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

The Blue Spirit

The bite of cold does nothing to assuage Zuko's bitterness. If anything, it deepens it. Reminds him of shivering his ponytail off in endless frozen tundra. Reminds him of blue eyes the same colour as a mangy fur parka. A laugh bubbling out from under the white trim hood. Chilled fingers touching his cheek. Lips pressing to trembling, rain slicked skin.

It takes everything in his willpower not to burn a hole through his mask. Blue. Always fucking blue. Why out of all the masks in his mother's old theatre collection did he pick up the blue one? Because it's the opposite of red? Because no firebender in their right mind would ever be seen in blue? Because the misery of his memories of Azula forcing him to play the Dark Water Spirit in their enactments of Love Amongst the Dragons loves the company of his resentment?

It doesn't matter.

No matter how many times he sneaks from his ship to spy on Zhao's stay at the fire nation fortress, the Pohuai Stronghold, no matter how many times he avoids dreams of Pai Sho and the ocean, he can't stop thinking about the way Katara looked at him the last time he recklessly ran into Zhao instead of staying.

Well, this time it was her who ran.

Her who left him alone.

He grits his teeth against the brimstone and bile which seems to always line his throat as he scales another few feet of mountain cliffside. Sweat bathes him under the light, black fatigues. Tight to his skin so he can feel each itch and chafe every heave upwards brings. Any distraction is a good one. Too bad it never works.

When was the last time he slept? Each time he tries, lightning flashes behind his closed eyes, and a wide, terror filled gaze wakes him in a hot sweat.

He never found out what happened to her. He only knows she didn't end up in the water because he cut the chain. Because he let her go.

The healing scars throb in livid red circles around his arm.

Banishing the pathetic ache in his chest, he climbs higher. The way up is nothing new to him. Hand over hand on this poorly watched portion of cliff bracketing Pohuai. Everyone's too busy watching the legendary Yuyan archers go through their practice drills to really make the round trip.

Zuko was among them. Force bleary eyes to stay open. Track the untrackable arrows. Anything was better than sleep. Anything is better than vales of lucid unconsciousness where he can tangle his hands in umber hair like he so desperately wanted to before, pull those lips higher as memories of rain and wind beat at their clinging, soaked bodies.

Yes, anything is better that what could never be. Until Zhao's arrival at the fortress brought more pressing matters than his need to be distracted.

Destiny brings him back to himself. Banished Prince destined to bring the Avatar to justice. He is not the rejected fraud Zhao, his sister, and half the Fire nation think he is. The watertribe peasant means nothing to him.

Only his honour, only his crown, matter.

"Absolutely not! The Yuyan Archers stay here. Your request is denied, Commander Zhao."

"Colonel Shinu, please reconsider ... Their precision is legendary. The Yuyan can pin a fly to a tree from one hundred yards away without killing it." Zhao's annoyed voice refuses to beg. Zuko wishes he could see the man's face. "You're wasting their talents using them as mere security guards."

"I can do whatever I want with their talents, they're my archers, and what I say goes," Colonel Shinu shuts the Commander down.

"But my search for the Avatar is-"

"Is nothing but a vanity project! We're fighting a real war here, and I need every man I've got, commander."

My search, Zuko thinks, and perhaps it's the public animosity he faces everyday that's in his favour right now. It grates against his pride, but the less Fire Nation officials that take him seriously right now, the better.