(A/N): Thanks, RunningStorm!

Firestarter

Inspired by the science fiction works of Stephen King.

Azula

The interior of the van was cramped, and much too warm. Azula didn't like what the humidity was doing to her hair. The only thing that kept her from running the van's air conditioner was the knowledge that her bulky, heavily tattooed escort, Manfred, would only subject her to this discomfort in order to do his job as efficiently as possible. She appreciated that about him.

The young girl had always imagined that Canada would be colder. The night air had some bite to it now that autumn had set in, but it lacked the intensity that she had anticipated. The whole country had been a disappointment to her. Not that her expectations had been very high to begin with. She would never have agreed to come here in the first place if she hadn't had reason to suspect her brother was hiding somewhere north of the border. Her benefactor couldn't offer her anything that was worth this amount of drudgery.

A skinny old man sagged in front of her. His face was so drained of colour that it practically matched his bushy white moustache, and his breath came in pathetic, ragged gasps. He cradled one of his hands close to his chest, and it was evident that most of the fingers were broken.

As feeble as he looked, the old man was proving to be more difficult than she had anticipated. She could tell that he was somehow emotionally invested in the information that he was keeping from her; otherwise, Manfred would have succeeded in extracting it from him hours ago.

The more Azula brooded over her situation the more irritated she became. Electricity sizzled inside the pit of her stomach. She wanted to sink her nails into the man in front of her and release all of that pent up energy right into his central nervous system, but on the outside she maintained her composure. No one could live through something like that, let alone this feeble creature. It was a wonder he hadn't had a heart attack and died already.

She turned to Manfred with an exaggerated sigh. "I'm getting bored," she told him. "Why don't you start on the other hand?"

Manfred had a thing about hands – probably because he had lost his own, along with one of his legs. Azula sometimes forgot this, because he was never without gloves and his special talents allowed him to manage so well without them. Only the occasional squeak of hinges betrayed the fact that his right arm and leg had been replaced by metal prosthetics, which he manipulated using sheer force of will.

Manfred said nothing. (He never did. That was why Azula's presence was required. It was her job to ask the questions.) The large, muscled man merely bowed his head and closed his eyes in concentration. He always had the appearance of a Cyclops when he did this, as he had a third eye inked onto his forehead. Azula secretly thought that his tattoo was kind of lame, but she knew better than to risk damaging her escort's sense of pride by saying anything.

The sensation of something in the air, an invisible force, bending around her and a sickening crunching noise behind him alerted Azula to the fact that her escort had obliged her request. She turned back to her prisoner.

"Let's try something easier this time," she said, patting the trembling old man's shaven head affectionately. "What's your name?"

She already knew the old man's name, and she was certain that he knew she knew. There was really nothing to prevent him from cooperating with her, except, perhaps for his principals.

"Gyatso. Cheng Gyatso."

She smirked. So much for principals.

"You're not speaking American," Azula complained, her voice laden with melodrama. "Say it properly."

She didn't need to tell Manfred what to do. One of Gyatso's legs convulsed violently. It appeared to be moving of its own volition, but Azula could sense her partner at work.

"Gyatso Cheng!"

"See? That wasn't so hard now was it?" Azula rubbed the old man's head again, as if he was the child and she the elder. "I'm a bit of a stickler for fine details like that. I don't like it when people don't tell me exactly what I want to hear. Now, why don't you tell me a bit more about the White Lotus Adoption Agency?"

The old man remained silent, a bleak expression on his face. Azula could sense Manfred readying behind her.

"Stop!" She exclaimed suddenly, surprising herself.

Manfred stopped what he was doing. He always complied with Azula's wishes.

Azula herself had no idea what she was doing. She found herself reaching out to grasp the old man by the shoulders, her red finger nails burrowing into the fabric of his shirt.

"Gyatso?" She found herself saying, "Gyatso is that you?"

She couldn't remember the last time that she had cried, but now tears welled up in her eyes, foreign and unwelcome.

"What's happening?" She demanded; a display of weakness that she would never have allowed, under normal circumstances. "What have they done to you?"

She sobbed, unable to stop herself and slid down to her knees, gripping her prisoner as if she was afraid that he would slip away from her.

"You disappeared!" She wailed, childishly. "I was waiting and waiting and no one could tell me what was going on!"

Gyatso looked at her, and she could see his defences shatter as his expression gave way to recognition.

"Aang?" He gasped. "Aang, no! Whatever you're doing, you have to stop."

Azula's tears ceased abruptly, and her mind cleared. She clambered to her feet. Although she was quite perturbed by what had happened, she didn't let it show on her face.

"Well," she said. "That was unexpected."

With a confident smile, the young girl wiped her eyes with the back of her wrist, careful not to smear any of her makeup on the cuff of her immaculate white blouse.

"It seems I've been asking the wrong questions," she confessed. "I think you and I need to have a talk about this Aang of yours, don't you agree?"

(A/N): Writing Azula is HARD. I tried ok?

Oh, and Azula/Combustion Man is totally new OTP. (I jest, of course.)