Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Jet grimaces as he sticks his hands into freezing cold dishwater, privately admitting that he’s definitely gotten spoiled with Sho’s firebending after all.  Still, he’s glad for the chore to occupy his hands and thoughts, the latter of which have been running nonstop since the earlier conversation on deck.

He doesn’t know how to bring up this information- the eclipse and the hidden civil war- to anyone outside of his squad.  How does he explain how Sho knows that stuff about the royal family?  Is being Fire Nation and spirit-touched enough of an excuse to keep him safe?  Does Jet trust Hakoda enough to tell him the truth?  Has Sho told Aang about his curse?

The Water Tribe aside, what about the Earth Kingdom?  They’re the ones with superior numbers on all fronts of the war save naval.  The colonies were their land originally.  How does Jet tell them to take advantage of hidden resistance?  Who is there left to even trust with that information?  It seems like every interaction with Earth forces goes sour- the Dai Li, Gan and Shan, and most likely General Fong. 

How can the war be won when the Earth army underestimates the Water Tribe’s fleet, and even removing the entire line of Fire Nation succession isn’t a guarantee to an end?  Aang had looked queasy at just the fish heads served for dinner tonight.  He won’t be killing anyone willingly.

Jet dunks a plate harshly enough into the bucket that it clunks against the bottom and reminds himself to calm down.  He remembers what cruel humor it’d felt like to flee Ba Sing Se’s walls in order to race towards a Fire Nation stronghold.  Now, it feels more like a metaphor, and a prophetic one at that. 

Can the Fire Nation be their own undoing?  If civil war can be fully inflamed, the scattered Water Tribe and Earth Kingdom alliance could finally deal significant damage against their century long enemies.  Or what if the only reason the civil rebellion hasn’t become a true revolution is because of the war?  If the resistance is forced to bide their time under Azulon’s iron fist, then they need an opening.  How does Jet convince anyone to stop fighting the war so the Fire Nation can tear itself apart for them?  It won’t work.  There’s not enough proof or time.  A genocide-inducing comet is returning in roughly six months.  No one can afford to wait on a might.

He pauses again, gripping the sides of the bucket with numb fingers before his frustration breaks a dish.  He almost wishes he hadn’t learned these details at all, because he doesn’t yet see a way to make use of them, so he just feels furiously impotent.

“Uh, if you don’t want to help, you don’t have to,” Panuk says, cautiously eyeing Jet’s white knuckled grip.  He’s on drying duty and it’d been a comfortable routine until Jet let his thoughts angrily run in circles yet again.

“It’s not the dishes,” Jet replies, relaxing his fingers and reaching for another cup to wash. 

Panuk hums absently.  “You wanna talk about it?”

Jet considers the offer as he scrubs a rag inside the cup.  “Maybe,” He admits, rinsing soapy water off before passing it off to the older teen.  Maybe getting another outside opinion will help him see something he’s missed.

Panuk dries the cup as he patiently waits for Jet to decide how much to share in a way that doesn’t prompt too many probing questions in return.

“I don’t think just getting rid of Azulon will end the war,” He finally says.  “There’s still the princes: the Dragon of the West and that firesnake Ozai.  If they inherit, then the war won’t end with either of them.”

Panuk frowns thoughtfully.  “Switch with me,” He says after a moment, and Jet gladly shifts over without protest to take his hands out of the cold water.  They get through a few more dishes in idle quiet before Panuk speaks again.

“I guess I hadn’t thought that far ahead yet, but you’re right.  We might have to get rid of all of them.  Who does that leave in charge then?”

“Iroh’s son, Lu Ten,” Jet answers, since that’s information that any Fire National or knowledgeable Kingdom officer could have and not a lost-prince-specific secret.  “Or anyone strong enough to fight for the damn throne.”

“Never heard of him,” Panuk admits, passing over a wet bowl.  “But does there have to still be a Fire Lord?  I mean, if the throne is what’s starting wars, then the position shouldn’t exist anymore.”

Jet takes the bowl and rubs a towel over its curves to dry it.  He knows that the past rebellion, primarily in the colonies, had opposed the war and Ozai in particular.  He doesn’t know if they’d want to get rid of the Fire Lord entirely or permanently.

“Is that what it’s like in the Water Tribes?” He inquires, thinking this might be another cultural difference between Water and Earth.  “You just get rid of what doesn’t work?”

Panuk hums again and scrubs at a plate like the clinging chill of the water doesn’t bother him.  “Did you know we have more than one chief?  We’re also from multiple tribes.  Hakoda’s just our war chief.  Once the war’s over, he’ll go back to being just like any other chief.”

So kind of like the Earth Kingdom’s city-state kings and the Earth King- not that the latter is of any use.

“Is it like a family thing?” Jet asks, accepting the plate to dry.  “Or is it like whoever’s the strongest?” 

Like any general or admiral could challenge for the throne in the Fire Nation if the royal family all died, or like Omashu, which holds historic tournaments for the strongest earthbender to lead them.

“A son can become the chief after his father,” Panuk explains, thankfully allowing Jet to probe into his culture.  “But it’s the people who decide if he’s good for the tribe.  If Hakoda ever does something to maliciously endanger the tribe, then he’ll be replaced.  You’ve noticed how he always asks for council before he decides on what we’re doing?”

Jet nods.

“It’s what makes him a good war chief.  He can make the tough calls, but he listens first and then decides what’s best when there’s time.  He lets himself be held accountable,” Panuk concludes, with the unsaid ‘unlike the Fire Lord’ nonetheless heard.

Jet ties what he’s just learned about the Southern Water Tribes’ hierarchy back to the original question.  “So let the people decide their leaders and get rid of the Fire Lord position all together?”

At this simplification, Panuk shrugs.  “It works for us, but I don’t know enough about the Fire Nation.  They probably wouldn’t accept it, especially if the idea came from us.”

No, they probably wouldn’t, Jet silently agrees as he waits for another dish to dry.  He thinks about the decades of royal portraits being sent out every few years so the commoners could personally recognize the royal family in order to promote loyalty.  He doesn’t know enough about the Fire Nation either- its history or its people- to know whether it’d help or just make the war worse to make the Fire Lord title negligible.  Even if the hidden Fire Nation resistance doesn’t like the current or future leadership, there’s no telling whether they’d be willing to rid themselves of the monarchy entirely.  So while this impromptu lesson about the Water Tribes has been informative, how to end the war is still just another hypothetical idea.

“Do you think about that all the time?  How to end the war?” Panuk prompts once Jet hasn’t continued the discussion after another bowl and cup have exchanged hands.

“You don’t?” He counters.

“Honestly?  I’m just trying to survive the next battle,” Panuk admits with a wry smile.

Jet feels a spike of guilt, reminded of what he’s adamant that his people avoid.  Hakoda had sent Panuk and Toklo with them to Pohuai Stronghold to let the teens escape the battle to rescue Aang.  Will he send them to the Air Temple, or will he need every available man on deck with weapon in hand?

It strikes Jet then that Panuk could die if or when he accompanies the fleet to the invasion.  He could die in any of the battles against the Fire Nation.  It’s obvious, in hindsight.  Jet had allowed himself to forget about the people outside of his significantly smaller group of freedom fighters.  All the tribesmen he’s gotten to know these past few weeks could all be gone by this time next month. 

“I guess that’s the difference between us,” Panuk continues, putting the final plate into the bucket of soapy water and either missing Jet’s stricken realization or graciously ignoring it.  “You’re already a leader and I’m still figuring it out.”

Jet works his jaw uselessly for a few seconds, at a loss on how to respond to that as well.  He quietly takes the last plate to dry, supposing that Panuk has seen Hakoda invite Jet into his council multiple times.  Jet is a leader.  He just didn’t realize that Panuk also acknowledged it.

“I’m gonna go dump this,” The older teen informs him, hefting the bucket to lug out.  “I’ll be back to show you where the dishes go.”

Jet offers a lame, vague noise of assent and puts the plate on the clean stack.  He can’t really place why Panuk identifying him as a leader took him aback so much.  It hadn’t struck him at all when Hakoda or Bato would acknowledge his authority, even if they did still include him as part of the children group.  Is it because Panuk is closer to his age but still older, or because Jet actually might consider him a friend- like Sho, someone he didn’t teach or raise?  Whatever the case, at least it’s gotten him to finally stop hammering his head against the ‘end of the war’ complications.

Speaking of recognizing authority, or a lack thereof, Jet runs into Sokka in the narrow hall after all the dishes have been put away.

“Watch it,” Sokka complains, but still nowhere near the energy he’d had this morning.

“My mistake,” Jet replies calmly, uninterested in prolonging Sokka’s pity party by becoming a participant.  He hadn’t seen Sokka at dinner, but somebody had probably brought him something.  It must’ve been nice to be allowed to sulk all day.  Jet can’t remember ever having that luxury.  There has always been something that needs doing. 

“Are you gonna move or…?” He prompts, because this hall is really only wide enough to pass another person if they both turn sideways, and Sokka has stayed square-shouldered.

“I don’t get what everyone sees in you,” Sokka says in return, and Jet bites back a groan.  “They listen to you, even when it’s a bad idea, but when I try to tell them…”

Jet doesn’t try to prompt him again when Sokka trails off.  He doesn’t have an answer that Sokka will want to hear.  He just wants to head to bed in Kustaa’s room and check that Sho feels alright about being below deck on a ship for the night. 

When he refuses to engage, Sokka huffs.

“Whatever,” He mutters, but deigns to turn sideways and allow them to pass each other going opposite ways.

Jet doesn’t try to guess where Sokka’s heading, but merely lets himself into Kustaa’s room. 

The healer has allowed his friends to push two of the beds together, and Longshot is helping Smellerbee layer their blankets so no one falls into the middle crack- which is likely Jet’s fate regardless.  Sho is standing in front of Kustaa’s shelf, his head tilted to read the book spines. 

Jet had returned the one he’d borrowed before dinner so that it wouldn’t get dirty, and he thinks that their firebender is comfortable here.  That’s a relief at least.  Sho doesn’t need another trigger around the tribe.  He’s undone his hair, and Jet stops that observation from going any further as soon as he realizes he’s doing it again.

They’ve had longer, more strenuous days- especially of late- but Jet’s still ready to turn in for the night.  His mind rather than his body feels stretched thin after reading and weighing complications within the Fire Nation for most of the day.  He’s looking forward to another night of uninterrupted sleep, that’s for sure.

-

Aang’s second lesson in firebending starts with meditation this time.  Jet isn’t exactly watching him closely this morning, but even he can tell that the Avatar easily grows bored.  He fidgets and repeatedly opens his eyes to look around.  The only thing that seems to keep him in place is the fact that Sho doesn’t move.

The picture of patience, the firebender remains in the spot staked out by the bow of the ship, eyes shut and fingers loosely laced together over his crossed ankles.  Jet’s sort of vaguely impressed that he can hold the pose for so long while ignoring Aang’s obvious impatience and everyone else moving around on the deck.  Sho’s either making a point for what Aang should be doing or he really doesn’t notice or care about the distractions.  Jet still doesn’t actually know how meditation works beyond feeling the sun or whatever.

He’s better suited to physical work.  If yesterday taught him anything, it’s that he needs to keep occupying his hands to prevent his brain from winding itself into a spiral.  While Sho meditates and/or ignores his student’s lack of focus, Jet’s found something else productive to do.

He’s pretty well experienced with ropes by now he’d say, but the Water Tribes do it differently on a ship.  He’s not sure when else the specific knowledge of how to anchor and loosen sails will come in useful, but it feels like familiar work for the most part.  Jet and Smellerbee pick it up quickly from Ranalok, while Longshot remained below deck with Kustaa to learn other hands-on techniques besides stitching.

Jet figures that the steady hands of an archer align well with that of a healer’s work, and after Pohuai… Well, whatever makes Longshot feel better about his odds of helping to prevent another disaster.

Chances are Kustaa won’t be able to spare much if any supplies to send them off with to the Northern Air Temple.  That’s alright.  Besides a little salve and a handful of bandages for Jet’s cuts, their first aid box from Ba Sing Se is otherwise untouched.  The scabs of his cuts have largely fallen off by now, no doubt to the marks’ detriment when he kept picking at them in mindless habit.  Their bruises are all but gone now. 

Jet meant what he said in that he doesn’t care about more scars, even on his face.  At least these ones meant something significant- simultaneously synonymous to Longshot’s safety and a promise that there won’t be a next time for the Yuyan.  Most of Jet’s scars mean something, but they usually had an element of failure to them.  These new ones are no different.

He has a few though, that are an undisputed mark of pride- some blood paid so one of his kids hadn’t bled instead.  Those ones meant the most, even still when Jet’s separated from those he earned the scars for in the first place.  The ones he liked the least… meant utter failure, a sacrifice in vain, or just that he’d done something stupid.  In hindsight, he’d done a lot of stupid things.

His body read like a history of past mistakes and costs paid.  It’s probably why he prefers to completely cover up, to tie down loose ends so nothing slips, with the excuse of protection being an honest reason, but an excuse all the same not to be seen.

Jet ties down another rope just as he’s learned, Smellerbee does the same, and for now, the work is finished and has been done right.

“I’m gonna go check on Longshot,” Smellerbee informs him and scarcely waits for a nod before she’s escaping inside.

The wind is a little biting after a while, even though it does show a Great Spirit’s favor at their backs.  Jet wonders if Fēng will help the fleet sail hastily north to the aid of their sister tribe, or if Her care ends once Her last living child is absconded to the temple.

“You wanna help me check the main mast?” Ranalok asks, and maybe the man’s offering because he also wants something to keep him distracted from what’s coming.

“Sure,” Jet agrees because if he’s good at ropes, he’s better at climbing.

The mast has handholds every so often, but Jet doesn’t have his swords to catch him if he slips.  It’s not a difficult climb, but he pays attention because of the wind and the unfamiliarity of the sails swelled up so nearby.  There’s no place to sit or walk out on, so Jet has to listen closely as Ranalok yells down to be heard as he details how to check on where the sail is rigged to the mast.

It’s important work, because while it’s called the main mast, there’s only one mast at all.  Ropes support and connect it to both the sails and the ship at both bow and stern.  Without the mast, there are no sails; without sails, they’re as good as dead in the water.  Maybe if they still had their waterbenders… but Katara’s the only one left and even she’s not (yet) strong enough to bend a current that will carry the whole fleet.

All the vulnerable sails, ropes, and wood worries Jet for a battle, especially when the competition is the hulking metal cruisers he’d seen docked at Pohaui, armed with firebenders and catapults.  He reminds himself that he doesn’t know everything and that the Southern fleet has survived this long in force.  They can take care of themselves.  They’re going to have to.

Jet and Ranalok descend from the mast, and he continues to shadow the man as Ranalok finds the next chore to do on deck.  They make sure the supplies are secured along the port and starboard railings and that eats up a good amount of time because there’s a lot of that in addition to what’s below deck in the barrels.

A burst of noise near the bow finally lets the whole boat know that Sho has quit meditating and decided to finally put Aang’s restlessness towards physical training.  Jet doesn’t intend to pay it any mind but then Ranalok is drawn off to confer with Hakoda, which leaves him at a loss of distractions.  There’s no point to tagging along.  Whatever they’re going to discuss won’t have to deal with Jet’s squad and he doesn’t need any more information crammed in his head to chew over. 

So he leans against the railing with his arms crossed and watches Sho lecture Aang through some bending paces.  True to prior suggestion, the firebender is focusing on blocking and redirection techniques first.  It’s still something that Jet has a bit of a hard time wrapping his brain around.  Before Sho, he hadn’t known that firebenders could even put fires out.  After all, all he’s ever seen them do is throw fire around and turn things into scars and ash. 

Thinking about it puts a foul taste in his mouth, but Jet doesn’t look away or leave.  He could go below deck to find something else to do, or even fetch Kustaa’s book to read, but he doesn’t like the idea of leaving Sho entirely alone up here, allies or not.  Not even for a few minutes, just in case.  There’s no real need for the wariness- or the paranoia, if he wants to truthfully name it- but he’d thought as much when Smellerbee and Sho had harmlessly sparred.  The crew knows better now, but it’s arguable if Aang does.  How much has Sho shared of his traumas when confronting the Avatar’s?  His wrists, at minimum.  Anything else?  Who knows?  Not Jet.

He has no basis to determine whether Aang is picking up the instruction well or not beyond Sho’s reactions.  It’s hard to get a read on whether the twist of Sho’s mouth is more pleased or irritated.  He’s a little of both, like he can’t decide which he should be feeling more, but at least he’s only offering short lipped praise aloud when Aang evidently gets something right.  Aang learning quickly is a good thing; for the world and all that.  Jet can understand where it might be frustrating to be confronted with a prodigy for a student though.  If someone picked up his tigerheads and mastered in a few minutes what it took him months to learn, he’d be torn between pride and jealousy too. 

It’s basically the first real sign of what Jet told Katara.  Sho’s patience isn’t an endless font.  As much as he apparently has in common with Aang, they’re still too different.  Sho hadn’t even wanted to teach the Avatar- not really.  They were just short on time and options, forced to make do with what they had regardless of what either Sho or Aang actually wanted.  The cracks are there; always have been, even if they’re waxed over to appear smooth. 

The sooner they get off this ship, the better.  The confined space, the mounting apprehension of widespread battle, the clash of egos and experience; all of it will be easier to handle when there’s fewer people and more space to walk away when emotions feel too large and claustrophobic. 

Jet reflexively glances over at movement in the corner of his eye, finding Sokka has emerged on deck with Toklo.  They’re both carrying weapons in hand, and Panuk follows them both a moment later, but without any.  The three Water teens take up a space of their own on the deck, away from the door below and a decent amount of space from the benders.  It’s obvious they’re going to spar.  Jet meets Sokka’s eyes briefly, and then very deliberately directs his gaze back to Sho and Aang.

It’s not any of his business if Sokka feels like training up after yesterday’s sulking.  At least he’s found something productive to do.  Jet won’t begrudge him that, even though he wishes he could join in.  Toklo and Panuk probably wouldn’t mind if he asked, but Jet doesn’t want to deal with Sokka’s issues in the process.  After what Sokka said last night, Jet doesn’t need to put himself in a situation where the guy feels any more inadequate in comparison.  All self-awareness to avoid drama aside, Sokka might take a chance at a grudge match and Sho is standing literally right there.  One wrong comment or move and the tenuous truce not to fight each other might soundly snap. 

Sho has definitely noticed the company, but he’s accepted it as an excuse to interrogate Aang on the forms he’s just learned.  The fire has to go somewhere else when redirecting, and even when blocking, according to the subsequent lecture.  When there are people standing nearby, what does Aang do to keep them from getting burned from his own defensive bending?  It’s an important question, and Jet pays attention as Aang treats it seriously. 

Watching the pair go through the stances again, Jet notes that there’s a safe zone directly behind a firebender’s back.  Most of the arm movements cut across the front of the body, tearing apart and shunting invisible attacks to the sides.  One is a forearm that goes vertically over the head, and another is a palm that flattens towards the floor at their feet.  Jet can partially imagine blasts of fire scattering into directionless tongues, spiraling out harmlessly into the air, and through all the stances, the safest place to be is a step behind a blocking firebender.  He’ll remember that.

A sharp clack draws his eyes back towards the other group.  The sounds of weapons meeting that are more bone and wood than metal is a duller sound than steel ringing against steel, but it’s instinctually wince-inducing.  It reminds Jet of the muted snaps of broken limbs against tree branches, and all of a sudden the cold north wind produces goosebumps under his clothes.  He shrugs the shiver away. 

Toklo and Sokka exchange a few more practice blows, plenty slow and obvious to get each other used to the differing weapons, body types, and experience.  Sokka is frowning very seriously as he watches and reacts to his sparring partner, and it’s an improvement over his “heft a club with two hands and run screaming at someone” style that Jet last saw him use in a fight.  Leaning on the opposite railing across from Jet, Panuk calls out a few tips about watching their feet, which Sokka immediately tries to incorporate only to get off balanced and tipped over by Toklo’s next jab.

Jet quickly shifts his gaze back to the benders before Sokka saw him watching.  Embarrassment and the need to show someone up will impede or end a fight as swiftly as overconfidence and underestimation.  The fact that Jet was there to hear Hakoda tell his son that he wasn’t ready for a fight, and then for Sokka to fall on his ass in his first practice spar when Jet’s also there to see it?  Yeah… awkward.  The best Jet can do is pretend not to have noticed.  It probably won’t work, but walking away is way too obvious. 

On the edge of his peripheral, Sokka shoots back to his feet, and the clacking resumes at a speedier pace. 

Come to think of it, Jet hasn’t seen Katara since dinner yesterday, which makes him wonder if the siblings have pulled a reverse of attitude.  Katara’s not likely sulking, but it is vaguely surprising that she hasn’t shown up once yet to check on Aang.  She’s probably just busy doing more familiar chores among her tribe.  Jet can understand that.  He’d give a lot to go back to the comfort of an old, true and tried routine.  Anything beyond that assumption is none of his business. 

Absently listening to Sho lecture Aang about the incomprehensible feeling required to firebend, Jet wonders about the offer their firebender had given Katara.  After they’d saved Sokka, she’d said up at the healing institute, to find the monster that took her mother when Sho had revealed that he knew the symbol of the Southern Raiders.  Jet wonders if they’ve talked about it since.  When would’ve they had the opportunity?  When will they get the opportunity?  How much longer will Katara be willing to wait to begin her hunt?  Until she’s a master waterbender?  How will she learn if there’s no one left from the north to teach her? 

Once again, there are no answers that Jet can see.  He puts yet another issue aside.  Nothing to be done but wait. 

Smellerbee reappears above deck, likely having grown bored below.  Predictably, she perks up when she sees Sho has moved on from boring meditation to stern instructions and movement, and also shoots a look towards the sparring Water teens.  She edges around the railing towards Jet, a book under one arm.

“Here,” Smellerbee says and shoves it at him, which he takes with a nod of thanks.  It’s the same book of Kustaa’s that he’s been reading before.  

Smellerbee plops down, elbows on her crossed knees and chin on the heels of her palms, watching the activity on the deck with the bored yet attentive gaze of a spectator who wants to join in but knows they’re better off not.  Jet sits beside her and cracks open the book to continue reading.  Now that Smellerbee is keeping her eyes up, Jet can afford to lower his. 

The day drags on.

-

It’s the third day of sailing, and they should be more than close enough for Appa to fly a group to the Northern Air Temple.  Jet woke up this morning when Sho got up to go drag Aang out for sunrise meditation and didn’t fall back asleep.  The air had changed too much.

Kustaa adds a needle and quality thread to their first aid box, and a single jar of salve.  It’s the most he can spare.  He doesn’t give the freedom fighters any books.  Jet feels grateful for that, even if he can’t complete his study of a single book.  It’s a sign that the healer isn’t feeling defeatist about the fleet’s chances if he wants to keep everything where it is, like nothing will change.  It’s something.

Bato is the one who shows Jet the arranged supplies set aside to keep the kids alive at the Air Temple.  A subdued Aang guides Appa to float next to the boat so the half barrel of water and watertight bags can be transferred over.  Already packed and brought above deck, four bags are also put onto the bison’s saddle in the process.

Jet doesn’t know how much weight Appa can carry, but he feels a little bad regardless.  He hopes it’s a short flight.  The four of them are waiting near the railing closest to the bison, blatantly avoiding attempts to say goodbye.  It’s not as if most of them even know each other familiarly anyway. 

Panuk and Toklo aren’t coming with them.  Jet thinks about his fingers going numb in frigid dishwater, and the discomfiting clack of bone based weaponry, and deliberately does not intrude upon the Water Tribe’s parting words with each other.

Aang is hovering adrift in the separation between freedom fighters and tribe, painfully at a loss to where he should even stand.  It’s both his fault and completely out of his hands as to what’s happening now.  Sho has mercy and drags him under one arm when Aang’s indecisive, guilty twitching starts to look like it might veer into crying.   

They wait.

Jet turns around and faces the ocean out over Appa’s back when Katara and Sokka finally emerge from below deck with their packs.  This time, he’s determined not to see any of it.  It has nothing to do with him. 

Sho’s hair grabs at his attention- again, habitually, stupidly and helplessly.  He’s left it in another loose tail again.  Smellerbee was too restless this morning to do anything than the single braid for the short section.  The wind tugs at dark strands and splays them at the corner of Jet’s left eye.  Jet’s fingers twitch, and he curls them into a fist and tucks that arm across his chest in the opposite direction for good measure. 

He focuses on the water, consciously avoids licking his lips so the wind won’t bite him on the mouth, counts the supplies on Appa’s saddle, and yes, fine, alright, even looks at Sho’s hair- anything to keep his mind from latching on to the conversations happening behind him as a family and tribe are separated yet again.  It’s not his place to hear the words.  He doesn’t want to know them.

Sho murmurs something to Aang, low and private that’s a little harder to ignore for its proximity, but Jet manages by resorting to counting his own breaths.  It’s nothing to do with him either what words of comfort the Avatar needs to hear right now. 

Jet’s realizing that he’s not good for company when they’re not his to care for.  Or maybe it’s just these people in particular- once allies turned enemies turned allies again.  People who know him better than he wants them to, who he doesn’t want to lie to again.  He can’t provide comfort if it’s a lie.  He doesn’t know enough to tell the truth, so he doesn’t say anything at all.

He bites his tongue- just the very tip, maybe the side, more skin than muscle- just to feel the tiny persistent sting of it.  Pain on a technicality, knowing that’s what the sensation is, but it can hardly be called that.  Pain is something unavoidable, not something to be sought out.  A distraction and a reminder, as well as a way both backwards and forwards.  He relaxes his teeth and rolls his tongue soothingly against the roof of his mouth.  It doesn’t hurt.  It wasn’t enough to in the first place.

Jet hasn’t spoken to Hakoda for all the time spent on the boat the past two days and so far of the third.  There’s no need.  Everything’s already been understood.  He hadn’t shared what he’d learned about the Fire Nation either.  There’s no point yet.  The fleet has a more immediate concern to focus on first. 

Jet just wants to go already.  He relies on his friends to tell him when, too insistent on the belief that what’s being left behind has nothing to do with him.  His reasons, his priorities, are still true.  There’s nothing wrong with survival.  Loss is inevitable.  It’s smart to minimize his losses. 

Longshot nudges against his shoulder gently, subtly enough it could just be a shift of the archer’s weight, and Jet tastes blood.  He relaxes his jaw and prods his tongue around his teeth to find the source.  He doesn’t find anything that hurts. 

Leaving isn’t enough, but it’ll have to be.  There’s nothing else.