AN: My first Avatar ficlet...I don't feel like I quite have a handle on the characters yet but I'm trying to get the hang of them. It ended up turning out a bit sappier than I meant...oh well.

Sometimes, Zuko can't help but envy Sokka.

It's a quiet evening. Not a lot of those come their way, so they're making the most of it. Aang is down at the beach, giving Appa a long-overdue grooming and brushing. Zuko is in the middle of baking a large batch of hard bread over a carefully controlled fire, because with Sozin's comet only days away they're probably going to be doing a lot of running and flying and fighting and dashing around soon, and might not have time to sit around waiting for rice to cook. Toph is off somewhere practicing her sand-bending, and Suki and Sokka are busily sharpening their weapons on the other side of the fire.

Then there's Katara, sitting next to him, hunched over Sokka's tunic and muttering to herself.

"Honestly, Sokka," she's grumbling, as she threads the fishbone needle through the torn fabric and pulls it straight. "Good clothes like this can't just be found on the roadside. If you were more careful—"

"We've just found clothes on drying lines before," Sokka says, rolling his eyes. "So technically, yes they can!"

"We're not making a habit of that!" Katara snaps back, giving the thread a jerk. "And I'm not going to keep fixing every little rip and tear for you just because you get clumsy when you're trying to impress Suki!"

They go back and forth on it until they're driving Zuko nuts, and he'd love nothing better than to tell them to both shut up. But he doesn't, because in a way it's also making him a little jealous, and he doesn't want to speak up and come across as bitter.

The thing is, no matter how much Katara claims she won't help her brother if he messes up again, she doesn't mean it for a second. When he tore his sleeve on those brambles this afternoon while he and Suki were sparring, Sokka hadn't even had to ask Katara to fix it for him. The moment she saw the rip his sister had ordered him to hand the tunic over immediately and dug into the packs for her sewing kit. Yes, she's complained the entire time, but she insisted on taking care of it immediately, straining her eyes in the dim, flickering light of the fire rather than leaving it until tomorrow.

Zuko tries to picture his sister doing something like that for him, and fails utterly.

Imagining Azula doing any sort of menial labor is an exercise in the absurd, of course. Fire princes and princesses aren't exactly brought up to cook their own food or mend their own clothing—Zuko would never have been in the position he's in now if he hadn't been banished and forced to fend for himself. But class issues aside, the very idea of his sister doing something nice for him without cruel ulterior motives is…well, not really worth exploring. He snorts quietly to himself. If anything he should be grateful that she never smothered him in his sleep when they were children.

At that thought, the memory of Azula sing-songing, "Father's going to kill you!" springs into his mind so vividly that he can actually hear it.

Yeah. There's no point in wondering what it would be like to have a sister who mourned their mother's loss as deeply as he did instead of one who mocked him over it.

On the other hand, Zuko thinks guiltily, he's not a model brother either. True, she's a cruel, evil snake, not to mention mentally imbalanced, and probably does a lot more harm than good in the world, but Azula is still his baby sister. He doesn't think that would make him stay his hand if it came down to a fight to the death, and what kind of person with any sort of honor could think that about his own blood? Azula could, but she doesn't really qualify.

"You ok, Zuko?" Sokka asks, startling him out of his unpleasant musings. Realizing his face is set in a dark scowl, he makes an effort to relax a little.

"Fine," he grunts. The other young man eyes him for a moment, but then drops it. Being habitually taciturn does have its bright side, Zuko reflects dourly.

Beside him Katara sighs, nudging a little closer to the fire and squinting at her stitches in the unsteady light. It's on the tip of his tongue to point out that there will be plenty of light when the sun comes up tomorrow, but Katara's Katara, and she's stubborn and would ignore him regardless. Although….

He doesn't want to burn the slow-baking bread, but he thinks maybe he can make the fire brighter without making it hotter if he concentrates. And sure enough, it takes a little more focus but it works, the flames gradually glaring from dull orange to pale gold, with a stronger and steadier light.

She's so caught up in her work that she doesn't seem to consciously notice the change in the light, but as the fire brightens Katara sits up slightly, unsquinting her eyes. Zuko smiles a little to himself.

Perhaps he wouldn't die for Azula, but he'd walk through fire for Katara or Sokka or Toph or Aang or Suki, who are better friends and brothers and sisters to him after only a short time than she ever was. Perhaps there is some small redemption in that.

"Ok," Katara sighs, biting off the end of the thread and shaking out the newly mended tunic. "Try not to wreck it again immediately, will you?"

"Hey, a warrior's life isn't always linen-friendly," Sokka protests. "Should I be worrying about the state of my sleeves more than possibly being roasted to death or sliced open?"

"Just stop diving into thorn bushes," Katara says, rolling her eyes and tossing the shirt at his head. "Zuko, where's your cloak? It's starting to get pretty shredded at the hem."

"—What?" Zuko says, caught by surprise. His cheeks heat. "I don't—it's not that bad—"

"Boys," the girl comments to herself, "You're all the same. You'd be wearing more holes than fabric if you didn't have someone else to take care of it for you."

"It's true," Suki agrees, laughing, and Sokka pouts.

"We've just got more important things to think about—I mean, not that you don't," he quickly backtracks as Suki punches him in the arm.

"You don't have to mend my stuff for me," Zuko mutters, poking at the nearest bread loaf, even though he knows it's nowhere near done.

"Zuko, go get your cloak," Katara says firmly, and with a look in her eye not unlike the one she usually gives people right before they're about to get whacked by a water whip or frozen into a human ice sculpture.

"Don't bother fighting it, buddy," Sokka advises him as Zuko opens his mouth to argue. "Girls, you know how they are. It's easier to just give in."

"Well—fine," he says grudgingly. "I mean—" Flushing hotly, he offers up a smile that probably looks pained. "Thanks."

But as Katara is grousing under her breath over a jagged rip at the bottom of his cloak and Sokka regales he and Suki with some insanely exaggerated story about their adventures in a swamp, Zuko can't help but feel a warm glow that matches the warmth of the fire.