[fic] Dénouement
Title: Dénouement
Word count: 1856
Pairing: implied Jet/Zuko
Rating: PG-13
Summary: He knew that Jet was dead. Aang and the others had seen it happen. Watching the blades of the ferry's paddlewheel cut through the water, it had been much harder to keep himself from hoping that Aang was wrong.
Note: An informal sequel to Reprise. Written for day two of Jetko Week, the theme of which was "whiskey."
***
The city was brighter than Zuko remembered, as if the walls had been lowered, the buildings moved farther apart. Really, though, it wasn't the city that had changed, but the people in it. They were free to speak of whatever they wanted, now, to move as they liked between the rings and forget their documents at home. The Dai Li wouldn't trouble them anymore - the Earth King's first act, upon returning from his travels, was to dismantle what remained of Long Feng's empire. Zuko had asked to see him, locked in an iron box deep within the palace dungeon. He'd wanted to look into the eyes of the man who'd sold his city for a chance at the throne.
That's what he'd told the Earth King. He'd tried that explanation with his friends, as well, but Aang had guessed the truth of it in the end. "What are you going to do to him?" he'd asked, brows drawn so close together that they wrinkled his tattoo.
"Nothing," Zuko had said.
Aang had crossed his arms and frowned. "Nothing?"
"Nothing."
"Revenge doesn't help anything."
Zuko had smiled a little at that. "Haven't we had this conversation before?"
"I'm serious."
"I know." Zuko had sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. "It's what he would have wanted."
"He wanted a lot of things that weren't a good idea."
"That's true," Zuko admitted, and thought of how strange this conversation was. They spoke as if remembering an old friend, but Zuko had hardly known him.
Long Feng was a small, broken man in a dark cell, and his eyes held no answers. Zuko had left as quickly as decorum would allow. Seeing Long Feng in person only made the play, his friends' story, harder to deny. And he wanted to deny it.
He blamed the city. This was his first visit since the war had ended, and the sight and smell and sound of it breathed life into old memories, made the wounds seem fresh. Flying over Full Moon Bay on Appa's back, Zuko had spotted one of the ferries as it pulled out of the harbor. Weeks ago, he'd surrendered to reality. He knew that Jet was dead. Aang and the others had seen it happen. Watching the blades of the ferry's paddlewheel cut through the water, it had been much harder to keep himself from hoping that Aang was wrong.
Ba Sing Se was quietest in the afternoon, when the late summer sun was high in the sky and waves of heat rose off the cobbled streets. Shops closed their doors, shutters were pulled over windows, and the city waited for the air to cool again. Zuko often went for walks in those lost hours. The heat didn't bother him, and he liked exploring the empty streets, his footsteps echoing down narrow alleyways and his shadow swallowed up by long, green robes. Sometimes his skin would prickle, and he'd turn sharply to peer through dim windows and scan the jagged edges of rooftops, convinced he was being watched. Maybe hoping that he was.
This afternoon was no different from any of the others. As the sun slipped behind the taller buildings, Zuko circled back toward the upper ring. The Jasmine Dragon would have reopened its doors by now, and Uncle would miss him in the kitchen.
Zuko was surprised to find the shop closed, but he didn't give much thought as to what the reason might be. Uncle was lax about schedules and sleepy in the afternoon. Maybe he'd decided to take a nap and had overslept. The others should have woken him, but maybe they were busy. Maybe they'd gone out, as Zuko had.
The heavy doors weren't locked. They swung easily aside on well-oiled hinges when Zuko pushed. Even with the lamps lit, it was much dimmer inside. Zuko closed the door behind him again to keep the hot air out, then stood with his back to the smooth, carved wood, waiting for his eyes to adjust.
Mai and Katara were sitting together at one of the tables, cups of tea steaming in their hands. That wasn't unusual - after a rough start, they'd grown fond of each other. The unusual thing was that someone was sitting with them, his back to the door. A boy with shaggy brown hair that fell past his shoulders, wearing mismatched armor. Something glinted in the lamplight, next to the boy's leg. Hooked swords.
Zuko leaned against the door frame as the bottom dropped out of his stomach.
Mai spoke first, her voice a perfect monotone. "There's someone here to see you."
The boy pushed his chair back from the table and stood. He picked up the swords and carefully hung them from his belt, the movements methodical. Only then did he turn around. The raw hatred on his face pressed the breath from Zuko's lungs.
"Jet." Zuko took a step forward, then stopped. He didn't know what he was supposed to do. "You're alive."
Jet regarded him silently for a long, airless moment. Then he shook his head, once, and turned to speak to Katara. "You were right," he said.
Zuko took another step. Jet's body tensed, hands jerking toward the blades at his waist. "Don't," he snapped. "Don't move."
"Jet-"
"Don't talk, either." Jet's eyes were on the floor, now, and his hands curled info fists. "Thanks for the tea," he said, the words clipped. Then he turned again and walked toward the back of the shop, his steps jerky and uneven, as if he was trying not to run. Zuko heard the kitchen door clatter open on its track.
"He came looking for you," said Katara softly. "He said he needed to be sure."
Zuko was still staring at the back of the shop. He didn't notice Mai had come up beside him until she spoke. "Was that him?" she asked, quiet enough that only he would hear. "From the ferry."
He told Mai everything. "Yeah," Zuko murmured. "That was him."
He felt her hand on his back. "You shouldn't let him leave like that."
Zuko glanced back at her. Her expression was smooth, be he could see the strain at the edges of her mouth. "Mai…"
"We'll talk about it later," she said. "Go."
Jet hadn't gotten far. Zuko found him crouched behind a dumpster, his head in his hands.
The robes made anything but standing awkward, but Zuko knelt beside him, the cobbles of the alleyway sharp against his knees. "Jet," he said again, reaching for the arm that covered the other boy's face.
"Don't you fucking touch me," Jet snarled. He didn't look up.
Zuko let his hand drop. "I'm sorry," he murmured. Jet didn't answer, and Zuko swallowed hard, hating that things had gone this way. That it was too late to change them. "Jet, I'm sorry."
"Fuck you."
"I didn't mean…" He swallowed again. His throat was so dry. "I didn't know they'd do that to you."
Jet looked up, then, and Zuko wished that he hadn't. "You don't know anything, you fucking prick. You don't know a fucking thing about me."
"Jet-" Zuko reached out to touch his shoulder, and this time the other boy slapped it away.
"I don't care if you are the Fire Lord," Jet spat, the title sounding like a curse. "I'll cut your fucking throat if you ever touch me again."
Zuko sat on his heels, his hands splayed across his thighs, and watched the other boy. Jet had covered his face again, his fingers tangled in hair that was even wilder than Zuko remembered. His shoulders were shaking.
"I'm glad you're all right," Zuko whispered.
"All right? All right?" Jet's head was still bowed, but he was shouting. "Do I look all right to you? You think you can sit there and-" He broke off, his words dissolving in a dry, hacking cough. He pressed a hand against his chest, struggling to breathe.
Zuko bit his lip and waited until the coughing subsided. "You should have Katara look at that," he said.
Jet wiped his mouth with the back of one hand. "That's what she said," he muttered. The venom had drained from his voice. Now he just sounded tired. He sighed and lifted his head, letting it fall back until it rested against the wall behind him. "So what…you're friends with her now or something?"
"Yeah."
"Figures." Jet's eyes were on the sliver of sky that could he seen between the buildings. "She told me about you. About what you did."
Zuko's heart quickened. "I'm not the same person you knew," he said.
"The person I knew was a fucking lie," Jet snapped.
"I'm sorry."
"Stop apologizing, asshole. I'm not going to make it that easy for you."
"That's fine," said Zuko. "Nothing's ever easy for me."
Jet frowned, more suspicious than angry. "I guess not," he said slowly, and Zuko wondered how much Katara and Mai had told him.
Zuko pushed himself to his feet. He knew his robes were probably filthy, but he ignored that for now. His eyes were on the other boy. "Come on," he said. He held out a hand.
Jet glared up at him. "Why the hell would I want to go anywhere with you?"
Zuko went on as if Jet hadn't said anything, hand still outstretched. "Katara's probably worried."
"I don't need your help."
"I'll buy you a drink, then," said Zuko. "I at least owe you a drink, right?"
"You owe me a whole fucking bar."
Zuko felt a smile pull at his lips, but fought to stay stone-faced. "Have to start somewhere."
Jet didn't take Zuko's hand as he got to his feet, leaning a little against the dumpster for support. "One drink," he said. "And then I'm leaving."
"All right."
"You're lucky I didn't just kill you."
"I know."
Jet punched him hard in the shoulder. "Don't fucking patronize me."
"I wouldn't," said Zuko, and he couldn't keep from smiling now as he rubbed his arm.
They walked most of the way in silence. As they neared the kitchen entrance, Jet said, "That other girl…she's with you?"
"Yeah," said Zuko, his hand already on the sliding door.
"And she knows?"
"Yeah."
Jet peered through one of the slatted windows. "Guess this'll be interesting, at least."
"That's true," said Zuko.
They stepped inside. The kitchen had a slate floor and a large, stone hearth. Several iron kettles hung over the fire, steam pouring from their spouts. Jet looked around, wary but obviously curious.
"There's one other thing I can offer," said Zuko.
Jet paused in examining a stack of jade cups. "Yeah? What's that?"
"I can get you ten minutes alone with Long Feng."
Jet laughed. It was harsher than the laugh Zuko remembered, but he was glad to hear it all the same. "That might be worth something."
Shelves of tea ran along the walls, from waist height all the way up to the ceiling. Zuko pulled a large, dusty bottle of amber liquid down from a high corner. "Drinks first, though," he said.
"Yeah," said Jet, watching Zuko rummage around for glasses. "Drinks first."
***
Continued in Anagnorisis
Word count: 1856
Pairing: implied Jet/Zuko
Rating: PG-13
Summary: He knew that Jet was dead. Aang and the others had seen it happen. Watching the blades of the ferry's paddlewheel cut through the water, it had been much harder to keep himself from hoping that Aang was wrong.
Note: An informal sequel to Reprise. Written for day two of Jetko Week, the theme of which was "whiskey."
***
The city was brighter than Zuko remembered, as if the walls had been lowered, the buildings moved farther apart. Really, though, it wasn't the city that had changed, but the people in it. They were free to speak of whatever they wanted, now, to move as they liked between the rings and forget their documents at home. The Dai Li wouldn't trouble them anymore - the Earth King's first act, upon returning from his travels, was to dismantle what remained of Long Feng's empire. Zuko had asked to see him, locked in an iron box deep within the palace dungeon. He'd wanted to look into the eyes of the man who'd sold his city for a chance at the throne.
That's what he'd told the Earth King. He'd tried that explanation with his friends, as well, but Aang had guessed the truth of it in the end. "What are you going to do to him?" he'd asked, brows drawn so close together that they wrinkled his tattoo.
"Nothing," Zuko had said.
Aang had crossed his arms and frowned. "Nothing?"
"Nothing."
"Revenge doesn't help anything."
Zuko had smiled a little at that. "Haven't we had this conversation before?"
"I'm serious."
"I know." Zuko had sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. "It's what he would have wanted."
"He wanted a lot of things that weren't a good idea."
"That's true," Zuko admitted, and thought of how strange this conversation was. They spoke as if remembering an old friend, but Zuko had hardly known him.
Long Feng was a small, broken man in a dark cell, and his eyes held no answers. Zuko had left as quickly as decorum would allow. Seeing Long Feng in person only made the play, his friends' story, harder to deny. And he wanted to deny it.
He blamed the city. This was his first visit since the war had ended, and the sight and smell and sound of it breathed life into old memories, made the wounds seem fresh. Flying over Full Moon Bay on Appa's back, Zuko had spotted one of the ferries as it pulled out of the harbor. Weeks ago, he'd surrendered to reality. He knew that Jet was dead. Aang and the others had seen it happen. Watching the blades of the ferry's paddlewheel cut through the water, it had been much harder to keep himself from hoping that Aang was wrong.
Ba Sing Se was quietest in the afternoon, when the late summer sun was high in the sky and waves of heat rose off the cobbled streets. Shops closed their doors, shutters were pulled over windows, and the city waited for the air to cool again. Zuko often went for walks in those lost hours. The heat didn't bother him, and he liked exploring the empty streets, his footsteps echoing down narrow alleyways and his shadow swallowed up by long, green robes. Sometimes his skin would prickle, and he'd turn sharply to peer through dim windows and scan the jagged edges of rooftops, convinced he was being watched. Maybe hoping that he was.
This afternoon was no different from any of the others. As the sun slipped behind the taller buildings, Zuko circled back toward the upper ring. The Jasmine Dragon would have reopened its doors by now, and Uncle would miss him in the kitchen.
Zuko was surprised to find the shop closed, but he didn't give much thought as to what the reason might be. Uncle was lax about schedules and sleepy in the afternoon. Maybe he'd decided to take a nap and had overslept. The others should have woken him, but maybe they were busy. Maybe they'd gone out, as Zuko had.
The heavy doors weren't locked. They swung easily aside on well-oiled hinges when Zuko pushed. Even with the lamps lit, it was much dimmer inside. Zuko closed the door behind him again to keep the hot air out, then stood with his back to the smooth, carved wood, waiting for his eyes to adjust.
Mai and Katara were sitting together at one of the tables, cups of tea steaming in their hands. That wasn't unusual - after a rough start, they'd grown fond of each other. The unusual thing was that someone was sitting with them, his back to the door. A boy with shaggy brown hair that fell past his shoulders, wearing mismatched armor. Something glinted in the lamplight, next to the boy's leg. Hooked swords.
Zuko leaned against the door frame as the bottom dropped out of his stomach.
Mai spoke first, her voice a perfect monotone. "There's someone here to see you."
The boy pushed his chair back from the table and stood. He picked up the swords and carefully hung them from his belt, the movements methodical. Only then did he turn around. The raw hatred on his face pressed the breath from Zuko's lungs.
"Jet." Zuko took a step forward, then stopped. He didn't know what he was supposed to do. "You're alive."
Jet regarded him silently for a long, airless moment. Then he shook his head, once, and turned to speak to Katara. "You were right," he said.
Zuko took another step. Jet's body tensed, hands jerking toward the blades at his waist. "Don't," he snapped. "Don't move."
"Jet-"
"Don't talk, either." Jet's eyes were on the floor, now, and his hands curled info fists. "Thanks for the tea," he said, the words clipped. Then he turned again and walked toward the back of the shop, his steps jerky and uneven, as if he was trying not to run. Zuko heard the kitchen door clatter open on its track.
"He came looking for you," said Katara softly. "He said he needed to be sure."
Zuko was still staring at the back of the shop. He didn't notice Mai had come up beside him until she spoke. "Was that him?" she asked, quiet enough that only he would hear. "From the ferry."
He told Mai everything. "Yeah," Zuko murmured. "That was him."
He felt her hand on his back. "You shouldn't let him leave like that."
Zuko glanced back at her. Her expression was smooth, be he could see the strain at the edges of her mouth. "Mai…"
"We'll talk about it later," she said. "Go."
Jet hadn't gotten far. Zuko found him crouched behind a dumpster, his head in his hands.
The robes made anything but standing awkward, but Zuko knelt beside him, the cobbles of the alleyway sharp against his knees. "Jet," he said again, reaching for the arm that covered the other boy's face.
"Don't you fucking touch me," Jet snarled. He didn't look up.
Zuko let his hand drop. "I'm sorry," he murmured. Jet didn't answer, and Zuko swallowed hard, hating that things had gone this way. That it was too late to change them. "Jet, I'm sorry."
"Fuck you."
"I didn't mean…" He swallowed again. His throat was so dry. "I didn't know they'd do that to you."
Jet looked up, then, and Zuko wished that he hadn't. "You don't know anything, you fucking prick. You don't know a fucking thing about me."
"Jet-" Zuko reached out to touch his shoulder, and this time the other boy slapped it away.
"I don't care if you are the Fire Lord," Jet spat, the title sounding like a curse. "I'll cut your fucking throat if you ever touch me again."
Zuko sat on his heels, his hands splayed across his thighs, and watched the other boy. Jet had covered his face again, his fingers tangled in hair that was even wilder than Zuko remembered. His shoulders were shaking.
"I'm glad you're all right," Zuko whispered.
"All right? All right?" Jet's head was still bowed, but he was shouting. "Do I look all right to you? You think you can sit there and-" He broke off, his words dissolving in a dry, hacking cough. He pressed a hand against his chest, struggling to breathe.
Zuko bit his lip and waited until the coughing subsided. "You should have Katara look at that," he said.
Jet wiped his mouth with the back of one hand. "That's what she said," he muttered. The venom had drained from his voice. Now he just sounded tired. He sighed and lifted his head, letting it fall back until it rested against the wall behind him. "So what…you're friends with her now or something?"
"Yeah."
"Figures." Jet's eyes were on the sliver of sky that could he seen between the buildings. "She told me about you. About what you did."
Zuko's heart quickened. "I'm not the same person you knew," he said.
"The person I knew was a fucking lie," Jet snapped.
"I'm sorry."
"Stop apologizing, asshole. I'm not going to make it that easy for you."
"That's fine," said Zuko. "Nothing's ever easy for me."
Jet frowned, more suspicious than angry. "I guess not," he said slowly, and Zuko wondered how much Katara and Mai had told him.
Zuko pushed himself to his feet. He knew his robes were probably filthy, but he ignored that for now. His eyes were on the other boy. "Come on," he said. He held out a hand.
Jet glared up at him. "Why the hell would I want to go anywhere with you?"
Zuko went on as if Jet hadn't said anything, hand still outstretched. "Katara's probably worried."
"I don't need your help."
"I'll buy you a drink, then," said Zuko. "I at least owe you a drink, right?"
"You owe me a whole fucking bar."
Zuko felt a smile pull at his lips, but fought to stay stone-faced. "Have to start somewhere."
Jet didn't take Zuko's hand as he got to his feet, leaning a little against the dumpster for support. "One drink," he said. "And then I'm leaving."
"All right."
"You're lucky I didn't just kill you."
"I know."
Jet punched him hard in the shoulder. "Don't fucking patronize me."
"I wouldn't," said Zuko, and he couldn't keep from smiling now as he rubbed his arm.
They walked most of the way in silence. As they neared the kitchen entrance, Jet said, "That other girl…she's with you?"
"Yeah," said Zuko, his hand already on the sliding door.
"And she knows?"
"Yeah."
Jet peered through one of the slatted windows. "Guess this'll be interesting, at least."
"That's true," said Zuko.
They stepped inside. The kitchen had a slate floor and a large, stone hearth. Several iron kettles hung over the fire, steam pouring from their spouts. Jet looked around, wary but obviously curious.
"There's one other thing I can offer," said Zuko.
Jet paused in examining a stack of jade cups. "Yeah? What's that?"
"I can get you ten minutes alone with Long Feng."
Jet laughed. It was harsher than the laugh Zuko remembered, but he was glad to hear it all the same. "That might be worth something."
Shelves of tea ran along the walls, from waist height all the way up to the ceiling. Zuko pulled a large, dusty bottle of amber liquid down from a high corner. "Drinks first, though," he said.
"Yeah," said Jet, watching Zuko rummage around for glasses. "Drinks first."
***
Continued in Anagnorisis