I highly, highly recommend listening to 'Hurts So Good' by Astrid S whilst reading the first section. I'm so very sorry for how long I've made you wait, I've been struggling to write anything half-decent for a long time. It's 4am, so this is a brief, drowsy but big thank you to my beta's and readers.

His pen taps an off-beat tune against the table. In the middle of compiling research for his Western Politics assignment, he's on a table tucked away into the very back of the campus library. It's always packed, even now in the evening, almost all the other seats taken by stressing students. Yet, the three other chairs dotted around his table remains empty, thanks to public knowledge about his utter dislike for people in general. It doesn't prevent the group of girls sat on a round table near his from giggling and whispering every time his eyes gilded lazily across the room.

Leaning back in the fairly uncomfortable chair, Zuko scrawls a few more notes down from the published thesis he's skimming through.

A shadow casts over his notebook and he pauses, very aware of the eyes boring into his head. Lifting it up, he quirks a brow at the intruder, challenging them before he even focuses in on their face. By now, he's no longer surprised when she takes the seat across from him. She has a habit of showing up when he least expects it and adamantly making herself comfortable. Wordlessly, she draws open a book that weighs more than her and buries herself in it. The people around them are staring in shock at her choice of seat, too.

She's been avoiding him ever since their first time working on the project. He hates himself for it, but it's been twelve days and it bothers him. Especially since she's Miss-I-Can't-Get-Anything-Less-Than-An-A, and her lack of nagging him about how desperately they needed to work on this godforsaken project has, for some twisted reason, frustrated him.

Fucking hell, even the first session had ended rather abruptly. Zuko'd opened his mouth to make a quip about how he'd caught her staring, when she cleared her throat softly, mumbled something about having to be somewhere all of a sudden, and left with a curt but firm goodbye. He was left staring at the door for a good ten seconds, mouth agape, before he had to blink himself out of it. He just can't wrap his head around her. She's heatedly staring at him from across a crowded room and scribbling her number into one of his favourite paperbacks one minute; then cursing his lineage and pretending he doesn't exist another. Not one for games, Zuko'd refused to give her a second thought.

He'd failed.

Katara drags her hair out of her face, pulling it up into a bun and securing it with a rather violent stab of a pencil. Five minutes of silence later, her hair is threatening to spill out, tendrils falling into her eyes. If the furrow of her brows and the way she incessantly bites the nail of her thumb down to the nub is anything to go by, she's stressed.

Zuko's eyes don't drift from the site he's scrolling through when he says lowly, "Have you considered Prozac?"

His voice seems to drag her out of her thoughts, and she looks up with piercing eyes. "Have you considered walking into traffic?"

There's a ghost of a smile on his lips, yet he still doesn't look up. "Only every single day."

A pause as she digests the quip, the teasing tone laced in the words. Her lips can't help but twitch upwards, "Did you just make a joke?"

"Not if you have to ask." Comes the response after a pause, to which she has to laugh. He looks as surprised as she does about it.

Her soft laughter paints the room. Something in his chest swells, threatening to burst through his shirt, when amusement lights up her face, the sound quiet but sweet enough to crave it again as soon as she's silenced herself abruptly.

Her eyes flit over to his briefly and he holds them for a few beats. He's half-sure the room is spinning around him.

She's clamped her mouth shut, her lips rolling into a hard line as if the fact that she just laughed at his mediocre joke is some betrayal to herself. His eyes flit over her as she drags small palms down her face. One laugh and she's launched herself into an inner-battle it seems. Deciding this new development is much more interesting than his assignment, Zuko leans forward and sets his forearms on the table.

He's eyeing his begrudging 'partner' with stark curiosity, and this almost incessant need to piss her off. Her eyebrows furrow, hair wildly spilling this way and that, framing features that fall into this wholly exasperated expression that tugs at the edges of his mouth.

"What," He starts, raising a dark eyebrow, done with being coy about looking at her. He makes sure she knows this time, as she looks back wide-eyed. "is your problem?"

The question is heavy. And just like that, the atmosphere in the room has changed from reasonably pleasant to cold and uncomfortable. He doesn't care, anger seeps into his veins at how fucking difficult she's so intent on being. Katara, not one to back down, leans over her book, mirroring his position. The look she gives him is hard, glaring, but he doesn't buy it. She still looks like she's making up for the little slip-up earlier. It sends his pulse into a frenzy, and in the back of his mind he realises she's driving him to the brink of insanity. It pisses him off.

"What is that supposed to mean—"

His fingers curl into fists, teeth gritting out the words before she has a chance to finish her indignant high-and-mighty little act. "It means, I'm sick of your holier-than-thou bullshit."

"What a surprise." She snaps at him, her voice a sharp, chilling whisper. "You couldn't go five minutes without being an asshole."

It's like a slap to the face, because, well, it's true. Katara doesn't wait for a response, shoving her chair back so loud the legs screech against the floor. He watches with hard eyes as she grabs her bag and storms off through the back exit. His mind reels, words burning at the tip of his tongue that he just can't let go of right now. His belongings forgotten, he stalks out with her, ignoring the gaping looks nearby students give each other at the scene.

He kicks the door shut behind him, catching her in the deserted parking lot. She whirls back around at his heavy footsteps, her eyes narrowed, mouth contorted into a scowl as if she'd tasted something bitter. "You've got to be fucking kidding me! I'm the asshole?"

"No shit." His eyes roll as she hisses, looking all the bit ready for this fight as he is. "It must run in the family, huh."

Here we go again. This time, he pinches his thigh to keep the rising fury at mention of his family from clouding what he's here to say. Zuko's long strides eliminate more of the space between them as she holds her ground. "Oh, shut the fuck up." He snaps, revelling in the way she flinches at the force of his words. "How much more of this pathetic deflecting before you accept that you started this."

He watches the way her throat moves as she swallows hard. Guilt brims in her shiny eyes but she shakes her head defiantly. Satisfaction ripples through him at the tiny crack of her armour, and fuck it, he loses all control of his mouth. "You don't get to act the damn victim, like you're fucking better than me." She opens her mouth to say something, no doubt about his riches or his privilege or something along the lines of that bollocks. He's on a roll, though, taking another step forward, this time noting as she takes a hesitant one back. "We both know you want to hate me."

"I do hate—" Katara barks, extending her index finger to point at him. He meets it with a final step closer that pushes her nail into the front of his shirt, that leaves her words caught in her throat. She's a head shorter than him, having to crane her neck to meet his steely eyes.

"No, you don't. I don't care if you take out the stick lodged up your ass for long enough to admit it, but you don't. Hate. Me." His confidence rises with every word, skyrocketing when her eyes flash as he hits a nerve. He watches from behind the mask of indifference that she's running out of excuses.

Something in her snaps, he can almost hear it, and suddenly the power has shifted between them. "You know what…you're right." Her voice is soft, almost a whisper laced with what sounds eerily like hysteria. "You're fucking right!"

He stares at her, surprised at the outburst.

No longer recoiling from him, she shoves him with all her force — he lets her. He stumbles back, finding his footing just before his back hits the wall. "God, do I want to hate you! I want to despise everything about you. Your Sozin name, your expensive shit, your pompous attitude! I want to hate it all, so fucking bad." Her voice cracks, his heart lurching when he realises she's about to cry. "But I'm such a shit excuse for a daughter that I had to be—want…a-a Sozin, a fucking Sozin, the very people who killed her—"

His heart has stopped beating entirely. "Killed…? What—"

"You show up—the last thing I'd expect a Sozin to be, and I-I don't even know how to cope—I just want to push," She punctuates this with a fist to his chest. The air is knocked right out of him, but suppresses the wince. "Push—push till you break just like your family broke mine—"

Her other fist joins and before he can blink she's punching blow after blow to his torso with the sides of her tightly wound hands. Her hands fly out to grasp at hers, but she's too quick and he sees that she needs this. "Stop—Katara—"

It's the first time he's ever said her name out loud and it breaks the dam that held her tears at bay. They stream freely down her reddened face but she doesn't stop her attack on him, beating him till her hands ache and her throat strains from the strangled cry that escapes it. His fingers catch her wrists finally as he strains to breathe.

"Katara." He murmurs softly, eyes darting over her face. She freezes, staring at her hands, before she lets out a choked sob and her knees collapse beneath her. With his hands holding each of her limp fists, he drops to his knees with her, dragging her close as she shakes violently. Her fingers grip hard at his t shirt that grows damp from the tears she presses into it. Zuko gathers her frail body in his arms, crushing her to him as she rides out her panic attack. His arms encircle her, a hand reaching up to stroke the hair at the top of her head as she pushes it roughly into the crook of his neck. Rocking her ever so gently, he traces his fingertips up and down her back. "Shh, it's okay."

His knees throb with pain but he keeps her close, whispering gently into her ear to keep her grounded as she breaks completely, not just in front of him, but into him. "I've got you, you're okay."

The breeze whistles passed them and at her shiver he remembers the jacket strewn across the back of his chair inside. Rubbing his callous palms up and down her arms to warm her, Zuko sighs into her hair, burrowing his nose in it as he gives in to her touch. She smells like fruit, like saltwater and sand. And he holds her there, tight against him as her breathing evens out in the empty, darkening car park where he can see his bike.

Katara drags her head away from his shoulder, and if her babbling is anything to go by, she's feeling better. "Sorry—Jesus, I'm so—fuck…"

Zuko doesn't have time for her to overthink this and storm away again. His hands cup her face firmly, brushing the strands of hair off her damp cheeks. He doesn't know where he's getting the courage to touch her like this, but she melts into it and he can't complain. "Don't." He's shaking his head, squeezing his eyes shut briefly before looking at her once again. "Let…let me take you home."

Her eyes widen. She yanks herself away from him, blinking furiously as if in a haze. Katara brushes off the gravel from the knees of her jeans, failing to contain a shiver at the cold. "No—it's fine, I'm fine. I'll walk—" She looks around wildly, figuring out where she is.

"Yeah, right." He rolls his eyes, standing to join her before he sighs. "Do you always have to be so damn difficult?"

She drags the back of her hands across her cheeks and straightens herself out. His pulse leaps when she narrows her eyes at him, seeming more and more like herself. Crossing her arms, her nose high in the air, she stares him down. Like she didn't just break down in his arms mere minutes ago. He has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from smirking. "There's no way I'm getting on that death contraption you call a bike."

He shoves a hand into his hair, scoffing at the way they've slipped back into routine. "She is perfectly safe, actually."

"There's something deeply misogynistic about men addressing their vehicles as females to inherently use and ride—"

"Christ, fine!" Zuko says, holding his palms up in surrender. It dawns on him that he doesn't have two helmets, so perhaps she has a point. Wracking his brain, he comes up with a solution. "Give me five minutes."

There are three painful seconds as she entertains the idea, then upon realising walking home in this darkness was probably best to be avoided, she nods begrudgingly. He wastes no time, wrenching open the door to go back inside to collect his things. He fishes out his phone from a pocket before calling his sister. She picks up by the time he's shouldered his bag, on the second ring.

"I'd complain about your timing, but I think this is the first time you've ever called me." Azula says slowly, curiously. "You're not dying, are you?"

"I need my car." He tells her, walking towards the exit Katara is standing by.

There's a pause, then. "…Come again?"

"Azula, I need my car. Now." He exhales loudly, shutting his mind out to the thoughts that erupt regarding the last time he used it. "So, if you don't mind, can you drive it to the parking lot at the back of the campus library—yeah, I'm here, and—" He has to suck in a breath through clenched teeth at the next words, but as the door shuts behind him and he sees her waiting, leaning against the wall when she could've very easily called her brother three minutes ago; it makes it much easier to say it. "You can ride my bike home."

There's a whoop and a loud 'fuck yeah!' on the other end of the line that has him holding his phone farther away from his ear. Taking that as confirmation, he cuts the call and turns to Katara, who has her brows high. This is going to be a long night, he thinks, unable to bring himself to care very much.

. . .

Ten minutes later, Zuko nods towards the dark jeep pulling into the box by his bike. Katara looks surprised, then scoffs, rolling her eyes to the sky. "Of course."

Azula jumps out of the car. Literally, she jumps from the high step of the towering jet black rover, with practised ease. Her eyebrows disappear into her fringe when she sees Zuko walking towards it, with her trailing behind him.

He tosses her his keys which she catches, mouth agape as she stares from her brother to Katara. "Not a word." He hisses under his breath, giving her a levelling look.

She motions zipping her mouth up and throwing away the key, her face alight with amusement. Azula shoves passed him to greet Katara. "I don't think we've ever properly met." She purrs, extending a hand. "Azula."

Nodding with barely concealed suspicion in her eyes, the older girl shakes her hand. "Katara."

"Oh, love, I know who you are." She beams, crimson smile curling into something mischievous. "You've been my idol ever since you smacked Zuzu right across the face." Katara's lips twitch at the memory whilst Zuko growls. "Trust me, it's been a long time coming since someone put him in his place like—"

"Azula." Her brother warns, voice hard. She sticks her tongue out at him.

"Mm, see you around, Kat." Her voice is smooth, almost molten. With a wink that tells her she'll definitely be seeing her around and a swift, airy kiss to her brother's cheek that he doesn't bother resisting, she climbs onto the bike. Pulling on the helmet, she flips the visor up and revs the engine.

"You get one scratch on her and I'll—"

She rolls her eyes dramatically. "Her? How misogynistic."

Katara makes an approving sound, to which Zuko presses his forehead into his hand. His sister drives off, winding her way through the remaining parked cars and zooming down the street with a speed that makes him imagine every scenario in which his bike ends up in the junkyard.

He tosses his bag onto the backseats, holding his hand out for her to hand him hers. After some hesitation, she does and he starts turns the keys his sister left in the car for him.

Zuko pulls out of the parking lot, waiting at the exit for a car to pass. He lets his eyes wander to the passenger seat, where she's leaning away from him with her head pressed against the window. A hand rubs at the back of his neck, words at the tip of his tongue. He swallows them, though, knowing better than to push it after the onslaught of anxiety and whirlwind of emotions she'd just dealt with. He turns her seat warmer up to max as they turn the corner.

The roads are mostly empty, though they drive passed a couple drunk teenagers stumbling over themselves. At the lights, he turns up the radio as Khalid's Location begins.

Tapping his fingers against the wheel along with the beat, he winds them down the long stretch of the road. Glancing to her, he almost gets distracted as she ever-so-softly hums the melody. He bites his tongue from saying something about it in case she stops. Her eyes catch hold of his, but he quickly turns away, blinking his eyes back into focus. The tension in the small space between them is palpable.

See, he can take this turn on the left here. With that, they'll get to the first-year dorms five minutes quicker than if he was to just keep going straight. But her humming is getting just that bit louder and she's braiding and unbraiding a lock of her hair and, oh, screw it. He hesitates before giving in to the juvenile, selfish part of him that urges him to press down on the gas and ignore the junction.

Thirteen minutes later he pulls up by the entrance to the first of the row of buildings, shifting the car into park and easing off the pedals. The light switches on above them, and he's unsure what to do. She unlatches her belt, reaching behind the seat to drag out her bag from the spacious back, pulling it to her lap. He should say something, right? Definitely. Yes…maybe. Jesus, this is embarrassing. Tipping his head back to rest against the tough leather top of the seat, he shuts his eyes.

All he has to do is say something, spark some sort of conversation to get her to linger a little longer. It's never been this ridiculously hard to talk to someone, for fuck's sake. Come on, Zuko. Just look at her—good job. Now say something. Something. Anything. Speak!

"I—um, I'm free this weekend, if you wanted to, uh, work on the project, or something." It doesn't help his loss for words that she's not meeting his eyes.

"Yeah, sure." Katara nods, thoroughly interested in the latches on her bag. She opens the door, ready to step out and miss the way Zuko drops his forehead to the rim of the steering wheel, when she stops mid-movement. As she turns back, his head swings back up and he feigns casualness.

Her eyes lock on his, and she's breathing hard for a good few seconds before the words tumble out of parted lips, "Um…thank you."

He nods slowly, taking advantage of every moment her gaze lingers on his. He's snapped out of it by the swift swivel of her head and the soft thud as she jumps out, shutting the door behind her. She walks around the front of the car, and he doesn't care that she can tell he's clearly staring.

By the time she's through the doors he's slamming his hand onto the dashboard. "Work on the project or something? Really? Fuck me."

The car lurches to life as he does a u-turn. He floors it, sending him flying down the road as he makes his way home, wanting nothing more than sleep and a strong drink.

. . .

He throws the car keys onto the island by the kitchen, locking his door and making a mental note to get his bike back first thing tomorrow morning. Zuko's mind is too busy for him to fall asleep any time soon, he accepts it with a sigh. What she said in the parking lot, all that gibberish about killing and family and being a terrible daughter. It's all he could think about on the ride back. That and how fucking soft she felt as he held her close enough to inhale her scent. That part's driving him nuts.

He slips off his shoes, sheds his jacket and begins pulling off his t-shirt when a flurry of colour catches his attention.

His heart leaps into his throat at the surprise of finding Mai standing in front of him in his apartment. He looks at her like she's fucking crazy, breathing erratically. "What the actual fuck, Mai!"

"Don't stop on my account." She purrs, hooking her thin fingers into the belt of the dark trench coat she has on, indoors. He doesn't even want to ask how the hell she got into his place. Doesn't care. All he needs is for her to leave so he can rest.

His fingers shoot into his hair, pulling at locks of it in exasperation. "Honestly, Mai, I don't—"

Mai smirks, quirking an eyebrow. She stops all speech he has planned with a quick tug at the belt, the sides of her coat falling to a pool at her feet. She saunters over to him, pressing her very naked body against his. She drags her lips up his throat, kissing and licking a path to his ear. "Cmon, Zuko. Stop playing so hard to get."

His eyes shut on instinct as her hand cups him over his jeans. She laughs into his ear at his innate reaction, the prominent tent in his trousers. He's so dizzy with thoughts of the day, his feelings all over the place that, maybe, he needs—can't think straight—just, God. Not thinking too much into it, he pulls her mouth up to crash against his. Winding fingers into her hair, he pulls it free from the bun, using his free hand to pull her close.

She smirks against his mouth, which he gets rid of by slipping his tongue into hers, letting her drag his shirt over his head. He walks her backwards to the couch, which he pushes her onto before unbuckling his belt and stepping out of his pants. Hovering over her body sprawled out across his couch, he grunts into her clavicle as she slips a hand under his boxers, handling him roughly. He's hard in her grip, groaning as she rakes her nails down the length of him.

Grinning, she darts out from under him, pushing him to sit as she drops to her knees between his parted legs. She drags his boxers down, throwing them behind her. With a sultry look in his direction, she licks the tip of him.

Zuko throws his head back over the back of the sofa, eyes to the ceiling as she takes more of him into her wet mouth. Mai moans around his cock, the vibrations of the noise sending ripples through him. He sets his jaw, trying to keep his eyes shut to drown in nothing but the feeling, his hands settling on either side of her head to push more of himself into her.

She slides herself off of him with a soft 'pop', snickering to herself. "And to think, I was worried about that cheap island whore."

Once she takes him back into her mouth, this time deeper, it takes him a while before the words register. His eyes blink open, and suddenly the ceiling is bleak. "Stop." He rasps, pulling himself away. "Get off."

"That good, huh?" She grins, wiping the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand.

He's not listening. He can't hear anything anyway over his blood pumping in his ears at the mention of her. Zuko fumbles for his boxers, pulling them on and darting off the seat. He hauls on his discarded shirt too, for good measure.

"Zuko—what the hell—how were you not into that?" She's yelling at him, outraged at the turn of events.

He hands her coat back. "I think you should leave."

Mai's mouth drops open and she sputters, "You're not serious."

Saying nothing in reply, he presses his lips into a line as she makes an incredulous noise and snatches the garment from his outstretched fingers. She pulls it on forcefully, shoving her arms through the sleeves. "This is about that little bitch, isn't it?" She hisses. "You're into that slut."

Zuko drags his teeth across his bottom lip, "First of all, that's none of your business."

"Not my—Zuko, I'm your girlfriend!" She cries, tying her belt tight with a sharp yank.

The word riles him up even more. She's really the farthest thing from that and it dawns on him how messed up everything is. He shoves a hand into his hair, the other one flailing as if to convey his exasperation through gestures. "Fucking hell, Mai. Do you even love me? Have you ever felt anything for me, not my family name, not the attention I bring you—but, me?"

With her brows strung together, she looks at him like he's lost his mind. "Love? When has this ever been about love, Zuko?"

"Exactly." He murmurs, walking to the door.

A cruel laugh behind him. "So what, you want me to love you now, is that it? Are we in high school?"

His blinks away red, hot anger as he holds the front door open for her. "Get out."

"Fine." Mai snaps, voice low as she walks passed him. "Call me when you're done playing with the help."

. . .

He sleeps later than usual. Turning in bed, his eyelids heavy with sleep, Zuko squints to watch the clock flash 06:52. It's unlike him to wake up so late, accustomed to rising with the sun, ever since he was a child. To be fair, he hadn't managed to get a wink of sleep till roughly three hours ago. His laptop sits on the other side of his bed, a reminder of his futile research.

Pushing himself up to rest his weight on his elbows, he stares it down angrily. Hours on end he'd spent trying to figure out what Katara was talking about in the midst of her panic attack. He'd only caught a few words, not that she'd divulged too much anyway, and after some deliberation, googled ''Ehukai'. Skimming through Facebook profiles and Polynesian name-meanings sites, he'd come across something that had his heart leaping into his throat. A formal obituary for Dr. Kya 'Ehukai.

From the Sozin Empire.

Getting more questions than answers, he frantically read the fairly short acknowledgement of her work vas a renowned scientist in their pharmaceutical labs. The picture was small, pixelated, old. But from the blue of her large eyes and the billowing dark hair, Zuko knew this is—was her mother. More tabs bloomed in his browser, keywords like 'Dr 'Ehukai' and 'Sozin Empire' getting him mostly rubbish links. There was a picture, however, on a newspaper archive that had a small article in the corner: 'Grieving Family Takes Sozin To Court'. What the fuck? He didn't remember any of this. The article was five lines, tops. A brief overview of a mourning 'Ehukai family pressing charges against Sozin Empire, namely Ozai himself, for—for suspicious death. He'd searched and searched for a while after that to get more information about the trial, anything substantial. But it seemed all history of it was practically wiped from the web.

Zuko's head falls back onto the pillow. He throws an arm over his eyes. Part of him wants to continue digging, but frankly, it's futile. The need to dig further is relentless in the back of his mind, but right now is not the best time.

He has a routine every morning, one that has flown out the window this particular day. It usually involves waking up, yanking open the curtains, making his bed and padding into the shower. Every day, a near-scalding stream of water is doused on him, soothing any sore muscles and ridding his mind of all thoughts as he presses his forehead against the cool tiles, breathing hot and hard against them. Once he's washed up, he usually slides open the doors to the balcony to greet the sun. His apartment is always filled with light, from the floor-to-ceiling windows that greedily feed of the sunrise. The next few hours are spent meditating or running through some Tai Chi to keep himself active from the get-go.

Today, however, he can't be fucked.

There's too much going on in his mind to ignore. If he wasn't lying flat, he's sure he'd be dizzy by now. God, he needs some fucking tea.

Tea. Rubbing hands over his face, he knows where he needs to go.

. . .

"Zuko," Iroh says, surprised to see his nephew walking through the doors to the tea shop. "It's not Sunday, is it? Oh no, have I become that old?"

The young boy smiles, shutting the door behind him. There's still an hour to go before the shop opens, but Iroh is already brewing a fresh pot. The herbal, spicy scent travels across the room, already soothing him. "You've been that old for a century, Uncle."

His uncle grins, drawing him into a tight hug. "Good to see you, my boy." He pulls back, large hands planted on each of his shoulders. "Tea?"

"Please," Zuko nods appreciatively. He's guided outside to the courtyard at the very back of the café, where red lanterns hang from the roof and a bench with adjoining table sits amongst the neatly trimmed plants. There's even blooming blossom trees along the edge of the space. This part of the building is strictly off-access to customers, as are the two floors above the shop where he lives his modest life. Zuko's lived here too, for a few years after his father had him cut off, when he left a life of fortune, greed and power behind. 'Good riddance', Iroh had told him when he'd shown up with a burnt eye and a suitcase. He's always looked to the older man as the father he's always craved.

"Tell me," Iroh says into the rim of his cup. "What's on your mind, Zuko?"

The tea burns down his throat at the hard swallow. "Wh-what—there's—why would you—"

He gets the usual wise, knowing smile in response. Zuko sighs, eyes cast downwards, curling his fingers tighter around his own mug. "Uncle…" He glances up from the swirling flecks of herbs in the steaming tea. "Did you ever know a Kya 'Ehukai?"

Recognition flashes across Iroh's face, sending ripples of shock and fear through Zuko. He remains silent, but the creases of his forehead and the morose look in his eyes gives the man away. "Nephew, where did you hear that name?"

Zuko's head spins. He sets down his cup beside him, leaning across the table to stare at his uncle. He doesn't know whether to be relieved of some insight or afraid of the answer. His eyes widen and the words that escape him are almost pleading, "What do you know?"

Iroh looks devastated at mention of Katara's mother. A few long seconds before he finally speaks, voice hushed and solemn. "I don't know much, unfortunately. I only ever met her once, but I'll never forget it. Doctor 'Ehukai…she was a scientist for your father's company, down in a southern branch. Beautiful, smart, kind eyes…She was caught in an explosion that happened, what, fifteen years ago. Tragic accident. Oh Lord, her poor family." With shiny eyes, he gives the young Sozin a confused look. "Why do you ask?"

He's still getting around the new information. "I, um, I know her daughter."

"Know her?"

Zuko blanches. "Not like that! No—no, we're just, we're not even friends, she's so goddamn infuriating."

"Well," Iroh chuckles. "That's a lot of concern you have for an infuriating non-friend. You should bring her over for tea, I'd love to meet the girl that has you caring."

He scoffs, colour staining his cheeks. "You're losing it, old man."