A short, sad piece after Iroh's Tale in the Tales of Ba Sing Se episode since that was such a great short.

Disclaimer: I do not own Avatar, it belongs to Misters DiMartino and Konietzko.

Little Soldier Boy

"Leaves from the vine,

Falling so slow,

Like fragile, tiny shells,

Drifting in the foam,"

The sun was gone, passed on to the other side, when he returned to the small apartment the two called home. Well, he called it a home. He took in a deep breath before slowly opening the door, checking to see where his nephew was.

Immediately, footsteps echoed in the silent place. Their eyes met for a moment before he turned away, setting the basket by the door almost like it was a sleeping child.

"Uncle, where have you been?" he asked, a little hesitant. The boy watched his uncle as the man moved about slowly. "Are…you all right?"

The last question came out as though he didn't know what to say. Chuckling softly, Iroh nodded. "I am fine, Zuko. Just a little sore from walking around so much."

He put on the façade, hoping to evade the questions he knew the boy would ask. Nimbly, he undid the latch on the basket, putting his body in the way to make sure the boy wouldn't see any of the basket's contents. The man removed the two, small containers he had just bought, handing one to his nephew. Food would distract him long enough for him to think of something.

They ate in silence, neither speaking. Iroh was glad for the peace. The teapot sat untouched by the man. It spoke louder than anything he had ever done and was surprised when his nephew still didn't say a word. There was always tea in the apartment and it was almost a miracle when the teapot wasn't hissing on the stove.

And yet Zuko remained silent.

The boy disappeared into his room, the sliding doors shut tight. Iroh continued to sit at the table, fingers interlaced in front of him. His eyes drifted to the basket still stationed at the door. It stared back at him, longing to be opened again. Sighing, he hung his head, eyes closing to block out the images replaying in his mind.

With a small creak, the door opened and the boy blinked at his uncle. He looked up, surprised to see his nephew looking a little uncomfortable.

"Good night," he said simply.

"Good night, Zuko," the man responded.

The door closed and Iroh felt a pang of loneliness surge through him. The home was quiet, save for the small rustling as the boy tried to get comfortable on the bed. He had no one to talk to. He wasn't certain if Zuko would understand it. The boy could be a little selfish and close minded to the world around him and to other people.

Iroh stood up, picking up to the two containers. Head hanging, he dropped the two into a basin of water, not really feeling like cleaning up just yet. The day had drained him and had left his heart aching.

He picked up the teapot now, deciding a little jasmine tea would help calm him.

The slip of parchment, blending in with the countertops, drifted to the ground.

Curious, the man caught the thin strip before it reached the ground. His reflexives hadn't been affected it seemed. Frowning at this bizarre twist, he squinted at the small characters that stained the paper.

'I'm sorry.'

His throat closed as he stared at the message. The simple thoughtfulness of it had surprised him. He hadn't said anything about today. Clutching the small parchment, Iroh glanced at the doors to his nephew's room. A sad smile spread over his face as he placed the note in the basket.

Behind the doors, Zuko stood with his ear pressed against the screen. He listened to his uncle as the man froze once the teapot was lifted. There was a long pause before his feet moved and the basket rustled. Letting out his held breath, Zuko silently lied back down on his bed. He closed his eyes and hummed the song his uncle would sing when he believed no one was around.

"Little soldier boy, come marching home,

Brave soldier boy, comes marching home."