For anyone who has read this before, I have changed the formatting of this story so that it is split up a bit better into different chapters. A review mentioned a potential for chapters and I agree so here we are! Hope you enjoy this brief series of oneshots.

Zuko heaved a great sigh and smiled proudly as he played the last notes of the piano sonata. He turned around excitedly and was greeted with the sight of his mother, sitting in her favorite chair and applauding. She smiled, that warm proud smile she always saved just for him.

"That was beautiful, darling." Her eyes shone with honest pride, and absolute adoration.

Zuko ran to his mother and was immediately enveloped in a hug. His small body was swooped up onto her lap and he laughed as he flew through the air only to land on his mother's skirts. He looked up at her and felt an overwhelming sensation of desperate sadness.

"Mom," he said, tugging at her sleeve. She pulled away from the hug to gaze down at him with those gentle, loving eyes.

"What is it darling?"

Zuko stared at her, feeling as though these words carried an incredible importance, though he was sure he said them to her every day. "I love you."

"I love you too, Zuko." His mother stroked a stray lock of hair out of his eyes. "And I always will."

Zuko smiled and closed his eyes, allowing himself to be enveloped into another gentle hug. He was so drowsy, his eyes so heavy…as though he could fall asleep at any moment. But wait, hadn't he just gone to bed? Zuko's eyes snapped open to stare up at his mother in horror. She spoke with concern, but her words wouldn't reach his ears. Her face blurred like a disturbed reflection in water, only to be replaced with the cold darkness of his bedroom.

Hot tears rolled down his cheeks, tears he angrily wiped away. Crying wouldn't change anything. The clock on the wall said it was shortly after midnight, but Zuko wasn't going back to sleep anytime soon. He stood to pull on a robe and step into a pair of slippers, tiredly running a hand through his long ponytail in an attempt to forget his dream. Maybe a late night snack would help him relax, he mused. He crept to the kitchen quietly, timid to risk waking anyone else in the penthouse. The house was silent and dark. Zuko glanced at the piano as he crossed the living room. When was the last time he had played? He couldn't remember.

"Zuko?"

The voice was hoarse, emanating from some forgotten corner of the darkness. Zuko yelped and grabbed at his robe. His father emerged from the darkness, stepping into the thin light coming through the windows. The bright city lights always shone through their windows, even at night.

Zuko breathed a sigh of relief. "Father…you scared me."

"You need to get a handle on your cowardice," His father chided in a bored tone of voice. "It shows a willingness to bend in business negotiations."

Zuko sighed and stared at the floor shamefully. "Of course. I will remember that."

Ozai nodded distractedly and stared at the window, his son already forgotten. Zuko regarded his father curiously. They had never been close, but ever since the divorce…Zuko shook his head to rid himself of the thoughts. Reflecting on his mother's absence did nothing but distract him from his goals, his father always reminded him of that.

"What are you doing up?" Ozai asked. "It's late."

Zuko blinked, surprised at his father's interest. "I couldn't sleep…bad dreams."

Ozai turned to regard Zuko thoughtfully. "Do you know what I do when I have nightmares, Zuko?"

"No sir," Zuko replied honestly.

A wicked grin carved through Ozai's features. "I burn them away." A small click could be heard, and suddenly a flame was held in Ozai's hand. He held the lighter casually, though the way his eyes connected with the flame…the pure lust in Ozai's eyes made Zuko shiver.

"That's, um…that's good. I guess." Zuko took a step back towards his bedroom, already planning a strategic retreat.

"Would you like to join me?" Ozai asked, extending the flame to Zuko. The fire cast long shadows on the man's face, imitating the face of death coming to whisk away its next victims.

Zuko gulped, transfixed by the flame. "What do you mean?"

Ozai grinned, a spark of pride entering his gaze. "You'll see."

The subway jostled noisily, announcing its arrival to the station with an ear splitting squeal of the brakes, a voice reading off a script over the loudspeaker. Zuko stood next to his father uneasily, eying the surrounding commuters on their train. They all looked so casual, so absorbed in their own worlds and oblivious to the terror he felt. He had never been on the subway. Hell, he had barely been out on the street. When your father was one of the richest men in America, you didn't take any chances with safety. Zuko and his sister were driven everywhere by private chauffeurs, straight to school and back home, only allowed to change course for specific father-approved events. So the subway was a bit of a shock to Zuko.

"Father," Zuko muttered. "Where are we going?"

"Be quiet, Zuko." Ozai responded coolly. "You'll see soon enough. Ah, here's our stop."

The train shuddered to a violent stop, making Zuko clutch the support poles for dear life while his father stood to move towards the door fluidly. Zuko scrambled to follow his father's retreating form.

Out on the street, Zuko was assaulted by an onslaught of light and noise and smell. He had been driven through Chinatown dozens of times, but never before had he stood on its sidewalks, breathed in the air. Delicious smells wafted through the street, occasionally accented by the pungent aroma of the garbage that sat on the edge of the street waiting for morning pickup. Neon sounds adorned every building, and a beautifully ornate archway leaned over the street enticingly.

"Wow…" Zuko breathed, his eyes darting everywhere as he attempted to focus on just one of the many decadent sights before him. The street was deserted this late at night, but Zuko could feel the joyous sense of belonging that permeated the brick buildings around him. This was a neighborhood, a community. People who lived and worked together, held festivals together and danced in the streets to music like they did in the movies.

"Zuko, focus." His father chastised, already moving down the street with a purposeful stride. Zuko jogged to catch up and regarded his father curiously.

"So what are we doing here?" He asked.

Ozai smiled tightly. "Do you remember last month, when I told you and your sister about my new real estate deal, and how it fell through?"

Zuko struggled to think back, only truly remembering how livid his father had been, how he had thrown his steak knife across the room so hard that it had cracked through the drywall and stayed there until a timid maid had removed it the next day. She hung a painting of a flower over it, Zuko remembered. A dandelion. "Yeah, I remember."

Ozai nodded, beginning to walk faster. "Well the reason why that project was cancelled was a bit complicated at the time, but I have done some serious thinking this last month, and I believe I have found an effective solution." A dark smile flickered onto his sharp features. "You see Zuko, I wanted to build apartment buildings on this block. Prime real estate, with a park a block that way and a school two blocks in the other direction. Good for families. And with all the restaurants and cultural events of Chinatown here, I could market it as an urban explorer's dream. But there was a flaw to my plan. Within this block resides New York's most reputable and historic Buddhist temple. And not only have they obtained historic licenses which prevent the building from being destroyed, they have also been declared essentially untouchable by lawsuits and government threats due to charity and religion and other silliness. Damn monks."

Zuko winced at his father's words, hearing his voice grow cold and sharp as he continued.

"So," his father continued, a calm pleasantness overtaking his monologue, "I have made the executive decision to personally eradicate the temple by more alternative means."

"What do you mean by…" Zuko's voice trailed off as the lighter emerged from his father's pocket, the flame already dancing in the night. "No. No, you can't mean that you'll…father!" He pleaded desperately, his heart pounding as the truth of this night's journey becoming clear."

Ozai grinned proudly. "Don't act so shocked Zuko. It's like I've always told you – sometimes in business you have to think of the long term gains when making short term decisions."

"But this isn't a business deal!" Zuko cried. "This is a temple! A neighborhood! People live here!"

"Not for long," Ozai muttered with dark humor.

Zuko felt himself pale. "Father…"

"Come now son," Ozai said, turning to Zuko. "I was hoping we could do this together. Bring you into manhood, get you into the family business a bit early."

Zuko bit back the surge of happiness he got from his father's use of the word son. "I…I won't let you do this."

"You don't mean to stop me?" Ozai chuckled, obviously not the least bit threatened. He strode over to the curb and picked up a trash bag. "Zuko, you are a child." Ozai placed the bag at the door of the monastery, then continued to gather bags as he spoke. "Children are often confused by the actions of their elders. It's understandable. You are young, naïve. You do not understand the ramifications of your actions yet. That is why I am here. To help you make decisions that will carry you in a plentiful direction in life." A pile of trash bags sat in front of the main entrance, with a line of bags trailing down the sidewalk in either direction, smushed against the sides of the surrounding buildings. Ozai paused to smile proudly at his handiwork. "See Zuko? Hard work always pays off."

"Father, we should leave." Zuko was shaking, unable to believe that what he was seeing before him was the truth. "This isn't right."

Ozai sighed and shook his head in disappointment. "Zuko, I really thought you were mature enough to handle this." He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a water bottle. Zuko eyed the strange brown liquid that sloshed inside, illuminated by the dim light of the street lamp.

"What's in there?" Zuko asked fearfully, wrapping his arms around himself.

"Gasoline," Ozai responded. "Surprisingly difficult to transfer into water bottles, let me tell you." Ozai began walking up and down the length of his trash lineup, pouring gasoline onto the trash bags and onto what window sills he could reach. Three more bottles emerged from his pockets, and soon Ozai was standing beside Zuko with a smile, proudly surveying his handiwork.

"So what do you say?" Ozai looked down his son with a small smile, though his eyes were cold and calculating. "Care to set the first flame?"

Zuko shook his head frantically. "Let's just leave. This isn't right. This…this is illegal! You could go to prison!"

Ozai scoffed. "I could go to prison for many things, Zuko, but I won't be going down for this."

"I'll tell the police," Zuko said bravely. "I…I won't let you get away with it. If you do it. We could still leave."

Rage entered Ozai's eyes and he snarled. "Listen here you little monster. I created you, I can end you. Now you are my blood, you carry the same poisons I do."

"I'm not a murderer," Zuko said quietly, a strangely calm voice coming from him despite the panic that was beginning to overtake him.

Ozai glared intensely at Zuko, then grabbed him roughly, his large hand enveloping the younger boy's arm. With no hesitation, no sense of ceremony, Ozai flicked the lighter to life and stroked the first trash bag, letting the flame dance from one to the other before stepping away. Zuko watched in horror as the bag quickly burst into flames, the fire jumping down the line on both sides without hesitation.

"No…" Zuko said, watching the flames begin to climb up the building, catching on window box flowers and creeping in through open windows. "No!" Zuko sobbed, hot tears rolling down his cheeks for the second time that night. He screamed an anguished cry, his knees giving out on him as his father held him tightly upright.

"Look, Zuko!" Ozai roared. "Look how beautiful it is!" Zuko wrenched himself away from the man and began to run down the street, screaming at the top of his lungs.

"Fire!" Zuko called. "Fire! FIRE!"

Ozai chased after his son, managing to grab him by the arm and stop his frantic running. He slammed a hand over the boy's mouth, silencing his cries. "Are you trying to ruin my plan? Is that it? Taking me down won't bring back your mother, you know."

Zuko sobbed, heat of the fire reaching him despite the numbing sense of tragedy he felt.

"I think you need to be taught a lesson," Ozai said, a distant look entering his eyes. "Yes, a lesson…a lesson in respect. Make you understand your place."

"Father?" Zuko's words were muffled behind the hand over his mouth, but the fear in his eyes was evident.

Ozai strode towards the rapidly burning building, hauling his son along with him. Zuko struggled ferociously as the heat of the fire burned even from a distance. Ozai paused to look around for a moment, then grinned wickedly when his gaze landed on a metal letter box that was being absorbed by the flames. The metal was already beginning to melt under the heat.

Zuko screamed as his father clamped his hand over Zuko's ponytail, keeping his head under control. He pleaded for mercy, begged for forgiveness, and eventually just screamed as his father pushed his head towards the burning mailbox. His face was slammed into the fire, pressed upon the mailbox, the pain destroying all sense of coherent thought Zuko had…and then darkness overtook him.