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foxysquidalso) wrote2008-06-13 02:48 am
foxysquidalso) wrote2008-06-13 02:48 am
Entry tags:
Fic: What You Love [Jet/Longshot/Smellerbee]
Title: What You Love.
Fandom: Avatar: The Last Airbender.
Genre: Slash, implied het.
Pairing: Jet/Longshot/Smellerbee, implied Jet/Zuko.
Wordcount: 3,500.
Rating: PG 13 (violence).
Warnings: Character death.
Summary: Longshot tells the story of what happened after he left the forest with Jet and Smellerbee.
What You Love.
In the forest, we were always together. It was the same when we left the trees--when everyone left. There was no need for us to discuss the matter. The Freedom Fighters split into groups or split off by themselves and set out in different directions, but the three of us fell into step together without a word. We never needed to speak to understand each other. We already knew what we wanted to do. I walked between the two of them. Smellerbee's lips were pursed, but her eyes were bright and her body was almost vibrating with excitement. Jet was smiling, that easy smile of his, but I could sense the anger and dissatisfaction radiating from him. It was so strong it was almost tangible.
I knew then that things were going to go wrong.
There is a great deal of difference between knowing what is going to happen and experiencing it. When you simply know, you can tell yourself that you're imagining things, that the future isn't set, that events might take a turn for the better. Sometimes that is what happens. Situations can improve. That's why you keep going: because of hope. I hoped that I was mistaken, that in the end we would be all right.
When we stopped to rest for short periods, we lay down together, curled up in caves or hollows or in the midst of undergrowth that provided us some shelter, any shelter. Smellerbee was in the middle, because she was the smallest. When we slept, one of us was always standing guard. I liked standing watch best. My bow in my hands, I sat very still, alert for any sound. I could hear Jet and Smellerbee breathing, and the knowledge that I was protecting them comforted me. I wished I could go without sleep altogether. Sometimes I let the other two sleep longer than I needed to, extending my watch. If they noticed, they didn't mention it, but I suspected they did the same thing.
Our journey to the city was a long and difficult one. Several times we had to alter course to avoid Fire Nation troops or flee from them outright. After we left the forest, it was harder to find food. Smellerbee got so thin, I could feel her bones through her skin. Jet's too. I realized I must be the same.
When we sat around the fire at night, I listened to the other two talking. It's hard for people to believe, but when I was a child, I spoke almost constantly. My parents told me I even talked in my sleep. It was as if I could never run out of words. But after my village was gone, I did. There was nothing left to say.
I listened to them talk, and I gazed into the fire. It's a funny thing, fire. It seems so warm and golden until it burns you. We needed it to survive, but we hated it, too. Jet most of all. He would make himself sit closer to the flames than anyone else. He would stare into them without ever hesitating, trying not to blink and wearing his usual smile. That was how I knew.
What we wanted--to varying degrees--was a new life. We didn't want to steal, and we didn't want to fight. On the way to the city, we ran out of food and money, so we had no choice but to steal again. We could move without a sound. We knew how to unlock doors and windows. Jet and Smellerbee argued about it. She wanted us to earn the money, or even beg as a last resort, but Jet wouldn't relent. He would raise his chin stubbornly and fold his arms over his chest, and you couldn't argue with him when he was like that. It wasn't because he enjoyed stealing, or because thought there was any shame in work or begging, but the city was his goal. Once he had fixed his mind on a goal, Jet was relentless, unstoppable. So we stole when we had to. Maybe Jet was right. It was faster and easier.
When we finally arrived at Full Moon Bay, we didn't have enough money to legitimately board a ferry, so we stole tickets. I felt worse about that than about anything else. Ba Sing Se limited the number of refugees they would allow in at any time, and those people would have to wait for who knew how long before they could get more tickets for the ferry. Jet chose a group of three people who looked wealthy enough that they could afford the loss, but that didn't help me feel much better.
Looking back, I wish we had stolen someone else's tickets, gotten ourselves on board a different ferry. It's such a little thing that sometimes I feel like it should be easy to go back and change it. Is that too much to ask?
It is.
That seems like a long time ago, the day we boarded the ferry. Jet was laughing. He put his hand on our shoulders. Later, when we were alone together, I knew he would kiss our mouths. He stole some fruit and candy for us. When Smellerbee asked him why, pretending to be mad, he said it was because we deserved it. He was always at his happiest when he was just about to reach a goal. Once he'd succeeded in achieving it, he'd start seeking a new target almost immediately, and his longing would return. In that moment, we were all satisfied, though. It was like we were back home again, only this time we were safe from harm. For the first time, it was going to be just the three of us. It was strange to think about that, but at the same time, I liked the idea.
"But that's the last time," Smellerbee said as she bit into another tiny, tart plumberry, her head resting on his arm. "No more taking things that aren't ours."
"Of course," Jet assured her, ruffling her hair. I was seated on the other side of him, and he tapped my hat with his fingertip, as if to tell me he would have ruffled my hair if he could have gotten at it. "I promised you, didn't I? We just had to do it to get this far. That's all."
His own words made him thoughtful, and he turned away--not towards anything in particular, except maybe the horizon. That was when he saw the boy with the scar for the first time. I saw it happen. I saw the interest come to life in his eyes as he studied the scar.
I don't hate that boy. Although I would never say that I liked him. How can you like something that caused you pain, even if it didn't mean to? Like a fire, which, in and of itself, can be a good thing, can keep you warm.
What Jet wanted, above all things, was not to be liked or even loved. It was to be understood. We understood him--Smellerbee and I. We usually knew what to expect from him. But never before had I seen him change so rapidly. Now I realize that since we were almost at our destination, he'd picked his new goal, and that it was, in some way, that boy. He wanted the scarred boy to understand him. It's difficult to explain it, so I won't try. Jet was like that. I know why he did what he did. I wish I didn't, so I could be angry at him. Anger would be a relief, but I don't have that luxury.
It's all right. I'm not used to luxuries.
It was when Jet saw the boy that suddenly he, Smellerbee and I weren't going to the same place anymore. Instead of talking to us, Jet talked to this stranger. He left us behind, for the first time since we'd left the forest together. He planned a raid. We told him we didn't want to do it, that we would eat what we were given for now, no matter how bad it was, but he insisted, so we went with him. Going along with Jet was what we did. The scarred boy came with us.
We had wanted a new life, but we hadn't expected Jet to look for his in such an unfamiliar and unlikely place. I have to admit that it hurt. Jet told us he wanted to ask the boy to join the Freedom Fighters, but the Freedom Fighters didn't exist anymore. That wasn't what was keeping us together. Even before--that had only been a part of what was between us. Smellerbee was furious with Jet, and she told him as much. She's better at being angry than I am. Jet didn't listen to her, and it made me realize how difficult he found it to listen. It was his weakness, one of the few things he couldn't do better than other people.
There was nothing for the boy to join, and even if there had been, we didn't know him, certainly not well enough to let him in on something that had always been just for us. Jet was ours.
He hadn't truly wanted to leave the woods. He never admitted it, but he didn't have to. What happened was that we had tried to attack a company of soldiers, and it had gone wrong. When it was over, five of us were dead. There would have been more fallen, if not for Jet, but he didn't see it that way. He carried the body of the youngest--a girl--up into the trees with him, and that night he called a meeting. That was how it ended. Although I think maybe it began to end even before that, when the Waterbender left us. She hadn't understood Jet, and that fact gnawed at him. But in the end, Jet didn't leave the forest because of her. It was for us.
"We'll be safe," was what he said at the gathering that night, and he glanced at me and Smellerbee when he said it, as if to let us know that he would go with us. He was smiling, but his tone was resigned. I knew without needing to be told that what he really wanted to do was stay on his own and keep fighting until they day he died. But he didn't, because of us.
Did he think we held him back? We would have stayed to fight with him if he had asked us to fight. Jet offered the boy with the scar something that wasn't his to give. The boy didn't want it, but it was the only thing Jet had to offer him. The boy turned away from Jet. It almost didn't matter if he was a Firebender after that. That was important, yes, but it wasn't the most important thing. Jet never would give up once he wanted something, and now he had nothing else to fight for.
It was hard for all of us, adjusting to city life. Fighting was what we knew. The city was another world. We'd had our own rules in the forest, our own country. We found a small apartment. I put my bow and arrows away. I got a job washing dishes. Smellerbee found work running messages across town. The jobs didn't pay much, but we earned enough to support ourselves. And Jet.
The change was hardest on him. He would climb out the window and up onto the roof of our building. He would hold his knees to his chest, put his head back, and stare at the sky. He would sit up there for hours. He didn't find work. All he did, when he wasn't at home, was follow the scarred boy through the city. I said that I understood Jet, and I did, but at this time, understanding was more difficult than it had ever been before. We were there for him. We wanted to help him. Yet he wouldn't let us, and all the time there was something within him tearing him to pieces.
Whenever Jet came home, he would be angry. His kisses were fierce and hungry, and he seemed almost desperate for something we could not give him. Jet. I said his name. I touched his face. I tried to calm him down. It used to work, back among the trees, but here everything was different.
Once, in a rage, he pushed me back against the wall. It didn't hurt. He didn't push me hard, but I fell back, and the back of my head hit the wall. I sank to my knees out of surprise rather than pain. He had never done anything like that before. Almost at once, he was kneeling with me, his arms around my waist and his tears hot against my cheek. "Longshot, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." I stroked his hair.
"What's wrong with you?" Smellerbee asked him, but Jet kept holding me tight, and I knew he couldn't answer her.
Here's a secret: every time Jet went out looking for that boy, one of us followed him. One of us watched him, even if it meant we earned less money and ate less food. We wanted to make sure he was all right.
One of the hardest parts to remember is the night he left. A part of him must have known that he wouldn't come back. What he did was so foolish, and Jet may have been rash, but he had never been foolish without a reason. He knew there would be consequences for starting a fight in public, but he wanted to attract a crowd. He didn't want to hurt the boy. He could have ambushed him on a dark street if that was his aim. I think--more than anything else--he wanted to know. He wanted proof and validation. He wanted to know he wasn't going mad.
I wish we had told him we believed him. It wasn't that I didn't believe, but I wanted Jet to leave the boy alone. I wanted him to stop. It was selfish of me, but I didn't care if the boy was a Firebender. I cared about Jet.
I remember the tightness in my throat, the sick feeling in my stomach. I held Smellerbee's hand as the Dai Li carried Jet away. I could hear his voice, shouting, even when I could no longer see him. I wanted--we both wanted--to run after him and fight, to die in the attempt to free him, but we knew that wouldn't help. We wouldn't be any good to him if we were killed or captured. Basic common sense. Still, there's little satisfaction in common sense like that, only the difficult task of assuring yourself you've done the right thing. It didn't feel right.
We waited in the middle of a crowd of strangers, pretending we belonged, just long enough so that no one paid particular any attention to us when we darted away, following them through alleyways and side streets. We followed the sound of Jet's voice. We could still hear him for a while. Then there was the low rough sound of rock on rock, and we didn't hear him anymore. We were quick, but not quick enough. How can you track Earthbenders when they can open doors in the ground?
They had taken him from us. It was the most terrible thing that could have happened. I never thought it could. Not even the Fire Nation had stolen Jet away from us. Afterwards, Smellerbee wanted to go back to the teashop and confront the scarred boy, but I wouldn't let her. It wasn't any concern of his. What did he care for Jet or for us? Jet was our family.
That was the beginning of the weeks that felt like years. We took our weapons from the apartment and we never went back. We left our places of employment. We had to look for him. We didn't mind sleeping outside. It was what we were used to, although the stone streets of the city were harder and colder than our huts in the trees had been. I kept my arm around Smellerbee at night. She curled up against me as she slept. We missed Jet's heat. He had kept us both warm.
We started to steal again. We had to eat, and we had no time to spare. We needed to find him. There was nowhere that we didn't look. We mapped out the city with our footsteps. It was cold, and we were filthy and usually hungry, but we didn't care. We asked about Jet when we could, but since we were new to the city, we didn't know who to ask. Those we did speak to seemed to avoid our questions.
"We'll never find him," said Smellerbee on one of those nights, much like all the others. She didn't cry, but I heard the strain in her voice as she fought against it.
I realized that she might be right. I also realized that we would never stop looking for him, and I imagined what the rest of our lives would be like. Searching for him. It was easier to imagine than the alternative. At least we would have hope, I told myself. Jet knew how to survive. That was one thing he did better than anyone.
What if we had never found him? Would we have kept on searching? Would that have been better? No. It is better to know the truth. So I am glad we found him, wandering in the street with the Waterbender and her friends. My heart jumped when I saw him again. I didn't know how he'd ended up there, or what had happened to him, or why he hadn't come looking for us, but he was alive and unhurt, with his messy hair and his usual smile. We raced up to him.
But he backed away. He didn't remember. He didn't remember how we had come to the city, how we'd stayed by him, how we loved him. That ached. When I looked into his eyes, he didn't understand what I meant as if by instinct. He looked back at me, and there was a blankness in his expression I'd never seen there before. He still knew who I was, but it was as if he'd known me a year ago, or more. I wanted to reach out to him, to touch his face and say his name, but everyone was there, so I didn't. I think maybe I should have.
They had brainwashed him. They had taken us out of his mind--not entirely, but enough that we could tell, which was wrong. He didn't seem to remember the scarred boy at all. They had left the Avatar and the Waterbender and the Water Tribe boy in his memory, intact, but either we hadn't mattered enough, or else they hadn't wanted him to seek us out. In taking out the memory of his time in the city with us, they had taken out other things, too. If you pull out one thread, more start to unravel. Maybe they did it on purpose. Maybe they didn't want him to love us. I don't know.
It's difficult to go on. What happened after that is not something words can express.
We stayed with him in the cavern, expecting the Dai Li to rush through the doors at any moment, but they never came. The Avatar and his friends must have drawn them away, and I suppose they were more important than we were. We were lucky we didn't matter as much. We survived because of it.
There is one good thing. Before he died, he remembered. He was himself again. All his memories and all his life were shining in his eyes as we knelt beside him. I leaned over him and touched his face, and so did Smellerbee. I said his name, and he smiled at me. "Hey Longshot, don't cry," he said. He put his hand on mine, and then he died. It was as simple as that.
I've heard people say that what you love will come back to you, if you let it go. If it loves you, it will come back. But that is not true. Love will not bring him back to us.
That is all I want to say.
Fandom: Avatar: The Last Airbender.
Genre: Slash, implied het.
Pairing: Jet/Longshot/Smellerbee, implied Jet/Zuko.
Wordcount: 3,500.
Rating: PG 13 (violence).
Warnings: Character death.
Summary: Longshot tells the story of what happened after he left the forest with Jet and Smellerbee.
What You Love.
In the forest, we were always together. It was the same when we left the trees--when everyone left. There was no need for us to discuss the matter. The Freedom Fighters split into groups or split off by themselves and set out in different directions, but the three of us fell into step together without a word. We never needed to speak to understand each other. We already knew what we wanted to do. I walked between the two of them. Smellerbee's lips were pursed, but her eyes were bright and her body was almost vibrating with excitement. Jet was smiling, that easy smile of his, but I could sense the anger and dissatisfaction radiating from him. It was so strong it was almost tangible.
I knew then that things were going to go wrong.
There is a great deal of difference between knowing what is going to happen and experiencing it. When you simply know, you can tell yourself that you're imagining things, that the future isn't set, that events might take a turn for the better. Sometimes that is what happens. Situations can improve. That's why you keep going: because of hope. I hoped that I was mistaken, that in the end we would be all right.
When we stopped to rest for short periods, we lay down together, curled up in caves or hollows or in the midst of undergrowth that provided us some shelter, any shelter. Smellerbee was in the middle, because she was the smallest. When we slept, one of us was always standing guard. I liked standing watch best. My bow in my hands, I sat very still, alert for any sound. I could hear Jet and Smellerbee breathing, and the knowledge that I was protecting them comforted me. I wished I could go without sleep altogether. Sometimes I let the other two sleep longer than I needed to, extending my watch. If they noticed, they didn't mention it, but I suspected they did the same thing.
Our journey to the city was a long and difficult one. Several times we had to alter course to avoid Fire Nation troops or flee from them outright. After we left the forest, it was harder to find food. Smellerbee got so thin, I could feel her bones through her skin. Jet's too. I realized I must be the same.
When we sat around the fire at night, I listened to the other two talking. It's hard for people to believe, but when I was a child, I spoke almost constantly. My parents told me I even talked in my sleep. It was as if I could never run out of words. But after my village was gone, I did. There was nothing left to say.
I listened to them talk, and I gazed into the fire. It's a funny thing, fire. It seems so warm and golden until it burns you. We needed it to survive, but we hated it, too. Jet most of all. He would make himself sit closer to the flames than anyone else. He would stare into them without ever hesitating, trying not to blink and wearing his usual smile. That was how I knew.
What we wanted--to varying degrees--was a new life. We didn't want to steal, and we didn't want to fight. On the way to the city, we ran out of food and money, so we had no choice but to steal again. We could move without a sound. We knew how to unlock doors and windows. Jet and Smellerbee argued about it. She wanted us to earn the money, or even beg as a last resort, but Jet wouldn't relent. He would raise his chin stubbornly and fold his arms over his chest, and you couldn't argue with him when he was like that. It wasn't because he enjoyed stealing, or because thought there was any shame in work or begging, but the city was his goal. Once he had fixed his mind on a goal, Jet was relentless, unstoppable. So we stole when we had to. Maybe Jet was right. It was faster and easier.
When we finally arrived at Full Moon Bay, we didn't have enough money to legitimately board a ferry, so we stole tickets. I felt worse about that than about anything else. Ba Sing Se limited the number of refugees they would allow in at any time, and those people would have to wait for who knew how long before they could get more tickets for the ferry. Jet chose a group of three people who looked wealthy enough that they could afford the loss, but that didn't help me feel much better.
Looking back, I wish we had stolen someone else's tickets, gotten ourselves on board a different ferry. It's such a little thing that sometimes I feel like it should be easy to go back and change it. Is that too much to ask?
It is.
That seems like a long time ago, the day we boarded the ferry. Jet was laughing. He put his hand on our shoulders. Later, when we were alone together, I knew he would kiss our mouths. He stole some fruit and candy for us. When Smellerbee asked him why, pretending to be mad, he said it was because we deserved it. He was always at his happiest when he was just about to reach a goal. Once he'd succeeded in achieving it, he'd start seeking a new target almost immediately, and his longing would return. In that moment, we were all satisfied, though. It was like we were back home again, only this time we were safe from harm. For the first time, it was going to be just the three of us. It was strange to think about that, but at the same time, I liked the idea.
"But that's the last time," Smellerbee said as she bit into another tiny, tart plumberry, her head resting on his arm. "No more taking things that aren't ours."
"Of course," Jet assured her, ruffling her hair. I was seated on the other side of him, and he tapped my hat with his fingertip, as if to tell me he would have ruffled my hair if he could have gotten at it. "I promised you, didn't I? We just had to do it to get this far. That's all."
His own words made him thoughtful, and he turned away--not towards anything in particular, except maybe the horizon. That was when he saw the boy with the scar for the first time. I saw it happen. I saw the interest come to life in his eyes as he studied the scar.
I don't hate that boy. Although I would never say that I liked him. How can you like something that caused you pain, even if it didn't mean to? Like a fire, which, in and of itself, can be a good thing, can keep you warm.
What Jet wanted, above all things, was not to be liked or even loved. It was to be understood. We understood him--Smellerbee and I. We usually knew what to expect from him. But never before had I seen him change so rapidly. Now I realize that since we were almost at our destination, he'd picked his new goal, and that it was, in some way, that boy. He wanted the scarred boy to understand him. It's difficult to explain it, so I won't try. Jet was like that. I know why he did what he did. I wish I didn't, so I could be angry at him. Anger would be a relief, but I don't have that luxury.
It's all right. I'm not used to luxuries.
It was when Jet saw the boy that suddenly he, Smellerbee and I weren't going to the same place anymore. Instead of talking to us, Jet talked to this stranger. He left us behind, for the first time since we'd left the forest together. He planned a raid. We told him we didn't want to do it, that we would eat what we were given for now, no matter how bad it was, but he insisted, so we went with him. Going along with Jet was what we did. The scarred boy came with us.
We had wanted a new life, but we hadn't expected Jet to look for his in such an unfamiliar and unlikely place. I have to admit that it hurt. Jet told us he wanted to ask the boy to join the Freedom Fighters, but the Freedom Fighters didn't exist anymore. That wasn't what was keeping us together. Even before--that had only been a part of what was between us. Smellerbee was furious with Jet, and she told him as much. She's better at being angry than I am. Jet didn't listen to her, and it made me realize how difficult he found it to listen. It was his weakness, one of the few things he couldn't do better than other people.
There was nothing for the boy to join, and even if there had been, we didn't know him, certainly not well enough to let him in on something that had always been just for us. Jet was ours.
He hadn't truly wanted to leave the woods. He never admitted it, but he didn't have to. What happened was that we had tried to attack a company of soldiers, and it had gone wrong. When it was over, five of us were dead. There would have been more fallen, if not for Jet, but he didn't see it that way. He carried the body of the youngest--a girl--up into the trees with him, and that night he called a meeting. That was how it ended. Although I think maybe it began to end even before that, when the Waterbender left us. She hadn't understood Jet, and that fact gnawed at him. But in the end, Jet didn't leave the forest because of her. It was for us.
"We'll be safe," was what he said at the gathering that night, and he glanced at me and Smellerbee when he said it, as if to let us know that he would go with us. He was smiling, but his tone was resigned. I knew without needing to be told that what he really wanted to do was stay on his own and keep fighting until they day he died. But he didn't, because of us.
Did he think we held him back? We would have stayed to fight with him if he had asked us to fight. Jet offered the boy with the scar something that wasn't his to give. The boy didn't want it, but it was the only thing Jet had to offer him. The boy turned away from Jet. It almost didn't matter if he was a Firebender after that. That was important, yes, but it wasn't the most important thing. Jet never would give up once he wanted something, and now he had nothing else to fight for.
It was hard for all of us, adjusting to city life. Fighting was what we knew. The city was another world. We'd had our own rules in the forest, our own country. We found a small apartment. I put my bow and arrows away. I got a job washing dishes. Smellerbee found work running messages across town. The jobs didn't pay much, but we earned enough to support ourselves. And Jet.
The change was hardest on him. He would climb out the window and up onto the roof of our building. He would hold his knees to his chest, put his head back, and stare at the sky. He would sit up there for hours. He didn't find work. All he did, when he wasn't at home, was follow the scarred boy through the city. I said that I understood Jet, and I did, but at this time, understanding was more difficult than it had ever been before. We were there for him. We wanted to help him. Yet he wouldn't let us, and all the time there was something within him tearing him to pieces.
Whenever Jet came home, he would be angry. His kisses were fierce and hungry, and he seemed almost desperate for something we could not give him. Jet. I said his name. I touched his face. I tried to calm him down. It used to work, back among the trees, but here everything was different.
Once, in a rage, he pushed me back against the wall. It didn't hurt. He didn't push me hard, but I fell back, and the back of my head hit the wall. I sank to my knees out of surprise rather than pain. He had never done anything like that before. Almost at once, he was kneeling with me, his arms around my waist and his tears hot against my cheek. "Longshot, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." I stroked his hair.
"What's wrong with you?" Smellerbee asked him, but Jet kept holding me tight, and I knew he couldn't answer her.
Here's a secret: every time Jet went out looking for that boy, one of us followed him. One of us watched him, even if it meant we earned less money and ate less food. We wanted to make sure he was all right.
One of the hardest parts to remember is the night he left. A part of him must have known that he wouldn't come back. What he did was so foolish, and Jet may have been rash, but he had never been foolish without a reason. He knew there would be consequences for starting a fight in public, but he wanted to attract a crowd. He didn't want to hurt the boy. He could have ambushed him on a dark street if that was his aim. I think--more than anything else--he wanted to know. He wanted proof and validation. He wanted to know he wasn't going mad.
I wish we had told him we believed him. It wasn't that I didn't believe, but I wanted Jet to leave the boy alone. I wanted him to stop. It was selfish of me, but I didn't care if the boy was a Firebender. I cared about Jet.
I remember the tightness in my throat, the sick feeling in my stomach. I held Smellerbee's hand as the Dai Li carried Jet away. I could hear his voice, shouting, even when I could no longer see him. I wanted--we both wanted--to run after him and fight, to die in the attempt to free him, but we knew that wouldn't help. We wouldn't be any good to him if we were killed or captured. Basic common sense. Still, there's little satisfaction in common sense like that, only the difficult task of assuring yourself you've done the right thing. It didn't feel right.
We waited in the middle of a crowd of strangers, pretending we belonged, just long enough so that no one paid particular any attention to us when we darted away, following them through alleyways and side streets. We followed the sound of Jet's voice. We could still hear him for a while. Then there was the low rough sound of rock on rock, and we didn't hear him anymore. We were quick, but not quick enough. How can you track Earthbenders when they can open doors in the ground?
They had taken him from us. It was the most terrible thing that could have happened. I never thought it could. Not even the Fire Nation had stolen Jet away from us. Afterwards, Smellerbee wanted to go back to the teashop and confront the scarred boy, but I wouldn't let her. It wasn't any concern of his. What did he care for Jet or for us? Jet was our family.
That was the beginning of the weeks that felt like years. We took our weapons from the apartment and we never went back. We left our places of employment. We had to look for him. We didn't mind sleeping outside. It was what we were used to, although the stone streets of the city were harder and colder than our huts in the trees had been. I kept my arm around Smellerbee at night. She curled up against me as she slept. We missed Jet's heat. He had kept us both warm.
We started to steal again. We had to eat, and we had no time to spare. We needed to find him. There was nowhere that we didn't look. We mapped out the city with our footsteps. It was cold, and we were filthy and usually hungry, but we didn't care. We asked about Jet when we could, but since we were new to the city, we didn't know who to ask. Those we did speak to seemed to avoid our questions.
"We'll never find him," said Smellerbee on one of those nights, much like all the others. She didn't cry, but I heard the strain in her voice as she fought against it.
I realized that she might be right. I also realized that we would never stop looking for him, and I imagined what the rest of our lives would be like. Searching for him. It was easier to imagine than the alternative. At least we would have hope, I told myself. Jet knew how to survive. That was one thing he did better than anyone.
What if we had never found him? Would we have kept on searching? Would that have been better? No. It is better to know the truth. So I am glad we found him, wandering in the street with the Waterbender and her friends. My heart jumped when I saw him again. I didn't know how he'd ended up there, or what had happened to him, or why he hadn't come looking for us, but he was alive and unhurt, with his messy hair and his usual smile. We raced up to him.
But he backed away. He didn't remember. He didn't remember how we had come to the city, how we'd stayed by him, how we loved him. That ached. When I looked into his eyes, he didn't understand what I meant as if by instinct. He looked back at me, and there was a blankness in his expression I'd never seen there before. He still knew who I was, but it was as if he'd known me a year ago, or more. I wanted to reach out to him, to touch his face and say his name, but everyone was there, so I didn't. I think maybe I should have.
They had brainwashed him. They had taken us out of his mind--not entirely, but enough that we could tell, which was wrong. He didn't seem to remember the scarred boy at all. They had left the Avatar and the Waterbender and the Water Tribe boy in his memory, intact, but either we hadn't mattered enough, or else they hadn't wanted him to seek us out. In taking out the memory of his time in the city with us, they had taken out other things, too. If you pull out one thread, more start to unravel. Maybe they did it on purpose. Maybe they didn't want him to love us. I don't know.
It's difficult to go on. What happened after that is not something words can express.
We stayed with him in the cavern, expecting the Dai Li to rush through the doors at any moment, but they never came. The Avatar and his friends must have drawn them away, and I suppose they were more important than we were. We were lucky we didn't matter as much. We survived because of it.
There is one good thing. Before he died, he remembered. He was himself again. All his memories and all his life were shining in his eyes as we knelt beside him. I leaned over him and touched his face, and so did Smellerbee. I said his name, and he smiled at me. "Hey Longshot, don't cry," he said. He put his hand on mine, and then he died. It was as simple as that.
I've heard people say that what you love will come back to you, if you let it go. If it loves you, it will come back. But that is not true. Love will not bring him back to us.
That is all I want to say.