Yay another update! I'm starting to get good at this regularity thing. It's probably two years too late, though. Oops.

The events from this chapter and the next are going to definitively shape the course of events over the next 'arc'. I guess you could say that this extended narrative is composed of three sort of smaller stories contained in one. And we're getting into the juicy bits of the second.

And the 'first' one was only meant to be small. Like, 60,000 words.

WHOOPSIE.

Jin had a very definite way of getting what she wanted.

She'd spent too long in a city that trampled the meek and silent. She developed a persistent, dogged determination. Jin had fought for everything she had, struggling to keep her head above the water in a claustrophobic ocean where thousands and thousands of desperate souls clambered for the surface. She refused take no for an answer, whenever she saw the slightest chance of turning the tide in her direction. She was as gracious and kind-hearted as any one person could possibly be, but when it came to fighting for what she thought was hers, Jin was gritty and indomitable, and nobody could ever conquer her.

This had changed entirely when she met a boy with a resolve as enduring as hers. Zuko was as indignant, as stubborn and resolute in spirit, as her. It sometimes seemed to her that their prevailing relationship could be traced in a series of battles. A combat of wills, where they struggled against one another. But as the city fell, and one by one, the things that he cared for most slipped away from him, Zuko's unconquerable spirit, his bitter refusal to ever give up, began to crumble. And Jin won.

She only did one thing with her newfound victory.

Two weeks after Ba Sing Se had been invaded, a little over a month since she first approached him in that dingy little tea-shop, with her cheeks reddening and eyes downcast, Jin took the dishonoured Prince in her bed.

Zuko didn't realise anything was out of the ordinary. He didn't suspect any sort of premeditated action on Jin's part. It was the day everybody had off work, and Shan had planned to take the entire family to see her elder sister Rong, a stern, heavy-handed woman who made nasty insinuations about Jin's morals whenever she laid eyes on the girl. Usually Jin would have sucked it up and gone along, but she wasn't going to waste her day off being called a slut in smartly-worded overtones that her parents pretended not to hear. So she woke up with a peaky face, weakly protesting that she couldn't leave her bed and they should just go without her.

"Do you need anything?" Zuko sat on the little three-legged stool beside her bed, fingers wound around her left hand. He seemed genuinely concerned, as though she was battling the plague on her deathbed. Jin could hear her family fluffing around in the front room, getting ready to leave. She shook her head silently, lying back on the pillow and closing her eyes. Why can't they just leave already? "You sure? I can make some tea."

"I'm fine, Zuko." She murmured, listening for the unmistakeable squeak of the front door being pulled shut. Finally, finally, the familiar grating noise met her ears. Jin waited a few more moments, until she was absolutely sure, before pulling back the covers, sitting up in her bed. "Took them long enough." She reached over, found the front of Zuko's clothes, and pulled at him firmly. "Come here."

"What?" He complied, crawling on the bed on his hands and knees, but his face was set in a deep frown. "What took long enough? Are you feeling all right?"

"Oh Zuko, I'm fine." Zuko's cry was muffled as she pressed her lips against him, her experienced fingers working on the clasp of his outer robe. He sat awkwardly, stiffly, for almost a full minute as she kissed him deeply, peeling aside layers of clothing. His head swam, and it was only when her fingers brushed the bare skin of his chest, that he pulled away, gasping for air, wide-eyed. "We finally have the house all to ourselves." She breathed into the juncture of his neck and shoulder, sending a shiver down his spine, gently pushing on his arms, coaxing him to relax, to lie down on the bed, and surrender to her entirely.

"J-Jin." Zuko finally managed to stammer, his hands on the back of her neck as he pulled the girl away. He was lying on his back somehow, wearing only his underwear with Jin resting on the juncture of his hips, her long legs curled behind him. She could see his heart beating madly in his chest. He couldn't breathe. This was different to their normal kissing sessions on her bed. He'd never worn so little in front of her. Jin lifted her head slowly, taking his hands and placing them on her thighs. He pulled away, trying to sit up. "Jin..."

"Shh." She pressed a finger on his lips. She wanted this to be perfect for Zuko – and herself. Jin couldn't ignore the pressure starting to build in her lower abdomen, the racing pace of her heart. She had wanted this, she had wanted to know him completely, for a long time. Did Zuko know that he could have had her on their first night? She would have given in to those bright golden eyes without a second thought. She grasped the hem of the underdress she slept in and lifted it over her head in one long, fluid motion. She wore nothing underneath. She'd prepared for this. He had no idea what was coming. Zuko voice died in his throat, hands falling lax on the bed as he stared at her, every bit of her, for the first time. She watched his eyes flicker from her face to her legs to her chest, his mouth forming incoherent, silent words. He managed a single, sharp intake of breath before she crushed their lips together in a powerful kiss, leaning down and pulling the sheet over their heads, withdrawing from the outside world and retreating into their new secret realm, filled with sweat and skin and violent passion.

Jin had speculated that Zuko's lovemaking would be something stilted and awkward and restrained, much like his initial attempts to woo her. But she was entirely wrong. Something had crumbled within Zuko. His last wall against her fell as he touched her, felt every hollow and curve of her body pressed against his naked skin. The emotional desire burned as strong as the physical. Every time he came close, Zuko had been clumsy and soft in the stomach, hesitating to touch her. But having her writhing skin beneath him, her soft keening and whispered plea for more in his ear, drove him to something he'd never experienced before – unbridled, unadulterated lust for the body. He couldn't get enough of her. He needed to be inside of her, bound as close to her as he could, to fill her entirely. Jin thought she would need to gently direct him or do the work herself, but Zuko pressed her into the mattress, gripping her thighs, moving her legs himself. He didn't need to be told what to do. She wound her legs around his waist, bringing him closer. His hands were on her face, breathing her in. She tried to cling to his shoulders, her fingertips sliding down sweat-sheened skin. So she dug in, Zuko's lips broke in a low growl on the base of her neck, the alien sound sending an electric shiver down her spine. He sank into raw chaos, beyond physical comprehension. He wouldn't be able to recall his own name – either of them. Jin's heart raced in her chest, driven by fear as much as lust, locked in Zuko's vice-like, unyielding grasp. There was an unmistakable sense of danger in the air. This side of Zuko seemed brutal and feral to her.

And she loved it.

One... two... three... fo-Oh shit!

Jet hit the floor with a dull thud, face contorted in pain as he clutched at his chest, agonized from another failed attempt at exercise. This time, it was lifting himself with his arms, balancing on his toes. His arms were too weak to lift him, and his back spasmed under the strain. He groaned, pulling himself into a sitting position after several moments. He lifted his battered shirt, pulling down the bandages and checking his ribs. The bruising looked like a black ink stain across his chest, tender and extremely painful to the touch. He ran his fingers over the skin as firmly as he dared, wincing as his fingertips made gentle contact. Nothing seemed more broken or out of place than usual. He replaced his clothing, and arched his neck backwards in a long, slow sigh. He felt the familiar cracking of his expanding sternum as he breathed in, and the realignment as he exhaled.

Okay. No more of that.

"Jet?" The teenager jerked his head at the voice, mouth falling open as he noticed the girl standing on the threshold. "What are you doing on the ground?"

"Mian." A warm feeling flooded his stomach as she closed the door behind her. The pressure rose in his chest, he struggled to breathe and felt his cheeks flush a warm pink. Jet managed to get on to his knees, watching her familiar routine. He watched her supple, lean white arms and her long fingers, her smoke-grey eyes staring down at her task. He was struck by her. "Breakfast already?"

"If you could call it that." She took the lamp that he left on the ground, pulling the cask of oil from under her skirt. Every morning, she smuggled in enough fuel to keep the lamp burning for another day. He watched her move, her porcelain skin illuminated in the pale lamplight, stuttering to a warm orange glow. She held the glass lamp in her hands as the flame swelled, her fingers black around the bright orb. Her eyes shone in the light for a moment. Then she turned her head, and her face was hidden by the black curtain of hair. She set the lamp down and crouched before him, taking his thin arms and hauling the teenager to his feet. He buried his nose in her shoulder for a moment, inhaling a sweet lungful of skin and hair and green silk, before she broke the spell and let him tumble on his sagging bed. She propped him up against the wall, and sat beside him, resting the tray across their legs. Their arms were a hairs-breadth apart, her left against his right. He could feel the warmth radiating from her, her clean white skin gleaming in contrast to his dirty brown limb. He ate wordlessly. Mai watched him in her own silence, giving his face a routine sweep, scanning his features for any tells. Of course, there were none. As always, he revealed nothing.

What if it was because he had nothing to reveal?

What if Mai couldn't crack him, because there was nothing to crack? He wasn't hiding anything from her. He couldn't be. It was impossible. She had subtly worked him over in the past week, working to gain his trust – not just his trust, but his blind and complete adoration. First, she unchained his hands. Then, she gave him clean clothes. She bandaged his chest properly (for all the good it did). She sneaked in extra food when she could. She lifted her skirt one day, and showed him that she smuggled in a blanket by winding it around her waist. She gave him light. Mai had done everything she could think of to strengthen his dependence on her. Nobody else visited the dark little cabin, she made sure of it.

She thought he could be falling in love with her. Mai egotistically entertained the thought in her mind, as she lay in bed several nights before. She knew she was an attractive girl, and the gentle facade she'd adopted would bow any man to her will. It was why she did it. At first, she was scared. She'd had a crush before (and still did, although she didn't like to admit it to herself), but she'd never experienced love. Not real romantic, reciprocated love, that bound two souls together. But Mai reasoned with herself. She wasn't going to be silly and lose her head. She was better than that. It was why Azula picked her over Ty Lee. She wanted Mai to get close to him. And Mai only had another week to get the truth out of him. Whatever truth that was.

Their hands touched.

Jet froze at the contact. Mai had reached across to have a little sip of his tea. She was feeling thirsty. Her fingers brushed across his skin, and he audibly gasped, eyes lowering. She could see in the dull lamplight that goosebumps had broken out along his skin. He cleared his throat after a long, awkward pause, pushing the teacup across the tray in her direction. He couldn't trust himself to speak. Mai took a careful sip, her smile hidden by the chipped rim of the porcelain cup.

Yes. He was painfully smitten with her and didn't dare to admit it. Mai considered her next move carefully, laying the pieces down and considering the consequences, the justification, of what she would do next.

Just keep your head.

"My Lord, where shall you be taking your lunch?"

Ozai didn't hear his steward, at first. He was still fixated on the letter clutched firmly in his left hand. He read it once more by the light of the fire, his rage swelling tenfold as he recounted the damning words. The black ribbon of the message trailed six inches down in the air, trembling. The steward kept his mouth shut, trepidation growing. A black ribbon message meant only one thing.

The Avatar had been sighted.

The wall of fire between the two climbed even higher, threatening to engulf the throne in its entirety. The steward flinched back from the oppressive heat, but kept his face respectfully downward, the marble floor growing hot beneath his bare, wrinkled hands. Everyone knew – or thought – that Azula herself had killed the Avatar on the day Ba Sing Se fell. She claimed he had died by her hands. She had either lied, or had been mistaken.

Down in the bottom of his soul, something within Ozai stretched almost to breaking point.

It took a tremendous emotional blow to rattle him. He accepted the killing of his father with a stark indifference. He banished his son without a shred of remorse. Ozai had only fostered a very few emotional connections in his life and almost all of them had, over the past few years, been cut. He was only brought to tears once in his adult life – when he watched the retreating form of his wife slip away for ever. The last thread had snapped within him. He had lost his brother, his son, his wife, his father, mother, and nephew. Ten years ago, he recalled a Royal palace abuzz with chatter, the flitting forms of his young children and the fussing servants. The weekly walks around the pond with his father, the dinners, the parties and the intrigue. Now only the shadowy whispers of ghosts were there to greet him. The sprawling wings of the palace had been shut off, left its secrets and memories left to gather dust in the darkness. He'd moved out of his own grand quarters a year earlier, repurposing a small anteroom at the shadowy core of the palace. The limbs had been amputated, and the heart struggled to beat. Azula had been the last one left. For three years, Ozai quelled the unsettling doubt in his mind with her face. She was his pride and joy. She was undeniably perfect. She had never done a thing to slight him. Her entire life, her whole being, was dedicated completely to him and the Fire Nation. She was simultaneously the country's most loyal servant and consummate leader. He would put his life in her hands without a second thought.

And yet she failed.

The unshakeably stoic man couldn't comprehend it. The idea that Azula would fail in her task – and then lie to him about it – was utterly unthinkable. This was beyond deceit. This was treason. A fresh knife twisted in Ozai's heart as he read the letter again, checking the exact wording. Perhaps the crew that saw him were mistaken. He had heard vague rumours about the Southern Raiders; drunkards and barbarians, the lot of them. Was it wise to trust such an unreliable source?

The punishment for misinformation at this degree was severe - execution for the conscripts, banishment for the officers. Ozai knew in his heart that they would never have sent the message unless they had absolute certainty. He kept his face perfectly expressionless as he slipped the letter inside his clothing, placing his hands on his folded lap.

"I shall take lunch in my private quarters, Chaoxing."

The steward nodded into the marble, leaving in absolute silence. Ozai kept his head bowed as his eldest servant left the burning throne room, turning the letter over and over in his mind, searching within himself for some sort of logical explanation. There must be one. Azula would never deceive him like this. Nothing made sense to him.

The flames brushed the ceiling in a long, animal roar.

There were fewer people than Renshu expected at the huge metal monster the Fire Nation called its 'administrative offices'. It was the ugliest building the man had ever seen. It seemed squat and bulky, yet it towered above the bricked factories around it. It was utterly grotesque. They had started clearing more of the buildings around it, planning a large square before the hideous open doorway. It hung open like a mouth, swallowing whole the abject souls that trudged into it. They were going to start being very public. Renshu wondered vaguely if they would ring the towering monstrosity with a wall. But that wouldn't welcome the crowds Mung planned to pull for his public displays.

There was surprisingly little ceremony as he approached the building. He told one of the guards that he was there for the 'identification and processing', and he was merely pushed inside wordlessly by a spear-butt. Renshu shoved his head in his pockets and kept his head down as he joined a thin crowd in a large waiting hall, drifting closer and closer to a wide iron desk, manned by no less than six bored-looking soldiers scrawling on confiscated stacks of paper.

"Yes?" Renshu's throat closed as he approached the desk, hands starting to shake in his pockets. He opened his mouth to speak, but his voice had died in his throat entirely. The soldier rolled his eyes and sighed. He was just a boy. Two of his own sons were older than this teenaged soldier. "Hurry up." He snapped, sounding tired and irritated. The older man coughed, trying to find his voice. It was terrifying. He was in the mouth of the beast, not knowing when, or if, he would ever be free. He could have just inhaled his last lungful of fresh air, felt the last ray of sunlight on his face, forever. And he didn't even savour it. What if the last words he ever spoke to his wife were 'I'll be along in a moment, just have to see a man about a job'? The realisation hit him, a heavy blow in his chest. What in the name of the Spirits am I getting myself into here?

"I-I'm..." Renshu cleared his throat, suddenly emboldened. Better to give myself up than be caught hiding like a common criminal. He still had his pride, for what that was worth. "I'm here for the ninth decree, it s-"

"Ah, a rock-thrower." The soldier cut over him, a sneer on his lips. He looked Renshu in his jade-green eyes, obviously scanning the colour. His scorn looked so strange and uncharacteristic on that young face. Renshu wondered how much of it was genuine, and how much of it was stress and exhaustion, and a play-acting imitation of his elders. All six of the desk-ridden soldiers looked like him. Young, and unquestionably weary. The soldier clicked his fingers, and before Renshu could turn around, he felt two gloved hands encircling his wrists. A spear-point was pressed into his back. "Third floor." He waved them away, making a crude note on his heavily-blotted paper. Renshu's courage, which had swelled in the last minute, deflated, pierced by that horrible spear in the middle of his back.

The stairs were steep and narrow, and he had a hard time making it out in the dark. His heart thudded in his mouth as he made his way up, acutely aware that one slip, one wrong step, could leave him impaled. Mentally, he berated himself as he was frogmarched through the gloom by the two men. Why are you doing this? How could giving yourself up be a good idea? What would Shan say if she knew? What if they kill you? Why didn't you try to give yourself more time?

"Get in." The breath was knocked out of Renshu's lungs as he was pushed unexpectedly into a very dark little room. For an earth-shattering moment, he thought it was a prison cell, that they would close the door behind him and leave him in the darkness forever. But they still held him close, and he quickly noticed the bright orange glow in the corner. A furnace.

"Another one, huh?" A portly soldier was sitting on a rather lopsided chair beside the orange fire, smoking a thin clay pipe. They obviously kept the prime men for the heavy work, the intimidating and brute force, and the young and unfit were relegated to tedious administrative duties. "Bring 'im over then." The spear vanished from his back. Renshu's shoulders sagged in relief. "Are ya left or right-handed?" The thick soldier pulled on a heavy, leadlined glove.

"R-Right." Renshu's voice was hoarse and trembling. His chest seized with terror as he watched the man digging around in the open stove with a poker. His left arm was forced outwards, the sleeve pulled back to the elbow. His hand was pulled in a vice-like grip, exposing his wrist in the dim orange light. The other soldier had his right arm pinned to his side, leaving him completely motionless. He couldn't move even if he struggled. Renshu didn't understand what was happening for several moments. It wasn't until the soldier stepped away from the stove that he understood what 'the identification process' was all about. A disconsolate, irrepressible cry broke out from between his lips, and he tried to pull away out of sheer instinct, held frozen in place.

It wasn't a poker the soldier had been poking the burning embers with.

It was a branding iron.

"It's for you."

The tiny square of paper was held before Zuko's eyes. He lay on his back, arms folded behind his head, basking in the slowly shifting patch of sunlight. He was sleepy. Dazed. Euphoric. Jin let the letter fall on his chest as she slipped out of her robe and between the sheets. Damn the messenger boy for interrupting them. Zuko's limbs still felt heavy and dead, and he unfolded his arms reluctantly, holding Jin close with one arm, unfolding the letter with the other.

"Who's it from?" She spoke into the crook of his neck, curled into his side. She was still too exhilarated to consider any ill news. Jin's eyes closed, heart still racing as she struggled to recover from what had to be the most intense, physical, intimate, experience of her life. It hadn't lasted long in the end – it never did, when it was his first – but those precious few minutes left her overwhelmed and drained and still incredibly alive. It had felt to her like drowning. Drowning and flying, all at once. It wasn't his physical dominance over her that left her in shivers, she realised after. It was the minutes he spent afterwards, touching her face and asking if she were all right. It was the simple knowledge that she touched the deepest recess of his soul, reached in and claimed it for herself. She had taken from him his last vestige of physical innocence. They were bound to each other, body and mind and spirit as their blossoming relationship had come full circle. Zuko looked back with an odd sense of horror. When he came to himself and realised it was animal in his skin that took her, he was almost in tears. He seemed terrified that he had hurt her. No amount of consolation on her part, reassurance that she wasn't made of china and she could take it – she liked it – could wipe the guilty expression from his face. He swore he would stop feeling guilty, but he was gentler to her after that. He refused to allow his lust to take over entirely. Even now, he gently kissed the top of her head before reading the letter, gently trailing his fingers up and down her arm, avoiding her closer, sensitive stretches of skin.

"Xi Quan." Zuko's voice tightened, and he sat up rather suddenly, jerking Jin out of her sleepy torpor. She looked up, seeing him grip the letter with trembling hands, mouth making wordless shapes in failed comprehension. Jin sat up slowly, touching his shoulder. It was bad news. "He wants me to meet him at his house as soon as I can... He says there's not much time." The scrap of paper fluttered down on the ragged sheet. The illusion was shattered; Zuko fell back into reality with a sobering crash. "I... I have to go." Jin watched him pull back the sheets, groping around on the floor for his clothes. A red-faced giggle threatened to burst at the sight of him, bent over without a stitch on, and she reluctantly lowered her gaze to the sheets, masking the sound with a cough. He turned, half in his pants with his shirt over her head. He pulled it down quickly, bending down and finding her lips. "Sorry." He whispered against them, pulling away. He wanted nothing more than retreat to the bed, with her, pull the sheet over her head and pretend that nothing else in the world existed. Instead, he had to bear the crippling guilt, look into the eyes of the man he had destroyed, and watch him disappear from his life. Zuko was silent as he pulled on the last of his clothes, smoothing down his hair as he stepped into his shoes, breaking down the final barrier between dream and reality and stepping into the street.

It was a decent walk to Xi Quan's home – one of those narrow, angled townhouses near the middle ring, where people had a whole house to themselves, and sometimes even a garden. His mother had one of them. His stomach knotted uncomfortably at the thought, and he kept his head down as he scurried past her closed doors, keeping his eyes low and hair over his scar.

It was in an odd little square, with an empty fountain in the middle, and strings of lanterns with the candles all burned out, blades of grass peeking through the cracking cobblestones. It looked as though it had been a very fine neighbourhood in its heyday, but rising taxes, season after season of bad harvests, and an unsteady political climate had gradually taken its toll on both the houses and the people, who grew demoralised and tired, letting their pretty little square slowly crumble around them.

It didn't say which house was theirs, but Zuko noticed in an instant the little ostrich-horse cart pulled up outside a set of open doors. A middle-aged woman already sat on the tiny front bench, nervously toying with a silken green scarf, winding it around her thin bony fingers, adorned with every ring she owned. There was a pile of luggage outside the cart, waiting to be loaded. A trunk of clothing. Two bundles of blankets. A chest of their most precious household paraphernalia. A small box containing Xi Quan's most precious books. That was all they could take from their three-storied townhouse. Xi Quan couldn't afford a bigger cart. They were starting to get pricey, as more and more terrified families considered taking their chances in the unknown wilderness.

"Xi Quan?" His voice trembled as he approached the cart, refusing to believe what he was seeing. He was growing nauseous. The middle-aged man bent over the box straightened, blinking behind his thick, unpolished glasses.

"Ah, my boy." There was an undeniable sadness etched on his face. "I was wondering when you would get here."

"You're not moving, are you?" His voice quavered again, and Zuko made a face, embarrassed at his obvious weakness. "Not out of the city..."

"There's nothing left for me. For us." He waved his hand down at his side. Zuko emerged from his introverted bubble, noticing for the first time the solitary figure on the doorstep with her head in her hands, crying loudly. "My daughter." Xi Quan explained, eyes downcast. "She was engaged to a lawyer, and he broke it off after I lost everything." He gave a shrug. "Perhaps it's a blessing in disguise. I always suspected he was after her money but she seemed so happy..." Zuko closed his eyes, feeling genuinely sick. So he could add a broken marriage to his list of failures. "But anyway," The man groaned, a hand on the small of his back. "I was wondering if you could help with some last-minute moving. I know I can't give you any money, but I h-"

"Of course." Zuko cut over him quickly. "Just show me what you need packed and moved, and I'll do it." How could he tell him to stay?

It didn't take long. The hardest part wasn't lifting the heavy chests, but figuring out how to stack them in the cart so they fitted, the axles creaking ominously under the strain. His wife kept her eyes downcast, mouth wrinkled in a small red knot. His daughter never moved from the stairs, never ceased in her pitiful tears. Zuko couldn't look at her, his heart sinking further and further in his chest as he was continuously reminded of the happiness he had inadvertently destroyed.

But finally, Zuko was forced to stand aside and watch as Xi Quan tried to haul his sobbing daughter to her feet and join his wife in the front of the covered cart. But she refused to move, her legs folding beneath her as the frail man struggled to make her stand. Zuko had to step in and physically carry her to the cart. She jerked as he first took her arms, and threw herself into him, sobbing into his shoulder. She must have thought he was her father. A hot blush settled over his cheeks, and he coughed awkwardly, rising to his feet with the girl in his arms. She gasped at the sound, breaking away from his shoulder, sobs dying in her throat. For the first time, Zuko was able to see her face. She was extremely pretty – at least, she would have been, without the tearstains and red-rimmed eyes, hair straggling over her blotchy face. She gave a single hiccup, embarrassed at her appearance, and wiped at her eyes and nose with a sleeve of yellow silk. Zuko set her down by the cart, and she clambered up herself, trying to smooth down her hair and straighten her clothes, not taking her eyes off him. Zuko bit down on hard on his lower lip returned to the ground, eyes trained almost resolutely at his feet.

"Where are you going to go?" Zuko finally raised his gaze as Xi Quan approached his elbow. His daughter still stared at him with wide brown eyes. "Do you have friends or relatives anywhere?"

"We're heading south-west. There's dozens of villages along the coast." Xi Quan forced a tiny, half-hearted smile.

"Are you going to start up another press?" Xi Quan shook his head, the smile sinking into something more pensive and accepting.

"I think it's time to move on. It's getting beyond my fragile bones to work the machines as it is." He really did sound convincing. "My wife has been telling me for while to sell up... this is just the last straw. I guess it was fate. Printing's not what it used to be. When I was a lad, any man could print whatever he wanted. We filled bookstores with poetry and philosophy and science. But times have changed. Regulation has taken hold and it's warped the business badly. It's been nothing but law tracts and advertising for far too long. My wife wants to open up a little inn on the coast. A fresh start isn't fresh if you're dragging the past over with you." Guilt and shame rolled over Zuko in a long, hot wave. "I'll be all right." He looked up at the sky, giving a little shrug. "I hope you'll be all right too, Lee."

"I'll get by." Zuko was absolutely miserable. "Take... Take care, Xi Quan."

"I will." He gave his old apprentice a short hug, one arm around his elbow. "You were the best apprentice I ever had. I'm sorry it had to end like this. Maybe if the Fire Nation are somehow driven out, we could come back..." It was a fantasy, told mainly to pacify him. There was no reason for him to ever come back to the breaking city.

"Xi honey, we're burning daylight here." The sharp voice of his wife sounded from the front of the ostrich-horse cart, hands still bound in the cloth. No doubt the move stung her badly. The man turned to look at her, something sagging in his face as he nodded.

"Yes, just one moment darling." He bent over, groaning as he hefted the box from the doorstep into his arms. "Lee, I just have to give you this one thing..." Zuko's throat closed as he was offered the box.

"No... No I can't." Zuko protested as it was pressed into his hands. He looked inside, seeing the handsome volumes. It smelled of old leather. He balanced the box on his knee, taking out the first book. The aged leather creaked in his hands as he opened the page at random. It was printed on vellum, with coloured ink and illustrations. They had to be worth a fortune. Zuko's hands trembled as he replaced the book. "Xi Quan, this is far too valuable..."

"I always kept a copy of everything I printed. These were the finest. I'd rather they were in the hands of someone who appreciated their craft than sold to a merchant." Xi Quan waved his hand. "Listen to me Lee." He leaned in, voice lowering. "I know you're going to have to sink low to get by in this city, but promise me, you won't forget what I've taught you. Ba Sing Se is going to need people who can spread the printed word. They will need you. This war will not last forever. It might take years but the city will be free again. This won't be the last you hear from me, Lee. I'll send you a letter when we settle."

"All right." Zuko clutched the box close to his chest, eyes burning. "Farewell, I guess." He watched the former master clamber into the front of the cart, his wife and daughter moving alongside to accommodate him. It was a very tight fit. The girl was still looking at him, and Zuko caught again those wide, tearful brown eyes that wrenched at his heart, before the cart turned away, drawing out from the square. Zuko clung to the heavy box, the corners digging painfully into his chest as the guilt and humiliation rose in his soul, threatening to spill over. How could he be so disgraceful? He'd destroyed the man's livelihood and now watched, passively, as he walked away from the broken pieces of his life. He was cowardly and dishonourable, and he knew it.

"N-No!" The cry tore from Zuko's throat before his brain could catch up, breaking into a run after the departing cart. "Wait!" He overtook the small group, seizing the reins of the ostrich-horses on one hand, clutching the heavy box with the other as he dug his heels into the ground. Xi Quan yanked the animals to a hard standstill, staring at Zuko with wide eyes.

"Just let me explain."

They decided to have their meeting in the sun. It was so bright, so warm and pleasant up on the deck. Nobody could blame them for their indulgence. They floated on blue glass, bobbing gently on an endless expanse that stretched beyond sight, in every direction. For a few moments, Katara genuinely felt as though they were the only people on the entire earth, that the earth was nothing but this endless rolling sea, and they would float on it forever.

Even Aang came up for some air. He walked with a limp, his shoulders hunched over, and he leaned heavily on a makeshift crutch, but he walked. He spent as much time as Katara would let him in the sun and air, listening to the wind whistle through the tiny crevices of the ship, lying on Appa as he watched the clouds. He missed Momo. His chest tightened at the thought of the little creature. It was almost as bad as losing Appa. At least with Appa, they were able to find him. They knew who took him and they were able to figure out where he had been taken. But they would never find Momo. Lemurs were rare, but not unique. Aang had no idea when he even went missing. The boy tried to remember the afternoon he had lost Momo, the afternoon when his world crumbled around him and he almost died, but it was a lost, hazy blur that sent a stab of pain through his chest. His memory failed him. Once, he tried to close his eyes and meditate, as he had with the Guru, feeling within him the pure cosmic energy and detachment. Maybe he could get back to that weightless spirit, entirely attuned to the world, and see things through Momo's eyes. But he was jarred, in too much pain, too anxious, to regain that inner peace and neutrality. And just a few minutes into trying, Katara interrupted him, asking him what he wanted for lunch. Aang looked into her wide blue eyes, her hair whipping around her face in the ocean wind, a smile plastered over her face, and he knew in a heartbeat he could never again come close to even considering letting her go. His detachment had cost her already. Her neck was bare, and although Aang rifled around the ship, he couldn't find anything he could clumsily weave into a new necklace. Not this time.

They all sat in a circle. It was a purposeful, democratic figure. No man was better than the other. But everyone had their eyes turned towards Hakoda, with his daughter on his left, and son on his right. Katara sat beside Aang, and Toph beside Sokka. The four of them hadn't spoken in a group for what seemed an age. There wasn't much any of them could say. Their routine had been interrupted, and they were oddly disjointed and lost. They didn't need to forage around for food, or pitch camp, or travel over land, or train. Everything was done for them. Hakoda's men kept the ship running without a hitch, and apart from the occasional watch (except of course, for Toph), they were left to their own devices. Toph slept a lot. Katara fussed over Aang, and took up writing a diary. Sokka, satisfied at last with his invasion plan, spend hours in the engine room, comparing the working parts to the blueprint in the hold, teaching himself how to turn the ambitious ideas in his head into clean, professional diagrams. The boat on the ocean was a fantasy land, where they didn't have to think about the world that teetered on the edge of destruction.

That was, until Hakoda called the meeting. Two weeks had passed, and it was time to make a decision. They would either plough on with their invasion plans, or accept their own fate and return home to their loved ones. Every man knew in his heart where they wanted to be. They ached for it. But none could back down from his sense of duty. Not when the last, barest thread of victory dangled just inches from their fingers.

"I cannot force any man to go against his own heart." They all sat, legs crossed, blue eyes fixed on Hakoda. Aang stared down at his hands. Toph threw her head back, not listening, apart from their petty concerns. She had her own backup plans, in case the water tribesmen backed down and decided to run home with their tails between their legs. Even though she was the youngest on the ship, she felt somehow older than those around her. "Two weeks ago, I said that I would make a decision based on what Katara had told me. But two weeks was a long time ago. We have lost three of our own men in that time." There were three spaces in the circle, three empty places where they would have sat. Sokka stared at Ulo's space, beside his grey-haired father. He felt hollow at the thought of the young man who he had grown up with, the familiar surge of grief welling within him, but simmering, not breaking the surface. "I have come to some... some very startling realisations, about what it means to a leader, and also my own humanity." He clapped his son on the shoulder, lips twitching in a small smile. "It is not my place to make a decision of his magnitude for the entire crew. Therefore, I will be putting it to a vote. Six weeks from now, the solar eclipse will render the Fire Nation helpless. It will be the last opportunity we have before Sozin's comet approaches and gives them the final burst of power to snuff us out forever. Sokka has shown me several different plans for the invasion, all of which have at least some chance of happening. Both Katara and Avatar Aang are confident that he will be fit enough to fight in six weeks." They both nodded. Aang firmly, Katara reluctantly. He would be healthy enough maybe, but fit? She knew that even a few weeks without training would leave the muscles soft and form sloppy. It would be very tight. "But we must also be pragmatic, and consider abandoning our wartime efforts. The invasion is nothing more than a chance, and if we are captured or killed, our wives and children remain open to further attack without our protection. This has already threatened to happen." They had to tell them all about Zuko's appearance in their homeland, sparking the devastating chain of reaction that sent them all over the world. "The North Pole has shown repeatedly that they have the natural and human defences to withstand even the full force of the Fire Nation navy. They are still our brothers and sisters, even on the other side of the world. There is no doubt in my mind that if we approached them as refugees, they would accept us into their tribe with open arms." Hakoda's stomach clenched at the thought. He'd heard things about the Northern Tribe from his mother, and they were unsettling. Their treatment of women, particularly, left him cold. Although Katara claimed she'd won over their master water bender, Hakoda wasn't sure he wanted the wives and daughters of his comrades raised in such a downtrodden position. It sounded so fatalistic. Everything was only a chance. A chance to live, escape, eke out a miserable existence with the constant knowledge that it was only a matter of time. Or a chance to bring the Fire Nation to its knees in a bold statement of war that would almost certainly decimate their numbers. "With this information in your mind, I ask you all to search your heart. I will be putting the invasion plan to a vote. If it is a tie, we will have a recount. If the vote is tied again, Aang's vote will count for two." It was the fairest way he could think of. He looked around the circle. Most of the men looked decided, their mouths in hard lines and eyes cold and stern. They probably sat down with their resolve already set. Hakoda took in a deep breath. "Every man who believes we should abandon our efforts and return home to protect our families, raise your hand."

Every single hand remained down. Hakoda's eyes widened as he looked from man to man. None raised their hand. Even Ulo's father kept his hands in his lap. Hakoda's heart swelled with a new sense of pride and belief in his men, and the smile that lingered around his lips broke out into a full grin, for just a moment before he coughed, reassembling his features.

"Every man who thinks we should attempt an invasion on the Fire Nation capital, raise your hand." Halfway through, Hakoda realised that a number of them may refuse to vote entirely. Perhaps they thought both options were terrible, and they had a third idea they wanted to float. Hakoda never thought to open the floor up for suggestions before voting. How was that fair and democratic of him? His heart seized in fear for a moment, but as quickly as it came, it dissolved. Every single person, except Aang, raised their hand. The smile reappeared on his lips as he dipped his head in a nod. "I knew in my heart that you would all come to the right decision." Hakoda turned his eyes up to the sky for a moment. Phew. "The invasion will go ahead as planned. We will begin sending out notifications to our allies as soon as we hit land. We will gather supplies, and then head for the Fire Nation."

"Wait, no!" Aang broke out. Katara gripped his hand, staring wide-eyed at the boy. "I still don't agree with this plan. This is my fight, not anybody else's. Nobody else should have to risk their lives against the Fire Nation."

"With all due respect, Aang," And Hakoda really did try to keep his tone as respectful as he could. "We've been risking ourselves against the Fire Nation for almost a hundred years. " Aang's eyes lowered as his throat became stuck. "I understand that you feel this is your burden and yours alone, but it's not. This is our world as much as it is yours, and we have the right to fight for it." Hakoda paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts. "We will go ahead with this invasion Aang, and we would appreciate it greatly if you were to be a part of it." Katara was still squeezing his hand. Aang's shoulders slumped, and he closed his eyes in a long sigh, unheard. It was useless to try and talk to them.

"It's all right." Katara's voice was in his ear. He looked up at her as the men around them began to relax, leaning back and chatting to one another, or rising to their feet and getting on with their everyday tasks. The mood was less solemn than one would expect. They had expected the invasion for several weeks – this was just a confirmation, and no one was against it. "Dad's right. I've been telling you, everyone's been fighting for a long time and we need to all pull together for one more chance."

"I just don't want anyone to be hurt because of me." Aang murmured, wishing more than ever that he had Momo in his lap to stroke and cuddle. Katara clicked her tongue, thinking of how she could phrase it. But it was Sokka who leaped in, plonking himself down before the pair with his legs drawn partway up, clasped arms resting on his knees.

"If you don't want anyone hurt on your watch, then you should be there with us." He had become so painfully pragmatic over the past few weeks. Katara wanted to hit him. "We're going to do this, Aang. And I guarantee, more people will be hurt if you're not there to back us up." Aang looked beyond both of them, out to the open ocean. It seemed so distant, separate from their sunny afternoon. They were going to travel into the very heart of darkness and nobody knew who would be coming back. "We need you and you know that."

"I know." Aang murmured. "I just wish there was another way."

"Everyone wishes there was another way." Toph spoke up, flopping down on Sokka's right, lying on her back with her face turned up to the sky. "But this is the hand we're dealt with, and we have to play it."

"Do you think we'll win, Toph?" Aang sounded so tiny and intimidated and unsure. It rattled her. She found she couldn't speak definitively on either side. So she shrugged half-heartedly. "Sokka?"

"I have more faith in the invasion plan than anybody." There was a hint of pride, a definite swagger in his voice. Of course he had faith in it. He was the one who thought it up. Katara thought it was heartless, but it wasn't. It was realistic. Aang's eyes flicked to the girl that sat beside him, still holding his hand.

"Katara?"

"I... I have faith that Sokka knows best." She eventually stated, forcing down an inward cringe. It seemed to her such an obvious, blatant lie. But it seemed Sokka and Aang believed her. Toph blew out her bangs, rolling her blind eyes. It was damn obvious that she hated the plan but had lost the debate with her brother. But of course Aang believed her. His blind adoration of Katara had grown even more sickening over the past week. In his eyes, she could do no wrong. Aang didn't have a response. He just looked down at his own hands. Sokka tried to think of something he could say, maybe a bad joke, but his mind was totally empty. He leaned back, keeping his mouth shut. Katara tightened her hold on Aang's hand even further, quiet and guilty. The four had lapsed into a meditative, almost brooding silence, which no one wanted to break.

But they remained on the deck, together, for a long time.

Yay sexytimes. I tried to keep it somewhat classy. That being said I'm not going to have long tracks of smut, which is technically beyond the ratings of this site anyways.