Yeah, so I’m worried I’ll get sued. So to hell with being aloof and nonchalant and devil-may-care. I like not being broke. I do not (and never will) own Avatar: The Last Airbender. Just in case anyone was confused as to what website this is.

Jin woke up early the next morning, her dress draped carefully around her womanly hips. As her mischievous eyes fluttered open, letting in both pre-dawn light and consciousness, the events of the last night blurrily drifted into her mind. Her already tousled hair was tangled and lopsided and she had two scrapes on the small of her back where a log had met her skin. Taking in a deep breath, pulling in the scent of earth and morning, she tugged her dress onto her form, noticing how unusually cold it was.

A dainty smile spread itself onto the girlish face. It had been so long since Jin was able to connect with somebody so easily… and it had certainly been a very long time since she had anything close to sex. It, the passion, the heat, was an undeniably vivid memory. Unlike the times she had woken up next to her month-long flings, who were all hopelessly intelligent yet remarkably dull, this was something she would remember, a fantasy come to life: a muse.

She spread her arms wide and stretched, yawning, the giddy sensation of her awakening muscles soothing her stiff body. Once her mind was clear, she scanned the landscape for her inspiration. His Eelhound, whose name he revealed to be Scales, was resting lazily by the riverbank, her large shiny belly expanding with every breath. Jin knew he would never leave without his companion. He was too lonely, sweet, too desperate for that sort of cruelty.

But he was nowhere in sight.

“Zuko!”

Jin waited for an answer, but only Scales responded to her call, sleepily raising her head to find the noise. She walked over slowly, the saddle shifting sloppily on her back, and pushed her brow into the girl’s hand.

“Are you a fox-kitten in disguise? You’re the sweetest Eelhound I’ve ever met. Most of you are difficult to train, so their owners tame you with pain, making you guys really scared, right? But you’re so eager, you’re so gentle. So Zuko must love you very much. I bet he takes really good care of you.”

Scales almost seemed to smile; her human-like eyes made Jin feel like a friend. She grabbed the lizard’s reins and pet her peeling nose.

“Can you take me to Zuko?”

Jin followed the animal as it lazily led her through trees and over patches of long green grass that ticked her calves and knees. The sun rose over the horizon and leaked into the earthy river, quickly lancing through the blindness of the morning haze. Several hundred meters from where she first awoke, Zuko stared at a tree stump, focused and completely deaf to the world around him. Curious as she was, Jin quietly approached him, glancing over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of his engrossment. Inquisition and fascination were as much a part of her as was her fingers or paints or lungs.

“‘Cha doing?”

Pens dropped from the large hands as Zuko gasped in surprise, turning to face the destroyer of his concentration. But the only threat was Jin and her wide-eyed naiveté. That slow way of blinking, the spacey stare that constantly occupied her otherwise beautiful face, infuriated him. It wasn’t stupidity or cluelessness, he understood that with ease. It was obliviousness, gullibility: a rashness that made him think she never quite escaped the age of sixteen. Danger didn’t frighten her, nor did his scar or his history; she was a woman of impulses, of hedonism. But her wit, her talent, her charm, and most noticeably her beauty, were things he was beginning to adore. This was incredibly dangerous. Zuko took a deep breath and entwined the now dirty pen in his fingers.

“I’m writing a letter.”

“Who to?”

“To you. I didn’t think you would be up this early, but I didn’t want to be rude.”

Jin smirked, a gentle curl of the lips. “Even after last night you’re polite. You’re way too polite.”

“It’s a hard habit to break.”

Jin gingerly pushed the paper off the stump, playfully taking a seat in front of her muse; her scent, the smell of skin and– was that lotus? –, tickled his nose.

“Then it’s far more polite to say a goodbye in person, wouldn’t y’say?”

“I don’t want to become too fond of you. And you don’t need someone like me putting you in danger.”

Jin sighed, resigned, defeated. “I can help you, Zuko.”

“I told you twice, I simply can’t—“

“I don’t mean to say you should stay with me,” she snapped. “I know a town… small, very small, no more that a mile and a half long. It’s hidden by the mountains there.” She extended a graceful finger, slightly blue with ink stains, and pointed to the mountains in the fog. “Because those mountains are so steep, no one really bothers. So they, the village, don’t know much about the outside world, especially not about the Fire Nation. You could hide there for a few years, wait for things to settle, then, maybe, you could resurface.”

Leaving his home was difficult, as was the journey thus far. In his years he had lost more than he could count of his fingers and toes, in his banishment he had learned and hurt more than he ever thought possible. His life was never simple, never easy; Zuko was doomed to a life of complications and hardship, the way incredible men often are. So when he heard this, a wave of unfamiliarity took him over, plunged him under the surface, leaving him disoriented and aware.

“How far is it,” he asked quietly.

“About a day or two on foot. As I said, the mountains are steep. But you have Scales,” she paused to touch the lizard’s jaw, “so you could probably cut that time in half. …Zuko?”

“Yeah, sorry.”

“Do you want me to come with you?”

“Why?” He asked, his voice almost rude.

“Because. I’m sick of things here. Your life is exciting. You’re exciting.”

“No. We had a deal. One night, then this never happened.”

Jin pouted, standing up and ripping his letter into pieces before him.

“That isn’t any fun. You’re just afraid.”

He nodded in agreement, his apathetic response only angering her further.

A woman who wants to be wanted is a frightening thing. She will plot and plan and do all manner of reckless things just to earn a second glance, a smile, even an insult. Women who desire romance, especially women who have been deprived of such a thing, are desperate and foolish. Self-image and propriety, their self respect, seem to fall out of their minds like dung from a pig, leaving them silly, empty-headed cretins who are satisfied more by a wink of the eye than any measure of accomplishment they themselves could achieve.

“Of course it isn’t any fun. And of course I’m afraid. I’m hiding from an entire world of people who would have me dead if they found out I was alive. You would only be a burden to me, not to mention the fact that you would risk your life for someone you have only encountered twice. Use your mind!”

Jin blinked as he tied his belongings to the saddle of his steed and mounted it. Lonely multicolored hands grabbed the reigns out of his grip and held them strong.

“Will I see you again?” She asked, her cheeks red with humiliation.

“Maybe.”

“Can you be more specific?” she grumbled, arms crossed over her chest.

“Can you be more realistic?” Zuko countered. “I don’t know much of anything. In the past week alone I’ve submitted to a coup, faked my death, and traveled hundreds of miles away from my country. Things aren’t quite set in stone for me! If you want to you can wait a few months and see if I’m still in the village, but I can’t risk anything right now.”

Hitting the side of the beast with a soft fwip, the reigns were dropped as Jin’s eyes started to tear. Rolling his eyes, Zuko kissed her on the forehead. “If you’ve read any great stories, you know that romance never ends with perfect happiness. Smile. You look like a jerk when you don’t.”

Quirky laughter fell from Jin’s lips. She hiccupped quietly and grinned. Princes didn’t fall in love with painters, but painters were all supposed to have open hearts and giddy minds. It was a rule of the world. Princes had to be narrow-minded to focus on a kingdom; painters had to fall thoughtlessly in love to create beautiful work. None without flaw, none without sin. Incompatible to a fault. But Jin knew this… and Jin didn’t care. After all, she was the painter in this equation.

Somberly, she waved a hand in farewell and thanks as the steed began to run, her sturdy yet graceful legs carrying him out of her sight in a matter of minutes.

“I can’t believe that a year ago my purpose in life was hunting you down. And now…”

“And now we’re friends.”

“Yeah. We are friends.”

The younger boy smiled, amazed that his journey was finally over.

“I can’t believe that a year ago I was still frozen in a block of ice. The world’s so different now.”

Zuko nodded. “And it’s going to be even more different when we build it together.”

Aang opened his eyes. It was still dark and Katara was asleep. He slowly rose, bringing the sadness back into his mind, yawning quietly before grabbing a few incense sticks. He lit them with a little flame off his finger and set them on the small shrine, clasping his hands together in prayer.

The silence that followed the news of his death was crushing. Mourning struck them hard, the loss of another friend ripping tears from their eyes and despair from their hearts. And after that sense of loss, that period of uncontrolled tears, no one could find any words to say. Zuko was dead. Toph was missing. The little family they had built for themselves was broken, the glue that held it together ran dry.

A sleepy Katara rolled onto her side. “Come back to bed.”

“I can’t. Can’t sleep.”

“You haven’t slept for the past week…”

Heavy steps lead her to her love. With a warm blanket draped over her shoulders, she knelt behind him, wrapped her arms around his neck, and pressed her lips to his face in a loving yet doleful kiss.

“It’s cold tonight.’

“Yeah.” He tugged at the blanket, bringing both it and Katara closer to his body. The smile he greeted her with was insincere, smiles were a luxury he realized he had taken for granted.

“…I love you,” she said weakly, her eyes carefully meeting his before looking at the smiling portrait of her friend.

For so long, scars reminded her of the need to survive. They haunted her in her sleep, the powerful golden eye behind it searing with malevolence. Yet as he proved himself loyal, as they spent more time together, the scar was something she began to feel fond of.

The nightmares were back now. Only she was the murderer. She swallowed hard, trying to fend off the heartache that stung her eyes. But the force of the sadness overpowered her and even she couldn’t bend away the water that flowed.

His hands reached out to her and brought her face near to kiss. She shook with grief and pain, so he held her tight, cooing all the while, and tried to soothe her heaving sobs.

“Shh-shh-sshhhhh-sh-shh. Easy, I’m here. Just take a breath. Just, come on Katara, look at me, just breathe. Shh. It’s okay.”

“We left him, Aang. W-we knew he would crumble and we left! If we just stayed… Oh my god…”. She coughed and hiccupped and struggled for breath, bawling and whimpering, her face slick from her tears.

“Katara, breathe!” His tattooed hands ran over her hair, trying to calm her, pulling the stands away from the unyielding tears on her face. Blue eyes made bluer by redness shut their lids tight, the face they decorated buried itself into Aang’s already soaked shirt.

“There was nothing we could have done. I wish there was, but only the rebels can be blamed.”

She nodded but continued to shake. Aang took the blanket off his shoulders and wrapped it around her, feeling, as if for the first time since Zuko’s death, something other than hopelessness: worry. He held her face, gazing fearfully in the waterbender’s eyes, waiting for her to match his gaze, waiting for her to regain composure. Finally, after what seemed like a century, her breath steadied.

“I-I’m sorry.”

“Why,” he asked, wiping the hurt off her face with a silk cloth.

“You’re being so strong… and I’m useless,” she spat.

“We don’t have to be strong. You don’t have to be strong. We lost a friend. For once, it’s okay not to be strong.”

She didn’t remember much about her mother. But she knew she was always strong. Elders would tell her that Kana was kind and brave and a fantastic mother, they would talk of her lovely face and elegant hips. She had blue eyes. She had brown hair. She could waterbend. Blinding sun nor rain nor brutal snow could erase the smile she constantly carried. But these morsels were told to a lost little girl. And with forgetting her mother, the pain of losing her dulled.

But Katara remembered Zuko to every last detail. Every last wrinkle of his scar was irrevocably branded into her mind.

“I love you,” she whimpered, another sob threatening to spill out of her throat.

“Hey,” Aange turned her chin to face him, “I love you too,” he shushed, even though he wasn’t sure that the love she was confessing was meant for him. He was aware of how she would slyly peer at him, never knowing that Aang miserably witnessed ever interested glance, every yearning breath and sigh.

But nothing could be done for the matter and they would forever be frozen in stalemate. For Aang loved her too much to release her and Katara’s morals were too stiff, not to mention her heart too torn, to follow where that craving lead her. Though he knew Zuko was a far more attractive than he was, being a more appropriate age for a teenage girl, he was never worried.

But now, when the firebender was dead and gone, now, when there was no one to threaten what he had, Aang felt a wave of envy boil through him. No longer was he satisfied with being her second choice, just as long as he remained a choice, no longer did he want only her happiness. He wanted her for himself, and only himself.

Aang’s hands flew out, grabbed her and pressed her to his chest. No more. She was his, no one but him could have her.

She sniffed softy and leaned into him, fatigued from the lack of oxygen and the late hour. Scooping her into his arms, he carried her onto the bed, laying her flat, entwining her in his arms.

It was when he pulled her to his body, warm and secure, when she felt his lips on the back of her neck, that Katara realized that Aang no longer seemed so much younger than her.

His arms were lean but strong, long enough to hold her yet not lanky. The juvenile voice of a few years past had faded into the voice of a young man. Muscles replaced flatness, sharper eyes replaced rounder ones. But, unlike most his age, Aang was not a teenager, but was forced to become a man in his duty as the Avatar.

He fiddled with the sleeve of her nightdress, staring into her eyes; it was clear he wanted more tonight.

But she turned away. She turned away because it felt like the shrine was watching her.

“Do you know how the others are?” Aang asked, interrupting her thoughts. She could hear the annoyance in his voice. “……Sokka and Suki, I mean.”

“I got word from Suki, it wasn’t much, but I could tell they aren’t taking… this… any easier than we are…”

“… I was thinking,” he said, softer this time, his eyes focused n the moon, “I was thinking that we should try to look for Toph again. She was Zuko’s closest, she should know. I miss her. I want to know that she’s alive. I want to talk to her again.”

Katara remained silent. Toph was her sister, her closest friend. But she saw the way she used to look at Aang, she knew that those sightless eyes were longingly staring at her beloved. That Toph would be nothing but opportunistic if Katara was out of the picture. That despite all they had been through, Toph would risk any friendship to further her own goals. Selfishness had always been hidden in the small girl’s persona. And faced with the potential loss of another loved one, Katara came to a single, honest, albeit misguided resolution: Toph BeiFong was not to be trusted.

Yet she was in a time of loss, a time of disorientation. A time in which confusion was the strongest emotion there was to feel. So she forgot what she did not have at hand and held fast to what she still owned. And so, afraid that her friend would steal the only thing she had left, she told a petty, desperate lie. A terrible lie.

“…I didn’t want to tell you…” She took a light breath and watched her boyfriend’s face as it twisted into confusion, into worry.

“What is it? Katara?”

“. . .”

“Katara?”

“She was killed in a Dai Li rebellion. Right after Zuko. I was going—,“ she frowned, “I was going to tell you.”

“…What…?”

Watching the words of her lie sink in, she knew she had made a horrible mistake. But she was too afraid of losing him to redeem herself.

“…And you didn’t tell me?!” He slammed a fist on the windowsill. The very house seemed to rattle with his passionate anger. “SHE WAS MY BEST FRIEND! You think this wouldn’t change everything?”

“I didn’t want to see you like this.”

In the corner of their house, Katara sat in shame, trapped between her lie and her desperation. It was a strange thought to think in the moment, but just for a second, before her conscious mind could grab hold of it, she wished that she was like Toph, who would have told him the truth, who had the courage to admit to lies told, who never told lies in the first place. Toph, who was far from perfect, but somehow perfect because of it. Toph.

She didn’t want to miss her. Bust she did. She wanted to hate her; that would have made this jealousy easier to bear. Yet she couldn’t.

“I cried for so long after I was told. Like a newborn. It felt like all the hope in my world was just ripped away from me. She was like Sokka to me. But you… you love her so much more than I do. She’s your twin. I couldn’t tell you. I never could.”

Aang wanted nothing more than to lie where he was, stonelike, heavy. With Zuko he lost a friend. But Toph was more.

When Aang was a young boy in the air temple, just a few weeks past his birthday, he realized that he had never seen friend MaLi smile. When he asked her why she was always so sad she told him, with a child’s uninhibited honesty, that she was lonely. Lacking the decorum that comes with age, Aang asked why she was this way. The Air Temples were filled with friends, and flying bison, and fruit tarts, and wonderful breezy spring days warmed by the sun. How could anyone be so lonely and sad in such a perfect place? Mali frowned, tears bubbling from her too-grown-up eyes. She told him a story. When she was born, several winters ago, her mother was very sick from the blizzards that trapped her and left her malnourished. She was supposed to have twins. The other was going to be named Lei. She would have had the same strange eyelashes as her would-be sister and they would have shared everything, except for their taste in men, as they would have found out much later. But Lei was weaker than her sister, and never saw more than an hour of sunlight.

MaLi is what the nomads called a Half. A severed child. Aang never understood how one person could be part of someone else, be less than one person.

But Aang understood that he was a Half. He pressed his ear to the wooden floor and listened to the hints of minerals and waited for the smell of earth to come back to him. But the house was aching with silence. He wondered if MaLi ever learned to smile. He wondered if he himself could ever live as he did before this severance.

No.

Once a Half, always a Half.