(Zutara) Hold it Gently; My Heart Burns For You

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Zuko doesn't come back. The scroll's where he left it, slipper not even leaving a print. Her room is spotless since Zuko started bringing her water and meals himself, given it stays in the trays instead of thrown at her face. He even had his serving women clean her parka.

These thoughts are all she has to occupy her time now Zuko doesn't come.

She will not miss it. She won't. Not when he's obviously keeping something from her.

Another one of his plays to find out where Aang is. She isn't stupid. Interrogation isn't limited to the Fire Nation. Jet pretended to care about her life too. Used her too. She has to commend Zuko to his commitment. Asking him to read the scrolls to her was a calculated test, and he expressed no pre-understanding of her culture's tradition of Speakers to suggest a premeditation or darker purpose. When he read it was slow, stilted in the way a child understanding words for the first time puts sentences together, as he pieced each new bit of history and culture into comprehension. He even asked her to clarify some of it, earnestly taking in everything she could explain.

But her walls won't be so easily broken down this time. Jet and Zuko are as bad as each other, doing what they want; burning, hurting. Whatever it takes, casualties be damned. Scavengers, both of them, and she wishes she could see Jet's face as she lumps him with the little Fire Nation prince. Zuko wouldn't even ask who Jet is.

These thoughts keep her company until Iroh begins his weekly visits. Teapot tucked under his arm, he exercises none of the wall hugging, door squeezing caution Zuko obsesses over, walking in and letting the door leisurely swing shut behind him. She isn't sure if Zuko knows about the visits, though she doubts much goes on without his notice. She hasn't seen her old guards in weeks.

"How are you today, miss Katara?" As usual, Iroh regards her straw pallet with distaste, won't give her cleaning corner his attention at all as he sets up the burner and trivet. He snaps his fingers to light the burner, but why he doesn't simply use his bending to steep the tea, she doesn't know.

"Bored, sir." She likes to reserve all her flippant mockery for Zuko. Ironically, his uncle responds similarly to her respect, shaking his head.

"I've said before as I say now. Iroh, please, my lady."

"I barely have a last name." She is of the watertribe, that is honour enough. "I am no one's lady." It's then she notices the board he sets down from under his arm. "Not just tea today?"

"It is my understanding you've been rather deprived of stimulant this week."

"Not just this week." She hasn't seen the sun in weeks. Hasn't felt ocean spray on her skin or moonlight in her blood.

Iroh understands with a heavy sigh but offers no empty comforts. He knows her pain. There's a sense of loss in him, too. Much deeper than hers. "So, I thought, since my nephew has run out of scrolls, a new study could occupy your time." He's been setting the pieces out, methodical and without much concern. But the board is brand new, the pieces still shiny.

"Afraid I'll break your board if I lose?" No doubt Zuko's shared stories of her temper.

"You'll be breaking nothing of mine." Iroh smiles as his meaning dawns on her. "My lady, I have been playing Pai Sho longer than you've been breathing. Do you really expect to be even a challenge to me without practicing?"