I've spent the last fifteen or so minutes listening to the jokes he was telling the Kyoshi Warriors standing guard outside the entrance to the throne room, so I'm not surprised when he ambles into the room, a large grin on his face. I'm also not surprised to see that his grin vanishes as soon as he takes that first step onto the varnished wooden floor — because how else would a man approach a woman he hasn't spoken to in forty-two years except awkwardly, silently, and unsurely?

He approaches the throne, then bows respectfully, just like he used to do when he was a teenager. "Fire Lord Izumi."

The orange flames around my golden throne rise ever so slightly alongside my nerves. "Commander Bumi," I say, greeting him as nonchalantly as I can.

He smiles wistfully, and my heart palpitates at the sight of that damned smile of his.

It's not a smile so much as it is a smirk, I correct, averting my gaze as soon as I determine that, although Bumi's eyebrows have gotten bushier and his skin has gotten more wrinkled, that damned smile of his hasn't changed the slightest bit. It's still a poorly-masked grin that just barely contains a chuckle and the words "I told you so!" I used to tease him about it when we were kids, but he can't help it. The right corner of his mouth naturally curves upwards just a smidge higher than the left, so his smile always has the air of a challenge, a dare, or, more often than not, a victorious laugh.

"It's been a while since I've been called that," he chuckles, the faintest hint of nostalgia detectable in his voice.

"I don't think I've ever called you that before," I say, certain I've never before called him "Commander Bumi." I couldn't have; the last time I spoke to him was forty-two years ago, when our son Iroh was born, and that was several years before Bumi was promoted to Commander. I've seen him a couple of times since then, but we didn't speak to each other. The last time I saw him was at Tenzin's wedding eighteen years ago, and we'd laid eyes on each other, then, without exchanging a single word, agreed to stay on opposite sides of the airbending training area.

It had been awkward seeing him then, but it's even more awkward now — and not because seeing the warrior eager to learn anything and everything so that he could demonstrate his strength and prove himself worthy of being the son of the [late] Avatar and the greatest waterbender in the world in an airbender wingsuit leaves me all but dumbstruck. It's because the fact that Bumi is almost sixty-seven years old reminds me that it's been almost half a century since he ripped my heart out of my chest and practically sent me marching down the aisle to marry a man I didn't love — which makes me feel pathetic because I'm still hopelessly in love with Avatar Aang's eldest son.

"We… we can't."

"What do you mean 'we can't'?" I demanded. "Why can't we get married?"

"I don't want to marry you, Izumi. I can't be myself when I'm with you."

"I don't understand, Bumi…"

"I want to be me. I want to be Bumi. I've lived my entire life in my parents' and siblings' shadows, and I'm sick of it. I love you, Princess, but if I marry you, all I'll be is the Fire Lord's husband. I won't be me."

I'm still in love with that… that stupid…

"It… it breaks my heart to know that I'm breaking your heart, Princess, but please… do me one final favor and marry someone who treats you well, who makes you laugh… who makes the fire within you burn so brightly even you can't control it."

"You're the only one who can do that, though, Bumi."

"Well… for your sake, Princess," he said, casting his gaze downwards, "I hope you're wrong."

"I'm not wrong."

"Well, then, I'm doubly sorry — because I still won't marry you, Izumi. I want you to be happy, but I want to be happy, too… and even though it's selfish to do so, I'm choosing my happiness over yours."

… that stupid, selfish…

"Why are you doing this, Bumi? Don't you love me anymore?"

"I still love you, Izumi. I always have and I always will. I said it when I was fourteen, and I'll say it again now: I'll always love you, no matter what happens to us. I don't intend on breaking the promise I made you all those years ago."

"You're breaking it by refusing to propose to me!"

"I'm sorry you see it that way, Princess… but I've made my decision."

"But—."

"I'm sorry, Izumi. I'm really sorry."

… that stupid, selfish idiot of a man.

"It's been a while since you've called me anything besides 'Princess,'" I add lamely, simultaneously desperate to continue this conversation and to end it immediately.

"You haven't been a princess in nine years, Izumi," Bumi retorts, shooting me a wry look, one eyebrow raised, his mouth curled into its characteristic smirk. "If, however, you'd like to regress to such a status, I could—."

"It is my honor and privilege to serve as Fire Lord, Bumi."

The grin on his face starts to disappear, and seeing it vanish tugs painfully at my heart.

Oh, the things I want to do to him… I think bitterly, averting my gaze from his toned figure and cursing his ability to be as fit at [almost] sixty-seven as he was at twenty-four. I don't know whether I want to banish him from my country or bring him into my bedroom and pick up where we left off forty-three years ago, the night we conceived Iroh!

"I suppose I should apologize for never sending my condolences after your husband died…"

That statement draws me out of my cogitations. "Oh… uh… it's alright," I murmur, a little ashamed that I haven't thought about my late husband at all since I was told last week that Bumi had requested permission to enter Royal Caldera City.

I stare at him — at his wild hair, specifically. It'll be interesting to see him after he earns his airbending tattoos; I can't imagine him bald, I muse, recalling the times I styled his hair in a Fire Nation-style topknot.

"I should apologize, too," I add, disregarding the distant memories. "I should've sent my condolences after your wife's passing, and especially after your daughter's. I'm so sorry for your losses, Bumi. I read about Hana's death in the newspaper after she… uh, after the incident… and I can't imagine how devastating it must have been to lose her. I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy."

I watch as anguish washes over his now-wrinkled face, then as the genial expression for which he is known returns.

"It was a… trying time," he admits, "but I take comfort in knowing that I pay homage to her by living my life to the fullest every day."

I don't know how to respond to that (on account of the fact that I never met Hana), so an awkward silence fills the room; but after a couple of seconds, Bumi speaks again.

"It almost seems like the universe is trying to tell us something, doesn't it?"

I shoot him a curious look. "What do you mean?"

"Well… it's almost as if the universe is trying to tell us that we were meant to be together. I mean, both of our spouses died prematurely…"

"We could have been together," I respond curtly, all too aware that elaborating will drive the proverbial knife that sentence stabbed me with further into my heart.

I watch as Bumi glances downwards, then returns his attention to me. The expression on his face is hard, but not cold. "I wanted to be, Izumi."

"You wanted to be with Iroh, Bumi," I growl, gripping the arms of my throne so tightly my already pale knuckles turn white as snow. "You didn't want to be with me."

He opens his mouth to respond, then changes his mind, closes it, and, with another formal bow, turns his back to me. "I appreciate your letting me stay in the Palace, Izumi. I'll be in my room if you want to… talk," he announces.

He starts for the exit, and as I redirect my gaze from the not-yet-tattooed airbender to the orange flames at my sides, I can't help but laugh at our cruelly ironic lives. I mean, after living his entire life as a nonbender, the universe has finally granted Bumi's wish: to be a bender. And after forty-two years, he's finally granted my wish and come back to me. It's too bad that when I stitched my broken heart back together, I did so so tightly it's impossible for it to open up again.

It's amazing, I think as the curtain serving as the entrance/exit to the throne room flutters shut behind Bumi, how everything is different, yet absolutely nothing has changed.