Blessings

"I want to marry your daughter."

Ozai scowled from the top edge of latest issue of Fadmon, the front page loudly declaring "ZUTARA FOREVER" in big, bold font. "What's that now? Who're you trying to kill?"

Jet stalked forward and grabbed a chair, straddling it before the ex-Fire Lord. His expression was dead serious. "I want to marry Azula. I want your blessing."

The Firebender—or rather ex-Firebender, since he was about as impotent as Aang in the catacombs of Ba Seng Se—cocked an eyebrow at the young Freedom Fighter. His lips turned down severely. "And why would I give you, some worthless ragamuffin orphan man-child, my daughter's hand in marriage?"

"Cuz I'm the toughest ragamuffin orphan man-child that's ever gone up against a whole platoon of Fire Nation soldiers." Jet jabbed a thumb into his chest, grinning proudly.

"Ah, yes," Ozai said, sneering down the length of his nose, "the Earth Kingdom shit disturber. You would be my daughter's type."

"That's what I'm saying," the young man replied with an Appa-worthy load of hubris. "And I'd be a damn good father, too."

Ozai tugged on his goatee in contemplative, Iroh-esque fashion. He had to admit, the two-bit thug had balls. Big, shiny Turtle-lion-size balls. Anyone who would touch Azula with a ten-foot pole and go back for more had to have some gumption. Or a death wish. Or a brain defect.

Regardless, Ozai had to admit that of all the potential fathers, he preferred Jet. The Avatar would have been his first choice for Azula—perhaps simply because Ozai liked the idea of torturing Aang as a son-in-law. But Jet, at least, wasn't a goody-goody, or an insufferable know-it-all like the brother of his son's wife, Sokka. And he was way better than that pouf, Haru, even if the Earthbender did have fantastic hair…

He shook the distracting thoughts away. He was trying to figure out how he could use the fiery conviction in the young ruffian's eyes and turn it to suit his own purposes. Perhaps Jet could help him take the throne back from his pathetically soft-hearted spawn….

"Before I even begin to contemplate you fathering my grandchild," Ozai drawled, sitting back, "I have some questions that will ascertain your readiness to accept a role in the royal family. Ours is a long line of dignity and honor...our pedigree is beyond dispute."

"Except for that whole Avatar Roku being Zuko's great-grandfather," Jet added smarmily.

Ozai frowned. "I guess that answers my first quiz on what you know about the royal family's lineage," he conceded grimly. He usually stumped people with that one—the irony of a past Avatar being related to his beloved wife…well, who could have seen that coming?

"Way to choose your women, by the way," Jet went on blithely. "Ursa's hot, and Zuko ain't half-bad either." His eyes brightened and he broke into a grin. "Ha! Half-bad. Get it? Because he's scarred, and he was bad, but then he turned good…"

Ozai's mouth twitched. Was it wrong that he liked the boy's sense of humor?

(Yes.)

But that was hardly enough to win him favor. Time to pull out the big guns. "Hypothetical situation: your son or daughter and their little friends have wrested power from you, leaving you unable to bend and at their mercy. You're the laughing stock of the whole world. What do you do?"

Jet rubbed his bristly jaw. "Hmm. I can sense this is a trick question."

And then a smile as wide as the Great Divide broke over his face. He snapped his fingers. "Same thing I'd do any time life lets me down! Hold that thought!" He pushed out of his chair and dashed out of the room.

Ozai thought the boy was gone for good, but when he returned ten minutes later, he couldn't help but be more than a little impressed.

"Ember Island brandy…" the ex-Fire Lord remarked with carefully veiled glee as Jet set down the crate he'd filched from the palace's keep. His lips spread into an even wider grin when he noticed the seals on the lids. "I see you went for my brother's private stock. A man of taste, then."

"And generosity." Jet plonked two glasses before the man who would be his father-in-law. He deftly popped the cork on a bottle of the vintage spirit and poured a hearty measure of the dark amber liquid into each tumbler.

Ozai decided he really liked this Jet fellow. Too bad he'd have to kill the idiot eventually.

"Let's drink to the women who've earned our respect!" The Freedom Fighter exclaimed, raising his glass. "To family! To love!"

Ozai sipped the fiery purgative. The brandy slipped down his throat and warmed his gullet with intense heat. Heady stuff. It would do its work quickly and expel the bending suppressant that kept him a prisoner in his own body. He murmured silkily, "And to revenge…"

Jet looked up. "Sorry, what was that?"

"Excuse me?" Ozai tossed the drink down.

"I thought I just heard you say 'revenge'." The Freedom Fighter tilted his chin coquettishly.

"Revenge? No, no, I didn't say that." Ozai laughed nervously and poured himself another two fingers.

"Then what did you say?"

"I said…uh, I said…" he sought a word through a mouthful of tongue-numbing brandy "…Li…benge…?" He gazed up at the boy with hopeful innocence.

Jet stared at him. He shrugged. "Okay, then. To Libenge, whoever he is."

Ozai grimaced. If Jet was, in fact, the father of Azula's baby, he sincerely hoped the child inherited his daughter's intelligence.