A/N: This is a direct continuation of Piece of Mind, which if you haven't read it, it's a very Jetko-y attempt at plotty!Jetkotara. Due to the nature of the story, bits and pieces of the dialogue in here are taken directly from canon, but I tried my best to not make it a rewrite of "Lake Laogai."
Disclaimer: Don't own it!
Mindblank
Jet wakes up to find Katara drooling on his chest, her hair tangled around one of his hands. He glances around the room. Lee—no, Zuko—is nowhere to be seen.
He frowns and shifts Katara's head to a pillow. Standing up fluidly, he searches through the rest of the meager apartment, but Zuko is gone. No note, no goodbye, nothing. Nothing.
The ashy numbness from the night before consumes him.
Jet returns to the bedroom to find Katara awake, blinking blearily up at him from the rumpled bedding.
Normally, that look of contentment, that satisfied smirk curling the corners of his lover's mouth, makes him grin and say some quip with a double meaning. But not this time. This time he shuts the door and slides down it, tugging at his hair.
Left. Lee—Zuko, whatever—just left. Left him. He hides his face in his hands, pulling his legs up under his chin. He feels heat searing a thin trail down his cheeks. Maybe they'll leave a mark. That might be a good thing. Anything's better than this guilt and pain cutting through him. Scars don't bother him. They never have. He already has so many.
He might have hated him, feared him even, for a few hours last night, but Jet still stood by what he'd told Zuko. He might have been a firebender, an exiled prince, but he is still the same boy Jet fell in love with. And he'd just left.
Jet swallows a hiccup and wipes at his nose. How pathetic. Sitting here, sobbing like a teenage girl after her first break up. Look at what you do to me, he would say to Lee with a wry twist of his lips. And he'd just pull Jet against him, dig his too-long nose into Jet's messy mop of hair and whisper something like, Do you really think I'm any better off?
A warm arm wraps around his shoulders, but it's not warm enough, not thick enough, it doesn't belong to the only person who could fill the hole eating him from the inside right now. He holds on to the edge, even as it crumbles under his fingertips. Jet clutches at her because she's the only thing keeping him from falling.
Nothing has the right to split him open like this. Nothing. Except maybe all the openings he'd given Lee—Zuko. His name is Zuko.
He should be pissed, more furious than a drowned firebender because he'd been played, he'd been lied to. It didn't matter that his mind had more holes in it than lace cheese. Lee had lied. And Jet—master manipulator with the ability to accurately read a person and just know their motivations from one fucking look—had fallen for it, hook, line and sinker.
He should be mad. But he's not. Not at Lee, like he wishes. Not at Katara, for shattering the illusion. No, Jet can't stand himself. So he wills everything to be numb.
Steeling himself, Jet swallows back the pain. It's time to move on, or at least time to pull himself together enough to put some pants on. There are other things to worry about. Katara has a problem, and he thinks he might be able to help. It's the least he can do for all the shit he's put her through.
He can pretend he's okay to help her.
"He's gone?" Katara murmurs into his hair. Oh fuck, it hurts to even hear it. The words echo in his head like she'd shouted them.
Somehow Jet's voice is steady. "Yeah."
Her fingers comb through his hair, and it's soothing, so he relaxes into her touch, leaning against her. Where would he be without her?
He ignores the image of pale limbs twined with his.
"I'm sorry," she whispers.
"Don't be." Jet lifts his head and meets her eyes. And Katara has such beautiful eyes. He takes a deep breath. "It's done. It's over."
She opens her mouth, but stops, seeming to think better of it. Good. No need to make this more difficult than necessary. Otherwise, he may never get off this floor. He may just curl up and weep. But that's not him. He's Jet. He's a Freedom Fighter. And he doesn't cry over boys who leave.
No matter how much it hurts, he is a Freedom Fighter, dammit. Nothing will stand in his way. He can do this. He can. He has to.
Jet coughs. "Besides, I think I have a lead on Aang's bison."
Numb. Just stay numb.
Katara's house in the Upper Ring is nice. Really nice. Jet doesn't know what he would do with all that space. He's used to sleeping in a twisting pile of limbs and someone else's hair in his mouth. That's how it had been in the trees; that's how it had been with L—
Something in his chest twists. He shuts down that train of thought.
Instead he smiles at Sokka and Aang and a short little earthbender who seems to be the only one with any sense. Aang barely lets him finish his sentence before he drags them all back toward the Lower Ring. Jet should want to laugh. He doesn't.
"This is where you work?" Katara asks, walking up beside him. He feels her fingers lightly touch the inside of his arm, hidden from the scorching glare her brother sends his way every three minutes or so. Jet looks down at her, smiling.
"Yeah, nothing too glamorous. Mostly just moving stuff around as it came into the city."
She gives him a soft smile. He likes how she doesn't ask if he's okay. He's not, and she knows it. Maybe, if his cards had been dealt a little differently, he could have loved this girl with her kind heart and blue eyes that remind him of the sky just before dawn. It has always been simpler to appreciate the beauty of the sky than that of the sun as it peeked over the horizon, heavy and yellow and always burning.
"We missed him." Clinging to that clump of hair, Aang reminds him of the kids back home in the trees when they realize their parents aren't coming back for them.
"I'll come with you."
They pass a fountain, and he recognizes an unruly mop of brown hair. A quick stab of pain lances through his temple. Somehow Jet gets Aang to stop, so he approaches the girl. He puts a hand on her shoulder. She jumps, but not before grabbing his hand and twisting it around as she turns to face him. Her other hand stops a hair before hitting his elbow—a move Jet knows would probably break his arm if she wants. But she looks up, and her eyes are wide and a little too wet under her headband.
He grins.
"Jet?"
"Hey, 'Bee."
Her mouth twists in a furious scowl and she lets him go just to punch him soundly in the sternum. Jet winces, rubbing at his chest, sucking in air.
"Don't you 'hey 'Bee' me!" The next hit is just a swat. He grabs her hand, and she hugs him tight. It helps make the hole in him seem a little smaller. "They took you away, we were so worried. You're our leader, Jet, and they took you away."
He notices Longshot standing awkwardly by the fountain. Jet smiles to say come here, you too, and the other boy move to stand next to Smellerbee. He puts a hand on both their shoulders. Jet knows the look on his face: I'm glad, we're glad, we missed you.
It helps.
Smellerbee and Longshot stay close. They follow Katara's friends back to the Upper Ring, but he can feel them watching him, like they're waiting for him to spontaneously combust. And maybe he will. He hurts so bad, not even the cool fingers tangling with his can help. The pain is like a peat fire, burning through the ground under his feet, and Jet's just waiting for the earth to open up and swallow him whole.
"The Dai Li took you," Smellerbee says.
"The Dai Li?" Jet frowns, eyebrows pressing down. He remembers fighting L—Zuko—and he remembers being arrested, both of them thrown in the back of a wagon with no windows. After that his mind blanks. Maybe Katara's water just couldn't reach deep enough to unlock every memory.
"They must have sent you to mislead us," Katara says, squeezing his arm lightly. Sokka scowls at the contact. Jet knows he should shoot him a cocky grin, that's what he would have done a day ago, but he can't seem to make his face work right.
Aang's face is grimmer than Jet's ever seen it before. "I bet the Dai Li have Appa in the city. Maybe he's in the same place they took Jet. Where did they take you?"
Jet's seen the darkness preceding a thunderstorm and survived swaying in the branches with the wind and the rain sleeting down, praying lightning doesn't strike this tree. The look in Aang's eyes—no, the Avatar's eyes brings that feeling back.
The Dai Li will never see this kid coming.
"I don't know. I don't remember. It's all…blank. Dark."
Aang looks at his friends. "We need to find a way to jog his real memories."
"Maybe Katara should kiss him," Sokka whips out before anyone can even open her mouth.
Katara snorts. "Maybe you should kiss him, Sokka."
That makes Jet grin. Smellerbee slaps her forehead as Jet waggles an eyebrow at Sokka. The boy blanches. That makes Jet want to laugh, and the chuckle that pushes up from his stomach surprises him. Sokka uses the opening to shove a piece of straw in his mouth. Jet's teeth bite down on it, and it tastes like mildew and sweat, not sweet and fresh like it should. He spits it out and glowers at Sokka.
"I don't think it's working," Jet deadpans.
"Maybe Katara can heal you," Aang says.
"I already tried—"
"No, he might be right." Jet takes her hand, brushing his thumb over her knuckles. "There's still…pieces…missing. I dunno, it's hard to explain."
His eyes are closed, but he can see the water glowing, soft blue light on either side of his head. Katara's fingers rub soft circles into his temples. Jet can hear her frown as she sighs.
Something he knows for sure.
What was that for?
Sorry, that was pretty stupid, wasn't it?
It's man's job to protect his family, son.
I know, Dad, you always say that!
I'm in.
As soon as I saw your scar, I knew exactly who you were.
He doesn't talk.
Why not?
He hasn't said. What's your name?
I'm—Jet. My name's Jet.
You want a show? I'll give you a show.
Don't you fucking touch me, firebender!
There is no war in Ba Sing Se.
I should hate you.
Here we are safe.
It's almost dawn.
Here we are free.
Cold sweat drips down his neck. Katara's hands shake as she flicks the water back into her waterskin.
"A lake," she says. "There's a lake between here and the Outer Wall, that's where the Dai Li took Jet and—and messed with his brain."
He could hear his name on the tip of her tongue. His gut twists. He knows, understands even, why Lee left, but that doesn't mean Jet didn't hurt. It doesn't mean he doesn't want the comfort of a callused hand on his back and yellow eyes that flickered like a campfire watching over him. He hurts so much, and he wishes he could hate the prince for it. Pass it off as typical firebender behavior. But he can't, so Jet sits there, spirit raw and bleeding as a cold, fear-fueled sweat dampens the collar of his shirt.
Aang stamps his glider on the floor, and Jet jumps at the noise.
"Let's go. I bet that's where they took Appa." The kid's out the door before he finishes the sentence.
His muscles freeze. He can't. Not there. It feels like rock encases him. He couldn't move if he wanted to. A curtain makes the sunlight flash in the corner of his eye. The strangest noise—a small, pitiful whimper of a noise he's never heard himself make.
Katara squeezes his shoulder. She whispers something in his ear.
He can't hear it. All he can hear is that dull monotone. There is no war. We are safe. Free.
"Jet!" She shouts.
She slaps him.
Jet breathes in, shuddering. Her arms wrap around him, thin and dark and warm, and he's shivering, he's so cold. He clings to her like he did Lee, like he was sitting on the roof again, prodding the holes in his mind, wondering what happened to all the missing pieces. Wondering why he was so drawn to this awkward boy with that awful scar and all that pain behind his flashing eyes.
Katara holds him tighter, her nose pressed to his scalp, mumbling nonsense into his hair.
"You don't have to go."
"I'm coming with you guys."
"Jet—"
"Look, I already said I was coming."
"Jet—"
"I have a lot of shit to make up for, Katara, and I know I can start here."
"You don't have to—"
"I know that. I want to. I'm not gonna let some fucker with a stupid mustache scare me out of doing the right thing."
Smellerbee at his elbow, Katara at his shoulder, Longshot at his back. If Jet's hands tremble, he can't tell. Not with how tightly they're fisted together.
"So where's this secret headquarters?" Sometimes Jet just wants to hit Sokka upside the head.
"Under the water," Jet answers, trying not to sneer. Luckily the little earth bender cuts in, pointing out a tunnel nearby. Somehow Jet doesn't stick his tongue out at the Water Tribe boy. He isn't this petty, not normally.
Toph bends a pathway about twenty feet into the lake. Jet follows her, and they all follow him. He can hear Smellerbee's cautious footsteps behind him; he can feel the cloud of uncertainty surrounding all of them. Aang is nearly vibrating with it.
The metal in his hand is cold and dead, dank with someone else's sweat, someone else's fears dripping down with his own into this green labyrinth. Jet pulls his swords from his belt, needing to feel something welcome against his palm. Leather palmed smooth, a shiver of anticipation crawling up the steel hooks, zinging up his arm and calming his heart. Better. He can always think better when he does something.
They're following him—the Avatar's gang is following him, and Jet has no fucking clue where he's going. Just a hunch, a vague sense of feeling that maybe this is there. All he remembers is clay on his tongue and light flashing in his eyes. Jet shivers, covers it by muttering maybe this way, and they all follow.
The dull chanting of a room full of women echoes into the hall. Everyone else stares horrified through the half-shut door, but Jet's looking into the darkness. He thinks there's someone there, just out of sight. Every now and then he can hear the tap of leather on cloth or the whisper of wind as someone dashes from deep shadow to deep shadow. There, just there, the vaguest hint of a person, almost as tall as him with a sword slung across his back, wearing a ridiculous mask with gleaming white fangs and horns.
For a second his breath catches.
But it can't be. Zuko is long gone by now, searching for his uncle. He wouldn't be down here, even if Jet swears he can see a flickering yellow eye gleaming out from the mask's eye sockets. Impossible. Stupid to think it.
The moment breaks as the masked swordsman dissolves. Jet shakes his head, throwing away the thought that he should follow him, he should take that mask off just to know.
He motions over his shoulder, and they all set off again.
Empty. It's empty. Except for the faint clinking of the chains hanging above them, the cell is damp and dark with neglect.
Too bright. The slam of the stone door echoes in the chamber. Men rain from the ceiling. No, not men. Dai Li. Jet bares his teeth in a feral grin, the anticipation of a fight thrumming through his veins.
Fucking finally.
For the first time in weeks, Jet feels like himself.
And there he is, the man with the queue braid and strange facial hair. Like last time, he just stands there, watching. Jet lets out a shout, running toward him, swords at his side, ready, waiting, itching to bite into his skin, to feel his hot blood dripping down their blades.
Then he's gone. Bends his way through the wall. Jet scoffs. Benders always take the easy way out. That's okay, though, he's never wanted anything easy in his life.
Aang shouts, smashes his way through, into the hall, and Jet chases. Absurdly, he remembers flying through his forest after the Avatar. He remembers how much of a smug little shit he'd felt like at the time, able to keep up with a master airbender with just his hooks and wits.
They run through another doorway, and again it's slammed shut behind them. Jet turns on his toes, spinning a sword for balance, to keep his momentum flowing, but the bastard isn't there. He's standing next to the wall they'd come through, grinning like he's already won.
"Jet," he says, voice deep, dangerous and cold like a mountain cave. "The Earth King has invited you to Lake Laogai."
The Earth King has invited you to Lake Laogai.
I—I am—
I'm honored to accept his invitation.
No. Fuck, no! This can't be fucking possible!
His body lunges at Aang, sweeping in with the daggered ends of his swords—the ends that kill, that rip, that slash. Jet tries to pull back. He tells his arms to stop. Tells his hands to drop his swords. But they won't stop, they won't drop them. His foot whips out, and so does the wrong end of his sword. Aang dodges, nearly bending backward, the point of Jet's sword almost snagging on his shirt.
What the fuck did they do to him?
He can't stop. No matter what he does, he's mind and body just won't connect.
Jet has never felt more helpless.
Not even when he was eight and the whole valley burned below him. This is a whole new level of fucked.
Terror seeps through him. Sweat pools along the base of his back even though the room is cold. He can't even shiver.
Aang's talking, Jet sees his mouth moving, the frantic tightness pulling at his eyes.
I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I can't—
His arms swing forward. Aang jumps, backflips away. Jet feels himself lunge forward again, and he almost hears the kid's voice this time.
"—a Freedom Fighter!"
He's Jet. Leader of the Freedom Fighters. Not some monkey-lizard dancing for someone else. He's Jet.
Jet pulls a hair away from Aang, and his body obeys him. He almost wants to cry with relief. Not trapped. Not helpless. His eyes flick to the side, looking for the tall man in the shadows pulling all the strings.
I'm gonna to kill this bastard.
"Do it! Do it now!"
His aim is true, but the fucker sidesteps it. And then he pushes the floor up, sending it sailing toward Jet faster than he can blink.
Jet opens his eyes. It's dark, dark and humid and it hurts so fucking bad. He tries to breathe, wondering if it should sound that bubbly, if it should feel like a boarcupine's run him through. A blurry, blue arrow pops into his vision. Aang. He'd tried to—
"'M sorry, Aang," Jet manages to say. His mouth is full of bitter copper. He wants to cough, but it'll hurt, it'll cut him even deeper, and he can't—not yet.
Aang reaches out, almost touching his forehead. His voice is soft, softer than Jet deserves. "Don't be."
"Jet!" Katara and Smellerbee both shout, running toward him. Aang leaves to stand with everyone else, and Longshot, always collected Longshot stands guard over everyone, an arrow nocked, ready. Jet wants to smile. His lips twitch.
It's the last time he lies to Katara. He can't stand to see her cry. Not again. Not for him.
It's only the third time he's heard Longshot speak.
Oh, fuck it hurts, it hurts, it hurts—Jet spits out a mouthful of blood, glad the others are gone. These two, they know him through-and-through. They won't think worse of him. Smellerbee's face is ashen and, oh shit, has she been crying? He's never seen her cry.
Maybe he really is dying, then.
He taps her knee, glad he didn't have to move his arm far. Everything hurts and bubbles and twists.
"Stop that," Jet says, voice hoarse. "We gotta—get outta here."
Sunlight, he wants, no he needs it. Something that'll burn through all corroded pieces of him and leave him warm and pure again, like he hasn't been since he was eight. He can't let the dark abyss yawning above him be the last thing he takes with him to the other side.
They fuss about it. But Jet wins. Winning is what he does best, after all.
He still almost shouts when they pick him up. He bites it back. Coughs up blood instead.
Earth rumbles ahead of them. Smells like smoke. Blood. Someone's cutting through the Dai Li like butter. Jet chokes out a laugh before blacking out again.
"Jet!" A hand shakes his shoulder. He's got his back against warm stone and the sun shines red through his eyelids. Lee always did look good in red—flushed and panting, hair sticking up every which way.
"Wanna…home. Take me home."
"He keeps muttering about someone."
"Lee, he keeps saying 'Lee.' Who the hell—Oh, 'Shot you don't think?"
"Of course, that makes perfect sense. They were arrested together, right?"
"Longshot, I'm worried."
"He's not waking up."
"...Jet?"
The next time his eyes open, he's somewhere else. It's dimly lit, and he's laying in something wet. An alley, maybe. Smellerbee's got his head in her lap, and she keeps saying his name, looking up at Longshot, eyes glassy.
"Hey, 'Bee," he mumbles.
She brushes his hair back from his face. "Don't you 'hey, 'Bee,' me." Her voice pops like soap bubbles. She sniffs loudly. "You can't leave us. We only just got you back."
"'M not going anywhere." It's hard to talk. He can't quite breathe, but it doesn't really hurt too much anymore. "I'm right here, ain't that right, Longshot?"
The boy's dark eyes shut, for some reason he can't look. Jet wonders what's wrong. Why are they both so sad?
Jet tries to breathe again. Spring and green and almost—was that jasmine? His lips twitch. "Smells like—"
A/N: ...I'm just gonna go back to my corner? Think about what I've done?
The idea of continuing Piece of Mind has been stumbling drunkenly around in my brain for quite some time. I think there's a lot of potential in that little universe I've created (I wanted to say "fun," but I figured I'd get shivved because neither of these fics are fun). I might even write a Katara one, just to complete the threesome. I dunno. We'll see. I just needed to get this out of my head.
Big thanks to zukoshotpantsfor the beta job again. I love her to bits and pieces, y'all, she's just fabulous.
Reviews appreciated, but I ain't gonna guilt-trip you or nothin'.