Jet Set

The scuff of a shoe was more than enough to give away the intruder's presence. Azula hated sloppy ninja work. "Go away."

"Hey, I'm just out to get some fresh air," Jet said carelessly, yawning and stretching on the balcony the princess had retreated to. He'd put his shirt back on. What a shame. "It smells too much like girls and fruit cake in there."

Despite her tears, Azula actually chuckled. She was so desperate to smile for the baby's sake she'd even laugh at one of Jet's jokes. How pathetic.

She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and stared blearily at the bleak stone terrace far below where years ago, the most elite of the nation's military had stood proudly, hailing her and Zuko upon their triumphant return from conquering Ba Seng Se. The cold, hard ground looked strangely inviting from way up here…

"So…" Jet began awkwardly, rubbing his neck, "how are things…in there?" He gestured vaguely at her round stomach, his unease stark and plain on his pointed face.

"Horrible." She rested her cheek in her hand and slumped against the railing. "When he's not kicking my spine, he's turning somersaults or stepping on my bladder. He's frequently demanding turtle-seal jello. And I keep having these nightmares he's going to shoot lightning straight out of my stomach and punch his way out."

"Sounds like he takes after his ma."

Azula moaned and buried her face in the crook of her arms, sobs racking her whole delicate but rotund frame. "Why?" she hiccupped. "Why did it have to be me? Why couldn't this baby be someone else's?" She sniffed wetly. "I can't be a good mother…I'll never…" Her words dissolved into wet blubbers.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, hey, now, uh…" Jet wavered between running away and taking the princess in his arms. She was a complete, snotty mess, and he'd just cleaned his clothes. Eventually and with some resignation, he opted on the latter and folded a shivering Azula into his lanky arms.

"It's okay, just cry it out," he murmured, his discomfiture easing at the feel of her soft, round flesh pressing against his wiry, hardened body. Emotions, especially of the female sort, had never been his forte, but soothing Azula with the gentle, broad strokes of his callused hands was something he knew how to do. Like taming a wild eel-hound. And the princess was so much more appealing when she wasn't whipping him or berating him or demanding stridently, Harder, faster, deeper…

He shook the disturbingly arousing thoughts out of his head. "I'm sorry." He wasn't sure what he was apologizing for, but Iroh—fount of all worldly knowledge, especially in matters of the opposite sex—had always said a man should simply do so, and hope the woman accepted. "I didn't mean to make you cry."

"No, I don't suppose you did." She squeezed him tighter. His ribcage creaked and cracked in protest. "But you never mean to be anything, do you?"

That got his attention. He aimed a slit-eyed look downwards. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing."

Now there was a loaded word if Jet had ever heard one. Nothing, according to Iroh, was short for "if you don't know already, you don't deserve to hear it from me."

And maybe Jet already knew.

Jet held her away. "What? You think I don't have any ambition? That I don't mean the things I say? That I can't commit?"

She peeked up at him, nonplussed. "I didn't say—"

"Oh, I get it." He ground his jaw. "You think just because I'm a lazy, mooching gadabout I couldn't possibly be the dad, or that I couldn't possibly be a good father." His anguished scowl startled Azula. "I had parents once, you know. Great parents. My dad was the one who taught me how to fight. He taught me about all kinds of important things."

"Jet, I never said you wouldn't make a good father," the Firebender told him snappishly.

"I'd make a great father," Jet insisted forcefully. "I was mother and father to a whole bunch of rug rats. We lived in frickin' treehouses that I had to design and build myself! I made sure they all ate their vegetables and washed their hands, and I wiped their noses and everything!"

Seized by a sudden fury, he gripped her by the arms. His brown eyes, usually as soft and as deceptively welcoming as a moose-lion's, burned with Zuko-esque intensity. "How do you know I'm not the father?" he demanded.

The princess's wide eyes blinked up at him. "I…I don't know…"

"You don't know? Or you don't want to contemplate it?" He let her go suddenly, regaining his composure. He paced away, giving them some breathing room, but Azula could hardly catch her breath. Her heart hammered in her throat. She'd never seen Jet like this. He'd always been content to laze around, flirt with the concubines, keep things simple. He was a casual guy, the one guy she could count on not to take things seriously, and she'd always been fine with that. But now…

"Tell me the truth," he said shortly over his shoulder. "Do you know who the father is?"

Her answer was unequivocal. "No."

"Everyone says you always lie."

"Not about this." She stared at the ground, placing a protecting palm over her belly and mourning for the fatherless child within her. "I…I couldn't."

He closed his eyes, mustering up his courage.

"What if…what if I said I want to be the father?"

It seemed like a long time before Azula could process his request.

And then…

"OHOHOHO! AHAHAHA!! You're kidding, right? You? Father my child?" She doubled over. Actually, it was only about quartered over, since she was so round. "Oh, oh, oh, that's just rich. The guy who tried to wipe out a whole village of Firebenders wants to play daddy to my evil Firebending offspring!" She wiped her eyes, and Jet wasn't certain it was tears of laughter she was crying.

"Jet, you're a riot," Azula said through a haze of moisture blurring her face. She waved casually as she headed back in. "I feel so much better now, knowing you're here in case we never learn who the daddy is." Her sarcasm was about as thick as Pipsqueak's skull.

The princess drifted back indoors, still clutching her belly, shoulders shuddering with…surely those were sobs?

Jet watched her go in silence. He decided to let her have this match. He'd prove to her—to everyone—he'd make a worthy father…and the perfect royal consort.