A/N: this story will most likely be Jetko. Warnings for possible violence and sex. I can hardly imagine a story worth reading if it didn't have at least one of those things.
Close Quarters
meaning: Close contact with, especially in a military context - close contact with the enemy.
.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.
An aging man sat quietly in the teashop, sipping dark liquid from his steaming cup. His silver hair was tied into a topknot, a few lazy strands had decided to disobey, stubbornly falling into his face. His green eyes were dull and lifeless, as if he had seen more time than he appreciated. His mannerisms suggested that he hailed from a family of some wealth. From the way delicate way he held his cup to politeness in his voice when addressing strangers, an observant person might be able to tell he was accustomed to money.
But his appearance betrayed him. He could not wash the dirt from his hands or the smell from his clothes that suggested that he had been in a market stall the entire day, selling sardines to the peasantry. Nor could the fact be ignored that he purchased a cup of tea from a third-rate teashop set deep in the lower ring of Ba-sing-se.
He was retired, or at least he should be. Unfortunately the pension from his previous job failed to keep his style of living afloat, so he resorted to making a few copper pieces a day at the market.
He turned his head when several men in uniform entered the teashop. Not the uniforms of the elite Dai-Li or even those of benders. They sported the simple gear of common footsoldiers. Of course, men any higher ranked wouldn't need to dine in the lower ring. The older ones noticed him and gave him a stiff nod in acknowledgment. They younger ones only looked at him with pity.
The teashop, he noticed, was rather slow. Was it always like this? Or was it an unpopular time or day for tea? There was a single server working. He seemed a bit confused and out of place, as if he was still new to the job. He was young, perhaps still in his teens, and would have been quite handsome if not for the ugly scar across the left side of his face.
Early afternoon drifted into late afternoon when a rouge youth suddenly disrupted the teashop's peaceful atmosphere. He barged in arrogantly, in worn clothes with mismatched armor, swords drawn and a stalk of wheat hanging from his lips.
"I'm tired of waiting," he said, seemingly speaking to the teashop as a whole. He pointed one hooked sword at the tea server, who had turned at the other boy's loud entrance. "This man is a fire-bender."
Quite obviously, the newcomer was a refugee, and a newer one at that. The war was not spoken of within the city walls. Half of the people didn't even know what was going on these days. When the boy with the hooked swords did not get the reaction out of his audience that he wanted, he grew angry.
"He's fire-nation! He's one of them! I saw his uncle heating his tea."
The tea server remained still but had no reaction on his features. He could have been fire-nation, but most people on the west side of the Earth kingdom had coloring like him as well. It would be impossible to tell by appearance alone.
"Put your swords away boy." The soldiers seated in the corner of the shop had risen to their feet. They did not like where this was going. Not only did they have a duty to hush any talk of the war outside, but they also had a duty to prevent the murder of unarmed, civilian, tea servers by rash boys toting hooked swords.
Or at least he had thought the server unarmed. That is, until he pulled a dagger from his belt.
The old man's eyes went wide.
"You're gonna come at me with that?" said the attacker, the piece of grass falling from his mouth, "Why don't you just use your fire-bending, Li."
"I don't know what you're talking about, Jet. You should leave if you don't want to get hurt." The server, Li, sounded strangely confident, facing dual swords with only a dagger clutched in his hand. He was not cowering like the old man had expected he would.
"What are you playing at? Getting my sympathy and letting me fuck you on the ferry ride over here…did you think I would just let something like this slide?" The other boy, Jet, said loudly. Li snarled after hearing such a (undoubtedly private) thing fly from the lips of his assailant. Jet only continued. "I don't see a fire-bender and let him live, and I certainly don't let him roam free in my city."
Jet launched himself at Li and the two of them went at it for a few moments with the whole tea shop watching. When the soldiers finally got involved, they seemed to have a difficult time breaking the two of them apart. Jet, especially, looked to be fairly skilled with his weapons.
The old man had had enough of watching and speculating. He stomped his foot on the ground and immediately both boys' feet were encased in earth, rendering them immobile. The soldiers looked to the old man, relieved.
"Thanks, Wei," one of them mumbled.
"Fire-nation scum!" Jet shouted hysterically, struggling fiercely in his bonds, "I won't rest until I see you dead or rotting in a prison cell!"
"I'm afraid that's where you're headed, boy," a soldier replied, apprehending Jet and wresting the weapons from his grip.
"You've gotta be kidding me!" yelled Jet, "Doesn't anyone believe me?"
Old man Wei stood up at Jet's words and walked over to the group. After a moment of consideration, he released the rock imprisoning Jets legs, and turned to stare at the boy called Li.
"He's a filthy fire-bender! Him and his uncle!" Jet goaded. Wei looked briefly around the shop.
"You can't prove that!" Li snapped.
"Where is your uncle, young man?" Wei asked quietly…innocently. Li looked at him suspiciously.
"Wei…" began one of the soldiers in a tired voice, "What do you think you are doing? Let us handle this." Wei ignored the man completely, his gaze still focused on Li.
"It's a day of mourning for him," Li answered shortly, "He told me he was going to the outer wall to pay his respects."
"I see…" responded Wei with a thoughtful hum, "And do you know the significance of this day, Li?" Li knew. It was in his eyes. But he remained silent. So Wei continued. "Ten years ago today, the walls of Ba-Sing-Se were breached for the very first time by a foreign army."
"Wei!" barked a soldier in warning. Again he was ignored.
"May I see that dagger of yours, Li?" It was posed as a question, but Wei took what he wanted from Li's hand.
Seeing the superb craftsmanship…the inscription…
Made in Earth Kingdom…Never give up without a fight…
"Where did you get this?" Wei breathed, his voice barely more than a whisper, "Did you steal it?"
Li huffed indignantly at the accusation, highly offended. Rage boiled from his next, deadly words.
"How dare you! It was a gift…from my uncle. A lot of men died on a battlefield for that to come into his hands."
Wei closed his eyes. The storm of emotions in his head gave way to gruesome images of mangled bodies, boys crying for their mothers with their dying breaths, air thick with ash and dust from the charred and crumbling stone wall of Ba-Sing-Se. Wei opened his eyes again and stared at Li a great while, shocked, almost disbelieving.
"If what you say is true, young man, then you must be fire-nation. For I gave that very dagger ten years ago when I surrendered…to none other than General Iroh, the fearsome Dragon of the West, the elder brother of FireLord Ozai."
.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.