[fic] Something to Hold Onto, Chapter 12: So Clear Now
Title: Something to Hold Onto [12/13]
Word count: 8,900
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: The time it takes a hawk to cross the world.
Notes: This is the last full chapter of "Something to Hold Onto," and I'm still a little in shock that I'm actually posting it. After this will be an epilogue, however, so don't worry if everything isn't quite wrapped up to your satisfaction. <3
Many thanks to my betas -- kittyjimjams, hoshizora and (most especially, in the case of this chapter) jlh -- who helped me carve a narrative out of the giant mass of text I found myself staring at a few weeks ago.
:: Previous Chapter ::
Jet had not allowed himself to think in much detail about what would happen after the eclipse. He'd known that even if they won there was no way to tell how that victory would unfold, what state the city would be left in or who among his own men would live to see it; if his own little knot of soldiers could endure the long, hard push to the throne room and whatever waited for them within. He had crouched in that oven of a watchtower and squeezed Zuko's hand in his and memorized every detail of how it felt, each knuckle of Zuko's fingers and the delicate bones inside his palm. Jet had seen the worst of his fears in bright, sharp flashes: the features he knew so well crushed and bloodied, yellow eyes dim and breath still. "We'll make it," he'd said as he thought of spilt entrails and charred skin, his stomach heaving from the memory of their smell.
But they had made it - had somehow all walked out of the palace under their own power and felt the sunlight on their faces again. The tension broken, Jet had wanted nothing more than to pull Zuko into some dark corner and sleep until the hawk arrived, but the momentum of immediate concerns had carried him through the first few hours, at least. Certain practicalities had had to be addressed and certain arrangements made, both exhaustion and the low whisper of dread that much easier to ignore as men and voices swirled around him.
Ping and Quan had argued the logistics of prisoners and where to send the wounded, the possibility of defectors to their cause and the nature of their temporary government. Jet had stood a few paces away from them at the head of the palace steps, only half-listening - he was a fighter, not a politician, and he had anxiously scanned the city skyline as he waited for the first reports from his men. Clouds of dust and blooms of flame had risen from between the rooftops, evidence of conflicts still unresolved, but even that had faded within half an hour.
When news finally arrived it had confirmed Jet's suspicions - without the Dai Li to back his forces, Zha's selfish gamble had cost him the city.
Ping had slid with outward ease into the sudden flush of new responsibilities, listening patiently to reports from the streets and dispatching men and messengers as they were needed. Quan suggested the servant's quarters on the east side of the palace compound as the best location for their new camp - the same buildings Jet had sped between only a short while ago - and word was sent out to the front lines. From this vantage point, Jet could just barely see the cluster of low, modest buildings, and soon enough smoke curled from their tiled roofs, cheerful evidence that dinner was underway.
Most of the Freedom Fighters were too hungry and tired to check in with Jet directly, but from time to time one of them would turn up at the palace steps - Dusty or Yan Jing - and end their report with an expectant look on their face, as if waiting for Jet to tell them what to do with themselves now. But Jet had only shaken his head and said, "Ask Ping," before sitting down on the palace steps with his arm around Zuko's shoulders, making jokes and ruffling the other boy's hair as they watched the incomprehensibly massive crowd of soldiers begin to recede. Neat formations of Fire Nation prisoners, stripped of spears and armor, had been escorted down into the catacombs below the city, dark tunnels in the courtyard winking closed again as smoothly as they'd been formed.
When Iroh's squat outline had appeared, ferried to the palace grounds by Pakku on a sledge of ice, Jet had laughed a little as Zuko launched himself down the steps and into his uncle's arms, the force of the impact knocking Iroh several feet backward. Jet had followed at a more sedate pace, to give them time to bask in the warmth of real family - something he only barely remembered himself, as exotic as white rice and houses on the ground. Another reminder of a world he had no place in.
Then Zuko and Iroh had parted and turned as one to grin at him, beckoning him over, and Jet's chest had ached with a confused mess of longing as Iroh wrapped both of them in a surprisingly strong embrace, tears on his cheeks and in his beard.
Three days had passed since that afternoon. Jet and Zuko had slept through most of the first, curled up together in what had been the chief attendant's bed. Ping had forbidden anyone from disturbing them, and they'd emerged only to take care of certain bodily needs and forage for meals. It wasn't their room, not really, but it had come to feel like a stronghold - a little fortress of rest and privacy, where Jet could run his fingers along Zuko's spine as he dozed and try to forget about time for a while.
Zuko had stirred in his sleep, dusty shafts of afternoon sunlight falling across his face. And Jet had looked at the whorls and folds of his scar and known that he could never forget. That the world as it was wouldn't let him.
The second day had dragged them into the sunlight and the center of everyone's attention. Jin and Xue Sheng had cornered them with armfuls of brocade, explaining the need for certain appearances in a city accustomed to pomp and ceremony. A procession of soldiers, captured tanks and rhinos had wound its way through the streets, with Ping and Jet and Zuko at its head on the backs of ostrich horses, dressed in silks and ceremonial armor borrowed from the palace. Ping had bourn it with his usual stoicism, nodding curtly to the throng of admirers that lined each side of their route. Jet had hitched a smile onto his face - his only real job until they needed him to fight again - and kept it there by thinking about how Zuko had looked in bed that morning, tousle-haired and covered in bruises that had needed to be kissed in turn. But Zuko had seemed completely at ease, a little shy at being the center of attention but not particularly uncomfortable beneath so much formality.
And why would he be? Three years of exile were nothing against thirteen passed in the splendor of palace life. Jet had never worn silk cloth before that afternoon, but Zuko had probably been diapered with it. Whatever he'd done here in Ba Sing Se, he was still the Fire Lord's son.
Zuko had never really been his, however much the other boy may have wanted to be. They had shared a few months of providence, a burst of light and warmth that swelled and faded with the heat of summer. Jet wanted to bask in it; to lay in their borrowed bed and examine the contours of Zuko's body; to memorize each birthmark and scar, the topography of muscle and bone beneath pale skin, the soft dusting of hair on his stomach and limbs and the way his eyes caught the thin light of morning. Jet wanted to grow used to the taste of Zuko's name. He wanted to hear Zuko say his own in that quiet, rasping voice. He longed to enjoy these small intimacies for whatever remained of their time together
But inevitably, his thoughts drifted.
Even the fastest hawk would take three days to cross the distance between the Fire Nation capital and Ba Sing Se. Xue Sheng had explained this with the obvious expectation that Jet would be annoyed, and Jet could see his reasoning - Jet wasn't exactly known for being patient.
In truth, he'd felt nothing but an intense and selfish relief. Three weeks ago, the absence of a hawk had nearly killed him. But now, absurdly, a part of Jet hoped for this one to be lost as well - for this twilight to go on forever, the stress of not-knowing preferable to the hard realities they soon would have to face. Whether the news of the invasion was good or bad, the mere fact of it would pull apart the threads of this strange life they'd built here. Their little family was a delicate thing, held together by chance and circumstance and all their good intentions, but Jet wasn't so naive as to think that it could withstand whatever message the hawk would bring. Three days were all he had left. So he would do his best to savor them.
Yet by the morning of the third day, time was all he could think about - how quickly it was passing and how little of it they had. Zuko woke at sunrise, arched his back in a luxurious stretch and turned his head to kiss Jet's mouth, his hands already wandering down the bare skin of Jet's hips. His lips were soft and warm and unhurried, his weight relaxed and comfortable as he rolled on top of Jet's body. But Jet could feel the desperation in his own touch, fingers dimpling Zuko's flesh and mouths pressed together with bruising force. He tried to drown his thoughts in sex, but they seared through the haze of pleasure, steadily wearing through his ability to stay calm. Was this the last time? The second-to-last? How quickly would the departures come? Would they ever share a bed like this again?
Afterward, Jet clung to Zuko as the sounds and smells of breakfast drifted in from the courtyard, his face pressed so tightly to the other boy's chest that he almost couldn't breathe. He didn't want to get out of bed or put on clothes or address the rumble of hunger in his stomach. He knew he must have slept at some point during the night, but what little he'd managed hadn't been restful. He had drifted in and out of consciousness, counting Zuko's slow breaths and trying to memorize his smell, trying to force his senses to absorb every detail of the body that slumbered beside him.
Now Zuko smiled and pushed the hair back from Jet's face, impossibly handsome in the thin shafts of yellow light that slipped through the blinds. "Hey," he murmured.
"Hey," said Jet, whispering in part to mask the tension in his voice.
Zuko kissed the corner of Jet's eye, then pushed himself up so he could peer out the window, the courtyard glimpsed in strips between wooden slats. His hand stayed on Jet's shoulder, the calluses of swordplay rough against Jet's skin. "I guess we should get out there," he said. "Everyone else is already up."
"Yeah," said Jet. "Sounds like."
Zuko leaned in to press another kiss to Jet's forehead, then disentangled himself from the sheets and walked over to where he'd stacked his neatly folded clothes. "Jin said she'd make a big breakfast today," he went on as he stepped into his pants. "The Dai Li turned up some great stuff when they were going through the palace. I guess Zha was hoarding it all for himself." He sighed happily as he tied on his belt. "I think she's making soup dumplings. I haven't had those in almost a year."
"Hmm," said Jet. He watched as Zuko pulled on his boots.
Zuko bent to collect Jet's clothes from where they'd been tossed the night before, mostly over the back of a chair and on the floor beside it. "And thousand layer cake," he said as he held them out, his tone one of sly temptation. "With dates. And real sugar."
Jet took the clothes and pulled them on carelessly, sneaking glances at Zuko from beneath his eyelashes. He knew that, if asked, Zuko would stay in this room for the rest of the day, no matter how the promise of food and friendship called to him. But Zuko was grinning at him, nakedly hopeful now that he thought he wasn't being watched, and the selfish impulse to get back into bed flickered and faded in Jet's heart. "Guess we better go before the kids eat it all," he said, his grin only a little strained as he slipped his arm around Zuko's waist.
The cluster of servants' quarters included an informal dining room of sorts, with long wooden tables not unlike the one they'd once clustered around in the Jasmine Dragon. But palace servants were needed at all times, and as such had taken their meals in small groups throughout the day, so the room was much too small to hold more than a fraction of the Freedom Fighters and their allies.
Ping and Zuko, both military men in their own way, saw no problem with the idea of eating in shifts. But Jin had been dead set against it, and Jet was inclined to agree with her. So much had changed in the past few days. Soon even this pocket of stability would be shaken apart, the family they'd built that summer pulled in all directions to meet the shifting needs of the cause that had once united them. Jet knew better than most how difficult it would be to part ways again -- to move on to a quieter, lonelier rhythm.
Someone had found the gleaming banquet tables used for palace functions, tucked away in a store room with dust cloths draped over them. They'd been hauled out into the courtyard, along with equally ornate benches and chairs and crates of royal china. Jet couldn't help smiling a little at the sight of dark, polished wood set on the dusty ground; and of his friends, most of them dressed in mismatched scraps oft-mended and stained with old blood, greedily slurping down broth and soup dumplings from gilt porcelain bowls.
"I was wondering if I'd see you this morning," said Jin with a wry smile as she ladled two more portions She looked between them through the steam that rose from her pot, and the smile faded somewhat when she met Jet's eyes. "Everything all right?"
"Fine," said Jet, reenforcing his own grin with a twinge of annoyance at himself. He didn't enjoy being transparent. "Any news?"
"Xiao Si Wang, Dusty and Ni Shui Jian went over to the Jasmine Dragon a little while ago, to see what..." She paused, took a breath and smiled harder. "Just in case there's anything they can save."
A moment of silent mourning, for their home and for the life they'd shared there. Then Zuko asked, "What about the hawk?"
Jet concentrated on making sure his brow was smooth, his eyes wide and interested, the corners of his mouth turned up but not too much.
Jin handed Zuko a bowl and reached up to ruffle his hair. "Not yet," she said. "Soon."
For the past three days, the hawk had been at the center of every conversation - the target of active speculation or else a shadow looming over their words, unmentioned but no less oppressive for it. Not that Jet could blame them - within the reclaimed walls of the palace complex, there was little else to do but lick their wounds and wait to be told what had happened. He understood why they watched the sky so intently, aching for some scrap of news to arrive. The hawk would tell them if Ozai had survived, if the Fire Nation capital had fallen, if Aang and his friends had somehow managed to turn the tide of a century of war. But Jet was sick of hearing about it all the same, tired of pretending he didn't mind looping back toward it from whatever other topic he'd managed to coax out of the others. He knew what the cost of resolution would be, and he wasn't ready to pay it. Not yet. Not so soon, when they had barely won the time to live their lives again.
As he and Zuko walked along the banquet tables in search of a place to sit, nodding to acknowledge the cheerful greetings of their comrades, Jet scanned the breakfasting crowd for Smellerbee and Longshot. They'd have saved two seats, he was sure, and would let him ramble on about whatever he liked, comfortably sandwiched between them and Zuko on the bench. His friends understood without his having to explain, avoiding mention of the hawk entirely whenever they were able. The Jet of a year ago would have resented being coddled, but that morning he craved the shelter of their discretion, as flimsy and temporary as it might be.
He still wasn't used to so many time-worn faces, broad shoulders and beards and womanly curves standing out in marked contrast to the half-grown boys and girls who had served as his army that summer. Some of the White Lotus had already left Ba Sing Se, sent to discover how other cities had fared in the eclipse or to follow rumors of the Earth King's movements. But a few dozen blue and white robes remained, and with a sigh Jet's gaze settled on one cluster of them in particular: four men, chatting amiably with Smellerbee while Longshot ate his soup in attentive silence. So much for coddling.
Plates of thousand-layer cake had been laid out on the tables, and Smellerbee plucked up a slice between gloved fingers as Jet and Zuko approached. "Wait, he picked them up?" she was saying, her mouth half-full of cake.
"And threw them over the city walls," Pakku drawled. "Not terribly practical, but I suppose I'll grant him marks for style."
"Who picked what up?" Zuko asked reasonably as he and Jet took their places on the bench.
"Factories," said Piandao, dryly amused. "It seems King Bumi was displeased with the industrialization of his city."
"He was kind enough to send word this morning," said Iroh, prompting a loud snort from Pakku. "Of a sort."
"Rather generous of you to call an illustration of him tossing buildings around 'word,'" said Pakku.
"He did write a note, as well," said Iroh.
Pakku rolled his eyes. "Yes, forgive me for not mentioning the poem he so thoughtfully included."
"Firebenders got bent / Time for an old man party? / My nose is itchy," recited Piandao.
"We should be grateful to have any message at all," Jeong Jeong muttered darkly. "At least we know the fate of Omashu."
Beside Jet, Zuko's face paled, his lips a tight line as he stared down at his soup. It was easy for Jet to forget, amidst all his own anxieties, that Zuko was wound just as tightly as he was. Squeezing Zuko's hand under the table, Jet tried to think of how best to redirect the flow of conversation, away from musings on the fate of distant royalty with not-so-distant connections to themselves.
He grasped at the first topic that came to mind. "So, how goes the recruiting?"
"As well as can be expected," said Iroh, cheerful as he sipped his tea. "In a very real sense, I have betrayed my homeland, and I can hardly blame Fire Nation soldiers for being distrustful. But the war has not been kind to our people, and I have found many a sympathetic ear among the prisoners. They understand that my brother's time is at an end, and that soon the sun will rise on a new era of our history."
"General Zha certainly didn't make your job any harder," said Pakku. "When you leave your own men to die in the street, it hardly inspires loyalty."
Jet nodded, a strange but very real pang of sympathy in his chest. On the night after the eclipse they'd gathered in this courtyard to share their stories, and Jet had listened for hours as his comrades described what had happened outside the palace walls.
Zuko had been exactly right - Zha had left his Firebenders to die, completely ignorant of the danger they faced for his sake. But while the Firebenders had shown remarkable bravery in the face of both the Dai Li and the sky itself turning against them, the battle had been cruelly brief. The scraps of non-bending infantry that Zha had left behind had crumpled before a thrice-strong assault, Dai Li and Freedom Fighter and White Lotus all sweeping through their lines while the Firebenders clung to borrowed spears they hadn't the first idea how to use. Those left standing when the sun reappeared had tried their best to keep their men together and hold their positions, hunkered down in armories and guard houses until the Dai Li tore the very walls apart.
"I am certain you're right, Pakku," said Iroh. "But I cannot find much comfort in the suffering of my people, however I may benefit from it."
"Nor can I," said Jeong Jeong. He shook his head gravely. "I have no great love of my country, and no patience for those who blindly follow the path that Ozai has laid. But these were not seasoned warriors, recognizing the truth of justice and refusing its burden. They were little more than children, far from home and worn too thin." He sighed. "A bitter victory."
"Most of those Firebenders were our age," said Smellerbee, a little tetchy as she took another bite of cake.
"A child can be taught to fight," Jeong Jeong grumbled. "That does not make her any less a child. Nor does it lessen her need for the wisdom of her elders."
Smellerbee scowled at him, her eyes narrowed beneath her headband. "We got along just fine without any 'elders' in the forest."
"I may not have lived in your valley, child, but I know what happened there. Word travels quickly in the forests of the Earth Kingdom, and I have sheltered more than one victim of your 'justice.' Do not presume to tell me that you 'got along just fine.' You survived, and even that came at far too great a cost."
"They did the best they could," snapped Zuko, startling them all.
But Jet found he didn't want to be defended. "No…Jeong Jeong's right," he said, quiet and low. He picked at the soup he was no longer hungry for. "We made a lot of mistakes. Some pretty bad shit."
"Jet-"
"We killed a lot of people who didn't need to die. Doesn't matter what we thought. We are who we are. We did what we did."
Zuko frowned. "Jet, we talked about this."
"You can go off and fix things and be a hero, Zuko, but that's not how it works for me," said Jet, harsh in a way he didn't mean but couldn't help. "That's not gonna be my life."
Iroh had listened to all of this in silence, his eyes moving between them as he sipped his tea. Now he set his cup down on the table and said, "Do not dismiss yourself so quickly, Jet. In this time of transition and renewal, your generation is of far greater importance than ours. Master Jeong Jeong may have forgotten the trials of his own youth, but there were many of them." He laughed. "Not that I was any better. At your age, I wanted for nothing. My every move was carefully advised. My every need was immediately met. I did not understand suffering or pain or loss. I had no way to comprehend the world of those less fortunate than myself."
Iroh's gaze connected with Jet's across the table, then, and its intensity sent a cold shiver up his spine. "You may lack our years of experience, but you have your own kind of wisdom. You have made mistakes, yes, but you have learned from them; you have suffered and grown stronger. You have seen the worst of the times in which we live, but you have not allowed it to rob you of your humanity, your love or your compassion. You wish to better yourself. To atone."
"Yeah. I guess I do," said Jet, and felt his stomach twist. He knew where this was going.
Iroh turned to grin at his nephew, then, and the twist became an icy knot of panic. "Of course we must learn from our past. We must always remind ourselves of where we have come from, so that we can be sure of where we must go next. But this is a time for youth. For idealism." His eyes glistened. "Your time, my nephew."
Zuko shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Uncle…you know that's not true…"
"Iroh's words are not the flattery of a relative, Prince Zuko," said Piandao, uncharacteristically sharp.
"But this is ridiculous," Zuko insisted, heat rising to his cheeks. "You're all…admirals and generals and Firebending masters. I'm just a banished prince the rest of the world's forgotten about. Why would anyone listen to me?"
"Old men like ourselves are mired in our own checkered histories," said Piandao, "Tainted forever by decisions we made half a lifetime ago. We can never escape the legacy of war and injustice that we inherited in our youth. We can never wash away the blood we spilt on foreign soil, the children we orphaned or the wives and husbands we widowed."
"But that is a burden you do not bear, Prince Zuko," said Iroh. "You played no part in our war, except the work you've done here. You love our nation, but you understand that it is only one of several - that none may presume its importance to be greater than the others."
"The pyre of hatred once burned inside of you," said Jeong Jeong, "fanned by the winds of sorrow and grief. But you have banked those flames with experience. With discipline. The fire that drives our nation to greatness is alight in your own heart, but you understand that it must be reined in by humility; tempered with restraint."
"You are the key to our people's salvation," said Iroh, his voice rough with quiet intensity. "You are our hope."
Zuko's eyes were round and white. "No. No, that's not…you're who's important. All of you," he said, looking between the older men. "You're the ones people will listen to."
"Your words carry more weight than you know," Jeong Jeong rumbled.
"He's right," said Smellerbee, who had been listening silently to all of this. Her voice was soft, but Jet could hear the steel of certainty beneath it. "Remember that speech you made at the camp? Right before the eclipse? That meant a lot to people."
"I'm not the one who's been talking prisoners into joining us," said Zuko, bristling defensively.
"Because you refused to go with me when I asked," said Iroh mildly.
"Because I'm not who they want to follow!" Zuko snapped. "Because Fire Nation shoulders aren't going to listen to some kid who was banished three years ago! And why should they? I'm no one. No…worse than no one. I'm a traitor."
"You are the prince of the Fire Nation," said Iroh.
"I used to be," said Zuko. "But that was years ago."
"You are the son of Fire Lord Ozai. Whether or not you believe that is important, your people do." Iroh reached across the table, taking Zuko's free hand in both of his. "Your father and grandfather and great-grandfather were the traitors, Prince Zuko, but now it is your time. Your chance. You have it within you to mend this world, to heal the wounds that have festered for generations. I beg of you not to refuse the responsibilities of your birthright."
"That's not who I am anymore," said Zuko, insistent. "Of course I'll fight for as long as I have to, but it's not like I'll be the one to take the throne when…" He paused, and the anger evaporated in the space of an exhaled breath, his throat moving as he swallowed. "Once my father's gone."
Jeong Jeong stared at him. Pakku drew a mouthful of smoke and blew it out between pursed lips, tendrils curling in the air above him as he frowned. Piandao steepled his fingers, eyebrows arched high as he glanced between his comrades. Smellerbee and Longshot focused on their soup. The sounds of breakfast continued all around them, cheerful voices and the click of chopsticks against porcelain, Freedom Fighters and Dai Li and members of the Order all going about the start of their day, oblivious to the pocket of heavy sobriety with Zuko at its center.
Iroh looked into his nephew's eyes, still and silent and unusually serious. His expression might have seemed disappointed to the others, but Jet could see the truth of it - that concern, not frustration, pulled at the corners of his mouth. Iroh said nothing, but his was an eloquent silence, and Zuko wilted before it.
"I can't," said Zuko. "I just…" He looked helplessly at Jet, his voice tight with anxiety. "That's not how things are anymore."
The tension had reached excruciating levels, all of them watching in mute impotence as Zuko's stubborn resolve began to crumble. Jet knew that if he waited long enough, someone else would take care of this for him - that if he sat on his hands and kept his mouth shut, he wouldn't have to be the one to tell Zuko what they all knew to be true.
"I'm gonna borrow Zuko for a while," he said, his tone deceptively light in a precise, practiced way. "If that's all right."
Jeong Jeong's scowl deepened. "You cannot simply-"
"Until word of the invasion arrives, there is little else for us to do," said Iroh, cutting smoothly through Jeong Jeong's protest. "I see no reason for them not to enjoy this respite. Other matters can wait."
"I'll have him back in an hour, okay?" said Jet, already on his feet again and pulling a visibly overwhelmed Zuko up from the bench. Smellerbee and Longshot shared a glance and then turned to him as one, concerned inquiry on their faces. Jet smiled at them. "We won't go far."
They walked together across the courtyard, past the tables of breakfasting soldiers and the circle of men washing their clothes at the well, between the servant's quarters and storage sheds, to the unbroken curve of the wall that bordered the palace grounds. It was two stories high, towering over the modest structures that had housed the staff of a king, and supported a narrow walkway for palace guards to use on their patrols. The outside of the wall, Jet knew, was featureless and smooth, designed to slow the intruders it couldn't stop entirely. But a ladder of shallow indentations had been carved into the inside face of it, and Jet used them now to haul himself up off the ground. The muscles of his arms twinged, stiff after several days of too little practice and too much time in bed.
Zuko followed silently a little ways behind him, and once Jet had reached the top of the wall he swung his legs around and sat with them dangling over the walkway, watching Zuko's progress over his shoulder. He had gotten much better at climbing in the time Jet had known him, faster and more confident as he slipped between the different plains of life in Ba Sing Se - the sewers, the streets, the rooftops and the walls themselves. That summer, Jet had taught him a great many tangible things: how to fight Firebenders with swords, how to train a young army, how to season rice porridge, how to kiss and where to put his hands when he did.
Jet had learned his own lessons in turn, but none were so straightforward as fighting and cooking and sex. They brought no satisfaction of accomplishment, no soothing sense of competence. They ran difficult and deep, a current of doubt that eroded old convictions. They hurt, and Jet had not wanted to learn them. He had never asked to know the things Zuko had told him, or to understand how the world looked through the golden eyes of Firebenders.
But he did. Or at least, he was beginning to.
Zuko sat beside him on the wall, ran a hand back through hair damp with sweat and stared out across the rubble-strewn borderland Azula had razed - past the ornate residences and neglected grounds of the upper ring, the terra-cotta roofs of warehouses and dry goods stores and taverns, the distant smokestacks of factories. "It doesn't look so bad from here," he said. Jet slid his hand over to brush against Zuko's fingers, but he didn't reply. And after a moment, Zuko went on. "It was kind of nice to live in a city again. Even, you know…with everything. I guess I'd missed it."
"It's not so bad," said Jet, meticulously neutral. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that Zuko was looking at him.
"Would you want to stay?" Zuko asked with nervous hesitation. "I mean…here. In Ba Sing Se."
"That depends on some stuff I can't know right now," said Jet. "I'll stay if there's a reason to."
"But you want to go back to the forest again."
Jet shrugged with feigned nonchalance. "I miss sleeping in trees."
"I know things were weird with the other Freedom Fighters," said Zuko. "But they'd have to forgive you now, right? After everything you did. They'd have to let you go home."
"If it's even still there," said Jet.
"It will be," said Zuko. Then, wavering again, "Do you think they'd be okay with me, though? I mean…I know you and Smellerbee would explain…" He swallowed. "I'll pretend not to be a bender again if I have to, but-"
"Zuko." Jet closed his eyes and lifted his free hand, pressing his fingers against one temple. "What exactly do you think you're going to do after the hawk gets here?"
"Whatever needs doing," said Zuko. "We have to put Ba Sing Se back together again. And find the Earth King, and all the bureaucrats who left. The important ones, anyway. I thought maybe I'd help out with that." He smiled, sheepish. "I'm pretty good at finding people."
If it had been anyone else saying such preposterous things, Jet would have exploded at them, demanding they be serious. But he knew better than to think that Zuko was fucking with him. Zuko was always serious.
Still. "You have to know it can't be like that."
Zuko's smile faltered. "Like what?"
"You can't stay here," said Jet, the blunt words sour in his mouth.
"Stay where? In Ba Sing Se?" Zuko laughed, taut with nerves. "Well…it's like I said…we could go to the forest and-"
"You can't stay in the Earth Kingdom." Jet hated to hear that truth in his own voice, and hated even more that he had to be the one to say it. But he pressed on, his eyes fixed on the narrow walkway in front of them. "You have to go back. To the Fire Nation."
"I don't…" He could hear Zuko licking his lips. "That's not what I want."
"You're gonna stand there and tell me you don't care what happens back home? That you'll dick around the plains with me looking for the Earth King while the Fire Nation goes to shit?" He chuckled mirthlessly. "You'll just…what? Let your uncle take care of it?"
"I…" Zuko took a deep breath, held it, then let it out shuddering and slow. "Yes."
"Bullshit," said Jet. There was no sharpness in his tone, the curse more resigned than angry. "Look…we both know the Fire Nation's really fucked up right now. Your family started a shitty war for shitty reasons, and…" He caught himself, took another breath. No accusations. Not today.
Jet raised his eyes and looked out at the rolling landscape of roofs and walls. "Things've been really bad for a long time," he said. "For everyone, not just us." He flinched. "Not just the Earth Kingdom. And all most of us can do is keep fighting and hope we make a difference. Save a few lives. Take back a city like this one, for a while anyway."
Jet thought of a town in an autumn-red valley, lost and reclaimed a dozen times over, his sympathies worn thin by the compromises of exhausted villagers. He remembered crouching in the branches of a tree, watching through a screen of leaves as a Fire Nation soldier helped an old woman fix her roof. He could recall with disturbing clarity the churn of anger in his stomach, how he had imagined watching both of them drown and felt a deep and horrible satisfaction. "Zuko…" His mouth was dry, his voice strained and rasping. "There's only so much that someone like me can do. I could fight for my entire life, and the soldiers'll keep coming. People will keep dying. Cities'll fall apart, and we won't always be able to save them."
"Jet-"
"No," said Jet. "No, just….just listen to me." He pushed himself off the ledge, the leather of his soles making a soft, scratching sound on the stone walkway. He stepped across it and leaned against the opposite side, his palms flat on sun-warmed granite. He couldn't look at Zuko. Not if he wanted to get this out. "You're still a prince," he said. "You can do things the rest of us can't."
Jet imagined he could hear Zuko's frown as he replied, his voice a heartbreaking mix of stubbornness and panic. "Jet, I'm not important enough to-"
"Stop saying that!" Jet barked, knuckles white as he gripped the edge of the wall. "It's not true, all right? You're the prince of the fucking Fire Nation. If we can take out your dad and your sister, you'll be the Fire Lord. You." He laughed at the absurdity of it, a harsh and helpless sound. "Shit, Zuko…try and see it from where I'm standing, okay? This war's been trying to kill me every single day of my life. I've lost so many people I can't even remember them all sometimes. So many that their faces start to run together. And now my…" Another laugh, louder and crazier than the first. "And now my boyfriend's gonna be the Fire Lord? Really?"
"Jet-"
"You could end this war in a day." Jet bowed his head, the tendons standing out from his arms. "I love you, Zuko. If you honestly want to stay here, I'm not gonna let them force you to go. But I don't think that's how it is."
Jet heard rustling cloth and the scrape of Zuko's boots. Then strong, familiar arms slid around his ribs, solid warmth pressed against his back and hot breath on his neck. Lips brushed his skin as Zuko whispered, "I don't want to leave you."
Jet reached up to cover Zuko's hand with his, holding it close to his chest. The skyline blurred. "I don't want you to go," he said. "But I can't keep you here while the world falls apart. I can't be what holds you back."
Zuko hugged him even tighter, making Jet's ribs ache. "I can't be away from you again."
Jet squeezed his hand. "Well…it might just have to be like that. For a while," he added, feeling like a liar before it was even out of his mouth. He had no illusions about how often the paths of Fire Nation royalty and obscure Earth Kingdom peasants would cross.
He felt Zuko bury his face in his hair. "You should come," said Zuko, muffled but unmistakable, and Jet felt as it someone had punched him in the stomach.
"What?" he asked stupidly.
"To the Fire Nation," said Zuko. "With me."
"What?" he asked again, dizzy from the airless compression of his chest. Then, "No," although he'd barely processed the question he was answering. He stepped forward out of Zuko's arms and leaned against the ledge again. "No, I can't do that."
"Why?"
"I…" Jet opened his mouth, but he couldn't think of anything to say. It seemed completely obvious to him that was Zuko was suggesting would be impossible; that no matter how much his internal geography had changed, there was no way he could follow Zuko home like some kind of lost boarwolf pup. He felt a violent, panicked reflex of rejection, the idea laughable to even contemplate. The Fire Nation? How could Zuko be standing there asking him "why?"
He felt Zuko's hand on his back, the touch light and hesitant. "I'm sorry," Zuko murmured. "I shouldn't've asked."
Somehow, the apology felt even more violently wrong than the question, and Jet spun around to face Zuko again, bursting with angry protests but unsure what he was even objecting to. Zuko looked painfully young and scared and stubborn all at once, his eyes so full of love and worry that Jet's anger abandoned him, leaving a deep, starved longing in its wake for a boy and a life he was sure he couldn't have.
"Zuko," he said, with no idea of what would follow.
Whatever it was, it would have to wait - a raspy voice sounded from behind and beneath them. Smellerbee. "Jet," she said.
He turned back toward the palace grounds, leaning out over the ledge. Smellerbee stood a few feet away from the base of the wall with Longshot behind her, her silhouette made even more small and slight by perspective. Jet looked at her face - at her brave stoicism edged with fear - and knew what she had come to tell them.
"Aang lost," she said.
Jet shifted his gaze back to the boy beside him, who seemed as if his legs might give out, his hand coming up to grab hold of Jet's shoulder. Jet watched as the color drained from his face, throwing his scar into even sharper contrast. And he wondered how Zuko must feel in that moment, devastated at the news that his father was still alive.
Jet leaned against the long-neglected dining hall and scuffed tracks in the dirt, a quivering stalk of grass between his lips. He could hear low voices through the wall, distinct enough from each other that he knew who was speaking, but the words themselves were unintelligible. Just as well, really - this wasn't a debate he wanted to be privy to. All he cared about was the decision at the end. For better or worse, at least he'd know what to expect tomorrow.
Smellerbee and Longshot had been walking in long, slow circles around this corner of the grounds, although they'd tried to mask this fact by changing their route to vary the time between these informal checkins. Jet smiled at them each time they rounded the corner, answering their nods with one of his own and sometimes adding a friendly "hey." The ritual was a familiar one, played out dozens of times over the years - when waiting to see if an injured friend would make it through the night, or whiling away the hours before a raid - and Jet took some comfort in it. He understood its meaning: that he could have all the space he needed for now, but they'd be at his side once he was finished with solitude.
A few hours before, the voices behind him had roiled with conflict, frustrated shouts of protest and insistence that clashed against each other. Fragments of conversation had risen to comprehensibility, enough for him to glean the basic gist of this argument: that all agreed on what had to be done, but the details of how were another matter. Jet couldn't catch most of the specifics, although he was fairly confident of his guesses: from where he stood, there weren't many options left to them.
His friends circled around again, a quarter hour or so after their last visit. But this time, instead of strolling past, they came to stand beside Jet outside the door of the hall, taking their places on either side of him. Jet smiled, to them and to himself. He was grateful for the company, and for not having to ask for it.
"Hey," he said.
"Hey," said Smellerbee. She nodded toward the door. "You okay listening to this?"
"Guess so," said Jet. He sighed. "Mostly just figuring some stuff out."
"Any luck?"
"Sort of." Jet tilted his head back, gazing up at the patch of indigo sky between the buildings. He indulged in a few moments of longing for a view obscured by branches. "I miss the forest, Bee."
"I know," she said. "We all do."
"I guess I kept thinking I'd end up back there, once this was over. Back in the valley, even, if we lucked out. Just…home, you know?" He closed his eyes and saw green plaster walls, an attic bed and a kitchen full of hungry kids in armor. "I guess I didn't think anywhere else could be home. And now…I dunno…." He reached up to rub the new scar on the back of his neck, smooth and sensitive. "I think I know what I'll have to do. But it's…"
"Not what you thought you'd want," said Smellerbee, soft and patient.
"Not really, no."
"It's a little scary, I guess," she said. "All this at once."
Jet chuckled. "It's fucking terrifying."
He felt a small hand on his arm, and when he looked down at Smellerbee her face was solemn, her full lips pressed together. "Whatever you do," she said. "Wherever you go. We'll be there."
His throat closed. "Bee, I can't expect you to-"
"Our home is with you," she said, unwavering.
"Bee-"
"And yours is with him."
Jet shook his head, feeling dizzy again. "It's really weird to hear you just…say it like that."
"It's true."
"Is it?" He took a deep breath, wishing his heart would slow and the buzzing in his ears would die down. "He asked me to go."
"Will you?"
"Shit, I don't know." He ran a hand over his face. "I mean…what would I even do there?"
"Same thing you did here," said Longshot quietly. "Help people. Make things better."
Jet snorted. "No one there gives a shit about who I am or what I've got to say."
"Maybe," said Smellerbee. "But he does."
Jet shivered a little from what that implied. "I can't believe we're even having this conversation," he said, terse with frustration. "Zuko and Iroh and the White Lotus guys, that's one thing. But a whole island of them? You expect me to go there and act like I don't want to burn the place to the ground?"
"Do you?" She gestured beyond the palace walls, to the crumbling buildings and scorched earth and ruined streets. "After all this?"
Jet stared at the scuff marks in the dirt. "I'm tired of this," he said. "Bee, I'm so tired."
"You've been fighting for the rest of us for years," she said. "It's okay to want something for yourself."
"I don't-"
"I think you do," she said. "You just have to learn to live with it."
How? Jet wanted to ask, but there wasn't time just then. Scraping chairs inside the dining hall evidenced the conclusion of the meeting, and Smellerbee and Longshot slipped away, each offering Jet one last smile before they melted out of sight down shadowy paths. Jet tried his best not to let his nerves show as the door swung open and a line of men emerged - Piandao and Jeong Jeong and Iroh and a handful of Firebenders from the Order that Jet didn't know, all of whom nodded respectfully as they passed him.
Zuko came last, wide-eyed and overwhelmed as the little courtyard emptied. It seemed everyone else understood that the two of them needed time to do this on their own; that this wasn't a conversation that could bear the weight of an audience.
"So." Jet reached up to push the hair from Zuko's brow. "I guess it's decided, then?"
"Yeah," said Zuko. He looked down at his shoes, his voice unsteady. "Uncle thinks we should leave as soon as possible. We know where the Avatar is, but he might not stay there for long. So…" He paused to breathe. "So it'll just be us at first. Everyone else'll come a few weeks later. Once we have a plan, and things aren't so bad here."
Jet drew the grass from his mouth and dropped it to the ground. Then he took a small step forward, his own chin lowered, until their foreheads bumped together. "At least you'll have Iroh," he said.
"Yeah." Zuko took Jet's shoulders in his hands, fingertips digging in hard enough to hurt. "So um…" Jet could feel him draw a shuddering breath. "So I guess we should…I mean, after dinner we should just…"
"Dancing," said Jet. He kissed Zuko's forehead, just at the border of his scar. "Lots of dancing. I know Jin's looking forward to teaching you a few things."
"But…"
"Also drinking. We have to get Ping wasted at least once while we have the chance."
Zuko pulled back enough to look in Jet's eyes, his own confused and a little embarrassed at whatever he'd imagined they'd spend the night doing. "I…Jet, we're leaving tomorrow…"
"Yeah, well….you know. I'll see you soon enough, right?" Jet grinned, a little weak but genuine, and the look on Zuko's face was almost enough to make him change his mind about their evening. "You won't be back here for months, at least," Jet went on, as if his heart weren't pounding. "Maybe longer. You should spend some time with everyone while you can. I know Wang was looking for you before."
Zuko's cheeks flushed bright red. "She found me, actually…" He reached inside his tunic, fumbling a little with nerves, then drew out what appeared to be a short dagger in a dark, lacquered sheath. "I'd asked her to look for this. In our room. I mean…what was left of it." Zuko held the knife out on the flat of his palm, and even in the low light of lantern and moon Jet could see it was beautiful, worn with use but splendidly made. Its jade inlay and gold fixtures were completely intact, forming intricate patterns of badgermoles and flowers. Jet had seen weapons like this before, but only rarely - most of them had been the private treasures of Fire Nation soldiers, found on their bodies and traded for supplies in town.
Jet picked it up, tested the weight of it in his hand and raised an impressed eyebrow. Well-balanced and solid - not just there to look pretty. "This is yours? Looks Earth Kingdom."
"Read the inscription."
Jet pulled the dagger out of its sheath, just far enough to reveal the characters stamped into the metal. "'Never give up without a fight,'" he murmured.
"It belonged to one of the Earth King's generals," said Zuko. "He gave it to Uncle during the siege of Ba Sing Se, and then Uncle sent it home to me." He smiled a little, lopsided and shy. "I want you to have it."
Jet frowned. "I can't take this," he said. "If it's from Iroh, you should-"
"Not forever," said Zuko, still awkward but with the obstinance Jet knew so well. "Just…I want you to look after it for me. For a while. Until we…" He faltered, and Jet felt a surge of protective affection in his chest. "Until we see each other again."
So much remained uncertain in both of their lives. So much could happen between now and when the comet came. Zuko would be thousands of miles and an ocean away, out of reach except by hawk and even those only rarely, the risk of being discovered too great for any but the most important news to be worth it. Their allies would have to find the Earth King and rebuild the government and hold back the line of Fire Nation soldiers who'd be all too eager to retake the cities they'd lost. They would have to push aside the disappointment and despair of a failed invasion and keep their eyes forward, focused on the slender hopes and steely will that were all they had left. They would have to cross the world with whatever forces they managed to scrape together, find the Avatar and his friends despite their need to stay carefully hidden, and stand against the third in a line of Fire Lords whose ruthlessness had colored every moment of all of their lives.
Jet tucked the knife into his belt, careful to make certain it wouldn't fall. Then he pulled Zuko into a kiss, one hand gently cupping the other boy's head and the other laid along his jaw. "All right," he said, pulling away just far enough to speak. "Until then."
:: Next Chapter ::
Word count: 8,900
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: The time it takes a hawk to cross the world.
Notes: This is the last full chapter of "Something to Hold Onto," and I'm still a little in shock that I'm actually posting it. After this will be an epilogue, however, so don't worry if everything isn't quite wrapped up to your satisfaction. <3
Many thanks to my betas -- kittyjimjams, hoshizora and (most especially, in the case of this chapter) jlh -- who helped me carve a narrative out of the giant mass of text I found myself staring at a few weeks ago.
:: Previous Chapter ::
Jet had not allowed himself to think in much detail about what would happen after the eclipse. He'd known that even if they won there was no way to tell how that victory would unfold, what state the city would be left in or who among his own men would live to see it; if his own little knot of soldiers could endure the long, hard push to the throne room and whatever waited for them within. He had crouched in that oven of a watchtower and squeezed Zuko's hand in his and memorized every detail of how it felt, each knuckle of Zuko's fingers and the delicate bones inside his palm. Jet had seen the worst of his fears in bright, sharp flashes: the features he knew so well crushed and bloodied, yellow eyes dim and breath still. "We'll make it," he'd said as he thought of spilt entrails and charred skin, his stomach heaving from the memory of their smell.
But they had made it - had somehow all walked out of the palace under their own power and felt the sunlight on their faces again. The tension broken, Jet had wanted nothing more than to pull Zuko into some dark corner and sleep until the hawk arrived, but the momentum of immediate concerns had carried him through the first few hours, at least. Certain practicalities had had to be addressed and certain arrangements made, both exhaustion and the low whisper of dread that much easier to ignore as men and voices swirled around him.
Ping and Quan had argued the logistics of prisoners and where to send the wounded, the possibility of defectors to their cause and the nature of their temporary government. Jet had stood a few paces away from them at the head of the palace steps, only half-listening - he was a fighter, not a politician, and he had anxiously scanned the city skyline as he waited for the first reports from his men. Clouds of dust and blooms of flame had risen from between the rooftops, evidence of conflicts still unresolved, but even that had faded within half an hour.
When news finally arrived it had confirmed Jet's suspicions - without the Dai Li to back his forces, Zha's selfish gamble had cost him the city.
Ping had slid with outward ease into the sudden flush of new responsibilities, listening patiently to reports from the streets and dispatching men and messengers as they were needed. Quan suggested the servant's quarters on the east side of the palace compound as the best location for their new camp - the same buildings Jet had sped between only a short while ago - and word was sent out to the front lines. From this vantage point, Jet could just barely see the cluster of low, modest buildings, and soon enough smoke curled from their tiled roofs, cheerful evidence that dinner was underway.
Most of the Freedom Fighters were too hungry and tired to check in with Jet directly, but from time to time one of them would turn up at the palace steps - Dusty or Yan Jing - and end their report with an expectant look on their face, as if waiting for Jet to tell them what to do with themselves now. But Jet had only shaken his head and said, "Ask Ping," before sitting down on the palace steps with his arm around Zuko's shoulders, making jokes and ruffling the other boy's hair as they watched the incomprehensibly massive crowd of soldiers begin to recede. Neat formations of Fire Nation prisoners, stripped of spears and armor, had been escorted down into the catacombs below the city, dark tunnels in the courtyard winking closed again as smoothly as they'd been formed.
When Iroh's squat outline had appeared, ferried to the palace grounds by Pakku on a sledge of ice, Jet had laughed a little as Zuko launched himself down the steps and into his uncle's arms, the force of the impact knocking Iroh several feet backward. Jet had followed at a more sedate pace, to give them time to bask in the warmth of real family - something he only barely remembered himself, as exotic as white rice and houses on the ground. Another reminder of a world he had no place in.
Then Zuko and Iroh had parted and turned as one to grin at him, beckoning him over, and Jet's chest had ached with a confused mess of longing as Iroh wrapped both of them in a surprisingly strong embrace, tears on his cheeks and in his beard.
Three days had passed since that afternoon. Jet and Zuko had slept through most of the first, curled up together in what had been the chief attendant's bed. Ping had forbidden anyone from disturbing them, and they'd emerged only to take care of certain bodily needs and forage for meals. It wasn't their room, not really, but it had come to feel like a stronghold - a little fortress of rest and privacy, where Jet could run his fingers along Zuko's spine as he dozed and try to forget about time for a while.
Zuko had stirred in his sleep, dusty shafts of afternoon sunlight falling across his face. And Jet had looked at the whorls and folds of his scar and known that he could never forget. That the world as it was wouldn't let him.
The second day had dragged them into the sunlight and the center of everyone's attention. Jin and Xue Sheng had cornered them with armfuls of brocade, explaining the need for certain appearances in a city accustomed to pomp and ceremony. A procession of soldiers, captured tanks and rhinos had wound its way through the streets, with Ping and Jet and Zuko at its head on the backs of ostrich horses, dressed in silks and ceremonial armor borrowed from the palace. Ping had bourn it with his usual stoicism, nodding curtly to the throng of admirers that lined each side of their route. Jet had hitched a smile onto his face - his only real job until they needed him to fight again - and kept it there by thinking about how Zuko had looked in bed that morning, tousle-haired and covered in bruises that had needed to be kissed in turn. But Zuko had seemed completely at ease, a little shy at being the center of attention but not particularly uncomfortable beneath so much formality.
And why would he be? Three years of exile were nothing against thirteen passed in the splendor of palace life. Jet had never worn silk cloth before that afternoon, but Zuko had probably been diapered with it. Whatever he'd done here in Ba Sing Se, he was still the Fire Lord's son.
Zuko had never really been his, however much the other boy may have wanted to be. They had shared a few months of providence, a burst of light and warmth that swelled and faded with the heat of summer. Jet wanted to bask in it; to lay in their borrowed bed and examine the contours of Zuko's body; to memorize each birthmark and scar, the topography of muscle and bone beneath pale skin, the soft dusting of hair on his stomach and limbs and the way his eyes caught the thin light of morning. Jet wanted to grow used to the taste of Zuko's name. He wanted to hear Zuko say his own in that quiet, rasping voice. He longed to enjoy these small intimacies for whatever remained of their time together
But inevitably, his thoughts drifted.
Even the fastest hawk would take three days to cross the distance between the Fire Nation capital and Ba Sing Se. Xue Sheng had explained this with the obvious expectation that Jet would be annoyed, and Jet could see his reasoning - Jet wasn't exactly known for being patient.
In truth, he'd felt nothing but an intense and selfish relief. Three weeks ago, the absence of a hawk had nearly killed him. But now, absurdly, a part of Jet hoped for this one to be lost as well - for this twilight to go on forever, the stress of not-knowing preferable to the hard realities they soon would have to face. Whether the news of the invasion was good or bad, the mere fact of it would pull apart the threads of this strange life they'd built here. Their little family was a delicate thing, held together by chance and circumstance and all their good intentions, but Jet wasn't so naive as to think that it could withstand whatever message the hawk would bring. Three days were all he had left. So he would do his best to savor them.
Yet by the morning of the third day, time was all he could think about - how quickly it was passing and how little of it they had. Zuko woke at sunrise, arched his back in a luxurious stretch and turned his head to kiss Jet's mouth, his hands already wandering down the bare skin of Jet's hips. His lips were soft and warm and unhurried, his weight relaxed and comfortable as he rolled on top of Jet's body. But Jet could feel the desperation in his own touch, fingers dimpling Zuko's flesh and mouths pressed together with bruising force. He tried to drown his thoughts in sex, but they seared through the haze of pleasure, steadily wearing through his ability to stay calm. Was this the last time? The second-to-last? How quickly would the departures come? Would they ever share a bed like this again?
Afterward, Jet clung to Zuko as the sounds and smells of breakfast drifted in from the courtyard, his face pressed so tightly to the other boy's chest that he almost couldn't breathe. He didn't want to get out of bed or put on clothes or address the rumble of hunger in his stomach. He knew he must have slept at some point during the night, but what little he'd managed hadn't been restful. He had drifted in and out of consciousness, counting Zuko's slow breaths and trying to memorize his smell, trying to force his senses to absorb every detail of the body that slumbered beside him.
Now Zuko smiled and pushed the hair back from Jet's face, impossibly handsome in the thin shafts of yellow light that slipped through the blinds. "Hey," he murmured.
"Hey," said Jet, whispering in part to mask the tension in his voice.
Zuko kissed the corner of Jet's eye, then pushed himself up so he could peer out the window, the courtyard glimpsed in strips between wooden slats. His hand stayed on Jet's shoulder, the calluses of swordplay rough against Jet's skin. "I guess we should get out there," he said. "Everyone else is already up."
"Yeah," said Jet. "Sounds like."
Zuko leaned in to press another kiss to Jet's forehead, then disentangled himself from the sheets and walked over to where he'd stacked his neatly folded clothes. "Jin said she'd make a big breakfast today," he went on as he stepped into his pants. "The Dai Li turned up some great stuff when they were going through the palace. I guess Zha was hoarding it all for himself." He sighed happily as he tied on his belt. "I think she's making soup dumplings. I haven't had those in almost a year."
"Hmm," said Jet. He watched as Zuko pulled on his boots.
Zuko bent to collect Jet's clothes from where they'd been tossed the night before, mostly over the back of a chair and on the floor beside it. "And thousand layer cake," he said as he held them out, his tone one of sly temptation. "With dates. And real sugar."
Jet took the clothes and pulled them on carelessly, sneaking glances at Zuko from beneath his eyelashes. He knew that, if asked, Zuko would stay in this room for the rest of the day, no matter how the promise of food and friendship called to him. But Zuko was grinning at him, nakedly hopeful now that he thought he wasn't being watched, and the selfish impulse to get back into bed flickered and faded in Jet's heart. "Guess we better go before the kids eat it all," he said, his grin only a little strained as he slipped his arm around Zuko's waist.
The cluster of servants' quarters included an informal dining room of sorts, with long wooden tables not unlike the one they'd once clustered around in the Jasmine Dragon. But palace servants were needed at all times, and as such had taken their meals in small groups throughout the day, so the room was much too small to hold more than a fraction of the Freedom Fighters and their allies.
Ping and Zuko, both military men in their own way, saw no problem with the idea of eating in shifts. But Jin had been dead set against it, and Jet was inclined to agree with her. So much had changed in the past few days. Soon even this pocket of stability would be shaken apart, the family they'd built that summer pulled in all directions to meet the shifting needs of the cause that had once united them. Jet knew better than most how difficult it would be to part ways again -- to move on to a quieter, lonelier rhythm.
Someone had found the gleaming banquet tables used for palace functions, tucked away in a store room with dust cloths draped over them. They'd been hauled out into the courtyard, along with equally ornate benches and chairs and crates of royal china. Jet couldn't help smiling a little at the sight of dark, polished wood set on the dusty ground; and of his friends, most of them dressed in mismatched scraps oft-mended and stained with old blood, greedily slurping down broth and soup dumplings from gilt porcelain bowls.
"I was wondering if I'd see you this morning," said Jin with a wry smile as she ladled two more portions She looked between them through the steam that rose from her pot, and the smile faded somewhat when she met Jet's eyes. "Everything all right?"
"Fine," said Jet, reenforcing his own grin with a twinge of annoyance at himself. He didn't enjoy being transparent. "Any news?"
"Xiao Si Wang, Dusty and Ni Shui Jian went over to the Jasmine Dragon a little while ago, to see what..." She paused, took a breath and smiled harder. "Just in case there's anything they can save."
A moment of silent mourning, for their home and for the life they'd shared there. Then Zuko asked, "What about the hawk?"
Jet concentrated on making sure his brow was smooth, his eyes wide and interested, the corners of his mouth turned up but not too much.
Jin handed Zuko a bowl and reached up to ruffle his hair. "Not yet," she said. "Soon."
For the past three days, the hawk had been at the center of every conversation - the target of active speculation or else a shadow looming over their words, unmentioned but no less oppressive for it. Not that Jet could blame them - within the reclaimed walls of the palace complex, there was little else to do but lick their wounds and wait to be told what had happened. He understood why they watched the sky so intently, aching for some scrap of news to arrive. The hawk would tell them if Ozai had survived, if the Fire Nation capital had fallen, if Aang and his friends had somehow managed to turn the tide of a century of war. But Jet was sick of hearing about it all the same, tired of pretending he didn't mind looping back toward it from whatever other topic he'd managed to coax out of the others. He knew what the cost of resolution would be, and he wasn't ready to pay it. Not yet. Not so soon, when they had barely won the time to live their lives again.
As he and Zuko walked along the banquet tables in search of a place to sit, nodding to acknowledge the cheerful greetings of their comrades, Jet scanned the breakfasting crowd for Smellerbee and Longshot. They'd have saved two seats, he was sure, and would let him ramble on about whatever he liked, comfortably sandwiched between them and Zuko on the bench. His friends understood without his having to explain, avoiding mention of the hawk entirely whenever they were able. The Jet of a year ago would have resented being coddled, but that morning he craved the shelter of their discretion, as flimsy and temporary as it might be.
He still wasn't used to so many time-worn faces, broad shoulders and beards and womanly curves standing out in marked contrast to the half-grown boys and girls who had served as his army that summer. Some of the White Lotus had already left Ba Sing Se, sent to discover how other cities had fared in the eclipse or to follow rumors of the Earth King's movements. But a few dozen blue and white robes remained, and with a sigh Jet's gaze settled on one cluster of them in particular: four men, chatting amiably with Smellerbee while Longshot ate his soup in attentive silence. So much for coddling.
Plates of thousand-layer cake had been laid out on the tables, and Smellerbee plucked up a slice between gloved fingers as Jet and Zuko approached. "Wait, he picked them up?" she was saying, her mouth half-full of cake.
"And threw them over the city walls," Pakku drawled. "Not terribly practical, but I suppose I'll grant him marks for style."
"Who picked what up?" Zuko asked reasonably as he and Jet took their places on the bench.
"Factories," said Piandao, dryly amused. "It seems King Bumi was displeased with the industrialization of his city."
"He was kind enough to send word this morning," said Iroh, prompting a loud snort from Pakku. "Of a sort."
"Rather generous of you to call an illustration of him tossing buildings around 'word,'" said Pakku.
"He did write a note, as well," said Iroh.
Pakku rolled his eyes. "Yes, forgive me for not mentioning the poem he so thoughtfully included."
"Firebenders got bent / Time for an old man party? / My nose is itchy," recited Piandao.
"We should be grateful to have any message at all," Jeong Jeong muttered darkly. "At least we know the fate of Omashu."
Beside Jet, Zuko's face paled, his lips a tight line as he stared down at his soup. It was easy for Jet to forget, amidst all his own anxieties, that Zuko was wound just as tightly as he was. Squeezing Zuko's hand under the table, Jet tried to think of how best to redirect the flow of conversation, away from musings on the fate of distant royalty with not-so-distant connections to themselves.
He grasped at the first topic that came to mind. "So, how goes the recruiting?"
"As well as can be expected," said Iroh, cheerful as he sipped his tea. "In a very real sense, I have betrayed my homeland, and I can hardly blame Fire Nation soldiers for being distrustful. But the war has not been kind to our people, and I have found many a sympathetic ear among the prisoners. They understand that my brother's time is at an end, and that soon the sun will rise on a new era of our history."
"General Zha certainly didn't make your job any harder," said Pakku. "When you leave your own men to die in the street, it hardly inspires loyalty."
Jet nodded, a strange but very real pang of sympathy in his chest. On the night after the eclipse they'd gathered in this courtyard to share their stories, and Jet had listened for hours as his comrades described what had happened outside the palace walls.
Zuko had been exactly right - Zha had left his Firebenders to die, completely ignorant of the danger they faced for his sake. But while the Firebenders had shown remarkable bravery in the face of both the Dai Li and the sky itself turning against them, the battle had been cruelly brief. The scraps of non-bending infantry that Zha had left behind had crumpled before a thrice-strong assault, Dai Li and Freedom Fighter and White Lotus all sweeping through their lines while the Firebenders clung to borrowed spears they hadn't the first idea how to use. Those left standing when the sun reappeared had tried their best to keep their men together and hold their positions, hunkered down in armories and guard houses until the Dai Li tore the very walls apart.
"I am certain you're right, Pakku," said Iroh. "But I cannot find much comfort in the suffering of my people, however I may benefit from it."
"Nor can I," said Jeong Jeong. He shook his head gravely. "I have no great love of my country, and no patience for those who blindly follow the path that Ozai has laid. But these were not seasoned warriors, recognizing the truth of justice and refusing its burden. They were little more than children, far from home and worn too thin." He sighed. "A bitter victory."
"Most of those Firebenders were our age," said Smellerbee, a little tetchy as she took another bite of cake.
"A child can be taught to fight," Jeong Jeong grumbled. "That does not make her any less a child. Nor does it lessen her need for the wisdom of her elders."
Smellerbee scowled at him, her eyes narrowed beneath her headband. "We got along just fine without any 'elders' in the forest."
"I may not have lived in your valley, child, but I know what happened there. Word travels quickly in the forests of the Earth Kingdom, and I have sheltered more than one victim of your 'justice.' Do not presume to tell me that you 'got along just fine.' You survived, and even that came at far too great a cost."
"They did the best they could," snapped Zuko, startling them all.
But Jet found he didn't want to be defended. "No…Jeong Jeong's right," he said, quiet and low. He picked at the soup he was no longer hungry for. "We made a lot of mistakes. Some pretty bad shit."
"Jet-"
"We killed a lot of people who didn't need to die. Doesn't matter what we thought. We are who we are. We did what we did."
Zuko frowned. "Jet, we talked about this."
"You can go off and fix things and be a hero, Zuko, but that's not how it works for me," said Jet, harsh in a way he didn't mean but couldn't help. "That's not gonna be my life."
Iroh had listened to all of this in silence, his eyes moving between them as he sipped his tea. Now he set his cup down on the table and said, "Do not dismiss yourself so quickly, Jet. In this time of transition and renewal, your generation is of far greater importance than ours. Master Jeong Jeong may have forgotten the trials of his own youth, but there were many of them." He laughed. "Not that I was any better. At your age, I wanted for nothing. My every move was carefully advised. My every need was immediately met. I did not understand suffering or pain or loss. I had no way to comprehend the world of those less fortunate than myself."
Iroh's gaze connected with Jet's across the table, then, and its intensity sent a cold shiver up his spine. "You may lack our years of experience, but you have your own kind of wisdom. You have made mistakes, yes, but you have learned from them; you have suffered and grown stronger. You have seen the worst of the times in which we live, but you have not allowed it to rob you of your humanity, your love or your compassion. You wish to better yourself. To atone."
"Yeah. I guess I do," said Jet, and felt his stomach twist. He knew where this was going.
Iroh turned to grin at his nephew, then, and the twist became an icy knot of panic. "Of course we must learn from our past. We must always remind ourselves of where we have come from, so that we can be sure of where we must go next. But this is a time for youth. For idealism." His eyes glistened. "Your time, my nephew."
Zuko shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Uncle…you know that's not true…"
"Iroh's words are not the flattery of a relative, Prince Zuko," said Piandao, uncharacteristically sharp.
"But this is ridiculous," Zuko insisted, heat rising to his cheeks. "You're all…admirals and generals and Firebending masters. I'm just a banished prince the rest of the world's forgotten about. Why would anyone listen to me?"
"Old men like ourselves are mired in our own checkered histories," said Piandao, "Tainted forever by decisions we made half a lifetime ago. We can never escape the legacy of war and injustice that we inherited in our youth. We can never wash away the blood we spilt on foreign soil, the children we orphaned or the wives and husbands we widowed."
"But that is a burden you do not bear, Prince Zuko," said Iroh. "You played no part in our war, except the work you've done here. You love our nation, but you understand that it is only one of several - that none may presume its importance to be greater than the others."
"The pyre of hatred once burned inside of you," said Jeong Jeong, "fanned by the winds of sorrow and grief. But you have banked those flames with experience. With discipline. The fire that drives our nation to greatness is alight in your own heart, but you understand that it must be reined in by humility; tempered with restraint."
"You are the key to our people's salvation," said Iroh, his voice rough with quiet intensity. "You are our hope."
Zuko's eyes were round and white. "No. No, that's not…you're who's important. All of you," he said, looking between the older men. "You're the ones people will listen to."
"Your words carry more weight than you know," Jeong Jeong rumbled.
"He's right," said Smellerbee, who had been listening silently to all of this. Her voice was soft, but Jet could hear the steel of certainty beneath it. "Remember that speech you made at the camp? Right before the eclipse? That meant a lot to people."
"I'm not the one who's been talking prisoners into joining us," said Zuko, bristling defensively.
"Because you refused to go with me when I asked," said Iroh mildly.
"Because I'm not who they want to follow!" Zuko snapped. "Because Fire Nation shoulders aren't going to listen to some kid who was banished three years ago! And why should they? I'm no one. No…worse than no one. I'm a traitor."
"You are the prince of the Fire Nation," said Iroh.
"I used to be," said Zuko. "But that was years ago."
"You are the son of Fire Lord Ozai. Whether or not you believe that is important, your people do." Iroh reached across the table, taking Zuko's free hand in both of his. "Your father and grandfather and great-grandfather were the traitors, Prince Zuko, but now it is your time. Your chance. You have it within you to mend this world, to heal the wounds that have festered for generations. I beg of you not to refuse the responsibilities of your birthright."
"That's not who I am anymore," said Zuko, insistent. "Of course I'll fight for as long as I have to, but it's not like I'll be the one to take the throne when…" He paused, and the anger evaporated in the space of an exhaled breath, his throat moving as he swallowed. "Once my father's gone."
Jeong Jeong stared at him. Pakku drew a mouthful of smoke and blew it out between pursed lips, tendrils curling in the air above him as he frowned. Piandao steepled his fingers, eyebrows arched high as he glanced between his comrades. Smellerbee and Longshot focused on their soup. The sounds of breakfast continued all around them, cheerful voices and the click of chopsticks against porcelain, Freedom Fighters and Dai Li and members of the Order all going about the start of their day, oblivious to the pocket of heavy sobriety with Zuko at its center.
Iroh looked into his nephew's eyes, still and silent and unusually serious. His expression might have seemed disappointed to the others, but Jet could see the truth of it - that concern, not frustration, pulled at the corners of his mouth. Iroh said nothing, but his was an eloquent silence, and Zuko wilted before it.
"I can't," said Zuko. "I just…" He looked helplessly at Jet, his voice tight with anxiety. "That's not how things are anymore."
The tension had reached excruciating levels, all of them watching in mute impotence as Zuko's stubborn resolve began to crumble. Jet knew that if he waited long enough, someone else would take care of this for him - that if he sat on his hands and kept his mouth shut, he wouldn't have to be the one to tell Zuko what they all knew to be true.
"I'm gonna borrow Zuko for a while," he said, his tone deceptively light in a precise, practiced way. "If that's all right."
Jeong Jeong's scowl deepened. "You cannot simply-"
"Until word of the invasion arrives, there is little else for us to do," said Iroh, cutting smoothly through Jeong Jeong's protest. "I see no reason for them not to enjoy this respite. Other matters can wait."
"I'll have him back in an hour, okay?" said Jet, already on his feet again and pulling a visibly overwhelmed Zuko up from the bench. Smellerbee and Longshot shared a glance and then turned to him as one, concerned inquiry on their faces. Jet smiled at them. "We won't go far."
They walked together across the courtyard, past the tables of breakfasting soldiers and the circle of men washing their clothes at the well, between the servant's quarters and storage sheds, to the unbroken curve of the wall that bordered the palace grounds. It was two stories high, towering over the modest structures that had housed the staff of a king, and supported a narrow walkway for palace guards to use on their patrols. The outside of the wall, Jet knew, was featureless and smooth, designed to slow the intruders it couldn't stop entirely. But a ladder of shallow indentations had been carved into the inside face of it, and Jet used them now to haul himself up off the ground. The muscles of his arms twinged, stiff after several days of too little practice and too much time in bed.
Zuko followed silently a little ways behind him, and once Jet had reached the top of the wall he swung his legs around and sat with them dangling over the walkway, watching Zuko's progress over his shoulder. He had gotten much better at climbing in the time Jet had known him, faster and more confident as he slipped between the different plains of life in Ba Sing Se - the sewers, the streets, the rooftops and the walls themselves. That summer, Jet had taught him a great many tangible things: how to fight Firebenders with swords, how to train a young army, how to season rice porridge, how to kiss and where to put his hands when he did.
Jet had learned his own lessons in turn, but none were so straightforward as fighting and cooking and sex. They brought no satisfaction of accomplishment, no soothing sense of competence. They ran difficult and deep, a current of doubt that eroded old convictions. They hurt, and Jet had not wanted to learn them. He had never asked to know the things Zuko had told him, or to understand how the world looked through the golden eyes of Firebenders.
But he did. Or at least, he was beginning to.
Zuko sat beside him on the wall, ran a hand back through hair damp with sweat and stared out across the rubble-strewn borderland Azula had razed - past the ornate residences and neglected grounds of the upper ring, the terra-cotta roofs of warehouses and dry goods stores and taverns, the distant smokestacks of factories. "It doesn't look so bad from here," he said. Jet slid his hand over to brush against Zuko's fingers, but he didn't reply. And after a moment, Zuko went on. "It was kind of nice to live in a city again. Even, you know…with everything. I guess I'd missed it."
"It's not so bad," said Jet, meticulously neutral. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that Zuko was looking at him.
"Would you want to stay?" Zuko asked with nervous hesitation. "I mean…here. In Ba Sing Se."
"That depends on some stuff I can't know right now," said Jet. "I'll stay if there's a reason to."
"But you want to go back to the forest again."
Jet shrugged with feigned nonchalance. "I miss sleeping in trees."
"I know things were weird with the other Freedom Fighters," said Zuko. "But they'd have to forgive you now, right? After everything you did. They'd have to let you go home."
"If it's even still there," said Jet.
"It will be," said Zuko. Then, wavering again, "Do you think they'd be okay with me, though? I mean…I know you and Smellerbee would explain…" He swallowed. "I'll pretend not to be a bender again if I have to, but-"
"Zuko." Jet closed his eyes and lifted his free hand, pressing his fingers against one temple. "What exactly do you think you're going to do after the hawk gets here?"
"Whatever needs doing," said Zuko. "We have to put Ba Sing Se back together again. And find the Earth King, and all the bureaucrats who left. The important ones, anyway. I thought maybe I'd help out with that." He smiled, sheepish. "I'm pretty good at finding people."
If it had been anyone else saying such preposterous things, Jet would have exploded at them, demanding they be serious. But he knew better than to think that Zuko was fucking with him. Zuko was always serious.
Still. "You have to know it can't be like that."
Zuko's smile faltered. "Like what?"
"You can't stay here," said Jet, the blunt words sour in his mouth.
"Stay where? In Ba Sing Se?" Zuko laughed, taut with nerves. "Well…it's like I said…we could go to the forest and-"
"You can't stay in the Earth Kingdom." Jet hated to hear that truth in his own voice, and hated even more that he had to be the one to say it. But he pressed on, his eyes fixed on the narrow walkway in front of them. "You have to go back. To the Fire Nation."
"I don't…" He could hear Zuko licking his lips. "That's not what I want."
"You're gonna stand there and tell me you don't care what happens back home? That you'll dick around the plains with me looking for the Earth King while the Fire Nation goes to shit?" He chuckled mirthlessly. "You'll just…what? Let your uncle take care of it?"
"I…" Zuko took a deep breath, held it, then let it out shuddering and slow. "Yes."
"Bullshit," said Jet. There was no sharpness in his tone, the curse more resigned than angry. "Look…we both know the Fire Nation's really fucked up right now. Your family started a shitty war for shitty reasons, and…" He caught himself, took another breath. No accusations. Not today.
Jet raised his eyes and looked out at the rolling landscape of roofs and walls. "Things've been really bad for a long time," he said. "For everyone, not just us." He flinched. "Not just the Earth Kingdom. And all most of us can do is keep fighting and hope we make a difference. Save a few lives. Take back a city like this one, for a while anyway."
Jet thought of a town in an autumn-red valley, lost and reclaimed a dozen times over, his sympathies worn thin by the compromises of exhausted villagers. He remembered crouching in the branches of a tree, watching through a screen of leaves as a Fire Nation soldier helped an old woman fix her roof. He could recall with disturbing clarity the churn of anger in his stomach, how he had imagined watching both of them drown and felt a deep and horrible satisfaction. "Zuko…" His mouth was dry, his voice strained and rasping. "There's only so much that someone like me can do. I could fight for my entire life, and the soldiers'll keep coming. People will keep dying. Cities'll fall apart, and we won't always be able to save them."
"Jet-"
"No," said Jet. "No, just….just listen to me." He pushed himself off the ledge, the leather of his soles making a soft, scratching sound on the stone walkway. He stepped across it and leaned against the opposite side, his palms flat on sun-warmed granite. He couldn't look at Zuko. Not if he wanted to get this out. "You're still a prince," he said. "You can do things the rest of us can't."
Jet imagined he could hear Zuko's frown as he replied, his voice a heartbreaking mix of stubbornness and panic. "Jet, I'm not important enough to-"
"Stop saying that!" Jet barked, knuckles white as he gripped the edge of the wall. "It's not true, all right? You're the prince of the fucking Fire Nation. If we can take out your dad and your sister, you'll be the Fire Lord. You." He laughed at the absurdity of it, a harsh and helpless sound. "Shit, Zuko…try and see it from where I'm standing, okay? This war's been trying to kill me every single day of my life. I've lost so many people I can't even remember them all sometimes. So many that their faces start to run together. And now my…" Another laugh, louder and crazier than the first. "And now my boyfriend's gonna be the Fire Lord? Really?"
"Jet-"
"You could end this war in a day." Jet bowed his head, the tendons standing out from his arms. "I love you, Zuko. If you honestly want to stay here, I'm not gonna let them force you to go. But I don't think that's how it is."
Jet heard rustling cloth and the scrape of Zuko's boots. Then strong, familiar arms slid around his ribs, solid warmth pressed against his back and hot breath on his neck. Lips brushed his skin as Zuko whispered, "I don't want to leave you."
Jet reached up to cover Zuko's hand with his, holding it close to his chest. The skyline blurred. "I don't want you to go," he said. "But I can't keep you here while the world falls apart. I can't be what holds you back."
Zuko hugged him even tighter, making Jet's ribs ache. "I can't be away from you again."
Jet squeezed his hand. "Well…it might just have to be like that. For a while," he added, feeling like a liar before it was even out of his mouth. He had no illusions about how often the paths of Fire Nation royalty and obscure Earth Kingdom peasants would cross.
He felt Zuko bury his face in his hair. "You should come," said Zuko, muffled but unmistakable, and Jet felt as it someone had punched him in the stomach.
"What?" he asked stupidly.
"To the Fire Nation," said Zuko. "With me."
"What?" he asked again, dizzy from the airless compression of his chest. Then, "No," although he'd barely processed the question he was answering. He stepped forward out of Zuko's arms and leaned against the ledge again. "No, I can't do that."
"Why?"
"I…" Jet opened his mouth, but he couldn't think of anything to say. It seemed completely obvious to him that was Zuko was suggesting would be impossible; that no matter how much his internal geography had changed, there was no way he could follow Zuko home like some kind of lost boarwolf pup. He felt a violent, panicked reflex of rejection, the idea laughable to even contemplate. The Fire Nation? How could Zuko be standing there asking him "why?"
He felt Zuko's hand on his back, the touch light and hesitant. "I'm sorry," Zuko murmured. "I shouldn't've asked."
Somehow, the apology felt even more violently wrong than the question, and Jet spun around to face Zuko again, bursting with angry protests but unsure what he was even objecting to. Zuko looked painfully young and scared and stubborn all at once, his eyes so full of love and worry that Jet's anger abandoned him, leaving a deep, starved longing in its wake for a boy and a life he was sure he couldn't have.
"Zuko," he said, with no idea of what would follow.
Whatever it was, it would have to wait - a raspy voice sounded from behind and beneath them. Smellerbee. "Jet," she said.
He turned back toward the palace grounds, leaning out over the ledge. Smellerbee stood a few feet away from the base of the wall with Longshot behind her, her silhouette made even more small and slight by perspective. Jet looked at her face - at her brave stoicism edged with fear - and knew what she had come to tell them.
"Aang lost," she said.
Jet shifted his gaze back to the boy beside him, who seemed as if his legs might give out, his hand coming up to grab hold of Jet's shoulder. Jet watched as the color drained from his face, throwing his scar into even sharper contrast. And he wondered how Zuko must feel in that moment, devastated at the news that his father was still alive.
Jet leaned against the long-neglected dining hall and scuffed tracks in the dirt, a quivering stalk of grass between his lips. He could hear low voices through the wall, distinct enough from each other that he knew who was speaking, but the words themselves were unintelligible. Just as well, really - this wasn't a debate he wanted to be privy to. All he cared about was the decision at the end. For better or worse, at least he'd know what to expect tomorrow.
Smellerbee and Longshot had been walking in long, slow circles around this corner of the grounds, although they'd tried to mask this fact by changing their route to vary the time between these informal checkins. Jet smiled at them each time they rounded the corner, answering their nods with one of his own and sometimes adding a friendly "hey." The ritual was a familiar one, played out dozens of times over the years - when waiting to see if an injured friend would make it through the night, or whiling away the hours before a raid - and Jet took some comfort in it. He understood its meaning: that he could have all the space he needed for now, but they'd be at his side once he was finished with solitude.
A few hours before, the voices behind him had roiled with conflict, frustrated shouts of protest and insistence that clashed against each other. Fragments of conversation had risen to comprehensibility, enough for him to glean the basic gist of this argument: that all agreed on what had to be done, but the details of how were another matter. Jet couldn't catch most of the specifics, although he was fairly confident of his guesses: from where he stood, there weren't many options left to them.
His friends circled around again, a quarter hour or so after their last visit. But this time, instead of strolling past, they came to stand beside Jet outside the door of the hall, taking their places on either side of him. Jet smiled, to them and to himself. He was grateful for the company, and for not having to ask for it.
"Hey," he said.
"Hey," said Smellerbee. She nodded toward the door. "You okay listening to this?"
"Guess so," said Jet. He sighed. "Mostly just figuring some stuff out."
"Any luck?"
"Sort of." Jet tilted his head back, gazing up at the patch of indigo sky between the buildings. He indulged in a few moments of longing for a view obscured by branches. "I miss the forest, Bee."
"I know," she said. "We all do."
"I guess I kept thinking I'd end up back there, once this was over. Back in the valley, even, if we lucked out. Just…home, you know?" He closed his eyes and saw green plaster walls, an attic bed and a kitchen full of hungry kids in armor. "I guess I didn't think anywhere else could be home. And now…I dunno…." He reached up to rub the new scar on the back of his neck, smooth and sensitive. "I think I know what I'll have to do. But it's…"
"Not what you thought you'd want," said Smellerbee, soft and patient.
"Not really, no."
"It's a little scary, I guess," she said. "All this at once."
Jet chuckled. "It's fucking terrifying."
He felt a small hand on his arm, and when he looked down at Smellerbee her face was solemn, her full lips pressed together. "Whatever you do," she said. "Wherever you go. We'll be there."
His throat closed. "Bee, I can't expect you to-"
"Our home is with you," she said, unwavering.
"Bee-"
"And yours is with him."
Jet shook his head, feeling dizzy again. "It's really weird to hear you just…say it like that."
"It's true."
"Is it?" He took a deep breath, wishing his heart would slow and the buzzing in his ears would die down. "He asked me to go."
"Will you?"
"Shit, I don't know." He ran a hand over his face. "I mean…what would I even do there?"
"Same thing you did here," said Longshot quietly. "Help people. Make things better."
Jet snorted. "No one there gives a shit about who I am or what I've got to say."
"Maybe," said Smellerbee. "But he does."
Jet shivered a little from what that implied. "I can't believe we're even having this conversation," he said, terse with frustration. "Zuko and Iroh and the White Lotus guys, that's one thing. But a whole island of them? You expect me to go there and act like I don't want to burn the place to the ground?"
"Do you?" She gestured beyond the palace walls, to the crumbling buildings and scorched earth and ruined streets. "After all this?"
Jet stared at the scuff marks in the dirt. "I'm tired of this," he said. "Bee, I'm so tired."
"You've been fighting for the rest of us for years," she said. "It's okay to want something for yourself."
"I don't-"
"I think you do," she said. "You just have to learn to live with it."
How? Jet wanted to ask, but there wasn't time just then. Scraping chairs inside the dining hall evidenced the conclusion of the meeting, and Smellerbee and Longshot slipped away, each offering Jet one last smile before they melted out of sight down shadowy paths. Jet tried his best not to let his nerves show as the door swung open and a line of men emerged - Piandao and Jeong Jeong and Iroh and a handful of Firebenders from the Order that Jet didn't know, all of whom nodded respectfully as they passed him.
Zuko came last, wide-eyed and overwhelmed as the little courtyard emptied. It seemed everyone else understood that the two of them needed time to do this on their own; that this wasn't a conversation that could bear the weight of an audience.
"So." Jet reached up to push the hair from Zuko's brow. "I guess it's decided, then?"
"Yeah," said Zuko. He looked down at his shoes, his voice unsteady. "Uncle thinks we should leave as soon as possible. We know where the Avatar is, but he might not stay there for long. So…" He paused to breathe. "So it'll just be us at first. Everyone else'll come a few weeks later. Once we have a plan, and things aren't so bad here."
Jet drew the grass from his mouth and dropped it to the ground. Then he took a small step forward, his own chin lowered, until their foreheads bumped together. "At least you'll have Iroh," he said.
"Yeah." Zuko took Jet's shoulders in his hands, fingertips digging in hard enough to hurt. "So um…" Jet could feel him draw a shuddering breath. "So I guess we should…I mean, after dinner we should just…"
"Dancing," said Jet. He kissed Zuko's forehead, just at the border of his scar. "Lots of dancing. I know Jin's looking forward to teaching you a few things."
"But…"
"Also drinking. We have to get Ping wasted at least once while we have the chance."
Zuko pulled back enough to look in Jet's eyes, his own confused and a little embarrassed at whatever he'd imagined they'd spend the night doing. "I…Jet, we're leaving tomorrow…"
"Yeah, well….you know. I'll see you soon enough, right?" Jet grinned, a little weak but genuine, and the look on Zuko's face was almost enough to make him change his mind about their evening. "You won't be back here for months, at least," Jet went on, as if his heart weren't pounding. "Maybe longer. You should spend some time with everyone while you can. I know Wang was looking for you before."
Zuko's cheeks flushed bright red. "She found me, actually…" He reached inside his tunic, fumbling a little with nerves, then drew out what appeared to be a short dagger in a dark, lacquered sheath. "I'd asked her to look for this. In our room. I mean…what was left of it." Zuko held the knife out on the flat of his palm, and even in the low light of lantern and moon Jet could see it was beautiful, worn with use but splendidly made. Its jade inlay and gold fixtures were completely intact, forming intricate patterns of badgermoles and flowers. Jet had seen weapons like this before, but only rarely - most of them had been the private treasures of Fire Nation soldiers, found on their bodies and traded for supplies in town.
Jet picked it up, tested the weight of it in his hand and raised an impressed eyebrow. Well-balanced and solid - not just there to look pretty. "This is yours? Looks Earth Kingdom."
"Read the inscription."
Jet pulled the dagger out of its sheath, just far enough to reveal the characters stamped into the metal. "'Never give up without a fight,'" he murmured.
"It belonged to one of the Earth King's generals," said Zuko. "He gave it to Uncle during the siege of Ba Sing Se, and then Uncle sent it home to me." He smiled a little, lopsided and shy. "I want you to have it."
Jet frowned. "I can't take this," he said. "If it's from Iroh, you should-"
"Not forever," said Zuko, still awkward but with the obstinance Jet knew so well. "Just…I want you to look after it for me. For a while. Until we…" He faltered, and Jet felt a surge of protective affection in his chest. "Until we see each other again."
So much remained uncertain in both of their lives. So much could happen between now and when the comet came. Zuko would be thousands of miles and an ocean away, out of reach except by hawk and even those only rarely, the risk of being discovered too great for any but the most important news to be worth it. Their allies would have to find the Earth King and rebuild the government and hold back the line of Fire Nation soldiers who'd be all too eager to retake the cities they'd lost. They would have to push aside the disappointment and despair of a failed invasion and keep their eyes forward, focused on the slender hopes and steely will that were all they had left. They would have to cross the world with whatever forces they managed to scrape together, find the Avatar and his friends despite their need to stay carefully hidden, and stand against the third in a line of Fire Lords whose ruthlessness had colored every moment of all of their lives.
Jet tucked the knife into his belt, careful to make certain it wouldn't fall. Then he pulled Zuko into a kiss, one hand gently cupping the other boy's head and the other laid along his jaw. "All right," he said, pulling away just far enough to speak. "Until then."
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