killjoy

Key: ✧ smut | ꥟ angst | ✵ fluff, etc. ❥ gar romance month | ❅ life day gift exchange

501st

Rex

Home is a Place on Coruscant | 10k+ | ✧꥟ Event Horizon (Rex x Jedi!Reader) Longfic Masterlist

Kix

The Bet | 8k+ | ✧✵ Doctor's Orders | 13k+ | ✧✵

Jesse

Mischief and Mistletoe | 2k+ | ✵❅ War on Two Fronts Part One, Part Two | 26k | ✧✵꥟❥

Fives

(OC, Esmé) Good Graces Shortfic Masterlist

Tup

Sudden Inspiration | 21k+ | ✧✵

The Bad Batch

Hunter

Awkward | 9k+ | ✧✵ A Dance With Danger | 19k+ | ✧꥟ The Safe House | 12k+ | ✧✵ Always | 16k+ | ✧✵ A Game | 5k+ | ✧꥟

Tech

(OC, Zeilla) Tech x Sarad Masterlist Theory of Attraction | 10k+ | ✧✵ Piece by Piece | 5k+ | ꥟ Infinite Possibilities of the Universe | 9k+ | ꥟ ↳ The Possibility of Infinity | 3k+ | ✵ ↳ Stars Align | 9k+ | ✧✵ ↳ Charting A New Course | 6k+ | ✵ On Impulse | 10k+ | ✧✵ Strategy | 5k+ | ✧✵

Wrecker

Playing Pretend | 16k+ | ✧✵ Few Fates Worse Than Death | 13k+ | ꥟ By Your Name Part One, Part Two | 19k+ | ✧✵꥟ Something Sweet | 4k+ | ✧✵ Honey, Honey | 21k+ | ✧✵꥟ ❥

Echo

Goodbye, and Other Impossible Words | 16k+ | ✧꥟ The Way Back | 9k+ | ꥟ A Little Fun | 16k+ | ✧ Warm | 10k+ | ✧✵ The Quiet in Between | 8k+ | ✵❅

Crosshair

Promises Made Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 | 23k+ | ✧꥟ Forgotten, But Not Yet Gone | 9k+ | ꥟ Lessons of the Heart | 15k+ | ✵ Gratitude | 3k+ | ✵

Coruscant Guard

Thorn

(OC, Vale) Thorn x Vale Masterlist Mutually Beneficial Arrangement Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 | 34k+ | ✧꥟✵

Fox

Too Sweet Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4 | 26k+ | ✧꥟✵ Risk for Reward | 9k+ | ✧

Hound

Light in the Dark | 13k+ | ✧✵

Misc Clones

Cody

When It Rains | 11k+ | ✧✵ ❥

Howzer

To the General | 14k+ | ✧꥟ Right Place, Right Time | 10k+ | ✧✵ ❥

Wolffe

For One Night | 10k+ | ✧꥟ ↳ Until Morning | 12k+ | ✧꥟ Holding Pattern Part One, Part Two | 26k+ | ✧꥟✵ ↳ Man or Commander | 17k+ | ✧✵

Gregor

It's a strange kind of bliss, this domestic quiet you've found in the middle of the Fire Nation. You're not used to it. You're used to chaos, to constant motion, to the thrill of the unknown. This is anything but. This is a quiet, steady joy, the kind that settles deep in your bones and warms you from the inside out.

And you’re terrified of it.

You tell yourself you’ll leave soon. You tell yourself that this is just a temporary reprieve, a brief moment of peace before you have to go back to your real life. But the days turn into a week, and the week turns into two, and you still haven't left.

You tell yourself it’s the garden. It's the most beautiful, most challenging project you've ever worked on, and you're proud of the progress you've made. The stream is clear, the weeds are gone, and the soil is rich and dark, ready for planting. You’ve even started to fix up the old shed, patching the roof and reinforcing the walls. Zuko mentioned something about turning it into a teahouse, and you’ve found yourself sketching out designs in the margins of your gardening notes. It’s a nice thought. A nice dream. And the thought of not seeing it through is unthinkable.

But you know it's more than that. It's him. It's the way he looks at you, the way he always saves you the last piece of mango at dinner, the way he listens to you, really listens, no matter how much you ramble on about soil acidity or companion planting.

It's the way you feel when you're with him. Seen. Known. Safe.

And that's the problem.

You’re eating dinner with Lan in your rooms tonight, a tray of simple, familiar food spread out between you. You’ve been avoiding the dining hall and its attendant whispers, which have only grown more voracious as of late. Zuko has been good enough to not question it, bringing your meals to you himself when he can. Tonight, he’s tied up with some emergency or other, and you’re alone with Lan and your own jumbled thoughts.

She’s a surprisingly good companion. She’s smart and kind, and she has a wickedly sharp sense of humor that she keeps hidden beneath a veneer of quiet deference. You’ve learned more about the inner workings of the palace from her in the last few days than you would have in a year of formal audiences.

You’ve also learned that she’s a terrible gossip, a quality you secretly admire. You’re not sure if she’s gossiping with you or about you, but you’re learning to live with the ambiguity. It's a small price to pay for a friend.

“He’s in a much better mood since you’ve been here,” she remarks, her chopsticks paused halfway to her mouth. “He used to be so solemn. All the time. Now he actually smiles. It’s a little unsettling.”

“He smiles plenty,” you counter, though you know she’s right. He’s been lighter, somehow, since you arrived. The perpetual furrow in his brow has softened, and he doesn't walk around like he's carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders anymore. He still carries it, of course, but it seems to be a little less heavy.

“He smiles for you,” she says with an arch of her brow. "It's different."

You just give her a look and go back to your food, refusing to take the bait. You’ve had this conversation with her before, and you have no intention of having it again. You’re a friend. A good friend. That’s all. You have to keep telling yourself that, or you’ll start to believe the pretty, dangerous stories she’s weaving.

Lin lets it go, but not before a small, triumphant smile plays on her lips. She's good at that, too. Good at knowing when to push and when to pull back. You're starting to think she'd make an excellent ambassador. Or maybe a spy.

You finish your dinner quietly, listening to the distant sounds of the city at night. You’re getting used to the constant background noise of the capital now, the hum of a thousand lives being lived all at once. It’s a far cry from the quiet solitude of the road, but you find that you don’t mind it as much as you thought you would. Even if you feel like a bird in a very, very fancy cage when you look down for too long. You push the thought away, but it’s a stubborn one. A weed in the otherwise perfectly manicured garden of your new life.

“I heard something interesting today,” Lan says with a casual air as she stacks the bowls.

"Oh?" you ask, raising an eyebrow. You've learned that when Lan says "interesting," she usually means scandalous. And you've also learned that you have a terrible weakness for palace gossip, even when you know you shouldn't.

"It seems that Lady Mai has been seen in the company of a certain poet,” she says, her eyes fixed on her task. “A very handsome, very charming poet. They were spotted together at the theater in Jonduri. Holding hands."

You nearly choke on the sip of wine you've just taken, and Lan quickly hands you a napkin. You dab at your mouth as you try to process this new information. You thought you'd put the whole Mai situation out of your mind, but now that it's been brought up again, you can't help but feel a surge of curiosity. And maybe a little bit of... something else. You stamp it out. Again.

“Holding hands?” you repeat in disbelief. “Mai? The woman who thinks public displays of affection are a sign of moral decay?”

“So it would seem.”

"That's... surprising."

"Mm-hmm," Lan hums, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "They say he wrote a poem for her. Something about her eyes and the sharpness of her daggers. Very romantic."

You let out a snort of laughter. You can just imagine it. Mai, with her deadpan delivery and her arsenal of hidden knives, being serenaded by a lovesick poet. It's the most ridiculous thing you've ever heard, and also, strangely, the most romantic.

“And how do you know all of this?” you ask, leaning in, your curiosity getting the better of you. "You're not secretly a spy for the Earth Kingdom, are you?"

Lin’s smile is a slow, sly thing. "A good servant sees everything, my la—I mean, a good servant hears everything. And I have a cousin who works in the teahouse next to the theater. He hears a lot."

You shake your head, a smile on your face. "You're terrible."

"I'm thorough," she corrects, a note of pride in her voice. "And it's my job to know these things. To protect the Fire Lord. From potential... embarrassments."

Her gaze drifts to you, and you know what she's not saying. She sees you as a potential embarrassment. And she's warning you, in her own subtle, Lan-like way, to be careful.

You nod, your smile fading. You understand. You do. You're a complication, a loose thread in the carefully woven tapestry of the Fire Nation court. And you could unravel it all, if you're not careful. That’s a thought to hold close to the chest, along with all the other uncomfortable truths you’ve been collecting in the palace like shiny little rocks.

"I appreciate the warning," you murmur. "Does Zuko know about this? This poet guy?”

"No," she says, her expression softening. "Not as far as I know. And I'm not going to be the one to tell him. I don't want to be the one to spoil his new happiness.”

You nod, your appetite suddenly gone. You don't like the thought of Zuko being hurt, especially not because of something like this. You may not have ever understood his relationship with Mai, but you know it was important to him. And you know how much it hurts to have someone you care about choose someone else. You've been on the receiving end of that particular brand of misery more times than you'd like to admit.

“Thank you, Lan,” you say, standing up and dusting off your tunic, "for telling me. And for not telling him."

"Of course," she replies with a nod. "I just thought you should know. In case... well, you know."

"In case what?" you ask, but she just shakes her head and gathers the dinner tray.

"I should get this back to the kitchens," Lan says, already backing out of the room. "I'll see you in the morning, my... I'll see you in the morning."

She's gone before you can say anything else. You lean against the railing of the balcony, watching the moon rise over the golden lights of the city below, a glittering imitation of the stars you can barely see in the sky. The cool night air feels good against your skin, and you take a deep breath, trying to clear your head.

You're not sure what you're going to do. You're not sure you can do anything. You're just a visitor, a temporary distraction from a life sentence of political maneuvering and public duty. Zuko is the Fire Lord. He's not just your friend anymore, or the awkward, angry boy you once knew. He's a man with a kingdom to run, and a complicated past to navigate. And you're... you're you. A nomad. A wanderer. A girl who talks to plants. And soon, you'll be gone, and this will all just be a memory.

The thought should bring you relief. A release from the suffocating pressure of the palace, from the confusing, unwelcome feelings that Zuko seems to stir up in you every time you turn around. But all you feel is a cold, empty dread in the pit of your stomach.

You're still thinking in circles when there's a knock at the door. Assuming it’s Lan returning to retrieve a forgotten chopstick, you call out, "It's open."

The doors open, but it's not Lan who steps through. It's Zuko, a look of intense concentration on his face and a scroll clutched in his hand. He's still wearing the formal robes from this morning, and he looks exhausted, the lines around his eyes more pronounced than ever. He stops when he sees you, his gaze sweeping over your simple clothes and your bare feet, and those lines ease, just a little.

"I thought you'd be in the dining hall," he says as he closes the doors behind him. “I looked for you.”

"I wasn't hungry for company," you reply, pushing yourself away from the railing and walking back into the room. You can’t help but notice the way he watches you move. He's always watching. "Long day?"

"You have no idea." Zuko sighs and runs a hand through his already messy hair. His fingers snag, and his nose scrunches in frustration as he works to free them from the knot. “The council wants to send a punitive expedition to the Western Islands to ‘deal’ with the anti-imperial sentiment there. And they want me to raise the tariffs on Earth Kingdom marble in retaliation for their tariffs on our exports.”

“Ah,” you nod. “So it’s ‘let’s start a war’ day at the office?”

“It’s always ‘let’s start a war’ day at the office,” he mutters, his fingers still fumbling with the knot. "They say it's a risk to our national security."

"They would," you scoff as you walk over to him and take the scroll from his hand. You unroll it, scanning the elegant script. It's a list of tariffs and trade routes, and it's incredibly boring. You feel your eyes start to unfocus almost immediately, and you roll it up again. "They're just afraid of change. They've been in charge for so long, they don't know how to do anything else."

"I know," he says, taking the scroll back from you and tossing it onto a nearby table. "But they make it so difficult. They fight me on everything."

"So fight back.” You reach up, batting his hands away and starting to work on the tangled knot yourself. Zuko's whole body goes tense, his breath catching in a soft hitch, but he doesn't pull away. "Don't let them push you around."

"Easier said than done," he mutters. He closes his eyes, and you feel the tension in him begin to fade as you work through the knot, untangling the mess with a patience you rarely feel for anything but your plants. Your fingers brush his skin, and you watch, fascinated, as the hair on his neck stands up, his pulse quickening beneath your fingertips. You wonder idly what else would make him react like that.

"Maybe," you concede, your voice quieter now. “But you’re the Fire Lord. They have to listen to you."

"It's not that simple," he argues as you finally work the knot free. The leather strip falls to the floor, and you start to comb your fingers through his hair, untangling the strands. "They have the support of… of the old guard. The military. If I push them too hard, I risk a…” He sighs as your fingers massage his scalp. “A rebellion. A coup. I don't know.”

You hum in acknowledgement, your focus on the feeling of his hair in your hands. It's so soft, so much softer than you would have expected. And it smells like sandalwood and something else. Something… him. It’s a comforting, familiar scent, and you find yourself leaning in, just a little, to breathe it in.

You’ve only done this a few times now, but already it feels like a ritual. An intimacy you’ve allowed to bloom between you in the quiet space at the end of a long day. Zuko never asks for it, but you know he needs it. The quiet touch, the simple act of caring for him. And you, with your busy hands and your restless heart, need it, too. To be needed.

"You're doing the right thing," you say softly, your fingers still working through his hair. You're done now, but you can't bring yourself to stop. "You're changing things, slowly. And that's how you change the world. Not with a big, flashy show of power, but with small, stubborn acts of decency."

He lets out a quiet laugh. "That's a very earthbender way of looking at it."

"It's the only way that works," you reply. "The earth doesn't move in an instant. It shifts. Slowly. Over time. And that's what you're doing. Shifting the balance."

"Thank you," he murmurs. He lifts his head, and you reluctantly drop your hands, letting them fall to your sides as he turns to face you. His eyes are heavy-lidded, his expression soft in the warm light of the lamps. “I needed to hear that.”

You shrug, suddenly feeling awkward and self-conscious. He's closer than you realized, the heat of him washing over you, and you take a step back to put some space between you. You can't think when he's that close. Your brain turns to mush.

“What you need is a stiff drink,” you say suddenly, moving back and away from the temptation to keep touching him. You walk to the small table by the window, where a decanter of spirits and two glasses sit. “And a change of clothes. You look like you’re about to collapse under all that fabric.”

You pour a generous amount of the amber liquid into two glasses, and when you turn back, you see that Zuko is running his fingers through the tresses you just smoothed, his eyes closed, a small smile on his face.

“Hey,” you say, and he looks up, startled. “Don’t mess up my hard work.”

“I wasn’t,” he mutters, but the flush on his cheeks tells you otherwise. He takes the glass from you, his fingers brushing yours, and you have to stop yourself from snatching your hand back. “You're a bad influence, you know."

“I’m a good friend,” you correct, clinking your glass against his. You drop onto the settee, tucking your legs beneath you, and take a sip. The liquid burns as it goes down, but it’s as good a distraction as any from the way he’s looking at you. “And I’m telling you that you’re working too hard. You need to rest.”

He takes a long swallow of his own drink and sinks into the armchair opposite you. His formal robes fan out around him in a dramatic wave of red and gold, and you can't help but smile.

"I will," he says, leaning back against the cushions and stretching his long legs out in front of him. “When the Fire Nation is at peace, and the council isn’t trying to start another war, and the tariffs are settled, and the reparations are paid, and—”

“Okay, okay. I get it,” you interrupt, rolling your eyes. “You’re a busy guy. But you’re not going to be any good to anyone if you burn yourself out. And I, for one, would appreciate it if you didn't spontaneously combust from exhaustion. We still have an entire teahouse to build. I drew up some plans.”

You retrieve your charcoal sketchbook from the desk and slide it across the table to him. He picks it up, his expression serious as he studies the rough drawings. You watch him, your heart beating a little too fast, as he traces the lines of the small, simple building you’ve designed. It’s not grand or impressive, but it’s yours. A small piece of you, left here in this place.

“This is… good,” he says, a note of surprise in his voice. “It’s… cozy. I like it.”

“‘Cozy’ is not the word a Fire Lord should be using to describe a new addition to the royal grounds,” you tease, but you’re secretly pleased. “He should be using words like ‘majestic,’ and ‘imposing,’ and ‘a testament to the enduring power of the Fire Nation.’”

“I’m not talking as the Fire Lord,” he says, not looking up from the book. “I’m talking as the one who’s going to have to build the thing. I was worried you were going to design some kind of sprawling, three-story monstrosity.”

“I’m an earthbender. We appreciate solid, practical structures,” you say, leaning forward to point to a detail on the sketch. “And I was thinking we could use some of the stone from the old western wall for the foundation. It’s good quality. And it would be… a nice way to honor the past, while still looking to the future.”

Zuko looks up at you then, his eyes soft and his mouth curved in an almost smile. He looks away just as quickly, clearing his throat and flipping to the next page.

“So,” he says, his tone suddenly brusque. "How long do you think all of this will take? The garden, and the teahouse, and the… everything."

You lean back, studying the ceiling, and do the math in your head. "Well, the garden is almost ready for planting. That will take a week, maybe two. And the teahouse, assuming we don't run into any major problems, should take another week or two. So… a month, maybe? A month and a half, if you want your pond.”

“A month,” he repeats. The words are soft, barely audible, but you hear them.

“Give or take,” you add, trying to ignore the way your stomach is clenching. You’ve been thinking in terms of days. A month feels… more permanent. Less temporary. And you’re not sure how you feel about that. “Less, if we get some help. But I think it’s better if we do it ourselves.”

“I agree,” he says quickly, and he closes the sketchbook and slides it back to you. He reaches for his glass, draining the rest of the amber liquid in one go. “Let’s do it ourselves.”

You nod, your throat suddenly tight. You have no idea what he’s thinking, what this means to him, what any of this means. But you know what it means to you. It means a month. A month of this. Of quiet dinners, and stolen moments, and hard work in the sun. A month of Zuko. And it's both the best and worst thing you can imagine.

You finish your drink, and Zuko immediately reaches for the decanter, refilling your glass without a word. “So,” he says, setting it down with a thud. He passes your glass back to you. “What else did I miss today? Any more exciting gossip from the palace?”

You nearly drop your glass. You know he's just making conversation, but his timing is uncanny. You can feel Lan's words echoing in your head. Holding hands. A poem about her daggers. You take a long swallow of your drink, the liquid burning all the way down.

"Nothing exciting," you reply, and you're proud of how steady your voice sounds. "Just the usual. Who's wearing what, and who's cheating at Pai Sho. The usual."

"Sounds thrilling," he snorts. "I'm glad I'm missing it."

You just shrug, your glass pressed to your lips. You feel a pang of guilt for your deception, but you push it down. You're doing the right thing. Zuko has enough to worry about without having to deal with a messy breakup. And you’re not even sure the information is reliable. It's just palace gossip, after all. And Lan, while a reliable source of palace intrigue, isn't exactly an unbiased observer. She wants you and Zuko to get together, as insane as that idea is, and she'll do whatever it takes to make that happen.

“How’d your meeting with Ambassador Fang go?” you ask, changing the subject before he can press you further. “Did you get the jade tariffs sorted?”

“He’s a weasel,” Zuko grumbles, picking up a decorative pillow and hugging it to his chest. He slumps down further into the armchair, looking more petulant teenager than the Fire Lord. "Their Minister of Trade will be here tomorrow. Apparently, the Fire Nation owes them reparations for some ‘cultural artifacts’ that went missing during the war.”

“Which means they want you to pay for the things the Fire Nation stole,” you translate, and he nods, a frustrated sigh escaping him.

“They’re not wrong,” he admits. “But the price they’re asking is ridiculous. They know I need this alliance. They’re taking advantage of me.”

“Then don’t let them,” you say, leaning forward and resting your elbows on your knees. “You’re not the same person who started this war. You’re the one who ended it. You hold all the cards."

"It's not that simple.” Zuko mirrors your posture, his gaze fixed on yours. The firelight catches the gold in his eyes, and you can see the exhaustion in the fine lines around them. “I have to be careful. We can't give up too much, or the other nations will see us as weak. But if we give too little, they'll see us as unrepentant. It's a delicate balance."

You nod, a small frown tugging at your lips. You see the dilemma, but you don't like it. You're a woman of action, of bold moves and decisive victories. This political maneuvering, this slow, careful dance of diplomacy, is not your strong suit. If you had your way, you'd just storm into the negotiating room and tell them what was what. Maybe with a small, localized earthquake to emphasize your point.

But that's not how the world works now. You're not a soldier anymore, and Zuko's not a prince on the run. You're... builders. He's building a new world, and you're repairing the old one. And it's slow, and it's messy, and it's hard.

“You’ll figure it out.” You reach out and put a hand on his arm. His skin is warm, and you can feel the tension in the muscle beneath your touch before he starts to relax. “You always do.”

He covers your hand with his, his thumb tracing circles on the back of your wrist. "I know. It's just hard, sometimes. I wish I could just... make it all better with the snap of my fingers."

"If only firebending could do that," you say with a wry smile. You pull your hand back, a sudden shyness washing over you, and grab your glass to take a large swallow of the burning liquid. It doesn't help.

"Right?” Zuko huffs a laugh. “I'd be a much more popular Fire Lord."

“You seem plenty popular, from what I’ve heard,” you quip, and his head cocks to the side. “I may have heard some things.”

"Oh?" he asks, a slow smile spreading across his face. You bite back one of your own. You knew that would get him. Zuko can pretend to be all serious and stoic, but he's got an ego. A healthy one. He likes to be admired, even if he’d never admit it. "What kind of things?"

"Good things.” You lean back against the cushions, crossing your legs. "That you're a fair ruler. That you're working to restore the balance. That you're a little less... broody than you used to be."

You say the last part with a teasing lilt in your voice, and he rolls his eyes. "I was never broody," he mutters.

"You were a walking thunderstorm," you laugh. "A dark cloud of doom and angst."

"It was a dark cloud of righteous purpose," he corrects, a mock-serious look on his face. "There's a difference."

"Righteous, brooding purpose," you amend, and you both dissolve into laughter. It feels good. It feels right. Like you're seventeen again, sitting around a campfire, trading insults and secrets, the whole world stretched out before you, full of possibilities. You miss it. You miss the simplicity of it.

A sigh escapes you, slow and easy, and you let your head fall back against the cushions of the settee. The spirits are making themselves known now, a pleasant warmth spreading through your limbs, loosening the tension in your shoulders. You'll pay for this tomorrow, most likely with a headache and a fuzzy mouth, but tonight... tonight it feels like exactly what you needed. Dangerous, maybe, with Zuko sitting across from you, watching you with those unnervingly steady eyes. But you can’t find it in yourself to care.

Your gaze drifts upward to the fresco on the ceiling, tracing the gentle curves of the water lilies painted there. In the flickering light, the water ripples almost imperceptibly, giving the illusion that the room itself is breathing, pulsing with a gentle, sleepy life. You’ve been trying to ignore them since you got here, a little overwhelmed by the sheer, unbelievable expense of it all. A whole room. A whole ceiling. For you. But now, with the firelight dancing across the plaster, and Zuko's quiet breaths filling the silence, they're not so overwhelming. They're just... beautiful. A dream, rendered in paint and gold leaf.

You look over at Zuko, your gaze soft, and find him already watching you. He's slumped against the cushions, legs spread wide and his hands resting on his stomach, a lazy, contented smile on his face. His hair is a mess, falling in dark waves across his forehead, and the formal robes he’s wearing are wrinkled and untucked. He’s never looked less like the Fire Lord. He’s never looked more like your Zuko.

"You're staring," you say, and he just shrugs, not even bothering to look away.

"So?"

"So," you smile. "Why are you staring at me?"

"Why not?" he counters, and the traitorous flutter in your stomach returns with a vengeance. You blame the spirits.

You sit up, pulling your knees to your chest, and wrap your arms around them. "So, what's the plan for tomorrow? More council meetings? More haggling over jade?"

"Unfortunately," Zuko sighs, pushing himself up to a sitting position and grabbing the decanter. He refills your glass, and then his, the amber liquid sloshing over the rim and onto the dark wood of the table. "But the Earth Kingdom delegation won't be here until the afternoon, which means we have the morning free."

"Free?" You perk up. "As in, we could work on the garden? The soil won't test itself, you know."

"First thing," he promises, a matching smile on his face. "I'll even bring the shovels."

"My hero,” you giggle into your glass. The sound is loud in the quiet room, and you cover your mouth, your cheeks flushing. Zuko just grins.

You talk for a while longer, your conversation growing softer, more disjointed as the night wears on. The torches crackle, and the city hums, and you drift in a pleasant, hazy warmth, watching the fire lilies on the ceiling dance above you. You're not sure how much time has passed when you feel Zuko shift, his robes rustling as he stands.

"I should go," he says, but he makes no move to leave. He stands by the armchair, his hands clasped behind his back. “It’s late. And I have a long day of being taken advantage of ahead of me.”

“You’ll be great,” you say, standing up as well. You walk him to the door, your footsteps quiet on the plush rug. “You’re the Fire Lord. You’ve got this.”

"I know," he says, his hand resting on the polished brass of the doorknob. He hesitates, fingers tightening on the metal, before turning back to face you. “We’ll have to skip our dinner again tomorrow. We’re having a banquet to welcome Minister Guo. The council insists.”

“Oh,” you murmur, trying to hide your disappointment. You’re not sure you’re successful. You enjoy your dinners with Lan, but you’d much rather be with him. You'd rather be with him even when he’s tired and stressed, even when you have to eat in the dining hall and pretend you don't hear the whispers. “I’m sure Lan and I will manage to entertain ourselves. Perhaps we’ll start a Pai Sho tournament.”

Zuko’s brow furrows, and his hand falls away from the door. “Huh? No. I want you to come with me. To the banquet.”

Your eyes widen. “What?”

You weren't expecting that. At all. You assumed you were still persona non grata in the formal spaces of the palace, especially after the scene you caused in the stream. And after the scene in the dining hall. And after the scene... well, you've caused a lot of scenes. You’re surprised Shoji hasn't had you thrown out on your ass yet.

"Zuko, no," you protest as soon as you can form words again, shaking your head enough to make the room sway. “I can’t.”

“You can.” He takes a step closer, his gaze intense. “I want you there. As my guest.”

“It’s a state banquet,” you say, your voice rising with panic. “It’s for important people. For diplomats and advisors. I’m… I’m just a farmer.”

“You’re also a war hero and member of the Earth Kingdom. Even if some of them tried to run you out of town,” he adds with a wry smile. “And a very important guest of the Fire Nation. I can introduce you to the minister and the council. They should meet the person who's going to be responsible for restoring the royal gardens.”

“I think the last thing the Earth Kingdom wants to see is a former enemy’s royal gardens being restored by an earthbender,” you say with a nervous laugh. Your gaze falls to your hands, and you start to pick at a loose thread on your tunic. “That’s not exactly the image of peace you’re trying to project.”

“I think it’s exactly the image of peace I’m trying to project,” Zuko counters, his voice firm. “It’s a symbol of the new world we’re building. And you’re the best symbol I have.”

You don’t know what to say to that. He's putting you on a pedestal, making you into something you're not. You're not a symbol. You're just you. A stubborn, restless, occasionally foolish woman who happens to be good with dirt. And you’re not sure you can handle the pressure of being more than that. You’re not sure you want to.

“I don’t know, Zuko,” you say, your gaze fixed on the floor. “It’s… a lot.”

“It is,” he admits. He reaches out and takes your hands in his, stilling your nervous fidgeting. Your fingers curl around his on instinct. “But you’re not going to be alone. I’ll be right there with you. The whole time.”

You look down at your joined hands, at the way his thumbs are stroking the backs of your palms, and you feel the last of your resistance crumble. He’s too good at this. Too good at getting what he wants. He always has been.

“Okay,” you hear yourself say. “I’ll go.”

His answering grin is bright enough to light up the whole palace, and you feel a wave of something warm and overwhelming wash over you. You feel a little bit like you’re drowning, but you don't think you'd mind if you did. You pull your hands back, a little too quickly, and he lets them go, but the warmth of his touch lingers. You rub your palms on your trousers, trying to get the feeling to go away, but it’s no use. You’re branded.

“Great,” he says. “It’ll be great. You’ll see.”

"Great," you repeat, but the word comes out weak and breathless, and you can't manage a smile to match his. You open the door, gesturing for him to go. You need to go scream into your pillow and rethink all your life choices. Alone. "Now go. Before I decide to run away and join a circus."

"I'd find you," he replies, a teasing glint in his eye. "And then I'd have to ban all circuses. And that would be a whole other crisis."

You roll your eyes and shoo him out the door. "Go. Go brood over your tariffs."

"I'm going,” he chuckles. “I'll send Lan to help you get ready. It's formal, so... dress up a bit."

“What’s wrong with the way I dress?” you ask as you watch him start down the hall, your hands on your hips.

"Nothing. You always look beautiful,” Zuko replies absentmindedly. He suddenly stops mid-stride and half-turns, and you see the panic in his eyes. A blush, dark and furious, spreads across his face and up to the tips of his ears. “I mean—fine. You always look fine. Good. Just… formal. It's a formal thing."

And with that, he flees down the hall with his robe flapping behind him, leaving you standing in the doorway, your heart pounding and your mind a complete and utter mess. The two guards framing your door are studiously looking at the ceiling, the floor, anywhere but at you, and you can feel the heat creeping up your neck. You close the door with a soft click and lean against it, your head thumping against the wood a few times for good measure, just to see if you can knock some sense into yourself.

He thinks you’re beautiful. He actually said it. You don't know if it was the alcohol talking, or if he really meant it, but Zuko isn’t in the habit of saying things he doesn't mean. He's not like you, a slave to the impulse of the moment, a blur of half-formed thoughts and poorly timed jokes. He's deliberate. He's careful. And he doesn't just throw words like that around.

You don't want to think about it. You can't think about it. You have a banquet to get ready for, and you have a garden to save, and a life to get back to. A life that doesn't involve the Fire Lord and the mess he's making of your carefully constructed defenses. You're going to go to this banquet, you're going to be a good little symbol, and then you're going to leave. That's the plan.

You always look beautiful.

"Oh, this is bad," you murmur to the empty room. "This is very, very bad."

A few hours of restless sleep later, you gave up and went to work at the small desk in the study. The sketch from last night, now creased and smudged, is pinned to the wall with a hairpin from your pocket. You’ve added a dozen more notes and diagrams since in a fit of productive insomnia, and the scrolls you'd found the day before on Fire Nation horticulture are spread open around you, weighed down against the breeze from the balcony by the turtle duck bonsai and whatever else you managed to find in the room.

At least it wasn't completely wasted time, you think as the knock sounds again. You're armed with information and ideas, and if you can manage to get your thoughts straight, maybe today won't be complete chaos.

“My lady?” A hesitant voice calls from the doorway, and you look up to see the servant from the last few days hovering on the threshold. “I have your breakfast.”

“Oh. Right. Come in.”

She hurries inside, setting the tray down on the only free corner of the desk. She moves with a quiet efficiency, and you can see that she’s still a little intimidated by you, but she’s also… curious. You catch her watching you out of the corner of your eye as she straightens the already straight pillows on the setee, and you watch her back. You wonder what she’s heard, what she thinks. You wonder if she’s one of the people who are whispering about you in the halls.

“What’s your name?” you ask.

She freezes, her hands hovering over a vase of silk flowers. “Lan, my lady.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Lan,” you say, giving her a small, friendly smile as you introduce yourself. “I’m sorry I’ve been so distracted. Thank you for your help so far.”

“Oh. It’s my job, my lady,” she says, but her shoulders lose some of their stiffness.

“Well, you’re good at it,” you reply. “And I appreciate it. But you don’t have to call me ‘my lady.’ I’m not exactly courtly. My name is fine."

Her eyebrows shoot up, and you can see the conflict on her face. She’s been trained her whole life to be formal, to be deferential. Calling a guest of the royal household by their first name is probably a punishable offense. But you’re not a normal guest, and you can see that she’s dying to know why.

"But you're the Fire Lord's honored guest. And his new... head gardener," she adds with a slight emphasis on the title. “It wouldn’t be proper.”

You let out a sigh and drop your head. So, the rumors are already flying. Of course they are. You should have known. This place is like a pressure cooker, and you've just been tossed into the fire.

"I'm a friend of Zuko's," you say, looking up at her. "I've known him since we were teenagers. I'm just here to help with the garden."

"And to stay in the Sun Chamber," she counters, and you have to give her points for courage. No one else has been brave enough to even hint at the scandalous nature of your presence. Though what she means by the Sun Chamber, you don't know. It sounds fancy, though. Too fancy for you.

"It's a very nice room," you admit, picking up your charcoal and tapping it on the desk. "A little much for me, but very nice."

You hold her gaze, and she holds yours, waging a silent battle of wills over the landscape of your life. You can see the curiosity warring with her ingrained sense of propriety, and you have a feeling curiosity is winning.

Her eyes drop down to your hand and the charcoal you're tapping. Her head tilts slightly. "You're an earthbender, aren't you?" she asks, and you nod, surprised. You didn't think you'd used any bending in front of her. "I can tell. You have a way about you. A stillness."

You blink, taken aback by her observation. No one's ever said anything like that to you before. You've always been told you're too restless, too impulsive, too... much. You've never been called still.

"Um, thanks.”

"It's a good thing," she says, a teasing note in her voice. "The Fire Lord needs someone calm to balance him out."

Your heart skips a beat at the implication. The idea of you and Zuko as a balancing force, two halves of a whole, is a dangerous one. It's also a ridiculous one. You're anything but calm, and he's a walking, talking bonfire of repressed emotion. You'd be more likely to set each other on fire than to balance each other out. You need to shut this down, now.

"I think he has plenty of people to balance him out," you say. "Like Mai. She's very...calm. And collected. And pointy."

You’ve only met Mai a handful of times, but that's your main impression of her. A very calm, very pointy, very dangerous woman who seemed to find your endless enthusiasm profoundly exhausting. She was a good match for Zuko, you always thought. A cool, quiet pool of water to douse his flames. You, on the other hand, were a forest fire waiting to happen.

Lan snorts, a most unladylike sound, and quickly covers her mouth with her hand.

"Lady Mai is... she's not here.” She tucks her hands behind her and leans back, peering around the wall of the study to check the door. Once assured of privacy, she adds, “And she hasn't been for a long time."

"What do you mean?” you frown. “She’s visiting Jonduri.”

"That's what they say," she replies, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "But she's been there for over a year now. And there are other... visitors. A poet, I hear."

Your jaw drops, and you feel a strange mix of emotions wash over you. Shock, confusion, and a tiny, traitorous flicker of something that feels an awful lot like hope. You stamp out that ember with a vengeance.

"Oh," is all you manage to say. “Okay.”

You can't believe he didn't tell you. In all the letters he sent, all the times you talked about your lives, he never mentioned that he and Mai had broken up. You thought they were happy, or as happy as two of the most repressed people in the four nations could be. Why would he keep something like that from you? Was he embarrassed? Or did he just not think it was important? That you weren’t important?

You feel a twinge of hurt, try as you might to quell that, too. He didn't have to tell you. It's his private business. And perhaps there’s some sort of arrangement there you’re too simple to understand. It wouldn’t surprise you if there were all sorts of complex noble traditions you’re not privy to. You’re a dirt farmer from the Earth Kingdom. What do you know about it?

Lan is watching you, her head tilted to the side, and you can see the pity in her eyes. She thinks you're a lovesick fool who's been pining over a taken man, and you can't blame her. That's exactly what you've been acting like.

"Look, my la—"

"Please. Don't," you say, standing up and walking to the balcony, your back to her. "It doesn't matter. It's none of our business."

The words sound hollow, even to your own ears. You're a bad liar. And you're an even worse friend. You should be happy for him, for finding someone who makes him happy, not secretly hoping that he's available. You're a terrible, selfish person.

"Right," Lan says, her voice sympathetic. "Of course."

She’s quiet for a moment, and you can hear the rustle of fabric as she moves around the room. You wish she would just leave. You want to be alone with your thoughts, with your confusing, selfish, pathetic thoughts.

"Don't worry too much about it," she speaks up from behind you. "The Fire Lord... he's a good man. He's just a bit... lost. And he's been looking for you for a long time. It's not my place, but I think he needs a friend."

Your breath catches in your throat, and you turn on your heel, bracing yourself against the railing behind you. "What?"

"Oh. I probably shouldn't have said that," Lan says, her cheeks flushing. "Just forget I said anything. Please."

"Forget you said what?" you press. "What do you mean, he's been looking for me?"

She opens her mouth to answer, but a sharp, insistent knock on the door cuts her off. She shoots you a panicked look and rushes to the door, pulling it open to reveal Shoji and the seamstress. Shoji's face is a blank mask of disapproval, and he glances from Lan's flushed face to your disheveled state with a disdainful sniff. The seamstress simply holds up the wicker basket filled with your new wardrobe, her expression as cool and impassive as ever.

You peek over the balcony and gauge the distance to the ground, and bite back a sigh. Too high.

"The Fire Lord requested that these be delivered to you," Shoji announces. "He also asked me to inform you that he will be delayed. Council business. And he requests you do not begin ‘soil analysis’ without him. He’s..." He glances at the messy desk, at your charcoal-smudged fingers, and shudders. "... very much looking forward to it."

You can almost hear the quotation marks he puts around the phrase 'soil analysis,' and you feel a fresh wave of heat creep up your neck. You're going to kill Zuko. Or maybe yourself. Either way, someone's going to die today.

"Thank you, Shoji," you say, your voice tight. "I'll be sure to wait for him."

He gives you a curt nod and turns to leave, but he stops at the door and looks back. "A word, Lan."

Her shoulders slump in defeat, and she follows him out of the room, casting an apologetic look over her shoulder at you before the door clicks shut.

You stand there, stunned, staring at the head seamstress, for what feels like an eternity, trying to process the barrage of information that's been dumped on you. Mai and a poet. Zuko looking for you. Head Gardener. What a mess. You're in way over your head, and you're starting to think that running from that governor was the easy part of this week.

The sun is high in the sky by the time you finally make it to the garden, with a basket of gardening tools slung over your shoulder and a new, practical set of linen clothes that you have to admit are incredibly comfortable. It had taken some convincing to get Imaza, the seamstress, to allow you to walk through the palace without a single piece of silk on your person, but in the end, you'd won. You always do.

You decide to simply not think about the rest of the clothes you left behind in the wardrobe, or the confusing, hopeful feeling that Lan’s words had sparked in you. You're a woman of action, not of thought, and right now, you have a garden to save. Everything else can wait.

When you reach the entrance to the garden, you stop, a slow smile spreading across your face, and take it in. The entire space is a veritable disaster zone. Weeds tower over your head, choking out the life from what you can only assume are plants you're meant to be saving. The stream has overgrown its banks, turning the water sluggish. And the shed looks like it's one strong gust of wind away from collapsing into a pile of rotting wood. It’s a mess. A glorious, beautiful, wonderful mess. This is going to be fun.

“Right,” you say to yourself, clapping your hands together. “Let’s get to work.”

You lose all track of time, your mind blissfully empty as you focus on freeing the garden from its overgrown prison. You pull weeds, prune dead branches, clear debris from the stream, and have a particularly drawn-out argument with a thorny vine that has a death grip on a rose bush. By the time the sun is high over the palace, sweat is beading on your brow, and your fingers are stained with dirt and pollen. You've abandoned your outer tunic, leaving you in just your undertunic and trousers, your hair falling out of its braid to stick to your neck.

And as you stand with your feet spread and your fingers pointed, encouraging a large, stubborn rock to loosen its grip on the bank of the stream, you can't help but sigh in contentment. There’s nothing in this world that feels more natural to you than this. More right. To be connected to the earth in such a fundamental way is a comfort you’ve never been able to find anywhere else.

“I thought you were going to wait for me.”

You nearly jump out of your skin, spinning around to find Zuko standing at the gate, arms crossed over his chest. The stone unearths with a plat of wet soil and shoots up into the air, poised to fly in his direction, before you quickly reel it back in. It falls and sinks back into the muck.

"I was," you say, breathless, your heart racing from the surprise. "But I got impatient. There's too much to do."

"I can see that," Zuko says, his gaze lingering on your exposed arms. His lips part slightly before he closes them with a soft click. He clears his throat. “It looks like you’ve made some progress.”

“I’ve made a dent. But I’ve only just begun," you give him a wide, wicked grin, and wipe the sweat from your brow with the back of your hand. "You’re going to be a very busy man, Your Magnificence. I have a list of chores for you already.”

“Of course you do,” he mutters, but he’s smiling as he walks further into the garden. He’s traded the formal robes of the court for simple, dark trousers and a loose-fitting tunic that shows off the lean muscle of his arms, and the topknot and crown is absent in favor of a loose bun at the nape of his neck. He looks more like the Zuko you remember, the one who traveled with you across the world, and you nearly sigh with relief. You’ve had enough of the Fire Lord. You want your friend.

“You’re late,” you say. "Council business run long?"

"Something like that," he sighs. He gestures vaguely towards the palace, and the distant sounds of the bustling city. "King Kuei sent a new trade agreement. The council wants to renegotiate the tariffs on marble and jade. Again."

"You'd think they'd have more important things to worry about," you snort, turning back to the rock and giving it a sharp kick. "Like, I don't know, feeding people."

"They're getting better," he defends, and you shoot him a skeptical look. "Mostly. It's a slow process."

Zuko comes to stand beside you, peering at the rock. He nudges it with the toe of his shiny leather boot, and it doesn't move.

"I was getting to that," you say with a huff. "The earth here is stubborn. Doesn't like being told what to do."

"Can't imagine why," he drawls, and you roll your eyes. “So, what’s my first assignment, oh taskmaster?”

"Just go pull some weeds by the stream," you command, pointing in the general direction of the overgrown bank. "But be careful not to disturb the moss. I want to keep it."

"How do I know which ones are weeds?" he asks, looking at the sea of green with a bewildered expression.

"It's all weeds right now," you say with a grin. "Except for the moss. And that one little blue flower over there. Don't touch the blue flower."

"Right. The blue flower," he nods solemnly. "No blue flower. Got it."

You watch him for a moment as he carefully picks his way through the overgrowth, his brow furrowed in concentration. He's trying, you have to give him that. He's trying to be a good friend, a good student, a good... whatever this is. And it's sweet. Really sweet. It’s nice to know that underneath the formal veneer of the Fire Lord and the brooding angst of the redeemed prince, he's still the same awkward, earnest boy you've always known. You just wish you knew what to do with him.

You turn back to the rock, and with a final, powerful surge, you wrench it from the earth and send it flying into a pile of other debris you’ve cleared. It lands with a satisfying thud, and you stand there, panting, a triumphant smile on your face.

"Show off," Zuko calls from the other side of the stream, and you laugh. “Bending is cheating.”

“It’s not cheating if it’s my job,” you call back. "You're just jealous."

"Of what? Your ability to move dirt? I'm a firebender. I can bend lightning," he reminds you, a smug look on his face. "I think I win."

"Yeah, well, my bending doesn't require a ridiculous, overly dramatic arm dance and a bunch of silly breathing exercises," you retort, putting your hands on your hips. "It's efficient. Practical."

He scoffs. "You wouldn't last five minutes in a Pai Sho tournament. It's all about strategy. Seeing the bigger picture. Something you earthbenders know nothing about."

You turn to glower at him. You know he's baiting you, that this is an old, familiar argument, one you've had a hundred times before in a dozen different places, but you can’t help it. You fall for it every single time. Because it's fun. Because it's easy. Because it's the one thing in this whole complicated mess that feels normal.

"Pai Sho is for old men and politicians with too much time on their hands," you reply, moving to the next patch of stubborn weeds. "And I'm great at it, by the way. I just don't like all the rules. And the sitting. And the quiet."

“That’s because you bend the tiles when you start to lose,” Zuko says without looking up from his task. “It’s a tell. You get twitchy.”

“I do not get twitchy,” you lie. You can feel the familiar prickle of annoyance crawling up your neck, the same one you always get when he knows you better than you know yourself. It's a frustrating and, secretly, comforting feeling. It’s nice to be seen, even when what’s seen is your tendency to cheat at board games. "At least I don't set the board on fire when I get a bad spread."

"That was one time!" he insists, his head snapping up. "And I was provoked! You were cheating."

"I was not," you argue, but you're smiling now. You can't help it. This is so much better than the awkward silence of the dining hall, the formal stiffness of the palace halls. This is you. This is him. This is how you're supposed to be.

You fall into a comfortable rhythm, and the next few hours pass in a companionable haze of work and light-hearted bickering. Zuko is a surprisingly diligent worker, if a bit clumsy and huffy. He asks a lot of questions, and you're happy to answer, happy to share your knowledge with someone who's actually interested. He has a good eye for detail, and he's surprisingly strong, hauling rocks and clearing debris with a focused intensity that's a little bit mesmerizing.

You're so lost in your work that you don't notice the time passing. It's not until your stomach growls loudly that you realize you've completely worked through lunch, and dinner is rapidly approaching. You straighten up, wiping the sweat from your brow with the back of your hand, and look around for Zuko.

You find him by the stream, his hands on his knees as he catches his breath. His shirt clings to his chest with sweat, and his hair is a mess, tendrils of it escaping his knot to stick to his forehead. He's covered in dirt and grass stains, and he's never looked more handsome. He looks like a real person. Your friend. Not the Fire Lord.

He catches you looking and straightens up, a shy smile on his face. "Hi.”

"Hi yourself," you reply, returning his smile as you kneel beside him, dunking your hands into the water to clean them off. "You look beat."

He lets out a dry laugh. "I am. This is harder than it looks."

"You're doing great," you assure him, splashing some water on your face. "We've already made a lot of progress. We just need a few more days of this, and we can start thinking about planting."

"A few more days?" Zuko groans. He falls backwards onto the grass with a thud and covers his face with his arm. "I'm going to be useless."

"Don't tell me the mighty Fire Lord is already giving up," you tease, leaning over him to pull his arm away from his face. His skin is flushed and hot, and a bead of sweat trickles down the side of his neck, disappearing into the collar of his shirt. You tear your eyes away. "We have a lot more work to do, and I'm not going to do it all myself."

"I'm not giving up," he grumbles. "I just...need a break. And some water. And maybe a nap."

You grin, and scoop up a handful of cool water from the stream. "I can help with the water.”

He yelps as you dump it on his face, and he shoots up, spluttering and wiping the water from his eyes. You scramble to your feet to avoid his retaliation, but you're not fast enough. He’s on his feet in an instant, and he's fast. Much faster than you remember him being. He’s no longer the lanky, awkward teenager you once knew. He's a man now, strong and capable and confident, and the thought sends a confusing jolt through you.

"Get back here!" he yells, but you're already running. You weave your way through the garden, your feet pounding on the earth, and you can hear him crashing along behind you, a string of creative curses flowing from his lips. You laugh as you dodge a patch of overgrown blackberries, the thorns snagging at your trousers.

You’re heading for the shed, thinking you can lose him in the tangle of junk that’s piled up outside the door, but he anticipates your move and cuts you off, grabbing you by the waist and spinning you around. You land hard against his chest, your hands braced on his arms to keep from falling.

“You think that’s funny?” he growls playfully. His arms tighten around you, and he straightens his back, lifting you off the ground as if you weigh nothing. You kick your legs, trying to get free, but he's too strong, and you're laughing too hard to put up a real fight. “I should throw you into the stream for that.”

"No, no," you protest, your voice breathless. "Mercy! I surrender!"

"Not a chance," he chuckles, and he starts to walk towards the water.

"Zuko, no," you gasp, your laughter turning to a panicked squeal. "I'll be good! I swear!"

He tosses you into the stream with a mighty heave. The cold water shocks your system, and you come up sputtering, your clothes soaked and your hair plastered to your face. You wipe the water from your eyes to find Zuko standing on the bank, laughing so hard he has to brace himself on the lemon tree.

"You're going to regret that," you warn, pushing your wet hair out of your face.

"Is that a threat?" he asks as he saunters closer to the edge of the bank. "Because I'm not sure you're in a position to be making threats right now."

You let him have his moment of triumph. You let him gloat. You wait until he's leaning over you, an infuriating smirk on his face, and you make your move. With a quick flick of your wrist, the earth under his feet shifts, and Zuko tumbles into the stream beside you with a loud yelp, limbs flailing.

He emerges from the water a moment later, looking more waterlogged cat than graceful dragon. A peal of laughter escapes you before you can stop it, and Zuko's head whips in your direction. For a second, he looks genuinely annoyed. Then, a slow smile pulls at his lips, and he splashes you right in the face.

You squeal and retaliate, and soon the two of you are engaged in an all-out water war. You splash, you duck, you dive, and you laugh until your sides hurt, until you're both breathless and panting, your heads bent together in the dappled sunlight. When the laughter finally subsides, Zuko helps you up the bank and back onto the grassy patch where you’d been resting. You're both soaking wet, covered in mud, and grinning like idiots.

"I win," you declare, flopping onto the grass with a sigh.

"You cheated," he counters, flopping down beside you. "You always cheat."

"I'm resourceful," you correct, closing your eyes and letting the warm sun dry your face. "There's a difference."

You lie side-by-side on the grass for a long time, just listening to the sounds of the garden and the distant hum of the city. You can feel the warmth of Zuko's body next to yours, and you have to fight the urge to roll over and curl into his side. It’s a dangerous thought. A stupid one.

You don't want to ruin this. This easy, comfortable silence. This fragile peace you've found. You're afraid if you move, if you say the wrong thing, it will shatter into a million pieces, and you'll be left with the sharp, painful edges of your own making. You're not sure you're strong enough to survive it.

Zuko breaks the silence first. "I missed this."

"What? Being beaten up by a girl?" you tease without opening your eyes. "Because I'm sure I can arrange for that to happen more often."

He snorts. “No. Just this. Being with you. Having fun. I forgot what that felt like."

"Me too," you say, opening your eyes and turning to look at him. The setting sun casts a warm, golden glow over the garden, and it makes his face seem softer, younger. "It's nice to just... be. Without all the responsibilities, and the expectations. It's like we're kids again."

"Yeah. It's nice.” He nods, his expression thoughtful. “But I have to say, I don't miss the constant running for our lives. Or the near-death experiences."

“Or trying to kill each other,” you add with a wry smile.

He chuckles and reaches over to flick a bit of water on your arm. "I never wanted to kill you. Just... scare you a little."

"Oh, is that all?" you scoff, ringing water from your hair to flick him back. "You were a real terror, you know that? I used to have nightmares about you."

"Nightmares?" Zuko’s eyes widen, and the smile falls from his face. "Really?"

Your own smile fades, your chest tightening with guilt. You were only joking, a lighthearted jab at the person he used to be, but you see now how your words landed. You forgot, for a moment, how much he hates that part of himself, how hard he’s worked to leave it behind. You have a habit of forgetting that your words have a sharper impact on him than they do on others.

"I mean, not like, all the time,” you fumble as you sit up and turn to face him, pulling your knees to your chest. "It was more like... a recurring anxiety dream. You know the ones. Where you're being chased, and you can't get away? You were just… the monster in the dream. No offense."

"None taken," he mutters, but his voice is tight, and he won't look at you as he sits up. He picks at a blade of grass, shredding it into tiny pieces. "I get it.”

You let out a frustrated sigh, pushing your damp hair away from your face. You’re no good at this. The apologies, the delicate feelings, the careful navigation of other people’s insecurities—it’s all a mess. You’re a person of action, a doer, not a talker. You want to fix things, to make them better, but you don't know how to fix this. You can't bend your way out of a hurt feeling.

You shuffle closer on the damp grass, your shoulder bumping against his. His whole body goes rigid, and you hold your breath, half expecting him to push you away. But then he lets out a long, shuddering sigh, and you feel the tension drain out of him as he leans his head against yours, just for a moment. You take that as permission to press closer.

"For what it's worth," you start softly, "you're much scarier as the Fire Lord than you ever were as a monster in my dreams. All that... responsibility. And heavy fabrics. And tax reform. It's terrifying."

The corner of his mouth twitches, and he turns his head toward you, his breath tickling your hair. "Yeah?"

"Absolutely," you say with a solemn nod. "You're a menace to society. A true villain."

He lets out a quiet laugh, and the relief that washes over you is so potent it almost makes you dizzy. You’ve managed to fix it. You’ve managed to smooth over the rough edges of your own carelessness, and you’ve been forgiven. Again.

"Good to know I still have it.” He leans back on his elbows, looking up at the sky, which is now a brilliant, fiery orange. "You know, for a while there, I was worried you were still scared of me."

"I was never scared of you," you say as you mirror his posture, and it's the truth. You were wary. You were cautious. But you were never scared. "I was scared of what you might do. And what you were trying to do. But never of you. There was always good in you."

He looks at you then, and the intensity in his gaze makes your breath catch. The sunlight catches the gold in his eyes, and you see something there you haven't seen in a long, long time. Something soft, and vulnerable, and full of a hope that makes your heart ache.

"How could you possibly know that?" Zuko asks, his voice barely a whisper. "Back then. When I was… a mess."

"Because I was looking," you reply without hesitation. "And because I have good instincts. I know people. I know you."

"You know me," he repeats, and the corner of his mouth twitches in an almost smile.

You nod. You know him. You know the way he takes his tea, the look on his face when he's trying to solve an impossible problem, the way he scrunches his nose when he's confused. You know his laugh, his frown, the way his eyes go soft when he looks at the turtle ducks, and the sound he makes when he's frustrated.

You know his scars. You know his pain. And, somehow, after all this time, you know his heart. Or at least, you thought you did.

“Thank you,” he says after a long moment of silence. "For not giving up on me."

"I'd never give up on you," you reply. You don’t hesitate to say that, either. "You're stuck with me. I hope you know that."

You sit in silence, watching each other, the setting sun casting long shadows across the garden. You're so aware of him, of every breath and every movement of his eyes as they search yours, and you feel a strange, unfamiliar pull. It makes you want to move closer, to close the small distance between you, to...

"Lord Zuko? Are you back there?"

Zuko groans and drops his head back to the ground, his eyes squeezing shut. You feel his skin suddenly heat where your arm touches his. "What, Shoji?"

You both turn to find the Grand Chamberlain standing at the gate, a look of profound disapproval on his face. He's flanked by two servants, one carrying a stack of towels, the other holding a bundle of clothes. They're all trying very hard not to look at you, at your wet clothes and your disheveled state, and you can't help but feel a fresh wave of heat creep up your neck. You're going to be the talk of the palace for weeks.

"I was sent to check on you, my Lord," Shoji says, his tone dripping with a carefully measured neutrality. "You have a dinner with Ambassador Fang in an hour. And you're… soaking wet."

"Oh. Right. Dinner," Zuko mutters. He pushes himself up with a sigh, holding out a hand to help you to your feet. "I completely forgot."

"So I see," Shoji says, his eyes fixed on the mud on Zuko's boots.

"He fell," you say, at the same time Zuko says, "She pushed me."

You both turn to look at each other, and a shared laugh bubbles up between you. Shoji, however, is not amused. His mustache quivers with disapproval, and you can practically hear the lecture he's dying to give Zuko about propriety and decorum and the dangers of consorting with... well, with you.

"Well, whatever the cause," Shoji sniffs. "We must get you both cleaned up. Immediately."

He gives a sharp nod, and the servants spring into action, wrapping you both in warm, fluffy towels. They're efficient and discreet, but you still feel like you're being handled, like you're a child who can't be trusted to take care of herself. You try to take the towel from the girl, but she just tightens her grip, her eyes fixed on the ground.

"I'm fine," you insist, but she doesn't let go.

"Let them help," Zuko says, and you turn to find him watching you, a strange look on his face. He’s already been wrapped up, and is now being handed the clean clothes. "It's their job."

You let out a frustrated sigh, but you stop fighting. You can see the logic in his words, but you don't have to like it. You’re used to taking care of yourself, and you don't need a team of servants to help you get dressed. It's just… unnecessary.

"So," you say, turning to Zuko as the servants fuss over you, trying to preserve what little dignity you have left. "Ambassador Fang, huh? Sounds important."

"He is." Zuko’s nose wrinkles. "More haggling over jade tariffs. I can hardly contain my excitement."

You laugh, and the girl wrapping the towel around your shoulders looks up at you in surprise. "You'll do great," you assure him. "You're very good at... haggling."

"I am," he agrees, a small smile playing on his lips. "It's a gift."

The servants finish their work and retreat, leaving you with a dry, clean set of clothes that are, to your immense relief, made of the same comfortable linen as the ones you were wearing before. You give them an appreciative smile before they disappear, leaving you alone with Zuko and the ever-present Shoji.

“I’ll be there in a minute, Shoji,” Zuko says. He gestures to the tools scattered around the garden. “We just need to clean up our mess.”

“Of course, my Lord,” the Grand Chamberlain says, but he doesn't move. He just stands there, until Zuko finally turns and gives him a pointed look. With a final, curt bow, Shoji retreats, leaving you alone in the twilight. As soon he's out of earshot, Zuko slumps against the tree, muttering to himself, and you snort a laugh.

"It's not funny,” he scowls.

"It's a little funny," you counter as you gather up your tools. "He's like a mother hen. Always clucking around, making sure you're behaving."

"He's a pain in my ass," Zuko grumbles, running a hand through his damp hair. "But he's a good aide. He just... worries too much."

"He's just doing his job. You are the Fire Lord, after all. You have to set an example."

“Yeah,” he sighs. “I know.”

The two of you work in silence, gathering the tools and putting them back in the basket. You're both still damp, and the evening air is starting to get cool, but you don't mind. There's a comfortable intimacy in the quiet task, a sense of shared purpose that feels more real than any formal dinner or council meeting.

When you finish packing the basket, you turn to Zuko, a question on your lips, but a strangled sound leaves you instead. He’s untying his soaked shirt, peeling the wet fabric from his skin. The water from the stream glimmers in the fading light, tracing paths down the planes of his chest and the hard ridges of his stomach. You follow the trail of one drop as it travels over his collarbone, dipping down his chest, and coming to a stop at the sharp edge of his hip. You have the sudden, absurd urge to reach out and catch it with your tongue.

You swallow, a hot flush creeping up your neck, and you force yourself to focus on folding your discarded towel with a concentration it doesn't deserve. He's a beautiful man. You've always known that, in the abstract way one knows that the sun is bright and the sky is blue. But you've never felt that beauty like this before. Not as a fact, but as a force. Something that pulls at you, makes you want to do things you have no business wanting to do.

“It’ll be easier to change here,” Zuko says, a hint of apology in his tone. “I can’t walk through the palace like this. Shoji would have an aneurysm.”

"No, I get it," you say, your eyes fixed on the towel in your hands. "Makes sense.”

You fold. You refold. You shake out the towel and fold it again. You hear the rustle of fabric behind you, the soft thud of wet clothes hitting the grass. You can feel the air shift as he moves, and you have to physically stop yourself from turning around.

"I guess I'll see you later, then?" you ask, your voice a little too high. "For... not-dinner? I'll probably just eat in my room. I'm pretty muddy."

"Yeah," he replies. "I'll try to get away early. But don't wait up. These things can run late."

“Okay. I’ll try not to.”

You risk a glance over your shoulder, and your breath catches in your throat. He’s already changed, but his hair is loose from its knot, falling in dark, damp strands around his face as he tries to dry it with a towel. He looks up, catching you staring, and you feel your cheeks flush.

“Do you need help?” you find yourself asking before you can stop it, and your feet carry you closer. “With that?”

He lowers the towel, raising a brow. "Do you know how to do it?"

“I think I can handle it,” you snort, and take the towel from him. “I have helped Toph with her hair before, you know. And she has a lot of it.”

You stand behind him, your fingers brushing against the nape of his neck as you gather the damp strands. His skin is warm, and you can feel the slight shiver that runs through him when your knuckles graze him. His hair is thicker than you expected, softer, and you can't help but marvel at the feel of it in your hands. You work in silence, your fingers moving through the strands, untangling the knots. The tension in his shoulders start to ease as you go, until he’s slumped forward, his head bent in submission. You feel your heartbeat pick up at the sight.

It's not long before you're finished, and you tie off the end with the leather strip he gives you. When you step back, Zuko reaches up, testing the tightness of the knot, and lets out an approving hum.

"It's perfect," he says. "Thank you."

"It's no problem," you say, turning to pick up your basket. “Have fun with your ambassador.”

"Yeah, right.” He snorts and shakes his head. “I'll see you later."

He turns to walk away, but not before his hand brushes your arm, trailing a line of fire across your skin. You watch him go, the basket dangling from your hand, your heart racing. You don't move until the sound of his footsteps fades away, and you're left alone with the sound of crickets and the pounding of your own foolish heart.

The thought brings with it an unfamiliar sense of calm, and you take a deep breath, savoring the moment. The birds are singing, the morning sun is streaming in through the balcony doors, and you have nowhere to be, nothing to do, for once. It's nice.

You're half-tempted to burrow deeper into the soft pillows and drift back off to sleep, but a gentle knock at the door interrupts the fantasy. You push yourself up on your elbows, frowning. Who would be knocking at your door this early?

Another knock, more insistent this time, and you can hear a muffled voice from the other side of the door. "My Lady? Are you awake?"

You sigh and sit up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. "Come in."

The door opens, and the servant from dinner the night before enters, a breakfast tray balanced expertly in her hands. She's dressed in the same red-and-gold uniform as before, and her hair is done up in a neat bun, a few stray wisps escaping to frame her face.

"Good morning, my Lady," she says, bowing her head. "I hope you slept well."

"Good morning," you say, forcing a smile. You don't want her to feel bad, not when she's only doing her job. "And yes, I did. Thank you."

She sets the tray down on the table near the balcony doors, the porcelain dishes clinking softly as she does. You’re relieved to see it’s a simple spread, just tea, congee, and a bowl of fruit. Though the flower in the tiny vase is an unexpected touch.

"Lord Zuko thought you might like breakfast," she says, adjusting the vase and fussing with the arrangement of the dishes. "He sends his apologies for not being able to join you, but he has a meeting with the trade council this morning."

"That's fine," you say, trying not to feel disappointed. You didn't expect him to take the morning off, not for you. "What time is it, anyway?"

"Just after eight, my Lady," she says as she smoothes out an invisible wrinkle in the tablecloth. She steps back and gives the arrangement a satisfied nod, before turning to face you again. "If you'd like, I can draw you a bath. Or a hot towel, if you prefer. And the seamstress will be here in an hour to take your measurements."

"Seamstress?" you ask. "For what?"

"For your wardrobe,” she answers, gesturing to the closet you’d perused yesterday, where your threadbare clothes hang next to the array of silk and satin. "The Fire Lord mentioned you didn’t bring much with you. He’s taken the liberty of providing you with a few things. But the seamstress will need your measurements to make any adjustments."

"He… what?" you sputter as the words finally sink in. He's having a whole new wardrobe made for you. A whole new wardrobe of clothes that you have no intention of wearing. You're here for a few days, a week at most, and you're perfectly happy in your own clothes.

You know, though, that this is one battle you're not going to win. He’s already gone to all this trouble, and you don't want to hurt his feelings. Again. So you'll just have to grin and bear it. You'll let the seamstress take your measurements, and you'll try on the ridiculous clothes, and you'll pretend that you're not completely and totally out of your element.

"Okay," you say, your voice tight. "That's... fine."

A small smile breaks through her formal mask. "Great. I’ll send for her."

She gives you a quick bow, and then she's gone, leaving you alone with your thoughts and a breakfast you're no longer hungry for. You pour a cup of tea and take a slow sip, trying to ignore the knot of unease tightening in your stomach. You’re being ungrateful. You know you are. He’s just trying to be nice. He’s just trying to take care of you, in the only way he knows how.

But it’s too much. It’s all too much.

You stand up and walk to the balcony, the morning sun warm on your skin. The city below is starting to come to life, the streets filling with people and the sounds of a new day. You watch them for a while, trying to lose yourself in the rhythm of their lives, in the simple, everyday act of living. You need to get out of here. You need to get some fresh air, to feel the earth beneath your feet, to be somewhere you're not a charity case. You need to be somewhere you belong.

But you can't leave. You're trapped. Not by the walls of the palace, but by your own stupid, stubborn pride. You don't want to disappoint Zuko. You don't want to hurt him. But so far, you’ve only done both, and you’re not sure how to stop.

A soft knock on the door pulls you from your thoughts. You take a deep breath and brace yourself.

The door opens, and an older woman with silver hair pulled back in a severe bun enters. She's carrying a large, leather-bound book and a narrow box, and she has the same no-nonsense look as the servant who’d brought your breakfast. You recognize her from your brief tour of the palace as the head seamstress, and your stomach sinks.

“My Lady,” she says, her head bowed. “I am here to take your measurements.”

“Right,” you say tightly. “Of course. Let’s just get this over with.”

She sets her things down on the table and opens the book, revealing a dizzying array of fabric swatches and design sketches. She looks at you, her eyes narrowed, and you have the sudden, unnerving feeling that she can see right through you, through the threadbare cotton of your nightdress and the flimsy armor of your good humor. You look away.

“If you could just stand here, my Lady,” she points. “And hold your arms out to the side.”

You do as she asks, your movements stiff and awkward. You feel like a bug pinned to a board. She wraps a measuring tape around your chest, your waist, your hips with quick movements. She calls out the numbers, her tone flat and clinical, and you try to ignore the heat creeping up your neck. You’re used to being looked at, but this is different. This is... invasive.

“You have a strong frame,” she says, and you’re surprised by the note of approval in her voice. “Good, solid bone structure. You’ll be able to carry the heavier fabrics without it looking… costume-y.”

“I… thank you?” you say, not sure if that’s a compliment or an insult.

“The Fire Lord’s orders were very specific,” she continues, unspooling the tape and moving to your arms. “He wants you to be comfortable. But he also wants you to look… presentable. To be an ambassador for the new Fire Nation.”

“He said that?”

“He did,” she confirms without looking up. “He thinks very highly of you, my Lady.”

You don’t know what to say to that, so you just stand there, your arms outstretched, and you let her work. You try to process her words, to make sense of the strange, warm feeling that’s spreading through your chest. He thinks highly of you. Of course he does. You’re friends. But the way she said it made it sound like something else.

She finishes with the measurements and closes her book, a satisfied look on her face. You watch as she moves to the closet and gathers the finery hanging beside your own clothes, holding each garment up to the light before she folds it and places it in a large wicker basket. 

“These will all be altered to fit you,” she says, gesturing to the basket. “I’ll have my girls work on them today. They should be ready by tomorrow morning.”

“Tomorrow?” you repeat. You’re sure you must have heard her wrong. “You can have all of this done by tomorrow?”

“We can,” she says with a proud smile. “We are very good at what we do.”

She picks up the basket and turns to leave, but she stops at the door and looks back at you, her head tilted to the side. “Lord Zuko also mentioned you might enjoy something a little more… practical. For your daily activities. We have some lovely linens and cottons, if you’d like to see them.”

“I… I would,” you say softly. “I would like that very much.”

She gives you a small nod, and then she’s gone, leaving you alone to stare at your single outfit still swaying on its wooden hanger.

The morning passes in a blur of activity. You bathe in the massive tub with jasmine oils. You explore the study, finding a collection of scrolls on horticulture and agriculture, and you spend a pleasant hour reading about the cultivation of fire lilies. You even venture out onto the balcony to do your katas before the feeling of being a caged bird returns with a vengeance, and you retreat back into the gilded safety of your rooms.

By the time your guide returns to lead you to the royal gardens, you’re buzzing with a nervous energy you can’t quite shake. You're looking forward to seeing Zuko, but you're also dreading it. Every interaction with him feels like a minefield now, and you're afraid you're going to say the wrong thing, do the wrong thing, and ruin the fragile peace you've found.

You follow your guide through the winding corridors of the palace, trying to keep up with her hurried pace. The halls are bustling with courtiers and officials, all of whom stop to stare as you pass. You can hear their whispers, feel their eyes on your back, and you straighten your shoulders, a defiant tilt to your chin. You refuse to let them intimidate you. You’ve faced down firebending warlords and vengeful spirits. A few nosy nobles are nothing.

Zuko intercepts you just as you reach a set of grand doors, propped open to let the spring breeze flow through. He’s wearing a brocade robe of black and gold, crown nestled on his topknot, and he’s frowning at a scroll in his hands. He doesn’t notice you at first, and you take a moment to study him, to see the Fire Lord instead of your friend.

He’s changed. The years have carved new lines and shadows around his eyes, and the stoic set of his jaw is more pronounced than you remember. There's a gravity to him now, a weight of responsibility that sits heavy on his shoulders. He looks older, tired. But he also looks… settled. At peace with himself in a way he never was when you were younger.

He looks up then, and his frown melts away when he sees you. A genuine smile spreads slowly across his face, and the guards standing at attention nearby visibly flinch in surprise. You have a feeling they don't see that smile very often.

“There you are,” he says as he rolls up the scroll with a flick of his wrist. “I was starting to think you’d gotten lost.”

“It was a near thing,” you grin. “This place is a maze.”

“Tell me about it. I still get lost sometimes, and I live here.”

Your guide steps forward to take the scroll from him, and Zuko surprises you by removing his heavy robe next. The fabric drags on the ground for a moment before the servant can catch it, stumbling slightly under the weight. He’s left in a simpler tunic and loose trousers, an outfit you’ve seen him wear a hundred times. He moves more freely already, the tense set of his shoulders relaxing as he rolls the stiffness from his neck.

“These can go back to my study," he tells the woman. "And we’ll be in the garden. No interruptions.”

The guide bows, her eyes wide. “Of course, my Lord.”

“Let’s go,” he says, turning back to you with that same smile. “Before someone finds another ‘urgent’ matter for me to attend to.”

Zuko doesn't offer you his arm this time, but he walks close enough that your knuckles brush against his with every other step. The simple, accidental contact sends a jolt of awareness through you, and you have to fight the urge to pull away. You haven't felt this awkward around him since the early days, when you were still trying to figure out if he was going to try to kill you in your sleep. You don't understand why it’s happening now.

The guards who had been flanking him peel away and stand just outside the doors as you step through them, into the warm afternoon sun. The smell hits you first, a rich, loamy scent of damp earth, blooming flowers, and freshly cut grass. It's so different from the sterile, perfumed air of the palace that you stop for a moment and just breathe, your eyes roving over the vast expanse of color before you.

You’ve seen some of the most beautiful places in the world, but this… this is something else. It’s a carefully curated, meticulously maintained slice of paradise, and it’s breathtaking. Despite the obvious effort to order the wildness of nature, the sheer, untamable life-force of it all is a relief. You can feel the thrum of the earth beneath your feet here, even more than in the city. This is better. This is a place you can understand.

“It’s something, isn’t it?” Zuko asks from beside you.

“It’s beautiful,” you breathe out, your eyes wide with wonder. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“My grandfather had it designed,” he says, a wry note in his voice. “He had a thing for dragons.”

You follow his gaze and see them, then. They’re carved into the stone of the pathways, long, sinuous bodies twisting through the beds of flowers. They're in the metalwork of the benches with wings spread in flight, and they’re in the fountains with all-seeing stone eyes. A silent, imposing reminder of the power and the pride of the Fire Nation, everywhere you look. Your nose wrinkles.

“Well, they’re no turtleducks.”

He snorts a laugh. “No, they’re not. But they have their charms. This way.”

He leads you down a winding path, past beds of lupines and fire lilies with blooms as big as your fist. The air is buzzing with the drone of bees, and the sun is warm on your skin. You feel the last of the tightness in your shoulders finally dissolve, and your earlier enthusiasm returns, bubbling up inside of you like a spring from where your feet touch the ground. 

You can't resist. You stop, pressing your palm to the earth, and you let a small tendril of stone rise up. You shape it with your fingers, coaxing it into the rough likeness of an hibiscus growing beside you. It's crude, and a little bit lopsided, but it has a certain charm, if you do say so yourself.

You turn to Zuko, expecting an eye roll or an exasperated sigh. Instead, you find him watching you with an amused smile, his arms crossed over his chest.

"Neat trick," he says. "Can you make it a komodo rhino?"

"It's a flower," you say with a laugh. "It wants to be a flower. You can't force these things."

"Right," he says, a thoughtful look on his face. "The earth gives you what it wants to give you."

"Exactly," you smile, letting the flower crumble back into dust. "It's a conversation. You can't just… tell it what to do. You have to listen."

You're not sure if he understands what you mean by that, or if he's just humoring you, but Zuko doesn't press the issue. He just nods and leads you further into the garden, and you walk beside him, your hands swinging at your sides. You fall into an easy rhythm, the silence between you comfortable, companionable. You feel like you could walk with him forever.

You’re so caught up in the beauty of the gardens, in the simple joy of being in his company, that you almost forget the nagging questions that have been plaguing you. But as you round a corner and a stunning collection of bonsai trees comes into view, you find yourself asking before you can stop yourself.

“How’s Mai? She didn’t want to come with us? I bet she’d love the peacocks.”

You say it casually, but you’re not feeling casual. Your stomach is in knots, and your heart is beating a little too fast in your chest. But you have to know. You have to know if the life he’s built for himself includes her, the way you always assumed it would. 

The thought sends a sharp pang of something that feels an awful lot like jealousy through you, and you push it down, hard. You just need to know he’s not alone in this palace, that’s all.

Zuko looks at you like you’ve sprouted a second head. Now your stomach hurts, and you’re confused.

“Mai? Oh. She’s fine, I think,” he says, and the casual dismissal is so unlike him that it makes you frown. “She’s in Jonduri. And she hates birds. All birds. She thinks they’re…messy.”

“Oh,” you say, your brow furrowing. That explains why she’s not here, but not why he’s talking about her like she’s a distant acquaintance, not the woman he’s supposed to be in love with. “It must be hard, having her so far away.”

“It’s fine.” He shrugs. “We send letters sometimes.”

Letters? Sometimes? You stop walking. This isn't right. This isn't the Zuko and Mai you remember. They were always so intense, so wrapped up in each other, so dramatic. You remember the charged silences and the meaningful glances, the way they were always touching, even when they were fighting. This… this is nothing. This is… friendship. And a lukewarm one, at that.

You open your mouth to ask him what’s going on, but he’s already moving, turning a corner and nearly disappearing behind a hedge of vibrant, pink bougainvillea. You quickly jog after him, shaking your head.

“Here we are,” Zuko says as he stops in front of a simple wooden gate. “This is what I wanted to show you.”

You look from him to the gate, a frown still set on your face. You want to press him for more information about Mai, to demand to know what he's not telling you, but his expression stops you. His earlier awkwardness has returned, and he's shifting from foot to foot, his hands clasped behind his back like he’s waiting for a verdict.

Zuko takes a deep breath and pushes open the gate, gesturing for you to go inside. You give him a questioning look before you step through, and what you see when you emerge stops you in your tracks.

It's a garden. But it's not like the rest of the manicured, ordered gardens you’ve been walking through. This is wild, chaotic, and teeming with life. It’s a riot of green and brown, with a few splashes of color from the flowers that have managed to stake their claim among the weeds. A trickling stream meanders through the middle of the plot, and a small, rickety-looking bridge spans its width. There’s a wooden shed in one corner, roof sagging and windows caked with dirt. You spot a citrus tree struggling under the weight of its own fruit, and a small patch of what looks like tomatoes with vines spreading in all directions.

It’s messy. It’s overgrown. It’s perfect. And in the middle of it all, a single, stubborn fire lily pushes its way through the hard packed soil.

“Zuko, this is incredible,” you breathe out, moving to inspect the cabbage roses that have escaped their neatly trimmed beds. They’re twice the size of any you’ve ever seen, and you find yourself checking the stems for signs of pests. You find a few, but not enough to cause any real damage. You'll need to mix a soap spray, but it can wait until tomorrow.

“I’m glad you think so,” he says, and you can hear the relief in his voice. He follows you as you move to the citrus tree, frowning at the yellowing leaves.

“It’s getting too much water,” you say, more to yourself than to him. You check the soil around the base of the trunk, your fingers sinking into the rich, dark earth. “And it needs to be fertilized. Have you been using the compost?”

“I… have not,” he admits. “I wasn't sure how.”

“Of course,” you mutter as you walk to the wooden shed, pulling open the door. Your nose is immediately assaulted by the sharp, chemical smell of improperly aged fertilizer, and you wrinkle your nose in disgust and slam the door. “Oh, Zuko. This is a mess.”

You turn to face him and find him standing there, hands tucked into his pockets, a helpless look on his face. He looks so out of place among the weeds and the overgrown plants, and you have to fight the urge to laugh. He’s the Fire Lord. He commands armies and negotiates treaties, but he’s defeated by a pile of compost.

“Don’t you have gardeners for this?” you ask, a teasing note in your voice. You gesture to the garden around you. “Surely they can handle a few weeds and some fertilizer.”

His face falters, and he looks away, crossing his arms over his chest. “They were ordered not to touch it. This used to be my mother’s garden. After she… after she left, no one was allowed to come in here. And it just… fell apart.”

Oh.

His mother's garden. Of course. You look around again, and you can see her influence in the choice of plants, in the layout of the paths. It’s a place of beauty and peace, a sanctuary, and you can understand why he would want to keep it safe. Why he would want to keep it exactly as she left it. But it's not a sanctuary anymore. It's a tomb. And you know, better than anyone, that tombs are no place for the living.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur. “I didn't know.”

“It’s fine,” he says, but it’s not. You can hear the pain in his voice. “I tried to take care of it for a while, after I came back. But I… I’m not very good at it. And I didn’t have the time.”

“You were a little busy,” you say gently. “Fixing the world and all.”

A faint smile touches his lips. “Something like that.”

Zuko straightens, stuffing his hands back into his pockets. “But I was thinking,” he continues, his gaze fixed on the lone fire lily in the middle of the garden. “That maybe you could… help. If you wanted to.”

Your eyes widen, and the caged bird of your heart beats its wings against your ribs. This is what he was so nervous about? This is the secret he was keeping? He wasn’t asking you to be his ambassador. He was asking you to be his gardener. And it's the most thoughtful, most perfect thing anyone has ever offered you.

“You want me to… fix your garden?” you ask, just to be sure. He's the Fire Lord. He has an entire staff of gardeners at his disposal. Why would he want you?

“I want you to bring it back to life,” he corrects quietly, finally meeting your eyes. “I think my mother would have liked that.”

A slow smile spreads across your face, and you can feel the joy bubbling up inside of you, bright and effervescent. You could learn so much from this garden, and you could create something truly special, something that would honor his mother and bring him joy. You could help him, actually help him, in a way that matters. In a way that you understand.

You let out a happy whoop and launch yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his neck and nearly sending you both careening into the lemon tree. Zuko lets out a choked sound of surprise as you hug him, and for a moment he just stands there, stiff and awkward, before he hesitantly pats your back. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, breathing in the familiar scent of smoke and spice.

“Is that a yes?” he asks, his voice hoarse.

“Of course it’s a yes,” you murmur against his skin. “It’s a definite, absolute yes.”

You pull away, your hands still resting on his shoulders, and look up at him. His face is flushed, and there's a dazed expression in his eyes. “Good,” he says, a little breathless. “That’s… good.”

You can’t help but grin at his flustered state, and you lean in closer. “You’re going to regret this, you know. I have very high standards. There will be no chemical fertilizers. No pesticides. We’re going to do this the right way.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” he says as a genuine smile finally breaks through. His hands come up to rest on your waist, and he gently sets you back on your feet. “I’ll have my people draw up a contract.”

“Oh, you will not,” you laugh, letting go of him and turning back to the garden, your mind already racing with ideas. “This is a pro-bono gig. My payment is the satisfaction of a job well done. And unlimited access to the royal compost piles. And you have to help.”

“Me?” His eyes widen. “I have a country to run.”

“Not all the time,” you say, pointing a finger at him. “And I’m sure you can spare an hour or two a week. It’s good for you. Fresh air, manual labor. Builds character.”

You’re already walking, already moving, already planning. Zuko trails after you, a bemused look on his face, as you circle the garden , your hands clasped behind your back. You’re talking to yourself, muttering about soil quality and crop rotation and companion planting, and you can feel his eyes on you, but you don’t care. For the first time in days , you feel like you’re in your element, like you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.

“—and we’ll need to build a proper compost bin, something with three sections so we can turn it properly, and we should get a rain barrel for the shed, and do you have any seeds? We’ll need seeds. We could order some from Makapu, they have the best—”

You stop, turning to face him, and he’s just standing there, a smile playing on his lips, his hands tucked in his pockets. He looks happier, lighter, than you've seen him since you arrived, and the sight makes your heart ache in the strangest, sweetest way.

“What?” you ask, your hands on your hips. “Am I boring you?”

“No.” He shakes his head. “Not at all. I just… I like seeing you like this.”

“Like what?” you frown. “Dirty and sweaty and bossing you around?”

“Enthusiastic,” he corrects quietly. “It’s nice.”

The warmth that spreads through your chest at his words is entirely unfamiliar, and you have to look away, a flush creeping up your neck. He’s right. You are happy. You’re happier than you’ve been in a long, long time, and he’s the reason. He brought you here, to this place, and he gave you this gift. This wild, messy, overgrown piece of paradise.

Your gaze falls on the single fire lily in the middle of the garden as you struggle to find the words to fill the silence, to push back the sudden surge of confusing, unwelcome feelings he's stirring up in you. You’re a nomad. You’re a wanderer. You don’t stay in one place for long. You don’t get attached. But you already are. You were attached the moment you met him. Even when he was trying to capture Aang, even when he was your enemy, you were attached. You saw the good in him, the person he was trying to be, and you held onto that. You’ve been holding onto it ever since.

"Right," you say, a bit more subdued. "Well, I'll need to assess the soil, and make an inventory of what's already here. And then I'll need to draw up a plan, and get your approval, of course. And then we can start."

"Of course," he agrees. "Whatever you need."

You nod and try to ignore the way your stomach flutters at the simple, trusting generosity in his voice. This is a bad idea. A terrible, wonderful, horrible idea. You should say no. You should thank him for the offer, pack your bags, and leave before you do something stupid. Before you ruin the best friendship you've ever had.

But you won't. You know you won't.

"So," Zuko starts with a cough, breaking you from your spiral. He points his thumb over his shoulder. "Now that that's settled, do you want to see the peacocks?"

You turn to him, a grin spreading across your face. "I thought you'd never ask."

You spend the rest of the afternoon in the gardens, Zuko trailing after you as you stop to examine the plants every few feet, your hands moving over leaves and stems, your brow furrowed in concentration. He doesn't say much, just watches, and you find that you don't mind. It’s comforting. Like having your own personal, very handsome, very quiet shadow.

The komodo peacocks are, as expected, ridiculous. They strut around like they own the place, their iridescent tails fanning out in a display of vanity. You laugh until your sides hurt, especially when one of them takes offense to Zuko’s shiny shoes and tries to peck them.

The sun is setting by the time you make it back to the palace, painting the sky in vivid, swirling hues of red and gold. You're buzzing with a nervous energy, a mix of excitement for the project and a healthy dose of fear for what it might mean for your friendship, for your life. But you’ve never backed down from a challenge before, and you’re not about to start now.

"So, what do you think? Can you work with this?" he asks as you walk.

"Oh, absolutely," you nod, a skip to your step. You’re on his arm again, and he lets you pull him along without complaint. "This is a dream come true. I've never seen anything like it. The potential is just...wow."

“I wasn’t sure if you had the time,” he admits. “I know how important your work is.”

“My work will still be there when I’m done,” you say, waving a dismissive hand. “And the world needs more beautiful things. Don’t you think?”

You look over at him, and he’s already looking at you, a soft, fond smile on his face. Your breath catches in your throat, and you have to look away, your cheeks flushing. He’s been doing that a lot today. Just looking at you. You don’t remember him being so… watchful, so attentive. Maybe you never noticed before.

“Plus, it’s for you. Of course I’d make the time,” you add, squeezing his arm in a way you hope is casual.

His steps falter, just for a moment, and you feel the muscle in his arm tense beneath your touch. “You don’t have to do that,” he says quietly.

“I know,” you reply. “But I want to. You’re my friend, Zuko. I’d do anything for you.”

You can feel the tension radiating off of him as he processes your words, and you're not sure what to make of it. You were just being honest, but it seems to have hit a nerve. He's quiet for a long moment, his jaw working as he stares ahead, and you're about to ask him what's wrong, when he finally speaks.

"I... I appreciate that," he says, his voice tight. "More than you know. And I'm glad you're here. I've...I've missed you."

Your breath catches, and you look up at him, your heart swelling with affection. You've missed him, too, more than you'd like to admit. There's been a hole in your life since the war ended, a space that used to be filled with laughter and adventure and the easy camaraderie of your friends. You've kept in touch, of course, but it's not the same. It's not the same as being here, with him, in this strange, beautiful, overwhelming place.

"I've missed you, too," you say, and you give his arm another squeeze, trying to convey all the things you can't say. "But I'm here now. And I'm not going anywhere for a while."

"Good," he murmurs. "I'm glad."

You're back inside the palace now, and a servant is waiting to lead you to the dining hall. You can't help but notice the way they glance at Zuko's arm, still linked with yours, and you feel a flash of self-consciousness. You quickly pull away, not wanting to cause any more gossip, and you wrap your arms around your middle.

Zuko frowns, but doesn't say anything. Instead, he just leads the way to the dining hall, his back straight and his hands clenched into fists. You follow him, wishing you could take back your hasty movement. You don't want to make things awkward between you, but you can't help but be aware of the rumors that could start, the whispers that could follow you. You're not here to cause a scandal, and you're definitely not here to break up the Fire Lord and his girlfriend. Even if she's in another city, and they only "sometimes" send letters.

You reach the dining hall, and the same servant from this morning is waiting for you. She’s a little less stiff than she was before, but you can still see the curiosity in her eyes as she looks between the two of you. You give her a small smile, hoping to put her at ease, but she just looks away, her cheeks flushing. Great. You're going to be the talk of the palace before the day is out.

Zuko pulls out your chair for you with a jerky motion, and you murmur a quiet "thank you" as you sit down. He takes the seat next to you, and the two of you sit in silence as the servants bring out the food. Tonight, the spread is much simpler, just a few dishes of rice, fish, and vegetables, and you feel a wave of relief. You’re not sure you could handle another feast.

As you eat, you try to make small talk, asking about his day and the council meeting he'd mentioned earlier. He’s quiet, his answers short and to the point, and you can tell that something is bothering him. You have a sinking feeling that it’s you, but you can't for the life of you figure out what it is.

Finally, you can't take it anymore. "What's wrong?" you ask, your voice a bit sharper than you intended. "You've been staring at me all night. Did I spill something on my shirt?"

“What?” His head snaps up, and you realize he must have been miles away. “No. No, you didn’t. I was just… thinking.”

“About what?” you press, setting your chopsticks down. "Is it about the garden? Because if you're having second thoughts, you should just tell me. I won't be upset."

He shakes his head, his brow furrowed. "No, it's not that. I'm not having second thoughts. I want you to do it. I just... I have a question, and I'm not sure how to ask it."

"Well, you can ask me anything," you say. "We're friends."

“Then why do you keep pulling away from me?"

You blink at him, taken aback by the hurt in his voice. You were expecting a question about the garden, or the council, or the state of the Fire Nation. You were not expecting this. You were not expecting him to call you out, to lay your insecurities bare on the polished mahogany of the dining table.

“I… I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you stammer, and Zuko scoffs.

"Yes, you do," he insists. "You did it yesterday, in the hallway. And you did it again today. I'm not an idiot, I know we're being watched, but I don't understand why you feel like you have to act like we're strangers."

Your mind races as you try to come up with a plausible explanation. You can't very well tell him you're worried about people getting the wrong idea about the two of you. That would make things even more awkward, and you'd have to explain why you care so much about rumors. You're not even sure why you care, to be honest. You've never been one to worry about what other people think.

But the thought of being the subject of palace gossip, of being the other woman in a story you don't even understand , makes your stomach churn. You don't want to be that person. You don't want to be a complication in his life.

"I'm just... trying to be respectful," you finally settle on, and you can hear the weakness in your own voice. "You're the Fire Lord, and I'm your guest. I'm not sure what the rules are."

"The rules are that we're friends," he says as he leans in closer, his elbows on the table. "And that we can act like it. I don't care what anyone else thinks."

Easy for him to say. He's the Fire Lord. He doesn't have to deal with the whispers and the sideways glances. He doesn't have to worry about being seen as a gold-digging trollop who's trying to worm her way into the royal bedchamber.

"I care.” You look down at your plate, pushing a piece of fish around with your chopsticks. "I don't want to make things difficult for you. You have enough to deal with without having to manage a scandal."

A silence falls between you, thick and heavy. You risk a glance up at him, and you see a whole range of emotions cross his face. Confusion, frustration, and finally, a dawning realization. Some of the tension leaves his shoulders, and he lets out a slow, careful breath.

“You’re not making things difficult for me,” he says, his voice quieter now, more measured. “You’re making them better. Just by being here.”

You want to believe him, you really do, but a nagging doubt lingers in the back of your mind. You can't shake the feeling that you're in over your head, that you're playing a game you don't know the rules to. And you're afraid of getting hurt, or worse, hurting him.

"Okay," you say, your voice small. "I'll try to remember that."

"Good.” Zuko reaches across the table, taking your hand in his. His palm is warm, calloused from years of sword-fighting, and your fingers curl around his on instinct. “Because I really… I really want you to stay.”

The sincerity in his voice is your undoing. You look up at him, and your heart aches at the hopeful, vulnerable look on his face. He's not the Fire Lord right now. He's just Zuko. Your friend. The boy you watched grow from an angry, lost child into a strong, capable man. And you can't say no to him. You never could.

"I'll stay," you promise, and you give his hand a squeeze. "For the garden, of course."

The relieved smile that spreads across his face is worth more than any treasure in the world. He squeezes your hand once, fingers trailing across your knuckles before he lets go, leaving the skin tingling in their wake. You quickly pull your hand back, a rush of heat flooding your cheeks, and focus on your food.

You finish the rest of your meal in a comfortable quiet. Zuko tells you about the new trade routes he's trying to establish with the Earth Kingdom, and you tell him about a new irrigation system you helped design for a village in the Si Wong Desert. It’s easy, this. Falling back into the familiar rhythm of your friendship, the shared experiences and inside jokes that have bonded you together over the years.

Before long, your heads are bowed together, eagerly trading ideas for the garden. Zuko calls for parchment and charcoal, and you sketch out a rough plan right there on the table, your hands flying across the page as you describe your vision. A space that is both productive and beautiful, a place where his mother’s spirit can rest, and where he can find some peace from the pressures of his new life. One with plants not just from the Fire Nation, but from all four nations, a true symbol of the world he is trying to build. 

He listens intently, asking questions and offering suggestions, and you’re so caught up in the excitement of it all that you don’t notice how dark it’s grown in the chamber until a discrete cough from the doorway interrupts you mid-sentence.

You look up to see Zuko’s grand chamberlain, Shoji, standing in the doorway, a scroll clutched in his hands and a pained expression on his face. Zuko, however, doesn’t look up at all.

“Just a minute, Shoji,” he says, waving a dismissive hand, before turning back to you. “And we could put the pond right here, by the bridge. The stream could feed into it.”

You nod, adding a few quick lines to the sketch and a note in the margins. “There are a few bioluminescent species of lily that grow on Jasmine Island. They would look incredible at night. Like a patch of stars.”

Zuko leans in closer, his head bent next to yours as he studies the drawing. “That’s… that’s a great idea.” His voice is a low murmur, and you can feel the warmth of his breath on your cheek, the scent of tea and spice. A shiver runs down your spine, and you quickly pull away, putting some much-needed distance between you. You clear your throat, a little too loudly, and focus back on the drawing.

You can feel the weight of Shoji's stare on you, and you know you’ve overstayed your welcome. You’ve kept the Fire Lord from his duties long enough.

You start to gather your things, but Zuko puts a hand on your arm, stopping you. “Don’t go,” he says. “We’re not done.”

“Lord Zuko,” Shoji interjects, his voice strained. “The Admiral is waiting. He’s been waiting for over an hour.”

An hour? You shoot a guilty look at Zuko, but he just waves Shoji off again. “He can wait a little longer. I’m in a meeting.”

“With whom, my lord?” Shoji asks. You can hear the unspoken question in his voice. That creeping feeling of being a problem returns, settling uncomfortably in your chest. You’re an interruption. An inconvenience. You’re keeping him from his responsibilities, from doing the work he was meant to do.

“With my head gardener,” Zuko answers without missing a beat. 

Your head whips around to stare at him, and your heart gives a lurch in your chest. You’re not sure if you like the sound of that. It sounds official. Permanent. It sounds like something you can’t just walk away from when the whispers get too loud. 

The look Shoji gives you confirms your fears. His thin lips press into a tight line, and his mustache seems to quiver with disapproval. He doesn’t believe you’re a head gardener. He thinks you’re something else entirely. Something much, much worse.

You have to get out of here. Before you do any more damage.

“Right, well, I’m exhausted,” you announce, standing up so quickly that your chair scrapes against the floor. “All that garden-planning has really taken it out of me. I should probably go to bed. Big day tomorrow. Weeding. And… soil analysis.”

Zuko looks up to you, his brow furrowed. He can probably tell you’re lying, but you don’t care. You just need to get out of this room, away from Shoji’s judgmental stare and Zuko’s intense, unnerving focus. You’re starting to feel like a cornered animal, and you need to run.

“But—” he starts, but you cut him off.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” you say, already backing away towards the door. “In the garden. Bright and early. Don’t be late.”

You turn and flee before he can say another word, almost running into Shoji in your haste to escape. You give him a wide berth and a tight smile, but he just stands there, a silent, disapproving statue. You can feel his eyes on your back as you hurry down the hall, and it makes you walk faster.

When you reach your room, you shut the door behind you and lean against it, taking deep breaths to calm yourself. Your heart is pounding in your chest, and you can still feel the phantom warmth of Zuko's touch on your skin. You're overreacting, you know you are. He's just being friendly. He's just happy to have a friend here, someone who knew him before he was the Fire Lord. Someone who doesn't want anything from him.

But you can't shake the feeling that things are only going to get more complicated from here on out. You’re no longer just a friend visiting. You're the "head gardener." And in a place like this, where every action has a consequence and every word is dissected, that’s a title that comes with a lot more baggage than you're prepared to carry.