Disclaimer: "I can feel your feet Touching mine If you can't dance There's someone else in line!"

(An: While the last chapter focuses on their lives as Freedom Fighters, this is about their lives in Ba Sing Se. It brushes over a lot of stuff I would have loved to go into more detail about, but such is life.)

19. Threesome:

The last time they were at peace with each other was on the ferry, a tangle of arms and legs for company as much as warmth. Smellerbee was in the middle because she didn't move. Jet was restless, but Longshot was usually pretty stable; a stealthy arm around her and he was happy for the rest of the night. At least she didn't wake up with his feet in her face, as often happened with Jet.

They had slept this way as children, and in many ways, they were children still, and this was their last chance to show it.

6. Food:

They never had enough of it to satisfy twenty-odd hungry teenagers, a fact Jet often lamented. Fighting for freedom didn't pay well. The Fire Nation, although a lucrative source of food, didn't pass through often, and the villages around their forest were either too poor or too well-guarded to steal from.

The fare on the ferry was utterly disgusting, but at least it was edible. Still, neither of them complained when they raided the captain's stores.

And they looked back almost with longing when they finally got to the city. Steady but terrible food was still better than no food.

38. Betrayal:

Jet thought they were betraying him- him and the families they'd left behind. When they left him, she whispered, "It's not true, is it?"

Longshot hugged her but said nothing, as usual. Smellerbee let herself be hugged- hugged back, even; he needed reassurance as much as she did- but it didn't really help. Most of the time it was nice that Longshot didn't talk- no pressure. But she needed someone to tell her she had made the right choice. She had told herself it a million times, but she wouldn't really believe it until she heard it from his lips.

48. Promise:

He seemed to know this, and he pulled her closer, his breath ruffling her hair. "Jet's the wrong one here."

She nodded but whispered, "We left him, though."

"We'll keep an eye on him. He'll get his stupid self killed if we don't."

Smellerbee wished she could laugh at that, but it was just too true. Jet had always claimed they had his protection, but he was the one who couldn't keep his head down. Eventually he'd get it cut off. "We won't leave each other, though, right?"

His voice was a soft rumble in her ear. "Never. I promise."

1. Speak:

Whenever someone asked why he didn't talk, she always had to fight to stifle an eye roll or a derisive snort. He was as chatty as the Duke, in his own way. You just had to shut up for a while. He spoke through miming when he was desperate, but mostly, his eyes were his voice. She never found him hard to understand, and she almost always knew what he meant. If she was in a good mood, she would even interpret him.

But she spooked when she started seeing a message for her and only her in his eyes.

2. Touch:

Problem was, though, that message was in his touch, too. Hands that once only steadied now sought to feel: her hair, her cheek, her lips. Arms that once only comforted now sought an answer, to hold her and have her hold him back. Eyes that once only told her what he was thinking could now make her trip over nothing, blush, or feel warm on the coldest day. It just wasn't normal.

And there was no Jet to keep a safe distance between them anymore… perhaps she had only started noticing this now because of it. Spirits, she hoped not.

47. Wind:

But Smellerbee was nothing if not practical. She had no use for panic and its thought-smothering flutters. So, eventually, she forced herself to calm down around him. It was Longshot, for crying out loud. Longshot, the silly boy she'd been friends with since forever, Longshot, who stuck flowers in her bedroom and then feigned innocence when she asked about it, Longshot, who blushed if she so much sneezed in his direction.

She shook her head and told herself she shouldn’t have been so surprised. The winds of change just hadn’t finished tugging at her hair and toying with her yet.

11. Bed:

There was only one bed in the apartment they found which, again, would not have been a big deal before. But Jet wasn't there anymore to act as buffer; it was not the least drafty corner of floor they were sleeping on, it was a bed. Beds had implications.

She didn't know why she was thinking about it when she was the one who had gotten exasperated and ordered Longshot beside her, blaming the cold for want of his presence.

Except with his face pressed into her neck and his arms around her, it seemed a very big deal indeed.

32. Careful:

She always acted so tough when she was awake, but Longshot figured this was the only time he saw the truth of her, when she was asleep. Curled on his bed with her eyes closed tight against the world and her armor- all of it, not just the stuff she wore- removed and her lips curled in the slightest of smiles… And she reached for him when he moved away and expressed her distaste in annoyed sleep-mutterings.

Longshot smiled at her, but he didn't oblige. Never mind how hard his heart was beating; she would have reached for Jet, too.

44. Blanket:

Smellerbee, on waking, found the bed depressingly cold. The blanket was warm, yes, but there was just something about having someone else beside her… about having Longshot beside her. He was a habitually early riser, though. Ordinarily, so was she, but, having nothing pressing to do, she didn't mind extra sleep.

The fun was spoiled if you had someone else to make you feel guilty about wasting time, though. Longshot didn't, of course; he glanced up from his seat on the floor, nodded, and went back to cleaning his bow. Was it just tiredness, or was his nod rather distant?

24. Trees:

Smellerbee had plenty of reasons to hate Ba Sing Se. There were no trees, for one thing. She liked their old home. High up, isolated, and enough green life to make you feel like singing. Here, there were gardens, but they were for the rich, mostly in the middle ring to entice customers. A few places sold plants, but they didn't have the money for that, and unless they had coin on hand, shopkeepers tended to shoo scruffy-looking teenagers away.

The little bonsai must have cost him the entirety of what he had squirreled away, but Smellerbee loved it anyway.

31. Punishment:

Smellerbee would later decide that Jet must have been even stupider in a previous life to deserve such a death. Certainly he hadn't done enough bad in this life to deserve it- a lot, yes, but as sensitive, gentle fingers found broken ribs- four, but not in pairs- internal bleeding- which not even the best healer could do a thing for- and bruises beyond number, she thought that no one deserved to die like this- flat on the ground, unable to walk, barely able to speak, and fighting for every breath- and especially not Jet. He was a hero, dammit!

50. Jet:

She said nothing for a long, long time after they buried their leader. Finally, "We need to get out of here." She gestured vaguely at the city in the distance. "Far, far, far away."

Longshot nodded. "It's a bad place."

She nodded, wiping fiercely at eyes that threatened to start streaming again. "It must be. It made him bad."

They left on foot, not wanting to wait for another means. It hurt their hearts to leave Jet so close to the place that had destroyed him, but there was nothing else they could do. Destiny loved to tie their hands.

4. Hard:

Going on without Jet was hard, harder than anything she'd ever done. She felt foolish because she simply could not conquer her grief: she'd think it had passed, and then something would remind her of him and she'd be off again.

He bore her tears with the same endless patience he had for everything else. She had been vaguely aware of how lucky she was to have him before, but nothing drove it home as much as those steady arms around her, those whispered promises in her ear: living without Jet was hard, but without him, it would be unbearable.

8. Kiss:

Their first kiss was not good, not at all. She was crazy with grief, and he was just the same, so he calmed them both the only way he knew how. He just grabbed her shoulders and smashed his lips against hers, and she instantly shut up. "Good," he muttered. "If you said his name more time…" He trailed off, stepping back.

For a moment, she wondered how he could even think of kissing. Jet was dead! And then she remembered how one of the girls on the ferry had smiled at him, and she understood it, a little bit.

35. Suspicion:

Smellerbee frowned at him. She didn't notice she was touching her lips; her brown eyes were icy and distant. For a moment, he thought she was angry, and then he realized she was distrustful. She doubted his motives. He almost felt like laughing. Even moreso when she asked, "You're jealous? Of Jet?"

"Always have been," he murmured, grabbing her hands before she could back up. "You notice him."

"It's impossible not to."

Longshot shrugged, unwilling to argue.

"I didn't like him, if that's what you're worried about."

He glared: spare me.

"I didn't! And to think, I didn't trust you!"

42. Jewel:

Longshot sighed and backed away, letting go of her. "I'm sorry." For what, he didn't specify.

Smellerbee shook her head, disgusted. "You should be. Jet's dead, Longshot. Don't you get that?"

He frowned, jealousy lurking on the edges of his expression. But he nodded. "I do." When she seemed unbelieving, he repeated it. "I do." Then he grabbed her again, by the shoulders this time. "You're just more important to me than he ever was." And then he kissed her. Again.

Smellerbee pulled back. "You're hell to get along with!" she cried.

Longshot shrugged. "So stop me." But she couldn't.

45. Night:

The night was cold and unwelcoming, and, anyway, she didn't really mind it. It was frigid, and they could see their breath, but she didn't really notice the temperature when they were making heat of their own and were sharing their gasps.

After a few moments that felt like a short (much too short) eternity, he stepped back. "It's not a good idea."

"Longshot, I'd never thought I'd say this… but please, shut up."

He rolled his eyes and took her in his arms again.

"That's better. Since when have we ever held with sense, anyway?"

That made him laugh.

5. Sweet:

She put up with the umbrella held over her, she tolerated the flower in her hair, she endured the hand-holding. He seemed to enjoy it, although his eternal sweetness, like his silence and his patience, caught on the thorns in her soul and bothered her. She wasn't used to being treated like something precious.

She knew that if she expressed her annoyance, he would listen, shrug, and go on as he had. Even if she had the smoothest tongue in the world, she wouldn't have been able to change his ways.

But that wasn't a bad thing, not at all.

46. Morning:

They held off for a long while; shyness, confusion, and grief stayed them before they got much beyond kissing. Curiousity tempted them to go further, but something always interrupted before they could- alleyways in any city are never as undisturbed as most like to think. But as they got farther and farther from Ba Sing Se, the towns thinned out, and they were on their own more and more.

Millions of parents who had forced chaperones on their children were justified for once.

Except there was no one to notice or judge or care, and that was fine with them.

43. Sex:

Neither of them knew anything about it. Jet had haltingly attempted to explain the boy's side of it to Smellerbee once, but Sneers kept interrupting, and eventually she'd just tuned both of them out, acting attentive until they left her alone.

One thing, though, kept occuring to her as she and Longshot did their best to figure things out- "It's harder for a girl," Jet had mumbled, embarrassed but determined. And it was. If she had no idea what she was doing, that went double for Longshot, although something usually made the sweaty action worth the trouble. He tried, anyway.

3. Soft:

She was fascinated by his smooth palms. His fingers were callused, and she enjoyed tracing them because she knew why they were there. Thick skin between his index and middle finger: his favorite, the short bow. Roughness to his thumb and pointer: the long bow, which he hated even though he was good with it. And tiny scars all over his fingers: hand-to-hand training with her and Jet. But his palms were soft and unmarked, oddly enough.

When she asked, he laughed and kissed the corner of her mouth, murmuring, "I'm vain of them, since you like them so much."

7. Body:

He knew her body much better than she did. He had always known where to touch her to make her drop her tough act and squeal for him to quit tickling her, which she enjoyed despite all of her protests.

Later, he knew where to touch her to make her shiver, and she liked that even more, although whenever he tried it in public she would smack his hands away and hiss, "Not here. Later."

And she would reward him for waiting; while she often felt awkward in her skin, she knew his body like the back of her hand.

33. Elegance:

Eyes- a dark brown, the color of the trees she so loved. Skin- deeply tanned everywhere left exposed, but her stomach and legs were as pale as china. Hair- short, ratty, and often described as the color of mud. But also the perfect length to tug your fingers through.

Arms- not as hard with muscle as Jet's, but still strong enough to hold her. Face- dark, contemplative, moody. She loved being able to make him smile. Lips- thin, pale, usually clamped tight. They only softened to let pass the occasional words, and, of course, to allow her own.

49. Sensual:

Cold hands pressed to her warm neck. Smellerbee yelped and shoved Longshot off. "Do you dip them in ice?"

Longshot shrugged, putting his arms around her and resting his (freezing!) hands on her stomach. He pressed his lips where his hands had been. "Better?"

Smellerbee glared at him. "I'm serious. You have terrible circulation. Did you grow up with the Water Tribe or something?"

He rolled his eyes, tracing circles on her abdomen. She yelped again when he brushed a sensitive spot just beneath her breasts. "Ticklish?"

"Go die. Jackass."

"And you said I was hell to get along with."

(That's that. I like that this one came out as more storylike than the last drabble bit I did. Review!)