This is a companion drabble to the previous chapter, The Perfect Kiss.

Close to the Heart

Mai didn't like the scar.

The shiny, fleshy starburst centered on his hard, ridged torso seemed to announce to the world all her own failings. All she saw when Zuko slipped out of his tunic were the if-onlys.

If only she'd been there to protect him. If only she'd seen Azula for what she was. If only she'd stood up to the princess months, even years ago; or simply refused to leave Omashu when her "friend" had come calling, the man she loved would not be marred so.

Zuko didn't know that was how she felt, didn't know the shame she felt at seeing it, or why she turned her face away from the disfigurement. He mistook her reaction for something else.

When he took her hand to guide it to the spot, she flinched. “It doesn't hurt,” he assured her gently. "It healed over fine."

But that didn't assuage her guilt, or that feeling deep in her marrow that the mark was somehow more than just a battle scar. She'd noticed the way he rubbed at it whenever they talked about the time he spent among the Avatar and his friends. She'd seen that faraway look in his eyes, heard the barest softening of his voice.

“Tell me again how you got it,” Mai asked, hating the quiver beneath her carefully practiced monotone.

And there it was: that moment's hesitation, that glitter of something refracting a myriad emotions, pain and love chief among them.

“Azula shot lightning.” He'd gotten good at imitating her ennui, and added a wry twist of his lips. “And I intercepted it...badly.” And that was all he ever said about it.

She wanted to call him on it. Wanted to beat her fists against that solid, marked chest until he told her the whole truth.

But what purpose would that have served? The scar would still be there serving as a blatant reminder of everything she'd done wrong, everything she'd couldn't fix...and everything she wasn't and would never be.