slumped over to rest his head on the cool tiled floor.

Just for a little while.

From here, he could hear waves roaring, the sound muffled yet rhythmic and soothing, pulling him into a beautiful dream of a golden beach and a clear blue sky, nothing disturbing the peace for miles…

They knocked much too soon.

Pride made him get to his feet again. Yet he couldn't help himself on the way back; he had to lean against the men as they led him back to his cell.

They were unusually silent for a change and once they had secured him to his chair, they left him alone.

• O •

Twice, his father walked inside. He never said a thing. He didn't need to. He just set Zuko's face ablaze and disappeared in the same rush of flames.

Each time it happened, Zuko was left sweating and shaking and trying not to cry out loud in case they would hear. Whoever they were.

When he was left alone with another tray of food on his lap, he realised he was no longer hungry. In fact, the smells, the very thought of swallowing anything, made him want to retch. But he nearly wished he'd drunk that water before because the rough area in his throat seemed to be expanding downwards. It was getting harder and harder to breathe. The room felt hot and freezing at the same time. He could no longer control the tremors running through him.

So he dreamed of a warmer place, somewhere far away, where he wasn't chained to a chair in a cold dark room waiting for his enemies to decide on his life.

The plate was taken away untouched again.

• O •

They returned to ask him more unanswerable questions, their voices passing unheeded over his head. He was paying more attention to disguising the rattling noise in his breathing.

"…what's wrong with him?" asked someone, the change in language making the question stand out from the repetitive one-sided monologue.

Zuko realised there were three of them. He continued to ponder the tear in the blue hoodie. He didn't know what was wrong with himself either.

"Probably homesick," said a voice he recognized.

Even near delirium, he found this notion unbearably, unquestionably hilarious. A laugh built in his stomach and tore its way up and out through his chapped lips before he could force it down.

His mirth died painfully– it took a couple of aborted coughs to clear his throat.

The silence left in its wake was drawn out.

Time warped horribly.

Until—

"He can understand us…" the same voice said in wonderment.

That's when his head was yanked up by his hair. He heard a keening sound fill the room as this new pain flared up and joined the clamouring chorus of agony.

"You've learned Wavetalk, then?"

His scalp was tearing, the sore spot on his head felt like a knife was reopening it.

He squinted up at the blotchy face haloed in white light.

"What," he wheezed. "Like it's hard?"

Someone coughed.

The hand pushed him away. "Another day should soften him up."

The bang of the door reverberated in his bones. Zuko shuddered as the ache in his chest deepened. He would regret that. But just for a little while he allowed himself to revel at the looks on their faces when he'd spoken back to them in their own tongue.

It was better than focusing on the coppery wetness at the back of his throat.

• O •

Who do you work for?

Zuko was getting tired of this question. He'd stopped answering it three visits ago. Nothing had changed except the voices of his interrogators.

He found it easier to picture the beach now, to dream of being anywhere other than his cell. It was far better than focusing on his predicament, which still sucked even if no one was actively trying to hurt him.

Vaguely, he wondered why.

Maybe they were biding their time.

The thought made him shudder a little harder. The anticipation of violence was just as bad. Maybe worse.

Something hit his chair, jarring his every bone.

"... fuck this," a loud voice echoed. "Chief can have at him. Let's go."

Zuko drifted.

• O •

Bangs and creaks pulled him out of an enticing dream about sparkling water and briny gusts of wind.

A black bag had been pulled over his head. The stink of engine oil made his stomach roil. He was being dragged somewhere, but he could hardly breathe. His chest was tightening, shrinking. His insides were shrivelling up.

And then, with no memory of how it had happened, he was sitting .

In a vehicle, wedged between two bodies, he realised when it started up and began jostling him around.

He turned his focus inwards, to the sound of gulls and away from the bumps and vibrations and rumblings, vaguely terrified at how hard it was to stay awake.

• O •

He was dragged out of the vehicle and the air changed, becoming warmer. Quieter. With an electric hum. Easier to breathe.

A bell dinged overhead, and he was forced to a stop.

Then the sensation of the floor moving suddenly had him sagging against the closest solid surface.

It moved and became rigid. The fingers on his arms tightened.

Do you hear that…? It's him.

He's fine.

He knew these voices only too well by now.

I don't like the sound of it.

"You should listen to your partner, Val," he muttered in the same tongue.

He smiled under the cloth as they whispered their curses.

Little shit.

Think you're so clever. We'll see about that when the boss is done with you.

A distinct shudder swept through him.

This was where the violence was going to come.

• O •

He was tossed onto a chair. In the ensuing silence, he realised he was alone and hadn't been cuffed to it. It dawned on him that they probably wouldn't need to, once this boss of theirs started on him, so they hadn't bothered.

He strained his ear, but there really was no noise at all.

Funnily enough, it was easier to remain alert now. To stay awake and keep his head clear. Because he was sure the end was close. His mind seemed to be aware that his minutes were numbered and was determined to allow him to experience every second.

For perhaps the last time, he tapped out his codes and felt a wetness on his cheek, at the back of his throat.

So this was what it felt like… To say goodbye to an old friend.

• O •

When the door opened, he lifted his head in anticipation.

Instead of violent or demanding voices however, familiar hands dragged him to his feet and pulled him forward in silence. He could only stumble along blindly… until he was halted.

The bag was ripped off his head.

He squinted at his surroundings.

They had taken him to a wide carpeted room lined with bookshelves. One wall was fully glass, and through it…

Zuko sucked in a breath, barely registering how much it hurt.

A harbour spread out below, yellow lights twinkling against the pink and purple twilight; an unfamiliar horizon stretching out as far as the eye could see.

He was far, far away from home…

Slowly, he forced his attention to matters on this side of the glass.

A large man stood behind a large mahogany desk.

"Leave him," he said, his voice low; a threat all by itself.

The other two men uncuffed him and then began to walk out.

"Holler if you need anything. Pliers... A saw."

"Tolrok…"

"Just saying, Chief. Just sayin'."

The door clicked shut and Zuko's heart began to double its tempo.

He took in the man. This chief of the Water Tribesmen. He didn't look too impressive, dressed in a Normal suit with no tie, hair pulled back in a short ponytail. But maybe that was his trick. Deception.

He felt his hackles rise of their own accord.

He raised his chin higher and looked him in the eye. He was not going down without a fight.

Hakoda stared at the Arnaaluk's spy. A boy, he realised, now that he was finally seeing him with his own eyes.

As the spy continued to glare, Hakoda felt the first uncomfortable niggling at the back of his mind. He was breathing fast and looked on the verge of falling over. If it weren't for those minute movements and the venomous one-eyed glowering, Hakoda would have thought he was entertaining a walking corpse.

Only now did he understand just how delicately the situation needed to be handled.

"You're in quite the spot," he began, channelling his most calming aura. "Lying now will only make things uglier. Can we start by agreeing that that's something neither of us want?"

The spy looked surprised underneath his obvious wariness, but after a minute he jerked his chin in a barely discernible nod.

Stubborn .

But his compliance was more than Hakoda had been expecting, based on the crew's increasingly incensed reports.

He heaved a private sigh of relief. "Good. You want to try explaining yourself then?"

The spy opened his mouth, blinked slowly, then wet his lips.

"There's nothing to explain." He sounded like he'd been a chain smoker all his short life.

Hakoda felt his jaw tick. "Really?" he asked coolly. "Like how you were able to sneak on to a ship full of experienced mariners and go undetected for four whole days? Tell me, boy, how come you speak our language when you're so clearly a Fire Native? How come you ended up bumping into my men not once but twice while they were on a top secret mission in your nation? Forgive me if I don't believe there's nothing to explain."

"What more do you want me to say," he said stoicly. "Those were both coincidences. I learned your language because– my father wanted me to. And on the ship… your men were unobservant and careless. Or are you going to pin that on me too?"

Hakoda watched him glower. Then he moved around the desk until he was in front of him. The spy hugged himself but didn't move.

"I don't believe in coincidences," he said slowly, annunciating every syllable. "And you don't seem to understand just how bad things look for you right now."

The spy's breathing had picked up; short rasps that Hakoda could actually hear.

Good. You should be scared.

He settled back comfortably against the edge of his desk.

"There are two sides to this story, my men's and yours. Y ou say you had to leave the Fire Nation in a hurry, someone you didn't know gave you an extremely valuable key card because he wanted to help you, that you didn't follow my men but were at East Shanghai for medication, and that you got onto their ship also by coincidence. Later, you didn't call the drones on purpose, you weren't gathering intel while you were on the ship, and you weren't aware that the ship belonged to us… That's a lot of holes for one story."

His voice became low and dangerous, coloured by his anger.

"So here's the more plausible version. You are a black ops agent. You followed two of our own, used a government issued security pass to infiltrate their ship, spied on them successfully for four whole days, and then you tried to blow them up once you got caught. I have to say, you did a marvellous job and very nearly succeeded. If only your drones had worked– except you didn't find out about the ace up our sleeve and it was your downfall."

He watched in grim satisfaction as the effects of this speech landed like blows upon the spy, chipping away at his sullen armour.

"Tell me now, boy, which version I should believe."

Zuko swayed where he stood. If this was how it looked… it meant they didn't know who he was.

It dawned on him why the earlier interrogations had seemed so odd, because if the men had known who he really was, they wouldn't have asked the questions they had. But they didn't know…

They didn't know he was the Fire Nation's crown prince.

They didn't know he was Prince Zuko. They really thought him a spy, an agent working for his father, like Zhao, capable of such ruthlessness. He didn't know which scenario was worse.

The chief seemed to recognize that he'd hit home. He crossed his arms and leaned forward.

"Not a pretty picture, is it… Will you explain yourself fully now? There are no truths that could damn you more. Trust me."

If only you knew who I was…

He nodded.

"Were you following my men?"

"No."

"Okay. Let's say I believe you. Why did you get on the ship?"

"I had no choice."

"Why? Help yourself out here, I'm trying to understand."

"Why…?"

"Because if you don't explain, we're putting you on a plane back to where you came from."

The boy's face drained of its remaining colour. "No. You can't."

Aha .

"I can and I will.' Hakoda glared at him in challenge. "Start talking."

"I wasn't lying…" he whispered. He was afraid that the chief would lose patience like his men had, but he remained calm while Zuko caught his breath. It helped the words come out easier. "I was trying to get out of the Fire Nation. I was in trouble. That ship was the only one leaving– at the time. So I snuck on. The men found me before I could go my own way with the boat. I didn't want to know anything about them. And I swear I didn't know anything about the drones, I didn't want to hurt anyone, all I wanted to do was to leave . Why couldn't they have just let me go…"

He wasn't making sense anymore but everything was getting too much and he couldn't breathe. The threat of being sent back had forced him to acknowledge how pointless it all was. He wished the chief would stop talking and let him rest now. He was tired.

But that was not to be.

"If you're just a stowaway then why didn't you plead your case instead of antagonising the crew?"

"They didn't want to hear it… All they wanted to know was who I was working for."

"Which is?"

"No one. I'm on my fucking own, can't you all see that?" Not even Agni would consider him one of his anymore.

"You're being quite forthcoming," the man said after a pause. "What's changed now?"

You have nothing left to fight for , Azula's lilting voice whispered at the back of his mind. No family, no home, no honour. No life to call your own, except that which keeps your heart beating.

"Don't think I have a choice anymore," he whispered to the carpet.

The boy's mask flickered when he spoke– and Hakoda sucked in a breath. For the briefest moment, Hakoda was able to see the real depth of his anguish. To see what lay beneath the pallid, previously stoic countenance. And it was not devious cunning or manipulative coldness, as he'd been warned to expect.

No, it was much worse.

The haunted defeat he recognized was real enough to change everything .

The twilight sky outside was turning purple. Dusk was almost upon them. They'd have to turn on the lights in the office soon.

But he couldn't let the boy go just yet. If he didn't push for the truth that he thought he could guess at now, he would be failing in his duty. He had to go the distance to protect his own.

"Yeah," he said finally, in the same steady tone. "You don't."

Zuko huffed as the room swam in a lazy circle. Did he have to rub it in?

"I don't buy it though."

Zuko's gaze flew up.

The chief was just watching him casually, as though he hadn't just made Zuko's world crash and burn all over again.

"What?" his voice cracked. "Why not?"

"If you're on your own, then what did the man who gave you the security pass want?" The chief's voice was hard.

Spirits, please. I can't do this anymore.

Zuko felt the last of his control slip, the last of his fight drain out. He couldn't keep this up. He was done.

"I don't know ," he ground out, hot tears trickling down his cheek. "I swear. He just said his name was Demaih– and that he knew… my mum. He'd been following me since I left the m– my house– but I didn't know he was friendly. All he wanted was to help me leave… that's it. We… got separated at the docks. He gave me the card in case I had to leave without him. And I had to," his hoarse voice trailed off into a whisper. "I left without him..."

Zuko hated himself for that. He hadn't even spared a second to check if he could help him… What if he'd been alive and Zuko had been his only chance? It was all his fault… He was such a coward. Always running away…

"Why'd you have to leave?" the man asked softly. "What trouble were you trying so hard to escape?"

Zhao. Father. Myself…

His vision swirled faster. Glittering waves crashed around him. Sprayed his face.

"I just… really needed to… I was running away… I had to go. It didn't matter where. I just had to…" He squeezed a trembling fist into his eye and gulped down a shudder.

A swelling silence enveloped them. The chief– his face hardly visible now against the indigo skyline– seemed to be contemplating his response.

"My men said you were hurt already," he said at last, carefully. Zuko's pulse began to pound in his ears. "Has whatever's under your bandages got anything to do with it?"

He gasped as a stab of agony seared across his burn, invoked by the mere mention of it.

He was going to tear, rip, claw that awful look of understanding from this man's face.

"It's none of your business!" he cried, hating how his voice caught in a guttural sob. Something in his chest felt like it splintered along with it.

He coughed.

A warm ocean breeze ruffled his hair and caressed his head.

The room spun faster. He blinked furiously and coughed again.

The chief's eyebrows rose before sharpening into a frown.

"Bato! Tolrok!"

Zuko didn't bother about the distortion of his loud voice. This coughing fit and the black spots they brought were far more concerning than the myriad echoes he could vaguely hear. They did not make sense anyway.

Shit… what's wrong with…?

He doubled over, but the coughs didn't let up.

What… you do, Tolrok!

And he still couldn't breathe. Every cough racked his body, seemed to drain him of the last of his energy, as though he were coughing up his life force…

...didn't touch… I swear!

A spatter of dark liquid hit his shoes.

Suddenly he couldn't hold himself up anymore. The last of his fraying strings had snapped. He felt the room tilt.

Falling was bad, he thought vaguely, but a hand caught the side of his head and lowered it to the floor. It was surprisingly gentle, much softer than the floor would have been anyway. A deep voice rang in his ear, commanding, alarmed, urgent.

Asking him to breathe.

He couldn't. His chest had caved in. There was no room for air anymore.

The voice kept speaking.

It brooked no argument.

He tried to listen. He knew he had to listen. He couldn't disobey.

So he opened his mouth and tried.

The pain peaked. Something wet filled his throat.

He coughed, gagging at the cloying liquid, bubbling over his lips.

Smothering, suffocating.

A primal fear coursed through him. He reached up to claw at his neck, his chest, to rip it open so that it would let in air.

Hands, rough hands, circled his wrists, stopping even this attempt. He heard shouting, a horrid rattling.

Lights flashed across his dimmed vision as he thrashed against the restricting hold, the vice grip on his arms, keeping him from reaching the surface, keeping him underwater.

The hands pulled at him, until he was on his side. Suddenly the obstructions in his throat had a clear path to his mouth. He choked on it, coughed, and then he was allowed to suck in air, small needy sips, but it was air all the same.

People were saying things. Familiar voices, ones that he was afraid of. He didn't like that they were so close. He tried to draw away but the hand stopped his head from moving, and soon Zuko stopped bothering. Despite the multiple layers he wore, the room was almost too cold to bear now. He could feel his fingers growing numb. Even his toes, despite his shoes, couldn't be felt anymore. The cold was seeping into his bones, leaching out all feeling. Even the warmth he was lying on couldn't compete with it.

He heard shouts now, people arguing, distantly. A rumbling voice very close. Large fingers tapped his numb cheek urgently. They seemed to want something from him. But Zuko couldn't give it to them, whatever it was. He was so very tired.

So very tired…

The sounds of the room faded out. He should have been scared. But a sense of safety had enveloped him. Something so alien in his life of the past few days that it had to be real. So he turned into it and looked up.

His heart clenched.

He was lying in Lu Ten's lap. His cousin smiled softly down at him. He looked radiant, happy, and more handsome than he had ever been in Zuko's memories.

Agni, Zuko had missed him so much.

"I'm sorry, Nii-chan," he choked out. It was very important to tell him this. "I couldn't avenge you... I'm sorry I was– too weak. I'm sorry…"

His cousin looked sad. He stroked Zuko's hair from his face, then bent forward to press a kiss to his forehead. Zuko's eyelids fluttered shut. He smelled of jasmines and smoke.

"It was never something you had to do in the first place," he heard his cousin whisper.

Tears flowed down Zuko's cheeks. His heart hurt hearing his voice after so long.

I'm sorry it had to be you. I miss you so much.

The warmth below him shifted. Rocked like a boat. He didn't like boats…

He opened his eyes.

Sun shone in his face, blinding him. The boat had brought him to Ember Island. He was lying on the sand. It was nice. Waves frothed and roared. Deep blue ocean stretched to the horizon. A warm breeze ruffled his hair. Gulls cawed incessantly. There was no one else for miles.

It was nice.

He smiled and closed his eyes.

It was really nice.

AN: Sorry for the wait! Next few chapters are written and ready, posting the 16th next week. In the meantime it would make my day to hear your thoughts in a review :-)