Hello, folks. So yeah, happy birthday to me; I'm 14 today. In celebration, I wrote a oneshot about birthdays and rebirth and all that...you'll see.

Title: Rebirth
Pairings: SmellerbeexLongshot
Rating: PG-13, on the low side

Particularly, she hates the fact that her hair grows insanely slowly. It's enough to want her to dig her fingernails into her scalp and pull at the follicles- but she knows if she does that, she'll be back at square one. The day the Fire Nation soldiers (arrogantly, she adds) strutted into her village, her hair had been long. She had been but eleven and it had never been cut, reaching down to her butt.

At the time, she was the right figure for her age. She was young; they all were, so nothing was assumed about her gender then. Her village had put up a fight, but they had two total benders in the tiny countryside they called 'home'.

She was among the five of her village that lived. Two women had been sparred, both easily their most attractive, and taken with the soldiers. One of the earthbenders lived; he was particularly skilled and she never learned what happened to him. Last she heard, he was shipped into some metal place in the ocean. The other was an old man who had not moved from his chair when the soldiers began to set the town ablaze, smiling his kooky old smile and resting on his cane. The soldiers found him amusing, and left him among the rubble.

And then there was her. She was a coward then- now she curses at herself for it. But this is the past, a paragraph that has been already recorded and written, and her story is not near done. She must move on, ready for the next chapter.

Hidden, she had. Hidden among the hays and ostrich-horses, breathing slow, heavy breathes and shaking with every body that fell.

She blinks hard- she wants the memory out. She plays with her short, chocolate-colored brown locks, fiddling with the concept of growing it out again. She had cut off all her hair completely when she left the village, filled with rotting corpses. She wanted all memory of who she was gone, just like everything she once loved.

Of course it would grow; she is fourteen now and it has been three years, but she found that she wanted it short. To have it long…for starts, it gets in the way. Secondly, a reflection of long hair dancing on her shoulders has proven to be too much to take.

But still, she does wonder.

She started growing a few months ago; although she had given it her best shot, she could not hide her gender forever. She tried everything possible, from wrapping bandages around her chest to compress anything trying to bud, to demanding her own room, due to personal reasons. Most kids in their recruits had all types of burns and scars, so it wasn't out of proportion to ask something like that.

Of course, then she started bleeding. And not from a cut or scratch, like the boys did. Then it became just impossible. Now, anyone who has eyes can tell. She has stopped cutting her hair a few months ago and it's much shaggier; if she keeps it up she will look more and more feminine. Although partially hidden by her chest plate, she is starting to bud. Her lips are fuller, and she is much taller.

She curses puberty; she curses it to the Fire Lord's war room and back.

Within moments, she finds that she is not alone. It is Longshot, one of her few true friends. With practiced balance he steps onto her branch and sits next to her. She notices that in his hands he carries a pastry. He hands it to her; she looks to his eyes for explanation.

"Birthday?" She manages, surprised. And then she remembers; instantly follows a blush. How could someone forget their own birthday? "Thank you, Longshot."

He was probably the first to notice. No, he had been the first to know, she decides. It had been rather hard to miss; he had walked in on her wrapping bandages around her chest. She had begun her second roll around when he had entered her room, so nothing was visible, but her breast clearly stuck through the gauze.

He'd froze, widened his eyes (a rare exert of emotion), and blinked maybe twice. She too had frozen on the spot, arms halfway twisted around. Moments later she dropped the bandages and it rolled out to his feet. Both stared at it for a while; by now her hands had moved to cover anything that might've peeked through and the two were blushing madly.

"Before you say anything…" She started, but was silenced by his hand. Blush still claiming more than half of his face, he pulled up his hat and left. After that, she had collapsed against the wall and bitten her nails off.

He never told though, even before it would become impossible to miss.

And now they sit, on the roof of their barely-apartment, staring out over their half of the city (the poor side, she notes). "I can't believe I forgot my own birthday." He gives her a look. "True, I guess we have been pretty busy with Ba Sing Se. But still…and you remembered!" She thinks she might have seen red on his face, but he's looked away by now.

They stay like this for a long time, simply enjoying the presence of each other's company. After a while, she finds it suited to speak. "Hey Longshot?" She asks. He pulls his hat down. "Do you think that I should grow my hair out?"

He cocks her head at her, asking why. She sighs. "It's just…we came here to start over and I feel like more than just our intentions should change. I'm also going to stop…hiding…them." It's an awkward statement to get out, and she's blushing. It's dark though; she prays he doesn't see.

She doesn't understand it, but she feels tears well up in her eyes. "I'm sick"—she brings up a hand and smears her red war paint off—"of this paint, of this bandana; a tear rolls down her cheek"—a forceful tug and it's in two—"of this person!"

She stands and rips off the breastplate. It flutters down somewhere, but she doesn't care where it's gone. A pair of calloused and long hands find their way on her shoulders. She turns, and she's staring into the deepest, endless eyes she will ever see.

"Thank you," she whispers, and buries her head into his chest. The wind ruffles her hair, blowing it into a side part. She looks up to him, her hair blown messily, her eyes now not half-hidden by her blue bandana, and the smeared paint giving her cheeks an apple color. A strange thing happens then. His heart flutters and his stomach flops. It's quickly dismissed, but the memory remains. It confuses him.

An embarrassed look crosses over her (pretty? He discovers) features and she releases, stepping back. If there's one thing Longshot is good at, it's reading emotions; she's angry at herself, thoroughly embarrassed, and…confused?

Birthdays are meant to celebrate the day of your entering the world; birth, life, and the start of something new. Today wasn't just Smellerbee's fourteenth birthday; it was her first again. She was rebirthing herself, starting a new life. And like any other parent, he will watch over her and make sure she turns out okay. Because no matter what, she will always be his.

-is in love with Smellershot almost as much as Soko-