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Chapter Text

The fire navy ship is very large. And very pointy. And it just destroyed the village wall with its big, stupid gangplank, which is more things Sokka has to fix, on top of the watch tower Aang barrelled into just a few hours before. He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. Today couldn’t get any worse.

The Fire Nation soldiers are even more pointy, with their arrowhead shaped helmets and giant shoulder pads and the spears bristling in their hands. The one in the middle must be the leader, since his helmet is the biggest and pointiest of them all. He would be handsome if it wasn’t for the burn mark over his left eye, which gives him a permanent glare.

The old man beside him seems to be related to him in some way, because he keeps looking at him in a sort of sorrowful paternal way. Not his father, Sokka doesn’t think. An uncle?

The scary guy opens his mouth, probably to deliver an impassioned speech about how they need to hand over the Avatar or he’ll burn their village to the ground. Sokka could try to fight him, but that would be a stupid move and he’d probably end up with his brains mashed into a pulp.

He has other skills though.

“Hey, handsome,” he says, sauntering up to the group of soldiers. “What’s a pretty thing like you doing in a place like this?”

The boy opens and closes his mouth, looking totally flummoxed. Being flirted at clearly hadn’t been on his bingo card for today. He’d probably come here with his big fire navy ship and his pointy helmet and thought that would be enough to scare the villagers into handing over Aang.

“I... I’m here to capture the Avatar!” he says, puffing out his chest and glaring even harder than before, which is kind of impressive actually.

“Well, you’ve captured one thing alright,” Sokka says, giving him a slow, head-to-toe look and licking his lips. “But I’m afraid there are no Avatars here. Didn't the last one disappear like a hundred years ago?"

“I saw him through my spyglass,” the boy says disbelievingly, crossing his arms over his chest. "Only an airbender could jump from such an impossible height and survive.”

“We're pretty hardy people," Sokka says, shrugging. "And pretty light on our feet. My sister was playing around on an old fire navy ship earlier and had to be rescued- there was no time to worry about heights. You know how little sisters are.”

Sokka can tell from the boy’s face that he does know how little sisters are, perhaps a little too well. He wonders what the story is there.

“Are you sure?” he asks, looking a little deflated.

“Sorry, princess,” Sokka says, giving his shoulder a conciliatory pat. “I wish I could help you out, but he’s not here.”

“You!” the boy says indignantly, shaking his hand off. “I’m not a princess, I’m a prince! And you will treat me with respect!”

“Oops,” Sokka says, pretending to look sheepish. “Sorry, you’re just so pretty that I thought you were a girl.”

“That’s ridiculous,” the prince says, avoiding his eyes and blushing. “You’re ridiculous. What are you even doing?”

“Flirting with you. I thought that was obvious?”

The prince blushes harder. He really is quite sweet, like a little tigerdillo kitten trying to act fierce. Sokka may have to keep him.

“Why?”

“Because I want to,” Sokka says, shrugging. “Anyway, if it’s the Avatar you’re looking for, I can help you find him. I’m the best hunter in my village, you know.”

The prince looks around at the village in question, unimpressed.

“Nephew, this is a great opportunity!” the old man says. “This kind young man is offering to help you capture the Avatar. You should take him up on his offer!”

He winks at Sokka over the prince’s shoulder, as if he knows more than he’s letting on.

“Fine!” the prince says, throwing up his hands. “Fine. But stop… doing that. And address me as Prince Zuko and Prince Zuko only! Otherwise I’ll have to throw you in the brig.”

Sokka slings an arm around his shoulder, ignoring his indignant spluttering.

“Sure kitten, I’ll call you anything you want me to. Hey, do you have any meat? I’m starving.”

“We have plenty of roast duck,” the uncle says, patting his rotund belly. “And jasmine tea. My nephew does not appreciate either, but I can tell you’re a man who enjoys the finer things in life.”

Sokka glances over his shoulder at Katara and gives her a thumbs up, grinning reassuringly.

Thank you, she mouths, but her eyes are worried.

She doesn’t have to be. Give it a month, and he’ll already have bullied Zuko into joining their side. He just has to help him sort through his daddy issues first. And it’s definitely daddy issues, Sokka could smell it from a mile away.

“You can call me Uncle Iroh, by the way,” the old man says. “After all, it seems we may be welcoming you into our family very soon!”

“Not you too,” Prince Zuko groans. “Uncle, I am NOT marrying this Water Tribe peasant!”

But he doesn’t stop Sokka from touching him, and when he skates his fingertips lightly over the back of his neck, he shivers.

Touch starved, Sokka thinks, hiding his wicked little grin. Oh, I can work with this.

After all, he wasn’t lying when he said he was the best hunter in his village. Time to put those skills to the test and woo this prince like he’s never been wooed before. For the sake of restoring peace to the four nations, of course.

But first, roast duck.

Chapter Text

“So, tell me about yourself,” Uncle Iroh says, pouring tea into a red and gold cup. Fire Nation colours. Sokka tries not to let his distaste show on his face, taking the cup with a polite nod.

Prince Zuko had declined to join them for tea. He’d slunk off to his room, probably to stew in his own juices for a while. Sokka had made a big show of trying to follow him, but he’d gotten right up in his face and told him to stay out of his room or else. 

“Well… there’s not much to tell,” he says evasively, eyeing the small plate of sesame cakes and salivating slightly. It’s not roast duck, but he’ll take it. Politeness stops him from just shoving a fistful into his mouth- he knows a little bit about Fire Nation culture from Gran Gran’s stories, and he’s pretty sure the elders are supposed to eat first.

“Oh, come now,” Uncle Iroh says, chuckling to himself. “I’m sure a young man such as yourself must have had at least a few adventures.”

Sokka thinks about the iceberg splitting in half and Aang popping out of it like some sort of deranged bird. He’s definitely not going to tell this guy about that, no matter how kind and reasonable he seems. He’s still Fire Nation, and that means he can’t be trusted.

“Well, there was the time I tried to hide a polar bear puppy in my room. It chewed through all my socks and peed on my bed. Gran Gran found out and made me put it back, but the mother saw me and chased me around for a while. I ended up on the roof of the igloo at one point.”

The old man laughs uproariously, his eyes crinkling up at the corners. 

“That sounds like quite the experience.”

He reaches out, but his hand passes over the sesame cakes and goes straight to his cup of tea, which is still steaming merrily despite the cold temperatures. Sokka supposes that firebenders don’t have to worry about their tea getting cold. That would be a pretty useful skill back home, although he’s heard they don’t do well in the cold. They draw their power from the sun’s warmth, or something.

“Yeah, it was,” he says, taking a sip of his own tea. It’s pretty good, kind of floral and sweet, a little bit like akutaq. He’d been unsure what to expect in terms of food here (he doubts they know what sea prunes are or how to prepare them properly) but this Uncle Iroh guy seems to know what he’s doing. 

“Hey, what’s Zuko’s deal? He seems… a bit… uh… shouty.”

Uncle Iroh stretches out his hand, passing over the sesame cakes again, and reaches for more tea. His cup is already empty, which is the fastest Sokka has ever seen anyone drink anything before. The guy must really like tea.

“Prince Zuko had a difficult childhood. My brother is not exactly the fatherly type.”

Sokka opens his mouth to argue, because he and Katara had a difficult childhood and they don’t go around yelling at people and trying to kidnap fourteen-year-olds. 

“I know what you must be thinking,” Uncle Iroh says, seeing his expression. “But my nephew’s honour rests on finding the Avatar. His actions are not driven by greed, but by desperation.”

Desperation. Huh. 

“Please, eat,” Uncle Iroh says, gesturing to the sesame cakes. “A man needs his sustenance. We have a long journey ahead of us, and if you’re going to try to outwit my nephew, you’ll need all the help you can get.”

Oh shit. Oh shit oh shit oh shit. He thought he was being sneaky.

“How did you know?” he asks, thinking back on all the tea he drank with a dawning sort of horror. It couldn’t possibly have been poisoned, could it? Uncle Iroh has drunk plenty of tea himself, but he could have intentionally built up a resistance to it. Sokka doesn’t know what he does in his spare time.

“What, do you think I was born yesterday?” the old man says, raising a single eyebrow. “Now, eat.”

Sokka eats. The sesame cakes are good, nutty and a little sweet. At least he’ll go to his grave with a full belly.

He’d really been holding out for that roast duck though.

Surprisingly, he wakes up. 

Prince Zuko is standing over him, looking like his usual grumpy self.

“Hmmmm…. Guh?” he says, squinting up at him in confusion.

“You. Come with me.”

Groaning, Sokka rolls out of bed, reaching for his tunic and pulling it over his head. He squints around at the bare little cabin in some confusion. He’d come here yesterday afternoon with Uncle Iroh, fully expecting to be dead by morning, but here he is, still alive. Is he missing something?

“Hurry up,” the prince says, growing visibly impatient. Sokka waves a hand at him in the universal gesture for stop talking, going to the porthole and squinting outside. It’s hard to see anything clearly, but the light suggests that the sun has only just risen.

Yawning, he walks over to the bed and face plants onto it. 

“You!“ the prince says, sounding mortally offended. “Get. Up.”

Sokka ignores him, pretending to snore. Nobody is going to stop him from getting his precious sleep, no matter how flammable they are. People in the Fire Nation might rise with the sun, but no-one told Sokka he had to abide by their customs.

Suddenly, the air near his head gets uncomfortably hot, as if he rolled over during the night and ended up too close to the fire. He squints open one eye to see that the prince’s hands are definitely on fire.

“Ok, ok, I’m getting up!” he yelps, scrambling away from the red and gold flames. “No need to do anything hasty.”

The fire goes out. Prince Zuko is breathing hard, sweat standing out on his skin. He looks like he wants to burn Sokka so severely even his ancestors feel it.

“That’s uh… that’s a neat trick you got there,” he says faintly, reaching for one of his arm wraps.

“It’s not a trick!” the prince says, bristling. “It’s an ancient and noble art form, bestowed on us by Agni himself!”

Sokka barely resists the urge to roll his eyes. He doesn’t believe in gods or spirits, but he’s not exactly going to tell el flameo that. He likes his skin and would prefer to keep it intact.

“That’s nice,” he says, yawning. He looks around for Boomerang, finding it lying discarded on the floor next to the bed. He shoves it into its holster, then hunts around for his boots.

“You should take better care of your weapon,” the prince says, frowning down at Boomerang as if he’s personally offended on its behalf.

Sokka smirks. Oh, he walked right into that one. 

“Don’t worry snookums,” he says, winking suggestively. “I take very good care of my weapon.”

“No you don’t, you left it on the floor,” the prince says accusingly. “You’re supposed to oil it every night and put it back in its case.“

Sokka is beginning to see why it was so easy to lie to this guy back at the South Pole. He has all the non-verbal communication skills of a plank of wood. He almost feels guilty for taking advantage of his complete lack of social skills. 

Almost.

“Are you finally done?” the prince asks as he finishes tying on his boots.

Sokka pretends to look around thoughtfully for anything he might have missed. Zuko’s eye twitches.

“Well, it’s a Friday, so I need to do my ten-step exfoliation routine-“

The prince grabs him by the collar of his tunic and drags him unceremoniously towards the door.

The command centre of a fire navy ship is a fascinating place. Sokka’s fingers itch as he looks around at all the interesting dials and levers. He’s never been on a ship of this size before, and he’d love to take it apart and figure out how it all works.

Prince Zuko unfurls a large map of the four nations, made of paper instead of animal skins. Sokka can’t help but admire the craftsmanship of it. Each territory is outlined in precise strokes, the colours saturated and bright in a way that would be hard to reproduce back home. Dye isn’t exactly easy to come by when you live in a frozen tundra.

“You,” the prince barks, pointing at the map. “Show me where you think the Avatar is.”

Great. Now he has to lie, and lie well enough to be convincing. His knowledge of geography is excellent when it comes to the South Pole, but anything outside of that is a bit… fuzzy. He should have listened more attentively to Dad’s stories. 

“What about breakfast?” he asks, stalling for time. “I’m starving.”

The prince crosses his arms over his chest, nose in the air like some sort of highborn lady. Princess, indeed. 

“You should have thought about that before you decided to skip dinner last night.”

Skip dinner? He thought he was going to die. His mouth waters as he imagines the succulent morsels of roast duck he missed out on. Iroh must be playing the long game, dangling the promise of meat just out of reach to ensure his compliance. Sokka has to hand it to him, it’s a pretty inventive strategy.

Grumbling, he casts his eyes over the map. If Aang and Katara are smart, they’ll go straight to the North Pole, bypassing the Earth Kingdom completely. Going to the Southern Air Temple first would be extremely fucking stupid, but he has a feeling they will anyway. If he’d woken up a hundred years in the future, he’d probably have wanted to go home first too.

He pretends to be thinking about it, leaning over the map and frowning thoughtfully. His finger traces a line from their location upwards, deliberately brushing against the prince’s hand along the way. He doesn’t miss the way his breath catches in the back of his throat, or the way he stiffens ever so slightly beside him. 

“Kiyoshi Island,” he says decisively, pointing to the small land mass. 

“Kiyoshi Island,” the prince repeats, deadpan.

“Think about it,” Sokka says, warming to his theme. “If you were more in touch with your past lives than the average guy, wouldn’t you be drawn back to your old stomping grounds at some point?”

“Kiyoshi Island is neutral,” the prince concedes, frowning thoughtfully. “The Fire Nation hasn’t interfered in their affairs for a hundred years. It would be the perfect hiding place.”

“Exactly,” Sokka says, acting like he knew that already, which he definitely didn’t. “I bet that’s where he’s been hiding out all this time.”

The prince nods decisively.

“I’ll tell the helmsman to plot our course immediately. We attack at dawn.”

“Wait, wait, wait!” Sokka cries, stepping in front of him and holding up his hands. The prince narrows his eyes at him, one second away from erupting like a mini volcano.

“We can’t just attack them,” he explains. “The Avatar is an all-powerful being, remember? We need to gain his trust, then capture him when he least expects it.”

A vein pulses in the prince’s forehead. Subterfuge is clearly not his preferred method of attack. It probably goes against the Fire Nation code of ethics, or something.

“And you can’t firebend,” he says quickly. “We need to lay low, which means the people on Kiyoshi Island can’t know you’re Fire Nation. We’ll have to go in disguise.”

“In disguise,” the prince repeats, like some people might say in our underwear.

“Yeah. I mean, we can’t do much about your scar, but you can at least hide your hair and maybe try to smile more often. You’ll scare the islanders away otherwise.”

The prince steps further into his space, jabbing at his chest with one finger.

“If I find out this is some kind of trick, you’re going to wish you were never born.”

And well, he picked the wrong person to intimidate, because not only does Sokka have the self-preservation instincts of a mollusc, he’s also much, much better at unnerving Zuko than Zuko is at unnerving him. 

He catches the prince’s hand in his and brings it to his lips, brushing a kiss across his knuckles. His skin is warm, warmer than anyone‘s skin ought to be, and hardened from years of training. He looks up at him through lowered lashes for maximum effect, feeling his pulse go crazy. 

This boy is so easy. He should be careful, someone might try to take advantage of him.

“Don’t worry, kitten. I’m not going to betray you.”

Prince Zuko snatches his hand back as though scalded, his face now the same colour as his armour.  

“Fine,” he mutters, clearing his throat. “Disguises. Whatever.”

Sokka hides his snort as he beats a hasty retreat, probably to go scream into his pillow or something. 

Suddenly remembering how hungry he is, he heads down to the mess hall, hoping there’s still food leftover from breakfast. It doesn’t seem like he’s going to be poisoned anytime soon, so he might as well stock up on calories while he can.

There are a few bleary-eyed soldiers scattered over the long central table, eating from plain white bowls. No red and gold here, Sokka notes. Maybe that’s a Fire Nation royalty thing. The soldiers look way less intimidating without their helmets, like real people instead of faceless, nameless automatons.

Sokka sidles up to one of them, a grizzled older gentleman with an expression that says do not interact.

“Heeeeeey, do you know where I can get some of that?” he asks, pointing to the food. Back home he’d just help himself from one of the bowls already on the table, but he has a feeling it works differently here.

The soldier narrows his eyes at him as if Sokka just insulted his entire family, before sighing and pointing to a covered crockpot in the corner. Sokka smiles beatifically at him, says thank you, and scampers off to get his breakfast.

It’s some sort of spongy, glutinous rice dish with bits of vegetables and chicken inside. Sokka’s stomach growls. Finally, some meat. He spoons a big helping into one of the bowls and walks back over to the table, plopping himself down on the bench opposite the older guy.

“Hi,” he says, sticking out his hand. “What’s your name?”

The guy looks at his hand like it’s a venomous mink snake. Undeterred, Sokka spoons up some of the rice instead, popping it into his mouth. It’s good, meaty and savoury, with a sort of tangy, spicy aftertaste. 

“That’s Lieutenant Jee,” one of the soldiers pipes up, a woman with almond shaped eyes and a sharp jawline. “My name is Sergeant Murozono, and that’s Kuzon over there. He’s our newest recruit.”

“Hi,” Kuzon says, waving nervously. He can’t be any older than Katara. 

“Nice to meet all of you,” Sokka says, shoving more rice into his mouth. “I’m Sokka.”

It comes out sounding more like mmmf Skkkmfff, which makes the guy with the beard frown harder. He swallows, looking around at the metal panelling, which appears to be rusting. Some of the bolts also seem to be loose. For a ship belonging to a prince, it doesn’t exactly scream seaworthy vessel.

“How old is this ship, anyway?” he asks, wishing he had some tools so he could get to work fixing it up. It’s draughty down here, so maybe some sort of cladding would be in order. The single lightbulb in the hallway also needs to be replaced- when he walked under it earlier, it was flickering ominously.

Lieutenant Jee snorts, finally breaking his silence. “It’s a decommissioned cruiser from the early days of the war. How old do you think it is?”

That explains the rust, then.

“Is Prince Zuko… very distantly related to the Fire Lord?” he asks, baffled. 

That’s the only explanation he can think of as to why they’d assign a member of the royal family such a poor excuse for a ship. Maybe in the Fire Nation, the title of prince is just an honorary thing, given to every male descendant of the royal line.

Lieutenant Jee and Sergeant Murozono exchange a loaded look.

“Distantly related,” Lieutenant Jee says drily. “Sure.”

Sokka puzzles over that one for a while, eating the rest of his meal. He chats to Sergeant Murozono about her travels aboard the ship and plays word games with Kuzon. Lieutenant Jee starts to thaw after a while, his expression becoming a little less stern. Sokka even learns that he has a beautiful singing voice, something Sergeant Murozono had volunteered with a barely concealed smirk.

He thinks he’ll fit in fine here. There’s plenty of food and an interesting project for him to work on. He’d even managed to palm a notebook off Sergeant Murozono after a lot of begging and puppy eyes. He thinks she quite likes him.

Zuko is still a problem, but Sokka is pretty sure he can handle him. He just needs to distract him long enough for Katara and Aang to get to the North Pole safely. After all, how hard can it be to avoid two kids and a flying bison?

Unfortunately for Sokka, the answer is very very hard indeed.

Chapter Text

It takes three weeks to get to Kiyoshi Island from the South Pole. Sokka has been reliably informed by Lieutenant Jee, who tolerates his questions up to a certain point, that the Wani is smaller than most fire navy ships, but considerably faster. He’d followed him around for the first few days, asking how the pneumatic doors worked and what the hull was made of, exactly, until he’d thrown a mop at him and told him that if he was going to talk so much he might as well work.

Sokka worked. It didn’t make him shut up though. Eventually he managed to weasel every last bit of information he could get out of the exasperated Lieutenant, who let him see the schematics after a lot of prompting. Sokka had drawn up his own plans for improvements, talking a mile a minute until the Lieutenant had just given him a toolbox and told him to go to town.

Uncle Iroh continues to be an enigma, inviting him to his quarters for tea every few days and treating him with a gentle, fatherly sort of affection. He’s even teaching him to play pai sho, which his own nephew has very little interest in. Sokka is still waiting for the other shoe to drop, but the old man seems to be playing his cards very close to his chest, because Zuko is still completely oblivious to his deception.

Speaking of Zuko, he spends most nights holed up in his room, probably writing angsty poetry. He never joins them for meals, but Sokka occasionally passes him in the hallway of an evening, on his way to the mess hall. He’s usually wearing at least two blankets and looking completely miserable.

During the day, he paces the deck like a caged tigerdillo, his eyes fixed on the horizon. There’s not much to see yet, mostly just a big stretch of nothing in either direction. One day, Sokka can’t take it anymore and interrupts one of his regular deck pacing sessions to suggest a sparring match. Anything is better than watching him wear a hole in the ground.

“Spar,” he says flatly. “With you.”

Sokka takes off his shirt, tossing it in the corner. He doesn’t miss the way the prince carefully avoids looking at his bare chest. Because he’s an asshole, he does some exaggerated stretching, showing off the muscles he got from hunting last season.

“Hey, I’m not totally useless. I can still fight.”

The prince looks, if possible, even more unconvinced than before. 

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he says doubtfully.

“You won’t,” Sokka says, with his most winning smile. “Come on, we both need the distraction.”

Sighing, the prince relents, removing his armour and placing it meticulously to one side. Sokka’s eyes go to his chest, which is more well-muscled than a teenage boy’s chest has any right to be. He suddenly wonders if this was a mistake.

Zuko squares off against him, narrowing his eyes. They circle each other warily, like two polar bear dogs fighting over territory. Thinking he spots an opening, Sokka darts towards him, opening his mouth in an almighty cry-

His back hits the deck before he can say concussion. He lies there for a good few seconds, trying to make the world stop spinning. A hand enters his field of vision and he grasps it unthinkingly, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet.

“You’re really bad at this,” the prince says bluntly. “Didn’t your father ever teach you to fight?”

“He was a bit busy going off to war,” Sokka says tartly, inspecting his elbows for bruises. He feels like he just got run over by a cart. A heavy one.

“Oh,” the prince says, looking suitably chastened. “I can train you if you want.”

Sokka raises an eyebrow. 

“I’m not a bender, you know.”

The prince shrugs, as if that hardly matters. 

“I’m trained in several forms of hand-to-hand combat that don’t require bending. I’m also skilled with a blade.”

And the thing is, he should say no. Zuko is pretty much handing him the tools of his own destruction, and that feels… icky. But he’s a kid from the middle of nowhere, and he doesn’t have enough money to pay to train under a master. It’s unlikely that he’ll ever get a chance like this again.

“Sure,” he says, shrugging. “What’s the worst that can happen?”

The worst that can happen is breathing exercises. Lots and lots of breathing exercises. Zuko says if he’s going to learn to fight, he needs to learn to breathe first. Sokka thinks that’s a little rich, considering he’s heard Uncle Iroh tell him time and time again that firebending comes from the breath, not the muscles. 

But he breathes all the same, letting the sea breeze waft through the end of his wolf tail. It’s peaceful, in a way. All his worries and hang-ups seem to drift away, leaving a floaty sort of nothingness. It all seems so insignificant here, with the sun shining down on him and the smell of salt in the air.

After he’s apparently breathed for long enough, Zuko decides he’s ready to move on to stances. Those are equally boring, and they all have names like the horse stance and the cat stance, which is just confusing. What type of horse is it, anyway? An ostrich horse, or an elephant horse? Because those are very different animals.

Zuko makes him repeat the stances again and again, until he reaches optimum levels of horse and/or cat. By the time he’s mastered them to his satisfaction, they’re already three quarters of the way to Kiyoshi Island. If the residents turn out to be hostile, he’s just going to have to cycle slowly through the various stances until they eventually decide he’s too stupid to kill.

“Good,” Zuko says one day, after he’s stanced as much as he can possibly take. “You’re ready to learn to block.”

Sokka groans, coming out of horse stance. He stands up on his tiptoes to get some feeling back in his feet, which have gone completely numb from staying in the same position for so long. 

“When do I actually get to hit something?” he complains. 

Zuko narrows his eyes at him.

“It’s no use being able to hit people if you can’t block. You need to learn how to defend yourself first.”

“Ugh, fine,” he grumbles, going to his pack and taking a big swig of water. The weather is getting warmer as they move further north, the occasional barren, rocky outcrop giving way to lush green islands. Despite the warm weather, Zuko still insists on wearing his armour every day, even though the only combat they’ve seen on this journey has been the occasional run-in with a particularly hostile seabird.

“Fighting stance,” Zuko barks, as he puts the cap back on his water skin.

Sighing, Sokka obliges, putting one foot in front of the other and holding his fists up, knees slightly bent.

“Good,” Zuko says, circling him like a tiger shark. His golden eyes are narrowed and he looks positively war-like, vastly different from the shy, socially awkward boy he reverts to whenever Sokka teases him. He’s glad he didn’t try to fight him back at the South Pole, because it probably wouldn’t have ended well for him.

“Your blocks are going to be different depending on how your opponent is attacking you,” Zuko explains. “If they’re kicking you, you block with both arms. If they’re punching you, you use one arm to block and the other to attack.”

“But you haven’t taught me how to attack,” Sokka complains.

Zuko gives him a warning look.

“I’m going to teach you how to block with one arm first, then we’ll move on to two. After that, there’ll be a practical examination.”

“Practical examination?” Sokka repeats, not liking where this is going.

“I’m going to hit you. A lot.”

“Uh,” Sokka says, feeling a little faint. “Are you sure I can’t learn to hit back first?”

“No,” Zuko says, short and final.

Well, at least he had a nice life. 

Zuko comes up behind him, taking hold of his left arm and moving it into the correct position. Sokka can’t help but be slightly affected, his heart beating faster and his skin flushing hot. He does his best to ignore it, focusing on the burn in his thighs rather than the warmth of Zuko’s skin. The homoeroticism of the situation is not lost on him, but he can’t let himself get too carried away- he’s the one who’s supposed to be seducing Zuko, not the other way around.

“The arm you use to block will depend on which side your opponent is coming from,” Zuko says, torturously close to his ear. “If they come at you from the left, you block from the left. If they come at you from the right, you block from the right.”

He brings Sokka’s left arm up in a forceful movement, keeping it bent and at an angle. Then he does the same with the right arm, demonstrating how to block from that side as well. Sokka’s skin erupts into goosebumps, even though being this close to Zuko feels like standing next to a furnace.

Eventually, the prince steps back, taking his warmth with him. Sokka shivers, suddenly cold.

“Do you understand?” Zuko asks, with an expectant look.

“Wha…?” says Sokka dazedly. 

All he receives in response is a raised eyebrow.

“Uh… I mean, yeah. I understand.”

Zuko nods. “Practice that a hundred times with each arm, then I’ll show you how to block with both arms.”

Sokka groans, already dreading how sore he’s going to be tomorrow. If nothing else, Zuko’s draconian training techniques are going to give him an insane pain tolerance. If he ever gets captured and tortured for information, they won’t be able to get anything out of him.

Sokka flops down on Kuzon’s bed, utterly exhausted. He has bruises where he’s never had bruises before, and he’s pretty sure he’s going to be walking funny tomorrow. Zuko hadn’t been lying when he said he was going to hit him a lot. 

“Big day?” Kuzon says from his cosy little spot on the floor. He’s made himself a blanket nest, probably because the crew quarters are about as welcoming as a boot to the face. Sokka has been working on a prototype for a rudimentary heating system, but it’s slow going. They have to make do with what they have in the meantime.

Sokka grunts, beyond any sort of intelligible speech. He can barely string two thoughts together, let alone make those thoughts come out of his mouth in a logical order.

“Wow, Zuko must really be working you hard,” Kuzon says, with a soft little chuckle at his expense. “I’ve never seen you this quiet.”

“He’s ruthless!” he says, turning over onto his back and staring up at the ceiling. “He made me practice blocking for hours. Hours. And then he hit me! A lot! Even my bruises have bruises.”

He rubs the meaty part of his shoulder, wincing. Zuko really hadn’t held back. He’d come at Sokka like a bat out of hell, pelting him with blow after blow as he’d desperately tried to shield his face and remember which blocks to use. Their little training session had even drawn a crowd of curious onlookers, the crew eager for some excitement after long weeks at sea. 

Kuzon hums thoughtfully.

“You know, he’s a lot less… combustible since you came onboard. And he doesn’t yell at us anywhere near as much as he used to. I think you’re good for him.”

“You mean he was worse than this?” he asks, horrified. 

“Much worse. He burned a crate of tea to cinders once. General Iroh wouldn’t speak to him for a week.”

Huh.

“You keep him grounded,” Kuzon says, sounding wise beyond his years. “Maybe it’s an elemental thing. Fire and water. You balance each other out.”

“Hmmm,” Sokka says doubtfully, not sure being a non-bender counts. “What are you doing, anyway?”

Because Kuzon is holding a pair of needles, his hands moving in intricate patterns. Each movement creates a tiny, perfect stitch, which then becomes a row of tiny, perfect stitches. He already has a long woollen thing of unknown purpose trailing over his lap, made of bright orange wool. 

“Knitting,” Kuzon says, as if the answer should be obvious. “Do you not knit where you’re from?”

“I mean yeah, but it’s women’s work,” Sokka says, baffled.

The look Kuzon gives him makes him want to shrivel up and die.

“First of all, nothing is “women’s work” or “men’s work” here. You’d better learn that quickly, or Sargent Murozono is going to turn your intestines into noodles. And second of all, knitting is soldier’s work. We don’t exactly get paid much, so we use it to supplement our incomes. Even the highest-ranking officers at least know how to do a basic stitch.”

Sokka slides off the bed and plops down beside him, reaching for one of the balls of brightly coloured wool lying on the floor. He thinks about Zuko wandering the hallways of the Wani at night, looking like death warmed up. It’s pretty clear by now that his temperature regulation is all screwed up, probably because his powers are tied so closely with whatever the sun is doing. He’s not sure if that’s a firebender thing or just a Zuko thing, but he wants to help.

“Can you teach me?” 

Kuzon shoots him a sideways look, surprised. He’d probably expected him to argue or get defensive, but Sokka can admit when he’s wrong.  

“Sure,” he says, reaching into his bag and pulling out another pair of needles.

They pass a few hours like that, peacefully knitting. Well, sort of peacefully. Sokka’s first attempt is a horrible mess of hopelessly tangled wool, but he perseveres, and eventually he’s able to produce a row of stitches that are at least somewhat even. Kuzon makes him undo it anyway, saying he needs to practice more, but at least he’s getting somewhere.

“Damnit,” Sokka says sometime later, noticing how dark the sky is outside. “I think we missed dinner.”

Kuzon packs away his knitting things, carefully folding up his handiwork, which turned out to be a scarf. It’s a nice scarf too, with a sort of bobbly pattern that looks like it would be fun to touch.

“There’ll be some left,” he says, standing up and stretching. He gives Sokka a thoughtful look, noticing that he’s holding the short strip of cornflower blue stitching he managed to create like it’s a newborn baby. 

“What?” Sokka says, clutching it to his chest defensively.

“You know, Zuko has a secret sweet tooth,” Kuzon says mildly, which doesn’t seem relevant to the situation at all. “If you want to get on his good side, you could always try buying him some desserts.”

A secret sweet tooth? Now that’s an interesting bit of knowledge to have. Sokka could do a lot of things with that knowledge.

“Hey, thanks,” he says, smiling big and wide. “Now let’s go to the mess hall, I could eat an ostrich horse.”

Chapter Text

Before they go to Kiyoshi Island, they stop at a nearby port to buy disguises. There isn’t anything on the ship that would qualify, since Sokka only has the one outfit and Zuko seems to live in his armour.

Sokka looks around in curiosity at the rickety seafront buildings and all the people in Earth Kingdom and Fire Nation outfits. So far, the only places he’s been are the South Pole and Zuko’s ship, so this is all new for him. He can smell the scent of fish on the air and hear the chatter of fishermen down on the docks.

“Hey, what’s with all the Fire Nation outfits?” he asks, curious.

Zuko shrugs.

“This town is part of the colonies.”

That explains why no-one is running and screaming at the sight of the Wani pulling into the dock. People here are probably used to it. Sokka wonders what it’s like for the residents who live here, whether fights break out at the market every Sunday. He pictures people hurling cabbages and rice cakes at each other from opposite stalls, screaming their respective national anthems at the top of their lungs.

As they make their way through the streets of the town, he can’t help noticing that people are staring at him. They’ve probably never seen a guy from the Southern Water Tribe before, especially not one who’s willingly choosing to collaborate with a Fire Nation soldier. He tries not to let the stares get to him, but it’s uncomfortable to be looked at like some sort of circus attraction.

“Hey, do you know where we can go to buy clothing?” he asks a passing stranger in Earth Kingdom colours.

She gives him a once-over, raising her eyebrow at his outfit. 

“Mrs Xiong’s down the road,” she says. “Keep going straight ahead for about a hundred meters, then turn left. It’s the big building with the green sign, you can’t miss it.”

“Thank you,” he says, with a charming smile. She blushes, looking a little starstruck, then flinches at the sight of Zuko’s murderous glare.

“Let’s go,” the prince mutters, marching off down the street. Confused, Sokka scampers after him, turning to wave goodbye to the girl. 

“Thanks again!” he says brightly, but she turns around and walks quickly away without acknowledging him.

“Huh, that was weird,” he says, walking faster to catch up to Zuko.

No answer. Something’s put him in a mood again. He sighs, nudging him gently in the side. 

“Cheer up, we’re almost at Kiyoshi Island. All we have to do is find some decent disguises, then we’re one step away from catching the Avatar.”

The prince seems to take heart at that, striding forward with renewed determination.

Mrs Xiong’s is a small boutique on what appears to be the wealthier side of town. The sign out the front is new, and the woman who greets them at the door is perfectly made up. She takes one look at Sokka and smiles, but it’s not a particularly pleasant smile.

“I’m afraid we don’t serve people from the Water Tribe here,” she says, not sounding sorry at all.

Sokka feels like someone just tipped ice down the back of his tunic. He would have expected this from a Fire Nation establishment, but not an Earth Kingdom one.

“What?” Zuko says, his hands curling into fists at his sides.

The woman gives him a disdainful look.

“Those are the rules, young man. I’m afraid if you want to complain, you’ll have to take it up with the head office.”

“It’s alright Zuko,” Sokka says, putting a hand on his arm. “We can go somewhere else.”

“It’s not alright!” Zuko says furiously. “As your prince, I demand that you treat my friend with respect!”

The woman’s eyes widen. She takes in the scar, the top knot, the red and black armour polished to perfection. Realising her mistake, she drops into a deep, formal bow, addressing her own feet. 

“My apologies, Prince Zuko. I didn’t recognise you. You and your friend are of course welcome to browse at your leisure.”

“Apologise to him, not to me,” Zuko says, unrelenting as steel. 

Humiliated but not willing to risk the prince’s ire, the woman bows to Sokka as well.

“My apologies.”

Nodding, Zuko gestures for her to stand. She smiles thinly, her eyes full of poison. 

“May I suggest this delightful piece for your… friend,” she says, holding up a green silk robe with intricate fastenings and complicated beadwork. It probably costs more money than Sokka has ever had in his entire life.

“You will give it to him for free,” Zuko says, in a tone of voice that brooks no argument.

The woman looks like she wants to argue, but she eventually nods. Sokka can’t even be excited at the prospect of free stuff, because he’s too busy having an existential crisis.

Zuko called him his friend. That means his attempts to weasel his way into his good graces are working. He should be happy about that, but he isn’t.

He just feels guilty.

The silence between them is palpable as they walk back to the boat, carrying their new purchases. Sokka wonders if Zuko is having an existential crisis of his own- he doesn’t imagine he would have questioned the shop owner’s attitudes a few weeks ago. Maybe spending time with a “Water Tribe peasant”, as he so charmingly put it back at the South Pole, has made him question his own understanding of the world.

Just as the silence is about to become unbearable, Sokka notices a pink sign with a ridiculous number of sparkles and curlicues on it. The window display shows a row of perfect little sweets, designed to look like flowers and fruits and tiny, adorable animals. Remembering Kuzon’s words from a few days ago, he grabs Zuko by the hand and drags him inside.

“What are you doing?” the prince asks, allowing himself to be led but not sounding particularly happy about it.

“Hush, you,” Sokka says, walking up to the counter and smiling at the cashier. “Hi, we’d like some sweets please.”

The cashier takes one look at their clasped hands and smiles in a motherly, approving sort of way.

“Of course,” she says, her eyes sparkling. “You know, we have a two-for-one discount for couples.”

Zuko makes a strangled noise, trying to edge away from him.

“We’re not-“

“Not used to people calling us a couple yet!” Sokka interrupts, wrapping his arm around his waist to hold him in place. “It’s only been a few days, you see.”

“Well, we have a fine selection of designs to choose from,” the cashier says, indicating the rows upon rows of tiny, colourful sweets. “What would you like?”

Sokka peruses the available options, keeping a firm hold of Zuko so he doesn’t try to escape again. There are peaches with delicate green stems, rabbits with jewelled eyes, and an abundance of flowers in every colour of the rainbow. His eye lands on an exquisitely carved tigerdillo kitten, curled up in a ball with its little ears peeking out.

“That one,” he says decisively.

The cashier packages up their purchases in a pink box and ties a white ribbon around it. She hands it to Sokka with a wink, leaning forward to whisper conspiratorially. 

“Be careful with that one. I hear those Fire Nation boys are quite a handful, if you know what I mean.”

Sokka has an inkling. He sneaks a glance at Zuko’s face and sees he’s gone very, very red. He’s also trying to hide his blushing, which is pointless. Those are some of the pinkest ears Sokka has ever seen.

“We’re leaving,” the prince mutters, extricating himself with some difficulty. Sokka follows him outside, hiding a smirk. He really is too easy.

“Here,” he says, offering him the box. “These are for you.”

Zuko frowns down at it.

“I don’t eat sweets.”

Sokka pushes the box against his chest, not hard enough to smush it but hard enough that his hands come up out of reflex to grasp it. He steps back, holding up his own hands as if to say they’re your problem now.

“It’s a gift,” he says stubbornly. “No take-backs.”

It might be his imagination, but he’s pretty sure Zuko looks just the tiniest bit pleased at that.

When they get back to the docks, another fire navy ship is tied up next to the Wani. This one is much bigger, its hull sleek and undamaged. A heavyset man in a Fire Nation uniform is slowly descending the gangplank, looking around as if he owns the place.

“Zhao,” Zuko hisses.

This Zhao person spots them, the left side of his mouth curving up in a smirk. His eyes are cold, as cold as the sea, the sort of eyes that notice everything. Sokka instantly feels his hackles rising.

“Prince Zuko,” he says, in a soft, sibilant voice. “How nice to see you again.”

“Captain Zhao,” Prince Zuko says, clutching the box tighter against his chest. Sokka wants to rescue it before he accidentally pulverizes the sweets inside, but the tension between them is palpable and he doesn’t want to interrupt. 

Captain Zhao’s eyes zero in on the box, like a predator spotting an injured prey animal in the woods. His smile only grows, although his eyes become no less cold. 

“It’s Commander Zhao now,” he says, stepping further into the prince’s space. He plucks a card from inside the curl of ribbon, cream with pink accents. “Sweets, Prince Zuko? What would your father say?” 

Zuko goes white, his eyes taking on a haunted look. 

Not the fatherly type, Sokka recalls Uncle Iroh saying. He’s beginning to get a clearer picture of what that means.

“Lieutenant Zhao, was it?” he says, sticking out his hand. “Nice to meet you. I’m Sokka.”

Commander Zhao gives him a contemptuous look, as if he isn’t even good enough to lick the dirt from his boots. 

“You seem to have picked up some riff-raff on your travels, Prince Zuko,” he says icily. “Do you want me to remove it for you?”

“Riff-raff?” Sokka says, scratching his cheek. “I don’t see any riff-raff around here. Do you see any riff-raff, Zuko?”

“Only the riff-raff that’s in front of me right now,” Zuko says, narrowing his eyes and lifting his chin into the air.

Sokka smiles guilelessly at the incensed commander. His cold eyes have a little more heat in them now. Not so cool and collected after all, he thinks smugly.

“You might want to get your eyes checked, Private Zhao,” he says, feigning concern. “At your age, you have to be careful about these things.”

Zhao snarls, his fists catching fire. He raises his hand, as though planning to bring Sokka’s life to a swift and untimely end.

“Commander Zhao!” 

Sokka glances behind him. Uncle Iroh is striding towards them, flanked by the Wani’s crew, who are carrying an assortment of objects and curios. Kuzon wobbles slightly under an antique tea chest, only his legs visible beneath it.

“This young man is our esteemed guest,” Iroh says, his expression uncharacteristically angry. “If you have any quarrel with him, you can take it up with me.”

Zhao sneers, lowering his arm.

“Be careful, Prince Zuko” he says silkily. “Your uncle won’t always be around to fight your battles for you.”

He gives Sokka a final, cold-blooded look.

“Rest assured that I will be writing to your father about our conversation today,” he says scathingly. “I’m sure he’ll be very interested to hear about your new pet.”

“Hey, at least pets are loyal,” Sokka says, shrugging. 

He can tell Zhao’s words have hit a nerve though. Zuko is quiet all the way back to the boat, and when they arrive, he barricades himself in his room, only resurfacing to feed himself and go to the bathroom. He won’t acknowledge any of Sokka’s attempts to communicate with him, which would be hurtful if it wasn’t such an obvious defense mechanism.

Whatever his father did to him, it must have messed him up bad. That’s okay though. Sokka is going to find out what it was, and then he’s going to fix it.

Because that’s what he does. He fixes things. 

He just hopes that whatever he finds under all that fire and bluster isn’t quite as awful as he suspects it is.

Chapter Text

The final stretch of the journey goes by very quickly. Kiyoshi Island is just a hop, skip and a jump away, so they arrive three days later. Sokka convinced Zuko to leave the Wani docked at a nearby port and take a dinghy over. The islanders would have instantly recognised it as a fire navy vessel, so bringing it with them would have immediately blown their cover.

Zuko is still surly and taciturn, refusing to acknowledge him except to discuss their plans. It’s like all the progress they made over the past three weeks has been completely undone, and Sokka can’t help but feel a little disappointed. The tentative friendship they’d started to build may have been based on lies, but it was still real. He’d really thought Zuko had been starting to genuinely care about him. 

At around mid-morning, they arrive at a white sand beach cradled between two mountains. A line of scraggly trees marches its way towards the shore, their branches reaching out like fingers. 

“Let’s hide the boat over there,” Sokka says, jerking his thumb towards a small, dense clump of bushes. 

Zuko grunts in acknowledgement, and they pull the dinghy up over the sand, tucking it beneath the spreading leaves. Sokka breaks a few off and uses them to smooth out the groove in the sand left by the boat, leaving it looking as pristine and undisturbed as before. 

“You’re good at that,” Zuko observes, surprised.

Sokka shrugs, trying not to feel too pleased. He finishes his handiwork and straightens up, stuffing the broken leaves into his pockets.

“I told you, didn’t I? I’m the-“

“Best hunter in your village,” Zuko finishes for him, his lips lifting up in a small, genuine smile. “Yes, you keep saying.”

Who told him he could smile like that? That’s not fair. Blushing he can handle, but smiling? Uncalled for. Sokka would like to speak to the management.

“Listen, I’m- I’m sorry for how I acted the last few days,” Zuko says. He clears his throat, looking away. “It was… unfair of me.” 

Zuko is apologising. To him. Did he get a sudden personality transplant or something? This can’t be the same angry teenager with a chip on his shoulder the size of the Earth Kingdom that Sokka has shared a fire navy ship with for the last three weeks.

Concerned, he puts his hand on his forehead.

“What are you doing?!” the prince says, shying away from him like a spooked ostrich horse.

“Checking your temperature. You’re acting weird.”

Zuko scowls, batting his hand away. Balance is suddenly restored to the world.

“Sorry for trying to be sincere,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Next time, I won’t be so-“

Suddenly, dark figures drop from the trees, surrounding them in mere moments. Sokka barely has time to take anything in before he’s being blindfolded, his arms tied behind his back. Their attackers had been silent as the grave, moving with a swiftness borne of many years of training. All he’d been able to register had been white skin, red eyes and a flash of gold before he’d found himself lying face-down in the sand.

Their assailants carry them a short distance away and tie them to what appears to be a large tree. Sokka can hear Zuko breathing beside him and feel his warmth, which gives him some comfort. At least they’re being kept alive for now, though who knows what terrible fate awaits them.

He hopes it’s not the slave trade. He wouldn’t do well as an indentured servant. He’d probably talk his new master or mistress to death and end up with his head permanently detached from his shoulders

“You two have some explaining to do.”

It’s a man’s voice. That’s all Sokka can determine with his eyes blindfolded, although he would hazard a guess that the man in question has at least a few grey hairs on him. His voice is gruff and wizened, as if he’s seen more than his fair share of summers. 

“Take our blindfolds off at once!” Zuko shouts, straining against the ropes. He’s not doing a very good job of pretending not to be royalty. Normal people don’t go around barking orders at strangers like that. 

It works, though. Their blindfolds are removed post-haste, and Sokka finds himself blinking in the sudden light. The white skinned, red-eyed warriors from before are fanned out in front of them, their expressions ranging from curious to hostile to everything in between. They’re dressed in heavy green armour that covers them from head to toe and carrying golden fans. Sokka would bet real money that those aren’t just for decoration. 

“Well?” the one in the middle asks, narrowing her eyes to painted slits. “Spit it out. Who are you?” 

The thing is, Sokka’s default response would be to flirt here. It wouldn’t exactly be a chore- all of these girls are easy on the eyes and he’s pretty sure he could successfully sweet-talk at least a few of them. He has a feeling the leader would kick him in the unmentionables if he tried though, so that option is out. 

“Tea merchants!” He blurts out, before doing a mental face-palm at his own stupidity. There’s no way this is going to work. “From…. uh…” he wracks his brain for Earth Kingdom place names, desperately trying to picture Zuko’s map. “Omashu. Yeah, Omashu. Our ship got caught in a storm, you see. We’re the only survivors.” 

He hangs his head in mock sadness, hoping he appears suitably cut up by the whole experience.  

“Tea merchants,” the leader repeats, not sounding convinced at all. “In those clothes?”

Sokka winces internally. He should have said they were court officials or scholars or something. The delicately crafted robes he and Zuko are wearing probably cost more than someone from the mercantile class could ever afford.

“Actually, business is booming,” he lies. “One of our regular customers goes through so much tea that it pretty much funds our entire enterprise.“

“Well, if you’re tea merchants, you wouldn’t mind giving us a demonstration, now would you?” the leader says, smiling like a shark. “What do you say, girls?”

The other Kiyoshi warriors giggle from behind their fans, nodding in agreement. It’s not particularly nice giggling. 

“Sure,” he says, resigned to his fate. “We’d be happy to.”

“Tea merchants?!” Zuko hisses. “You really couldn’t think of anything better?”

He’s looking out at all the upturned faces with the air of someone who’s about to be put to death. Sokka feels kind of sorry for him- whatever his comfort zone is, he’s pretty sure they’re so far out of it that they might as well be on another planet.

Apparently the whole town has been invited to this little demonstration, young and old alike. The kids are shifting restlessly in their seats, waiting for something to happen, and the adults look like they’re expecting them to fail. Not exactly the most captive audience.

“I didn’t see you coming up with any ideas,” Sokka whispers. “And anyway, your uncle is great at making tea. Maybe you inherited his skills?” 

“It’s not genetic!” the prince hisses, throwing up his hands in exasperation. “Why couldn’t you have said we were cabbage merchants? You can’t demonstrate a cabbage!” 

A woman in a kimono appears, holding a heavy clay pot. She places it on the tatami in front of them, her eyebrow raised at their frantic whispering. More people appear, carrying teacups and whisks and silken cloths, the purpose of which completely eludes Sokka. Why do they need a whisk to make tea? 

Once everything is arranged to the old man’s satisfaction, he waves his hand. The islanders fall silent, their eyes trained on them like lasers. Sokka gulps.

“Do you remember your uncle teaching you anything about Earth Kingdom tea ceremonies?” he asks desperately. “Anything at all?”

Zuko stares at the implements in front of them in bewilderment, as if an instruction manual will magically appear to guide him through the necessary steps.

“I mean, yeah, a long time ago, but I’ve forgotten the details-“

“You’d better remember them fast then!” Sokka whispers, noticing that the leader of the Kiyoshi warriors has started looking a bit… murderous. He doesn’t want to get thrown back in the ocean for the fish to eat, thank you very much.  

“Okay, just let me think,” Zuko says, slightly hysterically.

Sokka sets his own anxiety aside for a moment and focuses on Zuko’s. For the first time, he notices that he’s genuinely afraid. He usually faces challenges head-on, with very little concern for his own safety or the safety of anyone around him, but being forced to do something while other people watch is enough to make him go pale and shaky.

“Sorry,” he says, reaching for his hand. The pattern of callouses there is familiar to him now, like the callouses on his own hands. That makes him feel… quite a lot of things, but the foremost emotion is something he’d rather not put a name to just yet. “I shouldn’t have gotten angry with you. Take all the time you need, kitten.”

The way he says the nickname in that moment feels way too close to a genuine term of endearment, and they both know it. Neither of them make any move to stop touching each other though.

Zuko takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly. His eyes scan over the items in front of him, assessing each one carefully. He picks up the cloth, folding it once, then twice, then uses it to clean the utensils, wiping away non-existent dirt.  

What follows is a bit like a choreographed dance. Zuko’s hands move in intricate, confusing ways, pouring and whisking, taking lids off things and putting them back on again. Sokka can’t keep up- it’s all happening so quickly, and it makes no sense, at least not to his eyes.

After what feels like much more time to make tea than necessary, Zuko places the cup in front of the old man. He rests his hands on his knees, surprisingly still and centered for someone so volatile. The old man looks down at the cup beneath beetling brows, perplexed. He probably hadn’t expected him to be able to pull it off.  

Bringing the cup to his lips, he takes a cautious sip.

“Very well,” he says reluctantly. “You may stay for one week. After that, you will leave Kiyoshi Island and never return.”

One week. They can work with that.

A maid shows them to the room that’s been hastily prepared for them. It’s sparsely furnished, with two futons and a long table set for the midday meal. It appears to be of the finger-food variety, with lots of dumplings and buns and other small, tasty parcels of food. Sokka hopes that at least a few of those parcels are filled with meat.  

“Come to papa,” he says, falling upon it like a starving man.

Some of the parcels are indeed filled with meat, the juices salty and rich, with a savoury aftertaste that lingers on his tongue. He moans, shoving another dumpling into his mouth. Zuko could fireball him in the face right now and he wouldn’t even care.

“Eugh,” the prince says, disgusted. “Can you not? You’re making me want to throw up.” 

Sokka licks stray dumpling juice off his fingers, tipping his head back to look up at him. 

“You need to eat too, you know. We only have a week to find the Avatar, so you’d better refuel.”

Zuko sighs, dropping down beside him. He rescues all the food Sokka hasn’t managed to devour or contaminate with his unmannerly eating habits, nibbling slowly on a bun. Because he’s a good friend and knows when to back down, Sokka eats his own food in a more civilised manner.

“Do you think we really will find the Avatar?” Zuko asks, sounding strangely vulnerable.

“I’m sure we will,” he says, nudging him gently in the side.  

I’m doing the right thing, he reminds himself, even though the hope on the prince’s face makes him want to chew through glass. 

So why does it all feel so wrong?

Chapter Text

Sharing a room with Zuko proves to be… interesting.

He has nightmares. Quite traumatic ones, it seems. It doesn’t seem to be something he’s consciously aware of, because if he was, Sokka doubts he would want someone bearing witness to them. He’d probably have demanded a separate room or something.  

The first time it happens, Sokka is having a dream about eating a giant chicken leg with a comically small knife and fork. It’s a good dream, as far as dreams go. That is, until the chicken leg starts to talk. 

“Father, please,” it says, looking at him with watery golden eyes. “Stop.”

He wakes up with a shudder to find himself in the guest room on Kiyoshi Island, no anthropomorphic chickens in sight. It’s still dark, the shadows stretching long on the walls. The night is cool, the air from the snow-tipped mountains blowing down into the valley.

“No,” Zuko whimpers. “Please, I’m sorry-“

He crawls to him in the dark, finding him curled on his side in a little ball, shivering violently. His skin is cold, cold and clammy, which is just… it’s just wrong. He should be warm, warm like fire, like life. Unthinkingly, he reaches  for his own blanket, wrapping it around both of their shoulders.

“Hush,” he says, gentling him. “Hush, now. You’re safe.”

He rubs his tears away with his thumbs, pressing their foreheads together. He feels Zuko’s heartbeat slow, his breaths going deep and even. Unable to help himself, he brushes his lips against the ridge of his cheekbone, tasting salt.

“The Avatar must be well-hidden,” the prince says at breakfast the next morning, sipping the bitter, salty soup that was provided as part of their breakfast. Sokka had set his aside, unable to stomach it. “I haven’t seen any sign of him.”

“Huh?” he says, still haunted by visions of chickens with watery golden eyes. “Oh. The Avatar.”

He rubs the back of his neck, reaching absent-mindedly for the teapot. Kiyoshi Island tea is different from Fire Nation tea, earthier and more full-bodied, with a nutty aftertaste he quite enjoys. He wonders if they’ll let him take some back to the Wani when their seven days are up. He thinks Uncle Iroh would get a kick out of it.

“He’s probably hiding out in some cave deep in the mountains,” he says, pouring himself another cup. “You know, doing monk stuff.”

“The mountains,” Zuko says, nodding slowly. “You may be right.”

There’s that guilt again, gnawing away at his guts like a particularly aggressive badger mole. The prince seems to trust him implicitly now, seeking his counsel whenever there’s a problem to solve. He’s also less volatile than before, less likely to snap when things don’t go exactly as planned.

Maybe Kuzon was right. Maybe they do balance each other out, as unlikely as that seems.

“We’ll need provisions if we’re going to camp overnight,” the prince says thoughtfully. “A map would also be useful.”

Ugh. Camping. He’d really been enjoying living in the lap of luxury, with food aplenty and proper insulation. His mission to make the Wani a more hospitable place is only half complete, cut short by their little excursion. The mess hall isn’t quite as draughty anymore, but the crew quarters have all the coziness of an industrial freezer.

“There’s probably a town square around here somewhere,” he says, because there’s no point arguing with Zuko when he has a bee in his bonnet. “We can find what we need there.”

The town square is bustling with people, some of whom stop and stare at the two strangers in Earth Kingdom finery. Zuko pulls his hat further down over his face, looking hunted. 

He doesn’t like people staring at him, Sokka is learning. Something about having that much attention on him makes him jittery, like he’s worried he’ll do something to embarrass himself. Sokka wonders what could have happened in the past to make him this skittish around people.

“Hey, nice job with that tea ceremony yesterday,” one of the stall holders says, as they browse the selection of dried fish and pickled vegetables. “We didn’t think you were going to pull it off, but you did well for a foreigner.”

Zuko startles, going a bit pink. 

“Um,” he says, staring at his feet as if they’ve suddenly become very interesting. “My uncle, he- he likes tea. A lot.”

“Well, it must run in the family then,” the stall holder says, smiling encouragingly at him. 

Zuko goes even pinker than before, his shoulders hunching up around his ears. He’s playing with the strap of his bag, clearly unused to compliments. Sokka wonders what sort of childhood he had that he reacts this strongly to someone his father’s age telling him he did well.

He also wonders what it says about him that his first instinct is to exploit it.

“We’ll take three pounds of dried mackerel and one pound of daikon radish pickles, please,” he says, coming to Zuko’s rescue. “Oh, and some rice.”

Zuko shoots him a pathetically grateful look, crab-walking away as soon as they have their purchases. Some people really are staring at them now, just because he’s acting so awkward. At least no-one is looking at him like he’s a threat to the sanctity of their island anymore.

“Planning to go on a little trip, are we?”

Sokka turns around. The leader of the Kiyoshi warriors is striding towards them, flanked by half a dozen of her compatriots. She must have seen them buying up a bunch of non-perishable items and put two and two together. He could lie and say they’re supplies for their journey home, but he doesn’t think that’ll fly.

“Yep!” he says, patting his shopping basket. “We’re going camping.”

“Camping,” she repeats, thoroughly unconvinced. “At this time of year?”

Sokka shrugs.

“It’s not like we’re going to get another chance, is it? We’re only here for seven days.”

She doesn’t believe him. He can tell she doesn’t believe him. Maybe he’s gotten so used to Zuko swallowing every lie he tells him that his skills have gotten rusty.

“Well then, if you’re camping, you’re going to need a guide,” she says, with a sharp little smile. “The woods are dangerous if you’re not used to them.”

“Uhhh…” Sokka says, panicking slightly. “No, that’s ok-“

“I insist,” she says, taking his basket from his slack fingers. “Come on, let me show you where you can buy the rest of your supplies.”

“I knew we should have just attacked them,” Zuko groans, when they reach the safety of their room. “How are we supposed to find the Avatar now?”

Sokka scratches his head, at a loss. It’s not like he’s actually looking for the Avatar, so he’s not exactly mad at this development, but Zuko isn’t supposed to know that. He has to come up with a viable solution here, one that would make sense if he was actually trying to help Zuko and not deliberately waste his time.

“Well, they don’t know that’s what we’re doing, do they?” he says reasonably. “So we just ask them to take us to the sorts of places an Avatar might frequent. Caves, spiritual hotspots, those sorts of things.”

“If they know where he is though, wouldn’t they deliberately avoid that area?” 

“Maybe they don’t,” Sokka says, shrugging. “Anyway, we don’t even know that they’re on his side. Kiyoshi Island is neutral, right? If they cared either way, I don’t think they’d have stayed out of the war this long.”

Zuko sighs, scrubbing his hand across his face. He honestly looks… really cut up, and Sokka feels another twinge of guilt in his chest. 

“Hey, why do you want to capture the Avatar so much anyway?” he asks, suddenly curious.

Zuko goes a bit cagey at that, his shoulders going up around his ears again. 

“My honour depends on it,” he says shortly, not offering anything else.

And yeah, Uncle Iroh had mentioned that too, but Sokka doesn’t really know what that means. Honour is important in the Fire Nation, that much he’s managed to gather by osmosis, but he doesn’t know how kidnapping fourteen-year-olds factors into it.

“Yeah, but… depends on it how?”

Zuko whirls on him, his hands catching on fire, which is something that hasn’t happened in weeks. 

“Because I was banished from the Fire Nation, okay?” he says hotly. “And I’m not allowed back home until I find him.”

Banished. For doing what, exactly?

“Hey,” he says, holding out his hands in a placating sort of way. “Zuko, it’s okay.”

“It’s not, it’s-” Zuko draws a shuddering breath, his eyes growing suspiciously wet. “I didn’t want you to know.”

Oh.

Sokka does something potentially very stupid then. He walks up to Zuko, ignoring the fact that he’s currently a walking fire hazard, and tugs him close against his chest. 

“What are you doing, I’ll burn you, you absolute idiot-“ 

“So burn me,” Sokka says, hugging him tighter. 

Zuko makes a helpless little whimpering noise. His arms are hanging straight down at his sides, as if he doesn’t know what to do with them. Sokka wonders how long it’s been since he last let someone hug him. He thinks it might have been a very, very long time.

“I don’t think any less of you because you were banished,” he says, in the tone of voice he’d use on a spooked animal or maybe a small child. 

Zuko huffs, trying to pull away, but Sokka only holds him tighter.

“I don’t, Zuko. I doubt your uncle does either. So just… trust me, okay?”

He feels an answering squeeze around his middle. Zuko does know how to hug back after all, although he’s doing it kind of stiffly and awkwardly. Sokka wouldn’t have expected anything else.

“Okay,” Zuko says, sighing. The tension leaches out of him, and the hug becomes less awkward and more natural. They stand there for a good few minutes, just sort of melding into each other. 

It’s nice. Okay, it’s really nice. It’s been a few weeks since Sokka’s had any hugs of his own, what with the whole leaving the only home he’s ever known to live with strangers on a Fire Nation ship thing. Zuko is like a hot little coal in his arms, which is really awesome, although it would probably be difficult to hug him during the height of summer.

“We should… we should stop,” Sokka says, not making any attempt to disentangle his limbs from Zuko’s. “We have to pack, and stuff.”

“Hmmm,” says Zuko, also not making any attempt to disentangle himself. He’s gone sort of liquidy and soft in his arms, all the tension drained out of him. Sokka is supporting the majority of his weight, which is no easy feat. The guy’s built like an Earth Kingdom prison.

“Okay, I’m gonna-“ and he lowers them carefully to the ground, trying not to bang his shins in the process. Zuko doesn’t help in the slightest, continuing to squeeze him around the middle like a limpet. 

“Gosh, kitten, if you wanted me to hug you, all you had to do was ask,” he says, feeling a laugh bubble up in his chest. “How long has it been since somebody held you like this?”

“Five years,” Zuko mumbles against his neck.

“Five year- no wonder you’re so touch-starved! None of that from now on, come find me whenever you want hugs in future, okay? And don’t push your uncle away anymore, because I know you’ve been doing that.”

“K,” Zuko says, with a shuddery little sigh. 

Spirits, he’s adorable- all kitten, no shell. He’s doing everything but purr, his limbs draped over Sokka’s in a contented sprawl. Sokka could- honestly, he could probably do anything to him right now, and Zuko would let him. Now that’s a terrifying thought.

Their cuddle session is only cut short by Zuko falling asleep. In the afternoon no less, with all their packing for tomorrow still to be done. Sokka would grouse on him for leaving it all for him, but he clearly needed that.

Five years. No wonder he’s so tense all the time. Sokka resolves to cuddle the shit out of him from now on, whenever he needs it. 

A small, niggling part of his brain warns him that this probably isn’t a good idea, but he elects to ignore it. Zuko needs him, and Sokka… Sokka needs to be needed. It’s as simple as that. They’re just two friends helping each other out, and it’s fine.

If he tells himself that enough times, maybe he’ll eventually start to believe it.

Chapter Text

Things are a little awkward the next morning. Sokka doesn’t quite know how to feel, and Zuko is definitely back in his shell. He keeps clearing his throat and looking awkwardly off to the side, occasionally stealing glances at him. When Sokka smiles at him, he scowls, avoiding his eyes and blushing. It’s honestly kind of adorable.

“It’s almost eight,” he says, drinking the last of his tea. He bought a whole case of it at the market yesterday, as well as some mochi for Kuzon and a new notebook for Sergeant Murozono. For Lieutenant Jee, he’d bought a new plectrum, since he’d lost the old one at the last port they docked at. “We should head out soon.”

Zuko nods, barely an acknowledgment, and goes to collect their bags. He pauses, his hand going to his pocket, and walks back to Sokka with a sort of nervous determination.

“Here,” he says, holding out a curious little device that Sokka doesn’t quite understand. 

“What is it?” he asks, intrigued.

“It’s a puzzle,” Zuko says, squirming slightly. “You… you like things like this. I’ve noticed how much work you’ve been doing on the Wani, and I thought… maybe you just wanted a problem to solve.”

Sokka feels… very seen. No-one has ever bought him such a personal gift before. He takes it gently from Zuko’s hands, like it’s something precious.

“Thank you,” he says, slightly breathless. “I love it.”

They’re standing very close, he realises suddenly. Almost close enough to kiss.

“Uh,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. He steps back, breaking the weird tension between them. “I have something for you too.”

He goes to his bag and pulls out a wrapped package. He’d gotten it done especially, at an actual shop, and while it’s not wrapped in red paper like Fire Nation gifts traditionally are, he thinks it turned out quite nicely. He chose a koi fish pattern, since they have some significance in his culture. It seemed… appropriate.

“This is… for me?” Zuko says, as if he’s not quite sure. Sokka imagines he doesn’t receive gifts particularly often, at least not from anyone other than his uncle. It makes his heart hurt to think about.

“Who else would it be for?” he says, with a puff of laughter. “Come on, open it.”

Hesitantly, the prince reaches for the gift. His fingers gently untie the bow, moving the red and blue fabric aside to reveal a knitted hat. He stares down at it, unmoving.

“I noticed you were always cold at night,” Sokka says, suddenly feeling shy. “So I asked Kuzon to teach me to knit, and… Well. I hope you like it.”

“I don’t deserve this,” Zuko says woodenly, but he doesn’t try to give it back, just stares at it with a blank expression on his face.

“Sure you do,” Sokka says, plucking it from his fingers. He puts it on for him, pulling it snugly down over his ears so they don’t get cold. “Besides, it would be rude of you to refuse a gift that I went to all that trouble to make, now wouldn’t it?”

Zuko swallows, looking a bit misty-eyed. He nods, his hand fluttering over the soft wool, touching it almost reverently. The ears Sokka sewed into the hat are a nice touch, small and round, just like a tigerdillo’s.

“We should,” Zuko clears his throat, his eyes skating off to the side. “We should go.”

“Hmmm?” Sokka says, busy thinking about the fact that Zuko won’t be as cold in the mountains tonight as he could be and feeling almost giddy about it. “Oh. Right.”

When they reach the entrance to the mountain pass, Sokka looks around in confusion. Suki told them to meet her here, but he can’t see her anywhere. The only people for miles around are a couple of girls in plain linen clothes and no makeup to speak of.

“Hi,” he says, walking up to them. “Have you seen Suki?”

The girls look at each other and laugh, like they’re sharing a joke at his expense. They’re pretty, both of them, one with pigtails, one with short hair and big, expressive eyes. He could have sworn he’d seen her somewhere before.

“You were right, Suki,” pigtails says. “He’s hilarious.”

Well. He feels like a bit of an idiot now.

Pigtails gives Zuko a very obvious once over, her eyes sparkling. The prince is, as usual, completely oblivious, standing there awkwardly and waiting for Sokka to do all the socialising for them. Pigtails either doesn’t realise or doesn’t mind, because she walks up to him with a confident air and holds out her hand.

“I’m Aiko,” she says, smiling coquettishly. “What’s your name?”

Zuko frowns, not making any move to take her hand. “Lee,” he says, looking away.

“The strong, silent type, huh?” she says, looking even more enamoured than before. “That’s okay, I’m sure we’ll get to know each other very well sooner or later.”

Zuko doesn’t look particularly enthused by the idea. If anything he looks like he’d quite like to call this little camping trip off and spend the rest of their stay in the guest room, unbothered by chatty young warriors with pigtails. 

“Come on,” Suki says, heading off along the trail. “We’ve got a lot a lot of ground to cover today, so keep up.”

Aiko puts her arm through Zuko’s, which makes him go stiff as a post and try to edge away. Sokka suddenly feels a bit protective of him, because he looks… pretty uncomfortable honestly. He’s about to step in and rescue him, but Suki puts her own hand around his elbow, looking up at him with mild impatience.

“What are you waiting for? Let’s go.”

With a final frowning glance at Zuko, Sokka allows himself to be tugged away down the trail.

“So,” Suki says, as they stroll down the narrow tree-lined path. “Why are you really on Kiyoshi Island?”

His steps falter and he almost slips on a patch of moss and goes flying. Luckily he manages to right himself in time, but it’s a close call. Suki’s hands shoot out, steadying him.

“Careful. You need to watch your step here.”

Embarrassed, Sokka clears his throat, feeling the skin on the back of his neck turn red. He’s not used to making a fool of himself around pretty girls. With Zuko, he always comfortably has the upper hand, but he feels like a babe in the woods with Suki. In more ways than one.

“I told you,” he says stubbornly. “We’re tea merchants.”

“And I’m the Fire Lord,” Suki says, rolling her eyes. “Try again.”

Sokka casts a glance behind them. The others are a fair way back, moving at a glacial pace because of the stiff, awkward way Zuko is walking.

He sighs. “Can you keep a secret?”

Suki mimes locking her lips and putting away the key, raising her eyebrow in expectation.

As quietly as possible, he relays the whole situation to her, sneaking glances behind him every so often to make sure Aiko and Zuko stay outside of hearing range. Even to his own ears, it sounds like an outlandish story. He leaves out exactly how he managed to manipulate Zuko into coming here, because it feels private, and also like something he ought to be ashamed of doing. 

“Well,” Suki says, once his tale has drawn to a close. “I certainly wasn’t expecting that.”

No kidding. It sounds like the plot of a sordid romance novel, the sort that Katara keeps under her bed where she thinks no-one will be able to find them.

“What is your real name, anyway? I assume something suitably Water Tribe.”

Sokka doesn’t ask her how she knows he’s Water Tribe. It just seems par for the course that she would know that, considering how sharp she is. She’d probably figured him out within the first few hours of meeting him.

“Uh... it’s Sokka,” he says, feeling suddenly shy. “Don’t call me that around Zuko though.”

“What, do you think I’m an idiot?” she says, rolling her eyes.

He laughs, feeling himself relax. Something about the easy camaraderie between them feels natural. He can see them becoming friends, good friends, and that’s always a nice feeling.

Feeling eyes burning into the back of his head, he turns around, but Zuko is looking somewhere off into the distance and Aiko is staring up at him, a smile playing over her lips. 

He must have imagined it.

They make camp for the night just as the sun dips below the horizon. Suki chooses the spot, a wide clearing covered in pine needles, with a stream nearby for them to fill their water canisters at.

“Aiko, why don’t you and Lee go and collect some firewood?” she suggests. 

Zuko looks thoroughly sick of Aiko’s attentions by now, but she drags him off into the underbrush before he can protest. That protective thing rises up in Sokka’s chest again, propelling his steps forward. He doesn’t know what he’s going to do when he reaches them, just that he needs Aiko to stop touching him. 

“Where are you going?” Suki says, appearing at his side. “I need your help building the fire pit.”

Sighing, Sokka acquiesces, allowing her to draw him back towards the clearing. She hands him a shovel and tells him to get to work digging, then goes to find some stones to put around the edge of the pit. It’s very different from how he would build a fire back home, which makes him feel clumsy and inexperienced.

“I’m guessing you do this a little differently where you’re from,” Suki says, reading his mind.

He laughs, wiping the sweat from his brow.

“You can say that again. I’ve heard the Northern Water Tribe has some pretty sophisticated tools for making fire, but we usually make do with seal blubber. The only problem is it makes you hungry when you burn it.”

Suki smiles at him, bumping his shoulder with hers. It’s so easy to be around her, comfortable almost. He’s going to miss her when they inevitably leave, although he hopes they’ll meet again sometime.

The soft thud of something hitting the ground makes him turn around. Zuko is standing there, looking deeply unhappy, a pile of firewood at his feet. He kneels down to pick it up, flustered, his expression shifting into a frown.

“Here, let me help you with that,” Aiko says, putting her hand on his arm.

Zuko finally snaps.

“Stop touching me!” he snarls, pushing her so hard she stumbles and almost falls. Aiko stares up at him, mouth agape. Sokka is proud of him for finally standing up for himself, but he wishes he’d stepped in sooner. Zuko is visibly upset, his shoulders tense and his eyes wide and hunted. 

“Hey!” Suki protests, striding forward to give him a piece of her mind. He flinches violently and stumbles back a few steps, his hands going up to protect his face.

“Oh,” she says softly, finally understanding. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realise…” 

She and Sokka exchange glances, something passing wordlessly between them. In that moment, he’s pretty sure that if push came to shove, she’d be willing to protect Zuko with her life.

“Aiko, I need your help collecting firewood,” she says pointedly.

“But we already-“

“Now.”

Grumbling, Aiko acquiesces, following her into the thick of the forest. 

Chapter Text

“Zuko?” Sokka tries, approaching him slowly and cautiously, giving him time to bolt if he needs to.

Zuko flinches, shivering violently. His eyes are wide and unfocused, like he isn’t really taking in any of his surroundings. Sokka doesn’t know where he is right now, but he doesn’t think it’s a very nice place to be.

“Kitten,” he says, his heart breaking. “Zuko, it’s okay. You’re safe. You’re with me.”

No acknowledgement. He’s too far gone, lost in some distant memory of the past. Sokka is worried about doing something to make it worse, but what can he do? He can only try.

He puts his hands on Zuko’s shoulders, grounding him. That doesn’t seem to elicit a negative reaction, so he keeps them there, just holding him steady between his palms. Spirits, he’s so cold already, the thin fabric of his robes barely providing any protection against the elements at all. 

“You’re safe,” he repeats, pressing their foreheads together. Their breath mingles, a parody of a kiss. “He can’t hurt you here, I won’t let him.”

A few long moments pass like that as the world turns, until a sharp indrawn breath breaks the silence between them. He feels Zuko slip from his hold, retreating to a safe distance. His eyes are big and wide and watchful, like he might bolt at any moment.

“It’s alright,” Sokka says, enunciating clearly. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Zuko flushes, avoiding his eyes.

“I never thought-“ he cuts himself off, looking frustrated. “You couldn’t even if you tried.”

Sokka waits for him to continue, giving him the space to articulate his thoughts. 

“I’m angry at myself,” he admits bitterly.

Sokka shrugs.

“Nothing to be angry about, from where I’m standing,” he says easily. “You defended yourself against someone who made you uncomfortable. That’s something to be proud of, not ashamed of.”

Zuko looks… stymied by that, like he never even considered the fact that he might be allowed to defend himself. That makes his blood boil. He doesn’t know the exact nature of the abuse he suffered at the hands of his father, but it’s clearly given him a warped perspective on personal boundaries.

A chilling thought suddenly occurs to him. If Zuko doesn’t have good boundaries… if he doesn’t know how to say no… what does that mean for them? Sokka thinks back to all the flirtatious touches, the pet names, the way he’d manhandled Zuko in that shop. Nothing untoward of course, nothing too overtly sexual, but he hadn’t asked. 

“Zuko,” he says, very seriously. “You know the same thing applies to me, right? If I do something that makes you uncomfortable, you can say no. I want you to say no.”

Zuko looks away, blushing harder.

“Don’t make me say it,” he mutters.

“Say what?” Sokka asks, genuinely confused.

The prince’s hands curl into fists. He closes his eyes, as if to hide from the embarrassment of it all.

“I like it all, okay? There isn’t… there isn’t anything you could do that I wouldn’t like.”

That’s not… he shouldn’t just say things like that so easily. If Sokka was a worse person, if he enjoyed manipulating people for his own gain, he could ruin Zuko. There need to be some checks and balances in place so that doesn’t happen.

“You don’t know that for sure,” he says evenly. “So I’m going to need you to tell me, verbally, if you want me to stop- otherwise I wouldn’t feel comfortable continuing… whatever this is.”

Because it’s not a relationship. Neither of them have confessed their feelings for each other, and they haven’t kissed or dated or done any of the other things couples usually do. They’re in this weird sort of limbo, and as much as Sokka would like to take the next step, he can’t let this go any further than it already has. Zuko is going to be heartbroken enough when he finds out Sokka lied to him, no need to add insult to injury.

“What if I can’t?” Zuko asks, sounding a bit desperate.

“I’ll check in with you,” he says reassuringly. “We can have a system. Red for stop, green for go, yellow for slow down. How does that sound?”

“Yeah,” Zuko says, settling a little. “That works. Thank you.”

He shouldn’t be thanking him, because look what he’s become in only a month. He’s so dependent on Sokka’s affection that he’s willing to risk life and limb to get it.

Oh, Zuko, Sokka thinks wretchedly. What have I done to you?

Suki and Aiko return from their mission to collect imaginary firewood half an hour later. Sokka is pretty sure there was a very serious talk about consent, which he’s grateful for. He thinks that if Aiko ever got near Zuko again he’d do something very inadvisable.

They decide to sleep in shifts. That way someone can keep watch at all times, just in case there are any wild animals or unsavoury souls about. Sokka volunteers to take the first shift, since he’s still wide awake and he can tell Zuko’s flashback took a lot out of him. 

It’s not so bad here, the forest deep and cool and mysterious, the air clear and sharp with the scent of pine needles. The sky is thick with stars, the moon nestled among them like a shiny new coin. Sokka pulls a skein of wool from his pack, because he may be done with Zuko’s hat but there are still more things to knit. He has hands, for one thing, and also a neck. By the time he’s done with him, Zuko is going to be dressed from head to toe in wool, and he’s going to like it.

He knits peacefully for a while, keeping an eye on the sleeping forest in case someone or something tries to attack them. The low light from the campfire doesn’t provide much illumination, but his hands know what they’re doing by now. Kuzon says his progress is impressive, and he’s going to show him how to knit patterns next.

The sound of whimpering gives him pause. Zuko is having a nightmare again. He sets his knitting aside and goes to him, bringing the blanket draped over his lap with him. He slots his limbs around the prince’s frozen ones, bringing their faces close together. His face in the half light is drawn and pale, his brows pinched together in an unhappy frown.

“Hush, my darling,” he murmurs, pressing his lips to his cold forehead, under the soft fuzz of his hat. “I’m here.”

He feels eyes on him and looks up, over the ridge of Zuko’s shoulder. Suki is awake and watching them, her eyes glittering in the light from the fire. He puts his finger to his lips, gesturing to Zuko’s sleeping form. She nods, her eyes slipping closed once more.

The next morning, she finds him as he’s pulling on his boots, making up some excuse about wanting him to help her scout ahead. He follows her deeper into the forest, their steps falling into the same easy rhythm.

“So,” she says, looking at him sideways. “You and Zuko.”

Sokka clams up a little, feeling the back of his neck go red. 

“It’s not what you think,” he says, avoiding her eyes. “He’s not my boyfriend or anything, I just… help him with his nightmares.”

Suki raises an eyebrow at him.

“Does Zuko know that?”

Sokka winces, feeling guilt eating away at him. The thing is, he’s pretty sure Zuko will take whatever crumbs he can get. Affection is clearly something he’s been starved of for the past five years, despite his uncle’s best attempts to get close to him. His self-worth is probably at sub-zero levels by now. 

“It’s complicated,” he says, trying to fob her off.

She shrugs.

“I’ve got time.”

So Sokka tells her. He tells her about flirting with Zuko at the Southern Water Tribe in a desperate bid to save his people, about knitting for him, about hugging him and feeling him turn to putty in his arms. He tells her about how he’d taken advantage of Zuko’s vulnerability and inexperience to pull the wool over his eyes, and about the codependent thing their relationship is becoming. He expects her to be disgusted by him, but she just looks thoughtful.

“Well, your tactics are certainly unusual, but ingenious nonetheless,” she says. “I have to admit, I’m impressed.”

He gapes at her, taken aback.

“You don’t think I’m a horrible person?”

“Horrible? No. People do worse things in war. But I do think this is going to blow up in your face if you’re not careful. You do realise you’re half in love with him already, right?”

And the thing is, Sokka does know, deep down. He’s been trying to lie to himself this whole time, pretend he’s just concerned for the wellbeing of a friend, but friends don’t get this emotionally involved in each other’s lives. He’s getting way too attached, way too fast, and it can only end in disaster.

“I know,” he says helplessly. “I couldn’t stop it if I tried.”

Soon the trees begin to thin out and the road opens up, and they find themselves approaching the edge of a cliff. The foothills of the mountain are spread out below them, blue in the early morning light. Just beyond that is a crescent shaped beach, very similar to the one he and Zuko docked at a few days ago.

“Well, I think we’ve probably scouted enough,” Sokka says, even though he’s pretty sure that was all a ruse anyway. He‘s itching to get back to Zuko and make sure he’s okay and not being pestered by Aiko again. She seems pretty harmless, but you can never be too careful.

Just then, he spots something in the sky. A big, oval shaped thing, with lots of appendages and a frankly impressive wind speed. He squints his eyes at it, wondering if it’s some sort of airship.

The thing gets closer. And closer. And begins to look more like an animal. An animal with six legs, two horns and a long platypus tail.

“Oh no,” he breathes.

“What is that?” Suki asks, wide-eyed.

Appa comes in for a landing, shaking his big hairy head and roaring loudly. The sound echoes through the mountains, making Sokka wince. 

“That,” he says grimly. “Is the Avatar.”

Chapter Text

They only have a few moments to devise a plan. If Zuko heard that noise, and he probably did, he’s going to come after them, and then he’s going to see Appa and put two and two together. He may be gullible, but that doesn’t mean he’s stupid. 

They manage to come up with something after a few minutes of furious whispering. It’s not exactly the most foolproof plan ever, and if even one thing goes wrong, Sokka is toast, but it’s all they’ve got. The most important thing is to get Zuko as far away from that beach as possible, as quickly as possible. They can figure out the rest later. 

Zuko and Aiko meet them halfway up the trail, both their faces creased in worry. He sees the relief in Zuko’s eyes when he spots him, and that makes what he’s about to do feel a hundred times worse, but there’s no time to worry about that now. He has an Avatar to save. 

“We have to go,” he says, injecting some panic into his voice. “There’s an avalanche coming. A big one. We need to get out of here while we still can.”

Another roar echoes through the mountains, helping to sell their story. The ground isn’t shaking beneath them like it would in a real avalanche, and the snow probably isn’t deep enough this time of year to cause one, but this is the only thing they could come up with.

“But-“ Zuko says, and Sokka knows he’s thinking about the fact that they only have a few days left here before they have to leave.

“Please,” he says, allowing his expression to shift into something vulnerable. “I couldn’t stand it if you were-“ he cuts himself off, looking away, his hands curling into fists at his sides.

Zuko falls for it. Of course he does. His expression softens and he takes a step forward, reaching out to touch him, before catching himself, suddenly aware of all the eyes on him. He nods, very seriously, and turns to walk back down the trail.

It takes them half an hour to get back to the campsite, in time for phase two of their plan. Sokka knows that by now, news of Aang’s arrival will already have spread. They have to act fast if they’re going to have any hope of pulling this off.

Suki draws Aiko aside as they pack up their camping gear and talks to her in frantic whispers. She glances furtively back at them, then quickly away again, leading Aiko further into the trees for a more private conversation. Sokka makes a big show of frowning suspiciously after them. 

“Wait here for a second,” he tells Zuko quietly, then creeps after them, keeping his steps light and sticking close to the tree line.

The beauty of phase two is that it serves a dual purpose: it gives Suki time to relay their hastily constructed plan to Aiko, and provides the right environment for phase three of the plan to flourish. He pretends to be listening closely to their whispers, whereas he’s really just counting out the seconds, making sure to wait long enough that he could have feasibly overheard enough useful information to report back to Zuko.

He pretends to hear something truly shocking, his hand going to his mouth. Sneaking closer, he gives the impression that he’s listening very carefully. His jaw drops, and he glances back at Zuko, pretending to look frightened. 

The prince is frowning at him, looking half confused, half wary. Sokka doesn’t know how well he’s able to read his facial expressions, but a seed of suspicion has clearly been planted in his mind. Glancing back over his shoulder, he pretends to listen for a while longer before creeping back to Zuko’s side.

“What was all of that about?” the prince asks, bewildered. 

Sokka rubs his temples, pacing distractedly. 

“I can’t believe-“ he cuts himself off, looking deliberately upset. “They changed their minds. They’re going to execute us tonight- at sundown.”

“What?” Zuko says, striding forward to give the Kiyoshi warriors a piece of his mind.

“Wait!” Sokka hisses, blocking his path. “We can’t risk it. You know how easy it was for them to capture us last time- what if we lose?”

“That was an ambush, not a fair fight,” the prince says heatedly. “I’m not afraid of them.”

Of course he isn’t. Sokka would hazard a guess that there’s only one thing Zuko is afraid of, and it starts with “F” and ends in “ather”.

“Look,” Sokka tries, putting a hand on his arm. “We have an out, don’t we? They don’t know about the boat. So we just lay low, pretend we’re going back to our room for the midday meal, then sneak away when they least expect it.”

Zuko looks like he wants to argue, but Sokka has a trump card he hasn’t played yet. This one is a doozy.

“Oh, by the way, I happened to overhear something else,” he says, dropping his voice to a whisper. “Apparently the Avatar was on Kiyoshi Island, but he moved a few years ago.”

Zuko leans in closer to hear him better, his eyes going unconsciously to his lips.

“Moved?” he asks, his breath fanning warm over his skin. “To where?”

Sokka glances behind them furtively, lowering his voice even further.

“Omashu.”

Suffice to say, Zuko agrees to go along with his plan.

They make their way down the mountain as quickly as possible, both to escape the imaginary avalanche and the threat posed by the Kiyoshi warriors. Zuko keeps glaring menacingly at the backs of their heads, which would blow their cover if Suki wasn’t in on the plan. His approach to life so far seems to have been “throw fireballs and shout until people give me what I want”, so this whole being sneaky thing is totally lost on him.

When they reach the foot of the mountain, Sokka yawns, stretching his arms up above his head.

“Well, I’m beat. Thanks for all your help ladies, but I think Zuko and I need to go have lunch. It’s already midday.”

Suki smiles, sharp and catlike.

“Well, allow us to escort you back,” she says, taking hold of his arm.

Sokka catches Zuko’s eye, allowing his expression to shift into something surprised and worried.

“No, that’s okay-“

“I insist,” she says, in a voice that says he’d better comply if he knows what’s good for him.

Sokka allows his shoulders to slump in resignation. He lets Suki march him away down the path, Zuko following after him reluctantly. She takes the back way so they can avoid as many people as possible, although it doesn’t seem to be necessary. The village is devoid of people, the promise of meeting a real life Avatar too tempting a prospect to resist.

Sokka thanks his lucky stars that Aang and Katara decided to land on the other side of the island. If this village was the one they stumbled upon first, the plan would fall apart immediately. One scrap of gossip from a passing stranger excited about Aang’s arrival would be enough to completely blow their cover.

“Enjoy your meal,” she says sinisterly, the it will be your last implied. 

Time to implement phase four, Sokka thinks to himself, as the door to the guest room slides shut.

Phase four is simple: Suki will find Aang and Katara and explain the situation to them, instructing them to lay low. Sokka’s role is slightly less interesting: he just has to stay in the room long enough for that to happen, on the pretense of refueling before they make their escape attempt.

He goes to the door and peeks out of it. As planned, Aiko is standing guard, her arms folded over her chest and her expression hard. Sokka has to hand it to her, the girl can act.

“Damnit,” he whispers. “They’re really not making it easy for us, are they?”

Zuko comes up beside him, peering through the crack between the two doors. He scoffs.

“One guard? I could beat her with my arms tied behind my back.”

Sokka thinks back to his frankly traumatic training sessions and is inclined to believe him.

“Okay, can you beat her later though? I’m hungry.”

“Ugh, fine. You and your stomach are going to get us killed one day, I hope you know that.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sokka says, reaching into his bag for some dried fish. It’s unfortunate that he won’t get to eat a proper Kiyoshi Island meal one last time, but what can you do?

Zuko settles in beside him, pulling out the container of rice they cooked the night before. Despite his grumbling, he seems to have accepted his fate of being a slave to Sokka’s stomach. When Sokka steals a forkful of rice from him, he glares at him like an affronted cat, but then he sighs and holds the container out to him.

Right. Time to hang tight, and wait for phase five: the escape.

There’s a knock on the door around mid-afternoon. Sokka looks up from polishing Boomerang and catches Zuko’s eye. He goes warily to the door and opens it, revealing a maid in a plain homespun kimono and a head scarf.

“Your presence is requested in the town hall,” she says, bowing respectfully. “Please allow me to escort you there.”

Suki’s signal. It’s time to move.

“Uh…” he says, affecting surprise. “Can you give me a moment to talk to my friend?”

She nods, closing the door again to give them some privacy.

“What’s happening?” Zuko asks from his spot on the floor, frowning stormily.

Sokka scrubs his hand over his face, beginning to pace distractedly. Time to raise the stakes.

“I think they’ve decided to move up the execution.”

“What?” Zuko is on his feet immediately, flames crackling brightly around his clenched fists. The smell of ash fills the air, making Sokka panic slightly. The last thing they need is Zuko freaking out the villagers and making them actually decide to execute them.

“Stop that, you’ll get us both killed!” he hisses, glancing furtively at the door. “Look, we can still escape, we just need to find another way.”

The fire goes out. Zuko looks around the bare room, then looks back at him. 

“The window?” he suggests, as Sokka knew he would.

He nods, already reaching for his pack.

“The window.”

They move from building to building with creeping steps, keeping to the shadows. There’s not much cover here, the landscape devoid of trees, but luckily there aren’t too many people about. 

They’d managed to give their captors the slip easily, climbing out of the window and then sneaking around the side of the house. The fact that no-one had been trying to come after them certainly hadn’t hurt, but he’s still relieved to finally be done with this whole business. There are no more phases left, no more lies to tell. All they have to do is get in that boat, and they’re home free.

The sound of voices makes him feel like screaming, because why now? 

“…really quite an honour, I mean he could have gone anywhere and he chose our little island?”

“Yeah, I mean did you see that marble trick? Amazing. I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

The voices are getting closer and closer. Frantically, Sokka looks around for some place to hide, spotting a storage shed just to their left. Without so much as a please or thank you, he shoves Zuko inside, ignoring his strident protests.

Pushing him up against the door, he covers his mouth with one hand, listening hard. He can’t hear too much through the door, but the crunch of footsteps and the murmur of voices seems to be getting louder. He inches closer, straining his ears, his thigh slotting between both of Zuko’s accidentally. He tenses his muscles, preparing to run-

The voices fade away. He breathes a sigh of relief, letting go of the prince and stepping back. It’s only then that he notices the state he’s in.

His head is tipped back against the door and he’s panting, his eyes closed. His cheeks are awash with pink and he looks like he’s one second away from making a mess of himself. Touch starved, Sokka remembers too late, feeling an answering twinge in his own groin.

He feels like slamming his head into a wall. What was he thinking, touching Zuko like that? Where was his fucking brain? They can’t leave with him in this condition, he won’t make it five meters before he goes off like a fucking firecracker. Sokka is so screwed.

“Zuko, fuck, I’m sorry-“ he says frantically, his hands hovering anxiously over him.

Zuko opens his eyes. He looks lost, his pupils blown so wide his eyes look black.

“Hurts,” he whimpers, his body wracked with tremors.

Sokka thinks quickly, tying to come up with a solution to this problem that doesn’t end in a dubiously consensual encounter in a storage shed. It proves to be a futile effort. There’s only one way out of this, and he knows it.

“Zuko, kitten, what colour are you right now?” he asks, cupping his cheeks between his palms and looking into his eyes, searching for any sort of awareness.

“Green,” Zuko says, nuzzling against his palm with a shaky little sigh. “Green, green, green.”

He shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t. Zuko isn’t in his right mind right now, he doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Maybe if he wraps his arm around his waist and helps him walk, they can get back to the beach in one piece. People might look at them weird, but at least he won’t be putting him in danger. 

“Please.” Zuko whispers, burying his face in his neck. “Help me.”

And because Sokka is weak, and stupid, and selfish, he does. 

“My thigh,” he says, before he can stop himself. “Use my thigh.”

Zuko nods, holding him close. He’s so warm it’s almost unbearable, the heat of him seeping through both of their clothes and making Sokka feel like he’s about to pass out. Vaguely, he wonders if this is something that happens to all firebenders when they lose control, or just Zuko. 

It doesn’t take long. Zuko is wound up tighter than a spring loaded canon and inexperienced besides, so it’s over within minutes. He cries out as he spills, muffling the sound of it against the ridge of Sokka’s neck. It’s… really fucking hot, if he’s honest with himself.

“Better?” he asks, rubbing his back in gentle circles.

A tired noise. That probably took a lot out of him. Sokka wonders when the last time he engaged in a little self-care session was, or if that’s another thing the Fire Nation frowns upon. 

He holds him as he comes down, ignoring the ache between his own legs. This isn’t about him, it’s about Zuko, and anyway it’s his fault he ended up like this in the first place. Crowding him against the door like that, honestly, what was he thinking? Of course he was going to react that way.

He doesn’t know how he gets them down to the beach, because Zuko certainly doesn’t help, wobbling about like a newborn deer and almost falling flat on his face on multiple occasions. They’re lucky the Kiyoshi Warriors aren’t trying to capture them, because they’re doing a piss poor job of getting away quickly. A few of the villagers stare at them in bemusement as they walk past, unsure why the two foreigners are acting so weird all of a sudden.

Zuko doesn’t help row the boat either, in fact he falls asleep, only waking up when they reach dry land again. He looks about in confusion, unsure how he got there.

“Come on,” Sokka says quietly. “Your uncle is waiting.”

When they climb aboard the Wani, the crew pauses their usual activities to welcome them back. Uncle Iroh is overjoyed to see his nephew again, scooping him up in his arms almost immediately. For once, Zuko lets him, allowing himself to be held rather than pushing him forcefully away like he usually would.

“I’m tired, uncle,” he mumbles.

Sokka is glad that Zuko has someone to hold him now, because it can’t be him anymore. What happened between them can never, ever happen again. Starting from tomorrow, he and Zuko will be friends and friends only. 

It’s for the best, he tells himself. At least this way, Zuko won’t be hurt too badly when he eventually finds out the truth. Sokka wants to shield him from the pain of it as much as he can, even though it might end up proving fruitless in the end.

It’s for the best, he tells himself again.

So why does his heart hurt so much?

Chapter Text

Sokka spends the next day avoiding everyone and feeling sorry for himself. He doesn’t spar with Zuko and doesn’t go to his knitting lesson with Kuzon either. Lieutenant Jee even remarks that he’s unusually quiet when he ventures down to the mess hall for dinner that evening, having finally given into the demands of his grumbling stomach.

He’s nursing a broken heart, his first one ever. Even Katara’s romance novels, which he stole and read in secret without her knowledge, never prepared him for this. He feels like someone is clawing open his rib cage and reaching inside to mess around with his organs. Does it always hurt this much?

It hasn’t even been twenty four hours since he promised himself he’d leave Zuko alone for good and he already feels like going back on his word. He’s seriously starting to wonder if he’s getting withdrawals, because surely he can’t be this pathetic. He’s only known the guy for a month, he shouldn’t be this far gone for him already.

“I know what this is,” Sergeant Murozono says, nudging Lieutenant Jee in the side. From the look on his face, he does not appreciate it. 

Sokka freezes up, his chopsticks hovering halfway between his bowl and his mouth. He can’t have been that obvious, surely? 

“You fell in love with someone on Kiyoshi Island, didn’t you?” she says, giving him a sympathetic look. “Cheer up, I’m sure your paths will cross again someday.”

Oh. That’s alright then. He can handle people thinking he’s just pining over some unknown Kiyoshi Islander. It’s actually a pretty convenient excuse, all things considered.

“You’re right,” he says, sighing in a particularly tragic way. “It just hurts, that’s all.”

He looks off into the distance, his eyes swimming with unshed tears. It’s not exactly a difficult feat to pull off, given how awful he feels.

“You know, I saw Prince Zuko earlier,” Kuzon says, seemingly at random. “He was wearing a blue hat with little round ears on it. It almost looked familiar somehow, but I can’t imagine why.”

Sokka chokes on his tea, which he’d just taken a big sip of. Kuzon slaps him happily on the back, smugness radiating off him in waves. He can’t believe he thought this kid was sweet when he first met him. First impressions really are deceiving.

“You alright there, Sokka?” Sergeant Murozono asks, probably concerned he might cough up a lung or something.

“Fine, thank you,” he wheezes, turning to glare at Kuzon. He blinks up at him placidly, his big brown eyes empty of any ill intent.

“Speaking of that brat, does he seem… different to you?” Lieutenant Jee asks, his frown deepening.

Sokka winces internally, knowing whatever difference he’s talking about is most likely his fault. He probably has some sort of complex now, on top of all his other issues. 

“I know what you mean,” another soldier pipes up. Sokka thinks her name is Nezuko, or maybe Kazuko. These Fire Nation names are all too similar. “I walked past him earlier and he was smiling to himself. Smiling. I thought he only knew how to frown.”

The table erupts into noises of disbelief, the crew not able to believe it. Kuzon suggests that maybe Zuko fell in love with someone on Kiyoshi Island too, but Sokka can’t even muster up the energy to kick him. He just sits there while other people argue over him, feeling like a pile of garbage.

Because it’s not a complex, it’s worse. Zuko is happy. 

Spirits help him, he’s going to have to break that boy’s heart.

He goes back to his knitting lessons eventually. Even though he can’t knit for Zuko anymore, he still wants to learn. Maybe he can start a small business with his creations or something. Kuzon could probably hook him up, he’s probably got connections in the knitting underworld, if there even is a knitting underworld.

Kuzon manages to weasel the full story out of him within the hour, even the embarrassing parts. He brought snacks as incentive for spilling the truth, the cheater. They’re good, but that’s beside the point. Sokka is hurt that he would use his weakness against him like that.

“I don’t understand what the problem is here,” Kuzon says, nonplussed. “You clearly like him, why not just date him?“

Sokka reaches for another fruit tart, shoving it into his mouth haphazardly. He already has a fine collection of crumbs on his lap (ew) and he’s starting to feel a little full. Kuzon didn’t hold back on the food, probably to give him a constant supply of fuel to run his mouth with. The little brat has him completely figured out.

“It’s complicated,” he says, sighing morosely. Even fruit tarts can’t lift his mood today.

“I’ve got time,” Kuzon says, which is something people keep saying to him lately. He wishes they’d mind their own business and leave him alone to wallow in his own sadness.

“I just…” he stares balefully at the opposite wall, not really seeing it. “I don’t want to hurt him.”

Kuzon snorts, correcting his needle placement.

“You’ve been ignoring him for five days, you don’t think he’s hurt enough already?”

Sokka feels his heart drop into his boots at that. His baby kitten, oh no. He probably doesn’t even know what he did wrong.

“Is he… really upset?” he asks, dreading the answer.

Kuzon just looks at him, as if to say what do you think?

His hands fall still, his needles ceasing their rhythmic clacking.

“I fucked up,” he whispers, feeling like an absolute waste of space.

“Getting someone off for the first time and then avoiding them for days afterwards is generally considered to be a dick move, yes.”

Well when he puts it like that, it does sound pretty bad. Zuko probably thinks he lost interest after getting what he wanted from him. That couldn’t be further from the truth, if anything Sokka is even more interested, several times a day in fact.

“What do I do?” 

“Apologising would be a start,” Kuzon says drily. “But if you really want to get into his good graces…” he shoves the plate of fruit tarts towards him meaningfully.

Ah. Zuko’s great love of sweets. He feels a little guilty about exploiting it once again, but this is an emergency.

“Thanks, Kuzon,” he says gratefully. “I don’t know what I would do without you.” 

“Die alone, probably,” Kuzon says primly.

Sokka can’t even take offence, because he’s probably right. 

He finds Zuko on the main deck, staring out at the sea with his knees drawn up to his chest. It’s a strangely vulnerable pose, not something he would expect from someone as proud as him. Their journey together has changed him, made him softer around the edges. 

“I brought you something,” he says, holding the plate of tarts out in feeble offering. Zuko frowns down at it, then turns his gaze back to the horizon.

“I’m not hungry,” he says woodenly.

Sokka sets the plate down beside him anyway, fidgeting nervously with the strap of his holster. Zuko is rolled up tight in his shell, not even his little kitten ears poking out. This is going to be a tough one.

“I’m sorry for ignoring you for the past few days,” he says in a rush, feeling his heart give a guilty throb. “It won’t happen again.”

Silence. Zuko isn’t going to make this easy for him.

“I understand if you don’t want to talk to me right now,” he says tentatively. “You’re probably mad at me, and you deserve to be, but please don’t think any of this was your fault. I’m just… going through some stuff.”

“Some stuff,” Zuko repeats, his voice completely flat.

Oh, he’s mad. Really mad, the kind of mad you get just before there’s a giant explosion. Sokka had better tread carefully here, or he’s going to end up with a scar to match Zuko’s. 

“Yeah,” he says, sneaking a glance at Zuko’s face. His expression is carefully blank. “I know it’s not an excuse, but-“

“If you don’t leave right now, I’m going to do something I’ll regret,” Zuko says, the air thick with the promise of smoke.

Sokka leaves. It’s the least he can do.

Life goes on, in a sense. He buries his heartache in hours and hours of work, spending long nights tinkering away at his designs. Sergeant Murozono is helping him gather the materials he needs, since her father is an engineer and she has the inside scoop on all the best scrap metal dealers.

Zuko’s absence is a persistent ache, but he learns to deal with it after a while. Occasionally he catches glimpses of him on the few excursions he takes outside his room, but they never speak or acknowledge each other. They might as well be strangers.

One day, he finds he can’t take it anymore and goes to his room with his tail between his legs, prepared to beg if necessary. If nothing else, he needs his friend back again. He might have blown all chances at a romantic relationship, but surely he can at least have this. 

When he arrives though, something stays his hand. He can’t quite bring himself to knock on the door, no matter how much he tries to work up the courage to do so. Instead, he finds himself standing there like an idiot, as though trying to alert Zuko to his presence through the sheer power of positive thinking.

Uncle Iroh finds him like that some time later and takes pity on him, inviting him to his quarters for a spirited game of pai sho. Sokka’s heart isn’t really in it, which becomes abundantly clear when he mounts a pathetic defence against the old man’s pieces, losing even more soundly than usual.

“Something on your mind?” Uncle Iroh says mildly, pushing a plate of tea snacks towards him. Sokka has long since realised that he doesn’t stand on ceremony, and doesn’t expect Sokka to either, so he doesn’t hold back. Several coconut cakes disappear down his gullet, after which he sighs morosely, wishing he had the guts to just march up to Zuko’s room and demand to see him. 

“I messed up, Uncle Iroh. Really really badly. And now Zuko isn’t coming out of his room, and he probably hates me, and-“

Uncle Iroh chuckles to himself, which is just rude honestly. Here Sokka is pouring his heart out to him, and he’s laughing at him. Maybe he should take his terrible pai sho skills elsewhere, since he’s clearly not appreciated here.

“I assure you, my young friend, my nephew does not “hate” you. Quite the opposite, actually.”

“Oh,” Sokka says, feeling a bit stupid. “Why is he avoiding me then?”

Uncle Iroh levels him with a look. 

“Prince Zuko is a proud young man,” he says, which is the understatement of the century. “If you did something to injure that pride, he won’t soon forgive you. Perhaps you need to show him that you care.”

“How?” he asks, at a loss.

Uncle Iroh gets a twinkle in his eye. 

“Back in my day, writing letters to your sweetheart was all the rage. Maybe you should try that?”

Sokka, in the middle of stuffing another coconut cake into his mouth, finds himself suffering from a rather violent coughing fit. 

“He’s not my sweetheart,” he protests weakly, once he’s finished regurgitating the contents of his lungs.

“Of course,” Uncle Iroh says, twinkling harder. “More tea?”



Sokka holds his cup out in a resigned sort of way, letting him pour him another cup. It’s a different tea this time, bitter and woodsy, like a root vegetable that’s spent a lot of time underground. Uncle Iroh seems very enamoured by it, but Sokka isn’t sure he likes it. 

“By the way,” he says, toying with the lip of his teacup. “Why haven’t you said anything about me… well… pulling the wool over Zuko’s eyes, so to speak?”

The old man leans back, stroking his beard. He takes a sip of his own tea, his expression turning contemplative.

“Because I believe it’s Prince Zuko’s destiny to join the Avatar and help him defeat the Fire Lord- and I believe that with your help, he will achieve that destiny much faster than even I anticipated.”

Destiny. Like it’s written in the stars or something. At least that explains why he hasn’t made the slightest efforts to foil Sokka’s dastardly plans. 

“Now, I heard you had quite the adventure on Kiyoshi Island,” Uncle Iroh says, deftly changing the subject. “Why don’t you tell me all about it?”

Chapter Text

Sokka drops his first letter off that afternoon. He spent half an hour writing and rewriting it, crossing out bits here and adding bits there. In the end it looks like a giant mess of scribbled lines and misspelled words, but it’s the best he can do.

He slips it under the prince’s door and then bolts off, not wanting to suffer the mortifying ordeal of being caught with his pants down. He spends the rest of the afternoon knitting in a distracted haze, adding more rows to the soft blue thing he’s making. It’s not another present for Zuko, definitely not, no matter how many pointed looks Kuzon gives him. 

The letter had begun as follows:

Dear Zuko,

Your uncle showed me which characters to write your name with. He says it can mean either “failure” or “loved one” depending on how you want to interpret it. I gotta say, whoever named you had a sick sense of humour, because talk about giving someone a complex.

Anyway, if you open your door, you’ll find I’ve left you a little gift. Forgive me for being a one-trick pony, but I know how much you like sweets. Please find some tea as well, courtesy of your uncle, who says you can just firebend it hot again if it goes cold. He says to remember your breathing exercises and not melt it like you did last time. That was a nice teapot and he still thinks about it from time to time. 

I’d like to spar with you tomorrow, if you’re up for it. My skills have gotten rusty, and besides, you still haven’t taught me to throw a punch. I’ll be waiting for you on the main deck at 9 am. Please come, because otherwise I’m going to look like an idiot and Kuzon is going to laugh at me. Also, if we get attacked before we reach Omashu and I die because I can’t defend myself, it’s your fault.

Your friend, 

Sokka

P.S. Please enjoy this picture of Commander Zhao being eaten alive by platypus bears. I thought you might get a kick out of it.

After his knitting lesson with Kuzon, he goes back to check on the prince’s door, unsure what he’s going to see when he gets there. To his delight, the tea tray is gone, and in its place is a note.

Dear Sokka, 

Tell uncle I already apologised about that teapot MULTIPLE times. He needs to let it go or I’m going to set his entire collection of novelty tea cosies on fire. Also you can so defend yourself, that’s why I taught you to block first. Use Boomerang if you have to fight offensively. Do I have to explain everything to you?

The drawing of Commander Zhao being eaten by platypus bears is acceptable. Please find a similar drawing below, in which Mrs Xiong is being attacked by particularly vicious buzzard wasps. 

Prince Zuko

Sokka feels a grin spreading over his face, too large to contain. Zuko wrote back. Zuko has a sense of humour. 

He pulls his notebook out of his pocket and begins to scribble a new note, with even more crossed out sections than before. Then he has a brainwave and dashes to his room, retrieving his rolled up sleeping bag from where he’d left it at the foot of the bed. Might as well put it to good use since it’s not like he’s going to need it. 

Dear Zuko,

Uncle Iroh says if you touch his collection of novelty tea cosies, he’ll never speak to you again. I’m pretty sure he’s joking, but I wouldn’t push it if I were you. The guy’s pretty serious about tea, I don’t know if you’ve noticed.

I left something else outside your door. I hope it keeps you warm tonight and you don’t feel the need to wander the hallways of the Wani like a sad, cold ghost. There’s a slit in the side for easy access, you just crawl right in and stick your head out the top.

I see your picture of Mrs Xiong being attacked by buzzard wasps and raise you this picture of Commander Zhao being pelted to death by angry cabbage merchants. 

Impatiently yours,

Sokka

P.S. Who signs their name Prince Zuko? Loosen up a little, I’m your friend, not some stuffy politician

He has a hard time getting to sleep that night because he keeps wondering if Zuko is using his sleeping bag or not. He hopes so. He wants him to be warm. The thought of him shivering miserably in his cold bed every night makes him sad. 

Zuko doesn’t turn up for their allotted sparring time, but Sokka doesn’t take it too much to heart because there’s a new note sitting outside his door. He snatches it up immediately, eagerly reading it over. 

Dear Sokka,

Thank you for explaining the use of the sleeping bag to me. I confess I would have been quite lost otherwise. Please do not say the words “slit for easy access” to me ever again. 

I have enclosed a picture of Mrs Xiong being stomped to death by a herd of dragon moose. Note the shading on the antlers. 

Prince Zuko

P.S. I’m a prince, I have to sign my name Prince Zuko. As a commoner, you probably wouldn’t understand, but I have a responsibility to uphold my family’s honour at all times.

Sokka laughs, hand scrabbling for his pencil so he can write a new note. It’s already worn down almost to a stub, he’s written so much since he’s been here. His notebook is almost full as well, of plans and designs and half-baked ideas he doesn’t have all the tools to pull off. 

Dear Zuko,

Slit for easy access

Slit for easy access

Slit for easy access

Slit for easy access

Slit for easy access

P.S. That’s some very nice shading. Here is a picture of Commander Zhao losing an Agni Kai against a giant head of broccoli. 

P.P.S. You know my father is the chief of our village, right? You’re basically talking to Southern Water Tribe royalty.

He gets side-tracked with testing his new heating system for a while, ducking for cover when it almost blows up in his face, and receives some hands-on assistance from Sargent Murozono. Afterwards, he shows her all the plans he wrote in the notebook she gave him. She ruffles his hair, which isn’t quite the reaction he was going for but is appreciated nonetheless. 

Zuko still hasn’t resurfaced by late afternoon, so he goes and checks for letters. There’s just a short one this time, covered in thick black lines where Zuko has crossed things out. The actual message is very brief.

Dear Sokka,

I hate you.

P.S. There are about fourteen inaccuracies in that drawing, the foremost being that people don’t fight Agni Kais completely naked. I have sent you a revised version for comparison. 

P.P.S. Your father may be the chief of the Southern Water Tribe, but that doesn’t change the fact that I outrank you.

Sokka snorts, picturing Zuko in princess mode, nose in the air and foot tapping impatiently. He misses his dumb face and his cute little blushes and the way he acts like a cat who really wants attention but bites anyone who comes close. He really… he really misses Zuko. 

Dear Zuko,

See, I don’t think you really do hate me. Know why? Because you smiled reading my last letter, and I bet you’re smiling right now. 

P.S. I revised your revised version of the Agni Kai. They’re now in space, fighting in zero gravity. I thought it added an extra layer of danger and intrigue.

P.P.S. Rank, shmank. There are more important things in life than how high up you are on some imaginary leaderboard, you know.

The next few days continue on along the same theme, Sokka and Zuko exchanging letters, Iroh watching over them benevolently and the rest of the crew looking on in mild confusion. They seem to be uncertain why their prince has suddenly become a hermit who only communicates through epistolary means, but not uncertain enough to ask. 

After a while, the letters start to become less comedic and more personal. Sokka confides that he’s worried he won’t be able to measure up as a warrior, and Zuko admits that he’s afraid he’ll never be able to go back home. He finds himself telling Zuko things he’s never told anyone before, private things, things even Katara doesn’t know.

Zuko’s final letter is only one line long.

I’m scared the Avatar isn’t in Omashu and this is all just another wild goose chase.

That makes Sokka wince, because in just a few short weeks those fears are going to be realised. The decent thing to do would be to rip the bandaid off now, disappear out of Zuko’s life like a ghost before he can hurt him more. He can’t quite bring himself to do it though, not when it might put his sister in danger, and not when the thought of being apart from him makes him feel like dying.

We’ll find him, his next letter reads. I’m the best hunter in my village, remember?

That night, he finds a wrapped package lying outside his own room, next to his neatly rolled up sleeping bag. Confused, he looks around, but no-one is there. There’s a note attached, written in Zuko’s neat handwriting. 

I found this lying around and thought I’d give it to you. You’ll get more use out of it than I will. Thank you for letting me borrow your sleeping bag for a while, it really did help.

P.S. I’ll see you tomorrow at 9 am sharp for our sparring session. Don’t be late.

Sokka unwraps the package. It’s a notebook. A new notebook, made of gold embossed leather. There’s no way Zuko would have just had it lying around.

That’s… that’s not fair. Here he is trying not to lose his heart any more than he already has, and Zuko goes and does this. 

He takes the notebook to his room anyway, and sets it on his bedside table in pride of place. Then he drops his head into his hands, muttering a quiet “fuck.”

Chapter Text

Being on speaking terms with Zuko again is a bit like sweet torture. On the one hand, Sokka is absolutely ecstatic to be around him, but on the other, he’s taken more emergency trips to the bathroom in the past few days than in his entire life. The slightest brush of the prince’s hand against his is enough to get him going, which is pretty ironic given how this whole situation started.

He’s jerked off to the memory of that time in the storage shed more times than is probably healthy, but he doesn’t seem to be able to stop. Zuko is just so warm and present and there, and every time his face softens into one of his very rare but very precious smiles, Sokka’s heart does some very acrobatic manoeuvres. It’s mortifying, and more importantly than that, it’s threatening to undermine the integrity of this entire operation.

Like right now, for instance. Sokka is 99.99% sure that Zuko just asked him a question, because he’s looking at him with an expectant expression on his face, but he’s also totally clueless as to what that question might have been. There’s a pretty good chance that it has something to do with the Avatar, because most of Zuko’s questions have something to do with the Avatar, but he’s not completely sure.

“Yes,” he says, taking a wild stab in the dark.

Zuko raises an eyebrow at him.

“I just asked you what your plan was for getting around Omashu’s border restrictions.”

“Uhhh…” Sokka coughs awkwardly, trying to marshal his thoughts. “Tea.”

“Tea,” Zuko repeats, completely deadpan.

Sokka blinks at him. He smells good, warm and smoky with just the right amount of musk. It’s a nice smell, a boy smell. Sokka wants to roll around in it, but Zuko seems to be expecting more from him than just “tea”, so he pulls himself away from fantasies of sticking his nose behind his ear for long enough to form a coherent sentence. 

“We’ll go in disguise,” he explains helpfully. “As tea merchants.”

“Again with the tea merchants,” Zuko mutters to himself. “Fine. It’s as good a plan as any other, and I’m sure uncle will be happy to provide us with the necessary cargo. Although if we get asked to perform another tea ceremony, I’m holding you personally responsible.”

Sokka’s brain inevitably goes to the first tea ceremony, and then it has a nice little adventure as he thinks about the day afterwards, when the old man in the town square complimented Zuko on his tea making skills. How he’d blushed, and stammered, and squirmed like a fish on a hook- almost like he enjoyed the praise a little too much. 

He thinks about putting Zuko on his knee and calling him his good, sweet boy. He thinks about splitting him open on his cock. Then he has to cross his legs and grit his teeth and hope against hope that his pants hide the worst of the tenting.

Sparring is even worse. Sokka almost wishes Zuko decided to teach him swordplay rather than hand-to-hand combat, because tussling with him always leads to more emergency trips to the bathroom. It’s not like he can help it, Zuko is made of warm skin and firm muscles and Sokka is only human, but it certainly isn’t convenient.

This is made even more apparent the first time he’s able to knock Zuko off his feet. It surprises both of them, especially Sokka, who is fully aware that Zuko outclasses him in every single way. Then of course the surprise is quickly outweighed by lust at the sight of Zuko at his feet, looking up at him with softened features.

“Gotta go,” Sokka says, and hightails it to the bathroom before he can pop an erection. 

Basically, it’s hell. Which is why when Zuko comes to him with a request two weeks into their journey to Omashu, Sokka is initially reluctant to agree.

“You promised,” Zuko says stubbornly, his eyes glistening with just a hint of wet. Sokka wants to make him cry more.

He did promise, damn his past self. Full of warm and fuzzy feelings, his kitten in his arms, he’d said the stupidest things. He would have promised Zuko the moon if he’d asked for it. 

He sighs, finally relenting, even though he knows this is a terrible idea.

“Not here,” he says, acutely aware of the fact that they’re out in the open. There’s a high chance that this little exercise will lead to public indecency if they don’t get behind closed doors first. 

“Of course not,” Zuko scoffs. “We’ll go to my room.”

If anything, that’s even worse. Being in Zuko’s space, where he sleeps and eats and does less innocent things, where the smell of him has seeped into everything- Sokka isn’t sure he can handle it. 

But he promised, and Zuko is soft and a little vulnerable right now, more kittenish than he’s been since their falling out. Sokka is weak to it, just like he’s weak to the glitter of tears at the corner of his eyes. Oh, he could ruin him, easily. 

“Fine,” he finds himself saying, sealing his own fate once and for all. “We’ll go to your room.”

Zuko’s room is like a dungeon- a dungeon decorated by an evil supervillain. Everything is red or black or gold, and the air smells smoky and dense. There’s also a very imposing dragon mask hanging on the wall, over a row of candles. Sokka wonders what the purpose of it is, because it looks like the sort of place you would sacrifice virgins.

There’s also a distinct lack of comfy furniture, which may be a slight issue. The only thing available that would suffice is the bed, and that makes Sokka’s brain go straight to the gutter. He tries very, very hard not to think about pushing Zuko down onto it, or about the noises he’d make with a cock in him. Biting the inside of his cheek, he wills his erection down.

Zuko seems to draw the same conclusion as him, blushing and staring down at the bed as if he’s only just realised the consequences of his actions. Sokka wonders if he’s thinking about all the times he’s touched himself in this exact spot, if that’s even something he does. 

“Come on,” he says, because one of them is going to have to take the initiative here and it’s certainly not going to be Zuko. He takes his tunic off and crawls under the covers.

Zuko averts his eyes.

“Um,” he says, sounding strained. “I would really prefer it if you wore a shirt.”

Sokka pokes at the pile of fabric on the floor, making a face.

“Are you sure? It’s a bit dirty.”

Zuko goes to his chest of drawers, rummaging around and pulling out a nightshirt of some description. Red, of course, with gold embroidery. He tosses it at Sokka without looking at him.

“Put this on,” he says to the wall.

Sokka pulls it over his head without complaint, trying not to breathe too deeply. The shirt smells like Zuko, deep and musky and warm. He wants to bury his face in the collar of it and jerk himself off, but even in his lust-addled state he knows that’s not appropriate.

“You can turn around now,” he says, once he’s gotten himself under control.

Zuko turns around, then goes even redder than before. Sokka wants to preen, because he clearly has a thing for seeing him in his clothes. He files that away for later, along with all the other information he’s carefully gathering about him. 

Stiffly, Zuko removes the cloak from around his own shoulders, revealing a robe of red and gold silk. Sokka has never seen him in anything so… scanty before, and it does terrible things to his heart. And his nether regions, but that’s beside the point.

With hesitant steps, Zuko walks towards the bed. He pulls the covers back and slides inside, into the space that Sokka has already made warm with his own body. He lies there like a corpse for a few moments, shivering violently, until Sokka grabs him around the waist and pulls him on top of him.

“Oh,” he says, sounding stunned. 

Oh, indeed.

“Colour, sweetie,” he says, because he may be thoroughly compromised at the moment but that doesn’t mean he’s going to forget his duty.

“Green,” Zuko whispers, his eyelashes fluttering against his throat.

He’s already slipping under, practically purring with contentment as the tension in his muscles eases. Sokka hadn’t realised he’d needed it this badly. The burn of arousal is suddenly distant and unimportant, all of his energy focused on making Zuko feel comfortable and safe.

“Warm enough?” he asks, one hand reaching blindly for the blanket and drawing it up around their shoulders.

Zuko hums, already beyond speech, beyond anything but simply existing and letting himself be petted like a cat. His shivers fade away, leaving him warm and pliant and malleable, just like Sokka wants him. Just like he’s wanted him this whole time really, ever since he first saw him wrapped in blankets, looking like something the cat dragged in. 

“Good,” he says, smoothing his hand up Zuko’s spine and feeling him shiver. He cups the back of his neck, just holding him there, quietly possessive in a way that even he doesn’t understand. “That’s my good boy.”

Zuko muffles a sob against his chest, tears slipping from beneath his closed eyelids. He’s so soft like this, and so, so lovely. Sokka could spend hours lying here with him in his arms, just listening to the soft sound of him breathing. 

Words of adoration crowd against his lips, but he holds them back. This thing between them is already complicated enough without adding love confessions into the mix. He’s ruined for Zuko already, he knows that, but maybe if he tries hard enough he can stop himself from taking that final step.

Eventually the sound of Zuko’s heartbeat lulls him to sleep, his eyes slipping closed as his mind wanders off to distant shores. Between one breath and the next, he’s gone.

When Sokka wakes up, his arms are empty and cold. He stretches his hand out, trying to locate Zuko in the sheets, but he’s not there. Blearily, he opens his eyes to the dim light of the cabin. 

It can’t be any later than six, but Zuko is already awake and dressing. The sight of his naked form makes desire unfurl in the pit of his stomach, but it quickly fizzles out when he notices the burn scars crawling up his legs. They’re old, probably from when Zuko was a child, but the damage is extensive.

He shuts his eyes tight again, not wanting to invade his privacy. His curiosity is eating away at him, but he won’t intrude where he hasn’t been invited. With time, Zuko might feel safe enough to tell him the story behind those scars, but Sokka won’t force it out of him before he’s ready.

He falls asleep again after a while, waking up to a light touch on his shoulder. He squints his eyes open to see Zuko looming over him, holding a plate of something warm and fragrant smelling.

“Um,” he says, staring very intently at his own hands. “You slept in. A lot. They were going to put the food away, so I thought-“

He cuts himself off, looking embarrassed. 

Sokka is touched. Whoever said the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach must have been right, because he’s about ready to propose marriage.

“Thank you,” he says, smiling up at him. “Do you want to join me?”

“I already ate,” Zuko says, looking confused.

Sokka shrugs. “You could just sit with me. I’m used to eating with the crew, so I wouldn’t mind the company.”

Zuko dithers for a while, looking like he’s not sure whether to say yes or not. Eventually he nods, settling beside him with his hands clasped on his lap. So formal, Sokka thinks, hiding a smile.

He talks while he eats, sticking to banal topics because it’s clear that Zuko feels a little awkward around him today. He’s probably thinking about the way he’d reacted to Sokka calling him a good boy and feeling embarrassed about it, which he doesn’t need to be. It makes sense, given how neglected he’s been all this time, that those words would have a special power over him.

Eventually though, his curiosity gets the better of him and he pauses in the middle of scraping the bottom of his bowl to ask about Zuko’s temperature regulation issues. It’s something he’s been wondering about this whole time, since he knows by now that most firebenders can regulate their own body temperatures pretty effectively.

“I was just… born like that,” Zuko says, not looking particularly happy about it. “The doctors don’t know why or how to fix it, but Father says it’s an aberration. When I was younger, he made me sleep outside overnight to try to toughen me up, but it never worked. I guess I’m just broken.”

“Zuko,” Sokka says, feeling his heart clench. “Zuko, you’re not broken.”

Zuko doesn’t look like he believes him, so Sokka finds himself divulging a secret of his own.

“I have trouble spelling words properly,” he admits. “Remember all those letters I sent you, how many errors there were? It’s not because I’m careless, it’s because it’s hard to pin the letters down. Gran Gran says it runs in our family.”

Zuko is still for a while, processing that information.

“My mother was always cold at night too,” he says slowly.

Sokka smiles triumphantly.

“There, you see? So it’s not your fault, it’s just something that makes you different.”

This seems to be a bit of a revelation for Zuko, who’d probably bought all that hogwash about it being an aberration completely. Sokka would really like to have a word with his father, because he sounds like a real piece of work.

“I can sleep here from now on, if you want,” he finds his mouth saying, quite without his mind’s permission. “At least until the new heating system is done.”

As soon as he’s said it he wants to kick himself, because that’s probably going to lead to a compromising position at some point. He might be able to control himself while he’s awake, but his sleeping self might have other plans.

“I’d like that,” Zuko says quietly, not blushing this time, just grateful to even have the option. 

So it’s settled then. Sokka wonders if he’s making a huge mistake, but he can’t retract his offer now. Zuko is already invested in the idea, and besides, he wants to spoil him a little. 

He just hopes his sleeping self is able to keep his hands to himself.

Chapter Text

The final leg of their journey to Omashu necessitates traveling inland, which no-one is particularly happy about. The Wani is a convenient mode of transport that can cross great distances in a surprisingly short amount of time, unlike the two recalcitrant ostrich horses they hired to take them the rest of the way there.

Zuko is the only one who seems pleased by this outcome, which is surprising. He seems to have an affinity for animals, slipping them bits of carrot and lettuce when he thinks no-one is looking and generally doting on them. He’s even named them, Zongzi and Jiuniang. Zongzi keeps staring at Sokka with her weird alien eyes and Jiuniang bites him whenever gets too close to Zuko.

“You’re scaring her,” Zuko scolds him, stroking Jiuniang’s long furry neck. She whistles contentedly, nuzzling the side of his face, before turning her cold eyes on Sokka and lifting her top lip at him.

“I’m scaring her?!” Sokka squawks. “She’s the one who bit me!”

“Because you keep looking at her like she’s a steak on legs!”

“It’s not my fault she’s made of meat!” he says, throwing his hands in the air.

But he resolves to try to be a little nicer to the ostrich horses from that point onwards, if only to make Zuko happy. He has so few interests that he’s comfortable sharing with other people, so if spending time around animals makes him happy, Sokka will endure the stares and the bites and the indignity of being jealous of a walking shish kebab.

He’s glad when Omashu finally comes into view, pointy and triangular and very very tall. Earth Kingdom architecture sure is something he thinks to himself, picturing his pitiful little watch tower back home. It must be handy to be able to just bend the earth into whatever shape you want.

“State your business!” The guard at the gate says, levitating a rock over their little cart. Zuko shields the ostrich horses with his body, opening his mouth to chastise him, but Uncle Iroh puts a placating hand on his arm. 

“My name is Mushi,” he says, smiling serenely. “I am but a humble tea merchant, keen to try my luck in the great city of Omashu. These two young men are my assistants, Lee and Mingze.”

The guard hums disbelievingly, but he at least lowers the rock. Zuko stops looking quite so murderous.

“Please, inspect our cargo if you wish to do so,” Uncle Iroh says, gesturing to the cart. “We have nothing to hide.”

The guard comes around and lifts the lid off one of the crates they brought with them. The only thing in there is tea, tea, and more tea, so he’s not going to find anything suspicious. Uncle Iroh had been magnanimous with his help on this particular mission, although he had warned them that if they lost any tea they would be required to pay for it out of their allowances.

“I don’t get an allowance,” Sokka had responded, baffled, to which Uncle Iroh had replied “You don’t? Oh, let me rectify that then.” Then he’d pressed a shiny silver coin into his hand and told him not to spend it all at once. 

“Fine,” the guard grumbles, sounding disappointed that he didn’t get to refuse them entry. “You can go through.”

“Thank you, good sir,” Uncle Iroh says, smiling benevolently.

The cart trundles onwards, Zuko giving the guard a final dirty look as they pass through the gates of the city. He cares more about those ostrich horses than some people care about their own children.

Uncle Iroh explains the delivery system to them as they clip clop through the city, on their way to the city hall. He’s clearly been here before, which is surprising, what with the whole Fire Nation thing. Sokka doubts most people of his ilk would deign to set foot in such a place unless they were trying to invade and/or pillage it.

Uncle Iroh, however, is not like most firebenders. Clearly. He’s deliberately withholding information from his nephew that could help him in his quest, all for the sake of helping a kid he doesn’t know defeat the Fire Lord. Sokka isn’t sure, but he’s pretty sure that’s treason. Of the highest order.

The first step on their agenda is to get a permit for selling tea in the market. Apparently they can’t just waltz over there and start hawking their wares, they need official approval from the city. Uncle Iroh volunteers to do it for them, instructing them to find a suitable inn they can make their base of operations.

“This should be enough,” he says, handing a small pouch to his nephew. “Don’t go for anything too fancy or too rundown either, and don’t let them walk all over you like they did last time. I taught you to haggle, so haggle.”

“Yes, uncle,” Zuko mumbles to himself, the tips of his ears going a bit pink.

They pass on the first few inns they see, none of them really suitable for three tea merchants trying to make it in the big city. They’re either too expensive or too shabby, and when asked if they serve tea, they all respond in the negative. Sokka knows without even asking that Uncle Iroh would not approve.

Finally, they come to an inn that seems okay, made of the same honey coloured stone as all the others but with a cosy atmosphere and a bowl of free snacks at the front desk. There’s also a sign out the front that says a complimentary breakfast is provided every morning, tea included. Sokka is instantly sold.

“Hello, we’d like a room,” he says, resisting the urge to grab a handful of the orange spirally things in the bowl. He’s curious about what food in Omashu tastes like, but also conscious of the fact that he needs to make a good impression here. Uncle Iroh is trusting them to get this right and he doesn’t want to let him down.

“One bed, or two?” the innkeeper asks, sounding almost bored.

Zuko’s face erupts into flames. Sokka knows he’s thinking about the last time they shared a bed together, waking up practically fused together with their faces close enough to kiss. There’s no way they’re doing that here, because Uncle Iroh cannot find out. He’s pretty sure they’re both in agreement on this. 

“Three beds, actually,” he says, coughing awkwardly. “Our master will also be staying with us.”

The innkeeper doesn’t ask what kind of master he means, which is kind of a let down. Sokka actually put effort into their backstories this time, consulting Uncle Iroh about the ins and outs of the tea industry and all the intricacies involved. He wrote notes, extensive ones. He even made sure to choose an appropriate name- according to Uncle Iroh, Mingze roughly translates to tea leaf benevolence. 

They haggle the price of the room down to something Uncle Iroh will hopefully deem acceptable, Zuko stubbornly refusing to back down until the innkeeper sighs and accepts his offer. A side effect of his slowly changing outlook on life is that he actually listens to his uncle now, in a way he clearly didn’t before Sokka joined their little crew. He even lets him hug him and put a steadying hand on his shoulder whenever he gets stressed, which is honestly heartwarming to see.

“Thanks,” Sokka says brightly when the innkeeper hands him the key, snaffling some of the orange spiral things for good measure. “Come on Lee, let’s go meet up with our master. It’s time to sell some tea.”

Omashu’s central marketplace is bustling with activity, merchants of all descriptions calling out to passersby to sample their wares. The air is redolent with the scent of spices, which appear in great multiplicity, in tubs and bowls and tipped into cooking pots to make a wide variety of street food. Sokka’s mouth waters as he follows Uncle Iroh to the corner of the market they were assigned, Zuko leading the ostrich horses by their bridles. 

Their plan for today is to lay low and try to glean as much information as possible from the townsfolk about where the Avatar might be hiding. Zuko is not a fan of this plan. He protested loudly when it was suggested but was swiftly outvoted, which led to him spending the rest of the afternoon sulking. Sokka eventually coaxed him out of his shell again with a handful of candied kumquats, which he ate begrudgingly while glowering at him to make it clear that he was only tolerating him for the food. 

“I still think my idea of infiltrating the palace was better,” he mutters to himself. “The king is bound to know more than these commoners.”

“Hey, as a commoner, I take offense to that,” Sokka says, slightly breathless from hauling the big jug of water they brought with them over to their booth. It’s already starting to look like a proper market stall, with canisters of tea from all corners of the four nations arranged like little soldiers. 

“Your father is the chief of the Southern Water Tribe,” Zuko says dismissively. “That doesn’t count.”

“That’s not what you said in your letters,” Sokka says, feeling himself getting annoyed. “I know you were raised in the lap of luxury, but you have no right to look down on other people just because they were born less fortunate than you.”

“You would do well to listen to our young friend here, Prince Zuko,” Uncle Iroh says, clapping Sokka on the shoulder paternally. “A wise man seeks knowledge from all sources, not just those he deems worthy of his attention.”

“Fine,” Zuko mutters, clearly not happy about the situation. For once, Sokka doesn’t immediately want to smooth his ruffled feathers. 

They finish setting up the tea stall in silence, neither of them willing to set aside their principles for the other. Sokka should have figured this would happen eventually. He and Zuko have gotten so close that he forgets sometimes that he was raised on a steady diet of propaganda and classism, along with whatever lies the Fire Nation teaches children in schools about the other three nations.

By the time they’re done, their little stall looks quite professional. There’s a wide selection of teas to choose from, as well as a small collection of teapots, strainers and other tea related accoutrements. There are also cups arranged in a neat stack, in case any weary travellers want to stop for a refreshing beverage before continuing on their journey.

A young woman approaches the stall, scanning the selection of teas with a critical eye. Sokka cracks his knuckles and plasters his most charming smile over his face.

Time to get to work.

Hours pass. They have a steady stream of customers, young and old alike- potters with clay still stuck to their hands, ladies in fine clothes, and travellers from all over the Earth Kingdom, keen to sample the delights of the famous Omashu markets. They come for the tea but stay for Uncle Iroh’s words of wisdom, which he dispenses like gold coins among the needy. 

He seems to have an almost preternatural ability to recommend the perfect blend of tea to people, knowing what they want within moments of meeting them. He also has a devastating effect on middle-aged women, who bill and coo at him like girls in the first flush of youth, buying more tea from him than any one person could possibly need. Sokka wonders if he should be taking notes.

At around mid-morning, he takes a break to visit an old friend, leaving his two young assistants to hold down the fort in his absence.

“I’m trusting you two to watch the stall while I’m gone,” he says, leveling each of them with a look that screams parent giving a lecture on responsibility. “Remember, any tea you lose comes out of your allowances, so don’t go wandering off and getting into trouble.”

“Yes, uncle,” Zuko says, sighing.

He and Zuko still aren’t speaking to each other. It feels awful, but it’s not like he can do anything about it. He doubts this is something they’ll ever see eye to eye on. He tries to be okay with that, but he can’t help wishing both of them were born before this stupid war even started. He wishes they were just two kids, free to date and fall in love without the shadows of their respective pasts looming over them.

A few customers approach their stall, leaving with what Sokka hopes is an appropriate recommendation, but the rush seems to have died down somewhat. It’s almost midday, so most people are heading to the food stalls to sample the street food or going to the dumpling restaurant nearby, which seems to be choked with people. Sokka really wants to try it, but he doesn’t think he has a hope of even getting through the door. 

“Hello,” a voice says, seemingly from nowhere. “One tea please.”

For a moment, Sokka wonders if their new customer is invisible. Then a hand reaches up from below the stall and places a few copper pieces on top of it. It’s a small hand, with nails that have been bitten down to the quick. A child’s hand. 

“Hello,” he says, leaning over the edge of the stall to try to see the child. Two big brown eyes blink up at him. It’s a little girl, no more than five or six, with a burn scar covering half her face. “Are you lost?”

“Nope,” she says, hitching her bag higher on her shoulders. “I’m going to visit my parents and I need provisions for my journey.”

Beside him, Zuko has gone very stiff and seems to be trying to edge away from the little girl. Sokka doesn’t imagine interacting with children is part of his skill set. He seems to be hoping the child will leave so he won’t have to deal with her anymore, but there’s no way Sokka is going to let him get away with that.

“Okay, well since you’re going on a journey, you’ll need traveling companions,” he says, reaching for a cup. “How about my friend and I accompany you?”

“Uncle said-“ Zuko protests feebly, but the little girl looks at him with her big brown eyes and he falls silent.

“You’re like me,” she says, tilting her head to the side like a curious bird. “Did the Fire Nation hurt you as well?”

Zuko’s face does something complicated and painful, his hand going up to touch his scar automatically. It hovers there for a few moments before he forces it back down, turning his face away.

“No,” he says, but it sounds like a lie.

Sokka hands the cup of tea to the little girl. She reaches out to take it with both hands, blowing on it to cool it. 

“Come on,” he says gently, not sure who he’s trying to soothe. “Let’s go see your parents.”

Chapter Text

The little girl’s name is Aavani and her parents live all the way on the other side of the city. She goes to visit them every year, but this year she hasn’t been able to because her foster mother is having a baby and is too busy to take her. Sokka doesn’t ask why she doesn’t live with her real parents, not wanting to pry, but he wonders if they can no longer afford to keep her. The war has been hard on everyone, especially young families, with governments increasing taxes every year and the price of food skyrocketing.

Sokka left a note for uncle Iroh, explaining the situation and promising that the tea was in good hands. They’d packed it away into the cart and taken the ostrich horses with them, not wanting to risk them being stolen while they were gone. The little girl had been frightened of them, which Sokka could empathise with, but Zuko had stroked their necks and shown her how they liked to be fed carrots. She’d wanted to try herself after that, laughing when Zongzi’s freakishly long upper lip tickled her hand.

It seems Zuko can be socially adept when it’s about something he’s interested in. Sokka observes him explaining the ostrich horses’ likes and dislikes with a calm sort of confidence, his body language open and relaxed. It’s a good look on him.

As they travel through the city, the little girl points out landmarks to them, her feet kicking restlessly back and forth. 

“That’s the royal palace,” she says, munching on the samosa Sokka bought her with his allowance. There had been quite a lot left over, more money than he knew what to do with. “King Bumi lives there. And that’s the animal shelter where we got my rabbit. Her name is Marshmallow and she’s white.”

For such a little person, she’s unusually sharp, able to hold a conversation with two older boys with ease. Well, one older boy. Zuko is mostly silent throughout their journey, holding the reins of the ostrich horses and staring straight ahead. 

“Are you two married?” she asks out of nowhere, her little face full of innocent curiosity. 

Zuko goes predictably scarlet, almost missing the turnoff into the next street. Sokka takes the reins from him on instinct, their hands touching briefly and sending a spark of electricity up his spine.

“What makes you say that?” he says calmly, turning their cart in the right direction. 

“Because you look at him like my father used to look at my mother.”

Used to. Are they not married anymore? Sokka doesn’t feel comfortable asking, but his curiosity is piqued. 

“No,” he says, looking at Zuko out of the corner of his eye. His face is turned away, so he can’t see his expression. “We’re not married.”

Not that he doesn’t want to be. Not that it doesn’t kill him every second of every day that they can’t be together, that Zuko can’t be his in every sense of the word. Everything they’ve done up until this point, the flirting and handholding and cuddling, it’s not enough. It’s never enough. 

They continue the rest of the journey in silence, both of them lost in their own little worlds. Aavani doesn’t seem at all perturbed by this, prattling away about her friends and her pet and all manner of things in between. She reminds him of someone, but he can’t put his finger on who. 

“It’s just up here,” she says, pointing to an imposing pair of metal gates. Obediently, Sokka leads the ostrich horses in the correct direction, but as they crest the top of the hill he has to do a double take. 

“This is a cemetery,” he says, confused.

The little girl hops down from the cart, reaching into her bag and pulling out a few sticks of incense, some flowers and a container of uncooked rice. 

“Yes,” she says matter-of-factly. “Both my parents are dead.”

Sokka follows her through the gates of the cemetery, Zuko trailing along behind. The plots are arranged with military precision, earthbending no doubt having had a hand in their creation. Some are more well-cared for than others, with fresh offerings of flowers and fruit, but a few have fallen into disrepair. 

Aavani stops in front of one of the graves, kneeling down to place her offerings on top of it. Her little hands light the incense and arrange the rice and flowers just so. Sokka thinks of his own mother, shot down in flames before she was even thirty, and wants to weep. 

“They were killed in a Fire Nation raid,” she says, without being asked. “I was three when it happened. They tried to kill me too, but my mother protected me.”

Sokka kneels down next to her, covering her small hand with his larger one.

“I’m sorry,” he says, very gently. “My mother was killed in a Fire Nation raid too, so I know how you feel.”

He hears a sharp indrawn breath behind him, but he doesn’t turn around. This moment feels delicate, like any movement will shatter it to pieces.

A tear falls down Aavani’s cheek. She scrubs it away with her tiny fist, already used to having to hide her feelings. Sokka knows all too well what that’s like.

They kneel together in front of the neat little plot for a very long time, two strangers sharing a moment of solidarity amidst the chaos. Aavani’s hand grips his tightly, almost tight enough to hurt, but he doesn’t mind. He knows how it feels to never feel like your grief is worth something. 

Eventually, the incense burns down to a stub. Then, and only then, does Sokka rise to his feet.

“Come on,” he says to the little girl. “Let’s take you home.”

By the time they drop Aavani off at her foster parents’ house, it’s already late afternoon. The woman meets them at the door, her hands covered with flour and her belly huge with child. She doesn’t seem like a neglectful parent, just distracted, but Sokka wants to tell her off for not seeing that the child in her care is hurting. The man, however, is a different story. He looks at Aavani like she’s an inconvenience, and it makes him furious.

“You’re late,” he says brusquely, his hands settling on his wife’s shoulders. “We were expecting you home from the market hours ago.”

But you didn’t go looking for her, Sokka thinks, almost shaking with rage. You didn’t even stop to wonder why she went missing in the first place.

Aavani’s head is bowed and she’s clutching the strap of her bag tightly. She’s so small, and so alone, and Sokka wishes he could adopt her and make sure she never had to sit in a cold graveyard by herself ever again.

“What, you’re not even going to make up some excuse about why you were late?” the man says, scoffing.

That’s it. He doesn’t care about respectability, or propriety, or anything else like that, he’s going to punch this guy in the face-

“Shut up.”

Sokka startles, looking at Zuko. It was definitely him who just spoke, no question about it, but he’s staring down at his feet, the brim of his hat covering his face.

“What did you say to me?” the man splutters, his cheeks colouring.

“I said,” Zuko bites out, looking up at him with eyes that promise murder. “Shut up.”

He turns his homicidal glare towards the woman.

“Did either of you even wonder why she was late in the first place?“ he asks, soft and dangerous. “No? Then you have no right to talk to her like that. She’s a child, and it’s her parents’ death anniversary, and you didn’t even care enough to take her to visit their graves.”

Silence. The man shifts guiltily from foot to foot, the woman’s eyes filling with tears. Aavani lifts her head, looking up at Zuko with shining eyes. Sokka doubts anyone has defended her before now. 

“Aavani,” the woman says, reaching out to put her hand on the little girl’s head. “I’m sorry. I’ll take you next year, okay?”

She nods, swallowing thickly. She doesn’t cry, but Sokka wouldn’t have expected her to. Those tears at the graveyard seemed like a rare occurrence, like something she only lets herself do when she’s alone and can’t hold them in anymore.

“Come on,” Sokka says quietly, putting his hand on Zuko’s arm. “Let’s go.”

Staying any longer feels like it would be… intruding, on some level. As much as he wants to whisk this little girl away and give her the affection she’s so clearly missing, it isn’t his place. These are her guardians, for better or worse, and they’re the ones who are responsible for taking care of her.

They slip outside, back through the open door, and make their way down the path to their little cart. The ostrich horses lift their heads, pausing in their quest to rid the garden of its plants, whickering in recognition at the sight of them approaching.

“Wait!” cries a frantic voice as Zuko unhitches their reins. Sokka turns around to see Aavani running down the path, as fast as her little legs can carry her. She barrels into him, almost knocking the wind out of him.

“Thank you,” she says, squeezing him tight. “For everything.”

“Of course,” he says, at a loss at what else to say. “Any time.”

Aavani hugs Zuko next, even tighter than she hugged Sokka. The panic on his face is priceless, his hands fluttering over her tiny form as if he isn’t sure what to do with them. Surprise hug attacks are clearly not something he’s trained to defend himself against, if the way he reacted on Kiyoshi Island is any indication.

“I know you said the Fire Nation wasn’t the one who hurt you,” she says, looking up at Zuko with eyes that are far too knowing for someone so young. “But I think that was a lie. So I just wanted you to know, it’s not your fault.”

Zuko looks totally and utterly disarmed by her words. His face is soft and open in a way Sokka has rarely seen it, all that pain and rage just… gone. Then doubt comes crowding in again, his expression closing itself off as something bitter clouds his gaze.

“Thank you,” he says, very stiffly. He clears his throat, turning his face away. “It was… nice to meet you.”

The little girl nods, stepping back. She has more empathy and emotional intelligence than most people four times her age. Sokka wishes it hadn’t come at such a cost.

They say their goodbyes one final time, then climb into the cart. The silence between them is heavier than usual, full of things they can’t say. As Sokka turns the ostrich horses back towards the open road, he thinks about the little girl’s words. 

It’s not your fault, she’d said, and she was right. So how exactly is he going to get Zuko to believe it?

Chapter Text

The sun has already dipped below the horizon by the time they drag their sorry corpses back to the inn. The ostrich horses are tired from the long journey, the useless animals, but Sokka feels fine, if a bit emotionally damaged. He usually does a pretty good job of suppressing the memory of his mother’s death, which is the only coping mechanism he’s ever found that works for him, but today has brought it all back up again.

Uncle Iroh gives them a lecture about responsibility, which Zuko suffers through with great reluctance, before hugging them both and telling them they did the right thing. Sokka is caught off guard and almost bursts into tears, but he reins it in before he can completely embarrass himself. Crying on a Fire Nation general’s shoulder isn’t something he wants to cross off his bucket list today.

Zuko escapes after a few minutes, leaving Sokka to be roped into a game of pai sho. By the time he returns, it’s past dinner time and the temperature has dipped well below comfortable levels. It gets cold here at night, even though the days are muggy and hot, so he’s already shivering by the time he walks through the door. He’s clutching a disposable box to his chest, which smells like all sorts of wonderful things. Meaty things.

Uncle Iroh takes one look at him and excuses himself, off to explore Omashu’s night life. Sokka highly doubts that’s where he’s actually going, because as soon as he’s out of Zuko’s line of sight he gives him a thumbs up, but he’s not going to say anything. The knowledge that the old man is playing matchmaker for them is mortifying enough as it is.

“These are for you,” Zuko says, as soon as his uncle is gone. He presents the box like some sort of offering, his head bowed and his eyes lowered in supplication.

Sokka takes the box from his outstretched hands, lifting the lid to take a peek at its contents. Little balls of dough stare up at him, rows upon rows of them, nestled in the box like eggs in a nest. He remembers the long line snaking away from the dumpling restaurant and suddenly feels like crying.

“How long did it take you to get these?” he asks, his voice coming out more hushed than he means it to.

Zuko shrugs, not willing to commit to an answer. Sokka would hazard a guess that it was a long time, if the pink flush in his cheeks is any indication. He thinks about him standing in line for the dumplings, the night air growing progressively colder around him and his breath misting out in front of him.

“Well,” he says, clearing his throat. “Shall we eat?”

“No,” Zuko says, his breath catching. “No, I bought them for you. I want you to eat them while I kneel at your feet, and I don’t want you to let me have any.”

“Zuko,” Sokka says flatly. “What the fuck.”

Apparently that was the wrong thing to say, because Zuko immediately goes full armadillo mode.

“Forget it,” he mutters, turning away.

Sokka sets the box of dumplings down on the table, on top of the scattered pai sho pieces. This situation requires all the delicacy he can possibly muster. Zuko’s pride is injured, which is always a recipe for disaster. He needs to smooth things over quickly if he doesn’t want to spend the next few days being furiously stonewalled.

“Come here,” he says, catching hold of Zuko’s frozen hands and drawing him down to the ground. His lips part, soft and surprised, his eyes shining with something unknowable. On reflection, this probably wasn’t the best way to go about this, but at least Zuko is stunned enough not to protest too much when he blows on his fingers to warm them.

“I’m not judging you,” he says, cradling his hands close against his chest. “I’m just… confused, I guess. Why now?”

Zuko shrugs, looking so desperately unhappy that Sokka is glad he pumped the breaks on this immediately. This seems to go deeper than just some sexual fantasy.

“Kitten,” he chides gently. “I want to do things you enjoy, but if you can’t tell me why I don’t think it would be right for us to continue.”

That seems to motivate him a little. He opens his mouth to provide an explanation but then seems to get stuck, the words not making it past his lips.

Sokka sighs.

“Look, we’re both tired. Maybe we should just call it a night.”

“No,” Zuko says desperately. “No, you need to punish me, I don’t deserve to even breathe the same air as you-”

“Woah,” he says, taken aback. “Where is all of this coming from?”

Zuko tells him, in great detail. It’s like the floodgates have been opened, because he gets a lengthier explanation than he’d bargained for. It basically boils down to a few key points: a) Zuko is a terrible person b) Zuko called him a commoner multiple times and made him angry, which is pretty much tantamount to a criminal offense c) Zuko basically funded the Southern Raiders out of his own pocket money, because it’s definitely his fault his mother is dead and not anyone else’s.

Sokka’s head is reeling by the end of it. A part of him is glad to see him making real progress towards undoing some of that Fire Nation conditioning, but another, larger part is concerned it’s happening too fast and he’s about to have a nervous breakdown.

“They let ten-year-olds join the fire navy, do they?” he asks drily, which makes Zuko look at him like he’s clinically insane. At least he’s not breathing funny anymore, or looking like he’s about to throw up the contents of his stomach all over Sokka’s lap.

“No, of course not,” he says, bewildered. “What does that have to do with anything?”

Sokka shrugs.

“You seem pretty convinced that it’s your fault my mother is dead, so I’m just wondering how that’s possible when you were a child at the time.”

“Obviously I don’t mean literally,” Zuko says, exasperated. 

Exasperation is good. It’s not self-loathing, at least. 

“Look,” he says, rubbing his temples and sighing. “I’m glad you aplogised for what you said, but I think you’ve gone way too far in the other direction. Just because you made a mistake, that doesn’t mean everything is suddenly your fault.”

“Then what am I supposed to do?” Zuko says, sounding a bit desperate. “If you won’t punish me, how am I supposed to live with this guilt?”

Sokka knows a thing or two about living with guilt. In the years after his mother’s death, there was always that niggling voice in the back of his head, saying what if. What if he’d been just a little faster, a little stronger, a little older? Would it even have made a difference?

“You try to forgive yourself,” he says, shrugging helplessly. “And if it really was your fault… well, you try to make amends as best you can. That’s part of being human, I think.”

“I am trying,” Zuko says, looking like he might actually cry.

And he is, Sokka realises suddenly. To him, requesting punishment is making amends. He thinks about the burn scars marring the skin of his legs and feels a bit sick. One of them had been in the shape of a hand.

“You bought me dumplings,” he says, trying to smile. “That’s making amends. Speaking of which-“ and he lets go of Zuko’s hands for a brief moment to fish around for some clean plates. “I’d really like to have dinner with you, if that’s okay.”

“I don’t-“ Zuko says, before sighing in defeat. “Fine.”

It’s not exactly a ringing endorsement, but Sokka will take it anyway.

They polish the dumplings off in less than half an hour. Sokka is ravenous, not having eaten anything since the samosas they shared on the way to the cemetery. After a while, Zuko emerges from his cocoon of self-loathing enough to have a stilted conversation with him. Sokka counts it as a win.  

The dumplings are good. Spicy though. Zuko says they’re called Dragon Dumplings and they usually sell out of them by now. Apparently they’re an Omashu staple, which explains the long lines. Either Sokka is just very lucky or it was a slow day today.  

Once all the meat juice has been painstakingly sopped up and there are no more dumplings to eat, he sprawls out on his back, happily full. Zuko does that thing he does where he tries very hard not to look at him, which just makes his attraction even more obvious. Sokka tries not to preen and fails miserably, feeling a smug smile tugging at the corners of his lips. What can he say, it feels nice to be wanted.

“You know, Uncle Iroh isn’t here right now,” he says slyly. “Want to cuddle?”

He expects Zuko to blush and stammer like he usually does, but he just looks sad and a little small. His knees are drawn up to his chest and he’s staring wanly at the opposite wall, listless in a way that Sokka doesn’t like.

“I thought you wouldn’t want to do that anymore,” he says quietly. 

Which is a huge miscalculation on his part, because even being angry with Zuko hadn’t been enough to stop him from fantasising about  snuggling in the cart earlier. He doubts anything short of a complete lobotomy would stop him from wanting Zuko in all the ways it’s possible to want someone. 

“Well, I do want to do that, for your information,” he says lightly. “Unless you don’t?”

“I want to,” Zuko admits, but he doesn’t make any attempt to close the distance between them.

“Then come here, please,” Sokka says, suddenly needing to touch him very badly.

Hesitantly, Zuko curls against his side, kitten-like and small. He’s so cold it almost hurts, the type of cold that settles deep in your bones and won’t leave for months. Sokka wraps his limbs around him like an octopus, trying to warm him up as much as possible. It draws a soft sound from him, almost akin to a mewl.

Oh, his baby. How he’s missed evenings like this, cuddled up close in Zuko’s bed with the blanket making a warm little cocoon around them. They haven’t been able to do it in days, not since they left the relative privacy of the Wani. He hadn’t realised just how desperate for it he’d been until this moment.

Apparently Zuko hadn’t realised either. He’s shaking again, not just from cold this time but from other things too. Sokka feels so mushy inside when he feels his shirt getting damp, because his kitten is just the sweetest. He wants to smother him in kisses and do all sorts of filthy things to him, but that would be highly inappropriate and probably just make him feel guilty. He has to keep some semblance of a moral code, if only so he can look at himself in the mirror tomorrow.

He settles for nuzzling the top of Zuko’s head, where the skin is fragile and warm without the protective barrier of hair to cover it. The hat he made for him is suspiciously absent, which makes him wonder if he chose not to wear it on purpose. Self-flagellation, denying himself things he wants- those all seem like standard tools in the unhealthy coping mechanism playbook.

His arm is starting to go slightly numb, so he taps Zuko gently on the flank to get his attention.  

“Think you can shift over, kitten?” he says, in the softest of voices. “Lie on top of me?”

He feels the movement of Zuko’s head as he nods. His weight settles more evenly over him, relieving the pressure on his arm and leaving them pressed together from chest to ankle. It’s a more intimate position, one that leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination. Sokka is only glad that he’s not hard right now, because there would be no way of hiding it like this.

“Good boy,” he says, because perfectly obeyed orders deserve a reward. “Doing so well for me, letting me hold you like this.”

That… might have been too far. Zuko is decidedly not unaffected, if the hardness against his hip is any indication. He thinks about the time in the storage shed again, brief but seared into his brain so vividly that he can still remember the exact sound he’d made as he’d come.  

He tamps down on his arousal viciously, not wanting to let things get out of hand. That was a one-time thing, done out of necessity and for no other reason. This cuddling thing is contingent on the fact that it’s not going to escalate to anything else, because if it did, Sokka doesn’t think he’d be able to live with himself.

Luckily, Zuko doesn’t try to take things any further. He just lies there, half-hard and probably more than a little uncomfortable, letting himself be held and treated with utmost gentleness and care. Sokka wonders if maybe that’s part of the appeal for him, if he likes not getting any say in what happens between them. That’s… a hell of a thought.

After a long while, Sokka feels his eyes slipping closed. It’s just so warm here, and so comfortable, and Zuko is melty soft in his arms and smells like something wonderful. The last thought he has before the world disappears completely is that they should probably separate so Uncle Iroh doesn’t come home and find them like this.

Unfortunately, by that point it’s already too late.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Sokka wakes up more well-rested than he’s been in days. He stretches like a contented house cat, smiling when he feels Zuko burrow deeper into his arms. He’s so lovely like this, when he’s sleepy and soft and hasn’t had a chance to put on any of his armour. The heat of him is bleeding through all Sokka’s clothes and making him feel just a touch too hot, but he doesn’t mind. Maybe he could stand to lose the blanket though.

Hold on. They didn’t go to sleep with a blanket last night. They passed out in on the floor, without even bothering to undress or brush their teeth first.

Sokka sits bolt upright, scrambling away from Zuko as fast as his sleep-soft limbs can take him.

“Oh good,” says Uncle Iroh cheerfully. “You’re awake.”

He screams, which makes Zuko wake up as well. Seeing his uncle sitting at the table, he pulls the blanket up over his head, trying to disappear. Unperturbed, Uncle Iroh continues peeling his pomelo, humming a jaunty little tune.

Muttering is coming from under the blanket. Zuko is… praying? He keeps saying things like “Agni, please strike me down and end my suffering” and “I know we haven’t always seen eye to eye, but I’m calling in a favour.”

Sokka isn’t super religious himself, but he can’t help but wholeheartedly agree.

“I was thinking I could take over the stall today,” Uncle Iroh says, unperturbed. “Give you boys a chance to explore the city.”

“Sure,” Sokka says weakly, wishing the ceiling would fall on him and crush him.

So that’s how he ends up on the most awkward not-date of his life, walking with Zuko through the streets of Omashu and trying not to die of embarrassment. Uncle Iroh had packed them a lunch and a thermos of tea and told them to have fun, but the last thing on his mind right now is fun. He still hasn’t recovered from this morning’s incident and he doubts he ever will.

Zuko is no better, refusing to look at him or even acknowledge him. Sokka gets it, he really does. At least it wasn’t his uncle who found them curled up together like two cats. Not that he has an uncle, but the point still stands.

He’s not really taking in his surroundings as he walks through the city, which is why he screams when a guy wearing a smock covered in bits of fur steps into his path, thrusting a flyer into his unsuspecting hand.

“Hi there!” he says, smiling cheerfully. “We’re holding an adoption event at the local animal centre this afternoon. You’re welcome to come along if you want!”

Sokka is about to tell the guy to bugger off, but then he notices that Zuko is staring at the crumpled up flyer in is hand and looking decidedly interested. He sighs, handing it over. The things he does for this spoiled cat of a human.

Zuko peruses the flyer as they walk down the street, so absorbed in its contents that he almost walks into a pole. Sokka pulls him out of the way just in time, which leads to a lot of blushing and averted gazes when he realises that his arm is around Zuko’s waist. It’s not like they haven’t been… intimate before, but somehow it’s more embarrassing now.

“Sorry,” he says, talking to his feet. “You were about to walk into a pole, and I thought-“

“It’s fine,” Zuko tells a pigeon with a scrap of food in its mouth. “Don’t worry about it.”

Sokka looks more closely at the pole Zuko almost collided with and notices that it’s covered in flyers. One of them is for an art shop located in the city centre. He thinks about the shading on the antlers of the dragon moose Zuko drew and suddenly has an idea.

“Want to go?” he asks, pointing at the flyer. Zuko shrugs, seemingly amenable to the idea if not overly enthusiastic.

The art shop is neatly arranged, with racks and racks of clay pots ready to be painted, marble ready to be carved and silken threads ready to be spun into fine cloth. What Sokka is really interested in is the paints though. He makes a beeline for the correct aisle, Zuko following along behind reluctantly.

He finds what he’s looking for pretty easily, holding up a sketchbook and some tubes of brightly coloured paint triumphantly. Zuko looks nonplussed, which is slightly discouraging, but Sokka will not be stopped. Zuko needs a hobby, and art is one of the only things he’s shown the slightest interest in.

“You know that drawing you gave me, of Mrs Xiong getting stomped to death by dragon moose?” he says eagerly. “Well, it was really good, Zuko. I think if you practiced more, you could really go places!”

“Oh,” Zuko says, squirming uncomfortably. “You really think so?”

“I know so!” Sokka says brightly, proffering the art supplies with an encouraging smile. “Come on, you desperately need a hobby.”

“Hmmm,” Zuko says doubtfully, but he lets Sokka drag him towards the counter and even forks over the money to pay for the sketchbook and paints.

They spend the rest of the morning exploring the city, or at least the parts of it that can be reasonably traversed in a few hours. It’s really nice not having a plan or a mission or a task of some kind to be working on for once. Zuko even starts to relax after a while, smiling at him in fond exasperation as he excitedly peruses the accessory section at a local boutique.

“Wow, look at this shawl,” he says, holding up a long green woollen thing that’s even more intricately knitted than the stuff Kuzon usually makes. “Do you think I could be a shawl guy?”

“Uh… sure?” Zuko says, looking a little lost. Fashion doesn’t seem to be one of his strong suits.

“And just look at this hat!” he says, getting side-tracked and forgetting about the shawl completely.

They eat their lunch at a local park, which is basically a big open courtyard with some trees scattered here and there. Zuko looks around furtively before firebending the tea hot again, managing not to melt it like he had that one time. He pours a cup for Sokka, his hands steady and his expression unusually peaceful.

Sokka accepts it with a thank you, thinking about how much he’s changed since they first met. The Zuko of before would never have lowered himself to serve tea to someone from the Southern Water Tribe, in fact he hadn’t even wanted to entertain the idea of sharing a meal with him that first day.

For the first time, he allows himself to hope that Zuko really will be able to join their side. Uncle Iroh had been pretty confident about it at least, going on and on about destiny or whatever. Maybe Sokka doesn’t have to worry about what will happen when Zuko finds out he deceived him. Maybe he can just let himself have this.

He quashes that thought before it can take root in his mind. There’s no way Zuko will just take the betrayal lying down. Whether he joins their side or not, he’s going to hate Sokka for the rest of his life for deceiving him.

He just hopes he’s emotionally prepared for it when it happens.

The adoption event starts at 3 pm. Zuko insisted they arrive early to scope out the potential options, which led to them peering through the window like weirdos. There aren’t even any animals in there, just racks of harnesses and water bowls and other pet-related accessories, but Zuko might as well have his face stuck to the glass, he’s staring so intensely.

When the doors open, he zooms in there like he’s steam powered or something, going straight up to the counter and asking to see the animals please. The woman at the counter directs them towards the back, looking slightly intimidated.

Sokka trails along behind, happy to be there for Zuko but slightly bored. Pets aren’t really his… thing. He likes animals well enough when they’re on his plate, but not when they’re walking around and making noises and stuff. Besides, animals don’t like him. He learned his lesson with that polar bear dog back at the South Pole.

Seeing Zuko’s eyes light up at the pen of deer puppies though, he can’t exactly be mad. Their little yips are pretty cute.

“Would you like to hold one?” one of the shelter workers asks, smiling encouragingly at Zuko.

He nods, his eyes shining. The woman hands the puppy over, its little legs windmilling furiously. As soon as Zuko wraps it in his arms though, it stops squirming, looking up at him with big brown eyes.

“Hi,” he breathes.

It licks his face enthusiastically, making him laugh.

Sokka’s heart does a loop-de-loop, because he’s never heard Zuko laugh before. It’s low, and quiet, and sounds like the soft crackle of a campfire. He didn’t think it was possible to fall more in love with him, but he somehow manages it anyway.

“Do you want to hold her?” Zuko asks, and he snaps out of his daze, clearing his throat awkwardly.

“Uhhh… sure.”

The handover process is a little awkward, but Zuko shows him where to put his arms, how to support the puppy’s back legs so she feels secure. His raspy voice washes over him as he talks, making him feel light-headed.

Surprisingly, the puppy doesn’t try to bite his fingers off. It lies there in his arms quite contentedly, its tail thumping rhythmically against his chest. This close, he can see that the stubby little horns on its head are more velvet than bone. Hesitantly, he reaches out to touch one, feeling the soft fuzz of it beneath his fingers. The puppy yawns, its eyes closing in contentment.

“She likes you,” Zuko observes.

“Yeah,” Sokka says, feeling something tender welling up in his chest. “I guess she does.”

And that’s how he finds himself buying his first pet, completely by accident. The shelter worker puts a harness on her without being asked, blue with a yellow sunflower pattern, and she settles against his leg as he signs the required forms.

They found a fire ferret for Zuko, small and sleek and red as hot coals. It crawled into his sleeve almost immediately, settling against his heart in a small, burning lump. Sokka touched it earlier and it almost melted his fingers off, but it’s perfect for Zuko, who can’t get warm at night no matter how hard he tries. It also smells faintly of woodsmoke, which is kind of nice.

At that moment, a man walks through the door wearing travel-worn clothing, his boots caked with mud. Sokka ignores him, too busy feeling giddy about his new purchase, but then he says something that makes him freeze.

“I’ve just come from up North,” he mentions to one of the shelter workers offhandedly.

“Oh, yes?” he says with a polite smile. “Did you see anything interesting?”

“Well,” the man says, lowering his voice. “I was doing some hiking up near the Northern Air Temple, and I saw someone in the sky. You know… flying.”

“Really?” the shelter worker says, leaning forward in interest. “But I thought all the airbenders were dead?”

“Apparently not,” the traveller says, shrugging.

Oh no. This is bad. This is really, really bad. Zuko is looking at the traveller like he’s trying to burn a hole in his skull, gripping the strap of his bag so tightly he’s likely to tear it in two.

“Hey,” he says, putting a tentative hand on his arm. “I don’t think-“

“What did he look like?” Zuko asks, advancing on the traveller like a general leading his troops to victory. “Tell me everything you know.”

“Uh-“ the traveller says, taken aback. “Well, he was quite far away, so I didn’t get a clear picture-“

“That doesn’t matter,” Zuko says dismissively. “Tell me as much information as you can remember.”

Haltingly, the traveller does, somehow compelled to obey this young upstart with molten eyes and a scar covering half his face. Sokka doesn’t blame him- Zuko is like an avenging angel right now, his back straight and his eyes shining with determination.

The man, or possibly boy, had been flying in a glider of some sort, which allowed him to float on the air currents. He was too far away to pick out any tattoos, but he definitely wasn’t bald. That much the traveller could say for sure.

“Thank you,” Zuko says, remembering his manners at the last minute. “I.. have to go.”

And he marches out of the animal shelter, not even checking if Sokka is following him, so laser-focused on completing his mission that he’s forgotten all about him.

“Wait!” Sokka says, stepping in front of him and blocking his path. Zuko frowns at him, as if he’s nothing more than an irritating fly buzzing around his head. “We can’t leave Omashu yet. What about dinner?”

It’s a pathetic attempt to stall for time, but it’s all he’s got. He knows it’s almost impossible for Aang and Katara to have already reached the Northern Air Temple by now (Appa’s wind speed is impressive, but not that impressive) but there’s still a chance. He has to keep Zuko in Omashu as long as possible, by whatever means necessary.

“Fine,” Zuko says shortly. “But we leave at sunrise tomorrow.”

Sokka supposes that’s the best he’s going to get.

Chapter Text

It takes them a while to find a restaurant that will allow pets. Most people take one look at the deer dog puppy and shake their heads, pointing to the no pets allowed sign next to the counter. Fire Flake might be easy to hide, but he can’t exactly stuff the deer dog puppy under his shirt. She’s a bit too big and wriggly for that to be a viable option.

He still hasn’t found a name for her yet. Owning a pet wasn’t something he ever envisioned for himself, at least not after that disastrous incident with the polar bear dog, so it’s not like he has any names picked out. He’s toyed with a few, but nothing seems to fit quite right, at least not as right as the name Zuko chose for his own pet.  

They finally find a restaurant in a slightly rundown area, where no-one seems to worry too much about animals. The other patrons stare at them suspiciously, as if they’re not really sure how they made it past all the tourist traps. And they do look like tourists, Sokka realises suddenly, toying self-consciously with the tassels of his shawl. He knew he should have gone with the hat.

They find an empty table easily enough, over by the bathrooms. It’s not an ideal situation, but beggars can’t be choosers. At least this way they have a clear path in the unlikely event that one of them suffers from food poisoning.

“What do you want?” Sokka asks, gesturing at the menu.

Zuko spares a frosty glance at him before turning his gaze back toward the window. He’s like a giant storm cloud right now, with lots of billowing smoke and impressive displays of lightning. He really, really doesn’t like not getting his way, especially when it comes to the Avatar.

“Just order what you want,” he mutters, glaring at a potted ficus in the corner as if he’s trying to set it on fire with his mind.

Sokka sighs, taking a gander at the menu. The letters swirl around like they usually do, but he glares them into submission. He didn’t spend hours practicing on Katara’s romance novels to be defeated by a restaurant menu.

Most of the food is spicy, but it sounds good from the descriptions. He looks around at all the other customers, trying to work out which dish is which. He thinks the bright red chicken being slowly consumed by the old man in the corner might be tandoori, while the green stuff with white lumps in it might be palak paneer.

After a few minutes, the server approaches their table, notepad in hand.

“Ready to order?” he asks, sounding bored.

“Sure,” Sokka says, already having prepared his answer. “I’ll have the pork vindaloo and my friend will have the chicken korma.”

“Anything to drink?”

“Uh…” he glances quickly at the menu, choosing something at random. “One mango lassi and a cactus juice, please.”

“Are you sure?” the server asks, looking concerned. “It’s pretty strong.”

“It’s fine,” he says, distracted at the sight of a plate of meatball things in a thick orange sauce being carried to one of the tables. Maybe he should have ordered that instead.

“Well alright then,” the server says, sounding unsure. “I’ll be back shortly with your order.”

Sokka attempts to make polite conversation as they wait for their food to arrive, but it goes incredibly poorly. Zuko responds with one-word answers or not at all, which is hard to play off of.

Sokka doesn’t know what he was thinking before, when he thought he might be able to convince him to join their side. Of course any hint of an actual lead would have been enough to undo any progress he’d made towards becoming a better person. It’s not like he’s actively trying to be a bad person, Sokka knows that now, but the promise of being allowed back home must have been too tempting to resist.

Sokka gets it, he really does. He’s already feeling homesick for the South Pole, for Gran Gran and the kids and Katara. He wonders how they’re getting along without him, whether they managed to fix the watchtower by themselves or not. He hopes so.

Their food arrives after about twenty minutes, which makes him heave a sigh of relief. At least now he has something to do with his mouth that doesn’t involve talking to a brick wall.

“Here’s your cactus juice,” the server says, setting it down next to Zuko with a wary look. Sokka doesn’t know why he’s acting so weird about it. It’s juice, isn’t it? How strong can it be?

He takes a bite of his pork vindaloo and immediately starts coughing. He feels like his mouth is on fire, it’s so spicy. This isn’t anything like any of the other food he’s had in Omashu, even the dragon dumplings. He reaches blindly for his drink, sculling it quickly. It helps, the creamy taste cool and refreshing, but his eyes are still watering.

“Give me that,” Zuko says, finally speaking more than two words to him. He whisks his plate away from him before he can protest, taking a bite of the pork and chewing slowly. The spiciness of it seems to have no effect on him at all, probably because being a firebender makes him mildly heat resistant. Sokka is kind of jealous.

“Here,” he says, pushing his own plate towards him. “This is less spicy, you should be able to handle it.”

“Thank you,” he says, strangely touched.

Fire Flake pokes his head out of the collar of Zuko’s robes, sniffing the air in interest. Glancing around to see if anyone is watching, he tears a piece of pork into manageable chunks and feeds it to him. His little whiskers twitch as he eats, which is pretty cute.

Zuko smiles, finally relaxing. Sokka lets out the breath he was holding, glad the oppressive atmosphere between them has lifted at last. He was beginning to run out of banal conversation topics.

“How’s your cactus juice?” he asks, gesturing to the glass of pale green liquid. He’s curious about what it tastes like.

“I haven’t tried it yet,” Zuko says, shrugging. But he takes a sip of it to please him, his eyes going sort of soft and shiny immediately afterwards. That should have been Sokka’s first warning, but he is, as always, an idiot.

Zuko imbibes more cactus juice as they eat, becoming more and more loose and relaxed. Sokka doesn’t think anything of it at first, glad to have his sweet little kitten back again. And Zuko is sweet right now, smiling at him like he hung the moon and listening attentively to him as he talks, which is kind of nice. It’s like they really are on a little date, like they’re a real couple and not friends with benefits (the benefits being cuddling).

He gets up to go to the bathroom midway through their meal, smiling dreamily to himself. He catches a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror and has to do a double take, because he looks so unbelievably happy. It’s enough to snap him out of his daze completely.

“Stop it,” he tells his reflection, scowling. “You’re only going to make things worse for yourself in the long run.”

Having told himself off sufficiently, he pushes open the door of the bathroom, beginning to walk back to their table. Then he sees something that makes him stop in his tracks.

One of the other patrons has his hand on the back of Zuko’s neck, and he’s talking to him low and sweet. His advances don’t seem to be at all welcome, because Zuko is cringing away from him, his eyes darting around the room. His cheeks are flushed and his eyes are dark, but not because he’s enjoying the attention.

In that moment, Sokka realises three things: a) Zuko is very, very drunk b) Zuko is terrified out of his mind c) Murder is a good and acceptable way to solve interpersonal problems, actually.

The next few minutes are a bit of a blur, but when he comes back to himself, the guy is lying face down on the ground and cursing up a storm, calling him all sorts of names. Sokka’s knee is pressing into his lower back, immobilising him.

He stumbles off him, looking down at his own hands as if he’s never seen them before.

“You,” the old man in the corner says, raising a shaking finger and pointing at him accusingly. “You’re from the Fire Nation!”

“What?” he says, confused. “No, I’m not.”

But the old man is on his feet and shouting at him in an instant, pelting him with cutlery and bits of naan bread. He has surprisingly good aim for someone so wizened.

“I fought in the war!” he shouts, throwing a chair at his head. “I know ashmaker moves when I see them!”

Sokka ducks, crawling towards Zuko. He’s crouched against the wall with his hands over his ears, his face streaked with tears. The deer dog puppy is leaning heavily against his side, whimpering softly.

“Sweetie,” he says, as gently as he can. “We have to go.” 


Zuko shakes his head, trying to make himself appear even smaller, so Sokka takes off his shawl and puts it over his head, blocking out all the overwhelming sights and sounds. It’s something he used to do for Katara when she was very small- when the scream of the wind outside the walls of the igloo made her too frightened to sleep.

“Here,” he says, giving him the deer dog puppy to hold. “Don’t drop her, okay?”

Zuko nods, clutching the puppy tighter against his chest. Sokka spares a moment to be furiously angry at himself for letting them both down, before drawing him gently to his feet.

There’ll be time enough for self-flagellation when they’ve reached the safety of the Wani. Right now, they need to run.

They make it out, somehow, the old man continuing to hurl expletives at them as they leave. Sokka keeps his arm wrapped firmly around Zuko’s waist, not looking back. He really, really hopes the people in that restaurant don’t come after them with pitchforks, or alert the city guard to their deception. They can’t afford to fight, not with one of their benders down.

They’re halfway down the street before he realises they left without paying, but there’s no way they’re going back, not after that. Zuko’s safety is more important than some bad karma, and besides, they need to get back to the inn as quickly as possible so they can warn Uncle Iroh.

Unfortunately, they end up having to take a slight detour so Zuko can throw up in a bush. Sokka rubs his back, hoping against hope that they’re not actually being followed. People give them disgusted looks as they walk past, which makes him want to throw hands, but he’s already caused enough trouble for one day.

“Sorry,” Zuko mumbles afterwards, more tears making his way down his flushed cheeks. He’s a mess, and it’s all Sokka’s fault.

“No need to apologise,” he says, trying to keep his tone light. “It’s not like you got drunk on purpose.”

“No, I-“ Zuko stops, looking frustrated. Words seem to be hard for him right now. “I made that old man hurt you.”

And the thing is, he’s not wrong. If Zuko hadn’t taught him hand-to-hand combat, they wouldn’t be in this mess. He doesn’t regret it though, even though his cheek is smarting and his left eye is swollen shut. His father made sure he knew about all the ways one person could hurt another, particularly in war, and he never, ever wants that to happen to anyone, least of all Zuko. He’s been through enough already.

“You didn’t know,” he says, because he didn’t. Zuko taught him because he wanted to help, because he saw another neglected kid and wanted to do what he could to ease that pain a little bit.

“But it’s still my fault,” Zuko says, bitterly. “It’s always my fault. I keep messing up, and I don’t know how to stop, and one day you’re going to leave just like she did-“

“I’m not,” Sokka says, feeling a lump form in his throat. “I’m not, Zuko. And it’s not your fault, none of this is. It’s his fault.”

Zuko doesn’t ask who he means, because it’s pretty obvious to both of them. 

“Then why haven’t you kissed me?” he says, his eyes shining with tears. “You keep saying there’s nothing wrong with me, but there must be, I just haven’t worked out what it is yet. Is it the scar?”

“No,” he says vehemently. “I don’t care about the scar.”

“Then what is it?” Zuko asks, a touch desperately. “If you tell me, maybe I can fix it.”

“I-“ he catches himself, not wanting to say anything rash. “It’s complicated.”

“Complicated,” Zuko echoes dully. “I see.”

“Zuko-“

“We should get back to the inn,” he says woodenly. “Uncle will be expecting us.”

I do want to kiss you, Sokka feels like screaming. I want it so much I can’t stand it sometimes.

But he doesn’t. He follows Zuko all the way back to the inn in silence, each step weighing heavier than the last. 

Chapter Text

They make it to the inn in one piece, although only barely. Sokka stammers out an apology to Uncle Iroh, offering a garbled explanation that probably makes as much sense as the ramblings of a madman. Immediately, the old man springs into action, brewing a cup of ginger tea for his nephew and instructing Sokka to pack the cart as quickly as possible.

Sokka sees the way he touches Zuko’s shoulder, tender and sorrowful in a way that makes his heart ache, and wonders if he knows his nephew is suffering from more than just a physical illness. If he does, how can he stand to let Sokka anywhere near him? All he does is hurt him, again and again, promising him love and safety and delivering nothing but empty promises. 

They bundle themselves into the cart in record time, trundling away from the inn and towards the gates of the city. Uncle Iroh took the reins, telling them to hide themselves in the back with the cargo. It’s dark in here and smells strongly of tea, which isn’t exactly unpleasant, but being cooped up in a small space with Zuko is kind of… awkward, after their conversation earlier.

“You should try to sleep,” he says, because he can’t help being a mother hen even now. “We have a long journey ahead of us.”

Miraculously, Zuko nods. He curls up on his side like a pill bug, his eyes slipping closed. Sokka sees the lump under his robes shifting as Fire Flake buries himself even deeper, shielding him from the cold as much as his small body allows. He scratches the deer dog puppy’s ears, wishing it was him keeping Zuko warm.

He knows when they reach the gates of the city because the cart rolls to a stop. He hears the sound of voices and strains his ears, trying to catch what they’re saying.

“… strange time of day to leave the city,” a vaguely familiar voice says. 

He groans quietly. Of all the guards who could have been on duty tonight, why did it have to be the one who tried to refuse them entry when they first arrived in Omashu?

“Yes, it is rather strange,” Uncle Iroh says, chuckling to himself. “With a firebender on the loose though, you can’t be too careful.”

The guard grunts in agreement, which means that news of their little adventure at the restaurant has already spread. It’s a miracle they even made it back to the inn in one piece. He dropped the shawl at the entrance to an alleyway far from where they were staying to throw the guards off their scent, but he hadn’t known if it would work or not.

“Hang on,” the guard says, suspicion creeping into his voice. “Where are your assistants?”

“Asleep in the back,” Uncle Iroh says, nonchalant. “It’s past their bedtime, you see.”

Sokka smacks his forehead, already picturing the prison cell he’ll be spending the next ten years of his life in. At least Zuko will be there to keep him company.

“At least, I HOPE they’re asleep,” Uncle Iroh says loudly. 

Sokka rolls his eyes. He gets the hint, although he highly doubts this is going to work. Stretching out in the bed of the cart, he pulls Zuko on top of him, making sure the unblemished side of his face is showing and not the scarred side. He’s glad they thought to change their clothes before leaving the inn, because their descriptions have no doubt been circulated throughout the city by now.

He feels cold air rush in as the door of the cart is opened. A light moves behind his eyes, searching, but he keeps them shut, focusing on the cadence of his own breaths. After a while, Zuko stirs in his sleep, making a muzzy sound and tucking his face more closely against his neck. 

The light is abruptly cut off. 

“Carry on,” the guard says, sounding bored.

Sokka feels the cart rumble beneath them as they begin to move again. He sighs, finally allowing himself to relax. That was a close one. 

The deer dog puppy butts her head against his thigh. He fondles her soft velveteen ears, trying to work up the motivation to extricate himself from Zuko’s arms. He fails, spectacularly. 

Selfish, a mean little voice whispers in the back of his mind. You’re so selfish, Sokka of the Southern Water Tribe.

He can’t even think of a single argument to defend himself with.

Zuko sleeps in the next day. He’s been doing it more and more, waking with Sokka in the late morning instead of rising with the sun like he used to, but this is late even for him. Sokka lets him sleep, knowing he probably needs to rest and recuperate after the day he had yesterday.

He sits up the front with Uncle Iroh, watching the hills rolling by. The ostrich horses are going at a good clip, even though Zuko isn’t the one holding the reins this time. They’ll probably reach their destination within a day or two, then it’s back to the Wani, where the rest of the crew has been sitting around twiddling their thumbs for the past few days.

He wonders how Kuzon is. His bag is full of wool for him, purchased at the art shop along with Zuko’s art supplies. The last time they’d seen each other, he’d demanded another souvenir from him, something better than mochi this time. According to him, it was to buy his silence, since the crew was curious about where he’d been going every night and it was getting harder and harder to come up with believable excuses. 

He hates treating Zuko like a dirty secret, but what can he do? They can’t be together for real. Zuko deserves better than him anyway, someone who won’t manipulate him or lie to him, someone who’ll take him out on dates and treat him right. If Sokka was decent, he’d walk out of his life right now, but he can’t quite bring himself to do it. Part of him is still hoping, stupidly, recklessly, that he and Zuko will end up together when all this is over. That they’ll grow old together, surrounded by friends and family and blissfully happy in their union.

He’s so lost in thought that he almost doesn’t notice the blimp-shaped object making a beeline towards them. He swears quietly under his breath, because what are the chances? 

“This Avatar of yours seems to have a knack for knowing where you and my nephew are going next,” Uncle Iroh says mildly. “Are you sure he’s not the one hunting you?”

“Pretty sure,” Sokka says faintly. Thank the spirits Zuko is sleeping right now, because otherwise they’d be going straight back to Omashu, where he doubts they’d be lucky enough to escape the guards a second time.

“Look on the bright side,” Uncle Iroh says, patting him reassuringly on the shoulder. “The chances of this happening again are astronomically low.”

“You’re right,” he says, feeling a little better.

Later, Sokka will think back on their conversation and curse himself for being so naive. 

They make a pit stop at a nearby town to rest and refuel. Sokka ties up the ostrich horses and hops down from the cart, looking around in curiosity. The townspeople seem to be setting up for some sort of festival, erecting stalls and hanging red and gold lanterns. His mouth waters as he thinks about the possibility of meat. It’s still only mid-afternoon, but maybe if they stick around for long enough they can join in the festivities.

He takes the deer dog puppy for a walk to stretch both their legs, enjoying the feeling of the sun on his face. She knows a few commands from her time at the animal shelter, which the staff relayed to Sokka when he bought her. He has a bag of treats in his pocket the size of a small sun, which he dispenses every time she gets one right.

The townsfolk smile at him when he passes, some of them stopping to pet the puppy and chat to him about banal topics like the weather. He learns that the festival will be starting at sundown tonight, that there’ll be food and games and yes, plenty of meat, and that he’d better have the puppy inside before midnight so she doesn’t get scared by the fireworks and run off. He nods, making a mental note to move the cart as far away from the town square as possible before they settle in for the night.

By the time he’s managed to tire her out, the sun is just kissing the edge of the horizon, pendulous and orange like a freshly picked persimmon. He fills a bowl with water for her, which she drinks with great gusto, getting most of it on the ground. She’s so tiny, but so large in all of her movements, her legs longer than the rest of her.

Zuko chooses that moment to emerge from the cart, looking like he just slept for several years. He squints up at the sun as if it personally offended him, shading his eyes with one hand. The right side of his face is all creased up from where it was pressing against the floor of the cart and his robes are full of wrinkles.

“How are you feeling?” Sokka asks tentatively. He’s not sure where they stand after yesterday’s conversation, whether Zuko will even want anything to do with him now. Anyone with a healthy amount of self-esteem would probably have cut ties with him weeks ago, but this is Zuko they’re talking about. His self-esteem is in the toilet.

“Horrible,” Zuko says, his voice all rasp. “The sun is… loud.”

Uncle Iroh appears out of nowhere, a cup in one hand and a bun in another. He forces both on his nephew, who protests for a moment before giving in. He makes a face at whatever was in the cup, but the sweetness of the bun seems to mollify him a little.

“What… happened yesterday?” Zuko asks, once his eyes have relaxed from their uncomfortable squint and his skin has lost some of its deathly pallor.

“You don’t remember?” Sokka asks, hating himself for feeling relieved.

“I remember a restaurant,” Zuko says slowly. “Your food was too spicy for you, so I gave you mine. Everything is blurry after that.”

Well. At least he doesn’t remember being sexually harassed.

Haltingly, he relays the events of the previous night, leaving out their little conversation about kissing. It’s cowardly of him, he knows it is, but he doesn’t want Zuko being hurt all over again. This fucking sucks, it sucks for both of them, but it especially sucks for Zuko, whose support network consists of exactly two people.

An idea forms in his mind then, but he leaves it alone, knowing it’ll take root in its own good time. The best way to stifle creativity is to look too closely at it, so he forces himself to focus on other things.

“So yeah,” he says sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck. “Basically, it’s my fault you got drunk. I was stupid and didn’t read the menu properly- sorry about that.”

“It’s not,” Zuko says immediately, looking offended on his behalf.

“Not what?” Sokka asks, confused.

“Your fault,” Zuko says, giving him a look that says keep up. “You said it’s not my fault that I get cold at night, so why is it your fault that you have trouble reading sometimes?”

Huh. Zuko’s got him caught in a bit of a logic loop there.

“I hate to interrupt,” Uncle Iroh says, looking like he doesn’t mind at all actually. “But it’s just about dinner time. How about we all make our way down to the festival?”

Zuko doesn’t look like he wants to go to the festival. Zuko looks like he wants to get on the road again right away, if the way he’s staring at the horizon is any indication.

“But,” he says, his brow furrowing unhappily. “The Avatar-”

“Will wait, Prince Zuko,” Uncle Iroh says, steering him towards the food stalls. “Your stomach will not.”

As if in agreement, Zuko’s stomach grumbles. He blushes, pulling his hat down over his face.

“Fine,” he says petulantly, allowing himself to be herded. “But we leave straight after that.”

Sokka and Uncle Iroh exchange amused glances, because there’s no way that’s happening with both of them here. Zuko is surprisingly easy to bully when there are multiple people around to gang up on him.

The idea from before butts up against the inside of his skull, like a moth hitting its head against the glass case of a lamp. He thinks about the crew of the Wani, how they treat Zuko with a mixture of wariness and begrudging respect. He thinks about what that could become, with a little bit of nurturing.

Maybe if he nudges things in the right direction, he can make it so Zuko never has to be lonely again. And if Zuko isn’t lonely…

Well. Maybe he won’t need Sokka at all anymore.

Chapter Text

Festivals, Sokka has decided, are absolute torture.

He’s already on his fourth bowl of yakisoba and feeling uncomfortably full, the tie of his yukata threatening to give at any moment. They’d been renting them at a stall at the entrance to the festival, two for the price of one, so of course he’d made Zuko wear one too. 

“I look ridiculous,” he’d said, frowning at his reflection in the floor length mirror. 

“You really don’t,” Sokka had said faintly, unable to tear his eyes away from his slutty little waist. The cut of the yukata only served to emphasise it, drawing attention to the broad expanse of his shoulders and the obscene curve of his backside.

“I… um… need to go to the bathroom real quick,” he’d said desperately, because if he’d stayed any longer he would have been thrown out of the festival for public indecency.

Taking the edge off had done him some good, but he was still full of nervous energy. His body didn’t understand why he was being so obtuse when there was a perfectly fine specimen of manhood not two feet away. All he had to do was ask and Zuko would probably give him anything he wanted, up to and including letting him fuck him against the nearest available surface. He’d be desperate for it too, so desperate that he probably wouldn’t even mind that they didn’t have anything to ease the way. 

Sokka whimpers quietly, dropping his head into his hands. He thought he’d been dealing with this, this ugly, lustful thing inside him that wants to take and take and take. He thought he’d been better these past few days, better at keeping his feelings tightly under wraps. Surely his iron self-control can’t be defeated this easily.

“What’s wrong?” Zuko asks, sounding genuinely concerned for his safety. “Is it your stomach?”

He nods, closing his eyes briefly. His cheeks are on fire, fuck. All he wants to do is curl up in the back of the cart and go to sleep, but he can’t. He has to be here, suffering at the hands of the prettiest firebender in all of the Four Nations. 

“Give me that,” Zuko says, taking the bowl of half-finished yakisoba from him and setting it down… somewhere. His fingers are cool as they press against the skin of his face, gently turning it this way and that. It does nothing to help his predicament whatsoever, in fact it makes it astronomically worse.

“You have a fever,” Zuko says, sounding worried. “Maybe we should go back to the cart-“

“No,” Sokka says, opening his eyes to find Zuko’s face way too close to his. His eyes are deep amber, reflecting the soft glow of the lantern light. “No, I’m fine.”

“If you’re sure…” Zuko says, sounding doubtful.

“I am,” he says, curling his fingers around Zuko’s.  

The moment is broken quite abruptly when an old woman comments that they make an adorable couple, which causes them both to step back, coughing awkwardly and avoiding each other’s eyes. It’s not even the first time it’s happened today. They’re wearing yukatas in complimentary colours and patterns, which is apparently a thing couples do here. There are other young people milling around, holding hands and leaning into each other, so it’s not like they even stand out.

“Your hands,” Sokka says stupidly. “They’re cold.”

“And…?” Zuko says, because this is something they’re both painfully aware of.

“One second,” he says, rummaging around in his bag. He makes a triumphant noise as his hand closes around soft wool, pulling out the gloves it took him three weeks to make. They were harder than the hat, much harder, but it’s worth it when he sees the shocked look on Zuko’s face.

“You shouldn’t have,” he says, but not in the way people usually say it, when they’re trying to be polite but have no intention of refusing the gift. No, Zuko says it like he doesn’t think he deserves the gift in the first place, which only makes the lustful thing inside him more inflamed. If Zuko was his, really his, he would spend hours in bed with him, showing him with his hands and lips and cock just how deserving he really is. 

“Hands,” he says, and Zuko complies readily, holding his hands out palm-down. 

He had to guess at the size, but it’s not like it was even that difficult. His and Zuko’s hands are well-acquainted with each other by now, after months of sparring and… other things. Zuko’s hands are pretty and long, with elegant fingers and neatly trimmed nails. He almost feels bad for covering them up, but it’s worth it to see the way his eyes go half-lidded with contentment. 

“Better?” he asks, his thumb smoothing the fabric along the swell of his palm.

Zuko shakes his head, a stubborn set to his jaw. 

“My hands are still cold,” he says, lifting his chin as though daring him to call his bluff.

Sokka wouldn’t dream of it. 

“I’ll warm them up for you,” he says, which is the cheesiest line he’s come out with yet. Zuko looks pleased though, especially when the number of people mistaking them for a couple doubles. Walking down the street hand-in-hand will kind of do that.

Sokka is glad Uncle Iroh isn’t around to witness him canoodling with his nephew. They lost him a while back, the draw of a pai sho table too much to resist. The look in his eye when he’d spotted the other old men milling around it had been something akin to a shark spotting blood in the water.

“Let’s go there,” Zuko says, pointing to a booth where a little girl is trying to knock a stuffed armadillo bear over with a little wooden ball.

“Sure,” Sokka says, shrugging. The people he met on his walk told him that these games are mostly rigged, so he’s not sure how much joy Zuko’s going to get out of this little detour, but he’s happy to go along with whatever he wants to do. 

“Welcome!” the guy manning the booth says, smiling at them in a way that says he’s pretty sure they’re easy marks. “Care to try your hand at the ball toss?”

Zuko’s eyes are already scanning the array of prizes, assessing each one carefully. He picks up one of the wooden balls, weighing it carefully in his hand. 

“Now, see here,” says the man says condescendingly. “There’s a certain way you have to throw it-“

The ball slices through the air, missing the armadillo bear by several inches.

“Looks like you missed,” the man says, not doing a very good job of hiding his smirk.

The huge stuffed bison at the back of the booth falls over sideways.

“I wasn’t aiming for the armadillo bear,” Zuko says, shrugging.

Sokka makes a filthy sound then, which he tries to cover up with a cough. Zuko is unbelievably hot whenever he’s being competent at something but not really trying. It’s what makes sparring with him so difficult.

“Here,” Zuko says, holding out the bison for him to take. It’s so big that he can barely even get his arms around it.

“Thanks,” he says, wondering if this is some sort of cosmic joke. He gets it, okay? Zuko is off-limits, at least until he can be reasonably sure that he’s defected to their side.

They wander around the festival for a while, playing a few more games and trying some more of the street food. Zuko eats his weight in dango, which makes Sokka want to burst with pride. He takes full credit for helping him feel safe enough to indulge in his love of sweets. 

Eventually they stumble upon a tree with garlands of paper hanging from it, a booth set up next to it with more strips of paper arranged neatly on top.

“Do you want to make a wish?” the lady at the booth asks, smiling encouragingly at them.

Sokka shrugs. “Sure.”

He spends long minutes deliberating over what to write, finally deciding on something that won’t make him look like too much of a sap to anyone who chooses to take a peek at what he wrote. He ties his wish to the tree, as far down as possible so it’s not directly in anyone’s eyeline. 

Zuko seems to have the same idea as he does. He writes his wish out in careful strokes, stealing glances at him every so often. His hand curls over the strip of paper as though to protect it from prying eyes, Sokka’s eyes most importantly. 

“What did you write?” he can’t help asking, a teasing lilt to his voice.

“None of your business,” Zuko grumbles, but his cheeks have gone the colour of ripe peaches.

Sokka hums, his eye following the movement of the crowd. They seem to all be heading in one particular direction, like a shoal of very determined fish. He suddenly realises that it’s almost midnight, which means the fireworks are about to start.

Luckily, the deer dog puppy is safely ensconced in the cart with all of her toys and plenty of food, including more treats than is possibly advisable. Sokka made sure she could get out easily to do her business, and even provided her with a blanket to sleep on. It’s his blanket, technically, but it’s amazing how many of your things stop belonging to you when you live with a pet.

“Do you want to watch the fireworks?” he asks, pointing to the crowd.

Zuko shrugs, which is as good as a yes, so they follow the flow of the crowd down the street. They eventually come to a hill, where some people have already laid out picnic blankets to claim their spot. They’d been giving them out at the entrance to the festival, probably so people didn’t ruin their yukatas by sitting on the damp grass.

They choose a spot as far back from the rest of the crowd as possible, on the crest of the hill. It’s a pretty good vantage point, all things considered. Sokka lays out the picnic blanket and gestures for Zuko to sit, receiving a blank stare in return. Realising his mistake, he verbalises his request, which produces more satisfactory results.

“Have you seen fireworks before?” he asks, trying to make some light conversation.

“Yes,” Zuko says, looking at him strangely. Sokka immediately realises what a stupid question that was, since the Fire Nation probably invented them. “I take it you haven’t?”

He shakes his head, his eye snagging on a couple just below them. They’re huddled together under a blanket, sharing a cup of something hot and sweet. The longing that fills him at the sight of them almost takes his breath away. 

He wants that. His fingers itch to tug Zuko against his side, to guide his head to rest against the slope of his shoulder.  He wants him warm and tucked up against him, where he belongs.

He clears his throat, blinking away tears. He doesn’t know why he’s acting so pathetic all of a sudden, but he should probably get himself under control before Zuko realises something is up.

A whistling sound makes him turn his eyes towards the sky. He sees something shoot up, up, before exploding in a shower of red and blue sparks.

“Wow,” he breathes, his heartache briefly forgotten. “They’re beautiful.”

“Yes,” Zuko says, something vulnerable in his voice. “They are.”

Sokka slides his gaze over to Zuko. He’s looking at the fireworks like they’re some lost dream he’s chasing, his eyes full of painful longing. 

“Do you miss it?” he asks, soft enough that most people wouldn’t be able to catch it.

“Miss what?” Zuko asks, turning his troubled gaze towards him.

“The Fire Nation.”

Zuko seems to mull that over for a while, his fingers playing absently with the seams of his gloves. Sokka resolves to knit him a big chunky scarf next time, something with lots of bobbles and divots. Touching interesting textures seems to calm him, which is always a good thing.

“I miss my mother,” he says, which makes several things click into place for Sokka. “I miss the turtle duck pond. I miss the library, where I used to go on rainy afternoons. But I don’t…” he trails off, looking guilty.

“You don’t what?” Sokka prods, as gently as possible.

“I don’t miss my father,” Zuko says, like it’s the most shocking confession in the world.

“You don’t have to,” he says, touching him gently on the arm, like he might break at any moment. “You have every right not to miss your abuser.”

Zuko looks at him quickly, his eyes full of naked shock.

“I wasn’t… I wasn’t abused,” he says, sounding like he actually believes it.

“Who gave you that scar, Zuko?” Sokka asks calmly, even though he can feel rage starting to simmer in the pit of his stomach.

“My… my father,” he says, stumbling over his words. “But I deserved it. I questioned his authority in front of his generals, which obviously couldn’t be tolerated.”

“And the scars on your legs?” Sokka asks, unrelenting.

Zuko is starting to shake, but Sokka stands firm, feeling like he might explode out of his skin. He doesn’t know where all this anger is coming from, just that he can’t sit here and listen to Zuko defend his abuser. 

“He… he was just helping me get better at firebending,” he says, his voice faint. “It’s my fault I didn’t learn faster.”

Sokka remembers the dumplings, the way Zuko had requested punishment in exchange for absolution. He thinks about what would have happened if he’d been just a little more morally corrupt. What would Zuko have let him do to him, in exchange for having his guilt absolved? Would he have let him beat him, starve him, rape him? Tie him to the bed and leave him there for days, only returning to have his way with him?

“You were a child,” he says, the grief in his chest threatening to rise up and choke him. “He was supposed to protect you, not hurt you.”

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” Zuko says, looking like he might be sick.

Sokka reins in his anger, because it’s not what Zuko needs right now. There’ll be time later to hunt the man down and deliver the sort of vigilante justice he’s been craving. Right now, Zuko needs space, and understanding.

“I’m sorry,” he says, reaching out to touch him. 

He flinches. Zuko flinches away from him, like he’s some sort of monster. 

“Don’t,” he says, not meeting his eyes. “I can’t stand it when you look at me like that.”

“Like what?” he asks, feeling like he just got punched in the stomach.

“Like you want to fix me,” Zuko says, glaring at him accusingly. “I’m not a problem for you to solve.”

“Sorry,” he says again, the world going blurry and strange. There’s a lump in his throat the size of the Earth Kingdom and he can’t feel his hands.

Zuko gets to his feet, his body language closed off and angry.

“Yeah,” he says bitterly. “I’m sorry too.”

And he walks off, leaving Sokka with only his thoughts and a giant stuffed bison for company.

Chapter Text

The next few days are awkward, to say the least.

It’s kind of hard to give someone the silent treatment when you’re travelling with them in a confined space, but somehow Zuko manages it. He also manages to ignore all of Uncle Iroh’s less than subtle attempts to get them to make up, much to the old man’s chagrin.

He’s angry, and rightfully so. Sokka really put his foot in it last night. He deserves to be shut out, although it still hurts to be treated like he’s not even there.

Zuko’s words from yesterday keep going round and round in his brain. I’m not a problem for you to solve, he’d said, instantly seeing through all his masks and facades to the very core of him. He’d felt flayed open, eviscerated, his guts spilling out onto the blanket between them.

Because he has been treating him like a problem. Or rather, like a project- something to occupy his mind so he doesn’t have to think about the fact that his mother is dead and his father is off fighting in a war that started before he was even born. Somewhere along the line, he learned that burying his feelings in work was the easiest way to cope with difficult things. Back at the South Pole, work had meant patrols and hunting and training the kids in fighting techniques. Now, it means helping Zuko become a more well-adjusted person and fixing up his ship for him, one faulty lightbulb at a time.

He should probably do something about that. The feelings thing. There’s a lot of unprocessed trauma from his mother’s death that he hasn’t really dealt with, because Katara’s grief always came first. She was the one who was there when their mother died, so she was the one who got most of Gran Gran’s sympathy when they were growing up. Part of him still feels resentful about that.

Finally, they reach the port where the Wani has been docked for the last week or so, accumulating a tidy sum in mooring fees. They’re all travel-worn and weary, the hems of their robes brown with dirt, so the sight of the ship is a welcome one. Sokka wants nothing more than to burrow under the covers and not come out for the next year.

From the look on Zuko’s face, he wants to do the same. The last few days must have been a rollercoaster of emotions for him, what with the dumpling incident and the cactus juice incident and the festival incident. It’s a wonder he’s not passed out in the back of the cart again.

Unfortunately the day’s trials have only just begun, because as soon as he climbs aboard the ship, Lieutenant Jee hands him a letter.

“Prince Zuko,” he says, with more deference than Sokka has ever heard from him. “This arrived for you while you were gone.”

The colour drains from Zuko’s face at the sight of the fancy red seal holding the letter closed. Whoever sent it must mean business, because it’s the most official looking document Sokka has ever seen.

With a muttered thanks, Zuko takes the letter, breaking the seal. As his eyes scan across the page, he grows more and more agitated, sweat beading at his temples and a fine tremour starting in his fingertips.

“Kitten…” Sokka says, then stops himself. Wanting to fix things was what got him into this mess, so he doubts Zuko will appreciate any attempts at comfort right now.

The prince’s eyes snap to his, blank and unseeing. He crumples the letter in his hand, his expression turning dark.

“How dare you address me in such a manner, peasant,” he spits, his words like a slap in the face. “Be thankful I haven’t thrown you in the brig.”

Then he turns and stalks away, leaving Sokka broken in his wake.

Needless to say, Sokka isn’t feeling great that night when he tumbles into the mess hall for dinner. The crew notice his despondency immediately, especially Kuzon, who pulls him aside afterwards for a little heart-to-heart.

“Yikes,” he says, once Sokka has finished his tale. “I mean… he’s kind of right, in a way. You have been a little obsessed lately.”

Sokka shoots him a wounded look. His one friend in the whole world, betraying him so cruelly. Does no-one care about him at all?

“He called me a peasant,” he says, definitely not pouting. “How could you take his side?”

“Yeah, that was uncalled for,” Kuzon agrees. “Look, I just mean that you can be a bit single-minded, that’s all. It kind of makes you a bad friend.”

Sokka squawks indignantly. “I’ll have you know I’ve been a very good friend to Zuko-“

“Not to Zuko,” Kuzon says, rolling his eyes. “To me. Whenever we hang out, it’s always Zuko this and Zuko that. Do you even know anything about me?”

“Uh…” he says, wracking his brain for  any relevant information. “I know you like knitting?”

The look Kuzon gives him makes him want to crawl under a rock and die.

“Wow,” he says sarcastically. “You know me so well.”

Sokka winces. “I’m sorry, okay? I’ll try to work on being better friend.”

“Good,” Kuzon says, nodding crisply. “You can start by taking me to a nice restaurant. Your treat.”

“Hey!” he protests. “Why is it my treat?”

“Which one of us gets an allowance from General Iroh again?” Kuzon says sweetly.

Sokka sighs. “Fine. Don’t order too much food though, I’m not made of money.”

“Says the guy who’s responsible for using up half our rations.”

“I’m a growing boy!” he whines, but his heart isn’t really in it.

This is nice. Having a friend is nice. There’s a little ball of warmth in his chest, lodged right under his ribcage.

Maybe he has been a bit too single-minded. It’s probably not very healthy to invest all of your emotional energy into one person. He probably needs to reassess what he actually wants, beyond keeping Zuko from getting his hands on the Avatar.

Remembering his plan from before their disaster of a date, he pauses. He’d said he wouldn’t try to fix Zuko anymore, but this isn’t fixing. It’s… insurance. Maybe having a support network will make Zuko less likely to go full beast mode when he finds out he’s been betrayed.

Nodding to himself, he heads off to bed, his brain already buzzing with ideas.

It takes a fair while for them to actually get the opportunity to go to a nice restaurant. Zuko is relentless, demanding that the helmsman use more and more fuel so they can get to the Northern Air Temple as quickly as possible. Something has changed about him, something Sokka doesn’t like. His eyes are hollow and staring and his skin is gaunt, like he hasn’t been eating or sleeping properly.

He suspects it has something to do with the letter he received a few days ago. If Sokka had to guess, he would say that it was from his father, hurrying him along on his quest to capture the Avatar. Sokka isn’t sure what sort of incentive he provided to make him redouble his efforts like this, but whatever it is, it’s clearly shaken him to his core.

More than once, he’s caught himself reaching out to touch him, but he always pulls back at the last second. He’s not supposed to be fixing anything anymore, no matter how much he might want to. His unfinished heating system keeps haunting him, but he’s being good and not working on it like he wants to.

It’s hard watching Zuko burn away to nothing, but he doesn’t know what else he can do. He refuses to speak to anyone beyond what’s strictly necessary, not even Uncle Iroh. He’s even blown up at him a few times, which hasn’t happened in months.

Left without anything else to occupy his time, he spends his days bonding with the deer dog puppy and teaching her new commands. She’s a quick learner, responding easily to his voice and turning on a dime when he asks her to. She also loves chicken, which is something they have in common.

“What’s her name?” Sergeant Murozono asks him one day, as the puppy chases a ball across the deck.

“I haven’t come up with one yet,” he says sheepishly.

“Don’t worry,” she says, socking him gently on the arm. “The right name will come to you eventually. How are things going with that heating system, by the way?”

“They’re not,” he admits. “Zuko and I… well, I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but we’ve had a bit of a falling out.”

“You don’t say,” she says drily, which makes him laugh ruefully.

“Apparently I keep trying to fix him,” he says, scratching his cheek. “Which is… well. Let’s just say it’s not wrong. That’s why I’ve stopped working on the heating system, because I don’t want to butt in where I’m not wanted.”

“Well, I for one would be glad if you finished it,” she says kindly. “I may be a firebender, but that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t appreciate having nice toasty room to come back to at night.”

“Really?” he says, perking up a little.

“Sure,” she says, shrugging. “Besides, you’ve gone to all this trouble already. It would be a shame if you didn’t finish it.”

He beams, reaching for his notebook.

“By the way,” she says, as he scribbles something down. “My father mentioned in his last letter that he was looking for an apprentice. I could always put in a good word for you.”

His pencil stills on the page. An apprenticeship? With an engineer? He couldn’t. He needs to be here, diverting Zuko’s attention enough that he never gets too close to his goal.

“Wouldn’t your father be opposed to teaching someone like me?” he asks, which is not what he’d meant to say at all.

“If you can do the work, he won’t care where you’re from,” she says, shrugging. “And from what I’ve seen, you can definitely do the work.”

He can’t. His sister is too important to him to abandon his mission now. Besides, he can’t bring himself to leave Zuko’s side. It’s pathetic, and he should probably seek professional help, but it is what it is.

“You don’t need to decide now,” Sergeant Murozono says, sensing his inner turmoil. “The offer is on the table if you want it though.”

“Thanks,” he says, smiling weakly.

He thinks about her offer later that day, as he lies in bed, unable to sleep. An engineering apprenticeship would give him access to all sorts of new materials, not just whatever scraps he can scrounge up at some shady market. He’d also learn new skills, better skills, more than those he’d managed to teach himself over the years.

When he was younger, he’d been desperate to prove himself worthy of taking over his father’s position as head of the tribe. It hadn’t even occurred to him to pursue a different career path, because he lived in a remote southern settlement and there was a war going on. Now, though… now it seems like a plausible alternative to what always seemed predestined.

He reaches for the puzzle Zuko gave him all those weeks ago, holding it up to the light. It’s a beautiful little device, its burnished metal parts gleaming softly in the lamplight. He still hasn’t managed to crack it, though not for lack of trying. It’s a fiendishly complicated little thing.

Briefly, he allows himself to imagine a future not so far from now. He sits at a table, tinkering away at something with a lot of complex parts. The deer dog is asleep in the corner, a puppy no longer, her muzzle tipped with white and her antlers fully grown.

The sound of a door opening and closing makes him look up, and there is Zuko, older now but no less beautiful. His hair is long and covers the entirety of his scalp, braided through with blue glass beads. He wears an artist’s smock, splashed with red and blue paint, and his eyes are tired but full of warmth.

“Long day?” he asks, his hands ceasing their careful movements.

“Mmmm,” Zuko says, hanging his smock up on the door. “I’m glad it’s over.”

He moves about the room, setting some water on to boil and reaching for the tea leaves. The comfortable domesticity of it all is achingly familiar. Unable to help himself, he sets his tools aside and goes to him, wrapping his arms around him from behind.

“What’s this?” he asks, his breath fanning hot against his ear. “You’re not even going to kiss your poor neglected husband hello?”

Zuko’s hands falter on the teapot and he almost drops it. It was a gift from Uncle Iroh to celebrate their tenth anniversary.

“I didn’t want to interrupt you,” he says, something vulnerable in his voice. “You seemed busy.”

Sokka takes the teapot from his hands, setting it aside. He tilts Zuko’s face up towards him, love in every movement.

“I already told you,” he says tenderly. “I’m never too busy for you.”

Zuko swallows, his throat bobbing. Warmth infuses his cheeks. Even after all these years, he still reacts so prettily to Sokka’s teasing.

“I don’t-“ he says, but Sokka kisses the words out of his mouth.

He pulls back, a satisfied smirk tugging at his lips. “You were saying?”

Zuko scowls at him, but it’s half-hearted at best. “I hate you.”

“No you don’t,” he says blithely. “You love me.”

Zuko softens, reaching up to run his fingers  through his hair. His own beads are braided into it, symbolising his status as a married man.

“Yes,” he says, his eyes like liquid gold in the afternoon light. “I do.”

They share another kiss, the teapot sitting forgotten on the bench. Sokka cradles Zuko’s face between his palms, his heart full of love. Here in this kitchen, in this moment, nothing else matters but the little world they built together.

The scene fades away. Sokka finds himself back in his quarters, the gentle rocking of the boat doing nothing to soothe his wounded heart.

Unable to hold it in anymore, he turns his face against the pillow, tears slipping from beneath his closed eyelids. He tries to muffle his sobs, but he can’t. He weeps like he hasn’t wept since he was a small child, his knee skinned raw from a fall on the ice.

The deer dog puppy whines, licking his hand. He can’t even bring himself to offer comfort in return, because his heart is breaking anew at the knowledge that he’ll never get to have that. Zuko feels further away from him than ever before, and Sokka worries that he may be lost forever.

So he cries, and then when there are no tears left, he sleeps.

Chapter Text

Sokka feels raw the next morning, like a freshly shucked oyster. The last time he cried like that was years ago, before his father left for the war. At the same time, he also feels lighter, like a weight he’s been carrying for years has finally been lifted from his shoulders.

He knows what he has to do about Zuko. He doesn’t particularly like it, but the only way they’re going to be able to resolve this thing festering between them is to rip the bandaid off. Besides, if he lets things continue as they have been, Zuko is going to end up running himself into the ground and taking the rest of the crew with him.

He finds him on the main deck, dressed in full armour and looking like an oncoming storm. He’s right up in Lieutenant Jee’s face, giving him the most vicious dressing down Sokka has ever heard.

“I already told you,” he shouts, sparks flying out of his mouth. “You need to be better at disciplining the crew. They’re lazy, and if they were even half as good as you claim they are, we would have reached the Northern Air Temple by now. If you can’t handle this, maybe I should find someone who can!”

Lieutenant Jee sneers at him, his hackles raised, but Sokka can tell from the wetness at the corners of Zuko’s eyes that this is more than just anger. He’s lashing out because he’s hurting, and there’s something about the way he’s doing it that tells Sokka that he’s trying to provoke a reaction. He wants Lieutenant Jee’s resolve to snap. He wants to be punished.

“Zuko,” he says sharply, stepping between them. “That’s enough.”

Zuko looks at him, his eyes hard and glittering. “Mind your own business, Sokka.”

“No,” he says, almost shaking with suppressed emotion. What emotion, he’s not quite sure. “I can’t. I can’t watch you do this to yourself anymore.”

Zuko scoffs, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “Save it. It’s not like you actually care about me.”

“I do,” he says, his heart aching. “Of course I do. I-” love you, he doesn’t say, even though the words press against the inside of his lips like they’re trying to get out.

For an instant, he sees something soften in Zuko’s expression.

“Look,” he says, acutely aware that they’re not alone. “Can we go somewhere private?”

Zuko looks like he’s about to refuse, so he beats him to the punch.

“Please,” he says quietly. “I just want to talk.”

Pressing his lips into a thin line, Zuko nods, skulking off in the direction of the command tower.

“You have five minutes,” he says, when they reach the relative safety of his quarters.

Sokka swallows, feeling sweat start to pool in the small of his back. This conversation is going to be hard enough as it is without memories of the last time he was here crowding in and making things ten times more awkward. He still remembers the feeling of Zuko’s sheets against his skin (silk, of course, which is a stupid material for someone with temperature regulation issues, what was he thinking-)

He coughs, doing the mental equivalent of shaking himself. He needs to focus on the present and not get bogged down in memories of something that’s probably not going to happen again in this lifetime. He’ll be lucky if he even gets to sit with Zuko in companionable silence again, let alone canoodle with him in his bed.

“Well?” Zuko says, after several minutes of painfully awkward silence. “Spit it out, I don’t have all day.”

“I’msorryfortryingtofixyou,” he says, in a rush.

“What?” Zuko says, looking genuinely confused.

Sokka takes a deep breath, trying to ignore the pounding of his heart.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, more slowly this time. “You were right, I was trying to fix you. Or at least, it started out that way.”  

Zuko just stares at him, not giving anything away.

“I think… when my mom died, I started fixing things as a way to cope. If I had a project to work on, I didn’t have to think about the fact that she was gone. I could just be… useful, I guess.”

Something unfurls inside Zuko then. His eyes become slightly less frosty, and whatever fortress he’s built around himself begins to crumble just a little.

“When my dad left, it became worse. The fixing thing. I was kind of an asshole about it actually- I acted like the fate of our entire tribe was on my shoulders. It used to really piss Katara off. That, and the fact that I never washed my own socks.”

He smiles sheepishly, trying to lighten the mood, but Zuko just stares back, unmoved.

“So… yeah,” he says lamely. “I’m sorry for using you to distract myself from my own problems. It was unfair of me, and I won’t do it again. But Zuko, I do care about you, more than you’ll ever know. It’s been killing me, watching you hurt yourself and not being able to do anything about it.”

Zuko bristles, immediately on the defensive. “I have not-”

“Haven’t you?” he says, looking at him sadly. “I saw the way you were talking to Lieutenant Jee earlier. You wanted him to punish you, didn’t you?”

Zuko opens and closes his mouth, incensed. “That’s none of your concern-”

“Zuko,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “I can’t help but make it my concern, when I see you doing things like that. And it’s not because I think you’re weak, or broken, or can’t take care of yourself, it’s because you mean the world to me and I want to be there for you. Will you at least allow me that?”

Zuko purses his lips, before finally nodding.

“Thank you,” he says, almost shaky with relief.

Suddenly aware that they’re alone together for the first time in weeks, he clears his throat.

“Well,” he says, far too brightly. “I’ll leave you to it then. I’m sure you have plenty of things to be getting on with.”

He turns to go, but Zuko says something that makes him stop in his tracks.

“I lost my mother too.”

And Sokka had known, on some level, that that was the case, but he’d never heard Zuko put words to what happened.

“I’m sorry,” he says, even though he knows it won’t help.

Zuko smiles, but there’s nothing happy about it. “It was a long time ago.”

“Yeah,” Sokka agrees. “But that doesn’t mean it ever stops hurting.”

Something cracks in Zuko’s expression then. For a moment, Sokka sees the sweet, vulnerable boy beneath his unyielding exterior.

“Hey,” he says, suddenly remembering his plan. “How would you feel about dropping anchor at the next port we come across and just… hanging about for a week?”

Immediately, Zuko clams up again. “We can’t,” he says, something wild in his eyes. “There’s too much at stake. My father-“

“Not a week, then,” Sokka concedes. “I still think it would be a good idea to take a break though, at least for a day or two. You’ve been pushing the crew pretty hard.”

“Fine,” Zuko mutters, seeing the sense in his words.

“Great!” he says, smiling cheerfully. “By the way, I promised Kuzon I’d take him to a nice restaurant. Why don’t we all go together? It’ll be a chance for you to bond with the crew, let them see you’re not all doom and gloom.”

Zuko recoils, appalled by the idea. “I will not-“

“Please?” Sokka begs, breaking out the puppy eyes. “They’re my friends. It would mean a lot to me if you made the effort to get to know them.”

Zuko groans, dropping his head into his hands. “Fine,” he says, slightly muffled. “If I make a fool of myself though, it’s your fault.”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Sokka says, rolling his eyes. “Besides, you managed to make friends with me, didn’t you? I bet they’ll love you once they get to know you.”

“If you’re sure,” Zuko says, sounding doubtful.

“100% sure!” Sokka chirps. “Everything is going to be fine, you’ll see.”

As usual, it’s his overconfidence that proves to be his downfall.

The crew is completely nonplussed when Zuko tells them they’ll be taking a break for three days to visit a local port city. Lieutenant Jee is especially suspicious, no doubt still bitter about his rather public dressing down earlier in the day.

“Forgive me for my confusion, Prince Zuko,” he says cuttingly. “But weren’t you saying only this morning that we needed to get to the Northern Air Temple as quickly as possible?”

“Yes, well,” Zuko says, looking awkward. “I thought the crew could use a break.”

“Did you now?” Lieutenant Jee says drily, giving Sokka an assessing look.

Zuko coughs, looking more uncomfortable by the second. “Uh… yes.”

“Well, far be it from me to question your infinite wisdom,” Lieutenant Jee drawls. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll relay your orders to the rest of the crew.”

He turns to go.

“Lieutenant Jee, wait,” Zuko says, something vulnerable in his voice.

“Yes, Prince Zuko?” Lieutenant Jee says, exasperated but doing his best not to show it.

“I’m sorry,” Zuko says, addressing his own feet. “I was completely out of line earlier. As your superior officer, your wellbeing is my responsibility, and I shouldn’t be taking my anger out on you. It won’t happen again.”

Lieutenant Jee looks completely dumbstruck, but he quickly recovers.

“Apology accepted,” he says, which makes Zuko look up in surprise. Sokka wonders if he’d been expecting a kick to the face instead. “Now, I really must be going.”

He turns to go, leaving Zuko staring after him, a confused frown pinching his brows.

Sokka cheers internally. One down, four more to go.

Chapter Text

They drop anchor at around mid-afternoon, pulling into the dock with limping slowness. This break really couldn’t have come soon enough- their fuel stores are at an all time low and everyone is tired and overworked. Nezuko squints at the (frankly quite lovely) little coastal town they’ve arrived at, suspicion in every line of her body.

“Alright, what’s the catch?” she mutters under her breath, which doesn’t go unnoticed by Uncle Iroh.

“No catch,” he says buoyantly, in much better spirits than the rest of the ship’s occupants. “My nephew just thought you might appreciate the chance to rest and renew yourselves.”

Nezuko snorts derisively, which makes Zuko turn an interesting shade of pink. Before he can offer a retort of his own, Uncle Iroh steps in to smooth his ruffled feathers.

“I think you’ll find my nephew is more thoughtful than you think,” he says, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “In fact, he agreed to pay for this entire trip out of his own pocket.”

Zuko gives him a betrayed look, but the old man slips something into his pocket with a wink and he relaxes slightly. Sokka would hazard a guess that it was a rather large advance on his allowance.

“Uh… yes,” he says, coughing awkwardly. “I thought you could all use a break.”

Nezuko still looks suspicious, but Uncle Iroh prattles on about the history of the town, which seems to distract everyone enough to take the heat off Zuko. Sokka doesn’t know where he got his in-depth knowledge of geography from, but he supposes anyone who’s lived as long as he has must have accumulated enough knowledge to fill several libraries.

“This town is famous for its ryokans,” he says pleasantly as they walk down the scenic streets. “One of them is even said to be haunted.”

Sokka almost rolls his eyes but stops himself at the last second.

“Yeah… let’s not go to that one,” Nezuko says, looking slightly shaken. The others nod in agreement.

They find a quaint little ryokan to stay at, with an ornamental garden out the front and a heated table for them to put their legs under.

“Well,” Zuko says, clearing his throat. “Make yourself at home. I’m going to… go for a walk.”

And he turns and marches off, leaving the rest of the crew to stare after him in bemusement.

“I’m going to go for a walk too,” Sokka says, because Uncle Iroh’s comment about haunted ryokans has got his mind a-whirring.

After all, he has to increase Zuko’s standing with the crew somehow. If he ends up getting sautéed in the process… well, at least it was for a good cause.

It turns out the walk Zuko took was actually a scouting mission to find the perfect restaurant. Sokka is touched that he put so much effort in, especially when he presents it to him with the air of a boy taking his crush on a first date.

“Will this do, do you think?” he asks, surprisingly nervous.

It’s a smallish place, but the people there seem like locals rather than tourists and there’s an absolutely heavenly smell coming from inside. Sokka almost wants to follow his nose cartoon style, but he restrains himself.

“Well, it’s not exactly fancy,” he says, drooling slightly, “but it smells incredible.”

“I asked twenty-five people what the best restaurant in town was,” Zuko says, like that’s a normal thing to do. “Twenty-two of them said this one.”

“Huh,” Sokka says, not sure what to say. “Well, you’re certainly thorough.”

The crew have scattered to the four winds by then, but luckily Uncle Iroh had the foresight to tell them to meet back at the ryokan at sundown. They trickle in reluctantly, no doubt wary about what they’re about to be subjected to. Lieutenant Jee seems to have acquired a novelty hat with an umbrella on it, which Sergeant Murozono is endlessly amused by. Sokka wonders if she bought it for him herself.

“Um,” Zuko says, once everyone is gathered. “I booked us a table at a restaurant. It’s… uh, it’s got a wide variety of dishes to suit different palates, so everyone should be able to find something they like.”

His words are met with dead silence.

“Um,” Zuko croaks, looking at Sokka with eyes the size of dinner plates. “Help.”

“You heard the guy,” Sokka says, slinging his arm over Zuko’s shoulder. He gives it a reassuring squeeze, feeling some of the tension ooze out of his muscles. “Let’s go eat.”

Unfortunately even his boyish charm isn’t enough to convince the crew. Nezuko looks even more suspicious than before, her eyes narrowed to slits, and Kuzon is no help. Sokka tries to indicate to him through frantic eyebrow raises that he should step in and try to defuse the situation, but he just looks amused. And he called Sokka a bad friend.

“Why are you being so nice to us?” Nezuko finally asks, voicing what the rest of the crew is probably thinking.

“Because,” Zuko says, sounding frustrated. “I’m trying to be a better person.”

Sokka’s heart swells slightly. He really is trying, pushing himself out of his comfort zone in a way that he would have balked at only a few months ago. He just hopes the rest of the crew will be able to see it.

“We should get going if we want to make our reservation,” Uncle Iroh says peaceably. “Punctuality is important in all things, especially when it comes to enjoying a good meal.”

The cook snorts, rolling his neck and cracking his knuckles. “I’ll be the judge of that,” he says, with the air of a food critic anticipating the opportunity to tear someone a new one.  

“Very well,” Uncle Iroh says jovially. “If you judge the food to be less than satisfactory, you have my permission to scold my nephew as you see fit.”

“Uncle,” Zuko says, sounding shocked.

“What, Prince Zuko?” Uncle Iroh says, his eyes sparkling. “Do you not have any faith in your own choice?”

Zuko glowers at him.

“You’re on,” the cook says, looking far too gleeful for Sokka’s liking.

“Oh, and if my nephew’s choice does turn out to be satisfactory, you have to make him his favourite dessert every day for a month.”

Sokka hides a smile. Of course the old man would find a way of spinning this to his advantage and making it look like nothing more than a friendly bet.

“He doesn’t even like dessert,” the cook splutters, his jowls quivering with indignation.

“Well then, you have nothing to worry about, do you?” Uncle Iroh says, smiling benevolently.

“Fine,” the cook grumbles, giving Zuko a poisonous look.

“Excellent,” Uncle Iroh says, knowing he’s won. “Lead the way, Prince Zuko.”

Taking a deep breath, Zuko walks towards the door. “It’s this way,” he says, his voice trembling only slightly.

For a moment, Sokka wonders if everything is going to turn out okay. He trusts Uncle Iroh to do what’s best for his nephew, but things could quickly turn nasty. He doubts the cook knows about Zuko’s history of abuse, or how to avoid triggering one of his flashbacks.

His hand tightens on Boomerang. If it comes down to it, he’ll protect him with everything he has.

He just hopes it doesn’t come down to it.

The restaurant is just as shabby inside as it was outside, the paint peeling slightly on the walls and the furniture having seen better days. This pleases the cook immensely, and Sokka can tell from the expression on his face that he thinks he’s already won.

“Please take a seat,” the server says, indicating a table in the corner.

There’s a bit of awkward shuffling as they choose their seats, Zuko standing there with a blank expression on his face as he watches everyone else claim a spot. Sokka knows his brain is short-circuiting as he tries to work out where the socially acceptable place to sit is.

“Sit with me,” he says, resisting the urge to rub his tense shoulders or put a comforting hand on the back of his neck. They’re in public, so any contact between them has to be feasibly explained away as platonic touching.

Zuko nods gratefully, allowing himself to be led over to an empty spot and deposited gently into a seat. He looks up at him, something unspoken in his eyes. Sokka aches inside at the vulnerability of it all, the trust there. Zuko is doing what he’s told not because he’s being forced to, but because he’s choosing to, freely giving up control in a way that makes his teeth hurt.

This is the wrong time for this. He can’t afford to be distracted, and he also can’t afford to give into temptation. His resolve hasn’t wavered- he won’t fuck Zuko until this is all over and the spectre of his betrayal is no longer lingering over them. It’s just been a while, that’s all. He misses the shape of him in his arms, in his bed, the way he curls up tight in his sleep to conserve as much heat as possible. He misses him so much.

“What do you want to order?” the server asks, breaking him out of his reverie.

He blinks down at the menu, not sure when it even appeared in front of him. The last time he ordered something at a restaurant, it didn’t end too well for him, so he’s kind of wary about giving it another go.

“I could order for you, if you wanted,” Zuko says quietly, his amber eyes earnest. “I enquired earlier about their most popular dishes. Do you trust me to choose something you’d like?”

“I’d like that,” he says, smiling softly.

Across the table, Kuzon rolls his eyes. Sokka sticks out his tongue at him, which makes a few of the older crew members give him disapproving looks. Uncle Iroh just smiles benignly, sipping a cup of tea that seems to have appeared out of thin air.

Their food arrives eventually, brought out on piping hot plates and accompanied by a multitude of pickles and other side dishes. Sokka’s eyes widen as a bowl of ramen is placed in front of him, stacked with more beef pork than the display cabinet at a butcher’s shop.

“It’s tonkotsu chashu-men,” Zuko says, squirming slightly. “The stock is made from beef pork bones and they give you twice as much meat as they normally do. I thought you might like it.”

He takes a sip of the broth, his eyes widening to twice their size. “Hand in marriage please,” he mumbles around his spoon, which makes Zuko go several shades darker.

The cook scoffs, poking at his own dish of breaded chicken and rice. All around the table, people are trying the food and lapsing into contented silence, but he remains stubbornly critical. Finally, his curiosity gets the better of him and he takes a cautious bite.

Sokka waits with bated breath as he chews slowly, his face giving nothing away. Finally, he grunts, a sour expression creeping over his face.

“Iroh, you bastard,” he mutters, which isn’t exactly the most polite way to address a royal. “You must have known.”

“I can assure you, I did not,” Uncle Iroh says, but he looks smug as all get out. “I simply had faith in my nephew not to lead us astray. He’s a good boy, you see. If you treat him well, he’ll repay the favour a thousandfold.”

“Uncle,” Zuko hisses, blushing furiously. Sokka chokes on his ramen, his own face burning with embarrassment.

“What?” Uncle Iroh asks, mystified by their response. “What did I say?”

At that moment, Fire Flake pokes his nose out of the collar of Zuko’s robes, sniffing the air curiously. Abruptly, all eyes in the room are trained on the small, furry creature. Nezuko looks like she’d desperately like to touch him, but her animosity towards Zuko stops her.

Everyone watches as Zuko takes a pickled wasabi chilli and holds it out to the little creature. Sokka sees the expressions of confusion on their faces, the disbelief. They probably hadn’t considered him capable of gentleness before this moment, which makes him sad.

“What’s his name?” Sergeant Murozono asks, smiling encouragingly.

Zuko startles, suddenly noticing all the eyes on him. His hand goes instinctively to Sokka’s thigh, which makes his heart do a little summersault.

“Fire Flake,” he says, his eyes lowered.

“That’s a great name,” Sergeant Murozono says, which makes him blush, his lower lip trembling slightly.

Sokka squeezes his hand and he looks up, unsure. He smiles at him, trying to reassure him without words that everything is going to be okay.

The conversation moves on after that, which makes Zuko slump in relief. Even being here at all is a lot for him, so he must be glad to not be the centre of attention anymore.

Finally, after their plates are empty and their bellies are full, they make their way back to the ryokan, their steps surprisingly light. The thick miasma of resentment that used to surround the crew has lessened somewhat. It’s likely going to be a while before Zuko wins their loyalty completely, but today was a step in the right direction.

Sokka smiles to himself, thinking about the mysterious package sitting at the bottom of his pack. Hopefully, Zuko will be winning more people over soon. He’s going to create the perfect environment for his bravery to shine.

Now, if only he can convince Kuzon to go along with his plan…

Chapter Text

Room assignments seem to have already been decided by the time they make it back to the ryokan. Apparently the older crew members had a discussion amongst themselves and decided to take the bigger room and shove all the teenagers in the other one. That leaves Sokka, Zuko, Kuzon and Nezuko to share one room, which would be fine if it wasn’t for the tension brewing between Zuko and Nezuko. Sokka isn’t exactly sure what he did to get on her bad side, but he supposes it could have been any number of things. He has a real talent for stepping on people’s toes.

He takes Kuzon aside as the others are settling in for the night, making up some excuse about needing advice about knitting patterns. Kuzon doesn’t buy it for a second, which is just typical really. Sokka seems to attract people who are too smart for their own good.

“You’re an idiot,” Kuzon says, as soon as he’s finished explaining his plan.

“Okay, yes,” Sokka says, because he has some level of self-insight and he knows this plan is less than foolproof. “But you’ll still help me, right?”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but sure.”

“Woohoo!” Sokka says, which makes Zuko and Nezuko look up from their frigid staring contest to give him twin looks of consternation.

“Uh… Kuzon just agreed to show me an advanced knitting technique!” he says, hoping he sounds convincing.

“That’s great, Sokka,” Zuko says, looking like he’s trying to be supportive but isn’t sure what he’s getting so excited about.

Nezuko snorts, which makes him shoot her a venomous look.

“Anyway,” Sokka says hastily. “How about we tell some ghost stories?”

“Ghost stories?” Nezuko says. “Seriously, what are you eight?”

“Don’t talk to him like that!” Zuko says, puffing up like a porcupinefish.

“I’m down for some ghost stories,” Kuzon says, dragging his futon into the centre of the room. “Does anyone have any snacks?”

“I can ask my uncle,” Zuko says, doubtfully.

“No need.” Sokka rummages in his pack, pulling out the bag of hard candy he bought on his little excursion. Zuko’s eyes light up at the sight of it, but he quickly masks it with a look of indifference.

“Great,” Kuzon says, snatching the bag from his hands and tearing it open. “Who wants to go first?”

“Well…” Sokka says, racking his brains for interesting stories from back home. “There is one story I can think of, but my sister tells it way better than I do.”

“Let’s hear it then,” Kuzon says, his interest piqued.

“Ok,” Sokka says, clearing his throat and settling into a more comfortable position. “So back home, we have this legend about a creature that haunts remote, isolated areas. The mahaha.”

“What do they look like?” Nezuko asks, intrigued despite herself.

“Terrifying,” Sokka says, warming to his theme. “They have blue skin and long, sharp nails, and when they laugh, it sends chills up your spine.”

“Creepy,” Kuzon says, delighted. He passes the bag of candy to Zuko, who takes it hesitantly, as if he’s not sure what he’s supposed to do with it.

“Yeah,” Sokka says, leaning forwards. “And you know what’s even creepier? They kill their victims by tickling them to death.”

Nezuko snorts. “Well that’s anti-climactic.”

“No, seriously,” he says, his voice low and urgent. “Their victims are found with their faces twisted into a parody of a smile- but it’s not a happy smile, far from it. It’s the sort of smile you make when you see something that’s too horrifying for your brain to comprehend.”

Nezuko shivers, his words clearly getting to her. Sokka feels like doing a victory dance, but he restrains himself.

“Now that is creepy,” Kuzon says approvingly.

“How do you defeat them?” Zuko says, speaking up for the first time. His golden eyes are serious, as if he’s genuinely interested in the answer.

“Well,” Sokka says, scrambling for an answer that won’t lead to his imminent demise. “Amulets and charms work. So does distracting them.”

“What if you can’t distract them?” Nezuko asks, sensing he’s not telling the whole story.

“Then…” he says, feeling defeated. “You burn them.”

“Oh,” Nezuko says, relaxing slightly. “We’d be fine then.”

“Yeah,” Sokka says weakly. “That’s kind of what I’m afraid of.”

They tell more stories after that, about ghosts and ghouls and other things that go bump in the night. Kuzon is surprisingly good at it, speaking in a hushed voice that has everyone leaning in to hear him better. Sokka needs to pay him back with an ice cream or something, because he’s seriously coming through with the whole “helping him with the plan” thing.

By the time it’s started to get seriously late, everyone is on edge, even Nezuko, despite her initial skepticism. Honestly, if things were different, he could see them bonding over their shared cynicism about all things supernatural. The plan requires him to be invested in the idea of ghosts and spirits though, because if he’s going to pull this off, he needs everyone to believe that he’s fully convinced that this stuff is real.

After a while, he excuses himself to go to the bathroom. This is a ruse- he’s actually going to change into his costume for the night. He bought it at one of the shops down on the bay- a novelty store selling gruesome masks and robes with long flowing sleeves. The haunted ryokan thing seems to be a bit of a tourist goldmine, with plenty of people willing to pay good money to join in on the fun.

He examines himself in the bathroom mirror. From a distance, anyone might mistake him for an actual ghost- the long, tapering nails and gaunt cheeks are certainly terrifying enough. He just hopes that it’s enough to fool his friends.

He makes his way to their room, peering around corners to make sure no-one is around. The adults are probably asleep by now, the long journey having taken a lot out of them. At least, he hopes they’re asleep. Zuko is going to be hard enough to deal with, he doesn’t want to face off against Uncle Iroh as well. He has a feeling he could burn him to a crisp if he wanted to.

He positions himself just to the left of the door, where they won’t see him but will certainly hear him. He can hear the murmur of voices, Kuzon keeping everyone entertained with more ghost stories while Nezuko and Zuko listen quietly, enraptured.

The stage is set. Now he just has to do his part, and act like his heart depends on it.

As Kuzon reaches the climax of his story, Sokka lets out a laugh, the sound of it chilling in the stillness of the night. Kuzon trails off, his story momentarily forgotten.

“Did you hear that?” he asks, his voice wavering slightly.

“It was probably a bird or something,” Nezuko says dismissively.

“Inside the house?” Zuko says, sounding skeptical.

“Good point,” Nezuko says reluctantly.

Sokka laughs again, dragging his long fingernails across the wood of the door for extra pizazz. It hurts, but it’s worth it, because there’s a clattering sound inside the room and someone says a very colourful swear word.

“It can’t be… can it?” Kuzon says, sounding unsure. “The mahaha.”

“Don’t be absurd,” Nezuko scoffs. “That’s just a fairytale.”

“My uncle says only fools ignore the warnings of the spirits,” Zuko says, which makes Nezuko scoff.

Sokka curls his long fingernails around the edge of the door, his next laugh sounding more like a sob. Several people jump, from the sounds of it, and Kuzon says “oh, Agni,” in a terrified voice.

For the grand finale, Sokka throws open the door, looming over the scattered teenagers like a harbinger of doom. Kuzon and Nezuko scream, cowering away from him. Zuko doesn’t though. He rises to his feet, flames crackling around his clenched fists.

“Leave this place, spirit,” he says in a low, dangerous voice. “Or face the consequences.”

Sokka really should heed his warning, but he doesn’t. This has to be believable, and a real mahaha would not respond to threats. He walks towards him, his hands outstretched, ready to tickle him to death-

Zuko hits him with a blast of fire, not holding anything back. Sokka goes down, the force of the flames sending him several feet backwards.

“This is your final warning,” Zuko says, standing over him. “Leave now, or there won’t be anything left of you by the time I’m done with you.”

All too grateful for an excuse to escape, Sokka gets to his feet, limping away. His arm hurts, singed by Zuko’s flames, but he hasn’t suffered permanent damage. He doesn’t think.

“That was amazing!” he hears Nezuko say as he makes his exit. “You were so cool!”

“Uh… thanks, I guess,” Zuko says shyly.

Sokka smiles beneath his mask. Mission accomplished- and it only cost him a few first degree burns and a sprained ankle.

“That was very stupid,” a voice says from the shadows.

He jumps, whirling around. Uncle Iroh is standing there, a disapproving expression on his face.

“Um… I can explain?”

Uncle Iroh sighs, putting a hand on his arm. “Come with me.”

Sokka follows him outside, feeling like a child being scolded for getting into the seal jerky again. He hugs his arm close to his chest, trying not to wince. It hurts more than he’d like to admit.

“Sit,” Uncle Iroh says, and he does, obedient for once in his life. The night air is cool, which helps soothe his burns at least a little.

Uncle Iroh holds his arm gently as he examines it, his eyes sharp and assessing. It’s such a contrast from his usual jovial nature that it almost weirds Sokka out. He’s used to kind smiles and gentle advice, not this heavy silence.

“It won’t scar,” he says, finally. “You’ll need to submerse it in water for at least twenty minutes though.”

“Okay,” Sokka says meekly, allowing Uncle Iroh to lead him over to the koi pond and stick his arm inside. He feels like an idiot, but he knows if he doesn’t do this it’s going to hurt like a bitch in a few minutes.

“What exactly possessed you to provoke my nephew like that?” Uncle Iroh asks, sounding uncharacteristically frustrated.

“I was… trying to get him to bond with the crew?” he says, hating how unsure he sounds.

“At the cost of your own life?”

Sokka winces. Now that he thinks about it, it was pretty stupid of him to put himself in danger like that. If Zuko had wanted to, he could have snuffed him out like a candle. He’s lucky he’s secretly a big softie under all that gruffness.

“You’re right,” he says quietly. “It was stupid of me to put myself in danger like that.”

Uncle Iroh pulls off his mask for him, setting it neatly aside. He strokes the hair back from his face, his eyes sad.

“You remind me of someone I once knew,” he says wistfully. “He also put everyone else’s needs ahead of his own. He ended up paying dearly for it, in the end.”

They sit there for a while longer, until Uncle Iroh deems his arm sufficiently soaked. He pats it dry with a cloth, as gently as possible, then smothers it in burn salve and bandages it up for him.

He’s probably had a lot of practice tending to burns, Sokka realises suddenly. The scar on Zuko’s face couldn’t have been easy to heal. It probably took months of careful attention before he was even able to take his bandages off.

“Thank you,” he says afterwards, once his wounds have been dealt with.

“It’s no trouble,” Uncle Iroh says, slipping the jar of burn salve back into his pocket. “You should probably go back before your friends get too suspicious. You’ve been gone for quite a while already.”

Sokka nods, getting to his feet. His ankle still hurts a little, but it’s not too bad. He limps towards the door of the ryokan, glad for a chance to finally rest.

“Sokka?” Uncle Iroh says, as his hand touches the door.

He turns around. The old man is looking at him with a sorrowful expression on his face. He looks smaller somehow, strangely diminished. Sokka doesn’t like it.

“Please don’t make me lose another son.”

Sokka can’t speak. He can only nod, unable to think of anything to say in the face of such yawning grief. He goes back to the room, making up some excuse about having a bad reaction to the food. Zuko believes him, probably thinking about that time at the market, where he appeared to get sick from the bowl of yakisoba.

He thinks about the old man’s words as he lies in bed that night, unable to sleep. Uncle Iroh thinks of him as a son. He’s never felt like he deserved anything less.

He curls up on his uninjured side, reaching for the deer dog puppy in the dark. She tucks herself against him, her head slotting into the space between his chin and his shoulder. He feels himself start to drift off, finally able to relax enough to sleep.

The last thought he has before the world goes dark is that he really hopes he’ll be able to live up to his promise.

Chapter Text

Sokka wakes up some time later. It takes him a while to work out why, the tendrils of sleep filling his head and making it difficult to think, but the sound of Zuko’s pitiful cries makes him remember all too quickly. He swears quietly under his breath, knowing it would kill him if anyone else found out about his nightmares. 

He nudges the deer dog puppy gently aside, sitting up. What he sees makes him freeze, because it could spell disaster for the fragile peace they managed to achieve only hours ago. Nezuko is hovering over Zuko, reaching out towards him, as if she’s planning to shake him awake.

In desperation, Sokka grabs her by the wrist, making her jump and look at him with wide eyes. He puts his finger to his lips, reaching for his blanket and draping it over Zuko’s sleeping form. Then he gestures towards the door, inviting her to follow him outside.

“Why did you stop me from waking him up?” she asks, when they reach the safety of the corridor.

“You would have only embarrassed him,” he says, shrugging. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Zuko’s kind of… proud.”

“I had noticed, funnily enough,” she says wryly, which makes him laugh.

“He means well,” he says, sounding fond even to his own ears. “He’s just had a rough go of it these past few years. Actually he’s had a rough go of it his whole life, from the sounds of it.”

“That scar…” Nezuko says thoughtfully. “He didn’t get it in a training accident, did he?”

Sokka shakes his head. “No.”

Nezuko is quiet for a while, mulling that over. 

“It was his father, wasn’t it?” she says finally. “That’s why he has nightmares.”

“Yeah,” he says, smiling sadly. “Promise me you won’t mention it to him though- he hasn’t come to terms with the fact that he was abused. Last time I brought it up, he reacted kind of badly.”

“Noted,” she says, probably thinking about Zuko’s impressive display of firebending yesterday.

“Thanks,” he says, feeling weak with relief. “Shall we?”

She nods. They make their way back to the room, where the others are still sleeping. The sun is already peeking its head over the lip of the horizon, so it’s pointless to try to get any more sleep. Sokka knits instead, putting the finishing touches on the scarf he’s been making for the past few weeks.

Zuko wakes just as he finishes tying off the ends of the tassels, his eyes bleary with sleep. The dark circles that have plagued him the past few weeks seem to have diminished somewhat, thanks to the relatively uninterrupted sleep he got last night. Sokka is glad. He was beginning to look a bit like a mahaha himself.

“For you,” he says, holding out the scarf. 

Zuko takes it, not even offering up a cursory protest this time. He wraps it around his neck without comment, even though it’s hot outside today and he won’t need it.

Kuzon wakes not long after, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He yawns, stretching his arms over his head. “What’s on the agenda today?” 

A look of panic flits across Zuko’s face. “I hadn’t thought that far ahead,” he admits guiltily, looking to Sokka for guidance.

“How about we all go to the beach?” he suggests easily, noting the blue skies and balmy weather. “It looks like it’s a good day for it.”

“The beach sounds good,” Nezuko says, but Zuko looks unsure.

“I don’t have a bathing suit,” he says, but Sokka can tell there’s something more going on there.

“You can just wear your underwear,” Kuzon says, shrugging. “I’m sure no-one would mind.”

Zuko presses his lips into a thin line. For the first time, Sokka notices that his hands are shaking infinitesimally.

“Or we can stay on dry land and build sandcastles,” he says lightly.

Zuko nods, his shoulders relaxing from their hunched position just slightly.

“Sandcastles?” Nezuko groans. “You have the most childish ideas.”

But Kuzon is looking from Zuko to Sokka, his sharp eyes picking up more than most people probably give him credit for.

“How about a friendly game of beach volleyball?” he suggests, offering a third option that might placate everyone.

“You’re on,” Nezuko says, a determined glint in her eyes.

They take the deer dog puppy with them, so she can splash around in the waves for a bit. She trots along beside them as they walk down to the beach, her little ears flopping adorably. She’s still only a few months old, so she’s little, but her curious nature cancels out any wariness caused by the new environment.

There’s already a net set up on the beach, with volleyballs for hire at a rundown shack that also sells drinks with little umbrellas in them. The person manning the shack is a bored teenager with greasy hair, his eyes ringed with dark circles that speak of late nights. He takes one look at Zuko’s long robes and raises his eyebrow.

“Not that it’s any of my business, but you’re not planning on playing volleyball in those are you?” 

Zuko just glares at him, unamused by this rude stranger asking intrusive questions about his clothing choices. Sokka has to admit, it’s kind of intimidating.

“Just asking,” the guy says, holding up his hands in a peaceful gesture. “We have board shorts for sale if you want them.”

“I don’t,” Zuko says, short and clipped.

Kuzon looks even more thoughtful than before, his eyes flitting between Zuko and the guy manning the beach shack as if he’s watching a very interesting play.

“Ok then,” beach shack guy says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Have a nice day?”

He frames it like a question, unsure how to respond to Zuko’s complete lack of social graces.

“We will!” Sokka says, wrapping his arm around Zuko’s shoulders. He relaxes slightly, no longer quite so tense. 

They spread out on the beach, the deer dog puppy prancing around them with her tongue lolling out. She seems to have taken quite a shine to it, especially the water, which she keeps running towards and then running away from in quick succession. Sokka wonders if she thinks it’s playing with her.

“Ready?” he asks, holding the ball aloft.

Zuko narrows his eyes. Kuzon nods. Nezuko cracks her knuckles, a fiendish grin splitting her face apart. Satisfied that they’re all onboard, he spikes the ball towards the other side of the net, and the game is on. 

As expected, Zuko is a beast, charging for the ball like a battering ram. Kuzon is more nimble, flitting from one side of the net to the other like a bird. Nezuko is more measured in her approach, almost calculating, and she hits the ball with almost unnerving precision.

Sokka would like to say he plays just as well as they do, but his ankle starts to bother him after a while. He probably should have rested it after yesterday’s debacle, but he hadn’t wanted to miss out on potential Zuko-crew bonding time. Uncle Iroh would probably give him a disappointed look, but since he’s not here, he decides to just soldier on and hope the pain goes away on its own.

Unfortunately, he’s plumb out of luck, because one false step makes him go down like a sack of potatoes. He says some very imaginative swear words, clutching his leg to his chest. That hurt, dammit.

“Sokka,” Zuko says, rushing towards him.

Warm hands press against his skin, making him tear up. He tries to tell himself it’s just from the pain, but really he’s just unused to anyone taking care of him like this. Last night was the first time someone looked after him when he was sick or injured in years.

“Your ankle is swollen,” Zuko says, his raspy voice washing over him in waves. “You need to rest it.”

“I’m fine-“ he says automatically, but Zuko touches his wet cheek and he falls silent.

“No,” he says, tilting his face up towards him. “You’re not.”

Sokka’s lower lip trembles. Zuko’s hands are gentle and he’s looking at him like he’s the most important thing in the world, and it’s all a bit much, really. He hopes he can be forgiven for letting a few more tears squeeze out.

Zuko helps him back to the ryokan, letting him lean on him as he hops awkwardly across the sand. No-one seems put out at having to cut their outing short, in fact they try to cheer him up by making terrible jokes. He’s laughing when they finally make it through the door, which makes Uncle Iroh raise a single eyebrow.

“It seems you four had quite the adventure,” he says, a question hidden in his words.

“We played beach volleyball and Sokka injured his ankle,” Zuko says promptly, despite Sokka’s attempts to signal to him that he should remain silent.

“Did he now?” Uncle Iroh says, unimpressed.

Lieutenant Jee sighs. “I’ll get some ice.”

Zuko helps him get settled and elevates his ankle for him, his hands steady and warm. Someone brings the deer dog puppy over after cleaning her paws, and she snuggles up against him, tired out from a day playing outside.

“Thank you,” he says in a small voice, looking at all the worried faces gathered around him.

“Of course,” Uncle Iroh says. “Now, how about a game of pai sho?”

It’s not a suggestion. Sokka fucked up by going back on his promise, immediately doing something reckless after saying he wouldn’t. This is his punishment for being an idiot, and he kind of deserves it.

It’s not like it’s really a punishment. He enjoys pai sho, he just wishes he was better at it.

They play for a while, munching on snacks and drinking obligatory cups of tea. Uncle Iroh asks him roundabout questions about his day, trying to determine exactly why he thought it was a good idea to do strenuous physical activity after injuring his ankle only the night before. Sokka responds with equally roundabout answers, but Uncle Iroh is savvy enough to know what he’s really saying.

The older members of the crew watch their game with interest, each move drawing gasps and murmurs from them. Sokka isn’t sure why- he likes pai sho, but it’s not exactly pro bending.

“The boy’s a prodigy,” Lieutenant Jee says after one move in particular, his usually dour expression replaced by a look of astonishment.

“What?” he says, confused. “No I’m not. I lose every time.”

“Kid,” the cook says, giving him a pointed look. “You’re playing against one of the Fire Nation’s best strategists. How many people do you think have won a game against him?”

“I don’t know. A few?”

“Four,” Uncle Iroh says serenely, his face wreathed in smiles.

Sokka chokes on his tea. “Four?!”

“Perhaps you underestimate your own worth,” Uncle Iroh says, with a pointed glance at his ankle.

Sokka blows out his cheeks. Fair point.

They play for a while longer, until Sokka lets out a yawn. His sleep last night was troubled, and he woke up earlier than usual, so it’s not surprising he’s tired already.

“Sleep,” Uncle Iroh says, packing away the pai sho board.

He tries to protest, but the old man makes him lie down and covers him with a blanket. He strokes his hair back from his face, his golden eyes fond.

“A great leader knows that in order to take care of those who depend on him, he must first take care of himself.”

Despite himself, he feels his eyes slipping shut. 

“Thank you,” he mumbles, and for a moment he thinks he feels Zuko’s hands on him, smaller and more elegantly shaped. Something touches his forehead, light and warm, like the flutter of a butterfly’s wings.

If he didn’t know any better, he would think it was a pair of lips, kissing him tenderly to sleep.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Sokka feels much better, the pain in his ankle almost completely gone. He rolls it experimentally, finding almost no discomfort at all. The ice and elevation did the trick, and so did getting a full, uninterrupted night’s sleep. 

He’s grateful to his friends and Uncle Iroh for forcing him to rest, although he feels rather embarrassed about the whole thing. It’s not easy for him to admit when he needs help, mostly because there was no-one around to help him in his formative years. Gran Gran did her best, of course, but she was old and frail and Katara was… younger. More traumatised. Her needs always came first, which he can’t exactly be mad at. If he was in Gran Gran’s shoes, he would have given her more attention too.

“Oh good, you’re awake,” Uncle Iroh says, sipping his morning cup of tea with his usual serenity. Except… it’s not morning, now that he thinks about it. The shadows on the walls are long and the light coming through the slatted windows is warm and golden. It has to be at least early afternoon.

“Where is everyone?” he asks, noting the distinct lack of other people in the room. It’s just him and Uncle Iroh, the other adults nowhere to be found.

“I believe they went on a little excursion,” Uncle Iroh says, mysteriously. “They should be back shortly. In the meantime, perhaps a spot of breakfast might be in order?”

As if on cue, Sokka’s stomach grumbles. 

“Yes please,” he says, his mouth watering at the prospect of food.

Breakfast is a simple affair, mostly rice and fish, but he still guzzles it down like a starving man. He hadn’t even realised how hungry he’d been, which is strange, because his stomach usually lets him know very loudly when he needs to eat. Yesterday must have really messed with his system. He hopes he’s not coming down with something, because that would be a huge pain and not conducive to preventing Zuko from capturing the Avatar at all.

Or maybe, just maybe, he’s no longer in survival mode. Maybe his brain no longer looks at every bit of food like it might disappear at any moment. It’s not like he ever starved, but after the men left for the war the responsibility of hunting for the tribe fell solely on his shoulders. Sometimes there wasn’t quite enough food to go around, and he chose to put more food on Katara’s plate than his own.

The others return as he’s finishing the last of his meal, traipsing in with the sun in their hair and their eyes bright. Zuko looks more relaxed than yesterday, the weight of his responsibilities lifted from his shoulders, if only temporarily. The deer dog puppy barrels in after them, covering his face in enthusiastic licks. He laughs, fondling her velvety ears. 

Zuko looks at him with soft eyes, something wordless and poignant in his gaze. Sokka remembers the feeling of his hands on him yesterday as he was falling asleep, the soft touch of his lips against his forehead. It feels almost like a dream, but he’s almost 100% sure it actually happened.

“How are you feeling?” Zuko asks, his eyes searching for any lingering pain or discomfort.

“Much better,” he says, smiling at him kind of dopily. It’s a far cry from how their relationship started, with honeyed words and hidden intentions.

“Good,” Zuko says, his shoulders relaxing further. “I thought maybe, if you were feeling better, we could go out for ice cream. There’s a place down on the bay that has a bunch of different flavours.”

Sokka’s heart does a little summersault. Is Zuko talking about… a date? 

“I vote for ice cream too!” Nezuko says, her hand shooting into the air.

Sokka deflates slightly. Of course not. Anyway, he already promised himself that he and Zuko would remain friends. It’s not like what happened yesterday did anything to change that.

“Ice cream sounds great,” he says, forcing a smile.

Kuzon, with his too perceptive eyes, notices the change in his demeanour and gives him a sympathetic look. At least one person has his back.

They head down to the bay, the deer dog puppy loping between them. The sun and sand have been good for her. She seems more confident than before, her strides more sure. She’s coming into her own and Sokka couldn’t be more proud.

There’s just one thing that still niggles at him. She deserves a name, and he hasn’t been able to give her one yet. He’s not sure why, but it feels… scary. Like if he gives her a name, it means he’s acknowledging that their bond is permanent. He’s had too many people leave him before. The thought of losing someone else scares him.

The ice cream parlour is a quaint little place, with intimate booths and pastel pink walls. Sokka eagerly eyes the selection of flavours, coconut and chocolate and all manner of things in between. Beside him, Zuko fairly vibrates with excitement, though he tries to be subtle about it.

“Do you know what you want?” he asks, curious.

“Yes,” Zuko says immediately. “No. I don’t know.”

For someone who’s usually so decisive, he seems strangely unsure. Sokka wonders if the prospect of so many different flavours is overwhelming for him. He only allowed himself to admit that he even liked sweets a few months ago, after all.

Sokka wonders where that initial denial stemmed from. It has something to do with his shitty childhood, that much is certain. He recalls Commander Zhao taunting him about it, asking what his father would think about him indulging his sweet tooth. Kuzon and Nezuko seem to have no problem ordering a double scoop each, so it can’t be a cultural thing.

Eventually they all pick a flavour and make their way over to one of the booths. There are a few other people in the shop, mostly young families and couples on dates. Sokka flushes slightly, thinking about his misunderstanding earlier. He must have still been groggy with sleep, because that was a pretty big leap of logic to make.

It’s hot today, even in the relative coolness of the ice cream parlour, so Zuko removes the scarf from around his neck, albeit reluctantly. His throat is flushed and dewy with sweat, his pretty collarbones peeking demurely from beneath the collar of his robes. Sokka swallows heavily, his mouth suddenly drier than the Si Wong Desert.

“Hey Sokka,” Nezuko says, licking ice cream from her spoon. “How are things going with your girlfriend? Do you still keep in contact with her?”

Sokka drops his spoon with a clatter, his mouth falling open. “Girlfriend?!” 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Nezuko says, mistaking his confusion for offense. “Boyfriend then.”

Across from him, Zuko has gone very still. Sokka can see the hurt in his eyes, though his expression gives nothing away.

“I don’t have a girlfriend or a boyfriend,” he says hastily, wanting to clear up this misunderstanding as quickly as possible.

“I thought you said you fell in love with someone on Kiyoshi Island,” Nezuko says, confused.

“I did!” he squawks. “I mean, I didn’t! I mean- Can we not talk about this?”

Kuzon coughs delicately, drawing the attention away from him. “I think what Sokka is trying to say,” he says diplomatically, “is that circumstances haven’t allowed him and the… object of his affections to be together up until now.”

“I’m not trying to say that actually,” he grits out, embarrassed.

Nezuko looks between him and Zuko, understanding dawning. 

“Ohhhhh,” she says. “Of course. Why didn’t I see it before now? You’re both so obvious.”

“Nezuko,” he hisses, seriously regretting his plan to get Zuko to bond with the crew.

A loud scraping sound makes him jump.

“I… have to go,” Zuko mutters, making a beeline for the door and leaving the scarf draped over the edge of his chair. 

“Zuko!” Sokka says, getting to his feet so fast he almost bangs his shins on the table. “Nice going,” he says sarcastically, shooting Nezuko a frustrated look.

“I’m sorry,” she says, looking genuinely chagrined. “I didn’t know.”

He sighs, scrubbing his hand over his face. “It’s fine. It’s just… things between Zuko and I are complicated.”

“Yeah,” she says, noting his obvious distress. “I see that now.”

“What are you waiting for?” Kuzon says, quirking an eyebrow at him. “Go get him.”

“What?” Sokka says, running his hand distractedly through his hair. “I can’t. I don’t deserve-“

“Sokka,” Kuzon says, his eyes uncharacteristically serious. “If you don’t deserve love, I don’t think there’s any hope for the rest of us.”

“You don’t understand,” he protests. “The things I’ve done-“

“I know,” Kuzon says, which makes a jolt of fear go through him. “I know everything, and I forgive you. Zuko will too. You just have to give him a chance.”

Sokka hesitates for a few moments, but he thinks about Zuko out there alone, wandering the streets of the town with a broken heart. He’s tired of denying it, tired of seeing the hurt on his face whenever he pulls away. Maybe it’s time.

“Ok,” he says, taking a deep breath. “Wish me luck?”

“Good luck,” Kuzon says, sounding sincere. “You’ll need it.”

Sokka nods, his throat too tight to speak. He picks up the scarf, wrapping it around his own neck. Then he turns and walks out of the ice cream parlour, forcing himself to keep his steps slow and measured. 

As soon as his feet hit the footpath outside, he runs.

Chapter Text

Sokka goes back to the ryokan first. His instincts tell him that Zuko would want to retreat somewhere safe so he could lick his wounds, and that seems safe enough. The fact that there are people there makes it a less likely option, but one of those people is Uncle Iroh, and Zuko is allowing himself to lean on him more and more.

When he bursts through the door, he finds the ryokan deserted, the adults no doubt having gone on their own little outing. He swears under his breath, running his hands through his hair. Think, Sokka, think, he thinks to himself, his mind racing. Where would he have gone?

He recalls Zuko talking about his life in the Fire Nation, the turtle duck pond and the library, where he used to go on rainy afternoons. It’s a long shot, but his instincts tell him that in the depths of his heartache, Zuko would be drawn to things that once gave him joy. Maybe there was a time when he would have gone on a self-destructive rampage, but time and love have tempered him. He’s no longer the volatile, deeply traumatised young man he met at the South Pole.

Well. He’s still deeply traumatised, but he has a support network now, and people who love him. That has to count for something.

He decides to try the park first. A library, while quiet, would still have an element of forced social interaction that Zuko would rather avoid. A big open space would provide plenty of opportunity to retreat in the event that a random person decided to strike up a conversation with him.

“Excuse me,” he asks a passing stranger, trying not to let the desperation show on his face. “Do you know if there’s a park around here?”

The stranger, a small, squat woman with a monocle, gives him a suspicious look. “You’re the second person to ask me that in the past twenty minutes. Is this some sort of new thing you young people are into?”

Sokka feels a surge of hope in his chest.

“Who was it?! I mean, what did they look like?”

The woman grunts, looking even more suspicious than before. “Pale. Broad-shouldered. Would have been quite the looker if it wasn’t for that giant scar.”

Zuko. Sokka grins, giving the startled woman a rather enthusiastic hug. 

“Thank you,” he breathes, feeling more than a little teary-eyed.

“Alright, alright,” the woman grumbles, pushing him off. “This better not be a drug thing.”

“Not a drug thing,” Sokka says, smiling from ear to ear. “The love of my life is just missing and I’m trying to find him.” 

That gets him a baffled look. “If he’s missing, why do you look so happy?”

“Because,” he says, still smiling like an idiot. “I’ve finally worked up the courage to confess to him.”

“Oh,” the woman says, patting him awkwardly on the arm. “Well, good luck then.”

“Thanks,” he says, taking a deep breath. “Now, where did you say that park was?”

The woman gives him directions to the park, which he scrawls down in his notebook. She takes it from him with a disgruntled noise, drawing a quick map for him with a few heavy, impatient lines. He thanks her profusely, clutching the notebook to his chest and sketching a hasty bow. She waves him off, looking irritated but strangely fond.

He books it in the direction of the park, hoping he isn’t too late and Zuko hasn’t decided he’d rather go somewhere else after all. He’s grateful for the scarf around his neck, because the weather has started to turn. The air is starting to feel heavy and dense, and he can smell the scent of ozone in the air, sharp and acrid on the back of his tongue.

Finally, after about fifteen minutes of flat-out sprinting, he finds the park, complete with a pretty little ornamental pond and a gazebo with mullioned windows. Zuko is sitting on the bank, under the shade of a spreading willow tree, watching the turtleducks dip and play in the water.

He approaches him slowly, as he would a cat with a known tendency to bite people. Zuko isn’t stupid, he’ll have heard his panting breaths and lumbering footsteps a mile off. That gives him some hope, at least.

“Hey,” he says, fiddling nervously with the tassels of the scarf.

Zuko spares him a perfunctory glance, his face unreadable. “Hey.”

Sokka takes a deep breath, steeling his nerves. It’s now or never. “About what happened earlier-“

“It’s fine,” Zuko interrupts him, but there’s an undercurrent of hurt in his voice that makes Sokka’s heart ache. “I was the one who got my hopes up.”

In that moment, Sokka realises he has a choice. He can either agree with Zuko, say he doesn’t actually have feelings for him and this has all been a bit of fun for him, or he can come clean. Admit everything, regardless of the consequences. 

In the end, there’s really only one choice he can make.

“It’s not fine,” he says, bracing himself to be fireballed in the face. “Zuko, I’ve been lying to you.”

Zuko goes still. “What?”

“I’ve been lying to you,” he repeats, feeling a strange sense of relief. “This whole time, I’ve only been pretending to help you find the Avatar. Remember when you came to the South Pole all those months ago and I told you he wasn’t there? Well I lied to you, and I’ve been lying to you ever since.”

Zuko says nothing. Above them, the clouds begin to mass threateningly, the temperature dropping another few degrees.

“I’m sorry,” he says, unnerved by his silence. “I wish I could take it back. If I’d known I’d end up falling in love with you for real, I never would have lied to you.”

For a few moments longer, the silence continues to thicken between them. Then Zuko’s shoulders begin to shake. At first Sokka thinks he might be crying, but then a low, raspy laugh escapes his throat.

“Zuko…?” he says, a chill going down his spine.

Lightning splits the air above them. Zuko continues to laugh, the sound becoming wilder and more deranged. Sokka takes a step backwards, frightened by this unexpected display of emotion. 

A choked sob makes him stop in his tracks. Zuko drops his face into his hands, looking so small it makes Sokka’s bones ache. Instantly, his protective instincts flare to life, and he’s kneeling in the damp grass and taking him into his arms before he even realises what he’s doing.

“Hey, no, it’s okay,” he says soothingly. “You’re okay.”

Zuko turns his face against his chest, rain beginning to fall around them. 

“Sokka,” he says in an anguished voice. “He’s going to kill me.”

“What?” he says, feeling his heart stop.

“My father,” Zuko says, shaking uncontrollably. “He’s already stripped me of my title, but he told me I could keep my life if I used my connection to you to infiltrate the Northern Water Tribe and bring them to their knees. I thought if I brought him the Avatar instead, he might change his mind, but now…”

Sokka’s arms tighten around him. “Zuko… Zuko what do you mean, he told you he could keep your life?”

Another sob shakes through Zuko’s frame. “He’s going to execute me. Publicly, in front of the entire court. He wants to make an example of me, so no-one dares defy him ever again.”

All the little clues leading up to this point finally click into place. The letter with the official seal, the reluctant deference of the crew, Zuko telling him he got his scar because he undermined his father in front of his generals.

Zuko isn’t just a distant descendant of the royal family. Zuko is Fire Lord Ozai’s son.

White hot rage burns through him as he thinks about him laying a hand on Zuko again. There’s no way in hell that’s going to happen. He’ll die before he lets that monster get within an inch of his fragile, precious boy. 

“Listen to me,” he says, cradling Zuko’s face between his hands. His eyes are swollen with tears, but he’s still the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. “I won’t let him lay a single finger on you, do you understand me? He’ll have to kill me first.”

“You don’t understand,” Zuko says, his voice barely more than a thread. “He once choked me in front of his advisors to prove a point. None of them even offered a cursory protest. They’re all afraid of him. Once he knows I’ve failed my mission, he won’t stop until he has me in his grasp, and no-one in the Fire Nation will do a thing to stop him.”

Sokka feels the sparking sensation at the back of his mind that means an idea is brewing. He smirks.

“Well then. We’ll need to find some reinforcements, won’t we?”

Chapter Text

The rain is showing no sign of letting up, so Sokka suggests they seek shelter in the gazebo. Zuko seems amenable to the idea, though honestly he still looks kind of out of it. Sokka rests his hand lightly on the small of his back as they walk, not steering him in any particular direction, just providing enough physical contact to keep him grounded in the present.

His brain is still buzzing with plans and ideas, but he tells it to be quiet for now and focus on getting Zuko warm and dry. The sun is drifting dangerously close to the horizon, which means his temperature is going to drop significantly soon and he’s going to be miserable if he doesn’t get him out of his wet clothes.

He tries not to think of the implications of that statement, but his brain has a funny way of making him focus on all the wrong things. Visions of porcelain skin and soft golden eyes keep crowding his brain, making it difficult to concentrate. He swallows thickly, loosening the collar of his robes just a little.

When they reach the door of the gazebo, he breathes a sigh of relief, glad to be out of the pouring rain. His skin is cold and wet and he’d really like to go back to the ryokan and stick his legs under the kotatsu table, but beggars can’t be choosers. At least the gazebo is dry.  

“Let’s get you out of these wet clothes,” he says, because Zuko is showing no sign of removing them himself. He’s just standing there, shivering slightly and listing to one side like a ship cut from its moorings. Sokka wonders if he should be concerned, but he has no time to worry about that now. Zuko’s physical comfort is his priority, he can worry about the potential psychological ramifications of their conversation later.

He gets to work undoing the complicated fastenings keeping his robes closed, his hands shaking with more than just cold. This is the first time they’ve undressed each other, at least outside the confines of his own brain. In his fantasies, it’s always hurried and passionate, but this is… different. More emotionally charged.

A sharp pain in his left ring finger makes him snatch his hand back, yelping in surprise and alarm. For one wild moment, he thinks Zuko’s clothes bit him, but then he sees two beady, malevolent eyes staring at him from the depths of his robes. He sighs, reaching into his pocket for some slightly damp seal jerky.

“I’m not planning on doing anything untoward, you know,” he says, as Fire Flake gobbles up the jerky, growling menacingly all the while. “I just don’t want him to get hypothermia.”

Mollified, Fire Flake licks his fingers, removing the last of the salt from his skin. Sokka feels a moment of kinship for the small furry creature, even though his sharp little teeth are dangerously close to his fingers.

“You can,” Zuko says, so quietly he almost doesn’t catch it.

Sokka pauses, his hand freezing in midair.

“I’m sorry?” he says, his tone carefully neutral.

Zuko swallows, warmth infusing his cheeks.

“You can do something untoward,” he says, not meeting his eyes. “I want you to.”

Immediately, all of the blood rushes to his nether regions. He grits his teeth, trying to stave off his burgeoning erection.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he says carefully, even though his thoughts have gone straight to the gutter.

“I’m not a child,” Zuko says, his eyes blazing with something like defiance.

“No,” he concedes, “but you are upset. I just don’t think we should be rushing into anything yet, especially when you’ve been hurt before.”

“Not like this,” Zuko says stubbornly. “He never hurt me like this.”

Sokka had wondered. He’s not blind to the cruelties of the world, he knows there are parents who do despicable things to their children, even worse than the things Ozai did to Zuko. The fact that he was at least spared this much gives him some comfort.

“You still grew up in a household where your boundaries were consistently ignored,” he says lightly. “The fact that those boundaries weren’t sexual ones makes no difference.”

“I know what I want,” Zuko says, lifting his chin into the air. He’s so lovely, his robes half unbuttoned and his eyes molten with desire. “I’ve been thinking about it for a long time. I want you to make me yours. I’ve spent so long being a pawn in my father’s game, never able to choose anything for myself. I don’t want to be controlled by him anymore.”

Sokka wants to protest, say they’re moving too fast, but the certainty in Zuko’s gaze is unmistakeable. He wants this.

“Okay,” he says, taking a deep breath, “but you have to promise me you’ll be honest with me if you need to stop.”

“I promise,” Zuko says, his gaze steady.

Okay. Okay. He can do this. Shit.

“Can I… kiss you?” he asks, feeling like his heart is going to explode out of his chest.

Zuko nods, biting his lip in an unfairly attractive way. That’s not conducive to kissing at all, but damn is it hot.

He shuffles a little closer, reaching up to cup Zuko’s cheek with his hand. He runs his thumb lightly over his cheekbone, on the scarred side. It doesn’t feel bad, just a little bumpier and more raised than the rest of his skin.

“Is this… okay?” he asks, because he’s very aware of the circumstances in which Zuko received his scar and he doesn’t want to make his trauma worse.

Zuko’s eyes flutter open. His pupils are dilated, tangible proof of his desire.

“Yes,” he says, his voice even lower and raspier than usual.

Fuck. Fuck. Okay, he can do this. It’s just kissing. No biggie.

Except it’s not just kissing, not really. This is the culmination of all their pent-up feelings, which have been brewing for months on end without any outlet. He’s spent so long thinking about this one moment, imagining it a thousand different ways, but now that it’s actually here, he feels frozen with indecision.

In the end, it’s Zuko who takes the initiative, closing the distance between them in a heartbeat. Their lips brush, and it’s not fireworks, not exactly, but it is magical. It feels like coming home after a long day laying traps in the snow. It feels like the first time his father took him out on the boat, the sea breeze in his hair and the taste of salt on the back of his tongue. It feels right.

It’s clear that Zuko doesn’t have much idea what he’s doing, but it doesn’t matter. Sokka has enough experience for the both of him. He quickly recovers from his moment of indecision, cradling Zuko’s face in his hands and coaxing his mouth open. He tastes like matcha ice cream, sweet and a little bitter.

A sharp pain in his left forearm makes him reel back.

“Seriously?!” he says, clutching it to his chest with a wounded expression.

Zuko reaches into his robes, pulling out the disgruntled fire ferret. His little body is shaking with rage and he’s looking at Sokka like he’s planning to kill him and bury his body where no-one will find it.

“It’s okay,” Zuko says soothingly, stroking the fire ferret on its vindictive little head. “Sokka isn’t going to hurt me.”

Fire Flake’s eyes close in bliss as he basks in the attention from his favourite human. He nuzzles his fingers like the little ingrate he is, before giving Sokka a final warning look.

“Oh, come on,” he says, aggrieved. “What did I ever do to you?”

Zuko ignores him, depositing the fire ferret on one of the spacious window seats. He burrows into the soft fabric, his beady eyes falling closed.

Zuko turns to him, taking his hand gently in his. He presses a kiss to his knuckles, a silent apology. Sokka can’t help it, he melts, smiling at him like he hung the moon especially for him.

“Now,” he says, a mischievous lilt to his voice. “Where were we?”

Zuko leans forward, intending to kiss him again, but Sokka covers his mouth with his hand.

“Wait,” he says, ignoring his offended look. “We should probably talk about what we both want.”

Zuko plucks his hand from his mouth, his eyebrows beetling together. “I want you to fuck me. I thought that was obvious.”

Sokka’s mouth goes very very dry.

“Um,” he says, struggling to maintain his composure. “I’m not doing that, sorry. We don’t have the right… stuff. And it’s going to be uncomfortable at first, so we need to work our way up to it.”

He tries to sound like he knows what he’s talking about, but really he’s basing all of his knowledge on Katara’s romance novels. He hopes they’re at least somewhat accurate.

“It’s fine,” Zuko says dismissively. “I don’t need any of that.”

“Well I do,” he says truthfully. “I need to know that you’re safe and comfortable. Some people enjoy seeing other people in pain, and that’s fine, but I’m not one of them.”

“Oh,” Zuko says, looking slightly chagrined. “Sorry, I-“

“Didn’t realise I had boundaries too?” he says, raising an eyebrow.

Zuko mumbles something under his breath.

“What was that?” he asks, leaning forward to hear him better.

“I… um…” Zuko says, looking anywhere but at him. “Before I was banished, my mother had a… talk… with me. About what I should expect from my marriage, if the spouse chosen for me turned out to be a man.”

Sokka snorts. “She told you men were all raging horndogs who couldn’t keep it in their pants, didn’t she?”

“Something to that effect,” Zuko says, fiddling awkwardly with his sleeve. “You’re very different from what I imagined.”

“Yeah, well,” he says, with a lopsided smile. “The feeling is mutual.”

Before Zuko can look too offended, he holds up one finger. “So. New plan? I’d like to blow you, if that’s okay. And then maybe if you’re feeling up to it, I can fuck your thighs.“

“Won’t it… feel bad?” Zuko asks, touching his scar self-consciously.

“No,” he says, shrugging. “I touched your scar earlier, didn’t I? Did you notice me cringing back in disgust?”

“No,” Zuko concedes. “But sometimes it’s hard to tell.”

“I know buddy,” he says, softening. “But I promise your scars don’t turn me off in any way. They’re just another part of you, like your nose or your eyes or your cheekbones.”

Zuko swallows, his eyes shining with something like gratitude. He’s probably been carrying the shame of his scars for so long that it’s become almost intrinsically ingrained in his psyche. In a nation that prizes strength and military prowess, visible indicators of defeat are probably seen as a sign of weakness or failure.

It doesn’t matter that Zuko was a child at the time, or that there was a huge imbalance of power involved. Most people probably see his scar and make assumptions about his capabilities, and that makes him sad. Zuko is such a compelling mix of vulnerability and strength, but he’s not weak. He never has been.

“Okay,” Zuko says, his hands trembling just slightly. “I trust you.”

Sokka takes his face in his hands, kissing him gently on the forehead. Not satisfied with this degree of intimacy, Zuko seeks out his mouth again, bolder this time. His lips are cold, the sun’s descent having caused his body temperature to plummet. That’s alright though. Sokka will warm him up.

He finishes unfastening his robes, revealing inch upon inch of smooth, pale skin. Unable to help himself, he follows the movement with his mouth, kissing down Zuko’s neck and over the ridge of his shoulder. He smells musky and warm, like a banked fire, and his little noises are just delightful.

Finally, they’re both bared completely to each other, not a stitch of fabric between them. It’s obvious how much they both want this, their cocks red and flushed with desire and their breath trembling in the air between them. Sokka touches Zuko’s cheekbone, tender and wondering, and he turns his face against his hand, his eyes fluttering closed.

“Do you want… the window seat?” he says, stumbling over his words.

Zuko nods, and they make their way there, half in a daze. He instructs him to lie back, settling over him like a blanket. His head is tipped back, exposing the long line of his throat, and the surrender of it is all too much.

He kisses down his chest and stomach, pausing to lick and suck at his nipples. He coaxes them into stiff peaks, enjoying the sounds it pulls from his throat. So low, so sweet, raspy in that way that drives him wild. It’s not quite the fever pitch of desire he always imagined, but they’ll get there. He’s going to take Zuko apart by the end of the night.

He bites softly at his hipbones, looking up at him through his lashes. It draws a soft whine from him, which surprises both of them. Zuko immediately looks embarrassed, but Sokka couldn’t be more pleased.

“You’re lovely,” he says, pressing kisses to the hard planes of stomach. “You know that?”

Immediately, he’s met with denial.

“I’m not,” Zuko says, looking away. “You don’t have to pretend, I know I’m not much to look at.”

Sokka kneels up over him, taking his face in his hands and kissing him soundly on the mouth.

“You’re gorgeous,” he insists, his gaze steady and true. “I’ve wanted you since the moment I laid eyes on you.”

“That’s so cheesy,” Zuko says, but his voice is shaking and his cheeks are red. Sokka wants to pull on that thread until he’s a panting, whining mess, but he did promise to blow him. Later, then.

He presses a final kiss to his mouth and then settles in between his legs, his hands spreading him open further. Now that he’s here, he feels a sudden oncoming of nerves. His sexual experience thus far has amounted to a few rushed hand jobs and feeling a girl up over her clothes. For all he talks a big game, he doesn’t actually have much more of an idea of what he’s doing than Zuko does.

Focus, he tells himself sternly, even though it’s rather difficult with another man’s dick tantalisingly close to his mouth. He tries to recall what he can from Katara‘s romance novels, but his brain is short circuiting. Zuko’s warm, musky scent is everywhere, filling his nostrils and making it difficult to think.

Eventually, he decides to just go for it. He might end up taking a hit to his dignity, but getting Zuko to come will be worth it.

He takes him in hand, beginning to stroke him steadily. This part he’s familiar with, from his own solo activities and his limited experience with others. Zuko feels perfect in his hand, and it’s not just the love chemicals saying it.

“Oh,” Zuko says. “Oh Sokka, that’s- mmm.”

He isn’t even really doing anything, not yet, but he remembers how electrifying it felt to feel someone else’s hand on him for the first time.

“Does it feel good?” he asks, even though he knows the answer already.

Zuko nods, his eyes closed and his head flung back.

Abruptly, he realises he has the crown Prince of the Fire Nation completely at his mercy. It goes to his head, just a little. Okay, more than a little. It also goes to his cock, which is trapped between his stomach and the window seat.

Oh, the things he could with a jar of oil and half an hour to spare. As soon as he gets a chance he’s going to get his hands on some, because if this is Zuko’s reaction to a hand job he can’t wait to see how he’ll react when he finally gets inside him.

Unable to stall any longer, he dips his head, pressing his lips to Zuko’s cock. It’s one of the few parts of his body that’s still warm, flushed with blood and standing to attention quite admirably. He presses more kisses there, slow and possessive, his lips soon growing shiny with precome.

Zuko’s moans grow louder. Emboldened, he licks him from root to tip, a subtle tease. His cock aches and his mouth is watering, and he’s edging himself just as much as he’s teasing Zuko, but it’s worth it to see him fall apart beneath him.

He feels Zuko’s stomach tighten and pulls back just in time. His hips jackknife up and he gasps, teetering just on the edge of orgasm but not falling over it, not yet. Sokka keeps him there, stroking his thighs as he trembles. He’s so, so red.

“Gorgeous,” he repeats, watching as a bead of precome wells from the head of his cock.

Zuko doesn’t have the wherewithal to protest the compliment this time. He lies there shivering, his eyes slightly clouded. Sokka thinks nothing of it at first, assuming he’s just dopey with sex hormones.

Once he’s no longer afraid that Zuko will come too soon, he takes him in his hand once more, lowering his mouth with more confidence now. He licks, sucks, and basically does everything else but take him into his mouth. Zuko writhes beneath him, hard and desperate, his little whines getting louder and louder.

He brings him to the edge a few more times, driving him to greater and greater heights of desperation each time. It’s easy, and more than that, it’s fun. It’s the same feeling he gets when he’s tinkering away on one of his designs, just with more erections.

Zuko’s reactions grow more and more docile each time, until he doesn’t even protest when he isn’t allowed to come. He seems to trust Sokka to make that decision for him.

Finally, he can no longer handle the suspense. He aches to chase his own pleasure, but he has to get Zuko off first. Pressing a final kiss to his cock, he takes him into his mouth.

Zuko’s reaction is immediate. He tenses up like a live wire, his hips snapping up. Sokka has just enough wherewithal to shove an arm between them before he chokes on his cock.

“Oh,” Zuko says, finally regaining the ability to speak. “Oh, Agni Sokka, I’m so close, I’m-“

He sobs, his hips grinding impotently against him.

Pulling off with a wet pop, Sokka brings his mouth close to his ear.

“Come.”

It shouldn’t work. It shouldn’t, but Zuko is breaking apart beneath him, painting his own stomach and chest with white. He touches him almost reverently, easing him through it.

Zuko sighs, the strength completely drained from his muscles. It’s easy for Sokka to move him into position, easy to chase his own orgasm between the soft plush of his thighs.

“Lovely,” he says, pressing kisses to every inch of skin he can reach. “Gorgeous. So good for me. You were wonderful, Zuko.”

Silent tears begin to make their way down Zuko’s cheeks. He lies there like a doll flung to the ground by a child having a tantrum, not moving or speaking. Sokka wonders if he should be worried, but he can feel him getting hard again, so he must be enjoying this on some level.

Zuko comes way before he does, almost embarrassingly soon, shaking apart in complete silence. It’s an incredibly vulnerable and beautiful thing to witness, but it’s also terrifying.

“Look at you,” he says, stroking his thumb across his bottom lip. “You’re so good for me, letting me take care of you like this. My perfect, darling boy.”

Zuko opens his mouth, trying to say something, but he can’t seem to get the words out. That’s okay though. Sokka understands.

“I know,” he says, pressing a kiss to his knee. “I love you too.”

More tears make their way down Zuko’s cheeks at that. He may not be able to move or speak right now, but his feelings are clear.

His orgasm catches him by surprise, barrelling through him like a runaway cart. He has just enough wherewithal to pull out, coming all over Zuko’s softened cock. He’s not sure why he does it, but it satisfies something deep inside him. Some of it even drips down, pooling in the dip between his cheeks.

Afterwards, he kneels there for a long while, feeling like he just got hit by a freight train. His head is ringing and he’s still riding the high of having Zuko completely at his mercy, his body buzzing with adrenaline. That was the most intense orgasm of his life.

Zuko still hasn’t recovered, his eyes vacant and his body limp. His shivers have subsided, leaving him almost preternaturally still.

It’s at that point he realises that he royally fucked up.

He tries to stay calm, but his heart has plummeted into his boots. This isn’t normal, this stillness. Zuko is breathing far too slowly, his eyes staring at the ceiling without really seeing it.

The self-loathing he feels in that moment is like nothing he’s ever felt before. All of a sudden he’s the worst person in the world. He kept going when Zuko couldn’t offer verbal consent, pushing him beyond what he could handle.

Something breaks in him in that moment. He cries, the weight of his misdemeanours crashing down on him. He should… he should find Uncle Iroh. Confess. It’s only right to give him the opportunity to kill him himself, for besmirching his nephew’s honour so completely.

The only thing that stops him from walking back to the ryokan with his tail between his legs is that Zuko still needs his help. He’s probably cold, even though he isn’t showing any outward signs of it. If he could, he would wrap him up in a blanket, but all he has are wet clothes.

Somewhere in the depths of his despair, he realises that they’re both rather sticky and disgusting, so he gets to work cleaning the bodily fluids from their skin. Zuko just lies there, letting him do what he wants to him. He’s crying so much that he’s getting tears all over him, but he can’t stop.

He doesn’t notice the touch on his arm at first, his misery too complete for him to feel it. He also doesn’t notice the cloth being removed from his hand, or the sound of Zuko talking to him. It isn’t until Zuko draws his head down to rest on his shoulder that he even registers his presence at all.

A hand is stroking through his hair, far more gently than he deserves. More tears squeeze their way out of his closed eyelids, which just makes him even more furious at himself. He’s supposed to be taking care of Zuko, not the other way around. He can’t even get that right.

Eventually, sounds start to come back to him and he realises that Zuko is singing to him. His voice is raspy and sweet, washing over him in waves. It seems to be some sort of Fire Nation lullaby about a prince defeating a dragon.

“Why?” he says, too exhausted to offer much of a protest.

“Why what?” Zuko says, his fingers still combing through his hair.

“Why are you being so nice to me? I hurt you.”

Zuko’s hand stills against his scalp. Selfishly, he can’t help missing the gentle stroking sensation.

“Sokka,” he says carefully. “What do you think happened earlier?”

His face burns with shame as he recalls his own depravity. What sort of monster treats someone they care about like that? He’s no better than Zuko’s own father.

“I raped you,” he says, shaking with silent sobs. “You couldn’t talk, and I kept going anyway. I kept going, oh fuck, I’m a monster-“

“Nonsense,” Zuko says, as if the very idea of it is ludicrous. “You didn’t do anything I didn’t want.”

Sokka wants to believe him, he really does, but he can’t help thinking that Zuko’s been conditioned to this. Maybe having his boundaries ignored for so long really has made him blind to his own abuse.

“I can hear you thinking,” Zuko says, tapping him gently on the forehead.

He makes a discontented noise, burying his face even deeper into the gap between his neck and shoulder.

“The rain’s stopped,” Zuko points out. “We should probably go back to the ryokan.”

The ryokan. Where Uncle Iroh is. Sokka feels the blood in his veins turn to ice as he imagines having to face him after this.

Eventually, Zuko manages to bully him into his robes, which he dried for him using a handy little firebending trick. By the time the last of the fastenings have been done up, he’s feeling a lot more rational. He realises he might have been a touch dramatic when he thought about asking Uncle Iroh to kill him earlier.

He makes his way towards the door, looking forward to getting to eat a proper meal. The last thing he had was ice cream, and that was ages ago.

“Wait,” Zuko says, stopping him in his tracks. “One last thing.”

He turns around to see him holding a dagger. A long, thin dagger that looks like it would fit quite cleanly between two of his ribs.

He swallows, feeling suddenly queasy. He should have known Zuko would change his mind. He’s wronged him in so many ways- this is just the latest in an escalating series of incidents.

At least he got to have one night with him before he died, tainted though it was. Maybe if there is some sort of spirit world, he’ll get to keep those memories when he goes there.

“Will you cut my hair?”

Chapter Text

They walk back to the ryokan hand in hand, because they can, and because they both need the emotional support. Zuko is freshly bald, his naked head hidden beneath his knitted hat. Sokka hasn’t had a chance to shave it down to the skin, the right tools not having been available to him at the time, but the lack of hair is still startling.

It’s almost as if he’s been reborn, the shackles of his past finally removed. His gaze is steady and true, his shoulders relaxed in a way they never were before. He moves through the world with a confidence that seems natural rather than forced, no longer desperately trying to prove himself to a father that never cared for him.

Sokka knows better than to think that his trauma is cured, but this Zuko is more sure of himself than the one that entered the gazebo all those hours ago. He’s been forged in the fires of Sokka’s love, his body melted down to its base parts, all of his impurities stripped away. Far from making him weak and dependent, his moment of submission has only made him stronger, giving him the nourishment he needs to face his enemies head on.

Still, there’s a lingering tenderness between them, an ache that he can’t quite define. He feels a little raw, a little scraped up, and he knows Zuko does too. He knows how it feels to have him at his mercy now, to let the hungry thing inside him out. It scares him a little, because as much as he doesn’t want to admit it, it felt good. He knows it felt good for Zuko too, to submit so openly to him, to let himself be used in such an obvious way.

As they walk down the street hand in hand, the night air cool around them, a few people smile to see a young couple enjoying an evening stroll. It makes the whole thing feel strangely normal, as if they really are just two average teenagers on a date and not a banished prince and a chieftain’s son. Maybe in another life, they could have done things like this without every action being heavy with meaning, but right now that concept is so alien as to be almost bizarre.

Eventually, they reach the ornate gardens surrounding the ryokan, the grass wet with dew and the trees heavy with rain. Sokka takes a deep breath, preparing himself to take this final step into the unknown. He doesn’t know what sort of reception they’re going to receive once the truth is out, but he knows that with Zuko at his side, he can handle anything.

“Ready?” he asks, his hand on the door.

Zuko nods, his golden eyes blazing with determination. “Ready.”

Inside, they find the crew arranged around a low table, dishes of succulent meat and fragrant rice piled high on top of it. Uncle Iroh is pouring tea into a porcelain cup, as if he’d been anticipating their arrival and somehow knew to expect them around this time.

“There you are,” he says, his eyes twinkling merrily. “We were wondering when you’d be back.”

He knows, Sokka thinks, and instantly wants to die. He sees the way his eyes linger on their clasped hands, a smile splitting his face almost in two. He’s been planning this from the very beginning, gently nudging them towards each other in ways that were just subtle enough for Zuko not to notice. Sokka envies him his obliviousness.

“Um,” he says, slowly turning red. “We went… fishing.”

Lieutenant Jee snorts, his arms crossed over his chest. “That’s what they’re calling it these days, is it?”

Sokka tugs at the collar of his robes, feeling a little warm. He hopes it’s not too obvious that he’s starting to sweat bullets.

“I don’t get it,” Zuko says, looking genuinely lost.

“Trust me,” Sokka says, fighting the urge to throw up. “You really don’t want to.”

Kuzon is looking far too amused and Nezuko has an expression on her face that can only be described as pure glee, which just makes his embarrassment worse. The entire crew knows what they got up to in that gazebo, barring some of the more sordid details. They know enough, at least, to be able to tell that they’re now an official item.

“Come, sit,” Uncle Iroh says, gesturing to the meal that’s been prepared for them. “I’m sure you boys are hungry after your adventure.”

Lieutenant Jee snorts again, which just makes Sokka go even redder. “Yes, I hear “fishing” is quite taxing when you don’t have a rod or even a hook at your disposal.”

Sokka looks desperately at the closed door. If he made a run for it, he could probably escape and be halfway to the nearest Earth Kingdom port before anyone had half a mind to follow him.

“Have mercy on the boy, Lieutenant,” Uncle Iroh says, chuckling to himself. “I would like him to at least survive long enough to make an honest man of my nephew.”

“I am honest,” Zuko mutters, but the words are lost among the laughter and ribald comments of the crew.

Eventually, Sokka’s embarrassment fades away, giving way to genuine gratitude and warmth. The conversation drifts towards more banal topics, but the gentle camaraderie remains the same.

Once their bowls are empty, Zuko sits up straight, something determined in his eyes.

“I have something to say,” he says, his voice quiet but carrying a certain weight. Instantly, the chatter around them falls silent.

Zuko looks at each of the crew members in turn, giving each glance equal weight. It’s such a startling contrast to the way he used to carry himself before that no-one can quite believe it.

“A month ago, my father sent me a letter instructing me to use my connection to Sokka to infiltrate the Northern Water Tribe,” he says, his voice clear as a bell. “The consequences for failure are dire, but I will not be complying with his instructions.”

He pauses, seeming to mull something over for a while. The crew waits with bated breath.

“I know I can’t ask you to come with me. What I plan to do is dangerous and would put your lives at risk. I also no longer have the authority to command your loyalty.”

He reaches up, pulling the knitted hat from his head with a flourish. Gasps go up around the room at the sight of his missing phoenix plume, the significance of his baldness not lost on the crew.

“I plan to join the Avatar and help him in his quest to defeat my father,” he says, his voice ringing with conviction. “I know this may make us enemies from now on, but I hope you will at least give me the grace to share this last meal with you before we have to part ways for good.”

Everyone is silent for a few moments, shocked by this revelation. It seems they really hadn’t been expecting this. Briefly, Sokka wonders if he should be worried. He reaches for Boomerang just in case, doing a quick scan of the exits.

It seems his caution isn’t necessary though. One by one, in quite an extraordinary turn of events, the crew begin to pledge their loyalty to Zuko.

“The Avatar, huh?” the cook says, cracking his knuckles. “Well, you’ll need provisions for your journey. I’ll get to work making some.”

“My father may be able to help us with weapons,” Sergeant Murozono says, her expression turning contemplative. “He’s an engineer, so he knows about that sort of thing.”

“Does this mean I get to meet a real life sky bison?” Nezuko says, looking hopeful.

Zuko sits there in stunned silence as more and more people speak up, voicing their support and offering to help in their own unique ways. Even Kuzon joins in, offering to knit everyone matching jumpers. It seems to be said mostly in jest, but his support is still evident.

“Why?” Zuko says, his voice thick. “Why would you help me? I have no honour and no title.”

“Because, Prince Zuko,” Uncle Iroh says, beaming so brightly he’s in danger of setting the tablecloth on fire. “Honour is about more than just material accomplishments, and you have proven to these people that you have more than enough to spare.”

“What he said,” the cook says. “Besides, I never liked the guy. Always seemed a bit shifty to me.”

Lieutenant Jee nods in agreement, his eye lingering on Zuko’s scar with a little too much discernment.

“Thank you,” Zuko says, ducking his head. “All of you. I don’t know how I can ever repay you.”

“Repay us by teaching that bastard a lesson he won’t soon forget,” Nezuko says, her eyes alight with savage glee.

Zuko nods, too overwhelmed to speak. Sokka reaches for his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

There’s still no guarantee that they’re going to be able to pull this off, but at least they have friends and family to help them out. And maybe, just maybe, they’ll be able to convince a few other people to lend them a hand as well.

That night, after all of the firebenders have gone to sleep, he reaches for a pencil and his trusty notebook, beginning to draft the beginnings of a letter.

Dear Suki, it begins. I was wondering if I could ask you a favour…