5. The Aftermath

So, um, I am lazy as hell. I'm sorry it's been so long, but thank you, as always, to everyone who reviewed! Your support is the very best kind of motive to keep writing.

Disclaimer: Don't own A:tLA.

Even if Toph had been entirely blind, she would have known Sokka was trailing a few feet behind her, from the loud and graceless squelch his shoes emitted with every step. Dignity stemming from the general injustice of failure let her ignore the glistening puddles they left behind them, but with him her irritation could only go so far, and she slowed to let him catch up.

"So."

"So."

There was a pause.

"I'm sorry about—" they both began together, and then broke off with identical nervous laughs. "You first," he blurted, at the same time she prompted, "What?"

"Um." He looked down, scratching the back of his head uncomfortably. "I'm sorry I, you know… about the, eh… kiss." The final word came out almost inaudibly, a single fearful squeak of a syllable.

"Oh," she said quickly. "Oh. Right. No, don't worry about it—I mean, I didn't… it's not a big deal."

"Oh. Well… good."

"Yeah."

"Yep."

"Mm-hm."

"Yep," he said again, smacking his lips on the 'p'.

The silence seemed to grab the available oxygen and run with it, and for a moment Sokka was quite sure his tongue had shriveled and died from a sheer lack of will to live. The awkwardness was of the stifling variety, even so, but its appearance around Toph was so startlingly unprecedented that he had no idea what to do. "I'm sorry too," she muttered, after a moment. "For pulling you into the pond, I mean."

"Don't worry," he replied instantly. "I mean… not like it's my jacket." He allowed himself a fleeting glance at her, adding as an afterthought, "I'm sorry about your dress, though."

She shrugged. "Don't be. I wasn't going to wear it again."

"That's too bad," he murmured. When her eyebrows drew sharply together, he continued, "It's pretty, is all."

"Oh." She blinked. "Thanks."

"And that pondweed really brings out your eyes."

"Go to hell," she muttered, and threw a punch that caught him in the forearm. There was no small amount of gratitude behind the blow, and his flinch was a happy one. The awkwardness was alleviated and behind them now; this was safe territory again. "Here," he offered, and reached across, plucking the offending plant from her hair as they stopped outside the ballroom door she'd left through an eternity ago.

She made a face, and he flung it surreptitiously into the corner, prompting a small smirk from his friend. "Anything else?" she asked.

"A little makeup," he informed her, a tactful understatement. "Here, hold still." Reaching out carefully, he rubbed his thumb across her cheekbones, swabbing away the worst of it. Her skin was cold and wet but still, for some reason, touching her face—in fact, simply being in such close proximity—was altogether unnerving. She pressed her lips together, realizing after a moment that for no reason at all she was holding her breath. He pulled his hand away hurriedly, wiping it on his pants. "Come on," he said, motioning towards the doors, and taking her hand when she made a frantic face. "This is the quickest way to our rooms," he insisted. "I don't know about you, Toph, but I'm not exactly loving the pondwater look."

"Fine," she sighed, rolling her eyes. He acted as though she'd given an enthusiastic agreement—frankly, when she was in a sulk like this it'd be the best he'd get—and carefully, silently pushed the double doors open.

"Hey! Hey, you! Yeah, you! Cutie with the big horn! No, no, no, down here—!"

One of the band members broke off from his tsungi horn riff, glancing down at Ty Lee. It wasn't a particularly professional thing to do, especially in the middle of a piece, but there were exceptions to be made when it was a pretty girl flagging you down—even more so if, when you looked at her more closely, you remembered you'd made some kind of deal with her earlier during which she batted her eyelashes a lot. "Hm?" he said, raising an eyebrow.

"Code Pink!" she hissed, a stage whisper to be heard over the other musicians. A single pale finger jabbed insistently towards the far door of the ballroom. "Repeat, Code Pink! The targets'll be coming any second!"

It was then that he remembered the nuances of this deal—something about playing a romantic song? Slow waltz? That sort of thing?—and nodded fervently at her, trying hard not to be distracted by how naively low-cut her dress was. It was entirely lost on him that, with the way she beamed and giggled and sauntered away, she probably knew exactly how it was cut and precisely where his eyes had been.

He tried to follow the girl's strut away, but she was lost in the throng of dancers, blending seamlessly into the crowd. The entire ballroom was a firework of color, as madly animated as a shaken snowglobe. But she was out there, and depending on him, goddamnit, so he turned to the band and motioned to them, lowering his horn. The dirty looks were worth it for the other musicians caught on quickly—he hadn't been alone in his interest in the girl—and all of them readied themselves for a split-second change in song.

Unknown to all of them, Ty Lee headed quickly away to the quiet bench where Iroh was waiting. A mischievous grin skirting the edges of his lips, he inclined his head in greeting, and she plopped down beside him. "I see you have been very busy with the plan," he said lightly, in his calm, accented cadence.

"Everything's in place," chirped the acrobat. "You've got your part, right?"

He cast his eyes to the sconce above his head, and the flame in it flickered and died in an instant. Ty Lee beamed, pressing her hands against her lips to conceal the grin.

"Ooh, this is going to be so fun," she giggled, bounding to her feet. "They'll be coming soon. It's the door over there, okay?" A vague wave of her hand accompanied the sentence.

"Eh?" Iroh glanced in the direction she'd pointed—a spot on the far wall, directly between two sets of double doors. "Ty Lee!" he hissed, as loudly as the need for stealth would allow. "Which door?"

But she was gone. Sighing, Iroh was about to turn back to his bench when the handle of a door began to turn. Had he not been looking after Ty Lee, he might have missed it, but the flicker of motion snatched his gaze from across the room. The Dragon of the West spun on his heel, hands rising sharply to his sides as his fists snapped shut. The lights throughout the room hissed out, save the two flanking the door, which leapt three times their previous height. Across the room, the music cut off abruptly and the band launched enthusiastically into a fanfare. Every person in the room blinked in surprise and turned, like moths towards the light.

In the doorway, the target of everyone's stares, stood…

Not Katara and Aang.

Sokka, squinting into the dark, stared dumbstruck at the crowd, a small puddle of pondwater congealing at his feet. Beside him, Toph had gone rigid—not aware of the light, but still able to sense that every person in the room had their eyes directed straight at them. Such attention is a physical sensation, a crawling pressure on the skin, and she felt it as tangibly as she felt Sokka's hand clenching on hers.

Uh-oh, thought Ty Lee.

"This is all your fault."

Both girls sat on the ground, their unconscious and mutual ex-boyfriend an unwitting barricade between them. The looks Jin was giving Mai could have generated electricity; the looks Mai shot in return could have frozen a waterfall solid. "Shut up, slut," Mai said flatly, toying with a shuriken in one hand.

"If you hadn't slapped me—"

"If you hadn't tackled me…"

She broke off sharply as Jin reached out, fingers almost brushing Zuko's face. Jin glanced up, meeting Mai's narrowed eyes for just a second, and then retracted her hand, scowling.

"Why the hell does this matter?" she demanded. "If you're not together."

"It doesn't."

"Clearly. That's why you hit me."

"I just—I don't have to explain this to you," Mai snapped, turning away. A moment passed, and then Jin's lips curled.

"He dumped you."

Mai's eyes flashed. "He didn't—"

"He dumped you," she continued, "and you're not over him at all, are you?"

"You're one to talk."

"Have you seen him?" Jin snorted, shaking her head. "He's not exactly an easy one to get over, Knives."

Mai's head snapped up. "What did you call me?"

"Well, I don't know your name."

The shuriken stopped moving idly through Mai's fingers. Her eyes rose to rest on the girl sitting across from her as if seeing her for the first time. Jin raised an eyebrow, a look that wasn't quite a grin but might yet become one flickering on her face.

"Mai," said the girl with the knives. "I'm Mai."

"Jin."

She hesitated, gaze falling to Zuko's downturned face. "Mai," she said, the name an experiment traversing her tongue. "You two weren't actually together when he and I… you know—right?"

Mai's lips tightened. "No," she muttered. "We were always…" She broke off, fists clenching and then slowly loosening against the grass, falling limp. "I've known him forever," she explained quietly. "I think I always assumed we'd be... together. But then he left, and by the time he got back… nah." She laughed wryly. "We tried. He left again. When he came back, he'd suddenly decided he liked curvy blue-eyed waterbenders instead."

"Yeowch." Jin winced. "But you still—?"

"…Yeah."

Jin paused, eying Zuko, and then abruptly flicked him in the cheek. "Boys are stupid," she said dully.

"Tell me about it."

It was probably an accident. Neither had noticed that suddenly they didn't hate the other entirely so much, and as they looked up, it must have been a fluke of the light—or something—but Mai's mouth seemed to spasm at the same time as Jin's, and unexpectedly they found themselves smiling at each other.

Between them, Zuko moaned suddenly, face contorting. The moment shattered like glass, and Jin glanced down at him, breathing slowly in and out.

"You know that you're a lucky bitch, right?"

Mai stared—because no one, no one, had ever lived to call her that—but Jin's gaze was fixed solely on Zuko's face. She reached out and, this time finding no venom from Mai, ran her hand along the side of his face, tracing the rough edge of his scar. "I wouldn't work with him," she murmured. "When he was on the run, sure, but... not now." She looked back up, meeting Mai's incredulous stare. "Yeah, that's right," she drawled, and her smile had a bitter edge. "I'm being the bigger person, Knives. I do appreciate the look of utter shock; thanks for that."

For once, Mai seemed too surprised even for a deadpan response. "You're just… leaving?"

Jin grinned widely. "No," she corrected, and bent down, her hand curling around Zuko's neck. She lifted his head a few inches off the ground, leaning down to press her lips to his. Zuko's eyes snapped open in shock, and he began some kind of muffled protest that faded into an 'mmm'. Mai, who had expected a modest peck, maybe a couple seconds as the most, raised an eyebrow as the kiss lingered on.

And then Jin pulled back, and Zuko, who had almost completely sat up in an effort to follow her lips, nearly tumbled to the ground again. "He's all yours," said the commoner girl, with a smirk she made no effort to conceal, and stood, turning away. She strode with impeccable poise to the doorway, and then, seeming unable to help it, added over her shoulder, "Lee? That's how it feels."

She rounded the corner. Zuko stared, blinking in slow motion. His head swiveled around hesitantly towards Mai, who crossed her arms.

"Did you want to say something to me, Zuko?"

He eyed her, staying quiet. Mai frowned. "Do you need a hint?" she pressed after a moment.

His gaze fell. "I have plenty of things to say," he said softly, swallowing hard. "I just don't know that there's anything I can say to you, Mai. Nothing that's fair to you." His gaze was fixed down in his lap, a muscle in his jaw working furiously. "I… I thought that I should move on," he blurted. "I thought that you loved me because of who I acted like; I didn't think you'd want to see who I was, and I didn't want to draw out something inevitable, and then Katara… but it wasn't right, Mai." He took a deep breath, bracing himself, and then finished, "She wasn't you."

"But other than that, you have nothing to say."

He glanced up at her. She shifted wearily, dropping the shuriken onto the grass, and then reached out, threading her hand into his. Zuko's eyes flashed from the hand and back to her face, widening. "Sorry is a decent place to start," she murmured, and then leaned in, giving him a soft kiss on the cheek. His hand tightened on hers as she pulled back.

"I told you," she murmured. "I don't hate you. Regardless of whether or not you deserve it."

A smile broke across his face like a shaft of sunlight. "I don't hate you, too," he recited, leaning closer towards her.

His head snapped sharply to the side with the force of the slap. He cried out, grabbing his cheek, and Mai smirked.

"You did deserve that."

He shrugged, still grinning weakly. "Probably."

Mai generally wasn't a person who smiled very often, but when she did, Zuko was certain there was nothing more beautiful in the world.

D'aww. Sparky's so cute when he's all sentimental.

Thank you so much for bearing with me! I'm sorry it's taken so long to update, but essay season's over, and I'm about to hit spring break, so free time won't be a problem. The next update'll be much sooner. Til then, thanks for reading, and reviews are always appreciated!