"Should I be worried about you getting all buddy-buddy with the secret peace police? Or is this just…" He waved his hand around. "Recreational?"

"I don't know? It's— I need something to do, Jet. Something that isn't sitting around and serving tea."

"Well, you could have come with us to help with the refugees in the lower ring, but someone had to go and be a vigilante and catch the attention of the local—"

"Secret peace police," Zuko finished in time with him. Then added, in perfect Court Voice, "Your objection is noted."

Was it, though? Was it really?

"And what's the verdict on our friendly neighborhood spy?"

"…He reminds me a little of Lieutenant Jee."

Welp. That was damning. Case closed. They were never getting rid of the Dai Li now. Zuko had gone and turtle-ducked him. The same way he had with Xiao-Mei. And Jet.

And—

Jet was sensing a pattern.

"You're missing your murder-mount, aren't you?"

Zuko's lips twitched, in something that might have been an almost-smile in a different, kinder life.

There weren't a lot of things Jet regretted in general. Most actions he took, he took them with the conviction that he didn't regret them later on. (Except every single time he listened to Zuko saying he had a plan.) But Jet did regret the necessity of having to leave Zuko's bequeathed ostrich-horse outside the walls. Zuko did better around animals. It was why he'd had Sushimi in the first place, ship's cat requirement aside. It was why he'd slept (it was part of why he'd slept) in the rhino holds.

...It was why he'd entrusted Sushimi to Xhao-Mei. Because that little girl had lost everything and Sushimi had helped Zuko when he'd lost everything. It was one of the most selfless things he'd ever done. (Except no, because the fucking idiot prince had no sense of self-preservation, and he did stupidly selfless things all the time.)

In the dark of the night, Zuko tapped his finger against the floor, soft, quiet.

Questioning.

Ah, he thought. Here's the thing causing the tension Zuko's been running away from since we entered Ba Sing Se. The thing he'd been avoiding with pygmy pumas and vigilantism.

Jet tapped back, letting the prince know he was, in fact, awake, for whatever had a firebender still up this long after sunset.

There was a quickly-drawn breath, almost a gasp, like Zuko hadn't expected him to actually be awake. A long, silent stretch that made Jet wonder if he'd decided against it or fallen asleep, but then another tap-tap, even more hesitant than the first. Again, he tap-tapped back.

A deeper breath, and then, at last, "I'm not ashamed of standing for the 41st."

Jet's turn to suck in a sharp breath. Alright, that was definitely heavy enough to warrant the hesitance and double-checking on Zuko's end.

"But?" he asked. Because there had to be more after that.

More tapping, not checking, just restless movement. The moments stretched, and the tapping and Zuko's breathing both got choppy. It took long minutes, but then from the darkness, "I'm ashamed because I abandoned them," Zuko whispered, low and broken.

"What?" he hissed, and felt Zuko jerk in response. Jet grabbed firm hold of his temper because he couldn't afford for Zuko to misunderstand it right now. Let out a harsh breath, pulled in a calmer one. "What are you talking about?"

"'Never give up without a fight,'" Zuko quoted, soft and damning.

Something heavy dropped in his stomach. And then, on the heels of that, the anger. "You can't—" 'blame yourself!' Well, clearly that wasn't true. "You couldn't—" 'be expected to fight the fucking Fire Lord at thirteen!' Also clearly not true. 'raise your hand to your fucking father at thirteen.' Yes, that was rather the whole problem here, wasn't it?

Damn it. Damn it all. Fuck, how had Zuko managed to weave this web so perfectly to trap himself from every damn angle? Azula would be fucking impressed.

How was Jet supposed to untangle him from it without damaging anything beyond repair? Where was Iroh with his soothing tea when he actually needed it?

"I failed," Zuko explained. Condemned himself. "Twice. I stood and said I wasn't afraid! But then—! As soon as I saw— I folded. They needed me to stand for them and I begged for myself. Father—Father told me to fight, and he was right, and I didn't Jet I cried I—" Zuko closed his mouth so fast and hard that Jet heard the snap of his teeth clacking together. "That's. What I'm ashamed of."

How, Jet thought, numb and monotone. How had Zuko's trauma actually managed to be even worse than he'd thought? That was just—so much fucking worse.

Ozai had said he'd been teaching respect. What he'd actually been aiming for was obedience. Zuko had learned neither. Had taken away a different lesson entirely.

And Iroh's fucking knife. That Zuko carried everywhere. Fucking Spirits, how that inscription must burn in his mind, constant and accusing, from every damn quarter. Azula calling him coward and Ozai blaming him for not standing against his father and Fire Lord and Iroh's passive-aggressive condemnation and Zuko himself by far the harshest of all of them.

Zuko didn't just blame himself for being unfilial, for speaking out of turn, for just not being up to the task he'd set himself. No, he personally blamed himself for turning his back on his people and abandoning them to their deaths.

Zuko blamed himself for the deaths of the entire 41st division, because he'd been unfilial and hadn't fought his father and leader and cried and begged his father who punished his son for being too loyal by—

Jet was going to throw up. He was legitimately going to be sick, and he was only experiencing the turmoil second-hand.

Tui, La, Agni, and Guanyin, give me strength.

He had no idea how to fix this. He didn't even know where to begin. Because Zuko, according to Zuko, should have fought because never give up without a fight and he'd folded and gone belly-up at the first sign of opposition because that opposition was, and he really could not stress it enough, his fucking father.

I— And the thought just stopped there.

Jet shamelessly stole use of Zuko's firebending breathing techniques to try and rein himself in as he turned the web over in his mind. Then, with gentle, gentle fingers, he carefully reached out and gave a light tug on the closest strand he could see. "I will remind you that you were thirteen at the time."

"The Avatar is twelve."

Of course Zuko would compare himself to the savior of the world as a reasonable measure of his ability. Of course. Why wouldn't he? No genius prodigy sister to pit himself against to be found lacking? Obviously the Avatar, master of all elements, bridge between the mortal and spirit worlds, was the next best choice.

Alright, then. Next plan. Except he kind of stalled out there because the first next thing that came to mind was just. Beating his head against the nearest, hardest object.

Zuko's skull sounded promising.

He couldn't do this. He couldn't fix this. There was no thought but a great deal of desperation in him when he said, "You're not the Avatar. You're not your sister, either. You're Zuko and you're the prince and you're my prince, and dammit, Zuko, but you were thirteen fucking years old. I know you think you gave up but Azula can't beat your father and Iroh can't beat your father and neither of them were even in the ring with him and you were thirteen and Agni I'd have jumped between you and the flames if they hadn't held me back! You think you failed? Guess what? I failed, too! You saved my life and I stood there and did nothing, fucking dammit, Prince, I watched you burn and I did nothing." So much for breath control. He panted in the darkness, nails digging into his palms. "You burned and I thought he was killing you in front of me. So help me, Spirits, but I'm so fucking glad you didn't fight because if you had I think he would have killed you for real and it still wouldn't have helped the 41st because they'd still be dead and you'd be dead and sweet Agni I can still remember the smell in that room I'm so fucking glad you didn't fight."

At some point Zuko had stopped tapping and reached out and grabbed his hand, or Jet had, maybe. All he knew was that he had Zuko's hand held in a crushing death-grip and one of them or maybe both of them were shaking.

The silence between them was solid enough to tap on and brittle enough to spiderweb across the night.

"…You were only fourteen," Zuko rasped, voice as raw as both their mental wounds.

"Azula is fourteen," he shot back, just a little vindictively, because if Zuko was going to hold himself to impossible standards, Jet damn sure wasn't going to do less.

There was just… So much here and he'd never guessed how much pus was hiding under this particular blister.

They'd been children, and it felt like those words should mean something. Zuko thirteen and Jet fourteen and—

He'd watched Zuko burn like his village and his family had burned and he'd kind of wanted everyone and everything else to burn burn burn too.

It had not been a good week for Jet, or Zuko. Or anyone.

That prince had saved his life and been his friend and been his prince and was what royalty was supposed to be and Jet had failed him he'd failed so fucking bad he could still hear Zuko's screams he would always and forever hear those screams.

He had not left Zuko's side for three days until he'd regained consciousness, and he hadn't left the room until he heard the servants talking about the banishment and they were going to separate them only no the fuck they weren't because he was never letting Zuko out of his sight ever again and they could separate them over his dead body like they'd almost separated them over Zuko's almost dead body—

No.

So he'd left the room, and gone straight to the temple in the capital because the Fire Sages could fucking make themselves useful for once even by accident.

He'd slit open his palm and put his hand into the golden flames, offered his blood as proof of his fealty as he'd sworn himself to Zuko and the gold scar across his palm was proof of his accepted oath acknowledged by Agni himself.

Jet did not like Agni.

An Agni Kai was supposed to represent Agni's will in the mortal world through combat and if Zuko's fate that day was Agni's will, Jet very much did not like Agni.

He wasn't much of a fan of La, either.

A cold, watery hand wrapped around his heart and squeezed, because what must it have been like for Zuko to bow at the North Pole? Jet thought he'd known the sacrifice being made at the time but he obviously hadn't known a damn thing.

Slow, hesitant, tap-tap against the floor under their hands. Jet tapped twice against the poor hand he was crushing. "Still here. Just—" Oh, how to phrase this. "You knocked one of my turtle-ducks out of line and now they're all scrambling to try and catch up."

Nighttime behind the walls of Ba Sing Se just swallowed everything the moment either of them stopped speaking. Everything but Zuko's too-hot hand under his. "That's a good way to describe it."

Jet barked a short, sharp laugh. "Thought you were alone?" he asked.

"No." And didn't that just cut off any further argument he could make?

x

Neither of them spoke that morning and thankfully no one tried to make conversation. And over the course of the day, Jet cautiously prodded at the dark places in the depths of his mind.

He didn't like thinking about the time before the Agni Kai. But he'd been with Zuko for years by then. And he really really didn't like thinking about the time before he was with Zuko.

There was only room for so much fire in his head.

X