The Duke hadn't said goodbye. He'd taken off his helmet, giving one solemn little nod. A reminder that this was not the first time Jet had left, that The Duke had never expected anything better.

That was what stayed with Jet over the next day, as he laid out in the treetops, staring up at the deep blue sky with an intense feeling of vertigo. Adapting to the temple hadn't been easy, but it seemed that adapting back to the forest would be even worse.

Jet pushed himself to get by – finding food, forcing himself to eat, trying to find something other than deadness inside to motivate himself. Where there had been burning anger, there was nothing, only a distant sense of disgust that he didn't want to look too closely at. He knew Sokka had been right, he hated only the reflection of himself he saw in Zuko. He knew Katara was right.

He'd never been a coward, but he shied away from those thoughts now. They'd kill him if he let them, and he was too proud to die at his own hand in the place he should call home.

The silence pressed in around him, even the sounds of animals seeming to disappear. Jet had never been comfortable in silence. He'd surrounded himself with friends and admirers, making noise to keep the world at bay. Maybe that was why he gravitated into the middle of the forest, above the area of temple he had mentally mapped out. When he strained his ears, he thought he could hear Sokka's ridiculous laugh or the clack of Teo's wheels on the stone.

Belatedly, it occurred to Jet to search for Zuko's war balloon. He remembered Toph's vague description of where it was – useful more to blind earthbenders to anyone else, really – and started off before he had truly considered what he was doing. It was only when the broad red balloon loomed up in his vision, still propped over branches as a make shift tent, that he felt his resolve weaken. He stared at the balloon, trying to summon up the anger he had felt before, the surety in his own righteousness.

There was nothing in there. He didn't have to look to know that.

He turned back, marching through the forest. It was patchy and not well covered, with none of the thickness of his own forest. The sun burned on the back of Jet's neck as he walked, eyes fixed on the blades of grass crushed beneath his feet.

Eventually, he found one of the skylights that opened into the temple – the one supplying the temple's many pipelines, fed by a gushing river.

Jet climbed into the tree, branches directly hanging over the waterfall, and finally managed to sleep.

He woke many times in the night, exhaustion apparently not enough to keep out the unsettling sounds of the forest. Jet gritted his teeth in anger and disbelief. He hadn't been away that long. Wind through the trees and croaking of badgerfrogs shouldn't be enough to wake him.

In the morning, he jumped down from the trees, stumbling as he missed the landing. His eyes ached with tiredness and he felt more worn down than ever.

The bushes rustled and twigs cracked under feet. Jet tensed, cursing himself for leaving his swords behind at the fountain.

Finally, Aang burst through into the clearing.

"Jet!" he called. His yellow and saffron robes were dirtied by his tromp through the forest, a relieved expression on his face. "I've been looking everywhere for you!"

Jet slouched back against his tree, looking away.

"Why?"

Aang blinked. He jumped over the river in a single bound, landing lightly in front of Jet.

"Because you should come back."

Jet tilted his head to the side, offering a dark half smile.

"You can't trust me, Aang. You never should have."

Aang watched him quietly, eyebrows furrowed as he thought. Slowly, he said, "The monks taught me to always trust first, because you can never say your intentions are better than anyone else's, and you should never regret what comes from taking a chance on someone."

Jet scoffed.

"I can't believe you've lived this long."

"Well, I can't say it always works," Aang admitted. He scratched behind one ear, nose scrunched up in embarrassment. "I mean, Hama…"

They kept bringing that lady up. Briefly, Jet wondered if he should ask; the words died on his lips. It didn't matter if he knew.

"But my point is that you trusted me, Jet, and you weren't wrong. You trusted all of us, and maybe me most of all. We're here to fight together. You should be a part of that."

Jet crossed his arms obstinately.

"I didn't trust Zuko. I tried to kill him."

Aang cringed. It was clear he'd been hoping Jet wouldn't bring that up.

"Well, uh…"

Jet pushed away from the tree, looming over Aang.

"What are you even doing here? Are you just afraid that if you don't keep an eye on me I'll come back and slit his throat in the night?" Jet felt flat, felt like he was thinned out, nothing left on the inside to keep him whole. He tried to put emotion into his words, but they hung in the air, dead and meaningless, "Maybe I'll do it!"

Aang shook his head, gray eyes filled with concern.

"Sokka was wrong, you know," he said. "Katara has great taste. She saw the best in us before we even knew it was there."

He backed away, turning sadly to go.

That was enough to get to Jet; he felt something snap to life inside him.

"Why did you come here?" he shouted at Aang's back.

And very distantly, the answer floated back to him, "Zuko asked me to."

Jet checked his snares and cooked the hedghobbit he found over a small fire for lunch. He poked at the fire restlessly, willing it to burn hotter, but with no stomach to build it up with more wood. Of all things, he wasn't going to do that.

He climbed his tree as he waited, happy that the rush of water blocked the pop and crackle of the meat on the fire. Lounging on a tree branch, staring at the mottled sky half blocked out by leaves, he couldn't help but long for his own red leafed forest in the Earth Kingdom, where it was always autumn, always sunset. He knew who he was there – a fighter and a killer, and a manipulative bastard as well. Wanting to change had gotten him nowhere, just left him behind, stymied as he realized everything else was changing and nothing was right.

Jet sighed, getting ready to jump down, when something whizzed overhead. He jerked upright, almost losing his balance and falling from the tree. Right in front of him, imbedded deep into the trunk of the tree, was the stone knife he'd left behind at the fountain. Jet reached out, pulling it free with some effort.

"You forgot it," Zuko called up to him.

Heart beating fast in his chest, Jet turned the knife over in his hands. His eyebrows twitched up of their own accord. His eyes flicked down. Zuko was standing on the edge of the skylight, between Jet and the rushing water. The mist wetted his hair, making his hang limply into his face. Zuko pushed it aside – off of his scar. Jet felt his stomach clench at the sight.

"I don't think you really want me to have this!"

Zuko looked down, and very faintly, Jet thought he said, "Fine, we'll do this the hard way."

Jet felt sluggish, knife heavy in his hands. He watched as Zuko punched upward in a slow, smooth motion. Jet's eyes tracked it in shock as flame caught on the outer branches, young green leaves burning pungently.

Without thinking, he swung down from the tree, arms loose and ready for a brawl, but Zuko was too quick. He closed in on Jet, pinning him against the tree. Jet could hear the crackle of the fire above. He curled his hand into a fist, joints creaking as he resisted the panic threatening to overtake him.

In his other hand, he still had the knife. Zuko's hand closed around his wrist, bringing it up to pressed the knife to Zuko's own throat. Jet's fingers felt weak, not his own. He tried to catch his breath, but all he could taste was the smoke.

"But you want it, don't you?" Zuko hissed out. "This is what you want. My blood on your hands."

This didn't make sense, Jet thought blearily. Why would Zuko send Aang if he just wanted another fight? Jet tried to figuring it out, but his mind was getting fuzzy. He felt drunk on his memories. The heat of the fire above felt the same as the death of his parents; the misty waterfall was the chill of Lake Laogai.

With a strangled cry, he pushed Zuko away. He fell to his knees, knife slipping from his fingers. He pressed his hands to the earth, trying to feel it through the wet grass and fallen leaves.

"No," he said roughly.

"'No' what?" Zuko asked. He knelt down next to Jet, reaching out tentatively to touch him on the shoulder. Jet jerked, looking up to see Zuko's demanding expression. "You don't want revenge?"

Jet exhaled hard, staring at him. He swallowed back against his rage and fear. He'd wanted revenge for so long he couldn't even imagine not wanting it. What kind of person didn't want revenge for their parents? For their country?

He didn't know.

"I want to be something different from what I am," he said eventually. He looked away, frowning to himself, and added in frustration," Whatever that is."

Abruptly, the noise and the heat of the fire disappeared. Jet looked up to see Zuko closing his palm, extinguishing all the flame with a single gesture. He had a thin, approving smile, like he'd somehow expected things to go this way. Jet breathed easier, for all that he knew he owed it to Zuko.

"How did you do it? How did you change?" Jet asked.

That was what it came down to. Jet could see all of his own flaws and all of his own crimes, but it'd been too easy to cover them up with a cause. He could paste on a veneer of righteousness and use his anger to make himself feel like he was doing the right thing for once, but that exact thing had landed him here. Alone in the forest with the smell of ash in the air.

"It's not going to be easy," Zuko warned him. He sighed, uncertainty creeping into his voice. "I don't even know what I can tell you! I didn't change – not really. I just found something new. I finally figured out what I really wanted."

His golden eyes were solemn as they met Jet's.

"That's why I want to know. Do you want me – or do you want me dead?"

Jet reached out, running his thumb over Zuko's scarred cheekbone. That was something the Fire Lord had done to him, his own father.

"I want to win the war," Jet said fiercely.

Zuko batted his hand aside, glaring.

"And then what?"

Jet pounded his fist against the ground. He hated that he had to answer these questions, and hated even more that he wasn't sure. He had to make this choice, though. There was just no way to keep going with this anger inside him.

He squeezed his eyes shut, jaw clenched.

"And then I let it go. I'm done."

"Good," Zuko said. He leaned in long enough to brush a kiss across Jet's cheek. Jet shivered at the contact. It was startling to know that he could finally have what he wanted – that it was freely given.

He swallowed back against a sudden rush of emotion. There was so much he needed to do, he almost baffled at where to start. He needed to find The Duke, prove himself, and he needed to apologize to Katara and Haru. And then maybe… maybe something real could begin.

There was the sound of clothing rustling as Zuko stood. When Jet opened his eyes, it was to Zuko leaning down, hand extended. Without hesitation, Jet took it. Zuko raised an eyebrow at him.

"Don't forget the knife."

Jet stooped down to grab it and flipped it over his hand, presenting it back to Zuko, who brushed him off. Bemused, Jet stuck it back into his belt. Zuko's hand followed his, sliding across his back to hold him firmly around the waist. They walked that way back to camp, heat from Zuko seeping into Jet's clothes, keeping him warm and never for a moment letting him forget it was a firebender he held.

And strangely enough, that felt pretty good.