Jet found Hakoda in the dining hall of the ship, looking absentminded and far away, but he still smiled a warm, gentle kind of smile as Jet approached. He felt awkward, for reasons he couldn't quite explain. Father figures, or older adults at all really, were few and far between the last half of his life. He'd always dismissed them anyway, thinking he knew it all. But he was slowly coming to the realization that he knew absolutely nothing.

Hakoda turned in his seat, eyed the infant that had fallen fast asleep on Jet's chest, and somehow smiled even more warmly. It was a foreign thing, such a genuine smile, and one that was hard to come by, which made Jet feel a little less uncomfortable.

"What can I help you with, son?" he asked, and Jet's knee jerk reaction was to tell him he wasn't his son, that he didn't need help at all, but he swallowed that notion rather quickly.

"Can… can I talk to you about something?" Jet asked, eyes darting to the others around the table; Haru and the big guy from the prison. They seemed to get the memo quickly, and scooted themselves from the table to make themselves scarce.

"Of course," Hakoda answered, gesturing to an empty chair next to him. "Have a seat."

So, Jet did, his hand cupping over Tikka's head to ensure it wouldn't be bumped by the table. He drummed his fingers on the metal for a moment, unsure where to start, but thankfully, Hakoda seemed patient enough. He opened his mouth a few times, quickly closed it, and finally settled on what to say.

"How… how did you decide what to do, you know, when you left for the war? Like, with your family?" It wasn't perfect, but it would do.

Hakoda hummed, contemplating, then gave him a sympathetic sidelong glance. "Is this about this one?" he asked, gesturing towards Tikka. Jet nodded, almost unnoticeably, and wrapped his hands together under the chair.

"I see," Hakoda said, expression twitching into seriousness, but not losing its warmth. He looked away for a moment, seeming distant again. "Part of being a man is knowing where you're needed the most, and that place isn't always where we want to be. Does that make sense?"

Jet nodded again, listening intently.

"I left my family behind, because I knew it would be safer for them. It was my job to protect them, even if from afar. And… it was the hardest thing I ever did. I would lay awake at night and my heart would ache because it hurt so much, and because I knew it hurt them so much. And as a man, there's no worse thing than feeling powerless, especially when it comes to those we love. So, we have to make sacrifices, but we're only human. We can't do it all. Not alone."

Jet contemplated, soaking it all in. "So… what do we do?"

Hakoda smiled wistfully, but his face quickly fell again, his hand curling around the handle of his cup.

"What we can, son. What we can."

As much as Zuko liked Aang, he could be, at times, quite daft with other people's emotions.

"She needs this, Aang. This is about getting closure and justice," Zuko argued, more a state of fact than anything else.

"I don't think so. I think it's about getting revenge," Aang argued back.

"Fine, maybe it is! Maybe that's what I need! Maybe that's what he deserves!" Katara snapped, so harsh that it made Zuko glance her way. Her eyes had turned steely, icy, seemingly overnight. An anger that rivaled -

"Katara... you sound like Jet," Aang said, seemingly completely oblivious to the way the statement made Zuko's brows furrow together. He didn't know why the statement burrowed under his skin so much, but he couldn't quite argue it either. He wouldn't have had time to, anyway.

Katara was much too quick to the punch. "It's not the same! Jet attacked the innocent. This man, he's a monster. " As soon as she said it, she gave Zuko a sidelong glance, half apologetic and half completely uncaring, but Zuko couldn't find it in him to be upset when she said it. It was true, and something he had to accept. Not everyone was as forgiving of Jet as he was.

But that didn't mean he wasn't quickly growing exhausted of this conversation, and if it'd kept on, he probably wouldn't have been able to let it slide any longer.

Thankfully, Sokka stepped in to take the brunt of it, and though he didn't quite catch what he said, Zuko internally winced at Katara's response. "Then you didn't love her the way I did."

This was quickly spiralling into dangerous territory and needed a cap put on it before the whole group was infighting. A few more bullshit lines about forgiveness that sounded like they were ripped out of an air temple children's book later, and thankfully, the conversation had wrapped to a close.

He just wanted this over with, for more reasons than one. The sooner it was, the sooner Katara would, hopefully, despise him a little less. And hopefully, the search for Jet could begin.

Jet was on the way back to his room, feeling hopeless, but directioned, in the very least. He opened the door and unwrapped Tikka from his chest and placed her gently on the bed, patting her back as he did. She stirred just a tad, but quickly fell right back asleep, smacking her lips comically as she dreamed. Jet smiled wistfully, envying that kind of power, to just sleep the day away, unaware of the hardships of the world. He sighed as he looked out the bedroom window, the sun high and bright in the sky, but he felt as if it should be raining. What a waste of such a beautiful day.

The sounds of boots scrambling down the hall made him break out of his thoughts, and he quickly peeled the door open to peer out. "What's going on?" he asked, hands gripped around the door, and Smellerbee and Longshot stopped briefly in their quick pace to inform him.

"Someone spotted my men," she answered, then she was on her heels again and down the hall.

Jet sat on the edge of the bed, staring blankly at the wall. "Not now," he murmured to himself. He'd thought he'd get at least a few more hours, hoped for a few more days. But it seemed the time had come to make a decision, whether he was ready to or not. Uncaring if he woke her, he scooped Tikka back into his arms and squeezed, and closed his eyes.

Jet took no part of the formalities of finding Smellerbee's men, wanting her to be the one to lead as they gathered below the airship. They seemed like a good group, strong and resilient. He watched her speak to them, but his mind was still far away, and he waited patiently until she was ready.

Her and Longshot approached him as he sat on a nearby log, rocking the now burbling and wide awake Tikka in his arms. They looked prideful, serious, and a little wistful, though both very good at not showing it.

"I guess this is it," Smellerbee said, a tiny smile twitching the edges of her lips.

"I guess it is," Jet answered back, trying to return the smile, but failing pretty miserably.

She looked over her shoulder, studying her men, then turned back around. "We have a shirshu," she said nonchalantly, apparently expecting Jet to know what she meant by that.

"...What?" he said, eyes lowering in confusion.

"We got it during a raid on an outpost before we got captured," she explained, looking awkward, for some reason. The day that Smellerbee could openly express kindness without seeming like a fish out of water would be the day Jet grew another head. "They're tracking animals. I figured… I figured you could use it, you know, to find your boyfriend - or whatever."

Jet's eyebrows perked, not really expecting that at all, and it was probably the best news he'd gotten in a while. But he couldn't possibly take it. It was too valuable an asset to them.

"I couldn't-" he started.

"Just shut up and take the shirshu, Jet," Smellerbee scolded, interrupting him. Now, that was more like it.

He smiled despite himself, and Smellerbee made a gagging noise to pick at him. Smellerbee was quite possibly the most loving person he'd ever met, but she'd never let anyone know it. And that was just fine by him. He wouldn't have it any other way.

"Thank you, Bee," Jet said, and he meant it.

Jet knew he was avoiding it, he knew he was. He'd been meandering about the ship looking lost, mostly on purpose, not making direct eye contact with Pipsqueak or The Duke as if the issue would just fade away.

He felt a little bad about how the goodbye with Smellerbee and Longshot went. Not that it went badly, but his mind was elsewhere, despite himself. It seemed unimportant, at least compared to the goodbye he knew was coming. That one, he wasn't quite ready to acknowledge, let alone execute.

He sat on the bed and watched as Tikka fumbled her sock octopus. She didn't have much to pack, merely a roll of linens and her cup, so that wasn't an issue, in the very least.

He picked her up and held her over his head, laying on his back, and she giggled the whole way, burbling drool onto his chest, but he couldn't find it in himself to mind.

"Just like glue, me and you," he said, a sort of sing-songy voice that brought the edges of Tikka's lips into a smile. An old nursery rhyme of his mother's that he'd sung to her before, but the words now escaped him, so he hummed it instead. She didn't mind it, he didn't think, merely added in her own off-key burbles.

He could avoid the issue, just for a little while longer.

But avoid it forever, he couldn't do.

As the rest of the ragtag crew prepared for departure, he paced idly around the main room, Tikka cupped in one arm while the other pulled nervously at the hem of his pants.

Pipsqueak approached him, looking far more calm than he did. Which he supposed was good, but not as comforting as he'd hoped.

She'd be safer this way. It was the right thing to do.

He told himself over and over.

He puppeteered himself through the formalities, but thankfully, Pipsqueak was aware enough to keep it short. And finally, the time to acknowledge the issue was here.

"Anything I should know?" Pipsqueak asked kindly, The Duke in tow behind him, presumably listening for helpful advice as well.

Jet thought, and anything he'd ever learned somehow escaped his brain all at once, but after a moment, everything flooded it way too quickly. "She likes peaches."

Pipsqueak nodded and opened his mouth to respond, but Jet was too nervous to wait.

"And she likes to be sung to before bed. Oh, and you have to make sure to blow on her food when it's hot - or else she'll just eat it and burn herself. And -"

As Jet rattled off nearly a dozen other things, Pipsqueak smiled, raising his hands to ease him. "Take it easy, Jet," he said, nearly having to interrupt. "I think we got the rest."

"I know," Jet said, looking downwards. "But still."

"We'll take good care," Pipsqueak assured. "I promise."

But that really wasn't the problem, was it?

"I'll uh, give you guys a minute," Pipsqueak added, turning away, ushering for The Duke to turn with him.

So, Jet turned so the bay window illuminated them both, the evening sun dipping low towards the horizon. "Hey kid," he said, voice taut with worry, his face soft and eyebrows low, and with a lump in his throat that neared grief. "I have to go away for a while, but I'll be back… okay?" She didn't understand, and he knew it, but it helped, just a little, to say it outloud. "You get to go with Pipsqueak and see the treehouses. That sound like fun?"

If they were still there.

Unknowing, she smiled, just a tad, in response.

"Yeah?" he mused. "Maybe Pipsqueak will take you through the wheat field too."

If it wasn't raized to the ground.

"But you have to be good for me while I'm gone, okay? Or else me and you are going to have a talk when I get back."

If he came back at all.

"...I love you, kid."

But there were no ifs for that.

Then, he hugged her tight, eyes wandering to the exit of the airship, and tried to ignore the tightness of his belly. And after a while, he turned to Pipsqueak.

"Ready?" he asked.

"No," Jet responded.

Pipsqueak gave him a sad smile, but reached as gingerly as he could anyway, and Jet laid one last kiss on her forehead before reluctantly handing her over.

"I'll distract her," Pipsqueak said. "So she doesn't cry."

"Thank you, Pip," Jet murmured.

"You're welcome. Once a Freedom Fighter, always a Freedom Fighter. I haven't forgotten."

Jet nodded in response, unable to say much else, and gave a halfhearted wave before turning around. He walked towards the exit, contained himself until he got outside, and finally rubbed the tears away that had gathered in the corners of his eyes. With a deep, shuddering breath, he eyed the shirshu that awaited him down below.

He took a minute to compose himself, dug from his bag for the map that Zuko had given him before, and walked to greet the animal that would carry him. Lifting the map to the shirshu's snout, it took in a deep breath, soaking in the scent, and finally raised its head towards the sea, where another island awaited them across the ocean threshold.

The lights from the town were quite beautiful, reflecting off the dark sea and shimmering life onto the surface of the water. Waves were few and far between, gentle when they did come lapping over and onto the saddle. The shirshu had grown weary, a slight pant beginning to become the norm of her breathing, her legs paddling slowly through the water until finally, her claws had begun to grasp ground on the ocean floor.

Jet had gotten used to the sensation of being cold and wet, but the bags that were forming under his eyes couldn't be helped. He lifted them high and over the cliffside, observing the lanterns as they flickered in the distance. A bed and fireplace were sounding rather pleasant at the moment, but the town seemed farther away than it looked, and he'd take a palm leaf laid over sand if it meant he could rest now, if only for a few hours. Thankfully, shore was but a blink away.

The shirshu lumbered onto the beach, her fur sopping and heavy with sea water, and collapsed but meters away. Jet wasn't far behind as he stretched his legs, working the stiffness that had settled in his bones. He laid flat on the sand, looked up into the night sky, and plucked a blade of marsh grass to tuck into the corner of his mouth.

Without much effort, he faded into sleep shortly there after, and dreamed of nothing.

He awoke to the chattering and fussing of seabirds, pecking away at one another as they tried to get snag of their next meal, which just so happened to be a very alive Freedom Fighter. With an obnoxious shoo of his hands, Jet managed to send the birds the memo, and they settled themselves on a nearby rock, watching him as if he'd die at any moment. Hoping, probably.

Lifting himself from the ground, he brushed the dampness and the coarse sand from his pants, but it did little good, and he cursed himself for having chosen such an unideal location. His stomach growled, and his mouth felt cottony, but he was here. Now, to just find Zuko, after he found something to eat, of course. The island wasn't that large. It shouldn't take but a few hours to do both. It still felt strange to wake up and only care for himself, but he tried to put it at the back of his mind, keeping busy to fill in the void.

Thankfully, the shirshu hadn't gone far, even without Jet tying it up through the night. He found it dipping its snout into a creak trickling down the cliffside; fresh and clean enough, Jet got his fill too, until his stomach giggled when he stood. Then, onto the saddle and up the cliffside he went, the shirshu's nose pressed to the ground all the way.

It led them through some foliage, thick but not undoable, until they reached a sandy little trail, presumably one that led to town. And in the distance, he saw a tower of smoke, and it smelled of hickory and fat drippings, playing on his feelings of an empty stomach. A short detour couldn't hurt.

He felt raggedy, probably looked it too, judging by how the villagers on the edge of town looked at him as he came out of the woods. But at the market, he finessed a mango under the hem of his shirt as he passed by a fruit stall, one simple swipe while the owner wasn't looking. He grinned a little, feeling slick and good about himself, despite looking like a castaway. Breakfast was taken care of, and the shirshu was getting antsy, which must mean he was getting close. Now, only one thing left to do.

Find Zu-

He paused halfway through licking mango juice from his thumb, uncaringly tossed the pit onto the side of the road, his eyes having focused on something much more paramount, and sudden. The sun glinted on his eyes from high in the sky, and he almost thought it could be a mirage. Or a dream. His heart hoped it was, at least, because his stomach had fallen to his knees.

His eyes didn't tear from the ostrich horse posts as he approached; hammered into the ground outside of a seedy looking Fire Nation tavern, they weren't that interesting on their own, no. But around the corner, off to the side, there outsproug a steely, reptilian tail. Coupled with it, a pair of clawed, dragonesque feet. There was no denying it. It was a military rhino, saddle in tow.

Jet was caught frozen staring at it before he realized he'd stopped to glance. His breath held high in his chest, a distant memory of a burning village conjuring itself in his mind without his permission. And suddenly, it was like he couldn't see anything else. His world turned white as he slid from the saddle, and his fingers fell to his waists until they'd wrapped themselves firmly around the handles of his hooks. After a few steps towards the door though, he hadn't been able to keep his grip. His hands had started to tremble.

The chatter and banter of the lively bar was all but lost to him, as he swung open the door hard enough it bounced back from the wall. The heads that turned their attention to him seemed dim in importance, the blood pounding in his ears increasingly taking up more significance. Eyes that felt like they belonged to a dead version of him scanned the bar as he strode down the middle walkway, eyebrows and lips pursed into thin, harsh lines. And there, at the bar, not center but close, sat a man with his back turned, three distinct red feathers sat atop a cap on his head. The leader of the Rough Rhinos himself.

Jet never thought he'd be so lucky.

Without much coherent thought, his decision making skills having fully left him mere seconds before, he gripped the back of an empty chair so hard it was an act of providence his fingers didn't bury into the wood. He dragged it, the scrape loud enough the Colonel turned his head to look, and with a much too sloppy arc of his arms, Jet slammed the chair into his back.

And suddenly, his hearing came back as the planks and splinters of wood splattered to the ground; the gasps of the other customers still otherworldly and far away. Before he could appreciate how many people he'd shocked into silence, he picked the groaning soldier from the floor and slammed his back against the counter until he fell back onto it. Holding him tight around the collar with one hand, Jet's other reached down to pull up a hook, and he swung up the spiked end to press against the flushed skin of the colonel's neck. But he wouldn't kill him. Not yet. He deserved to suffer.

"Remember me?" he said between his teeth, his jaw clamped so tight it hurt. The lack of an immediate response only furthered his abhorrence, and his eyes went wide, almost panicked, and they bored holes through the bloodied face of this devil that called himself a man. "Huh?!"

"Hey, there's no ne-" the bartender started.

"Shut the fuck up!" Jet scolded before he could even finish, his voice having towered to a strained, terrible shout. Leaning over the man with murderous strength, he felt the venom drip from his lips. "I said, do you remember me?"

"No," Monkge croacked, hands pressed flush against the counter, still disorientated, but Jet didn't care much for that.

"What about Gaipan? Huh? Remember that ?"

Without granting too much time for answers and not really caring for them anyway, he simultaneously let his hook clatter to the ground and yanked the colonel's face towards his own. His fingers dug into his palm as he balled his hand into a fist, and his face twisted up like a shirt too tightly wrung out, lips stacked on top of a viscous snarl. He launched his wrathful fist, over and over, not really caring where it hit, as long as it landed. He didn't know how many did, just watched as the colonel's face became more distorted under the force of his knuckles.

"Stop! You're gonna' kill him!"

He thought it was the bartender that came behind him to yank on his shoulder, but it didn't matter. He slung the soldier with all his strength down to the side of him, taking a couple barstools down with him. Before the bartender could intervene anymore, Jet snatched his abandoned hook to swing it in a wide arc, daring the bystander to try anything else. He backed away, hands up, and Jet's attention snapped back to the man writhing on the floor.

With a kind of ferocious, tilting calm he leaned over Mongke, using the inner circle of his hook to lift the man's head to look him in the face. Pleased he was still awake, although barely, Jet's lips twisted into a brief, triumphant smile, his eyes still that of someone who'd never loved. "You thought you'd gotten away with it," he said, his breath heavy with fury, expression falling back into blank rage. "Didn't you?"

And as suddenly as the voices and gasps of the other customers had fallen into obscurity, they equally as quickly became the forefront, shining with significance, all with one squeak of a word.

"...Jet?"

It was Katara, he realized, staring horridly at him, hands cupped over her mouth.

He gasped in a sharp inhale, so quickly and abruptly it hurt, like the whole time he'd forgotten to breathe. His eyes shot up to the crowd, where Zuko was shoving his way through the wall of people, and he paused next to Katara, a sort of mortified realization washing over his features. And there was blood splattered on Jet's face, he could feel it suddenly, as Zuko's eyes darted between the droplets and his eyes.

He stood too quickly, stumbled backwards and away from the bloody soldier, and swallowed hard as he looked down at what he'd done. Unrecognizable, was the only way to describe the colonel's face. Somehow less human than he already viewed him, but Jet's face fell at the sight, softened at the cruel reality. The reality that he hadn't lessened his pain, merely spread it. Again.

The weight of his heartache and shame and anger and sin slammed into him all at once, and he found himself unable to do anything at all. Not speak. Not move. Nothing. So when Zuko stepped forwards and wrapped his arm through his and pulled, he didn't protest, and followed as Zuko broke a path through the crowd. How he did it, or what he said to the other customers, Jet didn't quite hear, but it didn't quite matter.

His hands and lips were still trembling as Zuko somehow ushered him onto Appa, and they were in the air before it even occurred to him how Zuko had gotten there in the first place. His voice still felt far away though, so he didn't ask, only stared blankly at the design of the saddle, and drew his legs up to his chest and held them there. Tight.

What felt like hours later, but was probably only minutes, Zuko was at his side, eyes darting between his shaking, bruised knuckles and the lifeless look in his eyes. Zuko didn't say anything. Maybe he didn't know what to say. Or maybe he knew nothing would help. But Jet was glad for it, and Zuko sat next to him and wrapped an arm around his shoulder. Jet tore his eyes from the saddle, a little afraid to look at him, but more afraid not to, and felt his eyebrows draw together. His eyes pressed shut, and he crumbled like wet sand into himself, suddenly and helplessly as if he were a child's castle pit against a violent ocean storm. And he sobbed, loud and powerful and gasping, a torrent of tears that felt like it would erode him into dust.

And Zuko said not a word, merely ran calming circles on his back with his fingers, and listened, and waited patiently. At some point he managed to work Jet's hand around his own, and Jet squeezed it absentmindedly, his other hand flaring pain as he buried it in his own hair and held on for dear life. It wasn't much comfort, but some, and after what felt like a lifetime of sorrow, his tears had slowed enough for him to try and breathe in shaky, wretched breaths, if only for a moment.

"I'm here, okay?" Zuko murmured, eventually, for lack of better else to say. And Jet could all but nod, his face buried between his legs. If no one else, Zuko was here. And while not enough to bury his pain, not a replacement to what he'd' lost, Zuko was there, and that counted for something.

"I know," Jet murmured finally, after a long break of silence. His voice was soft, hoarse and painful from shouting. "I know you're here."