Zuko's golden eyes flew open inexplicably. Grunting, he rolled off his cot and ghosted across his room, slipping through the door and up the stairs. He made his way to the taffrail, resting his hands on it easily as he stared out into the darkness. Stars glittered, their reflections shimmering on the constantly moving surface of the water, and tiny droplets of rain hit the surface and made the spots of light ripple. The hair on his arms rose, both from the cold and some strange sixth sense. He couldn't put his finger on it, but the atmosphere was different.

"Sir? Is everything alright?"

Zuko half-turned to the inquiring voice behind him. "Lieutenant," he remarked. His head canted as he thought for a moment, then he faced the open sea once more. "I am well. But do you not feel that… energy?"

There was a pause. Hesitantly, the captain came up next to him, glancing first at Zuko's face and then following his gaze into the emptiness of the dark night. "Energy, Sir?" he asked reluctantly, stoically clasping his hands behind his back. "I'm afraid I don't feel anything out of place."

Zuko squinted into the mist created by the fine rain and the moonlight. "Hnn. There is something . Something changed just moments ago."

"…Changed, sir?" It was clear from his tone that the captain was confused, but respectfully trying not to show it. Zuko's back straightened indignantly and he drew himself up to his full height, but he didn't turn to meet the man's gaze directly, his bright eyes shining like small flames illuminating the night.

"Nevermind, Lieutenant. Return to your post."

Jee paused uncertainly for a moment, but nodded and reluctantly fulfilled the order, turning to walk towards his nighttime post on the spotting deck. Zuko continued to stare, senses tingling, trying to discern what exactly was different.

"Captain," he called after a moment, his eyes narrowing and peering into the nothing. The bootfalls across the metal deck behind him stopped. "Tell the helmsman to set a course for the Southern Air Temple. Full speed. No stops along the way."

"…Yes, Sir," the Lieutenant said, diplomatically keeping most the bewilderment out of his voice. His footsteps continued.

As the man retreated towards the wheelhouse, Zuko's slight frown deepened, and he glared into the night as if suspecting to find answers there. Why the hell did I say that?

A few minutes later, when the rain picked up speed and started drumming softly on the metal ship, Zuko was still standing on the deck with his hands on the metal rail. He shivered involuntarily and resisted the childish urge to wrap his arms around himself, instead settling on breathing some fire-heated breath through his lungs and onto his bare arms in order to keep warm. He crossed them sternly over his chest, tucked his hands under his biceps, and pretended not to notice the wet seeping into the plain grey wool.

Suddenly, a thick gray blanket settled across his shoulders. Zuko jumped and turned, surprised to see Iroh behind him with his hands innocently in the air and a half-smile playing across his face. "Only me, Prince Zuko," he said reassuringly, patting his shoulders almost patronizingly. Zuko shook away the touch, but was careful not to let the blanket drop. He surreptitiously drew it closer around him.

"Why are you out here?" Zuko finally asked gruffly, returning his stare out into the open sea. He was aware that he had been doing nothing else for quite some time, but seemed oddly unable to do anything else. Iroh came up next to him and followed Zuko's gaze. After several seconds of peering into the darkness without results, he turned back to his nephew.

"Lieutenant Jee told me that you had felt something important that he had not picked up on. He wanted me to come aboard to be sure that all was well."

"You mean, he actually believed me?" Zuko asked, with more than a little surprise. Iroh shrugged.

"He wasn't sure what to believe," he admitted. "The Captain trusts your instincts, but he also trusts his own. Hence, bringing in the respectable third party. Though I think I might sacrifice my respectability for a good night's sleep now and then." He laughed as he said this, absently rubbing his hands together. As his chuckle faded, he cast Zuko a sidelong glance, eyes narrowed and considering. "Just what is it that you felt?"

Zuko was silent for a long time as he contemplated the question. His hands clenched and unclenched on the freezing taffrail as he thought, trying to find a way to word the strange sense that had woken him in the middle of the night that didn't make him sound completely crazy. Finally he answered, very slowly and deliberately, "I felt a change in the atmosphere, like an energy stirring or some… balance disturbed."

Iroh pursed his lips and nodded, turning away.

"Do you doubt me?" Zuko asked indignantly, bristling as he saw the gesture.

"Of course I don't doubt you, Prince Zuko," Iroh said soothingly, shifting to meet his nephew's gaze. When his eyes slid out to the sea again, his face was troubled. He mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like, "That's the problem."

"What?" Zuko asked dully, completely lost as to where this jump in logic had sprung from.

"Nothing," Iroh said briskly, grabbing Zuko's arm and steering him away from the railing. "Go back to bed, Prince Zuko. It would not do well to catch cold when you're so close."

Zuko's eyes narrowed and he pulled out of the grip just before he could be gently shoved below deck. "What do you mean, so close?" he demanded, ignoring the drizzle on his bare scalp. "It's been nearly three years, Uncle. Three years since I last set eyes on my home, and my friends, and Ma-" His voice cracked and he broke off. Swallowing, he started again, his voice low. "What do you mean?"

Iroh's deep gold eyes bore into his, the old man's face unusually serious. The silence dragged on for several long moments until Iroh finally took a step back and straightened. "Surely you haven't given up hope?" he said with false cheerfulness, more stating than asking. "It's like I said, Prince Zuko, it would not do well to fall ill. Please, return to bed." He moved away more swiftly than Zuko had thought possible, leaving the teen standing on the stairs between above- and below-deck, a thick blanket from Iroh's own cot wrapped around him.

"What about you?" he called after his surprise had abated, but there was no answer. He shivered, and with one more scanning look across the now-empty deck, he retired to his room. When he closed the door behind him and lit three of the five small white candles, he felt the blanket of warmth surround him like another layer around the first, and soon all thoughts of energy and balances disappeared as he sunk onto the cot and promptly fell asleep, the candles slowly flickering out.

"How long until we reach the Southern Air Temple?"

"Roughly two days, Sir, if we continue at this speed."

"Good."

Silence stretched uncomfortably as Zuko sat with his tea in one hand and Izo stood with a very straight back and his eyes fixed pointedly out to sea. Zuko sipped the tea and sprawled in his chair, closing his eyes and trying to relax. His whole body hummed, buzzing with a firm desire to head south as quickly as he possibly could. He fought the urge to tell the helmsman to double their speed, knowing that the men had gone full-speed for days and needed a rest. Even so, the pace he was taking them was brutal, and Izo showed it. He had dark circles under his gold eyes, and he yawned so often that Zuko started yawning whenever he spent more than a few seconds in the wheelhouse. But Zuko didn't give him a rest – he needed to be at the Southern Air Temple. He wanted to be there now.

Izo yawned again, and a second later Zuko's own mouth opened wide. Iroh chuckled from the table, where he sat with his newest prey – one of the engineers. "I think both of you should get some rest," he said.

"No," both young men answered simultaneously. They cast each other a quick glance before looking away. Zuko stared sullenly into the bottom of his tea cup, where tiny bits of the leaves stuck to the bottom of the white porcelain.

"No disrespect meant, of course, General," Izo said quickly, filling the silence left after the double exclamation. "But I have firm orders from the Prince that I am to steer all night. My relief will come in the morning." His tone was very carefully neutral.

Zuko lifted his gaze expectantly, and saw Iroh fixing him with a hard stare. He sighed heavily and rolled his eyes. "Oh, go to sleep," he snapped. "I'll steer for a while."

All eyes turned to him. "…What?" Izo finally asked, forgetting his manners in his surprise. Zuko had never gone back on an order.

"Are you deaf, helmsman? I said I will steer. Sleep for a few hours. I will send someone to wake you when you should return. And you had better be well-rested, because you will not leave this post tomorrow at all, understood?"

Izo looked about ready to argue, saw the look on Zuko's face, and thought better of it. "Yes, Sir," he said, sketching a quick bow with one hand on the wheel. As soon as Zuko had stood, unceremoniously dropped the tea cup onto the table and taken hold of it, he headed towards the door. He reached it, pushed it open, as yawned as he closed it again behind him without a word.

"Zuko," Iroh chastised, his eyes on the board before him, a smile twitching at the corners of his lips. "I said both of you should get rest – the operative word there being both."

"Quiet, Uncle," Zuko said impatiently, gripping the wheel with one hand and steering calmly. There was something that felt utterly right about the position. His eyes widened alertly and he took a deep breath. "I'm not tired." And he wasn't. He felt as close to the opposite of tired that he had ever felt in his life. He felt alive.

I know you're out there, Avatar. And I am going to find you.

He heard Iroh rumble a sigh and couldn't help a tiny smile. He thought hard to dig up something that Izo would say when standing as Zuko was now. He came up with something appropriate. "Is he winning, Hiraku?" His tone made it clear that he had no doubts about the answer.

Sure enough, the only sound that answered him was the hollow thud of the man's head hitting the metal table with a moan of frustration. Zuko smirked.

"He's not losing too terribly," Iroh said sportsmanly. "I think if he keeps playing, he might even make a turn around. I'm not sure if I could win if he really put his heart to it."

"Really?" came Hiraku's muffled but hopeful reply. Zuko rolled his eyes.

"Why, yes," Iroh said, and Zuko could practically hear the manipulative grin in his voice. "Maybe you should give in now and save me the humiliation."

"That's it," Hiraku said. "Let's finish this."

Zuko shook his head sadly and turned the wheel.

Zuko doubled over with a choke, slamming the porcelain on the table and shattering it, the shards leaving scratches across his hand. In a flash, Iroh and Hiraku were on their feet and by his chair.

"Zuko?" Iroh demanded, grabbing his shoulder and trying to peer at his face. "Zuko, what is it?"

"What's going on?" Izo asked tensely from the wheel, casting frequent worried glances over his shoulder but unwilling to leave the steering to fate. Zuko growled and didn't straighten, his good hand cupped over his scar and the bleeding one on his neck, fingers pressed against the skin and leaving red rivulets dripping onto his armor.

"Cut the engines," he snarled, his voice husky with pain.

"Sir-"

"Do it now!"

"Yes, Sir." Izo mumbled the order into the pipe, and a moment later the ship stopped and all was still for a moment. Zuko rubbed his neck one more time, swore, and then stuffed the bleeding hand under his breastplate, rising to his feet. Slowly, he lowered his other hand from his face, seemed to gather his nerves, and strode out. Iroh fixed a hard stare on Hiraku.

"Stay," he ordered, as if talking to a liondog. The engineer nodded numbly, and Iroh followed the young Prince.

He had gone out to the deck and gripped the starboard railing with one hand, peering into the bright landscape with narrowed eyes. Iroh walked up to his side, considered laying a hand on his shoulder, and thought better of it, instead folding them in his sleeves. "What is it, Zuko?" he asked quietly.

Zuko didn't answer, his jaw clamped shut and his eyes piercing into the sunlight. Iroh looked over him with a critical eye, noticing how his hand clenched and unclenched silently on the metal bar. "Does it hurt?"

"The scar? Always," came Zuko's curt response.

"And your neck?"

The boy looked at him sharply. "What do you know?" he asked warily.

"You grabbed it," Iroh said wryly. "What else do I have to know?"

Zuko was quiet for a second. "Imagine a knife stabbing into the space just under your skull. Then twist it. That's what it felt like. For a moment."

Iroh's eyes widened and he swallowed, his imagination suddenly much too good for his liking. "Just for a moment?" he repeated.

"Yeah," Zuko said, and he pulled his hand out of his armor and rubbed it numbly.

"Does that hurt?" Iroh requested, his hand snaking out and grabbing Zuko's wrist to stare at his hand.

"Stop mothering, Uncle," Zuko snapped, pulling it out of his grip. He cradled it in his other hand for a minute before returning it into his armor. "It's fine," he muttered.

"Mmm." Iroh turned away from his nephew and looked out over the icy waters, the light blindingly bright as if reflected off the snow. He shielded his eyes with his hands, following Zuko's gaze but seeing nothing of note. "What happened?" he finally asked.

"I don't know!" Zuko seethed. "I've had an odd feeling for days, ever since that one night when it was raining. All of a sudden I felt that sharp pain, and I knew I had to get out on deck. So, here I am, and nothing's happening." He smiled wryly. "Agni, I wish I understood something."

Iroh felt his heart go out to the boy and wanted to say something, or to pat his shoulder, but instead walked several paces away and lowered himself carefully onto the crate upturned next to a small table. He withdrew a teapot and leaves from a hidden pocket deep in his robes and set them out on the table. Immediately, a marine came up with a pail of water, offering it to the older man with a knowing half-smile.

"Thank you," Iroh told him, taking the metal container. With one deep breath, his hands grew hot and the water started to steam and hum. Smiling, Iroh carefully poured it into the pot, settling the lid back onto the porcelain delicately. Then he turned to the marine. "Would you care for a game of Pai Sho?" he asked nonchalantly. The boy paled.

"No, thank you, Sir-"

"No, no, I insist! Allow me to get the board."

The boy's eyes were wide as a rabbitmouse stuck in a trap. "Y-y-y-yes, Sir," he managed, and he fearfully sat down on the other side of the table as Iroh stood, staring blankly at the crate as if seeing his demise carved into the wood. Casting a glance over his shoulder to see Zuko absently rubbing the cuts on his hand while his gaze continued to roam the ice-dotted water, Iroh went to the wheelhouse and carefully gathered the tiles in his sleeves, tucking the board under one arm.

"Sir?" Izo questioned from his post at the wheel.

"I'm moving where I can keep an eye on my nephew and still enjoy myself."

"I can watch him from here," Izo said, sounding a little stung.

"Then do," Iroh said, walking out. He set the board on the crate and hummed tunelessly as he laid out the pieces. Sitting down, he said, "Your move," to the Marine, who was still staring despondently at the wood of the table. Seeming to shake himself awake, he picked up a tile from the neat stack on his side, rolled it between his thumb and forefinger thoughtfully, and carefully placed it on the board.

"A White Jade, eh?" Iroh said, slightly disappointed. "Interesting first move. It leaves many possibilities for the next, I suppose. And to counter it, I believe I will play a Snapdragon." True to his word, he picked up the tile and laid it down.

In the next few minutes, Iroh pretended to be completely involved in the game, but the marine knew nothing of the tender nuances that engaged the opponent's strategical side. The boy's harmonies were simple, juvenile even, and he avoided all disharmonies, even those that would make the harmonies even better when resolved. Iroh barely had to think to set up a grand win. He didn't even bother betting. Just as he was about to place the last tile that would cement his carefully laid trap, the world suddenly went white. For a horrifying moment, he remembered the last time it had done so. But when he blinked a few times, his eyes adjusted enough that he was able to see that the world was not white, simply a huge strip of it on the horizon. As the light faded slowly, Iroh turned a wary eye to Zuko, waiting.

The boy's face was lit up, and even from several feet away Iroh could hear his heart thudding. "Finally," he said, his voice filled with longing and a deep satisfaction. He shifted a little, balling his hands into fists at his sides. "Uncle, do you realize what this means?"

Iroh carefully lifted his tea cup and sipped at it, slowly setting the tile down on the board and watching a look of horrified realization settle across the marine's face. "I won't get to finish my game?" he suggested, mostly for the boy's benefit. He seemed hopeful by the prospect.

"It means my search… it's about to come to an end."

Iroh couldn't help but groan. Today was not the day for this to happen. Zuko couldn't afford to fight the Avatar with only one hand – he could barely firebend sufficiently with two. Damn Roku. Luckily, Zuko misinterpreted the sound.

"That light came from an incredibly powerful source," he insisted excitedly. "It has to be him!" The marines were starting to buzz with anticipation, some of them gathering on the deck and waiting to see what would happen. Iroh glanced around.

"Or, it is just the celestial lights," he said carefully. "We've been done this road before, Prince Zuko. I don't want you to get too excited over nothing. Please, sit." He gave the marine a significant look, which the boy caught. He quickly got out of his seat and strode to another group of young men while Iroh gestured to the now-vacant seat. "Why don't you enjoy a cup of calming jasmine tea?" he suggested.

"I don't need any calming tea!" Zuko shouted, his eyes flashing with either excitement or anger – Iroh couldn't tell which. "I need to capture the Avatar." He looked up to the wheelhouse, where Izo was staring down at him through the window, his lips pressed into a tight line. Zuko pointed. "Helmsman, head a course for the light!"

Izo did nothing for a long moment, then nodded and obediently turned the wheel, his mouth moving as he spoke the order into the metal pipe that descended through the depths of the ship and ended in the coal room.

"Oh yeah. I'm sure he's a spy for the Fire Nation. You can tell by that evil look in his eye." Sarcasm practically poured from her voice as she stared down the other boy in blue, her hands on her hips in a patronizing manner.

Aang smiled innocently at the comment, but Sokka was not impressed. The older boy crossed his arms and glared steadfastly at the stranger as his sister gave the introductions.

"The paranoid one is my brother, Sokka." In response, the Water Tribe warrior snorted and tossed his head, but didn't say anything. Katara ignored him, one of her favorite activities, and continued. "You never told us your name."

Aang grinned at her attention and thrust a thumb at his chest. "I'm A… aaahhh… ahhhhhhh… ah ah ah AACHOO!"

The two siblings watched in shock and awe, respectively, as the young yellow-robed bald boy shot off the ground with the force of his sneeze. Sokka leaned over and murmured, "You think he's dead? Just wonderin, cause any normal human-"

Aang landed, wiped his nose, and sniffled. "I'm Aang," he said brightly.

Sokka raised an eyebrow at the boy, slowly uncrossing his arms for a better grip on his spear. "You just sneezed… and flew ten feet in the air." As Aang cast his gaze upward, muttering, Sokka turned back to Katara and added in an impressed low voice, "And survived…."

Katara rolled her eyes and pushed him away, turning back to the monk with a shine in her bright blue eyes and a white grin on her suntanned face. "You're an airbender!" she cried, like it was a miracle almost beyond belief.

"Sure am," Aang replied proudly. He looked her over with a critical eye and a considering purse of his lips, then met her eyes and grinned. "And I bet you're a waterbender."

Katara's jaw dropped and Sokka's eyebrow arched higher. "How did you know?" the girl gasped. Aang shrugged nonchalantly, but was smiling with obvious pleasure.

"Oh, you know how it is. Monks know a lot of things."

"Oh yeah, everyone knows that," Sokka drawled, rolling his eyes. He suddenly gripped his spear and pulled it up until it pointed at the boy's chest, making both his sister and Aang squeak in surprise. Sokka fixed him with a steely glare. "The Air Monks have been dead for a hundred years. If you think you can convince me that you are one, just because you survived some freakish sneeze, you're mistaken. Now give us your real name, and your nation, you spy! How do you know things about my sister?"

"Sokka!" Katara cried indignantly. "I'm sure it was just a guess." She stepped forward and knocked the spear out of the way, setting herself protectively in front of Aang. She opened her mouth to continue defending him when she felt a hand on her shoulder, pushing her gently but firmly out of the way.

"What do you mean?" The boy said very slowly and seriously, big gray eyes meeting Sokka's brilliant blue ones without fear. Sokka faltered for a minute under the piercing stare, but strengthened his resolve – and his grip on the spear – and poked the boy with the pointed end.

"I meant whatI said. Now tell us who you are! And get away from my sister!"

Aang took another step forward, his face severe. Sokka panicked and moved the spear upward until the point rested on the pale skin of the monk's neck, and Aang halted his advance. He calmly raised his hands to the level of his abnormally large ears in a sign of innocence.

"Listen," he said, his voice smooth, "I am what I said I am. You want the truth? Well there you are. Can't get any, uh, truthier. I am an airbending monk from the Southern Air Temple, and…" he faltered and swallowed, his Adam's apple brushing the tip of the spear before he continued, "and that's all. I figured you were from the Water Tribes because of the clothes you're wearing, and that means you're waterbenders, right? Now what did you mean by saying that my people have been dead for a hundred years? Is that your idea of a joke?" He didn't sound angry, only pacifistic and confused. Sokka's brow drew together.

"No… what's with you? Not everyone is a bender, you know, and we're proud of it. And seriously, don't you know anything about the war? Or have you being living under a rock for the past hundred years?"

Aang paled."War? One hundred years? What are you talking about?"

"He hasn't been living under a rock," Katara spoke up, gently laying a hand on Sokka's shoulder and slowly pushing the spear away from Aang's throat. The monk slowly lowered his arms and flashed a hesitant smile at her, but it didn't reach his eyes. Katara turned her brother so he would look her in the eyes, and she said very deliberately, "He's been living in this iceberg."

Three years. Not a sign. Not a whisper. Suddenly… everything's obvious. Zuko stood in his usual position at the railing, peering into the sunbathed horizon. Three years ago, I stood liked this. I watched my country fade into that same sun as it set over the ocean. I told myself I would capture the Avatar, to regain my honor. I knew it was my destiny.

His hands tightened on the metal. I was right.

Several minutes later, Zuko was still staring into the space where the ship was pointed, where the beam of light had shot up from the earth as if Agni himself was proclaiming the young prince's salvation. The sun had set long ago, and the dark wrapped around him like a cloak. Suddenly, he heard familiar light footsteps behind him, and inwardly sighed. "I'm going to bed now," Iroh said, confirming his identity. He made an exaggerated yawn, and Zuko resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Yep. A man needs his rest."

Iroh paused long enough for the glaringly obvious hint to sink in. When Zuko didn't move, he sighed. "Prince Zuko, you need some sleep. If you're right, and the Avatar is alive, you need to be well-rested to capture him tomorrow. You will need all your energy, and mine. Please, go to sleep."

"You sound like you doubt me, Uncle," the boy said softly. "But don't worry. I know what's good for me, and I know what I feel. That light came from the Avatar, and by this time tomorrow, we will be heading towards the Fire Nation with him as our prisoner. Do not underestimate me."

"I never dreamed of any such thing," Iroh reassured him, setting his hand on Zuko's shoulder in a familiar gesture. "Will you come with me? Perhaps you would take that cup of tea now."

Zuko very nearly shook his head. But when he turned to see his Uncle, with his slow and broad smile, his pounding heart tightened. He wrapped his arms around the shorter man, who stiffened in surprise for only a second, and buried his head in his Uncle's shoulder. "I'm going to catch him, Uncle. I will."

Iroh patted his shoulder. "I know. I believe that you will restore your honor, Prince Zuko," he said. "Come. It is brewing in my quarters."

Zuko didn't know why he did it, or why he let his Uncle pull him along like a lost liondog. Maybe because, with his nerves stretched as taught as a wound rubberband, that's exactly what he felt like. And Uncle's jasmine tea was delicious.

"They're not all dead," Aang reassured them, looking up from the bare snow where he sat as the two siblings paced around him. "You can trust me. We're Air Nomads. Just because no one's seen one for a hundred years doesn't mean they don't exist. They're probably just in hiding."

"No," Sokka said solidly. "No, that's not possible. No one could hide from Sozin for that long." He shot Aang a suspicious glance, silently voicing, So how did you?

"Of course it's possible, Sokka," Katara said, in her falsely cheery and optimistic voice. "Anything's possible, right?"

Aang's made a face. "I don't like the way you put that."

"Well, there's no way we can know for sure, is there?" Sokka finally declared, stopping his pacing and standing solidly in front of Aang. "Why don't you just help m-"

"Actually," Aang said, airbending to his feet, "there is a way. But I have to go… somewhere… and check… something." He grabbed his glider from the ground next to him, then noticed Katara beaming in the corner. "Wanna come?" he asked her, suddenly thinking about spending a day's flight with the surreally gorgeous girl. A smile spread across his face unbidden. Katara opened her mouth to respond and Sokka's voice came out.

"No," he cut over her. "Absolutely not. This kid could be a spy, for all we know. I still don't trust him. There's no way I'm going to let you go flying off with some stranger who could be kidnapping you for all I know." He glared at Katara as if daring her to argue with him, which she did.

"Sokka," Katara chastised. "Aang is not a spy, okay?"

"Think of mom," Sokka said quietly, and suddenly the atmosphere in the family tent seemed colder. Aang's glance darted between the two siblings, wondering what exactly was going on. "What if he is a spy, just maybe, and he goes off and gives the location of our village to the Fire Nation? How would you feel if they came back with warships, like they did before? Who might die this time?"

Katara had gone deathly pale, and Aang looked at her worriedly, but he didn't dare say anything in what was obviously a family affair. Instead, he grasped his staff tightly as tears welled in Katara's eyes. "How can you say that?" she whispered hoarsely. Sokka looked at her a little guiltily, but shook his head, as if banishing the feeling and steeling his nerves.

"I'm the man of the village now, Katara," he said. "I have to think of them." He paused for a minute. "You should too. Would you really put them all in danger for some kid?"

Katara's eyes flashed to Aang and back in less than a second, but Aang caught the hesitation in them. And suddenly, with a surge of guilt, he spoke up. "No, he's right, Katara. You should stay here. I'll go by myself."

"Aang." Sokka sounded almost apologetic – almost. Aang turned to him suspiciously, and Sokka sighed and looked at him with weary eyes. "I can't let you go either."

A/N: Umm… heheh? I know this one took forever, and it would have taken even longer if I wrote up to where I said (I know, actually promised) I would take it. But I figured you would prefer for me to just put it up and go against that word. Was I right?

Please review.