This is as close as I come to writing shippy fic. Takes place after episode 3.5 (The Beach) and before 3.11 (The Invasion).

At this juncture, Zuko was open to the possibility that perhaps, in a few select circumstances, his temper might be aversely affecting his quality of life.

Just maybe. At any rate, it had recently caused Mai to dump a plate of nut brittle and several of her choicest pieces of sarcastic invective all over him and storm out of her solarium. Zuko flicked a chunk off his tunic. It pinged against a wooden chest and fell to the floor smoldering.

The palanquin bearers would be smirking about this for days. The reason for his explosion was so monumentally stupid it was almost painful—Mai's grandmother had interrupted them, with the utmost discretion, to remind Mai they had a reservation for a quite family dinner in an hour. Zuko was nowhere near ready to relinquish her, for his left hand had just departed on an exploratory mission beneath her undershirt and had yet to fully experience such exotic climes.

At that point, a simple: "She'll join you later. I'll see to it that you have a table." would have sufficed…but instead Zuko popped his head over the back of the sofa, glared at the aged woman, and snapped: "Get out of here, you old hag. Can't you see we're busy?"

She apologized with excruciating politeness and excused herself. In her own home.

Then came the scolding and the nut brittle, and he would be out one Mai for days instead of hours. He hadn't even meant it, really. The old woman was nowhere near as smothering as her daughter-in-law, and had been extremely understanding about the frequent visits the Prince paid to her granddaughter. She had three girls of her own, and Zuko was quite sure she knew exactly what sort of activities a young royal and an unescorted noblewoman would be indulging in. She knew and she left them alone, because she trusted Mai. He was too proud to chase after them and apologize, of course, so simply sat there feeling like an ass. Mai hated it when he acted like this. He didn't want her to leave, that was all. Didn't she understand? He was trying to protect her.

Yes, protect her—from some airhead navy brat she would never meet again. From her parents. From her own grandmother. And if she kept refusing? What then? He was crown prince. He had power enough that he had but to give the word in a fit of anger and she would be forced to submit.

Zuko bolted upright, feeling like he'd swallowed a mouthful of ice. He knew it so very, very well—disobedience to the Fire Lord was met with swift retribution, whether it be a son, a brother, a friend, a city, a nation. And he received what, in return? Unwilling hands and hearts full of nothing but hatred. Whatever gifts he bestowed or hollow pleasure he took would be tainted with it, and like his father he would walk on alone, to the end of his days.

That was the path of the perfect prince, what he had fought so long and so hard to set himself on. "I'm sorry, Uncle," he whispered. "You were right. All along, you were right."