#zkweek2017

“Only eight more days until the season premiere of Crossroads! Aren’t you excited, Katara?” Iroh chirps.

I survey the interior like I’ve lost something—someone. “Where’s Zuko?”

“He’s fallen—” The old man lets out a raspy cough. “—ill today. I might be coming down with a little bug myself.”

He revs the engine and raises his eyebrows. I hum appreciatively, pretending to admire the power of the machine, but the vibration only heightens the sick sensation of worry I already feel in my stomach. Iroh doesn’t seem to notice my discomfort as he then launches into a long explanation on theories he has for upcoming episodes of our mutual favorite show. I don’t mention that I haven’t finished season six, yet, and he’s basically spoiling the ending for me. But I no longer hold the same anticipation—like something so trivial couldn’t possibly matter in comparison. It reminds me of how I couldn’t wait to get my ears pieced.

Finally, I can’t stand it anymore. “Uncle Iroh? Where is Ursa?”

In truth, I already know the answer to this. Because her whereabouts are detailed in the Blue Spirit file.

“Ursa is… gone,” he answers simply.

“I know she had to go into hiding,” I say. “But… does Zuko know?” I'm almost certain that he doesn't, but my sources also list Iroh as a point of contact. Why would he keep this information a secret from his nephew when it so obviously causes him suffering?

Iroh lets out a long and labored sigh while fixating hard and fast on the road, very much in the same way that Zuko does when troubled by the topic of discussion. Seconds stretch to minutes, and I’m ready to fire my next question when he finally speaks again.

“I do not know what Zuko’s father told him about his mother,” he says. “But whatever it is, Zuko accepts that he will never see her again. And that is… for the best.”

Tears sting at the corner of my eyes, and a bitterness burns at the back of my throat. Because if my mother was out there somewhere, still alive, I'd do whatever it takes to find her.

"But why?” I ask.

“Because if Ozai knew where Ursa was, he’d kill her.”

"But Zuko thinks she's dead already. Why can't he at least know that she's alive? It doesn’t make sense!”

“It makes sense when you understand what kind of control Ozai can exert over his family. It is much safer this way.”

“But if Zuko knew—“

“If Zuko knew anything, his father would find a way to get the information from him and then kill him, too. Your family wouldn't be safe, either. It would be best to just let it go, Katara.“

I seethe at this response but don’t say anything more for the rest of the ride except thank you when Iroh drops me off at the Marine Center. It’s going to be another unproductive day at work for me as I’m plagued by thoughts such as…

I know Ozai is cruel and scandalous, but a killer?

And if Iroh knows so much, then how come Ozai hasn’t killed him?

Did Ozai kill my mother?

Zuko still hasn't answered my calls or texts and misses the next two days of work. I am worried to the point of exhaustion. Iroh doesn’t offer me any more rides to work, probably because of my aggressive line of questioning. Maybe I do have what it takes to become an investigative journalist. But if I would have kept my mouth shut, I could be seated comfortably in a luxury sports car instead of on the stinky crowded bus. I suppose the quest for truth involves making sacrifices.

For my mom, it meant sacrificing everything. I'm crying again, and this time, the bus driver hands me tissue, like he came prepared for that girl who always gets emotional. He obviously remembers who I am because he waits for me to get off at my stop, and I have to tell him I’m going one stop further today—to Mushi’s.

There are so many missing pieces to the story, and I plan to continue my investigation by stationing myself in our usual booth until either Zuko or Iroh decide to start explaining. The wait staff looks at me in the same way the bus driver does—like I'm going to spontaneously combust at any moment now. They offer me my usual, but I surprise them, too, but ordering something different.

What can I say? I’m investigating a murder now. I’m living dangerously.

OK, maybe trying the sea urchin was a little bold, especially when I’ve hardly eaten anything of substance for a few days. I am now poking at it with my chopstick, pretending it’s Ozai’s—ugh, I don’t even know what body part it would represent. I think I might throw up.

Odds of this greatly improve when Mai walks in the door, demanding to see Zuko. She is told that he is not here. She accuses the hostess of lying. I said the same thing to the poor woman when I arrived, but surely I didn't make that much of a scene? Oh God, I did put my hand on my hip just like that, though.

I try to look away, but I just can’t. Mai persists, now asking to see Iroh. When her tone shifts from forceful to frantic, I become less suspicious of her as an enemy and start thinking of her as a source. She works for Future Fire Technology, so maybe she knows something. But how do I approach her?

I don't have to. She catches my eye on her way out the door. She hesitates as if weighing her options, grimaces at the sight of my food, and finally decides to sit down after letting out a dramatic sigh.

She's really... pretty. I kinda want to scream right now.

"I can't seem to get through to anyone here, but maybe you can help me," she starts.

I nod.

She leans in and props her elbows up on the table. “Listen. Zuko is in big trouble. His dad found out he went to the police. He needs to… I dunno, get out of town for a little while until this shit blows over.”

The police?

Mai’s brow furrows under her thick fringe. I guess she wants some kind of response besides my blank stare because she shakes her head and mumbles stupid peasant before reaching into her handbag. She then extends her hand, draws in a shaky breath and places a USB drive on the table in between us. This one is very standard looking—not disguised to give color or moisture to one's lips.

“I can trust you, right?” she asks.

I gape at the device like it’s going to explode, but all I feel is the heat of her intense amber eyes boring into me.

“It’s more evidence for Zuko’s case. I’ve found some really weird stuff since I started working for Future Fire." She takes a cursory glance around the restaurant, and her voice drops to a harsh whisper. "I should NOT be doing this, and I was NEVER here, OK?”

Zuko’s case?

She pushes the USB drive all the way across the table to where it’s nestled underneath my elbow. “Keep it hidden, you dumbass.” Then she quickly stands and hisses, “Your food smells like shit,” before slithering away.

She may have inspired a new creature for my stories, an eel with spiky scales like a sea urchin. I debate on the name—Uniagi, perhaps? If only I could retreat into my imaginary world right now…

I bang on Iroh's apartment door. He finally answers but says that Zuko still has a relentless fever, and he doesn’t want me to catch it. I say I don’t care, I have to see him NOW.

It was no exaggeration. Zuko is really, really sick. Like deliriously feverish. I hold a cold cloth to his forehead. Zuko moans. Iroh paces the floor.

“I had counted on Zuko getting better by now,” he says. “This really interferes with your travel plans.”

“Our... travel plans?” This is equally unnerving and relieving to me, especially after what Mai said.

“Yes. You’re going to Alaska. I hope it wasn’t too forthright, but I took the liberty of booking your passage.”

"Where in Alaska?" I ask.

"You have family there, right?”

"Yes, I do."

And Zuko does, too.

Thankfully, the next day is Saturday, and the fever finally breaks. Zuko talks about the crazy dreams he had—something about dragons and a bald kid with blue arrow tattoos. He insists that miso soup and mochi ice cream are needed to nurse him back to full health. Like the dork that I am, I retrieve whatever he asks for and listen attentively to his stories. But it does not go unnoticed that he tends to change the subject when I bring up the USB drive and my mother's files. I haven't told him about Mai's visit, yet.

Our flight for Anchorage leaves Monday morning. I almost forget to call Yue to let her know I won’t be coming into work. The best reason I can come up with is the truth—I feel threatened. Now that I have read the files Mai gave me, I contend that Ozai would kill anybody who got in his way. I want to warn Yue, in fact, but I don’t really think she is a target. Future Fire’s donations to the Marine Center serve as a diversion tactic so that no one pays attention to the real work going on behind the scenes.

Zuko must have stumbled upon the same secrets when working there last summer. And so, his father gave him a permanent reminder on his face to never tell anyone. This is my speculation, anyhow, but maybe Zuko will tell me about it someday. He doesn’t owe me an explanation about his scar, but he better tell me what’s in that Painted Lady folder at least.

This is what I know: Zuko’s dad has been selling his VR technology to undisclosed clients off the record, many of whom serve in foreign militaries and governments. The VR headsets offer an enhanced tactical training platform for soldiers.

As if committing high treason wasn't bad enough, the gloves are being formulated for use as actual weapons—flame throwers, of sorts. And the exoskeleton will be reconstructed as high-powered armor. And all of this new technology is being tested in a remote area in central California.

Death Valley.

It’s a little complicated to get to my dad’s hometown, but my family normally flies to Seattle, then we connect to Anchorage. From there, a smaller commercial airline transports to outlying villages, and the closest one is King Salmon, a 30-minute drive away. My dad knows a pilot who will fly directly into the Naknek airport, but he operates seasonally, and is often very busy during the summer months.

Today’s travel itinerary confuses me, though. Iroh drops us off at a random train station so we can take an hour-long ride to a different airport across the bay. Then we fly to Chicago? I do the math in my head—a four-hour flight in the wrong direction—then another seven hours to Alaska. As far as I know, our tickets only take us as far as Anchorage. What then? I don’t ask, and Zuko doesn’t offer any explanation, either. In fact, he says very little with his headphones on, hidden beneath his hood. It is going to be a very long day.

When we land in Chicago, and Zuko receives a text from his uncle to change airlines, it hits me. We’re doing all of this to evade Ozai who might be trying to follow us. I pull my own hood over my head and without even realizing it, I grip Zuko’s elbow. There’s a softness in his golden eyes when he looks back at me and warmth in his fingertips when he clasps his hand over mine. It’s the same comfort he gave me that night in his car and a glimpse of the vulnerability we shared at the tide pools.

I shudder and finally admit my biggest secret of all. Because when I say this, it means I’m not in control anymore. “Zuko, I’m scared.”

I have been all along. Ever since Mom died. I thought I could be brave. I thought I was strong, but—

“Me too, Katara.”

He’s not supposed to say that! I want to scream at him to fix this. He’s the one who should be brave and strong and better than this.

I storm off and make a scene right there in the airport even though we’re supposed to be flying under the radar. Zuko doesn’t run after me, though. He always knows when I need my space. He texts me our departure information, and by the time I meet him at the gate, I’ve realized how I misdirected my anger. Voicing my apology is hard because some things we haven’t talked about, yet.

“I’m sorry I got mad and ran off,” I start with a shrug. “B-b-but I’ve been blaming you—your family for my mom’s…”

“Yon Rha,” Zuko says.

“What?”

“He’s the man who—“ He winces. “When your mother’s investigation got too deep, my father hired someone to…”

I swallow hard and nod. I can’t decide if he’s telling me this to get a reprieve from my angry outbursts or so I can have some semblance of closure on the matter. I don’t think it’ll serve either purpose, but the look on his face is an odd mixture of hopefulness and regret. Maybe I can return the favor.

“Ikem,” I say.

“Who?”

“He’s the man—“ I watch his eyes go wide then dart from side to side. “Your mother,” I add with a whisper.

We hold each other’s gaze, both knowing this conversation is too risky to have right here, right now.

She stared at the elegant crown; three flames carefully crafted from thin gold. Delicate filigree had been carved into the surface and in the center sat a single flawless ruby. It was beautiful.

“It was my mother’s.”

Katara jumped, nearly jarring the pedestal in her haste. “I was just-, it was so-, I didn’t mean-“ she trailed off lamely at Zuko’s knowing smirk. Wordlessly he joined her, removing the precious heirloom from the glass case. The sunlight caught the gold as he moved, bringing it to life in a way it couldn’t behind the thick glass.

He hesitated a moment, eyes trained on the gold crown, seemingly lost in thought and she knew he was remembering his mother. She touched his arm lightly, bringing him back to her, and offered a small smile. She knew his pain; she understood. He returned her smile, although it didn’t quite chase away the ghosts in his eyes, before handing the crown to her.

She cradled the precious heirloom in her hands, knowing it was as important to him as her mother’s necklace was to her.

Her fingers brushed over the delicate filigree, noting the fine craftsmanship. Each stroke had been expertly placed to create textures for the light to reflect. She shifted her hands, marveling as light caught in the uneven grooves, creating the illusion of dancing flames in her hands. It was a breathtaking work of art.

She turned slightly, allowing the sunlight to catch the flawless ruby, and the crown came to life. Brilliant reds glistened over gold, sinking into crevices only to burst free moments later. It reminded her of a sunrise, bursting over the horizon in a shocking moment of beauty.

It was truly a crown for a queen.

Suddenly she felt self-conscious. It felt wrong that she, a simple peasant, should be holding such an exquisite jewel in her hands. Peering beneath her lashes, she stole a quick glance at Zuko. He hadn’t moved during her careful examination and again wore that far-away look he often wore when he thought about his mother.  

She offered him a sad smile, handing the precious heirloom back to him. “She must have looked lovely wearing this. It’s beautiful.”

Zuko nodded, accepting the crown as he was pulled from his reverie. “She did.” 

Silence settled between them, but this wasn’t the comfortable silence between friends she was accustomed to.  Unconsciously her hands tugged at her hair. It was a nervous habit; one she wasn’t even aware she had. To Zuko it was endearing.  

He had the incredible urge to run his fingers through her hair, to let the silky strands slip through his fingers. He imagined the dark locks pulled into the elaborate style the noblewoman preferred, twisted around his mother’s crown. It’d look stunning against the gold and red. Temptation pulled at his fingers, urging him to reach out and pin the crown to her head, to tell her here and now exactly what she meant to him. Instead he ignored the itch, turning to place his mother’s crown back in the case with a heavy heart. His finger lingered on the glass a moment, remembering the woman he’d lost, envisioning a future with the woman he’d found.

He blinked, realizing there was something dangling in front of his nose. It smelled of leather and oil and…Katara. Shock jarred him from his thoughts as he realized what it was. Slowly he lifted his head. Katara had moved, now standing before him, her arm outstretched and from her fingers dangled her most prized possession.

He’d held that necklace once before, long ago when he’d stolen it from a young girl. He hadn’t known them what it meant to her. If he had he never would have taken it. Zuko knew all too well the importance of a mother’s keepsake.

She reached out, taking his hand in hers. The simple contact made him catch his breath and he prayed to Agni she didn’t notice. Turning his hand over, she placed the necklace in his hand.

He understood what she was doing. He’d allowed her to inspect his mother’s crown, knowing full well that to him it was more that just a crown or heirloom. Like her necklace, it was the last connection to a loved one taken much too soon. It was the memory of a mother’s love and a moment of peace and security, before their childhood’s had been ripped away from them.

His fingers traced over the carving he’d memorized years ago. Every line, every etching having been seared into his mind in perfect detail. He’d had a lot of time to waste on that old ship.

Zuko suddenly realized with perfect clarity they’d had this conversation before. They’d started it long ago, in a crystal catacomb beneath Ba Sing Se. “The Fire Nation took my mother from me.”

“I know.” He didn’t realize he’d spoken the words out loud until she’d answered him. She gave him a sad smile, parroting the words of comfort he’d offered all those years ago. “I’m sorry, that’s something we have in common.”

She was in his arms before he could stop himself. For once he didn’t second-guess himself, he didn’t give his doubts or rules of propriety a chance to stop him, he just reacted. He was suddenly sixteen again, trapped in a crystal prison with the only other person in the world who understood. She knew his pain because it was her pain too, and so he did what he should’ve done then, what he’d wanted to do but had been too afraid to.

He wrapped his arms around her, a promise that he wouldn’t let the Fire Nation hurt her again and cried. Cried for her loss, cried for his; cried because for the first time there was someone who understood what loss was, who understood the soul shaking pain that you never recover from. He cried because she knew that pain, understood the empty place it left inside that could never be filled, and she was far too young to have had to experienced it.

He cried for two young children left alone in the world, hollow and broken and forced to grow up too soon; two young children with a gaping wound no one could see that would never stop bleeding and would never truly heal.

“Her name was Kya. She was…” Katara’s voice trembled, her hands fisted in his robes. “Gran-Gran hated her at first. Dad said they threatened to elope so Gran-Gran finally relented and agreed to let them marry.” Katara let out a shaky laugh at that and Zuko could only imagine the drama that had ensued. She palmed away her tears.

Zuko kept his hands fisted at his sides. He wanted to pull her back into his arms, to hold her there and tell her it would be ok; but it wouldn’t. This wasn’t a hurt he could fix. “So your father craved her a necklace.”

Katara grinned, eying him knowingly. “It is customary for men to carve women a betrothal necklace in the Water Tribe, as I sure your uncle told you when he spotted you toting my mother’s necklace around that old rusty ship of yours,” Katara teased.

Zuko’s face turned as bright as his robes. “I was-I didn’t-it wasn’t-dammit Uncle you promised!”

Katara’s laugher cut him off. “It turned out that Dad is a great warrior, but a terrible artist. Gran-Gran took pity and gave him her old necklace, the one Master Pakku had carved for her. 

“Wait, what? I thought your Gran-Gran married Master Pakku?”

“She did, recently; but they were betrothed before and she ran away.” Zuko just stared at her. “Gran-Gran never told anyone and I guess Dad just never asked about the necklace, or if he did Gran-Gran just didn’t tell him. Either way, I didn’t learn the truth until I met Master Pakku in the North Pole and he recognized the necklace he’d carved years ago.”  

Zuko looked back to the necklace in his hand, digesting this new information. “So Hakoda didn’t carve this for your mother.”

“No,” Katara confirmed, “but he did carve this.” She turned the necklace over in his palm, revealing a simple set of worn characters roughly etched in the back. He’d seen them years before and wondered about them, as they obviously didn’t match the craftsmanship displayed on the front of the necklace. Now he knew why.

Katara traced the faded characters lightly, a sad smile once again pulling at her lips. “As long as there is water in the sea, my heart will belong to you.”

His breath caught and he glanced at Katara, but her eyes were still fixed on the necklace. He realized she must have been reading the engraving, or at least what it had once said. He wondered how many times she’d sat alone, running her fingers over those words and remembering her parents.

“My mother’s name was Ursa and she loved those stupid Ember Island plays. Used to drag us to watch them every summer, especially ‘Love Among the Dragons’. It was her favorite. 

“Is that how she met…” she trailed off, obviously uncomfortable asking that question, but Zuko could see the curiosity.

“No. They had an arranged marriage. I don’t think my mother ever loved him but my father…he loved her.”

“Really?” Katara couldn’t hide her surprise. Zuko chuckled, wondering if she realized how close she was sitting now. It was nice.

“It wasn’t a healthy love. He was always very possessive and controlling. Even as a child I knew it was wrong.” Zuko sighed, looking down at Katara’s necklace again. He couldn’t help the sting of jealously that shot through him, wondering what would it have been like to grow up in a house full of love instead of what he’d experienced. It was no wonder Katara was such a wonderful, loving person. She’d been surrounded by love from the very beginning.

“Zuko?”

He looked up. She was watching him, concern wrinkling her young face. He could see where the wrinkles would deepen with age, could imagine her old and gray like her Gran-Gran with those same caring blue eyes and realized she’d be beautiful even then. To him, she’d always be beautiful. 

She reached out, wiping away the tears he hadn’t even realized were there. That was the second time she’d touched his scar, the second time he’d ever allowed someone to touch his scar. One day he’d tell her that, he’d tell her everything, but not today. Wordlessly he handed the necklace back to her, watching as she tied it around her neck. Instinctively her fingers went to her throat. He’d seen her do it a thousand times.

“Won’t you miss it?” 

She frowned, giving him a curious look. “What?” 

“Your necklace, I mean-well someday…that is-” He was stammering like an idiot and he knew it. It’d started off as a simple question. He really had been curious what she would do without her mother’s necklace; to him it and her were inseparable, but he hadn’t thought it all the way through and the thought of her wearing another’s necklace made his insides churn unpleasantly.

Katara smiled gently. “It’s an heirloom now.” She explained, her fingers fondly tracing the carving. “One day, I’ll give it to my daughter, and she’ll pass it to hers and so on. Gran-Gran broke the rules and started a new tradition.”

“So, no one will ever carve you a necklace?” The thought made him feel conflicted. She should have her own necklace. It was tradition.

“Did your father make your mother her crown, or did she inherit it?”

Zuko looked away, suddenly feeling nervous. “Uh, it’s the Fire Lady’s crown actually. He stole it when they were married. Grandfather was furious because she was only a princess not Fire Lady, but he didn’t take it back, and uncle always said she looked lovely in it so…”

“She wasn’t Fire Lady?”

“Uh, no. Not officially. She vanished before father was crowned Fire Lord. Uncle was supposed to inherit the throne after grandfather’s death but somehow father stole it instead. I still don’t know all the details.”

They sat in silence, Katara looking at the crown thoughtfully. Finally she looked back at him, a smile on her lips. “And one day your wife will wear your mother’s crown, like my daughter will wear my mothers necklace.”

He blinked. “I-…I guess so.” He wondered how she could say such things so easily.

“Our mother’s will live on, through us.” She squeezed his hand gently, before standing. He watched as she smoothed her skirts, floored by her simple statement. She’d always had that effect on him though. “You coming?”

He shook his head. “No, not yet. I just need…”

“A moment.” 

He nodded. She gave him another one of her sad smiles, and nodded. She understood that too; sometimes the pain required just a little alone time, even time away from your best friend.

He watched her leave, her words replaying in his head. His mother’s crown, no, not just his mother’s crown anymore. She was right. One day it would belong to his wife. “Maybe, it can be yours one day,” he said to the empty room.

Kanna knew about these things.

She watched her granddaughter grow in strength and kindness and she could not have been more proud.

Kanna sensed that the young waterbender was destined for great things, to play a significant part in a journey beyond the Southern Water Tribe. And though she would miss the girl terribly, she knew that Katara also deserved to see more of the world and to help save it. Katara was ready to face any hardship the world threw at her, there was no doubt about it.

And knowing Katara, she would never be alone in her struggles. Her brother would always be there to support her and with her generous nature, she was sure to make friends anywhere she went. But Kanna also hoped that her granddaughter might make a more profound connection with someone someday, forge a bond that would shape her for life.

The grandmother had her standards for this hypothetical person. Naturally, she wanted only the best for her beloved granddaughter. He would have to be just as kind and generous as Katara, loyal to a fault, and always willing to help others. He would have to have strong convictions and he should be willing to fight for these beliefs. He would have to admire Katara's qualities but also not be afraid to challenge her on occasion. If the circumstances were dire, he would have to be willing to sacrifice himself to save her, to throw himself in the path of danger without hesitation if it meant giving Katara a chance. The list went on and on, but Kanna would settle for nothing less.

But, of course, Katara didn't need anyone to complete her happiness. Nevertheless, Kanna hoped, that if her granddaughter was lucky, she would meet someone who would brave all the storms with her.

"And who knows?" Kanna mused with a wistful smile, "Perhaps one day, this person might suddenly arrive at the South Pole."

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Iroh knew about these things.

He had always believed that Zuko's destiny would lead him down a difficult path but one that would make him emerge triumphant at the end of it. Greatness would not come because he was a member of the royal family or the heir to the throne. Zuko was more than just a prince of the Fire Nation and Iroh had been confident that his nephew would prove to be a far better man than his father could ever be.

So he stood by Zuko through his banishment and all the trials that followed. He knew that there was more to the young man than his anger, and that when he finally let go of his need for his father's approval and followed what his heart told him, he could be free. Iroh knew that Zuko would grow in kindness and strength, and when the latter finally started this journey, the uncle could not be more proud.

And maybe someday, if he was really lucky, Iroh thought with amusement, Zuko would find someone who would make him very happy, who would forge a unique and profound bond with him through shared experience.

This would be a rare person, Iroh decided, one who have to possess many qualities: loyalty, passion, kindness, generosity, conviction, compassion, and the list went on and on. She would have to be understanding of Zuko's taciturn nature, open-minded enough to see through the latter's mask of seriousness. She would have to understand Zuko's "unique" sense of humor and she would have to be capable of eliciting rare smiles from him. And she would have to be able to call Zuko out on his occasional folly and to challenge him whenever necessary.

With someone like this Iroh was confident Zuko would find happiness. Not that he needed someone else to complete his life. But Iroh knew that should Zuko be so fortunate, he would do everything in his power to make this person as happy as he was. Iroh was thrilled at the prospect of seeing his nephew find someone he truly loved and who would love him.

An added criteria for Iroh was someone with a proper appreciation of tea. His nephew might not be as fond of the beverage as he was (though lately he was developing a taste for it at last), but Iroh would not approve of anyone for Zuko who did not like tea.

Did such a person exist? For Zuko's sake, Iroh hoped so.