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So Love Me, Mother

Summary:

Today was supposed to be a normal day. Completely normal. That’s what Zuko had planned for. Well, maybe he and Uncle Iroh would get takeout, but… that was still normal. Totally normal.

Of course, the universe hated Zuko, and today was absolutely not at all normal.

Notes:

Hello! First fic of this fandom (with no promise of another--I'm very busy writing my thesis). Things to know about me: all of my fics recently have been Me Projecting. Let's throw my chronic pain and autism at Zuko! But adapt it, clearly, to make it make sense.

Anyway, this fic was mostly made up of me struggling to figure out what kind of foods/drinks each character would like. Idfk if Katara likes matcha lattes, man...

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

Zuko awoke with a snap, the alarm of his phone cutting through his sleep. Working on autopilot, Zuko fumbled for the phone on his nightstand, knocking objects around until he found the offending object. He smacked randomly at the screen until the stupid buzzing stopped. By that time, though, he was unfortunately too awake for his liking.

Groaning, he put his hands to his face. Maybe if he just lay here a while…

But he had no time for that.

He sat up, taking it slow. He didn’t know why he bothered, really; no matter how careful he was, the dizziness would always lighten his head and turn his vision black. His hands clenched the bedsheets as he waited for his head and vision to clear. Aside from waking up, this was always the most annoying part of the morning. Well… no, just about everything was the most annoying part of the morning. He hated mornings.

Winter accosted him the moment he got out of bed. The cold air didn’t care about the apartment’s heating; it permeated the building, looking for ways to torment Zuko as he left his very warm, very comfortable bed.

“Stupid weather,” he grumbled to himself.

He stole clothes from his dresser without really looking at what he pulled, then shuffled to the bathroom.

Uncle always berated him for how long he took in the shower. “Nephew,” he would always say, “you are starving the fish of their home.” Well, sometimes he would switch to some nonsensical proverb that Zuko lacked the correct brain to understand. But they always involved fish. And Zuko never listened to them. He would stand in the heat of steaming showers for at least ten minutes before he began to quickly wash himself. He liked the heat.

Anyway, Uncle wasn’t here to call his stupid proverbs through the door this morning, so Zuko took even longer than usual. By the time he stepped out, he felt somewhat more alive than he had fifteen minutes ago. Of course, the cooler air smacked him relentlessly as he pulled the shower curtains back, dissipating the warm steam. He quickly huddled himself in a towel.

Having dressed, Zuko brushed his teeth and watched the fog disappear from the bathroom’s mirror. His face slowly started emerging, staring at him as he stared back at it. He spat out toothpaste into the sink, still studying himself. He did this every morning, trying to reconcile the face he saw against the person he felt himself to be.

With a sigh, he turned his attention to his hair. Maybe this was the most annoying part of the morning. He ran a comb through it, then grabbed a hair tie and pulled it back into a topknot. Of course, not all of his hair wanted to stay up, and clumps pulled down and fell back against his neck. He grit his teeth and tried again. The same thing happened, and again the next time he attempted, and again, and again.

He let out a frustrated cry and slammed his hands down on the sink. His fingers curled around the lip as he glared furiously at himself in the mirror. With great focus, he attempted to calm the pooling rage in his chest. He knew that the reaction came from nothing horrid, but he also knew that if he did not take deep breaths, he would lose it altogether. He hated when he lost it.

Not for the first time, Zuko considered Sokka’s suggestion of an undercut. All the hair would stay up if he just eliminated the pieces too short to stay in place. Then nothing would touch his neck and drive him insane. But he wanted his long hair again, and that meant he had to deal with the too-overwhelming consequences.

He calmed himself down enough and decided he would leave his hair down. It would bother him, but he could not deal with the imminent attack of rage that would undoubtedly present himself if he failed a topknot one last time.

So, instead, he turned his attention to the left side of his face. He stared at it a while, then sighed.

“Stupid thing,” he grouched, then pulled down the lower part of his eyelid.

The acrylic prosthetic slipped out with ease of practice, and he immediately stuck it under warm water. He applied a tiny amount of soap and massaged it in gently. Then he rinsed it a good long while. Last time, he hadn’t cleaned it right, and it had itched profusely for two days.

Zuko felt weird looking at himself without the prosthetic eye in, and had thus learned to slide it back in without looking at a mirror. Gently, he lifted his scarred top eyelid up, pushing the top of the acrylic back in. Then he pulled the bottom lid down again and slipped the lower part of the eye in. He quickly reached for the artificial tears and blinked rapidly after he’d squeezed two drops into his eye.

He looked at himself in the mirror and sighed again. He poked the joining of scarred flesh to healthy skin. Was it just him, or did it look redder today? He sighed yet again, and then reached for his hearing aid from the shelf. He pushed the battery back in, then hooked it over his left ear and pushed the tip into his ear canal.

Fluffing his hair just right, he hid his left ear. He didn’t care about people seeing the hearing aid, but he did care about them seeing the ear itself. It was hardly an ear. It was a molten shell, barely enough to hold its hearing aid. He hated it. He hated a lot of things about the scar and all that it had done, but the ear was…

Maybe this was actually most annoying part of the morning, he decided, stopping his train of thought.

“Stupid,” he said, because everything was, indeed, stupid.

He exited the bathroom and returned to his bedroom, collecting his phone and keys from his dresser. He checked the time as he left the bedroom again. Seven forty-seven. Good. He had plenty of time to get to the shop.

He passed the kitchen on his way to the apartment’s door. He stopped and stared for a moment, considering. Food was free for him at the shop, provided he made it for himself. So the nagging voice of Uncle’s in the back of his head, the one telling him about breakfast being the “most important meal of the day, nephew!” wouldn’t go entirely unheeded. But… he had to walk to the shop. And he didn’t entirely want to relive the experience of sitting on the sidewalk for ten minutes, lightheaded beyond belief.

Making a slight detour, Zuko grabbed a scone from the “leftover from the shop” plate on the kitchen counter.

Of course, he nearly dropped it as he jumped at a loud pounding that came from the front door. He scrambled for the pastry, managing to catch it before it tumbled to the ground.

“Stupid thing!” Everything was just so stupid this morning.

He stomped to the door, wrenching it open as the pounding continued.

“Oh, good,” Toph said, lowering her hand. “I thought I’d have to break your door down.”

“You could be a bit more patient,” Zuko snapped.

“Look who’s talking.” Toph folded her arms. “Ready?”

“No,” Zuko said. “Give me a second.”

He closed the door again, which made Toph shout an annoyed, “Hey!” He ignored her, biting down on the scone to free up his hands. He grabbed his coat and shoes from the closet near the door and slid both on quickly.

“Next time you’re going to slam a door in my face,” Toph groused as he opened the door again, “warn me.”

“I didn’t slam it,” Zuko said.

“Did too. Do you have a hat? It’s cold out,” Toph said. “My toes are going to freeze off.”

“I have a hat.”

“Liar,” Toph said.

Zuko reached out to the closet again, nabbing a winter hat. “No, I’m not.”

“Cheater,” Toph amended.

“Let’s just go,” Zuko said.

“Finally!”

“It’s not like I’m late, or anything,” Zuko said. “What’s up with you?”

“I’m cold, and I want tea and a warm place to study,” Toph said. “Neither of those can be found in my dorm.”

“You could just—”

Toph silenced him with a finger pointed at his face. “Less talking, more walking.”

Zuko sighed, then wondered how many times he would do that today. He locked the door behind him, then let Toph take the crook of his right arm.

Toph was right; it was despicably cold. The moment they stepped out of the apartment complex, the wind whipped them dead in the face. Toph let out an animated “woo!” and braced herself. Zuko just hid his face behind his free hand until the wind died down somewhat.  

“You should have probably taken the bus there,” Zuko said as they started walking. He began eating his scone, not wanting to leave his fingers exposed to frigid air for too long.

“You don’t tell me what to do, Sparky. If I wanna walk there, I will.”

Uncle would probably say something like “stubbornness freezes toes” or some other stupid proverb like that, but Zuko just said, “Watch out. Icey spot.”

They managed the ice patches just fine on the walk—thank god—but the true downfall was the wind. Toph seemed to be taking it just fine, but Zuko’s face was killing him.

He realised, belatedly, that he’d forgotten to rub salve on his burn this morning. He berated himself mentally for that. It perhaps could have saved him the aching throb of his face. The damaged nerves were going haywire, and Zuko had to grit his teeth against it. Five more minutes, and he would be in the warm, and the pain would go away. Five more minutes, and he wouldn’t feel like ripping his face off.

Toph said something, but he missed it, distracted by the pain.

“Hm?”

“I said, ‘you good, Sparky?’” she repeated.

“Fine.”

“You’re really bad at lying, you know,” she informed him.

Zuko had nothing to say to that.

He missed when the old shop, the one he and Uncle had lived above. He didn’t have to walk through bitter cold to that one. But when Azula had finally escaped from… when Azula had moved in three years ago, they’d had to move somewhere bigger, and Uncle had likewise changed the shop’s location, thanks to the sponsorship of an interested (and wealthy) loyal customer. Uncle had moved it as close to the new apartment as possible. A ten-minute walk was good, considering that the shop had been moved into the wealthier part of the city, and they were… not exactly wealthy themselves. The walk could have been a lot worse.

But, still, the sharp ache and deep throb consuming half of his face, seeping deep down into the bone, gave him more than enough reason to hate those ten minutes every cold morning.

“Ugh,” Toph said eventually, mirroring his thoughts. “Aren’t we there yet?”

“You really should have stayed on the bus.”

“Bus shmus.”

“Half a block more,” Zuko promised.

“Ugh.”

Zuko kept an eye out for more ice patches as they walked the last stretch. If he remembered yesterday, there would be one coming up soon. He’d slipped on that one. His depth perception was… lacking, to say the least.

“Careful,” Zuko said as they reached it. “More ice.”

“Why don’t we just walk in the snow?” Toph grumbled. “No ice in the snow.”

“I’m not freezing my feet off.”

“Well, maybe you should wear boots, then.” She paused their walking to point down at her own booted feet. “See?”

“Those aren’t winter-appropriate boots,” Zuko pointed out.

“Still better than whatever you have on,” she said, then began walking again.

“Does your cane even work in the snow?” Zuko asked, eyeing the white cane.

“Why wouldn’t it?”

“I dunno,” he said. “I just… what if it sinks? Or gets stuck?”

“Ugh,” Toph said once more. “You think too much.”

“Is that a bad thing?” he asked.

“For you? Yes.”

Zuko frowned, but he did not have the chance to formulate a response before Toph claimed she smelled tea. Zuko wasn’t sure he believed that, but he also said nothing about that, either, as they were near the teashop’s entrance.

“Oh, warmth,” Toph said the moment they stepped inside. “Sweet, sweet warmth.”

Zuko silently agreed with her. His face didn’t stop its searing ache and throb, but the damaged skin at least did stop protesting against the cold.

“Your usual spot is open,” Zuko told her.

“Thank god,” she said. “I didn’t want to have to fight someone for it.”

“You didn’t?”

“Well. Maybe I did,” she said, sly grin forming on her face.

“Go sit down,” he told her, and she cackled as she made her way to her usual table.

“Ah, nephew!” Uncle Iroh said when Zuko slipped behind the front counter. “So nice of you to show up.”

“I’m on time,” Zuko grumbled, taking off his coat and replacing it with his work apron.

“Am I not allowed to simply be happy my nephew is such a good and helpful worker?” Uncle Iroh asked, beaming greatly at him.

Zuko scowled. “Why are you such a morning person?”

His uncle merely chuckled. “Morning, noon, or night, it is always nice to be in good company.”

“Toph is here,” Zuko mumbled, because he still had a long way to go before he understood how to take compliments.

“So I saw,” Uncle Iroh said. “I will be out with her jasmine tea shortly.”

He patted Zuko’s shoulder kindly, then went to the back to make the tea. Zuko watched him begin to prepare the drink through the window to the kitchen, then turned back to the dining area, just in time for him to catch two customers walking in.

“Good morning,” Zuko said to the tall man as he stopped behind the register. He always attempted ‘pleasant,’ but he failed. Every time. “Welcome to the Jasmine Dragon. What can I get for you today?”

“Morning,” The man said, his eyes searching the menu above Zuko’s head. “Sorry, first time in this shop. I’ve heard it’s good, but I’m not much of a tea guy.”

Zuko briefly wondered why someone who didn’t like tea would come to a tea shop, but ultimately decided he didn’t care. If he paid attention to everything his costumers said, his head would be filled with nonsense. Instead, he peered down at the second customer—a small girl, presumably no older than five. She had her head tilted, staring up at him. Well. Up at his scar.

Zuko looked away quickly. He was used to stares. He got them all the time. But he didn’t know what to do when children stared. They always asked questions. Questions he couldn’t answer, because they were kids, and kids didn’t need to hear about raging fathers and burning stovetops. It was a shame, really. Kids understood so much, and never judged him. The only people who didn’t. And yet…

“Well, I suppose you know a thing or two about tea,” the man said, interrupting Zuko’s thoughts. He looked down from the menu and smiled at Zuko. “Have any suggestions?”

“Uh,” Zuko said, because he really did not know that much about tea (much to Uncle’s sorrow).

The man didn’t seem fazed. “Oh, you know what, I’ve heard a lot about ‘bubble tea.’ Do you have that here?”

“Boba? Yeah. We have that. It goes in the milk teas,” Zuko said. He did know that much. Uncle Iroh claimed to have invented it. Zuko knew for a fact he did not.

“Great,” the man said. He surveyed the menu once more. “Well, I’ll have that, I suppose.”

Zuko considered clarifying (as they had multiple types of milk teas), but decided to just give the man a standard black tea. That’s usually what people wanted, anyway.

“Kiyi, what do you want?” the man asked the little girl as Zuko punched in his drink order.

“I want bubbles too!” she said, tugging on her father’s coat.

“It’s not real bubbles,” Zuko told the child, because he’d seen that disappointment in children before. “They’re tapioca pearls.”

“I know! I drink it all the time, with Mommy!” The girl smiled up at him. “Can I have the purple one?”

“Taro?” Zuko asked.

The girl bounced on her toes. “Yes!”

The man looked totally confused, but he shrugged when Zuko looked to him. “She knows more about this than me.”

Zuko plugged in the taro bubble tea, then rang up the prices. The man paid in cash, and Zuko took some time trying to figure out how to turn five dollars into four dollars and fifty-nine cents plus change. He wasn’t very good at math. Hundred… minus fifty-nine… was forty-one. Forty-one cents was… Oh, he couldn’t figure out how to do quarters and pennies for that. It would just have to be four dimes and a penny.

He found himself inexplicably frustrated when said dimes and penny just went straight into the tip jar. Why did he have to count all of that out, then?

“Can I get your names for the orders?” Zuko asked, pressing his vexation deep down.

“Oh. Just put them under Noren,” the man said.  

“But I’m Kiyi!” the little girl cried. “Mine needs to say my name!”

“Fine. Noren and Kiyi.” The man leant closer and whispered something.

“Sorry, what?” Zuko asked. Between the background noise of the kitchen and dining area, Zuko couldn’t quite understand when people spoke that lowly.

“I said, it’s okay if you forget whose tea is whose and just put them both under my name.”

“Oh,” Zuko said. “It’s fine. I won’t forget.” He smiled down at Kiyi, because she was easier to talk to than her father. “I’ll call you when it’s done, okay?”

“What do you say?” Noren asked his daughter.

“Thank you!” Kiyi said, then tore away, sprinting to a free table.

“Thank you,” Noren echoed before he took after her.

 Zuko turned away from the cash register, leaning through the window to the kitchen.

“Uncle,” he said. “Thai and taro bubble tea.”

“Trade you,” Uncle Iroh said, passing over Toph’s jasmine tea and taking the order slip. “Is Jin here yet?”

Almost as if summoned, a loud “sorry!” resounded through the shop as the door burst open. Both Zuko and Uncle Iroh watched as Jin hurried through the shop. She struggled to get her coat off as she ran, then quickly threw her apron over her head.

“Sorry,” she said again, breathless as she slipped behind the counter. “Bus was late. Had to walk. It’s nasty out there!”

“No worries,” Uncle Iroh said with a kind smile. “You are here now. That is all that matters.”

 “I’ll work five minutes after my shift,” she said. “I promise.”

“I don’t doubt you will, even if it is not necessary.” And then Uncle Iroh placed his attention on his next two orders.

Jin turned to Zuko. “Sorry for making you man the registers on your own.”

“It’s fine,” Zuko said, well aware of his awkward tone. He never knew what to do in these situations. “I’m taking Toph her tea.”

“Alright. I’ve got the front covered for now.”

Zuko nodded, then took the jasmine tea and his awkwardness and walked them over to Toph’s table.

“Tea,” he told her, setting the drink down next to her laptop. He peered over her shoulder, trying to see what she was doing. Of course, she had the brightness turned all the way down, and he had terrible eyesight, so he could make out exactly none of it.

“Back off, Sparky!” Toph said, shoving his hip. “Personal space!”

“Sorry. What are you doing?” he asked.

“Homework.”

“Oh.” He tapped his fingers at his sides for a moment. Then he asked, “What homework?”

She sighed, pulling out an earbud and clicking a button on her laptop, likely pausing her screen reader. “Applied physics, but what’s it to you? Now go away. I’m busy, and you’re distracting me.”

“Sorry,” he said, and she pressed another key on her laptop and put her earbud back in.

Zuko returned to his register, preparing for the morning rush that never happened on this Tuesday mornings.

“Are the rest of your friends coming in?” Jin asked, nodding to Toph.

“No,” he said, frowning. “It’s Tuesday.”

Jin stared at him for a second. “I don’t know what that means, but I’ll take your word for it.” Then she turned back to her cash register pulled out her phone to send a text.

Zuko sighed, slumping as he stood over his own register.

He and Jin took two more orders before Uncle Iroh passed over the Thai and taro bobas. He placed them in Zuko’s hands, then told him to go give it to them personally. Zuko usually just called the names out and let people take their orders, but Uncle always thought that service was important.

“This is not a Starbucks,” he would always say, and Zuko would always stare at him, because “Starbucks” was not a word that made any sense coming from Uncle Iroh.  

Zuko carried the drinks over to Kiyi and her father. Noren smiled up at Zuko politely, while Kiyi grinned eagerly at her drink.

“Taro boba for Kiyi,” Zuko said, gently placing it down in front of her. “And. Uh. Your boba for you, sir.”

“Thank you,” Noren said, taking his tea. Kiyi was far too busy slurping up boba to say her own thanks, but Zuko took the gusto as gratitude, anyway. Gratitude for Uncle’s tea-making, rather than Zuko’s service, but that was beside the point.

“Can I get you anything else?” Zuko asked, sticking to Uncle Iroh’s script.

“No, I think we’re good, thanks,” Noren said.

Zuko nodded, prepared to tell them that “if there’s anything else you need later, just ask,” but a call from Jin cut him off.

“Zuko!” she called. “Teas!”

He held in a sigh, schooling himself well enough to return a calm, “Coming!”

“’Zuko?’” Noren parroted, and Zuko had to bite back a second sigh. Sometimes, people would ask him where he was from, with a name like that. Zuko had figured he wouldn’t have to do that with fellow East Asian people like Noren and Kiyi, but it was what it was sometimes.

When Zuko turned to deal with this situation, he found Noren frowning up at him, studying him closely. Zuko had not expected that whatsoever. Perhaps this had nothing to do with the name. Still, to be sure, he said, “It’s not a common name.”

“No,” Noren said softly, “it isn’t.”

Zuko blinked down at him.

“Um,” he said after a rather long, rather awkward silence. “I’ll get back to work. Enjoy your… tea…”

And then he walked slowly back to the counter, somewhat dazed.

“What took you so long?” Jin asked, handing him three teas.

“That guy,” Zuko said. “He’s… weird.”

Jin spied over his shoulder. “Weird? How? He’s just drinking tea with his kid.”

Zuko peered back over at Noren and Kiyi and found that they were now, indeed, just drinking tea.

“Whatever,” Zuko said, taking the teas from Jin.

He carried the teas to the correct patrons, going through the motions. They all denied more service, and Zuko gladly left them to enjoy their drinks. He felt Noren’s eyes on him the entire time.

“Pst,” Toph said, not at all discreetly, as he passed her to return to the counter.

“What?” he asked.

She beckoned him closer, then asked, “What’s with Creepy over there?”

“Noren?” Zuko asked, sparing a glance at the man.

“I don’t care who he is,” she said. “Why was he asking you about your name?”

“You heard that?” he asked sceptically.

“You’re the one with hearing loss, not me,” Toph said. “Why’s he being weird?”

“I don’t know,” Zuko said. “If I knew, it wouldn’t be weird.”

“Hm,” Toph said, then shoved her earbuds back in. Zuko took that as his cue to leave.

Zuko took his place behind the register again. Jin started talking to him about random things, and he pretended to listen. He’d nod at every lull and ask, “and then what?” at every pause. He’d long since learned that was how all of Jin’s conversations worked, and it worked to his advantage greatly. Honestly, she might have even guessed long ago that he wasn’t truly listening, but she still babbled on, nonetheless. Jin always worked better when she got to talk.

“Oh, look,” Jin said eventually. “That guy’s coming back.”

Zuko whipped his head up from the buttons he’d been fiddling with on his register. As Jin said, Noren had stood, coming up to the counter with his daughter in tow.

“Hi,” Noren said, a thousand times more awkward than he had been when he’d ordered. “Do you have a pen I could borrow?”

“Here,” Jin said brightly, passing him a pen from the jar that sat by her register.

“Thanks,” Noren said. “And. Um. Paper?”

His motions beginning to feel like they belonged to someone else’s body, Zuko grabbed an old receipt and passed it over. Noren thanked them again, then began writing something down on the back of the receipt.

“So,” he said when he’d finished, looking over at Zuko with intimidating sincerity. “I know that… maybe this isn’t my place to say, but…” He exhaled deeply. “You’re Ursa’s boy, right?”

Something stopped and jolted in Zuko’s chest, a feeling not unlike the time Azula zapped him with a taser. The world suddenly felt very, very wrong.

“What?” Zuko heard himself say, feeling the reciept being pressed into his hand.

“Like I said,” Noren said, his voice far, far away. “This isn’t exactly my place to say, but I think… that’s our address.”

Zuko’s fingers felt very strange. That was all he could think at the moment. His fingers felt like they contained all of his emotions. Every single feeling he’d ever had all dropped to his fingertips.

Noren continued, “I think you should visit sometime. Just to talk. I think—”

“Get out,” Zuko choked out. He didn’t feel himself saying it.

Noren frowned. “Sorry, did I overst—”

“Get out!” Zuko’s voice shouted. “Leave!”

Somewhere distantly, Jin called his name, but Zuko didn’t feel like Zuko anymore. He felt like… like… He felt.

He fled his place behind the register, tearing out of the front. He dimly acknowledged his body crashing through the doors to the kitchen, barely noticing the way they jarred against the heels of his hands. He stood in the kitchen for a second, looking around. None of the things he saw made sense. He needed to… get out. But there wasn’t an out back here. Where was the out? How would he…?

Finding an exit escaped him after a few too many seconds of panic. His body took him to the corner of the kitchen. He pressed himself into it, collapsing to the floor. He pulled his legs to himself, trying to make himself as small as possible. The smaller he was, the less of him that there was. The less of him there was, the less the world could get in. Or something like that.

He heard someone calling for him again. Not Jin. Someone else. It made him pull tighter into the ball, because if someone called for him, that meant the world was still there. He didn’t want the world to be there. But the voice called again, and his head felt like it was going to explode. He ripped the hearing aid from his left ear, because then he wouldn’t have to hear so much, maybe, if he couldn’t hear at all from one ear.

Just as he was about to toss the thing aside, a hand closed around his.

“Zuko,” said the voice.

He felt his fingers being pried open, and the curve of plastic left that hand. He yanked the hand back, covering his head with his arms.

“Zuko,” said the voice again. “Nephew, you need to breathe.”

He didn’t want to breathe. He couldn’t. His whole body was working against him. Hair scratched his neck, sounds threatened his ears, light screamed in his eyes. His head was so full.

Hands folded around him, pulling him from the corner into a warm embrace. He compressed tighter into his curled position, held there by the other person.

There. He was small, and the world was blocked out.

Zuko’s uncle blocked the world out.

“Nephew,” Uncle Iroh said. “Breathe with me.”

Gently, Uncle Iroh directed a breathing exercise. Zuko attempted to follow along. He struggled, at first, shaking so hard that he couldn’t get his lungs to work the way he had wanted. But he eventually fit the pace set by Uncle Iroh.

“Now,” Uncle Iroh said. “Can you tell me what happened?”

The only thing Zuko could manage was, “Mom.”

Uncle Iroh was silent for a moment. Then, as kindly as possible, he said, “I think you are confused, nephew. I am your uncle.”

Zuko shook his head, burying it back between his arms. That sudden awareness of his arms reminded him that his arms had hands, and his hand had… well, it used to have the paper. He pulled his head back up, blinking and searching the floor around him.

“What is it?” Uncle Iroh asked.

Zuko shook his head again, still looking for the paper. It took him a little longer, but he eventually found it next to his right heel. His brain took some moments to catch up, so he simply sat there staring at the receipt. He began reaching down for it just as Uncle spotted it.

“Mom,” Zuko repeated. He tucked his arms between his chest and knees as Uncle picked up the paper.

Uncle Iroh stared at the crumpled address. He did not say a word, but his furrowed brow stated enough. Zuko put his forehead to his knees, rocking himself a little.

After a short few seconds, Uncle Iroh’s hands circled around Zuko again. He held Zuko tightly, and instructed him to breathe again.

Zuko didn’t know how long they sat like that, but eventually, he pulled his head up and let out a long, shaky exhale.

“Better?” Uncle Iroh asked, pulling away.

Zuko nodded.

“Good,” Uncle Iroh said. “Sit here a while.”

Zuko nodded again.

“I will talk to Jin, and then when you feel like yourself again, you may join her again in the front.”

Zuko nodded a third time.

With great care and gentleness, Uncle Iroh pulled one of Zuko’s hands out of his ball. Zuko hated that, but understood the necessity of it enough not to pull back. Uncle Iroh placed Zuko’s hearing aid in his hand, then curled Zuko’s fingers around it and patted the fist. Zuko felt a jolt of guilt. Uncle Iroh had paid for that. And Zuko nearly threw it and broke it. Again.

Then Uncle Iroh stood and left, leaving Zuko alone to fend off the world himself. Zuko tucked his arm back into his arrangement of tight limbs.

Time passed again. Thoughts slugged through his head. He comprehended all and none of it.

Uncle Iroh eventually returned to the kitchen, but he paid no attention to Zuko this time. Good. He didn’t want a babysitter.

Unfortunately, what was even worse than a babysitter was when friends sat around him and watched. He sighed as Toph broke into the kitchen. He shook his head at Uncle Iroh, who was about to tell Toph where Zuko was. Uncle Iroh merely smiled at him. And then told Toph that he was in the far back corner. Zuko glared at his uncle, who just kept on smiling.

Toph’s cane whacked against his shin, taking Zuko’s lour off Uncle Iroh and placing it on her instead. The cane then poked him. Zuko grunted in annoyance.

“Proud of you, Zuko,” she said. “Shouting at customers. I’ve always wanted to do that.”

“You don’t work with customers,” Zuko said. His voice sounded scratchy.

“Doesn’t mean I’ve never wanted to yell at them,” Toph said, getting to the floor beside him.

“You are a customer.”

“Eh. Details.”

“Go away, Toph.”

“No.”

“I don’t need you staring at me.”

“Well, I got good news for you, Sparky,” she said dryly.

“You know what I mean.”

“Look, I’m just here to make sure you don’t break something,” Toph says. “You seem to have a penchant for destruction when you blow up.”

Zuko felt shame flush through him again, fist carefully tightening around his hearing aid. Uncle Iroh had said nothing when he’d replaced that, all four times Zuko had thrown it into a wall, or against the ground, or just anywhere that had been vaguely away from himself in an attempt to quiet the world. Those were expensive. And Zuko broke them like they were nothing, all because he had some stupid fit.

“Hey,” Toph said, poking him. “Don’t get all moody.”

“Go away.”

“No.” She crossed her legs and grinned. “You know, when I told you I wanted to go on a life-changing fieldtrip with you, I always expected it to be my life changing, and I really hoped we’d go further your uncle’s teashop.”

“I’ll keep that in mind for next time,” he snarked.

“Good. Now. Shut up and calm down.”

And she sat with him for the rest of the time he remained curled up in his tight ball.

Eventually, Zuko let his knees down, sitting upright. He sighed deeply. And then his left ear started to ring.

He let out a groan of frustration.

“This is stupid,” he snapped at nobody in particular. He thwacked a hand at his ear, trying to bop out the ringing. That never worked, ever, but it made him feel like he was getting somewhere. Pretending to fix it was better than suffering with it.

“Zuko,” Uncle Iroh chastised, not looking away from the coffee he was brewing. “Do not irritate your poor ear further.”

“I’m not,” Zuko snarled. The moment the words left his lips, he instantly regretted them. “Sorry.”

Uncle forgave him, because Uncle always forgave him, no matter how much he probably should not.

“Who ordered coffee?” Zuko asked, trying to be kind.

“A fool,” Uncle Iroh sighed. “Perhaps you should run him out of my shop, too.”

Guilt burned him again. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to shout at—”

“The only person who should be apologising right now,” Uncle interrupted, “is the person who ordered coffee in a teashop.”

Beside Zuko, Toph snickered.

“I’ll run him out for you,” she said.

“Go back to your stupid applied physics,” Zuko told her, slowly getting to his feet. He had to brace himself against the counter for a second as blankness took over his sight. Lightheaded again. Stupid.

“If I get more jasmine tea, fine.”

“A girl after my own heart,” Uncle said, placing a hand to his chest. “I’ll prepare it with love.”

Toph punched Zuko in the gut. “I like your uncle more than I like you.”

“Ow,” Zuko said.

He shooed her out of the kitchen, following her to make sure she returned to her homework. It was easier to leave his spot in the corner if he pretended it wasn’t for himself. He had to pretend a lot of things for himself.

“Sorry,” Zuko muttered as he took his place beside Jin at the registers again.

“It’s fine!” Jin said. “It’s been slow. And I guess that makes up for the time I missed this morning. Call it even.”

“I mean, I was out for more than five minutes,” Zuko said. “That’s not even.”

“Fine. You can make it up to me by giving me an hour break sometime when it’s slow next week. How about that?”

Zuko nodded. “Fine.”

“You okay, though?” Jin asked.

“Fine,” Zuko said again.

“I can call June,” Jin said. “She can take the rest of your shift.”

“I’m fine,” he grit out.

Jin did not look one bit convinced, but she didn’t suggest anything more.

Zuko managed to ease into another hour of work before he spotted three familiar customers pushing into the shop.

Zuko groaned and ducked behind the counter.

“Zuko!” Jin said, looking up from where she’d been doodling on old reciepts. “Your friends are here!”

He groaned again. And again when Jin nudged him with her shoe.

“Get up!”

Zuko stood up, glaring at Aang, Katara, and Sokka.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“Well, hello to you, too,” Katara said, placing her hands on her hips.

“You should be in class,” Zuko said.

“I have off Tuesday afternoons,” Katara said.

“Me too!” Aang added, grinning broadly at Zuko. Zuko vaguely wondered how much coffee he’d had that morning.

Sokka shrugged. “I skipped.”

“Sokka!” Katara said.

“What? You knew I did!”

Katara let out a seething breath, glowering at her brother. Aang just kept smiling.

“Our usuals, please,” he said, aiming for some smooth character.

Zuko punched the orders into the register, his finger protesting at the force he drove on it. Aang and Sokka left to join Toph at her table, and Zuko glared at the back of Toph’s head. He knew she wouldn’t see it, but he hoped she felt his anger, anyway.

“It’s not her fault,” Katara said, opening up her wallet to pay. “She was worried about you.”

“Don’t bother,” Zuko said when Katara slipped him her credit card. “Uncle never accepts payment from you, anyway.”

Katara frowned. “Yes, he does. I always pay.”

“You ever notice how you find ten dollars in your pockets every so often?”

“Oh,” Katara said, blinking. “That… explains a lot.”

“Don’t bother paying anymore,” Zuko said.

“Right,” Katara said, pushing her wallet back into her backpack.

“I’ll bring your orders when they’re done,” Zuko said.

“Thanks.” Katara left to join the rest.

“So,” Jin said, sliding up beside Zuko. “Good thing I already texted June…”

Zuko clenched his fists tightly together. “Shut up, Jin.”

“Go tell your uncle to make you some jasmine tea.”

Zuko didn’t even like jasmine tea. He refrained from saying so (because Uncle never listened, anyway), and threw his work apron on the employee rack before he entered the kitchen.

“Has your ear stopped ringing?” Uncle Iroh asked as Zuko stood beside him.

“What? Oh. Yeah.” Zuko had forgotten about that. He should be grateful for that, really. More often than not, the ringing drove him wild, usually ending in more rage. He looped his hearing aid back over his ear. “Aang, Sokka, and Katara are here.”

“So I gathered,” Uncle Iroh said. “If you help me, I will finish their teas in no time at all.”

“They’ll accuse me of poisoning them.”

 “Well, so long as you don’t actually poison them, I am sure it will turn out just fine.”

Zuko sighed. He was doing a lot of that today.

Not too long later, Uncle Iroh sent Zuko out with a tray of teas and a pat on the shoulder. Zuko carefully took the trays and backed out of the kitchen, using his shoulder to push open the swinging door. He immediately tried walking back into the kitchen when he spotted June. Uncle Iroh’s hands shoved him out of the kitchen.

“Hello, Zuko,” June said, tone amused and cool as ever. She always thought he was funny. As in, weird funny, not… not Sokka funny. She studied him like a bug. “Heard you yelled at a customer.”

Behind June, Jin gave a broad smile and nodded. Zuko scowled at her.

“You owe me a shift,” June said. “I’m thinking next Thursday.”

“I already work next Thursday.”

“Hm. Perhaps this Sunday, then?”

Zuko sighed and slumped.

“Great,” June said, smiling lazily. “Have fun with your friends.”

Zuko made a hasty retreat, nearly spilling Katara’s matcha latte. Katara glared at him for that. He glared right back, slamming the tray down on the table.

“Aang,” Sokka said, taking his mango boba whilst eyeing the drink Aang grabbed, “is that just milk?

“Yep!” He lowered the cup of milk down below the table, where Appa obediently sat. “Sniff it, buddy.”

Zuko folded his arms, watching as Appa did his task. “There’s no gluten in milk.”

“I know! But I don’t want to end up in the hospital again.”

“That was one time,” Zuko said. “And it was an accident. Song doesn’t even work here anymore; she quit when we moved locations.”

“I know, but you can never be too careful,” Aang said. When the dog found no traces of gluten, Aang grinned excitedly. “Thanks, buddy.”

Then he downed a good portion of the milk in one go.

“You’re weirder than I thought,” Toph said. “Do I get more jasmine tea?”

Zuko studied the two steaming cups of tea on the tray. One of them was for Toph, and the other for Zuko. Tentatively, he leant over and sniffed each. He sat back, surprised to find that they did not smell the same. The one that smelled distinctly of jasmine tea went straight to Toph, while he set the other tea in front of him and stared at it.

When did Uncle figure out he liked dan chong oolong? (When had Zuko figured out he liked dan chong oolong?)

Zuko peered over his shoulder at the kitchen window. Uncle Iroh stood at it, smiling at Zuko. Zuko blinked, then turned back around.

He took a sip of tea.

“So,” Sokka said, drawing the word out. “Heard you threw out a customer.”

“Sokka!” Katara cried.

“What?” Sokka asked. “I’m trying to start the conversation!”

Zuko sighed, putting his face in his hands. “Do we have to talk about this?”

“Yes,” Katara, Aang, and Sokka all said.

“I skipped class for this,” Sokka said. “There better be a good reason.” He gave a sudden yelp following that, then glared at Katara, reaching below the table to rub his shin. “What was that for?”

She ignored him, turning to Zuko. “We’re just worried about you, that’s all.” She placed her hand gently atop one of Zuko’s. “Toph said you had a scare. We just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“Yeah,” Aang chimed in. “You’re our friend.”

Zuko shrunk in on himself somewhat.

“Just answer the question, pansy,” Toph said, tipping her chair back on two legs and scratching her stomach. “We’re not gonna leave you alone until you do.”

He took another sip of tea, then set the cup back down on the table. He fiddled with it somewhat, twisting it between his hands.

“Some guy came in with a kid,” he said. His voice rasped harder than usual.

“You hate kids now?” Sokka guessed. “Harsh.”

Katara kicked him under the table again.

“Go on,” she encouraged Zuko while Sokka garbled many strange pseudo-expletives to himself.

Zuko started again, trying to place his jumbled thoughts in a row. “They were drinking boba. Kiyi wanted her name on it. He put the change in the tips. Um. He knew my name. Then he asked for paper, then put my mom’s address on it.”

He was met with complete silence and stares.

“Someone translate that, please,” Sokka said after a minute, waving a hand in Zuko’s direction.

“Can’t believe you’re related to your uncle,” Toph said. “You’re so bad at telling stories.”

Zuko huffed out a frustrated sigh. “Some guy knew my name and then gave me my mother’s address, okay?”

After another pause, Katara said, “I thought your mother was dead.”

He looked up at her briefly, but he found he couldn’t live under her unyielding gaze and glanced away. She held some sort of sadness in her eyes. He couldn’t deal with that, not atop of everything else.

The first thing they had ever… not argued about… was their mothers. It was the thing that finally glued them together, and it was what kept them in solemn solidarity. He felt guilt. He was wrong about his mother, apparently. She would never be wrong about hers.

“So did I,” he muttered, then took another sip of his tea.

“So… your mother’s not dead, and some guy knows her and your name,” Sokka said, ticking things off on his fingers, “and gave you her address. Anything I’m missing?”

“Something about a kiwi,” Aang added.

“And there’s kiwis,” Sokka amended, tapping another finger.

“Kiyi,” Zuko said. “Her name was Kiyi. She wanted taro boba.”

“Right,” Sokka said. “Why does that matter?”

“I don’t know.” Only that, now that he thought about it, Kiyi looked a lot like Azula had when she was five.

“How do you know that this guy’s not messing with you?” Katara asked. She had her arms folded now, matcha latte untouched, still staring at Zuko with those sad eyes.

“He’s not,” Toph said. “I heard the guy. He got really weird after he heard Zuko’s name. It didn’t come from nowhere.”

“Who is he, though?” Katara asked.

 “Noren,” Zuko said.

Katara gave Zuko a tense smile. “Yes, but that means nothing to us, Zuko.”

“Right,” Zuko said, sinking a little in his chair. Katara patted his hand kindly.

“Well,” Aang said, brows knit in his usual face of consideration. “He knows Zuko’s name, which means his mom must talk about Zuko to him. And he knows Zuko’s mom’s address. And he invited Zuko there. So, I think that means…” Aang looked to Zuko. “I think he might be your—”

“Stepfather,” Zuko mumbled, nodding.

“Sorry,” Aang said, because Aang was polite and good at reading emotions.

“Sparky has a whole nother family,” Toph said, because she was not Aang. “Sweet.”

“Toph!” Katara exclaimed.

“Well, it’s not like his first one’s any good. He should be happy. The kid seemed sweet enough.”

Instead of listening to anything Toph said, Zuko just took a very long drink of his tea. He dimly registered Katara and Toph begin to fight.

Beside Zuko, Aang quietly asked, “So, what are you going to do about it?”

“I don’t know,” Zuko said, because he absolutely didn’t.

“Well, whatever you do,” Sokka said, “we’re here for you.”

Katara stopped bickering with Toph long enough to agree. Toph punched him in the arm affectionately. Then the two were back at it again.

Zuko vaguely listened as Aang babbled on about anthropology, raising his eyebrow as Sokka interjected every so often with some pun or joke. Katara and Toph eventually settled their differences and joined in on the conversation. Nobody made Zuko talk, which was good. He had nothing to say. All his words were gone right now.

“Okay,” Katara said, checking her phone for the time. “I have my anatomy course in half an hour, so I need to get back onto campus.”

“Give me a lift,” Toph said.

“We took the bus,” Katara said.

Toph groaned loudly. “Why is everyone out to kill me today?”

“I can stay for a while,” Aang said. “I only have morning classes on Tuesday. And I want to make tea!”

“No coffee,” Katara ordered him. “You’re not allowed that on top of your adde—”

“I know!” Aang said. He pecked her on the cheek, then bounced up from his chair. “Appa, yip yip!” Appa got up from the floor, and Aang took him along, zooming into the kitchens. Uncle’s booming voice greeted him, and the two began chattering away.

“He’s weird,” Toph said.

“So are you,” Katara pointed out. “You coming, or not?”

“Yeah, yeah.” She began packing up her things.

Soon, Zuko was alone at the table, calls of “Don’t let Aang touch the scones!” ringing in his good ear. He sat there a while longer, not quite ready to face a world any bigger than the few feet of table.

He finished the rest of his tea. It had cooled down greatly, which nearly put him off it, but he’d feel bad if Uncle’s tea went unconsumed.

“Zuko!” Aang called from the kitchen window after a while. “Your uncle wants you to bake cookies.”

Zuko sighed.

For the remainder of what should have been Zuko’s shift, Uncle Iroh had him do menial task after menial task. Zuko was fairly certain the goal was to just keep him busy. Smart, really, but it didn’t do much to keep Zuko from thinking.

When Zuko put his coat on, prepared to leave, Uncle stopped him.

“Nephew,” he said. “I will be home soon.”

“I know,” Zuko said. He was well aware of the standard schedule. He had it ingrained in his brain.

“Take a break for yourself,” Uncle said. “You have had a long day.”

Unsure what else to say, Zuko settled on, “Okay.”

He turned to leave, but Uncle stopped him.

“You are forgetting something.”

Zuko frowned, confused. He was certain he had everything. Keys and phone in his pocket, hat over his head, coat on his shoulders. Yes, that should have been everything.

But then Uncle slid a crinkled receipt across the counter towards Zuko.

“Uncle,” Zuko said, then faltered. He didn’t know what to say.

“It was given to you,” Uncle Iroh said. “And it is yours to deal with however you wish.”

Zuko stared at the receipt. The pen scrawled on the back called to him, demanding him to read it, to memorise it.

He swiped it from the counter and shoved it deep into his coat pocket, then turned and left. He pointedly did not flee, but he was certain that, if someone watched him, they would consider it thus.

At home, he found himself in Azula’s abandoned room. He sat on her bed, rubbing his hands across her scarlet bedspread, and stared at the wall of knives. She had quite the collection. A lot were likely donated by her friend Mai. Zuko could not judge, though, as he had a twin pair of dual dao swords hung above his desk.

His fingers found their way to his phone, clicking into his contacts. The one titled “Azula” stared up at him as he did down at it. It teased him, just like Azula herself would.

He pressed an icon, and his phone began to dial his sister.

“Ugh,” was the immediate response. Azula’s face slid into view, her eyes narrowed as she focused on Zuko through the video call. “What do you want, dum-dum?”

“Mom,” Zuko said. He wasn’t very good at conversations.

She rolled her eyes. “I’m not our mother.”

“That’s not—why does everyone think—agh!” Zuko shouted. His free hand clenched into a tight fist.

“Calm down,” she chastened. “I’m just teasing. What about our darling departed mother?”

“Well,” Zuko said, suddenly realising he should have scripted this conversation. He had no idea how to say what he needed to say.

“Oh, just spit it out, dum-dum,” Azula sighed. “I’m a big girl. I can take whatever strange thing your brain decides to say.”

“I’m not strange,” he snapped, which she merely shrugged at.

“Come on, Zuzu,” she said. “Focus. What are you bothering me about?”

“Mom’s not dead,” he said. The words came out before he’d tried to think of a better way to phrase them.

Azula did not look at all fazed. “Oh. That’s it?”

“What do you mean, ‘that’s it?’” Zuko seethed.

“Well, it’s not exactly news, is it?” she said. Then something clicked. “Ah. You didn’t know.”

“No!”

“Calm down, calm down,” Azula said. “You’ll scare Ty Lee.”

“Hi, Zuko!” someone called somewhere offscreen. Ty Lee, as bubbly as ever, said, “Glad your mom’s not dead!”

“You didn’t tell me they were here!” Zuko shouted.

“Why wouldn’t they be?” Azula asked. “Mai’s my roommate. Ty Lee’s her girlfriend.”

“We’re your friends!” Ty Lee added.

Many conflicting and angering things circled in his head, whirling like buzzards as they waited to find the right thing to peck at. He couldn’t focus his thoughts. His head felt full. Too much was happening.

“Zuko,” Azula’s voice said, cutting through the clutter. “Hey. Dum-dum. Focus on me.”

He glared at her.

“There. Good,” she said. “Don’t get stuck in your head.”

“I’m not,” he lied.

Azula tsked, eyeing her perfectly manicured nails with disinterest. “If you need me to blather on about something pointless until you settle down, you can just say. I have plenty of things to rant and rave about.”

“I’m fine.”

“If you say so,” she said with a sigh, obviously (and rightfully) not believing him.

“How did you know Mom was alive?” he demanded.

“Dad told me,” she said. Her head tilted as she studied him through the screen. “Of course, that makes sense why he didn’t tell you.”

Zuko turned his face away.

“Look. I would’ve told you if I had known he never told you.” She tilted her head the other way, considering that statement. “Well, no, I probably wouldn’t have. Not then, anyway.”

“No, you wouldn’t have,” he mumbled, still not looking at her.

“But I would’ve sooner if I did know that now,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

She seemed sincere when he finally glanced at her again. Of course, she had always looked sincere when she had been throwing out lies and false apologies. But they seemed more real since she’d moved in. And they never fooled Uncle, which meant they were real.

“Did you ever meet her?” Zuko asked.

Azula scoffed. “Of course not! She hated me, remember?”

“She didn’t hate you,” he said.

“Well, she certainly didn’t like me,” she said, flicking a hand. “That’s enough, isn’t it? Besides. After hallucinating her for a short while, I decided it was perhaps best not to go meet her by myself.”

“Oh,” Zuko said. “Right.”

Ever-so talented in breezing past touchy subjects, Azula said, “Anyway. How did you figure this out?”

“I met our stepfather. And little sister. Probably.”

Azula blinked, eyebrows raised. “You are ever so blunt, darling brother.”

He shrugged.

“Did they seek you out?” she asked. “Or…”

“They came to the teashop,” he told her. “He heard my name. Gave me the address.”

“Hm,” Azula said, and that was all.

“I don’t know what to do,” he said.

“Well, that’s rather obvious,” she said. “Why else would you call me?”

He frowned. “I call you for more than just advice. I don’t even call you for advice!”

“No, you rarely call,” Azula said, mock sigh escaping her lips. “Poor me. Nobody to love me.”

“Stop that.”

“Relax. I’m not manipulating you,” she said. “I’m teasing you. Anyway. What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know!”

“Well, seems like you have two options,” she said. “You meet her… or you ignore her.”

Zuko pulled his legs to his chest.

“Look,” Azula said. “You miss her. You always have. And I get that you’re mad. She lied to you. But I lied to you, too, right? I always lie.”

“You don’t,” he said. “Not anymore.”

“Mm.” Azula brushed it off with a wave of her hand. “The point is, I know you. You’re forgiving. Uncle surely impressed that upon you.”

“So, you think I should meet her?”

“I have no doubt you will, eventually. The question is… when?”

He brought his legs tighter to his chest.

“I’m not going with you,” Azula said. “I have my own grievances to work out, and I’m not doing that after I’ve had a long, long talk with Dr. Feng. Or multiple, probably.”

“I figured,” he muttered.

“Therapy, Zuzu,” Azula said loftily. “You should try it. God knows you need it.”

He scowled at the pixelated version of her.

“Just… think about this before you go, alright?” Azula said. “You make rash decisions. You don’t think things through, and then you get trapped in situations you can’t work your own way out of.”

He glared harder. “Shut up.”

“I’m not insulting you; I’m pointing out facts. You lead yourself down paths that actively harm you. Don’t let that happen this time. Uncle does not need to pick up the pieces again.” She paused, lips turning upwards at the corners. “And I’m not there to yell at you when you screw up again, dum-dum.”

“Shut up,” he repeated, though it lacked the venom of before.

“Don’t be stupid,” she warned him. “That’s all I’m saying.”

“Fine. Whatever.”

“Anyway,” Azula said, tone back to her usual blithe bite, “I have to go. Mai, Ty Lee, and I are all going to my ex’s frat party. We’re going to trash the place.”

Zuko gaped at her. “You have an ex?”

“Yes, dum-dum,” Azula said. “Chan. Remember?”

 The name meant next to nothing to Zuko at face value. He scrambled through memories, searching for any time that name had meaning. Clarity reached him eventually.

“You never told me you were dating that guy!” Zuko said. “You mentioned him, like, once!”

“Yes, and I clearly thought he was important enough to mention. Not my fault if you missed it.”

He stared at her. “You’re insane.”

“Oh, we all know that,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Now, get out of my room. If I find you touched anything, I’ll sic Mai on you.”

“Why?” Mai’s disinterested, disembodied voice asked from beyond the scope of Azula’s camera. “He won’t fight back. It would be so boring.”

“Fine. I’ll do it myself,” Azula said. She leant into the camera, narrowing her eyes dangerously. “Don’t touch my stuff!”

Then she hung up on him.

Zuko slumped over on her bed, curling up on himself and staring at her wall of knives.

Azula was, infuriatingly, right. He never did think things through. Uncle Iroh told him that sometimes, too, which meant he was extremely bad at it. The thing was, he never knew how to think things through. In a step-by-step process, he only ever knew the first few bullet points. How was he supposed to know what happened after that? How was he supposed to prepare for unknown variables? Azula and Uncle Iroh might know how to do that, but Zuko sure did not.

He buried his face in his hands and sighed.

“Stupid,” he told himself.

He stayed on Azula’s bed until he heard Uncle Iroh calling for him. He got up slowly.

“Stupid!” he hissed again when his vision blacked out.

“Zuko,” Uncle Iroh called again. “I brought dinner!”

Zuko bent over, lowering his head below his heart. That cleared things up, sometimes.

Sure enough, his vision began to clear, and he stood all the way up. Dizziness still threatened him, but he pushed through it, leaving Azula’s room.

“Ah, there you are, nephew,” Uncle Iroh said jovially when Zuko joined him in the kitchen. “I stopped by on the way home and got us some food.”

Zuko noted the boxes of takeout. “Golden Buffet?”

Uncle Iroh’s smile was wide. “They have the best eggrolls.”

Zuko was not disinclined to agree.

“And I brought your favourite,” Uncle Iroh said, patting a round styrofoam container. Steam fogged its lid, obscuring all but the dish’s deep colour.

“Hulatang?” Zuko asked. “Isn’t that supposed to be a breakfast?”

“You have never objected to it for dinner before!”

An accurate statement, and one he would not enjoy amending now. He could smell it from where he stood; it made him hyperaware of the growing hunger pains in his stomach.

Dinner consisted of Uncle Iroh recollecting, yet again, how Western cuisine had changed Asian cuisines. Pros and cons of both were rattled off in long-winded succession. Zuko, well-versed in this conversation, tuned him out, eating his soup quietly. He tuned in every so often to ask how Uncle Iroh felt about his chow mein, or to ask for an eggroll.

“You are quiet, nephew,” Uncle observed after some time.

Zuko shrugged. “I guess.”

“Too much spice in your spicy soup?”

“No.” Zuko had an affinity for spice, and often argued that nothing was too spicy for him.

Uncle Iroh sat back, studying Zuko carefully. “What is on your mind?”

“I think you already know,” Zuko said, poking at a piece of kelp.

“Sometimes, it’s better to speak our minds than to bottle it up.”

“I’m thinking about today,” he said. “And… stuff.”

“I see.”

“Did you know she was alive?” he asked, looking up from his soup.

His uncle stroked his beard, still observing Zuko with heedfulness. “No.”

“Azula did. He told her.”

“There are a great many things that your father has likely told Azula that he has never shared with you,” Uncle Iroh said measuredly. “Do not take it to heart.”

“I’m not!”

“I did not know your mother was alive,” Uncle Iroh continued, “and if I had, I would have found the right time and place to tell you.”

Zuko had no idea what that meant. He dropped the subject altogether after that.

Later that evening, as he sat on his bed, he found his thoughts racing. Everything he had asked of people today had led to more questions than answers. He hated having questions. He wanted answers.

He let out a frustrated groan. He knew what he was going to do. He didn’t want to do it, not after Azula’s words, but he was going to do it, anyway. He wouldn’t be able to move on if he didn’t. He would be stuck.

Grabbing his phone, he sent a quick text to Aang. Can you drive rn?

Sorry, came Aang’s first text. The following text read, Gyatso is visiting for game night! :D And then he finished with a final, I’m really sorry, Zuko :(

Thanks anyway, Zuko texted back.

Insoluble frustration permeated deep into Zuko’s chest. He didn’t want to bother Aang when his foster father was visiting, but it still aggravated him that Aang wasn’t free. Sure, he could ask Sokka or Katara, but he didn’t want to have those awkward conversations in the car. Aang was the most trustworthy with this sort of thing. He had a deep understanding of Zuko and what Zuko needed. Well, so did the others, but not in the same way Aang did.

His phone pinged another message. He picked it up, then started.

Traitor, the text read.

At first, he assumed the message had originated from Azula. She had often called him that. She hadn’t in a while, but maybe she got mad he’d told Uncle that she’d known about Ursa, and maybe Uncle had told her—Zuko was getting far too ahead of himself. It wasn’t even from Azula, anyway. No need to panic.

What? Zuko replied to Suki.

You asked AANG to drive you?!?! Suki asked. She followed it with a text of a single angry emoji.

How do you even know?

He asked me to drive you. he’s upset he couldn’t do it

Do you even know what this is about? Zuko asked.

Suki’s roundabout response was, Sokka talks. A LOT.

Good to know people can keep secrets.

Don’t be mean. And I’m mad you kept secrets from ME >:(

Zuko was growing tired of this. Will you drive me or not??

Rude >:( said Suki. But then she added, But yeah. Be there in ten

For half of those ten minutes, Zuko continued to sit on his bed, staring at the wall. He couldn’t gather up the nerve to move.

Eventually, he scrubbed at his face and managed to stand.

“Uncle?” Zuko asked, searching through the apartment for him. He found the man sitting in the living room, reading a book about tea. Predictable.

“Yes, Zuko,” Uncle Iroh said without looking away from his book.

“I’m…” He hadn’t thought of what to say. “Suki.”

Uncle Iroh closed his book, eyebrows raised as he studied Zuko. “I believe you are Zuko, my nephew, and not Suki.”

Zuko smacked his palm into his forehead. “No! I’m… ugh. I’m going to hang out with Suki.”

“I see,” Uncle Iroh said slowly. His brow slowly dipped to a frown. “And you will be doing… what, exactly?”

“I don’t know,” Zuko said. “We’re just… hanging out.” And, in a sudden burst of inspiration, he added, “I didn’t see her at the teashop today, so… I want her company now. I guess.”

“I see,” Uncle Iroh said again.

“I don’t know how long I’ll be,” Zuko said. “So… don’t wait up, I guess.”

Uncle Iroh gave a measured nod. “Have fun, nephew.”

Then he picked up his book and flipped to his past page, delving back into it immediately. Zuko watched him for a moment, then fled to the front door.

“Let’s go,” Zuko said, yanking the door open the very second Suki knocked.

“Oh,” Suki said, surprised. “Okay. Geez.”

He pulled her out of the apartment building, but she slapped his hand away from her the moment they exited.

“Hands off your designated driver,” she said.

“I’m not drunk.”

“So? Still your designated driver.” She unlocked her old SUV and hopped into the driver’s seat. “Get in, loser.”

Zuko opened the passenger door, sliding into the car. His scar was already starting to hurt, so when Suki turned the vehicle on, the blast of cold air from the vents directed at his face made him suck in air through his teeth. He covered the scar with his hands, waiting for the cold air to warm up.

“Sorry,” Suki said. “Old car, crappy heating. It’ll kick on in a minute.”

This happened every single time, but Zuko always seemed to forget. One of these days, he’d remember to turn the vents away from his face before Suki turned on the car.

“So,” Suki said, pulling out into the road. “Your mom, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“Have the address?”

Zuko pulled the old receipt out of his pocket. It had furled up into a ball, so he flattened it out against the dashboard.

“Oh,” Suki said after he read it out. “I know that street. That’s near where Ty Lee’s apartment used to be.”

Zuko always found it kind of weird that Suki had learned tessenjutsu with his sister’s best friend, and that they now took two classes together at the same college. The phrase “it’s a small world” did not do justice to half of Zuko’s life.

“Plug that into my phone, please,” Suki said, passing Zuko her phone without looking away from the road.

“Uh,” Zuko said. “It’s locked.”

Suki sighed, then reached out her thumb. Zuko held the phone against it, letting her fingerprint unlock the phone. When the screen changed, displaying apps instead of notifications, Zuko took it back and looked for the map. He clicked on the icon, then typed in the address. When it asked if he wanted the directions from their current location, Zuko pressed the button, then turned up the volume on Suki’s phone. The whole time, it felt surreal, and rather wrong. The world was beginning to tilt into some unknown universe. Nothing was making sense the way it used to.

“Hey, you okay?” Suki asked, briefly glancing to him. “You look a little…”

When she didn’t finish, Zuko said, “I’m fine.”

“It’s okay to be nervous, you know,” Suki said. “I would be, too, if I met my parents.”

“I know.”

“And I’m here if you need me. I mean, I won’t go in with you, but… call me, and I’ll be your getaway driver, too.” She threw him a wry smile.

“Thanks,” he said.

She didn’t say a word for the rest of the drive. This is why he liked Suki. She always seemed to know exactly what people needed, and she was always willing to lend a helping hand. He’d done the same for her before, and he’d do it again in a heartbeat.

“Can you read out the house numbers for me?” Suki asked as they turned onto a street Zuko had never been down.

“No,” Zuko said. His night vision was abysmal.

“Oh. Right.” Suki slowed the vehicle way down, driving only as fast as she could read address numbers. “Aha!”

Zuko’s heart nearly stopped when she said that.

Suki parked at the curb, peeking beyond Zuko at the house. It was a little thing, with yellowing brick covering the ground floor and white siding on the story above. A light shone down on the likewise white front door, adorned with in four rhomboid windows.

“It’s cute,” Suki said.

“It’s a house.”

“Well,” Suki said after a minute passed. “Are you going to go knock on the door?”

Zuko was pretty sure he would throw up if he opened his mouth, so he simply opened the car door and got out.

“Text me if you need anything!” Suki called after him as he unsteadily made his way to the house.

Fingers feeling frozen in more way than one, Zuko knocked on the door. The cold wood rapped back against his knuckles, so he quickly stuffed his hands in his pockets.

He was just about to knock again, frustrated by the wait (though, in all honestly, it hadn’t been that long), when a shadow clouded the diamond windows. Zuko was certain his heart skipped at least three beats, but it started back to normal when he heard a masculine-sounding voice talking to someone else inside. That was Noren, then, wasn’t it? That gave him a few more moments to prepare himself.

As Zuko expected, Noren opened the door.

“Oh,” Noren said, shock dominating his face. “You.”

“Uh,” Zuko said. And then, “Sorry for shouting at you.”

“No, no,” Noren said hastily. “That’s fine. I gave you quite a shock.”

Zuko shoved his hands deeper into his coat pockets. He didn’t know what to say next. In fact, he was fairly sure his voice had stopped working.

“Why don’t you come inside,” Noren said suddenly. “It’s cold out. Don’t want you freezing out there, do we?”

Zuko nodded a thanks as Noren stepped aside. He slipped through the door, relaxing a little (only a little) as he stepped into the warm house.

“Look,” Noren said lowly, shutting the door behind them. “I didn’t warn her. You had a bad reaction, so I figured…”

Zuko nodded again. It was understandable. He’d shouted at Noren to leave; anyone would take it that Zuko had no interest in that address and invitation.

“I just didn’t want to get her hopes up if you weren’t coming,” Noren finished needlessly. “So… I guess this will be surprising for everyone.”

He took a deep breath in, steeling himself. Then, loudly, he called, “Noriko?”

Zuko frowned quizzically at Noren. Noren caught the look and held up a pacifying hand.

“I’ll explain later,” he mouthed.

Zuko narrowed his eyes. He would hold Noren to that.

“What is it?” came the response to Noren’s call.

Black spots danced in Zuko’s vision. He always thought he’d forgotten how his mother had sounded. He couldn’t recall it on his own. But hearing it again…

“Deep breaths, son,” Noren said, patting his back and watching him cautiously.

Zuko wanted to retort that he wasn’t Noren’s son, but he found he couldn’t. His voice was still vanished to someplace far away, and he really couldn’t breathe all that well.

“Come downstairs, please,” Noren replied.

“One second!”

“Oh, you’re here?” Kiyi’s voice asked. He spotted her peeking beyond a corner at the end of the entryway hall. She hugged a doll with a rather odd haircut close to her body.

“I’m sorry for shouting at you,” Zuko said. And then his words glued into his mouth again.

“That’s okay,” Kiyi said. “It was mean, but Daddy said you were just scared. And I yell all the time when I’m scared.”

Kids, Zuko decided, were strange creatures. Nice, but strange.

“Right, what is it?”

The black spots reappeared in Zuko’s vision as he watched his mother descend the stairs from the upstairs to the entryway.

She looked… Zuko had forgotten her face. He wasn’t good with pulling faces to memory. If he tried to picture Suki’s face right now, he’d get a vague impression, but not a full picture. He could picture everything else about her, but not her face. Faces held no place in his memory.

But, just like her voice, as soon as he saw his mother’s face again, it fit right into place.

“Oh!” Ursa said, smiling between Noren and Zuko. “You didn’t tell me we were inviting people over. Who’s this?”

Zuko’s heart skipped another few beats. He looked to Noren, who held a confused expression on his face.

“Noriko,” Noren said carefully, but Ursa got there first.

“Oh,” Ursa said, all the pleasantries sliding from her face, replaced by utter shock. “Oh, my…”

She put her hands to her mouth, taking a few steps back.

“Noriko,” Noren said again, “I—”

Ursa fled the room before he could say anything more.

“I’ll handle this,” Noren told Zuko. Zuko said and did nothing.

“Kiyi,” Noren said with urgency, “why don’t you show Zuko to the dining room? I’m going to talk to Mommy.”

He disappeared after that, hurrying after his wife.

“Hi,” Kiyi said, skipping over to Zuko. “That was weird, huh? Mommy’s not usually that scary to new people! You’re just different, I guess!”

Zuko wasn’t sure he wasn’t going to pass out.

“C’mon,” the little girl—god, his little sister—said. “I’ll take you the table.”

She reached up and grabbed his hand, pulling him along. His move beneath him, complying to Kiyi’s directing tug.

“So, we already ate today, so I don’t think you’re gonna get food,” Kiyi said, pushing him into a chair at the dining table. “Sorry!”

“That’s okay,” Zuko’s voice said in another dimension.

“You ate already, huh?”

“Yeah…”

“Okay, good! ‘Cause then you won’t go hungry.” Kiyi sat at the table across from him, grinning up at him. “Wanna meet my doll?”

“Sure…”

“Her name’s Kiyi!” She plopped the doll on the table, then made its little arm wave at Zuko. “She says hi!”

“I thought Kiyi was your name,” Zuko said, unable to wrap his head around anything currently.

“It’s such a good name, I used it twice!” Kiyi the New Sister launched into a story about Kiyi the Doll. Zuko could not focus on it. But he was good at pretending.

Hushed voices drifted in from another room. Zuko couldn’t hear what the voices said between Kiyi talking loudly and having his bad ear.

He took a deep breath, then released it at a slow and steady pace. The warm, yellow lights of the kitchen provided a softer atmosphere, making it easier for him to relax. Not that he could relax all that much.

Especially not when his mother came into the room.

He stiffened, sitting up straight and staring at her. She studied him carefully, fingers pressed to her lips.

“Zuko?” she finally asked.

“Mom,” Zuko said. His voice cracked.

She threw herself over him in an attempt to gather him into her arms. He grabbed onto her, pulling himself into her, and buried his face in her shoulder as she held tightly onto him. She wept into him. He just held on as tightly as he could, half certain that if he let go, she would fade into the dream that this felt like.

Eventually, she pulled back, taking his face into her hands and studying him.

“Oh, your poor face,” she said mournfully, rubbing her hands along the flesh of his burn.

“Don’t!” Zuko hissed. He knocked her hand away.

She looked hurt, pulling her hands away, but she said nothing about it.

“I can’t believe you’re so grown up,” she said softly.

“You look… the same,” he said. He didn’t know what to say. What script was he supposed to follow now? There were no “reuniting with your previously-presumed dead mother” scripts.

She let out a watery laugh. “Oh, I missed you.”

“Is this where you’ve been the entire time?” Zuko blurted out. When lacking a script, improvise. Zuko was bad at improvisation.

Ursa went quiet for a moment. She moved herself to the chair next to Zuko, pursing her lips in contemplation. She kept her eyes on him. He couldn’t look back for too long. He had to take breaks, glancing to the table or the wall.

“No,” she said at long last. “It took me a while to find Ikem again.”

“Who?”

“Noren,” Ursa corrected. “We’ve… It’s a long story. We go by Noren and Noriko now.”

“Matching names,” Zuko said, unsure how to feel.

“Not really,” Ursa said, sad smile on her lips. “But that’s not the point.” She reached out to him again, taking his hand on the table and holding it in her own. “I’m so happy to see you again, Zuko.”

“I missed you,” he whispered, unsure if he would start crying now.

She clung tighter to his hand. “I missed you, too,” she repeated. She sat up straighter. “So. What have you been up to? You’re twenty-two now, right? Have you gradutated college yet?”

“I… never went to college,” Zuko said.

He knew he shouldn’t be embarrassed by that. There was absolutely nothing wrong with not joining Aang, Katara, Sokka, Toph, and Suki at the local college. Uncle Iroh had helped him learn that college was not a path he was meant to take in life, no matter how much Father had demanded it of him. College wouldn’t have… it wouldn’t have been good for him. Zuko couldn’t live on his own, not without accidentally isolating himself so much it caused him substantial detriment.

“I work at a teashop,” Zuko said. “Uncle Iroh owns it.”

“Oh?” Ursa said, smile flickering but not failing. “That’s nice, sweetie. I’m proud of you both.”

“Thanks,” he muttered.

“What about your sister?” she asked tentatively. She looked around, as if Azula would appear out of nowhere.

“Azula’s at college,” Zuko said.

“Oh, good girl,” Ursa said, beaming again. Zuko tried to not feel shame. She wasn’t comparing him to Azula. She wasn’t.

“Not the one here in town,” Zuko said. “You won’t see her.”

At that, Ursa's smile finally faltered. Zuko felt immediate guilt. He hadn’t meant it to sound like that. He just… He felt everything from the past all over again. The competition. The need to claw his way up past Azula’s accomplishments just to be seen. To be heard. Or acknowledged.

This family was screwed up.

“And…” Ursa paused a second, then tried again. “And what about Ozai?”

“Father’s in jail.”

“Oh,” Ursa said. The warmth of before had finally fled now. She looked tired. “Really?”

“It was all over the news,” Zuko said.

“We tried to keep him out of our lives,” she said. She cleared her throat. “What did they finally get him for?”

“Tax evasion,” Zuko said.

“Ah.”

“Fraud.”

Ursa nodded.

“Embezzlement, perjury, obstruction of justice…” Zuko stared at the table. “Child abuse.”

“Oh,” Ursa said, so quiet that Zuko almost didn’t hear her.

Zuko did not like the following silence, nor the way her eyes lingered on his scar. His cheekbone throbbed minutely, as if it knew it sat under scrutiny.

“Where did you go?” Zuko asked.

“Home,” Ursa said. “Home, and then… I found Ikem again. And we started over.”

“’Started over?’” Zuko echoed. His fists clenched on the table, all the initial joy of the visit souring to anger. “So, what, you just left, gave yourself a new name, and forgot about us?”

“I didn’t forget you, Zuko!” Ursa said, reaching for him again.

He yanked his hands away from her.

“We had to hide,” Ursa said. “That’s all. We had to hide from your father. He would’ve—”

“Would’ve what?” Zuko asked. “Hurt you? He hurt a lot of people.” He hurt me, he meant, but he couldn’t say it. And he shouldn’t have had to. “Why didn’t you take us with you?”

“Because I couldn’t protect you that way,” Ursa said.

“So, you protected just yourself?” Zuko couldn’t control his voice. It rose to levels that frightened Kiyi, who still sat across the table from them. “You just left us to him!”

“I didn’t know—”

“You didn’t think he’d hurt us?” Zuko asked.

“Kiyi,” Noren said hastily, who had been standing in the corner, “why don’t we get ready for bed…”

And he ushered the little girl out of the room in an instant.

Zuko felt a twinge of jealousy for his newfound sister. Was she the replacement? Azula would’ve seen it that way. The sweet girl their mother always wanted.

“I wanted to take you with me,” Ursa said. Her voice had taken on a stern quality. “You have to believe me.”

“Then why didn’t you?” Zuko demanded.

“He would have found us! He would have hurt us!”

“He put my face on the stove!”

Ursa's hands went flying to her mouth again. Tears flooded her eyes. He couldn’t look at them for too long. He couldn’t be in her gaze.

Actually, he decided he couldn’t be here. At all. This hurt. All of this. It hurt so much, and if he just left, then it would stop hurting.

So he left.

He fled the house, tearing out of the door. It slammed behind him as he went.

Suki didn’t need him to say anything as he got in her car. She simply began driving the moment he sat down, with only a gentle reminder to buckle his seatbelt.

The drive home was a blur. Suki said nothing, and he said nothing, and houses and buildings flew by. Lights dazed him. The sound of the engine cut deep into his brain.

When Suki parked in front of his apartment complex, Zuko’s voice said “thanks” to her for him. Suki told his voice not to mention it. He left the car without another word.

Zuko was not surprised to find his uncle sitting at the kitchen table, steaming cup of tea in hands, waiting patiently for Zuko to return.

Zuko had never been good at lying.

“How did it go?” Uncle Iroh asked. Absolutely no emotion betrayed itself in his voice—no expectations. As if he’d known.

Zuko opened his mouth to respond, but instead, rather humiliatingly, he began to cry instead.

He wasn’t aware of Uncle coming over to him until warm hands embraced him tightly for the third time that day. Unable to bear his weight, Zuko leant into him, and Uncle Iroh carefully brought them to the floor.

Uncle Iroh stroked a hand through Zuko’s hair, murmuring soft kindnesses and soothing words that Zuko couldn’t even make out. He just cried into his uncle’s shoulder. And kept crying until he couldn’t anymore.

This whole day was stupid.


Zuko woke up the next morning with next to no recollection of the rest of the last night. What little he did remember came as a hazy dream. Might have actually been his dream, to be honest. He stopped considering the memories after that and left them alone.

“Uncle?” Zuko asked as he stepped out of his room and found Uncle Iroh chopping onions in the kitchen. “What are you still doing here?”

“Ah, Zuko!” Uncle Iroh beamed widely at Zuko. “Good morning!”

“Shouldn’t you be at work?” Zuko tried again.

“I figured that I would take a late morning,” Uncle said. “They don’t need me there an hour early, do they? I only go in for my own sake. But, I thought, why not spend the morning with my nephew today? It’s a nice day!”

“No, it isn’t,” Zuko said, pointing at the snow falling outside the window.

“Any day is a nice day if you make it,” Uncle Iroh said, unperturbed. “Besides, I thought I could walk to work with you this morning!”

“But Wednesdays are my day off,” Zuko said. “I don’t work today.”

“No, but you could come take your day off in the kitchens. I could use the company.”

“Why?” Zuko asked, though he already knew the answer. It had to do with sobbing on the kitchen floor for two hours straight last night. Uncle Iroh wouldn’t leave him on his own until he was sure that wouldn’t happen again.

“What, are you so willing to deprive an old man the joys of being around his nephew?”

“You see me every day. I live with you.”

“The universe looks unkindly upon me today,” Uncle Iroh said, heaving a sigh of great sadness. A fake sigh.

“You’re as manipulative as Azula.”

“I am not! I am just so sad that I must work alone today.”

Zuko rolled his eyes. “Fine. I’ll come in. Just don’t make me make seven sheets of those stupid sugar cookies again.”

“I make no promises.”

When Zuko returned to the kitchen twenty minutes later, all showered, dressed, and with hearing aid, Uncle Iroh had set out two omelettes on the table. They ate them together in silence. Zuko felt Uncle’s eyes on him, watching him carefully. He just stared at his own plate and pretended not to notice. Those eyes would be on him for a few days. Might as well get used to it now.

Zuko’s face did not try to kill him the way it had yesterday. The wind whipped against it less, and the salve had given it some relief from the usual pins and needles that other sorts of cold weather stabbed into his face. The most annoying thing about the walk was that the snow came down thickly, and it obstructed a good portion of Zuko’s already poor eyesight. Uncle Iroh helped him dodge ice patches. He only slipped the once.

“Mention this to no one,” Zuko said, lying face-up on the pavement.

“Oh, I would not dream of humiliating my nephew in such ways,” Uncle Iroh said, far too genially for Zuko to trust.

Zuko brushed snow off his back and jeans the rest of the walk, grumbling about stupid snow. Uncle retained his cheerful disposition.

“You’re late,” June said as soon as they walked in.

“We’re on time,” Zuko snapped.

“Oh, are you here to take my shift today?” June asked. “I could use a break.”

“No!”

“My nephew is here to keep his poor old uncle company,” Uncle Iroh said, placing a hand on Zuko’s shoulder.

“Hm. How sweet,” June said.

Zuko growled an insult below his breath. The hand on his shoulder gripped tighter, then began steering him toward the kitchen.

“We will be out of your hair,” Uncle Iroh said affably. “Do not worry about us, June!”

“I tend not to,” she said as they disappeared into the kitchen.

“Hi, guys!” Jin said, slipping on her apron. “Oh. Just to let you know—soy milk stock is low.”

“I placed an order yesterday,” Uncle Iroh assured her. “Everything will be in stock soon.”

“Good! Didn’t mean to pester; just wanted to let you know.”

“Thank you for being so attentive, Jin,” Uncle Iroh said. “If only others could take your initiative.” With that, he elbowed Zuko in the side.

“Hey!” Zuko said as Jin left for her register. “I count what’s in stock every Friday!”

“Ah, but you never do it when you don’t have to.”

“Why would I do that?”

Uncle merely shook his head and prepared to work.

The Jasmine Dragon only had one small oven. Usually, they used it to bake the few pastries and cookies and breads they sold. Each day would have a special. Today, Zuko was roped into making small banana breads and chopping them into thick slices.

“Banana bread has nothing to do with tea,” Zuko grumped as he smushed another banana into a mixing bowl.

“Does it need to?” Uncle Iroh asked. “The tiger and the bear are separated by many differences, and yet both are desired for their pelts.”

“I don’t think that was your best one,” Zuko informed him. “That one was just depressing.”

“Nevertheless,” Uncle Iroh said, “it is the same with tea and banana bread. Both are desired. But, unlike tigers, I am willing to sacrifice some banana bread to make customers happy.”

“Why didn’t you just say that in the first place?”

“And miss teaching you a lesson? Nonsense.”

June leant over the window before Zuko could loudly sigh.

“Hey,” she said to Uncle Iroh. “Someone’s asking for you.”

“Asking for me?” Uncle Iroh said, placing the lid on the latest tea he had made. “I wonder what this is about.”

He passed the finished tea to June, then exited the kitchen. Zuko watched him leave. When the doors swung shut, he turned back to his banana. He stabbed it with a fork again.

“You’re lucky I like banana bread,” he told the mushy banana.

He nearly dropped the fork on the floor when he heard a familiar voice.

“Iroh,” said his mother.

He swore, just for a second, that his hearing aid had failed and his good ear had clogged, and someone was just… they just sounded like her. But then Uncle Iroh responded with “Ah. Ursa.” in that tone of his, the one that said that he was displeased, but not angry.

“You look well,” Ursa said.

“As do you,” Uncle Iroh replied. “Life has been good to you, I take it?”

“Recently? Yes.”

A short pause settled across them. Zuko snuck closer to the kitchen doors, trying to hear better.

“Is Zuko here?” Ursa asked in due course.

“Yes,” Uncle Iroh said.

“May I speak with him?”

“I suppose you could ask him yourself.” Uncle Iroh pushed the kitchen door open slightly. Zuko jumped aside, trying to seem like he hadn’t been eavesdropping. “You can stop hiding now, nephew.”

Zuko rubbed the back of his neck, slipping out of the kitchen. “I wasn’t hiding.”

“Hm,” said Uncle.

Zuko looked at his mother, then away.

“Hello,” he said, more to the floor than anything.

“Hi, Zuko,” she replied. “Can we talk?”

He nodded.

“I’ll get you both some tea,” Uncle Iroh said.

Again, he placed a hand on Zuko’s shoulder. He squeezed it in reassurance, and then left Zuko alone with his mother.

“Shall we take a seat?” Ursa asked. She sounded nervous.

Zuko shrugged. “If you want.”

“Okay,” she said. She smiled at him. He couldn’t look at it.

They took a seat at a table near the entrance, away from where the other customers sat. Zuko kept his eyes on the snow falling outside.

“You haven’t changed much, you know,” Ursa said, not unkindly. “You’re still the same Zuko, after all these years.”

“I got meaner,” Zuko said. His leg bobbed up and down underneath the table, and he fiddled with his fingers together.

“Still so truthful,” Ursa said, lips curling up into a smile. “You couldn’t lie if your life depended on it.”

“It has.” Zuko finally looked at her again.

Ursa went quiet again.

“I want to apologise,” she said when the silence between them grew stifling. “I didn’t explain things well last night. I think I made things worse. I’m sorry, Zuko.”

Zuko pressed his lips together, then closed his eyes and exhaled through his nose.

“I’m sorry, too,” he said. “I lost my temper. I shouldn’t have.”

“You’ve never been too good at that,” Ursa said, smile inexplicably back on her face, “so I think I’ll forgive you for that.”

“I’m trying,” Zuko said. “I don’t like being angry.”

“I know, sweetie,” she said. “You never did. You were always a kind little boy.”

“I’m not little anymore,” he said.

“No. You’re not,” she sighed. “And I missed it. And I’m so, so sorry.”

“Why didn’t you take us with you?” Zuko asked.

“I couldn’t,” she said. “I promise, I would have if I could but…” She sighed again. “Ozai and I made a deal. If I left and never came back, he wouldn’t hurt you. He promised.”

“He lies,” Zuko said. “He always lies.”

“I know,” she said. “And I should’ve… I should have thought about that. But he promised, and I knew that if I took you and your sister away, he would have hunted us down to the ends of the earth until he destroyed us. I’d hoped… Well, I’d hoped your chances would have been better with him than with me. I guess I was wrong.”

Zuko refrained from lifting his hand to his scar. “You were.”

“I’m so sorry,” Ursa said. She looked it. “I missed you and your sister so much. Not a day went by where it didn’t break my heart that I didn’t take you with me.”

“Why didn’t you come back sooner?” He knew he was bordering on childish now, but he needed to know.

“We really weren’t following the news,” she said. “If I’d known he was locked up—for good—I would have. But I didn’t. I was trying to protect Ikem and Kiyi from him. The way I couldn’t do for you.”

She reached across the table, taking his fiddling hands into hers. “Zuko, I need you to know. Kiyi is not a replacement for you. She is not a replacement for Azula. I could never replace you.”

“I know,” Zuko said, staring at their hands. “I just…”

“Your father always pitted you two against each other,” Ursa said. “But it was never a competition for my love. I love you both equally. And now I love all three of you equally. And that won’t change. Maybe it looks different for each of you—I’m sure it does. I think Azula would say so. But you all are three different people. How could I love you all the same? I love you each for yourselves.”

Zuko recognised this for what it was, and told her, “I think you should tell this to her when you meet her again.”

Ursa's face grew weary. “She doesn’t want to see me, does she?”

“No.”

“Always so blunt,” Ursa sighed, stroking her thumbs across his knuckles and smiling. “Thank you for not sugar-coating it.”

Zuko couldn’t have if he’d tried. “Maybe someday. Just… not now.”

“Your father made so much of a mess.”

Zuko glanced away again, suddenly all too aware of the tingling in his left cheek.

“Why did you change your name?” he managed eventually, curiosity outweighing bad memories.

“Well, I couldn’t exactly keep mine without your father finding me,” she said. “I’d draw attention. Not only was I his wife, but I was an actress. Not a major one, anyway, but with enough credit behind me to be recognised by one too many curious people.” Her eyes went distant for a moment. “The actress and the CEO. It was supposed to be perfect.”

“But it wasn’t,” Zuko said.

“No. It wasn’t.” Ursa shrugged. “Anyway, Noren was an old friend from before your father. I found him again eventually, and we just… well, we wanted to stay together. And your father knew Ikem, so he became Noren to escape with me.”

“And then Kiyi happened.”

“And then Kiyi happened,” Ursa agreed.

“She’s nice,” Zuko said.

Ursa laughed at that. “She’s a handful, that’s what she is.” She sobered somewhat. “But yes. She’s a sweet kid. Like you. Like your sister, before your father got to her. And I love her, and you, and Azula all very much.”

“I take it things are going smoothly over here?”

Zuko jumped. He hadn’t heard Uncle Iroh approaching.

“Yes, thank you, Iroh,” Ursa said.

“Good, good,” Uncle said. “I prepared you some nice oolong. Your son enjoys it very much.”

“Zuko likes tea?” Ursa asked, looking over to Zuko. “I never thought I’d see the day.”

“It was not an easy task to achieve,” Uncle Iroh said, placing a hand to his heart. “I worked tirelessly to cultivate his tastes.”

Zuko glared at the cup of tea placed in front of him, deciding then and there that he would not drink it.

“It is good to see you again, Ursa,” Uncle Iroh said. A note of sincerity crept into his tone. It hadn’t been there before.

“You, too, Iroh.”

Uncle Iroh departed amiably after that.

“So,” Ursa said, cupping her tea between her hands and examining Zuko with interest. “What other new things have you discovered you liked in the past nine years?”

“Oh,” Zuko said. “Um.”

And then he started talking about his dual dao swords and found he couldn’t quite stop, even when his mother started to lose understanding. He doubled back on things he wasn’t clear on, somehow making them even less clear, and then continued on. He backtracked a few times, forgetting what he’d said. And then he gave up.

“I’m glad to hear you’re very good at swords,” Ursa said.  

“That’s not what—”

“You’re too humble for your own good,” Ursa said. “I’m glad you’ve found something you like. And I’m glad you’re good at it.”

Zuko felt a blush creep up his good cheek.

Then he very nearly swore as the shop door open. Sokka, Suki, and Aang all slipped inside, Appa following right behind. The dog shook snow off of himself, while Sokka pointed at Zuko with wide eyes.

“Is that your mom?”

Zuko glowered at Sokka. How many times did Zuko have to tell him that if Zuko could hear it, it absolutely was not a whisper?

“Who’s this?” Ursa asked, amused.

Still glaring, Zuko signalled for the trio to disperse while his mother’s back was turned. They ignored him, Aang and Sokka awkwardly waving at her while Suki gave a polite smile.

“They’re my friends,” Zuko grit out. He pointed furiously at the group’s usual table. Suki finally caught the hint and shoved Aang and Sokka the right direction.

Ursa turned back around, and Zuko dropped the arm. She had a surprised look on her face.

“What?” he asked tetchily, not liking that.

“Nothing,” Ursa said. “I’m just… happy you have friends.”

“Oh,” Zuko said.

“They seem very nice,” Ursa said, smiling as she peered over his shoulder.

Zuko snapped around. Sokka and Aang quickly turned, too, acting as if they hadn’t been ogling at Zuko and his mother. Suki rolled her eyes, then shrugged at Zuko.

“They’re annoying.”

“Well, that’s what friends are for,” Ursa said. “So, who are they?”

Zuko introduced Sokka, Suki, and Aang (as well as Appa) for the three of them, then tacked on Toph and Katara at the end. They weren’t here yet, but it was likely they’d show before his mother left.

Ursa listened to him carefully, her eyes lightening with every word he said.

“I’m glad you have such good friends,” Ursa said, all too earnest, when he had finished.

“Yeah,” Zuko said. “Me too.”

Silence naturally settled between the two. Zuko’s ear started ringing, and he pretended not to listen to it, not letting it ruin the first nice moment with his mother that he’d had in almost ten years.

His mother’s phone, on the other hand, had no such reservations.

“Noren?” she asked as she picked up. “Oh. Okay. I’ll come home soon. Check her temperature. Don’t give her water—give her ice. Okay. See you soon.”

She threw Zuko an apologetic expression. “Kiyi is sick.”

Zuko had surmised as much from the one-sided conversation. “Are you going to make her eat plain toast?”

Ursa blinked at him for a moment. Something clicked in her brain, and then she laughed. “I forgot I’d done that to you. Oh, you were always so bad. You’d walk into the room at midnight, introduce yourself, tell us you were sick, and then throw up on the floor.”

Heat rose in Zuko’s cheeks. “I was like three.”

“That happened until you were seven,” Ursa pointed out.

They grew very quiet, because both of them suddenly found themselves remembering what happened that last time Zuko had vomited in front of his father.

“Anyway, I was just thankful Azula never got sick like that,” Ursa said, trying to save the conversation. “She’d have wailed until morning.”

“What about Kiyi?” Zuko asked.

“Oh,” Ursa said, waving a hand, “she whines. She’s pathetic about it, too.”

Zuko gave a crooked smile. “I’m sure she is.

“You’d love her, Zuko,” Ursa said, gently. “If you’d like to meet her… not today, obviously, but…”

“I’d like that,” Zuko said. He hadn’t believed he would say that after last night, but he had meant it.

His mother slid him her phone number, and he returned it with his own. Then she stood, and he did, too, because he probably should. Dizziness overcame him, and he pinched the bridge of his nose until his vision came back to him.

"Are you alright?" Ursa asked.

"Fine," Zuko said. "Dizzy. It's fine."

In hindsight, he should’ve expected the hug. But he hadn’t.

His mother wrapped her arms around him and murmured that she loved him. He stood stock still for a moment, unsure what to do. Tentatively, he put his own arms around her. Then he hugged her back.

When she pulled away, she smiled.

“Tell your uncle thanks for the tea,” she said. “I promise I’ll come back later to pay.”

“He won’t let you,” Zuko said.

She laughed, and she said another goodbye.

Then she was gone.

Zuko stayed rooted in his spot, observing the door and snow she had disappeared beyond.

“Zuko!” Uncle Iroh called. “You left the oven on!”

Tearing himself from his spot, Zuko made his way back to the kitchen. Aang stopped him first, of course.

“She seems nice,” Aang said kindly.

“Things went well, then?” Suki asked, the silent this time? hanging between them.

Zuko nodded. “Yeah.”

“I always knew your mother was a good person,” Sokka said.

“You didn’t even know she was alive until yesterday,” Zuko said.

“A man can tell,” Sokka said haughtily.

“Katara and Toph will be here soon,” Aang promised. “Join us then?”

“Fine,” Zuko said.

“Zuko!” Uncle Iroh shouted again. “The mixer is plugged in!”

Zuko sighed. Sokka diligently (and redundantly) shooed him away to the kitchens.

His bananas awaited him when he returned, still only partially mushed. He poked the fork at them.

“Come on, nephew,” Uncle Iroh said. “Put your back into it!”

He slapped Zuko’s back, and Zuko let out an involuntary “oof.” He stabbed the bananas harder after that.

When the current batch of bread made it into the oven, Zuko paused for a quick break. He pulled out his phone, searched his recent messages, and opened a conversation.

You were right, he texted.

Of course I was, came the near-immediate response. But about what?

He texted, I didn’t think it through.

Dum-dum.

But it turned out okay

Good.

Zuko raised his eyebrow at that. Then, predictably, Azula’s second text came through.

Now leave me alone, or I’ll put a virus on your phone again.

He slipped the phone back into his pocket, then left the kitchen.

Katara and Toph had finally showed up, and they sat around their usual table, bickering with Sokka about the proper use of spoons. Uncle Iroh stood over the table, passing out teas (and a milk). Zuko took a seat next to Katara. She smiled at him, then immediately lost the glee to snap at her brother about his dumb comments.

Zuko relaxed into his seat and hoped, privately, that this would be the rest of his day. A normal day with his stupid friends and uncle at the teashop, where all he had to worry about was banana bread burning.

And maybe if he should send his new sister some stupid get-well-soon card.

Notes:

DOES ZUKO LIKE SPICY? I THINK SO. I HOPE HE'D LIKE THAT SOUP. Big sigh. Food&character pairings hate me. Milk for Aang was suggestion from fellow SoC fan. I agree with it. He seems like a milk fiend.

And I never, ever edit anything (I am Lazy), so if you spot any errors... My Apologies. I'll probably find them myself eventually.

Thank you for reading! Have an amazing day!