Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Eleven years. Eleven years ago today, Zuko was banished. 

It’d be hard to believe, if only he hadn’t felt every waking moment of every wretched day since. His feet slogged through the mud outside Ba Sing Se, waiting in line to get his bag of coins that would last for the next month or so, the broad swords neatly in their sheaths on his back. Another day, another Fire Nation skirmish warded off, and not yet a scratch on Ba Sing Se’s massive walls. 

Would his Father ever learn?

He trudged along side the menagerie of mercenaries back into the agriculture ring, the green armor on his shoulders clinking against the arrow wound on his shoulder. Nothing dire, the armor had stopped most of it, thankfully, and the Yuyan had lost some of their touch over the years, it seemed. But it was enough to want to go home and rest, if you could call a barn rented from a farmer home. 

He heard the hooves trotting against the dirt path before he saw the rider coming up from behind, the endless fields of wheat shimmering ahead of him. There were only the sounds of his feet and the hooves shuffling against the dirt for a few long moments, until he finally glanced, sidelong. He found an impossibly tall horse, sheen fur that almost appeared as if it’d never seen a battle, and the rider was equally magnificent, flanked by two large hook-shaped wings sprouting from the saddle. And his armor was very clearly Fire Nation, from the old samurai days over a century ago, only dyed over with forest green and inlaid with shimmering gold. Where on earth he got that was a mystery. Though if he were anything like himself, the answer to that was a corpse.

They'd been on the battlefield, the whole cavalry bearing the same distinct wings, and they were a foe to be reckoned with. Other than that, he hadn’t given them any more thought, but if the other mercenary groups were anything to go by, they were always, always trying to recruit. And he preferred this, being alone, because he didn’t fight for camaraderie or any sense of loyalty to the Earth Kingdom or anything like that. No noble reasons. He fought to eat for another day. And that was it. 

“Seen you fight,” the rider said conversationally, after what felt like a long time of just silently walking next to him, his voice young and honeyed under his men-yorio mask. 

Zuko didn’t answer him, just kept walking forward, but he was dimly aware that more horses were catching up to him from behind. From the same group, he could only assume.

“Yeah, I get it,” the rider said, to himself at this point, even though Zuko hadn’t said anything for him to get. “Quiet, brooding type. But tough, I can tell. Pretty good with those swords, from what I've seen.”

Zuko cocked a brow, wondering if such blatant flattery worked on most people. “You want something?” he asked, bluntly. “Spit it out.”

The rider gave a soft laugh. It sounded innocent enough, but for good reason, he didn’t trust it. “Nah, but some of the group had an eye on that bag of coins you got. A lot of kills, for just one guy, you know. Better watch it.”

A robbery. Of course.

Zuko stiffened at the warning, sensing the arrow before it came, and had just enough time to pivot his shoulder so it struck against the dao blades instead of his back. The arrow clattered to the ground as he pulled the blades from his sheath, readying himself as the rest of the cavalry began to circle him, an intimidating winged horde. He ignored his wound as well as he could, but the sudden movement had reopened it, stinging something fierce. The rider with the dyed armor didn’t say anything, only backed his steed to the side as another man slid off his horse, brandishing a weathered short sword in front of him. 

“Good to go, Jet?” he asked, voice rough and haughty. 

“Whatever you want, Bo,” Jet said, non-committal. “But don’t cry if you need help. It’s your fight, you fight it.”

At least Tall Horse had some sense. The man launched himself at him, reckless, amped up by the fact that it seemed an unlosable fight. Surrounded by comrades, you’d think that would be the case, but Zuko wasn’t inclined to simply roll over. Impossible odds weren’t new to him, and swallowing pride wasn’t in the rule book. The man’s sword glinted off his dao, and with a few quick maneuvers, both of the twin blades were sinking into his gut. The swords slid out of him with a wet, slick noise,  and his body slumped to the road. 

“Bo!” cried a small-framed boy from atop his horse. He glared down at Zuko, his eyes darkened with heavy eyeliner, two strips of red war-paint striped down either cheek. Another rider docked a bow, pulling it taut and aiming it right at him. 

The small-framed boy slid from their horse too, kukri at the ready. And was that actually… a woman? That wasn’t the frame of any man he’d ever seen.

“Sure you want to do that Smellerbee?” Jet warned.

“He killed Bo!” she cried. Then she launched herself at him too, snarling wordless words. He batted her away well enough, but she was quick, much quicker than expected, and much better than the first. Didn’t help that he was exhausted. She slashed wildly at him for a few long moments, giving him a good run for his money, but then slid to the side of him, just missing her shot to land a stab. He used the brute strength of his body to knock her sideways, and she hit the ground with a loud oomph. He winced at the pain in his shoulder, but even so, pound for pound, this wasn’t a fight she’d win easily. 

But before he could land anything fatal, an arrow landed silently in the space between them. A warning shot from the archer. So much for one-on-one. 

A sigh came from the side of him, from Jet he could only assume, and to confirm his suspicions, he stepped in between them. “Take it easy,” Jet said, his shuang gao gripped tightly in both hands. What was with this guy and hook-shaped things? “Can’t let you kill this one. I happen to like this one. So, why don’t you pick on someone your own size?”

“I didn’t pick this fight,” Zuko said, lowly. 

“Yep. My men did,” he answered fairly, shrugging a little, his foot tapping the dirt. “Unfortunately, I’m always picking up their messes.”

“Maybe you should control them better,” Zuko spat.

He thought he saw Jet’s eyebrows raise in a smile. “They’re free men,” he said. “As rowdy as they are. But why don’t we strike a deal? No one else gets hurt.”

Zuko eyed him. “Let me guess. You want me to join your stupid group.”

“Jet!” Smellerbee protested. He raised a finger to silence her, his shrouded eyes never leaving Zuko’s.

“It would make up for the one you killed,” he said, casually. “Besides, I like you. Think you’re a tough bastard.”

A brand new set of alarm bells started ringing. “What are you? Some type of sodomite?”

Jet’s eyebrows rose again, probably more akin to a grin under the mask than a smile. He didn’t answer. “What do you say?”

“After you attacked me?” Zuko spat. “Fat chance.”

Jet’s fingers tightened around his swords. “Hard way it is then. Take my head, and you leave here a free man. Hear that, men? He wins, he walks away without a scratch. On my orders.”

“What are you talking about?” Smellerbee said. “Jet, you can’t do this. You’re our leader.”

“My orders,” he reiterated. She reluctantly backed down. “Don’t interfere.”

“And if you win?” Zuko asked. 

There it was, that little grin again—pompous prick.

“If I win?” he said, lifting a shuang gou in Zuko’s direction, the sun glinting off the sharpened metal. “Well, if I win – you will belong to me.”

Zuko scoffed. “So much for free men.”

“Better not lose then,” Jet agreed. 

He’d cut the silver-tongue right out of his devilish mouth. “Deal.”

Zuko went into a defensive stance, and a long moment ticked by as neither of them moved. The gaggle of spectators watched, cheering their leader on. But unlike the first man, Jet seemed oblivious to their presence, not goaded by false confidence. He took a deep breath, and Zuko’s eyes flickered to his waraji as it slid across the dirt, just slightly. It wasn’t an obvious telegraph, but it was enough. 

As expected, Jet launched first, closing the distance with a speed he hadn’t expected with the heavy armor. The hooks glinted against his blades with a wicked metallic sound that rang through the air. Zuko went in for a counter, but it too was blocked, his dao getting caught up in the hook for a brief moment. They seemed to spin in circles, blocking, parrying, note for note, blow for blow. 

He thought he had an opening and took it, his blade cutting through the air. But with a nimbleness he couldn’t even begin to explain, Jet’s legs dipped underneath him as his back curved backward, the sword strike just barely missing the tip of his nose. Then he was back on steady feet again, backing away this time. 

“Better than I thought,” Jet said, emotionless, his tiger hooks out in front of him, now on the defensive himself. “But I know you got more than that.”

“You talk too much.” Zuko dragged his swords along the dirt, kicking up a blast of dust to pelt his face. If there was one thing battlefields had taught him, it was that mercenaries fought dirty. Might as well get the leg up. 

He took the chance as Jet blinked the dust away, but he should have known better. Jet immediately crouched to avoid the blow, taking the crescent-shaped hilt of his sword to punch it upward, right into the codpiece of Zuko’s armor. He winced. Of course, fighting this freak and the first hit that lands is right to his nuts.

Zuko stepped away, groaning, but not before Jet could stand and hook his blade around the hilt of Zuko’s sword, and with a full body wrench, managed to disarm both of them. Two swords clattered on the ground as they both lifted the one they had left. Watching, waiting.

“Dirty tricks,” Zuko said, the pain from his groin radiating through his stomach.

“Love and war,” Jet replied. “Besides. You started it.”

Then his eyes ticked over to Zuko’s shoulder, where the blood from the battle had begun to soak through his armor. He needed to end this, right now, before Jet could take advantage of the wound.

But it seemed that’s exactly what he planned to do. Jet rushed him, he raised the dao to block his blade, but he hadn’t expected the powerful leg that swung up to kick him square in the chest instead. He stumbled backward, and Jet kept his advantage while he had it, using his last hook to wrench Zuko’s remaining blade from his grasp. 

Great. He eyed the sword on the ground, but Jet’s foot, almost leisurely, slid on top of it. Can’t firebend either. Not here. 

Though if he had one thing going for him, it was that the shaung gao Jet had left was all for show. He didn’t want him dead. The same could not be said the other way around. 

He ran for it, using the momentum he’d built up from the space between them to ram his torso into Jet’s, tackling him to the ground. Jet’s back hit the dirt, hard, knocking the breath out of him, and it didn’t take long for him to clamber on top of him. Arcing his shoulder back, he punched Jet square in the cheek, the hard material of the men-yoroi mask cutting into both Jet’s face and his fist. Should have done something else, but it was much too late for that. It knocked Jet’s face to the side all the same, which gave him such an air of satisfaction that he almost grinned. 

He was only dimly aware of the crowd's reactions. Something like Get up, Jet! – We should stop him – No, he said nobody interferes

He arced his shoulder back again for a second blow, but didn’t have the time for it as Jet’s clawing fingers dug under his armor, his thumb sinking into the arrow wound. It was enough to shock Zuko into abandoning his punch, and gave Jet just enough time to land a punch back, though nowhere near the same impact from the ground, just enough to dazzle Zuko and for him to clamber out from underneath him. And somehow, after a few more long moments of tussling around in the dirt, exhausted and injured while Jet was still rearing to go, Jet managed to best him, getting him into a chokehold with the crook of his arm.

“Done yet?” Jet bit down at him. 

His face scraped through the dirt. He tasted blood, somehow. “Get off me,” he said, strained from lack of air and the heavy presence weighing him down.

“Fat chance,” Jet parroted him. “Give up, and I won’t have to knock you out.”

But that’s exactly what he’d have to do. Zuko spat the blood from his mouth onto Jet’s arm, his legs still wildly trying to scramble upward. But it was no use, and these things didn’t take long. His consciousness blurred after only a few seconds, but that didn’t stop him from hearing, no, not at all. Jet’s lips brushed against his ear, his face pressing against his own, and with a quiet madness, whispered, more like snarled, “You’re mine.”

He faded before he could choke out a response, and the whole world went dark.

Chapter Text

He had no idea how long it’d been when he awoke, just that it was considerably cooler now than it had been. Blinking open bleary eyes, the blurry view of the green tent overhead was unfamiliar, and the presence between his legs, the one that had a hot, wet mouth surrounding his cock, came into daunting, sudden relevance. He wrenched his body on instinct, but found both his arms were bound above his head by knotted cloth. He kicked off the thin sheet that covered him to look down, and the stranger of a woman who peered back up at him seemed equally as confused as he was. Her mouth and hand had, thankfully, abandoned his organ.

“What –” he started, almost nothing but air, but couldn’t even begin to finish that line of questioning. It was almost too bizarre to comprehend, to form a question around it at all.

“It’d be wise not to kick the ladies,” said a voice, a newly familiar and honeyed voice at that. “They happen to be the best part of my day.”

Zuko searched for the voice and found him after only a split second. Jet stood off to the wayside, armorless and bare compared to before, with only a loosely tied tunic and baggy linen breeches to cover him, and the entirety of his face was visible this time around. His wet hair, too neat to be sweat, was assumed to be freshly washed. Come to think of it, Zuko’s hair was wet too, and he had a thick row of clean bandages covering his arrow wound. How long had it been? Enough time to find a whore, or worse, some sort of weird sex slave, to suck his dick, apparently. 

Jet’s dark eyes ticked over, a hint of amusement in them, as he used a match to light a long, thin pipe. 

“Are you insane?” Zuko managed. 

Jet only waved the flame out, taking a drag of whatever he was smoking, the odor from it cloying and oppressive. It smelled just like the opium dens in the lower ring, though maybe mixed with something like tobacco. Jet let it out from his lungs as he spoke. “I could say the same for you.”

Jet stepped over to the large bed then, giving the woman who was still stationed between Zuko’s legs a charming smile. “I, for one, would love to be woken up by a beautiful woman sucking my cock.” Then his eyes fell away from the woman and down, and that’s when Zuko came to the unsettling realization that his flaccid cock was out, for all the world to see. His cheeks burned red-hot, and his throat closed around itself. “But, maybe we don’t all have the same tastes.”

“Let me out of here,” Zuko said, lowly. He could burn the ties around his hands with relative ease, but that would land him in even deeper and much more torrential waters than even now. Might as well play it safe, unless something completely appalling were to occur. He could only imagine he was somewhere in the middle of this mercenary camp, lost in a dizzying array of tents. Outing himself in such a way was certain death. It wasn’t a small band by any means. There were probably two hundred of the winged bastards.

“No can do,” Jet said, setting himself on the edge of the bed in a way that was far too casual and all wrong. “We made a deal. You belong to me. If you don’t remember.”

“Is that why you wanted me? Make me into one of your sex slaves?” he asked, indignant. “I’d like to see you fucking try it.”

Jet smiled widely at that, letting out a huff of a laugh that was all amusement. “Does she look chained to you?” he asked, nodding his head over, even though that was nowhere near an answer to the question he’d actually asked. 

Zuko’s eyes ticked to the woman,  who appeared only slightly out of place, more bored than anything as she played with the beads woven into her braids. Which only made this whole situation more bizarre. She wanted to be here, and that somehow was worse. 

“You like this guy?” Zuko asked, astonished. 

Her eyes crawled over to Jet, and a shy smile wrapped her lips. 

“She can’t speak,” Jet said then, “Not that she can’t answer for herself, but – just don’t expect a verbal response. Fire Nation has had a field day cutting out tongues as of late.”

Zuko’s face dimmed at that, his stomach doing a flip inside of him. So, that’s why her mouth had felt - his stomach dropped again, for a completely different reason, a new wave of heat reappearing on his cheeks. 

Jet lay next to him, disconcertingly close but not touching, but well within reach. Zuko’s limbs jerked on instinct again, but he didn’t budge. The knots were tied with tenure. But Jet didn’t touch him, only lit another match to puff at the pipe, which he gingerly handed over to the woman a moment later. He held the smoke in for a moment, then let it fall lazily out of his mouth directly into Zuko’s face. Even doing his best not to breathe the syrupy smoke in, it was impossible at such an angle. 

He glared at Jet, whose eyes had become glazed with stupor. He only realized then, at such a close distance, the swollenness of Jet’s cheek and the cut that marred the skin there. It looked like it hurt. Good, because his throat and busted lip did too.

“We saved her from the brothels of Omashu,” Jet continued, his voice slowing, whatever he was smoking relaxing him into an overly leisured state. “Wasn’t pretty there. Even worse once the Fire Nation got hold of it. Much better here with us, ain’t it, Daiyu? I don’t let the men bother her.” He threw a thumb out to the side, pointing to something outside the tent. “She sleeps right next door, and she doesn’t do anything she doesn’t want to. Couldn’t very well call ourselves The Freedom Fighters with slaves around.”

Daiyu nodded in agreement, letting the smoke fall out of her lungs too. 

“I’m a big fan of the broken,” Jet said then, leaning his face on his hand, not even hiding the fact that his eyes were raking over Zuko’s scar, leering, maybe not even meaning to at this point. High – not fully in control, but that didn’t change the fact that it made Zuko want to shrink into himself. “Something beautiful about broken people.”

Zuko did his best to ignore that, how it made his stomach flutter, just a little bit. He didn’t think he’d ever been called beautiful by anyone, let alone in a situation like this, where he was completely bare. And not only that, by someone who, on the outside at least, appeared anything but broken, and more or less beautiful himself. Which was such a strange thought to have that he cast it aside almost immediately. 

“So why am I tied then?” Zuko asked. “If everyone here is so free.”

“Sometimes you have to kennel a dog so it appreciates the yard.” Jet shrugged.

“I’m not a -” he said, not even going to justify that by finishing, which only seemed to make Jet grin — he was toying with him. “What’s your fascination with me anyway? Besides my -” Well, if he could have gestured to his scar, he would have. But Jet seemed to get the point regardless. 

Jet’s smile never faltered, but did morph into something less of a smirk, and into something more honest, maybe. “Daiyu, would you give us some space?” Jet asked kindly, and she nodded almost immediately. She slid herself from the bed and slipped on a pair of shoes, which almost sent Zuko into a panic in and of itself. Her presence, while awkward and quietly strange, had felt somewhat safe compared to being alone with Jet. Like she was, at the very least, a buffer to Jet’s madness. She slipped out of the tent, being very careful not to let the flap stay open in any capacity. No light came in from outside. It must be past sunset already.

Once her footsteps receded, he turned his attention back to Jet, but found that even glaring at him while alone felt intimate, tricky, and a little too much to handle. He avoided his eyes, but Jet seemed perfectly content. “Did you see that?” Jet asked, his voice low, almost a whisper.

Zuko’s brows scrunched. “What are you talking about?”

“How they all just listen to me,” he said, with no amount of disdain or self-importance, something more like longing, surprisingly. “But you. You didn’t treat me like the leader of The Freedom Fighters. Like the General. You treated me like your equal. Fought me like one. And nearly won, if it hadn’t been for that wound. You have a doggedness that I respect.”

Zuko huffed at the obvious flattery again, avoiding his eyes more than ever before. But he’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel it, just a little flattered. No one ever really said anything like that to him, honest or not. But he couldn’t help the gnawing thought that it felt so similar to talking to Azula, just in the opposite direction. While Azula used cruelty against people, Jet seemed to use kind words. And Agni help him, it might be working. That, or the secondhand smoke was dulling his good senses. Either way, no matter how much he didn’t want to believe it, it actually sounded honest. Maybe… it was?

He found that he had absolutely nothing to say in response, and so he decided to go on the offensive again.

“You do this with all your new recruits?” Zuko asked, warily. “Take them to your room and butter them up with women and opium?”

But that only seemed to confirm Jet’s line of thinking; he dimly realized only after saying it. He was giving him exactly what he was looking for. Someone who challenged him. It made Jet’s smile return, like he enjoyed being seen through. “No, just you,” he said, and it was probably the most honest-sounding thing he’d said so far. 

And Zuko tried, and failed, not to let that make him feel anything at all. He settled at staring at the flap to the tent for a long moment, listening as Jet lit up another match, to the faint crackle as the stuff in the pipe burned, then to the soft inhale as Jet sucked in a breath. 

It wasn’t the weight shifting on the bed that startled him, but rather Jet’s hand reaching to grip the bottom of his chin, holding his face in place as he soldered their mouths together. His swollen lip pressed against Jet’s with bruising pressure. The hair on his body rose, and he gasped on instinct, which he realized had been the plan all along, as Jet blew the smoke from his mouth into Zuko’s. 

He coughed it out, glowering with bleary eyes as Jet’s grin widened, lazy and hindered with intoxication, still only a hairbreadth away.

“What is wrong with you?” Zuko asked, but it came out much damper than expected, nothing like the fiery scorn that was in his head. 

It didn’t take long for the only pain he had left in his body to be the burn of the stuff in his throat, and his whole body felt as if it were slumping into the bed all of a sudden. It was getting towards that burn the tether and run moment. But that stuff, whatever it was, was powerful and quick, turning his muscles and eyelids into molasses. It was a miracle Jet was moving at all with the amount he smoked. He needed to get out of here before he lost the capacity to reason.

Jet only laughed at his question, a sincere chuckle that felt every bit out of place. “For the pain,” Jet said, his fingers toying with the skin of his chin, which didn’t feel nearly as bad as it should have, eliciting a pins-and-needles reaction that spread throughout his body. Everything seemed so sensitive. “And because you seem like you could relax a little.”

“Get off me,” Zuko said, because what Jet didn’t realize was that he was relaxed before all of this started. He was perfectly fine where he was. Or… was he? Numb and relaxed might not be the same thing.  

Jet leaned away to set the pipe down on a barrel that was serving as a nightstand, and Zuko caught a glimpse of his chest as his tunic fell open, just a little. He really wasn’t a bad-looking guy, all things considered. Which, again, he needed to stop thinking things like that. 

“Untie me,” Zuko murmured, his voice sounding dull and measured, as Jet rolled himself back to look at him. 

Jet’s eyes lazily moved upward to the tether, and, much to Zuko’s surprise, he actually started slothing himself over to it. He ignored the skin of Jet’s chest as well as he could, only mere inches from his face, as Jet fumbled for a few moments with the knot. Before he knew it, the arms that had long gone numb above his head suddenly went slack.

Zuko pulled them down, rubbing his hands over his wrists, and sat up almost automatically. But his chest felt like it had weights on top of it, wanting to drag him under, so he let his back fall back down against the bed, huffing. The room began to swirl just a little. It was no wonder Jet liked that stuff. It did feel good, relaxing, too much so. It all seemed to hit his head all at once, and even though he fought it hard, he was losing.

Jet looked at him for a long moment with an expression he couldn’t read, maybe something like mild curiosity, but he was in no position to tell any two expressions apart. Not that he was good at it anyway, but even worse now. He found that he didn’t even care. Jet could be plotting to stab a knife through his chest, and all his body could muster was a shrug. He couldn’t remember the last time the world had ever mattered less than it did now. 

So, when Jet leaned over to press his lips back onto his, a protest at all seemed hard to render. His body simply froze up, getting that electric pins and needles feeling again. Jet parted his lips with his own, snaking his tongue inside, in a way that felt strangely large and invasive, but oddly enough, not horrible. A man was kissing him, the man who only hours ago had nearly fought him to the death, and it didn’t feel bad in the slightest. Good. Dangerous, but good. He flicked his own tongue against Jet’s, and that was even better. It sent a shockwave of heat through his belly and to his groin, and he placed his hands on Jet’s arms in loose clasps, for lack of knowing where else to put them.

He groaned weakly, and Jet smiled against his lips, his body slumped halfway on top of Zuko’s. He thought he felt a lump of hardening heat pressing against his side, and it sent another rippling wave through his body, but he wasn’t quite ready to handle that just yet. And for a while, that’s all they did, until finally Jet pulled his lips away, his breath heavier now, like they’d done something strenuous. 

Zuko flickered open heavy eyes to look at him, as Jet peered down the length of his naked body, apparently happy with what he found there, because a sly grin wrapped his lips. “I had a feeling,” Jet murmured. Then he turned his face back, pressing his mouth against Zuko’s ear. “That’s why you didn’t get hard for her. This is what you wanted.” He pressed his groin against Zuko’s side to demonstrate, and distantly, Zuko wondered if the woman had been some sort of test.

But arguing seemed pointless, even though he liked women well enough. To say this bizarre situation wasn’t doing anything for him would be a rather obvious lie. The proof was visible. 

“You can fuck me,” Jet said against his ear. “If you want.”

And if there was a more sobering sentence than that, he’d be surprised. “Oh, I don’t know if -” His voice came out cracking, foreign-sounding. He cleared his throat, trying again, stronger this time around. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“Why?”

But for that, he really had no answer. He settled on a shrug, which wasn’t convincing in any way whatsoever, but then he felt a dim, sharp pain in his shoulder, suddenly remembering he did have a nasty wound. He nodded to it, and Jet seemed to get the memo.

“Well, I can fuck you,” Jet said. And suddenly, the first option felt a lot less alarming in comparison.

“No.” It came out automatically, a knee-jerk. And he meant it.

“Okay,” Jet conceded. He gave him a charming, half-lidded smile before rolling out and away, digging something from the side of the bed. And Zuko could only lie there and stare at the ceiling for a long moment, his breath coming to him in deep, measured breaths. 

To the side of him, Jet slid his breeches off, and his half-hardened cock sprang out into the open. And everything became very real all of a sudden, that he’d just half-agreed to, or more realistically, hadn’t protested well enough against, fucking a man. Jet dug in between his legs for a moment, and Zuko had no earthly idea what he was doing until he pulled some sort of phallic object out, and there was only one place it could have come from. How long had that been inside – Had he planned this?

You know what, he didn’t even want to know. The less he knew, the better.

A soft, wet glug sound as Jet poured something onto his hand, then his body rolled, and his hand slicked some sort of oil onto Zuko’s cock. Zuko sucked in a sharp breath, lazily laying his arm over his eyes as if it would hide him. Jet worked the stuff onto him with slow, delicate movements, his hand clasped with just the right amount of pressure to nearly make him come right then and there.

This had to be some sort of incubus he was dealing with, because his body seemed to move independently. He grasped Jet’s arm to stop him, and Jet only smiled as he rolled his back to him. Some vague instinct drove Zuko forward, his breath high and anxious in his chest, rolling to his side too, thankfully onto his good shoulder. Jet pressed his bare ass against his cock, and it twitched against him, and Jet craned his neck backward to pull him into another sloppy, uncaring kiss. 

“Want you so bad,” Jet murmured against his lips, his fingers carding themselves through Zuko’s hair. “Come on and fuck me, I know you want to.”

He couldn’t take it anymore. He had to, at this point, otherwise he might explode. His hand reached down, pulling up his cock to aim it as Jet lifted his leg a little for a better angle. They both held their breaths as his cock slipped in, just barely, his hand gripping onto Jet’s hip to hold him there. The pressure around him was warm and rewarding and right, simultaneously pushing him out and sucking him in all the same. After only an inch or so, Jet sucked in a gasp, and it felt so satisfying to make him make a noise that he immediately jerked further inward, which granted him yet another cracking sound. 

“You’re not going to hurt me,” Jet managed through tense breaths. 

And he wasn’t sure if it was a reassurance or a challenge, but he took it as a challenge. Because, despite being intoxicated, he hadn’t forgotten why he was here in the first place. And what better way to get back at Jet, to conquer him this time around, than to fuck him? “Still talk too much,” Zuko murmured back, and with one obscene lurch, he pushed all the way inside and held it there, and Jet could only gasp and writhe a little at the movement. It felt powerful, taking the control back from him, and more so, shutting him up.

So, he slid himself out and did it again, and again, and again, his eyes scrunching shut. Everything felt so impossibly good that he wouldn’t have minded being there forever. Jet’s words had finally abandoned him, and all he was left with was half-words that got caught in his throat, or vague animal sounds that barely sounded human at all. It encouraged him, kept him going.

When Zuko finally slid his eyes open, Jet’s brows were furrowed tight, mumbling things. His hand that had clasped itself over Zuko’s suddenly shot downwards to rub his cock in tandem, and it didn’t take long at all to turn Jet into a trembling puddle of a human being. Zuko’s face pressed into his shoulder, trying to hold on, trying to keep going despite Jet tightening and quivering around him. He was able to hold on longer than expected, maybe a full two or three more minutes, as Jet’s body seemed to have gone completely limp, just taking him. But eventually, it simply built up too much, and all he could do was crack a long, hoarse moan, bury his cock as deep as it would go, and come harder than he ever had before. 

It went silent for long moments, only the sounds of ragged breaths and the slight ringing in his ears as he removed his softening cock. He flopped his back onto the bed, and Jet was eventually able to move again, rolling his shoulder back and craning his head to look at him. His eyes were watery, but his expression was all satisfaction and exhaustion.

And Zuko could only look at him back through half-lidded eyes, catching his breath. He swallowed what little spit he had in his mouth. “Happy?” he murmured. 

Jet rolled fully to look at him, bracing his face with his arm. “What’s your name?” he murmured back, tiredly curious.

Zuko huffed a breath. They… really hadn’t gone over that, had they? Jet had truly fucked a complete stranger. Not that he hadn’t, but at least he knew Jet’s name. It was a wonder he led a band as big as this one, as reckless as he seemed to be.

“Li,” he lied, a lie he’d said so often at this point, his brain didn’t even question it. He’d been Li for almost a decade. He was Li now, which in any other circumstance would make him feel uneasy, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care right now.

Jet nodded, his eyes struggling to stay open. “Well, Li, it’s been fun,” he said, yawning. His face slipped down his arm, and he sort of just… stayed there, his eyes falling shut. His words grew more lost, more quietly distant, like he was in the process of passing out. “You can… stay… if you want.”

And Zuko was once again in the position of not knowing what to say, but it seemed he didn’t really need to say anything. Jet was out, just like that. He watched him for a while to make sure he was just asleep, observing his soft breaths, the rise and fall of his chest under his tunic. He felt a strange obligation to stay with him, to make sure he wasn’t dead or dying. Jet had smoked quite a bit, more than he had. He didn’t really know how much of that stuff it took to kill a person, but it was a possibility. 

After what felt like a safe amount of time, and after the room had stopped most of its spinning, he stood on uneven legs to find his clothes. They were on a drying line tucked away in a corner, still damp. Someone, probably not Jet, but someone, had washed the blood off of them. His armor had been cleaned too. He slipped all of it back on as quietly as he could. 

Making his way past the bed, he eyed the pipe on the barrel and tucked it away into his pocket. For everyone involved, it deserved to be chucked into the wilderness, never to be seen again. Jet was nowhere near his responsibility, but it sort of felt like a good thing to do. He’d seen what it does to people in the lower ring, turns them into rotting corpses. And Jet was far too beautiful to meet a fate like that.

Leaving the lantern on, he silently slipped out of the tent, meeting the cool night air and a sky full of stars, barricaded by a thick canopy of trees. A campfire burned in the distance, and as he expected, he was in a long line of tents, the rows haphazard and uneven, spaced where they could be around tree trunks. They hadn’t been terribly loud, so that was good. It seemed everyone was asleep already anyway. 

But… now here was the problem. Which way was it out of this damned forest? He sighed and picked a direction, hoping for the best, but didn’t get far as he passed a large tent, the one Jet had thrown a thumb at, the women’s tent. He rounded the corner as someone else did too, and they nearly slammed dead into each other. 

She gasped as her lantern swung wildly in her grasp. “Oh, sorry!” she stuttered, then she observed him for a split second in the lamplight. “Oh, hey, it’s you!”

He only shrugged slightly, having zero idea who this woman was. 

“I washed your clothes,” she added quickly. “Saw you… earlier… you know, when they brought you in.”

He nodded. So, she saw him naked too. Great. Might as well let all of Ba Sing Se see at this point.

“My name’s Jin,” she said, extending a hand. 

He awkwardly shook it, really wanting to just… leave already.

Her nose scrunched up, like she’d just inhaled smelling salts. “Ugh,” she said. “He smoked that stuff again, didn’t he?” The disappointment was obvious. 

One thing he didn’t want to do was discuss anything that happened in that tent, but inwardly, he was glad it was that she smelled and not the reek of sex. He simply removed the pipe from his pocket and folded it into her hand. “Your problem,” he said, and he started walking again. “I’m going home.”

She looked down at it, then up to him as he passed her. “Well… you’re going the wrong way if you’re trying for the city.”

He stopped dead in his tracks, sighing again. This wasn’t even the agricultural ring, but the forest forest? Like outside the walls? Couldn’t they have just picked an orchard to sleep in? “So which way -”

“You won’t make it in the dark,” she said, kindly. “But… Jet did have us set up a tent for you, if you want?”

Of course he did. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Just show me,” he relented, more sigh than words.

“Come on. This way.” 

Chapter Text

Even in his dream, he knew it was a dream, because his family actually seemed happy. His father toasted, clinking his glass against his mother's, and she laughed cheerfully. And Azula, without her deadly smirk, replaced with a warm smile, actually felt pleasant. They sat around a dinner table, joking, tossing bits of food at one another, smiling, acting like a family. A real family.

Zuko watched from the threshold of the room, some sort of invisible shield blocking him from entering. His father ushered him into the room with his hand, ushered him, and ushered him, and Zuko could only press his hand against the glass, watching. Always watching from afar, never involved. Every time he had a dream like this, he was always, always alone.

Outside the threshold to the mysterious room lay a barren battlefield, a mire of mud scorched down to bare earth. Hoofprints, bodies rotting in the sun, tattered flags fluttering in the wind. He turned to look at it, frowning. A burning arrow landed in the dirt in front of him, the archer nowhere to be seen. Then another. And another. Until one finally landed, sinking into his shoulder. 

He shot up from the straw bed, gasping, gripping the dao blades that leaned against his thighs. Catching his breath, wide-eyed, he found nothing but the inner workings of a green war-tent, barren aside from a few barrels and crates. Sunlight crept in from the slight gap in the canvas, and the sounds of a bustling camp filled his ears: Pots clinking, horses huffing, and, oddly enough, children laughing. 

He rubbed the sleep from his eyes with his fingertips and groaned. He’d slept too long, his brain foggy and mouth tacky. Some version of a hangover from that stuff from the night before. Right. The night before. That hadn’t been a dream. He and Jet had -

His cheeks burned before he’d had much chance to stop them, and he shook the thought away. No, no. He wasn’t ready to tackle that first thing in the morning. What he needed was something to drink and to find his way home. He stood, brushing away the bits of straw that clung to his armor.

The fan of speckled sunlight on the ground grew wider, as someone, a very small someone, peeked inside his tent. Zuko eyed the child, and the boy of maybe seven or eight eyed him back, a mischievous smile on his face, like he’d been caught. “Hey,” he said, waving a little. 

“Hi,” Zuko replied, returning the wave. He squinted his eyes at the boy. Were his eyes… gold? That’s curious. 

“Okay, bye,” the boy said, running off, and Zuko smiled just a little. Kids were strange creatures. And he guessed the kid wasn’t the only one who was curious about him.

“Was he awake?” a woman asked from just outside. 

“Yeah, but he looks mean,” the kid replied.

Zuko furrowed his brow. He did not. Well… maybe.

“Alright, honey, go play.”

“She said he was handsome,” another woman said.

“You didn’t get enough of men in the brothels?”

“...Not handsome ones.”

The women laughed. Just how many of them were out there? He pulled back the tent flap, and apparently an entire flock of cackling, gossiping hens was waiting for him to appear. He resisted the immediate urge to hide back in the tent as they all gasped at him. His eyes glanced around the group of nearly fifteen women as he exited, feeling very out of place. Being the center of attention was… uncomfortable, at best.

“Wow, she wasn’t kidding.” 

“More like hunky if you ask me.”

“Hey, he’s not a piece of meat.”

“Yeah, but I’m sure he’s got a pretty one of those too."

“You gonna try and find out?”

A roar of giggles spread through the group as the heat crept up Zuko’s cheeks, and he pursed his lips as they fawned over him. But he’d be lying if he said it didn’t feel a little good, however. 

“Hi, ladies, uhm-” He cleared his throat and tried again. To say he wasn’t used to this lewd of a crowd would be an understatement. “Where can I find some water?”

“Oh, don’t worry, darlin’, my river flowith over,” one of them said, raspy, her wild hair flowing all over, grinning under her heavily eyelinered eyes. She kicked her robed legs open at him from her log seat, revealing the inner workings of her thighs, mock flirtingly.

“Shuyi, you didn’t.”

And Shuyi only grinned wider.

If Zuko’s cheeks were rose colored before, now they were in full red bloom. He averted his eyes on etiquette alone.

“Hey, girls!” a man called from a tent over. “Why don’t you bring some of that down here?”

“We had enough of men like you in the city!” Shuyi said, calling over her shoulder now, clamping her legs back together at the sound of his voice alone.

“What’s wrong with me?” he asked, indignant.

“We like a gentle man now!” 

“I am gentle.”

“You stink, Ping!” another woman said, finally.

“It’s no surprise your name is so close to pig,” another quipped.

The women roared with laughter as Ping scoffed, and Zuko was secretly glad to be on the well-received end of these women. “Who wants you dirty women anyway?!” Ping spat. “Fuckin’ whores.”

“Betta’ not let Jet hear you say that!” Shuyi said.

“Yeah, he’ll kick you right out!”

A horse huffed as hooves scraped across the dirt, and a honeyed voice came from behind. “Hear him say what? Also, good morning, ladies.”

Zuko turned his head as they all did, and found Jet high atop his horse, fully armored, bar the helmet. It was like a totally different man from the night before, back to the magnificent General. The woman, the one without a tongue, Daiyu, if Zuko remembered correctly, sat directly behind him on the saddle. Jet glanced down at Zuko, almost unnoticeably, before his attention went directly back to the women. 

“Oh, nothin’,” one of the women answered. “Just Ping being a jerk, is all. Like usual.”

“Well, if I kick him out,” Jet said, charming smile forming. “Who will you ladies use as your punching bag?”

Shuyi chuckled. “That’s true. Gotta’ have him around for that.”

Jet slid himself from the saddle as Ping called from the wayside. “You’re too soft on them, you know!”

Jet tsked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Ping, you’ll never learn,” he said, extending a helpful hand to Daiyu. “You’re supposed to be soft with the ladies.” Daiyu took his hand, shyly smiling as he helped her down. 

“Unless we want you to be a little rough,” a woman said, smirking, turning her attention to Daiyu. “Though Daiyu is the only one who would know if the General was capable of that or not.”

Daiyu went red in the cheeks, shrugging just a little. 

“No, no,” Jet corrected kindly. “Don’t embarrass her. She was just helping with some documents."

“You picked a good one,” Ping said. “See? I like that one. She don’t talk back.”

Jet shot him a severe look, brows furrowed. “And you can’t seem to stop, Ping.” A subtle warning, but effective. Ping threw his hands up, surrendering. 

Zuko glanced to Jet, then to Daiyu. Jet liked her because she couldn’t speak. He’d basically said it himself. But was that because he was protective of her? He hadn’t actually touched her in any romantic or sexual way. If anything, his touches were fleeting. Was she just a cover-up for his… other persuasions? Maybe both. It was a good idea if that was the case. Who better to be the face of a lie than someone who physically can’t speak the truth? And on her end, with her vulnerable condition, who better to saddle up to than the leader? A sort of genius symbiosis on both of their ends. But that was all just speculation. They could actually be together. He had no idea. That’s what everyone seemed to think, at least.

“I take it you’re all giving our newest recruit a warm welcome?” Jet said, smiling. 

Zuko’s eyes narrowed at him. “I was just leav-”

“He’s a good man,” Jet interrupted, locking eyes with him knowingly, his cheerful tone never faltering. “Who honors the deals he makes.”

Zuko tsked his tongue and looked away. Bastard.

The women were none the wiser. “Yeah, we like this one a lot, Jet.”

“You should get more pretty ones. I mean, have you seen those eyes?” 

Zuko froze, his chest feeling heavy all of a sudden.

“He’s got manners too. Quiet, shy. I vote more colony boys. Less ones like Ping over there.”

Ping threw his hands out, offended. “Hey!”

Jet only chuckled, not paying him any attention, and Zuko felt the air return to his lungs. Yes. A colony boy. That’s what he was. If child of war was what they assumed of him, that was for the best. Jet said it himself. He liked broken things. And nearly no one was stigmatized more than Earth Kingdom women who bore half Fire Nation children, or the children themselves. That’s something he could make work, seeing as how there was already one kid running around like that. It was an angle he could lean into. He was never good at lying. Best to let them assume, and for him to simply not disagree.

“Well, I’m glad I could deliver you ladies such a mannerly, handsome man,” Jet said, glancing at him with just a hint of a grin. Zuko held back a scoff. He was stuck between jealousy and loathing towards the ease Jet had in dealing with a crowd, while simultaneously taking a jab at him or flirting with him, one of the two. “But why don’t you show him around? Show him your work. Give him something light to do while that shoulder heals.”

The women nearly boiled over with excitement. “You mean it?”

“I mean it.”

The women nearly swarmed Zuko, pulling him away towards something unknown. Meanwhile, Jet could only laugh as Zuko’s cheeks burned bright red. They pulled him past Ping, who eyed him with envy. 

“You’ll have a real job soon enough,” Ping spat, waving a dismissive hand. “Not women’s work.”

“I’ll remember that when serving you your plate,” Shuyi countered, and the other women all stuck their tongues out at him. “Though your serving won’t be the only thing that’s extra small.” 

Ouch.

“Ping!” Jet called as the women dragged Zuko away. “You’re on livestock duty today. A real job, since you like those so much.”

“Why does he get to go with them while I get stuck shoveling shit?” Ping questioned.

“It’s not my fault the women don’t like you,” Jet countered. “Try developing a personality trait other than boorish, and you’ll fit in somewhere other than with the pigs.”

The women laughed, and Zuko, despite himself, cracked a smile at Ping’s expense too. 

Turns out, the women’s work was a lot more strenuous than expected. How Ping had downplayed any of it was a mystery to Zuko. Keeping nearly two hundred mercenaries fed and bandaged was a near never-ending task, especially when the women only made up less than a fourth of them. By noon, his back ached from scrubbing clothing, lifting water buckets, so many water buckets, and washing dishes. And that was the work intended to keep his shoulder from bursting open, the light work. There were women running circles around him, hauling dead hogs and butchering them, lifting the dead weight of injured men to rebandage them, and even a couple of them bending a never-ending assembly line of clay pottery, for selling in town, they said. 

It was its own ecosystem, its own little community, and it seemed to thrive despite a harsh world. He didn’t think he’d ever find something like this again. He’d had a community of sorts with his crew before his Father completely gave up on him ever finding the Avatar, after three long years. But even that seemed to dull in comparison. All these people were here by choice, by loyalty, not from fear. 

Maybe this group wasn’t so bad, and he had made a deal. He could make the best of it. He’d felt numb and alone for so long that it felt strange to be feeling so many things so suddenly. But it was… nice, feeling a part of something, feeling accepted again.

And he supposed that’s what having a good leader did to a group. Despite his complicated outlook on Jet, he had to give him that much. Everyone here was captivated by him, respected him. 

It felt… strange, to be one of the few to know what he was like behind closed doors. Like they shared some dark secret that no one else did, a little thread of intimacy. Out here, he was the General, but Zuko had seen Jet, at probably his most vulnerable, naked and high out of his mind. He dismally wondered if that had been a ploy to make him loyal too. 

He huffed to himself as he set a dish off to the side to dry. If it were a ploy, it might be working. Though it could just be that Jet liked him, and it was as simple as that, but he found that harder to believe than anything. He didn’t think he was all that likable.

“Working hard?” Shuyi asked as she plopped down on a log next to him. 

He wiped the sweat from his brow onto his sleeve. “It’s hard work.”

“It is. But better than a brothel any day,” she said, pulling out a piece of wood from her pocket to whittle on. “At least we’re people here. Ya know?”

“I can imagine,” Zuko said, thoughtfully as he plucked another dish. “...Jet mentioned you were in Omashu, at one point.”

“Sure was. That was when the band was a lot smaller. Probably half of what it is now,” she said, pausing for a moment to flick a pencil against the wood, drawing some design. “You know, after the Fire Nation took the city, he took all the money the band had to their name, and used it to buy every single brothel girl they could find. Said he liked us, cause we didn’t fit in nowhere else.”

Zuko nodded. That sounded about right, that he’d pick up every stray he could find. Something beautiful about broken people. “That’s basically what he told me too.”

“But he didn’t make us stay,” she added. “Just bought us all up, and set us free. Told us we could do what we wanted to now. Follow our dreams.”

“Why didn’t you go?”

“Well, we really didn’t have any skills outside of that, since most of us were there since we were kids. Daiyu’s the only one of us that can even read. Fire Nation didn’t like that she was smart, so that’s why they did what they did to her. To take her down a notch.”

Zuko’s face dimmed. Humanity was disgusting at times. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he murmured. If anything seemed to put his life on a pedestal, as horrible as it seemed to him, it was that. In a brothel… since childhood.

“It ain’t so bad,” she said, shrugging. “Life is better here. And the men don’t bother us too much. What brought you around? Just like it here?”

He huffed an unamused laugh. “Let’s just say I lost a bet.”

She gave him a sly smile. “Let me guess. He said he owns you or somethin’.”

“Something he’s done before?” Zuko asked, raising a curious brow.

“Once,” she answered, shrugging. “He gets stuck on people sometimes. Think his name was Haru or somethin’ like that. I never did figure out what the deal was with those two.”

Zuko was pretty sure he had an idea.

She continued, “He left cause he didn’t agree with some plans Jet had. But Jet ain’t gonna’ chase you down if you leave or nothin’ like that. He’s all talk sometimes. He really does want people who want to be here, ya know? Better for morale, and all that.”

Well, that was good to know, at least. 

“...You want to stay?” she asked, raising a brow.

“I’m… not sure yet,” he answered honestly. 

“Well, we’re happy to have you,” she said, eyeing the bear… or fox she was whittling at. “We like a man who’ll wash a dish.”

Twilight’s door had opened, and the camp had mostly settled in around campfires for the night. Zuko had found a spot nestled in with the women, or more so, they’d nestled around him, like moths to a flame. And for lack of anywhere else to go, he just let it happen. It garnered him a few skeptical looks, probably more jealous with some of them, from some of the male mercenaries passing by, but that was just a problem for another day at this point. Not that there was anything wrong with it, but one thing he’d rather not be seen as was effeminate, or worse, because there was something wrong with it, pervy.

Zuko scraped the last bite of whatever stew the women had made into his mouth. It was much better than almost anything he’d ever prepared for himself, and that alone made the days' worth of dishes worth it. It was fantastic. Between the mountainous levels of flattery and the delicious food, every moment spent here made it a little harder to want to leave, if he were honest.

He felt a presence from behind, and the person spoke before he ever had the chance to turn his head. It was immediately clear who it was. 

“I see you’re getting along well,” Jet said as he saddled up next to him, still standing. His armor this time around was different, much less extravagant and more cobbled together, with two distinctly opposite shoulder plates, battered and dented. Underneath that lay a loose red tunic with blue sleeves, covered by two thin metal gauntlets. This must be the Jet before he was ever the General. Modest, but still guarded. Zuko imagined he must be much more nimble this way, more akin to a sneak thief than a cavalry leader.

“I guess,” he murmured, avoiding his eyes. Eye contact with him still felt a little… weird. Awkward.

“He’s doing fine,” Shuyi answered, giving Jet a tomboyish grin. “But we could use some man muscle on our end of things, I think.”

“I might could make that happen,” Jet answered. 

“Just not Ping,” she added, pointing a finger at him to elaborate. “Maybe Pipsqueak. I like Pipsqueak. He’s listens real good.”

“Not Ping,” he agreed, nodding once. “Maybe Pipsqueak.”

“You did great today. So great, I need another one of ya,” Shuyi said, eyeing Zuko with a little glimmer of pride. “I think you’ll do good around here. But I can tell you ain’t made for dishes.”

Oh. She was talking to him now. He shrugged. It was just manual labor at the end of the day. Sort of hard to mess up. But he’d have to learn to take a compliment around here, apparently. 

“Glad to hear it. On that note, I do have to steal him,” Jet said, glancing down at him now, expectantly. 

Zuko stiffened, just a little bit, feeling jittery all of a sudden. 

“Where ya’ goin?” Shuyi asked, simply curious.

“Town,” Jet answered, and Zuko felt himself relax as he stood to brush his clothes off. He guessed he should just go along with it, so long as they didn’t end up in Jet’s tent again. Though the idea of that wasn’t nearly as horrific as it should be. “Got some business to take care of.”

“Ya know, nothin’ good happens after 2 a.m.,” she noted. 

He grinned. “That’s cause that’s when all the great things happen.”

Zuko had never seen a woman roll her eyes harder. “Just get back safe, jackass.”

“Yes, mother,” Jet answered, winking at her.

She pointed her chopsticks at him scoldingly. “That’s Mama Shu, to you.”

Once they’d woven through the camp, the two made it to a long line of tied-up horses. Jet pointed to the one next to his own, a rather plain chestnut horse who’d already been saddled. “That one,” he said, as if Zuko couldn’t tell that just from him pointing. “It’s been gelded. Shouldn’t give you too much trouble.”

Zuko glanced at the horse, then up to Jet as he climbed his saddle with no trouble at all, observing how he did it. He was at an impasse already. Admit he had no idea how to ride a horse and risk Jet trying to help him, or just wing it and risk failing miserably. 

He went with the latter option, out of sheer pride alone. 

Getting on the horse was no issue, but he could tell he’d done something wrong from the amused look Jet gave him once he’d settled on the saddle. “...What?” he asked. Jet only nodded his head towards the snout of the horse, and Zuko followed his gaze. The reins were… still tied to the post. Thank Agni it was dark. They weren’t even five minutes into this excursion, and his cheeks had already gone hot. He sheepishly slid from the saddle and righted his wrong.

Try number two, and only two, and thankfully, most of his pride could stay intact. 

“Jet.” 

It wasn’t him, and it surely wasn’t Jet saying his own name. The figure morphed herself from the shadow of a tent, followed by another, silent figure. “Where are you going?” the raspy voice asked, and Zuko recognized it from before. It was the woman, Smeller-something. Smellerbee, maybe.

“...Into town?” Jet said, like it was the most normal thing in the world, because it sort of was. 

There was just enough light coming over from the campfire for Zuko to see her eyes glance over to him. “...With him? So, what, you just trust him all of a sudden? After he killed Bo?”

Jet worked his jaw for a moment, biting his teeth, thinking. “Bee, Bo made his own choices,” he said, measured. “He swung first, that’s the way that goes. You can’t blame him for defending himself.”

He was right, and she couldn’t argue that. But Zuko could tell there was some other reason she didn’t want him going, maybe even something that had nothing to do with him. It was something she was being careful about saying out loud, as if it would shatter some brokered peace he was unaware of. “Jin told me about last night,” she said, lowly. And Jet seemed to freeze up at that. “Just… be smart, Jet. Don’t let old habits -”

“Okay,” Jet interrupted, placating. “I will, okay? I’ll be smart. Honest.”

She sighed, but said, “Alright.” Though how convinced she was was questionable at best. Her eyes ticked over to Zuko for just a brief moment, giving him an almost inaudible hhmph sound before turning away. “Come on, Longshot.”

A long moment ticked by before Jet turned to him, like the whole thing never happened. “Ready?” he asked, upbeat again. 

“I guess so,” Zuko murmured, unsure about the whole thing, more so than he already was. 

“Come on,” Jet said, as he turned the horse with the reins, “We’re only about twenty minutes out. Wanna’ get there before the markets close.”

Zuko copied him as well as he could, but the damn horse wouldn’t move. Jet eyed him, smiling as he reached down to light a single lantern hanging from the saddle. “Tap your feet against the sides,” he instructed. “Gently. You don’t wanna get thrown.”

“Right,” Zuko murmured, glad that he was at least patient in the matter. His horse followed Jet’s onto a beaten path out of the forest, and eventually they were side by side, the horses trotting leisurely along an open path towards the great walls of Ba Sing Se, the lights shimmering in the distance.

“So,” Jet said, glancing over to him. “What do you think so far?”

Zuko raised his brows. “I… have a lot of thoughts.”

“Like?”

Mostly about you. “Seems like a nice group,” he answered out loud. 

“Yeah, I like em’,” Jet said. “Perfectly curated band of outcasts.”

“...You don’t seem like an outcast,” Zuko said honestly. Jet seemed to fit in wherever he went, which was the exact opposite of being an outcast.

“Maybe so,” Jet said, looking forward. “...Or maybe I just learned what to say, how to put on an act. Hide the real me.”

And if there was anything Zuko understood, it was that, without the knowing what to say part, at least. The entirety of ‘Li’ was an act. And he supposed, Jet’s persuasions weren’t exactly celebrated. Maybe that’s why he smoked that stuff, to deal with everything in some fashion, to let go enough to just be himself. The General might not be an outcast, but Jet was. And Zuko supposed he was too, for more reasons than just that.

“Is this the real you?” Zuko asked. 

Jet smiled, a more honest smile than usual, no smirk or grin or charm involved. Something earnest. “You’ve seen more of the real me than anyone has in a long time.”

Zuko felt the heat on his cheeks, tried to ignore the flutter of his heart. “...Why show it to me?”

“Had a good feelin’ about you,” Jet said, shrugging. As if it really were just that simple.

“You don’t know me,” Zuko said. 

“And I never will,” Jet said. “Unless you show me.”

He supposed that was true. But somehow, the idea of being perceived made him nauseous. Jet seemed to sense his anxiety in some way and added, “Well, it doesn’t have to all be today, you know.”

Zuko nodded, appreciative of the sentiment. “...I have a question.”

“Shoot.”

“You and Daiyu?”

Jet smiled again. “Caught on to that, huh? I figured you might, knowing what you know.”

Zuko nodded again, unsure if that was the proper response, considering he wasn’t sure if they were quite on the same page or not. 

“Trying to lead a bunch of lady-crazed men doesn’t really work if you aren’t one yourself,” Jet said. “I’d lose respect if they knew. So, me and Daiyu have a deal. The men don’t mess with her, thinking she’s with me, and my men get to pretend I’m horny in the same way they are. Cause it matters, for some reason.”

“So… how many people know?”

“You, Daiyu, Longshot, Bee, and Jin,” he said, thinking for a moment. “Yeah, that’s about it. With any certainty, at least. I’m sure Shuyi has her suspicions. But, you’ll learn soon enough, there’s not much hiding from her. She just… sees everything. Thankfully, she keeps most important things to herself.”

Zuko hummed. How much had she elected to leave out talking to him? 

“Can I ask you something?” Jet said. 

“Sure,” he answered. Why not?

“Why are you a mercenary?”

Zuko’s lips turn upward in an unamused smile. He was sure there were plenty of people who did it for the money alone, but saying it sort of felt shitty. Especially in front of someone who seemed to be doing it for some bigger purpose. But, there was really no use in lying. “Money,” he answered. “I’m not… good at anything else.” Not that he really had to justify it, but it was true. He’d only ever been taught ruthlessness. A normal job felt… out of place for him.

Jet nodded, satisfied enough with that answer. Zuko assumed it probably wasn’t the first time he’d ever heard it. “Just survival then, huh? You don’t have some end goal?”

Zuko shrugged by way of answer. It was to find the Avatar, go back home, but now? He never really had any space for other goals, for purpose, for dreams. “To go home,” he said, without thinking much about it. “I guess.”

“Where’s that?”

He wondered, a bit dimly, if the farmer he rented the barn from had even realized he was gone. It was a roof, but it wasn’t home. And clearly, the Fire Nation wasn’t much of an option anymore. “...I don’t know anymore.” 

“Well, they say it’s where the heart is,” Jet said, a coy smile wrapping his lips. “Or something cheesy like that.”

Zuko cracked a sad smile. He wasn’t even sure where that was anymore, but maybe that was the problem. He’d been simply living out his life for no other reason than he was born into it. But maybe that could be the goal: to find home. “What’s your goal?” he asked.

Jet thought for a moment, the contemplation twisting his lips up. “Well, I guess, defeat the Fire Nation, liberate the country,” he said, like that one was rather obvious. “But my end goal, my dream, well… my dream is to be free.”

“Free of what?”

It was Jet’s turn to give him a sad smile. “Never thought of it like that,” he said, thoughtfully. “To be free of something, not just free. But… I guess, if I had to answer… I don’t want to be angry anymore. Just so hard not to be. Lose so much, lose your family, and the tears don’t do much. But it’s like, the anger is what you got left to hold onto, you know? Pushes you forward. Keeps you movin’, at least.”

“...I get it,” Zuko murmured. The last decade of his life had felt like nothing but anger. Until now, oddly enough. “You think you’ll ever get there?”

“Worth dying for,” Jet said. “So, I hope so.”

He looked up as they passed under an arch, the arch into the agricultural ring, and his brow furrowed. He’d been so lost in thought, he hadn’t even been paying attention to where they were headed.

“....Aren’t we going to the market?”

“I heard you were going to leave last night,” Jet said, with no emotion he could distinguish, his eyes forward. “To go home.”

Must be Jin who had the big mouth. Zuko thought for a moment about how to answer, and figured honesty was probably the best route. “I was.”

“You still can,” Jet said, his eyes glancing over to him. “If you really want.”

So that’s where they were going. He was giving him an out. “...You’re walking me home?” he asked, dully.

Jet smiled, a little playfulness in it. “Yeah, I guess that is what I’m doing.”

They rode in comfortable silence for a while, and Jet reached his hand out to brush it over the tops of the wheat stems, plucking one to chew on. Just a little way up was where they had their altercation. It felt like a million years ago, yet it’d only been a day. Maybe time moved differently around Jet, like he was some mystical creature. After that, it didn’t take long for them to come across the road that led out to the farm, and Zuko peered down it in the moonlight. It felt much longer than usual, like it went on forever. “This is it,” he said, and they both pulled their horses off to the side. 

“Yep,” Jet agreed, looking fully at him now. “Home sweet home.”

He hadn’t said it with any bitterness, but it felt bitter thinking about it. To go from bustling camp to… empty barn. Zuko looked at Jet back, for what felt like a long time but probably wasn’t, until it started feeling tricky again, and he cut his eyes away. 

Zuko tapped his feet against the horse’s side and started on down the path. 

“Wait, you can’t keep the horse,” Jet said after him, “It’s Longshots!”

“...I’m just getting my stuff,” Zuko said, monotone, over his shoulder. 

He watched as the realization washed over Jet’s face, morphing from thinly veiled disappointment to downright delight. To say it didn’t fill Zuko’s chest with something like childlike giddiness would be a lie. He couldn’t help but crack a wide smile at it, but he tried hard to keep it under wraps.

“...You’re staying?” Jet asked, smiling, as if he couldn’t believe it. 

“Don’t make it a big deal,” Zuko said. 

Jet could only chuckle. “Alright,” he said, nodding, satisfied. “No big deal!”

Chapter Text

Spring turned over into summer, and then summer into fall. By winter, the Freedom Fighters had grown by seventy-six members in a span of 8 months. This included the seven who were lost to battles, but in the mercenary world, that was an astonishingly wonderful number. So wonderful in fact, that it began to turn some heads. According to a letter sent via courier from up high, in much more ostentatious and prolix wording than this, it was a marvel, in fact, that a group of lowly commoners and peasants were outdoing some of the Earth Kingdom’s best royal armies.

Inside one of the posh inns of the upper ring, the soft sheets and down feather mattress threatened to hold Zuko there forever. He slept better than he had in years, with a tanned and scarred arm laced over his side and around his back.

“Jet,” Zuko murmured into the top of his hair, his voice thick with sleep. His own hair, now long black tendrils that just passed his shoulders, interlaced with Jet’s in loose tangles on the pillow. The sun wasn’t up yet, but would be soon to illuminate a thin blanket of snow outside, and the only light was the lantern halfway across the room, struggling to stay alive after being left on all night. It was comfortably dark, and even more comfortably warm.

Jet only hummed, not ready to wake just yet, but halfway there. Zuko could tell from his breathing and the way his hand spread out across his back, as if to say I’m awake, but… don’t make me move just yet. He couldn’t blame him. It did cross his mind to sneak back in here after all this was over, and smuggle this mattress out on the back of a wagon.

“I can’t sleep anymore,” Zuko murmured. “Let me up, and I’ll let you go back to bed.”

“...Me neither,” Jet replied, mumbling into the skin of his neck. “...You keep talkin’… Just… shush.” His long fingers grasped gently at his back, holding him tighter against him, for good measure. 

He really didn’t need to be told twice. They didn’t get many opportunities like this, especially with such lavish provisions. They were always on the go, and Jet, in particular, always had something on the schedule. Not to mention, their relationship was practically reserved for night only, given the nature of it, which only worked because neither of them were particularly fond of public affection. Zuko held him tighter against him, relishing it for as long as he could. It all still felt a bit unreal, undeserved. Not all of this royal hubbub, no. This. The fact that Jet had become, more or less, a permanent presence, one that made life a lot less barren. He’d mostly come to terms with the fact that, well, Jet was a man, and what they had was still rather unclear, undefined, blurry. But consistent. And welcome. Not everything needed a word for it, and it seemed an unspoken agreement had been orchestrated not to give it one—it was easier that way. In a life as unpredictable as the one they lived, it was no different than anything else, when even tomorrow seemed to end with a question mark.

“...Are you nervous?” Jet murmured after a while.

He wasn’t really sure. Jet would probably do most of the talking, and he was just along for the ride. But maybe…

“Are you?” he asked. 

Jet didn’t say anything, nor give any indication of a shrug. Zuko guessed anyone would be – meeting the King.

Jet eventually unglued his face from the crook of his neck to look at him, his eyes dark and troubled, but no less affectionate because of it. It still took him by surprise sometimes, the way Jet looked at him, as if he were an ornate stained glass piece he couldn’t quite take his eyes off of, for fear of missing out on some hidden detail. It made Zuko feel equally as fragile as he did seen through. But realistically, this whole thing was fragile – for more reasons than one.

It didn’t take long for the look to make him squirm. "What-" 

He didn't get the chance to finish. Jet’s mouth was kissing his, and like a sheep to slaughter, he followed. Jet pressed his advantage while he had it, and he straddled Zuko, his hips bearing down on him with anchored weight. And for a moment, Zuko forgot who he was, forgot everything. Maybe that was the point. Maybe, Jet too, just wanted to forget. To run. To fade away from everything, for just a little while.

 "I need this, Li," Jet murmured against his lips, and the name dripped onto his skin like acid from a vial. So badly he wanted it to be his name, to correct him once and for all. 

Please, Zuko, please, I want to –

The thought stuck in his throat like it always did, and he said nothing. He couldn't say it then. He couldn't say it ever. It was too late. Zuko was a memory, a stranger to both of them. And Li was a lie, years in the making, one that was too far gone to ever undo.  

Jet’s hand traveled between them, finally undoing the button's last hopeless tether, and he grasped Zuko’s cock in his hand. He gasped into his mouth. The touch was mind-numbing, almost frighteningly so. The power this man had over him was like no other.  How Jet was able to just crack him open,  to break down the barriers he tried to build, it was horrible. It was maddening. It was ...wonderful. 

Before he knew it, Jet’s mouth was sliding down onto him with tenured ease. How could something he never should have started, shouldn't be continuing now, be so natural, so effortless? His hands were digging into the curve of Jet’s shoulder, the breath from Jet’s nose hot on his stomach, touching himself at the same pace he sucked. Zuko’s whole body was red hot like blown glass, pliable in Jet’s hands, feeling carnal, alive, human. And he wouldn’t begin to offer any facile solution to why he did things, but perhaps it was as simple as that. He wanted to feel something other than misery for once in his life, and he was willing to scheme and connive in order to do it. And feel, he did. 

Jet began to shatter and break below him, making himself come, panting with his lips still wrapped around him. Zuko brought his head down on him to finish the job. Jet moaned against him; he felt the vibrations. His lip curled back; he wasn’t far off, and he let his mind empty for a few blissful moments. He groaned as he finished, his hands clenching and unclenching fistfuls of the blanket, or Jet’s tunic, or whatever he could grab that he could strangle.  

They lay on the bed for a while longer, half-dressed and talking, but not about anything important. The morning sun let in a fan of light through the window, illuminating the wisps of smoke from the lantern that had finally succumbed to exhaustion. 

And then he was smiling, yes smiling, and he couldn't seem to stop. Jet was doing that to him. Jet shook his softened cock at him, laughing, teasing him. His eyes were brighter, more awake after a while. Zuko tried to touch him, and he feigned prudishness. Jet, acting prude. Zuko gasped and laughed at the audacity. And selfishly, he wished it could be like this all the time. How nice it would be to stay here like this forever, in their little hidden world.  

Something caught his eye, the sunlight reflecting off the buckle of his armor, and it dragged him back down into the real world, without warning, without a second thought. His smile faded as it reminded him, once again, of how brittle this all was, only ever moments away from shattering completely. That at any moment, he, they, could be killed. That the smallest slip-up would uncover him. That this love affair with Jet was fleeting, only kept together by a thread already fraying. That Jet didn't love him, not really, not that anyone could, but if Jet did, it wasn't for who he was, but who he thought he was. Which was worse than not loving him at all. 

 Did... did he even want Jet to love him? He squashed that thought the moment it arose, back down to the depths of his consciousness where it belonged. 

Jet laughed, at his own joke, no less. He didn’t catch it, too busy in his head. 

"...You alright?" Jet asked.

"I’m fine," he said with only a halfway forced smile.

Because maybe he was. Maybe this was enough. For now, maybe always. He supposed he would have to make it so. For him, he could. It was enough, he thought.

If it stayed like this forever.

There came a soft knock on the door some hours later, and Zuko immediately knew it was Daiyu. And then another, much more urgent, bordering on aggressive, which was immediately recognized as Smellerbee. Or Shuyi, one of the two. He opened it, and it was all of them, everyone who was coming along on this excursion: Smellerbee, Daiyu, Shuyi, Longshot, and, regretfully, because he was a captain now, Ping. They all stood there expectantly, each with their own slightly resentful expressions at having been shoved into formal attire. It was akin to a pack of snarling wolves being forced to play dress up. 

Jet had somehow managed to find them all emerald green dress robes, all equally as tawdry as the other. It screamed of being obviously poor, trying to look richer than they were. He’d seen a few types such as themselves back in the palace back home, and it was always obvious to the royals, but he couldn’t explain this to Jet without letting quite a bit spill about himself. He’d gently suggested other clothing items, but Jet was insistent that each added inch of gold trim or dangling tassel somehow made it fancier.

Needless to say, it all felt very stiff, and only a little ridiculous. Okay. A lot ridiculous. 

“Ask that jackass how many times he’s going to brush his hair,” Shuyi snapped, and Zuko became aware which one of them had been the one to knock. She practically had rabies frothing out of her mouth. 

He just looked over his shoulder, eyeing Jet who was eyeing himself. “Jet-”

“We’re meeting the King,” Jet defended from across the room as he looked in a long mirror, straightening his collar for what had to have been the tenth time. “I want to look nice, alright?”

“Come on,” Smellerbee insisted, shifting something under her dress in the most unladylike way possible, probably some type of corset. It was the only time Zuko had ever seen her without eyeliner or war paint, or wearing anything even vaguely feminine, at that. Her frowsy hair was combed as neatly as it would allow, with a simple dressy headband to hold it back. It was almost like an entirely different person. “I feel stupid in these dress robes. Can we please get this over with?”

If there was one thing to pry Jet away from the mirror, it was hearing that Smellerbee was in a dress. He walked over, grinning as he squeezed past Zuko in the doorframe.

Smellerbee eyed him with an expression that was probably much more formidable with the war paint, but now just seemed puppy-ish. 

“You look beautiful,” Jet said earnestly, affectionately.

She went red in the cheeks, clamping her mouth shut, and when Longshot nodded in agreement next to her, she only went redder. “Shut up,” she murmured, eyes darting to the ground, her fire doused.

“You all do,” Jet said, smiling, raising his hands out in celebration. Zuko had to lean his head away to avoid being battered in the face by a tassel hanging from Jet’s sleeve.

“Watch it,” he grumbled.

“You’re never picking the clothes again,” Shuyi murmured, indignant. “I’ve seen whores’ clothes less gaudy than this. And I’d know.”

Daiyu mhm’ed in agreement, and Longshot groaned.

“I like em’, Jet,” Ping chimed in, his hands on his hips, grinning.

“See?” Jet said. “Thank you, Ping.”

Shuyi gagged. “Kiss ass. Don’t encourage him.”

“Is everyone ready?” Jet asked, smiling like he’d just been handed keys to the city. 

“Yes,” the group moaned.

Jet extended a gentlemanly arm to Daiyu, putting on the leader who definitely likes women charade, which only slightly mitigated the amount of tassels he was sporting. It would get under Zuko’s skin, if it weren’t for the fact that he honestly couldn’t be bothered to be seen with Jet like this. And it’d become sort of a running theme for him to pretend with Shuyi during meetings, so he extended an arm too. Longshot and Smellerbee did the same, in a much more honest way. And Zuko didn’t think they could pay a woman to take Ping’s arm, so he walked alone.

Shuyi leaned over to him, mock-batting her eyes at him as they made their way out of the inn. “Well, don’t you look handsome. I like the top-knot. Very fashionable.”

“Thanks,” he murmured, because even though her flirting was joking, her compliments were genuine. And he was never good with compliments. 

“I’m just surprised he found robes that fit over my tits,” she said, looking down her robes at them.

Zuko couldn’t help the surprised laugh that spilled out of him. Even after 8 months of knowing her,  she still somehow found some outlandishly uncouth thing to say to catch him off guard. 

Jet grinned over his shoulder, looking back at them. “Get it all out now,” he said. “Once we’re there, best behaviour, boys and girls. No more tit talk.”

So, there they were. Two whores, one of whom was a mute, a regular mute, a pig, a tomboy who couldn’t walk in heels, and a burn victim. Oh, and Jet. All going to the King’s royal dinner.

What a fucking disaster.

They made their way through the opulent courtyard, waiting in a short line of much better-dressed people, all trying to gain entry. The man taking the invitations eyed their group, his expression a dismaying mixture of entertained and skeptical.

“Invitations,” he said plainly, and Jet handed it over. And of course, the man had to unfold it because it had been haphazardly folded into Jet’s pocket. He studied the invitation for longer than he had studied anyone else’s, trying to find where it had been forged in some fashion. 

Jet stiffened in front of Zuko, and it was clear he took offense to it. But he wasn’t willing to blow a chance like this. “Satisfied?” Jet said, not kindly but not offensively either. 

The man only refolded the paper and handed it back. “Go on,” he said, nodding his head, unable to find some reason to bar them. 

Once inside, the scent of decadent foods and joyful music filled his senses. They all stood around the entryway for a few long moments, looking around the luxurious dining hall with jaw-dropping awe. Zuko had seen plenty of things like this, so it was nothing new to him. But to everyone else, it was like seeing an entirely new country. A culture shock that seemed to have slapped them senseless.

“You ever think you’d be here?” Shuyi asked, and Jet smiled widely. He shook his head no in answer. 

They didn’t get to take it in long before a woman approached them. She was almost plainly dressed compared to everyone else, and she wore an odd, uncanny smile, like a puppeteer was pulling her lips up with strings. 

“Hello,” she said stiffly but kindly, nodding respectfully to them. “I’m Joo Dee. I’ve been given the great honor of accompanying your group. May I show you to your seats?”

It took just a beat too long for Jet to answer. He’d noticed something off as well. “By all means,” he answered out loud. They were led away from the long, sprawling tables of food and into a corner. There was a small table and some pillows on the floor to sit on, with a good amount of finger foods and bottles of alcohol, and even a small gold statue of some previous general atop a horse. It wasn’t peasantry by any means of the word, but very obviously separate from the real guests, the royalty. 

And suddenly, the smiles of their group all felt a little soured. 

They all settled in down the long row, facing the rest of the room. And be damned what everyone thought, Zuko still sat next to Jet, with the women on either side of them. Joo Dee sat across from them, still smiling, for some reason. 

“Isn’t this nice?” she said, waving her hands out to the spread of food. 

“It looks wonderful,” Ping said, scooping up one of the bites to plop into his mouth almost immediately. Jet cut his eyes at him, almost immeasurably, but must have figured it wasn’t a big enough transgression to address.

 Jet flashed a smile to Joo Dee. “We thank the King for his hospitality.”

“Are there any other mercenaries here?” Ping asked, and Jet visibly stiffened next to him. 

Zuko internally rolled his eyes. Agni, he had the perception skills of a slug.

Joo Dee only turned her head to him kindly. “Mercenaries?” she asked, like she’d never even heard the word before. “Why on earth would the King invite mercenaries here? He doesn’t even employ them. There’s no need. Ba Sing Se is the safest city in the world.”

And something seemed to have finally clicked with Ping, as his eyebrows raised in confusion. But that didn’t mean he knew what to do with any of it. Thankfully, Jet cut in before he could say something stupid. 

“Ping,” Jet said. “Isn’t the food wonderful? You should thank them.”

Ping glanced over at him, his expression slightly concerned suddenly. “Very good, sir. We, um, thank the King. For the food and… kindness.”

Jet nodded to him, and he sheepishly went back to his food. On the outside, it was a leader putting a subordinate in check. But that wasn’t what that was to Jet. That was a protective measure.

Something was very wrong here.

“The King should arrive soon enough,” Joo Dee said, looking slightly over her shoulder. For what, he didn’t know. But she was looking for something, or… someone. She rose to her feet, giving them a respectful bow once more. “Welcome to Ba Sing Se,” she said. “Please, enjoy the merriment. I’ll be seeing you.” Then, she left in no hurry. 

Once she was out of earshot, Zuko leaned over to Jet, whispering, “There’s something off about this.” 

The others leaned in towards Jet too. “Jet, what’s going on?” Smellerbee murmured.

Jet only scrunched his brows, scanning the room. “I… don’t know.” Then he turned to face the group, talking down each side. “Nobody says anything to anyone. And don’t move from this fucking spot. Understood?” 

They nodded. 

Fanfare sounded from across the room, and two large stone doors creaked open. A group of royal guards entered first, their shoulders bearing the weight of a palanquin. It was much more opulent than that of even the Fire Nation’s, almost like was portable temple instead. They marched the King through the center of the room towards a raised platform where he would be lowered. At least, it was assumed to be the King. He was merely a silhouette behind opaque curtains, a symbol more than he was a person.

Zuko bit the inside of his cheek as everyone in the room clapped. …Maybe that’s exactly what he was. Because if the King didn’t hire mercenaries… who did?

“Well, well,” came a voice, deep and authoritative. An older man walked towards them with no urgency, hands laced behind his back, his long black and gold robes flowing easily. He spoke plainly, with no emotion, but far differently than the woman before, less like the puppet and more like the puppeteer. “The King’s new respected guests. Might I make your acquaintance? I’m Long Feng, Secretariat of Ba Sing Se and head of the Dai Li. I take it you’re Jet, leader of this -” He paused to waft a hand in their direction. “... Menengerie.”

Jet’s eyes narrowed, only slightly, but his pleasant tone never faltered as he stood to bow. “It’s nice to meet you,” he said. 

“No need for formalities,” Long Feng said, waiting until he was already rising from his bow to say so, a subtle power play. Zuko was glad it was Jet who was in charge of talking. His pride may have made him say something he’d regret in that moment. Jet might be reckless in a lot of areas, but excelled in the minutiae of politics. Willing and able to take disrespect so long as it benefited him long term, though the prospect of that was still unclear. It still stood; they were out of their area here. Best to play it safe. 

Jet thought for a moment, mulling his words. It was a Pai Sho game more than a conversation. As soon as they stepped through those doors, that's what all of this was. “We’re grateful proletariats such as ourselves were welcomed into the King’s mighty hall.” 

“Such vocabulary,” Long Feng said. It wasn’t a compliment, but a jab, that a peasant knew a word larger than two syllables, and that was surprising to him. “Tell me, which one of you is able to read?”

Daiyu stiffened, and it didn’t go unnoticed as Long Feng’s eyes ticked over to her. She was the only one besides Zuko who could. Jet had been learning for a couple of years now, with the help of Daiyu and now himself, but still had a long way to go to fluency. Having a teacher who was unable to speak the words made it slow-moving for a while, but Jet was adept at memorizing words all the same.

“Me, sir,” Jet said, only partially lying. 

Whether Long Feng bought that or not was up for debate. “Wonderful,” he said. “So, you’d oblige an old man for a talk in the library?”

Jet’s eyes ticked over to Zuko, almost automatically, which didn’t go unnoticed either. 

“Yes, yes,” Long Feng said. “Bring the right-hand man. I wouldn’t have it any other way. We can all talk strategy with one another.”

It was nowhere near a friendly invitation. It was an order. And a show that it didn’t matter how many people they brought along. Long Feng was still in control.

“Come on, Li,” Jet said, almost murmured, but not quite. And Zuko stood to follow them.

“Jet,” Smellerbee said, protesting from her seat, but all he could do was shoot her a look. A mixture of a warning to stay silent, and a reassurance he’d be alright all the same.

Long Feng didn’t even consider acknowledging her. He only wrapped her hands together in front of him, and led the two of them away through a stone door that raised as soon as he reached it. It closed behind the three of them, shutting out any light from the dining hall, and opened into a small corridor lit only by sconces burning with green flames. 

It was silent as they walked down the hall, and behind Long Feng’s back, they eyed each other with apprehension. It was one of the few times Jet had ever been visibly nervous, as his hand picked at the fabric at his side. Zuko dimly wondered if the note on the invitation to wear dress attire had only been put there to get them there unarmored. 

It worked. The only weapons they had were small knives strapped to the skin of their hips, but even swords would be of no use here. This was bigger than them, by a long shot.

The corridor finally opened up into a small library, where a fireplace illuminated the room in cool, green hues, as unnatural as it was intimidating. Long Feng seated himself on a stone bench, taking in the atmosphere as if seeing it for the first time. “Make yourselves at home,” he said, gesturing to the bench across from him. 

Not that either of them moved to sit down anyway, but even if they had, they were immediately interrupted by the muffled blabberings of someone else in the room. 

Zuko sucked in a sharp breath as the man came into view, strapped down to the floor with an overkill amount of heavy chains, a wad of cloth gagging his mouth. The hair on Zuko’s arms rose, and Jet nearly stepped backward into him as he eyed the man as well. The man was older, balding in the middle with wild tufts of hair that puffed out at either side, and he had a long beard with eyebrows that had been partially singed off. His cheek was swollen and bloodied, his eye on the same side blackened. He looked at them, pleading, eyes soft and watering. 

“I see you’ve met our other guest,” Long Feng said, good-natured and all wrong for the occasion. 

Something inside Jet finally snapped, whether fear or anger or a combination of the two. “What do you want with us? Why are we here?” 

“I’ve heard of your exploits,” Long Feng said simply, crossing his legs casually. “Heard of your tactics. And, despite humble beginnings, you have managed to grow in size. It caught my attention. This guerrilla warfare of yours seems to be working quite well. Wouldn’t you say?”

“So, what?” Jet said, snappy. “You have a job for us? Why don’t you just say it?”

“Well, you see,” Long Feng said, “We have a curated atmosphere here in the upper rings. You may not have noticed, only ever experiencing the lower ring, I assume. Full of refugees and vagabonds. Up here, things are a bit more… restrained. We don’t speak so plainly of violence and war in the open. Keeps the more blue-blooded crowd a bit more agreeable."

Jet scoffed. “So, you don’t talk about the war, so what, the rich can be more comfortable? Too squeamish to hear about it? Meanwhile, the rest of us are out there dying-”

“No, no,” Long Feng interrupted. “You misunderstand. You see, there is no war. At all. They’re completely none the wiser.”

Whatever Jet had planned to say next was completely wiped clean, and his mouth hung open for long moments, like he’d been slapped across the face.

It was Zuko who spoke this time, breathless. “The King doesn’t even know-”

“Observant,” Long Feng said, smiling. “You two have almost put it together. Need a moment more to think?”

“He’s a figurehead,” Jet breathed. “It’s you -”

“Oh, no, no,” Long Feng admonished, interrupting again. “His Majesty is an icon, a god to his people. He can't sully his hands with the hourly change of an endless war. Now, can he?” 

It took Jet long moments to speak. “...What do you want from us?”

“I’m sure you’ve heard, being in your line of work, that within recent years, the City of Omashu has been taken by the Fire Nation.”

Jet nodded. 

“Well, you see,” Long Feng continued, “The enemy troops spawning from there like maggots are causing us quite a bit of trouble. The skirmishes are getting closer and closer to the walls, which we simply cannot have. Up until now, it has been out of sight and out of mind. And we’d like it to return to that.”

Jet huffed a breath. “You… want us to take back Omashu?”

“Precisely.”

“I have less than three hundred men,” Jet noted.

“All the better,” Long Feng said. “The reason our armies and the armies of neighboring Lords have failed is because they think the more the merrier. It’s been a slaughterhouse because of it. They’re too honorable to fight any other way than face-to-face, and the defensible properties of Omashu simply don’t allow for it. We need something different. Something… dirtier.”

“Like?” 

“I expect you to figure that part out, General.” Long Feng smiled, nefarious and ugly. “But I would never be so inhospitable as not to offer any guidance.” He raised a hand, gesturing over to the man in chains. “We have a bit of an ace in the hole. Who better to assist in the reclaiming of a beloved Earth Kingdom City than that of a traitor? A redemption for an old mechanist.”

Chapter Text

Two hundred seventy-five men to siege an entire city, only nineteen of which were Earthbenders. This number included the fifty or so women who had little, if any, combat experience. And it was Omashu, at that; The City with one road in, and one road out, a road that fell hundreds of meters down a ravine if one were to slip off the sides. 

But with the way Long Feng had spoken, it wasn’t much of a choice. They were going to take the City back, or die trying. 

Zuko shifted in the hunting blind outside the city, the trees rustling overhead. He was surrounded by the musty odor of mud and animal skins from the men around him. The women, however, had been missing for days, every single one of them. Jet refused to tell anyone, even him, what the plan was with them. He did, however, grin wildly, telling, “Trust me. No one has a bigger bone to pick with the city than Shuyi, and nowhere loves whores more than Omashu.”

Jet was confident in all of this, at the very least, and only he knew all the moving parts. That was probably for the best. Less to worry about. All they had to do was focus and nothing else. Listen to orders. Do as told.

The men blended in well. There was no question about that. At a distance, they were bushes. Up close, a herd of animals slothing through the undergrowth. He had no idea how long they’d been waiting, waiting, but it was several days at least. It was eerie, a calm before the storm. They still had no idea how many men they were to face. It could be 500, it could be 1000. Whatever the number was, it would definitely be higher than theirs. 

The vague plan was to trick them out of the City. Goad them out, somehow, a detail that only Jet knew. They’d stand no chance rushing the gate, trying things the other way around, the offensive. They’d only get pelted with arrows overhead and have boiling oil sloshed over them, and then be set on fire shortly after. The gate would never even be rammed open before half of their army would be decimated. That simply wasn’t a chance Jet was willing to take. He cared little for himself, but his men were an entirely different story. 

Zuko was a different story. Well, Li, at least.

Horses huffed as the men chattered quietly amongst themselves. Longshot shifted next to him, trying to avoid the drizzle of rain that fell through the hunting canopy. Zuko hoped whatever it was that was supposed to happen wouldn’t happen today. The weapons they’d been outfitted with were entirely new and didn’t fare well in the rain, apparently. Something called gunpowder was rendered entirely useless when soaked. It was something the mechanist had come up with, taking inspiration from fireworks, and it smelled almost identical to them. Sulfur-like.  They had to pack it into what was basically a pole with a canister of iron attached to the top, and a little ball of lead was dropped into it. Aim, light the gunpowder with a fuse, and the ball would rocket out at a speed that would astonish even world-class archers, piercing even the toughest of armors. It wasn’t hard for the men to learn, and they could keep the same basic formations as they had as archers. Shoot, move back so the second wave could move forward, repack, move forward, and repeat.

Long Feng was right about one thing. The forty or so hand cannons, as the mechanist had called them, along with their six much larger counterparts, artillery cannons, and they had one formidable ace up their sleeve. Fight fire with fire, the mechanist had said, and Jet had tapped his fingers against his grinning lips. He’d fight fire with the sun if you gave it to him.

They’d be outnumbered, sure. But the element of surprise, tree cover, and distance were exactly the things they needed to combat that. They had the forest to retreat into if all else failed. 

Hopefully, not all else would fail.

A piece of bark fell on top of them, and Zuko looked up through the mesh and leaves. Jet perched above them, watching like a hawk for whatever signal he was waiting for. 

It came without warning. The gates of Omashu lifted off in the distance, and after a few moments, three riders came barreling out, running their horses as hard as they could go. Halfway across the bridge, the first rider hoisted an Earth Kingdom flag high into the air. Another blew loudly into a horn. 

A pause of realization, and then Jet scrambled out of the tree, his armor clinking together as he mounted his horse. 

“Formations!” he called at the tops of his lungs, running his horse down the line of trees and out of sight. “That’s the signal! Everybody up! Up! Get your asses into gear!”

A wave of shuffling and movement as over 200 men shifted upward, murmuring things and getting their weapons loaded, the cannoners with their projectiles, the archers with their arrows. The drizzle of rain continued overhead. Nothing dire. The torches they had placed methodically behind trees were doing fine, for now. The gunpowder barrels were more or less dry, capped with wooden tops.

The three riders barreled into the forest next to him, their horses huffing and heaving breaths into their large lungs. The women slid from their mounts, removing… a… a child donned in Fire Nation red from the back of one of their horses.

The women called over to Jet, snarky and proud of themselves. “Target acquired, Jet!” One of them looked down at the boy of maybe ten or eleven or so. He looked terrified, but otherwise uninjured. “Think his name’s Tom-Tom?”

Zuko scrunched his brows. What kind of name was Tom-Tom?

The boy nodded, tears in his eyes, his mouth gagged.

“Good job, ladies! Riches await you for your valiant effort!” Jet called back.

They laughed. “Yeah, right, shut up.”

“Take him somewhere safe. That one’s valuable.”

So, the women did, scurrying the bound boy deep into the forest.

The plan was to kidnap someone’s child? Probably some Governor or General’s kid. Long Feng said it’d be dirty work, and Jet delivered, Zuko supposed. 

Ethics aside, this might just work. It was a toss-up if the parents cared enough to send an army after him. Though he supposed most fathers weren’t so lax about the safety of their children, unlike his. It had more of a chance of working than not, knowing the pride of the Fire Nation. They wouldn’t be willing to let a transgression like this one go. If caring wasn’t the reason, ego would be.

Now they had to wait. Wait once more and see.

It didn’t take long for the Fire Nation troops to assemble. Maybe an hour, a little more, all the while they waited in gut-wrenching anticipation. Zuko’s heartbeat ticked up as the gate to Omashu lifted, and a herd of cavalry marched out, rows of at least fifteen horses wide and the same amount deep, their pikes standing tall into the air. Behind them were presumably the benders of the group, if Fire Nation formations were still anything like they were back then. 

The army was halfway onto the bridge, one behind the other, and they were still pouring out. 

“Are you ready?” Jet murmured from beside him. 

Zuko nodded as confidently as he could, and Jet laid a stilled hand on his shoulder, looking into his eyes from over his mask. Jet’s fingers trailed upward, his fingertips just brushing onto the skin of Zuko’s neck, back and forth, rubbing him. Zuko swallowed what little spit he had in his mouth. It was tender, and kind, and much more affectionate than he ever dared to show in public. Zuko looked at him for as long as he could, their eyes never even flickering elsewhere. It was the most intensely captivating way Jet had ever looked at him, and this time, Zuko didn’t squirm under his gaze.

It felt too much like goodbye to be of any comfort, felt too late to do anything other than drink him in. He grasped his hands over Jet’s, only wishing he could plant their lips together and squeeze their eyes shut for just a moment.

Ping approached them, crawling under the brush. He was getting antsy. Zuko’s hand fell from Jet’s, but Jet’s hand didn’t fall from his shoulder, tethered there together just like that, like he couldn’t bear the thought of letting him go just yet. Ping’s eyes glanced between them, but fortunately didn’t seem to care in the slightest. “Shouldn’t we start firing?”

“Not yet,” Jet answered. Though Zuko could tell the air was getting heavier on him by the second. “We have to wait until they’re all over the bridge. We can’t risk them retreating back into the city. Then we’re back to square one.”

Ping huffed nervously, but he couldn’t argue with him. Despite just that he was the leader, he was also right. 

The Fire Nation cavalry stepped off the bridge onto the bare mass of land between the forest and the bridge, filing out into a wide line, and the infantry finally stopped leaking out of the gate.

“They’re here,” Ping noted from behind his tree. 

Jet’s eyes finally made it to the battlefield, and his hand slipped away. “Just a little longer.”

A Fire Nation general came forward, his horse immaculately armored down to the hooves. He looked blankly into the forest from roughly fifty yards away. He knew something was there, but clearly he didn’t know what, or where.

“Return the young master!” their General called to them. “And we won’t have to burn down this forest and slaughter you savage beasts!”

Jet stiffened, but didn’t answer his call, only watched from behind a blind, the artillery cannon squarely hidden behind him. 

“No answer? I expected as much from cowards! Bring her forward!” 

Two men dragged a woman forward, one of theirs, but one Zuko wasn’t entirely familiar with. “Getting women to do your dirty work! Dishonorable cravens!”

Jet went completely rigid, his eyes widened, but he kept still. 

“Jet!” Ping scolded him, as quietly as his voice could allow. 

Jet ignored him, his eyes on the woman. He was waiting for something still, and even Zuko nearly started snapping his fingers at him. He seemed frozen. It was time. It had to be. 

The Fire Nation general kicked the woman to her side from atop his horse, and she hit the ground with a loud cry. She’d probably broken something, or dislocated her shoulder at the very least. Jet nearly moved forward, his body twitching. But he was waiting, shaking. Pissed. 

Then suddenly, a single shot sounded from behind the army, from near the gate. Zuko’s eyes went upward to find a puff of smoke rising from on top of the wall of Omashu. Another cannon sounded, and the heads of the Fire Nation army all turned at once, looking behind them at the unfamiliar sounds that rang through the air like the cracks of lightning.

More shots, more puffs of smoke in the distance. Zuko’s heart was in his throat. …They’d only captured one woman out of fifty. The rest of them were still in the City. They were firing from inside.

The gates to Omashu fell closed, like someone had let the mechanism of the gate completely loose. It hit the ground loud enough to cause a wave of surprised gasping through the Fire Nation’s army, as they realized they had nowhere to go. They either raged forward into the forest or would be pushed backward over the cliff. Surrender was no longer an option for them. They were out in the open.

This victory was not short-lived, either. It didn’t take long for the women to appear on the wall-walk, thrusting Earth-Kingdom banners into the air. Their cries of victory could faintly be heard, even from this distance. And for the icing on the cake, they unfurled a long, green banner directly over the gate itself.

Zuko looked over at Jet, whose eyes had become half-moons from the depth of his grin. 

“Now?” Ping asked.

“NOW!” Jet shouted, raising himself above the threshold of the blind. “FIRE AT WILL! NOW! NOW! NOW! DON’T STOP UNTIL THEY’RE FUCKING DEAD!”

“WHAT?!” the general snapped as a pelt of arrows and thunderous roar of lead rocketed out of the bushes. Smoke filled the air instantly, the odor of sulfur cloying. The woman on the ground scrambled to her feet, running directly into the line of fire, just missing the lead pellets that began to fire indiscriminately into the crowd. She just narrowly avoided every single one as she leaped over the bushes into the forest, her robes hiked high over her hips. Lucky dove. “Drive forward, you fucking cowards!” the general directed his men, right before a shot landed directly through his heart.

But they couldn’t. The horses began to panic on all fronts, fearful of the unfamiliar sounds, neighing and rearing wildly into the air, throwing some of the riders and others taking off completely. 

Jet eyed Zuko. “Ready for the big one?” he asked, nodding behind him. 

Zuko only grinned back, something like an adrenaline-fueled frenzy roiling through him. The team of nearly six men heaved at the wheeled cannon. It was the heaviest thing he’d ever tried to move in his entire life, and they all called out, grunting, as it rolled only a few feet forward in the mud, just through the barrier of trees. The fuse was lit with a torch, and they all ran for it behind a tree, cupping their hands tightly over their ears. 

The fuse sizzled. Three. Two. One. Boom. 

It was quite possibly the loudest thing he’d ever heard, and his ears rang something fierce. The cannon jolted backward, the chains that tethered it to two trees yanking taut with a loud rattling, the chains cutting deep into the bark. The Fire Nation army shouted and cried out, their horses neighing and screaming as the projectile tore through at least four lines of soldiers. 

From a few yards away, the other artillery teams had just begun in on theirs. Then another and another. Down the line of trees. Boom. Boom. Boom.

“Again! Again!” Jet called, and it was back to work. Pack with gunpowder. Heave the cannonball in. Another fuse. Another light. Boom.

It was a slaughter. Half their army was gone already, laid flat on the field. An arrow whizzed passed Zuko’s head as the Fire Nation army was doing anything they could to fight back, firing wildly into the trees now. The cavalry that remained charged forward, stampeding through the bushes so the riders could stab their pikes into the brush.

To the side of them, a group of horses was pushing through, quickly being swarmed as men hiding in the brush cut the tendons of the horses’ legs, felling them. They stumbled and fought, shouted and cussed. He was pretty sure one of the horses fell on top of one of their men. He couldn’t tell. 

“Li! Come on!” Jet called. “Pay attention! We gotta’ keep going!” 

Keep going. Keep going. His breath was heavy. All of theirs were. But they had to keep going. Focus. Another cannonball. Another light.

The rain started, really started. The torch was struggling. The rain pelted the gunpowder on Jet’s brow, smearing it down into his eyes. He pressed it shut. Kept moving with one eye open.

The fuse lit, just barely, as horses closed in on them. They hid. It obliterated three of them only five yards away. “Fucking bastards!” Jet called. 

The fuses were wet. Fuck. The fuses were wet. More were nearly here anyway.

“Pikes! Ready the pikes!”

They readied the pikes. Zuko kneeled with the line of men and dug his pike into the ground as more horses trampled towards them. Zuko aimed, and the horse’s chest in front of him rammed directly into it, cracking the pike nearly in half from the force. He had to roll away as the horse trampled passed him, pike tip hanging out of it, spewing blood and screaming neighing. The rider slid down from the horse before it could fall completely. Zuko pulled the dao blades from the sheath, readying them. 

Fuck. He was tired. His back was to the battlefield, eyes on the forest and the rider. The rider stepped towards him, but an arrow, a friendly red arrow, struck him in the neck. 

Zuko was lucky sometimes. 

“Grab the bows! Keep lighting them up!”

The former artillery grabbed up from the piles of bows. Zuko did too. He was real shit with a bow. But he still drew it back, fired off as many arrows as he could over the line of bushes. He had no idea if any landed. But out of the line of archers, some were bound to make their mark if anyone was charging them. A single horse cried out, and the thud of a body hitting the ground. That was probably Longshot, if he had to make a guess.

It went quiet for a few long moments. Well, quiet, comparatively. The cannons had all stopped, and the horses weren’t rampaging through the bushes. There were still men shouting, rain hitting the leaves, arrows whipping through the air. To the side of him, Jet peeked over the threshold, and he stepped forward to the line of the field, looking out. Zuko and the rest of the men followed suit, timidly making sure it was safe.

That seemed to have been the last wave that had the guts to charge in. The firebenders, the ones who remained, as well as the few remaining horses, all scrambled around the battlefield. The only thing they really had left in any significant number were archers, and even they seemed to be packing up. Zuko looked down the line of trees to see the red tips sticking out of the wood all the way down it, the forest pin cushioned by arrows, thankfully, moreso than any of them seemed to be. It wouldn’t be a surprise if they were simply out of ammo at this point. He had no idea how long it’d actually been, but it felt like a short time. Time flies when you’re fighting for your life. It could have been forty-five minutes, probably the more realistic time, but it felt like five.

Some of the red army were off running down the line of the cliff, hoping to find an out. They were surrendering. Deserting, more so. Either way, they’d given up.

Some of their own men charged out of the forest, chasing them. Some had mounted horses and were drawing back arrows from their mounts, shooting wildly, almost not even seeming to care if they struck anymore. They were showing off now, screaming, hooting, shouting in the rain as they chased down their enemies. The men on the horses ran towards the bridge, waving their flags as the women up top waved theirs back. Victorious. 

They seemed to have realized it before even Jet did.

Zuko eyed Jet, whose eye was reddened and puffy, but now opened at least. He peeled the mask from his face and the helmet from his head and stepped out into the open, breathing heavily, looking around the battlefield as the water dripped down his face. Zuko followed just behind. A short, huff of a laugh left Jet’s lungs at first, then he turned to Zuko, as to confirm with him that what he was feeling was real. That all this was real. 

And Zuko could only give him the same look back. “We won?” he asked. 

Jet’s smile rose, all teeth. “I think we did,” he said. And then he laughed, heartier this time, more confident. “We fucking won!”

Then he grasped Zuko up in his arms, squeezing tightly, and Zuko could barely hold back the tears in his eyes as he hugged him back. They stayed like that for a long moment, resting his face on Jet’s shoulder, looking off at nothing in particular. He really wanted to go sit down, but the adrenaline still pumping through him was somehow keeping him upright.

Jet pulled away, holding his face with his hands, and looked at him. And before he could do anything, Jet planted a salty kiss right onto his lips. He could feel the smile against his skin.

Zuko’s eyes went wide, shocked, and Jet pulled away after only a moment.

“What -” Zuko said, tilting his head to the side. He wasn’t mad, just surprised. 

“We just took back Omashu,” Jet explained. “If these guys care that a fucking sodomite did it, then that’s their fucking problem. They can learn to deal with it or leave.”

Zuko huffed a laugh too, not bothering to pay any attention to the heat on his cheeks. After only a moment, his lips turned upside down, and the tears welled in his eyes, as every emotion he seemed to have hit him all at once. It was overwhelming everything that he felt.

Jet’s face fell, rubbing at his cheeks as one of his tears fell down it. His cheeks felt dirty under Jet’s fingertips. He couldn’t find it in himself to care, not that he was filthy, not that Jet was touching his scar, none of it. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I just -” He paused, hearing the crack in his voice. He kept going despite it. “I was scared, so scared you were going to die, and now I’m happy, and relieved, and I just -”

His lip quivered, and he felt ridiculous and stupid and weak. And he half-expected Jet to get mad at him for a second, of no fault of his own, which only made him feel like clamming up all the more. Spirits, could he just stop feeling things for one second? Why did adrenaline have to be like this? Why can’t he just be happy like everyone else?

“Hey, it’s okay,” Jet said gently. And he gave him a soft, mostly empathetic but partially amused smile. “You’re such a softy. You know that?”

“I am not,” he argued. 

Jet only gave him a chuckle and pulled him back into himself, holding him around his waist. And all he could really do was wrap his arms around Jet’s neck too. 

“It’s okay to be,” Jet said, talking into his hair. His voice was shaky too, now that Zuko could hear it closer. Jet was just much better at hiding it. He was sure that if neither of them had their armors on, Jet’s heart would be beating out of his chest still. Hyped up, coming down from a rush, maybe… saying things he doesn’t mean in the spirit of the situation. “...That’s why I love you, Li.”

Zuko froze, not knowing what to do with that at all. But he knew it filled him with so much joy and terror and guilt that he couldn’t say anything. He felt bad for choking up, but at the same time, he couldn’t really help it. It just sort of happened. He made some sort of strangled sound in Jet’s ear, as more tears fell down his cheeks. For a moment, he figured he was going to hurt Jet with how tightly his arms were around his neck. 

“...Me too,” Zuko choked out, finally, after finding a speck of firm ground to land on. It was probably the most ungraceful thing he could possibly say to that, but he was never the one out of the two of them to be good at talking. He could only hope Jet knew what he meant. He always did. It seemed to be the only thing he could get out anyway.

Thankfully, Jet didn’t seem to take any offense whatsoever and only chuckled lightly in his ear, petting the back of his hair with his hand. “For someone who can read so much better than me, you sure are bad with words.”

Zuko huffed out a laugh and pulled away from him, rubbing his eyes. “Sorry,” he murmured, his cheeks hot. He took a deep breath, trying to get a hold of himself.

“It’s fine. We got time to work on it,” Jet said, genuinely. He teased, “Just know I’ll never let you live this down.”

He couldn’t help but laugh again. Right. He deserved that. Me too. What a horrible way to say that. He didn’t think there was a worse thing to say. Besides, maybe I don’t love you, which just simply wasn’t true. But it was Jet’s stupid fault for bringing this all up right now anyway, catching him off guard when he was already hyped up and emotional.

“Try to calm down,” Jet said as he pressed his fingers into his mouth, letting out the sharp whistle that called his horse over. 

She did make her way over, whinnying a little as she neared him. He mounted the horse and held his hand out, and Zuko could only look up at him for a moment. Jet really wanted to go all out with this, didn’t he?

“Come on,” Jet said, “We got an army to round up and a world to take over. The day ain’t over yet.”

Zuko only smiled as he took his hand, pulling himself up to settle into the space on the saddle behind him. Jet took his horn from his waistband and blew, and a raucous rallying cry tore through the ranks. 

Today was a victory. And Zuko could worry about tomorrow sometime else.

Chapter Text

The cleanup from the battle was long and arduous, but thankfully, the injured men far outweighed the dead. A short line of graves was dug right there on the line of trees, with prayer flags strung over each one. 

The Fire Nation army, however, would require some helping hands from the citizens of Omashu. It was that, or they’d be left to rot. They simply didn’t have the manpower to bury them all, given the injuries sustained. The bodies were, however, looted for everything they were worth. Trinkets, jewelry, weapons, basically anything that could be sold for a week’s worth of meals or so. The battlefield was full of bodies and their respective scavengers. Zuko didn’t participate. He wasn’t blue-blooded by any means, but it was still a little gruesome for his tastes. 

He followed Jet around, per usual, not looking into the faces of any of the dead soldiers. There came a soft groaning, and his eyes fell to a man trapped under the body of a horse. He was alive, astonishingly, his legs buried under dead weight. 

Zuko’s eyes widened for a moment, looking down at him. He was older, his helmet toppled off to the side of his head, unable to do anything but wriggle and stare at the sun. Zuko grasped Jet’s hand as he passed, and Jet furrowed his brows as he realized it too.

Before Zuko could ask what they should do, Jet planted a boot on top of the horse, pressing down, and the man cried out. The edges of Jet’s lips lifted, ever so slightly. 

“Jet,” Zuko breathed, cutting his eyes at him sternly. “...Don’t forget your dream.”

I don’t want to be angry anymore. My dream is to be free.

To his surprise, Jet lifted his boot and set it back down on the ground. Jet eyed him, huffing an unamused breath. “You’re the only one who ever makes me forget my dream,” he murmured, not unkindly, but thoughtfully. “Do what you want.” And then he turned and simply walked off.

Zuko’s eyes followed his back for a few long moments, and then turned back to the man on the ground. 

“Please,” the man wheezed. “My legs -they, they’re busted.” He struggled for a moment, wincing. His head fell backward into the mud, and he looked up into the sky, the rain gently patting his face. “Hips too. I’m not making it home, kid. Just make it quick.”

Zuko’s breath hitched in his throat. Killing a man who was fighting him back was one thing. It was fair, and there was no guilt in doing so. Killing one trapped under a horse was another thing entirely. There was no glory in that. No honor.

“Please,” he murmured again. “Please, kid. It hurts.”

But there was in sparing a man from unnecessary pain. That, however, didn’t make it easy. But, he did. No ceremony in it. No celebration. Just plunged a knife into his heart and left it there. Then he turned and walked off, back toward the wagons.

He really wanted a bath. He felt dirty, and not just because of the mud caked to his skin.

He sat against the wheel of a covered wagon, relishing the shade for a few moments. He wanted to rest for a while before it was back to work. In the morning, they would all march their way into the city. They still had the castle itself to deal with, the governor or lord or whatever they were calling the leader here. Hopefully, they’d be of good sense and just surrender the throne. That was, if they hadn’t found a way to sneak out of the city already.

The kid, Tom-Tom or whatever his name was, sat inside the wagon with the women who’d delivered him. The women spoke softly to him, having a bit more compassion for him than anyone else here seemed to have. At the end of the day, he was just a kid. And thankfully, Jet seemed to have realized that without Zuko having to say a word. He’d peel the locket off a dead man’s neck without batting an eye, but when it came to kids, he was a bit softer. Not kind, but not cruel either. At least, not directly. 

“You’ll be going back to your family, sweety, don’t worry,” one of the women murmured. That was, if Jet didn’t order them killed. “And then you’ll get to go back home. Isn’t that exciting?”

“This is my home,” he said back, his voice young and afraid. 

And the women seemed to have come to an impasse with that, and they only shuffled inside the wagon for a few long moments. “How about this?” she said. “Tell me about your family. Talk to me about them. I’d love to hear about them.”

The boy went quiet, mulling his words. Probably suspicious to some degree, but in the way of children, quick to trust, especially with women. “Well, my mom and dad are usually really busy,” he said, sadly. “It’s mostly my sister I’m around.”

“Yeah?” the woman mused kindly. “What’s her name?”

“Mai.”

Zuko froze, the cloth he was using to rub the dirt from his face stilling in his hand. Mai. Mai’s brother. 

They’d kidnapped Mai’s brother. She was still in the city. 

Shit.

Nothing could just be easy, could it?

Everything else seemed to blur after that, and he found his foot tapping against the ground. Jet approached to sit next to him. He couldn’t look at him, only stared blankly at the blood speckled on his hands. 

“Hey, I just wanted to say,” Jet said softly, then turned to look at him, his brows furrowing. “Wait, are you alright?”

Zuko opened his mouth, but couldn’t find words to speak. The world felt like it was turning very quickly all of a sudden. He stood without saying a word, rounded the wagon, and vomited. 

Jet followed to plant a hand on the back of his neck, trying to be comforting, but he couldn’t bear being touched. 

“Are you-”

“I’m fine,” he bit out, shrugging him off. Jet looked at him, a little wounded, but at least he had an excuse. “I’m sorry I - I’m not feeling well.” He wiped his mouth with his forearm. Fuck he really wanted a bath. Wiping his mouth only made things fucking worse. He was sick of all of this already. And now he had this to fucking worry about.

“I’ll… get you some water,” Jet murmured, and then he turned to leave.

Zuko didn’t answer him, only pulled the skin on his temples back and leaned against the wood of the wagon. Just why? Why did the universe always have to prod at him? Why was everything so complicated all the time? He envied Jet in that way. How nice black and white must be. How much easier it must feel. He nearly felt guilty for not allowing him to have that, for making him question anything.

Because this was fucking awful. He’d finally found a place that felt easy, where he felt like his actions had a good reason again, a place where the world seemed to make sense. One line of singular purpose and nothing else.

And now, he was back to square one all over again. That line was branching off, and his brain wracked all the different ways it could go. 

Siege the castle, goad Mai’s family out with her fucking kid brother, kill her. Flood the castle with soldiers, kill her anyway. No, no, no. He wouldn’t. Couldn’t. She was always there when they were kids, always a kind presence amongst a sea of danger. Always gloomy, of course, but never unkind. To this day, she was the only one he thought he could trust, the only one he could ever love.

And now it was her, or betray the man he loved now. The man who took him in when he was nothing. An outcast with nowhere to go. Gave him a sense of place. A home. The man who never cared that he was marred, ugly. A man who kissed his lips even when they were smeared with mud and grime, who told him he loved him, who told him he was the only one who could make him forget his dream, forget his hatred. 

Jet slid back next to him, gingerly handing him a cup of water. He sipped at it, trying to keep his hands from shaking. In the end, all he could do was lay his head on Jet’s shoulder and stare off at nothing, their fingers laced in between them.

The night came, and with it, the much-needed bath. 

Zuko lay on the bed in their tent, staring blankly at the cloth. He hadn’t bothered to get dressed. Their usual straw pallet with a threadbare sheet covering it had been replaced ever since their stay at the inn. They got a taste for finer things, he supposed. And now a light mattress stuffed with wool would be his coffin for the night. It drew him in. He didn’t think he’d ever come up from it, nor did he really want to.

Jet slid into the bed, his hair still dripping little beads of water, glimmering specks of gold in the lamplight. He was always so beautiful like this. Completely bare, that little smile on his lips that he only ever seemed to have when it was just the two of them alone. Zuko couldn’t help but stare, and thankfully, Jet never seemed to mind. 

Without any fuss, Jet closed in on him to thread his fingers through Zuko’s hair. Jet pressed their foreheads together and looked in his eyes for a moment before placing a brief, sweet kiss on his lips. 

“Are you feeling any better?” he asked, a hairbreadth away.  

Zuko nodded, but even without speaking, the lie was obvious. Jet gently thumbed his cheek, his good cheek. He’d purposefully pressed the scarred side into the pillow. It felt shameful, suddenly, when it never had before with him. All he wanted to do was hide.

“I’m sorry about-” Jet said, looking down at nothing in particular, maybe something on the skin of his chest. “...Earlier. I shouldn’t have -”

And Zuko could only assume it was the cruelty he was apologizing for. Of course, Zuko had been upset, briefly. But now he felt cruel, because this whole time Jet had assumed it was him on his mind, or at least, something he’d done wrong. It really couldn’t be more the opposite. 

Jet did everything right, at least, when it came to him. And really, the question now was whether he deserved it. 

“I’m not upset with you,” Zuko murmured. 

“Then what?”

“I -” He paused. It felt too easy, too safe, to just tell him in that moment. Let it all spill out. He wanted to, so, so badly. But he knew he couldn’t. If there was something worse than Jet loving him, it was Jet hating him. He’d like to believe Jet would never be cruel to him, despite what he was. But then again, he thought the same of his own family at first, and look how that turned out. Being anyone other than Zuko was always safer, even here, even if it wasn’t real. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay,” Jet conceded, seeming happy that, at the very least, it wasn’t a problem between the two of them that needed settling. He never was one to pry, which was the only reason this whole thing had lasted as long as it had. Jet pressed his lips gently to his again, rubbing his fingers through the back of his hair, like he was something precious, something fragile. He pulled away, whispering, “I can make you feel better, if you want.”

Zuko knew what he was saying. Offering himself, be it to suck his dick or for Zuko to dominate his backside, probably the latter. It’s what Jet preferred out of the two. Jet was always in control of everything. It was his way of relinquishing it, giving it to someone else for just a little while. A release. It helped him forget.

But the problem was, Zuko didn’t feel in control of anything right now. In fact, he was tailspinning in the other direction. But it wasn’t like he didn’t want to. He always wanted to. He wondered if he was ever in control anyway, with the powerlessness that washed over him when it came to Jet’s touch. 

“I can’t, right now…” Zuko murmured, nuzzling his face into the pillow to shut his eyes away from the world. When Jet made a small, confused sound, he added, hoping Jet would see what he meant, “...But you can.”

His eyes weren’t open to see Jet’s reaction, but Jet did give him a surprised, but not dismayed, “...Oh.”

They’d never done things the other way around before, even after so long. It never felt safe enough to have someone over, moreso in his body in that way. But right now, he couldn’t find it in himself to care. Jet could pin him down and force him, hurt him, and he’d let him, not that he thought Jet would. But he almost wanted him to, darkly, in a way that made him feel sick in the head. He wanted to be punished for what he was thinking of doing - and to show Jet that he loved him before he did it, by way of offering his vulnerable body, his suffering, anything. Just take it.

“You’re sure?” 

“I’m sure.” He rolled to his back to prove it, his legs falling open in the way Jet usually did when Zuko stretched him with his hand. He was always careful with it, not wanting to hurt him. But he didn’t want Jet to be careful. He wanted him to hurry and take him for all he was worth. He simply placed his arm over his eyes and waited. 

Jet shuffled for a few long moments, probably slicking his fingers with oil. The weight shifted between his legs, and Jet’s left hand placed on his thigh, caressing. A wave of uncertainty shot through him at the sensation, despite his cock twitching in answer. He finally dared to look up at Jet from under the skin of his arm, staring at the obelisk of man between his legs, and he didn’t think ever been so desperate for something in his life, by no way of physical want. It was all in his head.

“Please,” he said, more like a sob than anything. 

And Jet obliged, running the slick of oil down the length of his shaft with one slick movement, working it down onto his perineum. Then finally, wetting the area of him that he wanted nothing more than to be torn open. 

But Jet didn’t, wouldn’t, only worked his fingers in maddening circles that made him bite his lips up in his teeth. Jet’s chest rose in heavy, measured breaths, his hand squeezing his thigh, looking down at him like he’d never seen something more beautiful in his life. He didn’t want to be beautiful. He wanted to be a thing Jet buried his cock in, so that both of them could drown.

He begged again, and Jet worked his finger inside. Zuko pressed his brows together, frowning but writhing all the same. Everything was too slow, not nearly painful enough. Why couldn’t Jet just understand? He wanted roughness, meanness, ill-will, and cruelty. Why couldn’t he just give him that? Give him some excuse to make what he was about to do justifiable.

Jet wasn’t trying to hurt him, which hurt more. “Just do it, please.”

“Shut up and relax. I can’t if you don’t.”

He tried. He couldn’t bear the thought of him stopping now. It was all some slick, obscene blur as more fingers delved inside him. He thought he could come just like this, but he didn’t. His hand found itself gripped to Jet’s arm, the one that was tethered to his thigh. A whine left his throat, and Jet finally positioned on top of him to take up the space in his mouth with his tongue; their bottom halves melted together. 

“Fuck baby,” Jet breathed against his lips. He shouldn’t call him that. Why did he have to call him that? Call him a stupid whore for all he cared. Slap him. Choke him until the lights turned off and never came back on.

Jet looked into his eyes. It was horrible. It was perfect. Jet was perfect. He thought he would weep at how perfect it all was. “You’re perfect,” Jet whispered as his cock slid inside him. 

Zuko wanted to hate him. Wanted Jet to hate him back. It’d be so much easier, wouldn’t it? But it felt too good. So good, a tear ran down his cheek. “Are you okay?” Then a nod, and they kept going. Jet kissed the side of his mouth, wiped his tear away with his thumb. Everything was so overwhelming, but he wanted it to last forever. It didn’t. Everything inside him built and built, as Jet rocked into him over and over, and he couldn’t help it. He cracked a cry as he spilled in between their stomachs. 

Everything inside him burned. Jet kept going. He had no choice. Jet came, groaning, clenching up a gentle fistful of Zuko’s hair in his hand, then lay flat on top of him, his body giving up. And all Zuko could do was trail his hands up his back, feeling the stilled muscles under his fingertips. 

Zuko felt like weeping in the aftermath, and so, he did. And Jet cradled him like the precious thing that he was. Shushing him, cooing him, telling him everything was alright when it wasn’t. 

Jet was always a good liar. 

“I love you, Li,” he said again, but Li did not exist. “Please, don’t cry.”

He finally stopped and held Jet in his arms late into the night, listening to Jet’s breath rising and falling until he was sure Jet was asleep. He dressed himself and slipped out of the tent, weaving to where the boy was in his wagon. 

He shook him awake, and when the boy blinked bleary eyes open, he whispered, “Get up.”

Chapter Text

The horse’s hooves thudded against the bridge, the gate just ahead, the first of probably many obstacles. The boy clung to Zuko’s back, his arms wrapped around his front from behind him on the saddle. The torchlights from just outside the gate illuminated them in a warm glow as he pulled the reins, slowing the horse to a halt. 

“Who’s there?” a woman called down to him, her head hanging over the wall-walk.

“It’s Li!” 

A moment of silence, then, “Li?”

The women shuffled from their posts, a couple of them appearing on the opposite side of the gate. They looked at him for a long moment before turning to each other. “Go wake Mama Shu. Something must be wrong.”

The other nodded. 

The horse huffed as he waited. It wasn’t Shuyi who appeared first, but rather Smellerbee. She glared at him in that cautiously skeptical way she always did, the torchlight shadowing her severe expression with a gridded pattern. 

“What are you doing here?” she asked. “Did Jet send you? With… him?”

There was no use in lying. She knew Jet didn’t, because why would he? “No.”

Her eyes narrowed. He should have known she’d be a hurdle in this. He’d learned over the last few months that the relationship between her and Jet was like that of a zealot and a deity. She may question Jet, quite often actually, but at the end of the day, when her God said jump, she asked how high. He respected it. He’d had a similar devotion to his nation at one point. But this was not that. This was simply doing the right thing, keeping a family from being torn apart that he knew didn’t deserve it. Mai, in particular, did not deserve it.

And it still stood that, currently, Smellerbee’s loyalty was in his way.

“You’re going behind his back?” she asked, incredulous. Despite her suspicions about him, this wasn’t what she expected. To be fair, it wasn’t what he expected either.

“Open the gate,” he answered. 

She scrunched her brows. “Why would I? I can’t go against ord-”

“What’s going on?” Shuyi interrupted, stepping into view, her voice thick with sleep. She peered through the gate at him, surprised but affectionate nonetheless. “Li? What are you doing out there?”

“I’m giving the boy back to his family,” he answered firmly. “I’ll convince them to leave the city peacefully. They’ve already lost. They can take their son and go.”

Shuyi pursed her lips, thinking for a moment. “Did… Did Jet ask you to do that?”

It sounded like she already knew the answer. He shook his head. 

“These are the people who took my darling Daiyu and ripped the tongue from her mouth,” she noted. “You understand that?”

There was really no arguing that. Shuyi hated Omashu more than anyone. She’d see the castle razed even before the Fire Nation occupied it. For a moment, he lost hope that his plan would work at all. He’d have to return to Jet, explain himself, and reap the consequences.

He should start thinking these things through.

But he couldn’t give up now. He had to at least try; otherwise, he couldn’t live with himself, knowing he let Mai die.

“He’s just a kid,” he tried instead, knowing that Mama Shu wasn’t known for her heartlessness, by any means. “He didn’t do anything wrong.”

She nodded, thoughtfully, and it was her turn to receive the acidity of Smellerbee’s glare. Before Smellerbee could argue against him, she spoke again.

“I had a son …once. He’d be a little younger than that one is now,” Shuyi said sternly, to both of them or no one in particular. And that new piece of information seemed to have slapped both him and Smellerbee completely silent. She’d never spoken about it before, not once. But then her voice trailed off, lost, dark. “Fathered right here in this city, in that brothel a few streets down. The madam said I could keep ‘em, so long as I kept up my work, and I did.” She went silent for a moment, growing angry, and her arm threw a finger towards the castle. “And then they came, and their army took him from me, right from arms when he was just a babe. For no other reason than that they could. And you want me to go behind the back of the man who saved me from all of it?”

Her eyes never left Zuko’s, and he was so sure that gate would never be raised for him. And the thing was, he couldn’t even blame her for turning him around. Sending him away. For not wanting to return a child, when hers was gone.

…For not betraying Jet.

It was awful. He felt awful. 

But he had to stay firm. He had nothing, besides pleading. “Please, Shuyi,” he murmured. “It’s important to me. It just… it feels like the right thing to do. I can’t explain it.”

“I’d give anythin’ to have my son back. To even know where he is,” she said, and Zuko nodded, thoughtfully, carefully.

“I’d give him to you,” he answered softly, genuinely. “If I could. Just like I’m giving this one back."

She looked at him for a long moment, quietly solicitous and just… sad. Something inside her broke, and her voice shook. “You know he won’t be happy about this. I know you two are -” She didn’t say it, but she knew. “...He might even cast you out. You understand that, don’tchu’?”

Zuko nodded, even though everything in him screamed to turn around.

She sighed, then gripped the top of her hair up in her hand. “I can’t stop a good man from doin’ a good thing,” she said, mostly to herself, looking at the inside of her arm.

Then she turned her head upward, called up into the gate tower. “Open the gate!”

“Shuyi, you -” Smellerbee started, but it seemed even she had nothing to argue. She simply huffed and stepped out of the way as Zuko brought the horse under the gate. 

Shuyi stepped towards him, looking up at him. She set a motherly hand down onto his knee, patting it. “I don’t know what your reasons are,” she said softly. “But I’m sure they’re good. But you’re still a jackass.” Then she turned her attention to the boy. “Hang on tight, sweetheart, and tell your family Mama Shu says hello.” And before Zuko could even mutter his thanks, she slapped the horse’s haunches, and it took off running, up the road towards the castle. 

The houses trotted by in blurs, the horse’s hooves clopping against the stone streets. The boy directed him as well as he could: take a right, take a left, down this alleyway. No, no, not that one. The next one. The streets were empty, the whole city hiding away from the night, and more so, the war. He wasn’t sure how long it took to finally reach to castle. Omashu was impressively large and complex, but they did eventually make it. 

The steps up to the entryway came into view from the street, torches lighting the steps and the door, and Zuko pulled the horse to a stop just before the road ended. Galloping straight through the front door with green armor on probably wasn’t the best idea. As soon as the horse stopped, the boy slid from the saddle, running up to a very surprised set of Fire Nation guards. Zuko followed not far behind, his hands up, surrendering. 

“The young master?” a guard said as the boy threw his arms around him. 

The others eyed Zuko, immediately lowering their pikes or going into a firebending stance. “Halt! Intruder!” Then he called over his shoulder, calling in more guards. “Enemy soldier! Move in, move in!”

It didn’t take long for him to be surrounded, but the boy, Tom-Tom, called to them. “Don’t hurt him! Don’t hurt him!”

The boy was swiftly escorted inside, and just as quickly, Zuko was tackled to the ground. His arms were pinioned behind his back, and he cried out at the roughness, but it was really no use. His hands were handcuffed behind him, and he was drug upwards by them. 

“Mai,” he said, as they brought upward into the building. “Please, let me speak with Mai.”

“Fat chance. Like I’d let some Earth Kingdom scrap speak with Lady Mai.”

He tripped on a stair, but his body was quickly caught and pushed forward again. “Please, please, it’s me,” he tried. “It’s Prince Zuko. Tell her it’s Zuko.”

A guard actually turned to look at him, incredulous, offended, more like it. “Prince Zuko is dead. Has been for nearly a decade. We all had to attend his royal fucking funeral. Hours standing in the sun. So, watch your lying tongue before I cut it from your mouth.”

Zuko actually stopped walking at that. It felt like the air had been punched from his lungs. Dead? His father told everyone… he died? Before he had much chance to contemplate it, his body was being shoved forward again, inside the threshold of the castle.

He was led down the stairs into corridors, a dizzying array of winding hallways below the rest of the castle, but still above the rest of the city. There he was shoved into a small, bedroom-sized room with no furniture whatsoever, and his handcuffs were clipped onto a short chain hanging from the stone wall. There was barely enough lead so that he could sit on the floor, and so he did, but not enough slack to lie down comfortably without his arms raising behind him. A tiny window let in mute moonlight, the bars casting blurry shadows on the floor. 

“I’m sure Governor Ukano would love to meet his son’s kidnapper before he’s executed,” a guard said. “So, just hang tight.”

Zuko opened his mouth to speak, but before he ever got the chance, the door slammed shut. He huffed a breath. Well, at least Mai’s father had a chance of recognizing him, even if he thought he was dead. He had still seen him in person before, even if it had been years. 

There was still a chance this could all work. If he were patient enough. 

If there was one thing it seemed he could never escape, and one thing he never should have forgotten, it was the cruelty of his own people. The morning sun was over the horizon, peeking through the window, and he hadn’t yet slept a wink. 

The torturer would simply not allow it. He really, really should start thinking things through.

Blood trailed from his mouth and onto the stone floor, the inside of his cheek busted open. He lapped his tongue over it, his breath heavy. They’d started with the not-as-horrible things first, like sloshing ice water on him. It didn’t take long for that to morph into a baton being bashed against his thighs and ribs.

Even Zuko trying to prove to them that he was a firebender, by conjuring small wisps of flames in his palms, had not done him any favors thus far. The fire had sputtered alive in his palms. It’d been so long since he’d firebended anything, and the shivering hadn’t helped. He’d nearly forgotten how to do it at all. But it felt like something inside him reawakened, a sleeping dragon prodded to life.

But that only deemed him a kidnapper and a traitor, however. A traitor who he was sure had a couple of cracked ribs, and had just taken a meaty punch directly to his jaw.

“We can do this all day,” the torturer said. “Just tell me who the leader of your little group is. And you may see the light of day again.”

“Fuck yourself,” Zuko murmured. They'd kill him before he said a word about Jet.

“Fine,” the man said, and reared his hand back, slapping him square across the wound he’d just inflicted on his cheek, spreading his blood out in a wide arc on the floor. The force of it knocked his head to the side again. He winced, of course, he did. 

He heaved in heavy breaths, steadying himself on his knees. They scraped against the ground, and he could feel his eye starting to swell shut.

“Please,” he said, looking up at the man. “You need to tell Mai to leave. To run. He’ll come and burn this place to the ground. What don’t you fuckers understand about th-”

He didn’t get to finish before being doused with ice water again. This cocksucking mother fucker. The man dropped the bucket on the ground, kicking it away. And Zuko could only shiver and spit blood and water from his mouth, trailing down his chin and onto the top of his tunic. They hadn’t bothered to cut his clothing off yet. The cold water clung to his skin better that way. But if the current rate of how this was going was any indication, it wouldn’t be long now. His legs were starting to bruise and swell, and this psycho probably liked to see his work. 

The man had other plans. He stood over him, shifting his foot between Zuko’s legs to tap his boot upwards, right against the most sensitive part of him, taunting. 

“You know a lot of people neglect this area,” he said. “But I think it’s rather effective.”

Zuko could only grit his teeth and look up at him. Oh, this sick fuck -

Thankfully, the door swung open before his nethers could feel anything other than the boot sliding away from them. He let out a grateful breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding, and tried to focus on the figure entering the room. 

Whoever it was was blurry, a shifting morph of red robes that went still the moment they walked in the door. It was so silent for a moment, one could hear a pen drop. Then, softly, almost inaudibly, “...Zuko?”

Zuko exhaled. He hadn’t been called that name in so long. Nor had he heard that voice in years, familiar and comforting. It sent a wave of longing and almost nostalgia through him.

“Mai?” 

Her body shifted inside the room, and she spoke in that same, measured way she always had. But Zuko could tell there was a barely veiled fury there. “Akio, what have you done?!”

The man floundered immediately. “Lady Mai,” he said. “I was just - this man here, he’s the one who-”

“Out,” she ordered, pointing. “Go back down to whatever hole you crawled out of before Father hears about this. In fact, he will hear about this.”

The man threw himself into a bow, backing away and out the door. “Yes, Lady Mai. I’m sorry, Lady Mai.”

The door didn’t even click fully shut before she was kneeling in front of him, grasping his face in her hands to lift it upward. His head was just sort of hanging there before that. 

“Zuko,” she said again, like she still couldn’t quite believe it. “Are you alright?”

“Well, I’m -” He paused to swallow a mouthful of blood, his voice sounding raw and even raspier than usual. “Alive.”

He could see her face better now that she was closer. She really hadn’t changed a bit. Even her hairstyle was the same, albeit much longer now, trailing over her shoulders, and distinctly lacking in childlike ribbons. And her face had lost the roundness, taking on much more angular features. So similar, yet so different. She was beautiful, just like she was then. For a moment, he was the same soaking wet kid peering down at her from the bottom of a fountain, the heat of a blush on his cheeks.

Her brows furrowed, both happy to see him and mortified at the state of him. Her face couldn’t decide which. “I can’t believe it. When I heard the guards say your name, I came running. I didn’t think it could be true. Your Father, he -”

“So, I’ve heard,” he finished for her. “...I just hope my funeral was nice,” he added, softly, sadly. He’d come to terms with a lot of things his father did, but somehow, he still found a way to twist the knife, even after Zuko was already banished and dealt with. Getting rid of him just wasn’t enough, not for Ozai. He needed everyone to forget he even existed.

But Mai hadn’t forgotten, clearly. And… that was good. He’d be really pissed off right now if she had.

Her lips twitched upward into the smallest of empathetic smiles. Then she threw her arms around him, hugging him tight. He dealt with it, even though it hurt quite a bit. He did, however, squeeze out a small, pained sound despite himself.

“Sorry, I -” she said. She backed away from him in an instant, hurrying to the wall to grab the set of keys. The arms that were bound behind his back suddenly went slack as she unlocked him, and they fell forward, feeling numb and stiff. 

“Can you stand?” she asked. 

He nodded. He was pretty sure of it. It would hurt, but he could. She helped hoist him upward, and he felt a little dizzy. “I need water,” he managed. 

She grasped the cup the man had been using for his own drink. Zuko didn’t even care. He swigged it down, ignoring how it stung the inside of his cheek. It was room temperature tea, tea that would make Uncle ashamed, but he couldn’t even give a shit. It washed the blood down his throat, and that was enough.

“You need to leave, Mai,” he said, his breath still feeling heavy in his chest, his hand still grasping at her shoulder to help steady him. “I brought your brother back. You and your family need to go.”

“We’ll have reinforcements soon,” she said. “We’ll be okay. We -”

“I don’t think you understand.” He looked at her with tired, puffy eyes. “Your whole army is gone. There’s no one else coming. And the mercenaries are coming here this morning. They’re probably already on the way. And he’ll… he’ll tear this place apart if he has to.”

He paused for a moment, wondering, a bit nervously, if Jet would hurry knowing he was here. Or if the women told him at all. What if he had no idea? Just thought he ran off somewhere. Had Jet woken this morning, searched his hand across the bed, to ultimately find nothing lying there in wait for him?

He couldn't think about that right now.

“Okay,” she breathed, nodding thoughtfully. “I’ll tell my parents. I think - I think there’s an escape tunnel that leads out, underneath the city.”

Zuko nodded, and she looked at him for a long moment. “...What about you?”

“...You know I can’t go with you.”

“But you -” She paused, looking off in a quietly sad way. “...You really did join them, didn’t you?”

He nodded. What else could he do? “I didn’t have a lot of options,” he added, feeling the need to explain it. “You think I wanted this?”

“No,” she murmured. She sighed, contemplating something for a moment. 

He tilted his head at her. “...What?”

“There’s still a chance for you,” she said, glancing at him and then away, unsure. 

“What are you talking about?”

“For you to come back home,” she said, finally.

His stomach dropped, and all he could really do was look at her, wordless.

“Your Uncle has left the Fire Nation,” she continued. “...Looking for the avatar. I think he’s really looking for you, now that I think about it. But… he’s out there, Zuko. He’s been seen. The avatar is alive.”

His mouth hung open, and he didn’t seem to be getting enough oxygen suddenly. “Don’t say that to me,” he murmured. “Please don’t say that.”

She went to say something else, and he immediately interjected. “No, Mai. I’m dead.” He hadn’t really realized the hurt in that until he said it out loud. Dead. Pointedly, just like that. “They don’t want me there. That place is not -”

Not home. …It never was.

“Well, they say it’s where the heart is,” Jet said. “Or something cheesy like that.”

He knew where his heart was. He didn’t then, but he knew now. “I belong here, Mai. Please understand that.”

Mai nodded, sadly, but nodded all the same. “Okay,” she said. Then she pulled him in for one last, brief hug, thankfully, not as tightly this time. “I miss you, Zuko.” And she actually sounded a little sad that time.

He cracked a sad smile. The one time Mai expressed herself was at a time like this.

“I miss you too,” he said. And he meant it. “You were always a good friend.”

“And you still are,” she noted. “Thank you for doing this.”

He smiled, even though it hurt his cheek. He tried to be. Even though he was really fucking up in one area right now. 

“Let’s get you out of here,” she said, lifting his arm over her shoulder. He thought about protesting proudly, but after taking a step, he quickly realized he needed it. 

She helped shuffle him out the door into the hall, and before they could even begin down the corridor, there came a loud, thunderous boom from someplace distant. That was a cannon. The big one.

Her brows knit tightly together. “What is that?”

Zuko could only press his eyes shut. “He’s here,” he murmured. And apparently, Jet was not in the mood for negotiations. “I was too late. I’m sorry, Mai, I -”

“Shut up and keep walking, idiot.”

Alright.

Up the winding stairs was slow-moving, and the sounds only grew louder the closer they got to the top. Mai was as patient as she could be, but he could tell the air of uncertainty was getting to her. They passed an arrow slit of a window, and they both peered out of it for just a brief moment. A sea of Earth Kingdom green was flooding the front door of the castle. He wouldn’t be surprised if they were already inside. The guards they had outside were chump-change in comparison.

The door to the main hall came into view, and a loud shot sounded, echoing down the corridor to the dungeon. Mai froze, her hand beginning to tremble, ever so slightly, on his waist. 

“Where is he?!” from just outside the door.

And Zuko had the stomach-dropping feeling that Jet was not talking about the Governor.

The man whom he was speaking to floundered something unintelligible, and then the sound of his body being bludgeoned against the door. 

“Zuko, what do we do?” Mai said, nearly a whisper. 

“I -” He couldn’t blame her fear. Being on the other side of Jet’s fury was something else entirely. He felt it himself. But Zuko knew him. He could talk to him. Mai’s hand slid to something, probably a throwing knife, or three. “No, Mai, please.”

She looked as unsure as he felt, but despite him, she took her knives out anyway.

The door kicked open, and the first part of Jet that came into view was his powerful leg swinging back down. The door bounced off the adjacent wall, and Jet took no pause in barreling down the stairs. His eyes caught up with his surroundings quickly, and he went still for a long moment, a flood of men directly behind him. 

His eyes glanced between the two of them over the top of his mask. His eyes softened at the sight of Zuko, then widened at the sight of Mai.

“You get your filthy fucking hands off of him,” Jet spat, his grip tightening over his hooks. 

“No, Jet, please listen,” Zuko said, calling up to him. 

Jet’s brow somehow drew tighter. But he was not worried about anything he had to say. He continued down the stairs, and Zuko, as well as he could, pushed Mai behind him. She stepped backward down a couple of stairs, but didn’t go far. 

Zuko leaned against the railing as one of Jet’s gloved hands found his face, abandoning his hook to let it clatter on the stone. Jet’s eyes were soft, concerned, his thumb shaking as he brushed it over Zuko’s busted cheek, just barely touching him at all. “Li, what did they do -” His breath shook. “Why did you -  Li, why did you do this?” he breathed. 

Jet wasn’t angry. He couldn’t be. Not with the condition Zuko was in. And he didn’t know if that was better or worse.

Zuko couldn’t finish any thought. “I’m sorry, Jet,” he said. Because he was. It felt like the only thing he could say. “I’m so sorry, I -”

Jet’s lips trembled with fury, and he cut his eyes away, back down the stairs. “You did this.”

Zuko could barely grasp onto the cloth under his arm, but he did. “No, Jet, she helped me. She’s helping me.” It made Jet still enough to get another few words out, at least. “Please, don’t hurt her.”

Jet looked at him, bewildered, angry, every emotion he seemed to have inside him. 

“Zuko,” Mai said, finally. “My family -”

“Zu -” Jet started, confused, then looked at him. Jet hadn’t quite caught on yet. And really, how could he? Just the night before, he’d made love to Li. Told Li that he loved him. 

“Don’t hurt her,” Zuko murmured, unable to meet his eyes, ashamed. “Please, just let her and her family go.”

“You know her?” Jet asked, trying to put a puzzle together that he didn’t have all the pieces to. “I don’t - I don’t understand. Li, what the fuck is going on?!”

His shame ate at him, rapidly and without remorse, a flood of poison running through his veins, and he couldn’t handle it. And so, he buried it with anger for just a moment. “Jet, please!” he nearly shouted, his eyes pressed shut. “If you give me one thing, one thing in this world, you’ll let them go. I’ll never ask you for another fucking thing again. Let them surrender, and leave in peace.”

Jet huffed a breath, and Zuko added, softly now, the nail in his own coffin, “And I’ll tell you everything. Everything you want to know.”

A quiet moment crawled by. And Jet only reached down to pick his abandoned sword up in his grasp, putting it back in its holster, his movements slow and measured, as if he was wading through molasses. Or, maybe, it just felt that way. He looked at Zuko for what felt like a long time, but he couldn’t look back. Every ounce of energy he had was in simply keeping himself upright. 

“Okay,” Jet said, simply, and with no emotion he could decipher. Maybe numb, or maybe he just simply didn’t know what emotion to express at all. In some state of denial or shock or something in between. “Okay,” he said again, firmer that time, then turned his head over his shoulder to call up to the men waiting behind him. “File out. Wait outside in the courtyard.”

A wave of wordless shuffling as the men exited back up the stairs. And Jet, despite really knowing how to feel, still lifted Zuko’s arm over his shoulder, helping him up the rest of the stairs. 

Behind him, he heard the softest, “Thank you, Zuko,” he’d ever heard. He didn’t respond. Only marched upward as well as he could, his head hanging low, leaving Mai behind for the last time. 

Everything was a painful blur after that: the steps, the hallway, all the way out into the courtyard. The sunlight hit his face, bright and warm and emboldening that flame inside him that had been dormant for so long. Zuko was never dead. 

Jet helped hoist him upward into the back of a covered wagon, peeling the soaked clothes from his body and laying him down to rest in the private sanctity the wagon provided. As he lay there, staring at Jet, who stared at nothing, he couldn’t help but feel as if he were attending his own funeral. Jet sat above him on the bench, a glazed look over his eyes, his hand covering his own mouth, brow taut and full of worry. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t really have to.

Zuko may be alive, but Li was dead and gone. 

Chapter Text

A blanket wrapped around him as Jet half-heaved his body inside their tent. Zuko was far past sore, wracked with bruises, and swollen at nearly every angle and flat plane of his body. Jet’s movements were kind and careful as he moved him, helping him sit down on the bed. Zuko hadn’t been able to meet his eyes the entire trip back.

Jet still hadn’t said anything. Not a word. And silence threatened to eat him alive as Jet sponged the blood from his tender skin. He wished he wouldn’t do that, for no other reason than it heightened his guilt, but it wasn’t like he couldn’t use the help. But it did bring comfort, to some extent, short-lived and fleeting, knowing that even though he knew Jet was angry with him, Jet was still willing to be tender and kind towards him. Though he was cynically conscious of, a little too much so, that the infraction Jet was aware of was quite dim in comparison to the ones he would soon learn.

Unfortunately, they’d really only nicked the iceberg of all the things he was hiding. He could only imagine that this would not last very long, not after everything came floating to the surface and was laid bare, bobbing, the shipwrecked pieces fully visible on the waterline. He just tried to be grateful that Jet hadn’t made him say it all with a torso sticky with his own dried blood, and held onto that kindness for as long as he could. And he tried, and failed, to just enjoy the few last moments of stillness with him, moments that may just be the last. 

The questions were obvious on Jet’s face. But it was almost as if he’d rather not ask, to prolong this for as long as he could, with the way his hands seemed to slowly work the blood from his body, the way his touch seemed to delicately linger on blotches of Zuko’s already cleaned skin. Or, it could just be that Zuko was more fragile than he ever really was, and Jet was simply acting accordingly, acting like anyone else who’d been put in his position would.

Proven to Zuko over and over, Jet’s tenderness towards him (tenderness that was quite obviously more than what was given to just any old body) was simply for the sole sake of being tender, and not some other underlying, nefarious purpose. Although welcome, it was still a little hard to believe. But that was all really just him, by no fault of Jet in the slightest. Regardless of any of that, it still stood that Jet was very obviously procrastinating with it this time around. And he didn’t know if that made things easier, or much, much worse. It gave him time to think. To hope.

Maybe Jet wouldn’t ask. Maybe, he’d be too scared of the answers and never ask at all. And they would stay in this moment of unsure-but-peaceful liminality for the rest of time. They could just go right back to pretending, like nothing ever happened at all. 

Or, maybe, even better yet, Jet would simply laugh him away. Call him in a teasing way an idiot. Because he knew. All along. And he had been simply waiting this whole time for Zuko to come clean about it. And they’d both laugh a little at the absurdity. Because it had been so obvious to Jet, I mean, just look at him, and it was so, so silly for Zuko to ever try to hide it in the first place. That amount of hope almost erred on the shamefully naive side of things, and would be humiliating if ever spoken out loud. It was wishful thinking, at best—delusion at worst, definitely teetering towards the latter more than anything. But, he figured, with the looming threat of his world imploding in front of him, he could allow himself a bit of reprieve.

After Jet found him a loose set of dry clothes and helped him to slip them on, Zuko sat on the bed. His fingers picked at one another in his lap, a sort of neurotic, catatonic state washing over him, if there was such a thing, as opposite as those two things were. 

Jet set himself down on a chair, a wobbly, good-for-nothing stool, and leaned over to scoop up a large bottle and two cups from the bottom of a trunk. He pulled the cork from the bottle of spirits with his teeth, haphazardly spitting it off to the ground. There was still half a bottle left, and Jet was, apparently, not planning on reusing the cork. 

He set the cups down on the table next to him and finally met Zuko’s eyes. 

“Is this a one-drink conversation or a two-drink conversation?” 

When Zuko’s only answer was a deep frown, Jet nodded. “Two it is. You look like you could use it regardless.”

And that was, quite frankly, the understatement of the century. 

The clear liquor poured into the glass, and Jet nervously, but gingerly, walked the cup to him, then returned to his seat. Zuko sipped at it, immediately regretted it, and tilted the entire cup down his gullet. It burned, of course it did, but no worse than anything else at this point. 

Jet did the same with his, grimacing at the taste of the stuff in his throat, then played with the glass in his fingertips for a long moment.  He stared down at it, actually at a loss for words for once in his life. He probably had so many questions that he didn’t even know where to begin. Zuko sat there, timidly, unable to help the feeling that this felt akin to an unfaithful husband caught hilt deep in a whore’s mouth, red-handed, in no worse place than that of his wife’s own bed. And he was being confronted with divorce in the aftermath. He wondered, a bit dimly, if that’s what Jet thought this was. That Zuko had simply become besotted under the spellwork of some enemy harlot. That they’d been trading letters behind his back all along. 

Honestly, Jet would probably handle that much better than the reality, the reality that he was the one enamored with the enemy. That he was the one who’d been tainted.

After what felt like a long time, Jet did, regrettably, have to start somewhere. He set the glass on the table next to him, in a way that was almost unnervingly calm, then leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. And Zuko immediately felt himself clamping up, his nervousness gnawing away at his stomach, flipping and turning over on itself. He wasn’t ready. He had to be. It was here, and it was happening now, and he wanted nothing more than to go find someplace to vomit.

“You want to explain to me how it is that you know a Fire Nation, whatever the fuck royalty she is, apparently well enough to -” Jet gestured to Zuko’s entire body with a wisp of his hand. “- risk all of this to save her life? To go behind my back to do it?’

Zuko risked a glance at him, immediately regretted it when he found Jet’s jaw set and firm, his gaze unwavering; a look of paper-thin patience but patience nonetheless. He immediately looked away, back down to his hands, which had, without much of his say-so, knotted themselves together.

“I -” He paused, thinking, and just decided there really was no perfect way to say any of this. “We were friends, growing up,” he said, settling on it. Probably much too vague for Jet’s liking, but a decent enough start. “The kid… he mentioned her name. And I just… I didn’t want her to die.”

Jet nodded, just barely, his brain trying to puzzle together another question. “You love her or something?” 

“No.” That answer came out easily, quickly. So much so, that he actually thought he saw the tension visibly release, just slightly, from Jet’s shoulders. It wasn’t that, at the very least. “...Only ever you,” he added, truthfully, and ignored the way Jet’s eyes softened despite himself, then hardened and set back just as quickly. It was probably cruel to say that, knowing where this conversation would inevitably lead.

“So, what?” Jet said, in some attempt to piece this thing together with the information he thought he already knew, the information Zuko had always just let everyone assume about him. “She was the governor’s kid of your colony or something? Gave you some pet name, Zu- whatever it was she called you?”

He should have said yes. Jet was literally giving him every ounce of benefit of the doubt he could possibly offer, going as far as to fabricate his excuses for him. Should have left it just like that. Everything could just go right back to normal. Mostly normal, at least. 

But he was never good at lying. Couldn’t bear to do it anymore. The weight of it was too much. It might as well have been a sack of bricks falling onto the camel’s back. 

“No,” he said. Jet’s eyes narrowed at him, looking at him through pinholes now, an intense focus that made him squirm under it. He sucked in a breath that didn’t seem to give him nearly enough air, and went for it. “Zuko is my name.”

Jet’s lips actually twitched upward, a wicked rictus of reactionary disbelief. And it faded just as fast, as if that information finally latched onto something in his brain. “...The fuck are you talking about?”

It wasn’t terribly loud, nor terribly angry, but on that teetering edge now, as if that paper-thin patience had been set aflame in just the corner, the fire beginning to creep up the edges, a fuse waiting for it on the other side. 

“That’s -” He hadn’t really thought out what he was going to say, and honestly, he was just going to leave it there anyway, but it was quickly interrupted by Jet standing, the stool he was sitting on scootching backward from the force of it. Jet didn’t say anything, only tilted the bottle of spirits upward, the neck of it clinking against the glass. 

If Zuko had been anything other than beaten to a bloody, lifeless pulp, he might have considered taking it away from him. But as it stood, he was pretty much glued in place. Jet downed another shot of it, not grimacing nearly as much as the first, and glared at him, speaking pointedly, as if confirming that what he just heard was correct, “Li. Li is not your name.”

Zuko wished he’d just come out with it. Shout at him already. Because the wavering edge in his voice, the pain in it, was far worse. Zuko’s voice came out small, “No, Jet, I’m - I’m sorry.”

Jet smiled again, nothing humorous, no enjoyment in it. “Sorry,” he repeated, as if tasting the word, and the word was bitter. “We have been together for almost a year. A year. And you failed to tell me, your fucking name?”

And all Zuko could really do was hang his head, ashamed, frozen. But that only seemed to exacerbate things. Jet wanted answers, and he wanted them now. Or a fight, or something, or anything. 

“Why?” Jet asked, in that barking, ordering tone he’d never, not once, used on him. Zuko shot his eyes up to look at him, in a way that wasn’t blaming, but shocked nonetheless. And when he didn’t, couldn’t, immediately conjure an answer, Jet banged his hand against the table, the cup rattling. “Tell me,” he said, his hands throwing outward, then brought them in towards his chest to jab his fingertips bluntly against his chest. “Why my Li, is not my Li. Why you’ve been lying to me -”

“I couldn’t, okay?!” Zuko said, finally, just sort of spitting it out. “I couldn’t tell you.” He knew it wasn’t a good answer, but he couldn’t even begin to think of words to speak before Jet cut back in again.

“That doesn’t tell me anything,” Jet shot back, almost immediately. “That tells me nothing. I mean, what else have you been lying about?”

Zuko scrubbed his fists up both sides of his face, not caring that it hurt his cheek, and held them against his temples for a moment. And before he could even search for ground to land on, Jet started again, but his own frustration was boiling over, and he cut in, almost shouting, but not quite. “If you just let me talk! Let me think for just a second.”

And that seemed to have zapped at least some of Jet’s energy. His hands fell to his sides, slapping against his thighs. He flopped back down into the chair in a frustrated huff and threw his hand out towards Zuko, inviting. “Alright. Okay. Talk. Please.”

Zuko searched his brain for something, anything, that could make this disastrous situation any modicum of better. Ultimately, he came to nothing. “You aren’t going to like it,” he said, a little surly himself now. 

“Well, I don’t think it could get much fucking worse.”

A bitter little smile twitched Zuko’s lips. If there was one thing life taught him, it was that things could always get worse. He might as well just spit it out. There was no amount of beating around it or throwing sugar on it that was going to make it any better. 

Let him say it. Let it sink in. Let Jet tear this room apart, let him tear him apart, or let him tear them apart; it didn’t fucking matter anymore. Nothing ever had. Nothing did now. Nothing ever would. That was just his lot in life. Life always, always was bound to throw everything it possibly could at him. What was even the fucking point anymore?

“I was never from the colonies,” he said, unable to meet Jet’s eyes. His voice came out smaller than he’d intended, somber. Their tent felt very intimate, and quiet, and oppressive all of a sudden, as if the fabric was closing in around him by the second. “I was never a refugee, and I’m not from here.”

A moment that could have been five seconds or five years crawled by; he couldn’t begin to tell anyone which, but it felt like a lifetime. He finally garnered enough courage to look up at him, and Jet’s mind seemed to fumble and twist and refuse. But Zuko could tell the exact moment that all the pieces to the morbid, hideous puzzle finally clicked into place, the moment Jet could no longer make room for denial or excuses, the moment it was plain as day in front of him.

Jet’s voice came out small too, as if he had no more air to breathe. “...You’re Fire Nation?”

Zuko didn’t say anything, and Jet only stared at him, not taking long to stammer. “You, you’re-” Jet said, as if he couldn’t decide on exactly which distressed emotion it was he was feeling, let alone which to express.

The stool creaked as Jet’s body shifted weight, but he didn’t stand. Didn’t throw a fit, at least, not yet. It was back to that unnervingly calm state again. He leaned his elbow on the table, then his face against his fist, and with his other hand, poured another drink, all the way up to the top. 

He smiled again, looking off at nothing, the expression of someone facing some cruel irony, a feeling Zuko was all too familiar with. His fingers trailed up the glass, stilling at the top, and the hand holding his head up gripped tightly at the hair falling into his face. He looked down, finally, and decided which emotion to delve into first, or maybe just the one he thought would sting the most. 

Disgust.

“...You’ve been inside me.” His voice shook when he said it, and Zuko visibly winced when he did, as if he’d physically struck him across the face. Jet’s hand cupped over his mouth as if trying not to vomit.

“Jet, please, I -”

And Jet only raised a finger to silence him. He guessed he deserved that, and Jet deserved to just say what it was he had to say. Even if it hurt, even if it tore him apart. 

“Let me guess,” Jet added, his hand falling from his face, his fingers pulling away his lips. “Firebender too, right?”

And when Zuko didn’t answer, Jet laughed, a quick bark, wild and crazed. It sounded like it was either that or cry.  He was a door barely hanging onto the hinges, but still holding on, somehow. 

“I want to hit you.” Pointedly, looking directly at Zuko when he said it. Then his brow furrowed tight, barely wrestling back a sob or shouting wail or a combination of the two. Fighting it with every ounce of anger he could muster in its place. “I want to. But you’re already beat the fuck up enough. Couldn’t even give me that.” Jet finally remembered his drink again, took a swig, and set it down.  He pressed his shaking fist against his mouth, disgusted with himself now, and spoke behind it, “...I can’t believe I just said that.”

And Zuko, dimly, wished he just would. It’d be easier than this. “I’ll go, Jet…”

Jet shook his head, his eyes cutting to him from over the top of his hand. “Oh, no, no,” he said. Then he stood, but didn’t close any distance. Simply threw an unsteady finger down towards the ground. “You don’t get to just fucking leave. You’re still mine. I told you that the day I met you. You are mine. I decide where you go. I decide where you fucking die. Do you understand me?”

Zuko knew he didn’t mean that. He didn’t when he said it the first time; Jet let him go right home if he wanted to, even took him there. His mind was just trying, desperately to latch onto any shred of control he could claw out for himself, stuck in a situation where he had none. Why was all of this so hard? Why was love so hard? Jet was disgusted and still couldn’t bear to see him go. 

“I’ll go,” Jet murmured instead, scooping up the bottle in his hand. 

It was then that Zuko finally found enough adrenaline and panic to pick himself off the bed. It hurt, and he barely managed it, but he didn’t care. 

“No, please, Jet,” he said, taking a single, stumbling step towards him. The sharp cut of eyes that met him cemented him to the ground where he stood. His voice came out shattered, pleading. “I love you, please -”

“Don’t say that,” Jet interrupted. Jet’s eyes raked down his body, his hand trembling as it came to cover his own heart, grasping at the cloth there. “You are not my Li. You don’t get to say that.”

Zuko wasn’t sure when his hands had started to shake too, but they had. “I am,” he said, almost begging now. “I’m still the same, Jet. I’m still me, I -” 

“No, you’re not!” Jet said, his voice pitching upwards again. Then fell back in volume just as fast. “...You’re not.”

And maybe that was true. Besides, he didn’t really get to decide how Jet felt anyway. “Maybe, I’m not,” he agreed, giving him that. “But please just… The only thing I ever lied about was me. About myself. Everything else, was, was… real, Jet. Please believe me.”

“How can I?”

Zuko let out a small, huff of a breath, unsure how to answer that. It was a good question, and he had no good answer. And in that long stretch of silence, where he found nothing to say, Jet found yet another question.

“Why are you here? With us? With me?  Why aren’t you off burning down the country like the rest of them?” And Zuko was, albeit distantly, a little relieved to find that Jet had categorized them and him as two separate things. Zuko was here, and they were still ‘them’. A bit of tribalism working in his favor, he guessed, however flimsy it was.

And he found that at least for that question, he could find a tangible answer, as horrible as the answer was. “They didn’t want me,” he murmured. And in just a second span of time, the weight of that, finally, finally, came crashing down on him all at once, for maybe the first time ever in his life. The first time he really just said it out loud, and also believed it, and felt it, most importantly, most damningly. His voice cracked and shook, but he spoke around it. “...My own family. Didn’t want me.”

He hadn’t expected the flash of empathy or pity that flashed across Jet’s face, and he immediately wanted to stuff the words back into his mouth, to bury them back from whence they came. To recover and ignore the pain and weakness that threatened to carve out his insides. But it was as if one pebble had tumbled down the mountain, catching onto another, quickly forming a formidable landslide of emotion, one he really couldn’t put a stop to if he tried. 

“Too disrespectful, too weak, too soft,” he added, before Jet could ask yet another ‘why’. Only realizing after he said it, that the latter part of that was the entire reason Jet loved him to begin with. But that piece of realization was doing him no favors, not currently, not when that was about to be ripped from his grasp too. “...And you don’t want me either.”

He could hear Jet’s breath in the silence, weary, worn-out. It was on his face too. He seemed to be beyond whatever initial emotions he’d had, and was really just looking at him in a space of quiet contemplation, as if truly seeing Zuko for the first time in his life. It made Zuko feel seen-through, because he was, clear as glass now. But he found, after a moment, that if he wanted anyone to see him, to perceive him, to understand, that person was Jet. …Even if Jet didn’t trust him back. 

Jet’s body did, eventually, come back to life. And he moved, stiffly, doll-like, as if trying to puppeteer his own body, to control it, to force it to move towards the flap of the tent, the bottle grasped loosely in his grip.

“I need time to think,” Jet said, softly, simply, over his shoulder. “You… you take the bed. You need it more than me. I’ll… be somewhere else.”

Zuko nodded, gently, as Jet’s eyes found his. Soft and sad. For a moment, he was the same man pleading with him not to cry. Zuko latched onto it tight, looked away before he could morph into something else. 

“Zuko’s your name?” Jet asked, as if finally coming to terms with that, at least, on a surface level. 

And hearing his name for the first time from Jet’s mouth actually made him snap his head up, despite himself. “Yes,” he answered, maybe a sliver too enthusiastically, though not cheerful by any means.

Jet nodded. “Zu-ko,” he repeated, as if tasting the syllables in his mouth, trying them out. Maybe, just a bit too casually, as if meeting a friendly stranger and trying to pronounce their name for the first time, drunkenly, at that. It was better, at least, than anything before, but still not exactly great. Zuko was very aware of the way Jet used charm and, in this case, maybe a bit of sardonic, ill-placed humor. It shielded him, more than anything. And the last thing Zuko wanted to be was something Jet felt the need to shield himself away from. “Alright.” Jet nodded once more. 

Then, without another word, he stepped towards the exit. Zuko couldn’t really stop himself.  It sort of spilled out of him, force of habit, maybe, at this point, to give Jet some version of a genial phrase. “I’ll see you in the morning?”

Jet stilled and huffed out a little sound, nothing anywhere near a laugh. It could have been a sigh for all he really knew. But, and maybe this was just wishful thinking on Zuko’s end again, but it didn’t sound entirely without amusement, without fondness.

“We’ll see,” was all he said, then tilted the bottle towards him. “Though I figure this might be the only thing seeing me for the next few days.”

Zuko nodded guiltily, but couldn’t really do anything about it. If that’s how he dealt with it, it was simply how he dealt with it. It concerned him, of course it did: Jet’s use of whatever stuff he could get his hands on to cope. But, as it stood currently, he really was in no position to tell him otherwise. Considering it was him that he was coping with.

“I’m sorry,” Zuko said, lastly, finally, figuring there really wasn’t anything else to say. And he meant it. Now, he could only hope Jet believed it. 

"Yeah," Jet agreed, "Yeah, me too."

Chapter Text

He slept for maybe four or five hours, an estimate that erred on the generous side. It was dark when he finally caved to sleep, his beaten body doing much of the heavy lifting to get him there, and it was equally dark when he awoke. 

For a blissfully cruel moment, he’d forgotten that anything had happened at all, and half-expected Jet’s leg, only ever from the calves down because it got hot at night, to be thrown over his. He only got halfway through the dazed movement of searching with his foot for Jet’s, and then stilled, suddenly, his brain catching up. 

Jet was somewhere else. For the first time in nearly a year, he was in bed alone.

He spent the rest of the morning simply waiting for the sun to come up. It did, slowly and eventually. The camp steadily came to life around him, everything feeling far away, fuzzy, as if heard from the end of a tunnel. But besides his own perception of it, it was as if nothing had changed. He supposed, for everyone else, nothing really had. Something that felt so impossibly large had no impact in the slightest. And he supposed his pain had never mattered much in the scheme of things. Why would it suddenly matter now? It didn’t, and maybe, it shouldn’t. He never needed the world to coddle him, and it never had. That’s what made him who he was.

It was in that fact that he found the strength to heave his broken body, wincing, grimacing, to sit upright for a while. They still had things to do, an army to march back to Ba Sing Se. He couldn’t let a few bruises and a broken heart prevent him from doing something to help, though he worried he might get in the way more than anything. His hands found his face, and he buried his eyes in them for a long moment, allowing himself a moment of grief before things went right back to normal. Life went on. It always had. With or without him. Painful or not. He needed to get up, cut out his childish pouting, and make himself useful. Find something to do other than drown in this bed. 

He didn’t; his body begged him not to. He couldn’t, maybe. There were a lot of things he was stronger than, but maybe a tortured body simply wasn’t one of them. 

Despite himself, part of him was waiting for Jet to come through the tent flap, bowl of whatever breakfast in his hand, with the intent to give it to him kindly, knowing it was difficult for him to do it for himself in that moment. Part of him wanted coddling, as infantile as it may be, now that he’d gotten a taste of it. The one time he needed Jet’s intense, bordering on excessive doting the most was, of course, when he couldn’t have it. He suddenly regretted every time he had ever batted away Jet’s attempts to do so before.

Though, in all fairness to him, Jet’s affections for him had always been a little too fast, too soon. From day one, Jet was kissing his lips, offering his vulnerable soul and body to him. Jet had been so quick to trust and too impassioned to be anything but a little intense. Like a lonely child discovering an equally discarded but perfectly busted porcelain doll – and immediately carrying it around with them everywhere they went – figuring that if they brushed the hair enough, wiped the skin of it clean enough, held it tight enough, loved it enough, that eventually the doll would come to life and put them back together too. Jet’s intentions were never bad; he didn’t think, and he couldn’t necessarily say he didn’t enjoy being this perfect, fragile, broken doll in his hands, completely at his whim. He wanted to be that now, when he felt more beaten and broken than ever. He wanted Jet to come and fix him, to consume him, to smother him with love, so that he, in turn, could come to life and fix him too.

But it seemed to him that from Jet’s eyes, his perfect doll had finally come to life, motionless eyes now golden and glowing, heartbeat beginning to tick, cool porcelain turning warm. And with it, the inherent flaws and ugliness that come with bearing a soul, not just a body, emerged, bubbling and curdling through the cracks, the vulnerable viscera cutting itself on sharp ceramic as it bulged outward. The doll that had once been perfect and broken and still – was now alive and hideous and monstrous. Even if it had no ill will, even if it only had love for him, even if it was the same doll he’d embraced and caressed every night before. His beloved thing he’d so painstakingly kept glued together now had the ability to hide, to lie, to have a history and an identity outside of the one he’d given it. The reality, the depth of it, could be a bit too much to bear. 

Zuko had tried to warn him, he had. He remembered it like it was yesterday, although it was already so long ago, telling him, You don’t know me. And Jet had replied, with the casualness only he could ever possess while smitten with a stranger, And I never will. Unless you show me. With a little bitterness that was really just hurt in disguise, he found the taunting need to tell Jet he’d only given him what he’d asked for to begin with. 

…But he couldn’t blame it on him. Not wholly. He’d made his own choices, dived headlong into this right along with him, suspecting, knowing, what getting close to someone meant. A lesson his own family had taught him, early and thoroughly. That love was a thing to be dangled, and on the other side, bought or earned. At any moment it can be taken away, for even the smallest of transgressions. It was dangerous, explosive, a thing to be feared and used. He should have learned his lesson the first time around. Every time he looked in the mirror, he had a reminder. He couldn’t let himself forget again.

But part of him still hoped, just a little, that this would turn out all right. That Jet would come through that opening. He couldn’t help it. There really wasn’t anything else to hold onto.

When the tent flap did open, he nearly broke his neck to look at it. And quickly, he realized it was quite stupid to hope for anything, ever, in any capacity.

A face he hadn’t had a conversation with in quite a while appeared, timidly checking to see if he was decent before entering, maybe assuming he was still asleep. They locked eyes for just a moment, and Jin gave him a gentle smile. It wasn’t who he wanted, obviously, but he didn’t necessarily mind her presence. She was always kind, albeit a bit of a blabbermouth at times.

“Hey,” she said, in that way that people speak to someone they hadn’t spoken to in a while, but just found out they’d experienced something tragic, and were checking in on them without coming out and saying it. Had she heard from the women’s tent by chance? Them screaming at each other. He loathed that idea, considering her aptitude for gossip. He could only hope she had some tact in the matter. Or, had Jet told her? That seemed unlikely. Maybe he was doing that thing again that he had in the beginning. Where Jet had fetched the women to bandage him and care for him while he healed. That would make the most sense, considering the field-nurse bag hanging off her shoulder, and since that was, well, her job.

It would be comforting, knowing that Jet sent her his way, if it weren’t for the fact that it indicated they were strangers–once again. That Jet didn’t feel comfortable doing it himself. It was a small solace, though, that he still cared enough to wake in the morning and think of him. But he tried not to let it get his hopes up too much. That never boded well for him, as evident here.

“Hey,” he repeated, a bit dully, but not rudely. She didn’t deserve his ire, not that he had much energy for it anyway.

Jin invited herself in (considering no one ever really refused the nurses) and appraised him for a long moment, and apparently, was not amused with what she found. With a sigh, she said, “You boys always give me so much work.” 

“Sorry.” It came out detached, insincere, but if it offended her, she didn’t show it. 

She set her bag down on the bed next to him, and in the way of people who saw naked, injured bodies regularly, and had grown numb to it, she said, without any fuss, “Take your shirt off.”

He huffed a little but did, peeling it off his back and tossing it to the side of him. It half-way clung to the mattress and the other half to the ground. He hadn’t really considered what her reaction would be, but, for some reason, “Holy moly,” was a little surprising. Trying and failing to immediately cast off what that could indicate, he himself looked down at his torso, and he found horribly large splotches of bruising, partnered with cuts from where the baton had broken skin. It wrapped around his sides and to his back. He was validated to find that it looked as terrible as it felt. 

“Legs the same way?”

When his only answer was a slight twitch of his lips, her brows furrowed at him. 

“Go on. Pants too.”

He sighed but complied. It wasn’t like she hadn’t seen it when he first joined up with them anyway. She did, at the very least, allow him the small grace of keeping his undergarments on this time around. As she prepared whatever concoction or balm she was working on, her hands methodically stirring the mixture from her seat on the good-for-nothing stool (which was apparently good for something, seeing as two people had now looked down on him from it), she eyed him for a brief moment. “So… what happened?”

“A Fire Nation dungeon and a baton,” he answered blankly. 

She gave him an amused smile, but her tone was empathetic. “...I meant the other thing.”

He scrunched his brows, just slightly, and looked away. Nosy. “Does it matter?” He’d tried to sound stern, hoping she’d get the hint that he wasn’t in the mood to talk about it, nor felt entirely comfortable speaking with her about such a matter, but it ended up coming out sad and a little pathetic instead. Which, in reality, only seemed to embolden her, rather than the opposite. 

“I mean, a little.” She tapped her spoon, or whatever it was she was using to mix whatever it was that she was mixing. In the way of modern medicine, probably some horrible concoction of eel oil mixed with ground-up fox ass or something. He guessed he should just feel grateful that the water tribes had informed the Earth Kingdom, at some point or another, that drilling holes in people’s heads did not, in fact, let out the evil spirits causing their headaches, but rather killed them. …They really should get a waterbender healer for around here. She continued, “Considering he usually would be the one taking care of you.” She seemed to have realized something in her words, something she figured he might have taken offense to. “Not that I mind.”

She dotted the dollops of ointment onto his skin as he lay there, staring at the fabric above him (thankfully, according to the smell, nothing fish oil related. Maybe something like cloves?). It stung at first as she gingerly rubbed it onto the cuts, and she worked it onto the majority of his skin where a bruise lay. It cooled on his skin, oddly refreshing, with an almost numbing quality to it. It wasn’t a cure, of course, but it did feel nice. A small reprieve, but a reprieve nonetheless.

“There isn’t much I can do for bruises,” she noted. “Just take it easy for the next few days. Drink lots of water.”

So, he had to just lie down and think. That was just great. After a while of her working in silence, he asked, softly, “Have you seen him this morning?"

Somehow, her already delicate face softened even more. “Yes, I have,” she answered gently. 

“Did he look alright?”

“Honestly?” she asked, glancing at his face. He nodded. 

“...I think he’s still drunk from last night,” she answered. It wasn’t a good answer, but sort of the one he expected. 

She sat him upright to wrap him in bandages, so that the ointment wouldn’t get wiped away by clothing, working in the same, careful, methodical way she had before. “I’m sure he’ll get over it,” she said, sounding confident. “I don’t know the details, but… people fight, you know? It happens. Doesn’t mean the love isn’t there. He hasn’t kicked you out, so you’ve got that going for you. He kicked Haru out on the spot.”

Zuko’s eyebrows raised, trying to search his brain for where he’d heard that name once before. It came to him, suddenly, just a foggy bit of memory. That was the man Shuyi said Jet had been ‘stuck on’ at one point. Maybe blabbermouth Jin wasn’t the worst person to talk to about this. “...Shuyi said he left?”

“I mean, he did, technically,” Jin said. “He sabotaged some of Jet’s plans cause he didn’t agree with them. Thought it put too many civilians in danger. Which, I mean, is fair looking back at it. He ended up warning them, and everyone escaped. And well… let’s just say he’s lucky to have gotten out of here without a broken jaw.”

This conversation was getting less and less comforting by the second, which he thought was sort of the opposite of what she was going for. Jin handed his shirt to him, and he slipped it on, not quite able to think of anything but the similarities there. Not just on his end, but Jet’s. Not just one, but two people Jet thought he could trust had gone behind his back, and it made Zuko feel ten times lousier than he did before, which was saying something. …Besides just the obvious, it was no wonder Jet was upset. Jet never mentioned it, not once. He wondered if that was because he was ashamed, or because it still hurt. Both, maybe.

“I think Jet’s grown a lot since then, though,” she added, apparently noticing the impact of what she said.  “They got really close really fast, sort of like you guys did. But they were also stupid kids. And well, you know how teenage boys are. Fist-fighting is apparently the rule of law. But it ended with them just… not being able to come back from it. I’m almost sure he regrets it. He wants to be better, I think.”

Zuko nodded. This bit of information would explain Smellerbee’s lack of trust for him. Jet, apparently, had a history of moving a little too quickly. Someone had to be skeptical on his behalf, he guessed. And he supposed, he’d only really proven her right. The glares would be tenfold from here on out, if Jet even let him stick around, that is.

If.

She patted his shoulder kindly. “It’ll be okay,” she said, then smiled. 

Zuko tried to believe that. He really did. 

The march back to Ba Sing Se had hit the two-week mark, and Jet had not spoken to him, not once. 

He’d spent the last fourteen days bouncing around the back of a covered wagon, trying to catch every glimpse of him he possibly could through the sea of soldiers, which ended up being few and far between. Jet seemed to know exactly where he was at any given time, and in tandem, diligently avoided wherever that happened to be. The few looks he did happen to catch were about as comforting as a bed of needles. Jet was either swaying on his knees or had hollow bags underneath his eyes, sometimes both. He never seemed to be speaking to anyone with any care or joy. Just sort of going through the motions of whatever the General had planned that day. In much simpler terms, he looked like shit.

Zuko knew he had to give him space. He knew that, logically speaking. That, however, didn’t stop the burning want to go and try to make it better. To do something, say something, maybe, that would take that look off his face. He had no idea what that would be, exactly, just that he wanted him to smile again. Dimly, he wondered if Jet kicking him out would have been better. That way, he could cut his losses, stop hoping completely, and just deal with the loss. He didn’t want that, of course. He wanted, needed, something to cling to. But Jet was giving him nothing at this point, only death by a thousand cuts, death by a thousand attempts at eye contact that weren’t returned in the slightest. Zuko thought Jet hating him would be worse than loving him. Turns out, apathy sat somewhere in the middle, or somewhere outside; he wasn’t sure. The only thing he knew was that it was a distant, much more insidious cousin to both of them. Somehow, Jet screaming at him was navigable, at least. Jet ignoring him while running himself aground, however, was as unmanageable as it was dreadful.

So much so, he wondered if he should just leave on his own. It’d be easier, wouldn’t it? At least, that way, he wouldn’t have to watch the man he loved so dearly kill himself slowly. But it was in that fear that he didn’t leave. Jet may be drunk and stumbling and not sleeping, sure, but without Zuko completely, what if Jet just walked straight out to sea? Never to be seen or heard of again. He couldn’t bear the thought. And, maybe, Jet was in the same boat: wondering if he should just kick Zuko out already, but not being able to stomach actually doing it for fear of something happening to him. 

Because, with both of those options, either his leaving willingly or Jet ordering it, there was a giant, monstrous question on the other side. Where would he even go? He had nowhere to go, nowhere happy, nowhere safe, at least. Zuko bit his teeth, wondering if this trek back to Ba Sing Se was just the same as when they’d first met, Jet walking him home to some likeness of safety, and then turning to leave. But even then, Zuko had turned away from it and walked back with him. Even then, although not completely aware of the meaning of it, he wanted to be near Jet, and Jet wanted to be near him. 

At least here, they could have eyes on one another, albeit unhappy ones, to know the other was safe. But in a war-torn world such as this, sometimes, that was the best thing the universe had to offer. A group was always safer than a loner. Jet may not be offering his arms wrapped around him at night, but he was offering sanctuary from being dragged through the cobblestone streets by muggers or others. It wasn’t nothing, and was quite a big something, actually. Although at a distance, Jet still cared. 

Or, rather, it was as simple as this, as much as he didn't want to believe it. 

You are mine. I decide where you go. I decide where you die.

The worst part was that he would--if Jet asked him to. Jet owned every part of him, even if he didn't mean that when he said it, and Zuko couldn't find it in himself to even fight it.

The walls of Ba Sing Se came into view on the fifteenth day. Jet did not invite him to go collect payment from Long Feng, but he also didn’t walk him home, either. 

Chapter Text

Jet had been gone since the early morning, off with Smellerbee and Longshot, collecting the payment from Long Feng. He imagined some other miscellaneous tasks too, considering the time they’d been gone. Probably getting supplies for the camp, or gathering information for their next job. Or just avoiding him for all he knew. The day crawled by into late afternoon, the sun beginning to set on the horizon, and the camp had grown far too boring, and despite being full of people, far too lonely. 

Zuko was finally in a position to move about freely again, and the camp was doing him no favors. He walked towards the market district alone, figuring he had a few coins to spare and some time to kill, so he might as well do something for himself, by himself, for the first time in a long while. It wasn’t horrible, actually a rather pleasant walk. The air was cool with a slight breeze on the wind, and the light exercise felt nice on the muscles he’d been resting for two weeks. 

He wandered around the market for a while, window shopping mostly. Nothing here he really felt any need for, but it was a nice distraction from everything that was going on. It wasn’t terribly busy, and the lanterns overhead had just started to light the streets in a warm glow. This was an activity Uncle would have liked: meandering, doing nothing but trying to enjoy a space for what it was. He’d done it with him before (though Zuko hadn’t enjoyed it much back then, finding it a bigger waste of time than anything), back when Uncle was traveling with him—before his Father forced him to stay back home. His Father had said it was because he needed Uncle there with him to help rule, but Zuko had the gnawing feeling that it was for no other reason than that he wanted him to be alone, to punish him as much as humanly possible. And maybe, in a way, to punish Uncle too, for simply having the gall to enjoy Zuko’s presence. 

Mai said Uncle was looking for him, maybe. He wondered if they’d ever find each other. The world was large, and Uncle probably had no idea where to begin looking. He considered it a pipe dream at best, but the idea was nice. One of Uncle’s riddles about life might come in handy right about now. He’d have to settle with his own in the meantime, however lacking in poetry they may be.

With Uncle in mind, he purchased a teapot and some jasmine tea, setting it down into his bag with measured carefulness. It was something to do when he got back to camp, and Uncle said a good jasmine could cure even the most sorrowful of hearts, but he guessed he’d have to see for that one. 

For a brief moment, he wondered how many things Jet would have already swiped to stick under his tunic during this excursion. And just as quickly, swatted that thought aside. He was trying not to be a depressed idiot right now and was determined to meet that goal for himself. He could make it for a few hours. He was almost sure of it. Maybe he’d find an inn. Have a few drinks. Find a girl and ask her out for dumplings or something. 

Right. Like he’d ever have the courage for that. Maybe if he were drunk enough. Go drown himself in some stranger for the night. Let her drown herself in him.

That probably wasn’t a good idea. Occasionally, he was capable of thinking things through. And although tempting, it would probably leave him worse off than even now. It wouldn’t be fair to her anyway. He knew who would be on his mind the second his eyes closed shut.

The stars glimmered overhead, and the delicate odor of scented soaps wafted out the door of a bathhouse. He paused in front of it, curious. The windows were tinted over with dark paper, and the building had probably been something completely different at some point, as was the way with many things in the lower ring, ramshackle architecture that got rehashed and repurposed. He was never one for bathhouses; it always felt a little exposed in his opinion. This one, however, had a little green sign out front that simply read ‘Private Baths’. He pondered it for a moment as the other market goers passed by him on the street, murmuring softly with each other in an otherwise quiet night. The place still had an hour until closing. Why not? It wasn’t like he had anything else to do. He could spare himself a little bit of peace. 

His foot had just planted on the step up when a familiar and friendly-sounding voice called to him. 

“Hey, Zuko!” 

He turned, brows furrowed, nearly having to do a double-take as Jet sort of trotted up to him—a wide, carefree smile on his face. He was in his usual red and blue tunic, minus the armor, and actually seemed happy. Like… really happy, to see him, specifically. Zuko nearly melted right then and there, his heart skipping a beat. But suspicion raised just as quickly. Is… is he drunk?

Jet grasped him up in his arms like he’d done so many times before, his hands sliding up his back with enough force to lift the fabric up, laying his head on Zuko’s shoulder, an intimate hug that nearly brought the tears to his eyes. He froze, of course he did, his arms hanging out to the sides. After finding an unsteady place to settle, he placed his arms around Jet too, feeling his muscles underneath his hands. It quickly morphed into holding him far too tightly, nearly clawing at his back, but Jet didn’t seem to mind at all. For a long moment that felt like an eternity, but still not nearly long enough, he thought he could melt right into him. 

Were they… okay? He didn’t smell any alcohol, any at all, and after a moment, Jet murmured into his ear, softly, earnestly. “I missed you.” 

Zuko thought he could cry, and his lips trembled upwards as Jet pulled away from him. Jet looked in his eyes for a long moment, his eyes glimmering, and he smiled again, radiant as the sun. 

“I -” Zuko started, unsure where to even start, his eyes unable to look away. He felt like he had so much to say, but none of it could find his mouth. It felt like such a staggering 180 that it nearly knocked the breath out of him. Don’t get him wrong, he was happy, ecstatic even. It was just… jarring. 

He glanced around Jet, for just a brief second, and found that something was missing, two things, actually. “Where’s Smellerbee and Longshot?”

Jet looked around himself casually, in no hurry whatsoever. “I’m not sure,” he said, unbothered. He shrugged after a moment, then turned his attention back to him. “I assume they went home?”

Zuko raised a brow. Usually, you couldn’t pry the three of them apart when they got together like this. Zuko appraised him for a long moment. Was he… high? Something. Anything. Maybe he’d snuck off to go to the opium den for a while, and they just gave up and went home. Agni, he hoped not, but Jet’s eyes looked bright, not glazed over, and his pupils were fine, maybe slightly dilated, but that could just be because it was dark out.

Jet perked a brow at him, like he was amused at how Zuko was looking at him, and he did a little pose with his hands out. “Like what you see?”

Zuko huffed a breath. It was like nothing happened at all. “Yeah, I mean -”

It wasn’t like any of this was out of the norm for him, but just… Did he just not want to talk about it or something? Move right on past everything? Did he hit his head? Even that seemed fine, though. He wasn’t bleeding or anything. In every sense, Jet seemed normal, okay. Maybe he should just… count his blessings?

Jet nodded his head towards the bathhouse. “Were you going in?”

Zuko nodded, still looking at him, trying to find something, but not knowing what that was exactly. Ultimately, though, he found nothing. “I was, yeah,” he said, his voice coming out small, which seemed to confuse Jet more than anything. 

Jet’s eyes danced around for a moment, trying to find what the problem was. “Well, do you…. care if I join?” 

And damn his stupid heart for skipping a beat right then. Was he dreaming? He had to be, right? He answered honestly, albeit a little softly. “No, I mean. I mean, yeah of course, I want.... Do you… want to?”

Jet laughed a little then, just a quick chuckle. “I feel like you’re messing with me. Duh, I want to.”

Zuko couldn’t say the feeling wasn’t mutual there, for both of those things, but he really didn’t want to say anything stupid and mess all of this up. He clamped his mouth closed. 

Jet only smiled at him and grasped Zuko’s hand with his own, leading him into the building. “Come on, they’re closing soon.” Zuko nodded and let himself be led, for lack of knowing what else to do.

The woman running the place looked at them for a brief moment, seeming too old and tired to care much about anything. She, however, seemed to sense something about the two of them and murmured feebly, “Only one person per bath.”

“That’s fine,” Jet said casually, then looked at the pricing plaque on the counter. He dug some coins from his pockets and folded them into the woman’s hand, his eyes raising to meet hers with a charming smile. “We’ll take two then, beautiful lady. The premiums, if you have the spots for us."

The old woman blushed, just a little. At any other point in time, Zuko would have rolled his eyes, but right now his heart was far too busy beating out of his chest to focus on anything else.

“Oh, you’re too kind. They’re right down the hall. The two closest are the premiums.” She raised a shaky finger in the direction, and the two of them nodded to her as they stepped off towards it. Behind them, she mumbled to herself. “What a handsome young man.”

The short hallway was really just a threshold into another room. The room itself wasn’t very large, and it was nearly silent besides a faint, consistent dripping of water. There was no one else there, from what he could tell. No gentle lapping of water from anyone bathing. It smelled of a soft mixture of differently scented soaps, and the baths themselves were hidden behind folding screens that acted as thin walls. It was about as private as one could expect a lower ring bathhouse to be, which was just enough to put ‘private’ on the sign. 

This fact did not deter Jet in the slightest. He shifted the green curtain back and stepped in towards the bath, ushering Zuko in with him with his hand. 

Zuko paused, looking at him, and Jet smiled from inside, whispering, “She doesn’t actually care if we go together. She just wanted the coins for two baths.”

Zuko bit the inside of his lip, not exactly sure if that was the source of his hesitation or not. His gut was telling him something, but for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out what. Everything around him was normal, innocuous. The worst thing that would happen if they got caught would be that she would tell them to leave, honestly. Spare a little embarrassment, they would be fine. He told himself to stop being a wet blanket and stepped inside with him, and Jet shifted the curtain back behind him.

The bath was about as basic as one could imagine, nothing special, nothing apprehensive. Just a stone rectangle that had been earthbended into the floor, a bench running along the edge of it. Maybe six feet long, four feet wide, enough to lie down if one so wanted to. Jet reached up towards the shoot that led the water down and fiddled with it for a moment. The water came rushing down, swirling around the bottom, the mineral odor wafting into the air. 

Jet eyed him, a little sly grin on his face that was more mischievous than anything, a low-stakes breaking the rules sort of smile. Zuko returned it, timidly. It was still throwing him for a loop that Jet was standing in front of him, making eye contact with him, let alone about to take a bath with him. He really should just be happy, shouldn’t he? Jet approached him, the water running softly in the background, and immediately buried his face into Zuko’s neck. Jet pressed his lips to the skin there, and Zuko couldn’t help but melt, leaning his head against his. Between them, Jet fumbled with the tie to his robes, and his tongue flickered against his skin, and Zuko felt a quick throb of want shoot towards his lower belly. He wanted this so, so badly. He didn’t think he’d ever needed something more in his life. His robes came undone, and somehow, between all of this, his hands found themselves on Jet’s shoulders. 

Jet’s unarmored shoulders. 

He stilled, feeling the cloth of Jet’s tunic under his hands, and forced himself to pull away. He couldn’t help it; everything but his cock was telling him to put a stop to this. But really, he had no reason why.

Jet looked at him, his brows furrowed, a little disappointed but not wounded, thankfully. “Everything alright?” he asked softly. 

Zuko nodded, swallowing. Everything was somehow more than alright while simultaneously not at all. “Yeah, I’m just -” He looked away towards the running water, unable to find words, or really, excuses. “...Just not in the mood.” He settled on it. After only a brief moment, the want between his legs settled down to a dull enough roar to turn a deaf ear to.

Jet gave him a sympathetic look and conceded. “Okay,” he said, shrugging. “We don’t have to.” He proceeded to undress Zuko in a much more neutral way, less wanting and more mechanical. His robes fell softly to the floor by his feet, and he stepped out of both those and his shoes. Jet appraised his nakedness for a long moment, brushing the tips of his fingers over the faint, yellow bruises on his side. His face was soft and sad. “I shouldn’t have made you deal with this by yourself,” he said, lowly. Zuko’s heart immediately skipped, and his lips pursed. “I’m sorry I went away.”

“I -” Zuko began, then paused, unsure what to say. Jet backed away to pull his own clothing off, and Zuko could only watch him. 

“Come on,” Jet said once he was finished, then ushered him towards the bath. 

Zuko sat on the stone bench, the warm water lapping to the middle of his thighs, and Jet settled on lying down with his back on the seat, his head resting in Zuko’s lap. His long body didn’t entirely fit, so his feet sort of stuck out the other end, but Jet didn’t seem to mind it. Zuko looked down at him as he closed his eyes, relishing in the placid moment. He petted Jet’s hair softly with his hand, running the warm water through it, and felt like crying all over again. He was holding Jet again. Jet was here, in his hands, and it was real.

“Jet,” he said, nearly a whisper.

Jet hummed in response, his eyes still closed, but his eyebrows did raise, just slightly.

“Are we… okay?”

Jet smiled, gently, but didn’t open his eyes. “I think so,” he said casually. “Why wouldn’t we be?”

Zuko’s mouth hung open. What did he even say to that? “...Are… are you?"

Jet twisted his lips and patted his stomach after a moment. “I mean, I’m a little hungry. Why? Are you okay?”

Zuko nodded, even though he couldn’t really see it. He reached behind him over the edge of the bath, grabbing up a wash towel and some soap the house provided on a little standalone shelf. He lathered it for a moment and began to wash Jet’s hair and behind his ears, just like the countless other times they’d done before. Jet met his touch, leaning his face into the cloth, relaxed as anybody really could be. It felt different this time, though. He couldn’t shake the feeling that it was like caring for a stranger, and he had no earthly idea where that was coming from. He thought back to just a few moments ago. 

I’m sorry I went away. 

What did that… mean, exactly? Jet didn’t normally speak in abstracts; rather literal and blunt most of the time, and despite himself, he kept coming back to it. Jet had never really gone away. He was in the camp the whole time. If he meant to apologize for not being there for him, he would have just said that. 

“Jet,” he said again, softly still, but with far more concern than before. “When you said you… went away, what did you mean?”

Jet furrowed his brow, confused as to why he was confused. “Zuko, I told you I was going on vacation.”

Zuko froze, and the air felt very hard to breathe all of a sudden. The hand that was in Jet’s hair tightened, ever so slightly. He searched his brain, swallowing. “I think I must have hit my head,” he said, his voice sounding hoarse and frail, looking off at nothing. He finally tore his disoriented gaze away and looked back down at Jet’s closed eyes. “So… just enlighten me. …Where did you go again? Tell me about it, you haven’t told me about it yet.”

“Well, if you wanted to hear about it, you coulda’ just asked,” Jet said, then stuck his bottom lip out, thinking. “It was actually really nice, though. We went out to the lake, and there was a little cabin there. We went fishing and… I don’t remember what else, actually. Maybe we drank too much.”

“We?” Zuko asked. “Who is we?”

“Me and Long Feng,” Jet answered, like it was the most normal thing in the world. “And I know what you’re thinking. I thought he was kind of a dick at first too, but he’s actually a pretty good dude. He gave me a whole bunch of money. Wanted to thank me for -” Jet’s eyes did open then, and his brows furrowed together tight, thinking, thinking, thinking. “Ya know, I don’t remember why he was thanking me, exactly.”

Zuko was on the teetering edge of panic at this point. “Jet sit up,” he said, barely able to get the words out. Jet complied, still confused, and sat upright on the seat. Zuko gripped his face in his hands and looked him in the eyes, rubbing his thumbs over his cheeks. 

“Long Feng,” Zuko repeated, breathy. “Took you fishing? That’s what you’re telling me?”

Jet only looked at him, innocently, the water dripping down the angles of his face. “Yeah, I mean -” He paused, then frowned. “...Are you mad at me or something? I mean, I’ll take you next time-”

“No, no, I’m -” Zuko said, trying to sound comforting and failing miserably. He took a deep breath, which did nothing to calm him. “I’m not mad, Jet. Just… tell me, please, anything about yourself.”

“You’re acting weird, Zuko.”

“Please, Jet,” Zuko said. “Just go with it, please.”

“Well,” Jet said, then thought hard for another moment. “Me and you, we’ve been living here, peacefully, in Ba Sing Se for a while. Bee and Longshot too.” He looked away for a moment, then back to Zuko’s eyes, a gentle smile wrapping his lips. “And I’m really in love with you.”

Zuko huffed a shuddering breath and tried as hard as he could to keep his composure. He pulled Jet into himself, caressing him, his hand holding the back of Jet’s head with shaky gentleness. He couldn’t help but just thread his fingers through his hair, holding onto him tighter than he thought he ever had before. 

What did… what did they do to him? 

…And why? He’d only done what they asked. Did they just use him for what he was worth, then do something to his head to get rid of him? Discard him? Zuko was stuck somewhere between horrified, disgusted, and furious. His own people. His own people. After he protected them. 

And he wasn’t there. Zuko didn’t protect him from it. 

His brow furrowed tight, and he pressed his face against Jet’s ear, his voice shaking, barely audible at all. “I’m so sorry, Jet.”

“For?"

He didn’t even understand.

“I’m gonna fix this,” he said, unsure of how, but he would. 

Jet actually pulled away, but he didn’t go far, only enough to look at Zuko’s face. “Hey,” Jet said, gently, taking Zuko’s face into his hands just the same. Zuko let himself be caressed, despite everything. “Are you having a bad day?” He thumbed Zuko’s cheek, examining him. “Just talk to me about it. Please don’t cry.”

He hadn’t even realized he was. “Yeah,” he choked out. “Yeah, Jet, I’m just… having a bad day. Okay?”

“It’s okay,” Jet said, then pressed his gentle lips to his. 

He couldn’t find it in himself to stop him. 

Chapter Text

Jet ate like he hadn’t eaten in an entire year. Brainwashing made a person hungry, apparently, so much so that Zuko wondered if they’d bothered to feed him all day. Probably not. If they were evil enough to do this to his head, they were probably evil enough to deny him a bowl of noodles while they did it. The entire idea of it made him sick to his stomach, and the more he thought about it, the harder it was to keep the flames from leaking out of his palms. He gripped his hands together tightly underneath the table.

Instead of focusing on what wouldn’t help at the moment, Zuko watched him, deliberately, making sure that if nothing else, Jet had a full stomach. 

Jet’s chopsticks scraped at the bottom of the bowl, trying for the little bits of onion scraps that had fallen to the bottom. Thankfully, there were only two other customers at the far end, far enough away to not hear them. The open-air restaurant was one of the last places open at this late hour. A healer would have to wait until the morning. He didn’t think Jin’s ointments and potions would do him any favors, not with this.

Jet eyed him from across the table, not bothering for once to flirt with the waitress who passed by. “You’re not eating,” he said, flatly, maybe just a hint of chastising in there. 

“Not hungry,” he answered.

“Not hungry, not horny,” Jet said, pausing for a moment to swallow. “You sick or somethin’?”

Zuko huffed out a little sound. Yeah, it was him who was sick. “I’m fine.”

“Well, you could at least smile. You’re taking me on a date, but it’s like, the grumpiest date known to mankind.”

Well, he wasn’t wrong, but Zuko did smile at his ribbing, just a little, despite everything. He had to remind himself that in Jet’s eyes, they were a happy, peaceful couple living in a shack somewhere in Ba Sing Se. His being grumpy on their ‘date’ probably was disconcerting.

But what he didn’t know was that Zuko was facing the biggest moral quandary of his life. It was either: Let Jet believe all of this about the two of them, at least, until they could find him a healer, so that it would be easier to get him to go to one (considering his stubbornness towards letting the nurses that he knew personally help him, let alone a stranger of a doctor). Or tell him the truth, risk breaking his heart, and face the possibility of him running off somewhere. Basically, break up their fake relationship, and hope Jet took at face value—what would be to him—a very confusing and painful new truth. Zuko guessed he should figure out how deep this thing went, figure out the chances he could get Jet to believe anything he said at all.

He scrunched his brows. Back to square one, he guessed, just in a completely different context. Time to go out on a limb. “Do you remember why you came to Ba Sing Se?”

Jet raised a brow and wiped his mouth, and answered far too confidently. “I liked it. Thought it was safe.”

Jet hated the city. 

“Do you know about the war?”

“What fuckin’ war?” Yep. That checked out.

“How do you… feel about firebenders?”

Jet laughed, probably very perplexed about this line of questioning. “Is this twenty questions?” he asked, smiling.

“Sure,” Zuko answered, shrugging. Whatever got him to talk.

“Alright,” Jet said, playing along, thankfully. He set his elbows on the table and leaned towards him. “Well, I really only know one, and that’s you. So, I guess you could say that I think they’re sexy.”

Zuko huffed an amused sound. Once all of this was over, and if they ever got to a good place again, he was never letting him live this down. But it was one thing Jet remembered, at the very least. And Zuko’s name, oddly enough. And the love they have, had, more so. Seemingly, everything about him, just without the context that would make Jet hate him. 

It was like a dream come true, and a fever-nightmare all at once. 

He wondered for just the briefest of moments if this would be Jet without the war, without pain, without suffering. He seemed as content as a bluebird. Although his memory was fuzzy, Jet was happy. It almost felt wrong to take it away from him.

It was… bittersweet, to say the least. Jet was living in a world in which their relationship wasn’t complicated, wasn’t over, and that small, loud, selfish part of Zuko wanted it to stay like this forever. 

But this wasn’t Jet. He knew that. This--he-- wasn’t what Jet wanted. It was bad enough he’d allowed Jet to kiss him in a moment of emotional turmoil and weakness, but it could go no further than that. It was wrong, and he wouldn’t let himself succumb to it again. As nice as this seemed on the surface, it wasn’t what he wanted either. He wanted Jet in his entirety, broken parts and all, not just this hollowed shell of him. And Jet valued freedom, above all else, and this was the farthest thing from that. He owed that to Jet, to give that back to him. 

…Even if it meant losing him in the end. 

“All out of questions?”

“Yeah,” Zuko said, a bittersweet smile wrapping his lips. “Just looking at you now.”

“Could say the same to you, beautiful,” Jet said with a wink. 

They looked at each other, and a smile wrapped Jet’s lips, as poignant as it was beautiful. As cruel as it was to himself, he drank him in for long moments. He couldn’t help it. His fantasy was right in front of him. He could allow himself a moment of pretending.

Before he had to put a stop to it. 

He finally garnered the courage to look away and stood up. “You can have mine,” he said, gesturing to his bowl. “Just bring the whole thing.”

“This soup fuckin’ sucks,” Jet said, picking something out of his mouth with two of his fingers and then proceeding to toss it on the street. His other hand balanced the bowl, which would definitely not be returned to the vendor anytime soon. “That’s the third bone I’ve gotten so far. Did they just toss the whole bird in it or what? Surprised I ain’t gotten a feather.”

And normally, Jet’s grumblings would be entertaining, but Zuko’s mind was elsewhere. “Would you just come on?” he said, ushering him forward. “We need to find an inn.”

“We can’t just go home? To our house?”

It wasn’t his fault, and Zuko kept reminding himself of that, but this was going to be far more frustrating (and heartbreaking) than anything he could ever imagine. “We don’t have a house.”

Jet eyed him as he spooned another bite between his lips, talking around the food in his mouth. “What happened to it?”

Zuko huffed, unamused. “It doesn’t exist.”

Oddly enough, Jet accepted that without further questioning, albeit with a confused scrunch of his brow.

“This is good,” Zuko said, stepping up towards the first decrepit-looking inn he saw. It probably had cobwebs painting the walls, but right now, a bed and a roof were really the only things he was looking for. He just needed to fall asleep, wake up in the morning, and find someone to help Jet. That’s it. If he could even fall asleep, that was. What he really wanted to do was find Long Feng and scorch his body until it was nothing but ash and bone, but Jet had to come first. 

The receptionist greeted them kindly. “How many rooms?”

The two of them answered simultaneously. 

“One.” “Two.”

Jet eyed him, his brows furrowed. “Why do we need two?” 

And, not being able to explain in front of some random stranger that they were actually two exs very much in the midst of probably the most monumental argument ever, and one of them just happened to be mind-fried by the Dai Li, Zuko just ended up not saying anything at all. 

Jet turned his attention to the receptionist, giving him one more skeptical look before doing so. “One room, please.”

Zuko rolled his eyes, scraped the key from the counter, and walked off without further prompting. Jet followed close behind (and could he just say how weird it was to have Jet following him and not the other way around). He unlocked the door to their room, and the door was stuck, because of course it was, so he had to lean his weight against it to push it open. Jet shut the door behind them and gave him a baffled look.

“Why are you bein’ like that?” Jet asked, a bit of frustration bleeding through the surface now. “Two rooms? Are you insane?”

He had to just come out and say it. Try to convince him, somehow.

“Because, Jet,” he answered, as gently as his voice would allow. Jet didn’t deserve his ire, no matter how frustrated he was. “You’re confused, and you don’t even know that you are.”

“What are you talking about?” Jet asked. 

“You don’t want me,” Zuko answered. “You don’t want this. This is not -”

…Not real.

Zuko huffed. This must have been how Jet felt—when he found out that the relationship he had was false all along; a realization that was slapping Zuko across the face. It brought that aspect of things into a whole new, daunting perspective. To have someone stand in front of you that you know is different, that you know is not who they say they are, telling you that they’re the same person they’ve been all along. Acting like everything was fine, that it was all real.

He felt like he was going insane.

Because, why, why, was it never real?

And Agni damn it, Jet’s face softened at his words, which was always worse. It was that face that Zuko had a harder time resisting than anything. “...Of course, I want you.”

Zuko could only sigh and run his fingers through his hair, forcing himself to look off at nothing. He didn’t mean that. It was stupid to let it pull his heartstrings. “Something happened to you, Jet,” he said, softly. “We’re not together. Do you understand? We don’t live together, we don’t have a house, none of that.”

Zuko risked a glance at him, and it was very clear that he did not understand, not in the slightest. Whatever Long Feng did was drilled in deep. 

He found himself staring at the bedroll, unable to break his heart further than that. But if there was one thing Long Feng couldn’t pry out of Jet if he tried, it was his unwavering persistence. The tips of his fingers met Zuko’s face, brushing over the indents of his scar, trying to guide his face to look at him. Zuko always liked that about him, that both sides of his face were always equal in his eyes, both deserving of the same tender love and care as the other. That his scar didn’t matter, not in the slightest, like it wasn’t there at all. 

Jet’s voice was small, as if he weren’t testing the fortitude of Zuko’s will enough already. “You’re saying you don’t love me?”

Zuko made a sound somewhere between a scoff and a cry. He didn’t think he’d ever heard something so ridiculous in his life. He raised his hand to grasp it over Jet’s, leading it away from his face, and finally met his eyes. “Of course I do. More than you know,” was his answer. He didn’t think he’d ever sounded so sure of it before, so matter-of-fact. He was confident it was the only thing he’d ever been sure of in his life. “Which is why we can’t do this. Can you just trust me that in a short time, everything will make more sense?”

Jet looked at him for a long moment, searching for answers that weren’t there. Ultimately, though, he nodded.

“Okay.”

 They spent the night on the farthest ends of the bedroll from one another, mostly by Zuko’s doing, although Jet kept finding his leg and tossing his own over it. Zuko eventually gave up moving it, figuring it was a small sacrifice to give Jet some of the comfort he was clearly looking for. If dubious leg cuddling was the worst thing that occurred, he was probably doing alright. As long as he didn’t stick his tongue down Jet’s throat or put his cock in him, he figured real Jet could probably let it slide. 

Maybe. Hopefully. 

Zuko woke with the sun and slid Jet’s leg off of him, again, and gently shook him awake. Jet groaned and peeled his eyes open to glare at him, and for a moment, Zuko wondered if he might have awoken from his mind-slumber, given the disdainful look he gave him. But things were never that easy. 

Because he remembered that was just how Jet looked in the morning, on a normal day.

“What?” Jet grumbled. 

“We have stuff to do.”

Jet scowled and rolled his back to him, huffing. “What’s even the point? We don’t have a house, you don’t love me, tell me I’m confused.”

Zuko added 'pouty, bitchy Jet' to the list of things he’d never let real Jet live down. He sighed and stood to his feet. “Stop being a baby. We have to get you to a doctor.”

That actually made Jet crane his neck to look at him. “Doctor?” he asked, indignant, stubbornness written all over his face. Zuko was going to have to drag him, wasn’t he?

“Yeah, a doctor. So, get up.” 

“Why?”

Oh, for Pete’s sake. “Long Feng messed with your head, Jet. That’s why. Can you not be paranoid for five minutes of your life?"

Jet gave him a skeptical look. “Where? I don’t feel anything. My head feels just fine."

“All of it. The whole thing,” Zuko answered with a swirling gesture of his hand. 

“...I don’t believe you,” Jet said, furrowing his brows at him. “Long Feng was nicer than you are.”

Zuko pinched the bridge of his nose and let out the biggest sigh of his life. “Jet, do you know what children are? Do you understand the concept of what a child is?”

“Obviously,” Jet answered.

“Great,” Zuko answered, throwing a hand out to him. “Now, do you remember being one?”

Jet clamped his lips shut, thinking, maybe coming to some morbid realization on his own. “No, not really,” he answered simply, a slight hint of concern tinging his voice.

“So, does a doctor sound like a good idea now?” Zuko asked, tapping his foot, waiting.

It took Jet far too long to answer. “...Maybe you’re right.”

Thank Agni. “Alright,” Zuko said, waving him upward. “Come on. Let’s go.”

It took a bit of searching and asking for directions, but they did, ultimately, find a few doctors. The first was immediately out of the question. She had far too many human skulls lining the room to be of any comfort whatsoever, and Zuko thought he saw a still-bloodied bone-saw lying on a table. So, that was no good. And the next appeared as if he would do a rain dance and sprinkle snake oil on him, maybe feed him a frog (which he had tanks full of, for some reason) to fix the problem.  So, no good there either.

The third, however, had some promise. The place looked clean enough, proper enough, not… witch-doctory, thankfully. It was a little run-down, but that was to be expected in the lower ring. Hopefully, they wouldn’t have to move on to the middle ring and chance an encounter with the Dai Li. Zuko didn’t think he’d be able to control himself if he saw one of them. They didn’t frequent the lower ring as much, so it was probably best to stay around here.

The older man, the name of whom Zuko didn’t catch and didn’t care all that much to learn, eyed Jet as he sat in the examination chair. Jet visibly stiffened as the doctor looked him over, the man’s glasses glinting with the sunlight coming in through the window.

“What’s wrong with you?” he asked. 

Jet scoffed. “Aren’t you supposed to tell me that?”

Zuko cut in for him. “He can’t remember anything. Amnesia or something.” He didn’t think it best to call it brainwashing, and have to explain all of that.

The doctor hummed. “Did you hit your head?”

“No,” Zuko answered for him.

“Well, there has to be a cause,” the doctor said, inquiring. 

Zuko paused, thinking. Spirits, he was so bad at lying. “He, uh, got hypnotized. By a… fortune teller.” 

Even Jet snapped his head to look at him, incredulous. And the doctor only cleared his throat, not buying that for even a second. Despite that, he spoke as if he had.

“Well,” the doctor said, kindly. “In terms of hypnosis, there are really only a few options. Wait it out, and hope it turns around on its own. Or, if they happened to use some version of chi-blocking, either find an expert, like a guru, capable of unlocking those pathways again, or a water-bender healer. Unfortunately, I’m of the physical ailment side of things, not the mental. Simpler things like sprained wrists, broken legs, sewing up cuts, and things of the like. I won’t lie and sell you a potion that simply won’t work, fortunately for you.”

Zuko’s shoulders slumped, disappointed, but at least they had a direction to go in now. Though the only person he could even think of who fit the bill was Ty Lee, but she was halfway across the world. Besides, he had no idea if she could even unblock chi, rather than the opposite, or if she’d even be able to help at all, knowing the way his sister was.

“Thank you for your time,” he murmured, ushering Jet to follow him with his hand. 

“No problem,” the doctor answered. “Hope you two figure it out. Come back and see me if you need a shoulder-splint.”

The two of them leaned against the wall of the building, away from the street in the alley, feeling utterly defeated. Well, at least he did. It was probably noon now by the way the shadows appeared on the ground, and they were barely any closer to a solution than where they were before.

Jet eyed him and spoke dryly. “Fortune teller?”

“Best I could come up with,” Zuko groaned. 

He closed his eyes, thunked his head against the wall, and hunted his brain for more options. There had to be something else, right? Someone. Anything. He guessed they’d just have to keep searching. 

A voice called from down the street. “Jet!”

His eyes peeled open to find Smellerbee and Longshot running for them. She immediately threw her arms around Jet, looking like she had the smallest of tears in her eyes. “We’ve been looking all over!” she said. “Where’ve you been all night? We’ve been so worried!”

Jet gave her a gentle smile and hugged her back, but she quickly pulled away to examine him. “Where’s your armor?” she asked. “...And your swords?”

“Couldn’t tell you,” he answered. Did he even remember he had those things?

“You don’t know?”

“He doesn’t remember much,” Zuko answered, and she eyed him, cautious. 

“What do you mean he doesn’t remember?” she asked, nearly spitting it at him. 

Zuko looked around them, making sure it was safe, and kept his voice as low as possible. “The Dai Li did something to him,” he answered. “I’ve been trying to get him help all morning.”

Her head recoiled in anger. “And you didn’t think to tell us?”

Zuko cut his eyes at her back, equally as sharp. “No, because I was busy trying to help him.”

“You’re not the only one who cares about him, you know!” she said, her voice rising a little.

“Enough,” Longshot said, lowly, and they both turned to him. It was the first time Zuko had ever heard him speak, so, naturally, he zeroed in. “Arguing won’t help. Just tell us what you know.”

Zuko took a breath and let it out. “Not much,” he answered, softer now, the disappointment evident. “Just that it's something like brainwashing or hypnosis. Doctor said we need a waterbender or a chi-master.”

Smellerbee turned to Jet, her expression pained. “What do you remember?”

Jet’s eyebrows raised. “Basically, everyone here,” he said, shrugging. 

“Nothing else?” she asked, sadly. “Not the rest of the band? Omashu? The hide-out? Anything?”

“He doesn’t know anything about the war,” Zuko murmured. “Doesn’t even remember being a kid.”

Her lip pouted, and her eyes went teary again. “Oh, Jet.”

Zuko’s eyes fell on her, softer now than before. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” he conceded, figuring that if the two of them were to ever come to a truce, now would be a good time. “I was just worried.”

Her eyes went to him too, for just a brief moment, a little shocked, but there was a willingness there. Then she glanced away. “I know,” she said, finally. “You were just trying to help.”

Jet squeezed himself between the three of them, making his way towards the street. “Well, while you two are kissing and making up, I'm gonna’ go talk to that guy right there about his tattoos," he said casually. "I'll be right back."

Smellerbee scoffed. “Don’t go far,” she chastised. “We just found you again.”

“I won’t,” he said, smiling over his shoulder. “I’ll be right here.”

Zuko kept his eyes on the ground, still searching for literally anything that could help them. “You two have any ideas?” he asked. 

Longshot shook his head, and Smellerbee threw a frustrated foot to the ground. “What are we supposed to do? I don’t know any chi-masters. …Do you?”

“One,” Zuko answered. “Nowhere close, though.”

Smellerbee sighed, scrubbing her fists up her cheeks. “Let’s just go get him, and then we’ll… figure something out. I don’t know. Maybe someone in camp can help.”

“Sounds good,” Zuko murmured. Then the three of them turned, and Zuko did, not a double-take, but a triple-take at the man Jet was currently chatting it up with. 

…Orange robes, bald head, airbender tattoos. He was laughing at something Jet said, genial and good-natured. Zuko felt his brain reboot as he stood there, stunned and silent for a good, long moment. He really couldn’t help but just hang his mouth open.

“Is… is that-”

…Did Jet just find the fucking Avatar?

Chapter Text

In that long, sprawling moment in which Zuko’s mouth hung open, Smellerbee snapped her fingers at him. 

“What’s your deal?”

“That’s the Avatar,” he answered, surprised she wasn’t as shellshocked as he was. To be fair, she also hadn’t searched for him for three endless, joyless years. It would be someone else who wasn’t even trying that ultimately found him, because at this point, that was just how his life went. He was struggling not to feel bitter about it.

But what surprised him even more was the lack of want to throw a burlap sack over him and drag him off somewhere. Hopes and dreams do eventually die off at some point, he supposed. 

“You’re sure?”

Joining in on her skepticism, he wasn’t actually sure if he was sure. It was obvious the man was an airbender (or pretending to be one), but he was also, at most, twenty years old. Shouldn’t he be an old man? He was basically a child. 

“Only one way to find out,” he answered. 

He inserted himself into the conversation, a little rudely, but he figured that was within the rules, given their situation. He bluntly asked, “Are you the Avatar?”

The man looked at him for a moment, going from a little taken aback to finding joy in his question. “Sure am,” he said, a big grin taking over his face. His eyes fell on Longshot and Smellerbee, who had entered the sphere now. “You’re actually the first person to ask around here.”

Somehow, that wasn’t surprising. Everyone here was under some weird, Dai Li spell, which he realized rather quickly would probably bring about another problem. The Avatar’s presence was more than likely being monitored, considering the hush-hush nature of things. He checked around for suspicious persons, found none, then leaned in to him, speaking lowly. “Are you… being escorted, by chance?”

“Uh, yeah, actually,” he answered, gesturing vaguely over to a carriage waiting nearby. Zuko’s eyes followed his hand, as if the arrow on it was directing him to the threat, and he immediately sucked in a breath. There waiting for him was a woman vaguely similar to the Joo Dee they’d met before. Shit. She probably had eyes on them. He nudged Smellerbee with his elbow, but she’d already noticed.

On the bright side, there was a woman in blue sitting just next to her.

“I do have to be going, though,” he said, nodding to them respectfully. “It was nice to meet -”

Zuko couldn’t stop himself. He interrupted, rudely again, but he couldn’t let this opportunity slip. “Is she a healer? …Or are you?”

He perked his brows, maybe slightly peeved at his cutting in, but answered kindly all the same. “She’s the best healer I know,” he said proudly. “Why? You need one?”

“Yes!” Smellerbee answered that time. “We’ll pay you!”

Zuko’s eyes fell on her. “Do you… have the money from Long Feng?”

Smellerbee gave him a look—one that indicated she couldn’t possibly handle any more hideous realizations. “He doesn’t have it?”

That would be a no. Jet more than likely never had it, knowing Long Feng. It was probably the intention all along. Get Jet to do his work and cast him aside. 

Thankfully, the avatar waved both hands at them, smiling uncomfortably. “It’s really fine. We don’t really need it.” He thought something over for the briefest of moments. “But anyway, I’d have to ask her, but I’m almost sure she wouldn’t mind. We are trying to save the world.”

“Please do,” Zuko said, but when he turned to leave, Zuko nearly clawed at his arm to stop him. “Wait, wait, not now. Not in front of-” This was so annoying. Why did those bastards have to be everywhere? And he couldn’t even explain everything without coming across as unhinged, if he didn’t seem that way already. He thought of what to say, and settled on the first thing that came to mind, even though it was absolutely the most alarming thing he could possibly utter to a stranger. “Could you just tell us where you’re staying, and we’ll meet you there?”

As expected, the avatar gave him an apprehensive look.  Please, please, please. “Uh… sure?” he said, then paused. “I know it’s a guest house in the upper ring, but I’m not exactly sure where. How about I… uh…” He scratched his head.

“We can follow you there?” Smellerbee suggested. She lowered her voice then, leaning in towards him. “Just don’t say anything to that lady you’re riding with. They’re bad news.”

The avatar pursed his lips, and much to Zuko’s surprise, he actually said, “I thought there was something off about her.” Then he turned to them and shrugged. “We could definitely use more information about this place, if that’s a fair trade? So, we’ll… see you there?”

Zuko could feel the relief washing over him, like someone had taken a pallet of bricks off his shoulders. “Thank you,” he said, nodding to him. “We can explain more, once it’s… safe.”

“No problem,” he said, then smiled again. “And that sounds like a good idea.”

“Aang, come on!” another man called from the carriage. His body leaned over the door, his wolf-tail swishing to the side. “I’m starving over here.” 

“Gotta’ go,” Aang said, giving them a slapdash wave over his shoulder. Then he was gone, walking off towards the carriage.

They trailed as far behind as humanly possible, often choosing the high ground to stay out of sight and out of mind. Zuko was relieved to find that Jet’s feet hadn’t lost an ounce of muscle memory as they scaled various rooftops and beams. He’d told Zuko he used to live in the forest at one point or another. It was never that he didn’t believe him; it was just beautifully obvious now. He never as much as slipped, let alone stumbled. Jet thrived in these soaring heights, as if they were made for him and him alone.

The General had wings on his horse, but Jet never needed feathers to fly. 

They waited on an obscure balcony for a while, holding off until Joo Dee left the avatar’s house and was far out of sight. Zuko’s hands were sweating, and he wiped them against his robes. Jet would be healed soon, which was such a tremendous relief that he had no real way of quantifying it. But also, Jet would remember soon, and that meant he had to finally face him.

He wasn’t ready. He had to be.

They slid from the balcony and knocked on their door, and the woman in blue answered. She tilted her head looking at them, a puzzled expression on her face. “Are you -”

“That’s them!” Aang said from somewhere in the background. He appeared in the doorframe a moment later, ushering them in. “Come in, come in.”

They filed in, looking around the luxurious, albeit mostly empty space. 

“Wow, nice place,” Jet said, nodding at his surroundings. 

“This is Katara,” Aang introduced, pointing at each person he was referring to. “That’s Sokka, and that’s Toph. Oh, and I’m Aang.”

And after a few more moments of shy, but not uncomfortable greetings and introductions, Katara turned to their group. “So… Aang said someone needs healing? I don’t see any injuries, though.”

Zuko threw a thumb towards Jet. “It’s not exactly an injury,” he explained. She perked a curious brow at him, and he thought about coming up with some excuse again, but figured honesty was probably the best policy here, as insane as the truth may sound. “If you’re willing to suspend some disbelief, I’ll explain everything.”

This not only intrigued her, but the others too. In the end, though, Katara nodded. 

He sat quietly, leaning against the wall, trying to glance occasionally elsewhere so as not to seem like he was watching too intensely. Katara had been at it for a little over an hour, ebbing the water against Jet’s shoulders and up through his temples as he lay on a mat. She wasn’t entirely sure if she could do it or not, considering the unprecedented nature of it (in her words, ‘outrageous’ and ‘sickening’, not that he disagreed), but he was grateful that she was willing to try. 

Now, he could only hope that it worked. 

The room was peaceful, other than the soft murmurings of the others in their group, none of which he was particularly paying any attention to. Smellerbee had begun to panic within twenty minutes or so, when the healing wasn’t immediately generating results. She hadn’t acted offensively or with any anger, but Longshot still thought it best to take her outside and wait for a while. 

 The water illuminated the room in cool, phosphorescent light, something akin to the Northern Lights he’d viewed on his time on the ship. It was beautiful—calming. He was pretty sure Jet was asleep at this point, his head falling limply in her hands whenever she had to adjust him. He was just happy that, at the very least, this was a relaxing experience for him. The original experience, he imagined, was probably far from pleasant, so much so that he was almost afraid to ask about it, for fear of it inducing such a rage in him that he couldn’t contain it.

Papers shuffled next to him, as Sokka (if he was remembering correctly), sorted some documents on the floor. He hummed to himself, then lifted his eyes to give him a look. Zuko met it, and furrowed his brows at the suspicion in his expression. 

“What?” he murmured. 

“You look familiar,” he said, shrugging. “That’s all.”

Zuko’s stomach sank, and he looked off at nothing again, hiding the scarred (and recognizable) side of his face out of view. This, however, didn’t do much in the scheme of things. It wasn’t like he hadn’t already seen it. 

The papers rustled around for a few more long moments, and then Sokka said, “Ha! I knew it!”

Oh, not right now. Please, not right now.

A piece of paper slid in front of him, and he perked his brows as he plucked it up with his fingers. It wasn’t what he was expecting (What was he expecting, exactly? A royal portrait of himself?), but it was no less startling because of it. It was an artist’s rendition of what was clearly him, though with far less hair, and it was obviously not drawn within the timeframe of them being acquainted, considering the crumpled surface of the paper. His brows furrowed tightly together, reading ‘Wanted’ underneath. He nearly scoffed. Wanted for what? Besides, wasn’t he supposed to be dead?

Underneath read, ‘Formerly pronounced deceased, it is now believed Prince Zuko is in cahoots with General Iroh, formerly known as the Dragon of the West. Wanted for levying war against the Fire Nation. Arrest on sight. Permission granted to kill on sight.”

His father thought of everything. Either he’d figured out he was a mercenary fighting his own men (unlikely) or Uncle had done something, very, very unfavorable. Which, de facto, ergo meant he had to be in cahoots, right?

 “...Where did you get this?” 

“Well, if that’s you, your Uncle,” Sokka answered, casually. “...So, is it you? Not gonna’ like, arrest you, or anything.”

If his face wasn’t pale before, it was now. “Iroh? When? Where?”

“Outside the Si Wong Desert,” he answered. “Maybe a couple of months ago? So… it’s you? It’s you, right?”

Zuko huffed. Well, that was no help. But, also, “...Why was he in the Si Wong Desert?”

“He was helping us get to the library there,” Sokka answered. “He was looking for information, and well, so were we. So, anyway, I’m just gonna’ fairly assume it’s you. Since you… won’t answer me.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not exactly information I want going around!” he answered, as hushed as he possibly could. He slid the paper back to him. “Put that away before I burn it.”

Toph, breaking her silence from across the room, said, “Don’t worry. Snoozles will keep your secret. Won’t ya Snoozles?” She patted her stomach and burped under her breath.

Disregarding all of that… Uncle was helping the avatar? And friends? He twisted his lips. Suddenly, every meandering, time-wasting market trip (and every ‘lost’ Pai-Sho tile) when they were traveling together made a lot more sense. “Do you know where he is now?”

Sokka shook his head. Yeah, that sounded about right. 

“What did he find there?”

“Well,” Sokka said. “Some information that would help end this La-forsaken war, that’s what. We’re trying to get it to the Earth King, but -” He gestured towards Jet then. “Clearly, that’s going to be a little harder than expected. This place is… creepy.” His back shook with heebie-jeebies. 

He could only begin to imagine what all of that entailed.

“We’re getting a little closer now,” Katara cut in, softly, and Zuko visibly stiffened when she did. And, as if to demonstrate, Jet’s body went rigid with tension suddenly. “Nearly all the connections, that I can feel at least, are rejoined. But he might need a little push. If you want to go get the other two.”

Zuko swallowed, but nodded absent-mindedly. The walk outside went by in sort of a fugue, and he simply gestured his head at Longshot and Smellerbee to come in. They did, without question. When he arrived back, they sat around Jet, Zuko parallel to them. Jet’s hands were clawing and grasping at the mat underneath him, fighting to stay in the state he was in now. His back arched, and his head nearly jerked from Katara’s grasp, as if his body were being wrenched in different directions by invisible strings. 

It was horrific, to say the least. Zuko could only watch, mortified, and his hand gripped tightly over Jet’s without much conscious thought.

“You may need to say something to trigger his memories,” Katara said then. “It may snap him awake.”

Zuko pursed his lips, far too worried to think about much of anything. Thankfully, Smellerbee was more capable here. “Jet, your family. Think about your family.”

Jet’s brow furrowed tightly, and he murmured something to himself, pressing his face to the side. Katara worked around this angle methodically, patiently, nearly having to hold his head in her lap. His murmurings grew louder, more coherent after a moment, though Zuko could only make out, “Too painful.”

Smellerbee continued, latching onto the shred of hope she’d finally found, her breath ragged in her chest. “Think about us, Jet. The gang, the hide-out. The Fire Nation. Your Freedom Fighters.”

Zuko wasn’t sure which one of those had been the one to do it, but one of them had done something. Jet’s eyes flew open, his brow knitting together, and his jaw gritted together tight enough that Zuko thought he heard his teeth audibly grind. It seemed every hair on his body had risen. His torso shot up from the mat, out and away from Katara’s healing water, and his clawing hand gripped onto the first thing that came into view: the chest piece of Zuko’s robe, as an attack or for stability, Zuko wasn’t entirely sure. And Zuko could only look down at him, locking eyes, unsure of the expression on his own face. Jet’s eyes had gone wide, as if every synapse in his brain was shocked back to life all at once, and his mouth now gaped open; A look of almost child-like fear. Zuko didn’t dare move.

He wasn’t sure when he’d stopped breathing, but he had. They looked at each other for a long moment just like that, until Jet’s longly held breath left his lungs with a slow, shuddering sound. Zuko finally remembered to breathe when he did, and Jet’s eyes finally flickered away, the grip he had on Zuko’s chest loosening. Jet swallowed hard, his throat bobbing, and drew his legs in towards his chest to lay his arms over his knees. He looked at the space between his legs for a long moment, his lungs heaving air into him like he’d been held under water for far too long.

“...Jet?” Smellerbee murmured, after a few moments of shocked silence. 

“Yeah,” he croaked out, nearly automatically, but with no emotion Zuko could decipher. Jet swallowed again, firmed up just a little, and met her eyes. “Yeah, hey, I -”

“...Do you remember?”

He nodded weakly, and she immediately threw her arms around him. One of his arms wrapped around her too, then his dark eyes ticked back over to Zuko from underneath the wisps of her hair, the expression on his face something like bemused tangled with thinly veiled vexation. He remembered alright. He remembered everything. Zuko averted his eyes from shame alone.

Jet didn’t speak on anything though, at least, not yet. Smellerbee pulled away from him, and he turned by his hips to look backward. “You’re new,” he said, a little weakly still,  but firming up by the second. He extended a hand to Katara, newfound courtesy tinging his voice. It was quite obviously, at least to Zuko but clearly not to her, disingenuous. “Nice to actually meet you. Name’s Jet.” They shook hands for a brief moment, and just as quickly, Jet was rising to his feet. 

It became abundantly clear to Zuko, and to Smellerbee apparently, that Jet was a man on a mission. No rest required. 

“Jet?” Smellerbee said as he made his way toward the exit. “Where ya goin’?”

“I want my swords back,” he said simply, giving the avatar’s group a cheap wave over his shoulder. “Thanks for all the help, though.”

It was actually Sokka who spoke up then. “Well, hey, wait!” he said. “We were actually hoping you could help us? With the whole King situation. We explained it to this guy here.” He threw a thumb at Zuko then.

Jet paused, and his head turned over his shoulder, his body soon following, his interest thoroughly piqued. “King situation?”

Sokka said, “We’re trying to get him some information to him about the war. It’s important. But… apparently, he doesn’t even know there is one?”

“Yeah?” Jet asked. “You gonna’ tell him or what?”

Sokka shrugged. “I mean… yeah. Basically.” He put his hands out in a weighing odds motion. “You guys have been mercenaries right outside the walls, so I figure you’d probably be able to help convince him. Better than we could, at least.”

Jet thought this over for a long moment. Then his lips lifted in a devilish grin. “Yeah, yeah, I think I could do that,” he said, and he laughed, a little too jovially for the occasion. Something on the edges of madness. “I got a whole army that can attest to that. An army that is probably pretty pissed they’ve yet to get paid.”

That… hadn’t been what Sokka was expecting. “Well, I don’t know if -” It didn’t seem he knew what to say, exactly. 

“Long Feng’s got my swords and my money. Tried to take my freedom,” Jet said then, maybe as justification, maybe not. His smile faded as he came to some realization, and he huffed out an unamused laugh. “But he gave the wrong mother fucker cannons.”

Chapter Text

All it took to convince the rest of the Freedom Fighters to march on Ba Sing Se was informing them of the despicable, tyrannous acts against their leader. The fact that they wouldn’t get paid otherwise was, however, a nice cherry on top. It wasn’t surprising. Jet had only led them upwards so far, undefeated. He’d earned every ounce of their loyalty, and in a way that was almost a little scary, they were more than willing to lay down their lives to avenge their slighted leader. They were devoted to him, at this point, not any King or country. If there was one thing Jet cultivated as equally well as he did the air of freedom, it was unwavering loyalty. 

Which, Zuko realized, was probably the biggest reason Jet let him stay. Jet was equally committed to his Fighters as he expected the other way around. It was a wonder Zuko ever questioned it. They had the staunch nature of a pack of stray mongrels tethered together by heavy chains, even if one of them had been diagnosed as rabid, and the chains were never meant to be broken. That was, as long as he kept his foaming maw to himself.

Now, this pack of dogs stood at the threshold of destiny. There was no going back after treason, after biting and chewing the hand that pretended to feed them. They either succeeded and freed this city from despotism, or failed to be subsequently put down. But to be free, as Jet said long ago, was worth dying for. 

Zuko didn’t think Long Feng would be keen on letting Jet slip from his control twice. There would be no more chances. Long Feng had the unbearable weight of his thumb over the entirety of Ba Sing Se, so much so, Zuko feared they’d need the hand of some god to lift it. But, despite this web of control Long Feng had managed to construct, what he hadn’t taken into account was the nothing-to-lose attitude of the aggrieved poor. They could only defend a country for so long, dying in fields of mud and rot, before their minds grew bitter and resentful, regardless. Add on top of that, the fact that the country they were defending chose to spit in their faces. Their freedom was being called into question, their pockets were empty, and there was only so much a people can take before the natural conclusion was to snap. The snap point was here, and it barely even took a spark for the roaring fire to be set ablaze. 

The avatar and friends, however, were a bit wary of The Freedom Fighter’s eagerness. They hadn’t yet grasped Jet’s hunger for righteous retribution, no matter who it was against, that he was not a man above the alluring call of Lady Revenge, that she’d ruled every waking moment of him since the time he was just a child. But they would soon learn.

“We’d rather it be peaceful, if we can,” the avatar had said to him. 

“There will be no civilian casualties,” was the only thing Jet would promise with any surety. “But we need to free the people. If it takes Long Feng’s head on the end of the pike to do that, then that’s what we’ll do. I suggest getting to him before I do if peace is the route you want to take. In my eyes, he’s lost every right to it.”

The avatar hadn’t been able to even argue it, but did agree to try to talk Long Feng down first. Though Zuko figured that the Avatar knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, that this would not work, because when he saw the artillery bricole being loaded up, the horses huffing as cannons were led behind them, he hadn’t said another word after inquiring as to what they were. He had little personal skin in this fight, but Zuko was grateful that even as a third-party, they did, in a way, have something akin to a god to assist them. It was enough of a morale boost to make it seem doable, and that was really the only push they needed. The avatar spent the rest of the afternoon doing air tricks, much to the displeasure of the waterbender, which was quite enough to get everyone feeling good, confident. This, along with Jet’s rallies and war cries as he passed around large jugs of alcohol, and the energy very quickly turned from apprehensive to celebratory.

Tomorrow was a day for the untouchables, the pariahs, and the outcasts that this country deemed fit to leave behind, to finally, finally change their stars. 

Early the next morning, as soon as the sun rose in the sky, the Freedom Fighters kicked into gear.

Each person in the army stood next to their horse, the only thing sewing them to the person to their right were the wings standing magnificently towards the sky. It was a field of different colors, a variety of meager armors from all over the Earth Kingdom, from the tans of the tribes of the Si Wong Desert, to the bright emerald dyes of Shamu, all fitted on top of the bodies of whores, beggars, refugees, and vagabonds. They’d all come to Ba Sing Se for a better life, and damn whoever stood in the way of that, even if it was their own. There was no hiding in the bushes this time around. This ousting was to be showy, flashy, and most of all, proud. 

The magnificent General made his way down the line, eyeing his army with glimmers of pride over the tops of his mask. He was armored to the hilt, bar the swords, and was making sure each soldier was proper to the highest degree possible. Dusting off a shoulder here, adjusting a helmet there, tightening the saddle to Pipsqueak’s horse (a draft horse, when it came to him). 

When he finally made his way to Zuko, it was no different. 

The General examined him, front to back just the same, with all the stoic ease he had to offer. This, however, did not stop the breath from hitching in Zuko’s throat when the General made eye contact with him, because it wasn’t the General who held his gaze for a beat too long, whose eyes softened with affection and worry, then hardened just as quickly. The first thing Jet said directly to him since awakening was, “Your chest piece is loose.” Without ceremony or sentimentality, Jet grasped the buckle and strap on his side and yanked his armor taut to his chest, jolting his body slightly. Zuko tried his best to remember to breathe, to keep his eyes strictly forward as Jet’s long fingers barely touched his side, and Jet moved to the other side to do the same there. Then Jet paused in front of him, giving one last look over, before saying, without emotion, “I take it if the fuses get wet this time around, it won’t be much of an issue.” 

Zuko huffed from his nose, closing his eyes in a long blink. Permission granted to firebend wasn’t at all what he was expecting, but he could never say Jet wasn’t practical. Zuko nodded, his eyes still on a blurry mess of trees behind him.

“I’m trusting you with a hand cannon, soldier. I’d like to hear an audible confirmation,” Jet noted. “You’ll do whatever possible to prevent me from scraping your corpse off the ground.” 

“Yes,” Zuko said, just the smallest bit faltering, but sure enough to make Jet nod all the same. Ba Sing Se wasn’t the place Jet had decided he would die, at least, by any hands of the enemy. 

“Any princesses in need of saving I should know about?” Jet asked, with just a tinge of bitterness then. “Before we head in?”

“No.” 

“No, what?”

“No, sir,” Zuko answered, looking directly at him then, with just the right amount of acidity in his voice to still be within the realm of discipline, but enough to where it was clear as day.

He thought he saw the edges of Jet’s cheeks rise in the smallest of smiles. Jet always liked that he was a challenge, that he didn’t take his shit. He guessed not much had changed. Jet’s amusement faded,  looking at him with austere determination, and he leaned in towards his ear. “You even attempt to get out of my sight,” Jet said, lowly, low enough that only Zuko could hear, “and I won’t hesitate to put one of those lead pellets through your heart.” Jet let that sink in for a long, uncomfortable moment, and Zuko’s eyes fell; then he nodded, silently. 

Jet pulled away, and when he finally got the courage to glance back up again, Jet’s eyes had the slightest undercurrent of pleading. And lastly, finally, soft as a prayer, Jet said, “Please—don’t make me.”

Then he was off, down the line of soldiers, then gone.

The lower ring came easily. Through the stench and cracked streets, their army moved freely, and they kept as uniform as possible through the twisting maze, out and around oxen-driven wagons and a lone cabbage merchant, who huddled over his merchandise like a mother eagle protecting her nest. Zuko was pretty sure the entire army had gotten through without a single dropped piece of produce, thankfully for him. This seemed to have perplexed him more than anything, and he abandoned his cart and nearly ran back up to the front where Jet was leading the force, Zuko not too far behind.

“What is this?” the cabbage man asked him. “What are you doing?”

Without any fuss, Jet answered, “Expunging the Dai Li from the city.”

The man’s feet stopped moving, and he looked at Jet’s back as he continued forward. “Wait, really?”

“You’re welcome to come,” Jet answered, over his shoulder now. “Pitchfork, shovel, whatever you got. Stay at the back of the line, though.” This was how he answered everyone who asked, which ended up being more than Zuko could possibly count.

By the time Zuko’s horse got to him, the cabbage man’s grin was nearly ear to ear, and he hurried off into the doorway of a nearby building to call inside. “Hey, fellas! Come look at this! There’s an army out here ‘bout to take on the Dai Li!”

“An army?!”

“An army!”

“Cai, be serious.”

“I am serious!”

It wasn’t but moments later, a horde of older men were peaking out the windows and doors, all equally as ruffian-looking as the other. A few of them hooted.

“Wow, would you look at that.”

“You fellas need help?”

“You think that’s a good idea?”

“Well, I reckon we can just follow and look?”

Shuyi whistled to get their attention. “Hey, handsomes,” she called to them. “Boss man said you’re welcome to follow. Help out if you want.”

The men laughed and gushed like schoolgirls. “Well, pretty lady, I think I’d follow you anywhere.”

She smirked. “Get to it then.”

“Aw, shoot,” one of them replied. “Gotta’ get the damn sword out.”

“You’re really goin’?”

“You pussies aren’t? You ain’t tired of taking the boot up your asses? Tao, didn’t they do somethin’ to your wife?”

“Sure did,” he said. “And I’m ‘bout sick of this shit.”

“Well, let’s get to it then. We can’t let the pretty lady do more than we is!"

It wasn’t long before they were filing out the door, waiting for the horses to trail behind, whatever rusty or nonsense weapon they could find gripped in hand. This theme didn’t cease the entire trek through the Lower Ring. Before they knew it, they had a following of militia larger than that of the band itself. 

They passed the opium den, and addicts looked up from them under heavy eyelids. They didn’t budge, glued in place to where they sat on the street, but one of them did raise a fist, a rebellious spirit trapped behind a tired smile.

Women hanging clothes from the top story of derelict apartments whistled down at them, even floating down scraps of cloth like a handkerchief confetti. “Li Hau, come look! A parade! A parade of qianlima!”

A group of bandaged lepers offered them prayers. 

A couple of children ran alongside Zuko’s horse, the younger of them missing an entire arm, and both of them caked with grime. “Hey, mister,” the older girl said, probably the ringleader. “I like your horse. Think I could give her a flower?”

Zuko nodded to her, and she turned to her friend, who held a bouquet. She plucked one of them up, held it up to Zuko, then said, “Cost you a copper though.”

Zuko smiled; he couldn’t help it. Much to his saviour, the younger, probably erring on the age of six years old, scolded her. “Give the horse a flower! She looks like she came straight from the heavens! That’s what mom used ta say about pretty things like that. And look at her. You want her flying off to the heavens without a flower?” The older relented, groaning as she handed Zuko the flower, which he tucked into the braided mane of his heavenly horse. He dug in his pocket, flicking a coin into the air, which the older snatched from the air. 

“Hey, thanks, mister!”

Shuyi spoke from just behind him. “Hey, girls,” she said. “You know who’d really like one? That man up front with the mask. He looks awful mean, but he’s not. I think he needs a flower to cheer him up.”

“Thanks, lady!”

It wasn’t long before they were at Jet’s side, and he looked down at them, his horse’s tail swishing from side to side. 

“Hey, mister,” she said. “Your horse want a flower? Cost you a copper?”

“A whole copper?” he asked, faux offended.

“Lin, we talked about this,” the younger said. “Pretty horse, heavens.”

“Well, Jia, we can’t give all the flowers to all the pretty horses! Then we won’t have no flowers left! Besides, that man with the scar bought his fair and square.”

Jet turned his head over his shoulder, just the slightest contentment finding his eyes, then turned back to the girls. “I’ll do you one better,” he said, then dug in his armor to pull out a coin too, or several. Then he leaned back, plucked two feathers from the arches of the wings, and handed all of it over. “That should cover everything, so I can give all the horses flowers. And the feathers make you honorary Freedom Fighters from here on out.”

“Whoa, you mean it?”

“I mean it. But that means you gotta follow orders. Alright?”

“Okay, mister.” 

“Alright. First order. You gotta’ go find someplace to be. Gotta stay out of the way of the hooves, alright? Pretty horses will step on you if you aren’t careful.”

The younger thrust the bouquet into his hand, nodding. “Make sure each one gets one.”

It was undeniable, the smile under the mask. “Okay. Go play. Go pick more flowers.”

“Come on, Lin,” the younger said, pulling at the older. Zuko questioned who was the real ringleader after all. They rounded the corner and were gone out of sight, and Jet tucked the bouquet onto the back of his saddle.

A pillar of strength, with wild flowers to his back.

At around noon, when the sun was high and the shadows short, the gate to the middle ring came into view. It was closed, only opened by access papers, papers they did not have. The roughly ten guards or so were immediately on edge, viewing the group that approached them. 

“Hey! What is this?”

Jet spoke clearly. “Open the gate.”

“We can’t do that.”

“Alright,” Jet said, unbothered. “Shuyi, see that bird?”

“Mhm,” she hummed, eyeing the lone squab that pecked its way down the street.

“Kill it.”

Shuyi obliged, lowered her hand cannon, lit the fuse with a match, aimed, and fired. The shot echoed through the streets, loud enough that the guards visibly jumped, and jumped again once they noticed the bird was no more than a puff of feathers and a blood pool. Shuyi grinned, self-satisfied. “Shuyi the sharpshootah. Been practicin’, can't ya tell?”

Ping whistled. “Dangerous woman.”

She replied, glaring at him, “That’ll be your ass, you keep talking to me.”

Ping twisted his lips shut without further prompt.

Zuko thought he heard one of the guards mutter, “...What the fuck…”

Jet said, nodding backward, “We got fifty of those.”

A couple of the guards' throats visibly bobbed, and one of them turned to the other.  “Alright. Open the gate."

“Good choice,” Jet said.

The middle ring was far easier to traverse, given its lower population and straight away streets. The population it did have, however, was far less pleased about their presence. A flock of filthy peasants trampling dirty hooves over their clean roads was, simply, unacceptable. 

A man approached Ping, glaring up at him from underneath his well tailored hat. Zuko guessed he didn’t have the gonads to approach the leader. “Hey, you can’t ride horses here. Are you insane?”

“Says who?” Ping bit back.

“The law,” the man replied. 

“Well, the law,” Ping said, “can kiss my ass. And so can you.”

The man nearly crumbled, insulted. He made the mistake of pulling at Ping’s leg, to which he met the bottom of a boot square to the face. He hit the ground with an oomph, and somewhere ahead of them, Zuko thought he heard Jet laugh. The man didn’t attempt to stop them again, and neither did anyone else. Zuko found it in his heart to form the smallest shred of respect for Ping, however fleeting it may be.

This ring took a lot less time, maybe three hours. By the end of it, there’d been no civilian casualties, as promised, expect for maybe the man with the nice hat’s pride.

They approached the gate to the Upper Ring now, far more guarded than the one before. The guards looked down at them from their posts, and they went through the same routine as the last, except this time, there was no bird as warning. 

They refused to open. A bricole was brought forward, and the cannon, the Big One, fired a cannonball directly through the gate. It tumbled to the street some block further down, scuffing the road.

The guards did not attempt to stop them further, and the gates were simply pushed open, their army marching right on through, the menagerie of militia behind them.

The outer court of the palace approached, and that was when the avatar flew overhead. Time was counting down for him to get to Long Feng before Jet skinned him alive. He best hurry. The girl from their group, the earthbender with vacant eyes and no shoes, approached the front. She didn’t ride a horse. It prevented her from ‘seeing’, whatever that meant. 

“Nice stairs,” she said to Jet, looking at nothing in particular as they looked upward.

He hummed. “Sort of hard to get the artillery up. Wheels and all.”

“Give me ten seconds, tops.”

His eyebrows raised, intrigued. By that point, the guards at the top had begun to take notice of them, and were barreling down the steps. 

The girl, Toph, (he should really try harder to remember their names), went into an earthbending stance, and after a few quick maneuvers, every single step up turned in on itself, the stone creaking and cracking with tension as it created the perfect slope. And the guards who were traversing it, subsequently, slid down with comedic expressions of abject horror. The landed at the feet of an army of hooves, most of them having lost their weapons in the process of falling, and peered upward as if meeting the eyes of their maker. 

Jet looked down at them, his horse huffing. “You mind moving?” he asked. 

When they didn’t immediately answer, he shrugged. “Alright,” he said, nonchalantly. “Guess you want to get stepped on.”

His horse moved forward, and thankfully for the man beneath, narrowly avoided clipping the guard with its hooves. By that point, it had sank in that they were in over their heads, and the guards scrambled upward and out of the way. Zuko was beginning to wonder if these people loved their King at all, with the way they seemed to care much more for their own hides. Probably not. How competent can a King really be if he wasn’t even aware of an entire war?

Up the stairs (well, slope) they went, and things, thus far, had been pretty easy moving. Zuko imagined the hard part was soon to come. The outer court led into the courtyard, a long, endless brick road that led directly to the palace. A lot of open space, a lot of space without cover. 

The army filed out in just the beginnings of it, fitting tightly together as Jet refused to move forward. He was waiting on something, probably the Avatar. Though, how patient he was willing to be was really the question at hand. 

The militia that were not part of their group, however, started to gather amongst themselves a little farther in, but even they seemed hesitant. 

The palace doors opened from the down the way, and, surprisingly it was not a flood of Dai Li that emerged, but the avatar, accompanied by a man in royal green robes. The King of Ba Sing Se. 

Long Feng, however, was still no where to be seen. Come to mention, they hadn’t seen any Dai Li at all.

Zuko found it hard to believe that was a good thing.

Chapter Text

The glaring absence of Dai Li did not go unnoticed by Jet either. As the avatar and King approached, the first thing out of his mouth was, “Where is he? Long Feng.” He was a man on a mission after all. Zuko didn’t think that even the presence of Agni himself would tamper with his single-mindedness.

The King, who appeared taken aback at the lack of formalities, laid his porcelain hand over his chest. “Well,” he said, looking around their group with eyes widened with bombshelled surprise. “The avatar wasn’t joking when he said there was an army out here.”

“Yeah, well, we’ve been fighting your wars,” Jet answered, “for years.”

“I’ve been made aware,” King Kuei said, kindly but astonished. “Your dedication is not unappreciated, just…” He laughed a little then, more at himself than anything. “...I’ve been so blind.” He turned to the group of militia, taking them in with a long look under his glasses, and his eyes softened with empathy and worry. “I assume these are my citizens.”

The citizens in question did not rush to meet him, nor sing him praises, which seemed to surprise him too. He’d probably been pampered with applause for so long that the absence of it was like a slap to the face. Zuko could only imagine he’d been surrounded by ‘yes men’ and royals and Long Feng’s appointees, feeding him that everything was fine. This whole time, he probably thought he was doing a great job. Only to find out his own people didn’t respect him enough to bow. And… why would they? They lived in squalor. 

Zuko almost pitied him. The most powerful man in the country had been cosseted and lied to as if he were a child. 

“That man is missing an eye,” King Kuei said, softer now, regretfully. “...Oh my. They look…” He didn't finish. Probably didn't want to say awful out loud.

“Yeah,” Jet agreed, not one to hold his tongue for anyone, not as pissed as he was now. “Yeah, they do. The entire Lower Ring looks like that. Isn’t it your job to know that?”

King Kuei looked up at him then and nodded. “It is, and I apologize. Your anger is nothing but warranted. I trusted Long Feng’s word, and perhaps, I shouldn’t have. Here, I thought we were prosperous. It’s no wonder Long Feng suggested I never leave the palace. They always brought my citizens to me, and they always looked so well. They told me their lives were wonderful. …I never thought to question it, to see it for myself.”

Jet huffed a laugh, unamused, but it seemed he found the lack of awareness pitiable too. It wasn’t quite enough to douse Jet’s fire, but enough to dampen it. “Where is he?” he asked again.

“That’s the issue,” King Kuei replied. “He’s been gone for nearly two days. All of them. Otherwise, I’d have them arrested. I assumed he was in a meeting with someone, but now I’m thinking otherwise. It’s just been my servants here. And it seems you just waltzed right on in here, didn’t you?”

“It wasn’t exactly hard.”

King Kuei nodded, contemplating. “I suppose he’s got control over the guards as well. They’re probably unaware of what to even do without the Dai Li around to order them. That begs the question of where they went and why. Perhaps they fled? It doesn’t seem advantageous to allow you here.”

“No, no, it doesn’t,” Jet agreed. It wouldn’t be advantageous to flee either. Long Feng didn’t seem to be the type to tuck his tail and run.

“Well,” King Kuei said, clapping his hands together. “The avatar has made me aware that I also owe you a debt. So, for now, allow me to settle it.” He turned on his heels to go towards the palace, then paused, sheepishly, to look over his shoulder. “...How much does it cost, exactly, for mercenary services? I don't have any records to have any idea. I assume Long Feng doesn’t keep them about these sorts of things, for obvious reasons. Does your group have a… banker or something? So, I can start keeping receipts?” 

Jet furrowed his brows, opened his mouth, closed it again, like a fish. This guy was so clueless about everything that Jet didn’t even know what to say. A banker?

But it seemed they had just the woman to do it. Daiyu waved her hands at him, frantically humming to get his attention. The King eyed her, confused, probably not aware that a tongue even could be removed from a person’s mouth. She nearly flew off her horse, scrambled a piece of paper from her pocket, scribbled something down on it on the back of Jet’s saddle, and thrust the paper into the King’s hand.

King Kuei’s head tilted down to read it, shocked. “800 ounces of gold? That seems… expensive.” Zuko tried to keep the breath from catching in his throat. That was two ingots’ worth of gold. He didn’t think he’d ever even come across a gold coin since he’d been a mercenary.

That smart little swindler was about to make them very well off. Zuko, as Crown Prince, had never held an ingot of gold.

“We’re really good mercenaries,” Shuyi said, cutting in. “I mean, we did take back Omashu.”

The Freedom Fighters hummed in agreement, nodding, not a one speaking up. Con artists, all of them. Not that he was complaining.

“Huh,” King Kuei said. “That is impressive.”

Daiyu plucked the paper from his hand, scribbled something else down on it, and handed it back. 

King Kuei read, “...And dinner? Well, yes, I… guess I could spare a dinner.” He turned to the militia of citizens. “Would anyone else like dinner? I suppose I owe you all for braving to come here.” Zuko’s eyes went wide, and he tried to hide his shock by turning his head to the side. This was actually working.

The citizens shrugged, their pitchforks and torches seeming… out of place, suddenly. 

“Amazing,” King Kuei said, nodding. “My kitchens have never made food for this many before, and I don’t think the dining hall will accommodate. So, does an outdoor picnic sound grand? Dried meats, fruits, nuts, erm, maybe a big pot of rice? Noodles? Soups? I don’t want to work the servants too hard. What do you people eat?”

Way less than that.

Everyone was too confused to do much other than a thumbs-up. Though one of the citizens suggested, “...Can I get a chicken?” 

“Roasted chicken,” he repeated. “Sounds marvelous.”

The man brought his fist down to his side, victorious, murmuring to himself, “Sweet.”

So… dinner it was?

The moon was high over the courtyard, and everyone’s bellies and pockets were full, relaxing under the kerosene lampposts and the stars. There was no battle, but the gold per person alone was enough to change a person’s stars. Just… not in the way anyone expected.

The citizens had done about as much as they could, and had slowly been breaking themselves away throughout the night. There were few left, tucking various food items into their pockets to take home, taking advantage of an opportunity that was few and far between for them. The entirety of the Freedom Fighters, and the avatar and friends, remained. The King had gone inside to settle down for the night, but welcomed them to stay. He said he’d appreciate a tour of the Lower Ring in the morning, if they would oblige him. 

The two main crews sat around in a circle, and Jet, rightly so, still seemed perturbed. His helmet was to the side of him, but everything else was still armored. He didn’t trust any of this, not one bit.

“This doesn’t make any sense,” Jet said, to no one in particular. “Long Feng wouldn’t just leave. He’s got control of everything. People like that don’t just give it all up.” He shuffled one of the gold coins from his pocket, not even happy about it, and stuck it between his molars to bite down. The metal gave way, leaving little indents. “I mean, it’s real. …Is he buttering us up or what? Trying to get us to fuck off?”

“Maybe Long Feng’s just waiting it out?” Aang suggested. “Waiting for us to leave, so he can move back in and convince the king all over again?”

“Or maybe the king is playing us,” Smellerbee said. “Protecting him?”

“I don’t know,” Jet said. “He genuinely seemed clueless. I don’t think he could come up with a master plan if he tried. The guy handed us gold like it was nothing. …I mean, it probably is to him.”

Zuko listened quietly, contemplating. And at risk of Jet chewing his head clean off, he suggested, “The King said he thought Long Feng was meeting with someone.”

“Yeah?” Jet said, with about as much attitude as one would expect. “So?”

Zuko shrugged, trying not to show the sting in how Jet spoke to him. “I’m sure we aren’t his only enemies,” he said, lowly. “It’s possible someone else got to him first.”

“Like who?”

“I don’t know,” Zuko bit back, and planned on leaving it at that. One thing he didn’t want was witnesses to their petty feuds.

Jet sighed and relented. “Maybe,” he said. He stood, grasping up his helmet with him as he rose. Fitting it over his head, he murmured, “This shits pissing me off.”

Toph, who had been lying on the stone, her foot kicked over her knee, shot up suddenly, her hands splayed on the ground. “Someone’s coming,” she said.

Everyone shot up as quickly as she had, looking around. “There!” she said, pointing at the entrance to the outercourt. And there they found a single Dai Li agent, stumbling towards the entrance to the palace. He came further into view, into the light, and it was none other than Long Feng himself, alone.

Long Feng looked up, realized what he was looking at and who was looking at him back, and seemed equally as surprised to see them as was the other way around. “Of course,” he bit out. “Like I didn’t have enough to worry about without you peons here.”

As if Jet needed another reason to sink a blade into him. Without hesitation, Jet snagged the kukri from Smellerbee’s belt and marched with purpose over to him, the avatar pleading something to him that was promptly ignored. Long Feng was immediately snatched up by the collar of his robes, not seeming to be in any physical position to fight back, and Jet had to hoist his body upward to stand him upright, which only seemed to anger him more. He wanted a fight, and Long Feng wasn’t giving one. Jet pressed the blade to his throat, just barely breaking the skin.

“Go ahead and kill me,” Long Feng spat, snarling at him. His hands gripped Jet’s arm, holding on, but with no conscious effort on his part. It was survival mode kicking in and nothing more. He locked eyes with Jet, speaking frantically. “It won’t do you any good.”

“Oh, I think it’ll do me some good,” Jet spat back, in his face, shaking him for good measure. 

“We’ve both already lost,” Long Feng said, a wild rictus taking over his lips, an equally crazed laugh following, the laugh of a man who’d just lost it all. 

“I’m tired of your games!” Jet shouted. “What the fuck are you talking about?!”

“Did you think my rule was bad?” Long Feng asked. It was only then that Zuko noticed the scorched material on the bottom of his robes, the burns that trailed up his calf and to his thigh. Zuko imagined he smelled of burnt hair and flesh from Jet’s proximity. He held an equally marred hand to Jet’s face. “This is what she’ll do to you! What I did was a mercy!”

“Who?!” Jet said, lower then, but no less ardent in its fury. “Answer me!”

“The Princess of the Fire Nation, you fool,” Long Feng spat.

Jet’s eyes went wide, and Zuko’s body went whipcord tight, paralyzed. He nearly stumbled backward, and all the words felt like a hazy blur after that.

In that long drawl of silence in which Jet could only stare at him, stunned and speechless, Long Feng continued, taking his advantage while he had it. “She’s already in the palace. I came to warn him, your King. And here you are. You should have learned your place when you had the chance, should have stayed where I put you. But no, you decided a peasant should have a place in politics, flying too close to the sun. Well, hope you’re ready to get burned. Filthy fucking mongrels-”

His monologue was cut short as the kukri sank deep into his chest, Jet’s hand gripped to the hilt tight. Jet didn’t let his collar go, looking directly into Long Feng’s face as blood started to curdle out of his mouth, his breathing coming into and out of him in wet, choked sounds. Jet said nothing as Long Feng’s body slumped, grasping onto his arm as one last hopeless tether, until finally Jet could no longer hold him, and he fell to the stone.

There was no enjoyment to be had in it, not right now. Jet only looked down at him, then turned back to the group, his expression severe, the breath high and fast in his chest. He didn’t say anything for what felt like a long time, and neither did anyone else, a gut-punched silence. 

“The Fire Nation,” Jet said, looking off towards the doors to the palace. His voice firmed up, and he tried again. “You heard the man. Get your asses into gear! Formations! The Fire Nation Princess is here!”

Zuko finally found the ability to move, and he nearly ran to him, stumbling, stammering. “Jet, we shouldn’t do this.” It wasn’t the right thing to say, at all, but it was the only thing that found his mouth. “We need to retreat.”

Of course, Jet cut his eyes at him, sidelong. “Feeling green around the gills, soldier?” he asked. “Or let me guess, there is another princess in need of saving after all.”

“No,” Zuko said, as confidently as his voice would allow. “No, no. She won’t need saving, trust me.”

Jet huffed from his nose, unamused as he gathered up a handcannon in his arms. “Trust you,” he murmured, indignant. 

“Please, Jet, just stop and listen for a second!” he nearly begged.

So, Jet did, looking at him without looking at him, seeming more annoyed than actually willing. He threw a hand out, inviting. “Talk. You get thirty seconds.”

“You don’t know what you’re getting into,” Zuko said, warning. 

“And you do?” Jet asked. When he didn’t immediately answer, Jet raised a brow, a sneer wrapping his lips. “You seem to know a lot about her. Funny. What’s the relation to this one? Just another ‘old friend’?” And then he said something, with no basis, maybe just something he thought would burn Zuko up inside, or it was what he actually thought all along, suspicions that had been churning in his mind for weeks now, which was far worse than just trying to piss him off. “Or are you putting your cock in this one too?”

Zuko could only stare for a second, disgusted, mortified, really, but pissed off at the implication all the same. Guess Jet got what he wanted there. “No, I, no. I didn’t do that before-”

“Then what?” Jet batted back, automatically, calmly. It was then that Zuko saw his accusation for what it was: getting him on the defensive so he’d spill easier. Well, it worked because there was no way he wasn’t defending himself against that. “Why wouldn’t it be that, right?”

He pulled his shoulders back, firmed up, and said, defensively with a copious, dripping amount of disgust, “Because she’s my sister.”

Which, he realized after, only implied far, far worse things about himself, in all of its incriminating, damning glory. Because if the Princess was his sister, then that meant-

Jet looked at him for a moment, no disbelief, no anger, no… anything. Just looking at him blankly, blinking. Zuko almost started stammering something, what stammerings they would be, he wasn’t exactly sure. But Jet took a deep breath too, and for a short, stupid moment, Zuko thought he might actually be in the clear, that Jet appreciated his honesty and agreed they needed to leave. Then Jet stepped towards him and proceeded to punch him, hard, in the face. 

He stumbled backward and fell to the stone, of course he did; a grown man just punched him with everything he had. His cannon clattered to the ground as he raised his hand to cover his busted cheek, tasting the blood in his mouth. Fuck, it just healed from the last time he got punched. Before the curses could even mutter under his breath, Jet said, while waving the pain away in his hand, “That’s been a long time coming.”

Zuko lapped his tongue over the inside of his cheek, glaring at him now. But it wasn’t like he didn’t necessarily deserve it. Jet rounded his back, picked his cannon up, and held it, glaring down at him too.

“You stay in this courtyard, and I’ll deal with you later,” Jet said, then he turned on his heels, calling to the other soldiers and waving them forward. He pointed to two in particular, Pipsqueak and a late-stage teenager by the name of The Duke, ordering them over to where Zuko was beginning to find his senses again. “Watch him. Make sure he doesn’t fucking move from this spot.”

Zuko watched his back for a moment, still dazed and holding his face, and did curse then. He fucking told him, and it didn’t even stop him. Why did he ever think it would? Now, he was just more pissed off.

Why did he have to be so stupid?

Chapter Text

Zuko didn’t think Jet could have picked a better person to hold him back. Pipsqueak was a lumbering giant of a man, nearly three times Zuko’s size in terms of mass. As someone had explained it a few months ago, his body kept growing in place of his mind. Pipsqueak, by way of his hindered nature, had it so drilled into him that orders were to be followed down to the exact tittle, that nothing in the world could ever get him to budge. Zuko could have told him a meteor shower was raining down on them, and Pipsqueak could have looked up and seen it, and would continue on chaining Zuko to this Agni damned light post. 

Rumor had it that before Jet liberated him, Pipsqueak’s caretakers (a term used rather loosely here, considering they sold him like a beast and treated him like one as well) had used him as a plow-horse. Jet was the only one who’d ever treated him like a person deserving of respect and dignity, the only one who gave him a chance, despite his shortcomings. It was no wonder, looking at it like that, that Pipsqueak would never go behind him. And Zuko couldn’t even be mad at him for it, because that’s just how he was. 

The Duke, however, right-minded and young, could absolutely bear the brunt of his ire. 

“Duke, let me fucking out of here.” Zuko yanked himself against the chains that were looped over and over around his arms, and they rattled against the metal of the light post. Fuck, he couldn’t even firebend his way through them. Not only were his arms behind his back, but even if he did find he could melt the chains, they would only melt directly onto his arms, which would not do anyone any good. “Now, Duke.”

“It’s The Duke,” he corrected, as if Zuko gave any modicum of shit right now. 

The rest of the Freedom Fighters (as well as Avatar and Friends) were filing into the palace behind him, and Zuko grit his teeth. “Point still stands, The Duke,” Zuko spat.

“No can do,” The Duke said, tipping his helmet at him. “Jet’s orders, my man.”

“It’s really, really important,” Zuko tried. 

“Not more important than Jet’s orders,” he retorted, sassy. Steadfast little asshole, wasn’t he?

If Zuko could have beaten his head against the ground, he would have. He turned his attention to Pipsqueak. Worth a shot, right?

“Pip,” he said, a lot more kindly but also not. “You really like Jet, right? Do you want Jet to die? If not, let me out of here.”

“Hey, don’t talk to him like that,” The Duke said, defensive. How could he forget? They were all buddy-buddy. “I’ll kick your ass, dude.”

Spirits, I hate teenagers, so, so much. Dusty little dirtbag.

“With what? Your stick?” Zuko asked.

“It’s called a bō.”

They were getting off topic here. “Please,” he said instead. “Please, please, please. You don’t understand. There’s a woman in there who shoots lightning from her hands. Do you understand that?”

“Lightning?” The Duke asked, incredulous. “You lost your marbles or somethin’?”

Getting pretty close, actually. “Yes, lightning,” he growled through his teeth. “Firebenders can do that sometimes.”

The Duke twisted his upper lip up, stupid little scraggly mustache in tow. Zuko was going to take a straight razor to it in his sleep once (if) they got out of this. “How would you know?” 

He was wondering if Jet had bothered to tell anyone at this rate. Probably not. Knowing Jet, he was probably burying his head in the sand about the whole thing. Trying to ignore (or drink or smoke or fuck) the problem away, like he did with everything else, not that Zuko was completely innocent of one of those things. 

“Duke,” he said again, then shook his head, correcting, “The Duke. Jet’s life, his life, is at stake here. Could you please find it in your heart to let. Me. Out. Of. Here.”

The Duke looked at him for a long moment, leaning on his stick. Then shrugged. “Nah, I don’t know, man. Jet’s like the strongest guy I know. I think he’s got it handled.”

Zuko couldn’t help it. It was genuinely an accident: the puff of fire that left his mouth with his snarl. Though he had to say, it felt good, felt right. “Unlock the chain, kid!” he ordered, the smoke filtering through his teeth.

The Duke’s eyes went wide at him, and he nearly fell backward, holding his stick up at him defensively, even though Zuko was chained to a post. Pipsqueak eyed him too, which was, quite literally, a much larger problem. Thankfully for him, Pip was a gentle giant, unless ordered otherwise. He nearly dragged The Duke away, to watch him suspiciously from halfway across the courtyard, and Zuko could only sit there and scream and writhe against the chains, which only frightened The Duke all the more.

It did him no good and only left him worn out, his forearms and wrists rubbed sore and raw. He had to sit there with his helplessness and worry. Once again, he wasn’t able to protect Jet from anything. Not Long Feng, not Azula, not himself. 

He just wanted to cry, but that wouldn’t do him any good either.

He wasn’t sure how long it was before the noises began. As soon as they did, his head whipped up to stare at the doors to the palace, his stomach sinking with absolute dread. His fingers ceased their work on trying to pick at the chains, uselessly, he might add. They barely touched them anyway, and it had only given him something to do other than think. But that distraction was thrown out the window, now that he could hear. It was hand cannon fire and the rumble of earthbending from what he could make out, somewhere close, maybe within the first few rooms of the palace, muffled by stone walls.

As frustrated and unbearably anxious as he was, at least he wasn’t alone in it. The Duke peered upward to the palace too, pacing on his feet, nearly leaving a rut in the stone. At least he had that to do.

This was far crueler than anything Zuko could ever imagine. Crueler than Jet hitting him. Crueler than ignoring him. Or speaking to him callously. Or even threatening to kill him. Zuko could handle anything and everything Jet threw at him. Everything but this. Not knowing if he was okay was going to eat him alive, and this might be the thing he’d never forgive him for. 

 If he ever saw Jet again, he was going to slap the ever-loving piss out of him. He didn’t care if it led to an all-out brawl at this point.

But for now, he could only thunk his head back against the light post, close his eyes, and try to pretend they were somewhere, anywhere else.

He was not successful in this endeavor.

After some time, people began to evacuate the palace. At first, it was just servants, then a few royal guards, then, eventually, King Kuei himself. All of their breaths were ragged, as if they’d run through a mire to get to where they are now. Maybe they had, or something worse. 

The women servants high-tailed it towards the outer court, their aprons hiked nearly all the way up to their hips. Some of them were crying, scared out of their minds. Zuko tried to call to them, but they only eyed him and kept on. 

King Kuei’s voice rang through the dark. “Go! You must go!” He was helping a woman to her feet again, ushering her forward, then peeking his head back in the large stone doors to hurry the others coming through. He may be clueless and a little bit useless, but Zuko had to give it to him that he genuinely seemed to care about people, which was saying something when it came to the majority of royalty. He hadn’t tucked tail and run on his own, when he very well could have, and that was something to respect. 

He ushered something else out of the door, some sort of strange beast. A bear, maybe? A bear… with a bill? Platypus bill? Platypus-bear? What on Agni’s green earth was that? Didn’t really matter, currently.

Zuko called to him too, nearly tearing his voice up his throat, as he ran with the others towards the exit, much to the displeasure of The Duke, who eyed him from across the courtyard. 

Thankfully, the King gave him the time of day. He paused in front of him, giving him a look of recognition. He must have noticed him earlier. “Hi, hello,” Kuei said, his voice sounding raw and rushed, his hands trembling. “You’re with the Fighters, are you not?”

“Yes!” Zuko said, his voice coming out increasingly pleading and scraped raw himself. “What’s going on in there?! Please, please, untie me!”

“Oh, quite a lot,” King Kuei said, which was not reassuring in any way whatsoever. He wasn’t expecting anything good though. The worst case scenario had already replayed in his mind more times than he could count. “I’m almost sure they could use another set of hands.” 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

“That boy over there,” Zuko said, nodding his head, “has the key. Please, please, get it. Hurry, hurry!”

The King turned on his heels, gesturing to The Duke to hand it over as he made his way to him. Zuko wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but, for some arrogant teenage reason, The Duke decided to give the literal, actual King of the Earth Kingdom gripe, and was thus slapped across the face. Zuko was glad to find, even though it took a disaster at his door, that the King did have a set of nuts underneath those robes. He’d have to wait until later to find any real amount of satisfaction in it, however.

This evacuation did not cease as the King made his way back over, but now, it was the Freedom Fighters evacuating too. One or two here and there, some limping, some not, all of them covered in dust and grime, blood speckled on their skin. They appeared disoriented, exhausted. It was not an encouraging sight to see them mount their horses and flee. 

Zuko’s heart was nearly beating out of his chest at this point. The King stuck the key in the lock, and it was taking entirely too long to unravel the chains behind his back, and he spat at him without really meaning to. “Hurry! Fucking hurry!”

King Kuei had the good graces to see it for the panic that it was, and not anger directed at him, thankfully. “There,” he said, and Zuko’s arms went slack. 

He stood automatically, not caring that his arms felt like they’d been scraped across gravel. What to do now? Fuck, what to do? The King seemed to be in the same boat, at least. They needed some sort of game plan. He was probably no good in fighting, but one thing the King had going for him was jurisdiction. 

“I need a favor,” Zuko said to him, a bit of authority finding his voice. “I know you’re not used to this, so let me help.”

King Kuei sighed with relief. “Okay,” he agreed. “What do you need?”

“I need you and your guards, I don’t care if you run or if you take a horse, but go to each gate and make sure they’re open. All of them. We need to be able to high-tail it out of here. Take that boy over there with you. He can lead you to the camp outside the walls. It’ll be safe for you there.” Zuko paused and thought for just a moment. “Also, tell that big guy that you’re the King and you order him to listen to me now. He’s a little… impeded, if you know what I mean.”

King Kuei blinked at him for a moment, then nodded. He turned to Pipsqueak and called over to him. “Hey, you! I’m the King, and I order you to heed this man’s orders.” 

Pipsqueak looked at him, tilting his head to the side in confusion, scratching behind his ear. “But I take orders from Jet?” he bellowed.

“I am your King,” he repeated. “I have higher authority than him.”

Pipsqueak paused for just a moment, thinking, then said, simply, “Okay.”

Thank Agni. 

“Great,” Zuko said, then pointed to the artillery bricoles. “Pipsqueak, I need you to lead those horses down the slope, okay? They need to go really slow, so the cannons don’t pull them down, alright? Then, just wait at the bottom for me to go get Jet.”

Pipsqueak nodded, already on it. “Okay, boss.” 

Zuko pointed at The Duke then, who was still recovering his wounded pride. “You,” he nearly shouted, but didn’t, something he would pat himself on the back for later. Though he was still convincing himself from going over there and strangling him. “Go with the King and take him back to the camp after the gates have been opened.”

And thankfully for him, his fire spitting had scared The Duke into not giving him any lip. He only nodded, a bit sheepishly, but complied all the same. 

More Freedom Fighters ran out the doors then. Time to move forward. He turned to them one last time and said, “Good luck.”

“Good luck,” King Kuei said back. “I’ll be seeing you.”

And Zuko could only hope that was true.

Time seemed to distort as he ran into the palace. In the way of adrenaline, slowed, as if in half-speed, with bits that were blurred and completely forgotten as soon as he moved passed them. There was a long hallway in the beginning, a hall he could only assume led directly to the throne room, if the Fire Palace was anything to go off of. People ran passed him to get out, not even batting an eye at him, a symphony of chaos sounding from behind them. The doors into the throne room from the main hall were only cracked open, trapped closed by something unseen, and Freedom Fighters pushed and shoved their way out as if they were a school of fish fleeing through the neck of a bottle. Clawing, climbing over one another, their eyes widened in terror. 

They funneled out one or two at a time, running for the door, deserting maybe, he had no way of knowing. Cannon shots fired from inside, then something different, blue light erupting in quick flashes and then gone, then followed the sound of thunder, and it wasn’t from the cannons. It was something deeper, that seemed to rattle the floor. Then screams and shouts, wails of horror-stories of old, like yowling foxes in the night.

He fought for a way in, only to be shoved backward again and again, back out into the hall. A familiar face pushed through, two, at that. Longshot carried Smellerbee on his back, and he paused as soon as he saw Zuko, and they could only look at each other for a moment. Smellerbee eyed him too, her face pressed limply against Longshot’s shoulder as more people pushed their way out around them. The extent of her injuries was unclear, and he had no time to examine them.

She gripped onto the front of his armor and pulled him in closer, her voice weak but no less determined because of it. “Get him out, Li,” she pleaded. “You’re the only one who can. He won’t leave until everyone else has. Please, please.”

He nodded, and then they were gone, Longshot running for the door too, as quickly as he could with dead weight on his back. 

Finally, after what felt like a lifetime, but was probably only a couple of minutes at most, he was able to squeeze through onto the other side, finding a break in the flood. He had to step over a fallen stone that was blocking the door, but he managed. The sight that met him inside was nothing short of a nightmare. The throne room was less of a room and more of a labyrinth of twisting stone, a forest of earthbended pillars, some fallen, some not. A thick layer of smoke floated across everything like foreboding fog, the gunpowder odor nearly insufferable and unbreathable. The lights that frequented this royal place illuminated all of it in sickly green, proving it to be the noxious gas that it was, the sconces peering down at him like the eyes of large-teethed beasts. 

Bodies scattered everywhere. Some Freedom Fighters were smashed against walls while others lay limply over pillars, their eyes unmoving and burst wide open. Further in were soldiers in red shot dead, (Azula was not the only Fire Nation here, apparently), while some Dai Li lay impaled on pikes. Many of the bodies were theirs, many of them not, but all equally as dead as the other. 

Zuko could only stare for long moments. It was like nothing he’d ever seen. He didn’t think he’d ever, ever been this afraid of something in his life. This was no battle. This was a night-terror. A tragedy. But this was what war was. A detestable lack of regard for life on both ends. Human beings trying to one-up one another with bigger, better, stronger, endlessly, mindlessly. It was exhausting, wasn’t it? It was never supposed to be like this, and suddenly, he found himself very tired of it all. So much love and beauty to be found in the world, and people choose to treat each other like this. He’d chosen this, time and time again. As if human life were something to destroy, to blot out of existence. 

Something to erase.

It seemed they’d threaded the needle one too many times. Jet had only led them up so far, which only made the fall that much longer.

He finally found the courage to move again, weaving through the maze of stone and death. There must have been some water fountain structure that bordered the room, and even that was being utilized as weaponry. It became very clear where those blue flashes of light had come from, as bursts of electricity, of lightning, ruptured the water, thunderous and roaring, and sent it airborne, flashes of energy zapping and crackling as rain fell back down. The source of it all was unseen, but there was no mistake who it was.

And above it all, dead center the room, the body of the avatar rose as if he were being pulled up by theatre strings, a massive swirl of wind and white glowing energy swirling around him as if he were the living embodiment of a tornado, a formidable force of nature. The water from the fountain pulled in around him, as well as fire from a bender nearby, and then soon large chunks of earth floated up from the floor.

Zuko stared up at him, wisps of his own hair whipping against his face, too stunned to move, just watching, eyes widened with horror and amazement all the same. It was, by far, the most incredible and petrifying thing he’d ever seen. It made him feel as insignificant as an ant pitted against a wildfire and a hurricane all at once. A wave of bitterness hit him suddenly and without remorse, to the point he nearly laughed at the absurdity. 

It was impossible. It was always impossible.

Unless, of course, he was Azula. Because from somewhere nearby, quicker than a blink, another flash of lightning struck the avatar. His body seized up, the glow fading like a lantern out of fuel. Just like that. As if it were as easy as assassinating a child. 

Three years he searched.

For her to do it in half a second.

Someone, Katara maybe, screamed. 

Jet’s voice echoed through the fray, shouting, “Retreat! Retreat! Now, now, get out! Get the fuck out of here!”

Someone doing just that found Zuko by accident in the fog, shouldered him to the side, and kept running. It snapped him back into reality, at least, and Zuko kept moving towards Jet’s voice, stumbling over bodies or debris, he couldn’t be sure, and didn’t exactly want to know. 

He spotted him, finally, near the throne. Of course, near the throne. That’s what all of this was about, wasn’t it? A fucking throne. Jet was shoving a Freedom Fighter to their legs, pushing him towards the door, a borrowed sword in his hand. A sword that he was no good with, too heavy. He was okay for now, but on the verge of being overwhelmed by soldiers pouring in from somewhere further in the palace. From where exactly, he didn’t know.  He couldn’t see a damn thing, besides a sea of red closing in.

“Jet! Jet!” he called, and ran for him, stumbling and not caring. 

A wall of stone was erected to the side of him, something protective, like a barrier. Had he only been mere feet to the left, it would have rocketed him into the ceiling, never to be seen again. He barely caught a glimpse of the avatar and friends dragging the avatar’s body towards the door. 

Focus, focus. He kept moving forward, calling, screaming. “Jet!”

Jet finally turned on his heels, eyes searching and panicked. Zuko had never seen him panicked. But why wouldn’t he be? He was in a room trapped full of monsters, in over his head, without even his preferred weapons to guard him. 

Jet finally spotted him, and despite everything, ran for him too. He stumbled through roughly ten feet of debris and decay before a handcannon shot sounded from somewhere unseen, and Jet became very slow, very suddenly. Azula cackled from somewhere in the smoke, then said, “New team and new toys? I’m beginning to like Ba Sing Se after all.”

Zuko’s brain didn’t immediately register it. He couldn’t. “Jet,” he said again, lower that time, barely even a sound leaving his mouth. 

Then it hit him, his stomach sinking, and he breathed, “No. No, no.” His feet were moving forward without him telling them to.

Jet stumbled forward, an indomitable human spirit if Zuko had ever seen one. He’d drag himself forward if he had to, from spite alone. Zuko met him finally, behind a pillar of stone that guarded them, and Jet fell to his knees in front of him, exhausted. Zuko’s hands shook. Everything shook. 

“...Hey,” Jet breathed, his voice heavy and tired, barely raising his head to look up at him. He had angry red burns on his neck and shoulder, and Zuko wasn’t sure how far they went. Zuko couldn’t find it in himself to slap him yet, or do or say anything really. He immediately went to examining him as well as he could in the smoke and low light, putting his hands all over him, and digging his fingers inside his armor and not giving a single shit what Jet thought about it. Jet winced and hissed a breath as his finger sank into the pellet wound on his upper chest near his shoulder, and Zuko immediately felt the weight of the world lift. It wasn’t very deep, not organ deep at least, his finger could feel it lodged inside. The armor stopped most of it, but he was still losing blood. But he could survive if they hurried. 

Jet hadn’t lost any spunk yet, and that was a good sign, but he still had the wonders of adrenaline on his side, for now. “Fucking ow.”

“Shut up,” Zuko ordered, pulling his hand out, which was now covered in Jet’s blood. He tried not to think about it too much as he lifted Jet’s arm over his shoulder. One of them had to have a clear head. “Keep walking. Keep moving.”

Jet had no arguments for once in his life. So, they did, out and around pillars, stumbling over everything. He had to drag Jet over of few of them, but he managed. It seemed they had enough smoke and wild terrain cover for no one to notice them. They probably thought they’d all funneled out by this point anyway, and just presumed Jet to be shot dead.

He didn’t think about that for too long.

They were finally able to stumble out into the courtyard, and the new, clear air hit his head with fresh oxygen. He took a deep breath. He needed it. Jet’s weight leaning on him had only increased, his body beginning to tire. Without any fuss, he let Jet’s body slump to the ground nowhere special. As quickly as he could, he ripped off pieces of cloth from his underclothing, and without ceremony or much warning, plugged Jet’s wound with it, stuffing it inside. 

Jet called out, cursing him, his hand reactionarily gripping onto Zuko's arm, but he’d just have to deal with it. It wasn’t a fun process, and no amount of dilly-dallying would make it any better. He had to stop the blood as well as he could, and that was the only way. He couldn’t cauterize it, not with the lead still inside. That would have to wait.

Jet was getting weaker by the second. “Call your horse,” Zuko said. He could have just gone and gotten it, but giving Jet things to do kept him awake, kept him alert. And treating him as if he wasn’t mortally injured also prevented Zuko from losing himself to panic.

Jet did, barely able to bring his fingers to his mouth, but he did, the whistle cutting through the air. She trotted over moments later, snorting. Now the hard part was getting him on the fucking thing. 

He called over to two Freedom Fighters loitering near the horses. Almost everyone was waiting, except for those who’d originally deserted. That number was still unclear, as was the deceased. Again. Can’t think about that now. They had to get the living out.

He didn’t recognize these two, but they knew the General, and that was enough. “You’re going to have to tie him to me,” Zuko told them. They nodded. Zuko went up the saddle first, and after a bit of struggling, the three of them managed to fit Jet behind him, a rope of knotted cloth tethering Jet’s front to his back. It wasn’t perfect, but it was enough. 

He trotted the horse over to the others, noticed the covered wagon down below the slope. The familiar rise and fall of phosphorescent healing light illuminated the street, probably the avatar if he had to make a guess. Katara would be no help here. He couldn’t blame her. She had her own responsibilities. But Pipsqueak had done well, getting all the wagons and cannons down below. He’d tell Jet to give him a raise when this was all over. 

Now there was only one thing left to do, and that was to get the fuck out of here. 

Ping was nowhere to be found. So, Zuko guessed, by default, the guy who carried the leader was the leader. Smellerbee appeared down for the count currently.

“Back to camp, quickly,” he told everyone, waving them forward. “I’m gonna get Jet back to Jin as fast as I can. Everyone just move at your own pace. We’ll all meet back up. All the gates are open, everyone should be fine.”

And no one, not one person, thought any differently. Zuko dug his feet into the horse’s side, and off they went.

Everything went by in unremarkable blurs. Jet slumped against his back, and his arms that wrapped around Zuko increasingly got looser, and looser, as did his tongue. His cheek pressed against Zuko’s shoulder, his body seeming to have given up any amount of protest against it. He murmured through, what sounded to be the world’s softest sobs, murmurings Zuko could barely make out against the hooves clopping against the stone or the wind in his ears. He figured it was Jet cursing at him, or cursing the world, or both, and ignored it as well as he could. Then it came to him, what Jet was actually saying, and his heart plummeted.

“...Bowen… gone… Wei… gone… Yong… gone. Gone, gone, gone, gone. …My fault, it’s my fault…”

He kept riding. No time to dwell or comfort. Not now, not yet. 

The King had done well too. Every gate was wide open, as promised, the guards not giving them second glances. Traversing was much quicker in the night, less people on the streets, and running the horse as fast as it could go was also a significant help. By the time they hit the lower ring, her breathing had become strained, heaving into her lungs, but she kept moving forward. Onward, endlessly.

He’d run this horse into the ground if he had to.

Jet’s voice grew even softer somehow, even less coherent, as they faced the gate out of the Lower Ring and galloped out into the open world, the heavenly stars overhead like flickers of grief in the night. And as if Jet’s murmurings and sobs weren’t concerning enough already, his grip on Zuko’s torso had lost nearly all of its strength, to the point Zuko had to slow the horse to keep him from sliding off the side. He held onto Jet’s arm with one of his own, keeping him mostly upright as well as he could, and Jet could only plead in his ear, mumbling, almost inaudibly.

“...Mama... Ma’, please, I need you. …Mama, help me… please… please... don’t know what to do, Ma’...”

For the first time, maybe ever, Zuko saw Jet for what he was: A boy who only wanted his mother. Zuko knew all too well that she wasn’t coming back. She never would, and she never could. No amount of ardent, self-sought rage, the savagery, or spilled blood, the violence, the death, the hatred, none of it, none of it could ever bring Jet back to the wonder, the splendor, and the glory of innocence. 

They trotted into camp, and as soon as a tent came into view, Zuko called, his voice raw and hoarse, painfully so at this point. “Jin! Jin!”

She ran for them in the light of the campfire, going still, but awakening just as quickly. With her help and a couple of other nurses, they pulled Jet from the saddle, his head hanging low, his body gone completely limp. 

They lay Jet on the mattress, their mattress, or had been. Jin worked her wonders, plucking the lead from his chest with measured care, and Zuko did cauterize it then. Jet was passed out, thankfully for everyone involved; no shouting or cursing this time around. She cleaned his burns, all of them, the new one included, and bandaged and wrapped him. Zuko watched his breathing like a hawk, his own breath catching in his throat every time it seemed too shallow or too far and few between. He was sure he wouldn’t have any nails left to bite for a while.

Jin did all she could, and Zuko stayed with him the rest of the night, watching, waiting. The other Freedom Fighters filed into camp, one by one. 

He never, not once, left Jet’s side.

Chapter Text

At some point, he’d fallen asleep without really meaning to. His face was on his arms, his body upright as he sat at the table, the good-for-nothing stool underneath him. How he’d possibly fallen asleep sitting at a table was beyond him, but, somehow, he’d managed. It was morning, or maybe close to noon. Hard to tell, but the sun was creeping underneath the tent flap, the camp awake around him, bustling with life, though with less vibrancy than normal. It made sense, considering. 

And the only reason he hadn’t shot up when he awoke, panicking, was because it was Jet who woke him, his arm trailing off the mattress to tug at the hairs on his leg. It hurt a little, but he really couldn’t find it in himself to be annoyed. He shot up anyway, just not in a panic, and looked down at him, feeling the weight of the world melt around him. Jet was awake, and looking at him, and he couldn’t think of anything better than that.

They looked at each other for a moment, with no expression in Jet’s eyes besides newly awoken tiredness, and perhaps a hint of misery, but not anger. He found he had no earthly idea what to do with tired and miserable. Angry was, at the very least, navigable. He could talk someone down from anger. It was really no wonder Jet shielded himself with it so often. It was so much more manageable, wasn’t it? Sadness, though? That was something they just had to sit with. 

“Hey,” Zuko said, without really thinking too much about it. He sort of just left it like that, his exhausted, half-asleep brain unable to conjure anything else. 

“What are you doing?” Jet asked, murmuring. 

Zuko looked down at his own body, thinking it was sort of obvious. He answered gently anyway, figuring Jet might have lost more blood than he thought. “...Sleeping?”

“I know that, idiot,” Jet said, a tinge of snideness in there. 

Zuko huffed. There it was, just a smidge. Better than nothing. 

“I meant, why there?” Jet asked. 

And Zuko thought the answer to that was rather obvious too. He gestured at the bed. “Because you -”

Jet’s lip twitched, a bit of mocking amusement, but amusement nonetheless. “It’s your bed,” he noted. 

“You bought it,” Zuko answered. 

Jet blinked at him. “And then I gave it to you. Besides, it’s winter. It’s freezing.”

Zuko’s brows furrowed slightly, not really wanting to explain that, of all people and especially between the two of them, he was the best one to deal with cold. Was Jet cold? He found himself suddenly worried he’d be colder than normal, lack of blood considered. “Do you need another blanket?”

Jet let out the longest sigh of his life, laying a defeated hand over his face, pulling the skin of his cheeks down with his fingers. He spoke underneath his palm, staring at the ceiling of the tent. “Fine, Zuko. If you don’t want to get in the bed, that’s fine. I really don’t give a shit.”

Oh. Oh. Shit, did he just blow his chance? Agni damnit. He stood without really thinking about it, floundering and wide awake suddenly. He gestured at a carafe of water on the table, for some reason, staying in doting mode by default. “Do you want water?”

Jet cut his eyes at him, seeming to only grow more pissed off by the second. “First, stop trying to take care of me. You’re not Jin. And two, I’d love some sake, actually.”

Zuko’s lip twitched too, annoyed. “Jet, you got shot. You need water. Not alcohol.”

“Yeah, I’m aware,” Jet bit out. “I did get shot, and burned, and beaten the fuck up, and it hurts. So, get me a shot, or get the fuck out of here.”

Zuko met his glare for a brief moment, then sighed, his eyes flickering away. What a way to start the morning. But, not wanting to blow his chance further, he complied. It was silent as he poured a shot, a small one, because he wasn’t a complete idiot. He handed it down to him, and Jet barely contained himself from snatching it from his hand. It was gone down his throat before Zuko could blink, and he let the glass tip onto the ground beside the mattress.

He stood over him, Jet’s temper seeming to simmer but not completely fizzle out. He didn’t have the energy to keep a roaring fire, but a candle flame was manageable. Jet looked off at nothing for a long moment, then said, “Where’s Jin? I’m still pissed off at you. Don’t even want to look at you.”

And, not really able to bury the hurt in that sentence, Zuko spat back at him. “Well, she’s busy, Jet. So, I guess you're stuck with me.”

“Yeah, I am stuck with you,” Jet said, automatically. “Stuck like fucking glue.”

Zuko inhaled, trying to keep his cool. “...I’m not exactly happy with you, either, you know.”

“Yeah?” Jet said, incredulous. “For what?”

Zuko huffed, unamused. How did he not even realize? “You locked me outside.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

Jet should have counted himself lucky he’d been shot then. Otherwise, he would have gotten a carafe of water dumped on him, or thrown at him, or both. Zuko’s voice picked up then, cracking with anger and most of all, hurt. It poured out of him, and he couldn’t really stop it. “Do you know how worried I was about you?! Do you even care? You made me sit outside and listen to everyone die. I thought you were dying. How big of a selfish prick can you possibly be?! All because you didn’t want to listen to me. I told you. I tried to tell you she was -”

“I know, okay?” Jet cut in, more overwhelmed than angry that time. “I don’t need I told you so’s. I really don’t.” His voice grew softer, and Zuko could tell he was picking at something underneath the blanket. His eyes looked at nothing, lost, sad again. “...I feel bad enough. Don’t rub it in. Please, don’t rub it in."

Zuko sighed, his own fire doused, and sat back down on the stool. He hated that Jet had that ability over him. That he could never really stay mad if he tried, and he was trying. But he also wasn’t trying to throw Jet’s dead comrades in his face either. That didn’t help anybody. Definitely didn’t make him feel any better. 

Zuko leaned his elbow on the table, then his face against his fist, looking at something on the bed but not at Jet directly. “Don’t ever do that again,” he said, trying again, pointedly, but not angrily. “'Cause if you wanted to punish me, you did it. Yell at me all you want, but don’t make me worry about you. It was awful. From here on out, wherever you go, I go. So, get used to it.”

Jet went silent for a few moments, propping an arm under his head to tug at his own hair, nervously. Zuko wasn’t sure exactly what part was making him nervous, but he could largely assume it was the realization that Zuko did care about him, as much as Jet was probably convincing himself he didn’t. Or that it was Zuko, of all people, that was scolding him, and telling him what to do, and not the other way around. But while in the confines of this tent, Jet was not the General, and it was well within the rules. Or, much, much more simply, just talking about important things in an overall sense was uncomfortable at best, not that Zuko wasn’t right there with him. It wasn’t like either of them was handed a rulebook on these things, and the lives they led didn’t necessarily account for anything like this. Regardless, Jet seemed willing, more so than before.

“Okay,” Jet said after a while, then added, pointedly but softly too, “sorry.”

Zuko nodded, satisfied enough with it. It was probably the best he’d ever get.

But Jet seemed to have had his fill of feeling talk for now, and decided to move on to more tangible things. “...Are Smellerbee and Longshot alright?” he asked, lowly.

Zuko nodded. “She was injured, but she was okay. I think he’s just fine, from what I saw.”

“Do you know how many we lost?”

“No,” he answered honestly. Then added, seeing the dread wash over him, “I know a lot fled, though. I watched them. A lot of them aren’t gone, just… deserted. But more made it than not. Retreating was the right call. And you did good getting everyone you could out.” 

Jet only looked off at nothing for a long while, grief in his eyes. While Zuko didn’t necessarily know everyone here, most people here were hand-picked by Jet himself. He knew them all, at least on a surface level, enough to see them all as foundlings. It hurt when they died, and probably hurt the same amount (if not more) when they left on their own. 

He thought for a moment about anything, literally anything, that could soften the blow a little more. “Every mercenary group loses people. It’s part of the job. The best leader in the world can’t prevent them all. Everyone has to lose at some point.” 

He was sure Jet was aware of those things, but it still felt right to say, as a reminder. He knew all too well from the time leading his ship that bad calls happened sometimes. Even Uncle had told him a few from his days as Dragon of the West. All you can do is learn from it, mourn, rebuild, and move on. Maybe one day, probably not today, he’d tell Jet of leading his ship into a storm, even when warned otherwise. Zuko had only been lucky that the crew who were sloshed off the sides hadn’t drowned; otherwise, he’d have been where Jet is right now. 

Being the leader is hard, especially when you fuck up.

Jet nodded, contemplative, guilty, but small mercies were mercies all the same. Jet hadn’t prevented the disaster, but he’d mitigated it once it was there. It could have been worse. There was always room for worse. They could have been wiped clean off the earth if Jet hadn’t decided to retreat, and Azula wouldn’t have minded doing it.

“...You need to eat something,” Zuko said after a long moment of uncomfortable silence, back to default, back to the things that were easier to deal with. “And drink water. Actual water."

Jet stayed silent for a few long moments, then relented. “Fine,” he murmured. “Get me something. Don’t care what it is.”

And with the only readily available option in their, his, their tent being a bowl half-full of peaches, he went with that. He plucked Jet’s knife from the table and began to cut wedges off of it, sliding them one by one onto a plate. 

Jet only watched him, annoyed but not vexed. “I’m not a child. I can eat a whole peach.”

“I know,” Zuko said, lowly, and continued cutting it. He wasn’t going to say out loud the real reason: That he didn’t want Jet dripping juice onto his chest and then having to deal with changing his bandages. Jet’s reaction to finding a Zuko-sized hand-shaped burn mark over his wound was not something Zuko was quite ready to deal with just yet. It’d been to save his life, to stop the bleeding, of course, but would Jet see that? Or would he just see that he’d firebended his skin?

He walked the plate over, and Jet heaved himself upward into a sitting position, wincing. The blanket fell from him and pooled around his lap, and goosebumps immediately raised on his exposed arms in the cold, the white of his bandages contrasted against the tan of his skin. Zuko knew better than to offer help. He’d had quite enough of Jet’s attitude this morning as it was. If he wanted another blanket, he could ask for it. Jet took the plate from him, not seeming eager to snatch it this time around, and set it on his legs, then plopped an entire wedge in his mouth. He didn’t look at Zuko when he said it, only gestured with his hand to the other half of the bed, speaking around his chewing. It wasn’t genial by any means, but it also wasn’t unkindly. “Offer still stands.”

This time, Zuko wasn’t stupid enough to argue with his olive branch. 

His body moved independently, and he let it, not wanting to think too hard about it for fear of messing everything up again. He sat crisscross too, on top of the blanket, not wanting to push his luck too much. Their bodies didn’t touch, but he could almost feel Jet’s warmth from where he was. He did find a bit of warmth in the blanket, from where Jet’s body was, and gripped the fabric up in his hand, and only hoped Jet hadn’t noticed his keenness. It nearly sickened him how much he wanted to reach over.

Zuko wasn’t sure what compelled him to say it. Just trying to find something neutral to talk about, he supposed, to cut the tension (tension from multiple aspects, at this point). “The King is here,” he said. “...In camp, I mean. He’s got a bear.” It was only then that he really realized how much he’d missed talking about a bunch of nothing with Jet. It never mattered if it was uninteresting or mundane or pointless. He still enjoyed it. He wondered if Jet missed it too. Missed him.

Jet huffed a bitterly amused sound from his nose. “I’m surrounded by royalty. And their weird pets,” he said, a little derisively but mostly just bewildered. Then added, “Does it do tricks? The bear, not the King.”

Zuko shrugged. He had no idea. Just that it was a weird-looking bear.

He looked over at Zuko then, deciding he wasn’t off the hook for a sardonic comment. “You’re not going to make me start doing tricks, are you?”

Zuko wasn’t entirely sure what he meant, then connected that Jet was referring to himself as Zuko’s ‘weird pet’ in this situation. Royalty + weird pet = Jet. And he found he wasn’t entirely sure what to do here. His lips said to twitch upward at the comment, but his mind said freeze at the implication that Jet was his ‘pet’. …Was Jet even saying that? He should probably say something.

“...No?” 

Jet perked a brow, like he was questioning why there was a question mark at the end of that. So, Zuko firmed up, tried again without much success, and this time it came out, “No?”

Jet only stared, looking half-angry and half-perplexed. Zuko tried to keep himself from squirming, hating this confusion, and sort of just hoped they’d go back to arguing at this point. At least he was on sure footing there.

“Anyway,” Jet said, flickering his eyes away, and Zuko felt his shoulders release. He was letting him off the hook, changing the subject. Thank Agni. “I don’t know what he plans on doing here, but I think one prince is enough for me, thank you.” Jet popped the tips of his finger and thumb into his mouth, getting the peach juice now that he was done eating, then looked down at the calluses on his palms, making an unserious dig at himself. “My hands are not worthy of all the fuckin’ royalty around here.”

And Zuko only looked at him then, beautiful as he always was and always would be. Not to mention powerful, dogged, charismatic, inspirational, respected, loved. He said something without thinking much about it, but it was probably the truest thing he’d ever said, which was why it came out so easily. “...You’re more worthy of being a prince than I ever was.”

It seemed to catch Jet off guard more than anything, and he wasn’t caught off guard all that often. He took pause, just looking back at him, with no distinguishable emotion, but it was a soft look, Zuko knew that much. Softer than he’d looked at him in a long while. It took everything inside of Zuko not to melt directly into the mattress. Then just the edges of Jet’s lips twitched up, for just the briefest of moments, and he said, flatly, “Are you trying to flatter me?”

“No,” Zuko said, easily and honestly. “It’s just true.” He bit down on the need to ask, but if I was, is it working? Then immediately figured he’d been around Jet for far too long for things like that to start popping up in his head, because that’s exactly what he would have said. It was too bad he’d never be able to say it as effortlessly, however. He would just stick to things that were true and matter-of-fact, charm aside, thank you.

Jet pulled his knees up to his torso, laying his elbows over them, not taking his eyes off of him. Just looking at him, contemplative, his brows drawn together, but in no way angrily. His eyes said tired, and unhappy, but there was a willingness there, a willingness that Zuko tried not to let get his hopes too high. Because just behind it, there was mistrust and resentment too. Jet finally looked away, and Zuko visibly swallowed when he did. 

Jet looked at his feet underneath the blanket and asked, “You want to tell me how it is a prince ended up here? I’ll listen.”

And Zuko didn’t think he’d heard a better idea in years. He nodded. 

Chapter Text

The rest of the day went by in a sort of meandering, directionless mess. There were so many pieces to pick up, and so many things to do, and far fewer people to do any of it. The nurses were run ragged, the avatar was still unconscious (but breathing, from what Zuko had overhead), and the leader of it all was, by in large, a hobbling wreck currently. 

Needless to say, everyone was exhausted and strung a little too tightly, but still functioning, somehow. Those who needed to stay in their tents and cry, or rest, did. Those who were able to work, did. Some did both. And others simply stared off at nothing.

Jet and Zuko (mostly Jet, but Zuko by default) did eventually have to make an appearance. They sat around the campfire, the embers still burning lowly from the night before, and Jet spoke to people who walked by him or asked him things, offering an encouraging word, or simply an order, depending on who asked. Even on his last leg, people still turned to him, and he obliged. He had to. And Zuko only tried to keep himself busy while also keeping himself near him, helping the nurses where he could, scrubbing bandages, boiling them when need be. 

Their conversation had gone well, or about as well as it could have. Jet had been confused about a lot of things, having to stop Zuko here and there to get him to explain things, things that were obvious to Zuko, but clearly not to him. It didn’t help that he wasn’t all that great of a storyteller. Jet had been far more warily curious and contemplative than anything, often guiding the conversation along with questions. Though Jet was still rather uncomfortable with the entire prospect. But despite that, he did okay. He kept his word and listened, even when Zuko rambled or got off topic, or clammed up almost entirely (on the topic of scars, specifically), and Zuko was grateful for that.

Jet had only really said one thing during the entire conversation that was of any significance, that was of anything of his own opinion and not just a question. And that was: I really hate your dad. Not the Fire Lord, whom it was well known that Jet already hated. But your dad, on a personal level.

And, not really knowing what to do with that, Zuko had tried to move right on passed it, but eventually, after a long moment of silence, he’d murmured, Yeah. Yeah, me too… most of the time. Jet hadn’t inquired about the latter half of that, and for that, he was grateful too. Jet had come across a great share of people in his life, and was probably more than acutely aware that even the worst of parents had good moments. His father hadn’t spent his entire childhood burning him, or otherwise tormenting him, though Zuko almost wished that had been more the case. It’d make hating him in totality far easier. But it wasn’t like he could entirely erase the memories of the laughter, the moments of joy, the times when his family was happy, when some of them were equally as vivid as the hand that reached his face. Ozai wasn’t always a monster, which only made the entire thing that much more poignant and insidious. It left Zuko with a bitter taste of what could have been. 

In far simpler terms, he was still his father, even if Zuko wished he wasn’t, even if he knew with every fiber of his being that his father needed, deserved to be six feet under. 

By the end of it, Jet had gotten a general sense of his life, though Zuko was sure, given time, he’d find more questions. But for now, Jet seemed to just be mulling everything over, trying to digest it, along with everything else going on, which was quite a lot. 

Including a bear in the camp, which did, in fact, do tricks. It wasn’t a huge morale boost, but some, especially for the few children running about. Having the King of the Earth Kingdom settle in around their rag-tag group of ruffians seemed to be the thing that disconcerted Jet the most, out of anything, oddly enough. Jet wasn’t used to having someone around that he wasn’t sure what to do with, considering The King had few useful skills here, and Jet ended up just letting him do whatever he wanted, for lack of knowing what else to do (Besides, could he even order him around, or?). Zuko made an offhand comment to Jet, in an attempt to keep things light, that in the King’s own way, he was sort of an outcast too. Considering the way he’d been raised, coddled and hidden from the real world, Zuko imagined it hadn’t done him much good. Jet hadn’t disagreed, but still shook his head in a way that said the idea of that was a little too bizarre. 

The King was useless, but harmless, a tag-along and not much else, so let him just play with the bear and the children, for now.

In the coming days, eventually the question of what comes next would arise, but currently, getting everything back into a state of at least faltering stability was really the only goal. 

The day eventually crept on enough that Jet was no longer needed. Zuko could tell from the way his shoulders slumped and the bags under his eyes that Jet was ready to go back to sleep, and not many people could blame him. He batted away Zuko’s attempts at helping him rise to his feet, and Zuko didn’t expect otherwise, but still offered.

Zuko clicked on the lantern in the tent as Jet lowered himself to the bed, grimace in tow. At some point in the day, Jin had dropped off an ointment on their table for his burns. They’d have to change his bandages. Jin was far too busy with everyone else that Jet didn’t dare ask her to do it. Which really only left one option. 

They both knew it had to happen, and neither knew where to start. 

“I have to tell you something,” Zuko said, spitting it out. He swallowed the knot in his throat, feeling his stomach drop. He figured a fair warning was probably best, and not just letting Jet discover it on his own, considering they were giving this entire honesty thing a try. He hadn’t entirely meant to leave a handprint burn on Jet’s chest, but medical firebending wasn’t exactly his area of mastery, especially since it’d been so long since he’d firebended much of anything. 

Jet only cut his eyes at him, as if to say what now? But in the same breath, Jet had handled a lot today. What was a little more in the scheme of things? “Yeah?” he asked, a little wavering, unsure. “Spit it out.”

Zuko looked off at nothing, clenching his hand by his side. “Last night,” he started. “When you were bleeding, I, we had to stop it.” He paused, glancing at Jet, who only furrowed his brows, probably wondering why that was an issue. He looked away again. “So, I… cauterized it.” It felt like it took everything inside of him to get the last part out. “...With my hand.”

It was deathly, achingly silent for a moment. Then, Jet said, flatly, “What?” Then it clicked, suddenly and horribly. “You burned me?”

Zuko risked a glance at him, and his expression was equally as bad as he’d thought. Oh, this was not going well. Not at all. He stammered, almost automatically. “To save you,” he defended. “To stop the bleeding, I - I didn’t know what else to do.” They both paused for another long, drawn-out moment, then Zuko added, softer now, “I’m sorry. It wasn’t to hurt you. I’d never -”

When he finally gathered enough courage to look again, Jet was swallowing a lump of nervousness and discomfort down his throat, not looking back at him. His initial outrage had settled down to a dull unease. Not calm, but not explosive either. “Okay,” he said, a little coldly. “Let’s see it.” Jet immediately realized the error in his words when Zuko stepped towards him to help, and he only put his hand up to stop him. Zuko’s hands fell to his sides, and Jet began struggling with unraveling himself, but Zuko wasn’t about to force help, not currently. Not with the coil tightness of Jet’s muscles the way they were now.

Jet finally made it to the bottom, looking down at his chest, dumbstruck. The tips of his fingers grazed the burn, a burn that would surely scar. His brows were knitted together, observing it for a long while. He came to some realization in the silence and murmured, despondently, like a rusty, jagged stab directly to Zuko’s chest, “I’ll never be rid of you.”

It suddenly felt like there was nothing left to breathe, the air deflating and hissing out of Zuko’s lungs. Jet scrubbed a hand over his face, then let it fall, looking off at nothing again. And Zuko could only raise a finger, pulling gently at the edge of his own scar, and hated that he understood.

Zuko finally found words to speak after what felt like an eternity of sitting there with that, the haunting weight of the anguished torture that sentence carried, for both of them, he could only imagine. Zuko’s voice came out paper-thin, hole-punched. “Do you wish you were? Rid of me.” But he should have known better than to ask questions he didn’t want answers to. 

Jet huffed through his nose, quietly. “Sometimes.” He finally looked at Zuko again, almost mournfully, then asked softly. “...Do you regret me? I know I probably would.”

Without fuss or resentment, Zuko answered honestly too. “Sometimes,” he repeated, lowly. 

Which had about the effect he thought it would. Jet nodded, accepting it, but that didn’t change the fact that it still seemed to punch a hole in him too. At least they were in it together. 

Jet let a small, sad smile reach his lips, trying for levity when there was none. “Well, I hope I’m at least your favorite regret,” he said, by no means trouble-free, but a little smoothly nonetheless. 

Zuko cracked a smile too, letting a tiny, ruefully amused sound leave him. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

“‘Cause you’re mine,” Jet said, almost automatically, sounding sure and true and not at all cruel. And Zuko couldn’t quite help but shuffle through all the times Jet repeated that same phrase to him, with each time seeming to mean something different than the last. From the first day they’d met, which already felt so long ago, when he’d snarled it down into his ear, and then now. “The best regret I could think of.”

And, grown weary of the heartache and muddled nature of this, Zuko asked, kindly, “...Aren’t you tired?”

“Yeah,” Jet answered. “A lot. Very.”

Zuko nodded, gesturing at the clean bandages and ointment. “...Do you want help?’’

It took Jet a long while to answer, but he eventually did. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

And when they were done, Jet only gestured to the other half of the bed, and said limply, lamely, “You can sleep in the bed. If you want.”

And Zuko was, once again, transported back to the beginning, where a Jet, high out of his mind, had murmured to him while falling asleep. You can stay here, if you want. 

Only this time, Zuko actually did.

Jet slept with his back turned to him, no genial goodnights or leg tangling, but Zuko figured that was just where they were at, currently. 

At some point, in the dead of night, he was awoken, gently, by fingertips barely brushing over his scar, and his eyes flickered open to look at where Jet would be in the dark. It didn’t feel all that real, and when he awoke, he couldn’t tell anyone with any surety that it was. And Jet whispered in the swallowing darkness, whether to himself or to Zuko, he wasn't entirely sure, “I’ll kill him. Don’t worry.”

And Zuko had only closed his eyes, pretended he’d never woken, and went back to sleep.

Chapter Text

On something like the sixth day, a messenger hawk arrived around the campfire, where the two main groups sat discussing what to do now. The friends of the avatar told them of the invasion plan, the eclipse, and wondered if the Freedom Fighters would be willing. Jet was unsure, of course, figuring it might be best if they stayed and defended the home front, though he hadn’t come to any conclusion thus far about the matter. They were still torn apart, putting themselves back together anyway.

The hawk soared down from above to grip onto a tree branch, and then glided the rest of the way down to land in a silent pat on the ground, illuminated by the warm glow of fire in the night. It wasn’t for any of them, but rather Katara, who only stared at the bird for a few long moments with her hollowed, tired eyes. Something seemed to click in her, and she sprang to life for the first time in days to grasp up the tube that held whatever words lay inside. 

As she read the letter, Sokka perked a brow next to her, his eyes full of anticipation. “Is it Dad?” he asked, half-excitedly, half-nervously. 

She nodded, and as soon as she was done reading and ready to hand it over to him, he was already plucking it from her fingers. 

They were to meet a fleet of water tribe ships off a riverbank near a town called Gaipan. Jet seemed to freeze up at this news, for no discernible reason. But by the end of the night, Jet had agreed that he could escort their group there, even if their offer were still being mulled over. It was the least he could do, when they were trying to save the world. They were to march in the morning, the crumbling walls of Ba Sing Se to their backs.

Afterward, while in the confines of their tent, Zuko asked, unsurely, “What’s in Gaipan?”

“Somewhere I can get new swords,” Jet answered, expressionless. Zuko figured there was more to it than that, but figured prying wasn’t best. They did their bandage routine like every night before, and settled into the uneasy brokerage of peace they’d carved out with one another. The light clicked off, and Zuko patted his way into his space in the bed, making sure not to bump or fumble on top of Jet. He was still a bit fragile, in more ways than one, prickly in others. He’d spent the last few days simply trying to stay out of his way as much as possible to keep Jet from snapping at him, while also trying to avoid triggering any more gut-wrenchingly miserable conversations. Which really only left the most mechanical of talks, which was fine, better, in a way, but still left a lot to be desired. 

He tried to settle in to sleep, figuring that would be the end of things. But after a long while of sitting there in silence and darkness, Jet shifted from his side to roll flat on his back, presumably looking up towards the ceiling. 

“You awake?” he asked, quietly. 

“Yeah,” Zuko murmured, looking over his shoulder at him. He could barely make out his silhouette in the dark. There was a bit of light spilling in from someone else’s fire this night, barely enough to see the lines of his face. 

Jet propped an arm under his head, then asked, “Can I talk to you about something?”

Zuko raised a brow and rolled over too, not getting in his space, but rolling to his side to look at him. “Yeah, of course,” he answered softly, not having any idea where this conversation would lead. There was such a multitude of things it could possibly be about that the thought of it alone was overwhelming. The wavering in Jet’s voice also didn’t help his anxiety much.

Jet was silent for a few moments, opening his mouth to speak, then closing it again. “I don’t really know how to say this,” he started. “It’s gonna’ sound horrible, but… I’m not sure I want the war to end. I mean, I do. But, it’s just—I don’t know how to explain it.”

And, out of every option Zuko had gone over in his head, this confession wasn’t one of them. He found he had nothing to say at first and contemplated that for a moment, but found that it made more sense than not. He guessed even a monster under the bed, if you’d dealt with it for long enough, became familiar, almost friendly, to the point where the absence of it felt like the real danger. 

“I get it,” Zuko murmured, and Jet let out an almost relieved sound, like he may have been expecting some judgment for it. He wasn’t sure why Jet would be expecting judgment from him. It wasn’t like he ever judged him for much, considering they were guilty of a lot of the same things. 

Which he realized, may be why Jet felt okay confiding in him. Everyone turned to Jet, but Jet still turned to him, and there was something to that, at least, flimsy as it was. 

“...What do you even do if you’re not fighting something?” Jet continued. 

Zuko shrugged, gently, not having many answers at all. “I guess… you’d just figure something else out? Follow your dreams?” Spirits, he was no good at this. Nothing quite made him feel as empty-minded as advice-giving. 

Jet snorted. “Like I have any of those.”

“You got one?” Zuko said. 

“Right,” Jet said, a little sarcastically. “Freedom or whatever.”

Zuko raised a brow, not liking how he said that. “You don’t believe in it anymore?”

Jet shrugged, noncommittal. “Just don’t even know what it looks like. Always feels out of reach, ya know? Like I can never get there.”

And Zuko supposed that was fair. 

“Do you even think it exists?” Jet asked. “To begin with. Or am I just chasing a pipe dream?”

Zuko truly had no idea. Metaphorical or philosophical talk was always more of Uncle’s expertise. “I don’t really know.”

“Well, what do you think? Doesn’t matter what it is,” Jet said, then tilted his head on his arm, just slightly, to look back at him. He added softly, a little sweetly, “...I missed hearing what you think.”

Saying things like that definitely wasn’t helping him think at all. He thought his brain nearly short-circuited. “I, uh-”

“Did I trip you up?” Jet asked, sounding like he knew he did, with maybe even the edges of a smile in his voice.

“...A little.” 

“Sorry,” Jet said. “Continue.”

Continue what, Zuko wasn’t exactly sure. It wasn’t like he really had a line of thought to begin with. “Jet, I’m not good at this,” he admitted. 

“I know,” Jet said. “That’s why it’s fun.”

“You’re making a fool of me on purpose,” Zuko accused. 

“I am,” Jet said, “but I can stop if you want me to.”

Did he want him to? He was so relieved just to have a normal conversation with Jet, that he didn’t even care if he felt stupid. “No, that’s alright.”

Jet actually laughed, gently, and Zuko was so comforted yet so surprised to hear it that he nearly jumped out of his skin. But it was short-lived, because Jet then sucked in a pained breath. “Fuck, even laughing hurts.”

Zuko raised his hand, just slightly, then clasped his fingers over his palm to stop himself. He hated not lending a comforting hand, but he wasn’t even sure if it was wanted. It was like trying to soothe a cactus; he wasn't sure where he was allowed to touch without getting a thorn, or if he was even allowed to touch at all. Especially after the handprint thing.

Before he could dwell on it too much, Jet waved his hand in the dark. “Keep going. Keep talking. It’s a good distraction.”

Zuko pondered for a moment, the only frame of reference on the subject being their previous conversation on the topic, a year ago. It felt a little nerve-wracking to bring it up, but Jet clearly wanted him to, so he would. “Do you remember what you said to me?”

“When?”

“About being free of your anger?” 

Jet paused for a moment, thinking, then said, softer, “...Yeah. I do.”

Zuko shrugged again, thinking maybe there was something there, parroting his words back to him, maybe not. “Maybe… it’s not something you get to. But a state of mind?”

Wow, that was actually pretty good. Maybe. He really had no idea. Or did it just come across pompous and self-important? It sounded entirely too much like those ding-bats they’d come across once wandering outside Ba Sing Se, rattling on about destination fever and focusing less on the ‘where’ and more on the ‘going’. They’d been entirely too high to take seriously, but maybe they’d been on to something? They seemed happy enough, free enough. Being high probably helped, though.

As silly as his half-baked idea sounded, Jet mulled it over anyway. “Maybe,” he said, quietly, thoughtfully. “I just don’t know how to even begin letting it go, ya know? What else is there? What else you got to hold onto?”

It was miraculous how quickly the answer popped up in his mind. Love. It nearly made him gag how much his brain was working like those stupid hippies. What would Uncle say? Fuck, probably love too. Should he say it, though? Waters still felt a bit turbulent for things like that, currently. A little too on the nose.

“...Friendship?” 

…He should have just gone with love. That was somehow way less cheesy.

It went silent for a moment, and Zuko couldn’t help but go hot from the neck up. He thought he was going to bite his own lip off with how stupid that sounded.

“...You’re really bad at this,” Jet noted, sounding only a little severe and not all that upset. A huff of amused breath left his chest, nearly snorting it out, then he said, “I’m trying not to laugh cause it hurts, but you’re making it really hard. I’m over here, trying to be serious -”

“Sorry,” Zuko said, almost automatically. “I told you I wasn’t good at this! I’m trying.”

“I know, I did it to myself,” Jet said. He paused for another moment and quite suddenly found an error in the way he was behaving. Too much smiling, apparently. “...But I’m still mad at you.”

Zuko frowned, feeling his stomach sink. “I know,” he said. 

“You make that really difficult, too, though. You know that, Li?” He paused, immediately catching that error too. “Shit, Zuko, sorry. You can’t get mad at me. That was the first time I messed it up. See what you did? Got us both saying stupid shit.”

And, to be fair, Zuko was shocked it’d taken this long for that to actually happen. Jet really had done surprisingly well with it thus far. “It’s okay,” he said, glad that it was dark so he could smile at Jet fumbling his words without Jet snapping his face off about it. 

But he guessed Jet could hear it in his words. That was the only problem with being together for so long. “Stop fucking smiling.” He didn’t sound all that mad about it, though.

“I’m not,” Zuko said, then sucked his lips up in his mouth. He definitely was, just a little one.

“Can I tell you something else?” Jet asked, a little softer. 

“Yeah?”

“I’m trying too, you know.”

It took everything inside of Zuko’s heart not to flutter completely off into the night. “I know,” he murmured. 

“Get some sleep,” Jet said. “We got places to be tomorrow.”

“Okay,” he agreed. “I’ll… see you in the morning?”

Jet huffed, trying to sound stern and failing. “Yeah, Zuko. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Chapter Text

“So, firebender, huh?” Shuyi asked, with only a hint of disdain marking her voice. She’d trotted her horse next to his a while ago, and Zuko could only assume she’d been wanting to ask since she’d found out. Finding a time frame where Jet wasn’t next to him had only been the issue thus far, he supposed. Jet was riding in the back of a covered wagon currently. Heaving his way up onto a horse was still a little out of the question. 

“Jin,” Zuko groaned, figuring she was the only person who’d spill about it. Or maybe The Duke. He really had no way of knowing. “She told you?”

“Doesn’t answer my question,” she noted, batting away a tree branch that’d grown over the road. Gaipan was still a few days away. They had a while to go. 

“Yeah,” he answered softly. “I am.”

She made a small, derisive sound. “Wow,” she said, nodding. “Jet’s really gone soft, hasn’t he?”

Zuko shrugged, not appreciating this line of questioning. 

“Here I thought he was soft on the women around here,” she added. “Turns out, you can do whatever you want.”

“I don’t know what you really want me to say,” Zuko said, a little surly. 

She laughed contemptuously. Zuko was aware Mama Shu had a mean side, but experiencing it was still baffling. He wasn’t sure what to do with it. “Omashu makes a lot more sense,” she noted. 

“I didn’t hurt anybody in Omashu,” he batted back.

“Wasn’t my point,” she said. “You went behind his back, and he still let you stay. Nobody else gets that. Besides, you should have seen the way he burst through the gate trying to get you back. I think he would have led us all off a cliff to do it.”

Zuko huffed. “If you’re trying to make a point, just make it.”

“Listen, I really don’t give a shit what you are,” she said. “And I don’t know why you’re here, and I don’t care. My point is, you make Jet weak.” She paused for a moment, letting that sink in, then added, “So, just keep that in mind, will you? Next time you make a decision. For all of our sakes.”

Zuko bit the inside of his lip without thinking much about it, then nodded.

She sighed, tossing her wild hair over her shoulder. “You’re lucky I’m a little soft on you too,” she said, in her motherly way, not the other way. “I don’t want nothin’ to happen to both of ya’s.”

“I understand,” he said, lower then. “...I try to keep him in check, you know.”

“Oh, I know,” she said. “I heard you saying somethin’ outside the palace. He probably should have listened. Jackass.”

Maybe he had listened. Zuko was suddenly struck with the notion that, maybe, there’d been more to locking him outside the palace than he’d originally thought, the part that Jet hadn’t said out loud, and probably never would. …Had it been to keep him safe?

Zuko nodded again, not having much to say on the matter, too dumbstruck with this new idea that he couldn’t begin to think of words to speak. Maybe… he made Jet weak after all.

“Ping’s dead. He wouldn’t have run off. He was stupid, but he wasn’t a coward,” she said, pointedly, clipped off. She said it like it was news, but there was the edge of something else there, just a tinge of sorrow to indicate that maybe she just wanted to talk about it, more so than anything else. 

Zuko raised a brow. “I… always thought you hated him.”

She laughed, more genuinely that time. “I loved to hate him. If that makes sense. He was always tryin’ to get in my pants, like a mosquito in my ear. Didn’t matter what I said to him. He was aggravatin’. Oh, my spirits, was he aggravatin’. …But he was a good man. An asshole, but a good man. …He never hurt nobody.”

Zuko pursed his lips, then said, solemnly, “I’m sorry he’s gone.”

“Yeah,” she agreed. “I’ll miss him.” It sounded like she already did.

Snow began to flutter from the sky. In the way of the middle of the Earth Kingdom, soft, powdery, and it never lasted long, enough to stick to the ground and not much else. Shuyi shivered, a harsh jolt that seemed to knock that grief back to the depths where it belonged. Back to default, back to numb. 

The soldier's way.

“Fuck, it’s cold.”

Jet grew more withdrawn in the coming days. Zuko figured that, maybe, it was because he couldn’t lead like he wanted to, along with the grief, of course. Every time they marched, he was always at the head of things, tall and proud on the back of his steed. Being shaken around the back of a covered wagon, stuffed into the now ‘U’ shaped mattress while his pride jostled out of his body with every pothole—simply wasn’t doing him any favors. 

But Zuko could tell it was more than that. He’d asked what was wrong, and Jet only said he was fine, and it wasn’t like he could force it out of him. 

Normally, Jet would be drinking his way through something like this. And Zuko had no idea what to make of the fact that he wasn’t. He was glad, in a way, of course, but it was just so unlike him. Jet had taken up chewing on things in its place, which didn’t help to mitigate the strangeness of it all. When they went to bed at night, not bothering to set up the tent and choosing the ease of staying in the wagon, Zuko had to discard half-chewed blades of grass out the back of it. It seemed to soothe him in a way, and Zuko figured it was harmless enough, so he just let him have it. It wasn’t like Zuko could ever talk Jet out of much anyway.

Jet was just… down. Even though Zuko couldn’t do much about it, he figured simply being there with him was sometimes all he could really do. So, that’s what he did.

They made camp near Gaipan, and the air of whatever was bothering Jet seemed to close in on him, rapidly and dreadfully.

“I’m going to the village,” Jet murmured, sounding sure, early that morning just after breakfast. He was speaking to Zuko, Smellerbee, and Longshot when he said it. The two of them seemed to pick up on what he was saying with more knowledge and graveness than Zuko.

“...You think that’s a good idea?” she asked him. 

“I do,” he said. “I want to.”

“You want us to come?” she asked. 

“No, that’s alright,” he said. “I don’t want you to see it. I know it’s hard for you too.”

She nodded, thankful. “Okay,” she murmured. She gestured at Zuko. “At least take him.”

“I’d planned on it,” Jet said, then turned his head, just slightly, to look at him. “If you want.”

Wherever you go, I go. He’d meant it, and so he nodded. “Of course.”

They walked, slowly, at a pace Jet could manage. Their breaths were puffs of fog as they made their way down a trail, and both of them, without much prompting, covered their mouths with the hoods of their heavier clothing, the fur of it tickling and musky. It was bitterly cold, the kind that sank into the bone, and only seemed to get colder. They wound and weaved in ways that were familiar to Jet, and he seemed to know exactly where he was going, so Zuko didn’t fret much about it. 

“You’ve been here before?” Zuko asked. His boots cracked on shards of ice that’d formed in a small puddle on the trail, and he wondered if Jet was leading him to the treehouses he’d mentioned before.

Jet nodded. “I lived here as a child.” But he said little else, so Zuko left it alone, and they kept on.

The trail led forward, for maybe an hour or so, with little said besides a direction here or there. It was comfortable silence, at least, and it was nearly too cold to do much talking anyway. It finally widened and led out into an open field, which hadn’t been expected in the slightest. There’d be no treehouses here. On the far end, Zuko could make out the bare bones skeletons of a village, blackened support beams standing towards the sky like funeral pyres. 

Zuko took pause at the edge of the forest, just looking at it. 

“It’s not much anymore,” Jet said, in that measured, desensitized way they all spoke about things like this. Because if they cried, the fear was they’d never stop. 

“This is the one –” Zuko began asking.

“Yeah,” Jet answered. “Fire Nation came. Burned it all down.” But before Zuko could apologize, for what exactly, he wasn’t sure, Jet nodded his head forward. “Come on.”

They went towards it, and Zuko asked as they walked. “Why’d you want to come here? Isn’t it…” Painful?

“Well, two reasons,” Jet said. “One: I have a stash of weapons. Raided a lot of them from the blacksmith in town after everything. He was dead, so he didn’t need them. He was a master of making hook swords, really the only one in the whole country. Which is where I got mine. Never thought I’d have to come back for the other pair, but, hey, shit happens.”

“And two?” Zuko asked. 

Jet inhaled and let it out, slowly, and answered firmly. “I think I just need to face it.”

Zuko only nodded, figuring that was fair enough, but still worried about him. The first building, or what was left of it, met them with peaceful unease. Jet ran a hand along the blackened wood, which had browned, deadened vines encapsulating it, shrouding it like a tomb. “It’s probably a lot prettier in the summer,” Jet said, an attempt at levity that, while it fell a little flat, Zuko still appreciated, though he wasn’t really the one who needed levity in this situation. Though Zuko figured he was in no position to offer any. “A lot greener.”

It was so quiet besides the howl of wind through the bones, an untroubled silence like that of a cemetery. Although abandoned and stripped of life, everywhere Zuko looked, there were stories hidden. Reminders around every corner that people lived here. A bookshelf half full of waterlogged, ruined pages, with no one left to read them. Trees sprouted where a brick fireplace once dwelled, now on its side and left to be re-consumed by the forest itself, wedded to the earth from whence the bricks came. But still there, underneath it all, was the grate of a grill that once cooked countless meals. 

Outside a dilapidated porch, there were leather children's shoes, half-baked by the sun and gnawed on by mice, but still surviving, somehow, to tell their tales. One of them was unlaced, one not. As if the child took the time to take the first off properly, then lost patience by the second, and simply kicked it off and ran inside. 

Everywhere he looked, there were ghosts, inspired only by musings and imagination in the solemn wake of what was left behind. Of what was taken. And he wasn’t the only one seeing ghosts. Every once in a while, Jet simply stopped to look at something for a moment, eyes glimmering, but tears never falling, and simply kept on inward towards the center without a word.

Jet never pointed out his own house, though Zuko was sure he knew which one it was. Zuko wondered if the shoes were his, but he’d never dare ask.

“I have to remember where the stash is,” Jet said, lowly. “Sorry, I might have to look. It’s… been a while.”

“It’s okay,” Zuko assured. “I don’t mind. As long as you’re okay?”

“I’m okay.” It only sounded a little like a lie.

After a while, Jet did, eventually, find what he was looking for. It was a chest, unlocked and unbothered, shoved inside what appeared to be some sort of outdoor clay cooking dome, though the dome itself had seen better days. He pulled it out and looked inside, bringing out what he came here for: a set of shuang gao, not exactly the same as the last, but similar enough. The metal on these was darker, almost black.

He observed them for a minute, glinting the sun off of them. “They need to be sharpened, but I think they’re alright.”

And that was, at least, good news. “Good,” Zuko said. 

“There’s a few other things in here,” Jet said. “If you want to look.”

Zuko huffed, a little amused, despite everything. “I think I’m alright. Thank you, though.”

“Suit yourself,” Jet said, then shut the chest with his foot, kicking it back from where it came. “Until next time, friend.”

And that was, apparently, the end of things. Jet hooked the swords onto his belt under his coat, met his eyes, and asked, “Are you ready?”

“...Are you?” Zuko asked, unsurely. 

“I’ve been ready to go since I got here,” Jet answered. And Zuko had never heard anything more understandable than that.

“Okay. Let’s go.”

“We’ll loop around the other side of the trail,” Jet said. “There’s something I want to show you.”

And all Zuko could do was follow.

The trail spat out into a river, and Zuko could imagine that farther up was where they’d be meeting the water tribe ships. They walked upstream, and Jet observed the area without much expression. From the landscape around the river, Zuko figured there must have been some sort of flood or landslide in the past. There were downed trees tangled all along the edges, creating swirling whirlpools of water. It must have been a long time ago, because the trees were rotting and crumbling, their trunks coated in years of summertime moss, waiting for warm weather to reawaken it. 

The trail moved forward until a waterfall came into view. No, not a waterfall. Something else. It was man-made from the looks of it, or at least had been at some point. A dam, maybe? A failed dam. As they approached it, the remnants of something protruded from the surface of the water, but whatever something it was, there was a lot of it. An entire town was engulfed and drowned, with only the highest peaks remaining.

A songbird landed on top of a spike of what might have been a pagoda at some point, a pagoda now toppled over under the water. The bird chirped at them and fluttered off. 

Jet paused on the riverbank, just observing, no tell of anything on his face. But there was something in his eyes, troubled, as he ticked them over to look at Zuko from the opening of his hood. 

“What do you think it is?” he asked. 

Zuko shrugged. “A town, maybe.”

“It was a Fire Nation colony. So, yeah, a town,” Jet answered, then gestured up towards the water cascading down. “And that was a dam.”

“Structural failure?” Zuko asked. 

“No,” Jet answered, quickly and honestly. He looked away, back out into the water. The songbird chirped in the distance as Jet paused to take a deep breath, then said, “...I did this. I blew the dam up.”

Zuko’s eyes widened, not all that noticeably, but Jet was far too observant not to notice, even out of the corner of his eye. “I -”

A smile twitched Jet’s lips, nothing happy in it. “No, that’s the correct response,” Jet said quietly. “It’s horrible, isn’t it?”

Zuko said nothing agreeing or to the contrary, and they both just sat with it for a moment. He had nothing to say, and he wasn’t even sure what it was that he was feeling. No comforting words came to mind, no anything came to mind. 

It was horrible, and there was nothing Zuko could say to make it not be so.

Jet continued after a long moment of uncomfortable silence. “Everyone lost their home because of me.”

“No one got hurt,” Zuko said softly, figuring there was at least some solace to be found. “Jin told me. She said -” Agni, his name was escaping him, whoever loved Jet before. “Someone warned them.”

“Yeah,” Jet said, a little bitterly. “Jin would tell my secrets.” He paused and redirected his attention back to himself, equally as bitter, but remorseful too. “Doesn’t really matter if anyone got hurt,” he said. “I wanted them to be. And I nearly killed Haru for what he did. For not allowing me to do it. To kill people. To drown them.”

Zuko could only look at him, then away, then back again. There was nothing he could do here, except listen. Jet didn’t give him much time to cut in anyway.

“There was a time I would have killed you, the second I thought you were from even a colony,” Jet said. “Half-breed or not, firebender or not. I wouldn’t have thought twice about it. Civilian, didn’t matter. Your eyes alone would have put you in a grave.” He paused to take another deep, guilt-ridden breath, then finally met Zuko’s eyes. “I’m not a good person, Zuko. Never have been.”

Haunting silence, then Zuko said, “...I don’t think that.”

Another smile twitched Jet’s lips, and he said, sure and true, “You think that because you love me. Not because it’s true.”

And… could he even argue that? Of course, he could. “That’s not why,” he said. “I mean, I do, but–”

“But?”

And Zuko could only see the array of despondent faces that would be far worse off without him. “You take everyone in Jet, that’s why. You took me in when you didn’t even know me.”

“I forced you in,” Jet batted back, not unkindly. “I made it seem like you had a choice, but you never did. If you had left, I would have just gone and found you again. I would have always found you again. And then I do what?” Jet asked. “Make you fight people? Kill more people? Like dolls? Zuko, I treat you like shit. I hit you, I–”

Zuko huffed. “...It doesn’t have to be that way–”

Jet cut his eyes at him, not angry at Zuko, but himself. “I spent the last few days thinking, thinking. For once in my life, just thinking and not drowning myself in something. And I don’t know any other way to be, Zuko. I don’t know that I can change. Not for you, not for anyone.”

“But you have,” Zuko said, surprised at how quickly it came of him. “...You already have. You just don’t see it.”

Jet sat there with that for a moment, seeming not to find any arguments against it, stunned and silent. He looked off at nothing, off at the water, and said nothing too.

“...Why’d you bring me here?” Zuko asked.

“It’s only fair,” Jet said, shrugging just a tad. “You showed me all of you, I show you all of me. And this-” He gestured out. “-is me.”

“...I’m not innocent either,” Zuko said. “I’ve killed my own people. For years now. Even before you. Do you understand that? I’m far from perfect too.”

“I’m not trying to dissuade you, Zuko,” Jet said, sounding on the edge of exasperation. “I’m just being honest. These are things I haven’t told you, and now, I’m telling you. That’s all. I’d never ask you not to feel how you feel. I’m just… showing you who I am. And you do… whatever you want with it.”

“It doesn’t change anything,” Zuko said, automatically. “It doesn’t.”

“Then you’re an idiot.”

“Maybe,” he agreed. “Same for you, though, isn’t it? Knowing everything you know about me?”

Jet only looked at him for a moment, something softer, then relented. “Alright,” he said. “Fair enough.”

It took a few beats too long for that to click inside of Zuko. Jet wasn’t denying that he still loved-

A smile twitched one edge of Zuko’s lips. And he wanted nothing more than to press their lips together right then and there. 

But… the scenery probably wasn’t great for that. He wasn’t a total idiot.

“Are you ready to go back now?” Jet asked, before the elation could really kick in, maybe realizing what he'd said himself, and running from it. Jet didn't seem quite ready for that yet, anyway. “It’s fucking cold.” 

“Okay,” he said, and tried to calm the jitteriness that had suddenly enveloped his entire being. “Yeah, yeah, let’s, uh. Go back.”

Jet nodded. And so it was. 

Chapter Text

A knock came on the outside of the wagon some time later, and Jin unceremoniously peeked inside the wagon.

“Everyone decent?” she asked. Zuko figured she should have asked that before opening the flap, but that was all right. 

“Yeah, Jin,” Jet answered. 

Without prompt, she stepped up the back and entered, eyeing Jet’s bandages, or trying to, at least. So many layers on, currently.

“Haven’t seen ya,” she said cheerfully, stepping carefully on top of the mattress to examine him. She plopped down criss-cross next to Jet, and across from Zuko, there being nowhere else to sit, really.

“Too busy talking about me,” Jet noted, not all that seriously. 

She smiled and chuckled a little. “Sorry,” she said, not sounding sorry at all. “I like to talk.”

“We’re all aware,” he chastised, not harshly. 

“How’s your -” She gestured at his top half. “-everything going?”

“It’s fine,” he said. 

She squinted her eyes at him. “Lemme’ see.”

“Jin, it’s cold,” Jet tried. 

But Zuko knew all too well not to say no to Jin. “Take it off,” she ordered. Then added, sweetly, “Please.”

Jet cut his eyes at her, but relented. “Fine.”

He shrugged off the layers, goosebumps finding his arms, and without any warning, Jin put her paws all over him, turning his head to the side, and pulling the bandages back to peek underneath. 

“You lost muscle,” she noted, “but the burns look alright."

“I got shot,” Jet defended. "Of course, I lost muscle."

She turned to Zuko then, doing a repping motion with both of her arms. “Make sure he lifts things. Gently.” She pinched Jet’s arm then. “Can’t have him losing all this beautiful man-muscle. Can we?”

“Ow,” Jet said, rubbing the sting away. “I feel like this is harassment. I’m feeling sexually taken advantage of.”

“Only if I ask you to lift things where I can watch you do it,” she said, then added, smirking. “Which I definitely am asking.” 

Jet snickered. “I’m reporting you to someone.”

“To who?” she batted back. She knew she was untouchable and was taking full advantage. 

“I don’t know,” Jet said. “The board of nurses.”

“There is no board of nurses,” she said, then stuck her tongue out at him. 

“I’ll make one,” Jet replied, “and then report you to it. I’m writing a strongly worded letter.”

“You can’t read,” she noted.

His jaw dropped. “...I can a little.”

“Whatever,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Just make sure you lift things. …Preferably outside. In an open, viewable area.”

When Jet glared at her, she only grinned. 

“Get out of here,” he said, waving her away. 

She eyed Zuko then. “You can always lift things with him. I wouldn’t mind that either. I know what you both look like naked, so I can fill the rest in.”

Zuko went hot from the neck up, nearly choking on his spit, and could only stare.

“Get fuckin’ out of here, Jin.”

She giggled to herself as she stood, waving bye to them as she stepped down. “Later, boys.” Her footsteps trailed off for just a moment, then came rushing back. She peeled the flap back, and said, “Oh, yeah, and get back to loving each other soon. We’re all a little over it. You can cut the tension with a knife around here. No one else will say it, but I will. Go back to kissin’, mmk? Love you guys, mean it.” And then she was gone, for real this time. 

And it was Jet’s turn to clear his throat and stare at nothing, and after a long, cumbersome silence, he only said, “...Anyway.”

Chapter Text

My Darling,

Sorrowful thing we call love. Miserable, isn’t it? For me, for you especially. My tears inflict gaping wounds in me that must be sewn shut immediately; dare we risk a greater tear, a hemorrhage that will leave me bloodless, and you worn out. 

I know what you are, a fixer. I appreciate that about you. A healer in a day and age where love has been marred by cruelty, tainted by explicitness. The kind of love you show is an imaginary, fleeting dream to most. A real and true friend you’ve been to me. My tears have yet to make it to the threshold of my cheek without having been comforted by your words, a tedious task for you, I’m sure. But never quite ends, does it? 

My dearest love, my stream of tears is boundless. You have tasked yourself with an impossible duty. And I fear for you. I fear that one day you will find yourself exhausted, carrying a shoulder yoke burdened by buckets of my tears on either end, with the intention to dump it away down the river, never to be seen by either me or you again. Day in and day out, the salt runs from my eyes. It crystallizes and matts your hair, your face hollows, your body attenuates to skeleton, until you are nothing left. 

And I have nothing left. Of you, I mean. But even then, it will still remain. I will still carry my sorrow, only for you this time. 

My love, listen when I say, ease yourself for me. There’s nothing to be done about it. A bit macabre, I know. Hopeless, desperate. But I can’t bear for my sadness to be this indomitable force that you must grapple endlessly, tirelessly, until the end of time. So, ease yourself for me, please. 

Rest, for your sake, and just sit. As the tears stream down my eyes, my face red, my nose ugly and snotting, and my chest tight with the weight of years of pent-up misery. Just stay seated, don’t carry it away with you, I beg of you. Sometimes it is only minutes, other times it is days, and sometimes it is just there at the edge of my mind, waiting like a vicious dog for an intruder. But it will be there, it will never cease, not really, just ebbs and flows like the whispers of time.

Wait there for me until the sun, beautiful and sprawling, peeks over the horizon once more. It will happen in its own time, regardless of you, regardless of me, an unstoppable force just as when it sank below the skyline to begin with. 

Just sit, and wait for me, is all I will ever ask. 

Please, Ikem.

--Yours truly, Ursa.                                  

His mother’s last poetic letter to Ikem lay dormant, tucked inside the pages of a copy of Love Amongst the Dragons, the paper folded once, and was nearly torn from being opened and closed so many times. Zuko didn’t necessarily know why he’d kept it, and why he felt the need to read it (he supposed, in a way, it was simply because it was his mother’s hand that wrote it).

Ikem was not a man Zuko knew and never cared to meet; always his mother’s secret, hidden away like lovers in the dark. But somehow, he was forever grateful for his existence. Adulterous nature aside, it was the purest love Zuko could ever imagine, one that his mother always deserved. 

The letter was never sent and was now nothing more than words that were never said. His father intercepted the letter, tossed it back in her face in a fit of rage. Zuko had scraped it from the floor to read later on in the dark of night, feeling what disgusted him now, the same anger his father had, albeit not outwardly. Ever after, his mother was treated as a bird in a gilded cage, more so than she already was. His mother never cried again, but nor did the smile ever reach her eyes. She never wrote poetry and never took them to the theatre. She became a shell, a ghost, the perfect porcelain doll who was always quiet, always still. Yet even this did not save her.

There was no question that Zuko was his father’s son, just by looking at him, unfortunately, nearly a carbon copy. But Zuko couldn’t help but hold onto the suspicion that this letter, in particular, had been the catalyst for his father’s hatred for him, for them. It was so much easier for Ozai to find a reason for Zuko’s weakness if he weren’t his to begin with, and easier to excuse his cruelty thereafter, even if Ozai knew with every fiber of his being that Zuko was his blood. The suspicion alone was vindication.

At first, Zuko resented the words in the letter, rejecting them, figuring they’d caused him nothing but sorrow. How could his mother do this? To his father? To him? It’d been a betrayal to the family in every sense of the word, one that Ozai used as a justification for nearly everything.

They’d argue on vacation? It was because Ursa had been deceitful. Now, why wasn’t she smiling? Did she not appreciate the island and everything he’d done? They were having fun, and she was ruining it.

He slapped her or blackened her eyes? It was only what she deserved. Now, have the servants cover it; we have dinner soon. She needed to make sure she smiled then, too, and say nothing of it to the company.

…She abandoned them? Who needs your whore mother? She’d been nothing but a stain on the family anyway.

But as the years wore on, Zuko saw the letter for what it was. It was the only thing that had ever, ever taught him about love. Real love. This letter was the juxtaposition of everything his father had taught him. Zuko never understood his captivation by it, why he’d always had this strange, thorny appreciation for it, but now he did. 

All along, he’d only ever wanted that kind of love for himself. For someone, anyone, to give that to him. And maybe, that’s all Jet ever wanted too, even if he didn’t necessarily go about it the right way, by taking it, conquering it. Though looking back, Zuko himself hadn’t been all that unwilling to be taken, and more or less idolized and worshiped Jet the same as the other way around. There’d always been two people in this dance. Zuko was no caged bird in this, by a long shot.

He could have left, though Jet made it seem he couldn’t. In all fairness, Zuko had escaped much worse than him. But the thing was, he never felt Jet was anything to escape from. Jet wasn’t the monster he’d made himself out to be. Zuko knew all too well what real monsters looked like. 

As he sat with Jet in the back of the covered wagon, blankets and coats over both their shoulders, the beauty and awe of the pauper prince before him, only one thought came to mind. 

I’d wait for years if I had to. Not for the sun to rise, but for the sun to fall. The night had always, always belonged to Jet, and would belong to him forevermore. 

And the thing was, the thought didn’t even scare him. It would happen when they were ready, regardless of either of them, an unstoppable, indomitable force that neither could pull away from if they tried. His mother managed to hold onto her love through marriage and time and distance. Zuko figured, in the scheme of things, at least he had Jet in front of him, and that was far more manageable than anything his mother had gone through. They had each other, even when it was hard.

There was still a chance to figure it out.

Jet groaned in the cold, picking at a piece of chapped skin on his lip with his teeth. Zuko could only imagine Ikem as less rough around the edges, maybe a little less prickly. A poetic man of theatre and art, just like his mother. Everything Jet was basically not (not that Zuko was either). But still. He didn’t want Jet to be those things. He was just fine as he was. He’d never speak it out loud, but with fabric piled on top of him, cheeks a little cold-burnt, just a hint of dusk sun reaching his warm skin, Zuko couldn’t help but find him enchanting like this. 

Which didn’t go unnoticed, because Jet could never let anything go unnoticed. “What are you looking at?”

“Sorry,” Zuko said, sort of just by habit at this point, and averted his eyes.

Outside the wagon, Katara squealed as she rushed to the embrace of her father. Jet only cut his eyes to look out the slit of the fabric. 

“You’re not going to talk to him?” Zuko asked. “About the invasion?”

“I got shot,” Jet said. “I’m not sure I’d be great at invading anything. We’re all kinda’ fucked up at the moment.”

Zuko tilted his head side to side. That was fair. But also, “It wouldn’t be for another couple of months.”

“Do you want me to talk to him or somethin’?” Jet asked.

Zuko shrugged. It was just weird that Jet didn’t want to. 

“Besides,” Jet said. “Wouldn’t the eclipse affect you too? Firebending and all?”

Oh. Jet was hesitant… because of him?

“I mean, yeah, but… swords. It’s not like I haven’t been going without it,” Zuko noted.

“Except for once,” Jet murmured, not sounding all that bitter about it. Zuko wasn’t sure of the emotion there, so he just left it alone.

“How’s it feeling?” Zuko asked, lowly.

“Stings,” Jet answered, “but it’s alright. More annoying than anything at this point.”

Zuko nodded, then, for some reason, felt the need to say, “I’m still sorry for --”

“Don’t be,” Jet interrupted, raising a hand to stop him. “Just… don’t be, okay?”

It wasn’t exactly a thank you for saving my life, but… close enough. Probably the closest he’d ever get, if he were being honest. 

“Okay,” he agreed. 

Jet sighed. “I’m sure at some point tomorrow, one of these assholes will come talk to me. We've got time to figure it out. I’ll let them do their catching up or whatever. I’d rather not be out in the cold anymore. …It’s been a long day.”

“Do you want to change your bandages? Before the sun gets too low,” Zuko asked. 

“Yeah, we should,” Jet said. “It’s only getting colder.”

And in the same mechanical way they’d been doing things, that’s what they did. Zuko made sure the flap of the wagon was shut tight, no rush of cold air to meet Jet’s skin. Not that it was much warmer inside, but it was better. He knew not to suggest the breath of fire to make things more manageable, even though it definitely would help a significant amount. If it made Jet uncomfortable, which it more than likely would, he was willing to forego it. To suffer together was better than rejoicing alone. 

Zuko’s knees dug into the mattress as he leaned over him, dabbing the ointment onto the skin of his shoulders with deliberate carefulness, and did so in a purposefully dispassionate manner, like doctor and patient. His touch never lingered, even though he wanted nothing more than to press his hands all over him, touch every inch of him. He wasn’t sure if it was getting easier or harder to keep up the charade the longer it went on. 

Jet only stared off at nothing, like every other time they’d done this, like it was easier to pretend it wasn’t happening at all. But after some time, this time, his eyes closed, like he may have been relishing in the small touches too. Seemingly, just as quickly, they shot back open, to look at Zuko with equal parts want and wariness, then trailed off back to some nothing on the wood. At this point, Zuko had grown so used to his suspicion that it barely even affected him. He just kept moving forward. 

After a while, Jet murmured something as Zuko’s hands trailed the bandages around him. The words came out softly, delicately, into the air. Not looking at each other seemed to help even the most vulnerable of words slip out. “You don’t have to say it back, because you already said it. But, you know I love you… right?” It came out so smoothly, calmly, and with so little tension that it didn’t even spike Zuko’s heartbeat up, only made his hand pause for just the briefest of moments. Like something so sure, a matter-of-fact, a fact they both knew to be well and true, even if seldom said out loud.

Zuko kept on, as he was before, and murmured equally as gently and honestly, “I’d rather you trust me.” 

And that was true too. Love was enough to keep them tethered, but little else. It wasn’t enough on its own. Love was a dim, primal emotion when singled out, like an animal's survival mechanism of pair-bonding. It was everything else that accompanied love (or should accompany) that made it grand, that made it enjoyable, that made it something other than two beasts enmeshing themselves with one another.

He wanted nothing more than to return to the magnificence they had before, even if it looked different. To rebuild it, brick by brick if they had to, which he supposed, is what they had been doing, albeit slowly. At the very least, what they had now was honest, was real, even if terribly difficult thus far. But nothing good ever came easily.

It was silent for a few long moments as Zuko found a rag to wipe the ointment from his hands, hinging by his hips to toss the cloth into the pile to be washed come tomorrow. But before he could move away, Jet grasped his wrist with one steady movement and placed Zuko’s clasped hand over his cheek.

Zuko looked down at him, taken aback but not horribly so, and they simply looked at each other for moments that felt so comfortably long, so familiar and patient and kind. Slowly but surely, Zuko unraveled his fingers, taking Jet’s cheek into his palm and thumbing it. Jet met his touch and leaned into it, cupping Zuko’s hand with his own. It’d be so easy to press their lips together… 

As much as he could have stayed in that moment forever, the warmth of Jet’s skin under his palm, it didn’t take long for Jet’s teeth to chatter underneath his touch. “You’re cold,” he murmured. 

“And you’re warm,” Jet replied, flatly.

“Your clothes,” he said, only wavering a little bit.

Jet ran his thumb over his hand, the corner of one side of his mouth finding a smile. “You take good care of me.”

“I try,” he said, more faltering by the second. He was starting to wonder who made who weak in this situation. 

“You’re really awful at catching hints, though.”

Zuko furrowed his brow, frowning, the words simply falling out of him. “I’m just scared to touch you.”

It was a wonder that Jet’s face grew even softer, but somehow it did. “Why’s that?” he asked. 

“I don’t want you to think I’ll hurt you.” 

“I don’t think that,” Jet replied, sounding sure. 

“...And I don’t want you to regret it,” he added, feeling that to be more the reason than the first. 

Jet’s eyes flickered away, thoughtfully, maybe realizing the impact of those words, of what he’d said. Then he turned his face, into the palm of Zuko’s hand, and kissed the skin there. And any amount of Zuko’s willpower that remained crumbled in an instant. “I won’t,” he assured, still into the skin. “But if you want to just hold me, that’s okay too.”

Zuko let out a huff of breath, feeling like he could nearly cry. “You want me to?”

“I want you to,” Jet said, automatically and certain.

Zuko nodded, a little sheepishly, and looked up to meet Jet’s eyes. It was the same look as before, so close and yet so many miles away, so many words that hadn’t been said lost in the gaze. And he couldn’t bear for this thing to be simply words that were never said, even if it didn’t all get said today. He didn’t care if it was clumsy.

“I love you too,” he said softly, but surely. “I want to figure this out, and I want to figure it out with you and just – Everything’s just been so messed up and… and I don’t know. So do you-”

He didn’t get to finish. Jet sprang up to grab the back of his head, pressing his mouth to Zuko’s, their lips fitted together tightly in more of a smoosh rather than a kiss. Something like panic jolted through him, recognizing what was happening, but he didn’t even consider pulling away. He could only suck in a sharp breath, shut his eyes, and just feel him, as Jet’s fingers threaded through the back of his hair, tenderly but with a firmness that said he’d never let go. 

The sheer relief, the elation, caused the same breath to exit, shuddering, through Zuko’s nose. His hands had just risen to grasp Jet’s face when Jet pulled back for just the briefest of moments, just enough time to ask against his lips, “That answer your question?” It was nearly as a statement, and he gave him no time to answer before pressing them back together, parting their lips this time around. Zuko’s hands finally found a place to settle, holding both sides of his face, and let himself melt into it. 

It’d been so long, he didn’t even know how long at this point, but surely too damn long for the both of them. It was messy and clumsy, and their teeth clinked together, but it was too good to even care. Tentative, exploratory, as if tasting new flesh. A body that was so familiar to him felt entirely brand new, and he didn’t mind learning it all over again. Before they knew it, they’d found something of a rhythm. 

The holding idea was slowly slipping into obscurity, as a small, aroused sound left his mouth and entered Jet’s. It didn’t take long at all for the kiss to deepen, to morph from cold weathered lips meeting--to raging inferno. He had to stop himself from tearing Jet’s lips off in his mouth with his eagerness, and thought that Jet was in the same boat, as they grabbed at each other in a whirlwind of bites and tongues, spit and sounds, their breaths equally as shaky and heavy as the other. It was like a high, so good, so fervent with pent-up need and jubilation and maybe even something like adrenaline and fear. He crushed the last part down. It didn’t matter; he didn’t care. Jet was kissing him, and the uncertainty and the future of it all dimmed in importance. 

Their bodies pressed together, Zuko still on his knees while Jet was in some strange, half-seated position. It quickly became uncomfortable to the point of undoable, and Jet sucked in a small, pained breath. Zuko nearly kicked himself, his brows furrowing, thinking he’d just messed everything up again. Jet pulled away, but didn’t go far.

“Easy,” Jet murmured, thankfully not sounding offended, his voice shaking and brokenly roused. “Got shot, remember?”

Zuko swallowed and nodded, feeling sheepish and guilty, but that was soon coaxed out of him. Jet set himself backward on the bed, his back lying flat, and Zuko could only watch for a moment, not wanting to make it more difficult for him. Then Jet held the blanket up, and Zuko caught a good glimpse of his open chest, and then what was standing ready between his legs, and felt an entirely new wave of heat coursing through his veins. Things were becoming increasingly difficult to not overdo, and he had to burn it into himself to keep things soft, which did nothing to mitigate how keyed up he was. 

“Get under,” Jet said. “It’s cold, come on.”

For once in his life, he didn’t need to be told something twice. 

He crawled under, gingerly, as Jet tossed the blanket over the both of them, and then he wasn’t entirely sure where to go next, half-lying on top of Jet and half-not. “Keep kissing me,” Jet said, directly that time. And things were so simple when you just said them out loud that all Zuko could do was comply. He kept his weight on top of Jet to a bare minimum, using his arm to prop himself, kissing, open-mouthed again. Jet held onto his hip, his hand gripping and grasping every bit of skin there, dipping under his clothing to do so. His touch was so warm and right and missed. Every movement was so small and gentle, but somehow loud and explosive all the same. It wasn’t long before that wasn’t enough either, because without much of either of their say-so, their bodies running on instinct and feeling alone, their hips began rutting, begging for any contact they could muster, the cloth between them creating frustrating distance that was so, so easily remediable. 

“I don’t care what we do,” Jet murmured into his mouth, somehow finding a break to get the words out. Zuko peeled open heavy eyes to look into his, his heart flooding with Jet’s next words. “I can’t do much. I just need this, I need you. Fuck, I need you so much. Just touch me, I don’t care how.”

Not want. Need. And not this, but you. 

From their first time, when he couldn’t wait to shut Jet up, to now, where he couldn’t think of anything worse. “Okay,” he whispered, and swallowed Jet’s mouth again, his hand trailing down the plain of his stomach, then under his waistband. 

Jet made a beautiful groan when his fingers made contact, just running over the silken skin of it, the sound buried inside Zuko’s mouth. This bed had buried so many things, so many moans, so many lies, so many years of pain. And it was on no track to stop now. 

Somehow, between it all, Jet’s hand had wriggled to meet him too, and he sucked in a breath that was immediately lost, as Jet palmed his hand over him. This kind of touching would nearly never be enough, even after so long. He needed more than hands; Jet needed more, but he didn’t know how much Jet could give. He didn’t care if it was to forget, and he didn’t care if it was just fucking to fuck. He wanted to be here, with Jet, touching and being touched, loving and being loved, lost in this buried warren of a bed for the rest of time. How long it took was irrelevant; it was such a glorious feeling that he didn’t mind that it would take a long time. It felt slow, and easy, and like neither of them could quite bear the thought of it ending anytime soon. 

“Stay up with me,” Jet murmured. “All night, I don’t care.”

And Zuko couldn’t imagine anything better than that, a night in fascination, and pressed their mouths back together in answer. 

Chapter Text

At some point in the latest hours of the night, while their souls were still willing, their bodies were slowly withering from exhaustion. Zuko felt the muscles in his legs tremble, the cock that was buried inside of Jet struggling to keep its strength. The whole thing had been one long, languid slide of ecstasy, Jet’s back pressed to his front as they lay on their sides, the lazy (and only) position they’d been able to manage.

Jet pleaded with him to keep going, his voice weak and quivering, but he was in no position to bargain either. It seemed both of their bodies had gone equally as boneless as they were will-less. Jet’s cock had gone soft in Zuko’s hand some time ago, merely rubbing it for the sport now. Everything still felt nice, of course it did, but unfortunately, they’d reached the point of having to recognize the impossibility of drawing water from an empty well. 

Reached the point of having to return to the real world, where the cold threatened to creep back inward. The world in which there wasn’t an oblitering amount of sensation that crushed out the past and future.

His cock softened again, and Jet gave him a breathy, “No.”

Zuko swallowed, needing a drink an hour ago, or two hours, he couldn’t have been sure. Time seemed to have abandoned him, replaced only by sensual flesh, flesh, and more flesh. “I can’t anymore,” he croaked, his throat dry and cracking. “You’re trying to kill me.” 

Jet hummed, half-amused, half-exhausted. “Wouldn’t be a bad way to go,” he murmured, craning his head to look backward. They kissed, and Zuko tasted himself in Jet’s mouth, and it was almost enough to get him hard again. 

Almost. 

Jet gingerly rolled to face him, taking his testes up into his own hand, feeling them. “I don’t think they’ve ever felt this empty before. How long do you think it’ll take to replenish?”

Zuko perked a brow. “...What? Your come?” 

“Or yours.” 

“I don’t know,” Zuko said, shrugging. 

“It was a lot,” Jet noted. 

“I’m not sorry.” 

Jet gave him a tired smirk. It’d been so long since Jet smirked at him, Zuko couldn’t even find it in himself to roll his eyes. “I bet you aren’t,” Jet said, propping his head with his arm. “You think Jin will notice the spots on the bed when she comes to check on me?”

Zuko visibly winced in answer, and Jet softly laughed at him. 

“Can you not?” Zuko asked, not all that upset about it, though he worried Jet’s mood was just afterglow. He’d relish it as long as Jet wanted, willing and ready to talk about nothing until the sun came up. Even if it was about his testicles, or Jin, or Jin discovering the aftermath of his testicles. 

…So much for romance. Then again, they’d never been the type for flowers. 

“I won’t be able to walk tomorrow,” Jet said. “She’s bound to notice.”

“Just tell her you rode a horse.”

“I did.” Jet smirked again, explaining his joke that Zuko had no trouble figuring out on his own. “Ride a horse, I mean.” 

Zuko flushed, then retorted, “You didn’t ride anything. I did all the work.” 

“I got shot,” Jet defended, for the thousandth time that day. 

Zuko pursed his lips, teasing. “I got shot by an arrow and still fucked you.”

“Alright. I got you next time, don’t worry.”

His cheeks only got hotter at the thought. But then again… Jet was planning for a next time, and he couldn’t help but crack a small smile at the prospect. 

“What?” Jet asked. 

“Nothing.”

Jet smiled gently too. “I almost can’t believe it,” Jet said, softer, sounding less teasing and more thoughtful now.

“What do you mean?” 

“This is just… what you’re like,” Jet said, gesturing at his entire body.

Zuko shrugged by way of answer. “I mean… yeah.” What else was he supposed to say?

“I just figured you’d be different,” Jet said. 

“...Why?” Zuko asked, then thought that was probably stupid to ask. Because, firebender, that’s why. 

“Because –” Jet started, then couldn’t finish, for whatever reason. 

“Because firebender?” Zuko asked. 

Jet let out a huff of breath through his nose, the corner of his lip twitching up. “Yeah, I guess it does sound pretty stupid when you say it like that.”

“It’s not,” Zuko said. “I get it.”

“Do you want a drink?” Jet asked, changing the subject, or trying to.

“Like?”

“Water,” Jet said. “Not alcohol. Tired of you yelling at me about that.”

“I don’t yell –” He started to scowl, but noticed Jet’s grin, and shook his head instead. 

Jet grabbed up the carafe tucked into the corner and poured a drink into two glasses, one for each. He handed one over, then threw his coat over his torso, shivering, before settling back down with his own. He pulled the blanket over his legs. “Everything is so cold.”

“I could –” Zuko started, then sucked his lips up in his mouth, afraid to even suggest it, and didn’t know why it’d slipped out of him in the first place. 

“...Could?” Jet pressed. 

Oh, spirits, it was already out there. Please, don’t let this ruin this night.

“...Heat the water?” he nearly whispered. 

Jet perked a brow, thankfully looking more curious than anything. “You can just heat things up?”

“...Sort of.” His voice was so small he could barely hear it himself. Some part of him was squirming, maybe his toes or his feet, but he didn’t know exactly which parts. This was so uncomfortable, he could barely stand it.

“...Huh,” Jet said, not looking angry, thank Agni. He seemed more surprised than anything, like he’d never even considered practical uses for it. Only murder and destruction. Which… fair. That was all he’d ever seen of it.

“It won’t… catch the whole wagon on fire?”

Oh, no, he was considering it. Zuko wanted to vomit.

“No?” Of all the times to sound unsure.

Jet raised a brow.

“No,” he answered again, more firmly. “No, of course not. I could just… put my hand inside the water.” He’d have to wash them first, obviously, unless they wanted to taste sweat and… other. “Then it’ll just get hot.”

Jet went silent for a moment, mulling it over. Then asked, “Could you do the bucket instead? So we can wash?”

Oh. That… was a better idea, actually. His shoulders relaxed ever so slightly. 

“Yeah,” he answered, still unsure. “Are you… okay with it?”

“You’ve already done it once around me,” Jet said, gesturing to his torso. “And I didn’t die, so. Besides, I’d rather not sponge off with ice water. So, just… keep it over there, yeah?”

They looked at each other for a long moment, then Jet added, a little sternly, “So, will you heat the water?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Zuko said, finding the willing strength to move. He slid himself over to the bucket in the corner of the wagon, dipped his hand in the cold water, and his eyes ticked back over to Jet, who was watching him intensely, expression unreadable. 

“Is –”

“Spirits, Zuko, do it before I change my mind.”

“Okay, okay.”

Keep it small. He did, just enough flame to raise the water temperature, and nothing more. Jet couldn’t see it, and neither could he, and that was probably some amount of comfort to both of them.

“Are you doing it?” 

“Yeah.”

Jet nodded, and the steam began to rise into the air as proof. He stopped just as soon as the water became hot to the touch and removed his hand, flicking the droplets from his fingers. 

Jet’s expression was still rather blank, and he said, flatly, “To think I’ve been taking lukewarm baths this whole time.”

Was… was it a joke? He didn’t know whether to smile or not.

“And sleeping with a prince,” Jet added. 

Zuko wasn’t sure what the expression was on his face, but he was sure it was painfully uncomfortable. “Ex-prince, but… yeah?”

“And a firebender. Like, the firebender.”

“I’m actually not that good at it,” Zuko tried. “...I don’t think. Maybe.”

Jet laughed, neither sardonically nor derisively, and simply said, “My life is absurd.”

Zuko finally smiled too. He was making jokes. And… that was a pretty good sign, right? Uncle always said that the final step of acceptance was learning to make jokes about things. So, really good sign?

“Mine too,” Zuko said, agreeing. 

“Yeah, I’d say so,” Jet said. “You ended up with me of all people.”

Zuko spoke automatically, no thought involved in his reply. “I’m glad I did.”

Jet smiled at him for a long moment, earnestly, no charm, then teased, “Flattery is my job. You get the sponge.”

For the first time in a long time, Zuko awoke to Jet’s body touching his own. It wasn’t a lot, but then again, it never used to be either. The tangled embrace of limbs throughout the night seemed to be some exaggeration of romances, and not reality, or at least not theirs. Zuko had no idea if other people did that. He only knew Jet, and their from-the-knee-down way of doing things. It was nicer, he thought, this way, and not just because it was their way. It wasn’t so much contact that it was suffocating, but enough to say I’m here. 

He didn’t dare move, let alone begin to slide his leg from underneath Jet’s. It was warm and the air was cold, and if Jet had been turned the other way, he might have considered closing in on him to press his front to Jet’s back. But as it stood, Jet’s back was not turned to him, and for the first time in a long time too, he awoke to Jet’s face. 

Jet was still asleep, breathing softly, his face soft and untroubled, the collar of the coat he’d donned pressing against his cheek. His hair was a mess, tangled and puffy, but washed at least.

Zuko tried hard not to let his morning thoughts stray too far into the night before, dare he risk growing hard at the mere thought. And more so, risk Jet chastizing him, with something along the lines of Spirits, again? You didn’t get enough? 

The thought wasn’t that bad in the scheme of things. There were worse things he could chastise him for.

Footsteps approached the wagon, and Zuko remembered he was still nude from the waist down, and Jet was hogging the blanket, currently. And, knowing her proclivities for waltzing in, and before she could get a possible eye-full, Zuko called, “Not now, Jin.”

“Oh,” she said from just outside. Then she added, a little suggestively, “Oh?”

Zuko rolled his eyes. Turns out, she didn’t need visual evidence after all. “Jin, please–”

She rolled right on passed it, like usual. “...Did you guys listen to what I said?”

Yeah, because it was her who was the catalyst and nothing else. And also, nosy.

“Go away,” Zuko said. 

She laughed. “Is he sleeping?”

Jet mumbled into the skin of his arm, “I was.”

“Tell him it’s near noon,” Jin said, “and that people want to talk to him.”

Noon? Zuko guessed they’d stayed up later than he thought. 

Jet groaned, pressing his eyebrows together, then sighed heavily. “Be the leader, they said–” he murmured. He finally gathered the strength to lift his head and called, “I’ll be up in a minute.”

As the two got dressed, a bit of ruckus (nothing alarming) occurred outside the wagon. Something exciting was maybe happening, and Jet and Zuko eyed each other with puzzled looks. 

They stepped down from the wagon, and a small crowd had formed around a tent. The avatar’s tent. 

As they grew closer, it was clear as day. While a little disoriented and tired, the avatar was up and moving. 

They gave him space, the number of people badgering him seeming quite enough as is. Katara was already beating them away with sticks, telling them to back off. Jet chuckled under his breath at it as they sat on a log around a fire, watching the commotion, the river gently lapping the shoreline behind them. Jet said, “At least someone else is more popular than me.”

That didn’t mean he was out of the woods. 

A tanned hand, even tanner than Jet, clamped gently down upon Jet’s shoulder. 

“You must be Jet,” the man said conversationally. He was a large, older water tribe man, whose face was equal parts stern and kind. Two braids dangled from the scalp above his temple, and his hands, scarred and weathered, had probably seen their fair share of fighting. 

Jet stood to greet him, and Zuko stood by habit too, and Jet answered respectfully, “That’s me. And you?”

“Hakoda. Sokka and Katara’s father.” He sounded heartwarmingly proud of the latter half. Hakoda looked over at Zuko then, racking his brain for something. “And you, La, Sokka told me your name. Forgive me, uh …Prince Zuko, is it?”

And hearing his name and title together for the first time in years only managed to stagger him. It seemed to have thrown Jet off-kilter too. They both knew it was reality, but hearing it was a little surprising, as was the fact that he didn’t seem upset about it. “Um. Yeah. Nice to meet you.”

“I’ve grown acquainted with your Uncle,” Hakoda said, kindly. 

“Really?”

Jet shifted his weight from one foot to the other, suddenly uncomfortable. “Is he–”

“Not like my sister,” Zuko answered, figuring that’s where he was going with that. Jet nodded, unsure. 

“I’ve heard a few things about her,” Hakoda said. “But I can assure you, Iroh is a good man. You can meet him, if you want?”

Zuko froze, what he was saying not yet clicking. “...What do you mean? Do you know where he is?”

“He’s been helping me put all this together,” Hakoda said, then smiled as if he’d been holding in some monumental surprise. “He said a man needs his rest, but he’s been waiting for you to wake up all morning. I think he’s getting a little antsy, though.”

Zuko’s eyes went wide, feeling this had to be some sort of practical joke. He’d never be so lucky. Then Hakoda gestured with his hand over to the water tribe rowboat at the edge of the river, merely twenty feet away or so. How he’d not noticed it, he had no idea. And there leaned against the wood, was a fat, stumpy old man, with a beard as big as his cheeky, playful smile, simply waiting for him to look over.

Zuko’s voice came out small, gut-punched in the absolute best of ways. “...Uncle?”

They locked eyes, and somehow, Uncle’s grin grew even wider, like his excitement was about to burst at the seams, and he put his hands innocently outward. “Hello, Nephew! Surprise?"