With a final tug, the last of Ozai's stitches are pulled free and discarded. Ursa sits back and inspects her work, tilting his chin up and angling his face towards the light of the nearby window. He closes his eyes, and she takes a moment to study him.

His skin is even paler than she recalls it ever being. So white and colorless it could be almost considered post-mortem. Dark circles cut through the pallid tone, a sort of purplish bruising that rings beneath his eyes. His breaths are shallow, his hair without luster. A new scar runs through the center of his face, running from ear to ear in a straight line that bridges over his nose. It's not fully healed, but it's closed enough to not require stitches any longer.

His eyes open, and they seem to have dulled with his skin tone. Normally they were a striking kind of liquid gold, vibrant and intense in their opacity. Now, they are more of a pale yellow.

"It's bad, isn't it?" He asks, and she pulls her hands from his face.

"You're lucky to be alive." For now. She tries not to add that.

"Ah, it's bad." He grabs the hand mirror before she can stop him. In the time since he'd returned, he'd only rarely seen his own face. It was almost always caked over with bandages or the dense healing balm that obscured it. This would be his first time seeing his face without them. He prods along his cheeks, turning his head back and forth to study the length of the scar.

"Most of it will fade. The only part that will be permanent is the scarring directly over your nose. The tears went deep there, down to the muscle—" He tosses the mirror aside, and seeing his worry over something as petty as aesthetics is almost enough to make her laugh.

"Not befitting of a Fire Lord." He bemoans. She actually does laugh at that, clearing her supplies before returning to settle beside him on the couch. He's picked up the mirror again.

"Have you always been so vain?" She asks, and he barely casts her a sideways glance as he studies his face.

"You clearly don't recall how many servants were fired over improperly managing my hair." And even if it looks like it physically pains him to do so, the free scar tissue pulling as he smiles, he chuckles. The air between them has an artificial ease. It's manufactured, built to obscure the very real and undiscussed matter of his feelings for her.

"Oh, I remember…" Every time she'd prodded since that declaration, he had avoided the subject. He had nowhere to go to physically avoid her, but he made excuses. Always preoccupied, always busying himself with some invented task.

But this is not new. This is old, practically the foundation of their relationship. Ursa would attempt to know him, inquire more about him or something he did, and he would slam his walls in her face. It was always none of her concern, not her place to question. She'd learned how to coax things out of him over the few years of their marriage. He was not as impenetrable as he believed himself to be.

"But you're still just as handsome as always." She says offhandedly. He pauses, lowering the mirror. His dulled gaze snaps onto her, and she returns it unflinchingly. He knows this game too, yet he still never completely resisted it.

"I know." The mirror is cast aside, and he crosses his arms as he slumps back into the couch. He's trying to think of some way out of the conversation, he knows where it's going. He keeps glancing at the entryway as if summoning anyone to enter and interrupt them. Zuko and Azula were at school. Iroh was out for the day, no doubt scouting the market for new and exotic things to try.

"And I also—" He grasps her shoulder firmly, pinning her where she sits.

"I'm onto what you're trying to do. I'm not going to talk about it." Ozai insists. She takes his hand, lifting it from her shoulder but keeping it clasped between her own. His skin is boiling, almost too hot to touch, and she pauses to ponder that.

"Did you mean it?" She asks, ignoring his persistence on diversion. He looks at their hands instead of her eyes. They have a slight tremor to them, and she swears she can almost see steam rising from his grasp. But despite how intensely hot his skin is, it remains perfectly pale. This is no normal fever.

"I do." The present tense throws her off, and she blinks as she takes it in. He had said he'd loved her, then. Past tense. He had said nothing of the current period, "Did." He hurriedly amends, but it's too late. He yanks his hand away and stands, only managing a few steps before he has to brace himself on the back of the couch.

"Don't read so much into it, Ursa." He says exasperatedly, rubbing his temple with an exhausted sigh, "We were still wed, that carries implications with it."

"It was arranged. I thought you were just following your father's orders." She stays seated on the couch, hands folded in her lap and eyes focused on his wavering form. He doesn't seem too steady on his feet, but she knows insisting he rest is a lost cause.

"Of course I was. I had no preference for who I was to marry. I had no desire to marry at all." He mumbles, shifting to lean his weight further onto the furniture, "It wasn't particularly compelling to me, so I made no real effort to find a bride. But then you were given to me—no, I still proposed."

"I wasn't allowed to say no." She corrects, and he gives an annoyed wave.

"You could have rejected me. My father would have destroyed your village, but you had your choice." She rolls her eyes as he speaks, "The point is that yes, I married you out of obligation. But over time you have proven yourself…beneficial, and that has…"

It's almost painful to watch him try to construct a narrative he's comfortable with. He takes long pauses between strings of words, and she could almost claim to be amused by how emotionally stunted he is. That is, if she wasn't aware of the rather depressing source of his inability.

"Created a sort of fondness. I appreciate your usefulness to myself, and as a mother to our children." He casts her a couple quick glances, "Now let's put this matter behind us."

She stands, rounding the couch and grasping his cheek in her hand. Her fingers skirt around the pale red lines of his scar. He looks pained by her touch, his ever present walls shaken on foundations of sand.

"I loved you, too." She says with a softness that matches her touch. He grits his teeth, turning his face away.

"That is most definitely not putting this behind us."

"Why do we have to?"

"Because it makes no difference!" He exclaims, but he doesn't pull away from her hand. If anything, his head unknowingly tilts into it as he speaks, "There's no need for a Fire Lord and Lady to care for each other like that. It's contractual. An obligation."

She stills, eyes going wide. She'd known of his delusions of grandeur, his plans to ascend, but she hadn't been aware he'd ever planned to include her in them. She certainly hadn't anticipated the idea of Fire Lady Ursa. How wrong the title sounded, how it rubbed uncomfortably against everything she knew about herself.

It was a logical conclusion. Why hadn't she thought of it?

"…Fire Lady?"

"You are my wife." He answers as if it's such a simple, easy thing. His breath ghosts her cheek, and it smells of acrid smoke. Sulfurous, "Surely you didn't think I was looking to replace you once I'm crowned Fire Lord."

"I…didn't think about it at all." He smirks and kisses her softly, and the smell transfers to taste. It's almost akin to charcoal, like tasting ash. His mouth is too hot; it makes her lips tingle with discomfort. She can only assume he's burning from the inside, his own fire consuming him in a way she's never heard of. His own element turned against him.

The door slams open as Azula and Zuko tumble through it, shattering the moment. She breaks away from him with a soft gasp, lipstick smeared and breaths coming in quick bursts. The children had been struggling over something, Azula climbing over an unfortunate end table as she tries to hold something white and polished out of his grasp. It seems their fight was enough to distract them from what they'd interrupted, because Zuko is putting all of his effort into reaching up and snatching the stolen item from her.

"Azula! You don't even want that, give it back!" She leaps from the table, the sudden absence of her making Zuko tumble to the ground as he topples over it. She shoves between Ursa and Ozai, and he has to tighten his grip on the couch to keep from falling. She bounds off of the spring in the cushions, gracefully landing opposite it.

"But you want it. Why's it so important?" She asks with an exaggerated wave of her hand. The thing she'd taken was an ivory hairpin, intricately carved with swirls and waves, depictions of sea life sprouting from its blunt end.

"That doesn't matter!" Zuko cries, following the same path his sister had taken. He, too, nearly topples Ozai. He glares at the both of them, a weak flame seeming to return to his eyes.

"What is going on here?" Ursa demands, calmly circling the couch to stand between the two of them. Azula plants the hairpin in her hair, crossing her arms.

"Nothing."

"I dropped my bag, it fell out, and she stole it and won't give it back." Zuko interjects. It's a debate as common as any she's seen. She's not sure how many time's she's had to come between her children's arguments or petty fights. Azula had always taken to teasing her older brother, and Ursa had tried to allow her a little lenience, given she knew there was some squabbling among siblings, but she'd hoped they'd be grown out of it by now. She turns from Zuko and looks to Azula, sighing.

"Darling." She starts gently, and the tone of it throws her daughter off guard, her tensely folded arms going slightly slack, "If it was in his bag, then it's his. Can you give it back to him?"

Azula glances between her and Zuko. She keeps her arms crossed, a pout crossing her face before she yanks the hairpin out and tosses it back at him.

"Fine. It doesn't match my outfit anyway." She's already storming into her room, the door slamming behind her. Ursa sighs, watching the impassive wood before deciding to follow. She'd been meaning to speak with her.

"You really couldn't overpower your younger sister?" She hears Ozai mutter to Zuko.

"Shut up." Zuko spits back, clutching the hairpin as he sinks onto the couch.

Ursa comes into their room quietly, closing the door behind her. Azula looks up from emptying her schoolbag.

"I gave him back the stupid thing already, I'm not going to go apologize or—" Azula starts, and Ursa smiles before giving a shake of her head.

"How was school today, dear?" She asks as she sits on the edge of Azula's bed. She watches her mother with a befuddled expression, clearly uncertain about the motivations behind the simple question. Always so suspicious and guarded. It was in her nature, always had been, but she knew ways around it.

"Annoying." She huffs, "These people aren't even worth my time."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. They think they can intimidate me because I'm some peasant girl from the Lower Ring." Azula scoffs, hooking her bag on the bedpost before settling on the bed beside her, "I don't care."

The forced shrug and the rather intense focus of her eyes on the ground gave a very opposite impression. Ursa sighs, putting a hand over Azula's and nudging their shoulders together. Her gaze stays firmly on the floor as the toe of her boot grinds into the wood.

"The girls in my school never liked me either. I was this weird theatre girl. It was all I talked about. And I could be…a bit of a bully, myself, if I'm being honest." Azula makes a noise of disbelief, finally breaking her intense stare to look over at her.

"You? I don't believe it."

"No, I mean it! Mostly when I was younger, but still. I was…spirited." She laughs, running a hand through her hair as she fondly recalls, "But I figured it out as I got older. I learned to be more constructive with my passion."

"So what are you suggesting?" Azula leans back on her hands, skeptical.

"I'm saying you're a wonderful girl. And no matter where you came from, or what you can do, these people you're disagreeing with will stay the same. What you need to do is grow beyond them." She reaches over to brush a loose strand of her daughter's bangs back, tucking it behind her ear and giving her cheek a playful pinch, "They'll think they've won if you're angry."

"But if I—" Ursa stops her before she can even finish the thought, well aware of its conclusion.

"Especially if you attack them. Not every fight is won with fists, Azula." Ursa watches her process the information, lips pursed as she thinks. She finally lets out a heavy sigh, head rolling back.

"But it would be really satisfying to punch them." She says to the ceiling.

"I'm sure it would be." Ursa laughs, "But still, try my way for the time being, will you?"

"I guess."

"Oh, and stop tormenting your brother for just a moment?" She leans over to pull her into a one armed hug, and Azula relaxes into it after a moments hesitation. She'd never been one for overt affection, but even she couldn't pretend it wasn't a welcomed gesture.

"No promises." She huffs into Ursa's hair, resting her chin on her shoulder.

"That's a start." Ursa chuckles, keeping her close, "Why did he have that hairpin?" She muses after a moments pause, mostly to herself but leaving the question open for Azula to answer.

"Exactly!" She exclaims, pulling away, "If I had to guess, it's that Water Tribe girl's. It looked like something they'd wear."

"Water Tribe girl?"

"One of his…new friends." Azula seems to calculate her phrasing, and the shift doesn't go unnoticed to her mother, "She's a pretty decent waterbender, but she's nothing special."

"What is a waterbender doing here? It's a long way from the Water Tribes." Ursa asks, dropping her arms and resting them in her lap.

"She's staying here while her Dad does business or something. They came for the Ball, stayed for the…I don't know, what do Water Tribe people like? Sharp sticks?" Azula shrugs, "Probably just wants to show off to locals."

She could almost sense a tinge of jealousy there. She can't say it's undeserved, seeing another girl so freely able to bend and demonstrate her power without worry. One day, she hopes, Azula will have that same opportunity.

"Does she?"

"Impress people? I guess. She healed this stray dog the other day with some water trick. People got all weepy over that." Azula doesn't seem as impressed, crossing her ankles and bracing them on the headboard before she flops down onto her back. Ursa takes a moment to respond, surprised.

"She's a healer?" The healers in Ba Sing Se were good, but they were herbalists for the most part. They practiced practical medicine, things taught through science and experience, with no use of bending. It was an old skill, and moderately effective, but it was well known that the best healers in the world were the waterbenders. Not every waterbender had a knack for it, but those who could were more valuable than she could describe.

Those who could were known to be able to cure some of the most grievous injuries, ones that would leave a healer of any other creed without hope. She thinks of Ozai.

"Yeah. Why?" She tilts her head up to glance at Ursa.

"You've seen Ozai." Ursa sighs, reaching down to again brush aside her unruly bangs, "He's not getting better. He's been trying to pretend he is, but he's not. I think the only person who can save him is a waterbender."

"What makes you think that?"

"Whatever is happening to him, I'm afraid a regular healer wouldn't be able to do much besides ease his pain. But a waterbender…they could reach deeper. I don't know how their healing works, but I've heard stories. There must be something she can do." She knows Ozai will be unhappy about anything she tries to arrange behind his back, but if he refused to help himself, she would do it for him, "Could either of you convince her to come here and see him?"

She's not sure why Azula makes a sort of amused, choked expression, as if she's trying desperately not to laugh.

"You want us to go behind his back and spring a healer on him?" She pushes herself up onto her elbows.

"Well, not in so many words…" Ursa mumbles, and the laugh Azula's been containing bursts free before she flops back down onto the bed.

"You two are made for each other." Azula teases, and before Ursa can question that, she's nodding, "Yeah, I'll do it. He's been looking pretty pathetic lately. He hasn't been able to teach us anything in a while and I'm getting rusty."

Ursa decides it's better not to question the deeper meanings of her amusement, bending down to kiss her forehead. She cringes, as any teenager does, but doesn't pull away.

"Thank you, dear."

Aang is an annoyingly fast target. Zuko probably should've expected that.

He lets out a frustrated cry as a messy ball of flame leaves his fist, but the boy is already whirling beneath it. The residual wind rushes around him in all directions, extinguishing the lingering flames and throwing Zuko back. He lands on his feet, huffing and surging forward once again.

He throws a punch that finds empty air. Another. And another. Aang ducks behind him, making Zuko spin awkwardly and throw himself off balance. The airbender uses the opportunity, hooking the toe of his shoe into the ankle of Zuko's boot and shoving his foot forward. It sends Zuko toppling to the ground, but he's quick to parry. He uses the momentum to spin onto his back, landing hard and raising his feet before sending another blast of flame upwards.

But again, the airbender is gone. Instead, another rush of air comes from below and forces him back onto his feet. Zuko lets out an uncertain grunt as he hovers for a moment, the feeling of weightlessness foreign and unsettling before he's dropped back to the ground. He wastes time and energy sending out more wild whips of fire, forms half learned and unpracticed.

He can't pinpoint where Aang is going to be, so he needs to be more general. Fight with a broader scope.

On his next attack, he takes a deep breath and braces his arms in front of him, taking a moment to readjust his shoulders as Ozai had taught him. Focus. Breathe. In, out. Let any anger come to the forefront, let rage be your fuel. He thinks of anything that upsets him, and it isn't hard to find material.

When he spins to face his opponent, pushing outward with his arms, it's with a magnificent arch of fire that explodes from him in all directions. He releases it with a cry of fury, breaths labored and teeth grit. He feels the flames as they leave him, the raw power seeming to echo off of itself and only perpetuate more power. He builds on it, fingers tensing as he pumps more energy into it and expands it. It feels good. It feels right.

"Ah! That was my favorite eyebrow!" Sokka cries, stumbling back before he's desperately scrambling elsewhere in the room for a mirror. Katara and Toph are huddled on the opposite side of the room behind a raised slab of stone, while Aang is ducked low to the floor, staring up at him in shock.

"This was just supposed to be a sparring match, Zuko." Aang frowns, slowly standing and looking over his own robes for any damage. It makes Zuko worry that he takes a sort of pride in the singed edges of the fabric. He had hit him.

"Right." He breathes, running a hand through already thoroughly ruffled hair, "Sorry, I got…a little too intense."

"A little?!" Sokka interjects, storming back over with mirror in hand, "You've deformed me!"

When he lowers the mirror, Zuko has to squint to see the slight patch of charred eyebrow on the outer edge of his right brow. It blends into his tanned skin. Zuko glances back at Katara and Toph as she lowers the stone back into the floor.

"Oh, no, someone get him a paper bag, I can't look at him anymore." Toph says with exaggerated vigor.

"See!" Sokka gestures to her, raising the mirror back to his face, nearly whining with displeasure.

"She can't…" Zuko starts, looking between the two of them, "She said she can't look at you anymore." He waits for Sokka to realize the obvious joke, but it seems to completely pass him by as he leaves the room.

"I know! It's awful!" And then he's gone, supposedly to go repair his irreparably ruined eyebrow.

"I didn't push too far, did I?" Aang asks as he settles back onto one of the decadent couches of the room. They'd shoved all the furniture back to the very edges in preparation for their sparring, so Zuko has to come over to sit anywhere near him. He settles on one of the chairs.

"You? I'm the one trying to burn your house down." Zuko counters. How did Ozai do it? When Zuko used firebending and started to get frustrated, he seemed to eventually lose control of it. He got too angry, too intense. He could use it for mundane tasks, restart a fireplace or light his way in the dark, but when things started to go wrong, it seemed to have started to consume him. Fire was all he wanted to make, and he would without restraint. It exploded out of him in dangerous bursts.

And he'd liked that. He'd liked feeling that much power at once. Sparring with Ozai, being trained, it felt different. He was squarely inferior in that match up, Ozai made sure to remind him. But not with Aang. Aang never seemed to bother with anything like that, even given what he is.

He's just Aang. Why did he get so upset?

"Katara's here. I don't think she'll let you burn anything down." Aang says easily, "But you're pretty good. I don't know a lot about firebending, but you don't seem like you just started learning it."

"If you'd seen my father bend, you wouldn't say that." Zuko answers.

"I don't think we want to see that." Katara adds as she joins them, quickly followed by Toph.

"He's not…" Zuko starts, trying to recall his promise to his father while remaining mostly truthful, "He's not what everyone's made him out to be, you know."

"Sure, the guy who tried to kill Aang isn't so bad. Just misunderstood. Poor thing." Toph sighs, arms crossed and feet propped up on the overturned table before her.

Her feet are propped up. She can't sense if he's lying. Zuko is quick to act.

"He didn't want to do it. He was forced by someone else to kill Aang." Zuko says with as much sincerity as he can muster.

"Who else wants to hurt Aang?" Katara asks.

"We don't know his name, but he's working with the Dai Li. He's hard to miss, considering the creepy porcelain mask and burned face. But he's the one who forced my father to do that, and then captured and tried to kill him when he failed—"

"I know that guy!" Sokka interjects as he comes back into the room. His brow is smudged with charcoal, and looks horrendous. Zuko tries not to stare, "I saw him at the Ball. Why would he want Aang dead?"

"Because he knows Aang is trying to reinstate firebender's rights. He'll do anything to stop that. But now that my father's escaped, he doesn't follow his orders anymore. He's the one you should be worried about. My father only wants to restore balance, and peace, and help the Fire Nation." Zuko finishes his sentence by looking directly at Aang. Stress the importance of balance. Peace. Those were the key things Aang cared about.

Aang's features go soft, conflicted eyes skirting to the floor.

"He did seem desperate." He says quietly, "And angry. I know what it's like to lose everything."

"Exactly." Zuko confirms, "He just wants his home back. Wouldn't you want that too, if you had the chance?"

It's manipulative. It's borderline cruel. Zuko takes a moment to school his face into something more impassive to keep the guilt from biting at him.

"Of course I would. But his grandfather—" He looks back up to meet Zuko's eyes, unable to even get the words out.

"My great grandfather did something terrible. I don't expect you to forgive him for that. I wouldn't." Everyone is watching him, and he purposefully looks at none of them. He isn't sure he can keep up his persistence if he meets eyes with any one of them.

"But you would want us to help put his grandson in power." Katara responds when Aang idles. Talking about this was like prodding an open wound for the boy. The loss of his people was still profound, and clearly something he hadn't completely come to terms with. And while Zuko's loss of his own heritage was one that was less absolute, he could sympathize. He knew what it was like to feel that disconnect from where you came from.

Promise or not, he needed to relent. Aang didn't deserve this.

"I don't want anything." Zuko answers her, finally meeting her gaze, "Just my thoughts on the matter." He digs in his bag tossed under the seat for a moment, hoping to derail the conversation.

"I think this is yours?" He retrieves the hairpin from the bag, holding it out to her. She lights up, taking it from him.

"Thank you! I thought I lost it when we were in the Lower Ring—"

"Why were you in the Lower Ring?!" Sokka interrupts, and Katara freezes in her inspection of the hairpin, "That's dangerous, you could've gotten yourself killed!"

"I was fine, Zuko was with me." She deflects, jamming the pin into her hair with a huff. Sokka's indignation immediately glances off of her and onto Zuko. He's already standing, prepared to deal with the tribesman's outrage.

"Before you go squawking at me for this, I'll have you know, I was completely against the idea of taking her there." Zuko starts, "But she wouldn't take no for an answer, it's not my fault."

"That sounds like the Ice Queen." Toph nods.

"Will you stop calling me that?" Katara hisses as she stands, sliding in between the two of them "Sokka, calm down before you worry your eyebrow off. I'm fine. You should know by now that you can't tell me where to go."

"But he—"

"Did what I asked. Now can you do what I'm asking, and just give me a little credit? I'm not some helpless little girl. Just…trust me. Let me decide who I can trust. And I trust Zuko." She gestures back at him.

Every pair of eyes is on him. Every single person is watching him. Toph plants her feet back on the floor, and he's sure she can feel his heart racing. Sweat makes his palms slick as they worry each other. He can't catch anyone else's gaze for too long, a nervous smile trying to find its way to his lips. This was the plan. Earn their trust. Why did he feel so deeply wrong for doing so? Her words should bring about a sense of victory, Ozai would probably be proud of him for achieving them, and yet he practically wants to hide.

He wasn't doing anything wrong. Perhaps he was only putting forth such great efforts to befriend them for his own gain. Perhaps he wasn't being entirely truthful about his father, or his motivations. They were just small white lies. They were forgivable. They would understand, after all this was done.

"I'm sorry." Sokka says with a heavy sigh, rubbing his neck, "I should trust you. And if you trust him, and I trust you, then I guess—by extension—I trust him too. He's kept you safe this far."

"Thank you." She hugs Sokka close, the embrace being cut short when she pulls back and whisks away the smudged charcoal on his brow with a thin jet of water. He cries out, immediately yanking his shirt up over his head before stumbling from the room.

"And thank you, Zuko." She says as she sits, gripping his tunic and pulling him down to sit beside her.

"What—what for?" He asks. His back is perfectly straight, shoulders tense. He forces himself to relax. This is what he wants.

"For giving us a chance, too." She answers. Toph nods. Aang gives a whole hearted thumbs up. Katara's hand settles on his knee, and he shifts away.

"Ah…don't mention it. Please."

N/A: Azula's parents ask SO MUCH of her ALL THE TIME.
And she's living for it.