((So, this is officially the first Avatar fic/drabble I've finished (sans weeks of re-writing and a beta, hope it's not too bad considering)! Thank you for requesting, Kyoshilover, here is your fic. I took the liberty of making it AU, since you didn't specify which incarnation of Zuko's character you wanted paired with Suki, so I tweaked some things and went with the most recent, but "good." Romance without angst as its focal point was hard to manage for this couple, but I hope you enjoy the final prroduct! Avatar does not belong to me, face massage belongs to the world, and the characters are all the original creators'.
To Heal Lost Hope
Requested by Kyoshilover
A Zuko/Suki Fic
“What is this, anyway?”
“I’m not going to tell you.
Hold still or I’ll end up blinding you!”
Suki pressed her fingers to the corner of his right eye, spreading the red, oily paste beneath his brow and up to his hairline in a refined arc. He grimaced at the damp chill and leaned back, his hand lifting to grasp her wrist.
“This is a waste of time!”
The Kyoshi warrior frowned. Zuko reciprocated.
The clamor of merchants and crying children, the busy streets of Ba Sing Se, the general commotion of too many people doing too many things in one place, had faded long ago. Whispers of leaves and small creatures lent the balmy night air an elaborate secrecy. Moonlight shone on the branches above, crafting the canopy into bleak mural of shadow and light. After a night and a full day of running, Zuko appreciated being able to flee at his leisure; he sincerely doubted that Azula and her companions would bother to track him down with the most powerful city in the Earth Kingdom at their mercy, and the Kyoshi warrior had assured him that he wasn’t being followed.
Predictably, she had only agreed to help him after he’d choked out an explanation with her rope pulled across his throat.
Zuko watched as Suki – the girl who had assured him she was indeed of Kyoshi blood by means of a distrustful scowl and persuasive fists, despite the fact she had been stripped of her warrior’s attire and wore peasant’s clothing – scraped her fingers against the side of the small golden bowl that kept her scarlet war-paint.
“You said you needed a disguise. You said you needed a mask.” Her frustration was obvious, brightly painted lips pursed. Though they had been resting together in a tentative peace, obviously not all enmities had been shared and reconciled.
Not enough to put that
on my face.“No.” Zuko wiped his face and continued to watch her until the bowl’s top was firmly sealed.
***
Because she was suspicious and Zuko was tired of suspicion, on the quiet path he told her the details of his betrayal of the Fire Nation, of the Avatar’s death, of their flight from the palace, the blockade of Dai Lee warriors they met above ground. It had been too much for them to stay together, three weakened and one dead: the water tribe girl carrying the Avatar, Uncle Iroh, and himself. She was quiet when he repeated his Uncle’s command: they must remain behind so the Avatar could
escape.
And then he was quiet for a long time, too.
Then eventually, Suki told him what an absolute b***h his sister was.
He didn’t ask about her companions again.
***
During the day they traveled the road, and at nights they took cover and rested. By the fourth day, both prince and warrior had developed vicious neck pains from looking up to the clouds all day long, searching for the white bison and his riders. The green wilderness flourished on all sides, and the sun illuminated everything. It was early morning, and since dawn they’d traveled without a word exchanged.
It was this sort of congenial silence that made a warrior a good traveling companion, Zuko reflected as he looked towards the heavens. (A quick scan revealed nothing. No Avatar’s bison, no water tribe peasants, no Avatar corpse.) Then,
“Look!” Suki ran forward, pointing up to the sky, and Zuko saw her eyes alight and her smile stunning for the first time. He peered through the trees, and then chased after her as her distance from him grew. Despite his best efforts, Zuko found himself unable to catch sight of the Avatar’s flying creature, running and dodging through the forest, a surge of something new and exhilarating refreshing his body and exciting his mind.
They came to a clearing and Suki slowed, finger still pointing at the now-clear canvas of cobalt and ivory.
“Where!?” (He ignored the familiar tug at the back of his mind.)
“Look, there.” Suki pointed up, smiling, drawing her finger across the wide blue expanse of puffy cloud shapes in a sinuous line. Zuko frowned, but the last thing he was expecting to hear next was,
“The Unagi!”
So for a moment, he was determined to keep searching.
But when it became (painfully) clear that there was no Avatar’s flying bison, Zuko turned his golden glare on the Kyoshi girl.
“The water snake?”
She returned his look in full force, a little defensive, maybe a little homesick; he was a little more accustomed to it by now.
“The Unagi - don’t
you remember?”
And whatever delicate echo of childish ecstasy existed in finding shapes in clouds, it vanished abruptly.
***
On the eighth day there was still nothing, no word from travelers, no sign in the sky. Though neither of them said anything, both knew the other’s doubts.
Suki took out her paints by moonlight, after he had built and ignited a small campfire for them both, and set to work remixing the clay that was drying, revitalizing the colors that were paling – she worked as diligently and fervently as an artist, spreading herbs and using spoons carved of strange shapes. Zuko watched her work, glancing over his shoulder as he gathered edible herbs for a meal from the undergrowth surrounding their camp. He returned to the fire occasionally, passing a hand underneath the tipi of sticks to strengthen the flame.
When the black was no longer tinted with gray and the red was vibrantly scarlet, Zuko bended the flame to a steady blaze and left it to tend to itself.
Then he turned, and sat cross-legged in front of her. Suki watched him for a moment before smiling, wry and pleased.
“…. Hold still.”
She dabbed her fingers in the bowl of crimson and pressed her fingers to the corner of his right eye, spreading the paste beneath his brow and up to his hairline in single smooth motion. Zuko did no more than twitch at the paint’s cool touch, closing his eyes and setting his mouth, giving himself up to her labors. Had he been of a weaker mind, what followed would have caused him to shiver. Every touch was gentle as a breath, every stroke a languid caress of his skin, the places where her fingers lingered to smooth out the paste burning unbearably hot after her hands moved on. He sensed the heat of her body shifting inches away as she concentrated, drawing perfect lines and meticulous shades with neither brush nor sun. Stunned by the intimacy of the ritual, her fingertips massaging his temples and her nails slipping over his hairline to brush the strands from his face, his chin tipped upwards beneath her compelling strokes and he realized he was pressing into their contact, subconsciously craving further stimulus. He felt her hand slip to the side of his face and over the tough, withered skin of his scarred ear, soft pressure guiding his face downwards.
Eyes still closed, he almost reached out to catch her wrist before she lined his lips with the final, bloody red cosmetic, but the Kyoshi warrior moved faster, taking the glossy paste and smoothing it across his lips.
When he opened his eyes, she was smiling.
“I’m glad you did.”
Zuko blinked, steadied himself, and lifted a hand to feel the painted mask.
“I’ve never… felt anything like it.” He smiled. Fire Nation masks, ceramic, clay, wood. A covering placed on a child’s face before they were sent to roam the festival grounds. Or before they were instructed to sit next to their father’s throne.
Curiously, he began to explore the unusual concealment, the odd sensation of feeling but not feeling. He asked in an off-hand manner,
“What’s the white made of?”
The Kyoshi warrior smiled. “Um. Not much. Like the others.”
“Like what?” Zuko touched the rest of the mask delicately, careful not to smear the paint.
The fearless Kyoshi warrior mumbled something under her breath, and Zuko froze. He glared, rigid, turning to stare at her full in the face.
“I didn’t. Hear you.”
Suki grimaced, looked up, and repeated herself.
“Bird WHAT?!”