Zuko's cabin was barely big enough for his anger, and he and Iroh had to somehow squeeze in too.
The little room rattled faintly with the constant thrum of the engines. Lantern-light wobbled with the ship's motion, casting his shadow back and forth across the bulkhead as he limped through yet another tight circuit from door to desk to bed and back again.
Bandages wrapped his ribs in white spirals, stained here and there with tincture and salve. More strips crossed one shoulder and trailed down an arm where that last epic blast had caught him. His hair was gone, shaved down to rough dark stubble after Raven's whip took his ponytail; what was growing back now bristled fresh and unevenly across his scalp like a field after fire.
Every step he took betrayed how much it hurt to move, but he kept doing it anyway, jaw set, boots thunking dully on the metal floor.
"Prince Zuko," Iroh said from the lone chair, hands folded over his own round belly. "If you keep pacing like that, you're going to make it worse."
"I'm thinking, not pacing," Zuko snapped, pacing. "I'm fine."
"Mm." Iroh tilted his head. "One usually uses their bed to rest injuries, not the floor."
Zuko spun on him. The motion tugged at the bruises under his ribs; the flinch ruined the effect. "I don't need to sit," he growled. "I said I'm fine."
He punctuated this by stamping his foot as if to prove it. Pain shot up his leg and through his side like someone had jammed a hot poker into his hip. His balance lurched. For a humiliating heartbeat he hopped on his good leg, clutching his hip, teeth bared. "Ah, ah!"
"Ergh—agh!" he groaned and grunted through it, then half-fell, half-sat onto the bed. "Okay, no more pacing, are you happy?"
Iroh's eyes crinkled with a sympathy that didn't quite hide the amusement. "You look," he said thoughtfully, "like you have been chewed by a badger-mole, spat out, then used as kindling. Must have been some battle with the Avatar!"
"That wasn't the Avatar," Zuko said harshly, then groaned, "that was Raven."
He flopped back, then regretted it immediately and jerked upright again with a strangled noise, trying to find some position that didn't press directly on a sharply throbbing patch of purple skin. He ended up half-reclined, braced on his elbows, like he was about to spring up again any second, and any further movement just made it hurt more, so he stayed there drenched in the indignity of it all but far too pissed off to give a damn.
"I didn't even reach the Avatar before he was gone," Zuko went on. "Because Raven had to get in my way again. And half my men got taken apart by a bunch of girls in face paint and some little waterbender girl who has no business even being there! My useless soldiers can't even take over one stupid fishing village on their own."
"Mm," Iroh said.
It was not the sympathetic sound Zuko wanted. It was the sound that meant: you are saying something very stupid and I am deciding how kind to be about it.
"What?" Zuko demanded.
"You are their commander," Iroh said. "They rely on you."
"I know that," Zuko snapped. "I'm the only one on this ship who seems to remember it."
Iroh's gaze softened, though his tone did not. "If one soldier performs poorly, my nephew," he said, "perhaps that soldier is not suited for war. Or needs more training." He lifted a finger. "But if all your soldiers are performing poorly… perhaps they need better leadership."
Zuko stared at him. Heat rose in his face, different from the heat of bending. "Are you saying this is my fault?" he demanded. "That I'm a bad leader?"
"I am saying you have not learned to be a leader yet," Iroh replied calmly. "Not in truth. You give orders. You shout. You rush ahead. But you do not talk to them. You do not listen. You do not know their names." He gestured with a small wave. "To them, you are a scar and a shouting voice who only notices them when you want them to risk their lives, or when you are angry. They will never give you their best performance in such conidtions."
"That's not—" Zuko stopped. Thought about it. Didn't like what he found. "They're soldiers," he muttered instead. "It's their job. What do they want, tea parties?"
"Sometimes tea," Iroh said mildly. "Sometimes someone who asks if their wounds hurt. Sometimes a commander who shares the burden instead of just the frustration, or who fills them with inspiration." He spread his hands. "I commanded whole armies in the Earth Kingdom. Believe me when I say, yelling louder might make them behave and follow orders... but only while they know you're watching."
Zuko scowled at the floor. The ship's vibration echoed faintly up through the metal into his feet. His anger at his men wilted under the weight of Iroh's words, trying to grow back in a different direction and not quite managing it.
"I don't want to talk about my soldiers anymore," he sighed. "I can't do anything about yelling right now," he grumbled as he stared off into space.
"Of course," Iroh said, and let it go. He did not look convinced, but he let it go.
For a few heartbeats there was only the hum of the engines and Zuko's uneven breathing.
"I am surprised Raven managed to get ahead of you twice," Iroh said eventually, as if mentioning the weather. "Perhaps she knows something about tracking the Avatar you don't?" like he was hoping that might make Zuko want to play nice with her.
Zuko's fingers tightened on the edge of the thin mattress, Iroh didn't understand at all, he had no control over how crazy Raven was being. "She's probably working with the Avatar," he said darkly. "Nothing else makes sense. Maybe just to rebel and piss off her dad, but—heh!" and he sounded just a tiny bit gleeful. "That would make her an enemy of the whole Fire Nation."
"I know many very nice people who are enemies of the Fire Nation, Prince Zuko, but it is quite the ordeal to spend quality time with them," Iroh said pleasantly but with a wistful tinge. "It is one of the unfortunate side effects of a lifetime of war."
Zuko glared at him. "Do you hear yourself? That is bordering on being a traitor to our own people, Uncle." His tone like he was scolding a younger brother who ought to know better.
"I love our people," Iroh corrected gently. "I do not love watching them marched off to die or cause suffering in our family's name." He patted his knee. "There is a difference."
Zuko made a frustrated, wordless noise. "You are impossible," he muttered. "And she is worse. She's the most frustrating girl in the world."
Iroh's brows rose slightly. "Because she is opposing you?" he asked. "Or because once upon a time she did not?"
Zuko looked away, squeezing his eyes and he felt his chest ache. It was all the wounds, surely. His breath shuddered as he finally let it out, slowly opening his eyes again and hoping Iroh would notice him rubbing his only very, very slightly moist eyes dry on the pillow as he turned back to face him. The lantern light picked out the weary slant of his shoulders, the purpled edge of a bruise crawling up his side to grimly complement his scar.
"It's not just that she's against me," he said at last. "That's… I could deal with that. A lot of people are against me, that's... it's whatever."
He broke off, searching for words, hands knotting in the thin blanket. Iroh stayed perfectly silent in the meantime.
"First she was such a crybaby," he said, exasperation surfacing through something else. "She cried about everything. Her shoes, her parents, her sister, Azula—but that one's fair—the weather, the food, her hair. She could cry for what felt like hours." His mouth twisted. "I was really patient with her. I didn't make fun of her at all... well, maybe a little before we were betrothed. I just waited for her. Waited for her to be ready to try again. I didn't tell her to shut up. I just… waited. Tried to make her feel better." He took a deep breath that made it clear he was on the verge of tears, there wasn't anything he could do about it.
Iroh smiled faintly. "I remember," he said. "You were very cute. You used to bring her three different gifts in case she'd decided she hated one or two since the last visit. That was very strategic for your age, Zuko," he couldn't help but laugh.
"I am not cute." Zuko scowled, but it was half-hearted. But all the joy drained from him from a single thought. "Then her mother died in the war," he uttered like saying it too loud might cause Raven to ambush him again out of thin air, but the words still came out wicked sharp, like he was angry at them for even existing. "She went berserk practically overnight. She stopped crying and started kicking and shouting instead. Her dad, me, guards, walls. She got aggressive and violent with everybody, all the time. She wouldn't listen to anyone. Not me, not Lord Arza, not tutors. Nobody."
Iroh's eyes grew more serious. "Such a tragedy," he said softly, clearly deeply emotional for a moment.
"I didn't kill her mother, but she sure acted like I did..." he said, deflating enough to come down from his elbows. He winced again and propped himself back up, not allowed to relax even when he really, really needed to.
He dragged a hand over his shaved scalp, wincing when his fingers brushed a tender patch. "And I was patient again," he went on, a little quieter. "Even when she was hitting me and yelling at me and saying awful things, I tried. You have no idea how mean she was, Uncle. But I kept trying. For months. She just kept hurting me and I kept thinking, 'it's just because of her mother, it's not her fault—I can... deal with it.'"
The confession surprised even him. He stared at his knuckles as if they belonged to someone else. He'd never realized until right then that's what he'd been doing. He was only twelve-years-old at the time, so he just hadn't had the self-awareness to really step back and think about it.
"And then…" He let out a breath. "We finally started getting along again. She calmed down. She wasn't crying all the time, she was still picking fights but not with me. I could talk to her without having to be ready to bend her fire away." His mouth tugged, not quite into a smile. "We had a good few months. Really, really good. I thought… I thought maybe the betrothal wasn't the worst thing. I didn't mind it. I thought I was actually in love with her. I think maybe I—"
He couldn't say it.
Iroh did not tease. His face was open, kind, listening. He almost looked ready to cry with his downright exaggerated pout, but Zuko wasn't looking at him, he was staring off into memories that hurt not because they were bad, but because they were perfect... then shattered.
"And then I got banished," Zuko said flatly. "And now she's angrier at me than she's ever been. And I wasn't even there. I didn't do anything. I haven't been to Arza lands in years! I don't—" and he let out a gruff growl that sent just a bit of smoke between his teeth.
"Have you tried—" Iroh started, and it got Zuko to finally glare up at him again.
"She's not gonna listen to me, Uncle! Not when she's like this." His hands curled into fists on the bed, making him shift again to avoid the worst of the throbbing pain. "I'm sure it's something stupid that isn't my fault and doesn't make any sense. It always is..." he trailed off exhausted enough to almost risk actually laying down flat again, but he sat back up quickly.
"Her mother's death was not something stupid," Iroh said gently.
Zuko rolled his eyes so hard his whole head went on a quick loop. "Stupid to treat me like I did it though, right?"
"And that was years ago, she had calmed down," Zuko tried to snap, but just sagged a little as his throat tightened. "And it's not like her dad died. We just saw him, and he's off being weird about the spear again." He let out a forceful sigh. "He's like a cult of one guy. Ugh, or really that whole family is weird fanatics, except Raven... and Asha, I guess, I don't know what they fed her, she's nothing like the rest of them. She's just actually a nice kid." He almost started to chuckle like he recalled a happy memory. But then it set in again he couldn't even go visit her or anyone else anymore. "But I'm sure by now even she hates me too. Everybody just line up and take your shot." He moved to throw up his hands and disgust, nearly died of pain, and cringed as he returned to the only position that didn't feel like a stabbing in progress.
Iroh was quiet for a moment, tapping his chin and even going so far as to stroke his beard. "When Raven was so angry, before," he cautiously started, catching Zuko's gaze. "When she turned that anger on you and everyone else… did she calm down on her own? Or did something change?"
Zuko frowned. "What do you mean?"
"You said you were patient," Iroh said. "You kept trying. Did she simply wake up one day and stop, or did something happen between you?"
Zuko opened his mouth to say he didn't know, then stopped.
His brow furrowed. Some half-buried sequence of memories shifted, aligning in a way it hadn't before. He had a pretty good idea, but he really, really didn't want to talk about it.
"I…" He stared at the wall, suddenly very still. "Maybe." His eyes darted suspiciously away and back. "I have to... think about it."
Iroh watched his nephew's face shift, the anger folding in on itself, turning inward. That was a rare enough sight that he took it as a good sign.
"Well," he said, patting his knees and pushing himself up with a small grunt. "I will go and see about some tea. All this girl problem talk is thirsty work."
Zuko did not rise to the bait. He barely seemed to hear it.
Iroh paused at the door, looking back. For once, Zuko didn't look like he was brooding. He was still there awkwardly propped up and staring up at the ceiling, brows drawn, but the lines of pain around his mouth softened into something more uncertain. Whatever it was, it wasn't anger, and it'd have to do to leave him with it.
"I will handle things with the crew," Iroh said lightly. "I hope I've at least convinced you to stay in bed for a while."
"Uncle," Zuko muttered in automatic protest, but there was no force in it.
Iroh slid the door open and stepped out into the dim corridor, letting it close behind him with a quiet clank.
In the muffled lantern-light of the cabin, with only the ship's steady heartbeat for company, Zuko kept staring at the ceiling. His mind was not on the Avatar now, or the ocean ahead, or even the angry red ache of his ribs. It was two years ago and a world away, back in the palace corridors, standing in front of a girl who just kept sticking pins and needles in his heart no matter how hard he tried to get along with her, until...