Chapter Text
The Earth Kingdom forests were damp, dark, and entirely too messy for a girl who had grown up in Fire Nation high society. After Ty Lee abandoned the Fire Nation military, she found herself drifting, eventually crossing paths with a ragged group of teenagers who called themselves the Freedom Fighters.
They were intense, angry, and suspicious of her background—except for one.
Longshot didn't look at her like she was an enemy spy, nor did he look at her like she was a cute distraction. He didn't say anything at all. He just sat by the campfires, carving arrows out of smooth wood, watching the world with steady, calm eyes.
For Ty Lee, a boy who didn't talk was a revelation. Her entire life had been filled with noise: six identical sisters shouting over one another, the booming voice of the circus ringmaster, and Azula’s sharp, demanding commands. Longshot was a quiet island in a stormy sea.
"Do you think this feather matches the wood grain?" Ty Lee asked one afternoon, leaning over the log where he was working. She held up a bright orange pheasant feather she’d found.
Longshot looked at the feather, then at her face. He didn't blink. He took the feather from her hands, his rough fingers brushing against hers, and meticulously slotted it into the notch of his arrow. He looked back up at her and gave a single, slow nod.
Ty Lee’s heart did a strange, gymnastics-style flip. He likes it, she thought. He likes my choice.
Over the next month, they formed a silent, comfortable rhythm. They didn't go on traditional dates—there were no cafes or festivals in the war-torn woods—but they shared quiet spaces. He would watch her practice her handstands against the trunks of massive redwood trees, his eyes following the lines of her movement with a quiet, intense appreciation that made her skin tingle. When she was tired, she would sit beside him, talking for hours about her childhood, her aura alignment, and her fears about the future. He never interrupted. He just listened, his presence acting as a heavy, comforting weight.
It felt like love. It felt real.
The breaking point came the night before the Freedom Fighters were scheduled to move out toward a heavily fortified Fire Nation outpost near the coast. Ty Lee sat next to him on a high tree branch, the moon filtering through the leaves.
"Come with me," she whispered, her fingers twisting into the rough fabric of his vest. "Jet is getting too reckless, Longshot. The war is ending. Come away from the fighting. We could go to Ba Sing Se, or back to the colonies. We could just be us."
Longshot stared at her. For the first time, Ty Lee saw a deep, profound sadness in his eyes. He reached up, his calloused thumb gently wiping a stray tear from her cheek. He gripped her hand tightly, leaning forward until his forehead rested against hers.
Then, he pulled back, picked up his bow, and gestured toward Smellerbee and the rest of the camp below. He pointed to his chest, then to the woods, and shook his head.
He didn't need words. Ty Lee understood perfectly. I have a duty here. I can't leave them.
He kissed her once—a soft, lingering pressure on her lips that tasted like woodsmoke and regret—before climbing down the rope ladder, leaving her alone in the quiet canopy.