The cell is cold and dank, water dripping from the stones into a puddle on the floor. It smells of mildew, and Zuko wrinkles his nose. Though the lanterns have been lit, there is very little light in the room. So far underground, there are no windows, and Zuko can hardly expect the natural light he is used to. Here, in the dimness of his father's underground cell, he is most aware of the deficiencies of his left eye. His periphery vision is lessened more so than usual.

He sits on a stool, leaning forward with his forearms on his knees, looking into the mirror that is his father. All other times, he refers to this man as Ozai, but here, in the darkness, alone with only the two of them as witnesses, Zuko acknowledges Ozai's contribution to his existence. Ozai's hair is long and unkempt, his beard having grown out, he looks wild, but his eyes are sharp, penetrating deep inside Zuko, and he does not shrink from this gaze. He meets it, expects it, welcomes it, demands it when it is not there.

These meetings between father and son are sacred. They are treated with respect and reverence; they are holy, and ritual is strictly followed. Speaking about these meetings is forbidden. The prison guards know that, twice a month, their Fire Lord spends two hours with his father. The only thing required during these meetings is a chair; no one is to enter, no one is to disturb them. Two guards wait outside, and they are stoic and silent.

If they try to listen, they will hear nothing. There are no raised voices, no sounds of violence, no rattling of bars. Zuko does not mention the content of these meetings to his uncle. He does not mention the content of these meetings to his best friend, Katara, with whom he shares all secrets. Ozai does not mention the content of these meetings to his forbidden visitors, to his co-conspirators.

These meetings are treated with proper respect.

"Uncle says you loved her."

They do not always speak. There have been meetings where they spend the two ours staring at each other, each lost in their own thoughts of the man they could have been, or the man they just narrowly missed being.

"I did. They say you are looking for her."

They do not lie to each other during these meetings. The cell is too small for the lies they tell themselves, and for the lies they have told each other in the past.

Zuko smirks. "Who are 'they'?"

There are questions they do not ask. This is not an interrogation, though they push often against the boundaries of ritual. This, too, has become part of the ritual. To push against. No push is met with the expectation of give. That is not why they sit in a room, heavy with the scent of the past and mildew, the constant drip drip of the water filling the void left by absent words.

"You and I," Ozai says, "we want the same thing for our nation. We want strength and we want control and we want power. We could make a good team."

Zuko nods. "We could have. Except you burned me."

Ozai nods slowly. "I did. You would not fight as you should have."

"I did not fight as I should have. If I had, you would have killed me."

"Perhaps." They are silent. "Perhaps not."

They do not speak unless they have something to say. This, too, is ritual. The silences between them are not uncomfortable during these meetings. Under other circumstances, the silences say too much and they weigh down on father and son, but in these meetings, those silences mean nothing. There is never the burden of vocalization. Questions may be asked, but answers are not required.

"What do the doctors say about your eye?"

"As I get older, I will lose my vision and my hearing. Periphery will go first. Slowly, the rest will follow. Do you regret it?"

"Perhaps." They are silent. "Perhaps not."

They smile mirrored smiles. The right half of Ozai's mouth curves up. The left half of Zuko's mouth curves up. They have shared many weaknesses, things that could be exploited for the benefit of the other. It is ritual that things mentioned in these meetings not be brought up outside these meetings.

Both keep to this promise.

"My regret is for the look that will cross her face when she sees you. Pictures cannot prepare her for the reality." Ozai looks away, frowning now, drifting to some deeper memory.

"You were hurt when she betrayed you. When you found out she'd been telling your secrets to Uncle in order to keep you off the throne."

"Yes."

"You suspected something between them."

"Yes."

"Were you right?"

"If I were to tell you, you would know for sure. You would never look at them together and give meaning to meaningless touches. You would never look at them together and hope that he was your father."

Zuko nods, his eyes never leaving his father's face. A face that is slowly becoming his. "I know. I'm willing to give that up for truth."

"Then you're a fool, brainwashed by that foolish Avatar of yours." Ozai turns away, looking as if he smells something offensive. "What is truth—"

"Truth is what I see when I look in the mirror."

Ozai's head snaps back to his son. Zuko is calm. He hasn't moved since he sat down. The only movement is the flickering of the fire in the torches, casting shadows and repealing them. Lightness and dark contrasted on their surroundings. Lightness and dark contrasted in their faces, in their actions, in their words.

Zuko sighs and runs his hands through his hair. He does not come to these meetings as the Fire Lord. He does not taunt Ozai with the mantle and the crown. It is not part of this sacred ritual.

"If I look in the mirror," Zuko says, bringing his hand to cover the left side of his face, "I see you. I cannot deny that you are my father."

Ozai nods. "It would have been easier if there was something going on between them. It would have made her betrayal easier to bear."

Another silence absorbs time, and they let it. It is ritual that they face each other in these meetings, that they do not turn their backs. That they look at the shadow and they stare into its depths.

"They say she dominates you," Ozai says with a sly smile.

Zuko returns the smile. "There is a difference between dominate and compliment. You should know this."

"I was never given the chance."

"You denied yourself the chance."

"I never said that I wasn't the one doing the denying." Ozai raises an eyebrow. "You are given that luxury. Either I dominated, or was dominated. You should know this. War does not always allow for compromise."

"And yet, I found a way." Zuko holds his arms open as if to suggest all the ways he managed to compliment rather than dominate.

Ozai waves these away. "Will you marry her? Or is that the wrong question?"

"It is the wrong question."

"I will not wish you an easy life, and I will not wish you happiness. Why should you get what was denied me?"

"Because I am a better person."

"Are you?"

There is anger in Ozai's voice as he leans forward. His stare is searching again, and Zuko leans forward, offering his face for inspection. Zuko is sure that, when Ozai looks deep enough, he will see that they are two different people at their cores. They have both passed the points where one might turn into the other. They have both passed the points where one might want to turn into the other.

"You may try to run from it," Ozai cautions, folding his hands into his sleeves, "but you will always be my son. You will always carry that burden, and your children will carry that burden. So long as the war is recorded in history, your descendants will carry that burden."

Zuko nods to the way Ozai is sitting. "As you will always run the risk of turning into your brother."

Rather than becoming angry, Ozai laughs. Zuko fights the laugh, but only for a little, and father and son laugh together, their voices melding together, father becoming indistinguishable from son.

Had the guards entered the cell then, they might have been terrified to see their Fire Lord look so much like his father from whom he fought so hard to be different.

I've been holding onto this since the summer, or thereabouts. Not entirely sure of my feelings on it. At times I really like it, at times there are only some parts of it that I like. In any event, I have a hard time believing that Zuko would stop caring about Ozai cold-turkey. He's like a bad drug. I do think the nature of their visits would change, and despite his best efforts to avoid thinking about his life, I think Ozai's mind would naturally turn there. Hell, it's not like he's got anything else to do. But let's not kid ourselves. Ozai's going to be thinking about all the ways he could have avoided this outcome: kill Iroh when he had the chance, kill Zuko when he had the chance, don't underestimate the Avatar... In short, it involves a lot of killing. Zuko, however, would be reminding himself of just who his father is, and that he'll never change.

Mostly, this was just holding up the mirror to both Ozai and Zuko, showing how very close they came to being each other. That, and Ozai's fun to write :D