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Even before he wakes, Zuko feels the mugginess of his breath contained behind the mask. The sensation lulls him into security before it lulls him into waking, and for several moments after blinking his eyes open, he stares wordlessly up at the canopy of leaves. He is dazed. Pain pulses in his eye socket and diffuses into a network that spiderwebs all the way to the back of his head.
Other pains make themselves apparent the longer he lays there; the dull blooming pain of a wrenched shoulder, the soreness of bruises all over his back. He makes a sound, the slightest exhale as he shifts to sit, and as his breath gives him away, a reflexive inhale reveals the Avatar perched nearby.
It isn't pain that stays Zuko's hand; he has fought harder and moved faster in far worse conditions. Instead, it is the set of the Avatar's shoulders, the curled-up self-comfort of a lonely child, and the simple reality of his mask still in place that quells him.
The Avatar watches him with wide, trusting eyes. This same face has twisted with intense concentration and anger on all the makeshift battlefields Zuko has constructed for them. He has seen it from afar as the Avatar has flown away from him, and in flashes up close as they have fought. The child fights differently from anyone he has faced before. If Zuko makes the error of giving him a chance, he closes the distance in the blink of an eye and creates vortexes of air to extinguish his fire at the source, just as easily as he redirects the trajectory of his flame with a push to his wrist. He is as lethal up close as he is from afar. Or he would be, if he fought to kill.
"Are you alright?" The Avatar asks.
Behind the mask, Zuko's eyes narrow, and he nods shortly as he reaches for his niuweidao.
The boy notices the motion and responsive alertness settles in his body. Not blindly trusting then. Zuko gets to his feet and the airbender also rises to stare down at him.
If Zuko reaches for him now, he will flit away, step onto an air current and slip out of his fingers. So he sheathes his swords and leaps up to stand next to him. The boy has to look up at him and as he does, Zuko sees the nick on his neck. At a glance, he understands it is from his own blades, inflicted sometime during their retreat from the stronghold. Strange to realize that the Avatar's blood is as dull in sheen as his own.
If Zuko were to apply pressure at the correct point, he can have the Avatar out in ten seconds. The blood will smear under Zuko's gloved hands and flake on the Avatar's skin hours later. An appropriate toxin can keep him floating in unconsciousness until they reach the Fire Nation. He has considered it for weeks, wondering if that same power that makes the boy's eyes and tattoos glow, that burns away his youth until he is ageless and ancient, can also burn away the poison from his blood. No one knows. It would be a dangerous mission to escort him back on a ship. If he were to access the Avatar state at sea, he could drown them all without a thought.
And yet. Zuko knows he doesn't willfully land killing blows. If Zuko is to die on this search, it will be through the will of that ageless force, not this boy's hands.
"You… don't seem like you're in a hurry," the Avatar says after a while. Zuko doesn't know how long he's been staring at the trickle of blood on his neck. "Want to help me collect some frozen wood frogs for my friends?"
His friends, conspicuously missing.
Zuko cannot imagine a better opportunity. He nods his assent.
As they walk, Zuko watches the vulnerable curve of the boy's neck. The chains have left their marks on his wrists and ankles but his mouth and neck are unmarred. Zuko doesn't doubt that if Zhao had thought to cover the boy's mouth, he would have gagged him with the same vicious efficiency he'd employed in binding his wrists and ankles. It thrills him to know that Zhao made the same mistake he once did in leaving the boy's mouth uncovered.
The refined metal manacles, the gaudy layout of the room; clearly Zhao had intended to showcase the Avatar. He intended plenty. Zuko has taken every last bit of it from him.
"You think pretty loud," the boy says.
A grunt of acknowledgment threatens to leave Zuko's mouth and hastily, he holds it at bay. If Zuko is a worthy opponent, the Avatar replays their encounters over and over in his mind as Zuko does, and if so, he will remember his voice.
The Avatar's tattered clothes reveal flashes of pale skin at his back and ankles with every flutter of the breeze. From the bony breadth of his shoulders, the lean muscle of his back, and the delicate bones of his hands, he cannot be mistaken for anything but a child, and even injured, Zuko knows he could walk for days with that weight on his shoulder. It is simply a matter of containing him.
At the pond, he watches from the shore as the Avatar wades into the waist-high water to pluck wood frogs from the depths. The Yuyan archers' arrows still litter the landscape, marking the battle in which they initially captured the Avatar. Zuko pulls one free and breaks it off at the shaft. With his swords sheathed at his back and the Avatar wary of them, this will be a good fallback. He pockets the broken arrowhead and wades through the water.
The Avatar stills at his approach. In the foreign drapery of his robes, he cradles a collection of wood frogs but in the set of his shoulders and the bow of his head, Zuko notes something far more interesting - a strain of wariness as if the boy cannot will himself to fully face the mask, but also cannot turn away.
Here in knee-deep water, Zuko is at twice the disadvantage with the Avatar's waterbending so he simply takes the frogs from the Avatar and gestures him away to find more. He hasn't the slightest clue of how many more he needs or how much time he is wasting by indulging this facile search, but for once, he waits. If the Avatar didn't run when he reached for his swords, then something holds him here - some sense of obligation or kindness after the rescue. And yet… his fear is apparent. Potent. Perhaps it's the mask that unsettles and entices him the way danger does any child.
Zuko considers it and moves closer to the Avatar to linger in his periphery. The boy doesn’t glance at him but he is clearly aware of his presence and in his distraction, stumbles. Zuko doesn't let him fall. He grasps tight around the arm and yanks him to his feet. The breath seems to leave the boy and he doesn't make any move to extricate himself from Zuko's grip.
His stillness irks Zuko. Perhaps he would have been better off letting him fall and holding his face under the water. A blood choke applied as he drowned could be enough to ensure he didn't waterbend the pond they stood in. Maybe Zuko would need even less than ten seconds. If only he could snap the boy's neck. It would be so much easier than staying the dangerous curve of his niuweidao against the boy's neck and so much easier than rescuing him from a face full of water now. Zuko is tempted to let him go and watch him fall just for the satisfaction of embarrassing him. It is a spiteful child's urge, probably one that this child will recognize and revel in.
Zuko doesn't do it, just expresses his frustration by tightening his grip around the boy's arm until he draws a wince from him. Instantly, Zuko feels better. But then the boy looks at him with a wounded expression that reminds Zuko too much of being the brunt of Azula's jokes, and shame rises to subsume the satisfaction.
"Ouch," the Avatar says plaintively and shoves Zuko as he recoils from his grip.
One moment Zuko stands upright in the water and the next, the Avatar's shove unbalances him, the water somewhere near his leg grows as solid as stone and he cannot catch himself. He is under the water before he can draw in a breath.
Panic erupts and he scrabbles for purchase, one hand trying to claw his way out of the water as the other grips the mask in place. He didn't check the knot when he woke, he didn’t check, how could he not have re-secured it-
Air hits his face. In one motion, the boy draws him out of the water and holds him steady with an arm under his. Zuko already knows the boy is faster than he looks, he didn't expect him to be strong too but he bears Zuko's weight with ease, and Zuko lets him, shaken by the panic that has overtaken him. He is better than juvenile terror; he has to be.
He doesn't notice the Avatar's beatific smile until they are ashore again, and as soon as he understands, he wrenches himself away.
"What? You don't like to swim?" the boy asks innocently. "It is a pretty cold day," he says and pointedly airbends himself dry.
A growl rises in Zuko and he gestures impatiently at himself. Water drops cold and uncomfortable down the length of his body, plastering his already snug clothes to him.
The Avatar looks back at him, insipid. "Maybe we can build a fire to dry off," he says and turns away to hunt for kindling.
Zuko stares at the back of his head and wishes he could launch something at it. But again, he forces himself to stay his hand, and lets the boy lull himself into security.
The Avatar is quick at building a fire. He industriously assembles the kindling and creates a spark to bring it to life before gently directing air currents to feed the flame. Zuko watches impatiently even as he huddles closer to the fire. He could dry himself off with his firebending but soaked as he is, the steam will rise off him like a cloud and even the boy won't overlook that particular display. For all the Avatar knows, the Blue Spirit is a non-bender.
"You seem less grumpy when you're warm," the Avatar says as he settles beside Zuko, close enough to touch. "Aren't you going to take off your gloves? If your hands are cold, it'll take forever to get warm."
Zuko struggles to follow the logic of that statement. Then again, it has been a long time since he's been cold and unable to warm himself. Begrudgingly, he draws the gloves off his hands and sets them in the space between them.
It is the first the Avatar has seen of the Blue Spirit's skin and his eyes linger on the pale contours of his knuckles. Perhaps it isn't the wisest thing in the world to allow him an identifying characteristic but Zuko doesn't particularly care. Very soon, it won't be a concern.
The Avatar lifts his hand in an exaggerated sweep and holds it up in front of Zuko. "Can I?"
Zuko stills. He cannot imagine what nonsense the Avatar intends.
"Warm your hands?"
For a bizarre second, Zuko thinks he means to hold his hand. But then he recognizes the now-familiar rhythm of airbending in the primed gesture. He nods impatiently and the boy bends a vortex of air around the flame and from it, siphons a stream of hot air to engulf Zuko's hands.
It is unmistakably an airbending move but the skill with which the boy maintains heat in the air reminds Zuko of firebending. He nods in gratitude and makes to draw his hands away but before he can, the Avatar touches his hand.
Zuko freezes.
"You've been a swordfighter all your life?" the boy wonders as he traces the calloused skin between Zuko's thumb and index finger on his right hand. "But not always a dual wielder, I think," he says and taps the smoother skin of Zuko's left hand.
Zuko's eyes are wide behind the mask. He had been trained by Piandao in the wielding of a jian, as was appropriate for a prince of the Fire Nation, but had not brought it with him when he was banished.
He finds himself winded, unable to pull away as the Avatar's fingers find the faintest burn scars on his palms. "A firebender got you a long time ago," he murmurs, sparing a searching glance at the mask as if he expects an answer. "I bet they don't get you anymore now that you have your swords." This, he says with a sweet, friendly smile.
Zuko doesn't realize he's nodding until the boy's smile brightens.
His next words are at odds with the ease of his smile. "Firebenders hurt me too," he says. "They hurt my people. But that was a long time ago."
Zuko's brow furrows behind the mask and he tilts his head questioningly. He doesn't know why he does it. The boy is huddled close to him and the fire for warmth, but his eyes don't hold the lost look of a lonely child anymore.
"It was a long time ago for everyone else. For me, it's only been a few weeks," the boy says, looking intently at the mask as he speaks. His eyes don't slide away from the dark vacant spaces that mark the eyes, and he stares as if he can see the gold of Zuko's irises.
For an interminable second, Zuko cannot look away. It is the shift of the boy's hands as he holds them out that finally tears his attention away.
"See those?" the boy says and points out the callouses on his own hand. "From the glider. I used to spend more time training with it than I probably should have. I liked that it was difficult. I liked how good I was at it." He must read the signs of listening in the lean of Zuko's body, in the rapt stillness of him. Zuko doesn't touch the boy's hand but the boy brings them into contact again, takes Zuko's hand and guides his fingers to trace the arrows on his hand.
Nervous heat steals over Zuko but he doesn't sever the contact. The drifting softness of the touch makes goosebumps rise on his skin. He hasn't been touched like this in years.
"These mean I'm an airbending master. I got them before all the other kids my age. It didn't make a difference at first but after they told me I was the Avatar, the other kids wouldn’t play with me or chase me anymore." The boy glances up at him with warmth in his eyes. "If I don't count the pointy spears, fighting next to you felt like being with them again. I bet you're really good at playing tag."
Zuko reads the intent in his words just as he senses the stir of surrounding wind as the boy draws air to him. Before the boy can get to his feet, Zuko pounces. Together, they tumble to the ground and Zuko pins his hands hard enough to nestle a divot into the dirt. His heart races faster than it should, his skin feels as if it burns where he holds the boy's wrists in place, and he can't do anything as the boy stares up at him with wide eyes, pulse jumping in his throat. Zuko can practically feel the fear rising off him but neither one of them moves. He doesn't know if he imagines the pounding of the boy's heart speeding the ooze of blood from his neck, but inexorably, his attention drops to it again.
"That's… not really how you play tag," the boy says but his voice trails off as Zuko reaches to wipe the blood from his neck. It smears unpleasantly on the wheatish expanse of his throat and impatiently, Zuko wets his thumb on the dampness of his clothes before trying again. There is not enough water to clean the entirety and the spot just grows, becoming a diffuse pink stain on the boy's neck.
A matching pinkness grows on the boy's face, and Zuko's face burns behind the mask. An unnamed shame threatens to shift him off the boy and the boy must read it in his body because he wiggles experimentally as if preparing to move away. Zuko recoils before the shifting can bring any more of their bodies into contact.
Several heartbeats pass with him crouched five feet away from the Avatar before clarity grips him again. He is here for a reason, and the reason is still prone in the dirt as if sunbathing on a beach. Zuko gets to his feet and wants to kick the boy, but he cannot. Grey eyes track him as he returns to sit next to the fire and turns his back on the Avatar. Guilt and embarrassment curl heavy in his gut.
"It's okay," the boy says as he moves to sit next to Zuko again. "I guess you're still jumpy from the fight. You don't have to worry, we're miles away from Zhao."
Zuko's attention crystallizes at the words. He draws a stick from the nearby ground and in the dirt marks a question. You carried me for miles?
The Avatar's smile is free of pretense as he registers the words. "You're lighter than you look."
Zuko looks skeptically down at his own bulk.
"Airbending helps," the boy adds.
Zuko makes a quiet sound of acknowledgment and kicks dirt over the words. He spares the boy a considering glance before writing, What happened to your friends?
"They're sick."
Where?
"Not far."
Zuko is certain he doesn't imagine the caution in the boy's voice. Still not blindly trusting then, even as he touches Zuko's hands and draws Zuko's hands to his own. Perhaps it is some strange Air Nomad predilection, this touch freely given between strangers.
If the Avatar is content to be at ease, then Zuko will indulge him. There are no opportunities unless one creates them.
In the dirt, he marks, Do you want to play tag?
It is as Zuko suspects—the game thrills the boy. A brush of wind heralds his every move and he dances out of Zuko's reach with relish. If the distance between them grows too big, the boy closes it himself, drifting closer on currents of wind until Zuko's fingers are in danger of gripping him again. Then he flutters away, the morning bright with the sound of his laughter.
The first time Zuko catches him, he pivots on his foot and with a burst of air gentler than any barrage he has ever experienced at his hands, backs him against a tree. Before Zuko can regain his footing, the boy taps him on the chest and darts out of reach.
Slumped against the tree, Zuko takes a moment to listen before ducking behind the trunk to cut off the Avatar's sightlines. In the blink of an eye, he scrambles up, and ghosts between the branches until the Avatar peeks his head out from his vantage point, listening as if the wind speaks secrets to him.
Zuko doesn't tear his eyes away. He leaps from one tree to the next until he hovers fifteen feet above the Avatar—and when he drops from the canopy, the Avatar barely registers what's happened before Zuko taps him on the back of the head and flashes out of reach.
A competitive smile grows on the boy's face. He slinks through the underbrush like a cat, little puffs of air cushioning his every step. Zuko takes measured steps back, ready to dart in any direction as the Avatar advances.
But the next step he takes doesn't land on solid ground. He steps onto a swirling globe of air and before he knows it, he is stumbling for balance. He catches himself before he falls but so does the Avatar, smacking him on the shoulder before zooming away on a current of air.
Of course, the boy is a cheater. Zuko huffs behind his mask and with a leap, disappears into the canopy again to patiently lurk amongst the leaves.
With each passing minute, he understands more of the Avatar's technique. If he has to wound the boy to buy enough time to subdue him, he will. Hurt him just enough to distract him, but not enough to tempt that telltale blue glow. As he waits, Zuko rips three strips of cloth from his sleeve and secures them in his pocket.
Eventually, silence draws the boy out into the open. Zuko waits until he is underneath him before, with one sure swipe of his blade at the branch supporting him, he severs the wood. The branch plummets and Zuko goes with it, and it is just low enough that the Avatar doesn't have time to react.
In a stroke of providence, the branch pins the boy's arms to his chest. Zuko moves quick as lightning to shove one piece of cloth into the boy's mouth and uses the other to secure the gag in place. The boy struggles like a typhoon barely contained until Zuko draws his other sword from the sheath and holds both to the boy's neck.
The cold steel stills his writhing. His breaths come harsh and wet under Zuko's bulk.
Zuko presses his knee to the boy's sternum until he flinches and in that moment of distracted pain, he drops his swords and secures the boy's wrists with the last piece of cloth. The boy draws in a labored breath as if he means to airbend even with the gag in place, and Zuko lunges to cover his mouth with his hand.
It is a bait-and-switch. The boy uses his distraction to buck wildly underneath him and Zuko growls as he brings his entire weight to bear. He slams his masked head against the Avatar's and as he recoils in pain, Zuko grips his swords again. Before the Avatar can complete his next breath, the swords are pressed to his neck.
The boy's eyes blaze under him, no hesitation in them as he arches his neck and drags his skin against the metal. A cut opens on his throat and blood spills.
Something roars in Zuko's ears. One sword slips from his fingers. Before it hits the ground, the Avatar bucks again, bellowing wordlessly under him. It is enough to dislodge Zuko but not the branch. The boy twists and writhes like a demon possessed and before Zuko can recover, the Avatar is free of the branch and scrambling at him with the speed of the wind.
They collide in an impact so punishing that Zuko feels a rib crack. A yell escapes him and in the split second it takes him to refocus, the boy slices his wrist bindings open on Zuko's sword, steals the arrowhead from his pocket, and shoots it and himself at Zuko in an airbending burst so powerful and precise that Zuko's shirt is caught between the arrow and the ground. He is helplessly pinned.
Their breaths thunder in the space between them and from where he kneels over Zuko, the Avatar's blood and spit spatter onto the mask. Zuko cannot move, winded as he is with the pain exploding in his side. The boy's body bows over him and as he rips the gag away, his breaths are so labored, there is no explanation for it other than pain. He holds his side where the branch impacted, a red patch growing on his clothes.
The boy's every exhale catches like a sob. Zuko doesn't know if it is gravity or pain or the unnamed energy burgeoning between them since the Avatar touched his hands. Whatever it is, it draws the boy further down until his forehead touches the mask and he is gasping, crying, bleeding on Zuko. Their breaths rush searing and heavy to mingle in the space between them until they are inhaling each other's exhales, and his body shakes as much as the Avatar's above him. If not for the mask, their lips would touch.
Zuko wants to rip it off and like madness incarnate, staunch the Avatar's blood with his fingers, his mouth, his entire being. He cannot die. He cannot die.
"Ouch." A whisper. A sob this time . The boy's tears drip onto the blue-painted wood. One finds its way past the mask to the corner of Zuko's eye and he recoils as it stings.
Weight slumps off him, panic erupts in him but by the time Zuko's vision clears, the boy is gone, carried away on the wind, his back bowed with pain until he becomes a speck in the distance.
Later, as Zuko huddles in an alley close to the docks and reaches to untie the mask, he finds an unfamiliar knot securing it in place.