All he’d done was leave for tea—-take a few steps down the hall that he made a point to maneuver himself as Mai requested he not make a home in their room just for her.
“What?"
She was fine yesterday, Zuko thinks, his mind reeling as the morning before she weakly pushed herself up from the bed and forced a walk, his arms curled around her waist for support as she tried to breathe with a genuine smile on her face he feared he may never see again.
That was the strongest day in a year. The strongest since she stopped walking, since she stopped seeing their daughter in the courtyard, missing her coronation as he father resigned to spend time with his wife in her last months.
Through the thinking his hands tremble, the porcelain cups clattering on the tray he thought he’d bring to her.
They drop. Water, glass and leaves spreading across the tile as he makes his way down the hall.
When he arrives she’s already there, their daughter, beautiful spitting image of her mother holding the older woman’s hand tight. Zuko sits with them too, taking his wife’s other hand and mindlessly springing up the heat in his palms to fend off the cold she hates.
Mai doesn’t thank him like he wishes, doesn’t move.
His lip trembles as he murmurs I love you’s that aren’t accompanied by sound.
"It’s okay to cry, dad."
He does, tears fall abundantly, coating his face in a wet shimmer as he tries to brush them away with his sleeve. “I know, i’m sorry.”
And immediately feels the weight of both of their hands on his back and a whispered, I love you, too.