Chapter Text
(+1)
Zuko is sitting out in the garden at the edge of the water, just catching a break, when he hears footsteps approaching in the grass.
For a moment he’s worried it’s an advisor or a guard; someone that will call him back inside and force him to get back to the work that he’s currently avoiding, but he turns to instead see Izumi walking towards him. There’s a small teacup clutched in her hands. As she walks, she tips the cup enough that a few drops fall to the ground at her feet. She’s only about five, so she can’t keep it upright enough to prevent the liquid from spilling.
“Izumi?” he calls out, turning to face his daughter fully as she approaches. “What do you have in your hands there?”
“I made this for you, daddy,” she says, voice soft and sweet. She holds the small cup up to him, liquid sloshing inside but this time staying in the cup instead of splashing out.
He takes it from her. Half of the drink in the cup is already gone. Zuko would bet that if he retraced Izumi’s steps, he would find regular drips from her inability to keep the cup steady. The poor servants will have to clean up after her. Thankfully, they’re all far too fond of her to complain of the small messes that she sometimes makes. Zuko swirls the cup curiously, an eyebrow raised.
“Is this tea?” he asks.
She nods eagerly. “Try it! I made it all by myself. Well, Grandpa Iroh helped me with the water, but I did the leaves alone! He just watched to make sure I didn’t touch the hot water.”
“Did he, really?” Zuko asks.
His throat feels tight as he remembers, years ago, his uncle’s guidance—sitting in the dirt, on the run, a fugitive—he remembers failing to make a proper pot of tea miserably, over and over again. He remembers his uncle’s kind words and encouragement every time he got it wrong, pushing him to learn from his mistakes.
“He did. He said I did good!”
The tea, as expected of a five-year-old, is terrible. Surprisingly, it is not too bitter, the way that Zuko had made his first pot, but Izumi had obviously been too impatient to let the leaves steep. Instead, she poured the water too soon, leaving the drink incredibly weak and almost tasteless.
(it’s the best tea he’s ever tasted)
Not only is it near tasteless, but the tea is already cold; Izumi was probably cautioned by Iroh against picking up the cup before the drink cooled, and the time she took to find Zuko let it cool off the rest of the way. Zuko has never been a fan of cold tea, but he doesn’t use his bending to heat it up. It wouldn’t feel right to change the tea his daughter had brought him, to heat it up when she gave it to him stone-cold and almost water.
“It seems like Grandpa Iroh is an amazing teacher,” Zuko says. “You’ve done a wonderful job.”
He drains the rest of his tea, then sets the cup on the grass beside him and reaches out to pull his daughter into his lap. She throws her arms around his neck, delighted to tuck herself against him.
“I’m glad you liked it, daddy,” she says softly.
“I loved it,” he assures her. He can feel the smile on his face, full of love for his daughter. “Would you like to make tea with me, sometime? We could do it together. It might be fun.”
She lurches back in his arms, almost tipping over as she pushes at his shoulders to grin into his face. “Yes!” she exclaims. “I want to do that!”
She throws herself against him as soon as she’s done talking again, and he laughs as he wraps his arms tightly around her to prevent her from shooting back and almost into the pond a second time. A second later, he hears more footsteps, and he looks up to see Uncle walking towards the two of them. He’s visiting for a few weeks; he’ll be going back to his tea shop in Ba Sing Se soon enough, but it will be Izumi’s birthday in ten days, and he insisted on showing up for his granddaughter.
“It seems like you’ve had your daughter’s tea,” he says. His eyes are crinkled at the corners, joy clear in his expression.
“Thank you for helping her make it,” Zuko says.
Uncle inclines his head. “It is always nice to teach a new person how to appreciate a proper pot of tea.”
Zuko doubts that his daughter truly appreciates tea yet. She’s too young to be able to tell the subtle differences in the flavors, to be able to appreciate the fine art and precision needed to brew a truly amazing pot. But Zuko was the same when he first started learning, and now he is almost as good as his uncle.
(almost, but not quite)
“Thank you,” Zuko says again, and he means more than for his daughter.
He looks up at his uncle as he holds his daughter in his arms, the taste of poorly-made jasmine still lingering on his tongue, and he is already looking forward to the next cup that he shares with his family.
He is so happy to be home.