A/N: Here it is, the final chapter of Redemption! I'm sorry that it took so long to complete, but I hope it lives up to the expectations of everybody! All you who reviewed gave wonderful support throughout this fic, and I'm beyond thrilled that you all enjoyed the story enough to stick with it! Thank you so much!

Disclaimer: I OWN NOTHING!!!!!

Zuko, the Former Prince:

Even as I saw her unfocused, glazed eyes bleakly glaring their rage out into nothingness, I realized that she "saw" me, and was coming after me. The pain had begun to run blood through my bandages, the sweat dripping liquid salt into the wounds, and I knew that my strength would fail me before I was capable of fighting her off. So I disappeared, out into the crowd, praying that there would be something to pull her off of my scent.

Apparently, it worked, as I have worked my way into the throng of humanity flooding the streets, desperately fleeing the violence in the Sozin Memorial Courtyard. Tides of sweaty meat pound against me, the musky stench of fear is acrid and cloying in the air, but I managed to keep my head down and keep moving, despite the terrible sparked back into life with each careless brush into my body. The crushing waves of flesh and cloth press me back and forwards; the loud, feverish murmur of the fearful people sprays steamy air that makes the streets hot and humid.

I can feel my body protest the movement, feel the fresh doctor's bandages stretching and straining with effort as I try to remain upright, but even as I manage to keep my head above the crush, I realize that I'm not going to be able to hold off much longer. My shoulders begin to shake with effort, the pain slowly numbing into exhaustion as I force my stretched and tortured muscles into more and more action.

My vision tunnels, the peripheral views dimming and becoming fuzzy as I focus ahead of me, and I know I don't have long. The violent murmur of the crowd begins to froth and boil until it turns into a dull roar that deafens me, nearly bringing me to my knees as they start to tremble.

There is a sudden blast of pain from behind me as a large, running object slams forcibly into my back. The colors of the world around me blur into a fuzzy, indistinguishable mess as I am launched forwards to my knees. I have no senses except for touch as I feel the hard, gritty ground pressing harshly into my legs and hands, errant pebbles and gravel digging furiously into my skin as I scramble to get away.

I'm not sure how I do it, as the deafening roar of the crowd mixed with the spotty, rainbowish blur of my vision has cast my mind far away from the scene at hand, but amidst the total chaos, I manage to fumble my way into an alleyway.

A cold, metallic waste bin, upturned onto its side is the first thing I notice as my senses begin to return. The bracing, frigid aluminum sends a shiver of cold up and down the back of my neck as I lean against it; I feel the shiver out, feel it working it's way through my system until the cold touches the tips of my fingers and toes, and my vision starts to clear.

Dull, gray stone with a slightly beige tinge to it floods my vision as I crane my neck upwards. I don't know how long I've been sitting up, staring outwards, but I realize with a start that the harsh roar has melted into nothingness, punctured only by the occasional chaotic twitter of a bird or the occasional straggling runner's voice. I groan forcibly as I push myself to my feet, the trash can's violent clanging sending equally violent tremors of pain through my skull. My leaden legs protest mightily, but I manage to force my way up to my feet, leaning heavily against the alley wall as my mind begins to come back to work.

Then, I hear voices. Crisp and cool, but decidedly panicked. Some latent instinct, deeply reticent within my head makes me flatten myself against the wall as the dull, unreadable fuzz of the voices slowly becomes strikingly clear.

The first thing that I notice is the slight metallic crunch of armor as the men walk, and panic begins to set into my chest as I pray they don't notice me. My breathing comes in deep, throaty gusts as my diaphragm heaves back and forth, sending bursts of steam into the air. In this state, I've got no chance. I'm not even sure I could summon any fire from my veins at this point.

"Damn it, they split us up before we could breathe! We didn't have a second to regroup!"

"It happened so fast... Everything was working, then she was free..."

Memories flash of the kid who sawed open Toph's leather restraints. Watching him sacrifice his life to save hers gave me that flicker of inspiration to jump into the fray. In retrospect, it was a stupid move, as it left me open to be found by Toph and further weakened my already tattered body, but it was a heroic moment nonetheless, and the boy should be recognized for it.

"That bastard kid, I knew we shouldn't have brought him along! I didn't trust him, or that other one, the one with the pulped face. Creepy bastard, now look what's happened! We have to find a way out of the city to regroup. We got no time. If we're found, we're dead."

"They ain't after us, not right now anyway. Too much clean up in the square. They routed us alright, but we hit them back pretty hard. Spirits, though, who could have predicted? That Jiro, of all people, the little Mouse would have had the guts to cut her free. He was a dead man the moment he pulled out his knife."

My eyes widen, my pulse quickens palpably in my wrists and throat as the name rips at my heartstrings. Jiro the Mouse. The Enemy. The one whose actions pushed me down this road. How can he be dead?

How can he be a hero?

The question claws violently at my mind, bringing my hands subconsciously into my forehead as I slide down to the ground. The rough wall of the alley scrapes painfully against my broken ribs, but my mind is suddenly far away from my own pain and hurts to realize it.

This kid pulled a knife on a defenseless, prone young girl. He stabbed her in the heart, and killed her. She died because of his actions, his evil precipitated everything!

This kid cut Toph free and died saving both her and Sokka's life. He may have single-handedly saved the entire Fire Nation by cutting Xu's speech and plan in half.

These two kids are one in the same.

The headache that has begun to make itself known begins to throb painfully, sending throbbing tendrils deep within my skull as I try to wrap my head around the idea. My knuckles whiten as my fingers dig into my scalp, pressing into the temples and in between the wrinkles of the forehead as the foreign idea begins to shiver and ache.

This boy found... Redemption. At some point, he recognized the evil of what he had done, and repented. It's the only explanation; otherwise, he wouldn't have died for Toph and Sokka. But if someone like him could find redemption, had the capacity for good within him... then what have I been doing?

My eyes suddenly open and my chin droops down, filling my vision with images of my tattered body. Thick, greasy splotches of red ooze through fresh bandages, staining them and mingling with the dust and grime that has splattered atop them. My clothes are worn and wrinkled, clinging to me by threadbare strands of fabric. I realize that I must smell terribly, though I am too accustomed to my own filth to smell it. And what's my plan? To retreat out of the city, sit in a cave somewhere attempting to nurse my own wounds so that I can keep pushing forward with my one-man assault against the Family and now the Loyalists. I plan to do this not only with a distinct lack of support, but with both the government and the Loyalists actively hunting me.

And for what? To murder people capable of redemption? Why?

Because of what her death did to me. Because of the way it ripped my emotions away, left me a tattered shell of a human who could only feel anger. Not because of her, or any of the reasons I made myself believe. Because of me. Because I felt that my redemption had been stripped away.

And that's not enough.

Then, I realize that I have already regained my feet and started walking. The muscles of my legs no longer protest; in fact, they seem to lift and march of their own accord, stepping in time with some sort of unheard rhythm as the patter of my feet against the cobblestone echoes throughout the empty streets. Everyone has fled to their homes, and the city seems to have cleared specifically to make my path easier. Even the sun has flowered behind me, showering the open path with pools of nectar that I follow back to Sozin's Courtyard.

Maybe, this is my path to Redemption. The world seems to think so. Or maybe I am beyond saving at this point; the law would certainly agree. There will be no escaping my fate, now. But somehow, that is okay with me. I can't sustain what I'm doing any longer, and it feels refreshing to place my fate in the hands of another.

The world seems to turn slower as I reach the courtyard, as the memories and scars of the violence and turbulence of the morning reach around the courtyard. I see pools of congealed blood drawn into the shimmering gray pavement, the streaks of blackened char splattered oddly throughout the courtyard, the violent waves and valleys of upturned earth etched into the ground. I almost smile at the expression written upon Toph's face as she senses my presence: the black hair droops suddenly as she furrows her brows violently, the corners of her mouth stretching downward in a lethal grimace as undoubtedly unpleasant scenarios involving me and Earthbending run through her mind. A part of me almost welcomes them.

But Sokka's face is more thoughtful, more restrained as he claps his eyes upon me. Seriousness has chiseled lines upon his face from the chaotic, turbulent past couple of hours; his eyebrows are narrowed in a mixture of both confusion and hesitation, yet the steely blue hue of his eyes that struck me as I entered the courtyard for combat this morning have softened and warmed into a beachy turquoise. He stops Toph with a silent hand that he rests lightly against her shoulder, almost instantly placating her expression into one of thoughtful confusion. I see the horrified expressions of Aang and Katara written into the background behind him, clearly stunned and beyond belief at what has happened to the moderately stable Fire Nation in their absence.

I feel my face burn with potent shame at the sad tint reflected in Aang's cloudy eyes. No thunderstorm rages within them now, no turbulence or innocence, just a slate gray sky brimming with unshed rain. I was one of his greatest achievements. I was one he managed to redeem. Now my redemption is held within my hands and my hands alone.

"Why are you here?" The voice is Sokka's, and though the tone is serious and perfunctory, there is no malice held in his voice. Despite myself, I am grateful for that.

I hold his gaze intently, eyeing him almost as seriously as we did before I forced him into combat, but carrying none of the rage that I did then. I suddenly see pictures of Xiang deep within the recesses of my mind; the pictures are tattered and worn, like ancient, untended paintings as though from long, long ago, yet her face shines with the same happiness and kindness that used to fill me with so much warmth. I don't know why I remember her now, as I seem to have forgotten her long ago, but I am grateful nonetheless.

"I can't keep doing this," I say simply, "Not after this morning. I'm here to accept what I deserve. To confess and let the law decide my fate."

And there is silence throughout the courtyard. Even the birds have stopped their chirping, the wind stopped its low rumble. Eyes clap upon me, but I do not break Sokka's gaze.

"I can't help you, or make this any easier," he says simply, "That time has passed. And your confession won't single-handedly fix the Fire Nation now. It's too late for that. You understand that, right?"

"Yes," I reply, "I do this now for... personal reasons."

Silence.

"For the kid," Sokka says.

"For the kid," I agree.

More silence.

"Did you know who he was?" Sokka asks, "I made him a promise, but I don't know his name". His voice breaks as he asks, the stoic demeanor lost amidst the rush of emotion. I can only imagine the swirl of feelings that must be raging through his body; though I can see the surface reflected upon his cobalt irises, I cannot imagine the depth. They are opaque, and almost unreadable.

The question throws me into matching turmoil. Do I answer? Does it tarnish the legacy of Jiro's heroism to remember the wicked act that nearly destroyed me? Does it matter?

"No," I answer, "He was just some kid, I guess."

Far Xu, High General of the Loyalist Army:

Controlled speed marks my movements as I burst through the doors into my office. With the connection established between the Family and my army, it is only a matter of time before the Water Tribe planner establishes a raid force. Leaflets of parchment crinkle angrily as I shoulder them into my cloak, wrapping the smooth sheaves of paper and tucking them into overlarge pockets. The dank, brooding tan of the walls feels encapsulating as I mindlessly pry valuable information from the office, refusing to provide the enemy with anything they do not already know.

Inside, however, I seethe with frustration. Another plan, another strategy shattered by those within my employ! I must admit, the traitorous Mouse's actions caught me by surprise. I thought his spine was less steely then that, but even so, I have learned more still from this experience.

Singe stands idly behind me, watching the door even as I pack. His childish insanity seems to have stepped backwards after the events of the battle; his still-swollen face conveys a seriousness that I hadn't previously imagined possible, but even though I find his sudden change worrying, I have not the time to act upon it.

"It's not a total loss," I mumble, almost to myself, "There will still be much confusion over the two Family slaughters. Even were Zuko to return to the palace and confess today, I find it doubtful that the entirety of the population would be placated. The Water Tribe boy has much to overcome politically if he is to turn this around. And Lo Dai has not been discovered."

Singe says nothing, merely stands and watches the door.

"We must move quickly," I add, reasoning aloud, "If we can escape and regroup with the rest of my forces, we still have enough agents within the city to create sway. Discord is still available, which means that our foot hasn't entirely been pushed out of the door. But we must move quickly."

Fabric whines noisily as I furtively yank a cloth satchel from the floor. The crimson hues shimmer in the odd resonant light of the facility as still more scraps of parchment and papyrus disappear into the dark recesses of the bag. I narrow my eyes as it fills, slinging it over my shoulder and making for the door.

"Singe!" I bark, not bothering to glance at him, "It's time to move. We have to make for the beach, where our reserves are waiting for...."

A sudden noise stops me in my tracks. A whisper of leather, the odd crinkle of fabric.

Slowly, cautiously, I turn around.

Sharpened steel glitters ferociously in the damp light as the throwing knife twirls between Singe's fingers. He doesn't look at me, but keeps his small, amber eyes focused intently upon the spinning blade as though his life depended on it. I curse myself for a fool as I see the glitter of insanity held there, the small modicum of stability he had held within himself has shattered into pure chaos, unaware of consequences or repercussions. I see the madness swirling into a thunderstorm behind his hawk-like, golden irises, and I feel fear.

"Singe," I say warily.

"Why do you think he did it?" he asks. The blade twirls faster as he speaks, whirring through the air as the sound of the blade piercing the wind catches my ears. "I don't understand. I've watched all the little people scurry around. They're all chased by fear. They're all afraid. It's the most powerful thing in the world. But why wasn't that enough?"

"Singe," I repeat, extending a hand warmly towards him, "We can discuss this later. It is inconsequential. Right now, we have to move."

"Jiro had the fear," he says, "He understood the fear. He lived with it, nursed it. Like everybody else. But he knew he was going to die. He knew it, and he did it anyway. Why did he do that?"

I realize that if I am not totally honest with him, he will pounce. I have no choice.

"Because of a misplaced notion of heroism," I state, "In some cases, the moral ambiguity of 'good' can be driving. Can make a man behave foolish, and ignore the fear to become what they see as 'good'."

"There is no good or evil," he says simply.

"I know..." I begin, but he cuts me off. His eyes flash with the sudden blur of fury that only insanity can provide, aflame and furious by some unknown force that only Singe can perceive.

"There is no good or evil!" he screams, and as the throwing knife slaps noisily against his outstretched pointer, gripped ferociously within his tense fingers, instinct takes over. The bag flops against the ground with a light crunch as ancient memories of a previous life grab a hold of my muscles. I see Singe's hand streak backwards through the air, see the sudden rage driving him, the typical care and skill that he usually exudes drowning underneath its potent wake, and the Earth flows into life beneath me.

As I feel it touch me, feel the sudden awareness and life that streaks through my veins, my foot flips through the air and slams upon the ground. Crude, primitive hands claw desperately out of the ground as though from graves deeply underfoot, shaking the room with deafening crunches as they grab hold of his hands and feet. He bares his teeth like an animal as the digits close furiously upon him, the "fingers" sinking into cloth and flesh and dragging him downwards. It swallows him, immune to his rage and his strength as he disappears into the cold black embrace of dirt and shale.

Violent, incoherent babbles of desperation, anger, and madness spurt and froth from his open mouth; tendrils of spittle spray from between his perfectly white teeth as he cranes his neck to reach towards me, the true depths of his insanity suddenly revealed in the translucent emotions reflected in his eyes. Somehow, despite the uncomfortable pangs of dread and disgust that bubble within my stomach, I manage to keep my cool demeanor alight, walking towards him as he suddenly grows silent.

"Yes, now you know my secret," I say. His head cocks to the left in curiosity, like a llama-dog: his mouth agape as drool drips wetly from his chin, pooling in a dark puddle upon the ground. His eyes grab a hold of mine, and even though the gaze is both alarming and primal, I cannot turn away.

"You know as well as I, despite your sanity, that I cannot let you live. I have cultivated this secret for too long. I am going to kill you Singe, and I am going to do it by collapsing the building. I can give no signs of my status as a former member of the Earth Kingdom, so I will make it look like a sudden earthquake has split the earth. But you have been loyal, in your own way, so I will reward you with a story that could perhaps answer your sudden dilemma."

I lean in close, smelling his fetid breath as it wafts warmly against my face.

"I was Dai Li, stationed within the Earth Kingdom, working under the employ of Azula. Her brilliance need not be mentioned; she was unarguably the best tactician that the Fire Nation had during those confrontations with the Avatar. A natural born leader, who could inspire both fear and admiration within her subjects. I had never seen her like, and was privileged with the ability to serve her, for I knew that in serving her, I served greatness."

"But in those final weeks, when the Avatar's forces attacked during the Day of Black Sun, I was nearly killed. In the midst of the hellish battle, I attempted to escort the lady Azula to where she was to lie in wait for the Avatar when a sudden blast from the battle raging outside all but destroyed the building we were passing through. Quick Earthbending managed to save her from the sudden falling wreckage, but in the process, I was pinned by a girder of solid iron and unable to move. I will never forget her words to me as she saw me struggling: held firmly against the ground and utterly unable to move, much less Earthbend. She said: 'I'm sorry that this happened, but you are just not important enough to waste time saving. Take solace in the fact that you die for a cause much greater than yourself'".

"For three days I lay there, my uniform destroyed, starvation and dehydration eating at my sanity before I was found by Fire Nation wreckage-searchers. They pulled me free, and saved my wretched life, and as I tasted food and drink again, I realized the nature of power, and what I was to become should I desire to seek my full potential."

I stand up, away from him, towering over him as he lies prone in his earthen casket. His blank stare continues to pierce me, but I do not waver.

"You think you have power because you can control whether people live or die. You think that fear of death drives people, but the incontrovertible truth you do not recognize is that everyone dies. I remember when I found you, murdering random strangers in the night, the forlorn son of a famous general, grinning ferociously as though your ability to kill granted you enough power to stem the fear, but you failed to understand then, and you fail to understand now. A man's life is finite, but a cause is forever. Men die for causes because in participating for that cause, they live forever in the annuls of history. But even more powerful than this is the man who controls the cause. The head of a revolution, of a sudden social upheaval, regardless of stupid and worthless considerations of abstracts such as 'good' and 'evil', becomes that revolution, and thus gains a power over death. That is true power. And that, is what separates great men from insane killers such as yourself. That is all I have to say. Perhaps that may give you some modicum of comfort before you die. Goodbye."

I turn on my heel, feeling his eyes resting upon the back of my neck as I pace furtively across the room. My footsteps echo loudly amongst the facility as I allow the Earthbending to swirl through my muscles and bones, feeling the cracks and crevices beneath, the grain, the flow, the simple structures created in the shale. Then, as the room disappears behind me, I collapse it. My toe traces a simple arc in the floor, reaching deeply and precisely into the recesses of the ground and shattering the give-points in the foundation. I can feel the building rumble as I pace purposefully out of the building, quick to hurry so as not to be caught in the ensuing collapse.

Then, I hear it. The laughter. Childish chirrups reverberating against the walls with even more strength then the earthquake's dull, low rumble. Singe laughs, filling his laughter with all of the childish glee that peppered the chaos that drove him. The noise seems to catch and echo within my ears, vibrating painfully against my skull as it increases in volume and pitch. The giggles take on a life of their own, bubbling and swirling throughout the room as the childishness and the innocence begins to dissipate into madness.

I cannot bear to stay in the building any longer, and with a refreshing gulp of the clean, cold air outside, I exit.

Epilogue:

The memorial was a simple affair, not thrown to the decadent worshipfulness of the crowd, but kept amongst those who shared the personal experience of the young boy's sacrifice. Sokka of the Water Tribe planned the statue, and with a little help from Toph and some of the Fire Nation's most precise and renowned artists, created the image of the boy in beautiful black marble.

As the tarp came off, casting the completed artifact into the fresh day's air for the first time, the morning sun sent rivers of gilded light that shimmered brightly against the finely honed and polished statue. The simple form of Jiro the Mouse, his unobtrusive posture, the jaded yet innocent roundness of his eyes, the tattered and worn clothes, seemed to be framed in an angelic halo by the gentle kisses of liquid sun. Sokka's blue eyes managed to deepen as the image pulled tears into them, the fresh emotional scars of his sacrifice still an open wound cut deeply into his heart. It is a hard, yet priceless burden to bear, having someone die for you, but Sokka's determination and his simple yet profound mind were focused to the task of living up to the responsibility. And as he snaked his fingers through the openings between his love's, squeezing tightly, the warmth and happiness exuded by the beautiful morning seemed to refresh him, to give him the much needed ability to look to the future with more than just dread.

Toph squeezed back affectionately and shifted her feet against the ground. Though the thoughtful heartbeats of the attendants were not enough to highlight the image for her in its full glory, the marble itself was beautiful: the solid veins of stone that laced the marble transformed the block into a kaleidoscope of pattern and design that seemed to reflect an odd metaphor for the eventful day in which the boy had died. It was so odd, so random when the boy who was present at her kidnapping managed to rescue both her and Sokka from sudden oblivion, yet the reality it presented was far more touching and far more beautiful for all of its abstraction. She cried as she felt his heartbeat slip away, and she never cried, yet the tears that ran down her face as she had clung to the crippled Water Tribe warrior seemed to melt the stony ice that had threatened to engulf her heart. But despite all this, Toph, deep within her soul, was a simple kind of girl, with simple desires, and the ability to clasp the hand of the man she loved was a pleasure not lost on her. It was nice to be grateful for the sun's heat upon her face.

Only one man present knew the identity of the boy, and could perhaps begin to fathom the emotional turmoil that had swirled within him before he died. More than being the memorial, the idyllic hero, he was human to the former Prince with the violent pink scar upon his face. He was forever to be burdened by knowing the Mouse only by the best and worst actions of his life, seeing the greatness of his humanity and the terribleness of it in stark contrast, side by side. Deep within himself, he realized that he had been both rescued and condemned by him, forever in his debt and yet forever darkened, but for some reason the scarred Firebender could not fathom, the knowledge did not place him in conflict. If it lay within the boy to achieve his Redemption, then it also lay within humanity itself. Nevertheless, as the judge had slammed his gavel upon the wooden stand and condemned him to forty years of imprisonment, he was content to be removed from the turbulent, oftentimes confusing world of people. He had disgraced the memories of those he loved, but maybe they could forgive him if he served his time. Maybe he could forgive himself. Was that the truth of what it was to be redeemed? He worried that he may never know.

The Avatar and the Waterbender stood close to each other during the proceedings, the warm skin of their shoulders and arms brushing lightly against each other. They didn't know the boy, didn't see his sacrifice, but amidst the incredible confusion of their return to the Fire Nation, they were grateful nonetheless for the modicum of stability he had restored. Both had to cope with the sudden fear of loss, as the awful weight of the realization that they had almost lost a member of their family descended upon them, but both Sokka and Toph were not only alive, but okay: something they were intensely grateful for. Zuko's descent into homicidal fury still chewed roughly at their hearts, as both Aang and Katara could not help but feel that they had failed him miserably in their absence, but upon seeing the peaceful serenity that had been written into his eyes at the confession, the sharp pain managed to dull into something that was bearable for the both of them.

The worrisome father, whose ferocious meddling and violent sense of protectiveness had swallowed him felt uncomfortable during the ceremonies. The need to hold his daughter in his arms, to keep her from being touched by the world that could be so dark and cold still raged within him, but he was a pragmatic man at heart, and the evidence of the event was not lost upon him. That the Water Tribesman had been willing to literally give up everything for the sake of his blind daughter was incontrovertible, and beautiful at the same time. Was he himself capable of that sacrifice? He wasn't sure, but in the light of the day, as he watched the bright morning sun bathe the world in fresh chances, he decided to appease it and grant fresh chances to both his daughter and her love. When the boat sailed for home, he would be quietly aboard, without the political ruckus he had become so used to stirring up. He would allow, at least this one time, his daughter to make her own decision, and wait to see if it was the correct one. After all, if it wasn't, he could always return.

The problems weren't over, not for any member of the crowd. Dark days lay ahead, and the political and economic turmoil of the Fire Nation still raged furiously beneath their feet. Sokka and the Avatar were ferociously hated in some circles of the Fire Nation populace, and there were still furtive whispers in the dead of night that the Water Tribesman may snap again and murder his rivals in their sleep. But, that day, standing beneath the pleasant shade of the small memorial, the problems of the future were unimportant. It was his sacrifice, inconsequential and yet impossibly priceless that brought them here. Perhaps the future was not as gilded as the morning's light, but the fact that they all had a future that was, at the very least, not certainly dark was something that brought an optimistic sense of warmth to their hearts.

However, another pair of eyes watched the statue that day. They were ferociously amber, yet curiously innocent at the same time.

The End

A/N: Well there it is, the final words of the longest chapter fic I have ever written! Like I said above, the support I got from you folks even after over a year of no posting was absolutely phenomenal, and I thank each and every one of you. This fic was very fun and very emotional for me to write, as I put alot of myself into it, but reading the wonderful reviews after each chapter made the experience totally incredible. Thank you all so much!

I realize that, in many ways, the ending is a bit unsatisfying, with many loose ends not completely tied up. I did that on purpose, because I felt that it would have been too much to have Jiro's sacrifice totally fix all of the problems of the Fire Nation, and because it also leaves me room to begin a sequel should the mood ever take me! Right now, nothing is planned in that direction, but Avatar still rules even after all this time, and I may be struck by inspiration once again in the future. Here's hoping!

This brings me to a dilemma that has been plaguing me recently. As much as I love Avatar, the time has come for me to take a break from it, and move on to another fandom. The problem is, nothing has struck my interest, and I'm not sure in which direction I want to move! So, since you all have been so kind already, I figured I would ask you! Please, if you're feeling kindly enough to post a review (i like it when you are!), give me a suggestion if something pops into your head of a show or movie or whatever I might like enough to write for pops into your head! I've put a lot of myself into this fic, and you all know my writing style perhaps better than even I do, and I am at a loss for the moment!

Today, I leave for a camping vacation that will take me away from the Internet for awhile, but I look forward to reading all the reviews and suggestions you all post! I want desperately to keep writing, but I need a new fandom, and nothing has struck me just yet! You all rule, and thanks so much for making this the awesome experience it has been.

Keep reading!

Superbleh11