Happy Stories About Nothing in Particular

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/31004678.

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Category: F/M, Gen
Fandom: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Relationship: Iroh II/Asami Sato
Character: Iroh II (Avatar), Asami Sato, Other Character Tags to Be Added, Mako
(Avatar), Korra (Avatar), Bolin (Avatar), Opal (Avatar), Naga (Avatar),
Zuko (Avatar)
Additional Tags: Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Drabble Collection, Established Relationship, Non-
Canon Relationship, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Author
took canon and threw it in a ditch
Stats: Published: 2021-04-30 Updated: 2021-07-17 Chapters: 16/? Words:
17748

Happy Stories About Nothing in Particular

by orange_panic_archive

Summary

A collection of short vignettes from a world where Iroh II and Asami Sato are in a
relationship. That's literally it.

Notes

The title says it all. Not every story needs drama or heartbreak. This is a place for short,
quiet, slice of life drabbles as a window into a relatively healthy, happy, loving relationship.
Loosely takes place in the four-year gap between "Glass" and "Firestorm" in the Fearless
series, but can absolutely be read independently. Not necessarily in chronological order.

Sometimes, I just want something wholesome and stress-free, you know?

I do not own LoK or any of these characters. I do not know who this "canon" is; we've
never met.

Comments and feedback always welcome.

 Interruptions
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Asami glanced at the corner behind her again. There wasn’t much there, just an armchair with a
little side table and accompanying brass lamp. The chair was big and squashy, not at all what she
would have chosen, and looked both comfortable and well-worn. It was empty.

It shouldn’t bother her, that vacant space, but it did. It nagged at her, and Asami found herself
looking over at it again and again as she worked. Her father had always treated his workshop like a
sacred space. No one was allowed in, or at least no adults, and as a young child she had always felt
like her presence was barely tolerated. It wasn’t that her father didn’t love her, or want her around.
Asami had understood that much. It was that he wanted to focus, and other people, any other
people, weren’t helpful in that pursuit. Hiroshi Sato hadn’t even called it a workshop. It was his
“thinking space,” he’d said. Sometimes she wondered if, in prison, he’d finally gotten what he
wanted.

Asami had grown up believing she was just like him. Her own workshop had always been a private
place, a place to think and to create and under no circumstances to be interrupted. It wasn’t secret,
nothing like that. Nearly all of her friends had seen it at some point. But Asami rarely let anyone
watch her work, and when she did she usually hated it. She could practically feel their eyes boring
into her back, wondering what she was doing, tapping their feet, waiting for her to be done already
so that they could go do something else. It made her feel rushed and stressed and sloppy.

And now? Her eyes flicked to the empty chair again.

Asami turned back to the glove in front of her, determined to focus. She’d been installing
electromagnets all along the wrist, and it wasn’t going to work unless she got them perfectly
straight. She picked up the ruler again.

There was the sound of a door opening behind her. She didn’t look up.

A shadow fell over her shoulder. Then a large hand placed a steaming teacup on the table to her
right. Asami felt a soft kiss on the top of her head and the quick stroke of a thumb against her neck.
Then heavy footsteps retreated in the direction of the chair. There was a squeak and the quiet rustle
of papers, and a noise that might have been the clink of a second teacup.

Asami put down the ruler, picked up the cup, and sniffed at it. Mint today, with just a touch of
honey. She felt her whole body relax at the smell. It was only then that she noticed the little cookie
he’d left on the saucer.

There was another shuffle of papers behind her, then a crunch. There must have been two cookies,
then, one excusing the other. Asami’s lips curled into a smile.

It turned out not every interruption was unwelcome.

Chapter End Notes

I blame @old_and_new_friends for this one, who said that Iroh and Asami's favorite
place to be together was her workshop.
 Softie

The smell hit him immediately. These kinds of places always had the same smell, no matter how
well run. Iroh wondered how much was simply animals and how much was something else; fear,
desperation. Loneliness. He felt himself slipping into depression before he was three feet down the
hallway. After all, they could only help one.

Asami seemed to shrink into his side. For a woman who was hardly afraid of anything, she was
surprisingly wary around animals. Even Tenzin’s bison, Oogi, who she’d flown before, was
something of a nervous friend. Iroh hoped it was only exposure. She’d said she remembered a lop
eared rabbit from when she was a small child, but couldn’t say for sure if it had been hers or a
friend’s. Either way, her father disliked animals, much as I-mom did, and neither of them had had
pets until he’d purchased Ling. Asami did just fine with her but, well, Ling was a fish. This would
be something new entirely.

Iroh walked up and down the aisles, Asami at his side, and tried to do his best to choose. Every
cage was its own tiny heartbreak. A little fire ferret, nearly identical to Pabu. Where had she come
from? A fluffy black cat who rubbed his face against the bars, clearly friendly and eager to play.
Who had been his person before, and what happened? A curly haired poodle monkey with streaks
of gray, its back pressed so far into the corner one might miss it entirely. What had made her so
scared? Iroh held out his hand experimentally. She flinched and covered her eyes with two gnarled
hands. He turned away.

“See anyone you like?” Asami asked. She kept her voice low and quiet. Iroh only squeezed her
hand. He knew she was going out on a limb for him, and that the idea of a pet, or a pet that wasn’t
a fish, was something she could well do without. Who is going to walk it when you’re gone? she’d
asked. What if it chews on the cords? What if it goes to the bathroom in the kitchen? Don’t I leave
enough hair around the house already? What if it eats Ling?

Finally they got to the end of the last aisle. Iroh was no closer to making a decision than he had
been at the door. There had to be 300 animals at the downtown shelter. Where did one even start
when all you did was walk by door after door? He didn’t want to pick a companion based only on
appearances.

He felt Asami wrap an arm around his waist. He leaned into her and closed his eyes. Okay, so
sometimes you could pick a companion based on appearances. But he could hardly expect to get
that lucky again.

“I don’t know how to choose,” Iroh said finally. “I want all of them. I hate the idea of leaving
anyone here. I’ve been…” he didn’t finish, but he felt Asami squeeze him tight anyway. He liked
that he didn’t have to say it. He’d been captive before, caged, and it was one of the most horrible
experiences of Iroh’s life. The space itself had been bad, but it was more the feeling. The idea that
no one was coming for you, that you were alone, and that all that was left was despair. “I don’t
even know where to start."

He opened his eyes at the sound of footsteps. A squat attendant was hurrying toward them, his bald
head shining in the harsh overhead lights. “Sir,” he said, “ma’am, is there anything I can help you
with? We have smaller rooms to get to know the animals if you’d like. Just tell me which one
you’d like to meet.”

Asami looked up. “Who’s been here the longest?”

The little man’s eyebrows shot up. “Um… the longest?”

“Yes.” She released his waist and pointed at the little tag above the door to a cage containing a fat
brown and white goat dog. “These tags all have intake dates. So, which animal has been here the
longest? Surely you have records or something?”

***

“Dinner’s ready,” Iroh called from the kitchen. It wasn’t anything fancy tonight, but that was okay.
It had been a long day for everyone.

“Help,” Asami said. He looked around the corner but couldn’t see her; she must be over on the
couch. He strode toward her, brows furrowed. It hadn’t sounded like a real cry for help, but then
what was she doing?

Iroh peered over the back of the couch. Asami was lying on her back, one of her sketchbooks flat
against her chest. A huge gray and white beast covered nearly her entire lower half. He looked up
at Iroh with coal black eyes and smiled a big doggy smile. Asami reached down and scratched him
between the ears. His tail thumped happily against her legs. “See?”

“Stuck?” Iroh added a scratch of his own. Then he trotted around the couch and picked up the old
dog to place him gently on the floor. Three paws sank into the soft gray carpet. “I honestly think he
can do it,” he said. He gave the dog another pat. “I just think he’s lazy and taking advantage of
you.”

Asami sat up and tried to brush the hairs off her pants. “Yeah. Who knew I’d be the softie?”

Iroh leaned over and planted a kiss on her forehead. “I did,” he said. “And so did Captain Stumps.
That’s why we picked you.”

Asami swatted his arm. “I picked both of you. Wonder what that says about me.”

Iroh grinned. “That you’re a softie.” Suddenly the telephone rang. “I’ll get it.” He walked back to
the kitchen. He still wasn’t quite used to having a home telephone, and wasn’t entirely sure he
liked it. Who would call at this hour anyway?

“Iroh,” he said into the receiver.

“Hello? I’m looking for a Ms. Sato?”

Iroh frowned. The noodles were getting cold. “I’m sorry, it’s not a good time. Can I take a
message?” He reached for the little pad and pencil on the counter.

“Oh, of course. I’m Tanor, executive director of the Republic City Animal Shelter. I’m just calling
to thank her for the donation. Honestly… I don’t even know how to say it. We’ve never had a
contribution like that in the history of the facility, never. It’ll revolutionize… anyway, I’d like to
thank her personally. Please have her call me another time.” The man rattled off a number.

Iroh slowly hung up the phone.

“Who was that?” Asami asked.

He raised an eyebrow. “Is there any chance that you made an enormous donation to the animal
shelter today?”

A faint blush rose to her cheeks. “It’s my money, Iroh. And I couldn’t just leave them like that.
Captain Stumps had been there for over a year! Like you said, we can’t take them all, but I thought
—”

Iroh stepped forward and pulled her into a deep kiss. There was a shuffling sound, and a moment
later he felt the warm weight of a dog leaning against his leg, followed by the unmistakable sound
of a tail thumping on tile.

“Softie,” he whispered in her ear.

 Iroh's Dog

“I don’t get it,” Mako said. He dug his beer bottle into the sand and shook his head. “No, that’s not
it. I get it, but I don’t get it for you. What were you thinking?”

Asami looked up. “What do you mean?”

“Aren’t you the kind of couple that’s supposed to have some kind of 10,000-yuan hypoallergenic
designer golden deer dog or something? I mean, don’t get me wrong, but the cost is nothing to
you. I get it for me or Bolin—I mean, Pabu was pet food before Bo rescued him—or even Korra.
But Iroh can have anything he wants. Hell, he could probably get an honest-to-agni dragon if he
asked his family. Why adopt a pet at all, let alone one like that?”

She let her gaze drift down the beach to where Iroh, Korra, and Bolin were tossing a boomerang in
a rough triangle. In the middle, Naga and Captain Stumps ran in circles trying to snatch it out of the
air. The Captain was neither fast nor able to jump, but he gamely continued to try. Pabu zipped in
between everyone’s legs, chittering madly and trying to be as much of a general nuisance as
possible. The waves were a constant rush upon the shore.

“He’s a good dog,” Asami said. “At least, as far as I can tell. I’ve never had a dog, but he’s pretty
innocuous. He ate one of Iroh’s dress shoes right after we got him, but he gave him a stern talking
to and anyway Iroh hates wearing shoes. He probably told the Captain to eat it. At least it wasn’t
one of mine. But otherwise he’s been great.” Asami stretched her legs out on the towel, then
adjusted her hat to block more of the sun. She was already burning.

“That’s not what I meant,” said Mako. He scratched awkwardly at the back of his neck. “I guess I
figured you’d get a nice-looking puppy, or at least a dog with four legs. For spirits’ sake, Iroh’s a
runner. He didn’t want a pet that could run with him?”

Iroh had, in fact, started taking their new dog on short runs the very first week. “He doesn’t work
like that. Iroh wants to help. He says Captain Stumps is a veteran and deserves respect. He’s proud
to give him a family. We both are.”

Mako frowned. “You don’t know that. You have no idea how he lost that leg. He could have been
born that way, or been clipped nicking something from a trash bin.” He picked up his beer and
took another swig. “I have nothing against your dog, Asami. I’m just surprised that someone with
four racing satos, two vacation houses and an airplane picked an old three-legged mongrel instead
of, well, literally anything else.”

Asami pressed her lips together. “You know, money isn’t everything.”

He looked up, startled. His cheeks were a little pink. “I know that, Asami.”

“Do you? Because sometimes I get the feeling that you think just because Iroh and I have money
we have to do certain things. I’m incredibly grateful, don’t get me wrong, but all money is, is
choice. And that includes choosing to live in an apartment on the Point instead of in a mansion, and
not having a personal chef or servants or whatever else people always assume we have, and five-
yuan dinners at Kashiba’s twice as often as at Kwong’s, and, yes, adopting a dog like Captain
Stumps because he reminds Iroh of everyone who didn’t make it out of SWE or Yue Bay or
Ma’inka or Senta Straits or me or whatever it is that he gets out of loving broken things.”

Mako didn’t say anything.

Behind him, Asami saw Iroh toss the boomerang right at the Captain’s head so he could get one. It
bounced off his nose instead. The big dog nudged it with his single front foot, then picked it up and
trot-hopped over to where Iroh squatted down in the sand, arms wide. Instead of dropping the
boomerang at his feet he collided with her husband, knocking him onto his back. He dropped the
boomerang in the center of his chest and started licking his face as Iroh laughed and laughed.

“He’s Iroh’s dog,” she said. “Anyone can see that. What does it matter what he cost?”
 A Trip to Gaoling

Asami -

I must admit, you only left two hours ago, yet here I am writing to you already. I wanted you to
have a letter waiting for you in Gaoling, and that as fast as the airships go I thought I’d better get
started. There is not much to report from home for obvious reasons. I realized that we’re out of
eggs, but there’s a Night Market tonight so I can pick up some of the good ones. I know you say you
can’t tell the difference, but one day I am going to convince you. Whelan said he has a new red tea
in this week, too. I’m skeptical; I think he knows that I’ll buy anything he suggests, even if I don’t
much care for red teas, and that once he has me at the stall I’ll walk away with half the contents.
But if I can help keep the old man in business I suppose it’s worth it. No one seems to appreciate
good hand-cut tea here.

I hope that your trip is off to a good start, and that Yu Tian is more of a help than a hindrance. I
don’t doubt your assistant’s ability, but he’s never been out of the UR before and Gaoling is rather
different. I still remember my first deployment there. I don’t think it stopped raining for three
months. Iameh got some kind of foot infection (this was before) from all the walking around in wet
boots and would have been sent back to Caldera if she hadn’t pitched such a fuss about it. Tell him
to go easy on the food, too—they use a lot of the same kind of red sauce that they have in Zaofu,
except in Gaoling they don’t ask you first. You’ll probably love it like I do after all my Fire Nation
cooking, but Yu Tian might have a heart attack if he’s unprepared. Still, it was a nice idea to bring
him and I hope he gets something out of it. Maybe gently pull him aside one day and tell him that
he no longer has to call me “General”? I appreciate the effort, but it’s been two years.

I’d wish you luck in the negotiations, but you don’t need it. Honestly, I feel bad for the other guys.

I miss you already. Be safe. I remember Gaoling being a tad rough, especially at night.

Love,

Iroh.

I-

What a nice surprise! I just checked in, and there was already a letter from you and the biggest
bunch of camellias I’ve ever seen. You’re so funny. I love them. I didn’t even know they came in
orange. I don’t know how your letter beat me here though. I thought my airships were the fastest
way to Gaoling? I want the details on your secret.

Yu Tian is doing… okay. It turns out he gets airsick! Not just a little like you, either, but really,
really airsick. I don’t think he left his room the entire trip down, and when we finally landed he
looked like a ghost. It’s a shame. The view over the mountains is really something to see. I’ll pump
him full of ginger on the trip back in hopes it’ll help.

Otherwise, there’s not much to report. I worked on the deal with Cabbage Corp. most of the trip
over. They’re such slimeballs. I read over that contract with a fine tooth comb, and so did Legal
and Bo Huin, and we found some really crazy stuff in there. For example:

-Requirements that all of the bathrooms retain their current decor for five years. I checked, and the
bathroom signs all have the Cabbage Corp. logo on them. Sneaky bastards.
-A prohibition on selling anything made in the Gaoling factory to descendants of the royal family
of Omashu.
-Specification that the director of the Gaoling factory retain the title of “Cabbage King”
regardless of actual duties.

Nothing that would be a dealbreaker, but seriously? Though I kind of like the title Cabbage King. I
think I’ll call you that the next time you make spicy michihili.

Sorry if this is short, but I’m going to try to get some sleep before the meeting tomorrow. And
thanks for the warning on the rain. From the looks of things, I’m going to need the umbrella and
raincoat both. There must be three inches of mud, too. I can’t believe you and Iameh spent a whole
year here, yuck. Though I guess the rain is why the camellias are so big.

I promise I’ll be safe. You, too. Korra let slip you wanted to start sparring so you can get in some
practice with metalbenders? Do I even want to know why you didn’t mention this to me, or should I
assume it’s because you and Korra are the two most stubborn people on the planet and that I’d be
concerned a friendly sparring session would turn into a lot of nasty burns because neither of you
would yield? Promise you’ll let Jinora ref., okay?

All my love always,

P.S. Don’t forget to eat something. Please tear this piece off my letter and tape it to your desk as
your daily reminder.

P.P.S. Mangoes are not a meal!

Iroh folded the bottom of the letter back and forth until there was a crisp crease, then pressed it to
the counter and carefully tore off the post script. He trotted into the bedroom and placed it on top
of the stack of paperwork he’d taken home that evening. He re-folded Asami’s letter, placed it
back in its envelope, and filed it in the bottom drawer of his desk with the rest. Iroh had kept every
letter she’d ever sent him, though he’d never told her that. Most didn’t say much more than this
one had, just thoughts and updates on her day, but he loved them all fiercely anyway.

His eyes traveled back to his little reminder. Iroh traced his finger along the faint imprint of the
writing and smiled softly, imagining the pen that had written it hundreds of miles away, and the
hand that had held it. Then he walked back to the kitchen and grabbed a fat yellow mango out of
the pile in the basket. He promised himself he’d eat something more substantial later.
 A Ball at Varrick's
Chapter Notes

Sorry I haven't been posting much for my longer fics. It's a really busy time at work
and my brain can't handle much more than these little blurbs. But I had fun with this
one.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Asami unfolded the light blue invitation again and scanned the swirling golden script. “He wasn’t
specific, Iroh. It just says ‘come as something you are not.’ I think we can interpret that however
we want. Knowing Varrick, the crazier the better.”

Iroh pressed against her back to read the letter over her shoulder. She felt one warm hand rest
casually on her hip. “I still don’t understand.”

“It’s a costume party, Iroh. You wear a costume. What is there to understand?”

He huffed. “I don’t understand any of it. What’s the purpose of a costume party? And there are
no… no parameters or anything? ‘Something I’m not’ is everything except myself. And why are
you talking as if we’re going? You don’t even like Varrick.”

“No, I don’t, but I’d just as soon have him on my good side as not. And I do like Zhu Li. She’s
good for him, and I think is going to be a valuable partner for the ongoing work in RC. The last
time I talked to her she was really interested in some of the low-cost housing projects. If I can get
her on board, we might find that Varrick becomes a very charitable man. Going to their first party
together is a show of support.”

Iroh squeezed her waist a little. “That’s smart. The city is lucky you’re far more forgiving than I
am.”

Asami smiled to herself. Iroh was a tad protective. “Well, if Varrick tries to steal my designs or
have either of us killed, intentionally or otherwise, you have my blessing to take him out.”

“Thank you. I was considering asking forgiveness afterwards, but I like that I have your
permission.”

Asami folded the invitation and turned to face him. Iroh’s jaw was rigid, and his golden eyes
looked worried. The hand on her waist slid around her back instead. “You’re making it a bigger
deal than it is. It’s just a party, and a chance to dress up and think creatively.”

“I’m terrible at thinking creatively.” Iroh furrowed his brows. “And parties.”

She reached up and stroked his cheek, then rested her hand against his chest. “Bullshit. You’re very
creative, and you do just fine at parties once you get out of your head a little. I’m sure Bolin and
Mako and Korra are invited, too. All you have to do is catch up with them for a little while, eat
some free food, and it’ll be time to go.”

Iroh frowned, studying her. Something in his face softened. “Okay. How do I go about getting an
outfit for this monstrosity?”
Asami felt a little jolt. She hadn’t realized how excited she was herself. She loved costumes, both
the design aspect and seeing what others came up with. She also liked parties quite a bit more than
Iroh did, though oddly enough his favorite part was dressing up. Given how busy they both were at
work, she’d been more worried than she’d admitted that he’d simply refuse to go to something so
obviously stressful for him.

“Look, I’ll make it easy,” she said quickly. “I can get costumes for both of us. All you have to do is
show up.”

He raised his eyebrows. “You’d do that?”

“Of course.” It would be more fun for both of them if he wasn’t worried about it, and lucky for her
Iroh looked good in everything. “Any, um, parameters, as you say?”

He finally broke into a smile. “Nope. I trust you.”

***

They walked up the short flight of steps to the door of Varrick and Zhu Li’s mansion. Iroh
squeezed her hand briefly, then let go. Asami pushed back the long sleeve of her robe, preparing to
knock.

“Hey!”

She turned to see four shapes coming up the narrow walk behind them. Korra was in front, wearing
what were unmistakably Bolin’s olive-green vest and dark breeches. On her hands were two elbow-
length red gloves covered in… were those pebbles? From where Asami stood, it looked like she’d
glued them on.

“I told you it was them,” she called to a brown, oblong shape behind her. “Nobody else stands that
straight.”

“I didn’t say it wasn’t,” the brown thing said in Bolin’s voice. Asami realized his face was sticking
out through an oval in the fabric, but he’d painted it to match the rest of the costume. All that was
visible were his green eyes.

“Um,” Iroh said beside her. “Bolin? What, er, that’s a fascinating outfit.”

“I’m a rock,” he said proudly. “You know, earthbender, rock? I'm turning the tables. My old friend
Xi from the Nuktuk days still does costumes. I told her what I wanted and she whipped this right
up! It’s so awesome. I bet I’m the only rock here.”

“I’m sure you will be,” laughed Opal, who’d followed directly behind him. She’d dressed all in
russet and white, with pointed ears, and had the most obvious costume of the bunch. Her fluffy
striped tail bounced jauntily behind her.

“Wow,” said Bolin as they reached the bottom of the stairs. “You two went all-out! Unlike
Detective What’s-a-Costume back there.” He jerked his thumb behind him.

“I have a costume!” Mako snapped. “I just didn’t want to drive over in it. It’s hard to see.”
“What is it?” As far as Asami could tell he was dressed normally.

Mako sighed. “I suppose it’s time.” Then he pulled out a nylon stocking from his pocket and pulled
it over his head. “There.”

Iroh made a little humming noise. “Koh the Face Stealer. I like it.” Asami snorted and he looked at
her. “You know, the spirit who—”

She laughed. “I know who Koh is. But that’s not it.”

Iroh raised an eyebrow under his enormous green hat. “No?”

“No,” said Mako, shaking his head with what looked like suppressed laughter. “I’m a robber.
Spirits, I know you’re not a cop, but haven’t you seen any of those movers? Where the bank
robbers use stockings to hide their face?”

“Oh,” said Iroh. “No, I haven’t.”

“Mako really put in the effort,” Korra said dryly.

“At least I don’t have rocks on my hands. How are you going to eat anything?”

“What are you, Kor?” Asami asked. She hadn’t been able to figure it out.

Korra dropped into a classic earthbending stance. “Lavabender!”

Asami burst out laughing.

“That’s actually really creative,” said Iroh. “I’m impressed.”

Korra straightened, smiling brightly. “Thanks, Fireball. I figured ‘come as something you are not’
meant I should pick the only thing I couldn’t bend.”

“Wait,” said Opal the Fire Ferret. “But what are you two? Earth King and Queen?”

“Kind of,” said Asami. She gave a little bow. “Lady Tienhai and the last king of Mo Ce.”

Bolin’s eyebrows shot up. “Who and the what?” The others looked just as confused.

Iroh grinned, his false goatee pulling oddly at his dimples. “Bit of local history. I thought you’d
know it being from here. Republic City sits on top of land that used to belong to the Earth
Kingdom pre-unification, the former kingdom of Mo Ce. Lady Tienhai was a spirit guardian. She
fell in love with the young king and gave up her immortality to marry him. They lived many happy
years together, but when she died in her mortal form, another spirit became angry and leveled the
city.”

Mako frowned. “Those are pretty intricate robes though. Did you guys rob the museum or
something?”

“Asami did everything!” Iroh wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her close. “There aren’t
a lot of pictures of either of them, but a few old mosaics have been discovered, plus a general
knowledge of western Earth Kingdom clothing of the time. Isn’t it amazing?”

Their friends looked at them blankly as she blushed.

“You two,” said Korra finally, “are the biggest dorks that I’ve ever met. And I live with Tenzin on
 an island full of monks.”

Asami smiled as Iroh beamed at her. In truth, she’d wanted to go as a pirate, but thought he’d
appreciate something obscure and historical. It hadn’t even been that hard. Just some research, a
few sketches, and a handful of trips to her tailor’s. She had to build Iroh’s hat though. It wasn’t
much more than an injection molding covered in felt, but she’d thought it had turned out well and
was rather proud of it. Seeing him so obviously pleased made her feel warm to the tips of her toes.
With any luck he'd spend the entire night telling anyone he could corner about the history of his
costume while completely forgetting to be shy.

Iroh tucked his arm through hers, his long green robes flapping softly. “Ready, my queen?”

Asami lifted her hand and knocked.

Chapter End Notes

The idea of a "come as something you are not" masquerade is straight-up stolen from
The Dresden Files. Always loved the idea.
 Late

Iroh kissed her again, a little longer this time. It really wasn’t fair how good that felt. He’d had his
share of kisses before, some good, some not, but something about kissing Asami was simply better.
Maybe at this point it was only familiarity, the way their lips fit together in a comfortable softness
that felt like home, or even like sex, which had only gotten better as they’d learned the subtle
rhythms of one another’s bodies. After all, Iroh had kissed no one else romantically for years and,
though he could appreciate a beautiful woman the same as anyone, had no intention of doing
otherwise. But he didn’t think that was it, or at least all of it. He didn’t believe in soulmates any
more than he believed in fate, but he did believe that some people simply had chemistry. Kissing
Asami had always felt different to him, even from the very first, and Iroh was convinced that there
was something about her, about her mouth and how she used it, that was exactly suited to him.
Might there be other people in the world who could kiss him like this? Probably, statistically.
There were a lot of people in the world. But did he think there was anyone better?

No, honestly, he didn’t.

However, this fact had also created problems in their relationship. Because once he started kissing
Asami, Iroh didn’t particularly want to do much else.

He felt a hand on his chest, gently pushing him up until the kiss broke. “We have to go.”

“Hmm.” He registered the comment, but chose to ignore it. Instead he closed his eyes and leaned
down again until his lips brushed hers. His skin tingled and warmed as the kiss deepened, his
muscles slowly relaxing. Kissing, good kissing, had always been more of a whole-body experience
for him. He found it somewhat meditative.

The hand pushed harder. “Iroh.” He opened his eyes. Asami stared up at him, her cheeks faintly
flushed, the corners of her mouth tilted into a soft smile. Her dark hair flowed over the couch
cushion like so much spilled ink. “We’re gonna be late.”

“Are we?” Iroh lowered himself slightly again, seeing what he could get away with. He didn’t like
being late, but he also didn’t want to stop what they were doing. It had been a long week, and
kissing Asami on the couch, and that maybe leading to more than kissing, seemed like a much
nicer Friday night than dinner with the Fire Nation ambassador.

She laughed and shoved him off. “Yes, we are, and you’re not wearing that. Get moving.”

Iroh sat back with a grumble. “But I’m busy.” He ran one hand along her thigh and looked up
hopefully. Spirits, her eyes were so green. “Five more minutes?”

“We don’t have five minutes.” Asami sat up and smoothed down her hair where Iroh’s fingers had
been moments ago. “I’m not even dressed myself, and I’ll never hear the end of it from Tachi if I
show up a wrinkled mess.”

“You’re a beautiful wrinkled mess,” Iroh said. He wasn’t kidding, either. Seeing Asami all
rumpled was incredibly sexy. Especially if she was rumpled because of him.

She flashed him a brilliant, heart-stopping smile. “I’m flattered, but I still have to get ready, and so
do you.” She started to get up.

“Wait!” A desperate thought raced through his mind. Asami looked back, curious. “What if…
what if I let you drive as fast as you want?”
She arched one slender eyebrow, clearly amused. “As fast as I want?”

Iroh nodded, swallowing hard. Asami’s driving was terrifying sometimes, but it would buy them
extra time. Extra time they could use for other things that all of sudden seemed very, very
important.

“You won’t say anything?”

“No.”

“And you won’t even make the face?”

He shook his head emphatically. Iroh had no idea what face she was talking about, but he’d do his
best. “No, no face. I’ll be nothing but supportive.”

Asami leaned forwards and walked her fingers slowly up his chest before slipping one hand behind
his neck. He could feel her breath now, so warm against his face. “You promise?”

Iroh leaned in to meet her as she pulled him back down onto the couch. “On my honor,” he
whispered.
 Role Models
Chapter Notes

Happy mother's day, especially to those with complicated families.

Also note, this chapter relies on some stereotypical gender roles which, while b.s., are
nevertheless often pressures couples feel.

Iroh took a quiet sip of his tea, hardly tasting it. His grandfather eyed him expectantly, saying
nothing. He had the look of a man who could wait all day. Iroh swallowed, then made himself
start.

“I… I wanted to talk to you.”

Zuko smiled. “That seems obvious. I’d be rather sad if you didn’t.”

“No, I mean, about something in particular.”

The smile broadened. “I know, Iroh. It’s called teasing.” The old man took a sip of his own tea.
“What’s on your mind?”

Iroh dropped his eyes. They’d tried one of the new blends today, and the steaming cup in his hands
was a delicate, pale orange. He’d decided he didn’t much care for it, but he was drinking it
anyway. Such was the price of trying new things.

“You know I’ve never wanted anything else,” he said slowly. He still wasn’t sure quite how to
phrase his question. “I love my parents, my family. And I couldn’t… I didn’t want to make either
of them think otherwise. So I was hoping that I could ask you something instead.”

“Ah. I’ve been expecting this.”

Iroh looked up. “You have?”

“Of course I have,” said Zuko calmly. “You are one of four, Iroh. Do you think none of the others
have asked me who your fathers were?”

“Have they?” Now that the old man said it, it made perfect sense. Of course Iroh wouldn’t be the
first.

Zuko nodded slightly. “All but you. I believe Kazai was only nine. Even Tai came to me, though I
think for different reasons. You, who in so many ways are the most curious of my grandchildren,
are also somehow the only one who never wanted to know. And now I find myself wondering
why.”

Iroh scuffed his feet under the table. “Why I never wanted to know?”

“No. Why, after 28 years, you suddenly do?”

He took another sip of the mediocre tea, thinking. “I don’t,” he said. “Not entirely. I don’t care
who it is. My parents are my parents. But there are… things, I suppose. Things I see in myself, a
little in I-mom, in you. In great aunt Azula perhaps the most, and from what I understand in your
father, and even as far back as Sozin. About everyone but Kaz, really, and perhaps your uncle Iroh.
Sometimes more, sometimes less, but always there. So I find myself wanting to know, not who, but
if. If there’s any sign in him as well. If there’s any chance that I’m, I don’t know, carrying
something. Something that might affect... someone else.”

Zuko cracked a smile. “That is a very complicated way of saying you want to be a father, Iroh.”

Iroh felt himself flush.

“That’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” Zuko continued. “I know very well how babies are
made, being both very old and having made one myself, and based on the way you look at your
wife I’m guessing you’re well acquainted with the process. We’re all adults here, and I for one am
glad to hear it. My own great grandfather was a terrible man. It’s an honor to have lived long
enough to provide what I hope is a contrast.”

“There’s nothing, um, in the works,” Iroh said hurriedly. “I’m, er, more in the intelligence
gathering phase.”

“And you want to know if our family’s mental health issues are hereditary?”

He shook his head. “No, it’s not that. I’m positive they are. What I want to know is, is there
anything I’m missing. From the… the other side, so to speak. Any chance I got double, or
something else? Something that should make me reconsider?”

“No,” Zuko said firmly.

“No?”

“No.”

Iroh felt some of the tension leave him. No. He didn’t realize he’d been expecting the worst until it
hadn’t happened.

Zuko raised one white eyebrow. “Is that all? You don’t want to know who, or why?”

Iroh ran one hand quickly through his hair, thinking. “No,” he said finally. “No, I don’t. It’s
irrelevant.”

His grandfather smiled and took another sip of tea, waiting. He knew there was more. Spirits, the
old man was sharp. Iroh had always been good at reading people, but Zuko was a master. Better to
just spit it out.

“There’s one more thing,” he said.

Zuko said nothing.

“What if I don’t know how?” Iroh blurted. “If I never had a father, how will I know what to do? I
only have mothers. What if I can’t do it?”

To his surprise, Zuko actually laughed. “Is that what you’re worried about?”

Iroh blinked at him, mildly offended. “Um. I fail to see the humor.”

“I’m sorry, Iroh,” his grandfather said, wiping his eyes with one long sleeve. “It’s just that, you’re
asking me? My blood relatives I mostly locked up. My uncle became my father. Aang and Sokka
became my brothers, Katara and Toph my sisters, and they were better fathers, brothers, and sisters
than I could have dreamed of. Family is what you make of it, Iroh. You have two parents who love
you. Be like your mothers, and you’ll be the best father any child could ask for.”

***

“What if I can’t do it?” Asami asked. “What if I don’t know how?”

No one answered, of course. No one ever did.

“And I know Iroh wants this, but I’m just not sure. All I had was dad. And we did fine, the two of
us, before things… you know. But he was still dad. How am I supposed to know how to be
somebody’s mother?”

Asami reached down and plucked a few weeds. She didn’t come here often. She wasn’t
sentimental like that. But there were some things you just wanted a parent for, you know?

“I don’t suppose there’s a class or something,” she said morosely. “Or a manual? I’m fine with
Pema and Tenzin’s kids, I guess, but I only have to keep them alive for a few hours at a time, and I
nearly always have help. I can teach them to build an engine, but I have no idea how to do the
actual, you know, mother parts. Spirits, I can’t even cook, Iroh does that. Aren’t moms supposed to
cook?” Her father had hired a chef for exactly this reason. “And I can patch him up okay when he
gets his ass kicked, I’ve had to learn that one the hard way, but I don’t think anyone would call me
nurturing. It’s mostly just bandaging burns and trying to keep him from going crazy while he rests.
If anything, Iroh’s better at that than I am, too.”

Silence.

A through struck her. “Oh shit. Mom, what if they’re firebenders? I have no idea how to fire train a
baby! I have the extinguisher Iroh got me, but I don’t think it’s the same. We don’t have a palace or
servants or masters here. I don’t think you can just put them in a sack until they learn to control
themselves. It’s one thing to watch Pema and the little airbenders, but fire? What am I supposed to
do with that?”

Yasuko Sato said nothing. She hadn’t known how to control firebenders, either.

Asami huffed. “Honestly, besides dressing up, I can’t think of any mom-type stuff I’m good at.”

This was the part where her mother was supposed to reassure her. To tell her that she’d be a great
mom, that it didn’t matter if she’d had no one to learn from but a distant father who, now that she
was older, she realized had mostly outsourced the more typically feminine aspects of parenting to
nannies and a series of elite schools. But of course, her mother had nothing to say to her. She never
had, and she never would. Asami was on her own.

She turned around and rested her back against the gravestone. “Oh mom,” she said, tipping her
head towards the gray sky, “I don’t think I’m ready for this. Maybe I won’t ever be.”

***
Asami heard the front door slam. “Hey,” she called, “how was tea with your grandfather?”

Heavy footsteps sounded behind her. Then Iroh flopped beside her on the couch. One look at his
face told her something was on his mind. She touched his arm. “What is it?”

He bit his lip. “I wanted to talk to you. About what we talked about.”

There was no need to ask what it was. There was only one thing they’d discussed recently that
would make his face look like that.

“What about it?” she asked softly.

Iroh frowned, not meeting her eyes. “I… I don’t think I’m ready. I will be, and I want to, but I want
more time to think. Not about if, but how.”

Asami squeezed his arm. “How?”

The corner of his mouth ticked up into a smile. “Okay, so I know how. But more… the me part. I
don’t have a father, and I spent a lot of time worrying about what that meant for me instead of
talking to the two people who are the best parents I know. I want to make space for that.” He
finally met her eyes, his expression unsure. “And I want to understand what you expect from me. I
might not know what to do, in the traditional sense. As a guy.”

Asami almost burst out laughing. Instead, she took his hand. “Look at us,” she said. “I wish you
could have heard me earlier.” Iroh raised an eyebrow in silent permission. “I was having the same
conversation,” she continued, “or a version of it. I’m not ready either, I know I’m not. And I’m
terrified that I’ll be terrible because I didn’t really have a mother. All I had was dad, and I don’t
really want to be him, either.”

She felt Iroh squeeze her hand. “You could never be terrible. You take care of me all the time.”

“By reminding you to eat?”

“Is an important kind of caring, yes.” Iroh let go of her hand to wrap one arm around her back.
“Maybe, given our role models, you should be the father and I should be the mother?”

Asami turned to look at him. Then she shrugged. Iroh smiled. After all, that wasn’t all that terrible
an idea.

He gave her a final squeeze, then stood. “I’ll go start dinner. Think you can get the fan in the
bedroom fixed in the meantime? It’s making that clicking sound again.”

She hopped up to go get her toolbox from the closet. Now there was something she could handle.
“No problem.”
 What's for Dinner?

Asami closed the door with a slam, trying to make as much noise as she could. She hated being
here alone. It was too quiet. Asami was a people person and, while not as outgoing as Bolin or
Korra, had never really liked living by herself. It didn’t help that the worst times in her life had
been those she’d been left alone: right after her mother died, when her father was so wracked with
grief he’d locked himself in his workshop for days at a time, and just after his arrest, when it had
felt like her entire world was going up in smoke. Small wonder that she’d spent so much time at
Iroh’s apartment, now their apartment, once they’d started dating.

Iroh, who no one would ever accuse of being a people person, had seemed to enjoy the company
anyway. Years later he admitted it reminded him of home; growing up in a large family inside an
even larger household, then living in close quarters on a ship, he’d missed people he liked being
simply around. Before long Asami was sleeping at his place nearly every night, despite having
three houses of her own. Though he’d never admit it, Iroh was very snuggly, and something about
sharing a space, and sharing a bed, had filled up a place inside her she hadn’t realized was empty.
They’d fallen into a comfortable routine, and not much had changed since.

Which made it all the harder when Iroh was gone.

Asami set her purse on the counter and just stood there. She had plenty of things to do, of course.
She’d have to get something to eat at some point. There was the big puzzle on the table to work on
(a picture of the Si Wong desert that was mostly yellow and nearly impossible), or she could head
over to her workshop to work on the mobile clinic. She could even stay here and experiment with
those improvements to their oven she’d been planning. But somehow nothing grabbed her. All
Asami felt was tired and lonely.

Maybe I’ll call Opal, she thought. Suddenly figuring out dinner seemed like a lot of work. It
wasn’t their kickboxing night, but maybe she’d be up for ice cream. Asami walked over to the
telephone. That’s when she saw the note; just a folded piece of paper with a neat little “A” on the
front.

Asami snatched up the paper.

Left you a treat in the refrigerator, just in case.

I love you.

Iroh.

She grinned, then trotted over to the fridge. Three squat containers sat right in the middle, each
neatly labeled with the contents and re-heating instructions in Iroh’s clear printing. He’d picked
some of her favorites: fire flake tofu, a spicy noodle dish he’d supposedly invented himself by
combining a traditional Fire Nation dish with some sauce he’d discovered in Zaofu, and even the
cold Water Tribe seaweed salad Korra had turned her on to. Asami just stared in amazement. She
had no idea how he’d had time to do all this in between packing for his trip, let alone without her
knowing.

I love you.

Iroh.

Suddenly the apartment didn’t feel quite so empty.

 Sick Day

Iroh woke up to a gentle shake of his shoulder. Everything hurt, everything. His throat felt thick
and his eyes stung. He let out a low groan.

“Iroh?”

“Ugh.”

Asami’s face appeared above his, her dark hair mussed with sleep, brow furrowed in concern.
“Hey, are you okay? It’s nearly seven thirty.”

“Fine,” he grumbled. The truth was, he felt like shit, but he had to be fine. He had things to do, and
had apparently already overslept and missed his workout. With a quick shower and walking fast he
could still make it into the office by quarter after though. Hopefully whatever was scheduled for
08:00 was flexible and his chief of staff wouldn’t murder him.

Asami peered down at him, clearly skeptical. Iroh realized too late that he hadn’t moved at all. She
pressed a cold hand to his cheek, then his forehead. It felt so good. Iroh wanted nothing more than
to be covered in Asami’s hands. “You are not fine. Spirits, you’re burning up.”

“I said I’m fine.” Iroh heaved himself up past her and swung his legs off the bed. The whole room
spun. He squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the sensation to pass. It wasn’t ideal, but maybe with
a strong cup of tea he could still make it to work?

Suddenly there was a telltale acid taste in the back of his throat. Iroh lurched forward and grabbed
the trash can next to the nightstand just before vomiting into the bag. He felt Asami rub his back as
he dry-heaved into the can a second time, then a third. There wasn’t even much there, just water
and burning bile, but he kept going, his body determined to reject everything even if all his insides
tore apart.

Finally, the fit subsided. Iroh went to wipe his mouth but Asami had already grabbed some tissues
from her side of the bed. She stuffed them in his hand, then put the whole box on his nightstand.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered. He tossed the used tissues in the can with the rest of the mess. At least it
wasn’t on the floor. “I’ll clean it up.”

“Like hell you will.” Asami snatched the trash can out of his hands, then grabbed his shoulder and
shoved him back down. “I’m declaring you incapacitated. I’m the general now and you do what I
say.”

“You can’t do that.” Iroh tried to get up again. He really did have a lot to do today. And it wasn’t
like there was anything left in him to come up.

One look at Asami’s face and he stopped, then lay back down. “Stop being stubborn, Iroh,” she
said. “You’re not that important. The United Forces can last one day without you. I’ll call Iameh to
clear your schedule, then see what Future Industries stuff I can do from here. But unless someone
starts a war today, you’re not to leave that bed without say-so. That’s an order. Got it?”

Iroh nodded, then settled down under the blankets. He couldn’t tell if he was hot or cold, so he let
Asami tuck him in. She eventually took away the wastebasket, then replaced it with a clean bag in
case he had any further issues.
“Can Iameh at least send over my briefings?” he asked. He didn’t feel much up to it, and was
actually rather tired, but it wouldn’t be good to fall behind.

“No,” Asami said. She left again, and a few minutes later he heard the low sound of talking.

Iroh closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he saw someone had set a large glass of water
on the nightstand, along with the book of old Water Tribe spirit tales from Katara and his reading
glasses. He turned his head slightly and saw Asami sitting next to him on the bed, a messy stack of
papers next to her. She’d swept her hair back and tucked a pen behind her ear, and was using a
second pen to mark up something in a large folio she’d propped up against her knees. She looked
over at his movement and smiled.

"How are you feeling?"

"Like you ran me over with your racing sato," he admitted. All his limbs felt heavy and hot, and he
was so tired. “Maybe more than once. Work?”

“It’s all sorted. Iameh assured me there’s no war on today, and that you won’t even be missed.
Also, Korra said she’ll drop by in a bit to take a look at you. In the meantime, she says to drink
water and rest. Oh, and I can order some soup from Kashiba’s for later, if you’re up for it. We’ll
see how you’re feeling.” Asami scooted over a little and started running her fingers gently through
his hair the way she knew he liked. "See? Nothing to worry about. Go back to sleep.”

Iroh closed his eyes again, finally letting himself relax. It really wasn’t fair, finding a partner like
this. His thumb slowly fingered his wedding band.

“No takebacks,” he muttered.

 Lice
Chapter Notes

TW: Passing reference to a suicide attempt that's canon in my main series. Also, gets
slightly steamy but nothing explicit.

“Asami?” Iroh called as she walked in the front door. His voice echoed slightly from down the
hallway.

“No, it’s Raiko,” Asami yelled. She dropped her voice. “If I have to read about this in the papers,
Iroh, I’ll nail you in a box and sink it!”

There was a chuckle from the direction of the bathroom. “Not bad, though you forgot to swear.” A
pause. “I, um, could use your help in here though, if you have a moment.”

“Be right there.” Asami put her bag on the counter and walked to the bathroom in the hallway,
curious. He didn’t sound hurt or anything, but something in his voice seemed worried.

Iroh stood in front of the bathroom counter facing the mirror wearing nothing but a soft pair of
black sweatpants. In front of him sat his open shaving kit, the razor already removed, and a pair of
kitchen scissors. Captain Stumps was curled up at his feet like a huge gray and white carpet. He
gave Asami a big doggy grin and thumped his tail against the tile.

Iroh’s eyes met hers in the mirror. “Good timing. I don’t think I can do this by myself.”

Asami’s eyes flicked to the reflected scar on his arm. She hadn’t meant to, but Iroh caught the look.
His expression darkened.

“Never,” he said firmly, but she could see the hurt in his eyes. “You know that, right?”

Asami nodded. Of course she did. All of Iroh’s scars were battle scars.

He sighed, then reached a hand up and pulled a little at his dark hair. “I meant this. Captain Stumps
and I both had the lice treatment, but the vet says it should go and Yue agreed.” He grimaced and
let his hair flop back down. “Besides, it’s just hair. It’ll grow back.”

Asami blinked, a little surprised. He’d told her about the lice medication, but not this part. “All of
it?” she asked, stepping further into the bathroom. “Are you sure that’s necessary? Can’t Korra or
Master Yue or someone just, I don’t know, waterbend the last few bugs away or something?”

“Apparently not.” Iroh picked up the scissors, then smiled thinly at her in the mirror. “There’s only
so much shaving my head will do”—he glanced down his front and bit his lip—“and I’m not going
there, but if I take a very hot shower after it should prevent a re-infestation. We’ve already washed
all the fabrics.” He looked up at her again and smiled. “And I’d rather it be me than you, so best to
be safe.”

Asami instinctively touched her hair. She’d been wearing it up and under a bandana just in case.
“Okay,” she said, “you have a point. But why not just go to Zhuó Zhuó? I’m sure they’d fit you in,
you’ve been going there for years.”
“Can’t,” Iroh said. “I already stopped by, but it violates health codes. Chin practically chased me
out with a broom. So it’s up to me. I can do most of it, but I can’t see the back of my head, so I’ll
need a little help.” He brought the scissors up to the top of his head and squeezed his eyes shut.

Asami reached out and grabbed his wrist. “No! What are you doing?”

Iroh opened his eyes, looking puzzled. “Cutting my hair?”

“Not with those you aren’t.” She pried the kitchen scissors out of his hand and set them on the
counter. “Have you seriously never cut hair before?”

“No?” He looked even more confused. “But I understand the principle.”

Asami eyed his setup. Spirits, he hadn’t even put down a towel. He’d wind up cutting his lice-
ridden hair all over the dog. And those were the same scissors he used making food! They weren’t
even all that sharp. Asami had been getting her hair cut at Hallelujah since she was a teenager, but
even she had a trim kit. She would have thought someone in the military would be more self-
sufficient, but it was clear in this respect her husband was hopeless.

She sighed and patted Iroh on the shoulder. “No, you really don’t. Go get a chair and put it in the
kitchen and lock the Captain in the bedroom. I’ll be out in a minute.” Then Asami went to gather
up her tools.

***

Iroh stared morosely into the mirror. “Why are heads so ugly?” He groaned and pressed his palm
to his face.

Asami stepped forward and wrapped her arms around his bare chest. “You’re not ugly,” she said.
“And neither is your head.” Iroh had always been a little vain about his hair, and not without
reason. She studied him in the mirror. It was different, for sure, but not bad, and it would grow
back. It didn’t make the rest of him any less attractive, either. In fact, standing behind him as she
was, Asami was treated to quite the view. Iroh still worked out six days a week, and though his
body had changed in the four years they’d been together, in her opinion it was only for the better.
There was a solidness about him she’d always liked, and that had only become more pronounced
as he’d gotten older.

“I look like Tenzin,” he muttered through his fingers.

“You do not look like Tenzin.” Asami reached up and pulled his hand away from his face, then
slowly traced the outline of his jaw. “Yep, still sexy,” she said over his shoulder.

“I look old.”

“You do not.” She stood on her toes and kissed the joint between his neck and shoulder. He tasted
like sweat. Then she ran her fingers up the back of his neck, scratching at the oddly naked space on
the back of his head. Iroh hummed a little in spite of himself. He’d always loved rubs and
scratches, even when he didn’t have lice and wasn’t determined to be grumpy.

“You don’t have to do that,” Iroh mumbled.

Asami stretched and gently bit his earlobe as she slid her other hand over his stomach. She felt him
shudder slightly. “Do what?”

“Pretend you don’t care that I’m bald.”

“I didn’t fall in love with your hair,” she whispered into his ear. Then she slowly kissed down his
neck. “Now go take a shower so you don’t have to shave my head next. I won’t look nearly so
good.”

Abruptly Iroh spun and pressed her into the door frame, then kissed her hard on the mouth. Asami
gasped and giggled in surprise. She could feel the whole length of him against her, flattening her
against the wood. She could see his back in the mirror, too, the slow flex of his muscles under her
fingers. Suddenly Iroh’s hair was the furthest thing from her mind.

“Forgot, there’s special shampoo,” he murmured between kisses. Asami felt his hand sneak under
the bandana to tangle in her hair. “You should use it, too. Can’t be too careful.” His other hand
caressed her hip. “If you join me I’ll help.”
 Asami Goes Grocery Shopping
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Asami waited a full two seconds before the doors slid open. She rolled her eyes as she walked in,
listening to the soft thump-thump as each panel slid back slightly out of sync. Either someone
hadn’t been cleaning the sensor, or the tech on those doors was at least five years out of date. For a
brand new store, it was downright sloppy. Not a good first impression.

Hue-Yana’s Mega Mart was Republic City’s latest attraction. The Mega Mart chain wasn’t new,
but it was the first one to open in the United Republic. Supposedly they had everything: food,
household items, clothing, hardware. They even had a small section for satomobile parts. Their
gimmick was simple: save you time, save you money. The one-stop shopping experience.

Iroh was, predictably, horrified. There’d been a Mega Mart in Caldera for a couple of years now
and he’d proudly never set foot in the place. For him, shopping was about quality, not price or
convenience, and he’d happily spend hours poking around every mom and pop shop in the Old
City to find precisely what he was looking for. Iroh wanted to touch it, to smell it, to ask the
proprietor where, exactly, it came from. Probably pull out a map so he could see where that was.
Asami wished she was kidding on that last one, but he’d once actually done that at a produce stand
at the Night Market selling some kind of nut he’d never heard of. Even when they went to the
regular grocers he took ages, studying ingredients and nutritional information with the same gravity
he did terrain maps. For someone who was usually all plans and efficiency, it took Iroh fucking
forever to shop.

Asami, on the other hand, was laser-focused. She loved shopping but hated browsing, instead
treating each shopping trip like a project. She mapped out the need, be it new clothing or a
replacement for the toaster Iroh had broken or, yes, grocery shopping. Then she made a list of
necessary specs and components, identified where to purchase them, and, unless she needed to try
something on, was usually in and out in minutes. To her, the joy of shopping was in getting exactly
what you needed by having a clear set of goals and flawless execution. It didn’t mean Asami
wouldn’t throw in the occasional impulse item if it crossed her path. But she saw no need to spend
hours wandering about, comparing everything to everything else.

Today, they didn’t have time for Iroh’s approach. Pema and Tenzin were throwing a potluck
tonight for Commander Bumi, who was to set sail the following morning. It was nothing big, just a
couple of people, and normally there would have been plenty of time to make a dish. But Iroh had
only gotten back from his trip last week and had been pulling a lot of late nights at work to catch
up. Bumi was like an uncle to him, not to mention a mentor in the Forces, and he wouldn’t miss the
send-off for the world, but he didn’t have time to both shop and make something. And nobody
wanted Asami trying to cook, herself included. Iroh might be the firebender, but they both knew
that the extinguisher they had under the kitchen sink was for her.

Which was why Asami was at Hue-Yana’s Mega Mart. She might not be able to cook, but Iroh had
said that if she could grab a few things at the store on her way home he might just have time to
throw something together. Asami had suggested just ordering something, but Iroh had made big,
sad eyes at her about wanting a personal touch. It was hard to say no to Iroh when he turned on the
charm so, being curious, she’d taken the opportunity of a solo trip to check out the Mega Mart.

The doors wobbled shut behind her as Asami made her way into the store. Though it had been hard
to tell from the outside, the scale of the place was staggering. It seemed nearly the size of a hangar.
The front of the store housed a long row of tills, 20 in all, each neatly labeled with an orange and
black light-up sign. Beyond them, aisle after aisle of tall metal shelves stretched off into the
distance. From where she stood she could see all manner of things, from children’s toys in aisle 13
to what looked like gardening equipment in 17.

Asami fished around in her bag for the shopping list Iroh had given her. At first she thought she’d
already lost it. That would be just like her—she might be the efficient one, but that didn’t seem to
extend to organization—but just as she was about to give up her fingers brushed on a corner of the
folded paper. She pulled it out and pressed it flat against her palm. There in Iroh’s neat printing
read:

Ginger
Cloves
Butter
Molasses
Baking soda
Flour
Eggs the big kind
Also milk whole please

The list seemed straightforward enough, though not as detailed she’d have made it. Asami grabbed
a little metal basket and turned right, following the sign for “produce.” She turned the corner and
stopped dead. Laid out before her was the largest produce section she’d ever seen. A giant “L”
along the wall displayed what looked like every kind of vegetable that existed. Lettuces in every
imaginable shade of green, white and purple daikon, squat little cabbages, peppers beyond
counting. Situated opposite, an inverse “L” housed a whole wall of salads and other prepared foods
in little containers, various bins of dried fruit and nuts, different kinds of tofu, and bottle after
bottle of fresh squeezed juice. Spread throughout the open space in between were little islands of
fruits and root vegetables. Potatoes, strawberries, apples, onions, tomato carrots of every color. It
seemed enough to feed all of Republic City at once.

At first Asami just gaped. She’d never seen so much food in one place before, and she’d been to
state dinners. Thoughts started racing through her head about the kinds of things a store like this
had to do to keep stock fresh. There could be a real partnership with Republic City Central
Command here, everything from logistics to supplying food banks with surplus. Then she kicked
herself. She had to be quick. Now that Asami knew it was here, she could come back to explore
another time.

She threaded her way through the islands, trying not to stare, and eventually located the ginger.
There was a problem though. There were two kinds. There was a big ugly root, which is what Iroh
probably meant, so she picked one up. But then on a shelf just below it was a row of small jars
containing the kind of pickled ginger that went with sushi. Iroh had said he wanted to make some
kind of ginger cookie though, so it didn’t sound like pickled ginger was right. She grabbed a jar of
that too though, just in case, and made a mental note to tell him to be more specific.

Luckily, the cloves of garlic were right next to the ginger. Iroh hadn’t said how many, just
“cloves,” so she got three since they seemed rather large. She had no idea why garlic would go in a
cookie, but she’d promised to follow the list.

Next up, butter. Asami spent a full two minutes staring at the butter. Who knew there were so
many kinds? Salted, unsalted, rolled, whipped. None of them said “regular butter.” Finally she
closed her eyes and pointed. Whipped butter it is.
The milk was easy. It wasn’t for the recipe, they just happened to be out. For whatever reason Iroh
loved milk, and she’d caught him more than once drinking it straight out of the carton, which is of
course why he wanted a whole gallon. Asami grabbed the first one she saw and kept moving.

Next was the baking aisle. That was where flour would be, and probably a few of these other
things. Sure enough, Hue-Yana’s Mega Mart had just as many varieties of flour as they had butter,
lettuce, and everything else. And, like the butter, there was no obvious “regular” flour. There was
wheat flour, rice flour, corn flour, all-purpose flour, pastry flour, bread flour. This was starting to
get ridiculous. Neither she nor Iroh had grown up cooking, they’d had servants for that, but
whereas he’d seemed to make a bit of a project of it in the Forces, Asami had simply ordered in.
She’d had no idea there were so many kinds of things. After what felt like a full five minutes of
hemming and hawing she picked up both a wheat flour and a bread flour just to cover the bases.

Baking soda… baking soda… ah, baking powder. Considering how non-specific Iroh was turning
out to be, he’d probably gotten the name wrong altogether. She popped it in the basket.

And what was that? Asami picked up the miniature blowtorch. Now that would come in handy.
She glanced at her watch, then down at the basket. It would have to do.

***

Iroh looked at the contents of the bag on the counter, then back at her. She'd only just beaten him
home. “I have questions.”

“Questions?”

He reached in and pulled out the jar of pickled duck eggs. “Questions.”

Asami put a hand on her hip. “What’s wrong? You said the big kind of eggs. Those were the
biggest.”

“Asami, they’re… there is so much wrong with this. For one, these are cooked. For another,
they’re soaked in vinegar. You don’t bake with pickled eggs.”

“How am I supposed to know that?” She pointed at the list. “Eggs the big kind? Really?”

Next he pulled out the ginger root and pickled ginger. He raised an eyebrow. “Were they out of
powder?”

Asami scrunched up her nose. “There’s powder? These two were the only kinds by the
vegetables.”

“No, by the spices.”

“It’s a spice? You didn’t say spiced ginger, you said ginger.”

Iroh sighed, reached into the bag again, and pulled out one of the garlic cloves. “And these?”

“Cloves?”

He blinked at her, then looked at the garlic again. “Asami, you're the smartest person I know. You
can’t be serious.”
 “You didn’t say how many, so I guessed.”

Iroh’s eyes widened a little. “You… okay. Um, right.” He pulled out the bag of bread flour. “And
this?”

“There were about twenty kinds of flour, Iroh!” She was getting annoyed. It was his faulty specs,
after all. “You didn’t say which kind. A cookie is a kind of bread, so I figured that was closest.”

Iroh gaped at her. Then he started to laugh. At first it was a quiet chuckle, but soon he was
heaving, his whole body bent over. Tears streamed down his red face. “A type…” he choked.
“Type of bread!”

Asami couldn’t help it. She started laughing, too. Iroh straightened and held out his arms. “Come
here.” She went to him and he pulled her close, then kissed the top of her head. His uniform
scratched comfortably against her cheek. “Thank you for doing the shopping,” he said into her hair.
“It's fine. We’ll pick up some wine on the way.”

“Okay.” She felt a little bad, but really, a cookie was basically a bread.

“And don’t think I didn’t see that blowtorch.”

Asami smiled into his chest. At least one purchase had been correct.

Chapter End Notes

This is the same shopping trip referenced in chapter 7 of Firestorm. So about that
whole gallon of milk...
 Game Night
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Iroh lay on his stomach and studied the board. There was nothing to it, just a series of boxes. “I
don’t understand.”

“It’s not about the board,” said Korra. She leaned back against the foot of Mako’s blue couch and
held up a pad of paper. “The fun is in the answers. The board is just a tracker.”

Asami picked up the stack of cards from the middle and drew one out. “There’s an old eastern
Earth Kingdom saying, ‘Don’t bite until you know whether it is…’” She looked around and raised
an eyebrow. “So we just make something up? Like ‘explosive’?”

“Yup.” Korra started dividing the paper. “It’s fun. I played with Ikki and Jinora and a few of the
acolytes the other day."

“Of course Asami would say explosive,” said Mako. Iroh smiled to himself. He wasn’t wrong.

“But that’s the point. Everybody writes down an answer and gives it to whoever is speaking. The
speaker writes down the right answer and mixes it in. Then everybody has to guess what the right
answer is. So Asami is better off saying something that could be true, rather than something we all
know she’d put down.”

“Hey,” laughed Asami, stuffing the card back in the stack, “that could totally be true! ‘Don’t bite
until you know whether it’s explosive’ is good life advice. You never know, right?”

Bolin threw her a worried glance. “You see, it’s you saying stuff like that that makes me ever so
slightly scared of you.”

“Let’s give it a try.” Opal took some paper from Korra and picked up a card. “I’ll go first.”

Everyone pulled pens out of the pile Mako had scrounged from his office. Miraculously, they all
worked. That was Mako though.

“Ah, not you.” Mako leaned across the board and snatched the pen out of Asami’s hand. “Use your
own.”

Asami stuck out her tongue, then dug for a pen in her handbag. The one she pulled out had clearly
been chewed on. They all had. Iroh didn’t let her near his nice pens, either.

Opal cleared her throat. “Okay. There’s an old saying in Ba Sing Se, ‘The soup at the palace is very
good, but…’”

Bolin looked at her. “And I really just make something up? Anything I want?”

“Yeah.”

Iroh looked down at his paper, then wrote: The soup at the palace is very good, but... But what?
He’d grown up in a palace, after all. There could be a thousand answers, ranging from the purely
practical (“it might be hot”) to the completely far-fetched (“it might be poisoned”). Finally he put
something fairly obvious just to test the waters. This was only the first round, after all.
“All right, everybody in?” Opal asked as she gathered up the papers. She unfolded them as people
nodded. Then she sighed. “Some of you have awful handwriting.”

Iroh patted Asami’s thigh. “Some of us.” Her writing was both microscopic and nearly illegible.

She poked him in the side. Hard. “Ow!”

“Get a room, you two,” said Korra. “Opal?”

“Okay. So, there’s an old saying in Ba Sing Se, ‘the soup at the palace is very good, but…’” She
unfolded the first paper and nearly choked. “But it’s made of bear.”

Iroh burst out laughing. He couldn’t help it. Made of bear. He rubbed at his face, trying to pull
himself together.

“Oh wow, that’s awful,” Korra said, wiping her eyes. “Next.”

Opal moved on. “The soup at the palace is very good, but it has coconut in it.” That was Iroh’s. He
didn’t care for coconut.

Mako furrowed his brows. “I don’t get it.”

“The soup at the palace is very good,” read Opal, “but the Dai Li probably put some kind of mind
control juice in it and when you eat it they can control you like a big robot or something.”

“The soup at the palace is very good, but it was made by exploiting the lower ring with regressive
tax policy.”

“The soup at the palace is very good, but you have to like soup.”

“The soup at the palace is very good, but it comes at a cost.” Opal folded her hands in her lap.
“Wow, you guys are terrible at this. Time to vote.” She shuffled back through the papers. “We’ve
got bear, coconut, Dai Li mind control, tax policy, soup is like soup, and comes at a cost.” She
looked to her left. “Korra?”

“Taxes.”

“Asami?”

“Um…” She glanced at Iroh. She knew he hated coconut. “Soup.”

Opal made a note. “Iroh?”

“Bear,” he said, without hesitation. “I don’t care if it’s right. That person deserves a point.”

“Mako?”

“Cost.”

“Bolin?”

“Bear. I’m with Iroh on that.”

“All right.” She shuffled the papers slightly. “Mako wins. The right answer was ‘comes at a cost,’
which gets him two, and he got one vote for his answer on tax policy.”
 Mako smiled and picked up the red piece, jumping it three spaces up the board.

“Asami got two for her sadistic bear answer.”

Asami grinned and tossed her hair dramatically over her shoulder, then moved the purple piece.

“Korra moves one for soup, though I can’t believe anyone voted for that.” The blue piece went one
space. “And nothing for Bolin or Iroh.” She met their eyes. “Do better, boys.”

“My turn,” said Korra, grabbing the box. “Okay, there’s an old Fire Nation saying, ‘An inch of
gold cannot buy…’” She looked at Iroh. “No cheating.”

Iroh had never heard that saying before. He was starting to wonder if all the sayings were made up.
He looked down at the paper and searched for an answer. An inch of gold, and inch of gold. Well,
what would the Fire Nation say about it? Lots of things were gold back home. And an inch of gold
was probably a lot of money, though not enough money for whatever the phrase referred to. So it
was either something very expensive, or something that gold couldn’t buy at all. He looked over at
Asami cross legged next to him, hair falling all around her face, the end of her pen slowly
disappearing into her mouth as she thought. Iroh smiled. Love, after all, couldn’t be bought for any
price.

“Okay,” said Korra. “Here we go. There’s an old Fire Nation saying, ‘An inch of gold cannot
buy…” She unfolded the first paper. “Cannot buy two inches of gold.” Korra looked up. “That’s
either really deep, or the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Hey, no comments from the reader,” said Bolin. “It’s a great answer.”

“Fine. Cannot buy… all the modernization needed in the royal palace. Really guys?” She frowned
at all of them. “You’re too literal. And it’s an old saying, remember.” Asami shifted
uncomfortably. Korra unfolded the next answer. “An inch of gold cannot buy a rainbow. That’s
cute.” The next. “An inch of gold cannot buy the crown.” More shuffling. “An inch of gold cannot
buy the ability to lightning bend.”

Finally Korra got to Iroh’s. She blinked down at the paper, then read: “An inch of gold cannot buy
your best friend if your best friend was a bear that’s been made into soup.”

For a moment nobody said anything. Then Asami started cackling.

“I can’t believe I’m friends with whoever wrote that,” muttered Mako.

“Hard same,” said Korra. She shuffled through the papers again. “So! One of these is a real
saying…”

Iroh felt Asami’s fingers scratch softly at the back of his neck.

Chapter End Notes

This game is loosely based on a real game called "Wise and Otherwise." I don't think
it's realistic that Pai Sho is the only game that exists in this world, nor that Asami and
Iroh are always good at games.
 The Ember Island Players
Chapter Notes

This makes more sense if you've read "AWOL" but hopefully is still funny. And if you
haven't read "AWOL," well, maybe now you don't have to.

The lights dimmed just as they got to their seats.

“See? Right on time,” Asami chided. “All that fuss for nothing.”

“I do not consider making it with fifteen seconds to spare ‘right on time,’” Iroh grumbled. He’d
been in a sour mood all afternoon, ever since he’d gotten the cable from Raiko’s office. He
wouldn’t say what it was about, but whatever it was threatened to ruin the last day of what had
otherwise been an unexpectedly nice vacation. Neither of them really considered themselves
“Ember Island people,” preferring destinations where they had a little more privacy and a dash of
adventure, but it was quick and easy and they’d both been stressed to the breaking point. When
they’d started fighting, something they rarely did, Asami knew something had to give.

In a flash of inspiration she’d cleared both their schedules for five days and snagged a little
bungalow on the secluded north side, then presented Iroh with the plan only after it was too late to
back out. He’d spent the first day mostly sleeping, a tuft of dark hair and one big foot just visible
above the rim of the hammock on the front porch. Asami had taken the time to go shopping,
updating her summer wardrobe with the occasional break to slowly sip a cocktail and gaze at the
ocean. After they’d both caught their breath they’d spent the rest of the time together, either
actively or simply in one another’s company, Asami’s feet on Iroh’s lap as they both read their
books in the shade. There had been dinners in town, both fancy and fried, plenty of sex, a long
couples massage, and lots of time on the beach. One afternoon Iroh had even rented a boat and
taught her how to sail, shamelessly showing off as he modeled his completely unfair and very sexy
tan among the rigging. It had all been so easy and wonderful.

Then there had been that stupid cable this afternoon. Asami had left strict instructions that they
were only to be disturbed in an emergency, so she supposed it was important, but sometimes she
worried they both worked too much. Tonight they had tickets to see the Ember Island Players,
something Iroh would ordinarily probably like, and all he could do was huff and scowl. It had been
enough that she’d almost canceled. But in the end Asami had dragged them both, secretly hoping
the distraction might do him some good.

Iroh settled down next to her with a grunt. The deep red curtains pulled back to reveal a dark stage
littered with boxes and hanging clothes. It appeared to be some kind of tunnel or makeshift camp.
Three people stood in the center: a tall man with spiky brown hair, a red scarf, and a theatrical
frown painted on his face, a short man in green with an opposite painted smile, and a woman with
long black hair and huge blue teardrops running down her cheeks.

In walked a fourth person, a young woman in a furry blue outfit dragging the arm of a dark-haired
man in a red vest and white pants. A bandage was wrapped around his bicep. The vest was open,
displaying a rather well-built chest.

“Asami, look!” shouted the woman in blue. “I’ve found you a new firebender! I dragged him out of
the water just for you, so that Mako and I can have lots of sex and babies. Here.” She shoved the
man in the red vest towards the long-haired woman, then grabbed the arm of the man in the red
scarf.

“I love you,” said the man in the vest. The long-haired woman ignored him entirely.

“That is not what happened,” Iroh muttered.

“And I love Korra, I think,” said the red-scarfed man. “I’m not entirely sure.” He pulled a coin out
of his pocket, flipped it, and studied the result. “Yup, Korra.” He let the blue-clad woman drag him
off stage.

“That is exactly what happened,” groaned Asami. Then the long-haired woman started wailing.
“Wait! I don’t sound like that!”

Iroh sniggered softly beside her.

The scene changed and three people sat in a jail cell. The short man and the man in the red vest
were tied back-to-back while the long-haired woman sat a bit apart.

She flung her hand dramatically to her forehead. “Oh, help me! I’m heartbroken and I’ve got to
take down my father!” Asami shifted uncomfortably. That really wasn’t at all how it had gone.

The two men struggled against the ropes, but to no avail. Suddenly a giant robot with spectacles
and a bushy mustache stomped its way towards the cell. It was nothing more than a man wearing a
stack of gray-painted cardboard boxes, but under the circumstances the costume was fairly good.

“Down with everything!” he shouted. “You may have thought I was jolly and reasonable, but it
turns out I’m the villain! Asami, come be villains with me.”

The woman stuck out her tongue. “No.”

The robot stalked off again. Next, a man in a large furry white dog costume trotted on stage.
“That’s not even my dog!” shouted the man in green happily just before it busted down the door.

The man in the red vest rushed over to the woman to help her up. Then he ripped off his vest and
flung it to the floor, flexing his sizable muscles. “I’m going to go do something to impress you
now,” he said, and ran over to the side of the stage. A few attendants attached him to what looked
like a harness, and a moment later he flew across the stage tossing fistfulls of red glitter. “Don’t
you want me now, fair maiden?” he shouted as he streaked through the air. “I’m sexy and can fly!”

Iroh coughed next to her. She thought she caught the word “bullshit.”

The first act ended with a chaotic fight between the blue woman in furry boots, the frowning man,
and small child in a gray hood and white mask wielding a water gun. The child defeated, the scene
closed with a kiss between the pair. The long haired woman with the painted tears began to wail
again as the formerly red-vested man, now shirtless and no-longer flying, walked off stage
dejectedly.

“I don’t know where they get these things,” Asami said as the curtain closed.

“This is the worst play I’ve ever seen,” growled Iroh. “As if… that was hardly the case.”

“Seriously.”
The second act opened next to a large building with a biplane painted on it. The red-vested man
had changed into black pants and a black vest, also left open at the chest. On his face he now wore
a pair of pink glasses, the lenses shaped like hearts. He stood opposite the long-haired woman with
tears on her cheeks, who now sported a pair of green goggles on top of her head.

“I would like to do something both brave and stupid,” said the man. “Will you come with me so
that I can continue to impress you?”

“I too am brave, though less stupid than you,” the woman replied. “I’ll help you, if only because
you look like my ex.” Out of the corner of her eye Asami saw Iroh’s grip tighten on the arm of his
chair.

“You don’t look anything like Mako,” she whispered. He didn’t respond.

The pair traveled across a landscape. At each stop the man did something daring to try to impress
the woman, and each time she ignored him. Yet every time his back was turned she cast long
glances at him and sighed. Eventually she wiped the painted tears from her cheek and donned her
own set of pink heart-shaped glasses.

“This is pathetic,” Asami grumbled. “Why don’t they just get together? They clearly like each
other.”

“No one is that stupid in real life,” said Iroh.

Several fights ensued. The man and woman separated, him to battle a collection of large water
balloons and her to fly some kind of aircraft alongside the man in the red scarf and his friend in the
green shirt from earlier. Those battles won they met once again inside what looked like a quaint
kitchen. Suddenly an enormous roll of red fabric dropped from the ceiling, painted with some kind
of monster. The man and woman started in shock, then looked at one another and kissed
passionately.

“You clearly don’t like me,” said the man once they parted.

“Nor you, me,” the woman replied.

“What?” Iroh practically shouted. He looked at Asami and pointed at the stage. “But he just… she
just… how can they say that?”

Asami shook her head. The play made no sense at all to her. “These people are idiots.”

There were a few more fights as the pair chased the red monster and a variety of swirling cloth
shapes at its feet. Eventually they wound up in a black landscape.

“I’m probably going to die now,” said the man. “It’s a shame you don’t love me.”

The woman kissed him again. “It’s a shame you don’t love me, either.” Then she left. The man
stood there for a moment, then turned and ran headlong into a short, fat man with a long white
beard.

“You’re Iroh!” laughed the fat man, pointing. Then he turned his finger on himself. “I’m Iroh, too!
Isn’t that funny?” He held out a cup of tea, then brought a large foam bat out from behind his back
and hit the man in the black vest on the head. “She likes you,” he said firmly. Then he walked off
stage, still sipping his tea.

“Is that…?” Asami whispered.

“I don’t think so,” said Iroh. “I mean, what are the chances?”

The final scene showed the long-haired woman running around in her pink heart glasses, flinging
things all over the stage and screaming she’d lost something very important. Eventually she ran
smack into the man, who was back in his white pants and open red vest. He saluted her, and she
threw her arms around his neck and kissed him.

“I do love you,” she said.

“Good,” said the man with a smile. “Let’s bang.”

The curtain dropped to a smattering of applause. Asami felt Iroh’s hand wrap around hers. Then he
gave it a gentle squeeze and she looked at him.

“I’m sorry I was upset earlier,” he said, running his other hand through his hair. It made it stick up
adorably. “Sometimes I let my emotions get the better of me instead of talking about it. I thought
sharing bad news from home with you would ruin your time. So instead I sat on it and let it ruin
our time anyway.”

Asami squeezed his hand. “That’s okay. You didn’t ruin anything. And I’m sorry I don’t always
see things. I could have asked what you needed instead of assuming. I meant well, but I could have
asked.”

“Friends?” Iroh asked, a hopeful smile on his face.

Asami leaned forward and planted a kiss on the corner of his mouth. “Let’s bang.”

Iroh laughed.
 A Visit to RCP
Chapter Notes

It's Father's Day weekend here in the U.S. and, well, sometimes that's complicated.

Iroh pulled the sato to a gentle stop in the nearly empty parking lot. Asami, for once, said nothing
about his driving. In fact, she’d said nothing at all since they’d left the house that morning. Instead
she sat still as a statue, her whole body rigid as she stared out the window at something Iroh knew
he could never see. She looked gorgeous, her hair glossy and styled, makeup done with extra care.
Her skin was like pale marble against the gray dress she wore, conservative yet stylish, a cut of the
latest fashion and something he knew she’d spent money on. She’d even worn the diamonds today;
not the large ones, but the gold studs that had once been her mother’s. The Asami next to him was
all beauty and success, the perfect young woman. A woman any father would be proud of.

As Iroh looked at her he thought his heart would break.

“We don’t have to do this,” he said softly.

Asami jerked her head, every muscle tight. The look in her eyes was so sad it made him want to
scream. Something roared in his chest, telling him to grab her and shake her and cover her in kisses,
or maybe just slam on the gas and drive as fast as he could until his Asami came back, the one who
smiled and laughed and tickled him when he wasn’t looking, the one who wasn’t afraid of
anything. Or maybe he should march in there himself and just set the old man on fire, burn him to
nothing but blackened bones for having the power to turn his wife to stone. Still, after all these
years.

Iroh did none of these things. He knew this wasn’t his fight. Instead he reached over and covered
Asami’s hand in his. Her skin was so cold. He pushed a little fire into his palm to make his own
hand even warmer. Spirits knew there wasn’t much he could offer her, not here, but he could do
this. As long as he lived he would always keep her warm.

Asami’s face softened a little at his touch. She didn’t move though, so neither did Iroh. Instead he
looked at the building in front of them. It was tall and blocky and gray, and could have been
anything. A factory, a school, perhaps the world’s ugliest library. The modifications were all on
the inside: metal, ice, fire, wood. He would know. Unlike Asami, he’d been here before.

“I think we should go,” Asami said after a while. Her voice was little more than a whisper. “I can
try another time.”

Iroh gave her hand a squeeze and wordlessly put the sato in gear. Republic City Prison retreated
behind them in the rearview mirror. He wasn’t sorry to see it go. They’d be back again, he knew
that, and one day she would go in. One day. But if it wasn’t today, that was all right with him.

As they drove back towards the city Iroh could see some of the tension slowly leave her. First
Asami kicked off her heels to tuck her legs up underneath her on the seat. Then she leaned over
and flipped on the radio. The clipped tones of the FNBC World Service sounded through the
speakers. It seemed markets were up, at least in the Fire Nation.
Asami made a face. “I can always tell when you had the sato last. Honestly, the last thing I want to
hear about on the weekend is this stuff.” Which was all the funnier considering the killing she
made in the markets herself. Asami flipped the station until she found something appropriately
horrendous—Iroh had little understanding and even less appreciation for modern pop—then
lounged back in the passenger seat. She paused, then rolled down her window. Iroh waited a beat,
then did likewise.

The cool air felt wonderful on his face. Someone on the radio wailed about showing him how to
love, oh oh.

Finally Asami turned in her seat. The wind had blown a few strands of her hair loose, and they
swirled around her face. Then she smiled a little. Not a big smile, just a subtle curl of the lips, but
to him it was everything.

“Feel like grabbing a bite by the water?” she asked. “We’re already up, and at the speed you’re
driving it’ll be lunchtime by the time we get there.”

Iroh smiled and took her hand again as they drove towards the cluster of buildings that made up
downtown.
 A New Dress
Chapter Notes

Implied spiciness

“Wow,” Iroh breathed.

Asami blushed. “You always say that.”

“You’re always a wow.” He smiled broadly. “If you wanted a different answer, you married the
wrong man. Getting to see you in a dress like that is half the reason I show up to United Forces
events at all.” He held out a hand and nodded to the door. “That, and Iameh would murder me
faster than Raiko if I didn’t show. Come on, we’re going to be late.”

Iroh traced faint circles into her palm the whole walk over. It was only a few blocks after all. They
went slowly, in part because of her heels and in part because he was stalling. She knew he disliked
formal events, especially ones where he was a guest of note. But duty was duty, and some things he
couldn’t avoid. Asami didn’t mind the pace. Fashionably late was a concept entirely lost on her
husband.

Iroh cut a dashing figure as he walked beside her. His dress uniform was thicker and richer than his
everyday one, with a high collar, squared shoulders and an overall slimmer outline. He claimed it
wasn’t practical, but there wasn’t much need to firebend in it. Her own dress was simple yet
elegant, a new lacey lilac boatneck that cut off mid-thigh. It was form-fitting, but hardly
scandalous. Yet for some reason Iroh couldn’t keep his eyes off her. His gaze kept flicking over
her, his jaw tightening with every glance.

“Are you all right?” she asked as they walked across the park to City Hall.

“What?” Iroh shook his head. “Yes, fine. Why?”

“You seem distracted is all. I know you don’t like galas, but it’s the same as last year, right?”

“Yes.” He didn’t seem to want to say more, so she let it go.

Dinner was good but unremarkable. Iroh was friendly and polite, and anyone who didn’t know him
well wouldn’t catch that he was stressed. It was mild, but there, something subtle in the lines of his
face and the way he squared his shoulders. Asami rested a hand on his thigh under the table and he
actually jumped.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” she whispered.

Iroh looked up and down the table. Dessert was mostly finished, and the other couples and guests
were starting to mingle. He sighed and pushed out his chair.

“Walk with me.” He stood, then without so much as a glance backwards strode off towards the
back of the room that led to City Hall’s many offices.

Asami followed him, puzzled. Hopefully he’d finally share whatever was on his mind.
Iroh walked a little ways down one of the darkened hallways, then turned the corner and
disappeared out of sight. Asami hurried to catch up. She was just as familiar with City Hall as he
was, but there were enough doors and corridors she could easily lose him if he didn’t wait. Iroh
had long legs and sometimes forgot how fast he walked.

She needn’t have worried though. Iroh stood a little ways down the hallway, back straight, brows
furrowed. As she approached he slowly bit his lip.

“Iroh, are you going to tell me what’s going on?” She was honestly worried now.

“I, um”—he cleared his throat—“Asami, I’m a professional.”

She cocked an eyebrow. “So am I. And that’s not new. That doesn’t explain why you haven’t said
three words since we left the house.”

He shook his head. “No, I mean, I’m a professional. I’m at a work event. But I can’t.”

“Can’t what?”

Suddenly he stepped forward and pulled her into a kiss. His hands tangled in her hair as he pressed
her mouth to his, nothing but passion, slow and deep. Asami was so surprised she froze before
melting into him. Oh, but it felt good. Iroh was warm and tasted like the lemon custard they’d had
for dessert. He’d worn the cologne she liked, too, the one that reminded her of the beach. The fine
wool of his dress uniform felt soft beneath her fingers.

And Iroh… didn’t stop. One hand left her hair to trail slowly down her back. He pressed forward,
pulling himself flush against her. Asami took a half step back, breaking the kiss.

“Iroh,” she gasped, “what’s gotten into you?”

He looked at the floor, his face burning. “I… I don’t know. Something about that dress. And you.
The way you move in it, it’s… it’s very sexy, Asami.” Finally he met her eyes. He looked deeply
embarrassed, but behind his gaze was something else, something that made her feel warm all over.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “That was entirely inappropriate. Let’s get back to the party.”

That’s when she noticed his face. Iroh’s mouth was now smeared with deep purple lipstick. It was
absolutely adorable, and it only made her want to kiss him again.

Asami smiled and gave him a quick peck on the lips. “You can kiss me anytime, handsome. In
fact, I’ll give you first dibs when we get home.”

He grinned at that, clearly happy he hadn’t upset her. “I’ll hold you to it.” Iroh took her arm and
steered them back towards the gala.

“Wait, hang on.” Asami reached into her clutch and pulled out a tissue. “I’ve marked you as my
prey.”

Iroh gave her a puzzled look until she started wiping away the lipstick. He flushed crimson again
before flashing her a sheepish smile. “Oh.”

“General?” The voice echoed down the hallway. “General Iroh?”

Iroh’s eyes flew wide. He was still covered in lipstick. He looked around frantically, then yanked
open the closest door and ducked inside, pulling Asami with him. He closed the door just as
footsteps sounded in the corridor, plunging them into darkness.

“General, are you down here?” Asami didn’t recognize the voice. It could be anybody. Iroh
pressed close in beside her, his breath hot on her neck. Slowly her eyes adjusted, and she realized
he’d pulled her into some kind of maintenance closet. There was a bucket and mop, two wire
shelves, and a tall stack of boxes. That didn’t leave much room for people. They were practically
standing on top of one another.

There was a long pause, then the footsteps retreated.

Asami shuffled around until Iroh was facing her. His cologne was stronger in the close space.

“You weren’t giving a speech tonight, right?” she whispered. Iroh shook his head. “So no one will
mind if you’re gone for a few more minutes?”

He shook his head again, then leaned down and gave her a soft lemon-flavored kiss.
 Bolin's Date Auction
Chapter Notes

Why Iroh hates date auctions makes more sense if you've read "Iroh Alone," but it's
not necessary background.

“Absolutely not,” Iroh said firmly as his guts twisted into knots. “It’s out of the question.”

Bolin’s eyes went wide. “But… but everyone’s doing it. Me, Mako, some of my old pro-bending
buddies, even the guy who played Tonraq in the Nuktuk movers. I mean, it’s for the orphanage.
We’re all pitching in.”

“I understand. And I’m happy to make another donation, Bolin.”

His friend shook his head, looking crestfallen. “No, you don’t understand at all. It’s just like
Nuktuk, actually. You gotta get people there. You gotta get them excited. It gets everybody in the
mood. The fundraising lady says they get four times as much at events than they do when people
just cut boring old checks. Please, Iroh. You’re practically a celebrity.”

“And I’m practically married, too. Our engagement made page six. What would be the point?”

“Ugh!” Bolin threw up his hands. “The point, Mr. United Forces Man, is that you’re a hot dude
with a hot uniform, and people will pay good money to pretend they are dating you for two hours
at a fundraiser. It’s called marketing. Spirits, even if you just get Asami to win you it still gets
people excited.”

Iroh clenched his teeth. He wanted to help his friend, he did, but he’d been here before. The lights.
The pressure. The humiliation, and guilt.

You didn’t even try, Iroh! You embarrassed me.

Asami wasn’t his ex, and that had been years ago, but even still, he knew he couldn’t do it.

“I’m sorry, Bolin,” Iroh said. He couldn’t quite meet his eye. “Of course we’ll attend, but the
answer is no.”

***

“Five hundred!” Korra shouted. Iroh raised an eyebrow. He wasn’t sure Korra had five hundred
yuans.

Mako undid the last button on his shirt, then slowly peeled it off to reveal a tight white tank. Bolin
whistled just as someone across the room upped the bid. Iroh couldn’t tell from Mako’s expression
if he was enjoying himself or if he wanted to die. He supposed it might be a bit of both.
Iroh unconsciously crossed his arms, trying not to remember the time he’d been up there himself.
He’d grown more comfortable with his scars over he years, and Asami had been a big part of that,
but some hurts ran too deep. No one has to know you’re all cut up. No—a date auction was
something he was very comfortable saying he’d never do again, no matter how good the cause.

Mako stripped out of the undershirt. Asami cast him a smirk, then cupped her hand to her face and
yelled, “Eight hundred!” Korra scowled at her. She’d had quite a bit to drink already. Asami only
shrugged.

“Eight-fifty!”

“Eight seventy-five!”

Asami leaned over. “I’ll be right back,” she whispered, giving Iroh a slight peck just under his ear.
Then she stood and walked over to Korra. She whispered something in her ear as well and the
Avatar brightened.

Up on stage Mako did one last slow spin. “Going once!” called the announcer, another friend of
Bolin’s who’d done animal voices for Nuktuk. “Going twice!”

“One thousand!” Korra called. A few heads turned and her cheeks reddened. “What?” she said,
much quieter. “We’re friends.”

“Sold!” shouted the animal voice man. “One thousand yuans to the woman in blue! Young lady,
please come up here and collect your date for the evening.”

Korra awkwardly stood, then walked to the stage. Mako collected his clothes and hopped down.
He flashed her a grateful smile, and Iroh caught him mouth the word, “thanks.” Korra’s blush
deepened.

The announcer cleared his throat. “Next up, ladies and gentlemen, we have something truly special.
Remember, it’s all for a good cause, all for the children. And in the spirit of that good cause, I now
bring you the one, the only, General of the United Forces!”

Iroh started. What? He looked frantically around as his heart leapt into his throat. This wasn’t
happening. Bolin might not understand, but he’d never—

Someone sauntered out from behind the curtain. Tall black heeled boots clicked across the stage to
stunned silence. Tight, cream colored pants clung to firm, muscular legs a mile long. The too-long
crimson jacket had been left open to reveal a long stripe of pale stomach, the barest hint of breasts.
The gold embroidery at the edges shone in the spotlight. And not just any jacket. His jacket. Iroh’s
jacket. He recognized the medals.

Berry lips curled into a slow smile beneath glittering green eyes.

Iroh dug for his wallet as the announcer picked up the mic.

“Now, let’s start—”

“Ten thousand, one-hundred and fourteen yuans,” Iroh said firmly. He slammed the cash on the
table. No one spoke. Iroh stood and strode to the stage, then held out his hand.

Asami laughed down at him. “You’re so predictable.”

Iroh smiled. “And you belong to me for the evening, General.” He dropped his voice. “And I’ll be
wanting my jacket back.”

She giggled and took his hand, holding the jacket closed as she hopped nimbly off the stage. Iroh
wrapped an arm around her back and led Asami to the table to general applause, a wide grin on his
face. Perhaps date auctions weren’t so bad after all.

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