Survivors Like Us
Another short Avatar fanfic. And there's more to come, as these are what I've actually managed to finish, because they're short.
Title: Survivors Like Us
Rating: PG
Characters: Zuko, Song
Word Count: ~1,500, complete
Summary: Modern AU. Zuko meets a girl named Song in the waiting room of a plastic surgeon's office. He has the opportunity to make a new friend, but can he let himself take it?
Notes: This is part of a modern alternate universe series I'm working on, centered on Zuko and Iroh.
Survivors Like Us
Zuko sat in the waiting room of Dr. Yugoda's office, too agitated even to pretend to browse the magazines. His uncle was still at the receptionist's desk, no doubt discussing some new issue that had come up with the insurance company. The further into the past his being burned receded, the less willing the company was to pay for reconstructive treatment. Fortunately for them, Dr. Yugoda was skilled and persistent at arguing on behalf of her patients. He watched the receptionist highlighting a section on a form for his uncle. He would never admit it to anyone else, but he wanted Iroh to be sitting next to him right now. He was nervous. Today was the day the doctor would decide whether to operate again on the scar tissue around his left eye. He hated surgery, every part of it: the anxiety before, the anesthesia, the disorientation, the painkillers, the bandages, the pain. He doubted that another operation would make him look any better, and there was nothing that would make him look normal again. After more than two years of surgery, steroid injections, and physical therapy, the great triumph was being able to open his left eye about seventy percent of the way. He didn't know how much more time and pain he was willing to invest in trying to gain that last thirty percent, assuming it was even possible.
While Iroh conferred with the receptionist, a girl about his age entered the waiting room, accompanied by a woman who looked to be her mother. The older woman went to the desk to check in, and Iroh greeted her cheerfully even though he did not know her. The girl paused in the middle of the room and looked at Zuko curiously. He shifted in his seat and stared out the window, hoping she wasn't thinking of talking to him. It was his experience that sitting in a plastic surgeon's office with a visible burn scar was interpreted by some other patients as an invitation to all kinds of unpleasant interactions: nosy questions, pitying remarks, weird soliloquies. Like the very thin, very tan, very stylish older woman who told him that he was very brave to go out in public, and really quite good looking despite the scar. Then she started hinting that if he was interested in having his first sexual experience, she would be willing. He almost screamed at her that he had a girlfriend, and she said "Oh, of course you do," with a pitying look. (Mai laughed so hard she cried when he told her about it, a reaction he didn't remember ever seeing from her before.) Most places, people were content either to stare or to pretend they couldn't see him, but here they wanted to let him know all about the bizarre reactions his appearance inspired in them. Of course the girl decided to sit down next to him.
She smiled and said, "Hi."
Zuko decided it was better to talk than to try to scare her off, since his uncle and her mother were within earshot. He braced himself and hoped he would be called soon. "Hi," he returned mechanically.
"My name's Song," she said. When he didn't offer his name, she prompted, as though she were talking to a shy six year old, "What's yours?"
He considered making something up, but he couldn't think of anything other than 'Lee,' a name he didn't particularly like. He sighed and said, "Zuko."
"Are you new to the area, Zuko?"
"No."
Song paused, but continued despite his lack of responsiveness. "I just thought you might be because I haven't seen you before, and I know most of the burn survivors around here." Zuko wondered with rising alarm where she was going with this. When he still didn't speak, she added, "You know, from camp and the retreats."
"Retreats?"
"You don't know about that?" She brightened, having found something that caught his interest. "It's for survivors like us, in their teens and early twenties. It's like burn camp, but with shopping and movies instead of dodge ball and arts and crafts."
Zuko actually looked at Song for the first time, surprised. It hadn't occurred to him that she was like him--a 'survivor.' He must have looked like he didn't believe her, because she said, "Mine are on my legs," and pulled her long tan skirt up just enough to show part of a scar on her shin.
"I'm sorry," Zuko said, looking away for a moment, then back at her face.
"It's ok." She was thoughtful. "I know it's different when everyone can see it all the time."
"I never went to...burn camp," he said, changing the subject.
"Really?" Song looked at him like he'd just said his parents didn't let him have friends. "I went every year," she continued. "It was a blast. The retreat is awesome too. Last year we learned how to cook Indian dishes and we went hiking in the mountains and had a 70s disco party. And everybody has burns, so you don't feel like a weirdo."
Zuko didn't know what to say to that. After a moment of silence, Song got up and walked across the room to a table. She picked up a brochure from a stack, and returned to Zuko.
She handed him the brochure. "This is it."
Zuko glanced at the glossy cover, which featured a group of smiling teens sitting around a table with snacks and drinks. They looked like any group of high school students, except for the large red burn scar on the forearm of one of the boys. He wondered if the others in the photo had scars too, and had them covered, or if they were professional models and the boy was the token burn victim. He wondered if whoever made the brochure would take his picture for it, or if large facial scars were too off putting.
"Uh, thanks," he said.
"Really, you should think about coming this year," Song said.
"I...I will."
The receptionist called his name then, and he said goodbye to Song and went in for his appointment. His uncle came with him, and after a pleasant exchange of small talk with the doctor Iroh sat quietly against the wall. Dr. Yugoda examined the scar, instructing him to move his eye in various ways. He started meditation breathing to stay calm and still during the agonizingly suspenseful period of her poking and asking questions and furrowing her brow. Finally, she pronounced that she thought more surgery was unnecessary. She believed another round of steroid injections and physical therapy would be enough to shrink the scar tissue and improve the muscle movement around his eye. Hearing those words, he was so relieved he sat up taller. His uncle smiled at him, and he smiled back.
As he and Iroh left the building, he remembered the retreat brochure, and pulled it out of his jacket pocket to look at again. For a moment, he considered going. Song seemed so enthusiastic about it. He thought it might be comforting to be around people who understood his suffering in a visceral way, who knew firsthand the pain and sorrow and weirdness he experienced after being burned. But then he imagined actually talking to Song--someone who knew, someone who survived, someone like him. He imagined her asking how he got his scar. People said he was a terrible liar, but there was one lie he convinced everyone of, one lie he wanted so badly to believe was true, he just acted like it was. But he wasn't sure he could lie to Song the way he lied to everyone else for years: the doctors, the counselors, Mai, his uncle. Even Azula believed him. It was an accident: the kitchen floor was slippery and he was running, the water on the stove was boiling, he lost his footing and didn't really remember what happened after...He wondered what Song would say if he told her the truth, if she would look at him kindly, if she would look horrified, by him or his father or both of them. He couldn't go--he couldn't take the risk. If he ever told anyone what really happened, he would lose all hope of reconciling with his father.
His uncle said, "So, Zuko, how about noodles for lunch?"
"That's fine, Uncle."
He crumpled the brochure and tossed it in the trash can near the lobby entrance. He didn't see Song behind him, on her way out of the bathroom. She watched him sadly as he disappeared through the doors.
--end
Title: Survivors Like Us
Rating: PG
Characters: Zuko, Song
Word Count: ~1,500, complete
Summary: Modern AU. Zuko meets a girl named Song in the waiting room of a plastic surgeon's office. He has the opportunity to make a new friend, but can he let himself take it?
Notes: This is part of a modern alternate universe series I'm working on, centered on Zuko and Iroh.
Survivors Like Us
Zuko sat in the waiting room of Dr. Yugoda's office, too agitated even to pretend to browse the magazines. His uncle was still at the receptionist's desk, no doubt discussing some new issue that had come up with the insurance company. The further into the past his being burned receded, the less willing the company was to pay for reconstructive treatment. Fortunately for them, Dr. Yugoda was skilled and persistent at arguing on behalf of her patients. He watched the receptionist highlighting a section on a form for his uncle. He would never admit it to anyone else, but he wanted Iroh to be sitting next to him right now. He was nervous. Today was the day the doctor would decide whether to operate again on the scar tissue around his left eye. He hated surgery, every part of it: the anxiety before, the anesthesia, the disorientation, the painkillers, the bandages, the pain. He doubted that another operation would make him look any better, and there was nothing that would make him look normal again. After more than two years of surgery, steroid injections, and physical therapy, the great triumph was being able to open his left eye about seventy percent of the way. He didn't know how much more time and pain he was willing to invest in trying to gain that last thirty percent, assuming it was even possible.
While Iroh conferred with the receptionist, a girl about his age entered the waiting room, accompanied by a woman who looked to be her mother. The older woman went to the desk to check in, and Iroh greeted her cheerfully even though he did not know her. The girl paused in the middle of the room and looked at Zuko curiously. He shifted in his seat and stared out the window, hoping she wasn't thinking of talking to him. It was his experience that sitting in a plastic surgeon's office with a visible burn scar was interpreted by some other patients as an invitation to all kinds of unpleasant interactions: nosy questions, pitying remarks, weird soliloquies. Like the very thin, very tan, very stylish older woman who told him that he was very brave to go out in public, and really quite good looking despite the scar. Then she started hinting that if he was interested in having his first sexual experience, she would be willing. He almost screamed at her that he had a girlfriend, and she said "Oh, of course you do," with a pitying look. (Mai laughed so hard she cried when he told her about it, a reaction he didn't remember ever seeing from her before.) Most places, people were content either to stare or to pretend they couldn't see him, but here they wanted to let him know all about the bizarre reactions his appearance inspired in them. Of course the girl decided to sit down next to him.
She smiled and said, "Hi."
Zuko decided it was better to talk than to try to scare her off, since his uncle and her mother were within earshot. He braced himself and hoped he would be called soon. "Hi," he returned mechanically.
"My name's Song," she said. When he didn't offer his name, she prompted, as though she were talking to a shy six year old, "What's yours?"
He considered making something up, but he couldn't think of anything other than 'Lee,' a name he didn't particularly like. He sighed and said, "Zuko."
"Are you new to the area, Zuko?"
"No."
Song paused, but continued despite his lack of responsiveness. "I just thought you might be because I haven't seen you before, and I know most of the burn survivors around here." Zuko wondered with rising alarm where she was going with this. When he still didn't speak, she added, "You know, from camp and the retreats."
"Retreats?"
"You don't know about that?" She brightened, having found something that caught his interest. "It's for survivors like us, in their teens and early twenties. It's like burn camp, but with shopping and movies instead of dodge ball and arts and crafts."
Zuko actually looked at Song for the first time, surprised. It hadn't occurred to him that she was like him--a 'survivor.' He must have looked like he didn't believe her, because she said, "Mine are on my legs," and pulled her long tan skirt up just enough to show part of a scar on her shin.
"I'm sorry," Zuko said, looking away for a moment, then back at her face.
"It's ok." She was thoughtful. "I know it's different when everyone can see it all the time."
"I never went to...burn camp," he said, changing the subject.
"Really?" Song looked at him like he'd just said his parents didn't let him have friends. "I went every year," she continued. "It was a blast. The retreat is awesome too. Last year we learned how to cook Indian dishes and we went hiking in the mountains and had a 70s disco party. And everybody has burns, so you don't feel like a weirdo."
Zuko didn't know what to say to that. After a moment of silence, Song got up and walked across the room to a table. She picked up a brochure from a stack, and returned to Zuko.
She handed him the brochure. "This is it."
Zuko glanced at the glossy cover, which featured a group of smiling teens sitting around a table with snacks and drinks. They looked like any group of high school students, except for the large red burn scar on the forearm of one of the boys. He wondered if the others in the photo had scars too, and had them covered, or if they were professional models and the boy was the token burn victim. He wondered if whoever made the brochure would take his picture for it, or if large facial scars were too off putting.
"Uh, thanks," he said.
"Really, you should think about coming this year," Song said.
"I...I will."
The receptionist called his name then, and he said goodbye to Song and went in for his appointment. His uncle came with him, and after a pleasant exchange of small talk with the doctor Iroh sat quietly against the wall. Dr. Yugoda examined the scar, instructing him to move his eye in various ways. He started meditation breathing to stay calm and still during the agonizingly suspenseful period of her poking and asking questions and furrowing her brow. Finally, she pronounced that she thought more surgery was unnecessary. She believed another round of steroid injections and physical therapy would be enough to shrink the scar tissue and improve the muscle movement around his eye. Hearing those words, he was so relieved he sat up taller. His uncle smiled at him, and he smiled back.
As he and Iroh left the building, he remembered the retreat brochure, and pulled it out of his jacket pocket to look at again. For a moment, he considered going. Song seemed so enthusiastic about it. He thought it might be comforting to be around people who understood his suffering in a visceral way, who knew firsthand the pain and sorrow and weirdness he experienced after being burned. But then he imagined actually talking to Song--someone who knew, someone who survived, someone like him. He imagined her asking how he got his scar. People said he was a terrible liar, but there was one lie he convinced everyone of, one lie he wanted so badly to believe was true, he just acted like it was. But he wasn't sure he could lie to Song the way he lied to everyone else for years: the doctors, the counselors, Mai, his uncle. Even Azula believed him. It was an accident: the kitchen floor was slippery and he was running, the water on the stove was boiling, he lost his footing and didn't really remember what happened after...He wondered what Song would say if he told her the truth, if she would look at him kindly, if she would look horrified, by him or his father or both of them. He couldn't go--he couldn't take the risk. If he ever told anyone what really happened, he would lose all hope of reconciling with his father.
His uncle said, "So, Zuko, how about noodles for lunch?"
"That's fine, Uncle."
He crumpled the brochure and tossed it in the trash can near the lobby entrance. He didn't see Song behind him, on her way out of the bathroom. She watched him sadly as he disappeared through the doors.
--end