A/N: I suppose it was some combination of guilt I'm feeling at the long dry spell ahead between chapters, and the fact that my muse bit me in the butt after I finished my last chapter of "Passages." In any case, you are getting another chapter of "Cog" early. Lucky you!

Disclaimer: Well of course I don't own these characters or their universe. I just plays with them to suit my fancy, and respect all property rights held by others. (So what do those property-right holders think of all this, anyway?)

Chapter 8

And yet again, he was back in that dreary cell.

He was, actually, relieved given the several alternatives, including death. Much as Sokka had earlier rationalized his death as the likely best resolution to an unfortunate situation, he was in no hurry to leave this world for the next. And, given the reality that he'd already blown it in giving Azula proof that he was at least at some point her living prisoner, the odds were good that nothing would stop Katara and the others from attempting to rescue him. So actually, there was very little his death would accomplish. Which was, of course, the whole point in the death option's number one position, all things cosidered.

That said, it was reasonable to give full attention to escaping beforehand, since despite his brave words he was not at all sanguine about his friends' ability to effect a rescue without someone at least getting hurt, maybe even getting killed or captured. Damn it, Katara, at least have the good sense to keep Aang well away! We can't afford to risk him!

He could hear her response in his head; something to the effect of 'what kind of world they were fighting for that left friends behind', or some similar sentimental sealshit. Something that would demonstrate exactly why women and children should not be soldiers. He ignored the warm feeling the resurrection of his confidence such thoughts of his sister's attachment to him stirred in his soul, and the echoing stir of strength and determination that flooded his being.

Sokka considered this latest encounter with the princess of the Fire Nation and its probable consequences. He was reasonably certain Azula was no wiser than before regarding Aang's most likely mode of attempting a rescue. He thought he had played the game fairly well; perhaps she was even seriously considering the possibility that Aang wouldn't even try. Of course, with this conclusion he realized that the question of his own continued life remained begging. Unless she intended to make good on flaunting his status (he internally cringed at the thought of her threat to chain him to the bow) he could think of no value she would place on keeping him alive beyond that of Avatar bait. Of course, doing so wasn't a wholly unlikely proposition – after all, it cost her little to keep him imprisoned, and the potential gain was great.

Since it kept him and the opportunity to maybe escape alive, Sokka decided not to push too hard in testing this theory. On the other hand, it certainly wouldn't pay to give the princess any reason to believe he cared one way or another. He strongly suspected that it was his ability to keep her guessing that was really keeping him alive.

Azula found herself oddly exhilarated by her second encounter with the Water Tribe boy. The first had left her both annoyed and distracted, a feeling resolved by Mai's success in attaching value to the Water Tribe garb so easily removed from the boy's cell. That he should continue to defy her, to even dismiss her as … irrelevant to him, even as fully aware of his fatal gaffe as he obviously was, was strangely amusing. It should have infuriated her, but it didn't. It was his gall, she thought to herself, and his ability to discount the prospect of his own death that intrigued her.

Not that she hadn't run across fearless men before. She remembered very well Zhao in all his confidence. If she were honest with herself – and she was the only person Azula was ever truly honest with – she had encouraged Zhao's fearless confidence in ways not wholly becoming to a Fire Nation princess. Azula's lip curled in memory. The reality was there were no records on previous princess's private behavior, any more than there were records of her behavior, and who could really say that Azula was any more brazen than her predecessors? After all, wasn't power all about doing exactly what one wished? The truly powerful understood how to manage consequences. For example, Zhao had apparently taken Azula's encouragements to his death without even a whisper upon her name.

And it wasn't as if she didn't have another rising star lined up to take his place. She had been watching Commander Boqin since before Zhao's passing, but her search for her father's quarry had left her with reports on this able warrior that arrived far less frequently than she preferred. So far, he had proven adept in positioning himself for advancement, and Azula admired ambition when combined with the intelligence and resolution required to achieve it.

However, neither Zhao nor Boqin had shown themselves to be fully cognizant of the reality of the potential for their deaths when they boasted readiness to embrace it. This despite that both were already men well past the blush of youth. Their stature had taken them long years to achieve. Both were too arrogant in their own successes to consider the possibility for failure, and thus make contingency plans for it. Neither saw any need to do so. Yet, in less than a year a non-entity of a southern Tribesman had become an advisor to a king, the confidante of a world hero. And nowhere is Azula's well-informed plans from throughout the Fire Nation was any hint of a plan to deal with this boy. Zhao was dead. If Boqin ever came to blows agains Sokka, so too might he be. Luckily, Azula had him in hand first.

Well, in all likelihood much of that was a matter of luck.

Still, it was a pity, she thought, that no one had yet emerged in her own generation at her father's court who could challenge her will the way this lowborn water peasant did. Frankly, he made them all look bad. Even her favorites seemed to pale a bit. Oh yes, Ty Lee was right, although not perhaps in the way she believed. This boy had something. Something Azula wanted. And what Azula wanted, Azula got.

She indicated to her major domo that she would be taking dinner that evening in her private salon, and that she wished Mai and Ty Lee to join her.

She would encourage Ty Lee to entice whatever information she could from the prisoner, perhaps in the manner that had succeeded so well earlier, with Mai providing the actual filter as to what, if anything, of value could be garnered. Although, come to think of it, that might be difficult to orchestrate at this point in things. The princess decided to allow Ty Lee some additional private time with the prisoner.

For once, Mai wasn't bored; she was downright annoyed. Her anticipated meeting with Azula regarding Mai's disposition of the various matters of paperwork and operational details that had been allocated to her purview had been delayed by the princess's impromptu interview with the Water Tribesman. The second one of the day. Really, while Mai understood Ty Lee's fixation on the prisoner – well, "understood" might be going a bit far, but at least she was aware of the basis for Ty Lee's interest – she did not understand why the princess felt any particular need to converse with him yet again. It couldn't be that he had anything of interest to say.

At first, Mai had thought that Azula meant to kill him, perhaps by sending him over the railing of the command deck with a lightning strike. It would have suited the princess's flair for the dramatic, regardless of inconvenience to the crew in having to hammer out dented decking or filing out scorch marks. But she hadn't.

And from her position in the pilot house Mai had heard snippets of the conversation between the pair. She had heard the princess grill the prisoner with scenario after scenario, citing exquisite forms of torture to be visited upon him and his various friends upon their capture. As far as Mai could tell, he had never lost his equilibrium, nor ever demonstrated any particular feeling one way or another towards her imaginative suggestions.

Mai remembered that at one point Azula had threatened to peel the skin from his bones to make her a pair of gloves – Sokka had responded with tips on appropriate curing techniques for fragile hides.

It was obvious to Mai that the entire interrogation had been useless.

Except, of course, that it had been mildly entertaining. The boy had a wry wit that poked at the lethargy of Mai's own sense of humor, and she would have been lying if she'd said she didn't honestly enjoy seeing someone actually thwart Azula in her stratagems for once. And damned if Azula hadn't opted to not kill him after all. In the end, she had merely called for the guard to escort Sokka back to his cell.

Mai had gotten an additional kick out of spying a somewhat bemused expression on the boy's face, as if he himself could hardly believe he had survived the experience.

On the whole, it would have been a highly worthwhile experience if Azula hadn't then waived aside Mai's own concerns, saying they could wait for the morning conference.

The royal ship's galleys were in an uproar. Not that they weren't usually fairly contentious places. The princess was a stickler for all aspects of her diet, from content and timing to presentation. The current favored chef was aghast at the weeks she had spent with no more to attend her than the ladies Ty Lee and Mai, neither of which could boil rice to save her life, let alone prepare a succulent dumpling, poach fish properly or roast a duck. As for noodles or sauces? Horrors!

And then today the Lady Ty Lee had taken the newly prepared dumplings for the princess's dinner and served them to the Water Tribe prisoner…

The kitchen boy who had blithely filled the tray at the lady's behest had been soundly whipped afterwards, although from his expression both during and afterwards it was apparent that he was fully prepared to die should she ask a repeat of the favor, so really, what was the point anyway? Especially considering said boy's expertise – in the current wilderness – was simply beyond replacing. He was necessary for the princess'es happiness, and would thus likely survive any further misdeeds, at least until they could return to more civilized climes. That understood, all aboard focused themselves on remedying the kitchen boys depredations upon Her Highness's dinner menue.

Half a dozen workers had been sent to the beaches a few leagues along the bay to see if fresh shellfish could be gathered to make replacements, and a runner had been dispatched to purchase a couple of fat ducken that the second sous-chef was even now dismembering, after coating with coarse salt and pepper, as mushrooms were sautéed in rice wine and just a hint of sesame oil with garlic and green onion…

The Lady Ty Lee herself could be found in her cabin, surveying her wardrobe. It ran the gamut of colors from deepest salmon to palest pink, incorporating shades of coral, ruby and peach somewhere in between. Ty Lee had received an allowance from her family that covered much more than her living expenses since before her precipitous flight to join the circus some three years previously. This allowance had not ceased but in fact marginally increased when she changed her name to protect her family from any shame.

It didn't hurt that she had no brothers or even cousins in favor of which to be disinherited, and all sisters had already been legally, shall we say, re-alligned.

Said allowance had recently doubled when she left the circus to join Princess Azula's retinue. Ty Lee was no fool. Karma was one thing, but one had to live in the here and now.

As she changed from one outfit to another, she bemoaned her mirror's inability to project the shifting colors of her own aura against her reflection. It wasn't that she expected others to perceive the color of auras that she did – Ty Lee was perfectly aware that she had a particular sense developed far beyond most others' perception – but she couldn't help thinking that if she could balance out her wardrobe with her own personal aura it would translate as particularly appealing.

Well, who could tell her differently?

Ty Lee knew that Princess Azula had spent as much as an hour talking with Sokka after her own more intimate tete-a-tete. She also knew that she had precipitated the whole thing with her elegies on his graces after that first surprising kiss.

It was simple. She was by no means brilliant and had totally missed the significance of Sokka's earlier confession regarding his sister's sewing up of his outer tunic. But she fully understood that his value to Azula lay in his ability to lure the Avatar to her. Or in his shirt's ability to do so. At this point, he no longer needed to be alive to do so.

She would have liked more time with him, especially after that electrifying kiss. So, even though it meant possibly drawing a highly dangerous predator to the prey she had lain out the bait. And her dear Princess, who simply could not ignore a challenge, had taken it.

Ah, and the dear boy had proven himself oh, so worthy, hadn't he?

The fact that he had saved his own life in the bargain was not quite the whole point. Really, Ty Lee's main concern was on how Sokka remained alive for the game with her. And Azula? Well, despite her rather pointed comments Ty Lee still couldn't help wondering if her beloved sovereign's interests might really lie elsewhere, which should leave Sokka to her. After all, it wasn't really his conversation that interested her.

Now then, was he still likely to have that lovely golden glow to his aura, or would it have paled to more of a butter yellow, and would that harmonize with peach, or would it better set off a coral tone?

The water had evaporated, leaving no stains to mark its presence. In his absence, the stains demarcating his lunch were also gone, along with the empty bowls, chopsticks, tray, extra lamp and even the stub of the day's candle. A new one was in place.

Sokka had to rely purely upon his memory for the day's events.

Before returning him to the cell the guards had taken him to the wardroom where he could relieve himself, and he'd noted the room's location at the level of that funny jog on the way up to deck. It suggested to him that the lower level of the jog was probably the high point of the water line. As he had suspected, the significantly lower temperature of the prison hold was almost certainly below that water line.

Which meant it was virtually impossible to get to from the outside. But it also meant it was potentially quite vulnerable to attack from within. Now that was something worth remembering.

A/N: As I started writing this chapter I was remembering the little snippet I'd included of the guard's ruminations on their prisoner, and wondered if I could insert something similar here. Immediately an image appeared of an outraged chef bemoaning the disappearance of one of the main dishes planned for Her Highness's dinner… And it made me giggle.