Archive of Our Own

Snow flakes fall, shining elegant in the early morning sunlight. Zuko tracks one as it makes a slow decent towards the earth. It's misty on the mountains. The cold here is a different kind, brittle in a way that makes his lungs hurt.

Distantly he wonders how the air nomads managed to thrive in such a place.

Behind him snow crunches, footsteps drawing closer.

"Any news, uncle?"

"Oh yes." Iroh drawls, pleased. "Our crew has just finished burying the dead, and Jee believes he saw tracks earlier. Could be something worth hunting. Fresh meat is good for morale-"

"I meant on the avatar, uncle."

Iroh hesitates, eyes sweeping the tense set of his nephews shoulder. They have this conversation often. "Im afraid not prince Zuko."

There is no visible change but Iroh can sense his disappointment. "The men searched, but only the usual turned up." Scraps that had not been burned completely, singed but recognizable. Bits of toys and jewelry, the occasional piece of pottery.

His nephew has been through so much- resentment and cruelty are to be expected. But he's surprised Iroh recently. In a hundred years no one has thought to put the dead in this temple to rest. Of course, it's located so high atop the mountain most cannot reach it; and those who do are usually of the nation responsible for their demise. The retired general had been prepared to argue for a burial but Zuko made those arrangements all on his own, even before Iroh had time to ask about it.

Pride is not a word strong enough to describe the warmth that had swelled beneath his ribcage.

But despite this small victory Iroh can see that his nephew is not healing. In fact, as more time passes all the boy does is fester.

"Well, this is only the first temple we've been to. There are still three more, one in the North, the East and another to the West." Zuko struggles to quell the hopelessness that rises like bile in his throat. For the first few weeks he'd tried telling himself that father would not send him on an impossible task just to be sure he never returned, no one was that cruel.

But as more time passes Zuko realizes that maybe Ozai and his entire family are a special kind of evil. Evidence is everywhere, especially among ruined temple walls and innocent bones that have laid atop these mountains for longer than Zuko's been alive.

It has been one hundred years since the avatar went missing. In that time many people have combed through these temples. If there ever was anything worth finding it's not here now.

Iroh does what he can to sooth his nephews aching heart.

"Yes, perhaps you are right prince Zuko."

The elderly general shuffles forward, sleeves parting to reveal a charred porcelain box, small enough to be cradled in the mans palm.

"I thought you might like this." He hands over the trinket. Normally he'd have buried this along with its owner but it had been found just outside the gate, possibly dropped by someone trying to flee.

Its such a delicate little box. Iroh prays whoever it belonged to managed to escape, even despite knowing that would have been impossible.

Zuko takes it gingerly, eyes squinting to examine intricate patterns carved along the side.

"Open it." Iroh urges kindly.

The top pops open, and a tiny glass air bender springs forth. The figure is set in an elegant pose. On the bottom is a tiny metal key.

Hesitantly Zuko gives it a twist, eyes widening as the small bender slowly starts to spin, a soft melody filling the air around them. Its a gentle sound, verging on melancholy.

A music box.

And somehow it still works?

How can this be, Zuko wonders, eyebrows pulling tight as he examines the small dancing bender. It has taken on so much damage, faced one hundred years hidden under the snow. By now the paint is faded to nothing. Music should have long stopped playing, the box itself should be crumbling in his hands.

But its solid, and while the gears inside squeak its song is still lovely.

"Is this a joke uncle?" He knows Iroh does not mean to tease him, but how could this be anything else?

"Prince Zuko-" Iroh tries, but the words die in his throat as Zuko's fingers clench around the damaged porcelain. He has time enough to notice his nephews knuckles have gone white before the boy rears back and throws his gift off the ledge.

"Just- leave me alone!" Zuko explodes, words echoing off the surrounding mountain tops. "I have no use for broken artifacts, uncle."

He doesn't mean it. And even if he does, its only for the moment. That's what Iroh tells himself to quell the hurt.

"Very well nephew. I'll go and join the men if that is what you wish."

Iroh waits a moment longer but Zuko doesn't acknowledge him. Slowly the old general trudges back to join their crew.

The moment he's gone Zuko hops over the ledge himself. Contrary to how it looks, the drop off isn't a death sentence. The Southern temples were built in a spiraling shape on top of mountains, and while they stand at the highest peak there are many outcroppings below. The fall is only a half a mile long. Zuko catches a tree branch and stops himself from finishing the decent.

It takes several hours for him to find what he's looking for. The sun has long since set and fire flies have began dancing through the foliage. Zuko ignites a small flame in his palm, crouching to examine what harm might've been done by his tantrum.

The glass on one side is chipped, no doubt remnants of a landing impact. Zuko flips the box open, heart racing as the tiny bender pops out to greet him.

He feels- guilty. And hot with hatred, but not for these people. Not for the music box he so carelessly discarded.

He's disgusted with himself; with what he's becoming, but the tiny bender does not judge him. Zuko runs a trembling fingertip over it's smooth head, bald as most were said to be. The tiny box has endured so much. How can Zuko quit when it still continues to spin?

Carefully he tucks it away into his pocket.

He finds a wooden toy at one temple, a few coins at another. In the West he manages a small sack of colorful marbles. He keeps them all hidden away in a metal container, always at his bedside.

By the time a beam of light shines over the south pole Zuko holds a small collection, but his favorite by far is still the music box.

The day after Zhao captures the avatar, a blue spirit appears to steal him away again.

It's no surprise that things go sideways, but it is startling to regain consciousness in a forest instead of the prison cell he'd expected. Zuko had been certain Aang would leave him, but honestly he should've known better. The avatar is perched on a gangly tree root staring up at the shimmering leaves. He looks sad, almost mournful.

"You know what the worst part of being born over a hundred years ago is?" Aang says without looking at him, and Zuko is taken off guard by that. He speaks of young boy by the name of Kuzon, and a time before the war when firebenders could be called friend with so much sincerity it makes Zuko's chest ache.

"If we knew each other back then, do you think we could have been friends, too?"

They don't teach about air benders in the fire nation-not really. The heavy amber text books mention them, but only as a cautionary tale- to resist is to perish, the glory of the fire nation will burn and ignite all the lands, yadda yadda.

In truth there is no glory in genocide. The air benders have never so much as threatened them, and yet cities were ambushed in the dead of night, entire families burned inside their homes.

It should be easy to hate them, natural even. But Aang is not natural. In fact he's something special. Zuko knew that already, he is the avatar after all. But then the kid catches him with impossibly round eyes, and he smiles like Zuko's never tried to hurt him.

The exiled princes catches a glimpse of kindness there.

It makes him sick to continue this cycle of cruelty, chasing a child who's done nothing but try to make peace.

But Zuko knows no peace. He has no family and no home, no honor to speak of. This endless chase is starting to feel like all he has left.

He lashes out on reflex. Aang is gone before the flames have left his hand, but the look he sends over his shoulder haunts Zuko for weeks to come.

He opens the music box often, handles it like something precious. The shape of it's face reminds him of Aang.

Zuko tries not to use it so much. It's atleast one hundred years old after all. But sometimes he can still feel heat searing his face, smells burning flesh so vividly he wakes gaging in the night, and it drives away all hope of sleep. In those moments Zuko winds the small box, and as it's melody lulls his heart into an easier beat he wonders if the last living monk might know the name of it's song.

He should've known something was wrong when even the cook was ordered to leave. Zhao had always been sneaky like that, corrupt in the worst ways.

As his ship implodes around him, Zuko thinks first of his uncle, suddenly grateful for the stupid walk he'd turned down. Iroh would be well away by now.

Secondly he thinks of the small metal box beside his bed, all those treasured artifacts he's collected. He hopes some of them survive. It would be tragic to lose all that history. The fire licks at his skin, debris scraping his cheeks.

And as the heat washes over him Zuko sees Ozai's face painted behind his eyelids, lips pulled into a sadistic little smirk, the echoes of a crowd cheering in the background.

What was the last thing he said to uncle?

The impact sends him into the water with enough force to knock all the air from his lungs. He thinks of the music box and it's song, so soothing despite being played on ancient gears.

He never did learn it's name.

Zuko finds his container floating among the rubble. He can hear Iroh calling him from the docks, voice ragged with grief. He can hear it but he doesn't move, eyes only for the box that washed up next to him on the rocky shore. It's dented on one side and partially melted on the other, everything inside soaked. One of the toys has been ruined, but the music box is in one piece. It's a bit more charred than it had been, chipped in a few new places. None of that matters. Zuko holds it in his palm, shoulders trembling as he works up enough courage to wind it up.

For a long moment there is nothing, and Zuko is already cataloging the small box as just another thing he's lost in this banishment when it finally begins playing.

The sound is so beautiful he weeps.

Zuko saves the avatar's bison on a whim.

Of course he started with different intentions, something along the lines of using the animal as bait. He's only marginally surprised Iroh has managed to follow him. His uncle is good at giving speeches, but it's the beasts eyes that really do him in. The bison wails and growls and looks at him the way Aang did on the day he'd asked if they could've been friends in another life.

It must be hard for them, Zuko thinks, to be away from the only piece of home they have left.

That night he releases the bison. It hurts, seeing the last of his hope fly away into a star filled sky, but he supposes it would feel worse to steal away Aang's comfort like his father had stolen his own.

In the end it's that night of compassion that saves him. Well, that and Aang's willfulness to see the good in people. Surprisingly Toph is the first to accept him, but it's the avatar's opinion that holds weight. He is the one to decide Zuko can stay, and the rest follow suite soon after. All except for Katara, who doesn't speak unless to threaten. She looks at the exiled prince as if issuing a challenge.

I dare you to hurt him.

Zuko doesn't say he's way past that point. He doesn't tell her what it is like to hit rock bottom and have Aang, the person he's mercilessly hunted for three years extend a hand. He doesn't mention the remorse he feels or the guilt he carries.

She wouldn't care to hear it, and he's not inclined to share.

Katara leaves him feeling frigid with cold and achingly out of place. It makes him miss the tiny music box he'd left buried in the royal garden back at the fire nation, and his uncle whom now lives in a cage due to Zuko's own failure.

He teaches Aang fire bending and listens to the boy talk. Zuko doesn't have much to contribute himself, more content with listening. It's closing on his second month as part of the group. Aang has made astounding progress in that short time, learning so fast that Azula herself would be sick with jealousy. He listens to every instruction, and bows after every session, and Zuko finds himself shocked by how quickly the boy lets his guard down. They've been enemies longer than they've been friends, but Aang shares smiles and stories like he's somehow earned them.

It takes time, but eventually those stories center around his home. Aang speaks of the temples with reverence, and a sort of yearning that shakes Zuko to his very core. The exiled prince knows that feeling, desperation for a home that doesn't exist anymore.

When he mentions Gyatso the birds are singing. It's a small hour in the early morning, a secret time of day just before the sun breaks over the horizon. Grass glistens, drops of dew still fresh. Zuko is watching Aang go through a complicated set of movements, enchanted by the boys grace. He does a peculiar little mid air spin and it reminds the exiled prince of his hidden music box and the small bender who twirls when it plays.

The monk lands, face tilted towards the sky.

"Gyatso enjoyed mornings like this." He speaks softly, eyes sweeping the small clearing they've picked to train in. Zuko doesn't recognize the name or its owner, but Aang's smile is fractured and the exiled prince feels his stomach churn. An airbender, then. Someone he knew before. Someone important.

"He was fond of watching the birds." Aang elaborates, and Zuko almost wishes he would stop, while at the same time never wanting him too. How can he share these precious memories so easily? How can he share them with Zuko, of all people.

"When I was young he'd wake me up extra early so we could watch together." He grins, like the memory isn't burning a hole into his chest.

It makes the fire bender feel small, undeserving of Aang's kindness. After all, if not for Zuko's family Gyatso may have enjoyed many more mornings-

And he'd have shared them all with Aang.

Around them the sun is threatening to rise, spilling gold in rivets over the treetops. It's ethereal, even here.

Zuko wonders what this morning would look like on the air temples.

Aang continues to talk- about his friends and his home, the animals that lived there. He describes the robes they wore and the games they played and through it all Zuko can't look him in the eyes.

He thinks of that tiny metal box full treasure but buried in a nation of fire, thinks of Aang in that iceberg.

There's not enough honor in this world to make him worthy of either.

It was Katara's idea to go in. The antique shop is small and out of the way, easy to miss. Zuko hasn't bothered entering one in ages, and just the sight of it makes his heart heavy. During his exile Zuko had gone into every collectors store he came across, always hoping, sometimes praying for a lead. He never found anything useful, but on occasion there would be a book that mentioned air benders or a mislabeled artifact from one of the temples.

It smells stale inside, with dust so thick he can taste it in the air. He's tempted to back out, but Aang cheers about finding something to help with his training and Sokka seems to be browsing the weapons. Katara has already been up to haggle.

At his side he can feel Toph shift on the balls of her feet, hesitating.

Aang must be rubbing off on him because his first instinct is to extend an arm. She'll take it or she wont, but he'll have offered and that's enough.

It steals his breath away when she actually takes it, hooking her tiny elbow around his own. Hard to believe someone so small is capable of toppling whole buildings, but then she speaks and the gruff edge of her voice sets him straight again.

"C'mon. I can't see any of this stuff so you should describe it to me." Toph all but yanks him down the isle. And for the most part there is nothing worth describing in detail. He starts by telling her if its an object or clothing and she will interrupt him and move on the moment she decides she doesn't like whatever he's holding.

They've almost been around the entire store when he spots it, so dark and layered with dust it blends with the shelf it sits on.

It's labeled as being from the Earth kingdom, but he knows better. Its made of wood from a tree that only grows in the highest mountains. Zuko takes it in his hands, fingertips sliding smooth over wooden beads. He uses his shirt to polish the pendant until it shines, eyes sweeping the intricately carved swirls. A surge of pride warms his chest, the thrill of a good find. This one has red tassels. Zuko read in a book once that the decorations were reflective of spiritual status, but Aang will know for sure.

"What's that?" Toph reaches out to feel the necklace in his hands, fingers catching on the soft tufts of red.

"Just some wooden beads I found." Zuko knows she'll feel the lie in his words, but he'll tell her more once they're outside with the receipt in his hand. It would be a shame for the storekeep to realize what value this item holds, if not to the world then at least to one specific person.

"Whatever." The earth bender huffs softly, tugging once more on his elbow. She seems stung that he lied, but determined not to make a big deal of it. "I hear Katara getting mouthy with the clerk. We better go get her before we're all banned for life."

They make it back to camp without getting banned, but just barely. Sokka is showing off his new hunting knife while Aang and Katara watch with varying levels of interest. Zuko uses that time to pull Toph away and whisper conspiratorially into her ear.

"It's an air bending artifact." He says, voice hushed. "A necklace." Zuko drops the beads into her open palm. She rolls them between deft fingers, thumb ghosting over the swirling pendant.

"And it's going to be a present." She can feel him fidget, waiting for approval in the only place he knows to seek it. Katara is still somewhat cold towards him, and Sokka doesn't seem like the type to keep secrets.

Toph awards him with a grin, toothy and proud as she hands the necklace back to him.

"Twinkletoes will love it."

He means to give it away quietly the same day he bought it. But slowly the sun sets and the fire burns low and Aang hasn't been alone once. Zuko sleeps by himself, always a few feet away from the rest. He is here but he isn't one of them, doesn't get to share in their close knit circle by the fire.

That's alright. He can still hear them laughing after he retires to his sleeping bag, and the sound of it keeps him warm even as the evening cools. The necklace is a comforting weight in his pocket. Maybe tomorrow it will finally fall into rightful hands.

Zuko drifts off listening to Toph and Sokka bicker, not noticing that Aang has subtly scooted closer.

The next day Sokka asks him about the Boiling rock.

Its a loaded question, entirely too specific. And he should've probably handled it differently, but Sokka has desperation etched into the lines of his face, and when he reaches to touch Zuko's shoulder the ex-prince feels a tremor run through him.

"It's my dad." He says, and that alone seals Zuko's fate.

That night he takes the beaded necklace from his pocket and hides it away in a small pouch. He doesn't leave a note as he tucks it into Toph's sleeping bag. She'll keep it safe for him, he knows.

Sokka crept off all of ten minutes ago, and honestly its a suicide mission if Zuko has ever seen one. But it doesnt feel right, letting him go alone. Sokka is obviously in over his head, and that's only proven as Zuko finds him trying to take off with Appa.

He'll go, and come back. The necklace can wait that long.

It waits longer than he expected, but that's okay. They return as four instead of two, and the joy that awaits them upon getting back makes it all worth while.

Katara doesn't say anything to him about it but her eyes seem a bit softer when she glances his way.

Aang makes no attempt to hide his pride, throwing arms around Zuko and huffing an exasperated but giddy thank you into his shoulder.

He knows Sokka would have made the trip alone, if he had to.

Toph slips the pouch into Zuko's hand when no one's looking. And then she thumps him on the arm with so much force it almost sends him toppling.

"Idiot," Toph tells him, but her voice is fond. "Good thing you made it back. I was getting tired of holding onto that thing."

Even with nothing stopping him it takes time for Zuko to work up the nerve. During daily training there is always someone close by, within earshot. And while giving gifts is not a crime he still shudders at the idea of being watched.

He waits until later in the day. Sokka is off hunting with Hakoda while Katara and Suki gathers herbs. Toph is nowhere to be found but last he'd seen she was napping under the midday sun.

It's just him and Aang here, wandering along the forest edge. He can hear water running up ahead, knows they are nearing the river.

The beads are starting to burn a hole in his pocket.

"Hey Aang," Zuko starts, already feeling his chest tighten. He's never been good at talking or socializing. This will require both, and for a moment he thinks about backing out. He could drop the necklace on Aang's sleeping bag and call it a day, pretend he's never seen it before.

But that's-well, it's kind of selfish. It would be better for him, but not for Aang. The monk is someone who would treasure a gift like this. He'd want to know where it came from and Zuko owes him that at least.

He gathers all his courage, fingers catching on the beads to bring them out when-

"I miss Gyatso." The boy says, so sudden and soft it leaves Zuko unable to breathe for a moment. The necklace falls back into his pocket.

"Y-You do?" Fuck, of course he does. That was dumb. Zuko curses himself softly, trying again. "I mean, sure you do. He was your family."

"He was, but I...." Aang hesitates, throat closing up. He is staring past the trees, eyes following water as it runs in fast currents down stream. It makes a soft bubbling noise. On any other day the young monk would have run ahead, jump head first into the water and then he'd surely turn and splash Zuko. He would giggle and Zuko would smile and that would be fine. A good day.

Today isn't going to be one of those days.

"I failed him."

Zuko tenses at his side, alarmed and certain he's misheard. "What?"

Aang doesn't look at him.

"I ran away." He confesses, gaze falling to the forest floor. "But If I had just waited a litter longer...maybe I could've stopped the war from starting. Gyatso could've gotten really, really old and died happy in his bed at like, 105. It could have been peaceful. He was peaceful."

"But... he died fighting. Isn't that honorable?" Zuko blurts, grimacing as the words leave his mouth. The airbenders were a gentle people, and he must sound like an ass suggesting that violence is a valiant way to go.

Aang looks at him as if reading his thoughts, and for a moment the boy seems unbearably sad. But that moment passes and Aang's voice chases away the quiet comfort of bubbling water.

"That's the problem! He wasn't supposed to die fighting. He wasn't supposed to die at all! And if I had just been there-" The monk cuts himself off, eyes flickering sharply to Zuko's face, challenging. "Who cares about honor anyways?

The exiled prince feels suddenly small under that gaze, shoulders slumping as he concedes. For him honor had been everything. There was no love to speak of. But the way Aang talks, with devotion coloring every word, he knows the air bender would have thrown all pride out the window at even a chance at saving that old monk.

It's what he should have done for uncle that day in Ba Sing Se, but in the moment honor seemed more important.

Shame washes over him so strong he feels dizzy with it.

He should bow his head and apologize- let that be the end of it, but something about the forlorn expression on Aang's face urges him to speak.

"I'm sorry. And you're right, for the most part."

"The most part?" Aang asks, incredulous. He looks ready to argue but Zuko holds up a hand, placating.

"Again you're right, what I said was stupid. Just listen." The ex-prince shuffles his feet, struggling to string the words together so he can make Aang understand. He tries to imagine what Iroh would say, but its been so long since he's had his uncles guidance, and unfortunately he's never been capable of eloquence.

"If you had been there, chances are he would have died protecting you." He says bluntly, raw with truth. It feels like cursing in church and Aang-

Aang sways as if stricken. The monk's nostrils flare, and he tucks his lip between teeth to keep from making a sound. He holds Zuko's gaze through it all. The firebender looks pained, perhaps remembering the last time he'd spoken out of place. But there is kindness in his gaze, and he reaches to catch Aang by the elbow; steadying him. It hurts to think about, leaves the monk feeling hollow and breathless, but what Zuko says is true. Gyatso would have done anything to keep him safe, and he'd have done it with a smile.

"Then who knows," Zuko continues, shifting close enough to rest a hand on Aang's shoulder. "Either the fire nation would've killed you or you'd go full avatar and do things you'd regret." They never had a chance, not really. Aang was going to wind up losing either way.

It's not fair, but its life.

"I know you miss Gyatso, but you haven't failed. You're going to bring peace, I just know it." And while he's never met Gyatso, he has a feeling the monk would agree.

"And well, this might sound selfish and awful but i'm glad you fell into the iceberg." Zuko flinches as the words register. Nothing is coming out right and he just keeps digging this hole deeper- but Aang doesn't seem angry, only confused.

So Zuko tries again.

"Okay that, that came out wrong." He amends awkwardly, and the smile Aang sends him is almost fond. "What I meant was just-" The ex-prince waves a hand through the air, frustrated but determined to get the words out.

"Im happy we met." He doesn't say you changed me the way you're changing the world. He doesn't say that tagging along with their group is the closest he's ever come to belonging. He doesn't say they're the only family he knows.

He just smiles and presses a beaded necklace into Aang's hand.

The monk inhales sharply as he examines the polished wood in his palm, recognition immediate. When he looks up at Zuko his eyes are shining and he's smiling so wide it hurts.

"Im happy about that, too."

The comet hits and they all have different jobs to do. Zuko battles with his sister in the courtyard of what was once their home. That part is expected. But her hair is a mess, and something must be wrong because Azula has always been precise. Today her attacks are unpredictable, fire burning wild. She roars and incinerates everything in her path but she hasn't brought out the lightening and Zuko wonders if she can even control it in this state.

It's hard to watch her deteriorate.

But he's prepared for it. Her mental state is giving him an edge and he might've even won if not for Azula sharing the mind of their father.

His sister is poised to strike, fingers igniting in shocks of blue. She aims for him, but in the last second those amber eyes shift.

Katara is unguarded, she's not even part of this fight and-

In that moment he has a choice to make.

It would be an honor to finally defeat his sister. But Zuko remembers that day in the woods, Aang's distant gaze and the reverent way he said Gyatso's name. He remembers the quiver in Katara's lip as she told him of her mother, the hug she'd given him that day they confronted the man responsible. He thinks of Iroh in his cage, the greatest mistake he's ever made.

Who cares about honor anyways?

Zuko moves without so much as a second thought.

Lightening feels a lot like all the elements working together. When it hits him even his bones vibrate. The impact is searing, electricity thrumming with a life of its own. It goes through his body like water flows through currents.

Katara cries for him even as she saves his life, and that's- well its to be expected of someone like her, who loves with her whole being the way Aang does. But Zuko still feels humbled by it.

He never thought anyone would cry for him.

But then the others arrive, and one by one they take stock of each other. Sokka is filthy and his face is littered with small cuts and bruises but he grins when he sets eyes on them. He asks after Zuko's newly acquired scar, and then he's crying too when Katara explains what happened. Suki is in a similar state, and for once Toph is too tired to shove or swing at anyone's arm. Instead she shuffles over to lean against Zuko's side.

They wait for Aang, and as the small speck of red recognizable as his guilder comes into view they collectively release a breathe, energy draining away all at once. In those few seconds something shifts between them, the knowledge that things aren't okay, not yet, but the can be.

None of them are surprised to learn Ozai is still alive, but it is a shock to Zuko's system when the small monk explains how he'd taken away the mans bending.

His father, the great and terrible firelord, unable to conjure the element he was always so proud of.

It's a strange sort of justice, and in a way Zuko believes this is better. Aang does not have to suffer knowing he's taken a life, even a low life.

And his father gets to live in the same cage he'd thrown Iroh in.

It's fitting.

The music box is right where he left it, in a tiny tin buried beneath blooming shrubbery that grows next to the pond where he and his mother used to sit and feed the turtleducks. He had chosen this spot specifically because his father and Azula never bothered with this place unless in passing, and the palace staff has no reason to snoop.

And still, his heart flutters in relief as he uncovers the weather damaged metal. He means to remove the lid and peak inside, but there are light footfalls at his back and he smiles without turning.

"Whatcha looking at?" Aang hovers, standing on his tip toes to peek over the firebenders shoulder.

He's wearing the beaded necklace.

Zuko hums, evasive. He'd been hoping to check his treasure, see what's still intact and able to be gifted. He didn't want Aang to see them in this condition, much worse than when he found them after their hundred year wait. He knows them to be faded by exposure and dirty from travel, damaged through Zhao's assassination attempt.

Aang has other things on his mind.

"Katara told me what happened."

He almost drops the box, but scarred fingers tighten on instinct.

Zuko head snaps up, eyes wide as a startled deer. He doesn't know what to expect, but it's not the soft look Aang sends him. Grey eyes warm with adoration, and Zuko can't help but squirm.

He can hardly remember the last time anyone looked at him like that, but he knows it had to be his mother.

"Thank you." Aang says quietly, with all the sincerity in the world. And Zuko thinks he'd make that sacrifice a thousand times over, for this boy who has lost more than just family. He lost a nation, all of his people. The least Zuko can do is protect the few friends he's managed to salvage.

And still, Zuko doesn't know what to say to that. Shouldn't he be the one thanking Aang? They're standing in the middle of his homelands, and he's been banished for so long he still can't wrap his mind around it.

He never did catch the Avatar, but Aang still brought him home.

"Here-" Zuko says, shoving the box into Aang's hands. Words fail, but he knows this will be understood.

"Oh, what is it?" The monk grins so wide his cheeks ache.

"It's...Uh.." The firebender blinks, uncertain. In truth there are a lot of mundane things in that container, but to Zuko they've been treasure. The only bits of hope he'd managed to hold on to, even when hitting rock bottom.

"Oh." Aang breathes, the metal lid clattering at their feet. Inside the music box sits, untouched since Zuko made the decision to leave his honor behind in favor of helping to save everything his father was so hellbent on destroying.

"I just, I know you were talking about rebuilding the temples and everything so I...I thought you should have this." Zuko murmurs, shifting awkwardly as Aang reaches into the container. "It'll help you get started."

"Wh-where did it all come from?" The boy gasps, fingers picking out several coins from the bottom. They are shades of silver and gold, and Aang shines brighter than they could ever hope to.

"Its everything I've gathered since my banishment." Zuko explains softly, a gentle smile tugging at his lips. "Those came from the Northern temple." He reaches, pulling out a small wooden toy with a pull string propeller. It's obviously handcarved, and Aang absolutely delights at the sight of it.

"A whirligig! I haven't seen one of these since-" Aang cuts himself off, heart aching at the memory of Gyatso's face, kindly explaining how they realized he was the avatar, all based on the fact the he chose four little toys out of thousands.

"That one came from the East." Zuko supplies. He'd almost stepped on it, and would have if not for Iroh's observant eye, noticing a peculiar shape among the rubble. "And im pretty sure these are from the West temples." He pulls a out a tiny velvet bag, upturning it in his hand.

Four marbles fall out, clinking together noisily as they settle in Zuko's palm. There is a color to represent each nation.

Aang coos as he sets eyes on them.

"Marbles! Oh, let me see 'em!" Aang bounces, literally thrumming with excitement as Zuko drops the perfectly rounded rocks into his hand

"Watch this!" The boy cheers, and Zuko watches as the marbles rise. They are suspended in air, spinning around and around, so fast it looks like a whirlwind of color between two palms.

It's quite beautiful.

"Wow, that's uh-" Zuko clears his throat, equal parts impressed and flustered. There are a few fire bending tricks but he never bothered to learn any for show. Or rather, he was encouraged not to waste time on something so wasteful as parlor tricks.

But Aang does his little marble spin and it makes Zuko's chest fill with warmth, and maybe those little tricks are worth much more than he ever realized.

"That's really cool, Aang." Zuko says, voice soft and genuine. "But this one is my favorite." He reaches for the music box, fingers curling around the aged porcelain with something akin to reverence.

Aang all but squeals with delight, both hands reaching out to skim across the sides, popping it open to reveal the small bender poised in its center. The paint is incredibly faded, and there are numerous chips in the glass but that doesn't matter because the bender itself is intact.

Zuko twists the small key on it's back, and together they watch as the porcelain man begins to spin. Music spills forth slowly, filling the space between them with warmth.

"It came from the Southern air temples. They were the first I ever stepped foot on." He doesn't need to elaborate on that, Aang knows why his search started there.

It's his home, the last place he ever shared with Gyatso.

"Uncle found it, but he gave it to me as a little keep sake." Zuko cringes at the memory. He wasn't looking at Iroh at the time but he could hear anguish in the mans voice as he turned to leave.

"I was rude and threw it away," He tells Aang honestly, refusing to hide from his shame. "So this chip here? I did that. Sorry." Zuko points to a small missing piece of the box's corner. "Luckily I felt bad and went looking for it." He smiles but it doesn't reach he eyes. "I realize now uncle was only trying to offer me hope, what little there was to be had." Zuko settles the box in Aang's palm, and it doesn't hurt at all.

"It's yours now. All of it."

Aang brightens like the dawning sun. "Wha? Really!" And then, "Are you sure?"

"Yeah, im sure." Zuko agrees, proud the artifacts have found their way home. "I was just holding onto it for you."

Aang is already smiling, but somehow he manages to stretch the grin wider. It splits his face, and Zuko can feel the boundless joy pouring off him in waves.

"Wow, thanks Zuko!" He speaks like he can't believe his luck, reaching out to thread his arm through one of Zuko's. There was a time when the firebender would jerk away at the contact, but now he leans into it, canting his elbow out to give Aang more room.

The turtleducks chirp, swimming along the water. Aang is torn between watching them and appraising his new treasures.

Zuko watches Aang.

"I always wondered what song it played." He says, gesturing to the music box with his free hand.

Aang is thrilled to accommodate him. "Oh that? Yeah! It's a really old lullaby! Gyatso used to sing it all the time." Aang leans into Zuko's shoulder, humming along with the melody.

"I think the name of it was you are my sunshine, or something like that." The young monk smiles, taking a moment to gather himself as he recalls a memory long lost. "But mostly we just called it the sunshine song. Would you like to hear it?"

He can feel Zuko stiffen at his side, and when he looks up amber eyes are turned towards him in wonder.

"Yes please."

Aang holds the music box close, fingers painstakingly gentle as they wind the knob once more. The song restarts, and this time Aang's voice carries with it.

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy, when skies are grey. You'll never know dear, how much I love you.

Please don't take my sunshine away.