[fic] Something to Hold Onto, Chapter 2: One Last Night
Title: Something to Hold Onto [2/13]
Word count: 6,100
Pairing: Jet/Zuko
Rating: A very hard R for language, violence and sexual content
Summary: Since the day the walls of Ba Sing Se fell, the Freedom Fighters have struggled to protect what remains of the city and its people. Jet and his second command, a mysterious boy named Li, have spent the summer piecing together an army, hoping for a chance to take the city back for good. But Li is also Zuko, and the time for that secret is quickly running out. Soon, he'll have to decide exactly who he is, what cause he's going to fight for and where his heart lies.
This chapter: A promise, a decision, and a battle on two fronts.
Notes: I think it's important to mention in every chapter that kittyjimjams and jlh are the greatest and most understanding of all betas. boredgods and gulliblesnail both contributed fantastic illustrations for this chapter, which are linked to in the text and in a complete list at the end.
:: Previous Chapter ::
The Avatar was alive. Zuko repeated those words to himself in his mind, over and over and over again. They held him captive, dragging the whole of his thoughts down a path he'd long assumed was closed to him, the city skyline fading into a memory of light over the ocean - the shaft of blue-white that had torn into the sky.
He had never forgotten his quest. He had felt the absence of that last chance for honor every day. But he had set it aside as a lost cause on the day the walls came down, left all those hopes and disappointments behind him just as he'd left behind his own name. He had tried to look forward.
But now the Avatar was alive and he was in the Fire Nation, a few weeks from the capital. Haru's invasion couldn't possibly succeed, but if it did? For so long, Zuko had been pushed through life by two forces: his search and the man who'd set him on it. His entire purpose, the reason he'd struggled and fought for so long, had been to bring them both together. And now they were about to meet, all on their own, as Zuko sat a world away in a crumbling city. Did they think he was dead? Had they bothered to think of him at all? Or had he been forgotten, a relic of how things had once been, now nothing but a tragic curiosity?
Zuko had stood on the city wall and watched his sister's ship steam out of the harbor, black smoke rising from its stack as it rose from the crumbling buildings behind him. He'd thought his last chance at redemption had gone with her. But today, fate had once again dangled that promise in front of him, achingly close.
Haru hadn't recognized him; had even asked him to come and fight. How far could he get, Zuko wondered, before he was discovered? How close? Would they let him board their ships? Would he make it all the way past the Great Gates of Azulon, to the shore he'd left behind so long ago? Even as he thought about it now, allowed himself to consider such things for the first time in months, Zuko saw how simple it would be. He could join their forces so easily, melt into the press of strangers and let them carry him home again.
They were the Avatar's friends. A closed helmet and a little luck would bring him near enough to do whatever he needed to. Before that, he could ask, and they would tell him anything he wanted to know. If he could stop the Avatar, stop the invasion - if he could find some way to warn his country of what was coming - surely his father would thank him. Surely that would be enough. Then he'd be free of all of this. Then he could start living again.
"Li? You okay?"
Zuko started, Jet's words bringing him back to the rooftop where they still stood. He turned to look at the other boy, whose arched brows were drawn together. "Yes," said Zuko. "I'm fine. Sorry."
"You looked a million miles away, there."
"I'm fine," Zuko said again. He tried to sound more convincing, but it was hard - his mind spun through possibilities as he spoke. "It's fine."
"Don't let that Haru guy worry you," said Jet. "He doesn't know what he's talking about. This city's counting on us, you know?" He smiled. "We'll make it all right again."
Zuko thought of Water Tribe ships sailing across the bay, toward the open sea. "I don't know," he said. "Maybe we should go. They need us, too. Maybe it's the right thing to do."
"Don't even talk like that," said Jet. "This is our home. We can't just ditch it because things are hard."
Zuko remembered docks along the shore; wide roads that led up into the volcano, to the heart of the city where he'd been born. "But you hate it here," he said. "You always say that. How much you miss the forest."
"I'm getting used to it," Jet said with a small shrug. "Besides, when the war's over the woods'll still be there. I can wait. That's not where I'm needed right now."
"But they need us. They need our help. In the Fire Nation."
"Yeah, well, I can't see any reason to think their plan's any better than mine," said Jet, an edge to his voice. "I know what I'm doing here and I'm not gonna leave just because some Earthbender with a bad mustache wants me to."
"Maybe…maybe I should go," said Zuko, who was only half-listening. "I could take a few people with me and -"
"What the hell, Li?" Jet snapped. "If you wanna leave that badly, just do it and stop making excuses."
Zuko blinked, focusing on Jet's face. "I don't want to leave you," he said slowly. "I'm…that's not what I meant. I'm just…weighing the options."
"There aren't any options. I'm staying right here until they burn this fucking city down around me."
"Jet…" Zuko closed his eyes and saw the ocean, wide and flat and deep, steel grey. He heard Jet sigh, and felt a warm hand on his back.
"We need you here," Jet said quietly. "We can't do this without you."
Zuko squeezed his eyes tighter. "You can."
"I can't," said Jet. Zuko heard him move, then felt strong arms wind around his neck, the moist warmth of breath against his hair. "Look…I know how you feel. If the Avatar's alive, that changes a lot of things. I met him once, you know. I don't think I ever told you. He seemed like a good kid. I'm glad he gets another shot at this." Jet sighed and some of the tension left his body, his arms less rigid as he pulled Zuko closer. "I hope Sokka knows what he's doing. I hope that bastard Ozai is dead by next moon. But it isn't our fight to win or lose."
Late at night, when he couldn't sleep and the sound of waves was his only company, Zuko had sometimes wondered if he would ever see his father again. Maybe his ship would be lost at sea. Maybe he would never find the Avatar. Maybe, someday, he wouldn't have the strength to look any longer.
But this? His father dead and that chance of reunion gone forever? That outcome wasn't one he'd ever considered. And even with his eyes closed and his ears full of the sound of his own heart, he couldn't block it out.
Jet pressed his lips to Zuko's forehead. "You can't fix the whole world, Li," he said softly. "But we can fix this place. Make sure it's still here for Aang to save if he actually pulls this crazy stunt off."
Zuko listened to his blood, a too-quick thrum, and to the rasp of his breath as he drew it through clenched teeth. Jet's arms were all that kept him from sinking to his knees.
Jet was used to Li being quiet before a raid, and normally it didn't worry him. Everyone dealt with stress in their own way, after all. Jet liked to distract himself with chatter, and Li didn't. That was fine. He could talk enough for both of them.
But he didn't like this silence. Instead of cozy and familiar, their small room felt airless, heavy with a dread that smothered Jet's cheerful words. For a while, he stopped trying, listening instead to leather that creaked as they moved and the soft clink of buckles. His own armor slipped effortlessly into place, familiar as his skin. He used his chin to hold an arm guard steady as he pulled the last strap tight, his eyes watching Li in the lamplight. Some other time, Jet would have reached over to help the other boy without asking, but today Li wouldn't meet his eyes, and Jet waited with his hands at his sides.
Li struggled with the plates that hugged his ribs, fumbling over complicated fastenings. Jet would have felt better if Li had seemed irritated, swore under his breath or thrown the plates down on the floor or wondered aloud why they kept it so fucking dark in there. He was used to that, too.
Li didn't do any of those things. He tugged ineffectually the straps, sighed, and spoke in a voice so hollow that Jet found he missed the silence. "Can you get this?"
"Sure." He took the straps from Li, and their fingertips brushed. Even this contact was more than they'd had since they'd climbed down from the roof, and it sharpened the contrast between this stilted, awkward avoidance and the warmth of their usual routine. Jet made short work of the fastenings, tugged at each plate of armor to make sure it was secure, then stepped into the space Li allowed so few to enter.
"Hey," he whispered. He found Li's hands and wove their fingers together. "You aren't still thinking about that guy, are you?" Li didn't answer, which Jet took to be a yes. He brought Li's hand up to his mouth and kissed the knuckles, a show of gentlemanly manners that often made Li smile. "Should I be jealous?"
Li didn't smile. He looked down at the floor, cords of muscle standing out along his neck.
Jet slipped a hand into Li's hair, combed his fingers through the thick, coarse tangle. "All right," he murmured. "I just hate to see you drive yourself crazy like this."
Li drew one shuddering breath, held it, let it out again fast and sharp. Then he stumbled forward to press his face into Jet's chest, arms limp at his sides even as Jet's snaked around his shoulders. Jet stroked his hair, breathed in the scent of sweat and oil and leather. "It's all gonna be fine, baby," he said. "I promise."
"You can't promise that," Li whispered, his voice half-lost in the cloth of Jet's tunic.
"I just did," said Jet. "Lucky you, I keep my promises."
Ping was one of the oldest members of their group, though how old, exactly, none of them could say. He'd told the Freedom Fighters everything he could about the Dai Li - strategies and strongholds and a few, crucial weaknesses - and saved all their lives by doing so. But Ping was stubbornly closed-mouthed about the details of his past, however much Jin pestered him. Maybe that was why he and Li got along so well.
Jet was curious, of course, but he never asked anyone to talk about things they didn't want to. He wouldn't begrudge another man his secrets. Some things hurt too much to remember, nevermind explain.
He found Ping in the kitchen, seated at the table beside Xue Sheng with a pile of scrolls between them. Aside from helping Jin manage supplies, Xue Sheng's main responsibility was keeping their maps up to date. A city of Earthbenders was always shifting, but since the occupation these changes had become more dramatic. Jet remembered the day the Dai Li brought the walls down, destroying in seconds what they'd fought for centuries protect. After that, they'd cut a path to the palace, flattening houses and shops to make a boulevard wide enough for an army.
Xue Sheng had a brush and ink at hand, the scroll before him spread out and held in place by small, smooth stones. Jet recognized the dense warren of streets, bordered on one side by the wide curve of a wall. The farther from the center, the more haphazard the city's layout became. In the outermost fringes, where he and his friends had lived before the fall, the streets and alleyways were a hopeless jumble, buildings stacked on top of one another like weeds trying to reach the sun. That was where Li would be in a few hours.
"Longshot confirmed it this morning," Xue Sheng was saying. "Just outside the ninth ward, between the thirty-second and thirty-first watchtowers." He dipped his brush and began to sketch in the empty parchment beyond the wall, holding his sleeve out of the way of the dark, wet ink. "They really must not know, if they didn't even bother to move the yards."
"Perhaps," Ping murmured.
Xue Sheng chewed his lip, the brush filling in details of gates and guards houses. "Why put all their tanks in the same place? And so close to the wall? They have to know how vulnerable that makes them…"
"Arrogance," said Ping, then raised his eyes to look at Jet. "Is it time?"
Xue Sheng's head jerked up, his brush-less hand reflexively pushing his spectacles up his nose. No longer supported, his sleeve dropped onto the glistening lines. "Jet. I…I'm almost done…"
"It's fine," said Jet, and smiled in a way he hoped was calming. "You're doing fine."
Xue Sheng didn't look reassured, and Jet wondered again why he made some people so nervous. He had the feeling Xue Sheng expected him to cut someone's throat at any moment. Which was ridiculous, of course, particularly here in the Jasmine Dragon. No one here was Fire Nation.
"Where's Li?" Ping asked.
"Li's off being Li," said Jet easily. He smiled at Ping, too. "Can I talk to you for a second?"
"Of course."
Jet lead Ping out the kitchen door, into a dim alleyway that smelled of cabbage and molding tea leaves. Ping's face betrayed nothing, not even the expected curiosity. He stood beside the dumpster and waited, patient and close-mouthed, for an explanation to come.
Just now, Jet didn't feel like drawing things out. "It's about Li," he said. "I want you to watch him for me tonight. Keep an eye on him."
"I always do."
"Yeah, I know." Jet grinned, trying not to look as worried as he felt. "But he's been acting a little strange today. You know how he gets."
Most other people would have told Jet that Li could take care of himself. But Ping considered Jet's words carefully, a small frown on his lips. "You know him best of all of us," he said. "If you're worried, so am I. I'll make certain nothing happens to him."
Jet had hoped this conversation would put him at ease, but it didn't. The worry was still there, sitting like a lump in the bottom of his stomach. He wondered if he should tell Ping what had happened on the roof. Maybe then Ping would know what to watch for.
Behind him, the kitchen door swung open. "Time to go," said Smellerbee.
"Yeah, thanks," said Jet. Smellerbee nodded and ducked back inside. Jet didn't need words to tell her he needed a few more moments of privacy.
Ping was still watching him, grim and opaque as he waited to be dismissed. They weren't in that much of a hurry - he could have told Ping, then. He could have explained about Haru, and the invasion. But Ping might have felt the same way Li did, and Jet didn't want to have that conversation again - not now, not right before a mission, not in an alleyway where anyone could hear them.
Jet bent down to pluck a dry stalk of grass from between the cobbles. "Come on," he said. The grass tasted of dust as he tucked it into the corner of his mouth. "Those tanks won't trash themselves."
Maybe he'd talk to Ping about it later, he thought, when things weren't so crazy. No point in distracting him now. One night wouldn't make a difference.
Joining the Freedom Fighters had been much simpler than Zuko would ever have expected. Zuko loved his country. He wanted it to be strong, and felt certain it had great things to teach the world. But that knowledge shouldn't be gained at the cost of so many lives, so much heartbreak and such a weight of suffering. He'd been in the Earth Kingdom a long time - he knew what the war had done to its people. People like Jet, who woke screaming from nightmares he couldn't bear to describe, and always slept with a knife within reach.
Azula should never have taken this city. It wasn't difficult for Zuko to justify fighting to take it back.
Zuko crouched in moon shadows on the wall of the outer ring, watching for dark wings against the blue-black sky. Soon a messenger hawk would arrive with news of an attack on the Eastern Checkpoint. The streets surrounding that gate were too dense for tanks to navigate, so a small guard would be left behind while a mounted platoon was sent to join the fray. Then Jet and the others would struggle to hold against wave after wave of reinforcements until another hawk - sent by Zuko this time - told them their distraction was no longer needed.
Zuko had helped Jet with this plan, and he knew it would work. He knew how the Fire Nation fought, how its officers behaved and how it moved to squash rebellions like this one. The soldiers of his country were rigid, slavishly tied to procedure and accordingly predictable. Only Azula held any surprises, and she was gone, a host of lesser men left to rule in her name.
Even in exile, Zuko had been a functional part of the Fire Nation's military, his own tiny ship an unmentioned charge of the massive Eastern Fleet. They'd received regular dispatches from Fire Navy communication towers, and Lieutenant Jee had kept close correspondence with the captains of friendly ships, those willing to trade supplies and information with a crew of such low standing. Years away from home had robbed Zuko of many things, but not his sense of belonging - however marginalized, he was still a son of the Fire Nation.
He watched the sky and tried to concentrate on hawks and troop movements, on guards standing in pools of yellow light and Ping's men hidden below him, waiting for his signal. But as the moon rose his mind drifted west again, to matters over which he had a maddening lack of control.
The justifications were harder to hold onto tonight. In this city he was one unremarkable soldier among many, not even a bender as far as anyone knew. Ping's team was the key to tonight's work; Jet was the one whose words inspired them to fight at all. If not for Jet's favor, Zuko would be just another warm body - one of a few dozen swordsmen, one of a hundred Freedom Fighters.
The Avatar was in the Fire Nation, and Zuko was in Ba Sing Se, and every hour he stayed was one less for the journey to Xi Mian Bay. His own home was weeks away from being invaded, his father the sole target of an entire army, and here he was, risking his life to defend a foreign capital while his own was in unknowing peril.
At home he was a prince, exile or no. At home he could save his country with a single word of warning. Only a coward would refuse that burden, and Zuko had played that part too long already.
The soft sigh of wings refocused his gaze. A small hawk, the sort used for short sprints within the city walls, fluttered down to a perch on the main watchtower, just outside its only lit window. Gloved hands reached out to slip the message from the scroll case on its back, and in the lamplight Zuko caught a glimpse of dangling ribbon: orange, suggesting urgency and the need for reinforcements.
He knelt beside bricks still warm from the sun and listened to the shouts of men and the rumbling protest of Komodo Rhinos dragged out of their stables. He watched a tight rectangle of men assemble in the yard, foot soldiers flanked by cavalry, and waited as they marched through the gates.
Zuko could still hear the clink of their armor and the heavy steps of rhinos as he dropped down onto the stable roof, a hasty-looking structure built against the wall. The sentry at its doors had a pipe in his hands, packing tobacco into the bowl with the pad of his thumb. He eyes stayed on his work as Zuko crept up behind him, low and dark on the gables, and he hit the ground with a muffled thud when Zuko struck a sharp blow to the back of his skull.
Countless nights behind a mask meant this was easy work, stealth coming naturally to him in a way few tasks ever had. He scaled the watchtowers one after another, swung through unshuttered windows, felled guards without a catch, without their even having the chance to gasp or register surprise, each man unconscious before he could think of raising an alarm. Some other time, Zuko would have felt some satisfaction at this, enjoyed the rare feeling of competence and control. Tonight, he would have been glad for a challenge - at least then he'd have a distraction from his thoughts.
Zuko bound the last guard's wrists and ankles, then slipped down a narrow stairwell and out into the yard. He crouched on the packed dirt and thumped it with his palm, three times in a measured rhythm. A soft rumble echoed through the yards, and six figures rose out of the ground just inside the fence, so quiet that Zuko could hear the click of scattering pebbles.
Ping's eyes shone beneath the wide, flat brim of his helmet. Zuko pointed to the main tower and Ping nodded, once, then signaled to the others, two fingers indicating the hulking silhouettes of tanks, long straight lines extending past where Zuko could see. The Earthbenders ran silently across the open yard, cushioning their steps, arms extended behind them.
Ping hung back a moment longer, still holding Zuko's gaze. Then he turned and slipped away into the dark.
From the tower, Zuko watched them go to work. They'd practiced on the wrecks of old machines, and the skills they'd honed were evident, their movements precise and eerily quiet. Razor-edged slabs of rock carved off wheels and sheered through treads and axles, lopping off the barrels of guns and splitting open cabins, the glass of shattered instruments glittering on the ground.
Zuko's fingers twitched at his sides, the air cupped in his palms growing warm. Tanks like these weren't meant to withstand an assault by Firebenders. Zuko knew how they were put together, had been inside one more than once; he could have halved the time it took to destroy this fleet.
Zuko could have. But not Li.
Jet was right. The Freedom Fighters had to stay, to protect what was left of Ba Sing Se and its people. Zuko, however, did not. He didn't belong here. He wasn't needed here. He wanted to see Jet again, wanted one more night of the life they'd built together. But that was all he could afford. Tomorrow he'd tell Jet he needed some air, and he'd go for a walk with his swords and a few provisions strapped to his back. And he'd keep walking, all the way across the Serpent's Pass, to the shores of Xi Mian Bay where his destiny lay in wait.
In the woods, no one could ever really corner you, provided you knew what you were doing - there was always a tree to climb, a ravine to slide down into, a tangle of vines you could slither though to safety. In the woods, Jet had always had the advantage. But there weren't many trees in Ba Sing Se, and the walls that rose on either side of him were sheer and smooth, studded with barred windows that poured flame down into the street. The Eastern Gate blocked one end of the narrow courtyard, massive doors banded with iron; behind him, mounted soldiers formed a line that bristled with spears.
"Up and over!" he shouted, throat raw from trying to make himself heard over the clang of swords and the cries of injured men. On either side of him, Freedom Fighters in mismatched armor crouched down low, eyes on the cavalry and fists clenched on battered hilts. When the rhinos charged Jet ran to meet them, timing his steps so that his foot hit the closest animal's horn in the valley of its stride, momentum carrying him forward up its boney snout and onto the ridge of its back. In one smooth, graceful movement Jet ducked under the soldier's spear, hooked the end of one sword through his throat, used it to swing around behind him, then tore the blade free with a savage twist that splattered Jet's face with hot blood. The soldier made a quiet, gurgling sound as he slid from the saddle.
Li would frown at his sodden clothes later, but Jet didn't see what he could do about it - tonight, mercy wasn't a luxury they could afford.
Jet took the soldier's place and grabbed for the reins, made difficult by the blades still in his hands. A few feet ahead on the back of another rhino, Smellerbee shoved a limp body out of her way, pulling her knife from his ribs as he fell to the ground. "Guard house," she said, settling into the saddle.
Jet slapped his rhino's flank with the flat of his blade, and it leapt forward through the tangle of foot soldiers, toward the gate that loomed ahead. The guard house was a small, square room with windows on all sides that sat in the middle of the checkpoint's wall. The moon had sunk beneath the rooftops, but torchlight caught the broad, flat outline of a straw hat inside it.
"Behind you!" Smellerbee called, but even as Jet turned he heard the sharp, sudden whisper of an arrow beside his ear. The soldier who'd been scrambling up the tail of Jet's mount clutched at his shoulder and tumbled back to the ground. Jet didn't allow himself even a moment of relief - ten more soldiers would replace that one before the night was over.
The point had never been to win this battle - they had known from the beginning that victory would be impossible, and Ping's spies had only cemented how badly outnumbered and hopelessly positioned they would be. An Earth Kingdom army would have been hard-pressed to take so well-defended a position, and they were barely more than a handful, mostly city kids who were still too soft and too slow.
No, the point had never been winning. Their entire purpose in this was to provide a distraction, to keep the Firebenders busy while Li and Ping worked. All they had to do was survive long enough for their friends to finish. After that, they could abandon this bloody courtyard and go home to lick their wounds.
Jet's rhino reached the checkpoint wall, and he borrowed its inertia to launch himself into the air, hooks catching on a windowsill. He pulled himself up, feet planted against the stone wall, yanked one sword loose and hooked it onto the top of the frame, pulled himself a little farther, repositioned the other sword. His arms had started to ache and his palms were torn and blistered, but he ignored all of that; bit down harder on his stalk of grass as he forced his body to move. Beside him, Smellerbee shimmied up a drainpipe too thin to support the weight of someone larger, her own knife clenched in her teeth.
She hadn't been the first to notice Longshot in the guardhouse. Jet hauled himself up over the edge of the wall, landed behind three Firebenders already drawing back their fists, the air burning with half-conjured flame as he sliced through outstretched arms. They screamed but he barely noticed, already moving past them, careful of his footing on a walkway slick with gore. He glimpsed Smellerbee through the guardhouse windows, clinging to the back of a man three times her size. Her blade flashed, and his hands scrabbled pointlessly at his throat as the life spilled out of him.
They reached Longshot's side moments apart, wordlessly taking the same positions they had held in countless battles before this one, their backs to his as he reached for another arrow.
The air smelled of smoke and burnt hair and the blood of Firebenders. Jet measured time in the arrows that flew from Longshot's bow and the bodies that fell at his feet, piling on top of one another in a gruesome barricade - as much a trap as a shield.
"How long?" Smellerbee asked as she watched the next wave of soldiers pour out onto the wall.
"As long as we have to," said Jet, in a tone that brooked no argument. Li was counting on them.
Something hit the wall over his right shoulder, sending a cloud of plaster dust up into the air. "Shit," Smellerbee grunted, eyes not on the soldiers but on the guardhouse roof. A man in dark, heavy robes hung from the ceiling, the hand pointed at Jet's face sheathed in a glove of stone.
It didn't take Zuko long to pack. He stripped off his stolen armor and set it neatly on the storeroom shelves, the metal plates and thick, hard leather too heavy to carry so far. He'd take his share of the next week's rations in the morning, when no one would remark on his visiting the pantry. That aside, there wasn't much he needed - he tapped a few pots' worth of Jasmine tea into a pouch, dug a clean tunic and an extra pair of shoes out from underneath the bed, rummaged through the shelves until he found a tarp that wouldn't be missed, the waxed canvas stiff and caked with dust. He tried to think of what else he might need, but concentrating for more than a few seconds proved impossible.
He barely remembered the last hour or so. They'd finished at the yards and come back here, the Earthbenders covered in grease but triumphant. Jin had wanted to hear the details of what had happened, and Zuko had left Ping to explain, mumbling some nonsense excuse and hurrying up into the attic. He was a terrible storyteller on any day, and tonight he would have been worse than usual. Earlier he'd forced himself to focus on the work ahead, but once his task was finished his thoughts had turned completely to his own, private plans. Sitting in his room with his meager collection of necessities, he let himself feel the full impact of what he'd learned that day, to think about he was going to do and where he was going to go.
After three long, hopeless years he was going home. He would find the Avatar and save his country; prove himself to his sister and make peace with his father. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this way - almost giddy, like he couldn't sit still. Jet would notice when he got back, but Zuko hoped he wouldn't think too much of it. Probably he'd think it was about the battle they'd just won.
Zuko felt a pang then - an ache of doubt in his chest that cut through the haze of excitement. He lay his hand flat on the bed and smoothed the thin, moth-eaten sheets. He was going to have to say something.
He swallowed through the tightness in his throat and stood, opening the storeroom door. He still had to consult Xue Sheng's maps, and check that the route he'd planned was still passable. He'd figure the rest out as he went.
Jin and Ping were alone in the kitchen, and both looked up at the sound of the creaking staircase. Ping was as inscrutable as ever, but Jin's face was drawn with worry, and when Zuko looked past them to the windows he could see why. "It's almost dawn," he said stupidly, his mind too crowded for anything but the obvious. He must have been upstairs longer than he'd thought. "Jet's not back yet?"
Jin shook her head, her hands twisting in the fabric of her robe. "They shouldn't be taking this long," she said. "You got back over an hour ago. Even if someone tried to follow them…the checkpoint's not that far away."
Ping scowled out at the alleyway, arms folded across his chest. "When exactly did you send the hawk?" he asked.
It took a moment for Zuko to realize Ping was talking to him. When he did, he remembered, and remembering squeezed the air out of his lungs. "The hawk," he whispered.
The messenger hawk. The hawk with the gold ribbon, bright enough to be seen from a distance. The hawk he was supposed to have sent to the Eastern Gate when they finished with the yards.
"Yes, the hawk," said Jin, worry creeping into her voice. "When did you send it?"
"I…" Zuko shook his head, his hands coming up to press against his temples. "I didn't."
Jin drew a short, quick breath and covered her mouth, brown eyes round and startled. Ping's reaction was more measured. Slowly, he lowered his arms to his sides, turned from the window and met Zuko's gaze across the room. "You didn't send the hawk," he said, his quiet disappointment far worse than shouting would have been.
"Li, how could you?" Jin whispered, hands still over her mouth. "How could you just…this is Jet…"
Zuko shook his head, his eyes squeezed shut to block out the look on her face. "I forgot," he said. "I forgot, I'm…I'm sorry. I'll go-"
"You'll stay here," said Ping, slicing through his words. He picked his helmet up off the table, his eyes shifting to Jin. "If I'm not back within an hour, you should take the others and leave." He fastened the strap under his chin, bowed once to her, then bent himself down into the floor, the flagstones swallowing him and then smoothing out, leaving no trace of his passing.
Zuko sat down heavily on the steps, his forehead resting on his palms. He didn't know what to say, so he didn't say anything, just listened to Jin's uneven breaths and the muffled sound of the Earthbenders talking amongst themselves in their room upstairs.
Hours. They'd finished hours ago. And Jet might still be fighting now, still struggling to hold out against an occupying army with scavenged swords and a few dozen half-starved kids.
"I'm sorry," Zuko whispered.
"Don't apologize to me," she said, voice thin and strained. "Apologize to him when he gets back."
The silence blanketed them again, each sitting perfectly still as they held vigil. They watched the sliver of sky they could see grow pink and then pale blue.
A knock at the kitchen door brought both of them to their feet. Jin barely glanced through the peephole before undoing the locks and throwing the door open.
The alleyway was mostly empty. Ping stood at the head of a tight little knot of misery, hollow-eyed boys and girls supporting the wounded between them. The Freedom Fighters avoided moving in large groups when they could help it, not wanting to attract attention to themselves or to their base - the healthy and the lightly injured would dribble in over the course of the morning.
Ping waited for the others to file past, then ducked into the kitchen. "Longshot and Smellerbee took the first and fifth units," he said as he closed the door again. "Gen was badly burned, but no deaths. They were lucky."
"Jet," Zuko croaked. He swallowed and tried again. "Where…which unit is he with?" When Ping didn't answer right away, he asked again, his voice rising. "Which unit is Jet with?"
Ping glanced at the younger Freedom Fighters, who were pumping water into the sink and fetching bandages from the store room. Then he crouched down in front of where Jin and Zuko sat, his face level with theirs. "I'm going to tell you where he is," he said in a perfect monotone. "But you need to stay very calm, and very quiet. We don't have time to deal with the others panicking. We have to move quickly to have any chance at helping him."
Zuko felt like his throat was closing, but he struggled to keep his voice low. "What happened?"
"The Dai Li were at the checkpoint tonight," said Ping. "They must have targeted Jet specifically. No one else is missing."
Zuko grit his teeth. "What. Happened?"
Ping hesitated, the pause more alarming than anything he'd said. "Jet was captured," he rumbled. "They've taken him to Lake Laogai."
:: Next Chapter ::
The illustrations for this chapter, and the artists who drew them, are as such:
By boredgods:
"Should I be jealous?"
Jet grinned, trying not to look as worried as he felt.
Jet tore the blade free with a savage twist
Smellerbee shimmied up a drainpipe too thin to support the weight of someone larger
"Don't apologize to me,"
By gulliblesnail:
"I just hate to see you drive yourself crazy like this."
By me:
Jet made short work of the fastenings
Word count: 6,100
Pairing: Jet/Zuko
Rating: A very hard R for language, violence and sexual content
Summary: Since the day the walls of Ba Sing Se fell, the Freedom Fighters have struggled to protect what remains of the city and its people. Jet and his second command, a mysterious boy named Li, have spent the summer piecing together an army, hoping for a chance to take the city back for good. But Li is also Zuko, and the time for that secret is quickly running out. Soon, he'll have to decide exactly who he is, what cause he's going to fight for and where his heart lies.
This chapter: A promise, a decision, and a battle on two fronts.
Notes: I think it's important to mention in every chapter that kittyjimjams and jlh are the greatest and most understanding of all betas. boredgods and gulliblesnail both contributed fantastic illustrations for this chapter, which are linked to in the text and in a complete list at the end.
:: Previous Chapter ::
The Avatar was alive. Zuko repeated those words to himself in his mind, over and over and over again. They held him captive, dragging the whole of his thoughts down a path he'd long assumed was closed to him, the city skyline fading into a memory of light over the ocean - the shaft of blue-white that had torn into the sky.
He had never forgotten his quest. He had felt the absence of that last chance for honor every day. But he had set it aside as a lost cause on the day the walls came down, left all those hopes and disappointments behind him just as he'd left behind his own name. He had tried to look forward.
But now the Avatar was alive and he was in the Fire Nation, a few weeks from the capital. Haru's invasion couldn't possibly succeed, but if it did? For so long, Zuko had been pushed through life by two forces: his search and the man who'd set him on it. His entire purpose, the reason he'd struggled and fought for so long, had been to bring them both together. And now they were about to meet, all on their own, as Zuko sat a world away in a crumbling city. Did they think he was dead? Had they bothered to think of him at all? Or had he been forgotten, a relic of how things had once been, now nothing but a tragic curiosity?
Zuko had stood on the city wall and watched his sister's ship steam out of the harbor, black smoke rising from its stack as it rose from the crumbling buildings behind him. He'd thought his last chance at redemption had gone with her. But today, fate had once again dangled that promise in front of him, achingly close.
Haru hadn't recognized him; had even asked him to come and fight. How far could he get, Zuko wondered, before he was discovered? How close? Would they let him board their ships? Would he make it all the way past the Great Gates of Azulon, to the shore he'd left behind so long ago? Even as he thought about it now, allowed himself to consider such things for the first time in months, Zuko saw how simple it would be. He could join their forces so easily, melt into the press of strangers and let them carry him home again.
They were the Avatar's friends. A closed helmet and a little luck would bring him near enough to do whatever he needed to. Before that, he could ask, and they would tell him anything he wanted to know. If he could stop the Avatar, stop the invasion - if he could find some way to warn his country of what was coming - surely his father would thank him. Surely that would be enough. Then he'd be free of all of this. Then he could start living again.
"Li? You okay?"
Zuko started, Jet's words bringing him back to the rooftop where they still stood. He turned to look at the other boy, whose arched brows were drawn together. "Yes," said Zuko. "I'm fine. Sorry."
"You looked a million miles away, there."
"I'm fine," Zuko said again. He tried to sound more convincing, but it was hard - his mind spun through possibilities as he spoke. "It's fine."
"Don't let that Haru guy worry you," said Jet. "He doesn't know what he's talking about. This city's counting on us, you know?" He smiled. "We'll make it all right again."
Zuko thought of Water Tribe ships sailing across the bay, toward the open sea. "I don't know," he said. "Maybe we should go. They need us, too. Maybe it's the right thing to do."
"Don't even talk like that," said Jet. "This is our home. We can't just ditch it because things are hard."
Zuko remembered docks along the shore; wide roads that led up into the volcano, to the heart of the city where he'd been born. "But you hate it here," he said. "You always say that. How much you miss the forest."
"I'm getting used to it," Jet said with a small shrug. "Besides, when the war's over the woods'll still be there. I can wait. That's not where I'm needed right now."
"But they need us. They need our help. In the Fire Nation."
"Yeah, well, I can't see any reason to think their plan's any better than mine," said Jet, an edge to his voice. "I know what I'm doing here and I'm not gonna leave just because some Earthbender with a bad mustache wants me to."
"Maybe…maybe I should go," said Zuko, who was only half-listening. "I could take a few people with me and -"
"What the hell, Li?" Jet snapped. "If you wanna leave that badly, just do it and stop making excuses."
Zuko blinked, focusing on Jet's face. "I don't want to leave you," he said slowly. "I'm…that's not what I meant. I'm just…weighing the options."
"There aren't any options. I'm staying right here until they burn this fucking city down around me."
"Jet…" Zuko closed his eyes and saw the ocean, wide and flat and deep, steel grey. He heard Jet sigh, and felt a warm hand on his back.
"We need you here," Jet said quietly. "We can't do this without you."
Zuko squeezed his eyes tighter. "You can."
"I can't," said Jet. Zuko heard him move, then felt strong arms wind around his neck, the moist warmth of breath against his hair. "Look…I know how you feel. If the Avatar's alive, that changes a lot of things. I met him once, you know. I don't think I ever told you. He seemed like a good kid. I'm glad he gets another shot at this." Jet sighed and some of the tension left his body, his arms less rigid as he pulled Zuko closer. "I hope Sokka knows what he's doing. I hope that bastard Ozai is dead by next moon. But it isn't our fight to win or lose."
Late at night, when he couldn't sleep and the sound of waves was his only company, Zuko had sometimes wondered if he would ever see his father again. Maybe his ship would be lost at sea. Maybe he would never find the Avatar. Maybe, someday, he wouldn't have the strength to look any longer.
But this? His father dead and that chance of reunion gone forever? That outcome wasn't one he'd ever considered. And even with his eyes closed and his ears full of the sound of his own heart, he couldn't block it out.
Jet pressed his lips to Zuko's forehead. "You can't fix the whole world, Li," he said softly. "But we can fix this place. Make sure it's still here for Aang to save if he actually pulls this crazy stunt off."
Zuko listened to his blood, a too-quick thrum, and to the rasp of his breath as he drew it through clenched teeth. Jet's arms were all that kept him from sinking to his knees.
Jet was used to Li being quiet before a raid, and normally it didn't worry him. Everyone dealt with stress in their own way, after all. Jet liked to distract himself with chatter, and Li didn't. That was fine. He could talk enough for both of them.
But he didn't like this silence. Instead of cozy and familiar, their small room felt airless, heavy with a dread that smothered Jet's cheerful words. For a while, he stopped trying, listening instead to leather that creaked as they moved and the soft clink of buckles. His own armor slipped effortlessly into place, familiar as his skin. He used his chin to hold an arm guard steady as he pulled the last strap tight, his eyes watching Li in the lamplight. Some other time, Jet would have reached over to help the other boy without asking, but today Li wouldn't meet his eyes, and Jet waited with his hands at his sides.
Li struggled with the plates that hugged his ribs, fumbling over complicated fastenings. Jet would have felt better if Li had seemed irritated, swore under his breath or thrown the plates down on the floor or wondered aloud why they kept it so fucking dark in there. He was used to that, too.
Li didn't do any of those things. He tugged ineffectually the straps, sighed, and spoke in a voice so hollow that Jet found he missed the silence. "Can you get this?"
"Sure." He took the straps from Li, and their fingertips brushed. Even this contact was more than they'd had since they'd climbed down from the roof, and it sharpened the contrast between this stilted, awkward avoidance and the warmth of their usual routine. Jet made short work of the fastenings, tugged at each plate of armor to make sure it was secure, then stepped into the space Li allowed so few to enter.
"Hey," he whispered. He found Li's hands and wove their fingers together. "You aren't still thinking about that guy, are you?" Li didn't answer, which Jet took to be a yes. He brought Li's hand up to his mouth and kissed the knuckles, a show of gentlemanly manners that often made Li smile. "Should I be jealous?"
Li didn't smile. He looked down at the floor, cords of muscle standing out along his neck.
Jet slipped a hand into Li's hair, combed his fingers through the thick, coarse tangle. "All right," he murmured. "I just hate to see you drive yourself crazy like this."
Li drew one shuddering breath, held it, let it out again fast and sharp. Then he stumbled forward to press his face into Jet's chest, arms limp at his sides even as Jet's snaked around his shoulders. Jet stroked his hair, breathed in the scent of sweat and oil and leather. "It's all gonna be fine, baby," he said. "I promise."
"You can't promise that," Li whispered, his voice half-lost in the cloth of Jet's tunic.
"I just did," said Jet. "Lucky you, I keep my promises."
Ping was one of the oldest members of their group, though how old, exactly, none of them could say. He'd told the Freedom Fighters everything he could about the Dai Li - strategies and strongholds and a few, crucial weaknesses - and saved all their lives by doing so. But Ping was stubbornly closed-mouthed about the details of his past, however much Jin pestered him. Maybe that was why he and Li got along so well.
Jet was curious, of course, but he never asked anyone to talk about things they didn't want to. He wouldn't begrudge another man his secrets. Some things hurt too much to remember, nevermind explain.
He found Ping in the kitchen, seated at the table beside Xue Sheng with a pile of scrolls between them. Aside from helping Jin manage supplies, Xue Sheng's main responsibility was keeping their maps up to date. A city of Earthbenders was always shifting, but since the occupation these changes had become more dramatic. Jet remembered the day the Dai Li brought the walls down, destroying in seconds what they'd fought for centuries protect. After that, they'd cut a path to the palace, flattening houses and shops to make a boulevard wide enough for an army.
Xue Sheng had a brush and ink at hand, the scroll before him spread out and held in place by small, smooth stones. Jet recognized the dense warren of streets, bordered on one side by the wide curve of a wall. The farther from the center, the more haphazard the city's layout became. In the outermost fringes, where he and his friends had lived before the fall, the streets and alleyways were a hopeless jumble, buildings stacked on top of one another like weeds trying to reach the sun. That was where Li would be in a few hours.
"Longshot confirmed it this morning," Xue Sheng was saying. "Just outside the ninth ward, between the thirty-second and thirty-first watchtowers." He dipped his brush and began to sketch in the empty parchment beyond the wall, holding his sleeve out of the way of the dark, wet ink. "They really must not know, if they didn't even bother to move the yards."
"Perhaps," Ping murmured.
Xue Sheng chewed his lip, the brush filling in details of gates and guards houses. "Why put all their tanks in the same place? And so close to the wall? They have to know how vulnerable that makes them…"
"Arrogance," said Ping, then raised his eyes to look at Jet. "Is it time?"
Xue Sheng's head jerked up, his brush-less hand reflexively pushing his spectacles up his nose. No longer supported, his sleeve dropped onto the glistening lines. "Jet. I…I'm almost done…"
"It's fine," said Jet, and smiled in a way he hoped was calming. "You're doing fine."
Xue Sheng didn't look reassured, and Jet wondered again why he made some people so nervous. He had the feeling Xue Sheng expected him to cut someone's throat at any moment. Which was ridiculous, of course, particularly here in the Jasmine Dragon. No one here was Fire Nation.
"Where's Li?" Ping asked.
"Li's off being Li," said Jet easily. He smiled at Ping, too. "Can I talk to you for a second?"
"Of course."
Jet lead Ping out the kitchen door, into a dim alleyway that smelled of cabbage and molding tea leaves. Ping's face betrayed nothing, not even the expected curiosity. He stood beside the dumpster and waited, patient and close-mouthed, for an explanation to come.
Just now, Jet didn't feel like drawing things out. "It's about Li," he said. "I want you to watch him for me tonight. Keep an eye on him."
"I always do."
"Yeah, I know." Jet grinned, trying not to look as worried as he felt. "But he's been acting a little strange today. You know how he gets."
Most other people would have told Jet that Li could take care of himself. But Ping considered Jet's words carefully, a small frown on his lips. "You know him best of all of us," he said. "If you're worried, so am I. I'll make certain nothing happens to him."
Jet had hoped this conversation would put him at ease, but it didn't. The worry was still there, sitting like a lump in the bottom of his stomach. He wondered if he should tell Ping what had happened on the roof. Maybe then Ping would know what to watch for.
Behind him, the kitchen door swung open. "Time to go," said Smellerbee.
"Yeah, thanks," said Jet. Smellerbee nodded and ducked back inside. Jet didn't need words to tell her he needed a few more moments of privacy.
Ping was still watching him, grim and opaque as he waited to be dismissed. They weren't in that much of a hurry - he could have told Ping, then. He could have explained about Haru, and the invasion. But Ping might have felt the same way Li did, and Jet didn't want to have that conversation again - not now, not right before a mission, not in an alleyway where anyone could hear them.
Jet bent down to pluck a dry stalk of grass from between the cobbles. "Come on," he said. The grass tasted of dust as he tucked it into the corner of his mouth. "Those tanks won't trash themselves."
Maybe he'd talk to Ping about it later, he thought, when things weren't so crazy. No point in distracting him now. One night wouldn't make a difference.
Joining the Freedom Fighters had been much simpler than Zuko would ever have expected. Zuko loved his country. He wanted it to be strong, and felt certain it had great things to teach the world. But that knowledge shouldn't be gained at the cost of so many lives, so much heartbreak and such a weight of suffering. He'd been in the Earth Kingdom a long time - he knew what the war had done to its people. People like Jet, who woke screaming from nightmares he couldn't bear to describe, and always slept with a knife within reach.
Azula should never have taken this city. It wasn't difficult for Zuko to justify fighting to take it back.
Zuko crouched in moon shadows on the wall of the outer ring, watching for dark wings against the blue-black sky. Soon a messenger hawk would arrive with news of an attack on the Eastern Checkpoint. The streets surrounding that gate were too dense for tanks to navigate, so a small guard would be left behind while a mounted platoon was sent to join the fray. Then Jet and the others would struggle to hold against wave after wave of reinforcements until another hawk - sent by Zuko this time - told them their distraction was no longer needed.
Zuko had helped Jet with this plan, and he knew it would work. He knew how the Fire Nation fought, how its officers behaved and how it moved to squash rebellions like this one. The soldiers of his country were rigid, slavishly tied to procedure and accordingly predictable. Only Azula held any surprises, and she was gone, a host of lesser men left to rule in her name.
Even in exile, Zuko had been a functional part of the Fire Nation's military, his own tiny ship an unmentioned charge of the massive Eastern Fleet. They'd received regular dispatches from Fire Navy communication towers, and Lieutenant Jee had kept close correspondence with the captains of friendly ships, those willing to trade supplies and information with a crew of such low standing. Years away from home had robbed Zuko of many things, but not his sense of belonging - however marginalized, he was still a son of the Fire Nation.
He watched the sky and tried to concentrate on hawks and troop movements, on guards standing in pools of yellow light and Ping's men hidden below him, waiting for his signal. But as the moon rose his mind drifted west again, to matters over which he had a maddening lack of control.
The justifications were harder to hold onto tonight. In this city he was one unremarkable soldier among many, not even a bender as far as anyone knew. Ping's team was the key to tonight's work; Jet was the one whose words inspired them to fight at all. If not for Jet's favor, Zuko would be just another warm body - one of a few dozen swordsmen, one of a hundred Freedom Fighters.
The Avatar was in the Fire Nation, and Zuko was in Ba Sing Se, and every hour he stayed was one less for the journey to Xi Mian Bay. His own home was weeks away from being invaded, his father the sole target of an entire army, and here he was, risking his life to defend a foreign capital while his own was in unknowing peril.
At home he was a prince, exile or no. At home he could save his country with a single word of warning. Only a coward would refuse that burden, and Zuko had played that part too long already.
The soft sigh of wings refocused his gaze. A small hawk, the sort used for short sprints within the city walls, fluttered down to a perch on the main watchtower, just outside its only lit window. Gloved hands reached out to slip the message from the scroll case on its back, and in the lamplight Zuko caught a glimpse of dangling ribbon: orange, suggesting urgency and the need for reinforcements.
He knelt beside bricks still warm from the sun and listened to the shouts of men and the rumbling protest of Komodo Rhinos dragged out of their stables. He watched a tight rectangle of men assemble in the yard, foot soldiers flanked by cavalry, and waited as they marched through the gates.
Zuko could still hear the clink of their armor and the heavy steps of rhinos as he dropped down onto the stable roof, a hasty-looking structure built against the wall. The sentry at its doors had a pipe in his hands, packing tobacco into the bowl with the pad of his thumb. He eyes stayed on his work as Zuko crept up behind him, low and dark on the gables, and he hit the ground with a muffled thud when Zuko struck a sharp blow to the back of his skull.
Countless nights behind a mask meant this was easy work, stealth coming naturally to him in a way few tasks ever had. He scaled the watchtowers one after another, swung through unshuttered windows, felled guards without a catch, without their even having the chance to gasp or register surprise, each man unconscious before he could think of raising an alarm. Some other time, Zuko would have felt some satisfaction at this, enjoyed the rare feeling of competence and control. Tonight, he would have been glad for a challenge - at least then he'd have a distraction from his thoughts.
Zuko bound the last guard's wrists and ankles, then slipped down a narrow stairwell and out into the yard. He crouched on the packed dirt and thumped it with his palm, three times in a measured rhythm. A soft rumble echoed through the yards, and six figures rose out of the ground just inside the fence, so quiet that Zuko could hear the click of scattering pebbles.
Ping's eyes shone beneath the wide, flat brim of his helmet. Zuko pointed to the main tower and Ping nodded, once, then signaled to the others, two fingers indicating the hulking silhouettes of tanks, long straight lines extending past where Zuko could see. The Earthbenders ran silently across the open yard, cushioning their steps, arms extended behind them.
Ping hung back a moment longer, still holding Zuko's gaze. Then he turned and slipped away into the dark.
From the tower, Zuko watched them go to work. They'd practiced on the wrecks of old machines, and the skills they'd honed were evident, their movements precise and eerily quiet. Razor-edged slabs of rock carved off wheels and sheered through treads and axles, lopping off the barrels of guns and splitting open cabins, the glass of shattered instruments glittering on the ground.
Zuko's fingers twitched at his sides, the air cupped in his palms growing warm. Tanks like these weren't meant to withstand an assault by Firebenders. Zuko knew how they were put together, had been inside one more than once; he could have halved the time it took to destroy this fleet.
Zuko could have. But not Li.
Jet was right. The Freedom Fighters had to stay, to protect what was left of Ba Sing Se and its people. Zuko, however, did not. He didn't belong here. He wasn't needed here. He wanted to see Jet again, wanted one more night of the life they'd built together. But that was all he could afford. Tomorrow he'd tell Jet he needed some air, and he'd go for a walk with his swords and a few provisions strapped to his back. And he'd keep walking, all the way across the Serpent's Pass, to the shores of Xi Mian Bay where his destiny lay in wait.
In the woods, no one could ever really corner you, provided you knew what you were doing - there was always a tree to climb, a ravine to slide down into, a tangle of vines you could slither though to safety. In the woods, Jet had always had the advantage. But there weren't many trees in Ba Sing Se, and the walls that rose on either side of him were sheer and smooth, studded with barred windows that poured flame down into the street. The Eastern Gate blocked one end of the narrow courtyard, massive doors banded with iron; behind him, mounted soldiers formed a line that bristled with spears.
"Up and over!" he shouted, throat raw from trying to make himself heard over the clang of swords and the cries of injured men. On either side of him, Freedom Fighters in mismatched armor crouched down low, eyes on the cavalry and fists clenched on battered hilts. When the rhinos charged Jet ran to meet them, timing his steps so that his foot hit the closest animal's horn in the valley of its stride, momentum carrying him forward up its boney snout and onto the ridge of its back. In one smooth, graceful movement Jet ducked under the soldier's spear, hooked the end of one sword through his throat, used it to swing around behind him, then tore the blade free with a savage twist that splattered Jet's face with hot blood. The soldier made a quiet, gurgling sound as he slid from the saddle.
Li would frown at his sodden clothes later, but Jet didn't see what he could do about it - tonight, mercy wasn't a luxury they could afford.
Jet took the soldier's place and grabbed for the reins, made difficult by the blades still in his hands. A few feet ahead on the back of another rhino, Smellerbee shoved a limp body out of her way, pulling her knife from his ribs as he fell to the ground. "Guard house," she said, settling into the saddle.
Jet slapped his rhino's flank with the flat of his blade, and it leapt forward through the tangle of foot soldiers, toward the gate that loomed ahead. The guard house was a small, square room with windows on all sides that sat in the middle of the checkpoint's wall. The moon had sunk beneath the rooftops, but torchlight caught the broad, flat outline of a straw hat inside it.
"Behind you!" Smellerbee called, but even as Jet turned he heard the sharp, sudden whisper of an arrow beside his ear. The soldier who'd been scrambling up the tail of Jet's mount clutched at his shoulder and tumbled back to the ground. Jet didn't allow himself even a moment of relief - ten more soldiers would replace that one before the night was over.
The point had never been to win this battle - they had known from the beginning that victory would be impossible, and Ping's spies had only cemented how badly outnumbered and hopelessly positioned they would be. An Earth Kingdom army would have been hard-pressed to take so well-defended a position, and they were barely more than a handful, mostly city kids who were still too soft and too slow.
No, the point had never been winning. Their entire purpose in this was to provide a distraction, to keep the Firebenders busy while Li and Ping worked. All they had to do was survive long enough for their friends to finish. After that, they could abandon this bloody courtyard and go home to lick their wounds.
Jet's rhino reached the checkpoint wall, and he borrowed its inertia to launch himself into the air, hooks catching on a windowsill. He pulled himself up, feet planted against the stone wall, yanked one sword loose and hooked it onto the top of the frame, pulled himself a little farther, repositioned the other sword. His arms had started to ache and his palms were torn and blistered, but he ignored all of that; bit down harder on his stalk of grass as he forced his body to move. Beside him, Smellerbee shimmied up a drainpipe too thin to support the weight of someone larger, her own knife clenched in her teeth.
She hadn't been the first to notice Longshot in the guardhouse. Jet hauled himself up over the edge of the wall, landed behind three Firebenders already drawing back their fists, the air burning with half-conjured flame as he sliced through outstretched arms. They screamed but he barely noticed, already moving past them, careful of his footing on a walkway slick with gore. He glimpsed Smellerbee through the guardhouse windows, clinging to the back of a man three times her size. Her blade flashed, and his hands scrabbled pointlessly at his throat as the life spilled out of him.
They reached Longshot's side moments apart, wordlessly taking the same positions they had held in countless battles before this one, their backs to his as he reached for another arrow.
The air smelled of smoke and burnt hair and the blood of Firebenders. Jet measured time in the arrows that flew from Longshot's bow and the bodies that fell at his feet, piling on top of one another in a gruesome barricade - as much a trap as a shield.
"How long?" Smellerbee asked as she watched the next wave of soldiers pour out onto the wall.
"As long as we have to," said Jet, in a tone that brooked no argument. Li was counting on them.
Something hit the wall over his right shoulder, sending a cloud of plaster dust up into the air. "Shit," Smellerbee grunted, eyes not on the soldiers but on the guardhouse roof. A man in dark, heavy robes hung from the ceiling, the hand pointed at Jet's face sheathed in a glove of stone.
It didn't take Zuko long to pack. He stripped off his stolen armor and set it neatly on the storeroom shelves, the metal plates and thick, hard leather too heavy to carry so far. He'd take his share of the next week's rations in the morning, when no one would remark on his visiting the pantry. That aside, there wasn't much he needed - he tapped a few pots' worth of Jasmine tea into a pouch, dug a clean tunic and an extra pair of shoes out from underneath the bed, rummaged through the shelves until he found a tarp that wouldn't be missed, the waxed canvas stiff and caked with dust. He tried to think of what else he might need, but concentrating for more than a few seconds proved impossible.
He barely remembered the last hour or so. They'd finished at the yards and come back here, the Earthbenders covered in grease but triumphant. Jin had wanted to hear the details of what had happened, and Zuko had left Ping to explain, mumbling some nonsense excuse and hurrying up into the attic. He was a terrible storyteller on any day, and tonight he would have been worse than usual. Earlier he'd forced himself to focus on the work ahead, but once his task was finished his thoughts had turned completely to his own, private plans. Sitting in his room with his meager collection of necessities, he let himself feel the full impact of what he'd learned that day, to think about he was going to do and where he was going to go.
After three long, hopeless years he was going home. He would find the Avatar and save his country; prove himself to his sister and make peace with his father. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this way - almost giddy, like he couldn't sit still. Jet would notice when he got back, but Zuko hoped he wouldn't think too much of it. Probably he'd think it was about the battle they'd just won.
Zuko felt a pang then - an ache of doubt in his chest that cut through the haze of excitement. He lay his hand flat on the bed and smoothed the thin, moth-eaten sheets. He was going to have to say something.
He swallowed through the tightness in his throat and stood, opening the storeroom door. He still had to consult Xue Sheng's maps, and check that the route he'd planned was still passable. He'd figure the rest out as he went.
Jin and Ping were alone in the kitchen, and both looked up at the sound of the creaking staircase. Ping was as inscrutable as ever, but Jin's face was drawn with worry, and when Zuko looked past them to the windows he could see why. "It's almost dawn," he said stupidly, his mind too crowded for anything but the obvious. He must have been upstairs longer than he'd thought. "Jet's not back yet?"
Jin shook her head, her hands twisting in the fabric of her robe. "They shouldn't be taking this long," she said. "You got back over an hour ago. Even if someone tried to follow them…the checkpoint's not that far away."
Ping scowled out at the alleyway, arms folded across his chest. "When exactly did you send the hawk?" he asked.
It took a moment for Zuko to realize Ping was talking to him. When he did, he remembered, and remembering squeezed the air out of his lungs. "The hawk," he whispered.
The messenger hawk. The hawk with the gold ribbon, bright enough to be seen from a distance. The hawk he was supposed to have sent to the Eastern Gate when they finished with the yards.
"Yes, the hawk," said Jin, worry creeping into her voice. "When did you send it?"
"I…" Zuko shook his head, his hands coming up to press against his temples. "I didn't."
Jin drew a short, quick breath and covered her mouth, brown eyes round and startled. Ping's reaction was more measured. Slowly, he lowered his arms to his sides, turned from the window and met Zuko's gaze across the room. "You didn't send the hawk," he said, his quiet disappointment far worse than shouting would have been.
"Li, how could you?" Jin whispered, hands still over her mouth. "How could you just…this is Jet…"
Zuko shook his head, his eyes squeezed shut to block out the look on her face. "I forgot," he said. "I forgot, I'm…I'm sorry. I'll go-"
"You'll stay here," said Ping, slicing through his words. He picked his helmet up off the table, his eyes shifting to Jin. "If I'm not back within an hour, you should take the others and leave." He fastened the strap under his chin, bowed once to her, then bent himself down into the floor, the flagstones swallowing him and then smoothing out, leaving no trace of his passing.
Zuko sat down heavily on the steps, his forehead resting on his palms. He didn't know what to say, so he didn't say anything, just listened to Jin's uneven breaths and the muffled sound of the Earthbenders talking amongst themselves in their room upstairs.
Hours. They'd finished hours ago. And Jet might still be fighting now, still struggling to hold out against an occupying army with scavenged swords and a few dozen half-starved kids.
"I'm sorry," Zuko whispered.
"Don't apologize to me," she said, voice thin and strained. "Apologize to him when he gets back."
The silence blanketed them again, each sitting perfectly still as they held vigil. They watched the sliver of sky they could see grow pink and then pale blue.
A knock at the kitchen door brought both of them to their feet. Jin barely glanced through the peephole before undoing the locks and throwing the door open.
The alleyway was mostly empty. Ping stood at the head of a tight little knot of misery, hollow-eyed boys and girls supporting the wounded between them. The Freedom Fighters avoided moving in large groups when they could help it, not wanting to attract attention to themselves or to their base - the healthy and the lightly injured would dribble in over the course of the morning.
Ping waited for the others to file past, then ducked into the kitchen. "Longshot and Smellerbee took the first and fifth units," he said as he closed the door again. "Gen was badly burned, but no deaths. They were lucky."
"Jet," Zuko croaked. He swallowed and tried again. "Where…which unit is he with?" When Ping didn't answer right away, he asked again, his voice rising. "Which unit is Jet with?"
Ping glanced at the younger Freedom Fighters, who were pumping water into the sink and fetching bandages from the store room. Then he crouched down in front of where Jin and Zuko sat, his face level with theirs. "I'm going to tell you where he is," he said in a perfect monotone. "But you need to stay very calm, and very quiet. We don't have time to deal with the others panicking. We have to move quickly to have any chance at helping him."
Zuko felt like his throat was closing, but he struggled to keep his voice low. "What happened?"
"The Dai Li were at the checkpoint tonight," said Ping. "They must have targeted Jet specifically. No one else is missing."
Zuko grit his teeth. "What. Happened?"
Ping hesitated, the pause more alarming than anything he'd said. "Jet was captured," he rumbled. "They've taken him to Lake Laogai."
:: Next Chapter ::
The illustrations for this chapter, and the artists who drew them, are as such:
By boredgods:
"Should I be jealous?"
Jet grinned, trying not to look as worried as he felt.
Jet tore the blade free with a savage twist
Smellerbee shimmied up a drainpipe too thin to support the weight of someone larger
"Don't apologize to me,"
By gulliblesnail:
"I just hate to see you drive yourself crazy like this."
By me:
Jet made short work of the fastenings