(Zutara) Let Me Pretend; Your Soul is Winter Fire

Attention, Curiosity, Interest

~ ~ ~

Five Months Previously:

The Avatar State

Sitting by the open face of the gilded spa villa was a mistake. The cherry blossom petals sway on the gentle breeze, wafting in to brush his outstretched legs, bringing a scent of fresh air and earthy richness. His straw hat is tilted towards the inside of the room in a feeble attempt to block the half-naked sight of his uncle from his better eye, leaving his face open to the wan sunlight building its strength for the coming spring. Uncle groans in satisfaction as the masseur works the knots weeks of sailing hammered between his shoulders, into his lower back.

But it's the rushing, crashing, break of the waterfall dropping out of existence beside him that Zuko can't stand. Even through his left eye, the wobbly sheen of flowing water is visible. Inviting. Offering him a cool reprieve from the torment he knew today would bring. He hadn't wanted to leave his room, but Uncle insisted he at least show his face to Agni.

Agni brought him to this so he can have the ruined half for all Zuko cares.

Naked feet pad to a stop in Zuko's peripheral vision. Thankfully, his Uncle kept on his shorts, throwing a robe over his paunchy, soft body, before folding himself down beside Zuko. "It's the anniversary today, isn't it?"

Iroh won't have forgotten the worst day in Zuko's life. He was hoping Zuko would bring it up himself. He thinks reflecting on the past, to accept it for what it is and move on, is the way to heal from it. Zuko would rather forget, if such a feat weren't ruined every time he has the bad luck to pass by a mirror. He avoids them when he can. Being surrounded by water makes that habit a little harder to enforce.

"Eight years ago today," Zuko mutters when his Uncle doesn't leave, leaning imploringly into his space instead. His uncle is the easiest man to talk to, yet Zuko still has to force the words of his reality out. "I was banished. I lost it all."

Twenty-two years old. The better part of a decade discarded from his home. For some reason, this anniversary stings deeper than the last seven. Maybe because he's lost the cobbled together comforts of his ship, his crew. The rare comfort of being able to walk hallways that were familiar, see faces he knew, who might not have known him but knew enough not to bother him.

All except one. She ran the first chance she got, threw him away the second. One way or another they all do.

The water gurgles on; it sounds so much like laughter.

Attention, Curiosity, Interest

~ ~ ~

Zuko has to remind himself roughly four times that Katara isn't interested in him.

He's sorting tea packets when he remembers it's the Blue Spirit, no, Blue, who has her interest. Blue who she trusts to teach her how to survey people without them knowing while Zuko mops down tables. Blue who she fought the Dai Li beside as his shoulder grows stiffer the longer he sweeps and stacks cups, and Blue who she spent hours searching Ba Sing Se for after she got away. His heart gives a traitorous lurch when his focus on the job wains and the vision of her relief when she found him lit up her face.

When she found Blue, he chastises himself.

It's a job, Zuzu, Azula's voice taunts in his mind like it's her second home. She's stretched out and made a comfy place for herself between his sanity and last nerve. I know it's tempting, but don't abuse your power and try to fondle the help.

"Easy, nephew," Uncle's voice chuckles as he passes, tray in his hands laden down with steaming cups. "You're going to wear a hole through that wood if you scrub any harder."