Disclaimer: "I don't know if that's a warning or a promise or both at the same time, but say it again and I will." "If you love me, then love me." "Aye, lady, I will."
(An: I blame this on Wizard and Glass. If only I could blame everything on Dark Tower smut… How that translates into Avatar… don't ask me. I just like any excuse to listen to my depressing playlist. The first one is set after "Lake Laogai", the second after "The Earth King", and the last, obviously, after "The Crossroads of Destiny". By the way, this is not a songfic. I just don't like cybersperm (AKA those O-o-O-o-O things I usually do for paragraph breaks XP). The song, though, is "This Is Not About Love" by Fiona Apple.)
This is not about love Because I am not in love In fact I can't stop falling out I miss that stupid ache
If he loved her, he didn't say it. Not couldn't. He could talk, had proved that underneath Lake Laogai, and he could yell loud enough, like whenever she finally stopped toying with him and finally pushed him over the edge. But she thought she saw it in his eyes whenever he looked at her in the moonlight of an alley, in the sunlight in the marketplace, in the candlelight of an otherwise dark house.
He still didn't say it. He might have tried to show it- an arm around her shoulders, a hand stroking, toying with, tightening in her hair, fingers twining with hers in an oddly shy way- but the saying mattered to her. Not knowing how he felt for certain was torturing her, so she tortured him. She had fun with it, bringing him to the edge and then leaving him gasping against a wall, straightening her shirt and checking her weapons before heading home. She hadn't forgotten what she had almost become before she met Jet.
And, after all, it wasn't like she didn't warn him. Her eyes and her posture told everyone else, Push me, and I'll push back. Why did he think he was any exception, that stupid archer with his endless silence and strong arms and lovely eyes?
Never mind that sometimes she didn't want to push him anymore, that sometimes she wanted to stop pretending, that sometimes she just wanted to lean against him and let him love her.
Sometimes wasn't very often anyway.
And last night's phrases Sick with lack of basis Are still writhing on my floor
If she loved him, she didn't say it. Not that he really thought she did. He was too honest (and too pessimistic) to delude himself so. Though, he had never thought she would be the kind to toy with men on a whim. But she had to be, since she had left him cold (or maybe hot was the right word) on enough occasions, like a housecat playing with a mouse which is called inside, leaving the creature to die alone.
What did she want? He wanted to ask her so many questions, but that one always came to mind whenever she did that. What did she want from him that he hadn't already tried to give? And why did she blame him? If she wanted what he thought she wanted, he had tried to give it to her many times, but she had turned it away. Had turned him away.
Was it Jet? It probably was. Jet was the cause of everything. He was why they were in the damned city, why she had been so desperate for comfort, why they had met in the first place.
It wasn't like he had expected much. He had only acted on his feelings because of her grief, because he knew no way better to comfort her, because he knew no way better to comfort himself. But there was no use regretting.
He had chosen this fate for himself anyway.
And it doesn't seem fair That your wicked words should work In holding me down
If he loved her, he didn't say it. She suspected he did. Maybe not real love, the sort that would take root and split his earthbender's heart when she finally finished her mission, but at least infatuation. It would not split his heart, but it would probably cause him pain. She often wondered why this didn't please her as much as it should have, usually when she was watching him sleep while slipping on her costume and ricepaint before leaving. He was a late riser, which meant she could be gone before he even considered waking. It meant she could come and go on her own terms instead of his, which was good. Their first meeting had not been that way.
He had rescued her from a pretentious drunk. He'd only had the chance because it was problematic to think of a discreet way to kill the drunk. She was holding her own when he decided it was a good idea to interfere, flipping the drunk off his feet with a quick gesture. Her answers to his honestly concerned questions had were sharp and clipped, dropping from her mouth like ice chips. She had been looking for a way to blow off some steam, and he denied her. Decidedly annoying.
But he was handsome, in a sweet, puppylike way, so she had thanked him and managed to get him to take her to his apartment to thank him properly. He had been surprised, but certainly not unwilling. She was just happy to have someone new to break.
She was having a bit of trouble doing it, though, probably because her plan to capture Ba Sing Se wasn't moving as quickly as she wished. And she kept wanting to prolong it, to see if she could set her roots a little deeper, and then a little deeper still… He was an interesting diversion, that was all, and she wanted to bring despair onto that cheerful face.
She could let him go whenever she wished anyway.
Conversation once colored by esteem Became dialogue as a diagram of a play for blood
If she loved him, she didn't say it. He wasn't really naïve enough to think she did. She was like a cat, deigning to sit on his lap to please him… at least, until it stopped pleasing her. Then she would bite and run off, leaving him to lick the wound alone.
She thought he was foolish- he could see contempt in her eyes- but that didn't stop her from reacting to his touch. He didn't know as much as she did, but it amused her to teach him how to treat her, and he was quite willing to learn.
Maybe he was foolish, since he still thought he could capture her with his kisses, make her stay for more than a few hours for once. But she only laughed at his earnestness and disappeared in the morning despite it. Still, though, she kept coming back.
He didn't really mind either way. She was pretty, beautiful, in fact, and even though she seemed to think he was the unworldly one, she had an odd innocence and sophistication to her bearing that kept him interested.
It wasn't like he really cared anyway.
Took a vacation My palate got clean Now I can taste your agenda As you spit in your cut
If he loved her, he didn't say it. Not that she really thought he did. He was just guilty and trying to find reassurance- maybe even his thrice-damned honor- in whoever would oblige him. And she would oblige him. She would do it with complaints and rolled eyes and bored sighs, but she would oblige him. Had been waiting to oblige him since she was a little girl and the prince looked deeply into her gray eyes and said, "You've got frosting on your cheek," before wiping it away and licking it off his thumb with a bright grin.
Silly? Perhaps. But it was a diversion, and she loved diversions. Probably even loved him. She wasn't too sure what love was- she certainly didn't experience the fuzzy feeling described in all the stories, and his kisses didn't set off fireworks in her mind or make the earth move beneath her feet. She did feel warm when he touched her, and she would often brush the lips he had just kissed to find them parted in a silly, uncharacteristic smile.
Stupid? Definitely. If Azula ever found out, even though her brother had shown his true colors, if they ever saw each other again, it would be on the walk to the gallows, or possibly just before Azula struck them down herself in a fit of temper.
She was not a normal teenager; while everything bored her, she was world-weary from experience, not the lack of it. She was not given to fits of passion that surpassed all else. She knew that she was being as childish as her little brother.
But who had ever said she couldn't be childish now and again anyway?
But I'm not being fair 'Cause I chose to listen to that filthy mouth And I'd like to choose right
If she loved him, she didn't say it. He was pretty sure she loved him, or at least he thought she did. She was hard to read. He hadn't been sure if she wanted him to kiss her that first night, or if she wanted anything that came later, but she acquiesced with that bored look that he knew meant she was pleased.
It had been a foolish thing to do, since he knew the pathways of his own heart and mind about as well as he knew hers (in other words, not at all), but it had also seemed like the right thing. What few people seemed to know about him was that few of his decisions were well thought-out. He acted, and usually he ended up regretting it. Curiously, though, it wasn't this way with her. It still felt right when she was in his arms, when he kissed her, even when Azula cast an appraising eye over her friend, trying to discover why she looked so giddy.
They would be caught eventually, and Azula would not be pleased. But he wasn't concerned. The decision to fight alongside her had left him sleepless many a night, but this one had not. In fact, it helped him sleep. There was just something soothing about another body beside you in bed.
And who said he had to care about what his sister thought anyway?
(Ah, that was satisfying. The only hard part was figuring out what pairing to go in the middle. Harula is fun! But you know what's even better? Reviewing!)