Chapter Text
"Zuko."
Iroh could see his fingers trembling against the side of his nephew's head. The short stubbles of hair felt strange, rough and unfamiliar.
"Zuko," he said again. He'd thought he'd never speak that name again to a living person. It hadn't passed his lips once in the past weeks. "Go freshen up, my nephew. Master Cook has made all your favorite dishes. We'll have a small private feast today, and a larger celebration tomorrow."
Zuko frowned. His thickly bandaged hands left Iroh's shoulders, and he crossed his arms over his chest.
"Uncle, I don't have time for parties. We need to negotiate with Zhao how he's going to help me get the Avatar."
Iroh steeled himself against the familiar rush of disappointment that always followed any evidence of Zuko's continued focus on the Avatar. It didn't come.
But he was almost knocked over by a wave of blind anger that made his chi roil all the way from his stomach to the tips of his toes and fingers. Zhao had dared. He'd dared not just to imprison Zuko, but to play tricks on him, to convince him that he might actually help...
Zuko sensed the shift in Iroh's fire; his one good eye widened, turning his beloved, lopsided face into an almost comical mask of half surprise and half anger. The burned eye stayed pinched and narrow, a screaming reminder of what had happened the last time Iroh had stood by as another ruthless man with no love or compassion tore into his nephew's flesh with fire, and into his mind with lies and false promises.
Enough.
Iroh forced himself to smile. He was a good actor, always had been. "It's nothing, nephew. Just the mere thought that I may not get to taste Master Cook's excellent komodo sausages tomorrow after all!" He nudged Zuko's shoulder. "We'll discuss our plans over dinner. You absolutely must allow you old uncle to feed you up a bit. Go on ahead, I'll join you in a moment."
An explosive sigh.
"Uncle..."
Iroh was so focused on every line of Zuko's face that he barely registered the man approaching them from the side. He didn't need to look to recognize the steady, restrained thrumming of Lieutenant Jee's fire, though.
Iroh would have to thank Jee later for keeping faith when his own had been wavering. He hadn't managed to let himself believe it when a letter from Zuko had come two days ago, saying that he was fine, that he'd struck a deal with Zhao and wanted the ships to meet. It had taken Jee hours to convince Iroh that they had to take the chance. That as much as the letter was a bolt out of the blue, it was definitely in Zuko's hand and it sounded exactly like him. That if Zhao wanted to lure them into a trap, he'd cook up something a damn sight more believable than that he'd suddenly decided to set his captive free.
"Sir," the Lieutenant said. "Welcome back aboard, sir. We've kept reports of all sightings of the Avatar during your absence. Would you like to review them now?"
Good man.
All of Zuko's attention shifted to Jee in the blink of an eye. His face lit up with something that looked almost close to happiness.
"Yes. Show me."
Jee glanced back at Iroh as he followed Zuko into the superstructure of the ship. Iroh nodded at him.
He only needed his nephew to be out of the way for a moment. Zuko would be furious, no doubt, but Iroh was done with giving him his way in everything just because he felt too guilty to deny the boy anything he desired. There would be other consequences as well, heavy consequences, but...
Enough.
Iroh turned around and looked up at the deck of the larger ship lying alongside them. Zhao was still there; he hadn't moved from the railing since the sloop containing Zuko and a few soldiers had been lowered into the water and set out for the Yuan. Iroh's old eyes could barely make out the other man's features at this distance, but after weeks of having his mind filled with nothing but thoughts of the horrors his nephew might be suffering on the Commander's ship, Iroh would be able to pick Zhao out of a crowd of thousands. Blindfolded, too.
He slid back one foot and raised his right hand. The fleshy parts of his palm and fingers were still tingling from the rough stubble on Zuko's head.
Iroh breathed in two great lungfuls of sea air and began to draw his arm back, and the prickling sparked into lightning on his skin.