AN: Inspiration and energy to write has been low, so I'm grabbing it where I can!
Disclaimer: I do not own A:TLA.
On This Side of Oblivion
Prologue
What-Ifs
Zuko does not measure the world in 'what-ifs.'
Using 'what if' as your metric left you vulnerable to the fallacy that you had the power to change that which had already been done or cannot be undone. Zuko knows this lesson better than anyone else, because he once upon a time believed in 'what ifs.'
'What if' he just worked harder? 'What if' he did everything right? 'What if' he finally earned his father's respect? 'What if, what if, what if.'
And nothing ever changed.
So it's pretty fucking irksome that now of all times, Zuko's bad habit has shown its face, after he swore he would never go down that road again. It leads to things getting twisted, the main objectives being obscured, and worst of all, to hope sprouting where it has no right to.
But here Zuko is, looking at this girl, damn near feral and ready to kill him, and all his mind whispers is 'what if?'
It wasn't always like this, of course. Because once upon a time, her ocean blue eyes would zero in on him like he was the only one, and he would feel like a live wire. He still does. And every time he would return the favor, she would appear chromatic, dazzling, iridescent.
Even with the knife in her hand, posed at the exposed column of his throat, Zuko sees the beauty in her. Her lips are pulled back in rage, eyes blazing with fury, short pants of breath leaving her chest as she struggles to regain her bearings and keep the tables turned.
But he also sees what she tries to mask with her anger.
He sees the slightest tremble of her lower lip, the brief flicker of horror in her eyes at what she is doing, what he has done, who they are becoming, and maybe who they've always been, deep down.
Because in this irreversible moment, they are both midnight animals, falling over into oblivion.
They are going to destroy each other.
Pulling in a firm, deep breath of air, he closes his eyes and opens them again, committing each and every detail of her to memory, ensuring she is forever etched into his skull. They could exhume his body far into the future and research him for science, and all they will find is the mark she has left on him.
Without warning, he quickly grabs her wrist with iron-clad strength, slowly but surely squeezing until she is forced to drop the knife with an angry cry. It falls to the floor between them, clattering, punctuating her anguish.
He continues to hold her wrist, letting her cry tears of frustration, of sadness, of hurt, fighting the desire to pull her close, to place a kiss atop the crown of her head and run his hands through the soft waves of her hair. He wants to do these things, but he won't, simply because he knows it isn't what she wants. And that it won't change anything, of course.
Yes, Zuko thinks, 'what if' has no place here, because he knew from the beginning it never could have worked.
And he knows that eventually, he's going to have to kill her.
