18+

Oh, how the Fire Lord enjoyed that view. But he loved it infinitely more when those royal robes were long gone, scattered across the floor, and you were on all fours on the spacious window seat, facing the glass. He slid right into you after only a few testing strokes. He loved the rhythmic, driving heat of it, just as he was doing now: one hand planted firmly on the padded seat to anchor his weight, the other gripping your waist.

The impact of your hips against his lower abs grew louder and quicker in a breathless cadence that left you no choice but to bend lower, your chest sinking into the fabrics beneath you.

“Every time,” he murmured. He moved his hand from your waist to press at the back of your neck, keeping you steady, holding you captive to the his thrusts. “Every single time, I think we’re actually going to just sit here and watch the rain… And every time, you prove me wrong.”

Before you could replace one of your whines with a coherent sentence, his pace changed. He slowed, and thrusted deep, filling you to the brim twice over before pulling his upper body down to press a kiss grazing your shoulder blade. His hands snuck beneath you, mapping the curve of your breasts with a lethal combination of caresses and grips you’d gladly take the credit for teaching him.

“More…” you whispered, moving your hips back against him in desperate friction.

He moaned into tour skin, and braced his weight to lift himself.

“Mm… something’s missing,” he answered, holding still for a moment, letting you ache around him.

“I need more, please, Zuko—”

Lightning struck in the distance, illuminating the glass.

“You always do,” he rumbled. In one movement, he turned you around, your back flat against the crimson cushions. He pulled you flush to the edge, stepping between your parted legs. “But you aren't looking at me. I need you to look at me…”

Without giving you a chance to catch your breath, he captured your mouth while your hands flew to your own chest. He allowed you a single, stolen gasp of air before he buried himself inside you again, forcing your head back against the silk pillows.

“There you are…”, he gasped out.

He began to move again, ragged whines falling from his lips right next to your ear with no pressure to stop, your hands finding their anchor around his forearms as the storm raged outside.

note: just a little something bc i had some free time.:-) xx

The Batboys When They Miss You - @lilmarshie = This is a personal favourite headcanon of mine but I could and would spend ages just scrolling through their whole blog

Jason Todd ramble :> - @sugugori = Does this even need an explanation? She writes Jason so soft and so well, I’M OBSESSEDDD

Jason is the type of boyfriend - @moviecritc = I’m kinda obsessed with her whole blog, but this is the first one of hers I saw and made me fall in love

La Vie en Rose - @mostly-imagines = Just look at her masterlist for other amazing works, but I love all of their writing and 4 in 1s and such, it’s so good

IN EVERY UNIVERSE - @pluvoia = LITERALLY THE INSPIRATION FOR MY FIRST BLURB, it’s just so adorable and you can feel the love in this one, I definitely recommend part 1.5 too

For You - @soulsforsales = I don’t know how many times I’m going to say fics are cute in this list, but this fic just melts my heart, I love it (also thank you to them for reblogging so many amazing fics, I swear I find so many through them lol)

Thinkin about you - @amnxp = More angst!! Another one I just ate up, IT’S SO GOOD and it really gets the emotions across

That’s All It Took? - @fluentmoviequoter = Most recent one on here so I can recall how my eyes were GLUED to my phone while I read this, it’s great

SHEEP - @moratorya = Does handle heavy themes and is genuinely gut-wrenching but it’s so gripping and just fantastically written

Mistletoe Memories - @froggibus = It was genuinely difficult to decide which of her fics to choose to put here, she is soso talented

in your hands - @sanguineterrain = I’ll admit that I found this from another recommendation but it’s so angsty but fluffy and I love it, I couldn’t not include it

Him taking care of you - @dhazefawn = They write so cute that I’m jealous of the kind of love he has with reader :>

Jason had been more than a little pissed when he’d gotten a phone call from Dick asking him to help with the patrol this evening, face falling as soon as the caller ID lit up his phone. Bruce had to rush out of town, he’d claimed, and they needed the extra manpower after a recent Arkham outbreak. You’d known the moment Jason’s shoulders sagged that he would go. It was in his nature as a vigilante. Presenting him with the opportunity to save some poor, unfortunate Gothamites was like dangling a bone in front of a dog and not expecting it to bite.

You tried not to let it sting. When Jason had confessed to you about his alter-ego, you’d known that there would be certain sacrifices in your relationship most would not have to contend with. You doubted there were many people who were jealous of the amount of time their boyfriend spent with the Penguin. It was an unconventional set-up by most standards, but the two of you made it work. It was only on the odd occasion that you truly felt the impact of Jason’s ‘career path’.

The silence in the kitchen had been deafening when he’d hung up the phone. It’s not that you were angry with Jason, or Dick, or anyone for that matter. You were just disappointed. You’d kept your mouth clamped shut as best you could out of fear that if it opened, words would trickle out in the heat of the moment you’d come to regret later on. Clearly, your silence was statement enough, because Jason had only pressed a kiss into your hair with a quiet promise to make it up to you before retreating into the bedroom to get ready for the long night ahead of him. He knew better than to press the issue.

As a result, you were perched on the couch exactly where Jason had left you. The absence of any plans you’d had for the evening left you restless, unable to settle into any particular task. And fucking hell you were bored.

It's just as you go to retreat into the bedroom to try and sleep off your lingering frustrations that you hear the crackling from the bookshelf tucked away in the corner, a short static sound that cuts through the silence of the apartment. It takes a few seconds for you to spot it, the tiny earpiece shoved behind an old, tattered paperback. Jason had been working on his suit earlier in the week, and you’d overheard his curt conversation with Bruce on the phone about needing a new set after breaking his old ones.

Not so broken, clearly.

Your curiosity is piqued enough to venture over to the shelf, plucking the tiny object up carefully to avoid breaking it any further. You’d seen Jason tinker with them before, most likely to scramble the tracking features that came with most of the tech Bruce had given him in recent years. You can hear the muted mumble of conversation, not clear enough to make out any distinct words but enough to know that there was a lengthy talk being had on the line.

It’s not your proudest moment as you slot it into your ear, and definitely, most likely, a severe invasion of privacy. Guilt twangs in the pit of your stomach, but hey – if Jason’s allowed to follow you home from the bodega to make sure you don’t get mugged in the precious fifteen seconds it takes, you can listen to a few minutes of radio chatter, right? You’re just looking out for him. Want to be close to him.

Yeah, right.

It’s uncomfortable, designed to be completely moulded to Jason, and there’s a persistent hum that won’t seem to fade (definitely a little broken) but the voices come to life almost instantly.

“I’m just saying, Empire Strikes Back is by far the superior film, and I won’t hear otherwise.”

“Must you fill our ears with such incessant chatter, Drake.”

“Codenames. And I don’t know, Robin, he’s kind of cooking.”

You recognise the final voice as Dick – the only member of Jason’s family you’d had the pleasure of meeting despite your nearing year-long relationship. It hadn’t been on purpose, naturally, Dick had spotted the pair of you in the window of a coffee shop and rushed over to corner Jason before he could formulate an escape plan that didn’t involve blowing up your favourite date spot. Jason had honest-to-god hissed when he saw his brother approach, and for a split second you were certain he was going to throw his tea over him.

In spite of Jason’s grumbling, you’d taken an instant liking to the elder. He was charismatic, exuberant and kind, and quite frankly it was hard not to bask in the warmth of his presence. As soon as he’d left, however, Jason had sworn that you were never going to meet the rest of his family if he could help it – and thus far he’d kept his promise.

Still, you were aware of the players on the board from the pieces you’d gathered in time spent with your boyfriend. The second voice, you had correctly identified, was Damian – or the Demon Brat as Jason often took to calling him when he came up. You have to stifle a laugh at his bravado. Much like the picture your mind had painted, the kid definitely had an aura about him.

That just left Tim, the first voice. Jason mentioned him the least of all of his siblings, and you found that when his name came up Jason seemed to shrink into himself somewhat, sometimes fading away, seemingly lost in memories he couldn’t quite escape. You knew that Jason had a troubled relationship with most of his family members at one point or another, having been spared the specifics, but your gut told you that there was something about his relationship with Tim that cut a tad deeper than the rest.

It was strange, to finally put voices to names. You can’t help the small smile that curves on your lips.

“Right, fess up, who taught Nightwing about ‘let him cook’,” A female voice rings out.

You filter through your previous conversations with Jason as you try to figure out who it could belong to, rapidly considering the vague descriptions he’d given you of Steph, Cass and Babs. It doesn’t take you long to decide it’s most likely Stephanie.

“Hey – could I not have just, I don’t know, learned about it myself?”

“Not likely, they probably didn’t have the internet until you were, what? Forty?”

“Tough talk coming from a girl who gave The Last Jedi five stars on Letterboxd.”

“You did what?”

“I must admit, Spoiler, that is disappointing.”

“Do any of you ever shut the fuck up?”

Your body thrums at the last one, and a breath tears its way out of your throat. Jason. It throws you off balance to hear him so brusk, a fire in his words that he rarely brought to the conversations you had - in your experience, it was typically reserved for when he stubbed a toe or let the pasta boil over on the stove. His voice sounds somewhat thick, and your stomach churns at the idea that your demeanour from earlier had rattled him so deeply.

You were well acquainted with Jason’s compulsion to work; he was completely and utterly addicted to it. So much so, that you’d failed to consider just how disappointed he might feel about missing your date too.

As if on cue, Tim’s voice rings out, “Aww, Hood’s upset because he was going to wine and dine his girlfriend tonight.”

“Red Robin…”

“I was being polite the first time, now I’m telling you. Shut the fuck up.”

The statement throws you a little, hearing Jason’s family discuss your relationship as though it were a common topic. The scraps of information Jason had given you about them were so few and far in between that you could only assume he had been the same on the other side of it. Quickly, you realise, that he probably had been – you could hazard a guess coming from a family of famed detectives didn’t exactly make it easy to keep secrets.

“I refuse to believe that Red Hood has a partner,” Damian’s words are impossibly snide, “Who could possibly want to spend any more time with him than is absolutely necessary?”

You make out a few giggles after that, namely Tim and Steph, who seem to be basking in the concept of making Jason as miserable as possible. It’s Dick that steps in to shh them, chiding Damian with a measured tone that you’re sure could only have developed from years of dealing with this exact situation. The babble continues back and forth for a few minutes, and you can almost feel yourself beginning to sink into sleep as you listen to them bicker, someone occasionally slipping in some useful intel about a warehouse or rogue sighting. 

The line goes quiet when Jason lets out a harsh, “Oh, fuck!”

A pulse of lightning seems to shoot its way down your spine, and it takes more than you thought yourself capable of to not scream down the comm line.

“Hood?”

“Red Hood?”

“Hood, you okay?”

“Hood, status report, now.”

“I’m fine,” Jason bites out, a little bemused if nothing else, “My hip and knee are just stiff. Getting colder outside, ya’ know.”

The silence is deafening for a few seconds, and you can’t claim to know where everyone’s thoughts sink to, but you could guess it was to do with Jason’s sordid history.

That is, until Tim pipes up dryly, “So, what is that, like, rigor mortis?”

“Oh my god.”

“That’s so not okay, dude.”

“Holy shit.”

You wait eagerly in anticipation to hear Jason’s response. You couldn’t claim to know every detail of Jason’s past – it was something the two of you were slowly working on together. He was understandably cagey at the idea of talking about his experiences, so you never pressed, instead allowing him to offer up bits and pieces of information in his more vulnerable moments. In spite of that, you knew that Jason had died. There wasn’t another plausible explanation for the giant Y-scar that stretched its way across his chest. You’d worked for a long time on getting him to feel comfortable enough to be around you without a shirt on, comfortable enough to know you weren’t going to turn tail and run just at the sight. He hadn’t told you how or why – but the look in his eyes when he stared in the mirror for a second too long was enough to let you know it was certainly no fairytale.

Which is why it’s such a surprise when a deep, rumbling laugh filters through the earpiece, and you’re struck with the image of Jason perched on a rooftop somewhere chuckling to himself as he watches over the city. Within seconds there’s an orchestra of maniacal cackles pouring through the comms, and you’re fairly certain that the only one who isn’t laughing is Damian.

“Hood, does your partner know of your death and resurrection?”

Jeez, Damian, way to soften the blow.

Dick quickly jumps in to chastise his brother, sounding increasingly more exasperated with every word, “Robin, you can’t –”

“Yeah, she does,” Jason’s voice is surprisingly earnest, “Don’t think it bothers her, not really.”

Tim and Steph jump in almost immediately to make outrageous kissing noises, crooning Oh, Hood and I love you, Hood and other slightly more inappropriate comments. You’re certain if you looked in the mirror the colour of your cheeks wouldn’t be far off Jason’s helmet.

“Honestly, you two need to stop behaving like I don’t have your exact coordinates,” Jason huffs out, but you can hear the twinge of humour in his words. He’s not angry, not at all, if anything you’d say he was finding it funny.

“Seriously though, Hood,” Steph’s voice is somewhat strained from laughing, “When are you going to introduce us?”

“Never.”

“Come on, man.”

“Dick got to meet her!”

“I would be interested in assessing the capabilities of this civilian.”

“Yeah, well, she’s more than capable.”

Now that has a little more bite to it, and your chest swells with pride at Jason’s defensiveness. You’d always felt a tad insecure about how you compared to the rest of the people in Jason’s life – surrounded by superheroes, metahumans, and some of the most proficient individuals in the world. You were just a civilian, and in your opinion, nothing all that special. But Jason had always made sure that you felt equal, that the differences in what you did outside the walls of your apartment had no bearing on the fact his world started and ended with you.

 “So… does the mask stay on when you get freaky or –”

“Steph, don’t make me come over there, you know I will.”

“Codenames.” Honestly, you can’t help but respect Dick for his seemingly unwavering patience, although you could guess it might be due to the noticeable absence of Batman himself to rein in his children in his place. “Spoiler, we have a child with us.”

“I don’t understand Spoiler. What is getting freaky–”

“Please,” Dick’s begging now.

“Oh, B is gonna have fun with that when he gets home.”

“Pfft, you think B is going to know what getting freaky means?”

“You know that means he’s going to ask us, right?”

“Shit.”

Your brain starts to feel fried just listening to them. And the most obscene part of it all is that you can hear them fighting, subduing local criminals while simultaneously having one of the weirdest conversations you’ve ever been a party to (well, secretly a party to). You have to place the earpiece on the other side of the room and retreat into the bathroom to let out what could be a laugh or a scream – you can’t be sure.

Unsurprisingly, when you slot the earpiece back in again, the conversation has shifted.

You only catch the end of Tim’s words, but it’s enough to send your entire body into a state of shock, “– when the wedding happens.”

“When the wedding happens,” Jason bites out breathlessly, clearly in the middle of some kind of confrontation, “Your sorry ass isn’t going to be fuckin’ invited.”

And the comm line erupts.

“When the wedding happens?”

“WHAT?”

“Guys, fuckin’ hell, I didn’t mean it like –”

“I’m presuming this means you have a ring, yes, Todd?”

If you weren’t already sat, you’re certain your legs would have given way underneath you. The room is spinning, you’re overwhelmed by the feeling of the world shifting on its axis and you can feel your heart vibrating in your throat.

You and Jason had never made any point of talking about marriage. It had come up casually, as it did in the conversations of most couples – but you had never had any particularly serious discussions about the subject. You, for one, had avoided it out of fear of spooking Jason, whom you’d already spent enough time coaxing out of his shell without potentially scaring him back in again. You had no idea that it was something that he was thinking about.

Of course, you wanted to marry him. From the moment he’d asked you to be his girlfriend, you’d known that he was the only option.

“One last time,” Dick’s voice tears you from your thoughts, grating like nails on a chalkboard. It sends a chill through your entire body and for a brief second you can envision what it would be like to be confronted by Nightwing on a bad day. “Codenames. I don’t care if you don’t think anyone is listening –”

“Funny you say that. Someone is listening.”

It’s a woman’s voice. That must be Babs.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Abort. Abort. Abort. Immediately.

If you thought the comm line had exploded before, this was an atomic bomb. It’s a cacophony, instantly. Not the casual chattering over each other of minutes prior, instead it’s angered shouts, concerned whispers and vehement speculations about who it could possibly be.

The last thing you hear when you drop the earpiece into the garbage disposal with a sickening clang is Jason’s concerningly enlightened ‘Oh shit’.

You’ve been lying in bed practicing pretending to be asleep for an hour when Jason finally peels through the bedroom window. It takes everything you can muster to regulate your breathing, steady your heartbeat and lay still enough to feign unconsciousness.

The telltale rustling of Jason pulling off his costume as quietly as possible is enough to make you let out a barely-there sigh of relief. There’s a fleeting sadistic pride that burns in your chest at the thought that you’ve fooled the mighty Red Hood.

“So, where is it?”

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.

Maybe if you don’t answer, he’ll just lay off –

“I know you’re awake.” You nearly jump up to the ceiling because he says it directly into your ear and you didn’t even hear him move from beside the window. Fucking vigilantes.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you borderline whimper, and abruptly realise if you were going to double-down you probably should have done it with a bit more authority.

“Really, sweetheart? That’s what we’re going with.”

You roll over ever so slightly, just enough to pull your face from the pillow. Jason’s eyes are practically glowing in the dark of your bedroom and his face is not even an inch from yours. He’s close enough that you can make out the ever so slight sweaty dampness of his hair, that you could trace the freckles and scars alike that are dotted across his face – you can also make out the unmistakable curve of his lips, upwards ever so slightly at the corner.

“Garbage disposal.” The words come out quicker than you thought was physically possible and could potentially be mistaken for the creaking of a door in a different context given the pitch of them. You’re not sure if you feel like a weight has been lifted off your chest or tied to your foot and subsequently flung into a river.

The silence is painful. Agonising. It’s too dark to completely make out Jason’s expression, his body completely still. You’re not even sure if he’s breathing.

And then he starts to shake, shoulders first, before the rest of his body follows. He collapses onto his side of the bed, jolting the mattress, and the vibrations are enough to confirm your suspicions. He’s laughing his fucking head off.

“You put it in the garbage disposal?” There’s disbelief lacing his words, and his own question only sets him off again. You throw a weak punch at his arm out of fear of him waking the neighbours.

“You’re not mad?” Your disbelief matches his own as you finally flip over to face him, now draped in the moonlight pouring through your bedroom window.

His laughter subdues, and he pauses contemplatively before sighing, “I probably should be. But, no, I’m not. I’d be a liar if I said I wouldn’t do the same fuckin’ thing.”

That’s the only signal you need to traverse the bed at break-neck speed, throwing yourself into Jason’s arms and burying your face into the crook of his neck. Without missing a beat, his arms come around to draw soft patterns up and down your back, and he lets out a relaxed hum of approval.

“I’m sorry about tonight, baby,” he won’t quite look you in the eye as he says it, and you can practically feel the guilt emanating off of him, “I know how much you were looking forward to it. We were looking forward to it.”

“Jay,” you sigh, raking a hand through his hair, “I love you. What you do makes you who you are, if I couldn’t accept that your aggressive vigilantism was going to have to come first sometimes, we wouldn’t be together.”

He presses a chaste kiss to your neck with a soft mumble, “I love you too. Too good f’me.”

“Shut up and go shower,” you giggle, shoving him away, “You stink, pretty boy.”

Jason feigns offense comically, drawing back with a scandalised grin and a shake of his head. You instantly feel the loss as he clambers out of bed, keeping your hands against him for as far as you can reach. There’s a quaint smile on his face as he begins to saunter over to the bathroom. God, you love this man.

“Jay?” You call, just before the bathroom door clicks shut.

“Yeah, princess?”

“I like your family. They seem nice.” You get little more than a grumble in response, and you’re not sure there were any discernible words in there to begin with as he pulls the door to again.

“Oh, and Jason?”

“Yeah?”

“You know that thing Steph said – uh, you know – about the mask?”

You can hear the echo of Jason’s forehead smacking against the doorframe through the wall.

microsoft word giving me italics is like Prometheus stealing fire and giving it to humanity - best believe its a power i'm going to abuse

"Jay"

"Jay"

Jason muttered something under his breath, but other than that his body remained where it was, lying bare-chested on his stomach along the mattress with his arms under the pillow and one leg bent. He continued to sleep, snoring as well, and you looked at him in surprise.

Unbelievable. You thought.

Jason always slept soundly, but was a light sleeper. A minimal shake on his body from you was enough for him to open his eyes in two seconds, always on the alert. But this time he didn't show the slightest sign of awakening, he was completely abandoned in the world of dreams.

You felt a little guilty that you were trying to wake him up, it must have been a long, hard night for him. But you had a strong urgent need that couldn't wait until tomorrow.

So you promised yourself that you would make him stay in bed sleeping all the following morning, to catch up on his sleep. And placing your hand on his muscular shoulder again, you gave him a couple more shakes.

"Jaay. Come on, wake up, please"

After seconds that seemed endless, you finally heard him take a sharp breath as his body slowly began to move.

"Mmh.. Baby, what is it?" he murmured, his voice thick with sleep, turning his head on the pillow towards you, keeping his eyes closed.

"I would really like some ice cream, can we go and buy some?" you asked him as if nothing had happened.

At those words your boyfriend slowly opened his eyes and furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.

"What...?"

"I thought we still had ice cream in the freezer, but i think you and Roy ate it all and we ran out of it. And i'm really craving some ice cream now, so i'm asking you to come buy it"

Jason rubbed a hand over his eyes to remove the fatigue that was weighing down his eyelids, even more confused by your explanation and tired from the lack of sleep.

"Wait, what are you... Ice cream? Sweetheart what-"

You watched your boyfriend turn away to pick up his cell phone, which was placed on the bedside table. The light from the screen that illuminated blinded him for a few moments and Jason squinted, noticing the time. It was almost one in the morning. Why the hell did you wake him up at almost one in the morning??

"Jesus, i thought something happened" he muttered in a mix of irritation and confusion, putting the phone back down.

Jason loved you madly, without question, but sometimes he just didn't understand you.

"I'm sorry Jay, i didn't mean to bother you" you muttered regretfully.

"'S okay, love" he replied with a sigh. "Why don't we go back to sleep, yeah? Don't think about that damn ice cream"

"But Jayyy"

Oh shit. Now you were even using your pleading voice. And within seconds Jason felt your warm hands resting on his naked back, followed by your face leaning over him, to look at him with puppy eyes.

"I seriously need some ice cream, i can't stop thinking about it" you whined. "I can't go back to sleep, please"

Jason closed his eyes to escape your pleading gaze.

"Baby no. Can we go to bed now, please?" he said sternly, but his tone didn't sound as decisive as usual. He was still tired, too tired.

"But what about ice cream?" you asked.

"It's almost one in the morning, we can't go get ice cream"

"But..."

Jason raised himself on his arms and you were forced to step back. And when you realized that he was changing position to turn around and give you his bare back, you looked at him in shock.

"Are you-"

"Yep" he interrupted you nonchalantly, rubbing his cheek on his pillow and making himself more comfortable. "I'm gonna go back to sleep and i suggest you do the same, because i'm not moving from here"

You pouted with puffy cheeks, even though he couldn't see it.

"Fine. Then it means i'll go alone"

"The supermarket is closed, you know it" he replied.

"The store down the street is open 24 hours a day though" you said then.

"Yeah there's no way in hell i'll let you go out alone at this hour"

"Come with me then"

"No sweetheart"

Jason heard you huff behind him and he let out a yawn, ready to go back to sleep. But suddenly he felt your hands rest on his skin again and with a delicate gesture you made him rotate towards you. Despite the darkness, Jason saw your puppy gaze again as you lay on his body with your hands resting on his broad chest.

"Pretty pleaseee?" you begged, like a child begs for candy from his mother.

Jason couldn't keep his lips from curling up in tenderness and automatically one of his hands went to rest on your hip. That was one of his favorite sights, the kind that made him want to fill your face with kisses (and do something else too) until the next morning.

But NOT in that circumstance!

Jason couldn't afford to fall into your trap! Not today. Nope. For fuck's sake, he was supposed to be the stricter one between the two of you.

So, looking straight into your eyes with the sternest expression he could muster, Jason made a decision.

"We are not getting ice cream"

"I hate you so much, you know that?"

You shamelessly ignored your boyfriend's words with an innocent smile, handing the bored cashier the coins to pay and then taking the packaged ice cream from the counter.

"Thank you very much, have a good night!"

You walked out of the store unwrapping your ice cream and Jason followed you with a prominent pout on his face. Once you finished unwrapping your late night snack, you discarded the paper and began to eat it, immediately biting back a moan at the sweet taste of it on your tongue.

"This is delicious" you turned to Jason, handing him the ice cream. "Do you want some, bub?"

"I just want to sleep" he complained, throwing his head back in (fake) despair.

You leaned in to give him a small, fresh kiss on the corner of his mouth.

"Thanks for coming Jay, i appreciate it. I love you so much"

Jason wrapped his arm around your shoulders to pull you into his body and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

"Mh, love you too baby" he murmured against your skin. "But you owe me an ice cream. And a looong nap"

You giggled, nodding without protesting. And while you held your ice cream with one hand, you wrapped your other arm around Jason's, which was covered by the large sweatshirt he was wearing and the hood lifted on his head.

You snuggled against his body and rested your temple on his arm, while he kept his hands in his pockets and together you started walking back home.

"That i can do. And i'll make sure to give you all the best cuddles in the world. You deserve them"

Their laughter lingered between them for another few moments before gradually settling into a comfortable silence. Outside, evening had begun painting warm reflections across the water while the steady murmur of passing conversations drifted through the open windows. 

Aang lowered his attention to the bowl resting before him, absently stirring the noodles with his chopsticks before taking another bite.

"Hmm..." he hummed thoughtfully after swallowing. 

"I really missed you, Katara."

The words came so naturally that they caught her entirely off guard. Her smile widened, though her surprise softened it.

"I missed you too, Aang."

He looked up immediately, meeting her eyes with the same open smile he had always worn whenever he was genuinely happy, and for just a moment, it felt strangely easy to pretend nothing had changed between them.

"So," she continued, breaking the silence, "how are things with Zuko? I'm curious why you keep going there. You're practically living in the Fire Nation these days."

The smile faded little by little, and Aang looked back down into his bowl, rolling the chopsticks lightly between his fingers before answering.

"Well..." The single word carried enough weight that Katara immediately understood.

"That bad?"

He gave a small nod.

"Yeah." He searched for the right way to explain it.

"I don't even know how to help him anymore," he admitted quietly. "At first I thought I did, but lately it just feels like...I'm standing in the middle of problems that don't really belong to me."

Katara rested her elbow lightly against the table, watching him carefully while he spoke.

"I guess I understand."

Aang looked toward her.

"If you weren't friends, maybe it'd be easier to stay out of it," she continued. "But you are friends and you're worried for him, and when people you care about are struggling..." She offered a small shrug. 

"...you don't really know how not to help."

"Yeah." The answer escaped almost automatically.

Silence settled again, though this one felt different from before. Aang continued absentmindedly eating, yet his thoughts were clearly elsewhere, his movements slowing enough that Katara noticed almost immediately.

She had spent too many years beside him not to.

"What is bothering you?"

He blinked.

"What?"

She smiled knowingly.

"Something's bothering you."

He looked momentarily confused.

"I thought it was about Zuko," she continued, "but I don't think it is anymore."

Aang avoided her eyes.

"Is it about Sokka?"

He shook his head. "No. Nothing's wrong."

Katara laughed quietly. "Oh, please."

He looked back up.

"I know your tells." That earned the faintest smile from him, though it disappeared quickly.

"Well..." He sighed.

She waited. 

"It's not...not about Zuko."

Katara simply nodded, giving him the space to continue instead of rushing to fill the silence.

Aang rested both chopsticks across the rim of his bowl before speaking again.

"I knew all of you probably wouldn't accept my wife right away."

The confession surprised her, prompting her to open her mouth in protest but close it immediately. He hadn't been wrong, and she hadn't realized he had expected it all along.

Before she could respond, he continued.

"I wasn't really upset about that." He rubbed absentmindedly at the back of his neck. "I figured everyone just needed time. You, Sokka, Toph...I knew you'd come around eventually because you're my family."

Katara felt something tighten quietly inside her chest.

"So..." Aang smiled faintly, though there was very little joy behind it now. "It actually felt nice that at least Zuko seemed to be genuinely happy for me."

The words landed harder than he ever intended making her lower her eyes in shame.

"I really am sorry we made you feel that way."

Aang didn't interrupt.

"We were surprised," she admitted honestly. "And I think we let that surprise get in the way of simply being happy for you."

He answered only with a small smile, not really dismissing the apology, but not verbally accepting it either. 

In his mind, she didn't have any reason to apologize, so he only gave that smile to let her know he wasn't angry.

She wished, strangely, that he had argued instead.

"I thought..." he continued after another moment, "that Zuko was just...being Zuko."

She looked at him curiously.

"You know...a little indifferent." He laughed softly. "He's always been better than the rest of us at accepting change once he decides to stop fighting it."

Katara couldn't help smiling.

"That's one way of describing him."

"But now I'm not so sure." Something in his voice made her expression change immediately.

"What do you mean?"

Aang hesitated.

"I don't want to assume the worst of him."

She remained quiet.

"But...?"

He frowned faintly.

"I've started wondering whether the only reason he offered to accommodate my wife was because he wanted to learn more about her."

Katara looked genuinely puzzled. "What makes you think that?"

Aang rested his forearms against the edge of the table.

"He said a few things to her. and it really upset her."

Katara watched him carefully.

"I know she tried to hide it from me," he continued quietly. "She didn't want another situation like the one with Sokka."

His expression softened almost immediately.

"Like that was ever her fault."

"What did he say?" Katara asked, leaning forward slightly, her elbows resting against the the table, mimicking Aang as she searched his face for an answer.

Only then did Aang seem to realize where the conversation had wandered. His eyes widened almost imperceptibly before darting back toward his untouched bowl, panic flashing across his features for the briefest moment. 

Until now he had been speaking without thinking, simply voicing the worries that had lingered in the back of his mind ever since leaving the Fire Nation, but the moment Katara asked that question he remembered exactly what those words had been about.

If he told her the truth, he would have to tell her that Zuko had questioned his feelings for her.

He couldn't do that.

"Just..." He hesitated, searching for something vague enough to satisfy the question without betraying anyone's confidence. "...just things that made her doubt herself. Her place beside me."

Katara watched him for another moment before the answer finally settled in. She understood immediately that he had no intention of repeating the conversation word for word, and despite her curiosity she respected it enough not to pry further. 

Leaning back into her chair once more, she offered him a small, reassuring smile.

"It's okay if you don't want to tell me." Her voice softened. "If you just needed someone to listen, then I'm here."

Aang returned the smile, grateful enough that the tension in his shoulders eased ever so slightly.

"Thanks."

For a while he quietly pushed the noodles around his bowl before speaking again.

"I really want to believe he was just curious," he admitted, frowning down at the broth. "I don't want to think he crossed a line. He's dealing with enough already. My marriage should be the last thing on his mind."

Katara listened without interrupting, waiting until he had finished before answering.

"If you're really that worried..." She paused, choosing her words carefully. "Then maybe you should bring her home."

Aang looked up.

"I know you wanted her with you," she continued, "but if she's constantly feeling like someone is trying to pry answers out of her, then I can't imagine she's very comfortable there. Zuko is our friend, and I know he doesn't always realize how he comes across, but sometimes..." She sighed quietly. 

"...sometimes he pushes because he thinks he deserves an answer."

"Yeah." his agreement came almost immediately. "Yeah, I think I will bring her back."

He finally reached for his glass of water, taking a slow sip before setting it down again.

"I don't think bringing her there was the right decision anymore. I just..." He rubbed absentmindedly at the back of his neck. 

"I felt awful leaving her alone, and I knew I had to be away from her for a while. It seemed like a solution."

Katara nodded patiently.

"I thought she'd enjoy staying there more than sitting by herself at home," he continued. "Even if I wasn't there with her."

"What makes you say that, Aang?"

The question stopped him completely.

His mouth opened before closing again just as quickly, every answer that came to mind dying before it reached his tongue. A nervous laugh escaped him instead, and he scratched awkwardly at his cheek.

"I...don't know."

Katara tilted her head.

"Aang?"

"It's..." He stopped again. "My wife...she's very similar to Zuko."

"Oh."

"Well, more like the way they were raised, it's very different from how the Air Nomad's lifestyle."

"I think I understand..."

"She tries to hide it, but I know she struggles with how I live. So I try to give her as much freedom as she wants. But she insisted to join me wholeheartedly. She turned vegetarian, she stopped drinking, she even asked to have the air acolyte clothing made for her."

"Why doesn't she wear them?" Katara asked genuinely, being reminded of how Aang and Sokka's argument had begun in the first place.

"I told her not to." He answered shyly.

"Why?"

"Because I knew she didn't want to. Despite everything that happened, she didn't want to leave her life behind, and her clothes were the only thing that tied her back to home. That's why I thought she might feel a little more at home in the Fire Nation."

Katara nodded, "What happened?"

Aang tilts his head. "What?"

"You said, despite everything that happened. What happened?"

"Oh, um..."

"I won't judge you or her," she assured him gently. "You know that."

"I know you won't!" he answered almost immediately, sounding far more flustered than he intended. "I know that."

He exhaled heavily, looking everywhere except at her.

"I just...I don't think you're the right person to tell."

The words escaped before he could stop them. The moment they did, he wished desperately that he could pull them back.

Katara's expression fell so quietly that anyone else might have missed it, but Aang knew her too well. He saw the hurt settle behind her eyes, and guilt crashed over him before she had even spoken.

"Wait—" He hurried forward slightly, shaking his head.

"I didn't mean it like that." His voice softened immediately. "Katara, you know I value your opinion. You mean so much to me."

He sighed, rubbing both hands over his face before forcing himself to continue.

"...and my wife knows that too."

Katara drew a slow breath through parted lips, understanding arriving quickly making lowering her eyes for only a moment before looking back at him.

"Aang..." Her voice had become quieter now. "I'm sorry if I made things more difficult."

"No."

The answer came instantly.

"No, Katara. Please don't apologize." He shook his head, his voice had almost become a whisper.

"This isn't your fault." He swallowed hard. "I'd never blame you."

His fingers tightened around the edge of the table.

"It happened because I was ignorant." His eyes remained fixed on the untouched bowl in front of him. "She knows I love her...but she just can't bring herself to believe it because—"

"Because of me?" Katara finished quietly. The words hung between them.

Aang didn't answer but his silence said enough. She looked away first, blinking rapidly while drawing another careful breath.

"Katara..." His own voice faltered now.

"I don't..."

She shook her head gently before he could continue. "Please."

When she looked back at him, her eyes had already begun to shine.

"Just say it, Aang."

He stared at her helplessly.

"Say what?"

"Whatever you've been trying so hard not to." A sad smile touched her lips.

"I'm tired of everyone walking on eggshells whenever your name comes up." She let out a quiet laugh that held no amusement. "I don't want you doing it too."

Her fingers curled loosely around the cup sitting in front of her.

"So...please. Just rip the bandage off."

Aang pressed his lips together, his chest tightening until it almost hurt to breathe.

"K-Katara..." His voice cracked before he could finish the sentence.

"I don't want to hurt you." He blinked hard, feeling his own vision blur. "I don't want you thinking I'm saying any of this because I pity you...or because I feel guilty."

He lowered his head.

"But everything I want to say sounds exactly like that."

Katara wasn't faring much better. She quickly brushed away the tears gathering beneath her eyes before folding her arms tightly across herself, steadying her breathing long enough to answer.

"I won't think that." Her voice had become small, though it never lost its certainty. "Just tell me."

Aang remained silent for another long moment before finally finding the courage to meet her eyes again.

"It isn't exactly a secret that I liked you, Katara."

A faint, almost embarrassed smile crossed his face.

"In fact, it was a lot more than a simple crush."

He let out a slow breath.

"I know, Aang."

Katara's answer came almost instinctively.

"I felt the same."

The moment the words left her mouth, both of them froze. Neither acknowledged what she had actually admitted. The confession simply settled quietly between them, too honest to be taken back and too painful to examine any further.

Aang lowered his eyes first.

"I'm so sorry if I've made you feel like I misled you all these years."

His voice had grown quieter now, stripped entirely of the uncertainty that had filled it moments ago.

"I never want to see you hurt." He drew a slow breath, his fingers curling together. "And I don't think I'll ever forgive myself for knowing that I was the reason."

Katara watched him silently.

"I know saying sorry doesn't change anything," he continued, forcing himself to meet her eyes again despite the tears beginning to blur his own. "I'm not saying it because I want to stop feeling guilty. If this is something I'll carry for the rest of my life, then...I will." 

A weak smile tried to form before disappearing almost immediately. "I just need you to know that I never wanted to hurt you."

She swallowed against the tightness in her throat.

"I know you didn't." Her answer came gently. "I know you would never hurt me on purpose."

She paused to steady her breathing.

"But you can't expect me not to be hurt, Aang."

"I know."

He didn't try to defend himself, only accepted her answer.

Katara lowered her eyes toward the untouched bowl in front of her, blinking repeatedly before speaking again.

"I promise..." Her voice caught unexpectedly, forcing her to stop as she hurriedly wiped beneath her eyes with the heel of her hand. 

She let out a quiet laugh through her nose, embarrassed by the tears that refused to stay away. 

"...I promise I don't have anything against your wife."

Aang remained silent.

"But when I looked at her..." She finally lifted her head again, her expression crumbling despite every attempt to keep it together. "...I couldn't stop thinking..."

Her voice barely carried the rest. "...that was supposed to be my life."

The words struck him harder than anything said all afternoon. He stared at her without speaking, his heart sinking further with every second she struggled to continue.

"I'm sorry." She laughed again, though this time it sounded painfully hollow. "I know that sounds awful."

"It doesn't."

She shook her head.

"I was so certain." Her eyes drifted toward the street beyond the restaurant window where strangers continued walking through the evening entirely unaware that her world had quietly unraveled inside four walls. 

"I was so certain of what my future looked like that when you came back married..." She stopped, pressing trembling fingers briefly against her lips before forcing herself onward. 

"...it felt like I'd lost a part of myself."

Aang's own eyes burned.

"And I couldn't even talk about it." Another tear slipped free despite her efforts. "Everyone pitied me."

She smiled bitterly.

"It feels pathetic being pitied over something like that."

"Katara..."

"I wanted to be angry with you. I really did." She looked at him then, her voice had steadied, though only barely.

"But how could I?" She shook her head slowly. "We never even talked about it."

Aang felt his chest tighten.

"I didn't think we had to." Neither accusation nor defense lingered within those words and Katara nodded.

"I didn't either." A faint laugh escaped her.

"I thought..." She smiled sadly. "I thought we'd just...know when the time was right."

"So did I." The admission came immediately, and Katara stared down at her hands resting upon the table.

"Now..." Her voice faltered once more. "...all I can think about is why I never said anything sooner."

Aang couldn't bear the distance between them anymore. Without thinking, he reached across the table, his hand coming to rest gently over hers.

"Katara..."

The contact lasted only a heartbeat.

She withdrew almost instinctively, pulling both hands back toward herself before covering her face entirely. Her shoulders trembled beneath the effort of keeping her sobs quiet, each shaky breath sounding smaller than the last while the evening carried on beyond the restaurant windows, indifferent to the grief unfolding inside.

"I keep wondering..." she whispered through her hands. "If I'd just told you..." Another breath caught painfully in her throat. 

"...if I'd said something before you met her..." She stopped. There was no answer to finish that thought, only another quiet sob.

Aang remained where he was, his hand falling slowly back into his lap, every instinct urging him to comfort her while knowing there was nothing he could possibly say that would lessen what she was feeling.

After another long moment, Katara lowered her hands just enough for him to see her face.

She managed the smallest smile, one that broke his heart all over again.

"I really am happy for you, Aang." Her voice remained fragile, but there wasn't a trace of dishonesty within it.

"I just..."

She paused to wipe her cheeks once more.

"I need some time."

By the time they stepped back onto the streets, the last traces of sunlight had long disappeared beyond Republic City's skyline, leaving hundreds of lanterns to bathe the roads in a warm amber glow. 

The city had always seemed most alive after sunset, and for the first time in years, Aang found himself walking beside Katara without feeling the weight of unspoken words pressing between them.

Neither of them spoke much.

The afternoon had taken more out of them than either cared to admit, yet strangely enough, both felt lighter for it. Nothing had truly been resolved, but at least they no longer had to wonder what the other had been thinking all these years.

They finally knew.

Katara slowed to a stop outside her house, turning toward him with the faintest smile.

"This is me."

Aang smiled back.

"Mhm."

They simply stood there, neither certain whether a hug would be appropriate anymore. The hesitation lasted only a heartbeat before Katara laughed softly to herself.

"See?" she teased, folding her arms loosely. "Now you've made things awkward."

"I did?" Aang asked, sounding genuinely surprised.

"You." She pointed accusingly toward him. "You overthink everything."

Aang rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

"I think we both do."

Katara couldn't argue with that.

"I guess we do." She admitted with a small laugh.

Another comfortable silence followed before she stepped closer, reaching out to squeeze his forearm gently.

"Go home to your wife."

There was no bitterness behind those words.

Aang nodded.

"I will."

"And don't worry about Zuko too much, I am sure he's over there boring your wife with his attempts of humor." Katara laughed.

Aang reciprocated it barely, still a little bothered by Zuko's last interaction with you.

"I hope so." He said, his voice soft.

"And Aang..."

He looked back.

"I'm glad we talked."

His smile softened.

"Me too."

She lingered another moment before finally disappearing inside, closing the door quietly behind her.

Aang remained standing where he was for a few seconds longer.

The conversation replayed through his thoughts, not with the heaviness that had haunted him before, but with an odd sense of peace. 

Things would not return to how they had once been, and perhaps they never should. They had both changed too much for that. 

Yet beneath all the complicated feelings, the years apart, and the futures that had taken different paths, she was still Katara.

His oldest friend.

He hoped that would always remain true.

He turned and began making his way back through the lantern-lit streets toward home.

He had barely taken another corner before something small and unexpectedly heavy slammed into the back of his head.

"Ow!"

The impact pitched him forward just enough to stumble, both hands instinctively flying upward in confusion before tiny arms suddenly wrapped around his face.

"Momo?!"

The winged lemur clung stubbornly to him, chirping furiously only inches from his ear.

"Oh, you're mad at me!" Aang laughed despite himself, trying unsuccessfully to pry the little creature away. 

"You were looking for me? I left you enough food! Did you actually finish all of it already?"

Momo answered with another series of indignant chirps, sounding deeply offended by the accusation.

"Okay, okay!" Aang protested between laughs. "I'm sorry!"

Instead of forgiving him, Momo flattened his ears and let out an even louder screech toward the night sky.

"H-Hey..." Aang frowned. "What's going on?"

Another sharp object collided squarely against the side of his head.

"Ow!"

Something fluttered frantically above him.

Tiny claws caught briefly in his sleeve before he reached upward on instinct, carefully wrapping his hand around the small messenger bird struggling to keep its balance.

"Oh..."

His expression immediately shifted.

"So that's why you were looking for me."

Momo chirped in agreement before finally releasing his grip on Aang's face, climbing down to perch around his shoulders instead while continuing to grumble beneath his breath.

Aang laughed quietly, scratching behind one of the lemur's ears.

"Alright, alright. I'm sorry you had to come find me because I wasn't home."

The bird answered with a patient chirp of its own, remaining perfectly still while Aang carefully untied the small scroll secured beneath its wing.

He frowned slightly.

"A letter from the Fire Nation?"

That was unexpected.

He had spoken to Zuko only yesterday before leaving for Republic City. Whatever business had required his presence here had already been discussed, and they both knew he intended to return within another day or two.

His confusion quickly gave way to another possibility.

Maybe it wasn't from Zuko at all. Maybe you had grown impatient after only one day apart.

The thought brought an unconscious smile to his face.

He could almost picture you insisting that one letter certainly wasn't excessive if your husband was away, regardless of how soon he planned to return.

Still smiling to himself, Aang carefully unrolled the parchment, and his smile disappeared almost immediately.

It wasn't your handwriting.

Instead, written neatly at the very bottom of the page, stood a single name.

Zuko.

A faint unease settled in his chest.

He lowered his eyes to the first line.

Then he read, and the blood drained from his face.

Aang, I regret that I must ask you to cut your visit to Republic City short. The palace came under attack shortly after your departure. Although the threat has been contained and those responsible have been apprehended, the circumstances surrounding the attack require your immediate return. Your wife was injured while under my protection. Before anything else, I want you to know that she survived. The palace physician has examined her thoroughly and assures me that her condition is stable. Her injuries are significant, but she has remained conscious, and I have every reason to believe she will recover with time and proper care. I know those words will not ease your mind, but I hope they spare you from imagining anything worse during your journey back. I will explain everything that happened once you arrive. There are matters surrounding the attack that I do not wish to entrust to a messenger bird, both for your sake and hers. I cannot adequately express my regret that this occurred within my palace, especially after I assured you she would be safe here. I accept full responsibility for that failure. Please return as soon as you are able. I am sorry, Aang. — Zuko

The parchment slipped from Aang's trembling fingers before he had even reached the final line.

"No..."

The whisper escaped him without thought.

His heart lurched violently against his ribs, every word Zuko had written crashing together until only one remained.

Your wife was injured...

He snatched the letter back up immediately, reading it again despite already knowing what had been said, his eyes desperately searching for something he might have misunderstood. 

Surely there had been another page. Surely there was some explanation hidden between the lines that would make this seem less frightening than it felt, but there wasn't.

You were hurt and his mind refused to stay still.

How badly had you been injured?

"A-Appa..."

The name barely left his lips before he was already running.

People called after him when he burst through the crowded streets, apologizing instinctively each time his shoulder brushed against another passerby, though he hardly heard himself. 

His thoughts remained hundreds of miles away, already searching desperately through every possibility, every route that might somehow shorten the impossible distance separating him from you.

It was still another full day's journey.

Spirits...

A whole day.

By the time Aang reached home, his thoughts had dissolved into a blur so overwhelming that he barely remembered unlocking the front door. He crossed the familiar rooms without stopping, his feet carrying him instinctively toward the balcony where the cool night air met him the moment he slid the doors open. 

Raising the whistle to his lips, he gave a sharp blow into the carved bison hanging around his neck, the clear call echoing across the quiet streets before disappearing into the darkness beyond the rooftops.

The silence that followed felt endless.

Unable to remain still, Aang turned back inside, his eyes immediately finding the two travel bags resting neatly beside the entrance exactly where he had left them that morning. He had packed them before leaving this morning, knowing he would be too tired to do it after he returned. 

One carried a change of his robes along with a few necessities for the journey ahead, while the other held several of your spare garments folded carefully inside.

He swallowed the feeling before lifting both bags and carrying them back onto the balcony just as a familiar shadow swept over the rooftops. Appa descended with grace despite his enormous size, hovering in front of the railing.

"There you are," Aang murmured, though the relief never reached his voice.

He secured both bags to the saddle with hurried hands before looking toward the winged lemur lingering anxiously behind him.

"Momo." The little lemur tilted his head. "Go on. Meet me downstairs."

Momo chirped once before springing effortlessly onto Appa's saddle, curling himself between the baggage while watching Aang disappear back into the house.

It took only a moment to lock the front door behind him.

Aang paused briefly with the key still resting in his hand, staring at the quiet home that had felt so warm only yesterday, before slipping it into his robes and hurrying back outside.

Appa was already waiting, the great sky bison lowered his head in greeting, letting out a deep, familiar rumble that usually drew an immediate smile from Aang.

Tonight, it only made his heart ache.

Aang crossed the remaining distance quickly, burying both hands into the thick fur along Appa's neck.

"We have to go."

Another rumble answered him, softer this time.

"Right now."

Appa nudged him gently, almost questioning the urgency.

Aang closed his eyes.

"Your mother..." His voice cracked despite every effort to steady it. "Your mother is hurt."

The words lingered between them.

Appa became completely still.

Perhaps he did not understand every word, but he understood enough. He knew your scent, your laughter, the gentle way your hands always disappeared into the fur beneath his horns whenever you greeted him after a long flight.

He knew exactly who Aang meant.

"I need you to fly faster than you ever have before," Aang whispered, resting his forehead against Appa's. "I know it's far, and I know you've barely had time to rest, but...please."

His hand stroked Appa's fur once, urgency bleeding through every syllable as he spoke.

Appa answered with a determined snort before lowering himself without another moment's hesitation.

Aang didn't waste another second.

He climbed onto his head in one practiced motion while Momo darted onto his shoulder, unusually quiet now, sensing the fear that had settled over his friend.

The messenger bird took flight once more.

Aang barely noticed.

"Yip, yip." The command came strained.

Appa surged into the night sky.

Republic City disappeared beneath them almost immediately, its countless lanterns shrinking into scattered stars while the cold wind rushed against Aang's face. His fingers tightened around the reins until they ached, every instinct urging Appa faster despite knowing the great bison was already giving him everything he had.

"Please..."

The plea vanished into the rushing wind.

"Just hold on until I get there."

Night had long settled over the Fire Nation by the time Zuko found himself seated upon the throne once more, though the title of Fire Lord felt strangely distant beneath the weight occupying his thoughts.  

His body remained where duty demanded it be, but his mind had stubbornly refused to leave your chambers.

He had expected relief after speaking with you, instead, he had walked away carrying even more uncertainty than before.

You had thanked him for his hospitality, accepted his apology.

And you had asked only whether Aang had been informed, and he was certain the Avatar must have received his letter by this hour.

Nothing more.

Nothing less.

Then, with all the kindness he had once admired in you, you had quietly dismissed him from the room.

The memory lingered unpleasantly.

Your politeness had unsettled him more than your previous anger had. Every careful word and measured smile, every attempt to steer the conversation elsewhere had made one thing painfully clear.

You truly wished to leave the previous night behind. To forget it had ever happened.

"My Lord?"

Zuko did not respond.

"Fire Lord Zuko."

The second voice finally reached him.

He lifted his head immediately, finding every minister seated around the table waiting in silence.

"My apologies," he said quietly, straightening where he sat. "I was elsewhere."

The council exchanged brief glances before one of the senior ministers leaned forward, spreading another map across the table until it covered nearly the entire polished surface. Several locations had already been marked in red ink, connected by thin strokes that crisscrossed the Fire Nation's coastline and reached farther inland than Zuko would have liked.

"As I was saying, Your Majesty," the minister resumed, his tone measured despite the gravity weighing beneath it, "we believe the assault upon the palace may not have been an isolated incident."

Another councilor nodded in agreement.

"The men apprehended after the attack possessed no insignias, no written orders, and no identifying marks upon their bodies. Ordinarily we would assume they were hired internally within our forces." His fingers rested upon one of the marked locations before sliding toward another. 

"However, the manner in which they coordinated their movements, their willingness to die without surrender, and the discipline they displayed suggest something...considerably older."

Silence settled over the chamber.

The older minister inhaled slowly before speaking the name none of them had wished to utter aloud.

"The Shinu bloodline."

The words lingered heavily between those present, no one immediately contradicted him.

"it seems our previous speculations might just be true, my Lord."

For generations, the Shinu clan had remained a blemish upon the history of the royal family. Though they had long ago surrendered their claim to the throne and publicly sworn loyalty to Fire Lord Zoryu's descendants, loyalty born from necessity rarely erased ambition. 

Every generation had produced whispers of resentment, of descendants who believed the crown should never have belonged to Zuko's bloodline in the first place.

Most of those whispers had died before becoming anything more.

Zuko rested both hands upon the edge of the council table, his thoughts finally pulling themselves away from your chambers and settling fully upon the discussion before him.

"We have no proof," he said at last, his voice calm despite the unease beginning to settle within him. "History is not evidence."

"No, but history often tells us where to begin looking." the minister agreed solemnly. 

The chamber fell quiet once more.

Zuko did not want to be prejudiced, especially after spending most of his life being on the receiving end of it.

He didn't want any accusations to be thrown towards the clan, even if their history together hadn't been the friendliest. But if he as a ruler was a stark contrast to his father, then he didn't want to rule out the possibility for someone else changing either.

But that alone can't be enough reason for him ignore the truth.  

Zuko lowered his eyes toward the map spread before him, studying the scattered markings without truly seeing them. 

He had spent years believing the greatest threat to his reign would always bear his father's name.

Now found himself wondering whether he had been looking in the wrong direction all along.

But there was a sense of dread within him, that perhaps his suspicions weren't entirely wrong. 

chapter fifteen coming soon...

a/n: guys...i have some bad news. :(

i can no longer guarantee an update every five days.

i've officially caught up to myself and run out of pre-written chapters, which means everything from this point onward is just rough drafts that i still have to write.

so...we're back to random updates 😭

hopefully i'll still have enough time each day to keep the updates fairly consistent, but i don't want to promise something i can't guarantee anymore.

some chapters might still come out within five days, some might take a little longer, and if the writing gods decide to be kind to me, maybe you'll even get back-to-back updates.

we'll just have to see how it goes. 🤍

also, addressing the chapter...

i don't know how i feel about aang calling you appa's mother 😭

it sounded SO sweet in my head, but when i actually wrote it, i just sat there staring at it like...hmm.

i still kept it because i think it's adorable, but i genuinely can't decide if it's really cute or really corny.

you all can be the judges of that one.

[taglist open] (please mention under the latest chapter or the story masterlist)

masterlist

❝ 𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓'𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔 ❞ first of all, i'd like to give credit to the incredibly beautiful jason artwork by @ciricearts and the dividers by @/chrisssiren. i'm so happy because this blog just hit 100 followers, yeee!! the idea for this fic came from the awful grade i got in business math... but at least i managed to recover it in the end. anyway, i hope you enjoy! ꈍ ꈍ ੭っ

𝐉𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐎𝐃𝐃 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐍 the type to sleep much. years spent living on the streets, combined with all his training and his life as a vigilante, had taught his body to snap awake at the slightest sound. even after his longest patrols, his brain stubbornly refused to let its guard down.

but last night's patrol had been different. harder. he'd taken more hits than usual, fallen from a considerable height, and thrown more than a few guys into walls. by the time he'd made it back to your apartment, it was already a little past 3:00a.m. he'd barely managed to peel off his gear before collapsing into bed beside you.

when jason finally woke up, it was already 11:00a.m. he stretched lazily beneath the blankets, hugged the pillow against his chest, and glanced at the clock on the nightstand to make sure he wasn't imagining the time. the ceiling fan spun overhead with a soft, steady hum. the bed was warm, comfortable, and smelled like you. and he trusted you with his whole heart. under those circumstances, sleep came easy.

he reached across the mattress, patting your side of the bed, only to find it empty. the bedroom door was closed, and no sounds drifted in from the rest of the apartment.

sitting up, he rolled his shoulders, wincing as sore muscles protested and a few joints cracked pleasantly. then he lifted an arm, caught a whiff of himself, and grimaced. he'd been so exhausted last night that he hadn't even showered. you deserved better than that, he thought. the bare minimum was being a clean, decent-smelling boyfriend.

jason climbed out of bed, grabbed the towel you'd left out for him, and headed for the bathroom. warm water poured over his aching body, easing the soreness from the previous night's patrol while washing away sweat, grime, and dried blood. once he was done, he pulled on nothing but a pair of gray sweatpants and stepped out with damp hair still dripping onto his shoulders.

the moment he entered the living room, he found you sitting on the floor with your back resting against the couch. an open laptop sat in front of you, a lecture video paused on the screen. around you lay an overwhelming sea of open textbooks, notebooks, highlighters, scattered pens, and one oversized mug of coffee.

jason knew your finals were right around the corner. he also knew how seriously you took your education. it was one of the things he admired most about you.

walking over, he bent down and gently ran a hand through your hair "morning, pretty girl. sleep well?" you closed your eyes for a brief moment, leaning into his touch before immediately returning your attention to the page in front of you.

"morning, baby. i did. what about you?" you asked without looking up from the book. "there's fresh coffee. i bought your favorite jam yesterday, it’s in the cabinet if you want some." a small smile tugged at his lips. he left you to your studying.

in the kitchen, jason poured himself a mug of coffee, tossed a couple slices of bread into the toaster, cracked a few eggs into a frying pan, and helped himself to the jam you'd mentioned. sitting on one of the counter stools, he ate in comfortable silence, stealing occasional glances in your direction with a faint smile.

once he finished, he gathered the dirty dishes and carried them to the sink. last night's dinner plates were still stacked there, so he organized everything in what he considered the most efficient way before washing each plate, fork, and glass in an order that probably only made sense to him.

meanwhile, you were losing your mind over one particular subject. it had never been your strongest class, but you were far too stubborn to settle for a mediocre grade. with a heavy sigh, you let the textbook fall into your lap and glanced toward the kitchen, where your boyfriend stood at the sink with his back turned to you. and holy shit. he was gorgeous.

his hair was still slightly damp from the shower. his broad, bare back flexed with every movement, showing off defined muscles marked by both old and fresh scars, along with bruises earned during the previous night's patrol.

your eyes drifted lower. his sweatpants hung low enough to reveal those little dimples above his hips. and jason's ass? absolutely perfect. round, firm. infuriatingly nice. your boyfriend was undeniably stunning.

but you didn't have time to admire him, you had a damn exam to study for. you picked your textbook back up and tried to focus. tried. because every few seconds, your head seemed to turn on its own, your eyes instinctively finding jason all over again.

now he was putting dishes away in the cabinets, completely oblivious to the absolutely starving beast — you, to be specific — watching him from across the room.

you forced yourself to look back at your books. only to lose your place again. and again. you'd forget what you'd just read, lose your train of thought, and have to start the entire page over.

jason still had his own apartment, but the two of you had been together long enough that spending several days at each other's places had become completely normal. you had a section of your closet reserved for his clothes, just like he'd made room for yours at his place.

at this point, it honestly felt like you both had two homes. this was already jason's fifth day staying over. technically, the two of you hadn't spent much time together. he'd been busy with patrols, and you'd been buried under assignments and exam prep. still, for jason, simply crawling into bed beside you at the end of the day was enough to quiet his mind and make him happy.

because of your finals, the apartment had gotten a little messy. you were under so much pressure and juggling so many responsibilities that some chores had inevitably been pushed aside. but jason had been staying there all week too, the mess wasn't yours alone. so he decided to take care of it. that way, you'd have one less thing weighing on your mind.

he started by sweeping the apartment, deliberately avoiding the vacuum cleaner so the noise wouldn't interrupt your studying. afterward, he grabbed the mop and started cleaning the hardwood floors, adding a pleasantly scented cleaner that slowly filled the apartment with a fresh, comforting smell.

from your perspective, it was heaven. jason todd, all 6’0 tall, shirtless, muscles shifting beneath his skin as he quietly went about household chores without complaining once. god, you found competent men so unbelievably sexy.

almost instinctively, you brought the pen you were holding to your mouth, absentmindedly chewing on the cap as the textbook lay completely forgotten in your lap.

you looked him over again. this time from the front. your gaze wandered from his broad chest, down over his sculpted abs and the happy trail that, truthfully, made you very happy indeed.

then your eyes dropped a little lower, and you noticed something. jason had apparently pulled on his sweatpants without bothering with underwear. now, as he pushed the mop across the floor, his very well-endowed friend swayed ever so slightly beneath the fabric, leaving very little to the imagination.

a quiet, disbelieving laugh escaped you before both hands flew up to cover your face. seriously… how were you supposed to study when your boyfriend looked that unfairly good?

the worst part? he genuinely seemed to have no idea what he was doing to you. you took a sip of the coffee that had long since gone cold and inhaled deeply. focus. you could not fail this class.

with a little of your self-control restored, you grabbed your notebook and resumed the lecture you'd been watching before jason woke up. maybe listening to the professor while taking notes would be enough to keep your attention where it belonged.

it worked, for a while. right up until jason walked back out carrying an overflowing laundry basket with one hand as if it weighed absolutely nothing. his expression was as calm as ever, and the flex of his arm made every muscle stand out beneath his skin, veins tracing along his forearm.

you followed him with your eyes until he disappeared into the laundry room. a long sigh slipped past your lips as you let your head fall back against the couch. why was watching him do laundry so attractive?

a few minutes later, he returned, and you could hear the washing machine starting its cycle somewhere in the background. focus. you tried again. you pulled your notebook closer to your face, hugged your knees to your chest, and turned the lecture volume up, silently hoping your professor's irritating voice would annoy you enough to kill the mood.

the plan fell apart the second jason came back carrying a feather duster. watching him move from shelf to shelf, stretching, crouching, balancing an entire stack of books in one hand before placing every single one back exactly where it belonged… that was enough.

you paused the video. screw it. the study session was already doomed anyway. at that point, getting soaked with a bucket of water hardly mattered when you'd already jumped into the pool.

you stretched your legs out, rested one arm along the couch, and propped your head against your hand. then you simply watched him. completely shamelessly. your imagination filled in the blanks faster than you could stop it.

eventually, jason seemed to notice your stare. he turned around and met your eyes. his gaze flickered briefly toward the abandoned books and notebooks scattered around you before one corner of his mouth curled upward. raising an eyebrow, he smirked "babe... shouldn't you be studying?"

"oh, i absolutely should," you admitted with a shrug. "seriously. i bombed my last exam." a mischievous smile slowly spread across your face as you kept staring at him. "and may i ask why you aren't studying?" jason asked, already sounding suspicious.

"because..." you paused dramatically, running your tongue across your lips. "study is important..." another deliberate pause "but biceps are importanter."

silence. then jason burst out laughing. "you little pervert!" he accused, pointing a finger at you. "were you seriously checking me out?"

"this is entirely your fault," you shot back without missing a beat "how am i supposed to focus on studying when there's a ridiculously hot vigilante with a body sculpted by the gods cleaning my apartment shirtless and commando?"

jason blinked. then looked down. only then did he realize exactly how obvious the outline beneath his sweatpants was. he pressed a hand dramatically against his chest, feigning offense "so you're admitting, without a shred of shame, that you've been shamelessly thirsting over my body while i was completely innocent and blissfully unaware?"

your grin only widened. crooking a finger, you beckoned him closer. jason didn't hesitate, he walked over immediately before crouching in front of you, leaning in until your faces were only inches apart. "yes," you confessed softly "i absolutely was. i was staring shamelessly."

"not even a little embarrassed?" he murmured, his smile growing as he leaned even closer. "not even a little." your arms slipped around his neck as you closed the remaining distance, meeting his lips in a slow, lingering kiss.

when you finally pulled away in search of air, you tilted your head slightly "thank you, baby." he looked at you curiously "i've been so overwhelmed thinking about finals that i didn't even realize how cluttered everything had gotten."

jason's expression softened immediately, his thumb brushed gently across your cheek "you don't have to thank me. you're taking care of school. that's your job."

"but you didn't have to do all this, you know." he answered with a quick peck before meeting your eyes again, his voice completely serious "yeah, i did. your job is to take care of school. my job..." his smile turned impossibly gentle. "...is taking care of you."

your chest tightened, a lump formed in your throat. it was such a simple sentence, but it was exactly what you needed. to be taken care of. you pulled him into another kiss before whispering against his lips, "then let's go to the bedroom," a teasing smile tugged at the corners of your mouth "and take care of something else, too. i've been missing a few things."

In the hopes of not startling him, you make sure when you slide the window open it makes that familiar squeak to alert him. His shoulders tense up at the sound, but when he glances over and sees you slipping through the window to join him, they ease back down. You take the spot next to him sitting criss-cross to take up as little space as possible. 

You’ve learned the quickest way for Jason to shut down is to push him to talk, so you patiently wait for him to say something—if he says anything at all—first. You look up at the sky in hope to see the brightest of stars shining down on you, but the light emanating from Gotham drowns them all out.

“I thought I lost you.” 

Your attention shifts from the night sky to narrow in on Jason. Tilting your head in obvious confusion as you ask, “What do you mean? I’m right here.”

“It’s stupid but I—I had a nightmare.” He mumbles it so quietly like he’s ashamed of the fact that something he deems so childish could have him so shaken up. 

It’s now that you notice the mild tremor of the unlit cigarette still held between his middle and pointer. You reach over, removing the cigarette from his grasp, and softly intertwining your fingers against his calloused grip. His hand still shakes, but less so now that you’ve extended a silent lifeline. “Do you want to talk about it?” 

He waits so long to respond, that you think he chose to ignore your question, before finally, “Everything that happened to me… it happened to you instead.”

The sinking you felt earlier is nothing compared to the anchor of emotions that now weighs you down at the thought of him being stuck in inner turmoil. You don't say anything, just squeeze his hand in support for him to continue if he wants. 

“The Joker got to you instead of me. I was forced to see you get beat and tortured to death, when it was supposed to be me. I was stuck watching him give you all of the scars that weigh me down—the J he carved into my cheek, was engraved on yours.” He takes a shaky breath. “All that pain happened to you and I couldn’t make it stop. I can’t stop hearing your screams and pleading.

“Then the dream shifted from that fucking warehouse to your grave. Nobody was doing anything, they all just stood there, but I figured because I came back then so would you, so I dug. I thought—hoped you’d still be alive, so I clawed through the dirt till my fingers were bleeding but there wasn't even a casket. You were just… gone.”

That's when he finally glances over at you for the first time, and the lights from the city dimly reflect the two tears that have run past his cheeks, gathering at his jaw. You carefully uncross your legs, and swing one over so you're straddling his lap. His hands automatically come to rest on your hips, his grip tighter than normal, like he’s making sure this is real and he's not still stuck in the dream.

You lift your hands to wipe the tears from his face, but as another one makes a new path in its place, you quickly wipe that one away too. You gently take one of his hands away from your waist to place it against the steady beat of your heart. “I’m right here, baby. My heart is beating and nothing happened to me.”

“But the feelings are lingering. I still feel the fear and helplessness I did in the dream when I couldn’t save you.” His voice breaks slightly and his forehead drops to your chest. “I’m sorry. I'm so sorry.”

“Jay, honey, it's okay. It wasn’t real. None of it was real, okay? I'm here in your arms, safe.” You run your fingers through his hair, gently trying to coax him to lift his head again. 

“You’re never gonna be safe with me, though.” 

“That’s not true.” You lift his head up, and he looks more like a sad puppy than the intimidating Red Hood that makes grown men cry. “I’m safer with you than I could ever have been. I mean you literally had Tim install tracking on every device I own, and on my purses. It took a lot of pride for you to ask Tim for a favor, but you did for my safety. I text Duke close to everyday and get coffee with Cass every Thursday. Damian randomly shows up to our apartment when the manor becomes too much and Dick invites us over for dinner twice a week. And like it or not, Bruce is the Batman. You can’t get much safer than literally being surrounded by vigilantes on a daily basis.” 

He doesn’t say anything, just stares at you, so you continue talking. “I get nightmares too sometimes. Ones of you dying on patrols, Dick knocking on the door saying that you won’t come back this time, and having to live without you. I get those too, but then I look over and you're fast asleep drooling on the pillow.” You add the last part in with a soft smirk on your lips. 

“I don’t drool.” He says rolling his eyes, but you already heard the slight huff of laughter that came from him. 

“Debateable.” 

His gaze turns solemn again. “I just—I can’t live without you. I can’t.” 

“And you won’t,” you whisper against his skin before pressing a kiss to his temple. “Because most of all, I’m surrounded by you, Jason Todd. You’ve always shown up every time I’ve needed you and I know that no matter what, I have nothing to worry about, because you’ll show up. I’m not going through this life without you either.”

His hand gently cups the back of your neck and brings you to rest your forehead against his. “Can we stay like this for a while longer? I need to know this is real.” 

You nod, pressing a barely there kiss to his scarred cheek. “We can stay out here as long as you want, Jay. I’m not going anywhere.” 

He pulls you impossibly closer to him, and you bury your face in his neck, trying to steal as much of his warmth as you can. You feel your eyes getting heavy from waking up at such an odd time in the morning, but just as you’re about to fall into sleep again, you faintly hear, “I love you,” followed by a kiss to your forehead.

Clark’s always teasing you. 

He’s always making jokes at your expense, smiling coyly and commenting on whatever comic you’re reading now, leaning over your shoulder to read and laughing when you get flustered. It’s a routine for him, something he’s grown used to during your shifts together.

More than that. It’s comforting. It helps him get through the day even when he’s late from Superboy-ing around, helps him keep even after he’s gotten lectured by the boss for the umpteenth time. 

Except you’re not here today. 

He noticed your absence immediately, and had already asked around about you only for your boss to shrug his shoulders and say you weren’t coming in today. Clark had tried to ask more questions but the boss just brushed him off, sending him to the back to bag and board more comics.

Still, even as he dives into what was usually his favorite task, Clark can’t stop thinking about you. He misses you, really. Misses your laughter when you tease him, the way you huff and cross your arms over your chest and mutter a quick, ‘that’s not funny’.

His shift drags on, the little texts he sends to you throughout the day going unanswered. It only makes him worry more—what could possibly be going on that you don’t have your phone?

He doesn’t even bother to go home after work, instead, he’s on his way to your place. He’s nervous, flying instead of walking because he can’t shake the feeling that something is horribly wrong with you. That you need him.

It’s a small victory that your living room window is unlocked, though Clark finds no comfort in that. Isn’t he always telling you to lock up tight?

He swallows it back, persisting into the warmth of your living room and locking the window behind him. He calls your name, noticing the distinct emptiness to your house.

You don’t answer.

He calls out for you again, footsteps light as he makes his way into the hallway. Still, there’s no answer. Clark’s frown only deepens.

He knocks gently at your bedroom door. “Hey, you in here?”

No answer.

He pushes it open, slow and careful so as not to walk in on anything he shouldn’t, only to find you laid out in your bed. You’re curled up in a ball, buried under so many blankets that Clark can barely make out your form.

He calls your name again, voice softer this time. You stir slightly, arms curling in to rub at your eyes. 

You blink into the darkness. “CK?”

He cringes at the sound of your voice—all scratchy and dry, sounding like every syllable hurts you. He catches a glimpse of you with his xray vision, frowning when he notices the spike in your temperature.

Sick, he realizes. You’re sick.

“What’re you—” You cough, clearing your achy throat, “what’re you doing here?”

“Was in the neighborhood, just thought I’d check in and all.”

You squint, trying to decipher the expression on his face through your bleary eyes. “Neighborhood? You live seven blocks in the opposite direction.”

“Nevermind that.”

You prop yourself up, body aching in protest, and kick away some of the blankets. You’ve been like this all day, completely laid out in your bed, in pain and hoping for a respite.

“You didn’t come into work today,” he leans against the doorframe. 

A pained smile comes to your dry lips. “You were worried.”

“I was not.” 

“Worry not, Clark.” You shiver slightly, the cold seeping in from the cracks in your blanket. “It’s just a cold.”

“You’re shivering.” 

“I’m aware.”

“Do you need anything? Have you even eaten today?”

You shake your head, a sheepish look on your face. “Didn’t want to get up,” you admit, defeated. “Body hurts so bad.”

He pauses, thinking back to what he needed when he was sick as a kid. Gingerale, plain crackers, cough syrup. A cold cloth on his forehead and someone to tell him he’d be okay. His heart sinks at the thought of you sitting here alone all day.

“What about water? Medicine?”

Again, you shake your head. Clark bites back the urge to tease you, to ask if you were just planning on dying alone in here.

“Hang tight, alright? I’ll be right back.”

It’s a half hour before Clark returns, a plastic bag hanging from his arm. You’re already half-asleep again, curled under your pile of blankets and somehow still shivering.

Your eyes open at the familiar click of your lamp flickering to life. “Clark?”

“Mhm, just me,” he says, rifling through the bag and unpacking its contents onto your nightstand. “Brought you some stuff.”

Pressing a gentle hand to the small of your back, Clark helps you sit up in bed, propping you up against your headboard. His hand lingers on the warm fabric of your shirt.

“First things first: drugs. And sorry, not the fun kind.”

You laugh a little, ribs aching horribly. Clark grabs the water he brought you off your nightstand and brings it to your lips. You swallow a big gulp before he replaces it with his palm, two blue pills resting against the skin.

You tip your head back, swallowing the pills despite the searing pain they bring to your throat. You wince, and Clark’s lips purse into a frown.

“I brought you some ginger ale too,” he gestures to the shiny green bottle on your bedside table. “And there’s lots more medicine.”

“Thanks, Clark.”

He pulls away, the sudden lack of his warmth leaving you cold. A shiver rolls through your body, limbs shaking as you desperately draw them inwards in an attempt to conceal your warmth.

He gets one step away from the bed before turning back to you. “Are you sure you’re not gonna die without me?”

“Y-yeah,” you say, but you’re shivering so badly it comes out as a stutter.

“Do you always have to be so stubborn?”

You’re too tired, too cold and too sick to think of a retort, though Clark yearns for your usual snarkiness. He sighs, kicking off his shoes.

“W-what are you doing?”

“Staying.”

You look at him with glassy eyes. “You’re gonna get sick.”

He flexes a bicep, flashing you that playful grin. “Kryptonian physiology, do your worst.”

You sigh, relaxing back into your pillows and watching as Clark shuffles over to the other side of your bed, lifting a corner of your comforter—buried under half a dozen throw blankets—and sliding under. He reaches an arm out to you, the warmth of his skin already radiating through your bed.

“C’mere.”

“You don’t—don’t have to.”

He rolls his eyes. “I’m not gonna sit here and let you freeze to death, work would be so boring without you.” 

Among other things, he thinks, though he doesn’t dare say it out loud.

You roll into him, letting his strong arms draw you into his chest. The scent of his deodorant and body wash is just strong enough to seep through your congested nose, the scent a comfort to you. You rest your head against his shoulder, the shivering that’s plagued you slowly fading away.

Clark holds you tightly, resting his own chin above your head, trying to cover as much of your body as he can with his. Slowly, he feels your breathing even out, feels the tenseness of your muscles fade, feels you fall asleep in his arms.

He waits, holding his breath for minutes until finally, he can’t take it anymore. “Sleep well, angel,” he mumbles, brushing his lips over your scorching hot forehead.

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"I still feel some discomfort, though considerably less than before."

His face softened with relief as he heard you speak of your improving condition.

"I am glad." He said earnestly.

Silence followed his words, and you found yourself staring toward the open balcony rather than the man standing several feet away, suddenly becoming acutely aware of how difficult it had become to look at him directly. 

Only yesterday, you had spoken with him for hours without thinking twice. Now, merely meeting his eyes felt like a sin.

"If that was all..." you began carefully, hoping he would understand the dismissal, but unfortunately, Zuko seemed determined not to.

"If there is anything you require, you need only ask." He added, eyes still trained on your face, waiting for your head to turn so he could meet your gaze as he spoke to you.

You gave nothing but a polite nod, having no intention of prolonging this conversation.

Sadly, Zuko appeared to possess entirely different intentions.

"My guards informed me of the items lost during the fire. I apologize that most of your belongings could not be recovered."

The apology drew your attention back toward him, though you kept your gaze averted.

"It is quite alright. The things I cared about most survived." The answer seemed to ease some small portion of his guilt.

"I am glad to hear it. Although..." His attention shifted briefly across the room. "I feel terrible regarding your clothing. I had one of my guards arrange replacements while something more suitable could be prepared."

You finally met his eyes when you spoke—

"Oh. I did receive them." You confirmed, but something about your tone prompted concern in him.

"Is there an issue?"

You almost laughed because the situation itself felt absurd.

"I cannot accept them. It would not be appropriate."

The confusion upon his face lasted only a moment before understanding finally arrived. 

He followed your line of sight toward the two racks occupying the far corner of the chamber and immediately understood the source of the misunderstanding.

The rich fabrics, embroidered collars and unmistakable Fire Nation tailoring woven throughout every piece.

They were beautiful.

And they belonged to a nation you did not.

"Oh." The realization seemed to embarrass him. Now he feared you may have misunderstood his well intentions when he himself never selected those garments.

"I am sorry. It must have been all they managed to acquire on such short notice."

"It is hardly a matter worth troubling yourself over."

"It is." The answer came quickly, at it surprised you.

"I should have considered how it would appear."

"You do not need to have new clothing prepared for me."

"Please." His voice softened.

"It is the least I can do after the—"

The sentence died, his own interruption lasting no longer than a heartbeat, yet it was enough for you to speculate exactly which word had nearly escaped him.

You lowered your eyes before he could see your agitation.

Across the room, Zuko recovered quickly to alter the course of the sentence.

"—fire."

The correction arrived too late for it to be convincing, but you didn't dare acknowledged it.

After a moment, you cleared your throat and forced yourself to focus upon something considerably safer than the direction your thoughts had begun drifting toward.

"If it would not be too much trouble, perhaps a few robes could be prepared after all."

The request seemed to surprise him and you continued before he could misunderstand.

"Something simpler would suffice. Preferably robes resembling Air Nomad attire. It would save your tailors unnecessary work, and I imagine my husband would appreciate not returning to find me dressed as a member of the Fire Nation court."

You attempted to make light of the situation, unable to gauge whether Zuko had any intentions to discuss what had transpired between the two of you, and you remained hopeful that he could let it pass just as you had.

In your own train of thought, you failed to notice how the mention of Aang altered something within Zuko.

"Of course," he answered after a moment. "I shall see to it personally."

The conversation faltered once more, neither of you seeming capable of finding another subject that did not eventually lead back toward things best left untouched. Zuko inclined his head politely, taking a step toward the door.

"Then I shall leave you to rest."

You nodded.

"Thank you."

He turned.

The distance between the door and his departure amounted to only a handful of steps, yet when he reached it, his hand settling against the handle, he found himself pausing despite every intention of leaving.

His questions remained there, the same questions that had followed him throughout the night and well into the morning.

Part of him wanted to ask.

Yet another part looked back toward the bed where you sat recovering from a fresh wound hidden beneath layers of bandages, and found himself unable to burden you with a conversation that would undoubtedly complicate everything further.

You needed rest.

The matter could wait.

At least that was what he told himself.

"Um..."

The hesitant sound interrupted his thoughts immediately and he turned around far quicker than he intended.

"Yes?" The response escaped instantly.

"Have you wrote to Aang yet?"

The question struck him in a manner he had never felt before.

Of course that would be your concern.

Aang.

"Yes." He said, his voice perfectly calm.

"I sent a messenger bird while the physician treated you. He should receive word by this evening and, with Appa at his side, I imagine he will arrive tomorrow night."

You sighed, nodding gratefully, relieved to know that Aang would be at your side soon enough

"I see. Thank you." 

The simple answer carried enough gratitude to make him wish, however briefly, that you had asked him something else.

"There is no need."

This time, when he turned toward the door, he didn't halt, and you watched him leave, letting out the breath you had been holding onto for dear life.

Zuko closed the chamber doors quietly behind himself and remained standing there for a moment , staring at the carved wood before eventually forcing himself onward through the corridor.

He found himself walking away with more questions than when he had entered, and the worst part was that he had lacked the courage to ask.

Aang had reached Republic City shortly after dawn.

The journey back from the Fire Nation had left a dull ache settled within his bones, one he scarcely noticed until the familiar outline of the appeared beyond the morning mist. 

When Appa landed, the city had only just begun stirring awake. 

Merchants were still arranging goods outside their shops, fishing boats drifted through the harbor, and the first ferries crossing the bay carried workers beginning another ordinary day.

Aang had no desire to begin his own quite yet.

After ensuring Appa was settled, he made his way home and collapsed onto his bed immediately, fully intending to close his eyes for only a short while. 

The plan failed exactly as expected.

By the time he awoke, the afternoon sunlight had already begun filtering through the windows in broad golden streams.

His council obligations remained merely an hour away, leaving barely enough time to prepare himself properly. 

He took a quick bath, shaving his head as well as the stubble that had accumulated, leaving him looking considerably more presentable than he had.

He hastily consumed the porridge he had prepared for breakfast, having just enough energy to whip up a single serving.

Momo received his attention first.

The lemur greeted him indignantly, accepting fruit from his hands only after making his displeasure abundantly clear. 

Aang apologized repeatedly for having fallen asleep before he could feed him, which seemed to satisfy him enough to prevent further complaints.

Appa proved more difficult to locate.

The sky bison had wandered away from he had left him, and Appa possessed an unfortunate tendency to follow food whenever it became available.

Aang found him eventually near one of the grazing fields, and the bison's company caused his steps to slow.

Katara stood beside Appa, one hand resting against the bison's broad neck while speaking quietly to him despite knowing perfectly well that he understood only a fraction of what she said. 

A few feet away, Sokka held an entire crate of cabbages, feeding them one by one to a very content Appa who seemed thoroughly convinced the arrangement should continue indefinitely.

The scene felt familiar, dating back to his memories that belonged to their childhood.

For a moment, Aang simply watched them, the wind coming from the bay carried Katara's hair gently behind her while Sokka argued with Appa over whether he deserved another cabbage after already consuming half the crate.

Appa disagreed.

Strongly.

"You already had six."

The sky bison let out a low grumble.

Aang couldn't help the smile tugging at his mouth, and that was when Sokka noticed him.

The amusement vanished from his expression immediately, replaced by a far more awkward one.

Katara turned a second later and the tension in her shoulders eased the moment she saw him standing there.

"Hey, you made it." She greeted him, her hands moving from Appa's body as she turned to face him.

"Just barely." He mused, approaching the three of them as he gave her a smile.

Katara returned it.

Then his attention shifted toward her brother.

"Hey, Sokka." The awkwardness returned instantly.

"Hey."

Neither sounded particularly convincing, the exchange lasting barely a moment, yet it carried the weight of weeks.

Things still weren't entirely the same even after Sokka had apologized.

They had done everything friends were supposed to do after a fight, the wound remained nonetheless.

Aang had even been grateful for the things that had been said between the two of them that night, but he still found himself remembering every cruel thing Sokka had said about you. 

He still remembered standing on that balcony fighting the urge to walk away before he said something equally unforgivable in return.

Part of him understood why Sokka had reacted the way he did.

Another part remained angry anyway, because regardless of intentions or concern, regardless of whatever fears had motivated the argument in the first place, Sokka had hurt you immensely, even if they had meantto hurt him.

Aang could forgive insults directed toward himself with remarkable ease.

You were another matter entirely.

Unfortunately, friendship rarely permitted people to remain angry forever, especially when the other person looked so thoroughly uncomfortable standing beside a sky bison holding half a cabbage in one hand.

"So..." Sokka cleared his throat. "How's married life?"

Aang immediately regretted approaching them at all.

Aang had followed Sokka onto the balcony after dinner without argument, waiting until the doors slid shut behind them before crossing the short distance toward the railing. 

The city stretched beneath them in a sea of lanternlight, the evening air carrying distant laughter and music from the streets below, though neither seemed particularly inclined to appreciate it. 

His attention drifted back, looking through the framed glass set into the doors. 

Katara and Zuko hadn't moved from where they were, near enough to the entrance that their concern was almost amusing, both pretending not to watch while very obviously doing exactly that. 

Toph appeared considerably less subtle, lounging comfortably in her chair with her arms folded behind her head, no doubt listening to every word despite the wall separating them. 

Your lonesome presence drew his attention too. You remained seated apart from the others, fingers folded neatly within your lap while you attempted to make yourself smaller.

The sight alone was enough to sour his mood all over again.

"Listen, Aang..." Sokka's voice finally pulled him away from the apartment. His friend rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly before leaning against the railing beside him. 

"I'm sorry about what I said earlier."

Aang remained quiet.

"I mean it," Sokka continued when no response came. "I said some things I shouldn't have said, and I didn't mean to hurt you."

The apology lingered between them for a moment before Aang finally spoke.

"This apology should go to my wife."

Sokka blinked.

"What?"

"You heard me."

"Aang, come on." A short laugh escaped him, but it carried no real amusement. "I wasn't even talking to her. I was mad at you."

"Do you think I'm not going to tell her about this?" Aang asked, finally looking at him. "You said it. She deserves the apology."

Sokka stared at him for a moment before letting out an exasperated groan.

"You love her that much?"

The question immediately put Aang on edge. "What exactly is that supposed to mean?"

"I don't know!" Sokka threw his hands into the air. "That's the problem. I don't get it."

Aang frowned.

"What don't you get? The fact that I met someone and fell in love? Is that something I wasn't supposed to do?"

"That's not what I mean." He groans.

"Then what do you mean?"

Sokka looked away, gathering his thoughts before trying again.

"I mean she's a stranger to us, Aang. You can't seriously expect everyone to trust her immediately."

"But she's not a stranger to me."

"That's not the point."

"I love her, Sokka. I trust her." The answer came more sharply than he intended. "I love her, Sokka. I trust her."

The conviction behind those words left little room for argument.

Sokka simply stood there staring at him. Then he sighed heavily and tried a different approach.

"How long have you known her?"

Aang hesitated, inhaling sharply before admitting—

"Six months, I think."

The answer nearly made Sokka choke. Somehow, he managed to keep his reaction contained, just barely though.

"Six months?" he repeated slowly.

Aang nodded as Sokka looked distressed.

"Spirits."

"What?"

"Nothing."

"It doesn't sound like nothing."

Sokka pressed a hand against his forehead.

"It sounds insane, Aang."

Aang rolled his eyes at that.

"Did you bring me out here just to argue?"

"No! Seriously, Aang." Sokka pointed at him. 

"You disappear for months, come back married, tell us you've only known her for half a year, and somehow I'm the crazy one for asking questions?"

"We fell in love."

"That is not an explanation."

"We did what felt right."

"See?" Sokka immediately pointed again. "You keep doing that."

"And what am I doing?" Aang frowned, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Answering questions without actually answering them."

Aang scoffs at the accusation . 

"Toph knows you're hiding something, she told me you lied yesterday." Sokka continued. Aang didn't react. He had been very careful with his words, but he had an inkling Toph of all people would sniff them out.

"We didn't tell Katara, but I'm sure even she knows something isn't right."

The mention of Katara immediately drained whatever irritation remained from him, the guilt taking over him again.

Sokka noticed, and the frustration faded from his expression.

"I don't mean this in a bad way..." He hesitated. "But she's not forcing you into any of this, right?"

The question caught Aang so completely off guard, he looked so offended by it, Sokka regretted asking anything.

"What?"

It was too late now.

"I'm serious." Sokka pressed on.

"Of course not. I asked her to marry me, and she said yes" Aang answers frustratedly. 

The answer seemed to satisfy that particular concern, though not much else.

"You're really not going to tell us anything, are you?" he asked after a moment. 

Aang looked out over the city instead.

The silence was answer enough and Sokka groaned.

"See? This. This is exactly what I'm talking about."

"So what if we're hiding something?" Aang asked quietly.

The question surprised him enough to stop talking.

"If there are things we're not saying, then we have our reasons. You're my friend, Sokka. That should be enough."

Something in his voice caused Sokka to pause, because beneath the frustration and defensiveness sat something else.

"When Toph said you lied yesterday," Sokka said after a moment. "I thought something was wrong. I really wasn't trying to offend her."

"Then you should've taken it out on me."

The answer came immediately.

"Bringing her into it was too low. Even for you."

The guilt upon Sokka's face was immediate.

"Yeah, I know."

When he noticed Sokka's voice finally ease off, some of the tension left his shoulders.

Then a thought crossed his mind.

A very stupid thought, one he couldn't quite stop himself from asking.

"Is that really the only reason you got so mad?"

Sokka frowned.

"What?"

Aang looked away.

And Sokka suddenly realized they hadn't been arguing about the same thing at all.

He stared at him for a moment, confusion gradually giving way to understanding. Following the direction of Aang's attention, he glanced through the balcony doors and immediately found Katara amongst the others. 

She appeared occupied with whatever conversation Toph had dragged her into, though every so often her attention wandered back toward the balcony.

"Oh."

The realization settled quickly.

Aang let out a quiet breath.

"I thought you were mad because of her."

The confession sounded strangely vulnerable coming from him. making Sokka simply look at his friend before he sighed.

"I mean...yeah." He rested both forearms against the railing and looked out across the city lights stretching beyond the apartment. 

"I'd be lying if I said I wasn't upset about that too. She's my sister, Aang. It's not exactly easy watching her get her heart broken."

It might not have been his intention, but those words struck Aang painfully. Aang lowered his head slightly, guilt settling heavily within his chest again.

Part of him had known, yet hearing it spoken aloud somehow made it real in a way he had never acknowledged before.

Katara had loved him.

Sokka seemed to notice the effect his words had produced because he immediately continued.

"But Toph's right."

Aang glanced toward him.

"Katara's my sister, and I'll always be protective of her, but whatever happened between the two of you isn't really my business." He shrugged. "I can be upset about it, but that doesn't mean I get to decide who she loves or who you marry."

For a few moments, neither spoke.

Aang found himself staring absently at the railing beneath his hands before asking the question he had been avoiding.

"Was she really heartbroken?"

Sokka immediately understood, considering his answer carefully.

"Wouldn't you be?" he asked quietly. "If you were in her place?"

Aang let out something halfway between a sigh and a groan before dragging both hands down his face in frustration.

The answer had been obvious, still, hearing it made his stomach twist.

"I was scared to see her again."

The admission surprised even him, and Sokka blinked.

"Why?"

Aang laughed softly, having no real humor behind it, only a thorough sadness.

"Because..." He hesitated, struggling to put years of complicated feelings into something coherent. 

"Well...I loved her."

Sokka's expression softened immediately.

"Yeah. We all saw it, Aang."

Aang stared out toward the city.

"That's why this whole thing confused everyone so much. From our perspective, eight months ago you still looked completely in love with her."

The guilt returned immediately, it seemed to follow every thought lately.

Every memory.

Every mention of Katara.

"Is it normal?" he asked after a while. "For feelings to change that quickly?"

Sokka frowned.

"What do you mean?"

Aang shrugged helplessly.

"I don't know." His fingers tightened slightly around the railing. "I feel guilty about it sometimes. One day I was thinking about Katara, and then..." A small smile appeared despite himself. "Then I met her."

Even now the thought alone made his chest feel lighter.

"It happened so fast," he admitted. "I barely noticed it happening."

For several moments, Sokka simply stared at him, then he awkwardly patted his shoulder.

"Wow."

Aang groaned immediately.

"Stop."

"No, wait." Sokka rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm just trying to figure out how to explain this."

Aang waited.

Eventually, Sokka spoke again.

"It's not like you stopped loving Katara."

The statement confused him, and if he was being truthful, it scared him.

"What?"

Sokka leaned back against the railing.

"I love Suki."

There wasn't even a hint of hesitation behind the words.

"I really love Suki."

Then Sokka smiled faintly.

"But that doesn't mean I stopped loving Yue."

Aang's expression shifted immediately, the comparison clearly hadn't occurred to him.

"She's someone I'll love for the rest of my life."

"But..." Aang began before stopping himself, but Sokka already knew what he wanted to say.

"I know."

His voice softened.

"I know it's different."

For a moment, his thoughts drifted toward the girl who had become the moon, toward the first person he'd ever truly loved.

"Yue isn't here anymore."

The old ache remained, and frankly, it always would. Yet it no longer consumed him.

"It wasn't like I fell in love with Suki because Yue was gone," he continued. "And it wasn't like loving Suki erased what I felt before."

Aang remained silent, listening as Sokka shook his head.

"I think that's where I was being a hypocrite. I'm sorry."

The admission felt strangely relieving.

"I spent all this time acting like your feelings had to stay exactly the same forever, but that's not how people work." He looked toward the apartment behind them briefly before continuing. "If you loved Katara, then you loved Katara. If you fell in love with your wife afterwards, then you fell in love with your wife."

The answer sounded ridiculously simple.

Yet somehow it eased something inside Aang that had been weighing on him for months.

"I think it's okay that your feelings changed," Sokka said quietly. "And I was wrong to act like they shouldn't have."

"As for Katara, she'll be fine. I mean, she's a badass." Sokka smiled, looking proud of at the though of his sister.

"You shouldn't feel guilty for loving someone. If you love her, then do it completely; it's not fair to your wife."

The meeting had concluded nearly an hour ago, and the discussions that inevitably followed any council gathering had delayed their departure considerably.

By the time Aang and Katara finally emerged from the council building, the afternoon sun was at the highest peak, it having barely begun its gradual descent across Republic City. 

"You know," Katara began, adjusting the satchel hanging from her shoulder as they descended the broad stone staircase together, "you really do not need to attend every one of these meetings anymore."

Aang glanced toward her.

"I don't?"

A smile touched her lips.

"No." 

"You say that now, but what if you need me?" Aang added with a smile.

"I mean it." She stepped around a pair of council clerks carrying stacks of documents before continuing. 

"The restoration projects are moving along smoothly, the Air Acolytes have become more organized than ever, and after ten years of listening to you discuss every possible improvement for the temples, I think I can manage a meeting or two without your supervision."

Aang chuckled softly.

"It isn't about supervision."

"No?"

He shook his head.

"I just like knowing how things are going."

Katara looked unconvinced and Aang understood why. Truthfully, she probably knew the unspoken reason better than anyone.

The Air Temples had become his life's work in many ways. Every restored mural or relic recovered from forgotten ruins felt like another small piece of his people being returned to the world. 

Even after all these years, he found it difficult to step away entirely.

There was another reason too, one he kept to himself.

With everything currently happening within the Fire Nation, Zuko had been unable to attend several council matters recently despite remaining deeply invested in the city's future. 

Whenever Aang sat through one of these meetings, he often found himself making a mental note of things to relay later. He knew his friend well enough to understand that his absence did not lessen concern.

"I'm glad you came, though."

Katara's voice interrupted his thoughts. Before he could respond, she slipped the satchel from her shoulder and extended it toward him.

Aang accepted it automatically, immediately noticing the unexpected weight settling against his hand.

His brows lifted.

"What is this?"

A faint trace of satisfaction appeared on Katara's face.

"Open it."

The response made him suspicious. Carefully adjusting the strap around his wrist, he loosened the satchel and peered inside.

Confusion hit him first, then curiosity, then his face morphed into one of concern.

Several small objects rested within layers of protective cloth; fragments of carved stone, aged scroll cases, decorative pieces fashioned in the unmistakable style of the Air Nomads.

Aang looked up immediately.

"Where did these come from?"

"The Eastern Air Temple."

The answer did little to ease his concern, those temples were sacred for him. It had taken him years to even let the Air Acolytes settle in the Southern Air Temple.

Even now, decades later, he found himself uneasy whenever strangers ventured too deeply into places that had once belonged solely to his people.

Katara seemed to recognize the hesitation almost instantly.

"No one was digging through sacred chambers, Aang."

His expression must have betrayed him.

"We found them during restoration work near one of the outer structures." She paused briefly before adding, "And before you ask, this was Sokka's idea."

Aang blinked.

"Sokka?"

"He thought you would like the surprise."

That explained quite a lot.

"He supervised the entire recovery himself," Katara continued. "Every piece was catalogued before being transported. Nothing was damaged."

The concern gradually eased from his features.

Carefully, he reached into the satchel and lifted one of the smaller objects free.

The piece fit comfortably within his palm, though worn by time, faint traces of traditional Air Nomad carving remained visible along its surface.

He simply stared at it, thinking how it most likely it had once belonged to an ordinary monk whose name history had forgotten long ago.

His fingers tightened slightly around the relic before he carefully returned it to its place.

When he finally looked up, gratitude lingered plainly within his expression.

"Thank you."

The sincerity behind the words made Katara smile.

"You should probably thank Sokka."

"I'll do that too."

They continued walking after that, moving along one of the quieter paths overlooking the harbor.

"I have actually been considering expanding the Air Acolytes."

The admission came almost absentmindedly, spoken while Aang adjusted the satchel beneath his arm and continued down the path beside her. A faint smile lingered across his features, the sort of expression Katara had come to recognize whenever his mind drifted toward the future of Air Nomad culture.

"Oh?" She glanced toward him with visible surprise. "You're willing to take even more? The last time we spoke about it, you were turning people away."

Aang laughed softly.

"I know."

For years, Aang had remained almost impossibly selective regarding who could become an Air Acolyte.

"I only wanted people who genuinely ready to leave their lives behind and start anew," he explained after a moment, his fingers brushing absentmindedly against the strap of the satchel. 

"A lot of people loved the idea of being an Air Acolyte until they realized what it actually meant. The discipline, the lifestyle, the responsibility of preserving a culture they didn't grow up with. More than a few changed their minds once the reality of it settled in."

Katara nodded.

She remembered. There had been years where Aang seemed almost afraid to hope, afraid that every new acolyte would eventually leave.

"But now?" she asked.

Aang's smile softened.

"Now it feels different. There are people who genuinely want to learn," he continued. "Not just because I'm the Avatar. They want to understand who the Air Nomads were. They want to preserve our teachings. They want to help keep those traditions alive."

His voice lowered slightly as Katara listened quietly.

"It took me a long time to realize that preserving my culture doesn't mean doing it alone."

"What changed your mind?" she asked gently.

Aang laughed again, though this time there was a faint trace of embarrassment behind it.

"I talked about it with my wife." He rubbed the back of his neck.

The answer made her blink.

"Really?"

Aang nodded.

"And I realized I was being stubborn."

Katara could not help the laugh that escaped her.

"Well, you were."

His groan followed instantly.

"I know."

"You spent years acting as though every person interested in Air Nomad culture was secretly trying to ruin it."

"Can you blame me?" Aang shook his head, though he was smiling now, and Katara found herself smiling as well despite everything.

After a while Katara nudged his shoulder lightly.

"You should head home."

Katara spoke lightly. The council meeting had consumed most of their energy and after spending the better part of the previous night crossing half the world on Appa's back, Aang looked far more tired than he appeared willing to admit.

Aang nodded absentmindedly. "I probably will."

The answer immediately drew her attention. It was the word probably that made her glance toward him.

"Probably?" she repeated.

Aang's mouth curved into a smile.

"My wife isn't exactly home."

That earned a look of confusion.

"Where is she?"

"The Fire Nation."

Katara's pace slowed slightly before she caught herself. "The Fire Nation?"

Aang nodded, adjusting the satchel resting against his side. 

"I've been spending so much time there lately helping Zuko deal with everything that's been happening that he eventually offered to let her stay at the palace rather than leave her alone every time I had to travel."

Understanding gradually settled across her features.

"Oh. That was nice of him."

"Yeah."

Aang merely shrugged, though there was unmistakable gratitude behind the gesture. Whatever difficulties currently plagued the Fire Nation, Zuko had gone out of his way to welcome you. 

Although, there been a some doubt in his heart about Zuko's intentions after what you told him, Aang knew his friend well enough to understand that such consideration did not come naturally to everyone.

"So you'll be heading back tonight?" Katara asked. Aang considered the question briefly before shaking his head.

"Probably tomorrow at dawn. Appa deserves some rest first."

Katara nodded. That seemed reasonable. The poor sky bison had likely flown farther in the last two days than most people traveled in months.

"Then would you like to come by for lunch?" she offered. "You've spent most of the last day traveling, and judging by the fact that you're still standing upright, I assume you've forgotten to eat properly again."

Aang looked almost offended.

"I was actually planning on going out anyway."

Katara looked toward him curiously.

"Oh?"

A grin slowly appeared across his face, carrying the same boyish energy that somehow never seemed to disappear no matter how much older he became.

"Would you like to come with me?"

She studied him for a moment, attempting to determine whether it would be okay to do so. Things felt like they were finally back to normal, sharing this conversation like the thousands they had shared before.

Eventually she smiled.

"Sure."

chapter fourteen coming soon...

a/n: i know a lot of lovely readers do come to my inbox after reading the chapters, and i promise to get to them as soon as i can ~(>_<。)＼

[taglist open] (please mention under the latest chapter or the story masterlist)

masterlist

Surely something like that did not happen entirely without reason.

Zuko hated himself for wondering it.

You had been vulnerable. Injured. Exhausted beyond reason after reliving some of the worst moments of your life for hours while your husband remained miles away. You had found yourself in an unfamiliar palace surrounded by strangers, carrying pain that still had not fully settled inside your own body, and he understood all of that perfectly well. 

He repeated those facts to himself countless times throughout the night in hopes they might silence the dangerous hope surfacing beneath them.

Perhaps that was why you asked him to stay, since any familiar kindness would have sufficed.

And yet, some part of him still wanted to believe otherwise.

That realization alone left him feeling ashamed that he could scarcely bear sitting with it.

After Mai, after everything between them had finally crumbled beneath years of distance and exhaustion and becoming entirely different people from who they once were, Zuko had never truly allowed himself to feel deeply for anyone again.

At first, he convinced himself it simply required time.

Then time passed.

Six years of it.

Six years spent ruling a nation still healing from war while advisors reminded him repeatedly of duties extending far beyond politics. A Fire Lord required stability, a wife, children. 

An heir capable of continuing the royal line. 

Those conversations surfaced so frequently within council meetings that eventually they no longer sounded invasive at all, merely inevitable.

And it was not as though he had refused trying.

Over the years, he had met many women worthy of admiration. Intelligent women. Kind women. Beautiful women whose company he often enjoyed enough to briefly consider whether one of them might finally become enough for him to stop searching altogether.

Every single time, however, he reached the same miserable conclusion.

He was not falling in love. He was attempting to settle.

The plan always sounded reasonable in theory. Find someone suitable, someone capable of understanding the demands tied to the throne. Affection could come later, that love itself did not necessarily need arriving first.

That had been his logic for years.

Uncle Iroh, however, always recognized the truth before Zuko himself wished admitting it.

"You are trying to convince yourself that loneliness and peace are the same thing." His uncle had once told him quietly during one particularly exhausting evening within the palace gardens.

At the time, Zuko dismissed the words entirely, but now they returned to him with irritating clarity.

The truth was, he had wanted the search to end.

He hadn't stopped believing in love entirely, but he had grown tired of waiting for something that never seemed to arrive naturally for him. He wanted certainty. 

Something stable and permanent enough that he could finally stop questioning whether he was meant for that kind of happiness at all.

Marriage frightened him more than he ever admitted aloud.

Fatherhood even more so.

There existed nights where he still woke hearing Ozai's voice inside his head clear enough to leave him staring at the ceiling until sunrise, terrified of how easily cruelty could become inherited when left unchallenged long enough.

Yet despite all of it, despite every fear lingering inside him, he trusted himself enough to believe he would never become that man.

Because Ozai had not been the only example of fatherhood within his life.

Uncle Iroh had loved Lu Ten with gentleness Zuko still remembered vividly years after his cousin's death, and despite the grief of losing his own son, he had continued extending that same patience and care toward Zuko afterward too.

Perhaps that was why the realization consuming him tonight felt so dangerous, because for the first time in years, hope had returned to him.

The thought should have comforted him, but instead, it unraveled everything further.

Zuko sat motionless behind the desk, his fingers pressed against his temple leaving faint marks against his skin. Scrolls remained scattered untouched before him, reports awaiting signatures long forgotten beneath thoughts far heavier than politics or court matters.

The more he thought about your story, the less certainty he found within any conclusion.

You had not loved Aang when you married him.

You respected him, even trusted him. Felt grateful toward him. But love itself had come afterward.

The horrifying circumstances surrounding that marriage, despite how premature and desperate the arrangement initially appeared, it had still become real. Somewhere between your grief and his kindness, you and Aang had found something genuine enough that even now, long after hearing you speak of him, Zuko could still feel the shape of your love for the Avatar lingering painfully within every word.

Which meant his own idea had not been foolish after all.

Marriage can come before love.

That was how it had always worked for most people, particularly within noble households and royal families. Duty preceded affection, because for them, compatibility came first. 

Love followed afterward if one proved fortunate enough.

Aang's marriage to you stood as proof of that.

Yet the thought brought him no satisfaction whatsoever, because the moment he leaned too far toward that conclusion, another voice surfaced immediately afterward within his mind.

Uncle Iroh's.

"Love should not feel like resignation, Prince Zuko."

For years, his uncle had insisted that Zuko approached relationships incorrectly, it wasn't because he lacked the capacity for love, he simply searched for practicality before emotion every single time. 

He treated companionship almost like diplomacy, something negotiated carefully rather than something truly felt.

Perhaps Uncle Iroh had been correct.

But if that were true, then what of you and Aang?

Zuko exhaled sharply before dragging both hands down across his face in frustration.

No matter how he approached the thought, the contradiction remained.

If Uncle Iroh stood correct, then perhaps love could not truly be built afterward from mere kindness and circumstance alone.

Yet Aang undeniably loved you.

Zuko had seen it himself.

The patience in Aang's voice whenever he spoke to you. The instinctive way he protected your dignity even during conflict. The softness surrounding him each time he thinks of you.

That love existed unquestionably.

Which should have settled the matter entirely.

Instead, it only worsened the storm consuming his thoughts.

Because if Aang's marriage proved Uncle Iroh wrong, then that meant Zuko himself had wasted years searching for something that perhaps never needed existing beforehand at all.

And if Uncle Iroh still remained right—

Then what did that imply about Aang's marriage?

The thought disturbed him enough that his head dropped forward harshly against the desk with a dull thud echoing through the study.

He remained there, forehead pressed against scattered parchment while frustration twisted tighter and tighter within his chest.

Even entertaining the possibility of Uncle Iroh being wrong felt deeply unnatural to him.

Absurd, almost.

There had been moments throughout Zuko's life where entire nations doubted his uncle's judgment, where generals dismissed him, where nobles mocked his gentleness, where Ozai himself viewed compassion as weakness, yet through every terrible turn within Zuko's life, Uncle Iroh had somehow remained the one unwavering certainty he trusted entirely.

So if his uncle remained correct here too—

Then perhaps Aang still had not truly loved you in the way Zuko imagined.

No.

The denial surfaced immediately.

That conclusion felt false the moment it formed.

Aang loved you.

He loved you so deeply that hearing you speak of him left the air inside the room altered somehow. Zuko could still hear it within your voice, feel it threaded through every memory you shared.

The realization should have ended his spiraling thoughts there, but, another surfaced immediately afterward.

...Did you love Aang the same way?

Zuko shut his eyes briefly at once, disgust striking him almost immediately for even allowing himself to think it.

After everything you told him. After the way you spoke of your husband. Questioning your love for Aang felt cruel.

But, the kiss remained.

No matter how desperately he tried rationalizing it away beneath exhaustion and grief and vulnerability, the memory still lingered stubbornly within him. You had not recoiled immediately. You had leaned toward him too. Your lips had remained against his for one unbearable suspended moment before reality finally shattered across both of you.

Why?

The question returned endlessly.

Because yes, people made mistakes.

People sought comfort while wounded.

But still, why had you kissed him back?

The sharp knock against the study doors shattered the spiral of Zuko's thoughts before he could sink any deeper into them.

He straightened from where he sat behind the desk, one hand dragging quickly across his face. 

The doors opened without waiting for permission, revealing Grand Chamberlain first, parchment clutched tightly beneath one arm while tension stretched visibly across his aging features.

Uncle Iroh followed shortly behind him as he paused the moment he crossed the threshold.

His expression softened instantly at the sight before him, and Zuko knew precisely what he must look like.

Still dressed in yesterday's robes, hair poorly tied back after hours spent dragging restless fingers through it, exhaustion settled heavily beneath his eyes while untouched reports remained scattered across the desk before him in complete disarray.

"Lord Zuko," Iroh said gently, concern threading naturally through his voice, "surely you have not remained here the entire night."

Zuko's brows furrowed faintly at the title.

He had never grown accustomed to hearing it from his uncle.

Most days, Iroh remembered. Sometimes the formalities slipped in front of ministers or council members, though Zuko always hated the strange distance it created between them.

Still, he merely exhaled quietly before answering.

"It appears I have."

Iroh's expression turned increasingly troubled at that admission, though before he could continue, Grand Chamberlain stepped forward hurriedly.

"Was my message to the Avatar sent out?" Zuko questioned.

"Yes, it should reach him by nightfall." He answers before continuing.

"My lord, we have concluded preliminary questioning regarding last evening's attack upon the upper eastern district and—"

"Perhaps, the Fire Lord might appreciate a hot meal and a bath before beginning state matters at sunrise." Iroh interrupted smoothly, his tone remaining pleasant despite the unmistakable warning beneath it.

Grand Chamberlain faltered immediately.

"Of course. I merely thought—"

"It is fine," Zuko cut in quietly before the older man could begin apologizing further. 

"Continue."

Truthfully, he welcomed the interruption.

Anything capable of pulling his thoughts away from your chambers even briefly already felt preferable to remaining alone with them.

The Grand Chamberlain inclined his head respectfully before unrolling the parchment held beneath his arm.

"The attackers carried markings associated with the Shinu clans stationed along the western caldera settlements." he explained carefully. 

"Three separate prisoners bore ceremonial burns matching records from the old noble registries predating Fire Lord Sozin's consolidation of the throne."

Zuko's expression darkened slightly. So his earlier suspicions had not been entirely unfounded.

The Shinu bloodlines.

One of the oldest surviving noble factions within the Fire Nation, descendants of rulers who, centuries ago, had nearly ascended the throne themselves before the royal line of the Fire Lords established dominance permanently. 

Though stripped of significant influence generations prior, remnants of the clan still held wealth and political standing across several outer territories.

And resentment.

There had always been resentment, quiet enough to remain manageable under previous rulers, yet never fully extinguished.

"Their grievances have increased considerably throughout recent years," The Grand Chamberlain continued cautiously. 

"Particularly among traditionalists unsettled by Your Majesty's reforms concerning the colonies and trade alliances with the Earth Kingdom."

"A kinder Fire Lord invites challengers." Zuko murmured flatly.

Neither man answered immediately because the truth lingered too plainly.

Zuko had spent years undoing fear, and to some within the Fire Nation, that alone resembled weakness.

"The timing remains suspicious nonetheless," Iroh spoke at last, his voice calm yet thoughtful beneath the flickering torchlight. 

"The Shinu clans have complained for decades. Open rebellion does not suddenly emerge overnight without encouragement."

The Grand Chamberlain nodded stiffly.

"We considered that possibility as well. There are concerns another faction may be using the clan's existing resentment to disguise a larger operation."

Zuko leaned back slightly within his chair, exhaustion pressing heavily against his skull once more.

"Internal?"

"Potentially," He admitted. "Though we lack sufficient evidence presently."

Silence settled through the study. The attack itself disturbed Zuko less than the precision behind it.

The rebels had known exactly where to strike. Exactly when palace security would thin surrounding the festival routes. Even the explosion near the southern bridge had occurred with enough accuracy to delay reinforcement units without collapsing the structure entirely.

Someone had informed them, or someone had guided them.

"I want the prisoners questioned personally," Zuko said finally.

The Grand Chamberlain straightened immediately.

"Yes, Your Majesty. Shall I prepare the underground chambers?"

Zuko nodded once.

"And arrange escort rotations along the lower corridor entrances. No one enters without direct clearance."

"At once."

The Grand Chamberlain bowed deeply before departing hurriedly from the study, parchment still clutched against his chest while the doors shut heavily behind him.

The silence returning felt entirely different.

Zuko remained staring toward the scattered documents across his desk before Uncle Iroh finally spoke again.

"Are you certain you wish to do this yourself, Prince Zuko?"

The title settled warmly against him in a way nothing else had throughout the entire night.

"I need answers," Zuko replied quietly.

"You need rest first," Iroh corrected gently.

Zuko let out the faintest breath through his nose. "That too, apparently."

A small smile finally touched Iroh's face , though concern still lingered heavily within his eyes while he studied his nephew carefully.

"You carry too many things alone, and you always begin believing exhaustion is discipline instead of injury." he said softly.

The older man had always possessed an irritating ability to notice unrest before Zuko himself wished acknowledging it aloud, and tonight proved no different.

Zuko lowered his eyes briefly toward the papers scattered across the desk.

"There is...something else." He admitted at last.

Iroh remained still. Then gently he spoke—

"What troubles you, Prince Zuko?"

The title nearly undid him more than the question itself.

Because suddenly he did not feel like the Fire Lord sitting inside a cold study burdened beneath politics and personal dilemmas. For one fleeting moment, he felt young again. Sitting across from the only person who had ever consistently remained patient enough to guide him through his worst moments.

And that was precisely why the confession left him before he could reconsider it.

"I kissed her."

The words landed heavily within the quiet room and Iroh did not react immediately.

Still, Zuko caught the slight stillness entering his uncle's posture all the same, as Iroh finally exhaled softly through his nose.

"I see."

The calm response worsened the shame clawing through Zuko's chest.

"It was not intentional," he said quickly. 

"At least—not entirely. We were speaking for hours and she was injured and exhausted and—" His jaw tightened faintly.

"And vulnerable," Iroh finished gently.

Zuko fell silent.

The truth within that single word settled painfully.

"She spoke about Aang," He continued more quietly after a moment. 

"About everything that happened before they married. And then..." He stopped briefly, visibly struggling to explain.

"It just happened."

Iroh listened patiently without interruption.

"She asked me to leave immediately, she looked horrified." Zuko admitted, the humiliation within the memory still fresh enough to leave bitterness coating his tongue.

"And you?"

Zuko let out a humorless breath.

"What do you think?"

Iroh's expression softened faintly.

"Zuko. Moments born from exhaustion and closeness can confuse even very wise people." He said carefully

Zuko's eyes narrowed faintly at that.

"You think that is all this was?"

"I think, you are trying very hard to convince yourself this moment carried certainty when in truth it carried pain." Iroh answered gently,

The words struck harder than Zuko wished admitting, and immediately, instinct rose within him to argue.

"But feelings do not appear from nowhere. People do not simply—" Frustration interrupted him briefly before he forced himself to be calm. 

"She kissed me too." He insisted quietly.

Iroh remained silent, already understanding where Zuko's implications were headed, and so he simply reminded him of the truth.

"And yet she still loves her husband."

Zuko's throat tightened because that had never truly been the question haunting him.

He already knew the answer.

"Yes," he admitted.

The older man nodded once.

"Aang loves her deeply as well."

Another truth, which only added another wound.

"I know."

"And despite that knowledge, a part of you still hopes this moment meant something greater." Iroh continued carefully,

Zuko said nothing. and his silence answered sufficiently enough.

"Love may arrive unexpectedly," he said. 

"It may grow in strange places and under unfortunate circumstances. On this, you are correct." His expression saddened faintly afterward. 

"But I could never encourage you to pursue a married woman, particularly one who is not only your friend's wife, but the Avatar's wife."

The words settled with quiet finality.

Iroh was not condemning him, nor was he judging him. He simply wished for Zuko to see the situation for what it was.

Zuko lowered his head, one hand pressing against his brow while shame twisted together inside him unpleasantly.

"I know," he muttered.

And he did know.

Spirits, that was precisely why the entire thing felt so unbearable, because nothing about it should have happened at all.

The study fell silent once more before the distant sound of armored footsteps echoed faintly beyond the doors, signaling the escorts and guards preparing below.

Iroh straightened slightly at the noise.

"The prisoners will still be there in another hour," he remarked gently, pressing for Zuko to take rest.

"So will my thoughts," Zuko replied dryly.

That finally earned the faintest smile from his uncle.

Before leaving, however, Zuko suddenly reached for one of the blank parchments resting nearby.

"Wait outside for me," he said quietly.

Iroh studied him briefly before nodding once and stepping from the study without further question.

The moment the doors closed behind him, Zuko dipped the brush swiftly into ink and began writing across the parchment with hurried precision. Once finished, he rolled the parchment tightly before fastening it shut with the royal seal.

Then finally, he stood.

Outside the study, several guards already waited alongside the Grand Chamberlain and Uncle Iroh beneath the dim corridor lanterns.

Zuko stepped past them before extending the sealed parchment toward one of the palace guards stationed nearby.

"See this carried out immediately," he ordered calmly.

The guard bowed at once.

"Yes, Your Majesty."

Zuko gave a single nod before turning away entirely, the sound of armored footsteps soon echoing through the palace halls while he disappeared deeper within the palace corridors alongside his uncle, the Grand Chamberlain, and the waiting escorts.

The palace prisons rested far beneath the royal compound, carved deep into the volcanic stone beneath the capital where heat lingered permanently within the walls no matter the season above. Torches lined the descending corridors in uneven intervals, their flames casting restless shadows across iron gates while armored guards stepped aside hurriedly at the Fire Lord's approach.

The deeper they descended, the quieter the palace became overhead.

By the time Zuko reached the final staircase alongside Uncle Iroh, the Grand Chamberlain, and the escorting guards, the sounds of court life had disappeared entirely beneath the heavy stillness suffocating the underground chambers.

Then shouting shattered it.

Several guards appeared abruptly from the lower corridor ahead, panic visible across their faces while one nearly stumbled descending the final steps too quickly.

"Your Majesty!" the man gasped breathlessly. "The prisoners—they are dying!"

Zuko's expression sharpened immediately.

"What happened?"

"We do not know," another guard answered frantically. "They regained consciousness only moments ago and then suddenly began convulsing. They are foaming at the mouth—we attempted restraining them but—"

The rest dissolved into alarmed shouting as Zuko moved immediately.

The corridor blurred past rapidly while the guards struggled to keep pace behind him, boots striking sharply against volcanic stone as the smell reached them before the cells themselves did.

Bitter almonds and smoke.

A terrible familiarity settled instantly through the air.

By the time Zuko reached the holding chambers, three prisoners already lay collapsed against the floors of their cells, violent tremors wracking through their bodies while thick foam gathered visibly around their mouths. One guard attempted forcing water between clenched teeth only for Iroh to stop him sharply at once.

"No, do not touch their mouths." He ordered immediately.

The authority within his voice startled the surrounding soldiers making them obeyed instantly.

Zuko stepped closer toward the nearest prisoner, eyes narrowing slightly as the man's body convulsed violently against the stone floor before suddenly going still altogether.

Then another prisoner collapsed moments later.

Zuko already understood. So did Iroh.

The realization settled between uncle and nephew without either speaking it aloud, and the weight of it spread visibly across Zuko's expression while he stared down toward the dead man lying motionless inside the cell.

"No..." the Grand Chamberlain whispered faintly behind them. "Surely not..."

Iroh exhaled quietly through his nose before crouching carefully beside the iron bars, studying the corpse without touching it.

"The emberroot capsules," he said grimly.

The words tightened something sharply inside Zuko's chest because emberroot capsules had not existed publicly within decades.

A poison developed secretly during Ozai's reign for use among covert operatives and royal informants stationed within enemy territories during the war. Small enough to conceal beneath the tongue or within hollowed teeth, the substance reacted almost instantly once bitten down, killing the carrier before meaningful interrogation could begin.

Officially, the practice had been discontinued long before the war ended.

Unofficially...Zuko knew better.

He had spent months after becoming Fire Lord combing through classified wartime documents hidden within sealed palace archives, forcing himself to understand fully the machinery of fear and cruelty his father once wielded so effortlessly. 

Among those records existed references to the capsules, though even reading about them years later had left him unsettled enough to close the scrolls early that evening.

Iroh knew of them differently, through watching his younger brother become someone unrecognizable piece by piece beneath ambition and paranoia.

"They were prepared for capture," Zuko murmured quietly.

"No, They were expecting it." Iroh corrected softly, rising slowly back to his feet

The distinction chilled the corridor because this no longer resembled desperate rebellion.

The Grand Chamberlain stepped forward uneasily then, lowering his voice instinctively despite the prisoners already lying dead before them.

"Your Majesty...If these methods originated under Fire Lord Ozai's intelligence divisions, then perhaps our conclusions regarding the Shinu clans were mistaken entirely." He hesitated briefly.

Zuko remained silent.

His mind had already arrived there moments ago.

The clan markings. The coordinated attack. The capsules.

Someone wanted the palace looking toward the old noble houses, but the poison belonged elsewhere.

Or rather, to someone else.

A cold realization settled slowly through him.

Had they overlooked Ozai loyalists entirely?

Ozai remained imprisoned, his reign had ended. Most of his inner circle either stripped of power or imprisoned following the war.

And yet, fear rooted deeply enough inside nations rarely vanished completely, especially not within men who once prospered beneath cruelty.

Zuko's jaw tightened faintly.

Among his council sat generals who once served Ozai directly. Within his guard remained soldiers raised beneath wartime propaganda before Zuko dismantled it piece by piece after ascending the throne.

Loyalty shifted publicly far easier than privately.

And suddenly, the precision behind last night's attack no longer felt merely political.

It felt far too personal.

Zuko's eyes remained fixed upon the dead prisoner before he finally spoke again.

"How many survived?"

One of the nearby guards straightened immediately.

"Seven remain unconscious, Your Majesty. Two others attempted swallowing the capsules but were restrained before they could fully bite down."

"Good, keep them alive." Zuko answered quietly.

The command carried sharp finality beneath its calmness.

Beside him, Iroh folded his hands loosely within his sleeves while studying the holding chambers thoughtfully.

"Were any of the assailants identified yet?" he asked.

The question should have been simple, but he noticed the Grand Chamberlain hesitated visibly.

Zuko noticed it immediately.

"So they were," he said flatly.

The older man swallowed once before answering carefully.

"Well..." His voice lowered instinctively. 

"You see, my lord...they were not identified through city registries or clan records." He paused briefly. 

"They are all members of the royal palace guard."

The corridor fell silent. Even the remaining soldiers nearby stiffened faintly at the admission.

Zuko turned sharply toward the Grand Chamberlain then, disbelief surfacing across his expression before restraint quickly forced it back beneath composure.

"What?"

The older man bowed his head slightly.

"The insignias beneath their armor were hidden intentionally," he explained hurriedly. 

"However, upon removal of the outer plating, several were identified by captains stationed within the palace divisions."

Zuko looked immediately back toward the nearest corpse lying motionless behind the iron bars.

He did not recognize the man.

The royal palace employed hundreds upon hundreds of guards across rotating divisions, many stationed permanently within outer corridors or lower districts of the compound. Helmets and masks concealed much of their faces during duty hours, and Zuko himself rarely interacted personally with anyone outside the higher-ranking commanders assigned directly to the throne room or private quarters.

Still, the knowledge settled unpleasantly within him all the same.

These men had not infiltrated the palace.

Iroh's expression dimmed subtly beside him.

"That is deeply unfortunate." He murmured.

The understatement almost would have sounded humorous under different circumstances.

Zuko exhaled quietly before turning toward the guards once more.

"The surviving prisoners are not to regain consciousness naturally," he ordered immediately. "Have the physicians prepare sedative incense from moonroot and black lotus extract."

Several guards exchanged startled looks.

The mixture remained notoriously strong, often used only during violent psychiatric episodes among prisoners too dangerous to restrain physically.

"It can be administered through smoke inhalation," Zuko continued calmly. "Keep them unconscious until I arrive personally for questioning."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"And conduct full body searches on every surviving prisoner before transport," he added sharply. "Mouths, armor lining, hair bindings, boots. Everything." His expression hardened slightly. 

"If there are additional capsules hidden upon them, I want them found before another man dies."

The guards bowed immediately before rushing to carry out the orders.

Zuko turned toward the Grand Chamberlain afterward.

"I want every personal file belonging to the captured guards delivered to my office within the hour."

The older man blinked faintly.

"All of them, Your Majesty?"

"Everything," Zuko repeated. "Service records. Family lineage. Division assignments. Promotions. Transfers." His voice lowered slightly. 

"I want to know precisely how long each of them served within this palace."

The Grand Chamberlain bowed quickly.

"At once."

Zuko fell silent once more afterward, though his thoughts continued spiraling rapidly beneath the stillness visible upon his face.

Because if these truly were Ozai loyalists rather than merely rebellious guards exploiting old methods, then another far more dangerous question surfaced immediately.

How had anyone maintained contact with him?

Slowly, his attention drifted toward the darker corridor extending farther beneath the prison complex.

Toward Ozai.

Very few possessed access there.

Fewer still after Zuko ascended the throne.

Only his most trusted guards rotated through the lower watch posts surrounding his father's isolated imprisonment, and every transfer assignment required direct authorization from the palace itself.

Yet if these men truly remained loyal to Ozai after all these years, that would mean someone had been speaking to him.

"I should speak to him."

The words left Zuko quietly, the decision behind him already been made before he spoke it aloud.

Uncle Iroh's expression dimmed almost immediately.

"Prince Zuko, I do not believe your father will offer clarity upon this matter." He began carefully,

"No, but he may still reveal something useful." Zuko replied evenly while turning toward the deeper corridor descending beneath the prison chambers. 

Iroh studied him for a lingering moment afterward, concern visible despite the older man's usual composure.

"And what if he reveals something harmful instead?"

Zuko did not answer.

Ozai had never required bending to wound people.

Zuko finally stepped forward, the heavy fabric of his robes shifting softly against the stone beneath his feet while behind him, Iroh sighed quietly.

"You continue hoping there is a version of him you have not yet suffered from," he murmured sadly.

Zuko's jaw tightened faintly at the words, though he continued walking regardless.

Iron doors lined the corridors intermittently while guards stationed throughout the lower watch posts straightened immediately at the Fire Lord's approach, stepping aside without question.

None attempted speaking.

The corridor narrowed considerably near the end, eventually opening into a lone circular chamber separated entirely from the remaining prison complex. Heavy bars enclosed the final cell.

Ozai sat near the back wall when Zuko entered.

At first glance, he appeared unchanged.

Yet prolonged isolation had altered him in subtler ways impossible to ignore. Time clung differently to men stripped entirely of power. His hair had silvered further throughout the years, shadows settling deeper across his face while age finally began claiming him properly.

And the moment his eyes lifted toward Zuko, that old fear returned instinctively within him.

Some part of Zuko would always remain the little boy standing trembling before the throne, desperate for approval that never arrived.

Ozai smiled faintly upon seeing him.

"Well, to what do I owe the pleasure of such an early visit?" He drawled softly, his voice still carrying that same cruel smoothness Zuko remembered from childhood.

Zuko stopped several feet from the bars, his posture remaining composed despite the tension tightening subtly through him.

"I have questions."

Ozai let out a low sound beneath his breath that nearly resembled amusement.

"How unfortunate." His eyes moved slowly across Zuko's face. "And here I believed perhaps my son had finally begun missing me."

Zuko ignored the remark.

"Has anyone visited you recently besides the assigned guards?"

Ozai tilted his head slightly.

Straight to business.

That alone amused him visibly.

"You descend into the depths of the palace after years of absence, and the first thing you ask me concerns visitors." He murmured lazily.

"Answer the question."

Ozai smiled wider at the command.

"There it is."

Zuko's expression hardened faintly.

"The imitation of authority you practice so carefully." Ozai leaned back slightly against the stone wall behind him. 

"You truly do sound more and more like a Fire Lord each time you visit. Though unfortunately..." His eyes sharpened subtly. 

"Still not a convincing one."

Zuko remained unmoved outwardly. Inside, however, fear coiled tightly through him.

"You will answer eventually regardless."

"Will I?"

The taunt slid easily from Ozai's mouth.

"With what exactly do you intend forcing cooperation these days?" His gaze lowered briefly toward Zuko's hands before lifting again knowingly. 

"Mercy?"

The word sounded almost insulting spoken aloud, and Zuko exhaled slowly through his nose before continuing.

"Several palace guards attacked the upper districts last night."

That earned Ozai's attention more visibly in interest.

"And you came to me because your own guards failed you," he observed quietly.

"They possessed emberroot capsules."

Silence overtook the conversation as Zuko observed him for any nuance. 

Then Ozai laughed softly beneath his breath. The sound barely rose above the torches crackling against the walls, and  hearing it again after so many years unsettled Zuko.

"Ah, So you finally discovered that fear remains loyal far longer than affection ever does." Ozai murmured.

Zuko's jaw tightened.

"Did someone contact you?"

Ozai ignored the question entirely.

"You were always too sentimental for this throne," he continued calmly. 

"Your sister would have understood immediately what weakness invites. And now your own guards turn against you beneath your own roof." His eyes narrowed faintly. 

Zuko stepped closer toward the bars despite himself.

"You will answer me."

Ozai observed him carefully for a moment before smiling faintly once more.

"There he is."

The quiet satisfaction within those words irritated Zuko more than outright mockery ever could.

"You still approach me emotionally," Ozai continued. "Still reactive. Still allowing fear to guide your decisions while pretending it does not."

Zuko forced himself still again.

"Has anyone besides the assigned guards spoken with you recently?"

Ozai sighed lightly through his nose.

"You ask questions already knowing the answer."

"I want confirmation."

The older man leaned forward slightly, shadows from the torchlight cutting sharply across his features.

"You want to believe the rebellion inside your palace belongs to strangers." His mouth curved faintly. "Because if loyal men still remember me fondly after all these years, then perhaps your reign has not inspired nearly the devotion you imagined."

Zuko's hands curled faintly behind his back, and Ozai noticed immediately.

"You will answer my questions."

Ozai leaned back slightly against the stone wall behind him.

"You continue asking them incorrectly."

Frustration stirred sharply through Zuko's chest once more.

"I asked whether anyone besides the assigned guards visited you."

"And I heard the question perfectly."

"Then answer it."

Ozai studied him silently for a lingering moment before speaking again.

"You assume loyalty functions through proximity," he said calmly. "That men require direct instruction to remain devoted." A faint smile touched his mouth afterward. 

"That was always your misunderstanding."

Zuko's expression hardened.

"You are implying nothing."

"I simply observe." Ozai said smoothly.

The older man tilted his head slightly then, the movement almost thoughtful.

"You spent years dismantling fear from this nation because you believed fear itself created obedience." His eyes remained fixed steadily upon Zuko now. 

"But fear is not what loyalty truly grows from." His voice lowered faintly. 

"Pride is."

The word settled unpleasantly within the chamber.

"Men followed me because I gave them purpose," Ozai continued evenly. 

"You replaced certainty with kindness and expected everyone to thank you for it." His mouth curved faintly.

"I replaced tyranny."

Ozai let out a low breath that almost resembled laughter.

"Such dramatic wording." His attention drifted briefly toward the torches lining the corridor outside before returning toward his son. 

"Tell me honestly, Zuko. When your guards looked upon me years ago, what did they see?"

Zuko remained silent.

"A conqueror," Ozai answered himself. "A ruler unafraid of power." His expression sharpened faintly afterward. 

"When they look upon you, they see hesitation."

The words struck harder than Zuko wished admitting.

He didn't believe them fully, but a small part of him feared they might be true.

"You speak endlessly, for a man rotting inside a cell." Zuko replied tightly.

That finally earned a fuller smile from Ozai.

"There you are."

Zuko's jaw tightened.

Ozai still knew exactly where to press.

It exhausted him.

"You continue avoiding the question." Zuko said sharply. "If these men acted under your influence, then someone has been communicating with you."

"Do you truly believe, that men require constant reminders to remain loyal to their beliefs?" He asked quietly

Zuko stared at him.

The prison chamber suddenly felt colder.

"Enough."

The word left him harsher than intended, and Ozai observed him for another moment before finally sighing faintly through his nose.

"No one visits me, son."

The sentence came weakly.

"Not ministers. Not soldiers. Not hidden loyalists." His eyes lingered steadily upon Zuko. 

"Only you."

Silence settled heavily afterward.

Zuko should have felt reassured hearing it.

Instead, his confusion only deepened further because Ozai sounded truthful.

"You remain the sole visitor to my lonely little chamber," Ozai continued softly, mockery threading subtly beneath the words once more. 

"Though admittedly your visits have become disappointingly infrequent."

Zuko exhaled slowly through his nose before turning away sharply from the bars.

The conversation had gained him nothing.

Behind him, Ozai's voice followed calmly through the darkness.

"You should be careful, Zuko."

The warning halted him despite himself.

"You spend so much time searching for enemies resembling me, that one day you may fail to notice the ones who do not." Ozai murmured.

Zuko left without answering.

You had slept terribly.

Whether the fault belonged to the wound stretched across your back or to the memory of what had transpired within Zuko's chambers, you could not fully determine, though every attempt at rest throughout the night had eventually dissolved into shallow exhaustion and restless thoughts.

By the time you finally rose from bed, sunlight had already shifted high beyond the palace windows.

The physician assigned to your care had visited earlier that morning, arriving with quiet professionalism and the faint scent of medicinal herbs. He examined your body carefully, replacing the wrappings across your shoulder and back while asking measured questions regarding dizziness, fever, and pain.

To his visible relief, your condition appeared stable.

"You are recovering better than anticipated," he had remarked thoughtfully while securing the final bandage. 

"Particularly considering the extent of inflammation surrounding the wound yesterday evening."

You merely offered polite agreement.

Truthfully, your body felt heavy enough that even sitting upright for prolonged periods exhausted you. Still, the physician seemed satisfied by your progress.

Before leaving, he reminded you firmly of the medicine prepared for you upon the bedside table, instructing complete bed rest and minimal movement before promising to return the following day to inspect the healing more thoroughly.

Complete bed rest.

Unfortunately, isolation and silence proved considerably less tolerable by noon.

And so, eventually, boredom overcame you.

The Fire Lord's chambers had remained quiet since morning, untouched save for the occasional servants arriving briefly with fresh water or food trays before departing immediately. Left entirely alone within rooms far too large for a single recovering guest, you eventually found yourself wandering through them aimlessly simply to occupy your thoughts.

Your movements remained slow, the sluggish heaviness belonging to exhaustion.

You avoided lifting your injured arm more than necessary while crossing the chambers, careful not to aggravate the healing shoulder beneath the loose robes provided for you. Anything positioned too high upon shelves or mounted against walls remained deliberately untouched, and despiie passing the large wardrobe several times throughout your wandering, you refused yourself even a glance toward it altogether.

Some boundaries still felt important maintaining.

Instead, your attention drifted elsewhere as the small study adjoining his chambers stood partially open, and after a moment's hesitation, curiosity eventually carried you quietly inside.

Scrolls remained stacked neatly across shelves lining the walls while maps lay partially unrolled across the large desk near the windows, several marked heavily with inked notes and military positioning routes. 

One corner held old Pai Sho tiles arranged midgame beside an untouched teacup long gone cold, and near the shelves rested a collection of swords displayed carefully upon dark lacquered mounts.

Your attention lingered briefly upon one particular object resting beside the desk afterward.

An old glider staff.

You paused at the sight of it.

The wood appeared aged from use, repaired carefully near one edge where a fracture once split through it years ago. Resting beside it sat several smaller items far less ceremonious than anything else within the room; a faded Pai Sho token carved from pale stone, and tucked partially beneath several scrolls, an old sketch rendered clumsily that made you smile despite yourself.

Aang. Katara. Sokka. Toph. And Zuko himself standing awkwardly near the edge.

The drawing looked terrible, a trait of Sokka you remember Aang describing to you once.

Somehow it only made it feel more precious.

Your fingers hovered faintly above the parchment before withdrawing again quietly.

Something softened unpleasantly inside your chest then, the sudden awareness of how deeply intertwined all their lives truly remained even years later.

Before the thought could settle further, however, a knock sounded sharply against the chamber doors.

You startled slightly at the interruption, instinctively pressing one hand against the desk edge before recovering yourself.

"Come in," you called softly, walking out to the room, closing the study room door behind you.

The chambers doors opened moments later.

An usher stepped carefully into the chambers, dressed in formal palace attire trimmed neatly with crimson and gold while his posture remained respectfully lowered upon noticing you standing.

"My lady, it pleases me greatly to see you upon your feet. I had hoped your recovery progressed favorably." He greeted politely.

You offered him a faint smile.

"I simply needed to move about for a while, though I assure you I intend returning to rest shortly." You replied honestly.

"I am relieved to hear it." The usher inclined his head respectfully before continuing. 

"However, you need not continue resting within these chambers."

Your brows furrowed slightly. The man stepped aside gently then.

"I have been instructed to escort you to your new room, should you permit it."

Your brows furrowed faintly at the usher's words.

"My new room?" you repeated slowly before another thought struck you almost immediately afterward. 

"Were my belongings recovered from the fire?"

The usher hesitated, and the pause unsettled you.

"We recovered what we could, my lady," he replied carefully, a trace of sympathy softening his otherwise formal tone. 

"The salvaged items have already been arranged within your new chambers."

Something about the vagueness of it settled unpleasantly inside your chest.

The usher clearly intended reassurance, yet the faint sadness crossing his expression suggested far more had been lost. You considered questioning him further, though the impending reality made the effort itself feel burdensome.

So instead, you merely inclined your head softly.

"I understand."

The walk through the palace corridors terrified you.

Every passing servant dressed in dark crimson robes made your pulse jump unexpectedly within your chest, and each turn around the hallways left you bracing instinctively for the possibility of suddenly encountering the Fire Lord himself standing somewhere ahead.

You did not know what frightened you more.

The thought of seeing him, or the thought of not knowing how either of you were supposed to behave afterward.

The memory of last night still lingered far too vividly beneath your skin, impossible to separate from the quiet shame curling through your stomach each time you allowed yourself thinking about it for too long. 

Several times throughout the walk, you nearly convinced yourself he would already be waiting within the chambers prepared for you, perhaps out of guilt regarding the fire, perhaps to apologize, perhaps simply because neither of you properly understood how to exist around one another anymore after what happened.

Thankfully when the doors finally opened, he was nowhere inside.

Relief arrived so quickly it almost weakened your knees.

The room resembled the chambers you previously occupied almost identically in structure and arrangement, from the lacquered table to the embroidered bedding draped elegantly across the large bed. 

Only small differences betrayed otherwise.

The decorative screens bore different carvings. The wall hangings carried older Fire Nation patterns woven carefully through black and gold silk.

And standing near the far side of the room rested two portable clothing rails draped heavily with robes far finer than anything you liked.

Beautiful silks cascaded elegantly from polished wooden frames in layered shades of deep crimson, burnt amber, dark ivory, and muted gold, their embroidery unmistakably Fire Nation in craftsmanship. 

Beside them rested a small box left partially open upon a low table, revealing delicate jewelry crafted in the sharp elegant style favored throughout the capital.

You turned slowly back toward the usher in confusion.

Before you could question him, however, he had already stepped aside while one of the accompanying guards approached carrying a small chest carefully between both hands.

The guard opened it respectfully toward you.

Relief struck instantly.

Your jewelry rested safely within velvet lining exactly where you remembered leaving it before the fire, untouched despite everything, and beside it remained several bundled letters tied carefully together with faded ribbon.

Your letters.

You exhaled quietly before realizing how tightly you had been holding your breath.

Stepping forward immediately, you accepted the chest carefully into your hands before checking the letters yourself, fingertips brushing gently across familiar parchment edges while something inside your chest loosened faintly for the first time since arriving within the palace.

The usher smiled politely at the sight.

"These were among the few possessions recovered intact from your previous chambers," he explained. "His Majesty instructed they be transferred personally to your new residence."

You nodded softly, still looking down toward the letters.

"And the robes?" you asked quietly.

"The Fire Lord felt deeply regretful regarding the damage done to your belongings during the attack," the usher answered smoothly. 

"These garments were commissioned this morning in hopes they might ease your stay here somewhat." His expression softened politely.

"His Majesty also expressed hope that the styles and colors selected would prove agreeable to you."

Your fingers tightened faintly around the chest.

Morning.

Meaning he had ordered them only hours after leaving your chambers.

Carefully, you placed you recovered belongings upon the bed beside you before offering the usher a restrained nod of gratitude.

"You have my thanks."

The servants bowed respectfully before departing, the doors closing softly behind them while silence settled gradually through the chambers once more.

Only then did you finally step closer toward the rows of newly prepared robes.

Your fingertips brushed lightly against the fabrics hanging before you, the silks impossibly smooth beneath your touch while intricate golden stitching glimmered subtly.

Beautiful and expensive.

But meant to be thoughtful.

Your jaw tightened faintly.

Was this truly an apology for the fire or for something else entirely?

a/n: i've received a lot of messages after chapter 11, and while i completely understand people being upset or even angry, i need to say something.

this story has always been tagged with infidelity, and i've never hidden that fact. if cheating is a trope you absolutely cannot stand, then this story probably isn't for you, and that's completely okay. however, i do think some people are jumping to conclusions about where the story is heading. just because something happened between reader and zuko does not automatically mean she is going to end up with him.

i'm not writing this story for the sake of shipping wars or proving which relationship is "better." this story is, first and foremost, a character study. it's my way of exploring emotions, relationships, mistakes, consequences, and perspectives that i don't normally get to write about.

more than anything, tbtr started as a way for me to fall back in love with writing after spending over two years stuck in a creative block.

that being said, while i read and reply to every message because i genuinely appreciate hearing everyone's thoughts and reactions, i do not appreciate being scolded in my inbox for writing exactly what i warned readers i was going to write.

you are allowed to dislike the story. you are allowed to dislike the characters. you are allowed to disagree with their actions. But please don't be rude to me because the story did something you knew it was going to do.

if this story is no longer something you enjoy reading, then i sincerely encourage you to step away from it rather than continue reading something that only frustrates you.

thank you to everyone who has been reading, even when the story takes turns you don't personally enjoy.

[taglist open] (please mention under the latest chapter or the story masterlist)

masterlist