Chapter Text
Jet didn’t know where the Avatar had picked up this earthbender girl but she was way too good for him. The sight of her ripping down the wall that separated the Middle and Lower Rings, the howling cacophony of stone and earth collapsing around them as people started running like termites fleeing sunlight was settling something in his chest that he hadn’t known was missing.
He understood why Grandpa was so cautious, and was content to follow his lead, at least once Grandpa had demonstrated he was no slouch at the whole espionage thing, but Jet hadn’t started the Freedom Fighters to listen in at people’s windows and pass oblique notes in tea houses. He wanted to get things done. Preferably by breaking something important.
It was a shame, really, that their paths hadn’t crossed earlier. If the girl had been travelling with the Avatar when Jet had been in his element, he would probably have had more than half a chance at convincing her to join up. Even worse, he’d met her now, and unfortunately Grandpa’s lessons had been rubbing off on him, and he knew exactly what kind of trouble she’d just started, and what needed doing about it.
He tapped Katara on the shoulder, then stepped smartly out of range as she whipped back around, shock and horror converging tidily into fury as he got her attention.
“Well, it’s been fun, but we’re gonna go make sure this riot your friend’s started gets pointed in the right direction. Good luck!”
“Wait- riot?”
But Jet was already gone. If Katara was still so naive that she couldn’t see that this was going to spark the blasting keg, then he didn’t have time to explain it to her.
They were in adjoining cells. That was- that was good. That was better than he should have possibly hoped for. There was nothing but ten feet and a wall of iron bars in between them. That was-
He could tell her. He could tell her they were coming. They were going to get her out, that whatever the Dai Li were planning-
He choked, useless, weak, wasting time spiralling, mind out of his control and he couldn’t stop trying to puzzle meaning out of what the two soldiers had been talking about, suck the marrow out of every horrifying insinuation, stomach clenching at the horror of realising they were going to cut-
He bit the inside of his mouth until it drew blood, but it was better than screaming. No. No time to be so selfish, he could freak out later, when it wouldn’t matter what the Dai Li were planning because he’d stop them.
Think. Think. Aang was coming, Toph wouldn’t have lost him, they couldn’t be more than minutes away, he just had to stall. There had to be a way. He had to do something.
Focus, don’t get distracted, something they’d said had to be the key, somehow, they’d said-
It was easier, this time, going back. He screwed up every part of him that was shaking and screaming and wanted to kill something with his hands, pushed it down and out of the way, and his heart was hammering but his mind skimmed lightly over the conversation he’d overheard, quick and clinical and useful.
Muscle relaxant. They’d given her something to make her less able to control herself. That meant- threat. They’d called her a threat. That was good. That meant she could fight back. That she had been fighting back. That was good, that was useful.
Reinforced straps. A chair. So when they… they had to move her. So they had to take her out of her cell. Which was good. Which was an opportunity.
Priority one, they’d called first him, then her. Twelve hours between them grabbing him off the street and them dumping him back. He didn’t know how long it had been since he’d been taken, not exactly, but there’d been a grate in the roof of the wagon, to let air in. The sun had started to dip, before the drop underground. Then time got fuzzy, but… hours, at least four.
Twelve minus four minus four was four. So priority one in his case would have meant whatever they were going to do to him would start within the next four hours, ish. But he wasn’t priority one any more, Azula was.
And they’d drugged her already. So they’d be coming to get her soon. Could he cause a ruckus, make a scene enough that they’d have to deal with him first?
Make that plan B- he could fight back if he got out of the cell, they’d taken his weapons but they hadn’t found everything, he could still feel the awkward lump of the war fan lodged in his boot- but he wasn’t going to pretend he was a real threat. The Dai Li outclassed him in every direction at once. But, if he had to, it was an option. It might buy her a minute or two. It might be enough to matter.
Screwing up all the courage he had, he turned himself to face her.
As Iroh watched the wall split, the horizon cracking at the seams, he suddenly found that he could see the future.
The Earth King (or his duly appointed representative) would take this to mean that the Lower Ring had risen up against him. He would assume violent intent, and so preemptively crack down on it. Dai Li, certainly, would be deployed to push back against the mob.
It was the order he himself would have given, once.
And the thing about sending armed men into a population with intent to quell resistance was that no matter what, they would find some way to justify their existence. Nobody liked looking ridiculous, and very few people looked more absurd than a heavily-armed man with nobody to fight.
He’d ordered enough towns cleared to learn that lesson.
So the Dai Li would come, and create the violence they were supposed to prevent. He had a very brief window to act. He should get the word out, clear the street, urge people into their homes, or at least get them away from the wall, out towards the farmland.
…Or.
The Dai Li had taken his niece. So he would destroy the Dai Li.
He didn’t trust himself at the best of times, and especially not when his thinking got so… straightforward.
But he knew how to direct a crowd. How to conduct an operation. And he knew exactly how the opponent would think. The temptation was almost overwhelming, and he couldn’t even be sure it wasn’t the right thing to do.
Either way, he should warn the Order of the situation. What happened in Ba Sing Se affected the entire northern hemisphere, one way or another.
This time, she knows, with a wrung-out, exhausted clarity, is going to be different. This time, she’s going to die. She’s fought, done nothing but fight ever since she came to this prison the Avatar consigned her to, fought with candlelight and terror, but she’s not her brother.
Zuko could have fought forever. Zuko couldn’t do anything as graceful as surrender. That’s why he died. That’s how she killed him.
She… did kill him, didn’t she? She did. That feels… true.
Yes, mother croons, looming over her in the pale half-light. That’s right.
On instinct, she surges from her cot, reaching inside her for the blind spite she’ll need to drive her away, but she’s gotten so weak (mother was never strong, not in any way that she’d needed her to be, she must be so weak now) that mother catches her arm before she raises it, puts a bloodless hand on her chest, pins her down without effort.
You killed him, she says, comforting, singsong, you did, don’t worry. I love you. You were always going to be one who killed him. You’re a monster, it’s just how you are. Just like him. She doesn’t blame her. It’s almost… nice.
She can accept it, now. She killed him. When you push someone off a cliff, you don’t blame the ground for dashing them to pieces.
That’s right, that’s good, you were always so clever. I knew you’d understand. I love you.
The tension unwinds from her shoulders, and she slumps back into the wall. She understands, now. There’s a path laid out in front of her, her steps measured out, her end certain. She knows what’s expected of her, at last.
"Are you going to stare at that scalpel for another hour, or are we going to get on with this? Because some of us have other things to do today, you know.”
“I feel like you don’t appreciate how difficult it is to properly sterilise equipment down here. And don’t get me started on the light-”
“What light?”
“He just said don’t get him started.”
“I’m working with candles! I might as well be operating blindfolded for all the good they’re doing-”
“Boys, if you’re quite ready, I’d like to get this done before we all die of old age.”
“Yessir. Sorry sir. We’re ready to receive the subject now.”
“Good. You two, come with me. Let’s bring her in.”
They’d cut her hair.
In his memory she’d been a statue punctuated by blurs of sudden violence, long dark hair fluttering like a pennant behind her, loose and wild. Now it looked as though someone had shaved her head, and let it grow back, bristly and uneven and still short enough that he could see her scalp when her head lolled forward, loose and uncoordinated.
He swallowed hard, around the rock in his throat, and coughed.
“Azula?”
Nothing. Not a flicker, not a twitch. He might as well have been talking to a wall.
Well. Time for plan B.
Somewhere, someone is shouting. Zuko, perhaps. It’s loud and intrusive and grating and she can feel her chest tightening and her brows pulling down into a scowl entirely without her telling them to. Her lips curl around a snarl, unvoiced,
Decorum, child. Remember your lessons, Mother scolds, safe on the other side of the bars. You know you aren’t supposed to let your temper get the best of you.
She’d always listened. Always did as she was told, never testing the limits of what was allowed. Not like Zuko, stupid, wilful, disobedient, dead, dead, dead. She’d always done as she was told and it always kept her safe.
Her fingers ache at the thought, old horror curling around old wounds.
Zuko is still shouting, shouting his voice hoarse. Like he’s crying. Like he’s on his knees screaming as Father’s fist raises for another blow.
She doesn’t want to watch this again. Is he showing her again because she didn’t learn the lesson? The quiet little snap of bone collapsing under his hand, all because she didn’t learn what he was teaching. She costs him so much, time and effort and patience. She should be grateful he’s troubling himself to teach her again.
But she can’t bring herself to look.
Zuko’s quieter, now, but she’s not fooled. If she looks now maybe it’ll all be over, but maybe he’ll start again, again, bones and blood and char re-set as many times as needed, until she learns.
“Azula. Princess Azula. Please. You have to get up.”
Her eyes slam open. That’s not Zuko.
Zuko never calls her by her title. Princess Azula. That’s not her. Father would know, would order everyone not to call her that.
She needs to correct them, before Father hears. Otherwise there’ll be trouble.
She pulls herself up, even against Mother’s straining hands trying to push her down, and moves.
He almost sobbed in relief when her eyes opened, head jerking upward like she’d been asleep.
They just needed to keep her away from the Dai Li for as long as possible. Toph would be right behind him. Every minute counted.
She slid forward out of her cot, bonelessly slumping towards him, but her eyes when they looked up were fixed on him, narrowed in calculation.
“... I know you,” she said, a dry breath rasping its way out of her throat.
It was all he could do to nod.
“Yeah. We’ve met. I’m here to get you out of here.”
…He really hoped she didn’t ask how he was supposed to do that from inside a cell.
Now that doesn’t make sense.
You were given an order, child, Mother reminds her, sharply. We all must do as we are told.
She knows. She knows why Mother left, why she never saved her. She knows why Grandfather died.
Dad’s going to kill you.
Singsong, taunting, a string of words. She doesn’t remember if she understood then or not, but it doesn’t matter. She was right.
Azulon doesn’t do as he’s told, Azulon dies. Dad’s going to kill you. Mother does as she’s told, Mother is banished. Zuko doesn’t do as he’s told, Zuko dies. Dad’s going to kill you. Mai does as she’s told, Mai runs. Ty Lee doesn’t do as she’s told, Ty Lee is taken. Uncle does as he’s told, Uncle is banished.
Lu Ten does as he’s told. Lu Ten dies.
Azula doesn’t do what she’s told. Azula is banished.
Azula does as she’s told. He tells her to die.
Dad’s going to kill you.
She remembers the voice, remembers a shock of bleeding clarity and the pounding rain and a bent bit of steel, an edge to cut herself against to bring her back to the world, a way out of the fog, lost, lost, down at the bottom of the ocean.
The voice says it’s getting her out, but it can’t know.
Dad’s going to kill you.
He’s told her to die and he doesn’t let anyone get in his way. The voice has to do what it’s told.
That’s right, mother chides. Don’t be so selfish, trying to kill this one too. I taught you better than that.
She closes her eyes, trying to block out the voice until it goes away. Maybe if she ignores it, it won’t catch his attention.
Technically Zhou was important enough that he could have avoided subject transport duty, but frankly he could feel Long Feng breathing down his neck, and if 1137 managed to cause trouble after all Zhou’s assurances, then he didn’t want to have to explain to the Grand Secretariat why he’d been holed up in his nice dank office while 1137 was burning someone else’s face off again.
In the end, he needn’t have worried. 1137 had been as docile as she ever got, once the cuffs were on. Frankly her neighbour had been more of an issue, making all kinds of noise, screaming and crying and banging on the cell bars, which did nothing for Zhou’s mounting headache. He’d been tempted to knock some sense into the kid, before he’d remembered, no, he was slated for reconditioning. The doctors always complained when subjects had head injuries, apparently it made their job more complicated.
So he’d settled for a quick blow to the stomach, just enough to knock the wind out of the subject and shut him up long enough to get 1137 down the hall. She’d been starting to look agitated at all the racket.
It’d all be over soon, Zhou reminded himself, as he knocked on the surgery door. Finally, they could start to make some progress.