AN: Jeong Jeong and Azula is so, so much fun to write for. So much for slowed schedule... I love them too much. What can I say? 15 is here!

(XV)

Zuko hissed as a plume of flame smashed the steel beside him, the lapping tongue of dread that curled along his sleek scarlet plating whirled and twisted under his own redirecting strike and he pushed the flames back into a roaring charge.

It was a good hit.

Zuko knew it was a good hit.

He'd placed the flames with a level of power he'd never formerly boasted, it was hardly Azula, but it was better than his usual. There was no way Ren could avoid it—

-The irritating General flowed through the air in what looked like a cartwheel that never touched the deck. Seamlessly avoiding the blast, like a kite gliding through soft winds, only the winds were fire, and the kite was his enemy.

Nothing about Ren's movements screamed raw agility. His forms were alien. His movements no more complex than Zuko's own. Whatever this was, was hardly firebending. Even Azula in all her terrifying speed and mastery of athletics was, above all else, a daughter of flame. The way Ren moved suggested some perversion of the art, if not something entirely different.

Zuko was pulled from his wonderment by the ship's light wobble as it grinded upon obedient waves, not by choice, but they bowed to the steel fortress—much like the world would bow to the Fire Nation's will.

Ren kicked a spinning orb of fire in return for the blast. Zuko grimaced and slammed his forearms together. He bent low to the ground, his arms forming a knife's point to cut through the flames like a hot knife carving a slice through butter.

Uncle may have been a traitor. But his cross-element teachings served Zuko well. A lower centre of gravity was an earthbending technique he was happy to integrate into his own style.

"Nice trick!" Ren complimented, firing another beam of fire from a double-kick.

Zuko scowled and felt a hot pulse beat in his heart. With a growl he met the beam head on and span in a circular motion, allowing the flames to flow around him, then pass over—a waterbending technique—before he threw his own series of continuous fireballs in answer.

Once again, Ren danced about in a blaze of red like some glorified version of Ty Lee if she were a firebender.

Nothing hit.

Nothing hit!

"Enough!" Henbai interrupted.

Zuko frowned. Had it been an hour already?

"You fight well, Crown-Prince!" The General-gone-babysitter approached with a disarming smile, "I couldn't help but notice you fight with elements of earthbending and waterbending! It's rather impressive."

Zuko looked to the ocean as if it might—as he hoped—swallow Ren, then to Henbai as if the man would pry the General away.

Neither happened.

"And you danced around like a gymnast!" Zuko sneered, pulling his arms into a defensive fold. "Doesn't seem very brave."

Ren raised an eyebrow, if he was hurt by the accusation, it did not show. "Airbending, actually."

"What?" Zuko questioned with a snappy tone, rounding on Ren as if to accuse. "The Airbenders have been dead for 100 years unless the Avatar trained you."

Several of the older veterans hired by Henbai quirked an ear up, as well as the man himself. Those soldiers loyal to the General, naturally, didn't flinch at the revelation of his unique style.

"They have been, but their scrolls lived." Ren shrugged as he took a drink of cooling water. Zuko was inclined to do the same as creeping exertion arrived. "I'm a firebender but I was never very good at… well, firebending. My potency is fine, but I never liked the aggression." He continued, flexing his neck beneath a series of cracks before, sheepishly, he turned his cheek away from Zuko's scrutinizing glare. "But my… parents… were rich. They bought airbending scrolls to sit prettily on their shelves. One day I decided I'd try to study them, and I've been doing the same thing ever since."

Zuko blinked. Stunned by the revelation that Ren was not only being relatively open, but his firebending basics were awful. Surely that was an admitted weakness?

"I use techniques of waterbending and earthbending." Zuko informed, eyes still sharp and poised. "But I'm still a firebender. I learned firebending. You never did? You learned airbending and you… make it work with firebending?" He wanted to scoff at how stupid that sounded. They were wildly incompatible art forms; airbending relied on the spirit. Besides, firebending didn't grant the overt mobility of the Avatar's chief element…

…Yet results spoke louder than theory. He somehow managed to do it.

"Exactly." Ren nodded, smiling brightly, still panting from the fight. "I learned the basic katas but… everything else I learned from the Air Nomads and their relics. If you ask me, it's nothing but a strength. Nobody alive is really familiar with how an airbender fights. You are: You've fought the Avatar. But even you have to admit, I was a tough challenge."

"You were hard to hit." Zuko conceded with a sigh, "But you couldn't hit me."

"Isn't being tough to hit the nature of airbending?" Ren shrugged with shining eyes, "I'd happily show you a few techniques. You can show some of your earthbending and waterbending ones."

Zuko turned from Ren with a hesitant sneer. Leaning upon the ship's rail, he let his eyes glitter across the sea's abyssal length. He felt the sun's rays trickle along his spine, the afterglow of adrenaline fading beneath his ragged breaths and sweat-laced skin. The ocean had never been very calming. It reminded him of his first days on the sea. After his exile. After his disfigurement.

"You're making it really hard to hate you." The Prince stated bluntly, earning a muted laugh from a nearby Henbai. Ren, to his credit, actually looked shocked.

"Why would you hate me?!"

"Because," Zuko grit his teeth with irritation, "You're an agent of my father! You're here to keep me in-check!"

"I'm not!" The General protested with an aghast expression seizing his face, "The Fire Lord ordered me to train with you, and report on the results! Just because we have to roughhouse a bit by the Fire Lord's command doesn't mean we have to be rivals."

"This is what I mean." Zuko huffed and span around to lean upon the rail once more, "You're a lousy nemesis."

Ren raised his chin with pride and seemed to take root where he stood behind Zuko. "Look, working with the Crown-Prince is an honour." He told, rather than offered, voice leaving no room for venomous politics. Until his stance loosened, and with it, so too did his tongue. "Anyway, one day you'll be Fire Lord and if I get in your good graces now, think of all the favour I can get, right?"

Zuko remained immobile. Ren, despite staring down the Prince's back, swallowed nervously and perceived the harsh glare. "That was a joke…" He tried to chuckle, honestly, it sounded more like a strangled yelp. "Bad joke…"

The Prince ignored Ren Jiang's ramblings. His eyes cast to the distant shoreline of the Earth Kingdom's green tree-littered landscape. Where beyond, perched in the desert's outskirts, Omashu loomed. He wondered how Mai would fare seeing her parents again. He wondered what exactly it was he had to clean up.

He became aware of his new ally scampering away. But Zuko's mind was too settled on the thing the crystalized waters most reminded him of. It wasn't the ocean. It wasn't a mirror into his soul like the Old Tales boasted. All Zuko saw was Azula's blue flame swimming endlessly, and below, Iroh stared up at him, a young boy with a bandaged face sat cradled against the tubby elder's chest.

Zuko turned from the ocean and closed his eyes.

"Ahh, Senlai Village." Jeong Jeong hummed, inhaling a deep breath of musty hay-scented air through his nose. "Not the most glamorous Village, but they're nice enough."

Azula scoffed, kicking, poking, stabbing at just about anything she could get her hands on. Even if it was with a stick. Even if it was, in the strangest way, disarming to see the world's most dangerous teenager flailing a stick around with barely restrained boredom—and contempt.

"It's a dump." She replied, voice laced with impressive conviction. "It stinks, the people look like ghouls and everything is too green. It offends my eyes." She cocked her head to the side, then shrugged, "Or, eye, I suppose."

He raised his brows, perhaps if Azula's conviction for the lower class rivalled her conviction to learn there was yet hope. Jeong Jeong frowned as he doubted his own wondering thoughts. No, it was far more likely her contempt far outweighed any concept of willingness. She might've agreed to learn from him, however, she didn't agree to listen to said lessons. So far, Azula was proving a brilliant listener who never forgot an uttered world and an abysmal follower who refused to co-operate on almost anything.

"This isn't the Fire Nation anymore, Azula." He informed in a hushed whisper. "There's no palanquins or spa's in these outlands."

She rolled her eyes, "And here I thought we were returning to the Royal Palace. Whatever would I do without your stunning grasp of locale?"

Jeong Jeong had, with great reluctance, decided Azula was the worst teenager in the world. Only half of those reasons were related to firebending. She managed to, impressively and horrifyingly, exemplify every single negative stereotype one could attach to a teenager and make it worse.

So, so much worse.

He pursed his lips as Azula struck her half-broken stick against a now-glaring farmer's creaking cart.

"Watch it!" The man barked.

Azula turned with a snarl and Jeong Jeong's lightning-paced reflexes caught her arm and snatched the stick a mere moment before she flung the thing at the man's head.

"Give it back!" She stomped her foot and glared burning holes into his eyes. Jeong Jeong felt a bead of sweat crawl down his face as a blue flutter of flame scolded the earth beneath her.

The Deserter sucked in a heavy breath, Control, he allowed the fire to crawl through his veins, not hot, but cold like ice, Inner peace.

He'd already promised he wouldn't try to challenge her. Which was a problem all by itself. Worse, was if she caused an overt scene with firebending they'd be chased out of town... If she didn't cause a massacre, which, based on tales, she was more than capable of.

"Don't antagonize the people." He relinquished his hold on the stick, though his hold was as much pried apart by her strength as it was released by his own will. "Please." He pleaded, a little lighter, eying the nearby scattering of society stomping through deep-mud, the sounds of bartering and business occasionally enhanced by the groans of nearby livestock.

"They're just peasants." Azula shrugged, returning to poking holes into the dirt. Better the dirt than people.

"Yes," He nodded once, "They are. But we're fugitives. You know we must be quiet wherever we walk."

"Fine, fine!" She kicked the mud and it made a squelching squeak as it splattered Jeong Jeong's robes—robes already filthy from her base amusements for the last two days of walking. "Low profile." She rolled her eyes, muttering something about indignity, a Ba Sing Se coup, 'Earth Queen' and trailing off with a moment of lamentation for 'falling so far'.

Jeong Jeong had always prided himself on immutable control. But this girl was a test a thousand years of meditation could never prepare for. He felt a feeling of resigned anger flush his system as he trailed after the destructive little devil.

Misguided child, he reminded. Not a devil.

Azula kicked a barrel over.

For what appeared to be for no discernible reason, the effort of many days, by many hands, of hard labour spilled out in the form of tens of fish.

Even if she acted like a devil.

Approaching the town centre. Or, a poor parody of what a town centre should look like, Jeong Jeong rounded on Azula with stern eyes. "Wait here, I'll buy provisions."

She continued to glower at him, folding her arms in challenge. He sighed, approaching the meat-stall with a disarming smile. Behind, a heavyset man with a dome-like waist smiled through crooked teeth. "Only the finest meat, 'ere! Taken directly from Hei Bai forest! Where the spirit's blessing makes the land bloom and the meat perfect!"

Jeong Jeong avoided rolling his eyes. The Forest was cursed, half the flowers died, and the meat rotted like any other. He considered for a moment the cost/gain ratio of nutrition vs coin. An easy task with him alone, now he had to keep a grumpy ex-royal placated enough to not go on a murder-spree. Food seemed a good start.

"I'll take th—

"HEY!" A voice called, angry and accusing, "YOU THIEF! YOU'LL PAY FOR THAT APPLE!"

Jeong Jeong felt the resolve flee his bones where he stood. He didn't need any other words to know exactly who the supposed culprit was.

"I didn't steal your stupid fruit!" Azula hissed, eyes narrowed, challenging the scrawny middle-aged man to step a single step closer.

"I saw you! Everyone saw you! You didn't even try to hide it! You're a thief!"

"Really?" Azula snorted, "What did I steal?"

"THE APPLE!"

"Oh? This?" She took another hearty bite, savouring the slow chews, and soothing taste. "I just found it in your pile."

"WH— YOU—!"

Jeong Jeong put a steadying arm on the bristling man's shoulder. Azula met his glare with a poisonously sweet smile. "I apologize for my Granddaughter's behaviour."

The man turned with a surprised blink. Jeong Jeong only tried his most appeasing smile, "I'm sure she meant no ill-will. I will pay for the apple and purchase several more for the road. All I ask is we forget this altercation."

The man seemed to relax, the tension oozing from his bones. Unsurprisingly, Azula looked disappointed and returned to pouting in irritation.

"That girl has no manners! Where are her parents?" The man questioned and, in that moment, Jeong Jeong sensed an opportunity. Devious, perhaps, but he was no stranger to the innocent deviousness of living as a fugitive.

"Dead." He responded stiffly. The man's face drained of colour whilst Azula raised an interested brow. The coy look disappeared quicker than an instant as the fruit vendor spared a glance towards her.

Then, as if the pieces of a terrible puzzle slotted together in his guilty mind, his eyes widened and he held a hand over his mouth. "Sir, you must... accept my apologies. I see..." He tilted his head to Azula, a notion she no doubt saw quite easily, "The bandage... you both look like you've been on the road for some time... refugees?"

Jeong Jeong nodded with a pained smile.

"Firebenders?"

Again, he nodded. "Killed in Ba Sing Se after the occupation. They were a noble family, you see. A threat to the Fire Nation's new political designs."

"Ah... That explains..."

The abrasiveness? Jeong Jeong thought, You haven't the first idea.

"My granddaughter is a skilled martial artist. She was able to fend off her would-be assassins... But not without loss. Her mother and father... burned in their family estate. Her face marked by their cruelty."

"I... I'm sorry... Me and my family live up on the hill. We don't have much, we make ends meet, but... why don't you and your granddaughter eat with us tonight?"

Jeong Jeong frowned. "I don't think..."

"Please," The man smiled, "I insist."

As if tired, as if unwilling, Jeong Jeong wore his mask well, "Oh, I suppose."

"Good! Just... come by in the evening... Oh! And," He passed a small bag of apples to Jeong Jeong, "You don't have to pay me... It's just a kindness."

Jeong Jeong smiled and bowed low, "Thank you."

Their kind host-t-be returned to his humble stand, shooting sympathetic glances to Azula when he felt she wasn't looking. Jeong Jeong approached bearing a look that said he wanted to be angry. But he also feared anger was more likely to rouse her against him.

He was right, she mused, It would.

"Azula..." He started with a heavy sigh, "Why did you steal so blatantly?"

Azula shrugged. "I didn't steal. I simply took."

"There is no conceptual difference!"

"I wanted too. What does it matter? You handled it."

He folded his arms and regarded her like Uncle always used to do. She twisted to face him with a blazing glare in response.

Jeong Jeong, to his credit, had the perceptive skill to read her tells as well as she read his. He moved his stance, his expression, even his whole mood, should it inspire ire in her gaze. Azula was no stranger to what was going on. But she was shocked and surprised by it, not that he'd know. At the very least, now he no longer reminded her of Uncle Teatime, she was less inclined to melt his face.

"The apple isn't even that good." She complained, throwing the barely-a-quarter eaten apple aside with a lazy yawn. She appeared to revel in how the fruit vendor winced where he stood.

Jeong Jeong sighed. This was going to be his greatest trial in control yet.

"So..."

Ren staggered aside and almost stumbled into the bookcase he'd stared at. "Henbai!" Ren breathed slowly, "Don't sneak up on me like that."

The ex-warden quirked up a brow. Folding his arms in curious analysis. "It wasn't sneaking, General." The man rolled his eyes, "If you weren't drifting into your own head you would've heard me stomping down the stairs. I'm not a quiet man."

Ren sighed, nodded, and recomposed his own slightly frazzled nerves. "Right, well... How can I help?"

"You can't." Henbai shrugged, idling beside the door with a lazy lean.

"...So you're here to tell me... I'm fired... or?"

Henbai snorted and shook his head derisively, "Fired! Agni-no! Fire Lord would have my head. You know, for a man who's soldiers worship the ground you walk for how lenient you are, you're awfully uptight right now."

Ren blinked a few times. Mind working to diffuse the meaning behind those choice words. He'd, admittedly, been a little distracted. First, he managed to muck up first impressions with a man who already made the decision to hate him. Secondly, someone Ren very much did not want to be a current Earth Kingdom exile was, in-fact, an Earth Kingdom exile.

Fate played a funny game sometimes. A game he didn't always want to partake in.

"Sorry." He smiled and walked from the bookcase to a nearby table, he eyed the weapon's rack hugging the holding barracks' wall with appraisal before pouring a pitcher of water. "Believe it or not, I get nervous easier than you'd think."

"And why wouldn't I think you get nervous easily?" Henbai tilted his head with growing scrutiny. Ren raised a brow. Surely the answer was obvious? Extensive military achievements weren't often won in a year by someone suffering frayed nerves. "You and the Prince need to let yourselves relax a little. You're, what, sixteen, going on seventeen?"

Ren shrugged. As if his age meant nothing at all. Of course, it did, but not in the way Henabi was implying. "Respectfully, Commander, children don't often win battles on the front. I stopped being a child when I put on this armour. I'd appreciate you don't treat me like one."

"Ah." Henbai nodded solemnly, jabbing a finger up as he entered the room with an elongated breath of air. Ren checked himself, holding back the glare he wanted to throw, holding back how he wanted to posture defensively.

Henbai wouldn't be the first veteran to judge Ren because of age. He certainly wouldn't be the last. Ren had long since become accustomed to the snide remarks and dismissive glares from the other officers who sat the High Command's round table.

"That's not at all what I'm doing." The larger man took a seat at the wooden table streaking the room's centre. Ren frowned, confused, a little accusing. "See, I respect you and the Prince as two of the most important people in the Fire Nation. Sure, I do. The Prince is a damn good firebender, better than you." Henbai placed both hands on his chest to gesture to himself. "And you're far, far better than me. That says something. More than that, you've accomplished a good deal more, and done it a lot cleaner, than most idiot Generals I've had the displeasure of meeting."

"Oh, Ren stroked his hair absently, "Thank you... I think." He was... a little thrown off by the strange switch in points. Was Zuko's advisor going somewhere? The General knew nothing about the man other than he was Warden for the Royal Caldera Prison. The worst prison, by far, in the Fire Nation's sprawling Empire.

"All I'm saying is let the formalities slip. With me, with the Prince, with my men... You do it with your own men but to them you're still General Jiang, Ozai's Hound, Red Demon, and all manner of other silly monikers." The man sneered and waved his hand, as if to push the titles away from his mouth. "Every General and their mother has a thousand titles these days. Bloody useless -" Ren's bemused stare found Henbai's waning confidence. The light grey of his eyes blazed, like an old tank roaring to life, and the man stumbled back to his point. " -There's no Fire Lord here. No Captains you need to command. Give up being General for a few days. You might find you like the freedom."

Ren was unflinching as their eyes duelled for purpose. Though, he saw no malice or politics behind the older bender's rough gaze. Only honesty. Which, to be fair, wasn't all that surprising. The man was gruff, blunt and flaunted the more rigid classes of the military chain. It stood to reason that, like Ren, he preferred an environment of goodwill and comradery.

Only, Ren's Generalship left him in power over his Company. They were friends, yes, but he was still their superior. Henbai seemed to operate as a man who wanted nothing more than to roam the land as a gang of equals.

It wasn't an unworthy goal... But it was alien.

"Thank you, Henbai." Ren smiled graciously, "I'll consider your words? Maybe?"

Henbai let out a laugh at the General's word choice, "See that you do, see that you don't. My words are said, General. Have a good night's rest in the barracks."

Ren quirked a brow up. In the barracks. He didn't miss Henbai's nod, a nod of clear approval, that the General at least confined himself to the same level of his soldiers. He furrowed his brows, returning to thought. It was a short way to Omashu now. He wondered if the Crown-Prince was destined to hate him. He wondered why the Commander of all people stumbled down to inflict abstract advice Ren still didn't fully understand.

But most of all, he wondered when he'd be able to eat a good cooked meal again. The ship rations were, frankly, horrible.

No doubt Admiral Be Fan's last laugh, Ren felt his stomach groan in protest, Just my luck, of course.