Her mounting shame had compelled her to dismiss the Avatar’s (Aang’s, she corrected herself) concerns for her welfare. It was nothing she couldn't handle herself: bruises, scrapes, burns that were mostly self-inflicted during her little relapse. She couldn’t bear to have him tend her wounds after what he’d already done for her, what she’d already done to him. She’d brushed him off and headed home.
Unfortunately, it was only after she’d nearly reached the isolated pair of treehouses that she saw the flaw in this little plan: Shealtiel would see her. He would see her, and he would fret and insist on trying to tend to her injuries. She’d only just recovered from a relapse, and while she didn’t think she was at any risk of turning thanks to Aang’s intervention, she still refused to risk-
She reaches down and grabs his leg with both hands, wrenching to one side with the unflinching ease of a machine-
That. She refused to risk that. She tried not to think about it as she hurried home. If she simply passed by quickly enough, he wouldn’t have a chance to notice her. She approached the two treehouses slowly, glancing around to make sure that he wasn’t outside, and- having satisfied herself that she was alone out there- she finally crept up the ramp to her house... and that’s when she saw, too late, the movement in the window. Shealtiel’s eyes, wide with concern, met hers.
As soon as they made eye contact, he vanished from the window, and though she forced herself to move faster toward her front door, she already heard him rushing outside behind her.
“Azula?”
She froze at the sheer alarm in his voice, and for a moment, she considered relenting, letting him in. It wouldn’t be his first time tending to her, and to part of her it sounded... appealing... but-
She launches herself at him, lifting him by the neck as she propels him at the wall of her own treehouse with impossible strength-
She took a sharp breath and slipped inside, shutting and locking the door behind her. She heard rushed footsteps and impatient knocking a moment later.
“Azula! I know you can hear me in there.”
She ignored him. Instead, she wiped her hands over her face and moved to the mirror, and she flinched at what she saw. No wonder he’d been so alarmed. She wasn’t surprised that her makeup was ruined, between the fight and the humiliating display of weeping... but that wasn’t the problem. She had cuts and scrapes all along her temple and cheek, and one eye was sporting a truly hideous black ring around it. Her neck and jaw had heavy burns. Her eyelids, too, were an angry red from the fire that had consumed her eyes during the transformation.
“We don’t even have to talk, just let me make sure you’re okay!”
Just ignore it. Just ignore him.
She looked down at herself. Her sleeves had mostly burnt away from the uncontrolled flames of the Noctaere, revealing angry welts and burns down her forearms. Her fingertips were bloody and soiled. One forearm was scraped raw from a particularly sharp impact with the ground, the freshly opened skin nearly reaching the hideous old bite scar on her inner elbow. She should have just let Aang treat it when he offered.
She heard a muffled sound that was either a resigned sigh or a groan of frustration, and she heard Shealtiel stalk away from her door. She released a breath that she didn’t realize that she was holding.
You’ll never deserve him.
She felt the impulse to break the mirror, but restrained it, if only because he would inevitably hear it and be even more worried. She’d just have to find some way to make it up to him later, that was all.
Sooner or later, they all see what you are.
“Shut up,” she muttered out loud. She hastily washed herself up and changed, doing what she could to bandage the cuts and scrapes herself, then dropped into the bed.
She spared a glance at her journal. Looked inside. Shealtiel had already written messages to her. She ignored them and turned the page.
He won’t put up with this forever.
She knew. Spirits, she knew. Instead, she found a different page and wrote a different private message.
Avatar.
No. She crossed it out and tried again.
Aang. I need to ask you a question of a personal nature, and I need to know that what we discuss will never be repeated outside of this conversation.
She didn’t expect the response to be as immediate as it was.
Well. This is about as awkward a conversation as I could be having.
It wasn’t an unfair response- and it wasn't a ‘no.’ She would take it.
She jolts upright, a mote of blue flame lighting in her palm to illuminate the darkened room and reveal the intruder. She doesn’t think anybody else had a key. Not even-
“Shealtiel?”
Or rather, his blurry mop of light hair disappearing into the deep shadows behind her table, as said 'intruder' tumbles to the floor with a startled squawking noise.
She makes a flicking gesture, and the flame hops from her palm into a lantern beside her bed, changing the light in the room from a flickering blue to a brighter and warmer natural yellow. Shealtiel climbs to his feet, awkwardly rubbing at his neck.
“...I’m sorry, I was worried, and you were being so stupid about it!”
The word 'stupid' is delivered with an accusatory finger jab. She sinks back onto the bed, scowling and avoiding his gaze.
“It’s nothing to be concerned about.”
“Then let me look!”
“Fine, if it’ll shut you up.”
She regrets it as soon as she says it, but he doesn’t say anything, his face betrays no offense. He simply kneels in front of her and begins inspecting the injury, fingers lightly tracing over the damage to her jaw and neck. The touch alone is surprisingly soothing, but it makes her heart skip a beat.
She’s still quite certain he doesn’t have a key. Can he pick locks? She feels like it would have come up before now. And even in his boldest moments, he wouldn’t pick her lock if she wanted him out, would he? He was never this... pushy. Not like that. Usually he just restricted himself to pointed commentary.
“You’re the one who told me not to leave,” he finally says, “Remember?”
It interrupts her train of thought, and he says it so... quietly. Still not upset, not angry, just quiet.
“I know,” she mutters.
“Then why won’t you let me stay?”
He looks up from her injured arm, directly into her eyes. So earnest. So eager. It occurs to her then that their faces are close, almost as close as after the Flower Festival, when she’d almost-
“You know why.”
She averts her gaze, but his palm gently cups her cheek, and she doesn’t resist as he directs her to face him again.
“And you know I don’t care about that,” he says. It’s still not upset, or insistent, it’s just that same calm and even tone.
She expects the usual fear to stab at her, the usual urge to flee, but it doesn’t come. It’s just them. It’s comfortable.
“What do you want, Azula?”
Something spikes in her chest, but it’s not fear, it’s not that anxious pit of dread. It’s something quieter than that, something more pleasant. Exciting, even. Something thrilling.
She doesn’t answer, but her own hands rise to cup both sides of his face. He’s so close. She should just lean forward and-
Her hands tremble, and something cold and heavy twists inside her gut. Shealtiel frowns.
“Azula? Are you al-”
He never gets to finish the sentence. Blue flame erupts from her hands and spirals up her arms, and she feels her hands squeeze until he screams in pain. A moment later, his head twists, and his scream goes silent.
She woke up with a sharp gasp, drawing her hands back against her body so abruptly that she tore the bandage from her elbow.
A dream. Just a dream.
She sighed and pressed the peeled bandage back to her arm to stanch the fresh bleeding. It was late in the morning, nearly midday. Normally, she’d be awake around dawn, but apparently becoming a Noctaere was as exhausting the second time as it had been the first. She took a few moments to breathe, to calm the shaking of her hands.
Then it occurred to her, with a mortifying jolt of horror, that somebody else might have seen the dream. She quickly flung the journal open, but nobody seemed to have seen it or responded to it. All she saw was the tail end of her conversation with Aang from the night before.
Take the risk. He'll meet you there. And between the two of you, you'll be fine.
Insipid nonsense. Like he knew. Like he’d ever-
The thought was interrupted when she saw another message appearing in her journal on the opposite page, in Shealtiel’s handwriting, and for a moment her heart dropped. Maybe he had seen the dream after all. Maybe this would be the moment that he finally-
Hey, can you come over today? I need you to check something in the terrarium for me.
The... Terrarium? She certainly hadn’t anticipated that. Especially not after yesterday. She’d never really looked at what he wrote yesterday, come to think of it. She glances back and... it was much more along the lines of what she expected. A few token attempts to initiate conversations, a reminder that he’s next door if she needs anything, and then nothing else.
You’ll never deserve him. Never.
She gave a hiss of irritation at the thought, then grabbed her quill and scribbled a message back.
I’ll be over in an hour.
Then she slammed the book closed, as if she could somehow seal the nagging in her own mind inside.
She was, at least, able to obscure the bandages and injuries on her arms with long sleeves. Makeup was able to obscure the bruising and scraping of her face, though the black eye and the scraped cheekbone had taken extra effort to conceal. Her hands... were rough, but they weren’t bleeding anymore, so she could at least remove the bandages. Maybe he wouldn’t notice the condition of her nails, right?
Of course he would. Ugh. Well, maybe she could keep him on-task by focusing on the terrarium. She inspected herself in the mirror; she looked worse for wear, but she at least didn’t look as dire as she did yesterday. She didn’t look awful. It would suffice.
When she knocked on his door, he didn’t answer right away, but she heard movement from within. Fair enough. She could wait. She just had to try not to stare at the burnt handprint in the wall too much.
‘Am I supposed to pretend that’s normal?’
She decided, idly, that she should really see about fixing that, or at least covering it up.
The door finally opened, and Shealtiel beckoned her inside, dressed in what seemed to pass for his nicer clothing and smiling as broadly as ever. It was like the day before hadn’t happened. For a moment, she was concerned that this must be another dream, but she ignored the thought she stepped into his treehouse.
“Surprise!”
She blinked several times as she stared at the ‘surprise’ in question. He’d set up an entire table of food.
Not just any food. Fire Nation food, by the looks of it. Or at least, close enough to it. She’d found a few reasonable substitutions here, and he’d managed to track down all of them. Meat skewers, dumplings, spicy noodles, roasted duck... and one dish that seemed to have heavily spiced green beans, which drew a small smile from her.
It was more real food than she’d ever actually seen in his house in all the time she’d known him. One bowl in the center of the table even had-
“How?”
“I just got it all in town today. Trust me, you wouldn’t want me to cook.”
“You know what I mean.”
“You mean these?” He pointed to the bowl with an expression that was smug enough to be weaponized.
“I’ve been trying to find fire flakes since I got here, and I’ve never actually found them.”
“You put in all the effort last year, I decided I wanted to do it. Plus, I never have a reason to eat this stuff.”
“Last...?”
“I mean, you were busy on the twenty-first, but we’re only a couple days late.”
Of course. The twenty-first of July, by the local calendar. Two years since they’d met.
One year since she’d nearly-
Her expression must have soured, because the smile started to fade from his face. The urge to flee again was overwhelming, but she repressed it. She wouldn’t turn again. She wouldn’t. And she refused to ruin this.
“That still doesn’t tell me where you got the fire flakes.”
“I had an extra bauble anyway.” He said it as casually as you please- he'd spent his treasures to fetch silly snacks that she missed from home.
You’ll never deserve him. Never.
She frowned down at the bowl.
“You said something was wrong with the terrarium.”
“No, I didn’t.”
She paused. No. No, he hadn’t said it. He’d heavily implied it, but he never said why she needed to look at it. She scowled at him. Had he tricked her?
“...Well, this still has nothing to do with the terrarium.”
“We’ll get to that,” he insisted. “If you’re not gonna try those, I will." Before she could reply, he reached out and grabbed a small fistful of fire flakes.
“You... may not want to-”
But it was too late. He’d already stuffed them into his mouth and started chewing. She stared at him with concern, anticipating his reaction to the heat, but he just... swallowed them and grinned.
“Wow, those are spicy! I see why you like them.”
What- what?
She reached out and grabbed one to taste it herself, and... oh.
Oh.
Well. They were certainly spicy. Not the cheap gimmick flakes that were pawned off on unwary tourists, either, but a rich, properly-layered heat. They were fresh, crisp, high-quality... it was astonishing how much she’d missed something so simple.
“I’m impressed." Her expression slid into her typical smirk, and she added, "Most people cry the first time they eat fire flakes.”
“Do you like them?”
No acknowledgement of the taunting, he just cut in with the question, and she was once again taken aback by the sheer earnestness of it, the eagerness.
“I’ll admit, I was expecting something that a shoddy street vendor would sell.”
It wasn’t an answer. He wanted an answer. Fine, fine.
“They’re as good as I remember,” she continued evenly, and added a more quiet, “Thank you.”
That seemed to satisfy him, because the smile came right back.
“I thought maybe we could watch another movie and have snacks while we watch. And this way you won’t get hungry.”
A movie. The last one... hadn’t gone well, but she was determined not to-
“Don’t worry, it’s not scary this time,” he assured her, “I was gonna show you The Cavendish Eagle, it’s a crime story.”
Was she that easy to read now? She used to be so much better at this. She scowled and tossed more fire flakes in her mouth in protest, and he, unbothered, did the same.
“We probably shouldn’t have too many right now,” he said, once his mouth was empty, “They seem like the best snack for the movie.”
“...very well. I’m still not clear on where the terrarium comes in.”
“Oh, yeah! C’mere!”
He reached out and grabbed her wrist to lead her across the room. He seemed to do it without even thinking, but somehow she couldn't muster any frustration about it. Besides, once they were in front of the tank, she could see exactly what he’d been so excited about.
Of course. Fire lilies bloomed in midsummer. That meant... well, now. And bloom it had. A full, vivid red blossom in the lower globe of the tank, standing out brightly among the smaller blues flowers. It looked healthy, strong.
It looked...
“... I see you managed not to kill it while I was occupied.”
If he was at all put out by the snipe, he didn’t show it. He just beamed at her again.
“You were right, it looks great!”
“You did most of the arrangement,” she pointed out.
“How did you know about the flower, anyway? Is it a Fire Nation thing?”
“They’re called fire lilies. They’re prized for their beauty, obviously, but they’re also popular with poets and artists because of...”
She trailed off, glancing at the wall beside the terrarium.
She doesn't even wholly notice what she's doing when she leans over him slightly and rests her hand on the wall behind him.
She felt her cheeks flush slightly. He peered at her, but didn’t push. He did, however, shift a little closer, his hand slipping from her wrist- she had scarcely even noticed that he was still holding it- and moving down to lace his fingers between hers. It startled her for a moment, but she felt the tension leaving her body almost immediately, and she even found herself leaning lightly into his arm.
Take the risk. He’ll meet you there.
She frowned and glanced up at him. Had he already guessed the significance? Did it matter? Should she explain it? Would he even be comfortable with the revelation if she told him? Ridiculous. She was being ridiculous. She looked back toward the flower and frowned. She should just explain it, she resolved. She wasn’t some sentimental schoolgirl, she could discuss this like an adult-
Her train of thought was promptly derailed by a cool, damp cloth being brought up to her face and wiped gently across her eye.
She blinked as much from surprise as the sudden intrusion, and before she could even draw breath to protest, he met her gaze with a scowl.
“I’m not stupid, Azula.”
“What?”
He held up the wet cloth, now stained with the makeup she’d worn to cover her eye. It took her a few moments to see where he'd gotten it from- a small bowl resting on the table beside the sofa. He must have retrieved it while she was distracted
She'd be impressed if she wasn't so irritated.
“You fought somebody yesterday, right? Let me see your arm.” It was surprisingly blunt. She was used to his occasional brazen moments, but it still took her aback a little. She withdrew her hand from his, scowling.
“I didn’t want you to fuss and coddle.”
“Shut up. Let me see your arm. It looked like something tore up your sleeve yesterday.”
She considered objecting, arguing, perhaps even storming out... but instead, she huffed, stared at the terrarium again, and pulled up her sleeve, revealing the bandages she’d wrapped around her arm.
“I already took care of most of it,” she insists. He seemed to accept that.
“Sit down.”
“Shealtiel, I hardly need you to-”
She glanced back at him and her protest died when she saw his face... and she sat on the couch. He sat beside her and began gently dabbing away the rest of the makeup, frowning in concentration. Or was it a grimace?
“Are these burns?”
“My enemy, it turns out, could also use fire.”
She glanced at him, and she felt her vision misting slightly. No, not now, not-
“Azula, what happened?”
“I survived, what does it matter?” No, no, too harsh, too hostile, too obviously shaky.
He recoiled slightly, and he got that look, the wounded look that made the venomous whispers come back into her brain. But he kept dabbing the makeup from her face anyway.
“I... relapsed,” she said quietly. She wasn’t sure what even compelled her to admit it. “I became a Noctaere again.”
His hand paused at her brow, and she felt her heart sink.
“That was why I didn’t want to be around you,” she continued, scowling and turning away. “I tried to help somebody and nearly became a monster again myself. Surprising nobody, I suppose.”
There was a long silence, and for a moment she considered just getting up and leaving.
“...I can’t actually clean your face if you’re looking the other way.”
“You don’t have to clean any-”
She was interrupted by a wet cloth slapping against the side of her face, and she wheeled around to tell at him. Before she could, he resumed dabbing at her face as if it hadn't even happened, and it stunned her into silence again.
“I don’t have to do anything,” he insisted, “you don’t need to tell me that.”
“I meant-”
“I know what you meant. How many times do I have to tell you that I don’t care?”
“I can’t!”
It was far too loud, far too quick, far too uncontrolled, and she saw him flinch back at it. A tiny, buried part of her felt a bit of vindication- not so harmless after all, is she? But the rest of her...
Sooner or later, they all see what you are. Then they leave.
“It... it’s like something stuck in my brain. What I did to you last time. Every time I think about it, it’s...” She folded her arms around herself defensively, staring at the floor. “I can’t let it happen again.”
Weak. Weak and pathetic. She was tearing up again.
“It didn’t.”
“...what?”
“It didn’t happen again.”
“Of course not. I threw myself at the Avatar’s mercy and he fixed it.”
“You’re so annoying!”
She blinked, once again shocked out of her tears. She’d expected any of several possible reactions, mostly negative, but that one was decidedly not one of them.
“What?”
“The Noctaere isn’t you, stupid! The first time it happened, it almost killed me, and you stopped it. This time, you found somebody to help you fix it before you even attacked anybody.”
She rocked back as if he’d struck her, mouth opening wordlessly. The irritation on his face faded a little, but he was still glaring at her in open defiance.
“What if I can’t stop it next time?”
“What if I turn into a wolf and try to kill you again?”
What?
Wait.
What?
“Stupid.” He said it with finality. And then he reached out and started cleaning the makeup from her neck and lower jaw, still scowling. His face actually looked ridiculous. A little comical, really, though she was hardly in the mood to laugh.
“...that’s obviously not comparable at all, a folk tale had taken over your mind.”
“It happened twice, stupid.”
She’d always had a certain inexplicable tolerance for his defiant and blunt moments, but admittedly, him calling her stupid was beginning to annoy her. Especially because he had a point, which was vexing. She’d nearly forgotten about the incident with the dreamcatcher. That hadn't even been him, it was just a manifestation of his nightmares, but she suspected the distinction wouldn't impress him.
“The Noctaere was my own doing. The first time, I was arrogant and careless. The second time, I tapped into it to try and subdue somebody who had turned Noctaere himself.”
“I still don’t care. Hold still.” He finally put down the cloth and began inspecting her face.
“Why?”
“So I can check how bad the burns are.”
“That’s not what I-” she began, and then stopped. He knew. Obviously he knew.
“If you’re so afraid to be around me, then why did you come over?”
“You asked me here.” She wiped the stray tears irritably out of her eyes.
“If you don’t want to be here, you don’t have to.”
Her heart sank. She knew it. She knew it was only a matter of time. It had taken him longer than most, but-
“Do you want to be here, Azula?”
“Don't be ridiculous, Shealtiel.”
She froze. He was giving her the look again. The painfully vulnerable look. The looked that begged for...
She swallowed and restrained the impulse to look away.
“Do you want to leave?”
“...no.” It came out as barely a whisper.
“That’s all I care about." He took one last look at her neck, then set the cloth back in the bowl he'd retrieved it from.
“...where are you-”
“I need aloe for your burns. You’re going to stay here and eat something, because I bet you haven’t yet. Then we’re going to watch The Cavendish Eagle and eat fire flakes.”
She stared at him, bewildered- and, admittedly, a little irritated that he was right about her not eating. After a moment, the usual awkward smile came back to his face, and he added,
“...if that’s okay with you?”
She said nothing at first, and he just looked back at her expectantly. She felt something flutter in her stomach. Ridiculous, ridiculous man.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Right Back To This
Unfortunately, it was only after she’d nearly reached the isolated pair of treehouses that she saw the flaw in this little plan: Shealtiel would see her. He would see her, and he would fret and insist on trying to tend to her injuries. She’d only just recovered from a relapse, and while she didn’t think she was at any risk of turning thanks to Aang’s intervention, she still refused to risk-
She reaches down and grabs his leg with both hands, wrenching to one side with the unflinching ease of a machine-
That. She refused to risk that. She tried not to think about it as she hurried home. If she simply passed by quickly enough, he wouldn’t have a chance to notice her. She approached the two treehouses slowly, glancing around to make sure that he wasn’t outside, and- having satisfied herself that she was alone out there- she finally crept up the ramp to her house... and that’s when she saw, too late, the movement in the window. Shealtiel’s eyes, wide with concern, met hers.
As soon as they made eye contact, he vanished from the window, and though she forced herself to move faster toward her front door, she already heard him rushing outside behind her.
“Azula?”
She froze at the sheer alarm in his voice, and for a moment, she considered relenting, letting him in. It wouldn’t be his first time tending to her, and to part of her it sounded... appealing... but-
She launches herself at him, lifting him by the neck as she propels him at the wall of her own treehouse with impossible strength-
She took a sharp breath and slipped inside, shutting and locking the door behind her. She heard rushed footsteps and impatient knocking a moment later.
“Azula! I know you can hear me in there.”
She ignored him. Instead, she wiped her hands over her face and moved to the mirror, and she flinched at what she saw. No wonder he’d been so alarmed. She wasn’t surprised that her makeup was ruined, between the fight and the humiliating display of weeping... but that wasn’t the problem. She had cuts and scrapes all along her temple and cheek, and one eye was sporting a truly hideous black ring around it. Her neck and jaw had heavy burns. Her eyelids, too, were an angry red from the fire that had consumed her eyes during the transformation.
“We don’t even have to talk, just let me make sure you’re okay!”
Just ignore it. Just ignore him.
She looked down at herself. Her sleeves had mostly burnt away from the uncontrolled flames of the Noctaere, revealing angry welts and burns down her forearms. Her fingertips were bloody and soiled. One forearm was scraped raw from a particularly sharp impact with the ground, the freshly opened skin nearly reaching the hideous old bite scar on her inner elbow. She should have just let Aang treat it when he offered.
She heard a muffled sound that was either a resigned sigh or a groan of frustration, and she heard Shealtiel stalk away from her door. She released a breath that she didn’t realize that she was holding.
You’ll never deserve him.
She felt the impulse to break the mirror, but restrained it, if only because he would inevitably hear it and be even more worried. She’d just have to find some way to make it up to him later, that was all.
Sooner or later, they all see what you are.
“Shut up,” she muttered out loud. She hastily washed herself up and changed, doing what she could to bandage the cuts and scrapes herself, then dropped into the bed.
She spared a glance at her journal. Looked inside. Shealtiel had already written messages to her. She ignored them and turned the page.
He won’t put up with this forever.
She knew. Spirits, she knew. Instead, she found a different page and wrote a different private message.
Avatar.
No. She crossed it out and tried again.
Aang. I need to ask you a question of a personal nature, and I need to know that what we discuss will never be repeated outside of this conversation.
She didn’t expect the response to be as immediate as it was.
Well. This is about as awkward a conversation as I could be having.
It wasn’t an unfair response- and it wasn't a ‘no.’ She would take it.
And Words That Have No Form
She jolts upright, a mote of blue flame lighting in her palm to illuminate the darkened room and reveal the intruder. She doesn’t think anybody else had a key. Not even-
“Shealtiel?”
Or rather, his blurry mop of light hair disappearing into the deep shadows behind her table, as said 'intruder' tumbles to the floor with a startled squawking noise.
She makes a flicking gesture, and the flame hops from her palm into a lantern beside her bed, changing the light in the room from a flickering blue to a brighter and warmer natural yellow. Shealtiel climbs to his feet, awkwardly rubbing at his neck.
“...I’m sorry, I was worried, and you were being so stupid about it!”
The word 'stupid' is delivered with an accusatory finger jab. She sinks back onto the bed, scowling and avoiding his gaze.
“It’s nothing to be concerned about.”
“Then let me look!”
“Fine, if it’ll shut you up.”
She regrets it as soon as she says it, but he doesn’t say anything, his face betrays no offense. He simply kneels in front of her and begins inspecting the injury, fingers lightly tracing over the damage to her jaw and neck. The touch alone is surprisingly soothing, but it makes her heart skip a beat.
She’s still quite certain he doesn’t have a key. Can he pick locks? She feels like it would have come up before now. And even in his boldest moments, he wouldn’t pick her lock if she wanted him out, would he? He was never this... pushy. Not like that. Usually he just restricted himself to pointed commentary.
“You’re the one who told me not to leave,” he finally says, “Remember?”
It interrupts her train of thought, and he says it so... quietly. Still not upset, not angry, just quiet.
“I know,” she mutters.
“Then why won’t you let me stay?”
He looks up from her injured arm, directly into her eyes. So earnest. So eager. It occurs to her then that their faces are close, almost as close as after the Flower Festival, when she’d almost-
“You know why.”
She averts her gaze, but his palm gently cups her cheek, and she doesn’t resist as he directs her to face him again.
“And you know I don’t care about that,” he says. It’s still not upset, or insistent, it’s just that same calm and even tone.
She expects the usual fear to stab at her, the usual urge to flee, but it doesn’t come. It’s just them. It’s comfortable.
“What do you want, Azula?”
Something spikes in her chest, but it’s not fear, it’s not that anxious pit of dread. It’s something quieter than that, something more pleasant. Exciting, even. Something thrilling.
She doesn’t answer, but her own hands rise to cup both sides of his face. He’s so close. She should just lean forward and-
Her hands tremble, and something cold and heavy twists inside her gut. Shealtiel frowns.
“Azula? Are you al-”
He never gets to finish the sentence. Blue flame erupts from her hands and spirals up her arms, and she feels her hands squeeze until he screams in pain. A moment later, his head twists, and his scream goes silent.
Before I Come Undone
A dream. Just a dream.
She sighed and pressed the peeled bandage back to her arm to stanch the fresh bleeding. It was late in the morning, nearly midday. Normally, she’d be awake around dawn, but apparently becoming a Noctaere was as exhausting the second time as it had been the first. She took a few moments to breathe, to calm the shaking of her hands.
Then it occurred to her, with a mortifying jolt of horror, that somebody else might have seen the dream. She quickly flung the journal open, but nobody seemed to have seen it or responded to it. All she saw was the tail end of her conversation with Aang from the night before.
Take the risk. He'll meet you there. And between the two of you, you'll be fine.
Insipid nonsense. Like he knew. Like he’d ever-
The thought was interrupted when she saw another message appearing in her journal on the opposite page, in Shealtiel’s handwriting, and for a moment her heart dropped. Maybe he had seen the dream after all. Maybe this would be the moment that he finally-
Hey, can you come over today? I need you to check something in the terrarium for me.
The... Terrarium? She certainly hadn’t anticipated that. Especially not after yesterday. She’d never really looked at what he wrote yesterday, come to think of it. She glances back and... it was much more along the lines of what she expected. A few token attempts to initiate conversations, a reminder that he’s next door if she needs anything, and then nothing else.
You’ll never deserve him. Never.
She gave a hiss of irritation at the thought, then grabbed her quill and scribbled a message back.
I’ll be over in an hour.
Then she slammed the book closed, as if she could somehow seal the nagging in her own mind inside.
She was, at least, able to obscure the bandages and injuries on her arms with long sleeves. Makeup was able to obscure the bruising and scraping of her face, though the black eye and the scraped cheekbone had taken extra effort to conceal. Her hands... were rough, but they weren’t bleeding anymore, so she could at least remove the bandages. Maybe he wouldn’t notice the condition of her nails, right?
Of course he would. Ugh. Well, maybe she could keep him on-task by focusing on the terrarium. She inspected herself in the mirror; she looked worse for wear, but she at least didn’t look as dire as she did yesterday. She didn’t look awful. It would suffice.
The Thing I Understand
‘Am I supposed to pretend that’s normal?’
She decided, idly, that she should really see about fixing that, or at least covering it up.
The door finally opened, and Shealtiel beckoned her inside, dressed in what seemed to pass for his nicer clothing and smiling as broadly as ever. It was like the day before hadn’t happened. For a moment, she was concerned that this must be another dream, but she ignored the thought she stepped into his treehouse.
“Surprise!”
She blinked several times as she stared at the ‘surprise’ in question. He’d set up an entire table of food.
Not just any food. Fire Nation food, by the looks of it. Or at least, close enough to it. She’d found a few reasonable substitutions here, and he’d managed to track down all of them. Meat skewers, dumplings, spicy noodles, roasted duck... and one dish that seemed to have heavily spiced green beans, which drew a small smile from her.
It was more real food than she’d ever actually seen in his house in all the time she’d known him. One bowl in the center of the table even had-
“How?”
“I just got it all in town today. Trust me, you wouldn’t want me to cook.”
“You know what I mean.”
“You mean these?” He pointed to the bowl with an expression that was smug enough to be weaponized.
“I’ve been trying to find fire flakes since I got here, and I’ve never actually found them.”
“You put in all the effort last year, I decided I wanted to do it. Plus, I never have a reason to eat this stuff.”
“Last...?”
“I mean, you were busy on the twenty-first, but we’re only a couple days late.”
Of course. The twenty-first of July, by the local calendar. Two years since they’d met.
One year since she’d nearly-
Her expression must have soured, because the smile started to fade from his face. The urge to flee again was overwhelming, but she repressed it. She wouldn’t turn again. She wouldn’t. And she refused to ruin this.
“That still doesn’t tell me where you got the fire flakes.”
“I had an extra bauble anyway.” He said it as casually as you please- he'd spent his treasures to fetch silly snacks that she missed from home.
You’ll never deserve him. Never.
She frowned down at the bowl.
“You said something was wrong with the terrarium.”
“No, I didn’t.”
She paused. No. No, he hadn’t said it. He’d heavily implied it, but he never said why she needed to look at it. She scowled at him. Had he tricked her?
“...Well, this still has nothing to do with the terrarium.”
“We’ll get to that,” he insisted. “If you’re not gonna try those, I will." Before she could reply, he reached out and grabbed a small fistful of fire flakes.
“You... may not want to-”
But it was too late. He’d already stuffed them into his mouth and started chewing. She stared at him with concern, anticipating his reaction to the heat, but he just... swallowed them and grinned.
“Wow, those are spicy! I see why you like them.”
What- what?
She reached out and grabbed one to taste it herself, and... oh.
Oh.
Well. They were certainly spicy. Not the cheap gimmick flakes that were pawned off on unwary tourists, either, but a rich, properly-layered heat. They were fresh, crisp, high-quality... it was astonishing how much she’d missed something so simple.
“I’m impressed." Her expression slid into her typical smirk, and she added, "Most people cry the first time they eat fire flakes.”
“Do you like them?”
No acknowledgement of the taunting, he just cut in with the question, and she was once again taken aback by the sheer earnestness of it, the eagerness.
“I’ll admit, I was expecting something that a shoddy street vendor would sell.”
It wasn’t an answer. He wanted an answer. Fine, fine.
“They’re as good as I remember,” she continued evenly, and added a more quiet, “Thank you.”
That seemed to satisfy him, because the smile came right back.
“I thought maybe we could watch another movie and have snacks while we watch. And this way you won’t get hungry.”
A movie. The last one... hadn’t gone well, but she was determined not to-
“Don’t worry, it’s not scary this time,” he assured her, “I was gonna show you The Cavendish Eagle, it’s a crime story.”
Was she that easy to read now? She used to be so much better at this. She scowled and tossed more fire flakes in her mouth in protest, and he, unbothered, did the same.
“We probably shouldn’t have too many right now,” he said, once his mouth was empty, “They seem like the best snack for the movie.”
“...very well. I’m still not clear on where the terrarium comes in.”
“Oh, yeah! C’mere!”
He reached out and grabbed her wrist to lead her across the room. He seemed to do it without even thinking, but somehow she couldn't muster any frustration about it. Besides, once they were in front of the tank, she could see exactly what he’d been so excited about.
Of course. Fire lilies bloomed in midsummer. That meant... well, now. And bloom it had. A full, vivid red blossom in the lower globe of the tank, standing out brightly among the smaller blues flowers. It looked healthy, strong.
It looked...
“... I see you managed not to kill it while I was occupied.”
If he was at all put out by the snipe, he didn’t show it. He just beamed at her again.
“You were right, it looks great!”
“You did most of the arrangement,” she pointed out.
“How did you know about the flower, anyway? Is it a Fire Nation thing?”
“They’re called fire lilies. They’re prized for their beauty, obviously, but they’re also popular with poets and artists because of...”
She trailed off, glancing at the wall beside the terrarium.
She doesn't even wholly notice what she's doing when she leans over him slightly and rests her hand on the wall behind him.
She felt her cheeks flush slightly. He peered at her, but didn’t push. He did, however, shift a little closer, his hand slipping from her wrist- she had scarcely even noticed that he was still holding it- and moving down to lace his fingers between hers. It startled her for a moment, but she felt the tension leaving her body almost immediately, and she even found herself leaning lightly into his arm.
Take the risk. He’ll meet you there.
She frowned and glanced up at him. Had he already guessed the significance? Did it matter? Should she explain it? Would he even be comfortable with the revelation if she told him? Ridiculous. She was being ridiculous. She looked back toward the flower and frowned. She should just explain it, she resolved. She wasn’t some sentimental schoolgirl, she could discuss this like an adult-
Passage Out Of The Dark
She blinked as much from surprise as the sudden intrusion, and before she could even draw breath to protest, he met her gaze with a scowl.
“I’m not stupid, Azula.”
“What?”
He held up the wet cloth, now stained with the makeup she’d worn to cover her eye. It took her a few moments to see where he'd gotten it from- a small bowl resting on the table beside the sofa. He must have retrieved it while she was distracted
She'd be impressed if she wasn't so irritated.
“You fought somebody yesterday, right? Let me see your arm.” It was surprisingly blunt. She was used to his occasional brazen moments, but it still took her aback a little. She withdrew her hand from his, scowling.
“I didn’t want you to fuss and coddle.”
“Shut up. Let me see your arm. It looked like something tore up your sleeve yesterday.”
She considered objecting, arguing, perhaps even storming out... but instead, she huffed, stared at the terrarium again, and pulled up her sleeve, revealing the bandages she’d wrapped around her arm.
“I already took care of most of it,” she insists. He seemed to accept that.
“Sit down.”
“Shealtiel, I hardly need you to-”
She glanced back at him and her protest died when she saw his face... and she sat on the couch. He sat beside her and began gently dabbing away the rest of the makeup, frowning in concentration. Or was it a grimace?
“Are these burns?”
“My enemy, it turns out, could also use fire.”
She glanced at him, and she felt her vision misting slightly. No, not now, not-
“Azula, what happened?”
“I survived, what does it matter?” No, no, too harsh, too hostile, too obviously shaky.
He recoiled slightly, and he got that look, the wounded look that made the venomous whispers come back into her brain. But he kept dabbing the makeup from her face anyway.
“I... relapsed,” she said quietly. She wasn’t sure what even compelled her to admit it. “I became a Noctaere again.”
His hand paused at her brow, and she felt her heart sink.
“That was why I didn’t want to be around you,” she continued, scowling and turning away. “I tried to help somebody and nearly became a monster again myself. Surprising nobody, I suppose.”
There was a long silence, and for a moment she considered just getting up and leaving.
“...I can’t actually clean your face if you’re looking the other way.”
“You don’t have to clean any-”
She was interrupted by a wet cloth slapping against the side of her face, and she wheeled around to tell at him. Before she could, he resumed dabbing at her face as if it hadn't even happened, and it stunned her into silence again.
“I don’t have to do anything,” he insisted, “you don’t need to tell me that.”
“I meant-”
“I know what you meant. How many times do I have to tell you that I don’t care?”
“I can’t!”
It was far too loud, far too quick, far too uncontrolled, and she saw him flinch back at it. A tiny, buried part of her felt a bit of vindication- not so harmless after all, is she? But the rest of her...
Sooner or later, they all see what you are. Then they leave.
“It... it’s like something stuck in my brain. What I did to you last time. Every time I think about it, it’s...” She folded her arms around herself defensively, staring at the floor. “I can’t let it happen again.”
Weak. Weak and pathetic. She was tearing up again.
“It didn’t.”
“...what?”
“It didn’t happen again.”
“Of course not. I threw myself at the Avatar’s mercy and he fixed it.”
“You’re so annoying!”
She blinked, once again shocked out of her tears. She’d expected any of several possible reactions, mostly negative, but that one was decidedly not one of them.
“What?”
“The Noctaere isn’t you, stupid! The first time it happened, it almost killed me, and you stopped it. This time, you found somebody to help you fix it before you even attacked anybody.”
She rocked back as if he’d struck her, mouth opening wordlessly. The irritation on his face faded a little, but he was still glaring at her in open defiance.
“What if I can’t stop it next time?”
“What if I turn into a wolf and try to kill you again?”
What?
Wait.
What?
“Stupid.” He said it with finality. And then he reached out and started cleaning the makeup from her neck and lower jaw, still scowling. His face actually looked ridiculous. A little comical, really, though she was hardly in the mood to laugh.
“...that’s obviously not comparable at all, a folk tale had taken over your mind.”
“It happened twice, stupid.”
She’d always had a certain inexplicable tolerance for his defiant and blunt moments, but admittedly, him calling her stupid was beginning to annoy her. Especially because he had a point, which was vexing. She’d nearly forgotten about the incident with the dreamcatcher. That hadn't even been him, it was just a manifestation of his nightmares, but she suspected the distinction wouldn't impress him.
“The Noctaere was my own doing. The first time, I was arrogant and careless. The second time, I tapped into it to try and subdue somebody who had turned Noctaere himself.”
“I still don’t care. Hold still.” He finally put down the cloth and began inspecting her face.
“Why?”
“So I can check how bad the burns are.”
“That’s not what I-” she began, and then stopped. He knew. Obviously he knew.
“If you’re so afraid to be around me, then why did you come over?”
“You asked me here.” She wiped the stray tears irritably out of her eyes.
“If you don’t want to be here, you don’t have to.”
Her heart sank. She knew it. She knew it was only a matter of time. It had taken him longer than most, but-
“Do you want to be here, Azula?”
“Don't be ridiculous, Shealtiel.”
She froze. He was giving her the look again. The painfully vulnerable look. The looked that begged for...
She swallowed and restrained the impulse to look away.
“Do you want to leave?”
“...no.” It came out as barely a whisper.
“That’s all I care about." He took one last look at her neck, then set the cloth back in the bowl he'd retrieved it from.
“...where are you-”
“I need aloe for your burns. You’re going to stay here and eat something, because I bet you haven’t yet. Then we’re going to watch The Cavendish Eagle and eat fire flakes.”
She stared at him, bewildered- and, admittedly, a little irritated that he was right about her not eating. After a moment, the usual awkward smile came back to his face, and he added,
“...if that’s okay with you?”
She said nothing at first, and he just looked back at her expectantly. She felt something flutter in her stomach. Ridiculous, ridiculous man.
You’ll never deserve him. Never.
“...it will do,” she said.