I do not own.

Has anyone out there ever seen Rocky Horror Picture Show? Because the mood I'm in right now has me singing songs I probably shouldn't be singing. Just be thankful I wasn't in this mood when I wrote the piece. It would probably be more like fluffy deadbeat stoner poetry.

When "It appears we have lost our sex appeal, Captain," is an actual line, you have to wonder who was popping viagra in the writing room. Well, Tuvok/Janeway was never big with the Star Trek crowd, anyways. At least, I don't think. You never know, what with all the internet between us.

But on to business! This entry was for TwilightRose2's September contest.

I feel the need to explain the rules of the contest, as well. It calls for the use of certain lines, and must take place in the Avatarverse, with only slight AU. An OC must be present with a minor role, but not as a Mary/Gary Sue.

Anyone who reads my story, 'The World According to Martial,' should be familiar with my OC, Lin, who will be making an appearance to fulfill that requirement. However, reading that is not required for understanding this.

Syrus, the Other White Meat

"A man must have some wit to know he is a fool." — Syrus

You will never walk again.

Jet rolled the words over and over in his mind as he tossed and turned in his bed, trying to find a comfortable spot. It was a useless and counterproductive pursuit; every tiny movement sending fire racing along the cracks and faults in his bones, and every breath burned his lungs.

Every potion to dull the pain only made him sick, as if his mind was resisting every attempt to dull it, as his body was resisting another notion his healer had thrown out: People don't come back from these injuries.

'Like hell they don't,' Jet thought. It didn't matter if they all took an oath to preserve and protect life, once Fire Nation, always Fire Nation. Even in the capital city of the Earth Kingdom, now overrun with their kind, they could not hide what they were.

Not even the seemingly kind woman who acted as his nurse. He could smell her cooking from the kitchen of the ramshackle apartment building, and hear the subdued voice of the healer through a door that stood slightly ajar, ". . . better to pass off as Earth Kingdom for now."

Voices murmured in agreement, and the planning continued. Smellerbee even spoke up once or twice to add her two cents or translate for Longshot. "He's a pretty good artist," she said. "He could probably fix our papers and we can steal anything else we need to make it official."

"As long as we lay low, the bureaucracy is easy to fool. I would rather not risk it."

"How well do you know your daughter, Ursa?" the healer said. "If she believes her power supercedes any authority, she will ignore it." Plates clattered into an iron pot, and steam hissed as water was brought to a boil. With Azula in control of the city, she had no reason to hide it anymore. "Still, opportunity presents itself. Penicillin will be in abundance as long as the army remains. With any luck, the healers on duty will be too young to recognize me."

"I could probably—"

"Sorry, Bee. I had better try this alone."

A month had passed, and Smellerbee had already forgotten what these people were responsible for. It was disgusting.

"How are you feeling?" Smellerbee's voice was always a rasp, filled with emotion or sarcasm or both, but always, always sounding spent and overused. "Jet?"

"Fine," he spat, staring at the wall. His breath was short, it was always short, but right now he didn't know if the burning in his chest was from pain or anger.

"Longshot and I are going out today, Jet. We need to pick up some new supplies. Do you need anything?"

"No."

For a while, Smellerbee stood there in silence, staring at him with a twisted face, no doubt pitying him like her new Fire Nation friends. She was what they were now, disgusting and low thinking they stand on high. That was so easy, when their platform was a mountain of corpses. "We'll be back soon,"she said, and left.

The days had taken on a routine. Ursa managed the house, working for the landlord and cleaning the apartments. She was never far away and checked in on Jet every hour, bringing him his meals and helping him to the chamber pot. It was so embarrassing and degrading, but the two had an accord and Ursa never strayed from it.

"It's strange," the former Princess said as she brought him is breakfast. You mean there's something strange about a Fire Nation Princess speaking civilly? "Lin isn't nearly so upset as I thought she would be."

Jet pushed himself up, leaning himself against the headboard. Pain exploded in his ribs, and he waited to catch his breath. "I'd hate . . . to see . . . her bedside manner . . . on a bad day."

Ursa chuckled a little and sat down, reading her morning newspaper. The two sat in silence; a practiced and practical routine that benefitted both while they waited to part ways. The food was good, certainly better than what he ate in the wilderness or when he cooked for himself, and he could be thankful for that. But Fire Nation was Fire Nation.

"We're planning to leave Ba Sing Se soon."

"I heard."

"Lin thinks we'll be able to move you in a week or so. You really are improving."

Jet would have scoffed at that, but it hurt enough to speak. "Doc doesn't seem to think so."

"Lin seems to think a lot more than she actually does."

"Like some other people we know?" Jet's eyes were fixed on a picture and a headline, and Ursa simply deflated. Proud, sullen, and angry, Prince Zuko of the Fire Nation stood beside his sister and stared at Jet from the thin page. I told you so, the picture said. I told you and you let them stop you and now there is no hope. "It's funny, because he introduced himself as Lee when we met."

"When people are hurt, they lash out in anger at the things nearest them," the Princess said, no emotion slipping into her voice. Years and years of practice in the royal courts was now put to use hiding her pain and her anguish from an inconsequential teenager. A teenager who had known her son.

"I wonder who was nearest to Zuko when he got his scar?"

"It hurts him. He tries to hide it, but even after all these years, it hurts."

"Not as much as it should." And there the princess broke. Jet looked up when he heard the older woman's whimper, and saw the tears slid past the hand that sought to hide them. Discomfort settled into his chest that was not a hairline fracture of his sternum. At this point, Jet would have, should have said something, but she was Fire Nation, and that was evil. Thus far, she had shown nothing besides dignity and compassion, Jet could grudgingly admit. Those were supposedly the qualities of royalty. But sitting beside his bed . . . this wasn't a princess. She was just someone living with the pain of having failed someone she loved.

Grudgingly, and never out loud, Jet could relate. How many people had he tried to help, but ended up hurting? That was a long list. How many people had believed in him, only to be let down? Too many. How could he have become the very thing that he sought to fight? That was the million-dollar question.

By looking at something, you change its very nature. That was true for people or particles. Jet had examined his heart, his mind, his soul, and his actions, and by the act of doing so, changed himself. A little.

Enough to want to start a new life in Ba Sing Se, even if his addiction to Freedom Fighting got in the way of that. But he could change that, too. Somehow. Hey, hope was what it was.

Not saying sorry to the poor woman who was guilty of bringing a snotty royal bastard into the world was eating away at Jet's insides. Gorging itself. In his more than slightly stoned state, Jet imagined that the horrible, writhing discomfort in his stomach must have been what it was like to be pregnant, and vowed he would never, ever think of that thought again once he came to his senses. Whatever Lin was prescribing him, it was a little too out there.

But having the guilt on his mind was making him think, which was making him not move, which was vastly more comfortable than . . . woah. He never noticed it before, but the grains in the wooden ceiling looked like Avatar Kyoshi!

"I think Lin went a little too heavy on the meds there," Smellerbee whispered to Ursa as she closed the door to Jet's room. She felt it was more necessary to close the door for Jet's sake; her own imagination would prove just how healthy it was by sticking actions to the stoner noises he was making.

"At least he can keep these ones down. I have no idea why he has to take them with a meal."

"Something about absorbing them, I think." Smellerbee shrugged, scrubbing the grease off of a plate. Lin and Longshot had been forced to fend for themselves at dinner; the supplies were running low and the real girls had to go shopping. The fire nation healer was a skilled biochemist, which meant that Smellerbee wasn't quite sure what she was scraping off of the stoneware. It didn't look edible, that was for sure.

It was weird, being around girls again. There were never many in Jet's gang, and Smellerbee had always had to do everything better than the boys just to be kept around. It was hard to cling to her femininity all the while, but somehow she had managed it . . . sort of. There was always the odd stranger that mistook her for a guy . . . but not since Ursa had insisted upon new garments that did not stand out so much. Even after the Fire Nation takeover, Ba Sing Se really loved its green.

The Fire Nation . . . The Fire Nation had thrown a princess out on her ass, then seriously mauled one of its princes, if Lin and Ursa were to be believed. Smellerbee risked a sidelong glance at the aforementioned princess. The woman was putting all of her concentration into scrubbing the dishes clean, unaware of the world around her. Maybe that was for the best. The world around them wasn't so great.

Smellerbee knew few people knew that better than Ursa. Even if she was once among the enemy, she now belonged to a tiny set of aberrations that were neither here nor there. Thus disengaged from the conflict, yet hopelessly doomed no matter which side finally won, there was only so much 'real life' a person in that situation could take.

If anything, though, Ursa was proof that the so called real world wasn't quite as real as it seemed. Ursa might have let what happened to her consume her and destroy her, laying waste to everything her sacrifice had made. She might have let the hurt fester and linger and end her life as surely as a physical would.

She refused.

People still lived their lives without much change no matter whose soil they stood on currently. Ba Sing Se was technically Fire Nation now, and people went about their business because they had to — what else were they supposed to do? Azula's rule had not upset them too badly; in fact, many of the merchant class accepted the change in government with open arms — the Fire Nation's tax policy was much kinder to those not of noble blood. Someone, perhaps not Ozai, but someone understood the need for accord, understood the need to win these former enemies with money and land and influence over. In time, the masses would fall in behind them.

This was why, more than anything else, Jet could not be allowed to die. He could expose corruption in the Earth kingdom and keep alive the insurrection against the Fire Nation with the faintest spark, because no matter how much he hated fire, his presence was like lightning striking the parched stalks of summer grass. His passion for justice before had raged to the point of consuming itself — Smellerbee had watched it happen, had been a part of it. Now all knew the danger. The same mistakes would not be made.

Though Jet's behavior was that of an addict (I won't, I'll let the authorities handle it, I'll just find out a few things for myself, I NEED TO STOP THIS MYSELF) having a responsible adult around was curbing those impulses. Whether Jet would admit it or not, Ursa was becoming his mother. Ursa may not have known, but she was making up for lost time.

Smellerbee regarded her faint reflection in the soapy dishwater. She wasn't sure, but she thought she saw something there that she hadn't seen for a long time. It wasn't joy, and it wasn't sorrow. It simply was. There were no words to describe it's function or its origin. How long had it been since she had felt the stability of a real family?

"I guess I did come back from this injury, huh, Doc?"

"It appears that you are just as full of miracles as you are of snark," Lin said, throwing a pile of clothes at her paraplegic patient. "We can move you. That doesn't mean you can walk."

"Gotta love your bedside manner, too," Jet said, to the healer's retreating form. He smiled; it must have been the first real smile since circumstances had brought him to this place, and these people. Though the people, it seemed, were going to be a fixture in his life for some time, the place was leaving. With any luck, permanently.

His limbs were stiff and any movement sent stabs and needles shooting through his chest and back, but he could move them. It said something that the new 'greatest day of his life' was the day that he could actually put his clothes on for himself, but his pride definitely got the better of him when he saw his foot sticking out of the leg of his trousers, and that rush gave him just enough adrenaline to get the other leg through. He lay panting on his bed for a while, grinning stupidly at his success. For the first time in a month, he was wearing real pants.

Slowly — painfully — he swung his legs off of the bed. Moving them by themselves still wasn't happening, but he only had his back to blame for that. Next the shirt(plain, green, nondescript), which was actually more of a challenge. He wasn't going to push his luck with shoes. He wouldn't need them anyways — he wasn't going to be walking. Yet.

Ursa entered the room, carrying a tray for the two of them. "Just a few more things need to be taken care of before we head off, most important of which is breakfast." She set the plates on the night-stand beside the bed. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I've been stampeded by rhinos," Jet quipped. Wait for it. Wait for it. Right on time, the squirming guilt appeared in his gut, making any and all food seem uneatable, but he had to eat it. Had to.

"It hurts that bad?" she asked.

Jet sighed. Predictable. He was so stupid. A few weeks ago, he would have had no idea why he felt so bad for this lady. "Not as much as it should," he sighed. Ursa's face registered only confusion. "You know, what I said a few weeks ago, that was out of line. I'm sorry."

Ursa looked up, smiling sympathetically. "There's no need to apologize," she said. "I love my son dearly, but he made his choice. What more can I do?"

Not a whole lot, Jet supposed. But Jet knew he could do more, not just for Ursa, but a lot of people, himself included. That guilt beetle or whatever it was that was chewing on his intestines eased up, or the one focusing around what he had said about Ursa's son had just died.

"Just . . . don't be too hard on yourself," she continued, "The only apology I need . . . and I suspect, the only ones your friends need, is for you to get walking again."

There had just been a wind storm. A bad one — it had knocked over houses and destroyed fences and had the Healer's House busy for days doing what they could to tend the injured people that had flocked in for miles around.

The comet had come and gone. Even out here, in the middle of nowhere, word had reached them of Firelord Ozai's humiliating defeat at the hands of a twelve year old. All Jet could to was smile slightly and think to himself, good one, kid. Even more strange, Prince Zuko had helped to secure that defeat and would now succeed his father on the throne of the Fire Nation. It seemed that he had remembered who he was, after all.

Still better news, the Healer's House, Jet's and the gang's home for the past few months, was about the only house around that had not suffered serious damage. The only sign of the storm, beyond the injured patients and branches littering the garden, was a sweet, clean smell that hung in the air for days after the storm.

With all this good Karma going around. Jet was feeling lucky. A few steps to the door wasn't going to hurt anyone, except himself, maybe, but recovering from a fall was a part of any warrior's training. With a fallen branch he had every intention of turning into a walking stick, the former freedom fighter took the first few, tentative steps through the busy clinic, then another, then another, to stand by the head healer's side.

"Is there anything you need help with?" he asked quietly.

Lin was still hovering over a patient with a concussion, checking his vital signs while distractedly giving Jet a reply. "Yeah, Shin over in bed twelve could use a few extra pillows . . . ." Her voice trailed off as she looked up. Jet figured the pain shooting up his legs and back was worth seeing the look on the healer's face.

And that's a wrap! Almost six pages, too. Geez. That is long, for me. In reality, though, I have nine pages of text that I cut, so to speak. And then I haven't double-spaced it yet. Huh. That'll be interesting.

Please review!