𝑰𝒕'𝒔 𝑵𝒐𝒕 𝑨𝒍𝒍 𝑹𝒐𝒔𝒆𝒔

Chapter 20

The season was heading steadily into winter; that morning, Zuko kept his face at the small, barred window of his room, trying to drink up the last sunlight of the year.

A movement from the side caught his eye and he saw a small group of inmates being led out by Kyoshi warriors. Turning his head, he saw that the prisoners were his own Elites.

Lt. Ensei said something rude (Zuko couldn't hear it from here), and was shoved in the back for his trouble. Kaz, pasty-faced and limp, hung at the back and had to be prodded forward to keep up with the group. Qin, Faozu, and Oran were there as well—Zuko felt a stirring of relief that they were all alive and unhurt.

Then Kaz turned to the side, and caught sight of Zuko's face in the window. His brow wrinkled for a moment, as if trying to remember something, and then cleared in recognition. He smiled; a nervous, unsure expression. Zuko was sure that if Kaz's hands had been untied, he would have waved.

Leaning over, Kaz whispered something into Lt. Ensei's ear, and immediately the yellow-haired man whipped around, glaring suspiciously in Zuko's direction. When Zuko waved solemnly from his window, Ensei's face broke into an ironic grin and he nodded back. One of the warriors caught sight of this and snapped forward, pushing Ensei and the rest of the Elites back around the corner, away from Zuko's side of the building. Zuko and Ensei exchanged a look before the Elites were lead away; what did the Kyoshians think they were going to do, formulate an escape plan by blinking at each other in secret code?

And so that was practically the only highlight of Zuko's day, aside from the visits he received when Katara brought him his food.

"How is your niece doing?"

"She had a traumatic breakdown yesterday after being handled so roughly by you."

Zuko raised one eyebrow. "You're a liar."

She gave him a quick, slightly bitter smile: "But you already knew that."

He didn't move his gaze from her face for a long time. Then he turned away, towards the window. "Sometimes I wonder—I think—no, if I understand your motives, your why, your how come, is it wrong for me to believe you were justified in your actions?"

She said nothing, the expression on her face unreadable.

"Or," he continued, "does it just make you less of an innocent and more of an enemy?"

Katara: "I could say the same thing about you."

He flashed her a quick glance again, "I know. You're in this war to protect your people and because it is your responsibility and your place in life. I'm in this war because it is also my responsibility—and it is what I was born to do. The very thing that drives me to do what I do is the same thing that makes you my enemy."

The unspoken question was: What might have happened if we'd been born on the same side of war? What possibilities, what 'could-haves' and 'if-onlys'?

But she didn't say anything, and left quickly, as if she was scared to show him anything more.

After she was gone, Zuko slowly ate his food and drank his water. He was almost used to the acrid taste of the drug on his tongue now; a bad sign.

Hopefully, he wouldn't become addicted.

"And how is the prisoner's progress going?" the Mistress set down her calligraphy brush; Katara noticed the black ink dripping onto the white rice paper.
"It's going—well," Katara replied, throat dry. Her knees ached on the floor covered by thin straw mats.

"Your interrogation," the Mistress said shortly, "by progress, I meant how is the interrogation going?"

Interrogation? Katara swallowed. "I'm not—I'm not sure what you—"