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Uncle Iroh left the teashop early on the morning of their day off, and by midday he hadn’t returned. Zuko realised, albeit with surprise, that he hadn’t been used to spending much time on his own since he had wanted them to part ways, even if he did indulge in his moody sulks and angry alone-time moments every now and then.
He didn’t think much of it, because Uncle had been fascinated with Ba Sing Se since the first time he’d laid eyes on the city, and now being between its walls was a constant fountain of wonder. He was probably wandering around the markets and observing the refugees that filled every corner of every street. Zuko could never do that. He could never escape the tingling sensation down his spine - that he wasn’t supposed to be there.
Truth was, Zuko didn’t have much to do in Ba Sing Se. Whenever he went out on his own, he couldn’t stop looking over his shoulder, thinking that someone will recognise him or know he’s a firebender just by looking at him. It wasn’t true, of course; the worst that could happen is that a hungry refugee would try to mug him for his possession, which of course would not put Zuko in any real peril. He hated the misery that was all around him, and he hated that he had become a part of it.
There was one thing that made everything about his current situation a bit more bearable, he thought. Uncle was - well, maybe not happy. He doubted that either of them had been happy once in the past three years, at least, and maybe even well before that. But he was content. He delighted in being surrounded by tea and getting to make and drink it every day.
Zuko laid in the small bed he had up in their quarters and, because he was bored out of his skull, he decided to hang out back in the kitchen and help in the making of tea, because he’d picked up some of Iroh’s skill in the time they’d spent together. He would never tell him, of course. At midday, he decided to take a bit of the meagre salary he and Iroh had and buy himself some pies from the market.
It hurt him to think about money and the way they had to live. It was a notch better than when they had to hide in caves and beg for change from passersby, but the shame kept pressing him, digging holes into the remnants of his dignity. His only consolation was the fact he was not powerless in the face of danger, even if he couldn’t use his bending.
He was debating whether he could convince the baker to give him two sweetcakes for the price of one when he spotted his uncle looking at picnic baskets.
‘If this is for a romantic picnic, may I suggest this lavender one?’ he heard the merchant tell Iroh.
If he brings up a potential lady friend when he comes home for dinner, I won’t be held responsible for my actions, thought Zuko sourly, but then another thought crossed his mind - did his uncle have a date?
‘No, it’s not a romantic picnic, but it is a special occasion,’ said Iroh and handed the merchant his money.
Baffled, Zuko tried to think of any anniversary that might have been that day that held any meaning to Iroh. It wasn’t his birthday, and it wasn’t Zuko’s birthday either. It wasn’t the anniversary of his banishment. And in any case, Iroh could spend his money however he saw fit, anyway, as long as they still had some left to buy food.
Maybe Uncle just wanted a quiet night to himself. Zuko could definitely understand that. That meant he also got the afternoon to himself, and he could think in silence. He spent the rest of his day idly wondering the market, eyeing a particularly nice set of clothes and constantly thinking about going back to his room to practice his breathing in silence, but not convincing himself to go just yet. The afternoon was - well, quaint, with all the bustling of the people in the lower ring who tried to make a better life for themselves, and the sunset was making everything look dipped in amber. Almost as if the market had been set on fire.
In a moment of weakness, Zuko decided to trade the quietness of his room to that of a hilltop, from where he could watch the sun go behind the horizon. He’d barely left the more populated area when he noticed his uncle again, going in the same direction as he was, his basket full. It was curiosity more than anything that prompted Zuko to follow Iroh, at least for a little while, because it’s not as if he believed he’d do something bad behind his back.
In hindsight, he should’ve kept himself out of other people’s business. He felt as if he were intruding upon something sacred as he watched Iroh kneel under the tree on top of the hill and build a small shrine.
‘Happy birthday, my son. If only I could have helped you.’
The rest of the words were unspoken, but in his mind, Zuko heard them anyway.
But he could only help me.
Zuko had never stopped to consider what Lu Ten’s death had meant to Iroh, not really. He’d never stopped to consider anything other than what he thought he was supposed to be doing. Zuko remembered what he’d been told at the North Pole - I’ve started to think of you as my own - but back then, Zuko still had a one-track mind, still was only focused on getting his hands on the Avatar, and almost didn’t comprehend whatever Iroh was saying most of the time.
Zuko felt anger boiling up inside of him. His uncle was still ashamed of his loss at Ba Sing Se, his show of weakness, and he’d tried to make up for it by trailing behind Zuko because he didn’t have his own son to care for anymore. But he tried to swallow the thought. Zuko was not Iroh’s son and Iroh wasn’t his father - but there wasn’t a person that cared more for Zuko that his uncle did. They were here, somewhere neither of them had ever thought they would end up, trying to build something else, something new, him and his uncle, who had never left his side even as he cried in pain and anger and confusion as a child with half of his face burnt, as a teenager who desperately tried to return to a place that didn’t want him anymore.
He left as Iroh started singing, the wind carrying his voice all the way back to the city, and let a tear roll down his face.