lizbee | FIC: Vigil (AtLA, Mai/Zuko, PG-13)

Title: Vigil
Rating: PG-13
Pairing(s): Mai/Zuko
Warning(s): (highlight to reveal) Ableism and an unhealthy newborn.
Notes: Many thanks to

weaverandom for reading over the draft and reassuring me.
Summary: "They gave her poppy tea after the birth, and the next few days were spent in an unpleasant haze of half-dreams where she wandered the halls of the palace, listening for the baby's cries and only hearing her mother's voice."

Vigil
by LizBee

They gave her poppy tea after the birth, and the next few days were spent in an unpleasant haze of half-dreams where she wandered the halls of the palace, listening for the baby's cries and only hearing her mother's voice.

It was night when she finally woke up. It was early summer, and the humidity was already oppressive. Mai pushed the damp sheets aside and eased herself out of bed. It hurt to move, but she had to know.

"Zuko?"

The Fire Lord's consort enjoyed large chambers with an elegant sitting room that opened onto the courtyard. The windows were open and a lamp had been left burning, and Mai's desk was strewn with papers, brushes, inks and the Fire Lord's seal.

Of the Fire Lord himself, there was no sign.

It was cooler in the corridor, but Mai found she could only walk a few feet before she had to stop and rest. A servant found her leaning against a pillar.

"You shouldn't be out of bed, my lady," the woman murmured. "Doctor Shi was very emphatic."

"I'm fine," said Mai. "I just have trouble walking without falling over."

"I can't leave you like this."

"Where's my husband?"

The servant hesitated.

"In the nursery."

"Take me there."

The woman's grip on Mai's arm and shoulder was strong, confident. She was a nurse, Mai recalled dimly, and had served as a battlefield medic in the Earth Kingdom.

"I think you were there for the labour," Mai said.

"Part of it."

"Was it bad?"

"You're very strong, my lady." She opened the doors. "Here you are."

Mai dismissed her with a wave and immediately regretted it, because she was standing in the door of the nursery, watching Zuko standing at the window, cradling their tiny scrap of a son, and she wasn't altogether sure she would be able to get to the couch before she collapsed.

"You shouldn't be--"

"Out of bed, right." Step by step, Mai crossed the room. "I had to know." Zuko met her halfway, balancing her with one hand. "Is he--"

"Small. Sick." Zuko helped her to the couch. "Do you want to hold him?"

"I don't think I can," Mai admitted. Her legs were shaking from the effort of moving, and her hands felt like dead weights attached to her arms.

"Here," Zuko adjusted his grip so she could see the little face, the fine black hair. "He's cold," said Zuko. "Doctor Shi said he needs to be kept warm and close." He held the baby against his chest, leaning back with his shoulder touching Mai's.

"He can't breathe."

"His lungs are weak." In the dim light of the single lamp, she saw Zuko smile. "I had a lung infection when I was a baby. The doctors told my father I'd never be a firebender. I think in his case, it'll be true."

A memory stirred, Mai's mother saying, Even if it lives, it will never be Fire Lord. Best to let it go.

She licked her lips and said, "Babies born too soon, if they live, they're damaged. Disabled."

Best to let it go...

"So let him be disabled. I don't care if he's a firebender, or if he can't become Fire Lord. He's our eldest son. I just want him to live and be happy."

Hesitantly, Mai reached out and stroked the baby's cheek. It was soft. He snuffled, his breath catching.

"The wet nurse says she thinks his feeding has improved."

"Good."

Mai put her head on Zuko's shoulder.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"What for?"

She shrugged. "This happened to my mother a couple of times. I guess I should have known it would be passed on."

"Your mother has already apologised." There were deep shadows beneath Zuko's eyes. Even if it lives... "Before we got married, the Fire Sages warned me you weren't -- what was it the Chief Sage said? Good breeding stock. I told him I wanted a wife, not an ostrich-horse, and the only children I wanted to have were yours."

Mai thought she should probably be angry that such discussions had been had, and that she was only now finding out. But she was so tired. There was a world beyond this couch, this room, but she couldn't really care.

She touched the baby's hand. He took hold of her finger, his grip weak but insistant. His breathing seemed to ease a little. Or maybe that was just hope.

"I don't know how to do this without becoming my mother," she admitted.

Zuko leaned back, his eyes closed.

"When I was a baby," he said, "my father hardly saw me at all. My grandfather kept him busy in the provinces and on campaigns, but even when he was home, he didn't come to the nursery. I don't want to be a stranger to my son. I don't want him to be scared of me."

She touched his face, tracing the edge of his scar.

"What will we do if he dies?"

"I don't know," said Zuko. "I don't know."

Mai thought she might have slept for a while. She didn't remember losing consciousness, or awareness of her surroundings, but between one blink and the next, the sun had risen.

"Here," Zuko was saying, standing at the window and holding the baby up to the light, "that's right. That's where you come from."

Mai stretched out, taking the space Zuko had vacated, and fell asleep again.

She half-woke when Zuko put the baby in her arms, resting him on her chest with his head against her chin. She started to say, "No, I can't," but the baby was secure and even warm.

She went back to sleep.

end