Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Kissing Zuko wasn’t like anything else Sokka had ever experienced. He thought about a book he’d read a few years ago, a book that used to belong to his dad. He didn’t remember the title, but he remembered the narrator talking about how someone couldn’t be a great kisser on their own, how it wasn’t like being super smart or playing guitar; it needed another person. The book was, ultimately, more about loneliness, and the assertion about kissing just a footnote. It had been his dad’s favourite, and Sokka read it one night in a fit of sadness, desperately wanting to connect with him. It hadn’t explained anything, really, not in any way that made sense. He remembered that the narrator had been deeply sad.

His dad had been sad, too, Sokka remembered as he leaned back against the brick wall. The night was cold and dark around him, and everyone else was inside, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to go join them just yet. He was thinking about Zuko, and his father, and that book.

His dad had been dead for years, now. He’d wandered off one night, talking about fixing things, about ending things--not in a serious way, not like he was going to fix anything that mattered, but in the abstract way he talked sometimes. Sokka had been young--maybe fifteen? Sixteen? And Katara was barely older. They’d gotten along fine without him, in the physical and fiscal sense, but Sokka never was quite the same after that. He’d finished secondary school, went to university, then--stopped. Content with the charity shop, content with his flat, content with third-wheeling Katara and Aang; if he couldn’t do anything for his dad, in the end, why try to do anything for himself?

Then Zuko. Then Zuko, and his journals, and his--not hope, exactly--but visions, his quiet strength. Sokka realised, sitting there on the freezing cold dirt, that Zuko had come to represent a lot more to him than just a crush or passing fling. Sokka looked at Zuko and he felt hope.

That night still felt like a terrible dream. They had all ran like hell from the mansion, the remains of the front entrance smouldering behind them--Katara later told them that she’d completely collapsed the balcony, front hall and main staircase. She’d said it quietly, guiltily, knowing that unspoken was the message that many of the people there had died, either drowned or crushed under the brick. Katara hadn’t spoken much at all since the party.

They camped out in one of the crumbling mansions that sat vacant along the avenue, close enough to the destroyed mansion that as they sat in the musty parlour at the front of the house they could watch police vehicles scream back and forth, and later in the night, the ambulances. In the chaos of their exit they forgot the go-bags, and no one was brave--or stupid--enough to try to go back. Katara had burst into tears when she tried to bend the water out of Aang and the boys’ clothes.

“I’m sorry,” she’d sobbed as Aang folded her into a hug, “I try to, and all I can think of is the brick coming down around them.” Her eyes were red-rimmed and haunted as she stared over his shoulder into nothingness.

They were staying in the derelict mansion longer than was strictly safe, exploring all the different nooks and crannies and feeling very much like rabbits tucked in their warren. Sokka had gone late one night and picked up their bags from the mansion grounds, unable to avoid staring at the remains. Some police officers still crawled around debris, but the house itself was empty. The front looked as though a bomb had gone off on the front porch, and the fountain was dry.

They subsisted on the oat bars and crisps Katara had the foresight to pack, but Aang was the only one brave enough to sample from the dusty jars of preserves they found in the root cellar. He proclaimed them tasty and didn’t seem to experience any adverse side effects, but no one else felt like giving the suspicious jellies a try.

“You’re all cowards,” Aang had shrugged, and finished the jar over the course of the day.

Sokka had taken to wandering around the house with Zuko. They didn’t talk about the kiss, nor the party at all, but Sokka had firmly decided that they didn’t need to. There were more things to worry about than his stupid little crush, and in any case, the kiss was just part of the dance. No extra feelings or anything. Sokka still thought about those few seconds more than he reasonably should, but that was between him and his brain worms. Zuko didn’t need to worry about it.

None of them had wanted to sleep alone, though there were enough mildewed bedrooms to accommodate a group three times their size. Instead, Sokka and Aang had run around grabbing armfuls of musty blankets and quilts to bring into the front room, and everyone took a couch or a patch of floor. They could close the large double doors leading into the room and yank shut the ancient brocade curtains shut. But that didn’t mean they slept well.

Sokka certainly didn’t, and it was then that he would commence his nighttime walks. More often than not he would sequester himself in a corner near a patch of moonlight and read one of the thick, dusty books that littered the house until he passed out.

That night, he was in the study. One of the two massive dark wood desks was stuffed with old journals filled with spiky script detailing complicated diagrams, alternated with notes about menial tasks related to maintaining the mansion--someone had loved the derelict building a lot, many years ago. Sokka had found the treasure trove last night, and was excited to continue reading as sleep continued to elude him.

Sokka cracked open a thin glass window above the desk before settling into the dusty velvet of the desk chair, then yanked a matchbook out of his jeans pocket to light a few stubby candles he’d collected from around the house. He paused, considering, then took the pack of cigarettes tucked into his shirt pocket to light one. Sokka wasn’t necessarily proud of his smoking habit, but living in a derelict old mansion was stressful enough without denying himself a few simple pleasures.

“What are you doing?” rasped a voice from behind him, and Sokka coughed and hacked in surprise, having just taken a deep drag before being startled so completely.

“Hi, Zuko.” Sokka squinted through the darkness at the man standing in the doorway and absentmindedly tapped the excess ash onto the warped floorboards.

“I didn’t realize you smoked,” Zuko said as he approached Sokka, sitting down on the wooden stool that was set next to the desk (Sokka often put his feet up while attempting to decipher the journals).

Sokka looked guiltily at the offending roll of tobacco. “Bad habit, but yeah. We all have our little picadillos.”

Zuko rolled his eyes and reached out, beckoning for Sokka to hand him a cigarette. They sat in silence, watching the smoke curl through the shafts of moonlight that broke up the hazy candle-lit darkness of the study.

“It’s almost December,” Zuko said suddenly through the smoke. It was--fall was slowly bleeding into winter as they all hid in limbo in the mansion. Every day, new cracks in the walls and ceilings were discovered as rain beat down all around them; the ever-present dampness threatened to sink into Sokka’s bones and linger there forever.

“Yeah.” Sokka looked out the window, where rain lashed against the glass. Some had come through the opening and was pooling in the centre of the windowsill, dripping onto the desk. “We can’t stay here much longer. The police have been working their way through each mansion.” Every day, Sokka could sit up in the attic and peer through the tiny window at the policemen that crawled like ants around the surrounding mansions.

Zuko scooted the stool until he could lean against the desk. “Suppose it’s only inevitable that they’ll end up here. Can’t hide in the basement or anything, can we?”

Sokka snorted. “Definitely not.”

“Well, that’s too bad.” Zuko said airily, then paused to take a drag. “What’re you reading?”

Sokka looked down at the journal sitting in his lap. “One of the previous owners left this desk full of notebooks and the like. I’ve been digging through them. Can’t really make heads or tails of any of it, though.”

Zuko stuck the cigarette between his teeth and gestured for Sokka to hand him the journal. “Give it here.” Sokka handed him the notes without comment, and watched the candles flicker intensely as Zuko flipped through the water-damaged pages.

“They were studying bending,” Zuko said finally, just as Sokka’s eyelids were beginning to droop.

“What?” Sokka shook himself and leaned forward, peering at the script. “I must have missed that.”

Zuko nodded, tracing his finger over the lines of text. “It’s really old … probably from around 1950. So this was all written at least a century ago. Maybe more.” He flipped the book around, pointing at one block of text in the middle of one page. “I don’t know if they were a bender themselves, but they knew someone who was a … waterbender, I think.” He snapped the book shut at the expression on Sokka’s face. “Did you really not know?”

Sokka shook his head. “I don’t think she even knew. You remember how she reacted when you asked her about waterbenders in our family--she looked just as confused as I felt.”

“Maybe it was for the best she never knew.” Zuko said slowly. “With the raids and all.”

“The raids …” Sokka echoed, staring at the porcelain bowl he’d shoved in the far corner earlier to catch the water drips. He sat up suddenly, eyes wide. His mum’s death … the firebenders must have been looking for Katara, following rumours about potential waterbenders. And their mother had taken the fall. He suddenly felt very ill, and stubbed his cigarette out on the side of the wooden desk.

Zuko was staring at him piercingly, one hand holding the journal and the other resting on the desk. He really was sitting very close, Sokka observed, and sunk back into his chair to increase the distance between them. Sokka really couldn’t trust himself around Zuko. Not since the kiss, memories of which filled his head every time he did manage to sleep--Zuko’s smell, Zuko’s lips, Zuko’s hands.

Sokka cleared his throat. “Is there anything in there about learning how to waterbend?”

“Maybe. I just skimmed it.” Zuko hadn’t stopped making strong eye contact with Sokka, and as a result Sokka was starting to feel very warm despite the freezing temperature in the study. Zuko leaned forward a bit, and Sokka leaned back, pushing himself further into the thick plush of the chair. Zuko looked hurt for a moment, then resigned, then slipped back to his usual impassive mask. Sokka tried not to feel too disappointed.

“Maybe Katara could learn from it,” Sokka offered.

Zuko’s eyebrows lifted towards his hairline. “Maybe,” he said, considering the idea. “Yeah, that might work. I’ll read through it. I can probably teach her.” His eyes shimmered even in the dim light from the candles, making him look distinctly other, more so than even when Sokka had seen him under the light from the glowing fountain.

“I could teach her,” Sokka decided to say instead, sounding more miffed than he intended.

Zuko was already shaking his head before Sokka finished his sentence. “No, I’d be better for it. Cause firebending is actually quite similar to waterbending.” He returned to the journal and flipped through a few more pages, not seeming to have fully processed what he’d just said.

“Firebending? What do you know about firebending?” Sokka asked incredulously.

“Oh, erm, just what my uncle’s told me.” Zuko looked very pale and ghostly all of a sudden. “White Lotus had a lot of firebender contacts--I have … notes and the like about it.” He seemed to be scrambling to find the right words.

“Right,” said Sokka suspiciously. He didn’t really think Zuko was a firebender--it certainly would have come up already if he were. It was just the principle of the thing--against his will, the image of Katara gasping and crying into Aang’s shoulder played against his eyelids. He looked at Zuko and the sharp angles of his face, thought about the intensity with which he did everything--

“Just be nice to her,” he said finally.

Zuko looked at him, noticed the tension in the way Sokka’s lips were pressed together. “Of course I will.”

“Right. Good. Well,” Sokka made a great show of yawning widely, “I should be off to bed. Big day of wandering this stupid drafty pile of bricks tomorrow.” He stood up, ruffling Zuko’s hair in a casual, hanging-out-with-my-mate kind of way on his way to the door. “G’night.”

“... night,” Zuko said quietly, then shifted over to the plush chair Sokka had abandoned. He seemed to be settling in for a night of studying the ancient journals.

Sokka made his way back to the parlour, skipping the steps he knew to be extra creaky. Katara and Aang had taken one of the large couches with the least amount of grey stuffing oozing out of it. Katara lay half on top of Aang, tucked between him and the back of the couch; Aang had one arm lazily curled around her while the other dangled off the couch. They were both surrounded by a halo of pillows, Aang’s face smushed indelicately into one terrifically ugly paisley-patterned throw. They both looked disgustingly at peace--despite the chaos and relative uncertainty of their current circumstances, they still had each other.

Sokka watched them for a few seconds, then turned to curl up on the other smaller loveseat with a duvet that refused to lose its damp smell. He didn’t expect to be able to sleep, but pretending to in the parlour was better than sitting awake in the dark with Zuko. Dimly, Sokka became aware of the sound of steps creaking above him. His eyes finally drifted shut as he watched Zuko enter the parlour, gently shutting the large door behind him.

***

Sokka woke up to the feeling of being heavy and warm. An odd feeling, because he primarily associated being in the drafty mansion with being perpetually cold and damp, but as he slowly drifted up from a haze of grogginess he knew he was very much warm and comfortable.

Sokka took a moment to process his surroundings. Loveseat, yes. Duvet, yes. But the weight--? The warmth? He blinked and tried to shift around. Couldn’t move. Heard a soft groan from somewhere above him. Sokka checked all these observations off like hit points on a list, all pointing towards the conclusion that--and here he turned his head slightly to confirm--Zuko was laying with him on the loveseat, half on top of Sokka and half shoved against the back of the couch. Sokka realised uncomfortably that they were mirroring the exact position Aang and Katara had been in the night before.

He wriggled in annoyance beneath Zuko, helpless beneath the man’s dead weight. Zuko shifted in response, but distinctly not in the way Sokka had wanted him to--instead, he lazily wrapped one arm around Sokka’s waist and tugged them closer together. If Sokka were a cartoon character, he was pretty sure he’d have steam pouring out of his ears.

Zuko sighed into the nape of Sokka’s neck, sending shivers down his spine. Bad, bad, bad, bad, bad. Sokka cast his eyes around desperately for an escape, noting with some relief that Katara and Aang still appeared to be dead to the world, a tangle of limbs and snoring mouths.

“Zuko,” he hissed, seeing no other option. “Wake up.”

Zuko muttered something unintelligible but otherwise didn’t react, his hand fisting in the soft cotton of Sokka’s shirt, knuckles brushing against bare skin.

“Zuko! Up!” Sokka punctuated his words with a sharp elbow into Zuko’s side.

It certainly did the trick--if by doing the trick Sokka intended for Zuko to flail awake dramatically and shove Sokka off the loveseat entirely. As Sokka lay on the cold floor, he couldn’t help but mourn the abrupt loss of warmth, and pointedly ignored the tingly feeling that lingered from where Zuko’s hand had been. The mourning period did not last long, however, and Sokka quickly sprang up to interrogate Zuko, who was sleepily tangled in the duvet, looking seconds from dozing off again.

“Care to explain?” Sokka whispered, hoping his face wasn’t as red as it felt.

“No more available couches.” Zuko mumbled into the duvet. Which was gross, because the duvet was very much very old and very nasty. “’n it was cold. Figured you wouldn’t mind.” He yawned and stretched his arms almost indecently, then dropped back against the cushions. Sokka had spent enough time with Zuko to know that the man’s stoic facade completely slipped in the first few minutes of the morning, but there was something extra disconcerting about his general softness in that moment.

“I hate you so, so much,” Sokka said, half to himself. “We are never speaking of this again.”

Zuko shrugged from his pile of musty linens. “Suit yourself.”

Sokka sent him a glare of what he hoped was epic proportions but probably just looked more petulant than anything else. Whatever. Nothing wrong with a little platonic cuddling for warmth between mates. He stood up and, pointedly ignoring Zuko, made his way to the kitchen to forage for breakfast.

“Sokka and I made a discovery,” Zuko announced later that morning as they all sat around one corner of the massive wood table in the crumbling dining room. He had dark purple marks under his eyes as though someone had gone to him in the night and pressed their thumbs there until it bruised. Sokka wasn’t sure how long Zuko had actually slept with--erm, adjacent to--Sokka the night before.

Katara looked up suspiciously from her oat bar. “Yeah?” She offered no hint at having witnessed Sokka and Zuko’s cuddle pile. Thank fuck.

Zuko took her hesitant words as confirmation to continue, dropping the large journal from the night before on the worn tabletop. “One of the previous residents studied bending. I think I could teach you.”

Silence filled the cavernous space. Katara had grown very pale. She hadn’t attempted to try waterbending since the night of the party, and no one had dared to bring it up til now. “I don’t know if that’s the best idea.”

“No, it’s alright, we’ll start small.” Zuko leaned forward, an inspired gleam in his eyes. This was the most animated Sokka had seen him in ages. “It’s just been raining--we can go outside and you can try creating ripples in puddles or something. See--” and he flipped to a page in the journal filled with drawings of the moon in various phases, “--waterbenders learned from the moon, back in the day. So making waves is one of the most intuitive parts of bending.”

Katara seemed lost in thought, her eyes shiny and distant.

“I have all the notes right here, Katara,” Zuko pressed, “There are entire lessons and sequences written out. And I have some knowledge of firebending forms, too, plus you’re clearly a very powerful bender--you’ll learn quickly.”

Aang had laid a protective hand on Katara’s arm. “Zuko, I don’t know if that’s the best--”

“Aang, I can handle myself,” Katara snapped suddenly, jerking her arm away from him. “Will my learning waterbending help us against the firebenders?”

Zuko blinked. “Yeah, I suppose so.”

“Brilliant.” Katara took a deep breath. “Then I want to learn.” Her eyes were hard and determined. “They’re going to pay for what they did to my mum.”

***

Sokka and Aang sat on the sagging back porch, watching Zuko and Katara stand around a large puddle that had collected a few metres away in the roots of a large, gnarled tree. Katara’s face was twisted in concentration as Zuko dictated to her from the journal.

“I know it's midday now, but the moon is still out--it’s halfway waned, now. Imagine it in front of you and feel the tug in your core.” He paused and watched Katara’s squinted eyes, then continued more gently, “The power is there, Katara. Just relax and let it flow through you.”

Katara took several deep breaths, forcing her face back to a semblance of neutrality. “Right. Easy stuff.”

Sokka couldn’t tell if anything was happening, but Zuko had suddenly let out a loud whoop. “Yes, Katara! That’s it! You made waves!”

“I did?” Katara’s eyes opened wide and she peered down into the puddle. Her face fell slightly. “Well, it looks quite still, now.”

“No, you did it!” Zuko insisted excitedly. “Let’s try it again.”

Sokka was quickly losing interest. That day was one of the few that hadn’t been filled with endless amounts of rain--though the clouds looming in the distance made it clear that the relatively nice weather was not long for this world. He was itching to get out and explore the grounds a bit. Aang was sitting quietly next to him, arms wrapped around his knees as he watched Katara and Sokka.

“D’you know when you’re in traffic and there’s that split-second moment when one light has gone red but the other isn’t green yet? Like that feeling of anticipation?” Sokka broke the silence, picking at a splinter in the deck.

A sharp wind blew through the yard. “I guess,” Aang replied, “Why?”

“That’s what right now feels like. This whole mansion situation. Get what I mean?”

Aang’s mouth twisted into a small frown. “Yeah. I get what you mean.” In the distance, thunder growled. “I wanna get out and do something. Not just watch Katara and Zuko do stuff.” There was an edge of bitterness to his voice as he watched Katara let out a shriek of excitement when she managed to make a small ball of water hover above the puddle.

Was Aang jealous? Sokka turned fully to look at the younger man, whose grey eyes were dark and stormy. He was definitely jealous. Sokka didn’t quite know how to process this new information. There was zero romantic energy between Katara and Zuko--Katara seemed barely tolerant of Zuko even on the best of days.

Aang watched a few small leaves skitter their way across the cracked paving stones. ‘I’m not jealous of Katara and Zuko, Sokka. I’m not that daft. I just wish I--had something.” He paused. “The way you and Katara have each other. Or how Katara has her bending. The way Zuko has you, and the memory of his uncle pushing him forward. I just--I’m an orphan, Sokka. I don’t know who I am.”

Sokka shelved the comment about him and Zuko away to be processed later. “Aang, don’t be an idiot. You and Katara have each other. You have me. You’re basically the centre of this whole group, mate, you’re holding us together.” Sokka couldn’t exactly place when Aang had started withdrawing from the group a bit. Guiltily, he realized he’d been so wrapped up in thinking about Zuko and worrying about Katara that Aang had rarely crossed his mind.

Aang let out a frustrated sigh. “That’s not what I mean! I mean--having a purpose, something to ground me and keep me moving. I just feel like there’s a part of me that’s missing. Something’s throwing me off.” The bank of clouds had moved almost directly over the derelict mansion, shrouding the grounds in a hazy greyness.

Sokka snorted. “You’re acting as if the rest of us have any clue what we’re doing. We are all quite literally making it up as we go along--how do you think it was so easy for everyone to drop everything for this mess of a trip? You’re nineteen, Aang! You don’t need to have this shit figured out yet. No one ever really does.” Sokka was half-trying to convince himself as he reassured Aang.

“I guess.” Aang pressed his palms against his eyelids. A few fat drops of rain fell next to the pair. He stood up and faced Zuko and Katara. “We should probably pack it in.”

Katara frowned in disappointment. “But I’ve nearly got this last one!” Her hands were splayed out in front of her, hovering over the puddle. “See?” A stream of water ran shakily out of the puddle, bits of twig and mud dripping out as it formed a circle around her and Zuko. Her hands were shaking with the effort, and her forehead was shiny with sweat. The water dropped suddenly with a splash onto the patchy grass, sending drops of muddy liquid across the yard.

Zuko wiped a streak of dirt off his forehead. “I think that’s probably enough for today.” He snapped the journal shut and walked between Sokka and Aang into the house. Katara still stood by the puddle, looking very small and lost with mud splattered on her boots and jeans, hair sticking up in all directions above her ponytail.

“What’s his problem?” Katara muttered to no one in particular, kicking a nearby root. She and Aang both turned in unison to look expectantly at Sokka.

“Why do I have to go deal with the toddler?” Sokka complained, throwing up his hands and rising to his feet. “It’s certainly not my fault he’s such a drama queen.” Grumbling, he made his way inside to where Zuko sat in the kitchen, the one room in the mansion that was in half-decent shape. Still, Sokka had to navigate past cracked tile and gaping cabinets on his way to the patch of counter Zuko was perched on.

They stood silently. Sokka had spent enough time with Zuko to know that if the quiet stretched out long enough, Zuko would just start talking to fill the space.

“So Katara is doing quite well,” Zuko offered suddenly, true to form. “You’ve got a well powerful sister, you know.”

“Don’t act like you didn’t just storm out on her like a … jilted lover, or something!” Sokka said incredulously, flushing at Zuko's raised eyebrow. “What gives?” He leaned against the counter opposite Zuko, leaving a metre or so of space between them. He tried to justify this version of Zuko with the soft, sleepy Zuko that’d had Sokka wrapped up in his arms just that morning and found it very difficult. This Zuko was all spikes and hard edges.

“We’re just wasting time here,” Zuko said quietly. “You and I both know it. I think we all know it.” In a roundabout sort of way, he was making the same points Sokka and Aang had talked about earlier. “The longer we stay here, the more likely it is that the firebenders find us.”

Sokka made a frustrated noise. “But what are we doing here, Zuko? What’s the end game? We went to the party, made a great cock-up of it … now what? We didn’t even get any good information!”

Zuko shook his head. “No, we got information. Just enough information to keep us going--they were talking about Zhao.”

“... d’you know him?”

Zuko laughed grimly. “Oh, yeah. I know him. Power-hungry bastard. He’s definitely the one that ordered the burning down of my hotel.”

“But why?” Sokka felt distinctly that he was missing a few key facts that would clear up this whole confusing mess. He felt like he was floundering in the dark while Zuko stood next to him with two pairs of night vision goggles, refusing to share.

“I think a better question would be why not,” Zuko replied, a touch evasively. “Why wouldn’t one of the firebender kingpins want to take out the heart of the resistance force?”

“Right. Yeah. Makes sense.” Sokka stared into the middle distance, picking at a loose thread in his overly large jumper. “Don’t see why you couldn’t have just mentioned that. We’re a bit of a team, you know.” And cuddle buddies, apparently.

Zuko looked very pained. “Right. I’m--sorry. I guess I’ve been preoccupied. It wasn’t fair of me. I’m just--”

He was cut off by Aang shoving his way into the kitchen from the porch. For a moment the three stood there, the moment frozen, Aang’s breath crystallizing in the air. “All right?” Sokka said by way of greeting, doing his best to jog Aang into speaking up.

“Police,” Aang gasped, “police, the mansion over. We can hear their cars and voices.” He ran through the room, presumably going to the parlour to pack up all their things.

They unfroze. Zuko sighed sharply. “Excellent. That’s just what we need. As if we have some other hideout planned. Bloody hell, this is a fucking mess we’ve gotten ourselves into.”

Sokka blinked. That was probably the most he’d ever heard Zuko swear. “Bloody hell, indeed,” he agreed, deciding not to comment on it. “Shall we run upstairs and grab some more journals?” At Zuko’s nodded assent, Sokka led the way to the stairs that ran up from the kitchen to the servants’ quarters upstairs. It was a tight fit, but more direct than the massive sweeping staircase in the front entrance. He tried not to think of the century’s worth of dust and grime now sinking into his lungs and pores as he and Zuko pounded up the steps.

Zuko found a very old, very nasty leather book bag in the corner of the study, and he and Sokka spent a precious few minutes carefully loading it full of journals and papers. They didn’t speak, wordlessly passing books and packing the bag full. When they finished, the pair ran down the main staircase as fast as they dared to where Katara and Aang were stood with everyone’s bags.

“Do we even know where to go?” Zuko asked no one in particular. There was no response. He sighed roughly. “I have an idea, since none of you geniuses apparently came up with a plan B. It’s a fair hike, though, I should warn you all.”

Aang bounced from foot to foot. “That’s fine, whatever, let’s just go.”

The group left through the front door but swung a right towards the overgrown shrubbery that bordered one side of the front yard. Sokka had found a sizable gap in the branches during one of his wanders around the grounds, and had marked it in his mind as a solid place to make a getaway should one be needed.

Zuko was in front and didn’t lead the group towards the gap, rather, he had them walk along the shrubbery til they were near the edge of the property line. They were all four silent as they trudged through the icy mud, too busy trying not to slip and fall to question Zuko’s plan.

Katara, Sokka realized belatedly, was clad in only a thin henley and corduroys, and she wrapped her arms around herself as they walked. Aang, in contrast, looked quite comfortable in his t-shirt and trousers, as did Zuko. Two strange men. Not that Sokka was really any more normal.

“There’s an old cellar back here. Detached from the outbuildings. Think the building over it got knocked down ’n they didn’t bother with filling it in,” Zuko explained as a pile of mossy rocks came into view. Sokka enjoyed how it seemed that the longer Zuko stayed with them, the more his posh little accent faded. “Bloody fuck,” Zuko swore as he tripped over a large stone, punctuating Sokka’s point nicely. He grinned into his scarf.

The cellar was dingy and damp, much as the mansion had been, but with an extra layer of gross from the mud and moss that seemed to be gathered in every crevice. It was barely large enough to fit the four of them, packed in as they were like so many sardines. Aang’s pointy elbows were jammed into Sokka’s ribcage, and Sokka could feel the crown of his head pushing against Zuko’s chin. Katara had managed to tuck herself into the furthest corner, arms wrapped around her knees.

None of them spoke once they were settled. Sokka didn’t know how long they would end up staying there in their little cave, listening to the sounds of shouts and doors slamming as the police made their way through the mansion and around the grounds. It was obvious that they had been living there, there was no way to hide that--crisps packets littered the kitchen, and the blankets in the parlour were enough of a giveaway on their own. Sokka couldn’t think why Zuko had had them hide on the grounds instead of booking it into the city centre.

They gradually shifted into more comfortable positions--amid grunts of pain from Sokka and Zuko both, Aang shoved his way over to Katara and crouched down, stretching out his lanky limbs in a way that forced Sokka and Zuko to cling to each other for dear life, Sokka gripping a rotting wooden beam above them like a desperate commuter on the Tube. Then Zuko shifted so he was leaning against the wall, pulling Sokka to rest next to him, face mashed into the taller man’s shoulder. Sokka would normally have the grace to be embarrassed, but in the damp chill of the cellar he was grateful for Zuko’s proximity--Zuko always seemed to run a few degrees warmer than everyone else.

Minutes, then hours went by. None of them dared to peek out from the hole and see if the police were still there. Zuko had been right, Sokka grudgingly had to admit, in having them hide in the crumbling cellar. When the police approached the outbuildings--so close to their hiding spot that dirt waterfalled through the opening--they didn’t bother checking the cellar at all. The police--probably with a few firebenders--weren’t really looking for people hiding on the property; they probably assumed they all had melted into the surrounding city.

Sokka watched the tiny patch of sunlight on the floor go from a milky yellow, to a soft golden, then finally a hazy red glow. Sunset. Katara had fallen asleep against Aang’s shoulder, who had twisted uncomfortably to allow her the space. Zuko’s arm was still wrapped firmly around Sokka’s shoulders, fingertips burning where they pressed into Sokka’s sweater. Time was endless, liquid. Sokka dropped his head to rest against where Zuko’s collarbones poked through his shirt, feeling Zuko’s embrace shift to accommodate him.

It had been silent for another hour before Sokka decided that he’d had enough. His stomach felt pinched with hunger and his feet ached from standing for so long and, really, after several hours in a damp cellar he would honestly take getting arrested if it meant getting some proper heat. He voiced as much to the group and they all murmured assent save for Zuko.

At Sokka’s questioning look, Zuko sighed, his breath ruffling Sokka’s eyelashes. “They’ve probably posted a watch. Since there was recent evidence of us being there. It’s not safe to go back inside. Or outside, for that matter.”

“Do you suggest we just stay here all night?” Sokka asked incredulously. He stamped his feet to try to bring some life to them, pulling away from Zuko and almost immediately feeling the absence of his warmth.

Zuko's silence was answer enough.

“Great,” Sokka said derisively. “Brilliant. All night in a damp fucking hole in the ground because there might be a police officer napping in the front gardens. Excellent. You lot can all stay here, but I’m out.” He moved towards the way out, preparing to crawl back out and into one of the nearby outbuildings.

“No.” Zuko grabbed Sokka’s shoulder and tugged him back. “Are you so selfish that you’ll risk all of our lives just because you’re uncomfortable?” There was an unmistakably angry edge to his words, to which Sokka bristled.

“Guys--” Aang said warningly, but Sokka ignored him.

“Yeah, I guess I am! Sokka the selfish arsehole, right here for you!” Sokka knocked Zuko’s hand away from his shoulder. “Maybe you should take a moment to consider how much I’ve given up for you, yeah? Dropped everything to follow you on your quest for vengeance, didn’t I?” He wiped a hand across his face. “Living in a ruin of a mansion, firebenders after me for the rest of my life, probably, all because your uncle died and I felt sorry for you! I wish I’d never talked to you at the pub all those ages ago! Could be relaxing at home with a cuppa right now, couldn’t I? But no,” Sokka ignored Katara’s insistent tugs on his arm to lay off, “No, I’m sitting in this damp cellar. With you. My sister. Her boyfriend--and they all dropped everything, too, you know.” He finished his rant with a final accusatory glare, then took a deep breath and fell silent.

The air in the cellar was heavy and oppressive, even more so than before. Zuko’s eyes were bright and shiny, and his hands shook at his sides. He was radiating heat. “I didn’t force you into this,” he choked out through gritted teeth. “I didn’t force--any of you into this.” He gestured to Aang and Katara, who leaned forward.

“We know, Zuko, we wanted to do this. We wanted to help you,” Katara said desperately. “Can’t you both calm down? This is--this is just the stress talking.” She looked between Sokka and Zuko in a panic. “Just wait till we’ve had some food and then--we can reevaluate.”

Zuko kept his eyes trained on Sokka. “I’m sorry for assuming I meant something to you,” he said flatly, a splotch of red forming on his scarless cheek. He sat down suddenly, roughly, knocking Sokka back against the opposite packed dirt wall.

Sokka felt everything slowly slipping away from him--Zuko, Katara, the whole “mission” they were operating. They were just kids, weren’t they? He watched Aang and Katara whisper urgently to each other, Katara’s eyes bright with tears, and felt an aching pit of regret sink into his stomach. Where could they even go from here?

Sokka sat down as best he could, tucking his shoes to the right of Zuko’s boots. In the dim light, he listened to Zuko’s harsh breathing and watched his shoulders shake. The cellar was cold. He watched, as the hours moved by, Katara’s breath slowing as she nodded off on Aang’s shoulder. Then Aang, too, fell asleep and it was just Sokka and Zuko sitting in silence. The chill had intensified as night settled around them, but Sokka did his best not to show any sign of being uncomfortable.

Zuko raised his head slightly, eyes red-rimmed and the skin around them raw. Sokka pointedly kept his eyes trained on the wooden beams, jaw set. “You do … mean something to me,” Sokka said quietly, still not making eye contact with Zuko. Silence settled around them again. Zuko sniffled loudly like he was purposely trying to make Sokka feel like the absolute worst human alive.

“Are you going to make me spell it out?” Sokka said, forcing himself to look back down at Zuko, who was watching him steadily. “You mean a lot to me. I’m … sorry.” So much for being stoic and sticking to his guns. Sokka tried not to make it seem too much like he was waiting with bated breath for Zuko’s reply.

“Good to know,” was all Zuko had to say in response, his voice rough. Sokka did his best to refrain from rolling his eyes, and shifted his feet so their shoes were pressed together.

“I mean it. I was being an idiot.”

“I got it,” Zuko said quietly. “Don’t hurt yourself.” One corner of his mouth quirked upwards, and he knocked his knee against Sokka’s. Sokka knew he wasn’t quite forgiven, but he was pretty sure that he was closer than before.

Sokka ran through a few things in his head, weighing the pros and cons. Then he stood up abruptly, startling Zuko so that his head knocked against the dirt wall. “Sorry,” Sokka muttered, cheeks burning as he moved a few steps across the cellar to squeeze next to Zuko. As long as he did it quickly, he didn’t have to think about it too much.

Zuko was frozen and still next to him, barely breathing--which Sokka could tell because any semblance of a personal bubble was long gone. Zuko was tucked up in a position similar to Katara’s, with his arms wrapped around his knees and pressed to his chest. Sokka tried very hard not to look at the damp patch where Zuko had been leaning his head, and then when he did, tried his best not to continue to feel like the worst person alive. Bully the orphan, Sokka, that was a grand idea.

“Is this cool?” Sokka asked.

“Yeah,” Zuko replied, and then they sat in silence. Sokka had a better view of the entrance from here, and he could watch the tiny clouds drift by against the few stars that were determinedly shining through the endless amounts of London light pollution. Adjacent to them, Aang let out a great snore, startling Sokka so that his elbow flew into Zuko’s side.

“Jesus Christ,” Zuko wheezed, clutching his side.

“Sorry! Sorry!” Sokka said in a panic. Aang wheezed loudly again, this time sending Zuko and Sokka into a fit of giggles. They resettled, and this time Zuko stretched his legs out against Sokka’s, leaning on the wall with his head just barely hovering over Sokka’s shoulder. The tension in the air had softened slightly.

It must have been after midnight. “We should sleep,” Sokka said uncertainly, conscious of the way Zuko was still tense against him.

“Probably,” Zuko agreed, then yawned widely as if to punctuate his words. Sokka snickered, to which Zuko responded by shoving his shoulder against his. Then they were both quiet again, and Zuko leaned his head properly on Sokka’s shoulder. Sokka paused for half a second then leaned his head to rest against Zuko’s. They still had Zhao to find--and some feelings to work through--but for that moment Sokka felt more peaceful than he had since they’d left. Zuko settled more comfortably against him, and Aang continued to snore while Katara slept blissfully through it, and despite everything, Sokka felt like he was home.