Where Words Fail

Book Eight: Coming Full Circle

Chapter 5, Part 1: Tell my tale to those who ask it...

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.

SCENE DIVIDE

Four days after Sozin's Comet

"You doin' okay, Sneers?" A deep voice called from the other side of Sneers' door.

Pipsqueak. Of course. The only one ignorant enough to keep trying. Rebuking the rest had been easy enough; Smellerbee was too caught up with setting up for what laid after the war and Longshot spent as much time as he could with her, while The Duke had to sort out his own problems and hadn't even stopped by. Pipsqueak, though - this had to have been, what, the fourth time he'd knocked on his door since getting back on the ship? It was obnoxious. Sneers needed alone time.

Sitting on his floor, his legs crossed, arms hanging uselessly by his sides, he tuned the man out, squinching his eyes shut. He drew a deep breath in, expelled it, in, out...ever since leaving the forest, he'd only ever gotten the chance to meditate on the boat from Pan Xing to Ba Sing Se and back. Every day on the road, they had to move swiftly; camps needed to be broken down as soon as possible, supplies needed packing, cover needed to be kept up...the ships came as a relief, a chance to slough all the negative energy that had been accumulating ever since. His quarters granted him solitude and peace of mind, and even though he still had duties to tend to, they weren't so tightly bound to a schedule that he couldn't get an hour in here or there.

He couldn't undress, though. He hated having to do this in his clothes. It muddled the connections with the Spirits. He couldn't use his hands for much; if the stinging, razor-hot sensation wasn't enough to remind him, the gauze wrapped from his fingertips to his elbows reduced his fine motor control skills to mud. He could open a door, and he could eat with any utensils other than chopsticks, and he could drop trou for those bodily functions he'd rather not have someone else help him with, but that was the extent of things. He couldn't even light his incense sticks, which helped his chi flow freely.

It unnerved him. He used his arms more than anything else in combat, and if the event came where the Freedom Fighters needed to defend themselves, he'd be useless to them.

"Hey, look, uh...I know how hard it is to walk away from Ba Sing Se without hurtin'. I, uh..."

Sneers snorted, wishing he could at least plug his ears. Knowing Pipsqueak would persist until the monk said something, he drew a deep breath and said, "Go away, Bigguns. You don't know what it's like at all."

"You don't even know what happened to any of us," Pipsqueak replied, somber and calm, rather than affronted. Sneers had been aiming for the latter because it would drive the behemoth away, but every time, any jabs or insults bounced right off him. "You been closing yourself off to us. I saw you being hauled away on a stretcher when the battle was over. You can't blame me for being concerned."

"...don't bother." Sneers let his eyes slide open, his mouth curling down into his signature sneer. "Get outta here. I don't want to talk about it."

Silence. Did it work that time? He tilted his head to the side and strained his ears, listening for any signs...no, he was still there, the hall didn't echo with clopping footsteps. Ugh. Pipsqueak was a stubborn sumbitch, and he'd only keep bothering Sneers until the monk let him in. If not today, then tomorrow, and every day afterwards, and that wouldn't be very conducive to meditation at all.

Crap.

There wasn't any option but to relent at this point, was there? Sighing, he said, "Okay, get your ass in here. But we're making this quick."

With a heavy, grating squeal, the door to Sneers' quarters swung inward, and Pipsqueak's massive frame stood silhouetted in the threshold. "Hey, it's awful dark in here. Want me to light a lantern or something?"

The monk winced as he planted his hands on the floor and pushed himself up into a crouching position, eventually hoisting himself up onto his feet. With a grunt, he swayed, caught his balance, and moved over to the cot set up against one wall. "Sure. Go for it." Another simple action he couldn't perform without help; it hadn't ever really been a problem till now, he preferred the dark when meditating anyway.

It still didn't stop the fact from irritating him. Made him feel useless.

Pipsqueak entered the room proper and crossed over towards the nearest wall-mounted lantern before stopping, frowning. "Where do you keep your spark rocks?"

Sneers raised a hand up to pinch his sinuses, but a sharp, searing pain reminded him that it wasn't a very smart idea, and so he let his arm fall back to his side. He walked over to the corner of the room, where a small supply sack had been discarded, the drawstring opening loose and the contents half spilled onto the floor. Nudging the bag with his toe, he said, "They're in here somewhere. Mind?" Spirits, he hated being so...

Pipsqueak shuffled over to the corner, and Sneers backed away to give the giant enough room. Kneeling, Pipsqueak felt his way through the clutter on the floor, eyes not accustomed to the dark yet. He didn't find it there (but it was possible he'd skipped over it...), so he grabbed the sack and picked it up, wandering over to the door again, sifting through the contents in the dim, red glow from the hallway. He eventually came up with the pair of jade-colored crystals; a few seconds later, the lanterns flared to life, casting flickering, orange light around them, dancing almost enticingly against everything it touched.

The behemoth grabbed the wooden chair stationed under the room's desk and swiveled it around, planting himself down and resting his hands on his knees. Sneers plopped down onto the cot again and shook his head, snorting. "Okay, let's get this over with. What do you want?"

"Hey, I'm concerned is all," Pipsqueak yielded, hiking his eyebrows. "You've been brooding here pretty much nonstop. I only ever see you to out when you come to get food from the galley and when you go use the bathroom. It's like you're taking your wound personally, like it's your fault, and that ain't like you, Sneers. Er, well, not when it comes to you personally. Cuz you've always taken responsibility for when you screw up and it gets others hurt."

"Thanks for that." Sneers scowled. "Any more foot-in-mouthisms you wanna share with me? And there's a difference between brooding and communicating with the Spirits, just so we're clear."

He could see Pipsqueak's grip tighten on his pants (most of the invasion force at Pan Xing managed to secure their old clothes, although how they did it remained a mystery), a grimace worming across the man's jaw. His gaze flicked downward, a blush glowing bright on his cheeks. "I, er, sorry. I ain't too good with the whole speaking thing. My words don't really come together right."

"Yeah, I noticed."

"Look," Pipsqueak murmured, and with a visible amount of effort, he turned his eyes back to the monk, the blush unfading. "We both got hurt in Ba Sing Se. And Spatula, and a bunch of others, too. And we lost five Freedom Fighters - Hong Ye Freedom Fighters - and they were close to all of us. It's not like you're the only one suffering. And the ones who didn't get hurt physically had something else bad that happened to them.

"..." Sneers was the one to look away this time, and his brain started to thrum; they'd...five Freedom Fighters? That...dammit...his chest tightened. How could...Smellerbee had promised! He drew a deep, steadying breath.

"Who...who did we lose?"

"Anchor took a mace to the head. Glisten got caught between two Firebenders. Cooler and Greenleaf fell off one of those tall apartments; we figure they'd got cornered by a couple of soldiers and lost their balance. Pine was trampled by komodo rhinos." Pipsqueak heaved a sigh and shuddered. "They were all good kids."

Sneers squeezed his eyes shut; those children - children! - weren't any older than twelve, and some of them weren't even supposed to be fighting! Glisten had no formal combat training and an accident from a couple years ago left Pine with limited mobility. They must have snuck into the fight, so eager to do what they could for their country, just like stupid Spatula. Spatula was combat-ready and he'd gotten hurt too! His eyes began to sting, an obnoxious sensation - he hated it, it meant he was going to, ugh, to cry, and that was worse than the tearing, gnashing pain raking across his forearms. He clenched his jaw tight to avoid the ridiculous expressions that came along with the misery, the chin tightening as the lips puckered, the cheeks drawing in on themselves. It...wow. He hadn't even known. He'd been so occupied with dealing with his own angst...

It took a moment for words to come back to him - and, at last, he murmured, "In war, sacrifices are to be expected...but that doesn't make it any easier to deal with. Smellerbee had promised she'd do what she could to get us all out of there alive, how she didn't want any of them die after we lost Telltale and Morter..."

"Death ain't something you can prevent," Pipsqueak replied, hunkering over and clasping his hands. "'It comes for you when it damn well pleases.' That's a pretty good way of saying it, right?"

Usually, Pipsqueak playing philosopher was annoying at best, but this time...it brought a little levity to the atmosphere, and Sneers felt a smile tugging on his face. "Yeah. Yeah, it is."

"They weren't the only ones," Pipsqueak murmured, his voice low. "Bee and Longshot's ostrich horses..."

Wait...what? They'd died...? But - Smellerbee always said how smart the creatures were, how they had souls...even though Sneers couldn't really see it. (Then again, Smellerbee always did have an affinity for intuiting people...it didn't come as a surprise that she could do the same to animals.)

"It's - you can't tell by looking at them, but the two of them are really bumming over it." Pipsqueak sighed, and from the corner of his eye, Sneers saw him bow his head and shake it. "Those ostrich horses meant a lot to them. And it's sad knowing that they got killed that way."

"How did it happen?" Sneers mumbled, letting his arms fall to his sides. "I mean - they should have been secured with the team that had to stay at the outer wall."

"They got out, somehow." Pipsqueak gave an uncomfortable shrug. "Nobody's been able to figure out how they did it. They escaped, got past the walls, and managed to find Longshot and Smellerbee in the middle of a fight with a colonel of the Fire Nation army."

Sneers drew a deep breath, chest tingling, and as he expelled, he realized that he'd been holding it. This was...well, they'd been part of the family, he guessed. It shamed him that it took him this long to think about it in those terms, because - they'd even had Freedom Fighter names, they had been excellent steeds, and...

Silence settled into the room, but it wasn't stifling or awkward...just necessary. Sneers needed a second to compose himself, and to think of what to say next; and, with a tiny jolt of surprise, he realized that he actually didn't mind talking to Pipsqueak. Somehow the big goof had managed to pry away that willing anthropophobic shell Sneers liked to draw around himself when purifying. The monk had always known the guy had a heart bigger than the oldest, grandest tree in the forest, but until this point they had only coexisted as teammates, as...acquaintances, really. They only ever spoke when in each others' presence, never choosing to seek out the other one unless out of necessity. It wasn't an avoidant relationship, either; they just never really had a reason to go beyond what had already been there.

In the past few minutes, Sneers' opinion of Pipsqueak had changed, and he looked upon the man with new eyes. His broad face wore a light smirk, eyes glistening with the reflected torchlight, and Sneers grinned back. It had only taken that much time for a fleeting glimmer of a bond to form, and Sneers got the feeling that it'd be strengthened, more fortified by the time their conversation was over.

Before the silence could stagnate, Sneers hunkered down and said, "You mentioned that you knew what it was like to leave the battlefield wounded, but I've never seen you in better shape. What were you talking about?"

"Ah." Pipsqueak leaned back and rubbed the back of his head with one hand, a pensive look flickering across his face. "I was with The Duke about a half hour before the comet left the atmosphere." The behemoth shook his head and let his eyes slide shut for a moment. "We were in a narrow street packed with soldiers, and I was getting tired real quick...then the soldiers started to stick me with spears, right in the back and shoulders." He rotated his left shoulder as if to demonstrate, but if he was in any sort of pain, he didn't wince or hiss. "And to make things worse, a bunch more soldiers on komodo rhinos stampeded down the street in the middle of the brawl; I got to The Duke in time to toss him outta the way, but I couldn't move, being stuck like a pin cushion and all. So I did the only thing I could think of...I faced the komodo rhino charging at me head-on."

Sneers felt his eyes go wide. "Are you serious? No offence, Bigguns, but that's not the smartest idea in the world."

"I know." Pipsqueak shrugged, his mouth curling into a thoughtful frown. "But - it was either that or lie down and get trampled. And this way they'd be too caught up with me to notice The Duke. So I grabbed one of the monsters by the horns and...well, got my butt kicked. Wound up being dragged down along the street. The spears stuck in me snapped off, leaving the tips inside, which was awful nice of them...and then the next thing I know, every part of me that hurt felt cold. And not a bad, 'oh poop, I'm gonna die' cold, but a soothing one. Like my body was healing itself. And that's kinda what was happening."

Quirking his head to the side, the monk already had an idea of what had happened. So he took Pipsqueak's bait and ventured, "You were found by a Waterbender that knows the healing arts."

"Yeah." He nodded, wringing his hands as if...as if he were haunted by something. Maybe some phantom pain? Komodo rhinos were known to have incredibly sharp horns, razor-thin on the bottom, and if Pipsqueak'd grappled against one of them, his hands would be pretty bad off.

"Was she good enough to heal you?" Sneers probed. "I mean, completely? No residual pain?"

"None. Like you said, I'm better than ever right now." Pipsqueak furrowed his brow. "I mean, I kinda feel like my hands're split, like when I grabbed the komodo rhino, but they work fine and there aren't even any scars. Maybe it's because my hands are my...erm...they're important to me. Can't think of the word. But if they'd been messed up in the fight, I wouldn't be able to help build stuff at the base."

"I think you're thinking of 'livelihood.' That sounds about what you're trying to get at."

"Okay. Livelihood. I think The Duke taught me that one once." He gave a calm, yet still booming, laugh that reverberated throughout the metal room. "I think the feeling will go away in time. That healer was one helluva guy. Really knew his stuff."

Sneers' eyebrows hiked again, and he shook his head to make sure he'd heard correctly. That didn't make any sense. "Are you sure it was a guy? Waterbender males aren't traditionally allowed to learn the healing arts. It's a strict, cultural thing, a sexist divide in the Northern Water Tribe's culture."

"Well, I was kinda out of it at first, but he spoke like a guy and he had a beard. I don't remember much, but I remember him being really arrogant, and the infliction was just too deep to be a lady." Pipsqueak's head bobbed up and down. "He was dressed in blue, like Sokka or Katara, so he wasn't from Foggy Swamp..."

"Hmm...it's possible he was from the Southern Water Tribes...but, from what I know, their culture was almost completely decimated early on in the war." Sneers brought his hand up to his chin, crooking it between his thumb and forefinger; he winced, hissed in protest, and returned said hand down to the mattress. "Either way...I'm glad you managed to find help, Bigguns."

"Yeah, me too...I just wish I'd known where you were so I could have him help you, too." He shrugged his massive shoulders. "I'm sorry we couldn't."

Sneers drew a deep breath and sighed out through his nose. He didn't need to apologize...it wasn't like they could have done something without even knowing he was in trouble. Fixing Pipsqueak with a mirthful smirk, he said, "You did your best, man. Don't worry about it, okay?"

"Heh." He grinned again. "Sure thing. You wanna go grab some lunch from the galley? Spatula's making curry with Ba Sing Se spices in it."

Sneers glanced around - he could just excuse himself and go back to meditating...he could brush Pipsqueak off, because he still hadn't finished, what with the big guy's interruption...

Why, though? Besides, just the mention of Ba Sing Se curry made his taste buds dance in anticipation. He returned his gaze to Pipsqueak and nodded. "Sure. I haven't eaten since breakfast anyway."

SCENE DIVIDE

"Hey."

Spatula plopped down on the deck of the ship, the flat, paneled metal cold on his butt, even through his tattered, haggard prison clothes. He wriggled, scootching forward so he could poke his legs out of the safety rail, dangling them over the boat's side. He rested his elbows on the middle rail intersecting the fence and winced when he jarred his left; the burn hadn't healed yet, they didn't have any Waterbenders who could take care of it, so all he could do was ride it out and let his body heal itself. He had it covered in anti-bacterial salve and wrapped in gauze, in any case, which kept the wound cool to an extent (though it didn't really stop the burning, radiating razorblades from peeling at his skin).

Lowering the arm in question back down to his side, he turned to the person he'd addressed, who likewise sat against the deck's edge, leaning back on his hands, legs splayed out. The Duke, his helmet placed beside him, eyes glazing over the ocean's surface; Spatula may not have been as good at reading people as Smellerbee, but he could tell when people were...contemplative (was that even a word?), and the young Freedom Fighter, who in many ways was more of an adult than Spatula himself, had every right to be.

"Hey," The Duke replied, his voice - normal. Not like somebody wrought with the choice he'd had to make. Not like somebody who had experienced something like that as young as he was.

"You know..." Spatula exhaled through his nose and leaned forward a little, casting his gaze out to the beautiful, sapphire sky and the glistening ocean supporting it from below. "I killed three men in Ba Sing Se. They were my first. I've never had any enemies that actively tried to...I dunno, do that to me. Not before then. Those three soldiers would have burnt me to a crisp if I'd let them."

"Yeah. It's a good thing you fought back."

"I didn't have a choice." Spatula smirked, letting his eyes slide shut. "It was them or me. I chose 'me.'"

"It's great that you can justify yourself like that. I'm envious." Spatula could hear The Duke shifting his weight, a murmured rustling sound hiding just beneath the churning sea below them, the engines of the ship thrumming and clattering. "I wish I had your clarity."

Spatula shook his head, his grin melting into a small frown. "It's not just survivor instinct that makes me feel...well, not alright. More like it keeps this...seeping, gnashing shadow from lunging at my brain. Keeps me sane." He opened his eyes again and cast his gaze upward, to the sun climbing up to its peak. "The fact that I did my part in the war - that I did what I could and beyond - that's what really justifies me. Even if it was just three men. If I hadn't taken them out somehow, then they would have gone on to kill someone else from our side. Like that saying about rice. Can't really remember it."

"'A single grain of rice would be all it takes to tip the scales,'" The Duke quipped, his tone matter-of-fact, lacking the insight Sneers would have put into it. "It's a philosophy that generated from northeastern Earth Kingdom territories, where rice is one of their leading crops."

"You read it in a book?"

"Of course. And it's right." The Duke chuckled, light and childlike, as if his purity hadn't been dashed by his actions. Maybe it hadn't. Spatula wouldn't be able to leave until he knew for sure. "Factually, if you have equal weight on each side of a scale, all you would need is the grain on one to make the scale tilt."

Ah. So that's why he didn't introspect it. To The Duke - ever the scientist - after the initial shock, he'd been trying to puzzle the concept out. Separating himself from it, turning it into a manner of logic.

That separatism wasn't gonna do him any good, though. He wouldn't learn anything, would he? Before Spatula could point this out, though, The Duke picked up the conversation again.

"I used to think..." The Duke murmured, his head lolling back, gaze shifting upward to the sky, "that killing would make me a different person. I didn't know why, and I couldn't tell what I'd become. How I'd change. At first...I thought I'd become like Smellerbee. So lost in her bloodhaze that stealing life came second-nature. That when the time came, I'd be leaping around the battlefield, eager to throw myself to that same thrashing, monstrous desire she does." He sighed, shrugging his shoulders. "Then I figured...if not that...I'd become introverted, unsociable. And I think losing myself like that scared me more. I like who I am. I like being friendly and upbeat and easily the cutest Freedom Fighter ever. You know, my boyish charms keep me in the good graces of many a female Freedom Fighter. Jet thought he was a ladies man...he had nothing on me."

Spatula leaned back and heaved a laugh, chest tightening. He heard The Duke chuckle again, but this one was - lighter, more truehearted, like it ought to be. Catching his breath, Spatula said, "It must be an adorability factor or something, 'cause I'm plenty charming and nobody's come after me yet." The Firebender crossed his arms over his chest, the gauze rough beneath his fingers and palm. "But I see your point. Angst sucks. I'm glad to see you're not brooding about this, at least."

"No, not at all." The Duke's grin fell, his brow furrowing, his large ears flattening against his skull. "I'm more confused about it than anything else. I mean, I always knew that, one day, I'd have to kill somebody. It's just part of our lifestyle. I never went looking for it, but when you spend enough time fighting alongside, living, loving people who have crossed that threshold years ago, you just sort of pick up on the fact that it's in your future. And now - it's like a puzzle, something I should be able to piece out, to break apart and examine and find a logical solution to it. But no matter how many ways I turn it around in my head, it never fits together. Sorta like a jigsaw where there aren't any edges and all the pieces are blank. I have nowhere to start and I can't tell if the pieces even match up. Does that make sense?"

Sighing, Spatula leaned back slowly until his shoulder blades pressed against the cold, ridged metal, and rested his right hand beneath his head. It had been so long since he'd kept his hair in a topknot that he'd forgotten what it felt like to have it all pressed flat against the scalp, but since the secret was out about his origins, and because the Freedom Fighters for the most part accepted him despite that, there was no point in leaving his hair down anymore. Granted, all he had to keep it together was a strand of twine, but he'd always been fond of his topknot and felt a little bit more complete with it done up, even if haggardly so. "It makes perfect sense. I mean...it's so recent in your head that you're leaning too close to that puzzle. Probably why you can't find the edges and why there's no picture. But when you've had enough time to put room between yourself and it, maybe that answer'll come to you."

"..." Spatula heard The Duke shifting his weight again, before murmuring, "Wha?"

He flinched. "Sorry, it was a bad exa - "

"No way, are you kidding?" The Duke burbled, and Spatula turned his head towards the younger Freedom Fighter; he'd drawn his knees up and a wide, eager grin sliced from one cheek to the next. "That's a perfect analogy! It's like - like dealing with the death of a loved one."

"Like Jet?"

"Like Jet. It hurts a lot when it's fresh, when the memories are vivid and lurk just behind your eyes, tearin' at them and thrashing your ocular nerves." He drew his arms in tight and balled up his fists, a small, quivering package of logical excitement. He may be a genius for his age, but sometimes the way he acted just lent itself to the fact that he was still a child, in the end. (Though be damned if Spatula knew what 'ocular' meant.) "But since then, the more time I've put between myself and Jet dying, the more that sensation fades and stops being as...painful..." The Duke's voice drifted off, and Spatula couldn't shake the sensation that the younger Freedom Fighter had just hit another big thought that brought him closer to some sort of comfort.

"Mmm? Get struck by one of Pipsqueak's apostrophes?" He asked, hiking a brow and letting a warm grin tug up on his mouth.

"It's 'epiphany,' and yes, I have." He clambered to his feet, a delightfully ungainly, prepubescent motion that kinda made Spatula's heart tingle. "The others have been telling me the exact same thing, but I never really connected Ke to Jet before. The nausea, the nonsensical splatter that I can't outsmart, it'll get clearer if I put some distance behind it. All I need to do for now is just..."

"Accept it," Spatula finished, pushing himself back up into a sitting position. With a grunt and a bit of a struggle (he couldn't put too much weight on his left arm, it was still too weak and tender), he pushed himself upright as well, sliding his boots beneath him. "The way I figure, so long as you don't separate yourself from the fact, just acknowledging that you did it is the best way for you, personally, to cope until you can figure out that puzzle you're trying to put together." Cocking his head to one side, he said, "I believe in you. You're too good a kid to be ruined by this."

The Duke chuckled. "You're right...it's just another tree to climb. Thanks, Spatch. You're a genius."

"Hey, for you? I'll wear the genius pants any day of the week." He turned and beckoned for The Duke to follow. "Now come on. We managed to get ahold of some of those Ba Sing Se spices you like so much while resupplying for the trip back to the Fire Nation. I've got a dish of curry with your name on it."

"Feeeeee," The Duke squealed, and every display of mirth the young Freedom Fighter expressed, Spatula's heart beat even faster and his cheeks tingled in an effort to widen his grin even moreso. "You're the best."

"Ah, wasn't anything. Let's head over to the galley."

"...You know, I've been meaning to ask...how's that burn coming along?"

"Hurts. Gonna scar, we weren't all as lucky as Pipsqueak. But that's...well, it's pretty cool, I think. A reminder that I did good out there." Spatula tucked his hands into his prison uniform's pockets, his grin turning into something warmer, more content. "It means I'm worthy enough to sit next to you guys at the dining hall."

"I think you had our support on that last one already," The Duke murmured, picking his helmet up off the deck and sliding it back over his head. "Even Smellerbee respects you a pretty decent amount. That says something."

"Heh...I guess it does." He hunkered his shoulders and felt that blush wriggling across his cheeks again. If he had the Freedom Fighters' backing, then he'd not only feel worthy, he'd feel invincible. Just like he had after facing down those soldiers, after saving Pestle's life. It lifted him high off the ship, into the sky, the wind's cool breeze blessing him with its fortitude. "I knew it was 'apostrophe,' by the way."

"You mean 'epiphany.'"

"Dammit."