Chapter Text
On the first day of summer, the walls of Caldera City crumbled and Fire Lord Ozai was imprisoned for several reasons, all of which were publicly released by the newly established governing council via PDF “for the world’s consideration.”
On the second day of summer, the walls of Ba Sing Se fell as a majority of the Dai Li officially defected from the Hou-Ting dynasty. An insular battle ensued between the crown’s army and a militia group called the Freedom Fighters that lasted for a week. Reinforcements arrived from Omashu and Kyoshi Island to assist the Freedom Fighters, allowing the group to seize control and liberate the city. Turns out that the reigning dynasty had assisted the Fire Nation in its previous attacks against the Water Tribes, and had been plotting a large-scale attack on the Air Nomads. Refer to the aforementioned PDF for more information; this is not the point right now.
On the eighth day of summer, the newly established governing council of the Fire Nation revealed themselves to be members of the secret Order of the White Lotus. Queen Jayashri of Omashu, Master Pakku of Agna Qel’a, and Monk Gyatso of the Air Nomads were sworn in as officers of the council, alongside Master Piandao, ex-Admiral Jeong Jeong, and (the presumed dead) General Iroh. An invitation was extended to the Southern Water Tribe, who have yet to respond. The PDF goes more into detail about it all, but none of this is the point. Just steps one must take to reach the point.
On the ninth day of summer, Aang finds out he is the Avatar via the lost Fire Nation prince’s Hawker account. This is the point.
HAWKER UPDATE!
zuko @ZukoLives:
In hindsight, Aang should’ve run away with a lot more style. This is technically what he’s good at— not running away, per se, but the ability to wander and adapt, as a nomad does. He should’ve left a note (or a voicemail, or a text), taken enough non-perishables to last him a few days, and simply disabled location services on his phone. That’s the nomadic way: wander and adapt in a harmonious method that reflects his inner peace like a mirror at anyone looking. But Aang is also sixteen.
In hindsight, he should’ve run away with a lot more style.
In reality, he panics.
Aang stares at the number one trending topic worldwide (#AvatarAang) for a minute, takes a deep breath, and promptly throws his phone off the Southern Air Temple. Out of sight, out of mind. Momo sees the whole thing. His big, glowing eyes follow the trajectory of Aang’s MoonPhone until it disappears under some clouds.
“I think technological innovation set our society hundreds of years back,” Aang explains to the lemur. “I just found out I’m the Avatar from a meme that the dead Fire Nation prince posted.”
Momo doesn’t say anything, but he does glide over to perch on Aang’s shoulder, which Aang takes as a comforting gesture. Aang proceeds to grab a 12-pack of Flameo Instant Noodles from under his bed, climbs into Appa’s saddle, and steals away into the night.
On the other side of the world, in Caldera City, the council weighs their options.
Zuko should’ve been here three days ago. Instead, he stopped communications entirely, the Freedom Fighters claimed not to know a thing, and now, Zuko has revealed the identity of the Avatar to the entire world via a verified Hawker account.
Gyatso had plans to return to the Southern Air Temple to have that last discussion with Aang privately. In the hours since the Hawker was sent, Aang has apparently stolen Appa and vanished.
“Years of careful planning, undone in a day!” Jeong Jeong growls, pacing the length of the room as he rants. He’s been at it for twenty minutes. “How are we supposed to hold a coronation without a Fire Lord? You’re telling me not a single person on this planet has spotted a flying bison!?”
The last time Iroh gently suggested that Jeong Jeong sit down and meditate, he’d received a blast of fire over his shoulder. Knowing Jeong Jeong, it had definitely been a warning. So Iroh says nothing, and sips his green tea.
“Something must’ve happened in Ba Sing Se,” Piandao mutters, mostly to himself, but loud enough for Iroh to hear from his seat two places away. They’re the only two in the room who’ve known Zuko since his childhood.
This kind of irrational, public meltdown isn’t normal for Zuko—sure, he’s still a tetchy hothead, but in the past seven years, he’s learned to at least put on the Blue Spirit mask before drawing attention to himself. Something must have happened in Ba Sing Se.
“Aang will come to us,” Gyatso says again, because it's the only thing he’s offered at all in this conversation. With absolute confidence, as well, even though he has a tight grip on his phone.
“Something must’ve happened in Ba Sing Se,” Iroh calls to the room, ignoring the glare Jeong Jeong sends his way, “that my nephew has not told us about.”
“What do you suggest we do?” Pakku massages his temples, attempting to rid himself of the migraine that came after the Hawker team refused his demands to suspend Zuko’s account.
“Send someone after him.” Iroh knows they can’t risk themselves, not when the world is still so fragile. A steady stream of advisors from around the world began trickling into Caldera City days ago; every day since Ozai fell has been filled with meetings on how to move forward, how to properly usher in this new era of peace, and now that the Avatar has been revealed, there’s no way any of them can go after Zuko. But someone has to.
“Azula?” Gyatso suggests. He’s taken an unexpected liking to her.
“She’s not ready!” Jeong Jeong spits.
“Neither is Zuko,” Piandao agrees.
Jayashri clears her throat and waits until the men look in her direction before she speaks: “Might I suggest someone?”
HAWKER UPDATE!
zuko @ZukoLives: want to hear my uncle’s favorite tea joke?
zuko @ZukoLives: actually i can’t remember the rest but the punchline was “leaf me alone! i’m bushed!”
Hawker Haru @Haru: @ZukoLives Eh.
zuko @ZukoLives: @Haru it’s a funny joke, haru.
Hawker Haru @Haru: @ZukoLives Have other people agreed or are you just so convinced because you like it so much?
zuko @ZukoLives: @Haru haru. stop it. you don’t mean this.
@WhiteLotus: @ZukoLives @Haru Call please.
zuko @ZukoLives blocked @WhiteLotus
“This was a stupid idea,” Aang tells Momo. His voice cracks halfway through the sentence, and Momo snores right through it.
Aang has had enough time to reflect, and already came to the conclusion that it’s time to go back. A strip of pink rises up over the horizon, an indication that he’s been flying for hours and the morning’s about to greet him. Aang’s not exactly sure how many hours it’s been or what direction he’s been flying in.
Yeah, he kind of blanked out at some point, lost in his own thoughts, and just let Appa guide him.
Okay, so he’s the Avatar.
(with excitement, now)
He’s the Avatar!
(better)
The monks knew. Gyatso knew. Somehow, the not-actually-dead prince of the Fire Nation knew.
Why did that guy get to find out before he did? Since when is Gyatso a part of the White Lotus? Aang doesn’t know. He made his peace with it about an hour ago after the initial shock settled and the betrayal eased away. Logically, this is not a betrayal. All the Avatars find out when they’re sixteen. It’s tradition.
But a meme? Did Avatar Roku find out from a meme? Aang thinks with a tinge of residual bitterness. Wishes, again, that technology was never invented. Roku died right at the dawn of social media. He had the right idea.
(okay, backtrack)
Logically, it’s not the meme’s fault, and it’s not the lost prince’s fault, either.
Aang vaguely recalls being nine years old and learning that the Fire Nation had attacked the Southern Water Tribe, claiming they’d killed the Fire Nation prince. The chief’s wife had been killed in the battle. He’d been too young to understand the implication, but the knowledge came as the years wore on and treaties were written, broken, and written again. But it wasn’t just the prince—it was everything. Tensions had been boiling since Roku was young, and the former Avatar had apparently spent his incredibly long life pushing the world from the brink of war. The Water Tribes allied themselves against the Fire Nation, the Earth Kingdom was breaking as lesser leaders publicly denounced the throne and seceded, and the Fire Nation threatened “action.”
The Air Nomads minded their business.
The past seven years were bookended by political unrest, starting with the attack on the Southern Water Tribe, and ending with the fall of Fire Lord Ozai. The past hundred years were littered with half-wars, rebellions, revolutions, and a whole lot of corruption. Avatar Roku died trying to fix it.
That’s what Gyatso had said. And the TL;DR Hawker thread on the sociopolitical climate of the world. Aang has a lot to catch up on.
Mostly, Aang remembers that he couldn’t visit Kuzon anymore after the Fire prince’s “assassination.” Now, he wonders if he could request Kuzon as his firebending teacher. He doubts General Iroh—Councilman Iroh? Fire Lord Iroh? The future of the Fire Nation’s leadership is unclear— whatever. The point is that the not-dead guy seems busy undoing, like, a hundred years of tyranny within the Fire Nation, and won’t have time to teach Aang to firebend.
That’s one of the reasons Aang has to go back to the Southern Air Temple. He’s never firebent before in his life and doesn’t know where to begin. He brought no other food with him but the 12-pack of Flameo Instant Noodles, and he can’t boil water to make it. So he has to go back to the Southern Air Temple before his stomach eats itself, and before anyone wakes up.
The more important reason is that Aang is sixteen and he makes stupid choices, but he isn’t stupid. The monks will realize that Aang is missing and, considering his identity as the Avatar was revealed to the entire world overnight on the precipice of peace, they’re going to jump to terrible conclusions. Someone kidnapped him (Ozai sympathizers, maybe) and the last thing a politically, spiritually, and emotionally fragile world needs right now is a dead Avatar.
Aang is sixteen and understands that the future of the world is on his shoulders.
Appa is a flying bison and understands none of that in a way that matters, but that he is tired and will land on that very soft-looking pile of furs, against Aang’s best wishes.
The Southern Water Tribe is roughly an eight hour flying bison trip from the Southern Air Temple. Aang has been too lost in his own thoughts to acknowledge the passage of time. Doesn’t know he’s been flying that long, or that he’s flown even further south, until his eyes focus back on reality as Appa begins to descend.
Appa avoids the towering ice buildings of the central city, opting for the sprawling suburbs north of its limits. He lands, finally, in someone’s backyard, on a pile of furs left on the ice.
“And now I’m in the South Pole,” Aang says to no one in particular as Appa dissolves into a rumbling snore. He jumps off the saddle just as Appa rolls over onto his side, quietly touching down a few feet away. Momo promptly joins him and shrieks in distress as Appa rolls again and crushes the noodles.
Beyond glacial suburbia, the sun begins its ascent over the horizon. Stars and other celestial bodies twinkle in the fading night as orange, yellow, and pink bleed upwards. As the sun comes into view, Aang closes his eyes against its light and tries to feel it. Tries to imagine what it's like for a born firebender (which, technically, he is). He can’t decide if the warmth in his heart is evidence of his inner flame, or all in his head.
Enough thinking. Eight hours of thinking has turned his brain to mush, and the gravity of everything is taking advantage of his weakened defenses to try and get a rise out of him. So he sits on the ice, folds his legs across each other and straightens his spine, planting his palms on the spot where his ankles cross each other.
Aang has to meditate on it, like he’s been doing since he was a kid. Like Gyatso had taught him to do—clear your head, clear your heart, listen to your soul.
Unfortunately, it’s a little hard to hear his soul over the sudden shouting behind him, and harder to ignore the string of curses that follow. Something something you filthy fucking rat bastard I’ll cook you alive is as far as Aang allows himself to hear before he’s airborne, a gust of wind carrying him towards the source of the noise.
The source being Momo and some guy with a wolf-tail fighting over a bundle of seal jerky.
“Momo! Stop! Leave him alone!” Aang grabs for Momo, who expertly dodges his hands and winds up yanking the guy so far left that he slips on ice.
Aang propels a wall of air to cushion the blow before Momo’s victim hits the ice. Wolf-tail’s grip doesn’t loosen once— if anything, his new position, seated on the floor, inspires a rush of determination that has him yelling out a battlecry and using his other hand to try and bat at Momo. Somehow, the guy’s losing this tug-of-war. Aang lunges for Momo again and manages to get a grip around his waist. Pulls, wrestles, begs at his demonic companion who might’ve just flipped him off, actually. Who taught a lemur to do that?
With one final yank, Wolf-tail manages to dislodge the bundle from Momo’s tiny grip. The force of the action sends him heels over head, splayed out on his back, the seal jerky flying around him in an explosion of meat that has Aang wrestling Momo into a headlock to stop the lemur from pursuing. Momo escapes, of course, with the application of brute force, and makes it about two feet out of Aang’s arms before a stream of water hits him. Momo freezes mid-flight, only his head free, as the water turns to ice.
Aang follows the frozen trajectory to its source behind him— a girl in a blue parka, demanding: “Sokka, what are you doing!?”
“Getting mugged by a rat and a monk,” Wolf-tail, Sokka, replies, now on his knees and collecting the fallen jerky.
Sokka glowers at Aang like it’s Aang’s fault that Momo woke up and chose violence.
Maybe it is. Maybe it has to do, once again, with the fact that Aang left the Southern Air Temple with nothing but uncooked Instant Noodles. Which, by the way, never would’ve happened if the lost prince never posted that stupid meme and announced to the world that Aang’s the Avatar. Which he never would’ve gotten the chance to do if Gyatso had told Aang that he’s the Avatar instead of spending his birthday overthrowing the Fire Lord. Which never would’ve happened if Avatar Roku did his damn job a hundred years ago!
So in a moment of absolute grumpiness, Aang, against his best wishes, pitches a fit.
“Mug you!? Momo’s hungry and he’s not a rat! He’s a lemur from a noble dynasty within his species, so maybe you should show him some respect!”
There are fewer things less dignified than yelling at strangers over royal fauna in the middle of a tundra.
Aang wouldn’t know because he’s never pitched a fit like this in his life—never been so Spirits-damned angry before that he felt it in his bones—never felt so out of his element before—
“Oh, my bad, let me just get on my fucking knees and kiss the royal lemur’s ass!” is the last thing Aang hears before the world around him goes dark.
Aang blinks, and he’s in an abyss. Nothingness surrounds him for infinity. His eyes register the expanse of space around him as black, like he’s in some sort of shadow realm, but he knows that’s not it. That’s his physical body making sense of something beyond its comprehension. Beneath him, above him, around him— it’s all black. Nothingness.
He stands too quickly and stumbles, his feet soundlessly splashing in water that isn’t there.
“Hello?”
Nothing. Silence. He tries to conjure up an air-scooter and fails. There’s no breeze even as his robes billow, no water as his feet splash, a complete absence of heat though he doesn’t feel cold, and Aang wonders if he shouted himself to death and is now stuck in a Spirit-world waiting room.
It feels like 30 years and 30 seconds simultaneously. There’s no relief attached to breathing, but in the moment it takes to sigh, the nothingness tilts and deposits Aang back into reality. The sunrise gleaming off the ice blinds him for a second as he’s dumped on his ass onto it, jostling a groan of discomfort out of him.
“Aang,” a voice says, unfamiliar for a second.
He has to press the heels of his palms into his eyes to wipe the brightness away. Squints his eyes open as twin shadows shield him from the sun, and finds himself staring up at some guy and a girl he doesn’t know. His mind gives him the name Sokka to attach to the guy.
The girl kneels down and tentatively takes his hands in her gloved ones. Aang’s eyes drift from the gentle clasp to her face; she looks a lot like Sokka, enough to be his sister. Same brown skin, brown eyes, and high cheekbones, but where Sokka’s all angles, she is blurred at the edges. Softer. Full lips, fuller cheeks, both tinged a dusty garnet from the cold, and Aang understands, deep in his soul, that she is the prettiest girl in the world.
“What happened?” Aang asks.
What happened, as told by Sokka and Katara:
“So I was on my way to my dad’s with some seal jerky, right, tired as shit, we all are ‘cause no one’s slept since the news broke last night about—well, you— but we’re also supposed to decide whether we’re joining the Fire Nation council. I’m all for it ‘cause strategy, you know? Stupid that every nation’s got representation so far but us, when we’re the ones that suffered the most ‘cause of Fire Lord Asshole, and if we let fucking— sorry, freaking─ Pakku make decisions on our behalf, he’s going to screw us over—”
“Sokka—”
“See? Katara agrees. Allies, but the dude came here once and started barking orders at Katara like she didn’t kick his ass once before—”
“Sokka, the point!”
“Oh, right, my bad. Whatever. So your lemur attacked me for the goods, right, and took me completely off guard. I haven’t slept in like, two days, because before last night’s emergency Avatar meeting, I had gotten back from a hunt with Dad’s Boyfriend—”
“His name is Bato, actually, and he’s second-in-command around here—”
“Katara. Don’t be rude. Let me tell Aang about how halfway through his meltdown, a twister came out of the sky and swallowed him— yeah, dude, like a cyclone, and the sky got all dark—and spat out fucking Avatar Kuruk. Avatar Kuruk! Holy shit! And he’s all, ‘don’t be afraid,’ and Katara’s screaming — ”
“You were screaming, Sokka. You.”
“— and he’s like, sorry we have to meet like this but Aang just triggered the Avatar state because you disrespected his lemur, so it was either this or we let him rip through your city and cause insurmountable wreckage! I’m like, what! Hold up, this kid’s the Avatar? And Kuruk’s like, yeah, this kid’s the Avatar. And then he started saying something to Katara but I was distracted— uh, comparing… our muscles, right? Because I don’t know if you’ve met him, but Avatar Kuruk is jacked. He’s like, six-four and his arms are the size of my head, and his smile is like, what I imagine warmth looks like—”
“Aang doesn’t want to hear about your crush on Avatar Kuruk—”
“It’s not a crush! It’s an admiration, Katara, damn! Anyway, the point is, you’re the Avatar, and we’re very sorry for disrespecting your lemur and accusing you of robbery.”
Meanwhile, the sun rising over Omashu does absolutely nothing to deter the party in the streets. Long-seceded from the Earth Kingdom, Omashu’s citizens have been celebrating in the streets since the fall of the tyrannical Earth and Fire monarchies, welcoming this new era of peace with open arms, dancing feet, and absolute bangers!
Bumi can barely hear the bangers, however, since he is currently being screamed at by a merchant. He wakes up in one of the mail carts, on top of the splintered remains of a cabbage stand, covered in cabbage leaves as if last night’s Drunk Bumi tried to use them as a blanket.
“This is the fifth time! The fifth time you’ve destroyed my stock!” The merchant’s red in the face, somewhere between rage and despair, wailing over his cabbages and spitting vitriol at a teenager.
“Can we have this conversation later?” Bumi stretches. His spine cracks in satisfying little pops all the way down, and he shifts his weight forward to leap out of the cart and land on his feet, towering over Mr. Cabbages. Immediately regrets it, however, as his brain seems to smack against the inside of his skull like wet paper. The moment he takes for himself, pressing his palm against his forehead and squeezing his eyes shut against the sun, is hardly calming. Mr. Cabbages is still screaming.
So Bumi shoves a cabbage in his mouth and rides a rock-wave in the opposite direction.
Palms at his pants until he feels the outline of his RockPhone in his pocket, and extracts it with the intention of finding out where the hog-monkeys Toph is. Still on the streets, partying, as his last memory serves, or did she wind up actually sleeping last night? She’s been dancing in the streets for three days in a row now.
What he finds is a cracked screen (shit) and thirty notifications from Toph (mega shit). A series of unanswered facetimes and missed calls, including ten voicemails─ Toph never leaves voicemails.
She picks up on the first ring and barks: “Where the fuck are you!?”
“Near Duyi’s,” Bumi replies, sliding to a stop once Duyi’s Noodles comes into his line of sight. He grins and stomps on the ground, sending a wave down the street and through the crowd of partiers, who flow along with it, shouting in excitement.
The city’s never been so alive!
“Excuse me, blind girl walking here!” Toph’s voice carries over the phone and the crowd, signalling that she’s close enough for Bumi to hang up.
He’s at least a foot taller than everyone here and still doesn’t spot her until she’s right in front of him, jabbing her finger up into his chest.
“I’ve been trying to call you for an hour, Muscles!” She glares.
“Keeping you on your toes,” Bumi replies. “and ding dong, the monarchy’s dead!”
Toph doesn’t even try to entertain him. “Queen Jayashri called. She wants us to find Prince Zuko.”
“The dead one?”
“Yeah. He spilled the beans on Avatar Aang—”
“AANG!?”
“— all over Hawker and went missing, but they need him back in the Fire Nation,” Toph continues as though she didn’t just drop a metaphorical mountain over Bumi’s head. “She said it’s up to you and me to find Prince Sparky somewhere in the Earth Kingdom. Preferably before he causes another international incident. Said we’ll get a looooot of gold pieces. Are you down?”
The last time Bumi saw Aang in person was four years ago, while Aang was passing through Omashu on his way back to the Southern Air Temple. It was right after Aang got his tattoos, and Bumi had taken him on a celebratory slide down Omashu’s mailing system. Then, the Earth and Fire armies showed up and… well, Bumi got lost in the Earth Kingdom for a while. It’s a long story. It’s how he met Toph.
The point is he hasn’t seen his oldest friend in years, the world’s open again, peace is coming, and it’s about time to get the gang back together.
“I’m down if,” Bumi pauses for dramatic effect, but mostly to grin, “Kuzon joins us.”
“Your Fire Nation friend?” Toph scrunches her nose. “The one all the way in the Fire Nation?”
“Yes.”
She doesn’t say anything for a moment, which Bumi takes as her sussing out his bluff. Toph sighs a moment later once she realizes he’s being absolutely serious, and nods. “Fine. I’ll let Queenie know.”
Katara and Sokka are the children of Chief Hakoda, the leader of the Southern Water Tribe, who is not at all prepared for a visit from the Avatar, and immediately shuts the door in their faces.
The door opens a moment later and he tells them: “You really shouldn’t sneak up on people like that.”
“I threw my phone into an abyss,” Aang informs one of the most powerful men in the world. “Can I use yours before I start an international incident?”
“You already did.” Chief Hakoda steps aside, allowing them to enter his office.
The chief’s office, located at the back of the house and behind an ivory door (made of polar orca teeth— Aang can’t tell if he knows that because he read it online, or if it’s a wayward thought from one of his past lives), is a square room full of work. Scrolls strewn across a desk at the center of the room, stacks of books overflowing from the already full floor-to ceiling shelves, and a phone ripped off the wall all point to the very obvious fact that Chief Hakoda is the type of man to bring his work home with him. There’s a basket of furs next to a couch that Aang suspects the man sleeps on, but he’s not judging. That’s probably as good a glimpse at his own future as any.
Chief Hakoda isn’t alone in his office. There’s another, taller, man leaning over the back of the desk chair, typing at something on a laptop. He glances towards them and shows absolutely no surprise at Aang’s presence. Just tilts his head and fixes Aang with a heavy stare and a firm set of his lips, like it’s Aang’s fault that he’s the Avatar.
“Bato,” Chief Hakoda calls, pulling the man’s attention away from Aang. He jerks his head in the direction of the television mounted on the wall above the fireplace, so Bato produces a remote from his pocket and clicks it on.
As soon as the television turns on, Aang’s greeted by the sight of his own face plastered across the screen as an anchor reports on the Avatar’s disappearance. It’s a picture clearly pulled from the Air Nomads’ website: Aang, twelve years old, the day he’d received his tattoos and been declared an airbending master. Crescent moon eyes from how big he was smiling, cheeks round and dimpled deep, freckles dark and multiplied from spending a majority of that year at the ever-sunny Eastern Air Temple. It was the worst, at first, because he was separated from Gyatso and the world, as the Eastern Air Temple wasn’t technologically inclined for the purpose of enlightenment. The nuns said that playing games on his phone or video-calling his friends were “worldly distractions,” and he’d never reach true mastery if he kept himself tied down to the physical realm. Aang took that as a challenge and in only a year, at twelve years old, became the youngest airbending master in the world!
(no one’s broken the record since, by the way)
“Shit,” Aang sighs.
“Yeah, shit,” Bato nods.
“Do you want me to call up the Southern Air Temple for you?” Katara asks, fingers in position at her MoonPhone.
Aang shakes his head. “I have to talk to Monk Gyatso.”
Katara’s eyes flash briefly to her father’s, exchanging a look with him, before she smiles at Aang and says, “Of course, follow me.”
As the door shuts behind them, Aang hears Sokka telling Momo that the lemur has no diplomatic immunity in the Southern Water Tribe. He snorts, falling into step beside Katara as she leads him away from the Chief’s office and away from the broadcasts. The rest of the house is quiet. Beyond these walls, the world is a shitshow, and it is partially his fault, but for the first time since last night, Aang feels at peace. Just for a moment, everything is quiet.
“We’re not early risers,” Katara explains as they head into the kitchen. She gestures for him to take a seat at the table while she pours him some tea. “It’s a special blend from Ba Sing Se. A friend sent it before… yeah. Apparently it’s good for relaxation.”
Before the revolution, she wants to say, and the lack of clarification reminds Aang that the world is not yet as quiet as this kitchen. He has a phone call to make. Katara slides her MoonPhone over only after he takes a long drink of the tea, and says she’ll be back in the office whenever he’s done. Katara squeezes his hand gently before she leaves and smiles at him again; it’s so much more relaxing than the tea.
Gyatso picks up on the second ring. “I am not interested in an extended warranty—”
“There’s no way that the lost prince made a mistake, right?”
Aang knows the answer before Gyatso says, “No. The only mistake made was on our part, with the prince.”
“Is he in trouble?”
“I hope not,” Gyatso replies, before he falls silent.
All Aang can hear is the steady sound of Gyatso’s breathing, and his own blood in his ears. He has to say something, anything, and settles on: “How do I know if I’m ready for this?”
This. This Avatar business, he doesn’t say, because a little bit of last night’s hysteria is burrowing itself into his skin, desperate to get into his bloodstream so it can travel to his heart and stop it completely. Nuke the responsibility before it comes.
“Your questions will be answered when you enter the Air Temple Sanctuary,” Gyatso explains like it’s obvious, but not unkindly. He’s speaking like Aang is ready for all this Avatar business. “Inside, you will meet someone who will guide you on your journey. When you are ready, he will reveal himself—”
“Avatar Kuruk?” Aang doesn’t mean to interrupt. It just kinda spills out of him.
On the other end of the line, Gyatso stutters over his fragmented sentence before replying, “What?”
Aang’s ears feel hot. “I—um, is the person Avatar Kuruk?”
Gyatso takes a moment before he asks, with an undertone of suspicion: “Why would it be Avatar Kuruk?”
“He was here before,” Aang offers, “because I accidentally triggered the Avatar state after Momo got in a fight with Chief Hakoda’s son.”
“You’re in the Southern Water Tribe?”
“Yeah, at the Chief’s house.”
Gyatso hmms on the other end, and Aang can see exactly what he’s doing, in his mind’s eye, from years of companionship. He can see the way Gyatso’s lips purse and his brows come together, minutely, a microexpression that ripples the monk’s usual serenity and reminds Aang that Gyatso is a person just like he is, and that people don’t have all the answers. But then Gyatso aahs in that delighted little way of his that Aang recognizes as scheming.
“Aang,” he says, and Aang can see the smirk in Gyatso’s voice that his own lips mirror, “would you like to begin your Avatar training in the Southern Water Tribe? Surely, if Avatar Kuruk has made an appearance, you are in a place of great energy. I understand that Chief Hakoda’s daughter is a waterbender?”
He’s giving Aang an out on a shiny silver platter. Aang isn’t sure what from, but if Gyatso is giving him a chance to avoid whatever it is that’s coming for him, Aang would be stupid not to take it. People don’t know everything, but Gyatso knows enough things. He knows Aang.
Aang’s smile stretches so wide that his cheeks hurt. It’s a happy pain. He nods, even though Gyatso can’t see him. “I think that would be best.”
“Fantastic! I’ll let the monks know of your decision. If you could, please pass along my personal number to the Chief. I would like to discuss this arrangement further with him.”
Cheers erupt around the bar as several glasses of baijiu crash to the floor from an unsteady waitress’s hands. Jin manages most of a whoop, cut short by another yawn. Dust mingles in the air where sunlight streams in through the window beside the bar, which only triggers another yawn out of Jin.
Zuko tosses back another shot.
“Li.” Jin uses the fake name in public. She leans forward, resting her forearms on the bar to pillow her head, and blinks up at him blearily. “Let’s go back to the inn.”
“We just got here,” Zuko lies.
“It’s morning.”
“It’s Zhang Tai.”
Jin has created a monster. She watches as Zuko checks his phone, scowls, and slams back another shot. Sitting up, Jin catches the bartender’s eye and signals for him to cut Zuko off. He’s gotten drunk and sobered up again twice already over the course of the night, and he’s quickly approaching a third. That, and Jin’s pretty sure that Zuko’s spent all their money on alcohol. Now, to wait for the right moment to sneak out on the tab, or wait until Zuko sobers up enough again so they can fight their way out. She eyes the bartender’s arms, right by his wrists, where she can see the subtle glint of daggers hidden beneath his sleeves.
“The city never sleeps,” Jin yawns. “We’re people.”
Zuko glares at his phone again. “Go sleep, then. I’m fine.”
Another lie. The whole reason they’re even in Zhang Tai is because Zuko is not fine in the slightest, because if he were, he’d be on the other side of the world right now, getting fitted for his coronation. Instead, he went through his contacts and blocked every single person and proceeded to start an international incident.
Jin slides her palm across the bar and hooks her pinky with his. “It’s okay to not be fine, you know.”
Predictably, Zuko yanks his hand away and spits, “Leave me alone!”
She doesn’t know what she expected. She isn’t even supposed to be here. She should be back in Ba Sing Se, running rations to the Freedom Fighters camp
“Maybe you should try being nice,” Jin starts, careful not to snap, even though Zuko deserves it, “just for today.”
Zuko’s jaw, clenched tight enough to break his teeth, softens as he takes measured breaths. He’s always been easy to read, ever since they first met five years ago in the Pao Family Tea House, back when he was cagier, angrier, and disbelieving that anyone could like him. Even with his eyes closed, she can read the way he presses his lips together and his single eyebrow quirks as he processes the full range of human emotion a hundred times over in a few short seconds. Zuko opens his eyes to meet hers; they’re soft, now, sunlight-through-an-amber-bottle gold, and apologetic in a way that breaks her heart.
Then, another round of shots are slammed onto the bar in front of him, and Jin remembers that Zuko’s drunk, they’re broke, and everyone in this bar is some kind of criminal.
Some ugly man sits next to Zuko and ogles him. “Hey.”
Zuko doesn’t spare him a glance. He crosses his arms across his chest and tilts himself away, towards Jin, and she sits up straighter too. “I have a boyfriend.”
“So you can’t have friends?” Ugly doesn’t get the hint.
“No,” Zuko answers. “My boyfriend’s crazy. He kills people.”
Well. He’s not wrong. The last time Jin saw Jet, he was wiping the blood off his hooks with the hem of his shirt. Soldiers with their throats a mangled, ripped out mess laid dead at his feet. Jin had been pretty desensitized to it by then.
It’s also the first time Zuko’s acknowledged Jet at all since Ba Sing Se.
“Oh.” Ugly holds his hands up in surrender, quickly standing from his seat and grabbing the drinks. “My fault. I don’t want any of that.”
“No, you don’t,” Zuko agrees.
As Ugly scurries off, Jin takes the opportunity to hold Zuko’s hands in hers. She bows her head to catch his eye, and smiles when she succeeds. Softly, she asks: “Boyfriend?”
Zuko’s face crumples and he shakes his head.
“Have you talked to him?” Jin rubs circles in his palms with her thumbs.
Zuko shakes his head again and scoffs. It’s a depressing, broken sound that breaks her heart, and inspires a shocking wave of violence in her. If she ever sees Jet again… well, it won’t be good for him. Even if he is crazy, and he does kill people.
“I kill people, too.” Once again, Jin’s attempt at comforting her best friend is thwarted by the fact that said best friend is the hottest person in the room.
Zuko’s latest admirer towers over them even while he’s sitting. His biceps (thicker than Jin’s entire frame) and his pecs are fighting a winning battle against his shirt, which barely contains the sheer mass of this man. The muscles, his metal prosthetic arm, and the eye tattoo on his forehead indicative of combustion bending, all support the fact that he definitely kills people.
He just stares, expression nearly inscrutable except for the way his eyes flick over Zuko and his head tilts… considering.
Zuko turns toward the assassin. “What’s your name?”
For fuck’s sake!
They should’ve taken the ferry out of Ba Sing Se, straight back to Full Moon Bay, and followed the river down to Omashu, like Iroh had instructed. Instead, Jin scalped their tickets for some copper pieces and a ride to the city that never sleeps, everbright on the edge of the Si Wong Desert, to cheer up her friend. She didn’t account for the fact that Zuko was going to reveal the identity of the Avatar via a meme on Hawker, and that’s on her. But, in her defense, she wasn’t supposed to be on the ferry at all. Jet was.
And because Jet broke up with Zuko after that Spirits-damned PDF came out, Jet is not here, abstractly, here, somewhere, with Zuko, so Jin has to figure out how to successfully skip out on their tab and stop Zuko from rebounding with a combustion bender.
If she ever sees Jet again, he better run.