Flipping around the order of the prison breakout and Omashu episodes. It just works better, yo.

Chapter Seven: Lt. Jee's Very Short Vacation

The prison rig was very dented.

"The Avatar's been here," his nephew said, leaning over the bow railing to look in exactly the way that made Iroh most nervous.

"Prince Zuko, not everything that goes wrong with the Fire Nation or its properties is the Avatar's fault. For example, if you were to fall into the sea right now, that would not be the Avatar's responsibility."

"I'm not going to fall," the prince snapped.

Iroh drew in a slow breath and raised a finger in his Proverbing Pose. The boy scowled, and slid down until his feet were touching the deck again.

"Shall we give our regards to the warden?" Iroh suggested, instead. "Perhaps he would appreciate a crate of tea. I seem to have extra in my room, now that my own dear nephew has forbidden an old man from using the storage rooms…"

"Uncle. If you put that tea back in the brig, I'm locking it up and throwing the key overboard."

The boy did not mean to be cruel, Iroh was sure. Ozai had neglected many areas of his growth: hugs, healthy emotional expression, music lessons. Tea was simply among the more tragic of these casualties. Tea, and how not to put himself in physical danger every thirty seconds.

They docked at the rig. As a point of fact, it was not dented by the Avatar. Only by his waterbender, and a prison revolt's worth of earthbenders. The warden had not been having a good day. He had, in fact, been having a career-ending day. Then he saw two members of the royal family step into his domain, one of them scowling, and turned the color of an execution warrant. Iroh ordered the man into his own office for a cup of calming tea.

Zuko declined to join them. "Just tell me when you get the heading. I'm going to look around." By which he meant (Iroh inferred, keeping the boy in sight through the warden's windows): testing his weight against a half-broken rail, sticking his head into a coal chute that lead to an active boiler, and jumping into a sinking mail boat. The escaping earthbenders had taken every seaworthy vessel with them; the ones left were distinctly unworthy of princes. Or anyone with a shard of self-preservation. Iroh downed his very calming tea in one scalding swallow and hurried outside.

"Nephew, perhaps you should not—" do not say 'play', his nephew did not take kindly to the word 'play' "—hunt the Avatar in sinking boats."

"Uncle. Uncle, help!"

These were the two words Iroh most wanted and most feared to hear whenever his nephew was involved. He hurried faster. He was just in time to catch… the mail bag.

"They're going to get soggy," Zuko said, with the fiercest of scowls. He was knee-deep in water, and Iroh did not think it was his imagination that the waterline was passing up to his thighs even as they spoke.

"...How very considerate of you, Prince Zuko. I'm sure our brave men and women will be quite happy to know you thought of their correspondence before your own safety. Perhaps they would be more happy if you were to step out of that boat before it sinks."

"Uncle. Look."

Iroh did. The bag he was holding was clearly stamped with its intended recipients: the 41st Division. "Ah. We had better hurry."

The warden joined them as Iroh was stacking the last duffle atop their tidy, only slightly dampened stack. Zuko pulled himself back up onto the rig. He glared down at his sodden pants, then took himself to the side to drip, away from uncle and warden and mailbags.

"Is there another mail boat?" the prince demanded.

"There was, your highness, but the prisoners absconded—"

"When's the next one coming?

"Next week, your highness."

"Not good enough." Zuko was too busy scowling at the way his boots squelched when he moved to notice the nervous breakdown he was inflicting on the poor warden. "Uncle. Our river steamer has about the same draft as this boat, doesn't it?"

"Prince Zuko, no. I am sorry, but the terms of your banishment—"

"Not me, Uncle. But we could lend them our ship, right? And Lieutenant Jee. Or somebody. However many people they need."

His nephew was still staring down at his boots as if he expected this idea, too, to be rejected.

"It may interfere with your quest for the Avatar," Iroh stated carefully. "We will have to wait in the area for our crewmen's return, and we will not have access to the boat should we need it ourselves."

"Isn't this more important, Uncle?" the boy asked it like he really wasn't sure. "Some things are, aren't they?"

Iroh set a hand on his shoulder. "Yes, nephew. Some things are."

The boy almost smiled, for the first time since he'd asked Can you get me into that warroom and a foolish old man had said Yes.

"Oh," his nephew blinked, and crouched down. He picked up something blue with a light coating of coal dust.

"Ah, the Water Tribe girl's necklace," Iroh observed. "I can fix that clasp! It will give us something to do while we wait for Lieutenant Jee's return."

This plan involved Zuko being out of danger for more than five minutes. Iroh should have known better.

Lieutenant Jee was leaning against the river steamer's railing, feeling Agni's light on his face and a lack of entitled prepubescent shouting in his ear. Three days up the river, a day or two to drop off the mail and pick up replies, two days back down, and maybe one last day of faking an engine problem or steering into a sandbar before they returned to the Wani. Six to eight days without the Prince micromanaging him or the men under his command. Six to eight days without any Prince at all.

He should have known better.

"Lieutenant," Crewman Teruko said.

Jee tilted his head back to the sun, and closed his eyes. "No."

"We—"

"No."

"Have a—"

"No."

"Stowaway. It's—" the crewman paused, as if waiting for an interruption. Jee stared her down. "It's Prince Zuko. Sir."

"I'm not Prince Zuko!" Prince Zuko loudly protested. "That's ridiculous. I'm… I'm Kuzon! A stowaway. I mean a mailboy! Who is stowing away. And who is not Prince Zuko. Because Prince Zuko can't be this far inland in Fire Nation territory without special dispensation from the local governor co-signed by a court representative, so I'm definitely not him. That would be really stupid. To be him."

Lieutenant Jee contemplated the sunlight, and how General Iroh was going to kill him. He had six to eight days to contemplate this. No, that was a fool's dream: he had two hours.

"Turn the boat around, crewman."

"No!" Zuko, who was dressed in those spirits-cursed Earth peasant clothes, and hadn't a sea monster vomited on those? Zuko protested. Loudly. "We'd lose a whole day!"

"I'm sure this mail's already been delayed more than a day," Lieutenant Jee said. "Sir," he added.

"That's exactly the problem!" And suddenly around the edges of his tiny angry fists and his standing-up-as-tall-as-he-could and his burned-on scowl, the boy looked like he might really scream. Not his usual orders shouting, but the scream of a twelve-year-old who is being listened to but not being heard. Lieutenant Jee's anxiety level rose. Sharply. "They don't… they might not have an extra day. They already might not be there, when we arrive."

"So we'll find their new encampment—"

The Prince's scowl straightened out into a flat line. He had very gold eyes—like a fledgling tiger-phoenix. And hair like a sheared koala-sheep. It should have been hard to take him seriously, but it wasn't.

"Sir. Why do you think they'll be gone?"

"...I can't tell you. It's classified."

Jee looked at the boy, and thought He's acting like he cares about other human beings.

Jee thought, Zhao's ship was last sighted ten kilometers north of the Wani. He might actually be safer here, as long as he can lay low.

Jee thought, And the General's going to kill me either way. So.

Jee pointedly did not think about how he wanted to believe the Prince had a good reason for what he was asking. How he wanted, just once in his life, for any member of the royal family to have a good reason for what they'd asked of him.

"What are you doing, Crewman? Last I heard the 41st was near Omashu. Keep this boat moving."

"Lieutenant?" Teruko's eyes flicked to their stowaway.

"Haven't you ever seen the prince's cabin boy? Teruko, this is Kuzon. He's an idiot; please keep him away from wobbling railings, sharp things, and important life decisions. And someone teach him how to scrub a deck."

The Prince smiled for a moment. Actually smiled. And then Jee's words caught up to him, and his fists briefly ignited.

"Do you have a problem with working your way up this river, Mailboy?"

"Of course not. Sir."

And damn if the Prince didn't sass like a enlisted man. Jee's lips twitched.

"If you'll excuse me, I have a hawk to send. The General will no doubt be missing Kuzon by now."

Five minutes later found the Lieutenant back on the deck. The Prince was glaring down at it with a bucket in one hand and a scrub brush in the other and a clear desire to avoid putting these things together for as long as possible.

"...Kuzon. Where is the messenger hawk?"

Sokka jerked his fingers away and counted them just to be sure. "Bad Hawky. Bad, bad Hawky." The hawk preened her blood-red feathers with her beautiful murder beak as she perched on the edge of Appa's saddle. Sokka's heart melted into a great gooey glob of forgiveness, already calculating how many strips of seal jerky it would take to subvert an enemy bird. Possibly more than he had. Possibly more than it was worth. But what was the worth of having a new feathered friend? Priceless, that's what.

"Who would be sending us messages?" Katara asked, with a frown that said she already knew.

"Water Tribe,"

(Sokka read outloud, to get this over with.)

I'm not sorry I threw a fireball at you. Tell your sister not to throw her cheap jewelry at my nation's prisons. She can have her necklace back when you give me the Avatar. Kidnapping this hawk for six to eight days will definitely not make me change my mind so don't even try it.

Zuko, son of Ursa and Fire Lord Ozai, Crown Prince of the Fire Nation, Commanding Officer of the Wani, Objectively More Important Than You

Sokka rolled the message back up, and let out a long breath. And an eyebrow twitch. Momo was shrieking, the hawk was shrieking, Katara was somehow louder than both of them. It was impressive how the tiny prince could insult everyone here with one piece of paper smaller than Sokka's hand. Even Aang was sulking.

"He fireballed me, too, and I didn't get a messenger hawk."

"Yeah, well, maybe he just likes me better." Sokka said. And then he tried very hard not to groan at that statement. "...Let's just get to Omashu."

"Kuzon," Jee ground out.

"I sent her to a hawk-sitter, Sir," Zuko smugged. He smugged like it was a verb. He smugged so hard that somewhere across the Earth Kingdom, a teenager with mouth-grass felt briefly inadequate.