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

Tales of Ba Sing Se: Zuko

Zuko almost chokes the first time it happens. He's at the breakfast table, sulkily pushing around the food Uncle made before they start their day shift at Pao's, letting the Jasmine tea he made go cold with too many thoughts of Katara, plans, shifts, masks, and homesickness for someone running off so little sleep run circles around his mind.

He's scooping up an unappetizing bite of cold rice and eggs when Uncle calls out from the other room, "Lee, remind me to put extra ginger on today's list, we ran out far too quickly last night."

Rice and egg go down the wrong pipe. Over Zuko's hacking and slamming his chest, Uncle calls out again. Zuko barely hears him.

Lee. His uncle called him Lee. With no one else around.

He staggers to the door, still coughing out the last tickling grains of rice. Uncle stands in the door jam, perplexed as he holds it open for Zuko to join him. He looks far more comfortable than Zuko ever will be in his tea serving robes. "Uncle, why did you-"

"Thank you for bringing these back, Mushi," a feminine voice cuts off right before Zuko blunders his way into the hall. Sim, their neighbour, stands just beyond the door frame, juggling a pair of green spark rocks in one hand while holding her infant son, Kim-Wo, in the crook of her other arm. Zuko only knows the boy's name from how often he hears him wailing through the walls.

"Thank you for lending them to us. I'm sorry it took me so long to replace ours." Uncle moves in so his face is before Kim-Wo's. "A boy needs three things to grow into a strapping young man. The love of the mother, the guidance of the father, and when nothing else will do, a good pot of tea to lift the spirits."

The adults laugh, the baby warbles and blows raspberries. Zuko's gut twists as his Uncle's joy fades into sombre reflection. He knows the day, it's why he's pulling a double, going straight from morning into afternoon so Uncle can spend the afternoon and evening alone, doing what he does every time this day of the year rolls around. Any lingering resentment Zuko had towards him turns ashy in his mouth.

"I'd expect nothing less from a couple of tea servers," Sim chuckles, bouncing Kim-Wo. She notices Zuko properly for the first time and flashes him a bright, if slightly tired, smile. "Good morning, Lee."

Zuko fights the urge to wince. "Morning."

He hates anniversaries.

~ ~ ~

"That's what mom's are like, Zuko. If you mess with their babies, they're going to bite you back."

A mother always knows.

~ ~ ~

Turns out, he hates regular customers more. Regular customers who must know he'd appreciate if they stacked their used cups. Regular customers who still leave wadded up napkins in their pots when they're done, despite the sign Uncle had Pao put up to discard them responsibly. Regular customers who call him over when he's busy.

Lee, is our order ready?

Extra strong, the way Lee knows we like it.

I know Pao said no one can use the bathroom, but you'll let me, right, Lee?

Lee, grab me some napkins.

Lee, I asked for extra.

Lee.

Lee.

Lee.

"Does this come in blue?"

Zuko almost drops his tray, head snapping around. Two women are waiting to be seated, passing the time fawning over the green and yellow sash one of them must have purchased from the market. Zuko didn't think it possible there could be a word he'd hate more than his alias. Turns out, he was wrong.