wildfires and weeds

by dont_leaf_me_alone

Summary:

A month after Ozai's trial and imprisonment, Iroh takes a cross-country trip after receiving news of Azula's impending release from a psychiatric ward.
Azula isn't sure living with her stuffy uncle and failure of a brother is an improvement from hospitalization, but there's really no other option, is there?
Zuko is fine. Really.

Notes:

takes place roughly a month after run away with me / anytime you want earlier in the series; this should still function as a standalone, but any missing context can be found in that fic.

Chapter 1: like some awful damn disease

Zuko was quiet today. Quieter than usual, and while normally that might be fine, Jet had a feeling, based on the way Zuko kept checking his phone and staring off at nothing, that this case was different — and probably had something to do with the fact that Iroh was mysteriously unavailable to drive Zuko to work today, hence the carpool situation currently in progress.

"You doing okay?" Jet asked, looking toward the passenger's seat.

"I'm fine," Zuko said, in a very heavy tone.

"You sure? I know your uncle usually takes you to work. Is something going on? You in a fight or something?"

Zuko shook his head. "Uncle got a phone call yesterday. He had a flight to Washington state this morning."

"Oh." Jet ran through a quick list of possibilities in his head — Washington was, after all, where the rest of Zuko's family lived, but he couldn't think of any reason for Iroh to be there. "Why? What happened?"

Zuko glanced over, taking a breath. "My sister's been in the hospital. She gets out today."

"The hospital?" Jet's grip on the wheel tightened. "What — Do you know what happened?"

"Uncle said she had a psychotic episode about a month ago, not long after Dad's arrest. He doesn't know all the details." He sighed. "My aunts had custody of her up until then, but they thought Uncle would be better at handling...this. Considering he's already done it before."

It took a second for Zuko's meaning to sink in. "Wait, he's bringing her back here?" Jet asked. Zuko gave a tight nod of his head. "Jesus, Zuko, no wonder you're tense."

"I'm fine," Zuko repeated stubbornly. "It's not like Uncle could just let her stay there, anyways. Where would she go?"

Jet saw his point, and had to give him credit for it, because it was more compassion than Jet could muster at the moment. "Doesn't mean you can't be upset about it. I think it'd make anyone anxious."

"There's no point in worrying about it," Zuko sighed. "It's happening. Besides, what's the worst she can do? It's not like she can tell Dad on me anymore."

That was also true. Jet sighed. "Alright, if you say so."

He pulled into the parking lot of the Jasmine Dragon, pulling Zuko in for a kiss before he got out. "See you after work."

"See you," Zuko said, grabbing his apron and his phone and climbing out of the truck. 

Jet watched him go, and tried not to worry.

 

There were many words that described Azula. Pragmatic, efficient, intelligent. There wasn't much that she lacked — a soul did not count, no matter how many times Zuko said it, and who cared about his opinion, anyway? After the stove-top incident, he'd fallen in with Uncle — and clearly come back the worse for it.

Sure, the couple of weeks last summer when he came home were nice — tense, but nice — but had come to a swift end when Zuko's self-righteous ideas got the better of him, and he'd snuck out — apparently hitching a ride with the first scruffy hillbilly who drove by. 

Azula had thought she was doing pretty well, in comparison, which made this whole fiasco rather embarrassing.

"Remember to avoid anything too stressful or strenuous," the nurse reminded her, as if cross-country travel, in the company of Uncle Iroh, no less, was anything but. 

"I'll keep that in mind," Azula said, her tired state lending the statement less bite than usual. She adjusted her position in the hard, uncomfortable plastic chair, and faced the doors of the waiting room. Uncle would be here any moment, after all. 

Why he was the one coming to get her was the multi-billion-dollar question. She remembered the last time she'd seen him, when she'd arrived to take Zuko home. The cold attitude he had regarded her with the entire time, as if she were forcing Zuko to leave, like she wasn't giving him the best thing he could wish for. Never mind that Zuzu had spat it back in her face a short while later. 

Azula sighed, watching the clock above the door. The old man had better not be late, she thought. The idea of sitting here for any longer was less appealing than walking on broken glass (something she knew a thing or two about. She could walk now, at least. The bandages had come off already, and they had stopped applying antibiotics, the danger of infection past. All she could think was that at least the scars wouldn't be visible). 

No less than three minutes later, the glass door swung open, and Uncle Iroh entered the building. Azula straightened her posture, keeping her eyes on the clock until Iroh was too close to avoid eye contact any longer. 

"Azula," he said, his voice...warmer than usual, but wavering with unsureness. He didn't know what to expect. She wasn't going to give him any hints.

"Uncle," she said, keeping her voice measured. 

"It's good to see you, though I wish it were under better circumstances," Uncle said, still carefully treading the line between familiar and formal.

"I believe you have paperwork to fill out," Azula said by way of dismissing him. "Lo and Li have my things ready at the house."

She tried not to be hurt by that, and was very nearly successful; she had said some harsh things to her aunts, after all, and it was reasonable that they would want to wash their hands of her. People did that a lot. She should be used to it by now.

While Uncle filled out the necessary paperwork, got her prescription information, and made small talk with the nurse, Azula tried to focus on the positives. Better food than what they had here — not that the hospital food was completely disgusting, but the simple fact was that, in spite of his flaws, Uncle could cook as well as any chef — and a real bed. The positives really ended there. 

Still. Anything was better than being stuck in here. 

She tuned out the nurse's parting words, and stood when Uncle announced it was time to go. They walked together to the car — a cheap rental, by the looks of it — in silence. Azula sat in the front seat only because the back looked tiny, cramped and uncomfortable. 

Before turning the ignition, Uncle took a deep breath. "If you would like to talk —"

"Just drive," she snapped, leaning against the door. "Don't make this more torturous than it has to be."

"Very well. I will let you pick the radio station, if you wish," he offered. 

Azula rolled her eyes, turning the volume knob down to zero. After Uncle started the car, the only sound was the rumbling of the engine.

 

"Would you like to come inside and say goodbye to your aunts?" Iroh asked. Azula fixed her eyes on the lilac at the end of Lo and Li's driveway, hardly having to fake a bored affect.

"I already told them on the phone," she lied. 

"Do you want to make sure I get all your things?" he persisted, in that same placid tone.

"It's all still packed. Everything else is in my purse." It hadn't felt worth the effort to unpack, not when she was certain Father would be acquitted, that she'd be going home anyway. Wrong, just like everything else.

"You can get out and stretch your legs, if you wish."

"There's nothing I want less."

"I'll be back in ten minutes." 

The door shut. Azula sighed, digging her cell phone out of her purse. Her face reflected back on the black screen (webbed with cracks from being thrown at the mirror — better off than Mai's that had been chucked into traffic last summer, though). She looked awful, with dark circles that could have been from lack of sleep, smeared makeup or both. And her jagged bangs — the straw that had broken the last of her resolve to keep it together — hung limply in her eyes. The hair products they had in the hospital were abysmal. 

She put the phone away; who would she call, anyway? Mai and Ty Lee hadn't spoken to her in eons, and it wasn't as if she could call Father. If rumors were true, he'd used his phone call on that hapless guard dog of his, Zhao. 

Azula looked out the window, down the sunny, tree-lined street. It would be so easy to get out of the car and run — not have to go with Uncle, or Lo and Li. Where to run to, of course, was another problem. And her feet were sore enough to deter her from the idea, for now.

 

"Jeez," Jin said, sliding into the booth as she and Zuko arrived and passing him his milkshake. "So she's just — coming to live with you?"

"Yeah," Zuko sighed, taking his seat on the other side of the table. "Uncle got two tickets for the return trip tomorrow. She's staying in the spare room."

"Like, staying staying?"

"I guess? There's nowhere else she could go." Zuko slid Jin's plate of fried fish over to her. 

"And you're okay with that?" Jin asked. She hadn't met Zuko's sister, but from what she heard, Azula wasn't the easiest to get along with. From Zuko's expression, what she had heard was accurate.

"I'll have to deal with it, won't I?" he said, picking at his own fish. 

"You're still allowed to be upset," she pointed out. 

"Would everyone stop telling me that?" Zuko said frustratedly. "I know already. And I know you're just saying it because you're secretly hoping I'll just take your sympathy and shut up about the whole thing. That's all it ever means."

"No, it's not." Jin frowned. "I mean it, you don't have to be okay with any of this."

"I kind of do, don't I? She's my sister. I'm supposed to want her to be healthy and safe." 

"You're supposed to want that for yourself, too." Zuko rolled his eyes in response, and Jin reached over to grab his hand. "Really, Zuko. And you can know something is the right thing without being happy about it."

He bit his lip. "That's selfish."

"People are selfish." Jin shrugged. "What can you do?"

Zuko's phone buzzed, receiving a text. He glanced down, checking it. "It's from Uncle. They're on the way to the motel."

Jin squeezed his hand before pulling back. "I'm sure this is gonna be hard on all of you."

Zuko huffed, taking a drink of his shake. "Nothing's hard for Azula."

Jin doubted that very much. She didn't say anything; it seemed like Zuko wanted to drop the subject. She focused on her lunch and tried not to worry. 

Chapter 2: you caught me in a moment weak

Notes:

content warnings: Azula has a pretty crass attitude about her and others' mental health at some points.

Azula stood in the doorway of the motel room, looking around the tiny space. The carpet was a delightful pukey grey, and the wallpaper was an ugly yellow that called last year's English reading list to mind. 

Couldn't have splurged on a three-star location, at least? she thought, dropping her purse on the bed nearest the door and furthest from the bathroom, which looked similarly dismal. 

Uncle, performing his own inspection of the room, sighed. "I suppose it was too much to expect any counter space. My kettle won't fit here, otherwise I would offer a cup of tea."

"There's a coffee maker right there," Azula said, pointing out the rather large and obvious appliance. And this man is allowed to drive? she wondered. "And k-cups," she added, gesturing to the rack. 

God, I would kill for an espresso. The coffee on the rack was cheap, no brand she recognized, and would probably taste like dirt. She doubted the tea would be any better.

Iroh shook his head, looking as if she had suggested vandalism or piracy, or some equally loathsome crime. "Tea deserves the proper care put into its brewing, Azula."

She didn't care enough to argue, dropping onto the bed and picking up her shattered phone. Lo and Li, for God knew what reason, didn't have Wi-Fi at the house, and father's influence hadn't been enough to get her phone privileges in the hospital. It had been weeks since she'd last listened to a full podcast episode or checked her social media properly.

She dug her AirPods out of the depths of her bag, bit back a swear when she checked their battery, and got out the charger as well. 

"Would you like to watch something on the TV?" Iroh asked, picking up the remote from the bedside table. Azula grunted noncommittally, fighting to fit the charger into the jack. It was harder to keep her hands steady as of late, something she attributed to the near-total lack of rest, and the — anxiety still felt like a bad word, even in her head — the anticipation of finally being able to leave. Two weeks in that place felt overkill; hardly more tolerable were the weeks in therapy before they had hospitalized her. There were more outpatient sessions in her future. What a joy.

It could be worse, she had continually reminded herself. At least her separation from Dad hadn't ended in a burn unit. 

She climbed back onto the bed — and there was something very sad about the fact that the sheets felt worse than the ones in the hospital — and, in favor of the dreary antiquing show Uncle had chosen to watch, stared up at the water damaged and smoke-stained plaster of the ugly popcorn ceiling. From how old this place looked, she would wager there was probably asbestos in it. 

As she laid there, the exhaustion that had accumulated over the course of the day seemed to bleed into her limbs. She was tempted to let it wash over her, but had to remember that it was barely afternoon, and forced her eyes open again. 

After what felt like hours, Uncle Iroh stood up from his bed with a squeak of the springs. "There's a very nice little restaurant down the road," he said. "I was thinking we could go there for lunch."

Azula was going to reject the offer, but her growling stomach betrayed her. She sighed. 

"Let me fix my hair first," she said, getting out of bed. She grabbed her suitcase and went into the bathroom, shutting the door firmly. Maybe with a little effort she could salvage something of her appearance.

 

Azula had said nothing since choosing an item off the menu, which she was still flipping through even after ordering. Her eyes were fixed on the table instead of the pages. Her shoulders tensed as, at an adjoining table, a couple argued over their untouched meals.

Iroh cleared his throat, and Azula's eyes snapped up to him, her grip on the edge of the menu tightening enough to crease the cardboard.

"What?" she asked sharply. Her tone could have been taken as rude, but Iroh had grown accustomed to sharpness from Zuko over the years. More often than not, a brash attitude turned out to be armor for feeling insecure or unsafe, and Iroh couldn't imagine Azula felt otherwise at the moment. 

"If you would like, we could go back to the motel once we receive our order," he said. "If you would prefer to take lunch somewhere quieter."

"It's fine," she said in a clipped tone, eyes shifting back to the table. 

"I want you to feel comfortable, Azula. You've been through a rough time recently. It's okay to need breathing room."

"I said it's fine, Uncle. You don't have to pretend to be concerned."

Azula brushed her hair out of her face — it had been cut into a rather uneven fringe in front, which had escaped the pins she had used to keep them back. The bangs in combination with the lack of her customary makeup made her look younger than when he had last seen her, except for the weariness that Iroh had seen numerous times in his nephew's eyes, and in his own. This family is not kind to its children, he thought with a sigh. 

"I do not pretend anything," he said. "I am only trying to make this adjustment easier for you."

She frowned, her lips pursed. "Why?"

There were a million answers Iroh could have given. He settled on the one that would be easiest received. "I have no reason not to."

Azula scoffed, but did not press the matter. 

The waitress brought their food, and Azula at last put down the cardboard menu to accept the small platter. The waitress gave a smile that Azula did not return, so Iroh did in her stead. 

"Thank you," he said, accepting his own plate. "We appreciate the quick service."

"Of course. Anything else I can get you?"

"Not for now, thank you," he said. She nodded, going back behind the counter. Their meal progressed in silence.

"Are we done here?" Azula asked as she pushed her empty plate aside. 

"You may go out to the car if you want," Iroh offered. "I will get us some drinks to go."

Azula stood, leaving the restaurant swiftly and without ceremony. Iroh stacked their dishes and went up to the counter to pay. 

 

Azula watched Uncle Iroh chat while he paid for their food, and considered again whether she had time to run. Uncle had left his keys in the car, and although Azula wasn't licensed, Father had allowed her to drive some of his less expensive cars on their private property. The problem remained that she had nowhere to go — back home wasn't an option, for a number of reasons. 

And then Uncle came out of the restaurant, making her decision for her. He climbed in, setting their drinks in the cup holders, and passed a box over to her.

"What is this?" she asked. 

"I thought you might appreciate something sweet. I remember you liked it when Lu Ten brought things from that little bakery near home."

Azula bit her lip, gripping the box tightly. The mention of her cousin was, as always, unpleasant and unnecessary. "I'm not four years old," she said.

She didn't let go of the box anyway, her thumb tracing the strawberry design on the packaging. She probably should have been touched that Uncle Iroh remembered, for once, something that she actually liked. Instead she felt uncomfortable, too vulnerable. It wasn't a life-ruining secret, but it hit her in the same way. If good things could be given, they could be taken just as easily. Don't trust this. 

Uncle Iroh drove back toward the motel. As they entered, Azula made a beeline for the bathroom, bringing her bag. "I'm taking a shower," she announced as she shut the door, locking it behind her.

The bathroom was cramped, a small counter with a sink on one side and the shower on the other, with the toilet on the back wall. There was a small window above the toilet, with a view out to the road and the line of bars and dingy restaurants across the street. 

Azula checked whether the window opened. Predictably, it was built as a nearly solid pane without hinges or a latch, or any other way of opening it. There was a small panel the width of her hand that folded out at the bottom, probably in case anyone wanted to ruin their lungs with nicotine during their stay. 

Damn it. She sighed, slamming the panel shut. May as well take an actual shower while she was in here. After examining the shower stall floor, she dug a pair of sandals out of her bag. They would be fine in the water. Hopefully. 

Chapter 3: sometimes i can't help myself at all

Notes:

warnings: insensitivity regarding mental and psychological health, and a brief mention of a character experiencing sexual harassment in the past

Azula dragged her comb through her damp hair, avoiding her reflection in the water-spotted mirror. While her psychiatrist had assured her that the hallucinations were unlikely to return, especially in the intensity they had been before her aunts had her hospitalized, she wasn't willing to test the theory.

She kept her eyes on the moldering, cracked linoleum floor, and focused on parting her hair just right without looking. At home, salon technicians handled the majority of her routine (it would be improper for her to go out with even a hair out of place), but she had retained a basic set of skills. Her bangs still looked dreadful even after a proper wash.

The rest of her hair hung down her back, feeling too heavy, itchy. She wondered if her nail scissors were still in her bag, then dismissed the thought. Impulsive haircuts were the kind of thing people did when they were losing it, and Azula was decidedly not. She was getting better. She had clawed her way out of self-imposed exile, and she would not put herself back in that hole. 

(Wasn't she anyway, though? Wasn't she going with Iroh, just like Zuko had? Wasn't her future irreparably ruined, hadn't even her aunts discarded her?)

She dressed quickly, the chilly air raising goosebumps on her arms where drops of cold water lingered. Whoever was in charge of the air conditioning didn't know the meaning of subtlety. 

Wrapping a blazer around her shoulders, she picked up her bag and unlocked the door. Outside, Iroh sat on his bed, reading glasses perched on the end of his nose and immersed in a crossword or sudoku puzzle. She didn't care which. She dropped onto her bed and dug a book out of her bag — one of several she had started before being sent away, and not been permitted to bring into the hospital with her due to the disturbing subject matter. Now she was going to have to start the book all over just to remember what had happened.

Her eyes felt tired. She kept them open anyway, flipped back to the first page, and began reading.

 

Zuko's nerves were fried by the time his shift ended. He indulged in a little private scream session while he took out the trash and recycling, startling the alley raccoons at the back of the shop, before texting Jet that he needed to be picked up. Then he sat behind the counter, wondering how Uncle managed to keep it together every day. 

And, yeah, maybe just a little bit of his stress was induced by the knowledge that, in less than forty-eight hours, his sister, such a big part of the life he'd got in a vehicle with a total stranger to get away from, would be living in the same house as him. It didn't matter, he would get over it. It was fine. 

Still, he had long ago come to the conclusion that customer service jobs were the result of a pact with the forces of hell, and working a full shift without Uncle's assistance or Jin to help brew the tea only served to solidify that opinion. 

The familiar crunchy growl of the truck's engine rolled into the parking lot, and the bell over the door jingled cheerfully. Zuko got up, picking up his bag and shoving his apron inside. 

"Hey," Jet said, standing at the counter. Zuko leaned across, giving him a kiss, before he rounded the corner and slung his bag over his shoulder. "How's your day been?"

"Please don't ask," Zuko pleaded. "I need popcorn shrimp and a shower, in that order, and then I'm going to lie in bed and pretend I don't exist."

"Understood." Jet buried his nose in Zuko's hair by his ear, flaunting that extra inch of height he'd gained over the spring. "Let's get out of here, then. Time's a-wasting." 

Zuko slumped down in the front seat of the truck, sighing, and checked his phone for anything from Uncle; there was nothing since three-ish, when he had texted to let Zuko know he'd reached the motel with Azula. He hadn't expected more than that anyway. Uncle was possibly the most tech-illiterate and resistant person he had ever met. He was probably doing some sudoku puzzle or a crossword or something. He'd get a play-by-play of everything when Uncle got home tomorrow, whether he wanted it or not.

They pulled in at the house. Jet shut off the engine. "You want me to come in with you?" 

"You don't have to," Zuko said. 

"It's not about what I have to do," Jet said, lazily twirling Zuko's hair around his finger, deep brown eyes searching Zuko's face. Zuko sighed, an indescribable warmth growing in his chest. 

"Come on," he said, getting out of the truck.

 

Azula had set her book aside some time ago in favor of her cell phone, fully-charged AirPods in her ears to block out Uncle Iroh's snores. In her ears, the calm voice of a podcast host waxed poetic about naval strategy in historical warfare, taking pains to describe the precise advantages sailing maneuvers offered.

She scrolled through Instagram — her therapist had recommended deleting social media if she began feeling overwhelmed, but that sounded like a coward's solution — and rolled her eyes at the amount of speculation about her absence from her social media accounts. Her hospitalization was all over the news, as would be her release before long, but some people still insisted she had been bumped off in a desperate attempt to keep Ozai's money out of her hands, or something equally ridiculous. 

A text notification popped up on her screen, the contact name reading ZS(2)

- Heard they finally let you out. Congrats👏

Azula rolled her eyes. Zirin had been one of the few people in the hospital with whom she could carry on a conversation without wanting to gouge her eyes out from boredom, but had been released early after an evaluation deemed her fit to return to society. Privately (or as privately as had been possible), Zirin had confided that her parents wanted her out of the way after she had made a scene at a company event over one of her father's colleagues making repeated inappropriate remarks about her body, and had paid off a doctor to have her committed.

While Azula couldn't attest to the wisdom of Zirin's methods, she had seemed sane enough that it seemed like a likely story. It wasn't like Azula had anybody else to talk to. They had exchanged phone numbers before Zirin's left, though there hadn't been much point while Azula was still inside the place.

She typed out a reply to Zirin's text. 

Obviously.  My aunts passed responsibility to my uncle, and now I'm being dragged across the country to live in the backwater he's consigned himself and my brother to. -

- Alright, Wordgirl 🤓

Azula scoffed. Hypocrite. Zirin had just as extensive of a vocabulary; mostly populated with profanity. Before she could type a rebuttal, another text came in. 

- Same brother that ran off with the hillbilly?

The very same. - 

- Bastard

Unfortunately not. -

Dad had Mother get a paternity test. Twice. -

It was very upsetting. -

- I can never tell when you're joking lol

- gotta go, dinner. later ✌

Azula sighed. She turned her phone off, tucking it under her pillow and looking over at Uncle, still napping loudly on the other bed. 

She hadn't realized how lonely it would feel outside the hospital. At least there, there had been plenty of company, and enough routine to keep unpleasant thoughts at bay. Even with the hum of the air conditioning, the motel room was too quiet. 

She laid back on the scratchy sheets and tried to relax. Perhaps some sleep would help; it was a while until dinner time. 

She stared at the ceiling and breathed slowly, and despite her best efforts, didn't sleep. 

Chapter 4: this will be the death of me

Summary:

As Iroh's return and Azula's arrival approaches, Zuko agonizes. Meanwhile, Azula is introduced to fine midwestern cuisine.

Notes:

Warnings for this chapter include ableism (both internalized and in flippant remarks), minor suicidal ideation, and mentions of unhealthy eating habits reinforced by neglect and abuse.

Dinner was too quiet without Uncle. Sure, Jet had stayed, and Zuko appreciated his attempts to fill the silence and lighten the tension, but the facts were that they were eating microwaved leftovers instead of one of Uncle's homemade specialties, and there was an empty seat at the table. Zuko didn't know if he preferred that to knowing one of the seats would be Azula's by tomorrow. 

"Zuko." Jet's hand circled his wrist, squeezing gently, and startled him out of his thoughts. "You okay?" 

"Fine," Zuko replied automatically. "I just...I wish Uncle was here."

"My cooking that bad?" Jet cracked a smile, though his heart wasn't in the joke. Zuko scoffed and shook his head. 

"No. I wish all of this weren't happening," he said. "I wish..." He stopped himself. There wasn't anything he could say that wouldn't make him sound like a total jerk. "Does it make me a bad person to wish Azula had just stayed with Dad? She was fine there. I know he's a monster and deserves to be locked up where he can't hurt anybody."

"Generally, I don't think just thinking something can make you a bad person," Jet said, poking at a rubbery piece of beef that hadn't reheated all the way. Or maybe had been heated too much. "But I also think it's probably a good thing he's not raising a kid to be his perfect little stooge anymore."

Zuko groaned, laying his head in his hands. "What am I gonna do? I have no idea how to live with her again."

"Is she really that bad?" Jet asked with concern in his voice. "Your uncle wouldn't make you live with someone he thought would hurt you, would he?"

"No," Zuko answered, frustration mounting. Jet didn't get it; probably nobody in the world would. "It's — I'm not afraid of her. She's just...impossible. One minute she seems fine, then..." He sighed. "She's manipulative, and she knows exactly what buttons to push to get her way."

"That sounds familiar," Jet muttered, and Zuko scoffed, because whatever Jet might have done in the past, he still didn't get it. "So what buttons? Like you said, she can't use your Dad for leverage anymore. Your uncle's never gonna pick anyone over you." 

That...was true. For the first time ever, Zuko had the upper hand — and it made him feel disgusting to think about it that way. Like they were still playing Dad's game. But Jet was right. 

"I don't know," he admitted. "But she isn't going to make it easy, and I...I don't know if it's the best thing for either of us."

"Sometimes the best thing isn't an option," Jet said. He squeezed Zuko's arm again. "Whatever happens, I've got you. We'll figure it out."

Zuko sighed. "I just hope this isn't a disaster."

Jet smiled a little. "At the end of the day, it's just your bratty little sister. How bad can it be?"

 

The airport was an agonizing hour-long drive from the motel, which Azula spent most of on the phone with technical support in an attempt to get her phone plan restored, since apparently frozen accounts could not make payments, and no amount of telling the miserable techie on the other end who she was even made a dent. Frustrated, she hung up and shoved her phone deep in her bag as they pulled into the rental dealership across from the airport. 

"Our flight leaves in two hours," Uncle Iroh said. "I will return the car, then we can go to the airport."

Azula didn't dignify the obvious statement with a response. She wouldn't be surprised if Iroh wasn't stating it so he, in his senile state, would not forget.

She got out of the car, hanging her purse over her shoulder. Iroh spent a lot more time getting their bags out of the hatchback, checking the car over in case he'd dropped one of his goofy tea-related knickknacks or, God forbid, a board game piece, before meandering into the office.

Azula leaned against the side of the car, waiting, and pondered her fate; in just a few hours, she would arrive at her new dwelling. Not a home; that it would never be. She would be face to face with her brother again. A new town; unless something changed drastically before the end of summer, a new school, and Azula wasn't fool enough to believe they would release her father before then. Uncle had better have the sense not to send her to a public school.

The old man came out of the office and picked up his suitcase. "Come on. We should try to get there before it gets crowded."

Because there's sooo much traffic headed to Hickville these days. When it became apparent Iroh wasn't going to get her bag for her, she frowned, picking it up herself. Probably better anyway; she didn't trust him not to break anything.

I've got enough broken things already.

 

Zuko cursed out loud, dropping his phone back on the bed. The missed call alert glared up at him, along with the time: almost noon already, which meant Uncle's flight took off half an hour ago, which meant only a handful of hours until his life turned upside down. He sighed and dropped back onto his pillow, reaching across the bed.

"Wake up," he said, shaking Jet's shoulder. Jet flinched, pulling his head from beneath the pillow.

"Shit. Did I oversleep?"

"It's noon," he answered. Jet sighed and dropped back down. "Uncle's flight left half an hour ago. I'm supposed to get the spare room set up before he gets back."

"Before they get back, you mean."

"Sorry for wrong-pronouns-ing my uncle," Zuko grumbled.

"Pretending your sister isn't also coming will not change the fact that she is coming. Sooner you get over that, the better." 

"Do you want me to kick you out?"

Jet rolled his eyes and pushed the covers off. "You're welcome to try."

Zuko rolled his eyes and threw a shirt at Jet, because he'd slept in his cutoff shorts like the maniac he was. Jet didn't even bother to duck when it hit him, flipping him off as he pulled the shirt on.

 

The next hour was spent in an attempt to make box pancakes; the half hour after that was spent scraping the burnt remnants of the attempt out of Uncle's good frying pan, and eating dry cereal on the couch because Zuko forgot to buy milk after work.

"I need to get the air mattress out of the basement," Zuko said, moving his empty bowl out of Druk's reach and scratching the cat behind the ears. "Then there's vacuuming, dusting, getting sheets on the bed, clearing the closet. What time do you have to work?"

"Not until 3:00." Jet checked the clock on the wall; it was only 12:30-ish. "I've got time to help out. When's your uncle supposed to get here?"

"The flight already took off, which means they'll land in about four hours without any layovers. Then it's almost a two hour drive from Cincinnati to here. That's not counting unboarding, baggage claim, and getting to the car. Plus they might stop for food."

"Six hours and change, then. You gonna be able to get everything done?"

Zuko sighed, looking like the weight of the world was on his shoulders. "I'll do my best."

Jet flicked a piece of cereal at him. "You'll be fine. Come on, better get started."

 

Azula's Spotify Premium subscription was connected to Dad's credit card, same as her phone. This meant she was unable to download her podcast, and could not access it without paying an extra eight dollars for Wi-Fi on the plane, with money she didn't have and would not borrow from her uncle. Her book was still in her bag, stowed in the overhead compartment that was currently blocked from reach by her uncle, and even if she could reach it the chances of being able to concentrate were nil. Her entertainment options were thus:

A: Join in conversation with her uncle and the overly-chatty old woman in the aisle seat on Azula's other side.
B: Watch one of the abysmal films that were available for in-flight entertainment, or
C: Detail her plans for the gruesome murder of whoever invented coach class in her notes app as, somewhere on the plane, a pair of children shrieked loudly over custody of an iPad.

She chose option C. Her therapist was right; journaling could be miraculously soothing.

"Are you sure you don't want the window seat, Azula? It isn't too late to switch," Uncle said. Azula was tempted to agree in the interest of not being talked over, but he sounded overly eager, and she had caught the woman giving her uncle rather suggestive looks.

She declined his offer and maintained her status as the only barrier against in-flight old-person hanky-panky, in the interest of preserving whatever shred of sanity she had left.

 

Uncle Iroh fell asleep after two hours of nonstop chatting with the woman in the aisle seat, after which Azula had narrowly avoided being stuck in conversation with the woman herself by feigning a lack of English vocabulary. Calling the woman a loudmouthed idiot in Mandarin had been less satisfying than it would have been if the woman could understand her, but it at least achieved the desired result, and Azula was able to get just over an hour of uninterrupted, albeit cramped sleep before the plane hit turbulence and she was rudely jolted awake again. Shortly thereafter, the seatbelt sign flashed, and the pilot announced over the intercom that they would be landing shortly.

Azula sighed and nudged Uncle awake, pointing out the sign to him as she fastened her own belt.

The plane landed without any catastrophe, for which Azula wasn't sure whether to be grateful or disappointed. If it had nosedived onto the runway, at least she wouldn't have to worry about her miserable future. That seemed like the kind of thought mentally stable people didn't have, though, so she pushed it to the back of her mind as she followed her uncle to baggage claim.

"There's a lovely restaurant between here and home. I was thinking we could stop there, since it's likely Zuko will have dinner before we arrive home," Uncle said. Azula ignored him, having no interest in whatever fast-food hole in the wall he had planned for them to dine in, and watched for her bag on the conveyor. The reality of her actually moving in with her uncle and brother was starting to sink in, and dwelling on it made her want to throw up.

"Where am I sleeping?" she asked, keeping her eyes on the baggage carousel; she fought the urge to cross her arms and instead dug her nails into her palm, refusing to betray her discomfort. "I'm not staying on the couch. I would sooner walk back to Washington."

"Zuko is clearing out the spare room on the first floor. You'll be on an air mattress for the next few nights, but we'll get you a proper bed soon," Uncle said. Azula despised the way he spoke to her; like she was a child who needed to be reassured.

"I suppose that's marginally better than the couch," she conceded, stepping forward when she saw her pink luggage tag on one of the bags. Once Uncle picked up his own luggage, they were off to find the car in the parking garage.

 

Azula was sound asleep in the passenger's seat by the time they reached the Interstate, and Iroh reconsidered whether they should stop for dinner. Her system was doubtless overtaxed, and needed the rest. Perhaps it would be better to let her sleep, and get something from a drive-thru when she woke up.

It was remarkable, he thought, how alike she and Zuko looked. Both of them so much like their father. Iroh held much anger for his brother, and at this stage in their lives there was little love lost between them, but without Ozai, there would be no Zuko and no Azula. He had to give credit where it was due.

He hoped he was doing what was right by both of them. He had been dismissive of Azula in the past, something he was ashamed of now, knowing it had done more harm than good. Perhaps if he had noticed sooner that Ozai's influence was just as detrimental to her as to Zuko, he could have helped sooner. Perhaps if he had stood up for his brother more in their youth, he wouldn't have to help so much. But there was no changing the past; only planning for the future, whatever it might bring.

He kept driving, and let Azula sleep.

 

The spare room was nearly cleared out by the time Jet had to leave for work. Zuko dragged the air mattress in, pumped it up, and patched the leaks before he put the sheets on, and dug out the spare pillows from the hall closet. His task was almost done, and there were still hours before Uncle and Azula would arrive. Dread was starting to rear its head again, and he was running out of ways to avoid it.

He sat on the edge of the bed, looking around. The room was totally bare — it had only ever been used for storage since Uncle moved into the house. Azula would probably leave it that way for the most part. Her room at home hadn't been especially decorated aside from her debate team and martial arts awards.

Maybe it would be different this time. Maybe he was different enough that he could deal with her presence without snapping. Maybe she was different enough she wouldn't be trying to push every button she could.  Maybe it wouldn't be different at all and they'd end up killing each other. And wouldn't that be some kind of poetic justice.

Sighing, he dragged himself to his feet and straightened out the covers a final time before leaving the room. The doorknob jiggled noisily, and the latch didn't catch when he pushed it closed.

Guess that needs fixed, he thought, relieved to have something else to do. Digging out his phone, he pulled up Sokka's contact and hit the call icon.

Sokka picked up on the third ring. "Sokka speaking, what can I do you for?"

"Can you come over for a minute?" Zuko asked. "Bring your tools. I have to fix something."

Sokka snorted. "Wow, right to the point. Be right over."

He hung up. Zuko dropped onto the couch, and waited.

 

Azula woke with her neck aching, slumped in the passenger's seat of Uncle's minivan. Out the window, she saw nothing but flat fields and religious billboards. Ugh. She looked straight ahead, and found more of the same on either side of the expressway.

"How long until we reach your house?" she asked.

"About an hour left. Would you like to stop for dinner somewhere? We passed up the restaurant a while ago, but we're coming up on an exit soon."

Her stomach growled, and she crossed her arms over it, scowling. "Just keep driving."

Uncle smiled. As they came up to the exit, he turned on his right blinker and steered onto the off-ramp.

What is the point, Azula thought, if he's just going to ignore whatever I say?

(Dad would have taken her at her word, and had the chauffeur keep driving. They would have arrived at the hotel or resort, and he would leave and have dinner in his meeting. She would have sent for room service while he was gone, paid it off at the front desk in cash the next morning. Father did not look kindly on those who made demands after rejecting an offer.)

There was no drive-thru, so they went inside and ordered takeout. Uncle ordered a cup of soup and crackers. Azula got a strawberry milkshake and a salad with no cheese, extra cucumber and extra dressing. They ate in the parking lot outside the diner, next to an ugly statue of a boy with a pompadour in checkered overalls.

It was no Michelin-star restaurant. It wasn't even five-star room service. But it was okay enough that Azula felt a little less like throwing herself out of the moving vehicle as they got back on the highway.

Chapter 5: what happens now?

Azula didn't have much space for hope, but as her uncle crept down the highway at a snail's pace, humming along to the drone of the easy-listening station, she desperately hoped he wouldn't fall asleep at the wheel.

"You're five miles below the speed limit," she pointed out.

"Traveling is less about the destination and time, and more about the journey," he said; then added with a frown: "And besides, this old car tends to groan when it goes over sixty-five. I really must get it looked at in the shop."

Azula scoffed. Having a piece of junk like this repaired instead of buying a new, better model was another of those ridiculous ideas Uncle would have never entertained a handful of years ago.

"Lu Ten dying really changed you, didn't it?" she asked. "You used to have some dignity."

If Uncle was offended, he annoyingly did not show it. "Dignity comes from within," he said. "After losing Lu Ten, I had to take a hard look at the man I was, and decide if that was the man I wanted to be."

"And you'd rather be a hippie in a crusty minivan, making tea for people whose families you could buy."

"Life is about the simple pleasures," Uncle said, unruffled. "You'll grow to understand."

I don't think I want to, Azula thought. She sipped her melting milkshake and stared out the window as yet another cornfield slowly went by.

 

"Okay, now I really have to go." Sokka put down the gaming controller, looking at his phone. "Katara needs a ride to Aang's. Good game, though, rematch sometime."

"Yeah. Good game," Zuko replied, fidgeting with the buttons on his controller.

"And hey, good luck with your sister," Sokka said as he headed for the door. "If you need any advice, I'm your guy."

Zuko scoffed. Sokka was way out of his depth if he thought he could give him any advice on Azula. "Thanks," he said anyway.

"Take care! Later!"

The front door shut, and Zuko was alone with his thoughts again.

For the next hour, the clock on the wall unhappily reminded him. He checked his phone to see if Uncle had sent anything, finding nothing since the text informing Zuko the plane had landed, and the one that told him they had found the car in the parking garage.

Zuko sighed. May as well start on dinner, he thought, dragging himself off the couch. He hoped Azula still liked tuna salad and macaroni, because he didn't trust himself not to burn anything else.

He got the ingredients out and tried to get lost in the process of preparation, the clock on the wall ticking away all the while.

 

It wasn't until after they crossed the river that Azula began to recognize her surroundings. They passed a Wal-Mart Azula vividly remembered having to stop at when Zuko nearly hurled during the drive home and needed a Powerade, and an unfortunately recognizable restaurant with another of those hideous pompadoured statues.

"How long until we reach the house?" she asked.

"Around half an hour, give or take a few minutes," Uncle replied. "I will have to stop for gas."

Azula sighed and did not slump down in the seat. She got out her phone, checking it. She had a text from Zirin —

 How's it hanging princess? -

— and nothing else. Not that she expected anything. She typed out a short reply in emoji.

- 🙄🔫

That bad? -

- We're almost to my uncle's house. I am not looking forward to seeing my brother.

Good luck with that lmao -

T ell me if you need a getaway driver. I'll steal a plane or something and get you out of there -

Azula rolled her eyes. Zirin had a habit of being ridiculous. She put her phone away, deciding to attempt taking another nap before they reached the house.

 

When Azula opened her eyes, there was a horse-drawn buggie on the road in front of them, and Uncle had somehow managed to slow down even more.

"Is this normal?" she asked in faint horror.

"There's quite a large Amish and Mennonite population nearby," Uncle said cheerfully. "Enough that there are hitching posts at some of the local stores."

"Oh, God." Azula pinched the bridge of her nose. "I knew this place was backwards, but I wasn't envisioning the nineteenth century."

They continued to crawl along the road. Every second felt like delaying the inevitable. When Uncle finally pulled off onto a narrow, winding back road, and accelerated to the speed limit, Azula didn't know whether to be relieved or dismayed.

Then, too soon, they were pulling into a gravel drive. A small two-story house, painted light grey with green shutters, stood at the end. There were lights on in the windows. Azula's mouth felt dry, and she swallowed hard as Uncle parked the car.

 "Would you like a few moments before we go inside?" he asked too gently. She hated that he had sensed her weakness.

"No," she said. If she didn't go in now, she never would. "I'm not a child."

"Of course. I'll get your things."

She took a deep breath and unbuckled, getting out of the car. She pushed herself, one foot in front of the other, up to the door.

She hesitated, hand over the knob, when she heard footsteps — familiar, loud ones — inside. It was too long, and before she knew it the door was swinging open.

"Uncle?" Zuko's gaze swept over her. Any other time, his shocked look might have made her laugh. As it was, she fought to compose herself, erasing any unease from her expression, and raised her head.

"Lovely to see you again as well, Zuzu."

 

Zuko had known Azula was coming. He had been trying to accept that all day, but knowing it and the reality of actually seeing her on the front porch were two entirely different things. And he did not know how to handle that reality.

"Zuko! Can you give me a hand with the bags?" Uncle Iroh called from the car. Thank God. Zuko hurried past Azula to help Uncle with the luggage, and Jesus, it was moving-in amount, not visiting amount, and this was actually happening.

Compartmentalize, Zuko, he told himself.

"How was your trip?" Zuko asked, managing not to sound too stilted.

"Surprisingly pleasant. But I am glad to be home," Uncle said. "Did you manage fine on your own?"

"Jet was here most of the time. We got Azula's room set up."

"That is good to hear." Uncle smiled. "Let's hope she settles in nicely."

Zuko did hope so, but wasn't optimistic. "Yeah," he said, sighing and lugging a pair of suitcases into the house.

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 11 of atla modern 'verse