Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Sokka has always loved the ocean. Growing up, surrounded by frozen waves and blinding white snow, he knew nothing besides the cold constantly nipping at his skin, biting away at the tips of his fingers even under all the layered clothes. 

He’d like to say that he has the utmost respect for the weather, learning how to survive in the icy conditions as he has, but now, with the mast’s rope burning the callous on his hands as the storm’s angry wind whips at his burning face, he knows he’s severely underestimated mother nature in his youth. 

The fisherman’s boat bucks under the rising waves like a wild beast, rain pelting onto the frail wooden deck unrelentingly, soaking Sokka’s thin shoes in the puddle forming underneath them. He could barely hear the fisherman yelling at him with the ocean roaring in his ears. It might not have been at Sokka at all, maybe the old man’s shout was directed at the sky instead, asking for them to see another sunrise. It’s not like Sokka would’ve been able to help with his wishes; he wasn’t a bender after all, and all he was capable of doing was cling onto the boat, praying his grip wouldn’t slip. 

“We have to get out of here!” he yells over the wind. The wood underneath his hands was growing soggy, and the fear of falling right into the awaiting maws of the ocean closer. 

“Smart, boy!” a hand wraps around his forearm, barely noticeable with rainfall bombarding his every nerve, although still making his grip loosen for a split, heart-stopping second. Sokka turns to glare at the fisherman, but can hardly make out any features at all with the unwavering storm turning everything gray. “And how in the spirit’s name are you going to get us out of here?” 

Thunder rolls across the black, furious clouds above them as if stuck in its own ocean, and Sokka could feel his heartbeat climb up his throat, because he didn’t know. Sokka didn’t know how to get them out of this. He is the plan-guy, and he didn't have a plan.

Land was too far away — not that he would’ve been able to see it anyway. He could barely recognize his own hand in this storm. His boomerang was of no help either; he couldn’t even use it as an umbrella. It was useless. They weren’t going to make it. 

The boat used the exact moment to creak loudly, and even with the screaming storm filling all of his senses, Sokka knew that the old wooden boards wouldn’t carry them for much longer. In response, the mast, which has lost a part of its sail already, creaks beneath his iron grip. Startled, the fisherman lets out a yelp, hugging onto Sokka and the frail, slippery wood. Sokka’s throat closes up as if a string was tied around his voice, blocking him from letting out his own undignifying yell. 

As if the storm was laughing at them, the thunder roared once more, closer than before, and Sokka couldn’t look away from the bright lights dancing up above, knowing– feeling the electricity rise all of the hairs on his skin. Lightning was going to strike the sail, and Sokka would never be able to see Katara, Aang, Momo or Appa again. Oh, what he would give to be on that oversized saddle again, feeling the gentle breeze brush his face instead, or for his sister to throw water at his face. Maybe this could all just be a bad, horrible nightmare if he wished hard enough.

Sokka saw the lights dance their taunting spectacle before he heard the rumbling again, and as if out of his own volition, squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for their boat to be hit and perceive only the rising waves stealing his last breath. 

A light flashed before his eyes, and seconds passed, the boat still creaking under their weight as it did before. Sokka hesitantly opened his eyes again, and in the passing moments where the lighting still ripped across the waves, he could make out a ship right in front of them — much bigger than their flimsy fisherman boat — get hit instead. 

There was a laugh from beside him, “We’re saved! We’re saved! They’ve come to save us!” the fisherman sang. A laugh bubbled up in Sokka’s own lungs, from disbelief or wonder at the glance of the ship, he wasn’t quite sure.

Then, the mast they’d been holding creaked again, and Sokka could feel the wood move underneath his grip, slipping from his fingers as it slowly split at the base, moving with the force of the wind. Sokka fell, the wind dragging him and the fisherman with it, only barely managing to let go of the mast before it fell onto his arm as it crashed onto their watery deck, splashing water everywhere. Just his luck.

The old man’s hand was gripping his tunic as if his life depended on it — it most likely did at this point, with nothing for them to really hold onto. 

“We’re going to die, we are!” the fisherman yowled right into his ear. Both of them were lying on the deck, Sokka digging his fingernails into the soft wood and between the individual planks as the old man dug his bony fingers into his back. It would bruise for sure, but it might not even matter if they don’t make it to the other ship. 

With the rain continuing, it quickly became harder and harder to hold onto the boat. His grip was slippery, and the squishy wood was pooling underneath his fingernails, loosening his grip as his feet slowly came closer towards the dark waves surrounding them. 

“Hold on, boy! I won’t pay you otherwise!” Sokka barely understood a word the fisherman said, before it registered, and a startled laugh was ripped from his lips, “There might not be anyone to pay soon anyway!” he replied. He could taste the ocean’s salt on his tongue, and his cheeks burned with how hard the rain was beating against them, but he had to hold on. He had to.

Suddenly, Something hit them, something big. 

The impact ripped Sokka’s grip away, flinging them onto the other side of the boat as his whole world got tipped sideways. A broken plank dug itself into his ribs, much like the fisherman’s hands which were still around his torso, and Sokka couldn’t hold back the watery cry he let out at the impact. He grits his teeth at the loss of sudden air, barely being able to bite his lip to stop the sob in time — gasping like a fish on land.

There goes one of his ribs, most likely bruised already. Hopefully not broken.

At first, Sokka believed it was a wave which hit them, but quickly disregarded that panicked thought once he noticed the giant wall of metal right in front of them. 

Sokka gasped. They just got hit by a fire nation cruiser. And it’s not stopping.

It’s ripping the deck’s boards apart, albeit slowly, as each thundering wave drags it further towards them. It's destroying their only way of staying afloat, and Sokka knew with a sudden, frightening clarity that they either had to make it onto the ship — the fire nation ship — or not make it at all. 

“Hold on to me, okay?” he yelled towards the fisherman still clinging onto him. The old man nodded back, eyes as wide as the moon and mouth agape as he stared at the ship that just crashed into them, not being able to look at anything else in shock. Sokka understood the feeling, but now wasn’t the time to stand still, they had to move. Now. 

Sokka flung his arm behind his back, gripping his boomerang with such strength he could feel his bones creak under the pressure. The sail’s rope, which Sokka had been holding onto before the storm decided to hit, was broken on one end. It whipped around the air like a snake, ready to strike at any moment. Sokka reached for it, the wind and weight of the fisherman holding onto him trying to drag him back, but he wasn’t giving up now. Hissing as the rope managed to snap across his arm, Sokka dug his teeth into his tongue as he tried once more to reach for it, before finally managing to do so, and pulling the already loosened rope from its knot. Good thing that the fisherman probably wasn’t very good at tying his knots right. 

Their boat groaned, boards snapping apart as the sharp edge of the fire nation’s ship broke away at it like butter, and the fisherman yelped as one plank underneath his leg gave away, dunking his leg into the dark abyss underneath them. 

“Oh please, please,” the old man begged as his fingers dug into Sokka’s ribs- specifically into the one that had taken the brunt of their hit, but Sokka refrained from saying anything. This’d be all over, one way or another, and he wasn’t quite sure which way he’d like more. “Please, spirits, I’ll pay in gold, in gold, if you get us out of here, in gold, you hear?!” 

“Yes, yes, the spirits can hear you loud and clear, obviously!” Sokka rambled back. He had to say something. His throat was growing dry, and his brain was buzzing with adrenalin — his mouth simply wasn’t under his control anymore. They just have to get out of this alive, and if it is accompanied by his frantic backtalk, then so be it. 

Sokka’s trembling fingers tied the sturdy rope around his boomerang as quickly and efficiently as he could, which wasn’t very quick and efficient at all. 

His hands shook incredibly, with the cold biting at his unprotected skin, and rapid heartbeat making it hard to focus. He tried again — he had no other choice but to try again, and again, again — as he failed to wrap it tight enough. A lump was in his throat, and he wasn’t sure anymore if there were tears obscuring his sight, or just the gray rain. 

The planks before Sokka’s sitting feet splintered, and he didn’t even have to look up to see the fire nation’s ship barely before them now. “Focus, Sokka, focus! Focus!” he gabbled at himself, and tried again, slowly wrapping the rain-heavy rope around his boomerang once more, plucking it through the two holes for stability until finally tying a big, strong knot around it — and then one more, just in case. 

Sokka gripped the other end of the rope in his left hand, using it to also hold onto the weak boards at the side as he made to stand up on shaking knees– the fisherman exclaimed in distress, “What are you doing? Are you trying to kill us?! Stop!” but stood up with him, ducking his head behind Sokka’s shoulder. His straw hat had been blown away by the wind a long time ago. 

“I’m trying to save us!” The waves crashed against them, and Sokka could feel the wind trying to grasp onto him to drown him under, but he stood tall– or as tall as he could with the floor underneath their feet splintering as the giant ship grew to be just a few feet away from them, but still hardly protecting them from the ongoing rain. 

He looked up, the makeshift grappling hook digging into the edge of his skin in response to his firm grasp. The deck of the fire nation’s ship was hard to make out, but Sokka knew it was a far throw, nor an easy one, with the angle being almost straight upwards. Heat was brewing underneath his skin, and he wound up his arm as far as he could, spreading his feet apart to put as much momentum into the action as possible. 

This was all or nothing. 

And Sokka threw his boomerang with all his might towards the fire nation’s ship. 

Staring with wide, hopeful eyes, Sokka saw his boomerang disappear in the uncontrolling rain. Changing his grip around the end of the rope to wrap it around his hands and arms a few times, he felt the wood underneath his weight snap before he saw it. The last thing he was able to yell was, “Don’t let go!” before both he and the fisherman were dunked underneath the waves. 

It was cold. So, so cold. But the rushing, unrelenting waves felt like fire thrashing against his every limb. Sokka could feel nothing besides the water all around him, snapping his body left and right as the sturdy rope cut off every tiny bit of circulation in his forearms and hands. He tried to see something– anything, but it was unbelievably dark, besides the thunder lighting up the ocean around him once or twice. 

He didn’t know if he was drowning already, or if his end was just a few seconds away with his senses not being able to figure out what was up or down — was he sinking or swimming? 

Suddenly, his arms felt like they’d been ripped out of their sockets, and the yell Sokka wanted to let out got swallowed by water, and now all he felt was fire- fire.

It was in his lungs. He had to breathe, he needed to breathe, air, he needed air. But the water was bubbling inside his lungs, and every gasping breath he tried to take was only more water, and he was choking, his head was full of cotton, he couldn't breathe– he couldn’t breathe. 

He tried to inhale through his nose– his mother always told him to breathe in from his nose, out his mouth. But there was just more water — burning, freezing, horrible water. 

It burned a hellish sort of way as it followed down his airway, the pressure behind his eyes ever-growing. Sokka wasn’t sure if he was burning or freezing from the inside and outside or if it was all inside his head now. Was this what dying felt like? Denying it until you couldn’t anymore? Head full of damp clouds, blurring his vision as a metal wall was inches from his face, not knowing whether to cough, breathe, or vomit? 

He felt his head ring as it hit metal before he realized he’d been pulled over the railing by a fiery-hot hand gripping the back of his shirt, easily breaking the skin there. He couldn’t feel the blood on his back even if he tried. 

Hands were grabbing him, pulling at his clothes and skin, but all he could make out of them was their unbelievable heat, as if his skin was being branded with every touch. Sokka tried his hardest to struggle against them, even if they were the ones to drag him out from beneath the waves, this felt just as bad as the freezing cold locking his limbs in place. 

He had to be out of the ocean, right? His lungs were seizing in his chest as he tried his hardest to get a breath in, only to be stopped by his own choking. He knew the coughs ripping from his burning — fire, hot, lava-filled — lungs sounded as if he was dying, which Sokka slowly realized he actually might be. 

Sokka’s muddled thoughts finally caught up with the situation, and the burning in his eyes made him rip his eyes open against his will as he felt the tears roll down his numb cheeks. He’s dying — drowning on land– on a fire nation ship, with soldiers glaring down at him, and Zuko standing right above him, with his face unbelievably hard to make out with the tears, rain and sounds — so many, many sounds — around them. They’re probably waiting for him to stop gasping, stop flailing so they can throw him back overboard into the dark, cold, unforgiving waves. 

He didn’t want to die. He didn’t want to die. 

A cry was ripped from his throat, water bubbling up from the edge of his mouth and Sokka could feel the warmed-up liquid roll down his neck, which he was apparently clawing at — sturdy sail rope still around his arms. The sound snapped Zuko into action and Sokka lifted his bound hands up to shield his own face– waiting for him to strike. 

Instead, his hands — warm, agonizing, burning — gripped his shoulders, hauling him onto his stomach, trapping his arms underneath him as his whole body shook under it all. Zuko’s hands were sturdy, sure, as if he’s been trained to do exactly as he was right now, letting Sokka feel the contrast between them; of how shaky and scared Sokka was, and how determined and relentless Zuko was.

Zuko’s hand wrapped around his torso, lifting his upper body up until his chest was higher than his head, still limply laying across the cold, wet metal floor as his coughs burned all across his body with every shudder. 

The hand around his stomach loosened a bit, thinking Sokka would’ve been able to handle his own weight. And he would have, if the shaking wasn’t so bad, if his limbs would cooperate with his floating thoughts, but they weren’t. Zuko held him up with one arm, the other laying still between his shoulder blades. 

Gravity did its job as the water stuck inside his lungs spewed across the deck, mixing with the rain water still hitting against them. Sokka coughed, and coughed, and gagged. Zuko’s grip kept him up, even as Sokka struggled to find the energy to let out more coughs and stuttering inhales. 

Sokka didn’t know how many soldiers were around him, where his boomerang was, if the old fisherman got out as well, or if he even could make it out of this after all. The panic was eating away at him, black spots swishing back and forth in his vision. He gagged again, the force of it making his stomach clench up to his chest, and back down, but he felt Zuko’s hand around him tighten, keeping him upright as he neared to fall again. He wasn’t sure if he was going to survive this.

The hand on his back lifted, before thumping it back onto his shoulder blades painfully a few times. Sokka’s hacking continued and the horrible gasping and burning followed. 

“Calm down. Breathe through your nose, out your mouth.” Zuko’s breath was warm as he spoke, but the anger traveling through Sokka until its burning wrath neared the edge of his numb fingertips was painful at Zuko’s words; because he had tried it already, and how dare he say something his mother would’ve said. How dare he.

Sokka tried to lift his head, tried to catch Zuko’s eyes, but his gaze couldn’t focus on anything, barely even managing to realize the fire nation boots standing in front of his face as the other soldiers surrounded them. Anger and embarrassment were spewing a war inside his head. He wanted Zuko off of him. He wanted him gone. He wanted him so far away he’d never have to see his face, and the red colors, and the fire ever again. He wanted it all to stop. It hurt so bad. 

Everything hurt.  

His eyes, as the tears continued their way off his face, as Zuko kept him upright and still as the painful gasps, coughs and gags threatened on letting him drown, hurt. Sokka buried his freezing and burning face between his bound hands, only somewhat being able to make out Zuko from the corner of his eye, as he sat with one knee tucked against his chest, the other laying on the watery deck, with that disgusting, ugly, red armor on him. Sokka wanted to snarl at him, to fight, but he knew it was no matter, as Zuko thumped his hand across Sokka’s back and his lungs worked against him. 

Sokka felt the rushing inside his ears before he realized the warmth flowing past his throat. Zuko’s determined thumps on his back stopped momentarily as he noticed Sokka puking out his whole stomach, only narrowly avoiding choking on it as well. It was a mix of salty ocean water and whatever he’d eaten beforehand, and absolutely disgusting, with it only being inches away from his face. The smell was putrid, the sour tinge stinging his nose, so he tried to move away.

Zuko pulled him further towards him, towards the warmth he brought as he continued hacking away, desperately trying to get the burning smell out of his system, but Sokka knew as soon as Zuko let him fall onto his side — Sokka’s back facing Zuko — that the worst was over now. 

He let his head reel against the freezing deck, cooling down his burning although numb face. His hands, still bound before his face, were numb, and if Sokka hadn’t been able to see them he’d be sure they wouldn’t have been there in the first place. They didn’t look good. Blue. Like his clothes, like Katara’s. He misses her. But he was tired, so tired. He’d look for her soon if she doesn’t find him first. 

The following coughs, quiet with the now audible murmurs around him, shook his whole body from head to toe as he tried to curl up. But he wasn’t shaking anymore. That must be a good sign, even though the rain is still slapping him in the face like a weak punch, not being able to feel the cold was comforting. 

Sokka closed his eyes. He was okay, it was fine, he made it. 

A hand was hesitantly laid across his forehead. Its heat rendered him useless, and made him feel the stabbing cold in his bones like pins and needles trying to claw at his flesh. Sokka flinched away from it– or tried to. It most likely looked like he just shivered, with how minuscule the flinch was. 

The warm skin gently shifted; from laying across his damp hairline to the top of his eyebrows. Every inch of movement made Sokka’s skin feel like it was on fire. He wasn’t sure if he should lean into the heat or move away from it — he couldn’t do either, so he spewed in the hazy middle of his options. 

“Uncle?” The hand left his skin, and the burning cold that followed made a sob build between his teeth — he was too exhausted to cry, he just hoped no one noticed.

A long, red robe filled his blurry vision, dark spots still swimming in and out of his sight as the person lowered themselve onto their knees right before him, taking his unfeeling forearms into their grasp. 

“Prince Zuko,” the man spoke, hands slightly lowering his bound ones, “bring him inside. He’s not out of danger yet. We have to warm him up, or he won’t make it through the night.” The scoff wanting to pull Sokka’s lips downwards was tempting. But he could hardly manage to keep his eyes open with each blink as is. More thinking, more acting; it’s tiring. And Sokka was dead tired. 

Multiple pairs of hands reached underneath him, each pair as painfully warm as the next, like hot coals digging into his bones. It was disorientating, the constant swaying as his limp body was dragged across the deck, probably to be left alone to brew in a dark cell with heavy chains holding down his already numb hands. 

Sokka met Zuko’s eyes, seeing the hardened expression across his stoney features while getting carried away, maybe never to be seen again. 

A metal door was shut in his face, and Sokka had to blink a couple of times to notice that he wasn’t in a cell; dark, with water dreading to climb up his already drenched shoes. This was a nice looking room — or as nice as it could be on a metal ship of the fire nation. 

Sokka glared at the tapestry hanging on the wall, the symbol of the fire nation big and daunting, even as he chose to hold his head up high in its dooming form. He was going to make it out of here. Even if the bed in which he was flung onto by the two soldiers was kind of soft and smelled somewhat good. He’d imagined it to smell like soot and smoke. He was glad it didn’t, it’d only make his cough worse, which was still fighting to rip out of his lungs. 

It left a warm, fiery taste behind, pulling at his raw throat. It was not comforting to be laying in a fire nation bed, remaining cold nipping at his skin and still drenched clothes. Sokka knew it wasn’t good for him to wear his soaked clothes, but his limbs were as heavy as stone; hardly able to move them under the pressure, so he just let his weight sink into the red covers of the bed he was brought to, enjoying the warmth for as long as he could. 

Sokka’s eyes fell shut before he knew it. Dreaming of the ocean and fire.

Chapter Text

When Sokka was young, and had more reasons to laugh uncontrollably for no other reason than when Katara got a face full of snow because of him, he loved the cold above anything else. Making crooked figures out of snow with Katara, riding on otter penguins until his cheeks hurt from all the smiling was his favorite pastime. 

That was, until he knew what it was like to fall beneath the ice. 

Katara was determined to learn waterbending. Sokka was determined to keep her safe during her little outbursts of frustration, even if they were mostly caused by Sokka. He was sick and tired of watching the same blob of water burst like a popped balloon over and over again. 

It was basically his job to keep his little sister safe, but he never promised she’d be safe from his taunts. 

It wasn’t like Sokka could learn waterbending with her- he was a non-bender. So he’d rather sit at the edge of the icy shore and watch his little sister make a fool of herself by spooking every fish in a ten-mile radius. 

Another blob of water rose onto the sky, shaky, as Katara’s eyebrows furrowed in deep concentration. It popped after a few seconds, like every other one, but Katara’s eyes widened as if it were the first one to break in her care. Katara looked back at him, mouth in a straight line, and all it took was one slow-rising eyebrow on his part for Katara’s frozen face to turn red and stomp her foot on the shore beneath them. 

“Don’t look at me like that!” she nagged, her chubby face red with embarrassment, and Sokka grinned back with his own sly smirk, only angering her further. She stomped her foot once more, “I didn’t say anything at all, Katara! Why are you acting so crazy?” He sat cross-legged on the same big shore a few feet away from her, one elbow balanced on his leg to rest his face in his palm, watching with utmost patience as his little sister threw her fit. 

Katara’s face scrunched up even more, making it hard for Sokka to suppress his giggles, “I’m not crazy, you’re crazy!” she yelled back, and Sokka saw a few otter penguins quickly dive into the ocean to hide from the shrill sound. He wished he could do the same as he noticed one of Katara’s rants coming from a mile away. 

“You’re so mean, do you know that? I’m trying my best, and you’re just making fun of me. You don’t even know what it’s like being the only waterbender here! You’re so ignorant, I don’t like you, I want you to leave me alone!” Katara’s arms angrily swished back and forth during her yelling, forming small waves in the ocean every time, and Sokka stared at its movement, somewhat amazed at seeing his sister actually bend water — even if it was without her full control. 

Maybe if he’d anger her more, she’d see how good she can be at water bending? Apparently, it was linked to her being angry at him. Maybe Katara needed him to bend water, maybe bending could be a two-person ordeal? Sokka wanted to be useful, too, after all.

So he opened his big, unfiltered mouth, “I don’t think you’d be a good water bender, you’d be terrible. You can’t even catch a fish like I can, right? What would your bending help us with? Make ice gloves?” he laughed at his own joke, wiping away at his face. Although, he quickly sat up straight once he heard the quiet sob leave his sister's shaking lips. 

His heartbeat stuttered. He’d gone too far, and Katara was crying because of him. Tears threatened to spill from his own eyes at the sound of her weeping, but he had to be strong for her. He was her big brother after all, that’s what they do. 

Standing up, he spread his arms while taking big, daring steps towards her. He had to fix this as quickly as possible. It was too hard seeing his little sister cry, especially if it was because of him. Hugs fix things. But before he could fully realize what was happening, Katara took a big step back from him, her red nose wrinkled as her big, watery eyes looked at him with the deepest hurt he’d ever seen in them. 

She swung her arms outwards once more, her glare making Sokka stand still in his tracks as she screamed a fierce “Get away from me!” at him. 

The ice cracked between them, and a wave, bigger than the ones she was able to make before, split the frozen water clean apart, making Sokka stumble at the unexpected shift of the floor. He gasped, and Sokka saw Katara’s eyes grow wide, her gloved hands lifting to cover her open mouth in surprise as Sokka took a big, deep breath in his panic before plunging right into the icy waters next to him. 

The only thing he remembered was how confusing everything was. 

It was dark, even though he knew it was daytime, and his limbs locked up in the unbelievable cold as his brain screamed at him to swim up. But… What was up? 

Sokka barely had any time to think about how he was going to get out before a big hand grabbed his heavy jacket in the still waters, hauling him back onto the shore, and with the sun and white snow blinding his eyes. 

He heard himself cough, shivering as the wind suddenly was so much more noticeable, and looked at Katara. She was crying again, the tears rolling down her cheeks pearly clear as she sprung into his arms, burrowing her teary and snotty face next to his ear. Her face was much warmer than the side of his face, or any other part of himself, Sokka noticed. And somewhat frustratingly, Sokka noted how much longer it took for him to reach back around his sister’s back to squeeze her against him, body shaking against him with every sob breaking away from her throat. 

Sokka squeezed his eyes shut, rubbing Katara’s back in what he hoped was comforting as their father picked them both up off the ground and rushed them back home again, letting them both warm up under a dozen blankets and a cozy fire, with both their parents and Gran Gran watching over them. 

It’s one of the nicest memories he has of his family. Even if the dark waves had always kind of scared him since. He told no one. He was the warrior in the South Pole, and being scared of a bit of water was nothing if not disrespectful to his tripe. 

Water is life. Water is part of his tripe; his home. Water is a part of him as much as it is part of his sister. 

But the water could still be unforgivingly cruel — Able to take as much as it gives.

“What is he doing in here?” 

A snarky, loud, mean voice rumbled. 

Sokka’s head was filled with thousand stones, his body still swaying as if carried by the furious waves. 

“Prince Zuko, you ordered to bring him inside as fast as possible, your room is the closest.” 

A gentle, soothing, warm one. It sounded somewhat smug. 

One loud thump, like a stomp. 

Sokka was reminded of Katara, her little temper tantrums at home but Sokka could hear no cracking of the ice. 

“This is my room, you know this as much as everyone else on this ship! Get him out of here, right now!” 

His ears rang under the sudden spike in volume. Shifting, trying to bury his head under something. There was nothing to hide under. The sounds turned quiet anyway. Sokka breathed a sigh of relief, it got stuck halfway out, and all of a sudden Sokka became very aware of his limbs not doing exactly what he wanted them to do. 

Uncoordinated, he hacked away until he managed to catch his breath once more, the first inhale hard to take in as it scraped along the back of his throat, creating a ragged sound. He was tired already, tired of shaking, tired of the uncomfortable heat in the room. But he was also too tired to want it to stop. So he laid there, footsteps approaching him from behind, too tired to care about who it was. He wanted to sleep the haze away again, but it was so strong. He wasn’t sure it’d ever leave him again. 

“Hey, you, Water Tribe,” Sokka blinked, the voice was right behind him. He couldn’t do anything besides blink stupidly at the wall in front of him. His eyes fell shut before he could stop them. 

Something was on his shoulder, rattling him. Rattling the screaming sound of the waves away again, the consuming cold, but then– oh, it was still cold. His teeth were chattering in his mouth even as his jaw was pinned shut due to the bitter breeze, but he couldn’t feel a thing — couldn’t even feel his still bound hands in front of his face, as his shuddering breath ran across the pale, almost blue skin there. The rope around his forearms, hands, fingers was kind of burning him though, he could feel that just fine — not that it was pleasant. He could almost ignore the numb pain in his hands and closed his eyes again. Sleep was beckoning him closer into its sweet, sweet blissful ignorance, anyway. If that hand on his shoulder would stop shaking his whole body, it’d be very nice. 

“Hey! I’m talking to you!” 

There was a split-second of clarity in his head. He didn’t like that voice, he didn’t like the hand on his shoulder; heat pooling underneath the wet tunic clinging onto his freezing but sweaty skin. As soon as the anger appeared, it vanished again, and Sokka was left to gape at how awful it was that not even his body quite knew what was hot or cold. 

His whole world turned for a moment, and Sokka had to blink a couple of times until he realized that the hand on his shoulder has pushed him onto his back, a face staring blankly down at him, but no, no it wasn’t– there was a snarl on the person’s face. Angry. Angry at him? What’d he do? Did he upset Katara again? Where was she? Where was his little sister? 

His mouth opened, feeling the warm air in the room contrast with the cool one seemingly etched into every part of himself. As he stared back at the person above him he wasn’t sure what expression he had on his own face, but he forgot why it was important as he realized that his lips were as dry as the desert. 

“Katara?” 

The blurry face above him scrunched up, and Sokka’s eyes followed the left side of the person’s face with interest, not exactly able to make out the darker blob around their eye. Lips turned down into something that wasn’t quite like a snarl, their grip loosened again, the heat dimming if only just a bit. It didn’t help the fog in his brain, but it made him breathe just a bit easier.

“Who?” They replied, voice so stern it almost didn’t even sound like a question, more like a command. Sokka couldn’t stop his eyes from falling shut again, breath evening out again, even as the person’s burning gaze dug a hole deep into his forehead. 

Rattling, again. Sokka jumped away from his fall into the abyss, eyes pining left and right until they found those golden ones again, pulled into their shine like a lost seaman’s lighthouse. “Who are you talking about?”

“Katara. Katara, m’ sister. Where’s she?” Her name was easy to say. Didn’t they know her? Everyone at home knew her. 

The other growled angrily, dark clouds escaping their clenched teeth as smoke filled Sokka’s lungs. Immediately, the coughing started again, and Sokka could do nothing but shake with the force of every bit of leftover water trying to lodge out of his throat. Behind bleary, tear filled eyes at the buzzing pain, Sokka saw the person take a few steps away. Was he that sick? 

Their one eye was wider than the other, and Sokka curled up on his side, forgetting his thoughts as the pain — cold and hot — pulled at him. Facing the person still looking at him with wide, golden eyes as he hacked away his lungs, Sokka pulled his bound hands up to grasp at his chest, digging into the heavy and wet material of his clothes to try and ease the force of which his chest shook. 

The shriek of metal against metal rang in the air, but Sokka was too numb to feel the  sword’s blade inches away from his arms. He could see it clearly though; the silvery shine reflecting Sokka’s own wide blue eyes, red rimmed and pale — so very unlike him. He almost didn't recognize himself. 

He waited with bated breath for the blade to cut against his dark skin, but as it moved, Sokka didn’t even get nicked by it. 

The rope, which was tightly wrapped around his hands, loosened, and immediately pins and needles followed. Sokka had to bite his lip to keep the sour expression off of his face as feeling and a bit of color returned into his fingertips. 

With the sword still somewhat held up between them, Sokka stared at the curved weapon in wonder. It was beautiful — clean, like it’s hardly been used. 

The person’s grip on the hilt tilted upwards, and Sokka could make out the pale skin of the person before him in the blade’s reflection. They’re brilliant, golden eyes turned to look at the sword’s mirror as well; their gaze meeting there.

By turning their head, Sokka saw the dark, angry red scar right across his left eye — Zuko’s eyes glared sharply right at him. 

His heart sank to his feet, its constant thumping now ever-pressuming as Sokka remembered vividly– The cold, the storm, burning hands; holding him up, pulling him close, up, and away as he glared at the fire nation symbol, holding his head high even as the cold made his feet unable to stand up straight beneath him. 

He was on a fire nation ship. He was on Zuko’s fire nation ship. Zuko was standing right in front of him, with a sword in his hand, and Sokka still couldn’t feel his limbs. 

“Your sister isn’t here,” Zuko sneered, looking down at Sokka from above his nose, and if Sokka had the strength to lift his head with the same ignorance, he would have, “and you’re on my ship.” 

Sokka could feel the exhaustion already swishing around his body like he was a half full bottle of wine, but he glared right back at Zuko, dizziness be damned. 

“I don’t even want to be here. Let me leave.” Sokka should’ve been embarrassed with how gravely and unused his voice sounded — almost drowning would do that to someone — but he chose to ignore it for now, glaring with all his might back at Zuko’s scrunched up face. 

Zuko’s lips twitched up as if he’d been waiting for Sokka to fall right into that exact word trap, dig his claws into it, and not let go again. Sokka could feel icy sweat roll down his back, but it might’ve just been his tunic drying in the sudden humid heat in the room.

“And what? Let you walk right off this ship and into the ocean again?” He leaned closer, sword still dangerously glinting in the candles’ light. Sokka wasn’t sure how he found the weapon beautiful at first, not with Zuko’s dangerous grimace so close to it. “You’re stuck here, unless you want me to drag you right back again.” 

Sokka wanted to stand, yell, grab at Zuko’s face and maybe even steal his majestic dual-swords hanging on the wall, but his body wasn’t working right. His arms itched, red where the thick rope burned into his skin, leaving stark, deep markings in its wake. 

He hated that Zuko could see them, too.

“I can get out of here, no problem.” He wasn’t going to back down, even if Zuko was towering over his still shivering body. Sokka really, really wanted to wipe that irritable  expression off his face, but Zuko knew he had the upper hand — not that Sokka was going to accept it. 

“We’re in the middle of the ocean and without me you wouldn’t even be alive right now.” Sokka knew, by how Zuko's eyes glittered dangerously in the warm, somewhat too comforting flickering of the candles, that he was about to put all his cards on the table, “You owe me,” he whispered, golden gaze flickering between Sokka’s own blue ones, searching for the reaction Sokka was not going to give him. 

Sokka weighed his options to just stand up and punch Zuko in his dumb face. 

They weren’t looking very good at the moment, being stranded on a fire nation ship and all that. His words alone would have to do for now.

“I don’t owe you a thing.” Sokka’s every breath clung onto the back of his sore throat. He tried to swallow the dryness away but his mouth was parched, his lips chapped. It sounded almost insane that he was thinking about ramming Zuko off this stifling ship just to maybe get a bit of water to drink, considering he nearly drowned. “I saved myself. Your giant floating hunk of metal destroyed our boat and you– you wouldn’t even have noticed or cared. I had no other choice but to try to make it up here.” 

The burn in his throat was crawling up to his eyes, and Sokka had to squint to see Zuko’s face turn downward with a sneer. Sokka used his free arm to push his weight up — the strain ripped at his muscles and red-marked skin. The pressure inside his chest made him gasp to retain his breathing. His rib was definitely broken. Still, his eyes never wavered much from Zuko’s own gaze, which followed Sokka’s struggle to sit up silently. 

Not even wasting a second to acknowledge the way his head swam from left to right, Sokka stood up. The prince’s face blurred, focused, and became blurry once more as Sokka tried to figure out how far away Zuko actually stood from him. His legs felt out of reach from his body, possibly lost in the ocean by his pounding head. 

At least Sokka could see the slight bewildered expression pass over the other’s face. Zuko really thought he was going to take everything laying down — literally and figuratively. 

“I don’t owe you,” he repeated, just to emphasize his point, and maybe get it into the prince’s thick skull. His voice still slurred — worse than before, but there was nothing Sokka was going to do about it, not with Zuko’s glare able to explode a thousand suns. 

Zuko took a step forward, shoulders wide as if they could take up the whole room. They just might have. 

But Sokka wasn’t scared of him. He wouldn’t allow it. 

Given how he was gripping onto his sword, the prince believed he looked more threatening with it pointed towards Sokka — but Sokka knew that Zuko wouldn’t have striked him unprovoked. He was all about honor, and all that — killing a sick, unarmed non-bender might’ve just put him in that ‘ helpless ’ category. Though, he knew the Fire Nation was ruthless. Sokka couldn’t put it past Zuko to not hurt him. Still, he stood his ground, head held high. He was still a warrior, and if nothing else remained; he will always be a proud one.  

“Where is the Avatar?”

Ugh.  

“Do you actually– like, actually think I would tell you?” Sokka crossed his arms in front of his Tunic. It stuck to his chest — uncomfortably warm and drenched as water drops fell towards the ground, rolling across his tingling skin. He suppressed the need to cringe at the feeling, but perked up once he saw the almost uncertain look cross over Zuko’s face. 

The sword’s point aimed back towards the floor. Internally, Sokka breathed a sigh of relief. 

Slightly tilting his head to the side, one eyebrow raised, he provoked Zuko to respond. Zuko’s cheeks faintly puffed up in indignation, spluttering, “Well, yes! You’re my prisoner, and you’re going to tell me where the Avatar is hiding!” He swung his sword to the side — it reminded Sokka a bit too much about how Katara swung her arms back and forth, creating tiny ripples in the ocean before accidentally pushing Sokka over the edge. 

He really hoped he wasn’t going to get dunked into the ocean again– or worse; a face full of fire. 

“Are you serious– I’m not your prisoner! I’m here out of my own free volition!” Now it was Sokka’s turn to swish his arms back and forth angrily. The momentum made him stagger a bit, but reacted quickly when one knee shook dangerously under the pressure. He fell backwards onto the red covered bed anyway, bruised ribs pressing harshly into his lung like a steaming knife, making him gasp loudly in the now suddenly way too quiet chamber. By biting his lips, Sokka tried to silence his dreadful attempt at breathing before Zuko could take it as weakness — but it was too late, and Sokka could practically feel Zuko’s eyes burn into his muscles. 

The air was stifling, and not just because Sokka lost his breath. It was the way his ears rang slightly, the way Zuko’s eyes followed the hitch of his shoulders — studying him, pulling him apart inch by inch. 

A laugh, bright and somewhat bitter, flew past Sokka’s lips. 

His eyes burned — from the strain of everything, being lost at sea with the Nation he despised above everything, with the person who won’t stop looking at him with that unreadable expression; it was almost too much. 

Maybe it was the fatigue gnawing at his limbs, the way his eyes teared up with every blink with every hush of air passing by or simply the way his shoes squeaked against the floor with every shift of his weight, but Sokka’s head was quiet. 

There was no plan, no idea, no spark of recognition or sudden burst of energy. It was dull, numb. Sokka didn’t know what to do with no one in his vicinity besides those who would do anything to get what they wanted. 

Would Aang and Katara look for him? 

Were they already out at sea? Were they safe now? 

Did they think he drowned? 

What would Katara think? Or his dad? 

Sharply wiping at his face with both of his hands — they burned, rubbed raw by the rope — Sokka looked back at Zuko. His mouth was set in a straight line, brows faintly furrowed and eyes squinted. 

Sokka laughed again, eyeing the furious red markings wrapped around his forearms, hands and fingers. He knew that it’d have saved his life; stopping him from losing his grip in the water, but now he wondered if it really was better to die at the hands of the Fire Nation prince than to drown at sea. 

“Look, I can’t even be your prisoner ‘cause m’ hands aren’t tied,” cheerily, Sokka stretched the implied, shivering limbs outwards, expecting Zuko to just nod and leave for him to get off on the next stop. 

He didn’t do that, sadly. It was wishful thinking anyway. 

With his lips dipped down into a look that could’ve been described as one of disgust — but didn’t quite check all the marks — Zuko reached behind his back, unclipping a pair of handcuffs, which previously had been left unnoticed by Sokka. 

Eyes wide, Sokka’s heart rammed against his chest. 

He really, really wished he wouldn’t have opened his big, unfiltered mouth again. 

Zuko slid his bowed sword into his belt and sprung forward — almost like a cat; his mind supplied unhelpfully. Minus the hissing — and tried to wrestle Sokka’s batting hands off his face and into the silver shackles as the other kicked at the ugly and sturdy armor around his torso. 

They didn’t fight for long; Sokka was weak, he knew that. Still, in those few seconds, the Water Tribe warrior tried his absolute best in defending himself. Sokka liked to keep out that that was achieved by him screaming, insulting and wiggling around as much as he could, angering Zuko only more, if the snarling huffs were anything to go by. 

With the click of the cuffs, Sokka’s blaring complaints quietened. 

The iron was freezing, and Sokka’s wrists seemed burned to the bone. 

Now he really was trapped. There was no chance for him to swim to land — if that ever even was a possibility. And there was no way out of this ship, now. 

Zuko’s hands still held both cuffs in his hands, the short chain in between them clinking quietly together with the memory of their quick battle, and Sokka hated– despised the uncomfortable warmth radiating off of him, making his already irritated skin itch in their proximity. 

For a split second, Sokka was reminded what it was like being held up by Zuko while his body didn’t function — body quivering and wobbly while Zuko sat sturdy, sure. His hands shook in Zuko’s hold; the chains never stopped announcing the itty-bitty motions with their rattling. Sokka was sure the other could feel it clearly, too. 

Surprisingly, Zuko seemed hesitant when Sokka looked up and off of the daunting feel of his brand new accessories.

But with a blink, it was gone again. 

Zuko snatched the shivering chain into his hand, silencing it. Sokka’s heart beat into his throat — he could feel his pulse behind his wide eyes, blood rushing past his ears as the water, now combined with sweat, rolled down his back in waves. 

If Zuko decided to feed him to the sharks now, he’d be done for. 

“Now you’re my prisoner,” Zuko pulled at the chain, forcing Sokka’s body to jerk up into a sitting position. It did no favor to his already aching and most likely strained shoulders, but Sokka decided to keep his complaints to himself. Being on a Fire Nation ship would certainly be no park in the walk if Sokka wanted to stay alive, and not become completely delirious. 

He knew he was going to get sick soon. Living in the South Pole sadly didn’t keep him from catching any nasty colds or developing a better immune system, but that might’ve just been his unbelievable luck. 

They trudged outside, the freezing rainwater blinding as Zuko towed Sokka behind him by those rusted cuffs. It was quiet besides the whistling of the wind, accompanied by the hollow thumping footsteps trailing behind them. With a quick turn of Sokka’s head, he saw the two Soldiers following their trail, keeping an eye on him in case he did decide he’d rather spend his last moments in the roaring waves. And when Sokka got pulled under deck by Zuko, he barely managed to lift his feet, letting every step drag behind him. 

The short walk they took was exhausting enough already, but his rain-heavy clothes were attempting to drag him into the ground. His shoulders ached with their weight. Sokka kept pushing on anyway, even as his knees threatened to fold underneath him and as every muscle in his body clenched itself tightly together due to the extremely fresh air. 

Zuko only huffed when he caught Sokka’s glazed eyes, pulling him along, carrying some of his weight whenever he stumbled. The soldiers behind him only laughed quietly, but the rain muffled the sound a bit, giving Sokka the chance to block it out.

The first thing Sokka noticed once they made it into the cells was how dark everything was. 

Fortunately, he could still make out his hands in front of him unlike in the storm, but it took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the incredible gloom. Somehow, Sokka was still able to meet Zuko’s eyes as he turned his head back towards him. He couldn’t see what expression Zuko wore, so surely it was like that the other way around, too. 

Sokka stuck his tongue out, giving the prince the best stink eye in history — Just disappointing that no one could appreciate it in the dark. 

“We’re here,” Zuko nodded, completely oblivious to all the excessively foul expressions sent his way. 

A torch was lit. Zuko’s eyes widened. Although, after less than a second, his whole face scrunched up as he discerned Sokka’s grimace. Sokka stood still, eyes wide, and pulled his tongue back in. With Zuko’s nose scrunched up even more at the action, he turned to look towards the guard holding the flame, “Chain him up by the wall.”

Totally worth it.

Both guards took hold of his forearms, squeezing the damaged limbs almost to the bone. It was rather unwelcoming, if you’d asked him. Sokka hated that the thought even came close enough for him to acknowledge it, but he missed Zuko dragging him around the ship — at least he wasn’t forcing him across the deck by his bruised, itching arms. 

“Argh, careful! You have very important cargo on board!” They responded by digging their sharp gloves into his wounds. Sokka, on the other hand, dug his teeth into his tongue to keep his undignifying whimpers to himself. 

Before Sokka could acknowledge it, both guards took their hands off of him, only to fling him into the nearest iron wall by his shoulders. His hands and legs were too uncoordinated for him to save his dignity, so of course, his face met the sturdy and shockingly cold wall first with a loud whump. The abrupt, prickling warmth that was pain ran across his whole body — his eyes teared up from it. 

Slowly, Sokka managed to get his linked hands in front of his chest — pushing gradually to unstick himself from the wall, like the annoying mosquito that’s been squashed. 

The same two hands pressed him back against the wall once more, the side of his face smashing into it, making his eyes roll back and forth — unable to make out what was up or down, left or right. 

In a blink of an eye, the short chain between his hands was connected to an even bigger, sturdier one, and Sokka couldn’t stop himself from gaping at it– he was supposed to survive staying here for however long? He turned away from the wall, gaze getting caught by one of the guards’. 

His eyes flashed dangerously in the lonesome flame in his hand, a smirk playing at the edge of his lips. Sokka swallowed harshly. He really didn’t like this. Even less than he did before. 

“Leave us.” Zuko’s voice brought him back. His tongue felt too big for his mouth, making it hard to swallow the stone nestling inside his throat. The guards bowed, hanging the torch by the iron door, and slammed it shut with more force than possibly necessary. 

With the squeal of the lock, they were alone again. 

Zuko’s form towered over him, brows testily furrowed. Even with their distance it felt imposing as the prince’s shadow, created by the flame behind him, flickered and breathed, casting Sokka in its looming darkness. 

He didn’t say a word, which was weird. Sokka almost got used to him only spewing about ‘the Avatar’, and asking about his whereabouts. But now, with Zuko staring down at his sitting form as Sokka swayed side to side as the cold threatened to make his eyes fall shut; it was unnerving. 

Sokka’s head pitched forward, a twinge in his neck already forming from the uncomfortable pose he was sitting in; a slouched back, with both feet tucked underneath his thighs to somewhat preserve a trace of warmth, and both arms tucked tightly in front of his chest. 

“So…” Sokka started, gaze firmly set on watching the far corner of the room, “You’re jus’ gonna stand there?” 

The cell was unexpectedly spacious. Instead of being one room cut up with many, tiny cells accompanied with bars, it was one giant area. No bars were in sight, but it still was a sight which wasn’t the best. The torch barely reached his wall. It’d have to be ten times brighter to reach the other ones, if the echo of his voice was anything to go by. 

“Is this supposed to be some sort of…” 

There was a tinge of metal on his tongue, Sokka noticed. It tasted bitter– wait, what was he talking about? 

Oh, right! Dark and scary cell; not very nice to sit in.

“–sensory deprivation room?” Sokka’s head lolled to the side, the muscles in his neck and upper back gave a short, sharp throb in their protest, but Sokka had no power to stop his head from rolling around. It was getting harder for him to grasp onto the muscles in his body — It was downright demeaning to admit. Zuko still didn’t utter a single word, not even an exaggerated huff of air. 

He guessed princes were weird like that. 

“Cuz if it is a– a sensory deprivation room, it’s no’a good one. It stinks.” 

It didn’t actually smell that bad in there; like water with the sharp edge of the metal surrounding them. Sokka was just trying to get under Zuko’s skin — an easy job when you learned with Katara as your little sibling. 

Zuko took a step forwards, hands behind his back and his eyes– bright as the flame dancing behind him. The light framed his stance; imposing, wide, sinister, uncertain…–

Uncertain?– “Be quiet.”

Another step, Zuko lowered his head to stare at him beneath his furrowed brow, eyes squinted impossibly together, but the iris’ still just as blazing as before. 

“If you tell me where the Avatar is–” 

Sokka couldn’t resist the sigh puffing past his lips at Zuko’s words.

“– I can let you go.” 

Let him go? As in, let him run free on land, or dumped into the ocean kind of way? 

Sokka didn’t give Zuko a reaction — not even a twitch of his fingertips. He just continued staring back at Zuko with the same vigor the other presented himself with. 

As expected. the prince’s nostrils flared. His lips dipped down again after another beat, and if Sokka wasn’t completely crazed yet, Zuko’s brow was going to twitch– and it did exactly that after another beat. 

Zuko flung his arms outward, hands clenched tightly into fists as they began to steam, like a volcano seconds away from rupturing. 

“Stop with your games and answer me already! You’re wasting my time, you Water Tribe peasant!” 

Sokka rolled his eyes, feigning oblivion towards all the steam rolling off of Zuko’s body in waves. He really had a bad temper. Maybe dunking him in ice would’ve cooled him off. 

“You just told me to ‘be quiet’.” Sokka shrugged. His whole body wobbled with the motion, but it didn’t deter him from sending Zuko his most charming smile yet. He was a prince, after all, “I’m jus’ doing what a royal, like you, ordered a peasant, which is me, by the way, hi, to do.” 

Zuko’s aggravated growls amplified into a roar. He turned, raising his hand up and sliced it through the air, creating a large ripple of fire which dissolved once it slammed into the nearest wall. The wave of heat it caused made Sokka curl his head behind his shackled hands, having no choice but to breathe in the new smell of soot and ash — a smell which followed the Fire Nation every step of the way, and one Sokka would never be able to forget.

Zuko’s torso spun to face him, “I want you to tell me where the Avatar is!” he yelled, sparks flew at the action, deepening some of the new wrinkles which appeared at the prince’s ticked off state. Sokka really didn’t care. He was too far into trying to annoy Zuko to death — not that he would ever offer him a hug to calm down, like he would if it were Katara.

And Zuko was kind of starting to annoy him, too. 

“His name is Aang!” Sokka bent over his shaking hands clenched tightly onto his soaked tunic, “He is the world’s last hope– our last hope at living a peaceful life and keeping those people we love safe from your– your disgusting Nation!” 

The silence after rang deep. The shrill sound of Sokka’s distraught words echoing off of the walls, shaking him up even more as the chains rattled under his quivering form. Sokka blinked away the twinging pain running up from his toes, ending at the drumming headache already forming, pulsing behind his eyes. There wasn’t anything he could do to ease the pain, so disregarding it was the best course of action. He didn’t even want to see Zuko's reaction to his petty little outburst, so Sokka rather glanced down at his bound hands.

“What ‘last hope’ are you talking about, boy?”

At first, Sokka thought he was already starting to hallucinate. But then, Zuko turned his snarling face towards the same direction Sokka heard it originate from. Sokka had to squint his eyes almost shut, but sure enough, he saw a dark silhouetted shift from left to right. 

Zuko only had to flick his hand to make a flame appear. It danced on his palm, softening his harsh features as he took a few steps closer towards the other person in the room. Quietly, chains clinking together could be heard, and then a wet cough bounced off of the inside of the giant cell. A wet sniff, and then Sokka recognized the person. 

“Old Fisherman guy!” Sokka practically leaped into the air, excitement cutting right through his exhaustion as he recognized the large, shaggy white beard and green Earth Tribe clothes, “You’re alive!” 

“Of course I’m alive, you fool,” the old man nagged, face hardly recognizable by the darkness. Sokka saw Zuko roll his eyes, shoulders slumping a bit before he regained his rigid posture. “But you almost got me killed with your boomerang trick, and now you got us imprisoned, too! You’re no good at all. I should’ve left you with your weird avatar friends at the docks.” 

Sokka’s mouth was wide open, ready to catch flies with his big trap at the audacity of the old man’s words. He saved them. If he hadn't used his boomerang as a hook to clamp themselves onto the Fire Nation’s ship, the fisherman wouldn’t even had a chance to complain about it. 

Before Sokka could start the second biggest argument on this ship — first place going to his and Zuko’s fight, plus those that would follow — Zuko beat him to it.

“You saw the Avatar? Tell me where he was.” The flame grew taller for a fraction, excitement and frustration clearly bleeding through his tone. 

“You talking about that bald kid with the arrow on his head, ash prince?” The name didn’t exactly make Zuko very happy, but what ever would’ve? He was the least happy person Sokka has ever laid his eyes on. Pigs would learn how to fly before he’d see the prince of the Fire Nation twitch a smile — or something even worth calling a relaxed expression. 

“Tell me where he’s hiding,” he ordered, voice eerily calm as his face was anything but. 

The old man shrugged lazily, shackles clinking with the movement, “That Avatar kid, whatever you want with him, is not going to save you, prince boy.” Zuko didn’t answer, Sokka didn’t answer. It took the fisherman a few seconds to continue his word spiel. 

“He’s not going to save you, me, any of us. He’s left us a long time ago and would be better off dead than give kids like you hope. Hope makes us stupid, and hope has left us since the war began. It’s not coming back now.” He ended his talk with another sniff, scratching at his beard, looking as unbothered as one could be after insulting the Avatar — Sokka’s friend.  

Sokka’s mouth fell open again. He could hardly believe this guy! He was going to be stuck with this old, pessimistic man for however long, spewing about how hope is lost and the avatar isn’t going to save them when Sokka knew Aang would give anything and more to save the world and bring exactly that hope back. 

The flame in Zuko’s hand flickered, catching Sokka’s attention as the prince took a step closer, eyes never-endingly staring at the fisherman, who started squirming under the unwavering attention. 

“You’re wrong.” 

And now, that really did catch Sokka’s full attention.

“Hope isn’t something that disappears because you’ve given up on it,” Zuko took a deep breath in, flame in hand warming the steel cold look in his eyes, “if you don’t want to lose it, you have to fight for it.” 

His jaw was clenched, free hand just as tense as he let the words ring out. Zuko’s eyes flickered around the room, and the word uncertain popped up inside Sokka’s head again as he saw how the prince shifted his weight from left to right.  

Then Zuko noticed his staring and lifted his shoulders square up, back straight and face cold — shielded. 

It took Sokka a few seconds; the now uncontrollable shaking and quivering nestled inside his bones made his thoughts hard to catch, but then it clicked and Zuko made a tiny, little bit more sense now because–

Sokka understood Zuko. 

Hope was a feeble thing. It could give so much, could make you endure so many horrors for that maybe . And Zuko had a maybe; the maybe of capturing Aang and ‘regaining his honor’ — whatever that meant. Even though Sokka would never want to hurt his friends or family, there was a twinge of understanding now.

Sokka knew what it was like to have nothing besides that maybe giving him the strength to get up in the morning.

Maybe he’ll see his dad again after the war.

Maybe he’ll be a good warrior for his Tribe. 

Maybe his parents will be proud of him. 

And to be honest, Sokka was kind of glad Zuko wasn’t actually a heartless alien carrying out missions for the Fire Nation. 

Sokka shook his head slightly as if to clear the haze that had buried all his thoughts under ten feet of snow. He noticed Zuko watching the action, but didn’t comment, even as Zuko shook the cozy-looking flame from his hand as if it were nothing but an annoying fly buzzing by. 

It was getting really, really cold now. His teeth were clacking together audibly, pressuring Sokka to stick his tongue between the bones to mute the sound. The still wet clothes weren’t doing him any favors, either. Spirits, he should’ve at least pried his soaked socks off of his feet. The numb, pressing cold was climbing up his shins. 

How ironic it would be if Sokka froze to death on a Fire Nation ship. 

Sokka stuck his now pale hands under his armpits. It wasn’t much comfort, but at least the tiniest gust of wind wouldn’t bite into his hands now, too. Just the rest of his body. Oh, Shucks. 

Zuko stood before the only exit in the room, hand already placed on the handle. The muscles by his jaw tensed, unclenched and tensed again. Sokka waited patiently for him to ask about Aang again, but instead, he looked down, taking in a breath, as if preparing himself to speak again, only to stare– stare right into Sokka’s own soul when he looked back up.

“I’ll be back soon.” 

Zuko’s face furrowed, but Sokka couldn’t recognize the expression on his face with all the dark spots dancing before him. It looked like he was cringing — maybe because the tone he used wasn’t the strained, hardened voice he always used. It wasn’t loud, but still straight-forward, like when Katara would care for the scratches on his skin he got during fishing; scolding him with care. 

But Zuko could never speak like that. Nope, this was obviously just a trick of his brain trying to make him feel better in a planless situation, with a bad, very not good fever right around the corner. 

Zuko opened the door, and the shriek of the metal made Sokka wince silently. The prince stepped out, blocking the bit of gray-skied weather outside. 

Sokka looked up, twinge in his neck making his bones creak with their protest, and their eyes met for another second; Zuko’s hand stilled on the door before he send him one last, not as mean-looking snarl and slammed the door shut, taking the bit of sunlight with him. 

He groaned as he stretched his neck and a bone popped under the relief of strain, huddling into himself as soon as that pain at least dissipated, knocking his shuddering knees against his chest, and burying his red-tipped nose into the drenched cloth with both hands pressed between his calves and thighs, trying to keep the cold away, even as the cuffs around his wrists dug their own space into his bones. 

Chains tinkered together, and for a second, Sokka was reminded of the fisherman residing in the cell with him — he wasn’t alone anymore. There was someone else on this ship that wasn’t from the Fire Nation, like him! But then he remembered the look of disdain obscured by his long beard while talking about Aang, and Sokka thought he might as well still be alone. 

‘I really wouldn’t mind some optimism right about now', Sokka thought as hid his eyes behind his thin knees as well, trying to keep all the pesky emotions as far away as the cold.

At least the storm had stopped.