A/N: In a world filled with Jetkotara that's merely really entertaining (and educational) threesome sex... Hota tried to write something that had plot.
Disclaimer: Don't own it!
Piece of Mind
Sometimes, Lee remembers a flashing light. The spark of metal colliding. A dull monotone. There is no war in Ba Sing Se. Here we are safe. Here we are free.
He has lived in the city for a month. He doesn't remember much before it besides spending weeks trying to get there. He doesn't know what it was he was so intent on fleeing from. Lee thinks he might have been traveling with a relative. It feels like he is missing someone.
Lee rolls up his dirty apron and tosses it into the basket with the other dirty linens. Working for the butcher isn't glamorous, but it pays for the apartment he shares. It's better than being a server.
Walking home, Lee stops in the market to buy vegetables. It is his turn to cook tonight, and he likes cooking things that keep him close to the fire. Stew is easier, but stir fry tastes better.
Meat and oil sizzle in the small, beat up wok as Lee finishes cutting the last of the peppers. The front door slams shut.
"Honey, I'm home!" Jet calls out. Lee rolls his eyes and ignores his friend. Jet always says stupid things. He rarely means them, though. "Ooh, is that picken? I love picken. I knew you workin' for the butcher would pay off."
Jet grins easily, but his expression flickers. Lee wonders if he remembered something. It's become a bit of a game between them.
"Yeah, it's picken," Lee answers him. "Not the freshest, but it's better than tofu. Or just rice."
"Awesome." Jet points at the sliced peppers. "You aren't trying to sneak those spicy fuckers in again, are you? Last time they nearly burned my tongue off."
Lee sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. "These ones are sweet. They aren't spicy." The last ones hadn't been either. To him, anyway.
"Good. When's the grub gonna be ready?"
"A few minutes."
Jet hums his approval.
Nighttime is the hardest. Lee dreams of fire, of dragons, of the ocean. He knows these are his memories. He knows they are. But they stay locked behind a wall whenever he's awake. A wall guarded by a stone-faced man with a domed hat.
Lee learns to get by on less sleep.
Once he catches Jet on the roof, curled against a chimney pipe, rocking back and forth. Lee just sits next to him. He doesn't comment about Jet clinging to his clothes or the frantic tremor in the other boy's limbs. Lee understands. So he stays by him.
"I remembered something," Jet blurts out around a mouthful of noodles.
Lee raises his eyebrow. "What's that?"
"I met the Avatar."
"…Neat." A needle of pain shoots through his temple.
"Yeah, apparently he's just a bald kid with a big blue arrow."
Well, you're just a teenager! Lee pushes back the unwanted memory. "I would've thought he'd be an old man by now."
Jet shrugs with a broad grin. "I think I kissed his girlfriend, too."
"You would," Lee snorts. He ignores the flash of angry blue eyes.
Tea makes his head hurt. Lee passes a teashop on his way to and from the butcher's shop. The soft scents of jasmine and ginseng waft out, twisting around him. The rumble of a wise voice echoes in his mind.
It hurts.
He wants to vomit.
He walks faster.
Lee's not sure what ties him and Jet together. He isn't even sure why they're friends. Lee is serious, easily angered, and stubborn. Jet smiles and lies and pushes every button he can find. He frustrates Lee like nothing else. But some days, Jet is the only thing holding him together.
It shouldn't surprise him so much when Jet kisses him.
For someone who prides himself on being smooth and sure, Jet is clumsy and hesitant. Lee relaxes, but leans away. He stares at him. Jet flushes and ducks his head.
"What was that for?" Lee asks.
"Sorry," Jet mumbles. "That was pretty stupid, wasn't it?"
Lee doesn't have an answer.
Neither of them mentions it.
Lee wonders why he didn't punch him.
The moon is almost full. Lee leans against the window sill, staring at the night sky. He sees ice. Two fish circling one another. A braid whipping past his nose. He shivers.
He's so incredibly cold. Lee slides down the wall to squat on the floor. He focuses on breathing, on getting warm, and his hands wrap around each other, rubbing together.
Smoke rises.
Lee jumps up and sticks his head out the window to vomit. He slumps back to the floor. It splatters loudly against the stone three stories below in the courtyard. Handprints char the sill.
Jet finds him like that, curled around himself, trembling. His friend steps over his legs and sits with him. Jet pulls him up, wraps his arms around Lee, and presses his nose into Lee's scalp.
"It's okay, buddy," Jet whispers, rubbing his hand along Lee's back. "It's gonna be alright."
Lee clings to him, to his words. He has to believe that things will get better.
"Remember how I said I came here with friends?" Jet continues. Lee nods into Jet's shoulder. Better to focus on anything than the terror twisting through his stomach. "Well, I figured out their names. Longshot and Smellerbee. Longshot never talks, except whenever he does, it's always important. He's an archer, too. Damn good one, I think. And 'Bee, she was the glue that held us all together. She always made sure we ate or did our chores. I think she might have given me a concussion once."
Jet rambles on about his two friends. Lee centers himself around the rhythm of Jet's words, the hint of laughter in his voice, the movement of his jaw against his own head. It soothes him; it unknots the coils winding through his gut.
So he is a firebender. Lee could handle that. It certainly explains why he prefers spicier food, or why he doesn't worry about being too close to the fire. And maybe that's where the scar on his face came from. He thinks he should tell Jet, but he knows it's probably not a good idea. Not with the way his friend lost his family.
Lee's hands unclench. He smooths out the wrinkles in Jet's tunic.
"Sorry," he mutters.
"Don't be," Jet answers. "We all have our days."
Lee pulls himself upright and stares at him. Jet's hands drop into his lap.
"Yeah, right," Lee huffs.
"Yeah, we do." Jet's voice is soft but sure.
And just like that Lee pulls him forward and kisses him. It's awkward and graceless, but Lee feels so relieved when Jet doesn't push him away.
Everything seems a little brighter after that.
It's easy to fill the holes in his mind with rough lips, wandering hands, and sweat-slicked skin. It's simple to chase away the shadows with the spark in Jet's eyes.
Lee feels his chest swell whenever Jet focuses on him. He sits up straighter. He smiles more. He laughs.
He thinks maybe he should feel guilty for being so enamored with another boy, but then their eyes meet, and he pushes the thought away. Neither of them have many good things in their life. Why should either of them feel guilty for being happy?
"Lee!" Jet slides the door to their apartment open, grinning wide.
Lee blinks at him from the window. "What, Jet?"
"I've found someone who can help!"
"Help what?"
"The memories and stuff!" Jet bounces on his feet a little.
"Oh," Lee says calmly.
He's not sure how he feels about that. Some of the things that have filtered through the wall in his mind don't exactly make him seem like a good person. He has knocked a girl unconscious, burned a village down, chased a child across the world, and Lee figures that's only the tip of the iceberg.
Jet's smile fades. He steps across the small room and puts his hands on Lee's shoulders.
"Hey," he murmurs. "You okay?"
"Yeah," Lee reaches up and tangles his fingers with Jet's. "I just don't know if—" he sighs and stares at Jet's shoulder plate.
"You don't know what?" Jet's hand brushes across Lee's right cheek, forcing Lee to look at him.
"I don't know if I'm gonna like the person I was."
Jet gives him a wry grin. "You're the same person, with or without your memories. Whatever's goin' on in your head doesn't change who you are."
Lee feels himself shrug.
He lets Jet kiss him; he lets Jet think his words assuaged Lee's doubts. Lee savors this moment, wondering if it might be their last.
Jet leads a girl into the apartment. She's dark like him, with a long, brown braid of hair and bright eyes that flash angrily at him. She says something, but Lee only hears the rush of a river and dry leaves whispering in the wind.
She pins him to the wall with icicles. Lee scowls.
He knows this girl. He knows he does.
She slaps Jet and stomps back out of the apartment. Jet blinks, stunned. He looks back to Lee, rubbing his cheek.
"I'm fine," Lee huffs, rolling his eyes. "Just injured my pride."
"Okay, good, I, uh, didn't expect that. You see she's kinda—"
"What? She's what?"
"…kinda my ex."
Lee's lips thin. "Well then."
Jet smirks a little. "You jealous?"
"Hardly." Lee refuses to look at him. He manages to rip his wrist away from the wall. "Are you just gonna stand there or are you gonna go after her?"
"Oh. Right."
Jet runs out the door, slamming it behind him.
Lee sighs, a small tongue of flame escaping from his lips. The ice pinning him to the wall melts. Well, at least the firebending is finally handy for something.
The girl—Katara—sits across the table from Lee, glaring at him. Her temper seems awfully hot for a waterbender. Her lips press tightly together and her brows furrow together. Lee sighs and fiddles with the tea cup in front of him. He doesn't drink it. He hates tea.
"You're telling me you don't know who he is, Jet?" She growls.
Jet shrugs. "He's Lee. We met on the ferry. He's my… roommate."
"Tch," she snorts. "That's a likely story."
Lee frowns. He hates when he's ignored. He hates being the topic of conversation. And he hates tea. His hands slam down on the table, upsetting the cup. The other two turn toward him, startled.
"Look," Lee says lowly, glaring at the girl—Katara. "I don't know who you think I am, but you're wrong. My name is Lee. I'm a refugee. And I don't have time for your petulant shit show of a grudge match."
"Okay, Lee," she says, spitting the name like a curse. "You might have everyone else fooled, but I still remember the North Pole."
And just like that he's shivering. His ribs ache; his teeth chatter. Lee takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, rubbing his hands together. He needs to hold himself together. The acrid stench of smoke doesn't scare him like it did before.
Jet's chair crashes to the floor.
Lee's eyes snap open.
Katara's face drips with triumph, but that doesn't matter. Jet does. He crouches against the wall, staring at him in glassy-eyed horror. Lee moves toward him. Jet's eyebrows slide down, arching furiously.
"Don't you fucking touch me, firebender!"
Lee freezes.
Katara brushes past him and helps Jet stand.
Lee runs out the door.
He feels hollow.
It's dusk. Lee doesn't remember climbing to the roof of this tenement, far from his own apartment. He sits along the center ridge, hugging his knees.
The night is dark. Only a small sliver of the moon to help the stars light the sky. Still, someone finds him. He shifts his weight. His joints creak. He stares into the darkness.
"I'm… sorry," she says.
Lee refuses to look at her.
"I didn't—I wasn't thinking."
"No shit." He bites out.
Katara huffs. "Look, I'm trying to apologize, alright?"
He ignores her. She sits down near him. She's warm. And as much as he wants to hate her, he's so, so cold. So he stays.
Neither says anything.
A cloud drifts across the moon. Alley pumas five stories below hiss and yowl at one another. An argument breaks out in one of the apartments. Maybe a few. It's difficult to tell.
"I hope you're happy," he mutters.
She looks at him, a soft kind of desperation clinging to her brow. "I'm not."
"Good."
A muscle in her jaw works furiously. Her lashes clump, heavy with unshed tears. Lee scoffs. Like she has a right to cry about this.
"It's just, we've fought a lot, you and me," Katara whispers. "I see your face, and it's the face of the enemy, you know?"
"No. I don't."
"…You really don't remember, do you?"
A sharp, bark of a laugh escapes him. "I remember a lot of things, waterbender."
She stiffens. Her eyes narrow.
"I remember the ocean. I remember fire. I remember pirates. I remember an old man. I remember a bald kid. I remember how skin feels as it melts off your face." He sneers at her stricken expression. "Oh yeah, I remember a lot of things. But I don't know you. And for you to just drop in and kick me in the fucking teeth like you did—" He lets out a sharp breath and shuts his eyes tightly. "I don't know what I did to piss you off so much, and I don't know that I'd apologize if I did."
She stares at him. Lee feels something hot trail down his cheek. He turns his head away. That hole inside him stretches wider, trying to swallow him. No one's there to hold it back.
"You don't even know your name, do you?" Katara puts a hand on his arm. It stops him from falling.
His throat is too tight. He can't push the word out. Lee shakes his head sharply.
"Zuko," she breathes. "Your name is Zuko."
"So, you and Jet are… friends?"
"Something like that."
"I never would have imagined that."
"…Why's that?"
"I just never really thought you'd look at someone like that."
"Oh."
"You two have something special, don't you?"
"…Maybe."
Katara touches him a lot while they sit on the roof. Nothing invasive, just a soft pat or a gentle squeeze on his shoulder or forearm. It's strange, but it doesn't bother him.
It's near midnight when she convinces him to leave the rooftop. Lee—Zuko—follows her back mutely. The hollowness returns.
Jet stands at the window. His face twitches forward as they enter. Zuko freezes in the doorway. Katara pushes him inside. She murmurs something about staying nearby as she shuts the door.
Zuko leans against the closed door, staring at Jet's back. The other boy stays unusually still. He looks almost small without his mismatched armor. Zuko takes a step forward.
"Jet," he says softly.
Jet slumps, gripping onto the windowsill. Zuko thinks it might be the only thing keeping him upright. He takes another step forward. He can almost touch Jet now.
"You came back."
"Yeah," Zuko answers. He reaches his hand out, but pulls it back quickly.
"You didn't even look surprised."
"I meant to tell you. In a different way. I didn't want—I don't want to hurt you."
"Too fuckin' late for that." Jet's chuckle is hoarse, and it bites into Zuko. He grits his teeth. This wasn't fair. This wasn't his fault.
"I'm not gonna apologize for something I can't change."
"I never expected you to."
"Good."
Jet turns toward him a little, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye. "I'm just tryin' to figure out how—" he faces the window again "—just how the fuck I managed to fall in love with a firebender."
Zuko can't breathe.
"And not just any fire breathing monster, but the spirits-damned crown prince." Jet's shoulders are tense. Zuko is frozen. He wants to touch Jet, to soothe his fears like Jet had helped him earlier. He wants to bury his hands in Jet's hair. He wants to kiss him breathless. He wants to hear Jet moan his name.
But he can't move. His vision blurs around the edges.
Jet spins around, still leaning on the windowsill. The lines under his eyes speak of weariness, and the swollen eyelids show just how difficult this night has been for him, too.
Zuko's jaw sets, and air rushes into his lungs. His hands rest on either side of Jet's face, forcing him to meet Zuko's eyes.
"I should hate you," Jet breathes.
Zuko steps closer and kisses him, hard. Their teeth clack together, catching on one another's lips. It isn't pleasant. It's painful and demanding and cathartic. Zuko's nails dig into Jet's scalp, and Jet pulls him closer. His grip is almost painful.
Every time Zuko tries to pull away, Jet follows. His teeth scrape across Zuko's jaw; his tongue sucks on an earlobe. So Zuko returns the favor. He pushes his hips roughly against Jet's; determined fingers trace the well-known scars on his abdomen.
When they finally separate, they're both gasping and desperate.
Zuko watches Katara coat her hands with water. It glows softly as she presses her fingertips to Jet's temples. There's a tense line cutting through everyone's forehead, lingering at the corners of their mouths.
"Try to think about something you remember," Katara murmurs. "Something you know for sure."
Jet's face twists. He grits his teeth. The water around his temples glows brighter, and his expression softens.
Katara exchanges a worried glance with Zuko.
"Lee," Jet says, opening his eyes and giving him a wry grin. "I think I got us arrested."
Zuko blinks at him. He thinks he sees the sparks of swords clashing. "Somehow that doesn't surprise me."
Katara snorts and pulls her hands away. She flicks the water into the basin in the cooking area.
The atmosphere is still rigid. Jet's easy smile is tight-lipped and a tension holds him stiffly by the shoulders. Things are far from okay. But they might be. Eventually.
Her hands are cold. The light from the water seeps through his eyelids.
Zuko tries to remember something he knows for sure.
This tea is nothing more than hot leaf juice!
Uncle, that's what all tea is.
How could a member of my own family say something so horrible?
I failed.
Us outcasts have to stick together. We have to watch each other's backs because no one else will.
I've realized lately that being on your own isn't always the best path.
You'll never catch up.
Azula always lies.
Dad's going to kill you.
I need to capture him to restore something I've lost, my honor.
My mother's necklace!
I'll be fine!
Ever since I lost my son—
Uncle, you don't have to say it.
—I think of you as my own.
I meant you no disrespect. I am your loyal son!
You will learn respect, and suffering will be your teacher.
…Mom?
No matter how things may seem to change, never forget who you are.
"My name is Zuko, son of Ursa and Firelord Ozai. Prince of the Fire Nation and heir to the throne."
They both stare at him. Katara moves first, her hand drifting down to his cheek. Zuko glances at her before resuming the examination of his hands.
Everything seems so much sharper, clearer. His mouth tastes bitter. The sound of the flickering candle echoes. He can feel Jet breathing from across the room. He can smell the lilac and rain clinging to the girl next to him. And everything is so very green.
He isn't quite whole. Pieces of him are still missing, but he doubts Katara can help with that. He probably just needs work through it himself. Now isn't the time for that.
Zuko swallows and looks up.
"What?"
They look at each other, and Katara's thumb brushes something wet from his face. Jet gives a noncommittal shrug.
"Do you…" She starts.
He gives her a tight nod, shaking off her hands. Katara backs up and wraps her arms around herself. Jet's gaze lingers on her, a worried crease settling on his forehead. He steps forward and puts a hand on her shoulder. She leans into him.
"It's almost dawn," Jet says.
Zuko isn't sure what to do, knowing what he has been missing these last few weeks. The disconnect between Lee and his world seems unfathomable to him. Being Lee is simple. Go to work, pay rent, try not to burn dinner, and enjoy what little he has. Being Zuko is difficult. He can't go back to being just Lee. That isn't even an option. No matter how much it will rip him to pieces to leave that life behind.
He wonders if this is the first time he's ever wished he was someone else.
"What are you going to do?" Jet's voice pierces through his brooding. Zuko looks at him. He already knows what Zuko will say. His mouth falls slack, even as he nods.
"I doubt you'll listen to me, but I think you're wrong." Katara stands in front of him, hands on her hips.
"According to you, I've always been wrong."
"Hmm, true, but there's no reason for you to leave." She brushes dirt off his shirt.
"I need to find Uncle."
Katara leans up and her breath is hot on his cheek. "You should come with us." Katara presses a kiss along the bottom edge of his scar, but he can only feel her bottom lip.
"…We'll see."
She smiles against him. Zuko catches a glimpse of it before Jet pulls her away.
This isn't what he ever expected to happen.
It's too much. All of it is too much. The hand wrapping around him so surely. The long hair tickling his chest. The rumble of a groan behind him. Too much.
The sun shines through the cracks in the shutters when he wakes. Zuko peels his arm away from Jet carefully. His fingers catch on a few tangles in Katara's hair. He tucks it behind her ear. Jet lets out a soft, sleepy whine, so Zuko pauses a moment to trace his shoulder blade.
He finds he's smiling.
When he's dressed, he takes a moment to cement the night in his mind. The smell of sex, the taste of sweat, the sound of their breathing, and the feel of skin slippery with desire.
Zuko knows he'll see her again. She travels with the Avatar, and he chases the Avatar. Their paths will always cross.
However, he doubts he will ever see Jet again. This time of theirs was stolen. Their acquaintance should have ended when they were arrested. It was never meant to become what it had.
Love never should have entered the equation.
So he takes his time, drinking Jet in. The planes of his face, the stripes of light crossing his body. An arm thrown haphazardly above his head and a hand buried in Katara's hair. Zuko kneels back down and presses a kiss to his shoulder, his neck, his temple.
As he stands, he tries to put himself together. Piece by piece. All except one. And it's the one that hurts the most to leave behind.
Zuko turns away finally and walks out the door. This hollowness in him is different. Maybe it's what love hurts like.
He can't have reality, so the memory will have to do.
A/N: So, yeah. That was an attempt at plotty Jetkotara. It hardly even got smutty, wow.
Anyway. Big thanks to zukoshotpants for betaing. This had been kicked around my brain for so long, her advice really helped. About halfway through I almost gave up and made it just plain Jetko, but I think I pulled it out in the end. IDK. I'm just gonna... sit in the corner and think about what I've done now.
Reviews appreciated, but never required.