Where Words Fail: Book 7: A Game of Pai Sho

by TEi Has Pants

The Freedom Fighters have been divided when the world needs them the most, but can Smellerbee and The Duke reunite everybody in time for Sozin's Comet?

2. Chapter 2

Where Words Fail

Book Seven: A Game of Pai Sho

Chapter 2: If you can't believe in yourself, then believe in me who believes in you

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story is a fan fiction - nothing more, nothing less. It has been made purely for entertainment purposes, and is not meant for commercial gain. Avatar: The Last Airbender and all characters, places and concepts are copyright of Nickelodeon, Michael Dante DiMartino and Bryan Konietzko. All original characters are copyright their respective owners and are used with their permission. The story has been illustrated by the talented and awesome SioUte.

SCENE DIVIDE

Hong Ye Forest

29 days until Sozin's Comet

Sitting alone in his hut - his old hut, now, as he no longer felt proper living in Jet's (although he had yet to move his belongings back), Sneers sat cross-legged on the floor with his hands folded in his lap and his eyes closed.

His children.

His precious children.

Mortar and Telltale had both too young to be taken from this world, and - and if Smellerbee hadn't intervened, then they would both still be alive right now.

(And you'd still be tied to a tree and the Overdweller would still be here and there'd be nothing you could do about it.)

"Shut up, self," he grumbled. There was undeniable logic to Smellerbee's plan, and...ugh. Okay, her arrival couldn't have come at a better time. Because her method had been clear and concise and the number of fatalities had been kept to a realistic minimum (that it wasn't any more than two during such an invasive violation of the Freedom Fighters' lifestyle...astounded him). Because Sneers kept trying to put numbers to his plan, where he waited for the right moment, and the future remained obscured by nebulous fog. The murderer could have killed any greater number of the children either in a fit of insanity, or malnutrition, or, or because none of his men would actually watch out for them...

Too many variables.

Yeah, maybe Smellerbee did make a better leader in the end, but these children needed a father figure more than someone to lead them to their deaths. That's the road that he'd originally set himself out on, the one he should still be pursuing, but Pipsqueak and The Duke had to open their big, stupid mouths and he'd decided to prepare the group once more to set foot on the battlefield.

They - Telltale and Mortar - could have stayed out of the ruckus. Mortar had already been injured, and Telltale was just - just so small. It wasn't any fair, dammit. After all of Sneers' efforts to grind Jet's ways out of their lives, they reappeared at a crucial time and caused two children, two babies, to become as self-destructive as their late leader.

Smellerbee encouraged it, Spirits damn her. She'd said so herself: 'protect those weaker than yourselves.' It was part of the Creed, something Jet or Longshot or maybe even himself had thought up (it was so long ago), but all that did was make his charges throw their lives away to -

Before he could finish that sentiment, a hoarse, nasal voice derailed his train of thought, cutting through the mire he'd cloaked around himself. "Knock knock, the big bad bear wolf is here to collect the moose pig."

His brow furrowed (it's her, she's bold enough to show her face here!), but to reply would be to open up to her, and - and she was just as guilty as the murderer himself -

"Nothing? No love?"

Hmph. And she had the gall to act so flippant, when -

"Look, I could stand here all day and play this game with you, Spirits know I've seen Jet do it enough times, but there are leaderly things that need to be tended to. Since we haven't technically sorted out who's in charge, I figured I'd do the nice thing and let you in on it." His door swung open, the hinges creaking against the heavy wood, and her lithe footsteps padding against the wood floor. "Oh, sorry, I didn't know you were meditating. But you're gonna have to put that on hold for a bit, 'k?"

He frowned, but kept his silence, earning a sigh from the swordswoman.

"Okay, I get it. You're cheesed off at me. You wanna know something? I don't blame you." She moved closer (he could feel her presence, invading his shell), but Sneers held steady. Maybe if he kept still long enough, she'd leave him alone. He didn't want anything to do with her right now. "You have every right to be mad. Any time a friend or a charge loses a life, it's not something to take lightly. We've lost Freedom Fighters in the past; this isn't any different and it's not any easier. And I bet, inside that noodle-choked head of yours, you're chasing deer hares in circles trying to find some way to pin the blame on me."

Nothing. No, nada, zip. He wouldn't yield and he had a lot of patience to spare. He had patience spilling over, he was a water pump of patience, a river, a lake, an ocean, grand and lethal and unfathomable by a single mind. He would swallow Smellerbee's attempts to get his attention and wash them away.

After a moment's pause, he heard Smellerbee snort and say, "Okay. Fine. I see how it's gonna be. Sit right here and think about things, I'll come back when I'm finished. I've already made the plans, and if you're not going to raise any objections, all that's left is to tell the others. I gotta admit, having you around would help put the Freedom Fighters I don't know at ease, since the only reason they have to trust me is word of mouth from the ones who were here before, but..."

Sneers could imagine her shrugging and shaking her head - giving up, because there was nothing she could have done to make him move. As she left (and forgot to close the door), Sneers exhaled a sigh of relief. Good, begone with the bitch. He turned his thoughts inward, trying to find the reclusive, slippery balance that normally came to him so easily, but death loomed too recently, making zen impossible to catch hold of - like an eel in the lake. Like - like - footsteps, thunderous, but belonging to one person, charging at him from a distance...

...wait, what? That didn't make any sense -

Sneers' eyes snapped open just in time for him to see Smellerbee rush in through his front door, her eyes wide, hair whipping wildly around her head, mouth torn open in a feral scream, left arm back, hand balled into a fist -

"Sneers! LET'S SEE YOU GRIT THOSE TEETH!"

Springing into the air, she crossed the threshold once more, tucking her knees into her chest, and - beautiful sparks, liquid-hot pain throbbing in his cheek, rolling, crashing into the wall behind him with a great, thunderous clatter. Those few possessions left in the hut tumbled from shelves overhead and scattered across the floor. His cheek throbbed both inside and out, his teeth on the right side of his face ached, and the coppery tang of blood welled up around his tongue; his topknot had come loose, too, his raven-colored hair cascading down around his face. Instinctively, he shot one arm out to steady himself, grabbing onto a small footlocker emblazoned with red and gold, eyes wide - readying himself for what came next, but -

- but she didn't attack again. Smellerbee unfurled herself to her full height and stared down at the monk with eyes wide, her mouth set into an even line. Defiance radiated from her, and it wasn't like when she had been younger - it wasn't a bratty, spoiled, snotty sort of defiance. No, this time she had an aura of the stuff so thick as to be nigh tangible, and - and, for the life of him, he couldn't get up to strike back, but whether it was out of fear or paralyzing respect, he couldn't tell.

"I wasn't kiddin' when I said you have the right to be mad at me." Almond-shaped eyes met his over that nubbin nose of hers; she was glaring at him, yes, but there was a unique blend of sincerity to go with it, neither cold nor alienating, condescending nor accusatory. "Yesterday, I found out that being leader means being the one to make the hard decisions. I could have gone along with your plan to wait it out, to steal away the others two or three at a clip until they were all safe. I could have let you follow the Overdweller on your own and tend to Telltale. I could have put together something less dangerous. But I didn't, because time wasn't our ally and I could see a clear path with my method. I knew, going into it, there might be fatalities. It was something I would have to come to terms with."

"You killed them," Sneers said, his voice strange to his own ears; childish, petty almost, but he - he knew he was right. "Your plan got them murdered."

"Yes," Smellerbee agreed, nodding. "It's on my head. It hurts to know that - but turning my back to that fact would mean I'm going down the wrong path. I have a future to carve and a world to save, and I will never deny that it's my fault we lost our friends yesterday."

Sneers' breath suddenly became - twisted, almost, scrawling, wriggling, a black miser writhing in his chest, clinging to his heart. He shoved himself up to his feet, his back and head throbbing with the pain of impact, and lunged at Smellerbee; he swung, but the girl ducked beneath his massive fist, dancing behind him, using her smaller, more fleet-footed form capitalize on the cramped space. He whirled around, tried to shoulder-check her; she back-stepped, vaulted off the same footlocker he'd used as support earlier, and soared over his head. A mule-kick from the monk missed her head by less than an inch, billowing past her shaggy mop of hair, and she twirled around into a crouch, rolling beneath him. He tried to stomp her, but she was already gone, up to her feet, side-stepping to his left, and with all his strength, he swung his fist around again (missed, dammit!), his momentum carrying him around, down, onto his hands and knees. His breath burned in his chest and the miser on his heart quaked, rage filling him, making him flush and sweat.

"Sneers."

The monk slammed his fists into the ground and scrunched his eyes tight. "Shut up."

"Sneers, I'm taking responsibility for my actions and you're still lashing out." Smellerbee's voice was quiet, reserved - but not afraid, no, she was still so bold, so resilient even in her modesty. "Didja forget something?"

"It's your fault."

"Yes, we've been over this. Who else?"

"Y-you. And him. The murderer."

"I can share that responsibility. But there's more, isn't there?" She pressed, and even though her voice turned upward her question wasn't much of a question at all. "Tell me."

"You and him."

"Sneers. Tell me."

"I - I can't - "

"Can't what?" And there, a vocal knife digging into his ribs. "Are you so selfish that you've lost your ability to see?"

"Shut up!"

"Sneers, it's me and the Overdweller and - "

" - I said shut up - "

Smellerbee's voice rose up, swelling over his, absorbing it, and she roared, "Stop acting like such a girl! Man up! Who else is responsible?"

"ME!" He shouted, whipping his head up and opening his eyes, glaring at her - and as the truth spilled from his mouth, he felt himself calming, because...because it was true, and he was, he was doing the difficult thing, but also the right thing...Smellerbee's gaze had not hardened, or become heated, and her eyes still remained open and clean, foisting no blame upon him. He felt the muscles in his own face going soft, and he expelled one last breath of hot air, the miser crumbling and fading and dying inside him, leaving him - pure. Whole again. In a softer voice, he added, "I am. I'm also responsible."

Smellerbee nodded, and a warm smile crossed her face. She extended a gloved hand to him, and said, "It's hard to face the fact that you led someone who trusted you to their deaths...but it's a lot easier to share the burden with someone else to lend you their shoulders. Whenever you lose your path, I'll be there to deck you and bring you back to your senses."

For a shocking, surreal moment, Smellerbee flickered away and - and Jet stood, just behind her, his cocky, roguish smirk alight on his face, his sharp eyes wrinkling at the corners. There was significance in his placement, behind Smellerbee instead of in front of or over her...and the grudging respect he'd been nursing for the girl since she first proved herself to him when they were younger bloomed a little bit, and he could see the potential to surpass Jet's accomplishments in her.

When he blinked, Jet had vanished; the lanky swordswoman still remained, however, hand out to him, her teammate, and...

...and he clamped his hand around her wrist. She returned the grip around his and helped the monk to his feet. Because she had shown him a certain light he had been turning his back to ever since the Core broke up. Like she said, turning away from that fact would mean he's starting down a dark path...and he really wasn't that eager to get punched in the face again.

After a moment where the two met each others' eyes, they turned and left the hut, making for the dining hall. As they left, Sneers asked, "When the hell did you get so strong? You still look scrawnier than a starved wolf."

"A lady has to have some secrets," she scoffed, and Sneers found himself chuckling at the faux imitation of snootiness.

"Let me tell you something, though...next time I meditate, I'm going somewhere that none of you can find me. Between you slugging me and Skillet beaning me with her frying pan..."

SCENE DIVIDE

Western Air Temple

22 days until Sozin's Comet

Zuko had to give the Freedom Fighters one thing, if nothing else: they certainly were a tenacious bunch.

Lowering his gaze to the fire he'd stoked before him, to the flickering flames casting an orange glow on the dust-coated brown stone of the Air Temple's floor, he remembered not too long ago how he'd met with Smellerbee and Longshot in Omashu, how he'd...how he'd wavered on that crossroads again, helping them to escape while later returning to his father's side. Another wasted opportunity to change, to make the right decision. Uncle had been right all along...the only person who could have restored Zuko's honor was himself.

If Azula had been privy to Zuko's involvement in the outcome of that battle, she didn't show it. Still, she was as manipulative as she was evil, and the only person who didn't bear the brunt of her unyielding hate was their father, the Fire Lord.

"The Freedom Fighters?" Sokka asked from across the fire, quirking his head to the side, keeping his gaze on the deer hare carcass laid out before him. The Water Tribe warrior used a small, hook-like tool to pull the guts from the creature through a well-placed cut in its belly; even though he'd been an enemy to Zuko in the past, it would be difficult to deny the bond that had been forming since the Fire Prince found his path alongside the Avatar. "I can get behind the concept of a morale-booster, but isn't that sort of camaraderie what killed Jet...?"

There was Jet again. Zuko remembered the shaggy-haired teen, the wheat stalk arched defiantly in his mouth, just a year or two older than Zuko himself, if that. He'd wanted so badly for the Fire Prince to join the Freedom Fighters until he found out about, you know, the whole Firebending thing.

Yeah, hadn't exactly been a shining moment for either of them. That, more than anything, had been what led to Jet's murder.

The weirdest part? The Duke didn't seem nearly as opposed to Zuko as Jet, Smellerbee or Longshot had been. The Duke knew right off the bat that Zuko was not only Fire Nation, but the crowned Prince. Technically self-exiled, but still Prince nonetheless. (After all, who needed semantics in a time like this?) There hadn't been any hiding behind mistruths and forged identities, but Zuko wasn't dumb. Maybe prone to losing his way, yeah, but not stupid by any means. He got the feeling that if...if he told The Duke what he had experienced - at Ba Sing Se, at New Oz - er, Omashu, he might...

Well. Smellerbee had threatened to kill him if he didn't have his act straight. The Duke seemed a lot more forgiving...but the pits around Omashu had a visible bottom. If the young Freedom Fighter caught Zuko off-guard, it'd be a lot longer of a fall.

"Nah, it wasn't anything Smellerbee or Longshot did," Toph replied, sitting to Zuko's right with one leg drawn up, her arm slung across it. "I think it's a good idea. Count me in, The Duke."

The Duke - stationed across from Toph, the fire casting dancing shadows and shimmering gold across his round, youthful face - could not have hid his blush even if he tried. He grinned, a wide, silly beam, and said, "Wow, cool. Thanks, Toph!"

"Don't mention it," the blind Earthbender responded, grinning and bowing her head just the slightest bit. "But you gotta promise me double servings for dinner."

This elicited a laugh from the assembled youths, and Zuko felt himself chuckling as well. It had been over a week since joining the Avatar, and the initial sensation of unease at...at laughing with these people he had once fought so fervently against had mostly passed. (But only mostly.) They were genuinely good people.

"It's good to have a rallying point." Aang said, when the laughter had died down. "I do what I can as the Avatar, but maybe if people see regular citizens like The Duke or Haru taking up arms, it might...you know, inspire them to do what they can, too. Not that I advocate any excess violence it might drum up, but at this point it's not like we can afford to lose any more ground to the Fire Nation."

"Then why not work on promoting a message of peace to go alongside its base principals?" Teo suggested, offering Sokka a skinning knife. "We're fighting for that more than anything else, Freedom Fighters or no."

"That could work," The Duke murmured, nodding to himself. "It's part of what needs to get done, anyhow. If we keep fighting this war under any other pretense, it'll just lead to more war. And I dunno about the rest of you, but I'm sick of losing friends to this thing."

"And family," Sokka agreed. Zuko found himself staring down at the fire again, a frown lighting on his face. No doubt Sokka visualized his father - a man Zuko hadn't met, a man whom the others here swore stood taller and stronger than any other adult in their invasion force. It made Zuko a little bit jealous, knowing his friends had such a supportive paternal figure in their lives; the Fire Lord wasn't exactly the shining example of a good father. (He had to be like that, in order to favor Twisted-Bitch-Azula over Zuko.) "This is what you guys had to endure before, isn't it? Before your Core shattered. I think I understand that a bit better. I'm game. I'll join the Freedom Fighters."

"What about you, Katara?" Aang asked. The monk - four years Zuko's junior in body and spirit, ninety-six his senior in years - turned his head to Sokka's sister, who sat in silence with her arms crossed over her chest, her mocha skin tinged mango due to the firelight, her hair a rippling ocean of brown cascading down her back.

"I...don't know," she said at last. She fixed the fire with a thoughtful frown. "I can't come up with a good reason why, but I'm stuck on figuring out why not, too. It sounds like this revival of yours is going to take place regardless of what I think, The Duke...but I'm just not sure if I want to be a part of it just yet. Is that okay?"

"That's fair enough," The Duke yielded, shrugging.

Zuko, last of all, felt the attention of most of his peers settling on him. (Not Katara's, of course...but that was her own issue right now.) Shifting his weight, squirming under the combined gazes of those who would help him defy his own nation, he suddenly realized that - that he didn't know either, just the same as Katara - on whether or not he would join the Freedom Fighters.

"Well?" Toph asked, strumming her fingers on the stone beneath her, crooking her head. "What do you have, Flamebreath?"

"Oooh, I think that'd be a good Freedom Fighter name, actually," The Duke interjected, his grin widening a little. "And you could be the Blind Bandit, like from the Earth Rumble matches."

Toph beamed, her milky, glazed eyes shimmering. "I like your style. But Zucchini still hasn't answered my question."

"I..." Zuko shifted his weight again and frowned. What to say? The Duke had the right idea, yeah, and...well, he guessed he really wouldn't mind joining up with them, but he had a history with the group. He'd met their now-dead leader, had been threatened by other members. It would become complicated if Smellerbee and Longshot ever decided to reunite with The Duke and his new Freedom Fighters. There really wasn't any easy way to explain that, was there...? He could lie - he could turn his head away and say he wasn't interested, because that sort of thing was so corny. He could act aloof, alone, like the only person who could watch out for himself was himself...

...but Zuko wasn't that person anymore. He had found his path at the crossroads and taken it.

While it had mostly been through a retrospective understanding of what Uncle Iroh had strove so hard to teach him during his years of forced exile, it'd be unfair to say the Freedom Fighters didn't have a hand in that as well.

The others waited in silence, patient - maybe the gears churning in Zuko's head were just that cacophonous. Drawing a breath to steady himself, he said, "It's a good plan. If I understand right, one of your group mantras is that Freedom Fighters need to watch out for each other because nobody else will, right...?" Zuko turned his attention fully onto The Duke to find that the young Freedom Fighter's smile had fallen into a befuddled frown, his head crooked at an angle. "A misguided soul taught me that once, months ago. And, at the time...I was too deaf to listen."

"..." The Duke's shoulders bunched up. "You met Jet. Before he died."

"Yeah." Zuko nodded. "Longshot and Smellerbee, too. We...Jet and I worked well together."

"He must not have known you were Fire Nation," The Duke mumbled, his gaze drifting towards the abyss sprawled out in the near distance, engulfing the Western Air Temple. "The Jet I know wouldn't have given you the time of day otherwise."

"You're perceptive for an eight-year-old." Zuko felt himself smiling. "And a lot more forgiving than your friends, you asking me to join your group and knowing who I am. Smellerbee, Longshot and I crossed paths again afterwards, and once they found out for sure...well, Longshot almost made good use of Jet's swords to my throat."

The Duke was up to his feet and had crossed over to Zuko before the Fire Prince could really actually register it - and strange, that was, because Zuko was so used to fighting in a frenzy that The Duke shouldn't have snuck up on him like that. Still, he managed, somehow, and the Firebender found himself lurching back as the Freedom Fighter leaned close into him, his eyes wide and - and glistening, in the firelight, and...was he crying...?

"They're alive?" The Duke whispered. "You saw them?"

"Almost three weeks ago, in Omashu." Zuko hiked his eyebrows. "You didn't know?"

"..." The Duke blinked, and that grin fluttered back onto his face. "No...but, that kinda makes everything better. Were they alright?"

"Well, they'd seen better days," Zuko admitted, glancing away and hoping to mask the awkward stutter in his voice. "I mean, they had a close brush with my sister and her friends, but they got out alive, at least. I think they mentioned something about looking for their friends."

The Duke giggled, a giddy, refreshing sound that reminded Zuko of a spring breeze in the Earth Kingdom territories, as he'd combed relentlessly for the Avatar. It had been such an annoying, obnoxious sensation at the time, but now...well, he was a different person, after all.

"Us," he snickered. "They were lookin' for me and Pipsqueak! Hahaha, I knew they were too recalcitrant to just up and die like that!"

"The Duke, this is great news!" Aang said, and The Duke's grin infected the young Avatar; he leaned forward and slapped his thighs. "That means they're all out there, right? That means you can all pull back together!"

The Duke turned to Aang planted his tiny hands on his hips. "And that means my Freedom Fighters are gonna grow just that much more, when the time's right."

Zuko felt a grin wriggling on his lips as well, despite himself.

SCENE DIVIDE

Pan Xing Island

26 days until Sozin's Comet

"You. Yer Longshot the Hawkeye, aint'cha?"

Longshot glanced up at the inmate looming over him - a lithe, beanpole of a man with toned arms and an unkempt beard scrawled across his face. With eyes narrowed and expectant like an eagle snake waiting for prey to emerge from its den (and a face just as charming), the man kept his brown hair pulled back into a ponytail and planted one hand on the table.

"I heard a lot about you, you know," the inmate continued, his voice low and reedy. "They say yer a good bowman."

Was that all they were saying? That's a pretty big understatement. Longshot turned his attention back to today's lunch and closed his eyes, scooping up another forkful of mashed potatoes and forced it down, because it didn't have any actual taste. The stuff was really just mushy, kinda-edible air. Or better yet, like eating pulped, soft parchment, and just as dry. Yeah, that was more fitting.

The inmate snarled and slammed his hand down onto the table, making Longshot's (and Spatula's, beside him) tray bounce against the metal framework. "Don't you ignore me, you smartass! I almost made it into the Yuu Yan five years ago and I'm not gonna have people go around sayin' some punk Earth Kingdom kid is better at my craft than me!"

From Longshot's right, Spatula said, "He isn't ignoring you, Jian Tou. You just aren't listening to him." Every time the boy said something to defuse situations like this, utilizing his affable nature and leverage as the prison's best chef to his advantage, the archer felt a fledgling, begrudging respect flare up in his chest. Say what you would about Spatula, but he knew how to use his tools well. Longshot appreciated the fact that, as their time spent together wore on, he had been learning how to not be the same bungling-yet-kind-hearted Spatula the archer had come to know and (retroactively) dislike. That sort of evolution was rare to see in a person, especially at that speed.

Maybe it was because they had spent so much time apart. Maybe not.

Jian Tou snorted. "Tche! You think you're a tough guy, Spatula, but you're a huge pussy and it's no secret. Back off. I got a score to settle with this so-called best archer in the Earth Kingdom."

Mmm. Longshot liked that one a lot better than just plain old 'good bowman.' But he intended on finishing his lunch, tasteless and bland as it was, before returning to his cell and throwing nuts and bolts at the bulls-eye painted in grease on his ceiling. He lowered his fork to take another scoop of potatoes.

Jian Tou took exception to that; with a snarl, he swept his hand across the table and sent Longshot's tray flying, soaring through the air before clattering against a nearby wall, splattering it with flavorless rice, papery potatoes and milky creamed corn - an impressive, artistic display of whites, browns and yellows. Longshot's fork stopped halfway between his mouth and the table, empty, and the archer swore it yearned for the bland, tasteless meal, because it had at least been something to eat.

"Come on," Jian Tou growled, a wicked grin perking up one corner of his mouth, revealing two yellowed rows of teeth. His olive skin wrinkled near his nose, his eyes, revealing his true age - somewhere in his mid thirties, a man who had probably not almost been accepted into the Yuu Yan as early as five years ago and instead more likely twice that amount. He stood back and beckoned at Longshot with a 'come hither' motion. "Show me what the Earth Kingdom has to offer, kid!"

Longshot blinked, slowly, before letting go of a breath he hadn't been aware of holding. Swinging a leg out from under the table, he could feel the attention of the other inmates nearby stuck to him and Jian Tou; the tray crashing into the wall had proven obnoxious and intrusive enough to draw their eyes to the Freedom Fighter. Tension churned like thick fog in the air, one which would not be dispelled unless Longshot actually did something about it.

These men were starved for action, and given the doldrums of his daily life since coming here, Longshot didn't blame them. Fine, then...let them have a show.

Tightening his grip on the fork still clutched in one hand, he glanced up to Jian Tou's leering face, twisted, contorted by some kind of desperate, impotent rage, as if he had something to prove against Longshot. Let him keep thinking that, because soon that hope would be all he had left to cling to. There was a paralyzing moment where neither archer moved, but Longshot had been in more dire straits in the past; he let his gaze bore into the would-be Yuu Yan's skull, a psyche-out tactic, but if it shook the older man at all, he didn't show. Fine.

After drawing as much tension as Longshot dared, he made his move; he whipped his free hand out, snatching up his spoon and Spatula's utensils in one go. Pushing up from his seat, he rolled backwards over the table, between two of Spatula's less menacing buddies, grabbing their utensils as well; Jian Tou lunged after him, clambering up and over the bench, slow, awkward, and Longshot realized that what Spatula had said yesterday about spending most of his life tree hopping working to the archer's favor held truth.

The Freedom Fighter landed on the cold metal floor in a crouch, lunging sideways up into a run, twisting his body around so he could see where he was going. The other inmates rose, trying to get a good view, and raucous cheers thundered through the cafeteria; he hadn't ever liked performing so centrally. Leave the grandstanding to Bee or Jet; he'd sooner sit in the shadows and wait for his time in quiet anticipation. Sometimes, though, you had to swallow the bitter pill, and with Jian Tou hot on his ass, Longshot poured his all into Just Another Fight, legs pumping, sweat beading on his brow, making his hair slick.

It didn't compare to a real fight in the wild or in a city, but it'd have to do. He heard the sound of Jian Tou's footfalls, shoddy leather slapping against metal, keeping close behind, but he couldn't reach Longshot - not yet, and not ever, really, he was too out of practice. The archer veered, changing his trajectory, leaping over the heads of two short men and a woman between them, landing on the table and scooping up their utensils as well before springing into the air again. He landed on the floor between rows of tables, crouching, before sprinting at the wall again. Jian Tou kept pace, and as Longshot's muscles burned with the familiar sensation of having to, needing to move for the sake of survival, he felt part of himself that had resigned to this life yielding to the Freedom Fighter inside.

The steel, cold wall of the cafeteria loomed before him, but it wasn't an obstacle; it was a friend, an ally, just this once. He jumped at it, planting one arm and one leg against the unyielding, cold metal; just as quickly, he pushed away, flipping in the air, Jian Tou now in beneath the Freedom Fighter. The would-be Yuu Yan craned his head back, beady, yellowed eyes going wide with rage, and Longshot landed in a crouch, throwing out first one arm, then another, the metal utensils slicing through the air so fast that they looked themselves like the shafts of silvery arrows.

Metal could pierce metal if the impact was great enough, and Longshot had the strength and experience to make the magic happen; with a strangled cry, Jian Tou stumbled forward and slammed into the wall, the accumulated knives and forks pinning his uniform to the structure. Not a single one hit the man himself, nor did they miss and hit the wall without catching the clothing.

Longshot stood up, slowly, just as the howling cheers for a fight erupted into a victorious roar. Jian Tou cursed, struggling to break free, and Longshot crossed his arms over his chest, smirking.

That'd show anyone bold enough to step.

SCENE DIVIDE

Pan Xing Island

26 days until Sozin's Comet

Pipsqueak had always assumed getting caught by the Fire Nation would lead right to his death; the Freedom Fighters may not've been a great big resistance group, since before Aang showed up at the forest a lot of their missions had been pretty local (liberate a town here, 'liberate' supplies from a caravan or camp there), but the Fire Nation was pretty strict anyhow. The fact that he'd been part of the Day of Black Sun invasion really should'a put a nail in the coffin, though...but, maybe the Fire Nation had a just side to them. That would be why, instead of a trial and execution, he'd been sent to this place - a prison island - with the rest of the rebellion.

Don't get him wrong, though. It had been a process - lots of standing around in shackles, being prodded at and taunted by uppity Fire Nation guards who thought they knew better, who thought that the metal trinkets they'd put on his wrists made him any less dangerous. (Seriously - for a man who had hefted boulders before, Pipsqueak could snap the shackles like dry twigs if he tried.) It was boring more than anything else, though because - because Hakoda said to wait, to bide their time.

Pipsqueak had grown to trust and respect Hakoda over the past couple months. He wasn't gonna renege on that trust now, so he'd wait.

When he arrived at Pan Xing Island, they did a little more processing - a lot of paperwork to be filled out (by somebody else, thankfully enough, but he'd still been forced to sit there and watch him do it) - and finally, the shackles came off and he was told it was lunch time, and that he'd eat whether he wanted to or not. The invasion force got sectioned off into smaller groups, and his was being led to the lunch hall now.

(He didn't doubt that prison food would be crappy, but...well, the old Freedom Fighter mantra of 'food is food' stood even after the Freedom Fighters. He'd do his best to choke down whatever slop they fed him.)

The halls were dank and cramped and rust-orange on all sides as they walked, their leather-clad feet shuffling and echoing on the floor. Ahead of him, Pipsqueak saw the Swampbender with gray hair, Huu, and beyond him, the Boulder, his massive shoulders quivering and rippling under the flickering orange torchlight hanging from the walls and ceilings. A few more of the warriors had been lined up in front of Huu and behind Pipsqueak, but it was hard to see them in this light, and really, they'd be out in a more open space soon, anyway. Or at least, that's what he figured.

As they walked, guards keeping close to them from the sides, the Boulder cocked his head and murmured, "Hey. Do you guys here that?"

"Huh?" Pipsqueak asked. He strained his ears - nothing, aside from their own footsteps and the clanking armor of the guards. "No."

"Cheering." The Boulder's shoulders (heh) squared themselves, and from his tone of voice Pipsqueak could imagine the Earthbender's mouth being set in a straight line. "Distantly. A lot of people, too. The Boulder's spent a lot of the last few years listenin' to that sound."

"Hmm." Huu glanced up at the ceiling, and from this angle Pipsqueak caught a glance of his shaggy beard. "Maybe something inspiring's happened. This is a prison; I'm sure the inmates will be happy to receive it more than they would their daily meals. Anything to make the future look brighter."

"Wise words," Pipsqueak admitted, nodding.

"Hey, you Earth Kingdom dogs! Keep your mouths shut!" One of the guards turned to Pipsqueak, the Boulder and Hue, his face obscured by that skull mask, a pole-arm in his hand. "Save it for the cafeteria."

Before the guard could say anything more, urgent footsteps and hurried clanking began rebounding off the walls; from up ahead, a group of three or four guards erupted from around a corner, screeching to a halt upon spotting the line of prisoners. The guards motioned for the inmates to stop.

"What is it?" Demanded one of the guards from the line, her voice gruff and low.

"One of the inmates is rallying the others," came the response, panicked and desperate. "It started out as a brawl, but he turned it to his advantage! We're looking at a riot if we don't clamp down on it soon!"

The lady-guard who'd spoken before spat a curse. "Which idiot started the whole thing?"

"The guy who thinks he almost got into he Yuu Yan, getting stuffy with the Earth Kingdom archer we caught a while back. Longshot the Hawkeye."

Pipsqueak jerked back instinctively. There was (what?) no way it could be a coincidence. No way. Longshot wasn't exactly a common name, and - and how many archers from the Earth Kingdom would go by that? It had to be -

Longshot was alive?

"Well, dag," he murmured. His chest, his throat tingled, and he couldn't - it was so hard to believe, it was - it was almost like finding out Jet had died all over again, but in reverse, because - because now instead of being sad and confused, he was - happy and confused. He'd finally moved on, finally accepted that - that he'd never see his old friends again...

To add to the surrealism of the moment, both the Boulder and Huu echoed the name, "Longshot?" at the same time, and - and, did they know Longshot somehow? Was it before Pipsqueak had joined the Freedom Fighters ('cause there was a lot of time unaccounted for where he hadn't known the archer)? Or - or had they known he'd survived Lake Laogai, and the opportunity to talk about it never came about?

Too many thoughts, his head buzzed with all of 'em zipping around just outta reach. He knew one thing for certain, though; his friend, his friend was alive, and that meant maybe Smellerbee was too, and -

And he'd have to break his trust in Hakoda, after all. Giving a sardonic grin to the back of Huu's head, Pipsqueak crouched down and murmured, "Sorry."

He angled himself at the nearest guard and body-checked him into the wall.

SCENE DIVIDE

Hong Ye Forest

29 days until Sozin's Comet

Pestle had no idea how it happened...but somehow, she'd found her way home, to her hut, the one she had built, shared with Mortar. But most everything between running away from the clearing and now was a blur, and even then she felt herself half-dazed. She had to - had to drag herself upright, even if her body and spirit and heart wanted nothing to do with it. Had to, absolutely had to, there was no point in being useless, weak, because that's what she'd been before, when she was a different person incapable of standing on her own two feet without her sister's shoulder to hide behind.

No more of that.

No more of - of teaching Mortar how to swim, of making blueprints so they could both build something together (because Mortar had never been good with design), no more bickering, no more hugging, there wouldn't be that sort of thing, it had gone, past, and she felt her body quaking as she hunkered down in a chair set against one wall, a low sob squeezing past clenched teeth.

Pestle had designed this hut personally, like she had so many others, but she knew what she and her sister wanted more than any of the other Freedom Fighters and managed to create it based on that shared necessity. She'd made it spacious intentionally, so they could Earthbend miniature versions of their buildings, pound out inconsistencies and fix any construction-based issues without figuring that stuff out halfway through a project. To that effect, they'd kept one corner completely bare so they could stack rocks up against it to use just for that purpose, and many potential disasters had been averted with this kind of forethought. Along with the makeshift drafting table against one wall, and small cabinets holding the parchment, the rulers, the quills and inkwells, not to mention both girls' personal belongings, Pestle had had to do some creative space management to get it all done right, and it had worked, and they managed to conserve even more space by using hammocks instead of mats.

But even with the hut designed the way it had been, it hadn't ever felt empty, not once. Not even when Pestle had been sidelined by a flu surging through the Freedom Fighters and knocking them flat on their asses one-by-one. Mortar had managed to stay immune and had to spend the next few nights with Longshot and Viper (the three had been the only fortunate ones); still, Pestle may have been isolated, but she hadn't been alone.

Now, though...now, the hut felt too big, like Mortar had taken Pestle's sense of scale with her, like maybe - maybe she hadn't needed this much room, and she felt just, lonely, so lonely and confused...

"Pestle? You there?"

Smellerbee. A gentle knock accompanied her voice, and Pestle froze, her hands folded in her lap, fingers clenching at her skirt, right above her knees; she hadn't, hadn't even stopped to think, to realize, that the older girl had returned, it had been an afterthought, barely registering, and would anyone have blamed her? There were too many other things to think about, too overwhelming, too..

"I want to talk to you," Smellerbee continued, her voice calm, and the young Earthbender clenched her jaw until she heard her teeth creak. Even though it was mid-summer, the air in this place had gone chilly, and Pestle swore she wasn't just imagining it. "I'm taking some Freedom Fighters on a mission, and...well, I want to know what you would like to do. But if you want time to be alone..."

Yes - yes, Pestle wanted to be alone, now, but she really didn't want to be alone, and - and it was confusing. She remembered back to when The Duke and Pipsqueak had stopped by...about how hearing about Jet, and then Smellerbee dying, had, it had been a lie, hadn't it? It had, but Pipsqueak hadn't known any better, and Smellerbee (one of Pestle's role-models) had come back from the grave, and she was here, and she was now, but she wasn't Mortar, so it didn't make a difference!

But...

But it did. Smellerbee was still important, and she'd come to see Pestle, Pestle specifically, and that meant something, right...?

Pestle drew a deep breath. Okay. Okay, you can do this...she exhaled and drew another one before saying, "Come in."

The door creaked open (had it always been that heavy? And when had the hinges started squeaking?), and in stepped - yes, Smellerbee, shaggy hair, face adorned with war paint, a headband partially obscuring her eyes, it was her, and - and Pestle straightened up in her seat, her chest alight with pinpricks, throat tightening.

"Um." Smellerbee glanced away for a second before meeting Pestle's gaze. "Look, about...about..."

The Earthbender bunched up her shoulders, clenched her teeth - had to look away, because there were about fifty ways to finish that statement and each one was heavier than the last...and Pestle didn't like any of them.

It took a moment, but Smellerbee cleared her throat and managed to regain her composure. She nudged the door shut with one shoulder, and it was now that Pestle realized the older girl had something in hands...in the left, she held something long, tapered at one end, something that glistened in the cold, gray sunlight filtering in from the windows situated against the rear wall of the hut. It was...a glass bottle? Beneath the turmoil of other, more hectic, more pressing emotions, she felt a small twinge of curiosity, but couldn't bring herself to satisfying it- the other stuff was too raucous, drowned everything else out. In her other hand, she held two wooden cups pinched between her fore and index fingers, the surfaces rugged but shimmering, waterproofed.

"I...Sneers and I have made plans about what to do next," Smellerbee said at last, voice cautionary, venturing forward with only its toes extended outward, and even though Pestle didn't look up at her face, she could imagine her biting her lower lip. She wandered over to the drafting table and set the cups down on it before dragging over another chair that had been propped next to it, the legs squealing against the wooden floor; she picked the cups up again and plopped down into the chair, sitting directly across from Pestle, and all the young Earthbender cared to see was the swordswoman's legs at this point. Her head had become too heavy, burdened by the, the shame, the sorrow, all of that stuff that was icky and wimpy and wouldn't go away.

"So?" Pestle asked - her voice came out low and ragged, and - and did she really sound that bad off? Well, yeah, she was that bad off, but it was weak to let other people see your emotions so nakedly, and she couldn't be weak anymore.

"You're Sneers' lieutenant." Smellerbee shifted her weight and grunted. "I've already looped Skillet in, and you matter just as much."

"Being second-in-command by myself is silly." Pestle tried to chuckle, but it came out more hoarse, like a choked cough (like when she'd been all phlegmy and gucky with that flu). "There's no point in keeping me involved with that stuff anymore."

"But there is," Smellerbee insisted, and her tone of voice shifted - away from precaution, became more solid, grounded - leaderly. "Pestle, you've got crazy potential for leadership - you were able to lead the Hunter Brothers into battle, and if what they told me was correct, you did it under incredible stress, with everything turned on its head. You should be proud of yourself."

"I'm really not."

"Either way," Smellerbee continued, "Sneers and I had a little chat. We know what we're going to do from here and how we're gonna do it, and we've both agreed that you need to know what's going on. Sneers wants to coddle you and treat you as a victim..." The swordswoman picked the bottle up off the floor and yanked out the cork, a sharp, squealing noise racking the air. "But I think you're old enough to make your own choices."

Pestle at last glanced up - looked at Smellerbee properly, but she'd already leaned over and picked up one of the cups. She poured some of the sloshing contents of the bottle into the cup, and - it looked like water, but Pestle was at least clever enough to know differently. Freedom Fighters didn't use glass bottles to cart around water, and Smellerbee wouldn't have brought and two cups along with her on the off-chance the Earthbender was thirsty.

"Here," Smellerbee said, holding the cup out to her. "You've never been much of a drinker, but..."

But...Pestle glared at the cup. This was something adults did - drinking for the dead. It was an honor thing...there were always the public toasts at dinner, and Pestle - she'd always drank water, because booze made her head funny. And she couldn't even imagine chugging straight from the bottle...Jet did that a lot, he never let anybody see, but Pestle had been lucky, she'd peeked into his office (even though she really shouldn't have). Still...

Pestle reached out and took the cup in one hand, supporting it from the bottom with the other. Now she could pick up the scent - grainy with a subtle hint of spice, wafting up to her, making her toes curl. Smellerbee picked up the other cup and filled it up for herself; Pestle knew this part, had to - to wait - and when Smellerbee was ready, she raised her cup, and the young Earthbender raised her own in return. And, and then - the cup pressed against her lips, hands shaking, and - tilted the cup back, took a big, deep gulp -

Dry, throaty, burning her tongue, her throat, all the way down to her stomach, and she coughed, slamming a fist against her chest, almost spilling the booze, and - "Hkkk - geh - what the heck is this?"

"Fire Nation whiskey," Smellerbee said, taking a swig from her cup and gasping. "Strong, but on the cheap side. We didn't have much else in storage. I guess the Overdweller and his goons got to all the good stuff."

"So...you said you had a plan." Pestle furrowed her brow and took another sip - choked again - burned so much, it was so dry, she wasn't used to this, but if Jet could swill the stuff to help him forget his problems... "And you trust me to make the right choice. I couldn't even save Mortar's life!"

"Not for lack of trying." Smellerbee crooked her head to the side and frowned.

"It doesn't - that doesn't matter. I'm a terrible person, I'm - " Pestle paused - remembered, earlier in the day, just a blur really - meeting Skins after running away from the clearing. His words were all muffled, she could barely remember his face at the time...but one sentence stood out above the rest, and she wasn't sure how she'd actually missed it, even given her...state of mind. "'It's the responsibility of the older siblings to take care of the younger ones.' And I fucked that up."

Another foreign thing, the cursing. There hadn't - they were such venomous words, but now...maybe the whiskey was already affecting her, because the f-bomb didn't make her feel awkward like it used to, didn't leave her feeling like she oughtn't say it.

"That's a general rule of thumb for all of us, though." Smellerbee shook her head. "'Look out for those weaker than yourself.' Part of the Creed, remember?"

"And I - I didn't. I couldn't." Pestle clenched her teeth and squinched her eyes shut. "Spirits..."

Silence settled between the two, and - it was awkward, yeah, but Pestle was kind of grateful for it because it was enough to try keeping all of this stuff outside, where Smellerbee could - could see it. She felt bad enough...the last thing she needed was pity.

After a moment, Smellerbee finally said, "Sneers and I are leading a team into the Fire Nation to save Longshot."

...!

Pestle met Smellerbee's eyes, and - and - something in the back of the young Earthbender's head thrummed, pulsated, made her vision go all wavery, made her ears hot and her scalp tight. The Fire Nation. The Fire Nation! They - that man, the murderer, he had been Fire Nation, he had invaded the forest, violated it and the Freedom Fighters, would have - would have killed all of them if Smellerbee hadn't shown up (except maybe not, maybe Pestle and the Hunter Brothers would have been enough to save the day but there were too many possibilities) and, and it didn't make a difference! Jet - Jet had been right, Pestle always felt like he was being a little too intense, but now, now - no, not anymore, Jet had been dead-on-balls accurate, the Fire Nation was evil, they were cruel, they just stole whatever they wanted without any consideration for their victims, for - for - for Mortar, for Pestle -

The thought of going to the Fire Nation disgusted the young Earthbender, because that was the enemy, they were monsters, they were diseased, insane. Like, like the very air had cooties or something, their own nasty flu that made the entire population heartless. But - but the chance to, to get...get revenge...

Fuck eye for an eye. They'd taken an eye; Pestle would take their head.

Pestle took another gulp of the whiskey, this one big, long - drink with gusto, Jet would have said. It didn't stop burning, didn't feel any more comfortable, just raking dry, clawed fingers down her throat, across her tongue, but that was fine, she wasn't feeling inebriated, she was awake, aware, had clarity she'd been missing before. Yes. Yeah, okay. Go into the Fire Nation. Go on the road with other Freedom Fighters, practice Earthbending, using the twin battle hammers, on the journey.

"We would have to cross through several occupied Earth Kingdom territories," Smellerbee continued when Pestle offered no response. "In order to stay incognito, we would need to wear Fire Nation clothing, and we have plenty of that stuff lying around. The reason I'm telling you all of this now is because...well..." Smellerbee glanced to the side, bit her lower lip. "If you were to stay behind, I would need your leadership skills here, because Skillet can't handle that sort of thing on her own. But if you come along..."

The swordswoman let her sentence drift away, unfinished, and Pestle furrowed her brow. Okay, okay, wearing the skin of the enemy...she wasn't thrilled with that idea. She hated the Fire Nation, for everything they stood for.

...but if it meant drawing some blood...

She squared her shoulders and nodded at Smellerbee, her leader. "Yeah. I want to go with you. I want to make a difference. It's what Mortar would've done. Being second in command wouldn't be the same by myself."

Smellerbee nodded, a grin lighting across her face. "Good. We're gathering at the dining platform tonight. I'll lay down the plan for the other Freedom Fighters. See you there." And with that, she was up - out - gone from this spacious hut, taking the bottle and her cup with her, leaving Pestle with a mostly-emptied cup of whiskey. After a pause, Pestle downed the rest of it, grunted, and tossed the cup into the corner of the room, slouching back in her chair.

"Is it what you would have done, Mortar?" Pestle raised a hand up to her head and scrunched her eyes tight. Without Smellerbee to see her - to see how weak she really was, she felt all sorts of tension she hadn't known she'd had loosening up inside her, unknotting, leaving her just a fraction of herself again. That was okay, because without the pressure of being in front of someone, she could let go, she could - already felt the hot rivulets zig-zagging down her cheeks, and. "If...if our roles had been switched...if I'd died instead of you...would you have gone into the Fire Nation...?"

The world yielded no answer but silence.