Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

After Azula starts her firebending training, it becomes clear to Zuko that something has changed. Their father has never really spent time with them outside of his work. Zuko could count on his fingers the times he’d seen him this month. It was different to see him walking the grounds with Azula by his side while she rambled happily. He’s sitting by the turtleduck pond when they pass. His father doesn’t notice him.

Or at least he pretends to.

“Do you like Azula better than me?” He asks his Mom.

She drops the pen she was using to write. Ink splatters across the tile floor. Zuko feels a pang of guilt tear though his chest.

“Sorry,” he doesn’t meet her eyes.

“That’s okay, it was an accident,” she ruffles his hair and he hands her back her writing things. “Why do you think I like Azula better?”

“Father is always spending time with her.

“Ah.” Something in her face tightens. Zuko saw that look a lot recently. He has no idea what it means. “He’s just...excited about your sister’s new skill.”

Zuko looks down again, a new feeling swirling in the pit of his stomach.

_

He expects things to change again when he summons fire for the first time. His father’s face is strangely indifferent. It leaves Zuko feeling uncomfortably dizzy.

“Azula is already years ahead of you, you won’t be able to catch up.”

Azula glances over at her brother, who’s fingers twitch by his sides. “I could teach h--”

“Silence. He’ll train under the masters after your sessions are finished.”

Azula’s small frame goes pale. “Yes, father.”

They’re dismissed. Later that night, the two of them eat dinner outside on the balcony of Azula’s room. They’re alone. When Zuko strains he can hear his parents’ muffled argument from downstairs. Every time there’s a crash, he jumps.

The steamed komodo-chicken dumpling he’s eating sticks to the back of his throat when he swallows. It’s not supposed to. The cook must have changed their recipe.

“Are you hungry Zuzu?”

Azula’s face is strained, just like mom’s.

He puts down the remnants of his meal. “Not really. I feel kind of sick. I’m going to lie down.”

“You shouldn’t. Father already thinks you’re weak.”

Zuko glances up at her, startled.

Her golden eyes are wide. He realizes she’s not trying to insult him. It’s a warning. He didn’t know what to do. This never happened before. The lukewarm pressure on the back of his throat grows until it’s all he can feel. He barely hears her call his name.

Zuko runs to the bathroom and waits to throw up. He never does.

_

Zuko laughs at the idea of Ba Sing Se burning to the ground in Iroh’s letter home.

That afternoon he played in the gardens with his new knife. Never give up without a fight. Zuko had always liked his uncle. He hoped to make him proud enough to deserve the gift.

He stops in his tracks, and stares at the blade. He can see his reflection clearly on its surface.

“Hey Zuzu!” Azula calls across grass. “You may be Iroh’s favorite, but I’m still better than you.”

She drops into a stance, her hands almost graze the ground as she spins. Azula breathes a hoop of fire in existence. She and her friends laugh when Ty Lee jumps through it. Zuko scowls and sheaths the knife.

That night, dinner is quiet. Zuko had been pushing around his spiced fish for the better part of half an hour. Occasionally, his mom asked him something about his or Azula’s day. He had a hard time answering. The room was too big and to fill it with his voice seemed… a waste. Not to mention every time he opened his mouth his body was hit with a wave of nausea. However, the fear of what his father would think seeing him struggle was stronger than anything else. Just like every night, he chokes down a few bites. His throat was burning.

“Zuko’s been practicing his katas.” Mom mentions, gazing with a hard stare in his father’s direction.

Azula snorted. “Is that what you were doing Zuko? I thought you’d given up on firebending and decided to become a professional clutz.” She laughs at her own jab.

Zuko’s jaw tightens and he puts down his chopsticks.

“I thought you looked very graceful.” His mom puts a hand on his shoulder.

Zuko pushed his chair back. “Can I be excused?”

“But you haven’t--”

“--I’m not hungry.”

“Zuko.”

Hearing his father say his name makes Zuko flinch. To his horror, he realizes father was watching him. He saw his son become scared at the utterance of one word. The disappointment radiating from the Fire Prince’s body was palpable.

“Finish your dinner.” It was not a request.

It was the punishment Zuko deserved.

_

Things changed again when Uncle Iroh returned from Ba Sing Se. His mom explained to Zuko that his cousin Lu Ten hadn’t come back with him. Zuko could feel the stares Uncle received when he did emerge from his quarters. He walked like there was a heavy weight on his shoulders.

“Grandfather should make father his heir now that Lu Ten is dead.” Azula said offhandedly, throwing a rock into the turtleduck pond. “Dad would make a much better firelord. He wouldn’t have just given up.”

“Mom said we’re not supposed to talk like that.” Zuko watches another rock sink the turtleduckling.

Without warning, she shoves him into the pond. The flock scatters in several directions before rejoining under their mother. Zuko comes up sputtering.

“Azula!” He roars, no one is there to hear it.

He’s still dripping pond water when he comes across Uncle Iroh, quietly sitting on a mat in one of the many quiet alcoves of the Fire Palace. Except this one was Zuko’s hiding spot, and he nearly barreled into the meditating man.

“Sorry!” Zuko yelps and stumbles backwards.

“It’s alright.”

Something in his voice distracted him from the urge to run away. A small, amused smile spreads across Iroh’s face. Zuko thinks, just for a moment, he looks like a dragon.

“Next time you decide to go swimming, nephew, I suggest you choose something other than silk.”

Zuko begins to scowl, until Iroh bursts out with a deep laughter that ends too quickly for Zuko to really be upset.

“Yeah, I’ll keep that in mind. Sorry for dripping on you, Uncle.”

“No apologies, rain is a gift to the earth in all its forms. Come, sit with me. The sun is warm and you’ll be dry in no time.” He pats the spot next to him.

For some reason, Zuko obliges. Iroh reaches into a basket he brought with him and hands Zuko something warm wrapped in a napkin. Zuko holds it for a moment, unwilling to find out how his stomach would react upon sight of the thing. He barely made it through breakfast this morning. The smell of the mystery food in his hands made his stomach twist and curl, he couldn’t tell if it was hunger or disgust. The sensation was too similar these days.

Iroh seemed to sense the boy’s unease. “It’s just some idli, Zuko. Don’t tell anyone, but I learned the recipe in my travels and had the cooks make it special for me.”

Zuko unwraps it. It is indeed, just a simple rice cake. He can see spots of other colors. Other vegetables. He wonders why Iroh wanted to punish him.

“I’m sorry,” he says, waiting to see how Uncle would react.

He had an odd look about him. “It’s okay, you don't have to eat it if you don’t want to.”

“You’re not mad at me?”

“For what reason?”

Zuko sits still and contemplates that. He takes a small bite of the idli. It’s different from a lot of the food he’s eaten before, fluffy, and savory, with no telltale bite of spice. Zuko finds for the first time in a while, he doesn’t have to force it down. In fact, he’s hungry. It’s gone in seconds.

Iroh wordlessly hands him another.

“Thank you,” Zuko says, his voice barely audible.

His uncle nods, making a note to himself to keep a closer eye on his nephew.

_

“Dad’s going to kill you!” Azula leans against the doorframe, a snide look on her face. “Really, he is.”

Zuko sits up, “Ha ha, Azula, nice try.”

“Fine, don’t believe me, but I heard everything. Grandfather says Dad’s punishment should fit his crime. You must know the pain of losing a firstborn son, by sacrificing your own!” She hangs off his bed posts as she mocks her grandfather.

Zuko’s fists curled around his sheets. “Liar!”

“I’m only telling you for your own good. I know! Maybe you can find a nice earth kingdom family to adopt you.”

Zuko shuts his eyes, forcing down the feeling of his heart dropping into his stomach. “Stop it! You’re lying. Dad would never do that to me.”

Mom appeared in the doorway, her face is that familiar pinched shape and Zuko swallowed a pang of guilt. “Your father would never do what to you? What is going on here?”

Azula plays dumb. “I don’t know.”

Mom drags her away by the wrist.

Zuko is left alone, nursing the uncomfortable pressure of his throat and the taste of warm salvia as his body begs him to run from an intangible danger. Azua always lies. He repeats to himself as he walks to the bathroom with one hand over his mouth. Azula always lies.

_

Zuko had secretly always been curious about his father’s war meetings. Now, he was next in line to become Firelord, it was about time he started acting like it. Iroh would be there, it was going to be fine.

His father won’t even notice him come in.
_

“Zuko?”

The world is fragmented and dizzying now. The room he sleeps in is small and the walls are made of cool metal. He presses the side of his face up against it. It brings little relief from the pain and little distraction from the disorienting feeling of the ocean underneath him.

There’s a relentless knock at his door. “Zuko? I brought you some dinner.”

Iroh lets himself in, and coaxes Zuko to sit up.

“I’m not hungry.” He rasps, his stomach is empty and there’s a dull ache in the front of his skull.

Iroh takes a moment to calm his shaking hands before presenting a small, steaming cup. “Please Zuko, you’re going to need your strength in case of infection.”

It’s just tea, Zuko realizes, he’s had Iroh’s tea many times before. It’s safe. He’s unable to exist without his body reacting like he’s going to die or live, as if before, two eyes was all it took to see grey. He ignores the fact that he almost poured tea onto his bandage and readjusts his grip.

He catches his uncle reaching for a small basket he brought with him.

“Please don’t--” Zuko starts, knowing he will be unable to keep what little he’d managed down if faced with something new.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

Iroh held out a rava idli wrapped in a napkin.

As Zuko cried the skin under his bandaged burned once more.

Chapter Text

“So, here you go, home sweet home. I guess, you know, for now.” Sokka hangs around the doorway like a lost puppy as Zuko puts his bag down.

It’s...dusty, and old, but it’s a real building, with a real bed. Something Zuko hasn’t had since he left the Fire Nation for the second time..

Sokka is still talking. Alot. “Unpack...lunch, soon. Uhh...welcome aboard?”

The watertribe boy didn’t need to show him around. He didn’t need to be as polite as he was. Zuko wasn’t entirely understanding why they’d ended up where they had.

Perhaps...he wants to be friends? Zuko smiles at him.

Sokka blinks, a fantastic imitation of the giant koi, “yeah.” Then he spins away from the doorframe..

Hopefully Zuko is doing this right. He is bad at being good and he is bad at making friends. In his childhood the only people he considered friends were Azula’s trio, or Lu Ten who’d babysat the two of them many times. Zuko wasn’t sure if they counted.

What a long way he’s come since then.

A shadow appears in the doorway, Zuko’s body tenses, but it’s only Katara.

“You might have everyone else here buying your transformation,” Katara crosses to room in heavy strides, “but you and I both know you’ve struggled with doing the right thing in the past. So let me tell you something right fucking now.”

Neither of them notices the other’s hands are shaking.

“You make one step backward, one slip-up, give me one reason to think you might hurt Aang, and you won’t have to worry about your destiny anymore.”

Zuko does nothing but stare at her, there’s dark circles under Katara’s eyes. Suddenly he’s scared she’ll reach out and try to touch him--to hurt him. His heart is pounding in his ears.

“Because I’ll make sure your destiny ends, right then and there. Permanently.”

She turns and seeps out of his room before he can apologize. Zuko finds himself alone again, he sits down on his bed. He can’t breathe.
He feels a dull pressure in the front of his skull, and then he can’t feel his fingers. A flame grows in the pit of his stomach. Zuko yells, like he usually does, all it does is send guilt and fear slicing down the center of his body. This wasn’t the Fire Palace, his meltdowns wouldn’t be ignored as regular background noise in this place. Katara would hurt him if he stepped out of line. She would hurt him if he disrespected her. She is going to hurt him.

Zuko hides.

It's painful how much he remembers from the last time he was here with Uncle. He finds himself in a shady pavilion with a thousand floors and archways going up farther than he could see. There’s a gentle breeze. There’s not even birds to create ambient noise. He still doesn’t hear Aang approach.

“Zuko?”

Zuko hates the way his shoulder blades stiffen under the twelve-year-old’s call.

Aang stands awkwardly under a stone arch, his hands are behind his back. Zuko can tell he’s holding...something.

“Sokka said he told you we were having lunch, but just in case you didn’t hear I brought you some. Are you...okay?” He approaches Zuko slowly.

Distracted by the question and the appearance of two steaming bowls of stew, Zuko is left speechless. His stomach cramps uncomfortably and makes a small noise. When was the last time he had a real meal?

“I’m fine.” He says too quietly, the smell of the stew wafts into him and he swallows the powerful gag reflex that a rises. “I’m not hungry.”

“Yeah,” Aang sits down next to him and leaves Zuko’s bowl off to the side, temptingly close, and takes a small sip from his own. “We’re all pretending to love Katara’s cooking too.
I know she’s trying her best with the rations we have left, but I’ve certainly had better. Back home, at the southern air temple we’d celebrate on certain days to honor previous avatars. Then we’d get to have special fasting meals like peanut soup or… Oh! Dahi.” Aang lets out a longing sigh. “What I wouldn’t give for a bowl of that right now--”

Zuko presses his fingers against his lips. “Can we not talk about food right now?”

Aang frowns. “Hey, Fire Nation food isn’t that good either. We had fire flakes at a festival and Sokka almost--”

Zuko gags into his elbow. Aang is staring at him with wide eyes when he sits up. Zuko tries desperately to ignore the ways his hands shake.

“Fuck,” he swears under his breath. “Sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry. Are you sure you’re okay? Do you feel sick? I can get Katara--”

“No!” Zuko takes a deep breath. “No, I’m fine. Just...nauseous…please don’t tell Katara.”

Aang squints. “I really feel like I should.”

“I don’t want to bother her. I’m not sick. I’m just...tired and stupid.”

One of Aang’s eyebrows rise a few inches. Zuko is unsure how he manages this. He’s grateful for the few seconds of silence that stretch out after that.

“You’re not stupid.” Aang says, just loud enough for Zuko to hear. “Do you want me to go? So you can rest?”

Zuko hesitates, then nods.

Aang picks up his bowl and walks away, he’s finished with his lunch by the time he reaches the campfire and returns his bowl to the pile to be washed.

“Did you find Zuko?” Sokka asks. “Does he want to practice sword fighting with me?”

“Didn’t ask.” Aang replies, distracted. “I think--”

Katara walks up, her brow still sweaty from waterbending drills, and takes a drink of water.

Aang starts to put two and two together.

“Think what? Aang?” Sokka turns around to put his hands on his hips, at that moment his boomerang comes whistling back and smacks his head. “Shit! Ow.”

Aang waddles up to her. “Katara? Did you say something to Zuko?”

Her eyes narrow, confirming Aang suspicions. “Why?”

He frowns, “because we can’t go scaring off my only firebending teacher!”

“Scare him?” She barks out a laugh.

“I think you really hurt his feelings.”

“Aang, don’t tell me you’re really falling for--”

“Zuko?” Toph sits up.

“Yes, who else--”

“No,” she bites back, exasperated, “he’s right there.”

Zuko appears from around the corner. Aang fees his face grow warm, wondering if Zuko overheard them. From the look on his face, he didn’t, but Aang couldn't be sure. He has a feeling the older boy wouldn’t want him to intervene in his and Katara’s problems.

Zuko pauses at the edge of the campfire, both because it felt like a space where he wasn't wanted, and because of the three sets of stares (and Toph’s mere presence) analyzing every inch of him. He holds out his empty stew bowl.

“Thank you for letting me eat your food, and thank you Katara for cooking, it was very, uh,” he pauses, and sets the bowl on the ground, “fulfilling. So much, in fact, I’m going to go...sleep it off...I guess.”

They are speechless until he disappears completely amongst the ruins.

“He’s lying,” Toph says, her brow creased.

“Well obviously,” Sokka rolls his eyes, “Katara can’t cook for shit.”

“Hey! That isn’t what you said this morning. Or last night. Or the entire time we’ve been here, in fact.”

“Hungry Sokka is a weak man. What do you mean ‘he’s lying’, Toph?”

“I mean none of that was the truth.” She reaches over and picks up his abandoned bowl. “It’s still warm.”

Aang crouches next to her. “So?”

“So if he’d actually eaten it, it would have been cold by the time he walked over here, like Aang’s bowl. Zuko probably poured it out on the way back.”

Katara clenches her fists. “Okay fine, I’m not a master soupbender. Bite me. Zuko doesn’t need to be a jerk about it.”

“I don’t think he was trying to be mean.” Toph faced the direction he’d disappeared, like he’d come back and lie to her some more.

“Yeah it kinda sounded like the opposite of mean, in fact.” Sokka rubs the back of his head lost in thought and no longer joking.

Katara rests a hand on her hip, still annoyed but also...a little softer. “You all are crazy.”

The situation played out in the back of Aang’s mind for the rest of the day.

-

Zuko hears Aang coming this time. Albeit, it’s the kid knocking on his door, but at least he didn’t take him by surprise.

Zuko sits up from his bed and immediately takes note of how light his arms feel. “Come in.”

“We were just going to start dinner.” Aang shuffles in. “Now you can meet Haru, Teo, and The Duke.”

Zuko knows he needs to show up. He’s technically starving, but after years of living with the choice between being hungry or the possibility of throwing up, the feeling grows dull.

“Okay.” Zuko stands, his posture stiff.

-

It was in Ba Sing Se that his Uncle truly found out the depth of what Zuko was struggling with.

“Would you like a pot of tea?” Iroh moves to put the kettle on.

Zuko grimaces. “We’ve been working in a tea shop all day. I’m sick of tea.”

They never talked about it, but he could feel Iroh’s worry from across the room.

“Sick of tea? That’s like being sick of breathing! Have you seen our spark rocks to heat up the water?”

“No.” Zuko rolls over and listens to Uncle leave the room.

He knows his uncle only insisted because he was making sure Zuko got the minerals and vitamins he wouldn’t otherwise receive. Iroh had been making him tea since he was a baby, he could still recall the exact day the taste had changed. He remembered the look on Uncle’s face when Zuko refused it for the first time. He remembered Iroh explaining he was just worried about Zuko’s health. After realizing it was still safe and just a powdered supplement from crushed rocks or dried vegetables, he grew to tolerate it, sometimes even like it.

Today Zuko just feels like shit.

“I borrowed our neighbors, such kind people.”

Zuko remains silent.

“Nephew,” Iroh’s voice has a strained quality to it, “have you eaten anything today?”

Zuko clenches his jaw. It’s easier to talk about when he doesn’t have to see Uncle’s eyes or the disappointment on his face.

“Of course, why wouldn’t I have?”

Iroh returns to preparing their tea. The silence weighs heavy on Zuko’s shoulders.

-

Zuko has one of the worst headaches of his life.

“You did the right thing, letting the Avatar’s bison go free.”

He walks over to a small table with a vase one it. His hands are shaking. He’s so tired. It’s too hot in this room.

“I don’t feel right.”

He sways on his feet. Then he blinks and he’s on the ground. His body hurts.

“Zuko!”

He’s lying on his back with a pillow when he opens his eyes again.

“You’re burning up,” Iroh announces, wringing a cloth and placing it on Zuko’s forehead. “You have an intense fever, this will help cool you down.”

Zuko is vaguely aware of the cool presence on his face, his scar tissue doesn’t pick up much anyway. “So...thirsty.”

“Here’s some clean water to drink, stay under the blankets and sweat this out.”

Iroh’s hands are cold on the back of his neck but his mouth is dryer. He gently lifts his nephew and spoons him some water. Zuko grabs the spoon, it drips all over his front. It’s not enough. He pours the bucket of water into his mouth and it spills everywhere.

It’s too much too fast. Zuko gags into his elbow. Don't throw up, he begs to himself, not now.

“Zuko.” There’s that strained note in Uncle’s voice again. “When was the last time you ate?”

Not now. He can’t deal with this right now.

“Zuko, please.”

“Days,” he coughs, hot tears run down his face,“‘m sorry. Sorry.”

Uncle places another cool washcloth over his burning eyes. Zuko can feel his hands shaking. Fuck.

“Sorry.”

“No, there is no reason for you to apologize. We’re going to get through this together, nephew.” He talks like Zuko’s not the only one he’s trying to convince.

-

“You should know this is not a natural sickness, but that shouldn’t stop you from enjoying tea.” Iroh’s hands are still cold, but Zuko finds when the tea slides down his throat, his body allows it.

Zuko’s eyes widen. “What? What’s happening?”

“Your critical decision, what you did beneath that lake, it was in such conflict with your image of yourself, that you are now at war within your own mind and body.” Iroh tips another swallow of tea past Zuko’s lips.

“What’s that mean?” Nevermind, his hand flies to his mouth as he covers up a gag with a cough. Uncle lets his body slip back down again.

“You’re going through a metamorphosis, my nephew. It will not be a pleasant experience. But when you come out of it, you will be the beautiful prince you were always meant to be.”

Zuko wants to roll his eyes. He doesn’t have the strength.

“Also, when you deny your body what it needs, you leave yourself open to sicknesses you could have fought off easily otherwise.”

Zuko’s throat tightens.

“I’m sorry.”

Uncle Iroh rests another damp cloth on Zuko’s forehead. “You do not need to apologize to me. But if we could talk about it, I would be able to help you better.”

Zuko hesitates, in the mottled and hazy state his brain is in, it doesn’t seem to be a trap.

“I want to eat, but sometimes it’s just so...difficult.”

Iroh visibly relaxes. “How so?”

“Sometimes it’s…” A thousand words and feelings rush through this mind, none of them pronounceable.

“It’s okay Zuko, whatever you say is safe with me. All I want is to help you.”

Safe. Zuko can feel tears ball up in the corner of his good eye.

“It’s scary, I don’t want to throw up. I know I won’t, I never do, it’s just...”

Zuko unconsciously touches the left side of his face. He doesn’t feel it. He doesn’t see it.

“Things are scary when they change.” He says in barely a whisper.

Uncle Iroh runs his hands through Zuko’s messy hair, the sensation brings him back to his body. He’s hit with the memory of his mother doing the same exact thing when he was ill.

“Some food is safe,” uncle guesses.

Zuko nods. “Like your rava idli, but only your recipe. Mom’s dhokla.” He grips his blanket and runs his thumb over the fabric. “Mochi. Most dumplings, as long as I can cut them open and see what’s inside. Lychee nuts. I like it when it’s small and doesn’t have a lot of parts or feelings.”

His heart skips a beat when his uncle lets a deep, breathy laugh. “My apologies, you reminded me of the fuss your father made about your dumplings habits. I had never seen a grown man so unsettled.”

He sees the way Zuko’s body curls in on itself at the mention of the Fire Lord.

“I’m sorry you had to bear that.”

Zuko bites down on his lip. “It’s fine.”

Iroh places another cool washcloth on Zuko’s forehead. “Would you like to try cooking with me? Perhaps it would help to see all of the parts come together.”
His stomach cramps. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t have to give me an answer now. You should focus on getting food back into your system first. It’s not going to be easy.”

“Never is,” Zuko mutters under his breath.

That day he manages a small amount of rice and steamed vegetables. His headache disappears. Uncle Iroh is with him through the whole ordeal.

-

Zuko yawns and walks over to where Uncle is standing by the stove “What’s the smell?”

Iroh looks up at him, wary. “It’s jook, I’m sure you wouldn’t like it.”

Hyper-aware of the events of the past few days, something possesses Zuko. He leans forwards over the pot and inhales. He doesn’t immediately want to gag, but the lingering anxiety of a new food is still present. It surprises him.

“Actually, it smells delicious. I’d love a bowl, Uncle.”

Iroh stares at him with wide eyes and a partially open mouth, then squints. Zuko holds out a wooden bowl, in fact, serious about this. Finally Iroh gives in and spoons him some, but his eyes never leave the boy.

Iroh decides to dance around his burning questions. “Now that your fever is gone, you seem different somehow.”

“It’s a new day. We’ve got a new apartment, new furniture, and today’s the grand opening of your new tea shop. Things are looking up, Uncle.”

Zuko takes a small sip from the bowl. It’s a soft, creamy texture, no surprises. It leaves him with a warm feeling in his stomach. A nice feeling. He starts to think he could drink some more. Just a little, but more nonetheless.

“Are you...okay?” Iroh asks, staring at him still.

“I’m trying.” Zuko’s hands quiver slightly. “When I woke up today I...really wanted to try.”

“Oh, Zuko.” His uncle sets the bowl down, and pulls his nephew in a hug.

Zuko hugs him back.

-

Then of course, he fucked everything up. Zuko realizes he must be...relapsing...sort of. He really misses his uncle. Iroh would have known what to do.

“Aang,” Zuko’s stomach tumbles around inside him as he approaches the campfire, they’re still out of earshot.

He stops and turns.

“Could I...help...cook?” He asks, looking at the ground.

“Oh! Sure. We’re back guys!”

Zuko meets six pairs of eyes. He feels horribly, horribly self conscious. This was such a bad idea. He probably could have held out for one more day--

“Sokka, Zuko wants to help with dinner.”

“Thank the spirits!” The boy with the topknot says, “I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“Katara’s....not?” Zuko stammers, he spots her sitting at the edge of the circle, staring at him coldly.

“Nope, told her her food sucked and she said ‘oh I’m sure you can do better’ and just like that my head chef walks out on me. How am I supposed to run a successful business now I’m sure you’re asking?” Sokka cuts himself off and laughs at his own bit.

He’s not staring at Zuko. In fact his point of attention changes every five seconds, roughly. He likes to talk too, it fills Zuko with a sense of solace. He doesn’t have to make eye contact, he doesn't have to focus on making conversation. He just has to listen to Sokka ramble, a sufficient distraction from his nausea.

Sokka pats a seat on the ground next to him and the pot. Zuko makes his way over there, stiff, but no longer as worried.

“Light the fire, will you? It’s gonna be stew again.”

Zuko nods, and throws out his hands. The spark he produces is alarmingly small, but it catches. Zuko frowns as the fire grows underneath the pot of water but doesn’t mention anything.

“I’m imagining it’s as easy as throwing it all in there and waiting. How long is a mystery. What’s your culinary experience?”

“I’ve made rice before.”

Sokka nods slowly. “Alright, we can work with that.”

The soup is okay. Zuko didn’t have the last one, he can’t say if it’s any better, but Sokka seems to like it. He sits next to Sokka as they eat. He’s introduced to the three other kids, Haru, Teo, and the Duke. They seem nice. The fire he made burns long and low.

Eventually, when he feels no one is watching, he’ll take a sip from the bowl. He manages half of it before his stomach starts to cramp. It’s been a while since he’s eaten that much. Uncle was right, being there to see all the parts go into it helps.

“Not hungry?” Sokka asks.

Zuko jumps. The question was much quieter than the volume he’d been using all afternoon, it slips under the main conversation easily.

“Not really,” he says cautiously, “I shouldn’t have taken so much.”

Sokka scoffs gently underneath his breath. “It’s okay. Here, switch bowls with me.”

Sokka hands him the empty bowl (from behind his back?) and Zuko takes it. All the while wondering where this was going. Sokka winks and then continues eating from Zuko’s bowl. Zuko scowls at him, but a weight’s been lifted off his shoulder. He realizes he's been unconsciously worked up about finishing and not wasting their rations. He wonders how long he’d been staring distractedly at his bowl.

“--maybe tomorrow I could fly around a look for fruit. We’re at an air temple, there should be something. Maybe. At the southern air temple we had gardens so the fruit was fresh for the charity pies.” Aang’s face falls at the end of his ramble, like the words caught up with him too quickly.

Katara pats his shoulder, Aang looks at her and smiles slightly. “Well, this place might be in ruins but at least I still know how to make fruit pies.”

“I could go for a fruit pie right now,” Zuko says quietly, half truthfully.

Zuko learns that night even Katara’s dark stare has it’s soft side.

Chapter Text

The fire has returned to Zuko’s body. When he and Aang practice their firebending now, it comes easy and it comes roaring with the same ferocity of the dragons that taught them.

It’s in these moments Zuko sees how much Aang had to grow up. He was just twelve, almost thirteen. Zuko remembers when he was that age. He remembers it with painful clarity. He remembers how much of him was, and still is...just a little kid.

They practice while the morning sun burns away the dew. When Aang takes his shirt off, Zuko can see the scar on the base of his spine. When he walks by Toph, she still has to ask him to fetch her waterskin. When Katara wishes Aang goodluck, her young frame is still filled with so much hatred for everything Zuko used to cling to.

He used to constantly remember the night he got his scar, whether through nightmares or the constant physical reminder of half-blindness and dull hearing. He remembers lying awake crying, wondering how could anyone do that to their son, what drives a person to hurt a child?

Now he has hurt these children, they might have forgiven him but Zuko never will.

It’s this context that makes Katara’s ruthless caution almost refreshing. Zuko is vaguely aware that a dark, broken part of himvdesperately needs a reason to continue hurting himself in their stead. That is why, on this particular morning, between the lack of safefood and the plethora of his fuck ups, he chose to give up the battle for breakfast.

His inner fire suffers the consequences. The flames are thinner and burn quicker. It’s uncomfortable. Zuko doesn’t make the connection.

“Having trouble with your inner fire?” Aang asks.

“No?” He frowns. “I don’t think so?”

“You want to take a break?”

“No.”

“Zuko, I’m hungry.”

He blinks, realizing Aang hadn’t really been asking for Zuko’s sake. The kid’s shoulders were drooping and he had a hand on his stomach. Guilt bites into him once more.

“Oh yeah, sorry--”

“It’s cool. Is it helpful if I'm more direct?”

Zuko is stunned for a moment, “uh, I think so.”

Aang flashes him a smile and two thumbs up. “You want to find lunch with me?”

“I’ll catch up with you.”

When the airbender flies off, Zuko considers going somewhere quiet to try and eat. He considers asking one of his new...friends? To help him find something he considered food. Until the broken part of him whispers back.

He’s too scared of the questions they’d ask, of making their hard existence here worse. The fear lives in the back of the throat and takes up more space than he can bear. He coughs out a gag. All hope of a successful lunch is gone.

Zuko finds himself in the courtyard once more, dual dao swords in hand, running through familiar drills. The repetitiveness of the art is soothing. The more Zuko practices, the more refined his skills become, the less likely accidents are. He can’t let what happened to Toph happen again.

He considers talking to her, but just doesn’t have the courage yet.

“Need a sparring partner?”

Sokka’s leaning against a stone pillar, Zuko spots a sword at his hip. The residual fear waits in his stomach like a crouching rooster-lion. There’s a chance he’ll hurt Sokka. Zuko opens his mouth to decline, then his eyes flick back up and find Sokka’s got a sly smirk waiting for him. He flushes red.

“Not to brag or anything but I happened to train under legendary bladesmith Piandao.”

“So did I,” Zuko replies bluntly, deciding he was going to (carefully) wipe that look off Sokka’s face.

It had to be just a stupid fear. Zuko was the Avatar’s firebending teacher, he didn’t have the choice, or the time to be weak. Zuko is so fucking sick of weakness.

Sokka unsheathes his sword, it’s a glistening black in the hot afternoon air, the action sends a gentle ringing into the air. Zuko drops into a stance, holding out his twin blades. He feels release in the way his heels dig into the dirt. It takes him three seconds to judge how easy he should go on Sokka. The boy’s stance is strong, it’s smart. He holds his sword with one hand and the other behind his back. There’s a curious grin on his face. Zuko’s heart skips a beat.

Zuko finds himself relaxing, this is going to be quite evenly matched.

Sokka twitches. Zuko lunges forward, swinging one blade into the edge of Sokka’s and letting the other swing around to what’s usually the opponent's exposed neck, but Sokka’s blade isn’t pinned down anymore. He dances nimbly away and parries against the dao coming at him with ease.

Zuko forgets about his fears of hurting other people, his heart’s beating in time with the clash of metal against meteorite. It’s exhilarating. Sokka isn’t just skilled, he’s a master. Sparring with him isn’t just practice--it’s a thrill. He keeps talking too, little quips in between swipes and lunges. Zuko laughs. Sokka’s eyes light up.

Then Zuko ruins it.

One moment he’s spinning around to counterattack, the next he stumbles. For reasons beyond him, his mind is too sluggish and dizzy to react. Before he slams against the ground, something--someone grips him tight.

“Whoa buddy! Careful--did you trip?” Sokka tries to help him stand, but Zuko still thinks he’s falling. “Zuko? Shit, are you okay?”

“‘M fine.” Zuko hisses on a reflex.

“No you’re not,” Sokka’s voice changes. “Did I get you?”

“You wish,” Zuko mutters, feeling pangs of guilt tingle all over his numb, dizzy body.

“Let’s get you out of the heat.”

Zuko frowns, realizing they are no longer joking around. “I’m fine, let me walk on my own.”

“Uh, nope. Fat chance.”

“Sokka let me go!” Zuko shoves him, and his hands slap hard against the cold stone walls of the temple. His vision wavers.

“Shit.” Sokka hovers around him like a fly. “Zuko--”

Zuko dry heaves, then sinks to the ground, his head between his knees. He starts seeing spots dance in his vision. His whole abdomen hurts now. His body feels so light, so weak. Zuko is so fucking sick of weakness.

When Sokka slips his arms underneath Zuko’s legs and shoulders, he’s met with no struggle. Stupid Avatar and his stupid friends. Stupid people who insists on caring for him just like his Uncle would have.

“What was that?” He growls to himself in his father’s voice as Sokka carries his body elsewhere. “Fall down once and can’t get back up. Fucking pathetic.”

“Uh huh, sure thing bud.”

“Put me down. This is humiliating.”

He does. Zuko finds himself sitting on a sleeping mat, the campfire curled up in front of him, unlit. There were two kids here who Zuko now has the full attention of. One of them is Toph. Zuko winces.

“What happened?” She asks, eyes wide.

“I’m fine! He’s being dramatic.” Zuko snaps.

“You're lying. Sokka?”

“Hey Haru, could you go find Katara?” Sokka asks the young man, then kneels down next to Zuko.

“No!” Zuko yells.

It’s too late, Haru nods and runs off.

Zuko clenches his fists as they start to shake.

“Are you hurt?” Toph sits down next to Sokka, next to Zuko.

“Agh! I. Am. Fine. STOP FUSSING.” Zuko slaps their hands away.

“Toph?” Sokka looks at her.

“He’s lying.” She confirmed.

Zuko doesn’t know how that punk little kid keeps calling him out but he decides to shut up nonetheless. Sokka’s brows are knit together and Toph stares at him with tight lips. He’s hurt them. He is actively causing their discomfort.

“You don’t have to tell us...everything,” Sokka hands him a waterskin. “I just wanna make sure you don’t die, dude.”

Then comes the telltale slaps of feet against stone. Katara appears with Aang in tow, he’s comically carrying a bundle of fruits in the front of his shirt. Zuko’s entire upper body flushes with shame and embarrassment at the look she sends him.

“What happened?” Katara gives Sokka the up and down, obviously expecting him to be the injured one.

Sokka looks to Zuko.

Zuko glares at Sokka.

Aang leans over slightly and dozens of lychee spill out of his shirt.

“We were sparring. I kind of… tripped.” Zuko forces out, eyeing Toph. “I got dizzy.”

Katara puts a hand on her hip, she seems flustered. “Oh, well how do you feel?”

Zuko bites his lip, he can’t lie in front of Katara. “Better.”

Sokka squints. “Toph?”

She reaches out and grabs one of the lychee. She knocks her fist into the ground and the dirt falls off the fruit. “Truth.”

“Alright drink some water, have a snack, now that that’s out of the way, I’m going to continue training with the Avatar.” She huffs, and turns.

Sokka’s still intensely focused on Zuko as he takes a sip from the waterskin.

“Are you like, magic or something?” Zuko asked Toph. “How do you always know when I’m lying?”

Toph snorts, “I can feel heartbeats. Yours especially goes haywire when you’re not being truthful. Which, why straighten out your act for Katara?”

Zuko grimaces, “she’s kind of terrifying.” Also he desperately wants the group to like him and Katara does not like him.

“She has her moments,” Sokka sighs, letting his worries about Zuko become passive and picks up a lychee instead.

“Do you…” Fuck, now he’s self aware of his racing heart. “Do you think we’re allowed to eat the lychee?”

“Who’s gonna stop you?” Toph shrugs, having already taken a few bites out of hers.

Zuko picks one up, guilt forgotten, excitement rushing through him. It’s been so long since he’s had safe food to enjoy. It’s been so long since he’s eaten in fact. The realization hits him hard.

He’s so stupid.

He can’t just go around skipping meals like an idiot anymore, especially if the gang was going to freak out this badly every time. That would only make it worse. Zuko supposes that at some point, he should tell them. It was immensely easier once his Uncle found out. Logically the same thing would happen here. Emotionally, that freaked him right the fuck out.

“What’re you thinking about, sparky?”

Zuko pauses, letting the peel of the lychee hit the ground. “You’re kidding me right? Stop eavesdropping on my heartbeat.”

Toph shrugs once more. “Hard to do anything else.”

Her just-healed feet were tucked underneath her. Zuko’s heart dropped right into his stomach.

“I’m sorry about your feet,” he blurts. “I’m really sorry.”

“Oh,” Toph is taken aback for a moment, “I know. I’m fine now. Not even a scar.”

“It was an accident,” he hesitates, Zuko has no idea why it’s so important to him that she knows this.

“Yeah, I know. More than anyone.”

He stiffens and glances up at her. Toph is smiling, just slightly. It almost crushes Zuko. This just doesn’t happen back home. He has no idea what to say.

“Katara is a talented healer.” His thumbs dig in between the soft flesh of lychee and the rough skin, the sound of it cracking makes him happy. “She offered to heal my scar when we were prisoners in Ba Sing Se, before I uh...yeah. Uh...what I mean is..if anyone were that powerful, it would be her.” At that moment Zuko is glad he’s biting into lychee, anything else he would have spit up immediately.

It tastes so fucking good, he almost forgets how mortifyingly embarrassed he is.

Sokka looks surprised, like this is the first time he’s heard this story. Toph just looks confused.

“You have a scar?” She frowns. “Somewhere...obvious? I’m guessing?”

“Oh,” Zuko’s body goes numb.

“Oh right! Sorry Toph,” Sokka laughs. “Yeah it’s--” He stops, glancing at Zuko, his body sobers. “Uh, well…”

“It’s on my face.” Zuko looks to the ground, but decides he’s okay talking about it a little bit. They’re safe. The lychee is safe. “Most of the left half. A burn scar. I can’t really see or hear too well out of that side anymore.”

“Damn dude, what’s the story there?” She throws a lychee pit aside absentmindedly.

Zuko shrugs. “You don’t want to hear about that, it’s not funny or...happy. At all.”

Sokka’s eyes widen, he nearly drops the fruit he’s eating. “Shit, you don’t have to tell us. We always just figured it was a training accident or something.”

“Well, you did,” Toph scoffs. “But he’s right. Only if you’re comfortable.”

Zuko considers it. “Not while I’m eating.”

The following silence feels weird, because even if he didn’t tell them anything, he’s told them something. It’s easy to ignore, luckily, because now Zuko has lychee. Zuko fucking loves lychee. It’s the only fruit he’ll eat in unlimited quantities, much like he’s about to do now.

The sweet, gentle taste reminds him of his mom, and how she taught him to cut it into slices so the turtleducks could slurp it up. He couldn’t stop laughing the first time he saw them skim along the surface with their rounded beaks.

His mom didn’t smile a lot, but she was always happy sitting next to that pond.

Zuko grins to himself and doesn’t notice he’s swaying gently as he cuts his fruit into sweet, pale slices, barely bigger than his finger tips, and sets aside the seed. It’s so sweet, so perfect, he can see the tree it came from in his mind. They must be in season now. When his thumb cracks into the next he relishes the sound of it.

Toph giggles, “Are you having fun?”

His face flushes, he shoves his free hand into his lap. “Sorry.”

They don’t seem to be mad at him, in fact Sokka is smiling. “My dad says when I was younger I did a happy dance when the food was good too.”

Zuko’s stomach twists. “Was I...doing something?”

“Yeah! Like this.” Toph holds up one hand and wiggles her wrist a little bit, her face lights up. “It’s fun.”

He can’t help but wince. “Oh, I’m not supposed…” It strikes Zuko halfway through that he doesn’t know why.

“Aw, come on,” Sokka groans. “Is that another stupid Fire Nation law? Is sneezing in the afternoon considered treason? If I burp to the north are they gonna arrest me?”

Zuko smiles weakly. “No, just me. My father...thought--thinks--he doesn’t like it. He says it makes me look, uh, well. I’ve been an embarrassment to my family ever since I was born.” It comes out of his mouth matter of factly, it doesn’t quite feel as true as it used to.

Sokka’s are wide, with a coat of the same blank-faced terror Zuko saw when he fell earlier. It scares him. Toph scoots closer until she’s sitting next to him, and hugs his shoulder. Zuko stiffens, but realizes it’s not horrible. A warm feeling blossoms in his chest, he’s not used to feeling like this.

“I know exactly what you mean, sparky. My parents were so embarrassed by having blind daughter, that they kept me a secret. I ran away all the time, it was the only time I left the house, that’s how I met the badgermoles, and became the Earth Rumble VI champion.” She was smiling but it was laced with pain. “Another reason why I forgive you for my feet, I surprised you, I’ve been there.”

Talking about it made his hands numb. Like he wasn’t part of his body. Usually it scared it, usually it left him feeling exposed, but not here, not now. Toph squeezes his arm and Zuko floats back down himself.

He hesitates, “I used to wonder all the time--”

"--Why, right? How could you even do that to a kid?”

“Yeah.” Zuko blinks. “Exactly.”

Sokka keeps wringing his hands together. His leg bounces up and down. “Can I hug you too?”

“Okay.”

Sokka latches onto Zuko’s other side, muttering to anyone who will listen about how they deserve better and that if HIS dad were here well...Zuko’s mouth twists into a small smile. Then he wiggles out from in between them. For the first time in a long while, he’s eaten enough to feel satisfied, and it wasn’t even accompanied by guilt.

“I like to do this when I’m happy.” Toph slaps her feet against the ground like she’s marching in place, then grimaces. “Whoops, still a little sore.”

Zuko is so happy, he hides his mouth behind another slice of lychee, and wiggles his hands.

“I’m the proud parent of two dumbass kids,” Sokka cries out, exasperated.

“I’m your age?” Zuko frowns.

“How does Katara manage?” He gazes off into the distance, a fist firmly planted against his chest. Zuko sees the smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

Zuko cracks open another lychee, and realizes for the first time, he’s made some friends.

Chapter Text

Sokka is the second one Zuko tells. Kind of.

They’re on the way home from the Boiling Rock, flying in the stolen Fire Nation war balloon. Zuko walks the few halls and feels shivers run down his spine, it’s eerily similar to the war boats, the ones he spent three years aboard.

“Hey Zuko,” Sokka peeks into the cockpit.

He spins half-heartedly in the cushy chair to face him.

Sokka leans against the wall, staring at all the levers. Zuko can see the gears turning in his mind. “I just wanted to thank you for everything you did to help. It means a lot to me.”

Zuko shrugs. He thought he knew what it was like to miss a father. After watching Sokka and Hakoda catch up, Zuko realized whatever he felt had been purposefully manipulated to hurt, “Yeah well, it means a lot that you trust me.”

Sokka sits down in the other chair. “Katara still hasn’t come around, huh?”

Zuko shakes his head.

Sokka sighs. “Well, you should eat. I know I didn’t give you much time to at the Rock, there’s quite a few rations left aboard. I bet it'll be nice to eat something from home for once, right?”

Zuko cringes, “I’m not hungry.” It was the wrong thing to say.

Sokka frowns “You...sure? When was the last time you ate a full meal?”

Zuko can’t remember, he bites his lip. His heart races, terrified that Sokka will ask him more questions.

Sokka crosses his arms on the back of the chair. “Come on, we’re having a late lunch right now. My dad is dying to get to know the mysterious Fire Nation boy who saved his life.”

Zuko’s hand slaps against his burning cheeks. “Fine.”

Sokka grins.

It’s almost as bad as Zuko expects. Sokka mostly talks with Suki catching up and checking on each other's superficial injuries. He notices Hakoda watching them. Zuko doesn’t want to imagine what the older man is thinking. He’s silent and silence usually means disappointment.

All the rations are various dried meats covered in spice. It doesn’t taste bad...it’s just this feeling, the heat on his tongue, has been deeply woven into the worst parts of his life. It’s too dry, and sticks to the back of his throat when he tries to get through a few bites. He remembers fights between his parents, re-enacted by Azula when they weren’t looking. He remembers lying in bed, alone, too scared to move. He remembers years of fear disguised as food being shoved down his throat because he deserved it. He remembers a hand on his face.

Zuko gags into his shoulder, and tries to put it down without giving away the fact he’d rather chuck it out the window.

“Whoa there,” a soft voice says, a hand lands on Zuko’s left shoulder. “Careful there--”

Zuko flinches away, he doesn’t even realize how far he’s slid until he bumps into Sokka. His friend looks at him with wide eyes, the same color as Hakoda’s, the same worried wrinkles. Fuck, what just happened.

“Sorry,” Zuko forces out, fighting the urge to curl up even though his body feels so damn vulnerable. “Surprised me. I uh, can’t see that side too well.”

His heart pounds. There’s a strange look in Hakoda’s eyes. Everyone is staring at Zuko.

“Oh, no, that’s on me.” The man assures. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Zuko nods, looking down as his face burns in more ways than one. Now Sokka is on his right. Zuko kind of wishes he wasn’t, because that horrible exposed feeling creeps back. When he glances up at Sokka, his brows are drawn together and the gears are turning in his mind once more.

Zuko doesn’t know how, but Sokka understands. He stands up and sits on Zuko’s other side. Zuko’s heart skips a beat. Now he is between Sokka and Suki. It’s a new kind of awkward, and Zuko only ends up making it worse.

“You good?” Suki asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Fine, great,” he starts, desperate to change the subject, “ so uh, how long have you guys been dating?”

Both of them blush, Suki laughs under her breath. Sokka is smiling, sort of. If smiles normally caused mild abdominal pain, that’s what Sokka was emulating.

“We’re not.” Suki explains.

“Did for a bit, but we learned we work better as really good friends.” Sokka finishes.

Suki grins.

Zuko pales. “I’m so sorry.”

“What are you apologizing for?” Suki’s eyes are big and curious, with no room for coldness.

Zuko glares at the ceiling like it might burst and get him out of here. “I have no idea.”

“No need then, bud.”

Zuko frowns. People keep telling him that.

“Oh wow!” Sokka gasps through a mouthful of jerky and the water collecting in the corners of his eyes, “try this one! It’s really hot.”

Zuko passes it to Suki, who obliges. Seconds later she’s fanning her face and fighting back tears. The two of them are a riot. It’s going to be a long flight back.

Zuko finds himself walking back and forth down a small hallway between boxes of rations. He finds what he was looking for, a small, airtight packet of rice and several cans of meat stew. He knows he should eat the meat. He knows he’ll feel incredibly shitty later if all he has is a handful of old rice. But fuck, if it isn’t just the hardest thing in the world.

The metal walls are like a cocoon that won’t break open, Zuko has transformed but can’t break free. Even after all this time.

“Hello?” Sokka peers around piles of crates. “I guessed you’d be here.”

“Lucky guess,” Zuko huffs.

He sits down next to Zuko. “My dad wants you to know he’s sorry.”

Zuko looks up at him, startled. “But—“

“No buts. I talked to him about it. He says he’s been around long enough to know what happened, and that if you ever need someone to talk to he’s safe.” Sokka pauses. “I don’t really know what that means but I can guess it’s got something to do with your scar and why I never see you eat.”

Zuko’s heart skips a beat. His fingers dig into the wood of the crate.

“You don’t have to talk about it. I just…whatever I can do to help, Zuko, I want to be safe too.”

Zuko stares at him again. In the back of his mind he can hear his father telling him it’s rude, but Sokka’s soft features and wide eyes are louder. He usually panics when he doesn’t know what to say. This is different.

“Is it…really obvious?” He forced out, deciding to start with that.

Sokka shakes his head. “I started paying attention after we first sparred. It’s something about the airship, isn’t it? You’ve been jumpy ever since we left.”

Zuko nods numbly. “I don’t have a lot of good memories from home. There’s so much of it here. I feel like I’m choking.”

Sokka is silent, before resting a hand against Zuko’s arm.

“Three years.” Zuko says. “Three years aboard the same ship with the same food for three fucking years. The smells of it makes me sick.”
Comprehension dawns on Sokka’s face, before his brow is once again graced with worry lines. “One more can’t hurt right? At least until we get back?”

Zuko glares at him.

“Okay, loud and clear.” He laughs under his breath, Sokka absentmindedly digs through Zuko’s abandoned crate, already noting the half empty rice bag. “You got a little down, that’s good.”

“I don’t want your pity.” Zuko spits, turning away. “I’ve got enough.”

“I don’t pity you.” Sokka assures. “But even if I did, what’s the worst that happens when someone pities you?”

Zuko squints his one good eye. “I appear weak.”

“No, you receive kindness. Most often in the form of a physical gift, money, clothes, food. Pity can be great, dude.”

This gives Zuko pause.

“You’re speaking from experience.” It’s half of a question.

“Yep.” Is all the explanation Sokka gives.

Zuko can respect that. It drives him fucking bonkers but he can respect that.

“No fucking way!” Sokka gasps, brandishing a small bag. “They have akutaq! What’s it doing in the Fire Nation’s war rations?”

Zuko peers over his shoulder. The bag Sokka found came from a cooler crate. It was a red substance, in the form of a paste or...butter. Zuko has never seen anything like it.

“Probably something we picked up during...all the raiding…and the pillaging...and colonizing.” Zuko grimaces. “What...is that?”

“Akutaq!” Sokka repeats cheerfully, ripping open the bag. “It’s like ice cream, but better!”

Zuko’s face remains neutral.

“You’re kidding me right? Ice cream? This is a really funny joke. I have to hand it to you.”

Zuko raises an eyebrow. Sokka blinks rapidly.

“Oh spirits! You’re not joking, remind me to give you the greatest experience of your life when we’re done being in imminent danger all the time. You want some?” Sokka hands him a spoon and tilts the bag towards him.

Anxiety builds up in the back of his throat and presses up against his gag reflex.

“What’s it made out of?” He asks.

“Meat,” he clicks his tongue, “probably fish. Sugar, oil, berries. Lots of berries. It’s sweet, smooth, keeps you warm, and is an excellent source of vitamins. Back home we eat it before going hunting, to keep our strength up throughout the day.”

Zuko hesitates. “I don’t know if I can.”

Sokka pauses and looks at his friend. “Zuko…”

“I know.”

“It doesn’t have to be this, but you should eat something.”

Zuko pushes his head onto his hands. “It takes me so fucking long.”

“I’ve got time.”

“It’s embarrassing.”

“Hey, this is Sokka you’re talking to. You can’t take me anywhere.”

Zuko can’t help but smile underneath his hands. He’ll never be able to get used to this feeling.

“Hey,” Sokka hesitates, then pats Zuko’s shoulder gently. “Think of it like mashed rice, but sweet, and cold.”

Zuko glances up. That kind of helps. The akutaq grows more and more appealing. It’s not Fire Nation food, Zuko tells himself, it’s from Sokka’s home. He promises it’s safe, it’s like rice, just a little different.

Zuko takes a spoonful. It’s a deep red color, which he likes. It reminds him of lychee skin and turtleduck shells. Then it’s in his mouth and he’s tasting it. Zuko has never tasted anything like it before. The cold comes as a shock at first, but Zuko is pleasantly surprised to find the strong temperature distracts from the feeling in the back of his throat. It’s smooth and silky, like Uncle’s jook. The sweet taste of berries lingers on his tongue.

He takes another spoonful, then one more. It’s a slow process for him, Zuko pauses after each swallow, waiting to see if it will come back up. It doesn’t. It’s easier to do small scoops. The taste is slightly tart, the sensation is soothing. Despite it being a cold meal, after he consumes a fair amount it brings a certain warmth to the pit of his stomach.

“What do you think?” Sokka asks quietly, breaking the stillness of the dimly lit room.

“I...like it.” Zuko’s body feels...comfortably full. “I don’t want to waste it.”

“That’s okay.” Sokka smiles, and takes his own spoonful “I’ve got you covered.”

Zuko is quite proud of himself, because when the bag is empty, he’s eaten almost half. It was easier than it’s been in a long time. Not once did Sokka’s presence make him feel ashamed. Zuko can’t remember the last time he felt like this.

Sokka cleans out the rest of Zuko’s abandoned rice and meat rations. “Tell me if I’m overstepping but...does this happen to you a lot?”

Zuko bites his lip. “Yes.”

He doesn’t look at Sokka when he says it, but he knows what awaits him there. A face whose features are strangely tight around the edges, with deep blue eyes that could penetrate through honesty and lies.

“Shit.”

Zuko shuts his eyes. “Yeah.”

“Was this...was this okay? Me? Like...if...it happens again, is me helping...okay?”

Zuko doesn’t answer immediately. He runs his hands through his unkempt, messy hair. Things were going to be different now. He’s scared of what the others would--will--think.

“Yeah. It’s okay.”

Sokka remains quiet, but Zuko can tell he is just happy to be able to help.

-

“I like your new haircut.” Suki slides along the railing next to him, on his good side.

Zuko startles, “uh, thanks.”

Her ratty hair billows in the breeze. “So how’d you get roped up in this? You were pretty oppositely aligned last time we saw each other.”

Zuko lets out a dry laugh, “realized how much of a fucking idiot I was being.”

She smiles. “I’m glad you and Sokka are friends, he seems happy and I know he’s good at looking out for others.”

He stiffens, and turns to face her. “What?”

Suki shrugs. “Excuse me for being brash, but you seem like you could use it.”
Zuko opens his mouth to give some sharp retort, it dies on his lips.

“Y-yeah.” Zuko admits. “Probably.”

“If it makes you feel any better, it’s only because he cares about you, I speak from experience. He’ll listen if you need space but damn if the man isn’t stubborn.”

“I’m still figuring out if I mind.”

The air is wet and cold up here, Zuko can feel his inner fire burn crisp and sharp. Suki is giving him an odd look, one that Zuko doesn’t have the time to decipher.

“That’s good, also hey. I know we barely know each other, but I know a thing or two about dealing with baggage. If you ever need someone to talk to, I’m here. If you ever need someone to spar with, I’m here. I heard you’re good with dual dao blades.”

Zuko frowns. “You’re not going to...hold a grudge?”

She squints, “Nah. We’ve been through enough shit to justify it for me. I’m looking forward to being friends.”

He smiles, just barely. “Me too.”

Chapter Text

Zuko has always loved animals, but very rarely did animals get the chance to love him back. The turtleducks were the closest thing Zuko had to a childhood pet, and because of Azula, they were always a little wary of humans. Nevertheless, he likes to be around them. He likes Appa, especially, but that is information he’s taking to his grave. He likes the way the saddle rumbles when Appa vocalizes and the constant warmth emanating from the beast. Oh, and Appa is so soft.

Katara is the one who grabs his hand as he hurtles through the sky. As his body collapses into the saddle with his limbs spilled over the side he’s never been more grateful for Appa’s softness. His little sister glares at him from the spot where she slid against the cliff wall. For once Katara doesn’t.

He doesn’t say anything as the bison hurtles through the sky, only hating himself for feeling relieved Azula wasn’t dead.

It takes Momo two hours to learn if he brings Zuko something, he’ll get his chin scratched. It was an honest-to-Agni accident, Zuko couldn’t help himself but pet the lemur when he was close enough and Momo let him, and therefore Zuko found himself taking multiple dangerous or lost useful items out of Momo’s grubby hands. Momo therefore thought a game with big reward was afoot.

Zuko lets out an exasperated noise as another solid object drops into his lap. “Aang! How do I turn your monkey off?”

Aang glances over from the tent he’s setting up, and laughs. “He’s helping because he likes you!”

Zuko rolls his eyes so hard he almost falls over “I don’t want him to like me, I want a moment’s peace--”

He stops mid-sentence, realizing Momo has dropped a lychee fruit into his lap. The lemur looks up at him with wide eyes. His stomach grumbles.

“Oh,” Zuko reaches over and scratches the lemur’s chin. “Thank you.”

Aang gives him two thumbs up.

Momo purrs loudly, unbeknownst to Zuko, taking in the boy’s reaction as important information.The game now has another level. Five lychees later, Momo brings back a plum.

“Uh,” Zuko places it on the ground in front of him. “I don’t like these.”

Momo squints, this had never happened before. Zuko also doesn’t move to scratch him, so Momo realizes plums do not win the game. He flies off again.

“I literally don’t know how to get him to stop.” Zuko laughs nervously after being presented with three nuts he’s never seen before. “I’m not going to eat this.”

“I will!” Suki picks one up.

Momo shrieks and rips it from her fingers, then places them back at Zuko’s feet. The two kids stare at the lemur with fear in their eyes. Momo takes a note, tree nuts do not win the game.
Suki eyes the nuts carefully after Momo flies off again. “Chances he’ll know I ate them?”

“He’s just a lemur, right?” Zuko hands them over, unsure of his words. “How smart can he be?”

Nevertheless, after Momo returns with two peaches, Zuko finds his stomach is comfortably full and anxiety free. He scratches Momo’s chin with both hands. He didn’t realize animals could be like this...a friend. He was friends with this lemur.

-

The night is cool and the fire crackles comfortably in Zuko’s singular peripheral.

“Wow, camping… it really seems like old times again, doesn’t it?” Aang sighs.

Zuko stares at a bowl of cooked wild roots, picks one up and rips it in half. It smells and feels just like a potato. So far so safe. “If you really want it to feel like old times, I could, uh...chase you around awhile and try to capture you.”

It earns him a good laugh, and Zuko smiles to himself.

Sokka raises a cup, and looks directly into Zuko’s eyes, it’s not uncomfortable. “To Zuko . Who knew after all those times he tried to snuff us out, today he’d be our hero.”

“Hear hear!” The rest of the gang cheers.

“I’m touched,” Zuko’s face is hot (from the campfire, he decides) and he glances down into his lap, relishing the warmth blossoming in his chest, but it’s short lived. “I don’t deserve this.”
He winces, seeing their faces become slightly pinched.

“Yeah, no kidding.” Katara stands up, and walks away from the firelight.

The blue of her clothes melts into the dark of the night.

-

Zuko peels away the fabric of a tent. “Sokka, can I talk to you?”

Sokka glances up, startled, half into his sleeping bag, his hair loose at the sides of his face. Zuko blinks, realizing this is the first time he’s seen Sokka with his hair down. Or the first time it’s registered in his brain as something to notice. What the fuck is wrong with him? Is it some sort of malnutrition symptom?

“Uhhh sure, what’s on your mind?”

Zuko sits down, the mission at hand comes flooding back to him, “Your sister. She hates me, and I don’t know why, but I do care what she thinks of me.”

Sokka’s face softens, there’s a loose strand of hair over one of his eyes. “Nah, she doesn’t hate you. Katara doesn’t hate anyone. Except maybe some people in the Fire Nation.”

Zuko frowns.

Sokka eyes go as wide as the Fire Palace’s fancy china dinner plates. “No! I mean, uh, not people who are good, but used to be bad. I mean, bad people. Fire Nation people who are still bad, who’ve probably never been good and probably won’t be ever--”

“--Stop,” Zuko interrupts, folding his arms and grasping the fabric of his shirt between his fingers. “Ok listen. I know this may seem out of nowhere, but can you tell me what happened to your mother?”

Sokka’s pupils shrink, his shoulders rise like the hackles of a wolf. “What? Why would you want to know that?”

Zuko is treading on unwelcome ground, it makes his jaw clench. “Katara mentioned it before when we were in prison together in Ba Sing Se, and again just now when she was yelling at me.” He winces. “I think somehow...she’s connected her anger about that to her anger at me.”

A deep sorrow rests on Sokka’s shoulders, like a vulture landing on a dead tree, he looks down. “It’s not a day I like to remember.”

Zuko grimaces, “Sorry, I shouldn't have ask--”

Sokka raises a hand, not touching Zuko, but obviously not wanting him to leave. “No, it’s okay. You trusted me after Boiling Rock, I trust you with this.”

Zuko’s heartbeat jumps like a candle in the wind. Definitely malnutrition of some sort. He makes a mental note to find a snack on the way back. Now that he’s thinking about it, maybe there was still leftover akutaq from what they stole from the ship?

Sokka picks up again. “It was...I think I was ten years old? It was a normal day like any other at the time, then…many of the warriors had seen the black snow before and they knew what it meant...a Fire Nation raid. We were badly outnumbered, but somehow we managed to drive them off. As quickly as they came, they just left.” Sokka’s brow contorts like an old tree stump, his gaze fixes off in the distance. “I was so relieved when it was over, but that’s because I didn’t know yet what had happened. I didn’t know we lost our mother.”

Zuko stiffens, “Wait, can you remember any details about the soldiers who raided your village? Like what the lead ship looked like?”

Sokka looks up at him. Zuko finds he’s glad the question seems to be enough to distract Sokka from his grief, “Yeah...sea ravens. The main ship had flags with sea ravens on them.”

Zuko grimaces, the memories flooding back to his mind leave him with a sour taste in the back of his throat. “The symbol of the Southern Raiders. Thanks Sokka.”

“No problem.”

Zuko pauses a moment before leaving. He often has trouble reading other’s feelings just from faces alone, but he knows having to recount a memory like that wasn’t easy. Sokka looks tired, and still a little twisted up. Zuko bites down on the skin inside his cheek.

Sokka’s face reverts to a grin when he realizes Zuko’s not leaving. “Are you planning on staying the night?”

Zuko blinks. “No I--I just--I know how hard, something like that can be.”

His entire body burns with embarrassment as Sokka sits up.

“Oh. I mean, I worked through my stuff a while ago...I still...miss her a lot.” Sokka’s voice cracks, but he smiles when he looks up again. “I’m okay Zuko. Go back to bed or grab a pillow.”

Zuko scoffs, but leaves him alone.

He waits outside of Katara’s tent all night, all the time spent planning what he’s going to say.

-

Zuko wakes up on Appa’s back, Katara is still sitting on his head, holding the reins tightly. She hadn’t woken him up for his shift. Zuko rests a hand on the lip of Appa’s saddle, and watches Katara for a moment. Her hard stare is fixed on the horizon, there are dark bags under her eyes. It strikes Zuko then how much she reminds him of his own sister, young, fierce, and so painfully warped by those who hurt them.

“You should get some rest,” he says carefully, “we’ll be there in a few hours. You’ll need all your strength.”

Katara grimaces, “Oh don’t you worry about my strength. I have plenty. I’m not the helpless little girl I was when they came.”

Zuko’s heart drops into his stomach. It strikes him, painfully now, how much she reminds him of himself. He remembers nights spent running on fumes and self-loathing. How quickly he had to grow up. How often he spent tearing apart the younger, weaker version of himself that just sat there and let those things happen.

“I ran as fast as I could, but we were too late.” Her grip on the reins tightens, Katara's hands are shaking. “When we got there, the man was gone...and so was she.”

Images of his mom flash before his eyes, the sound of her voice as she read to him, the feeling of her kissing his forehead the morning she disappeared. Zuko feels his gut clench. His mom had done exactly the same for him.

“Your mother was a brave woman.”

Katara’s voice is almost too quiet for him to hear. “I know.”

For a few minutes there no sounds but the wind whipping past his ear. Zuko finds himself in a position he’s never had the chance or been allowed to take. Katara needs to look after herself, or this mission is going to rip her apart. Zuko can’t let that happen.

“Are you hungry?” His own stomach turns as his ruffles through their bag. He reminds himself that it’s for Katara, he can do this for Katara.

She doesn’t look back. “No. I just want to stay focused.”

Zuko frowns, once again struck by the familiarity of her words. They ring like a tin bell in his ear, loudly proclaiming how fucked up both of their similar coping mechanisms are. Zuko blinks, looking at the wrapped package of food in his hand, and realizes he needs to change gears. What would he do if he had to convince himself to eat?

“It’ll make you feel better,” he tries.

That gets her to at least look at him, albeit her face is almost wolf-like in the way she snarls. “You know what else would make me feel better?”

His eyes narrow, “Fair.”

“Stop nagging me and make sure we’re still on course.”

Zuko doesn’t move. “I won’t eat until you do.”

It was a clever trick, one Uncle only had to pull on Zuko once before he finally admitted to himself he had a problem. Katara’s brow twitches, but she relinquishes the reins and lets them sit at the lip of the saddle. Within arm’s reach, Zuko notices. Within her control.

Katara sets out only one plate, on which rests a small bowl the remaining akutaq, a handful of fruit, jerky, and a small lump of something Zuko thinks is bread. Katara pauses when she first sees it.

“Did Sokka help you pack?”

Zuko tilts his head. “Yeah.”

She holds the wrapped bread and stares at it for a few seconds. “It’s called bannock...it’s from our home. He must have made it himself, he knows it’s my favorite. I haven’t had Watertribe food in...so long.”

Zuko stares at it, and feels a little bit of the weight leave his chest knowing it comes from Sokka.

She takes a bite and closes her eyes. “I shouldn't have yelled at him.”

“He’ll forgive you.”

She’s silent, then her eyes flick back up to him. “Aren’t you going to eat too?”

Zuko blinks, and reaches for the bag.

“Oh no, I got it all out here. It’s--I didn’t even realize--this is how we always have meals in the Southern Watertribe. We share. Nothing belongs to a particular person once it hits the table.” A certain light returns to her sharp blue eyes as she talks about her home.

Zuko smiles, and takes a spoonful of akutaq. Seeing Katara brighten up fills him with his own sense of confidence. He’ll work up to the bannock, comfortable in the fact it’s somewhat visually similar to Uncle’s idli.

As Katara continues to talk about her tribe, Zuko watches her eyes get heavy. He listens in silence to stories of making bannock with her mom, Sokka’s first time going hunting, and when she went penguin sliding with Aang. The moon slips below the cover of the horizon and Katara finally nods off, her head resting against their packs.

Zuko finds he’s eaten a full meal.

He even tried the bannock, and liked it. Though Katara swore up and down Sokka’s were not as good as hers are. Something in the way she passionately held onto these bits of her culture puts Zuko at ease. It isn’t like the Fire Nation, not the way he’s ever experienced it, as he was still unlearning the idea that the other nations were inferior. There was no underlying need to fix others when Katara talked, there was only love and a hint of longing that tasted like the ocean.

Zuko takes the reins as Katara sleeps.

-

Zuko has learned one thing in the past twenty four hours. Katara is fucking terrifying.

“She lied to you. She was protecting the last waterbender.” Katara’s brow contorts like old tree roots as she looks away.

Yon Rha gawks, “What? Who?”

Katara growls, “Me!”

Her arms fly out to her sides, Zuko’s breath catches in his throat as the rain just...stops falling. A dome of water grows around them. Katara’s rage is oil. Water is her blood. Zuko pulls down his mask, never in his life has he seen bending like this. Zuko knows what it’s like to live with burning, but he’s never known boiling.

She screams, the water falls back to the ground with purpose, as sharpened with intent to kill. Her weapon is sharpened by a fractured psyche. Stoked by sleepless, tear-soaked nights. Weighted by a craving for violence borne by a heart too young to carry it.

Here it comes, Zuko thinks, the moment she’s been waiting for.

The ice stops inches from the man’s face. His quivering pupils are reflected back at him a thousand times in a child’s perfectly crafted fury. The ruthless captain of the Southern Raiders, Yon Rha, whimpers in the face of his own sins.

Katara’s shaking body, bursting with wrath at her half-healed seams, softens.

The shell of a man cowers at her feet, up to his elbows in mud and filth. Tears stream down his dirty face. He shakes at every joint, as if his soul forgot it used to drink blood like wine. Zuko feels a chill run down his spine upon seeing a broken man from this point of view. This is how his father looked at him three years ago. This is his screaming, feverish, desperate craving, to loom over Ozai in such a way. This power is his family inheritance.

Six years ago, a powerful Watertribe woman knelt before Yon Rha and begged him to spare her life. He shoved his blade thick into a tribe whose spirit guides were the Ocean and the Moon, push and pull. Tragedy and justice. He twisted that blade and caused unimaginable suffering. Now he’s on his stomach, groveling before a powerful Watertribe woman.

“I did a bad thing, I know I did, and you deserve revenge! So why don’t you take my mother?” He glances up at her nervously. “That would be fair.”

Katara stares at him, the skin under her eyes is dark with exhaustion. “I always wondered what kind of person could do such a thing, but now that I see you, I think I understand. There’s just...nothing inside you. Nothing at all. You’re pathetic and sad and fucking empty.”

His wrinkled bottom lip quivers, “Please spare me.”

Zuko’s mind flashes back to the fully grown man she rendered helpless on the Fire Nation ship. She could break his bones. She should bleed him fucking dry without breaking a sweat. She could force him to remain conscious during the whole ordeal. She could make him suffer.

“But as much as I hate you...I just can’t do it.”

Katara walks away without another word.

Yon Rha starts to sob.

Zuko stares at him, then at Katara. The adrenaline high he got from weilding a fraction of the fear Katara sparked is gone. He has a sick feeling in the back of his throat, and turns away from the scene. Even after they leave, the man doesn’t get up. He remains crying in the rain and mud for hours. The little girl who never even touched him, leaves without a trace and leaves him fucking broken. It’s still just a taste of what she endured.

Zuko walks next to her in silence. His brain and his body feel disconnected and wrong, like his emotions are just out of reach. He doesn’t know if he can form words right now, but understands that perhaps he shouldn’t.

The ice that forms between the two of them shatters when Zuko puts his hands gently over Katara’s as she reaches for Appa reins. She whips around to face him. He braces himself, expecting a raised voice. It never comes.

Katara lets a strangled noise and collapses back in the saddle. Zuko realizes she’s crying, hard. The bison can drive itself for a few minutes right? For the first time in his life he actually feels like someone’s older brother and it’s not a feeling one ignores lightly.

Appa rises into the air on his own.

“I was going to do it. I was going to fucking do it.” She presses her hands against her forehead as she gasps for air. “Am I a monster or just a coward?”

“Neither,” Zuko blurts out. “You’re just--it just happened.”

She stares at him with red, damp eyes. Strands of wet hair are plastered against her face. Zuko hesitantly puts a hand on her shoulder.

“You’re not a coward for choosing to spare him. You’re not a monster because of what happened to you. As shitty as it feels, sometimes horrible things happen to us and what we have to do with ourselves to survive is neither good or bad--it just happens. Trust me Katara, I know.” Zuko swallows hard. “I know.”

Katara responds with another sob. This one is smoother, her shaking breaths falling into a rhythm. Zuko pats her back gently, waiting patiently for her to cry as much as she needs to. She lets him, because fuck if they don’t know sometimes the human soul just need to cry in order to feel whole again.

The sun rises. Their clothes dry out. There’s no more storm, only the lulling sound of the wind caressing their hair and the knowledge that they’ll be home soon. Both of their bodies are lighter than when they departed. As Zuko splits the last of the bannock between the two of them, Katara smiles.

Chapter Text

Zuko holds a small roll of bread, ripping it apart until the pieces are small enough for him to eat.

The old halls of his Ember Island homes lay abandoned. There are so many memories embedded within these walls, waiting like a predator in the dark. It sets Zuko off and leaves him with a certain subtle tension in all his muscles. It’s almost enough for him to take notice, but over the years Zuko has grown numb to such warning signs. If it means he can pass by volatile situations without being hurt, his brain is ready to do anything. This place… it’s made him snappier than usual, Zuko hates it. Memories of raising his voice at Aang make him cringe, but Zuko doesn’t have any other choice.

Despite this, he’s been okay, actually. He helps with cooking when possible. Zuko’s gained some muscle back.He doesn’t feel dizzy when he stands up anymore. The last time he had a chronic headache is becoming a hazy memory. Zuko holds onto one thought especially, it’s progress Uncle would be proud of.

Sokka watches him passively. Zuko makes a face as he takes another bite of his roll. Sokka snorts past his chopsticks. Zuko can’t but smile, but notices mostly everyone’s done eating already. The next swallow goes down hard. It’s completely normal, Zuko knows this, to eat slower than everyone else, but it’s fucking annoying when it’s always him. Even if no one seems to care. He can’t help but think he’s holding everyone up. He knows he’s not.

Katara’s footsteps slap against the stone stairs to the courtyard. “I have a surprise for everyone!”

Toph smirks and smiles with the same sarcastic grace she gives off when talking about her parents. “I knew it, you did have a secret thing with Haru!”

Katara blinks, completely caught off guard. “Uh...no. I was looking for cooking pots in the attic and I found this.” She unravels a scroll and Zuko’s heart drops into his stomach. “Look at baby Zuko! Isn’t he cute?”

Everyone laughs. He doesn’t look, he knows what she found. Zuko feels his jaw clench and his throat tighten. His dinner, a half-finished soon to be victory, is now the most disgusting thing he’s ever seen. Simple components like rice, steamed vegetables and meat, things he’s never had trouble with, become impossible. He watches Toph glance up at him.

Katara’s brows draw together as she realizes she walked out onto ice “Oh lighten up, I'm just teasing.”

Zuko puts his plate behind him, out of sight, still not yet out of mind. “That’s not me. It’s my father.”

He meets five accounts of shocked silence.

“But he looks so sweet and innocent.” Suki says, gazing at the parchment with solemn eyes.

Zuko clenches his fists. It was cruel, and it was wrong. “Well, that sweet little kid grew up to be a monster. And the worst father in the history of fathers.”

“But he’s still a human being.”

Zuko whirls to see Aang sitting away from the group, the only other one who still had food on their plate. His mind reels. Zuko’s skin feels too warm. “You’re going to defend him?”

Aang’s eyes grow wide. “No, I agree with you. Firelord Ozai is a horrible person, and the world will probably be better off without him, but there’s gotta be another way.”

His skin is burning. “Like what?”

Aang doesn’t look at him. “I don’t know,” he pauses, “maybe we can make some big pots of glue and then I can use gluebending to stick his arms and legs together so he can’t bend anymore.”

“Yeah, then you can show him his baby pictures and all those happy memories will make him good again.” Zuko regrets it as soon as it leaves his mouth, but he can’t think clearly enough to process why. He just knows he’s at his old home at Ember Island and he’s in pain.

It was cruel and it was wrong.

Aang glances up. “Do you really think that would work?”

Guilt. It hurts. Zuko reverts to autopilot and another red hot stream of emotion leaves his mouth. “No!”

He puts a hand up to his mouth, ready to cough away the nausea. Shut up, Zuko screams at himself, shut the fuck up. He knows he’s not supposed to lash out when he’s scared but he’s been punished too many times for crying. He’s been hurt here too, in these very walls.

Aang brushes it off, and paces across the courtyard. “This goes against everything I learned from the monks. I can’t just go around wiping out people I don’t like.”

Sokka glances quickly between his friends. “Sure you can, you’re the Avatar. If it’s in the name of keeping balance, I’m pretty sure the universe will forgive you.”

“This isn’t a joke, Sokka!” Aang snaps. “None of you understand the position I’m in!”

Zuko winces. Toph opens her mouth.

Katara stares at him. “Aang, we do understand. It’s just--”

Aang whips around towards her. “Just what, Katara, what?”

“Aang. If you don’t...take his life.” Zuko presses his fingers into the base of his throat. “He’ll take yours without breaking a sweat. He doesn’t fucking care about hurting children.”

He remembers the dream he had in Ba Sing Se, when he looked into the mirror and saw Aang’s face instead of his. His horrible, ugly, ruined face. It was cruel and it was wrong, but Ozai would do much worse to Aang if Zuko didn’t do something.

“I think--” Aang stops mid-sentence, his shoulders drop, his arms fall at his sides. He’s staring at Zuko, and puts together two pieces of information.

“Sparky? Zuko?” Toph reaches out and lays a hand on Zuko’s thigh, he flinches away from it, the pressure on his throat builds.

Zuko realizes his entire body is shaking.

“Fuck.” He mutters under his breath, and pushes away the hands that want to touch him, that want to touch his face. “I need to--I’m gonna--”

Zuko makes it three steps before he keels over and vomits. Katara gasps in his peripheral. It doesn’t stop, because he’s not safe here. Someone pulls his hair away from his face as he heaves again, he’s too weak to fight it. But it’s Suki, it’s just Suki. Sokka hovers on his other side. When he lays a hand on Zuko’s back and pats gently, Zuko lets them.

“Zuko? Are you alright?” Katara rushes over. “Sit back down for a second.”

“Here.” Toph flicks her wrist and makes him a deep bowl made of stone.

Zuko lets it happen. He lets them lead him back to the steps as he heaves into a bucket he let them make for him. He lets himself be cared for. He lets himself believe it’s okay if he needs it.

“Sorry,” he croaks with a burning throat. “This doesn’t usually happen.”

Katara frowns at him...Zuko realizes she’s not mad.

“Whatever you’re talking about it’s definitely not your fault.” Sokka assures.

“Yeah,” Aang crouches in front of him, face heavy with concern. “Forget about Ozai. Are you okay?”

Zuko cringes as another wave of nausea hits him, he forces himself to swallow. His throat burns. He forces himself to wait until the urge to throw up subsides. It leaves him sweaty and the evening air nips at his vulnerable body. It leaves him even shakier than before. It leaves his ugly body exposed for all the questions of those he was soon to lose as friends.

“Okay,” he gasps, and gently pushes aside the bucket. “Okay.”

They’re all staring at him.

Zuko holds his face in his hands. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Suki pats his back gently. “How are you feeling?”

Zuko’s mind shakes away the remaining grogginess. “Shitty.”

Sokka laughs under his breath.

“He hurt you,” Aang says quietly.

Zuko looks up at the twelve year-old. His expression is stony and almost reminiscent of his Avatar State. Aang was raised by monks, he is wise beyond his years, but he is still a child. The face of violence is still impossible to comprehend. He should never have to struggle with this. Zuko realizes Aang already has.

“Yes,” Zuko’s skin feels numb, his breath catches in his throat.

“Do you want some water?” Katara goes to touch his forehead, Zuko flinches away from her.
He hates the way her face tightens at its edges. He hates the way Katara reaches again, much slower. He hates the way everyone stares.

“No water. I don’t want to talk about food.”

“You don’t have a fever.” She bites her lip. “Do you want to talk about it? You said this doesn’t usually happen, what does usually happen?”

Zuko clenches his fists. His palms are still slick with sweat. It’s like he’s hearing them from across the room. He’s too far away to know what to do.

Suki shoos the others away. “Let’s give him some space guys. Come on Zuko, let’s get you some new clothes and a blanket. Does that sound okay?”

He nods.

Zuko manages a few sips of tea. His stomach is a warring ground, surrounded by reinforcements but ultimately only a battle he can fight. He’s been fighting so fucking hard. Aang lights a fire in the fireplace. They are inside now, out of the weather. It’s almost worse this way. But Zuko can see the others in front of him, logically he knows he’s out of harm's way. Logically he knows he’s safe. He can’t stop himself from setting down the cup as quietly as possible.

“I didn’t find as much ginger as I wanted.” Katara breaks the silence. “It’s mostly water, sorry.”

“I like it. It helps.” Zuko mutters, and grips the blanket around him tighter. They’re still looking to him expectantly. Zuko takes a deep breath. “I was thirteen, it was father’s punishment.”

It is blunt, but who gains from cushioning the truth? Not Zuko, and he’s the one who had to live through it. He looks away while they process his words. The silence gets louder and louder until Zuko feels the pressure against his skin, threatening to burst from the inside out.

He starts crying.

“Fuck,” he breaths through his hands. “Sorry.”

A hand weighs down on his shoulder, Toph slides over to his side and hugs him gently. Zuko feels dizzy, his emotions suddenly feel far away, far from his body.

“I, um, sometimes--a lot of the time--I didn’t feel...safe around him. Fuck. Sorry, this is so stupid. I’m such a fucking baby.”

“Hey,” Suki frowns, “where are those thoughts coming from?”

Zuko’s grimace softens, he curls his hands in his hair. “From him.”

“I think I know what you're feeling.” Katara slumps in front of him. “We’re not going to hurt you, you’re safe with us. You can say as much, or as little as you want to.”

“Yeah, for the record, it’s not stupid. Ozai is fucking terrifying,” Sokka adds. “We’re all scared of him.”

They all nod in agreement. Zuko takes another deep breath.

“Okay. He...scares me too. All the time. He scares Azula too. We both want to be good kids, but I’m not ever going to be enough. I don’t remember when it started but sometimes I used to get so scared I’d get nauseous and couldn’t eat, like I’m not able to take a bite without gagging. Then sometimes it was with food that reminded me of him, sometimes it was random. It happened more and more often. Now there’s only a few foods I can eat that I know won’t make me gag. I don’t usually try new things because it’s more likely going to make me sick than not.” Zuko grips the blanket around him. “I eat like a child, I fucking hate it.”

He’s met with wide, and calculating expressions.

“That sounds like an eating disorder.” Aang mentions off the back of his hand.

Zuko stares at him.

Aang stares back, like he’s expecting someone to back him up on this. “People came from all over to the air temples for healing and medicine. The Southern Airtemple used to have another building below that you could reach by foot. I wasn’t old enough at the time to start that training but a lot of my chores were washing clothes and bringing people meals. Some people came to us because that was something they struggled with.”

Zuko shifts and curls in on himself. His chest feels tight. It's a familiar feeling, one that time taught him to mean he’s done something wrong. He doesn’t know what to do when the wrongness spouts from so deep inside him.

“I don’t want a nurse.” He says with as much softness as he can muster, which is not a lot.

Aang’s eyes grow wide. “Oh no! I just meant that it’s not weird or something you should be ashamed of. Chances are there’s still someone around who can help you, but only if you want.”

Zuko can’t help but gawk at him. How could someone so young be so naive and yet know exactly what he wanted to hear? How did he always know how to help but couldn’t see how dangerous Ozai was left alive? How dare he comfort Zuko when he spent every waking moment these days on edge and looking out for this kid?

“I don’t know,” he says. “I’ve done okay looking out for myself. I don’t need help.”

Katara put her head in her hands. “We all know that, Zuko. You chased us for months on your own.”

Zuko cringes as he realizes, “I had Uncle then.”

Maybe he isn’t doing as well as he thinks.

“But I hate being dependent. If I can’t pull my own weight, I’ll slow us down, and we have a war to fight.”

Toph snorts, “You think none of us had ever needed some support or taken a stupidly long detour for the sake of someone else? Sparky, look at me. You think I’ve never caused some sort of delay before?”

Zuko frowns, “No.”

“Right, and I don’t beat myself up about it, because I’m important to this team, because these are my friends. Just like you.”

Zuko felt his face glow red. “Okay, I’ll just…”

“Don’t believe anyone when they put you down,” Toph finishes. “That’s how I became the most powerful earthbender in the world.”

Zuko bites his lip, his chest still feels tight. “I’ll try.”

“Is there anything you want us to do to help?” Katara asks. “We can get you special food.”

Zuko glances down. “Oh no, that’s way too--”

“It’s not a big deal, I promise,” Katara smiles, “we already do the same for Aang.”

“I’m a vegetarian!” Aang gives him a thumbs up.

Zuko blinks. He can’t think of anything else to say but to agree. His friends listen when he tells them what he can and can’t eat, and Zuko feels a little less embarrassed. The people in that room become a wall, where, for the first time in his life, he feels like he can talk about what happened to him without being hurt again. Zuko doesn’t say a lot. The safety he feels is still too fresh, but after relaying the bare details of the Agni Kai, it occurs to him that the pale and strained shapes of his friends' faces aren’t because he’s made them uncomfortable. It’s because what happened to him was cruel, and it was wrong, and they’re just reflecting that sentiment.

It makes him feel safe.

“What a piece of fucking shit,” Toph says first, she crushes her meteorite bracelet, only to form it just so she can crush it once more. “I just--fuck him!”

Zuko scans the other’s faces, something in Toph’s explosive anger makes him feel...seen...he wants to keep feeling it.

Suki and Sokka have their fists clenched, Katara touches her own face, but Aang...he’s just sitting there. His eyes are glassy and unfocused, his mind is somewhere else.

“Of course you’re stressed about stepping on our toes when Ozai does,” when Katara hesitates her face pinches into disgust, “that! Just because you spoke up.”

Suki’s eyes narrow. “We have to kick his ass.”

“We have to kick his ass!” Katara throws a finger in Suki’s direction, as if that puts more weight into her agreement.

Zuko’s body burns dry and warm like the sun embracing the sand. It’s the warmth of devil-winds over bleak hills. It’s the warmth of dragon fire ripping across the spectrum of visible colors. It’s the warmth of a hundred loving hands that he knows don’t hurt when they touch his face or ruffle his hair.

He presses a smile underneath his hand and rocks gently.

Aang stands up without a word, and leaves the room.

-

Sokka approaches the steps, his shoulders are slumped with exhaustion. “Judging by the looks on your faces, I’m guessing you guys didn’t find Aang, either.”

Zuko is nursing a heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach, it’s cold and bulbous and makes him feel dizzy when he walks. “No. It’s like he just...disappeared.”

He shouldn’t have yelled at him. He shouldn’t have lost his temper. Anger used to make him powerful but now it makes him feel out of control. In his attempts to level his temper Zuko has reduced it down to what it is at its core, the reaction of a child who’s been backed into a corner and doesn’t have any other options. In his attempts to pitch in and pull his own weight he’d worn himself down to that child again. In his attempts to prevent Aang from ever having to witness that, he’d given him a front row seat.

Toph’s head jerks upward. “Hey, wait a minute. Has anyone noticed that Momo is missing too?”

For some reason, it hits Zuko like a brick. Whether or not that gives them a clue to Aang’s whereabouts, this is somehow his fault too. His responsibility. It must be showing on his face because he meets Sokka’s gaze for a split second and the other boy hesitates.

“Oh, no! I knew it was only a matter of time! Appa ate Momo!” Zuko raises an eyebrow as Sokka gasps, then he opens the bison's mouth and starts to climb in. “Momo! I’m coming for you, buddy!”

Katara tilts her head back to the sky. “Sokka, Appa didn’t eat Momo. He’s probably with Aang.”

Sokka’s torso pops out from between Appa’s teeth, he’s dripping with saliva but still grinning when he throws a pointed look in Zuko’s direction. “That’s just what Appa wants you to think.”

Zuko smiles. “Get out of the bison’s mouth, Sokka.”

-

“Here we are, welcome to old people camp.” Bumi says with a smile.

The tents all look the same. Zuko feels a dizzying nausea build in the back of his throat, like sandpaper. “Where...where is he?”

Piandao points to the tent directly in front of them. “Your Uncle’s in there, prince Zuko.”

Zuko’s jaw clenches, he glances down at the ground, but it’s too late. His body is already moving, seemingly of its own accord. As the tent draws closer the roar behind Zuko’s ears threaten to rip him apart. His feet hit the wall, and Zuko can’t bring himself to step any closer. He crumples to the ground with as much grace as he can manage.

Katara appears by his side, one arm clutched in the other like she’s afraid to touch him, but there’s a certain recognition in her eyes. “Are you okay?”

Zuko grimaces, “No, I’m not okay. My uncle hates me, I know it.”

Katara crouches down next to him without a word.

“He loved me and supported me in every way he could, but I still turned against him. How can I even face him?”

Zuko stares down at his clenched fists, away from Katara’s gaze. His familiar mantra rings around his skull like a bell on a hill.

It was cruel and it was wrong.

“Zuko, you’re sorry for what you did, right?”
The guilt hits him again, his stomach feels cold and empty. Zuko knows he shouldn’t listen to it, but part of him just wants to deserve it enough to be punished. “More sorry than I’ve been about anything in my entire life.”

“Then he will forgive you.”

Zuko glances up at her.

“He will.” Katara promises.

Katara is so different from his sister. Not just in the color palette, Katara has a bite that only comes out when she needs it. She also has a calm about her that doesn’t need purpose. Her actions and words aren’t sharpened by self-fulfillment. Katara has never lied to him. She doesn’t live in Azula’s world where survival, maybe even living if she's given permission, means hurting others. That’s why he believes Katara, but Zuko still doesn’t think he deserves it.

Zuko takes a deep breath, stands, and passes through the tent door.

“Uncle…”

Iroh is fast asleep on a blanketed cot. His snores trumpet around the space with just as much crescendo as Zuko remembers. It funny how something so insignificant, definitely annoying at times, changes with time.

Suddenly the tent feels like a home.

Zuko sits down and waits. He meditates for as long as he can manage, but as he knows now, things change with time. By the time dawn’s fingers trace the horizon, Zuko isn’t as sure as he was before. There is a place in his stomach that whispers all the horrible outcomes to him. Zuko listens, he fucking hates himself to doing so, but he wants above anything else to be hurting. He doesn’t know why.

The tent feels too much like home.

When Iroh spots Zuko out of the corner of his eye, he turns away and sits in silence.

Zuko feels himself break from far, far away. He watches his body flinch at the same time he watches his own father do the same after countless dinners and failed training sessions. He sees Ozai grimace and turn as Zuko screams. This time he’s a child clutching his ears at the sound of the royal orchestra hitting a note that causes an indescribable pain in Zuko’s head. Then his father turns away when Azula makes him cry. His father turns away with smoke and the smell of burnt skin still clinging to his right hand.

Zuko blinks, and gathers the words he needs to say from the other side of everything he was forced to learn. “Uncle, I know you must have mixed feelings about seeing me. But I want you to know I am so, so sorry, Uncle.”

His blind eye stings, tears are rolling freely down his cheeks. Zuko clutches at the fabric of his clothes, it only muffles the way his body shakes.

“I am so sorry and ashamed of what I did.” His voice drags against his throat like stone on stone. “I don’t know how I can ever make it up to you, but I--”

Then the fist wraps itself into the fabric of his shirt, Zuko feels himself go limp by reflex. He cowers under his Uncle’s grasp and waits for the pain to come.

It never does.

Instead, Iroh’s embrace is gentle, even as he clutches Zuko to his body. A strangled, ugly cry escapes from Zuko’s lips when he realizes the arms that hold him never intended to hurt him.

Zuko can’t stop shaking under the force of it. “How can you forgive me so easily? I thought you would be furious with me.”

Iroh’s voice is cracked with emotion, but at the same time gentler than summer’s breeze. “I was never angry with you.”

It’s the first time in his life Zuko’s heard those words.

Iroh wraps one hand around the back of Zuko’s head, like one does with their child, and draws him closer, “I was sad, because I was afraid you’d lost your way.”

“I did lose my way.”

Iroh’s gentle, weathered hands drop to Zuko’s shoulders. “But you found it again.”

Zuko glances up into his eyes. His uncle’s jaw quivers. There are still tears dripping from the corners of his wizened eyes. His body beams with a pride to rival dragons.

“And you did it by yourself, and I am so happy you found your way here.”

Iroh hugs him again, squeezing tight. Zuko lets him. He always lets Uncle hug him.

“It wasn’t that hard, Uncle.” Zuko sniffs, wiping away tears. “You have a pretty strong scent.”
It’s hard to say how long the two of them hung together in the moment. Eventually Uncle wanted to know all about the time they spent apart from each other. Zuko relinquishes it, most of it. He didn’t want to scare Iroh with all the time he came close to death, self-inflicted or otherwise. But Iroh out of all his family, knows him best. What Zuko didn’t say with words he said with clenched fists, sporadic glances, and physical tics that always came around at certain times.

“I thought you were angry, now I can see you were probably really worried.” Zuko’s shoulders hang low.

Uncle is quiet for a moment. “I was, but I also, can see you’ve made real friends, with good people.”

“They are good people.” Zuko catches the scent of something herbal, he glances up and Uncle is starting a fire under a small tea kit. “I want to be as good as them.”

Iroh frowns. “Goodness is like a cat-erpilliar, Zuko, always changing, always growing. It’s not a title earned, but a series of actions performed for as long as our spirits are stirring.”

The fire burns a crisp orange in the morning stillness.

Zuko fiddles with his hands, pinching each finger and rolling his grip around his knuckles. “I don’t think I understand. You said I went through a metamorphosis in Ba Sing Se? Was that it? Am I already good?”

“Simpler than that, dear nephew.”

“Simpler?” Zuko frowns.

“Simple as tea and cakes.” Iroh sighs, and hands Zuko a small, beat up cup, the same set they carried through all those years.

He sets out two small, misshapen lumps of mochi onto the mat between them. Zuko’s heart clenches at the sight of the obviously handmade treat. When his hand touches his throat it’s partially reflex, partially the overwhelm of emotions he feels.

“If you do not want to eat yours, you don’t have to. I know that it is hard and you don’t like it when I help. They are a bit old too,” Iroh laughs, “but when I saw them, I was reminded of you, and the time we used to spend sharing idli together. I thought I might never get the chance again.”

Zuko feels the tears well up in the corners of his eyes again. “I...want your help.”

Iroh’s eyes grow wide.

“I’ve been getting help from my friends. At least as much as they’re capable. I want your help too. I want to get better.” Zuko puts his empty tea cup down, out of his shaking grasp.

Iroh hugs him tight as he begins to cry again. He always lets Uncle hug him. He hugs his uncle back.

“It’s as simple as that, my dear Zuko.” Uncle whispers loud enough for Zuko to hear. “I’m so proud of you.”

Zuko sobs, and he cries harder than ever, because it’s safe here, and after he’s cried as much as he needs, it’s still safe. Safe enough to emerge from his painful transformation the kid he was supposed to be. Zuko knew it was going to be difficult for a long time, just like it was hard to face his father. It was hard to fight his little sister. It was hard to come into this tent and kneel, face tilted up. But things had changed, and were still constantly changing.

All that was left when the two of them left the tent was the first victory of many, a half-empty teapot and a rolled up mat where the mochi once lay.