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Chapter Text

Fourteen nights had passed since Katara and Sokka discovered the Avatar. In those fourteen nights, Sokka had been high on guard. After all, the kid did pull off his Avatar light show into the sky, open to any and all ships to follow, including any Fire Nationals circumnavigating this side of the globe. Sokka had taken it upon himself to keep his eyes and ears peeled for that exact happenstance, sitting for days uninterrupted on top of the wall that protected their village from the outside. Nothing suggested that the Fire Nation were even sniffing around, I mean, why would they? The tribe had nothing. Not anymore. The Fire Nation had already made a point to turn anything of value into ash.

Sokka had only been small, not even having lost any of his baby teeth yet when the Fire Nation attacked. It was a surprise attack, they had disguised themselves as Earth Kingdom traders. The Water Tribe and the Earth Kingdom had been trading informally for decades, it wasn’t until Hakoda became chief was it notarized so that it became an official, politically recognised trade route. 

Despite the long-standing trading arrangements, it was still a spectacle to see a foreign ship in port. The icy waters were difficult and dangerous to navigate, only expert sailors and local eyes could traverse the icebergs and the violent currents. The men quickly made room for the hulking cargo ship to dock, their ships laughable in comparison. 

The Southern Water tribe exported tonnes of fish from their hulking army of fishing ships, thick polar ox fur coats, turtleseal skin boots, sea prunes, salted seaweed crackers, whaleshark blubber, in exchange for herbs, wood, clay, steel, fruits, things which the frozen tundra was unable to provide. Chief Hakoda and his men would set out in their fleet every third new moon, and would return with ships swelling with foreign goods. Twice the Earth Kingdom made the trek to the Southern Water Tribe, both times were with hauls too huge for the Water Tribe boats. A menagerie of foreign livestock, huge barrels of fuel, whole trunks of yellowwood trees, barrels of wines and ales, tea leaves, parchments that unrolled for miles. 

The Chief had allowed Sokka to welcome the traders by his side, after Sokka’s petulant coat-tugging. Sokka was hoisted to sit upon his shoulders for a better view and he asked, “Does this mean Dad is staying home this moon?” Sokka hated it when his father left, even though his mother had worked hard to keep him entertained, teaching him how to prepare and skin animals, make fur suitable for coats and pelts, how to pickle sea cucumbers, it never kept his attention. Sokka wanted to hunt the animals, he wanted to fish out on the wharves, he wanted to play spear-fighting with his dad. Mom would always ruffle his head and give him a soft smile and say he was just like his dad and it never failed to make Sokka’s chest swell with pride.

Hakoda never got a chance to answer Sokka before they were ducking under balls of flame. Sokka had been thrown into the arms of a bystander and taken behind the wall and into Gran-Gran’s igloo. 

The dock was ignited first. With it, the trading ships and shipping wharves and even the small canoes burned with it. The scarce number of waterbenders tried to push back, to simultaneously smother the flame and push back the Fire Nation but the effort was futile. The Southern Water Tribe had never been known for its waterbending, nor its battalion. The men of the Water Tribe may be able to take down a polar ox with a spear and a boneknife, but they weren’t trained to fight, especially not against the Fire Nation armies.

The Water Tribe fought hard but it was a losing battle. The trade ship had been a sneak attack from the Fire Nation, undercover to get close enough to the Tribe to destroy as much as they could. Warehouses of dried food, frozen meats, herbal medicines had been reduced to ash. Igloos were melted, tents set ablaze, animals slaughtered and their corpses charred. The Tribe hadn’t been a staggering montropolis by any means, but they had enough to keep their village warm and healthy. They had herbalists, books and art, music, domesticated animals, even a school hut, all reduced to nothing.

The attack from the Fire Nation claimed half of the village. Most were Hakoda’s men on the front line, the few water benders who worked tirelessly to douse the flames and save the tribe, to fend off the attack, the non-benders used their spears and swords to fight as best they could. The Southern Water Tribe had been a neutral nation, carefully avoiding the throws of the war, their men had no need to train for battle. Some were civilians, innocent people who died in their homes, protecting their children.

When the Fire Nation retreated, the Southern Water Tribe had been left a husk of its own glory. The snow fell black with soot for the days it took to bury their dead at sea. Sokka doesn’t remember his mother’s water burial, but he remembers his official tribal garb being itchy. He remembers spitting out Hakoda’s salted sea prunes with disgust as his father tried to replicate a dish from his mother’s hand. 

The Fire Nation never returned. The trade route continued, this time on a yearly basis. A new trading port had been operating in secret within the Earth Kingdom, hidden from the Fire Nation. It was much farther and took much longer to reach. Hakoda and his men had been gone for eighteen moons now. Sokka begged to go with him, he was old enough now, but his father gave him a watery smile and told him that he needed to stay. He needed to stay to protect his sister and his tribe. 

That’s exactly what Sokka was doing. Squatting on the lip of the wall, eyes scanning the waters for anything unusual. Besides Aang flying around on his glider racing the snowgulls, Sokka hadn’t spotted anything out of the ordinary since Aang’s arrival. The sun had begun to set when Katara yelled at him from the bottom of the wall.

“Are you going to starve yourself again tonight or are you coming down? Gran-Gran says if you don’t eat your dinner tonight she’ll feed it to the bison.” Katara’s voice startled a snowgull that had perched beside him on the wall. Sokka waved her off but she didn’t move, she crossed her arms and stared pointedly at him with a quick of the eyebrow. “You can play warrior tomorrow. I’ll even do the face paint if you want, I know you love that.” 

Sokka sputtered indignantly. “I do not! Wearing warrior paint is a privilege that only the best warriors and protectors of the tribe have the right to wear. It’s not something to take lightly, Katara.” 

Sokka could see the grin on Katara’s face from up here. “Is that why you make me paint your face when you play with the seal turtles?” 

“I haven’t played with seal turtles in years!” Sokka’s voice cracked halfway through his rebuttal and he bit down the blush rising in his face. “I mean- I’m not a little kid anymore, Katara. I have to protect the tribe. Give the food to Appa, I’m not coming down until I’m sure that we’re safe.” Sokka turned back to the ocean, the sun spread gold across the polar sea, catching glitter in the gentle peak of the waves. Sokka was lying, of course he would come down. He would come down when everyone is in their igloos and tents and grab himself a warrior’s helping of salted sea prunes. A warrior has to keep himself fighting fit, after all. 

Katara examined Sokka carefully with suspicion, but she dropped it and the sound of the snow crunching beneath her boots let Sokka know that he would be enjoying a jar of the sweet delicacy under the half moon tonight rather than the fish stew he could smell from the campfire outside Gran-Gran’s igloo. 

Sea prunes are best. Firm and red on the outside, strong enough to keep in a pouch when travelling, or in Sokka’s case, keeping watch. Their skin redder than any food Sokka has ever eaten, and the juice isn’t much different. When bitten, the fruit falls apart in the mouth, juicy and bursting with flavour. It’s impossible to eat sea prunes without pink juice dripping onto the furs of your coat and leaving your hands tacky. The salt helps keep them soft, the icy air might keep them ripe, but when it’s time for eating, a helping of salt stops them freezing, keeps them soft enough to be tender at the bite. Katara prefers hers with only a little salt, but Sokka loves it. It’s all about the balance of flavours, Katara is too young to understand. The salt brings the fruit to a whole new level of sophistication-

“Hey Sokka!” Sokka pinwheeled his arms to regain his balance at the fright Aang gave him. Aang was hovering in front of him on his stupid air-ball. It whipped Sokka’s furs with icy air and he furrowed into his coat, unhappy and embarrassed at the squawk he let out. “Wanna go ride the polar oxes?”

“You have got to stop doing that.” Sokka said. He scooted over on the wall and Aang floated down beside him. Aang kicked his feet over the edge. He’d taken off his boots again. When they found Aang he was in typical Air Bender garb, all light and breezy, which is practical for bending, and although Aang insisted that he could use airbending to regulate his body temperature, after a few days he began to grow a little blue around the lips. Katara dragged him into their igloo and began donating Sokka’s old clothes. Of course Sokka didn’t get a say. Who’s to say his leather boots from four years ago didn’t fit? It’s not like Katara knows the dimensions of his feet. 

Aang twisted beside him, he was unbunching his coat from his armpit with intense concentration. He wasn’t used to heavy clothes. Aang, annoyingly, was a devout vegetarian and protested the leather boots and the polar ox fur coat but Katara so delicately told him that he would freeze without it, so he wore it reluctantly. It didn’t stop him stripping off the extra layers whenever Katara wasn’t looking, though.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you,” Aang said with a genuine smile. 

“You didn’t scare me!” Sokka scoffed. “You just caught me off guard.” 

“But aren’t you on guard?” Aang shifted again beside him. Sokka didn’t answer because yes, he was on guard. He just zoned out a little thinking about his favourite snack. He’s a growing boy, his body needs energy, Aang would understand someday. Sokka continued staring out into the ocean, his boomerang heavy on his hip. Aang, shockingly, was silent beside him for a while. He jostled against Sokka every now and again when he fidgeted but besides that, Aang was silent at his side. 

The sun started to slip itself behind the horizon and the night began to pull itself from its slumber. The polar oxes would be returning to their burrows for the night, the sealturtles would swim back to their islands and the tribe behind him would begin to slip into their bedrolls. Gran-Gran says that the Fire Nation would never attack at night, that the Water Tribe are one with the moon, the spirits grant Water Tribes with luck and prosperity during the night. He had his doubts, it all seemed like a bunch of spiritual hoo-ha to him but his Gran-Gran isn’t one to lie, even to humour him. Sokka sucked his top lip into his mouth, where a light dusting of stubble grew. He wore his first facial hair with pride until Gran-Gran lovingly asked if a wool-worm had made home on his top lip. 

“Do you really think they’re coming after me?” Aang broke the silence. Sokka turned to look at him, but Aang was staring out to the horizon, a look on his face far too solem for a kid his age. When Sokka had first brought up Aang’s Avatar Light Show, Aang had waved him off, insisting that the Fire Nation wouldn’t come after him, don’t be ridiculous. But Aang had not known about anything that happened over the last 100 years. Aang had not known there was a war tearing the world apart. He knew now, though, after some very tense history lessons with Katara and Sokka - but Sokka still had the sense that he didn’t really know. You don’t really know about bad stuff until the bad stuff happens to you, or to someone you love, and then you have to face the realities that it’s all a lot worse than it appeared on the surface, then you’re drowning in it. Aang shuffled in his seat again, but with Sokka looking his way, he realised Aang was digging into one of the interior pockets.

“What have you got there? Is that-” Sokka grabbed the fruit from Aang’s hand and shoved it into his mouth. “These are my favourite!” 

“We can share.” Aang pulled the small pouch from his pocket and set it between them but didn’t seem all that eager to eat any more. Sokka managed to finish them off - waste not, want not. 

Sokka let the silence grow again as the night grew darker. The sounds of ice creaking in the ocean and the waves gently lapping the shore of the outside wall were a welcome comfort, the sounds of the polar nights having rocked him to sleep his entire life. Aang had asked Sokkathe morning after he was welcomed into the village if his tent had ghosts in it. Katara cut off Sokka’s very elaborate and impressive ghost story with reassurances that the sounds Aang was hearing were just the sounds of the ice settling. Aang was right, the more Sokka thought about it, it did sound an awful lot like groaning. 

Aang still had that look on his face and it was making Sokka feel weird. Aang had spent the last two weeks spinning around on a windball, chasing snowgulls and picking snowdrop lilies for Gran-Gran and now he’s sitting beside Sokka, looking like someone just took the wind out from under him. Sokka snorted at the pun, but played it off as a cough when it caught Aang’s attention. “Seaprune went down the wrong pipe.” He explained. He took a breath and started, “I don’t know if the Fire Nation is after you. I go fishing three times a week and I’ve never seen any evidence of those ash-eaters,” Aang perked up at that. “But… It’s a precaution. I’ve gotta protect the village.” 

Aang nodded. “I understand, Sokka. I’ll protect them too. I’m the Avatar, it’s my duty.” He sounded like he was trying to reassure himself, but his posture was hunched. If they were sitting on flat ground Sokka suspected Aang would have his arms wrapped around his knees. Sokka threw the empty pouch at him.

“Your duty,” He said, “Is to get me more sea prunes while I get warmed up by the fire.” Sokka stretched and his shoulder popped. He turned his head to examine the long fall down. He gets up and down the wall by using his boomerang as ice-climbing gear and although he is strong enough to haul himself up effortlessly, no matter what Katara says about the width of his arms, sometimes the spirits play tricks on him and pulls the ice out from under him and he finds himself flat on his back with new bruises forming underneath his coat. “Hey Aang, think you could give me a hand-” Aang sailed past him and had his bare feet planted in the snow before Sokka finished his sentence, “down…”.

When Sokka arrived at the campfire, dusting snow off of his coat and thinking about how that was gonna leave a bruise, Katara thrust a bowl of fish stew into his hands, which he almost dropped in surprise. Sokka huffed and fell to the ground. “This doesn’t look like seaprunes,” he gave Aang a pointed look, who laughed apologetically in return.

“Katara said no.” Sokka stared his sister out and slurped obnoxiously at his fish stew, pulling faces of disgust. It wasn’t actually that bad, but a man can only have fish stew so many days in a row. 

Katara screwed her face up at the noise. “Stop that. You should thank me for saving you dinner instead of feeding it to Appa.” 

“I still maintain we eat the bison.” Sokka gestured over his shoulder to the flying bison who was curled up at the side of the ice cliff, which surrounded all but the North point of the tribe, which was walled off. The entire village was sealed off by vertical cliff faces. It proved safe from the animals which hunted along the Southern tundra and it blocked the harshest of the windchill. The ice acted somewhat as an incubator, and the village was a lot warmer than the top of the wall. Sokka shrugged off his coat, leaving him in his tunic. He pulled his mittens off with his teeth to get a better grip on the bowl as he slurped at it again. He hoped Katara didn’t notice the seaplane juice that seemed to have stained the sleeves of his tunic - seriously, how does that stuff manage to get everywhere?

“We can’t eat Appa, he’s our friend,” Aang said cheerily, used to Sokka’s carnivorous threats. Sokka’s threats were empty now, less because of the reason Aang just gave, and more so because Appa’s breath smelled like rotten fishworms and he could only imagine he didn’t taste much better. “And without Appa, we’ll have no way to get to the North Pole!”

Get to the what now. 

Sokka almost wrote it off as Aang’s mouth running a mile a minute, saying whatever popped into his head. Sure Aang, we’ll go on a bison-trip to the North Pole for your thirteenth birthday, no problem! Wait - would that be his one-hundred-and-thirteenth birthday? Aang’s age was still uncertain. But something in the air made Sokka stop slurping his stew and lower the bowl. 

In front of him, Katara and Aang were having a silent conversation. Katara didn’t look happy and Aang’s eyes were wide in the realisation that he probably just said something that he shouldn’t. The staring contest only lasted a few moments before Katara sighed and patted Aang’s shoulder understandingly. “It’s okay, we should tell him.”

“Tell me what?” Sokka dropped his bowl into his lap with a huff. “You know - you never kept things from me until we found Avatar Arrowhead over here.” Aang blinked and wiped at the tattoo on his head, seemingly forgetting it was there at all. He didn’t say it with any malice but it wasn’t untrue.  Katara and Sokka were the only villagers around their age, people didn’t start having children until years after the attack, and all their friends were old enough now to have joined the fleet, to go out to sea under Chief Hakoda’s command. 

Sure, Katara was annoying and nagged constantly, and they were fighting more often than they were not, but they’d never been untruthful with each other, they’d never had any reason to not tell each other things. The openness in which Katara and Sokka worked together was the cornerstone of their relationship. At times, it expressed itself in vulnerability when Katara missed their mother so much it kept her awake, she would shuffle her bedroll close to Sokka’s and wake him up with watery whispers and Sokka would stay up all night with her, no matter how tired he was. It expressed itself in vulgarity when Sokka answered Katara’s queries on the stains on his underclothes with transparency and got a face full of dirty soap-water for it. It expressed itself in the silent understanding when Katara would catch Sokka sitting outside their igloo in the dead of night, looking mournfully up at the sky, and she would gather the fur pelt from the wall and wrap it around their shoulders and they would sit together in their joint shadow and mourn their losses.

That changed when they found Aang and let him stay in the village, for lack of anywhere else to go. The elder villagers adored him as he was a breath of fresh air. The kids were enamoured with his ‘magic tricks’. Katara stopped following Sokka around and bugging him and instead took Aang exploring or followed him to keep the kid out of trouble. Sokka didn’t care that Katara was hanging out with Aang, it was actually a relief to get more Sokka-time without his little sister looming over his shoulder but when the three of them were together it always felt like Sokka was out of tune. There were inside jokes he didn’t get and they would talk about things that Sokka didn’t understand, like bending or the Air Temples, or the funny sound Appa made earlier, and anything he seemed to say fell into the conversation out of tune and rang out like a wrong note in a boneflute song. 

“Well…” Katara tried to find the words to say but she tossed the bone to Aang, “I think you can explain it better.” Aang caught it and settled into his posture with more confidence.

“I’m the Avatar,” Sokka got himself comfortable, this was the start of one of Aang’s dramatic saving-the-world monologues. “I need to master all four elements before I can save the world. I don’t really know what that means but I think it means I have to stop the war. I can’t do that if I stay in the Southern Water Tribe, so we have to go to find a waterbending master so that I can master waterbending. So we have to go to the North Pole.” 

“Katara is right there, can’t she teach you waterbending?” Sokka said. Katara glowed at the praise - of course she did. She never failed to show off her water tricks to Sokka. Sokka goaded her about it, which usually earned him an orb of water accidentally coming loose over his head. 

Aang shook his head. “Katara isn’t very good.” Even though the look was directed at Aang, Sokka’s spine shivered at the icy warning. “Uh - no, I mean - Katara is great! Seriously, you’ve taught me so much waterbending already and you’re a really great teacher but you’re the only waterbender here and there’s only so much you can teach me. It’s really impressive that you’ve learned so much by yourself! It’s just…”

“It’s not enough. I understand, I’m not offended,” Katara said kindly. She never was that understanding and sweet to Sokka. Katara shot him a look. Uh-oh, guess he was pulling faces. He’s got a lot of feelings inside, he can’t help it if his face betrays him! “We’re going to take Appa to the North Pole in search of a waterbender teacher for Aang - and me as well,” She added. 

Sokka shifted where he was sitting - his ass hurt from sitting on the wall all day. He understands - Aang, bending, teacher, got it. But something wasn’t adding up. There was a component present that hung in the air like a stale smell and it was all around him. Katara’s stiff posture and Aang sitting unnaturally still. They weren’t telling him something. Again. It tasted bad in his mouth and Sokka ran circles around his brain until the bull-nosed elephant in the room reared its huge, ugly head. 

Sokka’s hand stilled on his butt mid-scratch. “There are waterbenders in the ships with Dad,” Sokka said. He was met with silence. “One of them can teach you bending… right? Unless there’s some type of waterbending academy in the Northern Tribe that I’m missing out on.” Sokka prompted when the pair opposite him continued their silence.

“We were planning on leaving soon.” Katara’s voice was firm but it had a beat of trepidation to it, like she was afraid of the words coming out of her own mouth. 

“Dad said he’ll be back before the red moon. That’s only like half a moon away, right?” It was exactly half a moon away. Sokka had been scoring it off in the moon chart they had gotten from the Earth Kingdom many years ago. It was made from a high-quality silk, the moon phases and dates carefully embroidered. The entire chart was the length of an igloo, spanning an arm’s width. There was only one year of the scroll left and Sokka had carefully followed each and every turn of the moon at night, he knew to the exact day that his dad was due to come back.The red moon would fall on the next full moon. He knew that Katara knew this, but in an effort to maintain his reputation of being nonchalant and easygoing, he played it down. Katara didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t mention it, rather she pointedly avoided looking at Sokka and nodded in affirmation. “What, you can’t wait fifteen nights?”

“Sokka…” Katara’s face was uncharastically soft for addressing him, her words softly spoken considering the boneknife she just twisted in his gut, “It could be a lot longer than fifteen nights.” Sokka’s skin grew cold despite the still air.

“He’s never late. He always comes back on time.” Despite Sokka’s tone growing icy, the words forced out from behind his teeth, Katara kept her face measured. 

“We haven’t gotten any correspondence. He always sends a messenger hawk when he arrives at the port, he always lets us know when he arrives safely and-”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Sokka argued. “Maybe the stupid bird got lost or got hunted for food, or maybe he’s too tired to write a letter. It’s a long journey to that side of the Earth Kingdom, our men are probably exhausted, too tired from manning the ships to get us food and fuel and-and medicine to sit down and draft a letter to his kids.” 

“I’m only saying,” Katara said patiently, trying to keep her face neutral, “that we should-” 

“That we should what?! Go on, Katara, tell me exactly what we should do. Tell me why we should pack up and run away to the other side of the world because you don’t have faith in our men, in our Dad. ” 

“I do have faith in Dad - stop putting words in my mouth,” Katara snapped.

“I’m not putting words in your mouth, I’m saying what you’re too much of a pigchicken to say out loud.” Katara’s face grew stormy. “You think the ships aren’t coming back. You think the trade was infiltrated or a trap or - or - I dunno! That they’ve all been taken prisoner by the Fire Nation and traded as slaves. Actually, no. They wouldn’t even want us as slaves, they would just do what they did the last time and burn every Water Tribe uniform they see to ash-” 

“Why are you being like this?!” Katara took a swift step towards him and Sokka rose to meet her at eye-level. His fish stew lay upturned in the snow. “This is exactly why I wasn’t going to tell you, I knew you’d twist everything I say to make me out to be the bad guy - like you always do!”

“You think I’m making you out to be the bad guy? You literally just admitted that you were planning on running away with your new friend without telling anyone, without even telling me.” Sokka’s voice was rising in volume but he hardly noticed. Murmurs from neighbouring igloos telling them to keep their voices down went unheard. The fire continued to burn. 

“Can you blame me when this is how you’re reacting? I don’t want my life and death to be inside this-this... ghostvillage! We found the Avatar, we have a duty to help him save the world and you can’t even see the bigger picture, you can’t see outside of this village!” 

“I can see outside of this village. I know what the Avatar is going to do, I know the world is at war but unlike you, I give a shit about the people of this village and I’m not going to hop on a flying bison and run away no matter how much I want to.” Sokka pushed at Katara’s shoulder. “You think I want to stay here? You think I wouldn’t rather be out there, travelling the world on the Avatar-mission, seeing outside of the tundra?” Another shove. “You think I wouldn’t want to leave? To help save the world?” Katara grabbed his arm at his next shove and dug her nails into his arm with the tightness of her grip. “Dad told me to stay here and keep you safe. That’s what I’m doing and I’ll keep doing it until he comes back. In fifteen nights.” He spat the last words out and yanked his arm from his sister’s iron grip.

Katara began to say something, but Aang interrupted. His voice an odd calm in the bickering of siblings, it was out of place enough to immediately attract Sokka’s undivided attention. “Is that why you’ve been sitting up on this wall all this time even if you don’t really think the Fire Nation will come looking for me? Because your dad told you to keep Katara safe?” 

“Yes.” Sokka stepped out of Katara’s space. “A warrior always follows his Chief’s word.” 

“And you remember exactly what he said to you?” Aang prompted, gravitating closer.

“Sure,” Sokka cleared his voice and impersonated his Dad, puffing his chest up and wagging his finger, “Sokka, being a man is knowing where you’re needed the most, and for you right now, that’s here protecting your sister. I need you to be a warrior for this village, until the red moon.” Beside him, Katara’s tension left her shoulders and she looked… she looked sad. Sokka felt sad too. Suddenly his impersonation felt out of touch.

“So if he’s not back by the red moon…” Aang prompted further. 

“Are you trying to find loopholes in the last conversation I’ve had with my father in eighteen moons?” 

“No! But… you don’t want to stay here Sokka, you said it yourself. And I don’t think you should stay somewhere where you’re not happy just because you think you have to, even if it is for family. You can love someone but not love what they want for you. You gave your Chief your word to protect this village until the red moon comes, after the red moon…” 

“Aang-” Sokka rubbed at his face but approached Aang kindly, “I understand what you’re saying, buddy, but it’s not as simple as that. I gotta stay here. Even if -” He took a breath. “Even if the ships take a little longer to come back than expected.” The finality in his voice must have hit Aang because he shifted his feet and looked down to the ground with a heavy expression.

“I understand.” He said. Aang puffed his chest and stood up straight. “I can go by myself. Me and Appa will find the Northern Tribe together, won’t we?” Appa made a grunting noise in response.

“No way.” Sokka said. Katara was looking at him, and suddenly he saw her differently. He saw her in the future, no longer a teenager, confident and powerful, standing side-by-side with the Avatar, changing the world. He didn’t believe in fate, or any of that spiritual hoo-ha, but he understood that this is something Katara was meant to do. The vision was so clear that he blinked it out of his vision and stuttered before clarifying. “Katara is going with you. What do I tell people if they find out I let the Avatar go and get himself stuck in another iceberg?” 

“I’m not going without you,” Katara said as if Sokka had just grown an extra head. Her hand appeared on his shoulder momentarily, enough to bury their argument under the snow.

“But you said-”

“The plan was never to go without you. You were always coming with us.”

“I was gonna go with you… but you weren’t going to tell me beforehand.” Sokka said flatly. He let out a laugh. “So what, you were gonna kidnap me?” Sokka’s laughter fell into silence as Aang and Katara shared guilty looks. “You were gonna kidnap me?!” He reached out to Aang, who was within arm-grabbing range and shook him. 

“It was Katara’s idea!” Aang squawked and jumped out of Sokka’s grip and onto the top of the igloo where he looked down fearfully at Sokka who began shouting and shaking Katara. A stream of water found itself inches away from Sokka’s face, where Sokka suspected it was going to be sent harshly up his nose when Aang kicked a stream of air into the snow to distract Katara enough to drop the water. “Oh, sorry,” Aang kicked another stream of air over Sokka and Katara to get all the snow off them. “It makes sense, Sokka! I mean, sorry about the whole kidnapping thing, but Katara was right. You wouldn’t have left the village but… without you, we would be in danger, far more than your village.” 

Sokka was getting tired of all the new angles Katara and Aang were throwing at him. He’d just found out he was going to have been kidnapped to go save the world with the Avatar and he grew too exhausted to argue anymore. Sure, of course, his sister was going to kidnap him on a flying bison to bring him to the North Pole, that seems like the kind of thing that would happen to Sokka. He falls into the snow in defeat. 

Katara walked over to him with her hands on her hips. “You’re going to catch a cold.” 

“Ah-chew.” Sokka says sarcastically. Katara continues Aang’s angle.

“Once the Fire Nation finds out that we have the Avatar en route to the North Pole, they’ll follow us. Everyone knows that the Avatar will bring peace, which can only mean the downfall of the Fire Nation. They’ll try to -” She faulted. “They’d follow us. If they knew the Avatar was sailing past their land, they wouldn’t waste the manpower to come here and destroy the village, it’s not worth the trouble.” The words came from her mouth like acid. The Southern Water Tribe is nothing to the Fire Nation. The attack wasn’t personal - it was political. It was a message that the Fire Nation saw all trading with the Earth Kingdom as an act of taking sides in the war, and it will be punished. Their village is far out, hard to reach, and has little worth taking in the eyes of Fire Nationals - considering they opted to burn their stores rather than take the effort to loot them. The message was simple: The Fire Nation will attack even the most unthreatening traders, no matter the inconvenience it causes. 

“All their attention would be on the Avatar.” Sokka understood. The Fire Nation will have a level one priority: get the Avatar, and through association, Katara. Sokka looked up at his sister, who looked very serious. She knew the pieces had clicked in Sokka’s head. This was bigger than the village. If Sokka stayed here to protect the village, Katara could get hurt by the Fire Nation and there would be nothing Sokka could do to prevent it. He would be in a constant state of not knowing whether or not his sister was even alive. Maybe if Katara had been the older sibling, this would be easier. Sokka sighed deeply and thoughtfully after minutes of silence. “Okay, I have a plan.” 

Sokka was the plan guy for a reason. His plan was met with agreement from his sister and air somersaults from Aang. The plan is this: wait until Chief Hakoda comes back on the red moon, the meeting will be a joyful and teary-eyed one, full of emotions but for the sake of the planet Sokka will have to put his emotions to one side and fill their dad in on the whole ‘Avatar’ thing. He can only imagine what his father would say when he sees his son for the first time in eighteen moons, now with broader shoulders, a handsome squared-off jaw, even stubble on his upper lip. For his son to sit him down, show him a bald, tattooed twelve-year-old monk who kicks off Sokka’s hand-me-downs whenever possible, and reveal him as the Avatar who fell asleep in an iceberg for 100 years. Hmm… well, Sokka’s pretty sure his dad will like Appa, at least.

He delivered that part of the plan with enough conviction that Katara and Aang hadn’t questioned what exactly they were waiting for. Katara probably knew he needed more time to develop the plan, because good plans take time, they need to marinate to reach their true potential. Sokka let the plan marinate overnight, barely catching a wink of sleep while Katara snored quietly at the opposite end of the igloo. During the night he heard Aang sneeze and he heard the pegs snap loose as Aang probably sneezed the tent ten feet in the air. 

He continued to marinate through a quick and heavy-eyed breakfast of salted kelp and snowgull eggs. He marinated while he fished. While he helped Aang secure his tent. While he took his place on the wall to overlook the polar sea. Behind the wall, Katara and Aang were practising their bending. Katara, with the help of Aang’s airbending knowledge, had learnt to do some pretty freaky stuff with ice. Apparently some bending knowledge was universal - who would’ve thought? 

Fourteen nights until his dad would come back. Half a moon. Sokka thought about seeing the mast of the ship piercing through the horizon and leading the trading ships back home, the familiar blue and white insignia flapping a warm greeting in the freezing breeze. The thought sparked inside him and he kicked his legs against the wall, going back and forth from watching the pair below him to watching the waves of the sea. 

The second step of the plan took this spark and ignited it into flame in his stomach. They would wait for the ships to come home, for the Chief to return, then Sokka would ask him what to do. Dad would impart his expert wisdom on the trio and he would lay out simple step-by-step instructions on how to save the world. Chief Hakoda was an expert negotiator, a renowned navigator and a tactical thinker, and above all, caring. He would know exactly what to do with as little risk to themselves and others as possible. He could plot their journeys to avoid violent currents and deceptively large icebergs. 

Sokka relaxed and watched over the sea, a wave of calm spreading like embers through his veins. This plan couldn’t possibly go wrong. For now, they just had to bide their time and wait for the red moon. Sokka watched the snowgulls dance around each other in the sky, behind them, a heavy black cloud grew over the horizon. 

Sokka pulled his furs closer, ‘Guess there’s a storm coming,’ he thought.

“Clear skies for the foreseeable future, Prince Zuko.” The navigational officer was waved away and retreated back to the hull. Zuko’s hands twisted the iron of the deck railings. He could feel it in his gut. He was going to capture the Avatar. Behind him, his uncle sat drinking tea, complimenting their surroundings.

“The auroras in the Southern Pole are meant to be beautiful, if we are lucky enough to see it, nephew, I would consider it a blessing by the Spirits. There is so little time for beauty nowadays, I wish I had taken a more languid pace in my youth.” Zuko paid no mind. He had been terse with his uncle as of late - ever since Zuko witnessed an unnaturally bright beam of light starboard, even from all the distance it had been, Zuko could sense there was something unnatural about it. Not a simple trick of the light as his uncle had insisted. They had spent some weeks searching for its origin and Zuko was trying to be patient.

It had taken collaboration with his navigators, but they could only tell him that it had come from the direction of the South Pole and a nervous suggestion from one of his men that the Southern Water Tribe may be involved had caused Zuko to momentarily falt. He ignored the gnawing in his gut and instructed his men to follow the light. Make way to the Southern Tribe.

It made sense. If the Avatar was hiding somewhere in the South Pole, there was nowhere else he could be hiding. The place was a desolate wasteland, and the Tribe isn’t much better. From all that Zuko has heard from his youth, from his father, tutors, various whispers of the palace staff, the Water Tribes were little more than animals. They hunted and ate food raw, lacked the skill and knowledge to build any civilisation more advanced than some igloos and tents. Zuko was aware of the trading route the Water Tribe had with the Earth Kingdom, and he remembered the attack that his Father had issued with little more than a wave of his hand, as if he had been signalling for another serving of spiced wine rather than signing off slaughtering half a village. 

Zuko forced the memory down before it could grow, before he could dwell on it. His father had made the decision that benefitted the Fire Nation the most, the lives lost were a necessary piece of collateral. No one ever said war was easy. 

“The men say the skies are clear. Surely we can afford to slow down a little, it isn’t often an old man like myself gets to experience such fresh air. It is good for the bones, you know.” 

“We’re not slowing down. We’re close,” Zuko said shortly. Below him, his army was suiting up. Fastening their armours and donning their helmets. The younger conscriptions, those who had barely turned sixteen before being dragged out of their homes and given the honour to join Prince Zuko’s ship were dusting their hands in a coating of powdered fire-eel scales.

 Zuko had been well acquainted with the powder in his youth, not yet in control of his firebending to prevent burns. After training, his hands would be blistered red, a testament to his failures. His mother slipped a jar of the powder into his room one night and told him to dust it over his hands before training. Fire-eels were naturally flame retardant and their scales crushed for fledgeling firebenders to practice their craft safely. He hadn’t known that it was standard within Fire Nation when training - his Father used to tell him the burns would teach him to control his fire better. The Crown Prince shouldn’t have any problem controlling his chi and fighting through the pain. Zuko only recognized the powder as a common practice through the conversations of his sailors that drifted through the ventilation system from the mess hall to his quarters. 

His firebending instructor noticed the white powder only weeks later and Zuko had been punished for his cowardice and his reluctance to follow his instructor's guidance. 

Zuko forced his teeth to stop grinding. It had worked, after all. Zuko eventually learned how to control his fire. The scarring on his hand had made way for harsh calluses that allowed him to firebend stronger for longer, without any prolonged burning sensation or pain that most firebenders would experience. 

Zuko learned to work hard and endure the agonies he needed to in order to rise to the position he deserved. If you didn’t work diligently for what you wanted, then it was not deserved. After three years at sea, three years of scouring the oceans and the lands looking for the missing Avatar, Zuko’s diligence had paid off. Squinting his eyes against the harshness of the sun, Zuko confirmed what he thought to be true.

They were approaching the Southern Water Tribe. The ice wall was little different than the icebergs they had manoeuvred around, except for one thing. It gleamed with purpose, the light reflected off the wall in an intentional beckon to visitors, the sun shimmered across its lip and the ice structure almost glowed a welcoming orange in the presence of its guests. 

Zuko collected his helmet and ordered one of the guards to assemble the army from the hull. 

“That will not be necessary,” Iroh assured, holding a hand out in front of the guard. “These are peaceful people, Prince Zuko. I think you will find they will not respond well to such a sizable force.” 

“Peaceful? The Water Tribes are savages, Uncle. Why should I worry about whether or not they are comfortable with the power of the Fire Nation.” Zuko glared into his uncle’s eyes, but he seemed nought uncomfortable with his gaze and took a long sip of his tea.

“These people are well aware of the power of the Fire Nation, Zuko.” His voice, unlike his demeanour, was grave. “A number of guards will serve reminder enough.” 

“If the Avatar is hiding in the village, a number of guards won’t be enough to capture him.” Zuko seethed, slamming his fists down on the table. His uncle sighed mournfully at the capsized teapot.

“Persuasion is better than force - a barking hound gives you no power - only fear,” He said sagely. “A fresh pot of jasmine tea, if you would be so kind.” The guard gave a look to Zuko who granted him permission to leave. 

“Now isn’t the time for your proverbs, Uncle. I’ve waited three years for this moment, for the chance to capture the Avatar and go home.” 

“I will not tell you which way to command your ship, Prince Zuko,” Uncle said, but Zuko knew that his uncle had more military experience than even his titles suggested. Zuko reluctantly, after a great deal of contemplation, decided to take his uncle’s advise somewhat on board.

Addressing another guard, Zuko said, “I want four guards with me. The rest of the army is to be at ease until my direction says otherwise, is that understood?” The guard nodded in response and retreated to the hull. 

The hulking mass of forged steel cut through the glimmering wall with slow, unwavering determination. The wall caved open for the Fire Nation with little qualms, the ground shuddered and cracked along the icefloor and Water Tribe peasants ran and jumped over the cracks to retreat to their igloos. From this height, they appeared as little more than scurrying rodents, running back to their dwellings to avoid the inevitable playout of the circle of life. 

Zuko and his guards marched down from the ship into the village. It was even more pathetic than Zuko had expected. For what used to be the largest import of fish and fur into the Earth Kingdom, this village was little bigger than the palace gardens where Zuko would reluctantly play with Azula and her friends. A dozen measly igloos and a few tattered tents. Even the lone campfire was fighting to keep itself smouldering, puffing out little more than sickly smoke and coughs of fighting embers. 

Zuko had heard of the Water Tribe people but had never seen one in real life. The descriptions he had been taught hadn’t been entirely incorrect: muddy, coarse hair; vacant glassy blue eyes; dark leathery skin - all the people short and thick, their bodies bred for conserving energy and storing as much insulating fat as possible. 

There was one thing about his teachings that he sought around the village for evidence - that these people were barbarians. That - he failed to find. Rather he was met with a crowd of frightened children, women, and elderly. The adults clutching the children close, a sweat tracing their brow, eyes flashing with the fires that likely destroyed their homes not even a decade ago. The children blinking with fearful curiosity, stuffing their mittened hands into their mouths and gnawing on the fabric. There were no men in sight. Zuko’s mind flashed with images of melting igloos, burning tents, recognising how simple it would be to overpower the tribe and finish the siege from eight years ago. Before this thought can plant its frightening roots, a boy with grey and black paint splotched over his face charged up the walkway, brandishing some type of blade. 

It was too easy to kick the blade out of his arm. Zuko was almost embarrassed to do it at all. The boy was the closest thing to a warrior in this village, and yet he charged up to a Fire Nation ship, with no visible armour, with loose arms and his centre of balance lazy enough for Zuko to land from his kick, and kick back with his opposite leg and knock the boy headfirst into a pile of snow. 

He continued down the walkway until his footsteps crunched packed snow under his weight. The cold hit him harder than he had anticipated, it wasn’t like the heavy forceful embrace of the heat back home, it was sharp daggers of cold that pierced into his skin with every minute shift of the air. If it weren’t for the Fire Nation armour being insulated for proficient bending then Zuko may have actually struggled to summon his chi to the surface of his skin. Just to be sure, he summoned heat to his feet inconspicuously. Within seconds the soles of his boots were wet. 

Zuko pushed his shoulders back and swooped his eyes over the crowd. The Avatar is an airbender - the cycle insists. None of these people looked like an Airbender, who, from what Zuko has studied, have a complexion similar to those of the Earth Kingdom, but smoother from lack of worldly stress and hard work. The Air Nomads spent much of their time indoors, connecting with the Spirits in meditation. None of these people looked like they knew the ways of the Spirits. 

Zuko spoke clearly, not sure if the Fire Nation dialect would register within their community. “Where are you hiding him?” When he was gifted with no response, he grabbed the oldest person he was in reach of and gestured her to the crowd. “He’d be about this age, master of all elements.” 

The faces grew fearful, eyes darted around the crowd, searching for someone. Someone who was currently missing. If they wanted to keep their secrets, Zuko had no choice but to show them what he was capable of. Zuko shoved the woman back into the arms of a girl, who was glaring daggers. Zuko glared back and with a swift of his arm, a small warning growl of fire danced over their heads. “I know you’re hiding him.”

A shout and fast footfalls came from behind him and the boy had returned and flew over Zuko when Zuko ducked from his overconfident attack. Zuko shot a firepunch in the direction of the boy’s back. It was a warning shot more than anything, intended only to burn a little, maybe singe the ponytail on his head, but the boy rolled out of the way. Zuko was taken by surprise at the sudden display of competence although it was snuffed immediately when the boy took a spear from the hands of a child and ran towards Zuko.

The boy was brave, but bravery is a close cousin of stupidity. Did the kid really believe that he could spear the Crown Prince of the Fire Nation as if he was preparing him into barbeque meat for the summer solstice? Zuko grimaced at the second-hand humiliation and broke the spear between his forearms until it had lost enough momentum that Zuko could grab the spear without the boy falling over. It might have been childish, but Zuko got great satisfaction with hitting the boy in the forehead with the hand of the spear. 

Zuko moved to step over the boy, to approach the crowd for a final warning but the boy grabbed onto his ankle and jerked him backwards. Zuko growled and kicked embers into the boy’s face, but he didn’t let up, he shook Zuko’s leg incessantly, like a hound shaking the life out of his meal. Zuko’s patience ran out when he almost lost his footing. He yanked the boy up by his hood and brought him inches away from his face. “Are you suicidal or are you Water Tribe peasants somehow stupider than people say?” 

“Stupid?!” The boy’s voice cracked. His face flushed but his teeth maintained pulled back in a snarl. Zuko still took some level of pleasure in it. 

“It means not smart,” Zuko supplied. Water Tribe responded by smashing his forehead into Zuko’s nose. Zuko swore into his hand as he cupped his nose and staggered back, dropping Water Tribe on his ass. The blood in his hands evaporated into blazing fire from his fingertips. It flickered and swayed wildly in his hands as he sneered in fury at the peasant who had fallen still from rubbing his forehead and gulped at the flames in Zuko’s hands. Zuko shifted his weight onto his back leg, ready to take a lunged punch into the seadog’s face, but faulted when a bright smile spread over it, his attention drifting to somewhere behind Zuko's person.

“Aang!” 

Before Zuko had the chance to turn around to see the object of the other’s attention, he was buried in a flurry of snow. With a yell of anger, the snow melted to his feet, the water in his clothes steaming around him. In front of him, smiling bashfully, was a bald child, barefooted in the snow. Zuko, blinded by rage, shot a fireball at the kid, who - no. It isn’t possible. The boy soared twenty feet in the air and floated down beside the Water Tribe peasant, who was being helped up by a girl. 

“You’re the airbender? You’re the Avatar?!” Zuko couldn’t believe it. It didn’t make sense. “You’re just a kid!” 

“Well, you’re just a teenager.” The boy blinked, his attention focused more on the Water Tribe who was rubbing his head. Yeah, well, his nose fucking hurts too. He spat blood into the snow and moved into a fighting stance, ready to summon a fire whip but the ground shifted beneath him, an almighty, bone-chilling groan rang out. Turning slowly, he was faced with a heart-sinking development - his ship was capsizing. The deck was rising in the air before his eyes, the watertank, the war machine of the Fire Nation, was sinking into the polar sea stern-first. “Uh-” Aang smiled apologetically, “Sorry about your boat.” 

“You sunk the boat.” The girl said. She didn’t sound apologetic, she sounded happy, like this was somehow a victory. Like Zuko would give up when the Avatar was so close. 

Zuko resumed his stance and a fire whip crashed down where the Avatar had been sitting, he had jumped into the air and a funnel of icy winds stung Zuko's face. Zuko shook himself and forced his body to warm itself up. His flames spluttered in his hands before raging again, and a series of carefully times fire jabs had the Avatar swerving out of the way and over the wall. The Water Tribe peasants shouted his name and ran after him. Zuko fired at them too, but the boy caught the flame from the corner of his eye and pulled the girl tight to the ground. The flame burned through the wall, sending a river of crystal clear water around their feet. They didn’t seem to mourn the loss of their defences, in fact, Zuko probably helped them with the speed of which they scurried through the hole to the outer wall.

Zuko growled and made to follow, but one of his guards stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. He whipped around and flames spat from his tongue when he barked, “What?!” 

“Prince Zuko, the ship is sinking. We have to retreat-” 

“No.” 

“Sir?” 

“I said no.” Zuko grabbed his guard by the collar. “We are capturing the Avatar.” 

“Prince Zuko - I-I understand. It’s just - we don’t have time. The lifeboats - they’re taking on water by now. We need to leave now or we’ll be stuck here. Prince Zuko, sir. With all respect. I mean no offence.” Zuko pushed the guard off. A dusting of white powder claimed the handprint on his armour. This was one of the younglings. His own age - forced into the army before even being of age to drink spiced wine, or own property. Fighting a war that his father had likely fought, or is still fighting. The powder didn’t budge with Zuko dusting it off. This guard was not even in control of his firebending yet. This guard was inexperienced and likely wanted to catch the Avatar as much as Zuko did to return home to his mother. 

Zuko addressed his guards, who were standing strong, but their heads looking back and forth between the ship and their Prince. “Go.” His word was final, and the guards ran back on-ship, climbing mounds of snow and ice from where their ship had wedged the wall apart and jumping onto the deck of the sinking ship, hoping the lifeboats were waiting for them. 

Zuko followed through the wall, channelling his chi against the wind chill. He wasn’t expecting to be tackled immediately to the ground by Water Tribe and he definitely didn’t expect to find himself being sprayed with icy seawater from the tide lapping over the shore in angry waves. Zuko gritted his teeth as his armour and clothes got drenched. He tried to summon his fire, tried to land some fire jabs, but all he could do was grab the boy’s ponytail and get a right hook into his mouth. The boy yelled in pain and shifted backwards, enough for Zuko to sit up. Zuko managed to grapple with the boy’s arm and twist his body to reverse their positions, pinning the boy to the ice and settling a knee heavy on his gut.

The unnatural shifting of water catches his eye and he saw the Avatar and the girl, shifting the water, occasionally the Avatar will glide over the water, towards the lifeboats, and slice a sharp air current into the water to make a wave. They’re pushing the lifeboats away. The boy struggles under his hold but his grasp is iron. He sees his uncle, waving in the lifeboat. Zuko would blame it on the heat of the moment, on the throws of battle, on the cold that was sticking to his skin, but the emotion that pulled him off the boy and had him running towards the shoreline was fear. Fear that he hadn’t felt in years. He felt a child in an adults clothes for a moment, before he was slapped in the cheek with a cutting jab of icy water. “Get me on that boat!” He barked and grabbed the girl’s raised arm in a heated grasp.

“Get your hands off my sister, creep!” The boy - the brother - screamed. Zuko was about to reply something akin to ‘I don’t want your waterdog sister’, but instead, got a mouthful of boomerang. 

For such a small weapon, it threw Zuko off. He stumbled back, the girl shoved at his arm forcefully, he lost his balance completely and fell backwards into the sea. 

Something that was notable about the Southern Water Tribe in opposition to its sister tribe, it wasn’t an island, rather it was a floating hunk of ice. That was the reasoning his staff gave him for why it took so long to track down - it moves with the currents. This has the obvious benefits for security and the like, but one huge, major downfall: if you fall off the edge, you fall into the depths of the polar sea. Zuko’s armour pulled him down, not that it mattered, because the sudden freeze surrounding him shocked his firebending body into unconsciousness.

Chapter Text

“Well, what are you waiting for, Sokka?” Katara gestured to the Fire National lying waterlogged on the shore. Katara and Aang had spent a tense minute trying to lift him out of the sea with their bending. It was a hard enough task, apparently, lifting things inside water bubbles, but it was made the more difficult with the weight of the armour sinking him down. Katara and Aang were both already pretty worn out from the efforts of shifting the lifeboats away. “Kiss him.” 

Sokka stuttered and his face grew red with the suggestion. That was top of his Things Totally Not Happening list. They’d shared a tense moment of silence after dragging him out of the water, when he reached close enough to the surface for Sokka to jump in and drag him up. They must have looked like a pair of drowned rats from where Katara was standing. Sokka had been waiting for the Fire National to start coughing or… something, but the silence sparked a silent conversation between the siblings which Katara had felt the need to vocalise. “I’m not kissing him! You kiss him!” 

“I can’t kiss him - I’m a girl!” Katara shouted.

“That doesn’t even make sense! That’s more of a reason why you should kiss him and not me,” Sokka yelled back, voice breaking.

“It would be my first kiss - I’m not giving it to a Fire Nation soldier!” 

“And I should?!” Sokka started to pull at his hair. A movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention: Aang. “Aang should kiss him!” 

“I should?” Aang tilted his head.

“He should?” Katara and Aang spoke over one another, looking between each other in confusion until Katara’s face brightened, “Aang - you’re an airbender! Yes, great idea, Sokka.” Katara grabbed Aang and pulled him towards the soldier and Sokka. Sokka scooted back and let Aang bow over the unconscious man. 

“Uh… okay, I mean, sure - I can kiss him if-if you want me too,” Aang said, voice laced with confusion. “But why?” 

“You know-” Sokka imitated the kiss of life with gasping dramatic breaths and all, “Nothing like a bit of airbending breath to kickstart the lungs.” 

“But he’s breathing fine.” In response to the sibling’s looks of confusion, Aang grabbed Sokka’s hand at the wrist and hovered it over the soldier’s mouth. “Feel?” 

“Why - why did you agree to kiss him if you knew he was already breathing?!” Sokka stared jawlessly at Aang, whose face grew red from embarrassment.

“I thought it was one of your tribal tradition thingies! How was I supposed to know you thought he was dead?!” Sokka dropped his gloved hand from Aang’s grasp and hit himself in the forehead. 

“This is the Avatar,” He mumbled to himself, then gesticulated helplessly to his sister, “This is the guy who’s gonna save the world. This guy.” Katara’s face was battling between disgust and confusion at Aang’s misjudgement but she shook it off and wiped at her face. When she spoke, her voice was tired. Sokka noticed the droop in her posture and the wince in her face every time she moved her arms. He noticed Aang noting the shake of her arms with concern but he didn’t mention it. 

“Okay, great so he’s breathing,” They all looked at the soldier. His face was relaxed and pale. In fact, Sokka hadn’t seen skin so pale and smooth before. He wondered briefly if all Fire Nationals had such sickly-looking skin, it looked quick to burn and quicker to blemish. The smooth, china-like skin only exaggerated the marring over the side of his face. Thick pink scar tissue crawled over his eye and even along to his ear. It was no regular scar, the way the flesh healed twisted and bubbling told the story of a burn. A burn scar that some of his own people had been marked with. Serves him right. So many innocent people had been scarred by the Fire Nation, wore burns on their skin, stood in front of the rubbles of their home, the graves of their loved ones, it was a sick justice, but it was justice nonetheless. Although it didn’t really make Sokka feel any better. 

It did draw Sokka back to the present, when he felt the familiar tingling sensation of burning on his face. It didn’t hurt, and Sokka, who recalled the soldier’s firebending skills (which he reluctantly admitted to himself were really fucking impressive, in a devastating totalitarian kind of way) recognised that the embers that had been kicked into his face weren’t really meant to hurt him, just get him out of the way. They only stung a little and Sokka doubted they would leave any permanent marks.

“Now what?” Katara continued, “What do we do with him?”

“I vote for throwing him back in,” Sokka supplied. 

“Sokka!” Aang scolded, he looked over the soldier with a sad look on his face, “He’s just a kid - like you.”

“I’m not a kid.” He was fifteen thank you very much. By Water Tribe standards, officially a man. His threat was only halfhearted and he tried to formulate some type of plan in his head. Katara approached them and looked over the soldier. “What are you doing?” 

“I’m just looking him over. He’s going to freeze if we don’t warm him up soon.” 

“You didn’t look me over,” Sokka huffed. Katara glared at him.

“Well you’re not lying unconscious in the snow, are you?”

“No thanks to you!” Sokka made a point of wringing the water out of his tunic. “I’m drenched.” 

“I can help!” Aang jumped up and opened his staff, pulling it back to send some wind Sokka’s way. Sokka jumped up and gestured wildly.

“No no no no, we’re good. All good here. No need for any wind tunnels.” Aang just shrugged and walked beside Katara, helping her waterbend the water out of the soldier’s clothes. It was a slow process and Katara was clearly trying not to wince in pain. Her arms were tensed painfully and her waterbending was sloppy. “What are you doing? You do know he’s the bad guy, right?”

Katara soured. “What should we do? Leave him here? He’ll die, Sokka.” 

Sokka was about to respond with a tight ‘ so?’ but Katara, ever the mind reader, shot him a warning glance in Aang’s direction. Aang was looking at the soldier with worried eyes, his waterbending wasn’t as good as Katara’s but he wasn’t as worn out and he was lifting and tossing water from his clothes with haste. 

“Ugh, fine. ” Sokka reluctantly grabbed the heavy coat that he had discarded before jumping into the water after the Fire National and with a sour face, wrapped it around the front of his body. “He’s gonna wake up, though. We’re gonna need to put him somewhere, preferably somewhere he can’t turn us into barbecue.” They mulled it over in silence as Katara and Aang took as much of the water out of the Fire National’s clothes as their tired muscles could. Sokka, for lack of anything better to do, fussed with the coat. 

“We could put him in my tent?” Aang said.

“Well it’s not exactly high security.” Sokka rubbed his chin and thought painfully hard. There had got to be somewhere they could throw the guy. Somewhere sealed away, preferably out of range of the village so the kids don’t waddle over and get their brows singed off. There was plenty of ice burrows in the Southern tundra, or ice caves in the fjords, but they were out in the wilderness, free roam of polar ox and ice foxes. Sokka rarely went out to the tundra to hunt, only on clear days because in the blizzards you barely saw three paces in front of you - but a polar ox could sniff you out a mile away. Sokka learned that the hard way. He still has a scar on his ass from that incident. He missed the meat, though. He knew how to prepare it, Hakoda having took him hunting when he was younger. They would carry the animal back to the village and prepare it, then they would carry the thinner cuts of meat into the smokehouse for smoking and salting. The smoked meats took longer to prepare but the wait was worth it. The smell of the smoke, whenever the ice wall would be lifted, would fill the village and rumble hungry bellies. Wait a minute - Sokka was onto something here. “Katara, do we still have the smokehouse?” 

Katara thought for a moment, “You mean the cave they carved into the Eastern wall? I think so,” Her face brightened as she fell into the same line of thought as Sokka, “That’s a great idea, if it’s still standing. They used something that stops ice melting to mix into the walls and the entrance is sealed off by a wall of ice so only waterbenders can get in or out.”

“That would stop the kids from getting into any trouble.” 

“We should go now,” Aang said suddenly, looking off into the distance, “The wind is picking up, it’s going to get really cold.”

Katara sighed at the wall which not only had the hole from the soldier’s fireball, but also the huge breach from where the Fire Nation ship had once been, which Sokka held down a feeling of glee, was now at the bottom of the ocean. “We’re all going to be really cold tonight.” 

“Oh how terrible,” Sokka squeezed water from his hair. 

“Will you help me carry him, Sokka?” Aang already had the soldier’s arm wrapped around his shoulder and began to stand up fully. Sokka rushed to mirror Aang before the soldier could fall over and back into the sea. Aang didn’t seem to realise how heavy the armour actually was - Sokka swore the guy weighed a ton.

“Didn’t give me much of a choice there, buddy,” Sokka said with no real malice. Aang smiled in response and the two awkwardly half-dragged the unconscious soldier through their village to the vestibule within the ice where the door would be lifted - or melted - and the cave opened into a small room, barely bigger than an igloo, which once was filled with hanging strips of meat. The stone pit laid in the middle of the room, charred wood and ash still lying untouched. It was hard to drag the guy through the village, even though they stayed as close to the wall as possible, it was difficult not to notice a trio of teenagers manhandling a body, leaving a trail where the soldier's feet dragged through the snow. There had been some comments, some shouting, a lot of mothers grabbing their children and holding them close before they had the chance to run over and poke the silly-looking armour. Sokka guessed Katara must have shot them a powerful look at one point because the comments and sneering hushed violently and Katara overtook them and stomped ahead. 

Sokka didn’t want the guy here either! He was very much on the side of ‘feed the ash-eater to the polar oxen’ and ‘fill his armour with stones and send him swimming’, but the more compassionate, mushy side of Sokka recognised that Aang was right. They couldn’t let him die, no matter if he was a murderer himself, as all Fire Nation soldiers are, Sokka wasn’t stooping to that level. He was perfectly happy carrying on with his life without any blood on his hands. 

The air still carried the smell of smoke. It was an earthy type of smoke, of Earth Kingdom tree bark and a slow, smouldering flame. Sokka wiped at his mouth. Even after all these moons, the smell still made him hungry. Katara stood within the vestibule as Aang and Sokka lowered the Fire National to the ground. Sokka resisted the urge to just drop the guy and instead followed Aang’s gentle lead. Stupid air pacifist. 

“Will the fire-resistant ice be enough?” Sokka asked, noting puddles of ice and icicles from the ceiling which looked as if there had been some melting issues. He didn’t really need Katara’s answer, since he could guess for himself that it isn’t enough. 

“Firebenders can’t make fire when they’re cold.” Sokka could hug Aang, really, he could. “I had a friend from the Fire Nation and sometimes when he came to visit it would be too cold up in the sky for him and he couldn’t do any of his whoosh-whoosh. ” Sure, maybe his pantomiming skills could do with some refining, but he could still hug him. “I don’t remember much about it, he was only a kid like me, so he didn’t really know much about it. But I think it’s because firebenders have to be hot otherwise they can’t make their fire. That’s why all the Fire Nation clothes are so warm. When I tried on Kuzon’s tunic I got heatstroke!” Aang was oddly excited about getting ill but Sokka glazed over that. 

“So what you’re saying is … as long as we keep him cold, we’ll be safe?” Aang faulted.

“Uh - yeah. It won’t be very comfortable, though. I’ll give him my bedroll.” Aang bounced out of the smokehouse but Katara stopped him with a gentle but unwavering hand.

“Aang, I know you don’t want to see this … teenager uncomfortable or hurt, and we don’t want to either-” Sokka’s opening mouth shut closed with Katata’s warning glare, “But he could seriously hurt us. We’re keeping him here until we can find a way to get him home safely. That means keeping him cold enough to stop him firebending.” Aang was gazing at his bare feet. “I need you to understand, it’s important, Aang. We could all be in danger. I'll ask Gran-Gran if she has anything that could help, she worked a lot with burn victims after the first attack, she might know something useful.” 

“I guess I understand. Can’t I bring him home on Appa?” It was a hopeful voice, but Aang knew well enough what the answer would be.

“The whole reason that they invaded was to find you, I don’t think you delivering him to his front door as a shiny-headed chauffeur is the smartest move.” Aang winced and slumped into himself. Uh-oh… that definitely came out harsher than Sokka meant it to. “No - I mean. They want to hurt you, we can’t take that risk. And we definitely can’t risk Appa getting hurt.” Sokka added. Aang cheered up a little at that.

“Yeah, Appa hates fighting.” Not exactly what Sokka was going for but if the shoe fits. “So… how are we gonna get him home?” Aang pushed again, after a tired silence. Katara and Aang both flickered over to Sokka. Sure, it’s nice to be recognised as the plan guy, but he’s standing in an ice cave, in wet clothes that are starting to freeze in uncomfortable places, he’s been punched, kicked, fired at, and he’s really, really hungry. Can a guy get a minute? 

Sokka scrubbed at his face, wincing at the pain, “I don’t know. I’m gonna need to warm up before my brain gets-a-moving again.”

Katara nodded and rubbed at her aching muscles. “We could all do with a little recuperation. We also need to tell everyone what we’re doing - and I don’t think they’ll be very eager to hear it.” Sokka and Katara shared a silent agreement that she does the talking since apparently Sokka’s big mouth has a habit of getting them in trouble more than getting them out. Sokka stood up, stepping over the unconscious body on the floor, and walked unsuspectingly out of the gave and into the village to have some well-needed seaprunes and snowdrop lily tea. 

Or he would have if Katara hadn’t yanked him back. Sokka spluttered as his tunic was yanked back and almost choked him to death. “You’re sitting here until he wakes up.” 

“Huh?! No way!”

“Yes way. We can’t leave him alone,” Katara said. Sokka stared at her pleadingly, but she didn’t cave. “Maybe you can get some information out of him, who knows, maybe he’ll work with us. Stop pulling faces, he probably wants to go home.”

Sokka groaned. Katara was right, although he doubted that the soldier would be in any which way cooperative, it was a nice hope to cling to. On the off chance that the crazy fire guy who tried to kill them was actually secretly a super chill guy, he could help them organise a way to get him out of the South Pole. Although if the roles were reversed, Sokka would rather die than trust a Fire Nation to ‘get him home safely’. If the roles were truly reversed, and Sokka woke up freezing, locked up in an ice cave, he’d probably freak out. Sokka hated it when Katara had a point. 

“Fine. But I want a change of clothes… and rope!” 

Katara gave him a tired smile, thankful that he didn’t argue any further. Sokka could have argued more, there were plenty of reasons why Katara or Aang would be better suited to babysitting but Katara’s eyes were tired, her arms laid heavy on her side and he could see the tension between her brows, probably thinking how she could possibly begin to explain these circumstances to the village. A village of people who had witnessed the Fire Nation break their walls twice, not willing to let the second time be a shadow of the first. 

Katara brought him the clothes and rope that he asked for, and a lantern. He took it with caution, and before he could ask Katara answered, “I know it’s a risk, having fire, but I figured if he’s gonna swing at you, it’s better you see it coming.” Sokka didn’t argue that he was gonna bind his arms, he couldn’t swing at him because he really didn’t know. The kid seemed to be high up in the chain of command, he must be good to have made it so far so young. The blubber was running out, it probably only had an hour or so of burning left. Since the huge shipping fleet had been burned, they never quite got rebuilt, so blubber was few and far between. Usually, lanterns were only used for special occasions; to mark a new moon, for burials, births, in memorium. The light signified hope, lit when the moon is highest in the sky, it calls for the Spirits to give their blessing, to find the light and grant its people with hope, prosperity, to ease pain and bring joy. Sokka took the lantern, feeling a little wrong for having it lit under these circumstances. 

“Here, take this too,” Aang pressed a sickly rag into his hand, when questioned Aang responded, “To take your makeup off - and you know, the blood.” 

“It’s warrior paint…” Sokka grumbled, but took the rag. He hadn’t realised his lip had busted, but sure enough, he dragged the rag over his mouth and it came away with blood. The fucker busted his lip. 

He gave a half-hearted wave to Katara and Aang as they worked on icing over the entrance. Sokka changed out of his wet clothes quickly, just in case the soldier was some type of pervert and almost fell onto his ass trying to pull his pants up. He sat close to the entrance, as far away from the boy as possible. It wasn’t overly cold, Sokka noted, the ice somewhat insulating his body heat, although he wondered how cold it would grow without the heat from the lantern when the residual heat of Aang, Katara and Sokka would eventually seep into the ground. 

The lantern cast harsh shadows over the soldier’s sleeping face, his scar growing deeper and more monstrous the more Sokka looked at it. His mind flashed to the scars on some of the elder’s arms and legs, residual burns from the attack. He separated the comparisons - they were not the same. One was a victim of a brutalist attack and the other was a teenager who got a taste of his own medicine. 

The kid joined the army and waltzed into a neutral zone, the Water Tribe had never taken sides in the war, Hakoda had made it explicitly clear that the Southern Water Tribe would play no part in the happenings between the Fire Nation and the Earth Kingdom, their quiet settlement was too weak, too peaceful to get caught up in that. The Fire Nation boy burst through their defences, manhandled his Gran-Gran, attacked Aang, bust Sokka's lip and then tried to take a swing at Katara. Sokka’s eyebrows grew taught the longer he looked over the sleeping figure. He didn’t feel one bit sorry. His father would probably say something about treating all men as equals, but that didn’t seem right. There was no way that Sokka and this asshole were equals. Sokka would be sure to drive that fact home once the Fire National woke up. 

The first thing Zuko noticed was that his nose hurt. The dull ache spread from his nose across his face and into his head. Zuko has never broken a bone before but he’d be willing to bet that Water Tribe’s thick skill had smashed the cartilage in his nose. The second thing that Zuko noticed was the cold. It wasn’t noticeable as much as it was a sensation deep in his bones that demanded to be felt. It wasn’t the cold he felt during Fire Nation winters or even on deck approaching the South Pole, the icy windchill cutting deep into his bones and phantom pins dancing across his cheek. No, this cold was deeper, more. It felt like Zuko could keel over and vomit ice cubes. It was an awful chill, it locked his muscles and filled his lungs with pain, even his thoughts were slow, as if the thoughts were dragging themselves through a polar blizzard. 

Zuko woke slowly, fighting his body to regain consciousness. The last thing he remembered was getting hit with Water Tribe’s boomerang of all things. Humiliation rose in his gut - the Fire Prince, bested by a kid with a boomerang. Now he was… where? His eyes were struggling to open, feeling unnaturally heavy. His first instinct was that he had been blindfolded - he had been captured, for sure, Zuko could recognise the tight bindings on his wrist, but for lack of fabric brushing against his face. He bit through the pain and forced his eyes open and crystals blocked his vision. He’d never known eyelashes could freeze. He could have scoffed, how could these animals live under these conditions.

Zuko kept his eyes tight, carefully examining his surroundings. He did so inconspicuously because he could sense someone with him, a presence whose eyes were trained, waiting for any movement. The flickering of the flame caught his eye, and then he saw it. Water Tribe. Sitting on the ground, back resting against the ice of the cave, staring at Zuko but with a blanked out expression. Typical. The kid was guarding Zuko, looking straight at him, and was staring straight through him. Probably thinking about fish guts, or raw snowfox hide. The boy was wearing a short-sleeved tunic, bandages of some kind around his forearms. Zuko suppressed a shiver. He was still in his full armour by the looks of it, and with a quick glance downwards, he’d been tossed a Water Tribe coat as a makeshift blanket. So very hospitable of them. 

Zuko considered his surroundings. They’d thrown him into an ice cave. A small room carved into a cliff face. Zuko couldn’t see an entrance, a way out, all he saw was walls of ice. If this had been better circumstances, Zuko would laugh and melt his way out, but the realities of the situation were a lot grimmer. Zuko could feel his chi lying lifelessly in the pit of his stomach, dormant in the cold. His extremities numb without the feeling of heat pumping through his blood. There was no way Zuko could firebend here, not even a puff of smoke. 

He was a good fighter, not having been foolish enough to rely on his firebending alone to succeed. He could take Water Tribe, especially if he jumped him while he was staring off, distracted in the empty tunings of his own mind. Then what? Then wait until the waterbender or the Avatar come to check on him? Zuko couldn’t take two benders without his own, especially not in this climate. His muscles were stiff and clamped tight from the cold. Zuko doubted he could even get a swing in without tearing his muscles or pulling a tendon. 

Zuko’s best option was to wait. Wait until he had more information on the tribe, and do what he had to do. If he could get his bending back it would be simple, the locals wouldn’t be able to bounce back from another attack, especially considering it seems the men are absent. If he set their food stores alight, burned the handful of shitty canoes, melted their igloos, they would die. Zuko felt his chi twist uncomfortably in his gut. It wouldn’t come to that, the threat of it would be enough to twist them into doing his bidding. He’d hold the fire in his hand and they’d play by his cards. The Water Tribe boy shifted and spat onto the ground with a disgusting sound. If he had to crack some skulls to get them to listen then so be it. 

Zuko tried to twist to shift the armour that was digging uncomfortable into his back but the movement sent jolts of pain through his skin and he barely let out a wheeze, but in the small room, it was enough to alert Water Tribe. Before Zuko could raise himself into a dignified position, the boy was standing up and poking him harshly with his foot. “I know you’re alive- uh, awake. I know you’re awake, I mean.” Zuko clamped his mouth shut and glared openly at the blue eyes which were grazing over him like he was a cattle at the market. Zuko resisted the urge to swivel his body and kick his feet out from under him. “You not gonna talk?” Zuko remained silent. The boy’s face twisted into one of hatred. “Fine. Listen, then. We saved your life. You were gonna drown and we made a decision to not let that happen because we’re good people. You owe us. So you’re gonna stay here until our Chief comes back and he’s going to figure out what to do with you.” 

“You’re going to wait until you have permission from your Chief to kill me?” Zuko seethed. “How thoughtful.” 

Sokka took a step back. If he was surprised, he didn’t show it. “He won’t kill you. Our Chief is a good person.” 

“A good leader means protecting his people. I am a threat. If your Chief were here he would have watched me drown, it’s what any good leader would do.” Sokka’s face pinched and he sunk down to Zuko’s level suddenly. He was inches away from him. Zuko could feel his hot breath on his skin, his eyes burned cold into his own and there was something in his eyes that held Zuko back from using the proximity to his advantage to overpower him: Water Tribe wasn’t afraid of him. 

“Chief Hakoda wouldn’t let you drown. We are keeping you here despite it being a glaringly obvious risk to our people because our Chief leads us with the understanding that all lives are equal and that this war is ugly. It helps no one and only serves to stain the hearts of men.” Water Tribe grabbed the lip of Zuko’s chest plate and tugged him to the side, his breath was warm as he spoke in a hiss into Zuko’s ear. “But I am not the Chief. If you so much as blink in a way that I don’t like, I have no reservations for filling your shoes with rocks and sending you gardening for seaweed.” He pushed Zuko away from him and at that moment Zuko felt a surprising shift.

Zuko didn’t have the upper hand. Zuko was a prisoner of the Water Tribe. Prince Zuko of the Fire Nation was a prisoner of war. 

The Water Tribe stepped back to where he was sitting and kept his eyes trained on Zuko. He fiddled with the wrappings around his arms and glanced over to a part of the wall every so often. The silence was suffocating. The armour dug heavily into Zuko’s skin. Zuko hadn’t been in this position in a long time, at the mercy of someone else. It sat inside him like a bad taste. He would do everything he could to switch the positions but his hands were literally tied. If he was to do anything, it was going to be a long game. 

Zuko sat stewing for what felt like years, trying to ignore the bitter cold and the sharp pains of his armour digging into his body whenever he breathed when the silence was broken by Water Tribe. “What’s your name?” He looked over at the Water Tribe and found him sitting with his arms folded and his face stony, his voice gave him away. He sounded unsettled. Unsure. It wasn’t fear, it definitely wasn’t anything like that, but it cemented the idea that this kid had no idea what he was doing. This was good. This was an angle Zuko could work with. The kid didn’t know what he was doing, he was putting on a brave face and doing what he thought was best. Which was babysitting Zuko until the men came home. 

Zuko considered lying. Becoming a nameless soldier had its appeal, for reasons Zuko didn’t care to delve into. It would stop the chance of word getting back to the Fire Nation that he’d been captured by a bunch of seadogs. He wouldn’t have the shame of it bleaching his name, tarring his honour. But then again, would the Chief of a peaceful nation risk letting a nameless soldier go, to blab to his superiors about being captured by the Water Tribe. The Water Tribe may not have considered their trade route with the Earth Kingdom an act of war, but taking a Fire National prisoner? There was no plausible deniability. If they released Zuko they would be launching a grenade against their own people. 

But Zuko is the Crown Prince. People would be looking for him. The Fire Nation will try to track him down and if they arrive to the South Pole only to find that Zuko was nowhere to be seen, they wouldn’t even hold a trial. The Southern Water Tribe will have killed a member of Fire Nation royalty and the tribe would be wiped off the face of the Earth before the first puff of fire stopped smoking. Taking the Prince captive and using him as a bargaining chip, however. That gives the Water Tribe a position unlike any other nation. If this Chief Hakoda is in any which way a strategic leader, he would keep Zuko alive and well to show the Fire Nation the truth of their peace, to escape the war, for a promise to hand the Crown Prince over in exchange for the promise of peace. 

Enough time had passed when Zuko answered that Water Tribe started. Zuko spoke from deep in his chest when he said, “My name is Prince Zuko. Crown Prince to Fire Lord Ozai, grandson of Fire Lord Azulon.” 

Sokka nodded. “And I am Sokka, son of Lu, successor of the Spirits.” He rolled his wrist and bowed haughtily. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, your flame-o highness.” 

Zuko lunged at the boy but stopped himself short. Sokka, a name that felt foreign in his mind, fell over onto his ass and stared up at Zuko with shock. “You can laugh all you want. We’ll see how much you’re laughing when the Fire Nation realise you’ve taken their Prince captive.” Sokka’s face dropped from one of shock to one of fear. His eyes darkened in understanding. Finally, Zuko had a fleeting moment of domination. He pushed on, with his hands tied behind his back, he stepped between Water Tribe’s legs. “You can’t begin to comprehend the consequences of your actions. If you had just handed over the Avatar, you and your people would have been safe, I would have ensured that no one came near this wasteland ever again.” 

“You’re lying.” His voice cracked. Zuko pressed onwards. He pressed his shoe into Water Tribe’s crotch and threatened with weight. Sokka’s voice caught in his throat and he tensed. 

“I wouldn’t waste the effort to lie to a seadog like you.” Sokka’s face flashed with anger and Zuko brought his foot down into his crotch with force. The tribesman let out a desperate wheeze but reached for Zuko’s ankle and pulled him to the floor. If Fire Nation shoes had better grip or if Zuko’s muscles hadn’t been clamped with cold then he perhaps wouldn’t have fallen. Without means to protect himself his face smashed into the hard ground and his nose exploded in pain. 

The pain distracted him from the seadog climbing over him and pressing his knees to the floor under his thighs. The armour cut into his skin from the weight and Zuko breathed sharply through the pain. The coldness through his veins sent every shock of pain into hyperfocus, the fire in his gut wasn’t nulling the pain from his nose, the Chi which would usually flow through him wasn’t suffocating the heaviness of his armour cutting into his skin. Zuko could do nothing more than lie there and take it, he wouldn’t dignify the Water Tribe with his thrashing. 

His stillness didn’t seem to mitigate Sokka’s anger and he felt the boy lean over and whisper a salty breath into his ear, “Don’t call me that,” Sokka’s voice turned into a sickly mock of formal address, “your highness.” Sokka stayed there a minute longer, pressing his forearm into the back of Zuko’s shoulder. It was meant to keep him still but it pressed the armour further into his skin and Zuko was forcing his breathing to steady him through the pain. Zuko’s skin had only just hidden away his goosebumps when the warmth of Water Tribe leaning over him receded and was replaced with the unyielding cold air. 

He heard Sokka flop onto the ground beside him and sigh heavily, his face filled with hatred. “You’re making this difficult for yourself.” 

Zuko forced himself up and took place on the opposite wall, sitting with his legs crossed and his arms wedged awfully against the wall. “You tackled a bound man to the ground.” 

Sokka’s gaze flickered uncomfortably to his eyes for a second before dropping back to the bandages he continued to fiddle with. “You deserved it, you kicked me in the balls.” He said, then added after a beat, “Ash-eater.” 

“Children have called me worse.” Zuko shot back, it was intended to be a debuff but it only served to tug the corner of Sokka’s mouth.

“Gee, I wonder why.” He looked back over to Zuko and his smirk dropped as fast as it had come. “Your nose is bleeding again.”

“Gee, I wonder why.” Zuko mocked. Sokka rolled his eyes and threw a rag into his lap. Zuko stared at it. Sokka gestured towards it expectedly with a smug look on his face. Zuko shifted the rag off of his lap and ignored the taste of iron in his mouth. 

Suddenly a part of the ice wall started thumping and Sokka jumped up at the sound. He dusted his pants off and took the lantern. He didn’t turn back to Zuko when the ice wall came down and he stepped out, nor did he turn around to take his coat back before a sheet of water fell over the entrance and froze over. Zuko’s eye couldn’t adjust to the darkness. He was wrapped in pitch black bitter cold. He curled up as tight as he could, but his armour cut into his stomach and compressed his lungs. 

Inside the prison of seadogs, his wrists bound and his teeth chattering, now a prisoner of war, Zuko found himself with an inexplicable craving for ginseng tea.

Chapter Text

Sokka demolished a double helping of fish stew while he listened patiently to Katara reenacting the long-winded debate she had against the majority of the tribe. From what Sokka had actually paid attention to (he was tired and Katara's voice is easy to tune out) it seemed that the majority of the tension wasn't for keeping the fire soldier in the tribe, moreso the tribe denounced their instinct to help an enemy. Katara not-so-kindly pointed out that the Water Tribe didn't have enemies, they were politically neutral. 

No one outright said to send the soldier into the tundra to let the Spirits decide his fate, but there were a lot of loud voices berating Katara, that she had been raised with more sense. Concerns were raised for of the Avatar's role in saving the world, whether the legend of the Avatar was nothing more than superficial wives tales, considering that during the debacle Aang had been less conservative with his words and feelings than Katara. 

Don't get it twisted: Sokka understood the apprehension, I mean, the guy kicked him in the family jewels. Which is totally uncool. For being high rank in the Fire Nation Army, you'd really think the guy would fight with a little more decorum. He was violent and unpredictable, and even worse, he was rude. Sokka had never heard the term 'seadog' before, but it was said with the same amount of venom that he calls the Fire Nationals 'ash-eaters'. Sokka wasn't exactly cutting ice blocks to build the guy his own igloo anytime soon but this was bigger than their village - sacrifices had to be made.

Katara had dutifully toned down the entire 'by keeping him alive we could accidentally be declaring war on the Fire Nation' in her debate. Not everyone fully agreed to it in the end, but the ayes outweighed the nays and most importantly, they had Gran-Gran on their side. With Chief Hakoda at sea, there was no real leader present, but the Water Tribe was founded on the backs of their hardworking elders, who have more wisdom than any of the other tribespeople would know what to do with, so Gran-Gran, Hakoda’s mother, had a powerful voice in matters such as these. In fact, Gran-Gran had vocalised her pride for her grandchildren amongst the complaints.

Katara desperately tried to respond to all of the questions and comments the tribe were asking over each other. Her mouth began to work faster than her brain until she’d spluttered and lost her train of thought. This didn’t instil confidence in their people until Gran-Gran got up. She rose to her feet gradually and declined help, with tired joints she made way to Katara and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder and addressed her. “You did the right thing. Your father will be very proud of your compassion, even towards what most consider our enemy. We will treat him well, keep him healthy and when he gets home to his mother safely, we will have done all we can to ensure that at least one member of Fire Nation will have a true experience to tell of our wonderful home. It will not end the war but it will end one man’s war, and that is enough.” The village then settled, some instantly swaying to Gran-Gran’s side, some grumbling but agreeing anyway. 

Gran-Gran then lead Aang and Katara into her igloo - Katara and Sokka once shared with her, but once they became of age they proved themselves as adults in the old tradition by building their own. The space where Katara and Sokka once slept had now been taken over with jars of various flora, hanging herbs and bowls of colourful pastes. Their medical hut may have been burned down but Gran-Gran was adamant that their medicines not to be lost within the burned ashes of their scrolls and books. Here, she spent her free time mixing and recording the ointments and salves she had committed to memory, saving them in writing for the next generation. 

“Knowledge is only power when it is shared,” Gran-Gran nodded her head to the scrolls that Aang had been eyeing. “Feel free to browse, I’m sure the information will do you well on your journey, Aang.” Aang did just that, unravelling yards of complicated mixtures, oohing and ahhing as he read. Gran-Gran ushered Katara over to speak with more privacy. “The Fire Nation' boy is a danger to us. You know that as well as I do, no matter what the others may say.”

Katara nodded and her hand drifted to her necklace. “I know.” 

“You think it is a bad idea.” It wasn’t a question. Katara nodded. “You brought him back anyway. Because the alternative,” She held Katara’s hands, “Is not what our family has taught you. Your parents raised you well. Your mother would be incredibly proud, of you and Sokka both.” Katara wrapped Gran-Gran in a hug and sighed a breath of relief. 

Gran-Gran unraveled herself after letting the moment past and called over to Aang, “Fetch me some of the muscle salve, it is labelled.” She carefully rubbed the salve Aang handed her into Katara’s aching muscles. The relief wasn’t instant, but it would come in due time, she had been well experienced in the salve from her youth playing warriors with Sokka. Aang watched the massaging method with the eyes of a student, craning his head this way and that to not miss anything. 

“What do we do?” Katara asked with a small voice, “We’re gonna wait for dad but… until then. Aang said that firebenders can’t bend in the cold, so we’ll be fine but if not-”

“The smokehouse won’t stop him. You’re right. Granted, they clad the walls with powdered fire-eel scales but it will serve as little protection if the soldier were to bend. He is powerful, Katara.” Her face took on a faraway look. Katara waited for the flashbacks to fade back into memory and let her grandmother continue uninterrupted. “Not only in his bending abilities, but in his heart. He sent his men back onto his ship and went after Aang on his own, that is a courageous act. If he were to escape, I doubt there is much that boy wouldn’t do - he may be headstrong, but he has the brain of a petulant teenager. His determination brought him closer to the Avatar, yes, but it also got him stranded on the South Pole.” She took Katara’s other arm to massage, Aang bounced to the other side of them. “He will not only be a danger to the village under these circumstances but also himself. Do not mistake my compassion for forgiveness, but he appears little older than our Sokka, and I couldn’t bear the thought of Sokka being in such a situation… a prisoner. He is a firebender, a member of the Fire Nation army, an enemy of the Avatar-” Aang’s lip drooped, “but he is still someone’s child. He is a son who will be wanted desperately to be returned home safe and it is our responsibility to allow  that to happen.” Gran-Gran finished with Katara’s arms and squeezed her hands gently before going to her herb corner and browsing through jars and plant cuttings.

She rolled her parchment until she found a blank space and dipped her pen into a small jar of squid ink. She fussed with jar after jar, opening some and sniffing and putting them back, tasting droplets from various vials of liquid. The process was an experiment, but not like the clumsy experimentations Katara had practised her waterbeinding with, no - this was the experimentations of someone who knew what they were doing but just needed to find the right what. Aang watched in awe and Katara in admiration, then the motar and pestle got pulled out, the pen made quick writings on the parchment and a table of ingredients stood before them in a multi-coloured array of jars and bowls filled with powders and liquids and flora and all sorts of strange things that Katara had never even seen before.

Gran-Gran named the ingredients as she ground and mixed them together. “Sea-jelly as a base for the ingredients to mix, snowdrop lily pollen and lonesman root to offset the jelly’s toxins, chamomile tea leaves for soothing temperament, double helping of crushed red coral to aid sleep, and the most important part,” she tipped in a fine white powder that plumed into the air, “powdered fire-eel scales, for inhibiting bending.” The jelly she transferred into a small bronze jar was handed to Katara. Gran-Gran held it firm when passing it over, catching Katara’s eyes.”When ingested, this should smother out any flame inside the boy. He will have no chance of firebending with this.”

“I thought you said-”

“I said to be empathetic, not foolish. He is a child caught up in an ugly, ugly war brought upon him by the Firelords before him but that doesn’t mean I want him to melt my house. Or burn Sokka’s canoe,” She added thoughtfully.

“We would never hear the end of that .” Aang giggled beside Katara at that. 

Gran-Gran laughed, but it was cut short. She grabbed Katara’s shoulder in a weak grip, her age getting the better of her these days. “It’s vital that you mix it with seaprune jam and serve it on a dried kelp cracker once a day, just before sunrise. Do you understand?” Katara nodded dutifully and tucked the jar into her pocket. 

“I understand, but why the seaprune jam?” 

“Because it tastes terrible.” Gran-Gran shooed them from her tent because this was far too much stress for a woman of her age, if she had known her grandkids would be so exhausting she would have sold them to the Earth Kingdom. Aang laughed himself into a pile of snow outside the igloo, it was cut short when Gran-Gran shouted that Aang was included in that threat. 

Over the fire pit, Katara handed the jar to Sokka when he asked to smell it. She reiterated Gran-Gran’s warning but Sokka spluttered in disgust before she could finish.

“Eurgh! I don’t think all the seaprunes in the ocean could make enough jam to make that taste good.” He shovelled stew into his mouth to chase the taste but somehow it only made it worse. He spat a couple of times before Katara threw a fist of snow in his face. It stung a little in the places he was burned but he scrubbed it off with no complaints. He also didn’t think that all the chamomile tea leaves in the Earth Kingdom would be enough to soothe Zuko’s temperament but he left that part out. 

He hadn’t planned on continuing this newfound path of concealment, his mouth had been open ready to tell Katara and Aang about how he overpowered the Fire National when he attacked him out of nowhere, it was an easy fight, the guy was practically made of kelp in comparison to the tundra-forged muscles of the water tribesman, but something stopped him. Katara’s face was tired, even as she recited the compassion that Gran-Gran spoke with, she was worried, confused and scared. He knew the soldier’s fiery temperament (no pun intended) was a risk, a stormcloud omen of things to come and Katara will be furious at Sokka for keeping this secret if it gets out but he would maintain that telling her wouldn’t have helped in the moment, it would have only caused her more strife and more mental strain and her focus had to be kept on training with Aang. So Sokka had just sat down and happily wolfed down his dinner and caught up on what he had missed.

“I still don’t think we have to make him eat it, though,” Aang said out of nowhere in the midst of a conversation Sokka and Katara were having about Sokka’s canoe (he thinks it’s time to add some more staining wax to give it a touch of youth, Katara told him he doesn’t need to wax his canoe every week but what does she know).

“Huh?” Sokka said eloquently.

“The fireguy, I don’t think we need to make him eat the jelly. I already said that it’s too cold for him to firebend,” Aang seemed a little off. In fact, he hadn’t said much of anything since Sokka sat down at the campfire. Normally he’d chirp away about games or bending or his old monk friends, but today it was a great oral buffet of zilch. 

“We can’t know that for sure, Aang-” Katara’s hand was swatted away as Aang jumped to his feet and pulled at his furs in frustration.

“I do know it for sure! Why won’t anyone listen to me?! I know I’m just a kid but I’m not stupid, I want to help but no one is letting me.” He took a deep breath to continue, but he just held it in his lungs for a second and then puffed a sharp current out of his nose that made the fire sway dangerously near Sokka. Sokka jumped and shifted some yards back. Aang flumped back to the ground and rested his chin on his knees. “You don't listen to me.” 

“We do listen to you buddy, and you were right - he can’t firebend when he’s cold. He tried to smoke me out back at the wall but couldn’t for a second, I think he got sprayed with seawater. It’s like he had to heat himself up again.  Besides, if he could firebend right now then I’m sure he would’ve lit me up when I called him an ash-eater. He sure looked like he wanted to.” 

“He’s awake?!” Katara said loudly, she clapped her hands over her mouth and whispered, “And you spoke to him?!”

“Uh…” Sokka tried to think about their conversation to censor it for his audience of a sister on the verge of some sort of stress-induced migraine and a twelve-year-old monk. All he could remember was Zuko being an asshole, calling him a seadog, kicking him in the crotch, then they tussled on the ground and Sokka pinned him there. He remembered how quickly the Fire National froze under his weight, like he knew that wiggling would do nothing like he knew Sokka had overpowered him and refused to play into a game of prey. He remembers how the back of the Fire Nation armour dug into his chest and how the metal felt like ice against his tunic. He remembers the shallow attempt at breathing beneath him, the hands which had busted his lip and had handled fire like it was nothing bound and crushed between Sokka’s body and the Fire National’s back. Katara barked his name and he startled, grappling for something to say that wouldn’t make her worried. “His name is Zuko.” 

“That’s a very Fire Nation name,” Aang said. “You shouldn’t call him a… uh, you know - the thing you said.” 

“Ash-eater?” 

“Yeah, it’s not a nice thing to say, Sokka.” Aang twiddled his bare feet in the snow, clearly somewhat uncomfortable. He had a friend from the Fire Nation, the animosity is probably upsetting, the guy grew up in a world before the war, when things were different. 

Sokka very pointedly fought himself to point out that he called Sokka a seadog first, but instead nodded. “Sorry, you’re right. I’ll put a lid on the potty mouth.” 

“That’s all he said?” Katara asked. 

Sokka shrugged. “The guy’s not much of a talker.” He’s more of a hitter, he added mentally. His lip still fucking hurt.

In his bedroll, staring into the blue-black haze of nighttime ice, Sokka couldn’t stop thinking about his lip hurting. It throbbed and throbbed and Sokka swore it swelled thrice the size since he lay down. Then just as he was about to drift off, the gentle burns on his face started itching and Sokka had to lie on his hands to stop himself from scratching. Then a thought popped into his head, dug its claws in and refused to let go until Sokka eventually stumbled blindly into unconsciousness: Zuko’s bleeding nose. It dripped steadily, dipping into the cupid’s bow, catching the top lip and pulling itself over and sinking into the indent where the top and bottom lip met. Zuko would either lick it, a quick tongue poking out and leaving him with the bitter taste of his own blood in his mouth, or it would continue its path over the bottom lip, down the chin and drip to the floor where the rag lay uselessly. 

Had he managed to wipe it off? How would he even do it, Sokka supposes you could hold it between your feet and bend towards it. Sokka personally would simply turn and wipe his bloodied nose on the shoulder of his tunic, but if the soldier did that with his big scary Fire Nation garb on he’d poke his other eye out. Maybe he’s just wipe it off against his knee. Sokka did the motion and then some others and it seemed to be the easiest to manage. Even if his muscles were stiff from the cold or the physical exertion it would be entirely manageable. It wouldn’t be comfortable to sit with blood drying into the skin, especially in the cold. It would crack and it would smell like copper all the time, the blood probably dripped onto his tongue at some point, the taste of copper heavy on his tongue too then.

Sokka rearranged his pillow and forced himself back into comfort. ‘ I’m not thinking about the guy’s bloody nose any longer’ Sokka said to himself, then continued to think about it with an unsettling feeling in his stirring I'm his gut.

The next morning, Sokka brought the soldier his breakfast. It was before sunrise and he and Katara were eager to get back to their bedrolls. Katara punched a hole in the bottom of the ice and Sokka slid the food under. Sokka waved Katara back to bed, since Aang would be awake at the first crack of dawn to meditate anyway, so he can ice over the hole. Sokka waited with his back to the wall, waiting for the fire soldier to eat the food so Sokka could go back to sleep.

He didn’t eat the food. Sokka could hear him stirring inside, heavy movements and solid footfalls. Sokka heard mumbling and edged closer to the hole, peering in to get a view of what the guy was saying, maybe he could read his lips? Instead, he got a plate of seaprune jam kicked into his face. “I’m not eating that.” 

Sokka growled and scrubbed his face. Seaprunes are a delicacy, far more than what the ash-eater deserved. Sokka gathered up the ruined meal and grew angry. The tribe didn’t have an abundance of food, they ate everything they caught. They wasted nothing. When preparing animals, every part is used, organs, skin, bones, every part of an animal was valued. The tribe didn’t ever waste food or resources, they couldn’t afford to. Sokka was gathering one of the few truly delicious meals the water tribe could offer off the ground, when Sokka knew that he himself would be lucky to have a fried snowgull egg. “Fine, starve. See if I care.”

Sokka waited for Aang to seal the hole shut and then Sokka spent the better part of his day in his canoe fishing. He was angry for the entire day, his mind hung up on the waste. He barely caught any fish, he almost capsized his canoe multiple times, he cut his finger while deboning his catches. At one point Katara responded to a heavy sigh with a snap, “I’ll take the Fire National his meals if you’re going to stomp like a kid about it!” 

Sokka’s decline was instant, “No way are you going in there. He just pissed me off.” He didn’t want Katara or Aang going in there. Partly because yeah, the guy was dangerous, but there was also something telling him it had to be Sokka. Katara and Aang couldn’t talk to him the way Sokka does, Katara would get way too mad and shoot ice up his nose or something, and then they’d get zero information from him. Aang would try to braid his ponytail and sing songs or something and the guy will probably try to light himself on fire. No - it had to be Sokka. 

“Fine.” Katara said. She pushed a bowl of fish stew into his hands when she finished slathering some dried kelp with the jelly. “Don’t stomp about when you come back, it’s annoying. Aang’s out there practising his bending, he’ll open the door for you.” 

Sokka got halfway out of the igloo when Katara called him, “Make sure he eats the kelp.” Sokka nodded. With the poor catch today the portions are small, made even smaller with the extra mouth to feed. There’s no way Sokka was letting this be thrown on the ground, even if he had to stand there and spoonfeed the asshole himself.

The fish stew smelled awful. It smelled salty, aggressively so. It dried Zuko's tongue even without tasting. He had practised fasting before, for situations just like these, assuming his captors to be less hospitable than this and starve information out of him. It was standard training for elite families, especially children who were easy to capture and would award a hefty price for their safe return. Zuko was maybe eight when his father had started his fasting training. Intermittent fasting for days, even weeks without a proper meal. It was an exercise in patience, self-control and to encourage mindful energy expenditure.

Zuko was embarrassed with how little he had lasted. Only one night and he was holding himself back from eating from the bowl with no use of his hands, like a common hound. He refused to show such a case of desperation, it wasn't dignified. Although he knew that if Water Tribe hadn't been standing at the wall opposite watching him, he would have done exactly that.

He'd insisted on staying to make sure he ate so he wouldn't starve, but the kid was a terrible liar. His entire body practically convulsed when he forced the high-pitched explanations from his mouth. It didn’t help that his eyes were trained on Zuko like a firehawk circling a sickly hound. Zuko sharpened his gaze and Water Tribe visibly tensed. The staring contest grew longer and a heavy feeling grew in the air until the Water Tribe predictably caved. “Can you just eat the food already! I don’t want to be here any more than you want me to be here!” 

Zuko considered not even giving him a reply, but he looked equal parts frustrated and anxious. The anxiety Zuko didn’t understand, he had walked in with his shoulders back and a walk that Zuko had seen amongst brave men but when he looked at Zuko to put the bowl of food in front of him, he stopped and his eyes gave his true feelings away. “How,” Zuko seethed, “Am I meant to eat. You tied my hands behind my back.” 

Sokka crossed his arms across his chest. “Just eat it.”

“I am not eating like an animal.” 

“Seriously? I don’t care how you eat. Aren’t you hungry?”

“I am not eating like an animal,” Zuko repeated. “It’s not dignified.” The silence grew and even the salted monstrosity before him started to smell good. Zuko was ravenous. It was less to do with hunger, he had been without food for much longer than a day before, but it was simulation. Zuko had sat all night in a pitch-black ice cave. He’d tried to sleep but the pain of his armour and his arms being bound made it impossible to relax. His muscles had started to cramp in the cold, and he’d had to bite his lip to stop himself crying out in pain some minutes before Water Tribe had come in when a particularly bad cramp assaulted his calf. 

He wasn’t desperate enough to stoop to that level. It wouldn’t happen. If he starved to death so be it. It was after that though when the tribesman let out a heavy sigh and made towards him. Zuko kicked him to the floor when he caught the familiar shine of a knife in his hand. Zuko had almost lost his balance when holding him down, but he managed it with a knee to the stomach and his foot pinning the armed hand to the ground. Sokka let out a squawk and blinked up at him skittishly. “No! I was gonna untie you! Get off of me!” 

Zuko looked hard in the tribesman’s face for lies, but found none. He didn’t trust him. He could never let his guard down, especially now that he knows for certain that the boy comes in here armed. He let the pressure off his hand first then carefully pushed off him using only his lower body strength. It hurt to do. His muscles hurt, his armour was heavy, he was tired. 

Sokka stood up when Zuko gave him the breadth to do so and flexed his hand, grimacing. “You’re fucking heavy, you know.” Zuko wasn’t heavy, his armour was heavy. Zuko was scrawny by no means, but he lacked the broad-chested build that had run through his Paternal lineage. All the training he did gave him defined muscles, strong calves and thighs and a flexible range of motion, everything he needs to look and move like a good firebender, but all the training in the world couldn’t give him what his genetics hadn’t. Water Tribe bent over easy and picked the knife off the ground and wiped it off on his tunic front. Sokka had no warrior’s build, his arms were scrawny and lacked any real definition, although Zuko supposed these Polar tribes were bodies built for insulating heat, storing fat quicker than burning it. He had a broad chest, though. Zuko wasn’t jealous - but it was an odd thing to catch his attention.

 He didn’t have time to dwell on it. “Alright, turn around.” Water Tribe said. 

“I’m not turning my back on the enemy.” 

“For the love of - I am trying to help!” Sokka said. “Would you rather me wrap my arms around you and slice blindly around your wrists until I manage to cut the knot?” 

“I-” Zuko, embarrassingly, stuttered around his own tongue, “Of course not!” 

“Well then turn around, my liege.” Zuko imagined setting the boy’s ponytail on fire. He turned around but kept his eyes sharp on Sokka over his shoulder. The Water Tribe’s face fell into concentration. Zuko almost jumped when he felt fingers grazing over his wrists, edging around the rope. The fingers tried to wedge between his skin and the rope but failed, he tried various places around Zuko’s wrists with no success. Zuko noted the quick darting of his eyes, clearly looking all over the rope and the knot, despite his fingers delicately working one small area. When his hands drifted one place, his eyes did only briefly, then darted around again as his fingers worked a new place. It was a type of intense, yet uncontrolled concentration that Zuko tried to place himself doing, but found himself unable.

The rope suddenly pinched very tight and his breath stuttered out of him in pain. “Shit, sorry.” Zuko looked back at the tribesmen and found a genuine look of apology staring back at him. Zuko clamped his mouth shut. “Uh… I must’ve been super pissed off when I tied these. Or hungry. They’re really tight, why didn’t you mention it?” Water Tribe tugged again and Zuko barely managed to stop his breath catching.

“You want me to complain that the bindings you tied me up in are too tight?” Zuko said with mockery staining the edges. 

“Yes.” The instant reply threw Zuko, as did the unwavering concentration in which it was delivered. “I’m going to have to cut in between your wrists, it might hurt a little but… yeah, just stay still.” It took some tense and painful minutes but eventually the knife broke through the last fibres of the rope and Zuko was able to pull his wrists apart. He turned around, not to be with his back to Water Tribe any longer and rubbed them, working the skin to bring back some much-needed circulation. Although with the cold, he doubted they would regain as much as he’d like. His eyes snapped to the tribesmen when he heard him swear under his breath. “Your wrists… they’re…” 

Rubbed raw, prickled with blood in places, bruised a harsh blue around the edges. “It’s rope burn. It’s nothing.” 

Sokka made to… do something. Push him, dust off his clothes, grab his wrist? Zuko wouldn’t know, because his hand fell back to his side and he fiddled with his bandages. 

Zuko ate the food. It was strange to eat with his fingers, a little humiliating but he’d known some small regions of the Earth Kingdom to eat as such, so it isn’t a foreign concept. He poked around the seaweed-looking slab and tried to focus on the most substantial parts of the dish. He tried to focus. Tried being the key, because he could feel Water Tribe’s eyes boring holes in him. He would look up and catch blue eyes flashing to carefully examine the cave wall, even going as far to poke at the ice and make stupid faces of concentration. Moron. 

When he’d eaten everything but the strange dried food with a slather of jelly, he examined it, not having anything of the sort back home, and smelled it. The smell was familiar, and it took a minute to place, but when he did he glared at the boy in front of him. “This is fire eel.” 

Water Tribe froze, then waved him off, “No - we don’t have fire eel up here. Uh, down here. No sir. Only boring old blue bass, hahaha!” 

Zuko dropped the food into the bowl and it exploded at the side of Sokka’s head. Zuko wasn’t angry, he wasn’t blind with rage, he was tired. He was exhausted with being in this situation, powerless, being overpowered by a dumbass kid. “Why?! You had your chance at the wall, you had your chance when I was unconscious, you had a knife to my wrists minutes ago and my guard was down.” 

“What are you talking about?!” Sokka’s voice broke into a higher octave but his eyes still showed no fear, despite Zuko being mad, having thrown a bowl at his head, unbound. “Stop moving towards me - I’ll take you down!” 

Zuko didn’t stop until he was close enough to see the shaven hair follicles on the boy’s upper lip. “If you want to kill me, don’t take the coward's route.” 

“Huh? Kill you?” Sokka blinked. “We already had the whole not-killing you conversation. Are you allergic to fire-eels or something?” 

“It’s dangerous for firebenders to eat - did you really not know?” Sokka shook his head. Zuko shoved him into the wall. “You can’t just go around mixing little potions if you don’t know what you’re doing. Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?!” 

Sokka let himself be pushed into the wall. His hand was on his knife, Zuko could see it clearly and Sokka knew it. “I didn’t mix it. Gra- our healer did. She says it would stop you firebending, but clearly that was a mistake.” The words were spoken through clenched teeth. 

“She’s right. It will stop me from being able to firebend. Short-term it has little side effects beside some minor pains and headaches, but long-term, which was clearly your plan, it can be fatal.” Sokka blinked, curious eyes telling him to continue. “I have fire inside me. If I eat fire eel, the fire has nowhere to go. It will continue to burn and build up inside until it becomes unbearable. It’s a long, slow and painful process, some men last a week before their bodies shut down, but I’ve seen men last months, unable to move or communicate, lying motionless in silent agony waiting desperately for their heart to shut down and grant them bliss.” 

Sokka’s eyes were trained on his. Zuko stepped back out of the tribesman’s space, remembering what dynamic was at play here,  but Sokka didn’t regard it, instead, his voice spoke with a strange edge to it. “You’ve … seen that?” 

Zuko didn’t let his mind relive the days his father insisted he toured the Fire Nation prisons. “No, but I know it to be true.”

“Right, good. Well - not good. But uh- um. Katara never said anything about her water being inside her or whatever.” 

“Firebending is different.” Zuko didn’t really know why he was telling the Water Tribe this. He couldn’t be sure that this information would be used against him but the look on his face is open and… curious. A simple inquisition which strikes Zuko’s mind back to the concentration on his face when he was trying to untie Zuko’s wrists. “I don’t know much about waterbending but I do know that you learn it, the waterbender - your sister, right?,” Sokka nodded, “She had to learn how to bend, every new technique is a step forward that has to be practised. Firebending is different. Inside firebenders is a flame, our chi, which runs through us. In comparison to your sister, we learn backwards. We learn how to control, every new technique is an exercise in reducing flame, teaching it to follow our guidance, to prevent the flame from growing unmanageable.” 

“So all firebenders are born with out-of-control crazy flamethrower hands?” 

“Not exactly, but it’s the easiest way to explain it to the likes of you.”

“The likes of me?” Sokka’s eyes narrowed. 

“A non-bender.” 

“Oh. Right. And the Firelord lets those guys into your armies? To just…” Sokka flattened an imaginary village with a solid swipe, “wipe out villages?” 

Zuko stepped back, now out of Sokka’s reach. He crossed his arms over his chest. “Why are you still here?” Sokka looked at the broken bowl on the ground as if noticing it for the first time. His features grew sour but Zuko pressed on. “Am I entertainment for you?” 

“Believe me, I don’t get any entertainment from you. I was here to make sure you ate the jelly, so you wouldn’t burn our village to the ground.” 

“I can’t-” Sokka stepped forward, eyes stony as he looked back and forth from the bowl to Zuko.

“I know. Firebenders can’t firebend in the cold, Aang told us. But I’m sure you can forgive our village for wanting to add an extra layer of protection. But since you’ve made a show of telling me that fire-eel is a no-go, I’m going to tell you this.” Sokka pushed a firm finger into Zuko’s chest plate. Even such a light touch stung. “I don’t want you to die. That’s not- that’s not my decision to make. I’m going to take your word as the truth, which you better not make me regret. I’m going to continue bringing you your meals, without the jelly, and you are not to breathe a word of this arrangement to anyone. They don’t feel safe with you here. Even being locked up in a cave, unable to bend and thousands of miles from backup, you’re still sending my people into fits of hysteria, panic, flashbacks from the last time your people paid us a visit.” 

Zuko had held a firm, unwavering gaze until that point. The siege… it had always been unfair to him. No matter what he was told of the savages of the Water Tribes, the entire attack had seemed almost brutal to the young Prince. He dropped his gaze and that must have ignited something in Sokka, because before he knew it he was grabbed harshly by the straps of his chestplate and slammed into the wall. He couldn’t hold back his yelp of pain, Sokka flinched but held him strong. 

“I’m doing this as a favour for you, do you understand? Stop grabbing at me and fucking listen. Say you do get your firebending back, say you do have an opportunity to waste us all and escape. Do you know what’s waiting out there for you? You get two options: the North Sea, steal one of our canoes and try to paddle across hundreds of miles of choppy currents and submerged icebergs which have taken countless ships before and hope you reach land before a storm takes you under; or the Southern tundra, if the winds don’t cut you down and leave you blue on the frozen snow, then the polar oxes will get you next. If you leave here, you’ll die. You’ll die alone and no one will find you. Do you understand?!” Sokka shook him harshly and then dropped him as if he’d been burned. 

Zuko was speechless. The power of Sokka’s voice had surprised him, and by the look on Sokka's face, it surprised him too. He had not known that blue eyes could blaze with fire. Zuko had plenty of reasons to distrust his captors, but he couldn’t summon one to the top of his mind at this moment. Zuko said the first thing that came to mind. “Oxen,” He said. 

“What?”

“You said polar oxes. It should be polar ox- en .” 

Sokka made a face of desperation and pulled at his own hair, gathered the broken bowl and turned to the wall which Zuko had learned now, was the ‘door’. He stopped short, looking at the bowl again his demeanour calm. “If you don’t want to eat, I mean - that’s pretty dumb but - can you just say so? We’re not a big fancy settlement like the other nations. We aren’t struggling or anything, but we catch and prepare everything we eat. To waste a meal which could go to a growing child, or a poorly elder is disrespectful.” 

So the Water Tribe had an advanced enough settlement to have some type of moral codes, unspoken rules for respect and privilege. But… they were meant to be savages, hungry people who were barely intelligent enough to look after themselves, ravenous and without moral code. Disposable. Sokka turned to him, with a face that didn’t express any sort of affection or liking towards Zuko, but surprisingly, without any genuine hatred. Zuko was finding the similarities between the horrible illustrations of Water Tribesmen he had studied and the fairly… average looking boy in front of him few and far in between. The only thing they had in common, the only teaching he had seen thus far that had been accurate, was the steely blue gaze. But rather than vacant and empty, it was thoughtful and quick. 

“I understand,” Zuko said. He wouldn’t waste food again, not if they fought for every meal, not if the food he had thrown at the wall could have fed a child. He hadn’t thought of the privilege of growing up with an abundance of luxurious foods until now. He still craved ginseng tea. 

Sokka tied his hands again, Zuko pressed that this was ridiculous, but Sokka had ignored his arguments. His hands were tied at the front this time. They were much looser, but the rope still stung against the burns.

Sokka didn’t sit with him at dinner as he did with lunch. He did, unlike breakfast, walk in, though. It was fish stew again. Sokka put it on the ground beside Zuko, lantern in his other hand. The flame was mocking Zuko, in a way. It pulled at the embers inside his gut, begging them to ignite, to burn higher, hotter, to smoulder under his skin. It only made him feel all the colder and he almost spilt his food over himself when he raised the bowl to his mouth. 

Before Sokka left, Zuko noticed the small glitterings of burn marks on Sokka’s face and froze. His body soaked in ice water. Suddenly, he was no longer in an ice cave with cold air licking at his skin, he was in the palace, the thick heat of Fire Nation summer smothering him, his hands clamming up and his stomach twisting. No… it wasn’t the heat that was doing it. It was his father, or perhaps the army general. 

His feet barely touched the ground. His chopsticks large and clumsy in his small hands, the tight skin of his palms made it difficult to perform such delicate movements with the burn scarring. He hated dinners with his family. It always hurt when the Firelord criticised his inadequacies because even at eight years old, he was already being shown up by Azula and the Firelord had always been quick to tell Zuko of his disappointments. In the throne room, Firelord Ozai tells Zuko he has expectations as Crown Prince that he is expected to uphold, tells him that his firebending is embarrassing, his physical prowess matched by his six-year-old sister. It hurt, sure. But that was criticism from the Firelord that Zuko could take to learn to better himself for the Fire Nation. 

At the dining table, this was Zuko being told by his father how disappointing he was to have as a son. How his father had wondered what he had done to upset Agni so much that he had been given a son in the form of Zuko to succeed him. He often would say he wished Azula had been born first, to be given her rightful title of heir to the throne. Zuko found these moments hard, much harder than the Firelord. They were fundamentally the same, the criticism and constant pushing to be more, be better, his father even wore the formal robes for casual family matters such as these but there was a critical difference between the words spoken in the formalities of the throne room and those spoken within the private family rooms that Zuko had never quite been able to pin down. 

He picked around his rice, having just received a telling-off for spending too much time idling in the palace gardens rather than his studies. His mother had given him a sorrowful look but said nothing to defend him, not that Zuko expected his mother to stick up for his misgivings. 

The dinner was interrupted by one of the Army Generals, who bowed and apologised for intruding on the private quarters. “We have received priority level intel that the Southern Earth Kingdom trading port is breaking the trading laws you issued last month, Firelord Ozai. A fleet of Water Tribe ships was seen pulling into Port earlier today, we believe they will be setting off to return to the South Pole at first light tomorrow. We are seeking permission to hold a meeting this evening with the Earth Kingdom trading commissioner and the royal finance committee and yourself to issue a suitable reparation for the breach of contract.” 

“Oh? And what is the current proposition?” Zuko forced himself to stay as still and silent as possible. He hated hearing of these official businesses. Azula loved it, he could feel her vibrating beside him, even from the other end of the table. Zuko never found interest in it, it seemed so tedious, so menial, surely there was more to his future than meetings with the royal finance committee.

“Thank you for your time, Firelord Ozai. The royal finance committee is drafting a 50% tax on all future Water Tribe imports and the confiscation of all of today’s shipment. There are some contentions in regards to the reparations for the Earth Kingdom’s trading commissioner, some say a general city fine is more suitable, given the latest legislation passed by yourself, others say it still remains within regulation for a personal fine, given to the commissioner alone.” Zuko started counting his grains of rice.

“And what of the Water Tribe?”

“Excuse me, sir?”

“We are at war with the Earth Kingdom, correct?”

“Yes, Firelord Ozai.”

“The contract we signed with the Earth Kingdom in regards to their trading routes were made in the strictest understanding that a breaking of this contract would be considered a political attack. The contract was issued to all trading ports within the Earth Kingdom. And yet, the Water Tribe bring in untaxed goods. Is that not considered a political attack?”

“Uh -”

“Does it not seem as if the neutral Water Tribe is siding with the Earth Kingdom by illegally providing them shipments during a time of war? Is that not a declaration of war?”

“I’m not-”

“There will be no meeting this evening. The Water Tribe has declared war on the Fire Nation, and I say we deliver them exactly what they asked for.” The flames of the lanterns hung on the walls, the candles on the table, the hanging ceiling torch all exploded into a dizzying storm of fire. Zuko jumped back from the table when the candle in front of him spat embers at the tips of his fingers.

Zuko couldn’t think more about it. He couldn’t let himself. He felt the distant throbbing of the scar on his face and fought the instinct to cup it, to use his bending to draw the phantom heat away. The last of the gentle scarring on Sokka’s face catches the light as he turns to leave. Zuko feels a surge of fear in his stomach, that those pink scars on his face were put there by him. He had left a mark on Sokka just like he had been marked by-

“Sokka.” Zuko cut his own racing mind off. He barely registered the words coming out of his mouth until Sokka turned around. The lantern danced light exclusively on the shining flickers on Sokka’s skin. The embers that Zuko had kicked at him. “I’m sorry about- about the burns.” Sokka faltered, a strange look crossing his face, a soft confused look that Zuko didn’t like being directed his way. 

“Uh, it’s fine. Well, no, I mean it’s not fine but,” Sokka traced a finger under his eye. There was no scarring there. “It won’t scar or anything, not that I would care if it did.” He added softly. 

“I don’t care if it scars or not,” Zuko said. He said no more and stared pointedly at his dinner.

Chapter Text

Zuko lay awake for yet another sleepless night. He could feel the fog in his mind growing heavier with tiredness, the connections between his thoughts slowing down and his thoughts having a dream-like quality to them. He shook this off as best as he could by thinking constantly, willing his brain to have some internal stimulation. He had torn through many trains of thought and currently was stationed on the Water Tribe, or specifically, Sokka. 

When he arrived at the Water Tribe, he had expected savages, thick-jawed carnivores, slow-minded people not as evolved as those from other Nations. That is, after all, what Zuko had been taught. His Royal tutor had been adamant that the Water Tribe were savages, barely human, and when Zuko had questioned that notion, he had been punished with a double workload for the Spring. He had always found it odd, the phrasing of his scrolls, where the Water Tribe were described with very obvious distaste, the other nations were described objectively, no opinions or colourful language. Yet, so far, barely any of the accusations held true.

Sokka was no savage, despite Zuko’s pained nose. Sokka wanted him to be somewhat safe, comfortable even. He’d been given instructions by his tribesmen to feed Zuko something which would indisputably leave their tribe safer, but he had purposefully went against them to avoid Zuko falling ill. It didn’t make sense to him. Zuko could place it as naivety, a boy inexperienced in the arts of war trying to navigate the responsibility of a prisoner, unable to switch off his compassion for his fellow mankind. Only it wasn’t, because Zuko saw the swiftness of Sokka’s eyes, how they twinkled with laser-focused concentration that was all-seeing when he was doing something as simple as tying and untying a knot. It was almost scary, how swift-thinking the Water Tribe boy was, going against all of Zuko’s teachings, if it wasn’t so impressive. 

In the Fire Nation, even their own people, when imprisoned, are treated as animals. They are prisoners, after all and if they had wanted to be treated as equals then they should not have done the things they did that warranted their arrest. His time touring the Fire Nation prisons, Boiling Rock especially, had been difficult at the time. He was only a boy, following his father as they toured the horrors of prison life. Rooms where suspected informants were beaten into submission, blood stained over the ground, layer upon layer; rooms where the prisoners were stacked like egg-hens to sleep, the smell indescribable; the worst of all was the eyes of the men he walked past, blank and empty, hardly even recognising that they had almost collided with the Crown Prince. The man, horrifically young-faced, was jumped by a near-by guard for his faulty footing. He was beaten there, the only sounds coming from him were the puffs of air when it was forcibly kicked from his lungs, no shouting, no grunts of pain, not even as an audible crack sounded from a hefty kick to the ribs. 

In a different sequence of events, that would have been Zuko and Sokka. This thought sat uncomfortably with Zuko for longer than he could admit. He would not have treated Sokka with the kindness he had been treated with, and the only emotion he could rationalize the weird sensation in his stomach was anger.

There was no way that even a neutral nation would treat the Fire Prince like this. Even if Prince Zuko’s word was the only thing separating the tribe from melting into the ocean (as far as they knew, Zuko had trouble imagining any force coming to his rescue), such prejudices are not so rationally discarded. And yet… here he was, his bindings loose on his wrists and a full stomach. It was unsettling. He didn’t like the feeling of… being treated this way. It was suspicious. He didn’t really think that the Water Tribe had any ploy to lure him into a false sense of security, but it was a risk that Zuko was unable to shake from his mind. He tossed and turned for the better part of the night thinking about it. Sokka’s bright, quick eyes haunted his sleepless mind.

Everything, besides the innate descriptions of their skin and hair, had been wrong. The savages nowhere to be seen, the people who barely managed to survive from lack of intelligence, in reality, had customs and a barebones but substantial society in place. These were intelligent people, kind people, a group of people surviving in an icy tundra trying to get by unnoticed by the Fire Nation. 

Zuko’s scar started to get that uncomfortable burning sensation so he forced his mind elsewhere. That somewhere was back to the feeling of Sokka’s fingers wiggling themselves underneath the taut rope. He didn’t get a wink of sleep. 

Sokka came in just before the crack of dawn. Firebenders always rise with the sun, whether they can see it or not, even though Zuko couldn’t sleep, he tried to rest his body as best he could with the armour pressing down on him, but even then, around the time Sokka came in with a bowl of… something, Zuko felt the inability to sit still, allowing his body to fully retire from rest-mode and back into awake-mode. 

The tiredness had played on him during the night. He could feel the skin under his eyes thinning and growing dark, his orbital bone was a sudden presence that he hadn’t thought of before, but now it felt sharp beneath his skin. He sniffed the food subtly when Sokka handed it to him and grimaced before he could catch up to his facial muscles to stop himself. Sokka just made a exasperated sigh opposite him. “Yeah, I know. It’s been a bad fishing week.”

“What… is it?” Zuko drawled his finger through the mixture and realised afterwards, to his mild horror, he had already grown accustomed to eating with his fingers.

“Uh….yeah, probably better if you just get it over and done with.” Zuko made a grunting noise - all that he could bring himself to add to the conversation and slumped against the wall to hopefully mitigate his swaying. The food tasted bland, but it wasn’t the worst thing he had eaten, or maybe he was just too sleep-deprived to register the tastes in his mouth. 

Sokka was unnerving Zuko with his positioning. Usually Sokka would lean against the opposite side of the cave, but today he was standing in the middle of the room, looking at Zuko in a way that made him feel like he was being analysed. Zuko tried to ignore it but the ice-stare was burning holes in his head and he lost his cool. “What?” He snapped. 

Sokka jumped, like, really jumped. His face flushed scarlet and he stammered to regain his footing. “Gee, someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.”

“I don’t have a bed,” Zuko said, pushing his food to the side for a moment. His taste buds might not have understood the delicacy he was eating, but his stomach sure did and it was rolling.

“Oh. Well the wrong side of the…” Sokka looked desperately around but the only thing catching his eye was ice. Zuko saw a flash of guilt across the boy’s face. “No wonder you look like shit.” Zuko bristled at the insult but Sokka raised his hands. No harm no foul.

“I haven’t been sleeping.” 

“Why?” 

“I don’t know, shall I summon the spirits and ask?” Zuko snapped back, the lack of bedding certainly didn't help (although he doubted it would help if he had it). The biting tone of it took him by surprise, and for a brief second, Zuko was back on his ship. The salty ocean breeze was a sign of moving forward, rather than the constant sickly taste of salt on his lips, deep warmth came from below the deck, where his crew were using their bending to power the ship. His ship. His uncle was in his ear, speaking nonsense metaphors, and Zuko barked orders to the first soldier who came within his line of sight. It was the kid, from before. The fire eel powder glaring up at him from the fleshy palms of a fledgeling bender. The kid startled and almost ate his own feet bowing and then scurrying off to follow his orders. The sickly craving for home, the craving of ginseng tea was bubbling again, but there was a bitter taste to it. The bitterness from which his words left his mouth, coating his tongue with acid.

“I doubt the spirits would want to speak to someone as rude as you,” Sokka said without a beat. The image of the ship fizzled out. The fledgeling soldier’s panicked face faded from his vision and the bitter taste was gone. 

“If you spoke with such disrespect to the Spirits in my land, you would be arrested.” Zuko caught Sokka’s eyes flickering to his bindings then back to the wall he was pointedly looking at. He was rolling a thought around in his head, his lips were moving with barely noticeable flutters. It was annoying. 

“Right,” Sokka acknowledged. Still dancing around something. Zuko huffed heavily and gave him a harsh look.

“I am tired. You’re thinking so hard I can hear your brain struggling to keep up. Spit it out.” Interestingly, this caused the Water Tribe boy to pause and stare at Zuko for a moment. Those sharp eyes were back and Zuko actually struggled to hold the gaze as long as he did before Sokka looked away.

“You still have blood on your face,” Water Tribe said. He pulled out a damp rag and tossed it into Zuko’s lap with the tenaciousness of throwing meat into a venom-sniper’s pen. Now that Zuko had his hands to his front, he was actually able to pick up the rag and wipe at his face, unlike the last rag that Sokka had tossed his way, which lay disregarded in some corner of the cave. It wasn’t as soft as the clothes he had grown up with, but it was a welcome feeling nonetheless. “You still have some on your chin.” Zuko followed Sokka’s direction. Sokka moved forward, lantern in hand to get the perfect lighting to examine the damage he’d caused Zuko. “And your lip- no not there, like,” Sokka reached his hand out for only a moment, and the casual slip wouldn’t have been a big deal if he hadn’t yanked it back as if a venom-sniper just took a leap at him. He demonstrated in the corner of his own mouth and Zuko followed his lead. He certainly felt cleaner, and with an approving nod from Sokka, he folded the rag and dropped it on the floor, kicking it closer to Sokka.

“Your nose still looks bad,” Sokka said. He moved closer to him and the lantern swung violently with the eager movement that Zuko just managed to stop it hitting his face with his hands. “Sorry. This thing has a mind of its own.”

“That’s more than you can say for yourself.” 

“Can I take a look at it?” Sokka ignored his comment and moved the lantern around his face to get a good look at his nose. The sharp look was back, an intense concentration that Zuko couldn’t bring himself to break. He nodded. He didn’t actually want Water Tribe to go poking around his face, not only was it undignified but his nose still ached. Sokka’s thumbs were pressed softly into the top of the bridge of Zuko’s nose, the tiniest amount of pressure forced Zuko to relax his brows, he hadn’t even been realising he was pinching them. This led him to forcing the rest of his facial muscles to relax, his jaw loosened and the corners of his mouth softened. Huh. His Uncle had always mentioned that Zuko would get premature wrinkles if he frowned so much and he always insisted that ‘I’m not frowning Uncle, this is my face’ but the feeling of his muscles loosening had suggested that his excuse was only half true. “Your black eyes are starting to heal - or, uh, eye. Um,” Sokka’s flub caused him to accidentally add more pressure, which didn’t hurt, but he could feel the break in his nose twinge warningly. “The swelling on your nose doesn’t look any better,” Sokka said. “I’m gonna feel it now, try not to move.” Sokka’s thumbs, slowly with even pressure, traced down either side of the bridge of Zuko’s nose. As he got closer to the break, Zuko clenched his teeth and forced out a huff of breath. The pressure eased up over the swelling, but Sokka pressed at it more than the rest of his nose, moving around it to get a feel for it. The look was back. Zuko shut his eyes, Sokka’s concentrated gaze made him uncomfortable for reasons beyond comprehension. 

“Is it bad?” Zuko asked. His voice was rough with effort to not let any pained noises out. Sokka’s finger’s jolted and Zuko’s entire body flexed to force himself not to jerk away, “Be careful,” He hissed.

“Sorry,” His voice was pitched, he cleared his throat. “Sorry. Bad news,” He stopped and Zuko opened his eyes when the pause got long, “It’s broken.”

Zuko stared dumbly. “Yes.” 

Sokka stared dumbly back, “What do you mean ‘yes’.” 

“I mean: obviously it’s broken, dumbass. You smashed your thick skull into my nose.” Sokka looked about to argue but Zuko cut him off, “It feels broken and I can tell that it looks broken. Are you really that inept?” 

“Whatever,” Sokka huffed. “Do you want me to set it or not.” 

“No.” 

“Okay, then sit still and- wait, what? Did you say no?” Sokka pushed back from Zuko. He didn’t realise how close Sokka was sitting until he pulled away. 

“You’re not a healer, you’ll probably make it worse.” Zuko could just imagine his nose being set wrong, and him walking around for the rest of his life with a doubly crooked nose thanks to Water Tribe’s untrained hand, but Sokka only looked amused. 

“I bet that I’ve set more broken bones in the last month than you have in your entire life.” Sokka crossed his arms. He had this air of pride about him, which was stupid. He had look on his face like ‘Yeah, I just cured all crops across the Earth Kingdom from blight and prevented a decade-long famine, no big deal.’ 

“I haven’t set any.” Zuko had broken a bone before. He had marched himself to the ship’s medical cabin, some weeks after his banishment, and suggested that he might have hurt his knuckles. He broke two fingers and Uncle Iroh hung a lovely red and gold tapestry over the dent in the wall and patiently suggested to Zuko that maybe he would like to join him in his morning meditations sometime? 

“None? Not even when you’re out on the battlefield, dragging your injured friends into the trenches and stitching up their wounds?” Zuko couldn’t tell if Sokka was kidding or not. Any ‘battle’ Zuko had been in had been more resembling a slaughter than a fight. It was humiliating with how quickly villages surrendered, some even had the white flag raised as soon as the black smoke from their engines fogged over the horizon. If they did fight back, it was rare that any of the soldiers would get so much as a finger laid on them. Zuko hadn’t seen a Fire Nation soldier bleed in years. This childish, fanciful view of war could have been scathing, or it could have been an olive branch of sorts, a prompt for Zuko to talk about.. What, the war? Nothing Zuko wanted to sour his mood with. Sokka didn’t seem put off by the silence and continued, “Well I’ve set two arms and a collarbone for my warriors this moon alone!” 

“Are you boasting about your warriors being easily injured?” Zuko watched as Sokka’s face scrunched in realisation. Yeah, he was.

“Well-” Sokka’s pride dropped, “They’re only little. They’re trying their best, really. Although this is the third time that Mokai has broken his arm. When I brought him back to his igloo I thought his mom was going to grab my boomerang and beat me upside the head with it.” His voice was affectionate, a little embarrassed. “Kids - what can you do?”

“You sound like an old man.” 

“Says you,” Sokka gave back with a frown, “How old are you anyway?” 

Zuko was surprised when he answered without debating with himself whether or not to lie. “Sixteen,” He said. 

“I’m almost sixteen, too.”

“You’re fifteen?” Zuko was actually a little surprised. The boy may be shorter than him, but he was the oldest man in the village, Zuko assumed they would leave someone older than fifteen to defend their tribe.

“I was born on the sixth new moon of the year,” Sokka said, as if this was meant to mean something to Zuko.

“Okay?” 

“Almost sixteen.” 

“Right,” Zuko said, not really understanding what Sokka was talking about with all this moon business, but Sokka seemed pleased that he’d won. Maybe Zuko was just too tired. He moved back into Zuko’s space and pressed his fingers to Zuko’s nose slowly enough to give time for Zuko to stop him. He didn’t, although the pressure surprised him when it pressed more firm on his nose than before.  Zuko let his eyes fall close as they desperately wanted to, and if he had been less tired, it would have bugged him more that he was allowing Water Tribe to clamber over him like a piece of playground equipment to get a good angle to set his nose.

Careful thumbs scoped out the map of his nose, palms steadied his head - was it drooping? - and soft, warm fingers settled on the fringes of his face. Zuko was surprised by the warmth of the tribesman. The hand that had been holding the lantern was distinctly a little warmer, the remembrance of flames still warming the tribesman hand, and now Zuko’s skin. It was a welcome warmth, a pathetically welcome one. Zuko, in his sleep-deprived state, relaxed into Sokka’s palms, peeling his back ever so slightly from the wall of ice. Sokka's hand carefully avoided his scar.

He focused his attention away from the pain of Sokka mapping the break in his nose. His breathing steadied. The warmth from Sokka burrowed deep under his skin, his frozen nerves woke up from their hibernation and grew aware of his surroundings. Sokka’s warm breath in the space between them. The lantern flickering its warming glow some feet away. Sokka’s oppressively warm hands. The warmth of Sokka’s body filling up the air, threatening the ice, threatening the cold licking mischievously where Zuko’s body met the icy ground.

Breathing is the core of firebending, Prince Zuko. Without complete control of your breathing, the flame inside can become starved of oxygen and snuff out, or can be fed with intemperance and will burn out of control. No matter how skilful in channelling their chi a firebender may be, the breath will always be a giveaway in the user’s skill. Hey - that first part rhymed! Maybe my true talents are being wasted, especially since my nephew so rarely heeds my good advice. 

At the time, Zuko had waved his Uncle off and continued training, trying to perfect his fire tunnels, a standard, channelling movement, followed by a punch, then with great focus, he summoned the chi in his arm into a circling motion, then punched it forward into the air and summoned his flame to the tunnel of chi. It was failure after failure and Zuko stood on the deck of his ship, shirtless and covered in a thick layer of sweat, breath heaving from the effort, and screamed in frustration. He tried again, forcing his aching muscles to work under him. Too short, way off target. Too weak, the fire sputtered and died in the breeze. Too wide, the swirling motions of the tunnel were lost and it fell out control and burned into the sky. Wrong again, and again, and again. No matter how hard he tried, how much he compensated for his errors, it was still not right. It would never be right. 

A niggling voice in the back of his head pointed out that Azula would have got it first try. He tried again. He tried until the sun fell from the sky and his flames fell into a slumber with its absence. Uncle offered to walk him to his chambers, but Zuko denied needing help. Accepting help is a confession of failure. He had to keep trying, he had to get it right, he had to be good enough. 

A familiar heat flickered to life in his gut. The feeling pulled him out of his head and into his chi, it was settled, lying dormant in his veins but he could feel something. The spark of something coming back. The more he focused on the warmth Sokka was pouring into his skin, the more he could feel the tiny flicker deep inside him. It was barely anything, he’d been drooling over his own stumpy fist wearing cloth diapers with a more substantial flame than this. But it was something . He could hear something droning in his ear, but he maintained his focus on the little flame, struggling to keep itself alight.

Zuko was yanked into the present when Sokka tugged sharply at his nose. He couldn’t help the yelp that escaped him. The pain took him by surprise and he had no means to prepare himself. He didn’t have the chance to prepare himself for the sound he made, or the jolt that almost lifted him off the ground, or - or the sparks that flew from behind his teeth.

Neither of them moved. It was a natural reaction, Zuko should be explaining, he didn’t have the chance to redirect his chi or anything but he found himself unable to speak. Sokka’s face was frozen in horror, his hands were still on Zuko’s face. 

“Did you just-” Sokka ripped himself from Zuko and fell flat on his ass from the speed of it. Zuko didn't say anything until he realised that Sokka’s fumbling on the ground was him trying to fumble his knife from his pocket. If this was a real fight, Sokka would be a crisp by now, but that information really wasn’t useful and Zuko was unhappy that his brain even provided that snippet. 

“I didn’t mean to. It hurt and I wasn’t expecting it,” Zuko said with an extraordinarily measured voice for someone who now had a knife pointed at him. Sokka was holding it with his forefinger on its spine, his finger white where he was pressing it hard. 

“You can still bend,” Sokka’s voice was clipped. His usual quick analytic glances were faster than ever, uncontrolled. He was afraid, he thinks, there was an undercurrent emotion in Sokka's face he didn't see. He should be, Zuko’s brain provided smugly, a non-bender locked in a cave with Prince Zuko? He shouldn’t stand a chance. But that wasn’t what was happening. Zuko wanted to reach over and lower the shaking knife before the kid slipped and stabbed himself, or worse, got jumpy and saw Zuko twitch and gutted him like a fish. That shouldn’t be a worry, but Zuko was exhausted, weighed with armour, and his muscles were clamped with the cold, his reflexes are probably equal to that of a child.

“No, I can’t.” Sokka raised the knife - you’re lying. “If I could firebend right now, I assure you, you would not be standing here pointing a knife at me.” 

“It’s- it’s a plan. You’re trying to outsmart me.”

“Sokka,” Zuko felt uncomfortable saying his name out loud. “Believe me, I don’t need to try to outsmart you. If I had means to melt myself out of here I certainly wouldn’t bide my time and wait for an opportunity to show off .” Sokka’s eyes were glued to his mouth and he struggled to find words. The knife continued to point at him, but he noticed Sokka’s wrist slack. 

“But you did it. You said you couldn’t firebend - how did you-” Sokka made a series of incomprehensible stutters.

“Spark?” Sokka’s face flickered onto a strange expression then tensed again and he nodded. “It’s a reflex. Your hands were warm.” Sokka’s jaw flexed and Zuko guessed he was grinding his teeth. “You touching me increased my body heat just enough to barely ignite my flame. Then you pulled at me like that and it hurt. I wasn’t expecting it. I wasn’t able to control it without knowing you were going to start doing it.” Zuko gestured to his mouth. “So that happened. Are you okay?” Sokka looked pained. His eyes were sharp, boring holes into Zuko so hard it almost hurt, the knife was now pointing at the floor, Sokka tore his eyes off Zuko when their eyes met and he fidgeted with his belt. 

“I don’t trust you.”

“Believe me or not, I don’t care. It’s the truth. It’s an involuntary reflex for firebenders. It happens when I sneeze too.” Zuko added the last part quietly, not really caring if Sokka heard it or not, but this seemed to catch his attention. He danced in the spot for a bit before sheathing his knife. 

“Aang keeps shooting his tent into the air when he sneezes. It’s annoying,” Sokka explained. Zuko didn’t expect the sneezing thing to be the fulcrum of regaining some trust - Water Tribe’s priorities were befuddling. “I believe you, even though every single fibre of my being is telling me no, Sokka - don’t trust the firebender that just spat sparks onto your face, you big moron.” 

“They didn’t go anywhere near you,” Zuko said unimpressed. At least Water Tribe’s knife was safe in his belt. He was a little embarrassed, Zuko hadn’t sparked like that in a while, usually, he was so aware of his surroundings that little caught him by surprise. The tiredness was fogging his vision, the line between awake and asleep blurred more and more with every hour. In a blink, Sokka was in front of him, talking to him again.

“Are you okay?” He was asking. 

“I’m fine.”

“Really? I’ve asked you like five times.” Zuko blinked at him. “I’m still going to set your nose, I was asking if that’s okay.” Sokka looked nervous to be sitting so close, his entire body was on edge, the air felt on edge. 

“I thought you set it already.” Zuko knew for a fact he didn’t make that pain up. He felt his nose move and the broke cartilage grind horribly before the pain blacked out any other feeling. 

“No. I just kind of - tugged it.” Zuko stared at him. “You looked weird and you weren’t talking back. I sat saying your name for like four hours and you didn’t even seem to hear.” 

“You-” Zuko grabbed the front of Sokka’s tunic and shook him violently, “You tugged on my broken nose to get my attention? Are you suicidal or just stupid?” Sokka gasped and stared up at Zuko with a strange expression. His body shivered and he pulled Zuko’s hands off him with the coordination of a blind man. Sokka didn’t move for a moment, simply breathing. Zuko waited until his patience began to wear down but Sokka cut him off with a hand. Zuko closed his mouth.

“I think you gave me a concussion,” Sokka whined dramatically, but it was over-the-top. There was something cutting under his voice. He was probably still unnerved by the sparks, maybe shaking him wasn’t the most tactile of moves. “I’m going to actually set your nose now, if you can go without trying to kill me for two consecutive minutes.” 

Sokka’s palms were clammy on Zuko’s skin, but they were burning hot. As Sokka’s shaking slowed back to normal and his face regained its concentration, he leaned back into Zuko’s space to feel over the break, his thumbs working up and down the bridge of his nose. He was angled differently, this time. He was sat farther back, leaning in, forgoing some of his stability for added distance. He was purposefully sitting away from Zuko. It was a smart move, Zuko reasoned. Even if he did claim to trust Zuko’s word, he was still prepared for it to be a lie. 

The longer Sokka sat there, carefully remapping every millimetre of the break, the hotter Zuko felt. He was still cold, but his flame was growing a little stronger. Not much, still barely child-sized, but it was significantly larger than before. Sokka’s hands, the longer they pressed into Zuko’s face, the hotter they seemed to burn. 

“Are you ready?” Sokka asked. His fingers moved from Zuko’s face and onto his nose, at either side of the break. 

“Wait -” Sokka waited. “I might do it again.” 

“But I warned you.” Sokka pleaded.

“I know. I’m tired and I might not be able to stop my reflexes fast enough. You’re hotter now.” Sokka’s face changed. “I mean, your hands are hotter. So I’m warmer. I’m just letting you know in case it’s more than last time.” 

“Right. Okay. No problem.” Sokka’s voice was tight and strained. Zuko didn’t have the chance to ask if he was okay before Sokka said, “Bite down!” and did it. It wasn’t the worst pain Zuko had ever felt, not by a long shot, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. The pain hit him before he had fully registered what Sokka had said and suddenly his entire face was burning with pain. He fought down a shout, but the sparks fired behind his teeth and into the air. 

Nothing moved as Zuko caught his breath and the pain crawled away from obscuring his mind. Sokka was still sitting in front of him, hands firmly in his lap, staring strangely at Zuko, like he had never seen him until this moment. Zuko made a grunting noise and carefully fingered at his nose. It hurt to even brush against it. "You didn't give me anything to bite down on, idiot."

“It looks great,” Sokka squeaked. Was he really that afraid of him? “Not great. Your nose doesn’t look great but - I don't mean it looks bad. It looks fine - not like bad-fine but like fine-fine. You have a perfectly adequate nose!” Sokka pressed. Zuko didn’t have time to respond to whatever that was before Sokka had jumped from his spot and all but bolted over to the door. He kicked at the ice a couple of times to indicate to whoever was outside to let him in. 

A muffled, “Just a minute, Sokka! Me and Mokai are about to win!” came through the wall and Sokka pulled at his hair. 

“Spirits be pressed, Aang.” Zuko couldn’t help but snort. Any mention of the Avatar still twinges something in him, activates his fighting mode, but he’s too tired to let it do anything more than pass through him, and instead, he sees Sokka, who is, by all means, his captor, grumbling because a twelve-year-old is too busy playing with the tribeschildren to open Zuko’s cell to let him out. Sokka doesn’t regard Zuko’s snort and continues bouncing on his heels, fiddling with his belt, tugging at his tunic. He seemed eager to leave. 

“I’ll get someone to make you up a sleeping draught if you want,” Sokka said after a few moments of silence. “Since you’re not sleeping.”

“It won’t help,” Zuko replied. 

“Oh, okay.” Sokka didn’t turn to face him at all. Zuko considered asking Sokka to help take off his armour. He didn’t want to but he was exhausted. His chest felt as though it was slowly being crushed, his thighs hurt enormously where the straps tightened in place at the hip and knee, his arms were losing a ridiculous amount of flexibility. He felt like he was slowly being turned to stone. It wasn’t as bad as his exhaustion, though. When he was a child, walking through the hallways of the condemned prisoners within Boiling Rock, he questioned his father why a loud siren rang out every few minutes. It keeps the prisoners awake and productive. They lost their privilege to a peaceful slumber when they betrayed the Fire Nation. Zuko at the time didn’t see this as a big deal and wondered why the men and women looked closer to death than any of the others he had seen, he wrote them off as slothful and didn’t think about it again. Until now. 

The thought of another minute without sleep made him want to cry. He saw the prisoners’ faces in his mind and apologised for writing off sleep deprivation as anything short of torture. He wondered if the guards, if his father knew how terrible the agony of being unable to sleep was because Zuko would sooner break a limb than go through this any longer. If his father knew how this felt, there is no way he would let this happen. Zuko told himself that over and over again as his brain grew faint and he was unable to force anything else into his brain. 

Eventually, the sound of ice cracking and crumbling to the ground in sections jump-started his brain back into the present. He dragged his eyes over to Sokka, the words on his lips forming. Please help me take my armour off. I can’t sleep. I feel like I’m dying. Until he saw Sokka fiddling again with his belt, his knife sheathed only a handspan away. Zuko didn’t feel threatened, but a boy grown in the Fire Nation palace, raised by Fire Lord Ozai knows that when you feel unthreatened is when you need protection the most. 

Zuko knew he would regret letting Sokka leave. He knew, logically, that the armour would have to come off or else he’d fall into delirium or some type of psychosis. A little longer. A little longer before he has to admit he is a failure and ask for help.

Zuko’s thoughts fell into madness, unable to fully isolate thoughts from dreams, memories from nightmares. There was one lone coherent thought bouncing around his brain, calling his attention again and again. There was significance to it that Zuko knew, annoyingly, would have been obvious had he been awake, had his mind been without the fog. The thought was this: Sokka’s hands were warm, Sokka’s skin was then hot, but yet, when frightened or scared, skin turns cold. 

Chapter Text

Fire Nation guy is not attractive. Fire Nation guy is not attractive. Fire Nation guy is not attractive. This is the mantra Sokka tells himself as he sits in his igloo willing the predicament in his pants to go down. His skin is sickly pale, his face is gaunt, not to mention he’s a bad guy! The guy literally tried to kill him, probably. It’s a natural reaction, right? Sokka-time is rare to find, I mean he shares an igloo with his sister and ever since Aang popped into the picture he barely finds alone time to take a leak without Aang following him.

Sokka tries to think back to the last time he was able to … take care of himself but it falls flat. It’s easily been a moon and that’s not healthy for a growing boy. No wonder Sokka Jr. called itself to attention when he was practically sitting in Zuko’s lap. With Zuko leaning into his touch, his face growing placid under the careful exploration of his fingers, the pained breaths huffing out of him whenever Sokka traced the break a little too hard… and then the sparks. The sparks.  

Sokka groaned into his hands when his dick gave an interested twitch at the memory of the hot yellow sparking behind Zuko’s teeth. He couldn’t deny it - he could deny a lot , but he couldn’t even convince himself that his gut didn’t lurch in arousal when Zuko lost control of himself for a split second. Sure, his gut lurched immediately afterwards with fear - he thought the guy was about to cook him - but the burning that remained deep in his gut was stubborn and Sokka struggled to shift it.

He would not jerk off to the Fire Nation. He refused. Sokka may be desperate and blue-balled beyond comprehension - but he would not let himself fall that low and in theory he could fall back to his well-traversed fantasies but the flash images of sparks behind gritted teeth bounced around in his mind too much to truly shake away from.

It took some time, but eventually Sokka was able to grab a hold of himself (metaphorically!) and now he was down by the bank where the Fire Nation ship had torn through their defences. Katara and Aang were painstakingly dragging ocean water up and freezing it in sheets. It was a long process and would take a few days to reconstruct to even half the strength it was before.

 It was hours of Sokka supervising and ensuring that the wall was looking good - and if he got distracted by the kids playing snowballs then he's only human, alright?!

He came back from successfully pummeling a crowd of six-year-olds, dusting off his shirt when the conversation between Aang and Katara halted to a stop.

Sokka froze dusting the snow from his shirt. Katara and Aang were very pointedly looking away from Sokka, quickly sputtering into a conversation about seemingly nothing. 

"Hey guys, what are we talking about?" Sokka said cheerily, slapping both on the shoulder. "Don't leave ol' Sokka out! Spill the gourdbeans."

"Uhh…." Aang supplied helplessly, huge eyes darting to Katara in a startlingly sincere cry for help.

"Bending stuff," she corrected.

"Ahhh, bending stuff. Right. You know, Aang, I'm very perceptive. In fact, people here call me the eyes of the tribe."

"No, they don't," Katara said.

"So I have a very good eye for spotting people tells." Sokka carried on, unperturbed. He drew closer to Aang, who smiled nervously and arched himself backwards to get out from Sokka's encroaching space. "You know your ears twitch when you lie, right?" They didn't, but Aang violently sandwiching his ears under his hands filled in the blanks.

Katara shoved Sokka back. "Don't do that, you'll give him a complex." 

"You're giving me a complex!"

"You're so dramatic. We were talking about dad coming home and what to do with the prisoner when he does."

Oh. Sokka deflated. They hadn’t discussed their dad coming home since the argument at the campfire. It had come up in between the lines of conversation and expertly dodged in mutual understanding because with the poise of Katara’s shoulders, tensed and low, she was prepared for another, expecting Sokka to lash out. Sokka’s gut clenched uncomfortably and it took him a moment to figure out why, it wasn’t his dad because he was prepared to ignore any conversation about him coming home - because he was.  

“Don’t call him that. A prisoner,” He insisted in response to Katara’s questionable look. 

“Fine. We were discussing what to do with Zuko. ” 

Sokka knew the next words out of his mouth would be something along the lines of ‘ we don’t need to discuss it - we’ll wait for dad to decide’ so he promptly shook the conversation off and made a flippant excuse about helping Gran-Gran check the healing process on Mokai’s arm. 

The kid struggled to sit still. He continued to whine and moan about having to go through this all again so Sokka was given the job of holding him firmly in place while Gran-Gran rubbed healing salve over the break. “Maybe if you stopped breaking your arm you wouldn’t have to sit through this so much.” 

“But Keeta jumped over the ice dune and he was fine!” 

“If Keeta tried to wrestle a polar ox, would you?” This was meant to be a teaching moment, but Mokai only squirmed and replied with unwavering confidence.

“Yes! The polar ox would be distracted with eating him so I could sneak up on it!” 

Sokka only blinked. “Sometimes I wonder about the youth of today.” His train of thought was interrupted by a shout. Sokka barely had time to turn his head to note the source of the noise before a flurry of snow was whipped around him. “Aang - how many times, man. Seriously. Snow - soft, your crazy airbending? Makes soft snow move. Everywhere.”  

“Sorry,” He said sheepishly, “But it’s so much faster than walking, seriously. You should try it sometime!” 

“Sure thing, buddy. Give me your glider and let me airbend for a moment real quick.” 

Sokka quipped with Aang back and forth for a few minutes, which resulted in even more snow being sent his way and Sokka squealing as most of it sank down his back. Eventually Mokai, fully examined, shot off under Sokka’s arms and back to his friends and Gran-Gran packed away her salve, muttering to herself. “Youth of today.” 

Minutes passed before Sokka even realised his patient and first aid administrator had dispersed, leaving him and Aang on their own in a relatively quiet side of the tribe. He was looking to watch Gran-Gran’s massaging technique, too. It had been a while since he had brushed up on that type of after-care. He sighed, momentarily displeased but shook it off. Mokai would probably break it again before the season is up. “Was there anything in particular you wanted or did you just come over here to shove snow down my furs?” 

Aang shifted and looked cautiously over his shoulder. Suspicious. Sokka pried again, louder this time. Aang shushed him and dragged him down until Sokka was bent at a right angle and Aang was whispering in his ear, despite no one in the tribe being within any stretch of earshot. “I don’t like what we’re doing either.” It only took the grave look on Aang’s face for Sokka to understand what Aang was referring to. It wasn’t a good look on him, to be a kid and have such a morbid look on his face.

“It’s only temporary,” Sokka said, trying to be comforting. “He’ll be gone before you know it.” Aang’s eyes widened and Sokka struggled to fix his faux-pas. “Home. He’ll be gone home. Your face is really scary right now.” 

Aang blinked his expression away and righted himself. He pointed over in the direction of the smokehouse. “Have you… checked on him recently?” 

“I gave him his breakfast.” 

“Well… I went to talk to him - through the wall! I swear! But he wouldn’t answer me, I think he’s asleep…” 

Sokka laughed and waved him off. “Alright? Let the guy sleep, it doesn’t make a difference to me what he does.”

“Sokka.” The heaviness of Aang’s voice stopped him. “Firebenders don’t sleep when the sun is up.” It was a simple statement, but the gravity that Aang delivered it was enough for Sokka to swallow the embarrassment of his overactive imagination and agree to check in on Zuko. 

His gut twisted in a discomforting, unfamiliar way when Aang kicked the ice wall up for Sokka to walk through. If his gut twisted up and into his throat before going in, it plummeted when his eyes found the soldier. 

---

Distantly, Zuko could hear a voice. If he strained his ears, it might have been calling his name, but the effort of focusing his hearing was too much for his body to handle. It was all he could do to keep himself half-lucid, which wasn’t saying much. Was he lucid? Was he asleep? Zuko wasn’t sure, if he had to place his consciousness, he was hanging somewhere in the balance, not quite awake but definitely not asleep, feeling more tired than any human reasonably ever should. 

The voice was getting louder, or perhaps Zuko was slipping fully back into the waking world. When hands began grappling at his chest he was yanked into full consciousness with an all-encompassing paing. Water Tribe was staring at him with an expression on the verge of hysteria but Zuko may have imagined it because when he blinked, it was gone, and Sokka’s hands retreated back to his person. In a switch, Zuko was back on high alert. Forcing his mind to catch up to his surroundings as much as it could. The lantern Sokka always brought with him was discarded on the ground some feet away, its flame a welcome breath of comfort. 

“What.” Zuko’s voice was gruff, sharper than he meant it to be, but he didn’t care enough to fix it. It wasn’t time for a meal - or was it? No. He could feel the position of the sun in his mind, a firebenders time perception during the day could never fault, not even in his state.

“Uh-” Sokka stalled for a moment, scratching nervously at his neck, looking everywhere but at Zuko. “I wanted to check on… your nose! Is it good?” 

“You wanted to check on my nose.” Sokka nodded, very interested in a particular corner of the wall. “Well? Is it still there?” 

“Uh-” Sokka glanced at Zuko’s face and ripped his eyes away so fast they could have flown across the room and splattered against the ice. “Yeah! Still there, you’ve still got it!” Sokka’s voice was pitchy and tight, which Zuko knew was an indicator of some types of emotions but he couldn’t bring himself through the effort of even trying to decipher it. 

“Okay. Now leave.” Zuko tried to keep his glare strong, but his eyelids were drooping and the muscles he was using to keep himself up were starting to shake with effort. He eased himself back onto the floor to lie down and let his eyes drift close. 

“Not to be rude, but you kind of look like shit.” Zuko didn’t respond. Maybe if he ignored him, he would leave. “Your skin is really pale - paler than usual. Like… ash. Are you sick?” The silence lasted less than half a minute, this time Sokka’s voice was a little further and the familiar sound of the lantern swinging on its handle almost enticed Zuko enough to open his eyes. “Aang was talking to you a little while ago, said you didn’t respond.” 

Now this caught Zuko’s attention. “The Avatar?” 

Sokka nodded. “He was talking to you through the wall, didn’t you hear him?” Zuko shook his head. He knew he should care, he knew that the Avatar being so close should ignite some type of fire in him, but all he could feel was impossibly tired. “He’s worried about you - or something, it’s dumb, what a waste of energy.” Sokka’s sentences rushed from his mouth. 

“I’m fine.” 

The lantern swung over his face and he could see Sokka’s face leaning over him. “Really? Because earlier you were all - Grrrrr are you suicidal or just stupid! - and now you’re all-” Sokka tilted his head back and let out exaggerated snores. 

Zuko swiped at Sokka’s ankles, but his fingers did little more than graze the fur of his boots. “Was that meant to be an impression of me?” 

“Yes.” Zuko put all his energy into a hard glare. “Uh- I mean… no?” 

Zuko’s eyes fell closed and he fought himself to open them again. “I just haven’t been sleeping. It’s fine.” 

“Why?” Sokka asked, voice falling into a weird register. 

“Armour. Heavy.” Zuko managed.

“Oh. Yeah it looks heavy. I almost drowned trying to lift you out of the water, I assumed you were just heavy but I guess the armour makes sense.” 

“You lifted me out of the water?” Zuko blinked up at Sokka. Sokka hummed and shrugged.

“I’ve been coughing up seawater if you need proof.” He waved it off, not seeming to think this was worth talking about. “Do you need help taking them off?” He craned his neck to look around the armour for clasps and Zuko brought his hands protectively over his chestplate.

“I’m not taking it off.” It was a quick glance but Sokka’s quick eye caught it nonetheless. Sokka twisted his belt so his knife sheath was out of view.

“You don’t trust us?” Sokka’s face dropped a little. He considered Zuko for a moment, the silence heavy, not that Zuko felt a need to fill it. His eyes bore into Zuko, that familiar lazer-focus was back and Zuko felt…. Something. Uncomfortable. Sokka rubbed at the line between his eyes. “How many times have I told you that you can trust us. We’re not going to hurt you!” He followed Zuko’s eyes - again, Zuko only glanced, but Water Tribe apparently had sharper focus than he thought. He pulled the knife from his sheath and wiggled it in front of Zuko, holding it by the tip of the blade rather than the handle as to not be misconstrued as threatening. He dropped it beside Zuko and gestured for him to pick it up.

Zuko did, with great effort and apprehension, examine the blade. He’d never seen it up close and sure enough, it isn’t a fighting blade. The tip is slightly bent from where it looks to have been used to pry something open, the blade itself fairly blunt and uneven, clearly having been sharpened time and time again over many years. The handle is worn, grooves appearing near the edge of the handle from where most of the pressure is applied. A working man’s knife. A tool, not a weapon. Zuko handed it back to Sokka, who sheathed it again and twisted his belt back so the knife was out of view.

“This isn’t for self-defense, well - except that one time but you came at me! I wasn’t going to actually use it. If it will help the whole ‘trusting that we’re not trying to hurt you’ thing, I can leave it at the door.” 

“You would come into the cell of a prisoner, a soldier , unarmed with no means to defend yourself?” Zuko couldn’t help the indignation in his voice.

Sokka’s response was flat and unwavering. “Yes.” And as if to prove his point he fussed with his belt, taking it off and kicking it away. His tunic fell loose around his hips, looking more like a dress than anything else. 

Zuko looked away, hating how he was actually considering trusting these people. Lack of stimulation and a restless mind does wonders for throwing away years of training, years of his father’s work to train him for kidnapping, for this exact moment. “No. I’m not trusting the tribe that is keeping me captive.” 

Sokka let out a restrained breath. “We are keeping you alive. You are in here to be kept alive. The only reason you are here instead of cosying up by the campfire with a turtleseal kebab is because you tried to kidnap Aang and probably would have burned us to the ground to do it! We’re trying to get you home in one piece and you’re actively trying to kill yourself - I mean, have you slept at all since you got here?” 

Zuko grit his teeth. He wouldn’t have burned the Tribe to the ground. They are a dwindling Nation, barely surviving the last attack, another one would likely be the final nail in the coffin. This is how they see Fire Nation - ruthless invaders. The rumbling anger made itself known in his chest, and yet… Zuko barely found the energy to feel it, and it dissipated into exhaustion. It fell away into a sickly feeling. Is this defeat? 

His bones are lead, his head filled with nothing but fog, his eyes sluggish and blurry. How many days without sleep? Two, three? The bitter cold only served to harden his joints and stiffen his muscles, he said that he would allow himself to admit defeat today, but the words stuck in his throat. A physical barrier wrestling them down. 

The next thing he knew, Sokka was fumbling at his chest piece, eyebrows scrunched together. “You look like shit. I’m helping you take it off - stop moving! I’ll put it back on later if it helps you feel better.”

“What would the point of that be?” Zuko tried to swat Sokka’s hand away and continued to miss.

“Stop it! To make you feel better, safer or whatever. You’re so strung up about this stupid armour.”

Zuko gave up on swatting, his coordination lagging behind, and decided to fist the front of his tunic. “Why do you care so much? Why do you insist so heavily in trying to make me comfortable?!” His words biting, even to his own ears but Sokka’s gaze remained steadfast. He knows he has the upper hand, Zuko realised. Water Tribe knows the extent of his exhaustion, how weak he is, he isn’t even flinching with Zuko grappling his tunic, his knife tossed to the side. 

Sokka, with surprising calmness, took a deep breath and patiently pried Zuko’s hand from his tunic. “I don’t know how to explain to you that we care about other people. You’re a person, even if you’re Fire Nation, and even if you probably don’t deserve it, I don’t want to see someone uncomfortable if I can help it. Sure, we gotta keep our village safe by keeping you here but I-uh, we don’t want you to feel like- like a…” 

“A prisoner?” Zuko seethed. He ripped his hand from Sokka’s grasp, and Water Tribe took a well-needed step back, having the audacity to look flushed, cheeks growing dark. “You want to make yourself feel better about keeping a prisoner of war by playing house? Crafting an imaginary game that I’m your esteemed guest?” He should be an esteemed guest - he’s the Crown Prince, and yet here he is. Eating food of seadogs and grappling with a teenager. 

“Why are you being so shitty?” Sokka’s voice was honest, without anger. This only made Zuko himself angrier. He pushed Sokka’s wandering hands away from a clasp that Zuko knew was decorative anyway. Sokka grabbed at his wrists after the third push. Zuko bit back a hiss as he applied pressure on the scabs of his rope burn. “Why are you acting like me treating you like a person is a bad thing?! You haven’t slept in days, you’re slowly killing yourself and you want me to what - sit here and let you? Keep checking in on you every day until you’ve died from sleep deprivation and then we toss you into the ocean?” He shook harder. “That’s not fucking happening. You’re not dying while I’m here, got it?”

“What are you gonna do? Rip my armour off me?” Sokka’s eyes zero in on Zuko’s. Zuko’s stomach tightens. “Don’t-” He wheezes as Sokka steadies his grip on his wrists and pushes them into his chest. The pain is so dull, his body has almost numbed the pain, having felt it so much that all Zuko feels is pressure and his lungs being pressed, unable to breathe anything more substantial than short, choked gasps.

 Sokka’s face flushes more, his ears flaming. He sits there for a moment, with a stupid, faraway look on his face, not relenting until Zuko chokes out a garbled string of syllables. He jumps back and Zuko - Spirits, his fucking lungs hurt - took heaping gasps. 

“It’s gonna happen whether you want it to or not. So we can do it the easy way,” Sokka smiled, “Or the hard way.”

Zuko responded with a sharp kick to the stomach. Sokka instantly rolls back and garbles in pain.

“Spirits, I really, really wasn’t expecting you to choose the hard way. Oh shit-” Sokka managed to roll out of the way of Zuko’s ill-timed elbow. Zuko scraps with Sokka, landing weak kicks and punches as Sokka does nothing more than try and roll out of his way - refusing to fight back. “Stop! Stop - what is wrong with you-” Zuko raises for another punch, he managed to pin Sokka to the ground, fist in his hair and ready to bring his fist down when suddenly, he’s sprawled on the floor. 

The pain hits next, a white-hot pain in his gut, where Sokka undoubtedly kicked him off. He recognises not the weight, not the sight, but the warmth of Sokka clambering over him. His legs pinned, his arms trying to push Sokka off but-

Zuko doesn’t catch the shout as it rips from his throat. Sokka’s hand pressing flat - hard - right where his armour has been pressing him the most, the spot beyond tender and so raw that Sokka might have well took his blunt knife and went exploring through his sternum. The sparks fly from his mouth, his nose, burning his tongue. It’s all he can do to gasp and heave and try to comprehend something other than the pain. Sokka’s choked voice cuts through.

“Holy shit.” His face is flushed, his eyes blown and his mouth flapping uselessly around empty words. Zuko chokes again and Sokka lessons the pressure. “Uh- sorry. No - not sorry - I mean, I’m going to take this shit off now. Try not to … spark my hair or anything.” He gives a weak chuckle and fumbles carelessly around the side of the chestplate. 

Zuko pushes at him, pushing his face away even as Sokka tries to bite his hand. Zuko’s glare was weak, he could feel his eyes heavy, his bad eye shut completely, unable to keep itself open. He can feel Sokka tampering with fake buckles and complex knots. Eventually, Sokka growls out, “Please. Please just let me fucking help you!”

Zuko responds with a headbutt. The satisfaction of seeing his almost-healed split lip open with a river of blood was less gratifying than he’d expected. 

“Fuck! You’re the worst!” Sokka pushes and yanks at Zuko’s armour, and Spirits - the heat. Sokka is a burning furnace on top of him. He has never felt someone this hot before and his flame embered dully in response - his Chi probably too weak from exhausted to do little more. But he could feel it, with Sokka yanking his wrists this way and that, pulling at the buckles and straps, sliding his fingers under the ridge of his chestplate and dragging them along the underside, hands brushing against thin undergarments, the fire in his stomach was burning.

Zuko wasn’t sure how long it went on for, eventually, his fighting weakened and it was little more than to prove a point, far too weak to actually kick Sokka off - I’m not happy about this. Sokka continued to yank and pull at his armour, high-pitched yells of frustration dragging Zuko back into the moment. The warmth of Sokka was… helping. The edge of the cold was nipping only at his ears and feet, no longer biting down on his muscles and whipping him out of rest with sudden, violent cramps. 

Sokka wiggles around, shifting himself up to try his hand at the buckling on his shoulders when they both still with sudden wide-eyes. 

Hardness rubbing against his crotch. Which, somehow, without Zuko’s permission, is also half-hard. Zuko’s back gets a sudden twinge of pain and his hips cant unconsciously upwards. Sokka’s half-strangled gasp would, likely, haunt his nightmares. “You-” Sokka starts.

“No.” Zuko wasn’t sure what he was saying no to but it seemed the only appropriate thing to say. The fire in his gut suddenly made itself very well known, and it definitely wasn’t the same fire that would help him melt through this place and run away. The silence was heavier than ever before and yet - Sokka didn’t move. Zuko held his breath, fighting his hips to stay firmly on the ground lest he twitches again and Water Tribe gets the wrong idea and thinks he’s some type of sex-obsessed teenager who can’t even wrestle with his captor without growing half-hard. 

It was the warmth of Sokka clambering over him, it got his blood running. That was it. Sokka’s attempt at breaking the silence didn’t even serve to benefit Zuko’s predicament. “Puberty sucks, right? Haha. Boners always happen at the worst time - for no reason! Like you don’t even need to be turned-turned on, they just appear for nothing. It just happens, and people think you’re some type of pervert but you know it just happens it’s perfectly natural-” 

“Sokka.” Zuko’s voice cracks, yet he can’t bring himself to be any more embarrassed than he already is. Sokka’s own voice was strained, his eyes never leaving Zuko’s face, the blue of his eyes almost completely engulfed by black. 

“Hm?” His face an open cry for help.

“Shut up.” 

“Oh, absolutely.” 

Zuko, grappling for any chance to move the conversation along and get Sokka out as quickly as possible, decided to forgo the training drilled into him by his father and walked Sokka through the various buttons, clasps, knots and slips which made up his armour. As the clasps around his rib cage get flipped open and his lungs have a finger of extra room to breathe, he can't help the choking feeling of letting his father down clawing at his throat. As Sokka, with his laser-focus, continued to follow Zuko’s instructions without pause or questioning, despite Zuko’s semi-delirium, the heaviness pressing on his chest began to lighten as the armour hung loose held tight only by a clasp at the nape of his neck. 

Sokka reaches around to the clasp, shifting himself further on Zuko - he can feel Sokka intentionally raising his hips to avoid any contact there - and before Zuko had a chance to comprehend the situation, Sokka’s breath was hot in his ear as he looked over his shoulder to get to work. Zuko’s breath hitched. It was the sudden heat - the warm ghost of Sokka’s breath - that made his breath catch. 

Embarrassingly, that wasn’t the only noises that escaped from Zuko’s mouth. When the final clasp loosened, and Sokka lifted the heavy plate over his head, a low, desperate whine came out. His chest is free, he can breath unobstructed and the sudden lack of pain sent a pleasant hum through his blood. Zuko closed his eyes and allowed himself to feel the relief, appreciating it in full, the thoughts of his father and his poor judgement of safety dissolving in the bliss.

There was still a sharp pain in the centre of his chest whenever he took a breath, but it was nothing like the pain before, it was nothing more than a niggling discomfort in comparison. Zuko could feel the bruising, dull skin-deep aches where Sokka had pushed him. 

Sokka was still on top of him. The thought came suddenly and pushed every other blissed-out thought out of his mind. Sure enough, Sokka was still on top of him, staring at him open-mouthed. When Zuko caught his eye, he jumped up and scampered on a patch of ice, wildly windmilling his arms. When he righted himself he made a show of dusting himself off and laughing. It was scratchy and notably fake. “So you can do the rest yourself, right? Your leg pieces right? You don’t need me to get those little guys off.”

Zuko didn’t reply, instead, he pulled a few hidden knots and unclipped some clasps and within a few moments, his thigh and calf pieces clattered on the ground. He struggled a little with the clasps at the ankle, his muscles crying out at the stretch, threatening to cramp. Sokka watched with dark cheeks and wandering eyes, but continued his streak of surprising Zuko with his perceptions. 

“Your muscles are cramping. It’s probably because you’re not used to the cold, right?” Zuko didn’t get a chance to deny it. “Just uh - do some stretches. Loosen yourself up. Your muscles, loosen your muscles up. So they don’t cramp. I gotta go, I can hear someone calling me - see ya!” And in a flash, Sokka was gone, Zuko was submerged back into darkness and the creaking of the ice settling lulled him into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Chapter Text

Sokka continued to check on Zuko, but the soldier was certifiable unconscious for the better part of two days. 

Sokka wasn't worried or anything, but if he pulled Aang out of playing snowballs with the kids more often than really necessary it is none of anyone's business. 

Every time he poked his head in, the calm rise and fall of Zuko's chest eased something in him. He looked…. Smaller without his armour. Less like a raging coloniser and more like… a teenager. A normal teenager conscripted into the predeceasing generation's war, fighting battles his father likely had. 

Maybe Zuko's father had been high ranking, a general or a lieutenant for Zuko to have been given man of his ship at such a young age. Or maybe Zuko's father followed the fate of many soldiers, leaving and never returning, leaving a child to be his own father figure. Either way, it's clear that the soldier had been through some trials and tribulations if his marred face is anything to go by.

Sokka shifted this train of thought, falling too close to home. Besides, he's just checking to see if the bastard is alive, not a subject to project his paternal anxiety onto. Zuko shifted in his sleep, turning his back to Sokka, his scar now clearly in view, an unwelcome reminder that he is, at the end of the day, a Fire Nation loyalist. 

Aang had been buzzing with an eager energy and unusually quiet the past couple days, hanging around Sokka like an excited puppy more so than usual. Now Sokka wasn’t about to claim to be some type of expert on body language or psychology, but Aang was such an open book that it was almost obscene how easily Sokka picked up that he was trying to find the right time to bring something up to Sokka. This alone is cause for concern, considering that Aang usually just blurts out whatever he feels like whenever it pops into his mind. Seriously, the kid had zero filter. 

Sokka will admit that sometimes his own filter fails, I mean there are so many great thoughts running through his brain that sometimes they just slip out. Aang gets away with it because he’s cute, or something. Seriously, if Sokka acknowledged Katara’s new tunic by saying ‘Hey, this tunic makes your shoulders look broad like a boulderball player!’ he would request snowdrop lilies at his water funeral. The fact that Aang has been working through this topic for two entire days can only mean bad things.

“Can you just spit it out!” Sokka cried, exasperated when Aang started twisting the ends of his sleeves anxiously. He started and looked at Sokka with wide eyes. He’d followed Sokka the entire way across the Tribelands and out to his canoe.

“How did you know?”

“Dude.”

“I need to talk to you,” Aang looked back at the empty camp and whispered, “ alone. ”

“We are alone. Can you just ask it already, you’re making me nervous.”

“Well…” Aang paused to think. Sokka clapped in front of his face. “Alright! Geez. You like Zuko, right?” 

“What?” Sokka’s brain scrambled desperately to pull a response, any response. “No. What the hell kind of question is that?” 

“You hate him then?” Aang deflated and the connections clicked in Sokka’s head. Okay, normal like. Aang was asking him if he normally liked Zuko like normal people like each other, not whatever the fuck happened the other day with the armour that Sokka had no choice but to jerk off to otherwise he’d be walking with an erection for the entire day. I mean, he tried to make the sounds and images go away, but they kept coming back with a vengeance and it was the only sensible thing to do. How is a man meant to go fishing in that sort of pent-up state? Sokka’s canoe is only big enough for one pole, thank you very much. 

“No, I don’t hate him. I don’t like him either. He’s just… there.” 

Aang nodded seriously. “What’s his personality like?” 

“Shitty.” Sokka said. “What’s with these questions?” 

Aang sighed and plopped himself onto a mound of snow, Sokka following suit. “Katara has been really great with teaching me waterbending, but without a proper teacher neither of us are going to improve any time soon. I feel like we’re wasting time when I could be out learning some other type of bending, you know?” 

“Where are you going with this?” He already had the entire ‘we wait until dad comes back’ talk recently, and he was none too eager to get back into it - especially with Aang. Aang must’ve picked up on Sokka’s thoughts, raising his hands up defensively.

“Nowhere! Well. Somewhere. Until your dad comes back, whether that’s in…” 

“Ten nights,” Sokka finished tersely. 

“Right. Ten nights, or a little longer. It would be really useful if I could practise bending something else until then. Ten nights could make a really big difference.” For what, Sokka and Aang weren’t really sure, but it was probably something to do with this ‘ending the war’ business they’ve all been sucked into. Well, Aang got sucked into. Sokka and Katara willingly took up arms at his side, so to speak. “And there is another bender here…” The words hung hopefully in the air until Sokka finally added two and two together. 

“No no no no. No way. Not happening. Are you insane? Did all that time in the ice cube turn your brain cells to ice chips?” Sokka shook him desperately. 

“But he’s really good!” Aang dodged Sokka’s attempt to shake him again. “Seriously. I know good bending when I see it, even if I don’t know much about firebending, I can tell he’s a talented bender. It’s odd that someone as good as him is on a small ship like that…” 

“Small?” Sokka gestured to the barely-mended hole in their defences. “I’d hate to see the size of the Air Nomads’ warships if that’s considered small.” 

“We didn’t fight, you know that.” Aang laughed, growing serious again. “The Fire Nation has always had an impressive navy. That ship is one of the smaller ones if I remember right.” He thought for a while before shrugging it off. “It was a long time ago, maybe I’m remembering things wrong.” 

Sokka took a patient breath. He worked away tension between his brows with his fingers. “So you’re telling me that you want Zuko to teach you firebending. Zuko, the guy who broke into our village to try and capture you. ” 

“Yep!”

“Is repeating it back to you not doing it? Is something not clicking here?”

“I know he can’t bend right now but he can talk me through it!” Aang said. “Probably…” 

This conversation would linger uncomfortably in Sokka’s head for a while. His answer was a firm no, of course, but there was something about the concept of Zuko teaching Aang firebending that stuck to his mind. A gut feeling that seemed to anchor this as important. Sokka then pictured Zuko carefully encouraging gentle flames from his fingertips, hot yellow licking against his skin, the light catching on droplets of sweat on his face. Sokka announced loudly to no one that he was going to take an ice bath. 

-------

Zuko does wake up, eventually. Sokka comes in with a helping of fish stew and ends up sending Aang back two more times to get more to satiate Zuko’s ravenous post-coma hunger. Aang comes back the third time and tells him that if the soldier gets any more food it’s being taken from Sokka’s bowl. Thankfully that decision didn’t have to be made because three bowls was enough for the soldier to grow out of his cotton-mouthed hunger-fueled shitty mood and take the shape of a human again. 

“I don’t know how your people can eat this every day, it’s terrible.” 

A human with a shitty personality. 

At some point, Sokka brings a small jar of muscle salve, used for easing bruising and alleviating cramps, which if by Zuko’s constant grimacing and weird-nostril flaring thingy every time he shifts, is yet another problem that he didn’t feel important to share. Sokka still doesn’t fully get why the soldier is so adamant on making himself suffer. Their tribe were being as accommodating as possible to ease the discomfort of the soldier’s predicament and yet he was steadfast on biting his tongue at any ache or pain, no matter how severe. Sokka briefly wondered if the roles were reversed, would Sokka keep his ailments bitten behind his lips? He barely had to consider the question - yes. He would be reduced to agony before admitting to the Fire Nation - no matter how placid these hypothetical captors might seem - that he needed their help, that he was weak. Sokka’s gut twitched uncomfortably at picturing himself at the hands of the Fire Nation, having no choice but to either trust them, or die. 

Zuko’s unwillingness to comply with the ultimatum made a little more sense now. Although, Sokka felt this was extremely important: being at the mercy of the Fire Nation was a completely different type of life-or-death than being at the mercy of the Water Tribe. 

He tosses the salve to Zuko, whose reflexes are sharp, but his muscles let him down and the jar hits him in the chest. His eyes are quick, or - eye, Sokka isn’t really sure how much visibility Zuko would get from beneath the scar tissue, if any. It didn’t seem to make much of a difference. His eyes were quick, feline sharp. Sokka noticed how his eyes darted quickly to his hand before Sokka had moved it even an inch. It was impressive as much as it was unnerving, because honestly, under normal circumstances, the guy could pin him to the floor and beat him to a pulp in no time.

Pin him to the floor. Of course Sokka’s brain had to pepper in that little imagery. They’d tussled and wrestled with each other enough that Sokka didn’t need to imagine it, he could remember the heavy feeling of strong legs pinning his own, nimble hands bunched in his tunic, the heavy weight of the soldier on top of him. 

Sokka was not - he was not attracted to the soldier. Sure, he was attractive. Kind of. I mean his skin was weirdly pale, body lithe and long, a permanent wrinkle between his scowling brows, a nasty snarl on his face and the scar. The scar is a whole thing on it’s own. Sokka studied the boy across the room, watched his clipped expression trying to read the label- can he read, do Fire Nationals know how to read? - and his ugly bruises, black eyes and a still-swollen nose. Sokka could not find a single thing about the boy that was attractive. But… he was. All of the ugly and unimpressive things mashed together, somehow all those negatives cancelled each other out into a big enough positive that Sokka is now willing the blood to go somewhere else please for the love of the Spirits don’t go there-

“What is this?” Zuko’s scrutinizing voice cut Sokka’s embarrassing thoughts to a halt.

“It’s muscle salve, can’t you read?” Sokka didn’t mean to bristle Zuko already, but it was too easy and too entertaining. If Zuko could shoot fire out of his eyes, Sokka would be toast. 

“I can read.” Zuko snarled. “Your grandmother’s handwriting is terrible.” He faced the jar to Sokka and yeah, he’s got him there.

“You were cramping before, right? Because of the cold. Then you passed out for two days and barely moved, I guessed your muscles would be giving you a hard time. Seriously - you were lying flat on your back for the entire first day - who does that? Are you some kind of freak?”

“It’s good for posture.” Zuko looked away. He uncapped the salve and sniffed it. “Were you watching me sleep like some type of pervert?” He parroted.

Sokka’s face exploded. He could feel the blood finally flow in the direction he willed it, but not like this. Not like this. His cheeks burned because yeah, apparently he was some type of pervert. “No. I was just making sure you didn’t choke on your own tongue or something.” Sokka watched as Zuko experimentally dipped his fingers in and got the sense of the balm between his fingers. It was fairly tacky and left stiff peaks whenever the pads of his fingers parted. His eyes were sharp, but he wasn’t trained in medicine, Sokka could tell. His eyes were sharp from curiosity and apprehension rather than calculation. 

“Do you want me to show you how to massage it?” 

“I think I can handle rubbing salve onto my skin, Water Tribe.” Sokka then watched Zuko rub too little salve into the wrong muscles and circulate his blood in the wrong direction on various parts of his body for the better part of ten minutes, before he began to find it too hard to bite back on his tongue and excused himself.

--

In a not-so-shocking turn of events, the muscle salve was ‘useless’ and ‘primitive’. Sokka catches the jar mid-air and bites back a smug smile. The look on Zuko’s face suggests he really didn’t do a great job of it. On the topic of Zuko’s face - it’s been more scrunched up lately, and his temper has been shorter than usual, fiery, even. Sokka snorts. He passed it off with a fake sneeze. The cramps haven’t been getting any better and it was clearly starting to impact Zuko’s usually pleasant personality. Zuko threatens to burn his eyebrows off after another snort. 

“Maybe if you let me show you how to massage it in then you wouldn’t be sitting here with the muscle flexibility of my grandma.” Sokka insists. Zuko, sitting picking unimpressed at his dinner wrestled with some choice words and silenced himself with a mouthful of fish. 

“Your grandmother must be a very impressive woman.” 

“I know you’re being sarcastic right now, but she totally is.”

“Just not at drafting cures.”

“Just not at drafting- hey!” Sokka pulled his other hand out of his furs pocket and pointed an accusing finger, “If you give a slow man the potion of youth he’d use it to wash his feet.”

Zuko’s face twisted. “What does that even mean.” Confused and somehow angry at the same time. Frustrated that Sokka would even dare say something that he didn’t think made sense. 

“It means that if you give an artist a fishing pole and sat him by the river, he would starve to death surrounded by mud-drawings.” 

Zuko lets out a long-suffering sigh and cracks his head against the wall, looking desperately at the ceiling of the smokehouse. Sokka hears something that sounds like “Agni, I know I deserve your reprimands, but this is too much.”

“It works. I use this stuff all the time, but half of the cure is massaging it correctly.”

“Then why even bother with the salve?” Sokka can’t help but find Zuko’s temper amusing. Earlier, when Sokka brought Zuko in some breakfast, Zuko accidentally dropped a seaprune on the ground. The normal reaction would be something along the lines of ‘oh no! Better pick it up. Too bad the ground’s dirty, I was looking forward to eating that, oh well.’ Not Zuko letting out a plume of breath from his nostrils which Sokka could swear looked like steam and clenching his fists until his knuckles were white. Sokka asked him if he was alright and got a bowl flying at his head at Appa-speed in response. 

“Do you have to question everything?” 

“Why aren’t you answering? Do you not have the answers that I’m looking for?” Zuko brought his head back to meet Sokka’s eyes. A glint of… something lively there. Something almost normal to see in a boy of his age, Sokka hadn’t even really realised they’d lacked it until he saw it. 

“Oh, I do.” Sokka says sweetly. He casually unhooks the fastenings of his furs one-handed and shrugs them onto the floor, the heavy coat’s absence a welcome weight off his shoulders. “But it’s a physical demonstration.”
Zuko crossed his arms. 

“If His Majesty would be so kind as to take off his undershirt.”

“I wouldn’t do that even if you did address me correctly. Which you didn’t.”

“Oh, my mistake,” Sokka sweeps himself into a deep bow, “His excellency.” He narrowly misses a piece of discarded armour aimed for his head. “Hey! That thing probably weighs a ton, you could’ve split my brains open!”

“Not with a skull as thick as yours.” Zuko hardly had the time to feel smug about his insult before Sokka was lunging at him. 

The scuffle wasn’t fuelled by any anger this time. There were punches thrown, sure, but they rarely landed. The ones that did land were soft, aimed at shoulders and biceps, carrying no real ill intent. Zuko got him good a couple of times, hooking his legs just right for Zuko to flip him onto his back and wrestle his hands to get a good hit in. Sokka throws him off again and again with little to no effort, the guy may be tall, but he was lithe and weighed less than he expected. Maybe it was because the other times they’d done this, Zuko was weighed down with criminally heavy armour, cold metal digging uncomfortably into Sokka’s chest when he pushes his weight down, almost nose-to-nose and smirking triumphantly that he, a mostly self-trained Water Tribesman was able to overpower a high-ranking Fire Nation Naval Officer-slash-Soldier-slash-’Crown Prince’. 

Without the ungiving armour, the only thing separating their bodies was the soldier’s thin undershirt and Sokka’s tunic. Sokka’s brain suddenly powered on, having only been focusing on his instincts with his brain pleasantly empty. His muscles, now having to be actively directed where to go, froze. So Sokka was on top of Zuko, (an occurrence which was happening frightfully often), still as if someone had drenched him with ice water, realizing that the only thing separating him and Zuko were two pieces of flimsy fabric holy shit.

He opens his eyes, expecting an unpleasant face staring unkindly up at him and a gruff voice telling him to ‘get the fuck off me’ but instead - spirits.

Instead, Zuko was staring up at him with a placid expression. The crease between his eyebrow(s?) faded into the rest of his pale skin, his lips relaxed from their usual frown. His eyes were no longer burning amber, judgemental and sharp, but a mellow gold, looking at Sokka as if expecting him to do something, asking him to follow through with what he was doing. Not the stupid wrestling match, something else. Sokka doesn’t know what that is. His face grows hot. He’s pretty sure they’re pressed close enough for Zuko to hear his heart hammering in his chest. 

His muscles twitch, and Sokka was taking this as a sign his body was telling him to leave, get up and run before you have to work through this one in the privacy of the igloo. Zuko’s hand stopped him. He didn’t grab onto Sokka’s arm but it was a near-thing. His fingers encircling his forearm, a breath away from touching. The phantom touches and the radiating heat from his hand stills him violently. He gulps. 

“Wait,” Zuko says, his expression not matching the commanding tone of his voice. Whatever was on his mind being spoken at last, if his brain could figure it out. Sokka waited for Zuko to figure out what exactly Sokka was waiting for. “Show me.” 

When Zuko pulled up his undershirt, Sokka didn’t find himself choking at the sight of bare skin like some type of sheltered puritan like he’d been very specifically telling himself not to do. Instead, eyes drawn to dark, ugly bruises marred across his back. Horrible black bruising at the nape of his neck and along the bottom of his back, where the rim of the armour jutted in slightly to ensure it keeps its place. The worse was the spine, the peaks and valleys of his vertebrae stained purple from top to bottom, the sight makes Sokka’s own backache. 

Sokka asked Zuko to raise his arm, and sure enough, his ribs were the same. He could see the outline of every rib, not from lack of fat, but rather from the difference in blood supply causing different levels of bruising. Sokka moves to examine Zuko’s front in its entirety. The chest is the worst, a singular huge bruise spreading across his abdomen. It was oddly uneven in comparison to the other bruising, sure, it could be Sokka’s fault considering he shot more than a couple blows to the chest. It still sat oddly in Sokka’s gut - and Sokka always trusted his gut. 

It could be a bruise, it probably was a bruise, but the irregularity of it in comparison with his ribs, his spine, even the bruises on his biceps were mirrored on the other side could chance at internal bleeding. Sokka gnaws at his lip while looking over it, asking non-verbal permission to touch and getting a sigh and a nod as a response. Sokka pulled at the skin and added a little pressure, to see if there were any changes in its appearance, but there was none. Or was there - did that little purple bit turn blue just then? He tries to replicate it, with little success - maybe if he tries pushing down a little over here-

Zuko punches him in the shoulder. 

“Ow! That hurt!” Sokka rubs the assaulted shoulder. “What was that for?” 

“You’re not tenderizing a slab of meat!” 

“You know,” Sokka frowns, “A simple ‘Hey, handsome and witty warrior, I understand that you’re so strong and manly that it must be hard to know your own strength, could you please be a little more delicate, thanks’ would have sufficed!” 

Zuko punches him again. Sokka punches back. Zuko pushes Sokka off of him ten minutes later with an extra bruise added to his collection and Sokka may or may not have blood in his mouth.

Sokka rubs the salve into the parts he can with experienced fingers. “I can’t really do anything about the ribs or the chest, they’ll just have to heal on their own.” Zuko doesn’t respond with anything more than a nod throughout the process. His eyes are attentive enough, nodding in response to Sokka’s instructions and clearly taking it in. The process is quick, but Sokka wants to take another look at Zuko’s abdomen, instructing him to sit against the wall. 

“I’m not sitting with my back to a wall of ice without a shirt on.” Zuko says as if Sokka is the dumbest person he’s ever met.

“I don’t like your tone of voice, is this how you speak to your royal servants?” Sokka teases, looking around for something to put between Zuko and the wall. Ah! Perfect! Sokka grabs his furs and pretends that it’s a normal piece of clothing. That furs are not significant and very personal, made to the wearer’s exact dimensions, the animal hunted and its fur and hide prepared for the wearer in mind. Each fur is definitely not a burden of love and an extraordinary amount of patience, and it’s not at all customary for the wearer to be involved in the process, even if it’s just a little kid getting their first fur threading a needle or tying a lucky snowrabbit foot onto the pocket. For this coat, Sokka had been old enough to hunt for the animal himself, drag it home and help Katara and Gran-Gran prepare the hide and fur. To give someone else your coat was giving them a part of you, physically; with a survival coat made exactly to the person’s body, made with them, and only them, in mind, and emotionally; saying ‘this is a labour of love, time, effort and thoughtfulness, I want you to share it with me ’ was a fairly common token of love. Or - no it wasn’t. It was a normal piece of clothing. 

It was probably Sokka giving Aang his old set of furs that solidified his welcome within the Water Tribe. It was significant. Between family was common, Sokka used to drop his coat on Katara whenever she was extra cold at night - ‘ I care about you’ . Chief Hakoda and Bato often traded furs whenever the other would go out hunting - ‘I am with you in spirit. Be safe.’ Mokai and one of his little rascal friends whenever they would part ways for the evening - ‘I can’t wait to play with you again tomorrow!’ Katara giving her babyfurs to the village’s first newborn in years - ‘We are all family here, may you be born into more peaceful and kinder times than we.’

He threw the furs at Zuko’s face. 

“I didn’t have Royal Servants. ” He spat the words out like an insult. “What is this? This looks like the coat you left here the first time.” 

“It is. I had to take it back.” Sokka ushered him. “Put it on but don’t button it, I need to look at this some more.” 

Sokka didn’t really buy the whole ‘your furs are a part of you!’ gimmick, he tells himself. It was a little old-fashioned, a tradition that Sokka respected in theory. Watching a Fire National slip on Sokka’s furs like it was nothing more than a hide coat made Sokka’s stomach rock like his canoe on choppy waters. Was this treason? This feels like treason. What type of messed up society did his people create where Sokka giving a piece of clothing for someone to wear makes him feel like he’s planned a mutiny. 

He waits for Zuko to get himself upright against the wall to poke and proud at his bruising some more. He senses he’s causing Zuko some discomfort from the occasional huff or grunt, but he keeps at it. The bruise acts odd, Sokka isn’t sure how to describe it, when Zuko asks what he means by that. 

“It just… is weird. It doesn’t look or act like a normal bruise.”

“How?” 

“I don’t know.” He repeats for the second time, exasperated, “How is water wet?”

Zuko glares daggers but sits still… for the most part. 

Sokka continues to poke at the edges of the bruise, where the purple grows to yellow and presses down, looking carefully for changes in colour or shape. He isn’t sure what this is meant to achieve, since he never actually learned anything about internal bleeding from Gran-Gran, but this feels right. Sometimes Sokka’s gut just tells him to do things and he does it - hasn’t failed him yet. 

He doesn’t think about it much longer, he’ll know more further along the healing process. He makes a mental note to keep an eye on it. Any remaining focus he has is pulled from him when he moves his hand away, moving to dip his fingers into the salve to work the small bruising on the stomach because Zuko’s skin follows his touch. Zuko follows his touch. He knows vaguely that Fire Nationals have a weird thing with heat.

“Is my coat not warm enough? Are you arching away from the wall?” Or into me?

Zuko seems to not realise he had been doing it, pushing himself back into the wall. “No that’s not it. Your coat is fine. I didn’t - I wasn’t aware I was doing it. I’ll stay still from now on.”

“I don’t mind, you’re not moving enough to mess this up.” He rubbed the salve between his fingers to take some of the edge off its coldness. There’s nothing worse than cold salve.

“It’s because I’m cold and you’re warm. Naturally I’m going to lean into it.” Right enough, Zuko’s stomach leans into Sokka’s fingers as he gently rubbed the salve in clockwise motions over his abdominal muscles. Sokka pointedly did not think about how they twitched under his hand. 

“Oh, right. Your flame-thingy? Is it igniting or...whatever.”

“My Chi.” Zuko’s voice was tinted with amusement, but his face was as stoic as ever - maybe Sokka was imagining it. “A little. The armour is built to insulate heat, keeping soldiers warm to maximise their potential for firebending. It’s not meant to be worn for long periods of time, so the fastenings and weight of the armour began to cut off the circulation of my Chi and inhibit my breathing, which is the most important part of bending.” Sokka nods along like he understands. Apparently it was transparent. “The armour is good for bending, but not long-term, then it is the opposite. Now that I’m without it, the only thing inhibiting my Chi is the cold.” 

“So your Chi or whatever is...bigger?” Sokka stops massaging to rub his face. “This terminology is confusing.” 

“Chi can’t get- nevermind. What are you asking?” Zuko says, not as frustrated as Sokka expected him to be. “Are you asking if my flame is bigger?” Sokka nods. Zuko looks pestered at having to do it, but he takes a deep breath and settles into himself a little. Like a quick micro-nap. He leans into Sokka’s hand a little more. “It’s bigger, yes. A child’s flame, but more substantial than it has been here before.” 

The quick nervous glance isn’t lost on Sokka. Right. Because the deal was that Zuko can’t bend, so Sokka won’t force-feed him fire-eel. He’s just honestly identified himself as a possible threat. Sokka really should feel more concerned, but he did say it was little bigger than a child’s flame and Sokka could totally take a kid in a fight, so no biggie. 

“So you could... firebend right now. If you wanted to,” Sokka imagines Zuko pulling away, eyes gleaming, taking a calming breath and holding a small flame in his hand, a tiny little thing, almost oppressive in the darkness of the smokehouse, even with Sokka’s lantern. Sokka then remembers Zuko biting sparks behind his teeth and quickly redirects that route of thoughts back to the clinical bruise-tending he should be focusing on.

Zuko seems to take this question seriously. He leans into Sokka and pulls away back and forth, rolling through thoughts in his head, calculating. “Right now?” He presses forward. Only a little, only a fraction of an inch. “Yes. A little. Only if you’re close enough for me to feel your body heat.” 

“Oh, great.” Sokka groans. “So if I press a little too hard you might burn my eyebrows off.” 

“If that’s an incentive for you to stop poking and prodding, yes.” 

Sokka eases his motions a little. “I’m almost done.” His eyes glance back up to the bruising on his chest. Zuko is quick enough to catch it.

“Something’s wrong.” He says it as a fact, no room for Sokka to try and play it off. “Your eyes are focused like you’re thinking hard about something.” Oh Spirits, and now he’s making a log of Sokka’s faces and what he’s thinking? This guy is trouble.

“It’s nothing, alright.” Sokka half-lies. “Just trust the process, spice man.” 

-

Sokka announces his entry before stepping into Gran-Gran’s igloo. She was sitting at her table, carefully grinding something with her mortar and pestle. Sokka didn’t miss her wincing with every turn of the wrist. He steps beside her, offering his cheek for a kiss and sneakily grabbing the things from her hand.

“Morning, Gran-Gran. I’m going to pretend I didn’t see you using this and I’ll be sure to inform Katara that you’re taking dutiful care of your arthritis-ridden joints.” Gran-Gran laughed into his cheek and pushed him away, rubbing at the aches of her wrist.

“Such a pleasant young man,” She says brightly. “Far too pleasant for blackmail. What do you want?” 

“What? I can’t just drop in to see my favourite grandparent?” Sokka grinds the…. Whatever it is with a practised wrist and bats his eyelashes. Gran-Gran raises an eyebrow, unconvinced. “I need more salve.” He grins.

She nods and waves her hand, listing the ingredients Sokka needs to grab, he knows them off by heart anyway. It’s a fairly simple brew, and he’d been banged up enough from warrior training to know how to make it. The smell of Gran-Grans igloo is always a calming one, reminding Sokka of younger times when he and Katara slept here, surrounded by drying herbs and spices from the Earth Kingdom. The spices and herbs nowadays are few and far in-between. Sokka is sprinkling the last of the dried ginseng root into the jelly base when Katara walks in with an armful of snowdrop lilies. She shucks them off into an already overflowing basket of lilies and dusts the white pollen from her clothes. 

“Well, we’re well stocked up for flu season,” Gran-Gran eyed the basket. Katara let out a long-suffering sigh.

“Aang likes to feel useful,” She explained.

“He would be more useful if he took Sokka’s job sewing my socks.” 

Sokka wrinkles his nose. “I’m not sewing your socks! That’s Katara’s job.” 

Katara stuffs a lily under his nose, Sokka spitting out petals. She settles beside him and cranes her neck to see what he’s doing. Sokka grabs a finger of a blue paste and mixes it in. He could feel Katara’s frown before he sees it. Maybe it’s a sibling thing, but Katara’s disapproval is tangible in the air, sending a twist up Sokka’s spine. He doesn’t ask, if Katara wants to say something, she’ll say it. 

Sokka flits about the igloo, gathering the ingredients and hands it off to Gran-Gran for her to add the final touch. She scoops it out of the mortar and pestle with an experienced hand and jars it up. Sokka watches as she holds the jar in her hands, closing her eyes and communicating with the Spirits. 

“Spirits, may you bless this salve, may you provide your healing energy for the boy and ease his aches and pains. May you grant him the patience and the will to heal, physically and spiritually.” She then whispers the final parts of her prayer, and then seals the lid, handing it to Sokka. 

Sokka slips the salve into his pocket and makes his way to leave, but Katara’s voice stops him. She’s standing over the medicine table, picking up jars and shaking their anaemic contents. “The ingredients for the salve are rare, is it really a good idea to be giving him so much? It’s only bruising and cramping, right? It’ll pass.”
Gran-Gran hums in thought, leaning back into her chair (no doubt she’ll ask Sokka to help her back out of it). “How is the boy healing?” 

Sokka palms the jar in his pocket. “Okay.” It’s not a lie, he’s leaving some of his concerns out, sure, but he doesn’t want to cause a fuss over nothing - which is what it probably was. Gran-Gran eyed him curiously. Sokka plucks the lily that Katara had shoved in his face off the medicine table and folded it into the fabric of his tunic. Snowdrop lilies had a muted, warming smell, something that fits perfectly after a warm bath, snuggled up tight in the bedroll, while a snowstorm rages outside. 

“We’re completely out of dried ginseng.” Katara holds the empty jar accusingly at Sokka, who waves it off. 

“Ginseng is inexpensive in the Earth Kingdom, Dad will bring some home from the docks like he always does.”

Gran-Gran makes more thoughtful noises. “How many more days until the red moon is it now, Sokka?” She was always keen on Sokka’s interest in the moon calendar. It was a wonderful scroll and she had always said it reminded her of the scroll she had in her youth.

“Seven nights.” 

“And we still haven’t gotten correspondence,” Katara argues, hoping Gran-Gran will pick her side, which is a lost cause. Gran-Gran is ‘too old and too wise to meddle in the misdoings of adolescent arguments’.

“Are you going to bring this up every opportunity?” Sokka grumbles under his breath, but Katara has selective super-sonic hearing and rears on him.

“Have you something to say to me?” 

“Oh, I got something to say alright-”

“Now now, children.” Gran-Gran lifts herself slowly from her seat, audibly cracking her hip as she does so. “We should not be so negative so close to the red moon, the Spirits are active and listening. It is a time for bounty and peace, not disgruntlement.” 

Katara and Sokka fold their arms and angle away from each other, huffing. Katara shifts first, moving to Gran-Gran’s side to help her over to her chest. “Are we having a red moon festival this year?” Katara asks. It’s a good question. Most of their Tribe is at sea, due back on the night of the festival. The red moon festival is a small affair, a long-standing Southern Water Tribe tradition asking the Spirits for good luck in the moons ahead, asking their prosper and their guidance for any troubles ahead. A speech is made to the spirits, a lantern is lit in the hands of every Tribesman who is of age, and sacrifices are made and sent out to sea. 

The animals have to be hunted with patience, different from the usual motions of hunting. The animals are to be led back, of their own will, without bindings, to the village. The time it takes a hunter to bond with an animal to build trust for it to follow them willingly is a testament to the love the Tribe has for their food, the patience they are willing to practise to prove their thanks and dedication to the spirits. For a polar ox, the traditional sacrifice, this takes a single hunter anywhere from three to thirty nights to forge, but will always be led back in time for the festival, as is the way of the Spirits. 

Without the hunters, the only person who is able to gather the sacrifice is Sokka. He just kind of assumed the Tribe would pass on it this year, which has happened before, postponed until the next new moon instead. 

“Yes. The Spirits insist.” Gran-Gran says as if her communicating with the Spirits is totally no big deal, definitely not weird or unsettling at all. “The Chief will be present in spirit, as I will don his old furs for the speech.” She pulls the faded, worn furs from the chest, holding them close to her heart. Katara places a careful hand on the fur of the hood. She pulls her eyes, which were growing glassy, from the coat to Sokka.

“Speaking of furs: where are yours?” She asks.

Uh-oh. Play it cool. “In the igloo.” He points over his back. 

“You didn’t wear them out fishing this morning.” She cocks her head at him but quickly resumes the motions of hanging their dad’s furs on the wall, smoothing them out and allowing the air to run through them. 

“It was warm outside!”
She paused. “We live in the South Pole, Sokka. Did you hit yourself in the back of the head with your boomerang again?” 

“No!” Sokka flubbers. “I am the boomerang master, thank you very much, I could take a snowgull out from a mile away with this bad boy.” He twirls his boomerang on his finger, it definitely did not almost fly out of his hand. 

“Whatever, weirdo. Make sure you have it for the festival.” 

“Don’t worry, child.” Gran-Gran puts a weak hand on Katara’s shoulder. Her eyes glint at Sokka in a way that makes Sokka’s stomach grow stale. “The Spirits will ensure his furs find their rightful place for the festival.” 

Sokka coughs and looks at the wall. Such delicate ice work, oh my. Grandpa really did know his way around an ice block. Sokka hated building his own igloo, he and Katara ended up throwing ice chips at each other and trying to rub their faces in the snow more times than not. It was stressful and ridiculously difficult for being a bunch of ice cubes stacked on top of each other. Gran-Gran’s igloo was notably warmer than Sokka’s and Katara’s. When Katara or Sokka give or receive an engagement necklace, then they will move into independent igloos, and that will be an opportunity for Sokka to build himself an igloo that doesn’t whistle between the cracks every time the wind hits.
Is Gran-Gran still staring - yep. She’s still staring. Great.

“I’m sacrificing Appa. Work smarter not harder.” Sokka makes way for an exit. 

“The animal will find you, the Spirits are assured.” 

Sokka trips over the basket of snowdrop lilies in his haste out. The Spirits are really good at being cryptic and scary. Oh shit  - they can’t read minds, right? 

Right??!

-

Sokka comes back later in the evening, a plate of fried fish in one hand and salve in the other. Sokka hadn’t eaten yet and the fish smelled delicious, even Zuko commented on it. Although it was less of a compliment to the chef and more like: ‘finally, something edible’. 

Aang had been following Sokka all day (either waiting to ask him something or about the firebending thing see what halibut says), it wasn’t bugging him or anything, but Sokka had a feeling Aang would try and squeeze his way into the smokehouse alongside Sokka and no one in that scenario would come out happy. Aang caught his eye just while he was getting his dinner and made to jump up, so Sokka all but hauled Katara with him before Aang could catch up. 

He waits patiently for Zuko to eat his food. He fiddles with the wrapping on his arms. They loosened at some point over the day and were bugging him, but the wrappings were particularly intricate and when one part of it falls loose, it’s almost impossible to fix without redoing the entire thing. This doesn’t stop Sokka from trying because sometimes he can fix it - and that possibility is incentive enough to try. 

Two minutes later Sokka is cursing and pulling his wrappings off and throwing them to the floor, where they float down to the ground unceremoniously. 

Sokka notes that Zuko has a little more flexibility, he’s sitting with his legs splayed out on the ground, where previously it pulled on his hamstrings too much for comfort. He asks how Zuko’s range of motions are improving, if his muscles are aching less, if he’s feeling better. All very boring, clinical questions that Zuko answers in such likeness. 

It’s not a tense atmosphere or anything, but the shift from throwing insults and fighting with each other on the ice floor to Sokka asking Zuko to lift his arms to see how much farther he can raise them from yesterday. It’s a small difference, he notes, but an improvement. Zuko hums in response. He’d been oddly silent since Sokka came in, running through the motions of Sokka’s instructions without bark or bite, without so much as a beat of eye contact.

Sokka tried not to let it unnerve him at first - why should he care? He shouldn’t. Zuko not bouncing back with insults to his funny quips is definitely not something that Sokka should feel disheartened by. He’s wearing his furs and ignoring him and that’s fine . He’s just some Fire Nation soldier who will be carted off home in seven moons or so on the back of his father’s ship. 

That’s what’s going to happen. This is what was always going to happen. Sokka’s stomach does a weird sinking thing. Damn, he really wants some fried fish.
Sokka shakes off the feeling and moves down to Zuko’s thighs, pressing down on the muscle through his pants. “Does this hurt?”

“No.” 

“Did it hurt before?” 

“I don’t know.”

Great. Wonderful conversation. Sokka moves up the thigh, pressing the muscle with firm hands. He goes to move his hand to the abdominal muscles but Zuko inches away. Away. Zuko doesn’t move away from Sokka - firebender instinct is to move closer to heat. His instinct draws him closer to Sokka’s body heat and all of a sudden he’s pulling away, looking pointedly at anywhere but Sokka’s eyes? It’s intentional. Sokka forces himself through gritted teeth not to feel put out by it. He wouldn’t get a good feel of the abdominal muscles through these furs and he can take this opportunity to check on the bruising. 

“Okay Mister Grumpy-Pants, I know my furs are super awesome and comfy and all, but I gotta check out your bruising and rub more salve on it so…” Sokka waits for Zuko to respond, but all he does is huff and pull the furs closer. “Okay… you can keep them on, I’ll just unbutton the bottom few-” 

Sokka’s hand is halted in a vice. Zuko’s finger’s squeezed Sokka’s wrist white. It took all of Sokka’s strength not to squeal like a stuck piggoat because by Spirits - Sokka’s hand is seconds from falling off and crawling away.

“No.” Zuko pulls the furs closer to him, wrapping them around his form as much as possible. Sokka manages to rip his hand away without losing any fingers. 

“What’s the big deal? You’ll hardly feel the cold-” Sokka wiggled his fingers, “I got the furnace fingers, right?” Zuko blinked at him like he was on the precipice of either blacking out or grabbing Sokka and shaking the brains out of his nose. Sokka could see Zuko’s brain short-circuiting and takes his opportunity to lift the furs of his coat and lift it up to take a proper look at his bruising because Sokka really can’t leave without checking to see if it’s-

Oh. 

Sokka freezes before he gets a chance to pull the furs up any more. Zuko wanting to keep his furs over him suddenly makes a lot more sense. Zuko, Fire Nation soldier, has an erection. His hand is two inches away. From Zuko’s penis. Zuko hasn’t moved, frozen as still as the ice floor he’s sitting on, eyes wide and face growing red. Sokka can’t help but freeze under Zuko’s petrified gaze before eventually Zuko starts and Sokka jumps six feet in the air, not putting any actual distance between the two.

Zuko pulls the furs - Sokka’s furs - oh, Spirits, maybe his furs did hold some type of emotional significance because Zuko is wearing his furs and pulling it over his erection. Is that why Zuko was acting so weird since Sokka came in? Did Sokka-

“Did I interrupt something? Were you- you- you know…” Sokka makes an aborted motion. Zuko’s face slips further into horror. “It’s nothing to be embarrassed about, a growing boy has needs you know! I get it, like I mean, I get it-” Sokka clamped his mouth shut so fast his teeth clanked. He gathered some stray, frazzled hairs that escaped from his wolf tail and desperately tried to pull it back. “Do you want me to let you - let you finish?”
“No!” Zuko’s shout was strangled at best, or a less generous whistle. “I mean. Not no to the last part, I mean I don’t-” If Zuko was any redder he might have matched the colour of his discarded armour. 

“You don’t… I mean-” Sokka laughs, borderline hysterically. “No need to be shy, we’re all guys here.”

“I can’t.” Zuko’s voice is unsteady and quiet, horror slowly slinking to mortification. Sokka doesn’t miss the tip of Zuko’s ear blazing red.

“You can’t? ” Sokka grabs over his heart, horrified. “Is it - is it broken?”

“No - it’s not broken!” 

“Well then why can’t you jerk off?” 

“Because my fucking arms are cramped!” Zuko clamped his mouth short as soon as the words thundered from his mouth. 

“So- I did interrupt something?” 

Zuko struggled to find the words, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else but here, but underneath the red-face and the typical Zuko I-Am-Better-Than-You-And-I-Want-You-To-Be-Aware-Of-It complexion there was a current of helplessness, desperation that Sokka, after weeks without having time to take care of himself knew all too well. 

“You must be dying, dude,” Sokka says empathetically, for lack of anything better to say. Zuko takes this, and heaves a long-suffering sigh, no longer afraid of being mocked for a basic human need.

“Yeah.” He fell back against the ice wall. “Yeah.” He looked worn out. Old. The cold, the oppression of the entire situation taking one more aspect of freedom, a piece of basic human autonomy ripped away from him. Another comfort picked away by the foreign cold. The hard-line of Zuko’s mouth suddenly made Sokka’s chest want to dislodge itself from his body and waddle over to Zuko and give him something back, give him some aspect of autonomy back. 

Unless…. No. That was insane, right? Right? There is no way Zuko would agree to it, how could he even suggest something like that? Zuko would light his wolf tail on fire and kick him through the wall before Sokka even finished his sentence. There are a long, long list of reasons why Sokka most definitely did not suggest it, and horrifically enough, the thought that Sokka didn’t want to didn’t even cross his mind. This was going to get very complicated if Sokka followed the thoughts going through his mind - well. Not his mind. The thoughts going through his dick more like. He is about to pack up the salve, grab Zuko’s cleared plate and get the fuck out, but Zuko’s expression kept him back.

Tired. Alone. Embarrassed. Worst of all, vulnerable. Not vulnerable like he had been bound and weighed down by armour, hardly able to hold himself up with exhaustion. Not vulnerable like his lax, unconscious face when Sokka peaked in to check in on his status. Vulnerable in a different way. His shoulders were relaxed, his expression more open than Sokka had ever seen, one of many walls falling down, with only Sokka to see it. 

“I can help,” Sokka says, sincere. “If you would want to.” Sokka was expecting shock. Horror. Face flushing even redder. Maybe a punch in his throat. He didn’t get any of that. Zuko’s face twitched at the words, eyes narrowing. Those embering eyes trailing over Sokka like he’s searching for something, not on Sokka, but through him. Eyes piercing straight through Sokka’s soul. Sokka ripped his eyes away and scratched at his throat. “It’s nothing. It’s no big deal. Forget I said it.” 

“I-” Zuko shifted and winced. He gnawed at his lip and glared at various parts of the room, settling on the tie at Sokka’s waist. He wasn’t against it. Sokka knows Zuko’s no-fucking-way face and his I’m-refusing-to-say-yes-out-of-principal face. 

The thought that Zuko would say yes, would want Sokka like that out of convenience, was enough to spark the light of Sokka’s libido and engulf his common sense in hormones. 

“Let me. Don’t hold back until your balls fall off like you’re probably planning on doing.” Sokka leans forward, skirting himself between the splay of Zuko’s legs. This definitely didn’t go unnoticed. Zuko stuttered over his mouth, but failed to actually respond. His cold, calculating eyes warm with fire - wide with shock. He shivers under Sokka’s steady hand on his thigh, where he had been massaging only minutes before. His hands creep to the bottom of the furs, where Zuko was bunching the tails of it tight over his erection. 

Their eyes meet. The air takes a dramatic shift, for how or why Sokka can’t exactly pinpoint, but all he knows is one moment his gut was turning with anxiety, Zuko’s eyes swimming with apprehension, then the next moment Sokka was helping Zuko desperately yank his pants down and taking his length in the warm palm of his hand.

“Fuck,” Zuko groans. “Your hand is so warm.” He keens into the touch, fingernails biting into the ice of the ground. 

“Is this some type of fetish?” Sokka asks in amusement. The weight of someone else’s dick in his hands is a strange sensation, a heaviness not lightened by the pleasure on the receiving end. He doesn’t know what feels good, he has to find out. 

Sokka grabs the salve with his spare hand. Zuko might find Sokka’s loose fist and gentle thumbing more than enough, if half-lidded eyes are anything to judge; but he can do better. He will do better. A fingertip of salve spreads easily over Zuko’s cock, the head shining a wanton red. Sokka thumbs curiously at the head, eyes trained on the sheer colour of the strain. 

Zuko lets out a growl - he sounds like some type of predatory animal and Spirits forgive him, but it’s the hottest fucking thing he’s ever heard. All gruff and tight, like a part of him is holding it back, trying to grapple the groans and huffs as they leave his mouth, desperate to pull them back in. So afraid to let loose. Sokka wants to hear them, he thinks as he watches Zuko’s tongue dart out to wet his lips, tongue catching on the dryness of them, pulling his lip with him back behind his teeth as he stifles a gasp. Sokka feels him jerk into the palm of his hand. 

Sokka tightens his grip, working his hand at the wrist, twisting at the head, the way he does it to himself. Zuko chokes on a breath. Sokka swears he sees a breath of steam slip between his lips. Sokka wants to hear Zuko make these noises and know that it was he who made them happen. He wants him open and loud, not fighting the noises tumbling from his mouth. 

“Shut up, Water Tribe,” Zuko forces out, hips stuttering. 

“Says the one gasping like a fish out of water,” Sokka teases a firm thumb under the head of his cock just when Zuko opens his mouth to reply. 

The retort dies on his tongue, replaced by a short gasp, followed by moments of practised breathing. “Fuck you.” He manages.

Sokka’s free hand threads into the front of the furs, slowly and firmly bringing Zuko closer to him, breathing hot against his ear. “Do you want to?” 

Zuko shoves Sokka away with a burning face, weak eyes that struggle to keep themselves open long enough to appear threatening. “Don’t say that. Disgusting.” Despite his words, Sokka feels his dick twitch under his touch. Sokka, a newfound playfulness taking hold of him, increases the speed of his hand. Zuko arches into the touch, closing the gap he’d just created, hot breaths panting in Sokka’s ear. Like, really hot breaths. Sokka hopes he doesn’t spark down his neck (but he kinda hopes he does, too).

“Mhm,” Sokka hums. “Your dick doesn’t seem to think so.”

“I wouldn’t mount a seadog if my honour depended on it.” 

The heat that blinds Sokka’s vision and thoughts is instant. His brain reiterates it: seadog, seadog, seadog. A derogatory term for his people, for him , spoken in a half-cut breath by a guy whose dick is in his hand. His blood bubbles, his face reddens, his cock twitches-

Oh. 

He’s angry, of course. He’s furious. He wants to rip his hand off of his dick and punch the fucker in the mouth - but he likes it, too. He likes the hatred behind it, the roughness, the bite of being in what is revered as an intimate moment, shared between two people who trust each other, taking care of each other’s needs - taking the notion of intimacy and spitting in its mouth. 

“I think-” Sokka’s grip tightens painfully. “You’re forgetting the dynamic here. I can stop.” Zuko lets out a huff after Sokka’s still hand doesn’t move, waiting for a response.

“If I play into this childish narrative you’ve curated in your mind, your head will get too big to get back out of this place.” 

“You’re a real piece of shit, you know that?” 

“You’re taking advantage of a captive.”

“Oh, fuck you.” Sokka spits. His other hand pinches painfully in Zuko’s hip, making him grunt. He grabs the wrist and twists it back against the floor. Sokka yelps and squawks at the pain, tries to tug his wrist free. 

“Hurry up so you can get out of my sight.” He releases Sokka’s wrist after another rough squeeze and Sokka obeys his orders. His grip tightens and he pulls at Zuko’s dick with the tenacity of a platoon of soldiers charging their enemy. He rubs more salve to make it glide smoother, slick sounds echoing in the emptiness of the smokehouse. 

It isn’t long before Zuko is panting and cursing into the air, definite plumes of steam spitting from his mouth with every heaving gasp. Sokka isn’t gentle. He isn’t kind. He takes Zuko in his hand hard and fast and watches him take every bit of it, wincing when Sokka squeezed too tight, nails digging sharp warning bites into the junction between Sokka’s shoulder and neck. 

The words were just as biting. Their insults wrestling and fucking with each other more than Sokka’s expert hand ever could. 

It isn’t long before Sokka is thumbing harshly over the slit, Zuko a sweating, shivering mess with his hand twisted in Sokka’s tunic, right at his neckline. It feels more like a threat to Sokka than a purchase for Zuko. 

“I’m close-” Zuko pants between gasp-hidden groans, cutting himself off with a strangled gasp every time Sokka changes the pace of his wrist. The steam is coming out in plumes. Sokka’s hair is frizzing, his clothes are damp. 

“Are you hot enough to spark again?” Sokka’s breath catches, eyes transfixed on the steam.

“I can-I can hold it back, I-”

“No.” Sokka says, squeezing threateningly at the base of Zuko’s cock. “It’s kind of hot, I want you to.” 

That was it for Zuko. Sokka watches Zuko’s eyes squeeze shut and he manages to think with his upstairs brain for long enough to lift his furs out of the way of Zuko’s orgasm. It comes quick and hard, Zuko’s hands digging painfully into his biceps, breaking the skin and leaving welts for days. The noise is a choked little gasp. Sokka wants to hear him let go. Want to hear all the noises he can make. He wants it to be him.  

Zuko doesn’t bite back on the sparks, firing gold behind his teeth and into the space between them, some of them singing the bits of hair that fell from his wolf tail, some skittering painlessly across his face. Sokka watches the pale expanse of Zuko’s neck, enough view of his chest to watch his lungs intake great heaving gasps. He wants to bite back, revenge for the sparks that danced on his skin, he wants to dig his teeth in and make it hurt. Bring the asshole down a couple pegs. 

He thumbs his thumb over the slit of Zuko’s cock, giving a last few squeezes, a languid pace to get all of Zuko’s relief out, dragging it on longer than necessary, just enough for Zuko to grunt and kick at Sokka. 

The air was thicker than before, the ice beneath Sokka and Zuko puddling beneath their combined heat. Sokka wipes his salve-slick hand on his pants and hope that it doesn’t leave a stain. He only has two pairs of pants, and his other ones are his fish-gutting pants. 

Sokka laughs, dragging his eyes off of Zuko’s post-orgasm face (which is strangely pleasing to look at on the Fire Nation soldier) and moves his gaze down to check that his furs are clean and untainted, otherwise the Spirits might just capsize his canoe and leave him for the sea creatures. He must have poor control when he’s in the throes of passion (Sokka snorts to himself) because he seems to have pulled his furs up to Zuko’s collarbones. His stomach is a mess, the sight holds his attention for longer than he’d like to admit, oh shit, Zuko is looking at him, move your gaze, Spirits - look somewhere else. Sokka rips his totally not-perverted gaze away from the mess on his stomach and up to Zuko’s chest-

“Holy shit.” Sokka says. “I need to get Gran-Gran in here. Now.”

Chapter Text

There are moments in his life where Zuko suddenly comes to a harsh realisation that he has no idea how he landed himself in a specific moment. He’s letting himself go through the motions and events that lead up to a moment, not really considering the severity of a situation until he’s knee-deep in it.The realisation itself is usually sharp, sudden enough to jolt his mind into a total mental recalibration. Usually it comes in the middle of a fight, whether premeditated or an unplanned defense, fist raised in the air, his chi flowing through him the way a raging tsunami flows through the streets of its victim village. His instincts and years of training take control of his body and his brain goes on stand-by, completely activated in survival mode until suddenly, his brain clicks back into his head and the sudden onslaught of sensations and the overwhelming presence of everything assaults him. 

This happens now. 

He’s sitting on the floor of the smokehouse, Sokka standing nearby, craning his neck to get a better look at his Gran-Gran: the Tribe’s healer, as she examines Zuko’s abdominal bruising with rickety fingers and a serious face. 

The Avatar is there, too. He’s chirping away a narration to Sokka, who is nodding his head and clearly not listening. His eyes are laser-focused on Zuko’s stomach, not for the first time today.

^Now here comes the recollection of how he got in this position, how exactly Sokka noticed the bruising of his stomach and the subsequent rush to get Gran-Gran, getting half-way out of the smokehouse, turning back, tripping over his own feet and landing flat on his chin, shuffling on his hands and knees to Zuko to wipe away his spend on his pocketed glove. 

The glove is still in Sokka’s pocket. He can see the fur lining sticking out. 

Zuko tries not to let himself grow red with the memories. He let Water Tribe give him a handjob. He wanted Water Tribe to give him a handjob. He almost ripped his fingers off tearing his pants from his legs in eagerness. Zuko groans inwardly. ^ 

It was embarrassing, humiliating. Zuko had exercised patience the likes that many would marvel at, starvation trials, periods of dehydration, meditating in silence for days at a time. And yet, somehow, Water Tribe has wormed his way into his brain enough to disrupt all the years of mental training fileted his teenage hormones as if he was any other horny teenager ready to give himself into that sort of vulnerability to whoever, whenever. Zuko had never had time to explore in that way before. Now, he has nothing but time. The icy tundra has little things to engage his mind with, especially without the ability to practise his bending. 

In fact, if it weren’t for Sokka, Zuko would have nothing but himself to occupy his time with. He would never let the words slip through his teeth, but he appreciates Sokka’s visits, as nothing more than to pass the time. It’s a strange appreciation, and he’d certainly never admit it to the boy in question, but he feels a strange ease passing over him when Sokka comes to bring him his meals, or to otherwise check on him (which had been growing more and more frequent as the days moved on).

That feeling of ease, however, did not pass over him when he walked in with his Gran-Gran on his arm, directing her down to Zuko’s front, and the Avatar skipping in afterwards like a child on his way to the park.

The Avatar’s presence, although small, isoverwhelming. Knowing he tried - and miserably failed - to capture him. His honour so close, only for it to be wrenched away, his ship lying at the bottom of the ocean, and his crew traversing their way through the Arctic Circle, all by the hands of a child. It’s humiliating to a degree that makes Zuko’s blood boil with rage. The boy is dangerous, strong, and there he is, acting as though he has no idea the true power he held within him. No idea of his worth, as if his existence is little more than a game, something to toy with and have fun with. Some people are born into lives bigger than themselves, and it’s their duty to uphold that.

If the Avatar’s presence made him uneasy, The Healer’s presence drove him to the edge. Sokka’s grandmother is pressing into his stomach, tracing the outline of his bruising with careful, arthritis-ridden fingers. It feels eerily similar to Sokka’s touch - the investigative nature of the hands. Her face, which had greeted Zuko initially with a careful smile, a smile that had a hidden something underneath the surface, out of Zuko’s grasp of comprehension, twists into something unpleasant. 

“What’s wrong? Is something wrong? I thought it was internal bleeding or a burst appendix or something-” Sokka cuts off Gran-Gran’s displeased hum almost as soon as it started.

“My boy,” Gran-Gran interrupts, face long-suffering but voice patient, “If this young man had a burst appendix, I believe the screams and writhing in agony would warrant more clues than non-descript bruising.” 

Sokka points accusingly at Zuko. “You don’t know this guy!” Zuko glares at him. “He could be lying there  with a dismembered arm and he’d call it a papercut!” 

Gran-Gran’s eyes twinkle when Zuko briefly meets them. He looks away. She continues her careful examination for a few moments before replying. “It seems like nothing more than harsh bruising at its surface…” 

“And under the surface?” Sokka prompts. “Internal bleeding?” 

“What is your gut telling you?” She has a strange faraway method of talking. It makes it seem like there is something she knows that you don’t. A sudden wave of homesickness washes over Zuko. It reminds him vaguely of his Uncle. 

“Uh… My gut told me to ask you?” Sokka supplies a sickly smile, cheesing himself up to be te favourite doting grandchild. The lady was having none of it. 

“Well your gut told you to come get me for a reason. I’ll make up some more salve with extra numbing.” Zuko starts at the feeling of a warm hand squeezing his forearm over Sokka’s furs. Gran-Gran is looking at him with enough sincerity in her face to make Zuko’s blood freeze. Kindness from a stranger was not something Zuko crossed paths with often, nonetheless within these circumstances. “You are in pain.” It isn’t phrased as a question. Zuko nods, not being able to argue without lying. She hums in response and waves the Avatar over to help her stand upright again. Her eyes rake over Zuko like she was seeing through him. “And cold. Sokka-” Sokka jumped to attention. “Gather some blankets for the boy. I have slept on my share of hard floors in my time and believe me: it does no favours.” Her back cracks when Aang finally helps her upright, making Zuko grimace.

Sokka makes to move, but halted himself. “Not that I want him to be uncomfortable or anything - but we all agreed not to get him too warm. For the firebending, you know?” Sokka fiddled with his hand wrappings. A nervous tick, it seems.

“I’m sure the fire eel is precaution enough.” Sokka’s eyes grew wide for a split second. He is  probably having the same ‘oh shit, right - that’s a thing we’re doing’ moment that Zuko is. Sokka quickly righted himself and made an agreeable face. “Speaking of, do you require more? I predicted you to be out of it by now.” 

Sokka brushed it off with an easy lie. “Nah, we’re good for another couple days. Geez, Gran-Gran, maybe we ought to get you some glasses so you can do your math right.” The elderly woman shooed him away with slow hands. Sokka gives a glance over his shoulder before he is fully shooed out of the smokehouse, checking that they’ll be okay without him. As if Zuko was going to go blind with rage and smoke the room out with an old lady and a kid in it. 

Speaking of the kid - The Avatar - Zuko has to remind himself. He’s been looming around Zuko ever since he came in, watching Gran-Gran’s fingers dance around his injuries with oohs and aahs . It was distracting, but Zuko didn’t feel particularly threatened - which may be another glaring sign that Zuko is an underwhelming Crown Prince. Everyone should be a threat, no matter what Sokka might have said otherwise, no matter what extent they go through to make him feel safe, anyone can be a threat. Even other Fire Nationals. Trust no one. 

Of course, Zuko didn’t trust the Avatar - but he found it hard to distrust him. It’s difficult to feel threatened by someone who has been rattling on about some furball bison for the past ten minutes in his ear. Seriously, how long did it take to get blankets? 

“-loves getting under his chin scratched! But you gotta watch out, he loves to lick people and then you’re covered in Appa-spit all day. Do you have any pets back home?” It takes Zuko a solid moment to realise there was a lapse in the babbling that he was expected to answer.

“What?”
“I said ‘do you have any pets back home?’” The Avatar presses.
“No.” 

“Well… what about your ship?” 

“Maybe you should have checked before you sank it, if you’re so curious.” It was petty and the Avatar visibly deflates. This kid defeated him and sank his ship. Zuko had trained effortlessly all his life to prove himself, and when the opportunity arose to prove his worth and restore his honour by capturing the Avatar, he pushed himself to new limits. It was all for nothing. All those hours of training, all those sleepless nights of navigation, of racking his brian for theories of ‘where could the Avatar be hiding’, all for nothing. All wasted at the hands of the kid in front of him, who has the gall to look ashamed. 

“I’m sorry about your ship, Zuko.” His voice is sincere, soft. “I didn’t mean to sink it - honest. I tried to push it away but.. Well… I’m not that great at waterbending yet. Once I realised it was gonna sink, I checked all the rooms and made sure everyone was out before it went under - even the engine room!” 

“You… evacuated my ship?”
Aang nodded. “Yep! And there was this weird room full of tea leaves that some old guy told me to grab for him. I couldn’t carry all of them though…” 

Zuko’s throat closed. He had thought about his Uncle. Almost tirelessly, worried for his safety, his passage back to land, how he would be managing in this cold climate with a lifeboat full of burly crewmen. The actual mention of him pulled the rug of composure out from under him. 

“I hope the fish enjoy jasmine tea.” Was all he could manage. If it sounds tight, the Avatar didn’t mention it, instead letting out a genuine laugh and continuing to talk about his bison. 

When Sokka comes back, his face is flushed and his forehead damp. “Sorry - I couldn’t find the blankets! I had to pull them out of one of Katara’s old chests and you know how tightly she packs those things.” He gives a laugh that’s borderline hysterical. He looks over to Zuko momentarily and honestly, Zuko is surprised his eyeballs didn’t fly out of his head with the speed he ripped his gaze away. 

Gran-Gran starts to tell Sokka things about his ointments and bruising and whatnot - but Zuko isn’t listening. He should be listening, and he should not be easily distracted as he has been as of late, but he can’t help noticing Sokka pulling at his belt. He was pulling at it with his arms bundled with blankets, before giving up and dumping the blankets in Zuko’s direction and re-tying the fabric. The wrapping around his right hand was loose, gathering limply around his wrist as if it had been tied in a rush. 

^The sweating. The loose belt. The ridiculously long time he was gone. Aggressively avoiding looking in Zuko’s direction. Zuko took all his years of breathing exercises to good use and forced his body to calm from the relentless images barraging his head. Sokka ran off to masterbate. After jerking Zuko off. 

This entire situation was a tailspin from any of the kidnap-scenarios he had been drilled with. Even the briefing on sexual assault he’d taken with his tutor when he was ten, the thin-boned man stroking his beard and telling him without fanfare that ‘there are a lot of people out there who would have no qualms taking their sexual violence out on the son of the Fire Lord as a personal attack to the Fire Nation’. In the six-hour long session of this, not once was it ever mentioned that Zuko might actually like it. 

Zuko wills  his blood away from the skin of his face. It is beyond humiliating, falling prey to hormones like that. Of all people, Zuko should know better. He should be better. Not scrambling on the floor with a Water Tribesmen desperately thrusting into the tight heat of his hand. It wasn’t…. Sexual. It was something more primal, rougher. Zuko wasn’t-isn’t-  attracted to Sokka - the thought almost funny to even consider. He wants to punch him in the face most of the time. He wants to bust his lip open again. ^

With Sokka  there is an unwritten understanding: the feud is real, the scrummages for emotional release and for a way of negating the power Sokka has over him, as he is locked away like a prisoner. There is no power imbalance when fists are flying on the ground. Zuko knows he shouldn’t feel safe, it goes against all his teachings, but if he throws a fist at Sokka - even if he beats him black and blue - he wouldn’t fear for his life. He has the sense not to extend this courtesy to anyone else in the Water Tribe. 

“So how long have you been firebending for?” The Avatar’s voice startlingly close rips Zuko from his thoughts. “You’re really good - I don’t know a lot about firebending but it looked super impressive.” 

“ Aang,” Sokka warns. 

“None of my firebender friends could do that phoosh thing,” Aang mimicks a punch. Sokka pulls him back with the hood of his furs from Zuko’s personal space. 

“Firebender… friends?” The Fire Nation didn’t have good relations with other kingdoms - and considering the Air Nomads were gone, word of a Nomad having relations with Fire Nationals would spread like wildfire, even onto the naval fleet. 

Sokka must read the confusion on Sokka’s face and waves his hand nonchalant-like. “Aang was stuck in an iceberg for one hundred years.” 

“He’s a child.”

“ And your elder. Don’t those Fire Nation schools teach you kids anything about respecting your elders?”

Zuko doesn’t really want to get into all of the teachings of the Fire Nation, and given, he wasn’t really sure what the commoners education system was like, so he just grunts in return and busies himself sorting through the blankets left for him.

Zuko removing himself from the conversation signals the end of the examination, it wasn’t long before Gran-Gran starts muttering about having to check up on someone with a broken arm. The Avatar follows her and opens the entrance, waving goodbye to Zuko with an open grin. 

Sokka makes to follow but comes to Zuko quickly before leaving. He awkwardly pats Zuko on the shoulder - it means to be comforting but it feels...weird. Whatever expression Zuko has on his face drives Sokka to awkwardly laugh and shove his hands into his pockets.

“Gran-Gran will check up on you later. I’ll be here. Obviously,” He says before finally giving in to Aang’s impatient calls to come play with some kid called Mokai. Zuko hears a friendly ‘See you later Zuko’ from the Avatar before he seals the entrance closed behind them, leaving Zuko on his own.

Obviously.

Obviously Sokka would come with. Zuko can’t imagine being left alone with anyone else in the Water Tribe without him. Even if the entire Tribe packed themselves into the smokehouse, Zuko would only feel accompanied if Sokka was beside him. 

He isn’t worried about the bruising. It feels just like that: bruising. nothing extraordinary, but Sokka insisted that he gets it checked out. Even as Sokka was wiping the come off of Zuko’s stomach he was poking and prodding at the bruising, which Zuko kept telling him to cut out until he kicked him onto his back and told him to ‘get out of here and leave me alone’. Of course, then he came back with his Grandmother and the Avatar, the opposite of what Zuko told him to do. Yeah, and Zuko’s the one who doesn’t respect his elders. He snorts to himself. 

Zuko wraps one of the heavy blankets over his shoulders.

-

The tell-tale noise of the iced entrance being shucked down into a soft pile of snow came earlier than expected. It interrupted Zuko in the middle of a set of push-ups. With Zuko’s aching muscles it’s been exceptionally difficult to follow his usual routine, but he’s determined to work his way back up to standard. Anything less than the best is unfitting. 

He’s facing away from the entrance, so he keeps his form and finishes his set while the footsteps grow louder into the echoes of the smokehouse. Expecting it to be Sokka, he bears no mind to literally having his back turned, in a compromising position that would be easy to take advantage of. When the voice of the footsteps speak up, Zuko almost falls flat on his face in his haste to jump to his feet and whip around. 

“Hey! Are you feeling any better- woah!” Aang holds his hands up in a gesture of non-threat. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You didn’t scare me.” Zuko didn’t loosen his fists. “I was under the impression that you were Sokka.” 

Aang shook his head. “Nope! It’s just me. Uh…” He pursed his lip at Zuko’s stance. “If that’s okay?” 

“What are you doing here, Avatar?” 

“Nothing! Well… not nothing. But nothing bad! I just wanted to see how you were doing.” He looked away and kicked childishly at the ground. “Sokka won’t let me come in here.”

Zuko rolled his eyes. Of course: Water Tribe figured Zuko wouldn’t be able to control his rage and would try and attack the Avatar in his inebriated state. Rationally, Zuko knows that there should be no trust between them, but the boy’s insistent ‘trust us’ spiel had wormed into his subconscious and he can’t say it didn’t frustrate him that apparently, it was one-sided.

“Right,” Zuko replies. 

Aang rocks on his tiptoes and sucks on his teeth. Zuko stands unmoving in his undershirt. He had taken off Sokka’s furs to exercise, and now that the sweat is beginning to cool on his skin, he wants to grab it and put it on. The action of being the first one to make a move would be a suggestion that he’s ready to make some sort of…contribution to this conversation. He’s not. So he stays still. 

Eventually, Aang cuts through the silence in a sing-song voice. “So… what were you doing?” 

“Exercising.” Zuko says shortly. It doesn’t deter the boy.

“Oooh - cool! I’ve been penguin sledding all morning, I’m pretty pooped.” He yanks rapidly at the front of his furs to circulate some cooling off, before deciding to unfasten the ties of the coat and folding it over his arms. Underneath it he’s wearing traditional Air Nomad clothes. Zuko had only seen the uniform of the monks in his scrolls. The clothes are designed to be light and breezy, allowing the air to circulate the body as much as possible - this allows Air Benders to have increased control while bending. Zuko supposes it’s somewhat similar to how fire benders typically wear insulating clothes.

Aang let out a sigh of relief. “I hate wearing these, they’re so heavy. It makes it kinda hard to airbend. You probably have stuff like that too - firebenders can’t really bend in the cold, right?” 

“You know this from your… fire nation friend?”

“Yeah! We went to the sun festival, oh man - fire flakes are the best! And the performers were incredible. We saw a guy making dancing dragons out of fire. But you’re probably way better than those guys, right? I mean, I only saw you firebend a little bit, but it’s an instinct, I guess - maybe it’s because I’m the Avatar, but I can tell you’re a really talented bender.”

“It’s got nothing to do with talent. I worked hard.” Zuko wasn’t sure what the Avatar was getting at, complimenting Zuko so effortlessly like that. Zuko wasn’t used to such open expressions of praise, especially not in regards to his bending abilities.

“I’m gonna work hard too - to master all of the elements!” 

“The girl is teaching you water bending,” Zuko affirmed.

“Yep! But she’s not a master bender,” Aang scratched a spot at the back of his neck. “We’re gonna have to travel to the Northern Water Tribe to find a master water bender to teach us both…” Aang kicked at a rock on the ground nonchalantly. “So... I’m pretty much just sitting here.. Waiting for a master bender to help me master all of the elements.” 

Zuko couldn’t care less about what the Avatar is waiting for. He doesn’t know the business of the Avatar’s duties in this reincarnation, but if history is to tell him anything, it will likely not work out well for the Fire Nation. The Avatar will surely not understand the importance of expanding the Fire Nation’s value and culture across all nations and will chalk it down as a power-hungry war. 

The Fire Nation are not the bad guys, the politics of the world are more complex than that, and the other nations are too simple-minded to understand it. Every move by the Fire Nation, whether it be a siege on the front line or a new piece of legislation is necessary for the Fire Nation’s greatness. If the other nations would understand that a stronger Fire Nation results in a stronger world then there would be no lives lost in the rebellions, the counter attacks. Then again: The Water Tribe was neutral. They had no involvement in the war, a trade ship that was mistook as a declaration of war against the Fire Nation and look what that got them. 

Zuko had seen the brutalism of the Fire Nation first hand in the prisons. Zuko had seen the golden years of the Fire Nation, with bumbling cities during the sun festival, with commoners all over the Nation crowding into the capital streets to celebrate. Maybe he didn’t have to pick a side. Both of these things can exist simultaneously: two sides of the same coin. 

When Aang asks him, “Can you teach me firebending?” Zuko doesn’t immediately turn him down. He should. It should be without question, but Zuko balances his options. The Avatar’s duty to the world is to maintain peace, in the past, all actions made by the Avatar, no matter the controversy, had been the right one, marked down in history books. It was the natural order of things. On the other hand: Zuko’s duty is to capture him. To show his dedication to the Fire Nation and his father and to ensure the Fire Nation’s growth isn’t harmed in collateral damage to whatever plans the Avatar has to maintain peace. On the other other hand: The Avatar is a twelve year old boy. 

A twelve year old boy who defeated him.

“No.” Zuko says. “I will not help my enemy.”

“I’m your enemy?” The Avatar has the audacity to be genuinely confused by Zuko’s statement. “Why?”

“I have to capture you to regain my honour.” 

Aang frowns. The furs ang limply in his arms, where he was gently patting the heavy fur of the hood. The fur of Zuko’s own coat was tickling at the base of his skull, where his hair had started to grow in. The heaviness of the coat is a welcome feeling, the heavy promise of warmth, it almost feels like the furs are wrapping themselves around Zuko, whispering in his ear, ‘I’ll keep you warm and safe, I promise.’

“Well… if it’s that important, I can help! We promised to get you home safe. If…” Aang looks over his shoulder, checking if any lurking ears are listening. “If I go back with you for a little while, will you teach me bending? I’ll help you regain your honour, I know that it’s a big deal in the Fire Nation. I can help with whatever they need me for, in exchange for you being my teacher!”

Zuko blinks at the boy. Surely he didn’t just offer to come back with Zuko, who tried to capture him. The notion is ridiculous - even a child should know how terrible of a battle strategy that is. The risk is not worth the reward. For Zuko, however: he gets the Avatar in exchange for teaching the kid to blow smoke out of his nose. 

Zuko catches himself.  The Avatar should not be underestimated at any costs. Zuko made that mistake and look where it got him. Zuko wraps the furs around him tighter. Teaching the Avatar even the basics of firebending, reserved for children hardly out of diapers, could be disastrous. He knows little of water bending, but he has gathered that the Avatar hasn’t been with the Water Tribe overly long, and yet he appears to be of equal match to the girl - Katara, or something - who has been bending all her life.

Zuko doesn’t get another chance to mull it over with the Avatar. The offer hangs in the air, and open invitation that could be either a gilded opportunity, or a disastrous mistake.

A low, groaning noise rumbles through the village - the stupid flying bison that the Avatar is so fond of, followed by a spluttered, ‘Appa! Stop licking me - get off! Aw man, now I’m covered in Appa-juice, nice going, jerkwad.’ 

In the next beat, Aang is gliding his way to the entrance, the wind pushing his feet forward at an incredibly smooth speed. “Monkey feathers! Sokka’s awake, he’ll kill me if he found out I was in here on my own.” Aang fought with the furs for a long while, punching his arms through the holes, and just like that he was gone with a squawked call: “Don’t tell Sokka!” 

-

Zuko tells Sokka less than an hour later..

Sokka stays with Zuko after escorting Gran-Gran to check up on him again. Zuko’s lying flat on the ground with his furs pulled up, letting the balm dry into his bruising. The cold air is heavy on his stomach, making his skin tingle. Sokka is sitting against the wall opposite him, one leg hiked up to his chest and the other splayed on the ground. He is digging into a plate of fried fish, cheeks bulging with the huge mouthfuls.

Zuko’s own dinner is sitting abandoned. He doesn’t want to eat his food lying down, at fear of choking. Sokka normally doesn’t eat with Zuko, and the question was answered before Zuko even got the chance to ask. He’d looked at Sokka suspiciously and Sokka immediately swallows the mass of food in his mouth with a pained choking sound and a fist thumping his chest.

“There’s a biting wind out right now and I don’t feel like walking the whole way back to get my dinner. Eating here saves me a journey,” He says. “So cut out the look.”

Zuko logs the logistics of Sokka’s journeys and knows that Sokka eating his dinner here as opposed to wherever he usually eats it wouldn’t actually be saving him a journey at all. Zuko doesn’t point this out. “I have trouble believing a small breeze is enough to deter your dinner plans.”

“Why you gotta talk like that?” Sokka accuses through a mouthful of mush. Disgusting. Zuko gives him a look that he knows Sokka will translate to a response. He does. “Like you know everything. You say everything so matter-of-fact.” 

“Fine, I’ll assume you’re lazy then.” 

“Wait - no,” Sokka lets out a long sigh of defeat. “I need some space from Katara - she’s my sister and I love her and all that,” Sokka says this quickly with a grossed-out face, “But she’s my sister, you know?”

Zuko caught a small smile tugging at the right side of his mouth. “I do know.” 

Sokka’s face lit up, “Right? Don’t get me wrong, she’s family but I can only take so much nagging. She drives me crazy! I didn’t know you had a sister, I guess you know exactly what I mean.”

“A little. Our family dynamic is a little more… complicated than yours.” 

“Right,” Sokka winks at him. “Being royalty and all.” He laughs at himself and Zuko isn’t in on the joke. He settles himself and goes back to shovelling food in his mouth. “Katara keeps nagging me about my preparations for the red moon festival.” 

Zuko isn’t sure what the red moon festival is but he assumes it’s something similar to the sun festival. He’s gathered by now that the Water Tribe track days and months using the moon, so it makes sense that the festivals would fall along the lunar plane too. “They trust you with preparations?” Zuko says. Sokka misses his mouth and slops food down his tunic. “How desperate are they, exactly?”

Sokka gives him the finger and sucks the food off of his thumb. “I have one of the most important jobs, actually.” He puffs his chest out. He looks a little like a dove tailed peacock. “I am to find an animal to take home for the sacrifice. Well, technically the spirits have to direct me to an animal. It’s not so much hunting an animal, it’s more of a mutual agreement between the animal, the spirits, and me.” He poses with a thumbs up. 

“It’s getting harder to not assume you’re just lazy.”

“Hey! I told you! I have to feel drawn to go out and find the animal waiting for me.” 

Zuko hums in response, entertaining him. He feels at the balm on his stomach, feeling for any residue tacking to his fingers. He finds none and finally, he pulls the furs down over his exposed stomach and sits himself up. He grabs his bowl of food and looks back towards Sokka - he catches Sokka whipping his head to the side and pretending to examine the wall. Sokka takes great interest in Zuko’s stomach, watching with so much concentration it almost makes him look angry whenever the healer is examining him. He even double-checks it when she leaves, waving his grandmother off to shuffle back to camp before telling Zuko to lift his furs, ‘just to be sure’.  

“So what is this festival, exactly?” Zuko asks, shifting his legs to mirror how Sokka is sitting. 

Sokka considers this question. “I’m not sure how to explain it - I mean, to someone who knows nothing, it’s like where do I even start, you know?” 

“Not really.”

“You know,” Sokka points at him. “Sometimes I think you’re disagreeable just to make my life more difficult.” 

“No I’m not.” Zuko hides a tiny smirk behind a mouthful of food. 

“ Spirits be pressed,” Sokka says to himself, “Basically, a red moon is seen to signify the Spirits reaching out to us, giving us the chance to speak with them directly. The plane between the Spirit world and the mortal world is at its thinnest, meaning the Spirits are heightened to our ongoings. So we use this opportunity to say thanks, ask the spirits for blessings, yadda, yadda, yadda.” A peaceful smile dances across Sokka’ face.

“It was great. It was a celebration. There were feasts and lanterns lit everywhere  - because we don’t use lanterns often, the blubber is hard to come by so they’re typically reserved for spiritual events like this - the ice and snow sparkled in the night like nothing you’d ever see. The entire tribe would be bumbling around, playing games, singing songs. It might be a spiritual celebration, but it brought the entire Tribe together as something more than a Tribe… we were a family. They used to set up all these games for the kids, and Gran-Gran would always save some Earth Kingdom sugarcane to bake seaprune cookies. We would eat them and play warriors for hours after the offerings were made. My mom used to paint all us kids' faces in warrior paint, she said it made it more fun...” Sokka’s voice trailed off. 

“This was before-”

“Yeah. Before the Fire Nation attacked,” He says this with a tone of detachment, like the Fire Nation is some faraway untouchable place, like there isn’t the Prince of the Fire Nation sitting less than six feet away.

“It sounds similar to our sun festival,” Zuko says, “My mother would slip out of the palace into the heart of the festivities wearing face coverings and buy fire flake chocolate. We weren’t allowed sweets, so that was the only time I ever had any.” Zuko laughs a little sadly to himself. “I forgot about that.”

Sokka must’ve picked up on the pained tone of his voice. He’d tried to hide it. Realising that he had almost forgotten one of the few good memories of his childhood hurt, especially when it was his mother who had made them any which way bearable.

“Is your mom dead too?” Sokka is reaching for something. A common ground for them both, a place without a power imbalance, a place where they can be two teenage boys without mothers. Zuko could say yes, and let this place be a safe reality, but it would be cruel.

 “I don’t know. She disappeared when I was a child. No one has heard or seen of her since.”

Sokka gives him a sad smile and a nod of understanding. They don’t talk about it any further. They shouldn’t. They’re not friends, this isn’t a bonding opportunity, even if the fact makes Zuko’s stomach sour.

“Aang was talking about your sun festivals all morning, I don’t know what that kid dreams about but he’s been totally losing it over fire flakes. They sound delicious. Aang says they’d be too spicy for me since we don’t have any spicy food down here, but how bad can it be? It’s just food, it's not like it can hurt you.”

Zuko suddenly wishes he could be present the first time Sokka tries fire flakes, because he knows that Sokka will take a handful at once because it ‘can’t be that bad’. And yes, it definitely can be that bad. He thinks Sokka would like the festival. The wistful nostalgia of the pre-Fire Nation red moon festival shares the same atmosphere as the sun festival, right down to the face painting for the children. He wonders how many stories of the sun festival that the Avatar had indulged in. 

“The Avatar paid me a visit this morning,” Zuko says. He takes another mouthful of his dinner, only to see Sokka staring at him with wide eyes. “He came back in one piece, didn’t he?” Zuko snaps.

Sokka shakes the look off his face. “I wasn’t thinking that. ” His eyebrows are pulled together. “What did he say to you?”

“That he didn’t want you to know he had talked to me.” Sokka snorts and makes a rolling ‘and..?’ motion with his wrist. “He wants me to teach him fire bending.”

“And you said…”

“No. Obviously.” 

“Right. Good. It would be kinda difficult given your ‘too cold to bend’ thing. And not being allowed.” Sokka shoots him a stern look which looks more like a mother scolding her children for wearing shoes in the house than anything. “No bending.”

“I wouldn’t train the Avatar anyway. It would be counter-productive to my efforts of capturing him.” 

Zuko feels the air shift before he sees Sokka’s face drop into something dark. There’s something written in the wrinkles between Sokka’s eyes, something unnervingly similar to the wrinkle in his Uncle’s brow whenever Zuko does something he disapproves of. “What?” Sokka’s voice is hollow.

“I’m not going to stop trying to capture the Avatar, you know. I understand your position is tainted, being the Avatar’s friend. This is bigger than you, than all of us, and it’s my duty to fulfill my role.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sokka seethes. Their eyes clash. 

“And you do? You know nothing of the real world outside the South Pole.”

“We’re not a part of the ‘real world’ to you? Is that what they teach you in your little Fire Nation schools? Is that why none of the soldiers thought twice before burning us to the ground? Is that why none of your soldiers showed us any mercy, even as our people were being burned alive inside their tents?-”

Stop. That wasn’t Zuko. That wasn’t his decision to make. 

“-Why they burned our food stores, hoping that we would starve to death in their absence-”

Zuko stares at his shoes. It was wrong. It was a horrible thing to happen. He tried to speak out. 

“-Our ships were destroyed-”

He spoke out. He asked his father to cancel the attack.

“-We had to rebuild everything-”

He feels the impact of his father’s hand. He hears the voice clear. ‘ You have spoken out against your turn. You continue to disappoint and embarrass me, Zuko. This will not happen again.’

“-They killed my mother-”

Zuko can’t listen any more. The room rushes by in a blur. He feels his hand pressing over Sokka’s mouth. He feels the warmth of Sokka’s lap underneath the heaviness of his thighs. The air grows tighter, his throat struggles to catch up with the shift. Zuko shuts his eyes before he can look at Sokka’s face. He can’t see the look on his face, because he knows Sokka is glaring at him with hateful eyes that he doesn’t deserve. He deserves hate from a lot of people, but not for the attack on the Water Tribe. He doesn’t shoulder the blame, but he shoulders the guilt. 

“Stop.” Zuko’s voice doesn’t carry the usual unwavering decisiveness it usually does. It sounds weak even to his own ears. Sokka struggles beneath him, but Zuko knows that Sokka could throw him off if he really wanted to. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

Sokka bites Zuko’s hand. “Fuck you.” His eyes are shining. His chest heaving. Zuko wishes he hadn’t opened his eyes. Sokka’s eyes have that familiar glint in them that make him feel like he’s being watched by dozens of eyes. “Are you not gonna hit me? That’s usually how we talk things out.” 

“Do you want me to hit you?” Zuko asks, genuinely curious. Sokka sucks his lip into his mouth thoughtfully. 

“Nah, my lip has only just stopped swelling. Your black eyes are almost gone, if you were wondering.” 

“And my nose?” Zuko feels every inch of his body against Sokka’s. His body heat burning through his clothes, he feels warmer than he has in a long time. The return of a normal body heat is not only a welcome one, but an addictive one. It makes Zuko want to feel it like this all the time. Sokka’s hand rises from the ground and slowly makes contact with the bridge of Zuko’s nose. 

“Does it still hurt?” He asks, adding some pressure. His nose grows hot with the beginnings of pain.

“Only a little.” They’re speaking quietly. Near whispers. 

“It got set by the best, that’s why.” Sokka raised his other hand and smoothed his thumbs down from the bridge to the inner parts of his cheeks. “It looks good.”

^^Sokka stays like that for a while, tracing his fingers over Zuko’s healing nose. Zuko’s scared that if he breathes a little too hard, Sokka will get scared off like a scared animal and Zuko will be left with nothing touching him but the bitter air. He feels it wash over him, the needing feeling again. Suddenly Sokka below him feels less like an enemy and more like a necessary part of Zuko’s life. Given his circumstance, he kind of is. He can feel his sensible train of thought slipping away. When he looks down, he can see down the gap of Sokka’s tunic, collarbones sneaking under the fabric, the dip of his sternum, burrowing away into darkness.

There’s nothing Zuko wants more in this moment than to slip his hand under the V of his tunic and tug it away from his body and see more. To take the belt that holds his tunic in place and pull it off, leaving more space for Zuko to slip his hands in and feel the small of his waist, feel the heat radiating under his calloused palms.Slip his hand around to his back and count the mountains and valleys of his vertebrae with his fingertips. 

Sokka’s fingers wander from his cheeks, tracing along his cheekbones. His left thumb moved over the bumpy texture of his scar. He could see the question in Sokka’s eyes, but he doesn’t voice it. Zuko lets Sokka explore his face. Deft fingers tracing parts of him that had never been treated with tenderness. It was a welcome change, which makes it all the more dangerous. 

“You’re not unattractive,” Sokka says, with a serious look on his face. Like he had come to some type of personal revelation. 

Zuko snorts. Sokka looks positively gleeful at it. “Thank you. I wish I could say the same for you.” Zuko says this while thinking admiringly how striking the blue of Sokka’s eyes are. Is this going to happen again? Zuko’s mind races to the last time he was in close proximity to Sokka in this state, how quickly he was panting hot into the cold under Sokka’s tight fist. 

He wants it again. He wants to feel Sokka around him, taking him apart, providing him with the must needed release that he is unable to give himself. He feels himself growing hard with Sokka pressed so close under him, he feels Sokka’s breath puffing into the space between them, mingling with his own breath. His eyes catch on Sokka’s lips, parted slightly. There is a small cut that Sokka’s tongue slips out to flick over it. Zuko put that there. The thought rallies his brain and he wonders if Sokka feels the same sense of pride and possession over his nose, if that’s the reason behind Sokka’s thumbs ghosting over the small swell of his nose where it hasn’t yet fully healed.

“I don’t hate you,” Sokka says, unprovoked. “I don’t blame you for the shit I said earlier.” The thumb rubs softly over Zuko’s cheekbone. “You just make me-”

“Mad?” Zuko supplies. Sokka laughs, agreeing but the way his laugh jostles Zuko in his lap draws them both to a very blatant understanding: they both have very obvious erections.

Zuko grunts at the pressure. He hears Sokka choke a little under him. “Oh,” Sokka says. 

“Oh.” 

They’re looking at each other, eyes wide with realisation. They’re back at this fork in the road. Two teenage boys, victims of biology, on their own with no chance for anyone to come in, anyone to see or interrupt. A potential secret within these walls. 

Zuko wants it, he wants it desperately. He isn’t attracted to Water Tribe, he doesn’t have any real feelings towards him, but this is a different connection than he’s ever had with anyone else before. Zuko has never really spent time with anyone his own age before, the closest being Azula and her friends, and those aren’t necessarily nice memories. The sad conclusion is that Sokka is the closest thing to a friend Zuko has ever had, and considering Sokka’s people have him locked away for both his own and their safety, it’s a pretty miserable realisation. 

Sokka shifts again. Zuko huffs, “Stop that.” 

“I- We could…” Sokka trails off. His cheeks are darkening, the flush extends across his cheek and down his neck. He struggles to meet Zuko’s eyes, clearly skittish about something. Zuko wasn’t sure what he was nervous about, he couldn’t feel more uneasy than Zuko, embarrassed at falling apart so easily under Sokka - it had been Sokka who initiated it in the first place. 

“We could what?” Zuko breathes, masking his eagerness behind a flat face, although he could feel his face heating up everytime Sokka’s eyes met his own, dipping down to his mouth, back to his eyes, then skirting down to look at the furs Zuko was wearing. 

Sokka traced his hand over the fur around the collar, the backs of his knuckles brushed against Zuko’s throat every now and again, sending shivers down his spine. “Solve our problems?”

“How do you suggest we do that?” Sokka’s face flushes more, and sure, Zuko is playing with him a little but it’s a cover up of his own nerves. 

Sokka, at loss for words, twists his hand around to squeeze the nape of Zuko’s neck and pulls him closer. For a heart-stopping moment, Zuko thinks that Sokka is going to kiss him. He fully expects to feel the harsh push of Sokka’s slightly swollen lip against his own, or a quick tongue slipping between his own lips, knowing full well that he, at that moment in time, would willingly open them. 

Rather, Sokka pulls his forehead to his own, the collision almost painful. They are pushed too close together to see each other properly, Sokka’s hot breaths panting across his face, firing up his insides. Zuko feels a hand on his shoulder, then pulling down to the edges of the fastenings of his furs, expert hands opening the fastenings blind as it moves southbound. Zuko’s breath catches as Sokka’s hand presses against his waistband. 

“This works,” Zuko breathes.

“They don’t call me the plan-guy for nothing.” 

Zuko helps Sokka unfasten his pants, with Sokka’s following suit moments later. Sokka grabs Zuko by the underside of his thighs and with effort, hoists him closer. Zuko grumbles about being manhandled but it’s cut short by Sokka taking Zuko’s length into the tight grip of his hand. Zuko shifts a little more to get comfortable, Sokka’s knee digging into his ass. He shuffles a little closer to Sokka, who rests his forehead on the crook of Zuko’s neck. His face is muffled in the furs but Zuko can feel his breath hot across his collarbones. 

Sokka pumps his cock. It isn’t long before Zuko is biting back heavy gasps at every twist of the wrist at the spot just under the head of his cock, he’s sure Sokka notices because he keeps doing it, even huffing out a laugh at a noise that gets strangled in Zuko’s throat. 

Zuko watches Sokka’s hand work on him, the motion of Sokka’s arm has his entire body rocking with effort, even his cock bobs heavily against his tunic. Zuko has never had any desire to touch anyone like this, the only experience he has in this area is with his own cock, not very often, and usually out of reluctant necessity rather than seeking any real pleasure. But once his eyes lock onto Sokka’s member, he knows he wants to explore Sokka, wants to pull choked noises and send lightning through his nervous system. He wants Sokka to cry out in pleasure under his hand. 

He tries to reach down, nimble fingers crossing the gap between Zuko’s furs and Sokka’s tunic, but the angle is too awkward, he knows he will be unable to get a good grip and if he’s going to do it, he wants to do it right.

Sokka lets out a heavy breath that fans across his collarbones. He feels his skin goosepimple. “Yeah,” Sokka says. His voice is tight and high-pitched. Zuko’s face flushes. “That’s a good idea. Can I try something?” Before Zuko can reply, Sokka maneuvers him a little more on his lap then. Suddenly, Zuko feels a hard, immeasurable heat pressing firm against the underside of his cock, and the moan rips out of him. 

Sokka has both his and Zuko’s cock fisted in his hand, it’s a much tighter squeeze and Sokka can’t jerk his hand as quickly, but the feeling of Sokka pressed up against him is indescribable. 

Sokka jerks them off, it lasts an embarrassingly short time for them both, but they don’t mention how quick bated breaths turn into rumbling pants, or how quiet choked back sounds evolve to open-mouthed groans. Sokka’s groans are addictive, his voice cracks and wavers like a string pulled too taught. It’s boyish, definitely not fit for a warrior, but it sounds as open and genuine as it gets. A  teasing thumb of the head of Zuko’s cock, where Sokka dragged his thumb through a bead of precum and swiped it across Zuko’s head, then Sokka’s own, the clear fluid mixing with Sokka’s has Zuko gripping the front of Sokka’s tunic. His knuckles grow white. Sokka raises his head to look at Zuko for the first time since they started, and it takes all of Zuko’s effort to not come there and then. His face is flushed, a whisper of sweat tracing his brow, his eyebrows pulled together in concentration and his pupils blown wide. If this is only a handjob, Zuko would pay to see Sokka fully debauched. 

It takes mere minutes for them to finish, Zuko barely having the train of thought to remember the awkward clean-up from the last time, and manages to grab the rag he uses for cleaning himself right before he comes. Sokka follows only moments afterwards, his eyes trained on Zuko’s face like it was the first time he had ever seen him. 

The next moments are an awkward shuffle where Zuko tries to leverage himself enough to get up, but his legs are dead from the angle and he ends up flopping miserably onto the floor, righted only by Sokka grabbing the front of his furs to stop him fully keeling over. Zuko’s mouth stubbornly refuses to think of anything decent to say with Sokka’s still-flush face staring at him. His chest tightens with a strange, foreign type of anxiety. It washes away when Sokka shoots a lopsided grin, “Made your legs weak?” 

Zuko bites an easy rebuke, “Yeah, your legs are bony like twigs.” Sokka lets him fall to the ground.

“No way! I’m built like a trunk, look at how wiry you are!” Zuko raises an unimpressed eyebrow. Sokka has spent a worrying amount of time examining his body, especially his abdomen, fingers running over the outline of his abdominal muscles. Sokka must read his mind because his face flushes and he whips his head to stare at the wall. “You’re a real piece of work, Zuko.”

Zuko throws a punch too short and Sokka kicks the air beside Zuko’s head. Ten minutes later, after tussling around the floor, throwing soft punches and wrestling each other to the ground, Zuko has to make another aborted reach for the rag.^^

--

It is only four days until the red moon festival. Zuko knows this because Gran-Gran seems keen on reminding Sokka every time she is checking his bruising and applying balm. Sokka groans and tells her repeatedly that he knows, he hasn’t felt the ‘urge’ yet. 

“When the Spirits urge you to go, Sokka, you must do it,” She says seriously. 

“And I’ll be sure to come knocking on your igloo for my spears when I do.”

“I suppose you want me to sew the holes in your socks, too?” Gran-Gran’s eyes peel over Zuko, distressingly, she winks at him. “And perhaps some new furs.”

Sokka’s face flushes and he sputters his response. “I-I have furs! Look-” He gestures to Zuko, who burrows into the hood as if it’s a threat of Sokka taking his furs off of his back. They’re a welcome warmth in the harsh cold, and they feel important to Zuko, even if the notion is a little silly. Something deep inside him is telling him to hold onto these furs, that they’re equally his as they are Sokka’s. 

Gran-Gran gives Zuko a long unreadable look, shakes her head and continues to examine his bruising, She mutters under her breath, Zuko has noticed her doing this before and never paid it any mind, many people talk to themselves, his Uncle was a victim of it too. Zuko pays no mind to it, until she presses her fingers over a particularly sore part of his bruising and sighs to herself. 

Sokka is over like a light. “What is it? What’s wrong?” 

Gran-Gran swipes at him with weak arms, “You’re much too exuberant for my old bones,” She pats Zuko on the thigh, letting him know that he’s free to pull his furs down and sit up properly, “Speaking of old bones, I am going to have to keep my eye on this young man. Three times a day.”

“I told you, it’s just bruising,” Zuko says this more to Sokka - whose mouth was already opening, disgruntled.

“Likely so, and I should not be as inconsiderate to assume you do not know how to listen to your body, but it isn’t healing as quick as it should. It may simply be due to the upset in your routine and climate, but it would put an old lady’s mind at ease to monitor it with more scrutiny than we’ve been granting it thus far.” With a degree of difficulty, and Sokka’s aid, she rises to her feet with audible cracks. “I must admit that I am not as spry as I used to be, this walk from my igloo to the smokehouse is not pleasing my joints.” Sure enough, she winces in pain as she lowers her full weight off of Sokka’s arm and onto her own feet. She wobbles precariously and Zuko shoots an arm out to help steady her before thinking. 

“Are you going to send Katara?” Sokka shoots a look at Zuko’s furs, the look on his face suggests that maybe furs were something more significant than a simple piece of clothing, as though the thought of his sister seeing Zuko wearing his furs is a bad thing. When Gran-Gran shrugs the notion off, Sokka relaxes.

“No, she has the skill but lacks the experience. Unfortunately her eyes will be of little use here.” 

She looks down at Zuko, the type of look that makes Zuko rise to his feet. He understands when his elders are requesting his meeting, which can only be done with any sort of respect at eye level. Rather than the harsh words or disappointed grimaces, Zuko’s hand is taken into her warm palms. 

“Tell me, boy,” She says, “Would you consider yourself a good person?”

A good- a good person? Was Zuko a good person? It’s a question, that somehow despite the atrocities attached to his family name, the disappointment in the eyes of his father, the sorrowful look in his uncle’s eyes, he has never asked himself. Perhaps it was easier to decide whether or not he is a bad person - what defines a bad person? Zuko has never killed an innocent,or needlessly injured someone without plausible reason - surely he cannot be bad? Bad people kill and maim and ruin others’ lives for no discernable reason. But then again, the concept of 'discernable reason’ is subjective - there is no doubt in his mind that there are people out there who consider Zuko a bad, terrible person. 

“I don’t know,” He says, honestly. Sokka is looking at him with an unreadable expression, his face tight and a strange frown on his face. Zuko is sure the Water Tribe see him as a bad person, they probably don’t care what his reasonings are for busting their wall and trying to capture their adoptive bald tribesman - Fire Nation have proved themselves monsters in the past, why should Zuko’s face bear any ease? 

Gran-Gran says nothing, prompting Zuko to continue. “I know that to the Water Tribe I likely am not.” It comes out easier than he expects. 

“And what other people think of you defines who you are?” 

“Given my… circumstance, yes.” 

“So,” Her eyes twinkle. Somehow, Zuko feels like she is directing the conversation into a specific territory that Zuko is apprehensively being cornered into. “Without contact with your own people, who you are is defined by what we think of you?”
Not liking where she is driving him, Zuko says: “I am and always will be Fire Nation. I will uphold my duties and my honour. I recognise that this situation is unprecedented and I will have to adapt as such.”

Gran-Gran’s face lights up in an amused smile, she gives Sokka a thin-lipped smile. “The boy gives good answers.” She lets one of her hands move off of Zuko’s and holds it in the air, palm up. Zuko, after prompting, takes her hand in his own. It feels a little strange, this level of casual touch between him and an elder, especially someone with such a vital role within a community. She stared meaningfully into his eyes for an extended period of time. Zuko feels sweat prick at his brow.

After a long, long moment, the attention is diverted to Sokka, where Gran-Gran claps her hands against Zuko’s and drops them. “Right, if this young man is going to get a tent, you may help him with his things, and move your bedrolls there too.” 

A what?

“A what?” Sokka echoes Zuko’s thoughts. “A tent?”

“With Sokka? ” Zuko says in a panicked voice which comes across more like disgust, which it only partially is. Not at Sokka exactly, but at the thought of being in close quarters with him in such a casual way, the change feels … perverted.

“Why is that  the part you’re hung up about?!” Sokka reels on him. 

“I can keep an eye on his bruising better,” Gran-Gran mediates over the raised voices. “And I know that you wish him to recover well, Sokka.”
“Sure, whatever.” Sokka crosses his arms, looking deftly away from them both. He seems to have given up on the conversation, not arguing with Gran-Gran’s decision at all, but Zuko had not. He stood motionless, the metaphorical shackles falling from his ankles as Gran-Gran already makes her way to the exit. He sees Sokka from the corner of his eye bundling up his blankets, the only items that Zuko has, not even to call his own. 

“Just like that?” Zuko says, eyes not leaving the hunched figure making its way to the exit, she stills but doesn’t turn around. “You’re going to trust me, just like that? After all I’ve done?”

“Tell me, Zuko,” He shudders at the use of his name. “What exactly have you done?”

“The attacks.  I know - I know that you lost a lot.” Zuko glances at Sokka - big mistake because Sokka is staring at Zuko wide-eyed, blankets half-rolled up in his arms. “I wouldn’t trust me.” Zuko pulled his eyes from Sokka’s - he couldn’t bear to look into them any longer. 

He isn’t determined to make himself out to be a threat to the Water Tribe, and he isn’t overly sure why he is making such an attempt to prove himself as such. It is some form of self-punishment for getting himself stuck in the South Pole like this, he should have prepared better, he deserves worse than the treatment he’s gotten here - yet… He can’t stop thinking about the promise of a tent, the warmth, the privacy, even the illusion of being free, of being able to slip open the entrance to take a look at the morning sun, to feel his fire burn inside him.  

She turns back to him at last, a sad look in her eyes. “You were but a child. You are but a child.” She walks on unsteady feet over to him, and gently pats his shoulders. Her face fills with sorrow when her palms make contact. “Who put all this responsibility on your shoulders? It certainly wasn’t the work of the Spirits, not this type of responsibility.”

“Maybe not your Spirits,” Zuko says. It comes out tight. 

“We all share the Spirits,” She smiles, “Just under different names.” She leaves before Zuko can reply. Inexplicably, he can feel his throat grow tight, like an anaphylactic shock, his eyes blinking furiously. It isn’t until Sokka nudges him in the shoulder that Zuko realises what is happening. 

He’s about to cry. 

It takes an extraordinary amount of effort to right himself enough that he can trust himself to reply to Sokka’s “You good, man?” 

“Yeah. I get a tent?” It’s pathetic sounding, really, but he can’t help it. He imagines the dopey, stupid look on his face -  the face of hope, as dangerous of a thing as it is to have.

Sokka doesn’t deplore him for his childishness, instead, he punches him gently on the shoulder and with a dopey smile, says: “Yeah man, you get a tent.” Then a look of horror, “ We get a tent.” 

Zuko follows Sokka’s darting eyes - the rag crumpled up in the folds of the blanket, “Oh no.” Zuko groans. This not-prisoner-but-kind-of-a-prisoner situation is becoming more and more entangled in itself. Zuko wasn’t sure where he steps with Sokka, and if Sokka’s face is anything to judge by, he isn’t faring any better. They’re not equals - Sokka is the son of the Water Tribe Chief, in charge of keeping Zuko in line, but Zuko is the Crown Prince . 

Zuko’s train of thought is interrupted by something hitting his furs, leaving a damp patch, and flopping to the ground with a tacky sound. Zuko stares at the rag lying at his feet, and the disgusting stain now adorning his furs. Sokka is laughing until he sees the look in Zuko’s eyes. 

Sokka walks out of the smokehouse, Zuko in tow, with a hearty bump growing on the side of his head.