Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Look at me when you’re talking to me.”

Toph stopped mid sentence, her mouth slightly open and her eyebrows high. She stared blankly ahead for a second, then turned to face Zuko.

The light was starting to fade from the sky above, and the rest of the group was clearing up after supper. The fire had dwindled down to embers, and wispy streams of smoke reached through the bluish light of early evening.

Toph blinked. “What?”

Uncharacteristically, there was no aggression in her question, only surprise and bewilderment. She still wasn’t accustomed to Zuko’s way of speaking, and had never met anyone quite like him. The way he spoke was direct and commanding, but without any trace of the imperiousness her father’s voice always carried. Raised as royalty with all the trappings of a palace and servants at his command, he was clearly used to asserting himself, but was seldom domineering. 

Zuko crossed his arms and leaned against the tree next to him, not taking his sharp golden eyes off of her. Her head turned slightly to follow his movement.

“It’s this habit of yours. Oftentimes, you’re facing an entirely different direction to the people you’re having a conversation with. Just now, you were turned perpendicular to me.”

Toph’s eyebrows, which had shot straight up, relaxed into an expression of mild exasperation. “I know it takes some getting used to, but I don’t need to look at people to see them, Zuko. It doesn’t matter what direction I’m facing. It makes no difference.”

“It makes a difference to the people you’re talking to,” Zuko replied steadily. “You were telling me about your home life. Words are only a part of getting to know someone. I want to see your face, the expressions you make. Your eyes.”

Toph didn’t reply and shifted slightly so that her long bangs obscured her eyes. A few moments passed before Zuko spoke again.

“I didn’t look directly at anyone for a long time after my father burned me,” he said, his voice casual and calm. “The whole left side of my face was covered in bandages for months, and I only looked worse once the last of the gauze finally came off. I felt sure that the deformation was all people would see, and beyond that, the shame and dishonor it represented. I needed people to hear what I had to say without my image distracting them with feelings of disgust, or judgment, or, worst of all, pity.”

He exhaled through his nose and traced the edge of his scar absentmindedly. “You know, I would even strategically position myself in the room when I had meetings with the generals under my command, back when I was searching for the Av—for Aang. I always made sure my scar was facing an empty wall and wasn’t near a source of light. But sometimes, when I needed to intimidate, I’d give them a full view.” His hand fell away from his face.

“But now,” he continued, “I wear my scar with pride. I want people to see it, because it’s a symbol of the price I paid for standing up to tyranny, and because it’s a part of who I am.”

Toph smiled a softer smile than her usual grin, and her sightless gaze centered itself somewhere to the right of his own. “I forget you have a scar most of the time. Topical details like that don’t register in the seismic images I have of people. But I can try to imagine you with one, if it means a lot to you.”

Zuko breathed a small laugh. “Don’t worry about it. It’s novel to me, knowing someone who’s never seen my scar. There’s something - I don’t know - kind of fresh feeling about it.”

Toph shrugged. “Alright. But if you brought that up because you think I don’t want people looking at my eyes… I’ve never wanted to hide my blindness. It’s the reason I’m the best bender in the world. Without it, I wouldn’t have had to develop such a strong connection with the earth. To be fair, I probably still would have been an awesome bender if I’d been unfortunate enough to be born with sight, though,” she added with a cocky smirk.

“You didn’t know me back then, but when I was a fighting champion, my stage name was ‘The Blind Bandit.’ I wanted to throw my blindness in people’s faces; it amused me, you know, the idea that people saw it as something that was supposed to make me weak, when in reality it was the exact opposite. The more deeply they held onto that idea, the more humiliating it was when I crushed them into the ground! I made sure every opponent I faced got a good look at these eyes and knew exactly who had beaten them.”

Zuko nodded, then frowned. “So your enemies get to see you, but not your friends. You have nothing to hide from them, so what are you hiding from us?”

A trace of fear flashed across Toph’s face and she turned away again for a brief moment, before squaring her shoulders and turning back to look at him straight on.

“Okay, fine. Like I said before, I don’t see topical features, like scars or expressions. I don’t know what different expressions look like, or how people read them, or how mine are. I mean, I know I smile when I’m happy and frown when I’m mad, but it’s everything in between that’s too subtle for me to keep a handle on. I know that people read each other’s emotions through their faces, and it makes me nervous to think that people I’m talking to might be reading more into my expressions than I want to give away. I try to stay neutral looking most of the time, but sometimes it’s just easier to take the whole thing out of the equation and hide a bit. I guess it became a habit. Also…” she hesitated and her cheeks flushed red: another physical giveaway she had no way of knowing was indicative of her emotional state. “Everyone goes on and on about how pretty Katara is. I don’t understand visual attractiveness at all, but if I don’t measure up, if I look silly in comparison, it’s just nicer to not have my looks compared to hers all the time, as the only other girl. Not that I care, or anything.”

Her milky eyes were blazing under their thick black lashes, and the whiteness of her cheeks and forehead was still tinged with pink. Her thin brows furrowed as Zuko moved toward her, then shot up when he took her chin in his hand and carefully tilted her head until her pale eyes were finally looking straight into his own.

“You’re robbing us by hiding your face. These bangs you wear are a crime against the people around you. We want to have a sense of what you’re thinking, how you’re feeling; we want to experience the full you, not whatever side you choose to show us. And besides that, I like looking at you. You’re not just pretty, you’re interesting to look at. You’re a whole host of contradictions: dark and light, delicate and sturdy. Your eyes are unlike any I’ve ever seen, and, if you don’t mind, I’d rather look at them than at the side of your head when we’re talking.”

Toph’s sea foam green eyes were a shade hazier than usual when she blinked and nodded slightly. “Yeah, okay.”

Zuko smiled and stepped back. “Okay.”

She tucked her bangs behind her ears. “But that’s not fair, is it?” She pushed back suddenly, her voice bright again. “I don’t get to see your expressions. Why should people get to see mine?”

Zuko waved a dismissive hand as he walked away. “You read people’s heartbeats, Toph. I’d say the unfair advantage is on your end.”

She tapped into her bending to feel for his heartbeat. It was steady: honest. But she couldn’t see the flush on the back of his neck, or the way he blinked the ardor out of his eyes before finding Aang to resume training.

Chapter Text

After word had gotten out amongst their little group that Zuko had been The Blue Spirit: Phantom Thief of Legend, competitive storytelling became Team Avatar's new favorite sport. By the time they’d left the Western Air Temple for sunnier climes, Zuko was well versed in Team Avatar’s colorful lore.

Katara had proudly launched into the parable of The Painted Lady: Beautiful and Benevolent River Goddess, who somehow healed the sick by way of industrial sabotage. Aang expounded at length on how his nomadic knowledge of world cultures had equipped him to blend seamlessly into every town they visited, Hotman. Sokka even broke out his trusted Wang Fire beard, a little worse for wear and matted around the mustache from all the screaming he’d done in it.

But none of them could hold a candle to Toph’s mile-long rap sheet as The Blind Bandit: Mystery Champion of Earth Rumble VI, and The Runaway: Highest Bounty Per Ounce of Body Mass in Fire Nation History. Most of her stories sounded too outlandish to be true (she’d once defeated a boulder by making it do the splits?), but her friends didn’t refute the facts.

*

Toph and Zuko lounged languidly in the sundrenched courtyard of Zuko’s old family estate on Ember Island. It was easy to forget, under the bright blue sky of their beachy paradise, that Sozin’s Comet would be tearing through the atmosphere in a matter of weeks.

Zuko was only half-listening to Toph’s somewhat morbid story about playing dead in the street so Sokka could blackmail a passing duke into forking over the small fortune that would finance Appa’s battle armor.

“...sixty gold bars, I freaking kid you not, using nothing but a rock, my own perfect timing, and Sokka’s fake beard. The poor old dunderhead nearly crapped himself, he was so scared of getting chucked in the slammer. And then, if you can believe it, our very own Little Miss Prissy-Pants was gonna—”

“Toph. Would you just… drop it already.” Zuko, who was stretched out on the steps soaking up the sun, lolled his shaggy head to the side to face Toph as he effectively cut her off mid-story.

Toph was lying flat on her back in half-shade with her feet propped up on the handrail at the base of the stairs. Affronted, she let them fall to the ground with a slap as she sat up. “Come again?”

“You’re nobility,” Zuko said, as if that were explanation enough.

“And Momo’s a lemur. Aang is the Avatar. What’s your deal?”

“It’s this little act you do,” Zuko began again. “Your ‘I’m tough’ voice. You try to talk like you’re so rough and wild and street smart, but you grew up in a wealthy household, right? And not just regular wealth—you come from real, old money power, don’t you.”

It would have sounded like an accusation coming from anyone else but Zuko: Prince of the Oldest and Most Terrible Family of Them All.

Toph’s mounting ire was intercepted by her curiosity. “I never told you that," she said, head tilting to the side. "You guys know about the Bei Fongs all the way out here in the Fire Nation? Man. I didn’t realize our winged boar crest flew that far.”

“No, I've never heard of them. I just knew.” Zuko sat up on the steps, running a hand through his messy hair and looking down at her. “Just one black sheep from a dusty old bloodline recognizing another, I suppose.” Then he saluted her, flicking two fingers out lazily from his one good eyebrow.

Toph’s eyes squeezed shut as she laughed at this, and the unrestrained ringing of it sounded neither like a nobleman’s daughter nor a runaway bandit.

“Nice,” she managed between giggles. “Baa baa to you too.” She returned the salute. “But what d’you mean about my ‘I’m tough’ voice?”

“I mean the way you talk, all loud and crass and full of street-wise affectations. It’s a persona, and it’s pretty transparent.”

Toph scrunched up her small nose. “Screw you,” she said huffily. “You don’t know anything about me."

Zuko scoffed boredly. “Sure I don’t. You and I were brought up the same, if in different cultures. You reek of class and breeding, whatever playacting you do.” 

There was an easy familiarity in his raspy voice that wasn’t present when he was talking with the others. With them he was more deferential, restrained.

“That’s funny, I thought I reeked of Sokka’s seal jerky,” Toph deflected. “Go on then, oh Wise One. What gives me away?” Toph matched Zuko’s tone for nonchalance, but the tension in her brow betrayed her consternation at being caught out.

“A lot of it’s just in the way you hold and assert yourself. But let’s see,” he surveyed her from his step. “You’re even paler than I am, for one thing—and that’s saying something. Your accent is fake, for another. The way you talk is like a sheltered person’s idea of a big tough guy, like lines taken from an adventure story or one of those corny staged arena fights.”

Toph snorted, affronted. “My accent’s not fake, you jerk. Just because I don’t simper like my mother—whatever. And arena fights are awesome, how dare you. We’ll come back to that later. But yeah, sure, I guess I played a character when I was in the Earth Rumble, and maybe it stuck a bit. Who cares?”

“Not me,” Zuko said blithely. “I just think it’s a needless charade. Earlier I heard you use the phrase—what was it again? ‘Sophomoric ruffians and ne’er-do-wells such as myself.’ That was a slip up, wasn’t it. I bet you had a whole fleet of private tutors, didn’t you.”

“Well, duh. It's not like I could go to school. But they spent more time trying to catch me than teaching me.” She laughed, and the summer sun seemed to shine more brightly.

Zuko couldn’t help but chuckle too, the feeling unfamiliar after so many months living in strained circumstances. “Guess you and I have that in common too. So why don’t you drop the whole tough guy act? It doesn’t really work on you.”

Toph’s mood changed in a snap, the comfortable laughter replaced by a defensive glare. “Spirits, Zuko. Why don’t you leave me and my personality alone? You’re not the prince of anyone here.”

“I’m not saying there’s a problem with your personality,” he said, unfazed. “I just meant, you can ease up a bit. With me, at least. You don’t have to try so hard. And I guess I also wondered if maybe… I don’t know. You think that if people aren’t intimidated by you, if you don’t come across as tough and hardened, they’ll pity you.”

“What, ‘cause my whole life revolves around being a sad little blind girl? Shows what you know.”

A surly silence fell between them, punctuated by Aang’s carefree laughter somewhere in the distance and Sokka and Katara’s pitchy squabbling.

Zuko exhaled deeply and touched a hand to his scar. “I was about your age when this happened.” He then remembered Toph couldn’t see it and added, “When I was burned and banished to sea. I was put in command of a crew that had all these preconceived ideas about me: spoiled, disgraced, naive. Doomed to die young or live as a failure. And I did all the same posturing I see you doing: acting older, harder, and meaner than I was so that they wouldn't look at me like some broken thing. To intimidate them so they’d keep their distance, and to hide the broken thing I actually was.”

“Cool story,” Toph deadpanned mercilessly. Then she sighed, arms wrapping around her knees and looking as if she was gathering every ounce of vulnerability she could muster. “Sorry, sorry. Yeah, I get that. But it’s not that I’m trying to intimidate people, really. Just… I just… I don’t want to be my mother, alright? That’s all.”

“But you’re not your mother. You’re Toph. So why do you have to put on an act on top of that?”

“You don’t get it,” she huffed. “It’s all… jumbled up, alright? If I’m not The World’s Greatest Earthbender, then I’m just left being a Bei Fong, which is crap. I refuse to go through life as Little Miss Bei Fong: The Sightless Heiress. That can’t be what defines me, no matter what. So I need to show the world that I’m nothing like the porcelain doll it wanted me to be. I need to prove it every day.”

“I don’t get it, huh? ‘I must capture the Avatar in order to restore my honor. Devoting my life to defeating him is the only way to prove I deserve a place in my family and become the prince I am destined to be.' Ring any bells to you?”

Toph laughed again, softer this time. “Nope, never heard anything like that before. You really think our situations are similar? I don’t see it.”

“I do, in a way. You remember my uncle, Iroh?”

“Of course.”

“The man is a Grandmaster firebender. He was the last person to ever be given the title of Dragon. He is a decorated wartime general and a senior member of the royal family. And he openly adores herbal teas and picnics and poetry and singing very loudly and very poorly. He’s as skilled at Pai Sho as he is at summoning lightning, as he’s just as happy making faces at babies as he is dining with kings.

“Do those softer traits make him any less befitting of his titles and accolades? Of course not. Uncle understands and accepts everything about himself, and in doing so he doesn’t have to prove any of it to anyone. His ownership of all that he is only serves to make him a more powerful, estimable man.

“I am a prince. I don’t need to act like one. Iroh is a Grandmaster Dragon. He doesn’t need to act like one. You are an earthbending master. You don’t need to act like one. You are The Blind Bandit, The Runaway, the Avatar’s teacher. You are strong. You are tough. You don’t need to act like it.”

They stayed where they were for a long time, eventually laying down flat again to let the sun's rays hit their pale faces.

“Arena fighting isn’t corny,” Toph said mildly, several minutes after Zuko had assumed she’d dozed off in the heat. “It’s an art form unto itself. The competitors have distinctive combat styles, and there is a lot to be learned about tactical interplay if you pay attention."

Her voice sounded different, less brash. The words were rounder, smoother, and fit more naturally in her mouth. "I once competed with a man who moved like a gecko—I’ll give you five guesses at his stage name. He fought on all fours to make himself a smaller, less predictable target, and scaled the walls to launch attacks from above…”

They stayed there, trading modestly embellished stories, until the heat of the day died out and goosebumps rose on their sunburnt skin and they got up to join the others around the beach fire. 

Toph would never be soft spoken. She was still sharp tongued, teasing, and excitable; still quick to make jokes and extol the virtues of earthbending over other forms with wide-eyed zeal. But her demeanor from that day forward—at first only with Zuko, but later with the rest of the group and soon enough with everyone she met—was far more natural without every other syllable broadcasting her dire need to be understood. To be seen as big enough, free enough, strong enough.

She was Toph enough.