Lost in Translation

Drake VonTrapp

A/N: Yeah. Most of my Jetko drabbles are born from me and my friend Chelsea doing stupid things. In this particular story, Chelsea was Zuko and I was Jet.

"Oolong, jasmine, lavender, green, mint… damn, how many types of tea does your uncle need?"

"Every single one, apparently," Zuko answered sarcastically, measuring a cup of flour into a mixing bowl.

"No kidding. 'Dragon fairy'? Is that even a flavor?" Jet pondered as he retrieved the aforementioned tea bag from Iroh's tea cupboard, looking at the ingredients. Which were all in Chinese. Of course they were. Jet sighed and put it back on its shelf. He'd just have to assume that it truly was made of ground-up dragons and fairies, in which case he really didn't want to try it anyway. Jet removed another can of tealeaves, but the label was all in Chinese again. "I can't even read this one. It's all… liney."

The can of tealeaves was snatched from Jet's hands and put back in its place. "It's called 'hanzi', Jet, not 'liney'," he snapped, though Jet knew he wasn't really all that upset. Jet liked to poke at Zuko's Asian-ness pretty regularly. "Now come over here and help me." With that he retreated back to the stove, where he was stirring the stuff in the mixing bowl, making dough of some kind. Jet sighed and joined him, not finding Zuko cooking to be the most entertaining thing in the world.

As Iroh was closing up the Jasmine Dragon, it was Zuko's turn to make dinner. Of course Jet had invited himself, partly for the food and partly because he liked Zuko's attitude. Sure, he was brash and kind of socially awkward — okay, really socially awkward — but he also had some vaguely philosophical moments that appealed to Jet's intelligence and some of his not-meant-to-be-funny remarks were, well, hilarious.

And it was fun to piss him off. Just sayin'.

Zuko Li was purebred Chinese, born and raised there for the majority of his life, son of businessman titan Ozai Li. After a few rebellious episodes, as boys were prone to in adolescence, Ozai thought it best to send him to his ex-military general Uncle Iroh for straightening out. At the age of thirteen. Sure, the boy spoke perfect English without a hint of accent, but wasn't quite sure how to really function as a normal person in a normal public school with people who didn't hand him everything.

Now sixteen, Jet had sort of forced his friendship on the boy. He didn't try as hard as he could to push Jet away, but he wasn't super thrilled with him one way or another. For Jet, that was reason enough to stick around. And the food was good.

Jet Bing, though of Asian descent, didn't grow up in the traditional atmosphere that Zuko had. His parents were killed in a car accident when he was eight, and he didn't really have any family to live with. He'd ended up at a family friend's house — Robert, but they called him Pipsqueak — and he'd been there ever since. They didn't have a lot of money or a lot of space, but it was the only place he'd call home.

Of course, these people he lived with were American. Therefore, though Jet was Korean, he hadn't ever learned the customs or language or behavior or anything. Zuko had been appalled at some of his manners before ("You can't use chopsticks? Take your shoes off at the door. Elbows off the table."), and him and his uncle had this habit of speaking in Chinese with each other while Jet was around. It frustrated him to some extent, since he had no idea what they were saying. But it had made for a fun game: Zuko baiting.

Zuko handed Jet a box of what appeared to be some Chinese dumpling mix, from the picture on the front. "Read me step eight," Zuko asked, or rather told, Jet. He lifted the box to eye level and squinted at it. It was liney stuff — again.

"Oh, sure, no problem," Jet replied as he took the box. "Ching chong-ah Jackie Chan ching ching, chong—"

Jet was cut off by a slap upside his head. This only added to his amusement, as he started laughing at Zuko's angry face. The boy took the box back from Jet and turned it around, showing the directions in English.

"The English directions are on the back, douche bag," he barked, though he wasn't really all that offended. He knew Jet liked to tease him, but if he didn't hurry up, the dough was going to burn.

However, by reacting the way he did, it made Jet want to poke at his nerves more.

Jet dutifully read the next line of instructions to Zuko, waiting until the preparation was done and for Zuko to actually start frying before he started the teasing again. Zuko spooned a dumpling into the skillet, pushing it around with a pair of chopsticks. Jet sidled up to his back and put his mouth right next to Zuko's ear, whispering, "Ching chong."

Zuko used his free hand try and bat Jet away, more aggravated that Jet was interrupting his cooking than actually being offended. Jet snickered and backed off, waited a few minutes, then sidled up to the boy again, on his other side, and whispered again, "Chiiiiing… chong."

"Jet, one more time, and I kill you," Zuko threatened, shoving Jet back with his shoulder. Jet backed off once more, trying not to laugh too loud. Finally, Zuko was done cooking and had the food ready on the table for when Uncle finally got home. Jet waited until then to drop the final bomb.

"Ohhh Zuko, ching ching chong chopstick, chong aiiii—"

"That's it. You die now," Zuko declared before lunging at Jet, who jumped out of the way just in time.

Then he turned on his heel and fled through the house, crying, "Godzilla!" He made it to the bathroom before Zuko finally caught him and tackled him to the tile floor, almost causing Jet to bang his head on the side of the bathtub, though he was laughing too hard to really worry about his state of well-being.

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry!" he choked out through his laughs, finding himself terribly amusing. "I give in, I give in! Uncle, uncle!"

"Ah, you called— oh." Jet and Zuko both looked up at Iroh, who was in the doorway to the bathroom that Zuko had cornered Jet in. Apparently he'd just arrived home.

Needless to say, Zuko and Jet were in a pretty compromising position. Zuko was holding Jet on the ground with his body weight, Jet's hands on his shoulders to try and push him off, and they were both flushed and panting.

Not really a good way to explain that.

"Should I come back later, nephew?" Uncle asked with a hint of amusement in his voice, speaking Mandarin. Zuko roughly pushed himself up, now a brighter red, and stalked out of the bathroom.

"Whatever, supper's ready," he replied, turning a corner out of sight. Jet sat up and followed him, not even trying to restrain his chuckles. "Shut up, Jet!" he growled, forgetting to switch back to English.

"Ching chong to you too, Zuko."