I'm in pain. My muscles are sore and I keep misspelling things!

I do not own Avatar the Last Airbender.

W.I.S (What's In Store): AU. Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics. Possibly unhinged Jet. Smut.


Glass Half Empty

I

There was a feeling Jet treasured amongst the rest, it was the pure euphoria of knowing that you were alive as it was one thing to still feel your heart steadily beating but another to know that you were well and truly alive, whilst one offered nothing more than the bat of an eyelash the other hit you with the force of a massive gale wind. It was a feeling Jet knew he would give up the second the ferry came, the ferry that would take them across the large body of water and to Ba-Sing-Se, the "Impenetrable City" that housed tantalizing promises for the weak and downtrodden, the lost and the searching . . . Jet and his two most loyal were amongst the group of people searching for that new chance at life.

But boarding the ferry with both Longshot and Smellerbee following close behind the second they're given the okay, he begins to reflect upon his "old life" and wonders for a brief second what domesticity will do for souls like them, still so young but having spilled blood and committed atrocities in the name of freedom, that of which they were named after, having grown wild and, in a sense, feral, with no man to answer to. Could they really give up all of those hardships they've weathered through for something so new and untainted? Could they forget about the soldiers they relished killing and those they've lost in those battles as rare as it had been? Could Jet really give up that large portion of himself devoted to the war?

The answers don't sit well with him nor do the speculative daydreams of an easy life, but he really does want to start over with a new group and with both of his friends pushing for it and wanting it just as bad, if not more than he, then he wasn't going to deny them such a luxury just because he hadn't wanted to give up that part of his life.

Aboard the ferry and with it setting sail, he wanders the ferry's wooden deck, slipping around and in between others who have lost and are searching. Jet not daring to chance a look at their gaunt and distant faces for fear of his old hatred stirring back to life, not after he'd tried so hard to bury it after the dam fiasco because it's just too much for him, that vicious rage and poisoning hatred killing him bit by bit. The lean teenager locates a small space he can occupy and takes to resting against one of the wooden supports . . . even though they are on the journey, the beginning of the transition to their new lives within the great walls, there is still so much wrong with the sights before him. Granted, he knew better than to expect things to do a complete turn-around so suddenly, but he at least assumed that there would be some difference. Like the food, for example. The gruel was hideous and made his stomach churn uncomfortably, the liquid looking nothing more than dirty water and the chunks looking rancid, the hocking from some of the other partakers of the dish on board caused his fickle appetite to diminish even more, the hunger disappearing completely when some of the refugees slurped the slop down like it was the best they've ever had, and knowing the situation the world was in, it wasn't too far a stretch to think that it was for most . . . his chest aches with that familiar biting anger and his throat clenches, the urge to rage clawing just beneath his skin and screaming to be voiced for all to hear. It was extremely tiring.

The Freedom Fighter leader had conjured up a brief plan of looting the kitchens for better meals but thought better of it for not only did it go against what they originally came here to do, but it would require some more help that they just did not have . . . someone passes by, their scent brushing against the tanned male's nose causing his body to flinch away from the horrible odor, his nose scrunching up in distaste. That's another thing he's noticed. The refugees surrounding them all had repugnant smells varying from passable to downright rotten. Body odor at its finest. Now he and his Freedom Fighters hadn't been the cleanliest of bunches out there, but they at least had regular bathing once or twice a week to stave off the ripening of their own personal smells.

Sniffing to remove the odor from his nose, he turns his head away and towards a group of refugees, he isn't really staring at the pack talking amongst themselves, more like beyond them. His mind miles and distances away from their underwhelming transport, back within a colorful forest filled with fresh scents and the soothing feeling of belonging. It's only when the group moves away does he come back, like the string on Longshot's bow each time he draws and releases an arrow, but even then it takes him a second to really notice the pair standing near the railing of the ferry, far from the other refugees. They're just as dull as the rest of the dirty and downtrodden refugees, nothing really popping out at him except for the duly noted tension in the younger stranger's body. They're muttering to one another until the younger takes, what Jet assumes, a sip of the bowl he'd apparently been nursing only to spit it back out and hack . . . it's when his voice raises enough for the tanned male to hear does he feel that voice tug at something within him that brings his earlier plan of raiding the kitchens for better food return. The fact that he was so openly and angrily complaining about the food like he was used to better made him perfect for the plan.

"Aren't we all?" he asks rhetorically, this catches the attention of both strangers, the old man watching genuine curiosity while his younger companion looks at them from over a shoulder. Jet sees it then. That terrible scar that slants his left eye, forever freezing it into something so mean and hateful. "My name is Jet." he goes on, not letting the sudden appearance of it hinder him, he steps forward gesturing to both Longshot and Smellerbee who are all but ready to follow him, "And these are my Freedom Fighters: Smellerbee and Longshot."

"Hey."

Longshot nods.

The young stranger continues glaring them down but turns away and gives them a lame, "Hello."

That one word tense and as apprehensive as his body language, but it calls to something deeper even if there really is nothing behind that one word. Rather. It's the way it is said. The boy is guarded, most likely jaded. That scar has a story behind it that paints a shadow of mystery across the strange young man and Jet wants to know, he wants to get to know the other.

He takes a few steps closer while he speaks, "Here's the deal." the old man is looking at him, but he knows the other is listening as well so he continues, "I hear the captain's eating like a king," he takes even more steps closer, he knows the other knows for his shoulders hike up just the tiniest fraction, "whilst us refugees have to feed off the scraps. Doesn't seem fair, does it?"

"What sort of king is he eating like?"

The old man asks.

Jet casts him a glance, "The fat happy kind." the food isn't as grand but it comes close, he sees the old man drool and turns his attention back to the stiff companion. If there was a chance the other would reject his offer, he was sure his instincts to provide for his elder companion would kick in. "So. Wanna help us liberate some food?"

The scarred teen remains silent before he tosses the slop overboard and into the distant waters, as he turns he says in a tone that is final and decisive, "I'm in."

The Freedom Fighter leader can't stop his pleased smirk from spreading . . . Jet soon learns the names of the two refugees and knows without a doubt that the given names are false, but doesn't dwell too much on it as people are allowed their secrets since he himself has a few that he would rather not have dragged in to the light, such as . . . he shuts his mind down as that memory and those thoughts or feelings have no place in the present, in the life he was trying to start. Instead, he goes over his plans with his cohorts and the newest addition.

As he talks, his eyes constantly turning to Li who remains silent and pensive, staring at nothing in particular but listening. Jet understands that not everyone is forthcoming so it's only when they polish off their plan and start to part ways does Jet speak to Li, stopping him with one word that sets Li off spectacularly and has him pinned against the nearest wooden wall with Jet holding his hands up as he stares down into the eyes of someone hiding so much.

Li finally snarls, voice gnarled, "How?"

"I couldn't tell at first since your scent was kind of . . . stale." Jet starts, "But get close enough like this, and you can smell it just beneath the stale front. You're an Omega." Li hisses and recoils at the O word and pushes himself away, he takes a couple of steps back, looking trapped and a tiny bit fearful. It makes Jet wonder once again what he hides behind that scar. "Don't worry." he says, but Li doesn't stop his pacing, "I won't tell."

Li scoffs, loud and harsh, "Like I'm supposed to believe that?"

"I keep my promises."

Which is a total like as he'd promised many things to others in the past, even a few to Katara, that he'd broken either accidentally or actively. Actively having been the more prominent out of the two. But with Li looking so anxious and stuck, he'd make an active attempt, besides he legitimately wanted to become Li's friend because they felt so similar, enough so that Jet felt a connection he'd never had before with any of his Freedom Fighters . . . the night they pull off the liberating of the food, Jet is impressed by the way Li moves, silent and no stranger to stealth or those dual swords strapped to his back. Once again, he wonders.

After distributing the food to the other refugees and takes a seat with both Li and his uncle, Mushi, he finds himself picking out the discrepancies of other Omegas versus Li: Omegas were fine young things with not a blemish in sight, they had wide doe-eyes that held innocence and naivety, their bodies were lithe without an ounce of fat or muscle, they were docile and sweet, their hair long and silky, they were feminine and often dressed in silks and other fine fabrics that often held little to no protection, only serving to taunt their viewer. Li's skin was blemish free despite the scar that forever made him look angry, his eyes were shrewd and filled with suspicion, tracking the movement of anyone near him, the only exception being his uncle, although Li did seem a little on the naïve side when it came to interacting with others, Li was slim but that was thanks to starvation, he did have muscle definition though, he was definitely not docile or sweet, his emotions ranging from angry to seriously angry and he was not afraid to voice his annoyance or opinions, in that way he was brash, while Li's hair did look soft it wasn't long or silky, and it was obvious that Li was male, he probably dressed in fine clothing once but he was pretty sure that they were modest.

Back in the forest when they would pillage the camps of Fire Nation soldiers, they would come across inappropriate scrolls with Omegas wet and presenting, pleasuring themselves in some form. These scrolls were sometimes passed amongst the older Freedom Fighters who would make sure it stayed out of the younger members' hands, Jet having gotten off on these scrolls once or twice and often thinking of meeting a pretty little Omega of his own, but now faced with a one of a kind Omega like Li he felt unreasonably ashamed of what he'd done despite not having known of the other at that time.

Li was different and Jet liked that.

There was just something about the other refugee that made Jet want to get to know him better, to be able to slip past some of the obvious walls built up bigger and stronger than Ba-Sing-Se's, and this feeling was something Jet knew had nothing to do with the fact that Li was an Omega. Spirits, even if Li was a Beta, or say an Alpha, he'd still feel that pull calling to him. It was real and indescribable . . . he thinks back to his discomfort earlier that day. Domesticity wasn't something he knew how to do and the thought of staying one place for so long without any real purpose made his skin itch and his body restless. But if Li, short-tempered, indignant, and trapped Li with a million secrets hiding behind that false name and oh-so real scar could, then so could Jet because in the end, he duly felt as if Li had been a part of something so much bigger, was meant for something so much bigger than a simple life.

They would have a simple life, even if it killed them on the inside.


Does it ever annoy you when your mind is working in overdrive and you end up making mistakes because you're like five words ahead but your body is still trying to keep up?