[fic] Something to Hold Onto, Chapter 8: All That I Have

[wildgoosery]

Title: Something to Hold Onto [8/13]
Word count: 10,500
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: Allies and enemies, old and new, and not always what they seem to be.

Notes: This chapter is RIDICULOUSLY late, for which I am very very sorry! I had an October 1st deadline that destroyed my week, and there's enough going on in this chapter that I didn't want to post it without going through it one last time. (Given all the typos I found, that wasn't a bad plan!) It certainly was not the fault of my FABULOUS betas, kittyjimjams and jlh, who went above and beyond the call to help me beat this complicated chunk of the story into shape! And completely unexpectedly, the SUPER-TALENTED and wonderful ming85 drew an illustration for this chapter after she read it, which I've edited in accordingly. :D



:: Previous Chapter ::







Zuko opened his eyes, the black of his eyelids and the black of the room indistinguishable from each other. That was fine, though. He'd opened them to prove to himself he was awake; that he was lying in his own bed in his own room, not a futon on the floor of the old apartment; that the warm, sleep-soft body beside him was real.

They were both curled on their sides, Jet's back flush against his chest and their knees tucked together. Zuko's arm was curled around Jet's stomach, his lips brushing the scabbed-over skin on Jet's neck and his nose in the short, tickling hair just above it. He stayed very still as he listened to Jet's slow, even breaths; felt the rise and fall of Jet's ribcage. He still wasn't entirely used to this small, quiet space; the stillness and ringing silence of solid ground. It hadn't been so long ago that he'd slept with engines rumbling beneath him, the dips and swells of waves too familiar to be noticed.

Jet mumbled and turned over, tucking himself up under Zuko's chin with his arms folded between them. Zuko's chest ached a little as he pressed his lips to Jet's forehead, his hand gently stroking Jet's back. Jet made a small, pleased sound, and Zuko felt him kiss his throat. "Li," he murmured. He tensed a moment later, and the sleepiness was gone when he said, "Shit, I'm sorry."

"It's fine," said Zuko quietly.

"No, it's not," said Jet. He shifted and brought their mouths together, the kiss firm and deliberate and longer than it had to be. "Zuko," he said once they'd parted, their breath mingling. "That's your name."

"Yeah."

"Zuko," Jet said again. He touched the side of Zuko's face, fingers skimming the line of his cheekbone. "I want to see you."

Zuko rolled onto his back, held out a hand toward where he knew the lamp hung and concentrated. Aim was the tricky part, but even upside-down in the dark he could manage well enough. His chi flowed down his arm and through his fingers, and a bright point of flame came to life, bathing the room in its flickering glow. Then he turned back to Jet, who was watching him with a small, serious frown.

"It's strange," said Jet. "Watching you do that."

"I'm sorry."

"No, it's okay." Jet sighed and pushed the hair back from Zuko's face, as if to examine him more closely. The lamplight turned Jet's eyes a deep, honey brown. "I have to get used to it, right?"

His tone was unsentimental, but Zuko knew him well enough to hear what lay beneath; to know what it meant that Jet wanted to get used to it, that he had any patience at all for the truth of Zuko's blood. "Jet," he whispered. His hands slid down Jet's back, pulled him close until he could feel Jet's morning arousal against his thigh. Jet laughed a little, and Zuko felt rough fingertips along his spine as they kissed again, deeper this time and scratchy with stubble. Zuko knew they had things to talk about, plans to make for this last day before the battle, but they'd have to wait. He'd missed this so much. He'd missed Jet so much - how he smelled and tasted, the feel of his body and the way he moved.

"Jin will be up here soon," Zuko murmured, both hands full of warm, smooth flesh.

Jet reached down between them, his gaze locked with Zuko's as his fingers closed around him. "Not too soon," he said.





Jet had spent most of his life fighting Firebenders. He knew how to handle them, and so did Smellerbee and Longshot. But even the best of his new Freedom Fighters were at a disadvantage. They'd grown up worrying about rival gangs, sticks and knives the worst of what they'd faced. A few knew how to deal with Earthbenders, and some of those had crossed paths with the Dai Li before the walls came down. But Firebenders were new to Ba Sing Se, and the bodies of Jet's men bore the evidence of their inexperience.

For a long time, there hadn't been much that Jet could do about it. He'd tried to explain - had shown them how to move, had reminded them that a singed arm was better than catching it in the face, had told them to soak themselves before a battle so their clothes wouldn't go up too easily. But talk could only do so much good. Talk couldn't teach you how to read air currents, the way it shimmered just before the flames appeared; talk couldn't keep your body from freezing up when a fireball came at you. That kind of thing you had to learn by doing, and the battlefield was a merciless teacher.

The solution had presented itself that morning, while Jet lay in bed with Zuko in his arms, watching the lamp cast shadows on the wall. Ping had been running mock-Dai Li battles for months, teaching benders and non-benders alike how to tangle with his old comrades. Now Jet had three Firebenders under his command, two of them masters. No point in wasting resources.

They talked about it over breakfast, Jeong Jeong eating little but listening with surprising intensity to Jet's description of the soldiers he'd fought. It seemed Jeong Jeong had spent much of his military career training young officers, and so he had volunteered to lead the morning's drills with only a little needling from his friends.

As the line of hungry soldiers filed past on their way to the stove, seats were reshuffled somewhat so that Jet, Ping, Piandao, Jeong Jeong and Pakku could form a huddle at one end of the table. A basic plan for the day's training came together quickly - the Freedom Fighters would be split in two, one half with Ping and the other with Jeong Jeong. After lunch, they'd switch. By dinner, they'd have a better sense of where things stood and what their chances were, and they could spend that meal refining their strategies for tomorrow.

The strangeness of the three old men was a little easier for Jet to handle like this, on familiar territory and with himself explicitly in charge. And it helped that Zuko was beside him, trying valiantly to pay attention despite his uncle's leading questions about why they'd taken so long to come downstairs and what those noises had been. Zuko bore this humiliation as he usually did, eyes down as he mumbled vague replies into his porridge. It was cute, and Jet felt a little surge of warmth in his stomach every time Zuko glanced over at him, red-cheeked with mortification.

Iroh must have been listening more closely than he appeared to be. Every so often he'd lean toward the knot of conversation, his tone serious as he made some suggestion as to the structure of lessons or how to keep the younger soldiers from panicking too badly. Jet wondered, not for the first time, how the old man did it - how he could switch so easily between the grim realities of battle and teasing his nephew about what he did in bed. Jet would've expected the Dragon of the West to be more like Jeong Jeong, curt and serious. Or maybe the wry dignity of Piandao. As it was, between moments of focused intensity, Iroh seemed intent on as much foolishness as possible. Jet liked that about him.

Later, when the meal and their meeting had finished and Jin had stepped in to orchestrate cleanup, Jet moved to where Iroh was carefully stacking empty teacups. "I'll get him up on time tomorrow," said Jet, his tone light. Zuko was over by the sink, up to his elbows in soapy water, and didn't seem to hear. "Jin was supposed to knock-"

"You sounded busy," Jin said dryly, lifting a stack of bowls from Jet's arms.

"Mornings are worth savoring," said Iroh. "As are other things, perhaps." The meaning of his grin was unmistakable, and Jet laughed aloud.

"They savour them plenty," said Jin as she walked back toward the sink.

Iroh smiled fondly at Zuko's back. "It is good to see him so happy," he said, pitched for only Jet to hear. "And you."

"Yeah, well…we figured it out," said Jet, a little awkward. He watched Zuko hand dripping bowls to Jin, who dried them with a rag before stacking them neatly on the counter. He doubted Zuko would've been doing work like this in the palace. Or any work at all, not with his hands anyway. Which, thinking about it now, probably explained why Zuko had been so terrible at it to begin with. "Guess this isn't the match you were hoping for. You know…" Jet nodded his head toward the other boy and grinned lopsidedly.

Iroh chuckled. "I have learned to respect the wisdom of the heart," he said. "Particularly my nephew's."

"Not sure if your brother would approve," said Jet, edging closer to dangerous territory.

"He would not," Iroh agreed. "But that is a point in your favor, I think."

"With you or with Zuko?"

"I can only speak for myself," said Iroh, smiling more broadly. "But I would say that Ozai has had his way for long enough."

Jet shifted uncomfortably. "Guess so."

"Besides," Iroh went on, "The Fire Nation could use more connections to the outside word. They are as isolated as this city, in their own way."

"Sure," said Jet. He tried to sound cheerful, but he didn't really feel it anymore. He shouldn't have tried to joke about this. The whole thing was still too new, too prickly, and lead nowhere he wanted to go. He didn't give a shit about what the Fire Nation needed, or what Ozai would think about his son fucking an Earth Kingdom peasant. That didn't have anything to do with Jet. Or with Zuko, at least not anymore.

Iroh ducked outside with the first wave of trainees, but Jet loitered with Zuko in the kitchen for a while, waiting for Longshot and Smellerbee to finish getting ready. Neither of them said much, and for once Jet felt no need to fill the silence. He went over to where Zuko was finishing with the dishes, the sleeves of his ill-fitting olive tunic rolled up to keep them dry. Jet rested his hands on Zuko's hips and his chin on Zuko's shoulder, and the two of them stood like that for quite some time. Jet enjoyed the feeling of Zuko's muscles moving as he washed the last of the dishes, and Zuko sighed quietly when Jet kissed the back of his neck.

Then Longshot and Smellerbee came in from the main room, and the four of them walked to the courtyard together. The Freedom Fighters were milling around it nervously, whispering to each other between suspicious glances at Jeong Jeong and Iroh. A stern look from Jet was enough to end that, however, and within a minute they'd arranged themselves in nervous, seated rows on the cobbles. Jet was too anxious to sit, so he leaned against the wall to Jeong Jeong's right, Smellerbee and Longshot on one side and Zuko on the other.

"The infantry and most of the officers will fight in the Imperial style," Jeong Jeong was saying. "It is a style fueled by anger and emphasizes strength over control. The attacks are quick, powerful and deadly. But they lack precision, and those who use them tire quickly. They are also predictable, and one can learn to read them."

He looked out over the assembly, frowning as his eyes moved from one face to the next. "I know what it is to be afraid of fire," he said quietly. "I fear it, too. I feel its burden every day" He glanced at Iroh, who stood to one side with his arms folded over his belly. "Recently, I have been reminded that fire can bring life as well as death, just as the sun gives us warmth and light. The Fire Nation has forgotten that truth. I share it with you now because you must understand - it is not the fire itself that you should fear. It is the hand that wields it. The soldier who misuses it. You are men, just as he is. Fire is only a weapon to him. And like any weapon, it can be defended against."

Jet listened with half an ear as Jeong Jeong went on to explain the basics of that defense. He could feel his muscles tensing in anticipation, his fingers tapping nervously against the leather grips of his blades.

"You don't have to do this," said Smellerbee quietly. "I can do it. Or Longshot. Or even Wang, she's learned a lot."

Jet shook his head, stiff but resolute. "Can't ask them to do something I won't do myself."

Smellerbee sighed and looked past him, to where Zuko stood quietly on his other side. "What about you?" she asked. "At least Jet knows you."

"I learned the Imperial style, too," he said softly. "I don't have enough control. I might hurt him."

Jet felt Zuko lean a little closer, and he reached over to squeeze Zuko's hand, trying to keep from sounding as anxious as he felt. "J.J. knows what he's doing," said Jet to Smellerbee. "It'll be fine."

Zuko frowned. "Don't let him hear you call him that."

"Whatever, it suits him."

Longshot's eyebrows drew together, his lips very slightly pursed.

"I'll be fine," Jet said again, "Even if I fuck up, he's not gonna hurt me." He knew that wasn't what his friend meant, but Longshot sighed and nodded all the same. There was nothing either of them could do to make this better, and worrying would probably make it worse. Jet would just have to keep his head. Keep it together.

"It's time," said Zuko. He was right - Jeong Jeong was watching Jet expectantly, arms crossed over his chest. Zuko's grip on his hand tightened. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure," said Jet, because he had to be.

He could hear his men whispering as he strode out into the middle of the courtyard, stopping a few paces away from where Jeong Jeong stood. He unhooked the swords from his belt and held them ready, low and out to either side, his knees very slightly bent. Jeong Jeong was explaining something to the others, but while Jet could hear him the words slipped past like water, uncomprehended. Jet saw the other man's body shift into a stance he knew very well, every line of it burned into his memory. The quality of the air had changed, crackling and dry and too warm for this early in the day. An unnatural breeze stirred Jet's hair.

Just practice, he told himself. But the thought was hard to hold onto, too quiet and too reasonable to compete with the certainty of instinct. Jeong Jeong's arms began to move, his weight rolling back. Jet dropped low as he ran forward, fire boiling through the air above his head, just where he knew it would be and already half-forgotten. The other man's fist was moving forward, a wave of heat washing over Jet's face, and he dodged smoothly to one side before the flames could follow.

Jet could smell the tips of his hair singeing as one sword flashed toward the Firebender's wrist, inches away from hooking it but not quite. The man was old but he was fast and he pulled the arm back just in time, used that momentum to whirl around into a high, solid kick that punched a ball of flame toward Jet's chest. Jet let himself fall back, landing hard on his shoulders and rolling through the fall, all the way over until his feet were under him again, blades scraping against the cobblestones as he sprung forward a second time, snarling his frustration.

The Firebender's robes made his legs hard to track, but Jet caught a flash of one booted foot as the man crouched into a ready stance. A gust of hot wind told Jet to weave sideways, and once the flames had passed he launched himself forward and down, one hook catching the old man's ankle and pulling it out from under him. Good. All Jet had to do was keep him off-balance, get in too close for him to bend, push the crescent blade of one hilt up under his jaw and finish this.

The Firebender's mouth was open as he stumbled back. He was talking, his tone calm if a little breathless, but Jet wasn't listening. His body moved on its own to close the distance, blades whirling in wide, sweeping arcs to keep the other man busy, distract him until it was too late and Jet was on top of him. Jet's heart was pounding and his veins sang with adrenaline and the air smelled like ozone and burnt hair.

Jeong Jeong, he thought. His name is Jeong Jeong. You can't kill him.

He stopped the blade before it touched Jeong Jeong's skin. His arm trembled, the muscles clenched so tight that they started to cramp.

Jeong Jeong's golden eyes were narrowed. He held his body perfectly still. "Good," he said.

Jet tried to hook his swords back onto his belt, but they wouldn't catch. He looked down and saw his hands were still shaking, worse than before. He could hear other voices, a hum of excited whispering that may as well have been noise. Jeong Jeong bowed to him, and Jet knew he should bow back, so he did. But the movement was inelegant and made his head swim.

As he straightened he looked back over his shoulder. Zuko was watching him, bottom lip between his teeth and arms crossed, his fingers digging into his biceps.

"I should go," said Jet, slow and careful. "Check in on Ping." He made himself smile as he called out to his men. "Listen to this guy, all right?"

Smellerbee was already walking toward him, her knife in one gloved hand. "I'll take the next round," she said. Jeong Jeong replied, but Jet didn't hear what he said. That smile had cost what was left of his composure, and now it took all his concentration to walk without running, to keep his body loose and casual, to make it seem like he was holding his swords because he felt like it, not because he couldn't unclench his fists.

He felt Zuko's hand touch his elbow. The two of them walked together until they'd turned the second corner, out of sight and any danger of being overheard. Then Zuko's arms were around him, lips against Jet's forehead and fingers wound into his hair. Jet leaned into the embrace, his grip on his swords no longer white-knuckle tight. He didn't speak until his heart had stopped pounding.

"I wasn't angry," he said. "I just…" He took a deep breath. Zuko smelled like jasmine and old silk, comfortingly familiar. "I just forgot."

"It was your first try," said Zuko. "It'll get better."

"I don't know." Jet swallowed, his eyes closed. "I've been fighting since I was a kid. All the time. And now it's like…I can't stop. I can't turn it off."

"You fought with me," said Zuko softly. "In the warehouse. We fought together then."

Jet remembered watching him juggle the fire between his swords - how effortless it had looked. "You're not gonna be able to pull that shit tomorrow," said Jet. "If we can't get to Zha in time…or if we're wrong about the eclipse…

Zuko pulled away, frowning as he met Jet's eyes again. "We aren't, Jet, you know-"

"But if we are," said Jet, insistent. "You'll need to Firebend for real."

Zuko was quiet as he reached out to take the swords from Jet's hands, gently uncurling Jet's aching fingers from each hilt. Jet watched as the other boy hooked them back onto his belt, one and then the other, clumsy from lack of practice but managing it in the end. Only then did Zuko reply, soft but certain. "You know me," he said. "You won't forget."

Jet imagined how it might be: flame roaring from the fists of ally and enemy alike, a deadly current swirling around him. He knew how easy it would be to lose himself in that; how loudly the old instincts would scream, how much his arms would ache to slice through bone and skin, to cut off any limb the flame poured out of, years of struggle bearing down on a few days of delicate compromise.

Jet stepped into Zuko's arms again, glad that the other boy wasn't in his armor, the shape and solidity of his body easy to feel through the soft tunic. He didn't want to forget, not even for a moment. Not again.

Zuko hugged him closer, tight enough to hurt. "We learned to fight with Ping. You'll learn to fight with me. It's just the same."

It wasn't the same, but Jet didn't argue with him. He wanted it to be true just as badly as Zuko did.





Zuko knew more about Ping than most of the other Freedom Fighters did, second only to the tight little knot of Earthbenders that Ping lead. But that amounted to very little. He knew Ping had been chosen by Long Feng as a young boy, as all the Dai Li were; that Ping was older than himself and Jet but younger than his father; that Ping had helped to bring the walls down, and that this last act had been what finally broke him; that when he'd turned up at the Jasmine Dragon three days after the the city fell, he had been running from his old comrades for all the time between. That was all.

Ping spoke little about himself, but he had never refused any question about the Dai Li or their tactics. His role was not unlike Zuko's, really - both kept the Freedom Fighters alive through treachery, revealing the ways of their old comrades and turning their backs on the lives they'd once known. But Zuko had never found much comfort in this. At least Ping was fighting for his own home, the city where he'd been born. Zuko had gone much farther down the traitor's path. Perhaps too far to ever come back again, though at least he wouldn't be alone. At least this place - the Jasmine Dragon and the people who lived there with him - was starting to feel a little like his home, too.

He could hear the second group from several turns away - the crack of swords against stone, the rain of shattered fragments on the ground and the shouts of combat. It sounded too chaotic to be drills and too loud to be mere sparring, so Zuko wasn't at all surprised to find a mock battle underway in the long, narrow alley they used for such things. The nature of it, however, was not what he would have expected.

"That's new," Jet murmured beside him, equal parts wary and amused.

Ping had been training them all to fight the Dai Li since the very beginning, and he had done as thorough a job as he could manage. But he was the only former agent among them, and even the strongest of his men had never quite managed to replicate the style in which the Dai Li fought. And as the Dai Li nearly always moved in seamless groups of two or more men, Ping's exercises in the alleyways had never matched the feel of facing them in real combat.

Today, a team of four non-benders - Piandao, Xiao Si Wang, Dusty and Yan Jing - stood against Ping's assault. But the man with whom he fought in tandem wasn't his lieutenant, nor even an Earthbender, but Pakku.

Someone had overturned the rain barrels that normally stood against one wall, soaking the ground such that the audience of idle soldiers had to stay on their feet. No more than half an inch stood in any one place, but it was enough for Pakku's needs. He rode waves of ice as Ping did the paving stones, his hands covered by milky white versions of the familiar segmented gloves. They circled their opponents in near-perfect sync, sheer walls brought up from the ground to cut them off from one another. Piandao and Wang avoided them deftly, Dusty and Yan dragging only a little behind, but Zuko could already see this would not be an easy victory.

Jet and Zuko came up behind the other onlookers, who stood in a tight cluster at one end of the alley. Xue Sheng was among them, which was almost as odd as a Dai Li Waterbender - he didn't normally show any interest in their training, except to make certain it stayed within the bounds of his schedule.

"Did they just start?" Zuko asked him quietly.

"This round," said Xue Sheng, though his eyes were still on Piandao as he crouched, sword drawn. "Master Piandao wanted to know what he'd be up against. He's never fought the Dai Li before."

The battle may have been practice, but it was brutal to watch nonetheless. Early on, Pakku and Ping kept their distance, hurling fists of rock and ice as they glided along the walls and ground. These the swordsmen could handle well enough - Piandao batted them aside like they were nothing and Wang's dual swords flashed quick and precise, making Zuko's chest swell a little with pride. Dusty and Yan were thus left free to watch and wait - in a real battle, you never knew when reinforcements would come, or where they might appear.

But Ping didn't let them stay comfortable for long. Zuko caught a brief look as it passed between him and Pakku; moments later, twin columns erupted from the alley walls, one ice and one stone but both equally deadly, equally able to crush a man's ribs between them. Wang leapt up, landed on this new terrain without a tremor of imbalance and ran along it to where Ping was coiled into his stance for the next attack. Piandao followed her lead, closing in on Pakku as Dusty and Yan split up to follow just behind them both.

Zuko saw the stone cuff before Wang did. She caught it just in time, leaping up off the bridge of rock and out of its path. But the second came before she landed, and though she twisted out of its way, the effort threw her balance. A third cuff trapped her foot against the muddy ground, another catching her hand as she reached down to try and yank herself free.

Dusty ran to her, ignoring her shouted warning, and Zuko looked away. He could hear the crash of stone and Dusty's cry of alarm as Ping trapped him beside his comrade, but he didn't need to see the boy's look of humiliation, nor his pointless efforts to break away from the ground. Zuko's eyes were on Piandao, who pressed in toward Pakku with unexpected ruthlessness, a glimpse of the man he must have been before he left the soldier's life behind him.

Fighting Dai Li wasn't like fighting Firebenders - getting in too close only made you easier to catch, and once they had you there was nothing to be done. The trick, as much as one existed, was to stay just close enough to tempt an attack, then rush in and finish him off before he had time to shift into his next offense. If you had a partner to distract him, even better.

Piandao came in closer than Zuko had ever dared, his blade moving too quickly to be seen. Water clung to Pakku's hands as he swept them through the air, the summer humidity condensed and frozen and shot like daggers from his fingertips. And as Piandao knocked them aside Pakku shifted the ground beneath him, swells of ice pushing blocks of stone off the ground in heaves violent enough that even Piandao stumbled.

But he had managed what Zuko now realized he'd been after. Yan dropped down from the eaves above, one arm closing around Pakku's neck as the other brought a long, wicked knife toward his pulse, one that Zuko had watched open the throats of a dozen Firebenders in battle.

But it was still inches from Pakku's skin when a gray blur hurtled into Zuko's field of vision. It slowed to non-lethal velocity in time, but it caught Yan full in the face, knocking him from Pakku's shoulders and into the wall behind them. Ping swept across the alley as Piandao whirled around, sword extended before him and his empty hand behind. But he wasn't so much of a fool that he thought he could escape from this. Zuko could see it on his face as he went through those last, futile motions. A few seconds later, his hands were cuffed behind him, a stone hovering beside his temple.
"Better," said Piandao.

"Perhaps," said Ping as the cuff on Piandao's wrists melted away and the stone dropped to his feet. "But you're all still dead or captured."

"It took longer to kill you this time," said Pakku drily. He reached down to help Yan Jing to his feet, and Zuko saw that there was blood pouring from the boy's nose. Yan lifted the hem of his shirt to staunch the flow, but Pakku frowned and pushed it down again. "I know basic first aid," he said, mildly irritable. Yan scowled a little but let Pakku hold a hand coated in glowing water to his face. When the hand was pulled back again, the bleeding had stopped.

But Yan still looked like a mess, and Ping did not seem at all pleased with his handiwork. Or with any of what had just happened. Zuko had rarely seen him look so severe.

"You can't give them an opening," he said, harsh and clipped. "One is all it takes to finish you."

"But my foot-!" Wang protested.

Ping cut her off, sharper with every word. "Never take your eyes off a Dai Li agent," he said. "You might have been able to hold me off until you pulled yourself free. Once you looked away from me, there was no hope.

"And you," Ping continued, rounding on Dusty. "What did you think that would accomplish?"

"Wang needed me," Dusty muttered, sounding unnerved and very young.

"You were too far away," said Ping. "There wasn't enough time. You ignored me to help her, and now both of you would be under Lake Laogai in chains."

Zuko's stomach gave a sick little twist. Beside him, Jet had drawn taut like a bow. But when Zuko reached to take Jet's hand, Jet squeezed his fingers back and smiled, tight with worry but genuine. Then he drew a breath in through his nose, blew it out long and slow through his mouth and spoke in a tone meant to carry.

"Good work," he said. He pushed forward through the crowd, giving Zuko's hand a little tug before dropping it to tell him he should follow. Jet paused beside the group of waiting Earthbenders, who stood a little to the side of everyone else. "How about you help them figure out how to get out of those cuffs, huh? It's been a big problem."

"Of course," the oldest of them said, sounding surprised to have been addressed directly. Zuko was pretty sure his name was Ni Shui Jian, though it took him a moment to remember.

Jet's pace might have seemed casual to someone else, but Zuko could see the tension in his movements; the stiffness to his stride as he sauntered up to where Ping was standing. "I need you for a minute," he said. Then, to Piandao and Pakku, as if as an afterthought, "You, too. Real quick."

Once they'd turned the corner, Jet's facade dropped away, displeased intensity now plain on his face. "Ping," he said as the rest of them formed a loose circle. "How fucked are we?"

"I was captain of the third division," said Ping. "There are thirty divisions, each with a captain as strong or stronger than I. And each division contains ten agents."

Jet's scowl deepened. "Really fucked, then."

"We're lucky to have survived this long," said Ping. "The Dai Li know every inch of this city. They're trained from childhood to crush rebellions like ours. We should not be here right now."

"But we are here," said Zuko. "There has to be a reason for that, right?"

"Luck," said Ping. "It won't last."

"We have three dozen men waiting for orders in our camp beside the outer wall," said Piandao reasonably. "They'll be of considerable help tomorrow."

"Are they as strong as you?" Ping asked.

"As strong as you," said Pakku.

"Then we will lose," said Ping.

"Who's a coward, now?" Jet rumbled.

"I'll fight with you until they kill me," said Ping. "But I won't lie about our chances. You asked my opinion. I've given it."

"Perhaps if we waited a few more weeks," said Piandao. "One day is hardly enough time to train so many men."

"I don't see that we have much of a choice," said Pakku. "When Zhao killed the Moon spirit last winter, our bending was taken away. We would have lost the capital if the Avatar hadn't been there." He turned to Jet. "The Fire Nation will be just as helpless now. We won't get a better chance than this."

"But they have the Dai Li to fight for them during the eclipse," said Piandao. "Captain Ping is correct. Our chances are slim, at best, unless we can find a hundred Earthbenders before tomorrow afternoon."

"We could wait for the comet to arrive," said Pakku. "Iroh and Jeong Jeong could take on a city by themselves with that kind of power."

"And burn it down while they're at it," Jet muttered. "Plus half the people here would've starved to death by then."

"Then we'll fight tomorrow," said Zuko.

Jet frowned, eyes on his boots and hands resting on the hilts of his swords. Several seconds passed as he thought, and Zuko could hear Ni Shui Jian directing exercises behind them. "Ping," he said finally, quiet and serious. "Why did you leave the Dai Li?"

None of them had ever asked Ping so personal a question. It took him several seconds to answer, but when he did the words were solid with certainty. "I was raised to protect the sanctity of Ba Sing Se."

"So were all the other agents," said Jet. "You can't be the only one who feels that way."

Ping flinched - only barely, but enough that Zuko noticed. "Perhaps not," he said. "I don't see that it matters either way."

"We need to talk to them," said Jet. He leaned in, and Zuko recognized the spark behind his eyes - the same as when he stood on the kitchen stairs, rallying his men. "We have to ask, at least once."

"Ask what?"

"For them to join us."

Silence followed, acutely uncomfortable.

Zuko thought back to his first day in the city, pulled aside by Jet on a crowded train station platform. Jet had been a stranger, then, his interest in Zuko flattering but inexplicable, his "Freedom Fighters" amounting to three refugees with no money and no idea what they would do with themselves. He had asked Zuko to join him, and Zuko had refused. It had seemed too dangerous a place for him to be and too risky a friendship to allow.

But Jet had kept asking - Zuko, then Jin, then the kids Jin dragged back to the teashop whenever she went out on errands. After a while, he hadn't needed to ask anymore. Now people came to ask him - for a bed, a meal and a chance to earn them - and Jet almost never said "no."

Still. "Jet…these aren't street kids," said Zuko slowly. "You can't just ask them to join your Freedom Fighters, it doesn't work that way."

Jet's eyebrows arched. "Why not?"

"It seems unlikely that they would agree to stand beside you, given the circumstances," said Ping.

Jet barked out a laugh. "Unlikely? What, you mean like the Fire Lord's son being my second in command? That kind of unlikely?"

They had never had a conversation like this, so Zuko had no idea what to expect of it. But the smile that tugged at the corners of Ping's mouth still caught him entirely off-guard. "You would have to convince them that we have a chance at winning this," he said. "A good chance. Enough to make defection worthwhile."

Jet bent down to pluck a stalk of grass from between the cobblestones, then clasped it in his teeth as he straightened. "Can you ask them to meet us? Not here…" He thought for a moment, the grass bouncing as he rolled it back and forth. "The university."

"I could," said Ping.

"Who would we bring?" asked Zuko.

"Ping, obviously. Your Uncle. Pakku," he said, with a nod toward the older man.

"Chief Arnook asked me to renew our old ties to the continent," said Pakku. "This seems to be as good of a chance as I'll get."

"They should know the Fire Nation is not united behind its Princess, nor its Lord," said Piandao.

"Then it's settled," said Jet. "We'll head out in ten minutes."

Ping, Piandao and Pakku left quickly, to fetch Iroh and to arrange for the other Earthbenders to continue where Ping had left off. Once they were gone, Jet let out a long, deep sigh, his shoulders sagging. "Shit," he said. He rubbed his eyes with the heel of one hand. "Is this crazy?"

"No," said Zuko. "It's not crazy."

"It's just…after everything, you know…" Jet reached up to touch the back of his neck, scratching a little at the scabs. "After you. Seems stupid to think I know what's going on in people's heads."

"I guess so."

"Zuko…" Jet paused, took another breath and let it out. "I want to tell them who you are."

Zuko swallowed. "All right," he said. "If you think they'll care."

Jet's hand dropped back to his side. "They'll care."





Zuko had never been to the University before, but Xue Sheng had told him what had happened. About the night Azula came. Her men had circled the campus, faces hidden by skull-like masks, but she had sparked the flames herself - a bolt of blue-white lightening that struck the astronomy tower, another that tore through the plaster walls of the engineering wing. She had watched as confused students ran out into the courtyards, robes hastily thrown over their sleeping clothes. She'd laughed as they scrambled to organize a bucket brigade, emptying their prized koi pond to try and douse the fire. Professors had run deep inside the burning building, desperate to rescue some part of their library - the oldest and largest outside of legend. They had died when the roof came down.

Xue Sheng and a few of his friends had slipped out through the sewers, under the campus walls and into the Chen Si River. Jin had found them squatting in a gutted merchant's house two days later, and Xue Sheng had come back with her that night, hollow-eyed but determined. He couldn't fight the Fire Nation himself, but he could help the people who were.

None of them were certain who else had survived. Jet had gone to investigate the smoldering ruins, and had come back saying it was probably better not to ask.

Zuko didn't know why Jet had chosen this place to meet the Dai Li. Perhaps because there wasn't anything here anymore - no cover the agents could use to sneak up on them, unseen. The only thing left standing was the gate, and even that had been burned black, tiles cracked from heat and gold paint curling away from what remained of the wooden sign. Most of the characters were unreadable, but the first two had survived - Ba Sing, "Perpetual."

Zuko felt an awful, smothering pressure, as if the ruins were a weight on his chest. He had been a lonely child, spending many long, quiet afternoons in the palace library surrounded by dusty scrolls. Words had been a comfort to him when no other distraction was available, when life beyond the shelves was too painful to think about. He couldn't articulate what he felt now, staring at the devastation spread out before him. His eyes stung, and he imagined he could taste the ash in the air.

"My blood did this," Uncle rumbled, low and quiet.

Pakku lay a hand on his shoulder. "Your blood will set it right again," he said.

Zuko shuddered and turned to Jet, but the other boy's face was unreadable, even to him. Jet stood very still for several seconds, jaw clenched and eyes fixed on the sign, then set out across the debris-strewn courtyard. The rest of them fell in behind, fragments of charcoal and tile crunching under their boots. Ahead was a mound of gray rubble, ash and mud and blackened timbers, none of it higher than Zuko's waist. It stretched on for acres, the city beyond hardly visible through the hazy, summer air. Azula was nothing if not thorough.

Ping bent down and selected a fist-sized chunk of stone from the mess at his feet. "They'll be here within ten minutes once I do this," he said.

"That's fine," said Jet. "We're ready."

Ping tossed the rock up a few feet, punched it with his fist high into the air and made a rapid series of motions with his hands, fingers clenching and flexing. The rock exploded in a complicated pattern of bangs that echoed over the city.

Jet squinted at the horizon, already looking for signs of movement. "Will they know it's you?"

"Each division is assigned a signal," said Ping as he lowered his arms. "Mine would have been retired when I left." He turned his head toward Jet, grim and a little sad. "They'll know it was me."

Zuko stared down at the rubble. The fire and the months of weather that followed had left most of it unrecognizable. But as his gaze wandered a sharp glint of sunlight caught his eye - the unburnt corner of gilt scroll-case, a few inches of gleaming perfection.

He couldn't look away. He remembered that night in the old apartment, when Jet had asked him why - why help them? Why stay? Standing here, staring at this casualty of the war his family had started, he didn't know how there could be any other answer. How could a man stand before this and not want to help? How could he, when his own sister had ground this city's spirit to dust? He looked at what she had done and seared it into his memory, fingernails cutting the palms of his hands.

Jet had shifted closer to him, a dark shape at the edge of his vision. "Zuko," he murmured. His fingers brushed Zuko's fist, so tight it trembled a little. Zuko blinked as he looked up at him, and felt a cool trail of moisture on his cheek.

"I'm sorry," said Zuko. He wasn't certain what he was apologizing for. He knew there wasn't anything he could have done; no way that he could have kept this from happening. But his heart felt like it was being crushed, painful as it thundered in his chest.

"They're here," said Ping.

Jet leaned in close for just a moment, cupping Zuko's knuckles in his palm. "Don't," he said, soft but urgent. "Don't apologize for this. Not to me. Not to them."

"But-"

"Don't," said Jet. Then he pulled away and squared his shoulders as he turned to the gate behind them.

Three men stood inside it, though Zuko hadn't heard them arrive. Two were uniformed and anonymous, faces hidden beneath their wide, flat helmets. The third, between them, was older even than Ping - head and hands bare, his braided queue streaked with gray. Zuko couldn't see the other agents, but he knew they were there - waiting just beneath the rubble, perhaps, or crouched behind what was left of the campus wall.

Jet stood his ground, straight and solid, the hilts of his swords untouched. "Quan," he said. He'd never been one for titles.

The older man's gaze flickered between Uncle and Pakku, his eyes very slightly narrowed, before returning to Jet. "I had hoped, when Ping called me here, that his reason was a change of heart," said Quan. "I can see, now, that my faith in his judgement was misplaced."

"Looks like," said Jet.

"Are you here to parade your new allies before me? I appreciate the chance to asses them, but it seems a waste of our first meeting."

Jet plucked the grass stalk from his teeth and rolled it between his finger tips. "You know, Quan, normally I'd be happy to stand here and chat," he said. "But we don't have time for that kind of bullshit right now." Quan scowled at that but Jet acted like he hadn't noticed, the head of the stalk a yellow blur as it twirled. "I asked Ping to call you here because I have some things to tell you. And a question. So I'll say what I gotta say, and ask what I gotta ask. After that, up to you what you do about it."

"I'm listening," said Quan, his words clipped.

"We're gonna move against the Fire Nation. Soon. We have the men and we have a plan. We'll win." He said it with easy confidence, like he was doing Quan a favor by telling him. "The only question is, what happens to you?"

He paused, daring Quan to interrupt with some protest, to sputter angrily about ridiculous claims and foolish arrogance. But Quan only frowned, the lines of his face deepened by skepticism but his mouth shut tight.

Jet tucked the grass back between his lips, his movements unhurried. "The way I see it, you've got two options. You can stay with General Zha, help the Fire Nation try and fight us off. And lose. Or you can join us, and start climbing out of the hole you've dug for yourselves."

"You want us to turn on the Fire Nation and fight alongside you," said Quan, in the tone one might use with a child who had reached too far past their own understanding.

If Jet cared, it didn't show. "Seems like your best option to me," he said.

"Your conviction is admirable," said Quan, gently condescending. "But the Dai Li have no interest in sacrificing themselves for lost causes. And you lost this city months ago."

The ruins were hot and quiet and still. Even the thin breeze off the river had died, as if chased away by Quan's words. Zuko could hear Jet swallow. He could see the steady tremor of Jet's heartbeat, pushing back against the strap that crossed his chest.

"No," said Jet, the first cracks in his smooth countenance beginning to appear. "We didn't lose anything. You gave it away."

"Princess Azula would have taken it by force," said Quan. "Half the city would have been destroyed. By cooperating, we brought it through the transition unscathed."

Zuko could see the moment that Jet's calm snapped; the way his fingers twitched, tempted by the hilts of his swords. He knew what Jet wanted to do to Quan, because he wanted to do it, too. "Unscathed," Quan had said, and Zuko had felt himself dragged back to the roof of the Jasmine Dragon, watching as a cloud of yellow dust rose from where the wall had been.

Jet made a wild, sweeping gesture that took in as much as one wanted it to: the ruins, the city, all the broken pieces of what had been a kingdom. "You call this unscathed?" he snarled. "Look at this! She did this, and you helped her!"

Quan looked at Ping for the first time, then. "The Dai Li had no part in what happened here."

"We brought the walls down," said Ping. "We betrayed Long Feng. Our city needed us, and we were too cowardly to stand and fight."

"You could have stopped her then," said Jet. "Hundreds of you against one Princess? I don't care how powerful she is, you could've stopped her."

A haunted look passed over Quan's features. "You don't know what she's like," he said. "That woman is a monster. There was nothing we could do."

"We know just fine," said Jet, and Zuko braced himself for what would follow. "You see, my second-in-command is her brother. Prince Zuko."

The Dai Li were too well trained to allow their surprise to show. But Zuko could see their eyes all shift to look at him, examining his scar and his gold irises and pale skin. Then back to Jet again, as if gauging whether this, too, was only posturing. Zuko could tell they were doubtful, comparing him to Azula in their minds and wondering at the disparity. He tried to keep his own expression flat and unconcerned, his breathing slow, aware that they could feel his pulse through the ground.

"You see these men?" Jet asked, jerking his thumb toward Uncle and Pakku. "One's a master Waterbender, Pakku. Chief Arnook sent him. The other's General Iroh, Ozai's brother. The Dragon of the West." He flashed a grin, smug and crooked. "Maybe you've heard of him."

Quan's eyes widened a fraction.

"How about Admiral Jeong Jeong? Or Piandao? You guys keep track of shit like that, right? The greatest soldiers of their generation. Strong enough to take this city by themselves." Zuko couldn't tell how much of it Jet believed anymore, so complete was his mask of confidence. "That's who I've got standing behind me. Right here, in Ba Sing Se. Not across the ocean. Not sitting in some palace trying to forget we exist." His eyes bored into the older man's. "Who's standing behind you, Quan?"

"An army," said Quan.

"An army that doesn't give a shit about you or your city," said Jet. "An army that's using you to fight your own people." He took a step forward, crushing burnt fragments of wood. "Even if they do win, where does that leave you? What d'you think they'll do when they don't need you anymore?"

Quan looked away. "The Fire Nation will win this war. There is nothing any of us can do to prevent that."

"Ozai is not the Fire Nation," said Uncle, rough with an anger that made Zuko's mouth go dry. "He does not speak for us all. We have lost our sons and daughters to my grandfather's war. We have suffered, and we dream of peace. My brother's time is ending."

"You can't expect me to gamble our lives on four old men and a banished prince," said Quan, cautious now.

"They won't be alone," said Jet. "They'll have my Freedom Fighters. And they'll have the Avatar."

"He's dead," said Quan, automatic.

"He's not," said Jet, in a tone no man could doubt. "And he's getting stronger. He's gonna win this war, and we're gonna help him do it." The air seemed to crackle around him, charged with the strength of his conviction. "Do you really want to be on the losing side of this? Is this mess," he pointed to the ground at his feet, "how you want to be remembered?"

The two of them stared at each other for what felt like a very long time, Jet vibrating with impatience and Quan frowning more deeply than ever. When Quan spoke again, his voice was much quieter, barely audible despite the stillness. "We're not unsympathetic to your cause," he said, with a note of urgency Zuko didn't understand. "Have you never wondered why that teashop of yours is still standing? Have you noticed that the Dai Li have not killed any of your men? Did it not occur to you children that you're alive because we chose to spare you?"

Jet's brows drew down in irritated confusion. "You're fighting with the Fire Nation," he said, as if no other fact could be important.

"Do you think that we enjoy it?" Quan snapped. "That we take any pleasure in this work?"

Jet took another step forward, hands drifting to his hilts again. "The lake-"

"We had planned to negotiate for your release," said Quan, cutting across him. "Your life in exchange for a withdrawal of your forces from Ba Sing Se."

For a moment, Jet was too stunned to reply, and it cost Zuko a tremendous effort of will to keep from reaching out to him. Then his face clouded over with new anger. "They'd never have taken it!" Jet barked, but Zuko didn't share in this certainty. He wasn't sure that he could refuse anything if it meant Jet's life.

"Do not presume to know our reasons," said Quan. "Do not think that your survival is cause for arrogance."

Jet stared down at the charred earth, grass stalk quivering from the tension in his jaw. "We don't need your pity," he said, grinding out the words. "What we need are men to fight with us in battle."

"I can't promise you that," said Quan.

"Then we have nothing else to say to each other." Jet turned away from the gate, stiff with the effort of holding in the fury that blazed behind his eyes. He started to walk across the ruins, toward the river, and Zuko fell in beside him as if they had planned it this way. As if he didn't know the direction was an arbitrary one, born of Jet's need to leave this place, and quickly.

"Wait," said Quan. Zuko looked back over his shoulder, and saw that another agent had joined the small cluster at the gate. He and Quan were speaking quietly, and Quan held up a hand toward Jet and the others, asking them to stop until he'd finished. Jet waited, but his eyes stayed fixed on the water.

The agent bowed and slipped out of sight. "A Fire Nation patrol has apprehended one of your men," said Quan. "He was trying to pass through a checkpoint in the outer wall."

"Gen," Jet murmured.

"We couldn't control the interrogation," Quan went on, almost apologetic. "We believe he has told them of the location of your base. There's nothing more we can do."

"Ping," said Jet. But a stone sledge had appeared before the word was past his lips. The moment all five of them were crouched in place, Ping's arm cut down through the air in a vicious slash that sent them rocketing forward, the wind whistling past their ears as they sped through the ruins and down to the bank of the river. The sewer that had saved Xue Sheng loomed ahead, a black mouth ready to swallow them. Pakku's arms whirled, and they jumped onto the platform of ice that he formed, faster and quieter than stone in these damp passageways.

None of them spoke as Pakku rushed them toward the heart of the city. Zuko felt Uncle's large, warm hand on his back and all the strength it offered. His own hand was in Jet's, the grip so tight it ground his bones together.





Jet could hear the battle from underground, muffled shouts and the rumble of Earthbending. He knew this wasn't practice. He knew they were too late. Ping lay his hand against the ceiling, eyes closed and mouth turned down as he concentrated, but Jet couldn't wait. He didn't care how many men were waiting for them, or how bad things were. He had to go, right now, and salvage what he could. He had to fight. Odds and strategy didn't matter.

"At least two dozen," Ping was saying. "Fire Nation, mostly benders. I can't find the runners, they must-"

"Now!" Jet shouted, his voice echoing down the tunnel, swords already in hand.

Ping lifted them up, stone parting and then closing again beneath their feet. They were in the courtyard in front of the teashop, beside the fountain. Jet could hear the flames, now, loud and crackling and much too close. The wave of heat felt like a physical blow, hitting him full in the face and making his eyes water.

The Jasmine Dragon was burning.

Jet had been a warrior all his life. Even in this chaos, it took him only a moment to absorb the scene around him, eyes flickering over the sea of armored men, his own allies seen only in flashes between them. Piandao, Wang and dozen other fighters were slicing their way through the Fire Nation soldiers, staying so close to the infantry that the attacks of the Firebenders did their work for them. Jet could only find three Earthbenders, standing close to the building as they pushed the enemy back with wave after wave of paving stones. Jeong Jeong stood behind them, the hot wind whipping his robes around his ankles. His arms were extended toward the flames as if in supplication, fingers splayed and palms down, cords of muscle standing out along his bare arms from the strain of whatever he was doing.

Jet saw all of this in the space of one breath, and knew they had already lost. The runners and most of his men had retreated. This battle was nothing but a way to keep the Fire Nation busy, buying time for the others to slip safely away.

He felt a hand on his arm. "Someone must still be in there," said Zuko, voice raised above the din.

They ran forward as one, Ping and Iroh just behind, columns of rock bursting up out of the ground to clear a path through the crowd. Jet caught a glimpse of Pakku in his peripheral vision - saw him pull a great wave from the fountain, a river that swept through the enemy line before it arced into the air and poured down onto the flames. Clouds of steam boiled up toward the sky, tinged red by the flames that remained.

Up close, Jet could see Jeong Jeong was at the limits of his strength, face shining with sweat and arms trembling. Iroh moved to stand beside him and matched his stance, shouldering enough of whatever burden Jeong Jeong carried to allow him to speak.

"Two children are still inside," he grunted. "I do not know where."

"They must be trapped upstairs," said Zuko. Then he was running again, Jet steps behind, around the corner of the building and into the alleyways, thick with swirling ash. The kitchen door hung open, but Jet could see nothing but red-gray smoke beyond it.

Zuko pulled his tunic up over his mouth and turned to meet Jet's eyes. "You lead. I'll keep the fire back."

Jet had been inside burning buildings before. He knew what to do. But it still took him long, terrible seconds to force himself to pass through that door, when every instinct he had was screaming at him to run, to grab hold of Zuko's hand and pull him as far from this hell as they could go.

There was no light. There was no sound but the crackle of burning wood and the deafening roar of flame gulping down what was left of their air. Jet crawled along the ground with his eyes squeezed shut and his swords in his hands, using them to reach what his arms could not, to find the edge of the sink, the bottom of the stairway. He could feel the change as Zuko pushed the flames away, keeping the air around them just a few degrees cooler, just a fraction less deadly.

The stairs were still there. Jet knew they might collapse under the weight of two men, but knew as well that he could not reach the loft without them, that the poisoned air had already drained too much of his strength for him to leap that far. So he groped for the first step, found it and began to climb. The wood was hot enough to burn the skin of his hands. He climbed, and the air grew hotter, the smoke thicker. He coughed, his lungs burning. He felt Zuko brush against his leg.

The door to their room was shut, rags stuffed into the crack beneath it. Good. Like they'd been taught. Jet used his sword to bang on it, two short and four long, and hoped that was enough warning. He couldn't speak, and they wouldn't have heard him if he tried. He pushed the door open with his shoulder, throwing all his weight against it. He could feel smoke pour into their room, sucked through the doorway with him.

He clenched one sword in his teeth and slid his empty hand across the floor, moving along shelves and wooden boxes. Beneath their bed, he found something soft wrapped up in a canvass tarp. Then a small hand took hold of his fingers.

Their bodies shook with coughing as he pulled them out from under the bed. He swung his sword blindly behind him until he found Zuko's leg, tapped it twice, then gathered the kids up into his arms, pressing their faces against his chest. He felt Zuko pass him, heard several loud cracks that had a different quality than the rest of the noise around him. Then a gust of cool air rushed in, and Jet felt a hand pull him forward, an arm curled around his shoulders as they stumbled toward the new hole in the wall.

Jet rolled as he landed, trying to shield the kids from the worst of the impact. He felt a sharp, blinding pain in his shoulder as bone met ground, but that pain was nothing to the relief of air that didn't choke him. He gulped down desperate, drowning lungfulls of it, his body shaking with the coughs that followed, his nose running and his mouth full of ash and every inch of exposed skin baked dry and tight.

Zuko pulled him to his feet, took one of the kids from him and draped Jet's arm across his shoulders. They stumbled down the alleyway together, all sense of direction gone except the clean air ahead and the inferno behind them. Jet was aware of the return of sunlight, of being able to hear his own footsteps again. He turned his head and saw Zuko's face beside his own, grime plastered to his skin by sweat and snot and tears, yellow eyes shining from a face black with soot.

His knees gave out, and Zuko didn't have the strength to hold him up any longer. When Ping found them, they were crouched beside each other on the cobblestones, the limp bodies of the runners in their arms, their foreheads pressed together.







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The illustration for this chapter is here, and was drawn by ming85!