Four days without food and his eyelids are heavy, his arms weak. When he shifts position where he stands on the tree branch, high enough to avoid being seen by passing fire nation soldiers, Jet almost loses his balance. The hunger, by now a silent, twisting ache in his stomach, is dizzying.
Smellerbee is late. The sun was high when she left to find food; now the shadows are long. Jet swallows the impatient lump of worry in his throat and positions the hook swords more comfortably on his back. They're vulnerable like this on enemy territory, far from camp and comrades, but Smellerbee is a fighter. She'll be fine.
He doesn't have to wait for much longer before he hears the thunks of Smellerbee's dagger when she uses it to drag herself up the tree. His heart sinks when he sees the bundle tied to her hip. It's frighteningly small.
"This was all I could find," Smellerbee says, unwrapping the rags. Two peaches, a dumpling, some rice. Barely enough for one person.
Her voice is a little breathless and the sweat is pearling on her upper lip. She's panting a little too hard, her shoulders a little too tense, her fingers trembling a little too much. She's exhausted.
If he could, Jet would have gone instead. If he could, but the fire nation soldiers are looking everywhere for him now. They know his face.
It was a mistake, the whole mission and everything that went with it. There shouldn't have been that many soldiers, shouldn't have been that many firebenders, but there were and now they're hiding and running at the same time, without as much as a single tank destroyed. They had to leave the blasting gel behind so as not to accidentally blow themselves up. Leave behind three months of careful planning and hard work.
Four days without food and the scent of the peaches makes his hollow insides burn. Four days, and Smellerbee doubles over when the hungercramps hit her. Jet clenches his fists, then unclenches them, slowly.
"You have all of it," he says, leaning back against the trunk of the tree. "I'm fine."
Smellerbee looks up, frowning.
"What are you talking about, Jet?"
"It's a couple of more days before we're back at the hideout. You need your strength. I just need to rest for a while."
"If you're not eating, I'm not either."
"It's fine. I'm just trying to look out for you a bit here. Because I care, okay?" When this only deepens Smellerbee's frown, Jet changes tactics. "As your leader, I'm telling you to eat. So do it."
He meets her glare without wavering until she reluctantly reaches for the dumpling. Watching her eat is harder. Jet turns his eyes away, staring at his own knees instead, tensing his abdomen to keep his stomach from grumbling too loud. His resolve has already started to weaken but he swallows his own saliva and endures. She better appreciate this.
Ten seconds later a small thud has him looking up. The dumpling is back on the rags; Smellerbee's arms are crossed over her chest. She's only taken one bite, not even big enough for the filling to be seen through the dough. Jet barely manages to keep from snapping at her when he speaks.
"What's the matter?"
"I'm full," she says, not even bothering with a decent lie, and the irritation that's been steadily growing inside him flares up into a burning anger, the shout scratching in his dry throat.
"Smellerbee, eat!"
"I ate!"
They're being too loud. Smellerbee has jumped on her feet and her right hand is twitching towards the dagger on her back, like it always does whenever she gets agitated. Jet doesn't take it personally, never has, but the gesture tells him she's being serious.
Serious. The whole situation is serious enough as it is, without her going out of her way to make it worse. No food. Nowhere safe to rest. He's about to lash out, to tell her how stupid she's being, how important it is that they work together and that she listens to him, but just as he starts forming the words Smellerbee sinks back down as if her legs have given out under her.
She plops down on the branch, wrapping her arms around her knees. Her frown is gone, replaced by an expression that is hard to decipher.
"It's not just you," she mutters, pressing her mouth against her arm, muzzling her voice. At first Jet isn't sure if he's heard right.
"Not just me who what?"
"Cares."
The forest is very quiet for very long. The sun is just a thin, orange line at the horizon now, and Smellerbee's face is barely visible in the dim light. There's a burning feeling in Jet's cheeks, and he rubs his hand across his face, trying to make it go away. It could be sunburn, but he isn't sure.
If they wait much longer the food will go bad, he tells himself, and that would make all the trouble of getting it worthless. He makes that his reason for picking up one of the peaches.
"Hey," Jet says, the carefree nonchalance back in his voice, nodding towards the other fruit when Smellerbee looks at him. "These look nice."
He gets no answer, but she does take up the peach, shifting it from hand to hand while keeping her eyes fixed on him. She's still frowning. Still not convinced.
"I think I'll have one, actually," Jet continues, and the mere thought of eating makes him want to cry. So much for resolve and enduring.
The fruit is fuzzy against his lips and when his teeth break through the thin skin the juice runs down his chin and fingers, sweet and sticky. It's perfectly ripe, and he should probably take his time to savour the taste, but the hunger is overwhelming and he has devoured half of it within seconds. When he glances over at Smellerbee, hers is already gone.
He laughs at the way her cheeks bulge when she sucks on the peach stone to get the very last trace of pulp, and even more at her yelp when he hits her on the shoulder with the stone from his own fruit while she's cutting the dumpling in two. As she hands him his half Smellerbee smiles and twists his thumb, just a little. He smiles back, and a small knot inside him seems to untangle and disappear.
Four days without food. Two more, and they'll be home.