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zuko fic, To be or not to be completed
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2020-06-24
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2021-07-28
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Wayward Flames, Come on Home

Summary:

Prince Zuko is banished, given an old warship, a subpar crew, and is stuck with his tea-loving uncle. Three years of searching for a long dead myth and causing problems is all it takes for his crew unwittingly forms bonds with each other and their stubborn charge. The more they try and get used to living with each other, the more things change in a world they didn't know could. Things happen, and, well, they might just become legends. Slight AU.

Notes:

Hey y'all! I watched A:TLA for the first time once it appeared on Netflix, and it was down the rabbit hole from there. This is going to be a pretty long fic if I keep going with all my ideas, and keep my motivation, but enjoy! My Tumblr is there! Feel free to interact or send asks

Chapter 1: Pilot

Notes:

Hey this is the first chapter and I'm just really pumped! My Tumblr is @Innogens-breadsticks, and thanks!

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

Chapter Text

The sky was a brutish shade of grey, blanketing the port in a solemn, misty cover. Hidden behind the thick, dark, rolling clouds, the sun refused to grace the port with any sort of warmth. Drizzling drops of rain dashed down and splattered all it could, leaving nothing untouched or not thoroughly soaked, the wood of the docks became unbearably slick within minutes.

Usually, being scorned by Agni himself was enough to make almost anyone pause and give thought to their actions. But all anyone could spare this day was a doleful look at the sky, a silent plea for just one small drop of sunlight. Their muted prayers weren't answered, whether by the fact a deity couldn't be contacted in such a way, or that they were simply being ignored. There wasn't much comfort in either idea.

With the measured steps of men sent off to execution, soldiers scattered in the port below had come together, carrying various crates or leading some particularly nasty Kommodo-Rhinos away from where they had been unloaded. Lines of people led to a small, slightly discolored, metal ship that had docked that morning. From afar, two still figures carefully took in the sight.

"We should be ready to depart within the hour, nephew." The older man relayed, eyes firmly placed on the horizon, keeping an umbrella raised above them both.

The boy beside him nodded only once so as not to disturb the bandages wrapped around half of his face.

Thirteen years old and freshly banished, he had until sundown to depart from his home and begin his search. Prince Zuko could barely bring himself to speak, much less worry about organizing a warship, stocked with soldiers in the same predicament as him. But he should've been, it was his responsibility, his punishment, he was the one being cast out. Yet, his uncle stood next to him, having called upon many favors to acquire troops, food, and a vessel. Doing everything that Zuko was supposed to have done, without half as much yelling as he would've used.

Usually, a silent, toothy grin from his uncle was all it took for one or two old generals to cave, despite his newly acquired hobby of peace, a dragon was still a dragon. A wicked sharp mind, and even sharper claws, the Dragon of the West was to be feared, perhaps as much as the Firelord himself. It was an unspoken thought, with treason woven so deeply in it, it was safer that the words were best left alone

For all his reputation seemed to give him, Zuko had difficulty seeing the man as anything more than a consistent, tea-offering presence in his more recent life. He had faded memories of the old general when he had been younger, laughing and playing with his older cousin. Of course there were the years that both of them had gone, their absences filled by hours of tutors, Azula's constant schemes, his father's harsh glare, and even more cutting words. But once Iroh had returned, as reserved and subdued as he was, (which Zuko could find no fault in, the man had lost his son so he really didn't understand why Azula and father would scorn him as they did) it was almost a… reprieve for the young prince.

It shouldn't have been, but it was. At every mistake there were kind words, and thoughtful offerings of nonsense proverbs, instead of burns and begging and flinching. The flinching always made his uncle briefly pause, and breathe very slowly and deeply, the briefest of steel clashing in his eyes. Afterwards, he always offered to feed the turtleducks with Zuko, something the young prince had come to appreciate.

It wasn't like having his mother back, not at all. She was all kind, hushed words and gentle advice hidden in whispers, far away from his father. It had taken him years to notice how pained and silent she was in the presence of his father, and even longer to notice how distant she seemed from Azula. It was as if a silent agreement had been reached, that Zuko was hers, and Azula was his. But once she was gone Zuko was nobody's and then his uncle had come, and it had been better, at first. But the pain of lost family tends to weigh down the bearer, and uncle wasn't perfect, nobody was, and so everything went wrong.

He could feel the leaking from the burn, and how it stuck to the cloth wrapping, eventually it would harden and he'd have to rip it off and go through one more moment of horrid pain. It was like being back at that… arena, all over again. If anything even went near that accursed mark, much less touch it, he was stuck at his father's feet once again, crying for mercy. Hot, sticky tears trailing down his face and chin, trembling and begging any spirit that would listen for understanding and mercy, as his father's hand almost gently cupped his face and began searing it off- But it was his own fault, and that was a fact he'd accepted.

Yet, standing here, as his watery prison defied the natural order by continuing to float, he had no time to mourn all he had lost. Stretching his face into a scowl, (and refusing to flinch as the burn stretched with it) he clenched his fist. He would return, victorious, with the Avatar in hand, and drop him at his father's feet. The Fire Nation would be safely secured and his honor would be restored, and once again, he could stand tall in front of his family.

He wasn't sure when he had begun marching away from his uncle, the concerned words of the older man being drowned out by his own stomps and the sound of rain falling, but he was already halfway down the steps of the hill they'd been waiting on. Once he realized it, there was no point in stopping, so he continued on his path that seemed to point towards the ship, ignoring every look that came his way.

With his hair freshly shaved away - not the top knot, never the top knot - as a sign of his shameful defeat (and so it couldn't get in the way of his burn), and those stupid, itchy bandages covering half of his Koh-damned face, it didn't take much thinking to realize what the people had shown such interest in. Barreling his way past soldiers, who really did try to not give more than one glance his way, he was well aware of his uncle jogging behind him to try and catch up.

"Prince Zuko, a moment!" Iroh called out, unaware of the momentary wince the boy had reacted with at the sound of his full title.

Stopping in his tracks, and turning harshly on his heel, the prince in question spat, "What?", with as much annoyance as he could manage.

Breathing heavily, Iroh slowed to a halt next to his nephew, once again raising the umbrella over the now soaked prince, "The first order of business you must attend to is paying a visit to the ship's doctor, and then, introductions to the crew must be made."

"I don't need a doctor." Zuko seethed, crossing his arms, "And why in the world would I bother introducing myself to people who already know their mission?"

Now that was the great lie that had been decided upon. Calling it an assignment, a military necessity. It was obvious anyone on this crew was most likely just as banished as him. Except for his uncle.

"With all due respect, my nephew," Iroh gently contradicted, "if you do not continue treating your… wound, there is a larger chance of permanent damage." Iroh sighed before continuing, "And it's quite rude to show such attitude towards people now under your command and care."

"And we're all just thrilled with that." Zuko muttered under his breath, briefly turning away, "Whatever damage occurs is deserved, it would be disrespectful to temper it."

That had been his mistake before, it wasn't one he could afford to make towards his father again.

Iroh took in a deep breath, face barely staying neutral, "This has nothing to do with respect, Prince Zuko. This is about health and safety, your eye could be lost if you continue refusing medical attention."

"Then so be it." Zuko replied, mustering all the venom in him to put a stop to this annoying conversation.

"No." Iroh said, a stern look providing a shield from Zuko's words, "If you lose an eye, you will have to relearn and readjust to everything, bitter months will be lost in the process."

The boy gave thought to it, months getting used to being halfblind were months spent not looking for the Avatar. They would be months without the palace, without his stubborn masters, without his… honor. For all that it was worth. Uncle did have a point, even if he did deserve it, it would be much more efficient to get his wound looked at.

"...alright." Zuko finally agreed, however tentatively.

Iroh broke out into a controlled smile, "Ah, wonderful! We mustn't keep him in suspense for too long."

Nodding, the boy let him pass onto the ramp leading to the deck of the ship. Pausing briefly, Zuko looked at the soldiers who had stopped to watch the exchange like cheap entertainment. Deciding to set the tone for the rest of the trip, Zuko spun on his heel, ignoring the squeak that had come with the rubber of his sole grinding against the slick metal beneath him, and began shouting.

"GET BACK TO WORK!" Seemed to suffice.

Apparently, the shock that came with being yelled at by a thirteen-year-old was accompanied by an increase in productivity. Something Zuko gladly noted in his mind. Satisfied with the outcome, he turned once again and began following his uncle. However humiliating his punishment may be, he would return victorious, if only for the reason of pleasing his father.


"Can you remove the wrapping?"

Zuko almost snorted. Of course he could. But the healer made no more attempts to remove the bandages once Zuko had (flinched as all he could see was a hand reaching for his face and while this one didn't have fire it would still hurt, he knew it would, it always did-) turned away out of annoyance. Carefully, Zuko raised his hand to where his thumb could most easily begin peeling the starched fabric away. Unwinding it took longer than he'd thought, as his shaky hand kept revolving carefully as more and more of the now stained bandages gathered around his wrist. Once he had completed his task, he turned towards the healer with a bleak acceptance.

The man, who looked at least as old as his father if not older, briefly frowned at the sight. Judging from the lines creased into his face, it wasn't an uncommon occurrence. Sighing, he turned towards Iroh, scratching the top of his head, careful to avoid the half ponytail he had put his shaggy, chin-length hair in.

"That's at least a 2nd, probably 3rd, degree burn on his face, and it's concentrated in one singular area. Usually there's a lot more surrounding damage in regular burn injuries." The healer put an emphasis on regular, looking at Zuko's uncle for a silent confirmation.

"The flame that did this was controlled." Iroh answered, refusing to divulge any more than that.

Nodding, the healer warily looked back and clucked as he began examining the wound from afar, "Nerve damage is likely in the epicenter of the burn, which is, unfortunately, the eye. It's also possible the ear sustained some sort of injury, but it's too early to make that kind of assumption."

Zuko's scowl deepened. He hadn't tried to open his eye yet. If he had lost it… well, it wasn't a bandaid he was particularly eager to rip off. It wasn't like he was scared, no, fear was weakness and he wouldn't be weak, not anymore. He was just… apprehensive about the finality of trying to use it. There would be no more limbo, he was either blind in his left eye or not. As for his ear, that was something he hadn't considered, but the thought made his bleed freeze.

Gripping the edge of the cot, Zuko sucked in a slow, quiet breath. As he exhaled, he tried not to think of the cramped metal walls closing in around him, as they always seemed to be. Silently, he started noting the more inane details of the room encasing him. There was only one other cot and it was directly across from him, the head and the side pressed against the corner much like his own. Still on the other side of the room, a few feet further from the edge of the opposite cot, was a counter with a sink and cabinets both above and under it. On it, stacks of salves, books, bandages, and other supplies, were crowded together, presumably in the process of being organized. Closing his one good eye, he felt the pressure on his chest alleviate, and let himself be drawn back into the conversation.

"But we'll focus on that at some other point." The healer continued, apparently taking notice of Zuko's reluctance, "Right now, making sure the area doesn't get infected is a top priority. What I can recommend is some salve to be applied at least once a day, then dry, clean and loose bandages covering it, and those should be changed twice a day, at least."

"Is that all?" Iroh asked, staring down the man with an intensity he wasn't entirely used to.

"For now." The man answered, carefully choosing his words, "Until he can open his eye, or I can conduct some auditory tests, a firm judgement on the extent of the damage can't be made. And until then, the best possible course of action is the treatment I've laid out."

Iroh backed off, apparently pleased with the response, "Of course, my thanks, Healer…?"

"Asa." He answered, before adding on, "And physician is a much more accurate description of my role."

"Really?" Iroh said, usually, people thought twice before trying to correct him, yet he'd done it without any hesitation. He wasn't opposed to it, in fact, delighted was a more accurate descriptor, "I thought all those who worked with medicine were called as such."

Asa grimaced, "Healer is an outdated term, used for magic and spirits and those who place their faith in that nonsense. My job is about acquiring and applying knowledge."

"You refer to the spirits as nonsense?" Iroh asked, amusement refusing to hide in his voice.

Zuko tried very hard not to groan. Everyone knew that his uncle had great respect for the old ways, to a very frustrating fault. So this man either knew and had no desire to keep himself safe, or he didn't know and that meant he was an uninformed idiot. Neither of those options were good.

"I suppose I do." Heal-, Physician Asa truthfully answered.

"Interesting." The old general laughed, full and without any anger.

"Perhaps." The physician shrugged, before turning towards the prince sitting on one of the only cots in the medical bay, "Currently, it wouldn't be a good idea to try and force your eye open, but just be warned that the longer you wait, the longer it'll take to readjust."

Zuko mustered up what strength he could from his tired bones and shrugged, "If it's going to be covered, what's the point?"

"That may be your opinion now, but trust me when I say that fighting and depth perception go hand in hand." Asa said, staring him down as though he wasn't greatly outranked, "And that seems like something you care about."

Zuko tried not to let his mild surprise show. Despite apparently being troublesome enough to be banished along with a shameful prince, the man was clearly perceptive. And he knew what he was doing. Which was more than someone in Zuko's position could hope for.

"I'll consider it." Zuko finally decided upon, refusing to meet the physician's gaze.

"Oh my, where are your manners?" Iroh lightly chastised, "He's done us a great service, it wouldn't be right not to show thanks."

Put on the spot, Asa looked uncomfortable with the idea, his face scrunching up in displeasure almost at the same time as Zuko's. Quickly shaking his head, the man discarded the idea.

"It's what I get paid for." He explained, turning away to begin organizing his strewn about supplies, glancing about before finally spotting the salve he'd been seeking, and grabbing it to hand to the old general, "Just make sure to take this and apply it according to my instructions. If anything happens, well, you know where to find me."

Iroh chuckled again, without humor, and accepted the medicine, "I suppose we do."

Facing Zuko, Asa brushed off the general's words, "Do you know how to redress it properly?"

Zuko bit down the urge to insist he could, he didn't want to seem weak but… something told him that this man would have seen right through it. Shaking his head, Zuko didn't truly meet his gaze, focused on a point just off to the left. The physician took a beat before starting to search for bandages, only needing a few seconds.

"Alright. I'm going to apply the salve first, and then the bandages, after I wash my hands. Is that okay?" Asa said, awaiting Zuko's response.

Frowning, Zuko shrugged his shoulders. He wasn't sure why the man was so insistent on explaining everything to him, he wasn't using that tone people tended to use on Zuko either. Like he was a child who needed to be coddled. He was just relaying actions, with no undertones beneath his words. It was… refreshing.

True to his word, Asa was already at the sink, scrubbing quickly and consistently. Counting under his breath, he finished, and quickly wiped off his hands. Once dried, he grabbed a clean set of bandages, another container of burn salve, and what looked like a cloth pad. Supplies in hand, he made his back to the prince, who was uneasily watching the other man's movement with barely hidden wariness.

"I'm starting now." Asa said, unscrewing the cap to the salve, and grabbing the sterile applicator in the container.

Zuko grimaced, it was becoming second nature at this point, and nodded once. Closing his eye, he made sure to keep a steady rhythm to his breathing. Just in case.

Quickly, the cooling medicine was applied, practiced strokes covering the damaged skin, like a paintbrush on an old, scratched canvas. As good as it felt, relief flooding throughout his veins as the pain died down, it was hard to ignore his spiking pulse at every new touch. He refused to be scared, he ordered himself not to be, his traitorous body refusing the simplest of commands.

It was over as soon as it had started, even without his sight, he could feel the physician pull away, or at least hear him set the jar down. And judging by the ever familiar crinkling that had just started, bandages were probably next. He wasn't sure which he preferred, an open face or a covered one. It did feel freeing to no longer have a constant cover on his burn, no more itching at least, but that meant his… mark was visible. He hadn't even gotten a good look at it yet, and that wasn't a confrontation he needed to have at the moment. So, he'd yield and accept the mild annoyance of medical treatment.

Something pressed against his eye, and Zuko twitched. This wasn't like before, instead of what seemed like miles of wrapping covering his head, it was a simple, clean pad. Sensing the pressure behind it, he made sure to stay very still, feeling the more traditional bandage wrap around his skull and hold it in place. After a moment to tie it off, or whatever Asa did to make it hold, it was over, blissfully finished.

Stepping back, Asa sighed, "All done."

Zuko opened his eye, blinking once or twice to clear the blurriness, and quickly swept the room with his gaze. Everything was much of the same, still messy, small, and full of stagnant air. Standing by the doorway, his uncle took it all in, his small smile revealing nothing.

"Is that all?" Zuko asked, feeling his voice strain in his throat.

(He'd screamed at the Agni Kai, according to Azula's taunts, which had seemed a little more desperate and uncertain than her usual venom. But he'd screamed and screamed and screamed until he no longer could, so now his voice had the habit of croaking and shifting without his knowledge.)

"No more from me." Asa said, gathering up everything he hadn't used.

"Good." Zuko replied, hardening his glare and his face to match.

Nodding, Asa went back to his task of clearing and sorting different items, taking time to place them on carefully managed shelves. After a moment or two of silence, it was clear that the visit was over, and the man wouldn't be addressing either of the royals again. Zuko awkwardly began climbing down from the raised cot he'd gotten on, cursing his age and his height.

"On to the next task, nephew." Iroh muttered, already at the door and waiting for the boy.

Zuko sighed, there was no getting out of something his uncle was dead set on doing. Trudging - a very mature kind of trudging he might add - towards the exit, he made sure he stood up straight, rolling back his shoulders. It would be tolerable, a few words from his uncle to some soldiers, and it would be over, simple. So why did he feel an impending sense of dread at the thought?


Zuko loved tolerated his uncle, and that was enough to put up with his bothersome antics. But this? This was going way too far.

Currently, he was sulking next to his tea-crazed family member with all the subtlety of a sea monster. His uncle had insisted on a prolonged conversation with the members of the crew he'd apparently been familiar with, shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries. They weren't here to waste time talking, they were here to find the Avatar! Or, at least keep the ship running so Zuko could do so.

"And this is my nephew, Prince Zuko." Iroh introduced, laughing as he clasped the boy's shoulder.

Zuko gave a polite bow, probably inappropriate considering he was a prince and the only thing that was supposed to outrank him was his father. But his uncle had also done so, and there was no one around to chastise Zuko for following in his lead. Not that the rest of the crew seemed to appreciate it, they were just as bored and disinterested as him.

"It's good to be under your command again, General Iroh." Some Lieutenant - Jee if Zuko remembered right - said and Zuko felt his patience slip to dangerously low levels.

"Actually, Lieutenant-" Iroh winced, looking down at Zuko with worry in his eyes.

"I'm the one leading this expedition." Zuko interrupted, ignoring the pleading look cast his way.

The lieutenant blankly stared at him, wheels turning very quickly in his head. After a moment, he deeply bowed.

"I apologize, sir." He said, holding his position for a few seconds, before standing up.

"Don't make that mistake again." Zuko warned, putting on his best 'I'm in charge' look he could muster.

"Yes, sir." Lieutenant Jee replied, nodding his head to placate the boy.

"Good." Zuko said, keeping the severe expression, before turning to Iroh, "I'm done with this. I'll be in my room."

And with that, he stalked off, ignoring the silent crowd watching as he stomped across the echoey steel deck, and wrenched open the door that led to the bowels of the ship. Stepping inside, he slammed it behind him, the force of its impact almost shaking the floor beneath him. And a weight lifted off his chest. All those people, staring at his bandages with those questions hidden just underneath their gazes, wondering if it could connect with his banishment. It was too much. Letting out a shaky breath, and opening his eye, he realized with a dawning certainty that he had no idea where his room was.

"Ugh."


"Sir, does he-" Jee looked at Iroh, finally taking his eyes away from the spectacle the prince had given.

"Oh, he most certainly does not." Iroh chuckled, turning around and walking off to acquaint himself with anyone else he could find, "But exploration is good for the soul. It's what every growing boy needs."

Jee, caught between trying to contradict the Dragon of the West or letting the prince wreak havoc, sighed. He wasn't on duty just yet, so any problems he wasn't being paid for would be ignored.

"If you say so, sir."


Turning down another hallway, Zuko continued cursing under his breath. Whoever designed this labyrinth of a warship was crazy, or on drugs, probably both. He felt the briefest pang of regret of not going back to ask his uncle for the location of his bedroom, but he squashed the idea. He wasn't a kid, he didn't need help. As the commander of the ship, he had to be strong, and he had to do his job. And that meant sticking to decisions, even if they were… difficult.

More like stupid, a voice in his skull that sounded too much like his little sister said. It wasn't stupid, he reasoned with his own brain, just… quick. And quick was good when you had the information needed. But he hadn't had that, just the overwhelming need to get away from everyone else. So maybe it wasn't the best idea, tactically speaking. But going back on it now would be weak and that wasn't something he'd ever be again.

That sniveling piece of himself had burnt along with the flesh surrounding his left eye, it was a gift, really. With that gone, he could be free to accomplish the task set forth by his father. It wasn't impossible, it would be difficult, but his father would never have told Zuko to do something if he didn't think he could do it. That would just be…

His step faltered. Shaking his head, and digging his nails into his hand, he absolutely refused to give any fuel to that traitorous line of thought. His father loved him, Zuko just disappointed him, Zuko made it difficult for his father to show it. Azula didn't make it hard, she didn't make mistakes. Which is why Azula got showered with praise and attention, he could almost hear the masters that trained them both, whispering and wishing him to be more like her. He winced at that. She was so talented, leagues above him, but she was terrifying.

He loved her, but she took joy in things that made his stomach turn, to the point of sickness. Burnt animals turned up at the palace, not often enough to arouse suspicion, but it was something that Zuko knew was a habit. He had tried to confront her, but she'd played it off with the perfect amount of indignance that he'd gotten in trouble for accusing her. Once, after his mother had… vanished, it had been a turtleduck Azula had turned her attention to. He hadn't known until he found a blackened shell in a hallway adjacent to the pond, that day was the closest he came to crying outside of the safety of his room.

He'd buried it near the pond, sniffling the entire time, and when Azula had turned up, he had glared at her and ignored her for the rest of the week. It wasn't mature or smart, but she'd taken one of the last connections he had to their mother and turned to ashes. After that, he hadn't found any more singed animal corpses, she had only gotten better at hiding them.

Did he miss her? There was so much to examine in that one question, to sort and dissect, that he felt it best to ignore it. Their relationship was complicated, constantly oscillating between a tentative almost-friendship and heated rivals. Azula was a presence in his life that was now no longer there, no matter his feelings, that vacancy was something that would take time to get used to.

Whipping around another corner, only getting deeper and lower in the vessel, trying to navigate it's twisty interior, he tried to shake any thoughts of home before he could feel regret clawing at his throat. Searching rooms was out of the question, he hadn't been able to pack anything, so he assumed there would be no familiar possessions wherever he was assigned to live. Just an empty room, with nothing in it. Which unfortunately described half the ship in its current state.

Wandering aimlessly probably wasn't the best way to go about it, but it beat doing nothing. At least he could claim he was familiarizing himself with the layout of the ship, that would be a sound excuse. Not that he really expected to run into anyone else, everyone had been called above for introductions.

Rolling his eyes at the absurd idea, the one that his uncle had actually gone through with, he caught sight of a large steel door in the hallway to the left of him. Above it, was a metal sign bolted into the wall, the chipped black paint read Engine Room. Had he really gotten that deep into the vessel? Already?

Although, he grimly noted, it was considerably smaller than any recently made warship, and the layers of rust coating parts of the hull made it obvious it was decades old. A decommissioned ship, that had probably been waiting to be made into scrap, was the best he could have. He let the anger flare and burn itself out, he was banished, and that meant he didn't deserve the air he breathed, much less use it to complain about his status.

"Oh, you're SHITTING me!"

The voice that had so clearly interrupted his thoughts came from the door his sight had been stuck on. Raising his eyebrow, Zuko tentatively stepped toward the door, carefully shifting his weight to lighten his footsteps. In a few feet, he was at the door, staring down the handle. Grabbing the warm metal jutting out from the middle, stretching his fingers over it as he took a deep breath, he turned it and pushed in.

The door creaked, and he winced, so much for stealth. Stepping over the metal ridge raised up from the floor, he felt a wave of steam slam into his body, a layer of sweat instantly appearing in response. Blinking the wispy streams of water out of his vision, he first noticed how red everything seemed. The blood-like color was cast down from the boilers, dark lights bolted above them as they continued humming and clanking to a tune all their own.

"Who's there?" The voice called out, sharp and curious.

Zuko couldn't answer, his stupid brain was still too caught up in trying to make sense of the room, all the machines placed together in a confusing and chaotic order that just hurt to look at. Seriously, who got away with designing this?

"I swear, I will brain you with a wrench if I don't get an answer-" A figure huffed as it popped out from behind a tangled mass of pipes about ten feet in front of Zuko.

Cocking their head, the welding mask on their face moving with it, deep red eyeholes scrutinizing the prince with total apathy.

"I didn't know they recruited younger than sixteen." Was all that was said.

"I wasn't recruited." He said, defensively crossing his arms and trying to puff his chest out, "I comm-"

A small explosion and a plume of smoke cut off his explanation as the figure darted back to their previous position, leaving Zuko alone. Glancing around, and with nothing else to do, he slowly started following the engineer. Peeking around the corner, he saw them jump around, swearing and trying to fix whatever had gone wrong.

"Non-benders shouldn't be in here." They said, pausing briefly.

"I can bend." Zuko replied, bitter at the assumption.

"Oh." They took a beat, "Can you hand me the wrench?"

Rolling his eyes, he scoffed, "I'm not-"

A pipe burst next to the engineer, who practically jumped into the wall trying to escape it. Breathing heavily, they rolled their shoulders, and stuck their hand out towards Zuko.

"Wrench. Now."

Zuko complied.


Some time later, after scrambling around and trying to put names to items (what in Agni's rays was a torque wrench, wasn't that just a regular wrench? Apparently not!) they both had finished. Watching with utter relief as nothing else burst or broke, Zuko sighed. He wiped the sweat off his brow and frowned.

He'd spent the last thirty minutes fixing engines and coolant systems, doing peasants work. The smug sneer of Azula's face was almost palpable, if she ever found out she'd never let him hear the end of it. His father would go on about how shameful it was to have his son stoop so low, as if he could really do any worse than he already had.

"We're lucky if this thing manages to go a week without blowing." The engineer sighed, slumping against the wall and slowly falling down to a sitting position, "Whoever put the okay on setting sail in this deathtrap is insane."

"It was my uncle." Zuko said, too tired to bite back.

"Your uncle has terrible taste in ships." They answered, shrugging.

"He's the Dragon of the West." Zuko rolled his head away, waiting for the profuse apologies to follow.

"Huh." Was all that he heard, turning back, Zuko saw they were removing the mask.

Setting it down, she gave a weak smile, "Sorry about that then, Prince Zuko."

Her hair was cropped at the chin, tucked behind her ears with a braid from the front right side of her head pulled back and pinned. She didn't have age carved into her skin like his uncle, or the physician, but she was definitely older than him. Her stare, afraid but unflinching and steady, was only emphasized by eyes so dark there was no other way to describe them but black.

He blamed it on exhaustion, but he couldn't bring himself to properly chew her out.

"Whatever. You're right, this hunk of junk was all he could get on short notice."

"Well," she laughed, rubbing her neck, "I look forward to keeping this 'hunk of junk' afloat."

Staring down, he finally let himself give into his curiosity, "What's your name?"

"Maemi." She nodded, obliging his question, "Second Engineer."

"Oh." He squinted in concentration, "There's more than one?"

Loud, barking laughter filled the warm, humid air, "Is that a joke?"

He crossed his arms tightly and felt his face flush more than it already had, "It was a question." he grumbled.

"There's never just one." Maemi explained, still smiling, "Technically there should be a team of four or five for a ship this size, at least. But two will have to do."

"So, where's the other one?" Zuko asked.

He wasn't sure why he let himself become so… complacent with another person. He was her leader, and fraternizing with an insignificant cog in the machine wouldn't help accomplish the mission. Insignificant? Frowning, he thought about the panic induced state he'd been in moments before, praying that nothing would explode or break as his grease-coated fingers had tools slipping out of his grasp. That wasn't 'insignificant'. Her job was dangerous, scary, Zuko had begrudging respect for it. Still… he could always blame this uncharacteristic conversation of his on inhaling dangerous fumes, enough pipes had split open for that to be a possibility.

"First Engineer Riku got called above, something about introductions." She waved her hand flippantly at the ceiling, "One of us had to stay down here to finish repairs, and I told him I could do it."

Zuko rolled his eyes, "Yeah, that was uncle's idea. I didn't like it."

"You don't seem to like much of anything, kid." She replied, limply shrugging.

He glared at her, "I'm not a kid, I'm a prince, your prince. And it doesn't matter what I like, it's not part of the mission."

"Nah-uh," She waggled her finger at him in warning, "there's none of that in the Engine Room. Class titles don't stop things from blowing up, you're not a prince, or a noble, or a peasant once you step in here. You're just a person trying to fix something."

Zuko scowled, "That's stupid."

"Titles are stupid." Maemi said, watching his confusion with modest delight, "It's a matter of perspective."

"It's still nonsense." He protested, replaying her words in his head.

"You can't call it nonsense when it works." She argued, watching carefully as he got more frustrated, "The only hierarchy that exists in here is whoever takes the most responsibility for things going bad. We're ranked by skill and experience."

"That's how titles work!" He hissed, violently turning towards her, "Nobles take responsibility for members of their family and their businesses, and the Fire Lord takes responsibility for the nation!"

"Ah, but do they, really?" Maemi contradicted, pointing at him, "The difference is that those are roles you're born into, while I'm talking about ones you earn. And when's the last time a noble didn't just shrug off their 'responsibilities' onto everyone below them while reaping the benefits?"

"That's not true." Zuko narrowed his eyes, "Why would they do something like that?"

Maemi stared at him, studying his outraged face and shambled breathing, "You're pretty naive, aren't you?"

"I'm not!" He insisted, feeling his chest and neck burn with the accusation, "You just don't know what you're talking about!"

She shook her head, slowly beginning to stand up, "You're not going to listen, and I have to get back to work."

"Fine!" Zuko snapped, stomping away.

"Kid," She called out, waiting for him to eventually stop and turn around, "you can come down here again, if you want. As long as you're willing to help."

"Why would I want to do that?" He bitterly replied, cocking his head to the side.

She shrugged, "Dunno. Just offering, you don't have to."

He glared even harder, trying to find some message in her posture or expression that would give him an answer. There was nothing that he could find.

It was too good to be true, he reminded himself, over and over again. There was some reason she offered it, there was always something people wanted from him. Her face offered nothing, wanted nothing, yet Zuko couldn't understand it. It didn't make sense, and he didn't like that.

Zuko sneered, "Like I'd have time for peasants work."

Turning on his heel, he sped out of there as fast as he could without running. Slamming the door behind him, the thud almost making him leap out of his skin, he stumbled down the short hallway. He couldn't slow down, he just wanted to get away from whatever that had been.

Human connection? Another traitorous part of his head whispered, one that sounded too much like his proverb spewing uncle. Maemi was just… weird. Odd. No subtle manipulation, or saccharine words that were poison at the core. Just… conversation. About the politics of the Fire Nation's social hierarchy of all things! He can't remember someone ever daring to say such things to his face back at the palace, if they had… well, they certainly wouldn't have lasted until the next sunrise.

Slowing down, he felt his lungs burn, like inhaling liquid fire. Glancing around, he saw that he was far, far away from where he'd started. So that explained the pain in his sides and the soreness in his feet. Leaning against the wall, stumbling as he did so, he took a shuddering inhale.

Breathing as evenly as possible, he closed his eyes, concentrating on his inner flame. He could feel it beat and move with his own heart, in a way it was his heart, the center of his chi, his life. The gift that allowed him to bend flames at his fingertips, the gift he hadn't used since he'd awoken after the Agni Kai. In very dark, selfish moments, he considered it a curse, a burden. To shun Agni's kindness was unforgivable, still… he couldn't stop his breath from hitching at every flicker of fire.

Sliding down, resting on the floor, he decided to wait until he could find his uncle. Right now, his previous priorities were nothing, he just needed space. A moment to collect his roiling thoughts, before finding his room. It probably wouldn't be used to sleep in, that was something that hadn't come easy to him in a long time. Just one minute, he told himself, one minute…


Iroh was humming to himself in the halls, some old tune he could no longer place in his many years of living. He was wandering the halls, although he had insisted he was just going for an evening stroll despite resistance from the crew, all it had taken were a few well-timed smiles with a little too much teeth showing to be friendly. He wasn't actively looking for his nephew, per se, it was best that the boy make his own mistakes and learn from them, but if he just happened to run into him… oh well, who could help it?

Turning a corner, his eyes briefly widened and a weight lifted off his aging shoulders. Smiling widely, he quickly stepped towards Zuko, who had turned the opposite corner at almost the same time as Iroh.

"Nephew, it's good to see you!" Iroh began, keeping chipper, "How was your exploration?"

Zuko rolled his eyes, "It was hardly an exploration, uncle, it's so small it barely counts as a warship."

"Still, I imagine you had some sort of adventure, Prince Zuko." Iroh shrugged, starting to slowly walk towards their quarters as Zuko absentmindedly trailed along.

"There's no time for 'adventures', uncle." Zuko growled, a dark look flashing on his face, "The Avatar isn't going to find himself."

"If you insist." Iroh answered, before continuing, "We'll be leaving port in a few minutes, I had a talk with the crew while you were gone."

"Good." Zuko said, marching alongside Iroh, "Where are we going, anyways?"

"Too our rooms, Prince Zuko." Iroh said, turning one last corner, "It's late and my joints ache, it's time for me to turn in."

"I meant the course, uncle." Zuko spit out, growing more irritated by the second.

"Ah! Well, for now, we're headed to the closest neutral port outside of Fire Nation waters. It should take a week or so to get there, we can stock supplies and spend a few days on land before setting off again." Iroh explained, stopping at a bleak metal door.

"Fine. I'll allow it." Zuko glared at the floor, "But any other course changes are to be run by me first."

"Of course, Prince Zuko." Iroh agreed, partially bowing to him.

The boy began stalking off, getting no more than ten feet away before stopping. Without turning around, he asked, "Where's my room?"

"It's to the right of mine, nephew." Iroh answered, a bemused look lightning up his face.

Zuko nodded tersely and began stomping back, hiding his face as he wrenched open the door and stepped inside. Slamming it shut, Iroh was left alone in the hallway.

"That boy," He softly chuckled, "has much to learn."

Notes:

So... originally Maemi was not gonna be that important but this just felt right to me? So I'll probably include her more. Also you can't tell me that no one looked at Zuko and was like 'wow this kid is TRAUMATIZED' or 'hmmm his scar that he got right before he was banished by his dad is in the shape of a hand I wonder why' which is the basis for this whole fic so whatever