It isn't that Iroh is left behind, as he is the one that leaves us. Or is taken. Zuko doesn't give me much information, beyond bursting into my room, hot tempered as always, saying, "Stay here. I'll be back."

I stand up, dropping my drawing. Hills and mountains flutter to the floor, and Zuko's eyes trail the charcoal lines before snapping back to me. "What happened? Where's Iroh?"

He glares at me, as if it's my fault that Iroh isn't here. "He was taken. I'm getting a komodo-rhino and supplies."

"Taken? By who? Let me get my shoes."

"No. You're staying here."

"I can help."

"By running away? No, you're still a prisoner. Stay here."

"Then why did you come tell me?"

Zuko falters, half out of the door. His glare has lessened, but the intention is still there. "Stay. Here. Or. Else." He slams the door behind me, and I am shell shocked, partly. However, after sitting back down and picking up my charcoal pencil, I realize the opportunity Iroh's kidnapping has given me.

I wait for more than a hour, seeing if anyone will come during this time. Nobody shows up, and I open my door. Unlike when Zuko is actually onboard, nobody is guarding my room. Must be something to do with a lack of rude authority. The opportunity to snoop around and gather supplies since Iroh's suggestion at running away made a lot of sense is too good to ignore.

Especially because I know exactly where Zuko's and Iroh's rooms are. It's not snooping, if you've been held against your will. Mostly.

My bare feet hardly make a sound, and if any guards or crew mates come down the halls, I'm likely to hear them before they even think I'm out of my room. Zuko's room is closest to mine, and I hold no qualms about snooping through his things. I just need to go up a few flights of stairs and hope I don't accidentally open a door into a room that someone else is in. Then Iroh's room, despite his kindness, and on to look for food stuff.

Zuko's room isn't hard to find, especially since I've been there before, and no one else seems to be up here. Probably in the galley gossiping about our current predicament. Our rooms are the same size, but his is more decorated than mine. More decorated than I would have originally thought, though nothing has changed except for my anxiety. No commanding meeting with Zuko's presence hanging over me, no one forcing me to sit and listen to them demand why I have to help them kill an almost erased culture.

The first thing I want to do is inspect my staff. It isn't really of no use to me anymore, in the sense that I can't airbend. But it is still a staff. And a weapon. It is unlikely that Zuko would ever give it back to me. I sit down on his made bed, sinking into his nicer mattress. The staff is light, easy to hold. I can't send a burst of air through it to open it anymore, so I ease open the tail fins with a nail.

I miss it so much, I realize then, clutching this relic in my hands. I miss the monks and the flying bison and the lemurs and the humor and the love that every single monk radiated. I miss them. I miss this part of me that no longer exists and that will likely never exist again. They are now dead, spirits spread to the wind to become some new person or animal or plant. They are stardust and I am simply myself.

Alone.

Tears crease my face, and I angrily wipe them away. My very soul hurts, deep down, and my seed of bitterness grows to one of revenge. Desperately, the desire to make the people that did this to me, those that killed these loving people, feel this same pain grows within me. Somewhere, a part of me recognizes the toxicity of my own desire for revenge. The two-headed rat viper. But the darkness grows, and grows, and grows.

Standing, I keep the staff in my hand, grip tight. I search through Zuko's things, not bothering to hide my intentions. I tear the Fire Nation banners that pillar the door. I rip his blankets and throw his pillow against the wall. The light darkness outside, and I knock unlit candles down, staring down the angry dragon that guarded them. He glares back at me, and I feel something within me swell and grow again.

Turning away from his watchful stare, I move to the dresser against the wall. There are a pair of swords above it, crossing each other and waiting to be drawn. The anger still brews within me, and I ignore these. Ripping open drawers, I throw clothes about the room. In his underclothes, I find a picture of a lady.

Her eyes hold sadness, and she holds a small boy next to her. Zuko. A child. Without a scar. Without the anger in his eyes.

I sink to my knees, the tears returning. Zuko, despite his relation to the creator of my pain, was not born evil. Even now, Zuko is not completely evil. I was never tortured, and his interrogations were never brutal. And Iroh, related to him, has no sense of evil within him.

The two-headed rat-viper backs down, and I sob for a long time, aware of the evil that is within myself, within all of us. I lay back, staff and photo still in hand, and let the bitterness leave me, allowing my own, lesser emotions to wash over.

I feel so alone. So helpless. But I am alive. Which is a start.

"What are you doing?!" I snap awake, still laying down in a pile of clothes and blankets from my anger. "How did you get in here!?" Disorientated, still half asleep, I look toward the door, where Zuko slams the door behind him. His fists are tight, and I feel the temperature in the room rise greatly.

I hadn't intended to be in the room when Zuko returned. Actually, I hadn't intended to be on the ship at all. Especially after the state I put Zuko's room in.

"I - I can explain," I say, hastily, scrambling to my knees, picture and staff still in hand.

"Start talking!"

"I - I -" Zuko's eyes snap to the staff I'm holding, then quickly to the picture of what I assume to be his mother. He closes the space between us in two steps, and his hands are gripping my wrists. The staff clatters to the floor, but his grip does not lessen.

"What. Do. You. Think. You're. Doing?" Each word is a breath, teeth clenching, eyes flaming. I try to swallow, to explain, but my situation is dire. He presses my back into the dresser, his hands fire against my wrists.

"I - I was looking around. I wanted to go through your things. And then I got angry and - well, I got angry," I whisper. He is very close to me. I feel very close to an impending doom that I cannot step away from. Without piecing together a coherent thought, I start speaking, "You're not evil. I mean, I thought you were evil, but I saw the picture" - I move the hand that is holding the picture, to indicate what I saw - "and you're not evil. You're related to the creator of my pain, and I wanted to get back at you. To make you feel what I felt. To be alone. To - to be here, where I am. But you are not evil. You're just pointed in the wrong direction, but you are not evil."

We are quiet for a long time, and Zuko quietly lets go of me, and I let him take the picture out of my hands. Standing away from me, he points angrily at the door. "Get. Out."

I rush out of the room, knowing any plans of escape have flown out the window with my anger and ruin of Zuko's room. However, his quietness after my declaration of him not being evil must mean something. Does he realize that evilness is a choice? And that he is not evil, as his path has obviously been misguided by some evil family guidance? Iroh got out, and Zuko can get out too.

"Zuko sent me here because he found you in his room," Iroh says, closing the door behind me. I sit up from my drawing, thinking intensely of the scene from Zuko's picture and of the pond that lay at their feet. I tried to leave earlier after a large impact rocked the ship, but the door was locked. I do not share this information with Iroh.

"Are you here to deter me from snooping again?" I ask, watching as he sets up his tea.

"No. I am here to tell you that we will be docking soon."

"Because of the impact?"

Iroh nods, lighting a burner. "Zuko should not be back until night, if all goes well. However, as at the spring, I'm here to extend the offer of leaving to you."

"Unfortunately, Iroh, I had an epiphany, and think I will be staying." At his surprised look, I add, "That is, if you think that wise?"

"Why the change of heart, Zia?"

"I don't know if Zuko told you, but I went through his things. I was angry. I thought, since he was related to the creator of my pain, that it would be right for me to get back at him in some way. Revenge is a two-headed rat-viper, which I've said to Zuko before. I did not heed my own advice, and the bitterness in me grew. But I saw Zuko as a child, and realized he was mostly blameless for my pain.

"At the spring, you said Zuko's father backed him into this corner that he's in. This search for Aang. It is not Zuko's fault that he is where he is. He is not evil, and none of his interactions with me while I've been imprisoned have shown me otherwise. I have not been tortured. Sure, we have had our spats, and he burned me in his own anger when I arrived. But I do not think his intentions carry evilness."

"You wish to help him, too."

"I believe him to be pointed in the wrong direction, and he just needs a push in the right direction."

Iroh nods and smiles, removing the kettle from the burner as he does so. He leans forward conspiratorially, whispering, "I believe, as I always thought, that we will get along well. Let me see what you were drawing before I arrived." He waves a hand forward, eyes more focused on the tea he's pouring than what I hand him.

It is all in the charcoal pencil I was able to hide away. The details are crude. I have never been good at drawing people. But it is the mirror version of Zuko's picture. Of the water blurring Zuko's childlike face with his current one, scar included. His mother is not there, as my intentions currently lay with Zuko. I may not be able to remove his scar, but I can help him return to who he once was, or, at least, someone who is not given this burden.