Work Text:
“They are – argh!” Zuko breaks off with a wordless scream that smells strongly of smoke and ash.
Iroh peers at him over the top of his newspaper before glancing back at grain prices. They differ considerably from what the grain merchant quoted them the day before, which means he better not let Zuko see unless he wants actual ash and a mournful lack of newspaper.
Considering how animatedly Zuko is gesturing between his half-sentences, he might end up without his paper even so.
“Mind the claws,” he says when Zuko almost takes out his healthy eye.
“Mind the –? Uncle!”
Iroh sighs and folds the newspaper so the price listings remain on the inside. His nephew is always most observant when it’s least convenient, after all.
“Spilling your own blood will not improve your situation.”
Zuko growls and turns away, picking up the pacing again he’d interrupted with his complaints. There are four paces from Iroh’s table to the other end of the deserted mess hall and a total of eight back – theirs is not a big crew, after all – and Zuko’s steps could be used to time the firebenders stoking the heavy-duty flagships. His hands are clasped at his back carefully, too-sharp fingernails well-away from breakable human skin.
Iroh sighs again. Not quite what he’d meant. He should have known Zuko wasn’t calm enough to retract the claws.
“Come, nephew,” he says after Zuko’s breathing has quieted. “Have some tea; it will help you settle your nerves.”
Zuko braces himself on Iroh’s table and growls again, a rumble deeper in his chest than should be possible. It will suit him nicely, one day.
“Leaf juice.” Zuko scowls. “That won’t bring me the Avatar either!”
But it would quiet your temper, Iroh thinks but doesn’t say. There are too many flammable things around them, at the moment.
Zuko resumes his pacing.
“I just…” He falls quiet save for the occasional huffed, smoky exhale. “… need a plan!” he exclaims triumphantly. He doesn’t add anything else.
Iroh valiantly resists the urge to cover his face with his hands. Spirits have mercy on him. “Yes, nephew. Plans are best hedged over a hot drink.”
With a scoff, Zuko pivots on his heel and strides off again, strides more erratic now. “I don’t need your kind of plan,” he grouses, because he clearly likes to forget that Iroh hasn’t always tried to steer today’s youth onto more suitable paths. “I need a proper one.”
“Then why don’t you take a seat,” Iroh tries one more time, “and tell me what, exactly, will go into your proper plan?”
Zuko doesn’t reply until he is back in front of Iroh again, though he is far from quiet in his mutterings.
“Fine,” he says grudgingly, a haughty expression on his face. “As long as we’re clear it’s my plan and you will neither – neither steal it nor try to derail it.”
“I won’t,” Iroh promises. By the spirits, Agni truly blessed the boy just a little too much.
“See, nephew,” Iroh says, quietly enough that he does not run afoul of waking the literal sleeping dragon curled too close to the brazier, “is it so terrible to rest your weary head every once in a while?”
As predicted, it hadn’t taken more than a cup of tea for his nephew to stop yelling, and a second one to start drooping. Dragons and tea – a surprisingly sleepy combination. Which is probably why Zuko loathes the brews so much. If only the boy would sleep properly without!
Zuko stretches closer to the flames. Hopefully, heated sleep will do him good.